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Montispiece.
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NY ROGER
JEN


A
MATTER OF MILLIONS.
fl Nanci.
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BY
ANNA KATHARINE GREEN, I
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AUTHOR OF “THE FORSAKEN INN,” “THE LEAVENWORTH
CASE," ETC;
\g/ \ WITH ILL USTRA TI ON S BY VICTOR PER/1RD,
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PUBLIC LIBRARY
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COPYRIGHT,
1890,
BY ROBERT BONNER‘S SONS.
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VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
. The Letter
II.
III.
IV.
I ' coNTENTs.
PAGE
I I
A Remarkable Adventure . . . . 15
The End of a Great Ambition . 29
The Story of a Strange Girlhood . 40
. An Importunate Suitor . . . 49
A Surprise . . . . . . 56
Great Day at Police Headquarters 63
The Jenny Rogers Mystery . . 77
Horace Byrd . . . . . . 83
. Miss Rogers of Detroit . . . 92
Miss Rogers of New York 110
Madame’s Little Door . 120
A Charge . . . 125
Master of the Situation . 132
Friends . . . . . . I42
A Startling Introduction . . 151
The First Step Taken 159
Face to Face . . . r72
Something More than Croquet . 181
Forward and Back . . . 189
Threats and Entreaties . . . 199


CONTENTS.
CHAPTER _
XXII. Farther into the Maze .
XXIII. \Velcome and Unwelcome
Intruders
XXIV. A Fortune and a Death-Bed . .
XXV. The Surprises of an Hour .
XXVI. The Quest . .
XXVII. Secret Protectors
XXVIII. La Sonnambula
XXIX. The Valet
XXX. A Great Heiress
XXXI. Final Words .
XXXII. The Seed is Sown .
XXXIII. Unexpected Conditions .
XXXIV. New Fears . . .
.‘XXXV. Before the Reception
XXXVI. At the Reception
XXXVII. A Turn of the Wheel
XXXVIII. Jeannette and Virginia
XXXIX. Another Turn of the Wheel
XL. The Wheel Becomes a Rack .
XLI. Secret Enemies
XLII. The Last Hope
XLIII. Fate Triumphant
XLIV. Jenny’s Marriage
XLV. What He Read
XLVI. Too Late
XLVII. Loose Threads
. 256
. .331
. 476
PAGE
208
216
. 226
243
280
. 293
301
.310
321
337
- 347
351
359
. 371
381
390
403
414
421
431
-443
447
477


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
By VICTOR PERARD.
Was Jenny Rogers a Coquette? F rontispiece P521;
“ Love me and drop this fellow " . . . . 187
The artist, catching his breath, listened . . 27
“ It is a short story ” . . . . . . . 72
“ Oh, who are you P” she asked . . . . . 93
“ Nothing deleterious,” he said . . . . 120
“ You know him ?" whispered Miss Aspinwall . I48
“ What does this gentleman owe you P” . . 237
“ Who wrote the letter to Miss Rogers ?" . . 262
“A somnarnbulist I she is walking in her sleep .” 295
Jenny was standing by the piano . . . . 367
“ I have had a great deal to try me lately, jenny " 393
Three letters were lying on the floor before her. 435
The artist sitting bowed above the letter . . 476


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A MATTER OF MILLIONS.
CHAPTER I.
THE LETTER.


N old crone stood on the
top floor of one of New
York’s studio buildings.
In her hand was a letter.
Looking at it, she studied
“‘1 the superscription care-
fully, and then, with the
same intentness, read the
name on one of the doors
before her. Hamilton
Degraw was on the one,
Hamilton Degraw was on the other. Satisfied,
she gave a quick glance around her, thrust the let-
ter under the door, and quickly fled.


1 2 T/ee Letter.

Within, the young artist answering to this name
sat alone, gazing at a nearly completed picture on
his easel. He was not painting, only musing, and at
the sound of the departing step, which had been too
hurried to be noiseless, he looked around and. saw
the letter. Rising, he picked it up, gave it a quick
glance, and opened it. The contents were aston-
ishing.
“Will Mr. Degraw,” so it read, “please accept
the inclosed, and in repayment, bring paper and pen-
cil to 391 East street this evening at eight
o’clock? A simple sketch is all that is required of
him at this time. Afterward, a finished picture may
be ordered, When he sees the subject of the
sketch, he will realize why so peculiar an hour has
been chosen, and why we request promptness and
exactitude. '
“ If Mr. Degraw cannot come, will he send an
immediate message to that effect ?" I

The inclosed was a bank-note of no mean value,
and the name signed to the note was, as clearly as
he could make out, “ Andrea Montelli."
“Curious l” came from the young man’s lips as he
finished the epistle and unfolded the bank-note.
“ Somewhat peremptory in its demand, but interest-
ing, perhaps, for that very reason. Shall I pursue
the adventure? The amount of this money surely
makes it worth my while, and then—”


T/ze Later. r3

He did not finish the sentence aloud, ’but his look
showed that he was in one of those moods when the
prospect of a new or unusual experience possessed
a special attraction.
“ Eight o’clock I” he repeated after a few minutes,
“ I wish the note had said six." And sighing lightly,
he went back to the picture on the easel. As he
stands surveying it, let us survey him. Though a
dissatisfied expression rests upon his countenance
{he evidently is not pleased with his day’s work),
(here is that in his face which irresistibly attracts
the eye, and if you look long enough, the heart, so
fine are his traits and so full of sympathy his glance
and smile. Handsome without doubt, as a man and
artist should be, he has that deeper charm which not
only awakens the interest but sways the emotions,
and which, when added to such perfection of fea-
tures as distinguishes his face, makes a man a marked
figure for good or evil according as the heart be-
hind that charm is actuated by love of self or a gen-
erous consideration for others.
By which is the heart of this man moved? We
will let his future actions tell, only premising that
thebird which sings in one window of his- studio
and the flower which blows in another, argue that
he at least possesses gentle tastes, while the array of
swords and guns that gleam on a crimson back-
ground above the mantel-piece, betray that the more
masculine traits are not absent from his character.
Strong, Winsome and enthusiastic he appears to us.


14 T he Letter.

and such we will take him to be, till events prove us
short-sighted, or enlarge mere prepossession in his
favor into actual and positive regard. He is tall,
and his hair and mustache are black, his eyes gray.
The picture upon which he is gazing is that of a
young girl. Though he does not like it, we do, and
wonder if his dissatisfaction arises from a failure to
express'his ideal or from some fault in the subject
itself. It cannot be the latter, for never were sweeter
features placed upon canvas or amore ideal head
presented to the admiration of mankind. Shrined
in a golden haze, it smiles upon you with an inno-
cent allurement that ought to repay any artist for no
matter how many days of labor or nights of restless
dreams. But Hamilton Degraw is not satisfied.
Let us see if we can discover the reason for this from
the words just hovering on his lips.
“It is beautiful, it is a dream, but where shall 1
find the face I seek? I would make it a companion
piece to this, and I would call the one ‘ Dream ' and
the other ‘ Reality,’ and men would muse upon the
‘ Dream,’ but love the‘ Reality.’ But where is there
a reality to equal this dream? I shall never find it."
At half-past seven (all this occurred in the month
of May), Mr. Degraw left his studio and proceeded
up-town with his paper and pencils.


A Remarkable Advenfure. I 5

CHAPTER II. ‘
A REMARKABLE ADVENTURE.
HE number which had been
given him was 391 East
street, and, though he had
never been in just the local-
ity indicated by this address,
he thought he knew the re-
gion and what to expect
there. Had he not passed
through many of these up-
town streets, even to the
water’s edge, and found them
to vary only in the size and pretention of their long
and monotonous rows of similarly fashioned brick
or stone houses, unless it were by the intrusion of a
brewery or a church ?
It was, therefore, an agreeable surprise to discover
that the especial block in which he was for the
moment interested, was not like other blocks, even
in this quarter, but was broken up by a stretch of
odd-looking houses, which, if somewhat worn and
dilapidated, still preserved an air of picturesqueness
sadly lacking in most of our third-rate dwellings.
There were four of them, all of a size, all of a


16 A Remarkable Adi/allure.

grayish-brown color, all with carved strips over-
hanging the window-tops, and all with square
wooden pillars in front. Though their general
appearance suggested past wealth, it also as certainly
betokened present indigence, notwithstanding the
fact that before one of them there stood at this
moment a carriage of style and elegance sufficient to
prove it the private equipage of a person of means.
Being in an artistic mood, he was greatly attracted
by these old-fashioned structures and felt quite an
unreasoning desire to enter them.
Long before he came near enough to be sure of
the numbers they bore, he had begun to reckon
onward from the one he was passing, to see whether
39! would be found on any of them. He soon came
to the conclusion that it would, and presently was
quite sure of it, and, as he approached nearer, he
was pleased to see that it was upon the house before
which the carriage was standing. Why he was
pleased at this, he would have found it hard to tell.
Perhaps, because the house looked a little somber
and oppressive as he came within full sight of its
closely shuttered windows; and to one of his gay
and careless temperament, any hint of companion-
ship was always welcome.
There was a bell at the entrance, but he did not
ring it. For just as he stretched out his hand toward
it, the door opened, and he saw before him a young
servant-girl of a somewhat vacant countenance, who
quickly beckoned him in. As his foot crossed the


A Remarkaéle Adventure. 17

threshold, the clock from a neighboring church
pealed out the stroke of eight. “ I am prompt," he
inwardly ejaculated.
The hall into which he stepped was dark and
seemingly unfurnished. There was no carpet on the
floor, and if there were any doors in sight, they were
all closed. Feeling it a somewhat chilly welcome,
he looked helplessly at the-girl, who immediately
made another gesture in the direction of a staircase
that rose in a spiral a few feet beyond him.
“ Does Signor Montelli live up-stairs P” he in-
quired.
She gave no indication of hearing him, but con-
tinued to point to the staircase. “ Is she deaf ?” was
his mental inquiry. It, would seem so. Somewhat
dashed in his spirits, he went up the first flight and
paused again. Darkness and solitude were before
him.
“ Well, well,” thought he,“ this will not do.” And
he was about to turn about in retreat, when he
remembered the bank-bill in his pocket. “ That was
not sent to me for nothing,” he concluded ; and,
taking a closer look into the silent space before him,
he perceived four doors.
Making his way to one, he knocked. There was a
hurried sound from within, and presently the door
was opened and the face of an old crone looked out.
Her features lighted up as she saw him, but she did
not speak. Pointing as the girl below had done, she


18 A Remarkaéle Advem'ure.

indicated the room he should enter, and then with_
drew her face and shut the door.
“ This is an adventure,” was his mental comment,
but he had no further notion of retreat.
Following the guidance of her finger, he crossed
the hall and pushed open the door toward which she
had pointed. An ordinary room of faded aspect met
his eyes.
But barely had he entered it, when he was met by
the old crone, and led rather than escorted through
another door into an apartment so brilliantly
lighted, that for a moment he found himself dazzled
and unable to perceive more than the graceful figure
of an elegant woman dressed in the richest of car-
riage attire, bending over what seemed to be a
heavily draped couch.
But in another instant, his faculties became clear,
and he perceived that what he supposed to be a
couch, was in reality a bed of death, and that the
woman before him was engaged in strewing blos-
soms of the richest beauty and most delicate
fragrance over the body of a young girl whose face
as yet he could not see. Some lillies lay on the
floor, half on, half off the edge of a snowy drapery
of soft wool, which fell from the couch, taking from
it the character of a bed, and lending to the whole
scene an aspect of poetic beauty, which was in no
wise diminished by the rows of wax candles that
burned at the head and the feet of the dead.
It was a picture ; and for a moment he looked on


A Remarkable Adventure. 19

it as such; but in another, the lady, whose occupa-
tion he had interrupted, turned, and, seeing him,
stood upright, meeting his gaze with astonishment
and a half-vailed delight in her fine violet eyes;
then, as he did not speak and hardly remembered to
bow, she colored slightly, and with a strange, swift
movement, that took him wholly by surprise, glided
from the room.
Then, indeed, he started and tried to follow her.
But it was too late. Ere he had reached the thresh-
old, he heard the front door shut, and, in an instant
after, the carriage drive away. Strange adventure!
For though he did not know her name, he knew her
face; had seen it once in a large crowd, and
charmed by its perfect Iineaments, had brooded
upon its memory till he had idealized it into the
picture which we have already described as the
chief ornament of his studio.
“ Am I dreaming ?” he asked himself; and he
cast a sudden look about him for the old crone who
had ushered him into the room, in the hopes of
learning from her the name of the lady who had
just left them, but by this movement bringing him-
self nearer to the pulseless figure on the couch, he
found himself so enthralled by the exquisite loveli-
ness of the marble-like countenance he now, for the
first time, had an opportunity of seeing, that he for-
got the impulse that had moved him, and stood
petrified in astonishment and delight.
For if what he saw before him formed the picture


20 A Remarkable Adventure.
he was expected to paint, how beautiful it was!
Never in his fancy, prolific as it was with lovely
forms and faces, had he beheld a countenance like
this! It was angelic in its purity and yet human in
its quiet look of grief and resignation. It had lines
as exquisite as those we see in the ideal heads of the
most famous masters, and yet one scarcely saw those
lines or the delicate curves of cheek and chin, for
the expression which steeped the whole in heaven-
liest sweetness. If dead, then no living woman was
fair; for she seemed to hold all beauty within the
scope of her perished personality and to compress
into the narrow space shone upon by those two
rows of candles all the loveliness and the mystery
which had hitherto enshrined the world of woman-
kind in his eyes. Her head reposed upon a white
silken pillow, across which streamed a mass of mid-
night hair in a tangle of great lustrous curls. One
lay in motionless beauty on her breast, and so
unlike death was the whole vision, that he found
himself watching this curl in eager anticipation of
seeing it move with the rising and falling of her
breath.
But it lay quiescent, as did the waxen lids above
the closely shut eyes, and at this discovery, which
proved of a surety that she was dead, he felt such a
pang of despair, that he knew that whereas he had
hitherto looked at a woman with his eyes, he was
surveying this one with his heart; that a feeling‘
.akin to love had awakened in his breast, and that


A Remaréaéle Advelzlure. 21

this feeling was for a dead image—a soulless, pulse-
less morsel of clay.
The consciousness of his folly made him blush,
and drawing back, he again looked about him for
the old crone. She was not far away. Seated at one
end of the apartment, in a low chair, with her figure
bent forward and her head buried in her hands, she
was rocking slowly to and fro in what seemed like
silent anguish. But when he approached her and
she looked up, there were no tears in her eyes nOr
signs of trouble about her sordid and almost sinister
mouth.
“Where is Signor Montelli?” asked the artist.
“ Is he not present? I allude to the gentleman who
_ wrote me a note this morning requesting me to
come here and draw him a picture."
But she made no reply—that is, no intelligible
reply. She murmured some words, but they were
in a language he did not recognize, and the mys-
tery seemed to be deepened rather than cleared by
her presence.
“Can you not speak English ?” he inquired.
She smiled, but evidently did not understand
what he said.
“ Nor French ?”
She smiled again and muttered a few more of her
foreign words, this time with a deprecating air and
an entreating gesture.
He knew a smattering of Spanish and tried her


22 A Remarkable Adventure.

with that; but with no better result. Discouraged,
he repeated the one word they both knew.
“ Montelli? Montelli ?” he cried, and looked about
him with peering eyes. '
This time she had the appearance of understand-
ing his meaning. She made a gesture toward the
street, then pointed to herself and courtesied. Finally
she laid a finger on the portfolio under his arm,
smiled, and led him up to the young girl.
There was no misunderstanding this pantomime;
he was to draw a picture of the dead. Satisfied and
yet vaguely uneasy, he bowed and opened his port-
folio. The old crone brought forward a chair, then
a small table, and courtesying again, disappeared
once more into the background. He took the chair,
opened his portfolio, and began to contemplate
the picture before him. '
It was perfect, even from an artistic standpoint.
Had he arranged the couch, the drapery, the flowers
and the lights, he could not have made a more
harmonious whole. He could not even find an
excuse for re-adjusting the locks of the loosely curl-
ing hair; all was as it should be, and he had only to
put pencil to paper.
But this, which was ordinarily a simple matter
for him, had become all at once a most difficult task.
He delayed and asked himself questions, feeling the
mystery of the situation almost to the point of
oppression. Who was this young girl? Who was
Andrea Montelli? Who was even this old crone?


A Remarkaé/e Adventure. 2 3

What was the disease which had taken the life of
this beautiful creature without leaving a trace of its
devastating power upon cheek or brow, or even on
the dimpled hands that just vaguely showed them-
selves amid the folds of the drapery that covered
her? Had she perished naturally? The thought
would come. Was her portrait wished by father
and friends? Or was it required only by dis-
interested officials, and for purposes her beauty
made him shrink from contemplating? The pres-
ence of this old woman seemed to point to the
former supposition as the true one, and yet might it
not be the best proof in the world that it was simply
hard, stern justice which demanded the reproduc-
tion of these features, since it was an easy matter to
understand how such a person might be in the pay
of the police, but not nearly so easy to be compre-
hended how she could either be in pay or the con-
fidence of any friends of so dainty and beautiful
a creature as she who lay before him?
The contrast between the two was vivid, as were
all the accessories of the picture he was expected to
draw, to the remaining appointments in the room. '
Near her and surrounding her were fabrics of softest
wool and purest silk, edged with the richest em-
broideries and covered with costliest blossoms.
Beyond her, and outside of the charmed circle
created by the prodigal wax tapers, were worn and
dingy stuffs and dilapidated furniture.
Not an article from window to door, saving those


24 A Remarkable Adventure.

which were associated with the dead girl, expressed
aught but discomfort and poverty, while with her
and about her were luxury, wealth and beauty.
It was strange; and, as he considered the matter
further, he became more and more convinced that
the police had had nothing to do with this display
of splendor. No ; if they had wished her picture,
they would have sent for the photographer, and
there would have been no draperies nor candles nor
flowers. Some relative, some friend, or, stay—could
it be some mere art-lover had wished to preserve on
imperishable canvas the extraordinary loveliness
which he saw about to vanish forever, and so he had
been called in with pencil and paper, and paid for
his work beforehand, that he might not retreat from
the task when he found that it involved mystery?
But why should it involve mystery? Why should
there be no one in the house from whom he could
obtain intelligible replies to his queries? Was this
merely accident or was it design? The one person
he had encountered whose face bespoke intelligence
and a desire for communication had surprised him
so much by the coincidence between her presence
and the picture he had painted, that he had been
made for the moment powerless, and so lost the one
opportunity offered him to make himself acquainted
with the true meaning of the adventure which had
befallen him. \Vas this fortunate or was it not?
Was this wealthy lady of high position and incom-
parable taste the friend or art-lover who had drawn


A Remarkable Adventure. . 25

him here? What could be more probable? And
yet how greatly was the mystery enhanced if this
were the case.
He was gazing steadily at the immovable counten-
ance before him when this idea came; and, fascin-
ated as he was by what he saw, there seemed to rise
a film between him'and it, out of which there slowly
grew on his gaze the face of the unknown visitor.
Not the face he had put upon canvas and which was
at this moment illuminating the dim recesses of his
studio, but of herself as she stood there looking at
him with a most human expression of pleasure and
appeal, startlingly in contrast with the sumptuous-
ness of her apparel and the dignity of her bearing.
A true face, a good face, with features perfect
enough for art, and a smile tender enough to satisfy
the most exacting nature. Why did he not thrill
before it? Why did not the feeling of contentment
which swept over him at its remembrance fill up the
void in his heart and make this second recognition
of her charms one of promise and unalloyed delight?
Because he had seen something more winsome ;
because she was the Dream, while before him lay
the Reality; because his taste and judgment alone
awarded to her the palm of beauty, while his heart
throbbed to what was expressed in this other face,
this other form, which, if dead, had touched a chord
in his nature never sounded before, and, as he began
to think, would never be sounded again.
The Reality—yes, he had found it. As this belief


26 ~ A Remarkaé/e Adventure.

seized him, he grasped his pencil with avidity. He
no longer felt himself held back by doubts. He
would draw the picture before him, but as he did
so, he would draw another in his mind that should
be a basis for his long-hoped-for c/zef d'zeuvre. Not
for the unknown Montelli alone should his pencil fly
over the paper, crystallizing into perpetual existence
this dream of fading loveliness. _ He would earn for
himself more than the paltry dollars he felt burning
in his pocket; he would earn a right to the repro-
duction of this face, which must henceforth be the
expression of his loftiest instincts.
His pencil obeyed his enthusiasm; the features of
the sweet unknown began to show themselves upon
the broad sheet of paper before him.
He was very much absorbed, or he might have
taken a look at the old crone seated in her low
chair behind him. If he had done so, would he not
have lost himself in further questions? lVould he
not have wondered why she gazed at him so
intently, with eyes that were certainly not lacking
in earnestness, if they were in candor? And would
he not have queried why her glances only left him
to travel to the clock, and so, with one quick flash,
to the young girl, and back again to him. There
was mystery in all this, if he could have seen it, for
there was expectation in her look; an expecta-
tion that increased as the minute-hand of the clock
moved on toward nine; and expectation here meant


A Remarkable Advenlure. 27
interruption, and interruption meant—what? The
sly face of the crone made no revelations.
But he saw nothing behind him. Life, hope and
love were all, for the moment, concentrated in the
end of his pencil, and not the sound of opening
doors and hurrying feet could have aroused him
now from the dream of creation that engaged him.
But there was no sound; all was still; even the
mysterious watcher behind him seemed to hold her
breath; and when the clock struck, which it pres-
ently did, the faint noise seemed to be too much for
her aged nerves, for she half rose, and pantingly
sank back again, clasping her hands with energy, as
if to still the beatings of her heart.
But the artist worked on.
Suddenly there was a change in the room. No
one had entered it, and yet it seemed no longer like
the same spot. Something strange and unaccounta-
ble had occurred; something which caused the
moisture to start on Hamilton Degraw’s forehead,
and the expectancy in the old crone’s look to
deepen into strong excitement. What was it? The
artist, catching his breath, listened. What silence!
What an oppression of silence! And yet there it
comes again, that soft sigh, so light as to be almost
inaudible, and yet, to his ears, so thrilling with
promise that he leaped to his feet like one who
breaks some bond asunder.
At the sight of his eagerness, the old crone, who
had risen also, smiles hungrily to herself. If she


28 A Remarkable Adventure.

has heard the sigh also, she shows no anxiety to ad-
vance, but stops where she is, content that he shOuld
take the precedence, and stand first at the young
girl’s side. He was there in an instant, and though
no signs of life greeted him from the motionless
form, he could not tear his gaze away from her face.
“Sweet one,” welled up from his lips, “was that
the sigh of your departed spirit grieving it had left
a body that could be so loved ? Or is life but paus-
ing in these pulses, and will it—”
He does not finish. How can he, when at these
muttered and well-nigh incoherent words he per-
ceives the faintest flush of color sufiuse the cheeks?
Or was it but a fancy? It has fled now, and the
breast does not heave. It must have been a hallu-
cination like the sigh. And yet—and yet—those
lids seem to lie less closely. There is something
in the face he has not seen there before. It is not
life, and yet, surely, it is not death. Where are
her friends? Where is there a physician? Why
is he not one instead of being a useless artist?
With a cry, he turns to the old crone.
p “ Help !” he shrieks. “ See! her lips are growing
red! And look at her hands; they are becoming
warm ! Now—now, they flutter ! The roses on her
breast are disturbed! She is not dead! We shall
have her again—~" _
He paused, struck even in his frenzy by the aban-
don of his own words. “ I am a fool,” he muttered,
“but then the old witch does not understand me.


The End of a Great Ambition. 29
Will she understand what she sees?” And bound-
ing to the old woman's side, he drew her, wondering
and chattering, up between the candles, and pointed
to the young girl’s face. As he did so, he uttered
an irrepressible cry; for in the instant he had been
gone, the miracle had happened, and two wide, dark
eyes, luminous with wonder, stared back into his
from amid the wreaths of those tangled locks Of
hair.


If\
p I I
CHAPTER III.
THE END OF A GREAT AMBITION.
There are sOme moments which to a sensitive
mind seem to be of a dream-like or supernatural
character. To Hamilton Degraw this was one of
them. Never did it, never could it, seem real. Lost
in its wonder, he stood motionless, petrified, gazing
back into those orbs which in the glare which now
fell upon them seemed welling with light. Had it
been death to her, he could not have moved.
Not till she threw up her arms, scattering widely
the flowers that lay on her breast, did he feel the
spell sufficiently broken to comprehend what had
occurred. Though he had begrudged Death its
victim, thOugh he had longed to see this young girl
live, and for the last few minutes had only existed


T/ze' End of a Great Améz'tz'on. 31

you living, though I know nothing of you, not even
your name."
She smiled faintly but piteously.
“ Nor do I know you," she cried. “ I am a child
lost. to the world, lost to life, lost to everything. I
should not be here, speaking, breathing, living, suf-
fering. I expected to die, I wanted to die, but some
one has deceived me, and I am alive. For what?
Oh, for what ?”
The artist stared amazed.
From a picture of peace she had become an image
of despair. He did not love her less thus, but he
felt vaguely out of place and knew not whether to
speak or fly.
She saw his trouble and waved him back. I
“ Since I must live," she murmured, “let me leave
this bed of death.” And without waiting for any
assistance, she slid to the floor and stood tottering
there, clothed in a long, white garment, bordered
with gold, as beautiful as it was odd and poetic.
“ What trappings are these?” she cried, pointing to
the bed and glancing down at her own garments. “ If
I were not to be allowed to die, why this wealth and
beauty of adornment? I am still dreaming, or—”
Her eyes fell again on Annetta and she asked her
some other question.
Meantime young Degraw had stepped back to the
table upon which lay the sketch he had been
making. Lifting it up, he turned it toward her.
“ Let this explain my presence here,” said he. “ It


32 T he find of a Great Ambition.

may also make clear to you what otherwise must
seem wrapped in mystery. Your picture was
desired. I was summoned here to draw it. You
must know by whom. The name accompanying the
request reads like Andrea Montelli.” _
She left the old crone and took a step in his
direction and that of the picture he held. A flush
was on her check, a flush that vaguely irritated
him and made him, for the first time, question who
this Andrea Montelli really was.
“I do not understand,” said she; “ but it is of no
consequence. Nothing is of any importance to me
now. I am living, that is all I can think of; Iam
living and the struggle with my fate must re-com-
mence.”
This expression of grief at finding herself once
more in the world of human beings, both shocked
and touched him.
Though he felt she ought to have some one with
her of her own kindred, or, at least, of her own sta-
tion and sex, he did not see how he could leave
her with no one to soothe her but this old woman,
who was at once so coarse and so repellent.
“ Have you no friends in the house P” he asked.
She sadly shook her head.
“Is there no one I can call?” he persisted, turn¢
ing now toward the door.
She shivered and caught him by the hand.
“ Do not leave me,” she entreated. “Do not go
till I have told you why I was so wicked; fqr you




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T/ze End of a Great Ambition. 35

must think me very wicked to try to take my own
life.”
“ And did you-—" He got no further, for the
tears which now filled her fathomless eyes called up
a suspicious moisture to his own. Strange and
wrong as it all was, he had never felt himself so
affected. “Tell me your trouble,” he pleaded at
last. “ \Vhy should one so young and, pardon me,
so fair, wish to die before.-the possibilities of life
were fully tested P.” .. . .~ _ J. '-;;'i
“ Because,” her. eyes flashed ‘firean'd a color broke
out on her cheeks, “ because I had failed."
“ Failed!” q- r _- '
“I am Selina} Var} i492..- 1- >--.- '
Selina Valdi‘l thejname. It was that
of the young musical Ziebntante who, but a month
before, had stood up before a great assembly of
expectant listeners, beautiful, fascinating, but tongue~
tied. A wonder, with every promise of song in her
blazing eyes and upon her trembling lips, but with
no voice at her command, no answering sound to
the orchestra’s inviting tones, nothing save the moan
with which she finally gave up the struggle and
sank, overcome and annihilated, behind the falling
curtain. Selina Valdi! He remembered the name
well, and all the talk and criticism which followed
her defeat; and, moved by a boundless'compassion,
he took her by the hand. Immediately she added:
“ At least that is the name by which I was known


36 T/ze End of a Great Ambition.
to my teachers and expected to be known to the
world. My real name is Jenny—”
Why did she not finish? Why did she look at
him so strangely and drop her eyes and shake her
head? His expression had been one of expectancy,
and all his manner was encouraging. But she
seemed to tremble before him, and did not speak the
name, only murmured:
“ But I forget. Ihave sworn not to tell my name.
I am Selina Valdi without the success which was to
make that name illustrious."
“ Poor child !" The words left his lips uncon-
sciously, she looked so desolate and forsaken.
“ Poor child ! your heart was set on success, then !
You expected to be a singer.”
“ Oh l”
The exclamation spoke volumes. She had clasped
her hands and was trembling now, not with weak-
ness but eagerness.
“I had a right to expect it,” she declared. “I
can sing; I have a voice that has made every master
who has taught me patient and gentle and eager.
These rooms have rung, just rung with the notes I
have raised; but I cannot face a crowd. At the
sight of faces surging in a sea before me, such a ter-
ror seizes me that'I want to shriek instead of sing;
something catches me by the throat and I am 5qu0
cated, lost, drowned in a flood of horror to which I
can give no name and against which it is useless to


T/ze End of a Great Améz'tz'on. 37

struggle. Oh, it is a cruel fate. ButI can sing;
listen l" .
And with sudden impetuosity, her voice soared
up in an Italian air, so sweet, so weird, so thrilling,
that he stood amazed, entranced, subdued, marvel-
ing at the freshness, the power, the soul-moving
quality of her tones as well as at the perfection of
her manner' and the correctness of her interpreta-
tion. A living, breathing genius, glorying in her
own gift, was before him, and he could but acknowl-
edge it with delight.
She saw his pleasure and rose in dignity and
flushed with power. Her voice left the intricate
ways of Italian song and deepened into the broader,
deeper channels of German opera. It swelled, it
rose, it triumphed, till the strange and shabby room
became an elysium, and the atmosphere seemed
laden with the breath of gods. A genius? She was
more, or seemed so while her voice thrilled and her
beauty flushed; but when all was still again, and she
stood panting and deprecatory before him, then she
seemed only a tender child again, craving sympathy
and expecting confidence.
“ Marvelous! Marvelous I” So he spoke, lifted
out of himself, first by her power and then by her
humility. “ And with such a gift as this yOu could
be discouraged by one failure, overcome by one
fright!” '
“ Ah,” she murmured, “that is how I can sing to


38‘ lee End of a Great Ambz'tz'an.

you; but I can neVer sing like that to the multi-
tude."
“ Never?"
“ Never."
“But, dear child, you are not sure of this. You
are very young, and after some few months of train-
ing you will gain courage and reap a full success.
Y0u cannot help it, with your genius. God does
not give such a voice to be smothered in obscurity."
“ God P”
With what an indescribable intonation she spoke.
He looked at her in amaze.
“Do you believe in God ?" she asked, and her
face took on a strange look, almost like that of fear.
“I do," he returned; “and so will you, when you
have lived long enough to realize His goodness."
She shuddered ; a change came over her ; she no
longer looked so young.
“I have not been taught," she murmured. “ I
have not been trained in church ways and church
thinking. Would it have been better if I had? You
look so good ; would that have made me good,
too?"
The old simplicity and childlike manner were
coming back, but with something new in it, that, if
not comprehended, affected him deeply.
’ “ Are you not good?” he smiled. “ You have
' committed one sin, I know, but that was the result
of frenzy, and certainly does not argue a bad heart.
But good, as man reckons goodness, you must be,


The End of a Great Ambiz‘z'on. 39

or your eyes would not be so clear, or your smile
so inspiring. If you were happy—”
“IfI were happy?” A fresh change had come
over her; she seemed to hang upon his words.
“ Then you would no longer query if there were
a God, but rejoice in the fact that there is one.”
Her face was fallen again, and she seemed to
struggle with herself. For some minutes she did
not answer.
“G0!” she murmured at last. “I have already
kept you too long. Go and forget—" she gasped,
gave one look at the crone in the corner to which
she had withdrawn, and sank sobbing and troubled
in a chair.
He turned to obey her. Something within him
told him that he ought to seize upon this excuse to
tear himself away from a presence so dangerous to
his peace. But when he reached the threshold and
turned, as almost any man would have done, for a
final look, he found her gazing at him with such
despair in her large, dark, limpid eyes, that he
made one bound to her side, and seizing her by the
hand, exclaimed : .
“I will not go till I know just what I leave
behind me. You have moved me too much. If
you are a true woman you will tell me all thata
friend should know, or else dismiss me without this
look of grief which holds me back in spite of my
better judgment."
“ I cannot help my looks,” she Said ;, “ but I can


40 Tim Story of a Strange Girl/100d.

restrain my words. But I will not. I long to have
an adviser, I long to have a friend,—outside of the
profession,” she added; “outside of that selfish
world where all is rivalry, jealousy and distrust.
Can you spare the time to listen, or will you come
again to-morrow ?”
“I had rather linger now. It is not late. ‘See,
it is barely ten o’clock, and I am impatient to know
my new friend better.”
She sighed, and something like aspasm passed
over her face ; but it was an innocent face; he had
no doubt of her, and he listened with irrepressible
emotion to the pathetic story which she proceeded
to tell him.


CHAPTER IV.
THE STORY OF A STRANGE GIRLHOOD.
“I shall not say much about my childhood,” the
Signorina Valdi began. “ It was like that of many
other girls left to grow up in a great city, in the
shabby gentility necessitated by small means. My
father was a doctor and only half successful, and
that in a quarter of the town where most of the
patients never pay, and the few that do, pay so little
that comfort is scarcely known in the house and
luxury never. My mother was an invalid, and,


T lze Story of a Strange Girl/200d. 41 p

there being no other children, I grew up in the com-
paratively empty house a creature of fancies and
dreams. My voice was my great companion. I
dared not sing in the parlors or where my mother
“could hear me too plainly, but would go away into
the garret, where in undisturbed possession of so
much empty space, I would sing and trill till I was
utterly exhausted or my stock of songs gave out.
Later, I took to acting, having seen one opera
through the kindness of a school-teacher of mine who
knew my passion and had accidentally overheard
my voice one day. For even then I never sangv
before any one, and if by chance I caught any one
listening, my throat choked up and I broke out
into a cold perspiration. But this was inexpe-
rience, as l thOught, and I went on cherishing my
dreams and acting over and over imaginary scenes
from operas which I knew only by name, creating
songs and manufacturing situations which must
have been sufficiently crude and ridiculous, but
which gave my voice a chance and allowed enough
of my fervOr to expend itself to prevent me from
falling ill or becoming desperately dissatisfied and
unhappy.
“ When I was f0urteen, my mother died, and two
years after this, my father. But I was not discour_
aged. I had my voice, and, child that I was, I
imagined I had only to lift it in public to have fame
and fortune lavished upon me. I was soon unde-
ceived in this regard ; for, in the first place, I could


42 The Story of a Strange Girl/200d.
-'I_'_-\
not raise my voice in public, and, in the second
place, the very first musical adept I saw explained
to me how much study and practice were necessary
to achieve even the smallest success. Study I did
not shrink from and practice was simply a delight.
But I had no money, and training is expensive, and
so is mere living. I found difficulty in existing till
one happy day—was it happy ?—I let my voice out
in what I supposed to be an empty church, but
which in reality contained a great teacher, who,
hearing me, thereupon took me in charge and started
me on a career which he said would end in wealth
and adulation.
“ Alas, for me, I believed him, and was no longer
hungry or cold or meanly clothed. At least, I did
not feel my hunger or the chill of the room in which
I worked at sewing or copying, or anything which
w0uld furnish me with daily bread. And as for my
clothes, they were so certainly destined to change
into the silver and gold tissues befitting an opera
queen, that I have sometimes laughed, in passing
thr0ugh the streets, to think how the men and women
who jostled me so rudely would one day feel proud
if I cast them a glance or bestowed upon them the
haughtiest of smiles.
“My companion and the only confidante of my
dreams was this old Portuguese crone whom you
see with me now. I had made her acquaintance in
the depths of my poverty, and being none too well
off, had found no other friend who could supply her


T/ze Story of a Strange Girl/wad. 43

place in faithfulness and devotion. She is not pre-
possessing to look at, but she loves me; too well I
fear, for she would not even let me die, though she
knew my secret desperation.
“ But this is hurrying on too fast. I studied then,
long and faithfully, and practiced every hour, when
I was not obliged to work for my subsistence.
Hope sustained me, and the days flew by on wings.
My eighteenth birthday passed, and the day was
set for me to try my voice in concert. Had I car-
ried out this intention, I might have been saved two
more years of useless labor and vain hope. But un-
fortunately, at the last minute, a spirit of opposition
seized me, and I refused to test my powers till I
could do so with all the eelat of scenery and cos_
tume. I would appear as Marg/zerz'ta or not at all,
and my foolishness was listened to, and my deéut
postponed.
“ A new teacher now took me in charge. I was
able to pay him something, but not much. Never
mind; there was a future in store for me ; I was but
running up a debt which I could easily liquidate by
one night of triumphant song. If he were willing
to wait—and he seemed to be—I certainly could do
this, for my voice and manner and style were im-
proving daily, and ere long the doors of the theaters
must open before me, and wealth and honor take the
place of indigence and obscurity.
“Looking at me now and remembering my fail_
ure, can you imagine such folly? You must be


44 T /ze Story of a Strange Girl/wort.

young and poor and have a voice to do it. Why,
this room has been peopled with visions. I have
seen myself in the possession of every power, every
happiness. When my fingers ached with writing, I
have thought of the day in store for me, when just
my signature would be worth gold. Till then I
wanted no companionship, and felt myself untempted
by pleasure or wealth. Till I could enjoy all, I
wanted nothing. I preferred to take my happiness
at a bound, and from these rooms of faded grandeur
and sordid suggestions, step at once into the palatial
apartments suited to the successful prz'ma donna.
“ You can imagine, then, the excitement of those
days, when I was informed by my enthusiastic
teacher, that the time had come for my appearance,
and that after two short months of rehearsal, the
stage of the should be ready for my debut.
If time flew before, it halted now. Never, never
would those two months pass! And yet they ought
not to have gone so slowly, for I was very busy.
The rehearsals themselves were enough to absorb
me; and they did, but they never left me satisfied,
and I longed to end them. Somehow I needed an
audience, or so I thought. I could not warm up to
empty benches; but my manager seemed satisfied,
and fed me with flatteries, and expended great sums
of money on my toilets and the stage accessories.
He was sure of success, but not so sure as I was. I
can say this now, since I have so egregiously failed.
I neither doubted my voice nor my training nor my


The Story of a Strange Girl/100d. 45

spirit. I left this room on that fatal night, calm. 1
took what I thought to be my last look of these mis-
erable apartments, with the quiet farewell of one
who feels her fortune assured. I left behind in it
many memories, but I went forward to great hopes.
When I heard the door close, I had the feeling of
something shutting upon my past, and went down-
stairs and out to my carriage with a different step
than that which had been accustomed to mark my
departure.
“This feeling followed me to the theater, and
increased, rather than diminished, with the putting
on of the dainty robes which another’s enthusiasm
had procured for me. Nor did the sounds of the
orchestra make me quail, nor the voice of the call-
boy; nothing moved me till, having crossed the
stage,I caught a glimpse—0r did I feel the pres-
ence—of the vast crowd that awaited in eager
expectancy for my first notes. Then, indeed, a
dagger entered my heart, and terror, such as the
victim of the amphitheater alone can know, caught
me in its clutches, paralyzing throat and limbs till I
could have welcomed any death that would have
annihilated my consciousness. I was before the
footlights; I was in the spot where I had pictured
myself for years, and I could not sing a note; I
c0uld not even fly; I must stop and face the won-
der, the pity, the disgust, that must be on every
countenance, till Fate should come to my aid and
break the spell that bound me.


46 T/te Story of a Strange Girl/100d.
“It came in the shape of a few stray efforts at
applause, doubtless meant for my encouragement.
The sound—it was the first I had heard—seemed to
loosen the icy fetters that held my limbs enchained,
and I sank, suffering frightfully, upon the floor of
the stage I was never more to mock by my pres-
ence. The curtain was rung down and I was car-
ried away, whither, I hardly knew, and to what I
could even then dimly guess, for my heart was
broken, and my only earthly hope was at an end.”
“But,” eagerly interposed the artist, “ you may
be mistaken about this. Stage fright is common.
Our greatest actors are subject to it. It is rather
thought by them the token of genius, and a promise
of future success. Surely, your manager—”
“ Do not speak of him, or of my masters. Ishud-
der at the thought of their anger and cruel disap-
pointment. I have never been able to face them,
nor never can till I become able to reimburse them
for all their useless expense. As for making
another attempt, that is impossible. I had rather
die! At the mere thought of confronting again
that cruel sea of faces, the blood stops flowing in
my veins and the world turns black before me. I
was not made for a prz'ma a'onmz, or rather, some
thing is lacking in me necessary for success upon
the stage. Yet that success is all I have lived for,
and without it, what am I?"
“ \Vhat are you P” The voice of the artist
trembled, his eyes spoke the admiration he could


T/ze Story of a Strange Girl/moat 47

not suppress. “ A young, beautiful and pure girl.
Is that not enough? Most persons would think it
wealth.”
“ It will not get me bread," she murmured. “ It
will not pay my debts, those horrible debts, that
weigh upon me like lead. It was this thought that
made my return to these walls so bitter. It was
this thought which, day by day, forced me into a
deeper despair, till at last I only longed for death,
as a release from my perplexity and pain. It was
a wicked longing, but it was the only one I knew,
so last night I sent Annetta for a deadly poison (she
had often told me she could get me one) and
believing that the powder which she brought me
was what she said it was,I took it, and lay down
on my own little bed to die. The result is What
you know. She deceived me, and gave me a pre-
paration which merely simulates death. Was it
wise in her? Time alone can tell.”
“Signorinal” It seemed the natural word for
him to use, though every feature of her face and
every grace of her person proclaimed her to be an
American girl, pure and simple. “I cannot doubt
but that the Portuguese did well. I cannot doubt
but that the future holds for you all that even your
ardent spirit can desire. But—” He paused,
affected by her look. From a sad and despairing
creature, she had flashed, as it were, into one all
cheerfulness and hope. The change was marvelous.
He hardly knew the beaming face, the glowing eye.


48 T/ze Story of a Strange Girl/toad.

Had his heart betrayed itself in his words? Did
she see and respond to the passion which every
moment of this sweet but dangerous intercourse
was deepening within him? He dared not search
her eyes to see. He was content to feel her joy and
warm himself at the fire of her growing hope.
“ You do not go on,” she breathed. “You think
we have talked long enough for to-night. Well,
you are right. You have heard enough of misery
and I have gained enough of strength to make part-
ing between us easy, just now. So, good-bye, sir,
till—"
She looked up and smiled. Ah, how sweet that
smile was; how innocent and confiding. He drew
back from before it slowly, but firmly; he had fears
of his own judgment, of his own strength ; he would
say good-night and come again when reason should
be more under his own control and he could weigh
the treasure he coveted before he took it for his
own.
But two paces from the door, a fresh thought
struck him. The mystery of her awakening had
been revealed, but not that which surrounded the
picture he had been paid to draw. Till he under-
stood the purpose for which a copy of her face and
form had been requested from his pencil, he could
not go. The story she had told of her lonely
struggle and disastrous failure only made his desire
greater. Since there was nothing in her history to
account for this mysterious circumstance, how could


An Importunate Suitor. 49

it be accounted for? Were there facts in her life
which she had omitted to relate? He must learn or
pass a sleepless night. Coming back, he confronted
her again.
CHAPTER V.
AN IMPORTUNATE surron.
“ Pardon me,” he entreated ; “but you have not
told me what your pleasure is in regard to this
sketch I have made. Shall Idestroy it or deliver
it to the person who ordered it P” .
“ Person who ordered it? You confound me,"
was her hurried response. “I had forgotten the ~
picture and all connected with it. How was it
ordered and when P” .
He took a crumpled note from his pocket and
showed it to her. By the nearly consumed candles,
she read it, puzzled and wondering, to the end.
“ Andrea Montelli !” she cried. “I know no such
name. It is all a mystery to me.”
At once and without his volition and encourage.
ment, Hamilton Degraw felt himself seized by a
sudden d0ubt which darkened everything before
him. All a mystery to her! How could that be.
He looked at her and hesitated. Never had she
seemed So childlike, so innocent or so pure. Her


50 An Importunate Suz'tar.

large eyes, turned up to him, were full of question;
her very attitude was one of waiting. It seemed as
if she expected him to explain what evidently
amazed her. He mastered his doubts and ventured
upon a new topic.
“ \Vhen I came into the room,” said he, “I found
bending over you, as you lay upon the couch, a
beautiful lady with fair hair and aristocratic features.
She had come in a carriage which stood before the
door, and when I first saw her, was strewing flowers
over the bed and you. See! they lie withering now
in heaps upon the floor. Her you must surely
know, for both her beauty and her wealth make her
conspicuous.”
“I am sorry,” began the signorina, “but I cannot
tell you who she is. I might guess.”
“ That may be sufficient.”
“But I cannot be sure. There is a lady, both
beautiful and rich, who once took an interest in me.
She was a pupil of one of my masters, and though
Iwas never introduced to her, I was given to under-
stand that she was watching my career and hoping
much for its success. It may have been she; but
why she should have sought me out in my despair,
when she held herself aloof from me in the time of
my prosperity, and why she should have brought
flowers and strewed them over my poor body, Ican-
not explain. But perhaps Annetta can. She was
here and may have seen something or gathered
something from the lady’s manner which will help


A n Importunate Suz'tor. 51

us to comprehend the meaning of her actions ;" and
beckoning the Portuguese toward her, the signorina
asked one or two questions, which being duly
answered, she turned back to Mr. Degraw and
exclaimed:
“It must have been the lady I spoke of. She
came without flowers at first, and asking for me,
seemed to be greatly shocked when I was pointed
out to her, lying, as she supposed, dead. She
attempted to question Annetta, but of course got no
answer from her, as my good friend does not speak
, a word of English; and when the lady went away
she made a gesture which must have meant that she
would return, for in half an hour or so she did come
back, bringing these beautiful flowers, which she at
once began to strew over me. That is all Annetta
can tell. Would you like me to question her
further P”
“I would like to hear what she has to say about
these candles and your dress and the drapery of
your couch. It may explain who Montelli is, and
this you as well as myself ought tq know.”
“ True, true," came in a murmur from the young
girl’s lips. “Annetta must be able to tell how I
came to be dressed thus, though the robe itself is
no mystery, being one of the costumes prepared
for myv debut. But the lights, the drapery! all that
I cannot understand."
And she drew the old crone nearer, and holding
her by the arm, put question after question, while


52 An fm/ortunate Suz'tor.


the young man stood still, gazing from one to the
other, devoured by a curiosity that the signorina’s
rapidly changing appearance certainly tended to
aggravate. For at the explanations which the old
woman tendered without hesitation, the young girl’s
head sank lower and lower in manifest confusion,
while on her cheek and brow a flush slowly gath-
ered, which, if it added to her beauty, could not
but add also to the watchful artist’s impatience and
distrust. , I
“ What is it? Tell me," burst from his lips as the
Portuguese finally drew back, leaving the signorina
standing by that forsaken couch.
“Ah, how can I?" was her cry, though her eyes
looked up fearlessly, and the smile on her sensitive
mouth was simply a deprecatory one. “ It is such a
story of—of an, unreasoning passion—of—of a love
of which I was ignorant, and would never have
countenanced if I had known of it, that—"
He appreciated her confusion; he loved her for its
evident depth; but he WOuld not help her even by a
word to speak. This story, whatever it was, he
must know. She saw his determination and sum-
moned up her courage.
“ Annetta tells me,” she began, “ that for the last
three months I have been pursued by an Italian who
has been determined to marry me. She says he
found no favor in her eyes, and that she was sure he
would find none in mine; and so, to save me anxi-
ety and pain at a time when I needed my full


An [mfortunate Snz'tor. 53

strength and liberty, she'had persistently placed her-
self between us, and by artifices and stratagems of
various kinds succeeded in keeping him out of my
presence. She says that, owing to my preoccupa-
tion and determination to see nothing but my art,
she was strangely successful in this, though there
were times when he almost brushed my garments
in'the streets, and others when it nearly took the'
arm of the police to keep him away from these doors.
He had seen me at the theater one day, and, hidden
behind the boxes or among the wings of the scenery,
had heard me sing, and nothing could rob him' of the
idea that he was destined to marry me and make of
me the leading prz'nza danna of the world; not even
my failure, for he was present at that, nor my conse-
quent persistent shrinking from sight into the ob-
scurity that became me. Nothing affected him or
changed his mind; and, while he showed some
sense in not attempting force after this, Annetta'
knew that, sooner or later, he would find some
means of crossing this threshold and offending me
with offers she was confident would meet with a
rebufl that would only add to the annoyance and
danger of the situation. For he is an ugly man and
coarse beyond expression, though seemingly honest
and very determined in his wishes. So, when she
saw me sunk in despair and anxious for death, she
did not attempt to reason with me, but rather
humored me in my determination, promising me an
effective poison, while secretly resolved upon furnish-


54 An Importunate Suz'tor.

ing me with a drug that merely simulated death.
For if she could show me to this Montelli in a state
that forbade all further hope on his part, she thought
his persecutions might cease and that we might
obtain the opportunity for escape which seemed our
only security. But when the drug having worked,
she let the miserable creature in and showed him
the result of his importunity and my distress, he
was so overcome by what he was pleased to call the
beauty of my face that his passion took a new turn,
and he only thought of having my picture painted,
and, by means of its exhibition, reap that fortune
from my features which he has failed to obtain from
my voice.
“ It makes me blush to tell you this, but Annetta
felt powerless to refuse him. So merely eliciting
from him the promise that he would leave me here-
after undisturbed, she accepted from him the money
which was necessary to robe the couch as he desired,
and prepared to receive you, whom he designated
as the artist he meant to employ. That I should
wake, she knew; but she trusted that we should
find you a gentleman, and we have, so much so that
I do not believe you will betray us, even if this
fanatic insists upon having a painting completed
from this sketch.”
“A painting? He shall never have the sketch
even l” exclaimed young Degraw. “ See your
features in the grasp of a coarse man anxious to


An Importunate Suitor. I 55

make money by exposing them to public view!
Never! Not if I have to destroy—”
“ Don’t!" she cried, grasping his hand in hers,
for he had made a movement as if to tear the
drawing he had made. “He is a dangerous man.
Annetta says he is not to be trusted. If he detects
the deception to which this old friend of mine has
subjected him, what may we not expect in the way
of persecution? Indeed, I dare not trust myself to
this unknown man’s mercies. I would rather he
thought me dead till-—"
“ Till what?"
“TillI can fly his reach or so merge myself in
some other identity that he will never dare approach
me again either as a lover or a friend.”
“Pretty coward! And so you will not trust me
to manage this man. I do not fear him."
“ You are not a woman."
“True. Well, I will humor this whim. I will
take the picture and to-morrow Annetta may send
him to my studio. Meantime, may I hope that you
will sleep sweetly, and without fear."
“Oh,” she murmured as she caught his look, so
unmistakably full of suppressed love; “how can I
thank you for your sympathy? How can I reward
you for your goodness ?"
“By such sleep,” he answered. And taking her
hand in his, he carried it to his lips, when, suddenly,
from the doorway communicating with the other


56 A Surprzse.

room, a voice penetrated harshly through the apart-
ment, crying, with a marked foreign accent:
“ And who may you be, sir. and what is your
business here ?”

CHAPTER VI.
A SURPRISE.
To the sound of a scream from the signorina’s
lips, young Degraw turned. Before him, in the
doorway I have mentioned, he saw standing the
slight, dark and unprepossessing figure of a man so
evidently Italian in his appearance and bearing,
that it did not need the hurried bound and startled
exclamation of the Portuguese for him to recognize
in this menacing intruder the Signor Montelli.
“ So, so, we are to wind up with a scene,"
thought he; and instinctively stepped between this
stranger and the shrinking figure of the signorina.
But the precaution seemed needless. At the first
words uttered by the Portuguese, the Italian broke
into a harsh laugh, and drawing the old crone after
him, left the room and shut the door behind him.
Mr. Degraw, surprised by this sudden departure,
stood staring, while the signorina trembled so that
she seemed in danger of falling.


A Surprise. 5 7

“ It is very strange,” quo'th the former, “ He did
not seem to notice that the couch was empty and
that you stood living and breathing before him.
The Portuguese cannot be as true to you as you
thought. She must have told him that you would
wake—”
“Oh! oh! hush!" broke from the young girl’s
lips, as the door opened again and the old woman
stepped in. “I am so bewildered,l do not know
what to make of all this.” And leaving him, she
advanced toward the crone, who met her with a
look that added to his surprise and her perplexity.
A short interchange of words followed, and then
the old woman drew back and the signorina turned.
But with what a different air and with what a
different look. Young Degraw would hardly have
known her face if he had not already seen it under
the influence of various emotions, and when she
opened her lips, she seemed to find it so hard to
speak, that in mercy he was going to begin the con-
versation for her, when her trouble found a tongue
and she exclaimed:
“I cannot endure any more to-night; you must
go and let me find some rest. Perhaps, to.
morrow—”
“But this wretch," he interposed. “Am I to
leave you to his mercy ?”
“He is gone and Annetta has locked the door.
I do not fear him; he will trouble us no more.”
She looked so confident and yet so discouraged.


58 A Surprise.

that he did not know what to say. It seemed dread-
ful to leave her thus, and yet neither in look nor tone
could he discover any inducement to stay. All the
light had gone out of her face, and she seemed only
a waiting image, eager for him to be gone.
He drew a deep breath and held out his hand.
“ To-morrow, then?" said he.
She nodded, sighed, and something like a sob
seemed to rise in her throat.
“ Oh, go !" she cried, “ go, go !" And she let her
hand touch his before she pointed toward the door.
“I will be here at three," he murmured. And
tearing his gaze away from her drooping face and
figure, he dashed across the threshold and out into
the hall. As the'door closed behind him, her sobs
broke their bounds, and he distinctly heard her
moan. But he dared not go back.
“This last mystery is worse than the first; so he
commented, as he reached the street. “ Is the Por-
' tuguese a demon, or—" He did not complete his
sentence, for just then he caught sight of the figure
of a man going on before him toward the avenue,
and convinced that it was that of the hated Montelli,
he quickened his pace in the hope of overtaking him
and coming to some sort of an explanation.
But as soon as his step rung faster, that of the
man in front did the same, and though he hurried to
the full extent which decency allowed, he did not
reach the man nor even catch the car which the
other managed to board as it rushed down the some-


A Surprise. 59

what steep incline which marks the avenue at this
point.
then he came to think of it, however, he was not
sorry that he had missed an encounter with a man,
of whose resources and intentions he could know so
little. If the signorina was all he believed her, she
would preserve herself in safety till the morrow,
while if she were not, the sooner he forgot the
bewitching face and touching manner, the better.
Till to-morrow,then, he would be patient, meanwhile
trusting that all good angels would guard the rest
of her whom in his inmost heart he felt to be the one
woman chosen by Providence to be the light and
glory of his life.
His studio, when he returned to it, struck him for
the first time in his remembrance as cold and barren.
Though the signs 'of ideal life were about him, and
from every quarter of the great room shone images
of beauty and the creations of art, he experienced a
sensation of desolation and loneliness, that should
have warned him of the depth of the experience
which he had undergone since he had passed out of
this place four hours before. The picture of the
fair beauty was the sole object which seemed to
possess any interest for him, and struck again by the
oddity of the coincidence which had brought him
face to face with the woman who had unconsciously
furnished him with the basis for this painting, he lit
all the gas jets in the room, and sat down to study
this work of his in the light of his late encounter.


60 A S urprzke.

It was like her and yet it was not like her. The
features, the grace, the coloring were all there, but
the humanity which made her countenance ‘so
engaging, was lacking from this dream-like face.
“I have a fairy here," he muttered,“ but she is
a woman. Would it have been better if I had left
her such in the painting? No; or I should have
had no ‘ Dream' to match my beautiful ‘ Reality.’ "
And he tore from his portfolio the sketch which he
had made of the signorina, and, with a heart throb-
bing too fast for comfort, placed it beside the paint_
ing he had just been contemplating, and sat down
again to study them and compare.
0 the exquisite contrast between them! And 0
the touching grace of his new idol! Could any one
see such a face and not love it? Hamilton Degraw
could not. Without struggle, without fear, without
' any doubt of the wisdom of such an abandonment, he
let his whole heart go in this hour of silent reverie,
and it was not to the rich and gracious unknown
that it fled, but to the poor,'the desolate and to the
menaced singer, with her woeful past and perished
ambition.
At three o’clock the next day, he stood again
before her house. He had looked for Montelli all
the merning; he had even vaguely expected the
Portuguese, but his quiet had been undisturbed and
his studio unvisited. It was, therefore, with faint
apprehensions of possible evil that he rang the bell


A .S'u rprz'se. 61

and waited for the answer, which was longer in
coming to-day than it was yesterday.
At last, after two or three smart rings, the door
swung back, and he saw the same inane_looking girl
before him, backed by the same, unfurnished and
lonesome hall; but there was no loneliness there for
him. She was within, and that would, have made
prison walls attractive.
“The Signorina Valdi?" he inquired. “Shall I
find her in her rooms? Shall I go up, as I did yes-
terday ?” , ,
The girl stared, looked helpless, and made no
response.
“ She must be deaf," he decided, and was pushing
by her, when she caught him by the sleeve, violently
shaking her head. 7
“What do you mean ?” he asked. “ Is she not
there? Shall I not find her P”
The girl evidently did not comprehend him, but
went on shaking her head, even after he, irritated
and alarmed beyond endurance, tore his arm away
and rushed up-stairs into the hall above. But he no
longer busied himself about her. He was on the
floor with the signorina, and bounding to the first
door he saw, he vigorously rapped, and when he
got no answer from within, passed to the next door,
and so on till he reached the one by which he had
entered the day before.
Here he no longer hesitated, but turned the knob.
The door opened without difliculty, and at the


62 A Surprise.

first glimpse he got of the space within, young
Degraw started back in dismay. The floor was
bare, the walls denuded, the room unfurnished.
Uttering a cry, he dashed around to that inner door
in which he had last seen Montelli standing, and
which, as you remember, communicated with the
apartment where he had held his wonderful inter-
view with the signorina. It was standing open, and
beyond it all was as empty and bare as the space in
which he stood. .
“Is she gone! Have I lost her P" was his cry,
and he dashed from one end of the room to the
other, searching for traces of a farewell he could not
believe to be final, or of an escape which her danger-
0us position with Montelli had doubtless prompted.
But he found nothing, and, moved by a thousand
emotions, he hastened back into the hall and up
another flight of stairs, determined upon discover-
ing some one who could explain this mystery to
him.


A Great Day at Police Headyuarters. 63

CHAPTER VII.
A GREAT DAY AT POLICE HEADQUARTERS.
His success was but partial. The rooms above
were occupied, but only by lodgers, who knew
nothing more of the signorina’s departure than that
it had taken place early in the morning. They had
been told she was ill, and from her appearance had
thought she was dying or dead, but when the time
came, as they supposed, for a funeral, behold I a
storage wagon drove up and took away her furniture,
and afterward, to their unbounded surprise, there
came a carriage from the livery-stable, into which
not only the strange Portuguese woman stepped,
but the signorina herself, alive and well and seem-
ingly in excellent health, if not spirits. They could
not understand it and could get no explanation from
any one, as the house was without a landlady and
none of the other lodgers were any better informed
than themselves.
'Mr. Degraw suggested that perhaps the girl who
attended the front door might be able to tell some-
thing, but they assured him to the contrary, explain-
ing that she was not only stone deaf but dumb, and
that she only went to the door when sent by some
one. It was therefore evident that he was but wast-


A Great Day at Police Headquarters. 65

not to be discussed except with one who knew her
and esteemed her as much as he did himself.
It was, therefore, with most aggravating vague-
ness that he spoke ; a vagueness which, indeed, told
its own tale and caused the friend he had chosen to
consult to take on a bantering tone, indescribably
offensive to the sensitive Degraw. But he did not
choose to reveal his feelings and expressed himself
as duly gratified when his friend suggested first, an
advertisement in the Herald, and secondly, an appeal
to the police; an advertisement was, in this instance,
so likely to receive a response, and it was invariably
so agreeable to consult the police on a personal mat-
ter. But when, after more bantering and one or
more sarcastic remarks, his friend left, he asked him-
self what other advice he could have expected and
wondered he had not thought of the police himself.
For if, as he most feared, the young girl had been
lured away by false representations, where else
could he look for more effective help both in finding
her and in securing for her the safety her defenseless
and friendless position demanded. Yet he recolled,
as most sensitive natures would, from carrying her
name into quarters associated so intimately with
crime, and might, indeed, have abandoned the whole
matter rather than run the risk of doing her further
harm, if he had not remembered that an old friend
of his, by the name of Byrd, had, by force of cir-
cumstances, unnecessary to mention here, been


66 A Great Day at Police Headyuarters.

drawn into the service of the police and numbered
among its most useful detectives.
To him he did not fear to go, for honesty and
delicacy were both traits of the man and could not
have left him in the new employment in which he
was then engaged. So, with the first opportunity
that presented itself, Mr. Degraw went to the police
headquarters, and, asking for Mr. Byrd, was shown
into an office, where he was requested to wait till
that person should be at liberty.
This was new occupation for this man of ideals,
and he began to wish that he had remained at home
with his finished “ Dream ” and his yet-to-be-painted
“ Reality.” But as the moments flew, he began to
be interested in the surroundings, in spite of himself,
and by the time Byrd finally made his appearance,
had already captured upon the leaves of the small
sketch-book he invariably carried with him the out-
lines of one or two heads to match the voices which
had floated to him from the adjoining rooms.
“ Degraw, is that you ?”
There was surprise in the genial tones; an artist
and a detective do not often meet.
“ So you have not forgotten me P”
“ Forgotten you, and you the most famous of the
rising school of artists! Well, no, I have not for-
gotten you; but I certainly thought, and with but
little surprise, I own, that you had forgotten me.”
Young Degraw blushed, for in a certain sense he
had done this. Byrd saw it, but took no offense.


A Great Day at Police Headquarters. 67

He knew his position, and did not expect much
sympathy out of his own circle. Smiling, he has-
tened to relieve the other’s embarrassment.
“You want something from me. Affairs have
gone amiss with you, or you are in difficulty of some
kind. Well,I am your man.' I have had exper-
ience lately, and it is all at your service."
Mr. Degraw felt relieved of a weight. There was
in the detective's regard such an evidence of kindly
instincts and straightforward purpose. He at once
felt that here was his best counselor, and, if neces-
sary, assistant. To him he could reveal the whole
truth, and from him receive just the aid which the
circumstances demanded.
Giving him a look full of recognition, Mr. Degraw
immediately unburdened his heart. '
“ You say I want something,” he cried. “I do, I
want to learn the fate of a young girl—why do you
start at that ?”
The detective, who certainly had started, recov-
ered himself instantly.
“ Did I start ?" he asked, with an assumption of
carelessness. “ Go on, Degraw. You wish to learn
the fate of a young girl, you say—" - _
“ Yes," assented the artist; “ a young girl whom I
have seen but once, but who, in that one interview,
awakened in me so lively an interest that I can never
rest till I have gathered some knowledge of her
present whereabouts. Her name may not be
unknown to you. It is Selina Valdi, or, rather,” he


68 A Great Day at Polite Headquarters.
corrected himself almost in the same way in which
she had done, “that is the name by which she is
known at present. Her real name I am not
acquainted with. She began to tell me and got as
far as saying ‘Jenny ' and there she stopped.”
Mr. Byrd, whose interest seemed to have fallen
off with the first explanation, recovered his eager-
ness at the last.
“Jenny,” he repeated, “Jenny. What a pity you
did not hear the last name! And she has disap-
peared! Tell me the whole story; I am anxious to
hear it."
Whereupon Mr. Degraw related his late adven-
ture, while Byrd listened eagerly, and when all was
finished, looked the more serious of the two.
“I wish she had told you her whole name,” he
repeated. “ What a remarkable adventure !”
“ But the signorina! What do you suppose has
become of her ?”
“ That we must find out. Not that I should con-
sider it in our province to do so, if—”
“ If what, Byrd P”
But the detective did not answer; he was looking
at Degraw very thoughtfully.
“ You seem to be more interested,” said he, “in
this young girl than men usually are after a single
interview.”
“ Single interviews are not often of such a
nature,” returned Degraw. “ Besides, there was
something about her so touching that it would have


A Great Day at Police Headguarters. 69

taken a harder heart than mine to resist (so much
innocence and beauty.”
“ I can believe it,” assented the other. Then,
with a sort of precipitancy, he exclaimed: “ Dark
eyes, you say, dark hair inclined to curl and a bean-
tiful figure. Mr. Degraw, I am sorry to inform you
that we have just received notice that a person
answering to this description has been found."
“Where, where P”
“ In a distant alley-way, lying on the ground—”
“ Dead P” .
“ Dead.”
“It is not she; I know it is not she. I cannot,
will not have it the signorina."
“I hope you are right ; I sincerely hope you are
right; but she had a packet by her side, and in that
packet was a handkerchief, and on that handkerchief
a name was written, and that name is—"
“ Jenny P”
“ Jenny Rogers.”
“ But she calls herself Valdi, Selina Valdi ;- has
been known as Selina Valdi for years. Whatever
her original name might be, she would have ‘Valdi’
and only ‘ Valdi’ on her kerchief."
“I do not think it good reasoning; but no matter
about that. It is a question easily settled. All you
have got to do is to accompany me to a neighboring
station. One glance at her face—”
“I had rather not do it. I have had enough of
such excitement lately. Yet I would never forgive-


70 A Great Day at Polz'ee Headquarters.
myself if it were really she, and I shirked the
responsibility of the recognition. Let us go, Byrd,
let us go.”
The detective expressed himself as ready, and
they started. One glimpse, and Degraw became a
new man. It was not she.
“ Singular," muttered Byrd, “ that they should
both be named Jenny." ,
But, on their return, he was tempted to mutter
something more emphatic, for just as they stepped
into the building, they heard a voice, speaking out
in loud and shrill tones:
“ A girl missing from your school? And what is
her name, please ?"
“ It is Jenny—Jenny Rogers.”
“ Ah ! And how does she look? \Vhat is her
complexion and the color of her hair?"
“ Fair, sir; very fair. Her eyes are blue, and her
hair a bright yellow."
At this unexpected response, Byrd, who had been
turning to speak to Degraw, stared, 'and exclaimed,
in his astonishment:
“Fair? The woman cannot know what she is
talking about.” And, pushing forward, he dragged
Degraw to the place were this colloquy was taking
place.
“ She is an orphan," the good woman was now
saying, “or I should not feel so badly about her
disappearance; and she is so pretty, too, and
so—"


A Great Day at Police Headquarters. 71

“ But fair ?” Byrd here put in, with a deprecatory
glance at the inspector to whom the other was
speaking.
“Oh, yes, sir, white as a lily. There was not a
bluer-eyed girl in the school.”
“ And her name ?”
“ Is Jenny Rogers."
Byrd was silent and presently drew back.
“The dead girl is no blondel" he cried. “ Her
Jenny Rogers is not our Jenny Rogers; yet how
curious! Two Jenny Rogerses on our books to-day
and—”
Here he was tapped on the shoulder by an elderly
man whose countenance at once attracted the artist
by its keenness and good-nature.
“You’re wanted,” was his word to the young
detective. “Something odd has turned up.”
Byrd nodded and glanced at his companion.
“ May I bring this gentleman? He is secrecy
itself.” .
The other, who did not seem to think it necessary
to look at the person thus commended, smiled in an
indulgent sort of way, and remarked:
“If he knows of any one by the name of Jenny
Rogers, he will be only too welcome. But I hardly
think—”
“I know a Jenny,” interposed Degraw, with a
hasty look at Byrd. “ And though her name may
or may not be Rogers, she has left her lodgings
under circumstances so mysterious that I have come
.\~_


72 A Great Day at Police Headquarters.
here for the express purpose of gaining information
in regard to her.”
“ Humph ! and her last name is not Rogers 1”
“That I cannot say. It is not the name she is
generally known by, which is—"
Byrd pinched his arm. “\Ve won't detain Mr.
Gryce," said he. Then turning to the other: “ May
Ibring him along? We have already been together
to Station , to see one Jenny Rogers, and he has
just heard this woman, who has just come in, tell of
the disappearance of another, and, consequently, we
are both profoundly interested in anything which
touches upon this especial subject. I can vouch for
his discretion, and—"
“ Come along,” interposed the other. “ We have
a clue to the mystery, and a remarkable one it is,
too.” And without further parley, he led them into
a private apartment where several men were already
congregated around a slim young fellow of agood
countenance and frank manner, and, as they soon
found, of a mellow and confidence-inspiring voice.
Pausing in the background, Mr. Gryce laid his
finger on his mouth. They at once stood still and
listened.
“It is a short story,” the young man was saying,
“and of course I don't mind repeating it. About a
month ago, I was lying in my bed with my window
up. I live in Sixteenth street, between Fifth and
Sixth avenues, and my room is a front one overlook-
ing the street. I was awake, although it was nearly


‘51, QJ’DJ
aog— '
.. AHOJS .I.
. HOHS V
81 1.1,,


p.
4
r; I!“
'1 w,


".-
Jn uil'





A Great Day at Police Headquarters. 75

one o’clock, and was thinking, as we all do, of
innumerable matters of no pressing importance,
when suddenly I heard steps coming down the
street, and in another moment caught the sound of
two voices, that of a man and that of a woman,
which, as the couple passed under my window,
resolved themselves into words, and I heard the
woman say: ‘But if some other Jenny Rogers
shOuld get the start of me, what then?’ At which
the man spoke up harshly and with great energy:
‘Don’t let that trouble you. In a month from now,
there will not be another young girl by the name of
Jenny Rogers remaining in town. I will see to
them, do you see to—’ That is all, gentlemen; they
had passed and I heard no more. But what they
had said troubled me, and when I saw by last night’s
paper that Mr. Rogers, of Fifty-sixth street, had lost
his charming child Jenny by a sudden illness, I was
so overwhelmed that I determined to acquaint the
authorities of the mysterious threat which I had
overheard, in the hopes that, if a conspiracy was
really in progress against the girls of this name, you
would be able to fathom it and cut it short.”
“ Merciful powers I”
The exclamation had come from Degraw. As for
the detectives surrounding him, they looked as if they
had struck a gold mine. A conspiracy, and three
victims, and possibly four, already known to them !
What a day lay before them! No drones in the


76 A Great Day at Polite Headquarters.
hive to-day. Each and every one would have his
task.
So much repressed excitement agitated Degraw.
Seizing Byrd by the arm, he drew him to one side
and asked him what he thought he might reasonably
expect. Byrd replied that he did not know what to
say just yet, but that if the signorina's name was
Jenny Rogers and she should thus be included in
the category of the young girls doomed by the two
unknown conspirators, it would'soon become manifest
in the extensive inquiries that were about to be
made. He could do no better, then, than to return
home, trust the authorities, and await the result in
secrecy and patience.
It was a hard task for one of the artist's ardent
temperament, but it seemed to be the only one
before him, so trusting his friend whose interest was
now thoroughly aroused, he left the building and
took his way back to his studio. As he went, he
seemed to hear nothing but those two words ringing
in his ears: “Jenny Rogers,” “Jenny Rogers,” and
when a friend passed him, as more than once
occurred, it seemed as if the first words trembling
from that friend’s lips ought to be:
“ Have you heard of the conspiracy against girls
of the name of Jenny Rogers? Two already have
died and another one is missing. They say the Sig-
norina Valdi is an American, and that her name is
Jenny Rogers. If so, she will soon be found missing
also, and if not missing, then dead.” ‘


The Yenny Rogers Mystery. '77
CHAPTER VIII.
THE JENNY ROGERS MYSTERY.
Late on this same day, the inspector sat before
his desk, studying the'various reports of his subor-
dinates. Those relating to the Jenny Rogers
inquiry lay in one pile and those relating to other
matters in another. With the former alone are we
interested. Without attempting to reproduce them
literally, I will transcribe for you their substance,
as I take it for granted that you take enough
interest in this affair to wish to know what discov-
eries had been made in relation to it.
First, there are nearly three hundred families of
the name of “ Rogers ” mentioned in the New York
directory. Of these, forty have been found to con-
tain a “Jenny,” ten of whom are infants, and five
of advanced years. Ten more are married, leaving
only fifteen of the age and condition necessary to
include them in the category of young girls. One
of these died yesterday, the daughter of Abram
Rogers, living in Fifty-sixth street. Her disease
was scarlet fever, and her death was a legitimate
one. There is, however, one fact connected with it


78 The Yenny ‘Rogers Mystery.
that we have thought it well enough to record.
Some three weeks before any signs of disease had
developed in this girl, she came to her mother and
told her that she was haunted by a strange man. We
should have said shadowed, for when her mother
forced her to explain, she told how a certain man
whom she did not know, but who had every
appearance of being a gentleman of means and cuL
ture, was continually being met by her in the street,
at church and on the school steps. How he had
looked at her, not disrespectfully but too intently
for her to doubt that his interest was the result of
some strong motive, and though he never addressed
her, he always had the appearance of being on the
verge of doing so. She was not afraid of him but
she would rather not walk out alone, and after this
confession, her parents took good measures that she
should not be called upon to do so. Two weeks
later, she was taken ill, and on the morning of her
death, which was yesterday, a strange gentleman
called at the house and asked for her. He was told
the sad news and seemed much shocked, but turned
immediately away. A relative who Caught a
glimpse of him at the door declares him to be the
same person who had so diligently haunted the
young girl’ssteps.
Miss Hadden's school having been visited, certain
facts have come to light in reference to the young


The Yenny Rogers Mystery. 79

girl who was reported this morning as missing.
She is the last representative of an old Detroit
family. Her fortune is considerable, and she has
for a guardian a highly respectable gentleman in
Detroit. She is pretty and generous, but head-
strong. To her schoolmates, she is all openness
and affection, but to her teachers, reserved, if not
sly and willful. She, too, has‘ been haunted by an
unknown gentleman, and was so affected by what
she chose to consider his honorable attentions, that
she seemed to lose her judgment, and fancy he was
a lover whose passion it was her duty to return.
Influenced by these impressions, her manner had
grown languishing, and she had been found more
than once scribbling notes and verses to the hand-
some unknown. Her disappearance, which was not
unaccompanied by tokens of premeditation, is laid
by her schoolmates to the arts of this secret suitor,
and they expect to hear very soon of a private mar-
riage between this foolish girl and the gentleman
above mentioned.
So much for current gossip. More private inquir-
ies elicited further and less well-known facts. A
teacher, who had watched the girl narrowly, says
that she does not look for any such termination of
the affair; that the gentleman, who was one of many
visitors on a certain exhibition day, had seemed
more interested in her name than in herself, for he
had asked if there was any girl in the school by the
name of Jenny Rogers; and, when told yes, had


80 T/ze Yeuny Rogers Mystery.
looked with deep interest at the person designated.
But it was not with a lover’s interest, or so
the demure teacher persisted in declaring. But,
whether this be true or not, a large reward has been
offered to the man who shall first discover her pres-
ent whereabOuts.
The identity of the girl found dead in Blind Alley
this morning has been settled. Several persons,
among them her employer and the woman with
whom she lived, have testified to her features as
those of an orphan girl by the name of Jenny
Rogers, who worked in the large shirt-factory in
Wooster street, near Broome. Inquiry into her
character proves her to have been both virtuous and
industrious; but she was sickly, and her death,
which seems to have been sudden, was, according
to present appearances, solely the result of a fright
given by the following anonymous letter, which was
found in her room :
“ NEW YORK, May 25, 1887.
“MISS JENNY ROGERS: Will you let a true
friend warn you? Though you seem at present
unconscious of the fact, you have a desperate
enemy, who has sworn to be the ruin of you. He is
not a common man, and will certainly accomplish
whatever he desires. Whether his determination
springs from too much love or too much hate, I can-


The Yenny Rogers Mystery. 81

not tell; but he has singled you out as his victim,
and, before long, you may expect to see yourself
visited by a fine-looking and uncommonly pleasing
gentleman, who will talk fairly to you, but who at
heart means you nothing but wrong and suffering.
Lest you should not know him when you see him, I
will describe him in advance. He is tall, with dark
hair and mustache, gray eyes, and a polite man-
ner. At sight of such a man, flee; it is your only
safety.
“ With best wishes, ‘ A FRIEND.’ ”
This letter, according to the landlady with whom
she lived, was given her yesterday evening upon
her return from the factory; and, though she did
not tell anybody about it, she manifested so much
uneasiness all night, that the people in the next
room complained of being disturbed. But in the
morning, she was so quiet that the landladybecame
alarmed and went into her room, when she found
that the young girl had not only gone away, but had
carried off most of her few effects. This wasa great
surprise, as Jenny had always seemed both honest
and considerate. But it was followed by a still
greater surprise. For, a few minutes later, before
the landlady had left the room, in fact, a strange
gentleman called upon this girl, with a large packet
of extra work in his arms, and upon hearing she had
gone out without leaving any word, expressed him-
self much astonished, since she had promised to be


82 T lee yenny Rogers Mystery.

at home to see him. He did not give his name, but
he was tall, good-looking, with a black mustache
and gray eyes. He left the work and went away,
looking much put out and disappointed.
Meanwhile, poor Jenny Rogers, who, if she had
expected him as he had said, had taken most certain
means of escaping him, was lying in an alley near
by, dead. She had run, as several testify, for two
long blocks down North Moore street, and if, as
some think, she was troubled with heart disease, her
death is explained. But this cannot be settled till
the autopsy takes place.
The original name of the Signorina Valdi has been
found to have been this same fatal one of Jenny
Rogers.
Signed by different names, these various reports
interested the inspector greatly. Pondering upon
them, he decided that the evidences of a conspiracy
against girls of this name were good, and that the
strange gentleman who appeared in all these reports
saving the last was one and the same man. A detec-
tive was, therefore, called and given such clews to
this mysterious individual as could be gathered from
these various reports, with an injunction to have
him 'forthcoming in time for the inquest soon to be
held over the remains of the poor girl found in the
alley-way.


Horace Byrd. - 8 3

CHAPTER IX.
HORACE BYRD.
Late at night, there sat in a small room two men.
Their figures are familiar, yet perhaps it is best to
describe them. One is large, benevolent-looking
and elderly, with a smooth face and kindly bearing,
but with a curious mannerism affecting all his actions
that at once draws attention and inspires inquiry.
He never looks at the person he addresses, but gives
all his glances and seemingly all his attention to
some insignificant object in his vicinity, filling it
with his confidences and extracting from it the
inspiration which most men gather from the eye or
smile of those with whom they are conversing.
Whether this is a mere habit caught in the long
exercise of a calling demanding secrecy of intention,
or whether it is the result of a deliberate determina-
tion on this man’s part to seem to know less and see
less than he really does, has never been decided,
even by those most nearly connected with him. But
that it marks the man and gives him apower at once
weird and controlling, no one has ever disputed, not
even those who suffer most from his talents. These
are the aspiring ones who seek to compete with him
in his success and invariably fail, though he is an old


84 ' Horace Byrd.

man now, verging on to seventy, and both from age
and infirmity in no condition to engage in the active
exercise of that detective work which has employed
his energies for so many years.
The other is a young man of a well-built frame,
attractive features, good expression and cultivated
manners. He is a detective, too, but neither in
speech, look nor action does he show it; hence his
usefulness and growing favor with the chief. The
names of these men are Gryce and Byrd, names, as
I have said, with which you are familiar, even if you
have never seen them mentioned save in this narra-
tive.
They are talking, and Mr. Gryce's voice is the
one we hear first.
“The reward, of course, is a fine one, but friend-
ship has some claims, and I think the traces you
should follow are those of the disappointed prz'ma
donna.- If, in doing this, you strike, as is probable
enough, upon the clew we are all in search of, viz. :
the secret of a conspiracy involving so many girls of
one name, virtue will have its reward in more
senses than one, and I for one shall congratulate
you; but if you do not, and yet find the signorina,
and so relieve Degraw from his anxieties, why, you
will have done a good work that will always give
you satisfaction. The man with the black mustache
and gray eyes who has been seen in connection with
every one of these girls, but the signorina, will not
be found so readily. The daughter of Abram


Horaee Byrd. 85

Rogers is buried, and consequently his interest in
her is ended; the publicity attending'the inquest
following the death of the girl in Blind Alley will
frighten him away from her, while the similarity
between the name of the heiress and these two other
victims to his machinations will deter him from
being seen with her till public attention has been
drawn from the name and all those who have been
known to bear it. But the Signorina Valdi has not
been known to have borne it, except by very few
persons. With her, he may yet carry on his
schemes, whatever they may be, with seeming
impunity. If, therefore, he is the strong man he
appears, and if the conspiracy, as we have termed
it, has any good reason for being, y0u will find her
in the toils or under the influence of this man whose
name may or may not be Montelli, but who is cer-
tainly a person of resources demanding all our skill
and energy in tracing him."
“ Mr. Gryce, how can I thank you? You fire me
at once with courage and enthusiasm. Ihated to
miss the reward, for I needed it, but if judgment
points in the same direction as duty, how easy it will
be for me to go forward.”
“ True; but remember that I promise nothing. I
only point out the course I should follow if I were
of your age, and engaged in active service.”
“That is all that is necessary. I desire no wiser
mentor nor more disinterested friend. And now let
us look into the clews I have picked up in my day’s


86 Horaee 'Byrd.
search, and decide as to which one I shall follow
first. It will not take long, for the facts are few and
meager."
The old detective showed his interest in his usual
benevolent way, and, after a short discussion, too
technical to be interesting to the reader, the two
men parted, and Byrd returned home. The next
morning he called at Mr. Degraw’s studio.
“I sh0uld like to see the sketch you drew of Sig—
norina Valdi.n
Mr. Degraw hastened to show it, meanwhile over-
whelming the detective with questions.
“ What have you discovered? 	hn have you
seen? What hope is there of finding her ?"
But Byrd was reticent.
“I have discovered nothing as yet," he replied.
“The task you have given me is not an easy one.
\Vere her beauty less, or her characteristics not so
pronounced, I should almost despair of solving the
mystery that surrounds her; but with such a face
as hers, she cannot long remain anywhere unnoticed;
and now that I know its characteristics, the chances
are fewer still of her escaping me. If you were to
photograph this—”
The artist shook his head.
“I have an invincible repugnance to making her
features the common property of a dozen police
officers. The case does not seem sufficiently press-
ing. If you can get along without it, do. Iam sure
her womanly delicacy should be considered."


Harare Byrd. ‘8‘7

“I will try; but it may occasion delay. Hav
you Montelli’s note about you P" 1
“ I believe so; yes, here it is."
“I suppose you have no objection to letting me
have that P"
“ None whatever.”
“ And now for a minute description of this
Italian.”
“ I only saw him for an instant, but in that instant
I got the impression of a tall, slim man, of decided
dark complexion, and lowering glance. He Wore a
black mustache, and had a sinister and uncanny
expression, that made a most disagreeable impres-
sion upon the beholder. Yet his form was‘not bad,
and by some people he might even be called a gen-
tleman, though I should never describe him as such.
‘But then, I hate him, and with reason, for I believe
him to be the cause of the signorina's abrupt depart-
ure.”
“I wish your description had been a little differ-
ent. I wish it had tallied more with that given of
the gentleman haunting the other three girls. Sin-
ister, eh? and dark? That is not what is said of the
urbane stranger who visited Miss Hadden’s school,
and lay in wait to view Mr. Rogers' young daugh-
ter."
“ What are you talking about P" exclaimed
Degraw, getting excited. “ Is there—"
But Byrd with a gesture stopped all questioning.
“I let my thoughts out somewhat carelessly," he


88 Horaee Byrd.

acknowledged. “Montelli is, undoubtedly, what
the Portuguese describes him to be. I only wished
to make sure. Do you think you could, by a few
strokes, give me an idea of his face ?"
Degraw shook his head.
“I fear my impressions are too vague,” said he.
“But let me have that Paper.” And taking the
note which he had previously given to Byrd, he
attempted, by a few lines on its back, to give some
idea of the Italian’s features. He succeeded imper-
fectly, while Byrd, who was no mean artist himself,
employed his time of waiting by roughly, but not
inaccurately, copying into his note-book the face of
the signorina.
“ For my own use,” he explained, showing it to
the wondering Degraw. And taking the other
sketch, he buttoned them both up in his pocket,
with a look that forbade further questioning. “ And
now, good-bye," said he. “As soon as I get hold of
anything definite I will let you know. Till then be
easy. Remember that twenty detectives besides
myself are on the track of the unknown man who
seems to be making all'this mischief.”
“Wait! don’t go, Byrd, till you have made one
thing clear to me. You have hinted to me that you
thought that Montelli and he might be one and the
same. If so, the signorina would be but one of the
several involved in a plot, of which, I dare say,
even you do not know either the motive or
workings.”


Horace Byrd. 89

“ You are not far wrong.”
“ But two of the victims of this plot have died ?"
“ Natural deaths, Degraw.”
“ Natural deaths? Are you sure?”
“ Sure of one and as sure of the other as I
can be, till after the autopsy that will be made
to-day.”
“ But—"
“'Go to the inquest, Degraw. It will take up
your mind and keep you from too great impatience.
I will write you, in two days, Whether I have news
or not.”
But the artist was not yet ready to see the other
go.
“I want to give my opinion," said he, “ before I
say good-bye. I do not think that Montelli is
interested in any one but the signorina, and as for
the unknown, I do not think he is near as much to
be feared as the deceiving Portuguese.”
“We will see, we will see. Meantime, every
minute that I linger here puts off by so much time
the hour of her discovery.”
“Then go; I would not detain you another
minute." And as eager now to see the detective
depart as he had hitherto been to detain him, he
fairly pushed him toward the door.
But now Byrd chose to halt a moment.
“ Why, whom have we here ?” he asked, pointing
to the picture which Degraw had denominated


90 Horaee Byrd.

“ The Poet’s Dream." “ It looks as if you had been
trying to paint Miss Aspinwall."
“ Miss Aspinwall ?" I
“ Old Lemuel Aspinwall's daughter, the beauty of
upper Fifth Avenue."
“\Vell, perhaps I have. Do you recognize the
face P”
“ Perfectly.” ‘
“ Then I am much obliged to you. 1 have
always wished to know my model's name. I saw
her in a crowd, and this is the result. But I never
found any one before who could tell me who she is.
Not that I have made any strenuous efforts to find
out, for, as you see, the picture is not yet off my
easel."
“ Well, I congratulate you, it is a beautiful paint-
ing, but—"
Degraw stopped him just at the door.
“ Your knowledge of the original of this picture
has given another interest to it. Miss Aspinwall—
since you say that it is her name—is the lady whom
I saw strewing flowers over the signorina, whenl
first went into the room."
“You don't say so. Well, I must hear about
that."
“There is not much to hear. \Ve interchanged
no words, for I was too much astonished at her
presence to be master of my usual self-possession,
while she was only too glad to escape from the room


Horaee Byra’. 9 I

and what must have seemed to her my somewhat
importunate gaze."
“ But she is a friend of Signorina Valdi; must be,
or she would not have been showing her such an
attention." '
“I do not think she is a friend. The signorina,
whom I questioned on the subject, said she did not
know who she was, but thought she must be a pupil
of her old master, who had formerly shown a secret
interest in her."
“Well, I am glad to have located this person.
Something may come of it. Who can tell? It is
often the most unlikely clews that lead to the desired
knowledge.”
And, with a bow and good-day, Byrd finally dis-
appeared.
Early in the afternoon, Hamilton Degraw went
out to buy a paper. Turning at once to the local
news column, he found that the autopsy in which he
was interested had taken place, with the result pro-
phesied by Byrd. It was a great relief, for had the
girl been found to be the victim of violence, he
- would not have had a minute’s rest in regard to the
signorina, notwithstanding his opinion in regard to
Montelli. Of the plot or conspiracy of which he
had heard while at Police Headquarters, there was
no mention, the authorities, for once, having suc-
ceeded in baffling the reporters in regard to a mat-
ter which it was desirable for the present to keep


92 Miss Rogers of Detroit.



secret. But of the Signorina Valdi, he found this
trace in one corner of the great paper:
“ The report which was current this morning con-
cerning the death of Signorina Valdi, whose disas-
trous attempt to sing the role of Marg/zerita will be
remembered by many of our readers, has been
proven false. She is not dead, but absent, having
left her late apartments at 391 East street for
other quarters at present unknown.”

Calmed in a measure, the artist went back to his
studio. There were yet hours and days to wait
before he could hope to get any decided news.
CHAPTER X.
MISS ROGERS OF DETROIT.
Mr. Gryce’s intuitions were seldom at fault. He
had said to Mr. Byrd that the unknown would not
be found with the heiress who had fled from Miss
Hadden’s school, and behold! within the course of
the next day, came word from Miss Hadden herself
that Miss Rogers had returned to the school with


Miss Rogers of Detroit. 93

the crestfallen air of one who had suffered a great
disappointment. ,
The inspector at once notified Mr. Gryce, and
advised him to visit Miss Rogers and see if he could
not obtain from her such particulars of her late
escape- as would assist them in determining upon the
identity of the gentleman who had instigated it.
The elderly detective, who was both by nature
and appearance eminently adapted for this work, at
once departed for Miss Hadden’s school, where,
after a short interview with its mistress, he was
admitted to a small apartment, where he was
requested to await the appearance of Miss Rogers.
The delay was short. In a few minutes, a young
lady entered in whom he had no difliculty in recog-
nizing the somewhat pretty and decidedly willful
girl in whose erratic adventures he at present took
so strong an interest.
“Miss Rogers, I believe," said he, with an air at
once respectful and encouraging.
“ Oh, who are you P” she asked, changing in a
moment from the half-pettish, half—coquettish creat-
ure he had seen enter into a woman both startled
and frightened.
“I am your friend, to begin with,” was his reas-
suring reply; “ and next, I am an old man who has
seen much of life and who has a world of compas-
sion for those who have as yet all its experiences
before them.” ‘
She had not sat down, and was standing before


94. Miss Rogers of Detroit.


him in an attitude that betokened more readiness for
flight than desire to listen. “ But you are a
stranger," she declared ; “ I do not even know your
name. \Vhy do you speak to me of compassion? I
was not aware—" Her voice broke; she was too
young and inexperienced to be a good actress.
“ I speak of compassion,” said he, “because of all
griefs we mortals are called upon to endure, that of
losing confidence in our friends is at once the deep-
est and the keenest; I know that you have suffered
such a loss. No, do not go. I have something of
too much importance to say to you to depart with-
out hearing it."
He looked so benevolent and smiled so reassur-
ingly that she immediately took courage. Flinging
caution to the winds, she gasped out in sudden
excitement:
“ Have you brought me a message from him?
Does he regret—" She paused. Ignorant as she
was of life, she felt that she was on the point of com-
promising herself. ,“ You do not answer,” she pet-
tishly exclaimed. “I have made a mistake; let
me go.”
She was not a beautiful girl, attractive as many
considered her who saw nothing but her dazzling com-
plexion and the abundant masses of her light brown
hair. But she was a spoiled one, and at this
moment bore herself so haughtily that she looked
almost unmanageable to the shrewd old detective.
But he was no novice in interviews of this kind.


Miss Rogers of Detroit. 95

Smiling quietly, he remarked, with his accustomed
air of benevolence :
“I do not answer because I dread your displeas-
ure. I have no message from the gentleman to
whom you allude, but I have one for him. If he
calls upon you, as he may, please ask him how many
ladies of the name of Rogers he has made himself
agreeable to, lately; and if he does not recoil at
that, ask him how many more he hopes to bring
into the police courts before he is summoned there
himself.”
“What do you mean?” sprang from the lips of
the startled girl he was addressing. He had
frightened her and he had aroused her interest.
That was what he sought, and he secretly smiled
over his success. “ I do not understand you. Police
courts? Oh, who are you? Not a police officer, 1
hope.”
“You might make a worse guess, Miss Rogers.
I am a detective grown old in the service. But
that need not alarm you, for my experiences have
not made me either hard or pitiless. The gentle-
man you refer to is a rogue. That is why I am
here and why I beg you to listen while I make clear
to you the narrowness of your escape from a man
without honor or respectability."
“Oh! Oh !” came in hurried pants from her
white lips. Her face had lost its disdain, and the
eyes she fixed upon his were wide open and plead-
ing. There was no evil in them, only the shame of


96 Miss Rogers of Detroit.
a proud nature caught in an act of folly. “What
are you telling me," she cried. “A rogue? I
think you must be mistaken. Iknow a gentleman
when I see him, and though I am only seventeen, I
am not so childish as to be entirely deceived in
those I meet. We are talking ab0ut different men
or you are the victim of some mistake."
“ We can easily determine that," said he.
“ \Vhat is the name of the gentleman of whom you
are speaking ?"
“ I would rather not mention names."
He was not looking at her; he never looked at
any one; but for all that, his eyes had a peculiar
expression, for which the pen-wiper he was honor-
ing with his gaze may have been responsible. But
I doubt it.
“ No names?” he replied. “Very well, we will
try to get at the truth in some other way, then."
And taking a paper from his pocket, he opened it
deliberately, then, laying it on his knee, put on a
pair of glasses and observed :
“I am going to read to you a description, not of
the gentleman in whom you have such confidence,
but of another, equally nameless, who has been seen
flitting around a young lady of the same name as
yourself, living, but a short time ago, in Fifty-sixth
street."
And lifting the paper, he read aloud these words:
“According to the description given by such





Miss Rogers of Detroit. 99

persons as have observed this gentleman, he is tall,
well-formed, affable in manner and pleasing in
address. His complexion is medium, his hair and
mustache dark, and his eyes gray. He is what
would be called by all persons a gentleman, and by
most a handsome man. He is above all a strong
character, bearing evidence in look and carriage of
great force of disposition and a determined will."
The detective paused, folded the paper, and laid
it on a table near by. Miss Rogers was blushing
“That, as I have informed you,” continued the
other, “is what persons say of the man who paid
court to, or at least, showed his interest in the young
lady I have mentioned, by hovering about her steps
and following her to church and other public
places. She has since died, so I cannot get her
description of him but must rely upon that of her
friends. Did you ever see any one like him P"
The abashed girl bowed her head. She was
trembling in every limb but she did not choose to
speak, and he did not urge her to do so.
“You will pardon me,” he now pursued, “if I
trouble you with a second description. This is of a
gentleman who lately began the persecution of a
yOung girl also bearing your name, but without the
worldly advantages belonging to yourself or to the
last-mentioned lady. She was a working-girl, but
pretty, good, and, to all appearances, happy, till she
came across this gentleman. He is said by these
_ 789111A


100 Miss Rogers of Detroit.

who have seen him, to be tall, handsome, prepos-
sessing-looking, of age about thirty, complexion
medium, hair dark, a large mustache and gray
eyes. Did you ever see such a man as he ?”
“Don’t ask me. You startle and surprise me
beyond all endurance. \Vhat does it all mean, and
what is there in the name of Rogers that only per-
sons of that name should receive this man’s atten-
tion ?”
“It is not only the name of Rogers,” remarked
the detective, kindly. “ Each one of these girls was
a Jenny also.”
“ A Jenny? You frighten me, sir; or rather you
awaken my suspicions as to your veracity. Is
it truth you have been telling me? Have you
not been amusing me with fairy-tales. I cannot
believe—"
“Miss Rogers, you were sent into my presence
by Miss Hadden. Had she possessed any doubt of
my integrity, she would never have risked the dis-
pleasure of your guardian by encouraging this
interview. You may trust me ; all that I have told
you is true.”
“ Then I have indeed been inveigled into a doubt-
ful proceeding by a most despicable rogue. The
description you have given of the man who fol-
lowed the young lady who has since died, and who
had begun to follow another—”
“ Who has since died.”
“ Sir ?"


Miss Rogers of Detroit. 101

“The poor working-girl has suffered the same
fate as that of the young lady of Thirty-sixth
street,” declared Mr. Gryce. “Neither was killed,
yet both have perished; one from a malignant
fever, the other from over-excitement preying on
an enfeebled frame."
“ Oh, where is my guardian? I wish to go home.
I am afraid of this horrible New York. It is full of
deceit and shame and misery.”
The detective saw she was on the verge of
hysterics, and waited respectfully for her self-pos-
session to return.
“I am sure," he observed at last, “that your
guardian will be one of the first to urge your'
return, if he can'be convinced that you are in any
danger. If you will tell me just what has passed
between you and this man—”
“Oh, very little; so very little that Iam over-
whelmed at the indiscretion which led me to leave
the school just to see a person whose personal
appearance and pretended admiration had attracted
me. I do not understand now how I could have
allowed myself to listen to him. lam horrified at
myself, and I hate him so that—”
“ That you are only anxious to see him punished.
Is not that so, Miss Rogers ?”
“ Anxious? I would give hundreds of dollars—”
“Give me something less; give me your confi-
dence. I will respect it, and only use such facts as
will lead to his detection.”




only too happy, only—"
She paused, clasping her hands in sudden con-
fusion and dismay. '
“ What a scandal!" she exclaimed. “ How can I
bear the shame of it and all the talk? And the
police courts—you spoke of them—Oh, do not tell
me I shall have to go there. Ishould die of con-
fusion and horror. My guardian—"
“ Do not think of that. If you can be saved from
publicity, you shall. At present, we want nothing
more than a short account of what has occurred
between you and this mysterious person in the short
interval of time during which you were absent from
the school. Did you succeed in meeting him?
\Vas he at the place appointed? For I take it for
granted he had entreated the honor of an interview."
“Yes, yes; but I am glad he failed to come. I
went to Jersey City; I, who had never been in the
streets before without a companion. He had writ-
ten me a note—but you shall see it. I cannot keep
this matter any longer to myself and you look so
good, if you are a detective, that I cannot help but
trust you. Besides, perhaps, when you see what
tempted me, you will not think so harshly of my
folly. Idid not mean any great wrong; but was
carried away by what seemed so like the romantic
adventures of some of my favorite heroines. But
then, in books, the lovers are always gentlemen,
while mine—but here is the letter. Look for your-


Miss Rogers of Detroit. 103

self, sir. It came by mail, the day before yesterday.
Ah! how long ago it seems now.” -
She fumbled in her pocket and brought out a
note. The detective’s eyes glowed; he was attain_
ing the object of his wishes with less difficulty than
he had anticipated.
“ All that had passed. between this person and me,
before I received this letter, was an interchanged
glance or so. Ihad passed him in the street several
times, and each time he had looked at me in what I
thought was an unmistakable way ; so I was not sur-
prised at these words, monstrous as they seem to me
now.”
The detective, meanwhile, had read the effusion
which had occasioned so much mischief. It ran
thus:
\
“ DEAR AND BEAUTIFUL MISS ROGERS :—May
an unfortunate, who is not permitted to enter within
the charmed walls which at present hold you pris-
oner, utter one word against the tyranny of the fate
which restricts him ?
“I have seen you and I cannot be still. I have
learned your name and it has become the lode-star
of my life. Will you accept an homage that must
be secret, and believe in the devotion of one who, if
he may not approach you, here swears that he will
approach no other woman while you remain
unmarried.
“ But must I live in darkness and never break the


104 fllz'ss Rogers of Detroit.
silence which has hitherto been maintained between
us? Is there no hope for me, whose only thought
is to make you the protecting angel of my life?
May I not hope for one word, one look uninfluenced
by the presence of others? If fate can be so kind
and your heart so responsive to a noble passion, then
remember that for three days I shall spend the hour
between twelve and one in the depot at Jersey City.
If you choose to pass through the place, you may be
certain that one pair of eyes will follow you with a
devotion little short of that which a saint casts upon
his guardian angel.
“ I have no fear that you will hesitate as to who
has penned these lines. Have not our eyes told
the mutual tale of love?”
“ Isn’t it dreadful ?" cried the now thoroughly
disillusioned heiress. “ But when I received it, it
seemed to me so beautiful and romantic that I was
in ecstasies. I never for a minute doubted the
writer, and as he had always looked so gentlemanly,
I had not one fear of his proving himself other than
the hero I have worshiped in my dreams. I decided
to make the journey he suggested—it seemed a
journey to me—and though to do it I should have
to risk Miss Hadden’s displeasure, I thought the
satisfaction I should receive would make me ample
amends for any unpleasantness which might follow.
How I managed to obtain permission to go out,
and how I contrived to elude the companion given
me, will not interest you. I did go, and alone, but


Mz'ss Rogers of Detroit. 105

I did not find the satisfaction I was in search of. I
got lost, went over the wrong ferry, had to inquire
my 'way of policemen, and when, worn out and
bedraggled with dust and stifled with heat, I finally
walked into the depot at Jersey City, it was to find
by its dreadful staring clock, that I was a whole
half hour later than the time he had set for leaving.
Oh, it was a dreadful experience I and at first I was
so discouraged that I sat down and cried; but after-
ward, I plucked up heart and began to think it was
all my own fault, and that if I had not made so many
foolish mistakes, I should have been in time to see
him, and save him, perhaps, from a disappointment
as cruel as my own. But I was late, and undoubt-
edly would be late if I tried the experiment again.
The distance was too great, besides, I did not believe
I could get another opportunity of slipping away,
or if I did, that I should succeed in eluding my
companion. If I wanted to keep my appointment I
must stay in the vicinity, and to stay in the vicinity
meant a whole night spent in a strange hotel. For
a young girl who had never slept alone in her whole
life, you will think it took courage to decide on such
a step. But I was crazy, carried away by an idea.
I did not give the man my right name—the hotel-
man, I mean—and I did not go down to the table. I
stayed in my room all the time, and had my meals
brought to me, and was dreadfully nervous and
afraid; but all that was nothing after it was over. I
did not care for that ; all that I did care for was the


106 Miss Rogers of Detroit.
fact that, though I sat in the depot punctually from
twelve to one, no one approached me, nor did I see
any one that could in any way suggest the person
who had haunted my steps and written me this
note.”
“ Humph! And that was yesterday?”
“ Yes, sir."
“I see. You suffered a cruel mortification, for
which you can now congratulate yourself ?”
“ O ! yes, sir.”
“I am glad you had the courage to return.”
“ Where else could I go ?”
“ And that is the whole story? You had no other
experience, and have not heard from the man
again ?”
“No, no. How should I, if he is the wooer of a
dozen other girls? He has amused himself, and it
is over; but my scorn and hatred are not over; and
if ever I have the opportunity to face him,I will
load him with such reproaches as will make even
his wicked heart tremble.”
Meanwhile, Mr. Gryce had given the note which
he held both close and careful scrutiny. It was
well written, but in a stiff and formal hand, which
struck him like an attempt to disguise the natural
writing.
“I should like to keep this,” he suggested. “It
may prove of inestimable value in determining the
identity of the writer.”
“There is something else," she murmured,
PI.-


Miss Rogers of Detroit. 107

“which may prove of more use to you, though I
did not mean to tell you, and may regret having
done so. There was a card inclosed in this note,
which, if it was not meant as a guarantee of good
faith, certainly looked like it.” And, with an
added blush, she dipped again into her pocket and
drew Out a small slip of pasteboard, which she
handed to the detective. “ That is his name,” said
she.
The detective put on his glasses again, gave the
card one look, and started perceptibly, notwith-
standing the self-possession acquired by long years
of detective service.
“ Was this card in the letter I hold ?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ This card? This, with the name you here see
upon it ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“ It is another man’s card, surreptitiously inclosed
in the note," he decided. “It is not that of the
person who has followed you.” '
“I think you are mistaken. I have reason for
knowing that there is no deception about this.”
“What reason? Tell me, my dear young lady,
for this is very important."
“Well, it is the last secret I have. One day,
when I was out walking, we passed this man stand-
ing on the corner of a street. He was smoking,
and held his cigarette-case in his hand. As we
approached, he grew embarrassed, and attempted


108 Miss Rogers of Detroit.

to thrust the case into his pocket, but he failed to
do so, and it fell upon the pavement. He did not
notice it and moved off; and when I came to where
he was standing, I picked it up. I have kept it, and
can show it to you. There is a monogram on one
side of it, and the letters are the same as the initials
of this name."
“ Get it; let me see it, 'if you please,” cried the
detective, looking both troubled and incredulous.
She left the room at once. When she returned,
she found the detective standing before the electric
button in the wall, lost in a reverie so deep that she
had to touch him on the arm to attract his attention.
“ Here is the case,” she said, timidly.
Turning, he took it in his hand, looked at it
closely and grew more abstracted.
“You see the initials are the same," she ventured,
and was going to say more, but he suddenly woke
to her presence, and putting his fingers on his lip,
remarked:
“ Better not speak the name, my dear young lady.
You remember that you said, yourself, awhile ago,
‘no names.” " And smiling in his fatherly way, he
put the case in his pocket, together with the note
he had already confiscated, and making her a low
bow, remarked kindly:
“ That is all I have to ask of you to-day. Accept
my thanks and believe that in all I doI will act with
due consideration for your welfare."
She felt herself dismissed and went. Though


Miss Rogers of Detroit. 109

haughty in her manner toward her inferiors, she felt
subdued by this man and showed it. When the
door had closed upon her, Mr. Gryce stood shaking
his head for a moment, then quickly crossing the
floor, he threw open a door communicating with the
adjoining room. Miss Hadden stood before him.
“ You heard P” he asked.
She bowed silently.
“ That is all, then,” continued he. “ You see she
is more ignorant than vicious, and more foolish than
either. I do not think she will ever attempt another
escapade."
And, bowing low, he left the lady ; and in a few
instants later, the house.
On the stoop, he paused foramoment. Taking
the cigarette-case from his pocket, he gave it another
long and troubled look.
“ Well,” he cried, as he thrust it back again in his
pocket, “ I am seventy odd, and have seen more
strange things than I am days old, and yet I am
capable of feeling a surprise.”
And he hastened with all speed to the Police
Headquarters.


110 Miss Rogers of New York.

CHAPTER XI.
MISS ROGERS OF NEW YORK.
On returning from Miss Hadden’s school, Mr.
Gryce found the inspector immersed in business,
mainly connected with this affair. Some new facts
had come to light, and, from the mass of information
which was now his, the inspector was culling the
most important items. Something which he had
come across appeared to astonish him greatly, for
he looked both nervous and agitated. He was glad
to see Mr. Gryce, and, as soon as that person was
seated, hastened to observe:
“ This plot is assuming great proportions, Gryce.
Another girl by the name of Rogers has been found
who knows the man of the gray eyes and black
mustache; but I cannot think it is the same person
who was seen hanging about the other girls; for she
told me his name—"
“I beg pardon,”
was it this ?"
He showed the card which he had brought from
his late interview. The inspector took one look,
stared at Mr. Gryce, and remained silent. Evidently
he found it difficult to believe the evidence of his
own eyes.
interrupted Mr. Gryce; “ but


Miss Rogers of New York. III

“ I know that it seems unaccountable," observed
the detective ; “ but is that the name?"
“ It is.”
Mr. Gryce put the card back into his pocket,
drummed a restless tattoo on the table before him,
and, for a moment, looked as perplexed as the
inspector. Then his brow cleared. Once a fact
was established, he accepted it.
“ Then that matter is settled," he grimly declared.
“ WVe have found our man."
The inspector frowned.
“I can hardly believe it," said he. “There must
be some mistake.”
“ It does not look like it,” was the firm rejoinder.
“This is the name of the gentleman mixed up in the
affairs of the young lady belonging to Miss Hadden’s
school."
“ I regret to hear it.”
“And his description, like that of the person to
whom you allude, tallies exactly with the appear-
ance of the gentleman who bears this name."
“ A most unfortunate fact.”
“ I agree with you ; but we cannot shirk the
truth." Then, as the inspector made no reply, he
inquired : “ Any points to give me, sir ?"
The inspector nodded, and came at once to busi-
ness; but not with his usual good grace. Even an
old official like him has some confidence left in
human nature, which he finds it hard to see de-
stroyed.


112 Miss Rogers of New York.
A half hour later, Mr. Gryce sat in his own espe
cial corner, turning over the new facts just gleaned
from the inspector.
They can be grouped under two heads:
First, those referring to the victims of the conspir-
acy; and, secondly, those referring to its agents.
We will consider the first group first.
Another Jenny Rogers had been found; this we
already know. She was a school-teacher, living
with her parents in a neat home south of Fourteenth
street. Young, pretty, but with a decided physical
defect that affected her gait, she went her humble
round of duties with cheerful alacrity, looking for
nothing more than her own exertions could bring
her. But this contentment, honest as it was, was
destined to be sharply interrupted by the events of
a certain day. She had been to school and was in
one of her happiest moods, when, upon returning to
her home, she found in its pretty parlor a fine-look-
ing gentleman of superior manner. He was a stran-
ger to her, but something in his look made her feel
at ease in his presence and took away the embarrass-
ment which she usually felt under the gaze of those
she met for the first time. She therefore advanced
with a smile, halting so little that he evidently did
not notice that she was lame, for his face lighted up
with that look of admiration which a woman never
mistakes, as he said :
“I have a letter of introduction to you from a
friend whose name you will at once recognize.”


[Miss Rogers of New York. 113

And he handed her a short note written by one of
her most trusted associates.
“ Will that suffice to make my presence welcome,
even if I should bore you with a personal question
or two ?"
Bore her! It did not seem as if he could ever bore
her. She smiled, and two exquisite dimples came
into view. The sight appeared to increase his
admiration. He took a seat somewhat nearer her
side.
“ Miss Rogers,” he began, “ I have come upon an
important errand. I am looking, in behalf of a
friend, for a young person suitably qualified to take
in charge and teach two motherless children. I
know you have a home—"she had raised one hand
in mute deprecation—“ but the offer which I am
ready to make you is one so generous that I
scarcely think you will hesitate, after hearing all its
particulars. A journey to Europe—”
Her face lighted up.
“A nursery-maid under you; consideration,
kindness and love from the children’s aunt, with
whom you are expected to travel; and, lastly,
money enough—" -
“Please!” The small hand went up again. “I
think I had rather not hear. I have wanted change,
I have wanted travel,I need money, and I adore
children, but I have an invalid mother, and I cannot
leave her even to procure the added means her
almost helpless condition demands. Let us talk of


114 Miss Rogers of New Yorh.
something else, for there is no use in talking of this.
She would die without my good-night kiss.”
It was not the girl herself who told this story,
though she corroborates it in its general details. It
was an aunt, who sat, during the whole interview,
in the adjoining room, seemingly at work, but in
reality giving full attention to all that passed before
her. It will, therefore, be understood that I give
the aunt’s opinion when I say that this young girl
never looked sweeter or more engaging than she
did when uttering these last few words. The gen-
tleman showed that he appreciated her charms for
his eyes kindled and his manner became eager.
“I have heard the most flattering remarks con_
cerning your goodness and devotion to your
mother," he warmly observed. “ That is one
reason why I have come to you upon this especial
errand. I am glad to be assured that my informant
understated the truth rather than exaggerated it.
If I only possessed the right, I should say: ‘The
blessing of God falls upon the true, the pure and
the virtuous,’ and promise to grant you all your
wishes, even to the satisfaction of your wildest
dreams.”
“You are extravagant. You do not realize all
that this means‘to a young girl.”
“ Perhaps not, but it would amuse me to find out.
What is the first thing you would ask for ?”
She laughed, she dimpled, she looked lovely.
“What sort of play is this?” she cried. “Tell


116 Miss Rogers of New York.

He did not appear to notice the deep meaning in
all this. Her face was fresh, her manner sparkling,
and as long as she sat still, her form was the image
of symmetry and grace. He proceeded with his
banter and soon, to their mutual surprise, they were
conversing as familiarly as if they had been friends
for years.
The aunt, who admired the gentleman, and had an
unbounded confidence in her niece, listened, but did
not follow their talk too closely. She was soon
startled into attention, however, not by what they
said, but by the sudden silence which had fallen
between them, and, looking up, she 'saw that her
niece, anxious to show a book or picture in illustra-
tion of what she had been saying, had risen and was
limping across the room. The sight seemed to
affect the gentleman strangely, for at this indisput-
able token of deformity, he at first started, and then
showed so much discomfiture, that the aunt grew
instantly angry. This feeling, which was perhaps
natural in one who knew the young lady's virtues,
was not destined to pass away very soon. For,
when her niece faced the stranger with the book she
had brought, he was so changed from his former
self, that he scarcely noticed what she showed him,
but hurriedly took out his watch with the remark
that he had an important engagement, and should
have to go. This change, coming so quickly after
an interest as marked as it was respectful, struck the
young girl most painfully, and she blushed deeply


[lliss Rogers of New Yorh. ' 117

as she returned his bow. But she contrived to say
that she hoped to see him again, even though she
had been obliged to refuse the request he had urged.
To which he replied by a hasty : “ I hardly think I
shall be able to‘ come again,” instantly covered by
the more polite remark: “ I shall do myself the
honor, certainly.” After which he backed out of
the room and house with an assumption of cordiality
which, not being real, left only the most unpleasant
recollections behind it. What had it all meant?
They never knew, for he never came again, nor did
they ever have an opportunity to obtain any explana-
tion from the friend who had given him his letter of
introduction, for this person had sailed for Europe
on or about this time and had not yet returned.
The letter, signed by this friend and containing the
name of their strange visitor, was all that remained
to prove that the affair had not been a perplexing
dream.
The next fact that engaged the detective’s atten-
tion was a more serious one. In the room of the
girl who had perished in the alley had been found a
box of honbons of a make and quality so superior to
what are usually indulged in by the daughters of
toil that attention was at once attracted to them.
The physician especially who had conducted the
autopsy over the poor girl’s remains had shown the
greatest interest in it, finally carrying it home and sub-
jecting the sweets to a test that effectually proved the
presence of poison in them. This discovery altered


118 Miss Rogers of‘ New York.

the whole character of the affair, and eventually
affected the verdict. For the poison there found
was a subtle one, capable of producing the very
effects noticed in the young girl. She had, there-
fore, without doubt, died from poison, and the per-
son who gave her these sweets was open to the
charge of murder.
Feeling that the affair was becoming somewhat
oppressive, Mr. Gryce turned to the consideration
of the second group of facts given to him by the
inspector. Hitherto attention had been given solely
to such girls as had been proven to be victims of the
plot. But the time had now come for a study into
the characters and actions of those who, from their
manner of life or the circumstances surrounding
them, gave evidence of being sufficiently depraved
to make it excusable in the police to search among
them for the particular Jenny Rogers in Whose
behalf this conspiracy had been formed.
A list of such girls lay before him, together with
such data as served to individualize them and show
why they had been regarded with doubt. In num-
ber they were three, and in circumstances differed
as much as their possible victims had done. One
was a fashionable belle, vailing her wickedness
behind a show of luxury and superficial glitter;
another, a clairvoyant, suspected of very shady
operations, but never convicted of anything worse
than deceiving the weak and trusting ones who con_
sulted her wisdom and relied upon her skill; the


Miss Rogers of New York. 1127

third, a well-known adventuress, whose beauty and
whose means were both on the wane, and who, of
the three, Mr. Gryce at once decided to be the
woman he was in search of.
His reasons for this were simple. The woman, to
whom the promise had been made that in a month
there should not be another of her name left in town,
was walking at the time in a well—lighted street, at a
very late hour. Now the fashionable belle alluded
to never walked. She boasted that the pavement
did not know the touch of her feet; consequently,
he did not believe that she would have been led to
tread the streets so late with any companion or on
any pretext whatever. The clairvoyant was a differ-
ent sort of being. You could as little imagine her
riding as the other walking. But she was one of
those deep, far-seeing ones who would as soon give
away her soul as discuss any plan she had formed in
the public street. The adventuress, on the contrary,
was impetuous, and, if as wicked as the others, was
neither as fastidious nor as wise.
Her, Mr. Gryce meant at once to see; but in the
meantime, there was another matter to settle, and
this was: Who had purchased the candies which
had, doubtless, brought destruction upon one of
these unfortunate ones? As the name of the maker
was upon the box, it was not difficult to determine
where they had been bought. But when he had
reached the store and inquired of all the girls who
waited upon its customers as to the sort of person


I 20 Madame’s Little Door.

who had bought this especial box, he thought that he
should certainly fail in his errand, for not one of
them could remember anything about the purchaser
till he suggested that it might be a gentleman of
black mustache and elegant appearance, when one
of the girls spoke up quickly and said:
“Oh, yes, I remember now. He was very par-
ticular as to ~what kind of candy I gave him.
‘ Nothing deleterious ?' he said, as if we ever sold
anything hurtful!"
CHAPTER XII.
MADAME’S LITTLE DOOR.
Next day, Mr. Gryce had an adventure of which
he is never fond of speaking. When asked about it,
he shrugs his shoulders, says he is getting old, and
turns the conversation upon happier topics. Hav-
ing a regard for Mr. Gryce, we should be glad to
sustain him in his reticence ; but, as this adventure
forms a link in our story, we shall be obliged to
describe it, though we will not do so without making
our apologies to the aged detective, whose record,
after all, is chiefly one of triumphs.
As I have already intimated, he had his own sus-


\,\-
\
Madame’s Little Door. 121-

picions as to the identity of the woman believed to
be the instigator of the plot formed against the girls
of the name of Jenny Rogers. To prove these sus-
picions well founded, he took the first occasion to
'visit this woman. It was not easy to gain admit-
tance to her presence, but, by dint of a little maneuv-
ering at the door, he succeeded in getting into the
house, when the first move he made was to push by
the girl who guarded it and hasten rapidly up-stairs.
He found “Madame,” as she was called, drawn
up at the further end of the large front apartment.
She was in morning dress and looked frightened,
but he did not appear to notice this any more than
he appeared to observe that the room was in great
disorder, though it was in the middle of the day.
“ Who are you ?” she cried. “Why do you come
here? What right have you to push yourself into
my room in this way without an invitation P”
“You will pardon me,” said he, with a humble
bow, “if I tell you that I have been sent here by your
friend, Mr. ,” and he whispered a name in her
ear. “ He is ill himself today, and asked me to
come and see if everything is going on right, and if
you can do without him for the present.”
Her eyes, which had flashed open at the sound of
the name he had mentioned, fell suddenly at his final
words.
Turning her back on him with an indescribable
air of disdain, she drew toward the open door of a
small closet and reached out her hand toward a


122 Madame’s Little Door.
shawl, which she took down and wrapped about
her.
“ You are an impostor!" she said, with sudden
vehemence. “I don’t know any person by that
name, and if you persist in staying here, I shall call
for help.”
“ I don’t think you will raise your voice,” said he,
“even though I shut this door behind me and lock
it, and put the key in my pocket, so. You are too
afraid of the police, Madame Jenny Rogers !"
“ Afraid of the police !” she mocked. “ Do I look
as if I were afraid of the police? What have I done
to fear them or you or any one, for that matter?”
“ Shall I tell you?" he smiled, looking about the
room and satisfying himself that it possessed no
other outlet than the one he himself guarded. “I
can tell you many more things than you think I can.
For instance, just what your accomplice answered
you when you suggested that you were not the only
Jenny Rogers in town."
She started, turned pale, and flashed upon him
two very dangerous eyes. But she said :
“Accomplice for what? I have no accomplice;
you are talking like a fool, and like a fool I shall
treat you. Stand away from the door l”
“ N0 ” said he, “ not till you are ready to accom-
pany me. I have no warrant for your arrest, but
Ishall have in about half an hour, if my man out-
side there is spry.” And lifting it whistle to his lips,
heblew a peculiar call Ipon it.
\
r


.\
\
[l/[aa’anze’s Little Door.

Instantly a change passed over her face. She did \
not move, but he instinctively put his hand to his
pocket.
“ No tricks,” he exclaimed, warningly.
“Who are you P" she simply cried.
“I am Mr. Gryce of the police force,” he grimly
answered.
She seemed to measure him with her eye.
“I am stronger than you,” she said.
He drew his hand from his pocket; it contained
a pistol.
She gave a horrified shriek, and bounded into the
closet, shutting the door behind her.
“ Put it away,” she cried, “ put it away, and I will
come out 1"
He smiled, drew up a small table to his side, and
laid the pistol on it.
“ There,I have done it," said he. “ Don’t stifle
yourself in that place. Come out and talk."
She made no answer.
He took up the pistol again, and crossed the
room.
“Come out,” he commanded, and pulled at the
door. It was locked.
He was old and weakened by rheumatism, but he
was very angry, and that made him for the moment
strong. Catching hold of the knob, he wrenched at
the door and actually tore it open.
“ Now !" he cried, and stopped.
was before him.
An empty space
12\
\
\
\
\
\
\


,1/24 M adame’s Little Door.



He said to the inspector, in relating the story, that
he never before felt so foolish. Had she gone
through the floor? Had she evaporated into thin
air? He stood for a moment baflied; then he tore
down the clothes hanging on pegs before him, and,
searching the walls, found the evidences of a lock in
the back partition. But it was a spring lock ; and,
as for the partition itself, it was so strong that it
scarcely shook under his weight, though he cast
himself heavily against it.
Disappointed, but, above all, mortified at what
promised to be a complete fiasco, he came from
the closet, and, opening the door into the hall,
rushed hastily toward the back of the house, in the
hope of being able to cut short her escape. But
here he was met by a blank wall. On this story
of the house the only communication between the
front and the rear lay through the closet, and this
was effectually closed.
Remembering that the house opened upon an
alley-way in the rear, he at once lost heart. _
“She is gone,” he whispered to himself, and
blushed, though there was no one there to see.
And his fears proved true. Neither then, nor for
months afterward, did the police succeed in laying
hands upon this mysterious woman. She had seen
imprisonment in Mr. Gryce’s eye, and fled oppor-
tunely; and all the satisfaction they got out of the
matter was the certainty of her being the woman
they sought.


A C/zarge. I Q

CHAPTER XIII.
A CHAR-GE THAT WOULD SHAKE MOST MEN.
Two weeks went by; two long and wearisome
weeks for Hamilton Degraw, who, having received
nothing save two wholly unsatisfactory notes from
Mr. Byrd, found himself the prey of innumerable
anxieties, which rather showed a tendency to
increase than diminish with the lapse of time. He
had not been idle, but his work had been entirely
expended upon the picture of the signorina, which
he was transferring to canvas. In this, he found
delight; but no pleasure whatever in anything else
that he undertook to do. Even the society of_
friends was burdensome, and, if he left his studio
at all, it was to stray in the direction of the police
headquarters, or to haunt such places as had become
of interest to him through association with the name
of Jenny Rogers.
It was now June, and very warm. He was sit-
ting by open windows, painting. He was tired and
heart-sick and discouraged. The work upon which
he should be engaged stood neglected in one corner,
while the work which alone interested him was to
him at once a pain and a disappointment. He could
not catch the look which made her beauty so indi-


1'26
A Charge.






vidual and alluring. It was in his mind, it was in
his heart, but it would not grow from beneath his
brush. He had an impulse to make a bonfire of
sketch and painting both, and had even half risen to
tear them from his easel, when a rude knock was
heard at the door, and a messenger-boy came in with
a telegram. It was from Byrd, and raised his spirits
at once.
“ Found; all is 'well ; will see you soon.”
He was gazing rapturously at the sketch which
now appeared beautiful to him when the young
detective came in. He was looking fagged out, but
jubilant. It was evidently a great satisfaction to
him that he had succeeded in his efforts.
“I am on my way to report at police head-
quarters," said he, “but I thought it would
relieve your mind to know just where the signorina
is.”
“It will, it will! You are a good fellow, Byrd,
and I am sure you merit more than my mere
thanks. Where in the city is she? And how does
she look; for I take it for granted you have seen
her.” .
“She is not in the city at all. She is with
Miss Aspinwall at her country-seat in Great Bar-
rington.”
“With Miss Aspinwall! She could not be in


A Charge. 12 L
Dr "W. A i~__-..___ \.
better company, could she, Byrd? But how came
you to find her, and have you seen her or not ?”
“No, I have not seen her. In the beginning of
my search, I visited Miss Aspinwall, and astonished
her very much by telling her that the signorina had
come to life. She had seen her in her grave-clothes
and was disposed for some time to doubt this
astonishing assertion of mine, but when she was
finally convinced, she showed so much pleasure in
the news that it was very evident she was a true
admirer of the signorina. So I gave her some idea
of the anxieties suffered by the friends of the mis-
sing singer, and easily elicited from her a promise to
let me know if she received any knowledge of the
signorina’s whereabouts. I looked for no results to
follow this effort, but herein I was wrong, for this
morning, just as, in sheer despair, I was on the
point of giving up my search, came a letter from
this lady, saying that the signorina had suddenly
appeared in the same town as herself—that is, in
Great Barrington—and that if I wished to commu-
nicate with her, I should find her at the writer's own
house, where she had been induced to remain for a
few days.”
“ If I only knew some one in Great Barrington I”
sighed the artist.
“ Pooh! You must know a dozen.”
Degraw shook his head, but he was very cheer-
ful, notwithstanding; life had reassumed its ancient


128 A C/zarge.
aspect, and he cast loving glances at his lately
despised painting.
Mr. Byrd smiled, uttered some words of admir-
ation, and then turned to go. But before he left,
he remarked: _
“ You must not be astonished if in the event of
your finding your way to Great Barrington, you
run across a detective there. You know the
opinion has changed about the death of the girl
who was found in the alley-way. She is now
thought to have been murdered, and as the mur-
derer has not yet been discovered, it is only com-
mon prudence that the girls who have been or are
likely to be subject to his machinations, should be
under the guardianship of the police.”
Mr. Degraw assented, and the two young men
parted; Mr. Byrd being anxious to respond to a
summons he had received from the inspector, and
the artist being equally eager to put into execution
a plan that had suggested itself to him just as Mr.
Byrd was leaving. This referred to the possibility
of getting a certain brother artist of his to join him
in a sketching tour among the Berkshire Hills.
There had been some talk of such a thing the year
before, but it had fallen through. This time he was
determined upon re-opening the subject and bring it
to a definite conclusion. He, therefore, soon fol-
lowed Byrd into the street, and before nightfall so
succeeded in infusing his own enthusiasm into the
mind of his friend that he procured from him a


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THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
ASTOR, tenor AND
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A Ckarge. , 1

promise to undertake the expedition at once. Elated
and gay with hope, the light-hearted artist returned
home. Life, earth and nature seemed changed.
He sang as he bounded up the stairs leading to his
room, and the sound of his cheerful tones seemed to
shake the great building and lend sunshine to its
somewhat dismal halls. But he did not sing long.
As he reached the floor where his own room was
situated, he perceived two men standing like a
couple of shadows before'his‘door, and the surprise
chilled his blood and hushed h'is-g'ayety, for the face
of one was the face 'of ‘Byrd,"but so changed from
what it had been a few hours before, that he would
' scarcely have known; it“ if he had not recognized in
his companion the‘famous ‘Mr‘. Gryce, who had been
introduced to him at police headquarters.
At his appearance, both of these persons turned,
and for once it was the older detective who came
the nearer to meeting his eye.
“ Mr. Degraw, I believe,” said he.
“ The same,” returned the artist. “ Will you come
in ?” And he hastened to unlock the door, from
which they had momentarily stepped aside. “No
bad news, I hope ?” he murmured, as he brushed by
Byrd.
But the young detective forbore to reply. vHe
was evidently not in love with his errand and pre-
ferred to preserve a non-committal silence. Mr.
Gryce, on the contrary, was alert and at his ease.
He cast admiring glances over the studio and paused


J
5 Master of the Situation.

I

before the painting of “A Poet’s Dream” with
hearty appreciation in every feature. But he lost
no time.
“Mr. Degraw,’ said he, “we have come upon a
disagreeable errand. I am charged,” and his eye
left the picture, though it did not travel to the
artist’s face, “ with a warrant for your arrest !”
“ Arrest?" The artist laughed ; what ridiculous
joke was this? ~
“I fear you do not understand,” observed the
detective, gravely. “The charge is murder, and
here is my warrant!”
’

CHAPTER XIV.
MASTER OF THE SITUATION.
There are some blows that fall with such sudden-
ness that they daze the' faculties and make the
recipient of them seem unfeeling. Such a one was
this. As the detective took from his pocketa folded
paper, Mr. Degraw stared at him utterly unmoved,
and when the document was thrust into his hand, he
opened it and surveyed its contents as if he were
obeying the beck of a friend in a matter in which he
possessed no personal interest. But at the sight of


Master of the Situation. r
u

his name, with the official signature beneath it, be
flushed, and tossing the paper back, cried, hastily :
“This is too much!” and glanced at Byrd, as if
still influenced by the idea that it was all a joke at
which he had the right to become a trifle impatient.
“ It may prove too much,” responded Mr. Gryce.
“ So serious a charge is not made without proof to
back it. You are-in thehands of the police, sir. Is
there anything you would like to do before going
with us ?”
Then Mr. Degraw turned pale. .
“ Byrd I” he cried, “ what does this mean? What
has happened? Is any one dead or am I under the
influence of some vile nightmare?”
“Yes,” assented the detective, “ some one is dead.
A young and innocent girl, who trusted you—”
“ Oh I” exclaimed the artist, turning with irrepres-
sible anxiety toward Byrd, “ has anything happened
to the signorina ?"
It was said with so much feeling and with such a
frank disregard of appearances, that Mr. Gryce
insensibly softened toward the antique lamp he was
at that moment considering. As for Mr. Byrd, he
flushed and answered, gravely: '
“ I have received no further news from Great Bar-
rington since seeing you this afternoon ;” and turned
away before he had finished speaking, as if he felt
it painful even to address the artist.
Mr. Degraw may have noticed this expression of


34 [Master of tke Situation.

reluctance, but, if he did, he did not show it. On
the contrary, he immediately burst out:
“Then of whom are you speaking? Iknow no
young girl.”
“ Do you not know Jenny Rogers?”
It was Mr. Gryce who spoke.
The artist shivered. “Jenny Rogers?” he re-
peated.
“Yes,” pursued the other; “she seems to have
known you.”
The artist looked dazed.
“Not the Jenny Rogers in whom you have pro-
fessed such deep interest,” proceeded the detective,
gravely, “ but a more defenseless girl, because a
more friendless and ignorant one. It is in her regard
you are arrested. So much I feel at liberty to say,
but no more. As for yourself, you need say nothing.
Silence commits no one, but speech is not always so
safe.”
“But silence is cowardice in an innocent man, and
nothing can ever make me keep still over an outrage
which has no excuse in fact. I commit murder and
upon an innocent girl ! Why, your own man Byrd
will tell you that it is an accusation too ridiculous to
be seriously considered. Even if I knew the girl,
which I do not, for I take it for granted that you
mean the one who perished in the blind-alley,I have
had no reason for injuring her or any one. You
might as well arrest the first man you chanced to


Master of the Situation. I 35

meet; it would not be any more unreasonable or
absurd !"
“ There is where you make a mistake," interjected
the other. “The first man we chanced to meet
would not, in all probability, bear the somewhat
unusual and striking name of Hamilton Degraw.”
“ And what if he did not? What has my name
got to do with this matter ?”
“A great deal. You had better come with us,
Mr. Degraw. Perhaps you can convince the magis-
trate that you have been arrested under a false
charge. If you can, I shall be the first to congratu-
late you, for you certainly paint most exquisite
pictures.”
“The magistrate! Well, let us go to the magis-
trate. I ask nothing more than a sensible man to
'talk to. Murder! I could be angry if I were not
so much astonished at the senseless officiousness of
a police who could arrest me on such a charge as
this.”
Whether Mr. Gryce secretly believed in his vic-
tim’s innocence, or whether he was disposed to show
one of so much talent every consideration in his
power, he not only managed to allow him to pass
seemingly unattended through the streets, but took
him down to police headquarters, instead of to a
magistrate, as he had threatened. Here he found
the inspector, and bringing the two together, he
remarked in excuse :
“ Here is Mr. Degraw, sir. He so utterly scouts


I 36 Master of t/ze Situation.

the idea of his being in any way answerable to the
charge made against him, and is so ready to give any
explanation we may require, that I have brought him
to you instead of to a magistrate. Have I done
right, sir ?”
The inspector looked at young Degraw, who bore
his regard so frankly that he at once inspired confi-
dence.
“We will see,” he returned. “ If Mr. Degraw can
answer all our questions satisfactorily, why, it will
be a great point gained, of course. But we do not
require him to speak at all ; we only give him liberty
to do so.”
“ Good,” ejaculated the artist. “ I am only too
ready. First, then, why do you accuse me of mur-
dering a girl whom I never saw, nor of whose exist-
ence was I even aware, till Iheard of her death, here
on this very spot at the time I came to see Mr. Byrd
on a matter utterly disconnected with this subject?"
“ It is a direct question, and I will answer it directly.
“7e charge you with her murder, because you
alone, of all the men in town, answer to the name and
appearance of the person who for the last three
months has been hovering about the steps not only
of this girl, but of others bearing the simple name of
Jenny Rogers.”
“I do? Impossible!”
“ Not at all. You certainly have made the
acquaintance of one such person, have you not?”
“ The signorina.”


Master of t/ze Situation. 137

“Called ‘ the signorina.’ ”
“Yes, yes! but she—”
“Oh, I know the story; Byrd, here, has been
forced to tell me; a very improbable story, by the
way, so improbable, that even an old dealer in
mysteries like myself has ventured to question its
facts, and believe only in your extreme desire to
recover traces of the woman who has seemingly fled
from you.”
Mr. Degraw drew back astonished. Could his
interest in the lovely singer be viewed in this way?
He looked at Byrd, and felt relieved to catch a
gleam of the old confidence in that officer’s friendly
eyes.
“‘ But,” cried he, “ I can substantiate this improba-
ble story, both by written evidence and competent
witnesses.”
“ You can?”
“Yes, but before doing so, let me know what
excuse you have for saying that a person of my
name and appearance has been seen in connection
with these various young girls.”
The inspector hesitated, but not long. There was
truth in the artist’s eye and he was glad to recog_
. nize it.
“ Mr. Degraw,” said he, “it is not usual for us to
give so much advantage to a man charged with a
crime as to tell him the reasons for his arrest. But
I am willing, in consideration of your name, which
is rapidly growing illustrious in the art you have


138 Master of the Situation.

chosen, to lay before you these facts. First: the
gentleman who haunted the steps of the Miss
Rogers who attends Miss Hadden’s school wrote
her a letter, which, if not signed by his name, con-
tained a card which revealed it, and that name was
yours, ‘ Hamilton Degraw.’ Secondly: lest you
should argue that this card carried no weight with
it, as it might be a stolen one introduced into this
communication by the unprincipled author of the
same, I will add that some days previous to its
receipt this same young lady was walking in the
street and saw the gentleman who was supposed to
have written this letter drop his cigarette-case. As
he did not perceive that he had done this, she had
the opportunity of picking it up. She did so, and
behold! upon one side of this cigarette-case a mono-
gram was inscribed, the letters of which are undeni-
ably an ‘ H ’ and a ‘ D.’ Thirdly: we have in our
possession another letter, written by a gentleman of
this city to a different Jenny Rogers, in which a Mr.
Hamilton Degraw is introduced to her notice. And
this letter was carried to her by a person of similar
characteristics to your own, as was the box of hon-
hons received by the girl who was supposed to have
died from the poison which had been infused into.
them; but you will say no man can have a monopoly
upon any one name, nor are you the only person in
the town who can answer to the general description
of tall form and easy manners, black mustache and
gray eyes. This is true; but it is strange to have


[Ilaster of the Situation. I39

them united, and that in the person of one who does
not deny that he possesses an intense interest in one
of the unfortunates who bear this fatal name.”
“ It may be strange, but the world is full of
strange things. I know a man who went from New
York to San Francisco, and there, out of all the
women who inhabited that town, made the acquain-
ance and married a girl who was by blood his own
sister, though he did not know it and never could
understand why the announcement of his marriage
affected his father to such an extent as to drive him
into a speedy grave. Is not that a stranger fact
than this ?”
“Perhaps; but—'T
“ I know there is a conspiracy against girls by the
name of Jenny Rogers ; but how came I to know it?
By hearing it spoken of here. Byrd can testify to
that.”
“ And I,” spoke up Mr. Gryce.
“The question is: Was that the first you heard
of it ?" quoth the inspector.
“No; the question is: Am I the man who has
been seen in connection with these innocent girls?
I swear I am not, and I expect to be able to prove
it. Have you any specimens of his handwriting
here?”
Mr. Gryce produced the letter given him by the
Detroit heiress. -
“ COmpare it with this memorandum I wrote this


140 Master of tile Situation.

morning,” urged the artist, tearing a leaf from his
note-book and handing it to them.
“There is but little similarity,” adjudged the
inspector.
“ But this letter to Miss Rogers is manifestly in a
disguised handwriting,” objected Mr. Gryce.
“It is immaterial," quoth Mr. Degraw. “ Any
witness who saw the Writer will at once tell you
upon viewing my face that 1 am not he."
“ You are willing to submit to this test P"
“Of course; why else do I insist upon my inno- '
cence ?” '
The smile he gave them was irresistible: They
all three showed the influence it had upon them, and
the inspector, looking at Mr. Byrd, made a quick
and meaning gesture.
The detective seeing it, nodded and went toward
the door, but was stopped on his way out by the
artist saying, forcibly :
“ I shall not be satisfied unless you bring witnesses
also who can prove I am not the gentleman who
carried letters of introduction to the Miss Rogers
you have alluded to, nor the person who bought
bonbans which are said to have been poisoned. I
desire a complete justification and you can give it
to me.”
“We shall be only too happy,” returned the
inspector, and gave Byrd a second look, which sent
him speedily out.
“ It will be some time before these persons can be


Master of the Situation. I4I

got together,” observed the inspector, as the door
closed upon the youthful detective. “ Will you sit
down, Mr. Degraw ?”
“ With pleasure, sir,” rejoined the artist. He did
not notice that his chair was so placed as to be in
easy view from the open door, but if he had he
would have taken it even with greater alacrity.
Mr. Gryce having business to attend to, soon
went out, and presently the inspector followed him.
The artist was left alone, but this did not disturb
him. Nothing seemingly disturbed him, though
men came and more than one curious face looked
into the door. At length the inspector returned.
He was beaming, and held out a congratulatory
hand.
“It is all right, sir," said he. “ You are not the
man, and you are at perfect liberty to return
home.” _
The artist bowed with unmoved self-possession.
“ Do you mean,” said he, “that I have been seen
by the witnesses I suggested?”
“ I do.”
“And that they all unite in convincing you that I
am neither the man who made the trouble at Miss
Hadden’s school, nor he who bought the deadly
honhons, nor even the Mr. Degraw who brought
letters of introduction to the young lady who gave
you my name ?"
“Yes, sir.”
“ Then I depart satisfied. You have confounded


I42 Friends.
me with some one who possesses a similar name and
also owns a like complexion. When you have found
this man, please let me see him. It is all the repara-
tion I ask for a mistake which possibly was not with-
out its excuse.”
He bowed, and passed quietly out. It had been
for him an anxious two hours, little as he had
shown it.
CHAPTER XV.
FRIEN-DS.
In a summer-house, half covered with verdure,
sat two beautiful women; one with a noble poise of
head, a gracious and dignified manner, regular
features and a womanly expression; the other with
slighter proportions, but with a strange, unearthly
sweetness in her look and tone that went at once to
the heart and awakened its deepest emotions. The
former was blonde; the latter of a fair complexion,
but with an aureole of dark hair, and eyes that were
large, black and brilliant. They sat side by side,
the violet dress of the one mingling with the white
garments of the other; and to neither could a man
have said “ No,” had the language of their lips been
of entreaty or the glance of their eyes an invitation


Friends. 14 3

or appeal. Miss Aspinwall was the younger of the
two, but she looked by three years the senior of her
more delicate and childlike companion. They are
talking. Shall we listen to what they say?
“ And you cannot sing to me—to me who over-
heard you once at the signor’s and was so irresisti-
bly moved and charmed that I stood outside the
door with my hands clasped and my breath hushed,
thinking I had chanced upon the performance of
some great prima donna .5’”
“I might sing for you if I thought we were alone
and none of your many guests were hidden
behind the curtains or portieres. Indeed, I know
that I could sing for you, the one friend who has
smiled upon me in my misfortune and opened her
doors to shelter my defenseless and unprotected
head. Oh, I am grateful to you! I am so grate-
ful that I would be willing to do much more than
sing for you, should chance ever put it in my
power.” '
“ Your company is all that I ask, dear signorina.
Since that night when your hopes came to such a
disastrous end, I have cherished but one wish, and
that was to open my arms in comfort to you. But
a strange timidity held me back. Ifeared to seem
intrusive. I remembered that we had never spoken
and dreaded your first look of astonishment and
displeasure. And when at last I did overcome my
fears sufficiently to call upon you in your home, you
can imagine my self-reproach at finding I was too


1 44 Friends.

late; that you were, as I believed, dead, and thus
removed forever from my sympathy and love. Bit-
ter regret overwhelmed me, and I vowed then, while
strewing flowers above your silent breast, that in
future, nothing should ever hold me back from those
in distress but their own refusal to receive me; and
when I heard that appearances had been deceitful,
and that when I saw you, you had been only
lying in a trance, I felt as if Providence had heard
my prayer and that I should yet have the oppor-
tunity of telling you of the love which Ifelt for
you.” I
“ Ah!" sighed the signorina, while the tears
welled up in her eyes, “I am unworthy of such
interest; I am unworthy of your care. Do not
love me so well. You may be disappointed in me.”
Miss Aspinwall smiled.
“ You have not disappointed me yet,” she asserted.
“As for the future, we will be such friends, that
regret shall not find room to come in between us.
Do you not think you can love me, trust me, rest
with me and be happy ?”
The signorina’s eyes, which had been lowered to
the ground, rose slowly till they rested upon Miss
Aspinwall’s face. There was trouble in them, but
there was gratitude also, and a sudden light that
seemed to come from an awakening soul.
“Love you?” she repeated. “Ah, there is no
doubt but that I can love you. But—” she added,
in another moment, with a restless change of man-


Friends. 145

ner, “ did you not think it strange when you found
me on the platform at this place, alone and without
apparent purpose P”
“No, for I knew that Providence had led you
to me.”
The look which had filled the signorina’s eyes,
when Hamilton Degraw spoke to her of God,
re-appeared in them at these words of her generous-
hearted friend. But she did not let it become visible
as she had before, but turned her face away toward
the wide stretch of beautifully undulating country
which lay before them.
“ Perhaps that is true,” she assented, but there was
not so much trust as fear in her tones. “ I am sure,”
she went on in haste, as if anxious to cover up any
momentary disappointment which might have been
occasioned by her manner, “ that if you knew my
position you would think Ineeded a friend. Iam
not only without an adviser, but I am threatened by
a danger—”
“ I know, I know.”
“ You know ?”
“Yes. You will pardon me, signorina, but—"
“ Don’t call mev ‘Signorina'; call me ‘ Jenny.”
That is my true name, and I should like to hear it
from your lips."
“ You shall. I know, then, Jenny, that you have
reason for dread. That because of this Very name,
you feel that you have reason to fear. But you Will
be safe here. No one shall know that you possess


146 Friends.


this name, which just now seems to be the harbinger
Of persecution and peril. Besides—”
“ But I would rather not conceal the fact that it is
mine. There is a cowardice in doing so which is
not agreeable to me. Perhaps, because 1 am the
victim of another cowardice which I cannot sup~
press. Since I have failed as a singer, the word
‘signorina’ galls me almost beyond endurance. I
hate its very sound, and long to hear myself called
again by my childhood’s name. Do you think there
is any harm in yielding to this preference? Would
you mind introducing me to your friends as Miss
Rogers P”
“ Not at all ; why should I mind it if you do not?
But it seems like giving up your old hope entirely,
and l, for one, still think you will reap the honors to
which your voice entitles you. I have a scheme—"
“ Oh, do not talk of schemes, dear Miss Aspinwall.
Let us rest without thought of the morrow in this
paradise of sunshine and verdure. l have never
seen anything so delightful as this place before. It
is an experience for me to be here; let me enjoy it
and forget, if I can, that the world holds any other
riches, treasures or rewards. That little bird sings
sweetly; if I were free as he and had the earth and
heaven for my home, I could sing too. Iwish I
were a bird, how my throat would swell! I can
almost fancy in this solitude that I am. DO you
think any one would hear if I-—”
“ Oh, oh, do sing. Just an aria, Jenny. Hark, the


Friends. - I 4 7

little fellow is urging you on. Surely you can rival
his notes."
The signorina smiled. An exquisite color broke
out on her cheeks and she looked so lovely that the
noble woman at her side was filled with admiration.
Then without further words, and as if impelled by
an inward enthusiasm she could no longer resist, she
opened her lips, and song issued forth, so pure, so
sweet and so entrancing that the little bird who had
previ0usly filled the silence with his voice stopped
in amaze and bent his head to one side as if in inquiry
as to the source of such delightful melody.
The spot occupied by the summer-house in the
large and amply cultivated grounds was somewhat
removed from the dwelling. Perched on a slight
knoll it commanded a view of much of the country
around, and for this reason was a favorite spot Of
resort for Miss Aspinwall, who had an eye for all
that was beautiful, and a heart for this especial scene
beyond all. But it had one drawback. But a few
feet away ran the fence which marked off her prop-
erty from that of her next neighbor, and as that
neighbor took boarders, she never felt herself quite
safe in this place from intruding eyes.
Thus it was that, when the Signorina began to
sing, Miss Aspinwall let her glances travel in the
direction of this fence and the winding walks
beyond, but seeing no one, gave her full attention to
the song which was being caroled for her and the
birds. It was melodious as heart could wish or


148 Friends.

taste exact, and she was drinking in the mellow
notes with delight, when suddenly, without warn—
ing, the soaring tones trembled and fell, and glanc_
ing in haste at her companion, she beheld her sitting
petrified with amazement, gazing into the neighbor-
ing garden. Following her look, she was herSelf
surprised to perceive a man standing before them,
returning gaze for gaze and that with an intensity
which proved he had not been unmoved by the song
he had overheard. She thought, at first glance, that
she did not know this man, but in another moment,
she recognized him for the artist who had inter-
rupted her in her work of strewing flowers over the
signorina on that memorable afternoon of her sup-
posed death.
Instantly she showed as much feeling as the
woman at her side had done. A beautiful flush rose
on her cheek and she stole a side glance at the
startled singer, as if to see whether her own emotion
was observed. It was not; for after the first move-
ment of surprise, the latter had turned away and
was looking toward the house as if she longed to
take refuge in flight.
“ You know him ?” whispered Miss Aspinwall.
" Oh, yes; oh, yes. But I must not see him.
Why has he come here? It is fatality; I must go.”
Miss Aspinwall did not Seek to detain her.
“ I will go with you,” she said; and they left the
summer-house together, not turning their heads,


Friends. 149

though the temptation to do so was equally strong
for both.
“ I saw him when I left the flowers at your house,”
observed Miss Aspinwall, as they hastened over the
lawn. “He came in before I left. Is he an old
friend of yours? Pardon me if I appear too
curious.”
“ He was not a friend; he never came till that
day, and then he came on business. He is an artist.”
“ I know that; I recognized his face; he is well
known in the city. His pictures, such as I have
seen, are exquisite.”
Miss Aspinwall was smiling. Her gait and man-
ner were redolent with joy.
The signorina, on the contrary, seemed to have
weights on her feet. She stumbled once or twice,
and her restless eyes had a sort of terror in them.
Suddenly she asked:
“ You know his name, then ?"
“ Certainly ; it is one that New York is proud of.
Hamilton Degraw. Surely you have heard of it P”
“ Yes."
They were now at the foot of the steps leading up
to the huge portico of the great pillared mansion.
As the signorina uttered this assent, she looked
back. Miss Aspinwall followed her example. No
one was visible on lawn or walk.
“ He must be stopping at the next house,” re-
marked the heiress. “ Curious that we should meet
him here and that he should see us together.”


I 50 Friends.

“Curious enough !” echoed the signorina.
But when she gained the room which had been
placed at her disposal and had carefully shut the
door and closed the windows, her composure
instantly left her and she fell in what looked like a
sudden collapse before a chair, and burying her face
in its cushions, gave a long, low cry, the language of
which it would have been hard to interpret. Then
she started again to her feet, and opening her trunk,
took from it a telegram-blank, upon which she wrote
one line. But before she had signed it, she paused
again, and stood so long with it fluttering in her
hand that she might have been taken for an exquisite
statue of irresolution. Finally she tore up the con-
templated telegram, saying as she did so, in the
sweetest of musing tones:
“I will not meddle with fate. Let it bring me
what it will. Its gifts may be better than any Ihave
lost, than any I have sought for." And the troubled
brow grew smooth, and the child-like look came
back to her face, and of all the joyous creatures that
fluttered beneath the sun that day, she was the
brightest, the sweetest and the most delightsome.


A Startling fntroduetion. 151
CHAPTER XVI.
A STARTLING INTRODUCTION.
Miss Aspinwall's hospitality was of the notable
order. An orphan without immediate relations, she
had cultivated friendship to its last extent, and was,
consequently, never at a loss to fill her house with
congenial and delightful companions. This summer
she had for chaperon an elderly widow, well known
in New York circles, around whom she had gathered
a dozen or more young people of both sexes, so that
the house was as merry as youth and gayety could
make it. She herself was the balance-wheel to all
this mirth and joyousness. Though cheerful by
nature, she had suffered too many griefs, and felt too
keenly the responsibilities of wealth, to be ever over-
joyous. Yet there was in her smile so much sympa-
thy with joy, that the lightest-hearted felt their
pleasure grow greater when they drew near Hilary
Aspinwall.
Though alive to mirth, she had for sorrow a still
greater sympathy. If amongst the laughing tribe
that scattered itself over her lawns, or gathered in
merry groups about her halls and piazzas, there was
one from whose lips the laughter rang false, or in
whose eyes a shadow lay deeply hidden, she was


I52 A Startling [ntroduetion.

sure to catch the broken tone or mark the secret
tear; and though she would make no betrayal of her
discernment at the time, when night came she would
steal into the presence of the young girl whose grief
she had surprised, and, taking the seemingly happy
one into her arms, so win her confidence by delicate
questions or silent caresses that the brimming heart
would overflow, and the secret trouble he told almost
without its sufferer’s own volition. Ah! she was a
noble woman, Hilary Aspinwall, as many a crushed
heart which she has comforted can testify ; and if in
the face which Hamilton Degraw calls “ A Poet’s
Dream ” there are some idealizing touches not to be
found in the original, no brush or no fancy could
idealize the soul which has informed that face, for it
is itself ideal.
For such a one, happiness should be the natural
right. Nothing that the earth contains is too good
for her, nor any love too rich. Is she to have her
reward, then? Are the best treasures of earth to
be given to her who is always heaping treasures in
the laps of others? She has wealth, she has honor,
she has friends, she has health. Will she have
love? Let us look at the circle which surrounds her
on this exquisite June eve, and see if we can answer
this question.
She is sitting on the large piazza, amid a group
that feel the influence of the starry heavens above
them, though they do not look that way, but rather
into the faces of those with whom they are con-


A Startling Introduction. I 53

versing. The talk is ofwwhat? Who can say?
Who would care to repeat? But the looks are for
her; that is, the looks of at least three men who
stand there ; one against the large pillar that shields
the moonlight from her :eyes, one behind her chair,
and one on the outskirts of the group, who, if he
does not advance, has another reason for his
modesty than that of indifference. And to any one
looking at her now, such interest would seem only
natural. Though the other women grouped around
her are more or less fair, attractive or vivacious, in
none does the pure light of womanliness shine with
such a radiance as in her, while in her beauty there
burns a chaste fire which is not always to be seen
there. What has called it forth? The influence is
not fully apparent, yet it is felt by these men who
study her this night with their souls in their eyes.
Are her thoughts with them? The man by the
pillar has the air of a satisfied IOVer; but, then, the
depths of his purse have never been sounded, and
some say that neither have the depths of his conceit.
The others do not seem as happy, though one of
them stands so near to her that he can hear the
short sigh that now and then parts her lips. Do
they miss something from her look or glance that
they have been accustomed to see there?
It may be, for now there is a change in her. She
has heard a step on the graveled walk beneath, and,
mistress as she is of herself, she cannot quite sup-
press the flutter of expectation which that sound


1 54 A Startling [ntroduetion

provokes. She moves and others move with her,
so that there is quite a stir on the piazza as two
figures emerge from the shadows beneath and
pause, one in manly grace and the other in femi-
nine beauty, for a mutual smile or glance, before
mounting the broad flight of steps. Two! and
she has, perhaps, anticipated but one!
The man is Mr. Degraw and the woman Sig-
norina Valdi, or, as she is now called, Miss Rogers.
He has become a frequent guest at the house
and she a recognized inmate, but never before
have they been observed together. The sight
calls up strange looks on the faces of their youth-
ful companions, and more than one furtive glance
is cast at their silent hostess. But her self-pos-
session is great, and there is no lack in the cor-
diality with which she welcomes the appearance
of these two. But when, the first flurry over,
they all settle down to renewed conversation in
the now brilliantly lighted parlor, those who love
her best feel that something has gone out of her
manner that made it the sweetest and most encour-
aging in the world, and one at least of the three
men who adore her intercepts more than one of
her glances that steal, despite the pride of the
heiress and woman, to the huge window-seat
where sits the artist beside the singerbso happy
and proud that he forgets to hide either his satis-
faction or his delight.
As for the signorina, she was in that soft mood of


A Startling Introduction. I 5 5 ‘

unexpected happiness which makes a woman beauti-
ful, whatever her features. She to whom Nature
had given the perfection of grace was so much the
more captivating. From the crown of her lovely
head, drooping with the weight of untold hopes, to
the tip of her dainty foot, she was the incarnation of
joy shadowed only by the wonder which such joy
often brings. Though she did not speak, much less
sing, her whole figure breathed forth music, and one
person present heard it, and heard it as plainly as if
she had walked at her side a half-hour before, and
listened, as spirits listen, to the vows which the
ardent artist had whispered into the beloved one's
half-averted ears. Love, pure and perfect, had
breathed across this virgin soul, and a deeper love
than hers had noted it and taken a lesson therefrom
—the lesson of pain and patience, generous sympathy
and womanly sacrifice.
The more disinterested persons in the room had
collected about the piano, where one of their number
was playing thrilling airs from Gounod. As the _
melody filled the air, more than one tongue was
loosed of the secret that burdened it.
“ Do you observe the couple over there ?” one of
Miss Aspinwall’s lovers—not the most generous—
whispered in her ear. “Boy Cupid has been busy
with one or both of their hearts since we saw them
last. I think I can discover the tip of his wings
fluttering in and about between them now. What
do you think ?"


. 156 A Start/ing [ntroduetzon.

Some questions are very hard to answer; this was
meant to be one of them. But Miss Aspinwall had
the courage of despair and did not shrink from utter_
ing a smiling response.
“I have not much acquaintance with the plumage
which the blind god sports, but if the happiness
which I see there is from him, I can only say that he
chose a noble couple to bestow it upon. Mr. De-
graw is a gifted man, and Miss Rogers is a gifted
woman. Why should they (not appreciate each
other?”
On the other side of the room the subjects of these
remarks were listening to the music and whispering
short sentences into each others’ ears. If Cupid
were there he heard words which surely had been
murmured under his auspices before. Yet they are
always new.
“I love you, signorina,l love you, love you ! Do
you think you can trust me to make you happy? I
do not ask you to answer me at once, only do not
forbid me speaking. You are so beautiful, so beau-
. tiful!”
A soft sigh was her only reply.
“I know that the time is short since we were
strangers, and I knew nothing of your life or of you.
But such a reneontre as brought us first together is
equal to a year of common companionship, for in it
were both death and life. I loved you when I
thought you were dead, and now, that I touch you
and hear you speak, I am moved by such over-


A Startling Introduction. 157

whelming emotions, that for me there is nothing of
interest in the world but love and our two selves.”
“ Ah!” was again the murmured reply. “ Is love
so sweet? Does it compensate one for other
worldly losses? I w0uld gladly believe so. Teach
me.”
“ Will I not? Say only that you will not scorn
the teacher, and all my life is at your service. I
have not loved before—no, no, proud signorina, how- .
ever you may smile, I have never even thought that
I loved before. You are my first adoration, and so
deep already has the feeling gone, thatl ask noth-
ing more from Heaven than your love; not fame,
not h0nor, not wealth; nothing but you, you, you!”
She might have responded; her lips had opened
and‘her eyes had flashed radiantly ; but before the
words could issue from her lips, there was a sudden
hush in the music, and more than one whisperer
paused and glanced hastily toward the door. A
stranger was entering, a remarkable man, in whose
tall form and courtly carriage all read gentleman,
but no one a gentleman they knew, not even the
hostess. Who was he? A dozen eyes asked the
inquiry between the instant when he crossed the-
threshold and that in which he made his bow to the
assembled company. Who was he? And the men
were as eager as the ladies, for he seemed to have
come there with a purpose.
It was but a moment, but that moment was never
forgotten by any one then present in the room.


158 A Startling lntroduetion.

First because of something they saw in the stranger.
This was the sudden and overpowering admiration
which he betrayed, as his gaze passed straight
before him to the wide window-seat and its beautiful
occupant. Not an eye in the room but followed his,
to the signorina’s evident confusion and growing
loveliness, for she had been caught with the love-
light on her face, and, perhaps, with a confession on
_ her lips; and she feared, if she did not know, that
her secret was discovered. The second cause for
this moment becoming memorable lay in the con-
duct of the hostess. She had taken the card which
the servant had brought her, and was looking at it
with a wonder she found it impossible to disguise.
“ Excuse me," said she, advancing to the stranger
with a cordial smile, in which, however, a certain
tinge of doubt was visible, “ is this your name which
I find written on this card ?”
He started, turned from the object which had
evidently engrossed all his thought, and made Miss
Aspinwall another low bow.
“ Certainly, madam, it is my name," was his
response, uttered in some surprise. “ I have here a
letter of introduction from Mr. Morris, of Cleveland,
which, if you will be kind enough to read, I shall
feel more at home in your presence.”
She reached out her left hand mechanically, but
her eyes were still fixed upon the small bit of paste-
board she held in the right.


The First Step Taken. I59


“You must pardon me," she persisted; “but the
name on this card is—”
She evidently found it hard to mention it. She
. looked across the room, and the color flashed into
her face. The stranger, impressed, if not embar—
rassed, took up her sentence and finished it for her.
“The name on that card is mine,” he declared.
“ Hamilton Degraw. Do you find anything strange
in it "
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FIRST STEP TAKEN.
Anything strange in it? Well, yes, there was
something very strange in it. A murmur rose
throughout the room, and, with one accord, each
head turned toward the artist, who himself bore the
name just spoken. He had risen, and though all
were ready to behold in his face surprise at this
hizarre introduction of one of his own name into this
limited circle, they were not prepared for the vivid
expression of incomprehensible and growing emotion
which his countenance so forcibly betrayed. It was
as if he had received a shock in which there was
something like fear, but the step he took forward
and the gesture which he made showed that the fear


160 T he First Step Taken.

was not for himself, but for another; and the ques-
tion immediately rose in every mind : “ Who is
this other, and what is there to fear?”
The gentleman whose introduction had aroused
all this curiosity was meanwhile standing in a cour-
teous way before ‘Miss Aspinwall, who, after the
first instant of hesitation, had greeted him with gen-
uine warmth and one of her frankest smiles.
“ You must pardon us,” said she, “ the seeming dis-
courtesy of your welcome. But there is another
Hamilton Degraw in the room, and the name being
an unusual one, my first thought was that you were
seeking an introduction to him. Will you sit, Mr.
Degraw, while I read Mr. Morris’ note ?”
The stranger smiled and bowed and took the seat
offered him. He was in no degree embarrassed, and
if conscious of all the glances leveled upon him, did
not show it. But perhaps he was not conscious of
them. For, the moment his attention was released
by the preoccupation of his hostess, he turned - at
once toward the window-seat with an eagerness that
made the indignant blood leap into the cheeks of the
watchful artist, and though there was no imperti-
nence in his manner, nor any recognition beyond
that which is accorded by an appreciative nature
to suddenly revealed beauty, all those, who had
passed sufficiently beyond their first youth to have
any insight into life and the human heart, felt that
trouble had entered the room with this second
Hamilton Degraw, and that in the very moment of


'87; 960.1 aag—‘a'lvmxrdsv ssm aaaaasmm “twin moan 11021,,





The First Step Tahen. I63

his introduction, the first scene in a drama had
opened, that would ere long occupy all their
thoughts.
Nor was this seemingly unfelt even by the object
of his interest. Though her agitation was natural
enough when we consider that her heart and possi-
bly her lips were trembling with the name he so
unceremoniously announced to be his own, there was
still something in her attitude and the agitation
which informed her whole figure, that expressed the
presence of a fear similar to that expressed by the
artist. Was it that she felt the burning ardor of this
stranger’s glance, and realized the complications
which a new love at this time would occasion? Or
had she become in some way aware that the name
she had just heard was not only that of her lover,
but the man who had wrought mischief with so
many of the name of Jenny Rogers? Whichever be
the truth, she showed an emotion almost greater
than that of her lover, though it did not last so long.
By the time Miss Aspinwall had finished her note,
the signorina’s face had become calm, and her figure
regained its poise, and though a steady pallor had
taken the place of her fitful blushes, not a face in the
room looked more composed or a mind more at its
ease than hers.
“ I am much obliged to Mr. Morris,” was Miss
Aspinwall’s remark, as she folded up the note. “ I am
always glad to receive any one upon his recommen-
dation; and in this case his recommendation is very


164 The First Step Taken.

pressing." And, turning toward her friends, she
observed, in her own gracious, dignified way:
“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to
you Mr. Degraw, of Cleveland; a friend of my
friend, and soon, I hope, to be a friend of each one
of us.”
The young people immediately crowded forward,
for the stranger, while not handsome, that is, in com-
parison with the gentleman usually associated with
his name, possessed a figure and bearing likely to
attract all lovers of elegance and culture. Two of
the company only remained in the rear, and these
were the signorina and her lover, who, not relaxing
one iota of his defiance, stood at her side as if on
guard, while he sought to catch Miss Aspinwall’s
eye, as if to warn her to be careful in her demonstra-
tions toward a person with whom were connected
his gravest doubts. ’
For in the rapid glances which he had bestowed
upon this interloper since his first entrance, he had
noted that the stranger was tall, easy-mannered, and
possessed not only of the gray eyes which had mis-
led the police in his own case, but of the black mus-
tache also; and, believing that he had before him
the man who had occasioned so much mischief in
the city he had just left, he neither could suppress,
nor did he endeavor to, the spirit of antagonism and
rage which, without these reasons for dislike, would
have been sufficiently amused by the persistent
delight which the stranger manifested in contem-


The First Step Tahen. 165

plating the woman whom the artist now regarded as
his future wife. '
As Miss Aspinwall, therefore, guided her new
guest from one person to another, he followed them
with a burning gaze, that presently took on a new
fire as he perceived them turning toward himself
and his now self-possessed and apparently expectant
companion.
“ Mr. Degraw,” remarked Miss Aspinwall, refrain-
ing for various reasons from raising her eyes to the
gaze which might have proved a warning to her had
she met it,“ allow me to present to you a gentleman
of your own name, if not of your artistic calling.
Our friend is the painter of whose works you must
often have heard," she explained, turning to the gen-
tleman at her side. “ It was on account of his pres-
ence that I manifested such surprise upon your intro-
duction."
“ You are very pardonable," replied the stranger,
politely. “ I have heard of Mr. Degraw many times,
and am truly glad to meet him.”
The artist frowned. What was there in this per-
son that commanded respect even from one who had
every reason to believe him to be a villain. Was it
his manner? It was perfect; but that the artist had
been led to expect. Or was it his eye, which, if
ardent, had a clearness that was uncommon, and a
face which, if prejudice had not stood between him
and its possessor, would have made him his
undoubted admirer. The mystery of the thing


166 T/ie First Step Taken.

chafed him. Not calculating his words, he replied,
with scarCely veiled sarcasm :
“ And I have heard of this gentleman many times.”
Then, seeing that the other did not wince, he added,
less pointedly: “At least so I am led to think from
his appearance and manner.”
Evidently astonished at the greeting he had
received, the gentleman stared at the artist for a
moment, then turned toward the signorina. Imme-
diately Miss Aspinwall, still unobservant of the
almost frantic signs which the artist hurriedly made
her, opened her lips to speak the formal words of
the necessary introduction, when the latter stopped
her by uttering it himself:
“ Signorina Valdi, allow me to present to you Mr.
Degraw, of Cleveland.”
Instantly an expression of surprise passed over
every face. Though we still speak of the singer by
the name under which we first knew her, she had
been universally known in this house by the simple
one bequeathed to her by her parents. To hear her
addressed, then, in this public way by the stage-name
she had definitely discarded roused the curiosity of
all who heard it. This the speaker had expected,
but what he had not looked for, and which, coming
at this critical moment, literally shook his self-posses-
sion, was the look of disappointment that came into
the countenances of the two persons introduced.
That the stranger was expecting to hear a different
name was evident, and that she was not pleased at


T/ze First Step Taken. 167
this effort to preserve an incognito which she had
definitely cast aside was equally plain. She soon
proved this to be a fact beyond dispute.
“ I think," she remarked, smilingly, to the artist,
“that you have allowed yourself to forget that when
I withdrew from the operatic state, I dropped my
stage-name. I was Signorina Valdi, Mr. Degraw,"
this to the stranger, “but now—" She paused, for
the artist had made her an unmistakable gesture—a
gesture which caused her to turn pale, but which did
not hinder her from finishing the phrase which she
had begun. “ But now,” she persisted, “it is as Jenny
Rogers I am known both here and elsewhere.”
It was done. The stranger looked relieved: the
artist, discouraged. If safety lay for her under the
incognito the latter had attempted to improvise for
her, she had thrown that safety aside. Did she
realize it? There was no token of the fact in her
face, which was upturned to the stranger with con-
fidence and content engraved upon its every linea-
ment. Troubled at the sight, her lover turned to
Miss Aspinwall, and, drawing her a step away, said,
anxiously:
“You must excuse any seeming rudeness which
you may observe in me. Ihave no confidence in
this man, and was very desirous of preventing his
introduction to Miss Rogers. Why, I cannot tell
you now ; but, believe me, the reason was good and
such as you would pardon.” Then, as he saw the
person thus alluded to was too busy with his new


168 The First Step Ta/een.

acquaintance to notice this little side-talk, he added,
hastily : “ Be sure he is the person alluded to in his
letter of introduction before you show him too
much attention. If he is the man I have every
reason to believe him—~"
But here the stranger turned and the artist was
forced to leave his sentence uncompleted. Perhaps
it was as well. A full knowledge of her guest’s
identity would only have hopelessly embarrassed
Miss Aspinwall and made the remainder of the even-
ing unbearable. Whereas, now, it passed off with-
out any marked constraint, though those who knew
the hostess best were aware that all was not as it
should be, either with her or this stranger. The
doubt evoked by the artist's broken words remained
in her eyes, and though the stranger did not remark
it, others did, and were either pleased or displeased
according to the character of the impression which
he had made upon them.
Ten o’clock came and with it the departure of
this gentleman, who for one reason or another,‘
occupied the attention of every one present. When
he rose to go—he had been talking for some time to
a group of girls, though his attention did not seem
to be with them, but with the face and figure of the
beautiful signorina sitting a short distance from him,
in her old place on the wide window-seat—there
was an actual stir of relief from all sides. And yet
no one in all the room, not excepting even the hand-
some artist, looked more nearly the beau ideal of


The First Step a/een. 169

manhood, than this man with his tall and imposing
figure, strong face and courtly expression.
“ I leave,” said he, to the hostess, “ with many
thanks for my kindly reception here. Though I
had been told much of the charms of Great Barring-
ton, I had not heard that its advantages of nat-
ural scenery were more than equaled by its
opportunities for the highest social intercourse.”
And such was the grace and seeming candor of
his words, that Miss Aspinwall forgot for the
moment her doubts, and gave him one of those
lovely smiles which were seldom accorded but to the
most welcome guest.
“ I shall do myself the honor of calling again,” he
thereupon remarked, and before she had time to
recover from the embarrassment which these words
called forth, he had made his bow and left; but not
without casting one more look at the signorina.
The instant his departing step was heard on the
gravel-walk without, a murmur of voices broke
forth.
“ How peculiar!”
“ What a gentleman!”
“ I wonder if it can be a case of love at first
sight I” '
“Two Degraws in the field !”
At which last ejaculation the hostess turned pale,
though she tried to keep up her spirits on this, per- ’
haps, the most trying evening of her life.


170 T lie First Step Taken.

In the window-recess, another hurried and pas
sionate colloquy was going on.
“Oh, my love,” the artist was saying, “ I tried to
save you from this man. He is the wretch who has
made so many Jenny Rogerses unhappy. Perhaps
you have not read the papers, and perhaps you did
not know that persons of your name are at present
under a sort of ban, but I knew it and knew that
from the very similarity between his name and
mine that he was the person most to be dreaded by
you. Yet you would not take the hint I gave you,
but insisted upon owning to your real name, and
not content with that, allowed him to address you
and even to engage you in conversation.”
“And has any harm come from it, or will any
harm come? I have heard of some of the stories
you speak of, but there was nobody to tell me that
there was anything in this gentleman to fear. Nor
can I believe there is. You are laboring under a
mistake, or look with prejudiced eyes upon one
who seems to infringe upon your rights by bearing
the same name.”
“ Do you plead for him, signorina? Has he
imposed on you, too, by his devilish urbanity and
hypocritical smiles? I will not believe it. He may
turn the heads of school-misses and factory-girls,
but surely not yours. \Vhy, he is a murderer, pos-
Isibly.” ‘
“Oh, no !" she exclaimed, hotly, and would have
said more ; but just then Miss Aspinwall approached


The First Step Tahen. 171 '
them, and pressed the artist to finish the revelations
which he had been interrupted in making to her
earlier in the evening. But he had lost the desire
to speak. Something in the signorina's manner
betrayed such unbounded trust in the stranger, that
he felt it would be but waste of breath to reiterate
his suspicions, while to brand the stranger as an
adventurer and criminal in the presence of a com-
pany who had already received him as an equal,
was, in the absence of other proof than that which
had been urged against himself, a manifest risk and
possible shame. His reply, therefore, was less
uncompromising than Miss Aspinwall had antici-
pated.
“l was about to warn you," said he, “against this
Mr. Degraw, not because I know him, but becausea
gentleman of his name and mine has earned a very
doubtful reputation in New York. Though it is
hard to believe that this person is the one who has
engaged the attention of the police, still my fears are
such that I could not refrain from giving you a hint
of them. That is all, Miss Aspinwall. I now con-
sider my duty in this regard at an end."
She took out of her pocket the note which the
stranger had brought her.
“ This seems entirely en regle," she remarked. “ I
know the writer well, and I know his signature. He
recommends Mr. Degraw to me as a gentleman of
family and distinction. To doubt that this is true is
to doubt the knowledge or judgment of my friend.


.172 Faee to Faee.

This I cannot do; so I must still continue to receive
Mr. Degraw."
The artist bowed and waived the subject. He felt
himself in a false position, and hated his own precip-
itancy, while at the same time he found it impossible
to dismiss his doubts. He was also troubled by the
smiles and beaming aspect of the signorina. If she
loved him, could she or would she hail this manifest
triumph of his rival?
But did she love him? Had the tide he believed
to be turning in his favor received a check, and
would he be obliged to add to the list of the possible
wrongs committed by this interloper, the sudden
nipping in its bud of the purest Passion-flower that
ever blossomed from a poet’s heart or evolved itself
from a poet's dream?

CHAPTER XVIII.
FACE TO FACE.
It was midnight. Peace and quiet had settled
upon the great house. Not a light twinkled from
its many windows; not a sound disturbed its univer-
sal peace. But, in the walks beneath, it was not so.
There a restless figure moved, pausing now and then
to gaze at the vault of stars above his head, but


Face to Face. I73

oftener to turn toward the house from one of whose
windows an influence breathed which chained him
to the spot.
It was Hamilton Degraw, the artist.
What were his thoughts ? What were his dreams?
What was the charm which made this vigil more
alluring than the repose which awaited him in his
own rooms? He had parted from the signorina
under the eyes of Miss Aspinwall and her friends.
He had not dared to utter one of the countless
appeals which rose to his lips. She had not encour-
aged him to do so, and he would not have ventured
if she had. Indeed, her manner had been in a slight
degree repelling. Though she had smiled upon
him, and even blushed at his look, which conveyed
more of his feelings than he, doubtless, intended at
the moment, she had not shown that shy delight at
his homage which he had observed in her before the
advent of the other Mr. Degraw. He had, there-
fore, this estrangement to think of, as well as of the
danger which possibly threatened her. And there
was another thing. He had sometimes thought that
the mysterious Montelli and the unknown persecutor
of the innocent girls so often alluded to were one
and the same man. But if this gentleman whom he
had met this evening were the latter person, as he
fully believed, then he and Montelli were two dis-
tinct persons; for he had noted the figure and face
of both, and realized that by no art could the one
have been transformed into the other. There were,


I74 Faee to Fate.

therefore, in the case of the signorina, two enemies
to fear, and which of these was to be dreaded the
more, it was impossible to say.
But it was not to watch or think that he lingered
in Miss Aspinwall’s grounds on this night. It was
to be near the woman he loved, to breathe the same
air, to sigh beneath the same stars. It was next to
having her promise; next to knowing that she
returned his sighs and dreamed his dreams. He
would not have courted sleep if he could ; it was too
much like Paradise to stray beneath the trees and
think himself a Romeo to this Juliet.
He had paced several times up and down a cer-
tain graveled walk bordered by clustering bushes,
when suddenly the fancy took him to stray into
another path less heavily shadowed. But, as he
stepped into it, he paused. Was it safe to travel its
moonlighted surface, within sight, as be perceived
it to be, of fully one-half of the house? No; it was
not safe. But for that very reason it was tempting
to him; and, without sounding very deeply the
intuitions which led him to this sudden exposure of
his presence, he passed smilingly down its length-
ened vista into the semicircle of evergreens which
terminated this walk.
An exclamation of astonishment, followed by a
sudden recoil, was the result. He was not alone in
this place of expected solitude. A man was before
him, whose tall form, drawn up within a shadow
that failed to conceal his presence, gave to the artist


Fate to Fate. 175
such a shock that he well-nigh lost his self-posses-
sion.
The other, who had evidently been driven into
this retreat by the $0und of approaching steps,
showed great embarrassment also. Though he
came forward at the first exclamation of the intruder
and made a bow that should at once have reassured
the most suspicious, the words he uttered did not
sound quite natural to the artist’s sensitive ear, nor
did his bearing betray that case which had hitherto
accompanied it, even in situations most trying to a
gentleman.
“Mr. Degraw !”
“Mr. Degraw!”
The words rang simultaneously, but in wholly
dissimilar tones. Then the two paused and looked
at each other, and then the gentleman from Cleve-
land remarked :
“You find me still intruding upon Miss Aspin-
wall’s grounds. How shall I explain it? Not by
the real reason lest that should seem sentimental
to you. Shall I say that it is the beauty of the night
which allures me, and trust to your good-nature not
to be contradicted in my statement ?”
The artist, who had withdrawn himself into the
moonlight, responded by a short but significant
silence. Then he observed:
“I shall contradict you in nothing, Mr. Degraw.
I have not yet recovered from the surprise of


I 76 Face to Faee.
encountering a person of my own somewhat unusual
name.”
“ You make a great deal of that. Shall I relate to
you my pedigree, or send for that leaf in our family
Bible which is duly inscribed with my name?”
“ Could you ?”
“Mr. Degraw, you insult me. Were there any
cause for it, I should probably resent it. As there
is not, I find it more consistent with my self-respect
to regard you as a moon-struck enthusiast, unworthy
my attention or revenge."
This tone, which was certainly unexpected, took
the artist by surprise. For a moment he hesitated,
not knowing what to reply, then he said, boldly :
“I certainly find myself under great obligations
to you. To be thought a moon-struck enthusiast is
better than to be thought a villain and a fraud !” ’
And with a determined step he wheeled about,
leaving the passage open to the man whom he now
believed he had made his enemy.
He had walked but a short distance, however,
before he heard the other’s step ring close at his
side. _
“I cannot let you go,” said the stranger, as the
artist turned toward him, “till you have in some
measure explained yourself. \Vhen my name was
first mentioned, you showed an unnatural astonish-
ment, and at the time of my introduction to you, I
was met by a sarcasm which my own courteous feel-
ings toward you certainly neither merited nor called


Fate to Faee. I77

forth. What excuse you have to make for all this,
I cannot say; but it must certainly be a good one
to reconcile you to conduct so out of keeping with
your general character and fame.”
“You are right," assented the artist, baflied by
the other’s coolness, but for an instant shaken in his
doubts. “ I had an excuse and if you wish to hear
what it is Imust give it. But I would rather be
excused from offending you and would esteem it a
great favor on your part if, instead of requiring
explanations from me, you would consent to answer
I to three questions.”
“ You are moderate in your demands,” sneered
the stranger, with a curl of his strong lip and a flash
of his keen eyes. “As the insulted party, I have
certainly the right to refuse them. But I am some-
thing more than an insulted party; Iam a gentle-
man and an honest one ; therefore, if you have any-
thing to ask, ask it. I will be brief but straightfor-
ward in my replies.”
A cold perspiration started out upon the artist’s
brow, but he pursued unflinchingly the course into
which fate had led him.
“You will answer questions ?" said he. “ Per-
haps, then, you will be kind enough to tell me
whether you came directly here from Cleveland ?”
“I did not.”
“ Have you been staying, then, in New York, and
was it from that place you traveled to this spot ?”
“ Yo'u have said it. I have been in New York,


178 Face to Face.
\
and it was from there I came no later than to-day on
the five o’clock express. Would you like to know
what baggage I brought and what was the amount
of the fee I gave to the porter ?”
“I wish to know nothing but what vitally con-
cerns myself and the welfare of .a person dearer to
me than myself. Miss Rogers—”
“ Ah !"
There was a change in the stranger’s manner. He
seemed at once to have received a hint to the mys-
tery of the other’s antagonism.
“Is the bearer,” imperturbably continued the
artist, “of a name that has lately been the mark for
peculiar shafts of fortune. As the lady is dear to
me——you will pardon the self-revelation given by
these words—I have constituted myself the shield
to protect her against the assaults which have over-
whelmed girls of lesser consequence and attain-
ments. If, therefore, you have ever spoken to any
other person by the name of Jenny Rogers, do not
think that you will be allowed to speak to this one.
If you have not—”
“ Sir!” interposed the other, haughtily, “ you are
- a madman. Not speak to Miss Rogers? Why, if
she were your wife I should address her if I pleased,
that is, if s/ze allowed me the privilege of doing so, if
and I think she would.”
This shaft, which was only too deftly leveled,
struck home at once. The artist recoiled, and stam-


Face to Face. 1'79
mered some ineffectual words, before he returned
to the attack.
“ Miss Rogers is no judge of her own danger,” he
finally remarked. “If she were, you might expect
less indulgence on her part.”
The stranger laughed.
“ You show an ignorance,” he asserted, “ both of
my nature and the character of my interest in Miss
Rogers that excuses you for much more folly than
you evince in this interview. Danger does not men_
ace Miss Rogers, that is, not from me, but if it did,
you have scarcely taken the wisest means to avert
it.”
This was only too true. Carried away by his
feelings, the artist had allowed himself to go further
than his own judgment approved. But to be told
of it by his adversary was humiliating and did not
serve to increase his satisfaction. It was, therefore,
in a bitter enough tone that he replied:
“ I have but done as any honest man would do. I
have reasons for distrusting you and I tell you so.
All that I shall add to what I have already said, is
this: That if grief or any peril comes to Miss
Rogers,I shall know where to look for its cause.
Neither your seeming good-breeding nor the dignity
which invests your person and conversation shall
save you in that hour from a revenge that will have
not only love but the law to back it. So beware !”
He turned away ; the stranger looked after him
doubtfully and took one step as if to follow him.


I80 Fate to F aee.

But this determination did not hold, and Mr.
Degraw of Cleveland remained silent and unmoved,
while the other passed slowly down the paths till
he reached one of the two gates which guarded the
place. There the artist paused, and his antagonist,
convinced that he would go no further while he
himself remained on the ground, was good-natured
enough or wise enough to turn away toward the
other gate. The watchful artist, perceiving this,
passed out, and presently the two could be seen
hasting through the street, the one toward the
hotel, the other toward the neighboring dwelling
which held his rooms.
Would they have passed so lightly had they pos-
sessed the power of perceiving the girlish figure
that sat behind one of those open easements upon
which they now turned their backs? I wot not,
for in the eager face uplifted to the moon there was
a look which puzzles us and would have puzzled
them. Was she listening? Was she dreaming?
Was she hoping? Is it a spell of delight or of
apprehension which holds her enthralled and
makes her a statue of wakefulness amid a household
of sleepers? We may not know at present. Will
the time ever come when we shall?


Something [More than Croquet. 181

CHAPTER XIX.
SOMETHING MORE THAN A GAME OF CROQUET.
When the young artist sat down to breakfast the
next morning, he found a note lying beside his
plate. It was from Miss Aspinwall and was to the
effect that she had written to her friend Mr. Morris
for a precise description of the gentleman he had
been kind enough to introduce to her notice.
This was satisfactory and prevented the artist
from sending a letter to Mr. Byrd, as he had com-
templated. For though he had no doubt in his
own mind as to the identity of this stranger, he had
no desire to put himself in a false light in con-
nection with one who owned so sarcastic a tongue
and held at the moment such an impregnable
position. He determined, therefore, to wait and
I take no measures of his own till after a reply had
been received from Cleveland. That is, unless he
saw signs of immediate peril menacing his dear
one, in which case he would not write at all, but
telegraph. .
The sound of croquet-balls clicking from Miss
Aspinwall’s grounds gave him presently all the
excuse he needed for an early visit there. Crossing
the turf, he soon found himself within view of the


182 Sometking More t/tan Croquet.

bright and cheerful picture which the introduction
of this game has made so familiar to us. The
white dresses of the ladies, the velvety verdure of
the lawn, the grace of ever-varying movement, the
eager enjoyment, all were there. But he saw
nothing but a solitary man and woman halting
under the shade of a neighboring tree; he, with
manly interest pervading every feature of his strong
face, and she, with corresponding pleasure irradia-
ting every lineament, and making beautiful every
attitude. His rival from Cleveland had lost no
time.
Angry beyond his power to conceal, Hamilton
Degraw drew back. Not for him was this place of
mirth and joy ; not for him the petty civilities of the
morning call and a tedious and deceptive game. If
she could smile like this after the appeal he had
made her the night before, then she was not the
woman he deemed her; nor was her regard what he
hoped it to be. She was false, and he would leave
her—only he could not leave her. He knew that
before he had gone twenty steps. False or true, she
was the woman he loved, and he could no more go
away and leave her under the seductive influence of
this incomprehensible stranger, than he could have
surrendered a pet lamb to the paw of a wolf. He
therefore stopped at a certain seat in the middle of
the lawn, and, not caring whether he was seen or
not, sat down, and taking a pencil and sketch-book


Something More than Croquet. 183 '

from his pocket, began, to all appearance, to draw
the scene before him.
Suddenly, a laughing voice was heard' over his
shoulder.
“Oh, Mr. Degraw! What a disappointment! I
expected to see a picture of hill and valley, roof and
spire, or at least a group of girls circling round one
poor croquet ball, and, behold! only a milk-white
page meets my eye !”
He turned. One of the lightest-hearted and freest-
tongued of the many gay girls about him stood at
his side.
“Good morning,” said he. “ You want to see a
picture? Well, wait a moment, and I will show you
one."
And without analyzing his motive or counting the
cost of his impulse, he forced his pencil to travel
over the paper, leaving thereupon the lines of a
countenance that was at the same time both forcible
and proud. WVhen he had finished it, he showed it
to her.
“ Who is it ?" he asked.
“ Why, your namesake from Cleveland,” she
replied, with a mischievous tilt of her head. “ It is
very good, only you have not flattered him.”
“I leave that for the ladies to do,” he gravely
retorted, and, with a smile She could not fathom,
closed his book, put it in his pocket, and offered her
his arm. “ You may wish to possess this, some day,”
he laughed, tapping significantly the place where he


I84 Somet/eing More t/zan Croquet.

had put the sketch; “but remember that you will
have no claim upon it if by word or gesture you
reveal the secret of its making.”
“ Do you mean the picture or your heart?" she
asked ; “for your hand is pressed over both.”
He gazed into her merry eyes, caught the momen-
tary contagion of her glee, and smiled.
“ That is for you to decide,” he rejoined. “ If it is
a riddle, I think your perspicacity may be relied
upon to solve it.”
And thus, with a cleared brow, but with a wildly
beating and rebellious heart, he drew near to the
players.
He was welcomed by one joyous acclaim, but he
noticed with a sense of humiliation, hard to endure,
that a dozen curious glances passed immediately
from his face to that of his now publicly recognized
rival. He restrained himself, however, and singling
out Miss Aspinwall, paid her such attention as his
distraction w0uld allow. The result was perplexity
to many minds. For no sooner did the signorina
behold herself forsaken by one, who upon'the even-
ing before had taken an indisputable place at her
side, than she showed a vague uneasiness which soon
made itself noticeable to every eye. But as the
morning progressed and she found herself as much
ignored by her late lover as politeness would allow,
she gained more mastery over herself and ended by
playing the role of general coquette. Meantime, the
stranger had been pressed into the game, possibly by


186 Something More than Croquet.

got everything but her ; and only waiting to see that
his rival was just poising his mallet for a blow, he
bowed his adieu to Miss Aspinwall, and started for
the bench upon which sat the perplexing object. of
his adoration.
But scarcely had he taken three steps, before he
found himself confronted by Mr. Ferrall.
“ Take my mallet, Degraw, I entreat you, and fin-
ish this game. I have just received a telegram
which demands instant attention. No one can beat
that Cleveland chap but you. Go in, then, and
don’t forget that Miss Rogers’ eye is on you."
Before the artist could reply, the mallet was
thrust into his hand, young Ferrall was off, and a
dozen voices were crying:
“ Whose turn? Beat that run of play if you can."
He gave the signorina one glance, grasped his
mallet, and took his stand by his ball. The. play
alluded to had been made by his rival, and seemed
to determine the game. But he was a fine player,
too, and after having taken in the location of the
several balls, he took his aim and made the most
brilliant stroke of the season.
A chorus of acclamations arose, then a silence fol-
lowed, broken only by the click of the mallet and
balls. When it ceased, he had separated his op-
ponents’ balls by the full width of the ground, and
croqueted his own and his partner’s through the last
two arches. I
Miss Clinton now advanced to the rescue. Could


Something More than Croquet. 187

she but hit a ball, the game might be saved, other-
wise it was irretrievably lost. Would she hit one?
Many on the field thought so, but the artist did not.
He had “ wired” her too effectually. And so it
proved. In making her stroke, she drove her ball
against an arch and confusion was the result. She
had but to hit her partner’s ball, put it out, and then
drive her own to the stake. But she was nervous,
and only succeeded in putting her own ball out.
The odds were now entirely in favor of the
stranger and Miss Clinton. But when Mr. Degraw
came to play, some unlucky twist of his mallet sent
his ball on one side of the wire instead of the other,
and his opportunity to retrieve the game was lost.
So now it was the artist’s turn again, and as he
had but to hit the stake with his ball, many thought
the result as good as decided, and prepared to clap
their hands. But to the momentary amazement of
every one, he dallied with his luck, and, instead of
driving his ball up carefully to the stake, sent it
whirling :cross the field in search of that of his
adversary. He did not hit the mark he had set for
himself, but he accomplished a purpose that was
dearer to him than any game. His ball stopped not
three feet from the signorina, and, though his watch-
ful rival evidently understood the motive which
urged him, and sent his own ball immediately in
the same direction, he had the opportunity to
whisper :
“ Love me, and drop this fellow. His admiration


I88 Somet/zing More than Croquet.

dishonors you and maddens me. I will not see you
yield to it.” _
That was all, but it evidently was enough. Her
face showed first astonishment, then chagrin and
then something like despair. But the scene was
one of mirth, and she found herself forced to join in
the general laughter which hailed the stranger as
victor, the artist having sacrificed the game for a
whisper.
Had he sacrificed more? There was every reason
to believe so; for the signorina had become rigid
after her laugh and then impassive, not lifting her
eyes from under her broad_brimmed hat, and only
answering questions after being startled by the
silence which followed them. And yet, though
both of her lovers felt this coldness and suffered
from it, neither seemed disposed to abandon
the field. They lingered, chatting, one on one side
of the ground and the other on the other, and neither
had any eyes but for her who seemingly saw no one.
But at last there came a moment when the long
strain upon them both was loosed. The artist saw
her move and moved himself, when suddenly he
perceived what had occasioned her change of
attitude, and inconsiderately paused.
His namesake from Cleveland was approaching
her. Would he be welcome? The artist held his
breath, watching them both with burning eyes. One
moment he thought she was going to turn away,
but the next she looked up, and though she grew


Forward and Bath. 189

startlingly pale, she cast upon the stranger ' a
heavenly smile which made the artist’s heart drop
like lead in his bosom.
“ I have lost her,” was his inward comment, and
he turned on his heel and left the place.
And so he continued to look upon the matter for
some hours; then a note came, a little perfumed
note, into which was crushed a forget-me-not; and
though it had no signature and bore no address, he
felt it was from her, and read the words it inclosed
with an emotion easily to be conceived. They were
but two, but those two words were:
“ Trust me.”
CHAPTER XX.
FORWARD AND BACK.
A man in love is eager to believe in the truth of
the object adored, but Hamilton Degraw pondered
long over the signorina’s note before he could come
to any definite conclusion in regard to it. Trust
her! Were those words the plea of a coqiiette or
the despairing cry of a threatened and perplexed
woman? In her face and in her manner he had
beheld evidences of a struggle between love and


190 Forward and Back.

some opposing passion he could not even fathom
sufficiently to name. But was the conflict a worthy
one and should he uphold her in it by an indulgence
which might speak more of weakness than of true
manly sympathy? He could not decide; for his
own pride was engaged in the decision, and a man’s
pride dies hard even in the cause of his own affec-
tions.
But as the night approached, the sweet appeal
grew in force till it overwhelmed his doubts and
renewed his confidence. Trust her! Yes, he could
. trust lzer, but could he trust himself? From the
experience of the morning, he knew that it would
be absolutely perilous to his self-control to subject
himself to a further sight of his rival’s triumph.
Though it was misery to sit still in his improvised
studio, while this other man enjoyed free access to
her side, he felt it to be wisdom to thus sacrifice his
feelings till the letter from Cleveland came to settle
the position of this interloper and give to himself
that advantage in her eyes which truth and honor
must ever possess over deception and revealed
fraud. Y
He, therefore, replied to her note by saying he
would trust her so far as to leave her to her new
friend till he could substantiate the doubts which he
had so freely expressed against him, and supple-
mented this communication by a line to Miss Aspin-
wall, in which he expressed thanks for her kindness
and entreated consideration for the feelings which


Forward and Back. 191
induced him to remain for a few days from her
house, or until she received such word from Mr.
Morris as would make it agreeable for him to return
there.
This last clause betrayed the full motive for his
conduct, as he had meant it should. The result was
a speedy response from his generous hostess.
“DEAR MR. DEGRAW: You maybedoing wisely,
and you may not. Of that you must be your own
judge. Mr. Degraw, of Cleveland, will not stay
away because you do, and much mischief can be
done in three- days. However, you have one firm
friend here, who will not allow matters to proceed
too far without warning you. May I be allowed to
express the hope, then, that I shall not be compelled
to address you till I can inclose Mr. Morris’ letter?
“ Yours sincerely,
“ HILARY ASPINWALL."
This letter, with its direct promise, put new life
into him. He felt that with this good friend on the
watch, he could rest in peace for a day, at least, and
rose the next morning full of hope, only to find his
spirits immediately dashed by the following unex-
pected epistle:
“ Mr. Degraw and Miss Rogers held a long con-
versation last evening, seated upon the window-
seat which we all feel is dedicated to you. Though


1 92 Forward and Bath.

there was nothing in their manner which was open
to the criticism of the most exacting person present,
half of the men and all of the ladies who saw them
felt chagrined at this testimony of a growing intimacy
on the part of two persons who, if half you say is
true, should never have had so much as a distant
acquaintanceship.
“ It is, perhaps, only fair to add that Mr. Degraw
has none of the look of a charlatan, and parted from
Miss Rogers last evening with agesture of as much
respect as if he had been taking leave of a queen.
“H. A.”
“ So much the worse,” thought our artist. “ Man-
ner can impose upon any woman. My darling is
certainly in danger." And he had another struggle
with his pride. It was cut short by the appearance
of Miss Aspinwall's own maid with another note. Its
contents varied from the last.
“ There is an especially fine view to be found on
the road to Stockbridge, just at the top of the long
hill. Some of our guests propose a ride and a picnic
there to-day. It might not be unwise for you to be
found already upon the ground, sketching. H. A."
This determined him. Pocketing his pride, for it
still rebelled, he hired a horse, and, providing himself
with full sketching materials, rode at once to the
place designated. It was a wild spot, full of ravines
and tangled undergrowth, but beautiful from the


Forward and Bath. 1'93

stretch of smiling valley and encircling hills which _
lay in broad expanse before it. Settling himself upon
the highest point, he unpacked his easel, tOOk out
his sketching frame and began work. Presently he
heard the noise of'approaching wheels, then the sOund‘
of voices mingled with laughter, and before he could
subdue the restless throbbing of his heart, perceived,
emerging from the trees below him, a carriage,
on the front seat of which, side by side with the man
he detested, sat the exquisite form of the signorina,
clad 'in a costume so simple and yet so coquettish
that his heart sank even before he saw her face.
But when they came nearer and he could discern
the pure joy which illumined her features, he felt
that there was no more hope for him ; and, rising up,
he stepped forward and stood, a tall and forbidding
figure, on the edge Of the road, up which the carriage
was slowly toiling.
Instantly silence settled on the merry-makers
beneath. In a stillness that was almost oppressive,
they advanced, and stopped almost within reach of
his arm, whereupon, without any word of greeting,
or any other further show Of courtesy than a pro-
found bow, he turned, gathered up his easel and vari-
ous traps, and, descending the side hill, took up his
position near a great bowlder, where he immediately
recommenced his work. '
It was a direct cut, made with the rudeness which
exists in all great passions. But there was something
besides the mere expression of anger in his action.


194 Forward and Back.

He had feared to risk an encounter in which his own
emotions might master him. Better lose his title of
gentleman than break forth in those execrations
which were trembling on his tongue. Silence and
solitude might restore his equanimity. He would at
least give them the opportunity of doing so; and if
by this self-restraint he drove the signorina to regret
the increasing provocation of her manner, he would
have earned a reward equal to his sacrifice.
A second carriage stopping behind the first soon
added its freight of laughing girls to the party
already scattered over the hill-top. Then came a
third conveyance, and finally a fourth, which latter
held the servants and such means for the general
comfort and good cheer as spoke highly of the prov-
ident care of their generous hostess.
The artist saw all, but did not cease making marks
upon his paper. He was schooling himself and
learning a lesson in patience which might some day
stand him in good stead.
It would be tedious for me to relate all the occur-
rences of this day. Mr. Degraw was not left long
alone on the hillside, but the one person for whose
coming he eagerly waited did not show herself at
his side. When the meal was ready, he was sum-
moned by Miss Aspinwall to take a seat at the
improvised table; but he refused, in as courteous
tones as possible, and went on with the picture he
was now mechanically finishing. When it was done,


Forward and Bath. 195

he rose, and, seeing his friends still at luncheon,
strolled down the hill.
The consequence was that he soon found himself
at the mouth of one of the ravines with which the
place abounded. Not in the mood for scenery, but
caring much for solitude, he was on the point of
entering the place, when suddenly he perceived
before him the figures of two persons, one of which
was so well known to his eye and so dear to his
heart that it was with difficulty he suppressed an
ejaculation of astonishment. ‘
It was the signorina, and with her was a man
whose face and form were vaguely familiar to him,
and yet not sufficiently so for him to recall his
Iname or to remember where he had seen him.
A little child fluttered gleefully between them,
lending an air of innocence to the scene, and yet the
artist felt strangely put out by what he saw, and could
not refrain from giving another sharp look at the
person whom the signorina thus honored by her
companionship, and was further startled by dis-
covering that he was not a gentleman.
What did it mean? The two were conversing
intently, too intently for him to doubt that the
meeting was intentional, and yet what stranger
could she know in this place, and what business
could so dainty a lady have with a man of this
stamp? As he was asking himself these more than
puzzling questions, the two said some hurried words
of farewell and quickly parted, the man slipping


Forward and Back. 197

“ Ah, tardy one !" and “ Oh, wanderer !” were the
cries with which she was hailed, while the gentlemen
instinctively rose to their feet. ,_
Two only remained seated. Mr. Degraw, of
Cleveland, who was talking to Miss Aspinwall," and
his namesake, the artist, who, with eyes fixed upon
the signorina, made a quick gesture toward the
empty seat at his side, as if to say: -
“Sit here.”
She hesitated, and two bright red spots appeared
on her otherwise pallid cheeks. Then she dropped
her head, lifted the little child at her side and set it
down in the place he had indicated, murmuring in
his ear as she did so: ,
“ I dare not,” with the quick addition, “ look under
the music-box at seven to-night.” _ ,
Then she slipped away, and he beheld her, a
moment later, talking and laughing at the side of
his hated rival. V _ _ ,
What did it mean? Had ' she herself become
aware of her danger, and was she only playing a
part with the man she dreaded? It did not look
exactly like it. There was the true ring of feeling
in her voice when she answered some chance ques-
tion of her companion, and if she did not trust him,
she had certainly every appearance of doing so. Yet
her voice had quivered with earnestness when she
spoke to the artist, and, perplexed as he was, he
could not but look forward with the greatest anxiety


I 98 Forward and Bath.

to that hour of seven, which promised to solve his
difficulties.
He did not. linger long after luncheon. He was
too abstracted to be good company for any one, and
he considered that in justice to the others he ought
to withdraw. He, therefore, took his leave of Miss
Aspinwall with as much cheerfulness as he could
master, and hastening to where his horse was tied,
proceeded to make his preparations for departure.
As he did so, he saw two men in the bushes before
him, one of whom he recognized as Miss Aspinwall’s
butler and the other as the man he had perceived
talking with the signorina in a ravine. Startled at
the sight, he waited till the two had parted, then
approached the butler and inquired who the person
was with whom he had just been speaking. The
answer confirmed his worst fears:
“Oh, that is Mr. Degraw’s man. The other Mr.
Degraw, I mean. He came with us to look after the
horses."


Threats and Entreaties. 199

CHAPTER XXI.
THREATS AND ENTREATIEs.
Miss Aspinwall dined at half-past six. ‘At seven
o’clock, therefore, she and her guests were still at
table. This the artist knew, and this the signo-
rina had calculated upon when she bade him look at
this hour under the music-box.
This instrument, which was of good size and
exquisite tone, was often to be heard in the house.
It stood upon a certain table in the parlor overlook-
ing the piazza, and he had but to enter by the front
door to be within a few short steps of it. Promptly,
then, at seven o'clock, he entered the grounds, and
advanced toward the now wholly deserted piazza.
'As he did so, he heard a sound that sent the blood
surging to his heart. It was the music-box playing.
Was it in welcome or in warning? He hastened
his steps to see. a
It was a warm evening, and the door, as usual,
stood wide open. Mounting the steps, he was about
to enter, when he was startled by a sudden fragrance
of flowers, at once so sweet and powerful that he
looked instinctively about for the blossoms which
caused it. But there were none in sight. With a
sensation of something uncanny, he touched the


.\2oo Threats and Entreaties.

bell, and while waiting for a response, glanced from
one to another of the four great pillars which sup-
ported the roof of the portico, fully expecting to see
the familiar figure of the signorina glide from behind
one of them with her arms' filled with flowers. But
no such figure appeared, while the servant did, ush-
ering him into the parlor with excuses for the
ladies, who were still in the dining-room.
' “ Do not disturb them,” he hastened to say. “I
will look over the music till Miss Aspinwall is at
liberty.” And only waiting for the servant to dis-
appear, he advanced to where the music-box was
still playing and gently lifted it. _
“If she is listening,” he thought, “ she will note
the change in its tone, and know that I am here.”
There was a folded paper lying on the table where
the music-box had rested. Taking it quickly up, he
replaced the box, and then turned to the window to
read the communication he had found. It Was like
‘her last note, without signature and without address,
and ran thus :7
“It is you that are indanger, not I. If, therefore,
you prize your life and my peace, leave this spot.
You will take my heart with you, but this must not
cause you to hesitate. When the day comes that I
can receive you with safety, I will send you word.
,Till then, I will gauge your devotion and your trust
by the attention you pay to my wishes.” '
The paper shook in his hands; the words danced


Threats and Entreaties. 201

before his eyes. Leave her while she acknowledged
that her heart was his! Never. He surely must
have read the lines amiss. He must re-read them,
and see if, in his agitation and surprise, he had not
misconstrued their meaning.
But, as he lifted his eye to the top of the page, he
was met again by a sudden burst of fragrance, and,
wheeling impetuously about, encountered close at
his back a man, in whose shifting gaze he immedi-
ately detected the fact that the words he had just
read had not been conned by himself alone.
Blinded with rage—for the spy was no other than
his rival’s man whom he had seen with the signorina
in the ravine—he shot one glance at the basket of
hot-house flowers which the fellow carried, and then
leaped like a flash at his throat. But the other slipped
aside in time, and an encounter was prevented.
“ Do not forget yourself !” exclaimed the valet.
“ The ladies will be coming in a minute. If you
have anything to say to me, you will find me in the
circle of hemlocks. But first let me put these flowers
on the window-seat, where I was told to leave
them.”
The artist, mute and humiliated, walked directly
out of the house. He had not needed to read the
card attached to the flowers to know that they were
for the signorina.
[The valet, contrary to his expectations, did not
disappoint him. ,He came directly to the circlet of
trees, toward which the artist had mechanically


202 T kreats and Entreaties.

hastened, and halting respectfully at the entrance,
took off his hat.
Mr. Degraw eyed him with contempt.
“Y0u scoundrel!" was his greeting, “by what
right did you presume to read a letter of mine over
my back.”
The other, baffling him still by an aspect which
was at once strange, and yet vaguely familiar,
answered him solely by a sly smile.
Exasperated, the artist cried:
“ Where have I seen you? Your face is not new
to me. Are you a New York man, or do you sim-
ply look like some other coward I have known.”
A broad laugh finished the smilethat yet distorted
the other’s swarthy countenance.
“If I have disguised myself as poorly as all this,
I shall not receive very high commendation from
the chief,” was his final response. “ You saw me at
police headquarters, sir. I am an officer in dis_
guise."
The artist recoiled. Of course; why had he not
thought of this before. Had not Mr. Byrd warned
him that a detective would be found in Miss Rogers’
vicinity? His equanimity returned with a bound.
He even seconded the other’s smile.
' “ I beg your pardon,” said he. “ I was told that
you were Mr. Degraw’s man, and being—"
“I am Mr. Degraw’s man. How else could I be
useful? I came with him here from New York. I


Tkreats and Fntreaties. 203

watch over him and I watch over her, and, pardon
-me, I have just been watching over you.”
“ The last seems unnecessary," dryly remarked the
artist. “I am at least competent to take care of
myself."
“ N o,” the other’s look seemed to say. “You
Overrate your power and underrate your danger.”
“ What do you mean?” inquired the artist. “ Miss
Rogers speaks of peril, but, then, a woman is easily
alarmed.”
“That is true,” allowed the other; “but, then, in
this case, I think she is justified. My master, Mr.
Degraw, has some diabolical scheme on hand.
What it is, I have not yet been able to determine,
but that it is of an importance which will brook no
interference I have many reasons to know. You
stand in his way; if you continue to do this, he will
endeavor to suppress you. I know this by words I
have overheard him mutter. So if Miss Rogers
shows apprehension, you perceive she has reasons
for it.”
“ Does Miss Rogers know that we are protected
by a detective.”
“ No, sir."
“ Yet I saw you talking with her yesterday.”
“ In the ravine ?"
“ Yes.”
“I am glad it was you, sir, who saw us, and not '
my master or one of the young ladies. I had some_
thing to say to her, and Ifollowed her to a quiet


204 Threats and Entreaties.

spot. It was a dangerous thing to do, but we have
to take risks, sometimes. I wanted her to know
what I have just told you.” '
“So this is how ,Miss Rogers is acquainted with
my danger ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“ And you did not tell her you were a detective?”
“ N o, sir; I did not consider it necessary."
“She must think you an honest serving-man."
’ “ She appears to."
Mr. Degraw, who had only put these questions
for the purpose of testing the fellow’s truth, felt a
mountain lifted from his breast. She was not cheat-
ing him, then, by coquettish wiles, into believing she
possessed an interest in him. She was really
alarmed, and, woman-like, knew no other course
than to humor the man she feared, in behalf of the
man she loved. And yet had it been all humoring
on her part—those brilliant glances, those lovely
smiles? Yes, for she was an actress, trained to
express emotion, and gifted with genius for doing
so. With a cleared brow, he confronted the man
before him. ‘
“I am relieved by your explanations,” said he.
“And now it only remains for us to consider
together as to what course we shall pursue in refer_
ence to this dangerous fellow.”
The other gave him a searching glance.
“Are you not going to follow Miss Rogers’
advice?” he inquired.


Threats and Entreaties. 205

“ And leave her just when she may need me
most?”
“I know it dOes not seem chivalrous, but it may,
perhaps, be wise.” '
“Wise when you have the power to arrest this
fellow at any moment it may seem best to you?”
“But I do not wish to arrest him just yet. His
secret is what we want to get at, and this we can
only reach by leaving him at largel Why does he
pursue girls by the name of Jenny Rogers? And
why, when he makes their acquaintance, does he
forsake some and injure others? Is itmania on his
part, or has he some scheme aflOat which involVes
the wholsale sacrifice of these innocent girls? We
do not know, but we are anxious to, and that is why
Iadvocate leaving him at liberty for a little while
longer. He has no suspicion that he is watched by
any one but you; and, when you have taken your-
self away, he will certainly show his hand, and that
openly and at once.”
“ But this is being cold-blooded with a vengeance !
What if, in the meanwhile, the present object of his
attentions falls a victim to his mania ?”
“ She will not. This time he seems to be really
affected by the charms of the lady he addresses. If
he injures her,I am no judge of man or woman.
Besides, remember there is a watch-dog at her side.
Nothing can harm her or shall harm her, whileI '
remain on the watch ; of that you may be sure.”
His tone was so convincing, and he showed so


206 Threats and Entreaties.
much feeling in his last words, that Mr. Degraw
looked at him in surprise.
“ Ah, we fellows are not without heart,” observed
the man. “ Give us half a chance, and we can show
ourselves as considerate as the best.”
“ But you are not omnipresent, and peril may
reach her in ways unforeseen and unexpected.”
“ I do not think so. I am both liked and trusted
by my master. He confides every commission to
me. I am his right hand, and he will make no move
without me.”
“ Do you not flatter yourself ?”
“ No. He apes the great gentleman and does no
manual work himself.”
The artist sighed.
“ Well,” said he, “ I will follow your wishes as far
as to try and keep away from the house. If my
anxieties make it impossible, why, that is the fault of
human nature, and must not count against me. You,
on your side, must promise that you will not only
watch over her, but give me the opportunity to
assist you in doing so, if his actions become in any
way threatening. Miss Aspinwall, whom I will take
into my confidence, must promise the same, and with
these two sureties before me, I may succeed in
restraining my impetuosity.”
“ I am sure you will,” was the reply. “And if
you would go further, and remove to the hotel—"
“ I will.” '


Threats and Entreaties. 207
“ Then I think matters must culminate very soon,
and you will either find that his interest is no
greater here than it seemed to be in some other
quarters, or that it is of such a nature that the
police will feel justified in seizing upon him, in
which case his arrest will occur promptly and effec-
tually.” ‘ ‘
“ I yield for the nonce,” said the artist; and fear-
ful of retracting his word, which had somehow been
torn from him, he broke up the conference by a
gesture, and walked rapidly away, in the direction
of his present home. ,
But before he had reached it, he deliberately
turned about, and hastened back to the mansion he
had just left.
“I will not act the part of the coward,” he
inwardly determined; “nor will I be a slave to the
cold-blooded wishes of the police. She is here, and
I will see her, if only to say good-bye."


208 Fart/zer into the Maze.

CHAPTER XXII.
FARTI-IER INTO THE MAZE.
Dinner was now over, as Degraw could tell from
the sound of voices that floated through the open
window, and made merry music on thevbroad piazza.
To enter amidst this crowd in his present frame of
mind seemed impossible. How could he bear the
fire 'of eyes that was sure to greet him, and with
what patience could he utter the necessary civilities
that would be demanded‘of him. He would rather
forego the interview.
But' just as he was about to turn away, he caught
sight of her face gazing from an upper window, and
though there was nothing in her countenance to
show that she saw him, he stopped in delight, and
gave her one long look, in which was concentrated
all his hopes and fears. The next moment, be
ground his nails into his palms in anger, for he per-
ceived that her tender face was bent over a basket
of flowers, and that she was kissing them with pas-
sionate fervor. Oh, was it for this he had come back?
Was his exile to be made unbearable by this revela_
tion of secret rapture over a gift bestowed by his
fraudulent rival? It was a thought too bitter to be
cherished. Whatever sacrifice he might hereafter


210 Farther into the Maze.

breaking into his own words as he saw her fingers
I spread lovingly over the blossoms fastened in her
bosom. “ Even if their giver were the man he
seems, it would be an intolerable sight to me. As it
is—
“ Sir, did not you send me these flowers?”
“ N0.”
She turned pale, then red, and raised her hand as
if to tear the blossoms away.
“ I thought you did,” said she.
The words, the tone raised him into the seventh
heaven of delight. Had he not been conscious that
more than one pair of eyes were resting upon them,
he would certainly have caught her by the hand and
uttered a thousand passionate protestations. But
the hour was not propitious for love-making. Be-
sides she looked restless, and panted with impatience.
“ Mr. Degraw’s man brought them here. Ishould
have thought the donor’s name would have appeared
upon them.”
“ It was, but I only thought of you. They were
lying on the window-seat, you see. Oh, Mr. Degraw,
will you not leave me? Indeed, I am in earnest
when I beg you to do so. Though it seems cheer-
ful here and innocent asParadise before the Fall,
there is death in the air and you willbe the object
of it!”
“ Signorina, were that death as near me now as
you are, I would not move. That you remain is
enough for me. How could you think I would go


Farther into the Maze. 2II

after I learned that the shadow of danger rested
over these walls.”
“But I am not menaced ; oh, why will you not
believe me! See ! I entreat.”
She put her two hands together, then stopped to
wring them, for his look was immovable.
“ DO not call the attention of the others,” he
remonstrated. “ YVe do not wish to frighten them
or even to enlighten them as to the importance of
the matter we are discussing.” Then as he saw her
hands drop despairingly at her side, he added:
“But you alarm yourself unnecessarily if it is my
safety you regard. I cannot think that I am in any
real danger, nor can I think that you regard me as
being so.”
Her eyes flashed wildly and with an incomprehen-
sible expression to his face.
“Why do you say that?” she demanded.
“ Because you send me away. Because you
encourage cowardice in a man who has not, to my
knowledge, betrayed any great evidences of pusil-
lanimity. If you thought this other Degraw as
great a villain as your words imply, you would be
asking for the protection of the police instead of try-
ing to beguile him from his intentions by the frank-
est and most confiding of smiles.”
“You do not understand,” shepanted. “ I am in
a net; I must go on in my own way. If you love
me you will trust me. Mr. Degraw, do trust me.
It will be my salvation and yours.”


212 Fartker into t/ze Maze.

“ Mysterious!” he ejaculated.
She seemed to lose heart.
“ And you will not go?” she entreated, her breast
heaving, her eyes wandering, her form swaying to
and fro.
He felt like crying “yes,” just to calm her, but
he thought her anxiety exaggerated, her emotion
one that he ought to restrain.
“ You are moved,” said he, “by what Mr.
Degraw’s man has told you.”
She shrank back. A look of inconceivable terror
appeared in her eyes.
“ Mr. Degraw’s man?” she repeated.
“Yes,I saw him talking to you yesterday. He
has been talking to me since. I know just what we
have to fear.”
Her head fell; she stood a picture of abstraction
before his eyes.
He, charmed by her beauty, hesitated to break
the spell under which she had fallen. What a
dream it was to be standing here in sight of this
lovely form and the sweet down-cast face whose
charm was ever new and ever captivating to him!
What other face or form could ever compare with
it in his eyes, and where, if he lost her, could he
hope to look for embodied love and poetry again?
Nowhere. Yet, as the word thrilled through his
consciousness, he found himself looking away and
behind him to the open parlor door, where in the
huge frame formed by its lintels he saw Miss Aspin_


Farther into the Maze. 213’

wall standing, with her gaze fixed on his and an
inexplicable smile on her lips! Ah, she is lovely,
too, and he found himself asking, as many a man
had done before, why his heart should have yielded
itself to one whose caprices were a constant
tOrture to him, and not to the noble nature, open
mind and serene beauty of this finest specimen of
her sex. There was no answer, and with a sigh
he looked back only to hear the signorina murmur:
“ And what did Mr. Degraw’s man say to you P”
“Only what should relieve your mind,” was his
answer. “He is—well, he is not our enemy, and
nothing can occur to us without his knowledge."
Her hand, which lay on the open balustrade,
tapped the wood impatiently.
“ I wish I knew what plea would serve,” she cried.
“Won't you take a trip to New York just fora
week ?"
“ No,” he answered; “ no, I shall stay here, and if
this Degraw, as he calls himself, shows even so much
as the tip of his cloven foot—"
“ Hark l” she cried, drawing back as if she would
fly up-stairs. “ He is coming now ; I hear his voice
on the porch. You have undone us both. I can
never recover my self-possession sufficiently—"
“ It is not necessary. I am going to meet him and
unmask his pretensions before this household. I was
going to wait, but I will not see you sacrificed.
Don’t, dearest,” he pleaded, for she had almost


214 Fart/zer into t/ze Maze.

grasped his arm, “ Iam master of this situation and
you will soon see him sneak away abashed.”
He leaped toward the door. He had his eye on
his rival, who was crossing the piazza to meet him,
when Miss Aspinwall stepped forward and inter-
posed her firm figure between him and his secret
foe.
“Read this,” she whispered. “It is the letter
from Mr. Morris. It came in the six o’clock mail.”
She drew him into the parlor. She thrust the
paper into his hand. Mechanically he opened it;
mechanically he read it.
“ DEAR MISS ASPINWALL: Mr. Hamilton Degraw
is a well-known person in this place. He is a fine,
intelligent and conscientious gentleman, of irre_
proachable character and connections. This I wrote
you before. In person, he is tall and imposing, and
with his first word he impresses himself upon you
as a gentleman. His hair is dark; his eyes gray;
and he wears a large mustache. If you have any
doubts as to the person who presented my first letter
being the gentleman he professes to be, ask him the
name of my little one who was born three months
ago. If he says it is Frederika Holcomb, be sure he
is all right, for that is the name we settled to give
her, on the evening he spent with us before going
East. We have changed it since to Dorothy, but
that he cannot know.


Fart/ter into tke Maze. 215

“ \Vith regards to yourself, I remain most respect-
fully yours, HERBERT MORRIS.”
The artist re-folded the letter, gave it back, and
slowly sauntered out into the hall. He was followed
by Miss Aspinwall, who, gliding by him, approached
the newcomer with grave but courteous dignity.
“Good-evening,” said she, and began a conver-
sation that naturally and with ease led up to the
subject of Cleveland and the people who live there.
The artist stood in the door-way, with his back to
them ; but he heard every word, and showed to
those who thought it worth their while to watch
him, a countenance of growing uncertainty, as the
stranger’s answers came quickly and without embar-
rassment, even when the Morris family was discussed.
At last he moved to hide his agitation; the crucial
question had been put in these words:
“Mrs. Morris has a little infant, I believe. Do
you know what name they have given it, Mr.
Degraw ?” .
The answer was direct and unhesitating:
“They have called her Frederika. At least, that
was the name decided upon on the last eveningI
spent with them.”
“ Thank you," was Miss Aspinwall’s response. “ I
have been wanting to know for a long time.” And
she turned to flash a glance at the artist.
He had gone.


216 We/eome and Unwe/eome Intruders.

CHAPTER XXIII.
WELCOME AND UNWELCOME INTRUDERS.
The artist returned to his rooms a dazed man.
The triumph of his rival had overwhelmed him. He
moved and acted like an automaton, and passed
from object to object in his apartment like one who
has no further interest in life. Not till he came
upon the signorina’s picture, gleaming in soft beauty
from the corner where he kept it enshrined, did a
flash of the old life return to him. Then, indeed, he
seemed to wake and soften to the influence of the
twilight, and be a man again of hopes and fears.
But, after a long contemplation of it, he showed
renewed signs of weakening; and anxious, probably,
to stave off the torpor which he felt overcoming him,
he passed to the closet and reached up his hand for
a certain decanter he kept there. It was dark, and
he had to grope along the shelf for it; but at last
he found it in what he thought a rather remote
corner, and, taking it down, discovered, to his sur_
prise, that it was empty.
Now, as he had filled it that very morning, he
naturally thought this somewhat suspicious, and
looked about the room to see if any one had been in
it during his absence. But he saw no evidence of


Weleome and Unweleome Intruders. 2 I 7

this. The intruder, therefore, must have been some
one both sly and deft, for the room was quite small
and much crowded with furniture.
But who had the intruder been? His landlord
or his landlord’s wife? Impossible! Such people
as they never drink. The servant, then? But she
was as awkward as she was good-natured, and never
came into the room without upsetting a table or so,
and knocking down two pictures at least. It must
have been a stranger. -But what stranger? Henry
Martin, his fellow-artist, whom he had originally
brought with him to this place, was up in the hills
sketching ; besides, his tastes were moderate almost
to the point of abstinence. It could not have been
he, nor any one else that he knew. It was, there-
fore, some one that he did not know.
Arrived at this point, he dropped the subject.
After all, what did he care for this or anything else?
He would sleep ; he would shut his eyes upon this
perplexing world. But here a knock at the door
startled him. He was not to be allowed to rest.
Some one demanded admittance.
Advancing to the door, he opened it. It had
darkened considerably since he first came in, and for
a moment he did not recognize the face that con-
fronted him; then an exclamation of relief left his
lips, and he stepped back with cheerful alacrity,
exclaiming, in the most welcoming of tones:
“Mr. Gryce !”


218 Welcome and Unweleome Intruders.


“The same,” was the hearty rejoinder. “ I am
glad to see you well.”
The artist, who still held the empty decanter in
his hand, gave a short laugh, and turned to light the
lamp.
“ I cannot express my pleasure at seeing you,” was
his reply. “Have you just come, and did the spirit
of divination bring you? You cannot know how
desirable your presence is here. I was just wonder-
ing if I would be justified in sending for you or for
Mr. Byrd. I did not think so, and yet, now that you
have come, I feel relieved of a mountain-weight of
uncertainty and responsibility. Did you know you
were wanted so much ?”
“ My presence should be the best answer for that.
I have no time for jaunts, and no health to indulge
in them if I had."
“ Then the detective you sent here telegraphed
for you ?”
“ He did.”
“ Then he is a better fellow than I thought.”
“ Oh, he is all right.” '
Mr. Degraw, more and more cheerful, showed the
detective his empty decanter.
“Some one has been helping himself to my best
sherry,” said he, “ or I would offer you a glass after
your ride.”
“Whom do you mean?"
“That I don’t know.”
The detective moved nearer to the grate, upon


Weteome and Unweltome Intruders. 219

which his eyes had been fixed ever since he entered
the room.
“What is this?” he asked, pointing to the ashes
beneath, that were wet, or appeared to be so.
“ Ican’t say : do you suppose it is my wine which
has been poured there P”
“ I should like to take a sniff and see. But my
rheumatism is too much for me. I could not bend
my back so low if I should try.” ’
“But I can,” and the artist went down on his
knees, buried his nose in the ashes, and rose up with
a perplexed face.
“ My wine is there; what do you suppose it
means ?” he cried.
Mr. Gryce shook his head; he was already look-
ing here and there about the room as only a detec-
tive can.
“ You leave yOur window open?” he remarked.
“ Generally.”
“Some one has jumped out of it.”
“ How do you know that?”
“ Here is the mark of a foot in this down pillow.
Evidently a flying leap has been taken from this
couch to the grass beneath.”
“Well, I did not see that."
“And if that is not a proof, look at that broken
branch of vine lying below. If it were not so dark,
we cOuld see it more clearly, but I do not know as
we need to." And the detective withdrew his head


220 Welcome and Unweleome Intruders.

from the window out of which he had been peering,
and again cast his eyes about the room.
“ Have any of those canvases and things been
moved ?” he inquired.
“ No."
“ Yet a man has passed amid them freely. Ah I”
The exclamation was caused by the sudden dis-
covery of a small and glittering object lying on the
floor under the lounge. Drawing it out, he showed
it to the artist with a quiet and peculiar smile.
“A detective’s badge,” he cried. “ The identity
of your visitor is explained. He was no one else
than my colleague.” _
The artist, with his eyes flashing from the empty
decanter to the still moist ashes, changed color.
“ You are right," said he, “ and by his visit he has
probably saved my life.”
“ What’s that?”
“ He warned me. He told me thatI was in danger
from this adventurer’s jealousy, and—”
“ Wait ! What adventurer?”
“ The other Degraw. You knew there’s another
man here who calls himself ‘ Hamilton Degraw,’ did
you not ?”
“Yes.”
“ Well, he passes for a gentleman. He is perhaps
a gentleman, but, for all that, he is the villain you
are seeking. He came with recommendations from
Cleveland, and was received into Miss Aspinwall’s
house, and immediately began to make love to Sig-


222 Welcome and Unweleome Intruders.

“ Yes."
“And has talked with Miss Rogers ?"
“ Yes.”
“And with you?"
“ Yes.”
“ Humph ! And yet you speak of him in a care_
less way as my man !”
“I do not know him by name.”
“You do not know him by name ?”
“ No.”
“ He must be wonderfully disguised.”
“ How ?”
“The man whom we sent here was Mr. Byrd.”
“Never!”
“ Mr. Byrd,” emphatically repeated the detective.
“ It is impossible! No disguise could make blue
eyes black. This fellow has black eyes.”
“ Pooh !”
“Black, I assure you.”
“Lights deceive.”
“I have seen him by daylight only."
“ It is Byrd ; Ihave his letter here, written in his
own hand.”
The artist grew excited.
“ Letter or no letter, black eyes or blue, the man
who calls himself Mr. Degraw’s valet and an officer
of your force is not Mr. Byrd.”
The detective gave a sly wink at the ferule, as if it
were with that and not with the artist he had been
carrying on this dispute, then buried it, with the


Welcome and Unweleome Intruders. 22 3

secrets he had been imparting to it, deep in the pile
of the rug upon which he stood, and turned toward
the door.
“ Let us make a few inquiries,” he proposed.
The artist, unused to this sort of work, followed
his steps with reluctance.
“ Whither are we going ?” he asked. ,
“ First, to your landlady or landlord or whoever it
is who keeps this house going. I want to find out if
any one saw a person enter here since youhave been
out, and if so, who it was.”
“ Then let us ask the old man who sits on the front
porch. He is always there and would be sure to see
any one who came in by the door.”
“Very gOod.” "
So they asked the old man who was still sitting in
his favorite spot, though the night dews were falling
and cosy-looking lights welcomed him within.
He answered that he had seen two strange men
admitted, besides the elderly gentleman now ad-
dressing him. One came quickly, passed him rudely
and went in without waiting for his hurried ring at
the bell to be answered. He had a book in his hand.
The other came immediately after him, stepped
quietly by his chair and did not stop to ring at all.
Both went toward Mr. Degraw’s room.
“ Two I”
The artist looked amazed. The detective turned
up his ferule and nodded at it.
“ And when did these men come out ?”


224 Weleome and Unweleome Intruders.

9!
“Why, they have not come, the old man
answered. “I have sat here on purpose to watch.
I was going to ask them their business when I saw
them again.”
“ A fine watch-dog, that,” murmured Mr. Gryce,
sarcastically. Then with a kindly bow: “ They
were both young men, I take it?”
“ Oh, yes, young fellows, not Mr. Degraw's kind,
but well enough.”
“I see; I see. Come, Mr. Degraw, our business
takes us further.” And Mr. Gryce descended the
two steps leading to the walk while saying: “ Your
window points toward the west, I see. Probably
the latter man followed the first out Of it into that
skirting of trees that leads up the hill-side. We
will let them take care of themselves. We have
other matters on hand just now."
“ But,” objected Mr. Degraw, as they passed out
of the gate into the broad street of this beautiful
village, “who is the second man? or rather, the
first? for it looks as if the latter man is the detec-
tive.”
“ It could not have been Mr. Degraw ?” suggested
Mr. Gryce.
“ No; I left him behind me at Miss Aspinwall’s."
“ An agent of his, then ?”
“ Possibly.”
“ With an errand of death ?"
“It may be.”
“ l/Vhich was defeated by Mr. Byrd P”


IVe/tome and Unweteome Intruders. 22 5

“The valet is not Mr. Byrd,” the artist again
declared.
“ You stick to that P"
“ Always.”
“ Remember Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and stick
to nothing, especially where it is a question wherein
the disguising of a detective is concerned,” Mr.
Gryce somewhat sententiously observed.
And yet, as they proceeded, and more of the
particulars connected with the late occurrences came
to light under his skilful questioning, it seemed
from his manner and the frequency with which he
turned up his ferule to look at it, as if he were not
without his own secret doubts, though in just what
direction they pointed, it WOuld have been hard to
tell. When they reached the hotel, Mr. Gryce
stopped.
“ Let me_do this business myself,” said Mr. Gryce;
and leaving the only too willing artist on the piazza,
he went in and had his little talk with the clerk.
Shortly he came out. _
“ Mr. Degraw and his man are neither of them in.
This we expected. Ishall wait till one or both of
them return. What will you do ?”
“ Wait, too. The piazza is dark enough to conceal
anybody’s identity. I will sit here, and if you see
fit to acquaint me with the result of your interview,
well and good. I shall know how to be grateful.”
“That I do not doubt,” observed the detective.
“I have no objections to your remaining here. In


226 A Fortune and a Deat/z-Bed.
fact, I prefer it. But do not think of accosting Mr.
Degraw or his man. \Ve have a delicate matter
here to handle and it will not bear the least inter-
ference.”
“ Do not fear; Ishall not budge from my corner."
“ Very well, then. You will hear from me again.”
He went in, and the artist settled himself for a
long and tedious hour of waiting. As the clock
struck ten, he heard the notes of a fine baritone voice
disturb the quiet of the night, and the next moment
saw Mr. Degraw’s fine form come up the steps, cross
the piazza, and enter the house by the large front
door.


CHAPTER XXIV.
A FORTUNE AND A DEATH-RED.
The moments that followed were full of suspense.
What was happening in Mr. Degraw’s private
room, or wherever it was that the detective had
chosen to confront him? Was an arrest in progress,
and would he presently behold Mr. Gryce issue
forth, proud and triumphant with evidences of his
victim’s secret villainy in his hand? He dared not
anticipate the scene; he desired it so much. Jeal-
ousy had wrought its perfect work in him and he
COuld think of no more welcome sight than the


A Fortune and a Deatk-Bed. 227

vision of his hated rival in disgrace. But he was a
generous-hearted man, for all that, and did not give
way to anticipations that he vaguely felt dishonored
him, though he had no doubt of their justice or of -
his rival’s hypocrisy and secret crime.
When, therefore, some ten minutes after the dis-
appearance of his namesake into the house, another
step approached and another form passed before his
eyes into the big front door, he allowed his attention
to be attracted and his interest engaged, especially
as in the passing glimpse he caught of this person
he was nearly assured that it was no other than Mr.
Degraw's valet who had thus boldly entered the
hotel before his eyes. Had it not been for Mr.
Gryce’s injunction not to disturb himself, no matter
what occurred, he would have made himself sure of
this; for he felt that he had questions of no unim-
portant nature to put to this man. But, as it was,
he remained silent and immovable among the vines
that clustered over the portico, and let the fellow
go by, finding his reward, a moment later, in the
discovery that the valet, if it was the valet he had
seen, was not without eyes to watch him, for only
a few steps behind him came another man, who
entered the house with an easy swing of his grace-
ful body, which was strangely familiar to the artist,
and which roused in his mind the strangest con-
jectures.
He was still puzzling over this matter, and won-
dering if the scene between Mr. Gryce and his pro-


228 A Fortune and a Death-Bed.

totype was to be heightened by the entrance of this
pair, when the first of the two darted out of the
house more rapidly than he had entered it, and
. hastened at full speed down the street, just as the
whistle of an approaching train was heard. He was
followed, but not immediately, by the second person,
who, hearing the train blowing off steam at the
station, rushed after him down the street with all the
determination of an ardent pursuer; while from the
great front door through which the two had come
rushing, there now issued a half-dozen or more
curious individuals, anxious to know the termina-
tion of an encounter which had evidently aroused
their greatest wonder.
While he was noting these persons and wondering
what was taking place at the station where the pur-
sued and pursuer were likely to come up, the
artist felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard whis-
pered very quietly into his ear :
“I should like you to hear Mr. Degraw’s story.
It is a very curious one.”
With a start, he turned toward the detective, and,
blindly obedient to the signal which he gave, rose
and followed him into the house. As he did so, be
sufficiently subdued the fresh excitement which Mr.
Gryce’s summons had occasioned, to remark:
“These people are watching a chase. Mr. De-
graw’s valet just put in an appearance here, but he
was followed by a man, who evidently frightened
him so that he ran out. of the house again. The


A Fortune and a Death-Bed. 229

other one started in pursuit, and the two are now
racing down the street toward the station.”
“ Is that so? Well, Byrd is a lively One. We can
safely leave him tO his own devices. Come I” And
he led the way up-stairs into a large and comfortably
furnished room; probably the best which the house
afforded.
Mr. Degraw, of Cleveland, was awaiting them,
standing in the middle of the room, and what
astounded the artist was not only the ease and dig-
nity with which his namesake and rival greeted his
appearance, but the undoubted respect shown him
by the detective, who first bowed, and then observed,
mildly:
“There is no need Of' an introduction here, I
believe. Gentlemen Of equal station understand
each other. ' Besides, I believe you have already
met to-day.”
The artist, thrilled as well as dazed, for the other
was looking at him with strange and unexpected
benignity, bowed, wondering if he was in a dream,
while the gentleman from Cleveland pushed forward
chairs with such an air of hospitality, that it was
easy to see that either Mr. Gryce had not yet
revealed his business to him, or that in revealing it,
he had found the tables so completely turned upon
him, that there was no longer question Of arrest or
even suspicion. '
That the latter was the real case, the artist soon
inferred from what the detective now said to him:


2 30 A Fortune and a Deatk-Bed.

“ I have brought you here,” he calmly remarked,
“ with the consent of this gentleman, who has some
strange revelations to make to us. Though the inter-
views which you have hitherto had together have
not been marked by the most pleasant understand-
ing, he is so convinced by certain revelations which
I have made to him that you had ample excuse for
your distrust, that he is disposed to regard you
rather in the light of a fellow-sufferer, than in that
of an intentional enemy, the similarity of names hav-
ing led to a similarity of experience, both having
been arrested on a charge, which in both instances
was a mistake deeply to be regretted by the inspec-
tor and myself."
“ Then,” began the artist, thrown entirely off his
balance by this sudden and unlooked-for issue to a
mysterious affair, “ you have heard of a third Ham-
ilton Degraw, or found by indisputable evidence—”
here he glanced at the table on which various docu-
ments lay scattered—“ that this second holder of the
name is not the gentleman who has lately made him-
self so inimical to girls named Jenny Rogers.”
“On the contrary,” vbroke in the other, “I am
unfortunately that very person. But my interest in
these girls had its cause in motives so different from
those naturally ascribed to me by the police, that I
think I should rather be regarded with sympathy
than with distrust. Shall I tell you my story?”
“ Certainly,” responded the artist, his more gener-
ous instincts coming to the surface. “Certainly, I


A Fortune and a Death-Bed. 231

shall be very glad to hear our name completely
exonerated from all suspicion of evil.” And yet he
could not forbear thinking that whatever tale the
other might tell, he could never explain away all
the doubtful circumstances that surrounded him
with an atmosphere of crime—the box of poisoned
honhons, for instance; and wondered whya man of
Mr. Gryce's perspicacity and well-known discretion
should be so easily turned from a suspicion so well
grounded in compromising facts. But then the
artist forgot that Mr. Gryce was not the other’s
rival in matters that ever affect the judgment and
harden the prejudices. If he had, he might have
doubted his own clearness of vision.
“ It is a long story,” the stranger observed, “and
I shall begin it at the beginning. Had I known
that by telling it sooner I should have saved others
from consequences Inow tremble to think of,I
should certainly not have retained my secret so
long, as my only wish has been to do my duty,
disagreeable as I have sometimes found it, and
difficult beyond anything I have ever before
undertaken.
“ I am a native of Cleveland, a bachelor, and a man
of means; I board at a club-house, and 1 have not a
responsibility in the world, save Such as every man
owes to himself and to society. I am not even
engaged in business. When, therefore, a lawyer
friend of mine stopped his buggy one day at our
club-house, and, beckoning to me, said: ‘ Come with


A Fortune and a Death-Bed. 233



to assure us that the suflerer still lived, even if his
prospect of living long was small.
“ We were met at the door by a peculiar-looking
woman of foreign aspect, to whom I at once took an
invincible dislike. But I had not long in which to
indulge this feeling, for at the first intimation of the
lawyer’s desires, she flung open the door of the sick-
room and we passed in.
“ A remarkable face greeted us, a hungry face,
staring from rags of bed-clothes that could not dis-
guise by their squalor the fact that this man, perish-
ing in penury and neglect, was a man of mind and
once the possessor of positive beauty. He was no
longer young, but beneath the death-damps that
already bedewed his forehead, one could discern
intimations of a character of no mean stamp. A
fitting inheritor of a great fortune ; but oh, how sad
that it should have come too late!
“ The friend at my side advanced into the desolate
and miserably appointed room. I followed him,
shutting the door behind me. The man on the bed
opened his eyes still wider, and, his face took on a
strangely eager look. Had he seen no kindly faces
for days? Was his hunger one of the soul? I began
to feel a strange stirring at my heart-strings and for-
got the wretchedness of the surroundings in my
yearning pity for the man himself. Meanwhile, his
attention was fixed, not upon the lawyer, but upon
myself, and between the coughs that constantly dis-


2 34 A Fortune and a Death-Bed.
turbed him, I saw something like a smile of welcome
stir his feeble lips and irradiate his feverish eyes.
“‘Are you Michael Delaney?’ asked the lawyer,
speaking in a kind but business-like tone.
“ ‘ I am,’ issued faintly from the sick man’s mouth.
‘ Michael Delancy, once a gentleman and a student,
but now dying in loneliness and rags, a poor, for-
saken and utterly friendless wretch.’
“ ‘ No, no,’ cried the lawyer, striving to encourage
the poor man, who, indeed, looked as if he had not
many hours to live. ‘ You have friends and you are
not poor. Though comfort comes late, it comes
surely. We are here to make your last days cheer-
ful, if not to provide you with a cure that will yet
make you a well man.’
“ ‘ I do not understand,’ his gesture seemed to say.
‘ I am very sick; nothing will ever bring me cure
but death.’ '
“ ‘Can anything bring you happiness?’ I asked.
“ ‘ Oh,’ he sighed, ‘ I should like to die in the face
of some one’s smile and kindly look. Ihave lain
here months and not a gentle word have I heard.
The very doctor they bring in now and then is
harsh and gruff. I am not used to roughness, as I
am not used to disorder. I should like to breathe in
a sweet atmosphere, and feel my light go out in a
place of peace and beauty.’
“ ‘ You shall! That you shall!’ cried my lawyer-
friend, with the impetuosity of which his long
experience had not yet robbed him. ‘If you are


A Fortune and a Death-Bed. 2 3 5

strong enough, you shall be moved at once. Noth-
ing that money can provide to make you comfort-
able shall be lacking. Cheer up, my friend I We
have come late, but we have come with a purpose.’
“ ‘May I ask,’ the sick man inquired, with a fee-
bleness which proved that the excitement Of the
moment was weakening him, ‘ who you are and why
you are so kind?’
“ He addressed himself to me, but it was naturally
my friend who answered him.
“ ‘ I am Israel Cutting, Of the law firm of McDon-
ald & Cutting. This gentleman is Mr. Degraw. If
we seem kind, it is because your condition seems to
call for any honest man’s sympathy and considera-
tion.’
“ ‘ But the money—you spoke of money. I have
not any. I cannot even pay for my—my——' A
cough cut him short.
“ ‘ We do not always know what we have,’
observed the lawyer, quietly. ‘ Sometimes, when
we think ourselves quite poor, Providence pours an
unexpected fortune into our laps. You need not
worry about money; you have enough.’
“ I thought the man would rise up out of his bed
in the sudden eagerness which seized him.
“‘AhI what is this I’ he cried. ‘What do you
mean by “fortune”—“unexpected fortune”—“for-
tune poured into one’s lap ?” Is there money for
me? Real money? Not charitable bounty, but


2 36 A Fortune and a Deat/z-Bed.
money that is mine through law and justice? Has
tlze ease been deeided .5”
“ We did not answer; we did not dare to, lest he
should fall dead before our eyes. We only smiled,
but with great encouragement, and, as I hope, with
great sympathy.
“ ‘ Ah !' he murmured, after a moment of silent
survey, ‘ you look as if I had not guessed amiss. It
has come, then ; come, after years of hopeless wait-
ing; come to pay for my burial, after having failed
to provide me with medicines and care.’
“ ‘ But we will have no burial now,’ exclaimed my
friend. ‘ Such an event should inspire you with
new life.’ '
“ ‘ Too late ! too late !’ sighed the other, and his
arms, which had been lifted in thankfulness to
Heaven, slowly dropped, while his head settled back,
and only his eyes showed the triumph which this
sudden knowledge of riches had awakened within
him. ‘ You are not deceiving me?’ he now said. ‘ I
have really won the case ?’
“ Mr. Cutting bowed, and showed him some docu-
ments which he drew out of his pocket. The sick
man looked at them, smiled proudly, and seemed for
a minute to regain a certain strength.
“ ‘ I knew the money ought to be mine,’ said he;
‘ but I never expected a jury would agree with me.
Ah, if I had only two days before me, or one day, I
would—'
“ The lawyer interrupted him.


A Fortune and a Death-Bed. 237
“ ‘ Have you any relatives?’ he asked.
“ The sick man shook his head.
“ ‘ I have neither kith nor kin,’ he answered. ‘ I
have not even so much as a cousin in this world.’
“ ‘ Is it possible!’ exclaimed the lawyer; ‘whom is
this money going to?’
“ ‘ How much is it ?’ asked Mr. Delaney.
“ ‘ Oh, a large sum, hundreds of thousands.’
“ The sick man uttered an exclamation, then
looked slowly and with an expressive comment
round the room that would not have been considered
a decent home for an ordinary hod-carrier.
"‘ ‘ And I owe for this!’ he exclaimed. ‘ May I ask,’
. here he turned with strange persistency to me, ‘ that
one of you gentlemen will be good enough to pay
the woman who rents me this room all that I owe
her? I should like to see it done with my own eyes.
Perhaps she will swear at me less and let me have a
cup of tea that is not stone cold.’
“The lawyer sprang to the door with alacrity.
As he did so, we heard a bustling sound without, but
when he had reached the hall, he found no one and
had to call again and again before the horrid old
woman, who seemed to be the sole owner and inhabi-
tant of this establishment, appeared.
“ ‘ What does this gentleman owe you ?' was the
lawyer’s brusque interrogatory as her wicked face
showed itself inside the door.
“ She stammered, seemed at a loss to mention the
sum, and finally said:


2 38 A Fortune and a Deat/z-Bed.
“ ‘ A hundred dollars.’
“ ‘No, no,’ came from the bed. But the lawyer,
with a wave of his hand, calmed the man behind
and intimidated the woman before him.
“ ‘ A hundred dollars!’ he repeated, ‘for a room
without a carpet, a bed without sheets, a plate with-
out food! If you get ten, you will do well. I am
a lawyer, woman, and I have seen the like of you
before. Where are this gentleman’s clothes? And
the watch that used to hang in that case, and the
books that used to lie on that shelf?’
“ ‘ Gone,’ she cried ; ‘ he pawned them.’
“ ‘ And gave you the money! It is not ten dol-
lars you want, but a month in the penitentiary. You
have been paid for all he has had from you, over and
over, and now you owe lzim. Give us the hundred
dollars you ask. It would not buy the books you
have stolen from him.’
“ Her face, which was as brown as old parch-
ment, took on a livid hue. She slunk back and dis-
appeared from sight, and the lawyer, with a quiet
chuckle, flung a silver piece after her and shut the
door.
“ ‘Excuse me,’ said he, ‘ but I cannot see even a
rich man robbed.’
“Then, Observing how pale the sick man was
becoming, he grew suddenly alarmed, and whispered
for me to go for the nearest doctor, as he really
feared that Mr. Delancy would not live long enough
to make his will.


A Fortune and a Deat/z-Bed. 239

“ But when I started to go, the sick man showed
such distress, that I paused astonished.
“ ‘Tell your friend to stay,’ he pleaded in the
lawyer’s ear, but not so low I could not hear him.
‘He makes me think of the brother I lost years ago .
-—a brother I loved. I cannot bear to see him go
away. He makes me remember the days of my
youth.’
“ ‘ He is only going for a physician. You need a
stimulant and whatever help a practitioner can give
you. He will not be absent long. There must be a
doctor in the neighborhood."
“ ‘Yes, yes, across the street, but I do not like
him, he is stern and unfeeling. Let another one
come ; but don’t let this gentleman go far for one, I
should hate to die before he comes back.’
“ Touched by this mark of feeling in my behalf, I
started quickly for the door.
“ ‘ I will not be gone ten minutes,’ I declared, and
was rewarded by a smile, the sweetness of which I
have not yet forgotten.
“ When I returned with the eminent physician,
Doctor Downe, I noticed that the countenance of
both the sick man and the lawyer wore a changed
air. The former was excited, even more than when
I left him, while the latter cast upon me very pecu-
liar looks. As the doctor moved toward the bed,
I asked the meaning of these looks, whereupon my
friend whispered :
“ ‘ He has been asking the longest string of ques-


240 A Fortune and a Death-Bed.


tions about you. He wanted to know how you
lived, what were your characteristics, and whether
you had a name for uprightness and honor. We
have talked of nothing else but yourself since you
have been gone, and I should certainly think he
contemplated leaving you a legacy if he had not
shown such satisfaction at hearing you had a fine
fortune of your own.’
“ ‘ Bah !’ was all my reply to this; but I began to
feel uncomfortable and wish I had not been tempted
to accompany my friend.
“ ‘ He must make some sort of a will or there will
be an endless litigation,’ the lawyer now remarked.
‘ I wish he had relatives. What is a man to do with
a fortune who owns no human tie and has no time
left in which to make one.’ I
“ ‘ There are the charities.’
“The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. Evidently.
he was not of a decidedly less philanthropic turn.
“ At this point the doctor joined us.
“ ‘ \Vell ?’ asked the lawyer, with some anxiety.
“‘ He has only about two hours to live.’ "


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The Surprises of an Hour. 243

CHAPTER XXV.
THE SURPRISES OF AN HOUR.
“At this verdict of the doctor," resumed Mr.
Degraw, of Cleveland, “ an exclamation of sympathy
left our lips. Only two hours in which to enjoy the
possession of a fortune, after years of wearing
penury and want! Only two hours in which to
gauge his new responsibilities, and determine upon
whom or what he w0uld-lay this burden of wealth
otherwise useless _to,-.him. It Seemed like mockery,
and it awoke in me a feeling almost akin to fear.
Though I laughed at the surmises of the lawyer, I
knew that the mind of the man, thus driven into
action at its weakest ebb and under the pressure of
death, would be and must be necessarily influenced
by the minds of those about him, and Irefused such
responsibility, and longed to escape from the scene
and its possible consequences.
“But when I turned to look at the dying man, I
felt that it would be cruelty for me to leave one who
manifestly clung to me with such desperate and
unreasoning persistence. He would not, in all
probability, refuse my request if I entreated per-
mission to go; would not, perhaps, lift his hand to
stop me, if he saw me turn again toward the door,


244 The Surprises of an Hour.

but I should never forget his look for all that, or feel
comfortable at its remembrance. Whatever the
result might be, I must linger till he himself said
good-bye ; for since we could not give him the peace-
ful and comfortable surroundings which he craved,
we must at least grant him the sympathy and inter-
est which might serve to make him forget his sur-
rOundings.
' “I had bought a great bunch of white roses while
I was out, and these I now brought forward and
placed on his breast, with the remark that I thought
he would like something beautiful to look at.
“Instantly the tears welled in his eyes, and he
moved his hands feebly and buried them among the
blossoms.
“ ‘ My mother’s garden used to be famous for its
roses,’ said he. ‘ Frank and I used to pelt each other
with them. You could not have brought me any—
thing that would make me happier than these.’
“ His pleasure was gratifying, and yet I felt guilty,
as if I had done something in the way of influencing
his mind in my favor. -
“ Mr. Cutting evidently agreed with my feeling in
this matter, for he gave me a queer look as he again
approached the bed.
“ ‘1 am sorry to trouble you,’ he now said,
addressing the dying man, ‘but as a lawyer and a
citizen, I feel it incumbent upon me to suggest that
you should make a will, Mr. Delaney. If you do
not, there will be more wrangling and litigation after


Tke Surprises of an Hour. 245

your death than before it, and this,I have no doubt,‘
you wish to avoid.’
“ ‘ Yes, yes!’
“ ‘ Shall I listen to your wishes, then? Have you
decided to what friend or friends you would like to
leave this money?’
“ ‘ I have decided,’ said the 'sick man. ‘ I wish it
all to go to one person.’
I “ ‘ No matter how large the sum may be?’
“‘ No matter how large the sum is; the larger the
better. All to one person, I say. Ah! this is a
delight after years of vain desire and want.’
“ The lawyer drew up a small table, placed upon
it writing materials, and began to fill in the draft of
a will which he had brought with him. While he
was doing this, I talked with the doctor, and lent
such assistance as was necessary to make the dying
man comfortable and keep up his strength. When
it came time for him to name the person to whom
he wished to leaVe his money, I withdrew as far
from him as possible, but the room was too small for
me to escape hearing the eager whisper that left Mr.
Delancy’s lips, even if the words had not been the
familiar ones:
“ ‘ Hamilton Degraw.’
“ ‘ You wish—’ the lawyer stammered, as much
taken back as I was myself.
“ ‘ To leave all my property, real and personal, to
this gentleman, whose name you say is Hamilton
Degraw.’


246 The Surprises of an Hour.

“ ‘ But,’ I now cried, with an embarrassment easily
to be understood, ‘ I am a stranger to you; as much
of a stranger as either of these gentlemen. I pray
you to reconsider this matter. I do not need your
wealth. Besides—’
“ ‘ Don’t waste the precious moments,’ he entreated,
with a burst of his ominous cough. ‘You are a
stranger, but you have a face like my brother Frank.
He was the most loyal soul alive, and so I believe
are you. And that is what I want; loyalty and
truth in my heir. They will both be needed, I fore-
warn you. Write down the name,’ he now com-
manded the lawyer; ‘ and be sure you make the will
legal, or I will rise from my grave t0 reproach you.’
“There was no use in trying further dissuasion.
He was in full possession of his faculties, as even the
doctor was ready to swear ; but he was growing very
weak, and opposition robbed him of even the slight
remains of strength which were still left him. Mr.
Cutting, who was pale as the paper on which he
wrote, put down my name, as requested, and then,
asking the doctor to call in his man from the buggy
before the door, he put the pen in the dying man’s
fingers, and watched him- breathlessly, as we all did
—I no more than the rest—while he scrawled those
few lines which in one moment raised me from a
gentleman of respectable means into a man of
fortune.
“ The sigh of relief which followed the completion
of his signature came from his breast, not mine. I


The Surprises of an Hour. 247

was in a daze, and realized little of the importance
of the moment. I did not even fully comprehend
the looks of pardonable astonishment and good-
natured sympathy that passed between the two pro-
fessionals present, or notice when or how the
witnesses affixed their names to this most hurried
and remarkable of wills. I was only conscious of a
great Oppression, as if a burden under which I felt
unable to stagger had just fallen upon my shoulders,
and was greatly relieved when the sick man called
me by name and said:
“ ‘ Now I am going to tell you what I wish you to
do with this money, if these gentlemen will only
leave us alone.’
“The lawyer, who had just stepped forward to
offer me his hand in congratulation, stopped, and
looked as if he did not know whether to continue
this ceremony or not. But when he observed my
relieved countenance, he grew quite cheerful, and,
warmly wringing my hand, whispered:
“ ‘ It is a matter of three million, Degraw; so be
careful what you promise.’
“ I stared; I could not take in the figures at first ;
but when I did, I felt actually chilled as if a dash of
cold water had been thrown upon me. Three mil-
lion! I hardly dared to look the reckless giver of
this fortune in the eye. Three million ! And two
hours before I had neither heard his name nor he
mine. ‘What mystery!’ thought I, ‘ I hope he will
tell me what he wants me to do with all this money.’


248 Tim Surprises of an Hour.

“The two gentlemen had by this time withdrawn
into the hall, the doctor whispering as he passed
me:
“ ‘ Raise your voice if you see him going. There
is nothing more we can do for him now but close
his eyes.’
“ A task which it seemed for the moment as if we
should not be called upon to perform, for when I
turned toward him he already lay like one in his
last rest, save that his hands still moved among the
blossoms I had given him. But when he felt me
near, he raised his heavy eyelids and beamed upon
me with an inexplicable smile that was at once sad
and searching.
“ ‘ Will it be a great disappointment to you to lose
the use of the money I have just put into your
hands?’
“ My cheeks flushed ; it'was a little hard to see the
prospect of so much wealth dissolve into nothing,
with a suddenness equal to its coming ; but my
tone, I am sure, .showed no real regret as I
answered:
“ ‘ It is your wealth, and I have not the shadow of
a claim upon it. \Vhatever you wish me to do ’with
it, I will do; that you may rely upon.’
“ ‘Even if it involves trouble and sacrifice?’
“ ‘ Most decidedly.’
“ ‘ Ah, Providence is kind to send me just the man
I need in my extremity. Receive my thanks, and
forgive me that I seemed to give you personally


The Surprises of an Hour. 249

what I only meant to give you in trust for another.
\Vhy I felt it necessary to do this, you will under~
stand when I tell you that my real heir is as yet a
person unknown—a person for whom I have not
time to seek and for whom you yourself must look
as soon as opportunity offers."
it I But___
“ ‘I will tell you exactly what she must'be. She
must be young, beautiful, charming and good. She
must be a resident of New York, and she must have
for her name the simple one of Jenny Rogers. That
is all I ask. When you find such a girl, and have
studied her character enough to know that she will
do me credit as my heir, then I ask you to hand over
to her, by deed of gift, all the fortune which for so
many years has been without benefit to man or
woman.’
“ I stood aghast. What sort of a proposition was
this! Was not the man in sound mind, after all?
Some girl, any girl who bore a certain name and
fulfilled certain conditions, was to reap the benefit of
three million dollars, and I was to be the man to
choose this girl!
“ He saw my perplexity and shook his head in
seeming trouble. ~
“ ‘ You shrink from the task !’ he exclaimed. ‘ You
cannot understand why I impose upon you the bur-
den of such a responsibility. But whom shall I ask
to bear it, if not you? Ihave not a friend; Iam
dying, and my only hope of peace lies in the thought


25o .T/ie Surprises of an Hour.

that this wealth, which has come so late, shall adorn
the life and elicit the gratitude of some one bearing
the name that is so dear to me.’
“ ‘It is the name, then,’ Icried, ‘ which is of impor-
tance. You do not care so much for her station in
life, though, of course, this must be respectable.’
“ ‘ I only care that she shall be lovely to look at,
pure of soul, and kindly in spirit. I had rather she
were not otherwise favored by fortune. Ishould
like to have her raised suddenly into prosperity. If
she is the girl I see in my mind’s eye, she will not be
spoiled by it.’
“ ‘But “Jenny Rogers!” It is a common name ;
I shall run across a dozen or more in a great city like
New York.’
“‘You will know my heiress when you see her;
real worth always shows in the face. Besides, you
will have ample opportunity to choose amongst
them. I give you a year, Mr. Degraw, and as this
understanding between us is secret, no one need ever
know the reason of your interest in these girls till
you see fit to make the deed I request. Oh, it is a
dream of mine! May I hope to see it fulfilled?’
“I felt like saying ‘ No ;' I felt like tearing up the
will he had just signed and so shirk a task that at
this moment seemed too bizarre for any quiet man’s
performance. But the expression of his eyes stopped
me. I could not refuse what was so dear to this
dying man. Though trouble and annoyance must


The Surprises of an Hour. 9 251

follow, I resolved to make the promise which would
send him out of this world in peace.
“ ‘I will do what you ask,’ I declared. ‘I will
visit New York, make the acquaintance of such girls
as are known to bear this name, and when I have
found one that in my judgment is worthy to become
the possessor of three million, I will make your for-
tune over to her. Is that all you require?’
“ ‘ Yes, yes, but three million!’
“ ‘That is the amount, I am told.’
“ A radiant delight overspread his pallid counte-
nance.
“ ‘ Ah, it will make a queen of the girl you choose.
In my grave I shall feel her pleasure. ThoughI
could not do this for thee, sweet Jenny,’ he exclaimed,
lifting one arm to heaven with an energy that sur-
prised me, ‘I can, at least, do it for one who shall
mirror thy rare nature and bear thy beloved name !’
“ This look and the accompanying gesture were a
revelation.
“ ‘It is, then, for the sake of a Jenny Rogers you
once knew, that you desire this disposition made of
your money?’ I ventured, anxious to learn if the
cause which influenced him to this action was a
natural one.
“ ‘ Yes, yes;’ he cried. ‘Oh, if my strength would
only last till I could tell you of her gentle beauty,
her heavenly pity, the sweetness of her looks and
the comfort of her words to me, in the days when l
was such an invalid that I could not answer her


252 The Surprises of an Hour.
back or even smile when she handed me in a flower
at my broken window !
“ ‘ It was years ago, after I had a paralytic stroke
and I lay in a miserable basement, in a condition
more helpless than that in whichI am now. She saw
me in passing, and moved by my pale face, I suppose,
stopped, and gave me a little bundle of fruit which
she was carrying home for her own meal. Poverty
recognizes poverty, and I saw hers, but I could not
say her nay nor refuse her gift, nor even thank her
for what made my heart leap with joy; and when
she passed again and yet again, each time with a
smile that filled my dark room with the sunshine of
heaven, I grew to live in the light of her coming and
going, till there was no daylight for me if she did
not pass, and no night shadows for me if she did. I
was ignorant of her name. She never thought to
tell me, and I had no power to ask. But I saw that
her hands were rough with work, though her face
was one of the loveliest that could be seen, and some-
times I caught a glimpse of the heavy bundle which
she always carried on the further side of her, as if
she knew I would grieve to see it so heavy and
yet be unable to relieve her.
“ ‘ And weeks went by, and months, and she never
forgot to smile or say a word of hope or drop me a
flower, which must often have been bought at the
expense of a meal, for her clothes were very poor
and thin, and her face, for all her beauty, had that
sharp, heart-breaking look which only comes from


The Surprises of an Hour. 253

insufficient food and hard work. And I, loving her
as we only love the being who keeps us from despair,
had to see all this, andvonly look the anguish and
gratitude with which my heart was breaking. I
could not even pray her to take from me the only
precious thing which I possessed—my mother's
ring. And when I saw her growing paler each day,
and walking with feebler steps, and lingering with
Sweeter, but ah! sadder smiles as she passed the
window, which had now become like a shrine
between us,I used to suffer beyond the power Of
tongue to tell ; not because I could not act a man’s
part and snatch her from the work that was destroy-
ing her, but because I did not know what name to
call her by when I prayed to Heaven to guard her.
And she never thought to tell me, though she loved
me as few women love the strong and the helpful.
“ ‘At last—ah I to think that I should have lived so
many years since them—there came a day when she
could hardly falter to my window. Only love could
have sustained her, for she had to clutch the rails of
the fence between us to keep herself from falling; and
when I just looked and looked at her in my despair-
' ing way, she cried, softly : “ If I do not come again,
know that I am dead, dear friend ;" and then she
would have gone, but that the awful anguish within
me found vent in one mighty effort, and I cried : “ Oh,
tell me your name, sweet angel; tell me your
name I" and then fell forward from my chair,
stricken again, and helpless. But when, in time—I


254 T be Surprises of an Hour.

know not how long—I came to myself again, they
put a book in my hand, which had been left for me
on the evening of that day, and on the fly-leaf of the
book I read these words:
“ ‘ “ My name is Jenny Rogers. Pray for me, as
I shall die praying for you.”
“ ‘ That book is under my head now, and when I
am buried, you will see that it is laid under these
flowers you have given me.’ .
“ ‘ And was that the end?’ I impetuously cried.
‘ Did you never see or hear from her again ?'
“ ‘Never. And so I know she died. But other
_ girls of her name and character still live. For every
throe she suffered, for every weary hour she passed,
another shall reap joy and realize comfort. You
have promised it, and I rely upon you to keep your
word as I would rely upon myself. Ah, sweet
peace, I know thee at last! Fifty years I have
sought thee, and, now, as I die, thou haltest at my
bedside !’
“ Could I disturb such a hope? Quixotic as his
scheme was, I had no right to criticise it. I might
have suggested that he should make fifty girls com-
fortable instead of one enormously rich, but in my
position any interference seemed an impertinence,
and might have undermined a faith which it
behooved me to see preserved in him. Besides, it
was rapidly becoming too late for expostulation.


The Surprises of an Hour. 255
The strength which had sustained him through this
final interview was fast ebbing away, and I felt that
it was rather my duty to speak to him of another
world than to delay his thoughts any longer upon
this.
“I therefore hastened to .give him my last assur-
ances, and pointing to the hall where the lawyer
stood, asked him if he would feel any easier if his
wishes were expressed on paper. But he said ‘ No ;’
that he had unbounded confidence in me, and looked
at me so lovingly that my heart lost some of its
oppression and my future task appeared for the
moment less onerous. _
“ ‘ But I should like to see the lawyer for a
moment,’ he said.
“ And, obedient to his last wish, I called in Mr.
Cutting and left them for an instant together. What
they said I never knew, but from the lawyer’s man--
ner I judged it to be something of a peculiar nature,
for he smiled as I came back and gave me another
of his odd looks. ,
“ In another moment the dying man had given one
joyful cry, uttered the word‘ Jenny,’ and fallen back
upon his pillow, dead.”


256 The Quest.

' CHAPTER XXVI.
THE QUEST.
“ I took no one into my confidence. Imerely told
Mr. Cutting and the doctor that I was not at liberty
to divide the fortune which had been left me, and
then waited to see if the will would be contested.
I expected it would be, but only one or two adven-
turers put in claims, and these were so manifestly
fraudulent that the matter was never carried into
court. When I felt myself firmly settled in my
position and recognized as the legal possessor of
these millions, I quickly left Cleveland and went to
New York. Taking rooms in the most retired hotel
I could find, I began the search delegated to me. I
went, first, to the directory and took the addresses
of all the families by the name of ‘ Rogers ' that were
to be found there; then where their position
warranted it I visited these families, and where it
did not, I learned through such persons as I thought
it safe to employ, whether there was a Jenny among
the daughters, and if there was, I contrived to see
the girl, often finding one glimpse to be enough to
satisfy me as to her ineligibility.
“The child of Abram Rogers was the first one
that struck me favorably. Not that I was satisfied


The Quest. 2 5 7

even with her beauty, but I had seen so many bold
and uncultivated girls among my wanderings among
the poorer classes', where I naturally went first, that
I could not but be struck by her innocent naz'vete of
expression and the inherent goodness to be discerned
in her sweet face. But when I had made up my
mind to know her better, and, with this purpose in
view, called at the house where she lived, I was
shocked to hear that sickness and death had been
before me, and that the fair young girl had passed
forever from my reach and from that of the money
with which I had contemplated endowing her.
“ Thrown off my balance by this incident, I next
visited the various schools, and though I did not find
ascholar to suit me, I heard of a young teacher who
was said to possess every personal and mental attrac-
tion which one could desire in a woman. So warmly
was she praised, that I became assured even before
seeing her that my task was at an end, and could
hardly contain my impatience while waiting for the
letter of introduction which I had sought and
obtained from a member of the school-board in whom
I was happy to recognize an old friend.
“ And when I went into this girl’s humble home
and noted its neatness and the marks of good taste
which everywhere abounded, I did not need the
sight of her winning yet intelligent face to recognize
the presence of one of those domestic angels who
grace any home and nobly fill the most elevated
stations. I talked with her, and my liking and


258 The Quest.


admiration grew. Had she not risen to her feet, as
she presently did, and thereby betrayed a serious
lameness, which robbed her of ‘that indisputable
claim to beauty upon which Mr. Delaney had‘ laid
such stress, I should doubtless have committed
myself irretrievably, for my sympathy and interest
had both been awakened, and more than this was
unnecessary at the time, so weary had I become of
my task and so hopeless was I of finding any worthy
prototype of the noble and beautiful being who had
been so much beloved by Mr. Delaney.
“ But this physical disability of hers at once marked
her as unfit for the position for which I sought her.
I dared not give Mr. Delancy’s money to one con-
spicuous for a defect when he had bidden me choose
absolute beauty, at least not till I had sought further
and found beyond all dispute that the city held no
one of her name at once more charming and more
worthy. So I reeommenced my search, and this
time went the round of the private schools.-
“And here I want to say that, whatever conse-
quences may have followed my undoubtedly mys-
terious actions, I am conscious of having done
nothing that would in any way lay me open to the
charge even of ungentlemanly conduct. Itried to
make my inquiries and take all necessary observations
myself, which was, perhaps, a mistake, but I never
wilfully led any girl to think I took a personal inter-
est in her, nor did I ever breathe a word or give a
glance that could be wrongly misconstrued without


The Quest. 2 50
the aid of the girl’s own vanity. I say this now,
because, according to Mr. Gryce, events for which I
am not in any way responsible followed my dis-
covery of a very pretty Miss Rogers in Miss Hadden’s
school. She received a letter inviting her to an
interview in the Jersey depot. But I never wrote
that letter. I simply paused when she and her com-
panion passed by me, on their way to church or
concert, looking at her most certainly, but not with
impertinence, or even with any extraordinary inter-
est, for I soon saw that she possessed nothing beside
a rather ordinary prettiness to recommend her to my
regard; and mere prettiness, even of an extraordinary
nature, was not enough to charm these millions out
of my pocket as long as there was a Single Jenny
Rogers in New York who possessed virtue as well
as beauty, and character as well as grace.
“From her, then, I soon turned, whatever evi-
dence you may adduce to the contrary. If acard
bearing my name was found in a letter received by
her, that card was either stolen from my pocket or
forged by some person anxious to get me into
trouble. I was seeking a noble, self-sacrificing
woman, not a silly and romantic school-girl.
“ Nor do I understand or seek to explain the vio-
lent death of that other poor girl, toward whom I
finally turned in sheer perplexity and despair. I
bought the honhons that were found in her room,
because I had seen her stand, one night, with wistful
eyes before a famous confectioner’s; but I certainly


260 T/le Quest.

did not poison them, or, indeed, tamper with them
in any way. I did not even open the box, if I
remember rightly. What the result of my acquaint-
anceship With her might have been, I cannot tell.
She seemed to be a good girl, but she was an illiter-
ate one, and only passably pretty. However, I
might have found worth in her if the opportunity
had been mine of sounding her nature; but I was
prevented doing this by her sudden death.
“ I am told—and this is another mystery which I
cannot explain—that she received a letter of warn.
ing against me; warning, when I only meant her
good ! As to who was the writer of this anonymous
note, I cannot even hazard a guess. The police must
determine that. I can only repeat what I said before,
that my conduct toward her was without any show
of disrespect, and that neither to the poorest of these
young girls nor to the best endowed did I ever
show attention which was not in perfect accord with
the purpose for which I sought them.
“ And now I come to the experience which brings
me here, and explains why I continue to obtrude
myself in Miss Aspinwall’s parlors, notwithstanding
the fact that my presence there is not wholly wel-
come to some, at least, of the persons I meet there.
Miss Rogers’ name is ‘Jenny;’ she is beautiful as
are few of any name or circumstance, and ”——his
voice showed feeling here—“ she has mind and soul
which acquaintanceship proves to be not only gifted
but elevated. I cannot turn my back upon such a per-


The Quest. 261'

fect embodiment of all I have been told to seek for.
Her very disappointments—we know she has had
them—make her cause sacred in my eyes. I made
up my mind at my second interview that the girl I
had so long sought for was found, and, having come
to this conclusion, considered it only proper that she
should learn to know me well, so that when the
moment came for me to reveal my intentions, she
should not be constrained by any secret-doubts or
aversions from accepting a gift that is almost equiva-
lent to a small kingdom. Do I make myself under-
stood, Mr. Degraw ?”
The artist, who had passed through an infinite
number of emotions and phases of feeling during
this long recital, rose with a start at this sudden
appeal, and enthusiastically held out his hand.
“ Perfectly, perfectly,” he exclaimed.v “ How can I
thank you enough for your kindness in letting me
be present at these explanations. I assure you that
I feel the coals of fire burning on my head, and only
hope that you will relieve me of them by abusing
me .roundly for the various discourtesies I have
shown you." '
“Don’t speak of it,” rejoined the other, waving
his hand toward the table, on which lay the many
dOCuments of which Ihave before spoken. “Yon-
der,” continued he, “ arethe papers upon which I
rely for the substantiation of my assertions. There
you will see a copy of Mr. Delancy’s will, the bank-
books and other papers proving me to be in posses-


The Quest. 26 3

can discern the evidences of malicious feeling
against the girls possessing this one name, which
may not yet have expended itself, and which, if we
cannot trace its source, may extend itself to the Miss
Rogers now staying with Miss Aspinwall, with we
do not know what fatal results.”
“ Do you fear that?” cried the artist, coming hur-
riedly forward. “I have feared it for weeks, and
that is why I have kept such a jealous watch over
her.”
“ How did you know of this Miss Rogers’ exist-
ence,” queried the detective. “Her name was not
in the directory, nor could you have heard of her in
the schools.”
“ No, I heard of her in another way,” declared the
stranger; “ I was standing one day on the steps of
my hotel, when two young fellows of fashionable
appearance came out and passed near me, talking.
The one was saying: ‘ \Vell, if you want to see a
pretty girl, get an invitation to visit Miss Aspinwall
in Great Barrington. She has a friend with her who
is a beauty,l assure you.’ ‘Bah!’ was the other’s
peevish reply, ‘ some stupid blue-stocking or demure
Vassar miss. Excuse nze.’ But the other answered
in these to me most startling words: ‘No, unless
you call the Signorina Valdi a blue-stocking. That
is. the name, or rather, that is not the name of this
young beauty I mention. Her real name is Jenny
Rogers: but she is lovely—’ I heard no more. The
coincidence was startling, but the impetus it gave


The Quest. 265

tampering with your papers, or peering into places
where he had no business to look ?”
While Mr. Degraw was considering his reply,
the artist drew near to Mr. Gryce and excitedly
inquired if these questions referred to his fellow
detective.
Mr. Gryce smiled.
“ The name of your fellow-detective is Byrd, and
you say this valet is not Byrd.”
“ But you insisted—”
“ Oh, never mind whatI insisted,” was the quick
reply; “I talk sometime to vail my thoughts. I
knew that the valet was no officer of ours.”
The artist stared in amazement, confused by a
revelation whose full consequences he could not in
that one moment measure. Turning anxiously
toward his namesake, he waited for his answer to
the question which Mr. Gryce had put to him, and
did not know whether to be relieved or not, when
the gentleman finally remarked:
“ I do not know to what you refer, Mr. Gryce, but
I have only good to say of Barton. Never to my
knowledge has he gone a step beyond his duty in
regard to any of my effects. As for my papers, they
are.always kept about my person. By day I carry
them in an inner pocket, and at night I place them
under my pillow. He can have had no opportunity
of handling them."
“And yet I most decidedly believe that he has
not only handled them but consulted them, that, in


266 T be Quest.

short, he knows their contents as well as you do, and
that it is solely on account of this knowledge that he
occupies his present position near your person.”
“Impossible! What makes you think this? You
alarm me, Mr. Gryce."
And mingled with this exclamation came that of
the artist, who, if not so greatly astonished as the
other, realized, perhaps, with even greater force, the
complications and conjectures to which this suspi-
cion pointed.
“ You do not know the man,” resumed Mr.
Degraw, with some energy. “When we came up
here, there was a moment on the train when it looked
as if we were on the verge of a collision. The cars
shook and trembled with frightful suddenness, and
while men started up and women shrieked, this valet
of mine threw himself in front of me with an instinc-
tive movement of protection that I shall never for-
get. I may not like him, but I refuse to consider
him a blackguard without very good cause.”
“ He felt your life to be valuable. It was worth
three million dollars to him and his accomplices,”
observed Mr. Gryce, quietly.
“ What do you mean? My life worth anything to
him .? I cannot think you are speaking seriously.”
“ Listen, Mr. Degraw. In the course of our
inquiries into this matter, we have lately come upon
a woman living in a certain doubtful quarter of New
York, whom, if you have not seen, I will charac-
terize as possessing deviltry enough to make her


The Quest. 267

somewhat waning beauty dangerously piquant. She
is called Jenny Rogers also—Madame Jenny Rogers
—and long before we knew what was the aim of the
conspiracy against the other girls bearing her name,
we were convinced that such a conspiracy existed,
and that she was the center of it, and that some
unknown man, then believed to bear the name of
Hamilton Degraw, was her agent and co-worker.
Your story betrays what the object of this plot was.
To gain your millions for this base woman, other
girls of her name were to be suppressed, or in some
way robbed either of their good name or of the
opportunity to win your regard. You know, I sup-
pose, how we first became aware of the existence of
this plot?”
“ NO; I know nothing but what I have told you
and what you yourself have already told me.”
“ Very well, then, understand that a short time
previous to the string of unhappy events which we
have been contemplating, a young man of unques-
tioned respectability overheard a short conversation
uttered under his window, late one night, between
two persons who were passing by. A woman’s voice
spoke first, and these were the words he heard :
‘ But if some other Jenny Rogers—’ Mark you,
some other Jenny Rogers, which we take as proving
that her own name was Jenny Rogers. The answer
was in a man’s gruff tones: ‘ Never let that trouble
you. In a month, there will not be another young
girl by the name of Jenny Rogers remaining in town.


268 T lie Quest.

I will see to them.’ Does not that show the begin-
ning of a conspiracy ? And do not the explanations
you have given us prove that the aim and object of
this conspiracy were the millions which have been
left to you for the use and benefit of some one by
the name of Jenny Rogers?" _
.“ It.does; it does; but——”
“And this threat, thus overheard, had proved to
be no vain one,” proceeded the detective, with an
apologetic wave of his hand. “ These girls lltl'llé’ been
‘ seen to,’ Mr. Degraw. As soon as you showed the
slightest interest in any one of them, danger or dis-
honor has attacked her and taken her out of your
reach. This I see now; an hour ago, I saw differ-
ently. Then I thought you the author of the threats
I have quoted, as well as the occasion of whatever
mischief has followed. But, with your explanations
to aid us, I am now ready to transfer all my sus-
picions from yourself to the man you have employed
as valet. He it is who has worked in this woman’s
favor; he it is who poisoned the oonoons, wrote the
letters—”
“ Pardon me,-but what reason have you for ascrib-
ing these iniquities to him? I am not the man to
take any one, much less a low and unknown body-
servant, into my confidence.”
“I know; Iknow. But this low and unknown
body-servant may have opportunities for surprising
your confidence, for all that. Tell me any one else
who has been near enough to you to have access to


The Quest. 269

these documents of yours, and I may consent to
transfer my suspicions into some new quarter.”
“ He has not seen my papers, but even if he has,
the plot you speak of was started before he entered
my employ.”
“Are you sure?”
“I did not see him till after those threats you
have spoken of were uttered.” -
“Then I am wrong or he has learned,'in some way
other than through these documents, the conditions
under which Mr. Delancy’s money was left you.”
“There is no other way.”~ ‘”
"‘ You are wrong, there must be.”
“Why, how?” » -'
“Don’t ask me to answer ‘ whys’ and ‘ hows.’
Just remember that a conspiracy has been found and
carried out which proves that a man and a woman
living in New York knew almost as soon as you did
that there was a great fortune to be angled for by
a girl owning the name of ‘ Jenny Rogers.’ Now, if
this occurred before this man applied to you for
the position of valet, then it is among the possibili-
ties that he made that application on account of the
knowledge he possessed of your affairs. Has not
the plot prospered better since he has been in your
employ ?” ‘ ’
“ Undoubtedly.” >
“ Was it not by his hand you sent the box of hon-
bons to their proper destination ?" >
“ Good heaven! Yes.”


270 > The Quest.

“ And has he not had ample opportunities for
using your paper and stealing your cards, and thus
leading the silly girl at Miss Hadden’s school to
think that this letter he wrote came from you ?”
“ Yes, if he has wit enough to concoct such a let-
ter, and knowledge sufficient to know that it would
produce the effect he desired.”
“ Oh, he has wit and he has knowledge, if he is
the man who is acting for the intrzgante I have men—
tioned. Though you have been too absorbed in
your own affairs to be suspicious, you have doubt-
less not taken a step without his knowledge and sur-
veillance.” '
Mr. Degraw looked disgusted, but he simply
remarked :
“ You speak of the intrzgante who is at the bottom
of this mischief. I think I remember her, a deSpic-
able woman whom I would not think of looking at
twice. I saw her during the time of my first inquir-
ies. Can it be possible that she thought me capable
of being attracted by such as she ?” - '
“ Such women are blinded by their vanity.
Besides, she may have thought you were under
compulsion to give this money to one of her name
within a stated time.”
“ Well, it is all a mystery. I thought I had kept
this affair a secret from the whole world, and now
you are trying to prove to me that it has been shared
by the basest and most mercenary of my kind.
Why, I did not even speak to this woman !”
f .


The Quest. 2 7 I

“I can believe it.”
“ Nor have I ever seen her since that time.”
“I can believe that, too. She is in hiding, and
knows that she has but to show herself to be
arrested. Her accomplice, on the contrary, has had
full swing; and if we have not found him in your
valet-”
“ But we have,” now broke in the artist. “ Why
else should he have deceived me by saying he was a
detective?”
“A detective ?” repeated Mr. Degraw, of Cleve-
land.
“ Yes ; and thus excusing himself for the curiosity
he showed over a letter which I was reading. If he
has not meddled with your papers, Mr. Degraw, he
certainly has shown a disposition to do so with
mine.”
“ The scamp I And I have intrusted him with
notes to Miss Rogers I"
“Did you send him to my rooms tO-night ?”
“ No.” '
“ Yet he has been there. Did you ever utter
threats against my life ?"
“ Against your life, Mr. Degraw! Do I hear you
rightly ?”
“ Yet this man told me that I was in danger from
your jealousy; swore that he had overheard you
mutter threats against me.”
“ Sir, you overwhelm me! I, the most peaceable
man alive! I do not wonder you looked askance


272 T/ze Quest.

upon me. Is it necessary for me to say that this
villain has belied me; that, for purposes I dare not
fathom, he wished to raise an enmity between us?"
“ Say, rather,” returned the other,“ that he aimed
at driving me out of town. He did not like the
surveillance I kept Over Miss Rogers; it interfered
with his schemes.”
“True,” replied the other, turning pale. “ If he is
the conspirator you deem him, he has another victim
in prospect. \Vhither has the man gone? ' I cannot
rest till I see him in custody.” .
“That we may hope to do soon,” asserted Mr.
Gryce. “Ever since we knew that the Signorina
Valdi, otherwise Miss Rogers, had come to this place
unprotected, we have kept a detective here to guard
her. Though you do not know Mr.. Byrd, who
understands his business too well to make himself
conspicuous, he knows you and this other Mr.
Degraw, and all the rest of the persons connected
with this affair. That he should have suspected
your valet and followed him into this other gentle-
man's rooms tO-night (as we know vhe'did) adds to
my own conviction of your valet’s guilt. My
colleague is now upon this fellow’s track, and if
nothing unforeseen occurs, we shall presently have
the pleasure of an introduction to him, under cir-
cumstancesthat will make his escape impossible.”
This was encouraging, yet the gentleman he
addressed still showed that he was very anxious.
41
/_/_~,_..' -.




“ wuo WROTE run LETTER. TO MISS Roennsl"—See Page 262.
A And.» ., -- !l*


THE New YORK k
PUBLIC LIBRARY

Asros, LENor AN»
! mess FOUNDATIONS
R L


The Quest. 2 7 5

“ And, meanwhile,” he suggested, “ who is watch-
ing over Miss Rogers P”
At this question, so forcible and unexpected, the
artist started, and a thrill of emotion disturbed the
countenance of the detective. ’
“ If,” continued their host, “ a conspiracy has been
formed of the nature you describe, and every girl
who seems to stand in the way of its success is liable
to death or dishonor, how shall we measure the peril
now hanging over the head of this beautiful woman,
who, as any One can see, has not only attracted my
admiration, but so won my regard that no doubt
can remain in the mind of any one acquainted with
my purposes, of the direCtion’ which this trust-money
will take when it definitely leaves my hands. Barton
has been frightened and is running away, you say;
but Barton may not be the only enemy she has in
town. A plot involving so much money is sure to
have more than two persons concerned in it. How
can we tell, then, that the woman who brushes her
hair has not sworn to kill her before morning ?”
“ True,” assented the detective ; “ there is no
telling from what quarter the blow may come."
“ She does not fear any blow,” put in the artist,
with increasing agitation ; “ and that makes her posi-
tion only less secure. This villain—Barton, I mean—
has so convinced her that the peril which surrounds
girls of her name is in her case directed not toward
herself but toward one whom she honors with her


276 The Quest.

regard, that she is absolutely reckless as to her own
safety, and will court any danger unflinchingly.”
“ Then,” declared Mr. Degraw, with firmness, “ we
must dispel this danger by a decisive act. Once let
her be known as the legal owner of these millions,
and there will no longer be any motive for injuring
her. It is only while they remain in my hands and
subject to the peculiar disposition which I am under
‘ promise. to make of them, that the cause of these
conspirators can be helped by her injury or
destruction.” '
“ That is so,” quoth the detective.
“ You naturally wish me to accompany you back
to New York,” proceeded the other. “I do not
wonder at this, and, indeed, it is my own wish to
return there as s00n as possible, that I may make
such explanations as will place me right with the
authorities. But before I leave this town, I demand
the privilege of signing the deed which shall put
Miss Rogers beyond the power of these wretches.
I have already chosen my lawyer, and, to-morrow
morning, at eleven, I hope to be in a position to
visit Miss Rogers with this important deed in my
pocket.”
“ It is a serious step,” objected the detective; “ but
if you are resolved upon it—”
“ I am resolved.”
“ I do not see that I have the right to prevent
you from taking it. But it seems to me you might
wait.”


The Quest. 2 77

“ When waiting leaves her in continued danger?
You ask too much of my generosity, Mr. Gryce. I
will wait this one night, because it is impossible to
do otherwise; and if no attempt is made upon her
life, I may consent to delay till I have shown my
papers to the superintendent of police; but if, on
the contrary, we find in the morning that any attempt
has been made upon Miss Rogers’ life during the
night, and that her position is really as critical as we
have reason to fear, then no power on earth shall
restrain me from putting an end to her danger, by
making her the indisputable owner of Mr. Delancy’s
millions I”
"‘ You are a noble-hearted man I” was the artist's
enthusiastic comment. “ You command my highest
respect. I am not in a position to say more; I wish
I were; and I wish”—-this he added, as he noted a
certain haggard and unnatural look in the other's
'countenance—“ that I better understood your posi-
tion, and what this woman, whom I love, really owes
to you.” '
They were standing apart, Mr. Gryce having
withdrawn toward the door. Mr. Degraw therefore
spoke frankly:
“ Have I not made myself clear?”
“Yes and no. I understand that Miss Rogers is
to receive that for which she must be ever grateful
to you, but I am not yet certain whether her obliga-
tions will include a personal devotion which will rob
me of my happiness.”


2 78 T be Quest.

Mr. Degraw’s eye which had held the other's
enchained, fell with vague trouble.
“ That question,” said he, “ can be better answered
to-morrow. If you will honor me by being present
at the interview which I have requested of Miss
Rogers, you will then have the opportunity to learn
what is at present as much of an uncertainty to me
as it can be to you.”
“ But—”
“ I mean it, Degraw ; I want your presence there,
and was about to ask it. The hour set is eleven;
join me here, and we will go up to the house
together.”
The artist, assured of his rival‘s earnestness, again
shook his hand and prepared to leave. He had his
own intentions with regard to the night, and was
only anxious for the opportunity to carry them out.
Mr. Degraw likewise evidently had his, and as for
the detective, he no doubt was not without his plans
also; for, when he saw that this interview which I
have just described was at an end, he stepped for-
ward with the remark:
“It is late, but I must hunt up Byrd. I am
anxious to know whether or not he has collared
'his man.”
“And I,” said the artist, “am going to rouse up
Miss Aspinwall, and ask her to take Miss Rogers
into her room tonight.”
“And I,” added his namesake, “ am going to pace
her grounds like a police-sergeant, happy if I can be


The Quest. 2 79

of any use in preserving the safety of one who, with-
out any direct fault of my own, has been put in peril
through my efforts in her behalf.”
All three went down-stairs. At the front door
they stopped. A man was just entering, in whom
the artist and the detective recognized Mr. Byrd.
“ Well ?” asked Mr. Gryce, pausing before his
colleague.
“ Ah! you here?” was the quick reply. “ That is
good, but—” The young detective’s words came
slowly; evidently he was greatly astonished at
seeing the two Mr. Degraws in such amiable con-
junction with his superior. “ I have not the best of
news to give you.”
“Why?” “What?” exclaimed they, one and all.
“ Has the man escaped ?”
Dumbfounded at this further evidence of their
mutual understanding, he looked from one to the
other and answered, vehemently :
“ Yes. How did you know about it? He is gone,
and I cannot tell whither.”
Mr. Gryce at once turned toward the two gen-
tlemen.
“Then it indeed behooves us to be on the alert.
If he has gone, it is in her direction; and if he
means mischief, he will attempt that mischief
to-night.” And, beckoning to Byrd, he led the way
into the street, followed by his now thoroughly
alarmed companions.


280 Seeret Protectors.

CHAPTER XXVII.
SECRET PROTECTORs
The detectives and the Degraws, on leaving the
quarters of the Cleveland gentleman, turned imme-
diately in the direction of Miss Aspinwall’s house.
As they hurried along, Byrd managed to ask his
superior if Mr. Degraw was innocent of the machin-
ations of his valet, and being assured that he was,
the young detective showed a more candid front
and a greater willingness to speak.
His story was simple and straightforward. . For
days he had perceived, without betraying it, that
this valet, as he called himself, was a doubtful char-
acter. Though there was every reason, as all must
acknowledge, for a police officer from 'New York to
believe a person by the name of Hamilton Degraw
to be at the bottom of any harm which might men-
ace, Miss Rogers, he was so assured, by all he saw,
that the man to be most feared at this time was the
valet and not the master, that he set himself the task
of following the former on all his peregrinations;
and as the valet’s conduct grew hourly more suspic-
ious, had even dropped his usual precautions and
openly kept the fellow in sight. The consequence
was that, on this very evening, he had been so for-


2 8 2 Secret Protectors.

tive, as he made this unwilling confession. “ He
cannot get away from town, for I have warned the
station-master against him, and he cannot long
remain concealed in a place so small as this. To-
morrow, then, we shall have him, only he may do
some mischief, in the meantime, for his temper is
ripe for mischief, and revenge is always easy.”
“ I don’t know about that,” exclaimed Mr. Gryce.
“He may make an attempt to satisfy his hatred, but
l'don’t think it will amount to much more. An hour
ago, I thought myself a tired man, but somehow I
feel remarkably fresh and vigorous just at present."
The two Degraws said nothing, but their eyes
gleamed and their steps rang ominously on the side-
walk.
When they arrived at Miss Aspinwall’s house,
they halted. As the hour for retirement had long
passed, they expected to find the premises darkened
and the gates closed, and they were not disappointed.
Nowhere, in house or grounds, was there any light
visible. All was dark and all was quiet.
“What shall we do ?” queried Mr. Degraw, of
Cleveland. “We have scarcely excuse enough for
arousing the house; and yet—"
“ I have already matured my plan,” interposed
Mr. Gryce, firmly. “We must arouse the house, at
least sufficiently to procure ourselves an interview
with Miss Aspinwall. If—” and here he turned to
the artist—“ Mr. Degraw thinks he can send her a
message without unduly alarming her, let him do so.


Seeret Protectors. 2 8 3
A a ._

As the servants know him, it will, perhaps, be better
for him to Show his face at the door than for us.
IVhat do you think, sir?”
“That it will be well enough for me to try,” was
the artist’s rejoinder. “ If James comes to the door,
we are all right; he is discreet and will indulge in
no unnecessary remarks; but if it is one of the other
servants, I cannot promise as much.”
“ There is always risk in everything,’ remarked
Mr. Gryce. “ Ring, and let us hope that it will be
James who answers the summons.”
The artist obeyed, giving that sharp double ring
which always suggests a telegram, while Mr. Gryce
improved the opportunity to post his remaining
companions in positions he thought best calculated
to command a full view of the house, placing Mr.
Degraw in a cluster of trees near the front door and
Byrd in an arbor that overlooked both the back of
the house and that side of it containing, as he had
been told, the room occupied by Miss Rogers. He
himself intended to accompany the artist, if they
were so fortunate as to gain an entrance at this late
hour.
The summons, which had sounded only too loud
and shrill, brought more than one head to the
windows above, but when the door was opened, it
was James they saw, and to him Mr. Degraw found
it possible to say:
“ Don’t be alarmed, James. I do not want to dis-
turb the house, but I have a message for Miss Aspin~


2 84 Seeret Proteetors.

wall that will not keep till morning. Will you ask
her to come down ?"
The servant, who had been valet to his mistress’
father, bowed without a shade of surprise on his
respectful face; and ushering the two gentlemen in,
carefully shut the door and glided away on his mis-
sion. As there was a faint light burning in the hall,
they were not left entirely in darkness, a fact for
which they were thankful when a few minutes later
they heard a faint foot-fall approach, and beheld
sooner than they had expected, the slight and ele-
gant form of Miss Aspinwall descending the stairs,
clad in a loose gown of flowered silk, but otherwise
in the same trim in which Mr. Degraw had observed
her early in the evening. 4 ‘
“ Oh,” she cried, hurriedly advancing, “ what has
occurred ?”
Mr. Degraw, smiling, pointed to the library, whose
door stood invitingly open.
“May we enter?” he asked.
She looked first at the artist, then at his com-
panion.
“ The house is not on fire, then ?" she naively
remarked.
And beckoning to James, who had followed her at
a distance, she commanded him to light the lamp on
the library table.
But the detective, coming forward, observed:
“ I think I would make no extra lights. What we
request—if you will pardon the intrusion, madam-


Seeret Protectors. 2 8 5

is leave to watch this house. I am Mr. Gryce of the
New York detective force, and I have- been led to '
think, from circumstances unnecessary to state at
this moment, that one of your guests runs some
danger tO-night from an unscrupulous man who has,
or thinks he has, a motive for her death. If, there-
fore, you do not object to my guardianship, Ishould
like to play the part of her protector, a part which,
as this gentleman here will tell you, is no new one
for me to assume."
“ Ah! and this guest—”
She Only needed one look at Mr. Degraw to know
who it was. I
“ Is Miss Rogers, no doubt.”
“ Yes, madam; a lady whom I have not seen, but
who claims my interest from her name and the peril
in which she stands.”
“And does she share your fears ?” pursued the
lady, with a side-glance at Mr. Degraw, full of
sympathetic feeling.
“ I think not,” responded the latter, eagerly. “ Nor
are my fears just what they were a few hours ago,
Miss Aspinwall. Then I doubted Mr. Degraw’s
designs, now I doubt only those of his valet. The
former has proved himself all we had a right to
expect from Mr. Morris’ recommendation, while the
latter has given token 'of being a most desperate
villain, with intentions of the worst, not only against
his master and myself, but against the innocent
signorina, who, as Miss Rogers, stands, as he sup-


286 Seeret Protectors.

poses, in the way of an abominable scheme of his by
which he hopes to reap an incredible amount Of
money.”
“ His valet ?” she repeated, “ his valet? I do not
know that I remember his valet. Is he the man who
has made the trouble in New York, of which you
have told me ?”
“ We think so.”
“ Using his master’s name ?”
“ No. That is, Mr. Degraw had some doings with
these young girls himself, but they were not repre-
‘ hensible ones; on the contrary, they did him honor,
as you will have the opportunity of judging
to-morrow when he explains himself. But his valet
interfered with his designs and made trouble, and
contemplates making more, probably upon this very
night. It is difficult for me to make you understand
all this in a moment, but it is for the fellow’s sup-
posed interest that Miss Rogers should not live till
morning.”
A marked pallor, visible even in the dim light of
this faintly illumined hall took the place of her usual
healthy color. She instinctively drew nearer the
artist as if to appeal to his protection; but bethink-
ing herself, stepped back, and surveyed both gentle-
men with equal confidence and courage.
“ And where is this villain now?” she asked.
“ We cannot say; but we think he is on or near
your grOunds.”


Secret Protectors. 2 8 7


“ I will call up Donald and Henry and the coach-
man,” she cried.
But Mr. Gryce stopped her with a gesture.
“ No,” he objected, “ we have our aids without ;
all we need is a place near Miss Rogers’ door where
we can watch in silence for any danger that may
approach her. I know the house is locked,” he
exclaimed, as she opened her lips to utter some word
of surprise or assurance. “But the plot of which
this valet is undoubtedly the agent isa deep one, and
may involve some totally unsuspected person as an
accomplice. It is to save her from such a contin-
gency that we propose to sit up to-night. The valet
will be taken care of by those without.”
“ I understand, or rather I do not understand,”
responded Miss Aspinwall. “But I am willing to
rely on the judgment of others wiser than myself.
Do what you think best, gentlemen. I am willing
to trust to Mr. Degraw’s discretion.” .
She drew back and waved her hand toward the
stairs. “ If you think it indispensable to watch Miss
Rogers’ door, I will show you where it is. But
cannot I do the watching for you?”
“ You can do better,” suggested the artist. “ You
can take her into your own room."
“ That is true; I will do that; she will be safe
there.”
“ And I will stand guard over you both,” remarked
the detective.


288 Secret Protectors.
She nodded; looked at Mr. Degraw, who bowed
low.
“I will remain here,” said he. “If I am wanted,
a word will bring me. James can keep me com-
pany, and neither of us will require any light.”
“ Perhaps that will be as well,” murmured the
lady, but she gave him an earnest look, and turned
once again after leaving him.
She may have felt anxious about him, she may
have felt anxious about herself ; whatever the feel-
ing was, it made her step heavy and lingering.
The upper hall of this old-fashioned country man-
sion ran from the front to the back of the house, and
was so spacious that it was carpeted and furnished
like a room. Over the front door there was areeess
holding a desk, and this was made still more of a
retreat by a wide curtain strung across it. Toward
this spot Mr. Gryce at Once drew.
“This is good vantage-ground,” he commented.
“ By drawing the curtain so, I can see everything
without being seen; only you must take this lighted
candle away and place it on that small table down
in the hall.” ,
“I will,” she said, and proceeded to point out the
door of the signorina’s room, after which she
explained that beside the main staircaSe leading
down at the left, there was a smaller one at the end
of the hall, which, being in a direct line between a
certain side entrance much in use, and the various
bedrooms of the house, was more employed by her


Secret Proteetors. 289

guests than the one in front. Then she left him,
and, after placing the candle on the table he had
pointed out, proceeded with careful steps to the
signorina's door, upon which she slightly knocked.
A hurried movement answered her from within.
Then a step sounded on the floor, and the signorina
pantingly cried, from behind the door :
“ Who is it?" -
“Hilary,” was the reply. “I am lonesome, and
nervous, Jenny; will you not share my bed with
me ?”
“ Oh,” cried the Signorina, opening the door Iand
disclosing herself in her evening apparel. “I am
nervous and agitated too. Ishould be but sorry
company. See! I have not even gone to bed.”
Miss Aspinwall, who had not been in bed either,
as her hair and ornaments showed, flushed softly
and turned her face partially away. But the other
did not notice. She was in a tremor and peered out
into the hall over Miss Aspinwall’s shoulder, as if
some hint of the fear which had infused itself into
the mind of others had ventured at last to disturb
her own.
“ Who is that? What do I hear?” she suddenly
asked, in a muflfed, yet penetrating voice.
Miss Aspinwall, starting, glanced behind her.
There was nothing to be seen, not even in the
quarter where the detective stood.
“ I do not hear anything," she replied.
“That shows you how nervous I am,” half


290 Seeret Proteetors.

laughed the signorina. “ I do not understand it, but
I think I never felt just as I do to-night. Get some
one else 'to keep you company ; I am only fit to sit
on the edge of my bed and cry.”
“Then that is the best reason in the world why
we should be together. I cannot go leaving you
here awake, and you cannot wish to see me go,
knowing that I should be constantly anxious about
you."
“ But you don’t know how peculiar I am’,”
murmured the signorina, shrinking back and trem-
bling excessively. “ I have spells when only solitude
can relieve me. Such aone is upon me to-night.
If I should go into your room I should be tempted
to shriek aloud, I have so little control over myself
when I am nervous.”
“ And you will not let me stay here P”
The signorina looked down, seemingly embar-
rassed by the other's penetrating glance.
“ Oh,” she whispered at last, “ you are a woman.
Cannot you understand that there are times when
we would shut out even the stars from peering into
our windows? Mr. Degraw, of Cleveland, has asked
for a special interview to-morrow. I do not know
what it means; but I tremble, for—” She paused,
and her head fell till her chin touched the flowers
fading upon her breast. “Can you not guess the
rest, Hilary ?”
Miss Aspinwall thought she could, but did not say
so. She was busy seeking for expedients to induce


Secret Protectors. 29 I

her friend to accept the refuge she proffered her, but
she found none ; and seeing at last that her presence
only disturbed the unhappy girl, she gave her a ten-
der kiss and moved softly away, saying :
“ Open your door and speak, if you need me. I
shall not be asleep.”
The signorina looked up as if to answer, but closed
her lips again, and, after one other frightened glance
up and down the hall, drew back into her own room
and closed the door. Miss Aspinwall passed on to
where the detective stood.
“. She will not come with me; she prefers to be
alone,” that lady observed, in low tones, as she
entered behind the curtain. “ As she seems agitated
and low-spirited, I did not like to frighten her fur-
ther; so I ,did not tell her why I wanted her com-
pany, or stop to urge her too persistently. Did I do
right ?”
“ Quite right, madam. We must watch her where
she is. I have no doubt all will pass off well, and
that morning will come without an event. Do you
intend to go to your room or remain here P"
“Oh, I should so like to stay right here. You
inspire me with so much confidence. And then, I
feel that I ought to be one of the watchers; for, after
all, this is my house and she my guest, and my place
is where I can be of the greatest service to her.”
“ Then come here, Miss Aspinwall, after you have
satisfied the curiosity of that person whom I see
looking out of a door down yonder. I shall only


La Sonnamhula. 293

CHAPTER xxvm.
LA SONNAMBULA.
Two hours went by—two long, bewildering hours,
or so they seemed to Hilary Aspinwall, crouching
in her dim corner and listening with divided atten-
tion, first, for any signs of disturbance in the hall
before her; and, secondly, for that something,
hardly amounting to sound, which constantly and
with increasing effect testified to her overwrought
nerves that the one man who unconsciously pos-
sessed the power to move her was still within her
walls, sharing her watch and more than partaking in
her anxiety. Pain and pleasure often mingle
strangely in our consciousness, and, though she
knew by the sharp anguish that now and then over-
came her that his thoughts all ran by her to that lone
chamber where the beautiful stranger slumbered,
yet she could not but experience, as the proudest
women will, that peculiar delight which comes with
the sense of a beloved ene’s presence. Each minute
brought its own experience to her; and yet, if the
detective who sat at her side had bethought to turn
- his head in her direction, he would not have heard
a sigh from her set lips, or discerned a wandering
glance from her firm and steady eye.


La Sonnamhula. 29,5

in size and obscures the light of the flame, and fin-
ally casts a shadow on the curtain itself. The.
sound, which is like the softest step, fills her with a
horror that would unconsciously cause a shriek to
leave her lips, if Mr. Gryce were not close at her
side. As it is, she can hardly refrain from catching
him by the arm and asking him if he hears and sees
this person approaching him. But his silent and
immovable figure invites no such display of feeling,
and fixed but trembling she watches the shadow
growing upon that curtain, till, to her secret sur-
prise and immeasurable relief, it assumes the pro-
portions, not of a man, but of a slight and graceful
woman, whose outlines she is sure she will know,
if— But Mr. Gryce is moving; he has taken a look
through the space left at the side of the curtain, and
now pulls that curtain back, and she sees nothing
that relieves her, though it is the figure Of the sig-
norina which stands now in the center of the space
before her; rather what fills her with dismay, and
sends the blood in terror to her heart; for the figure
of her graceful guest is rigid, as if molded in clay, and
in those wide-open and staring eyes there is no look
of life, but rather the dull glassiness of unconscious-
ness and death. Yet she stands upright, and moves
with swift, unerring steps directly toward them.
“A somnambulist! She is walking in her sleep I”
whispered the detective; and he watches her as if
he felt his own good sense and trained self-possession


296 La Sonnambula.

vanquished by the fascination of her mechanical
approach.
But, just as it seemed as if she were bent upon
directing her steps into their retreat, she pauses,
turns, and sets her foot upon the staircase. Instantly
he broke from the spell which bound him, and utter-
ing a low whistle, that scarcely disturbed the silence
as much as the rustling of her dress against the —
banisters, he waited till he heard a slight movement
in the hall beneath, which proved that the watchers
he had left there had heard his warning. Then he
turned to Miss Aspinwall, with one word of com-
mendation for her self-control, and drew the curtain
again into its former place.
Meanwhile, in the hall beneath, Mr. Degraw and
James stood in the shadow made by the library
door, surveying, with wondering and startled eyes,
the precise and automaton-like descent of the woman
in whose interests they were supposed to be keeping
watch. Had they not been warned, they would
have thought her a spirit, so noiseless was her step
and so like floating essence the delicate shape, with
its ethereal robes and loosened hair, coming, com-
ing, step by step, down the dim staircase into the
dim hall, seeing nothing, betraying nothing save a
dreamful purpose to enter the empty parlor.
To get in her way was dangerous. To impede
her steps or to stop her movements even by a sigh,
might induce consequences from which her lover
naturally shrank; so, notwithstanding his anxiety,


La Sonnamhuta. 29 7

he obliged himself to remain where he was and
merely peered after her as she glided among the
furniture directly to the music-box. This she lifted
and put down again with what sounded like a sigh.
Did she place a letter under it, or did she feel for
one, or was the action purely mechanical and the
result of memories which made the artist’s heart
leap! It was impossible to determine, nor had he
time to consider the question, for no sooner had she
restored the music-box to its place than she turned,
and, to avoid an encounter, he found himself forced
to retreat in haste to his old station in the library,
from which point he saw her glide again by the door
and move down the hall into regions where he could
not follow her without discovering himself.
Yet, feeling the necessity of keeping her in sight,
he attempted to slip along through the passages in
her wake, and had reached the door leading into the
dining-room when he suddenly perceived her return-
ing, and had barely time to draw himself up against
the wall before she was upon him, walking less stead-
ily than before, and with a sideways, swaying move-
ment that filled the lover's heart with terror, and
made it a matter of great self-control on his part not
to catch her in his arms and lend her the support of
his strength and the comfort of his tenderness.
She passed straight to a table under the staircase,
and halting before it, slowly stretched out her hand
and took up the paper-cutter lying there, and which
was of a make so substantial and had a point so sharp


298 La Sonnamo-ula.
that the laughing remark had often been made in
regard to it, that in case of sudden need it would
serve very well as a dagger. Misdoubting her
intentions, the artist was about to tear it from her
grasp, when she turned in the same mechanical way,
and brought it directly to him, with a glassy horror
visible in her eyes that completely paralyzed him
and made movement impossible.
Leaving it in his hand, she went away again, and
directing her steps toward the staircase, began to
re-ascend them in the same spirit-like way in which
she had come down. ‘
When she was near the top, he found breath to
return the whistle which had been given him by Mr.
Gryce, but he could do no more. He was over-~
whelmed by the token which he had just received,
of her recognition of his presence, though that
recognition was seemingly abnormal, like the vision
of a clairvoyant who sees without looking and knows
without any manifest effort of the faculties.
Meanwhile she had reached the upper floor, and
Hilary Aspinwall and Mr. Gryce beheld her shadow
reappear upon the curtain. Large at first, it grows
smaller and smaller as she floats away from them
down the hall. In another moment, it will disappear
entirely; but something alarms Mr. Gryce, and he
flings the curtain sharply aside, and they see not
only the swaying form of the signorina, but the
crouching figure of a man creeping in from the back


La Sonnamhula. 299

hall and pausing, with hand upraised and menacing
eyes, directly in her pathway.
So threatening is the sight, and so sudden its
revelation, that for an instant Hilary Aspinwall
stands appalled ; and even Mr. Gryce, who is usually
so ready for action and so fearless wherever it was
concerned, remains rooted in his place. For nothing
but an outcry can save the signorina, and an outcry
uttered in the ears of one in her condition may cause
madness or sudden death.
No wonder the detective stands irresolute—that
Hilary forces back the shriek that rises to her lips.
Death is hovering doubly over the head of the one
they hoped to guard, and nothing they can do will
serve to save her. Will not the guardian spirit of her
mother see her peril and stop the unconscious girl thus
hurrying upon her doom? No. But other help is near
—help sure and potent; for see! just as she floats
upon the assassin and the fingers of the murderous
wretch close more tightly upon his uplifted dagger,
another form creeps in behind him, and Byrd, youth-
ful, alert, full of fire and of purpose, flings himself
upon the man in front, and, without a word of warn-
ing, pinions him in his two strong arms.
The shriek which Miss Aspinwall had been able to
restrain in her terror, flew from her lips in her relief;
and at the sound the signorina, who was now almost
upon the two struggling men, paused, and flung Out
her arms. At the sight Hilary rushed forward, and
in a moment the hall was lined with frightened faces,


3,00 La Sonnamhu/a.

every door having opened as by a spell, at these
sounds of trouble and danger.
But Hilary saw only one face, that of the signorina.
Pale as death, with staring eyes in which life had
suddenly leaped into being, she confronted the two
men struggling for mastery before her, like one sud-
denly awakened from nightmare into a worse dream
of reality. So absorbed was she in the contemplation
of what she saw, that she did not feel Hilary’s arms
about her, and only moved when the knife, which
the two combatants had equally struggled to possess,
flew from the hand of the assassin and fell at her feet.
Then she came to herself, and, stooping down, picked
up this weapon, and clutching it with frenzied fingers,
leaped toward the door of her room, just as the man
who had raised his hand against her succumbed to
the strength of his antagonist, and, rolling toward
the staircase, slipped over its verge, and tumbled in
a heap to the floor below.


302 T be Valet

posed. Lamps had been lit in the hall below, and
the forms of Mr. Byrd and Mr. Degraw were to be
seen standing above that of the prostrate man. She
paused as she perceived her lover, but instantly
recovered herself and went on, smiling a little sadly
as she passed him.
The man, upon whose wrists the handcuffs had
been put, turned his face upward as her light steps
approached.
“Why, it is the valet!” she cried. “The man
who said he was a detective, and who warned me—”
She went no further, and her agitation became so
great that the dagger, which she still nervously
clutched, fell from her hand on to the breast of the
man upon whom she was gazing. .
Mr. Byrd stretched forth his hand and took it.
She did not notice; she was looking in the face of a
desperate assassin and her lips moved mechanically,
but no sound came from them.
The wretch, who did not seem in any way over-
come by his misfortune, stared back at her curi-
ously.
“You see me down,” said he; “ well, that is no
matter, you will soon see me up again. Iam not
the man to swing.”
“What a fearful wretch!” she muttered, and
hardly found tongue to falter: “There seems to
be no good reason why you should attack me.
What have I done, what has any of us done that you
should come here with a knife ?”


The Valet. 303

He laughed and gazed about him with evil eyes.
“There are some here who can guess,” he cried.
Then with a sort of bravado, continued : “ No
matter why I came here, miss. I can come no
more, and that ought to suffice you. Good days
have begun for you, miss, and I cannot prevent it; '
the police have been too many for me.”
She looked as if she did not understand, as if she
wanted to question him further. But her lover, who
felt her contaminated by any conversation with this
man, advanced at this point and began to draw her
away.
“ Come,” he urged; “ this is no place for you."
Instantly the wretch, who had not shown up to this
point any real sense of his situation, roused and
looked after her.
“Ah, ha!” he cried, “you may lose yet. Eleven
o’clock has not yet come.”
She started, dropped Mr. Degraw’s arm, and
looked wildly back.
“He is mad!” she whispered, and hastened to
hide herself from those eyes.
When she and the artist, who persisted in follow-
ing her, were again in the hall above, she found
strength to say :
“ Is it all a dream? Did that man try to kill me ?”
“ Yes, darling ; but Providence was watching over
you, and you escaped. How can I express my joy?
How utter my thankfulness P”
She smiled, but her thoughts seemed far away.


304 T/ce Valet.

“You are not hurt ?” she asked. “ You did not
have any struggle with this man ?”
“ No ; I have been in no danger; that is, for the
last few hours. The fellow did try to poison my
wine, but he was detected. Can you realize that,
notwithstanding all his fine talk, it is he, and not Mr.
Degraw, who has been at the bottom of all the trou-
ble which has been sufferedby your various name-
sakes?"
“He? What do you say? Have they found out
that ?”
“ Yes, through Mr. Degraw’s explanation. He has
been very frank and— But I must not trench upon
his prerogative. He will tell you all you wish to
know to-morrow; and, though it is hard for me to
acknowledge my error”—he crushed down his
jealousy, consulted his honor, and continued bravely!
—-“ I must say that this valet of his has blinded more
than one of us, and that you are exceedingly
fortunate to be under the care of so vigilanta police.
We both owe Our lives to Mr. Byrd, and you—”
But here he found it impossible to talk further.
Though by this time the various inmates of the
house had vanished again into their rooms, to dress
and re-appear again for endless gossip, Miss Aspin-
wall and the servants were drawing near, and he felt
that it was no time for him to express the hundred
anxious thoughts which the signorina’s deliverance
from danger had called forth. Besides, in honor, he
should wait till Mr. Degraw had revealed to her the


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308 Tke Valet.

These words seemed to fix the blush upon her
cheeks, and made the refuge of Miss Aspinwall’s
room, which was now offered her by a gesture of
that lady, more than acceptable. I
“ I do not know what all this means," she said in
withdrawal, “ and I cannot wait to find out. Miss
Aspinwall is beckoning and I am only too glad to
fly to some place of quiet, where Ican think. Good-
night, Mr. Degraw.” Her gaze was almost linger-
ing. “ Good-night, and take good care of yourself,
for bOund men have been known to escape, and—”
She did not say what, but her fearful glance to'ward
the stair beneath which the wretch to whom she
alluded still lay seemed to tell something of the
anxiety that yet affected her mind. And even after
she had passed through the door held open for her
by her friend did her last fond look seem to say to
the enraptured artist : “ Beware !”
“Ah!” thought he, little mindful of the warning
itself, “ will she cast such a look behind her when
she knows herself the possessor of three millions?”
Some time later, Mr. Byrd explained how he came
to appear so opportunely at the head of the back
staircase. As you will remember, he had been
appointed to watch. the back windows and side
entrance of the house. Hearing, about two o’clock,
agentle bird-call which came not from the trees
but from the path leading up to this side of the
house, he became suspicious and crawled out of the
arbor in which he had concealed himself, just in


The Valet. 309

time to discern the form of a man disappearing
through one of the lower windows into the house.
Recognizing the valet, and realizing all that his
presence in that place meant, he rushed after him
and climbed into the same window. He found him-
self in a narrow hall, and next minute came upon a
staircase yet creaking with the assassin’s stealthy
tread. Mounting it more quietly than the other had
done, he came upon the scene which we have
already described, and thus, as far as man could see,
became the means of deliverance to an otherwise
doomed human being.
Mr. Degraw, of Cleveland, had not moved from
the place which he'had been set towatch.


3 IO A Great Heiress.

CHAPTER XXX.
A GREAT HEIRESS.
It was the hOur at which lawn-tennis or croquet
was usually in progress in Miss Aspinwall’s grounds.
But no games occupied the guests this morning.
The great excitements and broken rest of the night
before had prevented early rising on their part, and
not one of the doors opening on the wide hall had
yet swung back under the watchful eye of Mr.
Gryce, who sat like a statue in front of the room
occupied by the signorina. Ten o’clock and even
Miss Aspinwall herself was not to be seen!
But before another half-hour had passed, more
than one bright figure had stepped into the hall, and
in this recess or that of the great house, small groups
were gathering, ready to resume the talk which had
not been exhausted by hours of secret whispering
from pillow to pillow. At a quarter to eleven, one
door only remained shut, the door upon which all eyes
rested, for through it they expected presently to
appear the heroine of the preceding eve, a heroine
around whom this frustrated attempt at murder had
woven such an atmosphere of romance and mystery
that the coming of a girl with a tray of breakfast
caused quite a shock of disappointment to pass


A Great Heiress. 311

through the throng, heroines being supposed to be
above such mundane wants, or at least to ignore
them at certain periods of peculiar interest or
excitement.
But this touch of sentimental feeling in the young
men and women of the house was soon lost in the
surprise they felt at seeing Mr. Gryce suddenly
rouse from his apathy, take the tray from the girl’s
hand, and after surveying its contents with care,
carry it in himself to the signorina. Nor was this
astonishment in any wise diminished when, in a
minute later, he re-appeared with the tray, and
handing it back to the girl, remarked :
“Miss Rogers cares for nothing but eggs this
morning. A couple of boiled eggs, if you please.”
An interference so minute must mean something.
What? 7 Curiosity grew rampant and it was a sorry
disappointment to the eager watchers when the
breakfast-bell rang, summoning them all to the din-
ing-room.
Another bell rang about this time ; it was the one
connected with the front door. As its echoes ceased,
one or two of the young men who still lingered in
the hall beheld the door of her room open and the
signorina appear. Ah, how fresh she looked, not-
withstanding her night’s adventures! Or were her
blushes the signal of some coming event not dis-
connected with the summons they had just heard.
They would wait a minute; and they did, noting
with a certain sort of stupefaction how the aged


312 A Great Heiress.

detective bowed as she passed him, and with what a
look he followed her down the hall to the top of the
staircase. Was the old fellow smitten? No, but he
was impressed by the sight of this young girl going
to an interview from which she would return the
mistress of a fortune large enough to make her a
9 queen among her fellows. ’
At the head of the staircase she met Hilary.
“ Mr. Degraw, of Cleveland, is waiting for you in
the library,” that lady announced. “ He is not alone;
did you expect to see him alone?”
The signorina drew back.
“ \Vho is with him ?” she asked.
“I leave you to find out,” returned the other,
mischievously. “ Only I thought I would warn you
to expect more than one caller. Ah, how lovely you
look in white !” pursued Hilary, with a short sigh.
“ No one would think you had not slept a wink all
night.” '
The signorina smiled and took the other’s arm.
“'How kind you are !” said she, and looked so
child-like with her quivering lips half parted that
the stronger woman’s heart warmed with a sweet
compassion as she drew her down to the library
door.
“ I must go to my other guests,” remarked Hilary,
“ but my heart will remain with you.”
And though she could not know and could not
guess what this visit portended, she went with evi_
dently reluctant feet toward the dining-room, look-


3 14 A Great Heiress.

wicked woman and a still more wicked man have
banded together to prevent the consummation of a
certain act by which a great property is to be handed
over to the young girl who is fortunate enough to
fulfill in her own person certain definite conditions.
One of these conditions is that she shall have been
christened by the name of ‘Jenny Rogers.”
“ Ah !” she exclaimed, shrinking back in surprise
and possible dismay. “ That is my name; but you
do not mean—you cannot mean—”
He interrupted her with a smile.
“Pardon me," said he, “but I do. When I told
you that you need not consider yourself in any
further danger of personal violence from these
persons, I meant that you were the chosen one among
these girls, and that you are no longer simply a
possible heiress to this money, but its real possessor.
There is, therefore, no longer any motive remaining
for inflicting injury upon you, since your death
would no longer benefit these conspirators, but your
heirs. Do you understand me, Miss Rogers ?"
“ Understand?” she murmured. “ You over-
whelm me. I the possessor of money ! Whose
money? And what have I done to earn it, and what
is expected of me in return for it ?”
“ Nothing is expected of you,” gravely returned
Mr. Degraw. “ It is yours only through the whim
of a man now dead. Will yOu hear his story? It
may help you to realize why I should be the chosen
medium of his generosity.”


A Great Heiress. 3 I 5

“I should be glad,” she responded, “but every-
thing swims before me. I have never had anything
pleasant happen to me before; and this is pleasant,
isn’t it P”
Her child-like look, her utter amaze and winning
helplessness told upon two hearts there with almost
equal power; but the artist sat silent, though he
COuld not forbear letting his heart speak through his
eyes. The other spoke, but his tone was studiously
friendly rather than lover-likef
“ Yes,” he replied, “ it is pleasant, because, though
I have the honor to hand you this deed, by means
of which, the moment it is signed, you will be made
the owner of three million dollars worth of prop-
erty, there is nothing in this bequest, nor in your
acceptance of it, which should cause a blush to rise
to your cheek or to mine. It is simply a gift made
by a childless man to the woman who bears the
name and possesses some of the characteristics of
the being he most loved.”
“ Oh," she cried, with a flushing cheek, “ will not
some one call Hilary? I do not know how to hear
such good fortune alone. Three millions! \Vhy, it
is incredible! I almost refuse to believe it.”
“ Perhaps this gentleman will help you to do so,”
he smiled, indicating the stranger who had accom-
panied him. “This is Mr. Walden, Miss Rogers.
He is a lawyer, and will explain to you the techni-
calities of this matter.”
She bowed abstractedly. She was looking at the


3 I 6 A Great Heiress.

deed which had been handed to her, and scarcely
seemed to hear this introduction.
“But this immense gift is made out in your
name,” she declared. “ How is that? You are not
the donor of this vast amount of money !"
He smiled reassuringly, but to his rival's watchful
eyes there was sadness in his smile, as there were
evidences of growing discouragement in his Whole
manner. _
“ No,” he assured her, “I am not the donor; the
gift is made through me, but not by me. Let me
tell you my story before we go any further. Miss
Aspinwall can hear it later ; you alone are concerned
in it now.” And drawing her to a seat, he took his
place by her side and began his relation, in language
similar to that which he had employed in making
his disclosures to the detective the night before.
She listened with wide-open eyes, that ever and
anon filled with tears, of which she seemed uncon-
scious; and when he had finished, her head sank in
thoughtful reverie on her breast and remained in
this position so long that Mr. Degraw made a
gesture to the lawyer, which caused him to quietly
leave the room. As soon as the door had closed
upon him, the former ventured to take her hand and
say, with visible emotion : _
“ I sought you out in the first place, Miss Rogers,
solely for the purpose which is revealed by this
story I have just related. But in studying your
character, I have learned to love you, and only


A Great Heiress. 3 I 7

refrain from making you the proposals which lie
near to my heart, from an instinct of honor which
forbids me to share the fortune which was intrusted
to me to place where my judgment directed.”
Startled and touched in her deepest sensibilities,
she cast one wild look behind her. Yes, the artist
had not left with the lawyer; he was standing where
she had last seen him, in the deep recess of the
window.
“ Oh!” she remonstrated, “ we are not alone.”
But this Mr. Degraw knew as well as she did.
“I know it,” he calmly rejoined. “I urged Mr.
Degraw to accompany me, because I wished him to
be a witness to your decision. My devotion and
this money cannot go together, Miss Rogers; but
if you tell me to tear up this deed—” His voice
sank, his large and strong frame trembled.
The artist saw it and trembled too. Would she
be proof against such passion? Would his own
love or even this great amount of money serve to
blind her to the noble and elevated qualities of this
man? Yes, for the confusion which overwhelms
her is not that of appreciation, and when she speaks
it is with a sob of fear and deprecation.
“Oh!” she cries, “in what a position you have
placed me I”
The hand which held hers softly opened.
“ No,” was the kindly rejoinder. “ A word from
me will summon back Mr. Walden. I expected to
have to utter it. I only wished to be perfectly frank


318 Av Great Heiress.

with you, and to make one attempt to gain the hap-
piness which it is every man’s right to enjoy. I have
not benefited by my effort, but I hope I have not
lost your esteem.”
“Oh, no,” she cried, breaking down, “if I only
felt—as—as—”
“ I understand,” he assured her. “ Do not distress
yourself. See ! I have summoned the lawyer; he is
coming back.”
And almost before her tears were dry or her
trembling ceased, Mr. Walden was in the room, and
the papers were duly signed and the Signorina
Valdi, who a moment before had owned nothing
save what was contained in her small trunk, stood
up before these three men, the undisputed possessor
of millions.
Then, indeed, a marked change passed over her.
From impressing the beholder with her delicacy,
she seemed suddenly to have acquired breadth and
height. Even her beauty took on dignity, and her
step character. She was not less admirable thus,
but she lost some of the touching grace which had
won her the love of these two strong hearts.
The artist, who was watching her with bated
breath, now came forward with his congratulations.
She received him with a smile that seemed to tell
her heart’s story ; but the next moment a certain air
of coquettish independence took the place of her
first eager delight, and the sight made him withdraw
again and take his stand by Mr. Degraw.


A Great Heiress. ‘ 319

“Hilary! TVho will tell Hilary?” the signorina
now cried. “A sight of her dear face might per-
suade me that this is not all a dream."
Instantly, the Cleveland gentleman, with rare tact
and generosity, declared that he would go for Miss
Aspinwall, and taking the lawyer by the arm, drew
him out, leaving the field to his rival.
The artist at once sprang forward, and clasped
the new-made heiress by the hand.
“ Signorina I” he exclaimed, “ one word before
your prosperity is known to the world. I love you ;
you know that; and I have already laid my heart at
your feet. But you were not the mistress of millions
then, and knew no more than I of the good fortune
which awaited you. So do not feel that I hold you
as bound to me in the slightest degree, because Of
any expression of regard that may have escaped you.
Love that might have moved you then may not
move you now, and though I prize you always, and
ever the same, whether you be rich or whether you
be poor, I feel that it is only honorable in me to
await a reply to my suit until you have become
accustomed to your wealth, and learned the neces-
sities of your new position. If in six months from
now you still remember the artist, Hamilton
Degraw—m
“ Ah I” she interrupted, with a naiz/ete charmingly
in keeping with her blushes, “ I cannot wait six
months. I have no home, no adviser, no protector.
I should make a thousand mistakes. Besides, why


320 A Great Heiress.
not be altogether happy, since Fate has given us the
opportunity.”
Was it possible! What man could resist such an
appeal ! He gazed upon her with rapture, he
covered her hands with kisses, he all but took her in
his arms, but did not accept the troth she proffered
him.
“I cannot," he cried. “It would be like taking
advantage of your inexperience. Wait three
months, darling, and if then—” -
The entrance of Miss Aspinwall interrupted him.
He drew back, but his face betrayed a joy which the
noble woman who entered could not mistake.
“ Pardon me,” she exclaimed, and would have
withdrawn, but the signorina held out her arms.
“ No,” she whispered; “ since Mr. Degraw refuses
to take me in his charge, I must look to you for that
guidance which my new difficulties imperatively
demand. See here, Hilary,” and she placed before
her the documents which had made such a change
in her position.


F inat _ Words. 3 2 I

CHAPTER XXXI.
FINAL WORDS.
It was not long before Miss Aspinwall’s house was
the scene of lively congratulations and prolonged
festivity. Such good fortune coming to one of its
inmates was certainly a cause for much rejoicing,
and as most of the youthful guests who indulged in
it were members of wealthy and influential families,
there was but little jealousy mixed with' the
universal delight. That is, no jealousy as regarded
her millions; I will not say as much concerning her
beauty or her power over the hearts of men.
Her two declared lovers did not make themselves
greatly conspicuous. Mr. Degraw, of Cleveland,
already betrayed evidences of wishing to depart,
while the artist, although partaking in her happiness
and pride, was seen but little by her side. Did her
riches awe him, or was she in one of her coquettish
moods which at once invited and repelled a lover’s
attentions. Those around her could not determine.
Hilary, who was somewhat pale but very sympa-
thetic, did not enlighten her guests concerning this
matter. She was bent upon showing her regard to
the donor of the Delaney millions, perhaps in secret
remorse over the grave doubts with which she had


3 2 2 Final Words.

hitherto regarded him. She read the disappoint-
ment which mingled with his relief, and managed to
infuse into her bearing that gentle respect which is
the surest balm for such a wound as that under
which he secretly labored. Yet no one could ever
accuse Hilary of coquetry, however much he might
attribute it to her less candid but more fascinating
friend.
But was Jenny Rogers a coquette? We, who
have partially sounded her nature and circum-
stances, do not think so, nor do her glances on this
important day betoken that she is playing with the
artist or even thinking too much of her newly
acquired wealth. As she sits in her old place on the
window-seat, almost buried under the flowers which
have been thrown at her feet by her merry com-
panions, she seems to us the embodiment of womanly
sweetness and beauty. She smiles, but who could
not smile when suddenly raised to a kingdom?
Yes, and she utters mockeries at times, but it is not
in scorn of any true expression of feeling, but only
in disdain of the nearly fulsome adulation with
which she is now and then addressed. She is clad in
a soft clinging robe of pure white silk Without any
other ornament than the lace at her throat ; but she
never looked more beautiful, nor appeared more
brilliant, and to one pair of eyes, at least, never
seemed more alive with love and feeling. These
eyes were those of Hilary, who, in the joy she thus


Final Words. 32 3

saw revealed before her read the final words of her
own hope.
Another person perceived the signorina’s burning
beauty, and resisted it as long as he could, but
finally submitted to its charms and passed quickly
to her side.
“ Come,” he entreated, “I must have a few words
with you before we enter upon our three months of
separation. Leave this crowd who have worshipped
you long enough, and if you must be half covered
with flowers, we will walk on the porch where the
vines hang thickest, and I will shake down rose-
leaves enough to make a carpet for your feet.”
“I care not for roses,” she said, and stood up at
his side, a rose herself.
But when they had withdrawn into the porch, it
was not of love he spoke, nor was it flowers he
offered her. He had a fear to express and made
haste to utter it.
“Signorina !” said he—“ Pardon me, I will not
call you by that name when I can acquire the right to
use a dearer—you have never told me why you so
suddenly left the house in street.”
Taken aback, for she had expected different words
from these, Miss Rogers looked at him with search-
ing and slightly troubled eyes and murmured:
“ \Vhy do you ask me that now? I was not
thinking of anything like that.”
“ Because you are lost in the pleasures of the pres-
ent, while I am concerned with the dangers of the


3 24 F inal Words.

past. Why did you fly from home in those days;
was it because you feared Montelli more than you
trusted me?”
Her head fell, she nodded a quick yes, and then
as he still stood waiting exclaimed :
“ He was a bad man. I dared not linger another
day where he could visit me. One glimpse of his
face had been enough to thoroughly alarm me. I
fled and buried myself in as obscure a place asI
could find. The Portuguese accompanied me, but I
soon came to fear her also. You had sown the seed
of distrust in my heart, and I grew to be afraid of
every one. So I ran away again and came here.”
“ Alone ?”
“ Alone. I knew that Hilary Aspinwall had a
country-seat in this town and I hoped she would see
and take pity on me. You will not tell her thatI
calculated upon her friendship to such an extent,
will you ?"
“ Oh, no,” he answered smiling, for her look was
quite piteous in its shame and entreaty. “ But Miss
Aspinwall would understand. She is so truly
womanly.”
“I know,I know, but I have some pride andI
acted as if the meeting were a surprise.”
“I see. Well, I will keep your confidence, only
you must tell me one thing more. Did you ever
suspect that Montelli was not really an Italian ?”
“ No; that is,‘I have not thought very much about


Final Word}. I 325

it. I took it for granted he was what he said he was.
Why ?”
“ Because I had a strange suspicion last night
when I saw the fellow who attacked you lying on
the floor at the foot of the staircase. Though I had
not noticed it before, I thought then that he had an
eye like the Italian whom I saw for a minute in your
rooms. If that is so, and he is Montelli in disguise,
or, what is more probable, Montelli was this man in
disguise, then the two matters are one and the plot
against you is of long standing.”
“ It may be ;” She acknowledged, “it may be.
But it is all over now. Why think of it ?”
“ Because I do not feel at ease abOut him ; nor do
you, for all your seeming gayety. I have caught
you more than once glancing in visible apprehension
toward the door, as if you feared a renewed sight of
your murderous persecutor.”
“Did I betray myself like that I” she asked, then
stopped and exclaimed with sudden conviction: “ It
is because great pleasures never seem quite real. I
cannot believe that I shall be allowed to step into
this immense fortune without some disaster to
dampen my happiness. It would be like the won-
ders of a fairy-tale occurring to an ordinary mortal.”
“ But you are not a mortal; you are a witch, or
one of the fairies themselves; so you should believe
in your happiness, only—” he grew more serious
here—“ I do not want you to trust it so much as to
be reckless. This fellow is in Custody, but he may


326 '| Final lVords.

manage to escape; and though you certainly have
nothing more to fear from his cupidity, you may
have from his revenge. He will never forget that
through you he has lost, as he thinks, the possibility
of handling an immense sum of money.”
“ Do you wish to terrify me ?” she inquired, with
a frightened look.
“ No, no; how can you think it? I only wish to
warn you, so that if you ever have reason to think
he is in any way engaged in doing you harm, you
will notify the police, and procure a guardian to
watch over your safety. I cannot rest in peace
unless you promise me this. \Vill you? Otherwise
I shall not be able to sleep at night."
She smiled. It was almost a sad smile; it cer-
tainly was an appealing one. But he had fixed the
boundaries to his sympathy, and would not overstep
them.
“ Promise me,” he persisted.
“ To take care of myself ?” she queried. “Ah! it
is easy to do that. I am too anxious to show the
world and you that I can bear the honors of my
position and not forget my old friends.”
It was charmingly said; it came like dew to his
thirsty and longing heart. He caught her hand in
his and pressed it with more than friendly warmth,
but in that very act drew back and made his final
bow.
“ You make it too hard for me," he remonstrated.
“ To behold Paradise so near, and yet to feel one is


F inat Words. 3 2 7

restrained from enjoying it by the most solemn
of secret oaths, is torture to such an impetuous
nature as mine. I shall therefore turn my back
upon the gates I may not enter, and not till three
months have elapsed will you see me again. Good-
bye, dearest of women, good-bye.”
And he was gone.
For a moment she stood in that bower of greenery
where he had left her, courageously smiling as long
as he was within sight and liable to turn his face
again for a farewell look; but when the trees had
quite hidden him, and his quick step was no longer
to be heard on the graveled walk, then her lovely
countenance fell, and-.1 startling look of care took
the place of her former expression of triumph.
While this was still visible on her face, and before
she had reached the door which led into the house,
a young man stepped out of this same door and con-
fronted her. It was Mr. Byrd.
For an instant it seemed as if she did not know
him, for though she paused, she did not speak.
But as he bowed with great respect, her smiles
came back, and she greeted him cordially.~
“ Ah !” said she, “ I was hoping for an opportunity
to express my obligation to you. From what have
you not saved me ?"
“From more than you think," was his somewhat
enigmatical reply. “I have news to give you, Miss
Rogers. The man who made the attempt upon
your life last night is dead."


3 2 8 Final Words.

She recoiled as if he had struck her.
“Dead?” she repeated, in incredulous tones ;
then, as she saw that she had not mistaken his words,
and that he meant what he said, she suddenly flushed
with an overwhelming and uncontrollable joy, as
unmistakable as it was apparently unconscious.
The detective watched her curiously.
“ How did it happen ?” she now cried. “ When?
Where?”
“He tried to escape from us at the depot. He
fell under the cars. You need never fear anything
from him again.”
She turned her face away. Horrors were not
lacking from this day of triumph, and yet this
horror robbed her of a nameless dread.
“ You are very kind to come and tell me,” she
gratefully declared.
“I regret to be obliged to,” he replied. “The
man was merely acting for another. That other we
know, but cannot find. We had hoped her accom-
plice’s apprehension would lead ultimately to the
discovery of her whereabouts; but his death robs us
effectually of this hope.”
“ To whom do you allude?” asked Miss Rogers.
“To the woman of your name in New York in
behalf of whom this wretch has worked—an adven-
turess; the most unhappy and least respectable of
any who bear your name.”
The fair and brilliant woman before him shud-
dered.


3 30 F inal W'ords.

sible to contradict him or to press the matter
further. She, therefore, smiled once more and van_
ished.
He stood a long time looking in the direction she
had gone.
7 ~ That night she received the following note:
“I bid good-bye to Great Barrington, today.
Mr. Gryce tells me that the valet was killed this
morning while trying to escape. So one serious
danger is out of your path. But remember the Por-
tuguese. She may take up his vengeance and seek
to carry it through. If you ever see her, if one
glimpse of her hateful face ever comes before your
eyes, notify me, or, what is better, telegraph to Mr.
Byrd at police headquarters. She is now your evil
genius. I gather so much from Mr. Degraw’s
description of the woman who kept the house where
Mr. Delaney died. It is identical with my remem-
brance of this attendant of yours, only the Cleveland
woman could speak English, as I have no doubt the
New York woman could have done if she had been
forced to it. So, if your memory of her does not
extend beyond last October (the time when Mr.
Delaney died), he sure she is this same woman.
“I leave you in Miss Aspinwall’s care. May all
good angels watch over you both.”


The Seed is Sown. 331

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE SEED 1s SOWN.
The summer has passed and autumn has come. As
Hamilton Degraw sits in his studio, the brilliant light
of an exquisite September day shines on his last great
effort and brings out its many beauties to the Observ-
ant eye. -
It is the picture of a young girl lying asleep upon a
couch draped with white and gold. The sketch of
it we have seen, but this is the finished painting.
“ How beautiful!”
This is the remark of Mr. Byrd, who is looking
over the artist’s shoulder.
Mr. Degraw sighed ; it was the first time he had
let any other eyes than his own rest upon this
canvas.
“ But does it not possess too strong a resemblance
to the original to be exhibited publicly ?" pursued
the detective, quietly.
“ It is not for public exhibition. It is destined for
my own house and my own pleasure,” returned Mr.
Degraw. “ I have let you see it, but I shall not show
it to many eyes. The man who saved her life is
almost a brother to me; that is the reason I make an
exception in your favor.”


35,2 T/ee‘Seed is Sown.

“I understand and appreciate your confidence. It
is not misplaced; but will you pardon me if I ask if
you intend to marry Miss Rogers. It is from no idle
curiosity that I ask.”
“ Will she marry me ? That is the question,
Byrd.”
The detective, shifting his position into one that
commanded a view of the other’s face, closely scrutin-
ized it before replying.
“It is then a vital thing with you; you really want
her for your wife ?"
“More than I want anything; more than I want
fame. I cannot imagine my life without her. Had
I not been occupied with this picture, I could not
have lived all summer without a sight of her face.”
“I am sorry,” Byrd began, weighing his words
very carefully, “ that she is—so rich—a woman.”
The other’s brow knitted.
“ So am I.”
“ You had rather she had not had this money ?”
“ Much rather.”
“ Yet you will not let it stand in your way ?”
“ Not if she loves me."
“ Don’t you know whether she does or not ?”
“ No, Byrd.”
“ I thought it was quite evident that day in June,
when we were all together in Great Barrington.”
“ Yes, but that is three months ago. She has been
to Saratoga since, and to Mount Desert and Newport.
She has had the homage of hundreds, even had an


The Seed is Sown. 333

offer from an English peer—or so the papers say.
Do you think her likely to remain unchanged by
such marked and continuous adulation ?”
The detective looked embarrassed, but answered
him quite gravely:
“ If she is the woman you believe her to be,
nothing would be likely to change her. But—”
He hesitated so long, that the artist, who really
experienced a certain relief in making these confi-
dences, felt irritated, and finally asked :
“What do you mean by that ‘ but,’ Byrd? Have
you any reason to think she is not a true woman?
Have they been talking scandal about my darling ?”
“Far from it," Was the quick reply. “She is uni-
versally commended. People note her grace, her
gentleness and her dignity, and wonder if it was her
study for the stage which has made her so fitted to
sustain the part of grand lady. No, she has but few
detractors so far as I have been able to learn ; and I
have taken occasion to hear the talk about her, for I
was interested in seeing how her nature would bear
the strain of such sudden good fortune.”
“ But that ‘but?’ What did you mean by it? It
sticks in my ears.”
“ Yes, I made a mistake in using it, especially as I
cannot really say why I did so. Perhaps because
the usual risk there is in marrying a woman of so
much wealth is aggravated in her case by the sud-
denness with which she acquired it.”
“ That wretched money !"


The Seed is Sou/n. 335

becoming darkened by shadows he neither under-
stood nor Welcomed.
“ You have heard something against Miss Rogers,”
he finally affirmed, “and are trying to break it to
me.” '
But H‘orace Byrd shook his head.
“ No,” he declared, “you are mistaken. All that
I have heard is in her favor. I have absolutely
nothing to urge against her. I only wish you to be
careful, and to blind yourself to her beauty and her
wealth till you know the depths of a nature that may
well have been greatly tried by this sudden good
fortune. Is it asking too much ? Am I transgr'essing
the bounds of friendship, or obtruding too much of
a detective’s caution into the impetuous artist’s
affections?”
Hamilton Degraw did not immediately answer.
He was engaged in dropping a curtain over the
exquisite picture of the signorina, which he may
have thought was being robbed of some of its sacred-
ness by this free talk concerning its beautiful orig-
inal. When it was quite hidden, he spoke.
“ You know, Byrd,that I have of late taken you to
my heart. You are no longer a mere detective to
me, nor are you simply a fellow whom I once knew
and heartily liked; you are my friend, and the only
man I can open my heart to about a matter that has
absorbed my every hope. When, therefore, you
utter insinuations instead of encouragement, I feel
startled, especially as I have not been without


336 The Seed is Sown.

- doubts myself—not of her, but of the situation in
which I am likely to be placed. If she loves me—and
I shall soon find that out—I shall still not be alto-
gether happy, for I hate the idea of marrying a
woman who owes her immense fortune to the appre—
ciation and choice of another man. I shall be always
jealous of him ; I shall always feel as if the luxury I
enjoyed was attributable to him, and so experience
humiliation at the thought that my wife owes her
splendor to means resulting from another man’s love.
For 1 can never forget that he loved her, and that it
was his love that actuated his decision. Had it not
done so, he would have paid one more visit to the
school-teacher, who, if she is lame, possesses every
moral attribute necessary to entitle her to the leg-
acy of Mr. Delaney.” .
“Yes,” was Mr. Byrd’s unexpected assent, -“ you
would always have that drawback to your happi-
ness. Her prosperity is certainly owing to your
rival’s love.”
To utter an unpleasant truth yourself is bad
enough, but to hear it repeated by another’s lips is
intolerable. Bounding to his feet, Mr. Degraw
paced up and down the room in visible excitement.
“ Ah 1 if I could have but made her mine before
ever she met this Degraw !” he exclaimed.
The other watched him with increasing earnest-
ness. He had sown seeds of distrust in the artist’s
ardent breast, which would yet bear fruit. What
fruit? He and we will soon be givena chance to see.


Unexpected Conditions. 33 7

CHAPTER XXXIII.
UNEXPECTED CONDITIONS.
Next morning, Hamilton Degraw read these
words in the social column of one of New York’s
leading dailies:
“ Miss Rogers has returned from Newport (there
is but one Miss Rogers in New York in these days),
and is now to be seen by her friends at her own
house at— Fifth avenue.” '
It was a happy moment for him, for the .three
months allotted to their separation had passed, and
by this return to the city, she at least showed
that she did not seek to avoid a meeting. In his
joy, he tore the vail from her picture, and surveyed
her loveliness with burning eyes ; then realizing that
this was a poor preparation for the hours of waiting
which lay before him, he covered it up again and
set himself to work, only to drop palette and brush
in his impatience and take up his hat and go out.
He walked in the direction of her house. It was
no new walk for him. Though she had been absent
from its walls all summer, he had passed it by many
times during these months Of waiting; and though
it was not a pretentious dwelling, and was only hers


3 3 8 Unexpected Conditions.

while she leased it, he had conceived an affection for
its every stone, and could have given you each
detail of its exterior as well as if it had been a house
of his own.
I Now its hitherto empty body had a soul, and he
found himself intimidated as he approached it, and
really went no further than the corner. But a sight
of the pavement her feet had so lately crossed was a
comfort to him, and he went back to his studio in a
hopeful mood to await with more or less patience a
suitable hour in which to call upon her.
He chose the afternoon ; first because he had not
the endurance to wait till evening, and secondly
because he felt that evening would bring other lov-
ers to her side, whose presence would be unbearable
to hign in his present uncertain position. At five
o’clock he stood at her door, and did not know
whether to resign his pretentious or not, when he
found that before his ring at the bell had been
answered, two carriages beside his own had been
driven up in front, and that two ladies and one gen-
tleman were awaiting with him the somewhat tardy
response to his eager summons.
The opening of the door decided the question.
He handed in his card to the neat maid who con-
fronted him, and saw or thought he saw on her
bright and clever face a certain look that assured
him that his visit was particularly welcome, though
she merely waved him toward the same parlor into
which the ladies had already stepped.


Unexpected Conditions; 34 1

seemed to expect a display of warmth which was as
yet absent from his manner. For beyond taking her
hand and pressing it, he said nothing, though her
eyes looked up wistfully and her form visibly
trembled. '
“ You do not say you are glad,” said she.
He drew a deep breath and gently dropped her
hand. ‘ '
“I do not say I am glad,” he repeated, “because I
am busy schooling myself into a calmness I cannot
feel. 'I am so glad I cannot trust myself to speak.
To see you again, after these interminable months,
is heaven to me. But it is a heaven I must not
enjoy too deeply till—”
“ Till what?” Her sigh was eloquent; she seemed
to hang upon his words.
“Till I know how deeply you love me; how much
you are willing to sacrifice for my sake; and what
there is in the future for me to look forward to.”
“ Ah,” she murmured; “ conditions! Do you love
me so little as that ?”
“ I love you,” he declared, “almost to the pOint of
folly. In these long months I have thought of noth~
ing else, dreamed of nothing else, werked for noth-
ing else but you. I'am dazzled; I am mad with joy
only to see you again] If I gave way to my
impulses, I would fall at your feet and kiss the hem
of your dress. But I am held back by one thought,
restrained by one barrier. You are living upon and
enjoying the millions given you by my rival.”


342 Unexpected Conditions.

“ But—”
“ I know what you would say, dearest. He is not
my rival now and never can be while you retain
this money. But he did love you and probably
always will love you, and it was through this love
he came to consider you as the heiress of Mr.
Delancy’s money, and it is because of this very love
you are now what you are, a conspicuous figure
amongst New York’s young and wealthy women.”
“ But I do not love him, and—”
“You do love me! Is that what you would say ?”
She smiled pitifully. She seemed much shaken
by his words, and deeply abashed.
“ Do you love me enough to consider my 'pride ?”
he went on. “ It would have to be a great, a cour-
ageous and a boundless love. For I ask nothing
less than that you should sacrifice this wealth, that
you should leave at the altar-rail these millions that
have brought you fame and adulation, and accept
only a painter’s homage and such luxuries as his
pencil can furnish you, find in that homage and these
luxuries such compensation as will make you forget
your brief reign of a summer as America’s leading
beauty and heiress."
Her eyes, burning and dilated, stared into his.
“ You ask that ?” she cried.
“Yes; and since I know that 1 ask much, I pray
you not to answer me t0-day by a look or a w0rd.
I would have you think long and deeply upon what
I say. I would have you weigh the situation calmly,


Unexpeeted Conditions. 343

and then with grave decision render me the answer
which yOur heart prompts. Not impulsively, not
under the glamour of a passionate moment, but with
the spell of prayer upon you, and with a clear fore-
knowledge of all that such a sacrifice means. Mr.
Degraw has already asked from you asimilar recog-
nition of feeling, but he had little reason for hope
and you did not honor him by so much as a
momentary hesitation. But this choice means some-
thing to you. I know that or I would not humiliate
myself by following in his footsteps. Love and
fondness for power will have a battle in your breast,
and no one, not even yourself, can tell today how
that conflict will end. For night will bring strange
longings, and meditation will waken strange ambi-
tions, and I shall not be with you to breathe love or
assure you that there are depths in true passion
beyond the sounding of an ordinary plummet.”
She covered her face with her hands.
“ Oh, to what tests am I put I" was her cry. “ You
do not love me or you WOuld not annihilate me by
placing before me such a fearful alternative.”
“I do love you,” he answered, solemnly, “and I
want you to love me, that is, if you marry me. I do
not wish to feel that there is anything in the world
dearer to you than myself; that any riches and dis-
tinction that you may owe to another man’s love can
vie with the single affection which I proffer you.
Any less devotion on your part will not satisfy me.
I must have all or none. I must marry the woman


344 U nexpeeted Conditions.

I saw wake from the sleep of death, and not the
woman whom a happy namesake of mine has
wreathed with golden blossoms she will not cast
aside for my sake. Do you not see that I am right?
Do you not see that we could never be happy with
the ghost of another love forever gliding between
us at the indulging of any new fancy or the purchase
of any new gewgaw ? I may not succeed in making
you see it as I do, but this is the question as it
appears to me. Either love is worth this sacrifice
or it is not. If it is not, you will frankly tell me so,
and I will bear my disappointment, and make a mis-
tress of Fame as I did before I saw and loved you.”
Her hands had fallen from her face now, but she
was not looking at him. She had, on the contrary,
turned slightly away, and stood with only her cheek
and the delicate outline of her brow visible to his
searching gaze. It was a bitter moment for him.
Had he been right in subjecting her love to such a
test?”
“Miss Rogers,” said he, “before I left home, I
received an invitation from Miss Aspinwall to a day
reception to be given at her house here in the city.
Are you going to that reception ?”
Her gesture seemed to say she was.
“It is set for a week from now, is it not?”
She bowed again.
“Well, I will give you this week in which to
weigh the question and to consult Hilary. If then
you feel that your happiness, not mine—you must


U nexpeeted Conditions. 34 5

not consider my happiness in this question—will be
best secured by a life spent at my side, with its love
and its hazards and its possible lack of splendor, then
, wear to this reception this same meek dress of
' brown, and be my bIOOming rose forever. But if,
on the contrary, you have tasted of the vintage OI
adulation and feel that it is henceforth a necessary
beverage for you, and that you move in your proper
atmosphere when you bear about with you the
honors and distinctions of Wealth, then wrap this
lovely form in velvet and put in these dear ears the
diamonds that belong there, and let me see how
worthy you are to wear such splendors and how
little I had the right to ask you to forego them.
You will be saved all embarrassment by this, of
course. One glimpse will tell me what sort of a
future I may expect, and While I do not promiSe
to leave the room any too soon if I see again before
me the maiden of to-day, Icertainly shall not remain
long enough in your presence to utter a reproach,
if I encounter velvet instead of cloth,’and jewels
instead of blushes.” I
He was going, but she held outa hand, and though
she did not raise her eyes or turn her head, he
paused while she said:
“There is one thing you have not explained.
What is to be done with this money if I decide to
give it up ?"
“It must be returned to Mr. Degraw, who will
give it to a certain little school-teacher, who, we


346 Unexpected Conditions.

must hope, will have no jealous lover who will refuse
to let her take it.”
“ Another Jenny Rogers?”
“ Yes, and a noble one.” _
“That is all. I will not detain you any longer,
Mr. Degraw.”
He looked, he moved away; he came back with
an almost breaking heart. After all, he might never
see her again as she was now, rosy and trembling
and innocently grieved. Had he been less exacting,
had he not puzzled himself with jealousies, had he
been content to ignore everything but her winning
womanhood, he-might now be clasping her to his
heart in ecstasy, instead of standing there with a bar-
rier of ice between them, and the prospect of what?
Life-long separation and a desolate hearth; for at
that moment he did not believe that she would ever
give up all that he asked, for his love.
“ I cannot leave you,” said he, “ without one proof
of my devotion.” And flinging himself at her feet,
he clasped her knees and kissed with heart-felt fer-
vor the tip of her little slipper. “ I love you!” he
cried; “I love you !” and was gone, just as she sank
half fainting upon a chair.


348 New Fears.

already under the paws of this. wolf, without know-
ing it?” ‘
A servant-girl coming along at this moment, he
stopped her.
“ Who is that woman who is just going up?” he
asked.
“ That is Miss Rogers’ hair-dresser,” the girl
returned, in evident surprise. “ She comes every
day to arrange Miss Rogers’ hair for the evening.”
He stood aghast, mortified and perplexed. Could
he have been mistaken? He was not ready to think
that.
“ Is this woman a foreigner?” he inquired again.
“She speaks English,” was the rather unsatisfac-
tory answer. _ - ‘ - ‘
The Portuguese did not, or rather pretended that
she could not. ’vVas he mistaken? He looked
toward the parlor door and hesitated. Never in his
life before had he known what it really was to strug-
gle with an overmastering impulse. To leave the
signorina with this doubt in his mind seemed impos~
sible; but to go back ! He dared not do that, for it
would certainly bring defeat to his purpose. No,
he must trust this matter to the police; he could
not meddle with it himself ; but—
He tore himself away, he rushed out of the front
door; and went immediately in search of Mr. Byrd.
That gentleman received this intelligence with an
expression of mingled surprise and satisfaction.
“ We have been searching for the Portuguese,” said
- ’17
I I
j /


New Fears. 349

he, “ but never thought of looking for her in Miss
Rogers’ house. She is disguised, you say ?”
“ Admirably, if the woman I saw is she. Her very
complexion is changed, and, in her present dress, she
looks quite respectable. If I had not been in a very
’ sensitive condition, I do not think I should have felt
a doubt concerning her. It was the sudden shrink-
ing of my nerves that made me look at her.”
“And you saw traits that assured you that it is
she ?”
“ Yes and no. I thought I saw alikeness in her to
Annetta; but what I am sure of is that I felt a great
physical revulsion at the sight of her, just the revul-
sion I experienced whenI first behold the Portu-
guese’s old ugliness in conjunction with my—with
Miss Rogers’ youthful innocence and beauty.”
“And is this all?”
“ All? But it is enough, Byrd, to make you look
into the matter. Remember, I shall not sleep till I
hear whether this creature, who evidently has daily
access to Miss Rogers, is an honest wOman or not.”
“ I will go up immediately to the house."
“ And if it is the Portuguese?”
.“ She shall be looked after.”
“ Byrd, I trust you. You know how much I have
at stake and how reasonable I consider my fears.
You have yourself said that you thought it possible
that the Portuguese would be likely to carry out the
schemes of Montelli. If she has lost all hope of
making anything out of the heiress, She can, at least,


350 New Fears,

show her hatred and wreak her revenge. These
foreigners are so vindictive.”
“ We will watch her.”
“And I may sleep ?”
“ Soundly.”
“ You are a good fellow, Byrd. I never thought
the day would come when it would be a matter
of satisfaction to me to have a friend among the
police.”
Byrd smiled, but somewhat constrainedly. He
was evidently not in as candid a mood as usual.
But Degraw did not perceive this; his mind was
relieved and he was almost gay. ~ , ~
“ Shall I hear from you to-night ?” he asked.
“Yes, if there is anything to disturb you ; other-
wise not.”
“ Then I will go.”
“ All right, but tell me one thing first. Was this
woman so different in appearance from the Portu-
guese as to be likely to impose upon Miss Rogers?”
“I think she was, if she showed as much skill in
altering her conduct and manners as she did her
dress and expression.”
“ I do not think it is the Portuguese,” asserted the
detective. “ She would not run so great a risk for
mere vengeance. But we will see. She can’t
deceive the police even if she can the bright eyes of
her old mistress."
And the two parted.


Before the Reeeption. 351

Mr. Degraw did not hear from the police that
night nor the next, nor in all the days that elapsed
before Miss Aspinwall’s reception.


CHAPTER XXXV.
BEFORE THE RECEPTION.‘
It was two o’clock, and therefore time for Miss
Rogers to dress for Miss Aspinwall’s reception. She
was in her room alone, and before her lay spread
upon a couch two dresses ; one of plain brown cloth
which we well know, and the other of richest velvet,
that had been hurriedly made during the last week.
She is gazing at these dresses and deciding the most
momentous question of her life. That it is moment-
ous, you can discern from the absorbed expression
of her face, and that She hesitates is equally evident,
from the anxiety with which her eye passes from
cloth to velvet and from velvet to cloth, as she
listens alternately to the suggestions of her heart
and the promptings of her ambition.
And not her eyes alone, but her hands betray the
conflict that is going on within her. For they rest
by instants with a loving touch on the humble
material, only to fly again to the richer. Where
will they finally rest? The question is between love


352 Before the Reception.
* V
._ ._____,_,,_7_.__H_==_=L

and wealth. Which will she choose, which, which?
She must soon determine; the clock tells of the
passage of time. Not much longer can she stand
thus, weighing at her ease these two heavy alterna-
tives. She must decide upon one, but .which,
which? Fear, fascination, awe, tenderness, all
expressiOns and all emotions show themselves in
turn upon her face. That she loves him, she knows ;
that she will never feel such a wild and ecstatic
throb for any other man is equally certain, but shall
she sacrifice everything for him? Is it right to do
so? Is it wise to do so? Is it safe to do so? She
grasps the velvet and holds it up against her throat.
How warm it feels, how natural and how suitable to
her face, her style and her ambition. But the plain
cloth wooes her glances aside, and, before she knows
it, the velvet has dropped in a heap on the floor, and
she has the cloth dress strained to her heart, and
her decision is made.
But just at this moment a knock is heard at the
door, and she flings the dress on the bed and stands
palpitating like one caught in a guilty act. It is
only the hair-dresser who comes every day, but her
presence is an interruption, and the young heiress
shows it by the loss of the beautiful color which had
but a moment before tinted her cheek with roses.
Turning her back upon both dresses, she bids the
intruder come in, and tries to hide her agitation by
bending over her dressing-table and unloosening the
locks of her long hair.


3 54 Before the Reception.

very bad. Something sudden ; there were doctors
with her last night !”
“And she sent you here, to-day ?”
“ Yes, mademoiselle. She did not forget that you
would expect her? She has much thought, has
madame.”
“And so ill?”
“ Ah, oui; she may not live till night. I feel very
bad for madame.”
The young lady made a sudden move.
“It is distressing,” said she; but her bright eyes
lost none of their brilliance. Indeed, they seemed to
scintillate afresh? Had she her secret doubts of
this same hair-dresser, and could she in any way
have shared the fears of Degraw?
When her hair was dressed, she dismissed the girl
and prepared to complete the rest of her toilet
alone. The velvet dress was before her on the bed,
but she passed it by without a glance and took up
the plain brown cloth.
“I will be the artist’s bride,” said she, and rapidly,
joyously donned the garment which conveyed this
decision, murmuring, as she did so: “His delight
will compensate me for all. Ieould not meet his
look of disappointment. I could not, for all the
wealth in the universe, see scorn take the place of
the loving trust that has always beamed in his face.
I love him, and would risk more than wealth to have
him always near me.”
If she did not say these words, she thought them,


Before the Reception. 355

and her fingers flew, and the dress was on, and she
stood, clad and in her right mind, beaming at her
own image in the glass.
“Ah! this is better!” she now cried, sinking on
her knees, almost in the attitude of prayer. “ I will
not regret this ; I cannot ; whereas—” She threw a
mocking glance at the velvet, and, rising, hung it up
in the closet and brought forth her bonnet and
gloves. Suddenly her hand flew to her throat. “ I
have forgotten my talisman !" said she.
She went to her drawer and took out a simple
locket. It was the only article of jewelry which her
admirer had ever seen her wear, and she prepared
to clasp it about her neck, with an air of satisfaction,
when she bethought herself to take a peep at the
faded forget-me-not which she kept shut up
within it.
But when she opened the locket, she did not find
the memorial flower which She had once placed
there, but a faded paper. Surprised, she drew it
out, and unfolding it, read these words before she
realized what their presence meant:
“I am not to intrude myself. I am to forgetl
have wishes or hopes. lam to remember that he
loves her and that it is for her happiness to love him.
I am to encourage this love and to lend all my
influence toward the preservation in her of those
charming qualities which in adversity made her
lovely, and which, if added to her wealth, will make


356 Before the Reeeption.

her a mate for the noblest. This is my future task
May God giveme strength to acquit myself of it
cheerfully !”
Hilary’s handwriting! Hilary’s words! Jenny
Rogers held in her hand Hilary’s locket, which had
in some way become interchanged with her own, for
they had them just alike, and by this chance had she
stumbled upon that dear friends secret, at a moment
when her own fate hung trembling in the balance.
Jenny Rogers sank, overcome, upon a chair, and
read the words again, and uttered a cry as she read
them; then sobbed with sudden, wild and passionate
grief; then hid her face with her hands, and sat thus
for many minutes, though the clock spoke, with
every tick it made, of the rapidly passing time.
\Vhat were her thoughts? \Vhat could they be
but of past hours and past occurrences in which
Hilary had shared her companionship with Mr.
Degraw! She understood now, as she never had
before, what certain looks and changes upon her
dear friend's countenance had meant. She perceived
that she herself had not been the only one to love,
and that with the selfishness of a suddenly enriched
woman, she had often trodden on the heart to whose
clinging affection and lofty sympathy she owed
much of her prosperity and a great deal of her dis-
tinction. And she saw more ; she saw to what
heights a generous, self-forgetful nature can go, and
felt humiliated in her own estimation as she con-


Before the Reception. I 357

trasted the mercenary struggle she had just been
through, with the firm putting-by of every selfish
consideration conveyed by the words she had just
read.
“Hilary would not have hesitated seven days,”
exclaimed Jenny, writhing in bitter remorse over
the memory of her own weakness “She would have
seen the right way at once, and taken it. She loves
him more than I do. She is worthier of him than I,
am. She would make him a better wife."
Then her thoughts flew to the time when she and
Hilary had bought these lockets. They were in a
jeweler’s store together, and the whim had simul-
taneously seized them to have some one thing alike,
which they could wear as a symbol of their mutual
affection. They decided upon two lockets, identical
in make and size, and Hilary bought one and clasped
it about Jenny’s neck, and Jenny had bought the
other and clasped it about Hilary’s, and thus had
they sealed the bond between them with a gift and
a smile.
When the second exchange between these trinkets
had been made, she could not tell; but she thought
it must have been done when she and Hilary last
bathed at the beach. They had both worn their
lockets that day, and as they had used one table for
their things, the possibility of one of them having
taken up the wrong locket was easy.
But the “when” and the “how” of this mistake
were unimportant. The exchange had been made


At the Reception. 359

CHAPTER XXXVI.
AT THE RECEPTION.
Miss Aspinwall’s house in the city was as sump-
tuous as Miss Rogers’ was plain. On this afternoon,
it was more than sumptuous ; it was a fairy-land of
exotics and flowering shrubs. From the front door
to the large square hall above, the stairs were
festooned with smilax, and in every window and
door, wreaths of this delicate green were to be seen,
hanging in screens and portieres.
In a room above, amid crowds of richly-dressed
women, stood Miss Rogers with an undecided look
on her downcast face. She was as fair as any of her
companions—her lovers would say fairer—and she
wore a costume that outrivaled the splendor of most
of those who surrounded her, but she did not seem
ready to advance and mingle with the crowd that
was descending to pay its respects to the hostess.
She faltered and answered absently those who felt
they had the liberty to address her, and only moved
on at last when the pressure of the crowd became
unbearable.
Arriving in the hall, she hesitated still. There
were a few gentlemen standing on the staircaSe and


362 At t/ze Reeeption.

where you had gone, and come after you; for I
dared not go back without fulfilling my mission."
“And who made you—who gave you this for me
—your employer, Madame —?”
“ Oui, mademoiselle; who else? I assure you I
carried it quite joyfully, and only regret I had to
interrupt mademoiselle's pleasure—”
But mademoiselle had turned her back.
“The Portuguese !" she murmured, “the Portu-
guese !” And she grew quite white and stole away
into Hilary’s dressing-room for a second time, and
mechanically took down a large silk cloak that she
wrapped about her, thus hiding her gown, and mak-
ing of her appearance a mystery, which might and
might not be penetrated by a watchful lover’s eye.
Thus enshrouded, she descended. From step to
step her small feet went to the throbs of aheart
whose beating almost suffocated her. Was he near?
Was he watching? Would he see and wonder
what her non-committal costume meant? Of all the
agitations of the day this was the worst. She dared
not look up, she dared not search the crowd, she
hardly dared move forward. Yet she must ; a pres-
sure was upon her. Besides, it was getting late, and
Hilary would wonder; and he— Ah ! was that his
voice she heard? No—yes—he must be almost at
her back. He must be near enough to see what dress
she wore, if so much as a thread of her dress was
visible above the neck of her cloak. Was he look
ing? She would not turn to see; she would only


At the Reee/tion. 363

hurry forward and greet Hilary while she had yet
the strength to do so.
Miss Aspinwall, meantime, was awaiting her
friend’s tardy approach with secret impatience.
She had become so attached to her former protegee
that she was no longer perfectly at her ease except
when Jenny was near her. Through all the greet-
ings and hand-shakings and congratulations upon
having returned to town which she received she
kept Jenny in her thoughts, and brightened visibly
when she at last beheld her coming toward her
through the throng. Contrary to Mr. Degraw’s
suggestions, she had not been taken into Miss Rog-
ers’ confidence, and knew nothing of the importance
of the hour to the two hearts dearest to her. Yet
she felt vaguely uneasy, especially after she saw
Jenny’s face, and could not prevent a wondering
glance as she noticed that her friend was wrapped
in one of her own cloaks. '
“I have had an accident—spilled lemonade or
something all over the front of my dress,” whispered
Jenny, as she Observed this look, and her friend’s
wonder and astonishment. I
There was not time for more ; a dozen ladies were
behind her. Miss Rogers passed on, but she felt
her heart unaccountably lightened. She always did
when she looked in Hilary’s pure face.
Her next care was to seek out a place where she
would not be too visible, but where she could her-
self see the persons about her. For now she began


364 At the Reception.

to feel an impatience to meet the eye she had hith-
erto shrunk from, and by one look determine what
conclusions he had drawn from her nondescript cos-
tume. So finding a vacant spot near a lofty palm,
she turned her face slowly toward the crowd and at
last ventured to lift her eyes. He was there. She
saw him but he Was not looking her way. Nor did
he look her way, though her whole soul summoned
him through her eager glance.
What did it mean? Did he consider the dark
cloak a cowardly subterfuge? Was he disappointed
in her and ready to disdain what a week before he
had so wildly worshiped. She grew sick at heart
and did not even hear the voices murmuring about
her; did not even note the hands outstretched to
give her welcome, or pay any attention to greet-
ings that would once have filled her with pride.
Hamilton Degraw was in the same room with her
and allowed himself to be absorbed by another.
What if that other were a man! It did not ease her
heart to know that any one could draw his eyes
away from her, especially when she stood ready to
giv’e him smile for smile. Ah, why had she come at
all? Why not have left him in an uncertainty as
horrible now as her own? That would have been
the wise course; that would have made it impossi_
ble for him to take the steamer, if, as she still
believed, he yet loved her. But now— Well what
was this? A hand’was pushing against her own and
would not be denied. It was a gentleman’s hand; a


At the Reception. 365
very fine and courtly gentleman’s hand. She noted
that before she had taken in his face. When she did
she turned scarlet. It was Mr. Byrd who stood
before her, and he was looking at her with very
searching eyes.
“I sincerely beg your pardon,” said he. “ I am
not an invited guest in this assemblage, but I have a
bit of news to impart to you, that will, I think, excuse
my presence, both in your eyes and in those of your
amiable hostess. The woman who has dressed your
hair for the last three months is dead. You see,
this is the second time I have had to be a harbinger
of good news to you.”
“ Good news ?" she faintly repeated.
“Yes. Did you not know who this woman was?
I have been told you greatly feared the Portu-
guese—” ‘
A waiter with a tray full of ices pushed his way
at this instant directly between them. When he had
passed, Miss Rogers was gone, and the detective,
astonished and not a little chagrined, looked about
him for some minutes before he saw her again.
‘ Then he perceived that she had thrown off the long
cloak that had seemed so out of place in this brilliant
throng, and stood, beaming and beautiful, near a
piano, where some one was just beginning to play.
Hilary saw her, too, at this minute, and asked
herself what her wonderful look meant; for, while
Jenny Rogers’ eye burned steadily in one direction,
it was acquiring a purpose, the determination of


366 At the Reception.

which Hilary could see but not explain. And she
felt that it needed explanation, and left her place to
join her young friend, and succeeded in doing this
just as Miss Rogers said, in low tones, to the person
at the piano:
“ I will sing ‘ Rohert, toi quej'aime.’
Miss Aspinwall, who would have been less sur-
prised if a flash of lightning had suddenly shot
from door to door of her great house, leaned for-
ward and took Jenny by the hand.
“Dear friend, what are you going to do?” she
asked.
71
“ Sing."
“ Sing !—before this crowd ?”
“ Yes.”
“And you can .9”
“I can.”
“ Without fear of failure?”
“ Without fear of failure.”
Hilary, who was used to her friend’s tones, saw
that there was something deeper than caprice in
this.
“ It will be a noble kindness on your part if you
will,” said she, “ but you look so excited, and you
tremble so, you make me feel that there is some-
thing at stake which I do not understand.”
“There is, Hilary; my whole life’s happiness.
Hamilton Degraw is here; he loves me, and told
me if I returned his love to wear a cloth dress
today. I have on the dress; I am ready to stand


At the Reeeption. 367

by what it means ; but he will not look this way. I
wore a velvet one when I came, and perhaps he saw
me then, or saw the cloak with which I at first tried
to hide the change I had made; and now nothing
can make him glance away from the man he is con-
versing with; and presently he will go, and his
going means an endless separation between us, for,
Hilary, he has engaged passage in the Etruria, and
She sails to-night, you know."
Miss Aspinwall uttered a low cry; no one heard
it, not even Jenny, for the impetuous girl was full of
her own thoughts, and was saying, passionately :
“My voice will be a surprise to him. He must
turn, and then if he goes away—”
She finished with a gesture. Hilary gave her
one look, it was that of encouragement, and next
minute Jenny was standing by the piano, and the
first liquid tones of the fine instrument had burst
forth.
No one notices a piano in such a gathering, and
not a head, least of all his, turned at the sound.
But when, in an instant later, this trained singer’s
strangely melodious and exquisitely cultivated voice
broke out with a force and fervor it had never
displayed even in the old happy and ambitious days
with her singing-masters, not a head but responded
to the call, and she saw, with a rushing sense of joy
which nearly stopped her voice, that he not only saw
her, but flushed with an unexpected rapture which
made all her future assured. Thinking of him, and


368 At t/ze Reception.
only of him, she went on, filling the great rooms
with melody such as they never heard before, and
never will again, doing for love what she failed to do
for ambition, and wakening in more hearts than one
there an enthusiasm never to be forgotten in the
presence of any other singer. Miss Rogers had
shown that the Signorina Valdi could sing, but only
two persons beside herself ever knew what gave her
the impetus, or inspired her with the power to
sustain herself to the end before such a multitude of
people.
When stillness came, an irresistible cry broke out;
but she did not hear. it. She was looking for Mr.
Degraw to advance. And he did. She saw him
burst from every detaining hand and come forward
with his heart burning on his lips, when what is it
that makes him stop suddenly and as if held back by
a force he cannot resist? She cannot see; she only
realizes that he does not come ; that he gives her a
look which seems to promise something, but he does
not come, and at last she perceives him melt away
with the crowd and vanish in the direction of the
door, which finally opens and shuts upon him, leav-
ing her with her glory and her grief.


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372 A Turn of the Wheel.

robbed her of self-possession and peace, it brought
a hectic flush to her cheek, and lent a feverish inten_
sity and delirious inconsequence to all her actions.
She would not see Hilary; she would not see any
one. She paced her room by day and tossed upon
her bed by night. If the bell rang, her heart gave
such a leap, that she could not recover from the
shock for minutes, and if by any chance a letter
came, she grew quite ill between the time she saw it
in the servant’s hands and the moment, it reached
her own.
A man never knows or realizes the torture he can
inflict upon a woman. He does not remember that
in such emergencies as these she is helpless; that
she must sit in her house alone, watching, waiting,
hanging upon each passing moment for that action
on his part which will explain his feelings or inten-
tions. A man can force a situation. He can besiege
his lady’s door and demand the secret of her
reticence or 'coldness. But under the same circum-
stances she can do nothing, not even send an inquiry
as to her lover’s health; and so the canker eats into
the rose, and when love or remembrance brings him
again to her side, he wonders what has destroyed
his lady’s beauty.
Jenny Rogers had had no preparation for this
show of cruelty upon the part of this especial lover.
Since that first delirious moment when her eyes
opened upon his face, from a sleep like death, she
had beheld it brimming with admiration and filled


A. Turn of the Wheel. 373

with love. She had, as it were, held his heart in her
hands, or so she had thought, and, secure in that
belief, had sometimes played the coquette, knowing
that she had but to smile again upon him to see him
fall in rapture at her feet.
And now the neglect was on his side, and she had
to endure it alone, sitting in her desolate home,
silent and forsaken, while hundreds for whom she
had no regard knocked at her gates and lavished
gifts and tokens upon her as if in mockery of his for-
getfulness, for whose remembrance she alone cared.
Hilary knew her grief, but Hilary’s sympathy
was, for that very reason, unbearable. Jenny could
not endure the mildly encouraging glances of so
dear a friend, nor the smile that bespoke a heart as
nearly broken as her own. NO; better the society
phrases of Mrs. Dutton, the amiable widow, who had _
so kindly consented to lend her respectable presence
to this otherwise too narrow household ; better any_
thing than the obtrusion Of comfort where there was
no comfort, and the display of sympathy against
which her woman’s pride rebelled.
Had she known that Hilary had sought to save
her all this uncertainty and grief by an interview
with the artist—that Hilary had even subdued her
own pride, which was great, to the point of Visiting
him in his studio—Jenny would have felt more
wretched still. For Hilary came forth abashed by
a reticence that was new in her experience of him,
and rode to her home in a whirl of dissatisfaction


374 A Turn of tke W/ieel.

and revolt that made her own existence, about this
time, almost as wretched as that of her unhappy
friend.
And,as I have said, the clock was verging toward
nine on a Friday night, and no summons had come
to rouse Jenny Rogers from those dreams of bitter
resentment into which her secret grief and despair
had finally plunged her. No summons, did I say?
Then what is this? Though she has forbidden her
maid, Clairette, to bring her any card which has
not the name of Hamilton Degraw upon it, the girl
is standing in the doorway with an inexplicable
smile on her lips and a small silver tray in her hand,
on which Jenny can faintly see gleaming a white bit
of pasteboard. Had he come, then? Is the world
going to move on again in its accustomed orbit?
She tries to be calm, but she springs toward the
girl, seizes the card, gives it one look and becomes
in an instant another woman.
There is a peculiar look on Clairette’s face, a
hesitancy in her manner, but Jenny Rogers observes
neither. She waves the girl from the room, then
calls her back to say :
“Remember, I receive no other callers to-night ;”
and sends her forth again. in haste; for the young
heiress is wild to be alone, that she may don her
most bewitching garments and hang clusters of
flowers on her breast, which otherwise might betray
the heaving of her heart too plainly.
She has an exquisite robe of purest rose ; she puts


A Turn of the Wheel. 375

it on, and you who have not seen this wonderful
woman in her jubilant mood, should see her now.
She fairly irradiates the room ; she walks like a
goddess, she smiles like a child ; she sings, yes,
sings one snatch of heart-searching melody as she
ties her last ribbon and affixes her last flower. She
is happy, but she does not mean that he shall be
happy too. No, she will give him coldness for cold-
ness; suspicion for suspicion; and pride for pride.
But she will look so beautiful and hide her joy
under such an airy vail, that he will never go away
again, nor leave her as before to eat out her heart in
pride and desolation.
But this mood, which lasted till she reached the
parlor door, vanished as she crossed the threshold.
At Sight of a tall figure emerging from behind the
curtain of a window, she stopped downcast, a crowd
of blushes flitting over her white cheeks. He came
forward, first quickly, then more slowly, as if over-
come by her beauty and evident feeling, then as he
did not speak, she gave a quick look up and—
She did not fall nor faint, she only stared a little
With a pitiful smile, that gradually and by pure force
of will deepened into a Show of greeting that made
him forget that she did not reach forth her hand.
It was her benefactor from Cleveland, and not her
artist lover, Hamilton Degraw.
His manner was almost as agitated as hers. He
took her hand and bowed over it with an air such as
she had never seen in him before, and when she had


376 A Turn of the Wheel.

composed herself sufficiently to awaken to the duties
of a hostess and offer him a seat, he took it with a
lingering look at her youthful loveliness, that set
her heart beating with new fears and possibly new
hopes, for her faith in her recreant lover was broken
and a violent resentment had taken its place.
“ This is kind of you,” she now murmured in her
anxiety to break the silence. “I have often wished
that I might have the opportunity again to thank
you for the great benefits heaped upon me by your
hand. And I did not like to write.” -
“ And I did not like to intrude myself, nor should
I be here now, Miss Rogers, if circumstances of a
most unexpected nature had not changed my posi-
tion in regard to you to such an extent, that it has
become my joyful duty to follow the impulses of my
heart ; if, in short, I were not at liberty now to offer
you my hand without any such conditions as those I
felt compelled to make upon a former occasion.”
“Mr. Degraw !”
She had started to her feet. Her astonishment
had overmastered her. She sank back again, but it
was with palpitating heart and benumbed brain.
“ No conditions ;” the word rang sweetly in her cars.
It was like a haven of rest. “ No conditions.”
“ I do‘ not wonder at your surprise,” said he.
“You ask, and rightly, what could have occurred
to make such an action as this on my part pardona-
ble. I will tell you in a word. After my return to
Cleveland, the lawyer friend under whose invitation


A Turn of the Wheel. 377

I visited Mr. Delancy’s death-bed, came to see me,
and asked if I had determined upon the woman who
was to inherit that gentleman’s fortune. I told him
that I had, whereupon he put some very plain ques~
tions, which elicited answers that undoubtedly
betrayed my interest in y0u, for he smiled as he
said:
“ ‘ Then it will not be a trial to you to fulfill Mr.
Delancy’s last request?’
“And what is that? I asked.
“‘ That you should marry the girl you thought
worthy to enjoy this fortune.’
“ Miss Rogers, I have never expressed my feelings
to you either in their depth or persistency, but you
can imagine how I was affected, if you remember
the stand I took at the critical moment before the
signing of the deed. I risked that which it was my
happiness to possess, and all for an instinct of honor
which these words proved to have been founded
upon a mistake. I would have vented my despair
upon the lawyer, but he answered me that Mr.
Delaney had breathed this wish in private, and
requested that it should not be made known to me
till I had made my decision."
“It is very strange,” uttered Jenny. “But this
must have occurred three months since.”
The sarcasm, if it was meant as such, was clothed
in tones so gentle as to be almost pathetic. She
was thinking how full of hope those three months
had been, and how little they had brought her.


378 A Turn of the Wheel.

Mr. Degraw smiled and looked at her with tender
indecision.
“I waited,” he said with effort, “because I had
been led to think, to fear,I should not find your
heart quite free to consider any proposal of mine.
Though I have never been far from you, I resisted
my impulses to the extent of not showing myself in
your presence till time and inquiry have assured
me that my conclusions were groundless and that
your hand is quite free.”
She looked up in fine scorn and her eyes blazed
with more than her old fire. -
“ Quite free,” she echoed, and with the word she
seemed to cast something away from her that was
very precious.
He saw the gesture and seemed to comprehend it.
A softer look crept into his face and he took a place
nearer her side.
“ No heart is without its burden,” said he. “ I love
you none the less that your cheek is not quite as
round, nor your eyes quite as brilliant as of old.
Will you let that love be your comfort? It is fer-
vent, Miss Rogers, and it is very deep and sincere.
It has never been frittered away on another and it
will know no change. I love those now whom I
loved in infancy, and never lose an affection which I
have once formed."
She was sorely beset; the heart which had been
torn and trampled upon by another felt a throb of
life at the prospect held forth to her by this good


A Turn of the Wheel. 379

man. Here was refuge, here was solace, here was
balm for herbruised pride. He was a lordly-looking
lover, too. No wizen-faced dotard such as Helen
Clarkson had accepted a fortnight since; no amorous
dude, either, with lack of wit, but plenty of fashion
to save his overtures from being wholly ridiculous.
No, Mr. Degraw, of Cleveland, was a man and a
gentleman next only in worth and attraction to the
one she had been weak enough to admit into her
heart. He was honorable, too, and of a distin-
guished presence. He would do credit to her taste,
and he would guard her honor, and he would nOt
ask her to give up her millions for a whim, only to
scorn her when she had shown herself willing to
make the sacrifice.
Smiling upon him with a certain wistfulgrace, she
asked if he would take her without explanation.
For reply, he drew her to his heart, and when the
little clock on the parlor mantel struck eleven o’clock
that night, it SOunded in the ears of a solemnly
engaged couple.
When he was gone and she stood, dazed and
frightened, in the great empty room, she asked
herself again and again why she did not feel some-
thing; why her heart was rather like a dead weight
in her brea'st than the palpitating, troublous thing
that had hitherto made her hours alive with alter-
nating joy and fear. Had she destroyed her youth?
Had she killed the fresh young hopes that alone
made life endurable, or was she simply tired, and


380 A Turn of tbe Wkeel.
thus for the moment beyond the reach of all sensa-
tions ?
The entrance of Clairette put a stop to these
languid inquiries. It reminded her that it was late
and that she could go to bed. Perhaps she could
sleep now. She felt as if she could—as stones sleep,
that lie quiescent where they are thrown. That
would be a rest; she had had no rest, and if she
should never wake—
Clairette’s voice interrupted her at this point.
“ I beg your pardon,” said she, “but a gentleman
called while you were talking with Mr. Degraw. I
could not let him in because you had forbidden it,
but I thought if you knew his name—”
She thrust another card under her mistress’ eyes.
Jenny read it, and then read it again. Hamilton
Degraw? Hamilton Degraw? Who was he ? Not
the gentleman to whom she had just engaged herself!
Oh, no! Oh, no! Who, then? Not the artist?
He had not come and gone while she bartered away
her life for a comforting word? Yes, yes, the face
of the girl told her what this miserable card failed
to do. He had been here and she— Awild scream
went up from her lips, and she lay, in the next
moment, senseless and inert upon the floor.


382 feannette‘ and Virginia.

possible advice, which springs from an uneasy sense
that it would fail to fall in with her own desperate
impulses. Besides, her heart could not wait till she
had seen Hilary. She must rid herself of the bonds
which held her before the day had waned suffi-
ciently to bring the hour at which her affianced
husband had promised to again visit her. To wait
longer would be to add shame to her torment. She
belonged to the artist by right of love, and she could
not meet this other man with even so much of a
welcome as would be expressed by an outstretched
hand.
That she did not see this the night before, was
owing to her secret resentment. That she saw it
now, was owing to her real love, which, under the
influence of these accumulated shocks and contra-
dictory experiences, had developed into a passion so
deep, that she no longer thought of the sacrifice of
her wealth which its satisfaction involved. N 0, she
thought no longer of anything but her love. To
break away from the man who held her troth, that
she might fly to the man who held her heart, was all
her hope, all her purpose. To insure fulfillment to
this hope and to make certainty of this purpose, she
sat down soon after breakfast to write her betrothed
a letter.
But when she came to take the pen in her hand,
she trembled. Ah, this was not so easy a task after >
all! If she had recoiled at times from giving up the
millions that had come to her in so wonderful a way,


feannette and Virginia. 383

how much more reason had she for recoiling from
an act that not only meant the sacrifice of her
fortune, but the betrayal of a secret that involved
her honor and every claim to happiness which she
possessed. I do not think she could have proceeded
with her confessions if Clairette had not brought
her at this critical moment a letter, which gave her
the impetus necessary to carry her through her pro-
ject. It was from the artist, and ran thus :
“MY BEST BELOVED :——You have refused to see
me. Is this because I have come too late? Darling,
I had my excuses. I will explain them to you if you
will give me the opportunity. Do not judge me
without knowing the facts, for whatever indifference
I may have shown you, I here avow that my heart
has been beating with yours throb for throb, ever
since the moment you drew my eyes to yours, and
made me see that you were ready to give up all the
world for the devotion of your artist lover,
HAMILTON DEGRAW.”
Such words, coming at this moment, made her
path plain before her, or so the desperate child
thought. A fiery ardor of devotion awoke within
her, and though her trembling was not lessened and
her cheeks took on the hue of fear, she seized the
empty sheets before her, and transcribed the burn_
ing words which she knew would effectually sever
all connection between herself and her true-hearted


384 feannette and Virginia.
benefactor. It was noon when her letter was com-
pleted, and her feverish eyes and pallid lips evinced
what the task had been to her.. But she gave no
evidences of flinching, and folded up the letter and
addressed it . to Hamilton Degraw, Esq., with
unyielding determination. Only when it came to
her taking from a certain secret drawer the deed
and various papers upon which her fortune depended,
did she falter and show signs of weakening. 'And
then, not because of any secret longings toward
the wealth represented by these various documents,
but because she did not feel quite assured that she
had said all that was necessary, in her long but not
exhaustive letter. She had told her secret and repu-
diated the Delaney legacy, but she had not 'named
her successor. Should she? Had she the right?
No; but it would be so pleasant to think that the
dear little school-teacher who had every virtue and
every charm save that of an unhalting gait, should
reap the benefits that were no longer hers. As she
thought of it, she took a resolution. She would
visit this lady, and see for herself if she was worthy
of this good fortune. It would distract her own
thoughts, it would shorten the terrible hours that
must yet elapse before she dared send this letter or
address the artist, and it would give her strength to
bid good-bye to her old life and take up her new
one in the artist home, which she faintly saw before
her.
This resolve once taken, she locked up the letter


feannette and Virginia. 385

and the deed together, and donned her simplest
street garments. Though she did not know where
to find the girl of whom Mr. Degraw had told her,
she was enough of an adept in the city’s ways to be
quite certain of success, if she only had sufficient
time; and, as yet, it was only half_past twelve, and
Mr. Degraw was not expected before four.
Her first move was to consult a directory. It was
a Sliccessful one, for almost at first View she lighted
upon the address she sought, under the name of
“ Rogers, Jeannette; teacher;” and, elated with her
anticipations, she betook herself to the street and
number named, like a female Haroun al Raschid.
She was fortunate in finding the young school-
teacher at home. It had seemed odd to ask at the
door for Miss Rogers, and her voice had faltered
somewhat in doing it; but her manner was so win-
some, and her smile so bright, even through the
heavy veil she wore, that the girl who ushered her
in did not notice her emotion, and seated her in the
parlor, with the remark:
“ Miss Rogers is at dinner, miss, but she will soon
be done. Who shall I say wants to see her ?”
Jenny flushed.
“I will not send my name," said she. “I am a
stranger to her.”
The girl stared, astonishedas much by her man-
ner as her words, and went quickly out. In a few
minutes, that yet seemed long to the impatient Vis-
itor, a light and almost bounding step was heard in


386 jeannette and Virginia.

the hall, and the door opened, and a pretty, bright
and archly smiling girl stood before her.
Jenny rose.
“ I wish to see Miss Rogers,” she explained.
“ I am Miss Rogers.”
“ Miss Jenny, I mean.”
“I am Jenny Rogers.”
Our Jenny faltered back astonished, then burst
out with the irrepressible exclamation:
“ But she is lame! I was told that she limped
fearfully, while you—”
The young girl before her broke forth in a merry
laugh.
“Oh,I have been lame, but last June I had an
operation performed upon my ankle, and it cured me
entirely, and now I can even pirouette—see !” And
the gay young thing took a whirl through the room,
pausing suddenly, however, to exclaim, with irresisti-
ble demureness: “ Pardon me ; I am forgetting my
manners.”
The signorina—we must call her so again for the
nonce—experienced a strange sensation. Not lame,
this girl! Then it was surely God’s providence that
led her here. How strange it all was! The mistake
of considering permanent a defect that was only
temporary had turned Mr. Degraw’s attention from
this blooming girl. And now she who had suc-
ceeded to her place in his regard was ready to
repudiate his wealth, and by this act would be the
means, perhaps, of diverting it back to its rightful


feannette and Virginia. 387
owner. For the signorina did not need to know
much of life or human nature to feel sure that
beneath the beaming and candid smile of this little
school-teacher lay virtues with which her own
undisciplined impulses could not vie; and being
without jealousy—for the Delaney fortune was no
longer anything to her—she took a strong and deep
liking to this namesake of hers, and smiled upon her
with her most captivating smile, as she said:
“ You must wonder who I am, and what my
errand is. Well, I have no errand; I only wanted
to know you—perhaps because of your name, which
is identical with my own.”
“ ‘ Jeannette Rogers ?’ ”
“ ‘ Virginia Rogers ;’ but we are both called
‘Jenny ’—-at least I am."
“Ah! how curious !—to meet one of my own
name, I mean. And you are so "——“ beautiful,” she
wanted to say, but lacked the courage.
The signorina smiled. Somehow her heart felt
quite light. Was it because she thought that Mr.
Degraw would not be so hurt by the revelations of
her letter if he knew that such a worthy successor
as this stood ready to pick up the millions she was
about to drop from her unworthy hand?
“ Oh, I like you,” she impetuously exclaimed. “ I
feel as if we were old friends. Have you never
experienced any unpleasantness from the possession
of this name? You know, I suppose, that it has
been much in the papers of late; that unusual pros-


feannette and Virginia. 389

“ I have graduated,” whispered the signorina.
Then, suddenly : “ I am the singer you alluded
to!”
“You! Oh, how wonderful! I did not dream of
that, and yet, I might have known it, too. And you
talk about giving up your money, so much as it is?
But you have no mother to care for.”
“ No ; andI have a lover. I shall not be unhappy
or unprovided for.” '
“ Yet, it is marvelous. I like to see you, Virginia.
You will always be an embodied romance to me,
after this. Of course, I do not know why you have
to give up this money, but that you can do it makes
my heart burn with enthusiasm. It almost causes
me to fall in love with love.”
“Ah !” quoth the signorina, “love has its pains as
well as its pleasures. It is almost enviable to be free
from both, as you are. And to have a mother. Oh,
if I had had a mother to teach me and to guide me,
I might not now be looking back upon my past with
regret.”
She sighed and the tears trembled on her eye-
lashes. Suddenly she turned to Jeannette.
“ Will you be my friend?” she asked.
“ I, your friend !” cried the other. “ Will you be
mine?”
“ Will I not?” exclaimed the signorina.
And the two girls glided into each other’s arms,
impelled by an attraction that was almost irresis-
tible.


390 Another Turn of the Wheel.

When the signorina went away she wore almost a
joyous look, and the first task to which she turned
her attention upon reaching her home was to take
out her letter to Mr. Degraw and inclose in it the
following note:
“ If you have any hesitancy as to where to place
the large fortune thus thrown back upon your hands,
let me suggest that you remember the little school-
teacher, who is no longer lame, and who, as you must
recognize, is as worthy as I am unworthy, and as
beautiful as any one who bears the name of
‘ Rogers.’ ”
CHAPTER XXXIX.
ANOTHER TURN OF THE WHEEL.
Hamilton Degraw was not in a painting mood.
He had taken up his brush more than once, but had
repeatedly laid it down again, only to fling it away
at last in despair. He was expecting a reply to his
note, and was now pacing the length of his studio,
with his eye on the door, for he was sure he had
heard the postman’s whistle in the hall below.
But minutes passed, and no letter was thrust under
the door. He must wait another dreary three hours,
unless— Ah, fresh steps! This time, dainty and


Another Turn of the Wheel. 391

womanly ones. Are they coming to this door?
Yes. And will he hear a knock? Yes. But he
does not expect the figure he sees blushing on the
threshold. No heart-throb had told him that she
would be there. And yet, there she is in all her
charm and beauty, and, though not alone—as, indeed,
he would not wish her to be—welcome beyond all
expression ; for this Visit assures him without doubt
or suspense, that she indeed loves him and intends
to be his wife.
His looks speak his greeting.
“ Enter I" he cries. “ Enter, Miss Rogers; enter,
my dear Mrs. Dutton. My studio is honored by
your presence. Ah, I have often wished that you
would Visit me here, if only to see this sketch of
Miss Aspinwall. It is thought to be one of my most
successful efforts."
Jenny’s eyes, which had been roaming with Visible
curiosity through a spot which might soon be her
only refuge, turned at these words, and followed his
pointing finger.
“ Oh, how lovely I” she cried. “When did you
paint this? Has Hilary seen it ?”
“ No, I have not felt at liberty to show it to Miss
Aspinwall. It is an idealized sketch, you see. I call
it ‘ A Poet's Dream.’ ”
“Ah,” murmured Jenny, with a wistful tone in her
voice.
“ I have another picture which I call ‘ Love’s
Reality,’ ” he tenderly observed, taking advantage


392 Another Turn of tile W/ieel.

of Mrs. Dutton’s considerate preoccupation with the
sketches she saw everywhere displayed. “ Can you
guess who was my model for that?”
Jenny’s eyes met his, and he thought he never saw
her look more glowing.
“ May I guess that it is your future wife ?” she
whispered.
With difficulty he suppressed the impulse to clasp
her then and there to his heart. But he pressed her
hand, which had somehow stolen toward his own,
and his face told all the rest.
“ Oh, my darling !” he breathed. “ Would we
were alone for one short minute !”
“ We are,” she laughed. “Mrs. Dutton is very
short-sighted, and so deaf when she thinks it best to
be, that she cannot really be looked upon as an
intruder. Yet, I do not mean for you to forget the
proprieties,” she naively insinuated, as he approached
his arm toward her waist. “ We can talk unrestrainT
edly and that is a great privilege, for we have much
to say to each other, have we not ?”
“ Much; we have to plan for a life-time,” he
declared.
“ And you have to explain why you left me for
three days, hovering between hope and despair.”
His face fell; a shadow flitted dark and threaten-
ing across his satisfaction.
“Are you going to press me for that ?” his look
appeared to ask.


Another Turn of the Wheel. 393

Her look responded, “Certainly; can you think
me capable of ignoring such neglect?”
He sighed, and reluctantly admitted:
“I have had a great deal to try me lately, Jenny.
I have a friend upon whose judgment Irely, and
this friend, for some reason impossible for me to
fathom, has conceived an inexplicable distrust of
you.”
“And who— ?” she began, but she had not cour—
age to continue. She felt as if an axe had been laid
at the root of her happiness.
“It is a person whose name it seems an indignity
to you to mention,” he responded; “yet he is a
noble fellow and a gentleman. I allude to Mr.
Byrd, Jenny."
“Mr. Byrd!” How wild her eyes looked; and
her speech, how thick it sounded.
“ I distress you," he objected. “This is not talk
for such a day as this. Let us omit explanations.”
“No, no," she entreated, drawing him toward a
quaint little recess upon which he had expended all
his art and taste to make it a nook worthy to hold
the picture he had painted of her. “ I must hear
why .Mr. Byrd distrusts me. His conduct surely
has not been of a distrustful nature; then why
should his thoughts be?”
“ That, dearest, I do not know. I am only telling
you why I did not at once rush to you after your
loving revelation at Miss Aspinwall’s reception.
He held me back.”


394 Another Turn of the Wheel.

“ And you let him !”
“ His entreaties were urgent,” remonstrated the
artist. “ He asked me to wait a week—~only aweek.
He declared I owed that much to my career, and when
I replied that I could not see you without betraying
my feelings, he entreated me to stay away from you
till he could substantiate his doubts. He did not
say what they were, promising that he would do
this in the one week which he exacted. As he nat-
urally awakened my own doubts by these unexpected
and forcible demonstrations, I yielded to him, Jenny.
Though I see now that I did wrong in this, thatI
should have trusted you implicitly, I was weak
enough to withhold myself from your side for three
days.’ Then my love triumphed. I went to Mr.
Byrd and told him that he had exacted too much
from me, that I could not and would not believe
that you were not all your sweet face promised, and
gave as an argument in your favor the fact that you
were ready to give up your great fortune to please
my whim. He was overwhelmed ; had not dreamed
you or any other woman capable of so great asacri- ’
fice, and ended by asking my pardon for insinuations
which had been occasioned, as he asserted, by a
total misconception of your character. This was at
eight o’clock, Jenny. At half-past nine, I was at
your house. There were lights in the parlor, but I
was not admitted.
“ It was through a mistake," she murmured, with
lowered head and brow turned away. “ 1—” And


Another Turn of the Wheel. ’ 395
there she paused. How could she gofurther? How
explain this situation? Besides, she felt weak and
shaken. That any man should have distrusted
her, and made her lover share his doubts, if only
for a few days, was terrible to her. She did not
know how to hide her agitation, nor how to keep
back her tears. .
“ When I got home, I wrote to you,” he resumed.
“The letter must have been a wild one, but since it
has brought you here I will not apologize for it.
And now, is my sweet one going to forgive me?
Can a woman ever forgive her lover’sdistrust, even
when occasioned by the well-planned suggestions of
a reliable and generous friend ?”
She did not answer; the waves of grief and fear
were rising bitterly in her breast.
“I love you so,” he went on, forgetting Mrs.
Dutton’s presence, which, indeed, did not obtrude
itself, “ and my trust is so completely restored ! I
can never doubt you again, nor will I ever in the
future listen to any one’s words against you. Jenny,
Jenny ! my queen! my life I Look around, give me
your hand, breathe sweet forgiveness, and forget—”
“ Miss Aspinwall !"
The word was uttered loudly in Mrs. Dutton’s
most pronounced tones. Mr. Degraw and Miss
Rogers at once turned, and colored deeply as they
saw the fOrm of Hilary standing in the studio
door.
But their emotion, evident as it was, was nothing to


396 ' Another Turn of the Wheel.

hers. She, the self-possessed, seemed in one short
moment absolutely overcome by what she saw
before her; and though she came in and advanced
with outstretched hand to greet them, she did this
in a manner so different from her accustomed one,
that Jenny knew that her friend was moved by some
extraordinary emotion of fear or astonishment, and
turned faint almost to the point of sinking.
“Mr. Degraw! Jenny! I did not think to find
you here together,” she ejaculated, with a pointed
look.
Jenny seized hold of a small table near her to
steady herself, and cast an entreating glance upon
her friend.
That friend did not see it, or failed to understand
it.
“I have just come from an interview with Mr.
Degraw, of Cleveland, whom I met unexpectedly at
Tiffany’s this morning,” Miss Aspinwall continued.
“He told me y0u had engaged yourself to him,
Jenny; and I came here.” Her full, sweet look at
the artist told why. But nobody saw that look.
He and Jenny were both absorbed in the one wild
glance each had cast upon the other at the utterance
of these fatal words.
“ What facts are these?” exclaimed the artist, after
one terrible moment. “ You have engaged yourself
to my rival, and now come here-”
“Oh, I can explain it," interrupted Jenny. "I
can explain it. He came when I thought myself


Another Turn of the Wheel. 397

deserted, offered his hand without conditions, and——
and—I listened to him.”
“ And are you solemnly engaged to marry him?”
sternly continued her lover.
“Not now, not now; I wrote to him today, after
I heard from you. I could not keep my word to
him when I found that you still loved me; andI
told him—”
“ What ?”
She did not answer. ‘ She was swaying like a reed.
“ What, Miss Rogers?"
“ Ah I” Her cry rose from a wounded heart.
She turned and fled toward Mrs. Dutton. “Take
me home I” she cried, then suddenly tottered and
turned upon them with a drawn and frightened face.
“I have no home,” she moaned, “I sent the deed
with my letter; I have neither home nor friends."
This was too much for Hilary and too much for
him. They both sprang and caught the unhappy
girl in their arms.
“ She is such a child,” whispered Hilary in the ear
of the artist. “ We must not judge her as we would
ourselves.”
But the other was saying to himself:
“ It is all my fault. Had I not left her to herself
at the moment when she needed me most and had
won the right to my fondest support, she would not
have been subjected to such fierce temptations.”
But he did not say this to her. He at that


Another Turn of the Wheel. 399

you may be right. I will go and see.” And with a
bow and a slight gesture to Mrs. Dutton, she van-
ished from the room, while the artist stood shaken
and undecided, not knowing what this sudden change
might betoken.
She went immediately down-stairs to her carriage.
She stepped quickly and seemed impatient at Mrs.
Dutton’s slower gait. “I am in haste!" she cried,
more than once. -
“In haste, my dear?” inquired that lady, as she
took her seat in the carriage.
“ Yes, yes,” retorted Jenny, giving her orders to
the coachman, with feverish impetuosity. “I have
business at home. Pray God, I may not be too
late.” She scarcely glanced at Hilary’s carriage,
standing close by, though it held more than one
person whom she knew.
“I hope,” mildly insinuated Mrs. Dutton, as they
rode rapidly up the avenue, “that you are not going
to do anything injudicious.”
“ I cannot say,” was Jenny’s response. “The way
is dark before me; I only know that I must get
home, and that, before Mr. Degraw, of Cleveland,
has called.”
The truth was that She was terrified at the letter
she had written him. As she saw matters now, it
seemed the wildest, maddest thing she could have
done. She must have that letter back; at whatever
cost, at whatever risk, she must destroy the words
which she had written, in the heat of her love and


400 Another Turn of the Wheel.
devotion to the artist. Were Providence only kind,
she would yet reach home in time to stay the hand
of the girl ordered to deliver it. Were her expected
visitor but delayed by ten minutes, she would be
there before him and all would be well again. For
fewer explanations than she had given him would
suffice for her release; just the simple statement of
her affection for the artist would be suflicient.
But when she came in sight of her home and saw
that a carriage was just driving away, she became
greatly frightened, and leaning from the window,
begged the coachman to drive faster. In an instant
more she was upon her own stoop and awaiting
impatiently for the door to be opened. When it at
last swung back, she asked, breathlessly:
“ Has Mr. Degraw been here?”
The answer she received made her catch wildly at
both lintels for support.
“ Yes, miss; he has just driven away. I gave him
your excuses, and handed him the package. YOu
can see his carriage there, just turning the corner.”


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The Wheel Becomes a Rach. 403

CHAPTER XL.
THE WHEEL BECOMES A RACK.
Jenny Rogers did not allow her agitation to keep
her long inactive. " Running down the steps, she
bade the coac'hmah' to follow the carriage before
him to the Westminster Hotel, and jumping into
her own, took her seat at the side of Mrs. Dutton,
crying: I
“ Do not speak to me! I may seem rude, but you
would not think so if you knew.” -
And Mrs. Dutton, looking in her face, took a new
view of the situation, and began to feel very nervous
herself and think that the horses went too slowly.
Yet they rode fast, and were soon in sight of the
WeStminster. But not before Mr. Degraw’s car-
riage had driven away from before the hotel steps.
“He has got there; he has gone to his rooms,
What shall we do? I cannot call upon him I” cried
Jenny, despairingly.
“ I will call. I am an old lady,” said Mrs. Dutton,
sympathetically. It was not for her interest to have
this engagement broken Off.
“ Oh, if you will! Stop him before he reads my
letter. Say to him that Miss Rogers regrets


The Wheel Beeomes a Raeh. 405
not do anything, I dare not do anything, and yet I
shall die if I cannot have a half-dozen words with
him.”
“They would not be pleasant,” suggested Mrs.
Dutton. “His face made me afraid, and I think it
would you."
“ Was he so—so—angry ?” demanded Jenny.
“I think so, but I did not‘stay long enough to
see. I may be a coward, but I never could face a
man who was not in an amiable mood.”
Miss Rogers,_ quaking, settled herself in the
corner of her carriage and said no more, only that
now and then a Short cry escaped her lips, that
sounded like the reiterated expression: “I must
see him! I must see him !” And so they rode on
and finally came to her house._ When she went in,
she saw news in Clairette’s eager face. '
“What is it?” she asked.
“A gentleman in the parlor,” was the cautious
reply. '
Hardly daring to hope, Jenny went to the parlor
door and stepped in. The man whom she most
wanted to see in all the world stood before her.
Immediately she was seized by a great trepida-
tion, and when Mr. Degraw, seeing this, came for-
ward and offered her a chair, she found it difficult to
recover herself. But she did so at last, being forced
to it by his silence; and, having nerved herself to
look up, did so with a certain resolution.
But she had no sooner met his eyes, than her own


406 The Wheel Becomes a Rack.

I'ell again. It was not the reproach in them that affec-
ted her, but the grief. There were tears on his
cheeks, and he seemed wholly unconscious of them.
Such a sight she had never looked upon before.
“ Shall I kneel for pardon?” she faintly murmured,
holding her two arms outspread in an attitude of pro-
found contrition. “ I feel that it is the only fitting
position for me to take toward one whom I have
wronged profoundly.”
He took a quick step forward.
“On the contrary,” said he, “ I feel indebted to
you for your act of c0urage. Had you left me
in ignorance of the truth, only to have it revealed
to me hereafter in some unforeseen way, you would
then have wronged me irreparably. As it is, I-may
grieve over a vanished dream and bewail a fallen
idol, but I cannot meet you with blame or load you
with reproaches.”
She gave him an eloquent look, she uttered a
grateful cry, and the hands which had been stretched
out in utter abandonment, came together and clasped
themselves upon her breast.
“This is mercy,” said she, and a happy smile rose
on her lips, before which his eyes fell. “ Twice
have you been my benefactor!” she exclaimed, “ and
this time you are a greater one than before."
He bowed, but made no reply. This interview
was a trying one to him.
“And my letter ?" she ventured, timidly


The Wheel Becomes a Rach. 409
My future happiness and high standing are trembling
in the balance, and the moment is as serious for me
as for you.”
“ But I will write another letter. I will say that
I entreat your re-acceptance of this gift, which I
find entails too many duties upon me for my peace
of mind. And this you can show the world; and
when I am married, people will understand.”
“Miss Rogers,”—his tone was tender, almost
paternal——“ do you think you ought, under any
circumstances, to marry Mr. Degraw ?”
She arose, she drew up her exquisite form, she
panted and flung back, in her desperation, this
answer:
“I love him. I give up a great fortune for him.
I needed not have given it up if I had not been
pleased to do so. If all this does not make me
worthy of him, then there is no such thing as repent-
ance, and reparation is a mere word.”
“You are right," he murmured; “ but if he
knew—”
“But he never will know, if you give me back my
letter. For his sake, whose life will be ruined if any
whisper of all this comes to his ears, have compas-
sion upon me, Mr. Degraw. You know by whatI
have written you that I am not a bad woman. If I
marry the man who trusts me, I will be a good one.
Though I have wronged you, humiliated you, and
taken from you some of the confidence you had in
mv sex, do not visit my faults upon me by a revenge


410 Tne W/zeel Becomes a Raek.

so deep as the retaining of this letter. Indeed,
indeed, it is not necessary. No one will question
your honor when they see with what reverenceI
regard you.”
She was going, to say more, but something in his
manner stopped her. Tears—the first she had shed
—rose to her eyes, and she turned slowly away, as if
profoundly humiliated.
“ Ah! you think I am not worthy even to do you
reverence,” she murmured.
The piteous action and the still more piteous
words, coming from one so dainty and exquisitely
beautiful, touched him as nothing else in all this
painful interview had done. Coming close to her
side, he took her languid hand, and calmly, for his
passion had all left him, said, with affectionate
fervor:
“ God forbid that I should visit any revenge upon
a head that humbles itself so low. If any such feel-
ing has hitherto actuated my words, and who can
say it has not, I herewith discard it as unworthy of
me or my cause. That I loved you, is true; that I
have suffered in my faith and in my pride, is also
true; but, I would not thereby raise myself above
you, since, if you have sinned, I am not also without
my faults, as your present attitude shows. Miss
Rogers, -I will give you back your letter; but let me
say before doing so, that you will never be blessed
in your marriage with Mr. Degraw, or even see an
hour of perfect felicity in his presence, unless you


The Wheel Beeomes a Raeh. 411


allow him to know its contents before you go to the
altar."
“ No! No!" her looks seemed to cry, but she
said nothing with her lips, unless the humble and
heart-felt kiss she pressed upon his hand might be
said to speak.
“And now,” he Suggested, “write me the letter
you proposed. I will take it and immediately return
with the other. Afterward my lawyer will visit
you, and all shall be completed legally and with
as much celerity and secrecy as the matter will
permit.”
“ Ah !” she exclaimed, “ with what life you inform
me. And I cannot even express my gratitude or the
thoughts that fill my mind.” And she bounded to
a desk—the desk at which she had written her first
letter, and which was in a second parlor, at the
back—and rapidly, as if moved by a governing hand,
indited her second epistle.
While she was doing this, he stood deeply musing.
He had yielded to her prayers and so cleared her
future at the expense of his own. For he saw-—
never more clearly—that he must always suffer
from the suspicion of having influenced this act of
hers, if in the course of events he should ever come
to profit by it in the way suggested by Mr.
Delancy’s last expressed wishes. If, therefore, he
wished to preserve his reputation for probity, he
must refrain from ever bettering his own fortunes
by marrying the girl to whom this property must


4I2 The Wheel Becomes a Rack.


now go; and, though this prospect did not look so
dismal at present, while his heart was yet sore with
the disappointment of losing his first love, there
might come a time when it would cause serious
complications, not only to himself but to the little
. school-mistress. _
And yet so generous was his nature, and so kind
his heart, that he had no wish to recall his promise,
whatever it might cost him. If suffering lay before
him, he was surely stronger to bear it than this
delicate woman, already racked by so many and
various emotions. Better bear the blessing of this
erring and repentant one, than the weight of her
destruction, even if through this destruction there
came to him a temporary peace. Life was not so
easy to bear under any circumstances, that one
could afford to weight it with unnecessary regrets.
He had done what his mercy suggested, and he
would abide by it; but the ordeal had been sharp
and he had almost succumbed to it. This he must
always remember to his everlasting chagrin.
When Jenny returned with her letter and bade
him read it, he did so dispassionately and with
evident approval.
“This will answer very well. I will now return
to my hotel for the other,” he declared, and left her
with a low bow, in which she felt a certain respect
expressed that was like balm to her crushed and
bleeding heart.
Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty elapsed. A half-hour


The Wheel Becomes a Rack. 413

passed, and Jenny looked for his return. Thongh
the minutes had lagged, they were not heavy.
Hope had beamed again above the horizon and her
heart was already revivifying under its influence.
Three-quarters of an hour, and no rumble of his
carriage was heard. But then, a friend might have
been waiting in his rooms, or some other detention,
equally difficult to avoid, happened to prolong his
stay. He would come before the hour was over;
she knew it by her throbbing heart and eager pulses ;
and he did. Just as the clock_was on the point of
striking the hour, his carriage drove up, and he
bounded to the walk, ran up the steps, and was let
in by the waiting Clairette. Jenny stood in the
parlor ready to receive him.
“What is it ?” she cried; for she saw at a glance
that he was greatly distressed.
“ The letter is gone! It has been stolen! Ican-
not find it among the documents you returned to
me! You have an enemy somewhere, and that
enemy has your honor in his hand.”


Secret Enemies. 415

announced that a very important paper was missing
from my trunk. That is why I was detained so
long. We were making inquiries.”
“ And—” “i
“They led to nothing. No one but my washer-
woman has been admitted to my rooms, nor has any
one else been seen to enter them. The thief must
have been expert in his art, and known exactly what
he was going for. But why should it have been
your letter ?”
“I don’t know; I don’t know. Perhaps because
Heaven wished to punish me for my sins. I see no
other reason.”
“Miss Rogers, shall I put this matter in the hands
of a detective ?”
She shuddered, and placed her hand over her
heart, as if the word had pierced her.
“ No,” was her quick reply. “ If it was not stolen
by a deteCtive, I shall be surprised.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“ I am told that detectives are sly and secret.
That they resort not only to honest but even to
dishonest means for finding out what they wish to
know. If Mr. Byrd has any real reason for distrust-
ing me (and that he does distrust me is evident), he
may have thought himself justified in stealing this
letter. Though how he could have known anything
about it,I cannot imagine, since you and I alone
were acquainted even with its existence.”


416 Seeret Enemies.

“ Mr. Byrd is the detective who saved your life
in Great Barrington ?"
She bowed, flushing painfully at memories not yet
forgetton sufficiently for her peace.
“ A fine fellow, seemingly,” remarked Mr. Degraw.
“ I do not think he would engage in any such
underhanded business as this."
“He might think it his duty to the other Mr.
Degraw, whOse friend he is," she ventured, with
painful hesitation.
Her visitor looked serious, but hastily shook his
head.
“ Unworthy of such a man !" he muttered—
“unworthy! An honest fellow, such as Mr. Byrd
appears, would not lend himself to any scheme which
involved the rifling of a respectable citizen’s private
effects. I.would sooner suspect my washerwoman;
and yet that is ridiculous!”
Jenny’s head, which had fallen in dejection on her
breast, rose suddenly, but immediately drooped
again.
“Yes, that is ridiculous," she echoed.
“Had it been money," he remarked, “I should
certainly have suspected this woman, for she is
known to have been long enough in my room, while
I was here, to have gone through my trunks; but a
letter, and such a letter ! What could it be to her?"
“ Nothing, nothing,” acquiesced Jenny, totally
unnerved and disheartened by this last misadventure,
_ ‘~-4-_-.


Seeret Enemies. 4 I, 7

“unless,” she suddenly cried, “she was acting for
the detectives."
Mr. Degraw looked startled.
“I hate to think it," said he. “ She has washed
for me several weeks, and has been more than once
alone in my rooms. Yet in this way only can I
account for the trunk being opened, searched and
locked again in the short space of time in which I
was absent. She was provided with keys.”
“ But how could she have known of my letter—of
—of its being there ?" I .
“Only in one way, Miss Rogers. Idid not tell
you allI learned about her stay in my room, because
Icould see no reason why this woman should be
interested in this or any other letter of mine. But
if She is in the detective's employ, the taking of this
letter is the very thing she WOuld be likely to be
interested in; for it seems that she was in my bed-
room while I was opening and reading your com-
munication in the adjoining apartment, and from my
ejaculations she must have gathered an idea of its
importance. Now, if shelhad keys, and was a police
spy, she would naturally take means for procuring
this letter, and, as I was called out before she left,
she had ample opportunity for unlocking my trunk
and searching among my documents."
“She did it! She did it! Mr. Byrd now has
that letter. Was not this woman a bright, Frenchy-
looking girl?” , .
“ On the contrary, she is a dried-up and unpleasant-


418 Secret Enemies.

looking old woman. If the Portuguese were not
dead—"
Jenny started.
“Oh, it isn’t she,” Mr. Degraw soothingly con-
tinued. “ The story of her death is no doubt true.
I only meant to give you some idea of her appear.
ance.”
Jenny shook her head with a slow, despairing
movement.
“Whoever it is,” said she, “ my letter will soon be
in the hands of the One man I most dread to have
see it.”
Her visitor did not gainsay this.
“Mr. Degraw will never marry me if he reads
that letter,” she declared.
And still the gentleman before her made no reply.
A moment of silence followed, then he kindly
observed :
“ Had I solace to offer, I should not hesitate so
long in speaking; but I coincide with you in think-
ing that this letter has been taken by an enemy of
yours, and taken with the purpose of thwarting your
marriage with Mr. Degraw. If, therefore, you
would make this attempt innocuous, and merit the
confidence of your lover and the admiration of your
friends, you will go at once to Mr. Degraw and tell
him what was in this letter, before it can have a
chance to reach him.”
For the first time she looked at her visitor with a


The Last Hope. 421


the dignity of a great-natured woman, she disap-
peared out of her own door and vanished up-stairs,
while he stood troubled and more nearly at the
point of adoring her than he had ever done before
in his life.

CHAPTER XLII.
THE LAST HOPE.
Miss Aspinwall will see no visitors tO-night; she
is sitting in her parlor with the artist, Mr. Degraw,
and from the concern with which she bends over a
letter he has just handed her to read, she has evi-
dently enough upon her mind to occupy both her
heart and attention.
“ You know her well,” urged Mr. Degraw, “and
realize how sensitive she is, and how easily her sen-
sibilities are shocked. Tell me what I shall do.”
She read the letter again. It was from Jenny to
the artist.
“I am free, wholly free. Mr. Degraw has released
me. Are you satisfied, and will you marry me
tonight? I have laid aside the natural modesty of
my sex to ask you this question, because to-morrow
I shall be without a roof to shelter me. I cannot


422 _ T be Last Hope.

remain in this house, for though Mr. Degraw consid-
erately places it at my disposal till the end of the
year, I do not feel that your betrothed should owe
anything to his bounty. Am I right, and shall I
prepare for what I here promise to be the beginning
of happiness, if you will henceforth trust me as I do
you. JENNY.”
“ Can you do what she asks?” Hilary inquired.
“ Not conscientiously.”
“I thought not, or you would not have come
here.”
“There you mistake. Could I have brought
myself to consider so hurried and unlooked-for
nuptials, I should have come for you to stand by
her at the altar. As it is, I come for your advice as
to the best way to refuse her request without shock-
ing her feelings too deeply. I have a mother whom
I love. I cannot bring myself to marry without
her presence. Shall I tell Jenny so? I only want
three days in which to bring her. Jenny can easily
wait that long. But how to propose it when her
heart is so torn and lacerated ?”
“Mr. Degraw, let us go to her. You will have
words given you. If she sees that you love her, and
only wish to wait a suitable time, that she may be
married with honor, and you wish satisfaction, she
cannot be so unreasonable as to feel hurt. She is a
child, as I have said before, and, like a child, bereft
of one support, flies inconsiderately to another.


The Last Hope. 423


That other must not fail her, only direct her. Your
love and pity will teach you how.”
“Yes, I think so, but—" I
“I will accompany you in the carriage, that you
may be able to tell her that Hilary is waiting to
carry her to a home from which she can be suitably
married. She shall stay with me, as She did before,
and if after I get her here I can persuade her to
delay her marriage till spring, I shall do it for both
your sakes. Society is already discussing her
engagement to your rival, and now for her to marry
you so suddenly will turn wonder into such criticism
as one naturally wishes to avoid.”
He assented with great earnestness. He Saw this
complication as clearly as she did herself, and
dreaded it as any sensitive-minded man must. But
he did not have much confidence in Jenny submit-
ting to so lengthy a delay, and showed his love by
not faltering in his intentions, though scandal and
all manner of unpleasantness threatened to follow
their fulfillment.
“ It is eight o’clock,” he now remarked. “Shall
we not start immediately for her house ?”
Miss Aspinwall rang for her maid.
“ Bring me hat and gloves,” was her order, as that
personage appeared. “And light the fire in the red
room; I may bring back a guest.”
“God grant it!” was Degraw’s inward comment.
But he had little hope; the future—even the future
of this one evening—looked impenetrable to him.


424 The 'Last Hope.

When they drove up to Jenny’s house, Hilary
said:
“ Do not ask me to go in. It would be a mistake
for her to see any face but yours at this moment.
And do not' think of me either; I am patient, and
can sit here for hours. But I hope her heart will
bring her to me soon, and that we shall presently all
three drive to my house in peace and happiness.”
She raised her noble face to him as she said these
words, and he felt its light, though he did not pierce
to the depths of her devotion. Had he done so,
would he have run with so much single-minded
ardor up the steps that led him to the wayward
Jenny ?
“ Ah, you have come !”
The exclamation sprang from lips that had turned
suddenly rosy at his step. He looked up as he heard
it, and saw her before him in a dress suggestive of a
modest bridal, and carrying in her hand a bonnet
and a pair of gloves. His heart for the moment
stood still.
“My darling !” he murmured, taking her in his
arms, and, as he did so, gently withdrawing the hat
and gloves from her clasp and laying them on a table
near by, “you are mine, then—all mine! No one
competes with me for this small hand, and Imay
hope, in a few days—indeed, before the week has
closed—to call you by my name before the world,
as I now do in the innermost recesses of my heart!”
He had spoken without thought, and he had spo-


The Last Hope. 425

ken well, ifv her delicacy only was to be considered.
But there was another passion lying hid within that
beating heart, and she started back wounded and
frightened at his words, saying, wildly :
“ I was mistaken, then, in thinking you would wish
me to be beholden to no man but you. I must stay
in this house for days, eating Mr. Degraw’s bread
and giving orders to Mr. Degraw’s servants! I—I
wonder you can wish it. But if you say so—”
“I do not wish it, and it must not be. Hilary
stands ready to open her house to you. She has
already commanded fires to be lit in her guest-cham-
ber in anticipation of your coming. She is outside
now in the carriage which stands in front of your
house. She wants, and I want, that you should have
every honor surrounding your marriage; and this
could not be if we rushed off inconsiderately to a
minister’s house to-night.” ‘
“ Hilary!” Jenny’s voice sounded strangely
“I had much rather not marry you frOm Hilary’s
house.” '
“ And why, my beautiful ? Had ever a girl a kinder
friend than she has been to you? In the absence of
relatives, she has shown herself sister and mother to
you. Should you not recognize this affection—”
“ You do not understand,” was the quick inter-
ruption. “I appreciate Hilary, but—~” Jenny stole
a look at him. Should she utter the words that we're
trembling on her tongue? Would it gain her her
wish and lead him to solve all her difficulties by


428 T/ie Last Hope.
receive it and read it, she knew him well enough to
know that she would never be his wife.
“Go to her,” she murmured, faintly. “I dare
not ask you to remember my wishes in preference
to hers.” '
He stooped to kiss her.
“ And I dare not do so, Jenny. I idolize you. I
love every hair of your head; every glance of your
eye. Indeed, indeed, my love, I have no life with-
out you; but the more I feel for you the moreI
must feel for my mother, since you two are the only
beings in the world that have ever made me forget
my art. Some day you will be the only one to con-
sider; till that day comes let me pay my duty to
both.”
She sobbed, but attempted no further remon-
strance. Virginia Rogers was a modest woman.
She never thought of contending with him unduly,
or of exercising the power of her beauty beyond its
proper limits. Though she felt the ground giving
way under her feet, though she knew, or thought
she knew, that if she let him go she would never see
him at her side again, she resorted to no means
beyond those of her visible distress, either to retain
or delay him. She was too anxious to be worthy of
him, and the mother that he loved. A spark of
goodness had been lit in her soul which she sought
to cherish. Rather than see it go out, she was
ready, as she had said upon a different occasion, to
beg, to starve, to die. And so her sobs alone


430 The Last Hope.

very dear to me and shall be listened to. I can take
the midnight train as well as any other. I have
money with me, and though I shall have to go with-
out my usual conveniences, I will make it a flying
trip or buy in Waterbury what I think I need. Does
that relieve your fears, my darling, or persuade you
that I am willing to do any reasonable or unreasona-
ble thing that I conscientiously can to please you ?"
She kissed his hand, and her face grew eloquent.
She was a great actress, but there was no acting in
this; she felt all and more than she expressed. But
the magnetism that would have made her a power
on the stage, lent to her least look and action a force
of meaning that would have overcome a weak man,
and which, as it was, well-nigh intoxicated Degraw,
lost in his first dream of love.
“Was ever a woman more beautiful?” he cried,
and showered his tenderness upon her. A thought
of Hilary soon came, however, to cut these demon-
strations short. He gave his betrothed a final
embrace, and urged her to complete her preparations
for returning with Miss Aspinwall. Jenny hastened
to do his bidding, and ere long both found them-
selves in the carriage with Hilary, who was much
gratified at the success of Mr. Degraw's under-
taking.
As Mr. Degraw had promised not to return to his
studio, he remained with the ladies till eleven
o’clock. Then he left for the depot, but before he


4 3 2 Fate Triumphant.

ceremony they contemplated, as would prevent
undue gossip, and insure comfort to the dainty and
sensitive bride.
But Hilary was a power when her faculties were
fully aroused. She did all, managed all, with con-
summate tact and judgment, and though she could
not hope to save Jenny or the two Degraws from
criticism, she at least managed to make it perfectly
understood in their own circle, that it was the artist
whom Miss Rogers was to marry, and not his name-
sake from Cleveland, to whom she had been reported
to be engaged. For many this was enough, for
others it was not ; but these she left to Mr. Bodwell,
who had been the first to spread the unfortunate
report of that brief betrothal she was now so anxious
to have forgotten. And he for the very love of
gossip, did what he could; and, while not denying
that Miss Rogers had received attentions from both
gentlemen, managed to throw such a vail of mystery
over the whole affair as to leave those who listened
to him impressed rather by the romance than the
peculiarities of the affair.
Jenny, meanwhile, kept herself secluded. There
was one task before her, but that she kept for the
last moment. Till that moment came, she could
neither busy herself nor lend aid to Hilary in her
thousand and one duties. The only person she saw
at all, or allowed to be admitted to her presence,
was the lawyer who represented the interests of the
Cleveland Degraw. Him she did see, as well as





Fate T riumphant. 437

she was, and after a few torturing minutes of wait-
ing in the parlor, a good-looking woman entered, and
quietly greeted her.
Jenny had a thick vail over her face, but she
immediately threw it back. Her beauty must help
her in the cause she had to plead, for as she met
the woman’s honest eyes, she experienced a sudden
terror lest she should fail in her undertaking.
“ I have come,” she said, gently, and with her first
conscious effort at acting a part she did not feel, “for
a letter addressed to Mr. Degraw which your hus-
band is said to have found. I am his. intended wife,
and wrote the letter. 1—”
She paused, stricken at a loss. From something
in the face of the woman before her, she saw that the
letter had been read. Her heart gave up its cause
at once. She knew that the knell of her doom had
sounded—that she would never receive this letter
into her own hands. -
“I am sorry,” Mrs. Vandecker began, “but Mr.
Degraw has just called for his property."
“Mr. Degraw ! ”
“My husband went out of town this morning. He
met Mr. Degraw at the depot, and told him of this
letter, and where it could be found. Mr. Degraw
came for it immediately, and it is not ten minutes
since he left here with it in his hand.”
Jenny gave her one look—the woman never forgot
it—then she staggered out of the house, and wan-
dered dizzily away to Hilary’s house. She no longer


44o Fate Triumpkant.

up by a gentleman who knew my name, and
evidently my face, for he 'picked me out in a crowd
to-day, and told me of the occurrence. ~ I have not
read it——”
“ You have not read it P”
She had forgotten herself, and there was no mis-
taking her tone of absolute and overwhelming relief.
He dropped his arms from about her, and a strange
look of doubt began, for the first time, to infuse itself
into his expression.
“ No,” he declared, “for I was by no means sure
that it was meant for me. - \Vas it, Jenny ?”
“ No,” was her well-nigh inaudible answer.
“ Then, take it, dearest, but”—he did not say this
till it was in her hand—“ I should like—I should be
happier if you would give me the privilege of read-
ing it. Ido not know why I desire to; perhapsl
am getting whimsical, too, but ever since it has been
in my hands,I have felt restless and uneasy. You
had the right to address Mr. Degraw, and I knew,
of course, that you had done so; but—call it jeal-
ousy or call it love—I long to hear you say : ‘Read
it, Hamilton, and see how true my heart was to you,
if false to him.’ ”
“ You—shall—read—it.” The words came slowly,
each freighted with a vanished hope. She knew,
whether by intuition or instinct, that suspicion had
at last been aroused in his heart, and by her own act.
Had she possessed more control over herself, had
she used half the art she had been taught to exert for


444 fenny’s Marriage.

carriage, instead of taking a direct route for Miss
Aspinwall’s house, was coursing rapidly through an
avenue leading in quite a different direction.
But when he did awake to this fact, he was cer-
tainly startled. Leaning out of the window, he hailed
the man on the box.
“Benjamin!” he called, “ how’s this? Here we
are in Lexington avenue, when we ought to be driv-
ing straight to Miss Aspinwall’s.”
But Benjamin paid no heed, rather drove faster,
and before Mr. Degraw could subdue his surprise
sufficiently to hail him again, they had turned a cor-
ner and ente'red upon a street so associated with the
memories in which he had just been indulging that
he felt dazed by a coincidence that had the effect of
throwing him again into dreamland.
But in another moment he managed to shout once
more to the unheeding coachman:
“ Where are you going?”
But he did not expect any reply. He knew him-
self whither they were bound; and when a minute
later the horses slackened theirpace and the carriage
came to a standstill, he did not need to look up at
the row of brown houses before him, with their
quaint fronts and pillared balconies, to know they
were before the strange and dilapidated structure in
which he had first seen the signorina, and where she
had wakened to life and love.
“ Miss Rogers is here, sir, waiting for you,”
announced the coachman, as he opened the door.


450 What He Read.

breast and lit the candles. It was nearly half past
seven, and I knew that it would be time enough to
notify the police after you had seen the dear child in
the halo of beauty by which she had wished herself
to be surrounded. Did I do wrong?”
He shook his head. He was overwhelmed with
grief, and it was Hilary who raised the letter and
placed it unopened in his hand.
“Read it!” she entreated, “there may be comfort
there if not here.”
And she lit the gas in the adjoining room where
she prevailed upon him to retire, while she put out
the lights about the dead, and gathered up the
flowers and. the flowing drapery, which seemed too
sacred for any eyes to see but their own.
I give you Jenny’s letter. Contrary to what he
had expected, it was not the one addressed to his
rival, but a new one, which she had written to him-
self:
“ BELOVED :—You have come! You have seen
your bride, and now I give you—not the letter you
returned to me—but this long one, written almost
with my blood, which will tell you all you ought to
know, and tell it in less chilling language than that
with which I addressed your generous rival.
“I cannot marry you! Do you ask me why?
Because I wish to retain your love, and this would
be jeopardized by my life, as it will not be by my
death. For I know your artist soul. Iknow that


What He Read. 451

when you see me lying amid the flowers, as on that
night when you first gave me your love, you will
forget that I have deceived you, and by that decep-
tion awakened in your breast a passion I was not
worthy to evoke. You will forget, and 1 shall rest
in peace, happy not to have met your look of
reproach, or lived to have experienced the with-
drawal of that trust which was my glory and my
shame.
“ I have deceived you. I am Signorina Valdi and I
am Jenny Rogers, but I am not the innocent-hearted
girl I have always appeared to be. The millions
which I received did not come to me unexpectedly.
I intrigued for them and Obtained them through the
arts and by the contrivance of the very beings you
thought to be my enemies, Montelli and the Portu-
guese, of whom you have so often told me to
beware.
“They were my allies—I must say it, for detection
is on my track, and you will hear the truth from
Others, if not from me. They were my allies, but I
was never with them in any harmful schemes, and
was, I swear to you, only the tool employed by them
to obtain control over Mr. Delancy’s fortune.
“She was the woman who starved and ill~treated
this gentleman in his final days. You have suspected
this, and suspected, also, that she overheard, in her
sly way, the bequest he made to Mr. Degraw and its
strange conditions. But what you cannot suspect is
that the woman you saw with me in my room


452 What He Read.


in street was not the arch-conspirator who
formulated this plot, but her sister Annetta, a person
05 more sinister appearance than she, but of less
calculation and but little resolve.
“ How the Cleveland hag came to know Montelli
and take him into her plans I have never heard.
Neither have I ever been sure what the real name
of this man was. That he was no Italian, I am sure;
for though he disguised himself as such, he after-
ward showed that he could speak English without
an accent. , Was he English, then? I. think so;
the former valet of some rich man, probably. As to
his connection with the Portuguese, I only gather
that when she came to New York and started upon
the scheme of supplying Mr. Degraw with an
heiress who should share with her the wealth to be
received, Montelli was at her side, and that it was
at his instigation she approached the woman whom
I once heard Mr. Byrd characterize as the least
respectable of my name. I was then hiding my
head in heart-breaking despondency over my failure
at the opera-house, knowing none of these three con-
spirators and only desirous of preserving myself
from the mockery and jeers which I imagined would
follow my appearance in any crowd. I was
wretched, but I was not wicked. My ambition was
foiled, but I never thought of resorting to false
methods in order to insure the wealth and position
Iimagined myself to have lost, until the fatal day
that these two demons called upon me, and, with a


What He Read. 453

skill and suavity you would little expect from them,
made me understand that an immense fortune was
going begging, which I, if I would lend myself to
their guidance, might easily accquire, owing to my
name and what they termed my beauty.
“ The other Jenny Rogers to whom they had
already,spoken had been a failure; she had tried her
wiles upon Mr. Degraw, but with so little effect that
he would not even look at her; and they all saw that
if success were to be reaped by them it must be
through some innocent young girl who would
arouse not only the admiration of this good man,
but his pity. This they explained to me, and also
told me how they had heard by chance that my real
name was Jenny Rogers, and that Ihad a history
which, if known, could not but arouse commisera-
tion. Furthermore, they encouraged me by saying
that all which was required of me was to go through
a certain little farce, easy enough for one who had
been trained for the stage, adding that success
would be sure to follow, as I had the requisite
beauty and grace, and only needed to attract his
attention to my misfortunes to awaken an interest
which would be sure to eventuate in my being made
the inheritor of these tempting millions.
“ I listened. It all seemed very simple, and not at
all wicked. I had merely to swallow a small powder,
which would throw me into a death-like repose, and,
when I awoke, as they promiSed I should do while
Mr. Degraw was in the room, feign surprise and


What He Read. 455

as seemed to attract Mr. Degraw’s attention. All
this was withheld from me, and being young, I
doubted nothing, but went on my way, serenely
waiting for the hour when these two schemers should
decide that it was time for me to enter upon our
premeditated farce.
“At last the day came,and I lay on my couch, trem-
bling and fearful---—not of any possible result of the
deception I was about to practice, but of the long
sleep into which I must go, as into a tomb. But the
Portuguese was with me, and she comforted me;
and when I finally felt the shadows creeping over
my consciousness, I remember that she whispered,
in a certain harsh, yet persuasive manner: ‘He is
handsome, signorina; and if he awakes you, as the
Fairy Prince did the Sleeping Beauty, you need not
feel alarmed, as if he were an ogre.’ That made me
smile, and so I fell asleep as a child might. Then
she went away, and her sister, Annetta, took her
place, because the Portuguese herself was known to
Mr. Degraw. Annetta was not bright, and so was not
fully taken into their confidence ; but she understood
what she had to do, and how to do it. The rest I
was expected to manage myself.
“ Meanwhile a fearful mistake had been made. By
chance, which I can only regard now as the work-
ings of Providence, the Portuguese had been led to
confound the disposer of Mr. Delancy’s fortune with
the Hamilton Degraw whose name was in the hall-
way of a certain building that she sometimes passed.


456 What He Read.

Her reason was not a poor one. She had seen Mr.
Degraw of Cleveland come out of that building one
day, and, being too ignorant to know that the artist
'who worked and roomed there was an old resident
of New. York, took it for granted that this was his
place of work, and the spot where he was to be found.
“ She gave MOntelli the same impression, and as
they did not wish to arouse suspicion by betraying
their interest in this man, they were neither of them
undeceived as to the matter till after the note had
been delivered which lured you to this spot. And
so, my beloved, it was upon your face that my eyes
opened when I at last awoke out of my sleep ; upon
you who held in your first look an instant key to my
heart, and made me feel, before I had fully realized
all that my sensations meant, that I had lent myself
to a scheme of which I was already heartily ashamed,
and which, for some reason I could not explain, I
should find it difficult to carry through in peace and
serenity.
.“ But I had learned my lesson well, and tried to
acquit myself according to its teachings. Believing
you to be the man who controlled thegreat amount
of money destined for the fortunate Jenny Rogers
who should most deeply interest and please you, I
told you the story of my life, artfully concealing my
real name, for fear of awakening your suspicion
before I had attained my end.
“The result was encouraging. You evinced not
only interest, but admiration, and while Irecoiled


What He Read. 457

from my own duplicity, I naturally felt that elation
of spirit which inevitably follows upon the success
of any undertaking. But, alas! you were curious
as well as interested. You wondered as well as
admired, and I was forced into deeper deception in
order to explain the surroundings by which we had
attempted to make an impression upon you. As this
had been foreseen and consequently provided for, I
did not find any difficulty in its performance, save
that my newly awakened conscience rebelled. To
utter anything that was not absolutely true was rap-
idly becoming unendurable to me, but the necessity
of the moment was upon me, and I went through
with my role without flinching. Turning to Annetta,
I appeared to question her, and she to answer me,
and when I thought this miserable farce had gone
on long enough, I repeated to you the invented tale
which had been put into ' my month by the wily
Portuguese. By this I hoped to explain the circum-
stances that had aroused your curiosity, and dispel
forever whatever doubt might have been awakened
in your mind in reference to Montelli and his con-
nection with myself. And I succeeded; you know
how I succeeded.
“But a thunderbolt awaited me. Just as renewed
peace was settling over me, and I began to realize
the sweetness of hope, Montelli burst into the room
and showed me by a word and look that something
had gone seriously wrong. Confused and alarmed,
I awaited his explanation, and you can imagine my


458 W/zat He Read.

horror and surprise when Annetta approached and
whispered in my ear: ‘A mistake has been made,-
this is not the right man!’
“ Not the right man! And I had almost exchanged
with you looks of appreciation and love. Shocked,
if not frightened, I 'was conscious of but one
thought, and that was to be rid of your presence.
My heart had been stirred and’ my conscience
awakened, but fear made me forget all this, and I
promised to see you the next day, if only you would
leave me then. You went, and, with you, whatever
girlishness had remained in me. Henceforth, I was
a woman.
“I dismissed you, but not with an intentional false-
hood. I really hoped to see you again, and, if left
to myself, would doubtless have done so. But, after
you had gone, Montelli and the Portuguese came in
and soon made me see that, if we still hoped to sue-
ceed in the undertaking we had formed, I must
escape the consequences of our egregious mistake,
by a sudden and immediate flight. And though I
experienced a moment of rebellion, and almost
refused to have anything more to do with the plot, I
soon found I lacked both the courage and the wit to
contend with these two subtle and dangerous adven-
turers. I became again a tool in their hands, and,
after hearing an explanation of how they had just
discovered the fact that there were two Hamilton
Degraws, and that the artist whom I had attempted
to inveigle was not the gentleman with the millions


462 PVhat He Read.

part of a detective, when he found himself forced
into a position that demanded explanation.
“ But he, as well as 1, calculated too little upon the
. resistance which abides in all noble natures. You
would not leave the town, and you would preserve
your attitude of a lover, and though Mr. Degraw
did not seem to be much affected by your rivalry, I
knew that Montelli had conceived the deepest
hatred for you, and that he only awaited an oppor-
tunity in order to destroy you.
“ The announcement made by his master of a partic-
ular desire to see me on a certain morning, taken
with'the fact that a lawyer had already been sum-
moned to accompany him on this interview, brought
matters to a climax. The wretch attempted your
life, and though I knew nothing of it at the time,
nor of the jeopardy in which it placed him with the
police, I did know that he desired to have some talk
with me, for I had heard from my window, where
I invariably sat between the hours of eleven and
twelve, the short and peculiar bird whistle, which
had been made a signal between us.
“ It was a hateful call to me, but I dared not slight
it. As in anticipation of his purpose, I had already
opened a window in the hall below, I had only to
descend to the lower floor to meet him. But when
I stepped from my room, I became aware, possibly
by some occult influence, that I was not alone in the
hall; that my actions were observed, and that my
future steps would be watched, if not followed.


464 Wkat He Read.

stairs. But horror awaited me. When I reached
my chamber door,I perceived the fierce eyes and
threatening form of this dangerous .man emerging
from the back staircase, and though I had no fear of
his keen knife, I had of the detection of our secret ;
for I knew that Hilary and her strange companion
were watching us from behind, and that he had but
to drop a word or cast a look belying his seeming
antagonism, for our mutual understanding to be
seen, and my despicable position discovered.
“ But he was too subtle to make such a mistake, or
perhaps he had himself perceived the forms of Hilary
and Mr. Gryce; for he increased the fierceness of
his demeanor; he even lifted his knife, and Iwas
vaguely asking myself how he would extricate me
from this situation, when your friend, Mr. Byrd,
extricated us both by his sudden leap upon the seem-
ing assassin.
“In the struggle that followed, I had no time to
think. My eyes met those of Montelli as his knife
flew from his hand and fell at my feet ; but I did not
understand his look, though I picked up the knife
and sought to escape with it to my room. But my
fears as to what he would do in his rage and disap-
pointment drew me back. I must gain some assur-
ance from him that he would not visit upon me the
misfortune that had fallen upon himself. And so I
had the courage to descend to where he had fallen,
and look at him where he lay, and listen to the
phrases he uttered, and which were, as I took it,




“4-. .7»-
k‘vu‘r w. .13
:1.
My. “em-1m




THE AR'I'IsT SITTING BOWED ABOVE THE LETTER.—See Page 476.


What He Read. 467

assurances that he still had hopes for himself, and
little, if any, resentment against me. But when you
came forward and placed my arm in yours, his man-
ner suddenly changed, as you will remember, and he
became quite fierce. He foresaw difficulties if I
clung to yOu, and threatened me by word and ges-
ture. I was glad when we were out of his sight and
hearing, and was relieved rather than abashed when
Mr. Gryce proposed to watch beside my door and
keep me from harm's .way- till after I had held the
promised interview with Mr. Degraw, which he and
you supposed would place me beyond the malice or
revenge of the persons believed to be my enemies.
“ Of that interview I need say little. It was a sur-
prise to me. in. more ways than one. I had not
expected you to be present, and I had not looked for
the proposal with which Mr. Degraw prefaced his
great gift. If I had, I might have been better pre-
pared to meet it. I could not have accepted it even
if upon its acceptance had hung the wealth I now
saw almost within my grasp. I had decided in the
night that I would marry no man but you, and I
cannot tell you how I was affected by his generosity,
which left me free to bestow hand and wealth where
I w0uld.
“But you had scruples, and though I was too happy
to be impatient, I felt myself robbed of some of the
satisfaction which I had promised myself. Mon-
telli’s arrest troubled me, too; but that anxiety was
not destined to be of long duration. Before the day


468 What He Read.

had waned, I was first shocked, then deliriously glad-
dened by the news that I need fear this dangerous
man no more ; that he was dead, and that one of the
most relentless claimants upon my wealth was taken
out of my path forever.
“Not that I begrudged the money he demanded. I
could have spared a million and not felt it. But I
had had some initiation into business matters during
the transferring of this fortune into my possession,
and I foresaw that it was not going to be so easy a
matter to procure two or three hundred thousand
dollars out of this estate without exciting the atten-
tion of those who had it in charge. This was the
reason, likewise, why I accepted your decisionwith
so much grace. A husband would have been incon-
venient to me in those first days; an agent was bad
enough. I had to deceive him, and I had to deceive
Hilary. In order to meet the wants of the Portu-
guese, who crowded her claims doubly upon me,
when she found that Montelli was dead, I was
obliged to ask for large sums of money for which I
could give no account, thus acquiring with my agent
the name of being very extravagant, and with my
friends the reputation of being strangely parsimo-
nious. I went with Hilary to the several watering
places, but I spent no money in jewels, and but little
in the necessaries of life; for I looked forward to the
day when you would come back to me, dearest, and
I wished to be clear of all obligations, and free for_
ever from the hateful presence of the Portuguese; for


What He Read. 471

Barrington till I saw him again in Miss Aspinwall’s
parlors, I did not bestow upon him a thought.
But on that day he showed that he had not forgotten
me.
“ Do you recall that day or can you realize even
now all that it was to me? You had asked me to
give up my fortune, to yield what had been won
through ways so tortuous and at cost of efforts so
shameful; and I hesitated, can you wonder, and was
swayed this way and that, according as my reason
or my heart spoke. But reason finally had its way,
and I went dressed in velvet, only to repent my
decision so bitterly that, before I went within reach
of your glance, I stepped into Hilary’s dressing-room
and put on one of her cloth dresses. Love might
mean self-denial and fearful complications with my '
associates, to whom I had not yet paid the half that
was due, but I felt ready to do and bear all, or
rather, I felt in that moment more ready to meet the
doubtful results of abnegation, than I did the with-
drawal of the hopes which had made my summer so
glorious. But, after I was dressed and before I
could meet your appreciative glance, some one
brushed me in the crowd and a note was put in my
hands. Ah, dearest, that note! It was sent by the
Portuguese, then sick unto death, it seems; but it
was not written by her, but by Montelli, who had
been dead three months. As I read it I knew that
my intentions had been foreseen by her. That,
although she was ill, She had wished to show me


that He Read. 473

idence, the sender of this note had perished also;
leaving my path clear of enemies and myself free to
follow the dictates of my heart.
“You know what followed. How, in a rush of
renewed hope, I threw aside my cloak, and called
your heart to me in a song. How I looked for
response, and how it failed to come. Mr. Byrd was
at your ear and you listened to doubts which held
you back, and when you did break away from him
and seek me, it was to find that I had hearkened to
the voice of another wooer, who asked of me noth-
ing, and promised me all things.
“Can you not foresee the rest? How the love
which had succumbed to your indifference rose
triumphant again at this evidence of your continued
affection. I had jeopardized my happiness, but I
determined to regain it at any cost. Nothing should
nor could stand in the way of what had now become
my one passionate desire. I wrote to Mr. Degraw.
I took the one means I knew wherebyInot only
would obtain a full release from my engagement but
insure likewise his acceptance of the gift which he
never would have given me had he recognized my
real unworthiness. I confessed to him my love for
you, and I confessed, also, my share in the plot.
“ It was a fatal act—how fatal I immediately per-
ceived when my impetuosity led me to your studio,
and we had that interview so unhappily interrupted
by Hilary. If the suspicions Of the police had been
aroused in regard to me, how mad had been the


474 What He Read.

impulse which had led me to put upon paper words
that could justify their suspicions and make possible
the detection of my duplicity. Though it seemed
too late to profit by this discovery of my folly, I
made one frantic effort to do so. I rode back home
and endeavored to stop the delivery of my letter,
but failed in this, and Mr. Degraw not only read the
story of my deception, but by some treachery or
some mischance which he could not himself explain,
this letter was stolen from him almost immediately
after his reading it, so that my secret was no longer
at his mercy only, but at the mercy of the world,
and, what was worse, of you.
“ Do you understand now the frenzy which drove
me into asking you to marry me that night, or how
I could hardly subdue my fears when you requested
time to notify your mother? Detection lay before
me, and I had neither the strength to meet it nor the
courage to forestall it by telling you what would
shatter your love at a blow. For though Mr. Degraw
urged me to this course, measuring your nature, per-
haps, by his own, which is affectionate rather than
passionate, and tenacious rather than proud, I, who
knew you better than he, felt that death must pre-
cede any confession of my past deception to you.
“What! Tell you that the sweet innocence of
which you have so often spoken was the mask which
hid a scheming heart? Rob my beauty of its charm
and my memory of its grace? Make the most
beautiful moment in our lives the mere climax to a


476 T 00 Late.

temptations. I plead my love, which, if small at
first, has grown to be the ruling passion of my life.
It led me to give up a great fortune, it led me to
betray my secret faults, and now it has brought me
here. Will you drop a tear for it, if not for your
dead JENNY?”


CHAPTER XLVI.
Too LATE.
Some minutes later Mr. Byrd entered 391 East
street. As he passed the door of the death
room he perceived the form of the artist sitting
bowed above the scattered sheets of a long and
closely written letter.
“ Am I too late?” the detective seemed to ask, as
he shut the door behind him, and advanced. There
was nothing in the attitude of the artist to answer
this question.
Puzzled by the incongruity between Mr. Degraw’s
wedding suit and the desolate character of his sur-
roundings, Mr. Byrd hastened to ask with ill-con~
cealed anxiety in his tone :
“ Have you been married to Miss Rogers, Mr.
Degraw ?”
The artist shivered, and suddenly looked up.


Loose Threads. 479v
her the free rise of her money, the death of Montelli
and the continued absence of the only other party
to the plot, known to the police—viz.: the adven-
turess in whose behalf the conspiracy had first been
started—made any further advance toward the truth
almost impossible. Not till he received the intima-
tion from the artist as to the possible identity
between Miss Rogers’ hair-dresser and the long-
looked-for Portuguese, did he see his way to a solu-
tion of this enigma. And then he had hardly arrested
this woman before she was taken with such a sud-
den and dangerous complaint that confession from
her became impossible, and she died on his hands
without uttering a word liable to compromise her-
self or any one else. It was a great disappointment
to him, but he did not allow it to dishearten him.
On the contrary, he took advantage of this catas-
trophe to satisfy himself that his suspicions against
Miss Rogers were just.
Seeking out a female detective, he sent her in the
capacity of hair-dresser, to that lady’s house, with
injunctions to follow Miss Rogers to Miss Aspin-
wall’s reception, and there to deliver to her the mys-
terious note which had been taken from the valet’s
dagger. If the heiress was shaken by it—and he
meant to be present to see—he resolved to follow up
his advantage by suddenly telling her of the Portu-
guese’s death, and if this produced the effect he
expected, then he would no longer be dealing with
vague suspicions but with a moral certainty, which


480 Loose Threads.
would at least entitle him to warn the artist of the
doubtful character of the woman he loved.
The test, as we know, succeeded. Miss Rogers
was moved by the letter, and showed the same ela_
tion over the death of the Portuguese that she had
over that of Montelli. Thus satisfied that she had
held absolute communication with these nefarious
schemers, Mr. Byrd had urged, nay, entreated, the
artist to delay communication with the heiress till
opportunity had been given the police to substantiate
their now positive doubts in her regard.
The artist, impressed by his earnestness, had con--
sented to listen to him so far as to wait a week before
seeing Miss Rogers, but, love triumphing over rea-
son, he had soon wearied of this promise, and, com-
ing to Mr. Byrd, announced that Miss Rogers could
not be the mercenary woman they considered her,
or she w0uld never have decided to give up her for-
tune for his love. Astonished, and, for the moment,
baffled, by what certainly did look like the pure dis-
interestedness of a true-hearted woman, Mr. Byrd
discarded his suspicions and acquitted Degraw of his
promise.
But, alas! a day had not passed before he had
cause to regret this. A woman was brought into
the station-house who called herself Annetta, and
who was presently proved to be the sister of the
Portuguese. She had been arrested upon the com-
plaint of Mr. Degraw of Cleveland, who, having
missed an important letter from his trunk, aCCused'


482 Loose T breads.

bitter memories, but whose sunny nature and unfet-
tered spirit make it more than probable that the
. Delaney millions will again follow the beck Of love
' and be bestowed not upon Virginia Rogers, but upon
Jeannette, the name by which both the Degraws
persist in addressing the charming young school-
teacher. .
THE END.


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