Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 186) (1883 06 05)

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“a Whe Cheapest and Best Library! .The Cream of American and Foreign Novels for Five Cents! . (RR nar nmatiena saa SEP Ta HEN : ~* : ¥ = == ones a _ RTT - = = i AWA Se ae TNT aA NI WN i WHA a a a Hu cecateniiie ceilienmitiieteammeniaemeaaie nas anne RCRA 3 BROS ENO a Sawa mab $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. ~ Copyright, 1888, by B June 5, 1988, ee $$$ fi ‘ llth I hi itor tise Fie —— RNS Sei SEC ON 2 Re, No 186. VOL. VIII. | PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM leg Died PRICE, 5 CENTS. ° * Th T hd " his course. On either side nothing but the dense | this, anyway, I say, Why couldn’t I be content to e err] e rut white fog and the line of foam where his boat cut | stay with the crowd instead of rushing off to the ex- ’ the water. The nautical skill of which he had been | periment of cheap yachting on my own hook? aon rather proud was of little avail to him in a situation | enough with fair weather and nights ashore. I'll al- . OR, zi} { The Th ornhurst My st ery. like this. There was nothing for it. but to trust | low, but I never bargained for this turn to the pro- blindly to chance, and keep a sharp look-out until | gramme.” = the fog should lift. An elasticity in Dare’s spirit. rose again in a thrill anys BY J ENNIE DAVIS BURTON, oe There is something exciting in the novelty of a po- | of fierce excitement as the little boat really did bunip OR OF “* STRANGELY WED, THE FALSE WIDOW,”’ | sition like this, and Dare experienced more than a | against a rock protruding from one of those low- THE MADDEST MARRIAGE EVER Was,”’ tithe of the exhilaration; but. notwithstanding the | lying reefs along the shore. The fog had wet hm DOUBLY DIVORCED," ETC, moments dragged interminably, until it seemed to | as thoroughly as a slow, drizzling, penetrating rain him that how's must have passed, and yet no sign of | could have done, but in the real presence of danger CHAPTER I. the fog lessening. Owen Dare was not the man to give up without an eae ts DARU’S ADVENTURE. : _Dare’s temper did not improve, as he knew by this | effort, or to be overcome by the small miseries sirdati ee caine out of the reverie into which he time night must be closing in, and he strained hiseyes | which would have been tortures generally to his Y Boao earns vertently, to find his position sudden- ! vainly for a sight of the lights along the Jow line of | somewhat fastidious habit. eieat « ed into one promising adventure if not dan- | coast. The prospect of spending the night under Beating about, feeling his way through the opaque The litt cee : short sail, pumping over the bars and reefs, and | gloom, chilled to the bone by that cold mist, with cas at she on 5 oa was .dancing over the short | among sandy islands of the bay, to say nothing of | his heart coming into his throat at every alternate | with all the ; +r sees a wnie fog had dropped down | the more than equal chances of being wrecked or | minute. the time wore slowly on, .A miserable, anx- | the Now he a eae wi roe belongs to the fogs of capsized, or something else equally pleasant, loomed | ious, and yet exciting portion of the night, destined | itvery dduviteaad coast. To _ to his discomfiture up a dark and anxious background to the first half- | to linger in his memory and come vividly back to bearino, am ecm apparent t 4 ie had lost his enjoyment and half-annoyance he had experienced. | him long years after, was that which Owen Dare | agethe eisclee oe ats Hed’ up i all his attention, ne of my usual confounded streaks of luck,” | spent beating along the low coast of Cape Cod. ’ | ante PP V te es boiled up in foamy wreaths, | growled Dare. with his hand upon the tiller. ‘‘ Curse A puff of wind broke the heavy stillness at last. ‘ peered out anxiously for some mark to guide | the fodlhardiness that brought me out on a trip like | Another, and soon a fresh, steady breeze was blow aaa aA ek “WHY, NORA, CHILD, WHAT IS IT{”-—HE STOPPED SHORT AS SHE TURNED HER CHANGED FACE UPON HIM. ‘ ’ : i 5 an 1° r jas }

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‘shadow, little enoug im. >-7 RESON Soa ea rn ; {ng; the rolled itself up and disappeared as peg ok as it Se liehtlnge moon shone. out bee 24 or a momen ing the broad expanse o' ater and the low, dark line of shore. Bui \ sev = ing clouds. drove across pa and the pioomit ht Ww was obscured by a blackness ch covered bay and shore and little boat and solitary voyager in the same blank, But, after all, the blackness served Mr. Dare a better turn than the brightest of the fitful gleams succeeding could have done, from the lowshore, a fire he knew it to be. pm ing “ — he ran for it, ee pe a his favor, an © Waves ee gh, showing long lines of surf in those brief intervals of light Sieait It was running the.gantlet in arace for life as he knew, but he made the distance safely, the little Hight of draught, passing over dangers which d have stranded larger vessels. It rode the surf, ran safely into the narrow inlet where the light guided him, and, half full of water, it grounded against the strip of beach where a figure stood just ‘without the firelight which was reflected luridly from the water. He gave the oh re on te asit was into the attention until the shells in the sand crushed under his boot-soles, and it moved forward a step or two waiting his advance. A girl’s form, lithe and athe, with straight hair streamin down. back, with round arms bare to the shoul- ders, short skirts, which, to Dare’s relief, ex- posed shapely, well-shod feet. Dare was fastidious to the last degree, and but for ! this fact one episode out of the life of the girl stand- -_ ing before him might have beenspared her. But while Dare’s fine sensibilities would have been shocked at shoeless feet, custom had reconciled him to any degree of nakedness a la decollette, and those brown, bare arms and rounded throat might have compared favorably with the fairer ones he was used to seeing. I “T have you to thank for the beacon which guided mein,’ said he, ‘ But for that I might have beaten off and on all night.” “Or been driven_on the bar. At’sa wonder you weren't, anyway. There isn’t a boat left or Ishould | have rowed out into the bay when the fog lifted.” * kind of natural like. But, here we are, and The voice was clear, a trifle high-pitched, but not ‘unmusieal, and again Dare was relieved that it was not 4 coarse, nasal utterance which greeted him, “Was the beacon really meant. for me, then? I thought if a happy accident.” “T saw the boat out there late this afternoon, There’s bad places along here, and we always put a light out on dark or stormy nights, ’specially when the men are at the fisheries and apt to be coming in. That's why there’s no boats here now. You'd bet- ter come with me, back to the house; that’s it yon- der. Hannah ‘ll be fretting after me, I dare say.” Anunmoving black shadow in the direction she inted was all he could distinguish of the house, | een more definitely up as they approached it, andwith some threads of light making themselves apparent through chinks and crevices. “Would you not be afraid to go out upon the bay, at night and alone?’ he asked, with a shadow of in- terest jn the briskly-moving little creature who was in no way abashed by this night meeting with a stranger, and, what struck Dare more forcibly still, apparentl in no way impressed by the marked dif- ference which must have existed between his own elegant self—presented under disadvantageous cir- cumstances though he were—and such types of masculinity, brawny, weather-beaten fishermen and jolly jack-tars, as she was probably in the habit odd with h, la, no!” and her shrill laugh woke y should I be afraid? You see and I like it—talke to it here’s annah *Il make you comfortable. JVow what do ou say, Hannah? Here’s a gentleman who would ve been beating the coast all night but for my fire, It wasn’t mere nonsense, after all.” , They had turned an angle of the house where a flood of light streamed out at an uncurtained I’m, used to the water, sir, “ window, and his fins threw back the door and ushered him directly into a wide, low room, where a faced, elderly woman was sitting. “Timew you wouldn’t think of going to bed until Aa in for keeps, Hannah, so I had him come right ong.’ Dare, @ glance at the interior, scrupulously clean and neat, and a mental conclusion’ that ‘it ‘wasn't so bad as it ht have been,’’ made an at- tempt at apology for his intrusion, but was cut short y his talkative guide. “Oh, la! that’s nothing, We're used to havin folks come unawares, aren’t we, Hannah? We al- “ways havea | ata any one that strays out of the ight course into our harbor here.” * You’re very welcome, sir;”’ said the elderly wo- man, pleasantly. “I was getting a’most uneasy about Nora, here, but if you'll take a chair, Pll have you a bite of supper ready in no time, and there’s always asparecorner for one oradozen. My own man’s away at the fishery, buf there isn'ta woman one shore who wouldn't do as she'd hev hern done ‘Dare accepted the chair and the hearty hospital- iy, and watched the flitting little figure grown si- ent asshe busied herself spreading a snow-white cloth on a small table, placing the blue-and-white ‘delf, the knife and fork and spoon all silver bright. hough of the commonest material, and bringing, a © last, care: , 2 presentation cup and saucer of china with gaudy figures of impossible birds and beasts and men, very evidently a piece of sacred property in the humble home, 0) small, it was a well-rounded and well- dform he watched, and a face that, even to prejudiced eye, looked out of place amid such 7 i A lurid glare shot up | THE TERRIBLE TRUTH, Clear and finely-cut features, a com- ll a é lexion which, while it might have been improved y less reckless ure to wind and weather, was firm and smooth, a scarlet mouth justa trifle wide, but a square cut, which made it a Stet leasing warm | feature, and the floating hair of that b red. The shade of which poets sing—unmistakabl brown hands were plump and small, an that native grace about the girl which is born in some persons, never cultivated. She turned to the corner where the woman Han- nah had started a blaze, over which the kettle was singing cheerily. * You'll not want me any more to-night, mammy. T’'m off, then.” She took up a candle-end, lighting it, and witha glance toward the guest, showing Gin agpasentiy self-absorbed, withdrew. Those last words had given Dare another chill, Though pores no great respecter of persons him- self, and without any very stable principle at bot- tom, he was a stickler for all proper observances. A child addressing a parent by the proper name formed a wide departure from the strict letter of his code. It was an inviting little lunch of which he partook a few moments later, and. Hannah, other- wise Mrs. Cheswick, as she gave her name at his Solicitation, installed in her wooden rocker, was by no means averse to taking her part in the conversa- tion which the gentleman proved himself affable in sustaining. “ A cheerful contrast to what I might have been ys asa ea for your daughter's forethought, Mrs. Cheswick. She appears fond of her home here, fond of the water, she said.” “Yes: Nora’s venturesome, a’most too much so, I think, sometimes. But, she’s not my daughter, sir, though Icouldn’t think more of her. I never had one of my own, Nora’s not one of our kind though she’s been with us a’most all her life, an we’ve sort of adopted her—Jabez and me,” Dare politely looked his interest, and after a sec~ ond’s hesitation Hannah went on. “Tserved in her mother’s family once, and though my young mistress married a seafaring man about the time Jabez and me started for ourselves, she didn’t forget me for the three or four years after, when we never once saw each other. She used to send little gifts now and then, and now and then a letter, though not bein’ handy with my pen I could never send back more than my duty. But, at last, she came herself, so changed it gave me a sore heart for long to think of her. She was going on a long voyage for her health, and the doctor said her onl chance was to leave her child. She had most confi- dence in me, and came to see if I’d take the little thing, and settin’ a price three times what the trou- ble ’d hev been worth even toa stranger. I was only too glad; hevin’ neither chick nor child of my own. Nora was two then, a puny, delicate little thing, but began to growand thrive from the firsé she came here. My poor young mistress died on the v’yage out, and il’s nigh about ten years now, since a word has come from Nora's father. He’s dead like enough, long ago, without ever comin’ back from furrin parts. e think a sightof Nora, Jabez and me, and do the best we can for her, though it ain’t what she ought to hey by rights. If you'll please to walk this way, sir, I’ll show you your bed.” Some odd contrasting visions blended in Dare’s mind after his head lay upon the pillows, and before he lost himself in dreamless sleep. Visions from which two faces looked out upon him, one of the lhe had seen for the first that night; the other ir, high-bred, arrogant, but both were lost soon eaeh to the tired adventurer of the evening. In her cot-bed in the littly loft Nora was wakeful and thoughtful beyond her ordinary custom; she had been a thoughtful, boisterous, healthful ard sound-sleeping child be to this date, but slumber came to her also after the murmur of yoices died pt below, dream-broken, perhaps, but sweet and CHAPTER TI. DARE’S FRIEND. Nexr day was cloudy, witha strong wind anda rough sea. Mr, Owen Dare was quite well enough 4 reconciled with his humble quarters ashore to con- tent himself for forty-eight hours more in the hope of securing a more auspicious cruise than this pros- ect would have insured him,* And, someway, when hat day had passed and another morning dawned clear and bright, with a favorable breeze and a smooth surface blue as the cloudless sky above, y Siniche > eis to take his leave had unaccountably eparte . & You see, I’m not accountable to anybody for m actions just now,” he condescended to explain, sit- ting with his hostess, and watching Nora’s lithe fig- ure through. the open door, where she was devotin herself to some stunted, late-blooming roses whic only constant care had coaxed into existence at all there in that sterile, sandy soil. ‘I’ve a fancy to stay here for a week if you’re willing to keep me, Mrs, Cheswick.’* * “Tf you’re pleased to be satisfied with your lodg- in’, sir. It a’n’tequal to the hotel at Brewster, nor to the places where they make a p’int of takin’ sum- mer boarders, but such as it be you’re welcome to as long as youchoose, Jabez ‘Il say the same when he comes, which I rather look for to-day or the morrow at furthest. It’s not often we have — men amongst us, and Jabez takes to ’em kindly, which isn’t always the case with our rough ‘long- shoremen, ef I must say it; and besides, you can tell.Nora of her own sort better’n I who was never good at- minding*their ways. I'd like her to know more of such ladies as her mother was. Nora has her looks in , and she takes to learnin’ jest as I used to see her do. She went-to school down to Brewster two terms, did Nora, and got all they there was | va ! could learn her there, but she’s always pickin’ up — pos though Lord knows where ake 7 BE pat io em.’ : : ; ‘ Dare sauntered out where Nora ‘stood with tke shadow of a smile upon his lips. He had glanced over a heterogeneous collection of well-thumbed volumes in.the little room which had been allotted tohim, The m’s Pro; a tattered volume of Clarke’s Commentaries, the Swiss Family Robin- son, one or two novels of the Claude Duval style, one or two of the Oliver Optic series, Midshipman Easy, The Lady of the Lake and Lalla kh in gor- geous bindings of red and gilt, quite outshining the tattered dinginess of the rest. e “Never read, I'll be oe he had pioneh re- marking them, but glancing through discovered his upon mistake by the frequency of light pencilin, the the leaves worn thin and glossy in places as if by much turning. ‘The little Caine has something in her, after all, if this is. her doing,” he mused, lingering over favorite pages of his own. “It’s really refreshing to find a bit of natural senti-, ment in a place where one might least expect it, here on the sandy waste of Cape Cod. Almost worth a week for the sake of cultivating, I fancy.” The week stretched itself into a fortnight, and ~ still Dare lingered there. Jabez had come, a true specimen of the rough-spoken, genial ‘longshore- man, as unsuspicious of any harm which might come through the pre mm g stranger’s sojourn there as was his simple-minded wife, And, meantime, Dare was loitering alo the » shore, or taking short trips out upon the bay, always with the same companion—Nora. He read to her from the few books he had brought along with his © equipments, and repeated. whole pages from others, lying on his back in the sand, looking up into her face—that ingenuous face with the frank, brown eye’ which would light with enthusiasm, or scintil- — late with mischief, or look back into his with tan- talizing unconcern, which oe as Dare into more real earnestness in his flirtation with the little Cape Cod rustic than he had often put into the hundred- ~ and-one flirtations he had probably compressed in his experience heretofore. But to Nora, innocent, light-hearted id, these two weeks had gone by ~ like a revelation—a revelation scarcely understo } a delicious, lingering, dangerous time, which could ‘ never leave her quite the same she had been before ) i ~—a time that awoke in her longings to know more of the world from which he came, to be more like those fine birds with fine feathers he vividly de- — scribed to her. ‘Don’t you know that I like ce far better as you are?” he said, laughingly. “ There isn’t one‘of them all who mightn’t be improved by being more natu ral, and you are all natural, you dear little crea. ture. You can’t imagine how disgusted I have been before now with their artificiality, superciliousness and pretensions. If I could I would never change — you by one of their airs which are not gracesin my — he Sia you wish for the high places again, or— ‘True hearts are more than coronets And simple faith than Norman blood.’ Quite true in fact, before Lady Vere de Vere was ever written, and quite as true in these later days, and here where the respect for blood and coronets, a little disguised, perhaps, is quite as strong as in br ego country. nd Nora, simple heart, believed his’ every word. How could she help it, poor child! with his bold eyes looking their undisguised admiration upon her. How could she know that Dare was s eculating idly, at that very moment, upon the vast improve- ment a little culture and refining influences of as- sociation might bring to the wild untrammeled girl who exercised an odd sort of fascination over him? It was only the novelty of the affair entrancing him, and he never spared a thought to how much more desperately earnest a matter it might be to Nora. If he had it would have made little enough differ- ence. Owen Dare was never given to considering the comfort of others before his own whims, } aoe time came soon enough, when Nora’s dream en : She was all alone in the house up in her little attic chamber. It was not later than tan of the forenoon. Jabez had gone. out early with his lines, and Dare, declining an invitation to accompany him, had taken his own flexible rod and drifted out near the mouth of the inlet for an hour or two of quiet sport. Hannah was a mile away at a neighboring fisher- man’s cottage, and Nora, with a snowy drift of linen that thrifty housewife had left her to. hem, heaped . ignominiously in the center of the room, a book which Dare had been reading to her the previous day open before her, but claiming her attention no more than the work just then. esat on a dingy old rug upon the floor, one arm thrown up and he head resting against it upon the window-sill, wind: ing a lock of her bright hair around her finger, a ten- — der expression about her mouth, and almost a seri- ous light in the usually saucy and defiant brown eyes. She had never admired that ruddy hair of hers—had been rather ashamed of it in fact—but since Dare’s coming she had looked at it critically more than once—soft, silky, straight and lustrous— wonderful hair had she only known it, and after ~ every survey better reconciled. to its uncompromis- ing hue. Darehad called it beautiful, and already Nora’s eyes saw through reflected light. She became aaa resently, that another sound was mingling with the beating of the surf upon the shore, growing nearer and clearer, and she started _up, looking out with eager, questioning — eyes. Yes, there it was without a donbe, A giit-- tering equipage, drawn b h-ste bays in silver niginiod harn end Ligh stepp ver iponid 5 the box, Such cence quite dazzled Nora’s _ and look- , unaccustomed ayes. She held her ‘ hel

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\ PPT Es Revit te dates Ce Oe Pee 3 a €d again as the coachman, with a flourish and a pie dréw up the carriage before the house not a ozen rods away. A man sprung down and hurried forward to meet Dare advancing over the sands. cacti little upper window she watched the “ ‘aoe my dear fellow! I wonder amed of yourself after all the anxiety you’ve Resa nea ms ree You're taking it ee ee ave an opportunity of judging a first sight, What sort of account of ponent do you expect to give a certain fair divinity when you pe pe Seriously, tho h, I’m agreeably disappoint- like oe ou in such first-class trim, not at all priv © wrecked and lonely mariner on the desert ove I was expecting to find.” ot What in the name of wonder brought Pas ere? None the less glad to see you, my dear , but I'd as soon have expected to run across youatthe north pole. Come along in out. of this Sun and we'll have mutual explanations at leisure.” First, how long is it going to take you to gather Up your traps? I’m en ceed to bring you back with me some time during the morning. ou have some excessively anxious friends waiting your appear- ance at the hotel in Brewster, I assure you.” Much obliged for their sudden interest then. As to traps, I’m not cumbered with that sort of material ere. I could _be ready in five minutes, and Ill drive back with you in the course of an aa that is, supposi ou have changes enough to Supply me with a suitable outfit for the time. Truth to tell, I was beginning to weary a trifle at the mo- notony here.” b I should think so,” dryly, with a glance at the are coast and the low, dark dwelling. Then, paus- ing to speak to the coachman, directing him to ive slowly up the shore and return in an hour, © two strolled side by side into the cottage. ora drew back from sight as they turned that Way, but with all the doors and windows standing + oer every word floated up to her, clearly dis- “Now, how did you come to find me out?” Dare asked, rawing chairsfor them both in the cool, Toom, ‘ Got.a weed about you?, I hayen’t en- eyed the luxury of one for two days.” ite And you appear to have stood it jike an anchor- ag Here, a prime one, I assure you. A rumor ee brought into Barnstable by a party of_ fisher- he. of a solitary voyager wrecked somewhere in Is direction, having sustained more or less dama- a) by the Way, and reported to be lying ina more i critical condition in some snech snuggery as chanced to stumble across a member, of ¥ our original party, whose information regardinp) Tour latest whim seemed to point you out as th uckless individual in question,” ' of Se, as usual, Rumor had the best, or the wort oe n this case. My little adventure was by 1.0 cmaite So desperate.””. He recounted it briefly, tle wing, however, any personal allusion to the lit- that she is here?” >. ‘*Nowhere else, my dear fellow. Consider such devotion!. You treated her Spndgupdeey, shabby, at New; * Reuseu, but as the out, concluded too. After promising to meet her part; a goed three weeks ago, you break that contract to take up with a roistering bachelor party, leaving the coolest possible note of explanation behind, and it appears break there again, to end in landing your- self where Ifind you. That was your whim. ° Miss Ferguson’s was to change her p. to embrace a Visit to this unfashionable coast, terminus to be Barnstable and vicinity, but tidings of your disaste unfolded the pinions of aggrieved love, Leh nya every other consideration. I fell in with them a‘ Ni ewport, and of course was only too happy to be in- “Kind of Miss Ferguson, and considering the cas it is hardly fair to keep that lady waiting longer tent necessary for our advent.” Nora, who had heard with a vague understanding, moved softly from her place, and went down the rough stair which led from the loft, and into a little corner porch, where Dare found her when he came Seek, a moment er oh i ora, cherie,” he n that familiar way of his, “I’m going rather sudden- enough to give this to Han- it doesn’t half pay the obli- Why, Nora, child, what is it?” a “4 eieg ‘gd \* ‘ Ne igs Bes ae so — Se Shah Mk ate hae He stopped short as she turned her changed face upon bim. “Oh, 1 know you're going away, Mr. Dare! You seemed very glad of the chance not many minutes ago, and it was only your lack of energy has detained ou here so long. I’ve heard every word you've een saying in the last half-hour. I was up there”— with a jerk of her head toward the loft—‘‘as you might have known if you'd only taken the trouble to think.’ Idon’t know asI have any call to be a go- between. See Hannah for yourself; it’s on your way direct enough. You'll astonish her with your mighty grandeur, too!” er flushed, indignant face had an unpleasantly set look upon it. Dare was going and was glad to 0; it was only his “lack of energy” had kept him fen and she—credulous heart!—had believed it something more. He had a. ample cause for the belief, to her simple faith. He understood the case and devoted himself to pouring oil on the troubled waters. “ Aven’t you sorry I’m going away, then, Nora? I hoped you might be. ou didn’t suppose I was leaving in this abrupt fashion forever, did you? Tl be back sometime within a week—there’s the boat to be attended to, you know—and I'll bring the new ma; es back with me. Now, will you tell Han- nah just how it is, or I’ll see her myself, if you still refer. PM That will be better,” Nora said, coolly, her ques- tioning eyes upon his face. Dropping them and turning away, she asked, abruptly: “ o is Miss ee eM Ferguson?” She flashed about in time to catch the amused quiver upon his lips. * Quite an old friend of mine; you mustn’t let that trouble our friendship, though.” He held out his hand, and Nora gave him hers, a trifle reluctantly; then Dare went within again softly whistling. Nora walked away, feeling that it was an imperfect peace between them, and turning an angle, found herself face to face with Dare’s friend. e lifted his hat, as she looked up into a face younger than Dare’s—a dark, handsome, beardless face, with dusky hair curling carelessly about the brow. “Tam ae the liberty to admire your flowers while waiting for my friend Dare, in there. They are yours—yes, I was sure of it.” , “They do poorly in the soil here,’”’ she answered, feeling it incumbent upon her to say something, ‘Every blossom is all the more valuable for that. Seep a lady who would give a round price for ose. opening rosebuds, to wear to the hop to-mor- row night. wouldn’t answer for your keeping them if she had a sight.” “‘Ts her name Miss Ferguson?”: Nora asked quick- ly. Yuves, her name is Miss Ferguson,” with a sharp glance at her; but with.an inclination of her head she moved away. e “Tve discovered the secret you kept so close, he said, as Dare joined him, a moment later. “ Nev- er tell me there’s not a feminine in the case, after that leonine-crowned little heroine.” - “A little termagant,” laughed Dare, glancing af- ter the retreating form, crossing the sands in a di- rection ol the glittering carriage with its rancing steeds. \ ere ora, with her teeth set hard, was think- ‘Pll. see this Miss Ferguson, I will, and I'll find out what she is to him.” CHAPTER Ii, MISS FERGUSON, A arxat white building, wate starin, spect, — ither side, was the hotel wher and long porches on ei \ aa the Ferguson party were stopping, aacteatantante arian about it, an atmosphere of stifling heat reflected from its spotless walls. It was the middle of the hot summer afternoon, A Iit- tle breeze came in from, the bay, but not sufficient to dissipate the sultriness of the day. ) Nora glanced up at the front of the tall building tuaplonas: and at the few forms dingering about the porches, in no way awed or abashed by either. She went up the steps andin at the wide entrance, and then paused, irresolute and hesitating, not knowing which way to turn. Several gentlemen were pass- ing back and forth; once a waiter hurried by with- in a yard of her, and she took a step forward just too late to accost him; but no one Pere _& glance at the small figure in a dress of t print, sprigged with blue, broad hat, tied down with a blue ribbon, and little covered basket swinging from her arm, She would inly speak to the next person who assed, she thought, and as @ springy step came oan the stair, put herself directly in the comer’s wey , “ Dare’ “Why, bless me!” said a surprised voice, Dare 's little f. end, is it not? Do you want to see him? It was Dare’s visitor of the previous day, and Nora’s hesitancy disappeared at sight of a face not ti e. a etn nes Miss Ferguson, Mr. Vivian. I don’t know who to ask, or where to go to find her. I've brought pee flowers you said she might like to ow.’ peed Chalf faltered under the amused glance of those dark, keen eyes, which seemed to see clear’ through the transparency of her errand. She felt that she could have hated him had he smiled then, but the firm, handsome mouth was grave as a dea- con's. “Oh, Miss Fe Satan ment over an up is Miss Ferguson’s nguson— es Y He glanced about beckoned a form that was lean- banister, loo down. ‘That maid. Here. Victorinea. show \ ; / - Ne So this young lady up, and mind that she sees your mistress.” He turned away with a nod, and if there really was a smile on lips now, Nora was none the wiser. The maid looked the trim little figure sharply over with a decidedly sour expression, ‘This way,” she said, shortly, and led her up @ flight and through a long, narrow P €, pausing with her hand upon a door-knob. ‘ Miss Ferguson’s enganed now, and it would be as much as my head’s worth to interrupt her, Can't you make the other one—the cousin—do? haven’t.a doubt.” “Ttis Miss Ferguson I wish to see.” She'll see you right away, I since ‘‘Oh, well then, you'll have to wait, Is’ Mr. Vivian said if. In there, and I'll tell her pre- sently.’ Nora entered and the door closed after her noise- = . She found herself standing in a dimly-light- c. shadowy and indistinct. ; er eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom, and she sat down on the nearest chair, studying the articles about her, It was the first time in her life.she had been transport- ed into the charmed atmosphere of a lady’s - ing room, as the scattered paraphernalia declared this to be. There were combs and brushes and cut- pes bottles of perfumery upon one table, crumpled owers and ribbons and slaves and laces upon an- other; robes of silk and muslin spread over the chairs, and tiny rosetted slippers upon a stool. It took her some minutes to make all these things out. Another door standing ajar swayed under a waft of breeze and swung a trifle wider, letting ina slit of bright light upon the carpet. It let in more—the sound of: voices from the adjoining room, Some- thing low and tender in a voice she knew, which brought Nora to her feet, with her breath stilled up- on her lips as she leaned forward to look through the narrow aperture. It was an interesting tableau presented to her sight. Dareon a sofa by the side of a lady, yomg and beautiful to Nora’s glance,,but a haughty, re- pellent beauty, even to her inexperienced eye. A palo, faded, undecided beauty, Dare eould have told er, (beside her own glowing, youthful style. But Nora, seeing the delicate complexion, the thin, aris- tocratic features, the blonde hair elaborately dressed on the top of the haughty head, the long, slender white hand which Dare took in caressing fingers, felt, with a heart sinking like lead, what a difference must exist between this high-bred lady and the little rustic whose recollection could not carry her beyond the barren sands of Cape Cod. His manner would uick intuition done so. He was tenderly deferential here, pathetic and pleading, where he had been assured, confident, daintily masterful with her. The lady's face was coldly averted, though her hand lay quiescent be- neath his touch. “Tf you really cared for my good have told her of it had not her own ; Cae | Mr. Dare,” the lady was saying, ‘“‘you might haye be- trayed greater respect for the arrangements, which were mutual, I believe. The plans of the entire party were marred by the failure on your tat “T almost despair explaining my motives satis- factorily. On my honor, it never occurred to me that. such an insignificant individual as. myself would ever be missed, or that a week or so could make any particular difference, I yielded to the so- licitations of my friend and took a run across to this bare coast, You know what the result was, my adventure, which scarcely deserves the name of adventure, and the circ ces i me there.’”... “Finding very tolerable amusement making love to a fisherman’s daughter, Vane Vivian said, I must really applaud your taste, whatever I may think of your discretion and common seise, Mr. Dare.” Vi cuttingly sarcastic was the a A tone, as b e9 and half-withdrew i from his clasp. Only half-withdrew, and then lay passive, as he, understanding the nature of women, loosed the touch of his own fingers. The truth, which no one knew better than Dare himself, was, that Miss Fer- son was as anxious to bridge over the misunder- standing as he could be, provided that her own un- questionable dignity was in no way compromised. “What injustice you do me, Augusta!” His voice was plaintive in its reproach, ‘“Ishould never think of doubting you on such small provocation. You should know thatI am never forgetful of the devotion which binds me to one object only—your- self, you Should trust me rather than Vivian's It was the very same tender tone Nora had’‘heard addressed to herself numberless times before this. The same ardent, look he had bestowed on her, She locked her fingers in a tight strain as she watched and listened. Under tho influence of look and tone Miss Ferguson was gradually softening, “The fisherman’s daughter was really handsome in a way,I believe Vane. said,” she remarked care- lessly, a Hush creeping into her cheeks under his e, Well-bred indifference was not proof against he vulgar vice of curiosity, intermixed, perhaps, vie ee bar poi “You misunders him, : 7 i reflected quite the other w ae Vina little creas ture; you would find no beau vy, I assure you, in her hi ocd ake htesa ears ete ie eturesque ala Watteau. That was all Bie ha ar creature of freckles, red hair and oddities, with os an ssibility of making a pictu figure— Risen tender words ant looks of tae Gere no. more for ee tbe for the , cold lady meltin them. the one object o hisdevotion. Whata nder x mber, where ap A Sh was presented ~ Soon wild little crea». d ever been to him, then! A all the world besides; all be hag Sela a4 graciously ore | simple

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’ ‘Thornhurst mansion had ” died, leaving another tiny life to grow in 4 Nittle fool she must have seemed to him! and Nora’s eyes flashed and her cheeks tingled with mortified, pride. Ever simple little fools suffer for their folly, and Nora’s heart quivered and s under this sore stroke. It was a moment before she heard anything more, then Dare was saying: “JT will see you to-night, of course. Have you your tablets handy? I s all claim the first dance the redowa and the lanciers and the quadrille of course— “That will not do at all, Owen. You are marking every alternate dance; positively not more than » three, or we shall be remarked.” “Why shouldn’t we be?” protested Dare, reck ef ‘For my part, I am very bias My be re mar in such excellent company.” e reconcé Nation was growing perfect, very much to the sat# iaction of the gentleman. Nora drew back into the gloom of the next room and played her side-piece to the scene very muc after the fashion of a a tragedy romance, gri ting her little teeth and thinking spitefully: ** He'll see her to-night, and he’ll dance with her —oh, yes!—and perhaps even think of the little cereal of ‘freckles and red hair and oddities’ as «compared with her, But, she sha’n’t have the chance of looking fair with my flowers—I'd eat them first.” At which the outraged heroine of the heat romance emptied the fragrant contents of er little basket upon the floor and trampled on them in ineffable disdain, but doing all so quietly that the two in the room beyond never suspected her presence there, 4 M ab: hg was both perplexed and annoyed at finding the ruin there, two hours later. “Who could have done it?” she asked. ‘Just what I wanted for my dress to-night, You were surely not so careless, Victorine!” Victorine, congratulating herself upon the unusual amiability of her mistress, which probably spared her ears a boxing on the mere suspicion, made haste to answer: : “Phere was a young person here when you were engaged with Mr. Dare, who said she’d wait instead of seeing Mrs. Ferguson as I wanted her. I sup- ose she’d tired of it when I looked in here and ‘ound her gone afterward.” The odd conduct of the mysterious young person struck Miss Ferguson as something rather remark- able, and she mentioned it during one of the inter- vals of the dance that night to Dare. An uncom- fortable iaea occurred to him, the true one, but he was discreet enough to offer no suggestion, At that very hour, three miles away, Nora was fooking out of the little square window of her attic into the starlit night, watching the lines of foam roll up and break i the shore, her face set and still and hard as only some painful experience will leave so young a face, Dare kept word and came back within the wee meine & bargain with Jabez to return the yoat he had hired forty miles right to its proper owner, and asking presently for Nora. Nora was not tobe found, however. He left the books he had brought and went away, more disappointed than he was willing to confess to self, “A civil-spoken gentleman if I ever see one, Nora,’ said Hannah, that night. ‘“He’s goin’ awa; with his friends to-morrow, and it’s not like we’ ever hey him here again.” CHAPTER IV. A LETTER AND A CHARGE, Tue glory of a mid-Au day lay upon the earth. Fields of late golden er all ready for the harvest waved inthe sun, Others turned their brown stub- ble toward the sky, and invited flocks of chattering, noisy birds by their wealth of scattered grains. Nowhere was the splendor of that fervid summer onth reflected more doyously than from_the long Feaches of Thornhurst. Never bad the rich old es: tate given back a better yield; never had the or- chards been more amply stocked with ruddy-cheeked Iden-striped fruit; never had the vineyard upon the hillside hung fuller of purpling, luscious clusters; never had the strips of woodland flung out such zreen, fresh banners at this season when the heat and the dust, the wear and tear, are so apt to reflect in tarnished blotches upon nature’s gala-dress, pat on a different aspect ‘-~under the waving foliage, the masses of clambering vines, the wide, smoot. lawn, the masses of shrub- FE aoe ee Pee stretching at its sides. A substantial red brick structure with many angles, «vith long, narrow windows overtopped by scrolls in white stone, with high, roomy chambers. within, where all the brightness of sunshine, of glowing tints and rare adornments had been gathered to make perfect this well-based home. Thornhurst mansion had gone up in all its stateli- ness not a quarter of a century before, when its master, Colonel Seymour Vivian, brought his bride with him to the old estate lying in one of the fertile valleys of Western Pennsylvania. He was forty-five and she was barely eighteen. His was a soldierly ti tall, straight, broad-shouldered and deep- ested, while she was a fairy little creature, one of those fragile, clinging, affectionate women, helpless 2s the tenderest 0 ig meant to be always well- sheltered and well-cared for, never fit to cope with the ills and woes of the world’s struggles. For ali this seeming disparity no appier pet of . Jovers ever made of wedded life a lingering honey- moon, A brief honey-moon ai the best. All peace fend joy will aomatinnes prolong a life, but. in this case were powerless to save one, For two set ears Alice Vivian was mistress of Thornhurst anon and queen of.ber husband's heart; Hoag ae @ vO left behind. : . That was twenty-one years before, and Vane | tant, warning growl. | He had brought his title out of the | where he had served with marked brave 4 aa & THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. Vivian now was just of age, the idol of his father, for all there were sometimes tempestuous scenes be- tween them. _ Seymour Vivian, hot-headed and passionate all his life long, had wn irascible with advancing years. He had a great, generous heart within the straight | towering frame that withstood time like some grand | old oak grown rugeed under the storms—a generous | heart, but crusted in by obstinacy and ny Ban bony oe | self-opinion, until now he stood with his faults and | his foibles, @ hot-tempered. ved. Something had gone amiss with him this bright August day. under was on his brow, lightning in his eyes, ue a =“ ous yi rae in his opm the rere ore the storm, springy step appr and Vane Vivian seared his father’s presence, his smooth, dark, boyish face, handsome and aoe as it had nm not many weeks since on the sand stretches of Cape Cod. He tossed the dark hair Saar from his forehead, dropped into a chair, and began a tattoo with his fingers upon a table beside him. “You sent for me, I believe, father?” **T sent for you, Vane,’? The words coming from that enforced stillness of manner were like a dis- but Vane appeared delightful- ly unconscious of all cause for fear in the presence of the old lion. Colonel Vivian came to his feet, and carried his admirably-developed hight twice the ers of the room with the nee pee A tread which was a part of himself, decid emphasized. exican war, and dis- | tinction, but his soldierly bearing emanated from the strict discipline of West Point, long years before. He turned, stopped, and the storm burst in its fullest fury. “Yes, Isent for you, you dog! By the Lord, but it may be close upon the last time that I shal/ send for ou, disobedient young scapegrace as you take die wig ) th yourself. Do you see this, sirrah, and this, and this? Do you know what they are? Duns com- ing from all points, debts of your contracting after the very handsome allowance I made you with the strict proviso that you were not to go into debt. Look at them! Gambling debts, betting losses, liquor bills, a score that would disgrace the most dis- sipated rove and gamester in existence. By the high heavens, you do well to carry it all with a free hand, but we'll see if there’s no check to such lavish indul- gence, Vane sat with his head hey back upon the chair, his dark, glowing face in bold relief against the crimson upholstery, looking coolly indifferent as if he had the very least concern in all these charges. “Well?” he said, inquiringly, as the other paused. ‘Well! What have you to say for yourself, sir?” ~ “1? There seems no necessity to say any thing. The bills speak for themselves, it appears. You'll see them paid, of course.” “TIl see you hanged ’—his hand came down upon the table with a mighty crash, and a round oath completed the sentence. Colonel Vivian was very often both unreasoning and abusive in his wrath, “Ts that all you have to say, father? I promised to join Dare on an angling expedition this afternoon, High time I was off.” ; olonel Vivian’s righteous indignation was too in- tense for expression. He stamped across the floor once more, with a great effort swallowed his violence, turning a sternly angry face upon his son. “That is not all—not the worst if what I have heard be correct. Didn’t I warn you against villain Montrose? And I find you dangling after that girl of his in defiance of my express prohibition, and my revelations meant to_open your eyes to the tactics of the precious pair. You were there yester- day, not two hours after I had been speaking upon that very subject.” “Your information is eminently co sir. Really, you succeeded in arousing my curiosity re- garding such a dangerous piece of feminine duplici- ty, and I had pd 8 Apes A observed the remy lady in question. nding myself near their called in for the oe urpose of taking observa- tions, and I found Miss Montrose as fair a piece of dainty flesh and rich coloring as I’d care to see, It was rather a novel and enticing idea, that of havi such a superior person fling herself at my devo head, but I saw enough to convince me that you may set your mind at rest on that score. However much I might be inclined to aspire there, it is very evident Miss Montrose has no thought of oe to conquer, : Deucedly telling on a rather good-looking young fellow’s vanity, but the truth nevertheless,” The le, angry flush died slowly out of the colo- nel’s ieee The first gust was generally the worst one with hi “Tt’s theif Hevilish subtlety in making things ap- earso, Vane. 1 know Walter Montrose, and I know that he would move heaven and earth to get youin his clutches, to See his gipsy daughter installed here as mistress of Thornton. ip or quadroon, she might be either from her look. I tell you, Vane, all the rest would be a small offense at the side of your disobeying me there.” “Upon my word, father, it strikes me youare a trifle more earnest than the case demands. If it were reversed now, and Thornhurst depended _on my tak- ing to Miss Montrose, you might be pardoned some tremors regarding the issue. If I ever find myself in imminent danger from that quarter, I promise to give you fair warning at the risk of dismheritance after the most approved pin ech method, Just now it might be more to the purpose to give your lawyer instructions regarding the liabilities repre- sented there. Luck took an odd turn, but it all comes into a man’s lifetime, I daresay.” Vane rose lazily and sauntered away as the colonel gave no sign of continuing the conversation. , hasty old man, whose | assions were like tropic storms, fierce and short- | ** As well look for oranges on crab-trees as expect old heads on young shoulders, I suppose,” muttered: Colonel Vivian, knitting his bushy ana together, “* Every young man must sow his wild oats, and the tig to 4 away with the harvest!’ A light of pride flashed into his eyes as he saw Vane, a few moments later, cross the lawn and join his friend at the furthest extremity. pee his vari- able, passionate moods, it was a fond father’s heart beating in his bosom—a heart in which the hand- some, dashing, reckless young fellow, was enshrined ina te, wayward sort of blindsgdolatry. An idola- try which could overlook the grave faults brought to light and represented in those bills lying before him, — but would have been relentless in crushing itself and him at any intimation of the danger he almost feared, the gp of the misalliance of his son with , the daughter of Walter Montrose. After allit was — not so much the contemplation of such a misal- liance as the possibility of certain lately formed plans: of his own coming to naught. . He drew a letter from his pocket which he had perused more than once since its receipt, upon the previous day. Aletter writtenin a scrawling, ilie- gible hand on thin blue rustling paper, which he spread wide and read once more. ‘ Rio Janeiro, June th, 1867. *CoLonEL SryMoUR. VIVIAN: if ** My dear old friend of younger and happier days, in this my hour of need I turn to you as the one per- son in the world to whom I can proffer my request,. — to whom I can trust a sacred charge. “Tam dying, Seymour, dying alone, with no more — kindly face to watch me now, with no more kindly — hands to close my eyes at last, than of the faithful native who has followed me in all'my wanderings, these past ten years. Ah, well, let me not be un- grateful! There are few hearts so true as that of my good ” % Fou were kind enough once, when I was so hap- py as to render you some slight service, to urge up- on me thatif I ever should stand in need of frien aid, be the return however great, that I should an- ply first of all to you. The time has come, Seymou when that long-past promise is sweetest solace to dying man. 3 “Perhaps you know that I married almost a scovit ‘4 of years ago. wife was always delicate, aro failed constantly after our child was born, a litt:e daughter, called for the mother—Lenore, At last, when the little one was scarcely two years old, my wife taking counsel from her physician’s solemn as- surances, and yielding to my own entreaties, con- | sented to a separation from our child and accom. ° panied me upon a voyage in the hope of being re- stored to health. It was the last hope anda vain ~ one. Lenore died on the voyage out, and I never — since have set foot within the limits of the States. Z ‘I have wandered all over the world since that, — cutting off all near and dear ties as the time went, and itis years now, since I have even heard from little Lenore. My heart reproaches me for my ne- ar Is it asking toomuch of you, my friend, to ook after the welfare of my daughter? Will you be to her as the father she has never known?—kinder, nobler, more generous than I have ever been. a ‘* Thave little enough to leave her. My sole earth- ~ ly possessions are my personal effects which shall — ae to Kalig, the poor ay ttance of a few hundred dol- ars I have managed to put by, some shares in diamond mines here in Brazil that have turned out all expense and no income, and a pension which dies with me. It is asking much, but I believe not more than you will chee y perform, “Little Lenore was left nearly fourteen years | with a couple named Cheswick, a fisherman and wife, on the coast of Cape Cod, three miles north of Brewster. Iam writing this at weary intervals as I sit propped up in my Tell my little gir] for me that she is Jatest in her father’s thoughts. Heaven bless her and you, dearest and truest of friends, will be the last prayer of EpWIn CarTERET,”’ . Colonel Vivian folded and replaced the letter agair’, and sat lost in a sorrowful abstraction, } “Poor Ned,” he thought, regretfully. ‘‘ Always % dreamer, always roving and unsettled, and much cf the woman in his gentle nature, though always bravb and firm enough where his friends were concerne@ however it may have been with himself. A sad en for him—poor Ned!” Then Colonel Vivian’s thoughts turned to little Lenore, who was poor Ned’s dying charge, andhesat | drawing fair lines of possibilities through the dim fu- We never grow too old for castle-building and Col- onel Seymour Vivian set up a fairstructure that day, not counting upon the chance of its tumbling in hope- less ruin about his ears some day—the too common * ending of our Chateaux ad’ Espagne. CHAPTER V. VENETIA. Owen Dare had come to Thornhurst at the solici- tation of his friend. He was a distant relative of these Vivians, so very distant that it would have been a difficult matter to have traced what degree of kin- dred blood flowed in his veins and theirs. He leaned over a side gate opening from the lawn gazing away across the long reaches of waving fields and nodding woodlands, all to come down, some day to this forty-second cousin, who had been graciously pleased of late to make a favorite of him. e appre- ciated the value of the favor quite sufficiently to cul- tivate it, for in the five years since his majority was ~ paced the very small patrimony which game to him ad melted by such imperceptible degrees that he himself could not have told how and when the last.of it took Wing. A very model young man to all out- — ward seerhing was Owen Dare. He was not dissipa-' — ted, he never gambied, he was choice of hislanguagé ~ gathe though morality itself were re and of his ons as

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[ lv ad ans when I fell in with Miss Ferguson’s rather evi- Gent expectations. The colonel’s very generous of- fer has changed the phase of affairs since that. This prospect of bois the continent as traveling com- panion and useful attendant upon your august self gives me two whole years of grace yet, and who snows but the chance of a fortune with the flavor of old nobility about it which may cost Jess dearly than Tiss Ferguson’s meager eighty thousand in hand.” “Cool, by Jove! And meanwhile is the lovely Mon- trose doomed to languish alone? I wonder what you will do when there are no more worlds left to con- quer, Owen!” Emulate Alexander, and— _ Is that the fishing- ‘ound? Trout it is then for the next three hours, et us hope,” The shy, speckled beauties held an adverse league twas made to appear. They very decidedly de- clined to, be Jured_ by charmingly-natural flies, or Squirming, disgusting grubs, such as Dare resorted to. pau never a very loving or patient disciple of Yzaak Walton, strolled off, leaving his friend to grill wae the August sun alone. However exemplary are’s patience may have been with an eye-witness bd bin bow, it wore away soon after the other’s de- ed, shouldered his rod and sauntered down stream, He ri sharp glances on all sides of him as he went. = 8 ag across the Thornhurst outlying fields ON ee? enough a belt of cedars, to a narrow, re ne Set in a high, impenetrable hedge stretch- wie It yielded to his hand and he stepped D bi Pegautious still and hugging the shadow of the in fe ‘ oe It- was a gloomy, ove wn garden th matted € had come, and at’ a distance through 6s the site ene oh purubhery and vines he could au a dvancing eed © dress, the vague outline of ‘The figure came straight onto the spot where he stuod. A figure Juno-like in its priherticna, a face of the richest brunette type, olive complexi 2 gtanate bloom, and wondee plexion, pome sight of him. " ous dark eyes, lighting at e put out his hand with on, ‘ is jae vi nal si ets ae “Owen! you should not have come again You fill me with'such dread and Cad Np arehs walla terror lest we should oh ibaa pa expe with ae member it needs but one wo £8) rmission from you to put an end to it.- Jam not afraj cs rhe pee ‘ai itebyig ai haan ‘Not cruel, Owen—at least not cruel to m he might be, he would be, if he knew how t ree disobeyed him. I fear most for you, Owen. He wi ae kill you, I Wein ni here *““T can very well believe in perfect willinen todo it, my own dear. But for the deed in fact gen. tlemen don’t nowadays pink their adversaries under the fifth rib, or set hived ruffians on the track to add another to the list of mysterious disappearances, and make game for the police corps.”’ ‘You don’t know my father, Owen. You don’t know how terrible he is when his anger is aroused,”’ The girl shivered in the warm afternoon air, and cast a frightened glance toward the. house half-con- cealed by the Yank, neglected growth between. I know nipeel Venetia. I know that no man on earth ever yet mastered me or thwarted me in any object; no man on earth ever shalJ, not. even Walter Montrose—your father. Forget him for the time my love; think only of me. Ihave told you whatI will ju, Venetia? Re- _ @ladly relinquish for you, the woman I might marry t % f > vt y vee put could never Jove. T am going away, within an- other morth, to be absent two long rca s. Venetia, can you refuse me the happiness I have plead for, for the brief time left us?” ; The great, soft dark eyes were fixed steadily upon his face, so tenderly that Dare’s own bold tender ones—falsely tender eyes they had been before this —wavered and were ave for the moment, but she did not answer in words. ‘“‘Confound the innocence that will take no mean- ing but the straight one, bounded by a wedding- ring, out of such oned love-making as mine has been,’ he thought. ‘‘But, I love the bright siren all the more forit. I’ve never been thwarted in my life and I don’t expect to be now, by a wo- man. Mine she must be, mine she shall be, by fair means if I can’t get her by foul. But who would have expected so much prudery in that glowing type of tropical exuberance.” Bars, whose cold heart had never throbbed out of time even in the heat of his most vivid flirtations, was desperately in earnest now. So desperately iv earnest that he was willing to put all his future at stake for the sake of these coming weeks. His eyes met hers again, pleading, eager, drawing an answering light from her very soul. **Can you hesitate to choose between us, Venetia —your father and.me? He would sell you like a slave to the highest bidder. He has set his mark high; he aspires to Thornhurst and the hand of its heir. Ifhe fail there he will not lack other opportu- nities, held in reserve. Which will you. be, Venetia meal man’s slave, or my loved and loving wife? A richer glow swept into the rare dark face as she enon her soft, thrilling hands upon his arm. “Can you ask, Owen—can you doubt? Yours, yours before all the world besides. But not now, Owen—” shivering again, but not through any lack of trust in him—‘“I would not dare to brave my oan anger now while his hopes are so firmly e ” He leaned forward and kissed her, and with that kiss put the seal of his possession upon this ‘‘ rare and radiant” creature who had enthralled him. “You need not, my own. You need not openly de- fy him until the time comes when I can openly cleing and properly care for you. You know just how meager a lot mine promises to be, and ,you are will- ing to brave that for my sake, you who have been from your childhood impressed with the one aim—to marry: rich.” “If you could know how I have hated the thought,’? she interrupted him, passionately. ‘‘If ve loathed myseif, how I eae could know how I ave felt myself debased by heving that one aim ou never will know kept always before me! Owen, but you must, you shall know what glory t take in re over the unworthy aim to be your wife, Why, Ihave gained new respect for myself in knowing you to be so poor a man.’ “And you will not deny me now, Venetia? You will be my wife now—at once? Think of these long two years! How canI endure to face all that time and think that the power of man might avail to part us. Marry mein secret, if you prefer it so—now, to- night. There is a train from the station here, at half- past nine! we can take that to the town, ten miles up the line, go to a clergyman there, return at mid- night, and no one need be the wiser. Will you—to- ht—my own?”’ ‘Owen, so soon! And I cannot. Ob, £0, gO quick! my father is coming. Oh, do go, Owen!’ She pushed him from her in her fright, but he a her hands, holding them firmly. “ Will you, Venetia, to-night? Promise or I shall stay here and face him.”’ “To-morrow night, then; I would be missed to- night. Go now, beforehe turns this way.” ith a close pressure of her hands in his, one kiss upon her lips, he released her and was gone ina second more, “T would move heaven and earth rather than lose her now,” he thought, taking long strides through the fragrant cedarwood. Owen Dare would have moved heaven and earth albeit to his own destruc- tion in accomplishing any aim on which he might set his selfish heart. His mind was stirred by some other element than unalloyed bliss as he passed over the distance to Thornhurst. He had won, but he had counted on that! He had won the radiant ereature who had fired his slow blood in two short weeks as it had never been fired before, and scattered all the cautious sel- fishness of his entire life to the winds, And, having won, the difficulty of his own position obtruded it- self, but with no effect toward changing his inten- tions. He stood committed, to a ce degree, to Miss Ferguson—not committed beyond recall but bound in all honor to define his relation toward her by the proposal hé had all but made, and Dare was punctilious even in surface honor. Tie had been as nearly committed perhaps fifty times before, but never under exactly similar circumstances. In this case the result was expected, not by the lady ony, but by the entire circle of their mutual friends; he had intended it himself, a little ie Sigal f up to this memorable visit to Thornhurst. He had been driven to itby keen necessity, as he expressed himself to Vane, and that eighty thousand in hand had present- ed itself as. a last alternative, Some objective points there had been, and as Dare all his life had catered to his own fastidious habit he had shrunk back from a final proposal. He had passed over a half-dozen capital ae ie 4 fairly running away from the last when Vane Vivian cut his sojourn short on the New England coast, asking him along to Thornhurst. And at Thornburst an- other chance came to him unexpectedly. He had engaged himself on the spot when Colonel Vivian of- fered him a situation as traveling comranion to his son. It was a sacrifice of course. but Miss Ferguson } + , was two years older than himself, a trifle pass?, and with the temper of a shrew, while the eighty thou-. sand would be quite as safe and possibly as desir- able after the trans-Atlantic tour. Then into the complacent stream where he was drifting swept the fierce, strong current of the pas- sion which changed the stony heart of the man to one of living fire. He met Venetia Montrose! What now was the weighty ent of that bin ane thou- sand dollars, what the bonds of restrai ng honor, what the well-based expectations of Miss Augusta Ferguson and the host of mutual friends? N papers better than nothing; something to be swept aside by the force of his resistless will. Vane lifted himself from a aren | osture under the skirting elms as Dare, still with that absorbed expression upon his face, crossed the lawn. “ Prepare meet thy doom, oh, thou of brittle faith! Buckle on thy armor and thyself for the fight. The war-horse scents the battle trom afar— what premonition hast thou, oh, valiant knight?” The other stopped, annoyed, as though some thought of his own had betrayed itself. ‘ “What gibbering nonsense possesses you now, Vivian? I’m surly as a famished bear, confounded- ly hot and uncomfortable at that, In the la cS) of Captain Cuttle, just ‘sheer off,” will you, till I in- duct myself into fresh clothes and get a mouthful of something to refresh the inner man. Trouting in August is a humbug, and your example more wise than I gave you credit for.” “Thanks, my Pythias. It would be an ill-return for such generous appreciation of my humble self to leave you an appetite unimpaired with Damocles’s sword swaying over your head. That may be mixing similes, but the fact is that the Fergusons come om to-morrow, per telegram one hour and fifteen min- utes ago. An addition to yee ed a Mr. Sholto Norton Hayes, may be expected. along, and a letter from Hilton in the mail dubs him the new string to the fair Augusta’s bow. Look out for your laurels, Dare, is all the advice I have to offer. “August trouting may be a humbug,’’ mused Vane, lapsing back to his former attitude, and watch- ing the other pass with half-shut, lazy eyes, ‘* but I’m mistaken if your August retreation, my dear fellow, isn’t a more dainty pecs of, angling. It’s noconcern of mine to interfere, however, in spite of the colonel’s nervousness, CHAPTER VI. INTO THE DARKNESS, | Dare kept himself close, all of the following day, until the dressing bell clashed its warning through the great house. The Fergusons had come during the morning. The party comprised, as leading spirit, the fair Augusta herself; 98 matron and chaperone a fair, timid little wo th unvarying sweetness of disposition and not the slightest force of c ter, the wife of g cousin who was Augusta’s nominal ardian, though she hac ‘pass.d by seven full years: the age when a guardian's msed with. Besides, the:vc were two young ladi just blossoming into scciaip a reas insipi young misses enough; a masculine Ferguson, not the cousin but another, one degree removed, alias able, weak-voiced, with a flax-colored mustache, which engrossed half his tiyae, the thin, fair features that characterized the family, who divided his lan- guid devotion with charming impartiality between the two young @ebutantes. And the new addition since the young men left the coast, Mr. Sholto Nor- ton Hayes, ; The Kergusons were connected with the Vivians in about the same remote degee which linked them with Dare, and the change in their plans b them to Thornhurst full two weeks earlier than indi- apg rte? the original programme was due entirely to the leading spirit. After years of aimless and in- different drifting, Augusta's aspirations were fixed. She had never married, for the simplest of all rea- sons—no eligible person had ever asked her to mar- ry. The eighty thousand had drawn her numerous admirers, itis true. It had been no secret in later years that Miss Ferguson wanted a husband, but Miss Ferguson had set her mark high, afte? her own peculiar views, and her frigid hauteur was un- melting toward the common crowd who flocked about her. Miss Fer, husband, but she wanted a husband of elegantstyle, a fair share of ay looks, and imited devotion. She had found her beau ideal in Dare. He had been very attentive during this season past, but he ee fought shy of the important issue, and if Dare h been desperate Miss Ferguson was noless so in ref- erence to the end. Some rumor of the proposed Eu- ropean sojourn was wafted back to her, and in hot haste she had followed him up, determined that this next week at Thornhurst should decide their fates. Mr, Sholto Norton Hayes had attached himself in the very nick of time to become a weapon in the fair lady’s hands. She who had never bent from her ice- berg severity, unless indeed to Dare, now stooped to conquer. She smiled mild encouragement upon Mr, Hayes, and took him in her train, and swept said train off to Thornhurst in gates haste than her own rather particular sense of propriety was willing to approve. But it was one of those great issues requir- ing great measures; for the only time in her life Miss Ferguson forfeited her regard for des convenances and proved herself equal to the occasion. Dare roused himself to make his usual careful toi- let, and went down, half an hour later,when a second, loudly-clanging bell cleft the brooding quiet. The uiet changed toa small Babel as the four ladies made their appearance in a body, and the gentle:nen fol- lowing close, the whole party went in to dinuer—a flightier, more superficial party it is safe to conjee- ture than had made merry in the hall since the last annual visit of the Fergusons to Thornhurst. Colonel Vivian was a genial host, and there wags - I Th Ta high, wide diniug-, dare may be legally dis- ~ on had money and she wanteda .

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Ra no flagging of the general enjoyment as the various courses were discussed. : __ Long, slanting shadows crept in over the lawn, and the last of the sun-rays glinted back from the win- dows and b the walls of the stately mansion. Miss Ferguson and her young lady friends were ouped picturesquely upon the lawn, the former si- ent, the latter animatedly discussing the relative merits of the two young ponimomen, Owen Dare and Vane Vivian, as the gentlemen themselves followed sO spe that if a deduction had been drawn in- volving the comparative attractions of wine and eae it must have reflected strongly to the favor of e 13 Colonel Vivian alone lingered, and Sholto Hayes was detained in the drawing-room by Mrs. Ferguson. ‘The other three passed out. throug windows, and by chance rather than desi stretching between them and other companions, strolling side by side at the»redge of the fish-pond, which was one of Colonel Vivian’s especial cares. The sun was quite down now and the purple tints of twilight fast succeeding. The distant voices min- led with the faint rustling of leaves borne upon the reeze, Here was solitude, romantic surroundings, and the witch hour which is prone to delude, Tho fair Augusta’s heart beat perceptibly faster, a flat contradiction to an assertion which had once been made that she had no more heart than a salamander. Had she maneuvered for it she could not have brought about a more auspicious combination of circum- stances, The question was would Dare take advan- be 4 of the opportunity? She led the conversation th artful references to his own expected absence and her probable Veer “Yes,” he said, indolently papprensth a& yawn, “two years do look rather long ahead, e@ voyage will be a bore, and doing the continent something te- dious, I haven’t a doubt. But to a mortal who has no aspirations for the future it’s about one whether the months drag through here in the States, or in China, or Hindoostan, to say nothing of the inter- vening localities. For my part I don’t know that id give a picayune for the difference.” Miss Ferguson was startled—shocked out of her cultivated serenity. This was rank heresy coming from Dare whose looks if not his speech had de- _ glared before now the absolute misery of existing out of her presence. Every man must have some aspiration. rtainly he, brilliant and talented— with a confiding glarice—had some hope which he was cherishing? Dare remained sublimely unconscious of the soft imputation. Was he blind, willfully blind? Did he never intend to speak at all? A sullen glow of anger and injured pride rose up within the long-expectant, long-enduring breast. Yonder in the distance came Sholto Hayes, released from his unwelcome deten- tion, ram the gloomy grounds bijusmetet in search of them. He would ak gladly eno’ on half the encouragement she had ben are. ey -were lost in the dense shadow from the line of stretching away at one side, but the first edge of the rising moon was just visible above the horizon, and very soon the lawn would be one flood of silvery light. Dare’s quick eye had detected the advancing “Of course I’ll be superseded,” he said, in that plaintive accent which gave no intimation of how welcome the prospect was to him. “It’s what we all have to ex in this world, where transition comes so easy—where to be ‘off with the old love ' and on with the new,’ every quarter or so seems to abe the e ted result, an quite the proper thing to do. ell, I don’t bear any malice, Miss Fergu- son, in token of which shall I call yonder wandering, disconsolate spirit to us? Or shall we go forw and meet him?” : This was fairly turning the tables upon Miss Au- gusta, at the outset. It was wielding her weapon in reserve as an object of offense. She had meant _*.*$holto Hayes as a warning to him of how easily the prize might be lost, and here he was taking his own defeat as a matter of course, from the very s ‘*As you please, marked emphasis. Mr. Dare,” she returned, with “Or—shall we not stay here and see the moon rise?” | vest-moon come u THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. had been trifling with her as she had known him to trifle with others while she believed him yet true in wir Dare bad bee to are n wantonly passing opportunities the more honest if less srazot loved at ees side ha vainly sought such. He was a rather innocent, rather well-meaning young man, The eighty thou- sand was full as glittering a bait to his eyes as it had been to Owen Dare, but he had the adyantage on his side of honestly meaning to fulfill t rt ¥ e Be bake 8 Rood | neither could foresee. husband, should he succeed in winning. He was not handsome—a chief objection in Miss ferguson’s sight. He was tall and thin and sallow, with sandy hair and a retreating forehead and a large mouth, altogether a very neutral sort of young man at | | thirty-two. ina a the wide open | Miss Au- | gusta found herself alone with Dare, with the lawn | 1 He was not assured, and he did not overestimate his chances, and it was the desperate idea that he might lose by being last which brought his courage up to the point of speaking now, and would have done the same at any previous period of | these last two weeks. He pleaded his cause in hesitating, ungraceful sen- tences, but with an earnestness of candor which ap- pealed to Miss Ferguson’s aegrleve’ heart. “Twas wanting to say this back at the coast,” he said, in conclusion, ‘I made up my mind to have it over and know what to expect, and I’ve told you now, awkwardly enough, I’m afraid, but I’m only wanting to show you in fact that I mean all I’ve said about making you as good a husband as the most of men do make. Ill take itas agreat honorif youcan say ‘ Yes,’ and I’ll not forget how little deserving of such a boon I am,” ; She knew that he was sincere in that and in his ad- mirationforher. She hadstyle, and beauty of a sort, and hea A thousand dollars, and she could add con- siderably to his happiness through all these things. Whether she would was a question which had és- ca his mind, except in the first instance of his gaining her. He could not have chosen a better mo- ment to plead his suit. Her pride was oxtraged; she had been badly treated, and she never could endure the mortification of having it bruited about that Dare had jilted her atlast. He took her hand and shesuf- fered it to lie cold, limp, passive in his own. He brought a ring out of his left vest-pocket, bung: lingly. Fy Fe it in the hope of this time,” he said, and it sparkled on her Anger under the silvery moon almost before she knew. She drew her hand away and be- gan to remove it, ny Sor little confusedly: “You have taken me by surprise, Mr. aves I-I must have a little time to think of this. If you like, TH consider it and give you an answer a week from now. Some vague lingering of the old expectation, the tenacity of ateogdiins Bond which Wit not peacefully give up the ghost after it has been struck its death- plow, caused her to stipulate for that week they were to remain at Thornhurst. In her heart she knew at that moment well as she knew after the week had’ ssed that her answer would be “‘ Yes.” Mr. Sholto Norton Hayes, however, had been suf- ficiently uncertain to receive this much concession thankfully. ‘Won't you wear the ring?” he asked, humbly and entreatingly. ‘‘You can give it back to me, you know, if you can’t make up your mind to take me along. It would cut me deucedly though, to have it come to that.” They went back to the company afterward, keep- ing their secret between themselves, There were music and dancing and conversation and enjoyment until half-past eleven that night, at the mansion, but up to the moment when the last guest departed, the house closed and the inmates retired to rest, Dare had not put in an appearance. Evidently the moon | and the stars and his cheroot had brought absorbing influences to bear upon him, Another had watched the great round white har- with its sudden bound, ) she had let herself sink into a false security, think- Nora would never be claimed, She sat down in the wooden rocker, her wrinkled face turning gray as she waited his explanation. Slowly Jabez brought a letter up from the depths. of his capacious pocket. He unfolded it with the reat horny hands that trembled, and looked help- essly across at Hannah, a lump of which he was -~ ashamed rising up in his throat. ‘Read it for yourself; mebbe you'd better,” and he passed it over, ‘I speved it out down there to the office. Nory’s father is dead, Hannah—died *way off in furrin parts, and she’s left to a friend o” his’n that’s comin’ for her. Read it outloud ef you kin; you’re quicker to make out words than I be ect "pears tome I hain’t got quite all the sense of it. She lifted the letter and read it in a voice which was broken and uncertain. It was from Colonel Vivian, imparting the dying charge which had come to him from Edwin Carteret, and announeing” his intention of coming for Nora soon, They migh expect him on the tenth of September, and a check is wanted who can appreciate the situation; as | gark outlines of the house behind her. ’ f you can, Miss Augusta.” She darted away through the masses of thick foli- Miss Augusta lingered, turning to Dare: age, and reaching the gate in ihe hedge, let herself ** You are coming, of course?’ through, locking it after her. She waited there “Well, no, I believe not. I’m not an ardent de- | breathless, her swift, heavy heart-beats almost.suffo- votee of Terpsichore at the best.’ Just_now I have a | cating her, untila light cautious step traversed the fancy for a stroll under the moon and stars with a | woodland, and Daré stood before her. ‘cheroot A He gathered ber in his arms, holding her close, bi Releasing Miss Ferguson’s fair hand from beneath | and whispering sweet words of affection and pro- it, his arni, and relinquishing her with his own imipres- | mise. Only for a moment and then he hurried her mt ’ me ) bie ‘sive gallantry to the opher's charge, he sauntered | away. ee aig ree any Sagat ene om away into ihe shade of the elms and was lost to| Their walk was a long, swift and almost a silent i e pe at ink er epee k Pe his se aad their view. The lady’s face was at its hanghtiest, the | one. There were_ scarcely two minutes to spare orets fu ing ia genera way 2 Bs cet i e iceberg was at its most frigid statéliness, as she | when they reached the station. Dare rushed into ri. o Woe ee or a 8 e i % al wallzed-back toward the mansion at the side of Shol- | the building, secured tickets, and was back at her | Durst, then she was sen oarding-schoo. ; There were no other passen- |. tWo years; she was to,be educated to the position to Norton Hayes. She was justly incensed at this | gide in half the time. ‘ : . Ti F which was rightfully hers, and he would fill to her the — 7 guduen change in Dare. She had the'right to expect | gars from the little station, and there was no delay 1S I . iW is > . yacre and better from him. It was feintly Satine ee a jostling, scurrying crowd. A door was thrown part of a tather she ha hee. knowx, There was, | * sto her mind—most unwelcome knowledze—that he | back, he put out bis hand, assisting her into the car. | lsoa little note inclose . yi . ; f C “ ‘ i f ' : ‘ i ; . 2 Mita eee eee ee ey: ane re vt E 4 a ty ; i ‘ ; i ? a> im . Nes i { x + 47 ie

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THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. © ecmney sat still together after Hannah had ceased i read. The blow had fallen which they had ie) might never fall. Nora was lost to them -—Nora, the bright little creature who for fourteen years had been their greatest joy. Nora was to be made a lady as her mother had been; she would for- et them with the fine friends who would come to er—but no! Nora was not ungrateful. There was comfort in the thought that she would never quite forget the faithful, humble old pair who had loved er as their very own. It was a sorrow come Me ed them too deep for words just at first, and when Nora came in as the sun went down, she found them sitting together still. © solemn stillness, and their changed, grave faces startled her. She met their eyes turned to her with ‘ley apprehension. . at is the matter, Hannah—is Jabez sick? Has oy aad happened?” ie looked at Jabez; he made her a sign to er. “Something has happened, Nora—somethin cerning you, You're a-goin’ away from us, deary, Read the Jetter, child; it'll tell you better’n I can.” Hannah choked back a sob as she handed over the letter and its inclosure. Nora, startled, and not yet comprehending, crossed to the open doorway, the red, Blow of the can | sunset lighting the slight shape and plorifying that silky mass of floating hair. She read € letter through first, then glanced at the note ad- dressed in her name—the name she scarcely knew, Which had a strangely unfamiliar sound as she re- peated it—'* Miss Lenore Carteret.” It was in sub- Stance not much different from the other, and trans- mitted her father’s tender message. She stood there, watching the rosy light fade out of the sky, not speaking and not moving until a tremulous sigh from Hannah reached her ear. She was at her side in a moment, her arms about the old woman’s neck, con- Aer fresh i sae against the withered cheek. “Dear o annah, darling mammy, you'll be sorry to have me go, I know. I’ve been'a trouble to you; I’ve teased es and been bad to you; 1’m mah h Sorry, now, that I didnt try to do better, Hannah, You don’t blame me for being glad of this, do you? I can’t help it if it’s wrong, and I'll always love you and Jabez just the same. it will be so splendid to go to school, to grow accomplished and refined. There, don’t ery, nursi on’t!” Nora’s own tears were flowing, an odd combination of happiness over the prospect opening before her and of sympathy in the Sorrow of these old friends. Jabez put out his hand to stroke the soft bright hair with horny palm, and darkness settled down over the three. On the morning of the tenth day after that another equipage drew up before the fisherman’s cottage, no less apoging in its magnificence than one whic h fairl led Nora’s eyes scarcely six weeks before. But Nora was not dazzled now. She stood in the lit- tle porch, a slender figure in the soft, gray traveling- dress she was to wear that day, for Hannah had thought it best She should not go into mourning for & sorrow which she scarcely recognized as belonging to her. Her father was dead, but the Colonel Vivian of her note of ten days ago occupied his piace in her thoughts, She watched the erect, soldierly form as he advan- ced toward her, her heart fluttering, her breath short, but a moment later she laid her hand in his and looked > into the grand, kindly, rugged old face with frank, fearless brown eyes, quite composed and quite lady-like notwithstanding the fourteen years of her life passed upon this dreary, barren coast in care of a rude fisherman and his wite. Colonel Vivian, looking keenly at her from beneath shaggy, snow-white brows, noting her unaffected grace and simple assurance of manner, decided that ay Maine a worthy daughter of his friend, Edwin Car- ret, ‘ , There was not much to be said, now that the colonel had come, Nora’s one little trunk was pack- ed and waiting; her hat, with its floating vail like Silver mist, lay upon the table with the little dark gloves beside it. here was nothing more but tosay R00d-by to the couple who had been to her the only parents she had ever known. f Colonel Vivian looked at his watch, told Nora if she did not detain him above ten minutes they would reach Brewster to catch the noon train, and with a few words to Jabez ahd Hannah strolled down to the shore. He had all of a man’s horror of scenes, and did not come back until the last moment, when Nora came out to the carriage clirging fast to the hand of her old nurse, choking back a sob with the stern determination that she would not cry, and breaking down at the very last. Her new guardian hurried ber into the carriage at that, the last good- by was waved, and they rolled away smoothly over sands of the shore. oe Saogabs as her nature was, Nora was not demon- Strat ve. She shed some quiet tears behind the misty silver vail, thinking of the sad house and mourning hearts she had left, but youth is never very long depressed. Her tears soon ceased to flow, and she glanced timidly at her guardian, sitting, a bap ca commanding figure, at her side. ery Wisely he had left her to herself at first, Afterward during their journey he devoted himself gradually to rawing her out, studying her nature, enjoying ‘her surprise and delight over the novelties of travel and the sights which were pr tage to him. They went by way of New York, stopping over a day and a night in the great metropolis. Colonel ivian had a niece there, a handsome, cultivated - Woman and a recognized leader of fashion, doomed fam ; vos Ay to,sechusion this season by a death in her husband’s This lady was wn into immediate ser- the colonel. Nora must haye numerous expensive additions to her outfit. Wasn’t there s0me place where woman’s gear was turned out Teady-made, and couldn’t she just take the responsi- “bility into her own hand of selecting such things as Mg might be needed? Mrs. Grahame at first demurred. Tt was a task which would require a week’s time to properly execute, but yielded after a little urging and a small blast from the irate colonel, ‘just to please her dear uncle,” and compressed the week’s work into one long forenoon. On the fourth day, the afternoon train rumbling into Thornhurst station, deposited them, two weary, dusty travelers. The home carriage was there awaiting them, a wide, luxurious vehicle with state- ly steeds and silver trappings, but Nora had grown accustomed to fine things by this, and sunk ‘back complacently amid the soft crimson cushions. “his is Thornhurst proper, my dear,” said Colo- nel Vivian, as the carriage turned aside from the highway. ‘‘ Yonder is the house—you can scarcely see it yet. Welcome home te Thornhurst, Lenore.” Nora roused herself, looking about with a vivid in- terest in the surroundings of this new home. “Ts that the mansion, Colonel Vivian?’ There was an accent of disappointment in her tones. She saw the building quite plainly, a dark, irregular structure, not large, with an air of neglect and de- cay aboutit. The colonel’s brows contracted as he followed the direction of her gaze. “Not that, Nora. I would pull that_old rookery down fast enough if [had control of it. Unfortunate- ly it stands just outside the line of my jurisdiction. That place is occupied by a Mr. Walter Montrose, an a, ae oye by birth and education, a Souther- ner by long residence, and not much credit either to England or the South through such a representa- tive. It was one of the evil effects of the war to drive him into our neighborhood here, as surly, dis- agreeable a man as I ever care to meet. There is my home and yours to be for the future.” "hey swept a curve and came into full view of Thornburst, of the stately mansion age a fair sight in the afternoon sunlight, the wide lawn stretching in front, the gardens melting into or- chards, the orchards into groves away at the back. Nora clasped her hands and gazed in speechless de- light, and Colonel Vivian was satisfied, A couple of masculine forms strolled out from the shade of the elms as the carriage followed the winding drive which skirted the lawn, ‘““Who are those?” asked Nora, quickly. *““Those? The one to ag is my son the other a friend of his, Mr. Owen Dare. Don’t look so blank at the prospect of meeting gentlemen, my dear. You'll not be inflicted with their society very long, as they leave together for gtd to-morrow.” He sprung from the carriage as it drew up at the door, handing her out with courtly gallantry. “Once more welcome to Thornhurst, my child. See, that is my housekeeper at the head of the steps. .My ward, Miss Carteret, of whom I told you, Mrs. Ford. Miss Carteret will prefer bein shown to her own room at once. Try to get a g long rest before dinner, my dear.”’ The two young men coming leisurely up had but * an imperfect glimpse of the little gray-cl ure as it eardeaiart withit doors, gh red “Hopes laid waste,” said Vane, in mock resigna- tion. “Ah, well! we can exist till dinner, I dare- say.” : Yor reasons of his own, Colonel Vivian had given only the briefest explanation of his sudden journey. Vane had remarked his untimely absence a little beaten ee OH “T shouldn’t have supposed the colonel would have put himself willingly out of the way up to the ver, eve of our departure,’ he had said to Dare, ‘This ward business might have waited for all I can see, ois it’s probable the colonel knows what he is abou The colonel did know what he was about, and it bore not his cue to give Vane cause for a suspicion yet. There was a tap at Nora’s door, followed by the entrance of a rosy-cheeked, apple-faced girl, possi- bly two years her senior, just as the dressing-bell clanged through the still house. “Tm Martha, the a if you please, Miss Carteret, and the colonel says I'm to wait on you while you’re here. You're to be made to look your handsomest to-night, if you please, miss, and leave everything tome. You needn’t be af raid; Im used to waiting on the ladies. when they’re here, Miss Ferguson would as soon have meas her own maid, any time. Haye you the key to your trunk, miss— this one?” singling the larger with a glance, the one a ——— all the finery procured in New York was 8 2 Nora produced the key, asking, indifferently: “Miss Ferguson? Is she here now?” “Oh, dear, no, and the more thanks! Gone close upon three weeks ago. A precious one she is to wait on-— and there Martha went down upon her knees and into the contents of the trunk. “Will I do?? Nora asked, shyly, as she floated down where her guardian awaited her at the foot of the stairs, half an hour later. ‘ « Gouldn’t be better,” he assured ‘her, with an ap- proving glance of his keen eyes, and on his arm she floated further into the drawing-room, and _ the pres- ence of the two young gentlemen waiting there. She was allin white, with blue ribbons in_her hair, but the dress was the finest. of Indian muslins, embroid- ered and ruffled, the ribbons the very best gros | rain. : “Miss Carteret, Mr, Vane Vivian, my only son. Mr. Dare, my ward, Miss Carteret.” There was a malicious gleam in Nora's eyes, as she observed the surprise of both, the disconcerted air, uickly suppressed, of one. They acknowledg the introduction in due form, Vane with that amused, rovoking smile, telegraphing a or at Dare be- hind the colonel’s unsuspicious back. Nora was thoroughly, self-possessed. _ She chatted with her guardian all through the dinner hour, responded freely to Vane, passing a easual re once or | 4 \ 1 4 ‘ | edat her for one second, as she mi, twice with Dare, but never once betraying the slight- | est previous knowl of either. { “A thoroughbred, if ever I saw one,” thought Vane, with a thrill of dawning admiration. ‘“Turn- ing the tables on Dare with a vengeance, too; a fair return for his treatmentof her. Odd that she should be the colonel’s ward.” Dare, amazed and bewildered at first, soon mn jr- stood the case better. He recalled Hannah’s story— her assertion, which had passed for little or nothing with him then, that Nora came ofa higher degree. ; How fair she looked, how sweet, how tantalizing | in her utter indifference, admirably assumed, as he: felt it must be. He was not giving her credit for having penetrated to his depth, or overcoming her own folly, Already the security of possession had taken the edge off Dare’s passion for the itis: Southern beauty, for whom he had burst all bounds of prudence. He turned even more than his old ad- wmiration and recognition of glorious possibilities to this fair, childlike vision. “ How have you taken me by surprise, Nora,” he found an occasion to ‘whisper, just before they parted that night. “Is it possible that late pros- pol has obliterated your recollection of old riends? Icanscarcely reconcile the Miss Carteret of this evening with my little Nora of the coast.” “One and the same person nevertheless, Mr, Dare, but never ‘your little Nora,’ let me observe. And I should not ey ees you would have any diffi- culty in reconciling the two. A creature of oddities, freckles and red hairis not very apt to change per- sonality all in a twinkling.” “ The deuce!” thought Dare, as she walked away. “Twas right in my conjecture, then. It was she who occupied the dressing-room that day.” “A charming little creature, don’t you agree with me, Vane?” asked the colonel after she had taken leave of them for the night. Whatever Vane’s private opinion may have been, sai no habit of his to commit himself very de- nitely. “Well, now, that might be a little too sweeping an assertion,” he answered, lazily. “Modified a trifle in style and without that faming mane, Miss Carteret would berather tolerable, I fancy. Red hair’, always was my pet aversion, you kuow.’ Unlucky speech! How far from uttering it would Vane have been had he known that Nora, linge’ on the wide stairway, had heard the question an re jt low, waiting to catch his answer. She wait- ed for nothing more, but wentson to her room, =n the door with unwonted vehemence after _ er. “He, too,” she said, bitterly. ‘And I was really almost liking him.” The morrow broke the little household band. The great house was very still after the two young men were gone. A gloom seemed to rest upon it, in cong of the lovely September weather, of the rich vests being gathered in, of the mellowing fruit, and ripening grapes, and lack of all apparent care to weigh upon its master—a gloom which deepened after a little time when Nora too was gone, ' CHAPTER VII S A SLIGHT ACCIDENT. Ocrosrr had dropped upon Thornhurst when we see it again. The harvests were all in, the fruit all gathered from the orchards, except here and there where some frost-defyin ens cl to the boughs, from which the leaves were fast Topping in red and yellow drifts soon to turn sere and be scattered to the four winds; the vineyard was a brown blot against the hillside, with nothing left to indicate the purple wealth which had loaded it down so short a time before. Dahlias lifted their b. heads in the Thornhurst gardens, and every wind sent the leaves flying from the line of elms over the whole wide lawn. Thornhurst has grown two years older since we saw it last. The mansion is open after be closed haif through the summer time, Colonel Vivian is but barely home again, with his ward and a visitor, , in the house which has been orderly and still for two dragging years. The colonel one for Nora when the school term closed, late in June, and they had passed the summer together among the moun- tains and at the sea-shore, with a flying t to Niagara and another up the Hudson, but everyw, carefully eschewing the resorts of fashion and the / votaries thronging them until at last they took New- port in their way, according to a previous agreement of the colonel, and brought back along to Thorn- burst Mrs. Sholto Norton Hayes. Nora could not quite let the summer slip by with- out paying a visit to the little cottage and her old) friends upon the coast. She went there from New- ort alone at her own request. She left the train at rewster, and walked across the sands to the little | brown cottage which was hallowed in her thoughts yet as “home.” So little change was apparent there it might have been no longer ago than yesterday she had gone away. The boat she had so often rowed was rocking by its stake at the beach. Her rose- bush was carefully tended; it had put out a longer rowth, and the rough trellis Jabez had made for er showed signs of age, propped up on either side toenable it to withstand the sea-breezes. Hannah sat in the wooden rocker as the slight aenes grown taller came in through the open door—sat and look- ht have looked at any stranger, then, with her hand upon the chair, she rose up trembling, as two soft arms circled her ee ED h lips were pressed to her withered old cheek, “Nora! Js is it my own little Nora again?’ And that first incredulous ery expressed the real change which had taken, place, as Nora found it in the weelz she stayed. The little brown house was just the same, butitwas no longer home. The snows ma have jain a little thicker on the two old heads. but a ~ * (eer, is a 7 7 ie ; ‘ ‘

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Cast | E, n / . a4 ~ > I ie gs . a few days’ time to the colonel’s ward. . Vane — the same he had used toward her two " not wished it, but c _ wondered if he had purpo ‘constraint had come between them and the nursling who had wnup beneath their care. It was not that they had changed. Norahad grown away from them, separated by more than the absence of two years, again could she have found even the counterfeit of content in this humble life. Her guardian came for her when the week was ended, and going without regret, Jabez and Hannah felt that at no time, in all the two years, had she been further from them than in this week past. It had been no fault of Nora’s throughout. She had been as affectionate as ever before; she had tried to appear unchanged, and it was no fault of theirs that the romping, willful child they had loved was lost to them in this graceful girl, educated and refined, a lady now of whom they , stood almost in awe. Nora, truly, but never again their Nora. The three were alone at Thornhurst, Colonel Vivian, Nora, and Mrs, Sholto Norton Hayes. The fatter had been brought along to play for Vivian and his companion Owen Dare were expect- ed home daily now. Colonel Vivian’s pride was self-centered, and it would have seem like no home-coming had he received his son and heir any- where except at Thornhurst. The whole ‘gad would leave very soon afterward. The colonel had accepted the urgent invitation of his niece, Mrs. Grahame, in behalf of himself and Nora, who was to be brought out into metropolitan society early in the season through that lady’s kindness. The young , gentlemen would take apartments within easy dis- nce, and they would return with accessions to their number for the- Christmas holidays at Thornhurst. It was four days after their arrival that the re- turned travelers were welcomed home. Nora was in the drawing-room, while Mrs. Sholto Hayés was not more than half through with the mysteries of her afternoon toilet, all alone, when the faint fra- fo of a cigar penetrated to her, and.a minute ter one of the masculine forms she had supposed safely stowed away above stairs, stepped in through an .open window, humming in an undertone, but pping short at the sight of her. ‘ y, 1 beg pardon, but—had I not ought to know that face? Surely this is Miss Carteret, my father’s ward. I had really overlooked the proba- bility of seeing you here. Now that I have seen you, aren’t you going to shake hands and make friends, and give me welcome?” He stood before her, changed by these two years, ‘grown older, matured in face and fignre, the hand- somest man she had ever seen. The smooth dark face was ced by a mustache now, the rich glow had faded from the pale olive skin, the eyes seemed er, deeper, darker than she remembered them, and Nora could not know that this ee pal- lor and somewhat hollow eyes were the results of constant dissipation of the most reckless kind. He had forgotten her very existence—he might as well have said it in plain words as in that disguise. She ' understood it, and a little bitterness she had cher- aemaited against him since their last meeting found ex- ression. ® She gave her hand in the briefest ‘of touches, and ' drew back a step to the window, through which he had sete 2 course you are welcome, Mr. Vivian. The coloneland Mrs. Hayes have talked of nothing but your coming for the last four days. For myself ”— with ahalf pause, and a saucy upward glance—'I confess to a disappointment. had not expected to be quite forgotcen. Red hair being an especial aversion of yours, I thought my ‘flaming mane’ would have served to keep you in some sort of re- collection, though not a flattering one.” ** Not like red hair?—well, as a general thing, no! But I hope I was never guilty of the monstrosity of such a hint in regard your hair, Miss Carteret, I’m willing to avow my mistake and it an een ba if I were. Red is an expressive color you know. Miss Carteret; its la’ ge is love. Pa don’t make me miserable, and it emblematic of a different _ sentiment in our case,.”’ Nora resented the careless, familiar address, just ears ago upon the coast, and she a young lady, now of his own stand- ing’ lacking his prospects of fortune it is true, but knowing herself as clever and as pretty as girls of her age brought up in the circumstances she had but gre found were apt to be. “]T prefer honest hate to the pretension of love, at any time, Mr. Vivian—not that either is to be ap- prehended in our case of course.”’ She flushed quickly in expectation of the amused smile she re- membered of old, but the face looking down upon her was very grave—so grave that she did not quite trust to it. . \“ And meantime, that is meant as a Aaeag f to me. I thank you for that much, at least, Miss Car- teret, and devoutly echo your wish that neither ex- tremity need apply to us.” It was on her tongue’s end to correct him; she had ecked herself just in time, and sely made his mistake. “Dare’s little friend has improved, that’s a fact,” Vane was thinking, lazily; “‘but she seems afflicted with the same infirmity of disposition still which he attributed to her then, ‘‘A little termagant’ he dubbed her, I remember.” She certainly had never looked fairer than as she stood here, the slender, lithe form cut against the glowing October tints without, the fair, sweet face no longer marred by tan and freckles and e to all sorts, of weather, the “flaming mane” not loosely flowing now, but banded in a waving chignon on the very top of the pecan head. She wasina ' carriage-dress of rich blue, a color and tint éxquis- -itely suited to her, and she held a pork-pie hat with plue plume and a pair of buff driving gloves in her A. PWN Belin she had found her own sphere, and never | hand. She settled the former Jauntily upon her | chignon, and began to draw on the latter, as a rus- va in the far distance heralded the approach of Mrs. | Hayes. ‘You came in here for coolness and solitude, I presume, Mr. Vivian, and you shall be left to en- joyment of the same very soon. I am going to drive Mrs. Hayes through some of the lovely lanes — ou ve been racing through these four ays past. ahd Lreally expect nothing better than a broken neck or limb, Miss Carteret is so remarkably reck- less in whatever she does. I positively almost regret having promised to go at all.” Mrs. Hayes | herself spoke from the doorway languidly, as though | the prospect of broken neck or limbs were nothing | compared with the exertion of speaking at all. She had passed greetings with Vane and his friend upon their arrival, having lingered below in her most charming mornin lige for the caprees purpose, “ Really, I should like nothing better than to calm your apprehensions by relieving Miss Carteret if she would permit, only I am scarcely in proper trim. If I could trust you ladies to overlook the fact and take me as I am—” “Don’t think of such a thing! I would not per- mit you or any one—unless it were the colonel him- self—to take my dainty Frisk and Flight in hand. New-comers to the stable since you were here, Mr, Vivian, that my guardian has devoted to my exclu- sive use. Mrs. Hayes need not have the slightest fear; if I am remarkably reckless in all I do, Iam also remarkably correct.’ Mis Carteret’s assertion was in imminent danger of being disproved before the drive was over. e had taken the sweep of the carriage-road, handling the ribbons in an approved style to elicit the adm? ration of the colonel, himself a skilled horseman and no less skillful driver, as he stood watching: s@ out of — through the long avenue leading tc the gates. But oh, what an exhilarating breeze ii wad sweeping up from the valley! How the maple tiveg hung out their crimson-and-gold banners, glistenin under the afternoon sun; how the woods rusth and bar in in all the changing tints which the first few frosts of autumn rere Like any ardent lover of nature and novice in the art of driving, Nora’s vigilance very soon relaxed. The brown eyes wandered away more frequently from the crisping turf of the lane under the feet of Frisk and Flight, area weary monosyllables of assent cote rs. Sholto Hayes through her own rapturous elight. But from the poetry to the reality of autumn in- fluences came the swift transition. A sharp, dash- ing rain of a week before had washed a rut intoa gully, and Nora’s unheeding eyes just then were watching a flock of migrating birds that sailed screaming over their heads. There was a great jolt, a toppling of the little basket carriage sideways, and Nora came back to a sudden sense of her duty, bracing herself and drawing the lines tight in upon the es ponies. All might have gone well even then but for Mrs. Sholto Norton Hayes. That lady, roused from her customary languor, went through the invariable programme followed by weak-nerved persons under similar circumstances — screamed shrilly and caught at the reins. a it still,” cried Nora to her. ‘Hold fast to the seat and don’t dare think of jumping!” But the other’s movement had turned the ponies’ heads, and in a moment more one wheel lay in the rut, and the carriage went down, tumbling Mrs. Sholto Hayes unceremoniously to the ground, but most fortunately Fi.sk and Flight stood still at their mistress’s word, “You are not hurtin the least, Mrs. Hayes,”’ said Nora, decidedly. ‘‘Do get up, please, and go to the house we see yonder for assistance. There, my beauties! you did nobly, but I am afraid to leave you with that wreck at your heels,”’ Mrs. Hayes, however, sat upon the ground, sigh- ing dolorously, declaring herself too faint and crush- ed to move. Nora felt very much like Sag st her, ving her a shaking and setting her pS er feet, ut was proceeding to tie her docile charges to the fence, when a young lady emerged from the cedar grove at a little distance and ee them. “Is any one injured?’? she asked—‘‘ this lady?” “Ts not hurt in the least,” returned Nora, shortly. “Mrs. Hayes, if you only will get wpe So may dis- cover the fact for yourself. The question is, how is this mishap to be remedied?” : “If you ladies will come with me—the horses may be left now, I think—my father and a man upon the lace will see what can be done. It is but a little istance there.” She pointed to the house to which Nora had referred where its outlines were darkly defined through wild, untrimmed foliage. The same house she had taken for Thornhurst mansion on the occasion of her first coming there, as she recalled when they approached it. “What a very beautiful face the young lady has, and how queenly she is! I wonder if she can be the daughter of that Mr. Montrose my guardian seemed to so heartily dislike?” Nora mused. She was assured of it a moment later. A tall, thin, elderly mar, with hard but not unhandsome face, appeared in the doorway—Mr. Walter Montrose. is features were regular, his lips thin and com- pressed, his forehead slightly receding, his eyes “or blue and keen, his dark hair scarcely touched with age. ; : “The ladies from Thornhurst, papa,” said their guide. ‘‘They have met with an accident; their carriage broke down in the lane. I told them you would see if there was any repairing it for their re- turn. “The ladies from Thornhurst!” Mr. Walter Mon- trese gave thema keen’ glance. “Then this young | lady is Colonel Vivian’s ward? If the accident prove \ | appeal, | purse-proud, over bearing people though they be, THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. no serfous one, I must rejoice that it brought us this. : i with my’ honor. Have’ you become acquainted cng nies, te “Carteret. And I know that this is Miss Mon- trose.” Nora aed her hand frankly, and then in- troduced Mrs. Hayes in due form. The accident proved simple enough, A defective nut had given way, but a substitute was found, and in a very few moments the carriage stood in readi- ness for their use. “We only stay a few days at Thornhurst,” said Nora, as they took their departure! ‘ But I do hore I may have the nee of seeing you again, Miss Montrose. May come again?” “Tf you like,” anda dark, beautiful face. an invitation for Miss Montrose to visit her at Thorn- hurst, but felt she was not at liberty to do so with- out first consulting Colonel Vivian. ‘*How imprudent to have associated so freely with those ple,’ reproved Mrs. Sholto Norton Hayes, who had been unyielding as the emblem of frigidity itself, during their homeward drive. ‘‘ They are low, ordinary persons from all appearances,” ‘*T never saw a more oe lady,”’ Nora averred ‘and Mr. Montrose quite as muchagentleman, f think I never saw more lovely eyes,” . : “Tt is an opportunity you must not neglect, Vene- tia,” said Mr. Walter Montrose, watching the little basket-carriage as it rolled away. ‘‘ Girl friendships leased smile illumined the ora would have liked toadd — ; are easily cultivated always, and this one will secure — you an entrance to Thornhurst.” A bitter smile played over the rare, full lips, “Did you_observe how careful she was not to ask me there? She knew us, and of course knows Colo- nel Vivian’s hearty dislike. Ido not see that Thorn- hurst is nearer than before.”’ “You must make it nearer,” he said, in the quiet, decisive tone from which she knew there was no “You must make it nearer! Haughty, you are equal to them now, you may be far above them one day, though that is a meager ho At any rate, never forget what blue-blood runs in your veins, and hold your own with them as you have the right. You can win your own way if you like, and as you must like, after the first. es, you mus6& oe this to account and get admitted to Thornhurst, enetia. CHAPTER IX, THE FIRST SHADOW. TERE was no moon but thestarsshone out bright- ly through the frosty stillair. The lights from the mansion had gone out one by one; the gloomy house just without the Thornhurst domain had been wrapped in unbroken slumber for two hours or more, It was close upon midnight, and the whole countryside was brooded over by the silence which | a ht ig! Some a plese s silent as the unmoving objects about, as much a part of the dusk on as they, was the dim shape waiting without the closed gate in the high dense hedge. She had waited there an hour, the same paneoty silent form, It was the second night she ad been at the pe and the fear of disappoint- ment for the second time was chilling to her heart. “He will not come,” she thought, drawing the dark mantle she wore closer about her. And at the moment her quick ear caught the crackle of the risp under a venglng advancing through the woodland, She stood still, no evidence of eager- ness breaking through the composure she had en- forced, but for all that there was a force of passion which might most have astonished the man who was coming, firmly as he believed in her devotion to him. He was there in a moment, hisarm about her, his voice tender as it had been two years before, but‘in that very first moment of their meeting a vague revelation of the change in him struck » Bae coldly. It may have been theinfluence of her disap- pointment before, it may have been that wonderful intuition which is a subtler, truer power in woman than the more occult processes of reasoning are to man. “Faithful to the trust, my Venetia! I almost doubted finding you here at this late hour, and now you do not seem rejoiced to seeme as I hoped you nage be. How have I offended, Venetia?” She had drawn a little away from his circling arm; she had let him kiss her forehead but did not offer her lips. “T was here to a much later hour last night, Owen, And you have not written to me for months. Is it wonderful that your tardiness and your negii- gence should link as evidence that you have regret- ted our hasty step of two years ago?” “That you should doubt me, Venetia! That I should be called to account before ever I receive a welcome! Is that your lovefor me,my own? The trust between us should be so perfect as never to admit doubt, don’t you know that?” There was plaintive rebar in Owen Dare’s tone, that indirect shifting of blame from his own should- ers, which had seldom failed in his dealings with wo- mankind before this. Women and dogs are the more faithful the more they are misused, but to make the rule good in either case there must be per- fect mastery, and however madly she had loved him, might still love him, Owen Dare never saw one Sp es of his life that he was this woman’s mas- er. “T know there should be strong foundation for such a trust,Owen. I know we should contribute equally to build up such. But if you have regretted anything of the past Iam willing to bury it dead as though it had never been!” “This my passion-flower! This the warm-hearted, ardent who promised me so truly when I saw her last—Venetia, I don’t know you in the cold- . blooded creature talking in such a style—speaking — nl a

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of burying the past which isnot even resurtected to our own knowledge.” : You forget that [number self-command among my other accomplishments, and I have had long months to brood over the probable causes of your silence and apparent forgetfulness of me; and your failure to come to me soon as you were here has not been reassuring.” _ My neglect was too faithful exercise of the cau- tion which you ourself were most earnest in urging me to employ. I was fearful of addressing you too often, I trenibled with every letter, lest it should fall into wrong hands, And last night, the first at Thornhurst, my absence would have remarked, Possibly suspicion aroused,”’ \ Then you are not chan ed, Owen? Are you mee very sure, you have not been won away from He detected the wistfulness, the willingness to re- ceive his assurance in the perfect faith he had ex- pected from her at the first, and the assurances were not lacking. F ou must promise never to doubt again, Venetia, never even if circumstances should make it appear at you have cause.” I did not doubt as it was. I never could unless I knew you false, and then—" ‘\ And then, my darling?” what t said a@ moment ago. You need never have anything to fear at my hands, If you ever do regret, from that momen the wind from any claim of mine. you shall be honest with me déceive me; that you shall tell lange ever should come.” And how solemn you grow over it, asif it were the most likely thing’ in the world! ‘Suppose now that dolorous view you are taking should come about how jong before you would be an avenger upon the track, a Nemesis not to be turned aside? If I could brove so weak as to be false to you, you would hate ine as fiercely as you loved me once.” h Tnever should, Owen—loving once I could never ate, I can imagine no wrong so deep that I should ever wish to injure you. _ I would die myself rather than bring harm on any I ever loved.” You never shall be tempted by me, at least, enetia. How we are jhe We precious moments of this precious interview in cussing a possibility which is not even the remotest possibility in our case. May I lightac to ward off this chill, or is my respected father-in-law not supposed to be so soundly sleeping but such sacrilegious odor so near his sanctified ground bears the chance of rousing him?” E ae is no 8 em anks, € struck a light, and the moment: blaze showed Mr, Dare’s serene eyes looking upon her with a fond glance that went straight to Venetia’s heart. If she had doubted before this in spite of her- self she did so no longer now. ‘See here, love,” his tone was very excessively tender as he possessed himself of both her hands, ‘‘ whatever may come up after this—we are so uncertainly situated there’s no aces what might arise, you know—never forget at you are my own loyal wife, for better or worse: never let yourself suppose that I can forget it, t only ask you to believe in me, If you have a mis- Siving let me prove it false until the time when there can be no chance for misgivings, when I can go to your father and claim you formy own, and show a iets vag unworthy such a boon, Is it a “ Ba 4x6" x i ; abe ae think I would wish to live if I ever could haa tre wen.” How perfect her faith fast fhont” ew beautiful, how dear to her heart ay be A few more minutes flew, Mr. Dare’s orth tat close under the tip of his handsome nose sane $ tossed it down, tramping the glowing end out ep oomed wickedly in the frost-spangled grass, Pe come to-morrow night if it’s for no more than well Probably boc asegen eoy pox and after that I again, I’ve formed hope through this connection of mine with the Viviane. It isn't beyond yet **And that a want wen. won, on why I shoukin’t b : Uonoitbotined ee oer dio about in some way, I am sure. (aint ieee “It is out of the erted little startled, and quite decided. Aviat pnt ‘that Bonen in your head, my dear? The colonel, you ow, has some sort of Preposterous prejudice against your father, which also inchides yoo and even if that objection were out of the way. the er- ty weld ot De ‘berthissible to a mere guest as I am wis i i it’s Boe ere ou gee,” iiitel bay Nt asda len make it possible! It ma question for oe to introduce me t ae Fae t know that, but you can bring the result about eexoneh pg As aad hatg his There is your friend, a n ladies poster co manage it, or one of the " I don’t know; it would be a hard matter if done, couldn’t be mu antag there so dint eae © as the family stay But th BR may come back for ou are free as only ask that that you ll never me frankly if such a It as from his wish in pct though he did not t he could ; there was a ering ( $ hen the gate Pll ye ke her saat aiid eens **More liberal than I ever thought’ she could be,” his thoughts ran, ‘‘ And Venetia means every word she says! I’d lay my head to it, if I were to go back on her now, she’d never peach or givea sign.”” Mr. Dare’s punctilious expression was not always held to strict. account in his own self-communings. ‘ Not that I mean to do it, of course not, but it was a rash move to entangle myseif completely asI did. Idon’t regret it and I don’t expect to.. There is Mrs. Sholto Norton Hayes and the eighty-thousand I might have had—really I am inclined to return thanks for my deliverance. I don’t know that I’d absolutely change matters if I had the power now, but by some means I must bluff Venetia off from her notion about Thorn- hurst. That wouldn’t suit, by any means.” As he made his way toward the mansion rising in black outlines against the hill and sky, another face rose up in his mind side by side with the dark, beau- tiful one which had so lately looked trustingly upon him under the starlight—Nora’s face as he had cov- ey watched it that day, pure, fair, and daintily flushed, wide brown eyes sparkling animatedly, and lowing hair massed about the shapely little head. r. Dare felt that his choice had been between two‘ ite loveliness that it was inevita-: types of such o ble that he sho regret the one, having chosen the other, and it made but slight: matter, as there was no difference in the scale of their worldly posses- sions, each being munificently dowered with uty and nothing else. Venetia went in silently over the leaf-strewn path where the tangled shrubbery brushed her garmentg on either side, the sweetest peace her proud, tortur- ous life had ever known resting upon her. It was such dear peace to her whose rebellious spirit had stung her often under the wonderful self-command she had gained. With all the world to choose from she would not have asked more of her own free will just then than this happiness of hers openly ac- cnowledged; all the goods of life seemed so pitiful in comparison! ; The warm flush in her cheeks was chilled; a thrill of terror shot to her heart as a dark shadow ob- scured her way, and in the clear starlight her: fa- ther’s tall form loomed up before her. She did not scream and she did not attempt to fly. She simply stood still and braced herself for the worst of what might come. How ae he had been there, how much he might know of her own proceedings, she could not even guess. _ “You choose a ee hour for rambling, Vene- tia,” he said, in a metallic tone before which she shrunk. “ Not strictly a conventional hour if you will permit me to suggest it. Will you take my arm back to the house, Miss Montrose?’ She permitted her hand to be drawn unresistin ly through his arm and walked in total silence by side, Heled her in through a dark passage to a small room, where a dim light was burning. He re- leased her hand and wayed her to a chair, but re- mained standing himself, Sit down, Venetia,” The calm, hard face of the man had not moved a mauscle, but there was a cold glitter in those steely eyes which was more terrible to her than a belching battery would have been. She knew she had the worst to dread then, and not the least impressive feature in the anger of Mr. Walter Montrose was its terrible quietude. One glance of those cold eyes had power to scathe to the very soul; a half-dozen words in that ringing, metallic tone were more tent than the fiercest tornado Colonel Seymour Viy- ian could utter, “T must confess rise at the discovery of your odd taste, lately developed let me hope,” he went on. “‘A chance discovery brought about through fancying I heard the jar of a door some time since, and a reconnoissance disclosed yours on the swig. You must have been in haste to have left it so care- lessly. A glance showed me that Mie Were not in Fhe room; the just Bp Ri og odor of a cigar on he air without guided me to the end of the garden walk. I went, doubting, incredulous, I paved, ‘convinced, at the sound of voices, one of whic distinctly recognized as yours. Look a little less spbinx-like, if you can, Venetia, That is an uncom- fortable expression your face is wearing, and noth- ing is more admirable than studious control of the - features to the will. Of course I withdrew to a suit- able distance immediately. Ihad no desire to Pay the spy upon my pate Teel actions; I should be most sorry io lose confidence in her to an extent leading to that. Irefer to the matter now, Venetia, to recall certain hopes and expectations of my own which I have taken considerable trouble to im- ress upon your mind. I have had ambitious aims or you, the nearest to see you installed as mis- tress of Thornhurst.. Iam not in the habit of bene thwarted, as you know; let me suggest it woul not be policy to disappoint me there through any failure of yours. Also it might perhaps be better if these midnight rambles be dispensed with here- after, though 4 leave that entirely to your discre- tion. Only one thing more: if any fancy of yours should raise an obstacle between yourself and Thornhust, the obstacle shall be removed. I think I need not detain you; longer. Good-night, Miss Vene- tia Montrose.” He held the door open and she passed through, hot having uttered one word. She went blindly up the few steps leading to her own chamber, with a feeling of suffocation come upon her, a dumb dread which seemed to paralyze nerve and action. He had overheard enough to suspect the truth, if he did not know it; the emphasis he had placed upon the pro- nunciation of her name at length showed that, and his relentless determination to trample down any obstacle coming before the fulfillment of his wishes, Heaven’s ordinance of marri is not easily set ide, but a dread terror. seized her as sh ought Seas olliee alicrnitive ht remove the o eos ’ How far off now seemed the peace and happiness Listy ’ A 7 e a hel a Ee TERRIBLE: TRUTH 9 of the last half hour! how Im should ever feel secure in such again! Venetia Mon- had passed more than one bitterly wakeful- trose night before this; never one so fraught with numb. despair. Pe: ; The question of Miss Montrose’s appearance at the mansion had been presented and settled, hours be- fore her own est to Dare. Nora never let pass grow under herfeet in pursuing object her own, and the narration of their accident was Prompaty followed by a request for permission to in- vite the young lady to visit her there, : “Bring the daughter of Walter Montrose here vociferated Colonel Vivian, “Td as pooh pene & bra into. the house. Let this settle that ques now and forever, Miss Carteret; Montrose’s daughter ossible. that she _ 2 does not set foot within my doors, and you will have’ nothing to do with her on’pain of my bitterest pleasure.” - Nora was disappointed keenly, but there was no gainsaying her guardian in that mood—as néar an approach to the tempestuous as he often exhibited toward her, oe CHAPTER X. VANE’S FRIEND. ee, Tse metropolitan season opened brilliantly. There, was noend of gayeties. There were all the grades: of balls, parties, and receptions; there were the’ operas, the drives on fine days in elegant, toilets, bg rounds of calls made and calls received, to fllup morning, eve and night, for understand the - able world knows no noontime, : It was all very delightful to Nora, She wens through the whole ccurse, day in and day out. never wearied. Mrs. Grahame took her every where. | The colonel, making a grand figure and nearly as | much lionized as a younger man might have been, was very often their escort. Failing bim, there was no lack of others. Vane very rare ) capacity, and then with such unappreciation of oe honor that Mrs, Graham gave decidedly the co shoulder to the young man and left him undisturbed to his own pursuits, There was a whisper afioat that these same pursuits were not in strictest accor- dance with the mora] code with whic sovicty, how- ever hollow at heart, polishes its outer shell: For all that, society was very gracious to Mr. Vane Vi- vian when he chose to honor its gathering with his presence. But then society has admirably adapted itself to the sort of praeie which strains at a gnat and swallows acamel, 2 s Very different in his habits and the spirit displayed was his chosen_friend, matter of wonder that such a Damon-and-Pythias- like sentiment could exist between such opposite types. Mr. Dare was a most exemplary character. He was also untiring in his devotion, a model ese served in the _ Owen Dare. It was evena and always in faithful attendance upon the move- _ ments of the Grahame party. No one was re ee conscious than Nora herself of how very marked his” attentions had become, and of the rumor which was beginning to link their names with the customary freedom. Dare at his old gare again, or was he really go in for a winning hand, as all appearances seemed to denote? They didn’t know that the little Ca came up to his figure, but of course, being Co Seymour Vivian’s ward, she could not be importance. There was a whisper of those | mines in Brazil, too. Trust Dare to know w. heré was a question mingled, however, Wag sah was about; he was not at all the sort of man to lose hd his head unawares, and just there rumor made mistake. He was not the sort of man to lose his head, but, baving lost it, he was just the sort of mam to stop at no gn to carry his own object, cn “Such a pity their positions couldn't be rey said Mrs. Grahame to Nora, after one of Di daily visits. He did not confine himself to calls; he came at all hours; he dined with ily; he even breakfasted and lunched with 1 occasions; he had managed to make himself tndis~ ensable to the colonel as he peer | Grabame herself. ‘‘ Cousin of mine en ne be,’ can’t indorse Vane’s doings, . I shouldn’t lik Soe swer for the consequence if the whole story | hes misdeeds were to come to the colonel unawares, that splendid Mr. Dare.wards halt the blaine div pi een and keeps the itethe oothed of pitie a@ ‘urious. I[repeat, it’s greatest « they are not differently placed, A son and heir of Owen Dare’s strict rectitude, would be a. co Boge — ay boc bee AE is not like an ut the o pow e. - Of what frighi ul things is Mr, Vane Vivian guilty?” asked Nora. ‘My guardian doesn’t any fault in him, I am very sure. It’s nothing but * Vane” when I am with him, until I fairly weary of the name,”’ “All my uncle’s policy, my dear!” Grahame looked volumes shé would not ‘peal 7 which were Greek to Nora’s unsuspec ** As for Vane, he is going the road to eve Owen Dare was obliged to it! Jone! had t and be appealed to. He paid the bill, it was an enor~ mous amount, and Bt sss to disinberit V ra sume, and we At cor to prove * at “ A per 4 mn

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o morn ¢ ane ae: - ‘ing tothe real charac ' than two years. before, and she was distrusting him an ut et nderstood “es sek vi c 4 x ; 40 of his son to me. ¥ should not suppose he would apgek wiltnety, of such a matter to any oue.” ' “You are quite et He did not speak of it even td ‘me, but it was le to keep the matter (quiet, and Owen Dare told me the truth of the tO save any prejudice I might gather through a float- i : Fate ” me how it weil could be ig, exaggerated report, thou ggera ( “Tt is evident, then, that Mr. Dare himself was in d T'cannot comprehend.” no way anxious to spare you a prejudice. I should | onsider it a breach of honor to discuss a matter ich the parties most concerned would not wish osed, Px Tt aspect on the affair.” hs zig ‘a more truthful one, I am sure. ‘And the stance if seems was not even a warning to ane. Heis wilder, more reckless than éver since that. Think of sucha vag Tagen running through ith Thornhurst and all the colonel will have! aly, if Thad a daughter of an age to marry who ht choose between the two, I would not hesitate referring Dare for Vane’s brilliant prospects. With all the property in his hands he would be a beggar in three years;and Owen'Dare will build himself up from nothing yet, mark my words. * Enough of that subject, however; though I haven’t vords. to express m indignation when I think of Be usin’s course, ) io you care to go driving this eee “I thi shall not me, Mrs. Grahame, that y not have done all our ty toward Mr. Vane Vivian. Wild and reck- “young men have been reclaimed before this— Py got again? Lthink I should like the credit for Sue. turned pe dieel laid at my door, and I am going to ask him to take me to the exhibition to- ’ ing to ask him, Nora!” ’ “Tam going ask him, Mrs. Grahame, Don’t look so horrified, pray. You know he woujdn’t ask me in an eternity. It’s rather against my hopes that he has so little Heine for me.” “Tam not so sure of that, but I certainly thought : Et were particularly averse tohim. I am positive heard you refuse the colonel this morning when he was making arrangements for your going to the ope. wth Vane.” “That was quite another matter. I don’t choose to be bartered by a third person, not even my guar- dian.’ Mr. Vivian shall refuse my tb pa or accept it on his own account—not accommodate himself another person’s wishes. He is coming to dinner to-day, coming early he promised, and I am going to get myself up most charmingly for the occasion. \ thal i ke: make a merit of charity and overcome my “Consult your own taste of course, Nora, though tis not one of Vane’s rules to yet a PN ee Nt 's. Grahame’s voice was a trifle chilled and dis- tant. She had meant to give the girl a warning of pak Sa aes her wild young cousin had gained for himself, perhaps to insinuate the truth of the colonel’s hopes which her sharp, worldly eyes had penetrated—the hope that through Nora e reclaimed—and to throw the weight of her in- fluence far as it wgnt on the side of her favorite, Dare. ‘If you really mean to rush into a Quixotic undertaking, be fans by my advice and begin SY: atically. consider your decision of this and accept Vane’s escort to the opera to- night, Too much Clicquot at dinner, followed by ious draughts of cau de vie through the evening, { tell on the hardiest constitution, and it is not ‘wonderfnl he has broken under the practices. - For own part I should decidedly prefer him for vera, companion than for an escort for the orning. You would be apt to find him distrait and unnerved to an uncomfortable degree, for my cousin ‘ane, among his other vices, numbers the one of very immoderate dissipation.’ ” Be ell me anyt more just now that’s bad ARR m, I don’t intend to be discouraged.” 7 ‘Vane Vivian proved an exception to his rule ‘kéepin be A ag? that evening at least. He early and found Nora vivid, sparkling, bright- y yous, to she always was these latter days. fe : pale-blue with a sheen which would ‘light exquisitely, a full evening costume trained and Pp with pearls, which were the colonel’s gift, on her neck and arms and mingled with her ruddy » She came forward as he was admitted in com- Jany with Dare to give her hand, while she deigned ‘only a careless nod'to the latter. Her first awaken- r of Dare had come more “without cause it might seem, but distrusting him is § Sy Mie tag speciall el Mr. “You dese an e warm welcome, Mr. Vivian, You are so’ chary gbout claiming many of own loss, is if not? And I never gave ‘ ou “er for observing whether I was present or now.” “You don’t give me credit for half I do deserve, ‘but I shall re good for evil by crediting you with more than I’ve had evidence of—a jae eal of gal- ntry. Of course there’s an ax to grind to draw “that from me. The truth is our escort for the even- ing has made another engagement and we want to "press you into service inst The colonel is hard to entice into opera-going at the best, and it appears that Mr. Dare has power to make his promises void.” be Sea bese as a reproach and it is not merit- ed, Mis rteret,”” said Dare, quickly. “I really f »d you had declined going to the opera You know I could not otherwise it myself to break upon your pleasure. Even ess. the colonel could have waited, and of this service should not have been full of ‘business these davs it’s little I 4 tw bly, too, Mr. Vivian might put an- | ie out to-day. It occurs to’ -we ma ane might | upon Vane if my service could have com- | THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. | Eee eee ee ee e wonder if the colonel finds you invaluable, Dare. T couldn’t wish you to be any thing else since it gives me go eae of this attendance upon Miss Carte- ret. ‘on’t you give me one song before dinner. Miss Carteret? It’s extremely selfish to ask it, of | course, but I fancy music may have charms to | soothe a hungry man’s soul well as the savage ear. Imagine a greater savage if you can than «a famish- ing mortal in a drawing-room.”’ | -“ Not meaning yourself, I hope,” she laughed, as Siero away, ‘or do you never spare your- “Why should I?” he asked, somewhat bitterly. “Others do not spare me. It’s all very proper, of course. To stand well with all the world one wants to be like Dare there, sans — ét sans reproche.”” She glanced up quickly, but the cloud which had touched it was already gone from the dark, slightly ard, handsome face. are, watching them, was inwardly furious. He had made his own choice; he had no right to expend even the free admiration he was givin — belonged elsewhere; but for r that he was jealous of every other man who looked ad- miringly upon the little girl he had held so lightly ‘once. He was most bitter, most jealous of that handsome, wild young fellow, Vane Vivian. There had been,secret envy in his heart ees toward this far-off cousin, who had been born to a high’place, to all the gold and purple, while he at the very chad been an equal by tolerance,'a peers received through their generous ty, ts who was not grateful, who was venomous in the secret hate‘he cherished. Such the Pythias of this modern brotherhood ! - “You have been ahead all your life,” thought Dare, his moody glance following Vane. ‘‘ Once ahead is not always ahead, however. There may be a turn of the scale sooner than you think, and, with the power in my hands, no evil on earth could more than wipe out the score I owe you.” An old score long ee ae. , every sign of which had been hidden by Dare’s close, secretive nature, but which he brooded over, and looked forward to a reckoning neither distant nor uncertain. A scheme had been slowly unfolding in Dare’s mind during these passing, gay, early winter days—a bold scheme, cruel as fate and almost as certain, with that human sleuth-hound set upon it. Oh, for the shadows to fall on those two young heads, so close together now as he watched them! Oh, for the torture of that proud heart, so strange- ly, bitter] scm. me back in the vicinity of Thorn- burst! Oh, for Dare himself, going down into the blackness of infamy to averge a wrong of his own envious fancying, to gain a point in this life, when all eternity could not wipe out the stain he was in- delibly bacon upon his own soul! Vane was the es’ escort to the opera that night, something to Mrs. Grahame’s surprise, and more to her indignation, .Miss Carteret’s whim had taken more speedy shape and action than she had antici- pated, and Mrs. Spec ae was duly scandalized, as 1p conventional matfon would have been, at the outre conduct of Colonel Vivian’s ward. No one else thought it owtre, itis safe to presume. There were ascore of young men in the crowded auditorium who would have given much to standin Vane Viyi- an’s shoes that night, sins, shortcomings, enticing visions of mania a potu and squandered estates in prospective—one and all. Among them a half-dozen who would have punched the presuming puppy’s head, peyeiee they could, in a close match, with his well-developed muscle, if by so doing a sige smile might have been won from the reigning belie. But only one, who came in late and watched her, furtively, more than the play, would. plot stealth- ily and execute faithfully, to work ouf the end he sought. The evening brought a small triumph to Nora. Her heart was in the mission she had undertaken, and she played her card so cleyeny saet Vane him- self proposed the exhibition, and begged her com- pany there on the following day. He was neither unnerved nor distrait when he pre sented himself the next morning. This past night had seen him in a spot which of late had known him but seldom during the hours of darkness, for but brief intervals at any time, his own well-furnished apartments. He had slept sweetly and peacefully as @ child all the night through. And in another room which joined, Dare had lain awake, brooding, motionless, until the gray dawn had crept sluggis - ie tes the murky streets, and the first stir of the an. Wane and Nora had agreed to go early to the academy where the exhibition took peste in time to avoid the throng of afternoon visitors who would crowd there, The hall was comparatively deserted, a few groups scattered here and there, a few stroll- ing singly or in pairs, the soft radiance falling over ee pictures on the walls, bringing them out in vivid 8. They had made half the circuit, surprising each ‘other by their sympathetic appreciations, when Vane. stopped short, turned and looked earnestly at é. <i amea who was following them leisurely up ) “Wait here a moment, Miss Carteret. That ® some one I ought to know, though by some means he seems deucedly out of place here. Not the sow of man one is likely to forget—by Jove!” He was gone from her side with a sudden start, and a dozen steps in advance the two young men met with a warmth which almost brought a smile to Nora’s lips, “Talk of exuberant expression among women after that,” she thought. ‘What a fine-looking Si gonage te the stranger is, not so handsome as Vane ut so frank and manly.” A. tall, broad imen of manhood he was with pons htforward, t blue e' light-brown cut close to his head. and a © beard. ' te; ' Archer—Sir Rupert, | this meeting has thrown me off my balance, I be- her; his al-' hair, bronze- | pri ht in themorning sunlight. ly dressed, but she time to observe how white and. soft his hands were, and that aruby ring burn- ra upon his little finger, before they approached er. RG : “Miss Carteret,” said Vane, flushed with pleasure still, ‘allow. me to, present a friend, Sir Rupert iss Carteret. The surprise of - lieve.” Nora managed to respond to the introduction creditably, though such unexpected facing of nobili- ty almost took her breath away. “Sir Rupert was the very best friend I had abroad — first in London, but afterward at Rome, Florence, and Naples. ; 1 couldn’t believe my eyes at seeing — you here. Just come, did you say?” py the last steamer, and I am overjoyed at this meeting as you possibly can be. You are the first lad ve spoken to since landing, Miss Carteret, and Vivian’s the first familiar face 1 have seen. I have an ap ointment to meet a friend in—let me see —just half an hour from now,” consulting his wanoly and strolled in here to pass the intervening ime. He lingered for ten minutes, talking mostly with © Vane, addressing some remarks concerning the pic- tures, the mor , the great metropolis, and the voyage,over to,Nora—such things as peoples of cas » but in that. ten» minutes Nora. decided teat une should like this Sir Rupert Archer, Vane’s riend. The two gentlemen changed cards at parting, and — afterward Vane waxed eloquent over this same Sir et a until Nora almost forgot the purpose which had been first in her mind when she left home that morning. He caught her eyes turned to his face wist- fully as it came back to her, and broke off in the middle of a strain, . “You look as if you wanted to tell me something, Miss Carteret. I have been too,elated myself to at- tend properly to your pleasure, I am afraid.” ' ‘‘T do wish to speak to you, to tell you somethin I fear, and I may not have another opportunity. wanted to warn you against Owen Dare. I feel cer- tain, somehow, that he is, not acting fairly by you. I believe he is trying to make trouble between your father and yourself. Iam sure heis not your friend, as he pretends. It must seem presumptuous for me to say this to you, but I believe it, and wanted you to know,” “My dear Miss Carteret! Dare not my friend— Dare make trouble! I thank you sincerely for your — good intentions, but you, are laboring under some — eat mistake. You can’t know how faithful Dare © Ss been to me.” . “‘I know he bas seemed so, but he is a hypocrite, I do believe. Would it not be better to go to your fa- ther yourself than to trust any iS gobs gee Suddenly the haggardness which had been lifted — from his face came back to it. Nora was chilled at the change; it put such a distance between them where they had been so near a moment ago. “Tt is not to be expected you should understand — these affairs, Miss Carteret. You are mistaken re- garding Dare—you do him injustice. Think hard] of me as you like; you can do me no injustice. § | we go ge cogil iia NM er een ou are not angry thai ve. § en?”’ she asked. way. ‘ ue He looked down at her, his face softe: A “Angry? no. God bless you for it, Nora, But you can’t know the kind of hell I am in!”’ CHAPTER XI. AN CLD ADAGE VERIFIED. ‘ $Srr Rupert ARCHER was the sensation very soon after that. A handsome young baronet with a year- ly income of ten thousand pounds, and an estate in ussex, with wonderful reports of its extent and magnificence floating in the charmed atmosphere he frequented, was a worthy acquisition to New York upper-tendom, and it was not long before Sir Rupert Archer was actually embarrassed from the manner in which he was besieged on all sides. “Por a yous man of ordinarily modest preten- sions, this is proving rather too much notoriety,” | remarked the baronet to Vane Vivian, as they sat smoking together in the apartments of the former. “See that stack of cards and scented, rose-tinted notes, wii you? Most of them from people I’ve never seen and never care tosee. Why the deuce couldn’t I have avoided this season of yours and timed myself to my real object in coming—a grand — buffalo-hunt on. those wide Western prairies. might as well have gone to Brighton, at once, as to cross tne Atlantic the last of October. I go to the country for a week, fortunately. I couldn’t answer . for my own sanity under an unbroken strain like the fortnight past.” Will you always be the same unpretending flower, — Sir Rupert? This is of, a piece with your running away from a party of American tourists at Florence who fell in love with oe at first sight, and were de- termined to make a lion of you, willy nilly.” “T haven’t your ikakigh Vivian, as exhibited then or now. I'll never forget your coolness dis- played in rescuing me from that nest of brigands I walked into with open eyes.” ““A remarkable feat, wasn’t it, after you had held our own against eight of them for a good half our, dropped three, and would have routed the rest but for their hope of reinforcement. The cow~ © ardly rascals never waited to look be them © when my seven-shooter opened on them from the — rear. I remember you declared you would rather — face the same situation over again than be dragged — “ 0! to that tourist party in Florence,” Be rae a RE eer modes i certainly hi * wpe’ witb ph nly have mor ae of it. esting to uf a

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: BEE TERRIBLE TRUTH. ’ Miss Carteret, last evening, In relating how gallant- ly you had come to my rescue, and rendered the important service of vee gi my—to me—rather valu- able life. It appears you had never even hinted the fact among your friends.” ‘Nothing to boast of, my dear fellow, since, as I remarked to like effect before, you were in the fair- est possible see 6 of saving yourself. But now sup- Pose we go back to the original point. You are be- ing bored to death, to take your own word for it, here in New York.) ‘What do ‘wh sem toa month at Thornhurst, where we ail go for the Christmas festi- vities? I’ve been wanting to a ri itever since we met, but was almost afraid the attractions of the metropolis would prove too great an object against we can offer you: Thornhurst is a fine old place for all that. Not to compare with your Sussex parks and manors, Idare rely us a spot we are rather in- clined to be proud of. There’s some game of the Smaller sorts, plénty of liberty, and enough of the city element to accompany us, not to mention our Standard families there: bo you think you can re- sign yourself to the prospect, Sir Rupert?” Ph —e My dear Vane, nothing could delight me more, I can breathe again with that pleasure in eet and be reconciled meantime,” “Then I shali report you on the list. Mrs. Gra- hame and Miss Carteret have both been anxious to secure you among the number of our Christmas £uests.’ “A pretty little girl, that Miss Carteret, Vane,” remarked Sir Rupert, lighting a fresh cigar. ‘‘Do you mean to her?’ . ‘I? A deuced nice question for you to ask, that is. Ain’t I going the straight road to perdition fast enough without dragging a dainty piece of flesh and blood like Nora Carteret along with me?” | “ But you might stop on theroad, Vivian. Pardon ‘the liberty, my dear fellow, and allow me to say from what I’ve seen of late I fancy you absolutely need to put a check upon yourself.” Sir nee ps tossed away the freshly-lighted cigar and stood up, dropping his hand affectionately upon the other’s shoulder. It is not the habit among men to interfere with One another’s pursuits, whether of business or pleasure or licensed vice, and Vane Vivian knew only the sincerest depth of friendship prompted this approach to remonstrance. He was not untouched by it, but habit is a strong master, and he only an- swered, carelessly: “You never were more correct in your life, I dare say. I haven’t a doubt but Pll find a check sooner or later. The path lve been traveling of ‘reckless days and restless nights’ is apt to lead somewhere, and I'll find the end of it at the appointed time. By- the-by, don’t let any consideration for me stand in the way if you’ve any notion of falling in love with Nora yourself, Sir Rupert.” They were both at a brilliant dinner-party given by Mrs Grahame that same evening, in honor of Sir Rupert himself. He would leave for a short trip into the country on the following day, and Mrs. Grahame had determined that the dinner should eclipse any- thing of the sort which had gone before. Nora was at her fairest, as the baronet leaned over her chair during the evening, for Miss Carteret Was an exception to the modest Knglishman’s gener- al avoidance of the sex. A very pretty, attractive little girl, this Miss Carteret, was, and her greatest charm, in his eyes, was her lack of all affectation, her natural candor and truthfulness. _ “Lnever was more delighted with any youne. lady in my life,” Sir Rupert mused, running his fingers rete that rippling bronze beard, looking down upon the ‘bright, graceful: head, the fair outline of face, and snowy throat. “And least in love wit n regarding N very fine’ when I asked if you intended visiting Washington during the session there? And you were looking at me as though you might have been gazing ‘down the corridor of time,’ instead,” “And I have left my impression there quite ahead of time, I was not aware I had fallen dreaming, but you American young ladies are so remarkably wide awake that I must look sharp after myself. Has Vivian told you that I have accepted his invitation re vd ae Mah : ve scarcely pass ree words with Mr. Vivian all the evening, but Mrs. Grahame found op- whis>er the glad tidings, Let me com- portunity to mend the excellent taste you have dis layed, Sir Rupert. New York is de htful, but Thornhurst Surpasses it. There is only one drawback to my perfect enjoyment at either place.” ** And that is?” he asked. “Owen Dare. Thatmanis coming to be the dete noir of my existence. Sir Rupert, do you imagine o cole he contrives to exert over Vane is for The brown eyes looked up at him a trifle anxious- ly, while the dainty flush in the sensitive face deep- ened perceptibly. Really, [have notgiven Mr. Owen Dare credit for exercising any uence over Vivian. Vane is ‘not the sort of person to be influenced. I con- fess that I never took partic to Mr. Dare, how- ever, not even when I saw more of him than { have roan rat O Dare has wen. some against Vane. Iknow him to be a lieve him thoroughly unvrincivled. ’ > 44 Lhave caught him once or twice;Wwhen'he thotght himself unobserved, with a look in his eyes, nota | pleasant look, and one I am sure which bodes 1io good to Vane. I tried to warn him once, but,he would notlisten tome. You are his friend, Sir Rupert; if anyone can counteract Dare’s influence, you can. Persuade Vane to trust less freely in him, to put his loyalty to the test; at least to putit out of his power to poison Colonel Vivian’s mind against his son. I believe him fu eonebic of it.” **Do you fear that, Miss Carteret? That would be worse than. any influence he is apt to exert over Vane individually. Icannot imagine any good to come through warning him, however, Vane is one of those impulsive mortals who will stand by a friend the more faithfully for believing him malign- ed. Wemust hope it may not prove bad as you fear, Miss Carteret.” - At least there was’comfort in the fact that he had not gnety: ignored her cause for fear, as Vane had done. ere was comfort to Nora, also, in the knowledge that one person besides herself did not “take particularly’ to Owen Dare. All the rest, the abide Mrs. Grahame, Vane himself, considered Dare iminaculaie. “Sir Rupert!” It was Mrs. Grahame, gliding up to interrupt their ¢ete-a-ieie. ‘‘ Here are some of my guests absolutely complaining. they have not had a glimpse of the English lion yet. Nora, if you must monopolize Sir Rupert, you should choose a more prominent position, and so tify the laudable cu- riosity of our friends, indacts E must veto sequestra- tion such as this.” And Mrs, Grahame swept the baronet away from the quiet corner to take up the role he protested against—the lion of the evening. She was back. however, in a moment, before Nora. had stirred from the retired spot. ‘“ What has Sir Rupert been saying all this time, Nora?” she asked, sinking down into the vawut place. The natural failing of the sex, inquisitive- ness, was about the only failing which strict conven- tionality had not crushed out of that’ exemplary matron, She alsohada very thorough respect for aristocracy, titled aristocracy ini particular, and, aside from her favoritism for Dare, nothing could have proved more gratifying than for “the fairest debutante,of the season, Miss Carteret, so ably chaperoned by the stylish Mrs. Grahame, you ‘know,” to make the brilliant match of the season by securing this wealthy nobleman. es Well, for one thing, we were speaking of Vane.” ‘Reall » Nora, it would appear in better taste if you did not so persistently make that unhappy aed man the chief subject of your conversation. ou may rue your open—hem!—regard for him sooner than you can sup pOEe now.” “Tt appears to me that Vane is much the better for his association with Sir Rupert.” “Simply the reflex of what association with a gen- tleman of Sir Rupert’s culture and standing cannot fail to impart, no matter how unworthy the object may be, I have it from the best authority that Vane is in desperate danger of winding up his own career on the shortest possible notice. He is getting himself hopelessly involved again, and as patience eannot last forever, he will very probably find the colonel’s quite exhausted by this time.”’ ~ Your ‘best authority’ being, I presume, Mr. Owen Dare. That incomparable individual, as it chanced, formed the chief topic of our conversation -on this oceasion.” ‘““A muchmore proper subject than the other, my dear. I can eee you finding plenty to say of Owen Dare. Well?” ** Reversing his own particular rule, it was nothing ‘good of him, Sir Rupert apparently agrees with me in my appreciation of the gentleman. When the bottom of these reports regarding Vane is sifted, if i ever be sifted, you will not find Owen Dare blame- less.’ A moment after, when both ladies had deserted the half-concealed nook, a curtain near wavered and parted, and Owen Dare himself stepped from the aan concealment where he had med. to the whole free discussion of himself. The old adage that listeners hear no good of themselves was never more forcibly exemplified. : ‘Encouraging to a manof my hopes,” i Dare, following Nora’s retreating form. “‘ Positively, the little witch never looked lovelier than when she was denouncing me, And it will be a triumph I wouldn't willingly forego to break that fiery spirit to my own wishes. Sift to the bottom if you like, Miss Carteret, but never imagine Owen Dare so incautious as to be found there.” While many were rejoicing over the advent of Sir Rupert Archer, there were two seriously discon- eerted by it—Dare himself, and Colonel Vivian. The first, not quite at ease before the honest, keen-eyed baronet, was bitter at knowing the other’s deprecia- tion of himself; alittle fearful, too, of putting him- self in league against the Sussex noblemen—before the end. But a glance at Nora was enough to nerve him. “Help me, my clever genius and best ally— the devil—against all the world for her anu Tuvcn- hurst!”” So thought Dare, shutting his teeth over what was an unuttered vow, : The colonel was influenced by no prejudice against the young Englishman. On the contrary, he was stron, ly impressed in his favor, and proud af such a frend or his son. was engaged to day.. 5 Aer a : ; ) | i ‘ the: oa P oe a ay Et te ar ee fae « -had not even paved t CHAPTER Xit. : A PATENT PROPOSAL “THpRE’s no denying that you’ve been going straight to the devil for the last three years, Vane. I can’t say that I blame you so much for a little wildness. Young men of the day and your expecta- tions manage to put in a pretty heavy crop of wild oats generally. But I tell you I've made Up my. mind, once for all, that you’ve come to: the end of your tether.” “Quite a familiar remark, sir. Thisisthe third time you have made it in the mostdecided manner.” The colonel had come to this interview firmly de- termined to be moderate, to keep his unruly temper in check, and already that inflammable at- oes was ready to take fire on the smallest provo- cation. ; “Tl be hanged if you don’t find that I mean it at last, sir. I’ve ‘tel with your unfilial conduct, with our open disregard of my commands, for the last Sie; tell you. I gave you an inkling of what my expectations were when we talked of these affairs before. I can’t say whether youre proved yourself more obedient in keeping clear of these accursed bling hells and throwing your wang: 8 book into tho fire, as very strongly advised, or if you have kept your own course and got into some new trou- ble since, For your own sake i prefer believing the former. : Colonel Vivian had a shrewd suspicion that Vane ° had not so completely reformed but his own favor might be of considerable importance at this present. time. Hehad been indulgent; he had paid Vane’s debts twice, and had sworn roundly that not one penny more of his should ever be devoted to the same purpose; but it was a characteristic of the colonel’s never to mean one-fourth of what he said, and during the past night he had laid in his bed re- volving how he might raise any obligations since incurred in a private way provided the young man fell in readily with his wishes. For the present he was willing to ignore the possibility of any demand ~ upon him, F “Tt’s quite time you are settled down for good, Vane. It’s time, too, you are thinking of bring ing a mistress to Thornhurst, and the two con- ditions will work smoothly together. Marry and settle, and be done with this rattle-brain period to which you have given full enough of your man- $$$. ~ - al “By Jove you put it strong. Wouldn’t one of those conditions be enough to begin with?” ‘Be serious, Vane. I never was more earnest in my life than in proposing this. The sooner you are settled, the sooner Thornhurst the mistress it has long needed, the better for you and the more pleased I shall be.” ; = ‘Since you appear to have bestowed thought up on the subject, sir, perhaps you have already selee- . ted a mistress for Thornhurst.” There was no mark, either of compliance or dis- sent, in that indolent tone of Vane’s, He had a thorough respect for his father, but no fear of him, and had learned to meet his blustering moods in a non-committal, unimpassioned manner which gen- erally gained the best of their differences in the d . end, i “You are quite right, Vane. There is but one erson I would willingly receive in that capacity. 1 had hoped you might make the discovery of her fit- ness for yourself, and spare my interposition, The one person is Nora, and I have'’set my whole heart ~ on the consummation of this match,” “be “Very unwise, my dear father, to set your whole heart on anything in this vale.of tears,” said Vane, in that still provoking tone. ‘* Marry Nora,” he was bay “Well, why not? If he were only free of . these Shylocks who would not spare one single drop | of his: heart’s blood in pressing the fulfillment of. their bonds, such a prospect as this his father was proposing might have seemed quite as enticing as any other which could have presented. At three- and-twenty Vane Vivian honestly believed he | at all pe wae worth living; henceforth mig ag a tolerable existence with prime cigars, the best of “old wine, a sight of the relgning prima ; donna now and then, and a yacht for summer sail 7 ing as the chief inspirations to make life endurable. : A “sayin affectionate wife, such a bright little crea- ture as Nora, would not be a bad addition to the list. 2 It would hardly be just to her, Vane thought. He had taken that ea home to himself before ever they came to Thornhurst at all. He thought of Tagen en) Caos he x i. it in the cool, shado lor of Thornhurst, that sunny October day of home-coming. Norahad § __ burst upon him, a bright, enticing vision even neg | he had looked the not unreasonable probability chee, falling in love with her full in the face, andlookedit down with the hard, stoical reasoning with which he wa in the habit of crushing out his sentimentalim- pulses. “a A nice, spirited little thing, one that hecouldad- » — mire in spite of his aversion to leoninelocks,andone = who was deserving of a far better fellow than he w: ‘ apt to be for a husband. As to trifling witha natural thoroughbred like that, well, Dare had tried it on once, and seemed to have been worsted in his little game. No, he would look at and admire her as he might watch and admire a dainty, vivid, joyvus ~ humming-bird, culling its sweets he every fra~ — grant flower, but as love and ene were not for — im, Nora Carteret was safe from all devotion athig § hands. The situation reviewed itself before his — mind as he pe bay bre semen r tancat He ie more res | of her now tha not so . indeed; he had been making descent over the road which leads rept way leasantest time By far the since Ls Nino - cr | a > eS , Pet 4 ee ae Load ~4

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ha indifference, im) , Vane, Perhaps it ia “T mean to sa severything all pes. 3 rye it; I have nothing 12. ? THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. dangerous pleasures that had been wonderfully a with: hiss for three years past. But Nora 1ad learned a truer appreciation of him in this time, Mrs. Grahame had not left her in ignorance of his faults and follies, to call them by no harsher name, and she had exhibited faith in after all. Sup- pose he should present himself just as he was, and as she knew him to be, ask her.to take him for better or worse, and make no strenuous efforts to bias her inclination? Would that be doing her any injustice? Something more than its warmth beat into Mr, A raga heart, as he was inclined to reason a n ive. nlucky that the colonel’s temper gained the as- endancy again, He was ieved at Vane’s ap- tient at his long silence, in- ant at the slight it seemed to reflect upon his ward. “Tt takes you a long time to make up your mind, help you to consider that beg- gars can’t be choosers, and that is the interesting condition you will arrive at unless you shew some evidence of regaining sense speedily. Do you - suppose I am going to have Thornhurst squandered away by a roistering, dissolute vagabond? I’ve been too lenient with you before now. You’ve come to think you can turn the thumbscrews on me to ex- \ eae in ag oo h this foolish fondness I’ve in- Beiet t00 king. eavens, if * were twice my. “son and a thousand times more — than you are, you should turn a new leaf to your account right speedily. Take it this way, then—Nora as the stress of Thornhurst, and through her your o chance toit. Now, what do you say to my propo sir?’ There was a hot glow in the colonel’s face, and his -wrath had overcome all those good resolutions he chad held at starting. ; “T have this to say, sir, that it quite alters the easel’? Vane was scarcely moved from his indiffer- ence, but there was an alteration in his voice which should have warned the other. But the colonel was in no condition now to take the warning. “Ahal Ithoughtsol You are sensible at least in admi it just that frankly. It does alter the case, and it is to be hoped it may bring you to a nrope consideration of all you have been within a hair’s ‘breadth of losing. | a George! I’d endow a found- Fine hospital or turn Thornhurst into a home for the distressed, before it should follow the hundred thousand going for the vicious debts with which you have mana to saddle yourself up to this time. Nora is by far the least objectionable alternative, I take it, and rhe es if peer t sie a “a ciate your good luck, youpuppy!” The colonel feel- i hbaselé sceure in hauas gained his point, con- sidered it safe to work himself into a white heat now. His wrath was of the effervescent kind, which hay- ing ed the air, is bound to fizz itself away. ‘I want to know, father, if you were quite sincere in what you said just now. Doyou mean that you ‘would turn me out of my inheritance if I fail 4in this? I don’t say that I deserve anything better, ‘put can you mean that you will take another person oo entre me in your heart and home, even with the ce of all my faults against me?”’ thatI shallleave Thornhurst and else that I possess to Nora, unless = ome to time, marry her, and cut away comple ly trom your past course. You’re a lucky dog to save yo by so faira way. By Jove, I was doubt or a time whether Nora would take up with sucha | Saipan ppt Icouldn’t so much have blamed , andshe seemed anyt hints of your goings on which chanced to reach her.” A swift, an unworthy suspicion dashed into Vane’s brain, * Does Carteret know of this plan of yours? Does she know of your conditions r orn- me ___ “Nora knows what my hopes are, and she does not know anything of my intended disposition of the rap meth failing their fulfillment. I haven’t seen iit to tell her that, for Nora is too sensible a girl, I faney, to throw herself away upon such a scapegrace -as you would be if left to yourself. Nora’s by far t for you, Vane.” “So much too good that I shall never make the to drag her to my level. It would be a pity : ent of Thornhurst by the single exception she might find in me. Leave it to her by means; cut me off without the traditional shilling ; to say in defense of my- ’ } but Iwould no sooner try to win Nora Carteret through the mistaken impression that she can ‘Thornhurst only by taking me than I would pay the price of Thornhurst by taking her.” Vane roseas he spoke, an indignant flush creeping into his cheek, his eyes lit, his lip curled. A slow purple succeeded the rubicund glow in the colonel’s ace. “ What do you say, sir?” he demand chokingly. “That T decline the honor of oterng myself as a | ‘Miss Carteret’s husband on any condition. She will be readily consoled by the fack of my unworthiness -—and Thornhurst.” A volley broke from the lips of Colonel Vivian. “By heavens, you scoundrel, you will regret this! _ And it is for this I’ve borne with you, for this I haye puilt all my hopes for years! your own road; take the consequences, and confound you forthe worst idiot this side of heaven!”’ Colonel Vivian dic not mean to reflect upon the inhabitants of that ce- Jestial sphere, but he was inclined to pear and econ very often got the better of his discretion. “‘Take yourself out of my sight, sir. Never set your foot under roof of mine unless you come into posses- sion of your senses anda proper idea of what a son’s duty should be, Lord knows I’ve found smail 4 - ‘i ” _ gnough comfort through having a son. . . “Spare yourself any further reproaches, sir. I . ATS. ¥ { ' 1 * y / ( but favorable with the | shall not set foot within your doors without an invi- tation from you, rest assured.’ He inclined his head and walked out of the room, a as the old soldier himself, “Be sure it will be long coming, yeu conceited te young hound! I'll break him! Tul 8 1s am to have defiance flung in my teeth like s Nora floated out from the drawing-room as Vane ‘was stridi are pe practice me re id Vane looked down at her with hard, flas eyes, He was bitter against her at that moment, r fair face was a fair mask hiding the mercenary spirit beneath; she had disliked him he remembered now; she had only changed of late, aud he had really be- lieved her the frank, childlike creature she seemed, **T claim the honor of having played mae 5 last duet with Miss Carteret; let me hope so at least.” He bowed slightly and eee on. easing the hand she had put out tohim, leaving Nora hurt and wonder- ing. ‘He has been quarreling with the colonel,” she thought, “but itis no reason he should cut mein that way. What has it been about, I wonder?” She went back to her music, but it had suddenly lost its charm, and presently she left it to seek the colonel in the library where his interview with Vane had been held, and where he was raging yet like some old lion in a e. ‘‘ What does this mean, I want to know Colonel Vivian?’ demanded Nora, from the doorway. “There, you needn’t tell me; you've been quarreling with Vane, What for, Isay?” The colonel subsided as he always did in Nora’s presence, throwing himself heavily into a chair. “Ts that you, child? Comein and shut that door if you like. head is aching to split now thatI think of it.” **T should think it would ache. Now then, what has the trouble been? It’s shameful the way you will persist in provoking Vane; you won’t even let him be good when he tries.” ‘““The dickens I won’t! He’s a confounded Puppy. Nora, and he don’t deserve anything from you. t him go to the dev—anywhere he likes, as I shall do.” “Now, guardian, you should never let your angry passions rise, you know. Vane may not deserve anything from me, but he does’ merit some tolera- tion from you. Do you intend to tell me what-the trouble has been, Colonel Seymour Vivian, or will you drive me to him? Iam determined to know.” | Tye done what I should have done ages ago, sent the rascal about his business. I'll have nothing more to do with the scapegrace. I wouldn’tturn my hand over to save him from Sing Sing after this,” ** But what has he done?” / ‘“‘ Defied all my wishes and gone directly against | all my hopes, Nora. He has thrown away every | chance I have given him to redeem himself, and now he betrays the last trust I placed in him. He's shaken all my ae the insolent churl vows I ma; disinherit him before he'll marry you, Nora, and I’ do it, by George!” | “What? What is this you are talking about, Colo- | nel Vivian?’ The slender form straightened, the brown eyes looked amazement full upon 4 **J—hem!—you know what Ihave ho for you and Vane, Nora. Lisa Grahame said she hadn’ta | doubt you would throw yourself away upon him | and I—well, I was sure you cared enough for me, if not for him, to do it; but he don’t deserve even a thought from you. There’s a deuced sight better fish in the sea that’s never been caught.” “ Colonel Vivian, do you mean you have been try- ing to dispose of me without ever asking my con- sent? In that case I must be eternally grateful to your son for refusing me. You must tell me just how the case stands, and you must make it up with Vane if this quarrel has been on my account. Diary him to me against his will! or with it, for that ma ter, Thank you, Colonel Vivian, but I never could think of sey to such a patent, ready-made mar- riage, not ifidie an old maid, and I do abhor old maids,” 7 CHAPTER XIrl. P “PROM THIS HOUR I HAVE NO SON!” Mr. Owen Dare leaned back in his chair, his toes upon the fender, his eyes very thoughtful and com- | assionate ia expression fixed upon his companion, t was near the close of a lowering, gray, early | December day, the same which witnessed the blast of the preceding chapter. A sea coal fire burn- ed cheerily in the grate, casting a red glow over the two silent, motionless forms. lt was a comfortable | situation, and one Dare was prepared to thoroughly enjoy for all the tender concern so aptly pictured in | his countenance. + tlenting stretched at length upon a lounge, his head upon his arm and moody face turned fixedly toward the fire, lay. Vane Vivian. Dare had found him there, half an hour before, had addressed a few remarks to him, eliciting monosyllabic replies, and : relapsed into the silénce which suited best the other’s mood. He was the first to stir at last, after waiting vainly for some recognition of the sympathy he ! ee sony ee eget ome’ as been going amiss, Vane.. Whatis it?” I haven’ m loo ‘ month, and, °* more su; t seen you look so downcast for a nm honor, that dolorous visage is a ve than agreeable sight. What's gone wrong, my dear fellow?” Vane moved and flung himself upon his elbow sul- i" 4 ‘ esr ae donkey,” the colonel flung after him, ‘‘The dog, the | Insubordina | It’s the pioeee sort of retribution of course, and ¥ “Don't pretend to be a guy, Dare! ‘Youknow well — as Ido that i have been saying for the last three years ey ry » and there isn’t a doubt about ppoceie ng in the right of it. The devil of it is, they’re ready enough to drive a fellow all wrong, but never willing to help right him again, for one § never grumble, take it asa dis’ ation, and all that. Fit subject for the morality of the lesson, am I not?” ‘‘ Not in that bitter mood I am afraid.” He spoke op eeiting aside the other’s sneering inflection y vity. ** Don’t you begin to lecture a reform,” said Vane, . “You asked what was amiss, I believe. Only that I’ve got into a fix so tight that I can’t by any ena 2 get out again. worksite ae given me my w Z papers, or as an may as” a Seen ae or dope ear Vane, don’t let yourse! 4 nd~ ent. tthe colonel is never as paaente as he ap- pears. He will be the first to make up this quarrel, if it has been a quarrel, mark my words!” ‘*T know his peculiarities far better than you can, and I tell you he will never see me through this scrape as he has done with others, I have nothin to say against him, mind; the sooner heis well rid o such an unworthy oe ta emgage the better, and i ma ask him for help now if a word would bring Dare looked at him keenly. You don’t censure him, but very evidently there is some one you do censure. You are not dealing f with me; you have kept something back, My own ability to give you aid is very limited; but, een fellow, there is no one who will devote him- self more faithfully to your cause. Js that haughty ride going to hold me off at arm’s length, Vane?’” here was mournful reproach and asense of will | ful _ ury in Mr. Dare’s tone. ; = ink you can scarcely help knowing what has been kept back, Dare. You’ve been so Shick with the colonel and at the house that you were probably taken into confidence. It was hardly friendly not to have given me a warning.” “Now, by George! you are absolutely unkind, 2 haven't the least intimation of what you intend to convey. “Didn’t you know anything of this plet the colo- nel has been concocting, his pet scheme of ‘marry- ing me to his ward, who has ousted me from his affections it appears? You were in love with her once, [remember, as much in love as you are ever apt to get, so I don’t expect any sympathy in telling youl have refused her and With her Phicmnlbcet and all its belongings.” “T suspected something of this sort, Vane; I could not help seeing how Miss Carteret has man- aged to work herself into your father’s good graces, My surprise is that she has succeeded so well and so quickly in her cunning game.” Vane’s eyes left the fire to rest for amoment upon © Dare, in cold questioning. “You appear to have misunderstood me, I men- tioned it as the colonel’s scheme. I absolve Miss Carteret from any active share init. It is simply a plan to reform and domesticate me to the approved state of the animal, man, but I have an ckjecion to bein, disposed of in that way, unfortunately. don’t deny being cut up a trifle in — to the re- sult. Iam not quite reconciled to being swept out of my place so penpcecteer tens but in the abstract itis precisely what I deserve asf have taken occasion to remark.’ “A moment ago you ‘found no fault’ with the colonel; now you ‘absolve Miss Carteret,’ and it is very clearly evident that cuuse for censure lies be- tween them. Ican look at the affair with more im- eeeeat, more just eyes than you, my dear boy. I ll you I suspected it before. Aman in that youn lady’s position would be called a fortune-hunter, ae most any other woman an adventuress; but it is best for you to see the matter leniently as you can.”’ “Upon my word, I supposed you would be ready to jump at the merest chance of getting her, and here you’ are traducing her until es obliged to speak in her favor.” : “Thave admired Miss Carteret, Vane. She is no worse in her sphere than I have beenin mine. We are both poverty’s favorites, and she is not so much to be blamed for aspiring to Thornhurst. You'll never know, until you have been there, the misery of knowing yourself habitually hard up.” “Tm apt to find it out soon enough. And there is a difference between this cage and yours, suppos- ing of course you allude to your interest in the Ferguson-Hayes affair. The gushing Augusta flun herself and her eighty thousand fairly enough at: our head. Iam not so liberal as to care nothin or the threatened loss of my inheritance, but am worse hurt at finding myself supplanted in my father’s heart. I have been lying baie all af- ternoon looking my own situation in the face, and I tell youitis hopeless. You had better cut adrift from me with the rest in time to save yourself.” He was relapsing back to his first’ morbid indif- ference. The hard thoughts which were keeping him company had brought visible lines into the darkly moody face, A desperate man, without hope, that was what Dare saw in him and his trea¢herous heart thrilled exultingly. ‘T have been talking of this freely to you, Owen,” said Vane, in something of his old frank, affection- ate manner, *‘more freely than I am apt to ever speak of it again. I haven't ma —_ out any course: for myself yet; but lam pec | ening myself ina good resolution never to touch the dice again. I'd vow it by all that’s sacred at this minute # I were out of the clutches of the Shylocks. I’m nearly de- termined as it is to-make a turning point if lonly { ‘ ; , 4 4 a ey et b _—— tua ae ant ee

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ii knew how to - Wotch.” EY “You'll come out right yet, my dear fellow. Don’t despond just now; the colonel is sure to re- lent, however hard he may seem, and his ward is tolerably sure to overreach herself if she counts on his rash threat of to-day. Take my word for it, olonel Vivian repent his harshness and be ready to retract in less than three days, Rouse up and dressfor the evening, Vane, Stir yourself out of this [ior anoe mood, Suppose we go around to Niblo’s get the brakes down to the requisite lor another sight of the Black Crook?—new features in the so! anarg I believe. What's this—Madeira? oh, brandy. As @ general thing I wouldn’t advise pe a you'll be the better for some stimulus just He had turned to a little stand where a smoke-col- Qred bottle stood, untouched, with glasses _ beside it. ane watched him fill one. to the brim, and_tossed it off when it was offered him with the recklessness Which had carried him into excesses often before this. Shadows were creeping thick into the rocm. Dare applied a match to the gas, and came back to his seat fore the fire. “Shall it be Niblo’s?” he asked., “‘Or have you 80mething better to propose?” “That as well as any thing. I was about to decline going out, but I have reconsidered. If Sir Rupert were in town now, I’d not be at any loss how to spend € evening.” “Thanks to my patron saint that Sir Rupert is a hundred miles away,” thought Dare. “The young idiot would have confided in him rather than me, but r that, Some hours later they strolled out from Niblo’s, arm-in-arm. The eyening was not half over, bub . ‘they had seen the “spectacle” perhaps a dozen times before this, and Vane was too restless to re- main quiet long, T think Ishall go to my room and to bed,” he Said, as they stepped upon the pavement, “I’ve managed to work myself into a small fever this af- ternoon, No, don’t call a carriage unless you object to walking yourself.” Dare did not et pel They both lit cigars, and the keen wintry air of the streets changed Vane’s incli- eae} A> “It’s too early to go home yet,” he decided. “Su bose we go in here fora inomnerit” is Dare glanced up at the front of the tall building, which was not lighted, and drew back. Thadn’t the slightest intention of coming this way, he said, hurriedly. “You had better not, ¥ Vane. I’ve been revolving the question of your diffi. culties while we were walking here, If you can bring yourself to do it, my boy, why not accept the colonel sterms? It is not too late yet, and in that case it will certainly be better to cuf such places as this eit the very first. Laie Vane,”’ serve me from eyer thinking, if it leads me to ping he broke out, irritably. “ You're a prince of F=40) fellows, Dare. You have never once said, ‘T told you so,’ since I’ve got to the bottom of the it, and no one else ever warned more faithfully than you. Itell youI wouldn’t save Thornhurst to my- self in that, way if a thousand times more depended Uuponit. I’m going in to try my luck once more and no matter what the restilt may be, I swear o against the vice forever after; I can’t be any worse cornéred, and there’s a chance of winning enough to yee th Sen Ba I get some plan ahead.” Ps othi life ‘worth living for better than_his Gears, ae wines, his pleasures of the day, Vane ho an had thought, and here he was hanging his pi ib Tie ce a feverish chance as has snapped quits tk € before now. Youthful vitality is never strupele Pees Bever quite willing to give up the D Be: @ however misdirected its efforts may be. thee : ollowed him in through dim paareee, where pete Ootfalls were lost in the thick pile of rich car- : rene WP Some broad, shallow steps, and into a in is eiitee the burst of sudden light was dazzling with apes liancy, a lofty, frescoe eled room, ble teablen persons loitering there, There were mar- with ite tered about, and a sideboard loaded ving silver, where wines ruby and amber ed in crystal flagons, Vane ar proached and helped himself liberally; afterward the two youn men passed through int’ : § here ies the first t Oo an adjoining room, an came apparent, he true character of tho place be- A silence, broken by the sha: i h monotonous repetition of numbers py dhs hae Vicinity of a baize door, behind which a faro-bank vas located, reigned here, Dare remained in the ackground while Vane approached one of the ta- es and flung himself into a vacant place, A player opposite glanced up and nodded. : seat oing to take your revenge to-night, Mr. Vivi- “Either that, or your friend M. offs books as a dead letter." ey tgs . er shed one of those cold-bluoded chilling Ja) ire Father than a man ch should belong to a vampire “My friend Moses seldom does business in that be he answered, “gy “ Young gentlemen one ilk don’t run the risk of imprisonment for 080s ig nop ory, On false pretenses. My friend O% - 1s not apt to lose through you, Mr. Vivian.” his e's safe until midnight,” thought Dare, from a Place near the entrance. '“You are in a tight x, you confidin low oan, ear if you don’t find Hecgam in a tighter one within the next few hours, . oes will be one more disappointed man than your- -_ Colonel Vivian had just come in from the street, and was divesting himself of his great-coat in thé eG vinnie entices tag, be cari ‘ply to t e door: uu ) rae had admitted him a moment peters. V Xow, Dare, he said, with a breath of relief. _ <a aeleke © Me ae, * “I’ve just come from your quarters=trom Vane’s rather. Where is the rascal now? ‘I'hey toid me there you had both gone out for the evening. Great heavens, man, what is the matter?” : He had caught sight of Dare’s face in the glare of the halllight, and a great thrill of dread shot to his heart lest something terrible had befallen Vane. Nora had had her own way before their interview of the morning was concluded. She had extorted an unwilling promise from him that he would make friends again with Vane. Misgivings as to the per- fect wisdom of his own course had crept into his mind during the day. He meant what he had said in the main. He’d be hanged if he’d retract from a Single condition. Vane should marry Nora, provid- ora would take him, of which he was by no means so sure, or he should never set foot upon Thornhurst as presumptive heir. But it had been the worst of policy, he must admit that, to come to an open outbreak with his son. Nora was right so far; he would make up with Vane, recall him to the house again, and trust affairs to come right in the end. Get the boy’s anger set—pure Vivian i ad he had, and worse than Vivian obstinacy—and Lu- cifer himself couldn’t be expected to foresee what lengths he might take. Owen Dare had very obedient facial muscles at his command, and his countenance at first sight was Failid and startled to a degree which might pardon he colonel’s ready fear. “Nothing to alarm you, Colonel Vivian,” he an- swered, composing himself as if with an effort, “You have just come in. Put on your coat again and come with me, sir. Nothing—no harm that is— has happened Vane, but i think you had better come to him. I will explain on the street, and let me sug- gest it will be needless to arouse the ladies’ anxiety.” The colonel had made a motion to approach the drawing-room door, but turned back, resuming his great-coat and hat. “Now then,” he said, huskily, and went out at- tended by Dare. Notwithstanding the latter’s as- surance that no harm had befallen Vane, he felt it was a sophistry to calm his fears, and his rush of remorseful emotion in that moment was a keen ago- ny, before which the old soldier shrunk, he who had never quailed before bullet or sword. ‘Tell me what it is—the worst,” he demanded, as they descended the steps, with almost a groan, “ What has my unhappy oy been doing, Owen?” Before the colonel’s shuddering inner ie was & picture of his son, limp, lifeless, with a pistol by his side and a bullet through his skull—a suicide. 0. why had he not thought sooner of the probability o such a result? He felt like a murderer himself, but he was straight as any oak, showing no trace of emotion, except in his pale, set features. *“You are unnecessarily alarmed, Colonel Vivian. You are fancying Vane has done himself some harm but he has not—yet. Ifear he isin just the state to do so, and that is why I failed to consider his wishes and came for of esr ‘I found him in a_ desperate, mone ae Sota Ler cpa pene He dl ea since, an m in a gambling hell, eimai he insisted on going, I believe with the idea of retrieving his late losses, or ending all on the spot.” He called a passing hack as he ceased speak- i The two got in, the vehicle rolled on its way down-town, and scarcely another word was exc = ed between them until they reached the tall, dar building, whose portal had opened many a time too often to Vane, “Will you Pei me if I advise you not to judge him too harshly?’ said Dare, then. ‘I don’t know how true itis, but I heard some one in there say he had been raising money on a post-obit in your name, for Heaven’s sake, don’t let any whisper of a dis- turbance get afloat if the worst I fear e averted; those fellows who have him in their clutches are merciless as death. Come; we can’t be near him too soon; and if he appears much excited, be cau- tious about presenting yourself suddenly, sir.” An oath, more frightful than even the colonel’s oaths generally were, was crushed between his set teeth in a fierce mutter, an utterance which Dare discreetly failed to observe. Vane had been raising money on a post-obit. He had been counting on his death as the price to relieve him from the results of his own wicked folly! So help him, angels of heaven, and demons of the bottomless depts of the bottomless pit, he would never relent now, had he ever been inclined before. From this hour he would recognize no son, The thick, grizzled mustache quivered for one instant, the sharp agony of bitterest disappoint- ment pierced his soul! Could it be his own son, the brave, bright, willful boy he had idolized despite his grave faults, bartering the chances of his life, con- sidering the father who had loved him with unwise tenderness as nothing by the side of his own pleas- ures and vices? It wasatrace of weakness passing swiftly, which left the colonel hard as iron, his features locked in an icy calm more terrible in him than the.utmost passion of rage. Unconscious of the im steadily: tuck, to-night, Mr. Vivian,” said the yam- pire opposite. ‘Do you double again?” “ le!?? Whe tetas were dealt, there was a breathless moment, and then Vane flung himself back, with a von bate lost again,” said the vampire, with a scarcely concealed sneer. ‘Tl take your note for | ty thousand, Mr. Vivian.” Me you've taken all you'll ever get from me,” cried nding thunderbolt, Vane | Vivian was playing recklessly, losing heavily and | THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. Vi hotly. ‘Iswear I’ll never touch a card again | whit i re “What has he lost?” asked the soldierly old gen- tleman, ae eat just entered, in a constrained voice “\ ' r ‘ayas wal { j monotonous 43 of one of the crowd of bystanders who had beem being cy Np game. “ Mon Dieu ! twenty t’ousand at von seeting,” said the other, with French shrug and accent, “Two times more and ten, feefty t’ousand on ze books of what you call‘our friend Moses.” (el / ze young ae an as ie ant ony eae 8 hardly in honor to refuse givi our note Mr, Vivian,” cut ‘in the sharp tone of the Taaipiee: . “Take it and welcome if you care for that much worthless paper,” retorted Vane, “I tell you you’ve plucked me of my last dollar. Neither you nor your friend Moses are likely ever to see’the color of your money.” The sarcastic laugh of the latter was cut short by a voice, deep, stern, changed almost from recogni- tion to the familiar ears it fell upon, “This young man has spoken the truth if he ever did in his life. If you have claims on him, take them out of him the best way you can. I swear not one penny shall be extorted from me to save him from perdition! From this hour, I have no sen! Not one tithe of all I own shall ever go to him; he is no more to me than the merest beggar in the streets,” Vane wheeled, and for one instant saw the colo- nel’s face, unchanging in its rigid ar in the strange, quiet sternness come upon it. For one in- stant; then the colonel turned and walked away without even yvouchsafing him a glance. A dizzy blindness rushed over him; a sea of red fire swam before his eyes; he raised his arm with uncertain motion. Dare, who had pressed to his side, knocked up his hand, and a bullet shivered a ground-glass shade over their heads. “Not that yet, my friend,” said Dare, coolly, ssessing himself of the pistol which fell from ane’s unnerved fingers. CHAPTER XIV. AT THE RECEPTION. Ir was past eleven when Colonel Vivian returned to the house. The brave old soldier’s step never fal- tered, his tall form was erect as ever, but the s est thrust of all his life had been struck home him. He went on to his nce and it was pref Wd the merest chance that Nora had a. glimpse of h: face, set, rigid, eed pale, as it had been under the glare of the gaslights in the gambling hall. The family had not retired, but she had with- drawn from the parlors and gone above stairs when the colonel’s familiar tread sounded in the hall, and she waited in her open door. That sight of his face gave her a thrill of dread and awe, and he passed without seeing the slight form leaning against the lintel, so near that she might have touched him, “Something has happened,” oo Nora, with- drawing slowly into her room. “Something has happened, and it is reg Vane! I never saw such a look upon the colonel’s face before, 6 has that poor fellow been driven todo? Iwas sure my went out to-night.” That was a long night of suspense to Nora. Strain- ing her ears, she could hear the colonel’s heavy, tramp up and down his own and somehow it seemed that her own heart was be- ing crushed under it. What did it forebode to Vane? Something terrible, she was very sure. It was no ordinary wrath,fierce and passing,she bad readin,her — guardian’s face; it was an implacable determina- tion, a crushing out suddenly of all the hope and buoyancy which had been reflected there. Once when it. seemed she could stand it no longer, had thrust her little bare feet into slippers, thrown a wrap about her shoulders, and gone a through the passage to listen at door. | changeless tramp, wae a up and down, but — except that and her own heart-beats, the silence of death reigned Leta per the house, She did not dare interrupt him then, and crept back to her room with her own fear intensified. She down upon her bed and slept fitfully, the same unformed dread er aoe a te instal ie en, e gray of day: 8 mth, © cur- tains when she awoke. She was unrefreshed, and the chill light of early pw as she drew back the draperies and glanced out upon the mist and fog, only seemed to make more vivid the specters of the night. The heavy tread had ceased in the colo- nel’s chamber. She be he might be asleep at last, and drawing on a dressing-robe, went through the passage to listen at his door a ners Sse all was uiet within, An oriel window was fast ag are ; she lingered in it, gazing up at the sky where faint rosy streaks p: ed the sunrise, vainly to lero Hie the great dread of evil which had fastened upon her. ‘The door at her back opened suddenly, and she turned to see Colonel Vivian standing there. Ie had not undressed during the night. His eyes were dull and heavy, his face altered and worn, until he look- ed ten years older than when she had seen him last. “Ts that you, Nora?” he ‘asked. ‘* What are you doing there at this hour? Go back to your bed, child, before you take to death of cold.” : She sprung to his side, laying both her hands upon his arm, and his gaze shifted from the wistful young face turned up to him asif in pain. ‘ “What is the matter pag Something has happened—what is it? Ihave hardly slept through knowing how disturbed you were.” ; “Go back to your room and don’t w: Nora. I have been restless; I am scarcely well; I'll come all right during the day.” , Dy : guar-— ished that word to meagain. I have no oa For all time henceforth Ihave no, son, Never breaiiis: 4 guardian was ready to forgive him when he | chamber, “ ~ ee

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must know how «ake his name to me; never remind me that such a person i You are the only child I will ever know | made the breach between Colonel Vivian and his | Son. “Tf Sir Rupert were only here,” thought Nora, ‘ Ba mn guardian, don’t speak so bitterly of wishfully, ‘he could discover the truth and do more our only son—don’t judge him too hardly. Sti x, you are po ian lt you are doing him in- ce . : “ Nevers his name to me again while we both live. He is dead tomeas tho six feet of earth basirm on top of him, Better think of him so than as eis. He drew back and shut the door sharply in her face. Oh, what could have brought this change to him, the generous old man, to anger, but al- ways ready to forgive? Her heart sunk like lead. She had never feared his boisterous passions, She feared him now, in this intense, deadly calm. She did that morning what she had avoided doing for a fortnight past—met Dare alone, Mrs. Grahame was not yet down; she never was down until the fashionable world stirred from its state of ante-me- | ridian st: cy, and Dare had come unfashionable early, in the vague hope of part pa this meeting, “Phad hardly hoped for such a favor,’ he said. ““Your favors have been few and far between, Miss Carteret; you have amazed me by the magnitude of this one,’ I don’t want either compliments or sarcasms, Mr. Dare. Iwant you to tell me what Vane Vivian has been doing since he was here yesterday. You know, ‘if any one does. Have you been instrumental in a the cause of disturbance between his ‘ather him?” “From any one but you the question would be an insult, and you do me serene to think it, Nora. You should know how faithfully I have endeavored to cover Vane’s shortcomings; pextiy because of our old friendship, partly, of late, 1 must confess, from a more selfish motive—because I ce hae you would approve. Even I have not been able to reconcile self to Vane’s course of late.”’ ‘You are'willing he should be reconciled to sit, then? You have not told me what I asked: what has hedone? What has imbittered the colonel so against him since he went out last night?” ‘Miss Carteret, pardon me! You wish to think well of Vane, Mine shall not be the lips to tell you,” , “You mean to convey the worst by that. I ask, I command you, by all the regard you have ever ex- pressed for me, to me the truth.” ow Snepprecsibly fair she looked, in his eyes, as she stood there, giving utterance to her command so ously! She was plainly attired in a morning- ray, with linen bands at her throat the bright hair loosely coiled about head, and he had never watched her urtive, gloating eyes, ; j Carteret. commands, her most faithful servant has nothing left but to obey.’? Something under his servile manner, which seemed to her fine { tions insulti somethi linking himself with er, feonett the hot bloo tingling to her h earnest to cheeks, but she was too thonoyst ly swerve from her purpose now. ‘He has been gam- bling, but that is no news to you. He has involved himself over head and ears debt, with not the slightest chance of getting out, now that the colonel : | asia wita him—broken for good, I very much . Lear, “Thatis not all,” said Nora, as he knew all that before. Go on, Mr. Dare. “That is not all, unfortunately. Do you know _ what a post-obit is, we Carteret ? I see you do. Well, it appears that Vane has been raising money to | pinot wp Haase gambling-debts by a post-obit.. The | colonel ered it by chance last night, and he | las renounced his son, he swears forever! I really think he means it more earnestly than he ever meant any thing in his life before. It was a cruel cut, after all cg means Vane.” ‘“*T don’t believe it,” she said, her clear eyes look- | ing him through, and he bore their scrutiny un- | flinchingly. ‘It is true, nevertheless, Judge for yourself of | paused, | tA his d tion when I tell you that he tried to shoot | ~hims' after they had met in a gambling-den, | where, with his customary recklessness, he ha been adding tothe burdens he already bore. Tried _to shoot himself, and probably would have succeed- ed but for me. That is one debt of gratitude I may : expect to claim from you, Miss Carteret.” | _. “think if the truth were told it is more than | counterbalanced. How did Colonel Vivian come to be in sucha place?’ He is not in the habit of fre- | uenting gambling dens. You took him there, | ‘Gwen Dare, just as you have,managed all the bitter | misunderstanding between them, I do believe.” | “You are plain-spoken and not. charitable, Miss Carteret. The time will come when you will give me | greater credit.” : ; A, iy will if you deserve it, without a doubt.” | _ “You seem to hate me, Nora; and I—I don’t | merit your hate. I would sacrifice my life, if need- | ful, to your happiness.” | Nora. | Vivian’s mandate that the subject should be dropped | he came. | @ man’s misery when he’s in_the last ditch. | than any one else.” It was five long days before Sir Rupert’s return; Five long days of suspense, during which things visible were. scarcely changed. The pleasures of the day and night went on the same. The only ‘change at the up-town mansion was. that Vane no longer came there, and his name had been dropped as i with one accord by its inmates. No one seem- | ed to care for his fate, always with one exception— And even she was forced to respect Colonel from discussion. “Oh, if only Sir Rupert woula come, and at last It was in the midst of crowded reception-rooms that Nora saw him first. He made his way to her side, enial, frank, with no shadow upon him; very,clear- y knowing nothing, of the evil which had come to his friend. ““T want to speak to you of Vane,’ she whispered, ‘“and I can’t here,”’ “Take my arm. I will find my way out of the crowd,’ he answered, in the same voice, and in two minutes more they stood alone in a nook of the con- servatory, secure from interruption. , ‘*Havejyou not heard through him?” she asked. ‘‘ Have you not seen him?”’ ‘‘Thave just returned and came here almost di- rectly. Ihave heard nothing, seen no one. What is it about Vane? Irecall a whisper or two in the erowd, but nothing definite,” “Heis in very deep trouble, Sir Rupert, The colo- nel has cast him off, and everybody else seems to follow his example. The old story of when one is started down the hill.” And then she told him all in substance she had learned regarding that scene in the gaming saloon, repeating her own conviction that Dare was at the bottom of the worst. “T have not been able to learn what Vane has done since, The colonel has had no communica- tion of any kind with him; he will not even porsié his name to be mentioned in his presence, I can’t believe Vane bad as he is represented, whether he has been guilty of all these things or not. He been driven to them; he has a good heart, I am sure. You are his friend, Sir Rupert, and I know that you will not desert him.” “T never will,” declared Sir Rupert, warmly. “You are right in your estimation of him, Miss Carteret, He is a noble fellow, whatever his faults or his follies may have been.” “T don’t know if there is any way in which he can be saved from his creditors. Mrs. Grahame said once that he could be imprisoned for obtain: money on false pretenses, and I don’t know whai other harm may threaten him; the worst Pos 9 from himself. Oh, Sir Rupert! how hopeless must have been to attempt his own life,’’ She shuddered, and he observed how pale the pure, sensitive face had wh. Could Vane have seen her there, pees his cause with the one man she knew to be true to him, all her best sympathies enlisted for him in the dark path he was traversing, who can tell how much of the still darker future |- might have been spared? Rupert, looking down upon her, thought nat au form. “Tf he is not yet saved and Pl to you that he is worthy of your trust, it will be because no earthly poset will avail,” he said earnestly. ut he shall be saved, Miss Carteret,” CHAPTER XV. WHO PAID, THE DEBTS. TuEsE five days bad been days of intolerable agony to Vane Vivian. He had remained close to his own gparemen denying himself even to Dare, waiting the result he felt must come soon: the action of his creditors, Waiting in sullen desperation rather than attempt to fly from them, as any other man might have done. ” Tt was very nearly midnight, and he was still sitting before his fire at despairing, when a knock sounded at his door, anda servant appeared at his answer. “ A gentleman to see you, sir, if you have not re- tired. Very important, or 1 wouldn’t have disturbed you, sir.” “Haven't I said that I would see no one? Tell the person so.”’ : ‘* You will see me, Vivian.’”” The gentleman had followed close in the servant’s wake, and stepped forward to speak for himself. “It is late; but you will pardon that in the anxiety which would not let me wait.” ° ‘Sir Rupert! Idonotmneed to say how welcome you are. I thought it was one of those cursed. med- dlers who are always ready to intrude and gloat over This is womanly faith had never taken a more A much less sacrifice will suffice for that, so far | kind of you. Of course you know?” as you are concerned—the sacrifice of these atten- tions which you pores in forcing upon me. You) istasteful they are to me.” five up all “‘No temptation could induce me to : e there is hope in that way, Nora. While there is nope, and it must be so with me.”’ “Yes, I know, Vane. I heard the story of your misfortunes scarcely an hour ago.” “Misfortunes? You are very lenient. The results of my recklessness deserve a far harsher name, At | twenty-three Iam a ruined and hopeless man through | my own folly. A cheerful prospect before me know- cut the interview short after that. She was ing that, is it not? I wonder what the end to such a : Vivian’s friend; sh ‘ = ; once when she had almost persuaded herself e had cause, she had not quite overcome that lik- i ee abat, he was in trouble, when others were turni against him, she was his friend, true . and firm. | § elt that this man was his enemy, , ler own dislike of him multiplied acco ly.. | owever true or false his story might be, he ing, and now fe Or ue : ehad liked him from the | career is apt to be?” dear fellow, you are discouraged now. Be is or sure a is some way out of your difficulties. It is to help you find it that I have come here to-night. _ Will'you tell me. just how you stand, keeping nothing | back? “For what good,,Sir Rupert? Whether it is a , thousand or a hundr thousand, it ic all the same to ‘ | said Sir Rupert, gently. 4 me. Thaven’t the hope of raising a penny. Do you know, I might be turned out of my lodgings here but that I chanced to pay the quarter in advance?” _‘*Not so "bad but it mi be worse, I dare say. Let me tell you. what.I have heard, and you can signify how much of it is true. In the first case, is it a fact that you have been raising money on a post- obit?” . Vane buried his face in his hands with a groan. ‘* My dear fellow, I am not here to blame you,” “Don’t you suppose I un- | derstand that you were driven to it?” Vane lifted his haggard face and looked forward | into the coals, a quiver which he could not suppress. for a moment about his lips. ; ‘**T don’t deserve such friendship as yours. It’s all true. Iwas involved, and getting deeper every day, and those night-brokers were. the first to propose it tome. Iwas the heir to Thornhurst; why not clear inyself of embarrassments through my future pros- pects? They knew their business, and put it that way. Let them advance me fifty thousand now, and the return should be eighty thousand when I came into my inheritance, with so much percentage to in- crease with the ratio. of years. have shuddered with horror since, to think how I set up money by the side of my father’s life, but I did not think of it so then. I ay my debts with that money, and squandered the little which was left slong with my regular allowance, and became involved for twenty thousand more, in the vain hope that luck might turn. I knew what I might expect when my father declared he would disinherit me. I have signed my- self in a Shylock bond, and I look for no mercy, I don’t know what the worst be, but that is what Ihave to expect. My only wonder is, they have de- layed this long. If it,was to torture me, they could- n’t have chosen a better method than by keeping me in this suspense.” “ Not so as it might be,as I told ;you, Vane. The brokers will be glad to get out of their bond, since they understand that you have lost your chance of Thornhurst. There is nothing there to dis- hearten you, my dear boy—certainly nothing crimi- na) by ‘Nothing! Ihave hee told you, Sir Rupert, that I am in debt seventy thousand dollars, and I doubt if I one raise seventy thousand cents to save my own neck.’ : ; Be! quite understand you; butit is not out of the question that some compromise may be made. It must be that your creditors are waiting for, and I would be ashamed to be ranked as your friend, nH: if I were not ready now to act a friend’s part.” He spoke hurriedly, a little constrainedly. The other looked at. him, then put forward a isi to Seep him in a tight pressure. ** Heaven bless you, Sir Rupert Archer. But. that. must not be. No, I will not hear another word. I] have brought myself to grief, but my best friend shall not suffer through me.” Sir Rupert saw how useless it would be to urge him, “You will not refuse to let me investigate for you, then, Vivian? Tosee what kind of a compromise may be effected, and what hindrance is apt to be put in your way if you are obliged to g9 away from here? ba 4 you eee ht of going away?” on ns ‘I suppose there wi e nothi ” Vane said, wearily. ‘I did not even Dorie oat alter- native. Ihad made up my mind to take the conse- quence of my own acts, without even an attempt to evade it.” ““You have been reckless even in your despera- tion. Have you tried to effect a reconciliation with your father? “‘Tt would be worse than useless. He has the best. of reasons for holding bitter anger—he will never forgive me while he lives. It is my just retribution —that and all else which may come to me. Ihave not a friend left I can count — unless it is you, Sir Rupert. ‘And Dare—I should not forget Dare— he has been faithful as a brother.’ Sir Rupert had his own doubts of Dare, but such vague. and apparently unfounded doubts he would not hint them. 2 “You have one more bby warm friend—one whose friendship any man might be proud to claim. Ispeak of, Miss Carteret. It was she who told me ae news first, and urged me to. come to you without elay.” “Yes,” said Vane, bitterly; ‘she may well yee it now, that her own aim is secure of pag Pees - ment. Did you know the colonel declared in favor of her against my own chance of inheritance? You know the full measure of my wickedness now, but + perhaps you do not know wkat brought the first de- cided outbreak between my father and pee exe ept into my place imjhis heart. until he propose to marry her to me as my only chance of bern to Thornhurst, and, when I retused, he deciared tha she should inherit instead. After that came the ex- osure of my own baseness. I shudder at the Thought of the unfilial monster my father must con- ider me.” sce You do Miss Carteret wrong, Vane. She has tried to reconcile your father to you, and my own realization of the depth of his anger comes through the knowledge that she failed. you had seen her as I did this very night, with tears in her eyes as she spoke of your despair, you would not doubt her sincerity. Miss Carteret is honest in her likes and dislikes; you are one of the fortunate few for whom. she professes aig rar and she loses no opportu- ity to spea our favor. mit hope I ante have doue her. injustice. Iwas bitterly’ disappointed in her, Sir, Rupert. But no more of this. Dare tells me—I have seen him but once—that thedestivitics will begin at shops is little sooner be of my disgrace. on . down by the middle of the month, a meek from this, —

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% THE TERRIBLE TRUTH: and such guests as may not be able to tear them: _ Selves away from the gayeties here follow after the twentieth,” I hope you will not forget your engage- ment there; Mrs. Grahame would be inconsolable.” Wewill consider that again, but it is very possi ble Thornhurst may not now see me among the number. If Iam to-serve you, Vane, you must tell me where I can find these creditors of yours.” I will go with you when you like. I am not efraid to face them; that will be enough better than this state of prolonged suspense.” No, my dear boy! A matter like this is better set- tled through a third person. Convince them that no possible good can come through molesting you —that their only hope of obtaining anything is in giving you a chance, and letting you off quietly. I can give you letters to influential men in London, if you wish to try it there, but of that we will also Speak again. I will not detain you longer than to give me the address. I am not very fresh myself after my Figen of this afternoon,” : He took down the direction Vane gave him care- fully, and when he left, a few minutes later, there Was more hope in the other’s heart than had been there for days. His sleep that night was visited by pleasant dreams—dreams of a future which would redeem the past, and the angel who guarded the bright opening path wore the face of Nora. i” Rupert Archer lost no time in pursuing his in vestigations. The result was one furthest from his anticipations. He was back at his friend’s lodgings ee noon of the following day. Vane met him with Fa Ae dread he had nearly dismissed rushing upon “What delusion is this you are laboring under, my dear fellow?” cried Sir Rupert gayly, giving him such a prip as one would scarcely expect from his Soft white hand. ‘‘You owe no man anything. ‘I have been to see your Shylock and he déclares his bond paid to the utmost.” Vane started back. ‘* Archer! you have not—”’ “Thave not indeed, Vivian. Look into my eyes and be assured that, like your famous countryman, I cannot tella lie. It is true, and I am almost as joytully excited as you possibly can be.” I ean scarcely believe it is not a mistake. Who that would, could pay my debtsto such an amount?” “There is the mayeteny, Vane. The broker de- clined to tell me. He declared that he had been satisfied in full and had given up the bond; that his friend, whom I did not see—some disturbance has sent him out of the city from what I learned—the one who had a claim for twenty thousand had also been fully pi amt All the information that he would give was that the party concerned had communi- cated with him through an agent, and had desired - —. incognito. Do you see no hope in this, A mo came into Vane’s face, an eager light into yes. “It must have been my father—it could have been no one else. It is more lon I deserved, more than I = en ea voice broke and bis eyes suffused. He turned awa: abruptly to hide his emotion. am going to call at the house after I return to my rooms and make a more suitable appearance, I take some message from ou, or—or will you £0 yourself and seek the reconciliation which may not be impossible now. I think with you, no one but eats father could have done this.” nee either, my friend. My father has relented in ae “irre Save our name, and to spare me; but he may ee sore. still, I will wait some token even bya nor intrude myself upon his notice, ora heard t two hours foo news from the baronet’s lips, some is yery strange,” she said, thoughtfully. ‘I ae aa ey it could not have om the eblonel. He v ot displayed one sign of relenting toward ane,” “Tt must be then, that hi ‘ i is pride has induced him to spare _ son the ‘consequences of these debts.” Nora said 7 but I cannot think so.” And, though mind ae tie wae more, she decided in her own the generous act, wee himself was responsible for The next week went swift by. Th 4 e colonel and ton tices Grahame an their guests departed doousen race few lingering later followed e twentieth, and of the whole invited num- , Rupert Archer was the very last to leave the Meantime Vane was makin i i reparations to quit she ‘country. He had fallen in with bis friend’s sug: fe on and determined to proceed first to London. Was lig parations were all but complete now, but he be ngering with no definite time for his departure ‘1 feel that if I go without my f : i ather’s blessing, I hei never have it he said to Sir Rupert. ‘‘I shall ae 5 penenags for the third and wait until the last or e Some token, Go on to Thornhurst, my ih nd, we »if you ay cond me alittle hope from ther e, t any rate, 1 see you again before I So Sir Rupert walked across from the station and into Thornhurst mansion, the despaired-of celebrity, en Christmas eve, CHAPTER XVI. THE COVETED INVITATION. Ar no time for twenty years had Thornhurst been 80 gay. Mrs. Grahame had carte blanche in ruling the entertainment, and Mrs. Grahame had appar- ently determined that no home-party in Christendom ofa this one in brilianey ye Sr eebeed r another like kaleidoscopic changes, | iy ent afte’ "Her whole life was bound up in surface | Pleasure. She had breathed the atmosphere of gay- ety in her New York home, but for that there was a skeleton in the closet there, whose dry bones rattled very often in her ears with ble im- ort. Lack of ready money was the great want of er life. Without it she had held her own‘with the world, she was a leader in society, but she was obliged to forcée recognition now where she would have overpowered with sufficient means at her dis- posal, There was a Mr. Grahame, also, but he was seldom seen, and when he was seen, the meek little man, whose only aim seemed to be to avoid all ob- servation, escaped with the smallest modicum of at- tention. A dingy, dark counting-room down-town knew far more of him than his wife’s parlors. But for all that the parlors were apt to grow a trifle shabby between the times of their refitting; the sil- ver-plate was old-fashioned, and Mrs. Grahame’s oilets were neither so magnificent nor so varied as she would have liked to make them. But Mrs, Gra- hame made the best of all these things with that are tact which wins success without "apparent ef- «ort. But there was a change. Here was all the glitter «nd the froth presented to her with none of the care to imbitter the draught beneath. So she went to work with a will to make Thornhurst the center of Sp oct scarcely less than those they had lately eft. *t have only one obstacle yet to overcome, but I almost despair of that,” she said to Nora on the day preceding that which should usher in Christ- maseve. ‘1 want a Cleopatra for the tableaux viv- ants ; Ihave set my heart on that being the most gorgeous scene of all. And not one of all the peo- ple here can ot Sapte Egypt’s dusky queen. You will be admirable as Titania, Nora, a trifle tall, but the ladies here are all tall, as it chances, and all blondes. It was the greatest of oversights that I didn’t secure one decided brunette, I have been looking for one among the families of the neighbor- hood, but the darkest among all the ladies who have called is blue-eyed and brown haired, as farfrom my Cleopatra as day is from night.” “Then you haven’t had a sight of Miss Montrose. The very ideal of a Cleopatra, Mrs; Grahame, posi- tively the most beautiful woman I ever saw in my life; Itis very unfortunate that the colonel’s —_ — are so strong: He has a bitter dislike of her ather, and Iam afraid that even for you Miss_Mon- trose will not be admitted to Thornhurst. He re- fused me, and I am hardly over the mpeg, omer yet. I absolutely fellin love with her at first-sight, and notwithstanding all the delightfully trying ex- periences I have been through since, that first im- yeti lingers still.” ‘Fell in love, Noral What a strong expression applied to an ordinary person like that Miss Mon- trose, Iam sure we all have reason for thankful- ness that your guardian is so deeided. A very com- mon young woman, Mrs, Grahame,I assure you, something of an Amazon in appearance, I grant, but not at all the sort of person you would care to intro- duce to such society as you have gathered here. I am positive my nerves would not bear the strain of her presence.’ Mrs. Sholto Hayes who was present roused her- self from her habitual languor to express herself thus forcibly. , “She’s the picture of a Southern beauty, Mrs. Grahame, and as much alady as I am,” asserted Nora, in jobs pcr defiance. ‘‘Mrs. Hayes saw bog: ree = reverse of the glass that day; one of those $ when everything goes wrong, an was the tintortanats cause in her case. Mrs, Hayes suffered through herdiscomfiture at being precipi- tated in the lane and. afterward refuge ina house where she hadn’t gone through with the formality previously of leaving her card.”’ The exertion of resistance from Mrs. Hayes was out of the question. She sunk back amo the cushions of a couch where she had reclined the morning. ey ee creature!” she said, in mild protest. **One never knows how to take you.”’ ‘* Montrose,” repeated Mrs. Grahame, “‘ and South- erners, did you say, Nora? It must be the family of whom Mr. Telford from the village was speaking yesterday. He said a portion of the lands that were confiscated during the war had been restored to. Mr. Montrose. I remember he remarked they had re- mained very secluded here, and my own impression was rather favorable than otherwise. I don’t see that this Miss Montrose should be less eligible as,a est than any other young lady of the neighbor- ood. We positively must have her if she will an- swer for a eS y “You forget the one difficulty, my guardian’s ob- jection. He is scarcely more likely to consent now than before.” Ss Cesta “‘Uncle Seymour has gin the invitations entirely in my charge, Ishall invite Miss Montrose in my own name. You may mention it to the colonel if you like, but in any case the young lady must be se- cured. But I really don’t see how with all the cos- tumes to be inspected, I am to take time to call up- on her this morning. Do you suppose that you could manage it, Nora? You would answer quite as ”» ell. “*T shall be too happy with m; But for once I decline to ‘ baabk: t rdian’s consent. sibility, Mrs. Grahame.” ‘* Here he comes for the very p the knot of our difficulties,” and Mrs, Grahame glanced. up sweetly. “‘I have just discovered a per- son to take the important character of the evening, uncle Seymour — the ene you know, ,whic TY had almost despaired of representing. You will have no objection s tk.s late day, I hope?” e lion in his dea, | the Vivian in his halls.’ You must take that respon- ose of cutting | sending an invitation even at. “T leave everything of that kind with corvis, | ~ - psa list coniptete by all means.*% Colone? vii v had entered with something of a feverish ; gee Meo kenya festive preparations, sors ng to bury his own deep disappointment in the excitement of the time. r i : . “Thanks, my dear uncle, Of course I did not really suppose you would object, but Nora here ap- peared to have some misgi Sie “The lady is Miss Montrose,” spoke up Nora. “You know, Colonel Vivian, whether I had cause for misgiving or not. I for one would dearly like to have her here.” : . ‘Tunderstand that the circumstances of the fam- ily heretofore have not been quite unexceptionable,” put in Mrs. Grahame silkily. “That objection is alleviated by the restoration of Southern property very recently effected. The father and dauchter in- tend to depart for the South early in the new year, Mr. Telford mentioned.”’ Over the colonel’s face swept a shade, his shag; white brows lowered, and Nora watching felt that Miss Montrose’s chances were few for appearing at Thornhurst, It was a moment before he spoke, and during that moment there had been a struggle in the colonel’s mind. His hatred of Walter Montrose had been based on his discovery that the other aspired to an alliance between his own daughter and the colonel’s son, Walter Montrose had come to him, six years before, and made the proposal openly, insolently the colo- nel ‘bad considere it, urging his own irth and breeding, his daughter’s beauty and culture, the far- off possibility of an honorable title and emoluments descending to him, Colonel Vivian rejected the proposition with scorn. No impostor, runawe slavé-owner of the South, secessionist at heart, should become allied’ in the remotest degree with the loyal, hot-headed Vivians.. There might he other men as well-bred and as well-born too, he would dare say, other Pane 3 ladies quite as beauti- ful and cultured, and for his ewn part he would rather see Vane marricd to some pretty, graceful girl of his own position, and no pedigree than any offshoot of Old England snobbishness. Of the far- away title and ie eet ouio he was suspicious, not to say openly incredulous. Things were vastly altered since that, however. There was no heir of Thornhurst now to be angled for. His own dislike for the man Montrose need not be brought! into play, since they were to leave the neighborhood at so near a date, Ye ben 1383, ight come if she chose and the others ed. really He said so, not any too graciously, it is to be feared, and. stalked away on his nity to an uncompromising degree, but under that stiff demeanor was the harrowing conviction al ys present of the bitter wound his own pride and inde- pendence had received. Te Kg aty Never, never again would Colonel Vivian be the same free-hearted, passionate, yet noble old man he had been before. “ Are you aware how close it is upon Christmas- time, Venetia?” , ; “The twenty-third, papa, Thad occasion to con- with ‘his sult the calendar this morning. notched stick, that is all you have to mark the days. “After the style of Robihson Crusoe rnhurst than Are you any nearer an invitation to Tho sor were two weeks ago, when the party urned ?” : ; “Certainly not. I was not aware that you still aspired to that honor for me.” 9 . ; *T have never retracted my first expression of the wish. Why should you think it?” Miss Montrose lifted her face from met she was engaged to look steadily at her ather. | \ ; “‘Y was aware of your plans in the past, the only piss which cou'd interest you in my en rance at Thornhurst. You know I never approved of them, even when I yielded in a measure to your wishes, Now that Colonel Vivian has - herited his son, what possible object can you have in still desiring me to make friends with one who has certainly shown himself no friend of yours?” — “TI gave you credit for some degree of discretion, Venetia, The colonel may disinherit his son a half- dozen times and come out the more deeply attached to him in the end. These floating rumors may be true.or false, and no better place for discovering which than at the mansion, any event an open- ing for you there at the present time be bhaieas frst re: , a < . 4 \ the work with - ing en- lent to’an opening into the world when you are ready for it. Make friends of the people i. and rc 7 you will have friends when we come North n summer’s campaign. You know what these | who have been gossiping about our recent good for- tune do not, that no great boon has been owed . in granting back those worn-out plantation grounds and racked buildings. The little that Tiade tea place attractive once is gone, now. We go there si because there is nothing to be gained just now ny staying here, and because a winter at the South w. have its weight with those who have known us so pueaecriy cumstanced here. a suppose it a no more entic rospec se ing us away. Next season, as I pee Se. -come North again, and whether or not Thornhurst is yet an aim, and Vane Vivian the man I would choose for you, i shall expect you to do credit to your trai be EL, the while be hal bean sbeakiie, ark aeeanINS. e while he een . Dark, passions eyes they were, for all her features were disciplined gees. had loched toevick dy her ia itt digke a, which left the blood settled in purple blotches nder ae oes aa : me afl my-life to barter. my womanhood for the pasest and paltries cae ir teas a a - 5: They will hardly — aos 7 ¥ 4 *« +94 el - ‘ . ify

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AS THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. ; bestowed. upon me for no. other purpose tnan tne sake of such profit as you hope to poke throug. ‘ 5. You would show me as you would a horse or.an _other piece of property; ‘Oh ge bit poin bt . a he Meneee bidder. F papa! can nothing tem ou more merc’ than that? Do I deserve not: Z better from you om ‘ “You have taken up.st: e views of these mat- ters, Venetia—views that, your education, IT ‘am disappointed. at finding you entertain. You J speak scornfi of the ‘ basest and paltriest consid- . erations,’ as’ though all your life you had not been | Eager own for lack of them. You are modest on née subject of what you are pleased to term your ’ good looks as well. In that one way you have been | dowered munificently. If favor of station went in . accordance with natural charms, ror would sure.y ' pbeaqueen. Ihave certainly counted upon making that beauty of yours a capital, Venetia, I have ; ‘spared neither regs nor pains, as you know, I Be Stood. at no sacrifice in securing you the best in- struction, in fitting you to appear equal with the best. In return I expect what I have striven to , Lait give—duty. Sacrifice to secure your own : best interests and mine, if you consider it sacrifice; } eertainly no faltering on your part from this time out, + me request that you do not make it ne- t cessary for mé to repeat this homily again. I detest FE Jong speeches, and you have a full understanding of ; ba ED gee ge on this point.”’ ose cold, thin features and steely eyes were never harder than then, and in Venetia’s mind again vose the question which had haunted her for weeks ps e know that she was already a wife? She ' ad thought so on that October night which seemed i ages ago; she had gone to the tryst for a few brief i moments on the following night; she had told Dare : of her fears and zed him to come no more. It ‘was like crushing all hope for herself, but she dared not risk that merciless displeasure to be wreaked rie Owen Dare. He had obeyed her so implicitly he that, from that night, she had_not once seen nor ; heard from him. He was at Thornhurst with the \ Christmas party, she knew, but so far as she was concerned, Thornhurst mi ht have been at the anti- podes, for her own. knowledge of what was trans- b there. She turned her head and looked through the win- dow a across snowy stretches of field and lane, Va through. leafless trees and bare shrubbery, where '. the walls of Thornhurst mansion rose stately and ; burnished to a red | in the winter sunlight. A noble pile, and one that, Walter Montrose might. al- Ne most be excused for por aine ‘ 4 ‘Next to haying the station which may come to Ly 1 begs ho my pride would be in seeing you mistress of ; a place 6 that,” he said, observing where her he lance wandered. “I don’t suppose you are really ) _ blame for failing to find a place there among at the guests. I am _ only disappointed that your wo- man’s ingenuity should not contrive some avenue of » e@pproach.’ 2 “Something more than: mere ingenuity was -re- wine she answered, listlessly. BT might have forced my way into the house, I dare say;, I might even have staid there as lady’s-maid, or seamstress, id 5 pEpome of that kind, now that I presume they ee yi, Gane engag with the costumes and proparstnane for i the next few weeks, but I am_ not likely to be re ben d by the change, We are as far from them by to | practical purposes as the earth is from the “By no means, Venetia. If the case were hopeless —ah!” as his eyes were arrested by a shadow cross- ing the path without, a shape coming in through the rustic. pia in front. ‘* Who knows but your chance is really at hand at last, my dear? That is surely Colonel Vivian’s ward.” have found the Paporrunity sooner, My call ty should properly have devolved upon our ss of. nies, but.I usurped the favor in- . Lam authorized to convey Mrs. Grahame’s cosmpunaees and all that, but I am going to beg for Se sake that you will not refuse what I have come toask, It is that you will come up to. Thorn- 4 burst, be my particular guest for the next week.” _ Thus the invitation had come at last. Mr. Mon- ae of t yey ate aoe eet eee gs Bee Bore 3 entrance, shot a q ce toward his daughter. be v4 Rea not exponen such an honor,” said Misg _.. Montrose, calmly. ; what iat 5 re will consent, although—” and Nora laughed—“I have not spoken of the weighty conse- 7 aeons to ensue. We are all engaged for acting _ charades, tableaux and thelike, and ata plowing de- Ct scription from. me, Mrs. Grahame has set her heart -_-.. ‘on securing you to take a part in them.. She wants a Cleopatra, and of all the people far and near you are the only one who could consistently take the a) “To which fact Iam indebted for my invitation. : Miss t—” ‘ 5 artere’ $: ow you are not going to refuse?”’ cried Nora, in alarm: ‘Indeed I have wanted you sincerely from the time we first came down?” ’ ea sennmle of the honor to think of refus- ’ “Tam y fog. I shall be happy to prove of any service, Miss ft avo * d. accept most gladly. 1 eae Noe tb her departure sook after, promising to eas as ‘a for Montrose, and such effects s She ou would make the best | trose, apparently absorbed in his book on the further | day. . Venetia watched her from the window, taking a path across the fields on her return. What she had longed for she hadin this invitation to Thorn- hurst. She would have the pphoranty of meeti Owen Dare without fear, and beyond that she woul not let her thoughts stray. She would meet Owen Dare, but for her life she could not have defined the | thrill at her heart as most glad or painful. CHAPTER XVIL PARTED. Sir Ruperr Arcuer, valise in hand, walked across from the village station and into Thornhurst as the tongues of flame sprung up from the chandeliers and from the wax-tapers which studded the fes- toons decorating the walls ps Christmas eve, The colonel met him in the hall most cordially. “We had quite given you-up,” he said, with a hearty handshake. ‘“ The ladies have been makin a doleful moan at losing you, as they pete That’s what it is to be young and a favorite. But, how does thiscome? Did you miss the carriage? i sent it to meet the express on the mere chance of any late comer.” “T saw pothing of it, and am almost glad it was .80. A mile’s walk on a clear frosty evening over a good road with the expectation of Christmas cheer ahead is the best of appetizers, and I have been ob- serving the admirable situationjof your grounds as I came along. Thornhurst is a fine place, an ex- ceedingly fine place, of which our Sussex lords and squires might be proud, “You invest it with too much merit, Sir Rupert. Great as my own affection for Thornhurst may be I am aware it will bear no comparison with your wide- spreading English domains. You will wish to go to your room at once,I presume. The dressing-bell rung full ten minutes ago, but dinner can be delayed a trifle for your accommodation. Here, Benson,” beckoning a servant appearing at the rear, “show Sir Rupert Archer to the room reserved for him, the front chamber, north. My niece would not admit any other occupant, even after she had given up all hope of you.” inner was not required to wait for the baronet. Never a fop, his plain dress was soon arranged, and he was the first to descend the stairs while the loud- mouthed second bell yet vibrated from roof to base- ment. He walked up and down the ree hall, half a smile on his grave mouth, and a trifle more eagerness in the candid blue eyes than was custom- ary to this retiring ‘specimen of English nobility. There was not a doubt in a moment more of whose re cya had called into being both smile and eager ight. There was a faint rustle above, a cloud of shim- es silk on the stairway, and Nora floated down, humming a morsel from Fra Diavolo as she came, which changed to an exclamation of surprise and welcome at sight of him. “You, Sir Rupert? Is it possible? The very last gentleman of my acquaintance I should have ex- ected to prove alaggard. I always gave you credit ‘or possessing the ue of punctuality.” tis something to be invested with any virtue, in Miss Carteret’s eyes. I must be sorry to lose even the smallest.” He held her hand one.second longer than was necessary as he oe as she flashed a glance u at him, starding and broad under the h ights. Compliments were rare from the baronet. ‘You are the only man who does not talk non- sense to me, Sir Rupert. Pray, don’tlose your claim to A gratitude by adopting the execrable. habit, at this late day.” He was not the least in the world in love with her, but he found a pleasure in watching the pearly face which he had surprised himself by being im- pasoe to see as he neared Thornhurst, Not the east in love with her, but at that moment it would not have been hard to have induced Sir Rupert Archer to believe it not the most impossible con- summation in the world. “You have come from Vane?”’ she asked, a quick change in her tone, ‘Is he there still?” **He is there still, but has taken aay in the steamer for the third. He will comedown to Thorn- hurst first if there is the slightest chance of winning Colonel Vivian’s pardon.” “My guardian, so generous on every other point, is hardas a rock where Vane is concerned. I do believe he would not relent to save him from life-long exile. Just then another premonitory rustle was h and Mrs. Grahame appeared upon the stairway, ani after her eame the train of Christmas guests. Sir Rupert was welcomed again, and reproached for tardiness, and the whole party went to dinner, for as Young defines the one grand sympathy of ' mankind; ‘Their various cares in one great point combine, The business of their lives—that is, to dine.” “So sorry you are not down in time to take an active part in our entertainments for the evening,” said Mrs. Grahame to the baronet, who was installed in the place of honor at her right. “ With your talent engaged I would have no fear of success. You Englishmen as a rule are so self-contained you should prove the ne plus ultra of actors. With the list of performers as it is I am almost confident.” “Mrs. Grahame has pressed us all into service,” spoke Nora, opposite. ‘Such a well-drilled lot of amateurs as we have been this past. week should — some of the credit due such an indefatigable chief. “Tt is most fortunate I was not here to be classed among the number,’”? answered Sir Rupert. “My tatent lies anywhere but in amateur acting.”’ “Owen Dare is superb,’ put in Mrs. Grahame, nimatedly. ‘Such a modest young man—I never aspected him of actual genius before. I am more “ee 1 aan.ever convinced thaf Dare is bound to make his ark in the world yet.” . §ir Rupert’s eyes lifted to meet the defiant flash in — the brown ones opposite. Was it rapport between the two that made his lips compress, and a swift Cee sweep over his face? Whether Dare had or d not been instrumental in_ bring: the misfor- tunes which harassed Vane Vivian, he was pre- judged in the minds of these two. + y she by. ” remarked the baronet, with a glance down. the ta’ le, “T supposed Mr. Dare was here, I discover my mistake for the first time.” “He has been stopping in the village for the last two days, attending to some of the colonel’s com- plicated business affairs. I protested, for I lost my right-hand aid with Dare gone, but even_his general Fi of accommodation failed me. My uncle has covered his merits and taken him into confidence; he has engaged him formally as secretary and agent, though I think it a mistake to confine him to so mean a position, I expected him here before this.” Started on her pet theme Mrs. Grahame talked on, and the dinner passed rather draggingly for auntici- pation of the brilliant evening, Quite a large company had beeninvited, A range of connecting rooms were thrown into one, draper- ies were artistically arranged and a temporary stage constructed in the furthest apartment, Much care and study had been devoted to all the arrangements, and Mrs. Grahame herself eould not have desired a greater success than the experiment proved as the evening wore on. She had the advan- tage on her side of a friendly audience, no carping critics, no blase lookers on to throw the chill of in- difference instead of appreciation. Dare returned in time to draw honor upon himself. As Lara, bold and brave, as unfortunate Earl Hastings, the fair-haired cavalier, as reckless Rob Roy, in tar- tau-vlaid, as the model Italian brigand, with appli- ances of burnt cork and slouched sombrero and short cloak flung carelessly over his shoulders, dis- paying a deadly-lookin; peice dangling from: a jeweled belt—in each and all of these various charac- ters he represented, Dare bore off the Sir Rupert Archer sat in the audience, looking on in quiet approval, but it was noticeable to " Grahame’s Ww: iful eyes that his attentlon was most engaged, his pena most apparent, with each repetition of Nora’s appearanc@in the mimic display. fr There isn’t a doubt but_she may be ‘my lady’ yet if she chooses,’’ thought the lynx-eyed matron. ‘*Of course she’ll choose; a girl would a fool to throw away such a chance, and she makes no secret of her liking. I’m sorry for Dare, but, sensible as he 9 must have given up hope before this. He couldn’t expect her to hesitate between himself and nothing, a baronet worth ten thousand pounds ayear. It will be something to have been chaper- one to.a ‘my lady ’!’’ It was an idea the more pleasing for its novelty to the American dame. She was weighing them all in her own worldly balance, and carefully excluding the feather which might turn the seale. Other chaperones have been quite as sanguine as was Mrs. Grahame that night, with no more encouragement than she seemed to — The curtain went up on an elaborate scene—a representation from the ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,” in which all the previous performers were uped, in the center Titania, the fairy queen. ora in silver tissue with glitte spangles, her bright hair unbound and garlanded with flowers, fair above all the fair faces grouped about, an ethe- real vision on which Sir Rupert’s contemplative eyes lingered, and he drew an audible breath as the cur- tain went down. 4 * Loveliest creature of the lot—the Carteret, you know. Prettiest little thing that ever made havoc with any r susceptible devil—by Jove! no wonder half the fellows here are wild about her. Cool, the way Dare bluffs them all, Id go in and cut him out myself with half a show for it.’ r. Telford speaking at his elbow brought Sir Ru- pert’s thoughts to earth again. He had been in the clouds for a single moment, and they were hazy ideas which had floated in his mind. Was he losing his heart to this fair little republican, after all? He had never liked any one quite so well before, and Archer Hall would seem sadly dull and dispiriting in its mmg 8 grandeur when he should go back to the Sussex Parks and the quiet life of a country gentle- man there. A presence like Nora’s would make it another place. Almost in Sir Rupert’s mind a new resolution was brought to life—almost. But Tel- ford’s voice broke the spell, and the baronet thread- ed his bronze-bright beard with those soft white fin- gers where the ruby ring, blazoned with the crest of the Archers, glowed like fire, and made answer with his usual complacency. “*Miss Carteret is lovely,as you say. She is very much admired, dteerectite so. Is that the end of our entertainment, do you chance to know?” Mr. Telford was not positive, and sauntered across to consult one of the fair amateurs who appeared in the audience. Titania followed in another moment, in her silver onze and spangiles still, and came di- rectly to Sir Rupert’s side. “Just one more of these tiresome spectacles,’ she said. ‘“‘I have been wondering if we all looked as much like senseless puppets as we felt, up there— as I felt, rather, I wil not take the responsibility to answer for all the rest. I was never born to be an actress. is something different, however, this last tableau—with a nromise sufficient to draw me front for a view.” ‘ “Tt can scarcely excel all that has gone before,” said Sir Rupert, ; ; ‘* Perhaps you as Mr. Telford does, I heard him remark to Gray as I i—‘ with the light of your countenance removed the rest must be very commonplace indeed. Mr. Telford is in love, —

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Sennen cone Poor young man, and should h come under the w which is a nig to sane people. Is’ it possible that you, too, Rupert, can be looking through his style of glasses?” ‘Certainly not, Miss Carteret. I believe I can con- ‘Beientiously say 7 have never been in love in my life,” ‘Never been in love! And you expect any aoe of this nineteenth century to credit that? thought falling in love was one of the ills mortalit; is heir to, after the fashion of children cutting teil and coming through the measles. You should set p for the eighth wonder of the world, Sir Rupert— young, rich, a baronet, and neverin love!” . The bell tinkled, the curtain began slowly to rise, but Sir Rupert bent his head to say: Let me amend my words, then. I was never in love before—” Unconsciously his eyes were fixed upon the stage, and he broke off his speech, for there in all her mag- nificence was the glowing Eastern queen, the Cleo- patra whom Shakespeare has depicted with the inagic which immortalized him—a bewildering pic- ture of such rare, dark beauty as he had dreamed of but never seen. The curtain went down on a murmur of applause, the music swelled, and the audience broke from their seats, noisily discussing this last scene before all the other performances of the evening. Sir Ru- toa had quite forgotten his incomplete sentence, ut Nora’s eyes had not failed to take in something et pis absorbed expression along with the brief e, ““Who was that lady?” he asked, ‘Certainly no One I have seen before. She was not eriotie’ te oe at dinner, I re ae eis my espe guest, Miss Montrose, of the neighborhood here. She was not at dinner because she insisted upon gratifying some of Mrs. Grahame’s extreme whimsin regard to the costumes, Things which were perfect before were found sadly amiss at the last minute, and Miss Montrose has excellent taste, She will be here in a moment, and you shall have an introduction, Sir Rupert.” One other had been quite as strong’ by the vivid Cleopatra as the wealthy bite = Dare, uns - S presence there, ith difficul pressed a start, had stood calmly wa curtain fell again, and then stepped into a window- recess where the draperies concealed . Masks pg incr fall rig: Sip ea even when alone, and Dare’s not change except rha, Mewar F shade, but theres fitee aN r ih ie hasty atratiWo gear Aat wueht t mouse ee u z Ea present ethemes,” sisainchainaces impressed aronet. It he had re- nntil the e ** For all that, I will never be baffled,” he thought, drawing his breath hard through se“ teeth, “% has come here where she could not hel ereehes I would least wish her to come, that too after her own pan ae reason for desiring it has ceased to exist. aoe these women’s perverse heads! The one I ired of long ago will follow me up, and the one I ba hates ms like death, Well, we shall see who ; pes fe cane ss Meee I yout ees bet on one man’s L ‘ men’s obstinacy. There’ — oly to avy oe be aes fortune!” SR Aeays rought abou e@ introduction she h romised the baronet. Sir Rupert Archer and Mas _ jgntrose stood face to face fora moment, then he dda his arm and they sauntered away across the m, Some envious eyes following them, ‘a few ad- miring ones mae their tall, well-matched forms and different styles. th rapidly cleared, and where to tree had been a few Courts now. were circling upon So great posing he could be wonage #8 a ‘my lord,’ fe) ; es : ? b ¥ soho efforts at econonky Te eee ab- } ing up his fall a He might even sticceed in bring- Fait alien fortunes, but that the young lord is ™ saved himself close in his own tracks. He only months bef by making a wealthy marriage, a few them, being come ee, over. I néver saw much of isolation, Mot Na Abe nace fete - forded i eseri re in no way interest- = S 3 description of these people, so tota ly strange “Like most doings of the i : ou would smile, but for ion va probable experience of ie reality, at the “At least for nobilit of mnind ‘aud y of mind and heart your Pin Be cannot be excelled. For open-hesrted ee sinc the Southerners have borne a world-wide t p on. I chance to have heard that you are a Fe att Mise geal alkin: most part of indifferent things he pie seneels under the influence of a spell—a spell A great, Sort, tumtnous dark eyes, by rip- ,austrons, midnight hair, by a Juno-like form inborn ae hecag | ive’ fails to mark ady. oung, handsome, wealthy, a pores love pefors, St Rupert hr 1 ‘victim to the tender sight. Could any one have told him cher had yiel cious until this moment of Vene- | then that a man of Dare’s caliber had won and wearied of this glorious creature, it would have been like pressing an impossibility upon his mind. : “Do see that Miss Montrose monopolize the bar- onet,’ said Miss Gray to her follower back in the thicker circle of guests. ‘I wonder if he admires that aipey style, can’t compliment his taste if he does,” iss Gray herself was a snow-flake blonde. Mr. Telford twirled his mustache and glanced that way not unadmiringly himself. “The baronet seems well enough contented to be monopolized, and I mount he was getting quite a spoon about that pretty Miss Carteret. Came near taxing him with it, ’pon honor! Would have, but these English swells are apt to fly out on one just when one least expects it, For my part J prefer blondes very decidedly.”” Thereupon ga gs a telling glance upon Miss Gray, which set her peal fluttering and cheeks reddening very percep- tibly. ~ Mrs. Grahame, gliding near, had overheard the fragment of conversation, and woke to her neg- lected duty on the instant. She sought out Dare, and before he knew her object brought him unex- pectedly upon the two. “Miss Montrose, permit me to present Mr. Dare. Quite a number have been aski g if you will not fing, and I Pe my request with theirs that you will favor us. ‘No, Sir Rupert, I want you elsewhere, and Mr. Dare will not lack in attention.” Mr. Dare offered his arm_accordingly, and led the way to the instrument. He had met her as he would have done any stranger, making no sign. She had been expecting this moment, hoping for it, but for one instant the room swam anda suffocat- ing sensation came over her. It was gone as she took her place at the piano: she was quiet, decided and calm as before. She gave one quick glance up into his face and said, in a voice inaudible to any ex- cept himself, as she struck a premonitory note: Let me see Me somewhere for a moment alone.” Then she sung in a clear, cultivated voice which al- ready had won her a reputation among the guests at Thornhurst. Afterward Dare led her away toa deserted hall, where the lights burned low and waltz music pulsed faintly out again. “Well, Venetia!” How very quiet and cold his tone was—how far from the tender accent which only he had used toward her a little more than two ae If she felt the change she did not show it. “I have wanted to see you, Owen. You have obey- ed my instructions so implicitly 1 had no chance ex- cept by coming here.” . You taust know that I do not consider that more discreet. I have a show tor getting established here, as I told you once, one requiring careful mani- pulation Oy and I should not suppose you would wish to lose it to me. I obeyed your instructions to hold no communication, because it seemed policy as well as that you wished it.” She was standing a little aside watchin steadily, and speaking unemotionally as himse. ‘*Have you heard that property lost during the war has been restored to ae father?” eRe TRUS, him’ “It is no secret. The fact has been openly enough ° discussed aS the whole neighborhood.” / “T want to tell you the truth regarding it, It is only a barren waste, the plantation now; it was never much better than that; but papa has circula- ted a false fees of its importance to further his own ends, You know how he has always hoped to gain some wealth and some position at last, and this means only new humiliation to me. The time come now, Owen, whenif you are willing to stand by me as I by you, I shall throw off this long oppres- sion of my life. I will dare his anger and re- proaches: anything gladly, to be openly acknow- edged as your wife.” “You forget that you are not the only one inter- ested in secrecy, Venetia. My future prospects de- pend upon it. Tt was your choice to keep our re- fations secret two years ago; it ismine now.”’ “Does that mean you have wholly ceased to care for me, Owen? You seem like it. Your prospect is the chance of employment here at Thornhurst, and few employers are influenced more by a man’s re- lations than by his ability. If Colonel Vivian is an exception there are doubtless other © portunities for a willing seeker. Isit because you do not wish to acknowledge me, Owen, because you regret the» bond uniting us!” . “Under the circumstances I do not wish it. You don’t understand the affair; it is not probable you would if I took an hour to explain, You women are unreasonable creatures always. 1 have waited your time; you must be content to bide mine.’ He was not returning her gaze; he was apeekstg sullenly; he was another man from the one she h loved and trusted thoroughly. She knew in that moment well as she knew afterward that it was his | intention never to acknowledge her. She shrunk for a second, all the color went suddenly out of her face, but there was hery a change in her low voice. “Y understand i you you cease to care for me itis time we part forever, as we do here and now.” after life, upon him; aspect; L ing her bright and beautiful before him, fieeelanienaes wiih had ruled him all his life was predominant ni We . “ Better so.” te thought, dropping the little gold jh t ’ nha | | | | | t | 17 tirclet Into his vest-pocket. Ive only to keep rid of her suspicions for the time. If anything would tempt her to speak now it would be to save Nora; let it be too late for-that and I am safe from her,” CHAPTER XVII. UNDER THE ELMS, a AnortHer turn of the kaleidoscope, another suc- cession of brilliant mornings, afternoons and nights, a whole week during which the gayety had not flag- ged, and New Year’s eve was ushered in. Thornhurst mansion was ablaze wlth light, alive with merriment. There was a grand ball there on this New Year’s eve which was meant to close the dissipation of this holiday-time. It was not meant to close the pleasures at Thornhurst, but, as those to come would be of aguieter order and in greater moderation so this occasion was to eclipse that had cers before. Without it was a gusty night with ragged, black clouds chasing across the sky, with the moon and stars gleaming through at intervals, with the wind : tearing like a moaning spirit through the bare droop- \ ing elms, and in the dark cedar grove a legion of un- ee ulet spiritsemight have been confined, to judge by the pants issuing from thence. A de ng, ghostly night with its rushes of light and shade, with a crisp snow upon the ground, but with the bitter air which had pros e through the day softening, and some light flakes floating down as the ragged clouds gathered more thickly overhead. Nora sarge a window with her hand upon her escort’s arm, shivered as she looked out upon the dreary scene. A band was crashing the Guards’ waltz at their back, warmth and perfumed_atmos- phere and brilliant ee were about them, but one of those loud wind-wails pierced to their ears, mournful, eerie, as though it might have foretold a doom. ‘If I were superstitious I should believe that some harm was to befall this house to-night,” she said. “That sounds gruesome enough to be a banshee’s warning,” Sir Rupert, looking for a moment with a shade of the gloom of night upon his brow, smiled down upon her. . “Abandon the dreary outlook then,” he suggested. Come and waltz with me instead. Idon’tveryoften ~ dance, and you are one of the few who might tempt me to the indulgence.” ‘ . “Your pardon, Sir Rupert. Iclaim Miss Carteret for the next waltz.” . It was Mr. Telford coming up to remind her of her romise. ‘All men may not be favored of the gods, ut few of us that will not wring recognitio rom the ai when we may. Never sur ooer Ey ne be forgetful of a promise, however oblivious you may” have become, Miss Carteret.” aS , She took his arm with a glance around and a back- ward word to the baronet. ee “There is Miss Montrose, cornered in by two mer-— ciless mammas interested in having their own } ees pe ty daughters near as possible first in the fiéld, Can’t soa relieve her from that extremely uncomfortable. ition? § : All the gloom cleared out of ‘the baronet’s face on the instant. He had looked and looked in for Miss Montrose during the earlier part of the evening. Ji was not for him to know that once he had ama within two feet of her, and only the speedy inter-_ vention. of Grahame’s voluminous skirts had saved him the discovery, or that lady on some plausi-_ ble pretense had whisked her immediately away to tne obscurest corner. Sir Rupert’s awakened interest was apparent enough. Should the great parti of the 4 season, the wealthy baronet for whom half the waned eee ws of New York was angling, be surrendered oini- ously to a young person who had never before been’ recognized by even the society here?—one who was most ite 68 IY an adventuress and an interloper, for _ some hint of the worthlessness of that Southern plantation had got abroad nothwithstan all the Ye caution of Walter Montrose. Never if subtlety of in- ‘ terested chaperone could effect a rescue. 4 ed Destiny was against Mrs. Grahame this 0 DOW, SS ever. Su Rupert made his way directly tothe ob- — seure corner, and led Miss Mcntrose out of it, in gratified triumph. ’ ‘ a ~“T was disappointed at toon rs Ej not ike yon he said, “inclined to quarrel with every one if you had gone off as I supposed you had without ever . saying good-by. In that case I would have hunted you up in the morning to make my own adieu.” — ~ ‘* You go soon, then?” “To-morrow afternoon, New Year's Day though aoe we am to see afriend off for London on the “My father and myself leave for Georgia the day after to-morrow. You will have the opportunity of saying a long farewell within the next two hours, Sir Rupert, since I leave here early. Quite a num- are) ber of os le make it a practice to turn a new leaf . every New Years’ Day, to begin a fresh era of their lives. I shall make my preparation by packing a trunk and leaving the dead past of six years spent here behind me.” : “Do you throw off all remembrances so ?T have an objection to saying that word ‘farewell;’ T shall ask you yet to letne make it au revoir. Can you tell me who is that gentleman just entering? He is, an there ee of a —_ a titel ¥ wu oh e glanced up, a smo’ i re leaping on the nada instant into those slum Remains, he eyes. - n 2 “ Who is he like, Sir Rupert? It isimy father.’” Peale “Your father! And that makes another coinci- | | dence. He is the picture of what John Montrose Earl of peeiyen was a dozen years ago, of what ey 2 young Lord Charles will be in tw is to com ' A vague reminiscence comes up to me, the recollec-. _ tion of hearing of a wande: er, ee the house,‘ Miss Montrose, low Ga. Ber “Don’t imagine it possible it you were going to ui fae r ‘ - te Bie nalts i 4 > er a Ms :) ‘ cet Pe ee

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18 conjure up.a relationship between our owndand Your noble usoax House. kinceed is a fine, large a try, but all the black sheep of titled aristocracy need | not of necessity have come here, or having come, | need not be confounded with honest republicans who chance to bear the name. I at least would never covet the distinction of such relationship. Do you not find it very close here, Sir Rupert? Will you take me into the air for a moment?’ The quick eyes of Miss Montrose had seen that her father was making his way slowly toward them through the crowd, and her woman’s intuition di- vined that it was with the object of being presented to Sir Peps Archer, and more, that the baronet would fill in his mind the imaginary position he had up to this date ascribed to Vane Vivian. She never would fulfill the mission he had set aside for her— she had put it out of her power should the desire | ~ ever come—and she would not be the tool to throw | an unsuspecting victim within reach of what must | be futile machinations. Walter Montrose had gained admittance through the sublime effrontery which characterized the man. He had fastened on young Telford at the village that day, plying him with questions relative to the doings | at Thornhurst acti the week past. “You are poing there to-night of course,” he said. “SoamI. it asking too much for you to take me up on your way?” r elford, -naturedly, promised. He was by no means a quick-brained young man, and it was five minutes after Montrose had gone before the idea struggled into his cranium that it was at all a/| haa matter for the latter to be going to Thorn- urs “They’ve Closed the wesdatte, I Buppose, mused abou Telford, ‘*Whatever it was , the colonel _ always seemed to have a grudge bitter as wormwood ainst Montrose. It’s been agit up through | t t magnificent daughter, I’d:be willing to bet my | roan. ' _ Fortur for the ownership of the roan, there | was no one by to take the bet. Mr. Telford shaped the | surprise which grew upon him during the day into words when he redeemed his promise that night. _ — “Tthought the colonel and you made a habit of be- ~ _ ing at ers’ points,” said he. “I did not. know ou had got about on sociable terms, and it is some- | { thing of wonder not to know all that has occurred a = ateohit _ f it myself,” rejoined _“T am not absolutely sure of it myself,’’ rejoine Mr, Montrose, coolly. “I have Net heer formally _ favo with an invitation, but my daughter was solicited as a guest there, which I take as tanta- i mount to extending the same courtesy to me. I’m willing to put pee Secece that good old maxim abot ‘orgiv and forgetting,” ‘. a tga ows Joules p exer to which and forge’ mi mo roperly tat he had put The teat posaiile * mn er and followed in the wake of Mr. Mon- Tho ed, a trifle curious side aa ae ee a a withe tween these two long- arin: standing enemies. The colonel turned from one ~ day o vals to find himself face to face with Wal- ter Montrose.. For one instant they stood so, as duelists di of yyy to fight it out to the last might the latter extended his hand, say- &@ reconciliation, it is necessary there an overture somewhere, Colonel Vivian, | © taken it upon myself to make the over- | : ow eto know, when I leave here in two days more, that I am at peace with all the world.” Avery commendable sentiment very smoothly ut-_ . tered, Bat Walter Montrose was not the style einen | . to be ever at peace with all the world. There | ¢ in the colonel’s heart. Had the man | ‘ was a come there to gloat over the misery which had be- fallen him, or could he mean in realty just what he | said? In either case, Colonel Vivian was too punctili- _ ous a gentleman to raise a scene then and there, His guests’ eyes were upon him; he bowed frigidly, and not has able to overlook the extended hand, gaye his. However sincere the other’s profession ee have been, with that act Colonel Seymour a ut aside his ye peeees Never a hypocrite, would never give his hand to a man and cherish % ne etclee = 0) *he said, ‘and y ” ar nes ou are e to Thomhwrat Mr. Montrose.” Ri Cee A “I wonder if the millennium isn’t coming,’’ mur- _ mured Mr. Telford, who by this time had found his _. ~ way to his inamorata’s side. ‘‘ Whoever would have Supposed that‘rabid old lion, Colonel Vivian, would ‘ have given in so tamely? Ilooked to see him game _ » to the last | “At any rate, it’s a mercy there was no scene,” | ; Be aa S Gray, and that was the unuttered | thought in more minds than hers. One there felt | the mortification of the encounter more deeply than the colonel himself, felt humiliated in herself that | she had indir ‘ been the means of leading to it. - The baronet led her away from the thronged | rooms, —_———_ — door —— from the librar | ry toa side veranda. He had left her for a moment | = and gone to the cloak-room voluminous woolen mantie, S e 5 5 e er with the | ad asked to B s ® 6 i} ® 2 3 5 a ~e t was. ment ane alone in his presence. sate ene lay, I did not know to what I was - temp’ . Sir Rupert. Let me make amends by | ED SIC go ae Ss aly Ok aah _THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. urging you back to. the brightness of the rooms witl- out delay.” “You do not appear to dislike it yourself.” “No; I have an odd passion for fierce tempests, a ositive liking for all sorts of rough weather. Na- ure is never so alluring to me as in her wildest “You will be content to let me detain you here for a moment, then? I asked you back there me say aurevoiy at our parting. May I, in the course of a few months, come to see you in your Southern home? I will estimate it as a priceless hoon to be granted the privilege.” His tone, more than his words, brought a new revelation to her. What could shesay? ‘There was only one course to pursue, but how could she refuse so as to least wound an honorable, high-toned gentle- man? He went on speaking gravely and earnestly: “J will not leave you in doubt of my motive, Miss Montrose. I have learned to care for you as I never cared for woman before in this single week since we first met, The time is too short to hope I have wakened any return. If the time ever does come when our acquaintance is prolonged, when you have learned to know me better, when you can give me an answer to what you must know is in my heart to-night, it will be time enough then to plead for myself. What I ask is not to hold you compro- m’sed in any degree, but to grant me the favor of becoming better known to you.” : Her face was turned away, but there was a tremor | in her voice as she spoke, showing how his confi- | dence touched her. “You do me more honor than I deserve by having ye ae of me so kindly, Sir Rupert. I must beg— it will be better if you never think of me apalp Iam grateful, believe me, and the best return I can make for such noble frankness as yours is to urge that you will never attempt to see me again; never egos Kes me if youcan help. Oh, Sir Rupert, what is that?” ‘ She clasped his arm nervously, shaken from her habitual self-command. A cloud had broken, and the full moon shone down brightly for a moment. It shone upon a moving form among the elms, which drew back quickly into shadow. Sir Rupert, too, had seen the form, but his own solution for the appearance came with the momentary glimpse. “Some one strolling out in the air, or perhaps a farmer’s boy of the vicinity taking his view of the ball from a distance,” he remarked, carelessly. “The wind is rising; I will not detain you here longer. But I must hope still for the permissiou 4 have asked before we part.” He held open the door for her to pass through. following himself, but left her with a word, the mo- ment ene So gtiogs the throng. He made his way to where Nora stood, for the moment unattended. “Vane is here,” he said, in a tone which shotin reach no ear but hers, fi ““Here?—where? Has he seen the colonel? Wai come this way. Now tell me.” A few steps pens a column between them and the crowd, and Nora’s eager face uplifted, her brown eyes lit with expectancy and hes ension. ‘*He has not seen any one. ad but a glimpse of him, lingering under the elms, butI could not be mistaken, It was positively Vane. He has come, although I wrote to him it would be better not to do so, Iecould hope for no good from it, when I saw from day to day how bitter and unrelenting the col- | onelhas been. I am going out to speak to him; naturally he does not wish to face all these guests, and is most probably waiting an opportunity te en- | ter unobserved.”’ “Would you mind, Sir Rupert”—Nora’s face see and her flowing hair shaded it—“ if I gc in- stead? I should like to see Vane, and it may be bias last chance. Colonel Vivian will not soften—he will order him from the house most probably, and Vane will go with no pleasant remembrance of this night.” ii M Go, by allmeans. Ihoped you’might wisk for She flew up to her room to throw a waterproof over her evening-dress, to thrust Her slippered feet into fur overshoes, then d down a back-way and across the snow-crusted lawn to the line of elms, The wind was just swaying the bare, drooping branches now, and there was light enough to show her a dark form leaning against a tree-trunk, watch- ing the lighted front. He neither heard the light, fleet step, nor saw the me Sg 9! shape; she stood by his side and put out. her hand to touch his arm before he was aware of her presence. "Vane! He started and looked around at her. “Sir Rupert told me that you are going away, and I want to is you how truly I regret the misfor- tunes which have estranged you from your home and friends.” “You are too lenient, Miss Carteret. There is no | reason why you should not join with all the rest in denouncing. the atrocious deeds of which I Have been guilty, ‘ “There isa reason,” she said, meeting his moody eyes with brave, sympathetic glance. I am your friend, even though you do not care to acknowledge meassuch. I know you have felt hardly toward me and know why. I—I want to thank you ”—her face drooped, and her fingers worked nervously with a button of her cloak—“‘ for being so honest when the colonel proposed his plan to you. I never dreamed | until afterward of his intention. He went to be re- conciled with you that night, you know—” ne beg Peaphon: I do ee inow. he interrupted. “He came to denounce me as I deserved, but it was none the less hard for all that.” ‘ “That was afterward. He did not find you at pou lodgings; he returned to the house and met e, who took him to that p ar lat place.”’ : “Dare!” he gave her a keen panies, “Dare went | with me there. “He left you there while he returned with a story a let | for your father’s ear which I believe was purely: his own invention, of your desperation and his fear that yeu Imeant harm to yourself. A servant chanced overhear the conversation, but was discreet enough to say nothing until the result came out, T believe still, as I did from the first, that he has been the means of bringing all this evil upon you.” | Vane’s lips compressed in a hard line. Doubtsof Dare had crept fnto his mind of. late, despite him- self, His face softened as he looked at her. “Tf you are my friend, Nora, it repays me a hun- dred-fold for the loss of those who were friends and have turned against_me. I have only one thing to * regret in my soul, and that is my father’s anger. Icould not go away, perhaps forever, without mak- ing one effort for his forgiveness. if Lever redeem. Hed * iad of my life which is past, I will come back; if not—” ‘ She laid her hand upon his arm again with be- seeching eyes turned upon his face. “Tf not—you will let me say it to you, because I am your friend—if not, you will promise that no des- pesos shall ever drive you to attempt your own ife again?” i a A hot flush swept over his brow, “You apparently known all about my reckless- ness. I do promise faithfully, since you ask it. I did not mean it even then. The pistol was in my ket—some way, I found it in my hand. I don’t elieve I would have used it, but Dare wrenched my hand away and it went off. Hark!” Wheels crushed through the crisp snow, and the moon coming out brightly showed a vehicle from the village livery-stable roll up the drive. A little, shab- by man sprung down and ascended the steps of the mansion. In @ moment the door opened and closed him in, and the two under the elms looked at. each other wonderingly. “That man_came down in the train with me,’ said Vane. ‘“T observed him, because we two were all to get off at the station. Don’t look alarmed, Nora; his business is not apt to concern me. I have not been guilty of any later misdeeds.” Her cloak had fallen back, and the white moon- rays shone full upon her—on the e, sweet. face the luminous eyes, the bright, floating hair, bound back with white roses and pearls—a picture which was a daily comforting remembrance to Vane Vi- vian for months after—which he never forgot while he lived. She looked for a moment up into eyes of golden-brown light, her hand Jay in his warm clasp, and that moment stood out separate and distinc’ from any thing that had gone before in all her ex- istence. Then he replaced her wrap reverently.: ; “T shall make my way to my old room when I can do so unobserved, and wait there until I can see my father alone. Say good-speed, Nora, aud let me take you back to t. ouse.””. tins She said it with lips that quivered and with tears wetting her cheeks. CHAPTER XIX. A LIFE GOES OUT WITH THE YEAR, Tue shabby little man-admitted at that unseason- tble hour had been ushered into the library, and «here Colonel Vivian met him five minutes later. “You wished to see me, sir?” he asked. “If you are Colonel Vivian.” : ee colonel motioned assent to his inquiring nce. . é “My business is important, but I can make it brief. Is this your signature?” He drew out a pocketbook as he spoke, and with business-like dexterity extracted a slip of paper which he spread before the other’s eyes. The colo- nel looking, turned white, his face took on a stony rigidity terrible to see. It was a check for fifty thousand dollars, drawn in favor of Abraham Moses, signed with his name. “Tris a alas he said, hoarsely. : The little man bowed and extracted a second slip, laying it before him in the same manner, ‘This one has been realized upon. Is it genuine?’’ There was anger in the colonel’s gaze, his hand shook as he turned the paper over, and he said, in that constrained, unnatural voice: ‘* Like the other it is forged.” He reeled oe and sunk back into the chair which his wate visitor pinced, his eyes on the other, with his hand motioning him to proceed. “TI am the bank’s messenger. The smaller check for twenty thousand dollars was presented yester- day morning and cashed without suspicion, The other was offered during the afternoon, and, for so large an amount, was subjected to more rigi inspection. The authenticity of the signature was doubted and the person presenting i Jewish money-lender of doubtful character—taken into cus- | tody on suspicion, which deepened when he referred to the party of the morning as his voucher, The Jew gave bonds for his a; atched down here. May ion be, Colonel Vivian?” “* What should it be?” asked the colonel, harshly. “The checks are forgeries; treat them as such,” “At the risk of tracing them beyond the persons 72 involved? It is best to speak freely, sir.. The stimony of the Jew and his friend will probably implicate your son. They aver that the checks were given in Fa op sage of debts of his contracting, transmitted through an agent purporting to come — from you. Their dates. are similar, three weeks back, and some difficulty which made it advisable for the precious pair to remain mum occasioned the delay in the presentation of the checks. The bank officers are your friends and are willing to hush up the matter if you desire it.” The colonel sat with his head thrown back, his ashy face Key ecg as a rock, i “What is it you mean?” he asked, ‘What is it they would have me do?” cisat Ee bes PGietd * “Acknowledge the signature which has been hon- _ ‘ance, and I was dis- ask what will your ac-

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i THE TERRIBLE TRUTH, | hy Ored as genuine: There is hardly a doubt but the | at the first onportandy, Walter. Montrose was in _ Story those rascals tell is the true one, and it isnot-| the midst of his enjoyment within the walls of probable the one will be frightened into refunding | Thornhurst. He had attained his object; he had the cash. Let the other whistle for his; his own ained an introduction to the baronet; he had basis is too shaky to risk appealing to the law.” istened to Mrs. Grahame’s praises of his celebrity, -, There was no softening of the old man’s rigid. and succeeded in disvovering his yearly income; features; it was no mercy towards the son who | had learned bern, doubt that Vane Vivian was had been his idol once, who had brought such | disinherited without hope of recall. misery and humiliation upon him since, prompting The two met at the gate, passed a few casual the decision he had arrived at while the other was | remarks. still Speaking. ; “Are you alone?” asked Vane. “I am on my For the sake of my old friends, to spare any loss | way to the depot, but ii aa I may have time to to the bank, I will do what I would not do to avert | see you home; it is not much out of the way. I the worst consequences which might overtake that | want to catch the midnight express. unhappy boy."t 2+ The last word was scarce Y out of his mouth. In that case I was to assure you there would be | when a bell-like tone cleft the air. Another and no one to appear against the Jew, and thesoonerthe | another followed; it was the clock in the village false check is reduced to the consistency of ashes the | steeple striking twelve. less chance there is of it telling tales some time to “Wortunately railway time is twelve minutes come, . slower, ’ said’°Vane, hurriedly. ‘Sorry I must leave The colonel watched him apply a match to the | you so abruptly, Miss Montrose. Good-night!” spurious paper, watched it shrivel and fall in black He dashed away over the crisp frozen road. He kes, and then roused himself. dashed into the station just as the last bell of the Aceeptmy thanks for your own and your em- | already moving train clanged at its loudest, .. There Ployers’ courtesy,” he said gravely. “And now let | was no ar or a ticket; he sprung upon a rear me present/you among my guests. platform with an impetus which seriously discom- - “Thanks, but I return immediately. I take the pose a passenger standing there, but in his breath- midnight-express from the village, and have little | less haste he failed to observe that it was the same more than easy time to reach it. ,,_ | Shabby littletman who had traveled down with him At least let’ me order 7 refreshments here,” | who also had made an appearance at Thornhurst urged the colonel hospitably. ’ that night. ‘Thanks again. I took supper at the inn after Within the mansion the tone of the steeple-bell arriving. I would not choose anything more. Per- | mingled with the chime of a tall bronze elock in the mit me to tender congratulations over the best pos- | hall. sible ending of a very unpleasant affair. ““Now to watch the Old Year out and the New I believe the old soldier meant the very letter of | Year in,” said Miss Gray. a what he said,” soliloquized the bank-messenger, as “May we watch through all future occasions of © mounted his; conveyance and cast a backward} the sort in the same way—together,” murmured Mr. glance toward the mansion., “The yonng fellow | Telford, in supplement. ane have taken his chances—chances good as cer- The sound penetrated to Colonel Vivian’s dulled a inty—for Sing Sing before he would have lifted a | ear where he stood, almost as’Vane had left. him. a It might be better for the world if there | He moved forward a few unsteady steps, and bent ere more of the same stuff in other fathers.’ his forehead against the glass, looking out into the wa at untoward fates were at work to have brought night. It seemed. black with outer objects undistin- Vivian Vane to:Thornhurst that night? He had | guishable to him, but the old soldier’s stalwart form jcernater into the very shadow of the house itself,the | cut against the light was the target for an unerrin esire for reconciliation, for his father’s forgiveness | aim.. A ball of fire rushed, a sharp report drown o_ plesis swelling in his heart to a positive pain. | the last chime of the hour, a bullet shivered the e kept the side, walking slowly, intending | glass, and Colonel Vivian, shot through the heart, of ent | a rind pone Boek way, oa a Rec Felt heavily to the floor ‘rom. the s door an e sight o é 5 hi hia -c debian ale Sedekenns alse is the tenet i Year and the old man’s Jife had gone out — - ee vasicand jereesed “eres One second 4 er and he in er resence, The Sects Rarer ae SIRe ee ae | ss ag uhttath a hy ow of this nigh make it overflow. i f Now ashe turned and without warning faced the BY cg top foe Ln aad rae ato a momentary author of all the desolation come upon him, his They had stood still with a Fe a a8 Ot ee stern rigidity of countenance struck a chill to the | struck, and that sharp report ringin ra 7 h the Ee, hoe soul. : ¢) house thrilled quick terror into every heart, Nora, ther,” he spoke, imploringly, “there was for- | white the dress sh : 7 ; pivenees forthe prodigal, and fore! ‘ ‘ as the dress she wore, sprung for the door; ss for the prodigal, and forgiveness is what I | Sir Rupert almost as quick followed, and while the have come to plead from you. Don’t turn from me, | crowd rushed here and there in aimless panic, those don’t spurn me as I deserve. Act of mine shall | twowere first to gain the library, to witness the sight never disgrace you again. I am going away, forever waiting them there. ; tron: = oe a been the best, the noblest, the The colonel’s grand old face was upturned to the acta Se can fathers. Don’t refuse me your | light—a white, dead face, with eyelids fallen, and a SI th vi ee rt | repose,upon it which had not been there in the last ‘bite, = @ CO. hie hand went up, slowly and in | moments of his life. It was as if death had brought ns ane trig iin fell: to him alone the true knowledge of these later trou- ys vag one step nearer. How dare you come be- | bles which had imbittered his existence, as if even in eath my roof—how dare you force yourself before | death he had sent back the forgiveness which would my sight. You have cursed my sight, you have | never now be spoken, brought home to me the meaning of words never | A single stain of blood ensanguined his shirt-front, known to a Vivian before—shame, disgrace, treach- | put_not a breath flickered, nos a pulse quivered, as ery, crime.” Sir Rupert bent above the prostrate form, . eather! For the first time in all her healthy, buoyant life, Silence! I told you weeks ago had no son. I | Nora fainted dead away. She was carried above- thought to cast you out of my life as I cast you out | stairs to her own chamber and left in charge of the of my heart then. But the ties of nature cannot be | attendants summoned, Mrs. Sholto Hayes was in severed at will. You have been to me since like’ a | yjoleut hysterics, and half the ladies present reduced brand of infamy; I have been cut to the soul that | to a state of shocked and_terrified helplessness. your crimes must reflect upon me, must be ever @ | Mrs, Grahame’s nerve and habitual self-command Mortification and a reproach.” * were brought out as pele s they had never been The you man found it hard to realize that this | brought out in all her life before. Her contained ex- was hasty, vociferous Colonel Vivian who spoke. | ample did much; to restrain the guests from those There were none of the old abusive epithets, but this | yiolent expressions of horror and confusion which slow, heavy: utterance was expressive of more deadly | go generally prevail at any great catastrophe. anger than had ever found veut in his fiercest tornar The crowd was kept back from the library. A does of wrath, half-dozen gentlemen, among them a pysician, were “Let me speak, I beg,” pleaded Vame. “I have | shut within the room, A single glance was sufficient. been guilty, I have caused you to suffer, and Ihave ; Death had been instantaneous, and it was impossi- not one word to offer for my own palliation. You | -ble, had it been desired, to keep the truth from the have been meroiful where I did not expect it, you people about. ; ; spascd me when I deserved to suffer the most, It was the colonel’s old enemy, Walter Montrose, you and bless you for it now. If I live I shall |. who broke the tidings to the shivering guests. Col- hever cease to strive to become what I have not been | onel Vivian had been shot through the heart, dead yet—the worthy son of such a father.” —murdered in the security of his own home, sur- Hypocrite! traitor! ingrate!” broke in fierce | youxided by a host of friends, At a hint from him aspiration from the colonel’s purple lips. Great |the gentlemen present dispersed quickly through otted veins stood out upon his forehead, a clammy | the grounds and followed the different outlets to a perspiration oozed there, and his hand clenched | considerable, distance in search of the pernetteeer With the tenseness of a vise. “Go, and the curses |’ of the deed. A messenger was dispatched to the you have earned, instead of blessings, follow you! | county authorities, a ae ia was sent to the chief Go!” of police, Pittsburg, another to New York, calling He pointed to the door. Vane would have remon- | for the best detectives in the force, all within two Strated again, but that unwavering hand, that scath- | hours’ time. ing gaze would brook no lingering. He went with a The first hurried search of the grounds revealed eart like lead, with feet which faltered in bearing | no trace of the criminal. The tramp of many feet m away, Across the lawn, where the wind was | obliterated any trace of individual footprints which Sweeping again, blindly on to the avenue gates, and might have borne import to skilled sight. One there he came suddenly upon a tall, dark, female | gentleman, examining every inch of the space within pone So suddenly that there was no chance of | Which the assassin must have stood, presently hy ng. it, and the encounter recalled him to | caught the glitter of a substance forsten to the sere “f ‘it i snow, half buried Ha it, und et i os soee iy e be : ontrose?” he asked, doubtfully, lifti was a small, silver-mounted pistol, whic al Mis one ve ot have bei flung there from the fand of the assas- as Miss Montroge.. She had little imvlination | gin, ’ ; fe aay, surroundings left after. that frank, manly |" “Great God!” cried Telford, sharply, at sight of info Snpe from Sir Rupert. She had lingered to} it, “Itis yo Vivian's. ’ night avers of her intention to return home that | Dare pushed ugh the crowd at that. He was ‘\ and had refused the use of the carriage proffered, | very pale and very Collected, as he always was, in fh far slipped away unobserved and unattended | the face of a great emergency. — + Loe Ges Ps . \ y - : ~ - of thesound, but hurried back, and seeing | , Did. ii sapowe and ie ati Aas hed been first and most eager in the search but at the sight of thé little evil-powered instrument, a rush of emotion mastered ’ ¢ “Oh, how unfortunate!” he exclaimed. . ‘‘ This will witness against’ him where there would have been no other witness.”’ y Glances were exchanged. Mere surmises of sus icion which had’ been whispered before rose into emands now. No one was ignorant of the terms existing between father and son, and the pistol had the initials of the latter graven upon its plate. Three oung men present declared they had seen it at dif- read periods in Vane Vivian’s hands. Had he been there Made suddenly aware of his indiscretion, so it seemed, tortures would not have wrung another PA on from Dare. He loved him like a brother, the people said among themselves; it was natural he should wish to shield him now. They honored him for his silence, and at the same moment,.for the sake of Justice, congratulated themselves that a power higher than his will would foree him to speak, sooner or later. : om) Sir Rupert Archer turned sick at, heart as he too a glance at the telltale weapon, Hedid not waver in the loyalty of his friendship for Vane; all the evil appearances which he realized might be brought to’ bear didnot instill.a doubt into his mind... Soon the lights which had flashed hither and thither through the grounds went out. Carriages rolled’ away, one by one. Silent forms moved through the dimness of the great house now; the faded and drooping reminders of the late festivities were like mockeries, with those pale faces and solemn whispers stirring in the rooms. Daybreak brought the county officials to examine the place, to joere such steps asmight be in pursuing the crim- inal, It was a strange, unnatural house, with the sound of heavy feet coming and going. It all seemed like some frightful nightmare to Nora, as she sat in ‘her shadowed chamber, the dread spectacle of pod aap stricken suddenly lifeless always be- ore her. « F Sir Rupert had inquired at her door d _the morning. Dare had been there for the third time, but forbore to. intrude his presence: She was le alone except for a few moments Mrs, G ae came in to sit with her: mn ce There was an inquest held. The coroner, with a ey of twelve picked men, took possession of the ib Witnesses. had ‘been summo among guests Ss I and members of the household. The business was conducted quie and ‘with as much itch as was consistent arith the nature of the anes pre- sented. p Ps iy {% as of lne are xaan te one eng ‘ one o -rooms, the one f ~ west. Had heard the Se pomt ort Galt as the clocks concluded the ‘stroke of twelve. Had de- fined the sound as Peo 3 from the vicinity — the library. Was familiar with the interior of the mansion, Had rushed immediately ’ er, the second n to enter; the first had been teret. Had stooped over the. body of the had looked up, saying—“ The colonel is Sead Hed Mis: Eartxe ted had been among the first persons to enter the] yy after himself; could not say positi the first. 3 re dae | Mr. Montrose was not upon the witness: list; he Mic not present. Owen Dare volunteered’ that, he been the third person to enter the room. His *esti- mony was in substance a repetition of the baronet’s, with the exception that he had , from the parlors and stood in the south hall ashe. countedthe —_ there when the pistol-sho positively defined the library door open, entered, nail yuit j Several others were sworn with but slight variations of the same testimony. Mr, Frederiek Janes sworn, and in addition testified to the finding of a pistol en- graved with |the initials ‘‘V..V.,” ura de- scribing its position when found, Mr. Relford i ti- strokes, was stan alarmed him. Hadno » fied the pri as one previously in the possession of deceased's son. “ Sir Rupert Archer, recalled, admitted unwillingly , to believing it the property of his friend. Had Vane. | omni meee ! en |. Vivian been at Thornhurst on the preceding to his hep hag ile He had. Had Sir Ruperts with him’ No, What were the terms wi deceased and his son? Sir Rupert declined | answer. Was an animosity entertained which might lead to the committal of such a crime? On the part of the son positively not, \ Mr. Owen Dare ae also recognized th pistol as ha belonged to Vane Vivian, Had been aware of the-latter’s presence upon the premises. Asked to relate what he knew Of it. Unwillingly stated: he had stepped out of the heat to. hed cigar'upon the veranda; had his attention arres by a mufiled female form crossing the lawn; @ Hie curious to know the meaning of ihe appearance he ~ had sauntered often and seen her join a man under a theelms. He had, been near enough to r thé tworas Miss. Carteret. and Vane. eases d resent on the preceding evening, - s Care , 5 the . | immediately retired, himself unseen. After a few ; moments’ stroll in the shrubbery he returned to the | veranda intending to enter as he Le a through the library. Was checked by the of . voices, within, and. unintenti oN oan fragment of conversation between the colon Reribr ho pad mcen-Ceire- 0: door. non id the versation nave bearing — ‘ subs pie ant Rr pay ing uit Dare eould nc Ne ~~ t =f Tie - : * t ra <r sh.

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_ positive of the time; po Be it somethin ‘ i-were eh Mist, ‘Walter Montrose walked home from Thorn- | ” Shlackness ‘before this; the clouds that oom, She till about her. gold? * . day. At last the coroner summed up _ . spoke of the ill-terms existing between i a — —— ‘Would he repeat what he had heard? Objected to, Bi the question was not pressed. He ect been much in the company of deceased's son during the ast two years; what had been the ter of the fatter? ery much the same of all young men of the world nowadays, a little wild, but a generous friend. Had he not Deaiy proeanys to an extreme desperate and reckless? Very unwillingly admitted he had been all of these, to withdraw again. It had not m deemed necessary to draw the y Qadies into this painful scene, and their evidence it | was supposed would merely corroborate that. al- { ready given, but now, after a whispered conference, it was ided that Miss Carteret must be called. Sir Rupert Archer went for her and she paprerce below, a few moments later, looking wofully ill, her face like colorless marble, her eyes haggard. She ‘was sworn and a chair placed for her by the coro- ner, who observed how weak she appeared, but gave her evidence in a clear, concise manner, _ She had met Mr. Vivian under the elms; was not after éleven, She had gone out of her own accord to say gooud-by and assure him of her sympathy under re- or is eooiewd bitt inst i 8 e no bitterness against any one in her ne Meyda not against” his father. Had admitted deserved the latter’s anger, and had come down to Thornhurst to sue for his forgiveness. The colonel had been very bitterly incense ainst his son, influenced, she believed, by exaggerated if not false reports of the latter’s conduct which had been given him. The coroner begged Miss Carteret ‘would confine herself to facts, not to opinions. She was closely;questioned, and while her own belief in Vane’s innocence was apparent, her evidence stre ened the appearances against him, - examination lasted the greater part of the the evidence father and son, of the reckless, desperate character of the lat- ter, of the evil habits to which it was known he was addi made a spirited appen to the sense of jus- tice which must rele in each good citizen’s breast, spoke of the rapidity with which crime was ad- vancing not merely among the low and vicious, but in our families, like the instance now being dis- cussed, that vice was corrupting our young men, evil Paget nef and associations dragging them down to the level of ruffians and assassins, ‘The verdict ' returned after a short delay was: ** Deceased had come to his death from sp of @ pis- tol-shot fired by the hand of his son, Vane Vivian.”’ Before night a warrant had been issued for the ar- rest of the young man. Messages were ing over the wires to New York and other principal points, accurate descriptions of his appearance and ‘dress nn the brand of murderer was set upon My subtle power of the law put in force hurst at two o’clock of New Year’s morning. Tho ‘stars and the moon had been blotted out as inky been the earlier part the night were and the snow was falling fast in flakes, He had learned of his before leaving the mansion. ieee Ovect : over’ Sean anees N 5 h io the approached it, and he stamped into the blackness _of the narrow passa; ause _ lucifer, lit a candle oA prdceetied to the door of her ed to him immediately. She had not un- and had a portion of her ‘out-door wraps “Not gone to bed, Venetia, and in the dark and ou indulge og not to say uncomforta- ble tastes. Can you make your arrangements to- morrow instead of the following morning?” —_ ' “What has happened?’’she asked, a vague fear op ressing her as she read some unusual expression | in é “A very terrible occurrence. I am quite shaken from it yet. Colonel Vivian was shot, killed instant- dy, by an assassin from without his house. I have no cause to mourn for him, but I don’t know another person whose sudden death would have ‘given me sucha shock. There’ll be an inquest and any amount of troublesome detective business, and T as one of those present might be detained as a wit- ness. I don’t want to be mixed up with the affair; I | acouldn’t be of any good if I were, and it is an un- “pleasant sort of notoriety to attach, even in a re-— ote degree, to any one. fia: Is any one suspected?” she asked, “No,” Mr. Montrose had left before the finding | i istol. ‘It was the act of a cowardly ruffian, ab chances are probably more than against ever detecting him. ‘To the question again, can you ack and be fit to travel by the earliest morning ? ‘ pd ” “Yes, papa. a thing more onerousin the way of leavin 3 engwith ‘charge than turning the key in the tong ‘this place may be trusted to take care of itself. Get a wink of sleep if you can, Venetia; you ll be fagged _ outbefore our journey is at an end. ie hurst, Venetia moved about her preparations with an awe from the fraeeey, ronnie so near fallen upon — her, but withal of this sudden departure, which ‘spared her the of again seeing either the bar- | onet or Dare. ’ - When that verdict against Vane Vivian was ren- dered, the one who could have cleared him from suspicion was two hundred miles from Thorn- though neither of them knew it then, it was to mg years before the Montroses, father and daughter, would set foot in that Western Penn- -eylvania region again. . Dare was permitted | 's broke the vague outline of the old house as | there to fumble for a | “4 _THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. CHAPTER XXT. THE READING OF THE WILL. Tree days later the funeral cortege wended its way slowly out of Thornhurst. It was a dreary overcast day with fine snow whirlin: d ed under the horses’ feet, when the desolation of grief marked by the hearse with its sable plumes and the lon 1 procession of mourning friends seemed echoe hrough earth and sky. The frozen clods fell with their first hollow sound upon the coffin-lid. Colonel | Seymour Vivian, brave old soldier, lion-hearted, assionate, generous, noble with all his faults, was eveled to the lot of all mankind, “ Earth to earth | ashes to ashes, dust to dust "—with his virtues and his faculties the old man was at rest. | Back to the desolate house again, which, Jess than a week ago, had been the seat of mirth, filled with thoughtless gay creatures, every corner echoing with the life and happiness within. A gloom was over all now, untold horrors haunted every shadow- ed nook, every cautious footfall and low-voiced word was but the ghost of a sound stirring the dreary space. Mitr. Grahame, in company with Sholto Norton Hayes, had come down from the city to attend the obsequies; with them had come Colonel Vivian’s lawyer, and the little party remaining at Thorn- hurst assembled in the library late in the afternoon of that same day. Sir Rupert Archer had taken up his quarters, for the time at the hotel in the village, Dare retained his place in the mansion. , The company had assembled to hear the readin of the will, hastened to accommodate the return o those gentlemen whose business would take them back immediately to New York, Whispered sur- mises had been indulged whether or not the colonel had put his avowed intention into effect, whether he had made a new will, disinheriting his son, and in that case who_might be the fortunate legates. The two ladies, Mrs. Grahame, and Mrs. Hayes were the nearest relatives after Vane, and the grie: of each displayed by crape folds and black-bor- dered handkerchiefs was not so intense but they had speculated hopefully as ti their individual chances. Visions of the city house rejuvenated, of the new lustrous silks and royal velvets and flashin: diamonds which became her so well, had chowder into Mrs, Grahame’s mind in the very midst of the morning service and solemn duty. Similar visions of a new establishment half a mile further up-town, a brown stone palace surrounded by brown stone palaces, such a Lge as had been outside the limit of that moderate eighty thousand which did not quite remove her from the realms of the parvenu, awoke all the energy which was capable of being aroused in Mrs. Sholto Hayes. 0 will blame them? Itis always the way; life is a lottery; and Death very often deals out the winning ticket: Fluttering hopes fell at the date of the will—Oc- tober ist, 1867.” Two years before, immediately after the departure of Vane Vivian for Europe while the colonel’s pride in him was strongest, and the noble old estate would go to the profligate that had been, the miserable criminal fleeing from justice that was, for, in the minds of the community and of Wee ee relations of his own, Vane Vivian was | prejudged. : é There were legacies, five thousand dollars each to Mrs. Grahame and Mrs. Hayes.. (Blasted were all the fairy visions of new equipments and brown stone peice Two thousand dollars to his son’s friend wen Dare. A thousand dollars each to the butler and housekeeper, who had grown old in his service, | some smaller m eg) and then: | "The residue of all his estates,moneys, and personal | roperty, was bequeathed to his ward, Lenore Car- beret, On condition that she should become contract- ed in marriage with his only beloved son, Vane | Vivian. In default of her consent, the estate of Thornhurst with half his personal property and | moneys in fund, to be divided as thereinafter named, | should revert to his son, the remainder as therein- after specified to go to ward as a token of his | past friendship and affection for her father, Edwin larteret, and love for herself, Then followed a minute description of personal | effects and their division, with Richard Grahame supoines as his executor, to whom was bequeathed | the sum of five thousand dollars to cover such trouple and inconvenience as he might encounter in carrying out the wishes therein couveyed. Duly signed and attested according to law, There was a little flutter, a little murmur, checked suddenly as the lawyer proceeded to unfold another document, and announced: “Qodicil to the fore oing will and testament of Seymour Vivian, dated December 10th, 1869,” opeful expectations in the ascendant again, In addition to the legacies already bequeathed to Mrs. Grahame and Mrs. Hayes ten thousand dollars each, a total of fifteen thousand each. In addition to two thousand dollars bequeathed to Owen Dare three thousand more, a total of five thou- | Pais fateerckite ateposition St xl iéniatiiag Gatede e foregoing sition o remaining estates moneys and personal property revoked, and all be- queathed. unconditionally to his beloved ward and adopted daughter in his affections, Lenore Carteret _ to her and her heirs and assigns forever. In case of his decease during her minority Richard Grahame was appointed as her guardian, and finally in addi- tion said Richard Grahame, to act jointly as executors and trustees, Sholto Norton Hayes, and a fin uest of ten thousand dollars each as a token of good will and recompense for trouble paid a | the business devolving #7 pan! them, and a yearly al- _ lowance to the appoin guardian of Lenore Car- | teret for whatever time, if any, she might remain an inmate of his house and home. Attested and signed. “Such, ladies and gentlemen,” concluded the law- yer, laying down the document. “are the last wishes a f a of our deceased friend, Colonel Vivian. It will not require for me to urge that they may be sacredly observed. Let me be the first to congratulate Miss Carteret upon her accession to princely wealth, and to hope that my own connection in a business way with the owner of Thornhurst may continue in the future as it has been in the past,” The lawyer crossed briskly to the spot where Nora sat, her head resting against her chair, her face in shadow, her hands locked in her lap, motionless as a statue through all the reading except once when a shudder passed over her when her own name was mentioned first. She had been as still, as undemon- strative ever since the verdict of the coroner's had been rendered. The sight of her kind old friend as he lay in his coffin had not moved her. Great as her own desolation and grief might be there was an ever-present horror before her so infinitely greater that all else was swallowed up beside it. All the oc- currences passing about her had seemed unreal, She had strained her attention to comprehend the mean- ing of the will, hoping for some expression of for- ‘giveness and assurance of paternal affection which might yet comfort Vane, and instead came the sar that struck her like a curse, She was the one to usurp his inheritance; through her he had become a wanderer upon the earth, an outcast from his home, worse than all that, a man hunted by his fellow-man. But for her Colonel Vivian would have forgiven him seven times seventy times if need had been. Out of darkness closing around, that thought glared at her as though written there in letters of fire. “Great heavens!’ cried the lawyer, stooping over her. ‘Air here! The young lady has fainted. Such is the result of great and unexpected good fortune.” A window was thrown wide. The rough winter breeze swept borers na through the room. Nora had not fainted, but she lay back in her chair in a death- like stupor from which no ordinary method would revive her. The great shock of Colonel Vivian’s murder, followed by Vane’s accusation of the crime working upon her these last three mi on had received a final touch through the accession this fortune which those about were envying her. Before night she was in a delirium of brain-fever which brought the gravest of looks into the face o the physician called to attend her. Sir Rupert Archer remained in the Moore. iy steamer in which Vane’s passage was taken left on the third, but Vane had not gonein her. Detec- tives had been on the watch at the depots and about the docks. His town lodgings had been kept under constant surveillance, a dozen different clews had been taken up and followed, but all ended alike in nothing. At the end of a week the authorities be- gan to,consider the case in hand one of extraordi- nary difficulty, and a few whose sympathies were at first enlisted for the young man took this successful elusion of the law as an evidence of more dened villainy, more deeply-plotted criminality than they had first supposed. Among his whole circle of ac- quaintances but one stood for him openly and un- waveringly, Sir Rupert Archer. Nora was lying at the very gates of death. It was weeks before any change for the better took ap weeks of anxiety and watching, during which Thorn- hurst was gloomy and silent as a tomb; but young, strong vitality conquered at last. It was March be- fore she was about the house again, the thin, pallid host of her former self, all her wealth of warm hair gone, and in its place little rings of softest brown curling about temples and forehead where the blue veins showed eae the transparent skin. April with its tears and smiles, its clouds and sun- shine came. By the middle of the month Nora went to the little brown cottage, on the Capé Cod coast, to the two faithful old people, who, separated as they were from her, had more power to comfort her Sore-stricken heart than the worldly people about her. First she had a private interview with her guardian, who came down to Thornhurst for a cou- ple of days previous to accompanying her on her sourney east. She wished it distinctly understood hat she would never aca@ept the fortune which had been left to her. Therigh heir would some day return, prove the charge preferred against him un- true, and until then the property must be held in trust, every penny berigidly accounted for. She would go back toher old friends until she was stronger, and afterward find some means for her own maintenance, ‘““I suppose you mean you will teach district school, or ay music lessons, or take in embroi- dery,” said Mr. Grahame, rubbing his smooth chin, scarcely conceal his contempt for the Quixotic sentiment with which he had no sympathy. An in- ordinate appreciation of money had sprung up through his own hard rub with the world. It was an act of folly and recklessness for a yo girl to throw away & fortune of a millio—Mr. Grahame was not wholly uninfluenced by the yearly sum accorded him- self—an act he would never countenance. “ Very for- tunately for yourself, my dear, Miss Carteret, you have not the power at present to carry out this benevolent scheme of yours. The late Colonel Vivian's will cannot be se aside, and you are bound to observe the conditions of it for the three years of your minority. Of course if you hold to your pres- tnt ridiculous fancy you can ‘will away the fortune when you come of age, but ’—with gloomy import— for the sake of the old name it is to be hoped Vane Gir Ie Cacegh Ses ha one © eno chance 0; ev i a are or three years, of her own will or not, Nora would be the heiress of the Vivian fortune. é Tn all this time there had been no trace of Vane, The heat of the search after him was over. The sharpest detectives had been baffled. Vane Vivian the accused murderer, had disappeared in the very hour which had witnessed the committal of the

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w THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. | ne 24 crime as mysteriously and utterly asif the earth had Opened to swallow him up. There was nothing now to detain Sir Rupert Arch- er in the vicinity. He had lingered for weeks and months, hourly in the oe od of hearing of the ee hee aera of his friend, waited to stand his friend to the last and through the worst of all which might come, for Sir Rupert realized more keenly than Nora, the frightful danger which hedged about his friend. Friends and foes were alike mystified by his abrupt and eae nag) agit and at last the horror of the tragedy died out; Thornhurst was closed and deser and like other participants in the scenes there the baronet took his departure. e@ pursued a very roundabout way, considering the fact that his destination was the wide plains of the West. He went by way of a neglec planta- tion in the very heart of Georgia, a wilderness of rank weeds and unhealthy vegetation, with lands unproductive for all pati ied purposes, with shat- tered, tottering buildings where the blue sky could be seen in patches through the roof, which were in- habited by bats and mice and the thousand kinds of vermin and insects which infest that Southern re- gion, but where human beings had not dwelt for years and years. The discovery brought a bitter shock of disap- pointment to the baronet. Upon inquiry he dis- covered that the owner had occupied a cottage in the vicinity for a couple of months. He had man- aged at last to sell the old place for a mere song, uite as much as it was worth, however; he and his | aughter had gone away,immediatly after, no one knew where. So closed to Sir Rupert Archer the one chapter of his life in which he had dreamed misty dreams, and lived in a future that he felt would never be realized now, when Archer Hall should hold a lovely, queen- like presence, when pattering feét and apy cherub voices should wake the echoes in the lofty rooms and make perpetual sunshine in his heart. CHAPTER XXII. THE BRAZILIAN MINES. Avaust, 1872. It was an odd, imcongruous scene which spread itself before the view, wild, pictur- esque, exciting. There was a broken foreground, a long, dusty road on which at almost any time of the day might be seen a train of great lumbering cover- ed wagons, drawn each by a half dozen broad-horned oxen that had plodded wearily perhaps over sandy roads, through Big mg and over trackless plains where it seemed man had never trod before, for hundreds of miles to the destination spread out in sight, a range of low, flat-topped hills and far away at the back the dim’ outline of the mountains, the Brazilian diamond-fields. A plain was dotted with long ‘lines of canvas tents andrude sheds. The wide central street was crowded with pedestrians, vehicles, men on mules or tough little mountain ponies, negroes gliding everywhere in the throng, and seeming to comprise two-thirds of the population, the other third com- posed of all the remaining nationalities of the earth. A medley of sounds filled the camp, the metallic He of gravel shaking through the sieves, the lows of pick and shovel in breaking obdurate lumps, shouts and cries and blasphemous expres- sions in every known tongue; such a sight and such & volume of sound as is nowhere ever found except in one of the great mining districts of the world. ude awnings were on every claim under which the miner sorted out his pile of gravel or dirt which might or might not contain the coveted precious Stones, Everywhere intense earnestness in the work always holding out an alluring prospect of Sudden wealth, never losing its fascinations, though but one of a hundred anxious seekers ever succeeds. South Africa might for the time carry away the Public mind but Southern Brazil held its own share of excitement nevertheless. Such the sceneon the tenth day of August, 1872. An unusual enthusiasm had been reigning in the frie, for the past two weeks. It was a new location, tried once years before, and aves up as not paying expenses of working. A min RE ye owning & considerable tract of land about, had sold out shares at a ridiculously low per cent to a couple of adventurous fellows, who went to work with a will and with such good result that, within a month after their operations began, this prosperous camp had hears up without their limits. “A crowd of two or three ‘hundred men surged continually about the mouth of what was known as the old mine. Miners eft their own claims and work to watch enviously fhe rich yields which one particular streak of gravel n the old mine was turning out, Others fell to work aon renewed SAR a wate to sink their own pits ®eper, anda steady flow of new-comers kept ap- ee until now there were no more claims to be “Hurrah!” shouted a voice. “Hurrah! another strike in the old drift.” two minutes the whole ‘space about was one . Surging mass of humanity. A whooping crowd, vo- ciferous in their demands to “wet the find,” and _ When the shout went through that it was a hundred i oo Lo _— , The fortunate finder was caught up on Gers of the crowd, to his own ‘a disco and fifty caret diamond of the first water, men Fo a to go fairly mad with excitement. It was sy ereest gem discovered there, and the fortunate rent. stood flushed and triumphant with that for- one in a drop upon his palm, a great drop of daz- er & brilliance, every motion throwing out quivering S$ and flashes of burning light. apoe me: Smith,” said his partner, touching him aaa the shoulder, liquor the crowd and let's get forte eis Babel. ’I never was nervous over good now.” before, but I confess to being shaky the shoul- i im bor mifiture, and Pere triumphanily through the wide. main street. | He was not to make his estape easily; even when he had been able to clear the vociferous throng through the time-honored custom of ‘wetting the find,” some eager speculators hemmed him in. ** Say, neow, what'll yeou take for the hull section, Mister Smith?” “Give you twenty dollars a foot for it.” “Double that in hard cash!’ : “Fifty: dollars a foot for ten square yards, and my own choice. Come, now, you'll not do better than that in ten years.”’ “Can’t he, though? I go five hundred dollars bet- ter on the offer and my own choice.” “‘Gentlemen,”’ said the lucky miner, decisively, ‘I can make no bargain without the me 9 oe and con- currence of my partner, Come along; make your offers to him; give us a little time to t: the mat- ter pect and we may strike a bargain, What do you say They agreed, since there was nothing else to be done, grumbling a little at the prospect of a night’s delay, advancing their bids to startling co in their eagerness to become possessed of inesti- mabie mine of wealth. The two partners consulted together aside, and the elder man announced their decision, ‘* We'll sell out the half-section, Smith and I, for what you’ve offered, a hundred. thousand apiece. The other half isn’t for sale just now. We're not anxious, but we’re perfectly , 80 let’s know of what mind you are.” So eager were they that the bargain was conclud- ed on the spot. Papers were drawn up and signed before night, and it is a question which were envied most, the new owners of the half-interest, or the old ones who would realize double the amout of the sale upon diamonds already in their possession. The sun went down upon the boisterous scene, Long shadows creptin. Groups of miners gathered before the tents or strolled aimlessly about the wide streets discussing the absorbing topic of the day. Further out upon the plain the negroes had congre- gated and were executing to a monotonous chant some fantastic native dance. A short distance aside from the regular lines stood one large tent, and just without the opening, smoking their pipes and watch- ing the great, round white moon come up, were the two comrades who were the pioneers of the move- ment here. - ‘* We've cut lines for good and all, it seems, part- ner,” said the elder man at last, “We've been to- gether nigh upon two years now, and each has kept an uncommonly close mouth about his own affairs as I look back on it. Ihaven’t been much given to talking 6f myself, and for no better reason than I would have found little or nothing to say. I have always been a roving blade, though I come of good family, stiff and starched old Puritans, who trace back to the first colonists of Boston, and from that direct to the Mayflower for all I ever knew or cared. There isn't one other in the world to-day so close to me as you are,my lad. Itook to you at sight, you remember; I knew you to be a gentleman, though ou never made any A serge son on that score; and ave proved yourself as tough and plucky as the rough lot out there. You, I take it, are going back to your proper place in the world, and I’m off on a voyage to the States that’s been like a prick to my conscience these last weeks here, knowing I’d ought to take it, Would you mind giving me a back view before we cut quite apart, my boy?” The other, a tall, a a tae young man of twenty-six or seven, dark-bearded and bronzed, look- ed away through the summer night, made vocal with insect notes, and with something’ between a sigh and a smile, knocked the ashes from his pipe and turned toward his companion. “Tes not a pleasant, view for me to look back up- on, Prescott,” be said. “It’s little enough good I ean tell you of myself before we struck hands and fellowship. I had been six months in the mines then, and without one single stroke of good fortune to encourage me. Lowe allI havehad since to the chance you gave me, and if you care to bear my story, it is little enough return for me to tell it. In the first place, then, my name is not Smith.” ‘ “T always knew that,” said Prescott, quietly. “It didn’t chime with the cut of your jib.’ ‘*My own name is Vivian. I hinted that I was wild. You have heard of the road to ruin, I sup- pose? Well, 1 went over that road ata full gallop for three good years. I wound up as young men 0: that stamp retest do wind up, sooner or later, at a bad crisis. I had a noble old father whom I brought to sorrow by my bad course. He paid my debts up to the last, though his justifiable anger led him to openly avow his intention of disinheriting me; you will admit that I well merited it when I tell you T raised money on a post-obit, and that he discovered the fact. His | per aac through all touched me to the bottom of whatever good was in my heart. I made a resolve to bring myself up to a standard of which he need not be ashamed. I made an arrangement to leave the States; to go to London my original intention was. I went down to the old lace to beg my father’s forgiveness and ask his lessing. I came away without either; so bitterly was he incensed. I had worn his patience out long before, and it is little wonder he had no faith ‘in me, “T left his home that night—itwas New Year’s Eve—as desolate a man as might well be found on earth. Through a blunder brought about by my | train at first own inattention, I took the wro wad ew York I was change. Instead of going direct for C en route for Harrisburg, and before I had discovered my mistake I had heard a conversation between two engers ahead, which quite my whole the two men had taken passage for South Amer fea, by a ship which would sail from Baltimore on the following day, their de the mines of i \ ) _ by wilder Brazil. 1e of ‘had repented, ho and air the ae of tis eompanion was ectual to move ““«Phere’s no use of your talking,’ 1 heard him say. ‘I can ill-afford to lose the passage-money, but I wouldn’t take the risk of a round trip or a ~ oe 4 stay in that bilious climate for twice as mu Id die of yellow fever there, within six months, I tell you for the last, Pl not Fe; “I leaned forward and touched his shoulder, call- ing the attention of both, ‘+ Will you oh penn chance?’ I asked. ‘I'll goin your place and refund your meg ‘ “He very readily made the bargain. e other , looked at me sharply and asked some questions, but seemed satisfied with the arrangement. To save trouble and explanations, which there was now no time to make, I assumed his name and personality for the voyage. 1 had meant from the first to take an assumed name, and I never changed it after reaching the Brazilian coast. “T am going back with money enough to repay all that I squandered in my reckless days and some- ing over. Better than that, I go back to prove myself not entirely unworthy to be my father's son.. That’s all, Prescott; no hopeful relation, as I warned’ you at first,” : “Hopeful for the future, my dear fellow, You asked me when I made out those papers, a few hours ago, why I didn’t sell out the whole section and live at ease for the rest of my life. Iputyou off with an evasive answer, then. e true reason is because I,;have no more right to that other half~ section than you have. Iwas one of the gt See Company you know. Half the shares were owned by one man; I struck up an acquaintance with him,, just before he died, about five years ago. He gave papers concerning the mine into my keeping;. they weren’t considered worth the ink upon them at that time, but he asked me, if they ever amount- ed to any thing, to see that the proceeds of his share: went to his daughter. I’ve got her address along with the documents, and I’ve had the matter of the voyage I’ve decided_on in my mind since we struci: our good luck here, I’m going to offer her a fair price considering all the risks, for that other half, and TP come back and work it myself, or sell, according to my fancy then. I’ve thought of the matter nights until I couldn’t be content to put it off. I couldn’ rest easy with this much money in my: hands, and think that Ned Carteret’s daughter might be starv- ing for all I know.” 3 * Who?’’ the young man asked, in startled, intense voice, “Carteret. Little Lenore, he called the girl.” “Nora? Why, Prescott, Nora Carteret is my . father’s ward!” ‘ The two looked into each other’s faces in the bright - moonlight for one moment; then their hands came together in congratulatory pressure, ; This is better than I could have hoped,” Prescott said, warmly. ‘We'll not of necessity cut asunder yet awhile; we'll take our home journey together.” CHAPTER XXII . A COMPACT, - * Or what are you thin , Nora?” Nora was nestled among the satin cushions of a dormeuse, the lace window-curtains sifting sofk shadows upon her bright head and fair face, her chin in her hand, her eyes looking far away over the gay throng crowding the beach to the dazzling e of the ocean, dotted with a picturesque sailhere and , there, with pleasure-boats like tiny-winged birds — skimming its surface. It was the Brighton of | America, Long Branch, and it was near the of the brilliant season which repeats itself in endles: variation year after year. Three years baton Colonel Vivian had re) ht Nora home to Thornhurst, a willowy slender girl, her graceful little head crowned with long ht th silky hair of a most obnoxious color to. her eyes, fresh from boarding-school and new to world. Bright, willful, spirited, her beauty h created a sensation then, with the engines of great- er brilliancy to. come with time, The promise had been fulfilled in the three years pas .. She was taller, hers was a slender shape still, but with a bear- i ained which might have ced a princess of Ante old royalty, hair of the darkest ‘Guba Hippled back from the broad white forehead, and her face— Rey" had <= ae ry ‘ ot <) - .) aia <a . oe ° it was one of those faces which may be seen but not ~ desertbed, Anadmirer attempting to describe her once said: “When she sweeps into the room you have a mo- — mentary glimpse of fair, clear-cut features, a red. firm line of lip and rounded chin, you have a vision of the Madonna in marble rise up before oe i) () ? ll think her too perfect and too cold, but lon, dark lashes quiver, you look into fathomless brown — eyes, soft as velvet and as bright as stars, You see: nothing more, and unless you are an uncommon man you can never look at her with critical eyes. ~ again after being dazzled by that first glance.” Such, the belle of this season as.she w, was Nora Carteret then. : greater part of that time } ee oe wild buffaloes | dians on the wide-rolling Mrs, Grahame? Iwas he lifted a white crea a 5 * ye. edt ea a as. |. ee a ee

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eee pants pee, _THE TERRIBLE TRU" r) Ww Nine in ‘the’ hoary'ord mouritairis, ex: Bionse gold-veined regions of California, and ting gradually southward to these unsettled’ do- minions where you might’ suppose my adventures had.been hairbreadth and frequent enough to satisfy the most daring, much less a peaceable and ease- , loving individual such as I claim: to be. But I tear ft carting -away from the fascinations of' this rude life E with deep regret. Here is a tropical climate, but re- |. ligved from oppressiveness, a soil which produces ir voluntarily the richest fruits of the earth, a natural i ' Garden of Edén,; but unfortunately inhabited by a > people who neither know how to ernithemselves ; nor submit to government, whose incessant revolts _.—- Make it dangerous for strangers, where no man can 3" trust his ‘hbor, no one» be secure from petty dep- redations, [ leave it however, not from choice, , but because Archer Hall must be sadly needing me. ‘ I have a desire to be a good landlord to my tenants, ; a worthy representative of the Archers dead and Sa gone, and though I have full faith in mf trustworthy ' steward I am not-sure thatI have lived to the strict ; ' Jetter of my duty.” ty, “And so, concluded Nora, “he expects to. be in _ New York before the middle of October, next month. ‘We must go back to the city in time to meet him there, Mrs, Grahame.” . i: What an odd girl you are, Nora. Sir Rupert _ Must consider you so, to write that style of a dry, v4 _ technical letter.” : " ’ , “Dry!” cried Nora, indignantly. “It is full of interest. I am glad that Sir Rupert Archer does 'S think well enough of me to spare me the sort of ' ‘wishy-washy missives some gentlemen consider all | that can reach the comprehension of their lady ac- “quaintances. As to being odd, I wouldn’t be any one else than [-am, Nora Carteret, free and inde- : pendent that is to be very soon, for all the world.” “Tve always wondered,” continued Mrs. Grahame, ** whether or not you threw over the baronet. He f was certainly very attentive at one time, and I Bt thought—at least I hoped you were going to do -.— eredit to the opportunity. You have rejected a 2 dozen of eligible offers since, and I have been quite _ * . awhile intending to ask you, has it really been on ‘ ' account of the baronet?” “Oh, Mrs. Grahame! Throw over the baronet! ; _ §Sir Rupert is too sensible a man to be thrown over, ___ by far too sensible to have bestowed a thought on - me, in diat way. He is almost the only man who never made me silly speeches, who took it as a mat- ter of course that I was clever enough to under- , Stand the plain English of plain topies. Don’t under- + take match-making for me. I have laid out a dif- » ferent course for myself, and your well-meant plans are sure to be disappointments to yourself.” “Really, Miss Nora Carteret, you can be self-willed ’ & _ and aggravating as a spoiled child. If the baronet is J should be coming back here, for the precise pu - e 2 - of m icing the proposal he has not made yet— nontd ish to take moe back to England with bim, u surely never will be so crazy as to throw away jhe chance? Think how it would sound to be my es Archer, of Archer Hall.”’ 3 “You are determined not to believe what I say, f=. “shat Sir gies will never give me the chance, and s? that I am glad through knowing it.” ~ FORRES ty ith all his letters to you. and yours to him I ‘have had grounds for hoping better,” _ “T told you the object of our correspondence once, Mrs. Grahame. If might know at once. It is very strange ‘that we ' ‘never should have heard from or of him.” | _ “By no means very strange. I can only wonder at your persistency in clinging to that thought, 5; ofa: ‘the more especially of your singular faith in ein a possibility which is contradicted by ail evidence of a appearance. The best you could wish for that de- J be and criminal young man, if not already dead, that be may be so dead to the world which knew once he might never be heard of again. It - gickens me to think of the weather. Are you going it Se ue this afternoon, Nora? You have only a half-hour in which to dress.” “Not if you will hold me excused. It is hot as > : , and much pleasanter here in neglige than reg Fe under that sun in full toilet,” i, - * Nora! Have you forgotten the races?’ And that ry the favorite entry is decked with your color, and a that the result be the same as a personal victory : to whose ever color wins? I especially desire that : you shall drive this afternoon, and if you cowd rouse '_- yourself from that supreme indifference to all sub- Trae objects and enjoyments for this one occasion, it will be a matter of gratification tome. It is well : to carry yourself above enthusiasm; too vociferous “ ‘expression is never in good taste; but you are apt to | o to the further extreme. There; will ring for Corinas for you, and pray make haste. _. - Mrs. Grahame touched the bell-pull as she swept 1% out, he already in full carriage-dress; but itis a balt-ho *s task for a lady of forty-five to adjust last touches before her glass, to settle her bonnet, to 4 bee od a ¢ draw her vail to the proper angle, to modify years , '’ which never set more hardly or leave more vivid - traces than in this hollow fashionable life. ~ It was hot, that late September afternoon. A hazy : cloud or two floated close to the horizon, and a t ; fiery sun looked down from the jacinth vault above 2) into another jacinth vault with another fiery orb re- flected in the sea below; the sun beat upon the sands and upon the gayly-dressed throng, ladies in car- riages, g¢ én in the saddle, mounted on benches, or pressed in a tight, perspiring crowd about the — r uurse. } age bers eee part,” said Nora, looking out from the S ee hee parasol, a da gong perce pare of violet silk foamy with ve far. a Ay Np y with th SE animals to exert them- “selves here, than t _of miserable fe dusty, song eaten eine ‘And T have no doubt te Sa 8 , 2 hy ty i or) . ES > an Mala — AS ane should come back or if | should hear from him it was that the other | the poor things absolutely believe they are enjoy- ing themselves. 1 take my own punishment for participating with a good grace, as _we all ac- cept the inevitable retribution which follows close upon our everyday faults. Isuppose the recording angel would have too much business on hand to put down the whole score, and we ought to be thankful | the greater the number of our transgressions which recoil upon us here below,” : a arses reproved Mrs, Grahame, virtuously ocked. ** Where is justice if Miss Carteret is not spared the penalty?” murmured a masculine voice at her side. “I necks that angels had no faults.” Miss Carteret looked around with coolly surprised glance. Dare had pressed up close, on the ofa magnificent bay. “Oh, you?” she said, frostily. you were here.” 2 * Nor glad: of it?” There wasa reproach in the murmur now. “I would not for a world have missed this occasion.” “T would have missed it most gladly but for Mrs. Grahame’s pertinac es She leaned back in her seat, softly swaying her fan, rey the ring as the richly caparisoned horses were led. in, as thorough- ly urfconcerned as though Owen Dare had been a thousand miles away instead of at her elbow. He should have grown accustomed to disdainful treat- ment such as this, but it made him secretly grit his teeth, nevertheless, Time had not decreased the resolve he had once taken; he had not lost sight of it for one day or hour; he had steeled himself as he always did ina delay, he had become inflexible as iron in the purpose nearest his crafty, selfish heart. He bad been horribly patient, these last two years; he had found his advances repelled, and he had waited his time—the time near at hand now, a thought of which would b: a flush to his cheek, a — to his eyes that had never failed before in ding a mastery in their soft, false ae realy “The time is coming,” he thought, looking down upon the proud head, the listless shape, ‘and when it does come, I scarcely know which would give me the atest pleasure, to win you or crush you. For the sake of Thornhurst iv shall be the first, and because I have no reasonable hope of effecting the last.”’ ; \ “There is Blue—blue is your color, Miss Carteret —and Rose, and White,” he leaned forward to say. “Ts that ali? Then the tricolor has withdrawn. Do you know that I have a from a fixed princi- le in honor of the day? Betting is my abhorrence, ut I have been bettingon the Blue. Are you willing to wager a box of gloves against your own color?” “By no means, Mr. Dare. Fixed principles should be observed, and I could not reconcile my conscience in accepting your introduction to a vice you abhor.”’ ‘* As a vice. In the way of compliment it is an- other thing.” This required no reply, and Miss Carteret was ac- eordingly silent, “Who is it?” asked Mrs. Grahame, whose view was obstructed. “'Towhom are you talking, Nora?” Nora drooped her parasol, and Dare pressed. his horse forward a pace. “Oh, you, Owen? I don’t suppose there’s anything . When did you come down?”’ “By the afternoon train, less than two hours ago. The occasion called me, of course, and I am at-hand to congratulate the winner. The idea is not a bad one, this way of deciding between the reignin belles, though itmay be borrowed from our larg coe cousins, and in my opinion the issue need not have been contested at all,” “We are to see more of you than this?” “To your sorrow,” laughed Dare. ‘I havea message for your own private ear, Mrs. Grahame.” “Ah, well!” The lady gave him a sharp glance, but settled back icy tered and raised her glass. The money market béen more than inadrewy d ight of late, and it had come to be such a chronic disease in the Grahame establishment to be hard up’that the lift conveyed by Colonel Vivian's will proved but a temporary alleviation. The mansion had been fit- ted anew from roof to cellar when it wasagain open to company, The dollars had run out in a steady stream, until of late a stern check had been put upon the lavish outlay. Mrs. Grahame was finding herself hampered here in this expensive resort. | She had sent a telegram that very morning for addi- | tional funds, and shrewdly emes that Dare had brought down the pe t would doubtless have been a trying position for many a woman, but it was an old story toher. She was schooled against sus- pense as well as all the trepidations and flutterings that common natures are heir to. Meanwhile the horses had been trotted gently round the track, betting-books genes conspicuous- Wy in the first circle; then with favors glistening in the sun, with arching necks and slossy coats, the | racers were drawn head and head at the starting- | place. The word was given, and they were off like arrows from a bow. Z “White is ahead, but that signifies nothing; Blue next, and Rose in the rear.” “ Another fifty on the Rose for all that.” “Do you bet, Dare? Ten on White to five for the others.” LW sab not a betting man, but I'll go a fifty on the ue. ** Cigar mouey for a fortnight,” laughed the other, * You're out for your trifle, old fellow.” “The result show.” “Rose gains!| Hurrah for Rose!” , passed the blue on the first heat, “Twas not aware Rose did and at the c of the second was neck and neck with the White. < , dear me, Nora, I am reéally a ; rehensive that you will lose,” said lavatioan, autos. . ms tiny] a4) H. ‘* Not that it can make any real difference, of cr urse, but it will be a gratification to the winner.” “Of course Blue will lose,” asserted Nora, indif- Hs taal “I predicted it from the first, you remem- r. bh) “Rose is ahead,” cried an excited voice. ‘The last round and Rose ahead. White gains again: . Blue is coming up—White lags!” Well done, Blue, but you may as well give up the battle. Rose is in for it)” At the last half-round the ladies in the carriages rose en masse. Nora remained in her place, quite unconcerned throughout, but Mrs. Grahame stood upon the seat with the lorgnette forgotten, ber own keen eyes quite sufficient unaided at the crisis, “Well done, Blue!’ Again a murmur of disap- Renee from the supporters of the White, and he other two were neck and neck. _ At the last quarter, Blue shot ahead and came in past the win- ning post, first, by three full lengths, A shout went up. There was the confusion of many voices, Betters went about receiving and pay- ing their dues, and the defeated, belles at another point, overlooking the course, received the sympathy of their followers. “Let me be the first to congratulate you,” Dare ora’s gloved hand. T belie the ponte, lieve.”’ Mh: at pains you take to tell me my presence is not welcome, Miss Carteret. I shall see you this opening, nevertheless.” = He wheeled his horse and pressed with some diffi- cult; to the opposite side of the carriage. *Can’t you speak a good word for me, Mrs. Gra- hame? You know what my hopeless passion is, and I shall not very much longer remain in this suspense. I have concluded ‘to put it to the touch, to win or lose it all.’”’ “You_know I favor you, Owen, but there's no moving Nora from her own way. T can try, if you like, but I warn you it will be of no use.” ‘The best of us can do no more than try, you know. Do youreturn at once? I will call a your rooms an hour from now, if it suits your conve- nience.” Nora, engaged on her side, heard nothing of this but suspected it, when Mrs. Grahame set the ball rolling on their homeward way. “Owen Dare has become what I abide redicted —a rising young man through his ownefforts. Posi- tively, the most promising in all my circle of ac- uaintance. You treat him with absolute cruelty, ora, You are not apt to find another loveras truly devoted, and with such a brilliant prospect as he is bound toattain. I would not urge your consideration of him if the baronet were in the question, but as it ** As it is, don’t urge anything, Mrs. Grahame. Mr. Dare is not in ignorance of my sentiments, though he has chosen to ignore them.” “You are absur ly prejudiced. There are plenty young ladies would not wait a second offer from Owen Dare.”’ “Pity you couldn’t persuade him to be satisfied with one of them. It would be an immense relief to me. Tell him so if he set you to speak for him.” Mrs. Grahame did tell him so in almost those very words when he presented himself an hour later, “You know how gladly I would encourage you, if I could,” she said. ‘But there’s no use ho ing against hope, and one might as well attempt to move a mountain as that obdurate girl, I’m sure I don’t know what she wouldn’t stop at when she once has.any notion fixed.” “You shall see yet,” and Dare’s eyes held an omi- nous glitter. “You have not succeeded in discour- aging me. Your pardon for thus engrossi your at- tention when you must be antiogaly. aw. Mr. Grahame’s message. I regret to say he found it im- possible to.respond to your request, and suggested it might be expedient to hasten your return to town— to make it immediate in fact. But if you will per- mit me to ene asmall advance—no, don’t use until I am through. Iam sure you are desirous of racail: g another week or two, at least. Let me do myself the pleasure of supp ing you with such funds as you may need, and in return a much eater favor, that you will stand my friend in my tention to m your husband’s ward.” Something in his voice, something in, his face, car- ried deeper meaning than his words. He pressed something suspiciously like a crisp new bank-note into her hand, and Mrs, Grahame, in no way discom- fited, said, graciously: “You couldn’t expect me to take sides against oes Owen. You always were a favorite of mine, as have told you before. You may count on me!” CHAPTER XXIV. i IN THE COUNTING-ROOM. “Am I to have the pleasure of the coming waltz, Miss Carteret?” Owen Dare had held aloof for an hour, watching her as she moved through the lighted rooms every- where admired, everywhere a favorite. She had never looked purer, never fairer. Dressed in white, shimmering silk and foamy lace looped into billowy clouds, with pearls at her throat and in her hair, she | was generally conceded the queen beauty of all the beauties gathered there. “Rare and radian »” the sight of her thrilled Owen Dare’s heart as it had never thrilled before. The sg Forge ng expressed by her treatment of him left him the more earnest, the more determined. He ap roached her as she stood alone one moment to put the question. ‘ I am ” 7 be ee pi a Se am t—for all, indeed.” “At least, @ quadrille” A

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, “ You wil not dance with me, you mean? When _ beauty wills there’s nothing left but to obey.” He wed and drew back as her escort came to claim her, with a more passionate demon in his soul than had been there yet. He had been cold-blooded in all his villainy heretofore, but that night and that moment he would have sold himself for all eternity for powst to wield her heart as she might have wielded his. - ' Mrs, Grahame, covertly watching, wondered what plan he could have in his mind to subdue that willful gir As he could not dance with the lady of his choice r. Dare did not dance at all. He was lost to sight S00n after, and the argus-eyed matron who was pledged to be his friend, supposed he had withdrawn n disgust. Nora did not even aed him a thought. He was out of her.sight, his pale, insincere face was not the Gorgon head to spoil her present enjoy- ment, and that was all she asked. € evening was almost over. She had been con- atulated over the triumph won by her color, she ad danced with sipbens ono of the score of admirérs laying claim.to her favor; she had given Dare a quietus for the time and she had caused her con- 8cientious chaperone an unlimited amount of trou- ble in shadowing her flittings—two by no means un- important additions to her énjoyment—and. began at last to consider the entertainment monotonous. he sent away her’escort on some ig Yai slipped through curtains gst stirring in. the breeze, and Stood on a little balcony alone under the purple night-sky with myriad star-eyes looking down, he sunk into a seat with a quivering sigh. It was such a contrast, this stillness, peace, and universal armony, to the heat and the crowd and the false and hollow pretensions at her back. Her apprecia- tion of it was spent in that one long breath. Lovely, is it not?” said the one voice which of all She had come to detest. “‘ What more perfect scenic effect than this, subdued yet distinct, ocean and sky, and masts which might be clouds hung apparently in the middle of space.” _ ‘Mr, Dare is so eloquent upon the theme I will not linger to disturb his enjoyment of it.” © gathered the sweeping folds of her dress to- ether and half-rose, but he drew back a step be- ween her and the window which was the only means of entrance. . “Favor me with your attention one moment, Miss Carteret. You shall not be long detained. I came down to-day for the express purpose of saying what Thave to say, and you shail hear it.” She inclined her head with just the stizhtest per- ceptible token of assent and Jooked away into the aed od dimness of the night. If he would push mat- ers to an extreme, the sooner his disclosure came the sooner she might expect to be free from his per- sistent and unwelcome attentions. It was no sur- prise to her that his words were brief and straight to the point: ‘Miss Carteret, I have been devoted to-you and to you alone for threelong years. You cannot fail to now how f love you. Will you be my wife? She trified with her fan as her eyes came slowl back to him. He could have gnashed his teet in. impotent rage at her utter cool indifference. You cannot fail to know what my answer must be, Mr. Dare. Since it is your wish to hear it in words, pray understand me to distinctly decline.” Let me beg you will reconsider my proposal. I cannot offer you all the advantages, perhaps, you might pain with some of those popinjays who have been about you all evening, but the time will not be long coming when I can place you high above them all. Think of my long devotion. You will never find a heart more truly and wholly yours.” “If I were to think all my life it could not alter my decision,” “Yet I must ask om to consider once again. You have avowed your intention of making a very Quix- otic sacri of renouncing the wealth you have en- joyed, the luxuries and refinements which have attended it. Nature fitted you fora life like the one you of late years have led, never for poverty and a and-to-hand struggle with the world. Let it be m pleasure to supply you with all you will relinquish.” Since when have you become so tolerant of my Pat pe I have fancied that Thornhurst rather han myself has been the object of that devotion which you make a boast.” ; “Then you have done me bitter injustice. I frankly avow I do not approve your purpose, but it is for you to decide that. Before ever Thornhurst ‘was yours, before yourself suspected your succes- sion to that fine old estate, I loved you as I love you now. You must remember and acknowledge that.” I remember that you were in Colonel Vivian's confidence, that you had access to his papers, and es probably were acquainted with his plans. You choose to ignore a time still further back, which I nee never forgotten. When you amused yourself bed Playing upon a little simple country girl’s affec- Senin 4 har oe | aaa ; that 2 —_ . reality less ute, simply an untutored girl’s vanit which was fostered ae the time, was no fault of yours. That little episode of the Cape Cod coast a Pe = ao eeton — eke Be aracter, Mr. , as no n Tove - quaintance since,” . severe sy You are hard on me, considering your own ex- mience, Nora. When have you ever spared a man I aos pl he was young, inexperienced, untutored? 3 hot say had you remained there, come to eral in those surroundings, with no more ad- ‘wou than you were apt to command, that I to wud ever have. spoken the words I have uttered disneet but even then and there I ed the years to the rough. It was reserved for later PT ie ee mane Bota egy gtr io ‘ ae ui . Dare.” as e, fear ‘cely her unaffected disdain. Ets HE TERRIBLE TRUTH. een an an grows tedious. Be kind enough to let me ass. ‘One moment more. Will hope of relenting? Am I to take this answer as final, irrevocable?” ‘“As final and irrevocable, Mr. Dare.”’ “Will you tell me why you reject me so decidedly? If you were quite heart-free you would not be so eruel, Who is the fortunate man to win where 1 have failed?” : “You presume, sir!” “Tt is not. the baronet, w based her hopes. Possibly your intention of re- nouncing Thornhurst is not the purely unselfish motive which it has been ascribed. It may be the warm friendship so earnestly avowed more two years ago was more than friendship even then. You Ga of approximating character a moment ago, Miss Carteret, but you are very lenient to criminality.” The slender form drew to its fullest hight; angry scorn flashed in the dark eyes. “JT -was aware you_had done us the honor of watching, that night. I did not know you had play- ed the more despicable part of ea&vesdropper, as well, Itisno more thanI might have expected of Yous but it is enough to mark your reference as the hight of presuming insolence, It is not so stra t ou cannot comprehend a disinterested friendship. ow, sir, stand aside and let me pass.” He drew aside immediately. “T venture to assert you will yet accord me greater justice as well as a more favorable answer than this you have given me to-night, nevertheless.’” She rl past with no further word, and Owen Dare was left to contemplate scenic effects.or occu- py. himself with his no doubt pleasant musings, to is own taste. He returned to town by the early morning train, and the gay Long Branch frequenters saw him there no more. The dingy counting-room of Richard Grahame, merchant, was favored with his presence thevafter- noon following his return, It had been hot on the beach; it was stifling in the little dark room where the power which upheld the avenue mansion*was centered. Mr. Grahame himself was perspiring over a small mountain of ledger, but it was cold per- spiration on even that sultry eee afternoon. oney was tight; the fashionable matron at Long Branch had been inconvenienced by the fact; the merchant in his counting-room was more than in- convenienced—he saw before him a crisis—a chasm he could hardly hope to bridge. He looked se ea pal arch as the door opened, but turned half about at seeing who it was, and pushed the damp hair back from his worn face, “Hot,” said Dare, dropping into a chair. “It’s too intense for stead Work. like this of yours, Grahame. You should lay off for a week or a day. It begins to tell on you,” rf You make your own jaunts short it appears to me.’ “T am young yet, you know; Icanstand hard work now, if lever can. I’m back from the Branch, n whom Mrs. Grahame necessary for molonemiy: her stay. Carteret ine have done the same, had she known the exigency.” “Not she. She is too much bound up in that pre- posterous idea of giving up everything in a few months more—giving to the winds though it will be —whether Vane Vivian ever turns up again or not, She would not have consented to use her income but for the yearly allowance, and my own repre- sentation of what Colonel Vivian’s wishes would have been. You meant well enough, I have no doubt, but I wish you had carried out my instruc- tions to the letter. Lusa has too good sense to im- peril me when she knows what a pressure there is, and every dollar will be of avail in this vores “Tf a few thousand for a few days will tide you through, I may be able to raise it.” “Thanks, no. Time is what I want more than money, Two months’ time would be better to me than a hundred thousand to-day; but I have had et ate already, and I can’t ask for a ird. Dare ta his fingers with a little pearl-handled knife he Wtarawn from his pocket, and glanced at the pile of ledgers upon the desk, ss suppose I know more of your business than any other man in town,” he said. ‘I have a pro- posal to make after I tell you of a Gioeno ae of my own. I went down to Long Branch for the purpose of making an offer of marriage to your ward, and I was rejected.” ; “Abr? The merchant was. evidently neither very deeply interested nor much surprised at the result. ) “For all which Iam here to ask your sanction of my suit. I am not discouraged. I want to marry Miss Carteret, and I want — influence on my side. I am not beyond my oning in supposing 1 can count on you?” “You have no knowledge of Nora if you suppose my influence would have any weight with her ina matter like that. The most willful, verse girl I ever saw in my life, when her is once set. Beggi our pardon, she never did take to you te 2 is not apt to like you better if you badger her now.” “T don’t ask you to make her care for me. Tha will come of itself in time, or if it don’t—my ob an the promise of your a ae t t i, rin her. For Be os ~ as lies in your power, engage aie u the two months’ extension you would like,” ws Youknow what that time will be to me. Dare. and you not give me a ou. know the mettle of the girl, I might promise radlly qpeh, but I etree toe you any hope. enty of girls will say ‘No’ and mean’ ‘Yes,’ but ora is riot ofthe kind. “Never was a shrew who could not bé tamed; never,a girl who might not be broken,, Even that high-spirited wand of yours may be rendéred docile and obedient, Mr. Grahame. é question is, will you do your part toward making her so?” “Tell me plahuty wht you're driving at,” said the merchant, uneasily. ‘“ Formy own part I don’t see that Nora could do better, but if she has refused te you are going to help yourself ting the matter end there. I'd rather not mix my- self in it at all.” 1 “‘Not for fifty thousand dollars on our marriage- day? Your services will be worth that, and I can af- ford it out of the dower my bride will bring. Any other guardian would prove her crazy_as a Bedla- mite and send her to an asylum through her way- - ward notions. You can do better; give her into my hands and I will answer for controlling her after- | ward, and you'll realize handsomely for your share I don’t see how ' in the matter. What do you say?’ . presence again, This was.by no m Beohamie Vontt have feletind taking. , “T don’t understand your drift yet. A girl can’t be made to marry against her in this day, and Nora wiil never consent, you may be sure.” = Sh, et things might happen than either of those. ere are more ways of b ing a woman than.one, Nora has been two years in society now, and, like any other girl, would die of ennei to be cut off from it eae bs ¥ plan is, instead of_bring- ing her back to the city, to send her on to Thorn- hurst alone. Your embarrassments will serve as an excuse, and Mrs..Grahame can readily find a pre- text for remaining behind. The place is gloomy asa tomb, the rooms closed, the furniture in swaddling- clothes, the whole neighborhood changed, all of her old acquaintances gone. She will be ready to accept the alternative in less than a month, or, if not, we can take a clergyman down to read the marriage- ceremony over us, and she willbe my wife fast as though no coy spirit on her part had giyen trouble.” A gray shade creptinto Richard Grahame’s face. He understood plainly as if Dare had said it, that the last alternative was the intention he had marked from the first. ; 7 “You couldn’t do it,” he said. would, in this day.” Py “The Reverend Arthur Gratins would. He wants my influence in procure him a city call. All Task of you is to back me in the business at Thornhurst.. ‘Will you do it?” Two months’ extension of his bills and fifty thou- sand dollars on their marriage-day were in_ . Grahame’s mind. He liked Nora in a way; he rather sbrunk from the hess of losing her respect, but— He looked up to find Dare’s eyes upon him. 1 “Thaven’t any choice,” he said, almost suilenly. “T. don’t like the business, but I’ll do what you’ve ’ asked of me in return for what you’ve promised,” - y CHAPTER XXvV. ; SUCH A WELCOME HOME ‘ Mr. GranaAmMe himself found time for a run down to the coast, a week after Dare’s unsuccessful mis- sion there. There was ‘a consultation between the « _ two head powers, and afterward Nora was called to r an interview with her guardian. He stood in a stiff, constrained fashion, his hands crossed nm his back, looking excessively uncomfortable and uncer- tain how to open his subject. He was a man of few words, however, not Tee to beating about the : bush, and he broached his point without delay. | “T have just been talking with Mrs, Grahame, Nora, and we are obliged at last to take you into © “x “No clergyman = ; family confidence. I am finding myself in , straightened circumstances of late that itis abso- lutely necessary to close all drains for a PWR. 4 cannot open our town establishment as hei OTe: °° 5 My own'proposition was to return there and remain in quietude, but my wife suggested a more su ae arrangement for herself. Unless you object to be ; left, she has concluded to accept an invitation fro: the Vandiveres to make one of their party for a late trip to the mountains and the lakes. For you, if y can content yourself meanwhile, I can think of noth- ing better than Thornhurst—that is, if you still hold to your ridiculous idea of beggaring yourself for a fancy. If you will consent to draw wu our Own — income ahead of the mere sum set aside, which is all but exhausted now, of course there will be no of banishing you from society.” ee a5 “T shall goto Thornhurst,” Nora answered, deci- per. “Thave no idea of changing my intention, _ Mr. Grahame. As soon.asIam of age I shall make — over Srenethieg to the proper. heir. Tam not sure. ess i t. x 6 he Ay Agr Cite 2 ead a re ery that I shalleven object to a few mopths’ ee ». “To your own taste, my dear. It would be u ~ to offer objections, I presume. Now, when can you ~ be ready to leave here? ¥ pa He drew out his watch and consulted it, anxious to end the interview. = ! ‘In a couple of hours if you like.” ¥ “To-morrow morning will answer, Ishall ac pany you to Thornhurst, of course. You rol ably find it tiresome there, but since it is your own choice I have nothing more to say.” Sh ae oe He hardly breathed freely until she wasout of his é otic, ae 2 — 2.9 ieee 3 - . - . ee sce: Sd iad — D Me Wee science was not sufficiently tender to troubl fam ae much after he had fairly enlisted in his’ ofthe | | De a alone to fhornust

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24 over your fanatical inclinations, my dear. have no patience with you left if isolating Pgs in that absurd fashion; you po a not do it if my authority availed for any ~ 7 ‘ ‘Don’t let us quarrel over it, at least. You always did view me asirreconcilable. I have quite made up my mind to go to Thornhurst, but you shall not : r one arrangement of your own. I will not hear tothat. If I make my own choice it is no reason you should suffer the consequences.” And to all further remonstrances Nora was firm; the law of the.Medes and Persians was never more fixed than she in her intention to restore the mone and estates left away from Vane Vivian, and the present issue could be but a commencement of her sacrifice. She went with her guardian to Thornhurst the next day. Dare had taken a flying trip there, and the result was that the interior of the mansion was at its gloomiest. The ranges of lofty spacious rooms that had been so pleasant in Colonel Vivian’s time were closed. Shutters were up at every window of the house except in the rear where the few servants left in charge held forth. The grounds and the shrubbery were in order, but the whole place was Pas desolate, and the wind swept through the cedar rove with the mournful plaint which she never eard now without a shudder. The housekeeper appeared to meet them, not the _ Mrs. Ford of olden time, but a hard-visaged, angular woman, with an uncompromising demeanor, and black glittering eyes which if they had no evil power certa‘nly never softened to bestow any partic- war 7 ge ip a glance. “You will be left for the time in charge of Mrs. ‘ Bennett, my dear,” said Nora’s guardian, as they ; followed into the morning-room, which that august 4 person unlocked and threw open. “I shall take 3 occasion to run down in the course of another week ‘ and see how you are getting on. Meantime, if you repent your hasty, and I must consider it unwise decision, you have only to drop me a line.” ‘“T never shall repent it,’’ she asserted, positively. “ And remember, guardian, when Sir Rupert comes, your are to bring him down here without fail. I did : not write because he musi be well on his way long |... -« before this.” They had luncheon together, and almost immedi- ' ately afterward Mr. Grahame took his departure, Late on the following day he sat, in his counting- in id room, Owen Dare in an opposite place, discussin detail the plan which the latter had fully out. a ‘*How in reason you expect to coerce her when ____ she once learns why she was sent there is more than Re Tecan understand, are. Deserted as the neighbor- a hood is you can’t very well lock her up there and nr station a jailer at her door; while it is like the girl Bé. to walk out of the house, shake the dust off her feet, and begin the new kind of life she proposes for ae d-by, music-teaching, governessing, or something of that sort. She’s sure to find some way for herself, too, by George! She’s not one of -your namby-pamby women to be put down by the Fret little discouragement. She’s equal to taking the matter in her own hands and raising popular mpathy for herself if you press her too hard. ‘ow that the bird is caged for you, how are you go- g to keep her caged is what I want to know?” “Bolts and bars would never suffice,” answered Dare, with a laugh. “I can trust more safely to . her own obstinate will. When she once learns the stand you will take I don’t suppose a kingdom would s _— her to step beneath your roof again. She has no friends to whom she would care to goin such . a crisis, Take my word for it, no temptation will f ainleke ee her from Thornhurst until she renounces er right legally—which I propose she shall not do. Sees ss

oa » will not be a difficul __ officious friends. Let her grow well disgusted with her choice of location; then go down with me for a week; let me plead my own suit persistently as I _ may; let me convince her that Iam not to be shaken __ off; and, if all fails, there is the last alternative I mentioned the other day. The timeis not ve but itis long enough. Nora Carteret must wife before she is twenty-one.” e my ped is va te - a chong The clashing of those two strong wills, one deep and subtle, the other frank but unwaver- ing, must be a battle fought and hardly won. Any other man but Dare might have given up the task | atthe very first, but what mere woman’s strength _, eould resist his cold-blooded, crafty skill? _ While they still sat there, a knock fell upon a panel __ of the door, andean under-clerk put his ead inside. ' A person wished very particularly to see Mr. Gra- _ bame—no name. | Should he show him in? | “Show him in,’ said Dare, in an aside. ‘I pre- 3 gume you are not afraid of a creditor, Grahame, since your time is extended.” rae - The other nodded to the clerk, who ushered in a stranger, a moment later—a sturdy, thickset_ man, -'pronzed by much exposure, wearing a beard half a yard long, a trifle tough and abrupt in his manner Pee a speech. The merchant rose and placed a be koe Pd business is with me,’’ he said, observing the other’s doubtful glance toward Dare, “you may speak without reserve. t name, may I ask?” “Prescott; you'll not know me by it, however. I am just arrived from Rio Janeiro, lately from the them in this day of South African excitement. I cs ee to talk about myself, but a Miss Lenore eret, : o, I 0) ip at $i) am, inf rmed, is under your guar- ie Miss Carte: is ward,”’ assen the mer- TH6 aamumienas $i ne *t am here for the purpose of offering Miss Uar- : she 2 ee. ee ; f “ The baronet must be kept away from her, but that | tt matter; likewise all other | long, | ‘It promised to be an exciting contest, Mr, Grahame | Ty *» I shall | teret ve insist upon | the | | incredulously. | be hung for the murder as surely as he is ca Brazilian mines. I have the papers signif. her right in my possession. I vi leaving them for your examination now, and calling another time for the decision. I shall wish to see Miss Carteret herself before any bargain is concluded. I was a s ' friend of her father, and he left those documents with me over five years ago, just before his death. | They wére not worth the paper in them then. Iam , Supplied with references, and will give ou the ad- dresses of Rio Janeiro firms, if you wish to satisfy yourself regarding the market value of the claims.” The strauger was a man of deeds as well as words, | as evinced by his immediate production of a note- | book, on a blank leaf of which he wrote the ad- dresses of a couple of banking-firms, tearing out and presenting it, along with testimonials of his own re- sponsibility. The silence of a moment, broken by the rapid scratehing of his pencil, had reigned in the counting-room, Astonishment held the other two spellbound, but Mr. Grahame, with the substantial testimony of the papers touching his hand, rallied. “Upon my word, thisis wonderful news. Like an Arabian Nights’ tale, for all the world. You area stranger in the city, I presume, Mr. Prescott. CanI not prevail upon you to accept my hospitality, though as it chances my ward is now out of town? My wife has but just returned, and she will do her best to make your stay pleasant.” “Thanks for the kindness of your invitation, but I shall leave the city by to-night’s train. Iam on the way with a comrade, and I have sorrowful news for him, poor fellow. Very robably you may know him, sir; his name is Vane Vivian.” “Vane Vivian!’ echoed Mr. Grahame, aghast. Dare started, and sunk his teeth into his under lip to contro! the tremor which agitated him. “TY have just heard that his father is dead, and Vivian is not yet aware of the fact. I am to meet him at the depot in time for the 6:30 train. Perhaps you can give me fuller particulars than I learned; truth to tell, 1 was too shocked for the moment to ond questions, or to think that he would wish to know.”’ Owen Dare shot a quick glance at the merchant. fe was pale to his lips, and with a muttered apology rose hastily and went out, leaving the two alone. ‘Will you tell me what you heard regarding the matter, Mr. Prescott?” “Tt was at the lawyer’s. Vivien gave me the ad- dress, and I went there to make a. about Miss Carteret’s present whereabouts. was simply in- formed that Colonel Vivian was dead, given your ad- | dress, and referred here. This news will be a sad shock to my comrade, Mr. Grahame.” ‘Great heavens!” cried the merchant, starting to his feet excitedly. ‘‘ What does the rash fellow mean by coming back? Why, man alive, don’t you know that Colonel Vivian was murdered New Year’s Eve, three years ago, and that Vane Vivian is accused of the crime? Who would have dreamed that, after baffling the law this long, he would run deliberately into such horrible danger as this?” ' “Vane Vivian accused of murder!” cried Prescott, “Tt’s preposterous! He wouldn’t willingly hurt a fly. I tell you he does not even know of his father’s death.” “Your thinking so doésn’t alter the fact. He “fm here. I wouldn’t lift my hand to cheat the law, but for the sake of the old family name—I’m distant] connected with the family by marriage myself— hoped he would never turnup, It’s most unfortunate, most foolhardy! The evidence against him is too strong to be broken.” “Vane Vivian is never the man to have done a murder,” said Prescott, rising. ‘I'd stake my soul on that, It’s absurd to be even thought of. I’ve been with him now two years, and Ill swear there’s nothing criminal hangin about him. It’s a terrible oe and he’ll have it cleared up, take my word or it. “T trust he may, but if you knew the facts well as Ido, you would not be hopeful.” “Tam going now to be on the look-out for him. Tf you are his friend, you will come along and tell him what you know of this horrible accusation.” For one instant Richard Grahame hesitated. He had a morbid dread at prospect of pane aren into a criminal case in any capacity, while own remote connection with the young man prompted him to favor any chance of escape which might re- main. Possibly the strong partisanship of this wealthy miner was not without its effect. He took his hat from its place, and, with a brief assent, went ong. The usual crowd clogged the doors of the waiting- room, and one man standing a little apert gave a sharp look at the two as they passed. They pushed their way through, and stood in the less-thronged space within. Sy “He is not here yet,” said Prescott, with a glance about. ‘‘He will be shortly, though; no temptation would induce him to miss the train.’”’ He stood looking out of the window at the shifting throng, somewhat troubled in his mind, but less seriously than he would have been had he known the whole yee of dark appearances to be brought against his rend. . A half-hour dragged away while they waited. Prescott stirred an ae up at a little clock tick- ing against the wall at last. It was twenty-five minutes after six. He did not speak, but again turned his glance to the platform without. At the same moment a tall form was coming with swift regular strides down the street. The same man who had been lounging a little apart from the crowd for this last half-hour fixed him witha glance, and ste forward a pace. ‘* Mr. Vane Vivian?” he said, inquiringly. “ That is my name.” *¥ have business with you, sir.” ge! Fae? Se Sub i ee two hundred thousarid dollars for her share in | ‘robed female form, the dull de: HOTERRIBISTRUTS “Then IT must trouble you to cut it short or.to de- “ge it peste ented 4 the dre dee Pardon, but . ave not recognized you, an ve no more th time to reach the train.”’ A “T must trouble you to defer the trip, Mr. Vivian.” With.a motion of his hand he threw back the lapel of his coat and disclosed the badge of the detective force. ‘I am obliged:to officiate in a most unpleas- ant duty. Iam sorry to be the cause of your incon- venience and delay. I arrest you in the name of the law.” His hand was Jaid on Vane’s shoulder, there was an unpleasant earnestness about his speech de- noting that this was no jest, but the younger man turned an incredulous face upon him, ““You_have mistaken me for some one else, I think I came onshore from a three years’ absence g four hours ago. If I am_ detained one minute more I will lose my train. Is this absurd charge so important you cannot take my word and ~ let me off?” : “There is no mistake,” said the officer, calmly. “T arrest you for the murder of your father, Colonel Se pour ivian, at midnight of New Year’s eve, | “My father!» Every trace of color faded from Mee) bite - sto =. oe turned to ges he eavy stillness cloggin; eart, scarcely a e stirring for one awful Sent. tied CHAPTER XXVI. A HEART'S CRY! Durine that moment the two men from within the wale ees ee Srey out, pi hea = ad- , bis swarthy face plainly expressin: er- turbed state of mind. fie put out his hand ‘and grasped Vane’s with a strong pressure. y poor boy! has it come’ ape eee already? I hoped to have seen you first to break this terrible ews. “Tt can’t be possible, Prescott. This person tells . me—great heavens !—that may Sete was murdered the very night I left him, ost three years ago. Dead all this time, and I not forgiven!” The despair in his face wrung the heart of the comrade who had grown to love him as a younger brother. The officer was stolid, and the merchant sanne a little back only anxious to escape atten- ion, ‘Tt is terrible, the disappointment and the shock,’” said Prescott, in deep sympathy. ‘Are you—’ he glanced at the officer hesitating. “Under arrest for the crime—yes.” Vane was very pale, but perfectly collected as the full force of his present position struck him, ‘ What a welcome home, my friend!” “But, good Lord! Vivian, you don’t take this accusation as a serious thing? Surely you can clear yourself? Can’t you rid yourself of suspicion in a single hearing, without the publicity of a trial? Stay; here is an old friend of yours who may be able throw light upon whatever is dark to you.” “Mr. Grahame,” said Vane, observing him for the first. ‘‘ You must know the particulars of my father’s terrible fate. Heaven knows, I would have died myself rather than harm should have come to During the brief space they had been standing: there an incoming train had shrieked at the opposite side of the depot-building, mak OF its passengers. and rushed on its way again. One among those _ newly arrived pushed forward to claim his baggage and give directions regarding it; then, following in the wake of the stea M stream, came out through the gate and upon the little group drawn out of the way of the passers-by. He stopped short for an instant, but after one amazed glance strode forward. into their midst. io j vian, my dear fellow, what does this mean? Odd, that after looking for you over half the world, you are the first man I meet on my return.” “A fortunate chance has eurely sent you, Sir Rupert,” answered Vane, yielding his hand to tb other’s hearty . You were always my frien in trouble, but merciful heavens! that I should have to call on bebe in trouble like this. Iam under arrest for my father’s murder. How and where did it occur? be a I accused?” ‘ - po aa = er at eat, ‘There'll be other chances o: lanation; we are drawing attention. You'll be ‘abou on by the first train to-morrow; for to-night, if you’ll give me your word of honor not to attempt an escape you can go to a hotel in company with these gentlemen if they = i es getien' Merb ama ie of coumes but a n € apparen nothing - ae transpires.” . a ““T give you my word to attempt no escape,” said Vane, addin hurriedly, as the officer pt a@ care riage: ‘Sir Rupert Archer, let me present a true friend of mine, Mr. Prescott. Ineed not ask if you two will see me through the result.” Brief recognitions were exchanged, Sir Rupert spoke a word to the merchant, who was turning away, and followed into the carriage. The officer —- beside the driver, and the vehicle rolled . Fou ask for particulars,” said the baronet on’ the way. “Is it possible you never heard? Your father was murdered, shot dead, at midnight of that New Year’s eve you were last at Thornhurst. Can you account for yourself at that time, Vane?” At midnight! Like a vivid picture the remem- brance of that time rose up in his mind, the avenue gates, the fitful moonlight upon the snow, the dark- ] eration in his h the ei ea oat i br “ err = air! can account for myself, but, o ir Rupert that will not give me back my father.” His aa broke, the silent pressure of his friend’s hand was better eer than-words. _ vee : “Your first duty is to yourself now,” said the — baronet; after a moment. *‘‘ You will be taken on. . > wi Ah ss a3 d ¢ F Re ee ee ee ee.

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—_— @nd probably have a hearing; immediatély after your arrival. Let me secure your proof and escape & trial if possible. Can you prove an alibi?” By Miss Montrose. I met her at the gates asI went out that night, and we stood there together as clock struck midnight. Ileft her there whea I Tan, as I had to do to catch the train.” course you saw others immediately afer. ward,” said Sir Rupert, anxiously. ‘‘Some one ori © Way, at least the people at the station?” f Not one; Thad no time. I sprung to the plat- orm after the cars were in motion. Miss Mont) ose was the last person of all my old acquaintazics I ever saw until this day. I did not even get tke Papers for months afterward. Inever hear¢l one jane home—my own fault, but Ihad ab ob- i A cold fear stole over the baronet. His friend's ife hung on the testimony of Miss Montrose, and aa Montrose had disappeared within twelve hours Olowing that meeting, almost as suddenly, almost hi mysteriously, and later quite as wholly, as Vane tome merchant found Dare awaiting him on his re “That news this afternoon quite startled me,” he Said, apologetically. ‘Is it a positive fact that Vane ventured back? Ican scarcely credit it in my Own cool senses.” Back and takenalready. He was arrested.at the depot, and will be taken on to-morrow. If facts Were not so strong against him, I could almost believe im innocent,” ‘ b You forget how skilled in deception he is, I aven’t a doubt of his guilt or a hope of the result, but it’s a terrible calamity that he should turn up. want to speak of the other matter, however—re- & Nora. The events of this day must change ©ur plans materially.” Ty ou will be in luck if you carry them out, Dare. wo fortunes that will aggregate a million. The diamond mine affair is an unparalleled streak of fortune, It will not make your undertaking any the are TI predict.” pall not have the opportunity of making it harder, We must hasten matters. Nora Minit Hot hea¥ a breath of that or of Vane’s return until she is my wife. I shall go down to Thornhurst to-morrow, Mr. Grahame, before either the papers or any private hint has reached her. You must come along and avow Ae od unconditionally in my favor. Nehene must be no hesitation now, on your part or on mine, and no time lost in gaining our point. I-shall crop a note to Reverend Gratins to-night to join us et the village within the next three days. Ican depend on him and on you.,”’ “On me certainly, Dare! I did not affair from the start, but I am in for it, Tsatn not one to forget the service you have been to me “ ‘ ““Where has Vivian been all this time?’ asked Dare, abruptly. “What account does he ve of approtie: the aan. meee” “*He is straight from Br: was in partnershi with Prescott there, I take ee He has Bei ae, too, the miner says; it is probably that has brought im back. Strange that bh ff bol ot hin es e officers should have got _Dare might have explained the fact had he chosen, Since a word from him had given the alarm. b days at Thornhurst mansion went tediously No It was dreary beyond all expression. Even pale. 8 bright, healthy spirits already suffered from a) contrast to her late gay career. Three depres- toe days, during which she had seen and -spoken re nO mortal save the stiff, hard-faced housekeeper, cae no less stiff footman, and the old deaf gardener, paola remaining relic in the small retinue of the colonel’s time, gave a different aspect to the seclu- one which had not seemed forbidding of itself. The Po brown house beyond the cedar grove was fast a into a ruin; of the families who had formed a Social circle in the vicinity three years before, all were Scattered. Mr. Telford of the village was aig Pe _ indefinite tour with his pretty bride, the ¥ whe ed that momentous Christmas-tiine association. ak Was as great as from tropical splendor o Arctic barrenness and monotony. It was late afternoon of the fourth day after her petit aa and Nora was out upon a long walk, the on y relief she found. It wag a raw, chilly, cloudy poe but she never minded adverse ‘weather. She eas homeward through the evening gray with Pg Steps, with an oppression which she charged we 3 heavy atmosphere and dull surroundings ighing upon her. A man’s form leaned against a Sie ests a man’s eye watched her advance with fierce gleam, quick] i ’ ’ suppressed, as hat in pane he Boeued’ the a Pay Best intimation of on Pence came when she glanced up to find her- Sh ace to face with Owen Dare. the ther gl gut was assing on without observing - out, but he turned quickly to join mee with bi hoor solicitude, pe aire rable day to be out, Nora, with this eamp breeze, Aren’t you going to give me a wel- oe your own home?” fiderst mine, Mr. Dare; you know I never have con- chee 43 it so, I can only wonder you should ever brin pA such memories as this place must for 8 a ou What was there in those straight- Dos oe ee eyes looking upon him, to discom- Blanc usually steady nerves, to send his own eyes © wandering, to bring that cruel gleam into his Pressed in to mark hard lines about his thin, com- Stan ve S—what? The change was for only an in- whisk ut if had not escaped Nora, and a doubt an inj she put away more than once as Ip ot ustice not to be harbored in her thoughts faint- sh Had he any knowledge of the, as- with 5 Re had done his dark work so securely, |» ** Such crafty malice throwing suspicion upon one whom the strongest circumstantial evidence had never induced her to believe other than innocent? She was too just to accuse Dare even in her own mind of having been accessory to the deed, but her previous distrust of him had settled intoa deeply- rooted aversion she had not tried to conquer. The swift change went over his face and was gone ina single second of time. “How can it bring me anything but grateful remembrances? I had little claim upon its last owner, but he was exceedingly generous toward me. It was here, too, that I discovered-the spell which one pair of bright eyes had thrown around me, which all your cruelty, Nora, has never broken.” ““Mr, Darel’? She flashed about upon him with an indignant flush burning in her cheeks, ‘ This is an interdicted subject between us. Why will you not understand that any reference toit is at once most distasteful and perfectly useless? There is a limit where patience ceases to be a virtue, and I arrived at it ten days ago. Ican find no excuse for this re- sumption of a question which was settled beyond mistaking then. I shall not fail to speak to Mr, Grahame when he comes downin guarding against like annoyances in the future.” “Your guardian came down with me, Miss Carter- et. [hoped tofind youin amore compliant frame of mind after experiencing the solitude here. I came for the purpose of renewing my previous offer, of giving you one more chance to escape the fate you would bring upon yourself.” ; She was walking swiftly toward the mansion now, ina silence that was not broken, as he apparently waited areply. He strode in advance a pace and confronted her as they reached the wide flight of steps leading to the entrance-door, put forth his hand and clutched her wrist, when she would have passed, with a pressure like a tight, snaky coil. ~ ** You choose to treat me with contempt, Miss Car- teret. You have never taken any pains to conceal your disdain. You have treated me cruelly as you would not have done the most abject slave in crea- tion, but because I have been your unresisting slave is no reason why I may not yet become your master, It isa long time since I first swore to myself that ou should yet be my wife, and I am not the man to reak my oaths when my soulisin them. I declare to you now that you shall be mine, peaceably and by fair means if you will, if not in spite of all resistance of yours; and by a less gentle way than I should pre- fer to use. Once more, Nora, will you listen to love instead of power; will you give me the favorable answer which‘you shall give sooner or later, willing or avai ey 1 She saw the demon looking out of his e es, and a ane of fear, such as had never assailed — in all er life before, shot to her heart. It carried every Perna color from her face, more than ever mar- le-like in the fading light, but’ she neither shrunk nor cowered under the cold horror come upon her. She looked scornfully back into those pitiless eyes. ““Qnce more, Mr. Dare, if you and I were the only two persons on earth, my answer would still be the same, No power on earth cau avail to alter it,” “Don’t be too sure of that. If I were driven to it, I would hunt you to the ends of the earth rather than let you escape me now. I aim not driven to it, and you have chosen for yourself what my course toward you shall be. You force me to the use of harsh measures, and I shall not hesitate to avail my- self of them. Come in, Miss Carteret, and take your guardian’s opinion of the matter.” He sprung up the steps and threw open the door for her. Lights were gleaming in the little parlor where Mr. Grahame awaited them; a genial blaze was upon the hearth, an air of more general comfort revailed than had of late reigned at Thornhurst. Noss swept into his presence, her white, intense face calm through great excitement, telling him the sto- ry ataglance. Dare followed and turned the key in the door as he closed it. “Mr, Grahame, I ask you to protect me from such insults as that man has just now put upon me. You have control here, for the present time, and I de- mand that you shall deny him admittance to the house so long as I remain.”’ ‘* Miss Carteret is a trifle excited and scarcely re- sponsible for the demand,” said Dare, coolly, saun- tering forward to face them both, and resting his elbow upon the mantle, ‘Will you be kind enough to place a chair for your ward, Mr, Grahame, and assure her of your approbation of the proposal I have already had the pleasure of making to you?” Nora declined the proffered seat with a gesture, her eyes fixed in silent questioning upon her guar- dian’s face. “Dare certainly has my sanction, Nora. I must beg that you will consider again and more favorably in regard to him.” “T have rejected Mr. Dare’s suit finally and irre- vocably, sir. He has insulted me, first by his per- tinacity, and afterward by making ungentlemanly threats when I repeated my decision.” “Thave assured Miss Carteret that she shall be my wife, willing or unwilling, by means fair or un- fair. She will doubtless wish to appeal for your protection on that basis.” The sneer in his voice stung her, but her gaze did not waver from her guardian’s face. . It was a trying position to Mr. Grahame, but Dare’s presence kept him firmly to the mark. : “Jf you are persistent in refusing what is to your own interest, my dear, we must consult that interest for you,’’ he answered with dignity. ) ed to you in all respects; I approve of him as your future husband; and I beg you may not occasion trouble by holding to some absurd prejudice of your own. “Do you mean, sir, that you have leagued your- self with him? Is this ees cine the trust Colonel Vivian reposed in you? I cannot escape persecu- tik en i rbd : Beige at “Dare is suit- THRE TERRIBLE TRUTH. 20. tion, if yOu countenance it, but if your éontrol over my actions extended for years instead of a few weeks yet, if you employed years in attem ting to coerce me in a matter like this, you would never succeed.” A dark red flush crept up the merchant’s brow. Like many another unreasonable man, knowing himself in the wrong, he went into a passion to cover his confusion, _“You shall give what you have never been par- ticular in according »me—obedience,” he deel: angrily. ‘*Make up your mind to what is inevita- ble, Miss Carteret. Dare shall be ee husband, and that within this very week, if only for the urpose of preventing you from mena Colonel Vivian’s bequest to the winds. No girl in her senses would act as you have proposed. My trust will not permit me to sanction such oe Oe Nora’s lips compressed in a firm straight line, her eyes had in them the look of a hunted creature turn-' ed at bay, but she did not speak a word. “Tt is unpleasant for a lady to retract her word,’ said Dare, bowing in mock. politeness toward her. ““T shall not ask Miss Carteret to do so. But I shall expect her to receive me with the deference a bride should extend toward her intended when I come with the cle an at this hour to-morrow. I ap- preciate the truth of the saying ‘there’s many a slip,’ etc., too fully to risk unnecessary delay. It has come my time to make demands now, Nora, Be assured that I shall never se again.”’ The brown indignant eyes blazed upon him. “Tshould deny you at the very altar. What do you suppose me to be that you think I would have any measure forced upon me, much less a step like that which would compromise, all my life? any fraud or any unjust power could force me to iy become your wife, I would defy you afterward and throw off your claim. It cannot be done, for you can never wring my consent.” “My friend the clergyman will dispense with that,”’ said Dare SS ie ‘* Afterward the law gives the husband control of his wife, and there are pri- vate instititions provided for just such violent and unconguerable forms of mania as yours, my dear Nora. The subject is hardly a pleasant one, and if you peng we will drop it here.’ * And that is the dinner-bell,” said Mr. Grahame, a “We will wait while you put off your wraps, ora.” + j : “Thanks; 1 do not wish dinner.’}; “You had better come, my dear. Even senti- ment cannot exist without a substance.” “You will please hold me excused, sir, now and for the remainder of the evening.” “In that case,” said Dare. “let me make my adieux. I shall go back to the village for the night. I can leave you safely in such excellent care as your guardian will extend.” He bowed but did not offer his hand, unlocked the door and held it wide for her. She swept out with the stateliness of an injured quer but up in her own room where a dim digs was burning, with the bolt note i home, she fell on her knees by the bed and buried her face in the covering, a silent motionless form as rhe We ata eo went by. She had never felt her a ee Peet gece oe before. They would never dare to ot the threats into execution; they could not do-it if they had the will; they were trying to frighten her into submission—and the proud lips curled, the heart swelled in bitter defiance, but under all was a feel- ing of utter loneliness, of isolation from all close sympathy upon the earth. Bright stars were shining out of an opal-clear 7 \ when she lifted her face, changed and worn in t' little time. She crossed the floor, throwing a win- dow wide, and leaning out to catch the breeze upon her brow. Did it bring to her a message from some far-away point of the.wide world where she might fancy a weary wanderer straying? f Her hands went up to clasp her forehead; the firm lips quivered and parted, and through the Nhe ath heart thrilled the ery which no breath uttered, which was of itself a revelation she had crushed from her own recognition through long years: “Ob, Vane, Vane!” CHAPTER XXVIL. THE TURNING OF THE SCALE. | Nora came down to breakfast next morning, pallid and with purple shades under her eyes, traces of a sleepless, restless night. “Jam hali-convinced that Dare is right,” thought Mr. Grahame from his plaee as he glanced at her. + ** Solitude and fifjeen hours’ fasting have a great ef- fect in subduiny a willful spirit. She evidently sees that we mean all we say, and wisely concludes not to make idle resistance,” ‘he merchant sunk into a more complacent frame of mind after that. The very quietude which lulled his apprehension was indicative of anything but the: submissive spirit to which he ascribed it, It wasa . very silent meal, a Vou dull morning which follow- edit. Nora retired to her own room again, and Mr. Grahame yawned and dozed through a long three / Wp hours. Without the chill and clouds ot the last three *_ care had resolved into a slow drizzle, and the first falling leaves from the elms were swept into wet, Shien drifts here and there on the close turf of the. lawn. It was not an inviting prospect as he stood in the door looking out, but the empty rooms in the great houses were no more so.” ‘*No fear of chance caliers on a day like this,”’ he reflected, as he tossed the stub of the cigar he had been smoking to the damp path. ‘The servants have their orders in case any one shculd stray this — way. By Jove! little wonder that Nora is ready to ivein. Ithink I’ll walk across auld see what Dare doing with himself.” 7 His overcoat was on Cp honca . : ' Ney y ‘ a” " reas 4 ‘ ‘ yy Yee 1 ee Me Ore ee ae the rack, an umbrella near at H Meee Tp a, * u t

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'- Hayes, aggrievedly. A mage ~ Was taken 4 Mmspesk, - gee the a | Suk 26 hand, and Mr. Grahame well used to all weathers. Three minutes afterward he was taking the path across the fields the only: moving creature to be seen in the whole drippitige, sodden landscapé. Nora caught a glimpse of him from her window, and ressed her face against the glass watching him isappear within the cedar-grove, thinking intently fora moment. There were two of them; they were strong and she was weak; Dare she knew would hesitate at nothing to carry his point, and while her guardian would surely not dart resort to the extre- mity they had declared the previous night, she would be subject to like indignities and persecutions while they remained. She was alone there, but would she be any less alone anywhere else, back in the city, for instance, or are the less in their power? Mrs. ahame was most probably up among the lakes of Central New York now, and to what one of her fashionable, propriety-serving acquaintances could she popes from the control of her guardian? Surely the thought which had come like a wild impulse into her head of flying from them back to the city was not one to be feasibly carried out. She dismissed it and was turning away when a second moving object caught her eye. This time it was a carriage, one of the mg vehicles belonging to the village, dashing through the gates and up the drive to the front of the building. A summons ‘echoed through the quiet house, a moment later. There was a little delay, and Nora went out to the head of the stairs with but a faint hope that this ar- rival gd change her own situation there for the better. It was more apt to prove an humble visitor for the housekeeper than one of her own class, “Can't ’elp hit,” the footman was saying, as he ‘blocked the entrance with his form. ‘My horder was to let nobody hin, and hI’m_ not going to break ‘em. Wouldn’t do hit for Queen Victory ’erself, with my hinstructions.” Something of the cockney had been brought over with this importation from Old England, and a full complement_of Johw Bull obsti- ea planted under that stolid exterior. ' “My fare’s come all the way from New York to eon lady that’s stayin’ here,” said a rough, expostulating voice without. ‘‘Come now, lend a hand here and help get the lady in.” ““There hain’t no young lady ’ere,” declared the man at the door, with a sung f70id which astonished his listener. “Oh, come now, that won’t go down! Haven't I seen her myself a couple of times on the road?” “Can’t’elp hit. My horders was to say has there’s no young lady ’ere to hanyone.” . “$tand aside, Hamlin,’ said Nora’s authoritative voice at his back, ‘‘ What do you mean by denying admittance to any guest?” “4 sey my horders, miss, = pain hof pane ie c . Begging your pardon, miss, nobody can’ Cae hin hall ss same.”’ : if “At least your orders cannot prevent me’ from ‘going out. Stand aside at once.” Hamlin obeyed, unwillingly, and Nora ran down the steps to waiting carriage. Within sat Mrs. Sholto Norton Hayes, the picture of virtuous indig- ee notinclined to unbend after this slight put upon her, eM dear Mrs. Hayes, this is some ridiculous m e,” said Nora, for once heartily rejoiced at sight of her rival of old. ‘‘ Don’t mind it, please, and do get out at once.” “Thanks; Ihave altered my purpose,” answered the lady, frigidly. ‘‘I shall return to the village. \Are you aware that it rains, Miss Carteret? It is exceedingly imprudent for a young lady in your delicate health to be out in it.” ‘But I am notin delicate health, Mrs. Hayes. I thought you knew how preposterously healthy I al- ways am. Do, for my sake, overlook the servant's stupid blunder.” “Who ordered bim to keep me out?” asked Mrs. “Re ng Nora, I do not un- derstand your course at all. Why did you leave word for Sir Rupert Archer that you were off on a late trip to the lakes on account of impaired h? *‘J never left such word.” “T heard Lisa Grahame herself tell him so. And Vane—dear me, Nora! after the way you have stood for Vane I should not suppose you would be so cal- | lous to his fate now. Nora’s heart gave a at bound, for a moment her breath and her words refused to come, “What of Vane?’ she asked, when she could breathlessly. “‘‘Have you heard of him?” ‘All the country is hearing of him,” vouchsafed Mrs. Hayes, still stiffly. ‘Do you never read the papers that Oks don’t know he is uyder arrest? He ree days ARO: immediately after land- ing, and brought on to Pittsburg the day following. There’s just one chance for him, people say, and that is to prove an adi. I’m sure I hope he may.” Nora’s heart was standing still now. The earth and heaven seemed to meet and mingle for one diz- . zy confused moment, A rush of comprehension | also came, She had been purposely kept in igno- rance of this, and Vane’s return had fixed the league between her guardian and Owen Dare. “T never heard of it,” she said, in low, intense ‘tones. ‘‘ Mrs. Hayes, you will not refuse to eome in . when I tell you so and that I need you here?” ‘he white, wistful face was not to be resisted. Mrs. Hayes, with her injured dignity in a measure | . .appeased, consented to alight at last. The uncom- romising warder of the door had retired minutes fore in disgust, and the way was free. “T don’t know what you mean by needing me, _my dear,” she said, more graciously. *‘ If you really need any one why not send a message to Sholto? He came on with me to be per at the hearing which occurs to-day. This driver has proved him- a most accommodating person, and we can pafely trust him to send a dispatch: t ‘ x For once in her life at least Mrs. Hayes had made a sensible suggestion, and one which Nora put into immediate execution. She wrote the message hur- riedly in the other’s name, and herself gave it in ee an the gratuity she would have pressed upon m | I’ve had my fare, and it’s a pleasure to do for them | pe were ever anything to Colonel Vivian. The old col nel was a good friend to poor folk about al- ways. “And now,” said Mrs. Hayes, as the two were seated together, a little later, in the one open parlor, “what is the mystery of your being here, Nora? i discovered the fact by the merest accident. I thought with all the rest that you were up among the lakes, but a chance letter from Ida Vandivere mentioned your odd taste in coming alone to Thorn- hurst. If you had to come why wasn’t Lisa Gra- hame cera to of going back to town?” “Tt was Mrs. Grahame who was to take the trip to the lakes. I came here at my guardian’s sugges- tion. There, Mrs. Hayes, I was inclined to make you only half a confidante, but Irepent already and tell you the whole story.”’ : She told it briefly, a new anxiety of more weight than any previous uneasiness she had entertained for herself upon her. Mrs. Hayes who had never quite forgiven Owen Dare, was ep Sige to re- main now and by her presence bafile his plans. “Such unparalleled effrontery! she ejaculated. ‘* With Sir Rupert Archer and a half score of other friends only twenty miles away, to think they should have — hidden here and absolutely make the at- tempt to foree you into a marriage against your own will—it is out of all precedent! It is only na- tural that you do not wish the matter made public talk, and I shall respect your request by not men- tioning it even to Sholto. How fortunate we. sent for him, since he is the other trustee, and will see bme| you have your own way regarding Thorm urst.”” It proved a long hour of mutual explanations be- tween the two. Nora heard for the first of her own unexpected fortune, of the rumors of Vane’s success in the diamond fields, of popular sympathy turned suddenly in his favor. “ Half the people are confident that he will turn out innocent at last,’ concluded the lady. ‘Some say that he can prove an alibi at the very start, and so escape a trial. IamsureI hope so. Think what a terrible disgrace it would be to have a crime like that attach to the old Vivian name!” Two hours after he had sauntered out alone, Mr. Grahame returned arm-in-arm with Dare. The two stopped, transfixed, upon the threshold—transfixed at sight of Mrs. Sholto Norton Hayes reclining in a eat purple velvet chair before the fire, greetin, t se with her most languid, softest words an smiles. Nora rose up, a bright flush in her cheeks, a little triumphant thrill in her voice, which came there in this supreme moment of her own victory over the machinations: against her as she noted the blank, baffled expression sweep over Dare’s face. “Mrs. Hayes has kindly brought me the news which you gentlemen withheld,” she said. ‘In re- turn, I had the pleasure of confiding to her all of yesterday’s incidents, and at my request she has consented to remain at Thornhurst for an indefinite time. Mr. Hayes, in Pittsburg now, may be por pad ed by the evening train. I think I may depend up- on his assistance in carrying out my intention when I come of age, without fear of the private lunatic asylum of which Mr. Dare made mention last ight,” ees with a look of baffled malignity, impotent of harm as was his own dark will now, turned on his heel and strode out of the house without a word. “Whether you absolutely meant all you said, or merely endeavored to frighten me ixtto compliance with your will,” Nora continued, addressing her guardian, ‘‘I do not ask. You never would have succeeded in either case. It rests with you whether the affair shall ever come to public knowledge. I am willing to let matters rest as they were for the few weeks I shall still remain under your guardian- ship, Mr. Grahame, provided you do not attempt again to influence my inclination.” . Grahame drew a breath of absolute relief, “Tt shall be as you say, Nora. Of myself, I never would have attempted to influence you. I never really favored the scheme, but I was bound to sup- port Dare in all reasonable measures. Of course I would ey have sanctioned his going to the extremes roposed.’ . ora was willing to accept the assurance, and poare was established again in Thornhurst. Sholto orton Hayes, .in company with two other gentle- men, arrived by the 6:30 express. The Thornhurst carriage met them, and they were whirled up through the dripping avenue and set down before the lighted front in the murky dusk of the chill autumn evening. | Already Thornhurst mansion had thrown off the cloud of dreariness which had encompassedit. The | long parlors were‘unclosed, the furniture divested of the canvas coverings, cheery fires upon the hearths, and lights penetrating all the corners. Nora had been hopeful, feverishly expectant, dur- ing the afternoon. With the feet of the comers on the very threshold, a shivering dread ‘came over her, at once an intense desire to know the result urging her forward, a terrible fear of the worst holding her back. Mrs. Hayes was in her own chamber, dressing for dinner, The fate of the world might have hung on a thread, but Mrs. Sholto Hayes would not have been shaken from her observances of long habit —Gabriel might have sounded his trump almost any day after six with the certainty of finding her ready . for eternity in full toilet. On this occasion the ex- | citement, attending her arrival and the absence of / F THE ‘TERRIBLE * TRUTH tothe good-natured waiting driver, who de- | Bless you, no, miss, not for a trifle like that. | / . ~ her maid had shaken her weak nerves cy a ag ed the task of dressing by a good hour. Nora stood alone in the center of the rooms, listening to her dian’s greeting of the guests and the sounds of their steps passing up the stairway to the apart- ments designed for them. The long ait houre sus- pense seemed intolerable in prospect. She was not — to be kept_in suspense, however. The door swung back, and Sir nett Archer, still in traveling-wraps, had her hand in his in another moment. “T knew how anxious you would be to know the result of the hearing to-day, and I gs hae you would rather have it from friendly lips.” grave face crushed her last hope. “Vane has not been cleared!” “He is committed for trial. Don’t let it alarm — you. He had no hope of escaping a trial himself, and he has the general sympathy. He is innocent, and he will be proved so.’ ‘“*Mrs. Hayes said that everything depended upon his proving an a/ivi. Can he do it?” “He believes it. T will tell you the truth, Miss Carteret. Everything depends upon finding Miss Montrose. She is the one living being by whom he can be cleared, and no one knows her where- abouts. She must be found. The trial comes off in January, and the intervening time shall be devoted to the search.” “Will it be so difficult? They went to the South, I remember—Miss Montrose and her father,” “They left there two months afterward. I passed through the vicinity and made inquiry, but could gain no information of them further. Ican do Vane no good here, and I shall leave for the South again ina couple of days. Be sure that no effort shall be spared—they must be found.” Nora was by far more sanguine of the result than was the baronet. She could not know how thorough his inquiry had been, how complete the mystery of their sudden disappearance. Womanlike, her reason- ing went little further than that Vane would be cleared because he was innocent. His other stanch friend, Prescott, was presented by her guardian when the dinner-bell called the ~ party below, and during the evening found occasion to explain to her the full particulars of the trust he held. phase saw the gentlemen disperse again. A telegram brought Mrs. Grahame down to Thornhurst two days later, Mrs. Hayes remained, and the household fell into the dull routine under which anxiety and pathy were powerful elements. It was wonderful how the rumor of Vane’s suc- cess abroad changed poe opinion, <A stream of visitors among his old acquaintances flowed in upon him in his prison-room; a pile of ping a ine ic thetic notes were of daily occurrence. e ladies from Thornhurst were among the first, and Nora, saying little while there, carried back the e of her hero, changed from the dark, handsome boy, reckless and thoughtless, to the man matured, no less handsome, and a reformed character who, in even his present painful position, was taking the thee circle which had been loud in denouncing him Ag 8 rm, ‘ CHAPTER XXVIIL. IN THE COURT-ROOM, Weeks went by. October blazed through at Thorn hurst, The yellow and crimson leaves turned brown, and then the trees held up their bare branches to a gray November sky, and the first snow fell upon them and wrapped the lawn and the hillside in a ure white sheet. At last December was wearing ast away. The coming trial was in everybody’s mouth now. It was well known that the best coun- sel had been secnred. The preliminary pag ome turned upon the verdict of the coroner's j ree years before, and the witnesses summon almost identical with those examined then, Meantime Sir Rupert Archer had been following blind clews in his own personal research. First he had inserted advertisements in the leading papérs of America and London. He had carefully gone over the ground he had traversed once before in his own personal interest, but now a life was at stake, he would not neglect even the most improbable chances, thus poten, friendship stronger than love. The old ruin in — had been leveled to the ground. A few among the elder planters remembered the morose man who had once lived in their midst, but no one knew from whence he had come or where he had gone. One or two cognizant of his return there for a few brief weeks, three years previous, had im- bibed an idea that he had gone to somé one of the old-producing localities of the world, one suggesti ‘alifornia, another Australia, Still another imagin that, instead of seeking a fortune, Mr. Montrose had had a fortune left him. Only one thing was evident beyond doubt: that they had quitted the vicinity un- expectedly to even themselves. The cottage had been taken until June, and father and daughter had left hurriedly in the early stormy days of March. , In addition to the advertisements already afloat, Sir Rupert immediately opened communications with suitable parties in the various points where: Mr. Montrose might, with any reasonable probability, have resorted, The cable to Australia was not com- plete, but the baronet forwarded letters to the colony, although there was no chance of a reply before the . trial, and the desperate earnestness with which he prosecuted the search in all directions was better roof than any words of how hopeless he felt his riend’s case should Venetia Montrose not be found, Ba counsel also had prosecuted inquiry to no ay: How the days sped! how the b briefer! how hope waned and’ a short winter days me holidays were at hand were f interval grew ety d one into another, and the _ ‘There were no rejoicings at re Thornhurst now. One auxioys heart was growing © x w as the ~

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, taint with hope deferred. Nora’s twenty-first birth- ay was past, and the paper's which restored every penny of Colonel Vivian’s fortune to his son lay in the lawyer’s hands. The tweuty-fourth day of December broke—a bright, cloudless winter day, with a crisp snow under foot, and a keen, bracing air which sent new life into id pulses. Mr. Grahame, who for past weeks had been devoting himself strictly to his business, ad come down to Thornhurst on the previous day. e two months’ extension obtained through Dare 1ad brought him all he hoped; his difficulties were ted, his liabilities met, and be was prepared to endure the holidays in the gies country-house in the complacent martyrdom with which he tolerated re- ation from business cares. Dare had kept him- self scrupulously out of the way since his own plans ad come to naught. There had been one or two private interviews between him and the counsel for the prosecution, who prided himself upon working whe 6 neatest case of the whole year, and it was whispered that certain imporiant points in his pos- Session had been ferreted out by the acute lawyer. e had not once been near Vane in his prison. Sholto Norton Hayes made one of the party at hornhurst, and on the morning of the twenty- fourth Sir Rupert Archer joined them, just returned from a fruitless trip to the Far West, where he had pursued a W. Montrose, who, like a will-o’-the-wisp, Was always before him, and who, cornered at last, proved the wrong man. He put his own anxiety out of sight for the time, but be apparently cheerful as all might, this reunion was a weight upon all asa reminder of a far different Christmas-time three ¥ yo | alae : e baronet was in time to join the party at the breakfast table. : see ‘Ihave the morning papers along with me,” he remarked, as they lingered over the meal. ‘“ Ham- lin can find them in my overcoat-pocket, if you gen- tlemen are interested in the news. . Grahame, whose morning paper was essential to his comfort as his morning coffee, sent the man after them immediately. This is something out of my line,” the merchant said, laying one aside. ‘‘ You ladies will probably not despise it. The Dispatch or the Commercial— which will you praber Hayes?” Nora took up the discarded sheet indifferenily. A Court Jowrnal,” said the baronet, glancing across. ‘ You are sure to find it oxtubuiely inter- Miss Carteret. I am positive I received no English papers yesterday, and until then that over- coat has not been in use for the greater part*of a year. That Pnower Court Journal must have ar- rived at a rather venerable age.” Old though it might be, something had caught Nora’s careless eye. She read the A thy para- graph through, her hand trembled, and her glance, eager and intense, went across to the baronet. Then her eyes fell. and she trifled with the contents o her plate, but not a morsel after that passed her Half an hour after she went into the library where Sir Rupert had strayed alone, the Sarin her hands, er voice quivering in her eagerness. “We have been so often SHEAR PORLSEU I could not bear to say anything before the rest. ’ Sir Rupert, 4s it possible that this can be our Miss Montrose? It Seems incredible, but Mr. Walter Montrose was an Englishman, and who knows? Stranger things might hae Bappened, e glanced at the article she pointed out, and ut- kas a Bight ejaculation. S nt was a description of the presentation at court of the Bae Venttia Montrose, daughter of the new Earl of eveland, the bright, particular star who would not fail to electrify London society during the coming season. “It is possible! I can almost hope we have really overed them at last, now that I recall the very resemblance which existed between the old Earl of Cleveland and Mr. Walter Montrose. I men: tioned it to his daughter once, but she ignored the relationship, I was half-inclined for the moment is aby awn and it never occurred to me later, to : entify him in the successor to the earldom. Ihave opes, but for fear of still another disappointment, let us keep this, which may be no more than a coin- cidence, to ourselves. I will send a cable dispatch the moment Ireturn to town, to be delivered through my London lawyer for the sake of certainty.” e baronet returned to the city early of the Same afternoon, accompanied by Nora aud Sholto Hayes, Whose mission was to call upon the pris- Vane was neither indifferent. nor insensible to his lett His own great grief for his father had not 3 t incapable of comprehending how the dark tp pearances standing against him might be made tell, He knew how vain the search after the one person who could clear him had proved; there wes ey One hope left, that some break might oc- ao fs ee chain of circumstantial evidence so woven € was looking the worse for more than two months passed in prison, but his steady nerve and pigh courage had not failed him once. It was the ast time Nora would see him before the trial, still hig weeks in advance. It was too painful to see a often in his captivity, and a self-reproach ich need have held no place in her mind, stirred her to the bitterest Pasi 2 Allunwittingly, she had come between father and on. Vane had been bitter against her once; little Wonder if he had hated her; he did her fuller justice ie: he had protested against her fe te as ade known to him, but without altering her pur- _Sholto Hayes, never very clever, invariabl rienced an uncomfortabl r atiflin sensation er e found himself wathin tha’ narrow, bare prison-room. sliced . worse. The people were there, . and lost whatever of tact he might ordinarily pos- sess. He stood staring out of the little barred win- dow while Nora concluded her interview with the prisoner. ; She had never harassed him with signs of weak- ness in her occasional visits, with tears or lamenta- tions, as the few other ladies who had called upon him invariably made it a habit todo, She came in the hope of bringing him a little comfort, to show how firm was her own faith in him, not to de- ress. ae There is one thing more I wish you to know— what I came to tell you to-day: Thornhurst is really yours now, as it should have been from the first. No; please don’t pain me by any remonstrance, or by thanks I do not deserve.” “You have insisted on that, Nora! Promise me one thing, at least: that you will not refuse it, ~“nould I never have occasion toreturn. Ishould lico to be sure Thornhurst was left in loving hands.” it was the first time he had referred, ever so re- motely to the worst termination which might come of the trial. She shrunk with a sickening rush of in- tense emotion, and get up her hands as though she would have waved the dread away. “Don’t, Vane! Oh, for pity’s sake, never think it may beso bad as that.” “Tf you will agree to this, then, to stay there un- tilI may come to ciaim the place. Pray for the time to come soon, if you will, Nora.” ‘““You don’t intend to let them hang you, I hope, Vivian,” broke in Sholto Hayes, turning from post of outlook. s ‘““Notif I can help it,” said Vane, with a smile. “Tt takes something more than concurrence of events such as forms the evidence to hang a man in this enlightened age.” ‘ Sir Rupert’s message went,and in due time an answer from his London lawyer was returned. It was almost a greater disappointment than any one ate 5 since it left them still in suspense. It said: ‘The Earl of Cleveland and daughter out of the country. Message will be forwarded by the eari’s solicitor.” That was all—the beginning and the end of the hope which had swelled in two hearts almost to con- fidence—the end of it when three more weeks rolled round, and the day of trial came. The place was crowded on that fifteenth day of January, when the prisoner was led into the court- room. Hewas atrifle worn. Three months of con- finement had paled the bronze which was the result of as many years’ exposure. On the whole, the as- sembly was disappointed that he was not ooking some through sym- pathy, by far the ieee part through a morbid cu- riosity to personally witness the great sensation of the day. Vane, a little pale, but perfectly collected, coed over the sea of faces greeting him, bowed to friends, and took his place. Mr. Blakewell, for the prosecution, opened the ease. This trial was, he was thankful to say, some- thing unusual in the annals of the criminal court. Our young men were too wild and reckless as a class; too many of them were building up a record un- worthy of their names—such a record as two years of the prisoner’s life which should be_ briefly reviewed there, would present. Crime was increas- ing with a frightful rapidity, not among the lower strata of humanity, the scum of the earth, but in the young generation Springing up about us, those of our own blood, whose hopes were as our hopes, whose lives as our lives. But, thank Heaven! it was seldom ‘that the black brand of the parricide fell on our yo men of promise. Justice was proving itself too lax in its dealings with deeply-dyed crimi- nals. There was much dissatisfaction in the Eastern courts at that Epa gs time over delays, and re- Packet and pardons, where prompt execution would ave been no more than retributive justice, anda host ofdollowing crimes would have been prevented thereby. The state of things was all wrong; there maust be a limit to it found; there must be a striking example made to shock that reckless portion of the | world back to its senses again. What better oppor- tunity for the double purpose than this? Then fol- lowed the promised review of the prisoner’s life—his wild course while abroad, his further mad folly after his return. Much had been known to the public then; more remained to be unfolded now. The witnesses summoned were for the most part | those who had testified at the inquest. Nora was not spared this cruel trial. She gave her testimony as she had given it before, collectedly, but with a horrible despair of knowing that her words were adding to the warrant.. Sir Rupert Archer, Mr. Fr and many others gave their evidence as before, . Owen Dare called and repeated tis position. He had strolled out, he had followed the emale form faneying. something suspicious in her manner, had recognized the two as they met be- neath the elms and turned away. Had smoked a cigar in the shrubbe: t anda, meantime had seen a man drive up to the door, alight and gain admittance. Voices in the library checked him as he was about to enter. The words were audible, and unintentionally he over- heard a fragment of conversation between Colonel Vivian and his visitor. Heard the latter announce TERRIBLE TRUTH. robability that would sign his death- | erick Janes, | revious de- | before returning to the ver- | himself as a bank messenger and ask if a signature | he appestes to display was colonel declare a Soteerys A arently displayed by the visitor also pronounced a orgery. Resa tnban as payment for Vane Vivian’s debts, and suggest that the colon which had been realized upon, in which enuine. Heard the oo party, and the person presenting’ the \ / ‘ 4 ~ “ ' 4 § . ‘ ks ‘ y " é as ae Vf 4 5" oo ther signature ap- | eard the mar declare the, checks: had | should acknowledge one | case the . bank would take no measures to discover the crimi- — nal check 7 could better afford to lose the amount than meddle with the law. Had stood chained by surprise dur- ing the brief space this had passed, but recovering himself had walked quietly away and gone in by & different entrance, Beng: Coupe. Dap messenger, sworn; verified the evidence of Mr, Dare as related to his interview with Colonel Vivian. The colonel had consented to admit one of the signatures, the other false check which had not been realized en was destroyed. The bank had never taken any step forger. It was not tgs the prisoner supposed | his father aware of the Soret: Had had no ac-, uaintance with the accused. Had seen him once, | he occasion was after midnight, in the first hour of New Year’s Day, 1870. He had then come rushing in t Thornhurst station and sprung to a car- Jatform after the train was in motion. Had never Boe the mew passenger was Vane Vivian until recognizing him in the prisoner at the bar. Mr. Young was permitted to stand down, A Pee fee of time was instituted. The counsel for the defense claimed that the distance from to descover the Thornhurst mansion could not have been traversed . on foot in the twelve minutes’ difference between city and railway time. The prosecution demanded evidence that the train was strictly on time that night. Even express trains in our country, and es- pecially at that season, are not always infallible models of punctuality. The judge overruled the point. There were many different degrees of swift- uess, and desperation would naturally lend speed to a man’s feet. A few moments of time could not stand against the evidence produced, the ill-terms between father and son, the acknowledged reckless character of the latter, the finding of the pistol identified as his, the motives developed Ager: the deed, and the flight so artfully planned, so suc- cessfully carried out. 4 ] Mr. Prescott testified to the prisoner’s character being fmost exemplary during two years he had known. him; his (Prescott’s) firm belief that the other had never learned of his father’s decease until his arrest for the crime after arriving in New York. All the proof was dead against the accused. The evidence summed wu Ove ee Popular opinion, fickle as it is enthusiastic, turned again. In vain the counsel for the acoused epee eloquent- ly of his reform, of his noble efforts to redeem him- self during later years, fed on the hope of gaining & noble father’s forgiveness for follies of the past. The learned counsel was crate the close of hig ap the stern faces of the listening jury never softened, the impatience of the audience was becom- ing apparent. A messenger, slipping with profes- sion ill through the crowd, delivered a note inte the counsel’s hand. The latter glanced at it, flashed a look over the crowded court, and went on with his speech. He referred to the grave mistakes arising pacing trusting too utterly to circumstantial evidence. For instance, the prosecution just now had built up an exceedingly neat, and apparently incontrovertible case. He proposed showing the fallacy of all which had been made to appear so plain, and in doing so would call an important witness at that moment conducted into court. ‘Lady Venetia Montrose!”’ The sound of that name went like an electric thril} through the heart of the prisoner and his friends, CHAPTER XxXIxX, IN ANOTHER SPHERE, Tr was New Year’s Day in ‘‘ Merrie id New Year’s Day in a suite of elegant apartments in St. James’ street, London, It was six o’clock of the afternoon, and two ladies in rich evening toilets stood under the soft lights shining down over the cent appointments of the room. velvet-lined casket holding two priceless jewels—one a sparkling koh-i-noor, the other a fi is ““T wonder if there is an St enough to move t Venetia? Here am I, half wild with delight at being in London once more, and you are the same rend you were in France, in Italy, sailing the blué Medi- erranean, or finding congenial Ey ae the Alps. Little wonder people say that, like Minerva, you lack a heart.” . . The little blonde threw herself petulantly into a chair, gave her azure flounces a shake, and glanced half in vexation, half-admiringly at the other's, stately form, A fair, childlike, golden haired crea- ture, whom no one would have suspected of haying sensation in the world / ft ¥ It was a ~- t calm dignity of yours, | ae “al three years of widowhood lying behind her, It was true, nevertheless. Flora, Lady Montrose, relic of the late Lord Charles, was little more than twenty now, scarcely less of a giddy, thoughtless child than when shé had given her hand to the earl’s son, four ears previous to this New Year's Day of 1878, Lord ._ harles, a hare-brained, horseracing young noble- man, with as many faults and as few virtues as any one man of his class is often found to possess, had been flung from his horse while pe | pees ase, — and was taken up dead. The shock h old earl suvely as knife or ball could have done. Twin tablets were erected to their memory, for two entire months the young widow was inconsolable. The crape on her mourning dresses could not bo — : made deep enough, the silence of the house could not be too intense. It was cruel that the sun should shine, the blue sky expand its ‘dazzlin ng —_ and pean be gay in the same world with grief like ers. } But, one morning, my Lady Montrose awoke to. the fact that her bri ht eyes were dulled by con- stant weeping; that s was ea? thin and pale, - Cra to death in the lonely country house a ee : e ted in shutting h f alone. She must e an effort; she must break the morbid gloom which had held her a victim. The arrival of — i . i me ve v a Peat Sf = =) 7 » * i <i rhe oF toy

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| |. away, Sr: ' him to you since it a 28 , ow ae a ca THE TERRIBLE TRUTH. the new earl in a measure solved her difficulty. At the tirst intimation of his coming she wrote a piteous letter of appeal to a relative in town. She could not endure to remain there while a stranger occupied the picee old earl’s place—the place she had hoped to see ed some day by her own darling Charles. Would she open her heart and home to the (ges friendless little cousin who never, never could recover from her own crus grief? She would try to be cheer- ful for the sake of others, but she felt that this deep- rooted sorrow was w her life away, she would “not long remain alone and lonely upon the earth. A favorable answer was received, and my Lady , Montrose flew like a wounded dove to the West End ‘refuge. For one whose life was wearing away she soon apa sa a remarkable degree of interest in worldly affairs. With opening spring and the fash- ionable season she accepted _an invitation from the new earl, and returned to Cleveland Park and the Sussex downs. Her own fortune with the exception of a modest settlement had gone to build up the fallen earldom, and when the present Lord Cleve- land proposed that she should remain and enjoy equal advantages with his own daughter, she had cousented unhesitatingly. **Lack a heart!’”? repeated Lady Venetia, “I am not sure, Flora, that it would be any t evil en- ispense with tailed pan mankind if they all might that often-inconvenient Sependase. It is a blessing that we can keep our heart experiences and heart emma secret; some of us might startle the world if it were otherwise.” ‘Lady Montrose opened her blue eyes wide. “That means you might,I suppose. Sir Harry ' Neville would hardly take courage to see you in that bitter mood, Venetia. The poor little baronet de- serves a reward for bis faithfulness. Did you know - he is here in town?—here ahead of us, and the-last ge Irecal] in Rome was of his dolorous visage. Til wager you a box of Jouvin’s best that he is the first man we see at the opera to-night.” “The probability is too great to admit of my ac- ecepting. You are rejoicing over London in even its present deserted state. For my part I shall be glad when we are safely housed again at Cleveland Park, Here comes papa, and I am sure he will agree with me.” ae The Earl of Cleveland appearing in a doorway nod- ded to his nephew’s widow, and spoke abruptly: ‘Venetia, I wish to speak with you.”’ _ “With me,'‘papa? Certainly. ill it do here?” “Tn private fora moment: Come this way.”’ He Rand away, and Lady Venetia followed him into a parlor communicating with his own apartments. “Sit down, Venetia.” He placed her a chair, and she sunk back into it. “Sir Harry Neville has ust been here. He has proposed to.me for your She sat with her eyes downcast, her fingers toying with a diamond bracelet upon her arm, silent for a moment, and then her father spoke again. “Have you no remarks to make, Venetia? I pre- @ume you heard what I have been saying.”’ a Rend yes, Of course you did the proper and sent him fais pe is “ Of course I did nothing of the kind. I referred ars the baronet’s courage has yet failed in consulting you. Just as well, per- dhaps since it leaves me an opportunity tosay a word. "You have refused many eligible offers and I never pressed you before. Ido desire now that you put ‘all absurd prejudices aside, and accept Sir Harry Neville’s proreel” 4) 8 Papa!? The dark eyes were raised to meet his fully now; there was no flinching, no shrinking away from his Peter aerieds bd toraes how th re slipping ou appear to forget how the years are slip tary Venetia. The heyday of youth and: its romantie nonsense has passed for expect to go all your life unwed. ou. You can’t ir Harry is an 'exem man, one of the world’s masculine angels only g . You can take no exception to him surely, titled, wealthy, and devoted as you could wish a lover. You are very lovely now, my Lady ‘Venetia—no need for me to tell you that—you can have your choice among the flower of this fair land. But that will not last for always. After your past » experience it would be the hight of folly to go on throwing away chances as you have done thus far. Asay again, put absurd prejudices aside and marry Sir Neville when he asks you.” “Papa, marry him!’ a thrill of. horror accented the words. : “T have said it, art daughter. An earl’s daughter, meniber you are that, and do no discredit to the ‘blue blood in your veins.”’ { ‘‘Anearl’s daughter should never dishonor her- self. Father!’’—the tone was a thrilling appeal. She rose to stand before him, her head bowed, her hands clasped, her face marble white and dark eyes in- tense with pain; no one of her admirers but would have found it hard to recognize in her thus moved ie haughty ee Dh shen olet whom neal tion never chang a spoiled, nor prince notice flattered. ” ois . “i Her father was correct. She was lovely, she had ike he been that through the worst days of their grinding Peery and now with magnificent sur- roundings, in silks and jewels, with servants to wait at her slightest beck, she was on every one’s tongue as the handsomest belle in metropolitan society dur- ing the ear, i» © Rather!” gered over his name. could never A is a reason why I never should, need that I should say more?” “That will do, Venetia!. You are not given to high tragedy commonly. Pray, do not resort to stage et now, Ihave known, I do know, all, You are Thrilling, 4 EES her voice lin- ‘Lhave thought you knew I Even were I so inclined, there Oh, papa! is there ~¢linging to the remembrance of a man who wearied | night express, and offered to see her home, as it 2 of youina few short weeks—who threw you over ) for the next pretty face he came across, You are | holding yourself bound, when every equitable law | would declare you free.”’ ‘Father, I am his legal wife.” | “You persist in holding yourself as such. I tell _ youl know all about that night flight and the cere- mony performed—do Sie suppose I would get a hint of it and not search all out? I declare that you are | free, that any law to whichI might appeal would declare you so to-day. I shall not aovent to law, and | thereby attach the stigma which revelations would | | bring upon our name. If you have any fear that | Owen Dare may ever assert a claim be ape you, dis- | miss it from this hour. However great his own in- | clination might be, there is a reason why he never should. Must I command you, Venetia, to obey my wishes regarding this offer of marriage from Sir Harry Neville?” The white face was lifted; she returned his gaze with one so ste that it seemed his own must fall before it, but it did not, ‘“*Heaven’s ordinance of marriage is not lightly eo aside. For better or worse I am—his wife;” her faltered and refused to pronounce his name. Ke aon never forget that—I can never marry another man!” Her will could be no less resolute than his; her set face told him how irrevocable that decision was. “Very well, Venetia!” His sharp, metallic tone cut her like a pain, the steely oe in those cold blue eyes flashed upon her. ‘* You have ps7 be ed the hopes I have based upon you all your life. If the time ever comes when I shall make a return in like measure—and it may come sooner than you think—if Iam merciless then, recall this night, and the keen disappointment my long forbearance has not merited. Do not consider yourself longer de- tained.” She bowed her head and was turning away as a rap sounded upon the door. ‘Come in!’’ said the earl. A servant appeared upon the threshold, announc- yg Mr. Harding, your lordship.” r. Harding, who was the earl’s solicitor, catching sight of the Lady Venetia, pressed forward. ‘My obedience to ie lordship,” with a bow. **T took the liberty of following close, asI have what appears to be a most important message to deliver to Lady Venetia Montrose.” ‘For me?’ The Lady Venetia waited in some sur- rise. | “Hereitis. It was given me to be forwarded. Fortunately I learned of your arrival something ress than an hour ago, and knew of course you had not received my own dispatch.” ‘ The Lady Venetia glanced at the brief lines, and held the paper toward her father with a wavering hand. It was the message interpolated in that to Sir Rupert’s lawyer. “Vane Vivian will be tried for the murder of his father on the fifteenth of January. If you can save him lose no time, Come at once.” Signed by the baronet, and to be delivered to Lady Venetia Montrose. ; “T must go, papa. I can save him—TI told you that when we learned that he was suspected. Imust go at once.” 2 “We will both go,” said the earl, and a grim shade settled over his face which, had his daughter ' seen, might have shown her a fixed purpose behind his words. ‘‘ What time does the first steamer leave, Harding?” ** At eleven to-morrow, my lord.” And at eleven on the morrow the Earl of Cleve- land and his daughter watched the English shores recede from the steamer’s deck, CHAPTER XXX, RETRIBUTION. A Tremor of expectancy ran through: the court- room, All eyes were turned eagerly upon the wit- ness-stand. Lady Venetia Montrose, still” in her dark rich traveling-dress, warm from the long hur- ried journey, very pale, unspeakably handsome and haughtily patrician, stood there. There were no weak nerves, no cowardice before the sea of faces upturned, to shake the earl’s daughter. Brave, self-sufficient blood coursed in her veins. Her eyes swept once over the audience. One face there flushed and paled; Owen Dare leaned forward with agasp, his gaze seeking hers that passed him in- differently as all the rest. While he gazed, doubting his own senses almost, a rush of bitter, intense rage and disappointment at all he felt in that moment he had lost, her low, clear tones were heard as she i Se to speak, With a lit- tle legal aid her story was briefly and plainly told. She had known Vane Vivian. Their acquaintance was merely of an ordinary sort, and she had not visited at Thornhurst except on one occasion. It was d Christmas week of 1869. She remained to the ball given there on New Year’s Eve, Sho left the mansion at an early hour, Had a head- ache, and had refused the carriage Miss Carteret urged her to take. She went out unattended; was not timid, and had no dread of a mile’s walk at mid- night. Had not mentioned her intention to her fa- ther; had not been near him during the evening. Had walked down the long avenue and reached the ates, when she heard the sound of rapid mene at er back. She turned to see a man advance, whom she recognized as Vane Vivian, the prisoner at the bar. There was no possibility that she had been mistaken, It was acloudy night, but the moon | shone through at intervals; the light was sufficient, near as they stood, to enable her to clearly distin- | guish his features, Would have known him by his voice alone, They stood there talking for haps five minutes. Ho said he was going to take the mid- ~“ “a ' ' would take him buf little out of his iyi Just then ~ the clock in the steeple began to strike, and they both stood silent, counting, It was midnight, and with a hurried word or two he dashed away over the road toward the ge. Vane Vivian was at the avenue gates at precisely midnight; consequently he could not have been the murderer of his father. Nothing could be more clear and explicit than her statement. It vindicated Vane conipletaky, She was subjected to a rigid cross-examination, but her evi-. dence was not to be shaken. Thetime occupied be- fore she was permitted to stand down was perhaps anhour. The counselrose. There was no longer any question of his client’s innocence, but he would erave their patience while he called still another wit- ness. Another thrillran over the audience at the name of Walter, Earl of Cleveland. . The earl stepped forward, was sworn, and began Speaking precisely and clearly. “‘T have been absent from the country for almost three years. My succession to the family title and estates called me suddenly away. I was at Thorn- hurst on that New Year’s Eve, The coloneland my- self had not been on warm, friendly terms, and I went with the avowed intention of having smooth feeling between us. I had a deeper object which I did not mention; it was to discover all I could /re- garding a young man stopping at Thornhurst, and who held the confidence of the deceased; Owen Dare, now present in the court. I had care sought out all the reports regarding the difference between Colonel Vivian and his son, and from some circum- stances I suspected Dare of having worked to bring the quarrel about. I had no intention of interfering in the matter: it was to my interest to hold some pe over Dare, and it was that which I was seek- ng to obtain. I chanced to be standing near the colonel when a servant approached to announce that @ person whose business was imperative awaited him in the library. He left the rooms immediately grip ee ih i nas . strolled out of the crowd presently. I had lost sight of Dare; I had learned a much Oe him as [ could glean from casual conversations, ‘and I looked about for my daughter with the intention of return- ing home early, She was notto befound. The com: ne had assembled in the drawing-rooms to watch he Old Year out and the New Yearin. I sauntered through one of the deserted passages to enjoy a cigar while I waited. There was a window at the end, wide open, and the lamp in the passage was turned down to a feeble glimmer. A stream of light from the glass door of the library fell across the veranda and upon the snow without. I stood with my cigar and match-box in hand, but put them back ‘when I saw a man step cautiously out of the shadow, lean forward and gaze intently for a moment into the library. Isaw his face distinctly for that mo- ment, then he drew back as a shadow fell across the light. Just at that theclocks began striking twelve. As the last stroke sounded the man I watched put out his hand; there was a flash, a report, the shatter- ing of Wiens anda heavy fall within the room. I swear that I saw the deed committed, and that the murderer was Owen Dare!” The sea of breathless intense faces was turned to- ward him; nosound stirred the crowded court; jury and judge were held with the same absorbed inter est. “He hurled the pistol away, and the next instant sprung in through the window by which I stood; he paused to pull the window shut, and rushed out through the darkened passage. I followed and saw him burst into the library, heard him utter loud ex- clamations of pretended horror and grief at the sight sagen te there. The people were panic- stricken, and I did whatTI could to bring about order, I did not tell what I had seen either then or after- ward, [had no desire to become mixed ina criminal case, and I had a reason then for not wishing to be the man to hunt Owen Dare to the fate he deserved. I left for the South that New Yesr’s Day, and a couple of months later received news of my acces- sion to an earldom. My daughter and myself made immediate preparations for our voyage, and em- barked from New York on the twenty-second day 3 oe the two weeks previous being passed in e city.’ Here the prosecuting attorney interposed. This matter was irrelevant. It did not bear upon the casein hand, | “Tam coming to that. .The business occupying me in the city was connected with the reearcles I had chosen to make regarding Owen Dare. I put a lawyer, one of the third-class, conscienceless sort, upon his back-track. I instructed him to find out the truth of the post-obit affair, and the mystery about the payment of Vane Vivian’s debts; he was to ferret that much, if possible, out of the Jew money-broker, Abraham Moses. I was to pay him in proportion to the information he brought me, and that was to end his share of the affair. On the second day before we sailed he came to me with rather startling news. Moses had been stabbed in a gambling affray by one of his own clique. The lat- ter had fled; the former lay upon his death-bed. He had avowed his willingness to make a confession, which he did in my presence a few hours later. “Dare had come to him early of the previous November, said he had game in view which he would throw in Moses’s way if he would divide the spoils. After some fencing on both sides, he made his proposition. You ivian was the game. A 5 eae known as the = i ges was taken into con- dence. Young Vivian walked straight into the snare, They had stripped him of all the money he could raise, and then L'are suggested binding him by @ post-obit. That also was done, and the Jew repented when the outbreak otcurred between father and son, Afterward a small lawyer, ve much of the same class to which my spy belbiee fe had made a proposition in Colonel Vivian’s name to \ , ; ily oak BAST Pe ee a ay

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eee ——— redeem the paper for the value on its face. He _ had disinherited his son, but he did not wish his mame dishonored; he made it a condition in his psyment of the debt that his action should be ‘kept Strictly secret, The Jews were glad to a checks for the amount were produced, and the Paper given in exchange. Later, the checks were pronounced forgeries, and the wrathful Moses, close as his general spirit was, had spent a thousand dollars in discovering that the agent who had shield- ed himself behind the pettifogging lawyer was— Owen Dare! He had sworn a revenge upon him Which I haven’t a doubt he would have kept but for 48 untimely end. He died from effects of his Wound, and I have his confession, written out and legally’attested, here. I think it will appear that Dare had some deep object leading to such syste- matic method in the ruin of his friend.” The almost painful silence which had reigned was broken by a genera] movement and murmur through the court as the earl concluded his statement. Vane Ivian was free! Owen Dare, the exemplary, moral youn man, possessing everybody’s confi- dence, had the crime of murder fixed upon him, together with other crimes indicating deeper subtle- ty, greater vileness of heart and malevolence of Spirit, than the wildest, maddest follies which a man might commit. The murmur rose to an angry roar &S it was discovered that Dare’s place, which he had occupied up to a few moments ago, was vacant. Vhat an oversight to have given him the opportu- nity of escape! And Owen Dare! He had sat like one bewildered when first the Lady Venetia began to speak. He had heard her testimony overthrow the whole dee Scheme by which he had sought toruin Vane, He had heard the earl relate what he had seen—had listened with the same breathless fascination which held the crowd. He heard his own name, and knew he had been denounced as the murderer. The muscles about his mouth twitched, his hands trembled. He looked about him—every eye was turned toward the witness-stand, every ear strained to catch the evidence. He did not see one pair of keen eyes which, since the turn the trial was taking, had never wavered from himself. He slipped from his gece and through the unheeding throng. He yeached the door; he stepped without and a heavy and came down upon his shoulder. Lord Cleve- land had engaged hunt him down, and Lord Cleveland had neglected no precaution. Dare looked og presage a at the officer. “Be quiet and come along with me, You'll be in deman ares poor. pecugh ee. bere. Will you give xe your word of honor to no slippery d p bss you ag these?” ce i — a pair of significant-looking handeuffs appeared above his pocket. In one instant more that oMoer Saw as many stars‘as ever blazed in the firmament. Dare’s right hand went out to strike him a stunning blow between the eyes; then Dare himself was gone like a flash. The officer, staggering, eatching him- self, recovering, had lost the bird that was in his very hand. The myrmidons of the law, leech-like, are hard to be shaken off. Their name is legion, and the power they serve is stern as death, far-reaching as the ends of re earth, criminal had been fleeing and hi from them for weeks. Incessant fear hea worn him down, in- cessant watching had broken the. once iron nerve. ollow eyes looked out of the pinched, ghastly face eyes that saw horrible phantoms rise up in the air : fore him. Now it was an old man with blood dabbling his white hairs that cried out against him; now hideous, fiend-like shapes taunted him with hav- ing betrayed a friend, with deliberately working the ruin of one who had been nothing but generous and trustful of him. Again would arise a face with &reat dark, reproachful eyes, in which the pain al- ways changed to horror and loathing as the fiends about shrieked out the whole story of his black guilt. If only one remnant of tenderness could linger there, if she would look upon him kindly once, he felt, that le might have found hope. But the beautiful face Was always cold as stone; the hands wayed him HT ana it was as if time and eternity lay between Thus with memory haunting him in such distorted oy a night and day, with no sleep, no rest, except of that feverish kind which was worse than waking and a a on and on for weeks. He had shunned cities and towns, he had shunned the railways except sometimes at night, when, in fear and trembling, he ventured to board a train and ® carried on through the darkness, fleecing the dread which would not be outstripped? Sometimes he ured a country-boy to drive him at full speed through desolate sections, He was so fitful, so ab- Stracted, so fierce by turns, that ople who saw um compared notes and spoke with a shudder of the mad gentleman who might do some harm if let to go loose. He doubled on his track, he took long, roundabout ways, and everywhere and always some emissary of the law started up, together with the ei that was uever still, to drive him on and One wild, wet February day he stood and looked about him, It had been storming through all the Preceding night. _ A. frozen sleet was upon the fround, a bitter tnist in the air, a leaden sky above. error had lent him —— through a dozen hours past; he had scarcely felt the storm; he knew noth- ug of the way he came or where he was. As he Fazed, familiar points came out of the drear, flat Lapiseape. An odd impression of having been there i oe was upon him, so strong that he Aas to it = followed a path which it seemed he had tra- Mla before. It was along the coast. The sea had a i soun in his ears for days; he had occasion- gUmpses of it lying a dead dull gray in the distance. ee3 He was nearer now, but the thick mist obscured his aight It was dissipating slowly; the dull gray of sea and sky remained, but the —o reaches of icy sands lay visible, before and behind. . When had he been there—when? He put his hand to his forehead and looked about. There to the right the outline of a small dark building rose; there was the sea; there an inlet with a low, black boat- house overhanging it. All familiar, and then sud- denly it flashed upon him. What had drawn him there—there, of a s in the world? ; In thought he went back to a far different time, when he had tossed on the waves out yonder, the dark night closed in, the fire on the beach leaping up, and the girlish form discernible in the red glow. A heavy step came crunching over the icy crust, but he heard it not, A fisherman in dreadnaught and. tarpaulin came shambling forward, eying the thin, wasted form of the stranger, and halting near im, “ Ahoy, there! Been to see me, cap’n?”’ The fugitive started and turned. “Who lives there?” he asked, pointing a wavering finger toward the little dark house. ‘“Me, now. Mebbe you was a-lookin’ for the old folks. . They be dead and gone, months ago. Come ‘long in and take a rest; you look nigh about fagged out, Come from Brewster?” ‘ ““No; from up the coast,” with the caution which had grown to bean uncertain mask, so often was it now forgotten. : J “J hev come from there myself this mornin’, There’s a stir in town; a passel of p’licemen come on after a sneaking murderer who was seen headed this way. P’r’aps ye heerd along the road?” There was no suspicion in the stolid fisherman’s eye, but it seemed so to Dare. The old quiver cf dread was upon him again, impish shapes floating through the air, dread sounds borne upon the wind.” “What is that?” he asked, sharply, the wavering finger pointing seaward now. “A gallows?” “Bless ye, no! That’s a ship what put in there out o’ the storm last night, and that’s the masthead stands up so bare. They're makin’ a move to git ebout, if I see correct. *Pears to me yer wanderin’ like, stranger!’’ Was that sound of horses’ feet and of wheels crushing over the crusted sands in the distance? Dare’s hand was plunged into his pocket and he pulled out some crumpled bills, all he had left, which e held out eagerly toward the man. “Twill give you that to take me out to the ship yonder.” The man looked at the money and shook his head. “It'd be as much as a man’s life is worth to ven- ture out on that sea, I know what money’s worth— we what live along here be apt to--and with a life- boat I might try, but there’s naught here but an old shell scarce fit to hold together in smooth water.” “Take it, count it, see how much there is, You'll not make as much in three months. Yours to take me out there, or to make an attempt at it. For pears sake, then, man, what will you take for the oat?’ The man had only _stolidly shaken his head, and surely, surely, that dark spot far down the shore was his pursuers upon the track. He thrust the bills in the other’s hand, and sprung away in the direction of the boat-house. With a bewildered look the fisher- man foHowed. Dare burst open the door, secured only by a hasp, and was straining upon the rusty chain which confined the one boat within. ‘Ths a rh bY AN me the key,” he demanded, 4 * a eee be fair—’twould be sendin’ ye to yer eath— : ‘“*T tell you I must reach that ship; it is my only ehance. For the love of heaven, if you are half a man you will not stop me.” The intense earnestness in his ghastly, pallid face was not to be mistaken. There was a fierce gleam in his eyes, threatening, but it was not that moved the man, “Tf ye be bent on goin’, I'll try it,” he said. It would have been suicide for that slender, weak young man to make the attempt alone. Something was wrong, very evidently, but the rough shoreman wisely concluded it was none of his business, and busied himself in getting out the boat. How slow he was! how that speck on the shore grew! Venetia could not be with them—of course not; what brought her white, haughty face before him then? Great God! ifhe had been but true to her—if he had never worked that scheme to marry Nora, developed in his mind when first he learned she was to be Colonel Vivian’s heiress—how differ- ent might his situation be to-day! An earl’s daugh- ter for his wife—and now Nora would marry Vane, and he—oh, heavens] The crazy boat was launched. The fisherman was one of those obstinate people, who, having put his shoulder to the wheel, would not turn b even with his judgment prompting Dare sprung to his place; boat shot out into the comparativel out the surf rolled high and white. shouted and waved their hats. bling in the rougher water; one strong pull and the swe straw. e untrustworthy timbers cracked; the fisherman threw down his oars with ashout. Ina second more the craft capsized, and the two men were struggling with the waters. One strong wave carried Dare far out of the other’s reach. How cold the water was! It had turned his blood to ice. Who put that rope about his neck? It was choking, choking! Was that a fire on the shore? The sea was blood red; he was b swave closed over, and the remorseless un- A great dertow held its victim. RIBLE TRUTH. | smooth water of the inlet. With- | | that you refused me once—that A carriage whirled up the shore. Two men in it The boat was trem- | caught it and tossed it aloft like the veriest — | and take me as Iam?” There was a sensation in the city papers next | . ; aly - Spa morning. Colonel Vivian’s murderer had met retri- bution in attempting to escape the officers i fem his track. A fisherman bribed to pull him out if possi- ble to a ship in the bay, had narrowly escaped the fugitive’s fate. Dare’s body had n washed ashore during the day, and thus hissing were pun-. , ished though justice had been cheated of its object. CHAPTER XXXI. UNTIL DEATH DO US PART. . Ir was February still, but later in the month—a bright, sunshiny, winter day. The rs up; darkly. against the snow-covered ground and the.« | blue; cloudless sky. Some hardy vine flung. out sprays of blood-red berries in the Thornhurst gar . | ens. And Thornhurst itself was alive again; the mansion was full to overflowing with select poets, and those of the old Weenie neighbors who re- r turned this day would swell the numbers, : “Happy is the bride the sun shines on,” and Thornhurst sheltered a happy bride to be that day, On the next day after the trial Vane Vivian had come down to Thornhurst with some deeper emo- tion swelling his heart than mere thankfulness for his release, He had been detained on the preceding \ night’ by the hosts of congratulatory friends hem- ; ming him in until the party from the mansion had departed. Sir Rupert and Prescott, faithful and de- voted through his time of trial, were his companions during .the evening, but, with a delicacy of senti- ment innate with both, declined to accompany him down. Later they would follow and pass afew days there before maturing their own future plans, Vane walked up through the grounds and into the house. Sholto Norton Hayes was smokingacigarin + the hall, and Mr. Grahame in one of the great, round- backed chairs was still poring over. the morning 7 rec Seeing who it was he put out his hand cor- . ially. y ‘““We had no chance to get near you last nicht, Vane. And, of course, we knew you would be here, Dare has escaped, it appears. More’s the pity, such a double-dyed villain as he’s been proved, trangze that appearances so horribly against you should bé made to turn on him whom no one ever suspected.”” ““Providence is inscrutable but just,” answered Vane, gravely. ‘‘ The ladies are here of course?” ‘All in their rooms dressing for the day, I believe, All but Nora. She is in the Sr and asked to see you soon as youcame. By-the-by, we have two of our old friends down with us—Lord Cleveland and is daughter. That was another startling change with all the rest.’’ me What Vane said he never could have told after- ward. Nora was in the library; in a moment his: hand was upon the door; he stood before her as she rose up, paling, flushing, trembling. inte “Norat : 75 ‘Vane!’ ¥: wie He had both her hands in his, and stood looking § — down upon her with infinite content expressed in his: handsome, dark, smiling face. The assured light im = __ those deep soft brown eyes embarrassed her; she half-drew away, and spoke hurriedly: . “They sent you here, I Sapbone. Iwanted to see - you among the first. I | a lawyer come down 7 with those papers last night. They are here, wait-:_ ing for you. kept the trust until you came, and now—’ f “And now, are you so anxious to throw Thorn- hurst oa of your hands? Suppose I refuse to re- _—* ceive it?” it es ae “ You will not—you must not. You would not if’ ' you knew how sorry I have always been that I ever 4 came between you and it. I never would have kept: it in any case, and now I have no need. I have ac~ y cepted your friend’s offer, and am quite an heiress: in my own rizht, as of course you know.” as uite an heiress in your own right,” he em “And is that fact to come between us, Nora? I don’t refuse Thornhurst, butI take itagaim only on condition. On the condition thatimay take Be with it, my darling!” Then the dark, handsome ace looking into hers was strangely changed and emiationate; he was pouring out his words ina rapid os rrent, “YT never was worthy of you, Nora, but Ihave tried to make myself so, these last three’years. If ea you can forget the perk. my follies and crimes—if . you can trust me and love me, { will be the happiest: ’ man on earth. I knew first how T loved you that . eee uight when you came to me like the good angel you~ Nace were. Iwas desperate then, and you cheered me | with your kind words and your faith in me which T I hardly deserved then. atever more ofamanI may have become since lowe to you. Butforyoul: ~ — would have gone out of my home desperate, with the t. : thought that all humanity was set against me,and agg I might have set myself against all human-. : ity. You have made me what lam. Will you—can ‘ you take the work of your own hands, Nora?” Nae “Will I and can I?” The sweet face was eg eed “Do you ei e I can forge Ane ornhurst with me , — was too heavy a cross to be borne? Have you ~ changed your mind—oh, Vane!—about red hair * a ; The rosy light was streaming in over her own rie dark-waved auburn tresses, bringing out its richest tinge. He pressed his lips'to it reverently. TON My darling, ‘every hair is more precious than gold. Is it mine for all time? Can you really forget 4 blushing, happy. “For more than you admit yourself to be. O » rid Vane, do you not know, have you not known that he loved you from the time I came to Thornhurst first? age ae I thought you hated me I could not diss “Do you-know I think we were both blind, N ‘ I hated myself then for fairly worshi wal wheat Sor set my obstinate spirit t being driven, Isit.

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, Rity.” bi - price _, © Will you not let me be the - to keep him back, _ Archer Hall saw nothing of the master who h '- absent'so many years. _. Obristmas Eve of 1873., The 80. ible you would have taken me had I asked you en?’ “Very thankfully, had you given me the opportu- And then the lau hing, peri face was idden on his shoulder, and Vane Vivian breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the happiness which was his. And now it had come to be their wedding-day. Lord Cleveland and Lady Venetia Montrose had re- mained for the happy occasion. Sir Rupert Archer and Prescott were there among scores of others. The ceremony which bound for life those two so well mated, so admirably matched, was pronounced in the Thornhurst parlors. They would depart upon an extended bridal tour upon the morrow, and in their own infinite content, amid changed scenes for- get the bitterest pain of the past. It was evening, and the bright moon shed its silvery light over the earth. Out on’ the veranda opening from the library one_had been drawn, how she might not have told. Lady Venetia’s dark] Shas ace was full of pain: the hands on which ess jewels flashed in the light were tight locked together. She had heard of Dare’s fate, but she -could not mourn for him; he himself had killed the ied of her love on that Christmas Eve, three years fore. A step sounded at her back; a tall shape was by her side, and Sir. Rupert Archer's low, rich voice broke the stillness. There, in the same spot he had spoken once before, he told again the old, old story. He pleaded passionately, eloquently for the habitually silent man. His abiding love had mever wavered; he had been steadfast with no hope of return, with the at a of having lost her for- ever. He had loved her then as he loved her. now; in all his life he could never thus care for another. Would she be his own cherished wife?” The pained, intense face turned to him, and the reluctant lips spoke. “T have not deserved this, Sir Rupert. It re- proaches and pains me more than I can say. Ithink ou are the noblest and most faithful man on earth. respect, [reverence you; it cuts me to the heart to ' @ause you pain. I have but one answer—I shall never m Believe me, I am not worthy the hon- or you would do me,” of that? You judge are all I could ever ask in a wife. Hive me yourself, and I shall be content.” He was pressing nearer, eager, hopeful, in spite of his rebuff. She shrunk away, putting up her hands “It never can be. You drive me to a bitter con- ‘fession to assure you of it. Sir Rupert, not long since my father was the chief agent in hunting down a guilty man. That man, black with the deepest crime, was my husband.” With bowed head, with eyes turned away, in broken, incoherent words she told him the story. In vain was all his eloquent pleading after that; in vain the generous spirit which would have taken her to his heart in spite of all. At last he was fain to take his answer; thefixed will would not relax; her own heart might ache and break, but he should not dishonor himself and his spotless name by wedding such as her. . Lord Cleveland and his daughter returned to Eng- land with the early spring, but months went b ica een great mansion at Cleveland Park is all alight. Within, in the presence of a stately, aristocratic company, with hands clasp- ed and heads bowed before a bishop in robes whose _ solemn tones are echoing through the rooms, heart is answering to heart at last. Sir Rupert has won his bride; strong devotion has won over pride and haughty wil!. Lord Cleveland, well content, looks on complacently, and back in the See pet Sir Harry Neville finds no pang of re- gret as he looks down Sie his own fair bride, blue- eyed and fair-haired trose Vane and Nora are wintering in Italy. Their con- OS pei po have come instead of their presence at is wed . Summer will find them for a brief season at her Hall before they recross the At- lantic. All bitterness is left behind, all fair hopes and happy promise light the present and shine far away in the future. ora—lately my Lady Mon- Ny THE END. THE Sunnyside Library 4 Lata Roorw, By Thomas Moore............. 10c 2 Don Juan By Lord Byron.......... edeceuss . 2e 8 Parapisn Lost. By John Milton....... see ieee hoo 6 Luctim, By Owen Meredith.................., 6 UNDINE; or, THE WaATER- From the Sprerr. German of Friederich De La Motte Fouque.. 10¢ _-For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, postage paid on receipt of twelve cents for single numbers, double numbers twenty-four cents. 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IBITIONS i HOME EXTY 4 ‘ea, 2 to 98 tmolusive. 15 to 25 Popular Dialogues and Dramas in each book. Each volume 100 12me pages, sont post-paid, on receipt of price, TEN CENTS. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William St, N. Y. These volumes have been prepared with especial.reference to their availability for Exhibitions, being adapted to schools and parlors with er without the furniture of a stage, and suited to SCHOLARS AND YOUNG PEOPLE of every age, both male and female. It is fair to assume that no other books in the market, at any price, contain so many usefyl and available dialogues and dramas of wit, pathos, humor and sentiment, Dee Dime Dialogues, No. 1. Meeting of the Muses. For nine young ladies, iting a Live Englishman. For three boys. ‘o’s Coronation. For male and female, on. For two ladies. The Fehearsal. For six boys. n you Choose? For two bo The queen of sig 6 For two little pg © Tea-Party. For four ladies. hree Scenes in Wedded Life. For male and female. Sniffies’s Confession. For male and female. Mission of the Spirits. For five young ladies. mobbing. For five Sy epitle Secret of Success. For three speakers. ‘Young America. For three males and two females, Josephine’s Destiny. For four females, one male, The Folly of the Duel. For three male speakers, Dogmatism. For three male speakers. The tenors Confounded. For two boys. The Fast Young Man. For two males. 6 Year’s Reckoning, Twelve females, one male. Th The Village with One Gentleman. Foreight-females and one male, Dime Dialogues, No. 2. The Genius of Liberty. Two males and one female, Cinderella} or, the Little Glass Slipper. Doing Good and Saying Bad. For several characters, The Golden Rule. For two mates and two forgone The Gift of the F. Queen. For several f Taken in and Done for. For two characters, Country Aunt’s Visit to thé City. Several characters, The Two Romans. For two malés. , Trying the Characters. For three males, The Happy Family. For several “ animals.” The Rainbow. For several characters. How to write ‘Popular’. Stories. For twe males. The New and the Old. For two males, A Sensation at Last. For two maleg, The Greenhorn. For two males. The Three Men of Science. For four males. . The Old Lady’s Will. For four males. The Little Philosophers. For two little girls, How to Find an Heir. For five males, The Virtues. For six young ladies, A Connubial Eclogue. The Public Méeting. For five males and onefemale, | The English Traveler. For two males, Dime Dialogues, No. 3. a, The May Queen, For an entire school. sm Dress Reform Convention. For ten females, ’ Keeping Bad Company. A Farce. For five males. Courting Under Difficulties. Two males, one National Representatives. A Burlesque. Fourmailes. Escay the Draft. For numerous es, The 1Cook, For two males. Masterpiece. For two males and two females, The Two Romans. For two males, The Same. Second Scene. For two males. Bowing the White Feather. Four males, one femate, le Call, A Recitative. For one male, ; The Bai The Frost Se. For.ten or more persons. 3 orem in Life. For three males and two . Faith, ope and Charity. Eor three little gi ag § and Joan. For two, males and-‘onefemale. ~ e May. A Floral Fancy, For Six little The Enchanted Princess. 2 males, sev: io + Honor to Whom Honor is Due! 7 males andi fe I The Gentle Client. Several males and one female. Fhrenology. A Discussion. For twenty males. , The Stubbietown Volunteer. 2 males and i female, A Scene from ‘“ Paul Pry.” For four males. The Charms. -For three males and one female. e: Bee, Clock and‘Broom For three little a P The Right way. A Collogquy. ‘For two : What ti Toduer Bayi, ‘or two males. The Crimes Sb, a For two i The Reward of Benevolence. For four m fy The Letter, For two males, , Dime Dialogues, No. 5. < wa : The Three Guesses. For school or parlor. } ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y. | Behind the rn in. For males and fomalng ee BEADLE ASD General Dime Book Publishers.

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ow __,_ Him? _ By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. ; 2 fem 1 hove? ‘or, Collegians and Sweet- ; s. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 3 eet Girt Wite. By Bartley T. Campbell. : Brave Hearty; or, Startlingly Strange. rabella Southworth. ; 6 Bowie — One hep te Girl, By EEE The eo Rite Hacdee By Sara’ Claxton. gd * Eanaiter of Eve; or, Blinded by Love. y Mrs. Mai Reed Crowell. (& Alone in the World; $n Young. Man’s y Ys is Lawful Wires or, Myra, the Child _ Adoption. ‘By Mrs. Amn §. Steph the ch S De the Little Quakeress; or, The tie 7 val a. Wooi y Corinne Gushman. i Married Him; By Sara Claxton. a hist anpbell Out in he World. By or, A True Knight. B: pcastet for Not : me fi “id ee Pago By Arabella Southworth. or, The I oat i Bt ih Aoekusee e Broken Betrothals; or, Love vers ee _Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine. : 7) Bride of an oe Thats By the author _ of ‘* Alone in the World,” “ PR e. ete. 23 Leap “Saad or, Why She Proposed. By Sara a4 Her Face Was Her Fortune. By Elea- > +. nor Blaine. ry Ouly a Schoolmistress; Secret. By Arabella Southworth. Without a Heart. By Col. P. Ingraham. £ a tee a Coquette? or, A Strange By Henrietta Thackeray. hase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. By . Ann §. ; By Sara Claxton. By Agile Penne. age: ByMary A. Denison ana, cae ima Donna 3 or, Roses Lilies, Arabella Southworth. The "Three t isters. By Alice Fleming. Morriage © of Convenience 5 or, “Was fe a ( unt? By Sara Claxton. ainst oe By Clara Augusta. ve aaa eee €3 Or, oe Queen of His bella Southwort ory rayne Rts Kakndy. ot Na Trust Her Not. By ‘Sou wort Girl’s Good Name. uet Girl. arri wea t5 or, The Rival Half- le: e x oa hs or, Love At All Odds. Piaaee Pini 3 or, How Will ce Fle ing. In Spite rs Hersel "3 or, Jeannette’ ration, By 8. sherwood? otte® Robe You Line on The Bride ‘of an F oy By Alice Fleming. 5 ang or, Risking All By Mrs. Mary Reed Growsile os ie pe ty By William < Heart; $ or, Saved from the Him} ied Divorced "a Ee M.D. ce Fleming. “Ebon Maal : aneree ee 4 e owe 8 o8 or, A Bitter engearice. . Jennie D. ‘Burton. ieuat thease, By Sara Claxton. e Maniac Bride. By Margaret Blount | pole Sister - By Anna E. Porter. ealousy D By Alice Fleming. S Secret, By Col, Juan 2 ae -Starred Marriage. By | or, Her Untold 94 The Quict Heart, teed or, Brother against |) ming. ae or Bane Diamond Legacy. | 72 The Two Widows. | 89 Gilded Sin. An ‘ies Masked B:ide3 or, Will She Marry ie 66 A Brother's Sin; 3 or, Flora’s Forgiveness. t. By Rachel Bernhar 67 Forbidden Bans, Byieabelie Southworth, 68 Weavers and Weft. M. E. Braddon. 69 Camille; or, The Fate & a Coquette. By . Alexandre Dumas. 70 ae Two Orphans. By D’Enery. 71 me eo yonns ife. By My Young Wife’s By Annie Thomas. 73 Kose Michel; or, The Trials of a Factory Girl. By Maud "Hilton. 74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage; or, The Story of a Broidered Shield. By Ouida.’ - 75 We Black Lady of Duna. By J.8. Le ‘anu. 76 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. 77 Christian Oakley's Mistake. By the author of ‘‘ John Halifax, Gentleman,” ete. 78 My Young Husband; or, A Confusion in the Family. By Myself, 79 A Queen Amongst Women. By the author of ‘‘ Dora Thorne,”’ etc., etc. 80 Her Lord and Master, By Florence Marryat. 81 Lucy Temple, Sister of Charlotte. 82 A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred. 83 Playing for High Stakows By Annie | Thomas. 84 The Laurel Bush. * John Halifax, Gentleman.” 85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot. 87 The Romance ofa Poor Young Man. By Octave Feuillet. 88 A Werrible Deeds; or, All for Gold. By Emma Garrison Jones. By the author of ‘Dora By the author of | 10rn,”’ ete. 90 The ‘Author’s Daughter. Howitt. 91 The Silt. By Charles Reade. 92 Hileen Alanna 3 or, the Dawning of the Day. By Dennis O ‘Sullivan. 93 Lieve: s Victory. By B. L. Farjeon. By. Mrs. Oliphant. 95 Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh. 96 Haunted Hearts. By Racbel Bernhardt. 97 Muech Melton. By Katharine King. 98 Alice Learmont, By Miss Mulock. 99 Marjorie Bruce’s Lovers. By Mary Patrick, 100 Through Fire and Water. By Fred- erick Talbot. 101 Hanmah. By Mss ee 102 Peg Woffington. Charles Reade. 103 A Desperate a y Erskine Boyd. 104 Shadows on the Snow, By B. 105 rhe Great Hoggarty Diamond. By W. M. Thackeray. 106 thes Dreams to Waking. By E. Linton. 107 Boor Zeph! By F. W. Robinson. . Far- Barton. By George Eliot. 109 i ag ies salman and Kisses. By B. L. Farjeon. 110 ‘The Wandering Heir. By Charles 111 The Brothers, pets Within Six Weeks. By Emilie F lygare ( Can en. 112 A Hero. By Miss ‘113 Paul and Virginia. From the French of Bernardin De St. Pierre. 114 *fwas In Trafalgar’s Bay. By Wal- ter Besant and James Rice. 115 The Maid of Killeena. By Wm. Black. 116 Hoty. By Henry Kingsley. 117 The Wayside Cross; pe. The Raid of Gomez. By Captain E. A. 118 The Vicar of Waketicld.. By Oliver Goldsmith. 119 Maud Moham. By Annie Thomas. 120 anaeney of Warsaw. By Miss Jane orter. 121 ae King of No-Land. By B. L. Far- 123 ani Island Pearl. By B. L. Farjeon. 124 Cousin Phillis. 125 Leila; or, @ Siege of Grenada. By Ed- ward Bulwer (Lava Lytton), 126 When the Ship Comes Home. By Walter Besant and James Rice. 127 One of the «tae aes By James Payn. 128 The Birthright. Mrs. Gore. 129 Lye eee Less ¢ or, ‘he armer’s Sweetheart. Jolonel Prentiss Ingraham. 130 Ho gi or, Two Orphan Girls in New York. By Albert W. Aiken. 131 piauer ag st Sister; or, The Rivalry c* Hearts. By Mrs, Mary Reed Crowell. | 132 Sold for Gold. By Mrs. M. V. Vietor. | 133 Lord Roth’s Sin. By Georgiana Dickens. | 134 Did He Love Her? ByB Bartley T. Camp- i 185 sinned ee irs Lover. s By Mary | y | | | 108 The Sad Fortunes of the Rev. Amos | 122 Lovel, the Widower. By W. M. Thack- | i | American Copyright Novels and the Greain of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS? . ‘ The be (ati saeo eres Ever Published! 136 Was She His Wife? By Mrs. Mary Reéd | Crowell. 137 72. Village on the Cliff. By Miss kera, 1388 Poor aleria! or, The Broken Troth. By Margaret Blount. 139 Margaret Graham. By G. P.R. James, 140 With pee ee By ep: ae .Campbell, 141 Honor Bound. By Lillian nae 5 142 Fie from Lvuve. By Mrs. Harriet- 1438 Abducted or, A Wicked Woman’s Work. y Rett Winwood. 144 ? Strange Marriage. By Lillian Lovejoy. 145 Two Girl’s Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed. Crowell. 146 A Desperate Venture; or, For Love's Own Sake. By Arabella Southworth. 147 The War of Hearts. By Corinne Cush- man. 148 Which Was the Woman ? or, Strangely” Misjudged. By Sara Claxton. 149 An Ambitious Girl; or, She Would Be: An Actress. By Frances Helen Davenport. ° 150 Love Lord of All, By Alice May Fleming, 151 A Wild Girl. By Corinne Cushman. 152 A Man’s Sacrifice. By Harriet Irving. 153 Did She Sin. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 154 We Loves Me Not. By Lillian Lovejoy. 155 Winning Ways. By Margaret Blount. 156 What She Cost Him; or, Crooked Paths. By Arabella Southworth. 157 A Girls Heart. By Rett Winwood. 158 A Bitter Mistake; or, A Young Girl’s: Folly. By Agnes Mary Shelton. 159 Lady Helen’s Vows; or, The Mother's: Secret. By the Late Mrs. BE. P, Ellet. 160 Buying a Heart, By Lillian Lovejoy. 161 Pearl of Pearls. By A. P. Morris, Jr. 162 A Fat: ful Game} or, Wedded and Parted, By Sara Claxton. 163 The Creole Cousins; or, False as Fair. By Philip §. Warne. 164 A Scathing Ordeal; or, May Langley’s Mad Marriage. By Mrs. ‘Georgiana Dickens. 165 A Strange Girl. By Albert W. Aiken. 166/A Wian’s Sin. By Rett Winwood. 167 (The Mand of Fates or, The Wreck of° wo Lives. By Arabella Southw. orth, 168 Two Fair Women. By Wm. M, Turner, 169 Tempted ahr Love; or, Oné: Woman’s Error an Lovejoy. 170 Blind Barbara’s Secret, By Mary’ Grace Halpine. 171 A Woman's by Pte A or, Through Much Tribulation. By Sara Claxton, 172 Black Eyes and Blue. By Corinne Cushman. 173 Whe Cost of a Folly, By Georgiana. Dickens. 174 The eran Puritan. By A Parson’s . Daughter 175 Is Love a Mockery? or, Revenge is Sweet. By Arabella Soucnworth: , ng 176 Adria, the Adopted. By Jennie Davis. Burton, LT, nee the b So io He Loved; or, Fate- ul Links. By Agnes Mary Shelton. . 178 nie Locked Heart, By Corinne Cushman,. 179 Parted by Treachery. By Harriet Irving.. 180 was She a Wife? or, The Proof of Love. By Rett Winwood. 181 Under a Cloud; or, A Daughter’s Sus- picion. By Sara Claxton | 182 An American Queen; or, The Heart of Gold. By Grace Mortimer. 183 A Point of Honor; Diamond. By Lillian Lovejoy. 184 Pursued to the Altar. Cushman. 185 Put to a Test; or, A Fortune ‘Huitere Fate. By Geor viana Dickens. 186 The Terrible Truth ; or, The Thornhurst Mystery. By Jennie Davis Burton. 187 Outwitted by "Herself; or, A Mother’s Scheme, By Arabella Southworth. 188 Florette, Child of the Street; Beyond Price. By Col. Prentiss In A new issue every week. graham. , ail THE WAvERLEY Lrprary is for sale by dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by ma ceipt of six cents each. or, Diamond Cut. By ssaciigt or, A Pearl. emphe . on re~ ek BEADLE, AND ADA 161 ad Din ee 5 ines rh oe 0A Ean