Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (v. 3) (1881 01 04)
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The Only Young Ladies’ Library of First-Class Copyright Novels Published! Price, but 5 cents each. ee yy 7 0 Tine ba: : EY fies MIAN iin HA STITH RAL pees ‘ai TT t Aid a i 78 = 2 Nt ——— = lias \ i ; if Copyrighted in 188) by BEADLE AND ADAMS. January 4, 1881. EES GN $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. No. 60. VoL. Ill. | PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST. N.Y... PRICE, 5 CENTS. ———— —— CECIL FLUNG HERSELF OVER THE SIDE OF THE BALOONY. mY i Th Hi ( f | establishments, and the shabby gentility, the prying, meddling surveil- Ceci 5 GCtl , Of, E Lamon be acy. ay tals Golltapaeecks with bis daughter and her single attendant, a ; ; had fast established himself in the suite of rooms he had previously writ- : é MISTRESS AND MAID, A SUBDUED bustle of out- going and in-coming; the slight jar of doors which otherwise opened and shut noiselessly; passing footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting of the passageways; these were the sounds which | alatly’s convenience: and‘beyond, separated from it by a dressing-close iped_ its character upon the Breton House. It wasa asiet hotel, re- | wai moved alike in equal degree from the pomp of magnificent metropolita d | BY MRS. JENNIE DAVIS BURTON. ten to order. et + These were on the second floor, and consisted of four apartments occu- CHAPTER I. pying one side of a branch passageway. First was the captain’s own room, redolent already of his favorite “ Yacht Club.” Then, a private Parlor, not large, but comfortable and home-like. Next was Miss Col aes apartment, a wide room fitted with essential accessories to a smaller and shed chamber, designated to the use
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ks 2 _ _A porter was bringing up thelu His foot tripped upon the door-sill o e captain’s room, and he staggered forward violently, preci; Satine the trunk he carried upon the center of the floor. Captain Collingsbrooke, irate, broke forth - with an oath at his awkwardness. ““Tf you please, sir, I couldn’t help it,’ protested the may, ruefully rubbing his elbow, which had been grazed by tho falling article, “‘TJe!p it! Humph, who said you could? Why, you idiot, that is not mine, Get away until Isee! Ezamination only proved that he had been cor- “ee The trunk was marked Crossford, or Craw- 45rd, Breton House, and the remainder of the lug- gaze was for tho same, “Thon it’s for the gentleman on the next floor,” the porter said. ‘Hc came on the same train as you, a? and like enough your baggage has got mixed,” But a consultation with the said gentleman failed to reveal the whereabouts of the captain’s traveling araphernalia, A messenger, dispatched in hot haste the baggage-rooms, met with no better su ; Evidently, by some mistake, the trunks had not been ut off the train. Accommodating officials regretted eir return by the Ain arrived. he occurrence, and promised fotiowing morning. This was by no means satisfactory to Captain Col- lingsbrooke.. He loved his own ease and fumed at trifling inconveniences, Just nuw he wanted the comforts of dressing-gown and slippers, & smoke and a nap in an easy-chair, with his heels upon the center-table. The non-arrival of his b: dis- turbed at once his plans and his temper, the latter being of very mercurial character, Railway officials, hackman and porter, all were subjected to the ban of his anathemas. He stamped and blustered as was his wont when his choler was aroused, and in the midst of it all, Miss Collings- brooke appeared upon the scene. “What is it, papa dear? Has anything occurred to annoy you?”’ “Anything? Yes, Ishould think so, Enough has occurred.” Then, partly because his breath was exhausted, partly that his gouty limbs rebelled against the free use he had been making of them, and that the man against whose tympanum he was disch: his word-volleys here disappeared, he permi his wrath to subside in a few mut growls as he sunk back into his chair, **Bnough has occurred. The blunde! v ds have carried on our luggage. You'll have to do without your fol-de-rols, my girl.” “Ts that all, papa? I feared it was something of a serious nature. “Ts it nothing to have all my calculations disturb- ed? Is it nothing to miss my nap and my dishabille? Nothing tosee yourusty from travel when Frampton may arrive at any minute? You do honor, Eve, to your English blood if you are proof against it all. Confound the careless villains!’ “hon we'll not go down ome t, will we, dear? Let us have tea together, you and T, as if we were at home. oes papa, I should preferit. Iam quite wearied out.” Miss Collingsbrooke knew that the best method of restoring her father’s equanimity was to distract his attention from the annoying subject. “You do look tired, Eve,” he said, with a touch of solicitude. ‘ You must get more brightness into {o face. Don’t let Frampton think you are a vic- im ce ar for a sacrifice.” “ A night’s rest is allI need. Oh, papa, if when all is over, I should find that I have made a mistake?” She clasped her long, thin hands nervously, a doubting, troubled look upon her face. “Nonsense! You are not used to being whimsical my girl. Don’t get absurd ideas, now. Think wha it is for me to give you up, but I do it willingly for your own good.” “T shall always love you dearest of any one in the world, papa. 1 know that you only desire my happi- ness. but this is such an irrevocable step, and now that the time draws near it frightens me. , “Trightened at thought of your marriage, the f consummation for which most es de- pm pouns uv Sey pray? Remember how my heart is set upon 1 “T shall be guided by you asI always have been. Don’t think that I'm going to disappoint you now! I wish I need never leave you— never owe alle- giance to another man.”’ ** Pooh, pooh, child! that is not in the nature of things. Run away now, and take a rest before I order supper.” “Not until I see you comfortable. This — sleepy hollow of a chair is just what you will like. There! now draw oif your boots, and ue your poor feet upon these cushions. illow your head, and your pipe filled! Is there anything more, papa?’ “As if there could _be anything you woul think of! No, dear. What a treasure you are to me, Eve!”’ She did not reply, but laid her face down with ca- ressing motion againet his. Then, touching her lips to his forehead, she went away, leaving him to woo forgetfulness through the uence of his favorite weed. Later, they met at the tea-table in mutually agree- able moods. Captain Collingsbrooke, refreshed by Lis slumber, and with appetite sharpened at sight of a delicious repast, retained his natural good-humor unbroken by slight ebullitions of temper as were very common with him. And Eve put aside her mis- wings of the future to devote herself to an’ ; er father’s wishes. °* thiw At a word from her he dismissed the sei let Eve wait upon him. This she aids which displayed her familiarity with the ¢ , ne za P | CECIL’S DECEIT. It was a happy hour followed by a happy evening. Each knew that it might be the last which they should spend alone together, and lent mutual effort to have it pass so that in time to come they might refer to it as an unclouded remembrance. How well it is that the inevitable future is vailed from our sight! Neither realized anyt of the shadow hovering over them—neither felt the chill of the dark presence lingering near. When they had bidden each other good-night, and Miss Collingsbrooke was back in her own room where her maid awaited her, something of the troubled feeling that. had haunted her during the day came n, She put herself under the hands of the maid al- most mechanically. The latter was a young woman with a bearing easy and ladylike beyond that which usually marks those of her station, Without having any actual basis for the belief, it had_been silently conceded from the first, by Captain Collingsbrooke and his daughter, that she had at no very remote period occupied a much higher social position. Miss Collingsbrooke, deserted by her own attendant at the last moment, had engaged her on the eve of their departure from their native England. Several months elapsed since that, occupied in traveling through the United States, the land which was henceforth to be their home. Between the two—mistress and maid—had sprung up & warm Seema cael A which, on one side at least, had ripened into positive attachment. Miss Collings- brooke’s affection was manifested by the unlimited confidence she bestowed. “ Are you not well to-night, Miss Eve?” yay the maid, as with deft fingers she undid the , heavy bands of the lady’s hair. “ Quite well, Cecil. Only a L'ttle inclined to — the hiberty I must soon relinquish. I am glad Mr, Frampton did not arrive to-nigit.” An amused smile Lem ae about Cecil Bla ke’s lips. * Are you not ous to make the acquaintance of your fiance, Miss Eve?” *' Oh, I know him already from his letters. He is a good, kind man, Iam sure, and perhaps in time I may learn to love him almost as welkas papa. But, should be rded as a holy ordin- ance, and how can Iso mine, which has been settled upon asa mere matter of business? I am given to almost a total stranger—thongh he was a iriend of papa’s when they were young men together return for certain settlements of lands and dollars. Can I love and honor him as a husband, or will he seem to me only in the light of a purchaser, myself his chattel?” “it is very pleasant to be rich,” suggested Cecil. ‘* To be young and beautiful, the petted wife of an indulgent old man, is a fate most young ladies would be eager to embrace. You don’t know what actual verty is, Miss Eve, or you would never hesitate. ou don’t know what it is to love beautiful thin which you cannot enjoy, to long oe lux and be tied down to a life of constant . Youth and beauty are no more than a fair ex e for certain wealth.” The r’s face flushed a little with her earnest- ness of feeling. She uttered her words vchemently, as though they were the outbreak of some sudden ha but her tone had something bitter in it which Ev brooke did not like. Cecil, even e Colli “Tam afraid that is not good doctrin though I am being guided by it. But I shall not give my individuality alune; I shall strive to be always a dutiful wife.” “You'll be happy. too,” said Cecil, her face and voice softening. *“* The good always are.” It was Eve’s turn (to flush now. When alone to- gether the two had long since fallen into habits of equality, but this night there was a shadow of re- straint, felt rather than distinctly indicated, in their familiar intercourse. There was silence between them for a time, and then Miss Collingsbrooke, who had bee brit aes: their two figures reflected side by side in the mirror, reached up and drew Cecil’s face down near hers, “Youth and beauty,” she said, repea the words of the other. “ You have them both, Cecil. Why is it not you instead of me who is to reap fortunc through them? And see how much we are alike! that Inever observed it so clearly before. readily for sisters.” There was indoel ag striking resemblance between them, hightened perhaps by the caged of the dresses they wore. The simple gray traveling-suits were unlike in no special detail, their hight and bi were much the same. oth had heavy fair hair, but that of the maid had a glint and ripple in it, whilo Miss Collingsbrooke’s was dead blonde. The features of the latter were fine, regular and clearly cut, her complexion fair but rather pale, her eyes hazel. Cecil's face was perners less pure, but with a fullness of outline and reshness of color which the other's lacked; her eyes deep blue as issometimes seen in {paintings on rare old china, The points of resemblance between the two would strike an observer more forcibly after seeing them separately. This was probably the reason that neither had been much impressed by the fact. When together, so many minor differences crept to view that the t effect was lost. As Eve poet ae endeavored to define the simi- larity, it seemed to fade into only a general resem- blance of re and feature. “It was the li Pit dare say,”’ Cecil remarked, composedly. .‘‘ All fair people Jook more or Jess ne Ia think. Is there anything more to-night, Miss ‘Nothing more. Good-night, Cecil!” But in her own room, the an held the light where sho’ 01 scanning her features with close scrutiny. Then she sat down, shaking her hair from the thick net which had confined it, until it glinted and waved like a golden vail about her shoulders. A gratified look crept into her eyes. ‘“Yes, we are alike,” she murmured. “ Alike, as substance and shadow; alike, as the pale cispring of the photographer’s art is like the livi reality. Yet she will gain the wealth I covet, whileI, brighter and failer, must wait—wait!” There was a shadow creepirg down over Cecil Blake’s face, which made it less feir to look upon. The color faded out, the lips grew set and firm, the eyes emitted a coruscant gleam. ‘Only one thing to live for now,” she was sayin to herself. ‘ Only ay ambition to be gratified. Only an advantage to be gained, a point won. How long shall I have to wait, I wonder?’ She sat there silently thinking. The time wore cn imperceptibly; an hour chimed, then another, but she sat there motionless still. Sleep stole down upon her unawares. A medley of dreams assailed her, wild fancies bore her away on their spirit wings. Visions were there cf time that had been, and of time to come, of things pos- sible and imyossible, struggling confusedly in the mind whlch is never at rest, even when sleep lays its quiet upon the bedy, ard lulls the working functions of the train to rominal repose. Then came a concourse of increasing sounds, which first mingled in with her dreams. e tramp- ling of feet, the ringing of bells, hoarse shouts, from rie the picture of fancy became suddenly a reality. She sprung up, broad awake, to find a vivid glare illuminating the room; the hissing and crackling of flames; a scorching heat; the atmosphere yainfully oppressive; the smell of burning wood; and from wiihout the terrible cry, ‘‘ Fire, fire!” CHAPTER II. THE PATH OF FIRE. For asingle instant Cecil stood motionless, para~ lyzed by terror. Above the ciackling of the flames, and the hoarse shouts of the muliitude without, she could hear the shiieks of women, the groans and an’ ee of those already shut cff from ercaye. The fire had burst out through the windows below, and was la) ping up the cuter walls with insatiable tongues that, fastened upon every devourable cbjcct. The Eee and i of glass, and the sight of the yellow blaze curling in, recalled her senses, bring- ing a realization of her own imminent peril. he sprung to the door cf the dressing-closet opening into Miss Cc llingsbrooke’s rcom. A clcud of dense smoke met her there. It drove her back, Llinded, suffc cat She had the precaution to shut the door against it, and stood gasping. The heat was intense. lt was drawing blisters on her flesh, though as yet no flames had reached her room ex-. p's he lapping tengues about the casements. here was another door cperiug into the corridor. She groped her way to this, as she went snatcbing a woolen scarf from the table where che had thiown it carelessly on the preceding evening. In the corridor and to the rig ht she was met by a wall of solid flame. The stairway and the space be- ond were all ablaze. Bebind her a vestibule opened nto a wing of the building. She sved along this, guiding herself by the touch of the blistering walls, As she ran she gathered up her long, floating bair,, and bound it firmly with her Schade A morsel of feminine reasoning, which clung to her even during the horror of that moment, an instinct which re- minded her that every attiibute of beauty which she ae was Cear to her as life itself, prompted the action. Up some steps, then on en Turning angles this: way and that, driven back at times by the visible pepe of the fire demon, but all else vailed from er sight by the stiffin smoke. A sudden fear struck her. Might che not lore her- self in this maze of passageways, be tortured by the. flames creeping slowly Cown upon her from every side? Her brain was no longer clear. Thoughts: trooped through; wild, absurd fancies, which fete ber to stop there in tle midst of danger and lavgh Cy. The sound of her voice, dying to a moan uron her oe sobcred her. She staggered forward less con- fidently now. A breath of fresh air came to her Jike an cesur- ance of salvation toa perishing scul. Garping, she struggled on. Then the smoke rolled back, and an open doorway lay before her. “Saved!” she cried, joyfully, as the outer air swept her cheek. In the came breath she uttercd a cry of despairing horror. A sheet cf flame shot u almost in her face. An instant mcre and she would be certainly lost. She flung the skirt of herdress over her head and dashed through the fiery Larrier. Fortunately ber garments were of woolen stuffs, and, thou: h shiiv- eled and crisped, cid not ignite. She stocd without the doorway, which she fancied would lead her to py d but with a single glance grew faint with the hopelessness of her situation. he stood on an iron balcony not more than twen- ty feet from the gamnd. But the steps were gone; above, below, and all around, the flames were raging in unrestrained fury. Beneath was a dark suiging crowd, that, locking up. seemed to see her in the he midst of the devouring element. e stillness of horror which had fallen on all was broken by a voice: “Jump, for God’s sake! Forward, men, all of. you! Jump, and we will save you!”’ net With no mcughe execpt the desperate nye er. no tho except the ra the i or the side of the’ to escape it, Cacil herself over balcony. swe
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CECIL’S DECEIT, Scores of strong arms were outstretched to receive her. There was a recoil in the foremost group, caused by the impetus of her descending body, then a deaf- ening shout went up announcing her safety. Cecil, stunned by her fall, heard the glad ery, and then lay without sense or motion in the arms of her rescuers, The terrible strain removed, mind and nerve succumbed, and she lost all consciousness. A stalwart man, with face and hands begrimed by the active service he had been rendering—the same who had cilled to her to take the leap—volun- teered to take charge of the helpless girl. He re- ceived her in his arms and bore her back through the crowd, which opened before him. A moment later came the order, ‘‘Back! back!’ The multitude swayed as a body, and wavered away from the burning eS @ moment too soon. There was the crash of falling walls, blazing timbers hurled downward which sent out showers of glowing ks, and what had been the stately Breton Ouse, lay a mass of ruins, It was breaking day, as Cecil’s protector, Richard Holstead by name, hurried down one of the side streets leading from the more noted thoroughfare. was Broad street, and the buildings here, for the most part, were private dwellings, many of them detached and having inclosures, smaller or greater, to accord with the pretensions of the erent places. At some distance down the street, the young man paused before a neat two-story frame house, separated from the sidewalk by a narrow grass-plot and light iron railing. Passing through the gateway, he was met by a pleasaunt-faced elderly lady, who greeted him with affectionate solicitude. ‘ 4 aS acl ate dear boy! you are not hurt?” “No, mother: but here is a young lady who will require your attention. I think she is not seriousl injured, but you can send Patty fora physician if you find it necessary. I must hurry back again, though I fear there is little more to be done.” “Poor sent poorthing! Bring her into my room, Dick. I couldn’t think of ' lying still while human be- were in danger so near, and my boy, perhaps, risking his life to aid them. Did you rescue her?’ ‘Not alone, mother; I'll tell you all about it He and-by. You'll doyour best for her,I know. Ah, she is coming to herself again.” Following his mother through the hall and up the Stairway into a neat bedroom, where the gas was still burning, Richard Holstead placed his fair bur- eden upon a couch. After a word or two, he went out again, promising to return ere long. Cecil moved and moaned, and after a moment opened her eyes, the horror still lingering in them. “Am I saved?” she asked, “or was it all a dream? Ah, my poor hands!” She raised them painfully. Both hands and wrists were drawn to white blisters. Her face, too, had been blistered by the heat; but her hair, her beauti- ful golden hair, lay unharmed beneath its secure Covering. She did not so much mind the rest, when she e herself aware of this, “There, there, dear! don’t distress yourself,” said Mrs. Holstead, Boeri, ‘You are safe, you see. t me bind up your hands; I will be very gentle. aero are no deep burns, but they will be painful for me.’ im Then, with exquisite tact, she strove to divert her tient’s mind from the calamity which had _ be- ‘allen her, while she applied lotions and poultices to the ayaeee members, Cecil’s nervous ae had been shaken by the _ Peril she had passed. She was faint and ill from the effect of it. She was very quiet, moving with an effort when Mrs. Holstead proceeded to disrobe her, "and clothe her in a loose wrapper of her own. _ “Now, lie still, dear, and sleep if youcan. Drink this; you will feel better for it when you wake again. She brought a glass of wine into which she poured & few drops of a composing draught. Cecil swal- wed it, and closed her eyes wearily. Mrs. Holstead turned out the gas and softly opened windows. By this time the sun had fairly risen, falling in yellow light on opncaite roofs, while the Street beneath was yet filled by the long shadows. She adjusted the screens until a softened gloom per- vaded the apartment. Then ascertaining that her Le already slept, she went out, closing the door r her. Going down to the kitchen she found Patty, the one oy em kept in the little household, busy pre- Pp he morning meal. at have you there, Patty—muffins? Ah, that’s well; Dick is fond of them. And the meat— is it? Run out, child, and get a beefsteak at the market-stall on the corner. Poor Dick will be » and need a substantial breakfast.” After adding to the order another item or two with reference to her son’s taste, she passed into e dining-room adjoining. This was a square apart- Ment, with a bright carpet on the floor and white es to the windows. A light, cheerful room, fur- nished with a tall walnut sideboard, elaborately carved at the top; afew chairs of the same mate- , and an extension table—generally used in its contracted form. Everything was very simple and very useful, but homelike and attractive to an ex- tent which more elaborate establishments often lack. Mrs, Holstead wheeled out the round table, and covering it with a spotless cloth, proceeded to ar- range thereon a breakfast set of old-fashioned fra- gile china and service of well-preserved silver. hey were not rich, these Holsteads, but they be- longed to a good old family in the middle e of life, and had an air of extreme respectability—which in a higher station would have passed current for ratic refinement—clinging to them. Honest, well educated people, who found favor with the masses, the more readily, perhaps, because they never sought it. The mother was a widow, whose whole life and papriness were bound 1 in her one son. Her pride in him was not all a mother’s blind partiality. Rich- ard Holstead was one of that type of men whom Raced crises develop into heroes. One who might bor at the vocation which he had chosen or which circumstances had thrust upon him all his days, performing his work rea gf faithfully, and never suspect the energies lying dormant wi inhim, But let the proper moment arrive, the requirement exist, then the faculty to plan and the ability to execute would make themselves manifest, certainly as. the 1 Fag of flint and steel has the power to produce “Oh, it is terrible,” said Mrs. Holstead, shudder- ingly. ; But frequent acquaintance with such occurren as almost any inhabitant of a large city must know, wears off the sharp edge of the accompanyi or- ror. So, Mrs. Holstead whi | the cream for the toast, and buttered the m s in the covered dish, while her son passed through to the closed porch where koe pup on and proceeded to remove the traces of Ten minutes later, they were seated together at the breakfast-table, and Richard related such inci- dents connected with the conflagration as had come within his personal observation. 2 ane the young lady, mother,” he asked, “how is e bh] “Sleeping quietly. She has been terribly shocked, as is only na ,.but is in no danger whatever. Did you ascertain who she is?’ : “T made inquiry, and it is clearly evident that she is Miss Collingsbrooke, the daughter of an lis gentleman, who arrived only yesterday. d, mother, he is among the missing.” Mrs. Holstead let her spoon rest on the edge of her cup, and paled a little. pit eo thing, poor young girl!” she murmured, ngly. Th cof late in the day when Cecil awoke. Her kind hostess was sitting by the bedside, and came forward as the girl moved slightly. “ Awake, my dear? You are refreshed, I am sure. Don’t stir until I have brought you a cup of tea.”’ She went quietly away, and returned almost im- mediately with a tray, on which were a few delicate viands. is she placed on a stand by the bed, and bolstered Cecil to a sitting posture. The latter ate sparingly, and drank with feverish thirst. She was strengthened, but withan ree feeling lingering yet. When she had finished she looked up into Mrs. Holstead’s motherly face. “IT don’t remember how I came here,” she said, eet you are very kind. MayI trouble you still fur- her?” “T am anxious to render you comfortable,’ the lady assured her. ‘‘Pray don’t consider any request you can make in the light of a trouble.” “Will you get me gol feat gs ag ?”” “T am not sure that it best for you just now.’ was the hesitating mpl. “Oh, Tam quite strong. IndeedI must know the worst of the danger I escaped.” sets my dear Miss Collingsbrooke, any excite- men “Then I shall insist upon getting them myself,” Cecil declared, with perverse Stites aie Sorely dis- turbed, Mrs. Holstead went down to take counsel with her son. “Tt may be as well that she shall know it at once,” he said. ‘*She will ee anxious arding her fa- then soon, and then the truth cannot be kept from er.” So the papers were given to Cecil, but first her hostess endeavored to break the mournful news. ““My dear child,’ she said, ‘ hs must be strong to bear a great sorrow. You know what a narrow escape you had; but there were others less for- tunate—some who were not rescued,”’ Cecil put out her bandaged hand, only saying: **Let me see!” She had not corrected Mrs. Holstead’s mistake re- ages so her name. babi she had not observed t. But now, as her eye glanced down the Se a devoted to the conflagration of the morning, the knowledge that this misapprehension had arisen was made apparent. F The names of Captain Collingsbrooke and Cecil Blake were in the of those who perished, Miss Collingsbrooke was described as having escaped by precipitating herself from the balcony. | e paper crushed beneath Cecil’s tremb.ing hand, and her face pew white as the yond ainst which it was pressed. Strange that the words which Eve had spoken to her when they were together last should be the first to recur to her now. “Youth and beauty! You have them both, Cecil. Why is it not you, instead of me, who is to reap for- tune through them?” CHAPTER Il. FACE TO FAC E. In that moment Cecil never t ht of the a fate which had met her kind ye mistress. ys only saw the opportunity it had. opened before her, a : ‘e'' | and even this she did not yet permit herself to con trying ing. t. oe | a ying h v po had escaped ring tain ep United § fi H id them, make h | template clearly. But the idea had come, the sud- den force of it stilling her blood for an instant; the next it was leaping through her veins at fever s ; Mrs, Holstead went away softly. She thought best that the other should be alone with her sup- posed grief at first. Dick was walking slowly back and forth in the room below. It grieved him to know that the life of the girl he had aided to save should be at once clouded by such a sorrow, He looked up inquiringly as his mother entered, “Yes, and has taken it more quietly than I had popes But the stillest grief is often the deepest. I'd rather she had cried out than to grow white and, quiet as she cid.” And above in the shaded room Cecil lay still, not to resist the temptation which assailed her. ‘I did not seek this end,’’ she said, to herself. “Tt has been thrust upon me. Why should I correct the mistakes which others have made—why not ac- one: it as my destiny?” en she felt a pang of genuine regret as Eve Col- 7 1 aaeada gentle face rose before her mental “Tf she was alive I would not wrong her even to advance myself. But, why should I thrust aside the profit her death may bring me?” a st e between wrong and right it was a ery fg bs one. But I think from the time the thought t came to her, Cecil had di her course. I thi ‘It is doing her no harm,” she argued. ecided upon ink she strove to make even herself believe that Cecil Blake, the maid, had been buried in the ruins of the smoking pyre, and that she who esca) was Eve Collingsbrooke, ; At least she accepted the situation that day with- out —s an effort either to relinquish or retain it, It. was ing all on a chance to sure, but one which seemed secure. Du the past few months she had Jearned much of the previous history of the Collingsbrookes. The cap was of English parentage, but American born and reared, They were allied to a noble fam- —the father had been an honorable, and he was the cousin of an earl. The elder Collingsbrooke, sacrificing his de, be- fore the promptings of necessity, emigrated to the ted States and engaged in trade. He was not eminently successf izing no more than a com fortable subsistence from his business operations. It was at this early date that a warm friendshi was established batween the English merchant an & competitor in the same line of business, named Frampton. The younger members of the two fami- lies were upon most intimate terms. When young Collingsbrooke attained his major- ity, through the intervention of his titled relatives he was sent back to oglend, and the same pur-; chased for him a commission in the queen’s service. e married in that country, and the subseque death of his parents seemed to sever completely the; ties which bound him to the western world. I He was English in his ideas and DICRICS PER one association of his youre always clung to Aes This was his friendship for ag Frampton, <A reg ular correspondence was maintained between thor two. The latter had not married, and as Collings- brooke’s ay ay grew toward womanhood, she was destined by him as his friend’s future wife. An agreement to this effect had long existed between In accordance with this, Captain Collingsbrooke had settled his affairs in England, and pEpenee to is permanent home in America. He was in no haste to relinquish his daughter, hence his delay since their arrival before opening personal commu- nication with her husband elect. The date and place of their meeting had been ar- ranged, however, the time for the marriage fixed. This much Cecil knew—Mr. Frampton had never, seen his destined bride. Even had he done so, the, remarkable resemblance exist between the two, oung women would have readily deceived him; 1 entertained no apprehension that the imposi-« tion she had decided to practice would result in dis-, covery. closed eyes, and a drawn, ard expression about her mouth. d’s wom: heart was full of Ay apes, She Jaid her hand softly on the girl’s head. AJ. LOC “My poor child! I can feel for you in your afflie,; tion, for I know what it is to have lost dearj\o: But, God is very good, and He does for the best.’";, Cecil drew herself away from the soothing teu “Oh, don’t, don’t!” she cried out, sharply...“ You don’t know—you can’t know!” And with thatshe burst out in a passion of dry, gasping SOS; if sot . It was not acting, this emotion of hers,; ‘She. been tenderly attached to her young TaiSETOG, andi, a feeling of envy had sprung up in. ea painc oat, times, it was all washed away now, leavi cere ual honestly, regret for her untimely fate. She cou mourn for her whose name she had us This first outbreak of grief over, she again. Mrs. Holstead watched evening. It was early yet -when ‘Please don't let me keep you Vv Eixan tert mT MI ,Sorw from, yot am fg ge for your bai dow tannin me fee. tIamaburden. L Tauc to-morrow.” oe ae it 7. A a « t * F yy
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—_— | “er — ~~ + _ date. Among “Is there nothing more I can do ?” asked her host- ess, drawing the curtains closer. ‘‘Is there any- thing you would like which I have neglected to pro- vide; any immediate personal convenience, I mean? ae = course, your wardrobe was entirely de- oyed. - Cecil roused herself, remembering the oversight which had given Captain Collingsbrooke such annoy- ance on the preceding day. She explained this to Mrs, Holstead. “The trunks are probably returned by this time,” she said. ‘‘If you will be kind enough to have them brought here, I should like to remain while I am in {the city. Ishall not trespass long.” Mee “We will not permit you to leave us until your friends claim you,” the other declared, warmly. “And,” continued Cecil, **we were expecting a friend—a gentleman—to meet us at the Breton House. I fear he will be much distressed on my ac- count, if he finds no clew to my whereabouts.” “What is the gentleman's name, dear? My son will find him for you if he has arrived.” “Hugh Frampton, of Framptoni” Mrs. Holstead was turning away, when an nee ea seized Cecil to at once avow the utter responsibility of her equivocal position. “Mrs. Holstead!” \ The latter paused. ; “Mr. Frampton is my betrothed husband, You will understand now why I am anxious he should learn of my safety, The statement in the papers would only augment his distress by leaving ima in aad regarding the injuries I might have sus- ned. ““My dear,” Mrs. Holstead said, coming back to the bed to kiss the girl’s cheek, “I am gl for your rake you are not left without a tender gua Dick shall see to everything soon as ble. TI shall porupy the room adjoining this; if you want anything during the night, don’t hesitate to call upon me.” Cecil thanked her and was glad to be alone. She wanted to think over the course she had outlined for herself—to scan closely as she could the vista of the new existence she had already entered. : There are some yee are who, upon making a de- cision, determine that, no matter what the conse- quence may prove, be the result good or ill, they will not regret having taken the step. Cecil was one of these. No qualms of conscience for the imposition she was practicing disturbed her thoughts. Her sorrow for Eve was sineere, but it was secon to the consideration of her own benefit. She had little to fear, but she meant to take all feasible precau- tions against the ee a of future detection. She would require no coup d’etat in securing her position, and only common watchfulness seemed needful to retain it when won. Still, she reviewed the past few months, gathe together all the in- formation she had received from Eve, sto. up fe el of knowledge which had been gleaned from simple conversations, against possible contingency. When she slept at last, it was without dreams; the pure, sweet sleep which it has been claimed Nature sends only to the innocent and care-free. cans peaceful slumber that did much to restore healt i calm to her disordered nervous system. She arose next day experiencing no worse effects than a slight languor, and some irritation from the burns upon the hands. Her face was still inflamed, but the cooling lotions which had been applied were oe moe be i that . e remained in her room, enjoying the luxury o' a cushioned lounging-chair, and Orne ine her com- fort accurately studied, Bene her, one would think that the late lady’s maid had known only tender eare ali her life. Certainly, she possessed to a re- markable degree that faculty of adaptation, which can suit its owner to any sphere. The trunks were brought during the morning, and at her request were at once conveyed into the room placed at her disposal, The keys had been lost, but ily replaced by application to a neighbor- “were sp eres blacksmith. Afterward she examined them cu- riously and marked some of the contents with the _ design of analyzing them more closely at an early dig ag sabes Mr. edt spaeaitty 0' ather an ughter, and papers apparently relating to the captain’s business affairs. y é; Richard Holstead accomplished his mission so’ successfully that Mr. Frampton presented himself early in the afternoon. Cecil denied him an inter- view, pleading that she was yet too indisposed, but returned a kindly message to his solicitous inguiries. He came daily, and was unremitting in. en-. deavors to relieve the tedium of her seclusion. He sent fresh flowers and choice fruits, together with a miscellany of the best current literature. “ He should make an attentive husband,” reflected Cecil; but beyond this she bestowed little thought upon the man whose fate was soon to be linked with ers. Cecil would not hazard a meeting until her face had regained its ordinary smooth fairness. Then, one morning, she selected from Eve’s wardrobe a dress of some black, gauzy material, the crape at her neck fastened by a clasp of jet, and went down to meet Eve Collingsbrooke’s betrothed husband. He started forward to meet her, a tall, broad- shouldered man, bearing full evidence in his appear- «nce of the wear and tear cf his fifty PP he a His hair had been brown, but was now thickly inter- mixed with gray. He had never been a handsome man, but his ged features were softened by the kindliness of his pleasant eyes, and his face was lined and interlined as much by application to busi- ness cares as the flitting of time, : wide, firm mouth and square jaws evidenced A decision of character, and Cecil knew at a glance that he would prove no plastic toy in her hands, ‘ He’ r-Os CECIL’S DECEIT. was a man who could be generous to a fault where his sympathies were enlisted, but one who would never forgive a deliberate injury. He greeted her with a tenderness which was almost fatherly, and Cecil felt that, had she been really Eve Collingsbrooke, her heart would have gone out to him with grateful reciprocity. As Eve Collingsbrooke’s counterfeit she was prepered to overrule impulse by the calm weighing of events in her favor. She had resolved that he should be pleased with her, and knew, when she saw his face light at behold- ig te? that she had not reckoned amiss. uring that first interview he settled the question which lay bd eat in his mind. “Your father was my dearest friend, Eve,” he i said, addressing her by the name she falsely bore, “* and I do sincerely mourn with you his loss. Itwas his intention soon to give you to me, but this late sad event must hasten the time when I shall havea legal right to Pee you, You must let me take you to heart and home at once; let me cherish 4 little wife; share her sorrow, increase her joy. Shall it not be so, Eve?” *“T am yours,” she replied, quietly, ‘whenever you will.” So it was settled that there should be a quiet marriage ceremony ere long, after which they would return at once to Frampton. Great trees may be whirled along by the current, yet a little obstacle may change its course by fixed opposition. Such an apparently small se - block was to come in their way, influencing the plans but momentarily at the time, but operating most seriously in the end. CHAPTER IV. TWO SHADOWS. THe marriage was fixed to take place in another fortnight. Cecil ordered no trousseau—her mourn- ing would not admit of that—but she made plentiful additions to her wardrobe. Black, as a rule, is unbe- coming to most women. But Cecil’s fresh complex- ion was admirably calculated to bear the test of her somber garments; the perfect whiteness of her skin and rose-flushed cheeks were brought into more vivid relief by the strong contrast. The intervening time was agreeably passed in vis- iting points of interest about the city. Mr. Framp- ton was well acquainted with the place in its busi- ness sections, but was obliged to apply to Dick Hol- stead for advice regarding the series of pleasure trips taken in the precincts, ecil dem at first, but when Mr. Frampton insisted with a playful assumption of tyranny, and was seconded by . Holstead, she made no further objection. It was the obiect of the others to efface from her mind all painful reflections upon the late catastrophe, anil she was glad to be released from the pecepsity of counterfeiting a grief which she did not fee. So a light ca: e was driven to the door almost daily, and Cecil, company with her jiance, fre- quented galleries, libraries, and public drives, but not so persistently as to exhaust their attractions, Once or twice Richard Holstead accompanied them, but the youn man was one of the world’s workers, ed oy d not often snatch holidays from his occu- pied time. He was an architect and a draughtsman, and just now was engaged perfecting the plan of a private residence for a wealthy citizen. If this proved sat- isfactory, he was to receive the contract for the building. It was a desirable consummation, for the neat little house on Broad street was incumbered by a mortgage which a position as master-builder would ere long give him means of canceling, Mr. Pradipton became warmly interested in the young man. The fact that he had been chiefly in- strumental in rescuing Cecil may have first drawn him _ to young Holstead; but the honest integrity of the latter, his intelligence and industry, soon formed the basis of a friendship which was not des- ed to fade away as merely a pleasant remem- rance, " Two weeks passed speedily, and one pleasant au- tumn morning there was a private marriage in one of the plainer church edifices. It was Mr. Framp- ton’s desire that the ceremony shculd be consum- mated in a church, and Cecil acquiesced, herself in- different except that the words which would con- stitute her mistress of Frampton Place should be ut- tered beyond recall. She had Pind off her mourning attire for the occa- sion. An element of superstition made her shrink from being married in black. Her dress of white India muslin, though of dead fineness, was simply made, and displayed nothing to indicate that it was a bridal robe.. Her mantle and bonnet combined simplicity and richness, and would have been equal- ly unmarked by an eat’ observer. They were accompanied by Dick and Mrs. Hol- stead, the only other wiinesses being the sexton and one or two idlers who lounged in, scenting a mar- rage from the open church. A passer-by stepped into the porch just as the ceremony was edncluded He was a slender, sallow-faced man of poets thirty years. His hair and eyes were black, his nose aquiline, his lips thin and shaded by a jetty mus- tache. He was haggard and there were hollow cir- cles about his eyes, yet they did not seem evidences of dissipation. His clothes were shabby but grace- fully worn; his slender brown hands carefully kept, and bearing no traces of toil upon them, He was met at the door by one of the idle tators mentioned, the Jatter wandering out again, ‘Is it a marriage?” he asked, with the easy fa- miliarity which men, though strangers, can adopt eee GUE it's obi: Lasothi f May. and ~~ yes, S Over. er Case 0 an December, I opine.”” Ree es Se Oe re aye = unged against one of the porch columns, and the other, with his curiosity satisfied, passed out. There was the sweep of white drapery down the aisle; Mrs. Holstead’s best silk rustled its stitt folds audibly, and the little ey, came out through the doorway. Cecil’s hand rested lightly upon the arm of her husband, her eyes were raised tc his face as he spoke some low words to her, the nature of which or d be easily determined by his proud, fond glance. The man in the porch turned his gaze toward them listlessly; then, with a start, leaned forward, his face grown eager, his eyes searching the feat- ures of the bride with a half-incredulous scrutiny. Cecil passed without locking toward him, A carriage was waiting, drawn close to the curb. The driver sprung down to open the door as the little party descended the steps leading from the church, closely followed by the dark-faced stranger. The latter sauntered forward a Pg or two as Mr. Frampton handed his new-made wife into the carriage. Then he turned asif about to pass over the crossing, and looking back through the open carriage-door encountered Cecil’s gaze. Her lips parted slightly, grew white, her blue eyes Cilated, an anguished expression swept over her face. A procession of some kind was pasaine acu ha neighboring street, and at this moment the band at- tending it struck up a poy one measure, The fiery thoroughbreds were already champing their bits with impatience to be off, and at the unexpected yeas they started forward, rearing and plunging Ww “Ah!” The stranger lo The driver sprung for their heads and succeeded in grasping them, and a moment later the animals stood cowed and trembling. But quick as he had been, he had not prevented mischief. The man who had taken such apparent interest in the bride was lying now in the center of the street, senseless, usty, and bleeding. The shaft had struck him upon the shoulder, and_ the steel-shod_ hoofs trampled him down. Cecil had not fainted, but she lay back against the cushions so motionless and pale that those seeing her thought she had. Richard Holstead gave a few rapid directions to the men who came crowding around, then consulted briefly with Mr. Frampton. The laiter gentleman turned to Mrs. Hclstead, who still stood upon the paren the carriage was backed to the curb, and e assisted her into it, himself following. The coachman mounted the box and the carriage rolled away, Dick remaining to take charge of the injured man, It had been arranged that the newly wedded pair should return to the Holsteads for a few hours, and take an afternoon train for the bridegrocm’s home. A whim of Cecil’s chan: ed this yrogramme. Dick came home with the intelligence that the stranger was seriously, if not mortally injured. No one in the crowd identified him, so Le had been conveyed immediately to the hcspital. (% “You will see for me that he lacks no care,” said Mr. Frampton, drawing a bank-Lill from his wallet. “T can but feel in a measure responsible for his ac- cident. Ishould like to know that the poor fellow stands a chance of recovering.” : “T should like to see him,” Cecil said. not go to the hospital this atternocn?” F “My dear, we would have to obtain passes, and miglt be detained too Jate to reach the {1ain.”’ se “Then we can take a later one, or wait until morning,’’ she argued. ‘* Please oblige me Abeks What husband of an hour can withstand the plead- ing of his bride? It did 1 0t seem strange io Mr, Frampton, himself kindly end sympathetic, that the stranger’s disaster should so deep yam ct lis wite, or that she should so interest herself regarding him. Cecil’s will prevailed, and Dick—ever acc‘ mmo- dating—volunteered to arrange the preliminaries for the visit to the instituticn. They gained access to it during the day. The man lay upon the narrowed bed, his eyes closed, n.oan- ing now and then with the pain of his hurts. fie had not been conscious, the nurse said, even when the wounds were drecsed. His skculcer was dislocated and his body was badly biuised, Lut the worst feature of the case was cauced by a blow upon his head, the extent of the injury inflicted not yet having been accuratcly ascertained. Mr. Frampton, turring frcem the bedside, was startled at the pallor of his wife's countenance, “This has proved tco shocking a spectacle for you, Eve,” he said, self-reproachfully. “I shculd not have permitted you to come.” “The close air mace me’ faint fcr a moment,” re- turned Cecil. ‘‘ Nothing more! See, my nerves are quite steady.’ 13s She laid her hand, firm and quiet, upon tis. She had learned the lesson of ¢relf-ccntrol Icng ago, and had come here prepared for the ccnvicticn she yet hoped against. At sound cf her voice the sick man’s pi deed opened with a gleam of consciousness in tl.em, then closed again wearily. Hours afterward he surprised the nurse by rousing suddenly from his apperent stvpor, and making in- quiries regar.ing his afternoon visitors. Cecil shuddered, and drew her drees clcse about her asthey passed through the long weids. fhe had no curiosity to witness the different pheses of suffering which surrounded her. She aveited her gaze from the prostrate forms, the faces cutlined avainst the pillows, some wasted by long illness others flushed with fever, all bearing scme strcmp of “Can we one, 2 woman, with dead-blonde hair cut close to ter he:d, with face, hands and arms swathed in light presi i If inquiry had been made, the matron eould ease, Had she been observent she might hare noted ve told her that No. 19had been rescued |
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_ | Ointed at findin from the late disastrous conflagration—that her re- covery had first seemed impossible, that she had survived the worst crisis and was now tediously mending. But Cecil saw nothing to distinguish that cne sufferer from the hosts of others she had passed. They missed the train they had first proposed tak- ing, but departed later, after taking an affectionate leave of the Holsteads, The latter persons would accept of no remuneration for their kindness to , and parted from her with real regret. The lit- tle house on Broad street seemed dull after she had gone; the inmates missed the fair, bright face from among them. It was late in the afternoon of the following day that the Frampton carriage at the village depot met the home-coming master and his bride. Mr, mp- ton had telegraphed the date of his Poor -ircupe cl and immediate retueas: Frampton Place had_ been agi- tated beyond its usual custom by hurried prepara- tions for their reception. The gr site Bea coachman, standing g by his sleek, well-fed steeds, touched his hat with ng defer- ence, and some respectful, congratulatory expres- sions. “Thank you, Giles, my good fellow!” Mr. Framp- ton returned, heartily. ‘Yes, thisisa glad day for me. And now, how are they all at the house—is Miss Olive quite well?” Yes, sir; all well, sir, except Mrs. Blodgett’s neu- Prd and Emmy’s headaches, which are both about fore, sir.”’ “es Very well. Home at once, Giles!” Bowling over the smooth road, Cecil roused up from her weary apathy to obtain a first glimpse of her future home. It was a fertile, level stretch of country, broken by clumps of forest growth, alter- nating with at! Ya fields. The village they had lee was scarcely a mile distant from Frampton ace. The yes turned from the highway into an avenue which formed a circuitous course eit the grounds, The house itself was so embowered trees and shrubs, that only imperfect glimpses of it could be obtained until hed nearly approached. ‘Almost there,” said Mr. Frampton, with the eagerness of one whi delights in home comforts. “I hope you willlove Olive, Eve. The child’s early life was not happy as it should have been, and I fear even F ampton Place has been dull for her, It will be ditferent with you there.” Idon’t fear but we shall prove friends,” Cecil said smiling upon him. To herself she remarked: He thinks too much of that child; of course she is petted and spoiled by_his indulgence, Vl have her sent away to school, I think.” Her husband had spoken often of his niece and ward, Olive Tremaine. She was the child of an only et ister, many years younger than himself, who mar- vied much against the wishes of her family. The Marriage was not a happy, one, The husband, disap- d his wife’s fortune secured to her in such a manner that he could not gain posses-ion of it, soon = a negligent and abusive. He was a Spendth t and a gambler, and the wild life he led pe he his wife in a state of constant anxiety for his Hey was brought home one day, shot in a fracas in Which he had been a participant. Mrs. Tremaine id not Jong survive him, an dying, left her one child to Hugh Frampton’s guardianship. The carriage drew up before the entrance. Welcome home, my wife!” Mr. Frampton ex- claimed, lifting her out and conducting her into the hall where the servants, headed by the housekee er, awaited them. With a few kind words to all, he hurried her past up the stairway to the apartments pre ared for her. know you are tired, my dear,” he said. “Ah, here is Olive.” Cecil had or persed to find in her husband’s niece a mere child. stead, she met a girl matured in early womanhood, self-possessed and accomplished as a Fender ber course under the best instructors could render 1 nr prepared to like you,” she said to Cecil, aughingly, “Uncle Hugh’s wife has been so long in vos pg pr 9 that you have seemed to occupy an imaginary place in the household, which your conning il agreeab il was actually installed mistress of Framp- ton Place, CHAPTER V. THE ADVERTISEMENT. FRampron House was a rambling old building, in- congruous in its combination of stone, brick and framework. It had been in possession of the family for generations back, and came to the present owner rom an uncle whose neme he bore. . Besides this eritance he had amassed an enviable fortune in trade, and, having retired from active business, came here to spend the remainder of his days in the enjoyment of the emoluments he had gained. € house for the greater part was glcomy and antiquated. It was ori ginally an oblong stone Structure, with make Piil-like walls, and narrow windows, let in hi adhe from the floor, As the elder ranches of the family increased, or their inclina- tions prompted, additions had been made to this. rst had been a long frame projection containing two Sahar, of rooms, flanking each side of a narrow assagew a, Then a front of brick which had Me considered a triumphof masonry inits ay; and from this wings and porches had been extended, pte gs last, the original structure was left far in The grounds about were extensive and cleanly kept, but without other ornamentation than velvety 8reensward and dense foliage. he question of improvements had latterly been CECIL' S DECEIT. agitated by the inmates of the aR Se tar aki Coin ancients were to be torn down, bay windows and verandas to supersede the deep dark porches; halls and stair- cases to be widened; folding doors, plate glass, cor- nice, panelings and gilt, all were to work in the pro- posed transformation. The opportunity recalled to Mr. Frampton, the chance of requiting a debt of gratitude. According- ly he wrote to Kichard Holstead, proffering him the supervision of the work at a liberal rate. eo Eight months had passed since the date our story opens. It was a morning in the late spring-time, and the trees about the place were in their gala-dress of newly opened leaves. A few days more would change them thick and dark, but as yet they were of the vivid green which is trans rent when the sun shines through, displaying the intricate tracery of delicate fibers. The ivy which clambered. over the older ee of the house, though an ever-’ een, looked fresher and ph Biosey age the in- uence of dewy nights, and bright, sunny days. The family of Frampton Place were sented at the breakfast-table. The room was lon OF one ee oak wainscoting blackened by age, and was lined on one side with china closets and stationary sideboards. One end was almost filled by a huge old-fashioned fire-place, closed now for the summer, which was overtopped by a massive oaken mantle-piece. Win- dows and doors crowded another side, and the re- maining end gave access to a square from which ee, ranched in d-fferent directions, The angings and yeni were crimson, the furniture heavy oak, well in keeping with the apartment. In ‘summer-time the sun shining Pies the nee windows, and in winter the ruddy blaze upon the hearth, gave it an air of cheat ness from which the darkened walls and lowering ceiling could not detract. Mrs. Frampton had already put aside her deep ' mourning. © Was arrayed now in a plain white wrapper, with an edging of black at the throat and wrists. Ever and anon, as the desifitory’ con- versation flagged, her husband glanced at her with proud, loving eyes. He had grown to idolize her, _ and she, was quite content to be the ‘old man’s arling. Olive Tremaine, quietly discussing her toast and coffee, looked scarcely younger than the mistress of Frampton Place, the difference of a half-dozen heen was so easily scored by their pee styles. blive at eighteen, with a well-developed and stature above the medium, with complexion, eyes and hair of dusky richness, had gained the wef earriage which belongs to maturer years. e silence of a moment which had settled upon the little group was 1 gis # the entrance of a ser- vant with the mornin Mr. Frampton dis- tributing the letters, a erward turned to the exam- ination of his own correspondence. “ Holstead accepts,” he remarked, refolding a sheet he had perused. “ He'll be here ina day or so, I'm heartily glad, for I would rather trust the job with him than in other hands.” “T cannot rid myself of a feeling of obliga the Holsteads,’’ Mrs. Frampton sai * Per can repay their kindness in a measure now.” “The young man must feel himself as one of us,” her husband replied. ‘‘You will see to it, I know, Eve, and you, Olive, must put aside social distinc: tions for the time, and act with us on the basis of democratic equality.” Olive Tremaine had the erat. It was not that she shrunk from the poorer classes on account of their overty, but she had full faith in the supremacy of “blood” and high breed- ing. She looked up now a little haughtily. It is oo, right to command in your own house, uncle Hug! think I have never forgotten the civility po any guest of yours, but.I sh scend from my own Pre er social sphere to equalize myself even with this prime favorite of yours,” ut Mr. Prasaptan | was already buried in the pa He of the ioe paper and consequently in ivion to all else; His wife, from indolence or dis- inclination did not take up the gantlet for the Hol- steads, and Olive’s speech remained unheeded. The pautfornan had followed word for word the tion to | ps we mene of an aristo- not de- sentiments contained in the leading article; and was turning to local items, when a prominent orig: 2 under the head of ‘‘ Personal” caught his ‘e glanced at it, rubbed his Elnsees, and read es through, then droppe: = Hlées me!”’ Mrs. Anas aa remained indifferent; Olive looked me van ted Mr. Frampto peng wit ess me!’’ repea’ t, mpton, g some surprise at the former. ‘‘ This his must be meant for you, Eve!” Raising the paper he read: “Tf the daugkter of Captain TE sel Collin brooke, formerly of Berkshire, England, and w ° Forage on for the United States in the ship Pheenix, June, 18—, will apply at the office of the under- poate she will learn something very much to her JOHN CHANTRY, ‘Attorney and Solicitor, renee N.Y City. 2” ~ “Tt must be meant for if the reiteration should nation of the Pans graph. = we Sone she replied, extending her hand for the ay, It is very strange—I cannot under- stan “i "Who can be so desirous to communicate with me that such an agency should be employed?” * one of your relatives, perhaps, ” suggested her husba mentally eon : Beuscaly,” replied oak " hee his paper with an ejacu- ‘ou, Eve,” he repeated, as aw from her some exp) ee sidering the statistics she had stored up p regarding the Co rookes, ‘** Poor Captain me gel ta rag & daughter could excite no interest in the minds of his titled kinsfolk."’ “Well, what do you wish done about it, my — dear?” ur Suppose somebody must ascertain what if all means don’t know but I shall go to the c ti ayered not. that I attach much importance to t “Just as you think best, Eve. I will accompany you when you wish.” The subject was dropped then. Cecil felt a v ue uneasiness, and pored over the advertisement w ped was alone, but there was nothing in its stereb. yped Ny to afford her aclew. She felt almost taaibtee to let it pass without a response, but such a course wetid excite the wonderment of her hus- band. After she thought, she had gained the wealth and position she had coveted beyond fear of losing them, Nothing could wrest them from her even should seemingly y improbable osure come, Nothing? Cecil told herself so, resolutely. Yet a thought a up which made her shiver as witha chill. What was it? Some skeleton of her past which would not lie buried—a ghost that sometimes defied her power to exercise. CHAPTER VI. THE FOWLER AND THE SNARE. Mr. Frampron had gone out. Olive was in the music-room ently practicing. Mrs. Frampton had made her toilet and was sitting down to some bit of orpemicniet needlework, when a servant came to. her with a card “Victor D’Arno,” she read, “I think I cannot aye him. Itis probably Mr. Frampton he desires see, ” “‘No, madam, he inquired particularly for you.” Marveling much, Cecil glanced in the mirror after the fashion of pretty women, married or single, and went to meet her guest. He stood by one cf the windows, half concealed by the falling curtains, — turned quickly at the sound of the opening oor. Cecil came in with the easy assurance of a culti- vated woman. Midway across the floor she watt ped her hands clasping in the nervous fashion w had also belonged Eve Collingsbrooke, her eyes | ciating and color fading as she gazed, fixedly at te slender man with pale, olive skin and close-cut, jetty hair, his face smoothly shaven, his eyes dark, with accurately penciled brows. His dress was plain, but of fine material and fashionably nade. A costly ly ring gi eamed upon his finger, but with this - eae Much changed indeed but the same face which | Cecil had Jast seen blanched and drawn with pain, pressed against the pillow of the hospital bed. The Iman, who, shabby and haggard, had watched her from the church upon her mariiage-day. Cecil opened her lips, but her voice sontded harsh and strained. ‘** You?” she said. vay, have you come to me?”’ He came forward, smiling. “Tam glad you are not inclined to use ceremony toward me, Mrs. Frampton. Will you not welcome me for the sake of old remembrances?” “‘Are you trying to st itiful look on her white face. ‘Don’t y know that I blotted out all of my old existence w en an this?” it then so satisfying?” He: lips twitched painfully, then some latent eee arose, enabling her to 1onk him steadily in the e wore no jewelry. ws Yes, ” she said, “I have all I either desired or hoped. I have been quite content.” Have been,” he repeated, his eyes seeking hers — with a magnetic force which would not be evaded. “Will it be different now?’’ “Why should it be?” she asked, but her fingers locked themselves in a strained clasp. The man’s power over her whatever it may have been, was not extinct. She felt it, struggled against it, yet knew herself helpless before him. “Because you cannot forget the past, Ceci]. Be- cause, seeing me, you can not cheat yourcelf into the belief that ign have any affection for your dot- ing old husban “I put love away from me once,” she replied, her voice Paiétl monotonous now. “It wounded me, SO I said I would never love again. My husband is very je in and I respect him. I would Zot have it other- “But wounds heal,” he said, significantly. “It was never my fauli t, Cecil!’ “Was it not? a well! Tell me what you want, yore then go. It is better that we do not see each ot A kind of triumph flashed across his face. “Then you are not inaiffcr ent, £8 you would have me think,” he said, sof “Is there danger that the old ties prove more b ding than the new ?” Could he know the pain that was wringing her heart henaath all her quietness of manner, and was he 2 Purp sely striving to augment it? You ‘gauge me how worthless those ties were,’” she said, bitterly. ‘I had no claim onyou then; you can not assert one now.” “How do you ee, that? You would not be the first woman who has been misled by a malicious: tale. You placed faith in the first trumped-up story which was to you rather thanin me, The blind neg of jealousy did the rest.” Bhe had been quiet and pale before, New every cs me,” she faite ara : ’ : Laaae® 4 ~
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» ' 6 ~ CECIL’S DECEIT. nerve was rigidly strained, her lips scarcely moved as she apcke breathlessly. “In the face of all our past, can you tell me that it was not true?” me: oe His eyes, which had held their mastery over her, fell before her gaze. He hesitated, half turned away, then faced her again. : * Yes, it was true,’’ he said, dog: » “else I would not be here. But I am free of that woman now, Cecil; she is dead.” She made no remark upon his words. She had been sitting, but rose now, steadying herself with her hand upon the chair, “Ts that all?’’ she asked, coldly. “I must beg you will excuse me,” “No; it is not all. Sitdown again, Cecil. I have come to you because I hold your secret, for the keep- ing of which you must render mea service. You know me of old—I am not easily deterred from the accomplishment of an object. I want the aid which not refuse me.” , if you please, or services rende These Americans are delightfully “Oh, no; never that!’ she cried. never come here—we must not meet He studied her silently for a moment, then asked: * Could anything induce you to leave all you have ae ta position, security—to take up our ohemian life again?’?® Two red spots flamed into her whitened cheeks. “TI would have done it once,” she said, still keep- her voice toned to non-committal monotony, **T would have done for you any thing you co have asked. But that time is gone forever.” “Then it is best that we understand each other fully. You know what ay. fortunes were before; it is the same still; one day on an equality with the highest, feted, lionized; the next penniless, not knowing from whence even common necessities are tocome. I am wearied of this varied existence. Your husband has a niece who is young, beautif wealthy. You married for money; why should no I pot by your ieee g er _ he comprehended his meaning slowly. It was a moment before she asked, “You would marry Olive? Is that what you would in *¢ That is it, Cecil!” He was watching her furtively. She turned away and walked to the further extremity of the room. When she came back there were 6 marks in the s of her hands, where the nde into unsus- ws You must he flesh; her face was brilliant with eScited color; : her eyes scintillating like a phosporescent sea, ‘You dare tell me this? You dare ask me to aid yeu in it? Do youknow what it has cost me tos us calmly of the past, which I had banished from my thoughts, lest I should go mad in remembering it? If you have regard for the weal of either of us, go now; and never attempt to consummate your pegaect. Remember what desperation drove me to efore; if I attempt the same again, I will not fail.” “His eyes seeking hers fixedly, again subdued their ap iy f light; the shadow of a amile curved his mouth as he repli : “Remember, too, how the blow which was aimed at my life recoiled upon you. I never abandoned a aad nos Cecil, and never will while I hve, It will be useless for you to combat i Swing me,’ She was yielding already to the subtle influence he exerted over her. He saw it, and continued: “Your own act has placed an impassable barrier between us. What ralght have been is impossible now. Your reason will advise you better when you have thought of this, for you are in my power utterly. t do you think would the owner of _ Frampton Place say if informed that his wife, in- ¥ 4 stead of coming from gentle stock Was only. a, waif thrown nameless upon the world? t if he knew that before he took her to himself she had been a wife in all except the name?” She threw up her hands with a low, sharp cry. ** You dare not taunt me with that,” she exclaimed, passionately. “‘ You cannot transfer your perfidy to me!” “Tam only showing you how the world would view it, Cecil. You know the man you have ed; would he eysive the deception you have practiced upon him?’ She cowered at that. hen busca generous as she had found him, would be relentless in his wrath. wl must do asI wish, Cecil. There is no alter- native. Olive’s step was on the stair, her voice penetrated see (acl, prositg bar hetiaeto het tase, 7m song. Cecil, p er han ‘ace, an effort became calm, “You must go, now,’’ she said, ‘*We may be in- terrupted at any moment,” “ And your decision?” choice have I?” she demanded, “You conquer as you ever have done.” He accepted his triumph quietly, He had been assured of it from the first. He left her after a hasty ig ope for another meeting, when there should be no danger of intrusion. Cecil fled away to her room, and remained there locked in for an hour, She came down when her husband returned, slightly pale, a little langui and complained of a headecte, ‘That was all oe CHAPTER VII. TW0 MEN IN’ THE HOUSE, there called at No. 17 —— street. The former had volunteered to attend tothe business—whatever it ight be—alone, but a mixed feeling of restlessness bak im gaa would not permit Cecil to remain n It was a bright afternoon which would have been pleasant in the country, but the sun beating down against brick walls and pavements made it almost intolerably warm within the city limits. They drove to the place ina private carriage, and leaving it at the door, en ; The office of Mr. Chantry in no way differed from that.of any prosperous lawyer. The outer room was large and bare, with two or three clerks’ desks ranged against the walls; the clerks themselves, pale, preoccupied-looking men, seldom breaking silence oy aught save the scratching of their pens or An inner room furnished with car- than a piece of b immediately at their service. Mr. Frampton introduced himself and wife and made known their business. “This lady Captain Collingbrooke’s daughter,” said the lawyer, passing the m of one hand slowly over the back of the other and be er yp ere “Of course you have proofs o: “Yes,”’ Cecil replied, promptly, opening the orna- ridhiteathetioule she carried. thought such might be pequtnens and came prepared with authentic docu- men These consisted of a certificate of marriage be- tween Captain Collingsbrooke and Eieanor, daughter of Adam Montague; a r cert iz the birth of their. one child, Eve Co brooke; and articles denoting the captain’s former eouan in the queen’s army, together with private lettersfrom men well known in London. Very satisfactory, Mr. Chantry declared them. * And now, madam,” said he, * I must congratulate ‘ou upon your succession to the famed Collings- brooke diamonds, entailed in a bequest almost a century ago to the female descendants of that direct branch of the house. Are you acquainted with the contents of the will executed by Lady Collings- brooke, Dowager Countess of Evrehampton, your great-grandmother?” “Tam not,” Cecil replied. ‘There was little com- munication between my father and his family. he was aware of the contents of the document to “es ou allude, he never referred to it to my ow. r “Briefly, then, this is the story,’’ began the law- yer. “Lady Co sbrooke was the mother of five children, four sons and a daughter, your grand- father be a younger son. e diamonds were bequeathed to the Lady Sarah to be transmitted to her eldest female child, or f such, to the eldest female descendant of the son, claiming p ence in birth, who should be so blessed. “The Lady Sarah died unmarried, and the jewels reverted to Lady Nora, only daughter of the Harl of Evrehampton, Of the two remaining brothers of your grandfather, one died a bachelor, the other leaving child. The Lady Nora married and was the mother of several children, male and female, but all died during their childhood. Her brother, the present earl, has no daughter, and Nora’s recent decease leaves you the orly female descendant of the house, and consequently the diamonds fall to your reversion. Une, are a emaey worthy a representative of that noble line, and I am happy to be instrumental in p. them in your possession. At present they are held by the London firm for whom I am acting, but the only delay will be the necessary time consumed in aabraltting these proofs of your yeeinet A ye that the gems will be immediately orwarde Gait let me congratulate you, Mrs. Frampton.” followed him closely bot this ex- lanation, during which he had dropped the lawyer’s chnicalities of speech. “Thank you,” she said, quietly. | “My good for- tune is as agreeable a UBsepodee, There was some consultation after that, and then Cecil and her husband left the lawyer’s office to be driven back to their hotel. Meantime we return to Frampton House. Olive was alone with the exception of ibe servants. She was in her own room t: over some articles of n her toilet-table, when, after mmy Be raat did double rvice as upper parlor-maid and lady’s attendant, entered. She was a tidy girl, who had been long in the service of Mr. Frampton, and was much valued by the household. mace home fora couple of days until Iam over it. I can’t do much when I’ve one of my headaches, but Dll come back whenever you like.’ Emmy’s severe headaches had always been a subject of compassion for ove and the required Emm , and do not will go down A covPtz of aye later Mr. and Mrs. Frampton afternoon to see how you are.” went together to the city, and during their sojourn “Oh, thank you, Miss Olive; you are very kind,” ” A & oe a % ic é ’ 2 de + a ey ees ee SE PFs a ee ee) ae said Emmy, gratefully, always keep. down the pain best. She ** Somehow my mother can ll be glad to e cottage,’ ‘*My only regret will be that it is your afflictio will take me there,” replied Miss Tremaine. “You need not wait, Emmy; go before the greatest heat of the day.” She did not forget her promise. As it drew near evening she placed a few delicacies in a small basket, and set out on her self-appointed mission. Mrs. Brown’s cottage was just beyond the bound- ary of Frampton Place, away from the public road, but between the house and the village. It was a pleasant walk through grassy by-lanes, skirting meadows and fields of grain luxuriant in their emerald growth, She found Emmy suffering acute nervous pain, but the cool quiet of the shaded room, aided by Mrs. Brown's bitter herbs, promised speedier relief than could have been secured at Frampton House, Olive did not linger long, and return took a ath which for some distance stretched through a hinly wooded tract, and led more directly home- ward than the way she had come. Midway ran a narrow, sluggish stream, which was the outlet of a smalJl lake that went by the name of the Pool. The banks were fringed with osiers and it was bridged at the narrowest point by a railed foot- walk, old and rickety, and little used of late. There was a narrow bridge some distance below, but to cross it would have taken her out of the direct way. The footplank swayed beneath her light weight, but, apprehending no ‘danger, she went confidently for- ward. In the midst of the stream had been a miniature pier supporting the frail structure where the lengths of the plank joined. This had long given symptoms of decay, and now, as Olive neared it, the insecure pile gave way. The timbers, left unsupported, ph bed and creaked dismally, then went down wi a crash. She caught at one of the upright posts which se- cured the railing, which, fortunately, did not give way. The stream, though not wide, was deep, and with a slimy black mud at the bottom. She was there in the midst of it, clinging to an insecure sup- port, and communication with either shore cutcom- letely off. At best, it was an unenviable position, ut relief was at hand. A young man es ea the path she had just traversed, came in sight at the instant of the disas- ter. Comprehending all at_a glance, he sprung for- ward, and throwing aside his coat and boots, dove into the water. : He swam to her refuge-place, reaching her side before she had recovered herself sufficiently to cry out for help. “Put your hand upon my shoulder,” he said. ‘‘ There, [ will steady you! Now trust yourself to me, and we will be ashore in a moment.”’ ith his arm circling her waist, he struck out with the other for the bank, and in a couple of minutes they had the firm earth under their feet. She turned to him with grateful thanks, but catch- ing a quizzical glimmer in his eyes, and surveying their two dripping figures, laughed merrily over the ludicrous aspect of the cont7elemps, “Then you are neither frightened nor burt,” he said, quie y resuming his cast-off garments, ‘I am glad of that.” “You have suffered equally with me,” she replied, uickly restraining her mirth. ‘But for your timely assistance I would nct have agree | escaped. You must let me make amends for the inconveni- ence I have caused you, by accompanying me to the house, where you shall B proviied with dry gar- ments, and such hospitality as I can offer in the ab- sence of my uncle.” “Thanks! If you allude to Frampton House that is my destination. I am Richard Holstead.” Olive was surprised. He was very unlike the rough-spoken men she had individualized as com- P ising the es class; and this encounter roken down the barriers of formality she would otherwise have interposed , between them, She was too well-bred to betray her thoughts as they went is Sings to the house. he remembered her uncle’s injunction, but found that it required no effort to regard Richard Holstead as theequal of the gentlemen with whom she had associated in her own ‘‘sphere.”’ She was already beginning to learn that intelligence and refinement are not incompatible with honest labor. During the time which intervened before Mr. Frampton’s return, she accompanied the young architect through the dae pe = explaining the alter- ations which had been dec ded upon, He set work at once, drafting plans aud suggesting such chan iw as his more practical knowledge deemed expedient. “This part,” Olive said, passing by the heavy door which led into the olcest a iy of the house, “unele has decided not to touch. He kas too much veneration for the early homestead to pull it down, and I think the same reason pleads as forcib] against its renovation as the fact that the house a roomy without it,” “Its existence lends a romantic interest to the place,” Dick remarked. ‘The ivy-covered walls and moss-grown roof fourm a pleasant feature when viewed from a distance; and practically, it would be a difficult, as well as expensive, matter to re- duce it to our notions of modern comfort.” For the rest, Olive found herself admiring the uick comprehension which decided at a glance the feasibility of the proposed changes, which pointed out the advantages or defects appertaining to them. He possessed the soul of an artist, together with the faculty of utilizing effects which belongs to the practical workman. e combination of twe see you ai t
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——————— established a happy medium between beauty with- out usefulness and vice versa. With tho roturn of Mr, Frampton tho actual work began. Half a score of brawny, stout-limbed me- chanics plied their tools within tho house, embody- ing in the result of their handiwork the creations of the one master-brain. : * Within a fortnight of the same date Victor D’Arno was established at I'rampton House. Hecameas the avowed protege of Captain Collingsbrook> in earlier years, and as one who, by an important service rendered to the father, through it possessed a claim to the gratitude of the daughter. It is not to be understood that he intruded upon this assumption. » Ile had taken quiet lodgings in the village, and made it appear that an_ incidental meeting with Cecil and her husband first informe. him of his proximity to an early associate. The rest Cacil’s own tact, and Mr. Frampton’s desire to show regard to his wife’s friend, accomplished. ’ It waseven with a show of reluctance that D’Arno, yielding to the cordial invitation of the latter, cou- sented to take up his abode in the house at such a time, lest his presence should incommode the family while various portions of the building were under- oing repairs, But the spacious old dwelling, wich fis wings and projections, left ample room for the accommodation of all, and the leisure of the house- hold was by no means infringed upon by the labor being accomplished beneath the roof, ' And in the elegant personnel of Mrs, Frampton’s friend, neither her husband nor young Holstead recognized the shabby stranger who fell the victim of disaster upon Cecil’s marriage day. CHAPTER VII. THE SLAVE OF THE NEEDLE. ’ Tr was growing late ina fervid summer afternoon, but the blinding glare of sunlight, beating back from late roofs across the way, reflected its sultry heat to the upper room, where a slight, fair girl sat bending over her work. Changed, indeed, since we saw her last upon the eve of the conflagration, wherein she was supposed be ae yet it was Eve Collingsbrooke in é flesh. She had been rescued from the burning building by one of the courageous men who battled the fire- fiend to the last as it closed in about its human vic- tims. Awakened by the tumult, the crackling of the flames, and the suffocating heat, she had sprung up fron Ker bed to find herself enveloped in a cloud of smoke, which strangled and bewildered her. She made a few vague efforts to reach the door, but fail- ing, staggered back to the couch and fell upon it in a dead faint. It was a merciful unconsciousness. It spared her the agony of the great peril encompassing her, the groans and shrieks of those perishins near ner. A fireman, penetrating further than any of his fellows, broke into her room and snatched her senseless form from what had threatened to ba her last resting-place. The brave fellow almost forfeited his own life as tha pooalty, of his daring; his retreat seemed cut off by the rapid progress of the flames. But he fought his way through all, desperately. He tottered out into the openair with his helpless burden clasped close in his arms, both terribly burned, but not beyond recovery. Among other nameless ones, Evo had been con- veyed to the hospital. Her injuries were slow to heal, and, fever s-tling in, she had lain for weeks wavering between life and death. Her young, healthy Maye conquered iu the end, and she went out in the world alone, friendless, homeless. _ Her life lay a desolate path before her who had been aiways tenderly nurtured. She ascertained be- yond doubt that her father had perished on that ter- rible night, but the bitterness of her grief was broken in upon by the necessity for action which her desti- tution forced upon her, Their only income had been a life annuity settled upon her father. This fact had increased his anxie- ty tosee her placed beyond fear of want as Hugh ¥Frampton’s wife. But Eve, separated from this consummation by a dreary lapse of months and the absence of the mo- tive power which had urged her to it—she did not know of that other barrier interpos:d now—had no inclination to forward the accomplishment of that old understanding by her own effort. Tie same in- tuition which told her that this chain of events had severed the bond existing between them, also caused her to shrink from applying to Hugh Frampton for aid in her extremity. She believed that Cecil also had perished. Utter- ly alone and in a land of strangers, unused alike to ‘privation and to exerting her own energies, Eve took up her stand ami.l the multitude who do battle fer the necessities of life, in a great city. _ She was skilled in embroidery, and succeeded in ‘obtaining regular work. But her utmost. efforts could no more than sustain her beyond the pale of actual want. The room in which she sat was small, and meager- ly stocked with only in ispensable articles of furni- ture. She was thin and pee yet, from long prostra- tion. Her heavy blond» hair had been shorn close and in its stead now had come a growth glinted an about her necx, making her seem more youn outhful ‘han before, despite the shadows lingering | n her eyes and the hollow traceries depicted in her face. A single cicatrized mark upon her temple and almost concealed by her wav ng hair, scarre her face; but upon her throat and wrists, not wholly hidden by the close-fitting dress she wore, were te plainer evidences of the peril she had assed. She raised her head wearily but without lettin hey hands with the nearly-flnished work, i | sign of bud, andvine, and flower. The / | | | shape again, and looking about him, -CECIL’S DECEIT. heavy step toiling up the bare wooden stairway, pared ae bee dome 2 tap, answered by her low. voiced “‘ Come in!” was followedjby the entrance of Le Me ruddy-faced Irishwoman who was her y: ‘Mrs. Mulrooney!” said Eve, in some surprise, ris- ing to place a chair. * Yis, shure it’s mesilf, mem, an’ an awful thram’ it is, too, up thim same sthairs. It’s tuk the brea! out of me complately, it has. How ye sthand it comin’ up an’ down is more than I can say at all.” “Tt’s not from choice that I occupy such a high station,’’ Eve returned, with a faint smile, ** It’s the same I said to Norah, shure. Sez I, the young leddy’ll not sthand in the way of a betther offer whin like enough she'll be plazed to take other quarthers. An’ sez I, it’s the use of the spare bed in me own room I'll be beggin’ of her to accipt till she finds other lodgin’s, au she wilcome to it as the blissid air she br’athes. “Tt’s that, mem, which brought me up to say yez the day, for it’s a-wantin’ of the room at onc’t that the gintleman is; an’ sez I, the leddy’ll take my bed instid of a warnin’ whin she knows of the chance, I mightn’t have been so bowld to ax it of yez but for me throuble, an’ poor little Patsy that’s down with the fever, to say uothin’ of hard times an’ the rise in mates of late.” From sheer lack of breath Mrs. Mullrooney paused; and Eve, gathering the pith from her flow of words, approac ed at once to the point. “You want me to give up my room without the customary warning?” ‘*Tt’s that, mem. The gentleman is own cousin to me lodger on the nixt floor‘ an’ for the sake of bein’ wid his own kin won't sthand for the mattherof a uarther ixtra on the rint, It’s the accommodation m axin’ of yez.” “To be sure. I could keep the apartment only a fortnight after your expressed desire to retain it, and the kindness you have shown me forbids such a return when your interests are better served other- wise. I must accept your offer to share your cham- ber if you have no vacant apartment suited to my use until I can procure such elsewhere.” “The blessin’ of the widdy an’ the orphin be wid yez. It’ssorry Iam to part wid yer like, an’ if yez can give me peed of yer sthayin’ for good, it’s yer- silf shall kape the room forby the ixtra er, an’ me lodger’s cousin. It’s the onsartainty of yer wantin’ to sthay, mem, more’a ali the rist.” , “Tfear that 1 canuot give you that assurance, Mrs. Mulrooney, much as I should like to do so.” Plain and inconvenient as the apartment was, Eve had already more than once been driven to con- template a removal to a cheaper domicile. Profuse in her expressions of regret that Eve should be subjected to any Setathar ee Bae grati- tude for her ready compliance with the request FS the really kind-hearted Irishwoman took her eparture. ve are herself with renewed diligence to the work which she had not relinquished even during the presence of her visitor; and for an hour scarcely raised her eyes from the groundwork of fine linen on which her needls had upraised an ex ‘gee Led te was taken whils the glare of the declining sunlight yet beat into the little room. Then she rose, and donning hat and vail, took the roll of completed work and went out upon the strae>. The silewalks lay in shadow now, and were thronged by the business population hurrying home- ward after the completion of their laboring hours, Eve quicxened her steps, taking little note of the thous.ind expressions reflected in the tice of faces ore past, which once it would have delighted her to dwell upon. So much does participation in the actualities of life take from us our inclination to throw the garb of romance over its rougher phases. The walk was not along one, and she en a bazar where dainty trimmings hung out their en- ticing insignia to tempt luxurious feminine tastes. A clerk coming forward ted her courteously, and receiving the roll from her hand, left her t- ing while he disappeared into some obscure recess of the establishment. He returned again shortly, with a similar package not yet sec th wrap- ping and cord. “Your work gives entire satisfaction,” he said, affably,. ‘So much that Mr. Blair is induced to em- ploy you on a companion-piece, though op’ to is former resolution. The season is so dull that no more embroidery will be given out after this, and itis only on condition that you can complete the work by Saturday that it is wanted. There'll be no difficulty I hope.’ “The pattern is very intricate, and the time short,” Eve ventured, her heart sinking at the pros- ect hi§ words foretold. “Did you say itis the last shall have?” “For the present, foal miss. Hope to ses you on our list again when business is brisker. Mr. Blair mentioned the same, in fact, which is quite a com- pliment to your skill, I assure you, miss,”* He deftly twirled the fabrics he had unrolled into seized upon a Lk mes hg in which to incloseit. Still Eve ngered, “Gan you recommend meto another establish- ment, meanwhile?’ she asked. “ It is of the utmost importance that I procure uninterrupted employ- “Sorry,” he returned, “but the fact is dealers in our line ‘are all overstocked. We'll recommend you willingly, of course; butI am afraid it will be of no use. Th manage that youshall see Mr. Blair him- self on Saturday, if you wish; maybe he can sug- gest something.” Thanking the friendly clerk, Eve dropped her vail, em 5 es, é , $ 4 | ment.” i 7 and turned away with a despondent heart-ache gor upon her. She could see thai the vague ope offered was but the feint of a kindness which shrunk from inflicting an unpleasant conviction in its sh form. Wearily she toiled up the long stairways. The late sunset cast a dull red glow up- on the opposite roofs, and, fatizued as she was, she sat down by the window to begin her task by that remnant of waning light. Theroll of snowy linen lay upon her lap, when a breath of air floating down over the housetops, caught at and fluttered the paper not wholly re- moved from it. She her hand down upon the | rustling fragment, and her glance following it, rest- ed upon her own name, printed in conspicuous char- acters, It wasthe same advertisement which Mr. Frampton had stumbled across weeks before. Eve devoured it with eager eyes, but its object was no more apparent to her than it had proved to the woman who had usurped her identity. Yet itcame to her a message alJ the more welcome for being unexpected. It was like a bridge connect- ing her happy, care-free past with this existence so drearily hopeless, so loveless that it seemed scarcely worthy of the continuous struggie required to sus- tain it, and stretching beyond into the promise of a hter future. e commonplace wording of the paragraph awoke in her a tide of rushing recollections. It car- ried her back to the home in which her childhood had been passed, with all its associations of tender memories. It recalled the voyage which promised to be the relude to a. newer and wider sphere of life; the ays loitered away in the erratic wandeiing which aptain Collingsbrooke had preferred to following the circumscribed routes grown familiar to tourists, Then the sudden blotting out of all that was fair be- fore her; the loss of the single great effection she had ever known; the blind groping with her scarce recognized grief during the time when her physical suffering deadened her seuse of mental pain, and af- ter that the realization of utter loneliness, which is the most desolate of all the bitter destinies a young life can know. ia ; She roused herself from the reverie into which she had fallen to contemplate the new consideration thus thrust upon her. She recognized the difficul- ties she would be called upon to surmount before pro the degree in which this summons could ect her. Unlike the majority of English girls, she was fa- miliar with the geography of our country, and less reliant upon herself, dreaded the solitary journey to New York. She might have written, it is true but this indefinite promise seemed to resolve itself into something tangible luring her on. ‘ She drew out her well-worn portemonnaie and quickly observed its contents, There was only the modicum she had received that day for her com- leted work—only enough to meet her expenses for e week. She Seene her hancs in her old way when anything troubled her, and leant Ler forehead down upon them against the window-sil. A sensation of pain, unnoticed for a moment, the aggravation of her flesh pressing against tLe sharp Petnts of a heavy ring she wore, brcught to ber like a flash the solution cf her most pressing difficulty. Her rings, the scle possession she retaired which accorded with her former position, op(ned up the avcnue which had seemed closed against her. Norah came by and by with a request that she should assume the occupancy of the place cs:igned her; and Eve, gathering up the wniouched work which had fallen to the floor, gave some directions regarding the disposition of Ler few cffccts, and foliowed the girl to Mrs. Mulrooney’s chamtLer, It wasa large, neat room, with bedsranged closely along one side, and was the a apartment of the widow and her five chil ren. Bcing well ven- tilated, the prospect was less uninviling than might be supposed. : That evening as she plied her neecle by the light of the kerosene lamp which shed i's illumination for the divers occupants, she explained to ber good- natured landlady the impo addressed to her, and the resolution she had token, Mrs. Mulrooney entered heartily into the biighter anticipations which Eve had indulged, aud, more- over, proffered her services in a most acceptable manner. < She assumed the task of disposing of Eve's rings, and on the following day took them toa jeweler whom she chanced to know. Afier much hagelin she secured a price which, thcugh below tLeir rea value, was greater than Eve had hoped to reclize. Eve’s task grew less burdensome whcn it was no longer a work of actual necessity, or perhaps the newly-awakened hope lightened the drucgely. On Saturday she carried back to the store her last piece of work, and received Mr. Blair’s arsuance that more of its kind was not then attainable. But this fact was not now of vital moment to her, 4 The Sabbath day she passed quietly. Early in the week—her few requisite th capa oceupicd but little time in their accomplishment—she took regret- ful leave of the humble friend she had found in her landlady, and fairly embarked upon her journey. CHAPTER IX. GROPING HER WAY. Tue second day after this witnessed Eve's arrival in New York. It was close upon evening, and she was much fatigued, having traveled without A es by the way. Her first consideration was to arespeciable hotel where the charges should not exceed her limited means, and refresh herself as best she ht before proceeding to investigate the mysterious business which had called her here, rt of the advertisement = Tae + oy
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_ despite all sanitar #% S CECIL’S DECEIT. She applied to the hackman to whom she intrust- ed her modest portmanteau, the only 6 with which she had incumbered herself, and he directed her to a private boarding-house eed by a relative of hisown. The house was located on a quiet, out- of-the-way street, and was really what it claimed to be, orderly and comfortable. She was fortunate in sec a back room, the rather remote situation of which proved a drawback to its permanent occupation. The wg homely as- pect of the place, with only so much of convenient adjuncts as was compatible with its character, seemed very inviting to her compared with the bare bay obs : ) B Ee pate eh ee ae ne e ordered a simple supper of rolls an an , rules, ate of it heartily and forthwith retired, Even this violation of the laws of health had not the power to rob her of the deep re- pose so much need by her weariedframe. Her ‘i was heavy and dreamless, and the morning was we advanced when she awoke, She felt worn and exhausted still, but conquering her disinclination to move, arose and went down to art of a substantial and inviting repast. Forti- ed by steak and omelet, cream-toast and coffee, her ace vanished before thoughts of the exigencies which the day held in store for her, Returning to her room, she assumed her out-door garments, and then summoned a waiter to make in- quiry of the location and best means of reaching No. ——street. An hour later she stood within Mr. desks were alternately Mestpee ik 2 and pen with au- recision. Eve si cups forward, address- ing herself to the grave-faced elderly man nearest er. **TIs Mr. Chantry in?” “Not in, madam,” he returned, holding a fresh a of ink suspended over the b form before ‘* Will he be here soon, and can I wait for him?” “Mr. Chantry is out of town for a couple of days madam. Any business of a general cter will be attended to by Mr. Neal.” He inclined his head toward the inner door, which stood ajar. Through the little space Eve could see a rosy-cheeked | young fellow thrown carel ‘ in one of the office chairs, with slippered feet upon the table, and an unread law tome by his side, evi- Gently taking his ease during the absence of his su- or. ““My business is with Mr, Chantry alone.” “Then you will probably find him here at this time day after to-morrow.” ve turned away, and the clerk resumed his inter- seared task without even a glance after her retreat- gure. 0 days which she could illy afford to pass there idly lay before her. For the first time since her hur- ried decision and prompt journey, she questioned the wisdom of the course she had followed. What if, after all, the bubble which had enticed her here should subside into a nonentity? Depressed at the neces of delay, she took a car and went back to er lodgings. The boarders there comprised for the most part clerks and shop-girls, varied occasionally by strag- gling members of the professions who had not yet won either money or fame by their devotion to the chosen branch. These were not yet in to the mid- day meal, and the house lay wrapped in the quiet- ness of the intermediate hours. Going up the stairway and through the long back corridor, Hive paused and shivered as a succession of anguished moans and mutterings struck upon her ear, One of the domestics belonging to the house, a girl whose fresh color and unstudied simplicity of manner spoke plainly of rural breeding, came out of a@room near by with the tears of a genuine sym- pathy fresh upon her checks, ‘What is it?” Eve asked her. “Has there been an accident?” “Oh, ma’am, it’s a sight as would make your heartache. A bit of a boy that’s been took of a sud- den with the fever, and him wild asa lunatic a’ready, One minit he’s all ago, tossing and screaming, and the next he calms down and bess so pitcous like for his mother that’s hundreds of miles away.” “Poor fellow,” said Eve, pityingly. ‘* Has he no friends in the city?” ““Not one as we know. He’s been & week here. They’re taking him to the the hospital now.’ As she spoke, the door of the room opened for the second time, and two men eppeared, bearing the sick boy between them. Eve had a glimpse of his flushed, swollen face, and eyes proternaturally _ bright, as she passed on to her own apartment. The 6 mht of him, so helpless and with the touch of affliction upon him, came like areproof for her despondency. The remainder of that day and the fo mate 4 she assed in strict seclusion, and on the morning of the hird returned to Mr. Chantry’s office. This time she was ushered at once into the inner room and the pe tat presence. Mr. Neal was standing by the table gears ame written papers which lay be- fore him, h‘s attentive, submissive manner offering strong contrast to idle assurance upon the former orcasion. At asign from the elder man he withdrew, and the other turned to Eve in Waste “Mr. Chantry?” she asked, less from doubt of his personality than a desire to gain a moment’s re- prieve in which to arrange her thoughts to the brief- est and clearest manner of presenting her mission, “Yos, madam “You inserted an advertisement some weeks in the New York papers, making inquiry for tue a" Pe ————— Sl am RS Gere = bl = ———e —— ae daughter of shire, England She produced the bagi gto which she had preserved. He glanced at it carelessly and at her with a nest ged of surprise, though his face reflect- ed no shadow of the emotion, mS certainly. May I ask if your visit refers to a ? “T am the daughter of Edward Collingsbrooke,” she asserted. Mr. Chantry’s impassive countenance underwent no change, but his voice had gained an added tinge of dryness as he said: ‘In that case you are of course furnished with credentials. May I trouble you to produce them?” * Unfortinately, Ihave none. If itis not trespass- ing on your time Ican give.a satisfactory account of their absence.”* * Ah, no doubt! but the relation is wholly unneces- sary. Tf this is the extent of your business with me. madam, we will consider the interview closed. t me warn you for your own welfare to make no more es regarding your identity such as you have been guilty of this morning. Permit me!” He rose with a stiff bow, making a motion as if to open the door for her exit, A wave of indignant color surged over Eve’s e face, She also arose, with a gesture that stayed his hand and impelled him to listen to her words. ‘* At least I have a right to an explanation of your meaning,” she said. ‘I cannot suppose you inserted that advertisement merely for the purpose of sub- jecting me to insult. There is some mystery here which Ido not understand, Will you aid me in its unraveling?” “Tf more definite explanation is required, I can readily give it,” returned Mr. Chantry. “T have already concluded the business transaction to which this agraph Dm eee the daughter of Captain Collingsbro9 6, now the wife of Hugh Frampton, of ‘rampton.” Eve’s gaze reflected her unbounded amazement. “There been some unaccountable mistake made,’’ she declared. and I came to the United States in the ship Phoenix, accompanied by my father, as the Personal states. Iwas the betrothed wife of Hugh Frampton. He was to have joined us at the Breton House, but, upon the night of our arrival, the place was con- sumed by fire. Poor papa perished in the flames!” Her voice faltered, her lips paled, and her eyes grew humid at memory of his tragic fate. . With an effort she regained her composure, and proceeded: “Tescaped with my life, but so severely injured that weeks passed before I realized my irreparable bereavement. I had no friends in this country. uy ber Sig iets to Mr. Frampton had been the re- sult of an intimacy existing between himself and m father, and I had never met sg Maca ae husband. When ro ee alone “a the hgh 1 aaiorre 8 on by my own endeavors to applying to Se earapten ink for temporary asi aide or the consummation of the existing engagement. “Less than a week ago 1 met with this advertise- ment, and came here, hop to derive some good from the vague promise contained in it. Ihave no knowledge of a namesake; certainly no one claim- ing | name could have fulfilled the conditions here named. Before attempting to decide further, will you eueee for what purpose you inserted the para- gra Mr. Chant his class. to quences could ensue from an open & regarding the bequest of the diamonds. this, Eve’s evident sincerity convinced him that at 1 sh full faith in her own version of the “T am Eve Collingsbrooke, was @ cautious man, as it behooves all e, but he foresaw that no ill conse- lanation ore than story, “She is affected with a species of monomania,’’ he decided to himself. “I heard of a case once where a man who was strictly sane on all other points firmly believed himself the great Cesar, and grew violent when any one attempted to disabuse him of the hallucination, It may prove my quickest way to dispose of her to rela*e the entire circumstance.’ yori gd he repeated the story he had related to Cecil and her husband, and was surprised at the accurate knowledge which Eve displayed of the Collingsbrooke genealogy, “Some weeks ago,’” he concluded, ‘‘ Mrs, Fram ton presented her claim accompanied by conclusive roofs of heridentity. Acting upon these the London rm transmitted the jewels, and two day#ago I had the pleasure of delivering them to their present . I returned last evening from my trip to Frampton Place.” “Tt is a mystery to me,” Eve said. ‘Can it be that there is such a thing as double existence, as some have claimed?” The lawyer, watching her attentively, leaned for- ward as her vail fcll out of place, leaving her face unshaded from the full lirht of the open window. “You are very like Mrs. Frampton,” said he. **- You are thinner, paler, but the resemblance is such. as might exist between twin sisters, I observed it from the first, but not so clearly as now.”’ Eve’s thoughts flashed back to that night at the Breton House when she and Cecil had becn reflected. side _by side in the mirror, and a glimmering of the truth brolse upon her, *Can she have done so?” she askedherself. ‘*Y¥ct who except Cocil could successfully enact the 710/, da Sott'ng aside the lawycr’s suspicions rovardng herself, she mace minute th hind be abot IMs. Frampton and the proofs which | been produced. nares Collingsbrooke, late of Berk- ea me new.” ; he lawyer bowed constrainedly, more em rassed than he cared to confess, over the complica- tion presented in this second claim, and declined the fee she proffered him, noting at the time the slender little purse from which it was drawn, He drewa breath of relief when she had really departed. ‘ Poor thing!’ he muttered to himself. ‘It’s hard to think of one so young as the victim of a mental aberration. Strange what a power such persons have of influencing others to their belief. I would have felt confident of the truth of her assertions but for my absolute knowledge of otherfacts. I wonder if shesis not a relative of those Collingsbrookes?” Another client appearing diverted him, and the matter was dismissed from his thoughts. Eve, dwelling upon the revelation which had been made her, we more than ever convinced in the opinion she had formed. Some one had usurped her place, and that some one was necessarily Cecil. ; She returned to her boarding-house and ordered a frugal repast, for by this time the sum received for her rings was almost exhausted. Afterward she sent for her bill, and settling it, found little over a dollar remaining in her purse, i This she knew was insufficient to pay her fare to Frampton. She:removed the change of linen and few traveling conveniences from her portmantea doing them up in a close package. She went ou' upon foot, remembering that at a short distance she had seen the brass balls of a pawn shop. Here she disposed of the empty portmanteau and afterward proceeded to the railway depot. Procur- ing a ticket for Frampton, and ascertaining that the first train for that place did not leave for some hours, she sat down in the crowded waiting-room, feeling the full measure of her loneliness with the flow of human life ali about her. A dreary, apathetic feeling was stealing upon her. There was a dull ache in her brain, and a dry harsh-, ness upon her lips. She told herself that this was reaction from the excitement she had experienced; and at last, after a seemingly interminable d . she found herself aboard the train on her way t Frampton. CHAPTER X THE PIC-NIC. Tms summer seemed rife with adventurous inci- dent for Olive. To arrive at the climax of affairs reached at Frampton Place when Eve Collingsbrooke prosecuted her journey thither, it will be necessary to go back a week or more and take up some of the yy which made up the woof of the events. ‘ ys tn village and vicinity contained a number of substantial residents, solid old families that con- stituted the elite of the neighborhood. Thus there was no dearth of good society or amusement, for these all mingled with the informal intercourse which characterizes hospitable, well-to-do country dwellers; people with plenty of time for recreation, and plenty of zest for the same. A picnic party was made up one afternoon, when the glare of the sunshine on the ripened harvest- fields and the dusty stretch of white roadway, brought the forest shadows and depths of greenery into more tempting relief. The belt of woodiand intersecting Frampton Place stretched back in a straggling line for a couple of miles, where it culmina in a. dense wth of forest, much of which was yet ge pajeen by intricacies of underbrush. The skirts of the woods were well cleared, and it was in one of the pleasantest ts that our pleasure-seekers of the day intrenched pone a ASS was a cellaneous company, comprising a dozen different families, old and young, mingling to- ether with mutual enjoyment. Mr. mpton had Seiyen over in his light open carriage, crammed with rovisions, and afterward gone in search of and aken bodily possession of one or two jolly old persons whose near approach to octogenarianism and encroaching infirmities had not diminished their delight in such pastime, : Cecil and Olive, accompanied by the two gente. men, Victor D’Arno and Richard Holstead, had preferred to walk. The shaded woodpath, over- arched by meeting boughs and festoons of creeping vines held so many delights that they loitered long on the way, and it was near mid-afternoon when they came n the assembled party. After exchanging greetings and mingling for a time with the stro ling company, Olive seated her- self upon an improvised chair formed by the inter- twining of tough, pliant twigs, and braced b couple of saplings. Richard Holstead saw oe and left his place by Cecil to approach 8, “A reward for your thoughts,” he challenged her, “Are you revolving some weighty measure w has provoked such a contemplative expression ?”’ “T did not know that my countenance 50 clearly reflected my idealistic bent,”’ she returned, *‘ but I’m in a moralizing mocd. I was wondering how much of the enjoyment about us is purely real, and how much , attributable to the masks people always wear.’ “ Tor instance?”’ he questioned. “There is uncle Ilush, who has been buttonholed by Mr. Darnicy, whose hobby is agriculture. Now unclo has no eppreciaticn of the beautics coveloped in a head of cabbage or made manifest ina her her
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f CECIL'’S DECEIT. of parsnips. He is being intolerably bored yet sub- mits with the grace of @ martyr.” ‘“Your penetration is acute, but in this instance = have failed to utilize one point in the case, rs, Frampton stands less than a dozen paces from the two, and while her husband appears to be bending an attentive ear to his companion’s homi'y, his eyes are agree 8 wandering toward her. His civil responses, lip eep, are not interfering with the gratification he derives in seeing the influence she wields over the circle gathered around her. She is deservedly a general favorite.” Olive smiled. “You have satisfactorily explained my uncle’s _ complacent demeanor, but how shall ycu account for Mrs. Frampton’s exuberant spirits? There is Percy Gray at her side, dividing his attention be- tween his mustache and his lip; and Walter Caldwell filling up the intervals with quotation from his own poems. The remainder of the circle possess all the vanity of the one without his excessive good nature, and the self-esteem and arrogance of the other without his modicum of brain to make them endura- ble. Mrs. Frampton’s keen appreciation of the ludi- crous seems lost in her thorough enjoyment of her present society.” * “She is too kind at heart to wound any of the silly lads by betraying the amusement their separate foibles may afford her. Sheis no doubt resolved to take all the sweets that are so abundantly offered her, and too generous to fling back the bitter drops after the honey is all extracted. Now give me your ideas regarding Mr. D’Arno and the volatile little lady who is engaging his attention.” Olive glanced toward the couple indicated. Her eyes had wandered that way before, but now she studied his attitudes aud expressions with renewed interest. “You have given me a problem to solve,” she Said. ‘Sophie Darnley can be read through at a glance; a whole-souled girl, whose mischievous in- elination and versatile manner often subject her to ceusure which her truly generous nature does not merit. See! from her pantomime I imagine that she is mimicking some one present, for the edifica- tion of herself and companion. That he is amused by her effort is evident, yet he does not appear to be giving her his undivided attention. Even when he ughs most heartily, the merriment in his face will give wa consciously to an expression of unread- able se dtenxghion: He seems to be following an undercurrent of thought which is wholly distinct from the surface of word and act betrayed. Can pon catch my idea? I fear I have expressed it very perfectly.’ ; “Tt is the case with any thing we do not fully understand, Some one has said, that which we cannot express in words is never a perfect idea. Our tongues will not halt except over an impotent faney—a fact not comprehensively realized. true, it brings home a conviction which is not caleu- lated to feed jealous vanity; namely, how very little of even the simplest subjects our minds thor- oughly master.” “And human nature is like a scroll | open before us, the complications of which e our utmost efforts to follow through their windings.” “Incomprehensible to us because we are only uman. Have you never been surprised at discover- some new, unsuspected phase of your own Nature? Are ec not often impressed by Jikes and dislikes for which you cau give no well-based rea- sons? How then can we pretend to judge the world when we are enigmas to ourselves?” “Tha thought may appear presumptuous, but may not outside sight prove clearest? We judge from demonstrations that we see; may not these ved more patent to us than to those from whom ey originate? A mirror will reproduce nothing a actual objects placed wi hin its angle of re- flection. Are not our minds mirrors, thoughts the intangible objects pictured there, words and acts their reflection?” “We are falling into the regular Yankee mode of argument, answering question by question. To con- tinue it—does not that refute our theory of masks first advanced?” “TI have proved myself illogical, no doubt. To use an old simile, ‘The further we go in the bog, the deeper we plunge in the mire.’ Iam quite willing ethe world as it appears withont searching into its possibilities.” . “Yet these possibilities often prove levers which fate uses in turning our lives. Iam almost tempted to decide a point in mine by a revelation which may prove premature.” A magnetic influence drew Olive’s gaze to his, Her was lance took in every detail of his stalwart, mus: r frame, his fair face stamped with the power of conscious strength, very different from the effeminacy of feature which so often marks blonde poe ag bright, sweeping beard, and clear eyes looking down into hers with a searching earnest- ness that sent the blocd in hot flushes to her cheeks, and tingling to her taper finger-ends. What might be the p ssibility which fate held in store for him, Richard Holstead was not destined os to learn. A merry voice broke their tete-a- ete, ‘Oh, for the gift of intuitive wisdom to discover whither our wits have gone wool-gathering!”’ Tt ht not be apropos for wisdom to tread in sie footsteps of folly, Miss Darnley,” smiled ck, “Then you acknowledge of having said foolish things? dtive, ho ¥ coul your inspiration, Mr. Holstead, I come armed wit! Telief. I bring a summons for you. Mrs. Frampton requires your assistance in decorating the ta les. Do use your influence to persuade her that the sand- you suffer it? Ifshe was wiches of life are at the present moment far more pecaua: than its roses. 1 am most unpoeti uw : Ban ing some light reply, Richard left them, and Olive made a place for the merry girl by her side. “True confession easeth the soul!’ Make me your father-confessor, Olive, and receive absolution tor having monopolized the bandsomest man upon the grounds. The girls are half-wild with envy.’ “Not you, certainly, Sophie? I did not witness the effect of your blandishments upon Mr, D’Arno without awarding you the palm for successful co- quetry. Poor Walter has been dependent entirely upon the divided mercies of Mrs. Frampton.” torted Sophie, poutingly. ‘“‘ But Icannot give you credit tor your penetration.. Mr, D’Arno has been successively devoted to every ove in feminine shape —yourself excepted—since Le made his appearance; and you owe emancipation from his attentions to a complete monopoly. Mr. Holstead has a fair ase for encouragement. * Oh, there s notLiag half so sweet in life. As love’s young dream!” **Nonsense!’’ cried Olive, half annoyed at this light raillery. “I should be sorry to believe that my conduct should be construed into a mark of re. ference, even if so strongly defined as you hint. But, I hope you have been drawing upon your fund for exaggeration as coloring for the circumstance.” ‘Shades of offended ty! what have I done?” cried Sophie, in ludicrous mock distress. “* Piarced that tender heart With a conscious dart Of ics own infirmity!’ “Nothing was further from my intention, pon honor, Olive.” “Taccept the amende honorable, but disclaim the poetry. By the way, Sophie, have you caught the spirit of versification from Walter? His muse is prolific of such tender out- breaks as you have just expressed, is it not?” “‘ Well, 1f so, he means it honestly enough, and that is better than being quizzed by such a statue of immobility as Mr. D’Arno. I dian’t half the time know if he was complimenting or making sport of application of your “ Ah, I thought I would induce you to take up the auntlet in defense of your old favorite,” laughed live. ‘‘And here he comes, beaming with de ight at the prospect of finding you unattended. Let me advise you to be gracious, Sophie!” “ Advice is like medici d best. taken in small doses,’’ Sophie declared, and, with her usual poerocmy turned to beckon Percy Gray to her side. ut Walter, detecting her purpose, quickly fore- stalled it by usurping the reserved place; and in five minutes more had so won upon her favor that no shadow of restraint or ill-will marred their inter- course. The zfternoon wore on, and the sultry calm of the atmosphere changed to a fitful breeze. Gusts of air swayed the boughs, and carried messages from whispering leaves. Some floating clouds that bad laid low pgeratt the horizon, gathered shape and a a as they crept like darkening shadows across e sky. A storm was brooding, and the more experienced _ among our picnic party were quick to take arm. “It will be a semper said Mrs. Darnley, after a careful survey of the heavens. Those sharp-edged clouds that are wheeling up so rapidly, carry mis- chief in them. We must make haste if we wish to avoid a taste of their contents.” Thus admonished, the younger people gathered together their appurtenances, and set off on their return. The vehicles were brought round for the elders, and the grove was speedily deserted by the crowd who had lately made it resound with their lightsome gayety. Among the last to take their departure were those from Frampton Place, Dick having taken active por in aiding the retreat, looked around him appre- ensively. “Where is Miss Tremaine?”’ he asked. ‘Olive?’ queried Mr, Frampton, “I had forgotten the child. Eve,’ addressing his wife with evident anxiety, “‘ haye you seen anything of her?” Cecil, glancing around, caught Victor D’Arno’s eye, and read the mute message it conveyed, “She has probably gone ahead,” she returned, carl ssly. “She was with the Darnleys, a short time before the alarm was given.” A moment later Victor gained speech with her, unperceived, { “She did not go with the Darnleys,” he asserted, half questioningly. y ‘*No; I saw them as they left. Did I misinterpret your meaning?” ** Quite the contrary. I saw her wandering away into the woods alone, an hour ago, and am confident she did not return. Don’t let them take alarm for a time, I want some such hold upon her as this o pers may afford me—a claim to her gratitude showing myself the only one to remember her at this crisis, You understand?” Hf Yes} but will there not be danger if the storm is violent?” “Not of consequence. You must go, now, they are waiting for you,” “ Come, Eve,” called her husband. ‘There is room for all in the carriage.” Soon they were bowling away over the smooth road, all but Cecil unconscious that Victor had pur- posely Tt. behind and that Olive was not al- ready on her way homeward. ; i, : ‘Poor Walter received evident consolation,” re; | | to dissuade Richard from his purpose, When Frampton Place was reachéd, and it was discovered that the latter bad not returned, Mr. Frampton betrayed some annoyance, but no actual apprehension. : ““I suppose she has gone home with the Dernleys,” said he. ‘‘lt was very thoughtless of her to do so without informing us cf her intention. I fear the storm will break before they reach the farm!” Hoarse mutterings of thunder had been filling the air with their vibrations. The wind swept down in fierce gusts, aloe igs HON te ve' ris before it, doubl ng the tree-iops, and hing them with s€@ourging branches. Then a calm fell—a monotonous lull which was broken by the outburst of the tempest in all its gath- — ered fury, | . The rain came down in driving sheets; lightning flashed luridly; thunder reverberated in peals like artillery vollcys, and the dusk of early evening | changed almost instantaneously into thick darkness. Above the uproar of the storm came animperative | summons at the closed portal. The door was opened to admit the Darnleys, who were accompanied by Walter Caldwell, all Lreathless and excited from their race in a vain attempt to distance the violence of the storm. CHAPTER XI. A STRANGE BETROTHAL. Sopam DarNLEy’s merry voice made itself heard above the surprised exclamations which greeted their appearance. “Mr. Frampton, do give us credit for taking you literally by storm, We come ina sorry plight, for 1 must confess that the elements got the better of us but I have too much confidence in the hospitality ot your nature to imagine you will be sorry for this in- vasion. After all, itis far joilier than having reached the farm to be left in dull solitude for three days to come, asa result of thisrain. Ugh! how it does come own.”’. ‘“Welcome, Miss. Sophie, whenever and however | you may chance to come. But how is it that the ' pleasure of your presence has been so uuexpectedly gives us? lfeared that you might not reach the arm, but thought you would certainly gain the vil- lage before the storm would break.” ‘You see,” explained Sophie, ‘* Walter and I were walking, and papa had taken into his conveyance all those whom he could set down on his direct way. He overtook us after having disposed of one or two passengers, and insisted upon our taking the vacant places. By the time he had stopped here and there to put down the remainder, the storm was close upon us. “We were alone when we passed Frampton Place, and pa thought that by swift driving we might yet reach home. You would have thought him a firm devotee of the turf, could you have seen the manner in which he put old Dobbin to his best speed “All went well for the first quarter mile util we reached Mr. Gray’s oat- field, when he became so ab- | sorbed in calculating the probable yield of that ve, ticular variety of grain per acre, that he turned us comfortably over into the gutter, and smashed a wheel during the progress. “We took counsel together, and the result was we made all haste back to beg shelter of Boon but were overtaken by the storm on the way. That, in a nutshell, is our situation.’ ‘Since your calamity is of no more serious nature, I can rejoice over the temporary inconvenience which resulted in sending you here. But where is Olive—was she not with you?” “Olive? Is she not here? I have not seen her since we were together in the woods.” ‘““Where can she have gone?” queried Cecil, with an assumption of extreme anxiety. ‘We felt sure that she had returned with you, and experienced no alarm regarding her absence.” ‘She may have gone with the Grays or Boswicks?”’ uk ea Mr. Frampton. ““No; Lam positive that she was not with them,” Sophie declared. ‘She would scarcely pass Xxemap- ton Place to accompany any one to the village. Oh, Mr. Frampton.” She broke off her words with a shudder as the al- ternative to which Oliye magne be spjeciad flashed across her mind. Richard Holstead divined her un- expressed fear, and cried out, sharply: “Good Heavens! Canshe have been left in the forest?” : “Oh, I hope not. I sincely ho oly end Mr, or her to Frampton, ‘It would be a fearful thin be cut aione in the night and the storm.” “T will go to the vahage and ascertain if she is there,’ Richard declared. As he spoke there came a burst of thunder which shook the solid old house toits foundation, The rain was driven ageinst the closed oaken shutters in vol- umes that would have beaten in less substantial pro- tectors. Fee plontesty they drew closer together, appalled by the war the elements were waging with- | out. ‘** No, no, my boy!’ Mr. Frampton interposed, as | Richard made a movement to put his resolve into | instant execution. ‘‘ You must not venture out now; ; it wowd be madness to do so. You would only eopardize your own safety without benefiting her. e can do nothing until the storm abates.”’ “‘ And, meantime, she may be exposed to it all! No. Mr. Frampton, I cannot remain idle while that consideration weighs upon me. Think of the perils surrounding her it our worst fears be true!” Mr, Frampton groaned aloud. He knew that the tempest must be Serge down whole trees in that long stretch of forest. He could no longer attempt “Then I shall accompany you,” he said. “Olive is my sister's child, and dear to me as though she
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Ls a e “4 et, 7 ‘ — EA F or . ee es re ar i vi a ie ad ~s - quite unnecessary. 10 , ; Pe wero my own, Whilo such danger threatens her I shall-not remain selfishly inactive. I could never forgive myself should any harm befall her.” “Tam young and hardy,” Richard reglied, ‘* but you must not uanecessarily wear out ae strength when it may be needed later. Alone, I can accom- lish as much as if goo should accompany me. If liss Tremaine is not at the village, I will muster a company to search the wood soon as it shall be ex- page to venture thither. It will be impossible to o so until the fury of the storm has passed. You greater aid by a sabe 3 for that emer- will giv, ould it come, which 1 pray Heaven it may ott not!” ** And T,”’ caid Walter Caldwell, ‘‘am ready to go in your stead and shail insist upon doing so. Surely, H. Istead, you wi.l not refuse my services.”’ “Thanks,” responded Dick, warmly. ‘But it is You will accord greater aid by p e_aring tcrckes and such accessories as will be needed in eter ree Bi forest. Your own good sense Will suggest what is best to be done, while I hasten to prove or disprove our fears,”’ Ile had been enveloping himscelt in waterproof wrappings while he spole, and now went out into the eh , dead-black, except when iluminated by the lightning flashes. Going to the stables ho equipped and led out one of the sturdy farm-horzes, ono a)l sinew and strength, slow, but endued with the dogged persistency which will plod patiently ageinst all odds. He mounted, and with cap drawn low upon his brow to shield his eyes from the driving rain, turned his herse’s head in the direction of the village, letting tho rein drop loosely upon the neck. IIe could trust better to the animal’s sure footing and acute instinct in the dark- ness than to his own judgment. Olive was nowhere in the village. No one had seen her after the word had been given to leave tho woods, Dick set his teeth and breathed hard in his Fmt realization of the agony she must have cn- ured, ‘Iwo hours later the wind sunk and the flerce thun- derbursts dwindled into monotonous mutterings. It was raining sti:l, but the fury of the tempest was nt. A party of a score of men, led by Iiol- stead, carrying torches and axes for clearing away fallen debris, started for the scene of their after- ncon’s pleasure. Mr. Frampton and Walter Cald- well were among the foremost, push’ on with an indefatigable zeal that would not be diminished by the obstacles they encountered. In the midst of the excitement caused by Olive’s absence, Victor had not been missed. Only Cecil sat with hazds clasped in a tense strain, with a scared, drawn look on her white face that the girl’s danger had not brought there. She had been compelled by him to lend her assist- ance to Victor’s schemes; she had tricd to make herself believe that she had buried her past life be- gone power of resurrection; but now, when those wo wero in equal peril, tho girl who was destined to some time listen to the fond words—reccive the endearments which had onc time boon the joy of her life, and the man she loved still dospito her sworn allegiance to another, Cecil thrilled with a kind of fierce exultation as she told hersclf that she could better endure to have them both die upon that night than to see them live and mutually love. Sophie Darnley, pacing up and down the long corridors, wringing her hands and giving hysterical vent to her expressions of grief, came to her once with her loud lamentations. But Cecil cut hershort and sent her away with some sharp, reproving words. She could not endure any presence while that struggle raged in her own breast, And meantime, how fared Olive and the would-be claimant of her gratitude? She had wandcred away, as Victor had said, into the more intricate depths of tho wood. Ske was neither thinking eel wf upon any subject, nor yot impelled by a love of soliiude. Some dreamy, half- formed fancies were floating through her brain; ske was rearing castles in Spain and peopling them with the embodimenis of pleasant possibilities. Perhaps Richard Holstead’s fair face and clear cyes formed a counterpart amid Pea petal that revelation of his just hinted at formed a base for the up-build- ing of a fabric light as air, and perishable as gos- samer. Wo all knew how such sweet, idle moments will fly away with solid time. Olive was waked suddenly from her reverio by the mutterings of thunder, to find the wood enveloped in semi-obscurity caused by the gathering clouds. She turned to retraco her steps, but after walking rapidly for a considerable d-s.ance, found, by the thickeninz forest growth and the broken character of the ground, that she was penetrating deeper into the wood instead of escaping from it. She changed her direction and pressed hurriedly on, calling aloud now and then the namcs of her friends, and pausiug to listen intently for a response. None ceme. The darkness settled down upon the wood like a dense pall enshrouding it. The wind raised, and the trecs above her creaked dismally as they doubled beneath it. Her vivid im- agination seemed to people them with living spiriis groaning aloud in torment, _Bewildered and despairing, unable longer to dis- tinguish objects in tke gloom, che sank down upon the earth and drearily waited for the succor which, hoping against hope, she thought might reach ker.’ ‘the boughs above her quivered and grew stiil in the sudden calm which fell upon them. No breath of air stirred them, until, with a hoarse murmur, growing shriller as ii came, a quick gust swept over all. The forest heaved and surved like th » billows of a rolling sea, Branches were torn off and hurl d downwa.d; trees were twisted through the tena- te ‘. ted t . ___CECILS DECEIT. cious fibers of their living trunks and fell crashing to the ground. The clouds let loose the burden they bore, and Olive shudderingly crouched lower as the floods of heaven poured down upon her. She had always been painfully affected by thun- der-storms. Only those who have known similar nervous timidity can adequately conjecture the depth of terror she experienced in her forlorn situa- tion. She clasped her hands tightly over her eyes to shut out tho flashes of blinding light, and la almost devoid of sense, yet conscious of keener suf- fering than resulted merely from her chilled, drenched frame. The minutes dragged like hours. She had no idea of the time that had elapsed, when a sound was borne to her which was distinct from the confusion of the noisy elements. ' A voice which at first seemed a delusion of her own fancy, calling her name. “Olive, Olive, Otive!” She stz uzzled to her feet and tried to ery out in reply, but her voize came in hoarse murmurs, and she grew strangely faint and powerless, Nearer and nearer came the cry: © Olive, OttvE!’’ She staggered forward and gaining strength as she realized that it was really aid, found voice to answer. Her faint cry was met by a triumphant shout; and Victor, trampling down the growth of scrubby brushwood, and clambering over fallen trees and branches reached her side. “Oh, Olive, thank God that I have found youl a ng ig my love! Ihave found you at last!” is arm was about her, and she nestled close to him with a feeling of relief and security that fol- lowed ber late agony like the peace of heaven fall- ing upon the purified soul released from purga- ory. Olive, speak! You are not injured? You have escaped without harm?” “T have not been harmed, but oh, so frightened and lonely!” “ And you are neither frightened nor lonely now, my love? Tell me, darling, that I have brought you peace and rest.” **You have brought me peace and rest,” she re- peated. ‘All my fear is gone, Victor!” No remembrance of the afternoon and the thrill that Richard Holstead’s words and looks had sent through her being came to warn her that her sense of utter peace might be no more than the natural reaction of her late overwrought faculties. And Victor, quick to embrace the advantage he had gained, drew from her the sweetest assurance which a& woman can accord to the man who loves her. Do not think her wavering or fickle! The ordeal ae a which she had passed was a terrible one to her; his opportune Feit pati had rks her a relief which swallowed every other consideration. Moreover, this man poss 8 ‘ed a power which he had been wont to exert unmercifully when the chance at stake was less great than at present. He could throw a world of pathetic tenderness into his voice, a Cepth of earnestness into his pro- testations, which would carry a conviction worthy of perfect truth. So Olive, never realizing how utterly she mistook the dictates of her heart and nature, exchanged be- trothal vows with the man who shared with her unclo’s wife the recollection of a past which stamped him unworthy of the trust and love of a guileless soul like hers, Through tho tedious hours of the night the search- ing-party prosecuted their task, Torches flashed through the intricacies of the wood; shouts re- sounded from point to point; butit was near dawn when the signal, caught up and echoed from side to side, told that the lost was found. CHAPTER XIL THI WELCOME NOME, Tux spot where Olive took refuge and where Vic- tor found her, had escaped the worst ravages of the tempest. It was in a portion of the w made up of scrubby PAS wey growth, but even here some of the larger trees had been torn up te the wind. It seemed almost miraculous that they should have eseaped injury, when the devastation which the surrounding sections had sustained, was taken into consideration. Victor, indeed, had received some slight bruises from a falling trunk which barely escaped him during Lis search for the lost girl. Olives uddered - she comprehended how imminent had been their anger. They had walked back and forth beneath the oe g branches during the latter portion of the nigit. Olive was numbed and chilled, ready to euccumb to the torpor brought on by her exposure and fatigue, but her companion’s watchfulness pre- cerved hor from tho evil cffects which such submis- sion must have entailed. Cecil stood by the window of her own apartment while the gray Gawn changed rosily before the risirg sun. She had slept none during the night. The long hours dragged away while ske watched, ina state which pe intermingled mute anguish and fierce, despairing hope. Anguish over the con- templation of her own unacknowledged loss should aught befall Victor; hope, that this night’s events ee spare her the agony of seeing Olive his. She could command a view of the avenue from where she stood, through the intricacies cf the foliage. She had endured the miseries of suspense through all the night, but now when the light of day seemed to promise speedy. news, she shrunk 7 ® Ad from learning the fate of those two who were 80 differently allied to her. * A moving object dotted a distant point of view. She knew instinctively that it was a messenger from the searching-party. She turned away from the window with a fierce pang tugging at her heart. What news could he bring her that would cause other than pain? Conquering herself, she resumed her position after a moment. Soon other straggling forms came in sight, but before she could distinguish these indi- vidually, a confusion of voices and glad shouts from pected ee rag her of what nature were the tidings rought, She clenched her hands together in a tight ‘Srip, which left the imprint of her nails upon the 8. There had been a feeling akin to murder fh her heart during the hours past, and the revolution she experienced now, was asense of dead disappoint- ment in knowing their safety. She went down the stairs slowly, her face haggard in the early light, her — heavy-lidded, and mouth aquiver with hysterical emotion. She had usually a strong control over her feelings, but she was un- nerved now, more by the mental struggle she had sustained than the night’s vigil. She gave a hurried order or two to the servants. for the accommodation of the men who had aided in* the search. An immense fire had been kept blazing’ in the large kitchen all the night and now, as the villagers, drenched and weary, yet forgetting their discomfort and fatigue in joy over the happy termi- nation of their work, came up in straggling groups of twos and threes, they were ushered into tre warmth and cheerfulness of that apartment. Hot. coffee, with a substantial collation such as could be: served on short notice, were already under prepa- ration. Cecil saw that the housekeeper, Mrs. Blodgett,. had anticipated her own more tardy movement: and glad to be relieved from the cumbrous duties the occasion called up, she went out upon the veranda as her husband, supporting Olive, reached the steps. Richard Holstead, silent, but attentive, walked by their side; while Victor and Walter Cald- well more slowly brought up the rear. ‘“*Ah, Eve, we have our pes miei safe enough,” called out Mr. Frampton, cheerfu ly. ‘“*My poor girl! you look as if worried fairly ill.’ ‘Don’t mind me,’’ replied Cecil. ‘*I am quite well now that I know you are all safe,”’ She clasped Olive’s hands in her own, outstretched; and kissed her warmly, while tears welled up into her eyes and quivered upon her lashes in glittering S drops. 5 «My dear, dear Olive! I have been so frightened or you.’ Olive returned the caress gratefully, but her uncle hurried her within, saying, as he did so: “You have plenty of opportunity for playing the Good Samaritan, Eve. Put this willtul child to bed and dese her with chamomile and tansy, or toast and coffee if she prefers. A hot bath and twenty- four hours between the blankets—do you hear the prescripticn, my dear?” *T shall certainly raise no demur,”’ Olive returned, smilingly, but with evident weariness. ‘It is almost an effort for me to stand.” “Which you mustn’t do a second longer than is necessary,’’ declared her uncle, peremptorily. ‘‘So- seme my gocd girl, reserve that hysterical effusion or another time!” But pa rey Darnley, flying down the stairway in the dishabille she had assumed for the night, had her arms about Olive and was laughing an over her in truly feminine fashion. “Oh, you dear, poor child! Were you out in all that dreadful storm? Oh, how you must have suf: fered! We’ve been wild with Mg: reer and I’ve imagined such horrid Cabge h! oh!! ott! “But you see Iam quite safe,” Olive said, gently a the other's clinging embrace. ete but I’ve been so terrified thinking what m a. There, there!”’ interposed Mr. ee with | some impatience. ‘‘ Don’t you suppose she realized the horrors of her situation without having them re- hearsed now? Take Olive to her room, Eve; and you, Sophie, keep away till “A regained enough of common sense to be useful.” Sophie, half indignant at the reproof, subdued her hysterical inclinations and insisted upon accom- anying her friend. Cecil, who had scarcely ven- ured a glance toward Victor, passing him, now, . raised her eyes, questioningly, to his face. He answered her mute inquiry with a quiet smile of triumph. She knew then that he had gained a supremacy over the unsuspecting girl at her side, as, years before, he had drawn from her a dif- erent and idolatrous worship. But no one saw the white shade which flashed across her face, or the rigid tension of the lines about her mouth. i Afterward, as she went softly about the room, ad- ministering to Olive’s comfort, the latter followed her with gra‘eful glance, and, with the frankness of impulse which characterized her, s_oke the thought in her mind. ““T didn’t know you cared so much for me, Eve!” She had learned to address her uncle’s wife thus familiarly by her assumed name when alone with her. “I’m afraid I’ve credited you with some of that latent antagorism which is said to exist betweea all individual members of our sex.” “Then you have misjudged me, my dear,” Cecil replied, softly. ‘I want you to love me and trust. me as one who is most anxious for your happiness.” And Olive, sinking into slumber with a feclirg of niet contentment pervading her wearied pei crying little dreamed cf the bitter envy against which rankled in the other’s i
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Fn nn es i me eh 2 en aA RT a LS SS AR ETE nape f CHAPTER XItIl. THE POWER OF GUILTY LOVE. A WEEE, marked onl went by at Frampton Place. Olive had quite recov- ered from the effects of her night’s exposure, and Sophie Darnley, who remained a few days, had taken her departure. The repairs ad the main body of the house were uite completed; upholsterers from the city had ar- ved and were engaged in fitting the rooms with. elegant modern furnishings. : There was still much to be done, a whole w: touched, but a number of the workmen had been dismissed and a short reprieve granted to the rest. Dick Holstead—good son that he was—took advan- tage of the time to pay a welcome visit to his mother, Before he went, he had been made acquainted with the fact, not yet announced without the immediate family, of Olive’s engagement to Victor D’Arno. Whatever he may have felt of Litter disappoint- ment at this consummation, whatever of regret over the sudden blasting of a bright hope he had cher- ished, or satisfaction that his secret had not been ex- posed and subjected to her refusal, i e gave no out- ward evidence. He was a strong, honest man, and suffered with the intensity of his whole nature. ’ The short absence from Frampton Place, and conse- quently from Olive, together with the certainty of his mother’s sympathy, were doubly welcome, com- ing coincidental as they did. t was at this time that Mr. Chantry made his ap- erence, and delivered into Cecil’s hands the famed ollingsbrooke diamonds. They were large, lustrous stones, of great value, uniquely set in ol -fashioned mountings. “They must be reset,’’ said Mr. Frampton; ‘: and bey shall wear them at Olive’s birthnight jete, Eve, y wife must represent the blue blood she inherits with due honor)’ : Cecil smiled inscrutably, but agreeing with him, it was decided that the gems should be sent to the city at an early day. . Olive's birthday, r arly celebrated, was on this occasion to be fraught with an additional interest— the announcement of her own and Victor’s betrothal. The latter had urged his suit to Mr. Frampton with all of a lover's impetuosity with this gratifying result. Whatever Mr. Frampton’s own scruples might have been in thus giving up the child who oc- cupied a place in his affections truly as if she had been his own, his faith in his wife was sufficient to overrule his objections to resigning her to a com- parative stranger. The references D’Arno produced seemed amply satisfactory, and it was understood, though not yet definitely agreed upon, that there should be ne long delay to try the patience of the young peo- ple Cecil remained apparently quiescent while the man who had been so much to her, for whom her whole soul yearned even now, pursued his intent. But the quietest surface sometimes conceals a rest- less underflow; and the stream is glassily smooth, though resistlessly strong, above the cataract. These weeks of constant intercourse in the coun- try home where all were thrown together unrestrain- edly, had served to show her how futile was the strength of will she had prided herself upon; how slender was the bond connecting her with the new life she had falsely entered upon, Victor came upon her suddenly, one morning, she walked alone in the grounds, She had pears | to avoid him of late, and his own self-pride tempted him—beyond his beiter judgment, perhaps—to meet her in the old tender way. “Cecil,” he said, drawing her hand within his arm and timing his pace to suit hers, ‘“tyou certainly cannot blame me for the course I have taken, And while it is so, you must not deny me the happiness which you of all women only can give me. Try as fo will, you cannot banish me from your heart; if did not know that, I might not be willing to wait.” She caught at his implied meaning breathlessly. “To wait, Victor! Kor what?” ‘Do you suppose that I could see you, Cecil, more radiant than when our changing fortunes wore upon your freshness, yet left you ever beautiful in my sight, be thrown with you day after day, and not re- member your old true devotion—ow happiness? I 8eem to have buried all the bitterness of our past in remembrances of its sweets. Do you think I can look back then, and while there is a chance of re- Gaining the Paradise I once lost, put the hope of it out of my thoughts?” dis Whas do you mean, Victor? You speak in rid- es!" “T mean that our separation sh“ll not be for all time, Cecil—that the obstacles existing now shall be Swept away sooner or later, and until that time comes we will not deprive ourselves of the joy the knowledge may bring us.”* “Tt can be,” she half questioned, half asserted. “Have you guessed my thoughts?” “What are they?” “You asked me once if I would give up my present osition to take up our wandering life again. I bought I had trampled down woman’s dearest weakness, that of loving; and I told you that noth- ing could influence me to go back to it and you. But now, Victor, one word from you is enough to make me willingly your slave, if you will have it so.” “No, not that, Cecil! Mine with the ao ges avhich unselfish love demands, asIam yours. It will not be 80 hard to be patient, now that we have this under- Standing, will it?” ““Why do you counsel patience? Why not create the sunshine of the present from what you picture so glowingly for our future?” “Your husband is scarcely an old man yet, and he May live for years; but, in the common course of un- | ‘by commonplace events, | { ‘the weeks past. CECIL'S DECIET. 4 rer ee re vill both survive him. long enough. “Tf it is your proposition to wait the decease of my husband, As have changed greatly since you wooed | d. Why do you mock me with bright me of 0 visions, if only to obscure them by such a paltry suggestion?” You did not hear me cut, I shall never ask you to share such a life as wé once led. Let me follow | plans, gain possession of Olive’s fortune, and then, Cecil, there will be no question of our future together.” ‘Olive! Do you mean that you will not give her up for me?” “That would be folly. Remember, she is only m stepping-stone to ease and happiness, as Hug Frampton must be yours.” “Oh, Victor, if there is to be anything of the old ties between us, let us put away selfish considerations from the first.”’ sf Ah, but then we could not avoid the old mis- eries.”’ “T have the Collingsbrooke diamonds, in them- selves a fortune. We need never come to want.” “No, Cecil; I may revoke my word and claim some of that submission you tendered a2 moment | ago. You must be guided by me in this, and be con- tent, knowing the revival strenger than ever of my devotion to you.”’ “* But to think of her as your wife! To know that she will receive the caresses which should be mine only! I frighten myself with the thoughts which the depths of my hatred for her suggest when that possibility thrusts itself before me.” “Though my wife she will not have my love, Cecil. If you were free now it. might be otherwise, but while you are willing to break your bonds for my sake, you must endure as much as I have borne in Do you think I have had no pangs when I witnessed your tenderness to your fond old husband? But I knew you truly as you know your- self, and had no tear of the issue. ‘We must have wealth enough to insure our fu- ture from the chances of evil befalling, and for this end I will pias my settled plans. With Olive’s fortune and your marriage portion converted into ready money, you can afford to keep the diamonds as a souvenir of this time. Let me hear you say that you are satisfied, Cecil!"’ “You are giving me the sorest test of woman’s love, Victor; but for your sake and my own I will bear it through. I can do so now!” A little more was said and then they parted. Cecil lingered still in the grounds, too full of the conscious unrest of guilty happines3 to venture yet to face those she was planning with him to wrong. So occupied was she in her own thoughts that she did not observe the approach of another until the shadow fell athwart her path. She looked up then and started back in superstitious terror. For a second she thought that the ghost of Eve Collingsbrooke stood before her, so pitiful was the resemblance be- tween that wasted, somber-ciad figure and the gen- tle mistress she had served. Then, before a word had been spoken she grap- led with and conquered her momentary fear, losin t in another no less, knowing this to be Eve Col- lingsbrooke, alive, CHAPTER XIV. THE UNWELCOME GUEST. Premstley was the first. to break the silence between em. “Tt is really you, Cecil,” said she. “I knew it must be so, but almost hoped for disappointment, because I did not wish to believe it of you. Yet I am glad that you too escaped! You thought me dead, did you nou?” : = Yes; ou must know that I did,’”’ Cecil replied. “ Otherwise, I would have sought you outat once.” Eve looked at her donne: “Would you? Would you have relinquished the advantage which my supposed death afforded you? You see, I know how you have wronged me!” “T never meant to wron FOR Cecil declared, earnestly, wondering inwardly how much of her de- ception the other really knew. changed for me since we were together last.’ “Yes, I know. You are Mrs. wife of the man who was to have been my husband. I know how you have deceived him, and of the other benefit you have derived from the usurpation of my name, Cecil’s doubt settled into certainty now. There was no use trying to blind Eve by a fresh deceit, as | ithad been in her mind to do. After all, it would | have been difficult to have done so, and yet avert the exposure she feared. Her object now was to kecp the presence of the other from being known by the household. . “Come this way where we can speak unmolested,” she said, leading the way down an obscure path at the further’ end of which was a neglect overrun with matted vines. She entered Eve, following with painful, dragging steps, sunk wearily upon the rude bench within, “T never meant to wrong you,” Cecil repeated. “T thought you were dead, and I was alone, friend- less, unprovided for, It seemed so easy to secure loving care and a home; maybe you have known what it is to be without them since, If you have ou cannot blame me much, when I thougbt I was arming no one. I never would have done it had I known you were alive.” ‘“*You should not have deceived Mr. Frampton. What do you suppose I have come here for?” “Not to betray me, don’t say that! He loves me, and you would give him bitter grief without bring- ing good to yourself.”’ She knew the truth of what she said—and more— >. & “Times have greatly | ampton now, the | arbor, | this, and | es and shuddered at thought of the femorseless, unfor- giving spirit such an exposure would be sure to arouse in Hugh Frampton. : “Perhaps so!’ Eve yoy slowly and with effort, “T meant to have told him the truth; but I believe you, and am tempted to leave such retribution as your act deserves find you in its own good time. Give me only what is mine, and you shall be free trom fear or molestation from me,” | ‘And that is?” questioned Cecil. “The Collingstrooke diamonds, which have de- scended rightfully to me. Task no restitution for | what would have. been mine had not fate interposed to thwart those plans of which you have reaped the benefit My legacy of diamonds will secure me Pom rareasie independence, and that is all I ask or wish. Cecil assed her hands slowly one above the other have complied with Eve’s demand, and thus have gained sigh aes to herself. But how could she ac- count for the disappearance of the gems to her hus- band, at this time, too, of ail others, when she knew they would be almost immediately missed? She formed one quick resolve, to gain time, and for this purpose preva icated to Eve, “The diamonds are not here,” she said. “I have sent them to the city to be reset. My husband ex cts me to wear them at a party to be given more han a week from this, and I dare not be without them then. You shali have them after that.” Eve scarcely seemed to be heeding. She roused herself to catch at the last words, “After a week; ah, yes! the diamonds, I must have them, you know, for they are mine. It is very hard to be poor and in want, and those little glitter- ing stones are allI shall have to keep me from pov- e y. How hot and heavy the air has grown!” She was speaking in a rambling, half-inccherent mauner. Cecil, looking at her with startled fixed- ness, saw that her wan cheeks were stained now by a hectic flush, and her weary eyes had grown strangely aren “You are ill, I fear,” she said, touching her finger pon the other’s rapid pulse. ‘* Here is money—not much, but enough! Go back to the village and get suitable lodgings, medical attendance if necessary, and Aion come to you whenI can give you up the jewels.” ° “T never could get there,” replied Eve. ‘I fear you are right; I feel so strangely. I must rest awhile before I attempt to return.” d Cecil was thoroughly alarmed now. She saw that Eve was really too ill to attempt to walk back to the village, while it was most essential that her presence there should not be discovered. She felt that the dared not risk introducing her into the household on ary false representation—thke peril was too imminent to herself. At the same time something must be done for ber former kind mistress. Mr. Frampton, she knew, had been busy all the morning in the library ever his private correspond- ence, and was most likely still occupied there. It was nearing noon now, and the servants would be all busy in their particular departments, She felt that shc must venture taking Eve within, trusting that nourishment and rest might restore her to strength cufficient for her return. She hoped, if she could escape Olive’s observa- tion, to gain her own room unnoticed, with her com- a Chance seemed to favor her. She heard he murmur of distant voices, and through the fo- liage caught the glimmer of Olive’s light dress as she went down the avenue, Victor by her side. “Come with me,”’ she said, speaking hurriedly. * You shall go in and rest. You sec IJ trust you fully; for Heaven’s sake be watchful, that you don’t betray the confidence I place in you. Come!” Eve rose, and steadying herself by Cecil’s arm, walled with feeble, tottering steps. Der strength, cruelly overtasked by the long night ride, and by hours of weary waiting at the bare village station- room for the morning, and the walk afterward, would have deserted her entirely but for the fever- flood in her veins. Cecil led her toward a side entrance, but before it was reached heard the sound of approeching foot- steps. Quickly as possible she drew her harge with- in an angle of the building, where a door opened into that portion which had been the original structure. They were half-concealed bythe ivy swaying from the walls, and Cecil, peerirg out, saw Emmy Brown go by without glancing toward them. She drew a long sigh of relief. The interruption or the heavy old door at their backs hed given her a new thought. Eve had sunk Cown upon the broad stone gy and leaving her there with a word of | yy ecil went rapidly forward into the house alone. Instead of going to her own chamber, she made her way directly to the housekeeper’s room. The door was ajar and no one was within. A bunch of keys, rusted by long disuse, hung upon the wall. She went in softly and took them from the nail, and then sped swiftly through the darkened passage- wavs into that unoccupied portion of the house near which she had left Eve. She fitted the key into the ponderous lock of the heavy door, and exerting all her strength, it turned with a harsh, grating sound. The door creaked upon its hinges, and fell back slowly, as if resisting the will which moved it. | Eve obeyed her word in the same unquestioning, | stupefied way in which she had submitted to be vided before. Cecil half-led, half-supported her hrough the empty halls and up the winding stair- | way, carpetless and black with age. Above wes a square landing large as a moderate-sized room, from each side of which doors opened. The mistress of Frampton Place had once explored td wat as she thought. Left to herself she would gladly ~
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42 POOP es won rene ne en eee Jo eat ROSS eee A aT gmerE gS eae ee _ rceommended to you as having no equal in prepar- | ig beneficial compounds.”’ these unused apartments in gratification of an idle curiosity, and now had no difficulty in deciding which was best suited to her purpose. ‘ She led the way into a room, oblong in shape, with deep recesses in which the high narrow win- dows weie set. Ivy crept over them without, and though the heavy faded draperies were looped back, the light which struggled in still left the apartment in semi-obscurity. : There was a carpet, worn thin, and gray with dust upon the floor. There was no bed, but a wide old sofa in a corner, so heavy and substantial that it appeared a fixture fhere, supplied the place of one. The room had evi- dently been well furnished in its day; a great square mirror, accoss which spiders had spun their webs, its gilt frame all tarnished now, filled the space be- tween two recesses on one side. Everywhere else the walls were bare black pauels; there was no fire- piace, and no outlet, save the door by which they d entered. Cecil, with her handkerchief, dusted off the faded velvet cushions of the old sofa, and Eve, trembling from weakness and fatigue, sunk down upon it. Her blood was fever hot, but over-exertion quelled the fever force with a torpor which deadened her senses to the action of pain. It seemed to her that she wanted nothing so much as quietude and rest. She sunk almost immediately into a doze, and Cecil, after seeing her as comfortable as circum- stances would admit, went softly away, locking the door after her. She detached the key belonging to it from the ring, and succeeded in replacing the others in the house- keeper’s room, unobserved. Then, worn upon by the occurrences of the morn- ing, she retired to herown chamber. She did not go down to luach that day, but pleaded a headache, and had a cup of strong tea brought to her, Afterward she darkened the room, and threw her- self upon a couch, not to sleep, but to think, Late in the afternoon she paid a stolen visit to Eve, taking with her a pitcher of ice-water, and the bc A containing her own Juncheon, e lay in a deep stupor, from which Cecil’s pres- ence did not arouse her. The latter, regarding hor pon haf went away with a satisfied expression upon er face. Eve never woke until the ey dawn of the follow- ing day was straggling in at the dimmed windows. Then every limb seemed chained down by a dead weight, and all her faculties put to rest except her sense of burning thirst. : With an effort she put out her hand, and it came in contact with the mechat of water left by her side. She dragged her head wearily from the BOs and drank long and arte hen she slept again, more naturally, and flashes of pain occasionally penetrated her unconsciousness, causing her to stir and moan without awaking. CHAPTER XV. THE POTENT POTION, Durina the evening of the day treated of in the preceding chapter, Cecil announced her determina- ition of personally going to the city to give directions regarding the altered setting of the diamonds. o in the gray of early morning Giles drove the carriage over to the village depot, and received her instructions for_his return in the evening, At ten she was in New York, and ae first at Tiffany’s, ieft the diamonds which she had brought with her, After that she executed a few othcr trifling com- missions, and then threading her way through the iusy thoroughfare, hailed a passing car for a more obscure section of the city. The street pees which she alighted was narrow and dark, shut in closely by tall, dingy buildings tg nearly all of which came the confused buzz o. rade, It was the last place where she expected to en- counter one of their Frampton neighbors, but in the open doorway of a hardware emporium, scrutinizing an array of agricultural implements, stood Mr. Darnley. Cecil passed by him so closely that by putting out her hand she could have touched him. Some- thing drew his attention toward her retreating figure, and he turned to follow her with his gaze, dimly conscious of some familiar element about hor, “Thought for a moment it was some one I knew,” he soliloquized, “It beats all what striking resem- blances we chance across among Peerle, He saw her disappear within a doorway which the colored globes in the window indicated as belonging toa pharmaceutist’s shop; and then turned back to forget his impression in his contemplation of patent plows and By peeig The place Cecil entered was small and fitted up after the manner of stores of its kind, A narrow dark counter ran the whole length of the room, be- hind which was a range of shelves and drawers, and ihe peeapbere was heavy with the odor of drugs. A youthful clerk was busy over a mortar, but left it with alacrity as she entered. His expectation of a customer was disappointed, however, for she passed through to an inner door and rapped. After a moment it opened to admit her into the presence, of a tall, gaunt re, with hair and flowing beard snow-white, and hollow, cavernous eyes, set in a countenance of unmistakably Jewish cast. He spoke, however, without the idiom which commonly marks the speech of his race, ‘‘ The lady requires private advice, I presume?” His manner and his words were significant of the act that his time was precious; but Cecil seated erself without removing the close folds of her vail, and motioned him to follow her example. “Thave heard much of Mr. Isaac’s skill,’’ she re- ped, “‘and may avail myself of it. I have CECIL’S. DECEIT. Tae Jew bowed his head in humble deprecation. “My friends do me honor,” said he, ‘I use m tithe of knowledge for the good of my fellow-man.” Some slight sarcasm tinged Cecil’s voice. “T have been assured of that, before!” ty won perhaps the lady is not here for the first ime ; The Israelite regarded her suspiciously, and Cecil, though secretly annoyed, let no evidence of it ap- pear. ‘*You mistake,” she replied, ‘but I am anxious to test the virtues ascribed to your preparations.” What is Dif require?” She dropped her voice to a lower cadence, though assured that they were quite alone. “T wish a potion which will, when administered, act upon the patient’s mind and will, leaving him powerless to project or carry out any active measure —something which will stupefy the senses without injuring the body.” ‘What you ask is difficult to prepare, and very expensive,” You have but to name your price.” The Jew’s sunken eyes glittered. He assumed a despondent expression. ‘*Such a potion and quite harmless? Ah, madam that is impossible unless administered precisely as direct. And I would not dare trust a powerful com- pound in the hands of a stranger- pardon me! you must know what danger I would incur.” Cecil made an impatient gesture and drew out her well-filled portmonnaie. “Lay aside Phang scruples, Mr. Isaac,’’ she said, coolly. ‘‘My time is too ited to be spent in idle dallying.” A malicious gleam mingled with the covetous glit- ter in the Jew’s downcast eyes. He spoke with per- suasive softness, “Madam will assure me that the potion is merely for the use she mentioned, and that my instructions shall be followed to the letter?” Cecil leaned toward him, speaking ene ga ““Make it powerful, Mr. Isaac, and of such a nature that if a mistake should occur, no traces shall be left. You understand?” ‘“*T understand!’ the Israelite replied, endeavoring in vain to penetrate the folds of the concealing vail. “Then pray let me have such a preparation at once, I will wait for it.” “Ah, madam! it requires time to produce such a compound.” “How much?” she queried, shortly. “T think I could promise it in two days.” Cecil drew out ber watch. “Tt is now after one,” she said. ‘I will call at three preonet. when you will have the potion ready, Pray do not disappoint me. I have heard that you are never without preparations of the nature Lrequire. Let me ask your price?” “*T told you it would be expensive.”’ “Will fifty dollars recompense you?”’ He shook his head slowly. ‘* A hundred, at the lowest figure.” She did not stop to parley with him. “ Hereis half to your hand! The remainder shall be paid when I receive the mixture, Remember, at three precisely.” “Tt will be ready, madam.” Cecil pushed aside her vail slightly as she counted the sum from her portemonnaie, and the Israelite caught an imperfect glimpse of her features. He stood in an attitude of deep thought, unmind- ful even of the crisp bills in his hand, after the door closed behind her. ‘‘T have seen her before,’ he mused, ‘‘ but where? The idea is there, but confused, Ah, I have it! Three—four—five years ago! I was less cautious then, and it was poison—deadly almost to thetouch; but she had the antidote, too. I remembe now.” When Cecil came again, later, he was ready with the mixture he had promised. It was harmless- looking, clear as water, and he averred quite taste- C) ain less. * A single drop once a day will render the patient quiescent and tractable; double that quantity will produce stupor and confusion of the mental facul- ties. It cannot be given with safety in larger doses at consecutive periods.” “Tf the quantity be gradually increased, or an overdose accidentally given, what would be the effect? Do not be alarmed, Mr. Isaac; I promise you it shall not occur; but I wish to know the prop- erties of the compound.” “An overdose, say six drops or more, would throw the patient into a state of coma, closely resembling actual death, from which only the most desperate remedies could revive him. A gradual increase—very gradual—would result in_slow wast- ing away without any apparent cause. You will be very careful?” ‘“You have my word!” She paid him the remainder of the price agreed upon, and departed. ‘ t was sunset when she stepped from the cars at Frampton, The carriage was awaiting her, but, iene of Giles, Mr, Frampton himself had driven here, “T couldn’t deny myself the pleasure,” he said, as he met her, then turned to hail one among the pas- sengers from the train. ** Ah, Darnley, isit you? Getting home, eh? Strange you didn’t stumble upon Mrs. Frampton on the wa “4 , The cars were crowded,” Cecil hastened to say, “My love to Sophie, Mr. Darnley. Send her over for a day or two; her quick wit will be most acceptable in suggesting needful arrangements. For the party, you know!” i ibe last was explanatory, as she noted his blank ook. His eyes followed them as the vehicle rolled dipe'# “Tt was she I saw; not strange that I thought the figure familiar. Wonder what she was doing in that quarter, though it’s none of my business, to be ure! And with that reminder he dropped the thought. Soon as she could do so, unperceived, Cecll slipped away to visit Eve. She found the latter lying yet as she had left her, her face flushed, and breathing labored. She was helpless in the clutches of the fever-fiend; the same that had pee the poor lad who had aroused her interest in the city lodging- house; the same that had fastened upon little Patsy Mulrooney, the child of her humble, kind friend, and former landlady. _She moved her head restlessly, and her parched lips opened to the moan: “Water! water!’’ Cecil had brought food and a pitcher of ice-water as on the preceding evening. She saw at a glance that the victuals upon the tray remained untouched, and knew how needless it would be to offer such. She gave her water at short intervals, until her thirst was for the time appeased; and then brought wiehe and soft downy pillows with which to make the invalid’s couch more comfortable. When this was done, and she had bathed the fever- flushed face and burning hands, she went away ain, leaving the blank darkness of the night, and the solitude of all those empty rooms to weigh down upon the distorted imagination of the sick tot Aiter all, there was no present need of the potion she had procured. She had meant simply to keep Eve in a quiescent state, until she could mature her own plan of future action. The more she pondered, the more she felt that she could not give up the diamonds. Beneath the fact that their absence would at once provoke questioning, was another consideration which she clung to with the faith which is born of selfish desire. When Victor should know of this emergency, surely he would forego all other plans to snatch her from the threatening canget of exposure. And the diamonds, if all else should fail, were in themselves sufficient to insure their future, CHAPTER XVI. THE UNSEEN HAND THAT SMITES, Outve’s birthnight ft f It was scarcely dusk when Frampton House threw out its fear of myriad lights. They kept orthodox hours in Frampton, notwith- standing its ~ruximity to the ay and consequent subjection to the demoralizing influences of fash- ionable example. At eight the carriages began to arrive, and at ten the whole assembly of invited guests moved within the light and fragrance of the reception-rooms. Cecil, affable and an acknowledged favorite, played her part of hostess with graceful ease. Her dress was rich and lizare, but exquisitely becom- ing, as indeed was everything she wore; black lace over snowy silk, with heavy falls of lace shadin her neck and arms, but not concealing their rounded, delicate contour, Her hair was caught up in loose, waving masses, interwoven with the same glittering gems that sparkled at her throat and wrists. Wonderfully well did the Collingsbrooke dia- monds set upon her, and many an envying eye did they attract among the feminine portion of the guests. Could they have known all the deceit and wea. anxiety borne beneath that fair exterior would they still have thought the result sufficient for the sacrifice made to secure it? Did any remembrance haunt Cecil, as she caught glimpses of her radiant self in the surrounding mir- rors, of that wasted figure and pallid, deathlike face—the wreck of the gentle girl whose name and place in life she had usurped? Both of them shel- tered by thesame roof, the one courted, flattered, lacking nothing wealth or affection could su ply fs the other neglected, suffering, dying for eueht’ she could know. Perhaps! At the last moment previous to her a earance below, she had stolen away in her ric ress with the glitter of the jewels she unlawfully poccers about her, for a brief visit to the sufferer, ome dread had weighed upon her all that day. A fear perhaps that Eve might arouse to baffle her in the very hight of her stolen position. Little need of fearing the spark of vitality which lingered yet in that senseless form. Eve lay so mo- tionless that the other bent over ber in affright, thinking her really dead; but the faint respiration, the almost iniperceptible flutter of the y ulse, reas- sured her. The disease had reached its most critical point, a crisis would be passed during the night. Cecil went down all smiles to meet the arriving guests, the apparent incarnation of happiness, know- ing that all alone the life she had wronged was struggling feebly aeeins the fearful power of death, It was nearing midnight, and the gayety was at its hight, when she threaded her pe through the crowd and stepped unperceived out through one of the open windows. Some mer young, couples were promenading the verandas, but she avoided these, and gathering her dainty garments close about her, sped swiftly and silently down the graveled pathway, At a little distance she encountered Victor, consol, ing himself during the solitary moments of waiting by smoking beneath the starlight, He threw away his cigar as she approached. “Will you always douLt me, Cecil?” he demanded as he paced slowly by her side within the shadow of the bordering foliage. ‘‘ Did it need a new evidence to convince you of my truth? Certainly, you have it now that I have stolen away from my jiancee, on s t
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ee ——————————————————eee—————————eeE™S™-,:i‘( ;&PPn)).,.,mrt:t:t:t:t*t~CSOt”*~”:t the night which announces our betrothal, to swear my firm yy ee to you only, and my intention of using her only as a stepping-stone to fortune.” ‘TY don’t doubt you, ictor; but I have come to make one more appeal. Don’t persist in the course you have set yourself to follow. Let us forget ev- erything for each other before we forfeit the happi- ness which may yet be ours. Don’t let us wait for Fate to dash the wine of life from our lips through -our-dallying over it.” Aah: a “You are speaking strangely, Cecil. ‘Surely, you know me well enough to believe that Iam not easily Swayed from a purpose. I credited you with more strength of mind than to take up with improbable forebodings.” Ls But if you are convinced that it is no simple fan- cy, Victor? If you knew me threatened by an im- minent danger?” “You know you could rely upon me, But there can be no danger until we have brought it down upon ourselves.” “Listen, Victor. Itold you the truth of what I be- lieved popeing. Eve Collingsbrooke’s death, but it was a mistake after all. I did not know until less than a fortnight ago she came to me.” She paused. It was in her mind to tell him all the truth. But she hesitated, knowing that the impres- sion of impending evil which weighed upon her would fade away to his matter-of-fact view, should he 10 w Eve's present helplessness. «.,vell,” he questioned, with manifest anxiety. She came to you here, you say?” “Yes; she came to me, but with no ill-will or pur- e of revenge. Yet she asked of me what it will an impossibility to pet She demanded only the restitution of the diamonds which you know are rightfully hers. I put her off for the time, but the reprieve I gained has almost expired. sure threatens me; and you, Victor, must save me from the consequences.” Why not give her the jewels?” he asked. “They will not balance against Olive’s fortune and your marriage settlements. Rid yourself of her impor- tunities when you can do so at so easy a rate, and we will compass our end undisturbed.” Idare-not. Their absence would be almost im- mediately. discovered, and a false pretext would not account for their disappearance.” (, Sinaulate a burglary,” he suggested. No, for they would be traced to her with little difficulty, and the explanation we wish to avoid be thus precipitated. And, besides, with the diamonds in ay possession, we need fear no evil in the future Should all else foil. They are certainties; the rest We must trust to chance.” ‘Then you must find means to evade her demand. If this troublesome counterpart of yours has no in- fluential friends to back her, I will find means to in- Sure her silence until her disclosures can be of no Moment to us, Leagued to; ether, we will not be thwarted by a single woman, Cecil.’ She felt that it was useless to plead her cause fur- ther, She must give up to him in this as she felt she Would ever do in all cases where it came to a contest of their two wills. ‘She was kind to me once,” she said, “and I Would not like to have her subjected to the harsh measures you hint at. I shall endeavor to satisfy her for a time, Tell me once more that Olive nothing to you, that Iam everything; it will give me patience to walt as well as courage to work.’ You are nervous, to-night, Cecil, or you would not need the assurance. You have it though, freely. Olive is nothing more to me than the mere instru- ment to work out my will. I do not love her; you alone ever have or ever can sway me thrcugh that passion. I shall have no compunction when once my end is gained in leaving her for you. Are you Satisfied now?” wey because it must be,” she answered, in a low yihey had been walking back and forth along one h the principal paths intersecting the grounds, and ad penetrated further now than at any prévious turn. Neither of them saw a figure that started for- wad, and then checking its motion drew back into Shadow as they retraced their steps. » It wag Richard Holstead, who, delayed upon the yay, had just arrived. He had paused a moment in ley frounds to view the house with its windows like gl ried Argus eyes, and listen to the soft strains of rae that were wafted out upon the night air. pe rier not observed their approach until Victor’s 2 uding words caught his ear. He started to mito”? Dut restrained himself, too honorable to com- i t a questionable act even for a good end; neither he succeed in identifying D’Arno’s companion, b They disappeared, and he slowly approached the tenn? ponde over the declaration he had acci- fan Overhea: He had not mistaken it, and he elt that some plot was iv progress, which, if left to work, would terminate fatally for Olive’s peace The knowledge thrilled him, for it brought to him the two-fold conviction that he could be of use to ben, and that. she might not be irreparably lost to m. Olive had entered fully into the spirit of the even- ing’s entertainment, Sustained during the eartior bas by Victor's vege at her side, she had lushingly received the open congratulations of the fordial, honest neighbors. Afterward she mingled reely with the guests, her’ Biteeesbs the center of a ttle coterie that came and went and changed but Still clustered around her. It was late when Sophie Darnley penetrated the rele and drew her away to a secluded corner. dare say you have been pane ©) sala or atusivenees ra rz) PRP TCENS : de, she ad, but I’m go Oo give you a ran Oliver, Walter an aes a tO . 7 urself T have just concluded to sink | CECIL’S DECEIT. the memory of standing feuds in the sea of future connubial bliss.” ‘** And you thought to surprise me?”’ Olive smiled. ‘“‘As though that consummation had not been the expectation of the neighborhood for months! I am sincerely glad, Sophie, and congratulate you with all my heart.” ‘Well, then, since you are not surprised, no more am I,” Sophie rattled on. “Ive felt it in my bones, as the sea-captain said when the storm broke, which his rheumatic joints predicted. Notthat I’m ofsuch a mercurial disposition, but_you_see, Walter has ersecuted me so long I’m obliged to take him at st in pure self-defense,”’ ¥i ‘“‘What martyrdom|’’ Olive ejaculated in mock orror. Sophie soon drifted away from the interesting subject, to pass remarks upon the shifting figures in the scene before them, “Mrs. Frampton is the cynosure of all eyes, and no wonder—she is inimitible. Almost too rich] cane I should say, for ahostess; but she bears it. we “There is Mr. Holstead, too; I did not know he was “here. What a prince among men he looks when compared with ae little Perey Gray by his side. Really if Walter had been less importunate I think I should have been tempted to lay siege to the fortress of Mr. Holste.d’s affections. ‘What can ail your uncle, Olive? He has left the room, looking wretchingly ill; and there, Dr. Storms isfollowing him. They have not been observed by the company; now, Mr. Holstead, too, has gone quietly out. What can it mean?” What it meant did not transpire to the knowledge of the household until later, when the last guest had departed. Then the truth cameout, Mr. Frampton was stricken down with the fever which, unknown to him, had been brought within his walls. CHAPTER XVI. WHAT WILL NOT A WOMAN IN LOVE DO. Docror Strong remained throughout the night. At. daybreak he went away, leav minute direc- tions for the patient’s treatment, and at noon called in on his return from other professional calls. He spoke gs aeiien ied the case, but impressed the Hector ty of having his instructions implicitly fol- owe’ “Mr. Frampton’s vigorous constitution will with- stand a much harder siege*than this promises to be,” he said; “‘I do not apprehend a violent attack if it comes to the worst, and Ithink the prompt measures already taken have served to avert other than a light ‘orm of the disease... With ordinary care and watchfulness he will be up again within a week.”’ Cecil had thrown aside her rich garments, envelop- ing her form in a quilted negligee of dove-colored cashmere, and ell the forenoon retained her place by her busband’s side. Now, she listened intently to the doctor’s directions, and afterward with apparent reluctance relinquished her station to Olive, who affectionately insisted that she must take needed repose. he had not been near Eve all the morning. Now she felt that it would only be additional suspense to longer defer the time which should assure her of the other's fate. : She paused on the deserted landing to gain com- mand over her panting breath, and flercely-beating heart. She had not once wished actual harm to befall Eve, and she shrunk even now from the possi- bility of finding her beyond power of asserting her claim again to her own (Cecil's) discomfiture. Her hand shook as she fitted the key into the lock, but her nerves were under complete subservience when she went in at last. She crossed the floor and knelt by the side of the couch, A glance dispelled the horror which the utter stillness of the room had called up._ The crisis had passed, leaving Eve weak and helpless as a little child, but with a new lease upon the life which had been so nearly wrested from her. She opened her eyes wonderingly as Cecil stooped it seth and murmured her name faintly. ‘ eci q , “Be very quiet,’ Cecil said, knowing intuitively that the time recent passed was as a blank oran obscure Vision to the other. ‘‘ You have been ill and are stillvery weak.” “T Lave been dreaming, I think, horrible things! Where is papa?” For the time all remembrance of her past suffer- ings was blotted out, and Cecil would not recall those grievous reminiscences. “You must see no one until you have ed strength,” she answered, evasively. ‘Sleep if you can; vit wili do you more good t. any medicine, now. Eve smiled silently. She was too confused yet to note her strange surroundings and wonder at them. She elosed her eyes, and soon ae softly as the infant which has known no care in life.” “TY must not let her suspicions be aroused,” re- flected Cecil, as she gazed on the thin face where just the faintest tinge of warmth broke the trans- arent whiteness of the sxin. “It is time now for he potion to do its work.” - ““So, when she came again, bringing broth that had_been ostensibly prepared for the other invalid, she had the vial of colorless liquid with her. Justa drop in the drink she held to Eve’s lips, but she knew it was all her purpose required. She sought her chamber afterward and tried to na few moments’ repose. But the vial contain- ng the potion which she had concealed in her poaenes seemed like a thorn planted there, painfully r ng. She tok it out and held it up to the light. The 43 clear compound, so seemingly innocent, had a fas- cination for her which she could not resist. Over and over os she conned the substance of the words the old Jew had spoken. ** A single drop once a day will keep the patient in a@ quiescent, tractable state; double that quantity ill produce stupor and confusion of the mental faculties, An overdose produces coma, which ends in death without leaving any apparent trace.” Then words which Victor had spoken to her once since their evil compact had been made, rose up and ranged themselves along with these, : “Were it not for your husband it might be differ- ent. Were you free nowI might renounce every other consideration for you alone.”’ : It seemed so easy to free herself from the whole complicated toil by a single bold stroke. With the fear of Hugh Frampton’s vengeance forever re- moved, his wealth in her hands, she need fear no rival, and the consideration which swayed Victor now would be easily swep! away. Tt was useless to woo sleep with such thoughts in her mind. She arose and confronted her image in the mirror above the dressing-table. Her face was aglow with bright color, her eyes sparkling, her lips scarlet with éxcitement. No one could have deemed that murderous thcughts were astir beneath that beautiful mask. She scarcely realized it herself. She was dwelling on the future which lay beyond the space between to be bridged by the commission of that dark crime. ’ She went back to her husband’s side with the vial still concealed in her bosom. That night and the next day passed, and no per- suasions could swerve Cecil from her post in the sick room. It was growing dusk when the doctor came again. His assured manner as he entered changed as he bent over the patient in the semi-gloom, He called for a light and contemplated him in “He has slept almost constantly,” Cecil hastened to ap ® ‘“*We thought he was doing well.”. “This is no natural sleep. It is a stupor more rnicious in its effects than even delirium would e. Lam free to confess it is a symptom I cannot reconcile with his former condition.” Cecil followed him into the hall as he was going away. “Don’t deceive me, doctor,” she begged, clasping her white hands and lifting her fair face full of anx- ious pleading. ‘It is mistaken kindness to attempt to blind me! Will he live?”’ “Wie, fie!” ejaculated the doctor, in the abrupt manner p to himself, ‘Didn't I tell you he’s in no absolute danger? Only see that my directions are strictly followed, and I pledge myself to bring him up sound as new.” “But, doctor—pardon the doubt—I thought you did not exactly understand his case.” ‘“ Well, you are partly right,’ he answered, bluntly. “T have never had a parallel ease, but I don’t despair, for all that. I don’t mind telling a plainly, madam, that every thing depends upon his rousin from this unaccountable stupor; yet I don’t think advisable to employ severe agencies. The fever is checked in the start; write in SMe 4 there’s no ficti- tious strength to combat it; but a man of Mr. Frampton’s tenacity should be able_to throw off such torpor. That’s a plain statement of the case, and nothin very alarming in it, I assure you.” Cecil stood looking after him es he’strode out, An inscrutable smile crept across her face as her fingers clutched the concealed vial. Victor D’Arno, himself unseen, had witnessed this ~ interview from behind the sweeping curtains o! an oriel window near by. He followed Ceeil’s retreating figure, muttering: “She loved me, but in her anger once she would have struck a murderous blow. He is an obstacle in her way now; will she be more lenient with him? I must watch, and perhaps turn the circumstance in my favor.” . ( That evening, as before, Cecil retained her place in thesick-room., The others came and went silently, sharing her vigil. When she was alone for a mo- ment, she drew out the hidden vial, year from its contents into a goblet upon the table where the , medicines were ranged. Victor, entering at the moment, noticed the quick . action of her hand dropping to her side. “You must not fatigue yourself, Cecil,” said he, in a tender, commanding tone which be knew she, would_not resist. “Go now, and get what rest you , can. I am to watch through the night, and will call - you if there is any change. Whatif this should re- , sult in perfect freedom to you, my own?” Her quick glance flashing up to him was sufficient answer, She was really very weary. y “T think I can sleep now. It is time to give the medicine; afterward I will follow your advice.” She turned toward the range of vials, but his quick motion anticipated her. v “This yellow liquid?’ he asked, a ee his’ form between her and the little table. _‘‘ Five drops, I think was the order, and the powder in anhour,”” - In the brief moment he diverted her attention, , he had managed to deftly rinse the goblet, emptying, its contents into his handkerchief. Now he dioppe the liquid into it and placed it to the lips of the in- valid. Cecil watched the unconscious man swallow every drop, and went away satisfied. Quiet fell upon the household. A tiny bronze clock upon the w pointed its silent angers to the mid- night hour. The night-lamp diffused a softened light. through the room, |
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eS eee eee ae lle 44 Victor drew close to the bedside, fixing his eyes intently upon the sick-man’s face, Moments flew by. Victor’s face grew rigid and white as the one pressed against the pillows, and great, cold drops started out upon his brow, but his aze never wavered. Mr. mpton moved his head slightly and sighed. Victor drew a deep inspiration as of a relief, anda moment after the other’s eyes opened. Victor’s lips moved, but he essayed twice before any sound escaped them. “Follow m. commands,” he said, slowly and clearly. “ Lift Mee hand.’ The hand which had lain powerless upon the “ Thai ne was immediately raised. will do. Repeat after me. ‘I have no power to resist your will.’ ” Clearly and distinctly fell the repetition: “T have no power to resist your will!’ “Tt is my will that you, Victor D’Arno, wed with my niece, Olive Trem: el Mechanically the words passed Mr. Frampton’s lips. Wictor clasped his hands over his eyes, and then passed them over Mr. Frampton’s brow. ‘The latter relapsed almost immediately into his former un- conscious state. D’Arno wiped his damp brow, and, pouring wine from a flagon at hand! took a deep draught. “Tt was a terrible strain,’ he muttered to himself, “but I have him now pliant to my will as wax in the molder’s hands. “Tf it is asI suspect, that she is drugging him, all the better; but he must not have an overdose until J ‘:ave accomplished my end.” CHAPTER XVIII. THE DOCTOR ON A TRAIL. THREE dave passed. Mr. Frampton rallied slight- ly, but for the most part was unconscious of all that took place about him. Doctor Strong came and went with calm, impas- sive features, that told no tale to anxious observ- counte ers. The fourth morning a drizzling rain set in, render- ing the atmosphere chilly and uncomfortable for the season, throw ng an additional gloom over the in- mates of Frampton House. The doctor shrugged his shoulders dismally as he paused in the doorway to button the collar of his Yh ewido coat close about his throat. His calling left him no choice between blue sky and leaden, down-pouring clouds, so he plunged unhesitatingly into the uninviting out-door space. His horse. shaggy of coat, uncouth but strong of limb, and like his master inured to all phases of weather, jogged unconcernedly over the road toward the village. Midway he drew rein as Mr. Darnley approached from the opposite direction. “Just from Frampton Piace,’’ he replied to the latter’s inquiry. ‘Are you going there? If so, you me, as well turn back again: I’ve left standing Me ers that none but the family be admitted to m “How is he?”’ Mr. Darnley asked, turning his horse’s head round about, * So-so!” returned the doctor, after the non-com- mittal manner of his class. ‘“ Little change—fluc- tuating—nothing decisive.” “He has the fever, I’ve been told,” continued the other, ‘‘the same which has created such a panic nearer the city. Is it likely to set hard upon him?” Mr. Darnley was a well-known friend of Hugh Frampton’s, and the doctor answered him more un- reservedly than he would have done most inquirers. “Three days ago, if you had asked me that, J would have told you not, d-cidedly. I don’t know what to make of his case. It it wasn’t so improb- able, I should think some one was tampering with his condition; anyway the medicines are not pro- bg ined results they should,” Mr. Darnley’s face caught an anxious shade. “Who would do it?” he asked. “No one, of course. I should not have mentioned it even as a supposition. It would be hard for any rson to work him such ill, even if an object was to e gained by it, his wife is so devoted to him. She scarcely leaves his side, and herself sees that my in- structions are carried out.” “His wife? repeated Mr. Darnley, slowly. bie yn wives sometimes have an interest in ridding themselves of Sey, husbands.” The same thought had occurred to Doctor Strong, and while the doubt had been too shadowy to act upon, his allusion to Mrs. rrampton had been made less in good faith than as a bait to draw out the other’s opinion. He kept his eyes averted, lest his intention should there betray itself, and waited. “‘ rampton’s wife seems to have taken the whole neighborhood by storm,’ continued Mr. Darnley, “but, for all that, I haven’t fancied her. It may be all prejudice on my part, for I have nothing to base it on, unless— He stopped short as some dim idea broke upon - tne doctor eyed him now, impatiently. oe e 7 “A ray leg of weeks, or more, ago, the last time Iwas in New York I stumbled across her ia an out- of-the-way part of the city, not a very reputable section. d not recognize her at the time, but I'd willingly take cath to it now that I saw her go into a drug store on —— street. I remember noticing the name above the door; it was M. Isaac!” ““M, Isaac! No. 3872” queried the doctor, “T ean’t say for that, but it may have been.” “TI know the man; have had dealings with him, in fact. I think you have given mea serviceable idea, Mr. Darnley. That Jew has more than ordi- nary skill in his craft and may furnish me with a hint - Rt 5 CECIL’S DECEIT. or two where I’ve found my own knowledge lack- . Lturn off here; good-morning to you!’ octor Strong did not intend that the other should fathom his suspicions, and assured that he had gained all information bearing upon the point at stake, thus abruptly left him. CHAPTER XIX. A DEATH-CHAMBLER PROMISE. At Frampton House every minor interest was ch api absorbed by the issue at stake in the sick-room. It was known now that the master’s con- dition was at least precarious. Olive’s grief, though silent, was deep and heartfelt. Cecil had _ grown nervous, and incessant watch was leaving her wan, but no less resolute in attend- ance. Her husband’s state was a puzzle to her, as it had been to the physician. Every day she had dropped the potion into the draught prepared for him, gradu- ally increasing the quantity used; but the effect was not as decided as she could wish. She was giving it to Eve in minute portions at the same time with satisfactory result. e latter was rapidly gaining strength, but her mind had not cleared, and she remained quite content and unsus- picious in her prison chamLer. Cecil could not account for the slow action of the mixturs upon her husband. The truth was that Victor bad exercised an espionage ovcr her, and through his watchfulness but little of the drug had been actually administered. For his own reasons he left her in ignorance of the action he was taking. The afternoon was wearing away, when Victor, who was left for a brief space alone with the in- valid, hastily summoned the others. “There has been a change,” he said. ‘*‘ Whether for better or worse I cannot tell.” They hastened silently into the room, Cecil, Olive and Richard. Theservants gathered in. the corri- dor, an ave-stricken group, whispering to each other that the end was near, Mr. Frampton was bolstered in_a half-sitting pos- ture. His eyes, wide open, seemed fixed and vacant, yet he apparently recognized those about him, and ne them coherently for the first time in ays. P ee Olive, are you both there?’’ he asked, eebly. They pressed close to the bedside. “My dearest ones! it is hard to know that I must leave is Cecil was white and speechless. Olive, affected beyond control, knelt by him, clasping his hand, which she shuddered to find clammy and cold. “Unele! dear uncle!” she cried, striving in vain to repress her tears. ‘Oh, it cannot be so! You will not be taken from us for many years.” “Don’t ery, pet! I feel the truth of what I say. My life is almost drifted out, and it is better so than that I should live and suffer.’’ He paused, breathing heavily. His utterance was slow, yet distinct, but no shado of expression moved his féatures. He was pallid as death, and his set gaze on the vacancy before him never wavered. *Ojive!” “ What is it, dear uncle?” “You have been a good, obedient child. You will not refuse me my dying wish?” She sobbed aloud, but struggling with her grief, answered him: “Ask me any thing you will! Let me prove that I am not ungrateful for your long kindness to 6, “T should like to see you ea 4 and beyond fear of trouble coming to you. There is another who loves you, scarcely bettcr, but with a different love from that which I have borne you. Victor will protect you when I am gone, and it will be a com- ort to me to sec you Lis wife. Send fora minister that he may unite you here where I can bestow my dying blessing.” Victor, shrouded by the curtains at the bed’s foot, came forward now to her side. “You will not deny him his request, Olive? I will never let you repent the act.” Richard started forward as Victor’s arm fell och 5 upon her shoulder. Knowing the base- necs of the man’s heart, he would as soon have seen her wreathed about by a serpent’s coils. Remembering the place, and the danger of cxcite- ment to Mr. Frampton, he restrained the indignant protest upon his lips. OLive shudderec. “It seems so terrible to thus unite what should be hy greatest joy with my greatest ein ; ick, hearing her words, thought with-an indefi- nable thrill: “She has not perfect faith in him, or she would entertain no doubt that life with him should be her greatest joy.” Cecil seemed robbed of pores or desire to act. Her fingers were interlaced in a tight c across ler bosom, her face rigid and anguished. She saw the result she was periling her soul to avert being Lrought to dea through her own unmeant oases: “You will consent, to please me, Olive?” i Frampton said, his voice dying to a whisper. ‘Iam owing very weary, but I want your assurance efore I can rest.” “It shaJl be as you wish,” Olive replied. “‘I could not deny you anything now, uncle “aA “Then send—send at once—forthe minister.”” He spoke with painful effort. ‘‘ Don’t delay, or it will be too late.” Victor stepped to the door and beckoned Giles, who formed one of the waiting group in the corridor, toapproach. | “Go for Mr. Deane with all haste, and bring him i eS ee ee Ce EEE SS SSS RRS SS SS EE EE rer STR back with you. Tell him your master is very low, and_ his services are imitediately required,’ { “Stay a moment,” Richard Holstead commanded Giles. “‘On your way call for Doctor Strong, and send him atonce. Make all Pion g speed as you value your master’s chance of safety.” The injunction was scarcely needed. Giles went upon his mission with a celerity which promised its speedy fulfillment, Richard returned to the darkened chamber, and finding Mr. Frampton i embed in a quiet slumber, php some ineffectual efforts, succeeded in drawing ve away. “Let me Bpaak with you if only for a moment,” he whispered. She followed him into an adjoining apartment, weeping yet, but more silently. “Tt may seem harsh tospeak to 73 as Iam about to do,” he began. “Let me beg of you not to fulfill the promise you have just given. Do not consent to this marriage. Iam counseling you for the happi- ness of all your future life, and even the weight YP a dying man’s ei ge should not balance against that. I know Victor D’Arno is unworthy of you, Olive; I know that he does not love you as you should be loved; I believe that he has wooed you only to con- summate some selfish and villainous end. I don’t ask you to believe all this at once; only defer the marriage which will otherwise place your safety in his ia a , cannot disappoint my uncle,”’ she replied, tear- fully. ‘‘I could never forgive myself if is Gied sor- rowing over any act of mine.” “You would sacrifice your whole life to afford him afew moments’ satisfaction over the gratification ofa whim which may be the result of weakness or wandering fancy, and which he may recover yet to repent unavailingly.” ‘It is useless to say more,” Olive interrupted him, firmly. ‘‘You know it is only precipitating my marriage, and in the end what can the little time matter? You should not speak to me as you have done of Victor, who will soon be my husband,” With that she left him, returning to her position by Mr. Frampton’s side, Within an hour Giles returned, bringing the clergy- man with him. Dr. Strong was not at his own house, and he (Giles) had left a message with the doctor’s housekeeper, which would be delivered im- mediately on the doctor’s return. Victor explained to the minister the nature of the office required of him, and led him directly to the ms ae Ss A hiasigesy aah r. Frampton rous imself at their approach and feebly checked the clergyman when ba would have uttered some words of pious exhortation. “The marriage first,” he said. ‘If there is time you can pray with me afterward!” Victor, approaching Olive, took her unresisting hand in his, and led her before the holy man. Reverend Mr. Deane, a meek, studious man, cast an undecided peu about him, and began the cere- mony which should link them man and wife. CHAPTER XX. THE DEED IS DONE! Dick Houstrap stovud by in gloomy silence. He had done what he could, and was powerless to save the girl he loved from_ what he felt assured must prove future gee’) to her. Much as he suffered, Cecil’s concealed passions were yet more intense. Every sense was strained to si pees but eatd was ic ipehet composed as the nister’s monotonous voice brok which had fallen. Sue, REDE Tn a short exhortation he impressed the solemnity of the rite he was about to celebrate, and the faith- ful performance of the duties it involved. Then he began, in an impressive manner, the usual gt form gi ctor’s response was given, clear-tone ateney Then - ey addressed Olive. ata ““Do you accep man as your lawful husband Will you cling to him through life; through oH) report and good report; through sickness and health; riches and poverty—till death do you part?” Instead of a i there came a Icw, terrified shriek from Olive. She was gazing straight before her, her face blanched, her limbs trembling beneath her weight. The crdeal of the afternoon had shaken her more than any one imagined, end now she sunk fainting to the floor, Unperceived by the rest, the door had swung noise- lessly open, and a shadowy, white-robed figure was outlined upon the threshold. To Olive, wrought upon by strong mental cmotion, it appeared like a warning from the spirit world, Even Cecil wag startled for a moment by the un- expected apparition. There was something strange in the air of the appearance—a vague yet gentle ex- pression in the pure face, surrounded Ly a floating mist of soft, bright hair, that struck a feeling of awe through every one there. For ot tr Seni e ei reigned in the room. en the door, impelled by som i a roe hades penne i : it mi wee didgecing ichard, closely followed by _the clergyman sprung forward and tore it open. Y the corridor with- out was vacant; no sight or sound to indicate that human presence had been there, | Hesitating momentarily, the two proceeded to search the passageways and apartments near at hand, but without result. Then Richard went below to question the servants, but no one could account for the strange appearance. The interruption broke the inaction which Cecil had imposed upon herself. As Richard and Mr, Deane rushed from the apartment, Victor stooped to raise Olive’s prostrate form. Mr, Frampton iay motionless upon the pillows ad t 1 “ t : of i” Dd = —_
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only his a staring eyes indicating that he saw or heard aught that passed around him. Cecil glided to his side, all of the demoniacal hate which had gathered in her heart distorting her features. Quick as thought she drew the fatal vial from its lace cf concealment upon her person, and forced it tigen the e lips of her husband. A shudder a over his frame; he gasped, and lay perfectly still! Swift as sbe had been, Victor turned and saw her motion. With a bound he reached her side, and snatching at her wrist, drew her forcibly away. “What have you done?’ he hissed in her ear, **Murderess now as you would have been before! I tell you, he knew nothing of all that has been done; he was mesmerized, and only obeyed the power o will.” mene wrenched herself from his grasp, and turned to him wickedly exultant. «Then I am glad! Glad to have foiled you; glad to be able now without fear of him to force your truth to me. Oh, Victor, you have wielded me, body, heart and soul, and now you must abide by my claim upon you; for after this that foolish girl can never be yours,” Not a shudder nor a pang of remorse for the crime she had committed. No horror of the weight of guilt which bore upon her. Blind faith yet in her own future, and in the man for whom she had steeped herself in darkest moral infamy. ' Yet when, amoment later, Richard and Mr. Deane returned from thvir fruitless search, she was kneel- pe the bed wiping the moisture from the poor, co She looked up into the former's face appealingly. “T think he has fainted. Give him brandy—some- thing, quick!” He put her gently aside and stooped over the motionless form. He laid his hand spon the cold forehead, and then, turning down the covering, upon the heart which no longer beat. ears, of which he was not ashamed, stood in his eyes and his voice was broken as he said: “Allis over; he is dead!” CHAPTER XX, TAKING UP THE THREADS. No doubt the reader has already inferred that the interrupter of the marriage ceremony was none other than Eve. ; During the morning Cecil had as usual visited her in the isolated chamber. Though she entertained no erage a of Eve’s discovery bi any of the house- hold, she had not once relaxed the precaution she adopted upon the first day of her confinement there. The key belonging to the room was never out of her possession for a moment. ? : But this day, in an absent-minded mood, she drew it from the door without having turned it in the lock, Eve's mind was in a confused state, the effect of the drug which was daily administered. After Cecil left her she stood by the window, watching the dull drip of the monotonous rain without. Growing weary of this, she wandered about the room, arrang- ing the furniture and turning over a few old books which it contained. At last, in her aimless way, she tried the door, and finding it yield to her touc , left the room for the first time since she had entered it, weeks before, and her way unobserved to the inhabited rooms, appeared in the doorway of that one where Mr, mpton doy. Rendered timid by her solitary existence during the past few weeks, stariled at finding herself in the presence of strangers, as well as by the evident con- sternation her Bapcepce produced, she turned and fled as the closing door shut her from their sight. Back as she thought by the way she came, but in reality into an opening wing, and at last into the chamber devoted to Richard HoJstead’s use. She could hear the sound of voices and of foot- ps back and forth, but no one came into ier retreat. She crouched down in a corner, but as time passed and she was left undisturbed, she arose and groping her way through the dusk which had how gathered, threw herself upon the bed and soon slept. Cecil stole away to the now deserted prison room at alater hour. She expected to find that Eve had made her way back there since the search had failed 0 discover her. She was not much alarmed at not finding her there. Should she be discovered about the premises, she would doubtless be considered harmlessly insane, and her presence thus be easily accounted for. The silence which follows the presence of death rested upon the household. The night passed, and the succeeding day brought some intimate friends full of sympathy for the family’s bereavement. It was noon when Doctor Strong came, his usually impassive face worn upon by traces of fatigue. Emmy Brown met him in the hall, and nothing doubting but that he knew of the calamity which had fallen, led him ae. to the death-chamber. The closely-drawn blinds left the room in almost total darkness. Doctor Strong turned back from the threshold with sudden dread. “What has happenec?”’ he demanded. . “Oh, sir; I thought you knew,” returned Emmy, with a burst of tears. “ “He is dead!” Pe | Thank Heaven, I am in time if it be as I think. When cid he dic?’ Emmy told him brokenly. shungieens ay Seoewie penile kp ated thee ampton lay rigidly still, and while he s ere Richard Holstead came quietly in. .; ' “You were sent for,” he said, ‘‘ but I doubt if you Could have averted this sad con ence,” “Ewas away,” replied the doctor. ‘“ Holstead, I I can depend upon you.” Cis faked el - } | will CECIL’S' DECEIT. 7 45 ‘tT shall certainly betray no confidence,” returned Dick, in some surprise, ‘‘ But first let me claim a portion of your time. I havea case which I think uire your immediate attention.” Brietly he related the occurrences of the preceding evening, following with his discovery of the intruder whose ap’ ce had broken off the marriage, qui- etly sleeps a his bed. “Tt is evident that her mind is unbalanced,” said he. “ She declares that she is Eve Collingsbrooke, which I presume Pec know was Mrs. Frampton’s maiden name, and though wasted by illness, she bears a striking resemblance to that lady. There is a familiarity with truths, too, in what she says, which puzzles me.” “For instance, she gave me a tolerably succinct account of a fire in my native city, where her father mang and she lost proofs of her fancied identity. trangely enough, it was from that very fire that I rescued the real Eve Collingsbrooke. She refers, too, to the diamonds which the latter has inherited, claiming them as rightfully her own. ‘But when I questioned her she grew confused and distressed, and I thought it best not to agitate her until you had been consulted, “T called Emmy Brown, who is a discreet girl, and, obtaining her promise of secrecy, left the stranger in her charge. She is still in my room, as least apt to be discovered there. Will you come with me and see what you can make of her case?”’ - He led the way to the apartment indicated, Doctor Strong following, with deep thoughtfulness depicted in his countenance. Eve was seated in an arm-chair before the grate, in which a slight fire blazed. Ona stand drawn to her side was a tray containing a scarcely touched repast. “This is the friend I promised to bring you,” said Dick, introducing Doctor Strong. Eve greeted him in a quiet, lady-like manner. She was more collected than when Richard had seen her last, and save for a vague restlessness of manner and disconnection of thought, was quite at her ease, In reply to their inquiries she repeated the por- tions of her story which Richard had briefly given. These were the strong incidents which had fixed themselves in her mind, and now that the effect of the potion was graduall wearing off, made them- selves apparen., while minor incidents, which would have gone far to prove the truth of her assertions, remained yet obscured, i “But you know you cannot be Eve Collings- brooke,” Dick remonstrated. ‘She is Mrs, Framp- ton now.” “And so I was to have been,’’ Eve declared. “I can’t tell how it was—Cecil did it, Iknow. Oh, if I could but remember!”’ She pressed her hand to her forehead, striving to clear her thoughts. Doctor Strong interposed. “ Never mind now; Iam sure you are quite right. Holstead,’”’ in an aside, ‘‘the poor girl’s story may not prove so improbable as you are inclined to think, At all events, humor her in it. Let me count your pulse, Miss Collingsbrooke!” Eve gave him a grateful glance. The doctor ghatted on indifferent subjects for a moment, and then drew Ho away. “* What she needs is freedom from ajl excitement. Give her time, and her mind will become lucid enough. She is suffering now fromphe effects of a powerful drug.”’ a “A drug!’ repeated Dick, aren, we * Ah, you think I may be mistaken? Iam not de- penpiien alone on my medical knowledge as a base or my assertion. “The claims asserted by this r girl, which have served to puzzle you so, may aid the unraveling of — mysterious points which I have failed to netrate. pe You will be shocked at the revelation I am about to trust to you. But, first, let us retire beyond fear of interruption.” CHAPTER XXII. THE MASK STRIPPED AWAY. Ir was the third ht after Mr, Frampton’s de- cease. In the death-c ber a couple of shaded ta- oy shed a dim light. The watchers for the night vad taken their station in an adjoining room, but Doctor Strong, coming in, sent them away to a dis- tant portion of the house—all except Mr. Darnley, who formed one of the number. “Tt is almost the hour,” the former said. ‘ Yo my good friend, knowing a little of the truth, wil assist me with such duties as may arise with the oc- casion. Hist! somebody comes.’ As he spoke, Cecil entered, leaning upon the arm of Victor, and closely followel by Olive, who ap- eared deeply dejected but quite calm. A moment ater Richard came in alone, partially closing the door of communication between the two rooms, They were assembled in the one where the body lay, oot Ceci), with a visible shudder, turned to Doctor trong. “It is by your request that we have come here in the dead of night, putting aside personal feeling, which would have prompted us to defer all temporal matters until the last sad obsequies were over. Let me beg of Pie that the presence of the dead shall not be profaned by any needless mockery. Her voice broke, and she pressed her handkerchief to her face as she sunk into a seat. “Madam,” replied Doctor Strong, his intonation almost harshly stern, ‘for years I enjoyed the friendship of Mr. Frampton, and would be the last person to disparage his memory. You will admit my, dovaity to him at least, before this interview is ende: “Thave not called you together at this time with- out sufficient object. But, before proceeding to di- vulge that cause, let me relate a strange story which has recently come to my knowledge.” whe nag the momentary pause which ensued no one broke the silence by words. Cecil, with apparent effort, checked her suppressed sobs, and assumed a listening attitude. The doctor began: “Almost a quarter of a century ago, one dark night in early spring-time, the inmates of the con- vent of St. Mary = ae disturbed at their late devo- tions by the violent ringing of the bell at their gates. The portress hastened out to admit the belated ap- pions for their hospitality, and returned ere lon eariug a basket, in which reposed a female child but a few weeks of uge. “The little one was the picture of beauty and health, and so won mee the affectious of the good sisters that they resolved to adopt her as the child of their order. “Years passed; and the waif thus cest upon their bounty arrived at the age of budding womanhood. She was destined to take the vail, and was in her novitiate, when her ripening beauty and mental at- tractions so endeared her to a pupil in the convent school—the only daughter of a wealthy English lady—that the latter determined to procure her emancipation. f “This she accomplished by the presentation of a handsome yearly stipend to the society, and Sister Cecilia—as she had been known—was received into the family of her benefactress as companion to the — “They treated her always with the utmost con- sideration, and in addition to other kindnesses, gave hertheirown name, pasnitas it to be understood that she was distantly related tothem. Thus she became known as Cecil Blake. “ The daughter married early a Sicilian nobleman, and Guparins with him to his native home. Mrs. Blake died suddenly a few mont s later, having made no provision for Cecil’s maintenance. “At scarcely seventeen the latter found herself cast homeless and friendless upon the world, but she was possessed of an adventurous spirit and am- ee faith in her own abilities to insure success., This ast was prcba ence of the first few months. _ ‘After ineffectual efforts to tive employment she succeeded in obtaining a posi- tion as nursery-governess in a well-to-do trader's f Here she fell in with an adventurer named Arnaud, who, for his own reasons at the time, was endeavoring to win the confidence of the most in- fluential tradespeople. “He succeeded to such a d that when he disappeared, a few weeks later, he carried with him a large sum of ready money obtained from them on various false pretexts. “More than this, Cecil Blake, who had clandes- tinely married him, also disappeared; and though information on this point is not definite, it is pre- sumed that they occupied some months traveling from one to another of the European capitals,makin their appearance in the higher grades of socie and meeting with varying game they practiced. “Arnaud was a professional gambler, and at Baden-Baden became involved in a quarrel ending in a duel, in which he mortally bhoaad his antago- nist. Compelled to fly the country, he next ap- peared in New York, where he gained only a pre- carious subsistence. “Here he was implicated in some piece of de- tected villainy, and it was during the trial that the ily facts became known. Notwithstanding e susp success in the confidence succeeded, with a good fortune, more rare than de- serrnd in ¢ himself of the charge pre- erred. ‘During this time he had lived contentedly enough with his wife, but now began to tire of rp tol. lowed him with a jealous devotion which began to restrain the liberty of action he desired. As a means of sey Sagem of her, he hired a woman from the street to repeat a trumped up tale of his soon, during a previous visit to the United States, herself claiming to be hislegal wife. “The woman played her part well. Cecil was convinced, and frenzied alike with jealousy and a sense of the wrong done her,determined to be reveng- ed upon the man who had thus played her false. ‘“* She visited an Israelite who combined the avo- cations of chemist and pharmaceutist, and procured from him a poison pecpuestve of deadly results if once infused into the blood. ‘Afterward she sought Arnaud, and upbraiding him with his get aoe made an attempt to stab him with a stiletto which bore the poison upon its point. “He averted the blow, but in doing so turned it upon herself. The wound inflicted was slight and would not have been dangerous but for the poison introduced into her veins. She knew her own peril, however, and lost no time in summoning the Jew from whom she had procured the deadly g. p “He administered an antidote and succeeded i saving her life, though she was prostrated by a long illness before ultimate recovery. Meanwhile, Ar- naud diay ,and when she sought for him no trace could be anywhere fourd. “Again she found herself thrown upon her own resources. She drifted about from place to place having no definite calling, but supporting herself in arespectably vagrant way as a solicitor for agen- cies; giving lessons in Lodges families; serving oc- casionally as a model to rising young artists; and once assisting in a hair-dressing establishment; phere . happy fecuity of giving universal satisfac- cured her a permane : had she so desired. med nye ae “She left it, however, to become companion toe rocure more lucra- cions that were strong against him, he shaken somewhat by the experi- z. =. - “ y > li
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9 & 16 lady who was about to depart for a tour through Europe. But the latter was whimsical, perhaps tyrannical, and Cecil left her service immediately on. landing in England. “Here she encountered an English gentleman, who, with his daughter, was en 7ou/e for this coun- try. She engaged herself as lady’s maid to the lat- ter, and with them returned to America. “After a few months spent in visiting various points of interest throughout the States, they made arrangements for a short sojourn in one of our northern cities. Here they were to meet the be- trothed husband of her mistress, the engagement being one of long standing and the . participators in it having never met, ‘*Upon tbe night of their arrival the hotel at which they stopped was consumed by fire, many of the inmates perishing in the flames. The maid was rescued, but in the confusion which ensued was mis- takeu for her mistress, the error arising, perhaps, in consequence of a strong resembance existing be- tween the two.” The doctor paused, closely ne his little au- dience. Cecil sat quite motionless, her face shaded Arno played nervously with his watcb-chain, but idently awaited further revelations. The rest were & small Japanese screen which she had taken up. “al stening attentively, Olive wonderingly, until his fee neh sentences cast a glimmering of light into er min CHAPTER XXTIL A DISSOLVING SCENE. “To simplify my tale,” continued the doctor, “I wiil here state that the English gentleman to whom : ae made reference was the late Captain Collings- rooke. “All present know the circumstances of Mr. Frampton’s engagement to the captain’s daughter, and of his marriage sup diy with the same; real- ly with the discarded wife of Arnaud, who has sinoe a sed | himself here over the pseudonym of 4 0. ‘ R _ tor Victor Strong bem) to his feet with a smothered urse. The screen fell away from Cecil's hand, and eraised her face, desperate yet defiant, toward self-apvointed ¢ tor of her past life. ‘Where you have chanced to stumble across this romantic fabrication, Doctor Strong, or by what means you have been imposed upon by it, lam at a loss to understand. Certainly, the charges you have preferred are too ridiculous to gain credence and knowing this, I spare you the indignation might otherwise entertain.” Ata signal from the doctor, Richard Holstead d into the ee on room, returning almost immediately with Eve Collingsbrooke, “This,” said Doctor Strong, presenting her to the little company, “is Miss Eve Collingsbrooke proper, who is prepared to substantiate that portion of my recital relating toherself, and the subsequent as- sumption of her individuality by her former maid, “And you, Cecil Blake Arnaud, have yet to bear the weight of a heavier charge than any I have thus far preferred. So surely as Hugh Frampton is dead, you are his murderess!”’ 3 A low, horrified ery broke from Olive’s lips. Vic- had sunk back into hisseat, sullen and sileut. glanced into the faces about her, but tound ’ See naiwens depicted there. Yet, with a mock- ‘ing laugh, she threw back her bright head to con- é ee lege to the dead!” a ¥ * ye ter the sho mt her accuser. “T defy you, Doctor Strong! I think all here must weak in mind as. tae poor lunatic yonder, from om you have doubtless culled your a, ale. You will pardonme if I refuse'to further wit y presence such slander of the living, such , sacri- he rose asif about to quit the apartment, but Mr. Darnley quietly pl his burly form before the door. “Stay! commanded Doctor Strong, sternly. “ Await the result of the crime which you have committed in intent; whether in fact or not remains to be tested. “My friends, this woman has administered to Hugh Frampton a powerful potion from which death does not immediately ensue, though a state of coma is thereby produced closely resembling death. “My own suspicions, eided by information from _Mr. Darnley, who had seen her, at a recent date, en- of the Jew pharmaceutist, led me to k the latter and force from him the acknowledg- ment of having supplied her with such a dru. There is a chance that she has not succeeded in her infamous eh eee “TI proc an antidote which I am now about to administer in obedience to the Israclite’s direction. Either of the drugs given separately are productive of fatal results. After a given time has elapsed, be- tween the third and fifth days after one has been administered, the other, he claims, will counteract its effect. This is the earliest moment I dared use the antidote. “T call upon you all to witness my endeavor to re- vive him, and if it fails, I charze you to prevent the escape of that woman, his murderess, and her ac- complice.” He stooped over the deathlike form, and placed a tiny vial containing a dark pg to the rigid lips. A drop trickled between, another, and apother, and then the doctor paused, counting the seconds as they passed. again wi after a moment, he dropped the liquid, and n waited. 6 third time the shudder convulsed the whole “Thank God!” muttered wipe great beads of perspiration from he Re lips twitched, and a the doctor, pausing to | has hls face. ~~ | the CECIL’S DECEIT. BA ere _— At short intervals he continued to administer the contents of the little vial. The breath of life fluttered faintly over Mr. Framp- ton’s lips; his heart beat again, and all the minute organs which respond to vitality resumed their ac- tion, feebly but unmistakably. “He is saved,” the doctor announced, turning to the anxious group that waited breathlessly. Olive sobbed aloud. Mr. Darnley and Dick Hol- —_ brushed suspicious moisture from their eye- ashes. No one put forth a hand to stay Cecil as she went out, carrying her defeat bravely in the face of them. all. Victor had stolen silently away at the first mo- ment attention had been drawn from him to th viving man. cree found him pacing the halls, awaiting her coming. “He will live,” she said, briefly. ‘“ Victor, is it truth that I was your wife all that time? For the sake of Heaven, don’t deceive me now!” “Yes, it’s true!” he answered, sullenly. ‘I may as well own to it, now that there’s nothing to be gain- ed by a denial.” ‘Oh, how could you—how could you be so cruel? IT have loved you so always.” : “Come, no sentiment now, ” he interrupted her, roughly. ‘* Let us think what is best to be done since you have succeeded in overthrowing our fine pds so admirably. Atleast we will not wait to e turned away, for they'll scarcely adopt stronger measures than that. t together what you can, and let’s be off at once.” She stepped back slowly, keeping her eyes fixed steadily upcmhis face. In that moment she scorned him for his utter selfishness, even while she acknowl- edged his scarcely-diminished power over her. “Tf I thought you. cared less for me, Victor, than the wealth we have'vainly striven for, I would stay ne and brave the consequences of all that I have ne.”’ : ** Don’t be silly, Cecil. Of course I care for you; ‘ou can’t doubt that. Make haste, as well as the est you can, out of this cursed ‘business. Get'the diamonds at all hazards, and meet me at the old bricge soon as possible, I will be there!” He strode away, and she, with a dull, heavy ache at heart, crept. toward her own chamber. She had little faith left in him now; but her woman’s nature having loved him blindly pnce, clung ever afterward to her idol, even when its fair 118 moet a fell away and it was exposed to her in all its base deformity. Swiftly she ponered together the valuable trinkets with which . Frampton had delighted to adorn her. She drew her. jewel casket from the drawer where it was always kept, and flung back the lid. Costly gems sparkled there; pearls, amethysts and sapphires; but the chief treasure that had been there contained, the parwre of diamonds, was gone. Dick Holstead, anticipating. some such finale as this, had instructed Emmy Brown to steal them away, and even now the Collingsbrooke diamonds were in possession of their rightful owner. Cecil felt the usclessness 0: attempt to regain them, Even whiléshe hesitated, footsteps approach- ed. She sane up the casket, and ‘throwing a dark mantle about her, stole out like a thief from the princely place where so lately she had reigned undis- puted mistress, 7 Victor awaite( her near the deep, sluggish stream where Richard had encountered Olive on the day of his arrival at Frampton Place. “This way,’’ he said, “and be careful. There, let me take your packages.” _ She had nothing’ but the’ jewel casket and a little rtmanteau containing a few necess articles. he told him so as she gave them into his hands. They stepped together upon the frail structure which bridged the stream. Midway there was a fall and a shrill cry, choked by the closing, stagnant waters, Did she make a mis-step, or was it the hand of the man she loved so much too fondly that precipitated her to her doom? God knows! ° They found her there—all that was left of her— tangled in the slimy, loathsome weeds beneath. the slenJer osiers which edged the strcam. Swift retri- bution had overtaken her, and in pity more than anrer they gave the frail, beautiful body Christian burial. CHAPTER XXIV. FLOATING WITH THE STREAM. Ir is late winter Low. Frampton House looms up, a dark, imposing pile, against the stretch of snowy background sparkling in the winter sunshine. Within, great fires cast their ruddy glow into the furthest corners, rivaling the bri htness which falls through the slightly-curtained anes. A mace oy! y is assembled there. Mr. Frampton, thinner than of old, with a grave shadow upon his face which was not there before, yet unbent and un- broken by the sorrowful ordeal through which his life has passed, is the genial host of a pleasant com- any. Pathe Holsteads are staying for a time at Framp- ton Place. Richard, long endeared through truly noble qualities to the owner of the place, has also succeeded in impressing Olive with a sense of his worth; and he has ges, Fe his mother thcre to Pace the acquaintance of her future daughter-in- W, The kindly-hearted elderly lady and the yo girl are mutually pleased with each other, and Olivers second betrothal promises a happy consummation, Eve Collingsbrooke, who, at Mr. Frampton’s earn- est solicitation, has taken up her abode with ned perfect health, and with it a renewal of ir loveliness which stamps her so like the err- 4" 2 a ae i a eS ee ere es i ing and lost Cecil, but softened by a gentle expres- sion which the latter never A With Mr. Frampton there can be no renewal of that passion which he lavished :o bountifully upon the woman who, for one short year, held a sacred position as his supposed wife. Her death blotted out the bitter feeling be might otherwise have held toward her, and though there 1s a sore spot in his heart which no lapse of time can heal, that year is marked as the brightest of his whole existence. To Eve he is no more than a firm, faithful friend and as much as she reveres him, another has gained a firmer hold on her affections. Doctor Strong, grown young since he has renounced his received in- tention of remaining a bachelor, has sped his wooing with the ardor which can nage Py truly to the earnest spirit of forty years as the hot young blood of twenty five. The Darnleys, too, are there. Sophie, in the blush- ing happiness of early bridehood, less volatile than of old, and evidently very proud of her poet-husband. Mr. wagrne 4 discoursing at ty upon his faverite hobby, and finding a patient listener in Mrs. Hol- stead, whose thoughts are carried back to her own Syma and the old farm where it was passed. 0 knows what may be brought about where tastes assimilate? Other trials will come, without doubt, to some or all of these actors in the scenes we have followed. before their eee of years shall have run out. ¢ now, while all is bright about them, let us drop the curtain before the possibility of future shadows. THE END. Waverley Library. 1 Tue Masxep Bring. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell, 2 Was It Love? By Wm, Mason er. 3 THe Giruy Wire. By Bartley T. Campbell. 4 A Brave Hear. Arabella Southworth, . 5 Bussiz Raynor, THE Work Girt Wm. M. Turner 6 Tue Secret Marriace. By Sara Claxton. 7 A DavueuTer or Even. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell, 8 Heart to Heart. By Arabella Southworth. 9 ALONE IN THE WORLD, By Author of ‘ Cliften.”” 10 A Parr or Gray Eyres. By Rose Kennedy, 11 Enranciep. 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