Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (v. 2) (1880 08 10)
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) | =) f . Le . \ ‘FAREWELL, TO STAY ANOTHER HOUR UNDER THIS ROOF IS SHAME INDEED!” * e ? ‘al? The first lieutenant of the ship Fortuna, bound from_New Orleans to F lirtation : or A Young Girl § food Name New York, commanded and owned by Captain Harold Fairebild, handed - : ’ oe ‘ the eae ts su ot pio ' 4 ue lt: “att 8 é SS “What's th's?” he exclaim ancing at the list: ‘‘all Spaniards BY JACOB ABARBANELL, \Ralph Royal,) “Tt was the best I could do. to one Pr would accept service for fear Author of “‘ Landlord and. Tenant,” “ Faithful Leonore,” etce., ete. pene Sprae ra i rticld aba ry She EY SBE ‘But there’s not a particle of dange Ww. | CHAPTER L “So I told aoe pitiee4 would pot believe me, They pointed to the | eetentonl fact that we return without any ares ers. : -s . “if True, and I’m not sorry for it. {mistrust these Spanish or Cuban ARE we ready to raise the anchor?” dogs. You'll arrange the watches so that these new-comers are never } “We are, captain.” alone on deck, Now give the order to raise the anchors.” » ‘¢ Have you supplied the places of those of the crew who were stricken “Beg pardon, captain,” said ‘an old sailor, stepping up; ‘ there’s with yellow fever at Havana?” a boat comin’ alongside with a lady in it.” The Only Young Ladies’ Library of First-Class Copyright Novels Published! Price, but 5 cents each. " - TSG RATT PML 7 a we Oj 7 TMT - Tat en m1 Tali sen lt Ih tid a c set ALE ‘ I | ri 1 “Thave. Here is the list.” ; 14 lady!” Copyrighted in 1880 by BEADLE AND ADAMS, August 10, 1880, ——— A 5 re ©
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ci ‘There she is.” ‘A The Fortuna was lying at anchor in the chan- ae nel, on a pleasant evening in the spring of 1873, and the captain, gazing in the direction pointed out by the sailor, saw a row-boat, pulled by two men, and containing a lady with her baggage approaching. ‘It is evidently a passenger,” he muttered; **T hardly care to receive her.” The boat now reached the ship’s side and the lady was assisted on deck. ‘“ Madame—” began he. . . “ Desirée Rochfort, if you please,” said the -——s Yady with a slight blush. ow ‘*Miss Rochfort, I presume you wish to be a = passenger on board my ship. The pleasure is ee an unexpected one, and, Iam_ sorry to say, one a2" which [ am obli to refuse.” i: A shade of disappointment passed over her ee! countenance. Bei fa a wh as she aa 3 “a use [ have no other passengers, and you a are a lady and alone.” an She burst into a merry laugh. A 8 “Ts that all?” she exclaimed. aes afraid. You men won’t eat me up.” Re ‘The ship is reputed to be infected with yel- low fever.” as “Pm a New Orleans girl and not afraid of it. ne, Some better reason, sir.” ‘*T mistrust part of my crew. They arestran- gers to me and may mutiny.” “¢-You would conquer them.” - T prefer that the exigency should not hap- “Tm not . ‘A brave captain does not shun danger.” en st “A prudent one does not court it,” was his smiling repartee. ‘I see, Miss Rochfort, that you are determined to remain on board.” *¢ That I am!” she replied, with a mischievous ' sparkle in her eye. ‘“‘If my father was of rench descent, my mother was a Yankee wo- man, and I have something of your Northern indomitableness in my veins. So you may as well resign yourself to the inevitable.” Her frank, fearless demeanor completely over- came the captain’s hesitancy, and, turning, ‘he bade the men in the boat row back to the shore, “This a gree responsibility which I assume, _ Miss Rochfort,” said he, offering her his arm. _ “T hope that I ee myself worthy of it.” or oes Saee final orders to his lieutenant, he led the lady below to show her the cabin she was to occupy during the voyage. Concealed behind some bales of cotton which formed part of the cargo on deck, two of the new sailors had overheard the conversation. +». “Oaramba!” whispered one, nudging the _ ‘other, ‘a pretty woman.” “CWA she form part of the booty?’ asked his Aa ome a ‘That she shall! I swear it, pe Santa Maria!” "The captain suspects us.” “He's a coward. Heas well as confessed it woman herself.” 3 : | now basta !” ' It was under these sespiees turned her prow toward New York. Bes The voyage was a pleasant one, and a succes- sion of fine days gave the captain pie of ss opportunity to linger in the company of his fair passenger. aan | He learned that she was twenty-one years of age, an orphan, and had just come into pos- session of a small plantation. She was going to New York to find a purchaser, and, in the mean time, to take a ition as teacher or govern- ess. She had the regular steamer and had preferred g with the Fortuna to wait- ing for the next vessel. She had a letter of in- -- treduction to the family of Mr. Rathburn, a ory “art New York banker, given to her by 3, Rathburn’s brother who was. located in New Orleans. “T know the Rathburns, very well,” said_the captain to her, when she told him this. ‘‘ They are an excellent family, I assure you.” “Now that you know all about me,” merrily exclaimed Desirée, ‘‘ you must give me an ac- count of yourself. “That’s very easily done,” he smilingly re- fie “Tm an old bachelor of thirty-five; my ife has been mostly passed at sea, and never naving been much in society, I have never ex- nced what it is to love—that is, with one © exception.” : Me . Bh, then there is an exception,” she archly , mmented, , ‘ee oa wae tk . i 4 as bi + . « ij 4 nt ak ge eae at z re? : that the Fortuna ‘ FLIRTATION.. She is my bride, my wife, my all: For her my heart throbs with a devotion beside which all puny loves between man and woman sink into insignificance. I live but for her.” His thick-set somewhat homely features be- came almost transformed, while hisshort, burly form seemed to enlarge and expand as he utter- ed these words with a fervency that the pen cannot do justice to. ““Happy mother!” exclaimed Desirée deeply moved. ‘‘A woman can possess no brighter jewel than the love of a grown son.” “-Yes—my mother. It was one of those clear, starlit evenings seen only near the tropics. All around was peace and quiet. Leaning against the taffrail stood Desirée gazing dreamily at the Re ne leam of the waters around her. Suddenly she felt her- self lightly touched on the shoulder and, turn- ing, beheld one of the Spanish sailors standing before her. There was something in the pale face and excited manner of the man which startled her, yet he addressed her politely enough: & Beg pardon, miss, but you had better go ees a A j FA oa y?’ she asked, apprehensively. “Tt—it is safer rads = “Safer?” “Yes, but not in your cabin. I may not be able to control my men. In my cabin, yes, go in my cabin. You can lock the door.” “T do not understand; what do you mean?” “You are my prize, not my men’s, They shall not harm you. I will shoot them down like dogs, if they lay a hand on you.” ** Are you mad?” she cried, now thoroughly alarmed. ‘‘ What language is this to me?” ‘*T love you, miss; I—” His words were interrupted by a loud scream from Desirée. “¢ Por Dios !” roared the Spaniard. ‘‘ She will ruin us.” “‘ Help, help!” shrieked Desirée wildly. ‘‘Mu- tiny. mutiny !” “Down ‘with the Americanos! Viva la Junta!” cried the Spaniards and Creoles sud- denly appearing on deck with cutlasses and revolvers drawn. ‘‘ Help, captain, help!” screamed Desirée escaping from the clutches of the Spaniard and rushing toward the com rooney ' * Oaramba !” shou he dart ie after her, but only to encounter the burly form of the captain who, at that moment, came bounding up the ladder. He caught the leader of the mutineers by the throat and his fingers tightened like a vise. He spoke not a word but continued the terrible ressure. The mutineer’s face turned purple, e sought to speak but could not; he fered or breath; his tongue hung limp from his mouth; his eyes protruded from their sockets. The other mutineers stood gazing in mute as- tonishment at this exhibition of brute strength. | They saw their leader being slowly, remorseless- ly s led to death and did not dare to inter- vene. The sight was too awful for Desirée. ne his life!” she be, ‘* He does not deserve it,” coolly and calm! replied the captain. ‘‘ But, since you desire it, it on be so. The law will be his executioner, not I.” - He let go his fearful clasp and the Spaniard fell to the deck like a lump of lead. Captain Fairchild surveyed the group of mu- tineers who were standing around him, As his aawe eye rested for an instant on each person, and a of lightning seemed to dart from his eyes to theirs, they, each in turn, dropped their weapons, as if some unseen power had pulled them from their hands. “He is positively handsome,” thought Desirée, as she gazed at him, at that momen An intense pause followed. “Men,” said he, still preserving his wonderful coolness and self-possession, ‘‘ what did you hope to gain by mutinying against me? Did you ex~ pect that. miserable fellow lying there gasp- g for breath, could lead you to victory? Un- armed I.conquered him. Had you raised — hands to aid him you would now have been corpses. Prove it to them, my true and loyal ones. 1 Each mutineer felt himself instantly in the iron grasp of a sailor, while a revolver was ressed against his forehead. “Pardon! Mercy!” they exclaimed with one voice... an The captain made Mien and the sailors put up their weapons. “Tf it had come to the worst,” he quickly continued, ‘“‘I have the magazine connected by a fuse with pla part of theship. Ior any one of my men would have blown up the vessel and in the very moment of your victory, the mangled fragments of your corpses would have strewn the sea.” He threw a pair of handcuffs and an iron chain to the mutineers. ‘Bind your leader,” he ordered. They instantly obeyed. “You will bring him to his cabin. The ship’s surgeon will attend him. When we arrive in i New York he will be handed over to the au- thorities. As for you, return to your duties. Let your leader’s fate be a warning not to re- peat the folly of attempting a mutiny on board my ship. ome, Miss Rochfort; you may rest — in peace. There’ll be no more mutinies on this — voyage.” Pe ith the grace of a knight of the olden time, _ he offered her his arm and escorted her below. |. ‘* He’s as generous as he is brave,” she thought, as she accompanied him; “Id be very proud to aM he his sister.’ le —_—— CHAPTER II. A YOUNG GIRL’S ROMANCE. ; THE Rathburns, the family to whom Desirée was recommended, consi of Mr. Rathburn, a wealthy banker, a man of about fifty-six og his wife and son and daughter. Orville, he son, was a young man of twenty-seven, the ordinary type of the scion of a wealthy house. He was handsome, passably intelligent, loved fine clothes, had a penchant for wine, women, cards and fast horses, and indulged in these fashionable foibles without passing that limit where they degenerate into vice. As for Blanche Rathburn, a beautiful blonde of eighteen summers, her insipid, monotonous life had been ruffled only once, and that slightly by what she herself called a boarding-schoo hy romance. al Two years previous when she was a girl of sixteen and an inmate of a ladies’ boarding school situated on the Hudson, she had, one day, slipped away from the watchfulnecs of her —_. teachers and roamed through the neighboring = woods in search of wild flowers. When, how- ko ever, she wished to retrace her steps, she dis- aes Coveney to her great. alarm, that she had lost. er way. r The afternoon’s sun was fast sinking in the western horizon; pines. the shadows of night. ; were pewbertiy aroun er. Se t ss . —— Childlike, she had a mortal dread of dark- ness; behind every tree she saw arobber. She screamed aloud; only the echo of her voice ea answered her. She threw awny the flowers | which had now become hateful to her, and, sink- ing’down on the trunk of a fallen tree, she cov- pe ered her face with her apron and wept aloud. 4 “Hello!” The word uttered in bright cheery tones _ caused her to quickly lower her apron. é A youth stood before her, twirling in his wa hands a twig cut from a tree. Toher frighten- ed imagination he appeared like a gigantic mon- ster ees oe club. ‘‘Oh, Mister Robber,” she exclaimed, falling on her knees before him, “ please don’t murder me. I’m only a poor girl who has lost her ry ” e youth burst into a merry laugh. ‘Murder you?” he cried. ‘‘Gazeon me. Do I look like a robber?” She timidly raised her tear-stained face to his and saw that he was as handsome a young fellow of twenty-one as could be found anywhere in the world. ‘Excuse me, sir,” she said rising; “I took you at first for a highwayman.” y “The race is extinct. I took you fora fairy of the woods.” “That race is also extinct,” she laughingly replied. “J can’t say but that I prefer a young and . pretty girl to a fairy.” | “ And 1a gentleman toarobber.” “T hope that Iam a gentleman, miss. My name is Alfred Barton. I am Captain Fair-' child’s clerk, cn my way to Innw: ” “To Innw 2? ey To the country residence of Mr. Rathburn, i the banker.” las “My father!” iing ae drew back a step and politely doff2d_ is hat. é ‘ “Have I the honor of addressing Miss Rath- _ burn?” : L* . “T am Blanche Rathburn,” she replied. “Io am hired ep tek the ee ee Se lagen Oia were out in the w to-day ‘an ostmy way ~ through my own fault.” yet ae =
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a ss _—— ae “4 nie * 2) Se a "> as ‘cna strange is ea ae ‘ os FLIRTATION: 3 “Tt is only a mile to the seminary; I will es- cort you there.” ““T prefer to go home.” ‘“* But it is two miles to Innwood.” “T don’t care,” she replied, with a pretty pout. ‘¢T hate to go back to school.” ‘‘ As you please, Miss Rathburn. But first, let me pick up these pretty flowers which you have thrown away.” He did so, and, forming them into an attract- ive Se pe handed it to her. Then the two, side by side, took up their wa through the forest. It was a delightful, thoug dangerously romantic, moonlight promenade. The village bell of the pretty suburban _ resort chimed forth the hour of nine, when they reached the Rathburn villa. Great was the astonishment of the family a en they beheld Blanche, whom they believed fe at the seminary, enter with a young . Mrs. Rathburn felt scandalized. Orville, who, for a wonder, happened to. be home, deliberated on an immediate challenge to ae! t ‘ a du Mr. Rathburn knit his eyebrows and was about to lecture his daughter on the improprie- ty of the proceeding, when he was peremptorily silenced by Blanche rushing into his arms and i on gees with a coe Fad gg ere I am, papa,” she exclaimed, in her breathless manner, Meafo and sound, and I’ve had sucha terrible adventure, and you’d never have seen me alive again if it wasn’t for this young gentleman; he’s Alfred Barton, papa, Captain Fairchild’s clerk, with a commission for you; and I want you to thank him and not scold me one bit either, so there!” And having come to a pause for want of breath, she took off her hat and embraced her mother. : “But, my child,” began the indulgent father. Mak. ae you're going to scold me,” interrupted ¥ P occurred. c a era a + . Py: i ds 1 meet 4 ‘ses i} $ 4 ¥ ‘ Pe, *S a i +. - r ; ectsre- > he, mischievously, ‘‘I’ll never go back to the seminary.” ‘““Permit me to explain, sir,” modestly said Alfred, and in a few words he related what had “You have done us a service, sir, which we will never forget,” said Mr. Rathburn, cordially _ extending his hand to the young man. “Iam glad to make the acquaintance of a gentleman een Captain Fairchild honors with his confi- ence. “My daughter is a giddy young thing,” rather stiffly added Mrs. Rathburn. ‘“‘ It will be best for your own peace of mind to forget _that_you accidentally met her this evening.” “Oh, mamma!” reproachfully exclaimed B) 8. s am,” haughtily weplind Alfred, a flush mounting his handsome face, ‘‘the conscious- _ ness of my station in life is a trait strongly de- veloped in my character.” “Tam ae to hear it, my young friend,” said the lady, with a bow. a Barton, old boy, you’re a brick!” exclaimed Orville. “I’m her brother, you know. Don’t be building any air-castles on this little racket of hers, and you'll be all right. What do you say toa and a game of billiards?” ‘I would be happy to “rg you, but I must deliver my commission to Mr. Rathburn and catch the back to the city.” Having transacted his business with the head of the house, he bade them adieu and was driv- en to the depot in the family phaeton. “A fine young man,” said the banker, to his wife, when they were alone that evening. ‘\ He’d make a husband for Blanche.” ‘Bah, a clerk!” she retorted. ‘‘ Blanche has the cea to aspire higher and will do so, you mmay depend on it.” ‘“ We shall see.” “ We will.” Had Mrs. Rathburn not been so pointed in her remarks to Alfred, the youth might have forgotten all about his episode of meeting. with Blanche. As it was, however, his mine had ‘been touched and he began to reason himself into the belief that he had as much right to fall in love with her as any man in New York. He therefore, almost involuntarily, found himself haunting the vicinity of the seminary, eager to catch a glimpse of the face which had come so dear to him. : As for Blanche, the idea of having a sweet- missives secreted: in — her Le oe | acang * me ee oe. mh Cos sixteen: of love she had only a v jdea: of tarriage, none at all, FA MOEBO.AGES; _ The stolen interviews were had, the secret aes ) nea) SO nt Basler i eee * Te» co mdence began and continued; Alfred hugged his secret to his breast like a miser his gold, while Blanche faithfully reported to a group of admiring schoolmates every tender word spoken, and read aloud to them every billetdoux received. Thus matters stood when, one fine morning, Alfred received a summary order from Captain Fairchild to proceed at once to San Francisco fe transact some important business for the m. He was in despair. To refuse to go would be to blight his future prospects; to leave New York, and that, too, for an indefinite time, threatened to put an abrupt end to his dream of love. He was very much downcast when he next saw Blanche, and when she asked him the cause, he told her. ‘“‘You are going to California, to San Fran- cisco?” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “ How delightful!” He stared at her in surprise. “You find it delightful that I am going to | leave New York—to leave you?” he bitterly asked. ‘‘Of course! All lovers do so. Why, the yey romance of a love affair is the separation. Just think of it; the tender farewell, the vows of undying affection, the parting kiss; then, the long letters breathing love in every word, final- ly the welcome home again ; can there be any- thin more delightful?’ “You look only on the bright side of the picture. But, A er the absent lover is for- gotten—suppose be returns only to find that an- other has usurped his place in his girl’s heart, what then?” “Oh, then,” she replied, in. all earnestness, ‘he must commit suicide; that’s the proper thing to do.” ‘“‘ And that’s what I would do,” he ardently exclaimed, ‘‘ were I to return and find you an- other’s bride.” “ But, I won’t be, dear Alfred. Haven’t I told yousoa hundred times? Either my parents must consent to our marriage or I’ll become an old maid and be a teacher in a ladies’ seminary.” As this was the worst possible fate she thought could befall her, she uttered the words as solemnly as though she were reading her own death-warrant. ‘©T will take you at your word,” said he, seri- ously. ‘‘And now, Blanche, farewell. I leave to-morrow, and will not be able to see you again before my departure. I do not know when | shall return, but I hope that it will not be long. Think of me always and write often. Propriety will forbid me from answering your dear letters, but you can hear from me through Captain Fairchild. Be assured that I will never cease loving boa He drew her toward him and pressed a kiss on her lips. It was the first time that he had dared to take that liberty, and Blanche’s face was suffused with blushes when she released herself from bis embrace. Thus they parted. For the first few weeks Blanche was very melancholy, and secretly wrote numerous let- ters to her dear Alfred, but her natural gayety soon took the ascendency, and, as it did so, her correspondence languished, and finally ceased altogether. The faint spark of love which had glimmered in her heart needed her lover’s presence to fan into aflame. Had Alfred answered her letters it might have been different, but he-could not do so without compromising her. ; Two years had passed away since he _had left New York, and in that time Blanche had grad- uated from the semin and been introduced, by her prudent mother, into that society where she was likely to meet with a wealthy husband. Absorbed in a round of pleasures, praised flattered, on all sides, Blanche entirely forgot ‘og absent Alfred, or if she did at all think of m, it was, as she remarked, in the light of a boarding-sehool romance, through which eve well-regulated young lady has to pass, as throu, a course of measles, but which is laid aside when short dresses are exchanged for trails. And this was the Rathburn family, to join which Desirée Rochfort was speeding in the ‘good ship Fortuna, with Captain Fairchild at the helm. . CHAPTER IIL MOTHER AND SON, . In South street, in the city of New York, not far from Fulton ferry there is a quaint, odd- looking edifice built entirely of massive granite. Untouched by the decorative hand of modern architecture, it rears its plain solid front be- ee more pretentious buildings of a later ate. , In this building, at the time of which this story treats, was the office of Captain Fairchild. During his absence his business was attended to by his mother. ; Mrs. Fairchild was a lady of about fifty-five years old, tall and distinguished looking, her silvery pray hair giving her a venerable appear- ance. er face was pale and cova tinged with an air of melancholy, i Ngee by the fact of her always wearing black. ; On the morning of which we write she touch- Pe a bell and summoned a clerk from the outer office. “ James,” she said, ‘“‘do you know that the Fortuna is e ted in port to-day?” “The ship has already been signaled, ma’am,” ¥ replied. “She will at the wharf in an our. “Very well. You will please escort me there, and then go to Jay Cooke & Co., the bankers, and tell them, in my son’s name, that we are sorry not to be able to advance them the sum — they ask, ‘All the world has confidence in their stabil- ity, »” ventured the clerk. “Except I,” answered she, dryly. ‘‘I will be ready in an hour.” At the appointed time, Mrs. Fairchild, having put on her hat and coak and covered her face. vf a long black vail, left the office with the clerk. When they arrived at the pier the ship bad just come in and soon mother and son were fold- ed in along embrace. ‘This is indeed a surprise, mother,” delighted- — ly exclaimed Harold, “‘ you, who never go out, to meet me here.” ue bad so anxious to greet you,” she fondly replied. tanding on the deck/Desirée had observed the warm welcome. Tears rose in her eyes as she murmured. — ae How they love each other; what a heart he s! Captain Fairchild cordially greeted his clerk and, when the latter told him the commission Mrs. Fairchild had given him, smilingly said: “Jay Cooke & Co! Who but my mother would dream of refusing them credit? Well, do as she says; ’m not home until I’m in my office.” All the officers and the crew were, meanwhile, crowding around Mrs. Fairchild, eager to testi- fy the high regard in which they held their — captain’s mother. ° : > Her quick eyes, however, soon discerned the — - presence of Desirée on board the ship. ‘How is this, my son?” said she, drawing Harold aside. ‘A lady on deck, a passenger? “The only one,” laughingly replied he. “The only one?” “There,.don’t fall into convulsions. She is a lady whom I hope you will receive as a daugh- ter. “Then may I congratulate you—” “You entirely mistake my meaning,” he in- terrupted, with a hearty laugh; ‘‘let me ex- plain in afew words.” , He briefly related how Desirée had come on. 9h and her intentions in coming to New ork. Mrs. Fairchild was touched by the orphan’s lonely position, and she was ready to receive her with all of a mother’s tenderness. On one point only she seemed to hesitate. _ =e ag is recommended to the Ratkburns?” she asked. ** Yes; sy a you ask?” “T hardly know them. You have had busi- ness intercourse with them. Are they worthy of the trust?” ; “s They are excellent people, so far as I Ow. “Then I am satisfied.” ' Desirée had by this time disembarked, and hesitatingly a: ached the two. Mrs. Fairchild threw her arms around her and ae kissed her, “Myson has told me all about you, Miss Rochfort—Desirée. You are heartily weleome to New York. I will be a mother to you.” “— “Believe me, madam,” replied she, brushing a tear from her eyes, “I will be grateful.” “T know it, my child.” “Come. mother, and Miss Rochfort,” inter- rupted Harold. “Let us go home, where we can make our toilet and take a lunch. Then I. will escort Miss Rochfort to Mr. Rathburn’s.” __ “She might remain with us for a fewdays,” suggested his mother.. 3 “Tt would be impolite to Mr. Rathburn,” said
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« FLIRTATION. ’Desirée, ‘for I would only be too happy to do $0. The party now left the pier, and en, coupe drove to Harold’s residence, whic situated in the vicinity of Gramercy Park. A table tastily prepared awaited them in the dining-room, and as Harold was sooner done with his simple toilet than Desirée, he embraced. the opportunity to question his mother as to the condition of his affairs. - | “What an admirable business woman you are,” he exclaimed, after she had given him a brief summary. ‘To youl owe all my wealth. “aa What was I at the outbreak of the war but a simple sea-captain? Whose advice was it to put ing a was ee all my spare cash in cotton? That was the eS basis of my wealth. How could you, a simple ‘ina woman—” be oh “*T became a man,” she interrupted, “the day ep _ when I took the place of the father who had dis- *y owned you.” - e . The shade of melancholy deepened in her face “gs she spoke. oS “Why recall the past, mother?’ he fondly murmured. ‘‘I no longer ask you to tell me his name.” “J will tell you,” she gently replied, ‘when you will have pardoned him as I have,’ Harold took two or three strides up and down the room, and then to change the subject, said: “Til wager. that, while I was gone, you _ busied yourself in reckoning up my fortune.” ‘IT did, It amounts to nearly a million. It isalargesum. What will become of all this money when you are gone?” **T don’t know,” he. carelessly replied. “T guess I’ll bequeath it to the foundling asylum.” His mother sighed deeply. “Would it not be better,” she heey said, ry to have children of your own to bequeat it to? “YT marry?’ he exclaimed, in somber tones; **vou again broach that subject?” ‘ a aaa interrupted his father. ‘‘They attribute it rather to Miss Rochfort’s stay at our house.” - “Oh, if you mean to insinuate that Desirdée renders home more agreeable—” “ At the very outset,” sternly said Mr. Rath- piel “you could as well call her Miss Roch- ort. ' French name, as she calls me Orville?”. I sup- poe you also object to my speaking to her in rench? “T dont like it. You tell her a lot of things . you would not dare to repeat in English. She is our guest and under my protection; she has © won both my friendship and esteem and I very seriously beg you not to make love to her.” ** But, how do you know that I do so?” “My eyes do not deceive me. It cannot be with an honorable intention on your part. You know her position here. You’re not the man to ma a poor school-teacher.” ; “*T admit that I flirt with her.” ; _ “There’s the danger,” said his father in a slightly trembling voice; ‘‘you begin by flirt- ing with a young and pretty girl, just to away the time. Before you are aware of it, caprice becomes love, and love passion.” ‘How you understand the matter!” exclaim- ed Orville, with a peculiar twinkle in hiseyes; ‘have Mt ever passed through the experience?” ‘*T? Never in my life!” hastily ed his father. ‘‘ But I had a friend who flirted with his sister’s piano-teacher as you are doing with Miss Rochfort, and—” “The result was disastrous,” finished Orville. “Did he marry her?” ‘He had contracted a secret marriage with her, but obtained a divorce when his father proved to him that he had good grounds for it.” “Indeed! By the way, father, do you ever go to the theater?” “ Very seldom; why do you ask? “T thought so,” replied Orville with a smile, “Cor else you'd have known that when a charac- ter ina play tells the story of a friend, without giving that friend’s name, it’s always the story of his own life.” 1-3 ‘*You’re absurd,” retorted the banker, rising and pacing up and down the room. ‘‘M friend’s name has nothing to do with the mat- _ ter, but if you must know it, it was Brown.” “Or Jones,” added Orville with a laugh. “ce How old was he? ‘ “Twenty-two.” SY “That excuses him. - I’m twenty-seven and— well, I’vé seen more of the world.’ hice “et hope‘you will take my words to heart and _ demean yourself accordingly,” said his father — as he left the room. j Hardly was he gone when his undutiful son burst into a fit of laughter which threatened to # bir a stroke of apoplexy. ‘“Who would have believed it?’ he gasped. “Will wonders never cease? And so innocent looking too! Ob, my awful dad!” He was still laughing over the idea which had 4 entered his mind in relation to his father’s story, when Blanche and Desirée entered the room. ‘* What a handsome aspirant for your hand!” exclaimed Desirée, as she placed a basket of flowers on the table: ‘*He’s got red hair,” merrily cried Blanche, “but mamma says that won’t amount to any- thing. In fact, they’re falling out already.” ‘* Will you ladies please tell me whom you’re talking about?” ‘‘ The young baron, Victor De Buissey.” ** What about him?” ‘Mamma has just told me that she expects the visit of his father, the French consul at this ‘ ma ae what has the French consul todo with er : : ** He comes to ask the hand of Blanche for his ' son,” replied Desirée. “After what I’ve just heard, I fear this young foreigner will have his trouble for his £. ‘On the contrary,” said Blanche, ‘‘ mamma is enchanted with the idea, and soamJ.” _ “What,” cried Desirée, greatly surprised, ae you will marry him?” ‘Why not? All husbands resemble each other. It’s like the wines in the restaurant, only the label is different. Now Baron De. Buissey is a mighty fine label, and though, asa Yankee girl, I oughtn’t to hanker after a title, yet it would be so grand, you know.” “T thought,” interrupted Orville, ‘that you had already disposed of your affections? It seemed to me that a certain Alfred Barton—” ‘* Are you interested in him?’ ‘Not in the slightest.” “Neither am I. He’s in California. Let him remain there.” “ Oh, if you don’t care for him—” hy ee: for boarding-school romance,” ex- = claimed Blanche, with an angry pout. Se 3 The truth was that she was more disturbed by this reference to Alfred Barton than sho — cared to show. ee rs
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> child and a moment later he enter ment. - answer T _. Rathburn? She kas charged me ): se -me. Nothing more, believe me!” our cheek, | interpret. | plied —_—$<$$—_$_ $$ found a resting-place in my heart. I worship the very ground she treads upon.” ‘‘Tt is an honorable Bee Why, then, should it make you so sa d melancholy ?” ‘‘ Because,” he gloomily replied, ‘‘my love is hopeless.” “ T cannot possibly be mistaken in her. Tam ss sure she would be proud to become—” — . “My niece,” he bitterly interrupted. ‘She calls me uncle. That’s enough. Do not deceive qooreds mother; if Desirée has any inclination or any one, it is not fer'me, but for young Or- ville Rathburn, who is making love to her.” ‘ “Who told you all this?” Fate ‘“‘She herself. She knows that he will not a marry her, and has desired me to procure a sit- uation for her, so that she can leave the family. . I will very likely obtain for her the position of French teacher in the family of Sir Edward - Forster, the wealthy Englishman, whose yacht I have for sale. He is about returning to Eng- land with his family.” ‘“Desirée would be obliged to leave New ‘ York.” aes The thought that he himself was to exile the — ” — of his affections was a bitter one to Har- pee old, yet he felt that it was bis duty to do so, “ She will,” he finally replied, with en effort. “But I prefer that than to see her remain where she is. I fear the rascality of this young dandy of an Orville.” “But, Desirée is thoroughly honorable,” — warmly asserted his mother. Bs “To doubt it would be to insult her,” he re- plied, ‘‘but that may not prevent her from fall- ing a victim to the schemes of men, more infa- - mous than the vilest criminals. Oh, for the Pte pleasure of crushing one of them!” i As he spoke, a fit of rage took ssion of ee him. His face became purple; his form quiver- no ed with passion; his eyes shot forth lurid gleams « = or hate. °. His mother was greatly alarmed at this sud- den outburst. ‘‘-You frighten me,” she army exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. ‘I have never seen you so angry.” ‘Because, for your sake,” he violently an- = swered, ‘‘I crushed within my bosom the bit- ri ter, bitter hate I bear against one man,” 3, “What man, for Heaven’s sake?’ she im- Sed plored. roe “You ask me?” cried he. ‘‘Ididnotintend that you should look into my soul; but this poor girl’s peril has aroused all my indignation = against the man whom I hate without know- = . in: ad e Harold, you forget he is your father!” = lips trembled convulsively. Several times she _ al pted to speak but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. At last, with a ie effort, she uttered the terrible, fatal words: —__ ‘* What if he did not believe it?” 3 Had a thunderbolt descended from a clear sky, Harold could-not have been more astonish- ed than at his mother’s frenzied ejaculation. ‘He did not believe it?’ he stammered. Mrs. Fairchild sunk on the sofa and burying — her face in her hands, burst into tears, ‘A hundred times the words have trembled on my lips,” she sobbed; ‘a hundred times, I cowardly choked them back. Your fat or : was an honorable man, aman of heart, Wiens have not the right to leave under the weight of your contempt and hate. And, however pain- tul this explanation may be—” “*T do not wish tc hear it,” eagerly interrupted her son. ‘It is useless, since 1 don’t know the de sagt ee ~~ é is not the guilty one.” F Who then?” he asked, deeply moved. j ! ae You \”? ’ “Yes, I—and his father,” she continued, slowly rising to her feet. ‘I, who, by my im- peter 2 gave grounds to an odidus suspicion; is father, who cruelly took advantage thereof. - cs You remember your uncle?” ; ae “T do; The good man who, after so much trouble, discovered your place of refuge and cared for us as long as he lived.” Bere, “He was not my brother, save by adoption, but he was always like the best of brothers to Pit ae She gazed pleadingly at him as ske spoke. “Ido believe you, mother,” he sincerely re- _ “But your grandfather believed otherwiso,” she continued, in a low tone, “ and so instruc his son. While awaiting an acknowledgmen
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ee a st nee aa rere FLIRTATION. of our marriage, I was served with the papers in a divoree suit. Accompanying them was a letter as brief asit was cruel. ‘ His father,’ he said, ‘had opened his eyes for him.’” ‘** But you defended the suit, you confounded s the calumniators?” ; Mrs. Fairchild lowered her eyes and almost Hae inaudibly responded: is “cc No. ” oS “No” “Forgive me,” she murmured. ‘I listened es only to my pride. I cared but to die. On the e ; ee a Water's brink the thought of you restrained me _ from the fatal plunge, and I wandered far, far ae away until I sunk exhausted in the streets of the village where you were born. Oh, the hor- ror of that aimless journey! Heaven alone knows what I suffered then. And when you were born, when I realized that I ought to have defended myself, at least for your sake, I recog- <a nized that it was too late. { was a divorced wife; I had been condemned by my silence.” ’ A gleam of infinite tenderness came into Har- ‘a old’s eyes. s ~ ‘* You did right to keep silent, mother,” he Fi fondly exclaimed. ‘‘It was not your duty, but ee his, to demand an explanation. But, don’t tell * me any more that he is a manofheart. Sucha aay raan does not condemn without a hearing, does Pea TOG accept calumny as proof. Let us drop the Subject,” he added, taking up his hat; ‘it is as rk painful for me as for you.” “You are going away?” ‘*T expect the vessel which brings Alfred Bar- ton home. He has bravely acquitted himself of his mission. Henceforth, he shall remain in New York, my right hand, my other self.” ° “He deserves his success.” “I go to meet him at the pier and will bring him home to dine,” He embraced his mother and left the room. ‘* He is angry with me,” she murmured when she was alone, ‘‘for defending his father. He hates and will never forgive him, He shall never know his name.” CHAPTER VI. CRUSHED, Tue Baron De Buissey belonged to that class of the French nobility which, though it can ~ show a long line of titled descent, has very little ~~ to boast of in the way of this world’s goods, _. Unable to sustain himself in Paris, in a con- dition suitable to his rank, he had accepted the _ post of consul in this city, in the hope of prop- ping the fallen fortunes of his house by a mar- _ yiage between his son and one of the wealthy ‘American heiresses whom titled, but impe- _, eunious Frenchmen deem their legitimate prey. re n to suppose that the banking- ouse of Rathburn was one of the most solid in ‘all street; he knew that Blanche would re- ceive one hundred thousand dollars on the day _ of her marriage, from her mother’s estate, and ‘was the prospective heiress of half of her father’s millions. Besides, she was young, P eautiful and well-educated. . Rathburn’s vanity greatly aided him in his design. Mr. Rathburn, at first, was strenuously ripest to the match. He had not forgotten Alfred, and openly declared his preference for the youn __ ¢lerk as a son-in-law, but, as Blanche, infecte by her mother’s ambitious dreams, declared her ; nanos owe to marry the young baron, he was forced to give a reluctant consent. __ To obtain this victory over her husband Mrs. _Rathburn was obliged to sacrifice her pet whim of A buying a Mae as the banker had pecemapierty _ declared that he could not afford to purchase it, hinting, indeed. i notat all as pr’ _ -—s- were a crash to happen on exchange he gravely doubted his ability to weather it. In fact the impending crash came sooner then any one had a it. All through half of that September month the fever of speculation had been raging with ad rate fury in Wall street. On the morning of the eighteenth the bubble burst and the panic came, Jay Cooke & Co. were the first to suspend - payment; other firms and banks followed in rapid succession and the country was plunged into an era of depression and hard times, from which it was years in regrets _.. Mr. Rathburn was sitting in his office, an ut- _\ terly crushed man. _ He held about one hundred and twenty-five _ thousand dollars of their paper which he had _ discounted and which was now seemingly worth- less. He had intended to cover certain obliga- + tions of his own with this paper and now it was ~ leut, Vslers ho could borrow a like sum, and , that his financial affairs were rous as they seemed, and that, ~ The two on gh eh re f Pit ce oh eS SP ee that, too, immediately, he would have to de- clare himself a bankrupt. But who was to lend it to him? Almost every- body was more or less affected by the panic. Each person was distrustful of hisneighbor. No one knew how many more firms would be drag- ged into ruin. In despair Mr. Rathburn sent his clerks to all his business friends. They all returned with the same story of excuses and empty-handed. There seemed no possible mode of escape. The firm of Rathburn, which had stood so long and so proudly among the financial land- marks of Wall street, which had weathered every storm and never failed was at last to go down in bankruptcy and ruin. No wonder the poor old man bowed his head with shame and wept bitter tears. An equally crushed: man, though for a differ- ent reason, was Alfred Barton. Through the two long years of his absence in California he had been true to his love for Blanche. The remembrance of her dear face had been the only consolation in his exile; her letters were guarded next to his heart as though they were priceless jewels, When her correspondence became less and less frequent, and finally altogether ceased, he invented all sorts of excuses for her, but never doubted her love. To render himself more worthy of her he had worked and labored with an assiduity and in- dustry, which, he knew, would be amply re- warded by his employer. Captain Fairchild had held out to him an in- terest in his business as a prize for the faithful accomplishment of his: mission, and to obtain that, for Blanche’s sake, were the aim and ob- ject of all his endeavors. At last bis work was finished, and when the ship arrived at New York, with what proud joy and. heart beating high with hope, he stood on the deck! ears’ sojourn in California had browned his features and made him more man- ly-looking. Never before had he appeared so handsome. Harold welcomed him as he stepped off the ship, and complimented him on his appearance. He also gratified him with the information that he was no longer his clerk but his partner and co-adviser. He would fain have hurried at once to Blanche, but his business duties kept him en- gaged the whole day, and in the evening he had to dine with Harold and his mother, Next day, however, he rose early and clad himself in his best array. He learned that the Rathburns had returned to their one. residence and determined to visit them and boldly ask the hand of Blanche in marriage. After spending several hours at his toilet and having finally satisfied his fastidious taste, he was about to sally forth to learn his fate when his landlady brought him the morning paper. He was about to impatiently throw it aside, when he caught sight of a paragraph which blighted all his fond hopes. twas the announcement of Blanche’s en- gagement to Baron Victor De Buissey. e sunk into a chair, utterly overwhelmed. He felt no rage at the fickleness of the girl he so as wap loved. Be Ming | mg he = he a not be angry with her. But, the poignancy o his disappointment pierced his cart to the core, and, strong man that he was, he wept like a child. it was in this condition that Harold found him. “Hello,” he ejaculated, in surprise, ‘‘ what’s this? In'tears?™ ; ; at Covtaie vie a dtm the Sea mae, rising and grasp: is han ou’ve been like a father to me. You will : Aes when I am gone; but I cannot help it. am too unhappy ve He was about to pass out of the room when Harold forcibly drew him back. “Here, hold on!” he cried. .“‘ What are you going to do?” By E ‘¢Commit suicide,” gloomily replied Alfred. “Ts all New York gone crazy?” exclaimed the captain, with a loud laugh, ‘‘ You're the third man I’ve met this morning who’s going to take a plunge into another world. I let the two first 0, for two fools less on earth will do no harm. ut yow’re my friend, and that’s another mat- ter. Let’s hear your story, Are you, too, caught in the panic?” “Tf it were only a loss of money,” said the young man, “I would laugh, not weep. My whole future is blighted.” ; “That is pretty strong language for a young man whom I have just taken into partnership,” smilingly retorted Harold. ‘“ What care I for partnerships or fortune,if —~ Blanche, I mean Miss Rathburn—” “Oh, ho,” interrupted the captain. ‘‘ That’s * the way the wind blows, is it! You love Blanche Rathburn?” GO “And have you any reason to suppose that she returns your affection, never mind whether she’s engaged or not?” Alfred silently handed him his package of letters. { Harold glanced at them. ‘““Very well. Take my word for it, she will not marry the young Baron De Buissey.” “You bid me to still hope?” exclaimed Alfred joyfully. 3 , “Of course. J promise to dance at your wed- ding. Let me arrange it. You already havea — powerful factor in your favor.” ‘What is that?” ‘Her father’s impending bankruptcy.” CHAPTER VII. HAROLD’S FATHER. LEeAvinG Alfred in much better spirits than he had found him Harold returned home to in- form his mother of the extraordinary news of the day. x ee, : i i th lta & Desirée happened to be there on a Visit. ‘“‘What is the matter, Harold?’ asked his mother as he entered the room; ‘you look ex- cited!” ‘¢ And no wonder,” he replied. There’s a per- fect panic in Wall street.” “A panic!” exclaimed Desirée. * Jay Cooke and Co, have failed!” **T expected no less,” “Thanks to gon foresight, I am, perhaps, the only one unaffected; but others were not so prudent and I am especially sorry for one.” oe Who2” ‘“‘Mr. Rathburn will be obliged to suspend payment.” **Oh Heaven!” cried Desirée. . “The unhappy man,” murmured Mrs, Fair- child sinking into a seat. “Did you know nothing of it, Miss Roch- fort?” asked Harold. ‘“Not a word, nor any of the family either. Poor folks!” ‘How much did Jay Cooke and Co. owe ¢ him?” asked Mrs. Fairchild, her voice trembling with agitation. ras ‘One bundred and twenty-five thousand dol- | S. ‘* And must he for that become bankrupt?” ‘*It seems so. The poor fellow is knocking at all doors but he won’t raise acent. His very attempt to do so robs him of all credit, for it discloses a condition of affairs which people were far from suspecting. “But he has friends,” declared the young girl. ) ‘“Who are all more or less touched by the crash, or will feign to be so, too happy for a- pretext to refuse so risky torted Mrs. Fairchild. “He will at least have one friend,” exclaimed **My plantation is sold. } a loan,” bitterly re- Desirée, generously. I have five thousand dollars—” “You in to offer that?” ejaculated Mrs. Fairchild, dly embracing her; “how good you are!” ‘Tt will be but a drop of water,” declared Harold. 3 “Perhaps,” said Desirée, her whole features lorified by the nobleness of her purpose. ‘Drops of water make rivers.” f The captain gazed mea ee her and in a 7g voice, the bitterness of which he. could not “ entirely conceal, said: as “The honor of this family lies near your a heart.” i “Tt does,” she generously replied, misinter- F preting his meaning. “They welcomed me in| my loneliness; I wil] not abandon them in their distress, and if I’m the only one to come to their aid, I, their friend of yesterday, so much the worse for the others.” She put on her hat and bade them a hasty ‘adieu. Harold wished to detain her but his mother called him back. : “Tet her go, Harold,” she said. “It is so to see a noble action. Besides, it will cost er nothing. Mr. Rathburn will be saved by another than her.” ‘* By another,” he indifferently asked. ‘‘ Who?” She er arms around his neck and bending her head to his whispered in his ear: ““ You |? “yy ui y Yos,” « 4B 4 Oh, no, a thousand times no!” he decisively ==
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—_—_—— es are ee, _ said. ‘I haven’t any one hundred and twenty- .s ; ses thousand dollars to throw out of the win- j ow. , “TI ask them of you,” begged his mother. He looked at her in strange surprise. He knew that she was the last person in the world to take ed unnecessary risks in business, especially where the lending of money was con- cerned, and now to ask him to bolster up a bankrupt was something he never expected from her. e saw that she was greatly agitated and avoided his glance. There must be some power- ful motive for her request. He wondered what it could be. | ‘But, what interest do you take in this man,” he asked, ‘‘ whom you do not even know?” She seemed to be greatly embarrassed by this question. ‘Need I know him?’ she at length replied. Desirée’s affection for him proves that he deserves the sympathy of all honest people. ~ Shall we be less generous than this poor girl?” “Tm not enamored of Mr. Orville Rathburn,” he crossly replied. ** You wrong her,” said his mother, reproach- fully. ‘‘’m sure her generous impulse: was entirely unselfish.” “T grantit. Butif [yield to your whim Mr. Rathburn’s failure would only delayed not avoided. Witha son brought up to a life of luxurious idleness, a wife whose extravagance is boundless, his position would always be as precarious as in the past and more so, since the world now knows of it and he has lost. his eredit.” “That is true,” she pensively admitted. For some moments she paced up and down the room in deep deliberation. Suddenly a thought seemed to strike her and ; turning to her son, she continued: ‘‘ He mustinot be saved by halves. He needs ¢ ' a strong will in his business and you will put one in—yours. You must become his special a {partner. Bek: ‘I become the partner of that blockhead?” at exclaimed Harold, more than ever astonished. * “Tt is the only way of giving — the right 3 to speak firmly in his household and to put i things to order.” ee “ But, that’s the hight of madness! Money— well, I might be induced to give that, but my time, my services—never!” This unusual obstinacy influenced, no doubt, _ by his latent jealousy of Orville Rathburn, put his mother to her wits’ end. There was left to her but one means of fore- ing his obedience. Rising to her full hight she exclaimed in a commanding voice: “Tt must be. I wishit. Jt is your duty.” A long silence followed the words. { Harold stood stock-still and gazed fixedly at her. This time she did not flinch but returned the glance as steadfastly as she had received it. He was satisfied. ‘ “ He is my father,” he slowly said. ‘* He is!” she bravely replied. ' The secret was out at last. The object of his s life-long hate was revealed to him. And, " strange as it may ap , now that he knew the author of his being, he could not hate him. His long business and friendly intercourse with Mr. Rathburn had implanted in his heart a ct for him which could not so easily be eradicated. “J will do all you want,” he said, kissing her hand; “I will guard his honor as if it were my | heritage.” “Thanks,” she gratefully exclaimed. “ But I will not tell him that.I am_ his son,” he continued. ‘ Not even to him do I want to Ni disclose your secret.” ee: ; “Nor do I wish you to do so.” They seated themselves on the sofa and hold- ing eack other by the hand confidentially dis- cussed their plan of saving Mr. Rathburn from ruin. _ *Onee his partner,” asked he, ‘bow am I to ‘prevent his coming here?” | ‘*Have we not each of us Our own rooms on 1 different floors?” “He will ask to be introduced to you.” ‘* You will tell him that I receive no one.” _ “But if he meets you, by chance, while com- ing to see me?” * He will not recognize me. You well under- stand that I assured myself of that fact before primey establish yourself here. When the growth of your business obliged you to open an office in New York I arranged it so as to meet { Mr. Rathburn.” : “¢ And he did not know you?” | “ He had not seen me for thirty-five years. I had changed in features as well as in name.” _ J will goat once to the bank,” said Harold, ay Ta FLIRTATION, i » “to draw one hundred and twenty thousand dollars.” ‘One hundred and twenty-five thousand.” “True enough. We must reimburse Desirée. Dear girl, her action was a noble one, and you, omg he added, embracing her, ‘‘ are an an- el. ‘“Heaven be praised,” feryently murmured Mrs. Fairchild when she was alone. And where was Orville all this time, when his father’s gray hairs were bowing beneath the storm? At home sleeping, not exactly the sleep of the just, but the profound slumber of one who, on he previous evening, had been on a racket. He had come home with the family from a banquet given at the residence of the baron in honor of the betrothal of the young baron to Blanche, and bidden them all good-night, but an hour later, when all in the house were asleep, he had arisen, softly opened the door of his room and crept on tip-toe out of the house. Once in the'street he breathed a sigh of re- lief and directed his footsteps to his club. His arrival there was hailed by his comrades with every demonstration of delight. ‘* Behold the prodigal son returned,” cried one. : “Let us kill the fatted calf in his honor,” add- ed another. ‘¢ Tt’s three months since he’s been here!” “Orville, old fellow, if I don’t intrude, how’s the handsome Southerness?” “Tt is for her sake that I’m here to-night,” said he, replying to the last ker. ‘ Indeed” ejaculated all the gilded inachorus, ‘* You don’t mean to intr here!” ‘* My coming here is an act worthy of a knight of chivalry.” “Explain, explain,” they said. ‘*'You all know my patriarchal habits since she has been an inmate of my father’s house. Now it seems that Miss Rochfort was somewhat compromised by my very virtuous resolutions. Now, you know I’m not. that kind of a man—” He was interrupted by a shout of ironical laughter. s So, to give the lie to calumny,” he conclud- eae m here among you, boys, to make a night of it. 4 “Hurrah!” they shouted, ‘‘ we'll have a jolly me. Orville was the hero of the hour. He was feasted like a prince; champagne flowed in streams; speeches were made in his honor; son were sung anda jolly good time had all around. ‘That the green table was not forgotten was a matter of course, and. Orville jeep re oe left two hundred and fifty dollars in the han of the banker to pay for his night’s entertain- ment. : It was five o’clock in the morning when, with rather unsteady steps and dizzy head, he reach- ed home. He observed the same caution in en- tering his room as he had in pe Be and went to sleep, flattering himself that his little escapade was unnoticed. ——_ his wine-heated brain conjured up many fantastic visions during that sleep, he did not dream what an influence this very es- capade was to have on Desirée’s future fate. ouths, uce her CHAPTER VIII. THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. WueEn Desirée left Mrs. Fairchild’s full of her merous resolve to assist the banker with all he means in her possession, she proceeded di- rectly to his office. There she was informed that he had gone home. On her arrival at the house, however, she found that Mr. Rathburn had not yet come home. Mrs. Rathburn was closeted with her lawyer, while Blanche and Orville, who had just arisen, were amusin themselves in the garden, utterly oblivious o the storm impending over the household. She did not wish to inform them, meer hg the protracted absence of Mr. Rathburn filled her with great alarm. She was about to leave the house in search for him, when he entered, in a state of complete dejection. _ He did not perceive her presence in the room and crossing over ‘4 the settee sunk into it, utterly overwhelm@. ; _Desirée watched him for a few moments in silence, and then slowly approaching him, sym- pathetically asked: ““Did you obtain it?” ; a ‘‘ What,” he moodily asked, raising his head. “What you were —— I know the mis- fortune which has happen to you.” ‘Is it known here? he anxiously asked. ‘ “ ee s u 5 7: hs Pibins “Not yet.” “*T have found nothing,” he despairingly mut- tered. “Then T’ve been more fortunate than you,” she said with a smile. ‘‘ I’ve found five thousand dollars. There they are.” She drew the money, which she had taken from her bureau, from her pocket and handed it to him. “From whom have you obtained this?’ he asked, without taking the bills. pa eee ‘*T am forbidden to name the person,” she re~ = plied, turning her head aside. ot ree: a “But, how am I to give a receipt?” “3 = It is not asked for; confidence is reposed in. ou. Fs 7] ‘“* How will I pay it back?” ‘Very simply; through my hands.” Mr. Rathburn had been narrowl her pss Ay features—as he asked these ques- tions. He now tremblingly rose to his feet, and. : oe | in a voice quivenne with emotion said: \ ae ““These five thousand dollars will not save me. They will be of more use to the donor than to. me—for she is too generous not to be poor.” Desirée made a gesture of dissent. ‘¢'Thanks, my dear child,” he brokenly con-. tinued, taking her hand in his; ‘your offer has: done me good. It bas saved me from losing all Bes! faith in humanity. Keep your little fortune; I do not need it.” bate The young girl was obliged to pocket her money, which she did with a sigh of disappoint- ment, diet. ent. ‘*T will address myself to Mrs. Rathburn,” h more hopefully added. ’ + “To your wife?” : aha watching Br: “She is rich. It is, however, her separate ‘veal tig and I have until now hesitated to ask = er. 5 ° aes ‘*Courage,” said Desirée. ‘‘ Under the cir- cumstances she cannot refuse.” Mrs. Rathburn, at this moment, entered the room. Her flushed, excited manner, the angry flash in her eyes, and her determined step, — plainly evinced what was the nature of the im- rtant communication she had just received om her lawyer. ** Well, sir,” she shrilly exclaimed, pon directly to her trembling husband. ‘Was I right or wrong when I urged you to surrender as the management of your business to Orville?” _ 4 Foreseeing the domestic tempest, Desirée was about to slip from the room but Mrs. Rathburn peremptorily ordered her to remain. bedi “We would not be where we are,” she con- tinued, ‘‘ had you taken my advice.” . ‘‘How would Oryille have escaped the any more than I?’ humbly asked her husband. ~— ‘Let that pass,” she loftily retorted. “To = would have too great an advantage over you = and it is not my fashion to strike people when they’re down. I only reproach you for one thing,” she added, suddenly assuming a kindly _ tone, ‘‘and that is for not coming to meat once instead of going to strangers, making our de- lorable condition known to all New York and orcing your wife into the position of a woman without head or heart, from whom you expec- ted neither advice nor assistance.” ~ tt Gog wor er did 1 tell you?’ whispered Desirée ‘“‘T was wrong; I acknowledge it,” joyfully oe exclaimed the banker, ‘‘ but, Desirée is my v ness that I was on the point of asking eg for +! the assistance which you so gene y offer By « me. Sia ‘““T?” cried his wife, in the greatest surprise, ‘LT offer you nothing at all. Iwould have done | so this morning, but now, what good would it do? Your revelations have the firm. It’s no longer worth the cost of its rescue, as my _ lawyer has just told me.” ; ‘“Then you wish me to fail?’ asked her hus- band, sadly. ‘‘I will die with shame and mor- tification.’ : ‘‘T’m more ashamed of it than you,” she re- torted. ‘Such a miserable, petty nkruptey. Nothing left—” “ But honor,” timidly suggested Desirée. il : Hee, not in question, miss,” snapped the ira’ ‘ ye eee. * ae 4 “eas remain rich while he is in debt,” firmly said the young girl, “your wealth, not — his failure, will dishonor him.” > “Such notions of honor, my dear, are some- what out of date,” retorted Mrs. Rathburn, _ with a grim smile. “That happens every day __ in New York, and to act otherwise wouldbea piece, of folly for which no one would thank ou : “Except your husband and his creditors.” ee Advisers are not payers,” dryly rejoined the y: sy
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eo ee ‘ “She has offered me the whole of her for- ae tune,” generously declared the banker. : ** And I still offer it to you.” ss “Ts that .a bid for a marriage?” thought Or- ville’s mother. ‘‘That’s all very nice, miss,” she said, aloud, ‘‘but I am a mother before all else; it is my children’s money that is asked of me; I refuse it.” . ‘* Refuse my sister’s, but give mine, I beg = you, The words were uttered by Orville, who, a fei moment before, had entered the room, = ~~ He had heard of his father’s misfortune, and, ees like a sharp acid, the news bad eaten away the poe ion coating of frivolity and selfishness which covered his heart, and revealed the pure gold beneath. All his inherent manh serted itself in the noble ejaculation. “You, too?” scornfully retorted his mother. *“You alone can save us,” urged the youn raan, ‘‘and I. do not understand why you shoul hesitate—” “To throw what is left into the abyss ppd by Your father?” she interrupted, scornfully. | ‘Do not accuse him,” then, should I accuse?” she angrily exclaimed. ‘‘Imprudent in parting with his money, he is too timid to take advantage of his ewn failure.” as- : ’ Ry 4 7, SERNA Vel, Co i, ae WS The young man gazed at his grief-stricken father, and Fis heart swelled with filial love. . imprudence,” he exclaimed, in ringin tones, ‘‘is a confidence which was shared by al ‘the bankers in Wall street; his timidity 1 call honesty—a regard for our honor: Cheer up, dear father,” he fondly added, approaching him; your children are with you.” “My son, my son!” cried Mr. Rathburn, throw- ing his arms around the young man’s neck and phy “a tig of emotion and joy. sj ® Orville!” exclaimed Desirée, wiping er eyes. S Mrs. Rathburn bit her lips and stamped her feet with vexation. “Tf we grow sentimental, all is lost,” she de- clared. ‘‘Sentiment is out of place in business,” as my yaw yer says.’ Be all against me, if you «wish; I will think for all, since I’m the only one who hasn’t lost head. You'll thank me one of these days,” “But, mother,” implored Orville— “It’s my last word,” she decisively retorted. “Captain Fairchild,” announced the servant. “ A visit at this moment?’ irritably exclaim- ed Orville. _. Harold stood on the threshold of the room, greatly moved at the sorrowful picture before him, .- es “Excuse me, sir,’’ said Orville, approaching sea b) aca but you intrude upon a family council.” “Pm not out of place,” slowly replied he with a hidden meaning which the others could not perceive. ‘‘I understand, sir,” he added, addressing the banker, ‘‘that you need one hun- dred and twenty-five thousand dollars. I bring that sum to you.” _ The unexpected announcement produced vari- ous effects on his hearers. Mr. Rathburn was so overcome with surprise ey could only stammer forth: yore His wife breathed a sigh of great relief, and “EWES? | _... Orville, as jealous of Harold as the latter was of hi ; could not help frowning and muttering: '3 the last man I would wish to be under obligations to.” , ; tf : __.__ Desirée remained, silent, but she gazed at _ Harold with a look of delight which would have sent him into the seventh heaven of bliss had he noticed it. On board the ship he had appeared to her as a hero; now he assumed, in her eyes, the grander, more sublime character of a guar- _Alian angel, As soon as the banker bad recovered suf- ficiently. to.speak connectedly, he exclaimed: . “You, sir, who owe me nothing, come to my assistance when those on whom I had’ the right to most rely, abandon me! May Heaven bless _you; you save my life!” .. “Your life?” ejaculated Orville. _. “Do. you believe that I would have survived cruptcy?” asked his father with quiet Whe aS is indeed. a man of heart,” murmured aroid. . ny pS What gratitude I owe you, sir,” began the “It’s nota question of gratitude,” coldly in- ‘terrupted Harcid. “TPve not come so much to render youa favor as'to make a business prop- osition.” f “T prefer that,” muttered Orville, -you to release Fy FLIRTATION. ‘‘ You are none the less my preserver,” grate- fully exclaimed Mr. Rathburn. “All the better,” smilingly said Harold. “Here is my proposition: 1 believe that the banking-house of Rathburn can be re-establish- ed, and I offer not to become your creditor, but your special partner. How does that suit you? ; “‘ How does it suit me!” delightedly cried. the banker; “‘ your money is nothing compared to your co-operation. our name alone: will suf- fice to regain my lost.credit. And your energy, your experience—” “There, there,” good-naturedly interrupted Harold. ‘‘ The matter is settled then?” “Done!” The two men, father and son, shook hands. ‘¢ Allow all the family to add their sincere thanks to those of Mr. Rathburn,” graciously said the banker’s wife. “T hope, sir,” said Orville, coldly, ‘that the copartnership will be as much to your advan- tage as it is to ours.” “Tt is in that hope that I make it,” replied Harold, in the same tone. ‘‘ Let us go to your study, Mr. Rathburn; we have several things now to arrange.” “Permit me to show you the way,” said the banker, passing before him. “Are you Satisfied?’ whispered Harold to Desirée, as he passed her. ‘* Yes, indeed,” she ardently responded. CHAPTER 1X. THE BARON’S DILEMMA. “WHat unexpected luck!” ejaculated Mrs. Rathburn, after her husband and Harold had left the room. ‘‘ And on the brink of what misfortune we were without suspecting it,” added Desirée. “When I think of Mr. Rathburn’s despairing resolve—” “Do you think I'd have let it come to that?” the lady hastened to assure her. ‘‘ Poor old man! had exhausted all my energy in the cruel refusal. No matter now! All’s well that ends well—but, mercy, I had forgotten! All’s not ended yet.” “ What now?” asked Orville. “Your sister’s marriage.” “Youw’re afraid it will fall through?” “ Ah, well! The position of your father’s firm is greatl diminished.” It will be re-established.” “T hope so, but, between a banking-house which needs to be propped and one in full pros- - perity like that of Travers’s—” “You're afraid,” laughed Orville, ‘‘ that the baron will br his son’s engagement to Blanche and turn bis attention to the fair daughter of our business rival? I believe he’s too conceited to draw back on a mere question of money.” . ‘* Mrs. Rathburn means, I take it,” diplomat- ically su ones Desirée, ‘‘ that there might be — in elicacy in holding the baron his word. ‘But I don’t mean any such thing,” declared that lady. ‘““Then you are wrong,” warmly said her son. ‘* Under the circumstances, a thing to do is to give him back his word, whatever the consequences may be. Father must go to the office of the French consul, and the sooner the better.” ‘‘The Baron De Buissey,” announced the ser- vant. + cepa igh said Desirée; with a» peculiar smile, The baron eo wind of Mr. Rathburn’s misfortune and hurried in hot haste to save himself and his son before it was too late. He, however, entered the room, with an af- fectation of the profoundest sympathy. ‘‘Ah, my poor friends,” he dolorously ex- claimed, “what have I learned? May I speak before Miss—” i “‘Rochfort,” completed Orville, ‘ves; she’s -one of the family.” “So they say,” muttered the baron, with a in. ‘* Believe me,” he continued, aloud, ‘ that no one more deeply sympathizes than I in the piaeis ieboe 2 wae has befallen you—I eas to say en us, for my poor son is in despair. He so loved Miss Blanche.” “Then he no “Loved!” repeated Ox#ille. ea do: sons wal: that,” deprecating] lied o not say ,” deprecatingly rep the baron, ‘‘but you understand—” ‘So well,” haughtily interrupted the young man, ‘‘that my father was just about to go to our son from his engagement to my sister. regret that you sh have fcrestalled us,” “I expected no less from your delicacy,” replied the baron, with a bow. ‘But, we had the right to expect more from: your courtesy,” coldly retorted Orville. ‘* Permit me,” began the baron— ‘‘In a word,” interrupted Mrs. Rathburn, angered by this exhibition of sordid meanness, “the engagement is broken.” ‘* Alas! madam,” exclaimed the nobleman, with an affectation of humility, as a father—” ‘““T thought you were above pecuniary con- siderations, sir?” sneered the lady. “Tf it were only a matter of money,” he grandiloquently exclaimed, ‘‘ your ruin would. rather strengthen our alliance. I saw only one: dark spot in the union of our two families, the disproportion between our fortunes. No, no, madam; if I draw back it is only on account of the bankruptcy.” ‘What bankruptcy?” she coolly asked. “‘ Apparently Mr. Rathburn’s.” “* But, sir,” proudly declared Orville, ‘‘ there’s not the slightest likelihood of it.” “What?” cried the baron, in consternation, ‘is not your father on the point of suspending payment?” ‘By no means,” affirmed Mrs.. Rathburn; ‘*we will pay, to-morrow, on demand.” The nobleman was thunderstruck. Had he © y in his conclusions? Had he de- liberately thrown away the fortune which was already inhis grasp? He, already, began to re- gret his hasty action, when a solution of the mystery presented itself to his mind. ‘I’m delighted to hear it,” he hypocritically exclaimed. i sae evident,” ironically murmured De- sirée. “A great sacrifice for you, madam—great. ve eat,” he continued. wen P ‘“What sacrifice?” asked Mrs. Rathburn; ‘“T know of none.” ‘You're not going to rescue the firm?’ he ex- claimed with a stupefied air. ‘‘ Who then?’ “Captain Fairchild,” replied Orville, who be-~ comes my father’s special partner in the sum of one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.” “The deuce!” with a grimace; ‘‘but only a a partner—not generally liable and respon- sible .'* Al, still a question of money !” was Desirée’s sarcastic remark. ‘‘ And you anobleman!” turned to her with an elaborate bow and said: é “A nobleman, my Pra mocker. Yes—one who never breaks his plighted word. The co Baron De Buissey is betrothed to Miss lanche and will keep his troth. With my son it is not a question of arm 4 “ Ah, baron, exclaimed Mrs. Rathburn, de- lighted that her pet scheme was not to fail, after all. ‘‘ Now 1 find you again—” ‘*T cannot tell you, my friends, my dear relatives,” he hypocritically interrupted, ‘‘ how happy. I especially came this morning to sa that I wish to have you all accompany me this: evening to the theater, where [ have engaged the large proscenium box. A little relaxation after your troubles will do you all good. Vil take no refusal,” and bidding them aw revoir in the most elaborate style he took his depart- ure. “‘T don’t like the way the matter’s been patch- ed up,” he mused, when he had gained the street. ‘‘Had Captain Fairchild been a general partner, all right; but a special one! I won’t risk it!’ The Traverses would jump at my son. They’ve. got an eligible daughter, Tl break this confounded match, and that 1 gai saucy Miss Rochfort will furnish me with a reason.” CHAPTER X. f TEMPTATION. THAT ee to his promise, the baron entertained the Rathburn family in his box at. the theater. He was especially attentive to Mrs. Rathburn, and in his cunning way drew from her all about the relation of Desirée to Orville . After the performance was over they returned directly to Innwood. : The ‘next day Orville s to his sister and Desirée that they sho called “‘ Stag and Hounds.” ‘‘What’s that?” asked the two girls in con- cert. “Tt’s a mock hunt,” he explained. ‘The y go out on horseback. One of the riders is the stag. He is given five minutes’ start. He has a bag full of variously colored papers which he scatters about while oping; that’s his trail. His object is to put the hunt at fault, you understand?” pe ‘s Splendid!” eried Blanche, ‘‘ Let me be the stag.’ ' ; engage ina game >
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FLIRTATION, * “Then Desirée and I will be the hunters. I’m willing.” _ . * And so am I,” assented. she. ; fast ago and bags were soon obtained and the ladies having put on their riding costumes, _ the party set out for the woods. aving found a spot convenient for a start, Blanche took the pavers and darted ahead. “Catch me, if you can!” she cried, with a } burst of merry laughter, as her horse disap- peared with her in the thick foliage. Allowing her the full five minutes, Desirée and Orville started off in pursuit. Owing to the different speeding qualities of their steeds the hunters soon became se ted and while she conscientiously tried to run down the mock stag, he devoted himself to the more agreeable task of hunting his fellow huntress. _. He finally came up to her in a secluded por- tion of the forest where she was walking her tired horse. “Haven't you found the stag, Orville?’ she asked as he approached. “No; did you?” “P’ve completely lost the trail.” “IfI haven’t caught the stag,” he said, guid- ing his horse close up to hers, “I’ve accom- plished the object I had in mind when I sug- gested the game.” “So, then, you had a hidden purpose?” she _ “I confess it,” he answered, his voice becom- ing low and tender; ‘‘can’t you guess it?” he burst into a merry Jaugh. ‘Becoming sentimental again,’’ she mischiev- ously exclaimed. And giving her steed a tap with her whip, she opesh away from him. i “But, Desirée, listen,” be cried, starting after er. A broad drainege ditch, partially filled with water, extended across her path. She encour- aged her horse with a shout and the noble ani- mal crossed it with a bound. ‘Well, what do you want?” she saucily ex- claimed, reining in her steed on the other side of the canal. She knew that Orville’s horse, a much inferior animal, would never be.able to leap the ditch. ““To tell you,” he replied, attempting to force his stubborn nag across the dividing chasm, “that— Get up, you confounded brute!” » “Are you addressing me?’ she demurely ed. “No, my stupid horse—I love— a “* Your horse?” . “No, you!” he replied tugging away at his animal with all his might. nf _ This declaration, intermingled, as it was, - with objurgations against his horse, struck : irée as so supremely ridiculous that she was | rs & to hold her sides with laughter. JT wish you would address your remarks to one object at a time,” she said, as soon as she could gain breath to talk. “‘T mean to doso,” he answered—‘‘ to you.” “No, to your horse,” she retorted; ‘‘that is of more importance.” _, And giving her bridle a pull, she gallo away leaving him in his uncomfortable position, : in a humor not to be described. - _ Two hours later Blanche came riding home, in 4 great glee, at the thought she had completely outwitted her pursuers, She was, however, taken quite aback when she encountered in the parlor, Desirée, clad in ordinary costume. — “What,” she exclaimed, “you home and have already changed your dress?” _ “T lost: the clew,” she ped replied. “‘I gave up the hunt. and returned by the shortest : route.” . “* And Orville?” . “TJ left him on the border of a ditch in a dis- cussion with his horse,” she said, with a faint smile; ‘ 2 a know if they’ve come to an agreement yet. ** And iarta, m Blanche ppoin lowed!” ; She left the room to chan _“ How thankful I am to Captain Fairchild,” —. ore spies ne she was alone, “for promising— The ejaculation was directed to Orville, who at that moment entered the room. “Pm very angry!” he exclaimed, in an irri- tone. : a patee you horse?’ she laughingly asked. ia 6 _ **No, against you.” eh a “ What is my crime?” she inquired. ¥ You took advantage of my position to make funofme,” — 7 ee, SR ursued,” exclaimed self “T wasn’t even fol- y- lor, repairing to her own er dress. ‘‘ Frankly, I had to laugh; I couldn’t help it. You were so ridiculous.” She —— to laugh again at the mere remem- brance of the episode at the ditch. ‘* A balky horse is not an unusual sight.” ‘‘No, but a ditch cutting a declaration of love in two, a cavalier interrupting his tender avowals with a ‘get up, you confounded brute,’ and the object of his ardent affections on the other side laughing at him—confess, my dear Orville, that your unlucky declaration will stick in that ditch.” Her eyes sparkled so mischievously, her cheeks were so rosy red, her lips so dewy, her silvery laugh so name HY that the young man completely lost his head. ‘‘ What if that declaration sbould leave that ditch?” he fervently asked. “lve a magic formula to conjure it back again,” she merrily replied. “My ition was somewhat ridiculous, I confess, but my sentiments are not, because they are sincere and—” ‘“**Get up there, you confounded brute,’ ” in- terrupted she, with the most provoking cool- ness. ‘‘ Continue, Orville.” ‘“‘Tt’s no longer necessary,” he bitterly retort- ed, turning away from her. ‘My feelings e— if In the ditch. I told you I had a magic for- m ‘**T detest you!” he snapped, in his hot morti- fication. “'That’s no more true than your love senti- ments are sincere.” ‘That is to say,” he qecleney, pr ing her, *‘ that you consider me incapa- le of either seriously loving or hating you.” ‘* Exactly,” she frankly admitted, ing a seat at the table. “ And if I, one day, succeed in convincing you that I am serious?’ he more + beg asked. ‘‘ Then I will no longer laugh.” ‘“‘Desirée,” he passionately exclaimed, ‘‘ since your coming here you have completely meta- morphosed me; you have made of me a new being. Do not despise your own work; crown it with happiness; you can do so with a word.” She was silent, and impatiently he awaited her answer... She gazed thoughtfully on the floor for a few minutes, then, raising her head, gravely asked: ‘Tt is serious, then?” ‘* Very serious,” he ardently replied. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but her de- meanor was quiet apd a “But, Orville,” she said, ‘“‘ you are foolish, aa would your mother say if she heard ou “She does not hear me, nor ever will!” he ly cried, sinking on his knees before her. will conceal my happiness from her as well as from the entire world.” He sought to take her hand, butshe brusquely arose and coldly said: ie er oe ta De ae e rose from his knee and re- mained standing before her. : She looked at him keenly, bit her lips, and then shrugging her shoulders, said; * Are you stupid, my poor Orville? We were such good friends.” “Hush,” interrupted he, suddenly; “my fa- ther is coming.” “ Ah, there you are, Orville!” said the banker, as he entered the room with a letter in his . $o much the better. You'll mount on horseback.” “ve just alighted,” announced the young man, not much p at the thought of being sent away at that moment. “Mount again. It is a confidential mission. Take this letter to Havens; deliver it into the hands of the person to whom it is addressed and ask for an answer.” Orville took the letter. ‘*She made a pout,” he muttered, as he left the room, “ but she did not refuse:point-blank.” “It’s time to put a stop to this,” thought De- Hagin ary. 9 my dear Desirée,” said the banker, ae is hands, ‘‘nothing but re- trenchment: y wife is determined to cut down expenses ever since Captain Fairchild in- sinuated that she lived too extravagantly. I believé she’s doing it out of mere spite. Ah, what a man the captain is!” “Tl be happy to leave you, and seek his pro- gre again,” quietly announced the young rl. ‘“‘ How?” he cried, in great surprise. ‘‘ You think of leaving us?” mat ‘The sooner the better,” s! ietly declared. “Is it because we are retrendhing?” he asked. once more ap- ea “ . oa “ er & ie . ‘ ie ~~ oP ee in el ae. he a ‘* No,” she replied, ‘‘ but I must think of my future.” CHAPTER XI. eee TWO HEARTS THAT BEAT AS ONE. + a Mr. RATHBURN did not perceive the hidden meaning in her words, but Harold, who, at that moment, entered the room, understood her only too well. ‘““Tt's as I feared,” he muttered; “‘ she finds it absolutely necessary to leave the house. But, you'll have to leave New York for England,’ es he added, aloud. Ss (eee a “Leave New York!” she exclaimed disap- pointedly, “and you find that necessary?” ‘“T would not have even mentioned it,” he replied, exercising a terrible self-control lest she “Col should suspect his hidden grief, “‘ were I notsure of confiding hg to a good and honorable family. It is that of Sir Edward Forster.” “The owner of the yacht?’ asked the banker, Byes “T now own the yacht,” answered Harold 3 with a smile. f ; “What,” fairly roared Mr. Rathburn, “ will wonders never cease? My wife turns economical . and the prudent captain lavishes his money on yachts! What on earth will you do with it?” é “Tt has already served to make the acquaint- ; ance of Sir Edward,” he a 2 ‘‘T understand,” gratefully exclaimed Desirée. i ‘Fearful lest he should be angered by Mrs. — i Rathburn’s refusal, you bought the rece your- ait i self, in order to have him lend a willing ear to — Be: your application for a situation for me. How ae ; eae are!” 4 “You are only partly right,” he modestly ty Ae returned, ‘I’ve promised my mother to make no more voyages, and yet my sea-legs need a little stretching once in a while. The vesselisa steam yacht and can cross the Atlantic almost as rapidly as a regular steamer. I might make uy a trip across the great pond, once in a While, to see if you are satisfied with your position.” — Gee ““To make me, if possible, forget my exile,” she said, with tears in her eyes. ‘‘I thank . ou.” , : me See here, Captain Fairchild,” cried the eat banker. ‘‘ I’m subject to sea-sickness, but, hang it, you must take me on board on one of these; excursions.” a Rae ‘‘Thanks, my kind, my dear friends,” mur-‘ mured Desirée, deeply moved by these ex- | = pressions of friendship, ‘‘ you_give me to exile myself. When must I answer?” “You have twenty-four hours to consider the matter.” “It is very likely that I'll accept, Yet, Pll reflect upon it.” es be Mr. Neti ncn ap oe aya ag! 4 special object in coming here to-day was in cuss a little matter between us two—no b: us three,” he added as the motion to leave the room. between oung gi 1 made a UT elnertaen teak the French consul’s son is going to marry your irs on he “Tt is true,” ae “Do you like this marriage?” : eres | but Mrs. Rathburn has set her heart on it,” had ‘“* And you would sacrifice your daughter to your_wife’s vanity?” Tats ' “ Excuse eh my pen ede pi een 3 ¢ ,as the thought arose t, per- tops, Harold himself was in love with Blan “4, “you do not pretend to take a greater int : in my daughter than her mother and I?” et ee The captain laughed at the hint conveyed In the words. : Wat gt tea “IT make no such pretension,” he replied, “but I do interest myself tly ina young _— man nS marriage re’ ers desperate,” cart ‘Who is he es ea “My right arm, my other self, Alfred Bar- _ ton,” warmly replied ld e* “JT thought he was in California,” exclaimed = Desirée. . ‘ae ‘He arrived the other day, and the news of Blanche’s betrothal was his welcome on landing. mt He loves her, I can assure you, and would ren- der her ha ee he ted the ” “I know it well,” cordially re ; banker, ‘‘and he was my choice forason-in~ law. But, my wife won’t hear him mentioned. = She’s going to give her daughter’s dowry.” Ye tf Bat ‘Alfred asks nothing. He wo marry her without a dowry.” : Th et os the matter ‘ ht be arranged,” Ae. sented Mr. Rathburn; ‘‘but, the deuce!” he added, suddenly; “it can’t be! Blancheloves = pert Heng deseo 2) pe Oe ‘Tt is impossible,” affirmed Harold; | feel ; when he left for California, believed himself — loved, and he’s not a conceited fool. Hisabsence =
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hag been taken advantage cf to turn Blanche’s heart again him. | “Undoubtedly,” declared Desirée. ‘Her ie 3 Be fra, girlish vanity has been played upon; the baron- Ss ete dangled before her eyes.” ‘ lanche, at this juncture, entered the room. ‘Here she is,” said the banker; ‘‘ speak to her _ yourself.” “ Willingly. Miss Blanche!” . , “Sir,” said the young girl, approaching the captain. He gazed at her for a moment, and then with his usual bluntness, asked: ‘“Ts it true that you love the young Baron De Buissey?” an “Ts that any of your business?” she retorted, ad unnaturally indignant at this style of ad- "Ss. She went to her father and asked: ‘‘What right has he got to mix himself up in my affairs?” . ‘ Answer him as you would our best friend,” -. soothingly replied he. ‘Do youlove your be- _ trothed?” o ‘“Can any one love him?’ exclaimed Desirée. ft **Tt’s not indispensable,” replied Blanche, with an assumption of worldly wisdom which was a trait of her character. ‘‘ Marriage being the - main object of a young lady’s life, the person of one’s husband is of less importance than his position in society. You see, I’m not at all ro- - mantic.” _- **¥ou are not,” assented Desirée, ‘and only eighteen years old. ‘ What frost has nipped your tender feelings in the bud?” She gently forced her into the easy-chair as . ‘she asked the question. “Oh, that’s the style!” bitterly exclaimed Harold. ‘‘ It’s fashionable nowadays for young __ ladies to be positivists. They would blush to be - deemed sentimental.” “So much the worse for them,” declared - . -‘Desirée. eee _ “Yes, so much the worse,” the captain earn- = -‘estly affirmed, “for romance is right, the ideal isthe a Believe me, my dear Blanche, mar- riage 1 basest of human institutions, if it is iN only a union of two fortunes.” “ And the most sublime of divine sacraments,” _ enthusiastically added Desirée, ‘‘when it is the ‘ tnien of two souls,” _*. Unconsciously their glances met as they thus a Ftd utterance to these noble sentiments, A deep flush suffused their cheeks, and lowering their eyes, they remained silent. “ Listen to them, my child,” approvingly said . Mr. Rathburn; “and listen, also, to your old _ father. There isa young man here who loves you. 19 Biktaixtty Blanche sprung to her feet. Her whole form trembled with excitement, while her face became scarlet with blushes. ~— Na Wie towed returned?” she eagerly asked—“ Al- “ What did I tell you?” triumphantly exclaim- ed Harold. Ali. vo ii re is all of her positivism now?” smil- . ingly added Desirée. ' “Alfred has come back,” replied Mr. Rath- burn. ‘He told Harold every thing. He's in _ “ Poor fellow!” she pityingly murmured. _ “He doesn’t 1 es ortune,” continued her father; “he’s ready to marry you without ( y, if your mother won’t give it. Cap- "The captain, however, was not there. Hehad aire wiped from the room, only to return, in afew moments, ee him Bar- ton, whom he had posted in the vicinity to await the result of the conference. The meeting of the lovers was affecting, and some time elapsed before the ruffled emotions of all present were sufficiently smoothed for the - eonyersation to continue. pets Ree sweet Blanche,” ee ed 4 , ‘my dear captain, Mr. Rathburn, _ Miss Rochfort—oh, I’m too happy to speak.” “And I, too, am happy,” fondly murmured _ Blanche, pillowing her head on his shoulder. “T wouldn’t marry that ugly red-headed little -Buissey if he were ten times over a baron.” “Mr, Rathburn,” cried the young man, ‘ you : aly me your daughter. Itis a priceless trust, but £ prove og eye worthy of it, indeed I will. Blanche will hot have an eons hour in her life. 1-will be to her a true, a loving _ husband, and to you the most dutiful of sons.” __ “T know it, my boy,” affectionately replied the banker, shaking his hand, “‘I recognized - your worth fron: the moment I first saw you. You remember the night you brought Blanche -__- home to us from the woods?” Happy night!” murmured the lover. te oe Eas Renae * ae Se ee ee ——EEE——E———E— Eee Ce ee ee FLIRTATION. ‘ “T heartily, willingly give my consent, but with that all is not yet obtained. We must get her mother’s.” ‘‘Captain Fairchild can do every thing,” con- fidently exclaimed Blanche. ‘‘ He will convert mamma.” ‘‘[’m afraid Mrs. Rathburn would think, and with reason, that I rather exceed the rights of a simple partner. It is your father’s province to discuss the matter with her.” ; ‘* Will you have the courage to do it, papa?” “Will I have the courage?” heexclaimed with an air of bravado, ‘‘ when my daughter’s happi- ness is at stake? A woman can’t frighten me! Clear out, all of you, she may come in at any moment.’ ‘Mr. Rathburn is right. Come, Alfred! And, Miss Desirée, I shall expect your answer to-morrow.” “Yes, sir,” she replied. Harold and Alfred left the house, while the two girls, hearing Mrs. Rathburn’s step on the stairs, hastily made their exit, leaving the banker alone in the room. ““My wife is coming,” he muttered with a wry face, ‘‘ now for the tug of war.” CHAPTER XII. CALUMNY. Mrs. RATHBURN entered the room, flushed and excited. In her hand was an open letter, which she had evidently just received and read, and which was the cause of her agitation. ‘*My dear,” said her husband, ‘ve got big news to tell you.” ** And so have I to tell you!” “Let us begin with mine.° I’ve Blanche; she can’t bear this baron— His wife made a motion to speak. “Do not interrupt, please,” he continued. ‘*She loves Alfred Barton and will marry no one but him.” ‘‘He has returned?” ‘* He was here a moment ago.” ‘“*Heaven be praised! He could not have come at a better time.” ‘*What, you consent?” cried her husband, greatly astonished. ‘* With all my heart!” ‘* But, my dear, I don’t understand this sud- den conversion. LIexpected to find you deter- mined that Blanche should marry the consul’s son. “The consul has broken the engagement, that’s my news.” “Bravo! That’s good news,” he delightedly exclaimed, rubbing his hands with glee. / “Yes,” she angrily retorted, “‘if this miser had only broken it on a question of money, but, to save his conceit he needed a nobler pretext, and he has found one, which places us in the sad necessity of immediately dismissing Miss Rochfort.” “Dismiss Disirée?” eried he, in painful sur- questioned rise. Pn Here’s the letter which I just received from him; read it.” She handed him the paper she held in her hand. He folded out the crumpled sheet and having adjusted his eye-glasses, read as fol- lows: ““ MADAM: : I braved public opinion as long as I could believe it calumniated ou. It would have been too painful for me to admit that you would tolerate under your roof a y who ns ques- tionable relations with your son. But after your “What confidences?” he asked, ‘I’ve heard nothing.” “During the third act, at the theater, the consul drew me aside in the box.” “T did not observe it; and then?’ “He got around me by all sorts of flattery; in brief, I was caught in a trap like a fool an confessed rg hon ge ; ‘But what had you to confess?” he sternly demanded. ~ “Then you never perceived anything?” she inquired. ‘That Orville has made advances to Desirée? Yes; but if you have no other proofs of—” “Tye a hundred. To go no er, I saw her receive a note from him in this very room.” “Pshaw! <A French girl’s pretty method of sa. ing provoking things.” ‘Nevertheless, she must leave at once.” “Chase her away?’ indi tly exclaimed her husband; “that would be the meanest cow- ardice and would destroy the poor child’s good name to a certainty; for it would be taken as a concession to what the consul says is public opinion! No, no,” he nobly added, ‘let us, on the contrary, proudly surround her with our friendship and esteem. The consul’s statements are both an insult and a calumny. He must have a grudge against the dear girl—a bitter feeling, to thus put poison in your mind. He’s a dastard thus to strike at a girl’s good name!” Desirée just then was crossing the veranda, which adjoined the parlor. The banker per- ceived her and called her to him. “My poor child,” said he, passing his arm around her waist and drawing her closely to him, “ You must not accept the situation at Sir Edward Forster’s, but remain with us. It is necessary for your konor and ours,” and he proceeded to narrate the substance of the bar- on’s insinuations, adding, in conclusion: ‘‘ you understand that your departure at this moment — will look like an expulsion, which will give cal- umny the victory.’ ; ‘Tt will, indeed,” she murmured, sinking into a chair and bursting into tears. ‘‘Oh, my friend,” she sobbingly continued, ‘‘how good of you to defend, to shelter me! How I thank you! It was too much for Mrs. Rathburn’s perverse nature to let the poor girl escape without giving her at least one stab. “My husband and I,” she said, in pointed tones, ‘‘only do our duty in protecting» pou, but it is certain that, to say the least, you have been very imprudent in encouraging my son’s infatuation.” Desirée quickly withdrew the handkerchief from her eyes, and fixing a burning glance on ~ the lady, breathlessly asked: ‘*¢To say the least,’ madam! What do you mean by that ?” ‘“‘Let us drop the subject, miss,” replied the other, with a perceptible sneer in her toness **Madam,” reproachfully cried the banker, deeply pained at his wife’s exhibition of petty ite, ite. ‘* Does she believe that her son is not an hon- orable lover?’ hissed Desirée, through her set teeth, her whole form trembling with insulted rage. ig “ Desirée,” ty Merk Mr. Rathburn, foreseeing the storm about to ensue. ‘She believes it!” cried the girl, springing to her feet. The hot French blood in her veins was at the boiling’ point. With her tapering fingers clenched into a fist, and her hand upraised, she | marched directly toward where Mrs. Rathburn was standing, and for a moment it seemed as if: — she intended to strike her. ‘ But the fit of rage left her, as suddenly as it had taken possession of her, and, lowering her = to her side, she exclaimed, in heart-broken mes: “And you think that Ihave paid for your — hospitality with my honor. What shame! er voice became choked with tears, but, im- ps nee brushing the drops from her eyes, she | uskily added: ‘Farewell. To stay another hour under this roof is shame indeed!’ * But,” urged the banker, ‘‘in quitting it you are surely compromised!” ‘‘ Better that than to be reviled here!” “Tt will be said that we have driven you away,” declared Mrs. Rathburn. Desirée, standing on the threshold of the room, gazed at her with an air of contempt, and in a tone of queenly pride rejoined: ; “They will soon understand that I leave be- cause it would be beneath my dignity to associ- ate with you |” CHAPTER XIil. A BITTER HUMILIATION. DrstrR&E went directly to her room and lock- ed herself in, while Mr. and Mrs. Rathburn re- mained in the parlor, thunderstruck by her de-— termined resolve. The first thing the young gir] did was to wash away the traces of her tears; then she proceed- ed to pack her trunks. Having accomplished this she rung the bell for the footman and ad- _ mitted him when he knocked. She was now perfectly self- ‘‘ James,” she said, ‘‘can you give me the ad- dress of a respectable hotel where a young lady can pass the night?” ding the direction. ‘Very well. Could I reach the depot in time to catch the train for New York?” ‘* Tf you ride there, miss, yes.” eet la “You will please get me a cab at once.” — *Do you not wish to take the family car- riage?” he asked in some surprise. f ; “No. And, James, you have been a faithful attendant while I have been here. I am going to leave and—take this.” ; She pressed a ten-dollar bill in his hand, ae ‘“‘ There’s the Clarendon, miss,” he replied, ad-.
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1% ae i ion set wan a ho - | =, Sp a —? Pa rt ye ae ; | ; * ; ‘ A ' of TER NE LS BOSE OF BE TES sl in, ‘Thanks, miss!” ; ! Pt _ Vant, as he ke the money. ‘‘ You. were iF always kind to me.” ; rie ” mis eee: ae) t “You will not let any of the family know where I am going.” “‘T understand, miss.” “My trunks may remain here until to-mor- row. I will let you know where to bring them. Now go for a cab.” James did as he was directed, wondering what was up, but too discreet and well-trained to inquire. e cab was soon at the door, and being in- formed of that fact, Desirée, who had mean- while put on her shawl and hat, left the room and descended the stairs, It was a great relief to her that Orville had not yet returned from the errand on which his father had sent him, for his presence, at her de- ach yp under these circumstances, would have nextremely painful to her. The banker and his wife saw her go, but neither of them dared tointerfere with her pur- pose, or even to take leave of ber. Blanche, however, was standing on the front stoop, and, ignorant of what had happened, re- garded her actions with the profoundest sur- rise. “Where are you going, Desirée?” she asked, impulsively rushing into her arms. ‘Do not ask me,” replied she, trying to ex- tricate herself from the young girl’s embrace: “And in a cab, too,” continued Blanche, “Why don’t you take the phaeton? Can’t I go with you?” No, no! I must go alone.” “How mournfully you say that,” anxiously cried the young girl; ‘‘ you turn away. your head so that I shouldn’t see the tears in your eyes. You are trembling! Good Heavens, what is the matter?” “Nothing,” stammered Desirée, fast losin her self-control, ‘I love you, Blanche. Thin of me sometimes! Farewell!” She convulsively clasped the girl to her breast, ressed a ee. kiss on her lips, and then, hastily entering the vehicle, bade the driver to start his horses. » cried Blanche wildly as “Father, mo the cab dashed away. ‘‘She is leaving us; ‘Oh, what has Desirée—Desirée, gone, gone! done this?” She reeled and fell fainting in the arms of ‘her parents, who had hastened to her assistance at her cry. In the cab sat Desirée weeping as if her heart would break. From the window of the vehicle she had seen Blanche swoon and the sight mov- ed her to the inmost depths of her soul. She realized how deeply she loved the young ir] and how passionately the latter loved her. deed, she felt that her heart was entwined with ie dios ata of the family, not even ex- cepting . Rathburn, in spite of that lady’s reflections upon her good name, and, but for her plain duty, she would have returned to them. As it was she shed many, many bitter tears, and onl ined her composure by a strong effort of the will when the cab reac the depot. Covering her face with a thick vail, she “ hted and having paid the driver entered the on. A few moments later the train came thunder- ing up and with the early shades of night she was at her p of destination. Her ap ce in the hotel excited no sur- prise, and approaching the clerk she asked to be shown a room, which she would occupy till the next day. : The clerk, well acquainted with Mr.- Rath- burn, knew her as a member of his family, so himself escorted her to a pleasantly situated room. ‘¢ Does the lady desire to have supper sent to her room?” be politely asked. ‘you will please send me a cup of tea, that is Left to herself she took off her shawl and hat sunk wearily into an arm-chair. “¢ What will I do now?’ she mournfully mur- mured. “I hesitated to accept Sir Edward Forster’s offer, because if would separate me from him, but now I grasp it like a drowning man grasps at the ques ank. Such calumny will not pursue me into England.” It afforded some relief to her mind to have - come to some determination, whatever it was, and she was even cheerful when the waiting- _ maid brought her the tea and a few pieces of - the girl, if possible, discover -the Englishman’s _ Ss. } f 1 ; ' ie est toast. ving finished the slight repast she bade =." ye % 7 ey’ “es FLIRTATION. of oe clerk, and then Desirée retired for the night. The strangeness and loneliness of her position, however, and a racking headache made sleep a stranger to her couch and she arose the next morning pale and haggard oCene. reakfast she Havi taken of a simple paid her bill and left the hotel. If her arrival, the evening before, had excited no comment, her de e was not unnoticed or unremarked, for the baron at a reception, at his house, on the previous evening had publicly announced the rupture of his son’s engagement with Blanche, intimating as a reason what was quite sufficient to blast the reputation of the most innocent girl.. The scandal spread with that rapidity which it possesses in common with the poison of a venomous snake, and it was already the talk of the town. Poor Desirée was soon to become aware of it. When she arrived at Sir Edward Forster’s temporary residence and inquired for that gen- tleman she was shown into the parlor. A few minutes later Sir Edward appeared. He was a full-blooded Englishman of the haugh- tiest and most prejudiced type. ‘Whom have L the honor of addressing?” he politely asked as Desirée rose at his entrance. “Captain Fairchild,” she falteringly began, ‘(was kind enough to interest himself in my be- half, as regards the position of teacher in your fam: aly and—” : ‘“You are Miss Roehfort,” he interrupted be- Sa suddenly reserved in his manner. am. ‘Tm very sorry, miss,” he nentatingly said; ‘¢vou will excuse me, I am sure, but a father is obliged to exercise the greatest precaution—” ‘Enough, sir,” she b uely interrupted, ‘‘T understand. You have heard the baron’s base insinuations?” ; She tottered rather than walked out of the room. It was the severest mortification which a proud woman could padenga. ow she got out of the house and into the street she never knew. ‘‘[ am indeed an outcast,” she moaned, sink- ing on the stone steps of the house. “Good God, what will become of me?’ CHAPTER XIV. THE CHALLENGE. ORVILLE, being in the city, could not resist pe to spend the evening at the club. It was there that, at about eleven o’clock, Al- fred Barton, in a greatly excited state, came to TS oe deepl ged in th oung man was deeply enga; in the Seeilas of taro) 9 , old boy,” familiarly exclaimed the other; ‘back from California?’ I’m glad to see you: Fifty on the trés,” he Py ne to the dealer. ‘‘ A word with me, my boy? 5 hundred if you want them.” ‘“‘ Trés wins,” exclaimed the dealer. “Thank you! Hundred on the queen,” said Orville, arranging the stakes, ‘‘ Now, fire away!” ‘Before the company,” nervously asked the share fe saa in a low tone: ‘‘it concerns your ter. ‘* Ah, that’s the way the wind blows, is it? I’m sorry for you, but my sister is y en- eR The enga: i ¥ gement is broken. ** Queen loses!” exclaimed the dealer. ‘““The deuce!” ejaculated Orville. ‘That cleans me out,” he added, and, rising from the table, he entered a private room with Alfred, “Have a cigar,” he said, offering one to the oung man and lighting one for himself. ‘What, too agitated to smoke?” he exclaim as the other refused. ‘‘Is it as serious as a that?’ ty Retry replied Alfred. “Weill, I can’t say that I’m sorry that my sister’g Regents is broken. I never liked the young baron, and as for the old h rite, his father, I simply detested him. You're a likely young fellow: I wouldn’t mind hayin yao for a brother-in-law. ll say a good w or you to Blanche—” , “Tt is unnecessary,” hastily interrupted Al- fred; ‘‘we understand each other. I did not come to see you on that account, but to ask you to be my second in a duel,” ¥ kif the little baron?” es,’ f mad atefully exclaimed the ser- This was soon ascertained, with the assistance ‘But, I don’t understand? If he has eney ; rl “2 , us e way for you, you owe him an ackno edgment of thanks, not a bullet in his ribs.” ‘But the manner of breaking the engage- ment! That is the insult, the infamy!” “The infamy?’ “Yes. I heard it all from a friend on whose word Ican rely. It took place at the consul’s, not an hour ago. ‘My son,’said the consul to the assembled guests, ‘cannot marry a youn girl brought up in the intimacy of a woman not above suspicion, near a mother who fayors her son’s vices under her own roof.’ ” It was strange to observe the change in Or- ville’s demeanor as he heard these words. His features became fixed and rigid; he threw away Lis cigar and rose to his feet. ‘‘The Baron De Buissey said that?” he asked in cold measured tones, * He did.” ** And his son was present?” “ Yes, ” “ ** And said not a word in opposition ‘to his i father’s horrible calumny?’ “ He indorsed it by his silence.” ‘* My friend, you can’t fight this duel.” r r . e* +89 . sugt Py a ; st “Why not?” ‘“‘ Because I’m going to fight it myself.” ee “But, Orville,” exclaimed Alfred, ‘‘I’'m to Janche; she and your father have given me their consent; she is to be my wife.” “She is my sister,” retorted Orville. ‘She is not the only one compromised, and is muce less so than my mother and Miss Rochfort, tv ladies in whom you have not the least conce' while I have a great deal. Enough, I shal ee oe Lad =e * » bw make the little baron eat his own words, or his which amounts to the same thing. seconds, ; A slight murmur caused them to turn their than the young Baron ber of the club. Doe He —_ a young be ed i? a “As you please,” replied the young man, and with a bow he turned and left t His calmness and _ self-p ordeal, excited even Orvil ‘“ Well,” he exclaimed, ‘‘at any rate I w have to drag him to the field by the ears. fred, this is Mr. Leclereq; eens Barton, my future brother-in- ) gentlemen will be my seconds. The little baron © is the challenged party and will have the choice — of weapons. I would prefer American pistols; he will probably choose French swords. No- matter, I can handle either weapon. If you can arrange the meeting to take place at ‘ten o'clock to-morrow morning, I would be much obliged, as it would enable me to be home for dinner.” xhinnsftOes “You take it very coolly, Orville,” said Al-. fred, vely. ‘‘ You may, get wounded or, which Heaven forbid, killed.” “T may,” began the tones; ‘‘ But—pshaw !” room. “A hun what is it?” “Lend me a hundred dollars, I may luck once more.” “Thanks, my dear boy. And | young man, in.serious y!” he pe Bea ted himself: Me Wilh p JANgE: “Will youdomeafavor?? > ¥ ant to try ae. Yon ea ba ai y ? Alfred immediately handed him the money. id now, myfriend, = go home and to bed. I’m going to stay here a apr
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7 . : a " é e é hi 1 z go. want my brother-in-law to acquire a reputation f. of being a man about town, Good-night, : Alfred.’ ap ** Good-night, Orville.” ~The two young men wi grasped each other’s Rs, hands and gazed into each other’s eyes. . A firm friendship was, from that moment, ; established between them. ‘ “Tf IT had been reared in the school of pover- __ ty,” muttered Orville, after Alfred had left the club-room, ‘‘f might have been like him—or _ Captain Fairchild — curious fellows, both of __ them. When they look you straight in the face _ it makes your eyes water.” __.. He brushed his hand across his eyes and turn- __ ing to his companions, with a somewhat forced ae, AF laugh, exclaimed: aes “Come, boys; we’ve wasted time enough. - — Ho, there, waiter, a basket of champagne!” pa ; The wine was brought, and for the next hour E) jollity qolgned supreme. After that, the man, who, in the morning _-was to put his life at stake, turned to the card- table and staked his money, alternately win- ning and losing with a coolness and noncha- lance as if he had no other and weightier _ thoughts to occupy his mind. “aaa CHAPTER XV. Bete THE DUEL, _ PromPpriy at eight o’clock the next morning, te the four seconds met in a room at the clu house. The weapon chosen was the ordinary @ueling sword; the meeting was to take place at ten o’clock, in the Spiess attached to the —. elub-house; the fighting was to continue until Lea either tant was killed or wounded. The seconds to provide the weapons and a sur- CS 1 though a lost art, is still prac- ticed even in this city among its gilded youth, and as the place of meeting is almost invariably \@& priv Telub- house, little if any thing ever reach public ears. The reports of actual duels, recently publish- ed in the dail pee proves that we are at- tempting no fanciful description in what we are about to record. prea vo Tyee ales abd he Frnt e Vy principals, and prom a appointed hour they faced each other, word han ' Both of them were perfect!y cool and self- It was evident that this was not the a ringing clash. ‘The combat had opened. Orville rushed inipetuously to attack, while the baron took up a position of defense. The former had a great contempt for the latter’s ee skill, but he altered his opinion when he saw all his: thrusts neatly parried, and was _finall es & bihiged to retire with a slight cut on his nea” ._ This ended the first round, with first blood for ; vOreill bad his wound sponged and the flo ape C) n an Ww of blood stopped, and then time was again alled. - He was more on his guard now, and after several rapid passes and counterpasses, succeed- ed in wounding his opponent on the shoulder. _ The honors, so far, were equally divided. __ After the baron’s wound was examined and _ bandaged a consultation was held between the _ seconds, in which it was concluded to let the | aS oth tants in‘earnest to bri ye contestants were now in earn n matters toa climax, and the combat was waited - with furious vigor on both sides. - Orville’s excess of strength finally prevailed sate bea the other’s abet ” ni ves Rig his . completely throug e baron’s side. i 2 The wounded his weapon - fainting to the floor, bathed in his own blood. Pree sopders him hors du combat,” coolly | pmo ‘ille, wiping the red stains from 1 ae - ee i oS Sees “am =a a zs ee ht. It’s too much of a bore to travel to inn- ae ig.” te a i a! fe | CU FLIRTATION. ‘You've killed bim,” ejaculated Alfred in awe-stricken tones. “Nonsense, my boy. - Just touched a rib,” laughingly retorted the other. ‘“‘1t’s a favorite thrust of mine and produces a flesh-wound which will keep him in bed for a fortnight.” ‘*T hope so.” “You will hear what the surgeon says.” The physician examined the wound of the unconscious man and declared it to be of the nature described by Orville, He applied what- ever remedies he had on hand and advised that ue youn s man be taken home as soon as possi- e. This was speedily accomplished and a state- ment of the affair having been drawn up and signed by the seconds, the party adjourned to the dining-room for lunch. The news of the result of the duel had pre- ceded Orville, and when he entered the dining- room he was received with a perfect ovation. On all sides assurances of renewed confidence ome in upon him; one and all covered the aron and his son with ridicule. As Orville laughingly declared: ‘‘There’s nothing like a sword-thrust, in sea- son, to bring about a change of opinion, boys. We have the laughers on our side now. Five hundred to one that the French consul will send in his resignation within a week.” The wager was a fair one and the odds heavy but it found no takers. After the lunch was over Orville and Alfred left the club-roon1. “T guess ’ll go to Innwood,” said the former. “My folks will be wondering what has become of ap Come and see us this evening, Alfred, sure? The young man promised him to do so, and they separated. ‘““T wonder,” mused Orville, as he walked along the street, ‘‘ whether Desirée has heard of the scandal and what she thinks of it? Poor girl, she is indeed innocent, and yet I owe her a reparation.” e had not proceeded far when he stumbled against his father. ‘¢ Ah, there you are, Orville,” cried the bank- er; ‘‘ you have heard—” “ Every thing. It was that which kept me from home last night. But I’ve fixed the matter.” ‘* How so?” “I’ve given the little baron a dose of steel that he’ll remember for some time.” “Good, it’ serves him Me ten But, that’s not the worst. Desirée has left us, and we don’t know what’s become of her. Captain Fairchild offered her a place at Sir Edward Forster’s. and she may have gone there. I’m just on my way to find out. But do go home now. Your mo- ther is very anxious about you.” ““T was just on my way to the depot.” “We're allin New York. We came here this morning; you will find your mother at the house.” ; “$0 much the better; I'll go there at once.” He hastened home. Arrived there he found his mother in a state of complete prostra- tion. — - “Oh, Orville,” she exclaimed, as he entered theroom. ‘I’m so glad to see you. I feared—” ‘““That I had eloped with Desirée?” he laugh- ingly” ea ania Then the scandal would have had some foun- dation in fact.” ~ ' “Tt is not true, then?” ‘‘ Not a word, not‘a shadow of foundation.” “And I believed it, and virtually drove the poor girl away.” “¢ You, mother?” Mrs. Rathburn related what had occurred on me, od Maid ve "he said, whe ou did very—very wron e said, when she tietaiends! 07 sot te “; “1 know it and am very sorry. Your father and Blanche are out hunting her up.” “I just met father. He has not yet found ‘“Blanche may be more successful. By the way, Captain Fairchild was just here and in- quired for you.” : “In relation to this unlucky matter, of course,” said Orville, with a sour face. “1 don’t know, I did not see him.” ‘‘ Perhaps Desirée is at his house.” “J don’t believe so. If she were he would have left word. He spoke to the servant and asked if you were in. ding that you were absent he left a note and went away imme- diately. There it is on the table.” ; The young man took up the note and opened 1 It was hastily written in pencil and contained only the words: 4 “Mr. Orville will greatly oblige Captain Fairchild by calling at his residence at once.” ““Very brief and formal,” muttered he. “ It portends a lecture. I'll have to submit to it, I suppose. He’s our partner, you know,” and he uickly directed his way toward Captain Fair- child’s residence. And what, in the meantime, had become of poor Desirée? CHAPTER XVI. NOBLE SON, NOBLER MOTHER. We take the reader to Harold’s house a short time before Orville reached there. Mrs. Fairchild was sitting on the sofa, quietly knitting when the door was aunaely: opened and her son entered in a state of wild excite- ment. “Misfortune,” he cried, violently throwing off his hat. . ‘‘ What has happened?” she exclaimed, drop- ping her knitting in surprise. “What was to be expected,” he bitter ly de- elared. ‘Miss Rochfort is compromised,” and nt agitated tones he related what is already own. ‘It’s my fault,” concluded Harold, grindin his teeth with rage. ‘I ought to have dragge her sooner out of that confounded house. It was evident that she loved the young rascal. Now the mischief is done.” ‘“‘ What will become of her?” “She will goto England. She hesitated on account of being ubliged to leave the ee: but now she will accept it as a safety plank. The scandal will not cross the ocean,” ‘Would not her marriage with Orville crush out the scandal?” “Perhaps,” admitted Harold, “if some one would compel him to do her that act of justice.” ‘‘ Be that friend,” she continued, folding her arms around his neck, ‘‘for Desirée—for your brother’s sake.” He released himself from his mother’s clasp and uttered a bitter laugh. ‘“My brother!” he exclaimed. ‘‘It’s a fact, it’s true, he is my brother!” ° He clenched his hand and bit bis lips to keep down his anger in his mother’s presence, “Do you think,” he added, ‘‘ that that young man will ever consent to a forced marriage, or that his mother will ever let him wed a 1 without a rich dowry?” ‘Tf that’s the only obstacle,” she eagerly in- terrupted. Her noble heart touched him as it always did, She was right. Desirée’s honor, perhaps her very life, was at stake. He would not let his own hopeless love, his intense jealousy of his brother, stand in the way of securing for her the only reparation which could save her. .__ “T will ransom her,” he said, taking his moth- er’s hand and raising it to his lips, ‘‘as I would that you had been ransomed.” ba noble son!” she exclaimed, with infinite gratitude and tenderness. “My nobler mother!” he rejoined, with a smile, ‘‘Miss Rochfort,” announced the servant, at that moment. a! “‘T would have preferred not to see her now,” muttered Harold, his brow darkening. Desirée slowly entered the room. What a change the last twenty-four hour: had produced in her! She was no longer the aaignt careless, mis- chievous girl, whose coquettish ways had ca tured all hearts. Gone was the merry sparkle . from her eyes, the rippling laugh from her lips, the blush of beauty from her cheeks. . 9. Pale, haggard, with downcast eyes and mourn- ful mien she slowly advanced, like a prisoner about to receive sentence of death. (rept Tod She bowed to Mrs. Fairchild, who silently yet kindly motioned her to a seat; then she turned to re es Harold, but he turned bis head aside, “‘ He believes me fpilty, she murmured, with yak Sh lips. ‘‘It is the bitterest drop of ” She remained standing, and in hollow, spirit- broken tones said: ‘“‘T come to bid you good by, madam; I have taken pa e in the ship which is about to sail for New Orleans.” “Then you are not going to England? asked — Mrs. Fairchild, in surprise. ‘No, madam,” she bitterly replied. ‘‘Sir Edward Forster refuses to receive me.” f cy was to be foreseen,” muttered Harold, _ wits oe
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= Sur + ; “Then you did not find him in?” ‘ FLIRTATION. x ‘*And what will you do in New Orleans?” ant: a mother. ‘ v2 ; te) ws?” despairingly answer C) poor girl. rv is good!” “When does the boat leave?” inquired Har- old, = ‘“At high tide this evening,” she responded, her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘“‘ Wait for me here.” He took his hat, and without saluting her left the room. As soon as Mrs. Fairchild was alone with her, she took her kindly by the hand and ntly said: “Allis not lost, my poor Dominos arold has gone to find Mr. Orville and make him keep his promise.” ‘“ What promise?” she sorrowfully asked. “Why, to marry you.” ‘But he never spoke of marriage to me!” she said, a slight flush tinting her pallid cheeks. “Not even prom to marry you and yet—”’ The good lady hesitated. Desirée, however, understood her, and in a dull voice replied: “So people say.” “But what a you say?’ asked Mrs. Fair- child, with a sigh. The Mgr 1 suddenly drew herself erect, and with a flash of her former pride haughtily r mded ; “ Nothing.” “ Nothing?” ejaculated the other. : “What good would it do?” continued she, re- lapsing into her melancholy mood. ‘ You can- not argue with calumny. It crushes you or is crushed. But to defend yourself is vain; to sue for pardon is to have it refused—the bitterest of humiliations. They can force me on my knees, but they can never make me humble myself be- fore them.” “T understand this obstinate resignation,” exclaimed Mrs. Fairchild, with tears in her eyes. “J know it! It is the pride of inno- cence!” rae She drew Desirée to her embrace and, for a ' loug time, held her clasped to her heart. It was the first expression of sympathy, of faith in her purity, which the poor girl had re- ceived since her bitter mortification at the Eng- lishman’s residence. It unlocked the flood-gates a her soul and the two women mingled their ears. , “* Alas,” exclaimed Mrs. Fairchild, drying her eyes. ‘ that I should be, perhaps, the only per- son, whom this haughty silence can convince! Honor must be restored to se as if you had really lost it; that is what Harold is attempt- ing, at this very moment, Mr, Orville must a Ah “Marry me?’ ejaculated Desirée, smiling ta through her tears. ‘‘ Why, I donot love m “You have, at least, some kind re, for him. Ido not propose a marriage of love, but one of reason, or rather reparation.” “Yes, yes, you are “are ” said Desirée, as she comprehended the dy’s meaning; ‘‘it would be honor, rescue, nay more, it would be life. But, alas, why should Orville consent? He owes me no sort of reparation; he has done pe no sort of wrong: why then demand of him to marry one so poor?” “Not so poor as you imagine,” Mrs. Fair- child, assured her; ‘‘ you have for the first thing, five thousand dollars,” “‘ A hundred thousand would be small in mother’s eyes.” ‘* Wait a moment; there’s the legacy.” ‘What legacy e. denianded Desirée, great] surprised. “1 receive a legacy? From whom?” “* Perh pa it’s a ft,” rejoined Mrs. Fairchild, sadly embarrassed, “TI don’t know exactly. Harold has just received the news and is taking it to Mr. sa ye pdokiont ees oung girl g eenly at the y; whose shocks efoumsa a conscious blush. “Tt is a gift,” said she, with a sad smile; ‘‘ it is from a mother and son who love me as if I were their own child. Oh, hearts of gold! she fervently ejaculated, ‘‘ tender, generous souls! Heaven grant them all the happiness which it Shed miitsiy ol Fairchild to h : mpulsively clasped Mrs. i er tee impressed a kiss of veneration on her fo) 4 : “ Ah, Desirée,” sighed the old lady, “it is not always the good wha are balay: or you would never have cause to shed a tear.” CHAPTER XVII. THE TWO THERS, HAROLD now re-entered the room, but alone. “Already back?’ exclaimed his mother, *“He had not come home yet, though the were © ing him every moment. I left word and he will probably soon be here.” _ “T know all you wish to do for me, Mr. Fair- child,” said Desirée timorously. “y accept it with gratitude. You believe me guilty, but if you succeed in P Spe mission you will see that I am not unworthy your paternal regard.” ** Paternal,” muttered he, between his teeth. ‘Be easy,” he added aloud, “‘ you shall have your reparation. I guarantee 1 Fe ‘* Heaven grant it!” “‘T'll fix the price,” he muttered to himself. ** Some, one is coming up the stairs,” exclaim- ed Mrs. Fairchild, as the sound of a man’s foot- steps became audible. “Tt is Orville!” Desirée well knew his step. “*Come, Desirée,” said Mrs. Fairchild, and ten- derly g her arms round the young girl’s waist, she gently led her into an adjoining room. Hardlv had they left when Orville entered the first a ent, “T received your note, sir,” he said to Har- old, “‘ almost immediately after you left, and I have hastened ‘here at your desire.” ‘““T thank you, sir,” coldly replied the other. ** No doubt you know what happened last night at the consul’s?” “T do and can tell you that the matter is sat- isfactorily arranged. “Indeed!” asked Harold in some surprise. In a tone of easy nonchalance Orville related the incident of his duel with the young baron. Harold listened to him in silence and when he concluded simply asked: ** And what is to become of Miss Rochfort?” ‘* Ain’t she going’ to England?” “No, sir,” sternly returned Harold. ‘‘The scandal has deprived her of her means of earn- ing a livelihood.” ‘Poor girl,” sympathetically exclaimed Or- ville, carelessly lounging on the sofa. ‘I’m “tie y to hear it. hat can be done for er “Think,” impressively said Harold, taking a chair near him. The young man thought a moment and then asked: ‘Would she accept—” hy yo contemptuously interrupted the other. “It is a name, sir, that she lost; t m r, un an that must be restored to her, untarnished and sustained.” ‘““Well, my dear sir,” blandly returned Or- ville, ‘‘can I restore what I did not deprive her of? If I understand you rightly you simply want me to m her.” “ Exactly, sir.’ “Ts this kind of business included in your ership?” he rily asked, rising to his eet and walking to the other side of the room. ‘No, sir,” calinly replied Harold, repressing, with an effort, his own rising wrath, “but I am greatly interested in Miss Rochfort. I know and you know that she has been defamed, injured, banished on account of, if not by you; ruined, if not in her reputation, at least in her means of gaining a livelihood; that she was your guest and under your protection; that you individually owe her a reparation, and that there is no other than marriage. That is what I do know.” ; . oe looked at him and in his taunting way lied: ‘If you had plowed the seas less, my dear sir, you would also know that there are, posi- tions for which no one is responsible, as. they are false ones and carry their own danger. | Governesses, companions, piano-teachers—” Harold gave an involuntary start, to which, however, Orville paid no attention. “Tt is all one,” he smilingly continued, ‘‘ all these poor girls are stinpscted from the single fact that there is a young man in the house.’ ‘**T know it,” bitterly admitted the other. “So you see,” added Orville, ‘‘Z have not compromised Desirée; it was her position.” ‘Will you ome that you made advances to rab asked Harold, nervously twitching his nger. ** Now you are asking for confidential commu- nications,” laughingly retorted the young man : teuiarold, in spite of himself, was fast losing his mper. “In brief,” he irritatedly asked, “do you love her or not?” n “Well,” drawled Orville, with exasperating coolness, “ yes and no.” _ “Tn a word, F Fa do love her but will not marry her, while you will some one or a hundred thousa marry whom you do not love at all, but who has fifty nd dollars,” servant, at that moment. ar : : * . ; o a “4 yal “T would prefer one with a hundred thousand _ 4 ae ws ge dollars,” admitted he. cee ‘Very well. Miss Rochfort has that amount.” _ Orville started back and gazed keenly at — Harold. i “ ““Oh, oh!” he exclaimed, “where does it come from, if I may ask without indiscretion?’ “‘T have told you that lregarded myself as 3 on her protector—ber guardian. ‘‘Ah, you need gray hair to perfect that role,” ironically retorted the young man. 4 ‘‘Under what other title do you give Miss a Rochfort a dowry?” insolently asked Orville. a ‘“You calumniate her to withdraw yourself 3 from an obligation of honor. I recognize your > blood. You are indeed your grandfather’s off ete: ol 2 ‘“What do you mean by that?’ cried Orville, also becoming angry. 3 “That your grandfather wasa calumniator «> and. a dastard who dared not do right!” eu ‘*Repeat that!” exclaimed the young man, — drawing off his glove. 12, ee “A miserable wretch—” ‘ , ' Orville. threw his glove into the speaker’s ace. A rage, such as his mother had once before ; witnessed, took possession of Harold. Me He uttered a cry like that of a wild beast, — : and with those terrible fingers, which had al- most crushed the life out of the leader of the Pay. mutineers, extended, he made a dash for the =a young man’s throat. Meta Suddenly, however, he paused, and wringin; a0 his hands with the agony of his suppressed pas» sion, hoarsely cried: A ee “Ts lucky for you that you are my oun brother !” Vd ae q . = eg ay CHAPTER XVIIL . . oom REPARATION. . aS : THE astonishment depicted in O: ville’s face at this announcement, was supreme. moment he could scarcely believe that ight; then, like a flash, the stor father told him came into his mi be—yes; you are the son of the piano I know the story, and can assure Ee t we have not a single drop of the same blood in our veins.” Za “That was your father’s calumny,” dignified- __ ly replied Harold, now having completely ; tered his sudden rage. “I have, however, v in the last three days entirely refuted i awful falsehood.” ry “In what way?” (3S ‘* By order of my mother,” he proudly replied, % ‘‘T saved from failure your father, who is also my father.” het ORS =e ‘*By order of your mother?” ejaculated the young man, thunderstruck. woe. “Yes, sir,” quickly answered he, “she still for the honorofafamilywhich —_ cared so little for her own. I took the helm of ee your ship in distress; I saved your sister, who is my sister, from an unhapp’ ge; that, too, by the order of my Bik Bley of eg have just been slapped in the face by you and did not strangle you. Doyounowbelievelam your brother?” ee Orville’s inherent noble nature asserted itself __ as he heard these words. » ee” ‘‘ Brother,” he exclaimed, “‘forgivemeM == Harold opened his arms and Orville rushed into his embrace. . ee For some moments they remained locked in eee hers arms. Se aie significant man I am é will make me worthy of being ae There’s — 2 ‘‘ What?” asked Orville, in surprise. he never know—” “Never! You may understand what price | attach to your silence from the fact ‘ Ihav renoun marriage, family, all, that I migh guard my mother’s secret.” - rey shee ‘“T understand you. Dependonme.” «| “Miss Blanche Rathburn,” announced the
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eae “My sister—” exclaimed Orville; then, recol- ae ting, he smilingly corrected himself—‘‘ our ster.” sister. “Hush!” whispered Harold. Then turning to ny jhe servant, he added: ‘ sy Beg my mother and Miss Rochfort to return ere. The attendant left the room, at the same time admitting Blanche. ‘*Mamma sends me in a coupé,” said she, ‘to __ bring home Desirée. aint “She is.” “Oh, I’m so glad! And since I find you -. here,” she added, turning to her brother, ‘‘ ’ve - a good mind to tell you what I think.” poe? ‘Say what you think,” said Orville, with a smile. ““T think you ought to marry Desirée, if she will have you!” =. “That’s not your mother’s idea,” suggested _ her brother. '_ **No. It is father’s and mine. But we'll meee mamma around, I’m sure, if Captain Fair- child will be good enough to take a hand in it.” ““He has done so,” declared Orville. __“Oh, Mr. Fairchild,” gratefully exclaimed _ Blanche; ‘‘ you are our providence.” Bs “Well, embrace him then,” laughingly said her brother. ‘** With all my heart,” cried the impetuous girl, flinging her arms around Harold’s neck. He understood the delicate way in which Orville had procured for him the embracing hi Is she here?” . e me, low ““Desirée, my sister!” cried Blanche, fondly ) racing her, ‘‘how happy I am to see you “Thanks, dear Blanche,” gratefully exclaim- ed she, releasing herself from the warm clasp. “Mr, Fairchild,” she added, turning to him, “have fa succeeded?” + a vn love. © hfort,” he at length said, in a slightly trembled, in spite of his pear calm, ‘‘I have the honor of um hand in marriage for my friend @.” _Desirée gazed for a moment at him, then her glance rested on him who was to be her hus- An initense silence reigned in the room. _ “Heaven be praised,” she murmured, in a ow tone, her hands crossed on her breast and __ her eyes fixed on the floor. “I trembled lest you _ should fail. What an honor for a poor girl, given over to opprobrium and misery !” - She gaitteniy raised her head and drawing herself to her fullest hight, looked fixedly at _ Orville, and proudly exclaimed: = ST reject him)”. -- _ “ What?” cried he, in tones of the most in- tense mortification. The er now. With she had triumphed over her ev) a wor And now, farewell!” she sorrowfully con- ed, ‘‘I confide to you all, in leaving, the e of defending me.” ‘She approached Mrs. Fairchild, who was too moved to J ope and reverently kissed her on eforehead. __ “Farewell, madam,” she said, with quiverin ___ lips; ““you have been like a mother to me; will remember it as long as I live!” _* Mrs, Fairchild silently returned her kiss and put her handkerchief to her eyes. _ The young girl turned toward Orville and a faint smile flitted across her lips as she beheld his woe-begone countenance. “Farewell, Orville,” she said, extending her nd to’ him; ‘‘do not look so mortified. Let art | friends.” _. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. - _ He could not have expressed his respect for Ler in a more delicate way. ‘*Blanche!” FLIRTATION. The young girl flew into her embrace, and pillowing her head on her shoulder, burst into tea: rs. Desirée fondly stroked her golden, silky hair and softly murmured: “You called me sister, dear Blanche. I will never forget it. Be happy for the two of us.” She resigned the weeping girl to Mrs. Fair- child and then turned to bid farewell to him, her last, her best, her greatest friend. Harold was leaning against the mantle-piece, his eyes downcast, his great, big heart heaving with convulsive emotion. Desirée advanced several steps toward him, then paused. Her limbs trembled so violently that she could scarcely aepore herself. How she loved him! How clearly she read her soul now that the moment had come when she was to forever part from him! She intended to express her gratitude for his unselfish friendship, but she dared not trust herself to do it, lest the love, fluttering in her heart like a caged bird, should find an outlet through her lips. She turned away her head and brokenly mur- ured: “ Farewell, Mr. Fairchild!” He made a motion as if to detain her, to clasp her to his breast, to break with his cruel destiny, but the fear that her heart did. not throb. in unison with his own, the thought that even she mien be wanting in veneration for his mother, restrained him, and in forced, unnatural tones he replied: ‘Farewell, miss!” Slowly and with tottering steps she moved to the door, but Blanche, still weeping, intercepted her exit. “You sha’n’t go way,” she hysterically cried; “JT won’t let you go. Why don’t you marry my brother, since you are friends with him?” 'o Orville the truth came like a flash of light- m ing. ‘*| know the reason,” he suddenly exclaimed. “Tt is because she loves another.” “Orville!” cried the poor girl, imploringly. “Whom?” eagerly asked Blanche. ‘“‘A blind man who won’t see,” he replied, pointing to Harold; ‘‘a deaf man who won’t ear; a timid man who does not deem himself young enough or handsome enough to be be- oved; an idiot, who throws her into another’s arms, gives her a dowry—” “Orville!” wildly, madly interrupted Desirée. “Tt is not true!” ' Harold’s hopes, which had risen bigh during Orville’s words, were blighted by this declara- tion. “T know it but too well, miss,” he exclaimed, in hollow, heart-broken tones, sinking into an easy-chair and burying his face in his hands. Desirée’s face was fiery red with blushes. She stood there rooted to the floor, unable to move, incapable of speaking. Mrs. Fairchild, ween like a child, pointed to the crushed form of her son, and supplicating- ly exclaimed: “* Desirée!” She understood. It was no time. for false delicacy. His own mother bade her speak. She tremblingly approached the chair until she stood before bim. “Tf, however, it were true,” she began ina low tone; “‘if.in leaving you 1 read my_ heart aright; if what, until now, I have taken for gratitude, for respect and admiration were an- other, a deeper, a holier sentiment; if I held out my hand to you—” Harold sprung to his feet, his whole counte- nance radiant with happiness. Miss— Desirée,” he stammered. All doubt, all hesitation were at rest. _Open- ing wide his arms, in a tone of infinite love and pathos he exclaimed: ** Desirée |!” ts “‘ Harold!” That clasp was the clasp of wordless love. A double marriage—Alfred and Blanche, and Harold and Desirée, was soon publicly celebra- ted; and if Desirée ever recalled the sorrow ge came with the shadow on her good name, t melted into tears of joy that out of it had come unspeakable happiness. , Orville has not married, but he has done him- self the credit to make for himself a good name which to-day is a synonym of business bonor and success. He loves the husband of Desirée with a tenderness beautiful to see, but no one ever guesses the secret of their brotherhood. ' THE END. 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, etc. 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.) 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His Lawful Wife; or, Myra, THz Camp or Apoprion. By Mrs. Ann §. Stephens. Madcap, the Little Quakeress. By Corinne Cushman. Why I Married Him: or, Tar Woman in Gray. By Sara Claxton. A Fair Face; or, Our In THE WorLD. By Bartley T. Campbell. Trust Her Not; or, Tae True Knicur. By Margaret Leicester. A Loyal Lover; or, THe Last or THE Grimsperus. By Arabella Southworth. His Idol; or, Tar Int-Srarrep Marriscre. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus Hare. By Mary Grace Halpine. Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, Tae Witcues or New York. Agile Penne, Now and Forever}; or, Wuy Dip Soe Marry Him. By Henrietta Thackeray. The Bride of an Actor. By the author of “ Alone in the World,” etc., ete. : Leap Year; or, Way Sue Proposep. By Sara Claxton.’ Her Face Was Her Fortune. By Eleanor Blaine, Only a Schoolmistress; or, Her Unrotp Secret. By Arabella Southworth. Without a Heart: or, Watkine on THE Brink. By Prentiss Ingraham. Was She a Coquette? or, A Srraner Courtsnie. By Henrietta Thackeray. Sybil Chase: or, Tat Gameier’s Wire. .By Mrs. Ann. Stephens. For Her Dear Sake: or,Savep rrom Himsetr. By Sara Claxton. The Bouquet Girl: or, A Mmuion or Monry. By Agile Penne. A Mad Marriage: or, Tam Iron Wm. By Mrs. Mary A. Dennison. Miriana, the Prima Donna: or, Roses anpD Lies. By A. Southworth. The Three Sisters: or, Taz Mystery or Lorp Cuauronr. By Alice Fleming. A Marriage of Convenience: or, Was He A Count. By Sara Claxton. Sinned Against: or, Taz Wirrsrop Pring. By Clara Augusta. Sir Archer’s Bride: or, THe Queen or His Heart. By Arabella Southworth. The Country Cousin; or, ALL is Not Gotp Tuat Guitrers.. By Rose Kennedy His Own Again; or, Trust Her Nor. By Arabella Southworth. August 3d. Flirtation; or, A Youna Giru’s Goop Name. By Ralph Royal. Ready August 10, Pledged to Marry ; or, In Lovn’s Bonps. By Sara Claxton. Ready August 17th. For sale by all Newsdealers. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William St., N. Y. “EG Seen mos an man 9 —_~o “be a, ee sy " - - oS ~ — Pee a y ALRY; or, What A Woman Will Do. By P.S. Warne. . 29. 10c 70 Drirrinc TO Rurn; or, The Mills of the s By Mary Reed Crowell. Ready August 12th. 10c | For sale by al! newsdealers, or sent, postage paid, bee to Wii Watt, Bo Maccoset Wipant 00 on receipt of twelve cents, BEADLE AND ADAMS, [ee 43 A Woman’s Heart, By Mrs. M. V. Victor... 10¢ Publishers, 98 William street, N. Y. en, OR ——— Nome.