Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 207) (1883 10 30)

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y PA | i yan MN in nA TET ruil ee coe Cmte eee eee eee al , he y , : i “lll! | i ihe i Tel Ties ti Rol nod Taytertgemipyy SGC MTAATNNNY Bla sy hc Ah mM ans oe his b>: A ie ech aes il eG SU a Se MbeAS |< $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office - New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates, Copyright, 1883, by pli ggg ME ADAnNS, October 30, 1883. No 207. VOL. VIII. © PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST,, N.Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS’ A HASTY MARRI AGE: o, WAS SHE AN ‘ADVENTURESS? BY MRS AM L. FORDHAM.

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2 | | A HASTY MARRIAGE. nr RR a ae een SSN eS SDSS ASSASINS SE eee SS SOOO eee a Hasty Marri inet He counted the hours till the time arrived for his visit to the cliff. He was punctual, but no graceful figure put in its appearance. The next evening, and the next, were equally unsuccessful. He resolved to make one more attempt, and then leave Asbury forever. He could scarcely believe his eyes; there was He was a talented young man, yet he could only commence a conversation that was preg- nant with such mighty results, by @ common- place remark as to the beauty of the evening. The girl slowly turned her head, and Clif- ford beheld her full face for the first time, As a rule, a profile is no guide to the charac- “Was She an a ae ? en . f BY MRS. M. L. FORDHAM, teristics of the full face. the majestic and fescinating stranger sitting ‘pi Much as he had admired the profile, Clifford precisely on the identical seat on which he bad bisah PROLOGUE, was not prepared for the exceeding loveliness | first beheld her, and reading apparently the same volume, Clifford. felt his pulse beat more quickly as he raised his hat in reply to her fascinating smile of welcome. ‘‘I feared you had left As- -bury, and— “Would that bave distressed you very much?’ interrupted the fair one, “‘ How can you doubt it?” replied ‘Clifford. ‘“¢ Pray. do not let.us talk ordinary baginage,” exclaimed the girl, ‘‘ or I shall be sorry I came to meet you.” Clifford seated himself by ‘her side. “T do not wish to be impertinent, but will you not give me some name by whichI can address you?” » 9 You ean ‘call me Judith. It is a,strange ‘name, is it fot? You would Por hevg snes it!” ‘¢ There is no other name , which would be So appropriate!” replied Clifford, emphatically. “ How so?” “You will be offended if I tell you.” ‘“¢On my honor, no!” ““T.can ‘picture you standing by the bedside of Holofernes, with bared arm, saber in band, which met his view. The long, fringed lashes were now raised, disclosing a pair of the most magnificent orbs which it had ever been bis lot to witness; lu- minous, dark, and melting in their tenderness. But one could easily imagine them flashing with hate, or burning with indignation. In cold and chilling tones she replied, ‘‘I do not remember ever having» seen you before, sir!” ‘Possibly not. IfI have intruded on your studies, or committed any breach of decorum, pray pardon me,” The courteous tone of the reply appeared to have a certain effect on the haughty damsel, for.she responded, ‘**-You must admit, sir, that you’ would not choose that’a sister, if you pos- sess one, should be exposed to'the idle chatter of every stranger with whom she might chance to come in contact.” Clifford felt tempted to reply that a sister would not be allowed to wander forth alone, but be merely observed, ‘‘ Do you not think it was intended when the world was made, ‘that we should make things as pleasant as possible ASBURY may possess good facilities for bath- ‘ing, and the air may be salubrious and brac- ing, but candor compels the admission that } there isadecided want of some excitement to kill the passing hour. These were the half-spoken thoughts, con- ceived, more or less, in the language of the bas railway guide-book, which passed through’ the - mind of a young gentleman as he stood in front. of. the ‘‘ Atlantic Hotel,” hesitating in which direction to bend his steps. ss During the two days in which he had so- ; journed there, he had exhausted the attractions of the unpretending watering-place. _ He bad made pedestrian excursions Both, north and south—that is, as far as the sea- mark in one direction, and the village in the others” He had ‘lounged on the pier, and tried matkerel-and” blue fishing from. the boats of the fishermen, and he had now come to the. conclusion that he would shake the dust of As- bury from his feet, and bid adieu to the place «. forever, It is necessary for the purposes of this story that for r |, a /strict_reticence should | for one another?” | those dark eyes flashing, and that blue- black be preserved in “regard to the: antecedents of | - The girl turned her large eyes in some sur-| hair lying in tumbled masses on your neck, 3 Mr. Clifford, prise at her questioner. ~ the while you uttered a prayer to Jehovah for “You speak beyond. your years, sir.” ib to say that he was a good-looking “Tam not old, certainly; but I haye thought , to strength to deliver the fatal blow.” : young man | of | about twenty, possessing a | ; “* And your bame is—” “ My-name is ‘Clifford. ex. poetical tem and a very romantic dis- M much; and I ‘have thought for myself, which is position. iS Pate ve rnore than every one can say. The majority; © “In your case, equally appropriate. Poetical It was now 7 the tmonth ‘of August, the time. of persons resemble more a flock of sheep tban | as your speech.” The youthful pair discoursed on every con- ceivable topic, and the sun had set, and the harvest moon was shining over the broad ex- panse of water ere they once more bade each other good-night. But.ere they parted a wu- tual rromisé had been given 7 mheet again on the following evening. We willnot give in atoll a particulars of the several interviews. Suffice it to say ford the end of the week Clifford had only ed that the name of his companion was Judith Swaine, that she was five-and-twenty, pe a little money, and Anhaelatives of any ind. He could not compat ‘of any. reticence on her part, for all he cared to divulge with re- : in the 6 bihaas Pa andthe weather all that it should be So Mr, Clifford. sbrolied slowly along in the dir ection of the breezy. cliff ‘on the right of the village which commands - an elevated view of the ocean, and the various craft, from yachts | and fishing-smacks to the ocean steamers. which - heave insight. mself of an empty bench, 1 Mr. aC 1 himself, ‘prepared to enjoy the good tras xh ei breeze, aud. anything else, While I despise the vulgar af- | fectation of singularity, Thate the conventional absurdities of society. So instead of you and me returning to our several homes, moody and silent, why should we “not pass a pleasant half- hour in exchanging ideas? Iam a gentleman, though not a rich one; you are evidently a lady, a fact which I shall not forget, if you comply with my desire to indulge in half an hour’s chat.” The girl seemed ae at the singular be- | } havior of the speaker, and smiling (disclosing two rows: ‘of pearl-like teeth’ as she did so), re- plied, _“ Agre eed! What shall we talk about?” at “You will put it down as me 9 idle _curios- | + Almost young g the beng uaint- | spect to himself. was that: his name ‘was Henry ars of | Clifford, that he was twenty, was related to a good nah and ea hes income of Had in. ith this | you « oer fascination, that wor girl am sof the _ he ode ie | yo, - ia aA The celta ee in all pr y » never given her a pass» || ~’ ibe | as fascins ing thous hit o8 this solitary cliff, in a |} i- | fi e hand. e ce, she became an \ object of i ae life cn ate popetra, ithe a a Marc ee: led | Shilo pees vealed, vor : aes ty. rendered all But the stiaces of evenin ‘who came in contact with ‘the slaves of her round them, an the mined ae ee ¢ 1. 0 find said fe bound ig | ‘world-renowned charms. : | Heaven grant that ev ce pees reader of this story may not be expos dangerous fascination of such .a: woman as = udith we outlines, @ me Swaine! 5 lark € las Prudence and eit Soa such. a-ease ave yn ch larg simply as straws on the the surface of a run- Ce ; cite up it ning stream, with as much power for resisting volutions at the -t ack of her small # ical the current which burries them onward. "proportion ned head. = ss Ne, || promises, — Seok ps | It was the-final meeting, and Judith and In figu ign was saaatelae: above the mid- | At ail vente, E shall eehers;: on ‘that you Clifford had strolled along the firm sands till : dle high y and Shit ES was ‘of “Massive: ae may depend,” said Clifford. they had left Asbury a considerable eae portions. | The girl merely bowed, and walked slowly | behind them. Her grand sweep, of limb was perceprities ‘in | away_in the direction of the village. The low;.monotonous. dash of the aves at : the in costume she wore, while the rise Clifford watched her retreating figure as it | their feet was. the “Snty-sound. whteb ‘broke the and fall of ber bosom was like the swell of the swept along the grassy.cliff with all the ‘grace deathlike stillness. - : hear at even-tide. |-of an-Eastern queen. The moon was. slowly rising over the waste 7 " Clifford felt he must exchange: a few words | He returnéd to his hotel, , fully resolved | upon | of waters, and Judith and Clifford, as they ie , - with her, if only to dispel thé “enniwi~ from }one thing—he-would. remain at Asbury a day” stood, her head resting on his shotides, while which he was suffering. _ | or two longer, one of bis: arms encircled her waist, scarcely —

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. a 5 4 Wi dared to breathe lest they should dissolve the charm of those blissful moments. “It is impossible for me to say farewell, Judith, Why should we not unite our for- tunes and lives? I do not seek to know more of you and your past than you have chosen to tell me; I only know that I love you, that no other woman while you live shall ever be my wife!” The girl raised her dark eyes, which sparkled with an unnatural glitter in the moon- light, and looking into his as though they would pierce their inmost depths, exclaimed: ** And you would wed with one who may be anything—an adventuress for all you know! You in the first flush of your youth, and, as you have told me, with wealthy and influential relatives!” “ Judith, were I a millionaire, with a thou- sand haughty: relatives, I would equally offer you my hand, and think myseif the -most for- tunate of mankind by your accepting it.” The girl paused as if in doubt, then a great sob came from her heaying bosom, and throw- ing herself upon bis breast she exclaimed, in convulsive accents: ‘Heaven help me! I thought all happiness was gone for me, If fate allows it, I will be to you a loving, helpful wife while life shall last,” With slow and lingering steps the pair strolled back to the little village an engaged couple, with no relatives on either side to con- sult, to congratulate them, or to express disap- proval of their choice. Among. the visitors who examined the picto- rial and architectural wonders of Antwerp, none were more enthusiastic than Mr. and Mrs, Henry Clifford. Judith Swaine bad become the wife of Clif- ford as soon after the evening on the sands of Asbury, we have just described, as the matter could be accomplished, With the dislike of all ordinary customs and their mutual contempt for what they termed the conventionalities of the nineteenth century, they bad been content with a marriage at the mayor’s office in New York, and the next day sailed for Europe, where they intended to spend their honeymoon in traveling, It was their intention to make a tour through Germany, France and Italy, and finally settle wherever it. might please them, abandoning at once their place of abode the instant it was found to be dull or irksome in the slightest de- gree. Verily, there were not two more perfect specimens of the species we are accustomed to call Bohemians in the habitable globe. And they were happy, without a thought or eare for the future, with no visions of failure _ of health, or the weaknesses and pains of old age, to cast a shade over the present happy time. Clifford felt proud of his handsome wife as she walked by his side, her glorious features radiant with excitement, and words sparkling - with wit and humor falling from her. lovely lips... Many a titled foreigner, many, a humble peasant, turned their heads to have another look at the handsome American couple, as they sped through the city from one sight to an- other. As soon as Antwerp, was exhausted they took train to Brussels, and making the ‘ Hotel Belle Vue ” their head-quarters, were quickly absorbed in the gay sights of that miniature Paris. Clifford was an admirable French scholar, and under his guidance the time passed _pleas- antly away. He often asked himself if the world were really a vale of” tears, as described by, the preacher and the philosopher. For his part, he would have been perfectly content, if time itself could have stood still, and Judith and he could remain at their present age; neither older nor younger; passing their time as they were now doi —listening to the Inilitary band in the Parc o; the. cool murmuring of. ‘the. acacia trees; sip- | turned on it. an evening, under A HASTY MARRIAGE. | ping ices; conversing with each other; and reading love and happiness in each other's eyes. But Clifford was soon destined to experience the fatal truth that no worldly happiness is of long continuance—that beneath the flower of joy oft lurks the asp of danger. A presentiment of this kind would some- times cross his mind; but he would drive it from him with an effort, and again endeavor, in every possible way, to extract the full meed of happiness from tbe passing moment, and as he looked into the joyous face of Judith, he would murmur: “Surely no cloud can possibly arise to over- shadow such happiness as mine!’ In spite of himself, he could not help ex- periencing a considerable amount of natural curiosity as to the previous life of the woman he had made his wife. On one occasion they were sitting in their usual place in the Parc, and Judith appearing in a more communicative mood than usual, he ventured to remark: ** Dear Judith, I wish you would talk to me a little about your past life; I should like to know what you were doing, and with whom you were associating, in the days when I knew you not.” . The countenance of Judith instantly became somber, and her eye dull.and lusterless. “ Harry, did you not promise me when I consented to become your wife that you would never question me as to my past history?” “T did, Judith; but now. you know me better, 1 think "that condition might be abrogated.” “Never, Harry,” replied Judith, in sad and mournful tones; ‘‘ you must not seek to. know one tittle of my career previous to the day I first saw you on the beach at Asbury. But I swear that there is nothing in my past life which would not allow the fiercest light to be Be satisfied with that, dear Harry. Recollect I have neyer asked you a single question as to your private history. I have taken you for what you seem to be—a courteous, honorable gentleman. What can any woman desire more in the husband of her choice?” “Enough, dear Judith. I, will be content with the knowledge that I thaye the hand- | somest and best wife in the world!” The eyes of Judith beamed love and grati- tude as she listened to these words. From that moment Clifford never questioned her more. _ He dated his happiness from that eventful evening when he made her acquaintance in so unusual a manner. In two or three weeks the indefatigable ex- plorers grew weary of the sights of Brussels, and Clifford suggested Paris as their next happy hunting-ground. Judith almost clapped her hands with de- light, The prospect of a winter in Paris, with so agreeable a companion as. Clifford, with a husband she. loved so fondly, was indeed a pleasant one. Never before had she displayed such buoyant. spirits. Clifford became infected with her cheerful- ness, and wondered at his recent neryous fears as to the non-continuance of his happiness, They resolved to pay a farewell yisit to the Parc, and listen to the evening concert under the acacias for the last time. It was a lovely evening, and Clifford was content to sit and watch the elegant play of her. lovely features as, she discoursed with more than her usual animation. Suddenly she paused; her eyes became fixed with a glassy stare; the color left her cheek; even her trembling lips grew white, as she, slowly raised her hand and pointed to a group of persons in front of her. Clifford instinctively turned his eyes in that direction, and beheld a man standing some- what apart . from the crowd which thronged the Parc, He was gazing intently at Judith, During the momentary glance Clifford be- stowed upon, him, he observed that he was} vA ’ back. . | But hour after hour passed_ away,, and. still she. ; h 2 aoen somewhat shabbily dressed and bore the ap- pearance of an American of the middle class, But any further examination was rendered impossible by a hollow groan which escaped the lips of Judith as she fell senseless from her chair. A crowd instantly gathered round, as is cus- tomary in such cases, and were with some difficulty persuaded to give the sufferer air by a gentleman, who described himself as a medi- cal man. It is a very short distance from the Pare of Brussels to the ‘ Hotel Belle Vue;” and thither Judith was speedily conveyed. Some little time elapsed ere she recovered consciousness; but the moment that took place = she glanced nervously round, and appeared re- lieved at the absence of some dread object. As soon as possible Clifford besought his wife to explain the cause of her sudden and unaccountable indisposition. Had it any : reference to a stranger who was contemplating her with such a wistful gazé? ; But Judith professed herself quite unable to Ae account for the attack, and denied having ob- 4 served the man to whom Clifford alluded. During the two following days Judith ap- peared ill at ease, although evidently making eonsiderable efforts to look otherwise, But eek. Clifford decided that her’ nervous system had experienced a shock, which only. required time to dissipate, On the third morning Judith expressed a wish to do some shopping, and playfully asked her husband not to accompany her, . “ Tt is all-very well, Harry, tosay that you like to go shopping with me; but there never. Mot .was a husband yet who cared to go shopping. with his wife. A newly-married man may" - think he likes doing 80, but he Sait .s0 oblige ‘ me for once, Harry.” “oth ‘‘My dear, if you really pr ee shopping : without me, by all means do so.” ried Judith kissed her husband affectionately on the cheek, and departed on her errand, while Clifford went into the smoking-room,.and read the American and foreign journals, : Se Jn less than an hour Judith returned, and x showed her husband some bargains in lace which she had made in the Gallery St, Hu- i bert. SC ee The following day she said she must paya & second visit to the lace shop, to effect certain waa exchanges of lace, and advised her husband to pass the time during which she should be— absent in the billiard-room at the hotel, and then the time would not appear so long. ‘Olif- ford. consented, and then Judith turned some- what pale, and kissed her husband on the , cheek, pee 5: “T think husband and wife should never part witbout a kiss, no matter how brief may __ be the. period of absence.” Then a.melan-— choly smile lit up her pale features as she pro- | ceeded, ‘‘ You know, Harry, life is very short and very uncertain, and we might never meet again.” “Gracious, Judith! what a notion! ‘You have not recovered from your neryous attack, that is quite evident! I shall_ insist on, going with you, if you talk in that way. Kole “No, no! There is no need—indeed, there — is not! Come, let me see you go tothe billiard- room.” He obeyed, turning round to look at Judith as she stood in the open doorway of their sit- ting-room. He was struck by the unearthly pallor of her face. He made an attempt. to re- turn, but she smilingly waved him away; and > he entered the billiard-room, He played with indifferent success for a cou- = ple of hours, and then returned to his apart- | ments, and inquired if, Mrs, Clifford had come — The waiter auswered in the ‘negative, and asked if he should bring luncheon. - In spite of being more than usually. hungry, ; Clifford decided to wait the return of his wife, came not, He proceeded to the lace shop in the Gallery

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a : yy 2 \ a i F 2 , ; a ? 4 “af ’ me , _ were contiguous, and A St. Hubert. Mis. Clifford had not been in the shop that day, although she had made some purchases the day before. He reeled home like a drunken man; a name- less fear took possession of him; a dread of he knew not what caused his teeth to chatter, and his mouth and tongue to become parched. He had just decided on seeking the aid of the police to recover his lost wife when a let- ter was brought to him by the waiter of the hotel. eatin it hastily open he read as fol- lows: ** DEAR yt eth -You must try and: bear up under the heavy blow that has fallen upon us. You and I can never meet again. When I declared to you that my past life had been free from any but venial faults, I only spoke the truth. Coul whole of that mil ou would pity me and forgive the step I am now taking.. Iam simply performing my duty in leaving you. It was never intended that mortals should continue in such happiness as. that which we have enjoyed in the society of each other since the day we first met on the sands at Asbu The memory of those days will support me in the thorny path of duty that lies before me, as I hope it willyou. Seek not totrace me, Even if you found or s would be useless. I could not return to you. need I write more? I have only to add that I hele always wish for your happiness, and never cease to think of you. “‘ Farewell, dear ey, forever! ur broken-hearted, “ Jupira.” . Clifford sat as though he were in a trance, with the open letter in bis hand. is presentiments of evil had indeed been fuifilled, and his cup of misery was full to over flowing. The future lay before him as a dreary waste. The sandy Desert of Sahara was a field of roses in comparison with bis now deso- Jate and blighted life. you._see the CHAPTER I. AN EARTHLY PARAGON, THE young millionaire, Mr. Henry Clifford, was an object of envy to the majority of his male acquaintances, and was regarded as the chief prize in the matrimonial market’ by the whole of the feminine portion of the world in which he moved. He was barely thirty years of age, was handsome, clever and accomplished, and had five years back fallen heir to the whole im- mense fortune of his old bachelor uncle, Mr, Gregory Astor, of New York. In addition to a magnificent residence on Fifth avenue, he owned a cottage at Newport and a most charming country villa at Corr- - wall-on-the-Hudson, and his income was nut less than fifty thousand a year, His amiability of disposition was admitted ‘by every one who came in contact with bim, though none could deny that he was a man of somewhat eccentric views as to life and morals. t But though he was such a favorite of for- tune, his temperament was gloomy in the ex- treme. Occasionally he would unbend under the influence of the cheerful society of witty - men and pretty women, but it was only for a time. As his charity was unbounded, and his good- _ mature and generosity proverbial, his melan- choly temperament only created a feeling. of sympathy in the hearts of every one who knew him. Marriage with some lovely member of the _ aristocratic world was more than once pre- scribed as an anodyne for bis mental depres- _ sion, but the suggestion was more distasteful to him than any other could have been. But of late rumor had coupled the name of Miss Caroline r, the only child of Gen- _ eral Balfour, with the wealthy owner of Maple- wood Villa. i, ‘The country sea Clifford and Balfour ould seem but natural if the two properties become united by @ marriage. eee iy the present moment Gen “Balfour and _his lovely daughter were on a visit to Maple- ,» and we may at once confess that “ Rumor, with her hundred tongues,” was not very wide of the truth when it ———? hs HASTY: MARRIAGE, ee probable union between the neighboring fami- lies. We must ask the reader to suppose_that ten years bad elapsed since the mysterious flight of Judith Clifford from her young husband at Brussels, It is a bright morning in September, and Mr. Clifford is seated in his library, engaged in writirg letters. He is certainly a very handsome man, and bis clear-cut, aristocratic features would be pronounced faultless but for the permanent expression of yloom which ever overshadows them. Presently the door opens, and a countenance of a very different type peeps into the room. “May I come in, Clifford?” Something al- most approaching to a smile flickers across the pale features of the host as he cordially invites his guest to enter. Adolphus Wickham is a man of middle age, rather short, and very stout. His round rubicund visage beams with happiness and good temper. At least, that is the normal ex- pression, but at this present moment a trace of anxiety is plainly perceptible on his good-bu- mored countenance. It may be permitted to mention that he was generally called ‘‘ Dolly” by his friends and associates, an abbreviation of the Christian name of Adolphus. “But you are busy, Harry?” “No; I bave just written the last word of a heavy batch of correspondence, so take a chair, Dolly. How is it you are not one of the shooting-party this morning? Have you ex- hausted all my woodcock and partridges?”’ ‘‘ My dear Clifford, the game in your woods is like your generosity and good-nature, inex- haustible. No; 1 wanted to have a few min- utes’ quiet chat with you on a subject of the utmost importance.” Again an approach to asmile lighted up the pale, intellectual features of his friend. ‘*T was not aware that you regarded any- thing in this world as of the slightest impor- tance, Dolly.” ‘True; I admit I take the world as easily as fate will permit. But this is a new phase.’ I expect to find myself shortly in an entirely new character, as the actors say. I am re- hearsing the part of Benedick.” “Indeed! Who is the fortunate damsel?” Mr. Wickham sighed heavily ere he pro- ceeded. ‘‘Ah! thereis the rub. I have a rival, I fear.” ‘*T will lay odds on your chance, Dolly.” Wickham shook his head. “You would not be so rash if you knew the bpame of my competitor. Itisno less formida- ble a person than the owner of Maplewood.” A red flush passed rapidiy over the features | of his friend. ““T do not understand you, I confess.” “Tn two words, Harry, I love Miss Caroline Balfour, and it is in everybody’s mouth that you are the favorite in that quarter. If you were not a very intimate friend, Harry, I would not speak to you thus,” In somewhat cold and measured tones Clif- ford replied: “T can only advise that you test the matter at once, and speak to the lady without regard to rival claimants.” ‘‘And you will not be offended, Harry?” “ Not in the least, Dolly.” Wickham rose from his seat, and re- marked: ‘*By Jove! I will take your advice and without any delay. Miss Caroline is alone in the drawing-room at this moment.” As the door closed on the departing suitor, Clifford rested his theek upon his band, and remained absorbed in dark, and melancholy thoughts, Some vision of past days was flitting through his mind, the while Wickham was laying his hand and fortune at the feet of the lovely Mademoiselle Balfour in the drawing-room. | How long the wooing lasted Clifford could never tell, but he was still in the dreamy f Leis 5, eae Vee eh reverie when Wickham once more entered the room. The face of the suitor was almost as woe- begone as his friend’s, and it needed no prophet to interpret the result of the venture. “‘The die is cast; the battle has been fought and Jost!” ‘*Miss Balfour has refused you?’ exclaimed’ Clifton, with a joyous tone in spite of his effort to avoid it, ‘*Miss Balfour bas daclined the honor of being Mrs. Wickham, and the race for you, Harry, is simply a walk-over. However, I do not repent having solved the problem. 1 never could stand suspense of any kind, dnd now I think I will go and meet the sportsmen. I feel as if the breeze would blow away some of the cobwebs of defeat.” Shortly after Wickham had left, Mr. Clifford locked his writing-desk, and went to the draw- ing-room, where he found Caroline Balfour engaged in some crewel work. The daughter of General Balfour was now about twenty. Tall and fragile in figure, with the lightest possible brown hair, a com- plexion like wax, with the faintest tinge of color on her marble cheeks, she would have served as an admirable model fora water- spirit, had a tableau of Undine been required. Caroline raised her large, liquid blue eyes to the owner of Maplewood as he entered the drawing-room, and a smile of exceeding loveli- ness overspread her delicate features. Mr. Clifford ‘almost fancied there was a deeper blush than ordinary on her cheek; but as he mentally observed, that may have been the result of the folly of Wickham in supposing he was a suitable mate for the ethereal being before him. : “Why are you not with papa, Mr. Clifford? I know he looked forward with pleasure to your company at the shooting this morning.” “My dear Miss Balfour some one once observed that property has its duties as well as its rights. I would vary the saying thus: Property has its pains as well as its pleasures. It is impossible to leave everything to a steward. At all events, he cannot write one’s private correspondence. I sometimes sigh for the day when I was a youth with a smal} income, and not a care in the world.” “Yet I am sure you appreciate the vast opportunities you possess of doing good—oppor- tunities, which you will forgive my saying, you avuil yourself of so liberally.” It was always a treat to listen to the voice of Caroline Balfour; at least, so thought Mr. Clifford. The accents were so silvery and so sympathetic in their tones. ‘“*T merely endeavor to do my duty, Miss . Balfour.” Then the thoughts of Clifford reverted to the words of Wiekbam, how common report had settled that Miss Balfour was to be Mrs. Henry Clifford. He had been so careful in his intercourse with the Balfour family as not to betray the secret wishes of his heart, yet those wishes were known to every one in the neighbor- hood. He wondered whether the principal person concerned suspected the state of his affections. Would it not be wise to ask her to be his wife without further delay, and did not the present opportunity afferd a favorable chance? : But fortune willed it otherwise. General Balfour entered the room at this moment, radiant with his success over the partridges and woodcock, accompanied by Mr. Wickbam. The general was an ordinary type of the old military man, gray and bluff, and choleric and good-natured. ‘¢ Ah, Clifford! you have missed a glorious morning’s sport! I am afraid, Caroline, you have been detaining our kind host from a roy- al good shooting.” “No, indeed, papa! Mr. Clifford has only just come from the library.” The oki general would have been better —

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2. Fe oA HASTY: MARRIAGE. pleased if) Clifford had, been in the society of his daughter the whole of the morning; for it was tho dearest wish of his: heart that his daughter should become Harry Clifford’s wife, ‘* Miss Balfeur has not been without society during your absence, general,” said Clifford somewhat, maliciously, with a sly glance at Wickham, ‘Mr. Wickham has) been. her companion the greater part of the morning.” kt would be difficult to say which of the par- ties referred to blushed the deeper. Mr. Clifford announced that luncheon. had been ready for some time, and the quartette adjourned to the dining room, where they found the rest of the guests, as hungry as hunters, and buoyant with health and good Spirits. During the ‘meal Clifford made an inward vow that he would not allow four-and-twenty hours to pass: over his bead without satisfying himself that the affections. of the lovely Caro- ling Balfour were unappropriated, CHAPTER IL. A PRESENTIMENT, As Caroline Balfour was the only lady stay- ing at Maplewood, the owner was enabled. to find the opportunity he wished during the hours whick succeeded dinner in the evening. Twe whist-tables were formed, and as Caro- line expressed no desire to play, Mr. Clifford led her to. the piano in the second drawing- room, and seating himself close to: the instru- ment, was. soon lapped in Elysium as he lis- tened to a dreamy nocturne of Chopin as ren- dered by the taper fingers of his lovely guest. Caroliny wore adress of ivory satin, and in her hair was placed a cluster of salvia, the wivid blossoms mingling with her sunny locks. Clifford could jnot. help, confessing that he had never beheld.a more. fairy-like vision of ethereal beauty. Then there was the exquisitely modulated voice, so pure and, limpid, that it almost. re- alized what the imagination might picture of an angel singing in Paradise. “Do not cease to play, Caroline!” mur- mured Harry. ‘‘Let,.the players continue their game. Ido not wish to be overheard. ‘Will you come and live at Maplewood? Will you be my companion, dear Caroline? Will -you be my wife?” Every vestige of color left the cheek of the lovely performer, while her fingers trembled so that the notes.of Chopin were but indiffer- ently rendered. So excessive was ber. emotion, that Clifford whispered, ‘‘Come into the garden; the cool air will revive you.” . The levers stepped through the lofty open French windows, and ina moment were tread- ing the greensward of the lawn in front of the house. The balmy. breeza from the river recalled the color to, the cheek of the trembling fair one; and in tender accents her luver. pro- ceeded. ‘Pardon my impatience; I was too. precipi- tate.. Yet I think you must, have seen ere now: that I loved you. You must have been repared for this avowal. Tell me, did you. not know that my heart was yours, and yours alone?” Caroline turned her large blue eyes upon her lover —those eyes fuli of candor and maidenly puri'y—and in a tone so low as scarcely to be audible, nmaurmured: | me, ”? ‘And you, dear ‘Caroline, you return my affection, do you not? Say yes, darling!” The only answer vouchsafed. by Caroline ‘was a sligho pressure of her tiny fingers as they clasped the hand. of Clifford who imprint- ed a gentle. kiss on her brow. Instinctively they, returned to the dra wing- room, for their hearts were too full for words, and Carolin. yearned for the privacy of her room, where she could unperceived shed happy tears of joy. Ths whist-players had jrst finished their rub- “I thought you loved ber, and Mr. Clifford drew General Balfour on one side, ‘I wish to speak. to you at, once, dear. gen- eral, My heart is so full of the happiness in store for me. I have told Caroline that I love her, and asked her to be my wife. Have I your consent, general?” General Balfour was unable to utter a syl- lable in reply. The announcement had coma so suddenly that, though he saw the dearest wish of his heart on the point of realization, his speech completely failed him for a few seconds. The cther turned pale. “Ah, you have other views for Miss Bal- four! I have been too premature!” ‘“‘ Not so, my dear boy,” responded the gen- eral, in emphatic tones. ‘1 am delighted be- yond measure. Itis no flattery to say that the owner of Maplewood could aspire to the hand of a princess. But Iam sure you will believe me when I say that, apart. from all those con- siderations, there is no one whuse character I respect more than I do_ yours; and, further, I don’t mind telling you that I have long fancied that my dear child had lcst her heart to you, though no hint of the sort has ever fallen from ber lips. . Well, she has found a good husband, and, though I say it, you have found a good " wife.” And the general wiped away a tear of emo- tion as he concluded his somewhat lengthy oration, ' Clifford grasped; the hand of bis old friend with cordiality. ‘‘T am the happiest of men!” “Tam rejoiced to hear you say so; and I trust.a bappy married life will help to remove that. cloud—that unaccountable gloom —which has furnished so prolific a theme for all the gossips of the neighborhood. Balfour presen ly left the room, eager, no doubt, to. congratulate his daughter on her good fortune, The rest of the company were now split up into sets of whist and cbess, save Dolly Wick- ham, who, crossing the room to where Clifford was ensconced in an arm-chair, affecting to be engaged in the perusal of one of the quarterlies, tapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘‘Harry, Iam about to commit a breach of good manners. I saw the exit of Miss Caro- line, first into the garden, and then from the room, blushing like a peony. I could not help perceiving also the animated manner of the | general, Am right? Is it a walk-over, as I prognosticated? 1am the only person in tho world privileged to put such a question, you will admit.” Clifford hesitated for a moment; then an- swered, ‘‘ Yes,” i Wickham shrugged his shoulders, and in rue- ful tones replied, ‘‘ Comprehensive and mighty monosyllable! Well, Harry, I congratulate you most sincerely! Jove! there are few women who can boast of two offers of mar- riage in one day! I was heavily handicapped. You have the advantage in age and weight, and, [ was about to add, and. the money on. But any woman would be glad to marry you with one-twentieth of your wealth.” The fact of the engagement of Caroline Bal- four and Henry Clifford was soon known throughout the enitre circle of their acquaint- ances, : Not much surprise. was expressed, as the event accorded so exactly with the prophecies of the majority. Mr, Clifford urged an early performance of the ceremony, as he was heartily weary of his solitary existence; and as there was no lack of worldly means, and the ages offered no impedi- ment, General Balfour consented to the mar- riage taking place in the following December. Of course the bride must have a reasonable length of time in which to order and prepare her trousseau, and. Chfford, too, desired the opportunity to get his business affairs in order, for, az soon as they were married, he intended taking Caroline South for the winter. Shakespeare bas recordea bow time ambles oil ty! — with some and gallops with others; but the fact remains indisputable that, however im-~- patient we may be, the long- jooked- for day will come in due season. It was the eve of the bridal. Harry had galloped over to Balfour Hall to have a delicious hour with his betrothed. Ah, that memorable hour, so bright with anticipation, when we can hardly realize the fact that in a brief space the being we love best on earth will be our very own, never more to be parted from us while life shall last! The lovers sat in the magnificent drawing- room of Balfour Hall, silent and happy. No words could have expressed their rap- ture, which beamed in eloquent glances from their eyes. They were cecupied in turning over the leaves of a gorgeously bound book, illustrative of the wonders of Italian art, but their thoughts were otherwise employed. The sweet consciousness that they loved and were beloved excluded every other thought; and a nervous apprehension lest some unex- pected and unlooked-for evil should mar their — coming joy was the only speck on their horizon of bliss. Clifford at length rose to depart. “Our last farewell, dearest! Never mor will my lips utter the word ‘good-by! I can scarcely realize the fact, that a few hours will effect such a wondrous change!” Caroline held the hand of her lover with a detaining clasp. “Tell me, Harry, do you believ in pre- sentiment?” * Never, Caroline, except when I am, out of health, You have no fear, darling?” Caroline cast down her eyes, and ner hand trembled perceptibly. “T do not know;-but I feel as if sOdivtting were about to happen. Something tells me that our marriage will never take place.” — “Jt is simply a matter of herves, believe me, Caroline.” A few moments more, and the lovers had said their farewell, It was a bright, frosty day, and the keen, crisp air served to remove the temporary depression caused by the forebodings of his betrothed in the mind of Henry Clifford. A ride of a few minutes, and he alighted at bis own door. As Mr. Clifford entered the house, a footman informed him that there was a lady in “the library who desired to speak with him, eae: 8 Anat Did she give no name?” sc No, si r. ” “Tell ber I will be with her presently.” — In spite of himself, the forebodings of his betrothed recurred to his mind, but be partly shook them c ff, and proceeded to the library. A lady rose from her seat as he entered the apartment, but spoke never a word. | Sternly but sadly she Rag her large, dark eyes upon him. He bad never, save once, seen eyes like those he now beheld. Clifford advanced toward her with slow and > faltering ste}s, his cheek blanched, and his — whole frame in a tremor. Still the woman spoke not. A few seconds mors of prolonged gazing, and then the owner of Maplewood sunk into a chair in a half swoon, as one word escaped his pale and trembling lips—* Judith |” CHAPTER Ii. A VICTIM OF FATE, Tue reader will no doubt long ere this have recognized in the owner of Maplewood the | same Henry Clifford who, ten years ‘before, had made such a thoughtless mai riage as union with a person of whose antecedents.be knew nothing, and who deserted him a few weeks after marriage in such a mysterious mapper. — At the time we introduced him to the reader be was merely a young man with a small income _ left bim by his father, and no expectations of ever being any wealthier, ; ~ 4 7/2 . = { ce ‘ Co ee Se ee SL ip ee ee a4 5 te ah Re ee 3 ee ee ES a) leno ” roan)

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Bo de loved her so fondly, : _.. The second was, that the lapse of ten years thad afforded him ample time to consider and 4 ‘ A HASTY MARRIAGE. His uncle on his mother’s side, Mr. Gregory Astor, was an eccentric old gentleman, a bach- elor, who had positively asserted many a time that all his wealth was to go to various char- itable institutions which he named. But merry Harry with his warm heart and thoughtless ways, had won a place in the old man’s affections, which no other relative could have done, and he secretly determined that bis will sbould be altered, although he gave not a hint of such a resolution to any one but his lawyer. Upon. his death which occurred almost immediately after Harry's return from abroad, it was found that he had left all his prop- erty, with the exception of a few slight be- _ quests, to his nephew, and thus Harry found himself a millionaire in the midst of his afflic- _ tion. Soon after the flight of Judith he availed himself of the services of the secret police at Brussels, and they reported that two persons of the name of Swaine, a male and fe- male, had taken passages in an emigrant ship which sailed from Antwerp for New York. The characteristic name of the woman was ., Judith, and the vessel was called the Zea- land, In about ten days news came that the Zea- land had foundered at sea, but that a large portion of the crew had taken to the boats, and had been duly picked up by an outward-bound ship. But in the list of passengers thus saved Clifford searched in vain for the name of Swaine. _ As months rolled by, and no tidings came of his missing bride, Clifford came to the natural conclusion that Judith Clifford had gone to her account, Her desertion had soured the temper and imparted a somber tone to Clifford’s naturally cheerful temperament. He felt he had been deceived where he had placed implicit con- fidence, and he almost vowed that he would never place trust in man or woman more. By degrees these bitter views of life be- came more sweetened, and when he made the acquaintance of the youthful Caroline, he con- fessed that there was still some joy and promise of happine:s left in his cup of life. But now these hopes were dashed to the earth by the return of the woman who was his 1 wife and the true Mrs, Clifford. be reader may perhaps remark that Henry _ Clifford ought to experience sensations of joy at the restoration to life of the once loved Judith, But there were three reasons why this eoula not be. The first was, that he felt indignant at her unexplained flight from oue who she knew recensider the folly of the act he had been guilty of when he married a woman who was . almost a total stranger to him. The third reason was, that the woman who now stood before him was not the same Judith who listened to the military band under the acaciar in the park at Brussels ten years agu! He had some difficulty in recognizing her. There were still traces of the marvelous beauty left which had fascinated the boy Clifford at the sea-shore. But the figure had become bulky, the eye had lost its luster, the face its form, and the whole expression gaye one the "idea that temperance was not a prominent virtue of the once lovely Judith Swaine. Clifford sat lost in. gloomy thoughts, his face buried in his bands, “Ts this your welcome, Harry, after ten xi Tene weary years of absence and exile?” 6 rose to his feet. _ “ Whose fault was it that you underwent those years of exile’”’ _ “Not my fault, Harry. Iwas the victim of _ mcruei fate.” Clifford made a gesture of impatience, “*Psbaw! you forget you are no longer talk- _ ing to a boy of twenty, full of poetry and romance, You are speaking to one who is thirty in years, and fifty in experience, Sit SE LLL LLL AS a Or down, Tell me the cause of your sudden flight from Brussels ten years ago. Had that man I saw in the Parc anything to do with it?” ‘That man was the cause. He is my brother.” “* Then he still lives?” * He does.” “Why should a brother wish you to leave a husband you had just married?’ *¢That Iam not at liberty to explain,” re- plied Judith, in a firm and callous tone of voice, ‘Not at liberty. But you must and shall explain.” Judith smiled a sad and weary smile, “Listen to me, Harry Clifford. The days of the question or torture are past; but no tor- ture that was ever devised by Christian perse- cution could draw from me the explanation of my flight ten years ago:” Clifford was fain to confess that he’ believed her. Torquemada himself would have deemed the imposition of the ‘torture a useless cere- mony had he witnessed those stony features, so relentless and determined in their expres- sion. He sighed. “Will you tell me what object you have in coming here this day? Do you. want money ?” Judith stared at her questioner in’ blank amazement. : ' “Object! For what object does a wife’ re- turn to her husband? I have come to claim my rights as Mrs, Henry Clifford!” “What! Live here with mé as my wife? That shall never be! I will maké you a suita- ble allowance, and we will live apart; and I will return—God help me!—to my hermit life once more.” ’ “You have no power, Harry, to send me hence.” “Indeed? What law will compel a husband to live with his wife against bis will, when he is ready and willing to make her. a handsome settlement to live apart?’ “T can institute a suit for the restitution of conjugal rights—which rights I have never forfeited by any misconduct.” A cold sweat broke over the face and brow of the unhappy man as his position rose before him. To lose the lovely Caroline Balfour was bit- ter enough; but to be tied to the wretched woman he now saw before him—to have her constantly with him at “bed and board,” to quote the law to which Judith Clifford had threatened to appeal—this was so horrible that he could not bear to contemplate it for a mo- ment. ‘‘ You have not told me whether you were a passenger on board the ship Zealand, which met with with so disastrous a fate?’ : “My brother and I were passengers on the Zealavd; we were saved by a miracle. I will tell you the whole story some wiuter evening, when we are sitting like Darby and Joan over the fire of logs: It will serve to while away the time perhaps,” ~ Clifford shuddered. “When will you call again?” “Call again, Harry? Never! I am at home, and mean to remain here. All my bag- gage isin the hall, And there is one thing I want to tell you, Harry, you need not be un- der the smallest appréhension that I shall evor ‘slope’ again.” Judith looked round at the magnificent apertm-nt, and laughed a low, mocking laugh, ‘‘No, Harry, my skedaddling days’are over, When a woman reaches thirty-five she may be fairly called a middle-aged woman. By the by, Harry, there is one point on which I never | deceived you—my age, You can never cast that in my teeth.” During the speech of Judith her husband had been revolving in his mind the course of ac- tion it would be most prudent to pursue. Pru- dence said, temporize. He resolved to follow the dictates of prudence. “Tf I consent to your remaining here for a # ~~ ’ Meee AG Tae aaa x 5 eae a ee i - ie St ae Ne ve ee men Sereee otk "gn he a A Ik ey a etal ee a tlie dan di ee ei Ae eh ol wk a SUR! re oC HLA “the views laid down. few days, will you agree to do so as Mrs. Carleton? i . Judith hesitated, but only for a few seconds, **T agree to pass as Mrs, Carleton, for three days, but not an hour longer.” He rung the bell,-and when the servant ap- peared, said, “This lady, Mrs: Carleton, will remain at Maplegrove for afew days. Please send the housekeeper to me.” Then turning to Judith, he continued, ‘(I must go at once to General Ealfour, ‘You are doubtlessly aware that this is the eve of my marriage witb his daughter.” . Judith yawned, and took up the Herald, which lay upon the table, “T heard. something about it. all that nonsense is at an end now,” “For the present, I grant,” replied Clifford, “Ab! here is Mrs, Jenkins,” He said ‘a few words to bis housekeeper, and bowing to Judith, left the room. There was nota mcment to be lost. Gen- eral Balfour must be inf¢rmed of the state of affairs, and the marriage with Caroline must be postponed. And on General Balfour must devolve the task of breaking the cruel intelli- gence to his daughter, That was a duty which Harvey felt was completely teyond his powers, In a very short time he arrived at Balfour Hall. Fortunately the old general was alone in the drawing-room, “* Ab, Clifford, I am afraid Caroline is mak- ing a callin tke neighborhood; but I under- stand you bave already seen her to-day! My God, Harry, what is the matter?’ Clifford sunk into a chair. ‘General Balfour, I am the bearer of dread- ful news,” Then Harris told the general as briefly as possible the remarkable story of his imprudent marriage with Judith Swaine, at the mayor’s office in New York, ten years before. The poor old general listened with horror- | stricken features to the dreadful story. “Now, my dear general, what do you ad- vise? Is there no escape’ from this bond of misery?’ “None. The woman is perfectly right in It is a legal marriage, and she can ‘compel you to provide ber witb bed and board under your roof, in the absence of any proof of misconduct on her part, She can also claim ber right to her third of your property. Ot course if by a large bribe you could persuade her to accept a separate main- tenance you would thereby be relieved of her presence and society; but from your account, she seems to bave determined on a different course. But I tremble to think of tbe conse- quences to my poor child!” - The general covered bis face with his hands, and groaned aloud in very bitterness of spirit. ‘* How shall I tell ter—bow shall I tell her?’ “Can you not break the blow,” said Clifford, ‘by saying that the marriage may Le set asids after certain investigations?” Of course, “TI will do the best 1 can, my boy, you may be sure,” In agonized tones Harry exclaimed: “Tam a coward—I own it; but if my soul’s salvation depended on my breaking the news. to Caroline, I could not do it. I would face perdition instead.” ‘““Leave it to me, Harry. A father can do| it better than a lover. And now leave me; I must think over in quiet and solitude the mode of executing my task. God bless you and give you courage to endure the bitter disappoixt- ment!” Hatiy wrung the hand of the grief stricken old man, and bade him farewell, CHAPTER IV. THE OLD HOMESTEAD. THE news soon spread far and wide that th marriage between the wealthy Harry Cliffor and the lovely daughter of General Balfou was broken off, and many were the conjecture as to the cause of the rupture.

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Clifford received a few brief lines from Caroline. They were as follows: “Dear Mr. CLIFFORD:— ‘Papa has told me ai/. Believe me, my on is for you, because I am certain you lo ear “Fiver your sincere friend and well-wisher, “CAROLINE BALFouR.”’ On the second day after the return of Judith Clifford to her husband it became known that the first wife of Harry Clifford had come to life again, and would at once assume her rights as such. Mr. Clifford resolved upon his course of ac- tion after a sleepless night. He sent a note to Mrs, Clifford, asking to\sce her in the library. Judith appeared habited in a black velvet dress, which bad the effect in some degree of diminishing ber apparent bulk, She had evidently taken more than ordinary pains with ber personal appearance, and cer- tainly presented a somewhat stately aspect. Judith seated herself with great composure, and carelessly fanning bérself, exclaimed: ‘* Well, Harry, is it to be peace or war?’ “Neither one nor the other!” .exclaimed Clifford. ‘‘Peace is henceforth a stranger to this breast, and I have no spirit or ‘heart for war.” “T cannot perceive any middle course,” re- plied Judith. «There is such a condition of ‘things be- tween enemies as a truce,” sdid her husband. ‘Then it must be a life-long ance If ex- claimed Judith. He took no notice of the intedrtiption, but proceeded: “JT have decided instead of going to the city, I will remove to the old homestead up in Maine.” Judith sbuddered. ‘Maine in December! I feel frozen at the very notion. ‘Why cannot we run over to Paris?” “Because I prefer and: chotuel to go to Maine.” Clifford went on: ‘The law, which you are so fond of quot- ing, while it compels me to give you your legal rights as a wife, leaves me still the liberty of choosing my place of residence. As the head of my family, I choose to fix my future abode in Maine.” Judith turned rather pale, but in ee and composed tones said: “You do not propose to make it your per: manent home, surely?” “That is my intention,” coldly replied Clif- ford. Judith smiled a somewhat sickly smile as sbe replied: ‘+ At all events, you will have to bear your share of the dullness and tedium of such a Robinson Crusoe life. That is‘one comfort. But I shall have some company, I suppose— some soclety?? ‘Certainly.’ You will have»my socviety! You comparéd us only yesterday to. Darby and Joap. They were content and satisfied to be all in all to each other.» We can do like- wise.” Judith flashed indignant glances from her coal-black eyes. Then conjuring up a laugh: peers ved me “ Ah, well, after knocking about two bemi-, spheres for nearly ten years, I can appreciate! a few months of quiet, aud: enjoy them. At: all events, I have lived» to become a million- aire’s wife, We will see who wearies first of our Maine home!” - A » “Rely upon it, it will not be Bg aes her husband. ‘* When do we got” Judith. ; “ To-morrow!” Lattitude replied. he. . “Yow will be good enough, therefore, to pre- pare accordingly. The ‘train woriscnt at six in the morning.” “ And when may we expect to arrive at this outlandish place?” inquired Jusith, ** About seven in the: evening.” Judith again visibly shuddered. suddenl : inquired. Bie HASTY MARRIAGE. “Tf you snare not all you wish, it is your own fault,” said Mr. Clifford. wants,” Judith rose from her seat and moved. to- ward the door. Turning round. with her fingers on the handle, she extended her clinched fist in, the direction of ber husband, and with the tone and expression of a pythoness, exclaimed: “Tf you think, Mr,..Clifford, by a. cold- blooded plan of. solitary confinement and banishment from all the pleasures and dignities of my station, to drive me from your home again, you are egregiously mistaken. (Though you live to the age of ninety, I will be, your constant companicn. . No murmur shall escape my lips; nu bribe that. you can. offer ‘me, not the half of your fortune, shall ever tempt, me to agree to aseparate maintenance. My place as Mrs. Henry Clifford is. by the side, of my side,” He bowed. “Tam glad to find, madam, ‘that you are s0 well acquainted with the duties of a wife.” Not another word passed between the ill- assorted couple, and Mr, Clifford: was left to his meditations, Of the bitter:charavter of those meditations | we dare not trust ourselves to speak. The rest' of the day» he spent in writing letters. One was to his friend and companion, Dolly Wickham, | He krew he should meet with sincere sym- pathy in. that: quarter: Another letter was to Caroline. It could Only be described: as a despairing farewell, concluding with fervent abeaas for her happiness and eternal welfare, Punctual to the minute on the morning) tol- lowing, two: carriages were at the door .of Maplewood, and Mr. and Mrs, Clifford took their places in the first, while the second. con- tained the maid and valet and baggage of the happy pair. After a drive of a few minutes the railway station was reached, and they commenced. the long, dreary journey .of thirteen hours'on a bitter December day. Clifford found it impossible to avoid con- trasting his present lot with what would heve been the case bad Fate: allowed his marriage with Caroline Balfour to take place. . He would now bave been .staying in her ‘sweet company at the ‘‘ Hotel Brunswick,” re- ‘ceiving and paying visits among the cream. of the fashionable New York world. Now. he ‘was ensconeed in the seat of a stuffy: railway ear, nominally occupied in reading the Tribune, but really a prey to bitter and despairing thoughts, Oppcsite to him, was the once-loved Judith— a bloated, d-ceptive woman of the world, with Heaven knows what antecedents, turning over listlessly the pages of a yellow-covered French novel, During the long and aveary: journey not a dozen’ words were itencbanguds betwéen "the reupited couple. . At length the train pete in a a small station, and Judith was informed that her jour- ney; 'so far as the railway was concerned, was at an end: Again Mr. Cl fford and his wite, entered a close carriage; and after a toilsome drive of an hour ‘along stony and. ill-kept roads, ibey alighted at their destination. It was too) dark to. see anything; but the heavy boom of:the waves upon the rocky coast informed Judith that they were within sound of the sea. A couple of servants met them in the hall, and Judith was escorted tober reom by a ‘on the table in-an: hour.) Dismissing her us soon as Santiie. Judith sat down on a. high backed oaken chair to think ! Would it. be possible, to endure. the life she saw vividly before her in the future?

. hates - a ! ; on * . ad fos vig ch ” an ds \ , re Lae wi

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» Mpa ey SFR wilt Se a ve PU ENS OES, ce aes ab. as \ ia he thy gece - a = ~ e 2 ae ae ee | vg SE EET EE ES SRT TETE ES A ESET TT ~ mother. __ “uphemia is just twelve. ’ perhaps Mr. Clifford would like to hear you play the * Maiden’s Prayer.’” flection, acceded to her request. Some faint sentiment of pity for tbe lonely life of the woman who, when all was said and done, was stil’ his lega’ wife, prompted him to relax in some degree the’ ha:sh rule he bad hitherto laid down. Perhaps, also, he himself was not averse to seeing some other face at his solitary table. So it was settled that Mrs. Clifford should drive over to Penwyn House that after- noor and leave cards. When Clifford and his wife met at dinner in the evening, Judith was ful! of the charms and accomplishments of Mrs. Hughes, the widow of a rich Boston iror merchant. “She is about thirty, and has one child, a daughter about twelve years of age—a perfect reproduction in miniature of her handsome They will return the call to-morrow. Will you arrange to be at home in the after. noon?” Clifford reluctantly assentel. Accordingly, when Mrs. Hughes and daugh- ter entered the parlor at Cliff Farm the follow- ing day, they were received by Mr, and Mrs. Clifford. Judith had not flattered the widow of the rich iron merchant. She was undeniably a very pretty woman, slightly below the middle hight, with a tendency to embonpoint ; sbe had rosy cheeks and merry, laughing blue eyes, ' Clifford received her with bis accustcmed easy grace and good breeding, and he evident- ly made a very good impression on Mrs, Hughes, who naturally felt much flattered at making the acquaintance of a neighbor with fifty thousand a year. Her daughter had been well described as a miniature reflection of ber mother, except that she possessed a pair of keen black eyes, which saw everything, and seemed. to have the power of penetrating a mill-board. “Do you intend making a long stay, Mr. Clifford?” ~ “Yes, Mrs, Hughes; I intend making this my future home. Mrs. Clifford is fond of _ solitude, and, like myself, is weary of a town life.” ‘‘T am sorry to contradict my husband, but I can assure you, Mrs. Hughes, he is joking,” interrupted Judith, in somewhat indignant tones. ‘Any one would suppose that we were economizing, and putting by for a rainy day.” “ A very necessary course of procedure in these days of bank failures,” said her husband, dryly. Lag * * “T am sure you have not perceived any in- _ dications of the kind,” said’ Judith. “Mrs, Clifford,” exclaimed he, in emphatic tones, “I presume you have not invited Mrs. Hughes to listen to an argument in which it is impossible she can take the slightest interest!” Mrs. Hughes almost repented that she had accepted the invitation to call at Cliff Farm. But Mr. Clifford now intervened with a - question as to the age of Miss Hughes. Any interest shown with respect to this young lady was always peculiarly acceptable to the be- reaved widow. ~ ; Phemie, dear, He offered no objection, having a dim idea ‘that the piece was a lengthy one, and there- _ fore would occupy a certain space of time. _ Miss Hughes certainly played very well, and received her due meed of praise. At length the formal yisit came to an end, adieux ‘were exchanged, and the Hugheses departed on their _ return to Penwyn House. It was fortunate that Judith did not hear the exhaustive analysis of Miss Euphemia as - to the mental characteristics of Mrs. Clifford, her clear _perception-of the unhappy relations _ existing between Judith and ber husband, and __ ber prophecies as to the results in the distant | o future. Miss Euphemia had been spoiled, as every only child is spoiled, and ber motber ‘took a weak pride in the caustic observations _of her precocious daughter. During the following month the intimacy’ witb the Hugheses increased, probably owing A HASTY: MARRIAGE. a. to the fact that Judith made a virtue of neces- sity, and cultivated the only female society within reach, Mrs. Hughes invariably remained the night at the farm whenever she dined there, and sometimes the visit was extended two or three days, ber daughter Euphemia of course accom- panying ber. But now a new and important visitor was about to form one of the limited domestic cir- cle at the Maine home of the Chffords. Ove morning at breakfast, Judith was occu- pied in reading a long letter, which bore the postmark of Boston on the envelope. “This is from my brother Paul. I suppose you bave no objection to his paying me a-fare- well visit before he starts for Mexico?” Clifford frowned, and his countenance grew dark. “The man who decoyed you from my side within a few weeks of our marriage?” ‘Yes, Harry; but he was an irresponsible agent, I can assure you.” : ‘You promised to te 1 me the whole story of that mysterious disappearance.” “So J will, immediately after bis departure, Harry.” Clifford remained in‘deep thought for several seconds, ‘* When do you propose your brother should pay this. farewell visit?’ ‘* He writes. from Boston, and. will be here this: evéning, unless he receives a telegram to the contrary.” ‘After some further discussion, Mr. Cliffcrd gave a somewhat cold and reluctant: assent. to the visit of Mr, Paul Swaine. Judith was agreeably surprised that he con- sented thereto; but if the truth must be told, he was suffering severely fromthe enforced penance of seclusion he ‘had prescribed as his rule in life; so much so, that ho bad only yes- terday written a line to Mr, Wickham, suggest- ing that he should pay him a lengthened visit if he could make it convenient. Mr, Clifford was unable to divest himself of some amount of curiosity as to the perscnal characteristics of his strange visitor. Mr. Paul Swaine was timed to arrive at six o’clock, and punctual to the minute, a carriage’ drove up tothe hall door containing two indi- viduals, ; One of them descended and was met at) the door by Judith, who, kissing him on both cheeks, welcomed him to Cliff Farm. Mr. Swaine tossed the driver a coin and allowed himself to be shown .to bis private room. In less than an hour Mr, Swaine descended to the drawing-room, where he found bis sister and Mr. Clifford. a “ My brother Paul!” exclaimed Judith, with a nervous glance at her husband. ‘““Hope I see you well, Mr. Clifford,” said. Mr. Swaine, holding out a large, red hand. Clifford took no’notice of the extended fin- gers, but slightly bowed his head in acknowldy- ment of the greeting of bis: brother-in-law. But there was one thing he could not belp ‘do- ing; he could not refrain from: taking an ex- haustive survey of the new arrival, He was a mancf middle h'ght, lithe and sinewy in figure, with a. type of countenance which might have be fitted a miner or Western farmer who had spent the greater portion of his life in roughing it, His. countenance was. tanned by exposure, and he possessed an eye of remarkable keenness and brilliancy. He was, of course, dressed in the conventional frock-coat, but it did not seem to sit naturally upon him, and you could more easily picture him in the loose costume of a Californian gold-digger.: oye He spoke with a slight accent and twang. “T take it very kindly that you should al- low me to pay a visit to my sister before I re- turn. to. my old diggings. I am quite aware that the aristocracy are what you may term rather exclusive in their notions, and therefore it is the more civil on your part.” ‘*T could hardly refuse Mrs, Clifford the si nz AS % pleasure of'a brief visit from her only brother on the eve of a long separation.” ‘Just so. You seem to have a queer old place up here. But I should say it was plaguey dull—that is, after a short time.” ‘: Use is second nature, Mr., Swaine,’ re- plied his host. ** You can form no idea of the pleasure we derive from the associations of our youth—we whose surroundings change so utterly.” Mr. Swaine here pulled out a large gold re- peater, and in a whisper, asked bis sister if the hour of feeding-time had arrived. Mr. Cliff. rd guessed the purport of the in- quiry, for he observed: “T am sorry to keep you waiting, . Mr. Swaine; but the fact is, I. expect another vis- itor,” ‘*Indeed!” exclaimed Judith, in unfeigned surprise. ‘‘ You never told me, Harry!” “T did not deem it necessary,”> he replied coldly, as he rung the bell, and inquired of the servant if Mr, Wiekham had arrived, ‘* Yes, sir—about balf an hour ago,” Judith smiled approvingly, She bad heard enough of this friend of ber husband to know that he was an agreeabl> companion, and one likely to assimilate with her somewhat eccentric habits, ~ Ere another word was spoken; Mr, Wickham entered the room. Shaking hands heartily with Mr. Clifford, he expressed a hope that be had not. kept. din- ner waiting. ‘Not in the least, Wickham,” replied Clif- ford. ‘Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Clifford; al-o to Mr, Paul Swaine, her brother.” Mr, Wickbam_ bowed, and endeavored, but in vain, to conceal his astonishment at the singular appearance of Mr. Swaine, Then, turning to his friend: ‘I had made all. my arrangements for a visit to Cliff Farm, feeling sure you would not ot-ject to my takivg French leave, when your kind invitation arrived.” Dinner was now announced, and Wickham, giving bis arm to Mrs. Clifford, led the way to the dining room, followed by Mr. Clifford and Mr. Paul, Swaine. It did not escape the keen eye of Dolly Wickham that whenever Mr. Swaine seemed inclined to become Joquacious he was checked by a mysterious glance of his sister, But Mr. Wickham chatted away, carefully selectirg such topics as he considered would best be appreciated by the singular trio with whom he found himself for the time associ- ated. «is soon as dessert was placed upon the table, Mrs. Clifford arose to depart, observing, in a very marked manner, to her brether: ‘Paul, you will not keep my husband and Mr. Wickham from the drawing-room longer than yeu ean help.” : ‘No fear, Judith,” replied Paul. “Stay; excuse me a moment, Mr. Clifford.” Mr. Swaine rose from tbe table, and follow- ing Judith to the door, whispered to her for a few moments. » ; During their brief collequy, Mr. Wickha rapidly penciled a few words on the back of a card and pazsed it to Clifford, who, glancing at it, placed it in his vest pocket. | . Paul returned to his seat, “It is easy to see with half an eye, Mr. Wickham, that’ you belong to the quality. You are, as I: may say, behiud the scenes: of society. You know bow the strings are pulled, ard who pulls them. Now, the general public take all their ideas from the newspapers, who know rather less than tbe gullible public do. I have enjoyed your talk very much. I will help myself, Clifford, if you have no ‘ob- jection,” yent So saying, Mr. Swaine pcured out a bumyer of claret, which speedily disappeared. Presently Wickham turned to bis host. ) “Ttseems very ungracious, Harry, with these choice vintages before us, but I should Jike some of your celebrated Scotch whisky, if you have any at Cliff Farm.” Hpk ‘ 4 P i . ‘ va Dey aor a cal bP as i" Sa aes Ahoy ght ny ee DP rte ns el Se SSE OEE ASS ote om RLS ata Cn ae sae i AR a St fa a a

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Ee ee Oe ae Se “* Certainly, by all means,” replied the other, ringing the bell as he spoke. “T beg to second the motion of the gentle- man,” cried Paul. ‘‘ Claret is all very well— and this is prime—but I feel like the country- man ‘who complained that no matter bow much he drank, he didn’t get any forrarder.” The servant now appeared with the whisky, and Paul proceeded to brew himself a sling, _ which, from its strength, caused no small as- _ witnesses of the deed, —=, onishment in the company, Wickbam followed his example in a minor jegree, In a brief space of time the spirit had. dis- appeared, and Wickham, pushing the decanter toward Paul, a second tumbler was concocted, which speedily followed the other, The effect was soon apparent. The tongue of Paul was loosened, and the conversation of the three gentleman became a monologue, in which Paul was the sole performer. He poured forth a string of anecdotes of hairbreadth escapes in thé uncivilized regions of the Far West—among Indians, Californian gold-diggers, and rowdies of Denver City. Clifford listened with moody brow and downcast eye, as he reflected on the relation- ship existing between them—his only consola- tion being that the present visit of Mr. Paul Swairre was a farewell visit, and no one: could tell but that some fortunate bullet might hap- pily remove Mr. Paul Swaine to another and a better world during the course of his next sojourn in the Western States, Wickham listened with undisguised enjoy- ment to the fearful tales so graphically told by the successful go'd-digger. Among them was an account of the lynching of an assassin in Denver City, in the early days of that now muchb-improved place. Victor Hugo might have taken a lesson in scenic effect had he: listened to the story. You saw the excited mass of desperadoes, in their red. shirts, urshaven faces, and matted locks, lighted up by the fitful glare of a lim- ited number of pine-toreches. In the center was the assassin, deathly pale, with the convic- tion of speedy death in his glazed. and sbrink- ing eyes. Of gigantic stature and hercuiean strength, of what avail were these qualities opposed to the scores of excited men around him? A self-constituted judge was listening to the brief facts advanced in evidence by eye- A unanimous Verdict of “Quilty” was raised from a hundred throats. A rope was quickly fastened round the throat of the unhappy wretch and in a second, amid the joyful and frantic shouts of the motley crew, he was seen dangling in mid- air in the last agonies of death. Clifford could not help a shudder as ke men- tally realized the scene portrayed: with so much graphic force, Even Wickham drained the ‘glass of whisky in front of him. Paul leaned across the table as he hoarsely whispered, ‘‘ Since that night I have always had a companion with me night! and day, one whom [I cau trust. See, here it is.” As he spoke, Paul produced a six-chambered revolver from his pocket; ‘‘ Loaded in every chamber, I assure’ you. What else would be the use of it, eh? -Now I feel safe against man, the devil himself, and all his works; and as for a mark, I could puta builet through any specified button of your waiste at, Wickham, at a hundred paces.” - Wickham half-repented his pencil memoran- dum to his friend; but only for a moment. “T have no doubt, Mr. Swaine; but suppose you restore your trusty companion, as you call it, to its former receptacle.” “My pocket? Oh, yes, by ail means.” Wickham continued, ‘‘ You are not doing your duty to Mr. Clifford’s excellent whisky, Mr. Swaire. Ido not suppose you ever met with such in your wanderings?” . “‘Ohy, this whisky is well erough! I like it because you can drink such a lot of it. Now, out in Frisco the whisky is like fire or molten Pa a Nn eT ee ee ee eS a Se ee ee ee ee ee _A HASTY MARRIAGE. oil, At this moment I am as sober as a judge. If I had drank the same quantity in Californy I should have been what you:call drunk, Now, no man would dare to say I am drunk now.” Wickham expressed his profound belief in the sobriety of Mr. Swaine in the past, pres- ent, and future. “‘T suppose you were so much engaged in amassing a fortune, Mr. Swaine, that you were not able to spare time for the pleasures of love —I mean, you were never married?” “Not married! But I was, to the most splendid girl you ever saw |”? “How long ago, Mr. Swaine?” Paul began to calculate; but bis mental arithmetic came to an unexpected conclusion. Mrs, Clifford suddenly entered the room, Advancing, with flashing eye and pale mar- ble features, Judith clasped her brother by the arm. ‘Paul, is this your promise?” The words were hissed rather than spoken, and appeared to have a remarkable sobering effect upon the parson to whom they were ad- dressed, He turned pale, and stammered forth some incoherent syllables. ‘* Will you excuse my brother retiring early to rest this evening? He is fatigued with his long journey. Come, Paul, you know you are not strong.” Paul suffered himself to be led away by his sister till he reached the door of the dining- room, then he suddenly and swiftly walked back to the dining-table, and in much:more composed tones than he had been using the last half-hour, whispered, confidentially, ‘‘ The splendid girl I was going to tell you about died in the flower of her youth. Iwill tell you all about’ it an- other time.” As soon as the brother and sister had left the room, Clifford exclaimed, ‘‘What on earth, Wickbam, could be your motive in fuddling this coarse specimen of humanity? Imust say I prefer Paul Swaine sober to Paul Swaiue drunk.” ‘‘] would'rather reserve my answer, Harry, fot atime. I penciled those few words on my card, asking you to allow me the privilege of a host, and urge Mr. Paul Swaine to sacrifice to Bacchus. You know the oid saying—‘A drunken man generally speaks the truth,’ ” “ But what can you possibly want to know about the antecedents of such a man?’ ‘“Time will show,” replied Wickham, in sen- tentious tones, Wickham mentally returned thanks that his visit to Cliff Farm bad been timed so apropos of the ubject he had in view, and which object he felt more convinced than ever he should succeed in accomplishing. CHAPTER VI. . SUSPICIONS... Mr. Paun Swaine did not appear at the breakfast-table the following morning, his. sis- ter making the excuse of fatigue after a long journey asthe reason for his non-appearance. Observing an involuntary smile pass across the good-bumored face of Wickham, Ju.jith colored up as she, added, ‘‘My brother Paul is not strong, though you would hardly, believe it. The very fact of his having undertaken sv many and such arduous journeys has tended to weaken his otherwise strong constitution.” ‘“*I can readily believe it, Mrs. Clifford,” re- plied Wickham. ‘And then be has never ex- perienced tbe recuperative effects of a home and an affectionate wife to nurse him, and refit him for the struggles of the world again.” This was a chance shot of Wickham, as he entertained doubts as to the marriage of Paul Swaine, although why, he could scarcely bave explained if he had been asked. . “No; my poor brother wever married.” Wickham and Clifford exchanged glances of surprise, ‘T have often begged him to take a wife and settle down, but he has always expressed an invincible repugnance to matrimony.” 9g As’ soon as the breakfast, was concluded, Judith proceeded to the room of. her brother - in order to see that his wants had been attend- ed to by the servants. Wickham shrugged his shoulders as the door closed upon her retreating figure. “ce Harry? Q” “Well, Dolly?” “Did you notice the. counter-statement of © Mrs. Clifford as to tbe matrimonial views of Mr. Paul Swaine?’ “ Pshaw, Dolly! You would not place any importance in the words of a man under the influence of whisky ?’ ‘As I said last evening, time will show, sd rejoined Wickham, Paul here made his. appearance, looking somewhat sheepisb. Clifford cut short his apologies. ““No. excuses, Mr. Swaine; we ara all liable to sudden indisposition, .I am glad.to hear you are better this morning.” It was impossible to imagine a greater con- trast between Paul drunk and Paul sober; es- pecially after a bout wherein he was painfully conscious he had» been very loquacious and con- fidential, He would have given a heavy sum in dollars — if he could only bave remembered what he had given utberance to under “the influence of that soft but insidious Scotch whisky.on. the prcepd- ing evening. But it was impossible. to discover anything from the manner and conversation of his host and his friend Wickham. Infact, they were twice as cordial as heretofore. After a few brief remarks, Paul declared his intention of taking a solitary stroll along the rocky coast. He preferred, he said, to go alone, as the headache frem which. he.was still suffering would render him but a dull companion. It is needless to say that neither of the gentlemen preferred any very strong de-ire to accompany him in bis ,erambulations, . “Well, Delly, wkat do you. think of the present Mrs. Clifford, ; Wickham besitated. “She certainly shows traces of baving been a great beauty in her day.”.. Clifford sighed. “T can hardly expect you. to. speak. your thoughts respecting the wife of your friend. Let me tell you the whole story.” He then proceeded to relate the history of his conuecticn with Judith Swaine, as known to the reader. At the conclusion, Wickham _Presved the band of bis friend. “JT am glad you have told me all, How long does this man remain at Cliff Farm?” ‘‘T cannot tell. - He is supposed | tobe here merely on a farewell visit to his.sisier prior to his departure for Mexico,” Wickham remained in deep. thought for several minutes, ‘Harry, I will, with your permission, make a somewhat lergthened stay. At all omnnts, till this man takes his departure,” ““My dear Dolly, stay as long as you, like. What is your general impression ‘of things?” , “T would 2ather reserve my opinion for a time. Now, tell we, Harry, did you niysiril contemplate removing yourself from all i course with ycur fellow creatures in this. al fine, very old-fasbioned, but—yardon me. sith saying so—very dull babitation?” paraal ‘“] did, and do still to a certain replied Ciifford. it is simply a trial of patience as to who. shall tire first of this place, But she isin error. . lam _weary of life, and all that it. contains; To | parade Judith as my wife in New York sceiety is simply out of the question.” ‘* You must pardon me for speaking plainly,” ; said Wickham, “but you. have no moral or legal rigbt to condemn your wife to social. ostracism; to immure ber in a luxurious prison, deprived of all society!” Perhaps not,” replied the other; “ but you must make allowances for the bitter exaspera- extent,” A *« Judith professes, to. believe

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4 t Sigg Shae ty t }* - the solitude of Penwyn House. k40 tion I felt toward the woman who had twice wrecked my life and happiness; once, when she fled so wantonly, and as it still appears to me, so unmercifully, from me during our honeymoon; and again, when ‘she returned just as my life was opening out into new pros- pects of joy and felicity. But I had already begun to relax the severity of the course I had laid down as to society... We have a very pleasant neighbor, a Mrs. Hugbes, a rich widow, young and pretty; with only one draw- -back—a peculiarly unpleasant child, a girl about twelve years old. I feel when in her presence as if the child had“power to read my inmost thoughts. But we can hardly invite the mother witbout the child, and leave her'to I‘should not be at all surprised if the pretty widow made her appearanee here to-day. That will show “you the terms of friendship already existing ‘between the ‘two families.” As the event proved, Clifford was correct in his anticipation—Mrs. Hughes and her daughter turned up in the afternoon. na They were duly introduced to Mr. Wickham, who was instantly charmed with the handsome widow and amused with the daughter. “Upon my word,” said Wickham, when he “was alone with Clifford, ‘‘you have a- curious collection here at Cliff Farm; an ironmaster’s ‘widow, an inquisitive daughter, & rowdy cus- tomer from Denver City, and—” ' Wickham paused and blusbed. -“Finish the’ catalogue, Dolly; or shall I finish it for you#—A mysterious wife who has turned up from Heaven knows where, after ten years of unaccountable absence, which ‘she involuntarily underwent, Heaven knows why!” ' ° Wickham bowed assent. «Mrs, Hughes betrayed even more surprise - than Wickham ‘on being introduced to ’ aristocratic brother of Mrs. Clifford: the During dinner she conversed almost ex- clusively' with Mr. Wickham; while Clifford ‘amused himself with the remarks of Miss Hughes. Paul was very silent ‘during the meal, merely uttering an occasional observa- tion to bis sister. He was abstemious as to wine, and retired early under the plea of indisposition, . After dinner, Mrs. Hughes played and sung in a very accomplished manner, with Wick- ham in close attendance at the piano; while ‘Mr. and Mrs. Clifford constituted the audience, Miss Euphemia having long since sought her rye breakfast on the following morning, ickbum ‘went for a stroll along the sea- shore, ‘Clifford was occupied with his” business correspondence, and the gentleman from Den- ver City was not visible, It'was a bright spring morning, and a brisk _ southwesterly wind caused the rollers from - the Atlantic to dash in picerebqus billows on - the rocky shore. ‘Wickham had walked about'a mile when he : came suddenly upon Mrs. Hughes and her daughter. The widow was looking her best » this morning. ‘ The breeze had deepened the carnation of her cheeks, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with health and vivacity. Mrs. _ Hughes bad also considerable taste in dress, and her present costume was admirably a to show off her charms of face and e iron merchant had been dead nearly Lhe ieate, but bis widow still wore'a slight tepecian of half-mourning. Was it because there is no style of dress so becoming, or because the beart of Mrs. Hughes still ached for ber untimely loss? Who can tell? ‘We de not intend to solve such an in- ' serutable mystery. - 'The usual salutations took place, and then ea ahs the conversation drifted to the sub- the singular brother of Mrs. Clifford. apr don’t believe he is “43 Deother, 4 As carr Euphemia. ex- ny ain Tg [SRP wis agen ae eaten Mae Re Se ALE Opt AR eee? _A HASTY MARRIAGE, _ ‘ Hush, child! You must not speak in that way before a friend of hers!” exclaimed’ the alarmed mother. “Iam afraid I have sadly spoiled her, Mr. Wickham. She is my only one, and all. that is lett to remind me of my departed Edward.” “Pray don’t apologize, Mrs. Hughes. I never saw Mrs. Clifford till yesterday, so I can hardly be called a friend of hers. Will you allow, me, my dear Mrs, Hughes, to ask the young lady a few-questions?” “ Certainly.” ‘“Now, tell me, Miss Euphemia, why you dowt believe Mr. Swaine.to be a brother of Mrs. Clifford?’ ‘Because there is not the smallest resem- blance between them,” replied Euphemia, Wickham shook his béad. “Tf that is all you haveto go upon, you have a very slender basis for your doubts. I have frequently seen brothers and sisters unlike each other.” The child laughed. ‘* Ah, but not so unlike as Mr. Swaine end Mrs. Clifford. The remark made a greater inipression upon him than Wickham cared -to own, ‘And they don’t behave to each other like brother and sister,” continued Euphemia. “ How do you mean?” “T can’t exactly explain, But you’ watch them» when ‘they are ‘together, They look spiteful at each other, as if they were man mand wife.” ‘‘Kuphemia, my love?’ exclaimed the widow in horrer-stricken ‘accents. ‘‘ What will Mr, Wickbam think of the life I led your poor fa- ther? I can assure you— ‘* Pray don’t explain, my dear Mrs. Hughes. I am certain Diogenes himself would have been all sweetness and compliment’ in your charm- ing society.” “It is very kind of you to say so, Mr. Wiek- bam. We are now approaching a singular cave. The people about here suy that what- ever is uttered at the mouth is heard far in the interior. I cannot explain it; but Euphemia knows all about it.” ‘Yes; I will be the showman,” said the child —“‘or cicerone, I should say,” Euphemia ran onward, full of impatience to display her exhibiting powers, and present- ly stopped at a circular opening in the rocky cliff, about ten feet in hight. ‘*There is another entrance round the ‘cor- ner of the cliff. Please take Mr. Wickham there, mamma, and I will stay at the mouth facing the sea.” Mrs, Hughes and Wickbam accordingly pro- ceeded to a similar opening, and. having en- tered the cave, paused to listen, In a few moments, having placed their ears close to the wall of the cavern, the following words fell upon the drum of the ear with startling distinctness: ““Mr. Paul Swaine is not the brother of Mrs, Clifford, es you will find out some day!” Wickham could scarcely believe that Miss Hughes had softly breathed those words in the faintest’ possible whisper at the mouth of the eave facing the sea. He was half-inclined to believe that Eu- phemia was playing some practical joke upon him. So the child insisted on Mr. Wickham mak- ing the experiment, and whispering a sentence in his turn. Euphemia and her mother presently came to Mr. Wickham, who said, ‘“‘ Well, what did I say?» ; But Euphemia Jaughed and blushed, and de- clined to answer. “As 1 thought,” said Wickbam, ‘ You were hoaxing me; you spoke in a loud voice.” Mrs. Hughes laughed, and said, ‘‘ Euphemia, I must tell Mr. Wickham. The words were, ‘If Miss Euphemia is so clever and pretty at twelve, what will she be at twenty ’?” “* Are you convinced, Mr, Wickham?” said Euphemia, in a triumphant tone. “ Quite, It is almost as wonderfial “e as ite . i 4 ae 4 ‘ e , eee k ng GS .: "A ? ’ : te } pe Ree ee Saag Be ceo SPR GAN | alt Favre) Deh ee Oa ema ou ty ihe OM a Cy ol ae “Whispering Gallery in St. Paul’s Cathedral abroad.” “T eall the cave the Ear of Dionysius,” said ; Euphemia. “Why so?” ‘‘What, Mr. Wickham! have you never heard of ‘the Tyrant of Syracuse?” exclaimed the child. “Tam afraid not, Miss Hughes. My edu- cation bas been:somewhat neglected. Tell ez, about it.” * Dionysius had a cave made like the wane ear, in which he used to sit, and so hear j¢¢ conversation of the political prisoners.” ‘Thanks for your: historical lecture, . Miss Euphemia. But I-think we had: better think of returning to the Farm; there are some ominous clouds coming up from ‘the south- west,” Wickham’s words proved true, i in spite of the speed they made, the big, heavy drops of rain had become a pattering shower ere they reached the homestead, Euphemia bad rum forward: with the agility of a chamois over the rceks and bowlders of the sea-shore, and was found by Wickham and his fair companion watching eagerly for them at the entrance-gate; The widow did not begrudge’ the time and labor, or the mild drenching undergone, as the rapid and difficult journey necessitated the continual help of Mr. Wickham, who partly lifted and -partly carried) her over the im- pedimenta. CHAPTER VII. THE HIDDEN WITNESS. AT the earnest request of Mrs, Clifford, Mrs. Hughes consented to prolong her visit, ‘and a servant was accordingly dispatched te Penwyn House for further supplies of raiment, Judith considered it prudent to acti in this manner, as her brother was thus left: more to himself, which would not have been the case if Mr. Wickham had bad no one to occupy his time and attention.) As it was, that time aud attention seemed to be fully taken up in the companionship of the pretty widow; so much so, sone Clifford rallied his friend thereon. “Dolly, Dolly, Iam afraid you are smitten in earnest—or, as our Polished visitor from Denver would say, are a ‘ gone coon,’” “You mean that I am in love with Mrs, Hughes?’ “ee T do. ” Wickham shook his head. “No, Harry, Mrs. Hughes is'‘a very charm- ing person—very pretty, andtolerably rich, I dare say, but hardly the wife for Dolly Wick- ham.” “Stay a minute, Dolly. Not so fast. Are you aware that Mrs. Hughes, before’she mar- ried the wealthy and vulgar Hughes, was a Miss Mostyn? The Mostyns are ‘one of ‘the best’ families in Boston, and profess to be directly descended from’ the Mayflower Puri- tans. And Ido not consider that the fact of her income being some ten thousand a year constitutes any objection in a matrimonial point of view ”— another settler, Wickham withdrew his objection, but ob- served, with a sigh: ‘‘T shall never marry. You will excuse me speaking more plainly, Harry.” Well did Clifford know to whom bis friend alluded in those sorrowful words. Judith and her brother frequently took long walks on the sea-sbhore, generally in the after- noon after luncheon: Sometimes Wickham encountered them in the course of their ram- bles on the rocky beach, but Judith and ber brother never encc uraged their society, and as the other guests were equally indifferent on the point, a few words were all that passed, and each party proceeded on its own way. One afternoon Judith and Paul bad sallied out as usual, and Wickbam having waited till it was known in which direction they pro- posed walking, in order that he and.the widow ¥ -

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Fal . her mother. os might walk in the opposite direction, Euphe- mia was told to put on her hat and accompany But Euphemia begged hard to be excused, pleading slight headache, and an anxious desire to read a new book which had been presented to her by Mr. Wickham. At first, Mrs. Hughes expressed her inten- tion of abandoning her walk, and ‘sitting with her ailing child. But Euphemia declared that perfect quiet would alone restore her to her ordinary condition of health, and drive away ner beadache. “Surely, mamma, you are not afraid to trust yourself alone with Mr. Wickham.” The pretty widow blushed over face and child! What nonsense you do talk!” The remark of Euphemia decided Mrs, Hughes, especially as Mr. Wickham had been present when it was made by ‘the 'preco- cious child. So in a few minutés Mrs. Hughes: and Wickham set forth on their ramble, We wust now follow Judith and Paul ’on their walk along the sea-shore. The eountenances of both wore an expres- sion the reverse of amiable, and few were the words which passed between brother “and sister. So preoccupied were they that they did not observe the gathering of a bank of dark clouds which happens so frequently and suddenly on the stormy coast. But the falling rain soon enlightened them on this point. ‘See, here is shelter!” exclaimed Paul, as he pointed to the cave which had so astonished Wickham a few days previously with its won- derful whispering powers. They hurried forward, and seated themselves on some large bowlders ‘at the entrance of the cave, _ Here they were perfectly sheltered from the rain, and able to view at the same time the spectacle of the storm-tossed ocean as it foamed, and. boiled, and thundered on the rocky beach. It was a grand sight; but neither Paul nor his sister was in a humor to appreciate the pic- turesque, For a time strict silence was preserved. At length Paul spoke in low earnest tones; ‘Well, Judith, have you thought over my proposal?” ‘‘T have,” came from the pale compressed - lips of his sister. “And you have decided not to adopt it?” ““T have.” The keen eyes of the gold-digger gleamed savagely fora moment, but he kept down the angry retort, though with difficulty, “J am quite certain Clifford would make you a haudsome allowance to the tune of sev- eral thousands a year if you i ig to a separ- ate maintenance. Then, Judith, we could go where we pleased and live as we liked, You would not lose by so doing. If I were in your shoes, there is no sacrifice I would not make to get clear of this infernal hole. I can’t think how you have stood it so long. Judith, sometimes I think you have a warm side for this stuck-up snob!” “Mr. Clifford is a gentleman, which is more than.you are!” exclaimed Judith, her cheek no Jonger pale, but crimson with anger and. ex- citement. “Have a care, Judith; or I'll blow the whole gaff!” a Bah?” replied his sister. “You are much too keen as to your own interest to do any- thing of the kind.” * Look here, Judith, Clifford looks upon me as a rich man. Even you do not know how poor Iam. At this moment I have not, fifty dollars in the world.” Judith made no attempt to conceal her astonishment, “What bas become of all your money?” “Gambled away at billiards and _horse- ~ 39 Judith sbrugged her shoulders in reply, ‘| the turn up of a card.” “manner of Mr. Wickham during their walk on Confound it, ' Snake HASTY MARR STAGE. “Can you get me some casb?” ir, quired Paul. Uae ican Harry pays all the bills him- self. I have merely a nominal allowance for clothes and petty expenses.” ‘* What do you call a nominal allowance?” ‘Three bundred a year. I will give you half of that sum, if that is any use to you, ” Paul laughed aloud, “Less than three dollars a week. Why, I have often staked double the sum you name on **T cannot give you what I have not got,” said Judith. “You speak like a book. Now, look here, Judith! I ama desperate man, and cannot afford to spend valuable hours in shilly-shally- ing. I command you to submit proposals for a separate maintenance to the man who calls himself your husband !” Command?” exclaimed Jiadith,' ber cheek pale as that of a corpse. ‘Yes, I command you! J who:am your legal husband; insist on your obeying me!” » “ What if I refuse?’ “Then I shall leave Cliff Farm, and forward to Mr. Clifford the copy of our merrisge-cer-! tificate, dated twelve years ago,” J udith covered her face with her hands, and sobbed bitterly, Stern as Rhadamanthus, Paul exclaimed: ‘Your answer!’ “T consent, You will give me till. to- morrow?” “Ay; there is not that post: -haste hurry. Come, let us be marching. The storm has cleared away.” Slowly and silently the husband and wife walked away in the direction of the Farm. Scarcely bad they left the meouth of the cave when a young girl emerged fron the intericr. It was Huphemia ! ‘ CHAPTER VIII, UNMASKED, On the return of ‘Mrs. Hughes and: Mr. Wickham from: their afternoon ramble, ‘they were somewhat surprised to find the invalid Eupbemia was out, and none of the servants knew what had become of her, | But after a few minutes’ reflection they came ‘to the conclusion that ‘Miss Hughes had tried the experiment of a short’ stroll in the hope that the fresh air would pre ph a4 her tiresome beadache. Mrs: Hughes was‘seated alone in the draw- ing-rogm, musing over the very attentive the beach that afternoon, when Euphemia sud- denly entered the room. She fl-w to her mother, and threw her arms round her neck. Her eyes were'wild, and she was quite unable to _— ber breath coming’ thick and fast. ‘“ My child, have you been runatag P Surely not?” Huphemia nodded. . “‘ How is your beadache, darling?” » Euphemia turned from ber mother in a petu-'} lant manner, “Don’t talk to me about inadueheee I never had one.” “ Never had ote?” les ‘*No; I was shamming. 1 wrintid: to be left: alone. I wanted to follow Mrs. rinses and that Mr: Paul Swaine.” ‘Good gracious, child! What for?” ‘Listen. “I followed them at a distance’ ‘along the beach, It began to rain, \'They took | shelter in my cave. I went in ‘by the other evtrancée and heard ‘all’ they said distinctly, though they spoke very low. What do you think, mamma? and sister than we are.” “‘EKuphemia, you have been dreaming! ye ' “No; I am wide awake. Now prepare yourself, mamma, for’a great surprise. They are husband and wife!” Mrs. Hughes clasped: her hands in horror, _* Tam astounded!” “Tam not, mamma; Tam not in the least They are ‘no more brother } - ae surprised, I =e told you they v were mar- ried folks.” ‘“What shall I do in the matter?” exclaimed, puzzled Mrs. Hughes, who had never found herself in such a responsibje position before. ‘‘T know what I should do, mamma, if I were you. I should tell Mr. Wickham,” Mrs. Hughes reflected a minute. ““T believe you are: right, child. Ring the bell, darling.” When the servant ‘appeared, Mrs, Hughes: requested him to ask Mr. Wickham if he would speak to her for a few minutes in the drawing- room. Mr. Wickham presently appeared; ‘and at. once saw from the agitated manner of’ Mrs. or ae that something important had. oceur- ee You must pardon my sending for you in this cavalier manner, Mr. Wickbam, but have some dreadful news for you affecting our kind. | host, Mr. Clifford! _Euphemia must remain; as: she is my. ‘informant,’ ” Wickham seated himself in’ front of Mrs, Hughes, and waited weibie some toegtancaens the announcement, | We need not repeat enehict! with which the. reader is already acquainted: » Suffice it to say eave that afternoon. were given with dramatic coutrast and force, perfectly able to realize the scene.) At the conclusion, Wickham remained. per- fectly silent, absorbed in thought. ‘* You must leave the matter in ~ thantie; Mrs; Hughes.” * Oh, yes, certainly! us have any violence;! Mr. Swaine gives ter. ” “Have no fears, Mrs. Hughes, I @ill see this Paul Swaine. It will be better that I make what is called, in war, a reconnaissance, before telling poor Clifford. I see Paul coming across the lawn. the room.” It needed no urging to pareadai Mrs. treat. Stepping through the French window, Paul” Swaine entered the room, | ° - “@ood-afternoou, Wickham. ‘Rather a. showery day!” : ent storm to what you expect!’’), ‘ Mr. Swaine, — l have to speak to you on a very important. matter of business,” A shifty, uneasy look — gleamed from the gray eyes of Paul, but he made no reply. ‘ You are we — <r: colors, Mr. Swainel?) ©. ; “What do you mean?’ “ Precisely what I say. brother of Mrs, Clifford!’ traveled mechanically to ‘his ** Who am I) then???» ‘‘-You are her busband, Mr. Swaine, married to her twelve years ago. % Large beads of ah an rolled down the forehead of the gold-digge Who told you this ie? Can you prove it ma I can. ” Paul rose from his seat, no business of yours.” speak to you on the subject eR tected him.” ‘false report?’ “So be it. Tin. thew I-have lating’ to say '| to any one on the subject.” Paul thereupon strode out of the room. te", went straight to the boudoir of Mrs, Clifford. — But pray dey not let Leave me before es enters © Hughes and her daughter to beat’a hasty Pers You are not the, Vv < fc A that Euphemia detailed the important conver- sation to which she had been a listener in the: | Question: and answer — so that both her - mother and Wickham were: 3 me'the idea of being: such a ry erate charac- | “Yes; I think we shall have a storm.” And : (as Wickbam meptally exclaimed, ‘A differ-— Paul staggered to a seat, while his band BS breast-pocket. "a “Then do so. ° But even if it be be ko, this § is ; ‘ es ’* Tam the oldest friend Mr. Clifford. has fa i the world, and I have thought it best. to * Yaled “Then Mr, Clifford. knows nothing = this. “ “Not at present; but I pibpaet im’: fionnal is ‘shortly, and I shall make it my noe to tell: %. him.” “ny 1 4 ¥ | a 1 a ; ‘4 . F 7 A

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al Yell ¥ ts a ei = 7 | ma eka , er a a : “ > ok ie =, sh git ty C Tah ‘ % ne “A ae a ie oar X rae >» 7 = huve St y i ot et a ~*~ hs * x, +23 0° wee * ie fis, capable, appearing at the si RG at gen : could have beard the compromising admission _ which had come from the lips of her husband. Yet) Mz. Wickham was aware of the identi- A HASTY MARRIAGE. Entering without his customary knock, he turned the key in the door, and threw himself full length 6n one of the splendid ottomans in the apartment. Judith was seated in an arm-chair, endeavor- ing in-vain to read a book which lay on the table before her.’ She p-rceived no eseape from the ultimatum of Paul, and that to-mor- row would see her :a suppliant for an allowance, in order that she might live apart from the only man she had ever loved. “ Well, Judith, the game is up!” Judith raised her large dark eyes from the book on which they were mechanically bert. ‘What do you mean?” “Simply this; that Mr. Wickham knows -ve areman and wife.” “Impossible! Does Harry know?” “Not yet. But be will before: we are an hour older.” : Judith covered her face with her hands, and remained in deep thought several moments. When those hands were removed, she looked five years oldor. In hollow and feeble tones, she murmured: ‘““What do you propose, Paul?’ “My reply is obvious, Deny it hard and fast. Wickham) does not even know. your maiden name. How can he advertise for the certificate?” i fied “He might advertise: for the certificate of ‘two people whose name is now Swaine.” True, ‘Then it comes to this. Press the question of the separate allowance.” Judith shook her bead. ‘You forget that Harry would sacrifice half his’ fortune to break the legal tis which binds us, When I returned to him he was on the eve of marriage with another, one whom hhe loves still, for I have heard him utter her mame when he has been dozing and dreaming. in the arm-chair after dinner.” . «Well, all we can do is to be guidel by events,’ said Paul. ‘At present our course is clear, Emphatic and indignant denial of the atrocious ‘charge.” I Judith sat in a musing attitude, . ‘‘How can I meet him at dinner this even-: ing? ; “Don’t meet him; send hima message that you are so upset with the vile calumny jof which youare the ‘victim, ete., etc.; that you cannot leave your room this evening. Hang it, Judith! where is your invention? You) have been many a time in a worse, fix than PhisPiy els a vrari ' And you! What willgyou do?” “72oh, I shall ride the high horse, and re- ‘fuse to sit down with a man who believes me etc., and all that sort of thing.” “But if he should ask to-sea you, Paul?” ; |. Well, then of course I must see him, Don’t. you fear, Judith; be will get nothing. out of me.” , Judith penned a note in) accordance with, the ‘direction of her wag hand) excusing herself from dinner-table that evening. ‘But this note was retained for the chapter of events. E Ga Then Paul unlocked: the door and went) to: this own apartmevts. ) _ An hour passed by, during which Judith sat ‘like a statue, absorbed in the flow of thoughts ‘and sdeas which poured like a lava’ flood through her aching brain. | How had ber secret ‘been discovered? She - Yand her brother had never uttered a syllable _ ? under the roof of Cliff’ Farm, which referred. in the slightest degree to their intimate re- lationship, bearing in mind the old ‘saying . that ‘‘ Walls have ears,” They bad reserved any talk of ‘that descrip-, tion for the wide expanse of sea, shore; and sky. Yesterday, certainly, they had spoken at the mouth of a cave on the sea-shore, but i only in very low tones, so that if any one bad, nf been concealed therein, it\was impossible they | wait. for yyou--or, say, Trugo, So it was settled by this worthy couple, and. cal year of her. marriage; with Paul. Swaine! It was an ivscrutable mystery. Judith was still pursuing this bitter train of thought when-her maid entered with a mes- sage from Mr. Clifford, requesting to see her in the drawing-room. ‘‘ Wait a minute, Parsons.” Quickly Judith penned ‘the following lines, which she substituted for the note dictated by her brotber: “Drar Harry:— “Tam much too unwell.to see you thisevening. I have of course heard from Paul of the dreadful Peal pres against us both by Mr, Wickham. All shall be fully explained to-morrow morning. Till then farewell. ‘Ever your loving ‘° Supra.” CHAPTER IX. WHAT HE COST HER, ‘Two hours ‘had elapsed, and Judith still sat in a kind of waking trance when Paul entered the boudoir; He beld an open note in bis hand. “Well, Judith, I have got my notice to quit —my ¢onge, as the French say. Read that.” With eyes swollen and blisteréd with tears, Judith read as follows; “Mr. Clifford presents his compliments to Paul Swaine, and regrets that he is under the necessity of ‘reques' his departure from Cliff Farm within an hour. , With Rese! pe to his unfortunate wife, Judith Swaine, f y calling herself Mrs. Clifford, Mr. Clifford will defer, at her own request, seeing her till to-morrow, when he will make ar ements for some provision for her during her lifetime, be- lieving that she has been the tool of her husband.” ‘<The servant who brought me, the note in- | formed me that a-horse and carriage would be at the door in,an hour,” , ‘“‘What will. you do, Paui?” inquired his wife, “Do! What can I do, but pack up and be off? No, Judith; I can fight to the death while I see a ghost of! a’ chance; but Paul Swaine never runs his head against a brick wall... I. shallidrive’ to’ the nearest town, and It. is. only twenty miles, You will find me at the ‘Bell Hotel.’ ” } Then Paul darted a keen, suspicious glance at bis unhappy wife, “You will’ be sure to: come, Judith? You won’t give me the slip, eh?” “Yes, Paul, I will, be sure to come, if alive and well!” “Ah, then I shall. see, you. , You know, Judith, you will now, be an, independent woman, Wecan go to New York and set up a gambling-table, and be as happy as the day is long. I wonder what, Clifford will come down with? Be sure, Judith, you stand out fora good. round sum!” “I have full confidence,in the, generosity of Mr. Clifford,” replied Judith,, in a calm, re- signed tone, ‘“‘ Well, I must be off, although it won’t take me many minutes to pack up my traps. Coma, give us & kiss, old gal; we may be happy yet!” So saying, Paul Swaine made his exit. Judith presently retired to her room, and lighting ber lamp, opened her writing-case, and occupied an hour in writing some lines of farewell to the man she still loved to think was her busband. . , Then Judith retired to rest. No waking hours marked her last night at Cliff Farm. » Immediately her. fevered brain rested upon her down pillow, her eyelids closed, and the breathing ‘was calm and placid as that of an infant. | The old clock chimed the wistful hours of night, and Judith lay still as a marble monu- ment in some gray old cathedral, The beams of the rising sun shed their soft spring rays into, the chamber. As the clock chimed eight the maid entered the room and drew up the. blinds, then ap- proached the bed of her mistress. Madam, it is eight o’clock.” No reply. The maid touched the waxen hand of Judith, Woy ‘ P ¢ lle Re oO ice Ok. wo Phd : A ae which lay outside the coverlet, It was as cold as ice! Horror-stricken, she raised the head of Judith from the pillow. It was as heavy as marble, There was no room left for doubt. dead! The maid uttered one piercing shriek, which echoed far and wide through the rooms, then sunk into a half-swoon on the floor, There was the sound of burrying footsteps on the stairs and in a few minutesa throng filled the chamber, among whom was the pale and terror-stricken master, : The cause of the death was coon apparent, An empty bottle marked “Hydrate of Chlo- ral” lay on the dressing-table. Tbe verdict of the servants was that their unfortunate mistress. bad accidentally taken an overdose of chloral, which they knew she was in. the habit of taking to procure peaceful and refreshing slumber, This opinion was not sheared either by Mr. Clifford or his friend, Wickham, The sudden death was too contemporaneous with ‘he late fearful discovery for them to en- tertain such a charitable supposition. But it is needless to say they kept the opinion secret, even from each other. By the side of the empty bottle was a letter, addressed to. Mr, Cufford in the handwriting - of Judith Swaine., As soon as Clifford could collect his thoughts he retired to bis study, and. breaking the sea of the letter, read as follows: : “ Before quitting Cliff Farm, which I have learned from your letter to my husband I am ordered to do to-morrow, 1 wish to give some explanation of what must otherwise seem cold and calculating in my conduct toward yourself. “You see I describe Paul Swaine as my ‘husband.’ Yes; ILadmit the truth of the charge.. Lwas mar- ried to bim twelve years ago at Denver. “He deserted me six months after marriage and went to the gold-diggings in California. , “T received a letter from a friend of my husband dated San. Francisco, informing me _ that Paui Swaine had died of fever; so when I met you at Asbury I considered myself a widow, ‘On this point I admit that I deceived you. I feared lest the relation of my, unfortunate marriage with Paul Swaine would prejudice you mst me. “You ean now understand my horror when I sud- She was denly beheld, standing under the acacia trees in — a arc.at Brussels, the husband I believed to be — ea In less than forty-eight hours’ T received a letter Mee — asking me'to meet him in the Gallery St. ubert. “You may provany, remember how I stipulated that I should do my shopping alone. ““T met my husband, and he insisted that I should returm with him to,.New York... j “He oh ec ti to be very indignant with the friend who had made such a careless mistake as to his reported death; but I have always believed in my own mind that he authorized his friend to send that false report for some reason best known to himself, probably to dissolve a union of which he was already weary, but, after a) twelvemonth, sheqnes his mind. wat ‘We sailed in the Zealand, and, as you are aware, were wrecked soon after leaving port. ** We took to the boats. “ The boat we were,in was picked up: by an out- ward-bou:.d vessel on her voyage to Nova , and the names of the oceupants of our boat were not telegraphed to Belgium as being saved till many weeks afterward; long after you had, I suppose, | bg rescued. “Tt boots. not to record the life Iled during the ten years I was absent from you. : “For several years we kept a gaming-house in Quebec, Sometimes we were rich, sometimes we were ear": . *“T believe we should have thriven had my hus- band been content with what it seems a burlesque to call his /egit/mute earnings as proprietor of a gam- abandoned all hopes of my -bler’s hell. ‘But the love of gambling was implanted so strongly in aT. husband’s heart that he was unable to resist gratifying it, ; “One night—how well I remember it!—Paul sug- ted to me that we should endeavor to trace the enry Clifford who had married me at the mayor's office in New York, | “T spurned the thought, and was ind it at the bare idea. The object of Paul ‘was that I should speak of him as my brother, and if Mr. Clifferd tenes out to be wealthy, I should return to him as grees the notion became less distasteful. 3 wife. “By de I did so long to see Pays again—to hear your voice. “One day in looking overia New York paper Paul saw in the Newport aig? connected with the hunt- ing-party the name of Henry Clifford, and immedi- ately became possessed with the idea that it was the same man I had married so long before. What | P “A * r i r ‘ 4 +s : 7 ane i i Y 7 he Rs F ‘y - ust to J a A ae he i oeks Gots ee 447 Ys eh ee be! BI Ree

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brilliant visions he ‘set before my eyes if I would | only follow up. the, clew and act according to his wishes! To claim the name of Clifford as my right, and figure in the fashionable world of New York as ‘the wife of the millionaire of that mame! it was worth the venture, and i had to.risk it at his, bid- ding. “We set sail for New York at once. We saw the rumors in the newspapers that Mr. Henry Clifford was engaged to be married. “There. was clearly no time to be lost. Iattended at the Cornwall church, and all doubts were at once removed. I recognized in you my lover of Asbury, Henry Clifford! { ‘On the eve of your intended marriage I made my appearance at Maplewood. The rest you know, ‘Paul was disappointed that I had not greater command of your income, and proposed coming to Cliff Farm.as my brother to see for himself ‘ how the land lay "—to use his own words. i “Tam aware I have committed a great sin. But I was afraid of my husband, and absolutely under his control. “He threatened to have me prosecuted for big- amy unless I complied with his wishes. ‘*T have no more to say except to entreat er forgiveness. Something tells me that I am not long for this world. Farewell, dear Harry Clifford! “Your broken-hearted, weary “ Jopira.” CHARTER X. THE END OF ALL. Pavi SwAINne was in no humor for conver- sation with the servant who drove him’ from Cliff Farm to the railway station, | Asarule, Mr. Swaine rather prided himself on his powers of extracting information from his companions, whoever they might be, and when his coaxing powers failed, he generally fell back on the unfailing influence of a golden key, if the person to be operated upon was in a suitable station in life. But so far as Mr. Clifford was concerned, Paul felt perfectly convinced all was over in that direction. So when the carriage drove up to the station, Paul took his valise from: the servant, and with a grunt of thanks entered the waiting-room. In due course he arrived’ at Trugo, and pro- ceeded to the Bell Hotel, and after a brief supper retired to rest. He rose late on the following day, and spent as much of his time as possible over a hearty breakfast. Then he strolled down the main street, looked in all the shops, and returned to he hotel. _ He never remembered to have spent so long and dreary a day, and yet he had been con- demned in times past to weeks of isolation in California. But now he was counting the very hours till he should see Judith. He longed to know the particulars of the provision for his wife which Mr, Clifford had promised to make on her behalf. He read and re-read the-lines in the note which notified bim of the fact. Of course the sum would be much smaller than the cost of maintenance of a Mrs. Clif- ford, had a separation been decided upon. But still the allowance would, no dcubt, be a handsome one, bearing in mind the large means of the owner of Cliff Farm. It was now six o’clock, and Paul was in the act of sitting down to as sumptuous a repast as the “ Bell” could supply, when the landlord entered the room, with consternation written on his features. “I think, sir, you said you had been stay- ing at Cliff Farm?’ Swaine vodded. ‘‘ Well, sir, such a dreadful thing bas happened; Mrs. Clifford was found dead in her bed this morn- ing!” i What!” exclaimed Paul, in a voice of thunder, rising from bis seat. ' The landlord related the particulars, and when he bad finished Swaine gave vent to a string of execrations in an undertone, much to the astonishment of the landlord, who never saw grief for the departed illustrated in so 1. .vel @ Manner. ‘When is the next train from Trugo to Cliff Farm—at least, the station nearest to it?” “Tn about a quarter of an hour, sir. Won't you have your dinner first sir?” Paul made no reply, but seizing his hat, walked rapidly to the station. ? a “A HASTY’ MARRIAGE! 13 'The journey was only fifteen miles; so it: was soon accomplished. Although there were five extra miles’ before reaching the Farm, Paul decided: to walk the distance, for the foliowing reasons, During the journey by rail his mind had been actively at work as to his course of action under the unexpected circumstances of . Mrs, Clifford’s sudden death. He bad no doubt whatever in' his own mind that. Judith Swaine had committed suicide, as the only means of escape from her perilous and unenviable position; and now that Paul had had time to reflact, he was more at: a loss ‘than ever what plea he should adopt’ with which to approach Mr. Clifford. He’ even doubted whether, under the circumstances, he would be permitted to enter the Farm, al- though his dead wife lay under its roof. Of one fact he was quite certain—not one penny would he obtain. Of. what utility, then, was his hurried journey to Cliff Farm? Presently the tall chimneys of the old Clif- ford homestead hove in sight. Beneath that roof lay the dead body of the once lovely Judith Swaine. In spite of himself, the gold-digger could not help giving utterance toa sigh as he recalled the lovely bride of three-and-twenty whom he had married at Denver twelve years before. And now Clifford would rejoice at the perma- nent severance of a hated tie and marry the lovely Caroline Balfour. Paul felt that he hated his late host with an undying hate. All the fierce slumbering pas- sions of his nature were aroused as he reflected on his own blank and dreary prospects, and contrasted the different prospects of Henry Clifford. It was now growing dusk, and, in addition, a thick, white mist was rising from the sea, and promised soon to envelop. the cliffs them- selves. Occasionally Paul had to take a long step as he came to a crevice in'the cliff, some three feet in width, at the bottom of which, a hun- dred feet below, was the deep sea. He had now arrived within a quarter of a mile of Cliff Farm, and still he hesitated and ‘pondered as to his course of action. Mean- while, the sea-fog became more deuse every minute, Paul had just decided to return to Trugo when he perceived the tall figure of a man walking toward him. It must be Mr. Clifford, Paul peered keenly through the evening mist. Yes, it was he himself! Instinctively, the hand of Paul wandered to his breast-pocket, and drew forth his pet revolver, which he had showed to Mr, Wickham when they had first | dined together. Oae pull at the trigger, and all Clifford’s plans, and visioas of future happiness would be dissolved into thin air, Then it flashed across the mind of Paul that he would infallibly have valuables on his person, And money was life Hp to Paul in his present impecunious posi- tion. Slowly he raised the pistol, a sharp report was heard, and the man turned round unhurt. For the first time in his life Paul had missed his mark; and now, in spite of the mist, Paul perceived that it was not Clifford, but one of the servants, at the farm. The gold digger turned on his heel and fled! ; Along the verges of the cliff Paul Swaine sped on his course, at a pace which bade defi- ance to pursuit. After he had covered about two hundred yards, he turned his head to see if he was followed, but there were no signs of a pursuer. He was inwardly congratulating himself, when the earth seemed to give way beneath him, and he went down, down, till he fell into the boiling surf below. He had fallen into a crevasse, Paul Swaine struggled violently and desperately for a few moments, then the movements ceased, and the broad and deep waters of the Atlantic claimed him for their prey! CHAPTER XI. WEDDING BELLS. | Iv is six months after the: death of the ill- fated Judith Swaine, and already people ‘have ceased to talk about it, and it is faded into the history of the past. It is autumn, and sitting on the terrace of Penwyn House, ‘overlooking’ the garden, are Mrs. Hughes: and Mr. Wickbam. They have been. conversing on a variety of topics, with evidently one subject on each of their minds, that subject | being the proposal of marriage from Mr. Wickham to Mrs. Hughes. Wickham fully intends to make that proposal this morn- ing, and Mrs, Hughes as fully expects if. ‘You say you have not heard from Mr, Clifford lately?’ “‘Notsince he wrote to me from Naples,” re- plied Wickham. ‘ But. he intended to return to America in six months, and that time has nearly expired.” **T suppose he will now marry his first love, or I should say his second love, Miss Caroline Balfour?” “‘T hope so, as soon as the customary year of mourning is over.” “How little does the world suspect that Mrs, Clifford, or as I should say, Judith Swaine, was not his legal wife!” ‘*No; the secret is known only to few peo- ple—Mr. Clifford, yourself, and Euphemia and myself. Certainly there is a fifth person—the redoubtable Paul.’ I think your daughter de- serves great credit for keeping the secret so well. I must confess I doubted her capacity for so doing, owing to her vivacious and excit- able temperament,” i Mrs, Hughes bridled up slightly. ‘ “Ah! you don’t know Euphemia, Mr. Wickham!” Wickham gently stole his hand to her little plump fingers as he softly murmured: ““Perhaps some day I shall know her better, dear Mrs. Hugbes.” The lady mentally exclaimed, with an in- creased beating of the heart and a hightened pulse: ‘* Now it is coming!” “Kuphemia will, I hope, some day daughter—will she not, Ellen ?” Mrs, Hughes went through the customary blushing, and looking down, and turning of the head aside, as practiced some thirteen ‘years ago on the departed iron-mercbant. be my > “TJ hardly understand you, Mr. Wickham!” — “Yes, you do; pardon me for contradicting you! I just now called you Ellen. My name wife |?” : ‘But this isso unexpected—I was so unpre- pared for it!” “Surely not, Ellen? Even at Cliff Farm you must have seen my partiality for your beloved society? Do you not remember that walk home over the rocks and stones, when I had to assist you in order to eseape the coming — storm? I nearly proposed to you then, dear Ellen!” i sai Well did the widow remember that delight~ ful tete-a-tete journey, and how she momenta-— rily expected the soft confession. é She was resolved not to allow’ the presen is Adolphus—my intimate friends eall me | Dolly. Say, ‘Yes, Dolly, 1 consent to be your ~ chance to escape her for she sincerely admired | and loved Mr. Wickham, apart from the natu- ral pride she would experience in being his wife. — So, after a few more warm speeches from - her lover, she turned toward him, allowed her _ pretty head to fall on bis shoulder, while she whispered, “Yes, Dolly, I consent tobe your wife!” ; Then breaking away after her future hus- band had imprinted a kiss of gratitude on ber © ruby lips, Mrs, Hughes rushed into the house, where she found Euphemia occupied in paint- _ ing a landscape in water-colors. “Euphemia, listen to me, and put down _ those tiresome colors. I have such news for © you—you will be surprised!” ; Eupbemia calmly applied a fresh tint to aw JP. waterfall, and, without looking at her mother,.

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i 8 te i ee | e3 HASTY MARRIAGE. a exclaimed, ‘‘Has Mr. Wickham proposed, ‘mamma, at last?’ Mrs, Hughes opened her bright, blue eyes to ‘their widest extent. ‘‘ Goodness, gracious, child! have you been doing any more listening? And what do you mean by ‘at last?’” ‘ Because, mamma, I have been expecting the news these six months, and I.am not the only person who was. getting impatient. All the servants talk of it.” ‘‘ Well, Phemie, dear, you are pleased, are ‘you not? You like your new papa?” Miss Hughes rose from her chair, and, kiss- ing her mother on both cheeks, said: ry “T like Mr. Wickham very much, and con- gratulate you sincerely, mamma, and wish you _ every happiness. . But you. ought not to accuse ‘me of listening as a fault... Where would poor _ My. Clifford be if I-had not listened to those - wicked people in the cave that day?” : ‘Mrs: Hughes embraced ber daughter. 4 ~*~ ‘‘Youare quite right, Kuphemia; we are all» }ing-room of Maplewood? ‘very much indebted to you,” We must now follow the fortunes of Harry Clifford... Jee oon after the funeral obsequies of Judith | Swaine he left home, and started om a tour _ which extended as far as Algeriay.. He longed for peace and rest, f - We do. not assert, for a moment that he was afflicted. with any, very profound. grief at the death of the, once-loved Judith; but her death i, seemed to obliterate the period intervening be- tween the happy days at Brussels and that ter- _ rible day when she was found cold and dead in the chamber at Cliff Farm, 5 A feeling, akin to pity was kindled in his breast, and he hoped and prayed this feeling ee would endure, so that he might hold her mem- ory green, without any taint of bitterness. ., - "Phere was/one subject which troubled him _ much—whether he should confide the mystery . of the connection, between him and Judith Swaine to Caroline Balfour, . It is useless to deny that among the first _ thoughts which rose unprompted onthe death of Judith was the thought that now he was a free man to wed his heart’s idol, the lovely _ Caroline Balfour! _ But, the ordinary decencies of custom and society: prescribed that some period should elapse ere he renewed his; wooing with his for- %i mer love; so/he resolved to go abroad for about . six months, and.then return home, and, if he found it necessary, relate some portion of the sad. and selenabely nes of, J udith Swaine ‘to £ Caroline, : ‘Accordingly, 1 in the itiemas of the year in ” Fork Judith died, Clifford arrived at New ork The train to Cornwall did not start fon two and. qndcanated, to pass the time, in perusing the New. York ROM APANPRD, which he had nit seen for several. weeks: | : uddenly his eye encountered the, following, 5s paragraph i in one of the society papers: re Bae vend tea reason to bélieve that a marriage is on oo ral and eco plished ger of General Ba ovely accom ps tch, of t t | pear roker 0 tate ag Om wy, The journal fell from the ‘trembling hands. lanis oy genie ned. me for this? . Fool that yee A to fly from the mourning bier he feet. Of bie ae Caroline! C) ect so fairand lovel Dis Bier s ob sor gf toa to bloom create ‘ ered on the stem; amid wealthy and handsome rs, eager to place sucha gem in, ain a ihe use of. t not n atural for Caroline. to wma had sng ‘since, ceased to. love.ber? ae six, money, silenge,, warrant itor, a be sat overwhelmed. with he shoul d ve Seat of | ~*~" ‘Balfour. House, -tenderness could be hours; so he went to the ‘‘ Metropolitan Hotel,” } ni w trial, can mee X ui - ship once. co mone ‘and Et im ete regions where the name of Balfour was unknown. But as the hour approached for the departure of the train for Cornwall, an irresistible desire took possession of him to gaze once more on the lovely features of Caroline Balfour. Yes; he would not only return to Maple- wood, ‘put he would call at Balfour House; he would, in person, congratulate the faithless Caroline on her approaching marriage. Surely, after the trials he had already undergone, he could face manfully this last bitter calamity. In due course he arrived at Maplewood. The house had been ‘swept and garnished; every- thing was brigbt and cheerful to welcomes the young master back to his old home. Sincere smiles beamed on the countenances of the numerous servants. But, while grace- fully acknowledging his kindly weleome, Har ry’s heart yearned and ached forthe welcome of one loving heart, in comparison with which all. else counted as naugbt. Who can paint the desolation of that solitary evening as he dined alone'in the gorgeous din-- But he was firmly resolved to face a more acute trial on the mor- row, He would see Caroline! Soon after midday . Clifford started for He was ushered: into the drawing-room, . The servant) informed him that, General. Balfour was, from home, but that -Miss Caroline would be with bim shortly. He had hoped to see the general first, but. events -rarely happen as we anticipate, | At all events, in a few minutes his last trial ‘would be over, Fate had no further power over him, Death he would welcome: with joy and, thankfulness. A. well-known step, light as a fairy, sounded in his ear, the rustle of a silk dress, and Caro- line entered the/room; At.a glance he saw that she was thinner and paler than of yore... Caroline advanced with a trembling step, and held out her hand, while her eye eagerly, sought his. own for some signs of tenderness and loye. But no love met her gaze in. those cold, dark eyes—no.symptom of found in those stern, im- passive features. Clifford took the band -of Caroline within his,.own, and scarcely pressing ithe snowy fin- gers, uttered ahope that Miss Balfour was in good health, It was impossible for her to misunderstand - that glance and those cold, heartless tones, Caroline had not expected: that a bereaved husband, six months after his.. wife’s death, would rush into’ her..arms, and. propose-mar- riage on the spot. (But she judged by her own heart;-and;. expected .some: response would be- tray itself in. the nanidaonncs features of her for- mer lover, Presently, in a low tone, she uttered) the words: “T am, glad to. see > you looking so well. 'You, have traveled much . since—since. the -spring?” Yessy bani Sets ‘returned froin Algeria. |. You are not looking so strong as formerly?’ |. “No,” replied Caroline, making strenuous efforts to keep down the rising.tears; ‘I have ‘had much trouble sinee we,parted.” All the firmness of Clifford melted away at the. sight of beauty in tears—of his, beloved. Caroline .in, distress,» He, advanced, and. tak- ing her hand, said: ‘‘ What, trouble can have, jvisited thy young heart?” Caroline turned apon' him a glance raja nppeecntat inits gaze, » | . “Can you ask me,' Harry?” pot Clifford fell. back a pace or two, eutyiishd that sbe,should address him by his Christian name—she who was so.shortly to become ae bride. of another.” . “ Atleast, you: will shortly. be’ amply con- soled: for alll past trouble by: sini apyehaaiing marriage?” Caroline bent upon him a look of uafeigned ‘wonder, : vf allude? thalsA, ail} “To your marriage with Charlie Hateb.” Sis ee) te Ld * My amasriage! To what marriage do. you | were past.’ Gaui, “Charlie Hatch! I do not think I have seen him three times in the course of my life!’ “Once probably was enough so far as he was concerned?” It was a vulgar compliment, but Clifford could not forbear the retort. Caroline paused to consider, apparently dumfounded. “T confess I do not understand you!” ‘‘Are you not engaged to be married to young Hatch?” “ No—on my honor, no!” replied Caroline, with all the emphasis of truth. The words were scarcely formed on her lips when Harry had clasped ber in his arms; and with his mouth ¢lose to hers, his eyes lcoking almost fiercely into her own, was pouring forth words thick and fast, telling her how he had never ceased to loye ber—how he had counted the minutes till the time had arrived for them to meet again; and bow he hoped she would consent to be his, wife at the earliest op- portunity which circumstances would permit. And she—-how did Careline behave? What answer did she make to this passionate avowal? She Jay in his fond arms, listening to the dear words \of . love and affection, smiling faintly through her tears, content though Time itself should stand. still, so ‘tose blissful mo- » ments might' be prolonged: But answer she made none, What need was. there of. reply when. love beamed. from her eyes, and: consent was writ- ten in every feature of her face? Presently they were» sitting side by aisle; her hand fondly clasped in his, and he. told her how. he had read in’a public print the an- nouncement of her engagement, “ And you believed an anonymous statement in a society journal?’ interrupted. Caroline, playfully. ‘‘I thought my, Harry, was more a man of the world. I am not sure whetber I ought not to be very angry with you for trust- ing me so little.” Harry made his peace somehow, and then they talked as if time was coming to an end, and they were anxious to unbosom themselves while they had the opportunity. But a compulsory stop’ was put. to their conyerse by the entrance of General Balfour. We will pass over the hearty welcome ac- corded to Clifford, the joy and unconcealed . gratification displayed by the old soldier when Clifford renewed his cffer of marriage ‘to the daughter of General Balfour. Clifford remained to dinner that evening. There. were only three at table, but no ad- ditional guest’ was 2equired :to complete the joy of the happy trio that night. Six months more bave rolled away, and the ~ customary year of mourning jis: over. It is spring again,-and. for the second time Clifford is spending his bridal:eve with bis be- loved» Caroline. They are sitting side: by. side ‘guestiodilaniitae ‘turning over the leaves of a gorgeously-bound book, illustrative of the wonders of Jtalian art. Suddenly they are mutually reminded of the strange. coincidence—so were they en- gaged on that. fatal. evening nearly eighteen months ago, on the night of Judith’s return. Their eyes expressed the thonght, © 4) | “ Caroline,” exclaimed, Earny,, “let us agree to look upon the months which have intervened since our last bridal eveas an episode in our existence to be buried in oblivion—as a hideous and uneasy dream, ‘Then it was Deceniber, with its gloom and snow;/pow it is April; with ‘its) sunshine and ; showers, ‘Sprivg is:ever a ~ hopeful time. “You have no fears for ite tant : now—no presentiments?”’ m Caroline threw her arms: cnbatieitile neck, rand with her candid and loving eyes bent upon | his own, so full of confidence in a‘bappy future, exclaimed, “I pape no fears;: uit Pree mimnthts, dear Harry!» ) Andas Tash listened conenad words, he felt” from the bottom: of -_ heart ap vores mee r q tT ts ae c A! erees A 8 pe es Es ae Mit | eae ae ? PLS NeW Sate Rese ce. OE eS Ie PaE Ta Fue gE ae

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1 Adventures of Buffalo Bill. hcod to Manhood. Deeds of Darin: tic Incidents in the early life of William F, Cody, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. The Ocean Hunters; Leviathan. A Romance of Perilous Adven- ture. By Captain Mayne Reid. er An Evtra Large Number.-Gx ‘Adventures of Wild Bill, the Pistol Prince, Remarkable career of J. B. Hikok, (known to the world as ‘‘ Wild Bill,”*) giving the true story of his adventures and acts.» By Col. Prentiss Ingraham: The Prairie Ranch 3 or, The Young Cattle Herders. By Joseph E, Badger, J JT 5 Faget Jack, the Mustang King. Thrill- Adventures in the Life of J, B. Omohundro, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 4 exas Jack.” 6 in Ceylon. By C, Dunning Clark " ¥ Roving Joe: The History of a Young “ Bor: der Ruffian.” Brief Seenés from the Life of Joseph E. Badger, Jr. By A. H. Post. 8 The Flyaway Afloat; ‘or, Yankee Boys "Round the World. By €, Dunni Clark. 9 Bruin Adams, Old Grizzly Adam»? Boy Pard. By Gol. Prentiss Ingraham. 10 The SnowrTrail; or, The Boy Hunters of Fur-Land, By T. C. Harbaugh. 141 Old Grizzly Adams, the Bear Tamer; or, The Monarch. of the, Mountain,. By Dr Frank Powell. 12: Woods and Waters or, The Exploits of the: Littleton Gun Club, By Capt. F. Whittaker, 13 A Rolling Stome:. Incidents in the Career on Sea and Land as Boy anid Man of Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. By Prof. Wm. R. Eyster. 14 Adrift on the Prairie, and Amateur | ‘Hunters on the Buffalo Range. By: | Oll Coomes. , _ 15 Kit Carson, and of ‘the Guides ; Mountain Paths and Prairie Trails. By A. V Aiken. 16 Red River Rovers$ or, Life and Adven- tures in the Northwest.° By 9; Dunning Clark. w 17 Plaza and Plain, or, Wild ARES Bee | | * Buckskin Sam,” (Major Sam §S Colonei Prentiss Ingraham. 18 Rifle and KRevolver$ or, The Littleton ‘Gun Club on. the Buffalo Range. By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 19 Wide-Awake George, The Boy Pioneer; or, Life in a Log Cabin. "Incidents "and Adven: tures in the Backwoods. By Edward Willett. 20 The Dashing Dragoon; or. The Story of General George tr Custer, from West. Point to the Big Horn, By, Captain Frederick Whittaker, 21 Deadwood Dick as a: maps or,» Why Wild Ned Harris; the New-England arm-lad, be- came the Western Prince of the meds By Ed- ward L. Wheeler: 22 The Boy Exiles of Siberia; or, The Watch- Dog of Russia. » By T. C. eras on, 23 Paul De Lacy, The French Beast Charmer; York Boys in the Upaelss, A Story of Satadagh Peril and Sport in Africa, By C. * Dunning ne Clark " 24 The iden Prince: ‘The "Rornantic Life -of Colonel Monstery, erican ‘Champion-at- arms.) By Captain: = ik Whittaker, 25 Round the Camp Fires or, Siow- -Bound at ‘“ Freeze-out Camp.” . By Jos. E. Badger, Jr, 26 Snow-Shoe Tom j or) New York Boys in the Wilderness. ‘A Narrative of Sport and Peril’ in Maine. By T.C. Harbaugh. 2 27 Vellow Hair, the Boy Chief of the » Pawnees,. The Adventurous’ Career of Eddie Burgess of Neoranke any Geramel E reution In- graham, 28 The Chase of ‘aia Gieat White Stas and Camp and Canoe. By C. Dunning - Hall.) cteeas 29 The Fortune-HMunter; or, Roving Joe Sy siren Cowboy, be oe _— Hunter. nd ‘ost. 30 Walt Per guco win taatres : A. Tale of the, |, Antaretic Sea. Clark. 31 The Boy Crusader; or, How a Page anda ‘Fool bbs a King.’ By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. 82 eee re the Indian Medicine ite of b tts pe e Ram mantic and Adventurous owell. By Col. Ingraham; 33 Cay bat it Ih, the Young lorer: Or, | eins sporetie Floes, Bes Dunning From Boy- | and Roman- | or, The Chase of | Cruise of the Plyawayy3 or, Yankee Boys 34 The Young Bear Hunters. A Story of the Haps and Mishaps of a Party of Boys in | the Wilds of Northern Miehigan. By Morris Redwing. | 35 Whe Lost Boy Whalers; or, Inthe Shadow / of the North Pole. By T. C. Harbaugh. 36 Smart Sim, the Lad with a Level ‘Head. By Edward Willett. 87 Old Tar Knuckle and His Boy Chums; or, The Monsters of the Esquimaux Border. By Roger Starbuck, | 38 The Settler’s Son; or, Adventures in the | Wilderness and Clearing: By Edward S. Bilis. 39 Night-Hawk George, and His Daring Deeds and Adventures in the Wilds of the South and West. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 40 The Ice Elephant; or, The Castaways of | the Lone Coast. By Capt..red. Whittaker. 41 The Pampas Hunters; or; New York Boys in Buenos Ayres... By T. C., Harbaugh, | 42 Whe Young Land-Lubber3 or, Prince | Porter’s First Cruise, By C. Dunnitig Clark." 43 Bronco Billy, the Saddle Prince, By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. | 44 The Snow Hunters; ‘on, Winter in the Woods. By Barry De Forest. fet tre 45 Jack, Marry and Tom,» .The Three Champion Brothers; or, Adventures of’ Three Brave Boys.with the Tattooed Pirate, By: Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 46 The Condor Killers; or, Wild Adventures at the Equator.. By T. C. Harbaugh. 47 The Boy Coral-Fishers 3. or, The Sea- | Cavern Scourge. By Roger Starbuck, 4 48 Dick, the Stowaway 3 or, A Yankee Boy’s Strange Cruise. By Char es Morris. } 49 Tip Tressell, the Floater; or, Fortunes and | Misfortunes ‘on the Mississippi. Willett. ~ 50 The Adventurous Life of Nebraska Charlie, (Charles £. Burgess. ) By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 51 The Colorado Boys; or, Life on an Indigo Plantation. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 52 Honest Marry; or, The Country Boy Adrift in the City. By Charles Morris. 53 Whe Boy Detectives; or, The Young Cali- fornians in Shanghai. By T. C, Harbaugh, 54 California Joe, The Mysterious ganmani By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 55 Harry Somers, The Sailor-Boy Magician. By 8. W. Pearce.. 56 Nobody's Boys; or, Lifé Among the Gipsiés: By J. M. Hoffman. 57 The Menagerie Hunter 3 or, Fanny) Ho: bart, the Animal Qneen, By Major H, Grenville. 58 Lame Tim, the Mule Boy of thé Mines or, Life Among the Black DiemoMise By Shares , Morris. . 59 Lud Lionheels, the Young Tiger Highter. By Edward By Roger Starbuck. » - 60 The Young Trail- ‘Hunters; ‘or, New York Boys in Grizzly Land. By T. C. Harbaugh. 61 The Young Mustangerss By C.D. Clark. 62 The Tiger Hunters ; or, The Colorado, ) Boys in Tiger-Land. By Joseph KE. Badger. Jr. 63 The Adventurous Life of Captain Jack, the Border Boy. (John W. Crawford, the Poet Scout.) By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. - 64 The Young Moose-Hunters} or, ° “Trail and Camp-fire in the New aner es WAM By Wm. H. Manning. | e? . 65 Black Horse Bill, the Bandit Wrecker; or, Two Brave Boys to ine Rescue, By; Roger Starbuck. ae Je. 66 Little Dan Rocks; or, The Nowa Kia's Mission. By Morris Redwing.’ Ot8 te 67 *Longshore Lije; or, "How a ‘Rough ‘Boy , Won His'Way. By'C. ‘Dunning Clark. ied? 68 Flaiboat Fred; or, The Voyage of. the $ * Hix ' periment.” By’ Saleen WR Ges erent ‘ an ont. .98 Sam Spence, the Broadhorn Boy. 69 The Deer-Hunters; or, Life in the Ottawa Country. By John J, Marshall. . 70 Kentnecky Ben, the Long Rifleofthe Plains; ; or, The Boy Trappers of Oregon. By Roger Starbuck, ; 71 The Boy Pilot; or, The Island Wreekers. a By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. ‘ 72 Woung Dick Talbot, By Albert W. Aiken. am 73 Pat Mulloney’s Adventures; or, Silver Tongue, the Dacotah Queen. By C. L. Edwards. 74 The Desert Rover; or, Stowaway Rick Among the Arabs. By Charles Morris: : 75 The Border Gunmaker}; or, The Hunted . Maiden. By James L, Bowen. 76 The Kit Carson Club; or, Young Hawk- | eyes in the Northwest, By T, C, Harbaugh. . 77 Left-Handed Pete, the Denble knit. 4 By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. + e 78 The Boy Prospector; or, The Scout of, es . . Gold Ravine. By Roger Starbuck....,5 Jisy >) 79 Minoneée, the Wood Witch; or, the Squatter's. Secret. _By Edwin Emerson. 80 The Boy Cruisers 3,or, Joe and Jap’s Big Find: ~ By Edward Willett: si)" Das sro Te’- 81 The Border Rovers 5 or, Lost on the Over- land Trail. By J. Milton, Hoffman. , 82 Alaska, the Wolf Queen or, The Girty Brothers’ Double Crime. . By Capt. C. Howard. 83 The Voung Nihilist; or, A Yankee, Boy Among the Russians. ‘By Charles Morris. «°’ 84 Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunters. By Capt. ‘‘ Bruin’? Adams, 85 Fighting Fred; Grizzly Camp. By T. ©. Harbatigh. — 86 Dr, Carver, the “ Evil Spirit” of the Plains) or, The Champion Shot: of the World. tlh tag & Prentiss Ingraham. 87 Ruff Robsart and His Bear. By Capt. — “ Bruin’? Adams. ae 88 Pony, the Cowboy. By Major H. ‘B. Stod. a tad 7 as ea Ai pag eee ee NS ey ¥ ‘i i or, The Castaways. of 89 het the Gaucho ; or, “Lost on the’ Pampas. ._ By Captain Mayne Reid, : eer An Extra Large Number. he

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, oO “ Copyrigist Novels and the Cream of Foréign ‘Novelists; Una briaeed, FOR FIVE CENTS! The te = ey Ever Published! Xk The Masked B ide}; or, Will She Marry Him? By Mrs, Mary Reed. C rowell, 2 Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweet- : hearts. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 8 The Girl Wife. By Bartley T. Campbell. 4 A Brave Heart; or, Startlingly Strange. By Arabella Southwor th. 5 Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl. By William Mason Turner, M. D. 6 The Secret Marriage. By Sara Claxton. : 7 A Daughter of Eve; or, Blinded by Love. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 8 Heart to Heart. B veranen Sranhnatts es 9 Alone in the Worl r, The Young Man’s a Ward. By the author of * ~ Olifton, * ete. i at os — ala 4 ioe By Rose Kennedy. $ ntang or, A Dangerous Game. 12 His Lox Tacky. me bf P oe s Law ©3 or. the Child of ri Adoption. By Mrs. Ann 8. de piithe. ite 13 Madcap, the Little Quakeress3 or, The Aes Naval Vet's Wooi ie Goran pune Cushiman. «44. Why I Married Him: ton, ; 15 A Fair Face. By Bartle Ph Sam Ganipbell 4 16 woe Mer Not; or, A True Knight. By Margaret eae 17 A Loyal Oare Arabella Southworth. 18 His Idol. By Wire. 1 ry Reed Crowell. 19 The Bie Betrothal; or, Love versus Hate. Mary Grace Halpine. 20 eho pe ‘Nell, the Atak |S) Girl; or, The . ne. ‘ey 21 Now and Tarcwaan or, Why Did She Mar- Ys nak, Biba) By Henrietta Thac tie 22 The ide of an Actor. By the author j of ‘ Alone in the World,” “‘ Clifton,” etc. - 23 Leap Year; or, Why She Proposed. By Sara 24 Her pare Was Her Fortune, By Elea- nor 25 Only a Schoolmistress or, Her Untold ret... By Arabella Southworth. _ 26 Without a Heart. By Col. P. Ingraham. 27 Was She a Coquette? or, alae trange ; Courtship. By Henrietta Thacke: ax 28 Are Chase}; or, The Fi OM ‘Wife. By gen n §, Stephens. ihe 29 For Her Dear Sake. By Sara Claxton. Gg sq ‘* Bouquet Girl. Bo Agile Penne. A Mad Marri ge. A. Denison i Roses - we 2 ww bad ee ied Mariana, the Pri ate Yate and Lilies. By Arabella Southwort The Three Sisters, By Alice Flemi e of Convenience ; or, By Sara Claxton. All eoeted Wier. By Clara Augusta. , Sir Archer's Bride 3 or, ae Queen. of His Heart. By Arabella Southwort The Country Cousin. Rose Kennedy. 38 His Own Again; or, Trust Her Not. By Girl’s Good Name, as ell, d to Marry. By Sara Devotion. By. Alice Fleming. 42 Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Second Love. By Arabella Souch worth: 43 The Baronet’s Secret, By Sara 44 The Onl p awgn eer 3, or, er oanen against Lover. 45 Wer GFtiaden ¥ Foe, By A. Southworth, 46 aoe Little Heiress; or, Under a Cloud. y Mrs, Mary A. Denison. 47 ecanee She Loved Him 5 or, How Will : , Jeannette’s Repa- . Sherwe 49 His Heart’s Mistress ;.or, Love at First ht. By Arabella ters bor h. 50 The Cuban H or, The Prisoner of Vintresse. "A. Deniso Lt 61 Two * Sent Pe iris. "By Alice Fleming. fs Nig a or, Risking All ‘Réed Crow. elle es Hope "an ctress. By. William e ‘Woman's Heart; on, Saved from the George S. Kaim elress ie ie ss Dia 24 Ave Him} or, Stooping'to | a 56 Es rae Et geo so) oO a Yor y Win 1, Enos Turner, M. mr Claxton, y Margaret Blount. 2 Maniac ce Heart. Sisters. By Anna PB. ort 3 Creole y $f Vhat Jealousy Did. | The Wife's Secret, Bern Arabella Southworth. ana} ‘eft. By M. E. Braddon. are By. hans. By D’Enery. Voung ife. By My Yours Wife’s 72 Two Widows. By Annie Thomas. pee | 3 Rose Michel. By Maud Hilton, ; MA: : ' bey hey af 3h DN sc: . ; aed Ye a 2 De Can 7 Sige Abs : yng “hy Heat hn Sent = Me ; r Ya NT, A i ett. asta rer) tol ek eel os Aa je aR Sy A ws tas Ds EN a A sag el all 125 holies or, The. Si we 74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage; or, The Story of a Broidered Shield... By Ouida, 75 The Black Lady of Duna. By J.8 Fanu. 76 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. ce the 77 Christian Oakley’s Mistake, author of ‘‘ John Halifax, Gentleman,” 78 My Young Husband; or, A Confusion in the Family. By Myself. 79 A Queen Amongst Women. author of “‘ Dora Thorne,” etc., etc. 80 Her Lord and Master. By Florence Marryat, 81 Lucy Femple, Sister of Charlotte. 82 A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred. 83 Playing for High Stakes. By Annie Thomas. 84 The Laurel Bush, By the author of “John Halifax, Gentleman.” 85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot. 87 The Romance ofa Poor Young Man. By Octave Feuillet. 88 A be cilebehe Deed; or, All for Gold. By Em rison Jones. 89 A Gilded Sin. Thorn,” ete. 90 The ‘Author's Daughter. owitt. 91 The Jilt. By Charles Reade. 92 Eiléen Alanna, By Dennis O'Sullivan, 93 Love’s Victory. By B. L Lhe fs 94 The Quiet Heart. By —< 0 33 Lettice Arnold. By mS Haunted Hearts, By Rashel Bernhardt. 97 Hugh Melton. By Katharine King. 98 Alice Learmont. By Miss Mulock. 99 Maras vie Bruce’s Lovers. By Mary 100 eo ye Fire and Water. By Fred- rick Talbot. 101 ticunah, By Mss Mullock. Wotineton, By Charles Reade. esperate Deed. Erskine Boyd. 104 ehh on the Snow. By B. L. 105 the Great Hoggarty Diamond. By W. M. Thackeray. 106 From Dreams to Waking. By E. inton. ° 107 ro eng Ih! By F. W. Robinson. Ze 108 The Sea roriones of the Rev. Amos By the By the author of ‘Dora By Mary = sea Far- Barton. By George Eliot. 109 a eg at a emerge and epee tnes By 110 So Ml Wandering Meir, By Charles 111 The aot ey roe fg Bet; or, Within Six } Weeks . By Emilie F 112 A Hero. are Carlen. By Miss Weick 113 Paul and Vir inia. orn the French of | Bernardin De St. Pierre. 114 °Ewas In Trafalgar’s Bay. By Wal- ter Besant. and James Rice. 115 The Maid of Killeena. By Wm. Black. 1 3 ag By Henry Kingsley. 117 The Wayside Cross; pts abe Raid of Gomez. By Captain EK. A. 118 The Vicar Of Wakefield. By Oliver Goldsmith. 119 Maud Mohan. » By Annie Thomas 120 Thaddeus of Warsaw, By Miss Jane Porter, 121 oe King of No-Land, By B. L. Far- 122 Lovel, the Widower. By W. M. Thack- 123 an ‘sland Pearl, By B. L. Farjeon. 124 Cousin Phillis. of Grenada. By Ed- Comes Home. By 127 One 0 of the Family. By James Payn. 128 The Birthright. 129 cet log e3.or, ih rue bavtaar's ® Sweetheart. a 30 Homele paeip or, Two.0 han irls in New 3 y Albert W. Aiken ks q 131k Pe oll ‘against Sister} or, The Rivalry c? Hearts. By Mrs. Mary. rowell. 132 Sold f rigord. Mrs. M. V. Victor. 3 Leva Roth?s i. By Mre, Georgiana Dickens. ad, He Love Mer? By Bartley T. Camp- Sinned Against. By Lillian Lovejoy. Was She His Wife? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. ‘The baba on the Cliff, By Miss -Thackera; aoe Valeria. By aret Blount, ngaret Graham, aah G. P, R. James. wit thout Mercy. ating, fe Campbell. nor Bound, By ao A Flcotus from Love. arriet Ab weteds oF A Wicked Woman's co t W: Weer e Marri Lillian Love 3 3 3 3 3 3 39 4 4 4 4 44 A Stre age...By ZY Girls Lives. By Mrs. Mary Rex Pk ome pred fh fe fete feted jee 4 5 6 cf 8 0 1 2 3 4 5 © . . , rf -* oP fe | — ; 146 A Seat Venture ; or, For Love's worth, Own Sake. By Arabella.Sou By Corinne Cush- 147 nate War of Hearts. 148 Which Was the Woman? or, Strangely ey Sa By Sara Claxton. Ambitious Girl; or, She Would Be ie. Actress. By Frances Helen Davenport. Love Lord of All. By Alice May Fleming, A Wild Girl. By Corinne Cushman. A Mian’s Sacrifice. _ Harriet Irvi Did She Sin. By Mrs..Mary Reed. Crow: He Loves Me rosa y ike illian Lovejoy. Winning Ways. argaret Blount, What She Cost ints or, Crooked Paths, By Arabella Southworth. A Girls Heart. By Rett Winwood. A Bitter Mistake; or, A Young Girl’s ar By Agnes Mary Shelton. ried Helen’s Vow; or, lie Mother’s ” aes By the Late Mrs. &. F 0 Buying a Heart. By Lillian. oe se 1 Pearl of Pearls. By A. P. Morris, 2 A Fatcful Game, By Sara Ggiens, 3 The Prete Cousins; or, False as Fair. By Philip 8. Warne. 4A Scathing Ordeal; or, May janey's Mad Marriage. By Mrs. Georgiana Dic 5 A Strange ne By Albert W. Aiken. 6 A Man’s Sin. Rett Winwood. 167 The Hand oer ate; or, The Wreck of Two Lives. By prepeia Southworth, 168 Fwo Fair omen. By Wm. 169 Tempted Throu ae Love; Woman’s Error. By an Lovejoy. 170 Blind on if Secret, Grace Halpine 171 A Woman's Witchery. By S. Claxton, 172 oorpees Ya and Blue. By Corinne By Georgiana Cus 173 The ¢ Cost of a Folly. 174 The, Pretty Puritan. By A Parson's r 175 Is Love a Mockery? or, Revenge is | Sweet. By Arabella Southworth. 176 co the ‘Adopted, By Jennie Davis 177 Dor 7 che Woman He Loved; or, Fate- ful Links. By Agnes Mary Shelton. , Sur Sr Sr Gr erGr qe oie re i ee ee PDAAD S orer SA M, Turner. or, 178 Whe Lag ied Heart. By Corinne Gudea. 9 Parted\by Treachery. By Harrie : O Was She a Wife? B eg 3 Winw Under a Cloud, By axton. An American Queen. "S G. Mortimer. A Pint of Honor, By Lillian Lovejoy. ho se hg to the Altar. By Corinne Put ia a Test. By Georgiana Dickens. 6 ame werrshie Truth 3 aN nae Thornhurst Jennie Davis Burto 187 Bee ed by Herself; or, "A Mother's Scheme. By At bella Southwort 188 delle g Child ve the Street; Beyond Price. By C 1. Prentiss Ingraha 17 18 18st 182 183 184 185 18 ‘or, A gi ‘189 Her he Sata Saeralhées or, av Name in the Balance Claxton. 190 Pretty and Proud. By Corinne Cushman. 191 - Woman’s i al hla or, Purse, not. Heart. Lillian Lovejoy. .192 The Bitter Feud. By Jennie D. Burton. Fetters; or, The Gypsy’s 193 Breaking the ana Dickens. '194 The Mysterious Guardian 5 Misdee Sara Claxton. 202 fer Evil Genius. ‘Claire, the Opera Singer. By Corinne Cu 195 In athe Balance} or, hy ‘Shadowed Love, bella ede ey 196 3 Sule, the 5 poet Mog the Miser Million- By Dr. .197 A Sisters Noel Dun By Agnes Mary Shel- , 198 Wilma Wildes or, The Inheritance of Jennie Davis Burton. 199 ihe pag + Siac: iful Demon. Helen Davenport By Franees 00 Morle Beeches} or, Girlish Charms and . Golde n Do Corinne C wers. shman. 201 A A Young Girls Ordeal} or, I Love You By Harriet Irving. 203 wasviowie Bev" risal 5 5. The 204 Bleep S bert} or, The arne. Y ministerin Royal Thorn: 205 Ae , Ane = gna. Dickens, y Georg 3 home Generation to enrietta E, De Conde. peo Was She an Adventuress By Mrs Mrs. ME. 208 Bowes the wo mi Doe ht of of Chivaliy 5 of A néib issue every week. Tan Wavertry Lisrary is for wie by Be Sete deal five cents per copy, or sent by mail on re- A harsh six cents each. , AND ADAMS, Publishers, SERDUE William ree, New York. owed. tAdid. : ‘