Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (v. 2) (1880 06 08)
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" The Only Yo of First-Class Copyright Novels Published! Price, but 5 cents each. - roe} pS OTL RL i STAT MT alt Ne tal ite | [ck | | BA Be nim | Z _ 82.50 year, ees Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mail Matter. | No.30. Vo. IL. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE A LEAL t. ya sson ss TCH UH AONE | ot He ie) ff = June 8, 1880. ~ SRIAY Rings SASS v I “FIFTY WOULDN’? BUY ONE!” CRIED THE GIRL, CONTEMPTUOUSLY, A GLEAM OF ANGER IN HER DARK EYES, The Bouguel tirl; or, A Mullion of Money. BY AGILE PENNE, Author of ‘‘ Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl,” etc., etc CHAPTER T. FULTON FRANK. ten cents apiece, and I don’t sell m ; nee ferry, in the great metropolis of New York, at “nine o’ the ten in the heart of June.” Thes ker, a flower-girl, fourteen or fif- on ears old, apparently—a pretty little thing, despite her coarse dress, w - — very neat though, and the ugly red handkerchief tied over her ead—enough to disguise the features of beauty’s queen itself; but the face was strangely pretty, cast as it was in a pure oval mold, delicate features, red, pouting lips, reminding one of ripe strawberries wet with dew; a nose, just a little bit turned up at the end, “‘tip-tilted,” to use | the poetical mae eon retrousse, as the French have it—pug, to use our plain, homely English, not enough to spoil the prettiness of the girl’s | face, but rather to add a charming, roguish grace to it; the eycs were | % i s 25k a: 73H *« “ Buoxers’ kisses!” large, full, and as black as the wild cherry, hanging in shining beauty upon the parent tree, afar off in the pleasant country lanes; the com- plexion was slightly tinged, just asif the steady old sun-god had taken a —— to the pretty maiden, and had allowed Lis beams to rest too long upon the fresh young face; but the skin wasso thin and transparent that one could plainly see the warm blood circling beneath. From under the ugly handkerchief that disfigured the head a few crispy curls escaped, black as black could be, and as fine as finest silk. The sentence quoted came quite pertly from the pouting lips of the girl, and she tossed her little head, canary-bird fashion, in an extremely captivating manner. 5 At nine o’clock at night the neighborhood of Fulton ferry is not avery populous one. All the stores are closed with the exception of the eating and drinking saloons, the fruit-stands and the cigar shops. Not very many passengers cross over the ferry about that hour either, when compared to the throng which fill the street in the daytime, but after eight o’clock at night the traffic drops off. Therefore, with the exception of the flower-girl, a couple of old wo- © men, eagerly endeavoring to dispose of the stock cf evening new rs left upon their hands, and the gentleman who stopped to echo” the girl, to use the English word, there vas hardly a soul in the ncighLor- 00 a and, 4, aie - a : ak, wae Futge i : : Vala e
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-* = we — tently upon the pretty face of the flower-girl, and ag then an idea suddenly flashed into his mind, 2 THE BOUQUET GIRL. The girl, with her flowers, had accosted the gen- tleman at the edge of the cross-walk. “Buy some flowers, sir, to put in your button- hole; real nice ones and all fresh, warranted not to wither!’ she had exclaimed, in her common stock- in-trade phrases. And the man, a. finely-dressed gentleman, at- tracted by the pretty face of the girl, had halted to talk with her. ‘How much?” he said, ‘‘ and what will you sell a couple of kisses for?”’ The girl’s quick reply—she was used to_this sort of thing at this hour of the night—we have already given. ‘* Buckets, eh? You mean bouquets, I suppose?”’ and the man allowed his bold gray eyes to rest ad- miringly on the face of the girl. ‘‘ By Jove! little one, do you know that you are just aspretty as a ink? a ““Oh, yes, L know al] about that,” replied the girl, in the most matter-of-fact way. “I’m a rose, and a pink, and a daisy, and a pansy, and all sorts of posies, just about this time o’ night, particularly to entlemen who have drank more wine than is good or them.” The random shot struck home; the man had been drinking—drinking pretty freely, too, or he would not have been affected, for he had a head like iron. “Why, sis, you’re about as sharp as a razor!” he seid, with a laugh. ‘I don’t want your flowers, but Ill give five dollars for a kiss!” “Rich, ain’t you? But I won’t rob you, poor man, because you don’t know what you are about!’’ the girl responded, in a manner that was far from ex- pressing compassion. ‘‘ The article is not worth the money. Come! buy some flowers! See! there are only two ‘buckets’ left; you shall have them both for fifteen cents; there’s a bargain for you!” “Oh, bother your flowers; I don’t want them; but Til give you ¢en dollars for a kiss.” “Fifty wouldn’t buy, one!’ cried the girl, con- ee a gleam of anger in her dark eyes. “Do you give them, away, then?’’ ** Not for the asking.” There were no. witnesses to this little scene. The two newspaper-women were busily engaged holding up the wall of the ferry-house, and bitterly bemoan- ing their ill-luck at being “stuck ’’ with so many un- salable journals, and there was no one else near at and, Great oaks from little acorns y Line trivial circum- stances sometimes change the fate of a nation, In this case if Jack Leipper had not. indulged.so' freely in the ‘‘ rosy”—the beverage Niggie eers, and does intoxicate—at an n hotel that. even- ing, with a er of friends, he would never haye stopped to aay words with a flower-girl in the street. He was not drunk; far from it! Jack: Leip- per—“ Captain Jack,” as he .was ‘Sunprally called— never got drunk; it.was, almost.a physical impossi- bility; liquor couldn’t do it; but it did excite him and put queer ideas into his head. And who wae rte Leipp ra this cm ypret e ane wi 4 LY amonds, i es ant attire, and a face formed to make women fall in love with him at the first glance. < In nial he wasa very model of.a man, tall, straight, broad-shouldered, well-proportioned, ular features, strongly-defined, a head of.super hair, all glossy curls, pure white skin, and pes a side-whiskers, worn long and flowing in bp nglish style, the rest of his face being cleanly shaven. Only one bad feature about the man, and this few people noticed, no matter how close observers they were. e man’s eyes, gray in color, were, shifty, restless and-uncertain, and at times shone. witha, greenish hue; ee somehow, there was a,glamour about him that hid this prominent tentiene or ab. res softened it down so that it was seldom no- ced. : He was stylish, distinguished-looking, and attract- ed attention wherever he went. ‘** Who is he?” strangers would ask. ‘ , don’t you know?” the “ ones would reply in astonishment; “ why that’s Leipper, Captain ack, the chief of the Modocs!”’ ‘““LEIPPER AND LEIPPER, Counselors and Attorneys at Law,” the sign reads, but the second Leipper is a fiction, for only one exists. Captain Jack’s advertisements, constantly before the eye of the public in the columns of the most wide! Peat oe newspapers, give a better idea of why he was called ‘the Modoc chief.” “LEIPPER AND LerppeR, Divorce Lawyers—No.— Broadway. Divorces procured without publicity, inany State, and perfectly lega’. No fee until pa- pers are delivered, Consultation free.” And this is why he is called Captain Jack, chief of the Modoes. He was a scalper'! Unlucky the client who trusted himself, and cause, to the tender mer- cies of Captain Jack. “ Fifty dollars wouldn’t buy one, eh?” the lawyer said, reflectively, still gazing with his evil eyes in- “ How old are you, sis?” “ Seventeen,” et a ** You don’t look it.” “T’m guessing it, that’s all.”’ ‘* What’s your name?” ‘* Frank,’ “ Frank?” : “Yes, Fulton Frank; that’s what everybody calls me; but my right name is Francesca.” “By Jove! the very name! Well, this isa piece of luck! Say, Frank, how would you like to come in for about half a million of dollars?”’ CHAPTER II. A FORTUNE THAT WAITS FOR AN HEIR. ‘* A HALF a@ million of dollars!” cried the girl, in as- tonishment. ‘Oh! you must have been drinking a great deal of wine!” - “Oh, no, my pretty little flower- actly what I am about, and, if you word, ll make ao fortune for you!’ The girl drew back, distrustfully. “Oh, don’t be afraid, my pink; I mean business; here’s my card,” and he drew:an- elaborately a up business-card from his pocket and presented it to her, ‘I’m a lawyer, you.see. -Meeting you here to- night is one of those lucky accidents that happen sometimes, for I shouldn’t surprised if you turn out to be the very person I want. Answer a few questions, sis, and answer them truthfully.” The girl drew her little, lithe figure up disdain- fully. ““T don’t tell lies!” she replied pertly. “No, of course not; none of us doin this world until we are found out,”’ the lawyer said, with a sneering laugh. It was plain that he had little faith in human nature. ‘‘ But this is rather an awkward place to talk and we’re right im ee way; come up here by the gate. I'll buy. the flowers you’ve got, so you'll lose nothing by the operation.” Captain Jack proceeded to the ferry-house and leaning lazily against the side of the structure, just a few paces from the gate, took outa thick memo- 3 aimee and pencil in hand, prepared for ac- on. The girl had followed him, a dubious look upon her pan face. It was plain that she distrusted the good faith of the man. “Now to commence right; your full name?” he 1; L know ex- only say the “Francesca Blakey.” “How old are you?”’ “Kighteen—I believe.” “You are not sure?” “ a wet ts living?” 7 our paren ng y Ton" know, sir.”’ ‘ oO 27 “No, sir; I.don’t know anything about them.”’ “Well, that’s lu Y The girl looked astonished. ‘“‘Tmean for the purpose I have in view. Now have a got any r tives?” ‘ r. ’ -** None at all—be sure?” “No, sir; not one in the world.” “Do you knoW.e Ree aesp ere rm?’ The girl hesitated and looked at the lawyer with a glance full of distrust. . “What’s the matter, sis?” Leipper understood the meaning of the look in an instant. ‘“‘ What are yer don't know wieielseiiaan good. to “T don’t know w er it. wi me any a Me or not. Maybe you are—” and she stopped apru wy ell, maybe lam what?” he questioned. “There is sonashody ‘that you are. eh?” hoe 12 Z 1 @ fo be wea ie “And you. hesitate to, »to,my questions b cause you sink hat 1 may be counee nue he girlnodded. i “Weill, Lam nol, Lageune t Beau. pant : ee: on my own account. [am in search of a, cer ) party, not to inure thew, but to make then. pres ent of ahout a half.a million of de ean’ t: the party, and 1.don’'t believe that I will ever be able ve ice “Twas born at Long Branch, New Jersey, in 1859, Captain Jack uttered an exclamation of amaze- ment, ‘* By Jove! that’s coming : oe close to it! The ins T want was born in Long ranch, New Jersey, in ‘““Well,I am not sure thatI wasn’t born in °58,” the girl added. ‘It was either ’58 or °59. I said °59 “because when I tell any one that I am nineteen they always say that I must be mistaken, for I do not look as old as that.” “Looks are deceptive; °58 is the best date for you to stick to. What about your early life?” “Twas brought up by @ man named Limowell, Lysander Limowell.’ “Well, but ean did he take care of you? How 1 | “Iwas left at his door one night in a basket, and his wife took pity on me and adopted me. He always called himself my uncle, and not until my sixteenth birthday did he tell me the true story of my childhood.” ‘You are sure that he told you true? Perhaps you may be his daughter?” “Oh, no!” and a quick, vivid blush swept over the pretty face of the flower-girl. ‘‘He wanted to marry me, and that is the reason I ran away.” “And your name—the name he ealled you I sup- pose—Francesca, eh?’ “Well, well! this is an astonishing coincidence!’’ the lawyer exclaimed. ‘“ Just listen to my memo- randum.’’ And he read aloud froma e of the book: ‘‘ ‘Lorenzo Vendotena, retired.confectioner, residence 910 Vestry. street; died January 18th, 1877, leaving a fortune, estimated to be worth about a half a million, which by will he bequeathed to his grandchild, Francesca, daughter of his son Antonio, and in the event of the said Francesca being dead the estate to go to her heir or heirs.’ So much for the will, now for the-heir.” And again he read from a page in the book: ‘‘ Antonio, a wild and reckless ee man, in the year 1857 visited Long Branch, became acquainted with and, under a false name married one Decetra Blakey. The girl's relatives, however, knew who Antonio was, and it is tolerably plain that the unscrupulous young man in endeavoring to insnare the girl became entrapped himself; and that the marriage was arranged with a design upon the wealth of the father. hen the news comes to the old man’s ears he swears that not. one penny of his money shall ever enrich the wife who entrapped his son into the marriage. Hedrives his son away and refuses to see the wife; finally in his rage bribes his son to fly to Europe.and desert wife and child, which, in theinterim, is born—female child named Francesca. Son goes to Europe and is never seen or heard of again. The wife dies about a. ear afterward and child disappears and cannot be ound.’ There’s the case exactly as it stands at present. I have been to Long Branch and devoted considerable time to hunting up this-Francesca—-. have advertised in the newspapers and all without. avail. I have a picture of the wife, an excellent rtrait, done in oil, and the child was said to look ike her. Your face resembles that portrait; that resemblance put an idea into my head. Why shouldn't you be this Francesca?” “Perhaps [am,” the girl replied, a peculiar ex- pression upon her pretty face. “ Well, that woe be a joke, wouldn’t it?’ he ex- claimed. ‘‘To stumble on the heiress just by. acci- dent and all because I happens to drink a few more , rerian of champagne than I ought to have done. ust keep it up, my pretty pink! that’s the idea, ex- actly; you are the heiress to this half a milion, and if there are any doubtful points in regard to your identity that need clearing up soas to make a strong case I will provide a half a dozen excellent witnesses who. will swear with stolid fi ty to whatever I tell them, It’s.a ba , then, is it?” ; a if you choose to regard me as really the “Oh, Dll risk it, if you'll only stick to.your. sto and post yourself upin afew details which I wi give ‘Ou. see es yon kG gusta , ‘0. — Baxter street, near Grand, loor,’ The dawyer made .a memorandum of the address. nt, expectme.” pact was made, an fae peer -bou- querer) entered asa contestant for the stakes val- ued at half a million! CHARTER: DEATH. INTER Or all, the evil-smelling localitic city 0 how opkaan boast,t east of et, rupning ie ting i treet, and eae. street, and, sundry. other im- provements of a like nature, have greatly bettered the | y of late years. But for wretched human misery, squalid suffering, , andere! debasement, the section bounded by street and Chatham, Center street and the Bowery, can surely produce examples not to be matched in any other city on this side of the ocean. See this gloomy-lcoking *‘‘ barracks,” six stories high, within a stone’s throw of Center Market! What a prison-like aspect it presents! It is a tene- ment-house, occupied only by the poorest of fam- ilies; not crowded to overflowing, either, as the xpejont of tenement-houses are in the great metro- polis, where humans live like bees; it is very sparse- ly occupied. It is an old house, badly modeled, and tenants pass it by, preferring the more modern tenements; and then, too, there is something gloomy and dis- consolate about the dingy brick building; it has more the air of a prison than a dwelling-house. Although affording accommodation for some twen- ty families, yet it was rare that more than three or four tenants were to be found within the dwelling, and these three or four invariably the poorest of the poor. | It was on the a ek succeeding the one whereon the great divorce lawyer, Captain Jack, had made the bouquet-girl, Fulton Frank, such a brilliant pro- posal, that we invite the reader to accom any us while we look in upon one of those scenes of misery only to be found in a large city. On the very top floor of the tenement-house, in a. little front room, about ten feet square, the single window of which looked out upon the dark and dingy roofs of the neighboring houses, lay a fragile . did it happen that you were with him?” girl, dying of starvation. eine : p ? bat ¥ *, oh a ” oe a, sc araenenatmnae a ie "4 j Se eee _. Ale Ber” salle Ett a oe aoe ay | ae } ath
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-_ ‘ * | No fiction, gentle reader! In the great metropolis | of this, our glorious New World, where we burn our | corn for fuel and leave our fish to rot upon the beach, because it does not ‘‘ pay ” to send the arti- cles to market—the middleman’s commission eating up all the profit—human creatures actually perish far “hc of food enough to keep body and soul to- ether. * We cannot describe the furniture of the room, be- cause there was no furniture in it. Upon the floor was a coarse pallet, a straw mat- tress in the last stages of dilapidation, covered with a single gray blanket. A few old boxes scattered about the room served for tables and chairs. There were also two or three plates, an old saucer, a tin cup and basin, a candlestick, and that was all. young and beautiful girl, too, the sufferer, al- though worn almost to skin and bones by her terri- ble struggle with the gaunt wolf, Hunger. Dark hair and eyes, oval face, now white as the face of the dead, a superb fonn, though sadly wast- ed away—one might travel far and uot meet with a maiden more pleasant to look upon. A careful examination of the sufferer, and a close observer would have very little doubt that she was not long for this. world. There was no light in the room, the full rays of the moon shining in through the window affording suffi- cient illumination. There was a low knock at the door. The invalid feebly bade the applicant enter. And then there came into the apartment a young | girl who so strongly resembled the sufferer that even a stranger would have been certain to believe that the two were of the same blood. _And yet her -hair was red-gold in hue, curling in little crispy ringlets all over her shapely head; her eyes, though, were dark; her complexion was not so pearly white as the other’s, yet still there was a great resemblance between the two. An exclamation, surprise and horror blended, came from the lips of the girl as she stood in the doorway and g upon the invalid by the clear light of the moon. or was the other less surprised. ‘‘ Oh, sister!’ cried the new-comer, hurrying to the side of the sufferer, ‘do I find youat last, and in such a state?” “You have come,” the invalid murmured. ‘Oh! how I have been praying that you might come, yet I have striven to hide myself away from and you.’ “And why did you so, Francesca? Have I not always been a true sister to you? Could’l be nearer if the same blood beat within our veins?” “No, dear one; no!” and the invalid gently ca- ressed the cheek of the other with her thin white hand. ‘I have been cruelly—terribly deceived. I am dying, little sister, and I am tha forit. I am sick of this world, and I long for the rest and peace of the quiet grave.” “But why did you leave home so mysteriously? We all believed that xo were dead—that is, father said that we all ought to believeso, but [did not, I knew how you wished to get to the city about which you had heard so much, and I made up my mind | bat you were here somewhere, and for two months now I have been here in New York in search of you. I got a basket of laces and little trimmi and I have supported myself epi pin. from h ouse to house. thought that time I might be able to find you, yet after all my trouble, it was justa mere acei ent that led me here to-night.” Father believed me to be dead?” the sufferer Said, evidently astonished. war that is what he said we all ought to be- " Yet I left a letter telli Rae t it, too!’ him why 1 went away.” e girl exclaimed, impul- elt sure all the time that he did know about you, although he said that he 1 ut why did you leave home?” % Tran away to get married.” 3 To get married?” Yes; I made the tes ee of a one of the Saturday-night hops at the Ocean House; ike the weak, foolish girl that I was, I used to steal out of the house and go down to the beach nearly every pleasant night. You know how terribly romantic I was; I was always dreaming that some prince in disguise would come along and marry me some time, Miserable creature that I am, I have re dearly for my wicked folly. Everybody said hat Iwas such a pretty girl. “Ah! sister dear, my | pretty face has been my ruin! But I never had a mother’s careful eye to watch my wayward actions; if Heaven had not taken my mother from me, I should not be lying here, dying by inches—a poor, miserable, sinful creature—this night.” Oh, don’t talk so! You make me ery, too!” h For a few minutes only the loud Breathing and the half suppressed sobs of the weeping girl could be | ae invalid was the first to recover her composure. ais must hasten on with my story, for I feel that I fs slowin as weaker and weaker every minute; life my Dene bping from my erasp., I was so vain of T'was in Y, SO weary of the dull life of poverty that | T allowed rin thang eager for my prince to come, that | my ac ty any fine-looking gentleman to make sively. some’ didn’t. entleman at te Sa ee Li took fae Ae to. . And in such a way I made the ac- op the ae of this man who has dragged me down had plent re He was a very fine-looking gentleman, of an E Penney, and said that he was the son fessed tf agett. 1 met: him very often; month from theqzétion for me, and wi 7 day I first made his acquaintance wha tied. I deceived him, too, for I did pot tell him whol was, { was so crazy to get him, and ° Me £& ty ee ae e THE BOUQUET GIRL | money. That was one month ago. I thought that if he saw father he would never want to marry me; so I told bim that I was an orphan without any relatives. After we were niarried, he took me to New York. I left a note for father, tell- ing him that I had been married, and that as.soon as Lreached England I would write to him. Alas! that day never came! My husband had deceived me; he was an American; not only that, but, after six months of wedlock, he cast me off, coolly telling me that he was tired of me and wanted a girl with I sought refuge here, and have parted with ppg beta I possessed so that I could procure food, for I could get no work. I believe that I have been mad at times, for I have | dreamed of mother, and in the dream she said I must not die, for grandfather had left me allhis for- tune; but I am going fast—fast.”’ The girl wearily closed her eyes. “The name of the base villain!’ cried the other, . her eyes flashing, and her little hands firmly clench- ed together. ‘‘I will revenge you!” “T willnot tell you. I forgive him!’ And with the words the soul of the sufferer glided away from this cold world. She was dead! CHAPTER IV. AN OBSTACLE IN THE WAY. PuNeTUALLY at rs get o’clock on the evening ap- inted the ‘Chief of the Modocs” turned from rand street into Baxter, and some thirty steps brought him to the house which bore the number which the bouquet-girl had given to him. With his shrewd and searching eyes the lawyer took a survey of the premises. ‘A dingy old barracks,” he muttered; ‘‘ there will be quite achange in the fortunes of this pert young miss if I succeed in getting her the half a million. By Jove! from the way the thing looks I begin to believe that she is the right heir, after all. Now, if I do get her the estate, and she is as gue fulas she ought to be, I know a way in which she can show her gratitude and in a very becoming man- ner. But, that isa matter to be attended to here- after; she is a sly little puss and and I must be care- ful not to alarm her. Let me see! she said on the top floor, I believe,’ and as the lawyer spoke he took a glance upward, The moonlight came full and strong against the front of the building so that it was as plainly visible as by day. ‘Something of a climb,’’ he mused, and then he entered the house. The front door being unfastened afforded an easy access; it is very rare si jocee in a tenement-house; but if the street was light the entry was dark enough, there being. no illuminating agent at all provided. Being to eraply familiar, though, with the general construction of this style of house, the lawyer soon groped his way to the foot of the stairs and began e ascent. To climb to the top of one of these tenement bar- racks is no easy , but many poor tenants are obliged, by iron fortune, to do so daily—the upper floors renting much cheaper than the lower ones, and these good people console themselves for the labor of climbing heavenward by boasting of how much purer the air is up in the sky region. In due time the lawyer reached the top floor and knocked at the first door he came to. He heard the scuftiing of a heavy pair of feet, not at all like the tread of the bouquet-girl; then the door opened and a huge, red-faced, middle-aged Irish woman appeared. lady who sells flowers at Fulton live here?” the lawyer asked. ‘Sorra a taste of lie in that!” the old woman re- plied, peo “Will ye be afther walkin’ in, sorr? take it that yees are the gintleman that she ixpected. ‘Yes, I am the party.” “Sit down, sorr. It’s proud I am to see yees!” And the old woman brought forward a chair, i particular care to dust it off carefully with her apron before offering it to the visitor. The lawyer, always on the alert, looked carefully around the room. It was evidently the parlor that he had entered, for it was quite neatly furnished and everything was as clean as a new Pi re Some of the articles in the room, though, rather surprised the visitor. For instance: upon a table in the corner of the room sat a massive Roman helmet with its Srerbenging, comb lined with scarlet plumes. By the side of the helmet was a tremendous two- “Does a young fer | handed cross-hilt sword, such a Lier oe as Richard of the Lion Heart might have wielded in the days of the Crusades; then in another corner of the apartment were a pee of boots made out of russet- colored leather with wide flaring tops—such foot- gear as the cavaliers in the days of Charles the | him econd of Merrie England might have worn. 4 % “And what does he think of the young lady?” . ht for him to descend — the lawyer ote the 3 (Fae a wed ve ee
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, . ness that so commonly reigned within the old prison- like barracks. Leipper was of a persevering nature, and as he had come to the conclusion that the figure was decidedly more human than spiritual, he determined to ferret out the mystery. So, he proceeded straight up- stairs to the apartments Rs nay by the old woman. In answer to his knock . O’Hallihan—as the lady was called—opened the door. ‘* Excuse my disturbing you, but a lady just pass- ed me in the entry—a lady with golden-red hair and dark eyes,’’ he said. * Sorra a wan of me knows,” the dame replied. “Does any other family reside on this floor be- sides yourself?” “There’s a wee little woman has a front room be- ant, but it’s not her ye want, ll go bail! for her air is black and she’s been so sick for the last two or: three days that she hasn’t been out of her room,” , This satisfied the lawyer so he did not attempt to pursue his investigations further. And thus it often is in this life; wandering in the forest, seeking the path which will carry us out of the maze, as our feet stray intd it, we resolutely turn away, thinking it but a blind trail, and so pro- long our suspense. ad the wily lawyer pursued. his investigations into the room of the sick girl, it would have led to explanations that must have shortened the story we have to tell. But, as fate willed it, Leipper was satisfied with the information, and after uiring how grey ewes families there were in the house, again.bid Mrs. O’Hallihan good-night. : And then to each one of the other tenants the lawyer went, described the woman he sought, and inguired if any of them knew aught of her. ot the slightest bit of information did he gain, and mM last, baffled and annoyed, he gave up the — Search, j “Tt cannot be that myeyes are playing tricks upon me!’’ he muttered, as he stood in the street and gazed wistfully up at the old barracks. “I'll swear I saw the woman! the exact image of that icture which they say is an excellent portrait of he mother of this girl I seek. The flower-girl bears a strong likeness to it, but nothing like this one to- night. nless my eyes have deceived me, I’ve seen Francesca Vendotena, but where on earth did she ‘o to, and why did she run away when I called her? his is the most mysterious case I ever had any- thing to do with.” And having arrived at this conclusion the lawyer sauntered slowly riba every now and then cast ng ; a glance at the o d brick house standing so col back and grim in the moonlight. e old pae had just the as es ee a building r ? 5 wherein a dreadful secret might F That the reader may have aclearer idea of the causes which led to the perplexing predicament in which the half-million of dollars left. by Lorenzo Vendotena is placed, waiting anxiously for the heir to come, than the brief statement of the lawyer af- fords, we will briefly tell the story of the past. Asa man of thirty, with a boy of five, (his son, Antonio,) Lorenzo Vendotena had come to this coun- The father had been concerned in one of those revolutionary plots so common in Italy in the days when the Bambas ruled over southern Italy, and had béen forced to fly for his life. - A confectioner by profession he had worked at his trade until he attained a good knowledge of lish, and then had started on his own account, and being not only an excellent artiste in his line, but also a saving, prudent man, prospered exceedingly—so much so that, in twenty years he was accounted quite wealthy. - As we have said, the old man was saving and pru- dent, honest as the day, aman whose word was as ‘00d as his bond, but something of a miser withal, hot-tempered, peppery old gentleman, fond of having his own way and impatient of contradiction. . Antonio, the son, was in all respects almost hi the on osite of his father. It was a passion wi the old man to accumulate money; it was a passion with Antonio to spend it. The father was quick- tempered, brave as a lion, but generally as ready to forgive a foe as to quarrel with him; the son, on the contrary, was not quick to anger, and he was a ve eoward at heart, but when he did become offended; he never forgot nor forgave; he was trickery per- sonified, and seemed only to take delight in some mean, petty action, not an open, noble revenge. His father’s money the son squandered with a lavish nd. The old man remonstrated and threatened many times to turn him adrift if he did not mend his ways but Antonio had heard the threat so often that it did not trouble him in the least. . The year that Antonio reached his twenty-fifth Dirthday some chance took him to Long Branch. At that time of course it was nothing like what it is to-day; still it was a nee of considerable resort in the summer time for those living near at hand. And all the old sailors, cruising up along the shore trom Barnegat, always kept a good look-out for the “tavern houses,” as they termed Long Branch. At the sea-shore the son made the acquaintance of a young and pretty girl. She was poor, the niece of lawyer, and Antonio knew well enough that his uther would never hear of his marrying the girl, forthe old confectioner had high views for his son in that respect, but as Antonio was infatuated with + maid, he determined to win her by foul means ince he could not by fair. He had been careful to disguise his identity under a false name. His idea was to marry the girl and then desert her, when he ould tire of her. He flattered himself that he - would never be traced. But the lawyer, the uncle of the girl, and with * wee THE we whom she lived, suspected that the young man, who spent his money so freely, was other than he pre- tended, and took measures to discover who and what he was. Of course, when he quietly found out that he was the son of the rich confectioner, he was delighted at the way things were going. He there- fore allowed Antonio to believe he was playing a deep game. In time the young rascal proposed to the girl, was accepted, and the wedding took place, but the law- yer uncle took care to have plenty of witnesses pres- ent, and the moment the ceremony was over, an- nounced who the bridegroom really was, and had the proper name inse in the certificate. The biter was bit. CHAPTER VI. THE STORY OF THE PAST. ANToNnIo accepted the situation with as good a race as possible. In his weak, foolish way he oved the Lerygse'd country girl, and, although he had deliberately plotted to wrong her, when he found that the Jersey lawyer had proved too smart for him he swallowed the pill with ease and grace. So far Lysander Limowell, Esquire, as he was fond of being termed, had succeeded. The son of the rich New Yorker was the husband of his niece. Antonio’s concealment of his name he affected to look upon as a mere boyish freak, something to be laughed at, not to merit condemnation. In the mind of the wily lawyer was the fortune of the old confectioner. Antonio was an only son, and by the marriage of his niece to the rors New Yorker he had secured to the girl great Ww F After a time the lawyer hinted to Antonio the necessity of ee ene marriage to his father. Antonio turned pale, became confused, and attempt- ed to palter with the matter. Weak, irresolute, not strong enough to do right, but feeble enough to do ill, the unworthy son of an honest father had allowed his passions to get the better of his judgment. But now, when called upon to bear the consequences of his act, he shrunk from the task. He knew the high aims of his father; the old Italian, filled with a fervent admiration for the people of the land where’ he had acquired his for- tune, had hoped be 3 oe aid of the money, to marry his son to some brilliant society girl. Poor and un- lettered himself, he had spent his wealth freely to educate his boy, but the old saying raat the impossibility of making a silk purse out of a pig’s ear was fully realized in this case. Antonio was a vagabond by nature—a true Italian lazzaroni; indo- lent, tricky. All the education and polish in the world couldn’t make the old confectioner’s son either a gentleman or an honest man, Antonio, brought to bay at last, told the eer that he felt sure that the old man would never for- give him for marrying without his consent, and urged that the matter be kept secret; but the grasp- ing lawyer thought differently. He expected that the father would be terribly angry at first, but then his niece, Decetra, was a pretty girl, came of a good family, and though she was an orphan, and poor, yet, apart from the fact of her poverty, the richest and proudest man in the world could find no occa- sion to object to her. Determining to bring matters to a climax, Limo- well journeyed to New York, called upon the retired ee and broke the news of the marriage to im. Old Vendotena grew fairly purple with rage as he listened to the lawyer’s story. _Limowell had bountifully embellished the narra- tive with a glowing description of the strength and beauty of the love which existed between the two— had descanted largely upon the beauty of his niece, the excellence of her education, and how fitted she was to adorn even the palace of a peer. He might as well have spared his breath and pains, however, for the old confectioner’s mind only grasped one thing—Antonio was married to a poor and obscure girl. ; The quick-witted parent understood the whole affair at a glance. His son had been entrapped into the union because he was the halv toa teewe fortune. Briefly but firmly the old man spoke his mind. ‘*Your niece has married my sonfor his money—” The lawyer would fain have controverted this statement, but the old Italian imposed silence by a wave of his hand. “Not one penny of my fortune shall ever come into her hands. My wealth is mine, and I shall da of it as I please; and sooner than allow this pal ae trick to succeed I will throw it all into the sea Limowell. attempted to reason with the enraged man, but the effort was useless. Old Vendotena ordered the lawyer to leave the house, and sur- moned the servants to eject him. The intriguer retreated, baffled but not dis- couraged. The storm was an angry one, but storms do not last forever. Time, he thought, would soften the old man’s rage; so Limowell returned to his bag Fenn to wait and watch. The lawyer’s income was not large, yet he th ciously offered the young couple a home with him until the time should come when the angry confec- tioner would relent. Limowell had his eyes fixed on the fortune of half a million of dollars which report said appertained to the retired dealer in sweets. . Antonio, however, knew his sire too well to expect that he would ever change, but he kept the knowl- edge to himself and said nothing. me passed on. In May, 1858, a daughter was born to the young + Op whom the crafty lawyer Sones to be named Francesca, after Antonio’s mother, And when the child was about six months old Limowell suggested that perhaps a personal ap al of Antonio, accompanied by his wife and child, might soften the heart of the old man. Antonio, heartily sick of his bargain, for he missed the luxuries to which he had nm accustomed, mor apd caught at the idea. Therefore, with his wife and child, he started for New York. Presenting himself at the door of his father’s house, he was refused admission; the old man had expected this mode of attack, and had provided ainst it; but the son, not to be baffled, deposited his wife and child in a cheap furnished apartment, and began a regular siege of his father’s residence. 4 It was not long before he met his aged sire face to ‘ace. In the meantime the old confectioner had thought much in regard to the matter. He had shrewdly essed that Limowell had been at the bottom of e affair, and that he had used his niece as a tool, and in his blind anger the Italian had determined to be revenged upon both of them. Therefore, he entered into conversation with his son, and soon perceived that Antonio, utterly un- principled, was willing to do anything, provided he was paid well enough for it. The father and son soon struck a bargain. Fora large sum, cash in hand paid, and an allowance of so much per year, to be paid quarterly, Antonio agreed to desert his wife and child, fly to Europe and ae there. : Not the least bit of a conscience did this rogue ave. The compact was carried out at once. Antonio never returned to the humble apartment where he had placed his little family. The anxious wife waited until the next day in sleepless anxiety, then, unable longer to bear the suspense, she took her babe in her arms and sought the residence of the old confectioner, This time the door opened readily to receive her. In the old man’s presence she told her story, and inquired for her husband. ot atrace of pity could she see in the old Italian’s dark face, as he briefly made reply: ‘“* Your husband, my son, is an utter rascal!’’ he said, bitterly. “He deceived me, and now has de- serted "ph I gave him money yesterday. He has probably taken advantage of the money to run away. do not think that you will ever see him again. You had_ better tt yd him, You have caused me a great deal of trouble, but I do not wish to see you suffer.. If he will agree to never come near me again, or trouble me in any way, I will give youa thousand dollars,” The young wife agreed, but she intended to use the money to find her husband, for she imagined that the old man was a. Antonio from her. She sent her child home so that she might devote herself to the search. She wrote to her uncle occa- sionally, but at last three or four months passed without a word from her. Limowell went to New York, and after much diffi- culty discovered that she had been taken ill, died suddenly, and had been buried in a pauper’s grave. But the child was safe, and the lawyer carefully reared her, his eyes were still intent on the fortune of a half a willion. CHAPTER VII. THE QUEEN OF THE BLONDES. Ty one of the palatial parlors of New York’s grand- ee eh the Fifth Avenue,.sat a young and pretty girl. . She was sumptuously robed in a carriage-dress that a princess might have envied, and the jewels that she wore were rich and rare enough to excite the admiration of an Indian rajah. In person she was about the medium hight; in figure perfection itself. No old-time master, great in silent marble, ever chiseled a womanly form more exquistely modeled. Her face, with its large blue eyes—dark blue, and full of fire and passion—its long, straight nose, splendid lips, red as the flower of the cactus, and yet melting with the dewy tender- ness all their own—for surely no other daughter of ks na bat pentane a en eee hee with e perfectly proportion gure; but the at charm of the girl was her hair, which was as ‘eehow as beaten gold, fine as silk, and shimmered in the sun as the rip les of the silver moonlight trembled along the surface of the ever-moving wave. Splendid! glorious! superb! Such were the exclamations which greeted this perfect creature whenever she took her walks abroad, or rather, whenever she displayed her charms from some handsome vehicle, for it was very seldom indeed that Miss Avise Winne ever conde- scended thus to use the fairy-like feet, with which Dame Nature had endowed her. a. Winne! ; ‘ iid strange name!—a strange ,» SO wondrous! beautiful!” # And who was she? : One had not far to gO to find out. Not a bootblack nor 2 newspaper gamin in the street but could have answered the question in a breath. : No need even to put a question; only to use one’s eyes, and information in regard to the beautiful rl stared from every corner, in letters big and _lit- tle, red and blue and black and parti-colored. Her picture, four times the size of life, and, to use the old saying, twice as natural, ornamented every dead wall; a smaller size was in every window. AVISE WINNE, THE QUEEN OF THE BLONDES. ’ Turn where one would this met the eye. The reader has probably guessed the mystery. This superb creature, so perfect in all outward *“,
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THE BOUQUET GIRL, 5 Seeming, was an actress—a blonde burlesquer, to use the slang of the theater-going world. In the olden time such a glorious maiden would have been snapped up by the first prince who hap- pened to see her, and, like another Helen, kings might have fought for her, and her smile sufficed to ruin a country. ons oh! how prosaic and commonplace this age of ours! No kings jostled elbows, and contended for the smiles of this fair woman; no, she exhibited herself at fifty cents a head aed kicked up her elegant heels, and sung as best she knew how, and all for the amusement of the common herd. It paid, though! Since Avise Winne and her troupe of burlesque artists had commenced their engagement at Wal- lack’s Theater—ever the leading play-house of America—Avise’s share of the profits had exceeded a thousand dollars a week. And yet Avise—no one ever thought of calling her miss—was not a good actress. e sapient critics declared that she didn’t know what acting meant. She merely was a superbly beautiful girl, with a bright, ae se and rather bold way with her; sung fairly; danced a little; had a sweet voice; was lady- like in spite of her ‘‘ dash;” cispier co an elegant figure freely, and yet was not at immodest; in fine, pleased the multitude and reaped a rich reward in spite of the hard times, and the general scarcity of money. One single remark more and we are through with our description of this brilliant girl, who had taken New York by storm, and had made such a “hit” that old artists, veterans of the ‘‘boards”’ and footlights,” rubbed their eyes and wondered what the deuce had sot into the public that they should 0 crazy after this dashy Mugteb girl. The breath of scandal, which seldom spares the woman who boldiy dares a public life, had never yet Smirched the good name of Avise Winne. She was the ‘‘ queen of the blondes,”’ so advertised by her crafty managers, depended upon her hand- some face, pretty figure and scanty attire to please the public; but off the soe she kept herself rigidly select, although run after by young. men with more money than brains, in a manner t absurd, Avise Winne had been on the stage since child- hood, and understood the world, its trials and temptations as well as an ordinary woman of sixty. Bouquets she accepted, valuable presents, too—as a true daughter of Bohemia—as the artist-tribe is called—she felt that it was her duty to “spoil the Egyptians;” but neither flowers nor presents were passports to her favor. “Diamond rings are well enough,” Avise would say, ‘but the only ring that can win me, a parson must put on!” And then, too, there were soft-headed youths of good family, fellows with money, if no brains, who came with’ honest intent, who dreamed that they could take this footlight flower from the garish glare of the stage’s light and transplant hor'to the quiet of a home, and that there she would bloom and en- chant as of yore. Vain, empty dream, as many a poor fellow who has tried the experiment has discovered to his cost! But one and all Avise kept at a distance. at was perfectly ‘Love! I don’t know the meaning of the word, et poner expect to!” she was wont to ery in con- pt. Hollow boast, full of fiction, or else her passionate eyes deceived the Bight e player-folks have keen eyes, that watch one another closely, and Avise had not been two weels in the theater when the report went round that there was a certain gentleman who had found favor in the beautiful eyes of the imperious young girl. Not a Sminent actor, either, but one who held the position of “walking gentleman” as it is called, the “lover” pois is name was Ronald Craige, and he played in the farce which preceded the Tia lepaus. he ae now to relate the strangest part of all, Craige a not seem to be conscious that he was a favorite of the beautiful blonde ae irs and went about his sa with almost stolid indifference in regard to Avise was not a girl to be turned from her pur- ag and feeling sure that there was some reagon or this indifference in the background, she set her agent, a shrewd, cunning little Englishman, at work to find out all he could about the oung man, Timoleon Hodkinson the agent was named (very seldom called 5 rea but Tim, though, by any- of the drama, but secondary to the pody). He was a little, undersized man, built exact- th ght for a jockey, with a sharp, weasel-like face, 6 eyes, scanty mutton-chop whiskers, of a sand hue, hair of like color, aimee cropped tight to his Fe and altogether an unmistakable English look. on had just entered the apartment. I dia 7 all right, Avise!”’ he exclaimed, ‘Blessed if acts know I could do it! Craige has got another ‘ * 4 * Another firl!” and Avise’s great eyes flashed, Shee, € hands clenched in anger, piece, me if he hasn’t, and she’s a nice sort of a a 4 ortrait, and he’s educat- ne re a now: coming the grand gentleman!” you think bg rats pee him from - “Wait and see!’ tal hin. strange ePartment opened suddenly, and a mysterious air, into theres, Glad, walked, with -a ©§ your pardon, mademoiselle,” he said, ‘ SA é ‘| “but ve come to speak to you about a little matter of half a million of dollars,’ | CHAPTER VIII. A MYSTERIOUS GENTLEMAN. A HALF a million of dollars! It was «nes a striking picture just at that mo- ment, and any enterprising artist would have jump- ed at the chance to transfer the scene either to can- vas or to the sensitive plate of the camera. The young and beautiful queen of burlesque, ar- rayed in the shimmering silken robe, the handsomest carriage dress that the drives of Central Park had seen for many a long day, with her hand thrown carelessly over the high back of a luxuriant arm- chair, and gazing with surprised face at the stranger; her position a model for the artist! The jockey-like Englishman, in his checked suit of tweed, hat in hand, staring at the speaker in pro- found surprise; even the scanty side-whiskers of the acute Tim seemed to share the wonder and stick out more than usual. ‘ And the stranger—this tall, thin, elderly man with the hawk-nose, restless black eyes, glittering like black beads; hair black as jet and cropped tightly to his head; olive face, smoothly shaven, but plain- ly betraying the dark-blue marks which told of a heavy beard were nature allowed her way; dressed in a shabby, thread-bare suit of black, very much out of style—the pantaloons baggy and loose—the coat ey ee chee and single-breasted, buttoned up tight in the throat, no sign of linen being visible— standi by the door, his dilapidated slouch-hat in his hand, the other raised a trifle above his head af- ter the style of the peculiar races of southern Eu- rope who are nothing if not theatrical. ‘A half a miliion of dollars!” he repeated. ‘‘So eak I and what I speak I know!’ The man hada ecided foreign accent. ‘Behold me, the Count, Phillipe de Castiglione!” The same thought occurred at the same moment to both the listeners to this odd speech. The man was a lunatic. Avise was as brave as a lion; the girl did not real- ly know what fear was, and soshe gazed with steady eyes upon the stranger, but as for Tim he deftly sidled behind a chair and looked behind him for a weapon in case the man became violent. ‘‘Mademoiselle, I have had the honor to see you on the boards of the theater many times,” the man continued, addressing his conversation with a grace- ful bow to Avise. ‘‘Your face so beautiful—so charming! it is imprinted here, upon my heart. I see you many times—I do not recognize you at first, for itis long ago. I have had many troubles; my mind is not so good as it used to be; but at last it flashes upon me! Yes, you are the child; the child that in my arms I have held so often, but you do not remember me; no, it is impossible; it is so long ago!”’ and here the stranger heaved a deep sigh and let his head fall down upon his breast. “ Awfully cracked!” Tim ejaculated in a whisper to Avise, The girl nodded; in her mind there was no doubt that the man was eas but he seemed a harmless sort of madman, and she was really curious to find out why he had wandered into her apartment and what the half-a-million of dollars was that he was raving about. Another deep sigh came from the ope of the stran- er, and then he raised his head and surveyed the air face of the girl for a moment, in silence, with his glassy, restless eyes. ‘Ah,’ be murmured at last, ‘‘the first time I see ou, you touch a chord here in my heart. I say, hillipe, mon brave, what does this mean? English girl is fair—she is lovely—she is an angel— but passion died long since in your heart, now it is stone! Vwhy seek you to gaze upon this face? I am not rich, mademoiselle. Italy—dear Italy! for her lam poor. I cannot pay one dollair every night; goin the gallery I cannot—the cs of an Italian nobleman forbids it!” and here the speaker patted his breast manfully. ‘‘Vwhat am I to do, since I must look upon your face or die?” “Grab checks,” suggested Tim,ina half under- tone, and putting his tongue in his cheek and wink- ing at the burlesque queen. m he man favored the Englishman with a gracious ow. “The signor is correct,” hesaid; ‘that is what I Le Count de Castiglione, am obliged todo. I stand in front of the theater; around me my cloak is wrapped; there is a freemasonry among gentlemen; any gentleman with half an eye can see that I am of blue-blood. Between theacts of the play, when the gentlemen come out, I speak to them—TI beg their pardon, I tell them thatit isnecessary to my existence that inside the theater I go. Some laugh, some jeer, all the same to me; lam a gentleman; it cannot hurt me; Le Count de Castiglione cannot be insult- ed. Some give me their checks and I walk in, others ene me money. I say, ‘Ido not beg; an Italian no- leman cannot beg, but I will accept your money as a loan; when my property to me is restored, Iwill repay;’ and so, mademoiselle, without money, with- out price, I see you avery. night, and last night, at one sacred moment, the truth came to me; it was where you strike down the ruffian with your fist, and ery those lines of beautiful poetry: ‘My name is Norval, I’m an old vet, I’m bound to win or die, you bet!’ “Tn one moment I saw clearly; you are my child; Tam your father!” The burlesque queen was so much amazed that she could only stare in silence at this extremely peculiar speaker, but as for Tim, he fairly roared. “Oh, blast my buttons!’ he exclaimed, ‘if this ain’t as good as a play!” eculiar, hollow, insincere smile which came so rea ily to him—shrugged his shoulders, and lifted his hands as if to protest against the Englishman’s merriment. “You do.not believe me when I say that you are my child,” he said, slowly. : ‘No; 1 do not—i know better!” Avise answered, quickly. : She was annoyed at the assumption, “Oh, it won’t work, old gentleman; it is too thin!” cried ‘Tim, irreverently. ‘ “And if out of the wealth which you enjoy, i should ask you for a small sum, you would refuse?” “Course she would,” the Englishman exclaimed. “T tell you it won’t wash. You can’t come it, you know.” “Why, sir I think that you must be crazy 1” Avise cried, not able to account for the stranger’s actions at all, for there seemed to be a deal of method in his The man smiled—the madness. n “And does the heart not speak to you?” the man continued, indifferent, od he , to the effect his words had produced. When I say, Child, I am oe father, is there not a chord in your heart that s touched?” “Oh, gammon! It won’t do, you know; you can’t play that sort of thing onus!’ and the English- man began to show anger. “No, sir, not at all,’ replied the girl. 4 “And you would refuse me a loan—a small sum— say a hundred dollairs—if I should ask it; I, your fa- ther—the father whom you have-not seen since you were an infant in the cradle?” f “Yes, sir I should; Pll give you a dollar to get rid of you,” Avise exclaimed, contemptuously, and as she spoke, she took two half-dollar pieces from her pocket book and cast them upon the floor at the stranger’s feet. Like a hawk he pounced down upon the silver pieces and secured them. It was quite plain that all was fish that came to his net, and that the small favors were thankfully received. i + ae “From my heart, I thank you, my child,” he ex- claimed, bowing with great dignity. ‘‘ You give me a dollair now; you do not know me; you mistrust me! Ah! great heaven, what agony it is for a fa- te ther to be mistrusted by his own child!’’—and all _ this spoken in the most matter-of-fact tone. “ one week you will know better; in one week—se a little days—your eyes will be.open; you will come me then and say, ‘My honored parent, noble count, here is my purse; take what you like—a hundred—a thousand dollairs if you will.’ I help myself; I go to my lawyer; Isay to him, here are the proofs that this beautiful lady is my daughter; here are the proofs that I am my father’s son; here is money to ours! Addio. i And then, in his snaky way, the man bowed him- self out of the room, leaving Avise and the English- man staring at each other in intense amazement. CHAPTER IX, ° A BRACE OF RASCALS, Crosine the door of the actress’s apartment care- fully behind him, the tall, thin stranger, whose ap- peace so forcibly suggested the ‘‘ Father of . vil’? as he is generally represented by the Italian Sea ho thin, high cheek-bones, glitteri ad-like eyes, and a smile, sarcasm and melanchol) strangely mixed—proceeded along the entry. There was something snake-like about the man, His appearance instinctively produced aversion. ‘“Oh, saints in heaven!’’ he muttered, as he walk- ed along the corridor, and as he spoke he stretched out his thin, brown hand, which with its long, skin- ny fingers so closely resembled the talons of a bird of prey, and surveyed the two glittering pieces of silver which reposed therein. “One dollair—one miserable dollair to her own flesh and blood—to her father—to me, the man, who, by turning over his hand, can put one half-mil- lion of dollairs into her pocket! Bah! Gratitude! it is a fable! Filial love! it exists not but in romance or at the opera.. Why did she not throw herself up- on my breast, and cry, ‘Dear father! here in my heart find welcome!’ Oh, these Englishers—these John Bulls! No souls, all stomach!” The Italian heaved a deep sigh and pocketed the half-dollars. » He was careful, however, to place the coins in separate pockets, Descending the stairs to the office below in the main corridor, and marching along with head erect as though he was the most honored guest that the stately Fifth Avenue had ever sheltered, his ap- pearance provoked instant suspicion, 4 It was plain that he had come from the uper part of the hotel, and as his garb and manner quickly told that he was not a guest, it was only natural that the clerk and porters who had observed him should instantly come to the conclusion that he was a sneak-thief, who had been prowling about the hotel Fm on funder. re “Say, what do you want here?” asked the cle: q ietly but firmly, confronting the Italian right at the oot of the stairs, while a couple of the porters gathered near ready to cut off the man’s escape if a eee t6 figpe - is operation was very adroi erformed so as — re to tee attention. ae “ice o have it even supposed that suspicious characters a admittance at any time. "f % reat heaven! Why do you ask?” exclaimed the stranger, in the extravagant, theatrical manner, so ‘natural to him, “You're not a guest of the hotel, and I want to —— us ne oe : me” fe ahs First-class hotels don’t like ew reward your labor; go into the courts of this § a ve. republic, and cry aloud that justice may be Ra dk He goes; we win; and a half a million dollai a ts | a . =) a oe
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Basa Cy ee 7 know what you were doing up stairs. Come, speak out quick or [ll hand you over to the police,” the clerk replied. | *““Wternal powers! You would not dream of such | an outrage!’ the Italian exclaimed, not loudly, but | in great astonishment, apparently. _ 1 will unless you give a satisfactory explana- - “Visten then, although I protest against this in- terrogation,” the Italian responded with great dig- nity. “Iam an artist—the Signor Castiglione of the . Grand Opera —a call I have had the honor to make | upon the Mademoiselle Winne. JT am poor; genius ; struggles ever with the dark angels of adversity. Mademoiselle Winne is as good as she is beautiful. Ihave come to her and tell my'sad:story, and she opens her purse-strings, bright, beautiful angel! and . now depart happy.” % The clerk was inclined to believe this story, for his experience with the ‘‘children of genius’ in the por and opera line had brought him in contact with some pretty seedy customers. It was plain . that the man was a gentleman, and he talked like an | artist—a child of the Bohemian tribe; therefore the elerk apologized for his mistake, and explained how f necessary it was to be cautious in a city hotel in re- | gard to strangers. **Say no more; it was your duty; from the bottom of my soul do I admire men who do their duty per- form!” exclaimed the Italian, grandiloquently. **Pardon, signor, but will St hot favor me by taking a glass of wine with me? Everywhere I go, I hear it | said there is no wine in America to compare with the | nectar of the Fifth Avenue.” “Oh, excuse me; but you must take a drink with . me!” replied the clerk, who was a jolly fellow nat- urally. The Italian protested that he couldn’t think of such a thing, but he marched up to the bar never- ess and took his whisky like a man. his social operation performed, he laid his skinny ger upon the arm of the other. The Mademoiselle Winne is an angel; with her money she is'as free as water: at present I struggle in the waves of adversity. I, Phillipe de Castiglione, oas the principal tenor have sung before the and queens of Europe in all the good. theaters e Opera, Paree, La Scola, Milan. Here in Ameri- the directors do not see it; they go back on me, diavolo! I starve but for that bright angel, the y Mademoiselle Winne! I presume there w be no objection. to my coming here to see her sometimes?” _ “Oh, no, now that we know who you are.” e clerk hadn’t a doubt in regard to the man’s ee . He was so much like the genuine, article— rade imported artist, ‘down on his luck” that even . _ the experienced hotel man wastaken in, / ==*'Thanks! In my be ihe Ishall remember your dness, and when I make my ‘‘hit ”’—the time will come—and all New York is at my feet. throwing largess, I will not forget my generous; benefactor! No! your kindness rey will a thousand-fold!”’ And then, witha graceful, dignified bow, the Italian marched out of the hotel. Outside, a comrade awaited the signor. ; An Italian, too, apparently, but quite a contrast to the noble count, be ng short and thick and fat. He was dressed in a shabby black suit, much too large for him, and adozen years at least behind the prevailing | fashion. | _ Like the other, his coat was buttoned up tight in the throat, and no linen was visible. It was odds that he didn’t possess any. £ His face, like his person, was fat, very dark in : eolor, the chin ornamented by a peaked rd, and the thick-lipped mouth shaded by a huge mustache, ; the ends carefully waxed. His little, evil-lookin eyes were like two jet-black beads, and the smell o } garlic that came from his person was enough to ‘ sicken one who detested that pungent vegetable, so : dear to the heart of the Latin races. Colonel Anselmo del Frascati, this individual was and, as if to give proof that he had a right to the military title, he bore a switch in his hand, which t he either flourished, saber-like, in the air, or else beat against the legs of his pantaloons. ‘* Ha, ha!” he exclaimed, as the tall man emerged from the hotel, ‘‘ you have been long! How goes the uM, ht? Did she see ze point, hey?” called e count shook his head. r “ And you got notting, diavolo?”’ The count displayed a single half-dollar. ‘Bah! that is a dinner only; did you tell her of ze half a million, hey?” ‘4 ? og she nothing make of it, hey?”’ (av - “Thave a-wait for yousome time,” '. “Be calm, my friend,” and he laid his skinny fin- #3 “on the greasy coat-sleeve of the other, ‘I have iy made the acquaintance of one of the hotel young . * ape: Iam a singer at the opera and come to see the emoiselle Winne as a brother artist.” “Ha, ha! ittis good—beautiful—divine!" ; * Come, we wil i dine?” ", The two proceeded down the rape ring as they ' went, the snaky Italian unfolded his plan. “Tf we do not succeed—if the heir we do not find, a vize we can make here,” and the speaker nodded ack to the hotel. “Diavolo! thatis superb; how?’ | — * Jewels—real, no paste!’”? the count explained, ‘ mysteriously. ‘“‘Five thousand dolairs’ worth— more, maybe. I am an opera singer; they. will not i suspect me in the hotel, for I upon the Made- m™m e Winne. The lock is nothing—bah! a child could open it; so easy!” “Ten devils, but that is good!” «We can make no money out of the half a million; ‘we watch our chance and steal the jewels. South | «“ e | LO America is near; many count j | we willgo. Five thousand dollairs; it is a fortune!’ _probabl en of ours there; ‘But I have ze other girl found,” “Ha, hal’? “ Ze image of ze picture, but hair dark!” **Good! We will have our pickings out of the half tnillion, after all!” CHAPTER X. RONALD CRAIGE. Tue farce with which the evening’s performance commenced at Wallack’s was over; the farce was merely to play the audience into their seats so that the burlesque might be displayed to a full house, and to those who did come early the farce was a sort of eppatieer to prepare the mind for the full enjoy- ment of the attraction of the evening. With the farce Ronald Craige’s duties for the evening terminated, as he was not gifted with the talents necessary to the burlesque artist. He could neither sing a comic negro song, nor dance the soul- inspiring breakdown; flip-flops were foreign to his nature; nor could he assume the garb of the other sex and charm an enlightened audience by a coarse caricature of a pretty woman. And therefore, as the ope man was a student and a gentleman, one who had embraced the stage from sheer love of the player’s art, it naturally fol- lowed that he held a subordinate position at the ei salary of twenty dollars per week, out of which he was expected to dress in the hight of fash- ion, while the burlesque artists’ pay ranged from ' thirty per week up to a thousand. But the young man had chosen his vocation, and although heartily sick of the life couldn’t very well et out of it—so crowded are all the avenues that ead to a competence, nowadays. A sober, steady, hard-working young fellow was the actor, with few enemies, and not a great many friends either, for the semi-wild life common to nearly all the followers of the stage was not at all to his liking. He was emphatically a student and all the time was studying hard, striving to fit himself for some other pursuit than the one which he was now following. The artist world that knew Ronald Craige called him proud and stuck-up, and resented his holding himself aloof from their*gay peek op But the young man was not proud; he was a, afgentleman in his instincts, who chose to pick his associates, Some of the sons and daughters of the Thespian art are as worthy people as can be found in all the wide world; but then, there are others, so tainted in mind and morals, that to be compelled to asscciate with them was, to a pure-hearted fellow like Ronald Craige, as dreadful as to herd with the felon hosts of Sing Sing. And because he held apart from these unworthy creatures, the bane and degradation of a noble art— ure in itself as its sisters, painting and sculpture— he artist-world ‘‘ made mouths” at the young man. Little he cared though, for he was striving with all his might to escape from the circle of fire which surrounded him; if the world in which he now lived was angry because he would not associate with it, he despised that world and its opinion. The beautiful burlesque actress, the dashing Avise Winne, could not understand why the young man seemed so dull to the favor which she was lavishin upon him, He was not blind, did not lack sense, an yet he did not manifest the slightest interest in ‘Avise Winne, although, just at that time, half the ep lb gar Sf ee he Pa old ones too, for that matter—in New York were running madly after the charming queen of the blondes. Avise, shrewd and cunning, believed that she had a rival, and so she had dispatched her man-of-all- work, the patient and untiring Timoleon, in quest of information, and with what result the reader al- ready knows. At nine o’clock Oraige had changed his stage eostume for his usual street dress, and was on his way home, 7 Avise, as usual, had taken particular care to en- counter him as he made his way to the back-door of the theater, as she invariably did, every even- ing, soas to be able to exchange a few words with The actress’s intent was so apparent that the oung man could not very well avoid her, but with his cool, easy politeness he never gave her cause to hope that he was being roused to that pitch of pas- sion which was raging within her fair veins. A few commonplace remarks he would make, then bid her ‘* sood-night ” and depart, leaving the proud young actress ready to flame out in open rage. Sreieht to his home Oraige proceeded, and as he walked along, he mused upon the peculiar position in which he was pecet “Deuce take the girl!’ he muttered, thoroughly vexed by Avise Winne’s open and avowed liking, so keenly expressed. _‘* She has got everybody talking about us now! What on earth has got into her? should think that she could see with half an eye that I don’t care for her, and that 1am trying to keep away from her allIcan. I shall get into trouble, soon, She will get angry, and if she chooses to try, she can have my engagement annulled; women do these mean things sometimes; and then I shall be obliged to live idle all summer, and spend the little sum that I’ve pul by for a Saeed day. I can see no way to avoid the te Tcan’t bear the girl, and I’m not going to lie to her. It will be either love or hate, and as I can’t go the former, I presume the latter will soon come.” And now we willtake advantage of the glare of the gaslight, as the actor passes, take a good look at him, and we do not wonder at the preference so keenly shown by the blonde burlesque queen. for the young man. F ’ In person about the medium hight, well-built and finely proportioned; clearly-cut features, regular and pleasing; honest brown eyes, chestnut hair, curling slightly, broad forehead, plenty of room for brains there: in fine, a general appearance calculated to win friends at the first glance. ; The actor had turned into Broadway, after leaving the theater, the walk down through New York’s great artery being so much more pleasant than the way through the side-streets; then he had gone through Grand street until he arrived at Baxter. Walking leisurely along, absorbed in his thoughts, which, as we have seen, were not very pleasant ones, Craige had never taken any particular notice of what was going on around him. In fact he had never once looked back, therefore he had no sus- picion at all that, from the time of leaving the theater until he arrived at the corner of Grand street and Baxter, he had been closely followed by two men, who could not have stuck to him better if. they had been his shadow, by some miracle doubled. And these two men were afraid, too, that the actor would discover that they were following him, for they took particular pains to keep in the shadows as much as possible. > But as Craige hadn’t the slightest idea that any- one would trouble their head about him, in such a fashion, the precaution of the two men was clear! needless. . As the actor walked up Baxter street toward the old brick barracks, where he had his quarters, he noticed that there were two figures standing upon the stoop, busy in conversation, And as he came nearer he could distinguish that one was a woman and the other a man. i And just as he ascertained this, the man raised his hat politely; bid the female good-night, a salutation which she returned, and then came down the street apt Grand, passing within arm’s-length of the actor. Craige had recognized the voice of the woman; it was the Bouquet Girl, Frank, and a natural curios- ity therefore made him take a good look at the man with whom she had been talking, the more so, because he saw that the stranger was dressed in the hight of style—in fact, a little over-dressed. e man, busy with his own thoughts, passed by the actor without noticing him in the least, but Craige recognized him at once, although not person- ally acquainted with him, for Captain Jack Leipper, the famous divorce lawyer, was one of the notables of New York; few well-informed men who were not acquainted with the dashy figure of the lawyer, al- ways so elegantly attired. he actor, upon discovering who the gentleman was, stood still for a moment and looked after him. The girl standing upon the oe of the old bar- racks was surely the Bouquet Girl; he had clearly recognized her voice; but what business had this no- torious divorce weiss with her? Determined to solve the riddle at once, the actor be ea straight to the house, The two men who ad followed him were snugly hid in a dark doorway on the other side of the street. ““Why, Frank, what did that fellow want?” the actor asked. “Not much,” answered the girl, smiling a glad welcome; ‘“‘he only wants to make me a present of half a million of dollars.” CHAPTER XI. THE EXECUTORS. i Caprain JAcK’s office was situated in the fourth story of one of the handsomest buildings on lower Broadway; rather high if one ascended by the stairs but then in this age of luxuries, no one thinks o climbing heavenward in that manner when the “ elevators ” afford such a ready means of access to the upper chambers. The sanctum of the lawyer was fitted up in the most luxuriant manner; the ‘‘Modoc” of the bar believed in style and show, for all of which his unlucky clients paid, of course. On ithe morn 4 after the night when his recogni- tion by the actor had excited so much astonishment in the breast of the latter, the lawyer sat in his com- fortable easy-chair enjoying a fragrant cigar, and ta oe at the morning journal, which he held in s hand, every now and then, k The daintily ornamented clock upon the wall chimed ten in its silver tones. The lawyer tossed a aper upon the table and looked expectantly at e door, “That’s the hour,’ he murmured, ‘‘and they are generally very B pees I think that I have en- gineered this affair pretty well,” and he rubbed his soft white palms together in a manner that plainly evinced great satisfaction. ‘‘ And to think, too, that it all proceeded from my indulging in a few more glass- es of champagne than is usual with me! Ifithad not been forthe wine the idea would never have entered my head. It’s a bold scheme, but boldness always suits me,’ and he smiled complacently as he sur- yore. his dashy, handsome face in the glass, ‘‘ Tax- ill I am pretty sure of, and as for Dodson, he hates trouble and will be apt to agree with us in every- thing. Ihave examined the matter thoroughly, and I can’t see a weak spot.” The lawyer’s agreeab’e meditations were inter- rupted by the entrance into the office of a fat, mid- die-aged gentleman. He was short and stout, Eng- lish evidently by the “‘cut of his jib,” as a nautical man would say, and dressed in plain, old-fashioned garments, With his fat, honest face, puffy cheeks and alder- manic stomach, he exactly resembled the ‘‘ John Bull” of the artists who ‘‘do” the cartoons for the illustrated journals,
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daughter. When the Jersey lawyer, This was Mr. Peter Dodson; formerly chief-cook of ‘old Vendotena’s confectionery establishment. “On time, eh?” exclaimed the easy-going Eng- lishman, glancing at the clock. “Oh, yes, rizhé to the minute; hot, isn’t it?’ ‘Hot? by Jove, sir, itis! We never have it like this at ’ome, you know.” Like nearly all his tribe, this burly Briton was al- ways talking about ’ome, although he never mani- fested any intention of going there. “Try a glass of wine,’ suggested Captain Jack, producing a bottle of Chateau Lafitte from a hand- some sideboard, upon the top of which a pitcher of ice-water and some crystal goblets were standing. ‘““Thank'e; don’t care if I do,” and the English- man smacked his lips as his hand caressed the bot- tle. Dearly this son of Britain loved the creature comforts of this life. And as Mr. Dodson proceeded to enjoy the con- tents of the goblet another gentleman bustled into the room—a tall, thin man, well advanced in years, dressed in the hight of fashion, but showing plainly. by his manner that he was no slave to uxurious ease; in fact, a practiced medical eye would have detected at a glance that the man was terribly overworked—that his whole nervous system was shattered, and that nothing was more likely than that this driving man of business might be Stricken down at any moment by the grim hand of Death, despite the brisk promise of life that his ner- vous, energetic manner inspired. _ This was Mortimer Taxwill, esquire, well-known in Wall street as a heavy operator in stocks, and re- puted to be worth a great dea] of money. Dodson and Taxwill were the executors of the will of the old confectioner, Lorenzo Vendoteua, and Camreln Jack was the lawyer who had drawn the The old confectioner’s illness had been a short one, but he had been fully conscious that he was coming reer and nearer to the end each day, and so he had prepared his will. The lonely old man in his last moments had re- lented somewhat; he had neither kith nor kin in the world, with the exception of his son and that son’s Limowell, had discovered that the mother was ead, he had waited pea old Vendotena with the news, and had inform- ed him that the child was safe and in his hands. The Italian had received him curtly and dismissed him abruptly. I take no interest in either the mother or child!” he exclaimed, angrily.. ‘Not one penny of my money shali ever come to either of them.” But in his last hours the confectioner relented. After all, the child was of his blood; she was in- aocent of all wrong; the mother, against whom he had been so bitter, was in her grave; death had canceled the account. Better then that his wealth should go to the innocent child, who was of the Vendotena race, than pass into the hands of strangers. But Antonio, the son, the legal heir? The old man’s rage against the son that had so rudely upset the father’s schemes, had never abated; on his death-bed he was as bitter as ever against his unruly son. y A rogue! @ villain!’ he cried, in sullen rage. Even in Europe he ay ot the name he hears. The Vendotenas have always been honest people; Bene bat no rascals. This wretch! he will get him- Self hanged if he keeps on! Not a single penny would I leave him, except to cheat the hangman, for Potent money the gallows will surely clutch And so to the luckless Antonio he bequeathed the Sum of one thousand dollars, and the interest of ten thousand dollars, which was securely invested to him as long as he lived, and at his death the princi- pal to go to the Little Sisters of the Poor, a Catholic Society in which the old man took a great interest. The rest of his fortune, roughly estimated at half e million of dollars, he left, without proviso or con- tion of any kind, to his granddaughter, Francesca, the child of his son, Antonio, Buiot and directly to the point was the will. ‘ he two executors whom the old Italian had chosen were men whom he believed he could fully rely ba aps ortimer Taxwill had been his cashier for ears, pie Peter Dodson had entered his employ ad chile? ‘the cooking department when he had. first started his confectionery on Broadway. And when old Ven- dotena had retired from business he had disposed of his establishment to his cashier and foreman, who Were allowed to retain the old , excepting that tead of simple.“ Vendotena,” the firm was now temned pn Paaey na & Co. e year now elapsed between the date of the old man’s death and the period of which we write, Pr between the birth of the daughter, to whom pr “million had been bequeathed, and the pre- i chine {ome seventeen years had , 80 that The t d if liv would be apeut eighteen. : retired from business just after the Secret marriage of his \ tery son, and in the. val from that time to the a tittib ern with a little amate “£3 . in ur fa , Taxwill to plunge deavne mazes Ar the stock exc and there en- sessed to a pv cp competence he already pos- very cent that nar, ct @ came for hi ‘ their money, the ba greditors to insist upon getting 4 mer Taxwill would appear to the world in his true character of a beggar. And to these two men, so opposite in their natures, yet both equally trusted by the old Italian, was the carrying-out of the will he had made intrusted. To Peter Dodson, and slow-going, honest as the day, simple as a child, though not deficient in a sort of natural shrewdness, and Mortimer Taxwill, wily speculator—his foes said, ‘‘ totally unscrupu- lous,” but that was slander, perhaps—and Captain Jack, the ‘‘ Modoc of the bar,’’ the care of the enor- mous fortune had been confided. CHAPTER XII. THE LONG-LOST HEIR. “ AnA! enjoying yourself as usual!’’ Taxwell ex- claimed, perceiving the occupation of the English- man. “So beastly ’ot, you know; ’ave a go?” and Dod- son, in the true spirit of hospitality, filled out a glass of wine for the speculator. The lawyer brought hima chair; Taxwill pulled off his gloves and flung himself into the seat, and tossed off the wine at a draught, so different to the leisurely way in which the Englishman was enjoying the vintage of the vine. “ And now we will proceed at once to business,” Captain Jack said, perceiving that his visitors were ly prepared for serious matters. ‘‘It is in refer- ence to the Vendotena estate.” ‘ “‘T thought so the moment I saw Dodson here,” Taxwill remarked. “Well, I ‘ope you’ve found the young woman,” Dodson observed. “That is exactly what I have succeeded in do- in Yno There was quite a little bit of triumph perceptible in the voice of the lawyer as he spoke. The effect produced by the speech upon the two executors was widely different. The burly Briton drew a long breath; he hated business, and this trust—this enormous fortune con- fided to him—care-worried him; naturally, there- fore, he was extremely glad that the burden was about to be taken off his shoulders, and in his round, rosy face, joy was plainly indicated. ‘axwill, on the contrary, pursed up his mouth, contracted his eyebrows a bit, and looked at the law- yer in an extremely suspicious way. Captain Jack did not appear to notice the look, Dy e did, though, for very few things escaped his een eyes. “Well, dang my buttons, if I ain’t thankful!” Dod- son exclaimed. | “Sich responsibilities ain’t a bit to my taste. I’ve done with business; I don’t want to do nothin’ in the world but en joy myself. And so you've found the little gal? ell, now, I thought you would.” c “You have found the heir?’ Taxwill questioned, in his sharp, direct way. “Yes, sir.’’ “ Ah—hum—that’s lucky!” Few words, but a deal of suspicion, introduced in the sentence. ‘* And all by accident, too.” ‘You don’t say so?”’ the burly Briton cried, full of curiosity. “By accident, eh?” Taxwill was watching the lawyer as a cat would watch a mouse. “Yes, gentlemen, truth is sage than fiction, you know; but my meeting with girl is like a eaf torn out of a romance. I was going toward Fulton Ferry, and stopped to buy a bouquet from a Hee far just outside the gate. She was a pretty little thing, and perceiving that she was so different from the usual run of bouquet girls, lentered into conversation with her. There was something about her face that seemed very familiar to me, and yet it did not appear to be the face of anyone whom I have ever known, and while I was talking to her, trying to account for the impression which her face h made, all of a sudden the truth flashed upon me. When I first attempted to hunt up this lost heir, the principal thing that I relied Hpon, was a handsomely painted picture on ivory of the mother. If you re- member, the old gentleman, just before his death, gave it to me, stating at the time that his son, An- tonio, had sent it to him immediately after se- cret marriage. Bitter as the old man had been in regard to the young girl who he believed had en- tra his son into a marriage pote for his money, e had preserved the picture. With this picture as o Bite AS you may remember, I went to Long Branch to hunt yon this Lingowell, the uncle of the wife, who had charge of the child. Probably you will recollect that my search was a fruitless one. Limowell had resided there, but had moved away, and no one knew where. e girl had been with him—in fact, two girls, both of whom he called his nieces, and both had gone also. It was a difficult matter to find out anyt about this Limowell, for he lived back in what the natives termed ‘the pines,’ a barren sandy waste between ‘Long ch and Branchburg, and kept himself quite secluded,”’ “You advertised for him pretty extensively, too,” Taxwill remarked. “Yes, but without avail. Well, to make a long story short, the girl was the very image of the a ture which ~ ret? and upon ee gaythin ng carefully, without, of course, saying an n regard to the suspicion which I had as to who she was, I soon knew the story of her life. As I ea ed, she was the long-lost heir. Her name was Fran- cesca, Fulton Frank her associates called her. She had been brought up at Branchburg by Lysander Limowell; her mother, Limowell’s niece, had mar- ried the son of a wealthy New Yorker, who had been disowned on account of the marriage; she had been ' brought up by Mr. Limowell, her mother dying THE BOUQUET GIRL. 7 when she was quite small; she had been ill-treated by her uncle and had run away to New York to seek her fortune.” ‘Ow very romantic!’’ exclaimed Dodson, who had listened attentively to the recital. “Very!” Taxwill cried, dryly. : Captain Jack took no notice at all of the peculiar tone, and as for Dodson, the honest Briton never percei sed it. Sta ‘““Well, as I said before, I’m deuced glad that the beastly thing is going to be settled,’ declared the Englishman; ‘‘I wantit off hy mind, you know.” ““Isuppose you will be able to prove that this girl is the heir—that is, prove her identity?’ Tax- will asked, his tone plainly indicating the doubts in his mind. 4 “Oh,. yes; no doubt about it at all,” Captain Jack answered, in his airy, easy way. ‘ And now, if you will fix a time, I'll present the girl to you.” i “Ow will this afternoon do?” asked Dodson, in his blunt way. “I’ve got to pad some stuff in town, and I would like to go ’ome by the last train bag ; “This afternoon will suit me,” Taxwill remarked. “This afternoon, at three, then.” J “All right; and nowI must toddle off, for I’ve a lot of things to do. I don’t cometo town every da you know.” And then the Briton departed. xwill favored the lawyer with a long, suspicious glance after the door had closed on the burly figure of the Englishman. i “What's the matter?” Captain Jack asked, bland- y. “Come, come! This story may do for Dodson, who is as stupid as a child about some things, but I don’t swallow it!” the speculator exclaimed, quickly. “You don’t believe that I have found the heir?” “*No, I do not.” “Tt’s a fact.” “Gammon!” “Well, she’ll pass for the heir anyway; n ; yap ughis aa is Francesca, and she was brought up Limowell, who did have custody of the child.” ; ! ‘* But she is not the child!” “That’s a doubtful point; but it will be money our pockets for us to believe that she is.”’ “How so?” This was business, and the speculator was qui appreciate it. “A half a million of dollars is a pret Pi large sum to any one; to a girl who has been m a ‘dollar a day by selling Peas at the ferries, it seems a fabulous amount. bargain with her.” 4 “How much?"’ ae “One clear half.” “That will do.” ri “ And that half, after deducting the necessary ex- penses, I propose to cut into two i sos pe? ““One for me, eh?” The speculator was quick to jump to conclusions. ¥ “Yes; provided that you believe that she is the eir.”’ e Ob. I guess that there is no doubt about that,” ithout our aid the girl couldn't touch a penny of the property. I have made a | a Taxwi “ But will the legal proof be enough?” “Oh, yes, provided Limowell don’t turn up.” “ And if he does?” “We must buy him up.” And so the compact was made. CHAPTER Xiil. FRANK’S STORY. ‘“*A HALF a million of dollars!” Craige exclaimed, in astonishment. “Yes; it is a large sum, isn’t it?” “Well, Ishould say so, but I don’t understand!’ the bewildered actor protested. ‘You know that gentleman is a lawyer?” “Yes; and not a very reputable one, either.” ‘‘He met me at Fulton Ferry the. other night; he had been ace and I suppose the liquor put the idea into his head, for he asked my name, how old i was, and then told me that I was the heir to a for- tune of half a million of dollars.” * You had better be on your guard, Frank,’’ Craige said, seriously. ‘“‘This fellow is totally unmscrupt- lous. He has already been concerned in some ugly scrapes, and how he manages-to eseape from being ‘thrown over the bars,’ as the lawyers say, whic means expulsion from the legal tery.” Oh, he intends to pay vices which he is to ° for nothing Fe is , 18a mys- himself well for the ser- rm; he does not serve me He we pre it. ad ry to- espec' ear the story of m e, and after I had told him-all I knew in rege tomy birth and early childhood, he said that in his i there was no doubt that I was'the long-lost heir “Long-lost heir!” Craige exclaimed. ‘“ Yes, is the way the story-writers always put it. But de! did the man happen to think that you were the heir? TaN ie ctive of oy thee ind * He a picture of my m r,and recognized me from fuparesemblanes toit.? ’ 3 Craige was puzzled; he distrusted the wily Cap- tain Jack, and suspected that there was some deep- laid plan at the bottom of all this. Fortunes of half a million did not usually wait long for heirs. “The fellow is a regular al, am sure; I have heard of two or three of his tricks, and I am afraid pr there is more in this than appears on the sur- “Oh, no; I think not,” replied the girl. “He has made a good bargain for’ od , and will make more than I will if he eeds in mon ey.” * ¢ What is he to receive for his valuable services?” . A) in~ wr 1 reassured the other, with a knowing laugh. that.
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> rd _ Re A, > 8 “One half.” “A quarter of a million, eh?” * “Yes; and out of my half are to come all the ex- penses.” “He will be paid pretty well; but it is not so bad, cama cept that without him you would not, prob- ably, be able to get pe hia an “Yes; he is to find all the necessary proofs.” “But can he prove that you ave the heir?” “He says he can.” “But ave you the heir? Do you think you are?” ““Well, I don’t know what to think,” the girl an- swered, “Tl tell you the story, and you can decide. The half a million is the fortune left by an old gen- tleman, Vendotena by name, who used to keep a confectionery store on Broadway.” % Ss I know the place; many a dish of ice-cream I’ve had there.” ; “The son of the old gentleman—an only son—se- eretly married a young country girl at Long Branch, and the father never forgave him. The wife was named Decetra Limowell, and about two years after her marriage she died, leaving a baby girl. That child was brought up by this Limowell, who was a ‘jJawyer. When the old gentleman died, about ; : . _ eighteen years after the marriage of his son, he made will ? ving all his property to his grand- ag pale ilscoie the child of Decetra. This _ Mr. Leipper was the lawyer who drew out the will. He went in search of the child, now a girl of eighteen, but could find no trace of her at all, or of Mr, Limo- well, who had taken care of her. He had lived at Long Branch, or, to speak more correctly, near Long Branch, in a very lonely spot, and had gone away, no one knew where orwhen. That’s the story of the heir; now hear mine. I don’t know who my father or mother was, or anything about them. Ever since I can remember I lived with a Mr. Limo- » well in a lonely house near Long Branch. I was d that my name was Francesca, but whenever I 49 ed about my father and mother, I was told that both dead, long ago, and that I mustn't estions. Mr. Limowell was a harsh, stern they we a ask any man, so ugly in temper that I fairly grew to hate the very sight of him. About a yearago he brought a reuns man to the house, introduced him to me, said that he was to be my husband. That very tIran away and came to New York. Brown atty, an old colored woman who took care of the house and had always looked out for me since I was a child, advised me to take the step. I had twenty- five dollars which I had saved up, and I knew that would keep me until I found something to do. Brown Betty knew Mrs. O’Hoolihan and sent me here, Now compare the two stories; have I not reason to believe that I am the missing heir for whom this for- tune of half a million dollars waits?” __ Oraige was thoroughly astonished. It was more than probable, and his quick mind speedily compre- hended how easily a skillful lawyer, particularly one not over scrupulous, could supply the i ks in the chain of evidence. ‘ ‘* Well, it certainly does look as if youwere the eir,”’ * Am I not justified, then, in accepting the fortune that chance ws into my lap?” “Most certainly! It would be tempting Provi- dence to refuse.” ** And think, too, of the happiness that such a vast stm of money will bring me. ., Money does not always bring happiness, you ow.” “Ah, yes, but it does if it is rightly used,” the girl cried, erly. “It won’t turn my head, as Ps 2c although I have been used to poverty all my e. bb “That's ‘A ood.” a ANGE shall be able to pay the debts I owe.” oO you owe many?” “Oh, no; you are my greatest creditor,” and the _ pretty girl rested her iittle hand upon the arm of the young man and looked him full in the face with her _ great dark eyes, now moistened with emotion. __ Craige was visibly affected, but he was an honest- fellow, and seldom tried to conceal his feel- By a Why, what do you owe me?” “Everything!” the girl exclaimed, impulsively; “haven't you tried to educate me—to teach me how to avoid danger in the narrow lane of life which fate forced me to tread? Do you think that I shall ever forget your kindness? Oh, no! Why, my first thought, Ronald, when I was told that I was the heir to this money, was that I should be able to repay you!’ “ And how do you intend to repay me?” the actor asked, smiling at the eager, upturned face. “Oh, I don’t know! You must tell me. You don’t like the stage; I have heard you say so a hundred times, and now you will be able to leave “‘T don’t exactly see how you manage to figure that out,” Craige observed, laughing. “‘/ haven't come in for a fortune of half a million, you know.” ~ You have always been ready to help me when I needed help,” she replied, ‘and now, when I get 2 money, I shall consider it as much yours as mine. A moment the young actor gazed earnestly into the expressive face, the dusk of the night partly concea. ing the blushes which flooded throat, cheeks and temples, and then, with a gentle motion, he ex- tended his arms and drew the young girl gently to hhis manly breast. ** Why, little one,” he said, “‘do you think that I am the sort of man to take any unfair advantage? Just think of the prospect that lies before you. A ‘nalf a million of dollars! Why, with such a sum of money as that you can buy your way into the best cociety in the country. Few circles in this great & _ TH BOUQUEE:GERL: republic so select as to ack ‘Who or what is she? | No; the question generally put is, ‘How much is she worth?’ Gold is the touch-stone which tries all mankind. JI am a poor man, something of a scholar, but, like a fool, I have chosen a AAS gaa the pur- suit of which brings no honor, In the eyes of two- thirds of the world, the actor is stilla vagabond, just as he used to be considered legally, in the old English time, when the stocks and the whipping- post awaited him if he chanced to merit the dis- pleasure of some petty official. You will be a rich young lady, an heiress; do you think that I, really an outcast from the charmed circle called society, would try to hamper you by recalling to your memory the old days when we were both poor’ to- gether’ Oh, no, Frank; Iam no such man. Accept the gift that fortune gives and forget that I live.” “Bless you, my children!’ cried a hoarse voice, in foreign accents; ‘I, your farder, bless you!” CHAPTER XIV. AN UNEXPECTED ANNOUNCEMENT. ConsIDERABLY astonished at this unexpected in- terruption, both the actor and the girl turned in surprise to gaze upon the speaker. In the gloom of the night, they beheld a tall, thin man, evidently a foreigner, with a hawk-like face, clad oer in black—a very shabby-looking gentleman, indeed. “Bless you, my children!’ repeated the stranger, waving -his thin, talon-like hands majestically in the air. “To the heart it joys me to see such trust and love. From across the stormy seas I come—from the old world, dying by inches—to this fresh young land, all for the purpose of seeing you, my dear mademoiselle. Do not start! Gasp not! Iam your father!” And, as he made this startling announce- ment, the speech uttered in a manner that would have made the fortune of a melodramatic actor, the man struck an attitude, and extended his arms pathetically toward the girl. But Frank didn’t evince the least inclination to rush into his arms, as he evidently had io gag On the contrary, she shrunk from him, fully con- vinced that he was either under the influence of liquor or else that he was a lunatic. ‘Who are you, and what do you want?” the actor demanded, with scant ceremony. ¥ The stranger drew himself up with an air of great dignity. Behold in me this mademoiselle’s natural pro- tector!” he exclaimed. ‘I have come all the way from the sunny skies of fair Italy that I might look upon ze face of zis lady—that I might fold her to my beating heart and zay—rest you there, tranquil, my own stricken dear! Judge, then, noble young man how joys the great heart within this careworn reast to find that she has a lover like yourself. Tam hap- py, I am content!” Graige felt a strong disposition to kick the stranger for his impertinence, for he felt decidedly annoyed; but with an effort he restrained himself. “You'll excuse the question, but who are you, and by what right do you claim to be this lady’s natural protector?” “Soft! Speak low! The very stones have ears!” the stranger cried, mysteriously. “Eh?” exclaimed Craige, in amazement. “Behold in me the leader of the Carbonari!” the man said, in a loud whisper. ‘‘ With Garibaldi I have stood side by side; son and emperors tremble when they hear the name of Czesar Biondella! But I have enemies—the rulers of Europe—who hate me because I preach freedom to all mankind; they pur- sue me even here in free America; with the ger of the assassin they would stifle me, because I am the advocate of the people. Ha, ha! But [laugh at my foes; I spit upon them, because in my breast I carry the heart of a lion!” : Craige had listened to this rigmarole with impa- tience; it was not the first time that he had encoun- tered these “friends of the people,’’ who generally left their voniag t A for their country’s good. Hardly a beer-shop in New York without one or more of these eyo spouters, blatant demagogues, who toil not, but live on what they ji/ch from better men. “But you haven’t answered my question, sir?” Craige exclaimed, impatiently.“ By what right do you address this young lady? You are no acquain- tance!” ‘““AmTI not?” eried the Italian—for such he evi- dently was—with great ig eg “And I do_not know her either!—oh, no! Her father, Antonio Ven- dotena, and myself were not bosom friends! Dia- volo! no! With his dfing breath he did not say to me, ‘Ceesar, brother-in-arms, far across the seas, in free America, a only daughter dwells; go to her; bear a dying father’s blessing; be thou to her a fa- ther in my place. A fortune of half-a-million of dollairs waits for her; bring to her aid your great— your ificent—brain and your bold heart; se- cure for her the money, and she will reward you with a gift so t that you can return to Italy and fight once again for freedom!’ He did not say this, no! Iam dreaming or mad! And as he finished the speech he drew himself up with stately dignity, and ed theatrically around him. The murder was out now, and Craige fully under- stood the little game of this diloquent foreigner. In some way he had learned, that_the girl was sup- posed to be the lost heir to the Vendotena estate, and he was endeavoring to profit by the knowledge. “Haven't you made some mistake?” the actor asked. ‘“Aré you quite sure that this lady is the person you take her to be?” “ Aha! you are wise! I do not blame you—cau- tious! It is good!” the Italian exclaimed, in the emphatic manner so natural to him. ‘‘ But I know of what I speak. The first time I look upon the face of this dear mademoiselle, I see there the eyes of my brave companion. He. tell me before he die, ‘In New York, somewhere, you will find my child ; be thou a father to her;’ and I say, ‘I will.’ Mademoi- selle, ese i does not know who she is—she does not know the bright fortune that is in store for her —the bright fortune that this hand can give her.” “ as you had better explain,” Craige sug- gested. “T will,” the stranger said, and then with uplifted fore-finger he began: ‘‘By name Francesca Vendo- | tena—that is you; daughter of Antonio Vendotena | } and his wife, Decetra: grand-daughter of Lorenzo Vendotena, the confectioner, and heir to his fortune: of half a million of dollairs. It is a large amount; this hand can give it to you; your second farder am I, therefore come to my heart, my child!” But the girl didn’t manifest any intention of doing anything of the kind. the was astonished at the ex- tent of the stranger’s information; that was all. “Do you mean to assert that you can prove the truth of this statement?” Craige asked. “T ean,” replied the Italian, quickly. “I have such proof that all the werld wi mit that I speak nothing but the truth. In my hands I hold the half mnillion of dollairs; of course one will pay me for my trouble. °*Tis not for myself I ask the money but for suffering Italy, dl country. Italy! dear Italy! she would be free! o priest nor king should rule from the mountains to the sea, but one Fond glorious republic! Of the half million that I shall get for you, you shall page me a half. With a quarter of a million I can do much. Money! it is everything in this life. Money! bah! I do not care for it myself but I will take it for the sake of my dear country.” This speech fully recalled to Craige that his guess as to the motive of the Italian was quite correct. This patriotic son of the old Italian land was—to use: the common term—a fraud of the first water. “Tam afraid that you are a little late in this mat- ter,” the actor said, taking it upon himself to speak for the girl. ‘‘This young res s affairs are already in the hands of a lawyer, and as he has professed himself able to do all that you say you can accom- aaa it would be hardly worth while for her to waste e upon your offer.” ‘*A lawyer—ha!” and the seedy stranger gave one of his melo-dramatic starts. fi “ Yes.”’ “His name—how is he called?” ‘* Leipper.” The Italian shook his head; it was evident that he tee not enjoy the honor of Captain Jack’s acquain-. ance. “ His office is in Broadway; you'll find the address. in the directory.” “ And is your dear farder’s dying words nothing?” cried the man with pathetic accent, abruptly ad- dressing Frank. ‘Can Pe look me in the face— hear me a-speak and resist the impulse to cast your- self upon my bosom?” The girl shrunk back; instinctively she feared this. glassy-eyed stranger. The Italian heaved a deep “Aha! blood is nothing! Bah! it is water!” he cried; ‘‘ well, well, it is fate! Iwill see this lawyer.. He and I will bargain together, aV/ons/” And then _ off the man strode, leaving amazement behind him. ee ) & at . a : ¥ al - 2 eS _ a : * oS i a a Oe a 4 CHAPTER XV. ALONE WITH THE DEAD. WE must retrace our steps for a while and return to the shabbily furnis! ed chamber in the old tene- ment-house, where, by the bedside of the dead girl,. knelt the living one. Death is always sad, no matter how it comes, and yet to this poor stricken deer, the icy touch of the dark angel had brought peace and rest—had ended her aad and given unto her the forgetfulness she: craved. . Bitter had been her lot since the one short month which had succeeded her flight from her home with the man who had so earnestly sworn to cherish and protect her. One month of happy wedded life and, then, day by day, the man who had persuaded her to leave home and friends cooled in his regard for her. At last she woke to the bitter knowledge that she had been deceived; she complained not but accepted her burden with a patient heart. She loved the smiling, handsome villain who had so cruelly ruined all her young life and earnestly she strove by a, means in her power to win back the affection whic had once been so fervently expressed. : The task was hopeless; he had no affection to arouse; his heart was coldly callous and indifferent. The man had wearied of his victim as a child . ; her patient, sorrowful face was he struck appre- Bluntly and coarsely one morning he told her that she was wife no longer, that he had procured a divorce, and then he put into her hand a legal-look- ing paper, informed her that the rent of the furnish- apartments, which they occupied, was paid until the {st of the next month, and that, after that time, she must seek shelter elsewhere, threw a twenty- dollar note upon the table, and then departed, leaving his victim dazed by the awful shock. And the poor child accepted her fate without even a protest! n her ignorance of the world she believed that the man had procured a divorce, and that the decree of the obscure Iowa court, as the legal-looking paper rted to be, was the highest law. And so, she went forth into the howling wilderness of the great city, to earn her bread by the work of her slender fingers. Weak and delicate, the end soon’came as we have described, and the patient searcher, who had roamed grows tired of a to . a constant reproach to him; and so, atlas the VO oe blow which the deceived girl ended. a a _— a .. ~~. ——
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# “who THE BOUQUET GIRL. up and down the streets of the Kot metropolis, knocking at every door, determined to find the lamb strayed. from the family fold to fall the rey of the devouring wolf, su ed in her task at sai but only to lose her again. And at the very last moment, too, even as the body parted with its soul, the faith of the girl was true and she concealed the name of her destroyer. “T will not tell you!” But now that death had come, and with his silent ~but dni tg touch sealed the lips of the loved and lost forever, there was no hope of ever learning from her the name of the villain whose hand had so rudely thrust her into an untimely grave. The patient girl who had so successfully accom- lished the difficult task which she had taken upon erself, did not despair, though. “She must have preserved something belonging to this man!’’ she exclaimed, rising from her posi- tion by the side of the stricken girl. “A letter—a scrap of his handwriting; I must learn the name of the villain! Surely, Heaven will some day put it in my power to punish him for this dreadful work!” Few articles were there in the room, for, one by one, the weak girl, struggli against adverse for- tune, had parted with every thing of value that she might procure the means to sustain life. ee womanly instinct had guessed truly; two written papers she found. . The first a certificate of marriage, the contracting parties, James Ronnells and Pauline Montgomery. The second a decree of divorce, the pretext, abandonment, granted to James Ronnells. “So, that is his name!” the girl cried, her eyes sparkling with anger; and then a sudden thought occur! to her. ‘‘Oh! how foolish I am!” she cried. “‘Is it likely that is the right name of this villain? .Why, the chances ‘are that he has a dozen names, for the man who could coolly ruin the life of a young, loving and innocent girl cannot be any common rascal!” And as she meditated, turning the legal document carelessly in her hands, an indorsement upon the outside met her eyes. The indorsement read, ‘‘ Benarding and Britman,” in a bold, clerkly hand. “That is the of lawyers who got the divorce!” she exclaimed, conviction flashing upon her in an in- stant. ‘They will know who James Ronnells is, and they must tell me. Something within whispers me that Lshall:yet be an instrument in the hands of Heayen to punish this man for the wrong that he has done.” The girl continued her search, and an unfinished letter in the well-known hand of the dead woman re- warded her endeavors. Itreadasfollows: , “Dear Sister: I feel thatI have not very many days to live, forlam growing weaker and weaker; my hold on life is so diiehs that it may slip from my grasp at any moment. I have refrained from writ to you, although I have wished to, ve much, because 1 was ashamed to tell you how terri- bly I have been deceived. Always have I beena ul, wayward girl, and for this terrible misery that has come upon me I have no one to blame but myself, But now, at the eleventh hour, I am going to to you and tell you all my sad story ; per- ~ haps it ay gore you, some time, from taking some such foolis ‘Just twelve months ago to-day at a ball at. one of the Long Branch hotels I made the uaintance of a young New York gentleman, You, know how I used to steal out of the house after night set in and uncle had retired to his room. I told you that I went to visit in the village, but I deceived you, for I used ta a you man attached 40. 0ne oerhe a ‘as Pp company, with a y en of mine in the e, and we would all drive over to Long Branch together, none of these occasions I met with this New York gentleman. He. seemed to be rich, spoke of his family and high connections, and I was to tell him that I was a niece of the man who. bore such an evil name as our uncle did; and besides, be- tae foolishly romantic, I thought that he would not like me unless I pretended. to be something @ roman- steeped in liquor. I did not do this to make the gen- and he professed admiration for me, and I, poor, silly ah loved He urged me to a secret hat I was go to him, I dfully enraged, for he always said that I ld get pins a fortune, some time, * tn wardens away with the gentleman and we were I tesl oars a you can, panes desing And here the letter The sad story: was'fully tol ended. » though, and the heart: of the girl swelled with anger as she reflected upon the cruel outa “*T will find , though!” she cried, with angry eyes. “Heaven will lead me to him and then put into my hand a weapon to crush him!” CHAPTER XVI. A.CURIOUS QUEST. Ir was a Sunday night; the heat intense; all the inhabitants of the lower part of New York seeming] were in the streets; the Bowery was crowded wi people, the German ete) overflowing; the suffer- ng sons of toil, with their wives and little ones, or with their sweethearts, were vainly endeavoring to get a breath of fresh air. Opposite to the old tenement-house on Baxter street, now so intimately known to the readers of our story, in the shadows of a doorway, two people were standing. They evidently courtec concealment, for they were snugly ensconced within the doorway, and.re- -mained as motionless as statues. One was tall and the other short—the tall one a woman, the short one a man. The woman was muffled in. a. waterproof cloak, which completely concealed both face and 2. The man was attired in a plain black suit. Just before the time when we called the reader’s attention to the two, the man had come from the old ck barrack, crossed the street, and joined the wo- man. ‘“ Well?” the female had demandéd, in a voice full of question, Little use for the woman to disguise her figure if she used her voice, for any one who had ever heard the silvery notes of the blonde burlesque ms would have no difficulty whatever in rg in the speaker—charming, dashing Avise inne. *They’re hout,” responded the man; and from the unmistakably English tone the energetic Timoleon Hodkinson could easily be recognized. “Both of them?” “Yes, both on ’em}; hout for a walk together.” The ripe red lips of the famous burlesque actress closed tightly, and there was an angry, steely glitter in her clear blue eyes. ‘How did you find out?” * Axed the old woman up-stairs; she’s a Patlander. “Does Mr. Craige live here?’ cays I. ‘He do,’ says she. ‘Andis hein?’ says I. ‘He is not,’ says she. ye think?’ saysI. ‘He wi en I. took a look aroun signs of the gal, 80 I proceeded to pump the old woman. ‘ Mr, alge with hit? ee ‘He do have no sister,’ says she; ‘mebbe it’s Miss. Frank grace- “You have seen this girl?” Avise asked, abruptly. “ As they say in ’Fr'isco, you bet /” m “Ts she preti ba ** Well, now, you know—” “Oh, tell nig the truth, Tim!” the actress cried impatiently. “Don’t stop to think what I would like e hear you say, but say what you think, hon- estly!” Well, now, she és er retty.” “AS pre ty aslam?” and the young girl hg do er. ot your style, you know; be- io tis Buk Gers. ” responded Tim, slowly. ‘‘ Bless- though!” iw phere some one turning the corner now—there’s 0 All through the brief conversation Avise had kept & watch upon the corner of the street. Tim took a good look with his little, sharp Obit ““That’s our .birds!’’. he exclaimed. .‘‘1’li cross over and wor ““Yes, I will Tim at once hurried across the eo who had just turned from Gran t Hey, Mr. Cra’ ger exclaimed, accosting the new-comers. The actor and the bouquet-girl—for the couple ver eroll i Hodkinson?” Craige asked, § that you, son, somewhat surprised at the encounter. “Yes, I’ve been waiting. for you. for some time. — wants to see you at the Union ote right right away.” Tompkins was the potent manager who swayed the destinies of the blonde burlesque troupe. “What's the matter?” “There’s got to be a change in the programme for to-morrow night, I believe, and. they want to see: you about it. ‘Tompkins told me to bring you up right away.” e : ‘All right: Til go along with you. You can find your way to the house, I presume,” the actor said with a laugh to Frank. Oh, yes,”’ she replied, cheerfully. “ll be back soon;’? and then, accompanied by foie ne burried AW ays and as east walked the in- ve Englishman procee ) question Craige ih regard to the bouquet girl. i ‘ ** Your sister, eh?” ~ “No,” the actor “Your gal, eh? Craige felt a stron lishman that he bet ut he refrained. ‘Blamed if I shouldn’t like such a gal as that my- self,” Tim me?” **See here, young man!’ cried suddenly a fathing in continued. nd facing eyes, “ answered, shortly. 7 Well, she ain’t bad-looking!”’ impulse to tell the little r mind his own business, e En- y! can’t you introduce ® the actor, halting the Englishman, with Idon’t relish your conversa- anger tion, in regard to that young lady, and you’ll oblige me by holding our tongue about her. Iam not over-patient, and I don’t wish to be annoyed.” ' “Well, m heyes! who said anything ag’in’ her, | anyway?” Tim demanded, sullenly. ‘I thought this was a free talk, hain’t country, and a man he?” gota right to “You had better keep quiet in regard to that lady unless you want to have trouble with me!’’ Craige exclaimed, sternly. “She is not one of your class; she don’t kick up her heels to an admiring public at fifty cents a head.” a “Oho! you talk as if you didn’t sion?” growled the Englishman, ceeding of their way. e the profes- wo again pro- By the ‘‘ profession ” Tim meant the ip oa hog in “Well, I don’t, the way things have the last few years. ‘ot to There was a time when an actor thought himself a little better than a circus-rider or a traveling mounte k, but now the artist who gives the better part of his life to the study of his art is on a par with the troupe of the eakee performing ntleman who exhibits the ogs; in fact, the dog-man is paid of the two.” “Tf you’re too good you had better get out of it!” the Englishman sneered. “T shall, as soon as I can,” Craige replied, te: 3 There was very little more conversation be the two, for Tim was sm insolence had received, and he over ch o ° montaliy"teiab he was pig enough to give the stalwart ee, digo a mind; but, that was a luxury which the phopicel proportions of Craige denied, at the pre- sen’ piece of The august Tompkins, a burly, clumsy m found much given. to a lavish display of jewelry, was at the hotel, In a confidential, friendly sort of way for him, for Manager Tompkins re ed asa man of note, he'drew Craige to one side, and asked him if he could do certain things, provided certain events happened, and chi with a rambling conversation, consisting of abuse’ directed against the members of the troupe whom he fancied to be about to pare: him, he managed to detain Craige about an hour, ‘Craige sai ower, and ut no fire, gotten out a few words with the of the way. naturally, that he would do all in his ere the matter ended. Much smoke But, the end in view was gained; Cr: e had been so that Avise could exchange bouquet girl. After the departure of her escort, Frank had walked directly to the house, but at the door she found herself confronted by a tall, handsome git at her with eyes wherein no friendly feel- ing was written. ‘ who gazed You are the keine Frank was astonished CHAPTER XVII. AVISE’S SCHEME. girl?’ the unknown said.* at the question and rai mi inclined to resent the manner in which it was the keen wit of the hostility of the s irl quickly detected the latent er, but with asense beyond her — repressed the desire to demand to ears, she ;, what authority she was questioned, and replied _ $ Sel bouquets sometimes, if that is what you by And your name is Frank?” “ee Yes, **You are a rather pretty girl,” the blonde queen said, b fulas Junt to be able a “‘and yet not so bewitchingly of to take my lover awa; rats me.” was utterly astounded as this strange sentence, the full meaning of which she did not comprehend, in the Jeast. - “Your lover!’ e exclai opening wide in amazeme es, my claimed, beauti- e listened to 1 Her black eyes nt. lover!”’ the angry, jealous girlrepeated, _ “T don’t understand what you mean.” “Oh, don’t you?” Avise sneered. i “Indeed 1 do not!” Frank replied, yucuagtty. bb! don’t know who you are; I never saw you all my life, Iam sure I know n “T have the advantage you are and all about ycu. efore, in and as for a lover, whoever he ma; whatever about him.’ you see, for I know who “T can’t see what possible advantage that can be to you or any one else,” Frank retorted, contemptu- ously. ” wom oung woman, I h peril!” declared ed to believe that she in- ck-witted, saw at once that | ave come to save you from a Avise, abruptly. Frank did not feel at all interested; her subtile instinct told her that this handsome girl was no friend to her, but rather a di she was not at all inclin ots to serve her, 7 her words had not Es ate the impression in - ed—a fact that sensibly She was somewhat. ance of the bouquet eis ho : was. t annoyed her. 00, at the appear- expected Pind
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»? » Ronald Craige ] a - THE BOUQUET GIRL. some little, simple creature, whom she could twine around her finger, but at the first glance at Frank’s pretty, resolute face, she saw that the task she had taken upon herself was likely to prove a difficult one, and that to achieve success she would need all her wits. . ‘*A very great peril_indeed threatens you, and although you are a stranger to me, though I took pains to find out-all about you, I cannot bear to see you trifled with.” ‘“Trifled with!” exclaimed the bouquet black eyes glittering, for the phrase strange ded her. “Yes, you are a simple, innocent girl, and I should be false to my sex if I permitted you to be blindly led astray without attempting to save you.” A quick, hot blush swept over Frank’s pretty face, and mony tears came into her brilliant eyes. She was cut to the quick that the strange girl should dare to talk in such a manner to her. “No, young woman,’’ the burlesque queen con- tinued, “I can’t see you walk blindly into the gulf without stretching out my hand to save you; you li not be sacrificed if I can help it.” ‘* What do you mean by talking in this way to me?” Frank criéd, indignantly. ‘* at have I ever done that you should dare to talk so?”’ ‘Oh, yes, that is always the way!’’ sneered Avise: vet angry with a friend who is trying to keep you from, making a fool of yourself. You poor, silly thing! You are on the brink of ruin, and yet you despise the hand outstretched to save you.” ‘Oh, Lean take care of myself, thank you!” the girl cried, indignantly. ‘Yes, that is what every one thinks until it is too late,” retorted the actress. ‘‘I came as a friend to warn you, but I perceive already that I shall only have my labor for my pains, for you do not believe me. -* Whence comes the danger?” “From your own silly self!” Avise cried, harshly. “You are not anugly girl, but the little beauty you possess will be yourruin. You think that this man means honestly by you, but I tell you, girl, that he is deceiving vine and some day he will tire of your company and then forsake you as he has forsaken better women t ou are.”’ “You are a bold, forward creature, to dare to say this to me!” Frank cried, heatedly; “‘and of what man do you speak?” ‘*Oh, you know well enough,” the blonde respond- ed, with bitter accent. ‘‘I mean the man who has just left you—this actor, Ronald Craige. Heis your over, is he not?”’ “By what right do you ask the question? What does it matter to you whether Mr. Craige is my lover or not?’ Frank demanded, with burning cheeks and flashing eyes. ‘Oh, not much; if I were like the majority of the irls of to-day, perhaps I shouldn’t trouble my head about it at all, only that he is going to be my hus- band one of these days.’? ** Your husband!” For a moment the heart of the bouquet girl seem- ed to stand still, and all around her reeled; the very air became murky. It. was only fora moment, though, and then the bold, brave heart of the girl asserted its wonted sway. ‘W Aaa had watched the effect produced by her words witha genious, scornful smile. One truth she had satisfied herself about—whether Ronald Craige cared for the girl or not, she cared for him. ‘She shall give him up, though!” the queen muttered, under her breath. is to be ape husband?” Frank asked, in a tone which plainly expressed her doubt, after she had recovered from the effects of the shock produced by the intelligence, __“ Yes, and that is the reason why I take the. trou- ‘ble toseeck you out and warn you against the dan- s path which you are treading, and which ean only lead you to destruction. I love’ the man, and thereforeI pardon him these tricks; you aré not the first girl that: he has trifled with, but I made up my mind to save youif Icould, for I’m getting tired of having: miserable, ‘heart - broken ls come cry to me with their stories of how ey have been ted by him. £ course you think that it is a great t for this man to take a fancy to you; you are only a poorgirl; you sell bouquets for a living, and IT suppose you just about starve from one year to another; you have neither mother nor father; without any ; am rightly informed; .no soul in the world to whom ou can ag for counsel; there is no brother’s iendly han i prevent youfrom going to destruc- tion. your helpless situation attentions of such a man as Ronald Craige mustseem_like a bit of heaven brought down to earth for your benefit. He isa gentleman, makes plenty of money, so you nat 'y think, because he dresses well an doesn’t seem to have to work hard, although, if the truth were known, you would discover thai he gets. just. enough to keep him alive, and’ thatis all. I would be madness for him to marry a poor girl, and he knows that as well as any one, td ia that this is‘a terrible blowto youj but I feel sorry for you and will help you, for I am rich and don’t dge the money. Come right away with me; n’t say any thing to anybody, but come; I'll give you money enough to keep you for a year and hide you away somewhere, 80 hat this man will never be able to find you—” Frank drew herself up proudly, and stopped the’ speech of theother with a gesture of disdate, “Oh, no, l understand your plan!” she cried; “it 1, her offen- must be a fair fight between us. If you can win bia eon me'you are welcome, but I defy you to ° iP a = = F oa 5 »-. fe 4: 2. XVI. THE WORLD’S OPINION. Wir an eyes the two girls looked upon each other, the blonde queen flaming with rage at the defiance of the bouquet girl, and the humble flower- seller indi that such a scheme should be tried upon her. ‘Foolish thing! you will not be warned?’’ the actress cried, almost beside herself with passion. ** And do you think that you can make me believe that ge have taken all this trouble simply to do an act of kindness?” Frank exclaimed, contemptu- ously. % What other motive, then?” “T am your rival, and, despairing of succeeding in your designs by fair means, you would use foul. If you can succeed in pene ie out of the way, then Ae think you can win the man whom you fancy, ut I defy you to do it!” *“You my rival!” cried Avise, in supreme con- tempt; ‘‘and in what are you to rival me?” ‘‘And who are you?” Frank retorted. ‘You are dressed well enough, but fine feathers don’t always make fine birds!’ “Tam rich enough to e Ronald Craige every- thing that he can possibly want in this world!” Avise cried, onately; ‘‘and you, low, silly street-girl, you shall no¢ come between us!”’ “You hav’n’t answered my question yet!’ Frank exclaimed, her eyes flashing, and the rich, warm blood flooding her cheeks, all the temper within her at the insul frame ro words of the other. be deceived. You have money and I have none, but a Tage, *ve half a mind to er your face!’’ * And why don’t you do it?’ Frank cried, un- dauntedly. “That would most prove you to be a perfect lady in every re: ut I know who ou are, well enough!”’ she added, in indignant con- fem ‘and how you get the money that you boast of, I’ve seen your pictures very often in the win- dows; you are one of the English blondes—the pain -dyed women who exhibit themselves upon the stage, and expose their persons in the most sham way! ITamonlya iis girl, but all ire me to do it! e that in after years need blush of shame to my cheeks when re- stranger recogniz perhaps the very presence of your grown-up sons and daugh- ters, ‘Oh, yes that Miss’ ‘I saw her in the burlesque once; she was not very clever, but she had fine limbs, and was not afraid to display them.,’”’. vise recoiled as if she had received a violent blow in the f. Born to the e, almost, as it were, and brought up to it, never before in all her life had the opinion of the world at large concerning the actress and her vocation been so forcibly pre- sented to her. It was the old cry, d from the time of crop- eared Cromwell and his fierce Puritans, ‘Beware Wo call it bigotty todays But thé feeling’ exists, e igotry ay; but the fee e and almost as strong as ever. .The actor is still the mountebank—the vagabond—in the opinion of nine- tenths of the world, varnish the matter over as you may. i 24 And Avise, shrewd, keen-witted girl, realized that the voice of the world at lates spoke in the angry tones of the bouquet girl. e actress was brave enough, but well knew that she could not hope to take up arms against the opinion of the world, But even as she shrunk ag! when the an; 1 hurled ‘at her the old-time jeer, one conso also an ac claimed; “he will not be ruled by this stupid, old- “ He will tell you the truth, for, to save his that lured him to it is over, and he anxiously waits ought flashed into her mind, “But Ronald Craige is tor,” she ex- fashioned cant!” - “ Question him and see!” Frank replied, a e, he would not condescend. to falsehood! You find that he both hates and despises the stage; the dream for the chance to escape from the theater never to return!” So far the bouquet girl had had the best of | the in- terviéw, and Avise was keen enough to perceive that she had gained nothing by seeking the meeting. It was plain that the poor girl, whom she despised as a rival, and yet feared, was neither to be bought nor to be bullied. The actress drew her cloak around her; she saw that the sooner she terminated the interview now the if. wNot by your Miank retorted, seoratally to) ou re sco’ we Some day, when you wake to shame and misery. Se will be apt to remember my words to-night, and hen you be sorry enough that you did not heed me, ‘* When that time comes, agian ge I shall!” ** It will come, and through this man]” “When it does, I will believe it!” I = Oe ee a oe 6 © “Yor the last time I make you the offer,’ Avise said, still stubborn in her purpose, although her better judgment told her that she was but wasting time and breath. “I will take you away from here, send you to some distant city, and | hi for your sup- ip for a whole year, and in that time you can sure- y learn some trade by means of which you can get a comfortable living. You are mad to refuse such a chance!” “But I do refuse it, though!” the flower-girl ex- claimed, spiritedly. ‘I f understand why you make the offer; you simply want to get me out of the way. Iam not simple enough to fall into the trap. (PR eflect! I shall not make the offer again!” * You might make it a hundred times and still re- ceive only the one answer!” Avise gazed at the flower-girl for a moment, her face flaming anger, but Fr: met the look undaunt- edly. A brave heart had the bouquet girl, and she was not to be frightened by a look. ‘Look well to yourself, young lady,” the actress exclaimed in a bitter tone; ‘for after this night Phe: will have a remorseless enemy in me! I would be your friend, but since you will not have it so, you must take the consequences.”’ ‘*T care neither for your friendship nor yeur en- mity,” Frank answered, carelessly. ‘Ido not wish the one nor fear the other.” “‘T shall make trouble for you:” the actress cried, menacingly, t to depart. “Take care that you do not get into trouble your- self!’ the bouquet girl retorted. ‘*You shall not have Ronald OCraige if it costs me five thousand dollars to separate him from you!” the blonde queen averred, hoarsely, all the evil passions in nature roused by the failure of her lan. i The bouquet | inde laughed; in her mind were thoughts of the fortune of half a million of ee which now seemed pretty certain to come to her, With that sum at her disposal she could easily laugh to scorn the malice of this bleached-haired actress. **You shall not take him from me if it costs me ten times five thousand!’ Frank replied. Avise at her rival for a moment, but she moneee it only an idle boast. ‘**We shall see,”’ she said, and then hurried away, while Frank entered the house. beni And then from the recesses of the doorway of the next house came the tall, dark pute of a man, and with noiseless steps he followed after the blonde burlesque queen. CHAPTER XIX. AN ASTOUNDING STATEMENT. Tue chief of the Modocs sat in his office. Captain Jack felt entirely at ease with himself and the world, for thus his plans had progressed splen- didly. cry naw ‘*in my mind’s eye, Horatio,” he had the fingering of the half a million of dollars left by the old confectioner, All was smooth sailing; he saw no rock ahead, no frowning line of breakers ving timely warning of the dangerous reef beneath, e had carefully prepared the pa ers necessary to prove the identity of the long-lost heir; had even made a list of the witnesses likely to be of use, and, as he glanced over the names, a satisfied smile play- ed over his expressive face. ““Tip-top ones, all of them,” he murmured. ‘ Not thethingewayl"? Thelawyer dipsed tres tie Haus e away 6 lawyer di to the slan, of the streets once in a While, asi will be as nice and clear a case as I ever had the handling of; every int is covered; not a single weak place in all the ony from the birth of the child up to the pres- ent time. It’s a confounded shame that I have got to give Taxwill such a share of the swag, but I knew that he was too precious sharp not to suspect m little game if I attempted to run the thing throug without him. But, as itis now, the scheme must g° through. Both of the executors being satisfied in reward to the identity of the heir—for Dodson is ag simple as a child and will believe anything we tell penne fl there is no one to contest the case, for ,I shall make it so strong that the propet officers will pass it at once.” And then the wily lawyer fell into a deep train of. thought. “A quarter of the sum only to me for all m trouble,” he muttered at last, and then he shook h head ina manner which plainly betrayed that he was not at all satisfied, ‘“‘Itisnotenough! Taxwill gets the same amount merely for shutting his eyes and letting the matter go through without opposi- tion. I must have more, but how?” The lawyer closed his eyes reflectively for a moment, a fashion he had when engaged in studying out some abtruse uzzle. - “TIT have it! he cried See ee Gomlnce wii his eyes, and bi down his much: jeweled hand with a vigorous slap upor his knee. “First, to get everything in proper order and then make proposi- tions to the girl. Wait until the bright vista opens ney before her and the moment arrives when my hand ean toss the half a million into her lap, or else tumble her back to the gutter from whence she sprung, then I'll talk to her. She will accept, Ini , She would be mad to refuse! ae something of a ce for me,” and the lawyer surveyed with great complacency his handsome face and figure in the glass, “but for the sake of the money Ill swallow the pill. After a time, and I get things fatrty it my be 8, if the dose gets too strong —why, I can y get rid of it,” At this point the meditations of the lawyer were suddenly interrupted. ae oe There were two one at each end of the room. The one nearest the stairs bearing the sign, “ Leipper and Leipper,” and und-glass doors to the office,
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. i the other was ornamented with the inscription of % ing and Britman, Counselors and Attorneys atlaw.” Captain Jack was not only “* Leipper and Leipper,’’ but he was also ‘‘Benarding and Brit- man.” It was handy, sometimes, in particularly ugly eases, to have nom de plumes, especially if the ‘airs happened to get into the newspapers, as they sometimes did. The door usually used by visitors, being the one nearest the stairs, although furthest from the ele- vator, opened suddenly and a man stuck his head into the apartment—a pre head, surmounted by a well-worn felt hat, Alpine style, the pattern so much affected by foreigners of uncertain habits; the face, thin, dark, hawk-like. The man nodded, grinned, displaying long, point- ed, white teeth, animal in their shape; then he ad- vanced into the room, first closing the door care- “ite behind him, and moving with soft and stealthy Captain Jack took the man’s measure at once; he knew the class so well—the broken-down foreigner, teacher, dancing-master, etc., always of noble birth, always very dignified and gentlemanly, always in want of a small sum—‘‘ Just a temporary loan, un- til the delayed remittance ”—which, somehow, is al- ways delayed—“‘ arrives.” “Pardon me,” exclaimed the man, drawing him- Self up and executing a stately bow; “if I do nota mistake make, I have ze honor to address ze famous Taree and Leipper, ze magnificent lawyer.” é man spoke with a strong Italian accent, and the lawyer, an excellent judge of character, looking carelessly in the face, instantly came to the conclusion that he was as evil-looking a rascal as he encountered for many a long np & that’s my name; what do you want?” “ Yes. the captain asked, not over-politely. No client this bean ; talian, but a nuisance to be abated as soon as e. “Ah! Iwas sure of it, ze moment my eyes fall on your face eed did! Sare,I am proud to your ee Bi ae ig make.” And again the stranger “Yes, yes; but what do you want?’ the lawyer demanded, ot NA in no humor to be amused by any fooling, no matter how grotesque. “ You will a-pardon me if a chair I take,” the man said, sweetly, never taking the slightest notice of the repe: manner of the lawyer, and then, without more aco, he helped himself to one of the cushioned arm-chairs, sat down in it, extended his legs, crossed them comfortably, removed his hat, placed it care- fully upon another chair that stood near by, ran his long, tawny, talon-like fingers Shrongh his scant; black locks, which curled in crispy little tangles all over his head; then he fixed his glittering, uncer- tain, snake-like eyes upon the face of the astonished Captain Jack, who mentally set the stranger down as ete the coolest raseal he had ever come in con- tact with. And this was saying a at deal, when we consider what avast number of scoundrels the divorce lawyer had had business with since he had peered, the devious path which, to the pettifogger, rings money and notoriety. ‘Now, we will a-speak on business,” the stranger continued, after he had got comfortably settled, You are Leipper and Leipper? Yes; goot! You are ze manI seek. You are ze lawyer who drew out ze will of Lorenzo Vendotena?” Captain Jack stared in astonishment; it was not often that the cool and cautious lawyer was surpris- but he certainly was this time. © stranger stuck out his tawny left hand, the n oo upward, and then with the forefinger of the other hand he proceeded to mark time, as it were, by tappiug the opin gently with the end of the finger as he proceeded: You are ze lawyer! It is not necessary for you to a-speak, forI read ze truth in your expressive face. You are ze lawyer who drew out ze last will and testament of Lorenzo Vendotena. He a-died; Ze will lives; it is goot! in that will is a half.a raillion of dollairs, and that half a million of dollairs is left to ze prandaauchter of ze old man, Francesca Ms : Hele oh A ins 0, son of Vendotena.’ Am I not rakes; what you have stated is quite correct,” ipper replied, unable for the life of him to guess what the fellow was driving at. He was surprised t he Imew any thing at all about the will; still, as the particulars had been published in the daily journals, right after the old mau’s death, there was no wonderful about the facts being known; only it was odd that a stranger who could not have hi) Possible interest in the matter, should trouble S head about the affair at all. 7 Vendotena to his fathers go some long time now, y? and you look high, low, up and down ze earth, nowhere can you find ze heir, Tranquilize your it d, my goot friend, and I bring her to you,” the wan ox laimed, with stately dignity. rather sta, riled Speios !” Captain Jack exclaimed, his right forefinger h © Italian gmiled, tapped wnglge in a open palm of Ris other hand. Togde. What gay dor dro} ven tadusan devs ; 0, diavolo! ten thousand devi my Path would not tium me from ze way one leetle 48.z@ maniam! You behold me!” and on, 1ed back in his chair as if to invite the e lawyer was : not penetrated pee utile mystified; as yet he had as Sonne the que e of the other. id to take any interest Rede what reason have you Tetppst questioned, Vendotena affair, at all?” lating == aa me Man was on his feet, gesticu- an you not a-guess?’ Look! behold!” he cried. “I am ze farder of ze heir—I am Antonio Vendotena!” CHAPTER XX. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. THE murder was out now, and Captain Jack saw at once what the man was up to. “Oho! you are Antonio Vendotena, eh?” “Tam my farder’s son!” cried the Italian, quickly; “can you not a-see it in my face? When you a-look at me does not Lorenzo Vendotena rise before you?” The lawyer favored the man with a searching lance, and the Italian, folding his arms across his reast, drew himself up with dignity, as if to invite the inspection. “‘Well, you do look something like the old man,” Leipper admitted, carelessly, as if the resemblance was a matter of small moment. “Aha! you do not doubt that I am my farder’s son?” cried the Italian, in triumph, ‘** Oh, small doubt of that!” “And that my farder was Lorenzo Vendotena?”’ “Well, as to that, [am not so sure.”’ ** And yet you admit ze resemblance, sare?” ‘Oh, you Italians all look like oneanother; there’s a sort of family resemblance between all of you,”’ the lawyer replied, carelessly. : The man was disappointed and he plainly ea 55 it in the restless glances of his sunken eyes. He had expected to produce a Ne impression when he had roclaimed self to the almost forgotten An- nio, who had been lost to sight for so many years, bat the lawyer didn’t seem to heed the matter a ““You doubt, eh, sare? You do not think that I am Antonio Vendotena?” ‘ ‘“Well, the fact is, old fellow, I don’t trouble m: head about the matter at all,” Captain Jack replied, _ aes ae matter-of-fact tone. “I am not atall in- rested.” ‘But you have a-charge of the estate—of the half a million of dollairs!” the Italian cried, anxiously. “No, not exactly; the executors have charge of the estate, but I am their legal adviser though. **Then why are you not interested in me?” the man queried. ‘‘ Understand I can not.” ** Simply because you are not at all interested in the matter, even if you are Antonio Vendotena, and in regard to that fact I have considerable doubt, al- though the matter doesn’t possess interest enough for me to trouble my head about it, one way or the other. If re are Antonio Vendotena you know the terms of the will well enough, and must certainly understand that you can have no possible interest in this half million of dollars.” “My child—she is under age—I am _ her legal — ian; you comprehend, eh?” and the eyes of he man sparkled as he spoke; he thought the point a strong one. : **Oh, no, she isn’t!” the lawyer exclaimed. ‘‘She is eighteen, and conside that you deserted her when she was an infant this israther late inthe day to come forward and claim a father’s rights; there mit a court in the country that would admit your claim. “Let us talk togedder!” said the Italian, soothing- ly, and with an expression of great cunning written upon his face; then he resumed his chair and pulled it up close to the lawyer. *“To me listen awhile,” he continued; ‘you area man of ze world, goot! SoamI! Yesterday I was not born, you comprehend? Goot! You have no interest in me, but in ~ child, you have much in- terest—that is true, hey?” The lawyer nodded. **Goot! Oh, we shall understand each other; that child—my dear daughter, 1 will find her for you, you comprehend ?”’ Again the lawyer nodded; Captain Jack fully be- lieved in the truth of the old adage, “‘ give a dog rope enough and he will hang himself,” and he wasn’t the man to interritpt the Italian in the de- oa of his plans. ‘What better witness to prove the identity of ze child can you have than ze loving farder, eh?” ‘© Yes, but suppose I have found the heir already?” **So much ze better!” cried the adventurer, with a true Latin shrug of the shoulders; “ that will save me trouble.” “ And you can identify the heir I present without any trouble, eh?” “What can deceive a farder’s eyes? Diavolo! I should pick my child out of ten thousand!” “AmT nota reasonable man? You accept, eh?” He anxious. “Well, I don’t know about that.” ‘“* Aha! cried the Italian, starting to his feet again in the peculiar jerky, manner which seemed so natural tohim. ‘If you refuse you turn me from a friend into a foe, I will appear in the a-court; I will say behold in me, Antonio Vendotena, the farder of ze heir! Zis girl—bah! she is one grand impostor; I know her not; she is not my child! You lose your case, you comprehend?” f “Yes, if you’ oath is believed,” replied the law- yer, coolly. ‘* But, how do you know I haven't got the heir? how do you know that I can't back up her claim with proofs so st: ong that even your declara- tion couldn’t shake them, admitting that you are the man you claim to be?” The Italian laughed—a low, “ fiendish ” laugh such as the representative of the Evil One in the opera generally indulges in—and then he bounced down into the chair again, and as he spoke gesticulated wildly with his skinny fore-finger. “Tam not a child, Signor Lawyer!’’ he cried, with true Southern vehemence. ‘*Bah! Iam aman well in years! Some time in this world have I lived and many things have I seen. I comprehend your leetle plan; it is great! it is colossal! but without me it will not work, I kuow ze leetle girl that you have a- pick out for ze heir; she live a-Baxter street; black eyes, black hairs; they do a-curl like mine, but it will not do! No, no! ze plan will not work without me! The Jawyer was considerably astonished at the ex- tent of the man’s information and began. to have a little better opinion of his abilities than he had enter- tees ed, but he resolved to learn all the stranger ew. “Why won’t it work?” he questioned. Cy Ve the mocking, fiend-lke merriment, * Aha! you have colossal ideas—grand, superb! but without me worth nothing as well as if I walk a-with you. Half a on of dollairs! it isa large sum! You advertise for ze heir —she come not; upon ze subject you muse; ‘ where is she? If she a-live why she no come? Then ze idea arrived; Aa see zis leetle girl; she do a-look like ze mother; there is a strong resemblance; she is an orphan, no farder or modder; she will answer; I “ene her; say ‘ Behold, ladies and gentlemans! his is ze heir to ze half a ‘million of dollairs!’ you give her small sum, take all ze rest yourself! ! tis grand! but you did not a-count on ze farder! ! I know how you plan Behold, Ieome! I say, ‘Ladies and gentlemans, zis is not a-my child!’ your house of cards is upset! in ze ruins you are buried!” ia - but what proof have you got that she is not e ” The Italian laughed; he felt that he was getting the best of it. “Oho! when you play with ze cards, do you ask the man who plays with you, ‘Be so kind as to show me your hand, signor?’ ” he cried. “No, but when he claims that the game is his, be- fore I give up the stakes I make him show his cards!” **Humph! so strong am I, I show my hand befcre Ae the Italian replied contemptuously. ‘I ill tell you why ze leetle flower-girl is not Francesca Vendotena, Look at my hair; itis black, so is hers; but she is not a-my child! Oh, no! You finds ze nurse—ze doctair—all that knew my ne Be and they will tell you that ze hair was light—light as beaten gold!” The door at the further end of the room—Benard- ing and Britman’s door—opening suddenly inter- rupted the conversation. Both of the men turned, and there, framed in the doorway, was the gir like a specter had appeared to the lawyer in be” entryway of the old tenement house. - An appalling cry came from the lips of the Ital- n. - “Saints in heaven! It is Decetra!” he exclaimed. _ COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. THOROUGHLY astonished were the two men at the peer appearance of the girl in the doorway, and she, on her part, appeared to be surprised. : The Italian, at the first glenes, had detected the wonderful resemblance which she bore to the dead Decetra Limowell, the country girl. who had wedded in : erat Antonio Vendotena, <id Captain Jack, while which the face bore to the picture of the mother of the heiress, now in his possession, at the same time “ven if you had never seen her before, provided | was forcibly struck with the likeness which the face that you were told in advance which was the right re to the features of another woman, now sudden- one, eh?” exclaimed Captain Jack, laughing. to his memory. e Italian grinned and winked mysteriously. In Almost involuntarily the words had burst from the bis heart he was delighted; he fancied that he was | lips of the Italian: about to make his point, after all, but he little knew the cruel nature of this Modoc of the law who de- lighted, tiger-like, to play with his victims before ad- ministering the death-stroke. “Aha! did I not a-tell you that we should under- stand each other?’’ the foreigner cried, highly de- hted, = of course for such a service you expect noth- g AmTnot human? Is a farder’s feelings worth nothing?” the Italian demanded, “About how much?” “ Oh, I will be moderate—to Free not my na- ture—say one hundred thousand dollairs!”’ The lawyer fh 4 in a prolonged whistle, “Aha! you t’ink it too much, eh?” the man cried, anxiously, ‘‘ Consider a farder’s feelings! By rights it should al? be mine.” “Oh, no, you misunderstand me,” the lawyer ex- plained, not a shadow of a smile upon his face., “ was amazed at the smallness of your offer, p ia bo ‘| ly recalled ig Qui the rare peared | stairs. I “ Saints in heaven! itis Decetra!” The exclamation had seemed to wake thestranger from the stupor into which she had fallen upon Se. holding the two men. It was quite evident that neither one was a stranger to her. ckly she acted; she slammed the door to in- stantly, but with a common impulse the two men rushed forward toward it. And as they extended ir hands to open it they heard the key without, which er guts to have been carelessly left on the outside of the door, turn in the lock. The girl, with ce of mind, had thus checked pursuit. “The other door!”’ the lawyer exclaimed. They hurried to it, opened it, and rushed out into the entry. Noone was there! The woman had dis- ap) ! * Diavolo! she has been too quick for us!” the Italian cried; “‘but we can overtake her on the “More likely to have taken the elevator!” Capté Jack replied; ‘“‘she could not possibly have go’ Sout “= is i <! = reeiving also the wonderful resemblance - 1 who | CHAPTER XX. a ———_~ ——
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a eee. ee | ae lot! Zis is a girl from ze gutter picked: to ze half a : Talon of ai is aa? her. , With outstretc _word the Italian had acted out the speech, just for _ all the world as if he had been in the legal arena, 12 THE BOUQUET GIRL. ‘ -¢ of sight so soon if she had gone down the stairs!” And with the speech the lawyer rushed to the grated doorway, which afforded an entrance to that modern triumph of ingenuity known as the elevator. Sure enough, the machine was rapidly descending; already it was at least two stories below. ck, to the stairs!” Captain Jack cried, Meets ough thereisn’t much chance of ove i er! The odds were ecaeey against the success of the attempt, but they tried it nevertheless, Down the stairs they raced at break-neck speed, both men strangely excited. They halted not until they reached the main hall. The elevator car was in its accustomed place wens for customers, but no woman in sight. The lawyer accosted the youth in charge of the car. ‘‘ A woman came down with you just now?” ‘* Yes,’’ replied the boy, listlessly. ‘“‘ A girl with a basket on herarm, light hair?” ‘Yes, Is’pose so.” The lad was so used to con- veying a motley crowd of peseeneea® up and down that he rarely troubled his head to look at them and note their personal appearance. ‘“ Which way did she go?” demanded the lawyer, anxiously. ‘* Dunno,” replied the boy. It was plain that there was no information to be got out of him. The lawyer took one look at the crowd surging by’ the door on Broadway, and fully realized how hope- less would be the attempt to pursue the mysterious a now that she fairly escaped from the ‘She has given us the slip.” “Diavolo! yes!” the Italian cried, with a t. ‘‘Come up to the office again and we'll finish our talk, and, perhane, come to an understanding.” The Italian nodded. By the aid of the elevator, the two speedily re- sumed their former quarters. ‘‘A mysterious affair]’’ the lawyer observed, thoughtfully. “The girl, or woman, whatever she is, evidently recognized us.” _“*And do you not know her?”’ the Italian asked, shrewdly. Well T can’t say that I do, or that I do not,” Captain Jack replied, evasively, “The face is fa- miliar to me, and ye it is not. . It looks like the pic- ture of Decetra Limowell, which I have, and also reminds me of another papal ““CGonnected with the Limowell family?” “Oh, no.” It was plain that the remembrance was not a pleasant one, that is, if. one could judge from the expression upon the face of the lawyer. “T told you that ze leetle girl, that you think is ze ; heir is not; behold! specter-like zis one comes to confirm my words!” the Italian exclaimed in; tri- umph. ' The lawyer favored his visitor with a long, search- ing glance from under his bushy eyebrows. ; ‘he thought had suddenly occurred to the Modoc that perhaps this sudden appearance of the light- haired. girl was all a Ganttiety arranged trick de- vised by the Italian, and so he determined to probe the matter to the bottom, [ ‘* Who do you think this girl is?” he asked, quiet- ly. v4 Z6 heir!’’ replied the Italian, promptly. “It is Francesca Vendotena, my child! A farder’s eyes cannot be deceived!” ; “Well, that ends the little arrangement, then, that you were proposing,” the lawyer observed. ‘‘Of course now you would not be willing to back up the claim of this other girl whom I believe to be the missing heir.’’ e “Oh, what does it matter to meso long as I get money?” the Italian cried, with great frankness. ‘One pais or ze odder, it does not matter to me at You pay me ze hundred. thousand. dollairs and I will swear that ze odder girl is my child; it is all ze same! “Your, conscience doesn’t trouble you much it?’ = “Conscience, bah!” exclaimed the Italian in lofty’ contempt, ‘‘ What does Abe great poet say, ‘ Con- ence! it is our coin, we live by parting with it, and e senses best who has ze most to give.’ Such a man am I “This girl is evidently poor; she had a basket on her arm, a peddler,” suggested the lawyer, slowly and reflectively. “Oh, rest you a-tranquil; she will not trouble oul” ir Suppose I don’t accept this offer of yours?’ Cap- tain Jack demanded abruptly. ‘Suppose I go hen IT shall be compelled, my noble friend, to block-ah ze wheels of. your game!” was the Ital- ian’s menacing response. “*T don’t see how you are going to do it.” “Aha! you want me to a-show you my hand again! Behold! I will do it; because it is so stro that you cannot beat me, play as well as you may Listen tranquil to me then! In ze court you pro- duce ze girl. You say, ‘Learned judge, bebold this is Francesca Vendotena, ze daughter of Antonio Ven- dotena, ze heir to ze half a million of dollairs,’ Then in ze court I rise; I call aloud; I say, * It is not so. most noble judge; deceive you this man he will. I speak; I say so; I, Antonio Vendotena, ze farder of heir! Most honorable judge, it is all one grand head wy. own way without your aid?” “Kha! t airs she has no right. Zeheir, my is in New York; within ze last year have I seen Most noble judge, give me time | will find her!” hands suiting the action to the pogket.an Captain Jack watched. him with a sarcastic smile. A scheme had entered his head by means of which he could easily defeat the Italian’s plan, cunning as he thought himself. “Well, what say you now, eh?” demanded the hawk-faced adventurer. ‘‘ Come! is it not better to be friends with me, to have my aid than to fight with me? Will not ze voice of a farder touch ze heart of ze most noble court and melt it to tender- ness, ha? «A hundred thousand dollars is a large sum.”’ ** Not one penny less!’’ cried the Italian, violently. “Bah! it is moderate! One hundred thousand dol- laris out of half a million! It is a flee-bite!”’ Tam not alone in this matter. I must consult another party—if you could say fifty thousand now— “No, no, no!” cried the adventurer, vehemently ; not a eo ia less! I will not have it!” “‘ Come here to-morrow, at this time, and I'll have the other party here; but the sum is too large—” “Oh, let me a-talk to him; he will agree!’’ the Italian confidently protested, A few more words of small import and the inter- view ended. CHAPTER XXII. THE PRIVATE INQUIRY OFFICE. On John street between Nassau and William in the hes city of New York stands a modest-looking ree-story brick house—a dwelling of ancient date erected in the days when trade centered around Bowling Green and the nabobs of the town lived in John and the adjoining streets. At that time the Bowery was a cow-walk, and the Collect Pond, where the Tombs is now situated, was pretty well out of town. Naught but the heavy mol that ornament the walls now remain to tell of the ancient glories of this once sumptuous abode. Stores now occupy the first floors and the rooms above are rented out for offices. Before the directory of No, 52, the house we have described, a female form was standing. A plainly attired woman, but still very neatly dressed; a heavy vail concealed her features, yet, in spite of this half-disguise one could see that she was young and pretty, with great dark eyes and light yellow hair. . A miscellaneous lot of people occupied offices in No, 52. There were artists, wood-engravers, pocket- book manufacturers, stencil-plate makers, obscure publishers of still more obscure journals, and one modest tin sign bore the inscription: “PRIVATE INQUIRY OFFICE. ‘¢ JEHIAL PENDALMOCK.”’ And upon this sign the eyes of the female rested. “What is a private inquiry office?’ we fancy we hear our reader remark. The explanation is easy. The term is an imported one from bustling, crowded London, Britain's capi- tal—a recent bape ae yt but one that bids fair to flourish among us, for the clime is a congenial one. The Private Inquiry Office is simply a private de- tective under a more business-like name. Many men occupy responsible positions in mer- cantile houses where vast opportunities for dishon- esty exist; many bank officers and trusted officials of various important enterprises are liable to be led into temptation. And when any man holding one of these import- ant positions excites suspicion by his manner of living, or by any other form of extravagance and dishonesty, the employer at once applies to a Pri- vate Inquiry Office. For a certain sum, more or less.as, the case may be, a pee detective is de- tailed to watch the suspec one day and night; and this vigilant watch soon detects whether the man is honest or not, In delicate family matters, too, the Private Ing Office is invaluable, for many affairs are quietly se tled, instead of causing utter ruin to all concerned by having them dragged into an open court. The lady noted the number of the Private Inquiry ‘Office and then proceeded up-stairs to the second Story, ‘situated. , where, ina small front room, the office was The lady knocked, was bidden to enter, and turn- ing the handle of the door found herself in the pre- sence of Jehial Pendalmock, the chief of this semi- secret bureau. The private detective was a short, thick-set man, with a bushy brown beard and a pleasant face, wherein shone a pair of shrewd gray eyes. He was well in years and possessed that peculiar manner which wins the good opinion of a stranger at a = The room was plainly furnished, a stove, a desk, a sofa and. three or four ; The detective was perusing one of the afternoon Fa , but rose at once when he perceived that visitor was a lady and offered her a chair, ‘*You are the h of this office?” the lady asked, evidently a little embarrassed by the novelty of the situation. “Yes, ma’am.” The detective was quite accus- tomed to receive lady visitors. Many a jealous wife had sought his aid, anxious to detect and punish a recreant husband. . : ““T have a little business which I wish you to attend to for me; what are your terms?” “Tt depends entirely upon the nature of the busi- ness, ma’am, and the trouble it gives me. My fees rangé all the way from five dollars per day upward, and my ex es besides.” ~The lady drew a eee coe paper from her handed it to the detective. ou perceive what that document is?”’ ‘Yes, ma'am.” The detective examined it at a lance, ‘A decree of divorce, James Ronnells from auline ontgosiery got in an Iowa court, humph! one of those suspicious. documents! It may be all right, and then again it may not be worth the Raper C) itis written on.’ The detective pneae anos at indorsement “ge the back. ‘Be ing and Brit- man, Oho! I know that party!” “* Are they a responsible firm?” oon ma’am, to tell the honest truth, there is no such firm. ae No?” ‘No such firm,” the detective repeated, with a quiet laugh. “They have an office on Broad- way, and they do a good deal of advertising in the newspapers. Perhaps you may have noticed their advertisements. ‘Divorces procured without failin any court and frem any cause. No money required in advance.’ That’s the way they put out. Now, if I were a married man, and fancied that I had cause to be dissatisfied with my partner, and, at- tracted by their advertisement, should call upon Benarding and Britman, I should never be able to find them in. The fact is,ma’am, you see, I’m not the kind of client they want; but if some simple country farmer or mechanic should call, with an eye to business, a gentleman, elegantly dressed, and with lenty of diamonds, would receive the party, se hat the members of the firm were out “es hen, but that he could attend to the business in their ab- sence. The client tells his story, the gentleman makes memorandums of the important points, as- sures the party that there is no doubt that the thin can be put through, explains that PAN oh an Britman do not demand any fee in advance, but that there are certain legal expenses that must be met— Benarding and Britman will wait for their pay until the case is settled—and then the gentleman strikes the victim for ten, twenty, or thirty dollars, just ac- cording to what he thinks he will stand. The coun- try man pays over the money and departs, thinking that the thing is going to be settled off-hand. In a month or two he gets a note, if he doesn’t get anxious and call in the meantime, stating that there are some more legal expenses to be met, and that they must have twenty-five dollars more. Well, this sort of ing. is repeated as long as the victim will stand it; and finally, when either the patience or money of the party is exhausted, just as the case may be, and he says that he can’t advance any more money until the thing is settled, then, if the party has any good ounds for a divorce, they get it, and inform him at the decree is in their hands, and that when they receive a certain sum of money they will for- ward the document; but if the case is a lost one, and they can’t get a legal divorce, even in some of those far Western States where the laws are loosely framed, they—if the party is poor, and they think they have got all the money he has—throw the matter up en- rely, tell the man he has no grounds for a divorce, and wash their bands of the thing; but if he is still willing to pay, Ger get a bogus decree from some little trumpery court out in the Salt. Lake region perhaps—a paper of no legal value whatever. An now comes the point of the Benarding and Britman ame. piel od an indignant victim comes in to get is money back, he finds the same smooth-tongued entleman who received it, but that party has en- ly forgotten him, and knows abso utely nothing whatever about the matter. If he took the money, which he doubts, as he doesn’t remember, he merely turned it over to Benarding and Britman, and they are the parties to be seen. Of course, they can’t be found; and if the man goes to an honest lawyer and tells his story, he is recommended to let the matter ‘0, as any legal recovery is impossible, costing more an. it would come to.’ ‘And what is the name of the person whom one would see calling upon this firm?” “‘ Jack Leipper, the shrewdest and most unscru- pulous lawyer that there is to-day in New York.” ‘‘T wish to find out all about this James Ronnells— who he is, where he is now.” ‘Oh, that will be easy enough.” “* And, furthermore, I wish information in ard toa child brought to the vill of Long Branch by a colored woman, one Elizabeth Johnson, commonly called Brown Betty, about seventeen years ago.” The detective jotted down the name in his mem- orandum-book. ‘What name did the child bear?” ; “T do not know what the colored woman called the child, but the man who brought her up called her Frances Blakely.” ain the detective made an entry in his memo- randum-book. “ Brown Betty lives on the road leading from'Long Branch to Branchburg; any of the inhabitants there will be able to point out the house to you. You re- quire money, I presume?” ; ‘Well, a slight advance for expenses will be ac- ceptable. I don’t think that this will be a very cost- ly job.” dine lady counted out twenty dollars into the de- tective’s hand, and then took her departure, first making an appointment for that day week. Twenty minutes later the detective walked into Captain Jack’s office. CHAPTER XXIII. AFTER INFORMATION. CAPTAIN JACK was busy with his * ed up as the detective entered. PENCE Dalyan The head of the Private In Office was well had business deal- known to the la ings with him, but there was no love lost between the two, as the detective in two or three cases er, as he h th _had succeeded in bothering the lawyer’s plans con- siderably. ; But Leipper always received either friend or foe
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) or ae Reg “a ¥ 7 THE BOUQUET GIRL. with a smiling face, and therefore he greeted the burly detective quite cordially. ge ies are you? Help yourself to a chair. Warm, isn’t it?” “Yes, quite warm.” The detective seated himself comfortably in an “Tf Ronnells is the man I think he is, he would be apt to give a trifie to know who itis that is so anx- ious about him,”’ Captain Jack suggested, careless- | fi ehial understood the hint, but he was the soul of self the trouble of talking; here’s a dollar for you; so get out!” The actress opened her purse and ten- dered a bank-note. ‘ With a stately bow the Italian declined the gift although it must be recorded that his eyes glared a honor where a client was concerned, so he quietly hungrily as he looked upon the bit of paper which arm-chair and prepared for action. shook his head. ‘ represented agood dollar. ““What’s up?” Captain Jack questioned. “You can’t see it?” . | ‘No, mademoiselle, no; it is not ised money I He understood that this was no mere visit of ** Couldn’t do it, you know,” Pendalmock replied. | seek!” he returned, with dignity. “I do not come ceremony, but that the detective had come on busi- “ Well, I can’t give "aga any information about the | to beg. It is to do you a service that I seek you this ness, party,” Captain Jack announced in an off-hand, | night!” is “T want to get a little information from you.” careless way, ‘‘ except that I have a vague remem- he jan had one strange peculiarity; some- ; “Certainly; happy to we you; what is it?’ and | brance of such a man, and that I transacted some | times he spoke extremely good English with hardly the lawyer, wheeling around in his chair, faced the | business for him; what it was I don’t remember, but | a trace of a foreign accent, and then again his dis- j detective with a pleasant smile upon his handsome | I don’t think it amounted to much.” course smacked strongly of the foreigner. __ _ face, | You can’t give the address, then?” and the de- ““You do me a service?” asked Avise, evidently The detective took out his memorandum-book in | tective rose as he-spoke. doubtful of the man. : | the peculiar, methodical way so natural to him, “No, but if I knew what he was wanted for—if the “Si, signora!’’ replied he, fates by “Listen to Opened it and glanced at one of the pages. object of the inquiry was revealed to me, it is possi- | a-me. Concealed in ze next doorway was | to-night; | “T want you to give me the correct address of Mr. | ble I might be able to obtain some information in | my ears did hear all that passed between you and | James Ronnells.”’ regard to the matter.” that young woman.” . The lawyer was playing carelessly with a little Tll see what the party says about it,’ and the The actress crimsoned for a moment from neck to ivory paper-knife, but as the name reached his ears, | detective retreated to the door. temples, more through anger than from shame, with a me convulsive movement the strong hands * By the way!” cried the lawyer, abruptly, halt- yer : Snapped the fragile toy in twain. ing Pendalmock with his hand on the door-knob. “Every word did I hear, and when that base child The detective, with his nose down in the memo- | “ Supposing that you don’t succeed in getting an of ze gutter revile you, bright, beautiful star! ze randum-book—he was rather cate og wee or pre- | information in regard to this Mr. Ronnells—and I | blood boil in my veins! But, I can serve you. tended to be, so his detractors said—apparently | greatly doubt your being able to obtain any—and you pleased to walk along and I will explain.” _ was not watching the face of the lawyer, but in | you get through with the party who wishes to pro- | _Avise did so, more for the sake of getting rid of reality not the slightest expression of the features | secute the search, I suppose you would have no ob- | the fellow than from any thought that he could be escaped him. jection to taking a retaining fee from me to find out | of any service to her. y And over the expressive face of the lawyer a look | why this party wants Mr. Ronnells?”’ 3 “Listen, be tranquil, and you will a-comprehend | of blank astonishment had rapidly passed. It was | ‘Oh, no; not the least objection,” the detective | me,” he began, marchin, along by the side of the but momentary, though; in a second he had recov- replied, readily. ‘‘When I get through with the | tall, beautiful girl, and like a gigantic cat purring in . ered his composure. party I am entirely at your service.” her ear. ‘ Zis girl! ah! she is an imp of Satan!” he “James Ronnells,”’ he said, slowly and reflective- | “ At right; come round and let me know.” cried,with an expression of well-assumed horror upon ly. “James Ronnells—I don’t think that I know any | The detective nodded and departed. his face. ‘She has insnared that noble young man, | one by that name.” | ‘* Well,”? he mused, descen the stairs slowly, | his wits are a-tangled up. I have heard many con- | uite sure?’ Pendalmock asked in his quiet | “this affair looked all plain and straightforward, | versations between them. In that house I live; it is way; and the lawyer, well acquainted with the de- | but it is quite evident, now, that itis going to give | not grand—not like my palace by ze blue waters of tective’s manner, understood at once that Pendal- | me some trouble. I never saw Leipper taken so by | Napoli, ah! but what can I do, crushed a-down by ze mock knew that he was not speaking the truth. surprise before, for he is about as cool a hand asI | heel of iron fortune, you comprehend.” Well, yes; but I say!” exclaimed the lawyer, | know of, anywhere, but he snapped oes eg a “Yes.’’ Avise was burning with eagerness to hear | rapidly, “will you allow me to ask you a few ques- | as though it was made of pasteboa There’s | of the interviews between the two, tions?” something beneath the surface in all this, and lam ‘In his true heart he cares not for her,” the Ital- * Of course.” Le pe to get interested. This Ronnells isa val- | ianexplained, and the words fell on ears quick to . . Why do you wish to -know anything about | uable client, or spieper would never have betrayed | drink in the meaning, ‘“‘but, she has entrapped him. this James Ronnells? Do you ‘want’ him for any- | so much interest inthe matter. I wonder if the lady | He has given his word—oh! he is a noble young man! thing?” is the party from whom the divorce was obtained? | His word he would a-keep although the sky fall! ; The cant saying of the detective officer when he | He don’t think I will be able to procure any informa- | But if she were away taken, he would be free; his ays the hand of power upon the shoulder of the | tion in regard to the pert eh?” and the detective | word released, he would be your slave!’ _* criminal is, ‘ You’re wanted, my man!”’ jake oe quietly to himself. ‘* Well, well, we can tell Avise caught eagerly at the idea, and a hard, h Oh, no; nothing of that kind, at all,” Pendalmock | that better after I have been at work on the case for | strange look came over her fair young face. i astened to explain. ‘‘A party came to my office, | a week or so. I must try what effect a five-dollar She yas mad with love—fierce with love’s passion, eft the name, and desired me to procure any infor- | bill will have upon Mr. Leipper’s office-boy; and | and to accomplish her desire few obstacles in this mation I could in regard to the party.” these lads have sharp eyes and ears, sometimes.” world were too great for her to surmount. And was my name mentioned in the matter?” The bloodhound was eager on the scent! “Take her away—what do you mean?”’ the actress asked Captain Jack, apparently very much aston- asked, in a low, bard voice, strangely harsh for her we, no." | APTER XXIV MT Ecacy WEae | Kags tareeton baat abened . y 1 * Exactly wha say; in es Ido nots é “Why, then, do you come to me in regard to the “oe oe : the Italian replied in lee most mantter oh inet way. man? | & COOL PROPOSAL. “Away she must be taken; the spell removed, ze . Because I know that you know something about AFTER parting with the Bouquet Girl Avise had | noble young man will be all your own.” im,” the detective answered, bluntly, much to the | hurried along, her blood at fever-heat; her plan had “You do not mean to kill her?” Avise asked in a astonishment of the lawyer. ; failed; she had been repulsed with scorn and con- | whisper, her face growing deadly pale at the horri- a Why, Pendalmock, you’re a perfect jewel of a pep ble idea, E boetiver” Captain Jack declared forcing a laugh, ‘**The little beggar! to dare to bandy words with ‘Oh, no, there is no need of that,” the Italian re- like is was quite plain that the affair was far more | me!’’ she exclaimed, almost ready to cry with rage. | plied, lightly. ‘‘ Although, were there no other way, than y calculated to give him matter for uneasiness | “And, what can Oraige possibly see in that mise- | for your sake, my child, I would not hesitate for a use? cause for merriment. ‘I suppose it is of no | rable little creature to admire? ‘A little sallow-face | moment. Bah! what is her miserable life compared i se ee me to deny all apd ag te this man.” thing! and with impudence enough for adozen! I | to your happiness?” you 7 the slightest use, Mr. Leipper, for I know | ought to have slapped her face well, the little “Oh, no; not, no/ that!’ the actress cried with a ; vo on know something about him, or rather that hussy !”” shudder. aia know something. I speak more correctly, | The Queen of the Blondes walked rapidly down “Rest yourself tranquil, my child; ze matter can Taito PS, to use the past tense,” the detective re- | Grand street toward Broadway. be easily arranged. Zs girl can be carried off. ed, in his cool, quiet way. Close behind her came the tall, dark man with | There is a friend of mine, a noble gentleman, al- ine peculiar expression shot across the face of the | stealthy tread, and as the enraged and baffled girl | though like myself he and hard fortune have shake: 4 Mt sais it did not eseape the sharp eyes of the de- | turned into New York's great artery, now dark and | hand lately very hard, but he is a noble youth; 4 on ie but for the life of him he couldn’t detect | almost deserted, as it usually is at such an houron | the best blood of fair Italy he comes; my frie wn ony, Caused it or what it purported. For once the | Sunday evening, the man improved the opportunity | —my brother, ze Colonel Ansel:ro del Frasca’ pe cih of the acute blood hound-of-the-law were | to step forward and address or, Glance over your shoulder, signora, and you w . ‘ ‘“*Good-evening, mademoiselle,’’ he said, and the | behold him.” . “See, Pendalmock, you place me in a peculiar sit- uation,}* he said, a raptly, and Apparent with Sreat frankness. “This man may be a client of supp = - Me I tell, if I give you his address— misehien ave it—that I shall not be doing him a ee Shook his head. It was a knotty strong foreign accent as well as the peculiar tone of the voice at once betrayed to the quick ears of the actress that it was the seedy foreigner who had sought an interview with her, a few days before, at her hotel. Avise drew herself up in stately dignity and The actress did so, and beheld a fat, greasy an decidedly s head about a block be them. “You behold! a noble youth!’ the Italian contin- ued; ‘“‘ with love he does be consumed for that young girl; he hangs upon her footsteps and grows | glanced ey around her. thin with sighs of love! It is heaven’s mercy to “Now f know you'to bea tial a your word:* th / me ts a nervous woman would have been og ue bring them —— All I one is ze money. for ze = a. word, 1, ° ‘ 4 ! lawyer continue Rf Sand if you will Ste Sunes odes ed, for the street was dark and almost deserted; but | enterprise e carry ze girl off! Bah! itis as easy that, if I am able to give you any info tion, i shall not result in mischief pi him, ‘why then. Twill Ra ee, memory in regard to this Mr. James again Pendalmock shook his head. is) % Mf ,99? ‘s oar t give the pledge, eh?” and the lawyer women of the stage are not generally timid. Obliged from the nature of their vocation to return from the theater at a late hour, often unattended, they get used to the solitude of the midnight streets. The Italian comprehended the meaning of the gaa in an instant and hastened to reassure the y. as turning over your hand! In New York I know plenty of men—countrymen of mine—who will be lad to earn five dollars and never question what is he job. Ze street is lope? hall very dark; we wait for her some night de ze hall, and have a carriage a leetle way down ze street. When she come in ze entry we seize her; put ze leetle cloth be strangely interested, consideri WY ” i se ri ici i t : : . ng Alarm yourself do not!’ he exclaimed. ‘Your | with ze medicine to her nose, her senses swim and at he had Ht ch — neh eye hy ory humble slave, which am I, love ze very ground you | she faint. Then we carry her to ze earriage and we = ree n- i j tec i . pions to be honest with you,” the detective re- | T would w. with goer. ssgnitioent feekisbretest you. | “drive ce mice:.ns cam ridegroom, my noble . You aon don’t know anything about it.”” ; Onest! the information - aati in his b 7 strange,” the lawyer observed, contract- R - ushy eyebrows, ¢ name of Jamee wy came to the remotest idea why my office, gave me the I would with my life from all danger,” and he bowed Oe at as he concluded the speech. “ Well, sir, what do you want?” Avise demanded. “To your hotel you will proceed now?” the Italian pep eS with another low bow. es é | Bs Mademoiselle, permit your humble slave the dis- friend, ze colonel, is ready, ze priest waiting—I know a man who will ge ee ze ceremony and never trouble his head about questions, provided he is well em for it. She become ze wife of my friend and er spell over ord lover is broken.”’ It was in truth a diabolical plan, but so mad with passion was the willful blonde that she caught tinguished honor of accompanyi our steps to ze | eagerly at the idea. all I could about ees and desired me to find out hotel.” panying y' ps ae Sad if she escapes afterward?” she asked. it.” » and that’s all I know about “Thank you, but I don’t desire any company,” “Will Mistair Craige want ze wife of another man, st rats er cast his eyes down to the fl d me by emake ror ie pat ‘h thin por Oe ver sini a: th o tee ea i e floor and re-: “ e in mained silent foy a few moments, meer te hn ; Mademoiselle, but ave some g very e ee ey had planned for the thought. “Tdon't understand thi i , at last, after quite a Tie matter, at all,” he said of no use to ask who the cag AE suppose it is en 39 n To betray one of my patrons would ruin my busi- ess,” the detective quietly rejoined, tient response. She was in no mood to listen to what atsome other time might have amused her. ‘If itis money that you are after spare your- bou: uet girl. : 4 ow much money do you want?” “A hundred doliars will be enough now; I shall not need ae more,” Avise gave him the money at once. ‘Anything to rid me of that girl!” she cried. in desperation, perhaps edy Italian jogging along with downeast n
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_ —— : a Sani i hl i cll tae ts ase, ais ¥ 14 LE CHAPTER XXvV. A LEAF FROM HISTORY. By the time that the desperate, love-stricken ac- tress and the reckless Italian adventurer had ar- rived at an understanding, they were pretty near to the hotel which the Queen of the Blondes honored with her presence. With an imperious gesture Avise dismissed the ad- venturer. ‘You need not accompany me further,” she said; ‘we understand each other now. If you need more money come for it, and as an incentive to successful action I hereby promise you that within an hour after the marriage of this girl to your friend I will make you a present of five hundred dollars.” The girl was liberal; but what was money to her? She was making a thousand dollars a week and never dreamed that the time could come when her gains would be less. “Oh, rely upon me, signora!’’ the Italian, re- plied, promptly. ‘‘ Within a week, at the most, you shall rest tranquil. I know what I a-speak.” ' Avise hurried on, leaving the adventurer stand- ing upon the corner, waiting for his seedy friend to come “ip r : a A smile of satisfaction played around the thin lips of the Italian as he watched the graceful figure of the actress hurrying along in the gloom. “She is superb!” he murmured. ‘‘ Her mother was a grand woman, but she no hold a candle to zis girl! I have made my point! Zis lawyer, bah! imbecile! he wants time to reflect! Oh, no! I un- derstand him perfect. I rest tranquil. He wants time to see if he cannot beat me in some way. Let eee ay on; I am prepared. In strategy I am Napo- eonic!’’ The approach of the fat Italian cut short the med- itations of the scheming rogue. ** Aha! well?” grunted the noble colonel, his little eyes gazing anxiously after the actress. v4 friend, I have succeeded!’ the adventurer re- sponded to the interrogation. ‘‘ Fifty dollars have I received from her, and when you are married to ze girl I am to have a hundred more.” The fat rogue shook his head. “Tt is not enough, I am afraid.” “Why not enough? It isa great plenty.” F files shall need a coach to carry her off; a man 0 drive—”’ “Oh, no!’’ the tall Italian cried, quickly. ‘‘ You must drive ze coach. Diavolo! do wen a dozen? No; you will drive ze coach, I will attend to ze girl. We two will be all; there is nothing to pay but for ze coach.” The other grunted assent. ‘To-morrow I am to see ze lawyer again; after ze interview is over, I can tell when to strike ze blow. If I do not a-miss my guess ze time will soon come. We will get home now, allons.”’ And oe ear at eg coolly arranging the details of the plan as if the carrying off of ja a bos and ao less girl was a common, everyda; air, the two ad- venturers proceeded down Broadway. So busy were they in their conversation, so intent upon the scheme which was, if successful, to bring enormous wealth to them, that neither of the two noticed, in passing, a couple of swarthy-faced, poor- ly-dressed men standing, engaged in conversation, in a doorway. The men were partly concealed in the shadow of the doorway, not intentionally seeking to avoid con- versation though, but had merely stepped aside from the general promenade to enjoy their conversation without interruption. along in the full _ The two conspirators, cee a glare of the street lights, the tall exile: busily en- Believe me! other how certain they were of success in the scheme to forever imbitter a young girl’s life, could ee with outstretched finger in explaining to the F _ suppressed tones, pointing after the See ardly help attracting the notice of the two men in the door’s shadow. , And asthe brace of rascals passed, a single sen- tence coming from the lips of the tall adventurer fell distinctly upon the ears of the two within the oorway. **Diavolo! I tell you we cannot fail! the idea is grand! it is Napoleonic! A half a million of dollairs! aha! we can return to Italy and live like princes!” and the two passed on; the listeners heard no more. But one of them had heard quite gg Witha violent movement he grasped the other ny the arm. “Oh, saints in heaven! fortune is good to me at last!’ he cried. The speaker was a years, as his grizz] silver hairs amon locks: betrayed. more slender. “What is the matter, Pietro?’ the second man asked, astonished at the manner and words of the other. Both men spoke in Italian, and from the purity of their accent, it was plain they were men of education. “That man!” he cried, with angry gesture, but in race of plot- ut, brawny fellow, well on in : and the sprin of _his otherwise black and curli sS companion was younger an ting knaves. “Which one?’ “The tall one—the fiend in face and heart!’ ‘“ Well, what of him?” “ For seventeen years have I sought him—the mis- erable villain—but all in vain!” “Ts that possible?” the other cried, in amazement. “Yes; seventeen years ago,in Naples, he ruined all my life. It’s a long story and a bitter one, To- maso, my friend!” and the speaker ground his teeth in rage. “Why, Pietro, I never heard you speak of this ore, matter i “The Vilarni are a silent race; they bear and suf- ‘ef mW, a HE BOUQUET GIRL. fer without acry. You know that I was a patriot at ii and suffered for my opinions.” oe es, ’ “That man is the cause of all!’ “What, Castiglioni?”’ ** Aha! you know him!” the swarthy Neapolitan cried, eagerly. ‘*Yes, he lodges in the same house with me.” | “Aha! no need to track him to-night, then, since | [know where to find him to-morrow. And how calls he himself?” naam de Castiglione. And he once wronged you ” “Yes, most foully!’’ the other replied, bitterly ; “and by the blood of all the saints, 1 swear, my vengeance shall be as fearful and as complete as the ruin which he wrought!”’ . **You excite my curiosity; explain.” “You know the brotherhood in the old land to which we both belonged?” ‘“The Carbonari? yes!” “You were at Milan, I at a you remember how, seventeen years ago, Italy, that still felt the weight of the tyrant’s foot, was ripening to revolt. In Naples our brotherhood was very strong. At that time Iwas divided between two passions —a desire to free my native land and love for a fair girl, the daughter of a goldsmith whose shop was in the Grand square. The goldsmith himself a worthy man, Alphonso Cellini, was one of the chiefs of our brotherhood; his daughter looked with favor on me, and all seemed bright and fair. Then to Naples came a messenger from the Grand Circle of our brotherhood at Paris; he found shelter in Cellini’s house; he was a tall, dashy fellow, a man of wealth, it was said, who, for the sake of freeing Italy, had resolved to sacrifice every thing. Some- how I took a dislike to the man, at first sight, and never trusted him; but Cellini, honest soul, always accepted men at their own estimate, and _ his daughter, too, my heart’s idol, seemed strangely interested in this fluent stranger. I suspected that he was trying to displace me, but I resolved to bide my time, although ever on my guard against a blow from the malice of this French Italian, for I could plainly see that he hated me. The blow came at last, but in a different manner from what I had pce There was a traitor in our brotherhood, and we were all denounced to the police—the gold- smith alone excepted. For six long mont I languished in a dungeon, a miserable hole not fit even for a dog; then came the hour when the pow- ers of Europe bade Italy rise and take its place once again among the nations of the earth. From my dark cell I came forth into the world. I found that Cellini was dead, his daughter had married the stranger; he had robbed her of the wealth left by her father and had deserted her. I found her dying of a broken heart, and with her latest breath she revealed to me that the traitor who had be- trayed us was her husband—this man who has just passed,”’ CHAPTER XXVI. ENTRAPPED. Promptiy on the day appointed the Italian walked down Broadway to the lawyer's office. A peculiar look of distrust was upon his dark face; he was not at all easy in his mind; he did not put complete confidence in the lawyer and was very much in- clined to think that Captain Jack would overreach him if he possibly could. “But he will not do it, diavolo! no!’’ was the Italian’s fierce thought. “I am not a child to be fooled with! No! And he shall discover that if he tries it. Bah! the game is in my hands; nothing can prevent me from winning, no power above, be- low or anwhere!” But, despite this, it was plain the adventurer felt anything but confident. Inhis heart he was surely afraid the wily lawyer would be able to devise some aa to overreach him, and though he racked his rain to its utmost, he could not see how the thing could be done. Standing just within the entrance of the palatial ' ace where Leipper’s office was situated, he rapidly, his mind, scanned the battle-ground. “Tf he accepts, good! I come forward and swear to the identity of the child. If he refuse, good again, for then am Against my testimony she can get nothing; will he dare to try that? Bah! no! he would be one great fool for the sake of the leetle one hundred thousand dollairs to attempt to defy me. Diavolo! I cannot see one weak pemes in the whole case. Oh, no! he willnot dare! he will yield! he will say, politely, “My dear friend, rest tranquil! here is the one hun- ioe thousand dollairs; we want your testimony: not for ten times one hundred thousand dollairs make an enemy of yon! The matter is settled! With a grand wave of his hand, at this happy con- clusion, he 5 into the elevator and was rapidly borne skywa: ; and witha goats “ee and a face full of confidence, he marched into the lawyer’s apartment. : Captain Jack, as usual, was at leisure; the man never seemed to have anything else to do but to read newspapers. The Modoc of the law always did his work during the night hours; like the beasts of prey, whom he resembled sé much, by day he rested and by night he thrived. He glanced up carelessly from his newspaper as the Italian entered, nodded and waved his hand to- ward a chair. y “Help yourself to a seat,’ he said; ‘the party hasn’t arrived yet, but I expect him every minute.” The Italian had bowed in the dignified and elabo- rate manner peculiar to him upon entering the we left free to follow my own devices.. yer’s epee had bowed again, and proceeded to oc- pf the chair. : Japtain Jack resumed the perusal of his paper and the Italian sat in silence, watching the gradual progress of the sunbeams advancing over the car- pet, and ever and anon turning his eyes impatiently upon the face of the timepiece upon the mantle. Twenty minutes passed—twenty minutes which seemed to the impatient Italian almost like so many hours. Nosound broke the stillness which reigned within the apartment but the ticking of the clock and the rustling of the lawyer’s neWepAne: The Italian fidgeted nervously in his chair. To his sus- picious mind this delay boded no good. At last he could stand the suspense no longer.” “How think you?” he exclaimed, abruptly; ‘‘ will he no come soon?”’ ‘*Oh, yes, he ought to have been here an hour ago,” Captain Jack responded, just glancing up rsa his paper and immediately again resuming his reading. The Sika drummed upon his knee for a few minutes with his long, skinny fingers, his dark face darker than ever; he was more uneasy in mind than even his nervous manner expressed. Ten minutes more passed; the lawyer, busy with his newspaper, never even so much as cast a glance at his visitor. His visitor could restrain his impa- tience no rong “This gentleman—how do you a-call him? He will not come, I fear.” “Oh, yess he’ll come,” the lawyer replied, care- lessly; “no fear of that, although he ought to have been here an hour ago, He must have been detain- ed. He is generally full of business and probably something of importance has occurred to delay him.” And again Captain Jack turned to the news- Laper, but the Italian could keep quiet no longer. “Hah!” he exclaimed, abruptly ; ‘““how you call this gentleman you expect, eh?” ““Taxwill—Mortimer Taxwill; he is one of the executors of the estate.” ‘* And why must I see him, eh?” The adventurer was suspicious, “Simply because he holds the purse-strings; I couldn’t give you a cent in the premises, without he was willing, no matter how important I thought the matter was.” The Italian stared blankly at the wall before him for a few moments; it was plain that he did not like the idea of conferring with this stranger, who, ap- ee eh set little importance upon the appoint- ment. “Hah! I do not like it!” he cried, abruptly, for the suspicious soul of the adventurer now scented danger. ‘‘ Why should I wait for this man who no hurries himself to see me, eh?”’ ‘Well, you need hot wait if you don’t wish to,” was the decidedly caustic reminder. “Does he know the business upon which I come?” ‘“‘Oh, yes, I wrote him that you scid you had some important evidence in regard to this lost heir.” ** And yet he no come?” the adventurer demand- ed, in wonder, - , the fact of the matter is, he don’t care two cents aia the heir either one way or the other,” the captain explained. ‘‘He’d be glad to get the foe matter off his mind; it’s only a bother to ina: - “‘T shall not wait!’ the Italian cried, jumping to on ped “Diavolo! what have I to do with this man a a 2h 3 **Haven’t I told you that he has the entire control of t_e estate?” “Yes, yes, but what is that to me? It is not with ze estate that I would deal; itis with ze heir; it is she that must pay me my hundred thousand collairs; with me she will get ze property ; without me she will get nothing: do you not see?” and the Italian’s ae hae manner was peculiarly fierce. “Yes, but this gentleman has a most decided in- terest in the heir,” the lawyer explained. ‘ He is very anxious to have her get possession of the pro- ago for then his responsibility will be ended. He s fully convinced that she is Francesca Vendotena, and will leave no means untried to prove it.” “T will not wait longer!’ hissed the Italian, who now felt that he was in danger; some subtile in- stinct within his frame warned him that he was about to lose the game. “Oh, you had better wait.” “No, no, I will not!” ‘* Well, write what you will do, then,” the lawyer suggested. ; “Oh! no!’ retorted the adventurer, ‘‘ me no write! me know better. You write—write what you like! You no catch mein a a ¥ ‘Aha! you’re a cool hand—an old bird, eh?” laughed Captain Jack. ‘‘Ifancy that a man must get up precious early to catch you napping!”’ The Italian grinned; even a rogue is not averse to flattery. “Well, I'll just make a memorandum; that won’t commit you, you know.” ‘© Oh, yes, I know,” assented the schemer. The lawyer produced memorandum-book and pencil, proceeded to write: ‘For the sum of one hundred thousand dollars to you cash in hand paid, you will agree to come for- ward and swear that this Bouquet Girl is the lost heiress, Francesca Vendotena. “Yes, that is correct; for one hundred thousand dollairs I will swear that she is the heir.” ‘*But if the one hundred thousand dollars is re- fused?” F ; “Tf ze money is refused, then in ze open court will I_rise up when you present ze girl and I will say, ‘Most noble judge, you are a-deceived; this girl room, and after gathering the purport of the law- | is an impostor!’” ees ae i F sua) + “3 ald ond of an
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THE BOUQUET GIRL. “That is, if we pay you the moneys you will swear on our side, and if we don’t, you will go against us.” “That is it! You pay me, Iam for you; you no pay, Lam against you!” The lawyer had apparently been noting this all down, but in reality not a stroke had he made. When the Italian finished, Captain Jack raised his head and called out: ‘* Have you got it all down, Mr. Thomas?” And then the glass door behind the lawyer swung open and revealed that there had been two wit- nesses to this scene. CHAPTER XXVII. IMPORTANT INFORMATION. Dreary enough is the approach to the little New Jersey settlement known as Branchburg, coming at it from Long Branch. And the worthy private detective, tramping along through the hot sand in the full glare of the noon- day sun mentally wondered what could induce any one to live in such a region who could possibly live . anywhere else. he road grew narrower and narrower, becoming at last only a cow-track through the scrubby fir trees, and the wild vines, the sole product of the barren soil. “T must have taken a wrong turning somewhere,” the detective muttered, ‘‘ although they told me to _g0 straight on, and straight on I’ve come, turning peer to the right nor left, to the best of my know- le ze,” _ But this narrow path through the thick, scrubby timber seemed so unlike a highway that the de- tective, unused to the sand barrens, ‘‘the pines” of south-eastern New Jersey, felt sure that he had made some mistake and got into the wrong road that is if such a miserable lane could be dignified with the title of road. Pendalmock had come down from the city that Morning and at Long Branch had inquired the way, and being informed that it was only ashort distance had determined to walk over, being remarkably fond of pedestrian exercises, but when he encountered the sand he regretted that he had undertaken the task, and now apparently was lost in the wood. Just as he had made up his mind to go back to the last house which he had passed—for during the last half-hour houses had been few and far between —he heard a dog barking in the wood before him. “That iatiger a human habitation,” he muttered and so pushed on briskly. Just around a turn in the road was a little clear- ing, and in its ceuter a rude, unpainted house, more hut than cottage—stood. _ One ‘ native and to the manor born ’’ would have instantly detected from the outward appearances that the owner of the place was no white “ trucker,” as the small New Jersey farmer generally is, and to the wandering stranger a small sign-board, rudely ainted, stuck up on a tree by the roadside, bearing the inscription: ‘““WasHiIne & IRONING DONE HERE,” ho two of the letters alike, would have instantly sug- Sested a descendant of Africa’s burning clime. “By Jove! I believe I’ve struck the place after all!” Pendalmock exclaimed, as he marched up to the se, A sneaking “‘yaller’’ dog, with open mouth, came rushing out from behind the shanty, seemingly on war intent, but the brandished cane of the detective awed the brute, while the noise attracted the atten- tion of the owner of the shanty and a big, fat colored dame ,Stuck her head out of the door. W'at’s de matter wid you, boss?’ she queried, and then, catching sight of the portly figure of the well-dressed gentleman advancing toward the house, she was quick to define the situation. We don’t want anyt’ing, boss!” she cried with a Shake of the head; “ ‘fore de Lord, we ain’t got no money; we got all we want; we don’t know nuffin’ bout Sewing machines, an’ we can’t read, an’ you can’t sell us nuffin’, nohow!” The detective laughed; he saw that the woman was a character. You mistake the nature of my business, madam,” he replied, bowing as clitely as though he were ad- dressing a duchess. ‘I haven’t anything to sell, but amin search of a certain party. Can you direct me to the house of Mrs. Elizabeth Johnson?” The old woman looked astonished and for a mo- ment she stared, SPER MON Hes at the stranger; then suspicion took the place of astonishment. W’at’s de matter—w’at does yer want wid her?” She asked. f I merely wished to procure some information oa her, that is all,” the detective replied, urbane- Y; he had a suspicion that the colored dame was the gcd for she exactly answered the description that _ had received. a iformation—bout what, boss? ’Fore de Lord! a ee anyt'ing "bout anybody.” one yee she knows about this party. It’s a ra girl who used to live with Mr. Limowell, Miss aeclate a PA at whar she’s gone!"’ the negress you are Mrs.- ” “ How did ts. Johnson, then? v thg dame, rather inclined t3 be eifended, d alt ely guessed it, that’s all. But don’t be alarmed about this ; I don’t wish to know where the lad eauiny. come on behal: Pha %; F know all about that. IT colored woman demanded wee C **Oh, no; quite the conte “ An’ seg ain’t got nuffin’ to do wid dat ole scamp, Limowell?”’ ‘* Nothing at all.” ‘* Well den, boss, I guess I kin tell you—dat is, ef it’s gwine to do de leetle gal any good.” ‘*T have reason to believe that your information will be of a great deal of value to her.” yi Say, how did yer know dat I knowed any thing *bout her?’’ the negress importuned, the thought having, apparently, just occurred to her. “The lady herself believed that you knew some important facts concerning her.” : ““Bress de chile! She allers believed dat I brought her to dis yere place, but it wasn’t no sich t’ing.” ‘And do you know who did bring her?” ** Oh, yes DOBETs *deed I do!” “ And will you favor me with the information?” ‘“ Yes, sah,” replied the woman, promptly. ‘I’ve kept de hull t’ing jest as quiet as a mouse, but I ain’t a-gwine to, any Jonger. If it will do de leetle gal good to know all *bout it, ’se glad on it.” “Go ahead, and with your permission I'll just jot the facts down in my book as you relate them,” re eh said, producing his memorandum-book and pencil. “Say, boss!” cried the old woman, suddenly, “‘ dis }. ahi ting ain’t gwine to get me into any trouble, it 39 *- Oh, no, not at all.”’ small saloons in the middie of the block bounded by — Broome and Spring streets, where the confederate was then deep in a game of dominoes, but when his patron 4 put his head in at the door, the colonel ex- cused hi rself to his companions, and at once joined the adventurer. In the face of his swarthy leader he read that all had not gone well, “They refuse, hey?” he asked. . “They played a deep game; they laugh at me, diavolo! they defy me.’ ; ‘ “That is a-bad,” the other replied, in his stolid way. The noble colonel did not trouble himself much with thought; the elder adventurer always did the thinking for both. “There is nothing left for us, but to carry away Yes. : Pig we must not let the grass grow under our eet.” ; “No, we must not,” the colonel repeated, like an inquiringly at Leipper. ‘“‘He 2 ze oO. “Tt must be done to-night, You have seen about the carriage?” . “Yes; ten dollairs it will cost.” “Tt is dear.” ““No less would Taddeo take; he know that it is for no good purpose we want it; he says, ‘S’pose y from his native land on account of nu- | i z 1 ‘ .
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416 a __ police catch you, then trouble will I have to get my : / own ain.”? ~ And what did you say?” “JT lauzh and say, ‘ Police! what have we to do with police?’ He say, ‘I do not know, but it will be ten dollars, no less.’ ” “Ah, weil; we can a-pay it.” Before nightfall all needful arrangements had been made, and the conspirators waited but for the mantle of darkness to enable them to carry out their scheme. And when the city clocks struck nine, the plotters, with their coach, were on the ground, ready to abduct the unsuspecting girl. ae fy AN t CHAPTER XXTX. A FOUL OUTRAGE. “Nive o’clock, diavalo!” cried the adventurer, angrily, as he listened to the sound of the bells. ‘‘Is it so late, then?’’ “Tt is nine,’’ the colonel assented, in his stolid way. “And ze young man—ze actor, Craige, comes soon after nine; we have no time to lose; we must be uick or els? we shall have our labor for our pains. must insnare our bird, at once.” The carriage was drawn up to the curbstone just below the old tenement-house, the horses’ heads facing toward Hester streot. The colonel was on the box all muffled up and striving to appear as much like a regular driver as ; possible. he adventurer had descended to the a sidewalk. “T will proceed at once,” he said; “turn you ze horses around and drive right up in front of ze door; then jump down and be ready to assist me— ready to place yourself between us and ze corner, so that no one can see me place ze girl in ze coach. Ege aa keep you your head and we shall not i ail. q Then the Italian marched into the old brick bar- racks, while the colonel proceeded to carry out his instructions. Straight up the stairs walked the Italian until he arrived at the door of the apartments occupied by the old Irishwoman with whom the Bouquet Girl had found refuge. Upon his arm the adventurer carried a heavy gray traveling shawl, and in his hand was a smalls ve The Italian seemed to possess the catlike facult of seeing in the dark, for the gloom that reigned preme within the entry did not appear to discon- cert him in the least. hen he arrived at the door. _... he paused, listened for a moment, then took a small _ bottle from his pocket and poured the contents upon the sponge. A strong, subtile odor filled the damp and murky tmiosphere, at which the Italian shook his head. ‘She will smell this—she cannot help it; ah! but she suspect? Oh, no! it is not probable.” t was a bold game the adventurer was playing. d now at the eleventh hour his heart began to fail him; he felt a doubt of success, so hesitated to | knock. “Tf I am caught it is ze State Prison,” he mur- mured; “but for what doT play? A half a million of dollairs! Is if not worth ze risk?” With a desperate effort he screwed his courage to the sticking point and knocked at the door. His design was a simple one—to pretend to the girl that he had some important information to com- municate regarding Mr. Craige; swear that the young actor was in danger; entice her out into the entry under the pretense that his information was so 5 important that it must not be overheard by any one; and then, when once the door was closed, the sponge saturated with chloroform and the heavy shawl must , rform their offices. ; , + ie had little fear that the old Irishwoman in per- ms a might interfere with his plan, but if she took the ae % , ber eries would arouse, the neighborhood, and , then ‘‘good-by ” to all hope of success. In obedience to his summons the door opened and the Bouquet Girl appeared in person. | Hush, signora!” cried the Italian, mysteriously; Sy pa ‘“ betray BoP no sign of surprise!’ To Serve you rr come. That noble young man, ze Signor Craige— ' he is in great danger; you can save him, but no one ~ alse in ze wide world must know that in ze matter I have a hand, as it may cosh a-me my life! Please step you outside and then to you I will explain; ze ; lady inside must not hear,” rank dreamed of no danger—had no thought of evil. ‘‘'The lady is out at present, so speak freely; no one can overhear you,” she said, at once. The name of Craige was the open-sesame to her con- fidence. . And then, in the heart of the scheming Italian, came a great thrill of joy. Success seemed certain. ._.* Ah, signora, if you will have ze kindness to per- Init me to enter,”’ he said, bowing humbly. ~ “ Certainly.” _ And as the Bouquet Girl turned half around, came the villain’s opportunity. He seized the unsuspect- ing girl in his vise-like grasp. One broad hand he _ placed upon her mouth, thus stifling any attempt to alarm the house; with the other hand he applied the + a saturated with the potent drug, to her nos- ri it, *% —Y S. ; _ He held her against his breast, so that it was al- most impossible for her to move. Tn vain she strove to resist the effects of the pow- erful drug, for now, too late, she fully realized that she was the victim of a terrible outrage, but the firm _ hard pressed over her mouth, and the sponge ap- plied directly to her nostriis cut off the supply of air, and, resist as she might, nature was yielding. Her senses began to reel; her breath came thick and heavy; all around her grew suddenly dark, and then a great wheel, throwing a vast shower of brill- 4 . F ag ‘ he hl ” THE BOUQUET GIRL. ' iant sparks, seemed to revolve within her brain; the wheel burst and all was darkness. The droopiig head, the light, helpless form, only kept from sinking prone upon the floor by the pow- erful arms of the adventurer, revealed to him that the girl was wholly in his power, No time was to be lost, for the old Irishwoman might return at any moment; then, too, it was near- ly time for Craige to make his appearance. Sustaining the unconscious form with one of his strong arms, he folded the shawl carefully around her, and then, raising the girlin his arms, her iden- tity almost completely concealed by the heavy muf- fler, he prepared to descend. First he carefully closed the door of the apart- ment, so that the entryway was again wrapped in utter darkness, and then rapidly turned down the stairs. “ Diavolo!”? he muttered; ‘it will not be well for any one to attempt to stop me now,forIam des- perate! I play for a great stake, and I mean to win at any cost!” Fortune—fickle jade! favors the brave, they say; and also the desperate, too, for in this case the | Italian succeeded admirably in his risky attempt. He ponte the street door without encountering a soul. In obedience to orders, the colonel had the coach- door open, and stood ready to assist his leader. “Up to ze box and drive off!’’ the leader ex- claimed, as he advanced with his burden. Not a soul was within sight, excepting the Beenie passing by on Grand street, at the corner; and of course, at such a distance, in the darkness, no dan- ger was to be apprehended from them. The colonel climbed to the driver’s seat as fast as his clumsy limbs would permit, but, before he had ot the reins fairly in his hand, the principal, with is helpless burden, was safely ensconced within the coach with the door snugly closed. The colonel started the horses, and the brutes, ugly, clumsy animals, struck into a lumbering trot. own the street they went, and turned into Grand, and as the coach rolled past Center Market, the keen-eyed Italian, ever on the watch, detected the tall, manly figure of the young actor, Craige, evi- dently proceeding to his home. ‘By all the devils below!” cried the Italian, draw- ing a long breath, “but this has been a narrow shave. Five minutes more—three minutes even— and he would have caught me coming out of ze house. And what then?” he cried, sinking back upon the seat and clutching at the air with his ner- vous fingers. ‘*‘ Would I have a-let him rob me of ze prize? No, no, no! not while this hand can wield a dagger!’ CHAPTER XXX. THE HAUNTED CELLAR. Tur carriage did not proceed directly to the lair of the Italians, but took a roundabout course. This was done in order to baffle pursuit if any prying eye had been attracted to the coach. Through Grand street to Broadway they went, up Broadway to Spring street, through Spring to Crosby, directly t the dingy, two-storied brick house where the abductor occupied apartments, but did not stop. The route had been carefully arrang- ed beforehand, and the object of driving past the house was to see if the coast was clear. The street was dark, almost deserted; fortune indeed seemed to favor the vile. : Straight around the block they drove until they came cag: in front of the house; then the colonel halted the horses; the man within descended from the coach with the insensible girl in his arms and entered the house. The two men occupied the basement floor, en- trance to which was gained by a passage under the front stoop. ; The moment the Italian and his precious burden disappeared under the stoop, the colonel drove off: so as not to excite suspicion. 7 So far the plot had succeeded admirably; the Bouquet Girl was in their power, and the abduction had excited no suspicion. Hey ne had been carefully arranged, the door to the basement was unlocked, also the door leading from the entry to the front basement. Within the room a coal-oil lamp, the wick turned down, afforded a dim light. The two rooms were scantily furnished; a couple of chairs, an old table, two rude bunks arranged up- on the floor, some dilapidated dishes, and that was all. : Rather an insecure prison-house for the captive girl, one would be tempted to exclaim, ess | that the two front windows, although closely barre by heavy shutters, looked right out upon the street, and that a single ery—a woman’s shrill scream— would be certain to alarm the neighborhood. But the Italian had thought of all this; he was playing for a heavy stake and had arranged to win. Below the basement was a cellar—a dark, deep, unwholesome pit, never used by the occupants of the house, for the landlord had not only locked and nailed up the door which led to it; but had absolute- ly taken the stairs away, thus cutting off all access to the underground region, Maga Good reason had the thrifty Italian who owned the house for thus acting. Within the narrow walls of the little house some ten families were huddled, a aay to every room, all Italians, and the poorest of the poor, and so it had been for the last few years— in fact, ever since the Italian had bought the house; and among these families had been many despairing souls, and when the yoke of poverty had pressed too hardly upon their necks, down into the dark recesses of the cellar they had gone and ended their wretched lives with wn hands, PR ie + on} 7 Ke, The house began to get an evil name; the super- | stitious foreigners declared that the unqtiet spirits | gradu | of the men who had so wantonly rushed into the oe of their Maker, haunted the cellar; tenants ge to move out and seek other quarters. n fact, so widely had the evil reputation of the cellar extended that total strangers to the house, but all Italians though, weary of life, stole into the fatal vault, and there, with their despairing hands, solved the problem of existence by ending it. No use to lock the door; these weary, reckless souls forced the portal open, and so, in a rage, at last the landlord not only nailed the door up as firm- ly as wood and metal would permit, but took, away the stairs bodily. , These stringent measures had the desired effect, and the wretched men who were weary of life, sought plane for suitable places to shuffle off the mortal coil. Acquainted with allthe particulars regarding the vaults below, all access to which had been so care- fully cut off, the busy mind of the Italian at once perceived how suitable a place it would be to keep the girl securely. Once she was safein the cellar little danger that she could either escape or succeed in Myer oe alarm. e thing was to gain access to the cellar. The two men had formerly occupied a room in the garret, but when the adventurer formed the plan to abduct the girl, he thought of the haunted excava- tion, so securely closed to all the world; no better . place to hide the girl away could possibly be found, And, as luck would have it, the two basements over the cellar were unoccupied. He at once set to work Pees Aa he hired the front basement and the colonel the back one; this was done so as not to excite suspicion, which might have been raised if one man had taken both rooms. The basements secured, the next thing was to cut a trap-door in the floor and construct arude ladder so as to get into the vault. This was not a hard task, and was soon accomplished. The cellar was damp and unwholesome, and as dark as Egypt, but all this was so much the better for the Italian’s purpose. He had an idea in his’ head which, developed into action, he fondly fancied would prevent the girl from attempting to alarm the neighborhood. ; At the back of the subterranean apartment a par-- tition had been run across, and inside of that, at right angles, another partition, thus forming two small rooms, formerly devoted to coal and wood. High ne in the wallin each of these apartments: there had been a small window. These apertures. for air and light the Jandlord had boarded up when he had resolved to isolate the vault from all the world, but, as the poor tenants in the house were. continually wrenching off the boards for firewood, he had finally bricked up the window-spaces solidly. One of the little rooms had a good strong door to it, and the wily Italian at once pitched upon this. apartment as the prison-pen for the girl. Removed as it were from the noise of the street, and with only about six inches of the top of the back wall abutting on the yard, and that wall a eb solid one, it would be almost impossible for the girl to uess that she was still in the midst of busy, bustling ew York. Upon the floor of the wood-room a rude bed had been spread. A chair and a table comprised the rest of the furniture. : To render the door secure, the Italian had affixed two stout bolis to the outside, one at the top, the other at the bottom. A lantern, t:o, he had pro- vided, and a hook, attached to a beam in about the center of the cellar, whereon to swing it. The door which led from the entry-way into the basement he had provided with strong locks and stout bolts; in fine, no measure of precaution had been neglected. Straight into the front basement the adventurer bore the girl, locked the door securely behind him, a her upon one of the rude pape spread upon he floor, and then tuaned up the other, revealing the line of the trap-door beneath. Thus he had con- cealed the trap from any prying eyes. The trap open, the gloom vault below, illuminated only by the single lig t of the lantern, was revealed. Raising the light re of the girl carefully in his strong arms, the Italian descended the ladder, and then, when he had gained the floor below, he pro- ceeded to deposit his precious burden in the narrow room which his craft had provided for her. He placed her upon the rude couch, removed the shaw! which had been carefully wrapped around her head, and then, fetching the lantern, which he stood upon the table, he proceeded to carefully examine the condition of the unconscious prisoner. Quiet as the inmate of a tomb, the Bouquet Girl lay. At the first glance the Italian believed that she was dead. “Diavolo!” he cried, in consternation; “if I have killed her all ze fat is in ze fire! Was ze drug too strong? Oh, no! Ihaveused more than that before; but perhaps she is weaker than I thought. She may have been afflictetl with heart-disease; if so, ze drug might produce a fatal effect. If she is dead, then am 1 a cheated man.” No word of oity for the girl—no regret for the perpetrate of the foul outrage; only an oath and a itter thought that the half a million of “ dollairs ”’ would escape him, after all his trouble. But his apprehension was unfounded; the girl was not dead, and slowly, little by little, the color came back to her face. é CHAPTER XXXT. . . THE ITALIAN’S SCHEMES. otent effects of the powerful drug were y passing away, and the Italian gloating THE a afi i aden y) Yee Ary
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—_ Over the prostrate form of his victim—as the malig- nhant-eyed Faust might have gloated over the help- less soul, lost to virtue and destined for fires eternal —saw that she would soon wake to consciousness. “Tt is gooti” be murmured. ‘I was a-sure that I did not make ze dose too strong. To kill-her now— to see her die at ze very, moment of victory—oh, no! that would be too terrible a blow! She must live— live to give me my share of that half million of dollairs. The pale lips of the girl moved convulsively, and a low sigh escaped from between the pearly teeth. ‘*She will soon open her eyes, and then—what then, ha?’ mused the Italian. “ Will she cry out? will she scream, or will she accept her fate and rest tranquil?” The questions would be answered in a few min- utes, for already the victim was beginning to recover her senses, _ Slowly the dark eyes opened and stared in aston- | ishment about. The effect of the subtile drug still ‘lingered, and for a few moments the girl’s mind refused to work with its usual clearness; but, little by little the truth flashed upon her; back to her mind came the memory of what had transpired in the old tenement-house. She remembered the Message of the Italian, the violent assault, and the na oo of the potent drug to her nostrils. he Bouquet Girl was quick-witted, and now that her mind had regained its customary clearness she 4 comprehended all that had Bopnenes. She glanced around her; the dim light cast by the lantern fully revealed the narrow compass of her prison-house; and the lank figure of the Italian, gazing down upon her with the hollow, insincere Stamm to his face, betrayed the pitiless ailer, “You haye recovered from your illness—ah! my dear child! in my heart I ery aloud with gladness!"’ exclaimed the abductor, perceiving that the girl was in full possession of her senses, ‘Permit me to assist you to a-rise!”’ He advanced to her side; the girl accepted the peared arm, although she shuddered at the con- ct, The Italian noticed the convulsive movement. ‘You are a-cold!” he eried. ‘A hundred thou- Sand pardons that I have no better place to offer you, but I am a-poor; what can I do? We cannot Conquer fortune, therefore we must be content.” He. assisted the girl to the chair placed by the ble upon which the canteen stood. ‘Rest you there, my own stricken deer; rest tranquil; do not fear; your farder will protect you against all ze world.”’ ., Why have you Srougak me here, and where am 1?” Prank asked, gazing fearfully at the dark, damp Walls that surrounded her. ‘““Tf you remember, my child, I came to tell you of Mistar Craige; no sooner did his name a yee than it seemed like one great cannon-ball to strike you to ze heart; you turned pale—you tottered—you cried in accents wild, ‘I die, I die!’ and upon your gentle frame delirium did seize. What was I to do? Ou was my child! Was Ito stand there like aman of marble ‘and see you a-suffer? Oh, no! the feel- ings of a farder that throb here in my heart forbid it! I determined to bear you away; I had this shel- ter/to offer you, miles away from ze great city where you were in danger, Ah, my child—my dear child, here is one grand plot against you.” Against me?” The sentence came mechanically from the lips of the girl, for she did not believe a Single word that came from the lips of the adventur- er, one statement alone excepted. He might speak truth wher. he said that she was many miles away from the city, for since the interview in the tene- Mment-house hours seemed to have passed. The girl little dreamed that thirty minutes would have cov- ered the entire time. Yes, my dear child, against you,” the Italian re- peated. ‘But do not fear; with my life will I pro- tect you. This Mistar Craige, he do a-love you much, but he is like all ze Americans; he love money more. That stage woman, ze actress, who did a-come to see you ze other night; she is beautiful, rich; Mistar Craige cannot resist ze temptation; to her he is about to be married. He would deceive you, my child; he would not let you know this; he would swear great oaths that he loves you and you alone, and all ze time he would be ze husband of ze other woman; and she is jealous—as jealous as ze er cat; she know that while you live her husband will ae love you; she make up her mind that She must kill you; she hire bravoes; they are .to watch your steps and some time in ze dark stab you to ze heart. But do not fear, my child—my angel daughter; rest tranquil! your farder will pro- ct you. Here you will be safe; no one can find y a and as soon a3 you are a-ready, I, your farder, 8ive you a protector whose very look will make ‘he tN tenet off.” irl stared at this strange speech; she neither elieved nor understood it, : ; note eign had only paused to take breath and to of his speech, and reeiving that the Saas at widerment, did HOt inferpone any ob- @ = wax in his ha oF into the belief that she would ou are a great hei ild,”’ ued; “ze rogue & : eyeeiress, my child,’ he contin- all would a-rob awyers, 28 thieves of executors, T—he stand by ane he aoe farder—that man am not see you robbed. Per- ; but it is a-look into my face does ated tk ek 6 arms?” e . tude, and opened his arms thease oh Tush into them; her heart did Jia ‘ not respond; no secret spring of love within her breast was touched by the appeal, and so she mere- ly shook her head. The Italian was disappointed, but he took it all as a matter of course. ** Ah, well, in time ze love will come,” he said, with a shrug of the shoulders. “ You know that you are a great heiress?” ‘Yes, so they say but I do not know it; Ido not know eatning at all about my birth or | pereneee “Butl know it, my child; I know ze facts. Look well at me, pehold! Iam ze farder of ze heir —I am Antonio Vendotena.” The girl. was surprised at this declaration, for of course she was now well acquainted with the par- ticulars of the life of the wayward son of the old confectioner. The man fully answered the description; but, like all the rest to whom the Italian had declared him- self, she was incredulous. “Yes, and you, my child, are Francesca Vendo- tena; you are ze heir to all ze large property; a half a million of dollairs, ha! is that not a fine sum? and part should come to me; it is my right, for am I not my farder’s son? This lawyer—how call you a-him? —Leipper—yes! he ae he will pay me nothing; but now, my child, I have you; a husband I have provided for you—my noble friend Colonel del Fras- cati; and when you are married, with me and your husband this cunning lawyer must deal, or else go without ze heir. Then, too, I have another leetle iron in ze fire, and when it gets hot enough, with it I gives this cunning rascal of a lawyer a poke. Listen ou to me; I have another child; she is here in New ork, she is named Francesca, too; ze will says: to my granddaughter, Francesca Vendotena, it does not say which Francesca. I tell ze second Francesca to ca — ze lawyer and claim her rights. He will be glad tomake terms with me when he finds that there is another claimant. Oh,Iam_ Italian born, but Iam a match for these American rogues!” The unfortunate girl had listened in horror to this speech; death would be infinitely preferable to such a fate as he had marked out for her. “Rest tranquil!” the Italian exclaimed, turning to depart, and taking the lantern in his hand; ‘“‘ we will win ze half a million of dollairs, after all.’ “Oh, do not leave me in this dreadful place!” the girl cried, tnplerinely. “Do not fear! No one will harm you here. I will hang ze lantern up outside, so that you will have light, and so that no one will get in to trouble you, my child; I will lock ze door securely.”” And the Italian at once proceeded to do so. The girl listened to the grating of the key in the lock and the shooting home of thé heavy bolts, in silence, but with a despairing heart. She felt that words were useless, ‘ : CHAPTER XXXII. A VALUABLE WITNESS, Durine the morning which succeeded the one whereon the interview between Captain Jack and the Italian had taken place, with the result of send- ing the adventurer away completely beaten at all oints, Taxwill had taken occasion to drop into the awyer’s office, apparently to ask if any thing more had been heard regarding the baffled Italian, but in reality for a different purpose, although even keen- witted Captain Jack never suspected that the specu- lating gentleman had any deep purpose in view when he asked a few careless questions in regard to how soon the Vendotena matter would be brought Nie ee courte. ; : i) 9 ‘: ‘Immediately,’’ was Leipper’s reply; ‘‘ we might as well have the matter settled now as to wait. I suppose you won’t object to taking your ‘rake’ as soon as possible?” “Oh, no, the sooner the better; the market has been going against me the last few days and the sooner I can get my hands upon that little sum we named the better.” “Tt won't take long to settle it, and as for the Ital- ian, we'll hear no more from him.”’ ; The executor then withdrew, apparently fully sat- isfied. Hardly had the lawyer settled himself down in his chair, and recommenced the perusal of one of the be newspapers, when a tall, gaunt, elderly man, shabbily dressed, and bearing quite plainly upon his face the marks of dissipation, walked into the room. The lawyer, imagining the new-comer to be one of the seekers after assistance who pester the business men so much in our great cities, laid aside his paper with a gesture of impatience. “Leipper and Leipper?” asked the stranger, in a husk voice. es. “ Head of the firm?” “ Yes ” “You're the man I want to see, then,” and the stranger coolly helped himself to a chair, drew it up close to where the lawyer sat, and laid his nervous, shaking finger on the knee of the other. Sf ne danger of being overheard?” “ oO. “Well, I’m the man you want to see, I guess. You advertised for me in the Hera/d some time ago. I was obliged to keep shady just then, on account of a little trouble I got into—stuck a knife in a man when I had too much _apple-jack aboard; they thought he would die, soI had to keep out of sight, for we hang murderers over in Jersey; but now the man is out of danger, and I coneluded to risk a visit to you. My name is Lysander Limowell.” } The lawyer stared; he was taken completely by surprise, for he had concluded that the ming old Jerseyman, who had plotted so s 1 g old Vendotena’s half a million into his family, had gone the way of all flesh, ng ago. mo The old man comprehended the cause of the law- yer’s astonishment at once. “Oh, I’m the man, and I know what you want; it’s about the Vendotena affair.” “Yes, but why didn’t you come forward before?” **Don’t I tell you that it would have been risking my neck?” the old man responded, gruffly. ‘ And what dol care about the matter, anyway? I can’t make anything out of it unless you choose to pay me for my information, that is if I can give you any, and I’m not sure that I can.” “Oh, yes, there’s no doubt but what you can as sist me a great deal, and of course I wi <i ally for information.” “Go ahead; what do you want to know?”’ “In regard to the heir, Francesca Vendotena; she was born in your house?” “Yes, and brought up by me; no difficulty to prove that.” ““Where is she now?” ‘*That’s more than I can tell you, When she was seventeen years old she ran away one night, leav- ing Seth) ehind saying that she had gone to be married.” ** And whom did she marry?” “Don’t know anything about it. I always had an idea, though, that the other girl who lived with me—a beggar’s brat that I took in out of charity— knew all about it, Lut she would never own up to it.” ‘* And what was the name of this girl?” “Francesca Blakey,’ and the battered-up old scamp chuckled, as he uttered the name. “Another Francesca!” said the lawyer, slowly and just a little ef. gk pe The declarations of the old man had utterly destroyed the fabric which he had so carefully reared upon the base of the Bou- quet Girl being the long lost heir; but now, Limo- well had appeared—a witness whose evidence would be conclusive. “Oh, yes; it was all a little game of mine,” the aged. Lysander remarked. ‘‘ You see, I entrapped Antonio Vendotena into a marriage with my daugh- ter—you perceive I speak frankly about the matter, for deceit will do no good now. The scamp hadn't the slightest idea of marrying her, but, she was a little fool for ali her pretty face, and believed every word that the fellow said. I expected the old man would be reconciled, in time, and after the birth of the daughter I felt sure of it. The child was weak and sickly; I was afraid that it was going to die, and then I knew that would end the whole thing. This was when the infant was about a year-and-a-half old, | just after the mother’s death. And just at this time, when I was repel afraid that the child would die, this other girl, then an ivfant six or eight months old, was left in a basket at the door of my house. A bright idea flashed upon me; the new baby—a girl, too—was a strong, robust, little thing, _ and so near like my caughter’s baby in looks that the two could hardly be told a; ; ese by the size. I took the baby to my wife and told her my idea, which was to keep the fact of the baby being left at the door a secret from every one, and then, if the heiress died, we could substitute the other. It was a capital idea, but as it happened it wasn’t need- ed, for both babies lived and thrived. Still, I didn’t know what might happen, so I kept beth, named them alike and dressed them alike, so that it would have P steec anybody to have told which was the true Francesca, Well, to bring matters to a focus, as I told you, the real Francesca ran away and got married, I suppose; I tried to find out something about her, but didn't succeed. In the meantime my wife had died, and I had made np my mind to marry this foundling girl, Francesca the second; Blakey I called her, and said that her mother was a distan relative of my wife, but the little fool didn’t have — sense enough to see that it would be a good thing for her, and so she cleared out one dark night, and a day or two after I got into this scrape that I told you about, and had to make myself scarce,” An idea occurred to the lawyer during this recital; the Jerseyman was evidently not over and above scrupulous and he might be bought. ‘““Well, I’ve got hold of the heiress.” “ee Yes,’ ‘‘Only from her story I gather that she is Frances- ca No. 1.” * Anal”? “You’re a man of business; how much money would induce you to go upon the witness stand and swear that girl No, 2 is girl No, 1?” Crary The old man chuckled; this was a device right after his own style. j “Five thovsand dollars, and I'll put the evidence so strong that there isn’t a criminal Jawyer in the world who can shake it on a cross-examination.” “ All right; you shall have the money.” ‘And so that little spit-fire bas turned up again, and she’s going to win the big stake after all?” the old man soliloguized. ‘‘ Well, she luoks enough like the mother with her dark eyes and light hair.’ * “Tight hair!’ cried Leipper in astonishment; “why she hasn’t got light hair.” “Yes she has; I guess I ought to know! It’sa sort of a golden-red!”’ the old scamp cried stoutly. _ “The girl’s hair is jet-black |” i “By the jumping jingo! you're swindled then, for neither one of the girls had dark hair.” And then, to the mind of Leipper came the face of the girl whom, like a spirit, he had twice encounter- ed. She was the true rancesca after all! CHAPTER XXXII. THE BARRIER BETWEEN. ORAIGE, upon returning to the tenement-house, was somewhat astonished to find the rooms unlock- ed and tenantless, but, concluding that the women- g e x wf et = am aie i c pay liber- ae 4
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Oo —— : “twenty dollars for a man like you, @ is _ good figure, good face, as good @ voice as I ever * . 18 d she remembered onl at ; wy 4 ¢ re folks had gone out on some errand, and -had neg- lected to lock the door, he sat down to wait their return. In about half an hour Mrs. Hoolihan came in, and was considerably amazed upon hearing from Craige that he had found the door unlocked and the Bou- quet Girl missing; but of course, though both of the two thought it strange that Frank should go out without leaving word, neither one suspected that anything had happened to her. But as the hours passed slowly away and the Bouquet Girl came not, apprehension began to take possession of them. Craige, knowing the scheme of the lawyer regard- - ing her, thought perhaps that she had gone away with him—that some necessary point in the game was to be made and that absence from home was re- uired; but still he couldn’t understand why she should go away without leaving word. No steps to ascertain the truth could be taken that night, of course; and so, until the morning, both the old woman and the young man were doomed to be the prey of anxiety. As soon as possible in the morning, as the laws of business would permit, Craige sallied down town to the office of Captain Jack and asked the lawyer if he could give him the address of the Bouquet Girl. Leipper, ecg ba somewhat surprised that his acting on the lady’s behalf should be known so soon, at once gave the young actor the number of the old house in Baxter street, and Craige, a keen observer, instantly saw that the lawyer was not con- cerned in the Po *s absence, but believed that she was still a resident of the Baxter street house. What to do the actor knew not; but he hurried home at once, expecting to find that the girl had re- turned in the meantime; but it was not so, nor had the ee Mrs. Hoolihan, in her inquiries around the neighborhood, been able to gain the least intelli- gence of the missing girl. No one had either seen or heard of her. Business called the actor to the theater at twelve, noon; it was salary-day, and he resolved after visit- ing the theater to callin at the police headquarters in Mulberry street, and ask advice of the sage con- servators of the public peace. He reached the theater about a quarter before twelve, and having occasion to visit his pecan room, having left his penknife carelessly on the she of his dressing place, he entered the k door of the theater, and passing down the mes ape running parallel with the stage, came face to face with the person he least desired to see—the blonde buriesque queen, Avise Winne, The passage-way was illy lighted, but even in the semi-gloom, Craige could not help noticing the smile of joy which lit up the handsome face of the actress upon encountering him. “Ah, is that you, Mr. Craige?’’ she exclaimed. ‘“Have you received your salary yet? It’s ready for ou. I’ve just come from the front of the house; I've been © my ‘reward of merit!’” And as she spoke Avise displayed a huge roll of bills crumpled up in her white and jeweled hand. The blonde queen felt in unusual good spirits. The hawk-like ian had hovered around the front of the theater until he had managed to gain speech with Avise, and he had impa: to her the agree- able information that her rival, the hated yet feared ig Girl, was safely removed from her path and would never again trouble her. Little wonder, then, that reckless Avise Winne’s spirits were at fever heat. “I’m much obliged; I'll go round presently,” Craige replied. He always treated this blonde beauty with the ut- most politeness, and so succeeded in keeping her at a distance. There was a great difference between this man and the common run of stage-players, and the bur- lesque queen felt it. “ y, e way, Mr. Craige,’’ she said, keeping her position right in the center of the narrow passage- way so that it was impossible for the young man to get through until she moved, ‘‘how long does your engagement here last?”’ ‘Until the end of the summer season, I suppose; there was no definite time fixed; I am subject to a week’s notice at any time, I presume.” “They don’t give you the chance here that you ought to have—a man of your talent!’’ she said, ab- ruptly, her ee sparkling, and every nerve within her frame quivering with excitement. Never betore had the young actor seen the girl so free of speech, and he v onlered at it, although he could not help feeling coi fused at the open compli- ment. Craige little suspected that in celebration of the excellent week’s business there had been cham- pagne freely opened in the private office of the the- ater, and that the young girl had partaken thereof; the wine had made her forget her maidenly reserve, e passion that burned thin her veins. - “Oh, I can’t complain,” ee poets strangely mbarrassed, and yet not kno how to withdraw rom the awkward situation. “ And the salary, too!’ she continued, ‘‘a paltry ‘ood dresser, eard—and I’ve been on the stage ever since I was a baby—and you can act, too; 1 know what acting is, although they do say that I can’t act, but I draw the money, though; they can’t get over that!’ And avery queen indeed looked the girl as she tossed her beautiful head in triumph. ‘You must be pleased at the business,” the young actor remarked, endeavoring to turn the conversa- tion, which was altogether too personal in its nature to be pleasant, é THE BOUQUET GIRL. “Twenty dollars a week for you, and that ugly, cast-iron fraud at the Fifth Avenue gets a hundred they say. I tell you what itis, Craige, I'll give you | a chance to show what you can do: you shall go with me as ‘leading man.’ I'll give you ahundreda week | and pay all your expenses; they say that I can’t act, but I’ll show them that whether I can or not, I can draw money in Skakspeare as well as in the bur- lesques.” ere was a tempting offer indeed, and yet the face | of the young actor crimsoned as he listened to it; ess a § the gloom concealed his confusion. Full well he knew the price that he must pay for the osition; the blonde burlesque queen was trying to uy the love that she despaired of winning freely. “Come, you'll accept, won't you?” and Avise’s clear voice trembled as she spoke. ‘*T regret that I cannot,’ he said, slowly, for a thankless, ungracious task he felt was before him. ‘“Why not?” and the actress turned red and white as she put the question. ‘““T am afraid to try such a position; I am not equal | to it; I should fail.” “Oh, T'll risk that!” “But I dare not ” ? For a few minutes there was silence; there were tears in Avise’s brilliant eyes, and as for Craige, he wished that he was a hundred miles away. ‘Be my business-manager, then; go with me and attend to the money in front of the house; you are a gentleman—you are honest; you willsee that I am not robbed.’ “IT cannot,” Craige replied, finding that he must speak. “I am going leave the stage and the stage life altogether as soon as I can.” “Oh, you despise us,”’ the actress observed, with bitter accent. ‘I heard that you did, but I did not believe it!” “T do not despise any honest laborer in any voca- tion,” the young man replied, gently, ** but the stage life is not the life for me.” . ““And when you marry you will be too proud to marry an actress, eh?” exclaimed Avise, her pride coming to her aid. “No, not too proud; but I will seer own that there are few women on the stage, that I have met with, whom I would like to marry. The stage is not the school to train a wife properly. After the glare and glitter of the footlights, and the intoxication of Boge ar applause, the quiet home life will seem dull and drear.’ ‘*T am much obliged for the information!” and Avise swept past him with the air of a tragedy ueen. if That night Craige received his discharge. Oh, these women! so mean sometimes in their revenge! CHAPTER XXXIV. AN UNEXPECTED DISCLOSURE. Tue evening’s performance had ended and the green curtain had fallen on the closing tableau of the burlesque. Avise not only sick at heart, but weary with the exertions of the night, for it is no ‘ed to dance through two mortal hours of a bur- esque with the thermometer at ninety in the street and nearly a hundred in the gas-lit theater, no matter how easy the task might appear to the delighted auditor in front, who lustily applauds the weary artists and insists on an encore of the song or dance, whichever it may be, that happens to tickle his fancy. The blonde queen, now radiant in the paint, the owder, and the various devices common to a espian life, which, hightened by the glamour of the mystic footlights, make a plain girl look pretty, and transform a handsome, showy one into a be- witching creature only a little less than an angel, roceeded with languid steps directly to her dress- ng-room, the handsomest one in the establishment, a very little parlor in its Se Beautiful as an angel looked the girl in her gaudy stage trappings, but her face was sad and she hung her head dejectedly. At the door ot the dressing-room she met the jovial Tim, the indefatigable business agent. “Well, what did he say when you handed him his notice?’ Avise asked, her proud lips curling gt aoe With all that refinement of cruelty so natural to | the breasts of some women when their anger is ex- cited, the actress had penned the note, giving the | young man warning that his services would not be | required after that week, with her own hand, and had dispatched it by Tim, her own confidential man of business. ‘* Not a word.” ‘But did he read the letter?” “ Oh, yes, he opened it at once.” “ And did not evince any surprise?” “Not a mite.” “That’s strange!” and Avise’s beautiful brows knitted. **T guess he expected it, for he just glanced at it, you know, and put it in his pocket as cool as acu- | cumber.” The plone queen felt’ annoyed that her petty malice had not succeeded in provoking the young man; accustomed to the common way of taking such things, she expected an outburst of rage and a violent word or two directed against herseif, but the | calm common sense of Craige had baffled her. In | truth, the young man was fully prepared for the blow; after what had occurred that day he felt that | it would be rent ep for him to remain in the | theater where the dashing burlesque actress exerted such power. “By the way, that queer old cove—that Italian, is at the back door, and he says that he would like to see you to-night on some very particular business,”’ | =, | somethin ' nie Winne she call herself. ‘* Tell him to go to the hotel and wait for me; I'll be there in about half an hour.” Avise felt sure that the Italian came to tell her more about the Bouquet Girl, and though she now despaired of winning Craige’s love, even in | the absence of her rival, yet she took a malicious | pleasure in the thought {hat if he was not for her, | neither was he for that ‘ imp of the gutter,’’ as she commonly termed her rival. The actress withdrew into her dressing-room and Tim departed with his message. Avise had calculated closely; in just half an hour | she alighted from her carriage at the Fifth Avenue | Hotel, and beckoned the seedy Italian, who was skirmishing about the door of the lady’s entrance, to follow her. Tn her parlor, divested of her wrappers and hat by the careful hands of her maid—all these luxuries of | wealth the actress possessed—Avise motioned to the Italian to proceed, first dismissing the maid. The hawk-faced foreigner stood by the marble center-table, his hat in his hand, watching the beau- ° tiful gicl closely with his shrewd, evil eyes, as though mentally calculating what impressions the disclosure he was about to make would have upon her. * You will pardon me my intrusion,’’ he began. ‘*Oh, yes,’ the actress cried, impatiently, “‘ pro- vided that you have something to say worth the lis- tening to. I don’t suppose that you are fool enough to come and bother me at such an hour as this with- out some good reason.”’ “In five minutes your own aeaat wits shall decide that,” he replied, bowing humbly. ‘‘A short story I must relate to you first, and I do a-pray that you will me your entire attention give.” The preface somewhat astonished the actress, but with a nod she signified that she was ready to listen. Couched in the soft embrace of a great easy-chair, cosily fanning herself with a jeweled fan, a toy worth the whole year’s work of a poor man, the actress seemed indeed to be the spoiled darling of fortune. ; “Twenty years ago in this great city lived an Ital- ian confectioner named Lorenzo Vendotena; he was aman of property; one son only did he possess; that son, Antonio by name, without his father’s knowledge and against his father’s wishes, married a poor girl in ze country, her name, Decetra Limo- well. To that marriage one child was born, a girl— that girl named Francesca, after Antonio’s mother.” The motion of the fan stop abruptly and Avise, sitting bolt upright in the chair, stared at the speaker with a strange light in her eyes. “ Francesca,’’ she murmured. “Aha, ze name is not strange to you, eh? I thought that it would not be! Rest tranquil while I peo Ze old man disinherited ze son, shut ze oor in ze face of ze wife and refused to look at ze child, so mad was he. Ze husband and wife quarrel; he say, ‘Madam, he have a-married me for my father’s money; with your trick you_have a-separa- ted us! no more of you will I have! I will a-fly from you to ze end of ze earth!’ and fly he did.” The Italian paused to take breath, and Avise sunk back again in her listless attitude, evidently taking but little interest in the story. “TI continue; one year ago, about, ze old man die; his money—large fortune, one-half million of dol- lairs! he leave by will to his grand-child, Fran- cesea, ze daughter of his son Antonio.” Again, at the name of the girl, the actress had pricked up.her ears, ‘You will observe, one-half million dollairs to Francesca, daughter of Antonio Vendotena, so much it says and no more. A lawyer here, he seek for ze heir; he cannot find ze right one, so he take a false girl and say: ‘ Lo, behold, gentlemen! this is Frances- ca Vendotena!’ Then in ze court I will arise; I say, ‘No, no!’ very loud, ‘it is all a falsehood! Behold in me Antonio Vendotena, the farder of ze heir; that irlis not my child; she is here by a side; this 'y, Avise Winne this is Francesca Vendotena—this is ze heir!’ Diavolo! we win ze half million!” The girl half rose in her chair in excitement, “My name is Francesea, but it cannot be possible that Iam your child or the heir of this estate!” “Oh, yes, it is possible!” he said, with a crafty smile. ‘*When I quarrel with my wife I go to Lon- don. While I am there my American wife die. I meet your mother; she is an actress, Jane Hodkin- son, but like you she play under a false name; Jen- I was young, foolish; I eall myself an Italian count; I run after your mother, and at last she marry me. From that union came you, my child. If you do not believe me, see. here is your mother’s warriage certificate which i stole from her trunk when I run away from her after you were born; that was when my money give out and I meet with arich ballet-dancer who promise me plenty money if I go with her to Italy.” Never was there a more thorough-paced scamp than this fellow, a more unblushing one! The worn. and faded papers seemed proof indeed that he spoke the truth, and Avice, looking back to | her childhood’s days, remembered her mother’s bit- ter words of the ‘‘ noble” husband who so wantonly deserted her, “But, if all this be true—if Iam the heir to this pel fortune, how can I get it?” Avise asked, her rain in a whirl. “Go to ze lawyer to-morrow; tell your story and ' you will win!” The Italian spoke with the air of a conqueror, for he felt he was master of the game! CHAPTER XXXV. FRANCESCA NO, IIL. Durine the morning following the night whereon the interview described in our last chapter had taken Ds eat ae 3
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pee the snug office of Leipper and Leipper was onored by a, visit from the blonde burlesque queen. The lady was well known by sight to Captain Jack, for the lawyer was a ered atron of the amusements of the day, and, although taken com- ae, by surprise by the visit, he hastened to re- ceive her with due honor. The dashing actress accommodated with a chair, the lawyer prepared himself to listen while she un- folded the object of her visit. ““T have called upon you in reference to the Ven- dotena estate,” she said. The lawyer looked astonished. “Tf I am rightly informed the heir to that estate, Francesca Vendotena, is missing, and you are anx- ious to find her,”’ she continued. “Your information is not exactly correct; I have found her.” ‘ ““You mean that you have found a girl who pretends to be the heir.” ‘*Pretends?” Cool Captain Jack was much amaz- “‘Oh, yes, I understand all about it,” the actress said, decidedly. ‘‘Of course a fortune of half a million of dollars is worth striving for. This girl pretends to be the heir in order to seize the fortune which does not belong to her,’ ‘*This is a pretty strong statement, miss,’’ Leipper observed, slowly. : In sooth, the lawyer was puzzled; the aged New Jersey scamp had but just departed, and his con- fident declaration that Francesca No, 2had light hair had j peceiae the lawyer not a little. Leipper, after this disclosure, had carefully described the Bouquet Girl to him, and the aged rogue had declared that in all other respects, the color of the hair alone except- ed, the description answered exactly, and then the lawyer had related how he had twice encountered a young woman with light hair, who was the exact image of the old picture which he possessed of Decetra Limowell, the mother of the missing heir. . The old fellow listened in silence until et ended; he was evidently puzzled, and then he asked the lawyer who he thought the girl was. “The right girl—the heir, the child of Decetra!” sore i had answered; the Jerseyman had shook his head and informed the bewildered lawyer, that, from the i Se teptng he should suppose it was the true Francesca No. 2. y Leipper had reflected for a moment and admitted that she did look a Seg deal like the Bouquet Girl, although of course the black hair of the latter gave a different expression to the face. In order to solve this mystery the lawyer made an appointment with the Jerseyman, for that after- noon, promising to have the Bouquet Girl there. Limowell had de d and Leipper, annoyed and mystified, was still puzzling his brains over the mat- ter when the actress made her appearance. “A strong statement!’’ repeated Avise, smiling; “perhaps it is, but it is the truth.” ‘You have proof of this?” ‘“‘The very best proof in the world! I can produce the true heir, Francesca Vendotena.” “When?” “Now; I am the person.” A look of profound amazement appeared upon the face of the lawyer, and for a moment he gazed at the lady in silence. And now that he was face to face with Avise, the glare of the garish stage-lights absent, and had time 0 closely scan the beautiful features of the stage queen, to his astonishment he saw that there was a strong resemblance between the face before him and the features of the old confectioner, Lorenzo Vendotena. “Really you astonish me, Miss Winne, I have had the pleasure of witnessing your performances at Wallack’s, so that you are not altogether a stranger to me,” the lawyer explained. Iwas not aware of the facts until last night, oF i Sioulkt have called upon you before,”’ Avise ex- plained. “Yes, but I understood—that is, I had the im- Later m3 that you were English by birth.” am . | “How then can you be the heir to this estate? Francesca Vendotena was born in America,” Excuse me if Iask you to repeat to me the exact words of the will of my grandfather relating to the heir?” the actress said, quietly. ‘‘ Does not the will say: ‘tom randdaughter Francesca, the child of my son Antonio?” . ‘Yes, I believe that is the way it reads.” “It does not say anything about the child being born in America or England, does it?” “ ” “Well, then, my name is Francesca Vendotena. I am the child of Antonio Vendotena and Jane Hod- nson; my father married my mother in London. Here is the marriage-certificate,” The sade) took the document and glanced over it carelessly; ., How did these facts come to your knowledge?” a My father informed me.” ti we !” The lawyer was now in possession of the ry. Y ont father who still lives and is now in New ‘eqp ER Were you born?” asked Leipper, abruptly. March 20th, 1859.” “ Je sesh ® this marriage-certificate is dated June 10th, aie Stared in amazement. _ t is, my dear Miss Winne, you were born ike pone before your father and mother were The actress turned scarlet. let. ‘& is some infamous falsehood |” she exclaimec ; my mother was a good woman.” a SM THE BOUQUET GIRL. ‘ Tee “No doubt of it at all, Miss Winne,” replied the lawyer, respectfully, ‘‘ but she was undoubtedly the dupe of as big a rascal as walks the earth to-day. The date of this marriage-certificate has been tum- red with, and the alteration has been so unskill- ully done that it is plainly apparent even to the naked eye. These sharp rogues generally over- reach themselves in little matters. The original date of the certificate was undoubtedly 1858; but as the first wife of this precious scamp ana to be alive then, and there had been no dissolution of the marriage bond, he knew that this second fraudulent marriage was only a mere sham; so he changed the date of the certificate in order that the ceremony would a pe to have been performed after_the death of his first wife, thus making it legal. But, my dear Miss Winne, even if the ceremony was a legal marriage, and you the legal issue, and your name Francesca Vendotena, there would be ver little chance for you to inherit this estate, even if the other Francesca could not be found, I drew out the will, and the old gentleman plainly stated that the heir he had chosen was Francesca, the daughter of Decetra, his son’s wife. He had no knowledge that his son had married Seen. In fact, at that time he had no certain knowledge that his son was alive, for he had not heard from him for a long time. True, the will only says Francesca, but my evidence, and the evidence of the two executors to the will, would clearly prove that he meant the child of Decetra, the only Francesca known to him to exist. And, as to this person who pretends to be Antonio Vendotena, Miss Winne, I believe him to be an impostor; some acquaintance of the true An- tonio, who, I think, is dead; this fellow pessessed himself of some of the facts in this*case and is try- ing very hard to make some money out of the af- 1 Avise, mortified and confused, withdrew, for she was convinced that the Italian had tricked her. And Captain Jack, in high glee at having parried so deftly the Italian’s blow, hurried up-town to the home of the Bouquet Girl. Great was his consternation when he found that she was missing. CHAPTER XXXVI. VENGEANCE HAS A LONG ARM. Stow Ly passed the long hours away, and the hap- less girl immured in the gloomy vault was the prey of the most terrible apprehensions. One visit only had the Italian made; then he had brought. food and drink, spoken smoothly, bidding the girl to be of good cheer, talked vaguely of the bitter enemies who were so eager to harm her, and in his vainglorious way had declared that, while he lived no one should touch a hair of her head. In vain she entreated him to let her go free; he shook his head, told her she did not know what she asked—not for worlds would he expose her to the danger which threatened her, then complimented his friend the colonel; told what a noble man he was; dilated upon his many good qualities; assumed a confidential tone and informed her that the noble son of the house of Frascati had long admired her in secret, and that nothing in this world would give him more pleasure than to see her united to his worthy friend. The girl had barely made reply to this; her mind was dazed by the strangeness of her position, and she paid but little heed to the words of the Italian. Like the ed bird, she thought only of escaping from her terrible plight. The Italian withdrew after a few minutes’ conver- sation, when, for quite a long time, the unfortunate prisoner was left to her own sad thoughts, Not the least trust did she put in the words of the adventurer; she believed him to be a bold, bad man, who would not stop at any evil. One thought alone kept the gir] from utterly de- spairing; she was convinced that he would leave no stone unturned to rescue her from the power of this dark adventurer and impostor. At last the Italian came again, accompanied this time by three others. With careful steps the four descended the ladder into the cellar, closing the trap-door after them. First the wily adventurer; fol- lowing him the fat and greasy colonel, and then two strangers, muffled up asif they wished to disguise their persons, brought up the rear. The Italian opened the door of the girl’s prison-pen and tne heart of Frank sunk within her as she look- ed upon the dark figure; she fully realized that a crisis in her life was at hand. The Italian took the lantern from its hook and placed it upon the table, “This is my dear child,” he said, pathetically, “my long-lost daughter, my Francesca! who from me a long time has been separated. But what of that? We are together at last, and we are happy! And what joy it is to my heart, too, when I find that she and my beloved, my noble friend, ze Colonel Frascati—love one another with all ze tenderness of their ponte hearts. Ze colonel, he say to me, ‘ No- ble friend, I your fair child love! give her.to me that in my heart she may bloom and flourish like ze green bay tree!’ I say, ‘ With all my soul! there is no man on ze top of this earth to whom I would rather give my child!’ and so ze matter is settled. Francesca, eee this is ze priest, good Farder Michael; he will perform ze ceremony that will give you to my noble friend forever: and this gentleman is kindly come to witness that ze affair is all correct and legal pi peo to ze law. You are one t heiress, my child, and we must not have any doubt in regard to your marriage. Farder,’’ and he turned to the taller of the two strangers, ‘‘be you a-pleased to com- mence when you are ready; colo d forward.” j | ployed him to gain information about the birth a The fat Italian advanced with a smirk upon his fat ‘ace. The girl had listened to all this like one under the influence of some horrible spell; a hapless bird fas- cinated by a creeping serpent might have stared as she stared with strained eyes upon the actors in this strange scene. But when the fat and ruffianly Italian advanced toward her, evidently intending to take her hand, with a sudden thrill she recovered the use of her voice, 4" What do you intend to do with me?”’ she demand- ed. The eyes of the Italian flashed; he saw that the girl intended to resist. “ Unite you in marriage to this noble gentleman, my child,” he answered, smoothly. ‘No, no! I will not consent. He is a stranger to me: I do not know any thin, never sanction snch a terrible outrage! Oh, gentle- men! I appeal to you!” and she extended her hands ~ wildly toward the strangers. “Bah, bah! hush you up your tongue!” cried the Italian, sternly. ‘‘ You are my child; I know what. is best for you. These gentlemen understand all about it. It is my right to marry you to whoever I lease; it does not matter whether you like it or not. ‘ake her hand, colonel, and we will proceed with ze ceremony.” But at this critical moment within the heart of the eak girl was infused the courage of despatr. ‘“*T will not. consent!” she cried, wildly. ‘‘I do not believe that * A are my father! and, even if you were, there is no law, human or divine, that gives you the right to force me into a marriage from which my soul recoils. I will not submit; and you sir, if you are a priest, you surely will not take pa in this outrage! Iam a prisoner here, forcibly ab- @ucted by this man, and the law will yet punish him for the crime!” ; “Bah, bah!’’ cried the adventurer in_ contempt, “you talk too much with your mouth. I am 7or farder and have ze right to do with you as I like. Both these gentlemen understand all about that. You are a foolish little child! Phi do not know what is good for you, but I, your farder, do. It does not. matter whether you consent, or not; we can get alon without that; you had best submit quietly, else shall be obliged to tie up your pretty hands and mouth. You need not say one single word; we can spk | you and you can keep your mouth shut!” _ “Oh, gentlemen, for heaven’s sake save me this dreadful man!’’ pleaded the girl in agony. ie But, what were idle words and tears we against the heavy stake for which the unscrupulous Italian played? ‘*Gome, come! we do lose much time!” he ex- claimed, a comme “Colonel, my noble friend, step you a-forward and take ze lady’s hand, a good farder, out with your book and proceed with sind eceremony. It is all right! I give my and that is all that is needed.” A second step forward the Italian colonel a” The girl recoiled in horror; the dark-bearded priest roduced his book, the adventurer, his eyes spark- i ‘a joyfully in anticipation, rubbed his hands glee- fully together. At last he saw success about to crown his efforts. And then, at this very moment of yaaa came a sudden change in the current of affairs. A powerful blow, deftly ret. knocked the lan- tern off the table, breaking Aras into fifty pieces, ON pig. Pperey the mi t; then came a sud- den yell that told only too we: of mortal agony, fol- lowed by the sound of a violent struggle, and all this in the black Egyptian-like darkness, The girl had shrunk back against the wall at the about him; the law will . % hed commencement of this fearful scene, horror-strick- — 4 en. Only a few seconds did the struggle last; and then it was followed by the sound of hurried footsteps retrea’ from the little room. The girl, every sense on the alert, heard the foot- steps upon the rude ladder and saw the gleam of light which came from the room above as the trap-door opened; she saw the jight obscured for a moment as the men clambered into the room above; then all | was still. Frank felt that she was alone—alone with the dead; some terrible tragedy bad transpired in the dark, but the way of escape was open to her and she at once hastened to avail herself of it. No hand was outstretched to detain her as she hurried from her prison-cell, ascended the ladder, assed through the room above into the entry—the oor was unlocked—and out into the street. The sign upon the lamy post at the corner told her where she was, and within fifteen minutes she was again safe at home. ve CHAPTER XXXVII. THE TRUE HEIR, ae conversation with the old lady and Mr. In bus Craige nk foune the head of the private inquiry office, Pendalmock, and after the Bouquet Girl haa told the strange story of her abduction and w ful escape, Pendalmock proceeded to business. — had shrewdly guessed that the lady who had early history of the baby girl left to the care of the Jersey lawyer, Lysander Limowell, was the peg a in question herself, and therefore was not surp at encountering her in the old tenement-house. This was his second Visit to Mrs. O*Hoolihan. From that lady, on his first visit, he kad extorted but little information, SEE, because the woman knew but very little about the matter, and she was completely astonished when she found that the Bouquet Girl was the baby whom she had left to the ed ee ve ala
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a Bl: E Demis ares care of the old colored woman in New Jersey, years | before. When Frank had fied from Limowell’s per- | secutions, she had two objects in view, the first, to | escape from the attentions of the drunken old scamp; second, to find her childhood’s companion | Francesca, the daughter of Decetra, who had fled from home to be married to James Ronnells, and who would, she felt sure, in time have cause to re- gret her secret union. And now to recall the mystery of the dark hair and light which had perplexed both the lawyers and Limowell. Frank, flying in haste from the old seamp’s perse- cution, felf sure that he would leave no stone un- turned to find her, as he had often threatened, and 80, when she reached the city she had had her own ae? locks cut short and purchased a black wig, which, as she was careful to always cover with a handkerchief when engaged in her avocation as a flower-girl, defied detection. Two separate lives the girl led; in the daytime with her own hair, carrying a basket of laces, she diligently traversed the streets of the great city, oing from house to house, intent upon finding the ost girl. At night, as the flower-girl, bos tenet by the wig, she haunted the ferries. And so she earned her bread and at the same time kept up her search; but as in this world we often stumble by chance upon the thing we search for in vain, so Frank, learning that there was a sick girl living upon the upper floor of the house, in need of assistance, and going thither to tender it, discovered that the suf- -Terer was the companion of her childhood. And thus she had happened to twice encounter the lawyer, Captain Jack; the first time in the entry of the old house, the second time when she had gone to the office of Benarding and Britman with the intention of discovering who James Ronnells was, little thinking that she should walk into Leipper’s presence. - We have. stated that Mrs. O’Hoolihan was aston- ished, and so she was when she discovered that Frank was the child whom she had given to the old colored woman, long ago. The aged dame had believed that Mrs. O’Hoolihan would recognize her at once, but the rather dull-witted Irishwoman had never thought of it. But all was clear now; Francesca, the heir, was dead, and James Ronnells, the man who had betray- ed her, was Jack EAipper, the lawyer. Time in its flight had avenged the wrong; had the villain cherished the flower he had won, the old con- fectioner’s fortune would have come to him beyond a doubt, through his wife. -_ But Frank, with a wonderful likeness to the Ven- ~ dotena family—who was she? - instantly packed them both o _he feared pursuit. Mrs, O’Hoolihan’s husband w: Mrs..O’Hoolihan could not tell; her husband had brought home the baby one night and had his sit into her charge, telling her that the infant would bring them in a deal of money some day, and had to the country as if not as honest_a.man as he might have been. From the country Mrs, O’Hoolihan was hurriedly summoned back to New York to attend to her hus- band, he ating: Shoe Aho a@ severe wound in a night brawl. From the effects of the wound he died, and his last words were—‘‘See Pat Casey about that _ baby; it will be money in your pocket!” But Mr. Patrick Casey, a great chum of O’Hooli- . han’s, anda gentleman well known to the police, was not to be seen just then, as he had been obliged to flee to parts unknown on account of a certain af-. fray resulting in the loss of life, in which he had layed a prominent part; and so, Mr. Casey never appening to come across Mrs. O’Hoolihan’s track, the whole affair had slipped from her mind. In possession of these facts, added to the knowl- edge that Mr. Casey was at present sojourning at Sing Sing under a life sentence for murder, the way was clear to the detective. He visited Sing Sing and interviewed Casey. “Yes,” that worthy did remember something about the affair. ‘ wife lived in the same house with _ the mother of the child; she was sick—the mother I mean—and my wife nursed her a bit, and she told __- my wife that she must take care of the baby if she— the baby’s mother, you know—should happen to die Py: suddenly, for that her father-in-law would give a hte deal of money for it, some time. Well, she did ie, and my woman snatched the kid, thinking as how we'd make a strike outen it, but, bless you! we never heerd nothing about it.” wan the name of the mother?’ Pendalmock asked. “A furren name, Ven—something.”’ “Vendotena?”’ _*Co-reck, governor; Deceiver Vendotena, or some- thing like that.” a "Al was plain now; a second child had been born o the deserted mother, and by a strange chapter of ecidents fate had carried it to the house of its rela- and in this 1 be the truth, for the morning newspapers the next day in startling **head-lines” told of the failure and ‘ht of the daring speculator, Mortimer Taxwill, esquire; and in his fall the unscrupulous seeker after wealth had _ dragged down many innocent victims, On : had contrived to lose about Vendotena’s fortune had been nearly all in- vested in government bonds, and Taxwill, skillful and shrewd,and fully trusted by his brother-executor, f of the estate in his pe ee and finding that there was a elihood of the heir appearing, and his executor- sbip being called into question, coolly helped himself to the rest and fled beyond the seas, never to. re- rn. Like the monkey in the fable, in order to settle the | dispute he had eaten the oyster himself and left the shells for the contending parties. : Little, though, did either the Bouquet Girl or her lover, Craige, care; they had never set their minds upon the vast sum, and so they bore their disappoint- ment cheerfully. Abandoning the stage life, the young man sought ain the quiet country home, the little farm, where his mother resided, and which he had forsaken to win the laurel crown of fame. The Bouquet Girl he carried with him as his happy wife. He had learned the lesson that contentment is better than riches, and that the certain gains, though small, of the tiller of the soil, are often to be pre- ferred to the golden prospects of a professional life. When the people of the Italian house, attracted by the open doors, ped a to the cellar, they found the noble colonel bound hand and foot, and the ad- venturer, Antonio Vendotena, stone dead, with a dagger through his heart. ; he brothers of the Carbonari, with theirlong arm of vengeance, had reached clear across the ocean and stricken the traitor who had betrayed the cause of liberty. Avise Winne still bewitches the public eyes and charms the dollars from the public pockets, but great as are her gains, she would give them all for one little hour of the peaceful joy which dwells for- ever in the heart of the Bouque? Girl. THE END. The Only First-class American Copyright Library Published ! A Fifty Cent Novel for Five Cents. In the Popular Library Form. Each Issue Complete and Unabridged COVERING THE FIELD OF Love and Society Romance. Perfectly pure in tone, spirited and captivating in story, as the title ‘‘ WAvERLEy ’’ implies. thing to sleane and nothing to avoid— lesome, Vigorous and Fresh! -1 Tue Masxep Brive. - By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 2 Was It Love? By Wm. Mason Turner. 8 Tur Girt Wir. By Bartley T. Campbell. -4 A Brave Heart. By Arabella Southworth. 5 Bessip Raynor, THE WoRK GIRL. Wm. M. Turner. 6 Tur Srcrer Marriace. By Sara Claxton. 7 A DAUGHTER OF Evr. Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 8 Heart to Heart. By Arabella Southworth. 9 ALONE IN THE WorLD. Author of “Clifton.” 10 A Parr or Gray Eyes. By Rose Kennedy. 11 Enranciep. By Henrietta Thackeray. 12 His Lawruu Wire. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. 13 Mapoap, THE LrrrLe QUAKERESS, Cushman. 14 Wuy I Marriep Him. By Sara Claxton. 15 A Fam Face. By Bartley T. Campbell. 16 Trust Her Nor. By Margarct Leicester. 17 A Loyau Lover. By Arabella Southworth. 18 His Ipot. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 19 Tae Broken BerrotHau. Mary Grace Halpine. 20 ORPHAN NELL, THE ORANGE GiRL. By Agile Penne. 21 Now anp Forever. By Henrietta Thackeray. 22 Tar Brive of AN Actor. Author of “ Clifton.” 23 Leap Year. By Sara Claxton. ’ 26 Her Facr Was Her Fortune By Eleanor Blaine. 25 Onty A ScHooLtmistrESS. Arabella Southworth. 26 Wirnovr A Heart. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 27 Was Sue A CoqurettE? By Henrietta Thackeray. 28 Syprt Coase. By Mrs. Ann §, Stephens, 29 For Her Dear SAKE. By Sara Claxton. 30 THe Bouquet Grru. By Agile Penne. 31 A Map Marriace. By Mary A. Jennison. 32 MiriIANNA, THE Prima Donna; or, Roses and Lilies. By Arabella Southworth. Ready June 22d. 33 Tuk Tourer Sisters; or, The ba lag A of Lord ~ Chalfort. By Alice Fleming. ady June 29, A new issue every week. For sale by all Newsdealers, price five cents each or sent, postage paid, on receipt of six cents. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William street, N.Y. Dialogues No. Thirteen. BEADLE & ADAMS’ STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS. Speakers, BEADLE AND ADAMS have now on their lists the fol- lowing highly desirable and attractive text-books, prepared expressly for schools, families, ete. Each volume contains 100 large pages, printed from clear, open type, comprising the best collection of Dia- logues, Dramas and citations, (burlesque, comic and otherwise.) The Dime Speakers for the season of 1880—as far as now issued—embrace twenty-three volumes, viz.: 1, American Speaker. 13. School Speaker. 2. National Speaker. 14. Tudicrous Speaker. 3. Patriotic Speaker. 15. Komikal Speaker. 4. Comic Speaker. 16. Youth’s Speaker. 5. Elocutionist. 17. Eloquent Speaker. 6. Humorous Speaker. 18. Hail Columbia Speak- 7%, Standard Speaker, er. 8. Stump Speaker. 19. Serio-Comic Speaker. 9. Juvenile Speaker. 20. Select Speaker. 10. Spread-Eagle Speaker | 21. Funny Speaker. 11. Dime Debater. 22. Jolly Speaker. 12, Exhibition Speaker, 23, Dialect Speaker. 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