Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 177) (1883 04 03)
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EE April 8, 1883. a AS Vo. aL iy R THE WOMAN. HE LOVE oR, FATEFUL LINKS. BY AGNES MARY SHELTON, AUTHOR OF ‘'A BITTER MISTAKE,” ETC., ETC, —— z: ————_— \ Nt N ji , a ; s SS ” MY in ‘ NEVA Oe ery ~ Dorit ys eee AR Ay Vilar Wa. Ss ; . i ta J »
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FATEFUL LINES. ———— BY AGNES MARY SHELTON, CHAPTER TL AN YLL STARRED ADVENTURE, ‘RAVENHURST was a large, low, rambling house, built of red brick, and almost covered with ivy, which clung around its'stone portico, and, when the wind was high, tapped, as if with ghostly fingers, against the long, narrow windows. Both outwardly and inwardly the once handsome mansion bore traces of neglect and decay, indicating either poverty or parsi- mony on the part of its owner, Mr. Matthew Gunthorpe. The garden resembled a wilderness, _ and within doors such of the rooms as were not shut up, but reserved for family use, looked . dull and cheerless, with their faded carpets, old- fashioned furniture, and general absence of, all ustial ornaments. The day had been lowering and chill, ‘al- thuugh the season was spring; but now, as evening approached, the sun struggled out from between masses of gray clouds, and shed a few ‘bright rays into the small apartment specially ‘dedicated to the use of the master of the 2 fa house. ae There he sat at his writing-table, sorting iS _-—s«éspapers, making up accounts, and glancing over a business documents, occasionally ceasing bis yet ue ‘ ‘labors in order to exchange a few sentences ‘with bis sister Sophia, a spiuster of uncertain , His thin, sallow face was worn and furrow- _ ed, his seanty hair, once the deepest of fiery auburn, was thickly sprinkled with gray, and these rival hues also contrasted strongly in his long, straggling whiskers and unkempt mus- tache. 6 One of hissmall hazel eyes had a cast nearly degenerating into a decided squint, and the two 23 , habe placed rather closely together under over- ing brows. spite of these drawbacks, however, Mr. Gunthorpe was not an exceptionally ill-favored ‘age, who for many years had been his chief ene ‘confidant and adviser, . ee iy Matthew Gunthorpe was over fifty, and look- <a ed even more advanced in life, ‘. man, If bis conn‘enance had had either an amiable or intellectual expression, bis general appear- ance would have passed muster. Unfortunately, however, his prevailicg char- - acteristics — intense obstinacy, distrust and greed—were written too plainly in every line of his visage, Suddenly } he closed the ledger he had been consulting with a sharp snap, and irritably pushed it from him. . “Things are going badly with us, Sophia— very badly!” _ Miss Gunthorpe Jaid down her knitting, and looked at her brother with some anxiety. “You surely do not mean that those Arizona mines, from which you hoped so much, have ar out failures” The shares have fallen low, and an oppo- "sition company has started, But that is not the worst. One or two still larger speculations have turned out ill; besides, I have lost several thousands by the failure of Grantley’s bank. Tn short, Sophy, unless a tide of prosperity goon sets i py cae IT must sell Raven- ‘hurst.”” apa, held up ber hands in horror, ell Ravenhurst, that has been in the family for years? Mat, you must be dream- Fi es I wish you were rigbt, for then I might awake to find luck had turned,” he retorted, +. another loan nor refund those already ad- 50 oN te ccoat ‘what else oan be donef* nee, f st AUTHOR OF ‘A BITTER MISTAKE,” ETC, ETO, with a bittersmile. “But if I can neither raise | “There is Noriss’s: hibits m obeerved ee hesitatingly. — ‘© You may = sure I have thought of that; | but it is so securely tied up by her father’s will ; until she is of age or marries, that I should find | it very difficult to borrow anything on it, even though I could obtain the consent of Colonel La-celles, my co-trustee, who is at this moment with his regiment in Indian Territory. “Te Nerissa were of age we could easily persuade her to*give whatever pecuniary as- sistance is needed. .I often wonder what she will do or say when she discovers she is an heiress, for she is so heedless and void of sense that. I question whether she bestows a thought on the subject, and you warned me it was best to keep her in ignorance.” ‘‘} did, for the reason that a girl’s head be- comes turned when sho knows her own im- portance,” he said, testily. ‘‘She would think of nothing but dress, gayety and Jovers. Our quie( home would grow dull and distasteful to her; sbe would yearn for a season ir. New York _and_ opportunities of making an eligible mar- riage. No, moj sister; it is well that Nerissa Marsden should blossom: here like a_ wild flower, beautiful and innocent as those she gathers in the woods to form her scle adorn- ment.” Miss Gunthorpe regarded her brother with an air of amazement. “Good gracious, Matthew, you are growing quite poetical! Just fancy; the folly of, com- paring Nerissa to a flower! A careless chit, running wild all day about the grounds, with tangled. bair, a ragged frock, and a hat with the brim half torn away! If sho resembles a flower it must be the ragged robin.” ‘“You women always run down one an- other. Nerissa is very beautiful.” ‘“*To those who admire a baby face and sun- burnt complexion, with tawny hair and eyes of an indescribable tint, neither blue nor gray. I cannot see any attraction in her.” “Tt is quite unnecessary that you should do so.” said Matthew, with his cynical smile. “But bas it never struck you, Sophia, that Nerissa’s fortune, although not large, as for- tunes now are reckoned, would be of considér- able service to a needy manf” - ““T suppose it would. I only wish that it was yours in this emergency.” “Why sbould it not be co ‘‘Only a minute ago,” observed Miss Gun- thorpe, sharply, ‘‘you talked as if you were powerless to touch a dollar.” ‘‘And so I am.” Here be paused and co- vertly glanced at the spinster’s firm, severe countenance, as if doubtful how she would re- ceive his next sentenee. ‘‘ You know, Sopbia, that when Nerissa marries, not only will she have control over her property, but her hus- band, if he is a clever fellow, can also geta goodly sbare into his own hands.” A red flush rose in Miss Sophia’s face, man- tling even to the tip of her long, thin nose, as she comprehended the‘ drift of her brother's speech, Ever -since bis wife’s deatb, some fifteen years ago, she had reigned lady paramount at Ravenhurst. It was not likely sbe was going to resign that supremacy without a struggle. “Do I understand you aright, Matthew?” she asked, withicy majesty. ‘‘ You, a man of mature years, who since poor Arabella died have never shown the slightest inclination to mar- ry again, are now thinking of marrying a harum-scarum girl, who ever since she came from the West, nearly ten years ago, has been the plague of my: life!” ‘Softly, softly, Sophia. You take too se- vere a view of a young girl’s whims. Remem- ber, we have found the liberal sum awarded by the’ late. general to those who should take charge of his daughter during her minority extremely useful. Some persons might be ill- natured enough to hint that Nerissa’s faults and follies are owing—I do not say to the training and education you have given her,. enact rather to the absence of those essentials dear sister, you bave % Miss Gunthorpe tur this implied reproach, i “You are unreasonable, Matthew. I am sure that during her childhood I tormented ~y- self with hearing those wearisome les»ons day after dsy, while that half hour’s supe-intend- ence of the practice of those int-rminable scales turned my hair gray at least five years before the proper time, I did it all for your sake, to save the expense of a properly-quzli- fied governess, and this is my reward!” **] was only joking, Sophia.” “T believe the girl has bewitched you,” she grumbled, ‘althcugh you pretend that her money is her chief attraction.” He made no answer. Indeed, he scarcely knew clearly whether love or avarice was the basis of his strong desire to make Nerissa Marsden his wife—Nerissa, a gir] young enough to be his daughter, beautiful, lively, and im- pulsive, a very type of innocent maidenhood, besides possessing the solid charm of an inherit- little neglected her.” ed. a still deeper red at ance which would . enrieh the husband of her selection. With Matthew srpcilation had become a mania. He looked upon it as the high road to the wealth for which bis '‘sonl craved and not- withstanding repeated disappointments, was ever ready to fling fresh gold into the vortex that long ago had swallowed up bis own small means, General Marsden could scarcely have chosen a less trustworthy guardian for bis only. child, but the gallant cfficer did not know. He and Mat Gunthorpe bad been college chums, and had ccrresponded. at intervals during his long years of service. M’ss Sopbia’s virtues had been duly extolled in her brother’s correspond- ence, so the general might be psrdened for having considered the pair fully qualified to undertake the charge of his most precious treasure when be was removed, bre olden the poiithtct mind. Wises, v my While Nerissa’s fate was being discussed by | those who never paused to consider whether their schemes were calculated to promote her happiness, the girl herself wes wandering about the grourds, singing loud in her clear sweet voice wild snaiches of meledy, such as she — might have learned from her feathered favor-_ ites of the woods. Sometimes she would gather a cluster of flowers, and place them — carelessly amidst the masses of golden-brown hair that curled closely round her shapely head; or, if they seemed specially worthy of adwiration, the old straw hat, disparaged by Miss Sopbia, formed an excellent substitute for a basket in which to convey them safely home, to decorate’ her simply-appointed chamber, When she was tired, the bough of a tree, whose lowest branches nearly reached the ground, bocainc her seat, where she swayed gently to anc fro, indulging in bright day-dreams of tho uchnown future, which, to the young, bears — proistso of so much happiness. Tt tve3 sweet to Nericsa to be alone amid trees and ‘lowers, with the open sky above her head, out of reach of Sophia’s grumbling tones. One day, however, these pleasures failed to yield satisfaction; so she left the grounds by a side-gate, and sauntered down the country road, At a short distance Shout wtiere she walked rose a high embankment, along which ran a line of railway, and she knew that in a minute | or two the expres: would pass on its way from Bridgeport, the nearest town, to New York. She liked to watch the great iron moneter pursue its furious career; to notice the strange — faces peering from the windows of the car- riages—come young and beaming with happi- ness, others worn and anxious, In that momentary glimpse she often found — materials for weaving a romance in her busy brain—for the wayward girl had asentimental turn of mind, which was fostered by her al- most solitary life, deprived of all congenial ong a and the amusements suited to — si? age.
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- _ heart. It was _ oF what answer ed still to see it pass, wondering whether it would ever bear her to the great metropolis— the unknown world where 80 many marvelous sights were to be seen. A sort of commotion on one of the platforms attracted her attention. , What are those men doing? They are struggling—fighting. As she gazed, to her horror and amazement, One of them either leaped from the train or Was thrown out of it. The iron horse dashed on at full speed, while the slight, dark figure rolled down the steep embankment, and was lost to view. A ery of horror rose to Nerissa’s lips; her heart throb ed violently. The train was already nearly out of sight, leaving behind this stranger, who might, she thought be dead, or at least seriously injured. Lutent!y she watched to see whether he would again become visible, and strained her ears lest @cry for help should be vainly uttered. All Was silent save for the twittering of the birds in - the trees, and for the lowing of cattle in a dis- tans field. She could not bear to leave the place, even to Summon assistance, for he might die unwatched 4nd alone before her return, a thought that Mads her shudder. Impelled by pity, flavored by a slight tinc- ture of womanly curiosity, she at last hastened toward the spot where he must still be lying, Making her way amid the long grass, pusbing Sside shrubs and brambles that impeded her Progress, until she stopped beside the prostrate form of him she sought Very pale and still be kay beneath the calm evening sky. : A tail, dark-baired man, whose age might be afew years over twenty, with a well-chiseled face, down one side of which bloo2 was slowly trickling from a wound on the temple, inflicted by a sharp stone. : Nerissa knelt down beside him, and, conquer- ing her nervous fears, laid ber hand upon his beating still, and with renewed hope she harried to alittle brook that ran at no Great distance, and dippiog her handkerchief in its clean waters, returned to the unconscious ne and gently wiped the blood-stains from his Ww. Then, remembering that Miss Sophia’s scent- bottle, which she had been desired to bring down-stairs for its owner’s use before she start- don her ramble, was still in her pocket, she ap- Plied the strong essence to the young man’s Aostrils, It seemed tv revive him. He opened his eyes, gazed about rather wild- ty, and said, in an agitated voice: “‘ Have those men gone}—am I free?” Sbe knew not whether his brain wandered, to make, ~ “You have had a severe fall. You are alone with me. Had you any fr h inf’ she aid hesitating? y friends on the train?’ recollect all now,” he murmured in his hand across his throbbing brow, te tint Rot linger bere, or they will be on my track, a [ shall have risked my life in vain,” fh “Whom do you fear?’ she asked, as he at- ™mpted to rise, and fell back again with a roan, lady, may I trust you? You have a “Dear kind face, and will not betray ma I am _ SParged with a crime of which I am guiltless, death?” — bat can I dow he bas 24 5 sv 5 » : “bel as do” she faltered. ‘I would | eyes twinkled with new light as he thought Lge ul a could.” qe that this fair young creature was marked for ae 4 for those gracious words. ‘They | hisown, = : ‘" rained Tesh courage. I find that I have | Miss Sophia presided as usual at the table. Py ata to shield one whom I love, I dare Seca pal my innocence apparent. I have just railway rom the hands of the police. In the cuffs nd te I managed to slip my hand- make a last effort for liberty. You wi! | not give me back to a fate worse than re it he poured forth the words, lift- gir’s % oring 6yes to Nerissa’s face; and the mpulsive feelings were strangely stirred. d my ankle, ie Nite 3 Avis intensely painful, but | She scarcely noticed is A. poy ae OF byt res 7: ER 5 oe ws.’ ay ws woods, which, perbaps, will afford me shelter for the night. To-morrow I must think what can next be done, Lady, if inquiries should be made, you will not breathe a word of hav- ing seen or spoken with me? You will keep my secret, will you?” pleadingly. ‘*T promise,” she answered, with a firm de- termination to keep her word. Slowly and painfully he arose, and dragged himself a few yards onward, Nerissa watching him with an ever-increasing compassion. Poor fellow! he was weak and suffering, and wrongfully accused by his enemies. If, for the sake of some beloved friend, he bad taken a burden of guilt upon his own shoulders, it seemed to her tre perfection of self-sacrifice. Win he disappeared among the trees, she wen: slowly beme to the oak-paneled parlor, where Matthew generally dozed over bis news- paper, while Sophia knitted stockings or played “solitaire.” : In the tumult of her mind she did not no- tice that her guardian and his sister were em- barrassed and ill at ease, sometimes glancing at her askance with strange scrutiny. She knew not that, after a stormy dabate, they had succeeded in amicably settling their differ- ences, and arrived at the conclusion that, after all, Matthew Guntuorpe could not do better than espouse ‘the insignificant chit,” Nerissa Marsden, and her fortune, So, in happy unconsciousness of the coming ‘struggle, she sat in her favorite corner by the window, listening to the wind moaning amid the trees as evening shadows gathered, and wondering how the unknown fared in those dreary weods, with no other canopy but the heavens above him. CHAPTER II. THE STORY OF A LIFE. NERISSA passed a sleepless night; she felt as though burdened by fate with a heavy respon- sibilty. This stranger had been thrown in ber path. He was suffering and cppressed. Was she not bound to succor him? Had she been older or more experienced she might have looked upon him merely as a criminal fleeing from justice; or at least have weighed the probabilities of his guilt or inno- cence, As it was, she implicitly believed his assur- ances, though she could have given no satisfac- tory reason to account for her conviction. She resolved to visit the woods next day, taking with her a basket containing such pro- visions as she could abstract from the larder without rousing the suspicions of Miss Sophia, or Hannah, the cook; and as she was accus- tomed, when the weather was fine, to spend the whole morning out of doors, rambling about the woods, her absence from bome would not excite observation. : One thought troubled her. Perhaps the fugitivs had been sgain seized, and conveyed to that dark and loathsome dungeon which was Nerissa’s idea of a prison cell. The sun, which was peeping brightly through the curtains, dispelled this gloomy reflection. She sprung from her couch with alacrity,. and throwing open the window, Jooked out upon the thousand natural beauties of a fine spring morning. The dewy grass sparkled in the sunbeams; the tangled flowers of the neglected garden had beautiful tints and rich perfumes, A few bright-winged butterflies were alresdy skim- ming through the air to pay morning calls upon their floral favorites, and the birds greet- ed day with a barmonious concert. Nerissa became more cheerful. She sung her gayest songs while completing her toilet, and entered the breaktast-parior so bonny and blooming, that Matthew Guothorpes small | Nerissa’s greeting, 60 3 t abe, i 7 - : Lae ee ae é «4s , deg rd ae Pa ee ; 23 Fes ak hee Oe Tadeoth ae ee bee "ge sy i > me yi Les PLS ee a ees ery ey ed 4 ee ee Fee a a Le there?” ; : - “on YRo j ; ; : ‘ Pits a 7 ae ? 4 } : “4 <i R ie <c Lo much was she engrossed by the news, just heard from one of the servants, which sbe was retailing to her brother. . “Such a terrible catastrophe! And its oc- curring so near seems to make it worse, though | I don’t exactly know why. Just fancy, Mat- — thew, four curs broken into splinters, nine passengers killed, and I know not how many injured! It really makes one shudder,” ‘‘What has happened?” asked the girl, with @ vague impression that anything new and startling must have some connection with yes- terday’s adventure. ; “A railway accident, my dear,” explained | Mr. Gunthorpe, attempting to blend in his manner the character of both guardian aud lover. ‘* The 6:30 express from Bridgeport to New York came in collision with a number of freight cars, that by an ur-fortunate mischancs were left upon the track. The result would have been still more fatal had not the train been slackening speed at the moment; but it is — bad enoughaas it is.” ‘“‘T think so, indeed!” chimed in Miss Sophia. | ‘“‘Engine-driver and stoker not expected to live; poor Jones, the grocer, killed—be was a civil map, though I sometimés complained that he gave short weight; then there was a woman and her baby, and, what was strange, two policemen and their prisoner.” ‘‘Was the prisoner killed?” asked Nerissa, doubtfully. = ‘‘Have I not said so?” was the sharp re-_ joinder. ‘‘His features were so crushed and mutilated that they would not be recognizable by bis nearest friend; but he was close beside the other men, and people remember baving seen them enter the cars at Bridgeport.” ‘*Perhaps they are mistaken,” murmured. Nerissa; then stopped, confused, on observing the eyes of her companions fixed on her sur- prise; while Miss Sophia remarked, in re- — proachful accents, ‘‘that it was wonderful — how fond some persons were of contradic- — tion!” notice the change in his manner, She was the first to rise from tbe table, im- patient to set forth on ber mission, but Mr. | Gunthorpe laid a restraining hand upon her iS arm. ; “Can you spare me half an hour, my dear Nerissa? I wish to speak to you on a subject of the deepest importance.” :; Never before in her remembrance had be guardian desired a tete-a-tete. Her heart began to flutter. heard what bappened on the previous evening, and was about to vent his indignaticn upon her. Perhaps he had — “TI bope you are not going to scold me,” she _ d, ~ PE oe “‘Scold you, my dear girl? I prize you fer — us , et al EE iS i eae oy too highly, love you much too well, todo thar, How fortunate I should esteem myself if you — would only let me devote my life to making you happy!” » Sophia had discreetly withdrawn. Mr. Gnn- | thorpe seized Nerissa’s hand, gazing upon bir with lover-like tenderness: while she, althcugh somewhat startled at the sudden transforma tion, in her simplicity had no ‘suspicion that_ she was about to be honored by her first offer — x iS “ae of: marriage. , “Do you really wish to make me happy {? she asked, after a short pause, wherein her mind revolved all kinds of agreeable. possi- bilities. " ‘Tt is my dearest hope, sweet Nerissa.” _“ Then perhaps you would not mind asking Miss Sophia to get me one or two new dresses the village to-morrow, hat r A a te allt W ] SAE, Yon) Se eats Sgt IO WR an tno Mee pis Viegas ray t 7 a
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Peg Ne ad OE -, $ eyed Bea F SOS i ee a rs Wt ee +5 Reel 5 ; Pe eer eta +e ee aes te ih ao ase - e, a Se eae, Crp Rana is Pale ne ohay Ae eens PE a ; a Yo f< pe z “FOR. THE WOMAN ‘HE LOVED. consideration, The happiness to which I re- ferred would last through life.” * I was atraid you would refuse,” sighed the girl, who boped that in her guardian’s present state of mind he might be induced to grant one or two small favors. ‘‘I have so little amusement.” ‘Tt would be different if we were married,” he answered, eagerly. ‘‘I should be so proud of my pretty young bride! Be my wife, Ner- issa, and I will take you abroad—to London, Paris, wherever you care to go. You shall have fine dresses, jewels, anything that takes you shall never repent being Mrs. Matthew Gunthorpe!” “T your wife!” she exclaimed in consterna- tion, foreibly withdrawing her hand and springing to her feet. ‘‘Mr. Gunthorpe, sure- ly you are not in your right senses!’’ His brow knitted into an ominous frown, ‘This is a strange reception of my proposal, Nerissa.” . ‘Not stranger than it deserves. Why should I marry unless I fall in Jove?—and of course I cannot fall in love with you!” ‘And why should we not be very barpy even without that ridiculous passion which is talked of more often than felt? If I made an indu’gent busband you would have no reason to complain; and, young as you are you would soon learn to perform your duties as a wife. You like me already, Nerissa, do you not?” “Yes,” very hesitatingly. ‘I could not dislike poor papa’s friend.” “That is sufficient for the present! warmer feelings will come by-and-by. ‘The affair is settled. You must regard me as your future husband. The marriage shall take place shortly.” ‘*No, no!” she cried, vehemently, as he at- tempted to place his arm around her, ‘‘I will not be forced into an engagement trom which my heartrevolts. You never can persuade me to marry you!’ * Obstinate fool!” he cried, losing bis temper. “Do you think I cannot bend you to my wiii? You depend on me for the very roof that covers you, as well asthe bread you eat! What will become of you if I turn you trom my doors?” _ “Heaven will raise up new friends to help me!” exclaimed Nerissa, ‘You are brave because you have never known real trouble; but do not think you will escape me. I am a firm man; my enemies call me obstinate. We shall see whether the strength of my will cannot conquer yours!” ‘ At least, you cannot drag me to church!” said the undaunted Nerissa, ax, anxious to termiuate the discussion, she hurried from the room. Before half an hour was over she was on her way tothe woods, where she supposed the fugi- tive was still biding. It cannot be denied that Mr, Gunthorpe’s declaration had made her un- comfortable; but she was far from being sub- ued. She marveled that a man at his age could so degrade himself in the eyes of a girl young enough to be his granddaughter. Yet there was something ludicrous in the notion of a gray-haired man choosing a giddy gir] of seventeen for his wife; and when she thought of Miss Sopbia meekly surrendering the housekeeping keys, and, taking the second place in the household, scundalized by the ex- travagance and mismanagement of her brother’s bride, she laughed outright, Reaching her destination, she had hardly en- tered the woods when she perceived her new acquaintance limping toward her. In the bright morning sunshine he looked haggard and worn, but his face lighted up when he saw Nerissa, whom he welcomed with many ex- pressions of gratitude. “‘T scarcely dared hope to see you. Yet there was such a gleam of compassion in your _eyes yesterday that I could not belp believing that you would come to my aid. All last night I lay in the hollow of a tree, far in the ab depths of that forest; and before I slept, I prens, as I once did as a child at my mother’s Kink: that you might be rewarded for your charity. But now what am I to do? My ankle is so painful that I cannot walk far. It I go into the village for food, people may look suspiciously upon me, a stranger, Iam already half famished,”’ “I have brought you food,” she said, dis- playing the ccntents of her basket. While he, seated upon the trunk of a felled tree, made a hearty meal from the viands she had brought, Nerissa gave him the news of the railway accident. ‘Fate is kind,” he said, ‘‘in removing these men at such a critical moment. Ist must have been through their signals that the train slackened speed. Death frustrated their de- termination to pursue and recapture me, So perish ai] the enemies of Everard Vaughan!” Nerissa was shocked, ‘‘These were not your enemies!’ she said, indignantly. “They were only doing their duty.” “Ah, do not turn against me,” he mur- mured, in a soft, melodious voice. ‘‘ You have been my friend, and, outcast as Iam, have won my eternal gratitude. Pardon me if I have spoken bitterly; believe me, I have been se- verely tried, Accused of a crime which I never committed; the woman whom I dearly loved lost to me forever; do you wish me to turn hypocrite, and use smooth words, when the language of demons would not express the bitterness I feel?” The tide of pity surged once more about Nerissa’s beart. He was so young to undergo such troubles, the more so when they were un- deserved! ‘*Take heart,” she said, softly; “‘ all may yet be well.” He shook his head despondently. ‘‘Something has gone out of my life which eannot be restored to it. Hope, love and trust —all have vanished,” In spite of dusty clothes, disordered hair and haggard visage, Everard Vaughan was still re- markably handsome; and, say what we will, the feminine heart is peculiarly susceptible to the influence of good looks in the opposite sex. Nerissa might not have taken the same inter- est in the confessions of an older and plainer ‘man; but, gazing at that slender, well-knit frame, and those velvety dark eyes, she longed to hear the story of his life. ' He seemed to read ber thoughts, and re- marked: ‘‘It is only right I should tell you something about myself and the crime with which they charge me,” he said. “You would scarcely suppose, seeing me here in misery and degradation, that I come of a good family. “My father was the third son, and being ex- travagant, soon ran through his moderate in- heritance, ‘‘He died when I was a lad of eighteen, leaving me nearly penniless. “Through want of means, I was not educated for any profession, and my father was too proud to let me learn a trade. “How could I get my living? “A bright idea struck me. z “T had always a predilection for the stage, so my mind was made up to become an actor. “ After some difficulty I succeeded in getting an engagement at a minor theater, but either I wanted talent or perseverance, and made no great hit. ‘‘ But the turning point of my life now ar- rived—I met her who was my fate.” “You fell ia love?’ cried Nerissa, deeply in- terested. ‘* Was the lady beautiful?” ‘*Tn my eyes she possessed more than mortal beauty.” -‘* Was she an actress?” ‘Yes; and ber husband joined our company after making a successful tour through the States.” Nerissa’s countenance fell. “Then she was married, and yet you say you loved her?” _ ‘‘T could not help it. Believe me, I strug- gled acninet my passion; but all in vain.” her no more, } wt? ‘ on ple sec yk MSI aa 5 * Bhe was a fair, aise creature, bora to rule over the hearts of men; sbe soon totally subjugated mine, “ Her husband was an idie, reckless fellow, | who passed his leisure time in haunts where his wife could not penetrate, where the bottle was circulated tco freely. ‘*On such occasions he would return home in & morose and savage humor, and she was made | the victim of his wrath. ‘*She had married him for love, against the wishes of her friends, and bitterly did she re- pent her bargain. *‘T acted with her in many melodramas, where her beauty: and spirit infused lite into the whole performance; and when, as ber — lover, fortune so far favored me as to give me such a part—lI felt the toucb of her hand, or her breath upon my cheek, I became as one inspired. ‘* Those who knew me, wondered at the tal- ent I would then exhibit. _* And thos things went on for awhile—” ‘And then?’ questioned Nerissa, finding that he paused abruptly. ‘“‘Then came a day when there was discoy- ered a room in disorder, the furniture broken, — the carpet drenched with blood, and in the middle of the ficor lay the dead body of a man with a dagger through the heart. “You killed him, then?” exclaimed Nerissa, shuddering, as she shrunk away from her com- panion with dilated eyes aud quivering lips; “yet you told me you were guiltless!” “So lam. I willswear ten thousand times that his blood is not on my head!” ; Perceiving the expression of incredulity and astonishment with which she regarded him, he continued, earnestly: ‘* T repeat that I had no band in his death. I neither stole upon him with the crafty pur- pose of the midnight assassin, nor in the heat of passion did I stain my soul with murder. But I fled.” “Why did you flee, when you are inno-— cent?” ‘* Because I dared not face the terrible array of evidence against me, and I could not di- vulge the truth, I was suspected and hunted down, A felon’s doom loomed darkly before me. Careless whether I lived or died, I made a leap for freedom—anything rather than the gallows! And here I am!” ‘ Tbe impress of truth seemed to be stamped on his words, and strange though his narrative was, she was forced to believe him. ‘Who, then, took the life of the unhappy man?” she asked, in an awe-struck whisper. “Ts it possible that he committed self-destruc- tion?’ **Do not Jet us talk of him longer. ‘Your girlish heart should not he saddened by tales of sorrow or crime. I cannot tell you more than I have done.” Everard Vaugban now began to speak on the subject he kad most at heart—that of escaping from the clutches of the law. He was doubtful whether the detective who tcok him on the platform of the Bridgeport station had had time to telegraph to Pinkerton’s; and even if the authorities there knew of his arrest, they might suppose he had met the fate of their subordinates. He proposed to conceal himself in the wood, now thick with summer foliage, until his ankle was strong enough, and he could travel on foot to some seaport tuwn, whence he could work his passage on board some sbip bound for a foreign country. He had managed to secrete a small store of money, but if he appeared in the village to purchase the necessaries of life lame, haggerd, — and wretched, he might excite attention, and finally suspicion. Throwivg himself at Nerisea’s feet, he im-— plored her to finish the good work she ‘bad be- gun. It was only for a short time, he urged, that he should trespass on her goodners— a few days — —a week or two at most, and he would trouble
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ok ie Feats: — ts Joost ss one esnmee ane « Cte Ln awe: nn : His entreaties did not fall upon deaf ears. Before Nerissa left him to return to ber gloomy home, now even more distasteful to her, _ @bhe promised to continue her visits to the wood _ at certain intervals,and Everard Vaughau knew he could depend upon her word. CHAPTER III. A FATAL STEP, On the border of the woods which lay to the west of the village stood a solitary, low-roofed hut, inhabited by an ancient dame named Dorothy Trent. Her once tall figure was bent haif-double by rheumatism even more than age; her snow- white hair was loosely twisted under a black silk handkerchief, wreathed turban-fasbion round her head, whence escaped long tangled locks, framing a shriveled visage, with a rather malevolent expression. It was well for Dorothy that she lived in times when the belief in witcheraft is confined - toa few of the most ignorant, or she might have been offered as another victim upon the shrine of superstition. As it was, people Shrunk from her pathway when she walked through the village muttering to herself. She Was very deaf, which might have accounted for the habit, Some pronounced her to be e™ AERTS A \ Wee ' without being in love,” said Nerissa, wisely. ee he Pets ee py os . d ti * br pe vf Le 1 “T thought you were forgetting me. But no; I will not wrong you by a doubt—you have proved your goodness. And now do you not see bow strong and well I am growing? Soon you will be rid of me forever,” She smiled, but her smile was followed by a sigh. He noticed her usually rosy color had faded, and her eyelids bore traces of recent tears. “You are ill!” he exclaimed, anxiously. ‘* Not ill, but very unhappy.” The ready tears rose in ber eyes, She had } been harassed and tormented lately almost beyond endurance, and the sympathy Everard evinced found its way to ber beart. “ Yet there is no reason why I should keep my troubles secret,” she said, “ aud I have no one to guide or advise me, You may have forgotten my telling you that I bad a guardian, an old, grumpy, disagreeable man, whom I never liked, and now thoroughly detest. Well, he insists that I shall marry him.” She said this with such a tragic air that Everard could scarcely avoid smiling. ‘‘One cannot be surprised at his desire; but if you do not share it, why, dismiss your im- portunate suitor.” “Oh, if only could! You do not under- stand. When he found that fair words would not move me, he had recourse to menaces, even to violence. I have bruises now upon my arm caused by his cruel fingers when he forced me to stay and listen to him. His sister is just as bad. They threaten to keep me a prisoner in my own room until I promise to marry bim.” ‘¢The monsters! But have you no relative or friend who could interfere on your behalf?’ Sue shook her head sadly. “Tam the last of my family. There is an- other trustee somewhere in the West, but Mr. Guntbhorpe takes care never to let me know bis address, He and his sister have always kept me secluded; so I have no friends.” “You are too young and pretty tu venture forth into the world alone,” he said, glancing at her fragile form and child-like face, “‘or 1 should say be independent, leave their house, and, if necessary, earn your own living.” “But how?” she demanded, anxicusly. “You could be a governess.” “Tam afraid I am not clever enough. Miss Sophia bas never sent me to school. Then I am not skillful with my needle, hke some girls. I could not be a milliner or dressmaker.” “Could you go upon the stage?” he haz- arded, But the very notion was distasteful to the unsophisticated girl, who considered a first’ ap- pearance in public only a shade less terrible than marrying. Matthew Gunthorpe. For the moment, Everard had no other al- ternative to offer, “Tama bad hind at giving advice worth taking,” he said, smiling; ‘‘but if your aver- sion to your guardian’s wooing proceeds from a preference for some more favored suitor, why not marry him at once, and thus settle the question?’ ‘J have no lover!” she answered, petulant- ly. ‘‘I hate all such nonsense!” ‘Then you have never known life's sweetest ‘“One may know a great deal of happiness **T was happy enough with my pet birds and making.’ “You will one day change your mind.” ‘(Why should [? I like my freedom.” He swniled a little sadly as be looked upon this young, untamed thing rebelling against the very thought of bondage. Would shé ever become amenable to love's soft discipline? / “Tam very selfish to stay here talking about myself,” sbe resumed, more brightly. ‘‘ And, © ob, Mr. Vaughan, I had nearly forgotten to give you a piece of news I overleard Miss N HE LO 2 VE killed in the railway accident,” ‘You mean the man whose corpse was sup- posed to be mine?’ he interrupted quickly, turning a shade more pale. ‘Y-s; but bis clothes and watch have been identified. He bad been for the last four years in Australia it seems, and his family did not know until lately that he had returned. Pocr fellow, it was indeed sad to lose his life when within so short a distance from home and friends.” Everard Vaughan rose from bis seat and paced the rocm in agitation. “Do you not see, Miss Nerissa, that this dis - covery increases my danger?” “No one would think of looking for you here,” she replied ecnfidently. ‘We cannot tell. These men employed to bunt out criminals are like bloodhounds on the track; no possibility escapes them. I must dis- guise myself as well as I can, and leave this neighborhood.” The clock in the chimney-corner struck the hour. If was later than Nerissa sup- posed. She bade brief adieux to Everard and old Dorothy—the latter had been dozing over the fire, since her deafness made the ‘conversation inaudible beyond a few stray sentences—and was soon hurriedly making her way home- ward. In the gloomy avenue of elms leading to the principal entrance of Ravenburst she met her guardian, grim and severe cf aspect, his small eyes literally ablaze with indignation. : ‘“‘T was coming in search of you, Nerissa. How dare you absent yourself from home without either my consent or that of Suphia?” “T have never been kept a prisoner,” replied the girl sullenly. ‘For years I have passed hours out of doors daily, neither you nor your sister troubling yourselves whither I went or when I returned, so that I was notin your way.” “All is different now,” he answered, his bony fingers tightening on her wrist until she could have cried aloud with pain. ‘“ You were then a child, and we allowed you a child's freedom; now you are a woman, and my drs- tined wife.” ‘That I will never be, as I have often told you!” “T pay no attention to your caprices, It is but a question of time when I will make you submit to my fixed determination, and becoine my own for life.” Suddenly she stopped, and’ addressed bim with quivering lips and eyes that gleamed brightly throvgh rising tears. ‘“Mr. Gunthorpe, why should you desire to condémn me toa miserable future? I cannot love; if I were your wife I might learn to bate — you, My dear fatber trusted you #8 a friend; do not let bis child have reason to regard you esanenemy. Let me have the money he be- queathed to me. I know not whether the sum — will be great or small, but it will be enough to afford me subsistence. Then I will quit Ravenburst forever, and you shall soon tor- get me.” She bad never before referred to ber father’s will, or shown any knowledge of the inberi- tance which one day must be hers. “You will not be of ege for full three years,” he said, doggediy; “and until then — you are under my control. I decline at the present time to even attempt a settlement of the trifling property left by my friend Mars- den. It was to be invested for your benefit util you were twenty-one or got married to a suitable person. You shall bave the paltry sum when you marry me.” ‘‘And if I chose to wed any one else,” she asked, deflantly, “it would equally be mine?’ ** Nerissa, you talk like a child. Do youim- agine that I am such a weak fool as to allow | you opportunities to obtain a lover or husband? Y will immure you in yonder house us if you ~
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J wy b 2: a: «ver property may be 7) 2 Pay in a gama cell I will watch over you as jealously as a jailer, until, worn out and weary, you will give your consent to our union. Then, Nerissa, the stern guardian shall give place to sia adoring husband, for 1 Jove you.” And, placing bis arm around her shrinking form, he forced her toward the house. That evening, when the sky had darkened over with clouds, and thunder rolled in the distance, Nerissa came through the pelting rain—a forlorn, bedraggled little figure—to Dorothy’s cottage, and had a second interview with Everard Vaughan. _ Long and earnestly they talked together. The young man expostulated, the girl persisted. Her eyes were glowing, her hands were burn- ing with fever; see had the distraught air of one driven to desperation. “Tf you consider you have cause to be grateful to me,” she said, “‘you will not re- _. fuse to do as I wish.” ‘ ‘But I fear you may repent taking such a rash step, Mi-s Nerissa.” ~ “No, no; it is you who are unwilling to barter your liberty. Yet if you have really Joved, and sbe whom you love: is lost to you _ forever, I do not ask a great sacrifice. See, I ‘have brought some trinkets that belonged to 1oy mother. They are of,no great value, but may raise sufficient mouey. to carry you away from America. As for me, I-remain here un- til Matthew Gunthorpe gives up the money that I can then force from him.” “‘ Nerissa,” he said, gravely, as be watched “yer excitement with the compassion aman must. ever feel for a weak woman’s folly, ‘‘ 1. warn you that you are running a great risk without _ gaining any compensating advantage. if I am married to you by the justice of the peace at Bridgeport disguised and in a feigned name, do-you imagine that your guardian would at onee cease to annoy pou and yield up what- yours under your late father’s will?” “He must. He owned to me this morning _ that such were the conditions.” “ But I could not bear to leave you. to his fury when he found himself beffled,” “I do not suppose that he will kill me,” said ‘Nerissa, reflectively ; “and as he etruck me this mczning—yes, with his bard, cruel hand! —I have no greater indignity to fear. Go. through the ceremony, and give me the cer- neene which will vouch for my marriage, and _ then we will say good-by, never, most likely, to cross each other’s paths again.” Everard Vaugban was av unscrupulous man, of no fixed principies, but he felt. a twinge of ewonscience in agreeing to Nerissa’s desperate _ proposition, Yet, after all, not much harm could come of :. it, since such a marriage Would constitute no real bond between them; while the reward of- ‘ fered for his compliance—namely, those few old- fashioned trinkets worn by a happy wife in ; long passed away—would smooth away his. difficulties, and provide means for his jour- ney to some distant country. Young and beautiful as Nerissa was, be had ‘no wish to persuade her to link her fate with his and Jeave Bridgeport in his company. The embers of a former passion were not quite extinguished, and he could love no other ‘woman save her who had enslaved him, He had, fully performed his duty in his own esti- mation by cautioning the headstrong girl to _ pause before she perp-trated an act of reckless folly; if she chose to disregard his warning she must, suffer the consequences. “Tt shall be as you wisb,” he said. And Nerissa_ smiled ber thanks, already, in a imagination, gloating over Mr. Gunthorpe’s 5 y teenmabt are igeport railway station arm in-arm, and ing the most quiet and unfrequented ade’ their Ay: toward the office of The lady was plainly achat and wore so thick a vail that ber features were not distin- guishable, The gentleman had a long black beard, concealing the lower part of bis face, a quantity of straight black bair hanging down over his coat collar, and blue spectacles. His figure, too, was not at all prepossessing, as he was extremely round-shouldered. This pair were, of course, no other than Everard and Nerissa, . “‘T scarcely knew you,’? she whispered, as they walked swiftly on; ‘‘although you told me what disguise you had prepared, I had no idea it would be soeffectual. D>» you not feel very strange with’ your padded shoulders and false beard?’ ‘*You know I bave appeared in this guise once or twice already when I went tothe office to give the necessary notices, so am be- ginning to be reconciled to the inconyeniexcs it entails,» Ihave chosen Mr, William Lee for my ali s, because it is common and unassum- ing.”. ‘One name is as ‘good as another,” she re- plied, carelessly. ‘*‘ How: astonished my vener- ated guardian and his sister will be when they find 1 am a married womin!” “By the way, how did you manage to elude their vigilance?” “Nothing was easier. Mr. Gunthorpe started yesterday for New York, where, fortun- ately for me, he had some important business to transact, and Miss Sophia was left in charge, This morning was devoted to making up her housekeeping accounts, so as she wished not to be disturbed she slyly turned the key in my door, imagining that 1 was in safe keeping. But Hannah, the cook, is a dear old soul, and I bribed ber with kisses and ribbons to set me free whenever Miss Sophia makes me a prisoner.” “So Miss Sophia does not suspect that her bird hasflown? But bere weare! Once more, Nerissa, are you bent upon this folly?” ‘A thousand times, yes! It is my revenge on Mr, Guntborpe for his cruelty. He shall be noade to feel that his firm will cannot subdue mine.” They passed into the office, which looked dark and dismal after the sunshine in the streets. Nerissa’s heart began to beat violently, and for the first time a suspicion that this reckless step might ove day cause & bitter repentance crossed her mind. But it was too late to retract. She heard like one in a dream a strange voice asking questions to which she gave the arswers re- quired, The final declaration was made, thair names were signed in the registrar’s book, and with a start, as if awakened from a troubled sleep, Nerissa. Marsden heard herself addressed as Mrs. William Lee, while the marriage certifi- cate, which she had risked so much to gain, was "placed in ber bands, She trembled so violently, and her face bore such a ghastly hue, that Everard féared she was about to faint, so be hastily led her into the street. The fresh air revived her, and she smiled faintly. “So itis over, and I have had my willful way!” ‘‘Nerissa, your courage is failing already. I regret that I ever agreed to carry out your whim,” ‘‘ Whatever happens, you were not to blame; the fault and punishment will both be mine. We musi not stay bere longer; I shall lose the train that takes me back to Ravenhurst.” Everard murmured a few incoherent words of farewell as he pressed her unresisting hand, then glided swiftly away down the narrow street, in search of some secure hiding-place where he might remain until he could start for New York by the mail train. Nerissa was left standing there alone, She felt. more friendless than ever, now he had gone, and dreaded, more than she could have supposed possible, the consequences of the com- THE WOMAN HE LOVED. _ aliens re sistent wooer at Ravenhurst. Only one thing : was clear to ber sae cas mind, and gave her — en ae comfort. Mr. Guothorpe would find that bis schemes had encountered an insurmountable obstacle, as he could scarcely expect her to — commit bigamy even for his sake. CHAPTER IV. A FRIEND IN NEED. In a quiet New York street, at scme dis- tance from the fashionable quoerters of the town, stood a large but unpretentious-looking house, with a board placed im a prominent po- sition over the door, bearing the inscriptivn, “Temporary Home for Destitute Women.” Here, gathered together by the band of charity, were females of all eges, some bowed , by years and infirmities, others scarcely more than children, but all bearing the stamp of poverty, combined in many cases with sick-_ ness. and misery. The ‘‘Home,” wes sup- ported by subscription; and subscribers: only bad the privilege of recommending deserving cases which were brought under their notice. Neither vice, therefore, nor confirmed mendi- cancy were likely to find admittance. In the matron’s room—a small epartment, plainly furnished, but with some regerd to comfort—sat a young girl, thin even to attenv- ation, pale and ill-clad, yet bearing that vnmis- takable impress which marks those who have been well-born and bred. The shabby dress worn by Nerissa—for it was she—had been carefully mended, and was put on neatly, while ber golden-brown hair, 80 long and luxvriant that a queen might envy such a crown, was wreathed around ber smal head with unstudied grace. As Miss Wilton, the matron, locked at her | drooping face and delicate hands, evidently unused to labor, she understood that this gir! had a history, “Doctor Treherne will be here presently,” she said, glancing at the timepiece. ‘*I think he will find that the improvement in your health is maintained and you are already stronger.” _“ Thanks to his kindness and your care,” re- turned Nerissa, gratefully. ‘‘ Indeed, madam. I think the cause of my falling into the swoon which alarmed my landlady in Blank street was want of food. She did not know that tor days I subsisted upon the most ccarse ‘and scanty fare; I had spent my last dime, avd saw no fate before me but death by starvation!” “My poor girl, if you had come to such a pass, the workhouse would have received you!” ‘‘T would have died rather than entered it!” cried Nerissa, with a shudder. “(In that case it is lucky that you met with Doctor Treherne. He rubscribes liberally to our funds, and. since be came into a for- tune he has devoted a goodly portion to pur- poses of charity. Ah! thére isa ring at the outer door, and no doubt it ishe.” — — The matron’s surmise was correct, for almost immediately the expected visitor was ushered into the room. He was a tall, dark-complexioned man cf about eight-and-twenty, with an inteilectus! rather than strictly bandsome fece, illumi: e: by black-fringed eyes of grayish blue. These was something peculiarly winning in the sweet, grave smile which often irrediated his frature-, and hig voice was mellow and pleasing. Miss Wilton received bim with the respect due to a gentleman who gave his bank-notes freely, and his services as medical attendant to the institution without fee or reward. “T perceive, Miss Wilton, that under your care my patiént is rapidly improving,” he re- marked, taking the offered seat near the two. ‘*T trust ’—this was to Nerissa—‘“‘ that you now excuse me for insisting as I did on your removal from the small, unbealthy room where you lodged?” ‘‘Tcan only thank you for bringing me here, ’ she ‘answered, with a flickering smile; “and — miseries of” look back with a shudder to ‘the Le ah sar nee | Blank street.”
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3 ie tine! ay Ee 4 ee nd te aon yt eg OG ao Pe iy Lees Fy ae Soon esa ae ae RN he MLE Fe | areneg Stennett MOEA Ss a eta ; Ae eh a ee eae Ti SF 4 ¥ ‘ = EE pi 7 py x + * ils a 7 ; : ‘fs . ji of J ’ TR ttn ee ee enna © You must never live in such a place again; the houses are not fit for buman habitation.” “Poverty cannot choose its home,” she answered with a sigh. “But we must find means tohelp you. You &re an orphan, you say, without any living relations?” “T have not a friend in the world.” “And you came to New York to seek em- ployment?’ he continued, pursuing his in- quiries, d “Ab, Naw York is a cruel place!” sighed the girl, “I walked all day for weeks in Search of work, but people looked at me sus- ee? because I was a stranger; and when told them they must take me without _Yeference as to character, turned away from me with a sneer and sbrug of the shoulders.” ‘* But is there no one to speak a word in your favor?? She shook her head. ‘** Few are in such an isolated position, unless they have forfeited the esteem of toeir friends,” observed the matron, pursing up her lips. Alaric Treherne’s penetrating but kindly eyes sought Nerissa’s countenance. Her color rose beneath his scrutiny, and sbe found cour- age to rebut the matron’s insinuation. “Do not misjudge me, madam,” she said, firmly but not disrespectfully, “because I can- not explain the reason why. you see me thus deserted and friendless. For no fault of mine T have been persecuted by those who should have protected me, and have become a beggar and an outcast. Dear madam, poor and ab- ject though I be, I'still can dare say that I am not unworthy the sympathy of a pure-minded Woman, nor the assistance of a true-hearted map.” “‘And that assistance I will give,” said Alaric, warmly; ‘or, ‘what will be better still, my aunt Pennington shall help you. I know I can interest her in your favor. She bas ® good heart, as you are aware,” he continued, turning to Miss Wilton; ‘(and ever since my | cousin Muriel offended her by making an im- prudent marriage, has led a lonely and se- cluded life. Ihave often heard her express a wish for the society of some young girl whom she might love and treat as a daughter. Why ' should she not take Miss Marsden under her protection? At least, I can make the propo- sition.” é f Miss Wilton looked dubious. Her benevo- lent instincts did not go quite so far as Doctor Treherne’s, but’ then perhaps Nerissa’s beauty could not exert so great an influence over her feminine heart. When Alaric left the “Home,” he deter- mined upon rescuing Nerissa from the deplor- able condition in which he found her. He was rieh now, but in early youth had felt the sting of poverty, and that experience softened bim toward those who were wallowing in that slough of despond. He had been brought up to the medical pro- fession, and loved it too well to abandon it When it was no longer necessary as a means of gain; but he practiced most among the poor, refusing payment for his services, and leaving wealthy patients who could afford high fees to his more impecunious professional brethren, It was while attending a consumptive mason who occupied a room in the house where Ne- rissa dwelt, that ha wassummoned to the miser- , erable garret where the young girl lay swoon- _ than such ’ ing from weakness and inanition, Perceiving the cause of her illness, she was, is request, admitted to the inst.tution over Which Miss Wilton presided. erissa had fled from Ravenhurst in a par- oxysm of terror caused by her guardian’s fury when; on the next occasion of his pressing his Sut, she told him she was married, and to go and satisty himself of the fact at the office of the Justice in Bridgeport. So great wag his rage that she fancied her : in peril, so took flight from the house with no other property in her possession ; articles of clothing as were crammed small black valise; enough moyey to into her EN EE —————————E———————————————————————————— SS eee a See ad aia ae us, ¢). By trate Sted init RG Soebce nanye OS AS caterer JY a take her to New York, and ber father’s gold watch, which she had now disposed of in order to provide food and lodging, As Nerissa fell asleep that night in the long, whitewashed dormitory where so many com- panions in misfortune found temporary refuge, her last waking thoughts were of Alaric Tre- herne. She knew that’ he trusted her, and al- though he was a comparative stranger, the knowledge somehow compensated for all she had undergone of late, ; Suddenly she awoke from a fearful dream, wherein Matthew Gunthorpe and Everard Vaughan were draggivg her to the moutb of a furnace, whence leaped fiery tongues of flame ready to devour her, while in tle distance the young doctor stretched out his band to aid; but, despite her struggles she was unable to reach him, . The smoke from the furnace seemed still in her mouth and nostrils, as she sat upright in her narrow bed, palpitating with fear. Though fully awake the suffvcating sensation rather in- creased than diminished, and she realized that her dream was but a reflection of the truth, and the house was on fire, With trembling bands, whichalarm rendered almost powerless, she hastened to put on her her clothes. She could hear the hoarse mur- mors of a gathering crowd outside, while the inmates of the dormitories, roused from sleep, shrieked wildly for help, and increased the gen- eral confusion. Doors were thrown open, admit- ting fresh volumes of smoke and the dense heat caused by advancing flames, Terrified women climbed upon window-ledges, and prepared to cast themselves headlong to the ground, being only restrained from doing so by the excited cries of the crowd, who urged them to wait for the fire-escape. The heat became uvendurable, Nerissa, panting for breath, attempted to reach the window, but a dozen rough hands were ready to thrust her aside, for the atmosphere was suffocating, and the women fought for life. At such a moment, forbearance and courtesy had no place. The strong triumphed over the the weak, One woman, however, whose coarse features and loud, harsh voice had repelled Nerissa dur- ing her short sojourn at the Home, showed that a warm heart aod unselfish nature lay bidden beneath an unprepossessing exterior. Taking the girl’s arm she forced her forward until her sufferings were relieved by a breath of the cool night air, while with almost motherly tender- ness she bade her take courage. / “Poor child! You are sore afraid; but be brave and have patience; we may still be saved.” . The flames were rising higher, and spread with rapidity. ‘Nerissa gave herself up for lost. But now were heard the tramp of horses mingled with the yells of the crowd. The fire-engines were coming, and the :uddy glow of that dreadful blaze shone on the helm- ets of those brave men, who soon were seen darting hither and thither, intent upon the ex- ecution of their duty. The water played upon the burning building, the escape was raised, and from the lower floors many were rescued, while Nerissa and her companions awaited in an agony of impa- tience the moment when their turn might ar- rive, “ Suddenly arose a shout of consternation. The escape is injured by the flames, and will act no longer. . Can the power of man save thse who still entreat for aid before they are ingulfed by advancing waves of fire? At this juncture Nerissa’s despairing eyes fall on a tall figure of a man pushing his way amid the crowd with the determination of approaching close to the house, and a thrill of hope strangely disproportioned to its cause goes through her heart as she recognizes Alaric Treherne, Policemen bar bis passage with vain remonstrances as to possible dangers; he thrusts them, aside, and stands beneath the window where Nerissa’s ghastly face’ lights up at bis approach with a gleam resembling joy. Bei, Vises Lena seeenew 5 Yew she practiced the strictest-economy: b pr iwh eg ) phatic answer, / ments? If tae had married have tried to make her happy; but she pre- ferred the handsome and fascinating "Gebre Bho ae ED. r Already she has Jearned totrust him. Involun-- | tarily he stretches his arms toward ber. She = mistakes the gesture for a sign that thus he . can save her, and disregarding his warning ‘ery, springs lightly upon the window-ledge, = and takes the perilous leap which will bear her to death or safety. By a superbuman effort he succeeds in catch- ing her; but his shoulder is dislocated and he suffers acute pain. He scarcely feels it, how, ever, as he gazes on the sweet unconscious! | face, and knows that she has escaped all sert- ous injury. He refuses to goin search of surgical aid until Nerissa is taken into one of the neighbor- ing houses, where, carefully tended, she soon | recovers ber senses, : ‘een By this time the other inmates of the Home bave been rescued in various ways by the fire- men and eager crowd, the roof bas fallen in with a great crash, and the building itself bids fair to become only a heap of smoking ruins, CHAPTER V. ate y THE RETURNED PRODIGAL. * as “T am glad, aunt, that you are so pleased — with Miss Marsden. I ulways said that you required a cheerful ‘young companion to keep — up your spirits, and now''you see I was right.” eh “You generally are, my dear Alaric;” and — the speaker gazed affectionately at ber young = relative, as they sat together in the luxurious- | ; ly-furnished room she called her boudoir, en- joying a confidential chat. | a Sale Mrs. Pennington was tall and thin, With an | — appearance of delscate health, both in her pale complexion and the deep lines \around her mouth and temples. She was simply dressed in some clinging black fabric, without trim. ming or ornament, relieved by p'ain linen col. lar and cuffs; while her dark hair, thickly streaked with gray, wes plainly braided under’ a cap which owed little to the milliner’s art. She was a rich woman and spent money lavish- ly on art or charity, buton herownadornment + %. “Miss Marsden seems happy here, Tes pose?” said Alaric, interrogatively, aftera slight pause. “She bas recovered the shock caused | | by the fire?” : tah es “She is well in health, but sometimes rather eg pensive. It is mysterious, Alaric, that so charming a girl shoulda be witbout a singls te friend, and I cannot induce her to speak of the past.” om reat : ‘All in good time, my dear aunt,” aid the young man, soothingly. ‘‘When you have — been Junger acquainted, she will be anxious to — Mey i confide her secrets td you.” ehh Rae “Do you think her pretty? pe GY aa 4 “More than pretty—beautifnl!” was theem- ‘Yet she is not like Muriel.” a “(Not in the least.” : Ee Muriel was Mrs. Pennington’s daughter, and = six years ago, when a girl of eighteen, the be- © trothed of Alaric Treherne. Gye “I wish, Alaric, that I had the power to forget things as easily as you seem to do,” said the lady, with some asperity, “You talk as — calmly of my child as if you had not been playmates togetber, friends and lover's unt. that ever-to-be regretted day when she, an= nounced her intended marriage with George, St. Aubyn.” y ee ‘You do not blame me, I suppose, for re- nouncing all allegiance to another man’s wife?” remarked* Alaric, quietly. “ When Murie} changed her mind, and gave me to understand = that I was no longer an acceptable suitur, would you have me pine away because she was fickle?’ rs *“You never really loved her!” exclaimed Mrs. Pennington, unaware, however that in her words a germ of truth lay hidden. ‘‘My dear aunt, why need we recall the pist, with its mortifications and Sige Si Bette: me, IT would i>?
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a St, Aubyn to the plodding doctor, | think all ne the ladies were charmed with him, Muriel m among the rest, on the evening we saw him first at the dramatic entertainment given at the armory. He was rather a stick, in theatri- cal parlance; but then, as they said, he was so good-looking.” “J fear be was a worthless scamp!”’ sighed Mrs, Pennington; ‘‘yet, Alaric, I sometimes find myself wishing that 1 bad borne his inso- lence, and not allowed him to fiad a pretext Pas tor estranging my daughter from me. Had we not quarreled, he must have permitted her to write or visit me occasionally; now I know not what has become of her.” “Muriel should never have forgotten her _. mpother’s claims!” said he sternly. ‘‘Even duty to her htisband cannot excuse neglect of that i sacred tie.” : “My dear boy, you.are so severe!” remarked Mrs. Pennington, deprecating his indignation. Nerissa’s entrance was a seasonable inter- , ruption to a subject which usually gave rise | to a decided difference of opinion between aunt and nephew. The roses of health were again revisiting the girl’s cheek, and her form showed the roundness of youth in its graceful curves. In a dress of blue serge, with a clus- ter of scarlet geran’ums fastening the creamy lace which encircled her swan-like tbroat, she brightened the room like a gleam of sunshine, and Mrs. Pennington cast aside her despon- 3 deney, and welcomed her with a smile. “ Well, my dear, you seem the better for your morning stroll. You look quite bloom- ing.” _ ‘Y mean to get rid of my pale cheeks now, ' and become bright and rosy,’’ returned the girl, playfully, ‘‘since I have met with kind friends aod a happy home.” “Then it isa happy home to you, Nerissa?” ‘* How can you doubt it?” And she seated herself on a low stool at the feet of ber benefactress, aud stroked her thin, _ white hand. ‘*T. cannot -remember my mother —she died while I was an infant. Had she lived, I can _, searcsly believe she could have been more kind and tender than you have been to me.” ‘You do me good, too, Nerissa. I was often dull and moping until you came to cheer me.” ‘It is pleasant to hear you say that I have done you good,” cried Nerissa, joyfully, *‘ But I must not forget,” she added, “that I owe all this happiness to Doctor Treherne. Had it not been for his kindly interest [ should long ago bave perished in that miserable room where be first found me.” “Do not let your mind dwell upon sorrows which are best forgotten,” he said. ‘You have now a fond protectress in my aunt, who views you as a daughter, while you may re- _ gard me as a—” _ He was about tosay a brother, but it struck him suddenly with a feeling of surprise that he - was glad Nerissa was not his sister. So he substituted the word ‘‘friend,” and the mo- ash ath TG hate A SRS Carphone! to appear upon his generally colorless and dark- ' complexioned face. = A servant entered at this juncture and an- - nounced, * Mrs, St. Aubyn.” _ The mother started wildly from ber chair with acry of delight, and in an instant had clasped I her arms around a tall, slender lady, _ dressed in deep mourning, who ‘bad advanced with the uncertain air of one not quite sure of _ her reception. _ “Muriel, Muriel, my child, why have you _ treated me so cruelly? I have been hungering for the sight of your sweet face, the touch of your soft band!” “Tt was not my fault, mother.” : Muriel St. Aubyn gently disengaged herself from tbat clinging embrace, and offered her - hand to Doctor Treberne. a ‘We are friends, cousin Alaric, are we not?” es peste with a winning smile; ‘‘ though I ca aha I treated you very sbabbily.” " “ That is Kh wey and renee yoars ago, | a aim ale v 5 stra f ris r a pet em) wate bse cae? ye: ee Ste AE ae mentary embarrassment caused a shade of red | om + ie ee t. bases py ~ F; oe E ry a en eT ‘How noble of you to say so! Then you are glad to see me again? And this lady?” she added, turning to Nerissa, who stood near, con- fused. ‘‘ Will you introduce us?” “‘This is Miss Nerissa Marsden, who lives with my aunt as companion.” “Tndeed!" she interrupted, without waiting for the introduction to be completed. ‘' But I have come home now to be always with mam- ma—that is, if she will forgive my apparent neglect and receive me again.” She cast an appealing glance from eyes of a deep sapphire blue at her mother as she spoke, “*My child, you are welcome as a bird to its nest! But what will your husband say?” “Do not let us speak of him during these joyful moments of our first reunion. He is dead. These mourning robes are worn for him, Yes, dearest mocher, you have back with you a widowed child, who has regretted often that she did not allow herself to be guided by your good advice, Ab, Alaric!”—once more her sparkling orbs lifted to his face—‘‘ a wom. an who forsakes her first love is never really happy.” Nerissa stole from the room. Surely she was not wanted during the progress of such | confidential communications} “‘T am glad she bas the sense to with- draw,” was Muriel’s comment. ‘ We can now feel more at ease. Mother, how could you let this stranger take my place?’ She spoke re- proachfully. ‘*Tt was a place you voluntarily resigned,” observed Doctor Treberne. ‘‘ But my aunt took charge of Miss Marsden at my request. She wasa stranger in the city, poor and uupro- tected. I attended her professionally, and was glad to secure for her so unexceptionable a sit- uation.” “JT suppose young doctors always take an interest in their pretty patients,” remarked Mrs. St. Aubyn, with an assumed simplicity | which concealed a covert sneer. ‘‘ But, dear- est mother, I had great difficulty in finding you out. I could not believe that the rich lady, Mrs. Pennington, of Madison square, was the same who used to economize so pain- fully in the dingy bouse at Harlem, I sup- pose that, contrary to all expectation, that seemingly interminable lawsuit is at last con- cluded?” Was she telling the truth in pretending that her desire for a reconciliation preceded her knowledge of the change in her mother’s cir- cumstances? Alaric had his suspicions, but Mrs. Penning- ton embraced her daughter all the more fondly for believing that she would have been sought ought in her poverty as eagerly. as in her wealth, Theze was sonsething so winning in Muriel’s manoer that a harsber critic than her mother might have been led to forget the delinquen- cies which in the past gradually raised a bar- rier between them. The clandestine meetings with George St, Aubyn when she bad been engaged to her cousin Alaric, the obstinate resolution to marry the former, notwithstanding all warnings and entreaties, with subsequent unkindness and neglect, were allowed to sink into oblivion un- der the influence of that captivating smile and caressing touch, ‘‘T must send for my baggage, and make myself at home. again,” she said, with Mrs. Pennington’s hand clasped in her own. ‘‘ And, mamma, you must let me have the very next room to yours, as I used to when I was a child, will you not?” ; ‘* Certainly, my love—that is, you shall have it soon, but at present it is appropriated to Nerissa Marsden,” A shade passed over her fair face, “I sball be jealous of your rotegee, Cousin Alaric.” “Such jealousy is unworthy of a noble nature,’ he replied, gravely. ‘‘ You should not malign yourself, Muriel, even in jest.” “ Alaric will lecture you again, my dear, as in the old days,” said the mother, fondly eat FOR THE “WOMAN HE LOVED. | : NS —————eEeEeEee———————E——————————E ee a ae eet eRe ee tenet eee teem neta ae ste ee cee ene neem: —— ing; * but you will not mind granting him the privilege.” | Already it seemed as if the last six years were a dream, and Muriel bad never left her: Then the thought flashed tbrough her mind that, after all, ber dearest hope might have been only deferred instead of abandoned, and the two she loved best—her daughter and nephew—might at length unite their destinies, and be bappy together. Perhaps Alaric’s reproof had a good effect upon his cousin; for when she met Nerissa again she greeted her with a friendly warmth which effaced from the girl’s mind the unplea- sant impression made by their first introduc- tion. It was evident, bowever, that Mrs, St, Aubyn had learned from ber mother how little the latter knew of the antecedents of ber young companion; for Nerissa scon found extreme difficulty in parrying her apparent by guileless questions. When it was impossible, to frame answers wihout danger of betraying her secret, she tuok refuge in silence. Muriel did not appear to notice her embar- rassment, but chatted on with a confidential air. ‘‘T am determined that you and I shall be great friends,’ she said; and Alaric, who stood near, heard that remark, and smiled kindly upon her. They all dined together, and the evening passed pleasantly away. Muriel was sentimental and gay by turns. She sung splendidly, in a fine contralto voice, which c.ntra+ted strangely with the sweet, un- trained notes of Nerissa. It was late befure Alaric departed, and the ladies retired to their own rooms. It was a wild night. The wind in antie y gusts shook the windows and whistled down the wide chimney. Perbaps the noise it made caused Nerissa to be wakeful, for she lay thinking over the events of the day, and wondering whether this unex- pected return of the daughter of her kind friend would cause her expulsion from the home which she dearly prized, She should not sink again into the condition whence she had been rescued; her confidence both in Mrs, Pennington and Dr. Treherne forbade tke supposition, but she had become attached to her friends and their sur- roundings, so the idea of being sent among strangers was unwelcome. A heavier gust of wind than usual prevented her from bearing the slight noise made by the opening door, but happening to turn upon her pillow, she saw, with some alarm, the tall, slender figure of a woman, bearing a shaded lamp, moving at the further end of ber cham- ber Swiltly but silently it made its way toward a side-table, where Nerissa’s workbox, writing- case, and a few favorite books were neatly placed iu order, and tbe gazer recognized, with surprise, Mariel St. Aubyn. She wore a long, loose dressing gown of red cashmere, and ber dark hair, released from its fastenings, fell, in uncurled masses, over her shoulders. As she turned her pale, eager face toward the bed, perhaps to make sure that ber entrance had not aroused the sleeper, Nerissa uttered her name, She started, but in a moment her light laugh echoed through the room, ‘‘ Miss Marsden, you look quite frightened. Iam afraid [ have alarmed you. The truth is that I could not sleep owing to the excitement of to-day, and I remembered hearing you say that you often rose early to read or study, so thought you might bave some book with which I could while awuy tha wearisome night-hours. Is there one here that you can recommend?’ She scarcely waited for an answer, but tak- ing up the volume which lay nearest, bado Nerissa good-night, and left the room, “‘T must be more careful in my next at- tempt,” sbe murmured, as she passed along the corridor; *‘ but I will never rest until I have discovered this girl's history. Her keys were / ‘ ‘ ie a
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ot err re meerwen ee on nna an a Toca oY Se aT on the table, and her desk-a gift of my mother's most likely—was close at hand. There May be in it letters or papers wh'ch will give the clew I want to find. If I discover any secret which does not redound to her credit, I will not hesitate to make use of it. It is in vain she lays ber snares for Alaric Treherne!” When Nerissa arose the following morning, almost the first object that caught her eye was .& white card lying ov the carpet where Muriel steod only a few bours previously. Thinking it must have fallen from her drawer or work- box, she picked it up, and was surprised to find that it was the photograph of a young man in & kind of fancy dress, A second glance, and her heart beat fast, for a closed page in her Past life seemed reopened. It was the likeness of Everard Vaughan. Yes, there could be no mistake; the face and figure both were his, though be did not wear depressed and melancholy expression which, during their brief acquaintance, had been stamped upon his lineaments. He stood Smiling, a goblet uplifted in bis hand, his lips parted, asif giving vent to some mirtbful sally, or song in praise of rosy wine, Yet it was Everard—her husband. At the remembrance of that hurried scene in the magistrate’s office, a faintness as of death stole over her. Then, panting for freedom from Matthew Gunthorpe’s addresses, she bad joyfully raised an irrevocable obstacle to the furtherance of that gentleman’s plans; now sbe gan to realize the extent of her folly. Mar- ried in a false name, was she legally bound for life to one man, when it was possible that she might one day fall in love with another? erissa was not lawyer enough to decide the question. These were her first thoughts as she stood gazing on the photograph; then she began _ to consider bow it came into her room. Coer- tainly it had never been in her possession be- fore; and with a thrill of dread she began to imagine that Mra. St. Aubyn knew her secret, and adopted that measure for making her aware of the fact. Suspense was terrible; she must learn the worst witbout delay. Hastily finishing ber toilet, she descended to the breakfast room. Muriel was standing near the window, very ‘fair and graceful in ber long black robe, but her face flushed a deep, dull crimson as Nerissa offered her the photograph. ‘You must have dropped this in my room last night Mrs. St. Aubyn.” It seemed at first asif she were about to deny it, but after an instant’s pause she sad, in a Careless tone: “Ob, yes; it i mine. I was looking over the photographs of some actors 8nd actresses as I was unpacking last night. I 8M 80 fond of the stage, Miss Marsden, and this ‘aust have caught in my dress. I forget who it represents, or why I bought it, but he has rather a nice face, has he not?’ She slipped the photograph into her pocket, and began to talk upon another topic in a man- ner which set Nerissa’s beart at ease. CHAPTER VI. A RECOGNITION, Winer had set in with severity—‘‘ fine, sea- ‘onable weather,” so the skaters said when sal- lying forth to enjoy their favorite pastime; so ihe schoolboys thought while pelting each other with snowballs, regardless of the fact that the cold which braces a young, healthy constitu- tion; to those less richly endowed by vature ngs suffering, disease and death. ae us it proved with Matthew Gunthorpe. A — cold caught during lovg exposure to a “ Ow-storm resulted in a serious illness; bad ie poms appeared, and it became evident that ® for him would soon be over. h Sophia was an indefatigible nurse. She loved er brother ail the more becausé their charac- TS were similar; and what would have re- _ Pelled others only brought them closer together. eo, ae pee we ae ao Pan, \ q Lt ery, 4 ; , Py ov, Whe 6 sat by him now ‘watching. in the gray twilight, change in his countenance, and all ‘ ‘iving to hope, although the doctors told ber wit: tips aa = Neat . 7 i E Matthew tossed uneasily on his pillow, mut- tering a few disjointed words, whose sense es- caped her. ‘‘ What troubles you, my dear brother?” she asked, soothingly. ‘*My mind is weighed down by a heavy bur- den,” he answered, feebly. ‘It is only when a man is stretched upon a sick bed from which he may never rise again that conscience per- sists in making itself heard. I bave long turned a deaf ear to its whispers, but it speaks loudly to-night.” ‘‘ But, Matthew, you talk as if you had committed come great crime!”’ “JT have wronged the orphan child of my dead friend; I have driven a thoughtless, inex- perienced girl into making a rash marriage, which she may long ago have bitterly repented. Where is Nerissa Marsden, whom her father committed to my care? Is shealive or dead?— prosperous or penniless? Sophia, unless these questions are answered how can I die in peace?” His weak voice rose in sudden passion. So- phia attempted to calm him. “Dear brother, do not make yourself un- easy. No doubt she is with her husband — the husband whom she preferred to you. Remem- ber her deceit, ingratitude, and obstinacy, and you will no longer condemn your own short- comings.” He knew the casuistry of such reasoning, and groaned aloud in perturbation of spirit. ‘*Oh, Scphia! would that I could be blind to the unwelcome truth! It was our ill-treat- ment that drove her to desperation. And yet I loved her—loved her even when I was most cruel.” ‘‘ She should have felt honored by the offer of your hand,” “T thought so then, but not now. What was I, a man in the sere and autumn of life, to expect that bright young being to link ber fate to mine? Beauty and youth were her at-~ tractions, which rekindled in my heart a fire that bal long sunk into ashes. What bad I to offer in exchange?” ‘You could have given her a good home, and—and—” Miss Sophia paused, for sbe suddenly recol- lected that Nerissa was no portiouless damsel, and Matthew had wanted not only a wife but a fortune.” ‘‘There is one reparation I can make for all she has suffered through my foolish scheme,” he continued. ‘‘Things have prospered with me strangely lately. I seem to have had the gift of Midas, for all I have touched has turned into gold. The small sum of money belonging to Nerissa which I managed to get into my. possession formed the nucieus of a large for- tune. I will provide for you handsomely, So- phia—it is your due, for you are my only sis- ter; but Ravenhurst and the largest share of the recently-acquired property will go to Ne- rissa.” Miss Sophia was startled. At first ber feel- ings were outraged by the notion that her claims were ignored for the sake of “ that re- bellious, obstinate chit,” who had given 50 much trouble. But Ravenhburst was a rambling, gloomy mansion, aud she was fast becoming old. A bome less pretentious might be made more comfortable, and a moderate income would amply supply her wants. ‘‘ Let it be as you wish, if it makes you hap- pier,” she said, calmly. ‘Nerissa will be in Juck, for I suppose she comes to her own for- tune as well?” ‘Yes; the girl was right when sbe claimed it on ber marriage, for by her father's will her choice was left absolutely free and unfettered. If her husband bad shown himself a man, and asked it at my bands, I must have yielded it up or faced the consequences. He must be a pitiful, sneaking cur to keep in the back- ground, and not cbme forward boldly to claim his wife. Sophia, there is some mystery about this William Lee. I could find no trace of bim beyond the signature in the register.” “It cannot matter now,” remarked Sophia, | of the toilet in Mrs. Pennington's quiet family : who had often vainly pondered on the sub- ject. 2 ; “You areright. She isa wife—that is all- sufficient for legal purposes. ‘‘Her father made a great mistake—” began Sophia, when ber brother's gesture stopped ber in the middle of a sentence. “Sister, my business is to repair my own faults, not to condemn others. I shall put the matter into the hands of my lawyers, Quill & Steele, at Bridgeport. They will see Nerissa righted when I am gone.” Matthew Gunthorpe passed away that night, but not before be made his atonement. His will, properly signed and attested, was in the lawyer’s possession, who promised to use his utmost endeavors to carry out the wishes of his respected client. He also managed to scrawl a few farewell words to Nerisza, asking her forgiveness. If the excitement and exertion consequent on these efforts accelerated the end, at least they rendered it more peaceful. Christmas was over, that season of cheer, holly-berries and general festivity. In Madison square it was spent quietly, yet with all due observance, and when''the New Year >: came, and was welcomed, as Dickens has writ- +e ten, “like an infant heir to the whole world,” ; the three young persons who were assembled = under Mrs. Pennington’s roof to hear the bells - vee ring in its advent, bad no premonition it would bring so many changes with it. ““Auot Pennington,” said Alaric, as they sat round the fire, a sociable family circle, “I am going to ask of you a favor.” “What is it, my dear boy?” oa “T have taken a box for to-morrow at Nib- eon lo’s, to sea the pantomime everybody is talking A of as atriumph of scenic art. It is dull work Py to sit in solitary state, soI trust that you, to- a4 gether with cousin Muriel and Nerissa, will ee is oblige me with your company.” : 5, ee ‘*T do not care much for the theater,” said « ae Mrs. Pennington, smiling; ‘yet I cannot ree ject your offer.” ae “That is fortunate! ladies?” He turned toward the girls, who were sitting side by side, each to beautiful, yet so unlike. “We shall be charmed!” exclaimed Mrs. St. Aubyn, for herself and companion. 3 “But, my dear child, in your deep miurn-— ing!” “Now, mother, do not throw obstacles in the way of my enjoyment. Why shouldI nct ~ have a share in the gayeties of the season? I can sit well back in a private box, so that no one need be scandalized by my presence.” ; Alaric would bave liked some sign from Nerissa showing that the proposed arrangem: nt was agreeable, but she was looking in an op- posite direction, and appeared to think that her companion had answered for both. He thought, with regret, how seldom she spoke to him, unless directly addressed. In- deed, sometimes it appeared that, far from taking pleasure in his society, she rather avoided bim than otherwise. Yet she had gradually become very dear to him, a thousand times more dear than Muriel had ever been, even in the days when, from being constantly thrown together, he believed be loved her and she could make him bappy. “ Now the illusion was over, and not likely to. be renewed. Muriel might look her loveliest, and smile her sweetest; she might even sigh pathetically while referring to their early love, and the blight which fell upon it. He could not forget that, when bound to him by > the most sacred promises, she listened to % George St. Aubyn’s wooing, and jilted him for ad: the sake of a man who, judging by the slight —__ reverence she paid bis memory, could never have been really loved? OM Wheu Nerissa descended the next evening to the drawing-room, dressed for the theater, she. looked charming in Alaric’s eyes. No occa- sion hitherto had arisen for any extra display = __ And you, young / Meg
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’ girls hair, the pretty though inexpensive orva- ments which brightened her dark silk dress, tho slender throat and rounded arms, not quite so closely vailed as usual, struck him with admi- ration. He scarcely glanced at his cousin, who noticed bis indifference, and frowned until ber ‘straight: brows almost met, Nor was this her.only mortification. Mrs. | a Pennington was a woman of the old school, and as such a great stickler for proprie'y; so, through her mother’s prejudices, the young lady found herself compelled to sit at the back of the box, while Nerissa was placed in front, where many wandering eyes were attracted by ' |. her fair face, Alaric often leaned forward to. speak to her, or listen to ber criticisms upon the perform- Bi ance; therefore, although Muriel was his next od neighbor, and as such should bave been satis: attention, egy The pantomime, like most others, was a suc- cession of scenes more or less gay and glitter- ing. There was the usual display of spangles, twinkling feet, hideous masks, and the army of supernumeraries that throng the stage on every available opportunity. Nerissa never knew when first she began to fancy that. the figure and movements of ze one of these men were familiar, but she caught herself watching for his appearance > Sher as a deamon in the Palace of Discord, a -soidier | in the most impossible of regiments, Or a courtier to the most wonderful of kings. Whenever he entered, in spite of grotesque ‘masks and outrageous "dresses, her thoughts flew back to her old-home at Ravenhurs; and _ Everard. Vaughan, __. By degrees it seemed that this man, whoever he might be, watched her too. She could not =e see his eyes, but the face was always turned _ toward her. At length,.whether, by accident or design, his ma slipped aside for an instant... She was ‘2 right. _ nized ber. e experienced a strange conflict of feeling. 8 | had befriended the unfortunate young man when he was in a gricvous strait, and earned, po he had assured her often, his lifelovg ; _ gratitude, Her interest in him was still so great, that _ she would have rejoiced to hear of his welfare _ in some distant land, whither he intended to de- part 1 when they last ‘met, But seeing him now “5 “brought forcibly to mind her anomalous posi- tion, She pictured Mrs. Pennington’s conster- nation, Alaric. Treherne’s amazement, if they . ever learned that she and Everard Vaughan had Paes. ie called one another by the sacred names of bus- band and wife. She was thankful shea the harlequin’s wand . had wrought its last transformation, and the _ clown executed his final somersault, when the ; dark curtain was drawn down over the lime- ghted scene, and she was able to shrink into 4 darkest corner of the carriage which con- veyed them home, and brood over memories -_ Wf the.nart x ¥ CHAPTER VII. HER UNTOLD SECRET. _ Every New Yorker knows and loves Central 43 a in summer, when the brightly-tinted “ foliage softens the too glaring sunshine, and ‘the smooth greeusward seems like a velvet pg to tired feet weary of the hard pave- t and dusty roads. ut on a bright winter day, when the leaf- “teag trees are clothed in a mantle of snow, and St the robins chirp their loudest on the boughs or ney sedately across the quiet paths, it is not ma, Sepa j igen attraction. a 0 at least thought Alaric Treherne, as, with skates in hand, be walked briskly away ~ z¥ trom the ornamental water (where he had ee tr big an hour’s healthful exercise) in n of one of the park entrances. — @ had Jately pent a decided meee in a mG, Lg vor Aine, FOR: THE: WOMAN HE DOVED. circle, therefore: the flowers cick in ‘the! = fied, she was unable to command his undivided | walking at a short distance before him. | brought him to her side. | Everard was before her, and recog- are ready. to give it, only do not quite reject te.’ a i ee ‘strong in the belief that devotion and constan- |. and dowpveast, ms ad ioe p sas dae Om SW ech a ines A ates ar See \e a legs scene se ee patented ore sete a me een cies eet = A ete Be Jo. Pet CART TON Aluric’s node of life. Hehad within his | practice to a rising young medical man with whom for years he had been on intimate terms, and he removed from his apartments in the neighborhood of the ‘*Home” where Nerissa once found shelter, and took rooms near his aunt’s residence, so that, without in- convenience, he could be a frequent visitor. He still spent a goodly portion of his income on philanthropic works, but was scarcely so layish in expenditure as formerly, remember- ing that the time might come when his ex- perises would increase, while his leisure was much absorbed by a thousand trifling duties which devolve upon those who find their chief delight in ladies’ society. In truth, Alaric was deeply in love, and things which once most interested him now seemed dull and vapid, for his whole heart was set upon winning Nerissa for his wife. At an abrupt turn in the path he saw her by the curtain i in the dining-room, as she watch- ed him from the window. _ Nerissa locked herself up in her own cham- ber, and indulged in the feminine ‘ldxury of a good cry. This occupation becoming at length motiot- onous, it occurred to her to ask herself why it was she wept. Did she love Alaric Treherne? She, a girl of eighteen, inexperienced in the ways of the world, having no one from whom she could seek counsel, yet the wife of Everard Vaughan! Durivg. her isolated existence at Ravenhurst sbe had not dreamed of either love or marriage until Matthew Gunthorpe had suggested: the subject to her. Now she recognized the error she had committed in marrying Everard Vaughan. Notwithstanding Nerissa had put a period to the aspirations. of Doctor Treherne, by telling him point-blank that she could not marry him, he did not discontinue his: visits to his aunt’s, On vhe contrary, be called more frequently; but he directed the greater part of his conver- sation to Muriel and his aunt. .Muriel dia not love her cousin, but ber vaio, coquettish nature could not endure the pang of seeing herself supplanted in his affections. Once she was dear to him, sbe knew; anda marriage be- tween them was in every way desirabie, so that the newly-acquired fortune might be kept in the family. One evening she met Alaric in the vestibule, and with a mysterious air invited him to come into the library, where they could speak with- out fear of interruption. A smile of triumph curled ber full red lip, The night before she had paid another secret visit to Nerissa’s chamber, and this time her researches had been rewarded. The room called the library, although it scarcely merited that ambitious designation, was ove of the most cheerful and comfortable in the house. There were cushioned chairs and couches, inviting to luxurious ease rather than study; a long table, upon which lay magegines and writing materials; |upon the walls, and rich crimson curtains vail- ing the long windows, Muriel seated herself by the brightly glow- ing fire, and Alaric stood near her, wondering what communication she had to make which It was a golden opportunity for putting his fate to the test. He accepted the good omen, and, quickening his pace, a few moments He noticed -the vivid blush with which she greeted him, and how her small hand fluttered in his broad palm... Although bhé was no cox- comb, he could not help fancying that such maidenly embarrassment) augured well for his suit. After awhile, as they walked slowly side by side under the spreading branches, he managed to stammer forth a few incoherent words declaratory of bis love. Nerissa, her eyes swimming in tears, laid her hand upon his arm, and murmured: ‘Pray, Doctor Treherne, say no more, I cannot—indeed I cannot be your wife!” ‘Do not decide too hastily,” be urged, deep- ly wounded. ‘You may not have thought of me except as a friend; but now since you know how fondly I love you, you may learn in time to reciprocate my affection. | will be very patient, and not press for an answer until you ‘*To do 80, is the truest kindness,” sbe fal- tered. ‘Do you then so utterly bate me that under no circumstances you would consent to become my wif. ?? demanded so much privacy. ‘Ob, Doctor Treherne, you must know that ‘« Dear Alaric,” she began, ‘‘I am abont to I do not hate you!” take you into my confidence. As my cousin **Indeed!,, Of course I have no right to ask | and early friend, it is natural that I should come to you in my little difficulties,” He bowed his head in. assent. ‘*You must promise, however, to preserve an inviolable secrecy regarding what I am about to tell you.” ‘Of course, Muriel, I shall respect your con- fidence.”’, he answered, rather stiffly. “Pray do not keep me in suspense any longer,” ‘‘ Well, then, to begin at once, Lam jealous and angry in noticing the influence which this girl who calls herself Nerissa Marsden has ac- quired over my mother,” the question J am going to put to you, but my life’s happiness.is at stake! . Nerissa, do you love another?” “No,” she said, glad to be able to give him even this poor consolation; ‘‘I have never loved.” ‘Then, dearest, I cannot relinquish the bope of winning you! Iam content to bide my time, cy will bring their reward, and tbe girl I love will be my own dear wife!” “That can never be!” she answered, ‘* But why, Nerissa?” His persistency distressed her. Tears, which would be rostitained: no longer, coursed down her cheeks. ‘“How selfish Iam, my darling, to vex you with my importunity! I will accept my dis- appointment manfully if we may «still be friends. You°do not dismiss me so en- tirely that I may not dare to approach you, Nerissa?”’: She faintly smiled through her tears. ‘if you will be friendly, it will make me very happy. I have not forgotten all your goodness, and what you suffered to save me from a terrible death! I should. have lost my life the night of the fire had not your strong arms been sae meguo rea to save me!"’ They walked home in ditende, He left her at the door, for he was in. no mood for society, and “gee his may —_ sad of Miss Marsden? There is no reason why she should not be a favorite with my aunt.” “T fear,” returned Muriel, pursing ber rosy lips, and striving to look grave, ‘‘ that she bas entered the house under false pretenses, It is dreadful to think of, but she is an impostor, without even a right to the name she bears.” ‘‘ How do you know this?’ he asked, in great agitation. ; ‘* My dear cousin, please do not ask me to give you my authority, for honor compels me to keep silence. All I know is, weet a girl who pretends to be guileless—” He interrupted her wildly. ‘Tt is no pretense. I would stain my lite upon her innocence and purity!” ‘Good gracious, Alaric! You need not ex- claim so vehemently, as if I were abvut to take away the character of a woman who is noth- ‘ing to you. I was about to remark, if you He - en notice Muri orm, heit-bddon] ied a y aye a ore finish my meeeMees that she is mar- 4 “Muriel, why do you speak thus slightingly |
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“ Married *—Nerissa married™ he cried. | on behalf of Wortieas and as Bich was no one ‘Are you aware of what you are saying? What proofs baye you for the assertions you make?” “Have I not said that I cannot give you proofs?” “Tt is impossible to live in this state of doubt,” said Alaric, pacing the apartment to and fro. “To meet Nerissa every day—to ‘press her hand in friendship—to gaze into ber truthful eyes, and keep this secret locked up iu my breast, would be worse than death!” “You are strangely excited, Alaric!” “Because you seek to destroy my faith in woman by insinuating that treachery and falsehood are hidden in the heart of Nerissa Marsden.” There was a sight rustling noise as one of tbe heavy curtains was pulled aside, and Nerissa Stood before them, her fair head drooping in Shame and confusion. “ An eavesdropper!” said’ Muriel. ‘Not so, Mrs. St, Aubyn; I came into this room an hour ago, and, oppressed by troubled’ thoughts, ensconced myself upon the window- seat where, undisturbed, I might reflect on my past life and future prospects. I must have dropped asleep; but your voices disturbed me, when I discovered that the seeret I hitherto deemed it expedient to conceal was a seeret no longer.” “ Then you are married; Nerissa?” said Alar- ic, in accents of reproach. “Tam!” ‘And your husband still lives?” “He dees, I ‘believe. We have parted, and are not likely to meet again.” * At least, you will tell me his name?” “Hig name is William Lee.” “Then why did you deceive us?” said Alaric. “Tf your marriage was unhappy, as I fear has been the case, why did you not tell us? Ne- rissa, you haye committed an irreparable wrong!”” “T own my fault,” she replied humbly. “I never thought that it would béar sach bitter fruits, My marriage was a mistake—the mad- ne — eee “You know the ‘one I mean. site came only yesterday night. I. was standing at — my cottage dcor, watching the _ moou ig se over the hill yonder, when I saw the figure of a man coming “through - the ; darkness. I thought it must be a tram ud ¥ beggar, ho seemed so footsore and weary; ile oS as he got nearer I knew my old lodger. He ot Fiat asked if I would take him 1n again, and I said ne" yes, for of course you will not let me be a © oser. So he is now at my place; and you are * ; to go there without Joss of time. He wantsto see you most partickler.” a ‘Wes that the message?” inquired Nerissa, while her pride rose at the imperious sum- mons, } Dorothy nodded knowingly; and without — waiting fur further converse, hobbled away in the.direction of home. - Nerissa stood reflecting for a moment, then followed the woman slowly. Through the well-remembered wood she — re went where she and Everard talked together, __ he all gerstitude and submission, she moved he peat womanly compassion, ete Were their positions now to be reversed, and the suppliant to be changed into her mas- ter? Very dimly this notion dawned in Nees rissa’s mind, only to be dismissed with scorn. © ev At last she reached the lonely but, which. Pa looked more miserable and dilapidated than fs when she saw it last. Two or three panes | the casement windows were broken. As she loitered, with a, strange fopeBodkais ‘ that some fresh cloud was about todarken ber destiny, Evérard appeared on the threshold. vata How gaunt and ill he looked! There were dark circles round his eyes, his cheeks were shi ; hollow; his shabby. clothes hung about his emaciated form, many sizes too large. But she was most, impressed by a subtle — change in his countenance—a. emolderit fire noticed. af ee “So you have come, Nerissa. Tha is well,” ae he said, leading the way into the litth sttting- be ae : room. mats “Why are you heref” she asked, as § she sunk Ans upon the rough settle. “It was agreed be- Fe tween us that you should leave America, ¥ with — 2 ago.” “So I did. I kept my promise to the Jetter, and started for England two days after we parted. But I could not remain thera ; AR hand seemed to beckon me toward the ety Ps where my happiest days bad been pass was the hand of destiny, I could not1 ; influence; so here I am once more on ' Trakes soil.” ty “You have not ; “prospered since last we mét,” she began, timidly, remembering she was now rich, and could afford to give ‘him bab assistance, He interrupted her roughly. “'Prospered! How could I, when ; pra s forced to be cautious, and could | Ait stay long in the same place or under the rame name? For hersake, Iam a hunted mai D. ‘and — bave enemies ready to gloat over my ruin if am not very careful and cunning. You are wealthy, Nerissa—at least, I gueesed a6 moc from the advertisement which appeared in th: Herald soou atter I saw you at Nibio'e—and > that; wealch you must share with me.” She began to tremble. He wes altogeth« different from his former self—a men R tog could inspire her with fear. ae ‘I will give you a handsome sum,” ie said, me in a conciliatory tone, ‘‘ though it wes arranj Bes that neither of us had any future claim upon each.other. Everard Vaughan, you know not x how bitterly I repent that aed of a mar Re riage. If it could be annulled, I would sae — ~ ean "2 estes: With clasped bands, she looked He gaye a smile
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= a : 2 . - exe: AD , have been a legal marriage, since the nane you ss gave was not your own, Oh, Everard, set me ans _ free, and I will bless you!” EX" He laughed outright. rf “So it has come to this—and so soon! Yes; those tears and blushes tell their own story! You are in love, madam! It is well for you I en not jealous!” ““You have not yet given me an answer.” “ Because your appeal is too exacting. Am I to thrust myself into the felon’s dock to suit your convenience? You married me for your _ own pleasure, and my safety requires that I be not intrude myself upon public notice.” vp i ek apd it could be managed? I am prepared to give whatever you demand if you _ assist me in regaining my liberty.” “No, no!” he answered, roughly, ‘ My plan is ‘something very different. You are my wife. You shall come with me to some country far away, where you will teach me to forget the past and be happy. You are very beauti- _ ful, Nerissa. Come, my wife; let me kiss you. That pure kiss will chase away those memories that are driving me mad.” He tried to seize her in bis arms. The glare of insanity was in his eyes. Bice The overwrought brain, which had struggled #0 long against adverse fate, was giving way a oar: ig : With a cry of terror, Nerissa broke away (rom him and burried from the cottage. _ And now the punishment of Nerissa’s folly became a burden almost too heavy for endur- Day after day she was haunted by the witch- like face of Dorothy Trent, who appeared at Bey Basi hae hours and unseemly places, either ‘ eg with imperative messages frym her lodger or uF eke, appeals on her own account for money, which - appeals often degenerated into threats of ex- en ” po-ure, 4 Dorothy was no simpleton, and more than suspected that there were strong reasons why Everard should so long remained hidden, as it _ were, in her poor cottage. _ Nor was she the visitor Nerissa most dreaded to see. - In the gray twilight, when night begins to _/ cast the vail which affords a friendly shade to Sake - those who dare not to venture among. their - fellow-men in the broad light of day, Everard Vaughan would steal through the gather- ing gloom toward Ravenhurst. If Nerissa anes out upon the terrace, or stood under the veranda which sheltered the front of the house, she would hear a voice that would fill her with unutterable fear, or see two gleaming eyes watching every movement. % or twice she had spoken with him, offering priate sums if he would only aa leave her in peace, but the arguments and en- eae treaties were alike wasted upon a madman, : _“ He was lonely and friendless,” be told her; “hunted from place to place by enemies who ‘bad sworn to have his life. Her presence would shield him from their persecutions. She , saved him once when he was most hardly * aae fp ap could she not be his guardian angel me, _ to the end?” 4 as Then, after talking thus pathetically, his mood would chan,e, and she would sbrink from the fury expressed in every word and -_geture. 3 Altbough in great perturbation, she was her- ‘salt watched by a foe whose vigilance never -slumbered. . _ Muriel soon suspected that some new turn of _ events had taken place, and hinted her suspi- _cions to Alaric. _ “Dear Nerissa seems often melancholy,” riage recently purchased for the ladies’ use. ior is strange that pow she is rich and inde- - pendent, able to lavish money at her own ca- _ price, she is more sad and troubled than when she was merely my mother’s companion.” M that he s «egg my ae ea my st adows & whole Grater ? ‘* As T have Paantiry she murmured, with a half-supressed sigh. “Alaric, you can pity Nerissa. Have you no compassion to bestow on me?” “The two positions are not analogous. Death bas taken your husband, and you are at liberty to form another marriage if it be your pleasure, Nerissa is evidently united to one who is totally unworthy of ber. She knows not when he may come to claim her.” ‘1s it not curious that he should leave bis wife in undisturbed possession of so much prop- erty? Most men would expect a share.” Alaric twitched the reins rather impatiently. There was no conversation more distasteful to him than speculations regarding Nerissa’s husband. “Do not be angry with me, Alaric,” she _FOR_ THE WOMAN HE LOVED. continued, in the soft, cooing voice she usually | adopted in addressing her cousin, cannot belp fancying that we may be misled | in imagining that the pair are entirely sepa- rated. They may meet occasionally, although for some inscrutable reason their interviews are kept profoundly secret. O+ce or twice in the gloaming I have seen the dark figure of a man lurking about the house near the west wing, where Nerissa’s apartments are situated.” “One of the servants’ lovers, most likely.” “I searcely think be wonld have thé bold- ness to come so near the quarters assigned to the mistress of the bouse; surely he would loiter in the rear, where his sweetheart would probably be found.” ‘We cannct tell; besides, we have no right to pry into secrets wLich are not our business.” “You are always right, dear cousin! Only it is unpleasant to know tiat a strange man is in the grounds when we least cuspect his presence, who msy be either a rustic swain, a burglar, or Nerissa’s husband?!” And she laughed lightly, as if she were half in jest. Alaric was silent. He still loved Nerissa, but lately he felt alienated by her want of con- fidence. Why could she not trust him entirely? Surely sbe could rely upon his discretion. He might have forgiven the conecalment of ber marriage in the first instance; but now that it was owned, why preserve such an obstinate silence upon all things connected with the event? He could have borne to see ber a happy wife, loving and beloved, while he pur- sued his course alone, or sometimes tasked in the sunsbine of her presence as a sort of brother and counselor, but what he could not endure was to be distrusted. — And: then he would wonder whether deceit was a natural comjonent of the female mind, and would be inclined to forgive his cousin Muriel for jilti: g him $0 long ago. The latter was not more vain and frivolous than the rest of ber sex. So when the caress- ing voice again addressd him, he listened to its soft cadence as he was wont to do when Muriel had been doubly bound to him with the ties of cousin and promised wife. They had spent many bappy bours together long before George St. Aubyn came between them, and he loved her; not with the passiov- ate devotion he could have given Nerissa, but with a quiet affection more calculated, per- haps, to promote matrimonial felicity. Alaric began to wonder if he were wise in so persistently ignoring the fact that a renewal of those half-forgotten feelings was now his best chance of a happy future. CHAPTER IX. MURIFL’S TRIUMPH. Ir had been raining, all day, and clouds, looking very black and threatening, were still scudding across the sky. Muriel St. Aubyn > turned away from the window, and seated her- self upon a low stool close at ber mother’s knee, ‘* How gloomy everything looks this even- ® | ing, and it is, positively cold!” she remarked, | with a crys of her “ad shoulders, —e iy Mrs, Pennington laid a caressing band upon the smooth, dark braids. “Tam afraid that this place is dull for you, my child, and that Nerissa’s low spirits will prove jafectious. If it were not that I am anxious she sbould have companionship, we would return without loss of time to our own comfortable home. Muriel sighed deeply. “Dear mother, go where I may, I shall carry with me the cause of my despondency. You know not bow hard it is to bear Alaric’s continued indifference, I bad hoped that at Jeast our old friendship would revive, and in time he. might forgive me; but I see that. in his eyes no contrition on my paitcan blot out the memory of bis wrongs.” Mrs, Pevningtcn closed the book she had been reading, and her countenance assumed an ‘¢ Bot I | expression of lively interest. Like many worthy matrons, she was at heart a match-maker, and it was once ber dearest wish to see her child united to Alaric Tre- berne. That wich had been thwarted when she thought matters were progressing to perfec- tion, and her disappointment was severe. Muriel’s affections, however, seemed now to be drifting into the right channel, and she could not bring herself to believe that Alaric would remain obdurate. ‘My dear, you are too sensitive,” she said, tenderly. ‘‘I am sure Alaric is your friend, and is too manly to esteem you less because, like many other young girls, you were dazzled by brilliant external qualities, and, indeed, hardly knew your own mind.” ‘*You call him my friend,” sbe returned, in a scornful tone, ‘and speak of bis esteem! Mother, those are cold words, and fall like ice upon my beart, I wish to have his love!’ She liited her beautiful face, glowing with fervor, and Mrs. Pennington’s maternal par- tiality could not doubt of ber success in win- ning tack the heart she had rejected. ““My child, 1 cannct help feeling that you are not a woman to be easily forgotten, al- though Alaric’s pride may render him reluct- ant to let you suppose that you are still dear to him.” | “T have sometimes fancied that Nerissa is the object of his admiration.” ** He admires her no doubt,” said Mrs. Pea- nington_ thoughtfully. “She waa thrown in his way under circumstances which to a man of Alaric’s enthusiastic temperament made her doubly interesting. Pity is in some natures dangerously akin to love, and a beautiful gir] in deep distress can scarcely be bebeld with in- difference. 1do not conceal from ycu, Muriel, that once I was reconciled to the probability of love springing up between the two, but tben. I bad no idea that Nerissa was already mar- ried.” ‘That discovery has scarcely removed my rival from my path; for if Alaric prefers ber to me, be may not transter bis effections, a}- though it is hopeless for him to think of mairy- ing her.” ‘‘My dear child, do not be so despondent. You must have more patience. Tesides, it is somewhat premature to think of forming a second union; you are’ yet in your ea:ly widowhood.” **My husband died more than a year ago,” she said, coldly. ‘‘I have no reason to mceurn his loss.beyond the usual peri: d.” ‘‘Pardon me, my'poor girl, for alluding to former troubles. It is strange that both you and Nerissa should bave suffered from ill as- sorted unions; yet it ought to create a bond of interest between you.” ‘Do not compare me to ber!” cried Muriel, with sudden fury, ‘I hate ber!” Mrs. Pennington stood aghast. Jealousy, she was aware, bad cecasioned that sudden outburst on the part of ber daugh- ter, and she sympathized with tre love which might be unrequited. *“ Ba calm, my dear, and trust to me,” she whispered, ‘‘ Perhaps | can belp you.”
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“An hour later, when Alaric came rm make his usual call, he found her alone in the draw- ing-room. Nerissa. was in her own apartments, and Muriel had a headache, and was lying on the couch in the library. Sbe would join them presently, when she hoped to be better. “Is Muriel ill, then?’ asked Alaric, struck with an indefinable impression that something Was amiss more serious than a headache. Then Mrs. Pennington began to plead ber daughter’s cause, not quite openly, but in half- vailed hints that Alaric could not fail to com- prehend. She ex patiated upon Muriel’s altered looks and unequal spirits; reminded him of the proverb, “We return always to one’s first love;” gave him to understand that being cured of her youthful frivolity, there was no reason why the once fickle gir] should not sober down into an excellent wife. “T will not affect to misunderstand you, aunt,” said Doctor Treherne gravely. “‘ You would bave me ask Muriel to renew the en- gagement which by her own act was broken?” “TI think you would both be happier, my dear boy—indeed Ido. Iam growing an old woman, and should feel satisfied if I could leave my only child to your protection when my time for departure arrives. Muriel is a creature of impulse. She requires the guid- ance of a firmer mind than her own, Toat guidance you are capable of giviog her. And she loves you; surely that should cover many imperfections in your eyes.” ‘Can she really love?’ murmured Alaric, thoughtfully. ‘We deceived ourselvas once; and now I hope you are again mistaken.” ‘You are not very complimentary,” replied Mrs. Pennington, with maternal warmth, “My dear aunt, I hope you believe me when I say that no one estimates Muriel’s attrac- tions more highly than I do. She is a charm- ing, accomplished woman, as worthy of admira- tion and love as she was six years ago when I bowed at her shrine, But the play is played out and the fire is extinguished. Now I could only offer her a divided heart.” “You need say no more, I can guess the rest,” said the lady, deeply mortified. ‘‘ You love Nerissa!” ‘* And ean you wonder? When I met her first the wounds inflicted by Muriel's perfidy were nearly healed, yet I retained a dread of all coquettish beauties who play with men’s hearts as children with their toys. But this girl, so suffering and uncomplaining, stole into my heart during our first interview, and on the night of the fire the pang of mortal fear which I experienced as she leaped from the flames into my arms warned me of my danger. Then came a brief, sharp struggle. “But Love conquered, as it always does when it is real the thing, and not a spurious article. So I resolved to woo Nerissa, and win her if I could. She was coy and reserved; sometimes she appeared to avoid me. But I never guessed that in honor she was bound to shun those vows I anxiously longed to plat. “Infatuated, I disregarded the tokens by which she would have warned me, and offer- ing her my hand, met with a prompt refusal. Siace then I have schooled my heart until it beats for ber with tender friendship rather than with love. If she were happy, I at least could be contented. “ And now that I have told you all, do you still believe that my marriage with Muriel could secure our mutual felicity?’ Mrs. Pennington considered for a few mo- ments. “Frankly, Alaric, I do not see why this van- ished love-dream need interfere with your fu- ture, or prevent you from baving a wife who loves you. You acknowledge that friendship has superseded a warmer feeling for Nerissa. Tn that case you are free to wed avother.” There was a long pause. ‘*You eaid Muriel was in the library,” said Alaric, at length. ‘‘Huve I your permission to seek her there, and offer such ite as I he to give?” | She extended her hand and pressed the young man’s warmly. . ‘Go to her, dear Alaric, with my blessing and best wishes,” she said. The library at Ravenhuret was one of the lower rooms in the west wing. As Alaric went slowly down the long corri- dor leading to that part of the mansion, he saw coming toward him a tall, shabbily- dressed man, who was no member of the house- hold. He must just have descended the staircase, which was seldom used except by Nerissa and her immediate attendants, as it led to a suite of apartments specially appropriated to her private use. The man was a gaunt, ill-favored fellow—at least, so thought Alaric, for his long shaggy bair and untrimmed beard gave him a neg- lected, half-wild appearance, which was, not belied by his glittering eyes and scowling brow. In his hand he held a purse, evidently con- taining gold, for it chinked as be tossed it with the sound given forth by that precious metal, while his other hand clutched fast a pearl necklace and gold chain, both of which Alaric remembered to bave seen Nerissa wearing. The doctor concluded, of course, that he was a burglar, especially when he saw bim make an attempt at thrusting bis ill-gotten booty into his breast. Alaric seized him by the collar. ‘‘Who are you? What are you doing here?” he said. The dark eyes glared flercely; but there was no answer. “You have no need to speak. You area thief, a burglar, who sball be prosecuted with the utmost rigor of the law! Give up that money and those ornaments! Ho! help there!” The man began to struggle vicleptly, but Alaric being tallerand more muscular in build, succeeded in holding him fast, in spite of his frantic efforts to gain his liberty. A faint cry was heard, an exclamation of distress, and Nerissa rushed down the staircase, and, paleasa lily, clung to Alaric’s arm. ‘¢Let him go!” she gasped. “Tet him go?’ he repeated, in amazement, “Surely you do not know that be came to plunder?—that even now your property is upon him, both money and jewels?’ “Yes, yes; I know!” Involuntarily his grasp loosened, and the other, profiting by the chance, dexterously wrenched himself free, and dashed down the corridor. Alaric would have followed in hot pursuit, but Nerissa’s arms were around him, and the thrill of that first embrace—though thoughts of love were furtbest from her mind—re- strained bim as powerfully as fetters of iron. ‘“‘ He has gone,”’ said he, as she released him. ““Nerissa it was your fault; you should have let me follow him, What mistaken motives of compassion made you spare a thief?” ‘He is no thief!” “What is he then?’ be laughed mockingly. Her face drooved upon her hands. “ Alaric, he is my husband!” As he stood looking down upon the slender figure now conyulsed with sobs, a great pity surged over his heart. It was worse for her, he thought, to be linked to the man who had but a minute before broken from bis grasp than to be friendless and alone, as he saw her first in the great city. Was she united to some escaped convict or notorious criminal, that he visited her thus —" a to know, not from curiosity so Sane as kindly interest, but could not summon the courage to frame the question. “You will not mention this encounter to your aunt or to Muriel?’ she said, anxiously. “Certainly not, except with your consent.” “Thanks, D ctor Treherne.” “But, le om not be offended if I plead with you as a friend to grant no more. secret interviews to this man unknown to the rest of hia the household. Your fair fame might suffer, = If he is your busband why should he not visit as you openly, not like a thief?” ner ‘There are reasons which you cannot guess.’’ Oh, Nerissa! if I could only persuade you to confide in me entirely, 1 might be able as to help you, for I know you suffer. Cast aside your doubts, and let me know the Listory of your marriage, and what chain of ny events united you to one whom you do not = profess to love.” “You must not ask me,” she said, hurriedly. “Tt is his secret, not mine, or I would gladly tell you. And do not condemn him too severe- ly. Heis not himself. He was once so differ- ent. Ob, it is very sad; but I think the troubles he bas undergone have unsettled his brain, or he would not have come bere to- — night.” “He came, I suppose, for money,” said Alaric, contemptuously. “He could desert you in your poverty, but now that wealth bas poured in upon you, bis visits will be more fre- | quent. If it is his right to share your fortune, why does not he claim it openly?” “There are difficulties we cannot overcome. He has never entered the house before, and probably never will again. I supply bim lib-. erully with money in order’ that he may keep : away; but—but—” she broke off, oe tO Fee say too much, : He moved away coldly. “J see you prefer keeping your affairs wrapped up in mystery, and I am apt to forget that I have no right to meddle between man and wife. Excuse my pertinacity, Mrs. Lee, This is your own house, and you have a right to choose your own visitors. I will not detain: you longer.” Sadly sbe turned and ascended the wide — staircase, The cherubs painted on the old- — fashioned ceiling seemed to look upon her com- ~ passionately, as if they longed to cast down | 3 the wreaths they carried, so tbat a few flowers _ might mingle with the thorns besetting ber — ath, Alaric pursued his way to the library. When he opened the door Muriel rose from the couch where she was balf-reclining, with — outstretched hands and a bright glance of wel~ come. If her head ached it did not affect the bril- liancy of her beauty. 5 Her black dress was set off by a chvebeit of bits damask roses at the bosom, and another was ° placed with assumed negligence in her braided — hair, ‘Something in Alaric’s face assured her iy, triumph was near, and she rejoiced in the com- — Toe ing victory. pres To win was Muriel’s proudest ambition; to ay fo despise her rival when won, the natural out rs come of a nature at once shallow and fickle. : Even when, seated by her cousin’s side, the | * listened to the words which would bave caused another woman’s heart to beat with fond emo- $4 tion, she was inwardly criticising his et 1 of wooing. 5, Cold and measured seemed his affection com: etl pared with that which had been lavished upon her by another, whom, she thought, she might 2 have really loved had fate been kinder. ea ak Why did the recollection of him flit across 3 aa her brain at sucb a minute? .' She dismissed it with a chudder; and, call- ing up one of the most bewitching smiles, ‘urs: mured an acceptance of Alaric’s suit. “ent CHAPTER X. THROUGH DARKNESS TO LIGHT. ; Tae wedding was to take place early in the %. : autumn. ; * : There was no reason for delay. a Alaric, indeed, was no impatient nes oo and even hinted at the expediency of deferring his happiness until the second inal of Muriel’s. SS widowhocd was over. — = Bnt the lady smiled at his siercaficn and Mrs, — Pennington, whose health was delicate, ae San YT
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peated ap ious that! the union ah Wich her due delay Vou “Who can tell how short my time may be?” _ ghe said, with a sorrowful smile; “yet I do not wish to depart without being assured of your future happiness,” It had been a hard task for Nerissa to offer "her congratulations, which Alaric received ‘vith a constraint which made it more embar- _ Jacsing. _ Muriel, on the contrary, was never tired of talkng over every plan connected with the forthcoming auspicious event whenever she was in the society of her sweet Nerissa, for whom she warmed into a sudden affection. Of course, she must be married from her _ mother’s house in the city. The wedding must be quiet, for such was Alaric’s desire, and she liked to defer to his opinion; yet she was anxious to be dressed well - and becomingly, so that she might look her _ best in his admiring eyes. How shameful it was that people would se stare if she appeared attired in white at her _ second nuptials!. Whitesuited her so well, and gray satin looked too old and matronly for a “A ome of four-and-twenty. _. To such discourse Nerissa listened patiently - tor many weary hours, bravely trying to hide es ber wounded heart, and to as:ume an interest in the commonplace matters which to Muriel ae pty of the highest importance. _ When Alaric happened to be present, she was even more inclined to discuss the bridal , r arrangements, which, however, did not pre- vent her from keenly watebing both him and _ Nerissa, whose unbappiness she more than sus- “pected. _ “Nerissa looks like a bride herself,” she re- _ . marked one day when, the weather bein ‘ warm, the young girl appeared in a dress of ' filmy texture and the pure huo of the lily. Ouly. fancy, Alaric, if she were so attired on ach our wedding moroing; you might make a mis- : take, and carry her off to church instead of _ your own destined wife! Tell me now, would you be pleased or disappointed when you dis- -_. eovered your error?” ceebacest...4'L, do vot care to jest on serious subjects,” answered he, frowning; while Nerissa turved _ away with an unwonted color on her cheeks, _ and a firm resolve to wear dark colors only until Muriel left Ravenhurst. _ And now the last day of the Brolonged visit Sass » was drawing to a close. ce Early on the next morning Mrs, Penning- ' Nea and her daughter were to set out on their _ journey to New York, whither, of course, aghane was to escort them. _ The three were walking on the lawn in the moonlight, enjcying the balmy freshness of the summer breeze, and talking over the amount } business which, in the ladies’ opinion, must Beep morencted before the wedding could take te acca. after presiding af dinner, had left pa to their own devices, feeling, perhaps, _ that a future in which she bore no part wouid _ be more conveniently discussed in her absence, _ so Alaric was forved to give undivided atten- _ tion to details concerning millinery, upholstery, ped iig orks and breaktasts, with other mat- _ ters still more void of interest to his masculine mind. _ Muriel was just enunciating her sentiments “upon. the | absolute necessity of securing a _ house so near the park that she could ride or _ drive there every day during the season, when one of the womenservants came running toward them, with a white, scared face and dilated eyes, . “Oh, sir!—oh, ma’am! Such a dreadful ‘business. I never. was so upset in any re- spectable situation. before. The police is in the Ty _ house, ee oy goog to search every room until tr 5 ae rele hiSt Rand, batt woman? Speak plainer!” eried "a a © gaat Mr pineeh his fears peveaes E LOVED. it before; bait I think taey mean mistress’s. aie: heart was set should be solemnized without un-. | 3 1 band, And, ob, Mr. Treherne, it seems he committed murder ever so long ago,and they’ve got a warrant out againss bim!” “Talways thought there was some -disreput- able story connacted with that man,” remarked Muriel, spitefully; ‘‘and it would not have sur- prised me to hear that be had forged a check, or embezzled money, or something of the sort; but really I did not suspect it was so bad ag this.” ‘Where is Mrs, Lee?” asked Alaric. “She is in her room in the west wing.” “These men will not intrude upon her there!” “They said they were going to search the house,” persisted the excited domestic. ‘* He — the man—has been followed here; and, oh, what a dreadful thing this to bappen in a family where a respectable girl is living as under-housemaid.” “Let us go to Nerissa,” exclaimed the young mao, hoarsely. ‘*Sbe may want her friends around her.” They were not long before they reached the house, where awe-stricken faces confronted them, and a general panic prevailed. The detectives had already ‘searched the principal lower rooms, and insisted on peno- trating to Mrs, Lee’s private apartments, where the fugitive was supposed to be con- cealed. By patient investigation they had at Jast sueceedead in tracing the miserable Everard Vaughan, under the alias William Lee, They had discovered the marriage at Bridge- port, the subsequent voyage and return to America. Then they bad followed his career, first as a billiard marker in a low tavern, after: ward as supernumerary in the pantomime, until, often disappointed, but never quite los- ing the scent, they found he was sojourning in Dorothy Trent’s cottage, and in constant com- munication with the mistrecs of oa hones 758 5 who was identified as his wife. When Alaric and his companions ‘reached the elegantly furnished boudoir where Nerissa spent most of her leisure time, they saw ber standing pale and erect before these respectable but determined-looking men who invaded ber privacy armed with the dread powers of the aw. Her face brightened when she beheld Alaric. *‘Doctor Treberne, will you send these men away?’ she said, with the girlish simplicity which believes everything is possible to him she loves. ‘They demand the right to search my apartments, which I emphatically refuse.” “We have our warrant all regular,” re- marked the foremost stranger with composure, : offering the document for Alaric’s ivspection. “Lady is naterally put out—most of ’em are when it comes to the point; but we mi only to do our duty.” “*T am afraid, Nerissa, we eishlod defy the law,” murmured Alaric, with white lips. ‘‘And surely Mrs, Lee can have no desire to shield aman who is acensed of having com- mitted murder?” observe Muriel, in her clear, musical tones, while her eyes shone with ma- ‘lignant triumph. Immediately the sound of struggling, and a confused murmur of voices, was heard pro- ceeding from the inner chamber, The door was flung open, and Everard Vaughan stood upon ‘the threshold, old Doro- thy clinging to his arm, and vainly striving ' to restrain him. “Muriel; Muriel!” he cried, wildly, “I tin vis desired to see you once more before I died, and the desire is now fulfilled. Ob, my beloved, look upon the ruin you have wrought: with a tender tear of pity, and I will make no sign, but cheerfully lay down my life for your sake.” = He threw himself on his knees at her feet, and buried his face in the folds of her dress, The movement had been so sudden that every one stood transfixed with wonder. “ Muriel’s ree livid as she uttered a. Legrasy = ne 7 “ Alaric! Alaric!” ‘Her betrothed hastened to her assistance. ‘‘Unband this lady! She does not know you!” Everard’s eyes literally blazed with frenzy, | “Yes, yes, she does! She remembers tho old days at the Standard, when we acted together, and I first loved her. She had a husband then, but he is dead, and now no otber man shail come between us!” The detectives raised the wretcbed man, and clapped bandcuffs on his wrists. ‘* Come, we’ve had enough of this. Once be- fore you gave us the slip, You'll not bave the chance of doing it a second time,” - i “The poor fellow is mad!’ exclaimed Doro- thy Trent, as they led him away. ‘I knew his ‘brain vas turned ever since the fevye. That was why I followed him to-night » hen be rushed out of the cottage in one of his fran- tic fits, I thought barm would come ot it.” Pale as marble, with lips firmly compressed, ) Muriel stood statue-like where Everard had left her. , Alaric took her band, and it was cold as ice. ‘* Muriel, did this man speak truly? Has he ever been ove of your friends or acquain- tances?’ | With a desperate effort, she found voice to . arswer, ‘(| have seen him befere. And, Alaric, I never liked to tell you, for it. was so sad, but my husband died no natural death, Everard Vaugban killed him,” She qusiled and shivered under the borror- stricken geze bent vpon her; then, gathering — courage, continued ip a firmer tone: ‘““Yes, they quarreled, and ‘George Si. Aubyn was sluip. You have poesibly read the eaccounf given in the newsjapers; but the names being different, preventid recognition. You know that in the theatrical world actors are seldom kuown by their real appellations, and in our case a change was especially neces- sary, as George was always in pecuniary dif- ficulties, and we wished to avoid being followed by our creditors as we moved from place to place. It was under the name of George Trevelyan that he was passing when be met his death.” The cold, bard accents suddenly ceased, the forced composure gave way, and Muriel fell sensoless at Alaric’s feet, like one dead. Everard Vaughan was never brought to trial. Death had long hovered over him, mind and body being alike diseared, He was spared the mournful alternative of enduring the ter- rors of the law or lingering out hisexistence as a confirmed junatic Toward the end his mind. grew more clear, and he wrote to Muriel 8t, Aubyn, desiring to see her. ° This summons the lady thought proper to di:- regard, and thus committed an irreparabic blunder. Stung by her cruelty, Everard, in a fit f jealous rage, summoned Nerissa and Alaric to his bedside, and confessed the secret be lint guarded at the peril of his life, ‘‘Muriel has dared to disown me!” be mur- mured, in his weak, fast-failing voice. °*‘She refuses afew parting words to a dying man; but she shall repent of her inhumanity. * Listen, both of you. tA word from me would consign ber to the prisoner’s cell, for by her band St. Aubyn was slain! ‘(He treated ber cruelly, shamefully. until she learned to hate him, But be was jealous all the same; and though he made her go upon thestage, was forever on the watch leat another might win ber favor. a “She and f often acted together at tho Standard. ‘ George distrusted me—not without. reason, for I passionately loved his beautiful wife, and fancied that. her, affections were mine. One evening she came secretly _ to my boarding-house in deep rage | Her husband had ill-treated, even struck her,
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——. : Se _ inhisanger. There wero bruises on her deli- eate face. She came to warn me that he threatened to inflict condign punishment upon me that very night in the green-room of the theater, She had scarcely faltered forth the words when we heard his foot upon the stairs, and, with savage imprecations, he vowed to break open the door if I did not allow bitn to enter. Muriel, terrified at his violence, con- ‘calcd herself behind the window curtain, and ! jet him in, It ‘seemed he had followed his wife, and seen her enter the house. He de- manded to know where she was, and I was forced to stoop to falsehood, and deny having Seen her. From words wea soon came to blows, and fought like wild beasts together. St. Au- byu was a taller and stronger man than I. After a sharp struggle be flung me to the ground, and, rushing to the window-curtain behind which his wife cowered, dragged her forth in triumph. “Then— How can I tell the rest? I saw Muriel snatch up a dagger, which lay with other things of mine upon a side-table—a quaint old dagger, which I had purchased at a Curiosity-shop as being suitable for a part I was then playing—and in another moment St. Aubyn fell to the ground with a deep groan. “What have I done?’ cried Muriel, in an agony of fear. “We heard voices outside, The people of the house were alarmed. The police would soon be upon us, ; *“* You will be suspected, Everard,’ cried Muriel. ‘Let me hasten away through ‘that door yonder, whence I can easily reach the landing and escape unobserved. You will not betray me, and it can never be known that the guilt is mine. Come what may, Everard, if you really love me, keep silent.’ ‘Her cool selfishness and utter disregard of the danger I should incur dumfounded me, but I gave my promise, and she managed to quit the house unseen. My eyes seemed at onca opened to her indifference, for had she not un- concernedly given-me up to a felon’s doom, Perhaps to a shameful death to save herself from peril? I, too, fled, for nature revolted against the risk 1 ran by remaining with the corpse of the murdered man until the officers of justice came to seize me, “But not for long did I elude their vigi- lance. ' “ Arrived at Bridgeport, whither I had jour- Heyed on my way to Boston, I was taken into custody, and once more, in desperation, at- tempting to escape, was for the time sheltered through the compassionate kindness of this amiable girl.” He pointed to Nerissa, ay after a short pause, addressing her, ho said: “Very badly have I returned your kindness lately. But try to forgive me, My head seemed ever aching and throbbing beneath the pressure of a heavy burden. I scarcely knew what I did. “Dorothy Trent, was r for money and hinted that if ariean on well bribed it might be worth her while totell all she knew, If ' the authorities bad offered a reward for my ap- prehension that woman would long ago bave betrayed me. But now it is beyond the power of man toharm me. Nerissa, you were never really my wife, for, with your concurrence, I married you under a feigned name. _ “But it matters little now. Death will set _. you free sooner than the law.” Gently she soothed him with words of peace and pardon, owning that her reckless folly de- served a still more severe punishment, Alaric would not have felt justified in be- lieving bis betrothed bad committed so serious & crime on the unsupported testimony of poor, half-mad Everard Vaughan; but Muriel, when she heard of the interview, lost her presence of mind, and began to defend herself in a manner Which carried a full corroboration of her for- mer lover’s statement, Ot course she could not expect to be Alaric’s now he re Se ls) + Wife Me * A Pee ke | OC Rtn SSS essences had once listened to this dreadful | fy tay eter ge ee > MAN HE ¥G Se ae Z —— tr ee: to any buman being she would go abroad and trouble him no more. ‘She had been a deeply-injured woman, and now her cousin and betrothed husband was se- cretly rejoicing that he had a decent excuse for breaking his word and marrying Nerissa. Soon after sbe started with her mother upon a European tour, firmly resolved never to re- turn to her native shores. But wherever she wanders she will be tor- tured by a guilty conscience. If the virtues of womanhood can atone fora girls folly, Nerissa has long expiated the faults of tbe past. As Mrs, Treherne she is respected by all who know her, and her busband calls her a perfect wife, Dorothy Trent did not long enjoy her ill- gotten gains. One night, in a state of semi-intoxlcation, she happened to set her clothes on fire, and be- fore assistance arrived was burned to death, THE END, Beatles Whe Best Weekly of Popular, Entertuin- ing and Useful Literature Pub- lished im America! Its Unrivaled Corps of Contributors, almost all of whom write erelusively for its publishers—embraces the following authors of world wide repute— Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, Albert W. Aiken, Capt. Fred. Whittaker, Capt. Mayne Reid, Joseph E. Badger, Jr., Edward L. Wheeler, Charles Morris, Oll Coomes, C. 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By Arabella Southworth. 26 Without a Heart; or, Walking on the Brink. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, ii Was She a Coyguette? or, A ial By Henrietta Thackeray. Courtship. 28 — Chase; or, The Gambler's Wife. By Ann §, Stephens 29 For = Doar Sakey or, Saved From Him- y Sara Claxton. self. 380 ape Bou uet Girl} or, A Million of Mouey. y Agile Penne. 1A ‘2 +d Murri-gej; or, The Iron Will. By Mary A. Denison. anu, the Prima Donne} or, Roses Lilies, By Arabella CoS is or, The tery of Lord Chalfont. By Alice Fleming. pis f 34 A Hae I: of Convenience 3 or, Was Count? By Sara Claxton. 35 all Aaainst ie Her; or, The Winthrop Pride. and ugusta. 36 Sir Archer's Bride; = Whe Queen of His ‘eart. By Arabella y Ara Southwort BY The Country Be rang as si is not Gold that Glitters. ior aust tee Not. By Na Southwort 39 Flirtation; , A Young Girl's Good Name. ae, Jacob Abarbanell, (Ralph Royal.) 40 P gee to wider or, In Love's Bonds. y3 A a1 miledh Devotion re. Love Against the ad By Alice Flemin pe 42 Bont ae the Beautifuls or, His Second ic’ By Arabella Southworth. e e Haronet's Secret; = The Rival Half- By Sara Claxton. a4 The onl "Dan hter ; or. Brother against Lover. vy Alice eming. 45 Migs Hidden Foe; om Love At All Odds. By Arabella Southwort 48 The Little Hicirese; or, Under a Cloud. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 47 Because She Loved Hiim 3 or, How Will ; It End? By Alice Fleming. 48 7 puree. of FaCESERE or, Jeannette's Repa- fon. By 8. R. Sherwood. 49D HL Heart's Mistress; or, Love at First By Arabella Southwort rth, or, The Prisone: of Vintresse. By Mrs, Mary A. Denison, iennicceren Is3 or, The Bride of an ; Earl. By ahs Stoning. 2 The Wi d Messenger All 52 re ened hen Many Reed Crowell? The Ro- by Ring. iam Mason Man's | or, The Emerald | | | | | / | | | | | 54 One Woman’s Heart}; or, Saved from the Street. By George S. Kaime, 55 She Did Not Love Him; Conquer. By Arabella Southwor 56 Love-Mlad 3 = Betrothed Married Divorced and ——. By Ww m. Mason Turner, M. D. 567 A Brave Girl}; or, Sunshine at Last. By Alive Fleming. 58 The Kbon ffask3 or, The Mvsterious Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 59 A Widow's Wiles; or, A Bitter Vengeance. By Rachel Bernhardt. 60 Cecils 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, Tce Dead Secret or, r Btooping to of Hollow Ash Hall. By Mar, garet Blount G3 The Creole Sisters; or, The Mystery or the Perrys. By Mrs. Anna E. Porter. G4 What Jealousy Did; or, The Heir of Worsley Gra y Alice Fleming. 65 7 ife’s § Perce has *Twixt Cup and Lip. mo Yol. Juan Lew 66 A Brother’s Sin , a “moras Forgiveness. By Rachel Bernhardt. 67 Forbidden gbors 3 or, Alma’s Disguised Prince, .By Arabella Southworth. 68 Weavers and Weft; or, ‘‘ Love That Hath Us In His Net.”’ By Miss M. BE. Braddon, 69 Camille; or, The Fate of a Coquette. By Alexandre Dumas. 70 The Two Orphans, By D'Enery. 71 My Young fife. By My Young Wife's Husband. 72 The Two Widows. By Annie Thomas. 73 Hose Michel; or, The Trials of a Factory Girl. By baud Hilton. 74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage i or, The Story | of a Broidered Shield. By Ouida, 15 sa ack Lady of Duna. By J.8, Le | Fanu. 76 Charlotte Tem ai tA ee Rowson, 77 Christian Oakle ateenine: By the author of ‘* John iia ifax, Gentleman,’ " ete, | 78 My Young Husband 5 or, A Confusion in : the Family. By Mysclt. YOA ueen Amongst Women. author of ‘‘ Dora Thorne,”’ etc., ete. 80 Her Lord and Master.’ Marryat, ucy Temple, Sister of Charlotte. 82 A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred. pee Playing for High Stakes. By Annie Thomas, 84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of “ John Halifax, Gentleman.” 85 Led Astray. P7 Octave Feuillet. 86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot. $7 ig od Romance ofa Poor Young Man. By the By Florence y Octave Feuillet. 88 ae *rerribie Deeds or, All for Gold. By Emma ison Jones, 89 4. aS Sin. By the author of ‘Dora ‘horn, 90 The ng on LE Daughter, By Mary Howitt. 91 The Jilt, By Charles Reade. 92 Elleen Alan na; oni the Dawning of the Day. By Dennis O’Sulltva: 93 Loves ertory: 96 Haunted Hearts. 5 97 Wugh Melton, By Katharine King. 98 Alice Learmont. By Miss Mulock. 99 a Bruee’s Lovers. By Mary 100 Throw Fire and Water. By Fred- rick Talbot. 101 ianhah. 102 Peg Woffington. 103 A Desperate oo hag 104 Shadows on the Snow. jeon. 105 The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By W. M. Thackeray. 106 From, Dreams to Waking. By E. ag hee 107 Boo or Z enpt By F. W. Robinson. 108 The Sad Fortunes of the Rev. Amos ; rton. By George Eliot 109 Brond-ana-Choove and Kisses. By 110 RS FJ aadering Meir. By Charlies By Mas eres Charles Reade. y Erskine ey By B. . Reade. 111 FS Brothers. Bet; or, Within Bix Weeks. By Emilie Flygere Carlen. 112.A Hero. By Miss Mulock. 113 Paul and Virginia. From the French of Bernardin De St. Pierre 114 Py In Trafalgar’s Bay. By Wal- ter Besant and James Rice. 115 The Maid of Killeena. By William Black. it ne. Way ieee ot, The Raid of 118 The 4 2 By Oliver a ; ‘ oe os a = By Annie Thomas. i ef 5 Maud Mohan. 120 Khaddeus of Warsaw, Porter. 121 The King of No-hand, By BL. tas 122 Povel, the Widower. By W. ™. Thavk "a eray. 128 Am Island Pearl. By =. 4. F.-jcom, 124 Cousin Phillis. 125 Leila; or, The Siege of Granada. By ty ward Bulwer (Lord Lytton). 126 B Asi the Ship Comes Efome, ter Besant and James Rice. 127 wae of the Ma wet ts. By James Paya. 128 The Birthright. 4c oaeh Gore... 129 Motherless}3 or, The Farmer's Sweetheart, By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 130 Homeless; cr, Two Orphan Girls in New York. By Albert "W. Aiken. 131 Sister against Sister}; or, The iiivairy We Heart: By Mrs Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 132 Sold. for Gold. By Mrs. M. V. Victor, 3 Lord Roth’s Sin. By Georgiana Vickeng, a He Love Her? By Bartley L. au Sinned Against. By Lillian Lovejoy, Was She His Wife? By Mrs, Mary aeed Crowell. 7 The Village on the Cliff By ifisp Thackeray. or, The Broken Svoti, _—— aleria! y Margaret Blount. 4 argaret Graham. By G. BP. R. Jarnes Without Merc a Bartley T.Campbeil, Honor Bound, illian Lovejoy. Fleeing from Met Be By Mrs. Irving. Abducted; or, A Wicked Woman's Wort, By Rett Winwood. A Strange Marriage; or, Jokn Foster’s Heiress. By Lillian Lovejoy. ‘two Girls Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. A Desperate Venture; or, For Love's Own Sake. By Arabella Southworth. Eas War of Hearts. By Corinne Cush- ay 4 5 6 mk fet pk fond fk folk pl fe Here 68 (© GO ww ‘ecb es 145 Which Was the Woman ? or, Strangely Misjudged. By Sara Claxton. An Ambitious Girl; or, She Would Be An Actress. By Frances Helen Davenport, Love ween of Alls or, In Her Own at Tonle Alice May Fleming. wira Girl. By Corinne Cushman. A Mlan’s Sacrifice. By Harriet Irving. Did She Sin. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell He Loves Me Not, By Lillian Lovejoy. Winning Ways. By Margaret Blount. What She Cost Him; or, Crooked Paths, By Arabella Southworth. A Girls Heart.. By Rett Winwood. A Bites Mistake; or, A Young Girl's Folly. By Agnes Mary Shelto Lady ecaie Vow; ole The Mother's Secret. By the Late Mrs. &, F. Ellet. Buying a Heart, By Lillian Love wld Pearl of Pearls. By A. P. Morris, A Fat ful Game; or, Wedded ond Parted. By Sara Claxton, 63 Khe ¢reole Cousins; or, False as Fair. By Philip 8 Warne. 64 A Scathing eng or, May Langley's Mad. Marriage. By M rs. Georgiana Dickens. 65 A Strange Gi By Albert W. Aiken. 6 6 148 151 A SrSrerorer Dek FR eG 6 A Man's Sin. By Rett Winwood, 7 Whe in igae 3 of Fate; or, The Wreck of Arabella Seuthorost h, 168 Two Watre omen. By Wm. Mi. Turner, 169 Tempted Through Loves or, One Woman's Error. By Lillian Lovejoy, 170 oe Barbara’s Secret. By Mary | Grace Halpine. 171 A Woman's bi Sah ih or, Throw hb Much Tribulation. Bara Claxton. 172 me ae ad Blue. 173 Tho. Cost of a Folly. Diokens. Two Lives. By Corir: By Georgln 174 The Pretty Puritan. By A Parson's D hter. aug’ : Love a Mockery? (or, Rempee %e be nat, . By Arabella Southworth. 176 Adria, the Adopted. By Jennie Davis the Woman He Loved or, Fate- a PT Links. By Agnes Mary Shelton, 178 Whe Locked Heart. By Corinne Cushman, 179 Parted by Treachory. Cy Uarriet Irving. 180 Wes She a Wife? or, Lae Prout of Love By Rett Winwood A new iseue every week, Ter Wavertey Linrary is tor nalp by Mt News dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on re ceipt of six cents each. os ermine tl ADAMS, Pu' William street, New York.