Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 175) (1883 03 20)
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The Cheapest and Best Library! The Cream of American and Foreign Novels for Five Cents. en eats nee eo | $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N, Y., at Second Class Mail Rates, Copyright, 1883, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, March 20, 1883, IS LOVE A MOCKERY? o» revinon is sweer NWA A BY ARABELLA SOUTHWORTH, AUTHOR OF ‘‘ A DESPERATE VENTURE,” ETC., ETC, Z, N = e am a: SSW ey dy Ve i= eae “DICK, DICK, YOU HAVE KILLED HIM!”
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Is Love mee, ay ~ tS , > ’ 'y ~ ; : ‘A Mockery? o~ | | REVENGE IS SWEET. BY ARABELLA SOUTHWORTH, q AUTHOR OF “A DESPERATE VENTURE,” “THE HAND OF FATE,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. — A HASTY DEED. By the long, narrow window of one of the é - turret chambers of Thornhill House stood the _ Hon. Charles Wheeler, gazing dreamily out on his vast possessions. The spreading gardens; the long sweep of avenue, fringed with stately elms; the path, which seemed gradually to merge into a forest; the fields of Waving corn; the meadows and pasture land—all belonged to him; and yet, not one single acre had he inherited from his ~ father. As a poor man, without money, interest, or : P connections, he had started in life, and toiled bravely and steadily up the steep ascent to ‘ wealth and fame, until: he had succeeded in reaching the summit. He was the owner of one of the largest rent-rolls and finest estates in the county. _ At the last election he had been almost unani- _ mously elected as member of the House and no one could venture to say that the distinction was undeserved. Tt seemed as though fortune had withheld _ from him no gift which it was in her power to bestow, and that no wish of bis heart was left _ ungratified. “His social position was well established; his _ wife was an aristocrat’s daughter; his children _w-re growing up to be all that a father could desire; bis cares were few; his health was per- 2 _ fect; and yet, as he stood by the window on that glorious summer day, there was a heavy _ cloud on his brow, and a wistful, troubled look _— in his eyes. ae: He was thinking of the days long, long ago, -_ « ~when he and his little sister Lizzie were chil- dren together in their humble village home; _ how he used to talk to her of his determination to work, and push, aud struggle until he be- came a rich man; and then how he would buy a beautiful house, with gardens and green- houses, carriages and horses, and have her there to live with him; how he would have \ liveried servants to wait on her, and give her ~ dresses of silk and velvet to wear. All this had proved to be no castle in the air; but Lizzie, bis only sister—what of her, and _ where was she now? } He did not now, perhaps might never, know. That was not his fault, he told himself. She had deserted him—not he her, and all for the sake of Evan Taylor, the grocer’s son. _ Evan had been their playmate and constant companion in those bygone times, and even as _a boy he had loved Lizzie Wheeler. Then came _ the time when every one spoke of Charles as _ decidedly a rising young man. _ His remarkable talents for business developed rapidly. He was made a junior partner in the _ firm by which he was employed in the city. He went to live in a more fashionable neighborhood, taking Lizzie with him as his _ housekeeper. - __ Their parents were dead. They were alone in the world, and loved each other very dearly; but in the girl’s heart her brother vheld only the second place; for the first _ was occupied by the dark-eyed, handsome Evan ~ 'Paylor. ented Charles did all in his power to induce her to give him up, but in vain; and when _Evan’s father died, leaving him his store and _ a few hundred dollars, he and Lizzie were married, _ After that, all communication ceased between | He loved her still, and rad the brother ana sister. ime might have pa gan Harty: relented; but when 7 % p ‘ US ars r pee $2 -f iF 7 ke we by ¢ apt ao ST ea 7 g S LOV his wife, overlooking his humble origin on ac- count of his wealth, he felt that he could not possibly give publicity to his relationship with the grocer’s wife. And as she sunk down in the social scale, he rose higher and higher. His marriage, though based on mercenary and interested motives, proved a very happy one. Between the rush of pleasure and busi- ness his youthful days were almost forgotten, and the remembrance of his sister rarely in- truded itself on his mind; but to-day his thoughts had left their usual channels, and had wandered back to the sister of whom for near- ly twenty years he had heard no tidings what- ever. While the master of Thornhill House mused thus, a lad, some seventeen or eighteen years old, was walking slowly through the grove beyond the lawn, following the narrow path- way which led along beside the stream, and wound with it in and out among the spreading trees, He did not look like one whom the world had used well. There wasa sullen, dogged ex- pression on his face, the features of which were, on the whole, good, though the brows were heavy, and the eyes much too near each other. Unmistakable poverty was stamped on his entire appearance; his clothes, of the coarsest description, were soiled, faded, and torn too in many places; his boots were in little better condition; and his hat, of black felt, was cov- ered with a thick coating of dust. There was an air of intense languor and weariness about him, ashe moved slowly along; and no wonder, for, within the last few days, he had walked all the way from Philadelphia to Thornhill, a distance somewhat over eighty miles, A couple of quarters was all the money he had had with him to buy the necessary food; his last remaining cents had been spent in the village a couple of huurs before on a loaf of bread, part of which be had eaten at the time, while the rest was still in his pocket. “That must be the house!” he exclaimed half aloud, as a sudden opening in the trees dis- closed a glimpse of a stately mansion, which stood on the side of a bill a little way in front of him, For several minutes he stood gazing at it, wondering at its size and beauty; for, though he had been told that Thornhill House was a magnificent edifice, the reality far surpassed his anticipations, “So that is his home!” he thought, bitterly. ‘“‘ He lives there in luxury and splendor, while she died—of want, I might almost say, in a miserable city lodging-house. Am I to go there—I, just as Iam now—and introduce my- self to him as hisnephew? Why, the servants would turn me from the door as a beggar!” Ruefully he glanced down at his worn, travel-stained clothes and roughly mended boots, then, raising his head, gave another look at Thornhill House. “T cannot possibly go there in the broad daylight,” he said to himself. ‘I must wait until it gets a little dusk; perhaps I may not look quite so like a tramp then.” He flung himself down full length on the long, soft grass; took out the piece of bread he had in his pocket, and devoured it eagerly, finishing his frugal meal by a long draught of water from the stream. After that, he lay down again, crossed his arms under his head, and closed his eyes. Any one chancing to pass, and seeing him thus, would have taken bim for a tramp or a field-laborer, at the best, and certainly would have been surprised to learn that Harold Tay- lor was nephew to the Member of Congress, the man of fortune, property,.and position, the Hon, Charles Wheeler. It was not of his own free will that he was coming to make himself known to his wealthy relative, but in obedience to the last request which his dying mother had made him, a ite 4 oh -S-, aes, ‘er P ~ ar Harold was Lizzie Taylor’s youngest son, and the only one of her children who had ~ lived more than a few years. j The story of her married life was very sad. The husband’s business had not prospered with him; sickness came, and when, three or four years ago, he died, he had been able to make no provision whatever for his widow and / son. With difficulty Harold contrived to earn sufficient to provide them with the barest necessaries of life, and now he found himself thrown onthe world, his only possession of any value a small pocket-book, containing the cer- tificate of his parents’ marriage and his own birth, together with a letter from his mother to his uncle, imploring him to befriend her boy. How would that letter be received? he won- dered. What welcome might he hope to meet with that evening, when he should present himself before Charles Wheeler? With shrinking dread he thought of the ap- proaching interview, which appeared doubly formidable now that it was so near, ) For over an hour he lay in exactly the same position, the branches of the trees forming a green canopy over his head, the stream, swol- len to an unusual size by the rain that had fal- len a day or two before, rushing along beside him between its flower and fern-fringed banks. Except for the nionotonous flow of the stream and the song of the birds, all was still; and it seemed to the weary boy as though he had escaped from the noise and bustle of the world into a haven of rest and peace. The bitter and envious thoughts which had filled his mind began to fade away, banished by the soothing influence of the calm around him. The garish glare made bis eyes ache no longer, only a soft green light reached him. The burning rays of the August sun no longer poured down on him, making his temples throb and burn. The air was cool and balmy; and the light breeze, which made the leaves sway and flutter like myriads of tiny fans, passed over his fevered brow with a deliciously re- freshing breath. All at. once he raised his head and looked around, more from instinct than from being startled by any actual sound. Standing at the opposite side of the stream wasa young girl in a white dress, beautifully embroidered, and blue ribbons tying back her golden curls, There was no danger of the sun being able to mar the beauty of her skin, for she wore a shady straw hat, and her tiny hands were carefully gloved. Wondering very much what the little lady could be doing there all alone, Harold watched her, and saw how she looked up and down the stream, and then placed her foot on the first of the stepping-stones which led across it just there. But the water was evidently much deeper than usual. Many of the stones were almost covered, while others had been entirely swept away by the flood; and with a look of fear and perplexity she shrunk back, not dar- ing to venture, Though Harold Taylor had been born and brought up in the city, he was light and agile. A step or two on the larger stones, a couple of — springs where there was nothing on which he could rest his feet, and he was at the other side of the stream. “You want to get across, don’t you?” he said to the child, She looked at him from head to foot, and he felt decidedly uncomfortable under the in- spection, [ ‘* Yes, Ido,” she answered, curtly. “Perhaps I can help you.” “T don’t think you can,” was the not very encouraging reply, as she gave him another look. ; Harold laughed, but rather uneasily; and said, ‘‘ You are such a little bit of a thing, I _ could carry you over quite easily. A. Ae = Her cheeks crimson with anger, she sprung ack, be a.¢
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> “Go away, can’t you?” “Ym not going to harm you. I only said I could lift you over,” Harold said, sheepishly. “Come little missie! you may as well let me.” And he held out his hands toward her again, “Don’t! How dare you?” she screamed, stamping her foot. ‘*‘Go away this moment! ~ » You sha’n’t stop here!” “Tsay, what’s all this about?” he speaker was a lad something about Harold’s age, or perhaps a year younger, tall and slight, with hair and eyes very like the girl's, though a few shades darker. “What’s the matter, Lestlie?’ he asked again, as neither answered. _ “He wanted to carry me; that shabby, com- mon boy!” said his sister, for such the likeness between the two proclaimed them to be. And as she spoke she took up her position beside him, gazing all the while. defiantly at Harold, who said, sullenly, “She wished to cross the stream, and I offered to carry her _ Over. T only did it out of kindness.” “And why would you not let him, Lestlie? ®8 was very good-natured, I think, and you certainly had no right to be so angry.” “‘He’s so common, and his hands are dirty,” _ Was the disdainful reply. er brother laughed, took some money from his pocket, and threw it at Harold’s feet. “There, take that, and be off,” he said, with haughty condescension. “It was kind of you, Suppose; but a fellow like you should know his place better than to press his services on a young lady.” Harold picked up the coins and flung them one after another into the water. His cheeks were white with rage, but on his forehead there was & damp, red flush. hig eyes were glittering like coals of fire, and 8 voice trembled with fury as he exclaimed: +i You had better not give me any more of at insolence, young sir. And it seems to me that it is you’ who require a lesson in good man- _ hers, and not I.” “What! This to me—to Charles Wheeler's son!” “Charles Wheeler’s son! You!” He spoke in pained surprise; but the other ‘Mmstaking it for incredulity, exclaimed, hotly: “Yes, you young clown. And if you want _ to know my name it is Richard Wheeler. And now begone, I say, or it will be worse for you. his is my father’s property and you have no business to be trespassing here.” ey “T shall stay here as long as I please. If - you thinkI am going away at your bidding _ you are greatly mistaken.” ‘Then take that for your insolence!” _ _ He had a light cane in his hand, and it fell witha sharp blow across Harold’s shoulders. |, There was a mowent’s pause, and then the | two closed in: fierce, desperate struggle, while Lestlie, greatly frightened, gazed silently on. _ In physical strength the combatants were _ Pretty nearly equal, for Harold, though the _ Older and more powerfully built ot the two _ Was worn out by his journey and weakened by _ Want of sufficient food. But all the passions of _ his revengeful, vindictive nature were roused, and he strove to parry his adversary’s blows, 4nd return them with tenfold interest, F _ _ Blindly and furiously he struck out at bim - While Richard, who had had the advantage of ~ Some years’ training at an athletic school, — Sconomized his strength, and watching his op- _ Portunity, suddenly dealt him a blow bet ween the eyes, which felled him to the ground. Dick, Dick, you have killed him!” screamed pn when she saw the fall. 2 Bickerd ite What nonsense,” answered F ‘us kick, § his prostrate foe a contemptu- : the young hound a lesson be won't forget in a eet Come home now, Lestlie; and remem- inte is is the last time I mean to take you out aa the woods with me, unless you promise ae to stray off in that way again. Suppos- iin 2 _hadn’t chanced to ficd you just now, do You think would have become of you?’ Rice kK ae i ff me Tt £2 as pe lg —~ Caco ot 5 hin i sot Sata He : * ee Fat a ioe “e Se eth a & Eh a a be a | ro 4 “Don’t touch. me!” she cried, passionately. | He caught up-the sobbing | | | ‘most bave been unendurable, ee TPES 18 ey, us is Se aan, Dewi LOVE > 2 - : Bact a a oP oe ; BRR -MOCKER child in bis arms, crossed the stream with her, and then bidding her not to make such a baby of herself, set her on the ground, took her hand, and walked with her toward the bouse. ry “ 5 The retreating figures were scarcely out of | sight when Harold sat up, and gazed round him with dazed looks; but soon he remem- bered all that bad passed. ‘“He my cousin, my uncle’s son!” he mut- tered. ‘*‘And am I to go to his father’s house and beg for charity there? Never! And, Richard Wheeler, if either you or your sister ever cross my path again, you shall have rea- son to rue this day’s work—ay, that you shall!” In less than an hour, Richard, having left his sister safely at home, returned to the stream; his mind was by no means at rest, and he feared that he might have done the stranger some serious injury. ‘“Gone away; can’t be much hurt, and I must say I am heartily glad of it!” be said to himself as he saw that his foe had disap- peared; but on the ground at his feet was a sharp, pointed stone, against which Harold’s head must have struck in falling, and on it was a stain of blood. A kick sent it into the water, and Richard went away, whistling a lively air. That day’s adventure made little or no impression on his mind. But in the memory of Harold Taylor it dwelt likesome foul, tainted spot, to prove a fester, aud rankle until it bad changed the whole tenor of his future life. CHAPTER II. THE TURN OF FORTUNE’S WHEEL. THIRTEEN years had gone by since that August afternoon, the sultry breath of sum- mer was passing over the land again, and was sending people in crowds to the sea-side. Oceanville, as was usually the case during the boating and bathing season, was crowded. Most people who lived within a reasonable dis- tance generally found it a very pleasant and convenient summer resort, for the houses were both cheap and good and the market well sup- plied. There was a railway station close at band, and the country round was admirably adapted for excursions of all kinds, An intensely warm August afternoon was wearing slowly on; the heat inland must al- Oceanville there was scarcely a breath of cool air to be had. along the horizon; the very sea seemed to have lost its life and freshness; every movement that one made was a wearying exertion; every time that one breathed it was as though a draught of tepid water had been swallowed. The broad piazza in front of the Mansion House was about as cool a place as could be found under the circumstances—tbe hotel, a large three-storied building, sheltering it completely from the rays of the sun; and in front, within a stone’s throw, divided from it only by the beach drive and a low cliff wail, lay the sea of deepest, richest blue. On the piazza nearly all the inmates of the hotel were assembled. There were plenty of children, of course, and several ladies, some making believe to read or work, others bhon- estly doing nothing; a few elderly gentlemen perusing the newspapers or talking pelitics; a good many younger men, for the most part smoking, save those who were in attendance on the ladies, and these, having nothing to hold between their lips, parted them very often to yawn. In fact, nearly every one was Y? for even at | A thunderstorm was gathering | | Luke Cennick, the man addressed, was rather a contrast to Hammond; not nearly so | good-looking, bis face was a far more pleasing one, for it was a countenance which, despite | its plainness, one could not help liking and | trusting. His thoughts appeared to be far away just then, and he did not even look round | as he answered Captain Hammond’s question. | 1 must go, I suppose. Wish I could keep > away. Dancing this weather is anything but a pleasure.” ‘«'The fair Laura is to be there.” Luke Cennick gave Captain Hammond a broad, questioning stare. ** Certainly, Miss Russel is going,” he said. ‘* And, consequently, you cavnot but enjoy | yourself.” | ‘Miss Russel’s being there will contribute as | little to wy enjoyment as my presence will to | hers,”’ Luke Cennick answered. ‘‘Hear, hear!” exclaimed little Doctor Mil- ns ‘ man, the third of the party, with such sudden energy that several people looked round won-_ dering what could be the sentiment so vigor- ously applauded. | “Lonly Wish Miss Laura could have heard — you, Cennick,” laughed fhe captain. “We — all know that she looks on you as the chief among her admirers, and that she,bestows very special marks of favor on you.” ‘ “T beg your pardon, but she does no such — thing. And, Hammond, I would feel greatly obliged to you to choose another subject for such remarks,” retorted Luke. Before the captain had time to make any rejoinder, Doctor Milman started to: his feet, exclaiming, ‘‘By Jove! there’s Miss Wheeler coming down the beach! Has she come out in the hopes of getting a sunstroke, I wonder?” { Three pair of eyes were instantly directed, toward the tall, erect figure, which, like a black shadow on the white road was coming quickly toward them, ty She passed the hotel without once looking up, avd presently disappeared round a turn in the road. i “She must be going to the post. I saw a bundle of letters in her band,” Captain Ham- mond said. ‘‘Ratber she bad to go down to the village this afternoon than I.” Meanwhile Luke Cennick quickly left his place, and turned toward the large open door ; which Jed into the hall of the hotel. ‘ “Going in, Cennick?” inquired the doctor. ‘* Yes,” he answered, shortly. “ Dare say be has business at the post-office as well as Miss Wheeler,” remarked Captain | companied his words implied a great deal. ‘“‘So-you think that there is something in the wind there, do you?’ asked Doctor Mil- man. to prepare a fresh cigar. “I may be mistaken,” he said, ‘but I’ve seen him two or three times lately making him- self uncommonly agreeable to her, and Mrs, — pleased. Laura considers bim as her own special property. I don’t think I ever saw a girl make a more determined set at a fellow. she is doing.” ‘J would give a great deal to see her dis- appointed!” exclaimed Doctor Milman, vehe- mently. “And if Cennick ever marries any ove, I hope with all my heart it may be Lestlie Wheeler!” “ Lestlie Wheeler! May I make so bold as to ask who’Lestlie Wheeler is?” The two gentlemen looked up in some sur- Se Se re ee | yawning that afternoon, and every one looked | prise, and saw that-a stranger had approached “But I rather think I have given | . U P f - ; AD ete a Pe "ee : . PAT Tee ah Re pba Se ne Fy hha Sa bV, 2 8 hot, tired, and rather bored too. At one end, slightly apart from all the others, three gentlemen were lounging, con- versing languidly at intervals, and sending thick clouds of cigar:smoke into the heated air. ‘Going to Mrs. Bonar’s to-night, Cennick?” inquired Captain Hammond, a handsome but rather conceited-looking young graduate of West Point. ha ae roe otis & Fas gin titcahd ke 8 enh : 2a ~~ | them without their having been aware of his presence. He was not very tall, but was — | broad-shouldered and powerfully built, with | large hands and feet, and heavy, rugged fea- tures. His eyes and bair were dark, bis beard | anid mustache thick and black, and his skin like a Spaniard’s, so tanned was it by exposure to the sun, He was wiry, well-dressed, but his clothes had about them an indescribable | air of oppressive uewnoss; he wore as a breast- . os as iS A Tne fag hs = ” } eh tae : Noe ba Par | \ Hammond; and the meaning laugh which ac- 7 His companion nodded, and leisurely began Russel and Laura looking anything but — soe 4B a
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pin a diamond of the purest water; his watch- _ chain was of massive gold, and on each of his hands he had two or three rings. It was Captain Hammond who answered his Lestlie Wheeler ”—and he laid marked empbasis on the word miss—‘‘is a niece of Mrs. Sarah Russel’s, The young lady passed the hotel a few minutes ago; I dare say you saw. her.” Aiaads ‘*] didn’t ask whose niece she was, I want "SNe to know whether her father was the Hon, ss Charles: Wheeler, of, Thoruhill,” he said, as Be tt with his foot he hooked toward him the chair left vacant by Luke Cennick, and sat down on it. ' “‘T believe so,” Captain Hanmond answered, haughtily; and unwilling to submit to any more questioning, he stood up and sauntered off to the other end of the piazza. “May be he is going to the post too,” said the ‘stranger. ‘Miss Wheeler will bave quite a big escort presently.” ‘‘ Miss Wheeler seems to interest you greatly,” | _ said Doctor Milman, who being rather at a loss to know how to pass the time for the next hour or so, was not by any means unwilling to continus the conversation. See ~ $he does interest me greatly,” was the re- ply. “I know something about her; and would fe ‘feel greatly obliged to any one who could tell ‘me more.” _. “TI can oblige you, then,” said the loquacious little doctor. “Her father was Charles ; Wheeler a self-made man, but enormously ete rich. He and his wife died within a few weeks ‘ of each other about a year and a half ago, leaving two children, a son and a daughter; Lestlie, the girl you were asking about, and . Richard—but you know all that, I suppose?” “T have heard it; but goon, please; I would _ like very much to hear your version of their history.” _ «Well, after Mr: Wheeler’s death, his wife’s sister, Mrs. Sarah Russel, swooped down at once on Lestlie, Her darling niece must come . tolive with her; she would love her just like -a daughter, and all that kind of stuff.” “Beeause the girl had a good fortune, I Pom suppose?” - “Exactly. That woman would sell body »and soul for money, I believe; and she is rather badly off, so of course it would have been a _ gréat matter to her to have had the handling of some of her niece's cash. But very soon it _ appeared that Richard Wheeler had been spec- _ -ulating pretty considerably during his father’s lifetime, though of course without his knowl- edge. He was left his sister’s uncontrolled _ guardian, avd when the crash came, not only - -lost everything he had himself, but every penny of ber fortune as well!” “Pleasant for Mrs. Russel,” remarked the stranger. ‘‘ Did she love her niece as dearly as ever, after that?” _ “Not quite, I should say, though she makes _ .@ great fuss about ber love for her and how ' kind she has been. You see, she could not well turn her out after haviug adopted her as -she did. But ’tis pretty well known how -much this pretense of affection is worth, and she makes her a sort of unpaid governess and general drudge. Poor girl, I’m afraid her life is anything but a happy one.” ‘“‘Has this Mrs. Russel many children?’ | “Two. Annie, the young monkey Lestlie _ has to teach; and Laura, the eldest, considered quite a beauty here, but a young lady whom I for one can’t admire much,” 4 Now tell me about Richard Wheeler.” 3 _ And as the stranger spoke he threw back his head, looked the doctor full in the face for a ~ moment, and then covering his eyes with his hand, sat still and listened. ‘Poor Dick!” sighed Doctor Milman; ‘he was almost mad with despair when he found _ out what he had done. But just about that time ‘people were running wild about the diamond - \ “; ets x - fields, and he took it into his head that he had | ; nothing to do but go off there and fetch home as mu oh mangers as as sa tee instead of | coming back a rich man, he died out theré of fever, poor fellow.” “ Died out there, did he? Well, better men than Richard Wheeler have fared just the same! And when did the news reach the United States?” ‘Some time in the spring through a cousin whom he had stumbled on accidentially, and who wrote an account of his death to the sister. And they say that this same cousin has been wonderfuliy successful in the diamond fields, and that he is shortly coming back to this country quite a millionaire.” The stranger uncovered his eyes and raised his head again. “Not quite a millionaire, my friend,” he said; ‘‘but with as large a fortune as Charles Wheeler ever had, and without a scamp of a son to spend it for him.” Doctor Milman looked at him sharply. “‘T half suspected it!” he said. ‘You must be Mr. Taylor, the cousin.” ‘‘ What! are you really?” exclaimed Captain Hammond, who, having come toward them again, had caught the last couple of sentences, ‘Ves, gentlemen; I am Harold Taylor, at your service.” “Allow me to congratulate you on your good fortune,” Doctor Milman said, heartily. “Dear me, what a strange thing luckis! You are a lucky man, if ever there was one, Mr. Taylor!” ‘Thank you; and I must say that I am vastly obliged to you for what you just told me about my cousin, Miss Wheeler, and her aunt. I had little or no idea what sort of people they were.” “T should bave thought young Wheeler would have tuld you all about them.” ‘“‘Not he. Besides, I knew very little of him,” “But did he never speak to you of his sister?” “No. How do you suppose he’d care to talk about her, after having made ducks and drakes of every penny she was worth?’ “He laid down his life trying to repair that wrong, Mr. Taylor.” “ And much good it did her!’ was the al- most brutal rejoinder. His hearers wondered at the’ tone, and still more at his look. ‘Was it his fault that his noble self-sacrifice was all in vain?” the doctor asked, reproach- fully, and almost sternly, Blacker and blacker grew the cloud on Har- old Taylor’s brow; some muttered words es- caped his lips; nor were Doctor Milman and his companion far out when they fancied that among them was a curse such as few men would care to utter aloud. CHAPTER III. A CRUEL POSITION. Doctor MILMAN disliked Mrs. Russel ex- tremely, and often said very hard things about her; but, on the whole, the description which he had given to Harold Taylor was not incor- rect. Money was the god which she worsbiped. Money, not to count and hoard as the miser does, but because of the good things of this life which by its means may be procured. Essentially a shrewd, calculating woman of the world, she seldom or ever gave others credit for motives save such as she herself could un- derstand. Judging every one else by her own standard, generosity and integrity were to her mind only meaningless words, Never was Mrs. Russel so thoroughly in her element as when working out some deep-laid plot. Occasionally, however, that plot was laid a little too deeply, and in the end she suc- ceeded only in overreaching herself. Her marriage was the greatest mistake of her life, for deceived by the reputation of vast wealth borne by Gilbert Russel, she had be- come _ wife after an acquaintancesbip of rami ads Bore Shs, a fy, renee, er ees on so = ar) ‘en = em | wat = , " ‘i aoe 3 ee i a seks Career? a FY ae Oa « plainly how willingly she gare the Cpe he eps for. the wedding lest he skould have time to di cover that her own expectations were far from being so brilliant as she had led him to belieya they were. Mutually deceived, without the slightest ibve | for each other, utterly unsuited in temper and disposition, they dragged on a miserable ex- istence together until his death, which, greatly to her relief, took place after a "few years. After that, with rather a narrow income, she had. contrived to keep up a very respectable appearance, living ina small but well- appointed house in West Philadelphia, and generally pass ing the summer months at Oceanville or some other inexpensive seaside place. a When Lestlie Wheeler’s parents died, for tune, Mrs, Russel told herself, had at last smiled on her, and great her mortification when she dis- covered that in her hurry to constitute herself her niece’s protector, she had burdened herself with the maintenance of a penniless girl. But there was no help for it; and she saw at once how the world would comment on he conduct were she to make any open complaint. She never in so many words threw her poverty in Lestlie’s teeth; never, in public at least, spoke hardly or unkindly to her; but there was a chilling politeness in her manner, and in” a thousand little ways she made the girl feel her dependent position, ; She did not ask her to take charge of her daughter Annie’s education, but had so con- trived that Lestlie herself should offer to teach her. The greater part of the mending and making done in the house was accomplished by Lestlie’s hands, though she had never been told that she was required to do such work. If one bedroom was more uncomfortable than B another, Lestlie had it; if a drive was planned, and there was not room for every one to go, Lestlie remained at home. Her deep mourning, of course, was suificient reason for her non-appearance in society, bub even such invitations as she could quite well have attended, were invariably refused for her. Lestlie, it was said, did not care about meet- ing strangers; she preferred remaining ab home, and so was rarely, if ever, included in any pleasure excursions. Very dull, dreary, and miserable indeed was the poor girl's life; but until the news of her brother’s death reached her there was some: thing to hope for, something to look forward go, for was not the time coming when he would return home again?—whether rich or poor sh@ hardly cared, so long as they could be to-~ tether. 4 How deep her grief for that brother was? What bitter self-reproach was contained in th@ thought that on her account alone he had gone to meet his death no one knew or suspected. Quietly and uucomplainingly she wen t through her daily routine of work—growing paler and more worn, it is true, but giy ing 0 other sign that she was suffering. | a Annie Russel, the youngest daughter, wa spending a few weeks with friends just the All the more reason, therefore, why Lestli@ should have plenty of time to render her oa and Laura the many little services which the were constantly expecting from her. é It was no unusual thing, no matter how ho? the day, to send her on messages to the villag@ But on this particular afternoon they certainly would have hesitated about doing so could they have foreseen what was going to happen, fof scarcely had she left the hotel a hundred yards behind her when Luke Cennick was by: i ir side. “Miss Lestlie,” he said, eagerly, “ this is | piece of good fortune for me indeed.” BY | The sun, hot though it was, had never mac® her cheeks burn as they did now at the sow of his voice. Her heart was beating wildly DS her hand was cordially grasped by bis. mn. “You are,on your way to the village,” st he said. ‘May I walk there with you?” | ‘“‘Oh, yes, you may.” Her tone sho
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many who had offered her homage, and, in the _-lush of youth, pride, and beauty, she had _ turned coldly from him as from many another, and yet her thoughts had dwelt on him far oftener than on any of her other admirers, Of love he had never actually spoken to her. It was her own fault that he had not done so— that she knew full well, for he was not the an to offer his heart to be spurned at a woman's Caprice, Then trouble, poverty, and desolation came, '. €ndshe discovered, when too late, that she had _ thonghtlessly and heedlessly put from her what might have been a life-long happiness, { was under very different circumstances that they met again. © man in Oceanville was more popular than 4uke Cennick. The owner of a large and un- incumbered estate, he was the prize which \ Many a mother would fain have secured for _ ne of her girls; and more than that, he was _ the man whom Sarah Russel had resolved her _ daughter Laura should marry. For some time past the probability of such a _ Marriage had been pretty freely discussed in _ Oceanyille, and Lestlie was trying hard to re- Concile herself to the thought that she was for- _-- Sotten—that another had taken the place _ Which she had once held in his heart. His _ Name was constantly on the lips of her aunt and cousin, and Laura made no secret of the fact that she was daily expecting to receive an offer from him. Any encouragement which she could possi- bly Zive she gave him, but at the same time estlie could not but feel how that.on more 4n One occasion lately it was her society, and not Laura’s, that he seemed to prefer. . Friendship might have been bis motive; it ‘Might have been only pity; Lestlie could not tell. She only knew that she loved him, and that she was completely at his mercy now. Resolutely she strove to shut her eyes to that fact, and it was no use. “He is Laura’s lover; what right have I to think of him at all?’ she would say to herself, _ Over and over again. ura’s lover! Yes, that he might be; but the thought would have been far less painful, __ far less bitter, but for the conviction that if ever Laura married him love would be the least of her motives. She was miserable; and yet as he walked along beside her to day it seemed as though a breath of happiness had been wafted down from her old life, and pleasure and pain were So strangely mingled that it would have been Impossible to distinguish one from the other. Later on it would be all pain. What mat- ter? The joy of the moment is none the less Sweet on account of the sting it will surely leave behind. es Sitting together in the cool, shady drawing- _, room, Mrs. Russel and Laura saw Lestlie re- ay a ning from her errand, accompanied by Luke is ee They saw, too, how he parted from . er at the gate of the little inclosure in front of the house, and turned quickly away, though © could not possibly have failed to see them, or each sash of the bay window was thrown Wide open, and their figures were tolerably ns Pare nous from without, 7 at do you think of tha ” _ asked Laura, F oe ee b ne Russel did not say what she thought, ub her angry look answered the question Plainly enough. told you how it would be from the very ia Laura continued, crossly. ‘I can’t see 1 slightest reason why you should keep that Sirl here any longer, after the way she has ep acting lately.” - ; ople would make unpleasant remarks ste eS I were to turn her out of my house; be- _ Sides, she really makes herself very useful,” first,” 63 Me y a ts -Aalswered her mother, who saw no practicable Means of getting rid of Lestlie just at present, unmindful of the fact that » er 4 LS Sst Rass who was not t ae ‘ IS LOVE ee te sees hae ce a faaaes a - , \ Me . , she did the work of a governess at a very cheap rate. hen, “Useful?” re-echoed Laura, scornfully. ‘Oh, yes; of course she can be sent on all kinds of messages, which one of the servants could do just as well. And then she can walk about the place with the man who she knows perfectly well is paying me attention. That is carrying her usefulness a little too far, in my opinion. She ean bring Annie up a mean, deceitful flirt, like herself, and you will not find out your mistake until the mischief is done!” As she spoke her voice rose higher and higher, and before she had reached the end of her sentence, Lestlie was standing in the door- way, having heard every word. Though a humble dependent on her rela- tion’s bounty, Lestlie Wheeler’s pride was by no means dead. Never had the girl’s temper been more thoroughly aroused than at that moment, and coming slowly toward her cousin, her head erect, her eyes flashing, she demand- ed: ‘What right have you to speak about me like that, Laura? How dare you call me a mean, deceitful flirt?” “T have a right to say what I please, par- ticularly when I have such good proof!” re- torted Laura, “And if I choose to tell you that you are doing all in your power to come between me and Mr, Cennick, can you deny it?” ‘*T do deny it!” Leslie answered. But at the mention of Luke Cennick’s name her eyes fell beneath Laura’s penetrating gaze, and the color came and went in her face. ‘Really? I sincerely hope you are speak- ing the truth,” said her aunt, in hard, meas- ured tones, ‘‘I have been intending to speak to you on that subject for some days past, and I really must-tell you what I think of your conduct now. Your efforts to attract Mr. Cennick’s attentions are, I might almost say, disgusting, The way in which you look at him, and color up when he speaks to you, or when any one chances to make any allusion to him, makes me feel thoroughly ashamed for you! And then to-day I was more than sur- prised to see you walking with him in full view of all these houses, Where did you overtake him, may I ask?’ ‘‘He overtook me near the hotel, and asked if he might come with me,” Lestlie answered hotly.. ‘‘It surely is no great crime for a lady to let a gentleman walk a few hundred yards with her?” “Tt entirely depends on the circumstances; and believe me, Mr. Cennick would never have dreamed of doing so if you had not let him see how much you prized his society. Do not flatter yourself that you have the faintest chance of entrapping him, or inducing him to give up Laura for you. Every one sees how much he likes and admires her; and eyen if he did not, a man in his position would hardly stoop to marry a girl dependent on the bounty of others.” “Aunt!” commenced Lestlie, feeling that she must defend herself, but scarcely knowing how to do so. Mrs. Russel, however, had no wish to listen to any explanation, and cut her short at once. ‘‘No more discussion, if you please!” she said, coldly; ‘‘and if you take my advice you will spend half an hour or so in your own room, and when your passion has had time to cool you will, I am sure, understand how very foolish you have been.” Only too glad to escape, Lestlie was in the act of leaving the room, when a visitor, whose arrival none of them had noticed, appeared at the door. ‘‘Mr. Taylor!” announced the servant who had admitted him. With a quick glance Harold Taylor took in the appearance of each of the three occupants of the room. Mrs. Russel, with her haughty features, proud bearing, and the remains of past beauty of no mean order; Laura, very like her mo- ther in figure and features—a strikingly hand- some girl—with good eyes, rich, dark hair, | 5 A ‘sk : ‘ “ wet , =f il part ae lune 4 ‘ re wa She ) ie a Lo | Pe aE , Pal a ath Pg Sohn. ev } a an} ie b 4 we cry, ty ey ele | showed almost to a fault. Lestlie, in her dress of somber black, the tears glittering on her long lashes, her face all aflame with -passion ahd resentment, looking marvelously like the © little lady who, when last he had seen her, had called him a common, vulgar boy, and dared him to touch ber. He had come suddenly in on some family altercation—it needed but lit- tle observation to make that clear to him; and recalling what Doctor Milman had just been telling him, he rightly enough concluded that some vials of wrath had been poured out on Lestlie’s head. - a His name was no strange one to Mrs. Russel. Of late she had thought of him a good deal, — and frequently speculated as to what sort of man he would prove himself to be. She saw at once that he was not belonging to her. world; but conscious that he was possessed of - the more substantial nobility bestowed by wealth, she advanced to meet him with a gracious smile, held out her jeweled hand, and said, cordially; “We ar quaintance, Mr. Taylor. Lestlie, dear, come and speak to your cousin. Allow me to intro- duce you to my daughter, Laura.” The remembrance of her brother whom shé bad lost, who had died in making atonement for the injury he had done her, rushed over Lestlie’s mind. Silently she gave her hand to the man who had watched by him in his last moments, — Then, with a burst of weeping which sheno — longer had the power to control, rushed from the room. Harold Taylor stood silently looking after her. Thoughts of the past came crowding in on him, too; but, rousing himself by an effort, | he said: i ‘‘T hope you will excuse me for calling with- out having asked permission; but I was anxious to see my cousin, Miss Wheeler.” “There is no need whatever to make any — excuses,” answered Mrs, Russel, with more than usual suavity, taking note as she spoke of the clumsy way in which her visitor disem- barrassed himself cf his hat and cane, and how — awkwardly he held his hands. However, knowing that in Oceanville, at least, his wealth would introduce him to the best society, she’ thought it well not to be backward in bidding. him welcome to her house. ‘You are my dear Lestlie’s cousin,” she continued; “that alone makes me heartily glad to see you here. Poor girl! meeting you so suddenly rather un- nerved her. You must. not be offended with her, or mistake her emotion for a display of. any unfriendly feelings.” ‘Oh, certainly not!” answered he, thinking all the while what a hypocrite Mrs. Russel must be. : And so she was, in truth. Moreover, she fancied that by always speaking of Lestlie in the most affectionate terms she could deceive | the world in general, and lead every one to eas 4x9 YL Sa Sete = hat ae ‘ a x re and white, strong-looking teeth, which she. most happy to make your ace li RO 1: Late ee a Sti a ean A eat Berna a ty ie a a ly ps eieten | % ey aA a 5 ~ BAG ote suppose that she was the kindest and most sym-_ ‘ i pathetic of relatives. But it was noeasy task to throw dust into Harold Taylor’s eyes, an she did not impose on him in the least. Still, knowing that she had it in her power to prove. an invaluable friend to him, he pretended to __ believe everything she said, being resolved to interests. 2 He listened quietly to the many affectionate do all he possibly could to win ber over to bis a ; ¥ speeches which she made about Lestlie, and | then, with a candor partly natural, partly affected, began to tell her of his early life, making no effort whatever to disguise how low ab his origin had been. From him she learned much more of his — mother’s history than she had known before; _ but of his abortive journey to Thornhill House he said nothing, and touched very lightly on | the years passed at the diamond fields, and his — meeting there with Richard Wheeler. He was profuse in his expressions of gratitude to her for ber kindness to Lestlie; and then, with some — A
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ee ll ee a NE Aol aie. Se teen aE ere OP ah yee xe eae be Ay WAS) oN" eee ge Ores x: orien, ee: Gos 2 hese eee Pas Fg er ener hice Bee Ste .- Sapa ieee Ae age eae dee a eee “Mrs. Ruséel, seten something on my a canind, though Iam almost afraid you will be y wiih me forsaying it. You see, I am Sidabite’s relation almost as much as you are, and it doesn’t seem quite fair that you should have all the expense of keeping her. Will you let me give a trifle toward it—say, five hun- dred a year? I will look on it as the greatest possible favor you could show me, if you don’t ~ object.” ‘ Mrs. Russel drew a long breath, and did not answer for a few moments. An addition of five hundred a year to her income would be an inestimable boon. | And there could be no possible degradation in her accepting it, since Lestlie, and not she herself, would be the acknowledged recipient. There was a quick glance between her and ber daughter. She saw that Laura for one would not make any objection; the vision of a . new ball dress and a set of turquoise orna- ments, on which she had set her heart, floated before that young lady’s eyes as her mother -*. answered, slowly, ‘‘ Your offer is a most gener- ous one, Mr. Taylor, and I really think TI will accept it. I am not ashamed to acknowledge that Iam far from rich, and having another to feed and clothe in Addition to my own ' family is, of course, rather a drain. But I must ask you to let this business be a strictly tie private one; it would be hardly pleasant for _-—s Lestlie or for me to have it spoken about.” ‘There will be no need whatever to talk Rea _--——s about it,” answered Harold. yo And he thanked her warmly, and arranged ae — the first installment should be paid next te ‘Laura, will you see whether Lestlie feels i to seeing her cousin yet,” Mrs. Russel _ said, presently; then, turning to Harold, added: “ And we will say good-by to you for the - present, Mr. Taylor. My daughter and I have one or two visits to pay this afternoon; be- sides, Iam sure that poor Lestlie would far rather have you all to herself to-day.” CHAPTER IV. AN UNPLEASANT INTERVIEW. _. Her aunt’s summons had the effect of bring- Fe ing Lestlie almost immediately to the drawing- ‘Bacdliy had Harold Taylor felt less at his ease than when the pale,.sad-faced girl came into the room, and with a very palpable effort tos k calmly and steadily, said: _. “It-was very kind indeed of you to come to see me; and I must thank you for your lettar, too; but for it I might never have known what had become of my poor brother.” ad - She sat down, striving to conceal the tears Fee 5 gi would not be kept back. ele “Would you mind telliog me all that you gan remember aboutihim?” she said. “I want ‘80 much to know everything.” _ The same expression which had been totloed about half an hour before by Doctor Milman - and Captain Hammond passed over Harold’s face, and he said, shortly: oe DAT have little or nothing to tell. I knew ye hardly anything about your brother; it was _ only quite at the end that we camé at all in contact.” “$0 you said in your letter.” IT know I did; and having read that letter you know about as much as I do.” % ‘*Tt was very strange that you should have ‘ met him at all, Mr. Taylor, the cousin whom _ you had never even seen.” bad There was a scar on Harold’s forehead, left aa there by the cut he had received when flung to the ground by Richard Wheeler’s powerful | young arm; he passed his band across the _ place, smiled bitterly, and said, ‘‘ Many strange _ things have happened in this life, and I can _ remind you of a few. Was it not strange that your father should let bis only sister, my unfortunate mother, die in want and poverty? ae st 2% ane Is. _ Could the wealth, one fraction of which he | - ‘would not offer to save her life, be expected to | Did you tell him so?” _ prosper with bim or with his children? No; a did!” ye ea ) ¥ aa meh se re r : , +e) " ’ fans “te eax if. ae iH Bache 154 ed a 4 is oe iy Vv 4 ie: “i, PSs, ay Y vit ghia ah Rae re a Pe sper, & Pe Be Be ee, ANA ae aA Te eae ee. , eH ois ue oe py LOVE sf MOCKERY? his children ae the: harvest which he sowed; one died as Lizzie Taylor died, a home- less pauper; the other is doing what her son never stooped to do—living on her relations, and eating the bread of charity!” Lestlie dashed the tears from her eyes, and looked up at him. “Té you have only come to taunt and mock me, you had better have kept away!” she cried, passionately. “I thought my cousin was going to be my friend.” ‘And perhaps share some of his earnings with you? A little money would be accept- able to you now, I dare yay. And you shall have it, too, if you want it. I am willing to help you as your father never offered to help me.” “Do you mean to tell me that you have the presumption to suppose I would degrade my- self by accepting your bounty?’ exclaimed Lestlie in rising anger. ** You might just as well accept it from your father’s nephew as from your mother’s sister,” he said, quietly. ‘Mr. Taylor, leave the house instantly!” She rose and stood before him, every muscle of her face quivering with passion. The tall, slender figure seemed to grow taller still, the tears in her eyes changed to fire, and the blue yeins on her temples grew strongly visible through ber pure white skin. “ Are you going? Did you not hear?” she demanded, as Harold sat watching her, with- out showing the slightest sign of moving. “Yes, I heard you,” he answered; ‘‘and I am going presently; but there is something I want to say to you first. I have just been telling your aunt that it is my intention to allow her five hundred dollars a year toward your support. She accepted my offer, and right gladly, too, I can tell you.” “Mr. Taylor, not ove penny of your money shall ever be spent on me, and I look on that offer as an unpardonable insult.” ‘*Really! How proud and independent we are!” and he laughed long and loudly. ‘Come, Lestlie,” he continued, standing up and laying his hand on her arm, *‘remember that I am your cousin—one of your nearest relations, I am rich, you are poor, and if I choose to give you some of what I don’t want, you may as well take it, and say thank you.” ‘Let me gol” she commanded, trying to wrench away her arm from his grasp. But his band, accustomed as it was to wield the spade and ax, held her as in a vise, and no effort of hers could shake it off until he chose to release her. “Let me go this instant!” she commanded again. ‘'How dare you touch me?” “How dare I? I can dare a good deal, as you will find by-and-by. And now farewell, my fair cousin. Remember, my purse is at your disposal whenever you wish to make any calls on it.” He released her hand, and left her. Panting, breathless, indignant, she dashed up-stairs to her own room, locked the door, and flung herself sobbing on her bed. She knew of no reason why he should have spoken as he did, and her mind was in far too great a turmoil to understand his motives, but she felt that from henceforth she could never regard him but with hatred which would not be unmixed with fear. Before very long she heard Mrs. Russel’s step on the landing outside her door, and, still boiling over with anger and resentment, went at once to her. “ Aunt Sarah,” she asked, ‘did Mr. Taylor offer you money for me?” “Yes, Iam thankful to’say, he did,” her aunt replied. ‘‘He has shown himself gener- ous and considerate, and has expressed a wish to settle a certain sum yearly on you.” “T do not wish him to do anything of the kind, aunt.” és ‘And why not, pray?” “TI do not wish it—I will not have “ae a ih MRE a A a a a Re ee Pee Tr NY “Then I must say you have been extremely: foolish.” “No, aunt. That man heaped insult after insult on me, and then had the insolence to offer me money!”’ “Tnsult after insult! That is rather strong language, Lestlie. Come into my room, and explain exactly what you mean!” Poor Lestlie’s task was becoming a very hard one. She knew that she was about to engage in a battle with her aunt, and her chance of victory was not only uncertain, but almost hopeless. : ‘Now begin at the beginning, and tell me what he said to you, and what his so-called in- j sults were,” Mrs. Russel said, in her calm, business-like tones. “First of all, he said all the hard things he could about my father,” Lestlie commenced. ‘““Who treated his mother shamefully,” in- terrupted her aunt, ‘‘and it certainly is no wonder that he should feel very sore on that subject. Well, go on, Lestlie.” “ He said that Dick died a pauper!” cried the girl, growing desperate; “and that I was liv-— ing on charity |” *‘Then of course you flew into a passion, as usual, JT am afraid you will never learn to place any control on your temper.” “Can you blame me if I grew angry at that?” ‘Tt was natural, I suppose. None of us like to hear disagreeable truths put in a dis- | agreeable manner. And you quarreled _ wi a him then, I suppose?” . “T told him to go away.” “Polite of you, certainly. Your manners. could not bave been much better than his, which I must say might be considerably im- proved. And what did he do then?’ “He laughed at me.” ‘¢ Well, such an exhibition of temper must have been rather entertaining. And when he had finished laughing, what happened?” “He caught hold of my arm and told me that his purse was at my disposal, and then went away.” ** And is that all?” “All! Is it not enough?” ‘Quite enough to show what an extremely silly girl you are. Here you are, without any fortune whatever, and you have a rich cousin whose mother your father treated vilely, and instead of bearing you any ill-will, he comes . forward in the most generous manner to do for | you what your father never thought of doing for him or his. You know, too, how very badly off Tam, and what an expense you are to me; and instead of being grateful to Mr. Taylor and thankful for my sake, you call his kindness an insult, and treat him with rude- ness and the grossest ingratitude.” | ‘Aunt Sarah, I know perfectly well he did not mean it out of kindness,” cried Lestlie, ve- hemently. ‘‘If, he had, he never would have spoken as he did. Besides—” ‘*There, that will do, Lestlie,” her aunt ex- claimed, decidedly. ‘‘ What other motive but kindness could he possibly have? I feel very | sorry, indeed, that a niece of mine should have shown such an utter want of good breeding. It is a great trial to me that you should have inherited so much of your father’s want of re- finement and so little of his common sense. How can you ever expect to make or keep friends if you treat people as you treated Mr. 4 Taylor to-day? If you would only be a little | more polite to him and slightly less gushing to Mr. Cennick, it would be a decided improve- ment.” ‘ Lestlie clinched her teeth to keep back the angry retort which had almost escaped her, and silently left the room, Night came, bringing with it the storm which had been threatening all day. Hour after hour Lestlie lay awake, listening to the roarof - the thunder and the fierce dashing of the rain against her window, trying to find some way out of the labyrinth of difficulties which sur- __ rounded her, and resolving that, no matter what sriaaayts she might meet with, sho As ngs
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1 would insist on Pas har sais scad sooner than submit to the indignity which Harold Taylor was trying to thrust upon her. The F idea of taking some situation where she could earn her own living was no new one to her, and more than once she had suggested it to her aunt, only to be told that such a thing was not to be thought of for a moment, Now, bow- ever, she firmly resolved that nothing should prevent her from carrying her project into execution, and that with as little delay as pos- sible. “‘T should have gone away long ago,” she said to herself. ‘Any life would be better 3 than the one I have led with ber. Oh! I wish I could leave this place to-morrow, and never, never come back again! Then Laura could have Luke Cennick all to herself, and nothing more to fear from me.” And then before her mind there arose the \ picture of the gay scene in which Laura was } at that moment partaking. Laura raising her lustrous eyes to Luke Cennick’s face, giving him her sweetest smiles and softest accents; 5 Laura, looking handsomer than ever, with the F ‘ erimson flowers in her full, dark hair, the io queer of the ball by reason of the admiration offered her by him. A very sickness of misery was over her; a blank, a chaos of agony, a dull, dead hopeless- ness. Life, that had once looked so fair and joyous, was all darkness and desolation now. In the black clouds which bung around her one smooth resting-place. CHAPTER V. FOR HER LOST LOVE. THINKING quietly over her conversation with her niece, Mrs. Russel came to the con- clusion not to press on ber the subject of Ha- rold Taylor’s offer. It would, she argued, only serve to rouse in her the spirit of opposi- tion, which she knew Lestlie to p-ssess in no small degree, give rise to frequent uitercations between them, and perhaps, in the end, drive her to open rebellion. Harold’s proposition had been to pay the money into her hands, and not into Lestlie’s, What, then, was there to hinder her from taking it without the girl’s knowledge, who, under these circumstances, would have no idea that she was one whit the less under the same obligation to her aunt than before? Thus, by a little dexterous management, the wealthy cousin could be conciliated, and the five hundred a year secured; while the seeming compliance with Lestlie’s wishes would render her all the more anxious to prove her gratitude by losing no opportunity of making herself of use. She and Lestlie breakfasted together; Laura fatigued by the night’s dancing, did not make her appearance until some time after the bell had rung. At first, Lestlie was silent and constrained, feeling that she was in disgrace, and not know- ’ ing what tone her annt would take with her; ‘but Mrs. Russel’s manner was much the same — as usual, and perhaps a slight degree more eee cordial. “‘T wonder whether we shall see your cousin to-day, Lestlie?” she said, as though making the most casual of observations, “‘T sincerely hope not!” answered Lestlie. “Something tells me that I shall like him very much,” Mrs. Russel continued, not appear- K ing to notice her niece’s reply. “He is such an original!—so unlike any one we ever met before?” “T told you yesterday what I thought of him, aunt; and have discovered no reason for changing my opinion since!” “‘T trust these feelings will not last. Believe me, you do very wrong to encourage them. - But as you have such a decided objection to Sete accepting anything from him, we will say Re ae more on the pga for the present,” ~ S = y aN =, A heavy itch seemed lifted Sen anatiers heart. ‘“Oh, aunt! I cannot tell you how much obliged I am!” she exclaimed, presently. ‘“ The idea of such a thing made me so miserable!” “Then do not feel miserable any longer; but I repeat you are an extremely foolish girl, and you will agree with me in time. Money is not so plenty that people can afford to refuse it as you are doing.” Lestlie, speaking quickly and nervously, said: ** Aunt, I have made up my mind not to be a burden to you any longer. I am going to take the first post as governess that I can hear of. It really is the best thing for me todo. Both you and Laura are tired of me, and I cannot bear to stay where I am not wanted.” * Lestlie, I request, as a special favor, that you will never allude to that mad project again! No niece of mine shall degrade herself by turn- ing governess so long as I can prevent it! I have told you so more than once; and what is the use of making me say so again?” “‘T supposed that you might have changed your mind since, aunt; and I would far rather work for my own support than remain with people who have no welcome for me!” ‘‘How can you say that, Lestlie? You know perfectly well it is not true. Did I not tell you when your parents died that I wished you to | look on my house as your home?” | there was not one bright spot; in the rugged | Lestlie, I am ata loss to know how to deal with path which her weary feet had to tread, not you! ‘* But I was rich then.” Mrs. Russel’s brow darkened. ‘Really, If my motives had been such as you in- sinuate, would I have given in to you now about Mr. Taylor, or oppose your becoming a governess?” To this argument Lestlie had no answer, and her heart smote her as she recalled all her bit- ter thoughts about her aunt the night before. Did it not seem now that she had been judg- ing her far too hardiy? What right had she to feel anything but gratitude toward her for re- nouncing so solid an advantage, to gratify what she evidently looked on as an absurd whim? And yet there was a vague, uneasy feeling in her heart, a something which told her that she ought honestly and plainly acknowledge to her aunt how unhappy she had been under her roof, and that to remain there longer than was absolutely necessary she would not. “ And now have I set your mind at rest about my wishing to keep you with me?” asked Mrs, Russel. ‘‘ Are you quite satisfied that Iam not anxious to get rid of you?” Longing for courage to say no, Lestlie an- swered yes, thus setting the final seal on her thralldom. “fam heartily glad of it,” said her aunt, with unaffected warmth; ‘‘and now my dear child, I want you to promise that in future you will treat your cousin more politely than you did yesterday.” ‘*T will try to be polite to him as long as he leaves me in peace,” ‘*Leaves you in peace! Do you suppose that it is his intention to persecute you?” Lestlie hung her head, and did not answer for a moment, then said: “‘And will you let him know what we have settled about?” ‘“ About the money? Yes, certainly. He will probably call to-day or to-morrow, and I will tell him in as friendly a manner as possi- ble.” Nothing more was said, for just then Laura came into the room. Looking rather fagged and sleepy, she took her place at the breakfast-table, having wished her mother and cousin a somewhat languid ** G@ood-morning.” “Did you enjoy yourself muck last night, Laura?” Lestlie asked. ‘“‘Oh, yes, thanks; very much indeed!” “You look rather tired.” *‘T am rather tired. I danced a great deal.” ‘And you had pleasant partners, I hope?” Mrs. Russel inquired, who, having secured the services of another chaperon for Laura, had ses Mrs. gine 8 in sitesion es herself, ae. = “Is. LOVE A “MOCKERY? ‘‘Tolerably,” Laura answered; then she- added, watching Lestlie closely as she spoke: “Mr, "Cennick was decidedly the one that I preferred. He made me keep nearly all the . waltzes for him, and as he was by far Saf. peat: Laura’s statement was rather an exaggera- tion. She had danced but twice with Luke Cennick. * Lestlie, however, did not know that, and a> pang of jealous pain shot through her heart, ‘“‘Have you any plans for to-day?” asked Mrs. Russel. “Not for the afternoon—it will probably be - too hot todo much; but Mr. Cennick wants — am me to go out with bim in his yacht for an hour _ or so in the evening. Mrs. Bonar and Captain Hammond are coming too,” ; Another look at Lestlie, who had her eye steadily fixed on her plate. “i Notwithstanding Laura’s declaration that eo she had enjoyed the ball so much, she was far from being in good spirits that morning. Rest- __ lessly she wandered from room to room, u unable — to fix her attention on work or books; giving —° short, petulant answers when spoken to; and having an uneasy, worried look, which pointed — bY os plainly to a mind ill at ease. = ‘oe “Tam tired—my head is aching,” was the reason which she gave her mother when sb inquired what was wrong. “Then lie down for a couple of hours,” Mrs. ; Russel said, “and try to get rid of those black — rings round your eyes before this evening-;- they are far from becoming.” Early in the afternoon Harold Taylor : called, and was received by Mrs. Russel alone. | Their interview must have been highly satis- factory, to judge at least by the amiable nels with which she greeted Leslie, who, i dience to a message sent her, joined. them in : about half an hour. Harold met her with the most respectful po- oe liteness. Not an allusion was made to the ob- _ ject of his visit; and Lestlie, remembering hor. aunt’s injunction, did all in her power to give A no sigu of the aversion with which she regard- — ed him. tae Mrs. Russel’s graciousness could not have been surpassed, and before he left he had been = pressed to come often—very often—to her Sit house, : He had accepted an invitation to spend thie a: following evening there, and had promised to ~~ organize a series of picnics ‘‘ for his and Lest- coe: lie’s special benefit,” she said. . fp Lestlie, meanwhile, sat silent, and listened, a 8 wondering how it would all end—how would be able to endure constant contact witt one to whom she had taken so sudden and D-. i conquerable a dislike; wondering, too, bow We was that ber aunt, cold and proud as she was, could take such pains to please a man who was _ vulgar-looking, vulgar-mannered—rich indeed, _ but none the less an illiterate grocer’s son, _ ss Th As soon as Harold Taylor was gone, Mrs. Rus- _ sel went up to her daughter’s room, Thedoap, was not locked, and she turned the handle qui- etly and went noiselessly in, __ dead og ee Laura was not lying down, as she per Lee to find her, but was seated at a table in one . corner of the room, an open writing-desk be- fore her, and a number of letters lying scat- tered about. 2 afk 2 It was not on one of the letters, however, — that her eyes were fixed so intently, but. on a photograph representing a handsome, manly — visage—a face full of Lope, life and energy, — with eager, intelligent eyes, a high, broad ~ forehead, and a proud, sensitive mouth, Ata — glance, Mrs. Russel recognized it. Richard — Wheeler had been no stranger to her, and sas time was when she had desired no more, . brilliant future for her daughter than to be- | j come his wife. But with the change in his, prospects her wishes changed too, The ir) of Thornhill House and the fertile acres W ‘ich surrounded it was one person—the uined speculator quite another. ae 4 Laura!” es ‘said, rE cid oh Are eee ee
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picts under some of the a papers in _ her desk, “What are you doing here?’ asked her “mother. nea ‘Whose’ through some old letters,” “ Whose letters?” “Dick Wheeler’s,” she answered; and then, to her mother’s utter amazement, ‘buried her ins tace i in her hands and sobbed aloud. _ “Taura, what can be the meaning of this? ae cannot understand it,” Mrs. Russel exclaim- — 4 - Laura choked back her sobs, and began rapid- dy to gather up the scattered letters. - “You hardly. expected to find me making such a fool of myself, mamma,” she said bit- terly, ‘but with painfully quivering lips. ‘“ But I did care for Dick Wheeler very much; and [ ‘know that I shall never, like any one else ~ half so well.” Mrs. Russel’s thin lips closed so tightly that they looked only like a faint red line; then x they parted again, and she asked, shortly, “And since when have you made that all im- ‘portant discovery?” _ “tT knew it from the beginning, mamma. _ And—and it was you who first made me think of liking him.” “How obedient you were!” sneered her -. ‘mother. “What a pity that you were not ie we when I desired you to give him Rae “And what a pity that your theory of om being able to give and take back love at sure does not always prove correct!” answered. “ Nonsense!” exclaimed Mrs. Russel. “The idea of a young woman of two-and-twenty talk- _ ing like a romantic school-girl of fifteen! And so you have been keeping up a clandestine cor- 2spondence with that young spendthrift— ,at worthless, unprincipled—” “Hush, ‘mamma—hush! Don’t speak of m like that; I cannot bear it! There is nothing to be gained by saying hard things of him now. He is dead, poor fellow!” “And society in general has not suffered a iC ey at loss,” supplemented her mother. Now, if you please, I would like to know the ra 1 extent of this romantic folly. Does Lest- anything of it?” y She. knew that I was engaged to him i that all?” “-Yes—all.” “Good!” answered Mrs. Russel. But she would have been far less content mye confessed to her how, on the even- g of the day that Richard Wheeler left Amer- : ibe had flung her arms round Lestlie’s k sobbing out: Oh, what shall I do if he never comes ' love ‘him so, Lestlie—oh, I love him . hi at was the last confidence which had ed between the cousins; and as though iting Lestlie’s knowledge of her secret, ‘had ever since treated her with cold- sand unkindness; often, as she listened to e flattering speeches of some admirer, almost ating her for looking at her with those re- op aehy jing so startlingly like her broth- Ga she hated her now, while telling her -a direct falsehood when, in reply to n, she answered, ‘‘ Yes; all.” Mr. Taylor—I hope he never heard?” = to be talking about poor Dick, © Mr. ' having come here must have put them 28 could hear his name distinctly. Oh, look quite as if I did not care in Tt sapere to bring back the whole I cannot oat thinking of .d the tears aed into er eyes nen to hear | sel said. ‘“A daughter of yours would hardly forget herself so far as to do that!” Laura answered, with much covert sarcasm in her tone. “Hardly,” her mother returned, coldly. “And since you loved this young man so de- votedly, I presume you were engaged to him still up to the end. You will probably tell me next of your determination to remain single for his sake. I shall not be in the least sur- prised at anything I hear now. I only wish I had known a little sooner, and I would not have taken all the trouble I did to throw you and Mr. Cennick together.” .. “T did not keep on the engagement!” cried Laura, as indignantly as though she bad been aceused of some heinous crime. ‘‘ What barm can my liking him do any one? It certainly will not prevent my accepting Luke Cennick, if Lestlie does not keep him from asking me to marry him. I would not acknowledge it to her, but he hardly came near me last night. a Lestlie will not interfere with you now, I can answer for that,” said Mrs. Russel. _CHAPTER VI. HER SAORIFICE. At about six o’clock that same evening Luke Cennick walked quickly up the hill toward Mrs. Russel’s house. He had just called at Mrs. Bonar’s and been told that she and Captain Hammond had gone for Miss Russel, leay- ing a message for him that if he went on to the place where the yacht was moored, they would follow him there. That message he had disre- garded for reasons of his own, and was making what haste he could lest he should not reach the house before the party had started for the place of meeting. ‘*T mean to see her and make her come with us,” he was saying to himself. ‘‘I will not go at all unless she does.” It was of Lestlie that he was thinking—Lest- lie, so different from the bright, willful beauty whom he had once loved—loved still, and would love forever. Some bantering remarks made in his hearing the day before had opened his eyes to the fact that rumor had begun to couple his name with that of Laura Russel. Surprised and annoyed at first, a little con- sideration had shown him how much cause he had given for the reports which were afloat. He really did like Laura, and when Lestlie was not present preferred her company to that of almost any other lady of his acquaint- ance, He saw now that he had suffered this feeling to carry him far beyond the bounds of pru- dence, He was not a vain man, but as a thousand little incidents which had happened of late oc- curred to his mind, a vague terror thrilled through him that while he merely looked on Laura as an agreeable friend, she might have been thinking of him as something more, How often had he gone to the house in the hope of seeing Lestlie, but though disappointed by her non-appearance, had out-stayed the limits of any ordinary visit, talking to Laura! How many excursions he had planned, calcu- lating on Lestlie’s being of the party, and when she did not come had turned to Laura as a substitute! At the ball last night he had felt in no humor to seek her society, and had held himself as much aloof as common courtesy would allow. But bow strange it had seemed to him to do so, and he could not but note how her eyes fol- lowed him, as | though in mute inquiry why he was not atvher side; he noted, too, how wearied and harassed she looked as the night wore on, and once he heard how heavily she sighed as he passed close by her. A sting of remorseful shame kept festering in his heart as he thought of these things, all be heen ape as he ‘was of the fact that while 5 d- were centered in him, ned to the good sense not to make a scene,” Mrs. Rus- Bed bourke of a’ | men will take good rer uiee eel lover, foverdtritken and dying ‘beneath an African sun, “T have been both rhed and blind,” he said to himself, as he strode along. ‘‘ Heaven grant that it may not be too late to put an end to this horrible misunderstanding!” Whether there was any hope of his being able to win Lestlie he did not know; but he was determined henceforth to let it be plainly seen that she, and she alone, was the attraction which brought, him to Mrs. Russel’s house. When he entered the pretty flower-scented drawing-room, he was met by Laura with that look of glad, eager welcome which she always gave him now. She and her mother were standing in the center of the room, talking to Mrs, Bonar and Captain Hammond; while, at some little dis- tance, apparently unnoticed by all the rest, sat Lestlie, her head bent low over her work. ““T suppose you were afraid Miss Russel would not come unless you fetched her your- self,” laughed Mrs. Bonar, the gay, dashing young wife of a retired merchant, a man old enough to be her father. ‘* However, she is quite ready, you see. Shall we go at once now?” Luke, however, appeared not to hear her, and crossed the room to where Lestlie sat. “Are you not coming with us?’ he asked. “We are going out in the Fairy Queen for a couple of hours.” She started, colored painfully, looked up for a moment, then her eyes fell again, and she an- swered shortly, ‘* No!” ““Oh, yes, you must, Miss Wheeler. You cannot surely think of remaining indoors an evening like this, Get your hat at once. Please do.” Lestlie could not forbear one giance at the sunlit sea, dotted all over with little boats and yachts, with their white glistening sails; but, instead of moving, she shook her head and went on with her work, Luke bent over her chair, and said again, “You must come, Miss Lestlie. refusal.” “Thank you, I would rather not,” Lestlie an- swered, coldly and stiffly. **T am not going unless you do,” urged Luke. **T cannot see why that should make any dif- ference,” was Lestlie’s rejoinder, in the same chilling tones. “What is the matter?’ asked Mrs. Russel, coming toward them. ‘Do you know that they are waiting for you, Mr. Cennick?’ ‘Tam trying to persuade Miss Wheeler to join our party,” Luke answered. ‘‘She has refused me, but perhaps if you will kindly use your influence, she may change her mind.” “Miss Wheeler would not refuse if she had the slightest wish to go,” Mrs, Russel said cold- ly. ‘What would you like to do, Lestlie, dear? _ You have only to please yourself, you know.” “Tam not going, aunt.” “How hard-hearted you are!” exclaimed Luke. ‘“‘ You know that I have pledged my- self not to go without you, and I am longing for a sail this evening.” “T am sorry you have deprived yourself of that pleasure on my account, Mr. Cennick. It was quite unnecessary.” “Then you still persist in remaining at home?” “Certainly I do.” He turned on his heel, and rejoined the others. There was a well-satisfied look on Mrs. Rus. sel’s face. which, however, quickly changed to extreme annoyance as she heard him say, “I regret very much that I must break my en- gagement with you, ladies; but Miss Wheeler will not come with us, and I have said that I would not go unless she did.” “How tiresome!” exclained Mrs, Bonar, “Oh, Mr. Cennick, you can not possibly be serious?” “* Perfectly serious; but, of course, my yacht is at your disposal. Captain Hammond will be with you, and Ben Lockhart ai! the bis NE ee ey eens I will take no —
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| | , Lat “ ! : .~ : 4 * ay _ Succeeded in. making matters worse. a » * x; "2 ye a h wi 1] > NT Nika Posey ie ¥ : aA hs; _ Conquer in the end.” ee — **Do you think I would trust myself to them you were not there? Miss Wheeler, you really must come. Say you will; please do. I am sure you would enjoy it.” “hank you, but I would rather not.” - ‘Do you dislike yachting?” Lestlie hesitated, and then answered, with _ perfect truth: ‘* No.” \ ‘*Then why will you not come?” 1 ** Because I do not wish it.” 4 “How disobliging!” muttered Laura, casting & wrathful look at Lestilie, “TLestlie can be very self-willed if she - pleases,” Mrs. Russel said. ‘I think you had better arrange your plans without any refer- ence to her.” “Let us go for a walk then,” suggested Mrs, Bonar. ‘You have recorded no vow against that, Mr. Cennick, I suppose?” “ Not that I am aware of,” he answered, stiffly. “Let it be a walk, then. Of course, we can not ask for the pleasure of Miss Wheeler’s com- pany, for fear of another ‘I would rather not!” _ Lestlie did not answer, neither did she look up. As they were leaving the room she bowed Slightly in acknowledgment of Captain Ham- mond’s “‘ Good-evening, Miss Wheeler.” Neither Luke nor Mrs. Bonar spoke to her again. _“ How very tiresome your cousin is!” said Mrs. Bonar to Laura, as they were leaving the house. > _ “Very!” rejoined Laura, inwardly rejoicing in the thought that Luke should have seen Lest- lie in such an unamiable light; glad, too, that a walk had been substituted for the sail, calculat- ing that since Captain Hammond would un- doubted]y devote himself to Mrs. Bonar, she would enjoy a more complete monopoly of bis ' society. “Yes; she is often very tiresome,” she add- ed, addressing Mrs. Bonar, but meaning the re- _ mark to be heard by other ears, ‘‘T am not in the least surprised at Miss Wheeler for being tiresome this evening,” said Luke, quietly. “She probably did not care to join our party on my invitation alone.” “But I asked her too!” cried Mrs, Bonar. ' “Oh, certainly you did,” answered Luke; “and your invitation was quite a cordial one. Good-evening.” “ Are you not coming with us?” “No, thank you. Good-by.” And soon he left them, angry with himself, angry with Lestlie, angry with every one else; _ discontented, as people naturally are, who, hay- ing intended to act wisely and well, have only He had suffered himself to drift with the current so long that he knew it would be no easy matter to turn back now, and his first effort had re- sulted in a signal failure, Laura Russel did not enjoy her walk much that evening, nor did her presence by any means add to the pleasure of her companions. Captain Hammond and Mrs, Bonar were such - good friends that the gossips of Oceanville used to shake their heads meaningly when they spoke _ of them, and to form a third with such friends is rarely agreeable. There was little affection in her nature, and that little had been all expended on Richard _ Wheeler; but dearer than love and faith, and Sweeter far than the memory of the past, was ther ambitious dream of reigning as mistress in the great halls of the stately mansion of which uke Cennick was master. Her jealous eye had long since discovered that he thought far more about Lestlie than of her, and that very knowledge made her all the More determined to have her way. __ “She shall have a hard fight beforé she takes him from me,” she said to herself, as she walked Silently and moodily along the breezy beach. ‘It will be strange if mamma and I cannot ___Lestlie, meanwhile, was passing through one _ Of the many wretched hours which formed so eee portion of ber young life. She had n "4 \ A story of how Mr. | >) acted her part well. .In anger she had driven him from her; he would hardly venture near her again, after the reception which she had ac- corded him that evening. ‘‘Laura and aunt Sarah ought to be content now,” she thought, bitterly, ‘I wonder whether they will accuse me again of trying to flirt with him?” CHAPTER VII. A FALSE RUMOR, “T WILL see Lestlie to-day, and know my fate at once,” Luke Cennick said to himself next morning. ‘‘I have waited too long as it is. If I had not beea such a simpleton, I should have spoken to her weeks ago. I should have had a much better chance then than now, However, I am not going to lose any more time. Yes; I will go to her to-day.” But scarcely was his resolution formed, when he found that it would be out of the question to put it into execution, for the letter he was in the act of opening contained the news that a secretary in whom he had placed implicit but, as now appeared, unmerited confidence, had absconded, probably robbing him consider- ably. It was absolutely necessary for him to return home immediately, for without his presence on the spot it would be impossible to ascertain the full extent of the man’s guilt, or to take the proper steps for tracking him and recovering any of the stolen property. There was no help for it, he must leave at once, for there was but one train from Ocean- ville which would enable him to reach home within the day; and in order to be in time to catch that train he must be on his way to the station in less than half an hour. So he had to leave the place without seeing her; and after the manner in which she had treated him -the day before, he told himself that he could not venture to write—that his only chance would be to stand face to face with her, pleading his own cause, overcoming all her objections, explaining away any wmis- understandings which had arisen, and reso- lutely persisting in taking no answer but the one he wished for. He must wait; and by waiting, under the present circumstances, no very great harm could be done. In three or four days at the furthest he would be in Oceanville, and then would set himself to win the prize he so coveted, A few days was all he calculated on, but more than a month passed before he was at liberty to return. Over and over again he had said to himself, ‘‘To-morrow; I can go back to- morrow.” But when the morrow came, some new difficulty arose—some new business that must of necessity be attended to; and thus, always hoping and always disappointed, the time passed on, and the month of September had almost run its course before the much wished-for day of release came, Doctor Milman was one of the first persons whom he saw on leaving the train at the Ocean- ville Station; and Doctor Milman, hearty, talk- ative, and overflowing with gossip, as usual, came forward to welcome him back at once, ‘Delighted to see you, old fellow—I really am!” he exclaimed. ‘‘We thought you were going to desert us altogether, You have been such an age away, and missed the pleasantest part of the season too, I can tell you! Inever remember having had such a jolly time in Oceanville. By the way, have you heard the latest?” “T have not heard a word of news since I went away,” answered. Luke, ‘‘so I must look to you to tell me everything. Just let me send an expressman up to the hotel with my things, and then we can walk there together.” Luke Cennick’s baggage was collected and dispatched, and wondering whether be was going to hear anything that would interest him, he walked on beside the doctor. There was a good deal to tell. There had been balls, dances, and picnics without number, one marriage, some engagements, and a long ir had turned Captain ‘ > _ 4 ax F » v Hammond out of his house, and ordered him | never to set foot inside his doors again. } fe To all this Luke listened, waiting with — all the patience he could command for some account of the Russel party. It came at last. “T expect Miss Laura has been wearing the willow for some one,” Doctor Milman wenton, _ furtively watching Luke as he spoke. “She - goes out very little now, and when she does, | hardly ever looks as if she were enjoying her- self. Fancy, do you say? Oh, yes; of course _ it may be fancy; but others have made the same remark, I can tell you. And Lestlie ~ Wheeler—well, I wonder whether you will believe me whenI tell you what they say about her?’ f “What do they say of her?’ asked Luke, . eagerly, ¥ “This.” And he spoke the words slowly, making a little pause after each, ‘‘ They say she is engaged to be married to that under- » bred cousin of ‘hers, Harold Taylor.” *‘Then they lie!” Oe &, “My dear fellow, how can you tell? He is as rich as Croesus; and nine girls out of tenare © only too ready and willing tomarry for money | nowadays; though I must say I did not think — Lestlie Wheeler was one of that sort. Any- how, he is at her aunt’s house day after day. He keeps his horses here and takes her out rid- ing, and I hear Mrs. Russel is doing all in her power to make up the match. But I say, Cen- — nick, where are you going? That is notthe ~ way to the hotel!” a Luke Cennick stood still, looked at his comt — panion like a man in a dream, and said, ‘‘ Don’t mind me, Milman, You may as well go back to the hotel. I will follow youinafew min- utes.” dae He strode up the hil], and Doctor Milman looked thoughtfully after him. “I was afraid of it!” he muttered. “ ; fellow! he is rather hard hit, but he’ll get over _ it in time; and, after all, he must be nothing short of a fool! If he wanted the girl, why. didn’t he ask her in time? She would not have =H said no, or my name isn’t Philip Milman,” oS Luke Cennick’s one thought was to see Lest-. _ lie, and see her he did. ne, Standing in the road, just in front of her aunt’s house, her hand resting on the neck of as perfect a horse as any lady ever rode; a > rich color, brought there by excitement and exercise, in her cheeks; ber eyes raised to Harold Taylor’s face, who, holding the bridle _ of his own horse, was standing befcre her. They had evidently just returned from their. ride; and when, in a minute or two, she went neat into the house, she did not shake hands with = = him, but parted from him as from one whom, she was sure of meeting again that day. i ee Luke she did not seeat all, and he wasthank- ful for it. He could not have endured tohaye spoken to her just then. ie Mrs. Russel soon heard of Luke Cennick’s return, and forthwith she sent him anotecon- taining a pressing invitation for that evening, = His first thought was to refuse; butthe hope “ODE tate * of being able to discover how much truth =~ there was in what Doctor Milman had told him about Lestlie induced him to change bis mind. ro i eo He could not bring himself to believe it, and yet the first person whom he met on entering the drawing-room was Harold Taylor. vp It was Harold who sat next to her at table, — Harold who insisted on her singing, and who turned over the pages of her music. - Bah res He constantly spoke to her, and referred to her as ‘‘Lestlie;” and Lestlie bore it all quiet-_ ly, but whether willingly or unwillingly he could not decide. With ever-increasing impatience, Luke watched for the moment when be could saya = few words to her unheard by the rest; but fate seemed against him, atk at Pig ©: The time slipped by—in a few minuteshe == would have to say good-night—and he was be- ginning to fear that he would have to leave the, __ house with his object unaccomplished. = i ee +? i ae 2 * Ps rele sme! ar:
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oe adte at the piano, habhing through a bril- liant rondeau; Mrs. Russel and Harold Taylor engaged in a low-toned conversation; Lestlie seated in the deep bay-window, partly con- - eealed by the blue chintz curtains. The golden opportunity had come at last; -. and leaving his post beside the piano, he came over to ber. “Well, Miss Lestlic, how has the world been _ treating you since?” he asked, trying to speak _ lightly, and to conceal the eagerness which he felt. him with an expression of calm inquiry. _ Luke felt his cheeks grow warm. © — Since I saw you last,” he answered. “Counting the time by your absence, very well,” she answered. Luke stooped to pick up the broken petals of a rose which had fallen from her dress, and _ then sat down beside her. ; “The world has been troubling itself a good ' deal about your affairs,” he said, fixing his eyes searchingly on her. “Tn what way?” “By arranging a most brilliant marriage for you.” He saw how the blood rushed to her face, and then receded, leaving it as colorless as the __ white rose-leaves in his hand. “Ts it true?” he asked. “ No. ” The word was not spoken above a whisper, but it was resolutely and firmly uttered. ‘Then why should they say such a thing of _ you, Lestlie?” - $She glanced round the room as a frightened : 2 animal might do to see whether there was any fear of its place of refuge being attacked; then oe - she said, quickly and nervously: Rt ! d “T never knew that such a thing was said; - indeed I did not, But I was afraid of it; I was almost sure it would. It is not my fault; a ng eannot help it.” Tf you do not wish it, why do you not prevent his being so much with you?” “How can I? He is always coming here. Don’t say anything more about him. Pkg He is watching us.” -_ Luke followed the direction of her eyes. _ Harold Taylor was watching them; so, too, was her aunt. He knew full well that his moments alone with Lestlie were growing very few, and he i said, eagerly: pone aT could not rest until I knew whether it could be possible that they spoke the truth, _ Can you not guess why, Lestlie? Fi “understand how miserable I was about you?” ; - Mr. Cennick,” exclaimed Mrs, Russel, ee “Mr, Taylor wishes so much to get up a pic- a nic to Long Beach! Come here, and let us talk it over. We want you to take us in your yacht.” , In obedience to her call, he rose and joined her. Lestlie slipped noiselessly away, and crept to her own little silent chamber. ‘There, on her knees, the moonlight resting ; dpetiiiy. on her bowed head, she murmured over and over again, ‘Oh, heaven, I thank + » “ : CHAPTER VIII. HAD HE A HEART? _ Mr, Taytor wishes to see you fora few ‘minutes. He hopes you will excuse his com- ing ‘so early, but it is about business,” — spoke Mrs. Russel’s trim waitress next ‘morning before breakfast was much more than half over, and like a sudden shot the words “Smal bd into Lestlie’s heart. oo Z A great happiness was.over the girl, as well Ss great fear. ing thoughts, and of every one of which Harold Taylor formed no small part. ~ Do what ‘she would, try as she would, is as not able to keep him at a distance. No “Since when?’ asked Lestlie, looking up at | Can you not | er mind was burdened with many perplex- j ee no coolness seemed to daunt him. aoe conduct was a Haale and his manner intoler- able, It was not so on their first meeting; then he was polite and respectful. He brought her presents, which, let her re- fuse them never so often, aided by her aunt, he always ended by forcing her to accept. If he wished to make her do anything, he invariably succeeded. If he asked her to ride with him, she had to go; to walk with him—it was just the same. If she appealed to her aunt, she was merely reminded that he was her cousin, and that it would show a great want of good taste not to be on friendly terms with him. Then came the rumor that they were likely to become more than friends to each other; but as rumor is generally long in reaching the ears of those most concerned, she had no certain knowledge of what was being said about her until she beard it from Luke Cennick the night before. To hear sucha thing, and from him—oh, hor- ror! But he did not, and would not believe it; and why need she trouble about it now? Did not Luke Cennick love her?—had she not heard al- most as much from his own lips? To-day—yes, this very day—most certainly he would tell her the rest of the old, old story. And it was of this old, old story that Lestlie Wheeler was thinking as ber aunt went to find out what Harold Taylor’s business was; and she was thinking of it still when, nearly an hour later, a messenger boy came up to the house with a letter in his hand, She did not see him, but Mrs, Russel, com- ing out of the drawing-room, found Laura in the hall, and saw the boy turning away from the door. “* What is it?’ she asked. ‘* Look,” returned Laura, holding the letter so that she could read the address. _ “For Lestlie?’ said her mother. “Yes; and from Luke Cennick,” added Laura, “* Are you certain?” ‘Perfectly. I know his handwriting as well as I know yours. Besides, the messenger said it was from him.” “ Where is Lestlie, Laura?” “In her room. I suppose I had better take her this precious epistle?”’ ‘No; there is no need to give it to her yet. Go into the dining-room, Laura; I will be with you in a moment, I must send her to Mr. Taylor.” i What does Mr. Taylor want, mamma?’ “What I have been expecting for some time. He wishes to marry Lestlie,” ‘*She won’t have him.” *T think she will—that is, with a little management, There, take that letter, and wait for me in the dining-room.” “Mind, you are to give it into Miss Wheel- er’s own hands,” Luke had said to the boy to whom he had intrusted his letter, ‘‘ You are to ask to see her, and not let any one else have it. Remember, now.” “Yes, sir,” the boy ‘bad said; and when Luke saw him next, and asked him’ whether he had given the letter to Miss Wheeler, he said again, ‘‘ Yes, sir.” Tommy Peters, unfortunately, disliked trouble extremely, and had very little regard for the truth; but Luke Cennick did not know that Harold Taylor was sitting by a table in the center of the room when Lestlie came in, bending over a number of loose papers which were lying before him. He stood up as she entered, and offered her his chair, but quickly gathered up the papers |, and laid them on one side, **My aunt said that you wanted to see me Mr. Taylor,” she murmured. ' He always called her by ber Christian name, but she still persisted in adhering to the more formal mode of address. ‘ “Yes; there are a few documents here that I want you bk od See with me—this, tor eee Ae swered, Witha wilepled look in her eyes, she glanced over the sheet of blue paper which he gave | her, A printed name which she had never be- fore heard of on the top, and that of her brother, in writing, under it; written in a mercantile hand at one side, cclumns of figures marked pounds, shillings, and pence at the other. “Tt is a bill,” she said, slowly. “Yes,” was the reply; ‘‘and here is another. and another, and another! I have just been adding up the amount. It comes to between six and seven hundred pounds. ‘Your brother has left a precious legacy of debts, I can tell you!” That there were debts Lestlie knew quite well, for she remembered how, in the first days of her bitter grief for her brother's léss, bills came pouring in on her. About the actual sums she had no clear re- collection; but she knew that at the time they appeared mere trifles, and her aunt had said she could easily arrange about them, “Don’t you think those debts ought to be paid, Lestlie?” “Of course they ought. But”—and the look of perplexity in her face increased—‘‘ I cannot understand about them, Mr. Taylor. My aunt told me at the time that she would settle them.” ‘¢A matter of some eight hundred! As if Mrs, Russel would pay that! Shall I tell you how she settled? She wrote to the creditors saying that there was no money to pay therm. That was a very simple matter. But how do you suppose your brother’s creditors liked it? Just think seriously for one moment how dis- honest the whole proceeding was! See, here. for instance. This is a bill for gloves, and scarf, and perfumes, and such things. They were got at at a shop kept by an unfortunate widow, who has a young family to support. The bill isa small one; but that peor woman and her children may often be cold and hungry next winter for want of the thirty dollars tiat_ they have been cheated out of. Look at his jeweler’s bill—it is over three hundred and fifty dollars! I see one item, ninety dollars, for a lady’s gold watch. I expect it is the one you are wearing at this moment. What right had your brother to give it to you, and never pay for it, I should like to know? He has not paid his tailor, nor his wine merchant, nor plenty of others; he only gave them prc mises that he would do so when he came back, a rich man, There is a letter here from one man to say that he will probably be ruined unless he can get the money due him within the next week, Don’t you think it a hard thing that he can’t have his money?” “Tt is dreadful!” cried Lestlie. ‘If it was only a small sum, I might manage. There is. my watch—it must be nearly worth what it cost; and I have a few other things that I might sell—but only a few.” “Shall I pay those bills for you, Lestlie? I will if you wish it?” “cc You hed “Yes; I can easily doit. You must remem- ber how I told you once that my purse was at _ your disposal whenever you chose to make any calls on it?’ Lestlie shuddered as she remembered the first day that she and her cousin had met, “ Well, shall I?” “No!” she exclaimed, “TI cannot put my- self under such an obligation to you.” i ‘Tt need be no obligation; for I have some- thing to ask in return.” “What is that?” “Your promise to be my wife!” She shuddered again; but was neither sur- prised nor startled. From the moment he bad offered to undertake the payment she had sus- pected. He wanted to take a mean advantage of her! Much as she despised him before, be sunk infinitely lower in ber opinion now, and there was intense scorn in her tone, as she an- “Thank you, Mr. Taylor. ~ i te If, yous want to buy a wife, you have made a mistake | oa ' in coming here!” ch ear Tide
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“You say no, then, do you? All right. ‘You can have your brother’s name branded as a cheat and swindler! You can know that ‘ wronged and ruined people are cursing his memory! His creditors have kept quiet up to ee this, because they hoped that there was a pe chance of their getting some money out of me. When they find out that I am not going to pay ‘ (them, you will hear a little more about them, ji can tell you. Just think the matter over quietly, Lestlie. I won't press you for an an- swer until to-morrow.” ‘“You have had my answer, Mr. Taylor.” ; “T won't take it! I tell you I won’t! Look here, Lestlie Wheeler; you are the ouly wo- 3 man in the world I ever wished to marry, and marry you I will! 1 am one of those men ‘ who, when they are determined to do a thing, do it; and your no shall change into yes before > long—I swear it!” Down on the table with a ‘ heavy bang came his clinched fist. “I swear ; it!” he said again, in tones that seemed to her to yibrate through the room. - Lestlie actually quailed before him, but only for a moment; and then a smile, half scornful, half derisive, came to her lips, : ‘Swear it as often as you please,” she said; ») ‘it can make no difference whatever to me.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and ; looked savagely at her from under his heavy brows. ‘“What a devoted sister!’ he sneered. “Don’t you think it would be a good plan to wn rip the crape off your dress? ’Tis rather ab- surd your wearing ‘it. If you have any nico ‘feeling, you will be ashamed to show your face in Oceanville, or anywhere else, after to-mor- row; for if you don’t come to terms with me, ? people will have plenty to say about you and _.._- your brother.” ““My brother’s debts can be paid without your help,” answered Lestlie; and before he “1 _ had time to detain her she was gone. He looked after her, and a muttered curse fell from his lips; but he laughed as he gath- ered up the bills and stuffed them into his pocketbook, } “Mrs. Russel will soon bring you to terms, Miss Lestlie,” he said to himself. “Just wait ¢ until she bas had a talk with you!” Then his brow darkened as he said, half aloud, “What _ did you mean by saying that those bills could a, be paid without my help?” The dining-room door stood ajar, and as ; Lestlie passed through the hall she heard voices é within. ‘3 “Tf be should find it out, mamma?’ Laura said. ““Nonsense! how could he? Do you not think Ican manage better than that?” her mother answered. Lestlie heard distinctly, but she took no heed. Her mind was fully occupied with her thoughts, wondering what Luke would say when she told him the story of what had just | happened, and whether he would think less highly of her for begging him to help her out of this difficulty. eae. a! Se . ; CHAPTER IX. IN SPITE OF HERSELF. AN answer to his letter already! Lestlie bad not left him long in suspense, and with quickened pulse and eager haste Luke broke the seal and took the closely written-sheet out ‘of its cover. He read it through—surprise, »™n, perplexity on his face. He read it ‘Arough a second time—a third. Its meaning ri to him at last—a meaning which filled 7: With grief und dismay. Py eee eaualy, but coldly, she thanked him ee or the honor which he had done her, but to --—s Slve him her love was out of the question, Me She always looked on him as a friend, but now si . She feared that neither her friendship nor her respect could be his, » ossible,’’ she wrote, “‘ that cari is © love of my cones on h eer self to : ura, devotin, ourse: 0 ‘ her so constantly and publicly that yaa were gener- Te. eee Rath is } i , cy AEE a ciein Suey Bee eae id * we % Is fi b ie ally supponed to be engaged, and that she herself Pye Wa ies Week eat Ja oe te. VENT Jaf was fully convinced that you loved her? If you have one spark of honor or manliness, you will make the only reparation in your power for the great wrong Soe. have done her; for it will break her eart if she discovers your falseness, Until she met ou, nO one ever won from her so much as a passing ancy, and she is one of the few with whom to love once is tolove forever. Of course she has not the faintest idea that I am writing this. I have betrayed her secret to you, hoping that you may follow the path which honor and. conscience cannot but point out. I must beg that, no matter what line of action hee adopt, you will never make any allusion to this etter either to heror tome. It pains me more than I can tell you to be forced to send it, and you must help me to forget it was ever written. What led you to suppose that I would give you a different an- swer, Icannot imagine; it is one of the many in- stances of how people (unconsciously, I trust) de- ceive themselves and others at the same time.” And so he was rejected—completely, un- conditionally rejected; and not only that, but bidden to make another woman his wife! Oh, what folly, what blindness had been his! And he could almost have taken his oath that there was love in the eyes with which Lestlie had looked so timidly into his the night be- fore. Why recall that now? ‘Was not his humilia- tion bitter enough without dwelling on it any more? Love she could not give him; but her respect, at least, should not be forfeited. No one should say vf him that ho had made a toy of a woman’s heart. What he had to do must be done at once, or his courage and resolution might fail; and with a trembling hand he penned a note to Laura, asking her whether, if he came that evening to beg of her to intrust her life’s happiness into his keeping, she would give him a patient hear- ing.~ Evening came, and with it the wooer, whose face was grave and pale, and whose heart was aching with a bitter pain. He asked for Miss Russel. She was in the drawing-room, the servant told him, volunteering at the same time the information tbat Mrs, Russel and Miss Wheeler were out. The room was dusk, for the blinds were nearly all drawn down, but out of the shadow Laura came quickly forward to meet him. Involuntarily he grew back. Now that the ordeal had come, he would have given worlds to undo what he had so hastily done. She looked up at him, her face so surprised and pained that his heart smote him. There could be no receding now, and much less could there be any half measures. He rested one hand on her shoulder; with the other he drew her gently toward him. “Do you care for me, Laura?’ he asked. “Have I done right in coming to you?’ “Care for you! Oh, Luke, if you only knew how I do care!” And she let her head sink down on his shoulder, hiding her face there. ‘“‘You have made me so happy!” she murmured. “T can hardly realize it yet. Lestlie told me weeks ago tat she was certain you did like me, I could hardly believe her then, but I see now what a true prophet she was.” l ‘* Did I show my feelings so plainly?” Laura clung closer to him; but she raised her head slightly. “T don’t know. I was afraid to trust to what I thought. I don’t mind your knowing it now, but you made me love you almost from the very first time we met.” Made her love him! ‘Yes, he had done that, and now he must pay the penalty. “Tt was so hard to hide it from you all this time,” Laura whispered; “and sometimes I used to be so miserable for fear—” She did not finish the sentence; but her face went back again to its hiding-place. “You have nothing to fear now, dear. The one wish of my life will be to try to make my wife happy.” “T know that, Luke—I know it!” she an- swered, as she suffered him to take the first kiss from her lips. There were steps without, and Lestlie came into the room alone. Shyly Laura drew her- self from Luke’s embrace when she saw her, _ Lestlie looked from one to the other, and paying these bills to-day; use ASR ae, a a Recor y. then her eyes fixed themselves in a blank, va- — cant gaze on Luke's face. Saya He came a step nearer to her, and bowed low. oe ‘Wish me joy, Miss Wheeler. I am sure you will be glad to hear that Laura has con- \— sented to be my wife.” ; . p But Lestlie, instead of making any answer, | turned and left the room asabruptly asshe had entered. ve “Will she give in, or will she not?’ Harold — Taylor asked “himself, next morning, as he ° presented bimself at Mrs, Russel’s house. ‘Yes, I think she will,” he concluded, when Lestlie — appeared and he saw how pale and miserable her face was, and heard bow her voice trembled when she spoke to him. cn ae “Have you thought over what I said to you yesterday?” he asked. gee “T have; and ob, Mr. Taylor, if you will © only have pity on me, and pay those debts, 1 — will be thankful to you all my life.” ey 28, =-—s “And what else, Lestlie? That is not enough!” ae “Tt must be; that is all I have to give.” “*T will not take thankfulness ovly.” panty. “Harold,” she exclaimed, calling him by his uame for the first time,” I will think of you, and love you like a brother, if you wish, but in mercy do not ask mefor anything more. __ You do not know or understand, perhaps, but it would be worse than death tome to marry any oneI did not love. I could not do itl}—IT could not do it! It would be misery for you, as well as for me. Indeed it would.” He watched her—a hard, cold smile on his — face—and he said, coldly: ‘ eG “One or the other it must be. When you — give me the promise I want, those debts shall be paid, but not sooner. So take your choice.” “Tell me this, Mr. Taylcr—why is it you - Es want to marry me?” 5 ee He drew his hand across his brow; it was a thing he often did when talking to her, and as he touched the scar so plainly visible there, he — smiled. re ‘Because I love you, I suppose,” he said; — “that is the reason a man generally gives to _ the woman he asks to be his wife.” eee, “You do not love me!” 2a: a “Do Inot? Shall I prove it?’ And he made a quick movement toward her. ee ‘No, no,” she cried, springing back; “you ~ shall not touch me—I cannot bear it! Ask me — anything, tell me to say anythlng, only ‘leave me my freedom.” Hi tte Seen “‘T have no wish to take it from you, unless with your own consent.” seeks “Then Heaven help me! Ican do no more.” _ “‘Ts that all you have to say?” Soe “ No ? : co And before he knew what she was doing, she _ was kneeling beside him, begging, imploring, in words and tones that would have melted a heart ie of stone. it eae But all in vain; as well might she have en- — treated the waves not to coms in any further on the soft, smooth sand, and have hoped that — she, by tears and prayers, could move yonmass _ of primeval rock from where it towered over the beach. ess “One or the other,” he said, when she had ended. ‘Promise to marry me, or the debt — remains unpaid.” "se alae She rose, and stood before him, and said, in __ slow, clear tones: “I hate you, I detest you, — T despise you! I would rather handle the — most loathsome reptile that ever crawled on the earth than touch you! You know now ~ what I think of you, but if you want to marry me, you can, My brother’s death lies 3 at my door, but perhaps I may feel a little less remorse about him in future. Yes; for bis sake I will marry you, but I will go on hating you more and more every day.” gs “T thought you would change your mind. — Good!—I am quite satisfied,” he answered, as calmly as though he had not heard one of her passionate, scornful words. ‘I will see about and to-morrow we Pe — - ~ awl vi Ae OR
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talk about when the wedding is to be. canta will be a charming bride, Lestlie, and I Suddenly and firmly his strong arms closed round her in a strain that no puny effort of hers could shake off. Once, twice, several Se times he kissed her. There was far more of ¥ ‘the triumph ofa conqueror than the passion of 5 and knew nothing, for she had fainted. “Thirteen years are a long time, but this ‘was worth waiting for!” he saideto himself, as he looked down ‘on the white unconscious face; but he did not kiss her again. __ And so they were engaged—Laura and Luke Cennick, Lestlie and Harold Taylor. The news was soon told through all Oceanville, and, with a well-satisfied smile, Mrs. Russel received the congratulations of her friends. - Very well pleased indeed, she was with the events of the last few days. That Laura ‘should marry Luke had long been her cherished _ wish, and that wish seemed on the eve of ac- omplishment. About Lestlie’s future she would have con- cerned herself very little, had she not judged ; necessary that she should be separated as effectually as possible from Luke; besides, pete Taylor had made it well worth her while to lend him her assistance in working ut his plans, Not only had she received five indred dollars as the first installment of the money which he had offered to pay into her Bi hands for Lestlie; but on the evening of the | day which witnessed his engagement to his a he had given her another roll of notes no inconsiderable value, which he looked as very little more than sufficient payment services rendered him. t She had used every argument to induce Lestlie to accept him, She had cheated her of her lover, to give him to her own daughter. d that was not all; but what else Mrs, Rus- had done was a secret between her and arold Taylor. ; hs contents of her cash-box had undoubted- ly increased very much of late, and there was rospect of another addition when mention ‘the purchase of Lestlie’s trousseau would be _ made, which of course was to be paid for out z: of Harold’s pocket. Was it any wonder, then, that her manner to the young man was cordial and friendly in 9 extreme, or that she would now and then to her niece, “Lestlie, pray try to look a itle less like a sufferin martyr? Every- ee will believe that you are going to marry ir cousin entirely on account of his money. vonder how you can endure the thought of teres such a thing said.” It was the case, that Lestlie was selling her- lf, but her pride revolted at the idea of its ing known, or even suspected; and resolute- she forced her lips to smile, though her t was breaking, determined to keep her able secret. from the outside world. hated her betrothed husband, and he it perfectly well, but the knowledge did sem to trouble him. She shuddered at ice'and touch, but he made no complaint. _ made — few attempts to claim a lover’s its, or even to speak of love when they were-alone together; and in time she grew to efer being alone with him, for in the pre- : d lover, having discovered that for the oe Sg pepe she must let him have his ! Tecan never understand why he wants to me!” she said once, to her aunt, “It ainly is not for love. Sometimes I cannot x help thinking that he hates me.” And Mrs. Russel answered: ‘“ Do you sup- @ that there is nothing but love in the sig Lestlie? How many a man marries be- he wants to place a suitable wife at the of his establishment? probable that, if you would only show Soak more Brac cy he oe Rss ‘And TI think it, it to her BS awe were many things in Harold’s conduct which she could not under- stand, and she often found herself pondering over the same question which puzzled Lestlie. Those bright, fresh autumn days were utterly wretched to poor Lestlie; and to Luke Cennick they brought very little more happiness than to her. Sometimes, when he heard her gay laugh—never gayer than when he was by to hear, and which deceived him as completely as it did others—he could hardly restrain himself from demanding, in burning indignation, why it was that, having scorned his love, she had forced him to give its semblance to another woman? .. ‘f And she loves that clown—for his sake she refused me!” he would say to himself. ‘Or if she does not, it is wrong again—she is doing what uo true woman could possibly do.” And then a white slender hand would timid- ly touch his arm, and Laura’s voice would ask him why he was so silent and absent; and he would rouse himself tounswer her with some tender, gentle words, wondering sadly how it was that he could not take back his love from one so unworthy of it, and give it where it would bring him so rich a return. CHAPTER X. REVENGE IS SWEET. THE wind was fresh and the sky was clear, while the Faery Queen shot swiftly through the blue waters of the Atlantic. A brighter or more enjoyable afternoon for a sail could scarcely be found, The warm September sun- shine fell on the sparkling sea, and on the white houses along the fast receding beach; flocks of sea-birds flitted like patches of cloud along the sky, swooping down on the water in search of prey; the cool briny breeze filled the calvas, bearing the little yacht straight os an arrow toward the misty horizon. A glorious afternoon it undoubtedly was— one of the fairest that autumn had brought that year, or might bring again; and yet the clouds which had disappeared from the heavens seemed to have come down and settled thick and heavy on the little party assembled in the stern of the Faery Queen. They were five in all—Mrs. Russel, her daughter, Lestlie, Luke Cennick, and Harold Taylor—bent on visiting Long Beach round at the other side of the promontory which bound- ed one side of Oceanville. The men sailing the yacht had nothing to do just then, for a long tack was being made, and Luke, as ‘usual, was steering. Old Ben Lock- hart, who had ‘been on many @ voyage round the ‘world, was spinning a long yarn about hair-breadth escapes from fire and shipwreck. Jack Marston, who had been to sea quite long enough in his younger days to understand how much, or rather how little, to believe of bis stories, listened somewhat superciliously ; while Hugh Parry, a fair-haired, sunburnt lad, was drinking in every word with eager interest. The low, monotonous murmur of the old sailor’s voice came down to the party in the stern; now and then only a word or two being faintly audible. “I wish some one would tell us a story too— anything to pass the time,” thought Luke Cennick, wearily, as over and over again the conversation would flag, and long periods of silence ensue. ‘‘I wonder what can be the matter with Lostlie, I don’t think she has said one word since we started!”—and his eyes furtively searched out the girl’s face for some sign of the growing discontent which of late he more than once fancied to have detected there, So occupied were his thoughts with Lestlie, that he gave short, preoccupied replies to any remarks that Laura made to him; and Laura, feeling herself neglected and forgotten, before very long relapsed into sullen silence. Harold seemed to find an examination of the charms dangling from bis watch-chain a source of absorbing interest; he too, looked moody and out of sorts, so that Mrs. Russel was the only one who made. ay aay to atid the nt (590 going. She. catieanly did her duty Spe She talked of the wéather, the scenery, and the beauty of the view from the bay; she talked of books, of politics, even of the harvest pros- pects; but receiving little help or encourage- ment, she at last gave up the attempt, and sat gazing vacantly at the white line of foam which the yacht was leaving in its wake, and wondering how she could have been so foolish as to suppose that a party composed of such elements could be a pleasant or merry one. | And then, following up the same train of thought, she began to ask herself whether she could be perfectly sure that all would now go well—that no accidental circumstance would occur to upset all her plans and schemes, Until both Lestlie and Laura were both safely married, she would have a weight of anxiety on her mind, for the veriest trifle might serve to show either Lestlie or Luke Cennick that there had been trickery at work. And then— She started, shivered, and drawing the shawl she wore more closely round her, said that the afternoon was growing decidedly chilly—that there was a great draught from the sails, and expressed a fervent hope that they might soon reach their destination. Before very long a fresh tack was made, and . they did reach it, greatly to every one’s relief, except, perhaps, that of Hugh Parry, who would willingly have listened for hours to Ben’s adventures. At some little distance from shore the Faery Queen was moored, and the tiny punt let down. ‘‘Only three and a man to row can go at a time,” Luke said—‘* more than that would sink the punt too deep in the water. Mrs. Russel, may I help youin? Laura, will you go too?” ‘‘ Let Lestlie and Mr. Taylor come with me,” Mrs, Russel answered; ‘‘ you can follow with Laura.” That was all as it should be; yet as old Ben Lockhart watched his master’s face he told himself, not for the first time that day, that there was something wrong, Slowly enough the afternoon passed. Lunch: eon was spread on the strand, and later the beach was duly explored. What a place for lovers those cliffs would have been, all incumbered with blocks of stone, among which such careful guidance was re- quired! So thought Laura, with one of those sudden touches of romance which came to her now and then, as she wandered in and out at Luke Cennick’s side, {fully conscious that it was only by putting the utmost constraint upon himself that he did not show more plainly how little room she occupied in’ his heart. So thought Lestlie, as she shrunk in horror back from the touch of Harold’s hand, held out so often to help her, and struggled to banish from her mind the remembrance of the love-dream which she, had indulged in for a few short hours. So thought Mrs. Russel, as she pa- tiently waited for the reappearance of those ill-matched couples, and hoped, that she would not have many more such intensely stupid days to spend. Within a few hundred feet of the place where the excursionists had landed was a small whitewashed cottage, a poor-looking place enough, but very neat and clean, while the cap and apron of the old woman who, knitting in hand, was seated near the open door through which the slanting rays of the evening sun were streaming in, were spotlessly white, Lying back in an old arm-chair, drawn close beside the fire which, notwithstanding the warmth of the afternoon, was burning brightly on the hearth, was a man pale, worn, and emaciated, looking like one who was recover- ing from a long illness, or who was sinking | into the last stage of consumption. ‘We'll have very bad weather before long,” the old woman said, as all at once the sunshine vanished. ‘‘ The clouds are coming up thick from the sea—we'll be having a ota eee Tm thinking.” ~ be a as atic the storms would wee awa
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Spe ee tet oe Sick rae Sir Even TORS . us etek ie pare : - SNe aie Gets. ert >) . W ue ike a9 _. seen your likeness, Miss Lestlie. ‘sick. man said, fretfully. “‘’Tis all very well for you who can sleep through them, but ’tis |: weary work for me lying awake hour after hour, listening to the wind howling like a set of furies, to say nothing of the noise the waves make in that cove yonder.” Mrs. Rogers sighed. It was weary work for her tending her invalid son through those long, sleepless nights. She was nearly worn out by nursing, but she was not one to mur- mur or complain. ‘* There’s the rain now,” she said, presently; ‘fand oh, Sam, here are a set of gentlefolks coming straight up to the cottage! They’re the same as came round in the yacht this after- It must be shelter now won want- With ready hospitality, she stood at the open door to receive her visitors, and bidding them a respectful good-morning, begged them to come in, and busied herself finding chairs _ for them all. “You must excuse my son, ma’am,’ she said, as he did not move or speak, ‘‘but he’s come home sick from foreign parts, just a fortnight ago now.” “Where have you been?” asked Mrs. Russel, iously. “ To the diamond fields—worse luck that I ever went there!” Sam Rogers answered. Then he looked round, but not at Mrs. Rus- sel. It was on Harold Taylor’s face that his eyes rested. Leaning his hands on the arms of the chair, he raised himself with an effort, and made astep or two toward him. Then, un- equal to the exertion, he sunk back again, but not for one instant were his eyes removed. “Tt is you,” he said faintly; “ yes, it must ~ be you!” “ What do you mean, my good man?” Har- old asked. ‘‘ You seem to know me, but I _ have not the faintest recollection of ever hav- ing seen you before.” He spoke coolly and naturally, but not a doubt rested on the minds of any of his hearers that the recognition had been mutual. “T can remind you of a few times we met,” —and a faint color rose on Rogers’s pallid cheeks. ‘I dare say you won’t thank me for it, but all the same I’m going to speak out. I meant to have looked you up, and paid you a visit before now, but I hadn’t the strength. I promised it faithfully to one that is dead that I would.” “You lying villain, will you hold -your tongue?” thundered Harold. ‘‘ Look here, Mrs. Russel, there’s hardly a drop of rain; let you and the girls hurry back to the yacht as fast as you can, before it gets worse. Tie wind is getting up, and you will have rather a rough sail of it if you don’t make haste home, Cen- nick, can’t you signal to send the punt? I will ‘be across by the time the ladies get down to the shore. Don’t mind me! This fellow is either mad or raving. I'll stop here, and see what I can do with him. There! make haste, can’t you? You'll have a regular storm down on you, if you don’t,” “Dm neither mad nor crazy,” Rogers made answer; ‘and I think I know who that young lady in ‘black is now. "Tis many a time I’ve Your brother had it in a locket which he always wore, and he often let me take a look at it.” “ You knew my brother, then?” And ina moment Lestlie was bending over the sick man’s chair, and looking eagerly into his face, “ Lestlie, I won’t have this!” exclaimed Herold, roughly laying his strong hand on her shoulder, and trying to drag her away. “T tell you that man is the most arrant liar that ever existed! You shall not listen to one word more he says—I tell you you shall not!” “She shall, Mr. Taylor, and so shall you,” Rogers answered, ‘ And what right have you to prevent her from hearing me, I should like to know?” — “The right that a man has over the woman _ who is to be his wife,” answered Harold; “and "the abe Lae a man who| hes plenty: of money Rage [ has over the tiie whites none,” be added, in -a whisper meant for Sam Rogers’s ear alone. ** Remember that!” ‘*T heard what you said!” cried Lestilie. “You are going to bribe him to keep silence. You never would do that if you were not afraid of him.” ‘You are talking nonsense, Lestlie! who am afraid?” ‘Oh, very well; perhaps you are not, Then you must prove it by letting him say what he pleases. You can contradict him afterward if he does not speak the truth.” ‘*Miss Wheeler is right,” Luke Cennick said, decidedly. ‘This man shall have a fair hear- ing, Mr. Taylor. You need not be afraid of his maligning you, for your word is certainly as good as his.” ‘Who asked you to interfere?” asked Har- old, angrily. “If you had one particle of common sense you would be thinking of hurry- ing back to Oceanville instead of running the risk of drowning nearly a hundred people.” “Not much danger of that, even if it does blow a little hard. The Faery Queen is tol- erably seaworthy. Besides, we must wait un- til this shower is over. Only look how it rains!” Harold muttered something which sounded like “Humbug!” and “Confounded imperti- nence!” His brow was as black as a thunder-cloud; but he made no further objection. ‘My best thanks to you, sir,” said Rogers. “And oh, young lady, I would a thousand times rather see you in your coffin than married tothat man! If your poor brother only—” “It is of Mr, Wheeler, and not what you do or do not think, that my niece wants to hear,” interrupted Mrs. Russel, who was be- ginning to feel far from comfortable respecting the result of Sam Rogers’s disclosures. Had it been in her power, she would have silenced him altogether; but knowing that was beyond her power, she thought it better not to interfere until it could be of real use. “Yes; tell me about my brother. I do not want to hear anything else,” Lestlie said, in a low, unsteady voice. “Very well, miss. As the lady there says, ‘tis not forme to make any remarks. I loved him with all my heart, Miss Lestlie. He was just as good as any brother to me, though I never seemed to forget that he was a gen- tleman and I was only a common man. I had been able to do a few good turns for him. He said he was thankful to me, and he show- ed it too. When I was down with fever, he nursed me through it; and then he took sick himself. Not one diamond of any value had either he or I found, and all the money was gone; for what might have got food and medicine for him be had spent on me. There was a man that came to see him a few times, and told him how he was his cousin, the son of a sister of his father’s, and that man had been in rare luck. I thought I might ask him for a little help, and I did. I told him a few shillings might be the saving of poor Mr. Wheeler’s life. He came with me to his hut. Your brother was lying in a corner, unable to move, a mug of water near him, for that was all T could get to give him to drink. And he stood and looked at him, and laughed—yes; on my soul, I am telling you the truth—and said that was how he liked to see him; that he had hated him for years, and that he had his revenge now. He died that night--murdered in cold blood, - any man ever was murdered!” There was horror on the faces of all, donbt on that of none; and then Harold Taylor laughed—laughed as he had done when mock- ing the mute entreaty which he had read in Richard Wheeler’s dying eyes. “°Tis true—every word of it,” he said, crossing his arms, and looking from one to the other. “‘P’m not going to deny it, and I suppose if would be of no use. You think me a fiend prec oe I dare say; but I'll tell you why I did it. Sees let ~ ts as his Is it I ¢ ine Ree: ; ee pol itall ne Rene +i eal -with you yet. father let my mother die, when a “little. Beles might have saved her. I thought of her when — I was looking at him, and how could I feel any pity? And, Lestlie, do you remember one summer’s day just thirteen years ago you were in the wood by yourself, and you wanted © to cross the stream, and a bey who saw you ~ wanted to lift you over, but you screamed and stamped at him, and called him a common, vulgar boy; and your brother came up aie said he was an insolent young scoundrel be- _ cause he refused to take a handful of coppers he threw him; and then he fought with him, © and flung him on the ground, and left him to_ live or die. Iwas that boy, Lestlie Wheeler! — ie You can see the mark of the fall on my face — cot to this very day; and I swore I would be. re- venged both for my mother and for myself. 'Tis a pity you found it all out so soon. If you had ouly been my wife first, I would have enjoyed telling you myself what you have due heard from that man there.” , “Horrible!” Mrs, Russel exclaimed! = = ~— 6 Harold Taylor turned on her with a sudden ferocity which startled every one inthe room. —_ “This from you, Mrs. Russel?” he thundered’ _ out. *“ Oh, yes, of course! ‘You, a fine aristo- crat, the very essence of honor and truth, can-— not expect to look upon my conduct as pa thing but horrible !” : She paled visibly, and her voice was acing steady and tremulous as she said to Luke Cen- nick, ‘Let us get away at once, if you please This scene is becoming very painful.” “ Ah, you are in a hurry to be off now! Bi. Harold’ exclaimed. ‘You can go, if you ae 1 please; but, Lestlie, let me give you.a piece b were a great idea of Mrs. Russel’s, a It I humbled you pretty considerably by t Miss Lestlie. That day J met you in the v thirteen years ago you hardly expected you would go down on your knees before th ‘ common, vulgar boy,’ begging me to pay your brother’s debts. share of my revenge, but I have not d It will take a little more | ie. to wipe off all the old scores, I can eet ae the eer
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- - He. Sonsed sceuletns, and strode as of the cottage: i Then Mrs, Russel stood up, and Be a _ sigh of reliet, said: “So he has really gone at - last! I only hope I may never see him again. I tried to be kind to him, and this is the re- , turn he makes. It is terrible to think of his _ conduct toward poor Richard and Lestlie; and then that tissue of falsehoods he told about me! But, of course, none of you can dream if of believing them for one moment. Lestlie, Se b dear, I congratulate you with all my heart on aid your escape from such a monster!” “T congratulate you, too, Miss Wheeler,” ek yh Luke added; but not one word did he say about aie eee disbelieving Harold’s statement. “Mother!” Sam Rogers said. ey She went over to him. “Mother, where is the parcel I gave you to keep for me?” “T will get it for you;” and unlocking a _ press, she brought hima small parcel, carefully _ papered and sealed. _ Lestlie glanced eagerly at it, but Laura’s _ face grew very white. _ of her name had been made in connection with Richard Wheeler. She had deemed herself : _ safe—but what was coming now? _ Sam Rogers slowly cut the string, broke the seals, and one wrapping of paper after another fell tc the ground. _ “He gave me this for you, Miss Lestlie,” he said, holding up a small gold locket. ‘It was the only trinket he hadn’t parted with, You should have had it sooner, but I’ve been too ill ip to, look for you. He used to talk to me very 2 _ often about you, miss—mostly on nights when was lying awake; and he bid me tell you he had done the best for you, and it was not his ete he had failed.” “There, that will do,” Lestlie said. “TI will come and see you very soon again, and a5 , miss; with others by, one doesn’t fs: “ike to talk. But I’ve got another message to ‘So give. There was a lady he told me about cay) -»once—only once—but he said he had loved her, and sbe him, and when he got poor they tried to make her give him up. But she kept true © him all the same, and used to send him such e, loving letters. Here they are, all in this a package. It was the last thing his hands did “on oe tie them up. ‘Teil her,’ ho said, ‘that I pe ed her to the very last, and that I died thinking of her.’ Her letters are all there, Miss Lestlie; he said he wanted her to see how he prized them, Will you give them to her? ou must know her, and where sheis. The me is written bere on the outside; see, ’tis s Laura Russel.” Pea held out the package of letters to ura, and in silence Laura held out her hand receive it. - .- GHAPTER XL ; FOILED! aS giacay, heaving sea, the wind sweeping down in fierce gusts, and lashing its surface ‘into sheets of foam; the gallant yacht plow- ig its way steadily through the waves, though ery timber was creaking; the women sitting ly in the tiny cabin, the men on deck ete with the elements. w hen. the gale caught them. To endeavor to poe head against it would be sheer madness, id there was nothing for it but to endeavor o regain the shelter of the little bay which hey had left some two hours before. _ “We'll do it, master; we’re all right!” ex- aimed Ben Lockhart, joyfully. “But we ist keep a sharp lookout we don’t get on the There is no danger whatever; we are per- rectly. safe,” Luke said, a short time later, as : he made his way into the cabin. ‘‘ But there no chance of our being able to reach Ocean- to-night; we are putting back to Long . ea expect you will be Able to get ia Up to this no mention. ‘The pucnpeck was ae a : Siienligs one, but no}. dissatisfaction was expressed. The yacht was in much smoother water now, the straining and pitching had ceased, and the feeling that they were once more in safety overcame every other consideration. Luke had passed noremark on what had oc- curred in Mrs. Rogers’s cottage. Since their return to the yacht he had been busily engaged on deck, but when they had finished discuss- ing their plans for the night, he said, abruptly, ‘Miss Wheeler, will you come on deck with me for a moment or two? You can get no harm, and I want to ask you a few questions.” Mrs, Russel and Laura exchanged glances. “ That is rather a peculiar request, Mr. Cen- nick!” exclaimed the former. ‘‘If you have “any questions to put to Lestlie, why not ask them here, or wait until another time?” ‘“‘T can do neither the one nor the other, Mrs. Russel. Give me your hand, Miss Wheeler; I will help you.” “JT cannot permit such a thing!” Mrs. Rus- sel cried, vehemently. “ Lestlie shall not leave the cabin!” “‘T beg your pardon, Mrs, Russel, but she shall!” And aided by his firm grasp and strong arm, the bewildered girl found herself mounting the wet, slippery cabin stairs, until she stood beside him close to the steersman. “ All right, Marston?” questioned Luke, shouting to make himself heard. “ All right, sir,” was the reply. ‘‘ We'll be in in half an hour.” ‘“Now, Miss Lestlie,” Luke said, turning to her and lowering his voice, ‘* will you tell me, honestly, whether you knew of the engagement between Laura and your brother?’ “ I did. » ** And do you think she loved him?” Lestlie hesitated. ‘* Please answer me.” “You have no right to ask me that, Mr. Cennick; question Laura, if you want to find out.” ‘You constituted yourself Laura’s spokes- woman, when you gave me to understand that she cared for me.” “13 How?” “How? As if you do not remember! In your letter you distinctly stated that such was the case,” ‘Tn my letter! ter.” ‘Listen; what can this mean?—‘ In answer to my letter to you—’” “Wait, Mr. Cennick; there must be some misunderstanding! Inever got any letter from ou!” “Not one I wrote to you the day after I came back to Oceanville?” “No. This is the first I heard.of it.” * And you. did no” write to me?” “é No.” ‘Come below again, Lestlie. I must solve this mystery. Good Heavens! can this be an- other of that woman’s villainies?” Below, mother and daughter were awaiting their return, knowing only too well what they had to expect. “Fool that you were to keep up a corre- spondence with that young beggar!” ‘‘ And, my dear mother, you were a far greater fool to write that letter you thought so marvelously clever. You can deny hav- ing had anything to do with those bills, but Luke will certainly discover the truth about it,” Those were the only words which passed be- tween them. Mrs. Russel drew back into the darkest cor- ner of the..cabin when Luke and Lestlie re- appeared, Laura, with an expression of mild surprise on her face, looked boldly up at them. “« Which of you two is the author of this?” asked Luke. And in the thick yellow light of the cabin- lamp he held out an opens sites I never wrote you any let- ely Wer oar a ee Mar anti Yee it: ta Tos Har agel Far Sees ges MOCKERY? _ rer eine & Mamma weie promptly. ‘“¢ Your mother?’ 16,” Laura pamsinesis (ids it.” “But you knew that she was writing it! You knew that my letter to Lestlie was never given to her!” Laura made no answer. A shock, a deafening crash, a dull, grating sound, a heaving to and fro, a sudden quiet and stillness save for the gurgling of the water around the yacht. She was on the rocks! Yes; there she was, tightly wedged in, and the water was oozing in through the crushed, broken planks. The deepening twilight was gathering quick- ly round them. The tide was rapidly rising. The water in the yacht grew deeper each min- ute, and the waves broke heavily against her side; and there was the danger that any mo- ment she might be washed away from the Ihad nothing whatever to do with rocks, either to be hurled on to them again, or, worse still, to fill and sink at once. Along the distant shore there was the glim- mer of many lights, but not a human being was near to lend a helping hand. There was one chance of escape, and only one, To endeavor to reach land in the little punt, which was safe and uninjured. Luke looked at the punt, and then at the number of people who had to trust to it for safety. ‘We cannot all go together,” he said; ‘‘ four are the very most that can venture in such a sea. Four—the three ladies, and one of the men to row.” ‘One man could never do it, sir,” replied | Ben Lockhart, decidedly, ‘‘’tis two miles and more to the nearest landing-place. °"Twould set two about their best. There’s a current here that ’tis no child’s play to pull against,” ‘Then two must go now, and one must wait.” “What, wait here to be drowned?’ cried Mrs. Russel. ‘ And ’tis all Lestlie’s fault. If she had not insisted in delaying so long talking to that horridman, we would have been safely home long ago. We shall all be drowned, and it will be all her fault.” ‘“‘ Hush, if you please; this is no moment for reproaches,” Luke said, sternly, almost con- temptuously. ‘ Your safety shall be taken care of; and who else is to go?” & Laura must come! I insist on Laura’ 8 coming! I will not leave her to be drowned?” ‘Ts it to be Laura, then?’ asked Luke. Laura said nothing, but she passed her arm through her mother’s, as though to show that she was determined to keep with her, « “T will wait; the punt can be sent back for me,” Lestlie said, quietly. “Then let us make haste, mamma,” ex- claimed Laura, ‘‘ You heard what Lestlie said; she does not mind waiting. She was never nervous, you know.” “You ‘are a brave, noble girl, Lestlie,” whispered Luke. Then he turned to the men. “‘Which of you will stay here with me and Miss Wheeler?” he cried. “JT will, sir!” “No, I will!” “No, let me stay, sir!” cried all three in chorus. Then Ben Lockhart spoke again; “ Jack | Marston has got a wife and children ashore; Hugh has his oJd father and mother. I’ve got noone, sir. You'll let me bide here, won’t you?’ ‘Yes, Ben, 1 keep you. Marston, you and Hugh must take charge of these ladies, and then one of you come back to fetch us off as soon as ever you can.” In utter amazement, Laura listened. ** Luke, you are not going to stay here? You surely cannot dream of doing such a thing?” she said. = **T intend to be the last to quit the yacht. And do you think I would go and leave Miss Wheeler behind?” “She would have the men. Luke, I will | not go without you.” And leaving her mother’s side, alse wound her arms me his neck, \ da
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+ X punt.” With a qui him, — “The men are waiting for you, Miss Rus- sel,” he said, coldly. ‘I thought you would have spared me the pain of telling you that henceforth you and I can be nothing what- ever to each other. I will help you into the ck movement he put her from } CHAPTER XII. | SO LONG AS LIFE LASTS. THE last plash of the oars had died away before Luke spoke again to Lestlie. Trembling from head to foot, but not with fear, she leaned over the side of the yacht, not cold and shivering, but forgetting all in the _ knowledge that the one being in the world whom she loved was near her, and that she was sharing his danger. She heard him talking to Ben Lockhart, but had not the faintest idea of what he was Saying. And then he came up to her. *Lestlie,” he said, “let me wrap this round you; you must be very cold,”—and he wrapped @ thick woolen shawl about her. “ Are you afraid?” be asked. **Qh, no!” “You were very brave just now, Lest- lie. Did you not feel to want to go in the boat?” “No,” she answered, simply; ‘‘if either of them had stayed and anything had happened, I would have felt like a murderess, But I wish you had gone with them.” _ “Then you would rather not have me here?? “‘T did not mean that.” “ Lestlie, do you remember the letters that We were talking about when the yacht struck?’ | “Yes; but T can’t quite understand.” “*Do you remember the evening that I asked you whether you were going to marry Mr. Taylor, and what you told me? “T'a0.” “‘That very evening I wrote to you, Lestlie. I wrote to ask youif you would be my wife, I sent the letter next morning, and 1 was al- inost certain that I would have the answer I wanted. But the answer was that you never could love me; that I had won Laura’a heart; _ and that, if I bad one spark of honor, I would ~ larry her. The letter was in your writing, Lestlie, and your name was signed to it; and I. _ thought that I was doing your bidding, and re- _ Swered. deeming my lost honor, when I proposed to Laura.” He bent closer over her, and she felt his ‘breath on her cheek as he asked, ‘‘ Lestlie, what answer would you have given me if that letter had reached you?” _ Her answer was soft and low-spoken, but jit sufficed him, The water crept up higher along the sides of the yacht, and the darkness deepened around - them; the frail planks, which alone parted them from sudden death, trembled and shook at each dash of the angry waves; but they thought of ‘none of these things in their new- found, passionate joy. Past, present, and fu- ture were all as completely forgotten as though Such things had no existence whatever for them. Ben Lockhart’s voice suddenly roused them. — The punt’s gone a long time, sir,” he said. ® ought soon to be seeing it come back how,” Luke took out his watch, and locking at it, w ndered how the time had es; it may be here any minute,” he an- ‘Hark! what is that?” They listened, , It was the sound of oars; and then over the ay water there sounded a long, loud shout. Right joyfully they answered, and then the boat came within reach of the li, j ghts hung up as signals to the masts of t t. “Which of them bp as either, somehow,” under his shaggy is it? It doesn’t look like said Ben, peering out from eyebrows, i f wiz" sb x ta Ve Cees Ons yor tas, ) ier" ene! ty eee . me WT ae Ue By Seite eke: Creed round. The light fell full on his face, and they saw that it was neither of their own men, but Harold Taylor. He waited until he was perfectly sure that they had recognized him, and then the oars struck the water once more—not to bring him nearer. Like an arrow the punt shot by them, and vanished into the darkness. Such was his vengeance—complete at last! As he had left the brother to die, even so had he abandoned the sister to her fate. Of what use were the frantic cries which Ben Lockhart sent after him? If he had heard them he would only laugh, and nothing more. He had left them to die, and death was very near. The water was closing round them— every now and then a wave would come wash- ing over the deck. The time that they had got to live was counted by hours, perhaps; per- haps by minutes only. ‘“‘That he may never sce the morning dawn himself, fiend that he is!” That was the last of a torrent of invectives and curses which Ben, in his first rage and despair, poured out on him; and then the old man’s stoical courage regained the upper hand, and he strove to make his companions feel a hope that was dead in his own heart. ‘‘ The timbers may hold to- gether till dawn,” he said, ‘‘or they may send out another boat when they find we’re not coming back; and if the worst comes to the worst—well, we’ve all got to die some time, and a little sooner or later can’t make so much account,” ‘“‘ Lestlie, darling, are you afraid?” With a far deeper, far more terrible mean- ing than before, he put the question to her now. She looked down at the cold, hungry, seeth- ing waters, which so soon would ingulf them, and she answered, ‘‘ Promise to hold me tight, very tight, all the time, Luke, and then I don’t think Pll mind.” He drew her closer to him, and held her head down, on his shoulder. “My poor darling!” he murmured, with sad, passionate tenderness. ‘‘And I would have made your life so bright, so happy!” “T know you would, Luke. This morning, when we were passing by this very place, I kept thinking what a mercy it would be if I could throw myself into the water and die at once. I wasso wretched then; but now—oh, now!” ! “Don’t think of that, Lestlie; remember that we are to be together to the last!” “That must make it easier,” she answered; and then she looked round at Ben Lockhart. ‘‘Let me go,” she whispered to Luke; and slip- ping away from his arms, she went up to the old sailor. ‘‘ Ben,” she said gently, ‘‘I wish I could tell you how sorry I feel for having brought you to this,” “There, you mustn’t trouble about me at all, miss,” he said, almost gruffly. ‘‘I’ve lived through well-nigh seventy years, and I’ve had about enough of life. But’—and he shud- dered slightly—‘‘I wish the end had come a little quicker. Id go through anything almost rather than have to wait like this.” ‘Poor Ben!” Lestlie said, taking his rough hand between hers; ‘* we must wait as patiently as we can.” “Yes, miss, we must,” he answered, huskily. ‘“* But,” he added, as though speaking to him- self, “‘ they can wait together; I’ve got to wait alone.” The cold, quiet, leaden hue of early dawn crept over the sky, and as the sun was rising out of the still troubled sea, a schooner that ‘had been buffeting all night with wind and waves made its way into port, slowly and un- steadily, with broken masts and tattered canvas. . With rough but tender care some of the crew were tending two fellow-creatures whom ‘wy i , op ee Af 4 at wo) fy gt aoe wet Paste ie ¥. Or ate 4 BAF dh ae See See Sy go AS 8: en ible? ett am ITF T Y 2 a - ’ . . E : ~ ‘i. r 2 ; re ’ . eit “ge teh Age ‘ es ; =a ae Zz - The rower rested on his oars, and turned 1 Dies EX AN sh NS FOS ge Se cr eh te > ae Nog yrs) ok AR as Ne Slee pera pik wR they had rescued, as it were, from the very jaws of death; but when Lestlie Wheeler opened her heavy, weary eyes, they wandered from Luke’s face, which was eagerly bending over her, to a form wrapped in a fragment of sail, bearing that ghastly resemblance to humanity so fearful to behold; and when, con- sciousness having fully returned, she asked where Ben Lockhart was, she learned that he was the victim which the sea had claimed that. night. heard, Jack Marston and Hugh Parry told how he had joined them, just as Hugh was about to put back again in the punt to the yacht, and insisted on going in his place. Suspecting no treachery, and glad to give up the oars to strong, untired arms, he had let him have his way. fi He and his wealth had alike vanished. No deeds or papers of any kind could be found even to testify to its existence. The general belief was that only one or two of his diamonds Of Harold Taylor no tidings were ever again had been disposed of and the rest were in a case which he always carried about his person. Whether he was picked up by some passing ship, or whether he met his deserts by finding a watery grave, which can only be solved on that day when the sea gives up its dead, A white marble tombstone in a little grave- yard, the walls of which are often washed by the ocean spray, marks the spot where Ben Lockhart is buried. Sal At the beginning of each returning spring the snowdrops planted there by Lestlie’s. hand come up and blossom, and the regret felt for him. is none the less sincere because she and Luke date the beginning of their happiness from the night on which the Faery Queen was wrecked. THE END. 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a ae LS ee ee 1 The seaahcs = Him? By Mrs, Mary Reed Crowell. Ss. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 3 The Girl Wite; 3 or, The True and the False. 4 Pe a ae dnGaneene ead rave ear or, Etartlingly St ‘ By Arabella Southw ‘orth, suit ory \ a Bessie Raynor, the Work. Girl Ch Quicksands of Life. By William rner, cont » Agia Spite of Herself. By Sara Claxton, r bs Seal 7 A Daughter of Eve; or, Blinded b woe tt” By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. TOY. 8 Heart to eart; or, Fair Phyllis’ Love. By Arabella Southw orth. 9 Alone in the World; or, The Young Man’s 10 A' Pair of Gray E air o ak es 3 or, The Emerald \ Necklace: By Rose Kennedy.” vies By *Y li Entangied; or, A Dangerous Game. ae EST, on arm ath s Lawtu e@3 or, the Child of es Adoption. By Mrs. Ann §, Stephens. +413, Madeap, the Little Quakeress; or, The ae Naval det’s Wooing. By Corinne ushman. es 14 Why I Married im; or, The Woman in ¥ oe Gray. By Sara Claxton. 15 A Fair Face; or, Out in the World. By fas. Bartley T. Caiupbell iy 16 Trust Her Not; or,A True Knight, By Sy eee Margaret Leicester. * lV A oes 8 Lover3 or, The Last of the Grims- piety ths. =F ‘Arabella Southworth. aie 18 a: aso or, The Ill-Starred Marriage. By mol ry Reed Crowell. 19 whe mee Betrothal; or, Love versus re Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine. . 20 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, The ae Lost Heir. By. Agile Penne. = . 21 Now and Forever; or, Why Did She Mar- aa = gee By Henrietta Thack keray. 22 The Bride of an Actor; or, Driven from eh: Home. By the author of “ Alonein the World,” aes: “Clifton,” etc. 23 prise tid Year; or, Why She Proposed. By Sara 24 Her race Was Her Fortune. By Elea- mo ay nor Blaine. 25 Only a Schoolmistress; or, Her Untold Secret. By Arabella Southworth. 26 Without a Heart; or, Walking on the Brink. By ‘Chionel Prentiss Tapeahes, 27 foes She a Coquette? or, A Strange urtship. By Henrietta Thackera; _ 28 sybil ch eee Stephens. 29 ae Her Dear Sake; or, Saved From Him- . By Sara Claxton. 80 The Bouquet Girl; or, A Million of Money. By Agile Penne.- 31 A Mad Marrixge; or, The Iron Will, By | ar A. Denison. 32 Mariana, the Prima Donna; or, Roses | 33 ae oe ra Fh eatery Southworth, ne ree sters 3 or. Mystery of Lord Chalfont. By. Alice Fleming. 34 A Marriage of Convenience; or, Was | Hea Count? By Sara Claxton. 35 All Againes ers or, The Winthrop Pride. By Clara By Arabella Southwort 7 The Country Cousin; or, rth is not Gold ‘that Glitters. By Rose Kennedy. 38 His Own Again; or, Trust Her Not. By Arabella Southworth. 89 Flirtation; or, A Re | Girl’s Good Name. By Jacob Abarbanell, (2. ph_ Royal.) * 40 Pledged to Marry 3 or, In Love's Bonds. By Sara Claxton. 41 Blind Devotion; or, Love Against the Se ier World. By Alice Fleming. ‘eed 42 Beatrice, the Beaut ful or, His Second ae Love. By Arabella Southworth. i 43 The] Baronet’s Secret; or, The Rival Half- ' By Sara Claxton. a4 Lp Onl eehoaiers Lover. or, Brother against ne Alice Fleming. 45 way Ke Hi den Foe; or, Love At All Odds. ‘ abella Southworth. ' 46 The nipete Heirons; or, Under a Cloud. By Mrs. M es . Denison. a7 Because She Loved Mim ; or, How Will It End? By Alice Fleming. 4s in as of re or, Jeannette’s Repa- | st, ration. By 8. R. Sherwood ah 49 His Heart’s Mistress; or, Love at First | ight, By Arabella Southworth, 50 The Cuban He hig, Mo The Prisoner of La Vintresse. By Denison, 61 Two Young Girls; or, The Bride of an Earl, By Alice Fleming. 62 bg meh ed Messenger} or, a nai All ‘ Wea B By Mrs Mary Reed t BS Asc, Hope th Actress ms gest Ro- ot oS pee : Hide; or, Will She Marry 2 oo It Love? or, Collegians and Sweet- 6 The Secret Marriage; or, A Duchess in | Ward. By me peo ‘of * Clifton,” “* Pride | 3 or, The Gambler's: *Wite. By | 88 a vrerrible Deed 3 86 Sir Archers Brides or, abe Queen of His | Heart. pennies. Coright Novels and the Creitie of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS} The Cheapest ey, Ever Published! One Woman’s Heart; or, Saved from the Street. By George S. Ka me. 55 She Did Not Love Him; or, Stooping to Conquer. By Arabella Southwort 56 Love-Madj; wo and ——. Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 57 A Brave ¢ irl; or, Sunshine at Last. By Alice Fleming. 58 The Ebon Mask; or, The Mysterious Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 59 A Widow’s Wiles; or, A Bitter Vengeance. By Rachel Bernhardt. | 60 Ceclbs Deceit; or, The Diamond Legacy. By Mrs. Jennie Davis Burton, 61 A Wicked Heart; or, The False and the True. ‘By Sara Claxton. 62 The Maniac Bride; or, The Dead Secret of Hollow Ash Hall. By Margaret Blount 63 The Creole Sisters; or, The Mystery ot the Perrys. By Mrs. Anna E. Porter. 64 What A Did; or, The Heir of Worsley Grange y Alice Fleming. 65 The Wife’s Secret; or, "Twixt Cup and Lip. By Col. Juan Lewis. 66 A Brother’s Sin; or, Flora’s Forgiveness. By Rachel Bernhardt. 67 Forbidden Bans}; or, Alma’s Disguised Prince, By Arabella’ Southworth. 68 Weavers and Weft; or, ‘‘Love That Hath | Us In His Net.” By Miss M, E. Braddon. 69 Camille; or, The Fate of a Coquette. By Alexandre Dumas. 70 The Two Orphans. By D’Enery. 71 er Xe Xeouns ife. ae My Young Wife’s 72 The eo Widows. Annie Thomas. 73 Kose Michel; or, The Wriais of a Factory Girl. By Maud’Hilton. 74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gages Sout worth. a 176 Adsias the Adopted. By Jennie Davis | } 1 A new issue every week. y Tum WAVERLEY Liprary is for sale by all News dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on a ae ceipt of six cents each. ; BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 Wiliam street, Noy ee at ot Sb pi te NOD eg Fah Soph Odea ar Oy