Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (v. 1) (1879 11 25)
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——- hed! Price, 5 Cents. rin f (j nih r \ i BAT The Only First-class American Copyright Library Publis , : lee ADs 3 ace ° HAST iil) eas yd $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mail Matter. Copyrighted in 1879 by BEADLE AND ADAMS, November 25, 1879. No. 2. VoL L N.Y. PRICE,,6 CENTS slrsigeepmnnsttst TTA LEAT TT k SS ae SUSE t | : YA a (i 4 \ er ne WMWORR-Ca “HALLO!—KEEP STILL—STILL AS THE GRAVE, MYRA; I HEAR—HA! HERE THEY COME! Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweethearts, | tiseweshtseichrsam con, A thgnehtstom, the ty felt hed the ball.” : ‘““Ah! so soon? I am here to see Miss Hoxley about the same thing. _ BY WM. MASON TURNER, M. D. Please tell her so, Mary.” : Auther of “ Bessie Raynor,” “Mabel Vane,” ete., etc. yom Sir,” and the girl left the room, while Fenton Thorne unbut- toned his closely fitting frock-coat, and strode briskly up and down the : thick-carpeted room, rubbing his benumbed fingers the while, to bring CHAPTER I. back circulation and warmth. JEALOUSY. “Yes, yes!” muttered the young man, as if determined upon a certain THE tall young gentleman stamped his small, daintily fitting boot on | course of action, ‘I will go with Myra to this ball! Ill run the risk of the broad marble step of the aristocratic mansion—one of the proudest | being caught out of my room at college; it will be the first time. Iam on Prospect street—and shivered as he drew his wide loose cape | desirous of seeing this wondrous beauty, Madeleine Fleming, of whom around him. For the raw winter wind of the declining December after- | good old Steve speaks so much. She must be pretty and smart, and noon, which tossed his long, dark hair so wildly about, was cold and | amiable, and ali that, if Steve says so! And yet, Myra does not seem to ie tn age = ae lage twice. like her, if—” gun he applied his gloved hand to the silver pull, and again he At this moment,there Was a patter of hurrying feet down the broad heard distinetke the far-away tinkle of the warning bell. stairway; then porn the pe and vantie-&t sweeping dress. The At length, hasty steps sounded in the hall, the bolt turned, and the | door opened, and the tall, slender form of Myra Hoxley, the rich manu- door pena, My SET , facturer’s daughter, clad in an elegant afternoon neglige, entered the ‘Ah! it is you, Mr. Thorne! Walk in, sir, if you please,” said the | room. She rem at once to the window, and flung open the half- girl, respectfully. - | closed shutters, letting in the straggling sunlight, fast disappearing It is I, certainly, Mary, and right glad am I to get in, for 1 am half. | behind the heavy snow-racks, scudding across the sky. frozen,” replied the youth, as he entered the comfortable hall, and “You are in the dark, Fenton,” she said, turning toward the young turned into the elegant, dimly-lit parlor. He was perfectly at home. man, at the same time extending her small, nervous white hand Tam so sorry, Mr. Thorne, I kept you waiting,” said the girl, taking | cordially, “Re sated, my friend, and don’t be stamping around the
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Cn yd) room like a soldier on guard. *Twas too bad in Ma to keep you out until you were so entirely frozen!” she laughed, merrily, as she esis: f on a yield- ing sofa, and beckoned the collegian to her side. ‘enton Thorne obeyed at once. “T am warm enough now, Miss Myra, and—”’ “‘ Miss Myra! Why, Fenton, I thought I had taught you better your a, b, c’s, certainly m this house,” and she flashed over him a radiant, yet half- reproachful look, ; he young man colored despite himself; he was but a youth, and not well versed in the ways _and wiles of womankind. But he quickly recovered him- self, as, smiling sweetly, he bowed his head, with its mass of raven hair. But that singular expression which came over fenton Thorne’s face as his head went down! Was it expressive of distrust, or—contempt? Tt were difficult to answer; and then the youth was so open, so innocent 4nd unsuspicious. __ However, when he raised his head, his face was frank and friendly, ashe said: y Well, well, Myra then! And—itis a pretty name, too! The girl’s face mantled just the slightest; but a look of unmistakable satisfaction, nay of triumph, shot from her dark, lustrous eyes. “That’s right, Fenton,” she said in a_low, insinu- ating voice; ‘ me Myra, and I’llalways know youas Fenton. Ilike it.” For a few moments there wag a silence, which, however, was broken by the student. “T galled, Miss—I mean Myra—to see about this ball at Mr. Fleming’s, and to learn your arrange- ments.” “You have determined, then, to go, Fenton?’’ asked the girl, apne “Yes; I could not resist the temptation. I am anxious to see Miss Fleming; rumor says she is very handsome.” These words were spoken most ele hl Myra Hoxley started and glanced at the speaker; but she controlled herself and simply a a “Ah! And who said Madeleine Fleming was retty ?”’ s < oi you, yourself, said thatshe was magnifi- cent! | hen, too, Stephen Smith, my chum, swears* she— “Stephen Smith! Tut! Theungainly backwoods- man!” : ‘*No, no, Myra,” and the young man spoke warm- a Steve ahs backwoodsman; far from it. He is a real gentleman, a perfect cavalier, and a good, whole-souled fellow. But,” he continued, seeing that the lady was evidently or vexed, at least “is not the young lady—Miss Fleming—fair an amiable? Z do not know, of course, never having seen her,” ; The collegian spoke more softly, more insinuat- ingly, as if inviting a confidence. fing manufacturer's daughter paused before she answered; and the half-frown unwrinkled itself, and left the white forehead. ‘ ; “Some people say Madeleine Fleming is pretty; I have thought so, but—” ‘* You no longer have the same opinion, eh, Myra?” interrupted the young man, laug % ‘*T did not say so, Kenton. Buta truce to to this nonsense! You see and judge for yourself,” she answered. i ‘ ‘‘True, Myra; seeing is believing. But now about our arrangements. You see I have determined to go, and run the risk of being discovered out of my room, “Are you not afraid of the risk, Fenton?” asked the girl, earnestly; “‘ you know the stand you have taken, the fair name you have always won with the professors. Would it be wise to barter it away for a few hours of questionable pleasure at a giddy, — ball?” , e girl nS ey seriously, and her eyes did not for a moment leave the young man’s face. It was plain that a new train of thought was pass- ing in Hoxley’s bosom, ‘No, Myra; I willgo. It will be my first offense and I fancy the Regent will not be ‘hard’ on me. I can plead -ignorance, too; I am only a Freshman, you know.” He spoke cheerfully. “True; nor had I forgotten it. ‘But, Freshman or Senior, the rules are unmistakably the same. That you understand them well, I know to my sorrow; for TZ could never induce you, Fenton, to break them, even for a single evening!” Myra spoke sarcastically. The student felt the truth of her words; his face became becloud and a look of disappointment crept over his fine features. But glancing at her, he asked quickly: : ‘** But, Myra, if I do not go with you what will you do for an escort?” “That is easily arranged, Fenton. My cousin, Mr. Ralph Ross, of the Junior class, you know, has al- ready called and notified me of his attention and service. He does not ‘room’ in college, as you are aware, and can come and go as suits him.” “True, Myra; and what did you say to Mr. Ross?” The student was just a little nervous as he asked the question. “Ttold him I had an engagement with you. Fen- ton, and that I would not break it,”’ replied the girl, frankly, gazing him full in the face. Was there, indeed, a witchery about those flashing black eyes of Myra Hoxley—an irresistible charm in the gins insinuating manner that made young Thorne look up so quickly, and reply so earnestly and eagerly? : “Then I will go, Myra, even if I am expelled from college for it!” F “The Fates forbid such a result! But,’ and she sunk her voice into a low, musical whisper, as her’ WAS IT LOVE? eyes fell languishingly upon the fair, youthful face of the student, ‘‘ does it give you pleasure to go with me, Fenton?’ ; “Certainly, Myra; else I would by all means—”’ “Enough, Fenton! We'll o, and you shall be my escort,” and again a triumphant fire flashed from the dark orbs of the girl. Fenton Thorne had answered the best he knew how; in fact, the only way he could. Myra patted the carpet slightly with her slippered - foot, e@ was pondering; but she was a ready thinker, and pondered at nothing long. — Page ys Fenton,” she lyly, ‘‘you are aumre that my cousin, Ralph, is eleme Fieming’s au??? “No, indeed! I didnot know it, Myra,” returned the young man, promptly ;—and, excuse me—Myra, if rumor ly, he is your beau,” and the student blushed up to his eyes. ‘* My beau! Rumor is.a wicked falsifier! Certain- iy yey did not believe such a report, Fenton?’ she “Why, I did not know, Myra; and Steve said that it was certainly—” - -‘*No more of this Steve tome! He knows nothing of me soever, and I don’t like him! There!” “Then the rumor is false, Myra?” asked the colle- gian, not knowing what else to say. ° “False as ever falsehood was!’ was the prompt, impulsive answer. “Then, Myra, I am indeed glad to hear it.’”? The oe started bid tog OF ‘For,’ continued the stu- dent, ‘‘I do not like Ralph Ross, although he is your cousin,” “Ts that all?” “Ts not that enough, Myra? I tell you,” he con- tinued, begat ae ‘no woman would be made happy by wedding with such as Ralph Ross. He is a knave—I beg pardon, Myra!” “There’s no need, Fenton; but do not let Mr. Ross heen say such a wi of him.” “Well, wel!, enough of him, Myra. Iam glad he is not your beau, and sorry he stands in that relation to Miss Fleming. But now I must go,” and as he peorke he arose, though the girl endeavored, inef- ectually, to stay him. » ““ What time shall I call for you, Myra?’ “ At nine o'clock, and don’t’ fail mie,” was the an- swer. ‘Never fear; I'll be here. Good-by.” ‘** Good-by, Fenton.”’ The student flung his long cape over his shoulders, bowed himself out, and left the mansion. Turning to the left, he strode quickly back to the old college on the hill. Myra Hoxley, queenly and proud, stood on the broad step at the front door,where she had said adieu to the collegian. Her nervous left hand clutched at the bell-p She did not regard the cutting blast which hurried along the almost deserted street and struck her slenderform. She was watching the tall agure of Fenton Thorne, the Freshman. loved the student. Then, at last, as she turned slowly about, and re- closed the heavy walnut door, a cloud was on her dead-white brow, and a vindictive fire glis- tened in her dark eyes. Myra Hoxley was jealous. CHAPTER Il. LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. Tue mantle of night haal fallen upon the good city of Providence, but such a night! The sky was inky-black, and scurrying squadrons of fleecy snow whirled through the deserted thor- oughfare, and fled away like gray demons of dark- ness out over the slow Y tossing slowly-congealing vee of the Narraganset. ere and there, flaring street-lamps fi their distorted beams; but, for the most part, a leaden gloom settled over every thing. ! It was a night in which people love to stick by home and and devoutly thank Heaven that ‘a roof above them, and thick walls around them, keep out the wild, wintry weather. ; ‘Alas! for the houseless, the homeless, the thin- clad, the outcast, on such a night! . Despite the intense darkness which glowered down on this old New England city, the hour was quite early. The bright lights, sparkling and glowing steadily out on the night, from the many windows of Univer- sity Hall and Hope College, showed that the noisy students were within doors, mayhap poring over algebraic ‘abstrusities, and delving deep into Greek and Latin derivatives. Perhaps they were doing neither; most probe this perhaps was the truth, Eight o’clock had just sounded from a neighboring belfry, when from the southern door of Univer- sity Hall, fronting College street, a closely-muffled form stole silently out, and hurried nway in the storm, The form was that of aman and as he reached the large iron gate he paused. “ Well, I’m off, at all events!’ he muttered, glanc- ing back; “and Steve will be there, too! Confound the obstinate fellow! He might have staid, for he can easily fib to old ‘ Cax.’ As it is, unless the open door, and the numerous books scattered lavishly about, will fool the good old man, we'll catch it, that’s all! Whew! atastorm! What a wind! And yet, there are some people who don’t heed it— don’t—’ & ‘ Therest of the student’s mutterings was carried away by the mad blasts, which tore up the street. rapping the proverbial college shawl around him well, the young man turned at once and took his ee up Prospect street. enton Thorne was on his way to keep his engage- ment with the stately Myra Hoxley, the manufactur- er’s daughter. j pe Despite the ame itious .weather, its -trooping winds whirling battalions of snow. fee ace iat sion of Arthur yen oe the old merchant, glowed in brilliant illumination from top to bottom. And why should it not? What_ cared the rich old tea-merchant for the storm without, when within his royal residence there was such a surfeit of richness, abundance and cheer? — ce) * - This eventful December night, the 18th, of the year a the_birth-night of the apple of his eye, his daughter, mh Tee wk nth birth- day—and the old father intended to celebrate the eyent with a happy and a grateful h ze Madeleine Fleming was the joy and pride of the old man’s life; she was the bright sun, which ever cast its warm rays over thefather’s wintry sky. She was his all! The ball to be ‘given, this. cold Decem- her night—this celebration to be cbserved—was to excel in splendor every ay Oe similar occasion. Carriages, with muffled, snow-clad drivers had been rolling up to the broad gateway, from an early hour of the wren, & and flitting forms, in satins; silks and tarletans, had darted hurriedly to the am- ple hall-doors with their cheery light, It was now near ten o’clock. The large parlor shone resplendently under the two huge chandeliers, which flung their brilliant radiance over the room, Already there was a crush and a jam, the large apartment, in fact, being un- comfortably filled; for Arthur Fleming dia nothing by halves. He had slighted none, and certainly one- half of the elite of Providence were there. Diamonds flashed, rubies twinkled, and gorgeous dresses shone beneath the ain gaslight. Madeleine Fleming, as she stood beside her proud father, in the center of the room, receiving the con- gratulations of ‘her friends; was the cynosure of all eyes. Well might she be. Tall, elegantly formed, round- ed, active and graceful, modest, yet bashfully self- possessed; her clear, pearl cheeks at one time a pe the natural tints of health and high spirits; at another, suffused and crimsoning, as she bowed to the warm congratulations of some ardent masculine admirer. ; ' Still the pressing throng crowded in, and carriages emptied their pesecos loads, and rattled away to more congenia yy ie - Suddely a fresh batch of guests arrived, crowding their way into the densely-packed room. Slowl they proceeded, and at last stood beneath the f glare of the chandelier. __ Myra Hoxley, arrayed in all the splendor and glit- ter which an almost unlimited command of money could give her, stood there, leaning on the arm of Fenton Thorne, the young collegian, ‘The student’s cheek was aglow with excitemeft. His rich raven hair was flung back so that it fell back over his shoulders, and his large brown eyes sparkled as he glanced around him. And Myra, her midnight tresses fatter away from her pale, thin face and forehead, in heavy coils, bare with precious stones, her piercing, jet- black eyes flashing around her, looked a very queen of pride and scorn. : ; yra _Hoxley knew weil the dazzling beauty of Madeleine Fleming, and she had reason to fear that Fenton Thorne would not prove insensible to it. It behooved her to make a grand appearance herself on this icular night; and she did it, As the two stood for a moment, beneath the chan- delier, they were approached by two gentlemen, from different quarters of the room. They were ar- rayed in the ehtof fashion. As they drew near they bowed. “How fare you, cousin?” asked Ralph Ross, a short, burly man, rather abruptly, and completely unconcerned. “Well; quite well, thank you, Ralph,’ and the manufacturer’s daughter half turned from her cousin to meet, to her, the no less disagreeable, but far more respectful greeting of Stephen Smith. A few commonplace remarks were parked, as the up lingered there for a moment; then they turned ward the fair young creature in whose honor the ball was given. . As Fenton Thorne’s gaze fell on the dazzling face eee of Madeleine Fleming, he paused involun- arily. “Good heavens! ‘How beautiful!” he muttered, in a loud whisper of undisguised admiration. ~» “Sh! ’sh! Fent., my boy! Not so loud, though Til not contradict your assertion,” whispered Stephen Smith, who stood close behind. : The Freshman started slightly, and, without re- mark, moved on. - Myra Hoxley had heard that unguarded expres- sion; she had felt the sudden tremor of the strong arm, on which she was leaning, and she had heard, too, the Kentuckian’s warning whisper. An angry, envious thrill shot through her bosom, and she bit her short under lip, until the sharp, pearl-like tooth had aimost found the coursin blacd. But she controlled herself; and walked steadily on. ; CHAPTER II. SHINE AND SHADOW. : Fenton THorNe’s words had fallen, likewise, on other ears than those of the impetuous, jealous Myra and Stephen Smith. Ralph Ross had recorded each syllable in his memory, and had already istered in his mind a vow of hate against him who had given such utter- ance to his thoughts. But, in another moment, the party stood before the old merchant and his daughter. As Madeleine lifted her soft hazel eyes to meet the |
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—— salutation of the student, she started, her face col- ored, and she cast down her gaze. There was a wild flutter at the maiden’s heart, as the collegian’s mellow tones fell on her ear. She knew not what she said in reply, and she scarcely noticed Ralph Ross at all; though to Ste- phen Smith she cordially held out her ungloved right and; and she kissed the queenly Myra, with a sis- ter’s warmth and freedom. : But there was no warmth in return from the lips of the manufacturer’s daughter. Had Myra Hoxley searched her own heart, at that moment, she would have known that she only wished her lips had been wet with the poison of asps. M Thorne, Thorne! I’ve heard of you, my young , and am glad to know you,” said old Mr. Fleming, brusquely, but kindly. “I knew your father, sir, poate ago in college, and Iam pleased to welcome is son at my house.’‘ “Thank Pace thank you kindly, Mr. Fleming,” was all the student could say,as an awkward blush spread over his face, and a telltale tremor crept into his Speech. ° “Ay, my young sir! And here, Madeleine—here, my boy; give her # bide arm. . Take it, I say, Made- leine! This stupid 7eception BUSINESS is now about over, andI am heartily glad of it. Now, Madeleine, show Mr. Thorne over the house—ihe library—thé conservatory, and so on; and mark you well, Made- leine, see that he gets enough to eat—ha! ha! You see, Mr, Thorne, I have not forgotten old times and college commons—ha! ha!’ and the hospitable old gentleman ended his long talk, with a whole-souled, hearty eo __Fenton Thorne’s face was like a furnace; he felt iMyra’s nervous arm tremble in his, as she half with- drew and then replaced it, as if determined to as- sert priority of possession. The ae man saw the extreme awkwardness of his position; and Madeleine appeared as if she wished the floor would open and _ ingulf her. ‘Excuse me, Mr. Fleming,’* stammered the young ian, “ you see I—I—am already eupaeed and—” ‘Tut! tut! that matters not! Miss Hoxley will readily release you, for a time. Here, Mr. Smith, or you, Mr. Ross, escort Miss Hoxley, while Made- leine will do the hostess with Mr. Fenton Thorne, the son of my old classmate and friend!”’ As for Stephen Smith, the Kentuckian, he was, at that moment, most intensely busying himself in looking in an entirely different direction; of course he most irreverently unheeded the old gentleman’s command, . Mr. Ross, however, stepped promptly forward, and see | half-sneeringly, to young Thorne: “Yl relieve you, sir. me, Myra!” and drawing her arm rather rudely in his, he turned abruptly and walked away. ; : In another moment, the round arm of Madeleine Fleming lay in Fenton Thorne’s, and the noble-look- ing couple glided gracefully bay amid the throng. D tephen Smith had already mingled familiarly in , the assembly, and was now in earnest discourse with some fellow-students, who, like himself, having been favored with invitations to the ball, had run the | risk of being demerited, for absence from rooms, in study-hours. : ‘The moments, and the hours, sped by. Mirth, hilarity, and hearty good-feeling were gushing forth on all sides. eth ‘Once in the course of the evening, when standing near an elagere, and entirely alone, a dark, anxious cloud had passed over old Arthur Fleming's face, Fe 40) next year!” he had muttered. “ Will I His voice sunk into a whisper, and was inaudible. “And so old Welcome Hoxley allows his daughter to come to my house, and—stays away himself! Well, well, we were never friends, and he bears'faith- | Let him do so; J | , glad to come across | § ful remembrance of old grudgés. am a such! Ah! Mr. Smi you; hope you are enjoying yourself?” “ Famously, my ¢g sir, famously!” But there was a shade, too, on the student’s pci ae old man and the young walked away, arm in CHAPTER Iv. HEARTS AND DIAMONDS. ie THe hour was waxing late, but still the ball went on. At half-past eleven the doors to the spa- cious dining-hall were thrown open, and a manifi- cent collation was served. Conspicuous at the head of the table stood Madeleine and her father; and | near them, Pa and triumphant, stood Fenton | Thorne, the Freshman. The youth seemed intoxicated with bliss, and his cup of pleasure was running over. Beyond a doubt, nore the girl who had introduced him at the man- sion, and through whose instrumentality, mainly, he had gained access accordance with etiquette, and young Thorne knew it well enough. But then he could not exchange oe for discontent—the sweet, silvery tones of ideleine Fleming, breathing innocence, youth, cote veriices and, perhaps hing else, for the Moxley, breathing anger, vexation and jealousy. , a faint shadow of some- Fenton Thorne, though Boe as in years, was yet a | man in understanding, and though not an adept in society-craft, yet was not stupid. He could read human nature, at least, to a certain extent, and he saw, azd’had seen for weeks, that not indifferent to him; that she wa movements—exacti quota, of his time. Ta Hoxley was jealous of his too, as concerned her due erhaps—and he had blushed and trembled as he thought it—perhaps she loved | there. It was not exactly in | passionate mutterings of Myra | WAS IT LOVE? 3 | him! He almost knew it. And then, Stephen Smith, the Junior, in his own quaint, independent way, hhad said: ‘Yes, Myra, the manufacturer’s daughter, beyond a doubt, was ‘sweet’? on him!” Fenton knew well enough the meaning of this sti e phrase, and he half believed it, as did his friend and chum, the dusky-faced Kentuckian. But, at all events, Fenton Thorne had, as it were, turned his back on Myra Hoxley, whom he had es- corted tothe ball. He had willingly given her over to the tender mercies of whomsoever would take care of her, and he did not mind who that was. During the serving of the refreshments, the Fresh- man, despite the vigorous advances of several obse- M opine pushing young bloods, had managed to keep adeleine to himself, Her every wish was to him a command, and he attended to her requests with the alacrity and servility of an ancient knight. The old merchant’s daughter seemed sufficiently pleased with her young knight, though no gay plumes nodded over his locks, and no corslet of steel girded his form. ; It was plain to see—ay, the most unobservant could see—that Madeleine was happy; could see, too, that a new train of meditation, of small efforts at a new course of thinking, was going on in that "he abn mind, however fragile and yielding the inks which held together that chain of newly-awak- ened thought. : Once, nay, twice, during that eventful evening, had Ralph ‘Ross, in his self-conceited, impudent manner, wi) arcs Madeleine, and, disregardin the slender form of the Freshman, save with a cold, contemptuous frown, endeavored to draw the maid- en into conversation. Fenton Thorne had noted that frown,the contempt- uous deportment, and the blood boiled in his veins. He knew that Ross presumed on superior class-ship at college; presumed on the ancient, alleged ascen- dency, righ ful or otherwise, of a Junior to a Fresh- man. He fancied, too, that Ralph Ross presumed on the a lar superiority of his own bulky frame over the slender yet sinewy physique of the Fresh- man. However, Freshman or not, Fenton Thorne was a manly fellow, and always preserved his self-respect; and as he nervously clenched his right hand, and felt the muscles swelling and contracting under his coat- sleeve, he fancied himself the equal of his weightier and coarser rival. Once, while at the refreshment table, Fenton had caught a glance of Myra Hoxley. She was standing alone, still as a statue, her eyes bent fixedly on him, as if they would burn him through. She was pulling slowly, nervously, at one of her pean, loves; but her eye was stony, her face blood- ess. Stephen Smith was standing near her, and had evidently been endeavoring to draw her into a conversation, This was true: Stephen Smith was.a good-hearted fellow, though he did not like Myra, that was be- ee adoubt. But he was a whole man, a thorough- , bred gentleman, and he saw how indiscreetly, rude- | ly, in fact, Fenton was acting. He pitied Myra; she was alone, for Ralph Ross had just left her, abrupt- | ly, as usual, to make up a set at whist. : So the young Kentuckian had drawn near her, with a smile on his lips and respect in his speech. But, while Myra did not smile upon him, she dii not | repelhim. She dared not do so, for several reasons; | the most cogent of which was, she did not like to appear in so large a company without an escort. | But, between her and Stephen Smith there was no | love, not even friendship. She turned her stony stare at last from Fenton Thorne’s face, and placing her jeweled wrist fran | in Stephen Smith’s arm, walked grandly away wi | her new-found escort, who towered loftily and noble | by her side. Fenton was happy; he could not be jealous of Myra, and he saw through the policy of his friend teve. The refreshments were at last abandoned; then the | merry sound of musie swelled aloud in the large room; then, speedily, setts were formed, and soon the heavy floors were creaking to the measured tread and swing of the dance. -Without knowing it, scaree- ly, Fenton Thorne found hiniself by the side of the blushing Madeleine, and then the dance began. Looking up, the young Freshman’s face was again scarlet, when he saw his ¢is-a-vis, by! Bi Hoxiey, her | partner being Ralph Ross. One m lance from her eyes shot at him, and then she turned to the “swing corners.” | _ Stephen Smith, the Kentuckian, stood by, with old Mr Fleming, and looked on. His face was sad and serious. Suddenly he disappeared, and Fenton lost sight of him. e dance ended. Weariness crept apace over the again in requisition. Carriages were again crunch- ing over the snow, and rolling up to the door. guests were beginuing to depart by scores. Away around the large mansion, in gloom and every description. Suddenly, two forms , on a rustic bench. | “‘ you are like a—silly-pated school-girl, to say the least! Everybody in the room has noticed your ap- pearance to-night.” 2 ““And have I not occasion to be angry, Ralph Ross?’ demanded the other, fiercely. ‘‘Have I not Lag: neglected by this brainless boy—ay, insulted by im 79 . “Well said, Myra; but the fellow was not so brain- H i = impudent, He deserved to have his ears Pp ad Cone ; company. Furs and-muffs, cloaks and shawls w } it was.rude and ungallant in the young man to ig- | 4 at 7 Sects hd The | quiet, was the conservatory, a large apartment, well | ed with costly exotic and indigenous plants of | lided. slowly into this quiet room, and seated thetiisclvee | ‘Why, Myra,”’ said the coarse voice of a man," “ And his ears should be pulled, had I a brother,”’ she snapped out, significantly. “Whew! a broad hint my fair cousin! But you know I’m a Junior, and this boy a Freshman. I can not forget caste /” “Gaste! fudge! However, I would not haye you harm Fenton Thorne; he is misguided, he is capti- vated by—by that minx—that’s all!” “That mma! That’s good, by Hercules!—a hea- then celebrity, you know, Myra—” ‘“Tush! foal!’ was the sharp answer to this. “Nay, nay, cousin, deal not in such expletives; they are unnecessary, and I do not deserve them. Maybe Ill serve you by boxing this boy’s ears; you know Madeleine is to be mine.” ‘Yours! why you do not care for her! You are after her money, and—and—I am afraid that Fenton —loves her!’’ **Money!’’ exclaimed the other, angrily, without noticing the latter part of her remark. “ Money! ay! you have said it! And sweet, harmless, inno- cent cousin of mine! you are after money, too! You can not deceive me/ Old Thorne, that boy’s father, is a millionaire; he can buy old Welcome oxley, as rich as he is!’ For a moment there was a silence. Itseemed that the manufacturer’s proud daughter was endeavor- ing to control herself, so that she might answer calmly, At length she spoke, and her voice, though low, was steady and clear. ‘“You are right, Ralph; I confess it, for I can not conceal if from you. I do love money, and I would have Fenton Thorne’s princely inhéritance to be added to mine. But, before Heaven, I love him, love | him at times madly; I can not deny it!” X “T would be ashamed, at least, so openly to admit | it,’ said the man, with a coarse sneer. ‘But,’ he continued, as if struck with a sudden thought “come, Myra, we'll enter into a league, offensive and- defensive; we'll be allies.” Madeleine, though, I confess to you, I do not exactly love her. But I have sown wild oats in my time! The truth is, my exchequer is low, and the old governor’s treasury has a hole in it. In other words, I want Madeleine for her money, though the girl is fair to look upon; and—yes, you want Fenton Thorne, the upstart, for money, too— and, for a little love stirred in.” The girl eye foramoment. She was a bold aie a daring schemer, though but eighteen years old, “Tl agree, Ralph,” she said; ‘‘T’ll agree; we'll work togethch and T’ll be governed by you.” “Good! We must wean him from her, and vice versa. You do the former; I the latter, * Poison her tohim. I'll blast him to her.” “And your first move, Ralph?” asked the girl, ina dee ¥ Biotin poy just thiraah eae “*Til—yes, [ll jus at youngster, anywa; in a day or so; and— Hallo!—keep still—still rts, #3 grave, Myra; I hear— Ha! here they come!” The two plotters sunk down behind a cluster of large orange-trees as Madeleine Fleming, leaning trustingly on the arm of Fenton Thorne, the colle- gian, slowly entered the quiet precincts. “Oh, Mr. Thorne, they'll miss us! Come, let us be gone. I—I am afraid—” ‘“Afraid, Madeleine, A/iss Madeleine—of me?” “No, no, I do not mean—I—I do not know what I mean; but let us go—come!”’ and she endeavored to force him away. “Stay one moment, Madeleine; I must call you such! I implore you, grant me one moment,” he continued, in a warm, excited breath, as the girl still endeavored to move on. ‘‘I have but one werd, Madeleine, to speak, and forgive me, my sweet girl, when I speak it! J &ve you, Madeleine! Oh! turn not away! I knowI am bold, but—but I can not help it! Speak, Madeleine, but say not now, neither yea nor nay; simply tell me you will let me love you, and that you do not hate me!” He paused for breath and awaited her answer. Madeleine did not withdraw her hand from his im- passioned mes : “Why, Mr. Thorne,’’? she said, quite calmly, con- sidering the circumstances, ‘“‘rumor says that Myra Hoxley, the amiable and beautiful belle, is the chosen Of your heart.’’ “Then rumor is—is most strangely at fault! M peel I do not even like her as a friend; she is bo “Nay, there, Mr. Thorne; she is my friend. But, but I'll whisper a word in your ear.” She leaned over. | It was but three words that the maiden spoke, yet | they made Fenton Thorne’s hot blood leap like light- | ning through his veins. “Enough, Madeleine, my angel! May Heaven bless you!” “Then, come now, Fenton, we must be gone!” er turned at once from the conservatory and eB eir way toward the parlor, now being fast de- se ; | Slowly Myra Hoxley and Ralph Ross arose from their hiding-place. ‘What think you now, Myra?” asked Ross, in a whisper. “Much, much, man! But come, call the carriage, | and see me home; I feel faint.” In another moment } , had left the silent sleeping-chamber of the | flowers. | Scarcely had they gone, when a tall form slowly | reared itself from the gloom and stepped eut into | the middle of the room, through which streamed & broad flash of light from a distant street lamp. | That light disclosed the sueky brown face of Ste- pen oe the Kentuckian. e drew a deep, long | whistle. - “I did not mean to eavesdrop,” he said, softly, oF Ser. ae gs o8 age
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ew er sa 4 Et 2a SE IR Wks oll Saves: ‘‘ when I came here to geta breath of unadulter- er ees but—but, methinks I’ve heard se- crets!’ : He left the room and sought the parlor. He had but entered, however, when he met Fenton Thorne, wearing a perturbed, half-sheepish, half-repentant ook, “Why, Steve, I’m in a mess now! without me!” ‘ **T do not blame her, nor can you,”’ was the blunt reer “But come, Fent, we must be off to the college. All the carriages are gone, and thanks to your muddling of affalrs, we’ll have to foot it all the way—a good mile anda half—a storm in your face, and two feet of snow under your pumps! ugh!”’ They left the hospitable mansion and bent their way through the wind and snow, up to Benefit street, and thence down to the somber-looking college, and Stephen Smith opened his mouth to his friend only once on that long tramp, and then it was to say: “There’s alittle game playing, Fent, ay boy, a wump game—between hearts and diamonds!” Myra has gone CHAPTER V. STEPHEN SMITH’S LOVE-SCRAPE. On the night after the great ball in honor of Mad- eleine deve te bieiiey Fenton Thorne and Ste- hen Smith, his chum, sa late in their cosey room, bl ig University Hall. Study hours had passed—that is to say, the young men had turned resolutely away from the table, whereon lay piles of books, memoranda of algebraic calculations, torn envelopes, ete. The bright lamp, its rays now free to beam wheresoever they would, the shade being removed—shone cheerily around the room. ; It was certainly very comfortable in old “ Twenty- four, U. H.,” however bleak and raw wailed the winds without. : Fenton Thorne’s face wore a disturbed, uneas expression, as if his mind had been grappling wit: some knotty eps and that the question had gotten the better of the mind. Stephen Smith sat ews Be , apparently uncon- cerned, his long legs raised high above his head, his _slippered feet resting on the edge of the mantle. PS entuckian was lazily puffing away at a genu- ine “ Powhatan,” with a reed-wood stem, then, as now, a luxury. But, as the good fellow watched the curling festoons of blue smoke, floating above his ae was easy to see he was not exactly easy in mind, . ats The friends had been earnestly conversing, and now, in the lull which ensued, they were thinking. “Come, Fent, my boy, draw be by the stove; ’tis a sti night outside, and these old sashes are not as tight as bg might be.” Fenton drew -chair nearer, but spoke not a bien The young Kentuckian glanced around at im. ; **Come, come, Fent, rouse yourself !”’ ‘*T am not asleep, Steve.” “You had as well be! But, come, don’t let those matters disturb you, though there’s no denying you have acted a little queer, a little outre, you know, my boy and Myra Hoxley must think h: of you.’ “{ don’t care a snap of my finger for her, Steve!” “That's a ste too far, may iene. You should respect her. Whatever Myra Hoxley may be, she is a@ woman, and occupies the position of a lady. Besides that, she and her father have been kind you. Many a good dinner you have eaten at their i le. Stephen Smith spoke quietly and seriously. ; “Pshaw, Steve! How irrational and silly you talk!” exclaimed Fenton Thorne, somewhat vex- atiously. . j “Shades of Euclid! J irrational and silly! And you a Freshy, Fent! By Jove, that’s icy, ay, Arctic!” and the Kentuckian laughed low and good-naturedly. . “Pardon me, Steve; I did not mean to be rude, or—” “T know it, my boy. I know it. Iliked you, Fen- ton Thorne, from the day I first laid eyes on you. To save you from college tricks and annoyances 1 took you in with me. And, and, Fent, your face was good, and I wanted you for a friend.” The last words were spoken ina low, soft tone, as the Junior looked kindly upon his chum. “Yes, yes, Steve, my good old fellow, and you Know T love you,” and the young man drew closer to his friend’s side. ““T believe it, Fent, and that’s enough for me. But,” and he looked straight at the other, ‘‘you did wrong last night in sligh Myra Hoxley. I tried to warn you. “T was wrong, Steve; I confess it. But I tell yo my friend, when Iwas under the influence of tha angel’s eyes, when I felt the-warm, gushing presence a ae Fleming, [ could not tear myself away! ere!” Several moments passed in silence; but Stephen was in the humor of talking, in fact, he was com- | municative, ¥ Suddenly he turned toward Fenton. ‘‘Fent,’’ he said, ina serious tone, his large eyes beaming frankly on his friend, “you love Madeleine Fleming!” . The freshman started at the suddenness of the - accusation; he colored viciously and stammered: - 66NT. O— : “Don’t deny it, Fent; your manner owns to the ‘soft impeachment.’ I say you love the maiden!” “And who made you so smart, Steve?” asked the other, reddening, and attempting an evasion. “T am not over smart, my boy; but I have eyes, and—I can see,” was the significant reply. “See! What did you see, Steve?” asked the Freshman, feverishly, evidently fearing and expect- ing a revelation. ‘ ‘I saw—why I saw you constantly in the young lady’s company—I saw your every gesture and move- |, ment, speaking admiration; I saw—” “Enough, Steve! Istand confessed! Now shrive me; for I do love Madeleine Fleming with my whole heart and soul; I worship the ground she treads; I would even bottle the air she—’ “There, Fent! Enough! I am a Junior, you know, and allow some latitude of speech with Fresh- men; so, permit me to say, my boy, that you are getting a trifle silly.”” f The Kentuckian’s words were as pithy as his tone was dry. “You have no heart, Steve, else you would not speak thus!’ exclaimed the youth, passionately. ““What! I, Stephen Smith, of Kentucky, no heart! = of my departed ancestry! But, joking aside. ent, I have a heart—a warm heart, a heart filled with love for two—” “ Two, Steve?. Why you deceitful—”’ “Yes; I love two devotedly,” said the Junior, quietly, as he watched the rings of smoke which oated from his mouth, ‘“‘Then you should be ashamed of yourself, Steve! Your conduct is not honest! Zwo, indeed! And may I be bold to ask who they are—these chosen two?” “a Certainly, and T’ll answer.” “wWell?’ “First, my dear old mother in Kentu¢éky—God bless her! cond: Fenton Thorne, the Freshman, God bless him!’ was the soft, almost inaudible reply. R dear, dear, Steve!” and the youth crept closer still to his friend, and took his hand affectionately, almost reverentially in his own. But, Stephen Smith was himself again. “Go away, Fent,” he muttered, “‘or you'll make me childish. But now, my friend, that you have confessed a secret to me, I suppose you can keep one from me?’ “Try me, Steve,” was the quick reply. “Well, Fent, I once had a love-scrape, myself.” The Kentuckian spoke very calmly and carelessly as the blue smoke curled around his head. “You, Steve? Why you never told. me this before.’ “JT had no occasion to do so, and why should I tell you?” om Because 7 trust you with all my secrets—every thing!” ‘*No you don’t,” said the Junior. “At all events then, Steve, I try to doso,” said Fenton, looking down. “Keep on trying, Fent, and you will tell me— much more,” Fenton Thorne covertly turned his gaze on his friend’s face and scanned it hurriedly, though closely. But Stephen Smith’s swarthy visage was calm and innocent, and he was still watching the last feathery ring of smoke that circled above- him, “Well, tell me all about it, Steve; I want to hear every thing youknow. Inever dreamed of such a thing! Go on, old fellow; ’tis just half past ten, and I could sit up all night to hear your love- scrapes.”’ : : “Could you, indeed? However, it takes but a few moments, and after all it may not interest you. Nevertheless, in view of certain circumstances, I thought I would tell you.” ; ss on, good old Steve, and don’t tantalize a fellow so!’ : “All right. Listen, Fenton; but you are quite sure you would like tohear of this confounded love-scrape of mine?” : “Of course, Steve; I am dying to hear it.” “Exactly. Well, one year ago, on my return to Providence after vacation, I became acquainted with a bewitching young creature, just sixteen—and a blonde. Oh! those soft blue eyes!” “Yes, Steve; your taste was good. Madeleine’s eyes are blue, too.” “Exactly, Fent; but don’t interrupt me; I am getting sleepy. Well, I fell in love with this fai ; just as you have fallen in love. Ah! I was in love— then/ At every opportunity, in and out of place, I waited on the gu I neglected my studies, just as you are going to do, wrote poetry—the veriest trash! Oh! the fool that I was, ya eat be the same before you’re cured. And finally—yes—I—she only sixteen, you know—I, I proposed!” “Yes, yes, Steve; and what then?” and Fenton leaned over, anxiously, to get the answer. “What then? Enough, truly, for me; for, thank my stars,*I was restored once more to my senses, -and managed by a late. industry to remain -in co : “But, Steve, what are you ee about? Of course the girl said yes, and requested you to wait till you ha peeaet > Stephen Smith bent his head and pondered for amoment. Then looking up, he said, very quietly: baal ay memory serves me aright, the maiden answered, very distinctly, ‘No.’ ” “Oh! what a pity! what a eye: : . “You cannot mean it, Fent?”’ and a bright smile flashed over the Kentuckian’s dusky winnie: “Ido! The girltreated you meanly! She did not know-you. But, Steve, her name?” “You have seen her.” “Well, well, trust me a little further; her name, Steve, her name?” . ‘“ MADELEINE F'LEMING.”’ Stephen Smith still. smoked on, and watched the blue rings floating above him. ; ‘ CHAPTER VI. CONSPIRACY. MyrA Hoxtty, by some enthusiastic admirers called the belle of Providence, was the only child of old Welcome Hoxley, the owner of one of the largest cotton-mills in the pee bee suburb of Olneyville. Myra was very highly educated, having received her tuition at a celebrated seminary on College street, just a stone’s throw from the university on the hill, She had just graduated, being only eight- een years old. . Fenton Thorne, the Freshman, was about nineteen years of age. The young man had entered college only two and a half months prior to his introduction to the reader. ‘ When the young man first came to college, he bore letters from his father to old Mr. Hoxley, the manufacturer; hence his intimacy with the family on Prospect street. Madeleine Fleming, like Myra Hoxley, was mother- less; but she was blessed in having such a father as old Arthur Fleming, the retired tea-merchant. There was no cordiality between Welcome Hoxle and Arthur Fleming, perhaps not the slightest good will, though their daughters were, seemingly, inti- mate and affectionate. Of Stephen Smith and Ralph Ross the reader will learn more if he continue to theend of this vera- cious life history. Welcome Hoxley, the manufacturer, walked, in an excited manner, up and down the limits of his es geo sitting-room. It was early evening. The gas ha {pst been lighted, and tea had ae te been served. Myra, as usual in an elegant evening dress, sat near a sewing-table. She was peoutne one elbow on the table, gazing abstractedly at the light needle- work before her. Occasionally she chewed viciously . - St lip, while a scowl wrinkled her narrow, white orehead, ““Confound the boy! He was rude and insulting!”’ exclaimed the old man, suddenly, 5 pon ch and flinging himself into a large velvet-cushioned chair. “To be taken by the baby-face of Madeleine Flem- ing! Fleming! Bah! I hate thename. I only re- ret, Myra, that I allowed. you to attend the ball at this old Sir Absolute Everybady’s house.” _“I, too, father; then Fenton had not seen this siren.’ “Siren! By Jove, you speak truly! She is a siren or a witch! But, then, Penton, wie booby! I thought he loved you ?” “T do not know, father; I thought the same. But Fenton Thorne is no booby.” : “Ah, indeed? Then he is a rascal; you can choose for yourself! I tell you, Myra, this affair, this love- scrape between these two young fools shall £0 no further; I have good reasons that it should stop now —at once.” ; “T say, amen, father.” “Do you love this boy faithfully, Myra? Do you love Fenton Thorne at all?’ suddenly asked the old man, looking straight at his daughter. But the girl did not reply at once. A slight crim- soning tinge flashed fora moment over her marble face, and then she answered: “Yes, Yather; I love Fenton Thorne.” Thé words were calm and earnest, “Do you love him solely for himself? Of course, my is eal you know that old Thorne is a very Croesus?” “IT know it, father, and I love Fenton Thorne, first for his expected gold, second, and in a less degree, to cheat others, and for himself.”’ . “Ah!” ejaculated the old man, with a self-satis- fied chuckle, ‘that’s right, Myra, that’s right! Always have an eye Koo to the main chance. And, my daughter,” here his voice sunk very low, “‘ we must secure your aims, must arrange things, so that there can be no failure. Iwill aid you. This pa, fortune miust not be allowed to slip away rom you; for I—I—need an alliance, just such a one as Fenton Thorne and his thousands would make. Let us see that no one can approach us unawares aes then, Myra, we will have a little confidential “Yes, father.” The old man arose, and going to the door, opened it and looked out into the hall. Then he closed the door, turned the ay the lock, and_came back, tn iboorg his chair, at the same time, close to Myra, by the table, “Myra,” he began, in a low, excited tone, “we must spoil this little game at once; and hark you, girl, we must not scruple at the means.” ; is voice was harsh, almost menacing. But the girl was made of stern stuff; she was not st pars A startled at the words of such dark import, or she had nerve enough to conceal it. . “Tam listening, father, and respond ay to what you say,’ she answered, raising her lustrous black eyes to the old man’s gaze. That look revealed to the father that his daughter had the will to plot and execute any thing. “T have evéry confidence in you, Myra. I will speak freely. e are working together—I for you, you for me—that is, indirectly, yon know. And, my daughter, we can not afford to fail!” “You are certainly in earnest, father,” said the girl, quietly. “Tt behooves me to be, my daughter. But in this sudden affair I am actuated by two motives.” ‘“* And those motives, father?” ‘* MoNEY and REVENGE!” - “Revenge, father? You astonish me. Revenge: And upon whom?” j “Arthur Fleming; may Heaven eurse him and his!’’ was the fierce answer. :
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Ce = ee ee Se = Myra Hoxley started violently, and sat upright; her attention was now thoroughly aroused. “What mean you, father?” at length she stam- ered. ‘ “You are blind, Myra, to fail to see that between Arthur Fleming and myself there is no love lost.” “T have thought it, father.”’ ‘““Now you know it. I despise the man, the round he treads, the air he breathes! But, my daughter, you are old enough to be intrusted with a secret; I will tell you one,” ‘Yes, father; I am listening.” “Arthur Fleming and myself grew up together here in Providence. As far back as Ican remember, we were rivals. We entered the same school; Mleming secured the prizes, ay, every one, on en- trance, We went to college, and again Fleming was victorious, while I gained no honors, Time pasied on, and, as fortune would have it, I fell in ove with a white, pale-faced girl, a doll baby, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, the image, Myra, of Madeleine Fleming. Don’t start.. She loved me, so she said; but she falsified, as events proved. Acci- dentally Arthur Fleming—how I hate him—saw the irl, and, well, in a word, he married her. More than that, he ‘secured that which I was mainly after, the girl’s large fortune! We met—Fleming and my- self—we quarreled. I slapped his face. He chal- lenged me; a duel was fought, and, to-day, in wet weather, I feel my rival’s pistel-ball here,’’ and he placed his trembling, nervous hand on _ his shoulder, “Nor was this all,”’ continued the old man, after.a pause; ‘for then came the great battle of life—the aengele for success, for money. Fleming was already rich, by his wife; and I—I—had a scant; patrimony. But, thank Heaven, I did succeed. Arthur Fleming and Welcome Hoxley are still secret foes and avowed rivals! Yet, Arthur Fleming is not as rich as he once was! There was a time when he owned a dozen as fine ships as ever sailed the seas. But now; and I—/, am the owner of the largest mills in Olneyville!’ ut, those last words of the old manufacturer were not spoken.triumphantly; there was a shade . of doubt, of sadness, and a tinge of melancholy in the tones of Mr. Hoxley. 2 Myra, after listening to her father’s story, sat still, Then she looked up aiid said: _ “Well, father, our day of big must come! I must win Fenton Thorne from Madeleine Fleming— {must maryy Fenton Thorne!” ri Oy amen, to that!” ; “Tl triumph, father; I doubt it not. Ralph Ross is our ally, too, and—” . “Ralph Ross! He’d have been your husband, Myra, but he had no money!” ‘Pshaw, father! Ihate him, and— Ha! there's the bell.” Old Hoxley strode to the door and turned the key. Then he quietly resumed his seat. A few moments, and the girl tapped on the panel. Then, without waiting, she opened the door and handed inacard. - Myra Hoxley’s lip curled with scorn, as she glanced _ at thee ved bit of pasteboard. Tell the gentleman, Mary,” she said, in a voice like ice, “‘that I am gagged: and not in the mood to receive him, of all itors. Tell him my exact words, and here, give him back his card.” The girl stared, but, taking the card, bowed and left the room. _In a moment more, asthe the open door of the sitting room, old Hoxley and his daughter heard the m heavy street door shut, and hasty steps hurrying away. Tine impudent fellow!” exclaimed Myra, bitterly. “ Who. was it, my dauzhter?” > { eens. Thorne, the Freshman,” was the laconic - CHAPTER VH. THE WAGER OF -BATTLE. Two days after the eventful ball, and the morning after the occurrences, as related in the foregoing chapter, Fenton Thorne sat in his room in Gollee: He had just returned from chapel exercises, and was waiting now for the bell, to summon him to the recitation room. Stephen Smith was _stridin orously up and down the chamber, book in hand, and making a worthy effort to conquer his lesson. As usual, — had postponed studying until the last moment. : The Kentuckian was not in good humor, for he had already missed more recitations than was ex- piu compatible with an honorable standing in his At length he stopped and cast the text book, most emphaticall, , upon the table. There! “Lay. there! will you? Ill not get the headache, by cramming into the said head what it can not receive, and what it does not more than half believe!” . What’s the matter,. Steve?’ asked ing around, hy, I don’t know this stupid lesson; and, you are aware, that the old doctor never forgets me!”’ Cut the recitation, Steve,” said the Freshman, sugi atively. : 0, { thank you, not to-day! This is my last chance, and my * list’ ig just minus one of notify- ing our respected ‘ Governor’ of ‘his hopeful’s colle- giate delinquencies. Thanks to the dog star, for you I were both born under it, old ‘ Gax’ found us out as I expected, on the night of the ball. Hence my full list. The snow-storm and Myra Hox —Hallo!’” he exclaimed, as the door was suddenly opened, and a letter flung in, SS ee took the letter —— bag ae i at the strange superseription. en, tearing Suert the envelope, he spread out the folded sheet, and began to read. , At first, his face crimsoned; then a deadly pallor passed over it, as he read on; he bit his lip furi- ously. Really, it required but a moment to read that note; for, however weighty the contents, they were briefly given. bedi We ect serious—no dispatch, I hope, — AE and the Kentuckian looked anxiously at his riend, “Not exactly serious; Steve, but certainly very annoying. Read the letter yourself,” and he handed the half-crushed missive over, to his friend. ss Stephen Smith took it, and without ado read as follows: — “Prenton THorNE, /yeshman: 5 ‘I do not generally waste my time on puppies, or dirty my boots by kicking a Freshman; but I take this (as the most convenient) means, to notify you, that unless you make ample apology to me, I dictat- ing that apology—for the insults you have flung at Miss Myra Hoxley, by six p. mM. this day, I shall be necessitated to trouble myself to the extent of ad- ministering to you a thrashing; all, on or before the time mentioned above. ‘A word to the wise,’ you know. Think a little and wisely, and be grate- ul for this advice; else expect to hear soon and disagreeably from, “ Yours, aaron. oS “RALPH Ross.” “The cur!’ exclaimed Fenton, his face por with passion; ‘‘if he dare lay a finger on me, P’ll—” “Yes, I know you will, Fent; but he must not lay a finger on you. Take my counsel, and do not notice this bully. Should it be necessary, I can take your part in this little affair. But, you shall make no apology, that’s certain. Though I—Hello! there goes the bell, and I know-not ten lines in the lesson!”’ The next moment, the Kentuckian, with an air of reckless determination, left the room and bent his way toward the recitation room. The day wore away; the old weather-stained bell, from the cupola on University Hall, sounded the usual number of its per diem calls, and the hour was drawing near when the day’s work would be over. Twice, that day, Fenton Thorne had met his burly rival, Ross; but there. had been no salutation be- tween them, It was certain, however, that the Freshman returned the Junior’s sneering, menacing glance, unflinchingly. Another point was also well established: Fenton Thorne made no apology. The reader must not think that the young man was unwilling to make all due explanation, ‘and apologies too, to Myra Hoxley, should they be needed. In fact, he had that for his object in calling at the manufacturer’s mansion the night before. As the reader has seen, he was rudely repulsed, and he had no apology soever to make to h Ross. Six_o’clock came; then half-past six. Stephen and Fenton were in their room, arranging their toilet before going to supper. Said toilet consisting in washing their hands and page bp boots. Suddenly a bold rap sounded on the door. Before an answer could be made, the door was opened, and the heavy figure of Ralph Ross stood there, ‘Ts this Fenton Thorne’s room?” he asked, bluntly, peering into the dusky apartment. The Freshman half arose, but Stephen Smith anticipated him by walking toward the door. “No, sir, it is not,’’ he said; ‘I hold priority of claim here, though Iam content to share the room with my friend, M7. Thorne.” “Ah! Thank you. Excuse me, sir, but I have a word or so tosay to your friend, M7. Thorne,” and he pushed boldly by and entered the apartment. ° Fenton Thorne arose promptly. ‘Iam here, Mr. Ross,” he said, oe “So I see, my Freshmanie friend. I failed to get your apology by post, and have called to get it direct from your lips. In default of which latter, I ill appoint with you a day whereon to administer to you a genteel thrashing. Let me hear from you, and be quick about it.” This was said in the iciest of tones. “You are a blackguard, Ralph Ross! Begone from this room!”’ retorted the Freshman, trembling with age and he made a hasty stride forward. But the tall form of Stephen Smith stood promptly between the belligerents, Ross had quickly thrown himself on the defensive. “Sh! ’sh! Fent, my boy, none of this here. As for you, Ralph Ross, I thought you were too old a collegian thus to stir up a broil.’ ; ‘*T care not; I simply desire to chastise that sleek- faced, moral youth. But as I see I can not do so here, rn say to him, that I'll be by Roger Williams’s Rock at sunset to-morrow afternoon. If he dare show his baby-face there, I'll slap it well for him!” The Kentuckian’s face was wich anger, as he answered, indignantly: _ you, sir, Fenton Thorne is-® weu, L The bully was somewhat ered at this; but he quickly recovered himself, and said with a sneer: “Very good; if you are anxious for the honors of the aoe do me the kindness to make good your promise. 2 Without another word, he turned and strode away down the hall. “Tl not fail you!” muttered Stephen Smith, gazing after him. ieee CHAPTER VIL. FEELING THE POSITION, Mr. Fiemine and his pretty daughter, Made- leine, sat together in the library. Breakfast had passed rather quietly, rather sadly, too, for the old gentleman seemed, not exactly morose, but brood- ing or—a better word—foreboding. e was reading a morning paper, ha just fin- ished one and thrown it aside. As the old gentle- man chewed at his cigar, it was not difficult to see that his mind was troubled, that he was cogitating pg and that his thoughts were wandering afar fe) Madeleine was sitting quietly by, sharpening a crayon pencil, preparatory to Siena on a few fin- ee touches to a fancy sketch. Su oe the father laid aside the paper, with a half-impatient gesture. * eleine,”’ he said, quite seriously, “ have seen our young friend, Mr. Thorne, since the ball?” The question was so sudden that the girl blushed deeply. The subject, however, might not have been foreign to Madeleine’s thoughts. She recovered her- self, and answered: ‘** No, papa; I have not.” a “Ts it not etiquette, my daughter, that he should have called? It wasin my day; I remember well—”’ “T don’t know, papa,” was the demure reply, as the girl bent over her crayon pencil and continued most assiduously to sharpen it. “Yes, you do know, Madeleine,” said the old man, in a low voice looking straight at his daughter. ‘But, do you like Mr, Thorne, my child? here, don’t redden so. Iam your father, Madeleine; treat me and trust me as such, for I love you as my heart’s blood.” The old merchant spoke very warmly; far more so than the occasion seemingly requir Madeleine glanced at him, and in a moment her arms were around her father’s neck. “Yes, papa, dear papa! And I love you, papa, for I have no one else, you know.”” The old man gazed kindly at her. — ** No one, Madeleine? I am growing old, my child and the dark shore lies not-far beyond me. It wi soon be in view. I would not leave you alone. But,” and his tone changed to one lighter and less gloomy, ‘search your heart, Madeleine, and tell me if you do not like Fenton Thorne. Speak, my child —I ant anxious to know.”’ ¥ The old man affected atone of levity, but there Nahe a reality, a sternness, a terrible anxiety in that one. 5 ‘The daughter noted well and quickly that pre- tended manner, and, as she wondered, a cloud drew apace over her heart. e But she answered, after.a slight hesitancy: “Yes, father, I will be Honest with you. I do like Fent—Mr. Thorne,” and her face crimsoned like a sunset sky, as she bended over her work, endeavor- ing ee conceal the tell-tale blood mantling her cheeks, , ; “Tam rejoiced to know this,” said the old man, hastily and sincerely. ‘I like the lad, and I liked his father. We were fellow-students, I, by some hocus-pocus, secured the Mergers 2/1 and Dick Thorne, by real brain-work, the salutatory. I won- der why he did not send his boy to me, instead of to old Welcome Hoxley ?”’ “Tt may have been, has had dealings with course—”’ “ You are right, Madeleine, quite are wondrous apt at bringing forw. you are x . - “Myra Hoxley told me what I have said, papa,”’ put in Madeleine, quietly. _ “Yes, my daughter. And this white-faced, red- oe has an eye on young Thorne; depend upon it,’ ‘ “Pshaw, papal Mr. Thorne does not care any thing ace her ; he told me so!” blurted the maiden, ri out, * Ah, indeed,” and the old man arched his brows, while a Ses smile broke over his hitherto sad face. ‘Tam glad, very glad to hear it, Madeleine, for Myra Hoxley would make no man agood wife. But, Mad- eleine, write a note to Fenton Thorne, and request him, in my name, to come here this evening to tea. young girl blushed with a badly-concealed ou papa, that old Mr. Thorne elcome Hoxley, and of ‘ht. And you excuses, but The joy, and she drew out her portfolio at once. Sud- denly she paused and laid her pen softly down. “Will it look well, papa?’ she asked, in a low voice. ‘‘ Will it look well to request Mr. Thorne to come, when good manners should have made him oer ital hay” Dhghad te ot than Seseeeeed “Ha * laughed the old man, interrupting her; ‘then, at last, you have found out that et: uette of old is etiquette to-day! However, Madeleine, we'll wave form and ceremony in this instance. 9 dare say, the young fellow has been doing penance, by order, of eourse, for being absent from college the other night. Write the note, Madeleine, and send it by John.” “Yes, papa.”’ In five minutes the note was written, and John dis- pecohed with it, with instructions to place it in Mr, orne’s own hands, : Fenton Thorne was walking anxiously up and down his room in Varo Hall; and so absorbed was he in thought that he did not heed the modest rap upon his door, e students had just had an almost angry confer- ence with Stephen Smith in regard to meeting Ralph Ross. Stephen had insisted that Fenton should pay no attention to the braggart—not to go near him; but that he, Steve, would see the fellow, and if he “needed it, would give him a good whipping. Fenton, | =e | . | |
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a a el a ee ea al | of course, would not assent to this. Then the Ken- tuckian had become angry and, in addition to his romised chastisement of Ralph Ross, threatened is friend, the obstinate Freshman, also with a drub- bing. ; This quarrel hetween the chums had been termi- nated only by the warning-bell, calling to recitation the class in chemistry. And Stephen Smith, who belonged to that class, in an angry mood, and not kno the difference—or caring to know it—be- tween a bi-basic salt and double-elective affinity, rushed out, with a final shake of his fist at Fenton. But the rap was repeated: : The Freshman stepped to the door, and opened it. “A note for Mr. fenton Thorne,”’ said serving-man, : “T am he; come in,” said the student, receiving the missive. He opened it quickly, and read the few lines rapidly. A smile, almost heavenly, rested on the collegian’s face, as he refolded the note carefully, and placed it tenderly away in his writing-desk, there to be pre- served as the most precious, the most idolized of his small stock of household gods, But then, quick as a flash of Fgnining; an expres- sion of pajn flitted over the fresh young face of the nen and: he bit his lip until the blood trickled own. “T am to await an answer, sir,’’? prompted the man. “T know it, John; Wait a moment,” and seating himself by the table, he drew toward him writing ma 3 “Confound it!’ he muttered. ‘‘ Was ever luck so bad?” ** Did you speak, sir?” “Of nothing of importance, John.” The student began to write; but what he wrote did not satisfy him. He began again, and with. like re- sult. Tben again, and yet once more. Finally he succeeded in his efforts, and. to his sat- isfaction. Folding the smooth sheet carefully, and with an eye to effect, he gave it reluctantly to John, wer ag a respectful bow, backed out of the room, and left. f A half-hour from that,time, the Freshman’s note, or rather letter, lay open and half-crushed before Madeleine Fleming, on the table in the libra As a specimen of its class, we will give the com- munication word by word. It ran thus: “* DEAR Miss MADELEINE: : ‘Your sweet little billet, extending to me an invi- tation to take tea at your father’s hospitable man- sion this evening, has been duly received and read— read, I think, thus far, about Kept times. Miss Mad- eleine, it seems to me that all the evil deities of. heathen mythology are arrayed, in offensive league against me; for—and it gives me the headache an heart ache (2) to write it—I can not possibly go!_ You see matters stand thus: My chum, Stephen—I call him “Steve (you know him)—and myself were caught out of our room on the night of the ball. The old Regent couldn’t be deceived, despite our bright lighd, open door, and lavishness in display of text-books. So we have not been allowed to leave the college- grounds, except for meals, until to-day. Besides that, we got five demerits apiece—Steve securing an extra five for being too independent about the mat- ter, Yousee, then, Miss Madeleine, why I have not called before. I didrun arisk a night or so after the ball, but I had an important duty to attend to, which unluckily I failed to perform. But I am now free with the exception of one engagement for this very evening, made pring to the reception of your note. Z can not break it. I will come, however, to-morrow eve’ , and every ae the week if you, want me! t, but, why you know, Steve can’t always come. Yours, with esteem, ‘FENTON THORNE.” * © Steve can’t always come!’ The cunning rascal!” | grunted the old merchant. CHAPTER IX, ROGER WILLIAMS’S ROCK AT SUNSET, THE dengieante shadows of the great old college building, falling in grotesque lines on the ‘‘ Campus,” betokened the quickly closing day, Thesun, red and flaming, had just gone down behind the dark belt of forest in the distance. Fenton Thorne was ‘somewhat nervous and ex- cited, as he glanced at his watch, and then, out over Bs Brey covered common and waste land toward e west. “Time to go!’ he muttered, ‘‘and Steve shall not revent me, Thank goodness he is in the labora- ry, and has to stay there a half-hour yet.’ In ten minutes more the young fellow, with rub- bers over his boots, and closely Ve ey in a heavy overcoat, his ears being protected A a fur ve) is- sued from the southern rear-cdoor of University Hall. Cutting straight across the College Campus, he en- tered Waterman street. Turning up this avenue, along which the cold north-west wind was blowing lustily, the student bent his stride toward the subjacent country. To the rear of the city of Providence, or to the ohn, the ; | ging—something to make your memory green east, lying on a high bluff, is a huge bowlder of gran- itic formation, It directly overhangs the romantic little stream of the Seekonk. There is an old-time history connected with this bare, bold rock, against whose base the tiny, fret- ting waves of the river are wont to murmur and break in summer time. The cliff is called Roger Williams’s Rock, and time- honored tradition has it that this flinty stone was the first firm place, after his exile from Massachu- setts, which received the footfall of the sturdy evan- gelist, "Tis said that here the Narragansets on the shore greeted the Christian hero with the welcoming salutation of ‘‘ WHAT CHEER! WHAT CHEER!” WAS IT LOVE? Onward hurried Fenton Thorne, his vigorous steps crunching the crusty snow, the fleecy vapor floatin back from his steaming mouth and nostrils. A length, his blood leaping in his veins, his face aglow with generous exercise, the young man paused and stood near the rock. “Ha! Freshy, you are punctual! I hardly ex- ected you,’ and as he spoke, Ralph Ross stepped rom behind a ragged projection of the rock, and advanced toward him. “T am not lacking, sir, when I am needed,” was the gallant reply. ‘‘And now, Ralph Ross, what would you have of me?” a “Why, nothing from you, boy; but you must ac- cept a slight souvenir from me in the shape of a flog- es- pecially when you are in the company o ladies!” Ashe thus tauntingly spoke, he drew from _be- neath his overcoat a bundle of rods and advanced at once upon the Freshman. ‘*Stand back, Ralph Ross! Stand back, I say, or you'll rue the day you dared attempt such an out- be Se uy back, fellow! 1 can, and will protect myself !”’ As he eee Fenton Thorne drew a small pistol from the ae of his overcoat. Ross recoiled, but it was only fora moment. He suddenly dashed forward upon his youthful adver- sary; and, before Fenton Thorne could use his pistol, he was hurled backward. The struggle was a desperate one, for Fenton Thorne quickly rallied and faced his burly foe. He was muscular, too, and courageous; in his own right he was a lion. But he was no match for the other, andin a moment or so he went down before the powerful fist of his brutal antagonist. But in a minute, flying feet were heard, spurning the frozen snow, and in the twinkling of an eye, Stephen Smith, the Kentuckian—his dusky face burning with an angry flush, burst like a whirlwind upon the scene. Ina second he hurled his heavy overcoat aside, and then flung himself between his fellow-friend and his foe. “Hold, Ralph Ross!” he hissed, between his clenched teeth. ‘Turn tome, you big blackguard, and fight your equal!” ‘*Out of my way, you western negro-stealer! Get out—”’ : He did not finish the sentence. With the bound of a tiger, Stephen Smith rushed uponhm. The two strong men met in a fierce con- flict. There was no backing out on either side. The advantage from: the outset lay with the Kentuckian. Slowly he pressed his heavy antagonist backward. In a moment the two stood struggling together on the very edge of the tall rock; in another, Ralph | change had come over old Mr, Fleming of late. Nor Ross flung his arms above his head, reeled and fell backward over the cliff. Os But the frozen bosom of the. Seekonk, with its protecting cushion of snow, received the falling man, and saved him from certain death. . For a moment the fellow lay stunned and bleeding upon the A ge snow; but then he began to shout. lustily for help. Stephen Smith, panting. from exertion, peered over the rock at his fallen adversary, and his noble nature arose within bim. Reply he descended and soon stood by his foe. “Get up, you bellowing boaster! Take your hat and be off with you!” Then he helped the fellow to ascend the steep face of the rock, and turned him toward the city. % re Go, Ralph,” hemuttered. ‘‘ Be wise, and—in a urry! Hoos waited for no second bidding, but left at once. ; “ Gome, Fent; tis time to go.” CHAPTER X. A SOLILOQUY AT MIDNIGHT. , Ten months, with the shifting panoramas incident to fleeting time, had passed, since the events narra- ted in the preceding chapter. The affair between Fenton Thorne and Ralph Ross had blown over. Each of the parties engaged in the fracas had been promptly suspended for a: month— of course the whole thing leaked out. Ralph Ross had been badly injured by the fall, and that circumstance led to an investigation; the re- sult being a complete discovery of the whole affair. With Fenton Thorne, the month had flown rapidly and pleasantly. He did not consider that any_dis- grace was attached to him by his suspension. What leased the young fellow much, was, that Made- eine seemed to think more of him for his conduct in the matter than ‘before: and old Mr, Fleming caminaly informed him that he admired him for his pluck! ? 4 Stephen Smith, during his month of suspension, had embraced a long-coveted opportunity and gone off to New Hampshire on a shooting expedition. And'so the memorable month had passed. The Freshman soon made up for lost time, and speedily regained his old class-standing. For many weeks thesyyoung man had kept away from the Hox- ley mansion; he did not venture there again, unin- _vited, after his memorable rebuff. The winter, with its frosts and snows, had passed away. Spring, with its outcropping verdure, had come and gone. Summer, with its blue skies and yellow harvest, had likewise vanished; and mellow autumn, with its ripened yields, and droppingileaves, had come. In the Jong interim made by the hiatus of ten months, many events had happened in the lives of our characters, worthy, perhaps, of record, but we can not pause in this Veracious heart-history further than to make brief reference to them. Several weeks rolled by since Fenton Thorne had called, that evening, at the Hoxley mansion, and the | long rules of the old merchant was: young man was fast beco: a stranger to the old manufacturer and his proud daughter. That Fen- not love the fascinating Myra was. very evi- ent. At length, however, a perfumed billet, written in elegant, chaste chirography, had reached the col- legian. It was a cordial little letter, expressing much surprise at Fenton’s absence, and breathing a warm feeling—ioo warm, the student thought—all we way through. It was signed, ‘“ Affectionately, YRA.’ Fenton Thorne, however, went at once, and paid his respects. On this occasion Myra was all sun- shine and smiles, and her father was more than or- dinarily glad to see ‘* Fenton, my lad.” The manufacturer’s daughter was playing a deep ame; the stake was well worth the Winnti, even ough a desperate struggle was required to that end. Myra, too, wasa wily diplomat, and she as- siduously attacked young Thorne at his ‘weakest points. She tickled his vanity, and appealed to his nobleness of nature, his scorn of all things low and mean. Then she eautiously threw out feelers, skirmishers as it were, to learn his position concerning Made- leine. Getting not satisfactory in return, the girl un- blushingly attacked Madeleine’s character. s step had awakened in young Thorne a torrent of retort, and Myra, beaten and baffled, had retreat- ed. But she was not as yet entirely defeated, The girl loved Fenton Thorne, and on more occasions than one she had let him know it most urequivo- eally. r “AY the residence of old Arthur Fleming Fenton had visited regularly and frequently. He knew ‘he was ever welcome, and he liked to go there; forthe hours flowrapidly by in the companionship of Madeleine and her father. It is scarcely necessary to state that the collegian rogressed well in love-matters, and strange to say, or not,) at the expiration of two months from the time he laid eyes on Madeleine, he was solemnly pestis to her as her accepted lover; and he a rdless boy! Fenton Thorne and Ralph Ross never recognized each other; gfe “re sin ras it may appear, Ross yt spoke to Stephen Smith most corddally. Late one night, and we resume the main thread of our story—that night a raw, moonless one in Octo- ber—a single light burned bright and steady in the library of Arthur Fleming, Esq. This was a rare occurrence; for one, of the life- t ‘*Karly to bed, and early to rise.” It can not be denied that a somewhat singular can we say ‘‘ of late;” for, as far back as the evenin | of the great ball, it was noted that a shade of sad- ness rested on the old father’s face. : Of late, however—that is for the last three months —Arthur Fleming had been like anotherman. He was morose, gloomy, taciturn, and—if such a thing were possible with him—ill-natured. But to Madeleine he was ever kind, though he did not evince toward her the warm, —s affection, as of old. His mind seemed to wandering—his thoughts ete going out from him. i At first, Madeleine had noted this. with wonder; and then with sorrow. The maiden became sad, and longed, more than ever, for the coming of her young lover, whose presence would cheer up her drooping spirits, and chase her sorrows away. _ On the raw night, above referred to, Arthur Flem- ing, in dressing-gown and slippers, strode nervously, meditatively, up and down the limits of his library. Tt was eleven o’clock, and all had retired to rest, save him who most needed it—the old man. : On the table in the center of the room ca several large account-books, open. Heavy weigh s rested on certain pages. Around lay numerous small slips containing memoranda of calculations, A single burner from the heavy chandelier shed its rays over the apartment. “T can not avert the impending disaster!’’ mur- mured the old man, in alow, agonizing voice. ‘Oh! *tis hard to come down thus. And to think that I have so foolishly squandered away thousands on thousands! My conscience tells me I have striven, earnestly and honestly, to redeem my losses. Da; and night have I worked and pored over this dread- ful enigma; but allin vain! 1 have seen it coming day by ag hour by hour; and now it is almost up- on me, hen the great, threatening wave breaks, as it most assuredly will, unless, indeed, a miracle should peat 5 it, poor Madeleine and myself will be forever whelmed beneath it! Poor, darling Made- leine; oh! that I could speak with you—could tell ou my dreadful secret! But Fenton Thorne, ay! is father is rich—very vich |!" Oh} that such thoughts will come into my mind! _ No, no; I'll be honest still; Tl trust God, and die as [have thus far lived, hon- orable and upright! J¢ is my last chance—my lasi move. Iwilldomy utmost. I will raise money hy secretly selling—selling—useless finery ; and then the good old Rover must be my friend again! In her I will risk my all once more, and I will trust my old captain to the last! If this venture succeed, if the Rover should return to port, I—I—ob, God—I will be saved. If she fail to come back, 1 am forever ruined! No hope then—no—” At that moment there was a loud, decided rattle at the library window, then a heavy fall, as if some one had leaped to the ground. a few seconds hasty steps, speeding away, echoed in the mer- chant’s ears. The old man sprung to the window, and_threw u the sash with a sudden, vigorous effort. The broa a of light fell, in a long line, far out into the gar- en.
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ee Arthur Fleming started violently and cowered back, as he saw a dim, grotesque figure hurrying to- ward the street. ‘Ha! Hehere! But he cid not hear me; he could not! Ob! no! no!” CHAPTER XI. LOYE.AND LUCRE, Fenton THORNE stood again on the broad marble steps of Welcome Hoxley’s mansion; but as yet he had not pulled the bell, The young man paused, as if undecided. His face wore a vexed, distrusting look, as if his visit was prompted by business—cer- tainly not by pleasure. a : At last, however, he looked up, and with a quick, nervous jerk, pulled at the bell-knob. This time, as on a former occasion, he did not have to ring twice; for scarcely had the bell jingled, before fiying feet were racing down-stairs, and then the door was opened by Myra in person. The truth is, Myra Hoxley, for some moments, had been covertly, anxiously, watching the young man, as he stood, undecided, on the steps. She was seated at a front second-story window, the shutters closed. But outside the window she ‘had adroit- ly arranged two small mirrors, so that they would perfectly reflect all objects up and down the long, ae street, and all passing beneath them. With heaving bosom and straining eyes, the girlhad watched the student, and marked his indecision of manner... When he, had seized the bell-pull, she sprung away, and with a half stifled ery of triumph, hurried down-stairs to meet him. When the door opened, Myra was all sweet- ness, languor and smiles. Fenton Thorne started back involuntarily at the radiant, dazzling image before him, Myra Hoxley certainly was there, a beautiful creature, whatever of the serpent she may have concealed beneath her brilliant exterior. Fen- ton Thorne had never denied her a dangerous, fas- cinating beauty. At one time, too, he had fel the ower of Myra’s loveliness; but, since the bright form of Madeleine Fleming had flashed before him, the form and face of, the manufacturer’s daughter had faded away like a dream. “Come in, Fenton; I am delighted to see you,” and the girl extended her soft, white hand cordially. Fenton took that band, with what feelings he did not exactly know, But he bowed low, and mur- mured some unintelligible and inaudible words. Ina few moments, they were seated in the parlor, near the comfortable register, with its gratefnl heat welling up. Myra at once entered into a lively con- versation.. She was an adept in the art (or science?) of entertaining, and she soon succeeded in arresting the student's attention and holding it, But, for along time, not one word of reference was made to Madeleine Wenning It may as well be mentioned here that the young girls were now strangers to each other. But, gradually, and very adroitly, Myra managed her conversation so as to bring in the name of Mad- - eleine. The collegian started: but quickly recover- ing himself, replied by asking: ’ ; ‘How is it, Myra, rhabyon and Miss Fleming are never seen together nowadays? You were intimate -. onee, you know.”’ Fenton innocently thought his secret was not known to Myra. 1 Why, Fenton,” returned the girl promptly, ‘‘I cannot exactly tell. I was once fond of. Madeleine Fleming, but then—then—” | “What then, Myra?’’ queried the young man, half impatiently. _ Why, people change, Fenton, and Zhave reasons ie -changing—reasons for not liking the young lady,” returned Myra, quietly, a red flush passing over her pale face. ‘£e * “You have nothing against Made—Miss Fleming— I hope, Myra?, No, you can have nothing! She is so pure—so heavenly—so—” ‘You are warm in her praises, Fenton,” inter- rupted Myra, a bitterness evident in her tones. Tam truthful, Myra; that is all,” replied the student, calmly, though a blush mantled his cheeks Reece e ndeed!”” and now downright sarcasm spiced out in Myra’s tones. es, I have known Miss Fleming for nearly twelve months, and I say but the truth, when I re- peat that she is amiable, sweet, loving—”’ _ “Granted! all granted!” interrupted the girl, bree Pees nervously. ““But you have known me for a longer time, and Fenton, dear Fenton, can you not allow to me the same good _ AS she spoke, Myra Hoxley leaned over, and placed her white, trembling hand on the collegian’s shoulder. : Fenton Thorne started, and blushed like a woman. There was no mistaking those words—no misunder- Standing that soft, insinuating tone, and what it all meant. The young man’s face burned like a coal; ete rng hag e, of course, 5 i same; soe e, Myra, It you are the ii ‘But, you do not like me as well as you do Made- soa qningl You do not dove me?” and she gazed Bie that moment Fenton Thorne would have essed the power which would have borne him to fome lonely island of the seas. But he felt his posi- 10n, and he appreciated it. He was under the eye oe ene ang a jealous woman. at len with a ghastly attempt at agmile asked, falferingiy: nd who says this of me ra? Wh s that Llove Madeleins Flaming” ae That question could be readily answered, by any one,” and she gazed pertinaciously, yet softly, at him as she spoke, characteristics?” Madeleine Fie WAS IT LOVE? “Nay, nay, Myra,” responded the yo man half-banteringly, ‘‘ you have not paeacmeanne ques- tion: Who says I love Madeleine Fleming?” ““T do, Fenton Thorne! And I speak the truth! Besides ace | Tsay you are a silly boy, to pay court to such a girl. Myra Hoxley’s eyes flashed fire as she spoke, and pie eyes were still fastened on the face of her est. “What mean you, Myra? What mean you? Speak, I say!’ exclaimed the student, impulsively. “T mean what I say; I will explain by saying— Madeleine Fleming falls in love with every new face; that her heart is changeable and callous; that her likes and dislikes vary as the wind shifts; that she has trifled siredy with a half-dozen others, even as she is trifling with you now!” and the girl still kept her eyes bent on the face of the student. Fenton Thorne felt a rushing torrent dash into his face; his hands clutched nervously at his swayin, watch-chain. But the youth controlled himself, an did not speak. ‘“‘Now, Fenton, dea Fenton!” and the beautiful girl drew still nearer to him; ‘since I have opened bg? eyes to facts—for, I reiterate, Madeleine cannot trusted !—can you not put confidence in me? Nay, Fenton, do not interrupt me, for I have long nowpltt this opportunity, and must speak. Do you know, Fenton, what the love of a true woman is?—do you know what it means?—the warm beating of a woman’s. bosom st_ your own! Oh! Fenton, trust me, when I tell you that such a woman is not : ! But such a_woman is—ah! Fenton, forgive me!—is—is—Myra Hoxiry!”’ As she spoke, she sprung to her feet, and flung her arms impassionedly around the young man’s neck. Stunned, shocked, overwhelmed, and burning with shame—his emotions of indignation, of loathing and disgust, choking him and denying him utterance— Fenton Thorne—despite the fact that Myra Hoxley’s arms were around his neck—staggered to his feet. With an impatient, violent gesture, the high-minded _ fellow flung the maiden from him. ‘Shame on you, st Hoxley! Shame on you!’’ he exclaimed, in a deep, angry voice. ‘Yes, hang your head and weep! Shame on you! You can- not deceive me; I know you and your wiles! You wish “ father aged ; but you will never touch it, Myra Hoxley! e are parted now, and forever! Thank Heaven for it! As for your words concerning Madeleine Fleming, I heed them not. I fling them back at you, and brand them as false—false as the wicked woman who spoke them!” Turning at once, he snatched his hat and cape, ona f ahall Foel t, proud boy ; I ‘ But you 8) my power yet, pro ys IT swear tt/. LU fight ef Jor that eo gold, and—and—l HATE you |” Myra Hoxley fairly hissed these words, as she reared her splendidly-attired figure, and shook her cement hand after the retreating form of the collegian. i CHAPTER XII. THE NEWS RALPH ROSS TOLD. By this time the shades of night had settled over the city of Providence. The street-lamps were already lighted, and were flinging their beams over the lonesome, silent thoroughfare. _ The hours grew on; twilight deepened into night; ten o’cloeck sounded, and still Myra Hoxley, in, in jewels, and rich in flowing drapery, walked wi nervous step, the extended limits of the mansion parlor. The light from the glittering chandelier was turned down low, and the mild beams eT on M Hoxley’s stern, revengeful face, revealed that face fearfully distorted, and writhing with passion and jealousy. An hour passed; another, and yet another. Still the manufacturer’s daughter continued her restless promenade. Never once did the tightly-compressed ips open; for the woman’s.very soul, as well as speech, were locked up. At last it seemed that nature was worn out. With a weary, half-an sigh, Myra Hoxley flung herself into a chair, and burst into tears. Her woman’s nature, hard and stony as it was had given way, but there came no relief. The girl was not defeated, nor had the fires of vengeance burned out in her soul. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed bitterly; ‘‘and am I to be thus cheated out of my prize, my prey? Would to Heaven that Madeleine Fleming were dead and in her grave! But I will have you yet Fenton Thorne, and have your go/d/ Compass and deceive me if you can, with ong boy’s wit! I have allies, willing and strong, and I am bold! I'll sta, at nothing, now; I-must not fail, for the prize princely ! Tcare not for—” At that moment the door of the parlor opened, and the form of old Welcome Hoxley ap s “* Ah! Myra; I’m glad I have found you!’ he ex- claimed, as he entered, and seated himself near the girl. “<j have searched the house for you.” “Well, you have found me, father, found me an angry, a miserable woman; but one who does not d of gaining her point! For, where revenge avarice and jealousy work together, the combina: nation is strong—wondrous strong!” : “Yous mae y, my child.” “Do I father? , it matters not; you under- Were] me, and what is better, I understand my- “Do not talk thus, Myra. I know that Fenton —— = been here; tell me in a word, what has a nea, e fhe fellow has been here, indeed! We have quarreled, and the impudent boy has rejected my 7 rs love—spurned it. Oh! Heaven, stand by me!’ “What say you, Myra? Spurned you? By—” “There, re, father; vow bine k hte and do not perjure yourself! For you are only too good at making promises; you never keep them!” and the girl smiled acoenifals iy. . The old man-winced, “You are cruel, Myra,” he said, humbly; ‘you are unjust. knows—”’ “God knows nothing of you, father, save it be to your discredit!” ‘Now, by Heaven!” and old Hoxley’s face grew black with anger, ‘‘ this is too much, even from a petted, pampered vixen as you are! Tl not submit < am ge deg impudence; so heed your words r. , The girl was abashed before the ominous frown and the threatening demeanor of the oldman. She had gone too far; but she was still a strategist, and had vantage of position. “Do not be at me, father,” she said, in a low, repentant tone. “I a rashly, I confess; but I have been goaded beyond endurance this evening. Iwas jealous of our name, of your name, father—your reputation, and—and I forgot myself. But, pardon me, and listen to what I have to say; I want your counsel, for now, together, we must lay our plans of triumph and revenge!” For nearly an hour, despite the lateness of the night, father and daughter conversed earnestly to- gether in alow tone. Myra’s revelation fell with a stunning force on the old man’s ears, and he nerv- ously clenched his hands together, as a bitter anathema escaped his lips. At last the consultation ended, and father and daughter sat gazing abstractedly at the floor. Suddenly hasty steps were heard echoirg on the flagged sidewalk; they paused at the door of the manufacturer’s mansion, and instantly the bell jingled. ; EWho can it be?” muttered Mr. Hoxley, glancing at the clock; “it is after twelve o’clock!’ Again the bell sounded, as if pulled by an impa- tient hand. Old Wygewd po to the door and opened it. “Ah! Ralph! ‘You, my good fellow? ’Tis late, you know, and it does not look well to—” “Tis not too late to be the bearer of good news | Let me in, or you’ll have the police upon me, for a ate ag e pushed the old man unceremoniously aside, and entered the hall. Yes, yes, Ralph. News, did you say? Yes, come in, my good fellow; ‘tis not so late, after all. But, now, the ve the good news?” “All in good time, uncle. Give me just a minute to get some air into my lungs. It is more than a step from here to the end of North Main street, and College street is steep!” ph Ross was enjoying the impatience of the old m an. “Ah! Myra, my cousin; well met!” he exclaimed, as he entered the parlor and saw the resplendent form of the manufacturer’s daughter. “But the news, the good news?” suggested old Hoxley, nervously, r “Tve not forgotten it, uncle, and you may spoil it by your impatience. But, listen,” and in a low breath, he proceeded to impart his information. The effect on Welcome Hoxley and his daughter was magical. The latter was the more demonstra- oh 3 she laughed hysterically, and was almost wild : oy. “lis coming—coming!”’ she muttered, ‘‘and Heaven be thanked! ow, we will see, Fenton Thorne, if your love be so entirely disinterested; we will see if it can not be brought back to me /”’ Old Hoxley walked the room with a buoyant, triumphant stride. “You are right, Myra,” he exclaimed. ‘ But it has y come, ha! ha! Some people are looking far ahead; but, Welcome Hoxley’s day is close at army Heaven bless the men who build ships! Ha! _ The old manufacturer tottered toa chair, and sunk in it exhausted. CHAPTER Xiil. THE SCUD OFF VUE DE L’EAU. ‘Yrs, Steve, there is something strange going on at the Fleming mansion; Madeleine is not the same ein and her father wears a sad, weary face.” . “7 chave noticed it, Fent, and I can’t exactly un- ravel the matter. It may be, you know, that the old gentleman has met with a uniary difficulty.” “T think not, Steve; Mr. Fleming is wealthy, and, if he tried to do so, he could hardly throw his money away.” Stephen Smith pondered for awhile, and then he answered, slowly: “Perhaps! But, Fenton—excuse me—let me ask you a plain question: suppose Madeleine Fleming were a poor girl, what then, in your eyes, Fent?”’ Fenton Thorne’s face glowed darkly at first, and he glanced up, half-indignantly, at the calm, impenetrable face of his friend and chum. “What then, Steve? Can you doubt me. I would love her and esteem her more than ever!” “T thought as much, I knew as much, Fent, and— ou are right. What will you do this afternoon? ou_know recitations are suspended, on account of the death of one of the trustees.” : “T have invited Madeleine to take a sail with me to Vue de l’Eau. She has long desired to show me & small suburban retreat of her father’s, about four miles down the bay. She hasn’t been there for some ears herself. e will have a delightful time, teve. I have engaged the ‘ Bay State,’ and, Steve, ae Aantin a m -tehte
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there is room enough for you if you would like to “T would like to go, Fent; but you are mistaken, boy; there is not room for such an interloper as and Stephen Smith laughed good-naturedly. He was living, for the nonce, over the past; he was thinking of the time when Madeleine Fleming was m itu his Queen of Love and Beauty. But then, the half- | sad expression passed away from -his open, dusky had been reclining, and taking his friend’s arm, the a ee across the ‘‘ Campus ”’ and entered Hope street. Scarcely had they gone, when Ralph Ross, who had been sitting under a tree not ten yards away, arose. He had heard every word. He chuckled to himself and rubbed his hands. ‘A famous chance for fun! Iam a good sailor, and if I mistake not, the ‘Two Boys’ is a heavier boat than the ‘Bay State!’ We'll see, we’ll see!”’ he muttered, as he moved off. He entered Waterman street, and passing Rhode Island Hall, turned into Benefit street and walked — toward the wharves, in the lower part of the city. The sun was about two hours high. poms from her; “Come, danxling, we must ut off; we are going to havea little wind,” and taki er hand in his, he ran briskly down to the w. A The girl did not heed the signs of the co: ele- mental storm, for her faith in her lover’s » his strong arm, his j ent and tact, were implicit. “Why, Fenton, ear,”’ she said, cheerfully, as she sprung with the aid of his hand to the d of the tossing yacht, ‘‘I care not for a little wind! Let it blow. geen} I care not!” “Nor would I, Madeleine, were I alone,’’ returned the other, seriously, as he cast off the bowline of the boat. ‘‘Come, Madeleine, quick—be seated— there! Mind the boom; duck your head and—there she goes!” The yacht’s head slowly fell off, and then the e sail, catching the wind, filled beautifully, and the “ Bay State’? dashed away with a foaming bow. On they flew, the wind rising higher and higher, the sea ea more fearfully as they bore out on the bosom of the white-capped bay. Now, the flying spray struck the sharp bows of the yacht, and flew in feathery flakes far astern. Fenton took off his coat and flung it over Madeleine’s shoulders. The irl clung closer to him, and, as she looked in his ace, asked tremulously: ‘Is there—any—danger, Fenton? Can you man- age the boat?” ‘Trust me, darling,” was the prompt reply, though the yo man’s tone was very serious, as he con- tinued: “but, Madeleine, the wind is heavy. I must reef the sail; the yacht cannot stand it. Seize hold of the tiller firm! ; you can do t—with both hands— so! Hold it y for five minutes and I'll relieve you.” q The girl did as directed, and grasped the cracking tiller with a strong, nervous gripe, The yeent was now bowling along at a fearful speed, burying her bows at every lunge in the seeth- ing waters around her; but she was well handled, and stanch withal, for she readily came up again to po and spurning the fleeing waters, darted onward. : Fenton Thorne worked like a hero; the bellying sail was reduced to a mere pocket handkerchief in size, as he returned silently and took the tiller again in his own hands. The boat did not now ship so much water, but she still held on her flyi “See! we have company, Madeleine,” suddenly exclaimed Fenton, glancing over his shoulder, as they cleared the near headland; ‘‘is the fallow crazy? He is carrying full canvas. By Jove! it’s the ‘Two Boys!’ aah standing this way. But, what does the WAS IT LOVE? fool mean?’ he suddenly exclaimed, rising to_his feet and steadying himself by the tiller, as the “‘ Bay State’ plowed her greedy way eo ‘He'll cross our bows—and I cannot jibe or fall off! Lie low, Madeleine! Boat ahoy! Luff! or you'll be afoul of me! Luff—luff! Isay!” “Can’t do it! My main sheet is adrift—my rudder jammed!’ came back, in loud tones, from the rap- idly advancing boat. “* Madeleine—oh! Madeleine—cling to me—quick!”’ cried the —_ as the other yacht, with bursting sail, bore like lightning down on them. A moment, and they struck. The “Bay State” reeled, shook, rocked fearfully, and in a twinkling, lay on her side, the billows making a clean breac over her. = But the other yacht immediately tacked, as if handled by a ready hand, and bore away toward the now dusky city. CHAPTER XIV. A LIGHT IN SIGHT. Ir was Ralph Ross who sat in the stern: sheets of the “ Two Boys”’ that squally afternoon and guided the rushing yacht, with a bold and steady hand. It is true, that, as he came thundering across the fore-foot of the little ‘Bay State,” his boat did in- deed seem unmanageable; and the long main-sheet was whipping in the wind. But it would have seemed toa disinterested observer to notice how soon after the collision this truant main-sheet was hauled in; how the flying boat came so suddenly up in the wind! ; It was si , too, and it cannot be denied, that when Ralph Ross saw the collision inevitable, he did not put his helm a-port, and bring his craft up in the wind. There was nothing to vent this. He might have ee a half-barrel of water in the maneuver, but he would have run no real risk; he would not have carried away a reef-point, or split a seam in his sail. For the sake of humanity, however, we must be- lieve that the young man could not avoid the colli- sion, on account of the fugitive rope and the jammed rudder. specially must we spent a this explanation. as, after getting control of the w ing sheet, and the mastership, once more, of the rudder, he readily and skillfully wore — and commenced beating gallantly back toward the scene of the disaster. He had hardly come about, however, and brought his boat close in the eye of the howling wind, when, suddenly, a white squall darted out from the land, blowing the tumbling snow-caps far and wide, like feathers in the air. Ralph Ross was a good sailor; he had shown him. self to be such, and, whatever were his intentions in re- turning to the spot where the collision had occurred. it is very certain he dared not wait for the squall to strike He jibed at once, at imminent danger of capsizing, and scudded away toward the city, the lights of which were now to be seen twinkling in the darkness, far ahead. The man had left the unfortunates to their fate; rhaps he could not do otherwise. It could not deed, be expected that he would endeavor to fight his way back in the face of the scurrying squall. maltgy tigine eenettag, evar dite -aouttil, Secaaiey com ght, glancing over the troubled, waters; no limmer to cheer the lonely ones on the wreck, for the gallant ‘‘ Bay State” was a Her large sail, wet and sogged through and throug’ held the craft flat on her broad de; she coul neither right herself or sink. This was fortunate; for, besides affording a firm, sure support— which jt would not have done, had it entirely capsized—it kept the rushing water clear from the hole which the heavy bow of the “Two Boys” had stove into her timbers. When the boats had come in contact, and before the little “‘ Bay State ’”’ had gone over, Fenton Thorne had sprung to Madeleine’s side. The maiden’s face was white with terror, but she had clung confidingly aeapne she sinewy form of him who was to her her In another moment, a huge wave had struck them, and, in each other’s embrace, they sunk beneath the mad waters. Then they arose, and for a time Fenton Thorne was a ve ercules, There tossed the helpless yacht, drifting away from him. With one or two orous strokes the young man was in the midst of the floating rig, ; in a moment his right arm was wound around a hal- yard. Then, with the wet fainting form of the 1 secured in the encircling grasp of his left arm, the student slowly drew himself and his precious burden to the boat. At last he paused in his efforts; for a time, at least, he had saved Madeleine Fleming’s life. — Then he spoke sweet words, encouragingly, in te rk and pressed her dripping form close to his reast, The only utterances Madeleine made then were: . ‘*Fenton—dear Fenton! Heaven be praised!” There they clung that raw night, in the wind, and amid the waves, which were breaking over them at every surge. But Fenton Thorne was happy; nay, he was cheerful; for he had saved Madeleine from a watery grave, and she was now doubly dear to him. The student was hatless and coatless, but he cared not for that, and he shook his proud head defiant- ly, = the rude wind flung his long hair, wildly, in is face. Thus they drifted, and still they saw no welcoming light, no hope! Further and further from shore the helpless yacht was carrying them, But just then—yes—a_ bright red light shot around the jutting spit ahead, and then a rocket flashed across the black sky; then another. Then came the heavy serean: of steamers whis- tle, booming over the rush of the waves and the roar of the wind. Nearer the light! nearer the darting rockets! nearer the friendly whistle! 6 At last the dark, looming outlines of the steamer came dimly into view, her decks thronged; from those decks loud, anxious murmurs and oes were borne over the waters. - The red lantern at the black bow flashed over the wrecked yacht, and then Fenton Thorne raised high his voice and sent forth a frenzied yell. In a moment a cheer went up from a hundred throats on that dark steamer’s decks, The paddles ceased to move, and the craft forged slowly ahead. Then thé letters on her bright, glowing lantern shone out clear, and Fenton Thorne read the name: ‘* CHICOPEE.”’ “Heaven be praised!” murmured the young man, and he would have slipped with his burden, from ex- haustion, into the water, had not, at that moment, a sinewy hand grasped him witha vise-like gripe. “Saved! saved!” echoed from the crow steam- er, as Madeleine Fleming and Fenton Thorne were lifted aboard. And the hand that did this a task was that of Stephen Smith, the Kentugkian. And old Arthur Fleming, as he once more held his daughter to his bosom, sunk, fainting, on the deck of the steamer. “T did my best to avert the disaster, and to save ou,” said ph Ross, advancing from the crowd; ‘but the main-sheet—” ** Villain and falsifier! And are here?” ex- claimed the coatless hero, Fenton orne, rushing toward the other. “Sh! ’sh! Fent! Better thank Heaven that you and Madeleine aresaved. Whatever this man did, he certainly was instrumental in are your lives,’ and Steven Smith’s strong arm held friend back. But Myra reenge f stern and door, on the dark deck of the “ ww ord. ‘ CHAPTER XY. A LATE LIGHTS. Two weeks had elapsed since the catastrophe in the bay. The excitement occasioned by the affair, and i suspicions it had awakened, were alike dy- out. . eculiar circumstances caused Fenton Thorne to let the matter of the carelessness of Ralph Ross— culpable or otherwise— without further inves- he ory oak and Stephen Smith was the young man’s viser. Time rolled on, and December had come—the month in which occurred the anniversary of Made- leine’s erie Old Arthur Fleming sat alone in his library. The windows were now well secured; forthe old gentle- man bn gen the visit of old, of the nocturnal prowler. With his head buried in his hands, the old man sat in his -chair. He uttered no word, but sat there, wrapt in dreaming hideous dreams, awake! e was fighting life’s battles over again, and the conflict was a terrible one, The hours sped by unheeded; the clock on_its ala- baster pillars, ticked loud, and struck regularly, in silver, sonorous tones, But Arthur Fleming, the retired merchant, thought on—dreamed on, Sudd the old man looked around him, and then glanced at the clock. “Yes, yes,” he muttered, ‘‘I must do it! She is my all, a only love, my cherished idol!’’ e reached over, after a moment’s hesitation, and ulled the bell-cord. Several moments elapsed, when ohn appeared at the door, in answer to the sum- mons, rubbing his eyes is ot ae ‘ “Ah! John—sleepy? Well—send my daughter ere,”’ . ‘“ Why, Miss Madeleine, sir, has been to bed these two hours!” said the domestic, staring at his master. The old man glanced at the clock again; then he muttered: : “Ah, yes! Iforgot. Well, it does not matter; tell Martha to awaken her, and bid her come to me here. I must see her i she can sleep late in the morn- ‘ather, = icopee,’’ said not a given to step ; Ls maiden obeyed at once, and resumed her seat, “Nearer, Madeleine,” said the father. The girl drew her chair close to his. ‘‘Now, Madeleine, listen,” said the old merchant, in a low tone, looking steadily at the girl, as her full, frank eyes were lifted, trustingly, to face. “T have a_weighty secret to confide to you, = icy But, Madeleine, do you love—Fenton orne ?” The question was blunt and sudden, and the girl blushed deeply. “Yes, father, J do,” was her reply. “Do you love well enough to become his— wife?” continued the old man, looking straight into her warm, blushing face. : “Yes, father, I—I believe I do; but we are both too young yet,”’ was the reply, in a low, soft tone. “Prue, true, my child!” exclaimed the old mer- e, by the saloon . own dark thoughts—thinking, reason-
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Flem WAS IT LOVE? = ? Seater chant, in a disappointed tone. “But Fenton Thorne’s father is very rich—Fenton will be in time!” These words were spoken as if the speaker was communing with himself. ‘““ What were zon saying, papa?’ asked the maid- en, who had but imperfectly heard the words. “Nothing of special importance, my child. But listen, Madeleine,” and his voice suddenl. assuming a strange, business-like tone, struck the maiden harshly. ‘“‘Do not interrupt me, but listen well. People say and think that I am rich; you think the same, my child. Well, I have been rich; I h we been worth my hundred thousands. Start not, Madeleine. Ihave been unfortunate, my daughter; T have been unwise in indorsing bad paper, and to- night, though I have been honest to the last, lam BANRKUPT. Speak not, my child; let me tell you all. I am ruined!—am so poor, indeed, that I can not celebrate your approachin Lape This house which shel us, and which is so princely in its apartments, is, in the eyes of law an ht, the roperty of others! But listen, Madeleine, yet more. vou remember the old Rover—my gallant tea-ship of other days, the one I retained of all m when I was vich ? Well, she was good-luck i and I kept her. Now, by bending every effort. have many ; eight up a sum of money—not large, it is true— ut it will serve. I intend to risk this money, every cent of it, in the Rover aaa Do not interrupt me, Madeleine, I have seen tain Kelson and told him my secret. "Tis safe with him, my child. He con- sents willingly, even gladly, to make the trip for me; he has already secured his mates and a good crew. On the Rover now rests my last, my only hope. If she is successful, and in a year hence returns safe to ort with a rich, glorious og I—I shall be saved! But, oh, heavens! should she ail! No, no! She can not, must not, fail!” 4 It was two o’clock in the morning before that midnight conference was ended between father and daughter. The licemen on their beats noted and watched the -hidden light that night, which flashed through the crevices of the shutters of the cane mansion, and they shrugged their shoulders an wondered that the old merchant, now so rich, should thus invade the ‘‘ wee sma’ hours.” There were other lights, too, burning late that same night in the good city of Providence. One shone from a room—the snug little back _sitting- room in Welcome Hoxley’s mansion in Prospect street. This light, too, was half-concealed, though some of its rays managed to struggle out in the dark night. But that light shone more brightly on a singular group which took counsel together in that little back sitting-room of Welcome Hoxley, the manufac- turer, than it did on the wondering policemen out- side, t CHAPTER XVI. \ bag baker a ge a ‘ 5 Tn the early part of the same evening, when suc late lights were b in the mansions of Arthur and Welcome Hoxley, Myra Hoxley and Ralph Ross walked, arm in arm, around the dark waters of the Cove, : The Cove is one of the objects to be seen_in Provi- dence. We need not describe this beautiful sheet of water, surrounded by its grateful shade trees, only to those who have never seen it, We will simply state that the Cove isa e, artificial lake, formed of the waters of the upper Narraganset. It is about a mile in circumference, it being an almost perfect circle. It is walled in, all around, by massive ma- sonry, this being studded by an ornamental iron rail In winter the frozen surface of the Cove is jocund with the ringing steel; in summer, its placid bosom bears many love-laden barges in joyous, sportive contest. It was early in the evening, the lamps on West- . minister street had just been lighted; the large re- flector in front of the ‘‘ What Cheer ’’ restaurant had but then flashed forth its cheerful rays on the crowd- ed streets; but around the Cove no brilliant gas flung its gladsome beams. All was dark and gloomy. Myra Hoxley and Ross had just cleared the shade of fiie tegrsende depot and were balay, Net ag rapid stride along the quiet path bordering tly on the Cove. Their conversation was earnest and unre- strained. At length they reached the little pride, ois night rah he Cove, and directly opposite the ‘epot the _ Gomer) Ralph,” said Myra, as if tired and impa- tient, ‘come, let us sit down. We have arranged. all well. I only hope the plan will not miscarry.” She seated herself languidly on the rustic bench. Ralph Ross followed herexample. | Only a moment P. in silence. “For the soul of me, Myra, Ican not see how all this is going to benefit your cause! Since the revela- tion, you know, J have nolonger any desire in that - quarter! Not [1 Myra mused before she answered. “You may not see it, Ralph, but—Ican! And even should I not be benefited by it, why I'll enjoy a brief triumph, anyway. I can smile with satisfaction at the rage and anxiety of Fenton Thorne!’ gone to the bottom, doth of them! Then breast, “Would that indeed be a satisfaction, Myra? ther, is it not uow a pant of your existence, that you _may win the love of that upstart, Fenton orne?”’ “ He is no upstart, Ralph, though, I confess, I am begin ing—just beginning, mind you!—to hate the fellow. He reais me with such cool contempt. And then, that forever-intermeddling friend of his, Ste- phen Smith—I despise the fellow! and—and, Ralph, ou are strong and active; why do you not cane t rown-faced Kentuckian—for—for my sake?” Ralph had good reasons for not caning Stephen Smith, but he simply answered: ‘*Nonsense, nonsense, Myra! Smith has never —hever harmed me, why should I interfere with him? es FS ae toed only reason, Ralph? However, let it pass! e must try ourgame! Madeleine Flem- ing must—well, you know what—for a time. Whether or not harm befall her, I care not! I have saved enough from my father’s stinted poney to pay whatever expenses may be incurred. we can manage this, why, Ican see what may be done to gain Fenton Thorne.” “You mean Fenton Thorne’s money, Myra?” said Ross, pee ee The girl did not even wince. * As you will, ph,” shesaid; “ but that matters not. this fails with the girl, I'll poison her to him, and I’ll scruple at no means which promise success. What care I for reputation, veracity, fair-dealing, or anything else? Once arouse the girl’s jealousy—J know what itis, Ralph—give her good grounds for this jealousy, and trust me for a love-sick woman’s anger! Then all will be well!” “I favor the other plan, any way, Myra; and Tim Smooth is wondrously like the fellow.” “In every thing save all that makes a man. But Tim Smooth,poor fool that he is, will still be useful to us, and we must use him. Fora few paltry dollars he is ours!” ‘*Can he act his part?’ “Trust me for training him! But we will—” her voice sunk to a lower key, as a man’s steps were heard i Then a tall figure walked leisurely by. 'The walker did not observe the quiet sitters; if he did he chose not to notice them. When he had passed, Myra turned to Ralph, and said, in a low voice: ‘That was Stephen Smith, Iam sure! I know his footfall—the meddlesome busybody !”’ ‘Fortunate thing he did not hear us, Myra!’ said Ross, with a feeling of relief. “T care not for him! Idefy him! But, Ralph, lis- ten well again to your instructions. Remember, if all goes—” her voice again sunk into a low, inaudi- ble, confidential whisper. \ It was Stephen Smith who had walked by so leis- urely; but when he was once out of earshot, the ood fellow paused, and gave one of his peculiar ow whistles; and then—yes,it must be confessed—he uttered a very forcible exclamation. Polite or other- wise, it seemed to relieve Stephen. That exclama- tion had not the faintest reference to ra Hoxley or Ross; but then Stephen instantly strode on, by the oe el thence across to Westminister street, over the b dge up into College street; and his stride was not slow or halting. Beyond a doubt, the ae FS was test serious. In afew moments he was hid beneath the heavy loom of the trees bordering the narrow street. ut Stephen Smith did not enter the college grounds. : The night woreon. The late lights were still burn- ing in that little back sitting-room of the rich manu- ed doubt, that st f eyond a doubt, was strange company for Welcome Hoxley, those two rough-looking men who sat with him around a table, engaged in anxious and evidently a very interesting conversation, Welcome Hoxley, his face aglow, it seemed, with anticipated, prayed-for triumph, his hands jinglin nervously the heavy seals of watch-chain, s at one end of the room, near the head of the table. His two visitors were conferring ether. At length they looked up; one of them said: ‘Well, Mr. Hoxley, youcan count on us, but first, sir, swear solemnly that whatever comes of this, our names will not be mentioned.”’ : “Tll swear—I’ll swear, my men, of course—of course!” said the old man, hastily. After hunting about for a moment or so, he found a small Testament. “T swear, by the Holy Evangelists, never to impli- cate either of you in the matter!’’ and he kissed the ad 2 t terms, and ery good, sir, e accept your and we will fort Agar ends! Onee gone, you shall never n hear of—” ‘sh! ’sh! no names!” interrupted the old man, glancing around him nervously. : “You are cautious, sir, but you are wise. But now, sir, we’ll sign the agreement, and then would like to handle the gold—the hush-money, sir.” Old Hoxley hesitated; but it was only a momen- tary hesitation. From a drawer in the table he took two rs. ; = en both,”’ he said, Spo? them out on the table; ‘‘ you two will keep one, I the other.” The men did as directed. Then the old manufac- turer took from a safe a leathern of heavy weight, and slowly counted over the glittering pile, and then, with a half-sigh, shoved it toward the men. They quickly secured the money about their persons, and without a word took their hats and coarse overcoats, stole down the stairs, and noise- lessly out into the street. They hurriedly took their way down Prospect street, toward the southern wharves. Scarcely had they fens twenty paces, when, di- rectly opposite the Hoxley mansion a tall form slowly emerged from the gloom and followed on after. - and pulled On went the two mysterious men and the one who hung upon their footsteps. At last the wharves were reached. 4 Feeling around for awhile in the gloom, one of the men drew in by a painter a ship’s small boat. They lost no time, but, Jumping aboard, let drop .the oars directly out into the bay. A quarter of a mile from shore a stately ship, with talland tapering spars, showed like a giant specter in the night. The man who had so persistently fol- lowed after the others paused. ss shh BS strange!” he said; ‘‘ the old—man keeps bad company, I am afraid!’’ and he turned to retrace his steps. As he paused under a solitary lamp-light, the flickering beams revealed the very serious features of Stephen Smith, the Kentuckian. CHAPTER XVII. CLOUDS OVER THE HEART. Tuar Arthur Fleming was getting the Rover ready for sea created no especial surprise. The ship was his, and his affairs his‘own; no one had any thing to ro about it. here were those of course who thought this action onthe part of the old man somewhat singular and strange; that, in his old age, and surrounded by his — wealth, Arthur Fleming should grow greedy ain. t was not unusual to send out a tea-ship; though, at the time of which we write, the trade with China and the East from Providence was slack, in fact, almost abandoned. It must not be pr ower Bd that Arthur Fleming had made his fortune thirty years prior to the opening date of our story. The Rover was lying in the lower bay, just above Vue de l’Eau. She had been hauled on the sands, and her old copper sheathing scrubbed and patched. her gaping seams laid with oakum and pitch; and then she had been floated off again by an ee ge tide. Her high, old-fashioned, but well-tried h had received a new eoat of paint; and her tall masts and tapering yards, bearing a new suit of sails, had been freshly scraped. Her provisions and water, with a small cargo of commodities, were already stowed; her officers and crew were aboard, and the — old, craft was ready to try the dangers of e sea. Old Captain Kelson, the weathér-beaten skipper of the Rover, was readily admitted to the library of the Fleming mansion. Arthur Fleming was expectin; him; he wanted to have a last talk over matters an to give his final instructions. aptain Jack Kelson was a representative of the old-time sailor, bluff, hale, red-faced, courteous, con- fident, and thought quite well of himself, in a pro-' fessional point of view. The old mariner was all aglow; for, fifteen years had elapsed since he had snuffed the salt-sea air from the deck of a ship. The old man thought he had retired for good, and that he would finish the remainder of his days, surround- ed by home comforts and domestic joys. Nevertheless it was with alacrity and genuine joy that the sailor responded to his old employer's request, to take his old ship—the Rover—to sea once more. Mr. Fleming was seated in his large arm-chair, but arose as the stately old skipper unconcernedly en- begin page re ier * Gla see you, captain, and asI suppose you wish to spend this, your last night, at home, I'll ae a long.” “Bless your soul, sir!’? returned the captain, bluntly, “I’ve told the old woman, and my house full of brats—dear brats, Heaven bless ‘em! I’ve said good-by to ’em all, and I sleep on the Rover to- night! I never break an old custom, and this is merge B and the skipper seated himself, as if perfectly at home. “Then, it’s all very good, captain; we can talk at our leisure. But, first, take a little wine, and then, having made out the papers, we’ll have a talk.” As he spoke, the merchant drew a decanter toward him. He was about pouring the rich red liquor into a cut-glass wine cup, when a noise was heard out by the rear window; then the cracking snap of a break- me r. Fleming a the window, hurled open the shutters, and looked out. But the night was inky dark, and the old ‘man could neither see nor hear any thing. He leaned out, and peered around in every direction. Then he took in his head, slowly lowered the sash, and returned to his seat. | “Do you fear listeners, sir?” asked the captain. “Yes, no—that is, not exactly; but I have my reasons for being cautious. You, captain, and m dau-hter,”—the old man’s voice trembled—“ are all who possess my dreadful secret!” “lis as safe with me, Mr. Fleming, as if I did not know it. Iam aware of your situation, sir, and—I’m sorry for you!” “Thank you! thank you!” murmured the poor merchant; “I know that you are sincere, captain— that you are an honestman. A stanch friend is rare nowadays, captain.” “ As true as my name is Jack Kelson!” There was a pause for some moments—the ve r occasionally ret oo the generous wine, and ur ee pertur and uneasy, glancing over a pile of papers. At length the old man looked up, ; = “There they are, captain, all arranged,” he said. “And now, is the Rover—God bless the old craft—is she all ready for the voyage, for any emergency? You know my all—my atL—captain, isstaked on her stanchness, and oe hie generosity and page 9 and he glanced half pleadingly at the face of Cap- tain Kelson. “The Rover, sir, can stand any gale that ever
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a0 howled over the ocean; and, as for me, why let it be sufficient that you have trusted me, and that my name is Jack Kelson!” “True, captain, true, All will be well, all must be well, all saat. be well, and my darling Madeleine shall not be poverty-stricken.” “Heaven grant that may never happen, Mr. Flem- ing; and—and, why the truth is, if old Jack Kelson is alive, Miss Madeleine will never be brought to that strait,” and the old tar vigorously brushed a tear- Olio his rough, weather-tanned cheek. ‘Bless you, my oid and tried friend! May Heaven be ever kind to you!’’ and the merchant caught the old skipper by the hand, and wrung it fervently. The two old men spoke together until a late hour of the night. Then they separated—the . skipper taking his way toward the southern section of the city, in the direction of the wharves; and Arthur Fleming, with aching head and anxious, troubled heart, turning again to his papers on the table. At last the old man arose. “Yes!” he muttered. “’Tis my all; this mansion and the Rover, and pet oh, God! they are not mine / Ph No birth-nig t festivities now for poor Mad- eleine! No, no, we must leave this proud mansion! I foresaw the storm, and strove to avert it; IL failed; and now, I am working for Madeleine! On_ the Rover I have risked my all; the old ship is freighted with all my hopes! Should she fail to return! Should some terrible gale— No, no! Vil not think it, I cannot think it! Jack Kelson says she is stanch, and—Fenton Thorne! ay! he will marry Madeleine, and the lad will have great piles of money! My child shall not come to want!” With these incoherent mutterings, old Arthur Fleming sunk back in his chair. For some moments he was motionless, moving neither hand nor foot. ‘Then, gradually, the arms crossed over his chest; then they fell so tly slowly, by his side. The aged, aching head dropped forward and the old father, forgetting his sorrows and troubles, which were weighing him down, sunk into a deep and dreamless slumber. CHAPTER XVII. MADELEINE’S CHARITY-ERRAND. At eleven o’ciock next day, all was_bustle—not confusion—on the decks of the Rover. “Her anchor was already hove up; and-a hawser had just been passed aboard from the ‘‘ Canonicus,” the steamer which was to tow the large ship down to the sea. At exactly a quarter past eleven, the wheels of the tug revolved, the hawser tautened, and the good ship Rover followed her small conductor obediently, and glided smoothly away. The tea-ship had fairly started on her long voyage, to end, whether prosperously or disastrously, no one could tell. From the cupola of his towering mansion, Arthur Fleming and Madeleine watched through a glass, the large ship fading away. Fenton Thorne, the collegian, stood by them. Silently, turn by turn, father and daughter con- tinued to gaze after the Rover, until the dark smoke from the chimney of the tug, and the towering spars of the great ship, were hid behind the heavily- wooded headland, far away toward Newport. And the prayers of father and daughter went up in a united petition to Him who rules the storm 8 ee safety, success and return of the gallant old a-ship. But Rentos Thorne knew not the earnestness of these prayers. ; That afternoon, at four o’clock, when jot below Newport, the Rover cast off the friendly hawser, then let drop her own snow-white pinions to the rising wind. In an hour afterward, with a green, foaming sea before her, anda spanking breeze abaft, the old erie by Point Judith, and dashed away ng, white-capped billows. over the ro One week after the departure of the tea-ship, Madeleine Fleming received a letter, written in a sniserable, scrawling ape ep ep letter, whose contents she read and re-read, as she covertly seruti- nized the ragged little urchin who brought the missive. The girl hesitated for a while; her father was not at home, and she was, from necessity, her own counselor. But, though merely a maiden, yet the girl had a warm, tender woman’s heart, and an ear ever open to the ery of the unfortunate, or the _pleadings of charity. She did not pce long, but taking a slip.of paper hastily scribbled a few lines in pencil, and handed ij to the little boy, giving him at the same time a few pennies to make glad his poor, forlorn heart. When the child had gone, Madeleine returned to the eee : She had not paused to watch the little boy, and did not see the tall man at the neighboring corner, ‘juietly call the messenger aside, and, slipping a dt half dollar in his hand, take the note—quickly read it, and return it to the boy, at the same time sending him on his way. But Madeleine spread out that rude scrawl lying on the table, and perused it again. The maiden’s face was troubled, as she folded the letter and placed it within her portfolio. . That communication was brief and touching. It ran thus: “Miss FLEeMIne: se oor woman solicits your charity. 1am suffer- ing—almost starving, and have four little children ilepending upon me for support. I appeal to you Miss Fleming, for aid. I have often seen and love yeur sweet face; I know I could te to none inore willing tohelp me. Ido not ask for your alms, until you have seen me and my wretchedness, and have heard my hungry children erying for bread. WAS IT LOVE? Come and see me; you have nothing to fear, for innocence, coupled with such goodness, is its own safeguard. I have washing to do almost every day, but am at home in the evening. I bey you come and see me. I live on the Seekonk, in the first little house, a quarter of a mile below the Butler Asylum. Please come ! he frome ag “Mrs. Mary CHAPMAN.” Madeleine Fleming’s reply to this appeal was what might have been expec of her. consisted of only a few lines, and read thus: ‘DEAR MADAM: “Of course P'llcome. I will bring with me some- thing for your poor little children. Bm me early in the evening—ihis evening. I would be no Chris- tian if I refused you. “ Truly yours, “ MADELEINE FLEMING.” The sun had just gone down that evening, when Madeleine Fleming walked hurriedly by the college and turned into Hope street. She continued out this thoroughfare ata rapid pace, until she had gone a considerable distance beyond the mer! aap Then she struck directly across the common, at that time there, and pushed on her way toward the dark belt. of woods, in which, half-hid, lay the Butler Asylum. : The young girl slackened not her step, despite the ominous twilight, which was settling down, but kept on along the lane, leading into the main high- \way. Madeleine, however, was beginning to feel nerv- ous, for the twilight was growing deeper: somber shadows: were lying under the trees and in the fence corners, and the place was lonely and out-of-the- way. No wonder, that the young girl’s heart beat quicker, as a footstep, rapidly following, fell sud- denly on her ear, * bs Madeleine turned, and saw the tall re of aman striding along after her. She hurried her pace. The man promptly quickened his. Then the girl, in very terror, oe forward into a run, “Fear not, Miss Madeleine; it is I!” sung out a cheerful voice. ‘‘ Heaven be thanked! Iam so glad it is you, Mr. Smith!” she continued, as the Kentuckian came up. “Were you alarmed, Miss Madeleine?” asked the stalwart collegian, in his deep but pleasant voice. “To tell the truth—yes; but, I am not now, Mr. Smith. Iam so glad you have come!” The girl spoke frankly, artlessly. For a moment a shade of poignant pain clouded Stephen Smith’s face, but it was gone in a moment, and one of anxiety and suspicion took its place, as he glanced quickly around him, ‘““And where are you going, Miss Madeleine?” he asked, softly, after a pause. ‘* Laden with a basket, too! Give it me,” and he took the heavy basket. “Tam on a mission of mercy, Mr. Smith. A poor woman is living right here in the city, and she is sturving |? } “Are you going to her house?” “Yes; it is not far off now.” ‘““With your permission, Miss Madeleine, I will accompany you,”’ said the student. ‘‘I am some- what chantable myself, if people will let me be! These last words were spoken a little grimly. . “Thank you, Mr. Smith; I am so glad you are with me.” g : Madeleine Fleming was a noble, trusting girl, and her faith in Stephen Smith was implicit. The two had now left the highway and entered, as by directions in Miss Chapman’s letter, a small by- path leading below the asylum. Suddenly, but far in front of them, two forms flittcd across the road. One was a female, as could be seen despite the gloom; the other was a man. Further on, up this dark lane, a carriage stood, dimly visible in the evening glamour. As the two persons cleared the road, Stephen Smith coughed aloud. Almost instantly a small jet of flame leaped out ahead from the bushes, a bullet dashed the sand of the path, in the Kentuckian’s face, and a sharp re- port rung out on the air. But Stephen Smith did not start. He simply ex- claimed: ‘** Look out there, or you'll shoot somebody!’ As he spoke, the figures emerged from the brush, and struck rapidly across the common. Stephen Smith smiled to himself, but said nothing. “That was a narrow escape, Mr. Smith,’ said Madeleine, trembling in every limb. ‘People should be more careful with firearms.” “The truth is, Miss Madeleine,” replied the student, ravely, some pcople dow t care ; they should be taught tter.. But, come, where is the house of this poor woman?. I do not see it.” - ‘Nor I; and, Mr. Smith, 1 think Pll try again to- morrow. “Lis dark now.” “You are wise, Miss Madeleine; we’ll return. But you are tired; we'll see if that carriage yonder is engaged.” y this time Madeleine had trustingly slipped her arm into Stephen Smith’s. The two walked toward the carriage. “ Are you engaged?” asked the Kentuckian of the driver, who was half-dozing on his seat. “Yes; for the lady and gentleman,” was the short reply. ; ‘All right; we are here,” said the student, promptly. The driver stared at the answer, and the big basket, but simply adjusted his reins and asked: ‘“Where to?” “Mr, Arthur Fleming’s, North Main street,” re- plied Stephen Smith, as he handed in his charge, and ollowed with the basket, himself. ‘neath the radiance o an good, sir; | know the house.” The driver cracked his whip, and they rolled away. Madeleine wondered; her head seemed light—she almost fancied herself in a dream. But she said eta _ Stephen Smith was unusually quiet; he was think- teen minutes passed, and the carriage which had been driven at a rapid rate, drew up before the entrance of the Fleming mansion. : Silently the student assisted the maiden'to alight. Then “he handed the driver some coins; the man, touching his hat at the unexpected bounty, for he had already been paid, drove away. : “Come in, Mr. Smith—do,” pleaded Madeleine. But the collegian excused himself, and after placing the basket within’ the gate, ‘bowed, and strode away toward College street. : *“You are euchered, Ralph Ross! Theld too strong a hand; though, if the truth must be told, you’re knave ibe he for a dozen packs! Strange, ay, very strange! You had better not been born, black- hearted villain, than to have raised your hand against my life!” a The student strode on. CHAPTER XIX. “WHAT THE STARS SAY,.”’ “WELL, well, my good woman, that. matters not! Tell me your price, and if reasonable, I will pay it.” “Nay, nay, miss; you’re in a hurry, and—un- reasonable. You ask a great deal at my hands. It will not do for me to engage in deception, else it may be denied to me to read what the stars say.” **Nonseuse!’’ and the closely-vailed indy stamped her foot impatiently. ‘‘ What care I what the stars say, and whether or not you can read them! Iwant your assistance; I will pay for it.” “But I tell you again,” interrupted the other, decidedly, ‘‘ that, unless your purposes are honest, you will fail!’ “Are they not honest?” exclaimed the vailed woman, angrily. ' : ‘Tis no business of mine, and I know not,” re- plied bar old woman, calmly; ‘‘ but IT do know what is right. ' “Tush! tush!’ said-the other; ‘‘ you talk idly and not to the purpose. Tl not listen to your nonsense. Nay, do not interrupt me, for time is precious. [ am here on bisiness. Tell me what you demand for aiding me, and how much, in addition, for keepin a secret. Speak out; remember, business is busi- ness, and that the money will be easily earned.” The old woman leaned back, and casting her eyes aloft, seemed lost in some abstruse calculation. ~~ Her face was a strange one—the old woman’s— and contending passions were battling there. But her visitor was getting impatient. “Speak, madam!’ she said, imperiously; ‘ this can not require much thought.” ‘ The old woman slowly lowered her head. “You ave business-like, indeed!” she muttered, with a low, cackling laugh; “and I'll be as much so! , rend me twenty dollars in advance; you have my; rms,”’ “Too much! Take ten—2? overpays you; take it,| or I go,” and she turned toward the door. ‘“No, no; don’t go. Wait a moment, and let me think. You’re in too great a hurry.”’ “Tl not wait a minute,” and the visitor laid her hand upon the knob. > te! accept your offer,’ gasped the old woman, quickly. ee — “Good!” said the other, as if expecting such 9 result; “TIT will come to-morrow, and make my arrangements.” Without another word, she whisked out of the room into the street, omitting even to say good: morning. This singular conversation took place in a small house, standing in the rear.of a tenement on North Main street, near the gates of the cemetery. The door of the small, retired, rear house, bore a large, old-fashioned brass plate. There was a name on that plate—a quaint, odd name. Several weeks had now elapsed since the occur- rence of the events as given in our last chapter; and the honored event in the aristocratic Fleming man- sion—the birth-night of Madeleine—had passed un- celebrated. : Had it been forgotten? : The Jarge house, on that usually auspicious even- ing, was closed; only one or two lights shone out from the huge pile, and they came from the dormi- tory of the servants.; = . The truth is, a week before the i Repeated night, Arthur Fleming had told his daughter, with a sickly smile, a faint attempt at light-heartedness— for tears stood in his eyes—that he was—not exactly tired of celebrating those birth-nights; but he was afraid that his guests might tire of them! Madeleine had bowed her head, and said nothing. Her father had gone on to say that, therefore instead of celebrating thé occasion as of old, he an Madeleine would take a trip by rail, and have a winter view of Niagara Falls! , Madeleine had not raised the slightest objection to this plan; for she knew, though he failed to tell her in so many words, her father’s reasons for this dark, midwinter journey. The house, then, had been echoless and cheerless on this December evening: No flashing diamonds and gorgeous dresses, on this night, had passed be- f the great chandeliers. One week after the evening had passed, Arthur Fleming and his daughter’ rotuitned—the old man seemingly happy, and Madeleine, too. The maiden, whatever were the clouds above her—somber or purple—was almost always happy. Fenton Thorne \ btn eee
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WAS IT LOVE? “te lI was her idol and treasure; and she owned him still, in the face of all adversity. _ Since the eventful evening when Stephen Smith had accompanied Madeleine in search of the widow pal aiarnoke out-of-the-way and never-found cottage, the Kentuckian had called once. He only made a passing allusion to the circumstance; and he ex- pressed no surprise whatever when the girl informed im that she had fone next day to look for the poor ema! but had failed again in finding her or her ouse. 4 Stephen dryly suggested that perhaps the poor woman was too obscure.a personage to be known by anyone! But the youn hunt for the widow thought it a little strange that he failed to do so, Between Stephen th, however, and Ralph Ross, hot, angry words had passed; and had it not been for some students standing by, it is-more than probavle the young men had come to blows. One is certain, Ralph Ross avoided Gay ve and would never, if possible, meet him face to face. As has been said, several weeks had passed. _ One morning Madeleine sat in her father’s library, sad and listless; for Fenton Thorne, for some cause, had absented himself longer than was customary with him, As the girl sat there, the bell suddenly rung, and a letter was handed in. Carelessly the maiden took the missive, and glanced at the at pity As the strange hand- writing—evidently masculine—fell upon her sight, Madeleine started. It was directed to herself. She eer tore open the envelope, and, with feel- Bs le we will not attempt to describe, read as fol- OWS: “Miss FLEMING: “Pardon the presumption of which I am guilty, in addressing you. Though a stranger, yet, believe me, Iam actuated solely, in writing to you, by the * desire to do you a service. I know Ba by reputa- tion and by sight; but have never spoken with you. But I do know'him, personally, whom rumor says to be your accepted lover. I know Fenton THORNE! “Pardon a few plain words, and though I sign no name to this communication, I beg you to accept my statements. I will be brief. ** Fenton Thorne is not true to you; he loves another woman; he has plighted his solemn_troth that woman; that woman is the rich and beautiful Myra Hoxtzy. The young man has heard it hinted that your father is not—excuse me, if I give you pain—is not as rich as report would have him. Of course there is no foundation for such a report; but you will see that it has had some weight with Mr. Fenton Thorne. He has transferred his affections to Myra Hoxley—a fine girl, Miss Fleming, we must all admit, and 7ich, beyond dispule. Fenton Thorne is rich, too; but he is selfish. From an old acquaintance, I speak asIdo. He would not wed the prettiest and most amiable girl in Providence, and all agree that you are such, unless she brought him a large fortune. I do not ask you to believe me; but in order to satisfy your own mind, as to the falsity of this fellow’s pro- testations to you, I ask you as you value your future happiness, to go and see a good old woman —a wise woman, living in the rear of No. — North Main street. You may not believe in clairvoyancy or astrology, nor will we argue as to the merits of either; but go and see this old woman, who pretends at all events to be a clairvoyant, and a reader of the stars. If you disregard this advice, evil will come of it. Seek the old woman at once, and tell her your ‘ errand. She will then tell you what ah me say. ‘ ‘RIEND,”’ The letter fell from Madeleine Fleming’s hands, and a cold shiver passed over her frame. Her face at first flushed, and then grew as pale as death. “Can it be true?” she moaned. ‘Oh, God! can I believe that Fenton Thorne is so false? No, no! But, Myra Hoxley! Alas! alas! . . . Nonsense! away doubts! I'll not distrust him, Oh! Fenton is mine, mine alone! Yet, this letter! Oh! Heaven! Ill go mad! ... Imustsee this woman—I'llseek her now!”’ hapman; and. Madeleine CHAPTER XX. WHAT MADELEINE HEARD AND SAW. Lars on the same Sr enins Madeleine Fleming, unattended, issued pi cogty © rom her father’s man- sion, and took her way up North Main street. - She drew her cloak around her, and dropped her vail No i nie ial attention to the maiden, and 0 one s a i t c no one ly Ea tor she brushed right against Ste- phen Smith, who was striding independently along, smoking a rather bad-flavored cigar. Madeleine breathed freer; she had confidence in her disguise. She did not halt at all, but hurried along toward the house designated in the letter of Wi She paused at the little dark alley, leading down to the dwelling, cast a rapid glance around her, and, without hesitating longer, boldly trod along the gloomy way. Ten paces on to the right, on the north side, she suddenly halted; for there on a dingy. narrow, dirt-begrimed door, was an old-fashion brass-plate. . ed eleine leaned over, and by the uncertain, flar- ing light of an adjacent lamp, She managed to read on that late: AME FeLice Dupiicirr, Clairvoyant.” The girl had gone too far now to retreat. Sum- moning all her resolution, she tapped lightly on the sooty panel. There was no mse, ” : Madeleine waited a minute, and rapped again. Still no answer. The girl’s heart fluttered at the strange position man did not volunteer to |. loneliness of the place, she was about hurrying away. But then a faint light flashed over the transom- window of the door, and the bolt was turned. A coarsely-clad negro woman stood there. “What you want, missus?”’ she asked. “Does Madame Duplicite live here?” asked Made- leine treme hihiayy: vt Yes, she do; but you can’t see her ‘less you send in your name first; them’s the Madame’s orders.” “Very good then; my name is—is—Madeleine Fleming,” said the young girl, in a low voice. ‘Well, jest wait one minute, and I'll tell her.” The woman was gone but a moment, when she re- turned, saying: “Walk in, Miss; the Madame was somewhat *specting you.” _Madeleine noticed the “Miss” in the woman’s words, but without more ado, gathered her closely around her and entered the house. Down a narrow passage, through a dingy, un- lighted room, then up a rickety. staircase, then straight on, in a still narrower passageway, and at last the woman paused before a door. Madeleine had followed close behind her. In this hall-way a bright light was burning, and Madeleine saw that the door before which she and her guide had paused was entirely covered with queer, cabalistic characters. The woman rapped boldly on the door. Instantly a sharp, querulous voice inside responded: Th eee tl ed the d d en the negress gently open e door, an pushed Madeleine forward into the room. Seated before a table, on whichlay a human skull, an hour-glass, and a well-thumbed chart of the heavenly bodies, was a thin old woman, with long, gray, elfin locks, and a dark, scarred face. Behind a pair of old-time horn-rimmed spectacles flashed a pair of piercing black eyes. The old woman's form was bent and bowed. She seemed, at least, seventy years of age. ‘Well, Madeleine Fleming, what would you have of me—the old clairvoyant?® Madeleine was startled-at the sharp, shrill voice, but she answered at once—for where a woman’s heart is interested, she can speak. “Pll tell youin a few words, Madame,” she stam- mered, in low, hesitating tones. ‘‘ I received a letter to-day from some unknown source, telling me—that —that my lover was false to me! Tt also told me— this letter—that you could tell me more of him. I am come!” and the poor girl gazed anxiously at the old, wrinkled, tawny face before her. “Ah!” ejaculated the old creature, with something like a chuckle, “TI can tell you of any thing, girl! But before these lips are opened, tell me your age and te Te into my palm; a half-eagle, too, or i speak not!” “7 Silently, tremblingly, Madeleine drew a golden coin from her pocket, and let it fall into the woman’s open palm. The fingers of that hand did not close greedily up- on the precious metal; they rine f shut on it. Then the money was quietly transferred to some recepta- cle beneath the old hag’s girdle. ; Fs Good, my girl! Now interrupt me not, but lis- en. For several moments the old clairvoyant bent her head over the table, and muttered to herself inco- herent, inaudible sentences. : At length she raised her head, z “Listen, Madeleine Fieming!”’ she began, in a sol- emn, measured voice. ‘ Heed wellthe words of one who sees clear! You once had a lover; nay, nay, so soon to intérruph me! His name—Fenton Thorne, a student then and now—”’ Madeleine started violently, and tottered back- ward; but she recovered herself, e ‘“‘He loves you no longer!” continued the old soothsayer. ‘‘ He heard rumors, true rumors, Made- leine Fleming, of your father’s embarrassments. Start not, my child, for all this is locked in my bo- som. “The young man has turned his thoughts to the richer, and no less lovely, Myra Hoxley. Nay, nay, give not way; bear up, my child. For, after all, this may be for you a good riddance. If the youth, for money, be false to one, will he not be the same to the other? Now listen: this night, at nine o’clock, stand on the opposite side of the street from the Hoxley mansion. Look through the blazing win- dow, and you will see Fenton Thorne holding the hand of Myra Hoxley in a mimic marriage cere- mony. A mock-marriage, soon to be followed by genuine bands of wedlock! Go, Madeleine Fleming and see for yourself the perfidy of this man; and seeing, be a wiser woman. Adieu, my child, for the stars say no more,” Blinded, stunned and scarcely breathing, Made- leine Fleming s ered helplessly down-stairs— then out into the cold, desolate, rayless street. Twilight had long since deepened into night, and the moon had sunk beneath the cumulous clouds in the west. Eight o’clock came, half-past eight; and at nine— hidden under the heavy es of the trees on the opposite side of the street—Madeleine Fleming ushed back the thick vail which had covered her aggard face, and gazed across through the half- opened shutters of the Hoxley mansion. Then of a sudden the shutters were flung open, and the light streamed out into the dark street. The sight which Madeleine Fleming at that mo- ment saw, made the warm blood pulsing through her youthful frame flow back in wild suffocating tor- rents to the heart. : Her brain reeled fearfully, and a wild, wailing scream broke from her bl ess lips.. She threw in which she was placed; and, frightened at the | her nervous hands up in the air and staggered back But a strong arm was eset held out to her, and a tall figure sprung to her side. “Come, come with me, my r girl! Lean on me, and trust me! Come; I, too, have seen all!”’ And Stephen Smith, the Kentuckian, with warmth, tenderness and sympathy in his manner, drew the maiden’s trembling arm within his, and as a deep- breathed anathema escaped his lips, walked away, half-bearing in his arms the fainting form of Ar- thur Fleming’s daughter. CHAPTER XX. UNDER THE BAN. For many days and weeks Madeleine Fleming was like one crazed. Her rounded face grew thin and haggard, and dark circles, betokening grief and agony of mind, surrounded her eyes. er father, over whom, by this time, a continual cloud of despondency seemed to have settled forever, noticed the roses fading from the cheek, and the rayless, lack-luster eyes of his sad, thoughtful daughter. The old father spoke to his child, but she evaded him and replied incoherently, always endeavoring to cheer away /iis gloomy feelings. et there was no heart, no spirit, in her efforts, and Madeleine did not convince her father that she was happy, as she said. Then the half-distracted old man thought that his daughter was brooding over the sad news he had told her some time since, regarding his impending bie he The cloud settled deeper on Arthur Fleming, and eeg? t day he prayed, with increasing earnestness, for the safety and successful return of the Rover. He often thought of his former happiness and con- tentment, when the glad days slipped by almost un- perceived. But those days had gone by; the mansion in which Arthur Fleming lived was simply a gilded palace, be- longing to others! The food which supplied his table was purchased with the money of his creditors. The cloud, freighted with woe and trouble, had long since appeare '!, small at first, it is true, but portentous and ominous, and momentarily increas- ing. And Arthur Fleming, though he knew the cloud would swell in its proportions, and rise higher to- ward the zenith, as his own fortunes went down in inverse ratio, yet he chose to turn. his back on that ominous bank looming up. He would not face it; and with eyes closed, and head bent down, he re- fused to see the black shadow at his feet. Now, at last, his whole horizon was covered over, and the old man was forced to open his eyes to see his way. In a new battle with life, in a new combat for money, Arthur Fleming feared the result. He feared, on account of his daughter; in her he was wrapt up. He was beyond the middle of life; indeed, his autumn leaves had fallen, and his feet were _ treading the dreary confines of the icy winterland of life. The father feared another conflict for gold—feared it for Madeleine’s sake. The stake he was playing for was lofty; but the game was fearfully hazardous. Should his hope be realized—should the gallant old Rover return in safety—all would be well; but if dis- aster should overtake his venture, he and his daugh- ter would be ingulfed in ruin; the wolf would force his way through the walnut doors of the fine man- sion, and stand, lank and ravenous, in the hall! These terrible calculations between success and failure, told on the old man’s frame; and his speech became a little wild. ; Madeleine had observed the change in her father with anxious eye and fearing spirit. This had added to her own heart-trouble, had weighed her down,had yee her sleepless hours and nights, and thin, wan cheeks. Since that fatal evening, on which the maiden had consulted the old clairvoyant, and afterward under the gloom of the elms opposite the Hoxley mansion, had seen, through the open window, that spectacle which made-her reel, Madeleine Fleming had been a changed creature. Apart from her father’s troubles, she had her own. Stephen Smith had called several times at the Fleming mansion, and was always readily admitted. Between him and Madeleine there had been earnest and soul-deep conversations and interchanges of thought and surmise. On such occasions the maiden was always more cheerful. She hung as confidently on. the words of the Kentuckian, as, on more occa- sions than one, she had chung to his stout right arm. Fenton Thorne’s name was seldom mentioned at ven 2 "Spal ee oe it was, it was with rembling by Madeleine; with a scowl] and suppressed malediction by Stephen Smith. 3 Arthur Fleming, so enwrapt in his own thoughts, which at times were absolutely hideous, and so en4 ie a in the fate of the old Rover, paid .but little | eed to Stephen Smith’s rather frequent visits, though the anxious father scanned every day the white face of his daughter. For some time, enton Thorne—now a Sophomore Sires ae put in an appearance at the home of his betrothed. It is true, however, that he had written warm, loving Totes to Madeleine; but he had re- ceived no replies. Between the young man and his chum, strange to say, a. decided coolness had sprung up. his, to a great extent, was occasioned by Stephen Smith’s persistently rude and snarling demeanor. Fenton Thorne, in all frankness, had asked him the meaning of this, and the reply which he reeeived had sent the blood tingling through his cheeks. But Stephen Smith had not noticed the wrath of his friend, and had put him gently, yet firmly, aside. The chums at once separated—Fenton, indepen-
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: i | 12 WAS IT LOVE? oy dently, seeking p laa a at Hope College, and Ste- phen quietly and unconcernedly remaining in his old + ; ‘oom, , The whilom friends frequently came in contact, and always spoke, distantly, it is true, though Fen- ton Thorne’s large, expressive eyes often affection- ately watched the form of his dear old chum, and once or twice, those eyes had filled with tears. Fenton Thorne was ambitious; he knew his own powers, and some time before he had privately made an application to the Faculty for a premature examination, to allow him to enter the Junior class. He studied diligently, scarcely taking time for meals, and almost entirely disregar ing exercise. Stephen Smith had noted the young fellow’s in- dustry, though he knew not the occasion; for Fen- ton had studiously kept it back,. intending it as a surprise if he succeeded, as a secret if he failed. The Faculty had readily secre the application. At length the young man bethought him, not that he had oo her, of Madeleine. Then he re: membered his neglect, Then Madeleine’s strange silence recurred, with double force, to him, and a sickening feeling grew over his heart. That same evening he went tothe Fleming man- sion, and rung the bell. His summons was soon an- swered; but John, who went to the door, looked somewhat embarrassed as he saw who it was. The young man noticed this, and produced his card at once. Without inviting him to enter, John took the card and entered the parlor, which was brilliantly lighted, pina Berg young man standing at the door. Ina half-minute the servant returned, and return- ing the card to the student, said: : ‘Miss Fleming is engaged, and she dirécts me to say that she does not wish to see Mr. Thorne.” - wg she say that, John?” asked Fenton, starting ack, “Those were her words, sir,” returned the domes- tic, closing the door at the same time. CHAPTER XXII. A RIFT INTHE SKY. THE collegian’s frame shook, the blood boiled in his veins, and the color faded from his cheeks. Reeling like a drunken man, he staggered away to- ward the iron gate which was hanging ajar, as if inviting his departure. As the young man reached the street, he turned and gazed back at thefamiliar mansion. He started violently and gasped for breath, as his gaze shot through the brilliantly-lighted window and rested on two persons within. In that parlor, Madeleine Fleming and Stephen Smith were seated on a sofa. The latter held the small hand of the former in his own strong palm, and Madeleine was looking trustingly, fearlessly into the handsome, dusky face of the Kentuckian. ba had already forgotten him, who but now had called. ; Sick at heart, his brain reeling, Fenton Thorne turned away, and clenching his gloved hands to- gether, staggered rather than walked toward the istant college on the hill, ~ When he and Stephen Smith met again, there was no recognition between them. As was customary, the Kentuckian nodded his head; but Fenton Thorne noticed not the salutation. He simply fixed a dark, scowling look a the other and passed on. Stephen Smith started at the insulting deport- ment of his old chum, and for a moment a red flush swept over his swarthy face. But, as if recollecting himself, he bowed his head, while a contemptuous smile lighted ‘the corners of his mouth, and strode on. Several weeks passed thus—Fenton Thorne, almost every day, writing loving, burning letters to Ma- deleine Fleming, ending at last in accusing the maiden of transferring her “ affections to the traitor i Smith!” en the young man received an answer—the first for many a long, weary day of heart and soul- suffering. The missive read thus: “Mr, THORNE : ““T do not love Stephen Smith; I esteem him highly as a steadfast, unflinching friend. I will be at home this evening. Oblige me by calling i and be so kind as to bring with you all of my foolish letters; also my RES: docttilly , “MADELEINE FLEMING.” Clouds rushed over Fenton Thorne’s brain, and a storm raged in his heart that —- as he hur- riedly walked up the graveled way leading from the street-gate, to the hall door of the eming mansion, He hesitated not a moment, but pulled the bell. In amoment he was admited by John, who simply, pe it seemed impertinently, pointed to the parlor- oor. Fenton Thorne, his anger almost choking him— entered the room. Madeleine was seated on the sofa; by her side, ao contemptuous and imperturbable, sat Stephen mai “Good-evening, Madeleine—Miss Fleming,” said the student, as he stood within the room, at the same time frankly reaching out his hand. He did not notice Stephen Smith at all, Madeleine drew proudly back and refused the proffered hand. Fenton Thorne colored viciously, and his eyes snapped fire. He drew himself up andly. “Tt am here, Miss ese in accordance with your request,” he said, with j nity; “‘and I have a package for you.” His voice slightly trembled. He laid a small parcel on the piano, and taking up | his hat and gloves, which he had placed on a table, he bowed and turned toward the door, Madeleine saw the movement. “Please be seated for a moment, Mr. Thorne,” she said, hastily—her voice shaking, despite her efforts to the contrary. The young man turned obediently, and seated himself, at some distance from the maiden. Stephen Smith left his seat, and strolled uncon- cernedly toward the window—then back to the mantle. “T did request you to come, Mr. Thorne; my object was, that we should have a clear understanding be- fore we part forever.” : She paused. “Part! And what is all this mystery, I ask, Ma- deleine? What have I done that you thus treat me —thus cast me off?” demanded the young man, with fire in his eyes, and lightning in his tongue. The maiden recoiled from that imperious voice. At three strides Stephen Smith drew near. “Shall I remove this impulsive youth? Speak but the word, Miss Madeleine!” and he gazed with a low- ering brow at the visitor. Fenton Thorne kept his eye upon the other, but said nothing. There was decision and determination upon his face, however. “No, no, Mr. Smith; I beg you to be seated. You ask me, Mr. Thorne,’”? she continued, turn- ing to her old lover, ‘‘why I have cast you off? I have not cast you off! Nay, do not interrupt me, for our interview must be brief. I have not cast you off; but, Fenton Thorne, you have been false to me, oe have cast “m orF! Oh! Heaven!’ and the girl hid her face in her hands. Stephen Smith was now drumming fiercely—at the imminent risk of breaking it—on the glass shade over the wax-work on the mantle. P “Madeleine, what mean you?” again thundered the student. ** Are you a dissembler to my very face, as well as behind my back? Shame on you, Fenton Thorne!” *“ Ay! shame on you!” hissed the Kentuckian, un- able longer to hold his peace. ae Heaven! This is too much!” groaned Fenton. ‘‘I beg you, Madeleine, by the love you once professed for me—I beg you, Stephen Smith, by the memory of our old-time friendship, to explain this hideous affair— this black dream tome! Or, for Heaven’s salxe, kill me at ounce!” Slowly Madeleine Fleming raised her eyes, suffused with tears, to his face, and asked in trembling tones: * And do you not anaes Ee Hoxley?” “Wat! I love Myra Hoxley? I loathe her, I hate her, and the ground she walks upon!’ almost thundered the young man. “Ts this true, Fenton? Ah! for mercy‘s sake, speak—s he : ‘Speak, speak, speak on, Fent!? and Stephen Smith, his long hair falling around his dusky face, leaned over to get the answer. “T tell She nay, I swear it! that I Hare Myra Hoxley! Heaven forgive me if I sin in so doing!” *““One word more, Fenton Thorne,” and Stephen Smith scarcely breathed, as he almost sunk on his knees, to face his former friend, ‘‘wwhere were you on the evening of the 26th of December ?” ‘‘In my room in the college—no, I forgot: I was in Professor Lincoln’s study, passing my examina- tion for entrance into the Junior class.” ‘‘ And now, Fenton,” and the words were scarcely audible, “read this letter, and then tell me if you know the hand which penned the words.” The maiden scarcely breathed, and her eyes stared, almost unmeaningly, in the face of the collegian. A hurried glance over the letter, and a dark, meaning frown settled on Fenton Thorne’s face.. He crushed the sheet in his nervous head “And you do not see through this wicked trick?” he asked, in a husky whisper. ‘‘Where are your eyes, Stephen Smith, that you do not detect in every line, and every word, a forgery—RatpyH Ross, THE Forcrr?”’ “Ay! ay! Fool thatI was! Ill break every bone in his body!” and the Kentuckian uttered a loud ery of triumph, as he gathered his long-estranged friend to his bosom. And Madeleine quietly, tenderly folded her arms around that dear form, and murmured: Ce “Take back the letters—keep the daguerreotype, my darling !”’ ° CHAPTER XXIII. TIDINGS OF THE ROVER. ~ ‘Timm was on the wing; days,weeks and months sped by; ‘but there came no news of the long-absent craft, the gallant old remem Many a sleepless night, and — a@ weary watch- ing day had gone by with Arthur leming. The old man was haggard under the fearful anxiety. _ Many ships had sailed in, from over the distant seas; but they brought to the anxious merchant no information of his old ship. It was a terrible tax on | the poor father, and in sadness and silence he groped about his splendid mansion. : But Madeleine was rosy mre a joyous smile was now ever upon her lip, and the rich tints of health bloomed again in her cheeks. The maiden was now - Satisfied in the abiding love of Fenton Thorne; of course she was happy. She scarcely, for a moment, | weighed her father’s troubles; for she was rich again in the love of a noble, trusting soul. For fear we may forget it, it may be remarked here, that soon after the joyous reconciliation be- tween the lovers, and Stephen Smith as an interested third party, on that memorable night in the Flem- ing mansion, the Kentuckian had studiously sought out Ralph Ross. Once the men had met; it was in front of the chapel, and Stephen Smith, with angry, inypatienc | steps, had advanced upon the other. But before even words could pass, the venerable President of the pees old man well beloved—had drawn near, hen he had passed, Ralph Ross had bay orga door i ter that, months sped by before the students again encountered one another; for Ross had, for a pane withdrawn from college on the plea of ill- alth. At this 2 ae Stephen Smith smiled grimly. Six months afterward Ralph Ross made his ap- arance once again at college; but the Kentuckian’s lood had cooled, and now he sought no conflict with the man. Madeleine Fleming, happy in her own heart, would not admit to her bosom the sorrows and troubles of others. She feared no more the omi- nous revelations of soothsayers and clairvoyants, and thought not again of Madame Felice Duplicite, who, by the by, in the mean time, had left for parts unknown. : Madeleine was very happy, and by dint of many entreaties, had persuaded her father to celebrate her birth-night, now again rapidly approaching. The struggle in the old man’s bosom was severe. He would not willingly incur such an expense; and then the Rover! she was not yet in! and there was no tidings of her. But he could not refuse the earnest pleading of his daughter, and her powerful oint that in case he had no celebration, “it would ook so strange!’ had wondrous weight with the oldman. He could not well go again to Niagara for another winter view of the “ Valis!” He had fondly expected the Rover in, before this ing time. ; owever, he determined to make the effort, come what would. He would, to the last, keep up ap- pearances—for Madeleine’s sake! Invitations were duly issued, in the same elegant style, and not one of the former friends and ac- quaintances were omitted. Old Welcome Hoxley - and Myra, as well as Ralph Ross, received the per- fumed cards, requesting their company. Madeleine Fleming was forgiving, there was no cloud now on her heart, and she could afford to overlook the shortcoming and treachery of her most inveterate foes—those foes merely suspected. The time rolled around; the eventful evening again settled down over the city. Again the Flem- ing mansion was all aglow from attic to basement; again flashing equipages swept up to the stately en- trance; es fe the brilliant chandelier gleamed down on ou ing folds of rich silks and satins, on glossy broadcloth, on flashing diamonds and burning rubies. Again all was happiness and glow. : _Even old Welcome Hoxley, clad in the extreme of richness and fashion, was at the mansion. This was singular, and Arthur Fleming, the host, felt a cold tremor flit over his person, as his old ene- my and rival came forward to greet him and wish him and his daughter the compliments of the occasion. The old manufacturer had come late; but, as if to make amends for his tardiness, his face was wreathed in smiles, and his voice was silvery in sweetness. - Myra, too, was there, all peas and splendor; her escort was Ralph Ross. Of course the rich man- ufacturer’s daughter was amiable; but we dare not analyze the feelings which rioted in her bosom. Stephen Smith, sober, staid and dignified, was there, all politeness, gallantry and good-humor; and arm-in-arm with his old chum, Fenton Thorne elbowed his way, as if perfectly at home, through - the crowded rooms. , Gayly fled the festive hours; and amid the infec- tious joy of the hour, even the morose and anxious host—his dark, dreary thoughts ever wandering far away after the missing Rover—felt his sad heart da! lighter, and the sluggish life-current beat and ow faster, as he hearkened to the jocund laughter —the merry cut-and-thrust of jest and repartee. But in the midst of the hilarity, all of a sudden, the hall-bell sounded loud and warningly. : In an instant an ominous, deathlike silence crept— no one knew why—over the large assembly. en confused murmurs were heard without; and in a moment, John, the serving man, hastily entered the arlor and crowded his way toward old Arthur leming. He handed asealed note to his employer. Reckless of the presence of the company, regard- less of etiquette, the old merchant, with greedy, trembling fingers, tore open the frail envelope. Then, on the unfolded half-sheet his eyes fell. One glance, and a low, heart-piercing wail broke from his lips. He staggered back, and clutching wildly in the air, sunk into the strong arms of Stephen Smith. e fatal sheet fluttered softly away, and settled upon the rich carpet. Then the eld man, with a sud- den effort, tottered to his feet, and as a wild, mad- dening fire flashed from his eyes, he exclaimed, with a maniae’s gibber: “Hal hal She has. gone down! And I—ha! ha! The cloud is black, and shows no silvery lining! Ha! ha! ha! Who said it? Yet—yes—yes! I am a beg- gar! Howl on, ye fiends, for THE RovER HAS GONE DOWN! Stepen Smith’s arms closed again, firmly, about the fainting form of the old man, and the Kentuck- ian bore him gently and softly away. Slowly, gloatingly, Welcome Hoxley stooped and picked up the crushed sheet. Then, amid an awful silence, he read, aloud: 2 “New York, December 18, 1855. “A, J. Fiemine, Providence, R. I.: “Brig ‘Rattler’ just in. When rounding the Horn, reports picking up small boat—‘ Rover’ painted on | the stern. The Rover has gone down in a gale. A “ProMas Npowarps, Agent,” ahi a
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. ‘halted be anatienrmenenyens + CHAPTER XXIV. OUT IN THE COLD, Wor and desolation had indeed settled over the lordly Fleming mansion. No rattling carriage now rolled up to the broad entrance; no sympathizing friends by scores, as on the festive birth-night crowded there to speak words of comfort and cheer. The dreadful secret had been divulged; it had been torn forth from the anguished bosom of a poor, gibbering maniac. Friends, falsely so called, had already turned their backs upon him around whom they had lately fawned. 3 n The mansion was closed—its windows sadly shut as if death had entered there. The crazy father an the stricken daughter were alone in their misfortune and misery. Even Foun, the domestic, and old Martha, the housekeeper, had already turned up their ee on tuous noses; and having received their wages—pa from Madeleine’s scanty pin-money—had_ shaken the dust of the disreputable mansion from their re- spectable shoes, and gone to seek employment elsewhere. : 2 And old Arthur Fleming, rigs | up and down the limits of the library—not his any longer—cried and laughed by times, tore his white locks from his aged head, and knelt down devoutly before a miniature model of his lost lage) and prayed, with stream- -ing eyes and piteous, pleading words, for the Rover to come back! to peng. home to him her sunken car- g0, lying beneath the black waves. And Madeleine, cowering there as she watched the old, broken form, prayed, too! But her prayer was that the Night would come—that the Grave would swallow up all sorrow and every heart-ache. Yet the inmates of the Fleming mansion were not forgotten by all. : On the vee next morning, after the fatal birth- night festival, two young gentlemen, sober and dig- nified in semeenor, ad softly entered the great hall- door without ringing. ; They were Fenton Thorne and Stephen Smith, and their mission was a delicate one, but they were firm in fulfilling that mission, for they. came the bearers of consolation and sympathy. hy ae We will not linger on this sad epoch in this heart- history; we must hasten on and detail the events which followed the denouement of Madeleine’s last birth-night fete. Teuton Thorne and Stephen Smith called often at the mansion; but they had never held conversation with the poor, broken-hearted lunatic. At last the young men had offered a purse con- taining money to Madeleine. It must not be sup- posed that this was done in the plain, blunt manner as we have recorded it. It was a matter requiring iligent study and rehearsal at the hands of these noble-hearted yo men, They knew t p eciveme delicacy of the act; but that act was a ie Oe the most sublime of motives—esteem and sympathy. By lots, it fell to Stephen Smith to offer the money. : To yar seen the tall, brown-faced Kentuckian begin the subject—his nervousness as he proceeded— his trembling hands, as he held out to the maiden the silken purse containing the gold; to have seen the big tears flow down his face, and to have heard the irrestrainable sob, as the swarthy-faced student dropped the money into the lap of the girl, was to have looked upon a brave picture. : . There was a sharp, ek struggle in Made- leine Fleming’s bosom, but it was not protracted. The girlsaw the nobleness of the gift, and with the alternative of want and misery before her—thin of her poor, dear, demented old father, she bow her head over the friendly gold, and wept sweet tears of gratitude. _. In ten days from the reception of the news of the loss of the Rover, a placard was posted on the large door of the Fleming mansion. That placard an- nounced, in displayed type, that the house and grounds were for sale at an early day. The day of the sale rolled around, and with it came crowds of curiosity-seekers, idle ones, wishing to get a glimpse of poor, impoverished Arthur Fleming, now stark mad! The fesse was sold; and then an hour of long- looked-for, undisguised triumph, came for Welcome oxley; for he was the purchaser. : ; The old manufacturer’s chuckle of satisfaction had nearly gained for him, despite his gray hairs, a Chastisement at the hands of Stephen Smith. Late on the afternoon of the day of sale, a close carriage drove.away from the rear gate of the man- sion. It took the unfrequented streets, until it reached the ean wooded country; then it dashed rapidly over the Bay Road, skirting the Harraganset, and leading down toward Vue de a) u. Within that carriage sat Madeleine Fleming, mute and in tears—her heart bowed down. By her side cowered her old father, moaning to himself, and gibbering about the sunken Rover, Opposite, elo- quent in his silence, sat Fenton Thorne, the colle- gian, ‘ On the box outside, alongside the driver, as if de- fying the jeers of the wot and to show his perfect independence, sat Stephen Smith. ‘ At ree eight o’clock that x the carriage ore the rustic gate of the little cottage, nestled under the bluff near Vue de l’Eau, and to which we have before referred. Thither the two stricken ones had retreated. ; The cottage had been nicely fitted up for their reception; and Madeleine’s eyes filled with tears of ‘atitude as she observed here further evidences of riendship from a source she knew full well, Again a placard was posted, again a sale was held, and once more, as if triumph was not complete, Welcome ing | purchased the cottage. What cared he for expense, so that he gained thereby a conquest over his ancient rival? His fac- tories—though they were not imsured—brought him iles of ee ith the income of asingle month, e could pay for both mansion and cottage. This time it required all the stern counsel of Fenton Thorne to prevent Stephen Smith from thrashing the hard-hearted purchaser. Madeleine and her ao Se father were, at last, out in the cold, uncharitable world. Still, however, they were not forsaken; for the heroism with which Fenton Thorne and his friend, the Kentuckian, clung to the outcasts was grand. A month had -ela’ , and we find father and daughter domiciled in a small, retired dwelling on Broad street. Fenton and Stephen, to the extent of their ability, still aided them; but Madeleine had long since determined to go out ‘into the world and battle for herself. Nor could arguments dissuade her from her undertaking. And the girl did go out into the world; but she.was eve here turned se A In her distress, she pa to Welcome Hoxley for employment in his mills. That cold-hearted man had repulsed her with scorn. “At last she succeeded in getting needle-work; and all day long the maiden bowed over her work, and prayed for stren, and contentment, as the tears trickled silently through her thin fingers. And Arthur Fleming, broken, and wasting gen 8 sed long hours moaning and groaning, and talk- ing foolishly about the long-missing Rover, CHAPTER XXV. THE SPECTRAL SHIP. © A vear of suffering and heart-woe thus— Madeleine working diligently and constantly, and making a small pittance day by day; her father praying piteou or the Rover. elcome Hoxley thrived in business, and was con- tent with his triumph over hisold rival. But, as yet, he had not paid for the mansion or cottage, both of which were lying unoccupied. He and his creditors in the matter were satisfied about the payment, which of course was good. Another year had passed, with its sorrows and joys, its troubles and triumphs. he memorable birth-night of Madeleine Fleming -had at last arrived The night was cool, not cold; for the winter had been mild, and neither the cove nor the bay had been covered withice. A brilliant moon shone down calm and clear; but the glittering orb was fast sinking to- ward the far horizon. Ralph Ross had ig ote and was pretending to ractice law. Stephen Smith still lingered, simply to e with his friend, Fenton. But this was Madeleine’s birth-night again, and the humble home of Arthur Fl was lit up from top e bottom, as of old, in honor of the occasion; noth- more. small table of refreshments stood unpretending- ly ina corner of the little parlor. Fenton Thorne and Stephen Smith were there—the only company— each having already deposited his present on the ta- ble, and spoken heartfelt congratulations with the daughter, and soothed the old man, tenderly, in his dreamings of the Rover. : Ten o’clock was near, and still the festive eve was celebrated, ec and happily. Suddenly there came a ant, murmuring sound. It grew louder, and came nearer and nearer, Then the cry of ‘‘ FrrE!’’ swelled over the city. The clamor echoed in the little parlor of Arthur Fleming, the penniless. Then a ruddy flare glinted red and ghastly through the fibers of the thin, cheap curtains, and glowed dull and menacing_on he bare walls of the humble apartment. “Come! come!” cried Madeleine, “let us ascend to the roof, and see where the conflagration is.” They quickly mounted to the top of the house, through the sky-light. The old man went too. Chil ,he wanted to see the fire, and hear the uproar in the streets. Stephen Smith guided the old father’s tottering feet. They cast their eyes about them, The whole sky was red and glowing: but the bril- liant crimson toward the west made the party look in the direction of the little manufacturing town of Olneyville. $ ce started, as she turned her gaze thither- ward. ‘Good heavens!” she exclaimed; ‘“‘a factory is on fire! a large one, too! God pity the poor ones who will be made homeless to-night!” The cries and shouts of the firemen, and the clangor and rumble of the engines rose higher and. higher. igpe hen Smith, steadying himself, leaned down over ie eaves of the house and shouted: ‘“‘ Where is the fire?” =a ‘At Olmeyville! The Hoxley mills are burning!” roared back the fireman as he dashed along. : But, hark! pit In the midst of the cries of the red-shirted_ braves, and the turbulent shouting of the fire-mob, there came another cry. ee anset, whose bosom, in the reflected light, on “an a ane of a esas ere, slowly sailing along, her spars loomin high toward the paling stars in the red sky, nee spectral fore and main-top-sails bellying to the cool winter breeze, glided a gallant ship. And there, in the red light of the far-away burning mills, she suddenly wore around. In an instant her sails were furled, and a heavy anchor, rattling with its chain, fell with a loud splash in the glowing waters. And Arthur Fleming, erect as an oak, proud and sturdy, his left hand resting on the shoulder of Stephen Smith, pointed to that stately ship, risen like a phantom bark in the red light, and cried, wit a loud and healthy voice: ts ae God! Thank God! For—rur Rover HAS COME - CHAPTER XXVI. THE SILVER LINING. From a lofty window, in the rear of his royal man- sion, Welcome Hoxley and his imperious daughter watched the raging fire in the distance. The man’s face was fearful to look upon; it was wild with anx- iety and suspense, and his teeth were sunk deep in- to the white, bloodless on Still he gazed, and still he drew his labored breath. Reckless of the night-wind, now cold and raw, which swept in from over the bay, the old man ieaned, nervously, dangerously out from that tall window, and then he spoke: “Myra, my daughter, if that factory is mine, I am ruined—and—rorever! Iam not insured, and— Hallo! there!’ The red-shirted fireman paused. ‘“What factory is that?’ thundered the old man. “The Hoxley mills, sir! They are destroyed!” re- turned the unrecking fireman. At that moment came the wild Gheers from the bay; then, the stately, din pe spars of a noble ship, sailing along in the red light; then the rattling anchor-chain; then the wild, indistinct, meaningless shout, shaping itself finally into: . “re ROVER! THE Rover!” With one startling shriek, Welcome Hoxley threw his hands up; another moment, failing to recover his balance, he reeled, and fell headlong forth from the giddy, gaping window! And Myra Hoxley sunk down on the floor of that rece | Ly ag ey and gibbered wildly, for reason had fled from her forever! There was dark gloom settling that night over some in the good old city of Providence, but the somber cloud which had so long hovered over Arthur Fleming, had, at last, showed its silver lining. CHAPTER XXVIL’ THE TALE OF THE ROVER. THaT night, the 18th of December, Madeleine’s birth-nigbt, was one long to be remembered in the good city of Providence, one long to be remembered with gratitude by the humble dwellers in the little tenement-house in the rearof Broad street, one which certain actors in that scene and participators in the events of that occasion have not yet forgotten. No one in Arthur Fleming’s unpretending abode closed an eye in sleep that night; for, gathered ina close circle in the little parlor, every voice was hushed, as old Jack Kelson, who had by dint of in- uiring here and there, in his own blunt manner. ound his old employer, told the thrilling story of the missing Rover. : Long after daylight, when the rumbling drays were rattling in the street, betokening the battle of business begun again, old Jack Kelson finished his recital with these words: “And now, Mr. Fleming, I must go and see the old. woman and my houseful of brats, dear brats, Heaven help them! . . . But—but—thank Heav- en! my old friend, the Rover is in, safe and sound! and my name js not Jack Kelson, if she has not be- neath her hatches, a cargo, worth in the market to- day, three hundred thousand dollars!” It may be well for us, at this point, in order to have the reader thoroughly understand the hin, of this story, to retrace our steps somewhat, throw some light on certain dark portions of this life-history, to connect a sundered link, to tie a broken thread. To do this, we must go back to that dark evening, on which certain late lights were burning in the gloom-enshrouded city of Providence. It may be remembered that on this somber night, .as given in a preceding chapter, Welcome Hoxley, the manufacturer, entertained certain company in his cosy little back sitting-room. -They were two men, very rough-looking fellows. They were habited as seamen, and their hard, bony hands and bronzed visages confirmed them as such. Those two men were the first and second mates of the good ship Rover, then lying at anchor in the lower bay, ready for sea. Their errand at the Hox- ley mansion was to answer a summons from the wealthy manufacturer; to hearken to a proposition ee Oe
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4 cs ee WAS IT LOVE? from him, which, in case they accepted, would prove very beneficial to them. These men had been covert- ly sounded for some days by means of letters over a s fictitious signature; and when once they had com- “mitted themselves, old Hoxley had written to them ‘boldly, requesting, almost demanding, that they seome to his house on that certain eve Myra fhad been the letter post between them, she knew ‘every thing that was going on. That night old Hox- ley hesitated not, but made an offer to those rough men, of a large sum of money in gold, and eternal secrecy besides, should they pledge themselves to prevent the return of the Rover and_ her rich cargo to Providence: and he partly gave his reasons. In addition to this, he pledged them as much more gold when they returned and told him that their work had been well done., Welcome Hoxley had hard work to raise those many golden dollars; at that time he was much em- barrassed and the tide of luck seemed to have set against him. We have seen that afterward, by some strange freak of fortune, the tide had risen with him and floated high on its proud current; and, we have seen, too, when that same ebb-and-flow of ill-luck had set against him—forever! Such was the treacherous compact made that dark night in old Hoxley’s back sitting-room, and the men who issued so noiselessly forth into the quiet street, late that night, were the two mates, the. two myste- vious persons whom Stephen Smith, the Kentuck- ian, followed to the southern wharves of the city. To resume: the Rover had gone to sea with a ‘panxing breeze. After months of storm and tide- calm and blow, she had reached her far-away port in the Orient. The voyag* had been successful, and old eaptain Kelson, who was strangely, to a ‘disin- terested observer, interested in the trip, breathed freer as the heavy anchors rattled down in that far- away haven. ; ; The ship was quickly stowed, packed with her precious cargo, and once again put to sea, on her re- tura voyage. Jack Kelson was anxious to get back to his strait- ened employer and he was wise enough to endeavor to catch the trade-winds, The voyage home was prosperous, to a certain ex- tent. But one dark night, it came on to blow heavily: all hands were called to shorten sail and the skipper himself walked the deck, trumpet in hand. Sudden- ly he was felled by a heavy blow, struck from be- hind. Before he could recover himself, he was bound hand and foot, hurried aft, and flung into one of the ship’s boats, hanging half-suspended from the davits, over the boiling sea.. The rude shock recalled the old man topartial consciousness, and as he cast his eyes about him he saw in the boat’ with himself six of his crew, bound in the same manner. fle could not speak, for a piece of sail-cloth was stretched roughly over his mouth; but he saw that the ship’s long-boat was also being lowered, and that in her sat the two mates and four men. Another moment and the boa, in which he lay was dropped ourriedly into the sea, and then the old man saw that the Rover was sinkipg! The horrible truth flashed over him in a moment; the ship had been scuttied! And then the long-boat and her crew was lowered into the seething sea and in a moment was swept far away. It was evident that the traitors had miscalculated the severity of the storm, for the last Captain Kelson saw of them they were bending to their oars in a mighty but vain endeavor to reach the ship again. Then they were lost in the gloom. But the small boat, in which lay the old man and his bound shipmates, hugged close to the fast-set- ae ship, which, indeed, served as a breakwater and heer it from being hurled away. . ld Jack Kelson was a man of nerve and action, and, withal, gifted with a lion’s strength. At a glance he comprehended his perious situation, and making one mighty effort, he ppepped, like pack- thread, the lashing which bound his hands. Half a minute only elapsed before his feet were free. Then, in an instant, he seized the painter of the boat, which the mutineers, in their hurry, bad left uncut, and flung it, at random, high on the ship’s bulwarks. _ Heaven was witi: him in the effort, for the stout line caught, In a moment, by a dextrous hitch, the skipper had secured the rope, thus fastening secure ly his boat to the ship. Not two minutes elapsed before he had severed the cords of his companions, and then, with a shout of triumph, the lion-hearted skipper ascended, hand- over-hand, to the ship’s rail. Panting, but not dis- mayed, he reached the deck, and then his men, one by one, scrambled up. There was still work to be done, The ship was broaching to fearfully, in the lon, d.r—the wheel being unmanned—was thumping hor- ribly on the coppered bottom, and the ship was still sinking—sinking! ® Those men who stood by skipper Jack Kelson, on the decks of the Rover, on that wild night of flying spray and shrieking wind, were tried and true; for they had resisted the temptation in its most seduc. tive form, and it was by treachery that they had been overcome and bound. Old Jack Kelson’s words were as calm as if his old _— was lying at anchor in her far-away home port, and his words were clear as a clarion. The men worked like heroes; the wheel was manned, the flapping canvas furled to every thin es asmall storm stay-sail, and then the real wor egan. he cargo was stowed well; but it had to be shif- ted or naught but destruction was before them, Tarrea canvas was prepared with heavy weights : troughs; her sails | flapping like thunder in the howling wind; the rud- | and slings, and then, piece by piece, the heavy chests were, as sailors phrase it, ‘“‘ broken out,’’ and stowed to the port-side of the vessel. The ver felt the change, for slowly she listed, slowly her port rail sunk, slowly her starboard rose higher and higher in the dark air, and then the scuttle-hole was found. Then the tarred canvas was flung over that gaping orifice, into which the water had been pouring furiously. Heaven be pa went up from every heart; and then, overboard again into the little boat, still towing and surging alongside, went two brave fel- lows with hammers and heavy nails; and, under the tall, careening hull of the big ship, they nailed home the friendly cloth over the awful scuttle-hole! Again they were bane on deck, and the friendly small boat hoisted in. . A loud hurrah of triumph burst from the throats of that little band of men, who were so bravely fighting death; and then, each one bowed his head to Him who had given them the victory! Now Jack Kelson was master of the situation. Not one drop of water could force its way through the tarred canvas! and what had already leaked in amounted to‘nothing more than ballast. The cargo was uninjured, the victory complete. The battle with the gale was child’s play, for old Jack, the skipper; he heeded it not—he cared not how it roared and raged; the good old Rover, stiff and stanch, was under his feet; she obeyed her helm, and the old man could laugh defiance at the storm. : That night, at two bells, when the gale was at its hight—when the Rover was burying her bows at ever lunge beneath the wey moaning billows, a small, dark object, just perceptible, was seen by the watch on the forecastle. Another moment, and it was under the bows of the Rover; then, a faint crush and feeble, shrieking cries were borne above the blast, as the heavy ship thundered on! All on board knew that ery to be the wail of drowning men, and all knew who those men were. The storm blew itself away, but the Rover was un- harmed, and then, dropping sail after sail to the bi Captain Kelson stood away for a friendly port. That port was reached; the old Rover’s scuttled hull securely patched, and then, with a light heart the gallant old skipper loosed his broad sails to the lively breeze and bore away on a long stretch, across the white-capped seas, toward his tant haven in the West, That he reached that haven—that he came into 2p under his fore and mainsail, by the red light of elcome Hoxley’s burning mills, we already know. CHAPTER XXVIII. ALL’S WELL. Wirs theglorious dawn of such intelligence as the safe arrival of the Rover, suddenly bursting upon him, reason and coherence, which for a year had forsaken Arthur Fleming, returned to him; he was well again—sane in mind as ever. He no longer moaned and chattered over the lost tea-ship; the paved craft and her noble captain had returned, ringing health, reason and happiness. : Not many weeks elapsed before the precious cargo was sold, and Arthur Fleming was once again a rich man, and what was better with him, he was free and untrammeled. But the old merchant did not forget the gallant skipper and his noble crew. A substantial remem- brance that gladdened their hearts, was presented to each one. : Nor was the old Rover forgotten, for, on the day of sale of her tempest-tossed cargo, a princely banquet was held aboard of her, her gayest buntin was flung to the breeze, and her old, time-honore decks were joyous with congratulations, song and est. To that banquet, besides Fenton Thorpe and Stephen Smith, none were invited, save Captain Jack Kelson, his family and hero-crew of six. A notable event of the occasion, a most hilarious one! was a grand pas de deux executed by Stephen Smith and old Jack, the skipper. Yes, for once in his life, and only once, wine’ had gotten the better of the old man’s reason, and he sung and danced, and shouted and roared like a very Bacchus, Of course, pretty, blushing, happy Madeleine was there, and nearly all the time the banquet lasted she sat holding Fenton Thorne’s hand in hers, an silently murmuring her thanks to Heaven. Welcome Hoxley’s death created some surprise in Providence, but no regrets. How it happened, was only surmised; for poor Myra was a raving maniac and could not tell. ‘ The manufacturer’s crushed remains were borne quietly out to Swan Point, and there laid away to rest. But few mourners followed in the esa! train; and to-day, no chiseled marble indicates his grave. The unfortunate eth Hoxley, in a few days, was conveyed by sympathizing neighbors to the Butler Asylum, where she was once admitted. here was no mistaking her malady. _ Ralph Ross disappeared from Providence, and our friends were never sean troubled with his Preece, though Stephen Smith searched high an him, and actually Boeke of offering a reward for him, through the medium of the hfe -Another year yet passed, and Madeleine’s birth- night had again come around. In that year many events had taken place. By a little judicious management, Mr. Fleming had recovered his splendid mansion, as well as the low for’ little cottage by the Vue de ’Eau. Old Hoxley had never paid an installment ache either. In the meantime, Myra Hoxley had died a sad, weary death in the asylum, leaving no message to any one, no parting words betokening reason. But a friend was raised up to her then, one who re- membered her, despite the dark circumstances of the past which linked them together. adeleine Fleming remembered her; and over the poor girl’s humble resting-place in the country, she caused to be erected a plain but beautiful shaft. That marble column, Madeleine, herself, decked with immortal wreaths. John, the domestic, we must not forget to record after the change had_ taken place in his ol employer’s fortune, had duly presented himself, and applied for restoration. The very impudence of the act, coupled with the indisputable fact that Jenn was a good servant, secured him his old posi- ’ ion. Fenton Thorne had graduated with distinguished honor, and Stephen Smith was still with him. We must not omit to state that Tim Smooth, who had so well impersonated Aas 2 Thorne in the mock marriage ceremony with Myra Hoxley, the clairvoyant, bad been duly and severely thrashed by Stephen Smith; the affair netting the latter just $53.87 1-2, and costs. And now Madeleine’s birth-night had again rolled around. This time, as in the olden days, the splendid mansion was aglow from top to ut there were not many there this night to witness the happy scene; for Arthur Fleming had not for- pores ow his guondam friends deserted him in the our of his adversity. The special scene which was witnessed, and to which we had reference, was the wedding of Fenton Thorne and Madeleine Herning. Stephen Smith, his dusky face radiant yet sad, clad in ball-room attire, stood close by the pair, as the clergyman read the solemn troth-words. Old Mr. Thorne, Fenton’s father, too was tbere; and ‘Captain Jack Kelson, and the poor, doting father, Arthur Se They were all. It was a quiet, solemn scene; but glad marriage- bells were chiming cheerily in every heart. Years passed and Arthur Fleming was gathered to his fathers. Then Fenton Thorne, with his young wife, went westward, and dwelt in his father’s splendid mansion ~ EOE: Old Mr. Thorne had died some years efore. The Fleming mansion was again sold out of the family—this time for good. Stephen Smith ha long since been separated from his bosom-friend. They often wrote to each - other, and Stephen, who was practicing law in Louis- ville—or pretending to practice, for, half the time, he was gunning or fishing—had come on twice to see | ** Rent, my boy.” Then, as time rolled on, the ominous war-cloud of 1860 spread over the great American Republic, and the sound of drum and the clash of arms echoed over hill and plain, Then the ship ot aiere emerged safe from the gale, and the old flag of our fathers floated from the mast-head. Late one cool evening in the month of September, 1855—a year memorable in our a as Fenton Thorne and his still lovely and youthful wife were sitting in the front porch of their hos! mansion, looking, musingly, out over the purple hills and the red tinted forest—dreaming old-time, happy dreams and living over other days again—a carriage sud- denly rolled up and stopped at the gate. Then, promptly and unhesitatingly, a person in- side opened the carriage door and sprung out. After having his trunk, a large one, set down, the gentle- ee settled with the driver, and turned toward the ouse, Fenton Thorne had already descended to meet his guest, whoever he might be. e stranger was a tall, finely shaped, elegantly dressed man; but, one coat-sleeve was pinned across the broad: chest; the sleeve was—empty. Long, dark locks fell behind the stranger’s ears and a heavy, raven mustache, sprinkled here and there with silvery threads, swept over the mouth, even down upon the prominent chin. The com- plexion of that Indian-like face, was like bronze. Slowly he drew near. ‘ 3 Fenton Thorne paused and held his breath, and then suddenly he dashed forward with a wild cry of Joy. and flung his arms around that tall form. hen from the stranger came the same familiar words and tones of old: ; “God bless you, Fent, my boy!” F Then Madeleine, the matron, rushed down to meet and et the old friend; and following her, came ouncing boys, the one Stephen, the other Smith Thorne. Stephen Smith, dear reader, has never left his‘old friends. He is with them now, a confirmed old bach- elor, with his snug sd of money. There he will remain till his days of “sere and yellow leaf” have ‘one, ¢ The good fellow has never breathed a word as to the side on which he fought during the civil conflict; but he points to his empty sleeve, and says in a low, earnest voice: ; “ Thave had enough of it, Fent! and thank God! we ail have the old flag sy ges One piece of war news Stephen imparted: On a distant battle-field, at the set of ‘stim, he ha, seen the dead body of—Ratpx Ross; andy Stephen vowed it—the fellow was shot in the back! And now, we have reached: ? THE END, | ottom. ©
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AIS YN Snecma” ner aS es or bd alll Ped) Bea Of Notable Works by Notable Authors. Beautifully printed in the popular folio form, from clear, open type ; each issue a complete novel and sold at the uniform price of TEN CENTS EACH. No double price on double or extra size numbers, THE CHEAPEST LIBRARY EVER PUBLISHED! 1 Was Sue His Wirz? Mrs. Mary R. Crowell.... 10¢ 38 Brave BarBarA. By Corinne Cushman....... 10¢ 2 VWixeme From Love. By Harriet Irving. .... 10c 39 A DanceRous WomaAN. By Margaret Blount... 10c 3 Dm He Love Her? Bartley T. Campbell. ... 10c 40 Ovrma’s Love. By Henrietta E. DeConde... . 10c 4 A Srrance Woman. By Rett Winwood. ... 10c 41 Lost: A Wire. By Corinne Cushman......... 10c 6 Two Girts’ Lives. By aay R. Crowell.. 10c 42 Winnine Ways. By Margaret Blount .. ..... 10c 7-8 Lapy AUDLEY’s SecrET Miss M. E. Braddon. 10c 43 A Woman’s Heart. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.../10c 9 Tae War or Hearts. Corinne Cushman,.... 10c 44 Toe Drap Lerrer. By Seeley Regester. .. 10c 10 LeianHton GranecE. Miss M. FE. Braddon. ..... 10c 45 Lorp Liste’s DaventreR. By C. M. Braeme.. 10c 11 Tue Fatse Wipow. Mrs. J. D. Burton. ...... 10c 46 A Woman’s Hanv. By the author of “The 12-18 Lost For Love. Miss M. E. Braddon....... 10¢ Boe ny 0 Sa De oe we es ee re 1 14-15 Tornmrs or THE SEA. By Victor Hugo...... 10c 47 Viats or Wratu. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.. 10c 16 Tae QuapRoon. By Catharine A Warfield.... 10c 48 A Wixp Girt. By Corinne Cushman...., ... 10c 17-18 Uncim Sinas. By J. S. Le Fanu ........... 10¢ '49 Tam MappEst MarriaGe Ever Was. By Mrs. {9-20 Deap-Sea Fruit. Miss M. EB. Braddon...... 10¢ Jenny Dayis Burtons..: i.5 a6. 20. <.teass) oe 21-22 Lirrium Kare Kirey. F: W. Robinson....... 1 50 Love In A Maze. By Mrs. E. F. Ellet.......... 10¢ 23 SowInG THE Winp. Mrs. ae R. Crowell..... 10¢ 51 Carnotina. By Dr. J. H. Robinson....... ... 10c 24-25 Brrps or Prey. Miss M. E. Braddon .-..... 10¢c 58 A RoMANCE or A Poor Youne Giru. Mrs. Ellet 10c 26 Tat Boy of Norcorr’s. Charles Lever. .... 10c 53 Tue Lockep Heart. By Corinne Cushman... 10c ¢ 27-28 CHARLOTTE’S InHERITANCE. Miss Braddon. 10c Ready December 4th. 29 A Girt’s Heart. By Rett Winwood ......... 10¢ 54 Tue Prive or THE Downes. . Margaret Blount. 10c 30-31 Rep As A Roses Suu. Rhoda Broughton. 10c Ready December 18th. 32 Tum Lity or St. Erne. By Mrs. Crow ....... 10 55 A Srraner Grau. By Albert W. Aiken........ 10c 33 STRANGELY WED. Mrs. J. D. Burton. ...... 10¢ January Ist. , 34 Tue Gipsy BRIDE. M. E. O. Malen....:.... 10¢ For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, postage paid, 35 Annie TempLE. By Rev. J. H. Ingraham..... 10¢ on ai of twelve cents. aot ; 36 WrrnouT Mercy. Bartley T. Campbell. ...- 10¢ B LE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 37 Buack Eygs anp Biur. Corinne Cushman.... 10¢ 98 William street, N. Y. _ A Fiery Cent Nove. For Five CENTs! — IN THE POPULAR LIBRARY FORM. Each Issue Complete and Unabridged, A ‘ COVERING THE FIELD OF =| . ‘as LOVE AND SOCIETY ROMANCE. . EAcH issue a complete novel by an author of established reputation— Perfectly pure in tone, spirited and captivating in story, as the title “WAVERLEY” implies. Everything to please and nothing to avoid— WHOLESOME, VIGOROUS AND FRESH! No long drawn out ‘‘serial” of the popular weekly that costs weeks of waiting. and much money. s - No inferior or exceptionable productions; no tedious narrative or weak sentimentalism; nothing but good strong stories of to-day! FIRST ISSUES. The Masked Bride; or, Wi Se Marry Him. By Mrs.. Mary Reed Crowell, author of ‘‘ Vials of Wrath,” “Did She Sin,” ete. . ‘ 1 2 Was It Love? or, CotieGians AND SweersEeartTs. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D., author of “‘ Bessie Raynor,” etc. 3 The Girl Wife; or, Tae Tru Any THE FaAtsE. By Bartley T. Campbell, author of “Did He Love Her?” “‘ Without Mercy,” etc. Ready December 2d. 4 A Brave Heart}; or, Srartimncty Strance. By Arabella Southworth. Ready December 9th. 5 Bessie ig arte | the Work Girl; or, Tae Quicksanps or Lire.. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D., author of “ Was it Love,” ete. Ready December 16th. 6 The Secret Marriage; or, A Dvcurss In Spits or HERSELF. By Sara Claxton. Ready December 23d. A Daughter of Eve; or, Bupep py Love. By Mrs, Mary Reed Crowell, author of “ The Masked Bride,” ‘‘ Vials of Wrath,” ete. Ready December 30th. For sale by all Newsdealers. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William St., N. Y.