"E" NOVELS TRANGE DSAPPEARANCE THE TRANs-ATLANTic series. Select English and Continental Novels, issued in authorized American editions, handsomely printed in square 16mo. Paper, 50 cents; Cloth, $1.00. I. II. III. IV. VII. VIII. IX. , XI. XII. - XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. C/ TE TI R6 TI T] JC T] Ll A' A] ' 'y LIBRARY Of the OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY ~zoerrrreirer-earerors, ex->xxx-xy-------------. MY TRIVIAL LIFE AND MISFORTUNE. A Gossip with no plot in particular. Part I. SPINSTEREIOOD. By a Plain Woman. Price per volume, Trans- by James 1strated. Coupée' hefort. TURY. Living 7" enn. author of ith Illus. author of By a new ATEST 'dwardes, From the MY TRIVIAL LIFE AND MISFORTUNE, etc. Part II. MEUM AND TUUM. G. P. PUTNAM's sons, 27 & 29 w. 23d St., New York. - . THE KNICKERBookER SERIES II. III. VI. VII. VIII. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. a XV. OF CHOICE AMERICAN NOVELS. Price per Volume: Paper, 50 cents; Cloth, $1. THE LEAVENWORTH CASE. By Anna Katharine Green. A MAN *S. A. MAN FOR A.” THAT. THE BRETON MILLS: A Romance of New Eng- land Life. By Charles J. Bellamy. - CUPID AND THE SPHYNX. By Harford Flemming. A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE. By Anna Katharine Green. - THE HEART OF IT : A Romance of East and West. Xy William O. Stoddard. UNCLE JACK'S EXECUTORS. By Annette Lucille Noble. THE STRANDED SHIP : A Story of Sea, and Shore. By L. Clarke Davis. NESTLENOOK. By Leonard Kip. MR. PERKINS”. DAUGHTER - An International Novel. By the Marchioness Clara Lanza. GYPSIE. By Minnie E. Kenney. EUNICE LATHROP, SPINSTER. By Annette Lucille Noble. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES... By Anna Katharine Green. HAND AND RING. With Illustrations. By Anna Katharine Green. - THE BASSETT CLAIM : A Story of Life in Washing- ton. By Henry R. Elliot. G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, 27 & 29 W. 23d St., New York. - - - - WILLIAM CHARVAT American Fiction Collection The Ohio State University Libraries A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN 'C'. AUTHOR or “THE ALRavenworth CAsr " * * ~ * -, *, * * * * * ~ * ~ * * * * o -, ~ -> * * 2 * ~ * * ** ~ - -, ... * * * * * -, - • * * ~ -> ~. ~ * * * * * * * * * > * > * > * > * ". * * ~ * ~ * * ~ * ~ * ~ * * ~ * * * * * > * > * ~ * o * ~ * * * ~ ~ t ~ * -, * - ~ NEW YORK G. P. PUT N A M S SONS 27 AND 29 WEST 23D STREET - -, -} ~ - * > * > * -> : : * i : : 6/Q- "SNIOS S.INVNLnd "d £) Ag LHorāAdoo CON TENT S. CHAPTER I-A NovEL CASE - • - • • II—A FEW POINTS - - - - III–THE CONTENTS OF A BUREAU DRAWER IV—THOMPSON'S STORY . • V—A NEW YORK BELLE . • • VI—A BIT OF CALICO . - - VII—THE HOUSE AT THE GRANBY CROSS ROADs VIII—A WORD OVERHEARD IX—A FEW GOLDEN HAIRs . X—THE SECRET OF MR. BLAKE’s STUDIO XI-LUTTRA - XII—A WOMAN’s LOVE . XIII-A MAN's HEART XIV—MRS. DANIELS . • • - - • • XV—A CONFAB - - • XVI—THE MARK OF THE RED CROSS XVII—THE CAPTURE XVIII-LOVE AND DUTY XIX—EXPLANATIONS - XX-THE BOND THAT UNITEs :* 8821.30 PAGE 17 35 47 56 69 82 IO6 II8 I24 I47 I69 I91 2O2 2O7 232 246 261 273 A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE. CHAPTER I. A NOVEL CASE. 44 ALKING of sudden disappearances, the one you mention of Hannah in that Leavenworth case of ours, is not the only remarkable one which has come under my di- rect notice. Indeed, I know of another that in some respects, at least, surpasses that in points of interest, and if you will promise not to in- quire into the real names of the parties con- cerned, as the affair is a secret, I will relate you my experience regarding it." The speaker was Q, the rising young detect- ive, universally acknowledged by us of the force as the most astute man for mysterious and unprecedented cases, then in the bureau, always and of course excepting Mr. Gryce; 6 A Movel Case. and such a statement from him could not but arouse our deepest curiosity. Drawing up, then, to the stove around which we were sit- ting in lazy enjoyment of one of those off-hours so dear to a detective's heart, we gave with alacrity the required promise; and settling himself back with the satisfied air of a man who has a good story to tell that does not entirely lack certain points redounding to his own credit, he began : I was one Sunday morning loitering at the Precinct Station, when the door opened and a respectable-looking middle-aged woman came in, whose agitated air at once attracted my attention. Going up to her, I asked her what she wanted. “A detective," she replied, glancing cau- tiously about on the faces of the various men scattered through the room. “I don't wish anything said about it, but a girl disappeared from our house last night, and "–she stopped here, her emotion seeming to choke her—“and I want some one to look her up,” she went on at last with the most intense emphasis. “A girl? what kind of a girl; and what A Movel Case. 7 house do you mean when you say our house?” She looked at me keenly before replying. “You are a young man,” said she, “isn't there some one here more responsible than yourself that I can talk to ?” I shrugged my shoulders and beckoned to Mr. Gryce who was just then passing. She at once seemed to put confidence in him. Drawing him aside, she whispered a few low eager words which I could not hear. He listened nonchalantly for a moment but sud- denly made a move which I knew indicated strong and surprised interest, though from his face—but you know what Gryce's face is. I was about to walk off, convinced he had got hold of something he would prefer to manage himself, when the Superintendent came in. “Where is Gryce P” asked he ; “tell him I want him.” - Mr. Gryce heard him and hastened forward. As he passed me, he whispered, “Take a man and go with this woman; look into matters and send me word if you want me; I will be here for two hours.” I did not need a second permission. Beck- 8 A Movel Case. oning to Harris, I reapproached the woman. “Where do you come from,” said I, “I am to go back with you and investigate the affair it seems.” “Did he say so P” she asked, pointing to Mr. Gryce who now stood with his back to us busily talking with the Superintendent. I nodded, and she at once moved towards the door. “I come from No. Second Ave- nue : Mr. Blake's house,” she whispered, utter- ing a name so well known, I at once under- stood Mr. Gryce's movement of sudden inter- est. “A girl—one who sewed for us—disap- peared last night in a way to alarm us very much. She was taken from her room—” “Yes," she cried vehemently, seeing my look of sarcastic incredulity, “taken from her room; she never went of her own accord; and she must be found if I spend every dollar of the pittance I have laid up in the bank against my old age.” Her manner was so intense, her tone so marked and her words so vehement, I at once “. . .and naturally asked if the girl was a relative of hers that she felt her abduction so keenly. *. 30 A Movel Case. “Why, whoever they were who carried her Off.” I could not suppress the “bah!” that rose to my lips. Mr. Gryce might have been able to, but I am not Gryce. “You don't believe,” said she, “that she was carried off?” “Well, no,” said I, “not in the sense you mean." She gave another nod back to the police station now a block or so distant. “He did’nt seem to doubt it at all.” I laughed. “Did you tell him you thought she had been taken off in this way?” “Yes, and he said, “Very likely. And well he might, for I heard the men talking in her room, and—" “You heard men talking in her room— when P” “O, it must have been as late as half-past twelve. I had been asleep and the noise they made whispering, woke me.” “Wait,” I said, “tell me where her room is, hers and yours.” - “Hers is the third story back, mine the front one on the same floor.” A Movel Case. II. “Who are you?” I now inquired. “What position do you occupy in Mr. Blake's house?” “I am the housekeeper.” Mr. Blake was a bachelor. “And you were wakened last night by hear- ing whispering which seemed to come from this girl's room." “Yes, I at first thought it was the folks next door, -we often hear them when they are un- usually noisy, -but soon I became assured it came from her room; and more astonished than I could say, -She is a good girl,” she broke in, suddenly looking at me with hotly indignant eyes, “a—a—as good a girl as this whole city can show ; don't you dare, any of you, to hint at anything else or—" “Come, come," I said soothingly, a little ashamed of my too communicative face, “I haven't said anything, we will take it for granted she is as good as gold, go on." - The woman wiped her forehead with a hand that trembled like a leaf. “Where was I ?” said she. “O, I heard voices and was sur- prised and got up and went to her door. The noise I made unlocking my own must have I 2 A Movel Case. startled her, for all was perfectly quiet when I got there. I waited a moment, then I turned the knob and called her: she did not reply and I called again. Then she came to the door, but did not unlock it. “What is it?’ she asked. ‘O, said I, ‘I thought I heard talking here and I was frightened, ‘It must have been next door, said she. I begged pardon and went back to my room. There was no more noise, but when in the morning we broke into her room and found her gone, the window open and signs of distress and struggle around, I knew I had not been mistaken; that there were men with her when I went to her door, and that they had carried her off—" This time I could not restrain myself. “Did they drop her out of the window ' " I inquired. “O,” said she, “we are building an exten- sion, and there is a ladder running up to the third floor, and it was by means of that they took her." “Indeed she seems at least to have been a willing victim,” I remarked. The woman clutched my arm with a grip like A Movel Case. I3 iron. “Don’t you believe it,” gasped she, stopping me in the street where we were. “I tell you if what I say is true, and these bur- glars or whatever they were, did carry her off, it was an agony to her, an awful, awful thing that will kill her if it has not done so already. You don't know what you are talking about, you never saw her—” “Was she pretty,” I asked, hurrying the woman along, for more than one passer-by had turned their heads to look at us. The question seemed in some way to give her a shock. “Ah, I don't know,” she muttered; “some might not think so, I always did; it depended upon the way you looked at her.” For the first time I felt a thrill of anticipation shoot through my veins. Why, I could not say. Her tone was peculiar, and she spoke in a sort of brooding way as though she were weighing something in her own mind; but then her man- ner had been peculiar throughout. Whatever it was that aroused my suspicion, I determined henceforth to keep a very sharp eye upon her ladyship. Levelling a straight glance at her face, I asked her how it was that she came to y I4 A Movel Case. be the one to inform the authorities of the girl's disappearance. “Doesn't Mr. Blake know anything about it p * The faintest shadow of a change came into her manner. “Yes," said she, “I told him at breakfast time; but Mr. Blake doesn't take much interest in his servants; he leaves all such matters to me." “Then he does not know you have come for the police?” “No, sir, and O, if you would be so good as to keep it from him. It is not necessary he should know. I shall let you in the back way. Mr. Blake is a man who never meddles with anything, and—" “What did Mr. Blake say this morning when you told him that this girl—By the way, what is her name P" “Emily.” - “That this girl, Emily, had disappeared dur- ing the night?” “Not much of anything, sir. He was sit- ting at the breakfast table reading his paper, he merely looked up, frowned a little in an absent- A Movel Case. I5 minded way, and told me I must manage the servants' affairs without troubling him.” “And you let it drop " “Yes sir; Mr. Blake is not a man to speak twice to.” I could easily believe that from what I had seen of him in public, for though by no means a harsh looking man, he had a reserved air which if maintained in private must have made him very difficult of approach. We were now within a half block or so of the old-fashioned mansion regarded by this scion of New York's aristocracy as one of the most desirable residences in the city; so motioning to the man who had accompanied me to take his stand in a doorway near by and watch for the signal I would give him in case I wanted Mr. Gryce, I turned to the woman, who was now all in a flutter, and asked her how she proposed to get me into the house without the knowl- edge of Mr. Blake. “O sir, all you have got to do is to follow me right up the back stairs; he won't notice, or if he does will not ask any questions.” And having by this time reached the base- I6 A Movel Case. ment door, she took out a key from her pocket and inserting it in the lock, at once admitted us into the dwelling. CHAPTER II. A FEW POINTS. RS. DANIELS, for that was her name, took me at once up stairs to the third story back room. As we passed through the halls, I could not but notice how rich, though sombre were the old fashioned walls and heavily frescoed ceilings, so different in style and color- ing from what we see now-a-days in our secret penetrations into Fifth Avenue mansions. Many as are the wealthy houses I have been called upon to enter in the line of my profession, I had never crossed the threshold of such an one as this before, and impervious as I am to any foolish sentimentalities, I felt a certain degree of awe at the thought of invading with police investigation, this home of ancient Knicker- 18 A Few Points. bocker respectability. But once in the room of the missing girl, every consideration fled save that of professional pride and curiosity. For almost at first blush, I saw that whether Mrs. Daniels was correct or not in her surmises as to the manner of the girl's disappearance, the fact that she had disappeared was likely to prove an affair of some importance. For, let me state the facts in the order in which I noticed them. The first thing that impressed me was, that whatever Mrs. Daniels called her, this was no sewing girl's room into which I now stepped. Plain as was the furniture in comparison with the elaborate richness of the walls and ceil- ing, there were still scattered through the room, which was large even for a thirty foot house, articles of sufficient elegance to make the supposition that it was the abode of an ordinary seamstress open to suspicion, if no In Ore. Mrs. Daniels, seeing my look of surprise, hastened to provide some explanation. “It is the room which has always been devoted to sewing,” said she ; “and when Emily came, I thought it would be easier to put up a bed here A Fezv A2272/s. I9 than to send her upstairs. She was a very nice girl and disarranged nothing.” I glanced around on the writing-case lying open on a small table in the centre of the room, on the vase half full of partly withered roses, on the mantel-piece, the Shakspeare, and Macaulay's History lying on the stand at my right, thought my own thoughts, but said nothing. “You found the door locked this morning?” asked I, after a moment's scrutiny of the room in which three facts had become manifest : first, that the girl had not occupied the bed the night before ; second, that there had been some sort of struggle or surprise, -one of the curtains being violently torn as if grasped by an agitated hand, to say nothing of a chair lying upset on the floor with one of its legs broken ; third, that the departure, strange as it may seem, had been by the window. “Yes," returned she; “but there is a passage- way leading from my room to hers and it was by that means we entered. There was a chair placed against the door on this side but we easily pushed it away." 2O A Few Points. I stepped to the window and looked out. Ah, it would not be so very difficult for a man to gain the street from that spot in a dark night, for the roof of the newly-erected exten- sion was almost on a level with the window.” “Well,” said she anxiously, “couldn't she have been got out that way?” “More difficult things have been done,” said I; and was about to step out upon the roof when I bethought to inquire of Mrs. Daniels if any of the girl's clothing was missing. She immediately flew to the closets and thence to bureau drawers which she turned hastily over. “No, nothing is missing but a hat and cloak and—” She paused confusedly. “And what?” I asked. “Nothing,” returned she, hurriedly closing the bureau drawer; “only some little knick- knacks.” “Knick-knacks!” quoth I. “If she stopped for knick-knacks, she couldn't have gone in any very unwilling frame of mind.” And somewhat disgusted, I was about to throw up the whole affair and leave the room. But the indecision in Mrs. Daniels' own face deterred me. A Few Points. 2 I “I don't understand it,” murmured she, draw- ing her hand across her eyes. “I don't under- stand it. But," she went on with even an in- crease in her old tone of heart-felt conviction, “no matter whether we understand it or not, the case is serious; I tell you so, and she must be found.” I resolved to know the nature of that must, used as few women in her position would use it even under circumstances to all appearance more aggravated than these. “Why, must?” said I. “If the girl went of her own accord as some things seem to show, why should you, no relative as you acknowledge, take the matter so to heart as to insist she shall be followed and brought back?” She turned away, uneasily taking up and put- ting down some little matters on the table be- fore her. “Is it not enough that I promise to pay for all expenses which a search will occa- sion, without my being forced to declare just why I should be willing to do so? Am I bound to tell you I love the girl? that I believe she has been taken away by foul means, and that to her great, suffering and distress? that being A Few Points. 23 cated, yes, but not as you would call a lady educated. Yet she knew a great many things the rest of us did’nt. She liked to read, you see, and—O sir, ask the girls about her, I never know what to say when I am questioned." I scanned the gray-haired woman still more intently than I had yet done. Was she the weak common-place creature she seemed, or had she really some cause other than appeared for these her numerous breaks and hesita- tions. “Where did you get this girl?" I inquired. “Where did she live before coming here?” “I cannot say, I never asked her to talk about herself. She came to me for work and I liked her and took her without recommen- dation.” “And she has served you well ?” “Excellently.” “Been out much Had any visitors?” She shook her head. “Never went out and never had any visitors.” I own I was nonplussed, “Well,” said I, “no more of this at present. I must first find out if she left this house alone or in company with 24 A Few Points. others.” And without further parley I stepped out upon the roof of the extension. As I did so, I debated with myself whether the case warranted me or not in sending for Mr. Gryce. As yet there was nothing to show that the girl had come to any harm. A mere elopement with or without a lover to help her, was not such a serious matter that the whole police force need be stirred up on the subject; and if the woman had money, as she said, ready to give the man who should discover the where- abouts of this girl, why need that money be divided up any more than was necessary. Yet Gryce was not one to be dallied with. He had said, send for him if the affair seemed to call for his judgment, and somehow the affair did prom- ise to be a trifle complicated. I was yet unde- termined when I reached the edge of the roof. It was a dizzy descent, but once made, escape from the yard beneath would be easy. A man could take that road without difficulty; but a woman! Baffled at the idea I turned thought- fully back, when I beheld something on the roof before me that caused me to pause and ask myself if this was going to turn out to be a A Feza Azm/s. 25 tragedy after all. It was a drop of congealed blood. Further on towards the window was another, and yes, further still, another and another. I even found one upon the very window ledge itself. Bounding into the room, I searched the carpet for further traces. It was the worst one in the world to find anything upon of the nature of which I was seeking, being a confused pattern of mingled drab and red, and in my difficulty I had to stoop very low. “What are you looking for ?” cried Mrs. Daniels. - I pointed to the drop on the window sill. “Do you see that?” I asked. She uttered an exclamation and bent nearer. “Blood!" cried she, and stood staring, with rapidly paling cheeks and trembling form. “They have killed her and he will never—” As she did not finish I looked up. “Do you think it was her blood?” she whis- pered in a horrified tone. “There is every reason to believe so,” re- joined I, pointing to a spot where I had at last discovered not only one crimson drop but 26 A Fezg Points. many, scattered over the scarcely redder roses under my feet. “Ah, it is worse than I thought," murmured she. “What are you going to do? What can we do? “I am going to send for another detective,” returned I; and stepping to the window I tele- graphed at once to the man Harris to go for Mr. Gryce. “The one we saw at the Station?” I bowed assent. Her face lost something of its drawn expres- sion. “O I am glad; he will do something.” Subduing my indignation at this back thrust, I employed my time in taking note of such de- tails as had escaped my previous attention. They were not many. The open writing-desk —in which, however I found no letters or writ- ten documents of any kind, only a few sheets of paper, with pen, ink, etc.; the brush and hair- pins scattered on the bureau as though the girl had been interrupted while arranging her hair (if she had been interrupted); and the absence of any great pile of work such as one would ex- pect to see in a room set apart for sewing, were A Few Points, 27 all I could discover. Not much to help us, in case this was to prove an affair of importance as I began to suspect. With Mr. Gryce's arrival, however, things soon assumed a better shape. He came to the basement door, was ushered in by your hum- ble servant, had the whole matter as far as I had investigated it, at his finger-ends in a moment, and was up-stairs and in that room be- fore I, who am called the quickest man in the force as you all know, could have time to de- termine just what difference his presence would make to me in a pecuniary way in event of Mrs. Daniels' promises amounting to anything. He did not remain there long, but when he came down I saw that his interest was in no wise lessened. “What kind of a looking girl was this?” he asked, hurrying up to Mrs. Daniels who had withdrawn into a recess in the lower hall while all this was going on. “Describe her to me, hair, eyes, complexion, etc.; you know.” “I–I—don't know as I can,” she stammered reluctantly, turning very red in the face. “I am a poor one for noticing. I will call one of 28 A Fez. Points. the girls, I—” She was gone before we re alized she had not finished her sentence. “Humph!” broke from Mr. Gryce's lips as he thoughtfully took down a vase that stood on a bracket near by and looked into 1t. I did not venture a word. When Mrs. Daniels came back she had with her a trim-looking girl of prepossessing appearance. “This is Fanny,” said she, “she knows Emily well, being in the habit of waiting on her at table; she will tell you what you want to hear. I have explained to her,” she went on, nodding towards Mr. Gryce with a composure such as she had not before displayed; “that you are looking for your niece who ran away from home some time ago to go into some sort of service.” “Certainly, ma'am," quoth that gentleman, bowing with mock admiration to the gas-fixture. Then carelessly shifting his glance to the clean- ing-cloth which Fanny held rather conspicuously in her hand, he repeated the question he had already put to Mrs. Daniels. A Faw Points. 29 The girl, tossing her head just a trifle, at once replied : “O she was good-looking enough, if that is what you mean, for them as likes a girl with cheeks as white as this cloth was afore I rubbed the spoons with it. As for her eyes, they was blacker than her hair, which was the blackest I ever see. She had no flesh at all, and as for her figur-” Fanny glanced down on her own well developed person, and gave a shrug inex- pressibly suggestive. “Is this description true?” Mr. Gryce asked, seemingly of Mrs. Daniels, though his gaze rested with curious intentness on the girl's head which was covered with a little cap. “Sufficiently so,” returned Mrs. Daniels in a very low tone, however. Then with a sudden display of energy, “Emily's figure is not what you would call plump. I have seen her—” She broke off as if a little startled at herself and motioned Fanny to go. “Wait a moment,” interposed Mr. Gryce in his soft way. “You said the girl's hair and eyes were dark ; were they darker than yours?” 3O A Few Points. “O, yes sir;" replied the girl simpering, as she settled the ribbons on her cap. “Let me see your hair.” She took off her cap with a smile. “Ha, very pretty, very pretty. And the other girls? You have other girls I suppose?” “Two, sir;" returned Mrs. Daniels. “How about their complexions? Are they lighter too than Emily's P” “Yes, sir; about like Fanny's.” Mr. Gryce spread his hand over his breast in a way that assured me of his satisfaction, and allowed the girl to go. - “We will now proceed to the yard,” said he, But at that moment the door of the front room opened and a gentleman stepped leisurely into the hall, whom at first glance I recognized as the master of the house. He was dressed for the street and had his hat in his hand. At the sight we all stood silent, Mrs. Daniels flush- ing up to the roots of her gray hair. Mr. Blake is an elegant-looking man as you perhaps know; proud, reserved, and a trifle sombre. As he turned to come towards us, the light shining through the windows at our A Few Points. 31 right, fell full upon his face, revealing such a self-absorbed and melancholy expression, I in- voluntarily drew back as if I had unwittingly intruded upon a great man's privacy. Mr. Gryce on the contrary stepped forward. “Mr. Blake, I believe,” said he, bowing in that deferential way he knows so well how to aSSUl1116. The gentleman, startled as it evidently seemed from a reverie, looked hastily up. Meeting Mr. Gryce's bland smile, he returned the bow, but haughtily, and as it appeared in an abstracted way. - “Allow me to introduce myself,” proceeded my superior. “I am Mr. Gryce from the detec- tive bureau. We were notified this morning that a girl in your employ had disappeared from your house last night in a somewhat strange and unusual way, and I just stepped over with my man here, to see if the matter is of sufficient importance to inquire into. With many apoligies for the intrusion, I stand obed- ient to your orders.” With a frown expressive of annoyance, Mr. Blake glanced around and detecting Mrs. Dan- 32 A Fez© Points. iels, said: “Did you consider the affair so serious as that?" She nodded, seeming to find it difficult to speak. He remained looking at her with an express- ion of some doubt. “I can hardly think," said he, “such extreme measures were necessary; the girl will doubtless come back, or if not—" His shoulders gave a slight shrug and he took out his gloves. “The difficulty seems to be,” quoth Mr. Gryce eyeing those gloves with his most intent and concentrated look, “that the girl did not go alone, but was helped away, or forced away, by parties who had previously broken into your house.” - “That is a strange circumstance,” remarked Mr. Blake, but still without any appearance of interest, “and if you are sure of what you say, demands, perhaps, some inquiry. I would not wish to put anything in the way of justice suc- coring the injured. But—" again he gave that slight shrug of the shoulders, indicative of doubt, if not indifference. Mrs. Daniels trembled, and took a step for- A Few Points. - 33 ward. I thought she was going to speak, but instead of that she drew back again in her strange hesitating way. Mr. Gryce did not seem to notice. “Perhaps sir,” said he, “if you will step up- stairs with me to the room occupied by this girl, I may be able to show you certain evidences which will convince you that our errand here is not one of presumption." “I am ready to concede that without troub- ling myself with proof,” observed the master of the house with the faintest show of asperity. “Yet if there is anything to see of a startling nature, perhaps I had best yield to your wishes. Whereabouts in the house is this girl's room, Mrs. Daniels P” “It is—I gave her the third story back, Mr. Blake; ” replied that woman, nervously eyeing his face. “It was large and light for sewing, and she was so nice—" He impatiently waved his hand on which he had by this time fitted his glove to a nicety, as if these details were an unnecessary bore to him, and motioned her to show the way. In- stantly a new feeling appeared to seize her, that of alarm. 34 A Few Points. “I hardly think you need trouble Mr. Blake to go up-stairs," she murmured, turning towards Mr. Gryce. “I am sure when you tell him the curtains were torn, and the chair upset, the win- dow open and—" But Mr. Gryce was already on the stairs with Mr. Blake, whom this small opposition seemed to have at once determined. “O my God!” she murmured to herself, “who could have foreseen this.” And ignoring my presence with all the egotism of extreme agitation, she hurried past me to the room above, where I speedily joined her. CHAPTER III. THE CONTENTS OF A BUREAU DRAWER, R. BLAKE was standing in the centre of the room when I entered, carelessly following with his eyes the motion of Mr. Gryce's finger as that gentleman pointed with unwearying assiduity to the various little de- tails that had struck us. His hat was still in his hand, and he presented a very formidable and imposing appearance, or so Mrs. Daniels ap- peared to think as she stood watching him from the corner, whither she had withdrawn herself. “A forcible departure you see,” exclaimed Mr. Gryce; “she had not even time to gather up her clothes; ” and with a sudden movement he stooped and pulled out one of the bureau Contents of a Bureau Drawer. 37 than I thought, and if you judge it necessary to take any active measures, why, let no considera- tion of my great and inherent dislike to notoriety of any kind, interfere with what you consider your duty. As for the house, it is at your com- mand, under Mrs. Daniels' direction. Good morning.” And returning our bows with one singularly impressive for all its elegant careless- ness, he at once withdrew. Mrs. Daniels took one long deep breath and came from the bureau. Instantly Mr. Gryce stooped and pulled out the drawer she had so visibly protected. A white towel met our eyes, spread neatly out at its full length. Lifting it, we looked beneath. A carefully folded dress of dark blue silk, to all appearance elegantly made, confronted our rather eager eyes. Be- side it, a collar of exquisite lace—I know enough of such matters to be a judge—pricked through by a gold breast-pin of a strange and unique pattern. A withered bunch of what appeared to have been a bouquet of red roses, surmounted the whole, giving to the otherwise common- place collection the appearance of a relic from the tomb. 38 Contents of a Bureau Drawer. We both drew back in some amazement, in- voluntarily glancing up at Mrs. Daniels. “I have no explanation to give,” said that woman, with a calmness strangely in contrast to the agitation she had displayed while Mr. Blake had remained in the room. “That those things rich as they are, really belonged to the girl, I have no doubt. She brought them when she came, and they only confirm what I have before intimated: that she was no ordinary sewing girl, but a woman who had seen better days.” With a low “humph!" and another glance at the dark blue dress and delicate collar, Mr. Gryce carefully replaced the cloth he had taken from them, and softly closed the drawer with- out either of us having laid a finger upon a single article. Five minutes later he disap- peared from the room. I did not see him again till occasion took me below, when I beheld him softly issue from Mr. Blake's private apartment. Meeting me, he smiled, and I saw that whether he was con- scious of betraying it or not, he had come upon some clue, or at the least fashioned for himself Contents of a Bureau Drawer. 39 some theory with which he was more or less satisfied. “An elegant apartment, that,” whispered he, nodding sideways toward the room he had just left, “pity you haven't time to examine it.” “Are you sure that I haven't P” returned I, drawing a step nearer to escape the eyes of Mrs. Daniels who had descended after me. “Quite sure; " and we hastened down to- gether into the yard. But my curiosity once aroused in this way would not let me rest. Taking an opportunity when Mr. Gryce was engaged in banter with the girls below, and in this way learning more in a minute of what he wanted to know than some men would gather in an hour by that or any other method, I stole lightly back and entered this room. I almost started in my surprise. Instead of the luxurious apartment I had prepared myself to behold, a plain, scantily-furnished room opened before me, of a nature between a library and a studio. There was not even a carpet on the polished floor, only a rug, which strange to say was not placed in the centre of the room or 4O Contents of a Bureau Drawer. even before the fireplace, but on one side, and directly in front of a picture that almost at first blush had attracted my attention as being the only article in the room worth looking at. It was the portrait of a woman, handsome, haughty and alluring; a modern beauty, with eyes of fire burning beneath high piled locks of jetty blackness, that were only relieved from being too intense by the scarlet hood of an opera cloak, that was drawn over them. “A sister," I thought to myself, “it is too modern for his mother,” and I took a step nearer to see if I could trace any likeness in the chiselled fea- tures of this disdainful brunette, to the more characteristic ones of the careless gentleman who had stood but a few moments before in my presence. As I did so, I was struck with the distance with which the picture stood out from the wall, and thought to myself that the awk- wardness of the framing came near marring the beauty of this otherwise lovely work of art. As for the likeness I was in search of, I found it or thought I did, in the expression of the eyes which were of the same color as Mr. Blake's but more full and passionate; and satisfied that Contents of a Bureau Drawer. 4 I I had exhausted all the picture could tell me, I turned to make what other observations I could, when I was startled by confronting the agitated countenance of Mrs. Daniels who had entered behind me. “This is Mr. Blake's room," said she with dignity; “no one ever intrudes here but my- self, not even the servants." “I beg pardon," said I, glancing around in vain for the something which had awakened that look of satisfaction in Mr. Gryce's eyes. “I was attracted by the beauty of this picture visible through the half open door and stepped in to favor myself with a nearer view. It is very lovely. A sister of Mr. Blake P” “No, his cousin;" and she closed the door after us with an emphasis that proclaimed she was anything but pleased. It was my last effort to obtain information on my own account. In a few moments later Mr. Gryce appeared from below, and a conversation ensued with Mrs. Daniels that absorbed Iny whole attention. - “You are very anxious, my man here tells me, that this girl should be found?” remarked * 42 Contents of a Bureau Drawer. Mr. Gryce; “so much so that you are willing to defray all the expenses of a search P” She bowed. “As far as I am able sir; I have a few hundreds in the bank, you are wel- come to them. I would not keep a dollar back if I had thousands, but I am poor, and can only promise you what I myself possess; though—” and her cheeks grew flushed and hot with an unnatural agitation—“I believe that thousands would not be lacking if they were found neces- sary. I—I could almost swear you shall have anything in reason which you require; only the girl must be found and soon." “Have you thought,” proceeded Mr. Gryce, uterly ignoring the wildness of these statements, “that the girl may come back herself if let alone P” “She will come back if she can," quoth Mrs. Daniels. “Did she seem so well satisfied with her home as to warrant you in saying that?" “She liked her home, but she loved me,” returned the woman, steadily. “She loved me so well she would never have gone as she did without being forced. Yes,” said she, Contents of a Bureau Drawer. 43 “though she made no outcry and stopped to put on her bonnet and shawl. She was not a girl to make a fuss. If they had killed her outright, she would never have uttered a cry.” “Why do you say they?” “Because I am confident I heard more than one man's voice in her room." “Humph! Would you know those voices if you heard them again " “NO.” There was a surprise in this last negative which Mr. Gryce evidently noticed. “I ask,” said he, “because I have been told that Mr. Blake lately kept a body servant who has been seen to look at this girl more than once, when she has passed him on the stairs.” Mrs. Daniels' face turned scarlet with rage and she hastily rose from the chair. “I don't believe it,” said she ; “Henry was a man who knew his place, and—I won't hear such things,” she suddenly exclaimed; “Emily was—was a lady, and—” - “Well, well,” interposed Mr. Gryce sooth- ingly, “though the cat looks at the king, it is 44 Contents of a Bureau Drawer. no sign the king looks at the cat. We have to think of everything you know.” “You must never think of anything like that.” Mr. Gryce softly ran his thumb around the brim of the hat he held in his hand. “Mrs. Daniels,” observed he, “it would greatly facili- tate matters if you would kindly tell us why you take such an interest in this girl. One glimpse at her real history would do more towards set- ting us on the right track than anything else you could offer" Her face assumed an unmistakable frown. “Have I not told you,” said she, “what is known of it? That she came to me about two years ago for work; that I liked her, and so hired her; that she has been with us ever since and—” “Then you will not tell us?” exclaimed Mr. Gryce. Her face fell and a look of hesitation crossed it. “I doubt if we can do anything unless you do,” continued he. Her countenance settled again into a resolved expression. Contents of a Bureau Drawer. 45 “You are mistaken,” said she, “if the girl had a secret—as nearly all girls have, brought low as she has evidently been—it had nothing to do with her disappearance, nor would a knowledge of it help you in any way. I am confident of this and so shall hold my peace.” She was not a woman to be frightened or cajoled into making revelations she did not think necessary, and seeing it, Mr. Gryce re- frained from urging her further. “However, you will at least tell me this,” said he, “what were the knick-knacks she took away with her from her bureau drawer?” “No," said she, “for they have nothing to do with her abduction. They were articles of positive value to her, though I assure you of little importance to any one else. All that is shown by their disappearance is the fact that she had a moment's time allowed her in which to collect what she most wanted.” Mr. Gryce arose. “Well,” said he, “you have given us a hard sum to work out, but I am not the man to recoil from anything hard. If I can discover the whereabouts of this girl I will certainly do it, but you must help me." 46 Contents of a Bureau Drawer. “I, how P” “By inserting a personal in the Herald. You say she loves you; and would come back if she could. Now whether you believe it or not this is open to doubt; therefore I would ad- vise that you take some such means as that to inform her of the anxiety of her friends and their desire to communicate with her." “Impossible,” she cried vehemently. “I should be afraid—” “Well ?” “I might put it that Mrs. D , anxious about Emily, desires information of her where- abouts—" “Put it any way you like." “You had better add,” said I, speaking for the first time, “that you would be willing to pay for information.” “Yes,” said Mr Gryce, “add that.” Mrs. Daniels frowned, but made no objection, and after getting as minute a description as pos- sible of the clothing worn by the girl the night before, we left the house. CHAPTER IV. THOMPSON'S STORY. §6 N affair of some mystery,” remarked Mr. Gryce, as we halted at the corner to take a final look at the house and its environs. “Why a girl should choose such a method of descent as that,"—and he pointed to the ladder down which we believed her to have come— “to leave a house of which she had been an inmate for a year, baffles me, I can tell you, If it were not for those marks of blood which betray her track, I would be disinclined to believe any such hare-brained adventure was ever perpetrated by a woman. As it is, what would'nt I give for her photograph. Black hair, black eyes, white face and thin figure! what a description whereby to find a girl in this great city of New York. Ah!” said he with sudden gratification, “here is Mr. Blake again; 47 48 Thompson's Story. his appointment must have been a failure. Let us see if his description will be any more def- inite." And hurrying towards the advancing figure of that gentleman, he put some questions to him. Instantly Mr. Blake stopped, looked at him blankly for a moment, then replied in a tone sufficiently loud for me to hear: “I am sorry, sir, if my description could have done you any good, but I have not the remotest idea how the girl looked. I did not know till this morning even, that there was such a person in my house as a sewing-woman. I leave all such domestic concerns entirely with Mrs. Daniels.” Mr. Gryce again bowed low and ventured another question. The answer came as before, distinctly to my ears. - “O, I may have seen her, I can not say about that; I very often run across the servants in the hall; but whether she is tall or short, light or dark, pretty or ugly, I know no more than you do, sir." Then with a dignified nod calculated to abash a man in Mr. Gryce's posi- tion, inquired, “Is that all ?” Thompson's Story. 49 It did not seem to be, Mr. Gryce put another question. Mr. Blake give him a surprised stare before replying, then courteously remarked, “I do not concern myself with servants after they have left me. Henry was an excellent valet, but a trifle domineering, something which I never allow in any one who approaches me. I dismissed him and that was the end of it, I know nothing of what has become of him.” Mr. Gryce bowed and drew back, and Mr. Blake, with the haughty step peculiar to him, passed by him and reëntered his house. “I should not like to get into that man's clutches,” said I, as my superior rejoined me; “he has a way of making one appear so small." Mr. Gryce shot an askance look at his shad- ow gloomily following him along the pave- ment. “Yet it may happen that you will have to run the risk of that very experience.” I glanced towards him in amazement. “If the girl does not turn up of her own accord, or if we do not succeed in getting some trace of her movements, I shall be tempted to place you where you can study into the ways 5o Thompson's Story. of this gentleman's household. If the affair is a mystery, it has its centre in that house.” I stared at Mr. Gryce good and roundly. “You have come across something which I have missed," observed I, “ or you could not speak so positively." “I have come across nothing that was not in plain sight of any body who had eyes to see it,” he returned shortly. I shook my head slightly mortified. “You had it all before you,” continued he, “and if you were not able to pick up sufficient facts on which to base a conclusion, you mustn't blame me for it.” More nettled than I would be willing to con- fess, I walked back with him to the station, say- ing nothing then, but inwardly determined to reëstablish my reputation with Mr. Gryce before the affair was over. Accordingly hunting up the man who had patroled the district the night before, I inquired if he had seen any one go in or out of the side gate of Mr. Blake's house on —street, between the hours of eleven and one. “No,” said he, “but I heard Thompson tell a curious story this morning about some one he had seen.” Thompson's Story. 5 I “What was it?” “He said he was passing that way last night about twelve o'clock when he remarked standing under the lamp on the corner of Sec- ond Avenue, a group consisting of two men and a woman, who no sooner beheld him than they separated, the men drawing back into Second Avenue and the woman coming hastily towards him. Not understanding the move, he stood waiting her approach, when instead of advanc- ing to where he was, she paused at the gate of Mr. Blake's house and lifted her hand as if to open it, when with a wild and terrified gesture she started back, covering her face with her hands, and before he knew it, had actually fled in the direction from which she had come. A little startled, Thompson advanced and looked through the gate before him to see if possible what had alarmed her, when to his great sur- prise, he beheld the pale face of the master of the house, Mr. Blake himself, looking through the bars from the other side of the gate. He in his turn started back and before he could recover himself, Mr. Blake had disappeared. He says he tried the gate after that, but found it locked.” 52 Thompson's Story. “Thompson tells you this story, does he?” “Yes.” “Well,” said I, “it’s a pretty wild kind of a tale, and all I have got to say is, that neither you nor Thompson had better go blabbing it around too much. Mum is the word where such men as Mr. Blake are concerned.” And I departed to hunt up Thompson. But he had nothing to add to his statement, except that the girl appeared to be tall and thin, and was closely wrapped about in a shawl. My next move was to make such inquiries as I could with safety into the private concerns of Mr. Blake and his family, and discovered—well, such facts as these : That Mr. Blake was a man who if he paid but little attention to domestic affairs was yet rarely seen out of his own house, except upon occasions of great political importance, when he was always to be found on the platform at meetings of his constituents. Though to the ordinary observer a man eminently calculated, from his good looks, fine position, and solid wealth to enjoy society, he not only manifested a distaste for it, but even went so far as to re- fuse to participate in the social dinners of his Thompson's Story. 53 most intimate friends; the only table to which he would sit down being that of some public caterer, where he was sure of finding none but his political associates assembled, To all appearance he wished to avoid the ladies, a theory borne out by the fact that never, even in church, on the street, or at any place of amusement, was he observed with one at his side. This fact in a man, young—he was not far from thirty-five at that time—rich, and marriageable, would, however, have been more noteworthy than it was if he had not been known to belong to a family eminent for their eccentricities. Not a man of all his race but had possessed some marked peculiarity. His father, bibliomaniac though he was, would never treat a man or a woman with decency, who mentioned Shakspeare to him, nor would he acknowledge to his dying day any excellence in that divine poet beyond a happy way of put- ting words together. Mr. Blake's uncle hated all members of the legal profession, and as for his grandfather—but you have heard what a mania of dislike he had against that simple article of diet, fish ; how his friends were 54 Thompson's Story. obliged to omit it from their bills of fare when- ever they expected him to dinner. If then Mr. Blake chose to have any pet antipathy—as for women for instance—he surely had precedent enough in his own family to back him. How- ever, it was whispered in my ear by one gentle- man, a former political colleague of his who had been with him in Washington, that he was known at one time to show considerable atten- tion to Miss Evelyn Blake, that cousin of his who has since made such a brilliant thing of it by marrying, and straightway losing by death, a wealthy old scapegrace of a French noble, the Count De Mirac. But that was not a matter to be talked about, Madame the Countess being free at present and in New York, though to all appearance upon anything but pleasant terms with her quondam admirer. Remembering the picture I had seen in Mr. Blake's private apartment, I asked if this lady was a brunette, and being told she was, and of the most pronounced type, felt for the moment I had stumbled upon something in the shape of a clue; but upon resorting to Mr. Gryce with my information, he shook his head with a short Thompson's Story. 55 laugh and told me I would have to dive deeper than that if I wanted to fish up the truth lying at the bottom of this well. CHAPTER V. A NEW YORK BELLE. EANWHILE all our efforts to obtain in- formation in regard to the fate or where- abouts of the missing girl, had so far proved utterly futile. Even the advertisements inserted by Mrs. Daniels had produced no effect; and frustrated in my scheme I began to despair, when the accounts of that same Mrs. Daniel's strange and unaccountable behavior during these days of suspense, which came to me through Fanny, (the pretty housemaid at Mr. Blake's, whose acquaintance I had lately taken to cultivating,) aroused once more my dormant energies and led me to ask myself if the affair was quite as hopeless as it seemed. “If she was a ghost,” was her final express- ion on the subject, “she could'nt go peramber- lating this house more than she does. It seems 56 58 A New York Belle. announced that Mr. Blake had ordered a car. riage to take him to the Charity Ball that even- ing, I determined to follow him and learn if possible what change had taken place in himself or his circumstances, to lead him into such an innovation upon his usual habits. Though the hour was late I had but little difficulty in carry- ing out my plan, arriving at the Academy something less than an hour after the opening dance. - The crowd was great and I circulated the floor three times before I came upon him. When I did, I own I was slightly disappointed; for instead of finding him as I anticipated, the centre of an admiring circle of ladies and gentle- men, I espied him withdrawn into a corner with a bland old politician of the Fifteenth Ward, discussing, as I presently overheard, the merits and demerits of a certain Smith who at that time was making some disturbance in the party. - “If that is all he has come for,” thought I, “I had better have stayed at home and made love to the pretty Fanny." And somewhat cha- grined, I took up my stand nearby, and began scrutinizing the ladies. A Mezoy York Belle. 59 Suddenly I felt my heart stand still, the noise of voices ceasing the same instant behind me. A lady was passing on the arm of a foreign. looking gentleman, whom it did not require a second glance to identify with the subject of the portrait in Mr. Blake's house. Older by some few years than when her picture was painted, her beauty had assumed a certain defiant ex- pression that sufficiently betrayed the fact that the years had not been so wholly happy as she had probably anticipated when she jilted hand- some Holman Blake for the old French Count. At all events so I interpreted the look of latent scorn that burned in her dark eyes, as she slowly turned her richly bejeweled head towards the corner where that gentleman stood, and meeting his eyes no doubt, bowed with a sud- den loss of self-possession that not all the haughty carriage of her noble form, held doubly erect for the next few moments, could quite conceal or make forgotten. “She still loves him,” I inwardly commented and turned to see if the surprise had awakened any expression on his uncommunicative coun- tenance. A Mew York Belle. 6 I be directing that half-veiled shaft of light, was anything but conducive to my purposes. At length with a restless shrug of her haughty shoulders she turned away front her crowd of adorers, her breast heaving under its robing of garnet velvet, and her whole face flaring with a light that might mean resolve and might mean simply love. I had no need to turn my head to see who was advancing towards her; her stately attitude as countess, her thrilling glance as woman, betrayed only too readily. He was the more composed of the two. - Bowing over her hand with a few words I could not hear, he drew back a step and began utter- ing the usual common-place sentiments of the occasion. She did not respond. With a splendor of in- difference not often seen even in the manner of our grandest ladies, she waited, opening and shutting her richly feathered fan, as one who would say, “I know all this has to be gone through with, therefore I will be patient." But as the moments passed, and his tone remained unchanged, I could detect a slight gleam of im- patience flash in the depths of her dark eyes, 62 A New York Belle. and a change come into the conventional smile that had hitherto lighted, without illuminating her countenance. Drawing still further back from the crowd that was not to be awed from pressing upon her, she looked around as if seeking a refuge. Her glance fell upon a cer- tain window, with a gleam of satisfaction. See- ing they would straightway withdraw there, I took advantage of the moment and made haste to conceal myself behind a curtain as near that vicinity as possible. In another instant I heard them approaching. “You seem to be rather overwhelmed with attention to-night,” were the first words I caught, uttered in Mr. Blake's calmest and In OSt COllrteCUIS toneS. “Do you think so?" was the slightly sar- castic reply. “I was just deciding to the con- trary when you came up." There was a pause. Taking out my knife, I ripped open a seam in the curtain hanging be- fore me, and looked through. He was eyeing her intently, a firm look upon his face that made its reserve more marked than common. I saw him gaze at her handsome head piled -4 AVezo’ York Belle. 63 with its midnight tresses amid which the jewels, doubtless of her dead lord, burned with a fierce and ominous glare, at her smooth olive brow, her partly veiled eyes where the fire passion- ately blazed,at her scarlet lips trembling with an emotion her rapidly flushing cheeks would not allow her to conceal. I saw his glances fall and embrace her whole elegant form with its casing of ruby velvet and ornamentation of lace and diamonds, and an expectant thrill passed through me almost as if I already beheld the mask of his reserve falling, and the true man flash out in response to the wooing beauty of this full-blown rose, evidently in waiting for him. But it died away and a deeper feeling seized me as I saw his glances return unkindled to her counten- ance, and heard him say in still more measured accents than before : “Is it possible then that the Countess De Mirac can desire the adulation of us poor American plebeians? I had not thought it, madame." * Slowly her dark eyes turned towards him; she stood a statue. “But I forget,” he went on, a tinge of bitter- A New York Belle, 65 A gleam not unlike the lightning's quick flash shot from the eyes she drooped before him. “Is it Holman Blake I am listening to,” said she, “I do not recognize my old friend in the cool and sarcastic man of the world now before me." “We often fail to recognize the work of our hands, madame, after it has fallen from our grasp." - “What,” she cried, “do you mean—would you say that—" - “I would say nothing,” interrupted he calmly, stooping for the fan she had dropped. “At an interview which is at once a meeting and a parting, I would give utterance to nothing which would seem like recrimination. I—” “Wait,” suddenly exclaimed she, reaching out her hand for her fan with a gesture lofty as it was resolute. “You have spoken a word which demands explanation; what have I ever done to you that you should speak the word recrimination to me?” “What? You shook my faith in woman- kind; you showed me that a woman who had once told a man she loved him, could so far 66 A New York Belle. forget that love as to marry one. she could never respect, for the sake of titles and jewels. You showed me—” “Hold," said she again, this time without gesture or any movement, save that of her lips grown pallid as marble, “and what did you show me?” He started, colored profoundly, and for a moment stood before her unmasked of his stern self-possession. “I beg your pardon,” said he, “I take back that word, recrimination.” It was now her turn to lift her head and sur- vey him. With glance less cool than his, but fully as deliberate, she looked at his proud head bending before her; studying his face, line by line, from the stern brow to the closely com- pressed lips on which melancholy seemed to have set its everlasting seal, and a change passed over her countenance. “Holman," said she, with a sudden rush of tenderness, “if in the times gone by, we both behaved with too much worldly prudence for it now to be any great pleasure for either of us to look back, is that any reason why we should mar our whole future by dwelling too long upon what we are A Mezg York. He/e. 67 surely still young enough to bury if not forget? I acknowledge that I would have behaved in a more ideal fashion, if, after I had been forsaken by you, I had turned my face from society, and let the canker-worm of despair slowly destroy whatever life and bloom I had left. But I was young, and society had its charms, so did the prospect of wealth and position, however hol- low they may have proved ; you who are the master of both this day, because twelve months ago you forsook Evelyn Blake, should be the last to reproach me with them. I do not re- proach you ; I only say let the past be forgot- ten—" “Impossible,” exclaimed he, his whole face darkening with an expression I could not fath- om. “What was done at that time cannot be undone. For you and me there is no future. Yes," he said turning towards her as she made a slight fluttering move of dissent, “no future; we can bury the past, but we can not resurrect it. I doubt if you would wish to if we could ; as we cannot, of course you will not desire even to converse upon the subject again. Evelyn I wanted to see you once, but I do not wish to 68 A New York Belle. see you again; will you pardon my plain speak- ing, and release me?” “I will pardon your plain speaking, but—" Her look said she would not release him. He seemed to understand it so, and smiled, but very bitterly. In another moment he had bowed and gone, and she had returned to her crowd of adoring sycophants. CHAPTER VI. A BIT OF CALICO. T was about this time that I took up my resi. dence in a sort of lodging-house that occu- pied the opposite corner to that of Mr. Blake. My room, as I took pains to have it, overlooked the avenue, and from its windows I could easily watch the goings and comings of the gentleman whose movements were daily becoming of more and more interest to me. For set it down to caprice—and men are often as capricious as women—or account for it as you will, his rest- lessness at this period was truly remarkable. Not a day that he did not spend his time in walking the streets, and that not in his usual aimless gentlemanly fashion, but eagerly and with an intent gaze that roamed here and there, like a bird seeking its prey. It would often be as late as five o'clock before he came in, and if, - 69 7o A Bit of Calico. as now frequently happened, he did not have company to dinner, he was even known to start out again after seven o'clock and go over the same ground as in the morning, looking with strained gaze, that vainly endeavored to appear unconcerned, into the faces of the women that he passed. I not unfrequently followed him at these times as much for my own amusement as from any hope I had of coming upon anything that should aid me in the work before me. But when he suddenly changed his route of travel from a promenade in the fashionable thorough- fares of Broadway and Fourteenth Street to a walk through Chatham Square and the dark, narrow streets of the East side, I began to scent whom the prey might be that he was seeking, and putting every other consideration aside, reg- ularly set myself to dog his steps, as only I, with my innumerable disguises, knew how to do. For three separate days I kept at his heels wher- ever he went, each day growing more and more astonished if not to say hopeful, as I found my- self treading the narrowest and most disrepu- table streets of the city; halting at the shops of pawnbrokers; peering into the back-rooms of A Bit of Calico. 71 liquor shops; mixing with the crowds that infest the corner groceries at nightfall, and even slink- ing with hand on the trigger of the pistol I carried in my pocket, up dark alleys where every door that swung noiselessly to and fro as we passed, shut upon haunts of such villainy as only is known to us of the police, or to those good souls that for the sake of One whose ex- ample they follow, lay aside their fears and sen- sitiveness to carry light into the dim pits of this wretched world. At first I thought Mr. Blake might have some such reason for the peculiar course he took. But his indifference to all crowds where only men were collected, his silence where a word would have been well received, convinced me it was a woman he was seeking and that with an intentness which blinded him to the commonest needs of the hour. I even saw him once in his hurry and abstraction, step across the body of a child who had fallen face downward on the stones, and that with an expression showing he was utterly unconscious of anything but an obstacle in his path. The strangest part of it all was that he seemed to have no fear. To be sure he took 72 A Bit of Calico. pains to leave his watch at home; but with such a figure and carriage as he possessed, the absence of jewelry could never deceive the eye for a moment as to the fact of his being a man of wealth, and those he went among would do anything for money. Perhaps, like me, he car- ried a pistol. At all events he shunned no spot where either poverty lay hid or deviltry reigned, his proud stern head bending to enter the lowest doors without a tremble of the haughty lips that remained compressed as by an iron force; except when some poor forlorn creature with flaunting head-gear, and tremu- lous hands, attracted by his bearing would hastily brush against him, when he would turn and look, perhaps speak, though what he said I always failed to catch; after which he would hurry on as if possessed by seven devils. The evenings of those three days were notable also, Two of them he spent in the manner I have de- scribed ; the third he went to the Windsor House—where the Countess De Mirac had taken rooms—going up to the ladies' entrance and actually ringing the bell, only to start back and walk up and down on the opposite side of A Bit of Calico. 73 the way, with his hands behind his back, and his head bent, evidently deliberating as to whether he should or should not carry out his original intention of entering. The arrival of a carriage with the stately subject of his deliber- ations, who from her elaborate costume had seemingly been to some kettledrum or private reception, speedily put an end to his doubts. As the door opened to admit her, I saw him cast one look at her heavily draped person, with its snowy opera-cloak drawn tightly over the sweeping folds of her maize colored silk, and shrink back with what sounded like a sigh of anger or distrust, and without waiting for the closing of the door upon her, turn toward home with a step that hesitated no longer. The fourth day to my infinite chagrin, I was sick and could not go with him. All I could do was to wrap myself in blankets and sit in my window from which I had the satisfaction of viewing him start as I supposed upon his usual course. The rest of the day was employed in a long, dull waiting for his return, only relieved by casual glimpses of Mrs. Daniels' troubled face as she appeared at one window or another 74 A Bit of Calico. of the old-fashioned mansion before me. She seemed, too, to be unusually restless, open- ing the windows and looking out with forlorn cranings of her neck as if she too were watching for her master. Indeed I have no doubt from what I afterwards learned, that she was in a state of constant suspense during these days. Her frequent appearance at the station house, where she in vain sought for some news of the girl in whose fate she was so absorbed, con- firmed this. Only the day before I gave my- self up to my unreserved espionage of Mr. Blake, she had had an interview with Mr. Gryce in which she had let fall her apprehensions that the girl was dead, and asked whether if that were the case, the police would be likely to come into a knowledge of the fact. Upon be- ing assured that if she had not been privately made way with, there was every chance in their favor, she had grown a little calmer, but before going away had so far forgotten herself as to intimate that if some result was not reached be- fore another fortnight had elapsed, she should take the matter into her own hands and—She did not say what she would do, but her looks A Bit of Calico. 75 were of a very menacing character. It was no wonder, then, that her countenance bore marks of the keenest anxiety as she trod the halls of that dim old, mansion, with its dusky corners rich with bronzes and the glimmering shine of ancient brocades, breathing suggestions of loss and wrong; or bent her wrinkled forehead to gaze from the windows for the coming of one whose footsteps were ever delayed. She hap- pened to be looking out, when after a longer stroll than usual the master of the house re- turned. As he made his appearance at the corner, I saw her hurriedly withdraw her head and hide herself behind the curtain, from which position she watched him as with tired steps and somewhat dejected mien, he passed up the steps and entered the house. Not till the door closed upon him, did she venture to issue forth and with a hurried movement shut the blinds and disappear. This anxiety on her part re- doubled mine, and thankful enough was I when on the next day I found myself well enough to renew my operations. To ferret out this mys- tery, if mystery it was, -I still found myself forced to admit the possibility of there being 76 A Bit of Calico. none—had now become the one ambition of my life; and all because it was not only an unusu- ally blind one, but of a nature that involved danger to my position as detective, I entered upon it with a zest rare even to me who love my work and all it involves with an individed passion. To equip myself, then, in a fresh disguise and to join Mr. Blake shortly after he had left his own corner, was anything but a hardship to me that bright winter morning, though I knew from past experience, a long and weari, some walk was before me with nothing in all probability at the end but reiterated disappoint- ment. But for once the fates had willed it otherwise. Whether Mr. Blake, discouraged at the failure of his own attempts, whatever they were, felt less heart to prosecute them than usual I cannot say, but we had scarcely entered upon the lower end of the Bowery, before he suddenly turned with a look of disgust, and gazing hurriedly about him, hailed a Madison Avenue car that was rapidly approaching. I was at that moment on the other side of the way, but I hurried forward too, and signaled A Bit of Calico. 77 the same car. But just as I was on the point of entering it I perceived Mr. Blake step hastily back and with his eyes upon a girl that was hurrying past him with a basket on her arm, regain the sidewalk with a swiftness that argued his desire to stop her. Of course I let the car pass me, though I did not dare approach him too closely after my late con- spicious attempt to enter it with him. But from my stand on the opposite curb-stone I saw him draw aside the girl, who from her gar- ments might have been the daughter or wife of any one of the shiftless, drinking wretches lounging about on the four corners within my view, and after talking earnestly with her for a few moments, saunter at her side down Broome Street, still talking. Reckless at this sight of the consequences which might follow his detection of the part I was playing, I hasted after them, when I was suddenly disconcerted by observing him hurriedly separate from the girl and turn towards me with intention as it were to regain the corner he had left. Weigh- ing in an instant the probable good to be ob- tained by following either party, I determined 78 A Bit of Calico. to leave Mr. Blake for one day to himself, and turn my attention to the girl he had addressed, especially as she was tall and thin and bore herself with something like grace. Barely bestowing a glance upon him, then, as he passed, in a vain attempt to read the sombre expression of his inscrutable face grown five years older in the last five days, I shuffled after the girl now flitting before me down Broome Street. As I did so, I noticed her dress to its minutest details, somewhat surprised to find how ragged and uncouth it was. That Mr. Blake should stop a girl wherever seen, clad in a black alpaca frock, a striped shawl and a Bowery hat trimmed with feathers, I could easily understand; but that this creature with her faded calico dress, dingy cape thrown care- lessly over her head, and ragged basket, should arrest his attention, was a riddle to me. I hastened forward with intent to catch a glimpse of her countenence if possible; but she seemed to have acquired wings to her feet since her interview with Mr. Blake. Darting into a crowd of hooting urchins that were rush- ing from Centre Street after a broken wagon A Bit of Calico. 79 and runaway horse, she sped from my sight with such rapidity, I soon saw that my only hope of overtaking her lay in running. I ac- cordingly quickened my steps when those same hooting youngsters getting in the way of my feet, I tripped up and—well, I own I retired from that field baffled. Not entirely so, how- ever. Just as I was going down, I caught sight of the girl tearing away from a box of garbage on the curb-stone; and when order having been restored, by which lofty statement I mean to say when your humble servant had regained his equilibrium, I awoke to the fact that she had effectually disappeared, I hurried to that box and succeeded in finding hanging to it a bit of rag easily recognized as a piece of the old calico frock of nameless color which I had been fol- lowing a moment before. Regarding it as the sole spoils of a very unsatisfactory day's work, I put it carefully away in my pocket book, where it lay till–But with all my zeal for com- pression, I must not anticipate. When I came home that afternoon I found myself unexpectedly involved in a matter that for the remainder of the day at least, prevented 8O A Bit of Calico. me from further attending to the affair I had in hand. The next morning Mr. Blake did not start out as usual, and at noon I received inti- . mation from Fanny that he was preparing to take a journey. Where, she could not inform me, nor when, though she thought it probable he would take an early train. Mrs. Daniels was feeling dreadfully, she informed me; and the house was like a grave. Greatly excited at this unexpected move on Mr. Blake's part, I went home and packed my valise with something of the spirit of her who once said, under somewhat different circumstances I allow, “Whither thou goest I will go.” The truth was, I had travelled so far and learned so little, that my professional pride was piqued. That expression of Mr. Gryce still rankled, and nothing could soothe my injured spirit now but success. Accordingly when Mr. Blake stepped up to the ticket office of the Hudson River Railroad next morning, to buy a ticket for Putney, a small town in the north- ern part of Vermont, he found beside him a spruce young drummer, or what certainly ap- peared such, who by some strange coincidence, A Bit of Calico. 8 I wanted a ticket for the same place. The fact did not seem in the least to surprise him, nor did he cast me a look beyond the ordinary glance of one stranger at another. Indeed Mr. Blake had no appearance of being a sus- picious man, nor do I think at this time, he had the remotest idea that he was either watched or followed; an ignorance of the truth which I took care to preserve by taking my seat in a different car from him and not showing myself again during the whole ride from New York to Putney. CHAPTER VII. THE HOUSE AT THE GRANBY CROSS ROADS. HY Mr. Blake should take a journey at all at this time, and why of all places in the world he should choose such an insignificant town as Putney for his destination, was of course the mystery upon which I brooded during the entire distance. But when somewhere near five in the afternoon I stepped from the cars on to the platform at Putney Station only to hear Mr. Blake making inquiries in regard to a certain stage running between that town and a still smaller village further east, I own I was not only surprised but well-nigh nonplussed. Es- pecially as he seemed greatly disappointed to hear that it only ran once a day, and then for an earlier train in the morning. “You will have to wait till to-morrow I fear,” said the ticket agent, “unless the landlord of 82 The House at the Granby Cross Roads. 83 the hotel down yonder, can harness you up a team. There is a funeral out west to-day and—" I did not wait to hear more but hurried down to the hotel he had pointed out, and hunting up the landlord inquired if for love or money he could get me any sort of a conveyance for Mel- ville that afternoon. He assured me it would be impossible, the livery stable as well as his own being entirely empty. “Such a thing don't happen here once in five years,” said he to me. “But the old codger who is dead, though a queer dick was a noted personage in these parts, and not a man, woman or child, who could find a horse, mule or don- key, but what availed himself of the privilege. Even the doctor's spavined mare was pressed into service, though she halts on one leg and stops to get her breath half a dozen times in going up one short hill. You will have to wait for the stage, sir.” “But I am in a hurry,” said I as I saw Mr. Blake enter. “I have business in Melville to- night, and I would pay anything in reason to get there.” But the landlord only shook his head; and The House at the Granby Cross Roads. 85 nerves. Early the next morning we took the stage, he sitting on the back seat, and I in front with the driver. There were other passengers, but I noticed he never spoke to any of them, nor through all the long drive did he once look up from the corner where he had ensconced him- self. It was twelve o'clock when we reached the end of the route, a small town of somewhat less than the usual pretensions of mountain villages; so insignificant indeed, that I found it more and more difficult to imagine what the wealthy ex-Congressman could find in such a spot as this, to make amends for a journey of such length and discomfort; when to my in- creasing wonder I heard him give orders for a horse to be saddled and brought round to the inn door directly after dinner. This was a move I had not expected and it threw me a little aback, for although I had thus far managed to hold myself so aloof from Mr. Blake, even while keeping him under my eye, that no sus- picion of my interest in his movements had as yet been awakened, how could I thus for the third time follow his order with one precisely similar, without attracting an attention that 86 The House at the Granby Cross Roads. would be fatal to my plans. Yet to let him ride off alone now, would be to drop the trail at the very moment the scent became of importance. The landlord, a bustling, wiry little man all nervousness and questions, unwittingly helped me at this crisis. | “Are you going on to Perry, sir?” inquired he of that gentleman, “I have been expecting a man along these three days bound for Perry.” “I am that man," I broke in, stepping for- ward with some appearance of asperity, “and I hope you won't keep me waiting. A horse as soon as dinner is over, do you hear? I am two days late now, and won't stand any nonsense." And to escape the questions sure to follow, I strode into the dining-room with a half-fierce, half-sullen countenance, that effectually pre- cluded all advances. During the meal I saw Mr. Blake's eye roam more than once towards my face; but I did not return his gaze, or notice him in any way; hurrying through my dinner, and mounting the first horse brought around, as if time were my only consideration. But once on the road I took the first opportunity The House at the Granby Cross Roads. 87 to draw rein and wait, suddenly remembering that I had not heard Mr. Blake give any inti- mation of the direction he intended taking. A few minutes revealed to me his elegant form well mounted and showing to perfection in his closely buttoned coat, slowly approaching up the road. Taking advantage of a rise in the ground, I lingered till he was almost upon me, when I cantered quickly on, fearing to arouse his apprehensions if I allowed him to pass me on a road so solitary as that which now stretched out before us: a move provocative of much embarassment to me, as I dared not turn my head for the same reason, anxious as I was to keep him in sight. The roads dividing before me, at length gave me my first opportunity to pause and look back. He was some fifty paces behind. Waiting till he came up, I bowed with the surly courtesy I thought in keeping with the character I had assumed, and asked if he knew which road led towards Perry, saying I had come off in such haste I had forgotten to inquire my way. He returned my bow, pointed towards the left hand road and saying, “I know this does not,” calmly took it. 88 7.he House at the Granby Cross Roads. Now here was a dilemma. If in face of this curt response I proceeded to follow him, my hand was revealed at once; yet the circumstan- ces would admit of no other course. I deter- mined to compromise matters by pretending to take the right hand road till he was out of sight, when I would return and follow him swiftly upon the left. Accordingly I reined my horse to the right, and for some fifteen minutes gal- loped slowly away towards the north ; but an- other fifteen saw me facing the west, and riding with a force and fury of which I had not thought the old mare they had given me capable, till I put her to the test. It was not long before I saw my fine gentleman trotting in front of me up a long but gentle slope that rose in the distance; and slackening my own rein, I with- drew into the forest at the side of the road, till he had passed its summit and disappeared, when I again galloped forward. And thus we went on for an hour, over the most uneven country I ever traversed, he always one hill ahead; when suddenly, by what instinct I cannot determine, I felt myself approaching the end, and hastening to the top of the ascent The House at the Granby Cross Roads. 89 up which I was then laboring, looked down in- to the shallow valley spread out before me. What a sight met my eyes if I had been in- tent on anything less practical than the move- ments of the solitary horseman below! Hills on hills piled about a verdant basin in whose depths nestled a scanty collection of houses, in number so small they could be told upon the fingers of the right hand, but which notwith- standing lent an indescribable aspect of comfort to this remote region of hill and forest. But the vision of Mr. Blake pausing half way down the slope before me, examining, yes ex- amining a pistol which he held in his hand, soon put an end to all ideas of romance. Some- what alarmed I reined back; but his action had evidently no connection with me, for he did not once glance behind him, but kept his eye on the road which I now observed took a short turn towards a house of so weird and ominous an appearance that I scarcely marvelled at his precaution. Situated on a level track of land at the cross- ing of three roads, its spacious front, rude and unpainted as it was, presented every appearance 90 The House at the Granby Cross Roads. of an inn, but from its moss-grown chimneys no smoke arose, nor could I detect any sign of life in its shutterless windows and closed doors, across which shivered the dark shadow of the one gaunt and aged pine, that stood like a guard beside its tumbled-down porch. Mr. Blake seemed to have been struck by the same fact concerning its loneliness, for hur- riedly replacing his pistol in his breast pocket, he rode slowly forward. I instantly conceived the plan of striking across the belt of under- brush that separated me from this old dwelling, and by taking my stand opposite its front, inter- cept a view of Mr. Blake as he approached. Hastily dismounting, therefore, I led my horse into the bushes and tied her to a tree, proceed- ing to carry out my plan on foot. I was so far successful as to arrive at the further edge of the wood, which was thick enough to conceal my presence without being too dense to obstruct my vision, just as Mr. Blake passed on his way to this solitary dwelling. He was looking very anx- ious, but determined. Turning my eyes from him, I took another glance at the house, which by this movement I had brought directly before The House at the Granby Cross Roads. 91 me. It was even more deserted-looking than I had thought; its unpainted front with its double row of blank windows meeting your gaze without a response, while the huge old pine with half its limbs dismantled of foliage, rattled its old bones against its sides and moaned in its aged fashion like the solitary retainer of a dead race. I own I felt the cold shivers creep down my back as that creaking sound struck my ears, though as the day was chill with an east wind I dare say it was more the effect of my sudden cessation from exercise, than of any superstitious awe I felt. Mr. Blake seemed to labor under no such impressions. Riding up to the front door he knocked without dismounting, on its dis- mal panels with his riding whip. No response was heard. Knitting his brows impatiently, he tried the latch : the door was locked. Hast- ily running his eye over the face of the building, he drew rein and proceeded to ride around the house, which he could easily do owing to the absence of every obstruction in the way of fence or shrubbery. Finding no means of entrance he returned again to the front door which he 92 The House at the Granby Cross Roads. shook with an impatient hand that however pro- duced no impression upon the trusty lock, and recognizing, doubtless, the futility of his endeav- ors, he drew back, and merely pausing to give one other look at its deserted front, turned his horse's head, and to my great amazement, pro- ceeded with sombre mien and clouded brow to retake the road to Melville. This old inn or decayed homestead was then the object of his lengthened and tedious jour- ney; this ancient house rotting away among the bleak hills of Vermont, the bourne towards which his steps had been tending for these past two days. I could not understand it. Rapidly emerging from the spot where I had secreted myself, I in my turn made a circuit of the house, if happily I should discover some loophole of entrance which had escaped his attention. But every door and window was securely barred, and I was about to follow his example and leave the spot, when I saw two or three children ad- vancing towards me down the cross roads, gaily swinging their school books. I noticed they hesitated and huddled together as they ap- proached and saw me, but not heeding this, I 94 The House at the Granby Cross Roads. scrawled in red chalk met the eye with a mys- terious significance. Even the old pine had ac. quired the villainous air of the uncanny repositor of secrets too dreadful to reveal, as it groaned and murmured to itself in the keen east wind. Dark deeds and foul wrong seemed written all over the fearful place, from the long strings of black moss that clung to the worm-eaten eaves, to the worn stone with its great blotch of some- thing,-could it have been blood?—that served as a threshold to the door. Suddenly with the quickness of lightning the thought flashed across me, what could Mr. Blake, the aristocratic representative of New York's oldest family, have wanted in this nest of infamy! What errand of hope, fear, despair, avarice or revenge, could have brought this superior gentleman with his refined tastes and proudly reticent manners, so many miles from home, to the for- saken den of a brace of hardy villains whose name for two years now, had stood as the type of all that was bold, bad and lawless, and for whom during the last six weeks the prison had yawned, and the gallows hungered. Con- templation brought no reply, and shocked at The House at the Granby Cross Roads. 95 my own thoughts, I put the question by for steadier brains than mine; and instead of trying further to solve it, cast about how I was to gain entrance into this deserted building; for to enter it I was more than ever determined, now that I had heard to whom it had once belonged. Examining with a glance the several roads that branched off in every direction from where I stood, I found them all equally deserted. Even the school children had disappeared in some one of the four or five houses scattered in the remote distance. If I was willing to enter upon any daring ex- ploit, there was no one to observe or interrupt. I resolved to make the attempt with which my mind was full. This was to climb the old tree, and from one of the two or three branches that brushed against the house, gain entrance at an open garret window that stared at me from amid the pine's dark needles. Taking off my coat with a sigh over the immaculate condition of my new cassimere trousers, I bent my ener- gies to the task. A difficult one you will say for a city lad, but thanks to fortune I was not brought up in New York, and know how to 96 The House at the Granby Cross Roads. climb trees with the best. With little more than a scratch or so, I reached the window of which I have spoken, and after a moment spent in regaining my breath, gave one spring and accomplished my purpose. I alighted upon a heap of broken glass in a large bare room. An ominous chill at once struck to my heart. Though I am anything but a sensitive man as far as physical impressions are concerned, there was something in the hollow echo that arose from the four blank walls about me as my feet alighted on that rough, uncarpeted floor, that struck a vague chill through my blood, and I actually hesitated for the moment whether to pursue the investigations I had promised my- self, or beat a hasty retreat. A glance at the huge distorted limbs swaying across the square of the open window decided me. It was easy to enter by means of that unsteady support, but it would be extremely unsafe to venture forth in that way. If I prized life and limb I must seek some other method of egress. I at once put my apprehensions in my pocket and entered upon my self imposed task. A single glance was sufficient to exhaust the 98 The House at the Granby Cross Roads. search; and eager to be done with what was every moment becoming more and more drear- isome, I hastened across the floor to the front of the house where I found another hall and a row of rooms that, while not entirely stripped of furniture, were yet sufficiently barren to offer little encourgement to my curiosity. One only, a small but not uncomfortable apartment, show- ed any signs of having been occupied within a reasonable length of time; and as I paused before its hastily spread bed, thrown together as only a man would do it, and wondering why the room was so dark, looked up and saw that the window was entirely covered by an old shawl and a couple of heavy coats that had been hastily nailed across it, I own I felt my hand go to my breast pocket almost as if I expected to see the wild faces of the dreaded Schoenmakers start up all aglare from one of the dim corners before me. Rushing to the window, I tore down with one sweep of my arm both coat and shawl, and with a start discovered that the window still possessed its draperies in the shape of a pair of discolored and tattered curtains tied with ribbons that 7%e House at the Granby Cross Roads. 99 must once have been brilliant and cheery of color. Nor was this the only sign in the room of a bygone presence that had possessed a taste for something beyond the mere necessities of life. On the grim coarsely papered wall hung more than one picture; cut from pictorial newspapers to be sure, but each and every one, if I may be called a judge of such matters, possessing some quality of expression to commend it to a certain order of taste. They were all strong pictures. Vivid faces of men and women in daring posi- tions; a hunter holding back a jaguar from his throat; a soldier protecting his comrade from the stroke; and most striking of all, a woman lissome as she was powerful, starting aghast and horror stricken from—what? I could not tell; a rough hand had stripped the remainder of the picture from the wall. A bit of candle and a half sheet of a news- paper lay on the floor. I picked up the paper. It was a Rutland Herala and bore the date of two days before. As I read I realized what I had done. If these daring robbers were not at this very moment in the house, they had been The House at the Granby Cross Roads. 101 pistol in hand and ears stretched to their ut- most to catch the slightest rustle, but no sound came to disturb me, nor did I meet on this lower floor the sign of any other presence in the house but my own. Passing hastily through what appeared to be a sort of rude parlor, I stepped into the kitchen and tried one of the windows. Finding I could easily lift it from the inside, I drew my breath with ease for the first time since I had alighted among the broken glass above, and turning back, deliberately opened the door of the kitchen stove, and looked in. As I half expected, I found a pile of part- ly charred rags, showing where the wretches had burned their prison clothing, and proceed- ing further, picked up from the ashes a ring which whether or not they were conscious of having attempted to destroy in this way I can- not say, but which I thankfully put in my pocket against the day it might be required as proof. Discerning nothing more in that quarter in- viting interest, I asked myself if I had nerve to descend into the cellar. Finally concluding that that was more than could be expected from any man in my position, I gave one look of 102 The House at the Granby Cross Roads. farewell to the damp and desolate walls about me, then with a breath of relief jumped from the kitchen window again into the light and air of day. As I did so I could swear I heard a door within that old house swing on its hinges and softly close. With a thrill I recognized the fact that it came from the cellar. ::: :: ::: : :: My thoughts on the road back to Melville were many and conflicting. Chief above them all, however, rose the comfortable conclusion that in the pursuit of one mysterious affair, I had stumbled, as is often the case, upon the clue to another of yet greater importance, and by so doing got a start that might yet redound greatly to my advantage. For the reward offered for the recapture of the Schoenmakers was large, and the possibility of my being the one to put the authorities upon their track, certainly ap- peared after this day's developements, open at least to a very reasonable hope. At all events I determined not to let the grass grow under my feet till I had informed the Superintendent of what I had seen and heard that day in the old haunt of these two escaped convicts. The House at the Granby Cross Roads. 103 Arrived at the public house in Melville, and learning that Mr. Blake had safely returned there an hour before, I drew the landlord to one side and asked what he could tell me about that old house of the two noted robbers Schoenma- ker, I had passed on my way back among the hills. “Wa’al now,” replied he, “this is curious, Here I've just been answering the gentleman up stairs a heap of questions concerning that self same old place, and now you come along with another batch of them ; just as if that rick- ety old den was the only spot of interest we had in these parts." “Perhaps that may be the truth,” I laughed. “Just now when the papers are full of these rogues, anything concerning them must be of superior interest of course." And I pressed him again to give me a history of the house and the two thieves who had inhabited it. “Wa’al," drawled he “” taint much we know about them, yet after all it may be a trifle too much for their necks some day. Time was when nobody thought especial ill of them be- yond a suspicion or so of their being somewhat y 104 The House at the Granby Cross Roads. mean about money. That was when they kept an inn there, but when the robbery of the Rut- land bank was so clearly traced to them, more than one man about here started up and said as how they had always suspected them Shoenma- kers of being villains, and even hinted at some- thing worse than robbery. But nothing beyond that one rascality has yet been proved against them, and for that they were sent to jail for twenty years as you know. Two months ago they escaped, and that is the last known of them. A precious set, too, they are ; the father being only so much the greater rogue than the son as he is years older.” “And the inn P. When was that closed ?” “Just after their arrest.” “Hasnt it been opened since?” “Only once when a brace of detectives came up from Troy to investigate, as they called it.” “Who has the key?” “Ah, that's more than I can tell you.” I dared not ask how my questions differed from those of Mr. Blake, nor indeed touch upon that point in any way. I was chiefly anxious now to return to New York without delay; so The House at the Granby Cross Roads. 105 paying my bill I thanked the landlord, and with- out waiting for the stage, remounted my horse and proceeded at once to Putney where I was fortunate enough to catch the evening train. By five o'clock next morning I was in New York where I proceeded to carry out my programme by hastening at once to headquarters and report- ing my suspicions regarding the whereabouts of the Schoenmakers. The information was re- ceived with interest and I had the satisfaction of seeing two men despatched north that very day with orders to procure the arrest of the two notable villains wherever found. CHAPTER VIII. A WORD OVERHEARD. TH: evening I had a talk with Fanny over the area gate. She came out when she saw me approach, with her eyes staring and her whole form in a flutter. “O,” she cried, “such things as I have heard this day!” “Well,” said I, “what? let me hear too.” She put her hand on her heart. “I never was so frightened,” whispered she, “I thought I should have fainted right away. To hear that elegant lady use such a word as crime,—” “What elegant lady?” interrupted I. “Don’t begin in the middle of your story, that's a good girl; I want to hear it all.” “Well,” said she, calming down a little, “Mrs. Daniels had a visitor to-day, a lady. She was dressed—” To6 A Word Overheard. Io? “t), now,” interrupted I for the second time, “you can leave that out. Tell me what her name was and let the fol-de-rols go.” “Her name?” exclaimed the girl with some sharpness, “how should I know her name; she did'nt come to see me.” - “How did she look when P You saw her I suppose?” “And was’nt that what I was telling you, when you stopped me. She looked like a queen, that she did; as grand a lady as ever I see, in her velvet dress sweeping over the floor, and her diamonds as big as—" “Was she a dark woman P” I asked. “Her hair was black and so were her eyes, if that is what you mean." “And was she very tall and proud looking?” The girl nodded. “You know her? 'whis- pered she. “No,” said I, “not exactly; but I think I can tell who she is. And so she called to-day on Mrs. Daniels, did she.” “Yes, but I guess she knew master would be home before she got away." “Come,” said I, “tell me all about it; I'm. getting impatient." IO8 A Word Overheard. “And ain't I telling you?” said she. “It was about three o'clock this afternoon, the time I go up stairs to dress, so I just hangs about in the hall a bit, near the parlor door, and I hear her gossiping with Mrs. Daniels almost as if she was an old friend, and Mrs. Daniels answering her mighty stiffly and as if she was’nt glad to see her at all. But the lady didn't seem to mind, but went on talking as sweet as honey, and when they came out, you would have thought she loved the old woman like a sister to see her look into her face and say something about knowing how busy she was, but that it would give her so much pleasure if she would come some day to see her and talk over old times. But Mrs. Daniels wasnt pleased a bit and showed plain enough she did nt like the lady, fine as she was in her ways. She was going to answer her too, but just then the front door opened and Mr. Blake with his satchel in his hand, came into the house. And how he did start, to be sure, when he saw them, though he tried to say: something perlite which she did nt seem to take to at all, for after muttering something about not expecting to see him, she A Word Overheard. IOg put her hand on the knob and was going right out. But he stopped her and they went into the parlor together while Mrs. Daniels stood staring after them like one mad, her hand held out with his bag and umbrella in it, stiff as a statter in the Central Park. She did'nt stand so long, though, but came running down the hall, as if she was bewitched. I was dreadful flust- ered, for though I was hid behind the wall that juts out there by the back stairs, I was afraid she would see me and shame me before Mr. Blake. But she passed right by and never looked up. ‘There is something dreadful mys- terious in this, thought I, and I just made up my mind to stay where I was till Mr. Blake and the lady should come out again from the parlor. I did nt have to wait very long. In a few min- utes the door opened and they stepped out, he ahead and she coming after. I thought this was queer, he is always so dreadful perlite in his ways, but I thought it was a deal queerer when I saw him go up the front stairs, she hurrying after, looking I cannot tell you how, but awful troubled and anxious, I should say. “They went into that room of his he calls If O A Word Overheard. his studio and though I knew it might cost me my place if I was found out, I could'nt help following and listening at the keyhole.” “And what did you hear?” I asked, for she paused to take breath. “Well, the first thing I heard was a cry of pleasure from her, and the words, “You keep that always before you? You cannot dislike me, then, as much as you pertend.' I don't know what she meant nor what he did, but he stepped across the room and I heard her cry out this time as if she was hurt as well as awful surprised; and he talked and talked, and I could'nt catch a word, he spoke so low; and by and by she sobbed just a little, and I got scared and would have run away but she cried out with a kind of shriek, ‘O, don't say any more; to think that crime should come into our family, the proudest in the land. How could you, Holman, how could you.' Yes," the girl went on, flushing in her excitement till she was as red as the cherry ribbons in her cap, “those were the very words she used: “To think that crime should come into our family! the proud- est one in the land!' And she called him by A Word Overheard. I I I his first name, and asked him how he could do it.” “And what did Mr. Blake say” returned I, a little taken back myself at this result of my efforts with Fanny. “O, I did"nt wait to hear. I did’nt wait for anything. If folks was going to talk about such things as that, I thought I had better be any- where than listening at the keyhole. I went right up stairs I can tell you.” “And whom have you told of what you heard in the half dozen hours that have gone by ?” “Nobody; how could you think so mean of me when I promised, and—” It is not necessary to go any further into this portion of the interview. The Countess De Mirac possessed to its full- est extent the present fine lady's taste for bric- a-brac. So much I had learned in my inquiries concerning her. Remembering this, I took the bold resolution of profiting by this weakness of hers to gain admission to her presence, she being the only one sharing Mr. Blake's myster- ious secret. Borrowing a valuable antique from a friend of mine at that time in the business, I II 2 A Word Overheard. made my appearance the very next day at her apartments, and sending in an urgent request to see Madame, by the trim negress who an- swered my summons, waited in some doubt for her reply. - It came all too soon; Madame was ill and could see no one. I was not, however, to be baf- fled by one rebuff. Handing the basket I held to the girl, I urged her to take it in and show her mistress what it contained, saying it was a rare article which might never again come her way. The girl complied, though with a doubtful shake of the head which was anything but en- couraging. Her incredulity, however, must have been speedily rebuked, for she almost im- mediately returned without the basket, saying Madame would see me. My first thoughts upon entering the grand lady's presence, was that the girl had been mis- taken, for I found the Countess walking the floor in an abstracted way, drying a letter she had evidently but just completed, by shaking it to and fro with an unsteady hand; the placque I had brought, lying neglected on the table. A Word Overheard. II 3 But at sight of my respectful form standing with bent head in the doorway, she hurriedly thrust the letter into a book and took up the placque. As she did so I marked her well and almost started at the change I observed in her since that evening at the Academy. It was not only that she was dressed in some sort of loose dishabille that was in eminent contrast to the sweeping silks and satins in which I had hitherto beheld her adorned ; or that she was laboring under some physical disability that robbed her dark cheek of the bloom that was its chiefest charm. The change I observed went deeper than that; it was more as if a light had been extinguished in her countenance. It was the same woman I had beheld standing like a glow- ing column of will and strength before the melancholy form of Mr. Blake, but with the will and strength gone, and with them all the glow. “She no longer hopes,” thought I, and al- ready felt repaid for my trouble. “This is a very pretty article you have brought me,” said she with something of the unrestrained love of art which she undoubtedly possessed, showing itself through all her lan- I I4 A Word Overheard. guor. “Where did it come from, and what recommendations have you, to prove it is an honest sale you offer me?” “None," returned I, ignoring with a reass- uring smile the first question, “except that I should not be afraid if all the police in New York knew I was here with this fine placque for sale.” She gave a shrug of her proud shoulder that bespoke the French Countess and softly ran her finger round the edge of the placque. “I don't need anything more of this kind,” said she languidly; “besides,” and she set it down with a fretful air, “I am in no mood to buy this afternoon.” Then shortly, “What do you ask for it?” I named a fabulous price. She started and cast me a keen glance. “You had better take it to some one else; I have no money to throw away." With a hesitating hand I lifted the placque towards the basket. “I would very much like to sell it to you,” said I. “Perhaps—" - Just then a lady's fluttering voice rose from the room beyond inquiring for the Countess, . A Word Overheard. - II 5 and hurriedly taking the placque from my hand with an impulsive “Othere's Amy,” she passed into the adjoining apartment, leaving the door open behind her. I saw a quick interchange of greetings be- tween her and a fashionably dressed lady, then they withdrew to one side with the ornament I had brought, evidently consulting in regard to its merits. Now was my time. The book in which she had placed the letter she had been writing lay on the table right before me, not two inches from my hand. I had only to throw back the cover and my curiosity would be sat- isfied. Taking advantage of a moment when their backs were both turned, I pressed open the book with a careful hand, and with one eye on them and one on the sheet before me, man- aged to read these words — MY DEAREST CECILIA. I have tried in vain to match the sample you sent me at Stewart's, Arnold's and McCreery's. If you still insist upon making up the dress in the way you propose, I will see what Madame Dudevant can do for us, though I cannot but advise you to alter your plans and make the darker shade of velvet do. I went to the Cary reception last night and met Lulu Chittenden. She II6 A Word Overheard. has actually grown old, but was as lively as ever. She created a great stir in Paris when she was there; but a husband who comes home two o'clock in the morning with bleared eyes and empty pockets, is not conducive to the preservation of a woman's beauty. How she manages to retain her spirits I cannot imagine. You ask me news of cousin Holman. I meet him occasionally and he looks well, but has grown into the most sombre man you ever saw. In regard to certain hopes of which you have some- times made mention, let me assure you they are no longer practicable. He has done what— Here the conversation ceased in the other room, the Countess made a movement of ad- vance and I closed the book with an inward groan over my ill-luck. “It is very pretty,” said she with a weary air; “but as I remarked before, I am not in the buying mood. If you will take half you men- tion, I may consider the subject, but—” “Pardon me, Madame,” I interrupted, being in no wise anxious to leave the placque behind me, “I have been considering the matter and I hold to my original price. Mr. Blake of Sec- ond Avenue may give it to me if you do not.” “Mr. Blake!” She eyed me suspiciously. “Do you sell to him?” A Word Ozerheard. I 17 “I sell to anyone I can,” replied I; “and as he has an artist's eye for such things—" Her brows knitted and she turned away. “I do not want it; ” said she, “sell it to whom you please." I took up the placque and left the room. CHAPTER IX. A FEW GOLDEN HAIRS. HEN a few days from that I made my appearance before Mr. Gryce, it was to find him looking somewhat sober. “Those Schoenmakers,” said he, “are making a deal of trouble. It seems they escaped the fellows up north and are now somewhere in this city, but where—” An expressive gesture finished the sentence. “Is that so?” exclaimed I. “Then we are sure to nab them. Given time and a pair of low, restless German thieves, I will wager any- thing, our hands will be upon them before the month is over. I only hope, when we do come across them, it will not be to find their betters too much mixed up with their devilish prac- tices.” And I related to him what Fanny had told me a few evenings before. II.8 A Few Golden Hairs. II 9 “The coil is tightening,” said he. “What the end will be I don't know. Crime, said she * I wish I knew in what blind hole of the earth that girl we are after lies hidden. As if in answer to this wish the door opened and one of our men came in with a letter in his hand. “Hal” exclaimed Mr. Gryce, after he had perused it, “ look at that.” I took the letter from his hand and read: The dead body of a girl such as you describe was found in the East river off Fiftieth Street this morning. From appearance has been dead some time. Have tele- graphed to Police Headquarters for orders. Should you wish to see the body before it is removed to the Morgue or otherwise disturbed, please hasten to Pier 48 E. R. GRAHAM. “Come," said I, “let’s go and see for our- selves. If it should be the one—” “The dinner party proposed by Mr. Blake for to-night, may have its interruptions,” he remarked. - I do not wish to make my story any longer than is necessary, but I must say that when in an hour or so later, I stood with Mr. Gryce before the unconscious form of that poor CHAPTER X. THE SECRET OF MR. BLAKE'S STUDIO. c 4 R. BLAKE is at dinner, sir, with com- pany, but I will call him if you say so.” “No,” returned Mr. Gryce; “show us into some room where we can be comfortable and we will wait till he has finished.” The servant bowed, and stepping forward down the hall, opened the door of a small and cosy room heavily hung with crimson curtains. “I will let him know that you are here,” said he, and vanished towards the dining-room. “I doubt if Mr. Blake will enjoy the latter half of his bill of fare as much as the first,” said I, drawing up one of the luxurious arm-chairs to the side of my principal. “I wonder if he will break away from his guests and come in here?" “No ; if I am not mistaken we shall find Mr. I24 The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. 125 Blake a man of nerve. Not a muscle of his face will show that he is disturbed." “Well,” said I, “I dread it.” Mr. Gryce looked about on the gorgeous walls and the rich old fashioned furniture that surrounded him, and smiled one of his grim- mest smiles. “Well, you may,” said he. The next instant a servant stood in the door- way, bearing to our great astonishment, a tray well set with decanter and glasses. “Mr. Blake's compliments, gentlemen,” said he, setting it down on the table before us. “He hopes you will make yourselves at home and he will see you as soon as possible.” The humph / of Mr. Gryce when the servant had gone would have done your soul good, also the look he cast at the pretty Dresden Shep- herdess on the mantel-piece, as I reached out my hand towards the decanter. Somehow it made me draw back. “I think we had better leave his wine alone,” said he. And for half an hour we sat there, the wine untouched between us, listening alternately to 126 The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. the sound of speech-making and laughter that came from the dining-room, and the solemn ticking of the clock as it counted out the seconds on the mantel-piece. Then the guests came in from the table, filing before us past the open door on their way to the parlors. They were all gentlemen of course—Mr. Blake never invited ladies to his house—and gentlemen of well known repute. The dinner had been given in honor of a certain celebrated states- man, and the character of his guests was in keeping with that of the one thus compli- mented. As they went by us gaily indulging in the jokes and light banter with which such men season a social dinner, I saw Mr. Gryce's face grow sober by many a shade; and when in the midst of it all, we heard the voice of Mr. Blake rise in that courteous and measured tone for which it is distinguished, I saw him reach forward and grasp his cane with an uneasiness I had never seen displayed by him before. But when some time later, the guests having de- parted, the dignified host advanced with some apology to where we were, I never beheld a 128 The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. A look of full recognition passed over the dignified countenance of the man before us. “I remember," said he, shrugging his should- ers in the old way. “You are interested in some servant girl or other who ran away from this house a week or so ago. Have you found her ?” This with no apparent concern. “We think we have,” rejoined Mr. Gryce with some solemnity. “The river gives up its prey now and then, Mr. Blake.” Still only that look of natural surprise. “Indeed! You do not mean to say she has drowned herself? I am sorry for that, a girl who had once lived in my house. What trouble could she have had to drive her to such an act?" Mr. Gryce advanced a step nearer the gentleman. - “That is what we have come here to learn,” said he with a deliberation that yet was not lacking in the respect due to a man so univer- sally esteemed as Mr. Blake. “You who have seen her so lately ought to be able to throw some light upon the subject at least.” “Mr.—" he again glanced at the card, “Mr. 130 The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. scribe, he inquired, “Have the city authorities presumed to put a spy on my movements, that. the fact of my speaking to a poor forsaken Treature on the corner of the street should be not only noted but remembered ?” “Mr. Blake,” observed Mr. Gryce, and I de- clare I was proud of my superior at that mo- ment, “no man who is a true citizen and a Uhristian should object to have his steps fol- lowed, when by his own thoughtlessness, per- haps, he has incurred a suspicion which de- mands it." “And do you mean to say that I have been followed,” inquired he, clenching his hand and looking steadily, but with a blanching cheek, first at Mr. Gryce then at me. “It was indispensable," quoth that function- ary gently. The outraged gentleman riveted his gaze upon me. “In town and out of town? " de- manded he. I let Mr. Gryce reply. “It is known that you have lately sought to visit the Schoenmakers,” said he. Mr. Blake drew a deep breath, cast his eyes The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. 131 about the handsome apartment in which we were, let them rest for a moment upon a port- rait that graced one side of the wall, and which was I have since learned a picture of his father, and slowly drew forward a chair. “Let me hear what your suspicions are," said he. I noticed Mr. Gryce colored at this ; he had evidently been met in a different way from what he expected. “Excuse me,” said he, “I do not say / have any suspicions; my errand is simply to notify you of the death of the girl you were seen to speak with, and to ask whether or not you can give us any information that can aid us in the matter before the Coroner.” “You know I have not. If I have been as closely followed as you say, you must know why I spoke to that girl and others, why I went to the house of the Schoenmakers and—Do you know?" he suddenly inquired. Mr. Gryce was not the man to answer such a question as that. He eyed the rich signet ring that adorned the hand of the gentleman before him and suavely smiled. “I am ready to listen to any explanations," said he. Mr. Blake's haughty countenance became 7%e Secret of Mr. Alake's Studio. I 33 puts us off. He never noticed his servants, left all such concerns to her, etc.; but shows fear when a proposition is made to consult him. Next imagine yourself with the detectives in that gentleman's house. You enter the girl's room; what is the first thing you observe? Why that it is not only one of the best in the house, but that it is conspicuous for its comforts if not for its elegancies. More than that, that there are books of poetry and history lying around, showing that the woman who inhabited it was above her station; a fact which the house- keeper is presently brought to acknowledge. You notice also that the wild surmise of her abduction by means of the window, has some ground in appearance, though the fact that she went with entire unwillingness is not made so apparent. The housekeeper, however, insists in a way that must have had some special knowledge of the girl's character or circum- stances to back it, that she never went without compulsion; a statement which the torn cur- tains and the track of blood over the roof of the extension, would seem to emphasize. A few other facts are made known. First, a pen- 134 The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. knife is picked up from the grass plot in the yard beneath, showing with what instrument the wound was inflicted, whose drippings made those marks of blood alluded to. It was a pearl-handled knife belonging to the writing- desk found open on her table, and its frail and dainty character proved indisputably, that it was employed by the girl herself, and that against manifest enemies; no man being likely to snatch up any such puny weapon for the purpose either of offence or defence. That these enemies were two and were both men, was insisted upon by Mrs. Daniels who over- heard their voices the night before. “Mr. Blake, such facts as these arouse curi- osity, especially when the master of the house being introduced upon the scene, he fails to manifest common human interest, while his housekeeper betrays in every involuntary ges- ture and expression she makes use of her hor- ror if not her fear of his presence, and her relief at his departure. Yes," he exclaimed, unheed- ing the sudden look here cast him by Mr. Blake, “and curiosity begets inquiry, and inquiry elu- cidated further facts such as these, that the The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. 135 mysterious master of the house was in his gar- den at the hour of the girl's departure, was even looking through the bars of his gate when she, having evidently escaped from her captors, came back with every apparent desire to re- enter her home, but seeing him, betrayed an unreasonable amount of fear and fled back even into the very arms of the men she had endeavored to avoid. Did you speak sir?” asked Mr. Gryce suddenly stopping, with a sly look at his left boot tip. Mr. Blake shook his head. “No,” said he shortly, “go on." But that last remark of Mr. Gryce had evidently made its impression. “Inquiry revealed, also, two or three other interesting facts. First, that this gentleman qualified though he was to shine in ladies' society, never obtruded himself there, but employed his leisure time instead, in walking the lower streets of the city, where he was seen more than once conversing with certain poor girls at street corners and in blind alleys. The last one he talked with, believed from her characteristics to be the same one that was abducted from his house—" 136 The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. “Hold there,” said Mr. Blake with some au. thority in his tone, “there you are mistaken; that is impossible.” “Ah, and why?” “The girl you allude to had bright golden hair, something which the woman who lived in my house did not possess." “Indeed. I thought you had never noticed the woman who sewed for you, sir, –did not know how she looked ?” “I should have noticed her if she had had such hair as the girl you speak of.” Mr. Gryce smiled and opened his pocketbook. “There is a sample of her hair, sir,” said he, taking out a thin strand of brilliant hair and showing it to the gentleman before him. “Bright you see, and golden as that of the un- fortunate creature you talked with the other night.” - Mr. Blake stooped forward and lifted it with a hand that visibly trembled. “Where did you get this?" asked he at last, clenching it to his breast with sudden passion. “From out of the comb which the girl had been using the night before.” The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. 137 The imperious man flung it hastily from him. “We waste our time,” said he, looking Mr. Gryce intently in the face. “All that you have said does not account for your pres- ence here nor the tone you have used while addressing me. What are you keeping back? I am not a man to be trifled with." Mr. Gryce rose to his feet. “You are right,” said he, and he gave a short glance in my direction. “All that I have said would not perhaps justify me in this intrusion, if—” he looked again towards me. “Do you wish me to continue P” he asked. Mr. Blake's intent look deepened. “I see no reason why you should not utter the whole,” said he. “A good story loses nothing by being told to the end. You wish to say some- thing about my journey to Schoenmaker's house, I suppose." Mr. Gryce gravely shook his head. “What, you can let such a mystery as that go without a word?" “I am not here to discuss mysteries that have no connection with the sewing-girl in whose cause I am interested." The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. 139 occupied that room above our heads for eleven months previous to the Sunday morning I first had the honor to make your acquaintance." “I am not in the habit of repeating my as- sertions,” said Mr. Blake with some severity, “even when they relate to a less disagreeable matter than the one under discussion." Mr. Gryce bowed, and slowly reached out for his hat; I had never seen him so disturbed. “I am sorry," he began and stopped, fingering his hat-brim nervously. Suddenly he laid his hat back, and drew up his form into as near a sem- blance of dignity as its portliness would allow. “Mr. Blake,” said he, “I have too much res- pect for the man I believed you to be when I entered this house to-night, to go with the thing unsaid which is lying at present like a dead weight upon my lips. I dare not leave you to the consequence of my silence; for duty will compel me to speak some day and in some presence where you may not have the oppor- tunity which you can have here, to explain yourself with satisfaction. Mr. Blake I cannot believe you when you say the girl who lived in this house was a stranger to you." 140 The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. Mr. Blake drew his proud form up in a dis. dain that was only held in check by the very evident honesty of the man before him. “You are courageous at least,” said he. “I regret you are not equally discriminating.” And raising Mr. Gryce's hat he placed it in his hand. “Pardon me,” said that gentleman, “I would like to justify myself before I go. Not with words,” he proceeded as the other folded his arms with a sarcastic bow. “I am done with words; action accomplishes the rest. Mr. Blake I believe you consider me an honest officer and a reliable man. Will you accom- pany me to your private room for a moment? There is something there which may convince you I was neither playing the fool nor the bravado when I uttered the phrase I did an in- stant ago." I expected to hear the haughty master of the house refuse a request so peculiar. But he only bowed, though in a surprised way that showed his curiosity if no more was aroused. “My room and company are at your disposal," said he, “but you will find nothing there to justify you in your assertions.” The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio 14. “Let me at least make the effort,” entreated my superior. Mr. Blake smiling bitterly immediately led the way to the door. “The man may come," he remarked carelessly as Mr. Gryce waved his hand in my direction. “Your justification if not mine may need witnesses.” Rejoiced at the permission, for my curiosity was by this time raised to fever pitch, I at once followed. Not without anxiety. The assured poise of Mr. Blake's head seemed to argue that the confidence betrayed by my superior might receive a shock; and I felt it would be a seri- ous blow to his pride to fail now. But once within the room above, my doubts speedily fled. There was that in Mr. Gryce's face which any- one acquainted with him could not easily mis- take. Whatever might be the mysterious some- thing which the room contained, it was evidently sufficient in his eyes to justify his whole conduct. “Now sir," said Mr. Blake, turning upon my superior with his sternest expression, “the room and its contents are before you; what have you to say for yourself." Mr. Gryce equally stern, if not equally com- 142 The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. posed, cast one of his inscrutable glances round the apartment and without a word stepped be- fore the picture that was as I have said, the only ornamentation of the otherwise bare and unattractive room. I thought Mr. Blake looked surprised, but his face was not one that lightly expressed emotion. “A portrait of my cousin the Countess De Mirac,” said he with a certain dryness of tone hard to interpret. Mr. Gryce bowed and for a moment stood looking with a strange lack of interest at the proudly brilliant face of the painting before him, then to our great amazement stepped for- ward and with a quick gesture turned the picture rapidly to the wall, when—Gracious heavens! what a vision started out before us from the reverse side of that painted canvas! No luxurious brunette countenance now, steeped in pride and languor, but a face— Let me see if I can describe it. But no, it was one of those faces that are indescribable. You draw your breath as you view it; you feel as if you had had an electric shock; but as for knowing ten minutes later whether the eyes 144 The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. “I do not understand an audacity that allows you to —to—" Was this the haughty gentle- man we had known, this hesitating troubled man with bloodless lips and trembling hands? “I declared my desire to justify myself.” said my principal with a respectful bow. “This is my justification. Do you note the color of the woman's hair whose portrait hangs with its face turned to the wall in your room? Is it like or unlike that of the strand you held in your hand a few moments ago; a strand taken as I swear, hair by hair from the comb of the poor creature who occupied the room above. But that is not all,” he continued as Mr. Blake fell a trifle aback; “just observe the dress in which this woman is painted; blue silk you see, dark and rich; a wide collar cunningly exe- cuted, you can almost trace the pattern; a brooch; then the roses in the hand, do you see ? Now come with me upstairs.” - Too much startled to speak, Mr. Blake, haughty aristocrat as he was, turned like a little child and followed the detective who with an assured step and unembarassed mien led the way into the deserted room above. The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. 145 “You accuse me of insulting you, when I express disbelief of your assertion that there was no connection between you and the girl Emily,” said Mr. Gryce as he lit the gas and unlocked that famous bureau drawer. “Will you do so any longer in face of these ?” And drawing off the towel that lay uppermost, he re- vealed the neatly folded dress, wide collar, brooch and faded roses that lay beneath. “Mrs. Daniels assures us these articles belonged to the sewing-woman Emily; were brought here by her. Dare you say they are not the ones reproduced in the portrait below P” Mr. Blake uttering a cry sank on his knees before the drawer. “My God! My God!” was his only reply, “what are these ?” Sud- denly he rose, his whole form quivering, his eyes burning. “Where is Mrs. Daniels?” he cried, hastily advancing and pulling the bell. “I must see her at once. Send the house- keeper here,” he ordered as Fanny smiling de- murely made her appearance at the door. “Mrs. Daniels is out,” returned the girl, “went out as soon as ever you got up from dinner, sir.” 146 The Secret of Mr. Blake's Studio. “Gone out at this hour P” - “Yes sir; she goes out very often nowadays, sir.” - Her master frowned. “Send her to me as soon as she returns,” he commanded, and dis- missed the girl. “I don't know what to make of this,” he now said in a strange tone, approaching again the touching contents of that open bureau drawer with a look in which longing and doubt seemed in some way to be strangely commingled. “I cannot explain the presence of these articles in this room; but if you will come below I will see what I can do to make other matters intel- ligible to you. Disagreeable as it is for me to take anyone into my confidence, affairs have gone too far for me to hope any longer to pre- serve secrecy as to my private concerns." CHAPTER XI. LUTTRA. “f*ENTLEMEN,” said he as he ushered us once more into his studio, “you have presumed, and not without reason I should say, . to infer that the original of this portrait and the woman who has so long occupied the position of sewing-woman in my house, are one and the same. You will no longer retain that opinion when I inform you that this picture, strange as it may appear to you, is the likeness of my wife.” “Wife!” We both were astonished as I take it, but it was my voice which spoke. “We were ignorant you ever had a wife.” “No doubt," continued our host smiling bit- terly, “that at least has evaded the knowledge even of the detectives.” Then with a return to his naturally courteous manner, “She was I47 148 Zuttra. never acknowledged by me as my wife, nor have we ever lived together, but if priestly benediction can make a man and woman one, that woman as you see her there is my lawful wife.” - Rising, he softly turned the lovely, potent face back to the wall, leaving us once more confronted by the dark and glowing counte- nance of his cousin. “I am not called upon,” said he, “to go any further with you than this. I have told you what no man till this hour has ever heard from my lips, and it should serve to exonerate me from any unjust suspicions you may have enter- tained. But to one of my temperament, secret scandal and the gossip it engenders is only less painful than open notoriety. If I leave the sub- ject here, a thousand conjectures will at once seize upon you, and my name if not hers will become, before I know it, the football of gossip if not of worse and deeper suspicion than has yet assailed me. Gentleman I take you to be honest men; husbands, perhaps, and fathers; proud, too, in your way and jealous of your own reputation and that of those with whom -** Zuttra. I5 I California, roamed the orange groves of Florida, and probed the wildernesses of Canada and our Northern states. It was during these last ex- cursions that an event occurred which has exercised the most material influence upon my fate, though at the time it seemed to me no more than the matter of a day. “I had just returned from Canada and was resting in tolerable enjoyment of a very beauti- ful autumn at Lake George, when a letter reached me from a friend then loitering in the vicinity, urging me to join him in a certain small town in Vermont where trout streams abounded and what is not so often the case under the circumstances, fishers were few. “Being in a somewhat reckless mood I at once wrote a consent, and before another day. was over, started for the remote village whence his letter was postmarked. I found it by no means easy of access. Situated in the midst of hills some twenty miles or so distant from any railroad, I discovered that in order to reach it, a long ride in a stage-coach was necessary, fol- lowed by a somewhat shorter journey on horse- back. Not being acquainted with the route, I Luttra. 153 “‘You had better go in,’ said he, ‘the rain will come next.' “I at once leaped from my horse and pushing open the door with main strength, entered the house. Another man met me on the threshold who merely pointing over his shoulder to a lighted room in his rear, passed out without a word, to help the somewhat younger man, who had first appeared, in putting up my horse. I at once accepted his silent invitation and stepped into the room before me. Instantly I found myself confronted by the rather startling vision of a young girl of a unique and haunting style of beauty, who rising at my approach now stood with her eyes on my face and her hands resting on the deal table before which she had been sitting, in an attitude expressive of mingled sur- prise and alarm. To see a woman in that place was not so strange; but such a woman | Even in the first casual glance I gave her, I at once acknowledged to myself her extraordinary power. Not the slightness of her form, the palor of her countenance, or the fairness of the locks of golden red hair that fell in two long braids over her bosom, could for a moment 154 Luttra. counteract the effect of her dark glance or the vivid almost unearthly force of her expression It was as if you saw a flame upstarting be- fore you, waving tremulously here and there, but burning and resistless in its white heat. I took off my hat with deference. l “A shudder passed over her, but she made no effort to return my acknowledgement. As we cast our eyes dilating with horror, down some horrible pit upon whose verge we sud- denly find ourselves, she allowed her gaze for a moment to dwell upon my face, then with a sudden lifting of her hand, pointed towards the door as if to bid me depart—when it swung open with that shrill rushing of wind that in- voluntarily awakes a shudder within you, and the two men entered and came stamping up to my side. Instantly her hand sunk, not feebly as with fear, but calmly as if at the bidding of her will, and without waiting for them to speak, she turned away and quietly left the room. As the door closed upon her I noticed that she wore a calico frock and that her face did not own one perfect feature. “‘Go after Luttra and tell her to make up I56 Luttra. “‘O, yes, he is my son, and that girl you saw here was my daughter; I keep this inn and they help me, but it is a slow way to live, I can tell you. Travel on these roads is slim.' “I should think likely, I returned, remem- bering the half dozen or so hills up which I had clambered since I took to my horse. ‘How far are we from Pentonville P’ “‘O, two or three miles, he replied, but in a hurried kind of a way. “Not far in the daytime but a regular journey in a night like this?' “‘Yes,’ said I, as the house shook under a fresh gust; “it is fortunate I have a place in which to put up.' “He glanced down at my baggage which consisted of a small hand bag, an over-coat and a fishing pole, with something like a gleam of disappointment. “‘Going fishing?' he asked. “‘Yes,' I returned. “‘Good trout up those streams and plenty of them, he went on. ‘Going alone?' “I did not half like his importunity, but con- sidering I had nothing better to do, replied as affably as possible. ‘No, I expect to meet a friend in Pentonville who will accompany me.' I58 Luttra. however, imputed to ignorance, I drew back and asked if my room was ready. It seemed it was not, and unpleasantly as it promised, I felt forced to reseat myself and join in, if not sup- port, the conversation that followed. “A half hour passed away, during which the wind increased till it almost amounted to a gale. Spurts of rain dashed against the windows with a sharp crackling sound that suggested hail, while ever and anon a distant roll as of rousing thunder, rumbled away among the hills in a long and reverberating peal, that made me feel glad to be housed even under the roof of these rude and uncongenial creatures. Suddenly the con- versation turned upon the time and time-pieces, when in a low even tone I heard murmured behind me, “‘The gentleman's room is ready; and turning, I saw standing in the doorway the slight figure of the young girl whose appear- ance had previously so impressed me. “I immediately arose. ‘Then I will proceed to it at once, said I, taking up my traps and ad- vancing towards her. “‘Do not be alarmed if you hear creaks and Luftra. I61 of this furious storm careering over my head, I must court sleep at once. Rising, I drew off my coat, unloosened my vest and was about to throw it off, when I bethought me of a certain wallet it contained. Going to the door in some unconscious impulse of precaution I suppose, I locked myself in, and then drawing out my wallet, took from it a roll of bills which I put into a small side pocket, returning the wallet to its old place. “Why I did this I can scarcely say. As I have before intimated, I was under no special apprehension. I was at that time anything but a suspicious man, and the manner and appear- ance of the men below struck me as unpleas- antly disagreeable but nothing more. But I not only did what I have related, but allowed the lamp to remain lighted, lying down finally in my clothes; an almost unprecedented act on my part, warranted however as I said to myself, by the fury of the gale which at that time seemed as if it would tumble the roof over our heads. - - “How long I lay listening to the creakings and groanings of the rickety old house, I can- 164 Luftra. on such a night as this, but you must not heed them. I tell you shelter this night is danger, and that the only safety to be found is on the stormy highway.' “And without waiting for my reply, she passed rapidly down stairs, pushed open a door at the bottom, and stepped at once into the room we had left an hour or so before. “What was there in that room that for the first time struck an ominous chill as of distinct peril through my veins ? Nothing at first sight, everything at the second. The fire which had not been allowed to die out, still burned brightly on the ruddy hearthstone, but it was not that which awakened my apprehension. Nor was it the loud ticking clock on the mantlepiece with its hand pointing silently to the hour of eleven. Nor yet the heavy quiet of the scantily-furnished room with its one lamp burn- ing on the deal table against the side of the wall. It was the sight of those two powerful men drawn up in grim silence, the one against the door leading to the front hall, the other against that opening into the kitchen. - “A glance at Luttra standing silent and un- Auttra. 167 “‘You broke from the gray-bearded lips of the old man, but he stopped where he was, eyeing those bills as if fascinated. “‘I am not a girl of many words, as you know, continued she in a lofty tone inexpres- sibly commanding. “You may strangle me, you may kill me, it matters little; but this gentleman leaves the house this night, or I destroy the money with a gesture.' “‘Y Ou again broke from those quiver- ing lips, but the old man did not move. “Not so the younger. With a rush he left his post and in another instant would have had his powerful arms about her slender form, only that I met him half way with a blow that laid him on the floor at her feet. She said nothing, but one of the bills immediately left her hand and fluttered into the fire where it instantly shrivelled into nothing. “With the yell of a mad beast wounded in his most vulnerable spot, the old man before us stamped with his heel upon the floor. “Stop!' cried he ; and going rapidly to the front door he opened it. ‘There !' shrieked he, “if you will be fools, go! and may the I68 Auftra. lightning blast you. But first give me the money.' “‘Come from the door, said she, reaching out her left hand for the lantern hanging at the side of the fireplace, ‘and let Karl light this and keep himself out of the way.' “It was all done. In less time than I can tell it, the old man had stepped from the door, the younger one had lit the lantern and we were in readiness to depart. “‘Now do you proceed, said she to 2 me, ‘I will follow.' “‘No,' said I, ‘we will go together.’ “‘But the money?' growled the heavy voice of my host over my shoulder. Z “‘I will give it to you on my return, said the girl. CHAPTER XII. A WOMAN'S LOVE. “QHALL I ever forget the blast of driving rain that struck our faces and enveloped us in a cloud of wet, as the door swung on its hinges and let us forth into the night; or the electric thrill that shot through me as that slender girl grasped my hand and drew me away through the blinding darkness. It was not that I was so much affected by her beauty as influenced by her power and energy. The fury of the gale seemed to bend to her will, the wind lend wings to her feet. I began to realize what intellect was. Arrived at the roadside, she paused and looked back. The two burly forms of the men we had left behind us were standing in the door of the inn; in another mo- ment they had plunged forth and towards us. With a low cry the young girl leaped towards 169 17o A Woman's Love. a tree where to my unbounded astonishment I beheld my horse standing ready saddled. Dragging the mare from her fastenings, she hung the lantern, burning as it was, on the pommel of the saddle, struck the panting creat- ure a smart blow upon the flank, and drew back with a leap to my side. “The startled horse snorted, gave a plunge of dismay and started away from us down the road. “‘We will wait,' said Luttra. “The words were no sooner out of her mouth than her father and brother rushed by. “They will follow the light, whispered she, and seizing me again by the hand, she hurried me away in the direction opposite to that which the horse had taken. “If you will trust me, I will bring you to shelter, she murmured, bend- ing her slight form to the gusty wind but relax- ing not a whit of her speed. - “‘You are too kind,' I murmured in return. ‘Why should you expose yourself to such an extent for a stranger?' - “Her hand tightened on mine, but she did not reply, and we hastened on as speedily as 172 A Woman's Love. “No refuge ever appeared more welcome to a pair of sinking wanderers I am sure. Wet to the skin, bedrabbled with mud, exhausted with breasting the gale, we stood for a moment under the porch to regain our breath, then with her characteristic energy she lifted the knocker and struck a smart blow on the door. “‘We will find shelter here, said she. “She was not mistaken. In a few moments we were standing once more before a comforta- able fire hastily built by the worthy couple whose slumbers we had thus interrupted. As I began to realize the sweetness of conscious safety, all that this young, heroic creature had done for me swept warmly across my mind. Looking up from the fire that was begining to infuse its heat through my grateful system, I surveyed her as she slowly undid her long braids and shook them dry over the blaze, and almost started to see how young she was. Not more than sixteen I should say, and yet what an invincible will shone from her dark eyes and dignified her slender form; a will gentle as it was strong, elevated as it was unbending. I bowed my head as I watched her, in grate- : A Woman's Zove. I73 ful thankfulness which I presently put into words. “At once she drew herself erect. “I did but my duty, said she quietly. “I am glad I was prospered in it. Then slowly. “If you are grateful, sir, will you promise to say nothing of—of what took place at the inn '' “Instantly I remembered a suspicion which had crossed my mind while there, and my hand went involuntarily to my vest pocket. The roll of bills was gone. “She did not falter. ‘I would be relieved if you would, continued she. “I drew out my empty hand, looked at it, but said nothing. - “‘Have you lost anything?' asked she. ‘Search in your overcoat pockets.' “I plunged my hand into the one nearest her and drew it out with satisfaction; the roll of bills was there. “I give you my promise,' said I. “‘You will find a bill missing, she mur- mured; “for what amount I do not know ; the sacrifice of something was inevitable.' “‘I can only wonder over the ingenuity you displayed, as well as express my appreciation I 74 A Woman's Love. for your bravery, returned I with enthusiasm. ‘You are a noble girl.' “She put out her hand as if compliments hurt her. ‘It is the first time they have ever at- tempted anything like that, cried she in a quick low tone full of shame and suffering. ‘They have shown a disposition to—to take money sometimes, but they never threatened life be- fore. And they did threaten yours. They saw you take out your money, through a hole pierced in the wall of the room you oc- cupied, and the sight made them mad. They were going to kill you and then tumble you and your horse over the precipice below there. But I overheard them talking and when they went out to saddle the horse, I hurried up to your room to wake you. I had to take pos- session of the bills; you were not safe while you held them. I took them quietly because I hoped to save you without betraying them. But I failed in that. You must remember they are my father and my brother.' “‘I will not betray them,' said I. “She smiled. It was a wintry gleam but it ineffably softened her face. I became conscious of a movement of pity towards her. A Woman's Love. 175 “‘You have a hard lot, remarked I. ‘Your life must be a sad one.' “She flashed upon me one glance of her dark eye. “I was born for hardship, said she, ‘but— and a sudden wild shudder seized her, “but not for crime.' “The word fell like a drop of blood wrung from her heart. “‘Good heavens !' cried I, ‘and must you—" “‘No, rang from her lips in a clarion-like peal; ‘some things cut the very bonds of nature. I am not called upon to cleave to what will drag me into infamy. Then calmly, as if speaking of the most ordinary matter in the world, ‘I shall never go back to that house we have left behind us, sir." - “‘But, cried I, glancing at her scanty gar- ments, “where will you go? What will you do? You are young—' - “And very strong, she interrupted. “Do not fear for me.' And her smile was like a burst of sudden sunshine. “I said no more that night. - “But when in the morning I stumbled upon A Woman's Love. 177 understanding that as soon as the matter could be arranged, she was to enter a certain board- ing-school in Troy with the mistress of which I was acquainted. Meanwhile she was to go out to service at Melville and earn enough money to provide herself with clothes. “I was a careless fellow in those days but I kept my promise to that girl. I not only enter- ed her into that school for a course of three years, but acting through its mistress who had taken a great fancy to her, supplied her with the necessities her position required. It was so easy; merely the signing of a check from time to time, and it was done. I say this be- cause I really think if it had involved any per- sonal sacrifice on my part, even of an hour of my time, or the labor of a thought, I should not have done it. For with my return to the city my interest in my cousin revived, absorbing me to such an extent that any matter disconnected with her soon lost all charm for me. “Two years passed; I was the slave of Evelyn Blake, but there was no engagement between us. My father's determined opposition was enough to prevent that. But there was all 178 A Woman's Love. understanding which I fondly hoped would one day open for me the way of happiness. But I did not know my father. Sick as he was—he was at that time laboring under the disease which in a couple of months later bore him to the tomb—he kept an eye upon my move- ments and seemed to probe my inmost heart. At last he came to a definite decision and spoke. “His words opened a world of dismay before me. I was his only child, as he remarked, and it had been and was the desire of his heart to leave me as rich and independent a man as him- self. But I seemed disposed to commit one of those acts against which he had the most de- termined prejudice; marriage between cousins being in his eyes an unsanctified and danger- ous proceeding, liable to consequences the most unhappy. If I persisted, he must will his prop- erty elsewhere. The Blake estate should never descend with the seal of his approbation to a race of probable imbeciles. “Nor was this enough. He not only robbed me of the woman I loved, but with a clear in- sight into the future, I presume, insisted upon A Woman's Zove. 179 my marrying some one else of respectability and worth before he died. “Anyone whose ap- pearance will do you credit and whose virtue is beyond reproach, said he. “I don't ask her to be rich or even the offspring of one of our old families. Let her be good and pure and of no connection to us, and I will bless her and you with my dying breath.' “The idea had seized upon him with great force, and I soon saw he was not to be shaken out of it. To all my objections he returned but the one word, “‘I don't restrict your choice and I give you a month in which to make it. If at the end of that time you cannot bring your bride to my bedside, I must look around for an heir who will not thwart my dying wishes.'” - “A month ! I surveyed the fashionable belles that nightly thronged the parlors of my friends and felt my heart sink within me. Take one of them for my wife, loving another woman Impossible. Women like these de- manded something in return for the honor they conferred upon a man by marrying him. Wealth ? they had it. Position? that was A Woman's Love. I 81 so many arguments in her favor that before long I found myself regarding it as a refuge. To be sure she was a waif and a stray, but that seemed to be the kind of wife de- manded of me. She was allied to rogues if not villains, I knew ; but then had she not cut all connection with them, dropped away from them, planted her feet on new ground which they would never invade 2 I commenced to cherish the idea. With this friendless, grateful, unassuming protégée of mine for a wife, I would be as little bound as might be. She would ask nothing, and I need give nothing, beyond a home and the common attentions required of a gentleman and a friend. Then she was not dis- agreeable, nor was her beauty of a type to sug- gest the charms of her I had lost. None of the graces of the haughty patrician lady whose lightest gesture was a command, would appear in this humble girl, to mock and constrain me. No, I should have a fair wife and an obedient one, but no vulgarized shadow of Evelyn, thank God, or of any of her fashionably dressed friends. “Advanced thus far towards the end, I went to see Luttra. I had not beheld her since the 182 A Woman's Love. morning we parted at the door of that little cot- tage in Vermont, and her presence caused me a shock. This, the humble waif with the ap- pealing grateful eyes I had expected to encoun- ter? this tall and slender creature with an aure- ola of golden hair about a face that it was an education to behold ! I felt a half movement of anger as I surveyed her. I had been cheated; I had planted a grape seed and a palm tree had sprung up in its place. I was so taken aback, my salute lost something of the benevolent condescension I had intended to in- fuse into it. She seemed to feel my embarass- ment and a half smile fluttered to her lips. That smile decided me. It was sweet but above all else it was appealing. “How I won that woman to marry me in ten days time I care not to state. Not by holding up my wealth and position before her. Something restrained me from that. I was re- solved, and perhaps it was the only point of light in my conduct at that time, not to buy this young girl. I never spoke of my expecta- tions, I never alluded to my present advantages, yet I won her. A Woman's Love, 183 “We were married, there, in Troy in the quiet- est and most unpretending manner. Why the fact has never transpired I cannot say. I cer- tainly took no especial pains to conceal it at the time, though I acknowledge that after our sepa- ration I did resort to such measures as I thought necessary, to suppress what had become gall and wormwood to my pride. “My first move after the ceremony was to bring her immediately to New York and to this house. With perhaps a pardonable bitterness of spirit, I had refrained from any notification of my intentions, and it was as strangers might enter an unprepared dwelling, that we stepped across the threshold of this house and passed immediately to my father's room. “‘I can give you no wedding and no honey- moon,' I had told her. “My father is dying and demands my care. From the altar to a death-bed may be sad for you, but it is an inevi- table condition of your marriage with me.' And she had accepted her fate with a deep unspeak- able smile it has taken me long months of lone- liness and suffering to understand. “‘Father, I bring you my bride, were my 184 A Woman's Zove. first words to him as the door closed behind us shutting us in with the dread, invisible Presence that for so long a time had been relentlessly ad- vancing upon our home. “I shall never forget how he roused himself in his bed, nor with what eager eyes he read her young face and surveyed her slight form swaying towards him in her sudden emotion like a flame in a breeze. Nor while I live shall I lose sight of the spasm of uncontrollable joy with which he lifted his aged arms towards her, nor the look with which she sprang from my side and nestled, yes nestled, on the breast that never to my remembrance had opened itself to me even in the years of my earliest childhood. For my father was a stern man who believed in hold- ing love at arm's length and measured affection by the depth of awe it inspired. “‘My daughter!' broke from his lips, and he never inquired who she was or what; no, not even when after a moment of silence she raised her head and with a sudden low cry of passion- ate longing looked in his face and murmured, “‘I never had a father.' “Sirs, it is impossible for me to continue A Woman's Love. 185 without revealing depths of pride and bitterness in my own nature, from which I now shrink with unspeakable pain. So far from being touched by this scene, I felt myself grow hard under it. If he had been disappointed in my choice, queried at it or even been simply pleased at my obedience, I might have ac- cepted the wife I had won, and been tolera- bly grateful. But to love her, admire her, glory in her when Evelyn Blake had never succeeded in winning a glance from his eyes that was not a public disapprobation I could not endure it; my whole being rebelled, and a movement like hate took possession of me. “Bidding my wife to leave me with my fath- er alone, I scarcely waited for the door to close upon the poor young thing before all that had been seething in my breast for a month, burst from me in the one cry, “‘I have brought you a daughter as you commanded me. Now give me the blessing you promised and let me go; for I cannot live with a woman I do not love.' “Instantly, and before his lips could move, the door opened and the woman I thus repudi- 186 A Woman's Love. ated in the first dawning hour of her young bliss, stood before us. My God! what a face! When I think of it now in the night season— when from dreams that gloomy as they are, are often elysian to the thoughts which beset me in my waking hours, I suddenly arouse to see starting upon me from the surrounding shadows that young fair brow with its halo of golden tresses, blotted, ay blotted by the agony that turned her that instant into stone, I wonder I did not take out the pistol that lay in the table near which I stood, and shoot her lifeless on the spot as some sort of a compensation for the misery I had caused her. I say I wonder now ; then I only thought of braving it out. “Straight as a dart, but with that look on her face, she came towards us. “Did I hear aright?' were the words that came from her lips. ‘Have you married me, a woman beneath your station as I now perceive, because you were commanded to do so? Have you not loved me? given me that which alone makes marriage a sacrament or even a possibility ? and must you leave this house made sacred by the recumbent form of your dying father if I remain within it?' A Woman's Love. 187 “I saw my father's stiff and pallid lips move silently as though he would answer for me if he could, and summoning up what courage I pos- sessed, I told her that I deeply regretted she had overheard my inconsiderate words. That I had never meant to wound her, whatever bit- terness lay in my heart towards one who had thwarted me in my dearest and most cherished hopes. That I humbly begged her pardon and would so far acknowledge her claim upon me as to promise that I would not leave my home at this time, if it distressed her; my desire being not to injure her, only to protect myself. “O the scorn that mounted to her brow at these weak words. Not scorn of me, thank God, worthy as I was of it that hour, but scorn of my slight opinion of her. “‘Then I heard aright, she murmured, and waited with a look that would not be gainsaid. “I could only bow my head, cursing the day I was born. “‘Holman Holman l' came in agonized entreaty from the bed, ‘you will not rob me of my daughter now?' “Startled, I looked up. Luttra was half way to the door. I 88 A Woman's Love. “‘What are you going to do?’ cried I, bounding towards her. “She stopped me with a look. ‘The son must never forsake the father," said she. ‘If either of us must leave the house this day, let it be I. Then in a softer tone, ‘When you asked me to be your wife, I who had worship- ped you from the moment you entered my father's house on the memorable night I left it, was so overcome at your condescension that I forgot you did not preface it by the usual pas- sionate, “I love you, which more than the mar- riage ring binds two hearts together. In the glamour and glow of my joy, I did not see that the smile that was in my heart, was miss- ing from your face. I was to be your wife and that was enough, or so I thought then, for I loved you. Ah, and I do now, my hus- band, love you so that I leave you. Were it for your happiness I would do more than that, I would give you back your freedom, but from what I hear, it seems that you need a wife in name and I will be but fulfilling your desire in holding that place for you. I will never disgrace the position high as it is / 190 A Woman's Love. upon his darkening path. I rose as if to fetch her but before I could advance I heard a voice say, “She is not here, and looking up I saw Mrs. Daniels glide into the room. “‘Mrs. Blake has gone, sir, I could not keep her.' A Man's Heart. I93 I was a man none too good or exalted at the best; she, a woman, should have been superior to the temptations that overpowered me, That she was not, seemed to drag all womanhood a little nearer the dust; fashionable womanhood I ought to say, for somehow even at that early day her conduct did not seem to affect the vivid image of Luttra standing upon my threshold, shorn of her joy but burning with a devotion I did not comprehend, and saying, “I loved you. Ah, and I do yet, my hus- band, love you so that I leave you. When the day comes—if the day comes—you need or feel you need the sustainment of my presence or the devotion of my heart, no power on earth save that of death itself, shall keep me from your side." “Yes, with the fading away of other faces and other forms, that face and that form now began to usurp the chief place in my thoughts. Not to my relief and pleasure. That could scarcely be, remembering all that had occurred; rather to my increasing distress and passionate resentment. I longed to forget I was held by a tie, that known to the world would cause me 194 A Man's Heart. the bitterest shame. For by this time the true character of her father and brother had been revealed and I found myself bound to the daughter of a convicted criminal. “But I could not forget her. The look with which she had left me was branded into my consciousness. Night and day it floated before me, till to escape it I resolved to fasten it upon canvas, if by that means I might succeed in eliminating it from my dreams. “The painting you have seen this night is the result. Born with an artist's touch and in- sight that under other circumstances might, perhaps, have raised me into the cold dry at- mosphere of fame, the execution of this piece of work, presented but few difficulties to my somewhat accustomed hand. Day by day her beauty grew beneath my brush, startling me often with its spiritual force and significance till my mind grew feverish over its work, and I could scarcely refrain from rising at night to give a touch here or there to the floating golden hair or the piercing, tender eyes turn- ed, ah, ever turned upon the inmost citadel of my heart with that look that slew my father A Man's Heart. 197 was alive and demanding, but that the object of it past recall, was my lost young wife. “Once assured of this, my apathy vanish- ed like mist before a kindled torch. Hence- forth the future held a hope, and life a purpose. I would seek my wife throughout the world and bring her back if I found her in prison between the men whose existence was a curse to my pride. But where should I turn my steps? What golden thread had she left in my hand by which to trace her through the labyrinth of this world? I could think of but one, and that was the love which would restrain her from go- ing away from me too far. The Luttra of old would not leave the city where her husband lived. If she was not changed, I ought to be able to find her somewhere within this great Babylon of ours. Wisdom told me to set the police upon her track, but pride bade me try every other means first. So with the feverish energy of one leading a forlorn hope, I began to pace the streets if haply I might see her face shine upon me from the crowd of passers by ; a foolish fancy, unproductive of result! I not only failed to see her, but anyone like her. A Man's Heart. I99 street, worked a change in my plans. For regard it as weakness or not, the recollection that the vision I had seen wore the garments of a working-woman rather than a lady, acted upon me like a warning not to search for her any longer among the resorts of the well- dressed, but in the regions of poverty and toil. I therefore took to wanderings such as I have no heart to describe. Nor do I need to, if, as you have informed me, I have been fol- lowed. “The result was almost madness. Though deep in my heart I felt a steadfast trust in the purity of her intentions, the fear of what she might have been driven to by the awful pov- erty and despair I every day saw seething about me, was like hot steel in brain and heart. Then her father and her brother ! To what might they not have forced her, innocent and loving soul though she was! Drinking the dregs of a cup such as I had never considered it possible for me to taste, I got so far as to believe that her eyes would yet flash upon me from beneath some of the tattered shawls I saw sullying the forms of the young girls upon 2OO A Man's Heart. which I hourly stumbled. Yes, and even made a move to see my cousin, if haply I could so win upon her compassion as to gain her consent to shelter the poor creature of my dreams in case the necessity came. But my heart failed me at the sight of her cold face above the splendor she had bought with her charms, and I was saved a humiliation I might never have risen above. “At last, one day I saw a girl—no, it was not she, but her hair was similar to hers in hue, and the impulse to follow her was irresistible. I did more than that, I spoke to her. I asked her if she could tell me anything of one whose locks were golden red like hers—But I need not tell you what I said nor what she re- plied with a gentle delicacy that was almost a shock to me as showing from what heights to what depths a woman can fall. Enough that nothing passed between us beyond what I have intimated, and that in all she said she gave me no news of Luttra. “Next day I started for the rambling old house in Vermont, if haply in the spot where I first saw her, I might come upon some clue A Man's Heart. . 2O I to her present whereabouts. But the old inn was deserted, and whatever hope I may have had in that direction, perished with the rest. “Concerning the contents of that bureau- drawer above, I can say nothing. If, as I scarcely dare to hope, they should prove to have been indeed brought here by the girl who has since disappeared so strangely, who knows but what in those folded garments a clue is given which will lead me at last to the knowl- edge for which I would now barter all I pos- sess. My wife—But I can mention her name no more till the question that now assails us is set at rest. Mrs. Daniels must——" But at that moment the door opened and Mrs. Daniels came in. CHAPTER XIV. MRS. DANIELS. HE still wore her bonnet and shawl and her face was like marble. “You want me?” said she with a hurried look towards Mr. Blake that had as much fear as surprise in it. “Yes," murmured that gentleman moving towards her with an effort we could very well appreciate. “Mrs. Daniels, who was the girl you harbored in that room above us for so long Speak ; what was her name and where did she come from ?” The housekeeper trembling in every limb, cast us one hurried appeal. “Speak!” reëchoed Mr. Gryce; “the time for secrecy has passed." “O,” cried she, sinking into a chair from sheer inability to stand, “it was your wife, Mr. Blake, the young creature you—" 2O2 AMrs. Daniels. 2O3 “Ah!” All the agony, the hopelessness, the love, the passion of those last few months flashed up in that word. She stopped as if she had been shot, but seeing the hand which he had hur- riedly raised, fall slowly before him, went on with a burst, “O sir, she made me swear on my knees I would never betray her, no matter what hap- pened. When not two weeks after your father died she came to the house and asking for me, told me all her story and all her love; how she could not reconcile it with her idea of a wife's duty to live under any other roof than that of her husband, and lifting off the black wig which she wore, showed me how altered she had made herself by that simple change—in her case more marked by the fact that her eyes were in keeping with black hair, while with her own bright locks they always gave you a shock as of something strange and haunting—I gave up my will as if forced by a magnetic power, and not only opened the house to her but my heart as well; swearing to all she demanded and keeping my oath too, as I would preserve 2O4 Mrs. Daniels. my soul from sin and my life from the knife of the destroyer.” “But, when she went,” broke from the pallid lips of the man before her, “when she was taken away from the house, what then P” “Ah,” returned the agitated woman, “what then I Do you not think I suffered? To be held by my oath, an oath I was satisfied she would wish kept even at this crisis, yet know- ing all the while she was drifting away into some evil that you, if you knew who she was, would give your life to avert from your honor. if not from her innocent head! To see you cold, indifferent, absorbed in other things, while she, who would have perished any day for your happiness, was losing her life perhaps in the clutches of those horrible villains! Do not ask me to tell you what I have suffered since she went ; I can never tell you,-innocent, tender, noble-hearted creature that she was.” “Was P” His hand clutched his heart as if it had been seized by a deathly spasm. “Why do you say was 2." “Because I have just come from the Morgue where she lies dead.” Mrs. Daniels. 205 “No, no,” came in a low shriek from his lips, “that is not she ; that is another woman, like her perhaps, but not she.” “Would to God you were right; but the long golden braids! Such hair as hers I never saw on anyone before.” “Mr. Blake is right,” I broke in, for I could not endure this scene any longer. “The woman taken out of the East river to-day has been both seen and spoken to by him and that not long since. He should know if it is his wife.” “And isn't it P” “No, a thousand times no ; the girl was a perfect stranger.” The assurance seemed to lift a leaden weight from her heart. “O thank God,” she mur- mured dropping with an irresistible impulse on her knees. Then with a sudden return of her old tremble, “But I was only to reveal her secret in case of her death ! What have I done, O what have I done! Her only hope lay in my faithfulness.” Mr. Blake leaning heavily on the table before him, looked in her face. 2O6 Mrs. Daniels. “Mrs. Daniels,” said he, “I love my wife; her hope now lies in me.” She leaped to her feet with a joyous bound. “You love her? O thank God!” she again re- iterated but this time in a low murmur to her- self. “Thank God!" and weeping with unre- strained joy, she drew back into a corner. Of course after that, all that remained for us to do was to lay our heads together and consult as to the best method of renewing our search after the unhappy girl, now rendered of double interest to us by the facts with which we had just been made acquainted. That she had been forced away from the roof that sheltered her by the power of her father and brother was of course no longer open to doubt. To dis- cover them, therefore, meant to recover her. Do you wonder, then, that from the moment we left Mr. Blake's house, the capture of that brace of thieves became the leading purpose of our two lives? CHAPTER XV. A CONFAB. EXT morning Mr. Gryce and I met in serious consultation. How, and in what direction should we extend the inquiries neces- sary to a discovery of these Schoenmakers? “I advise a thorough overhauling of the Ger- man quarter," said my superior. “Schmidt, and Rosenthal will help us and the result ought to be satisfactory." But I shook my head at this. “I don't be- lieve,” said I, “that they will hide among their own people. You must remember they are not alone, but have with them a young woman of a somewhat distinguished appearance, whose presence in a crowded district, like that, would be sure to awaken gossip ; something which above all else they must want to avoid." “That is true; the Germans are a dreadful race for gossip." 2O7 208 A Confab. “If they dared to ill-dress her or ill-treat her, it would be different. But she is a valuable piece of property to them you see, a choice lot of goods which it is for their interest to pre- serve in first-class condition till the day comes for its disposal. For I presume you have no doubt that it is for the purpose of extorting money from Mr. Blake that they have carried off his young wife.” “For that reason or one similar. He is a man of resources, they may have hoped he would help them to escape the country.” “If they don't hide in the German quarter they certainly won't in the Italian, French or Irish. What they want is too keep close and rouse no questions. I think they will be found to have gone up the river somewhere, or over to Jersey. Hoboken would'nt be a bad place to send Schmidt to.” “You forget what it is they've got on their minds; besides no conspicuous party such as they could live in a rural district without at- tracting more attention than in the most crowd- ed tenement house in the city.” “Where do you think, then, they would be liable to go?” - A Confab. 2O9 “Well my most matured thought on the sub- ject,” returned Mr. Gryce, after a moment's deliberation, “is this, -you say, and I agree, that they have hampered themselves with this woman at this time for the purpose of using her hereafter in a scheme of black-mail upon Mr. Blake. He, then, must be the object about which their thoughts revolve and toward which whatever operations or plans they may be en- gaged upon must tend. What follows ' When a company of men have made up their minds to rob a bank, what is the first thing they do? They hire, if possible, a house next to the especial building they intend to enter, and for months work upon the secret passage through which they hope to reach the safe and its con- tents; or they make friends with the watch- man that guards its treasures, and the janitor who opens and shuts the doors. In short they hang about their prey before they pounce upon it. And so will these Schoenmakers do in the somewhat different robbery which they plan sooner or later to effect. Whatever may keep them close at this moment, Mr. Blake and Mr. Blake's house is the point toward which their eyes are turned, and if we had time—" 2 IO A Confab. “But we havent,” I broke in impetuously. “It is horrible to think of that grand woman languishing away in the power of such rascals." “If we had time,” Mr. Gryce persisted, “all it would be necessary to do would be to wait, they would come into our hands as easily and naturally as a hawk into the snare of the fowler. But as you say we have not, and there- fore, I would recommend a little beating of the bush directly about Mr. Blake's house; for if all my experience is not at fault, those men are already within eye-shot of the prey they in- tend to run down.” “But,” said I, “I have been living myself in that very neighborhood and know by this time the ways of every house in the vicinity. There is not a spot up and down the Avenue for ten blocks where they could hide away for two days much less two weeks. And as for the side streets,—why I could tell you the names of those who live in each house for a considerable distance. Yet if you say so I will go to work—" “Do, and meanwhile Schmidt and Rosenthal shall rummage the German quarter and even go through Williamsburgh and Hoboken. The A Confab. 2 II end justifies any amount of labor that can be spent upon this matter." “And you,” I asked. “Will do my part when you have done yours." CHAPTER XVI. THE MARK OF THE RED CROSS. ND what success did I meet? The best in the world. And by what means did 1 attain it? By that of the simplest, prettiest clue I ever came upon. But let me explain. When after a wearisome day spent in an in- effectual search through the neighborhood, I went home to my room, which as you remem- ber was a front one in a lodging-house on the opposite corner from Mr. Blake, I was so ab- sorbed in mind and perhaps I may say shaken in nerve, by the strain under which I had been laboring for some time now, that I stumbled up an extra flight of stairs, and without any sus- picion of the fact, tried the door of the room directly over mine. It is a wonder to me now that I coulá have made the mistake, for the halls were *otally dissimilar, the one above 2I2 2I4 The Mark of the Red Cross. of the visit I paid to the Schoenmakers' house in Vermont, I informed you of the red cross I noticed scrawled on the panel of one of the doors. It seemed a trivial thing at the time and made little or no impression upon me, the chances being that I should never have thought of it again, if I had not come upon the article just mentioned at a moment when my mind was full of those very Schoenmakers. But re- membered now, together with another half-for- gotten fact, —that some days previous I had been told by the woman who kept the house I was in, that the parties over my head (two men and a woman I believe she said) were giving her some trouble, but that they paid well and therefore she did not like to turn them out,-it aroused a vague suspicion in my mind, and led to my walking back to the door I had endeav- ored to open in my abstraction, and carefully looking at it. It was plain and white, rather ruder of make than those below, but offering no inducements for prolonged scrutiny. But not so with the one that stood at right angles to it on the left. Full in the centre of that, I beheld distinctly 2I 6 The Mark of the Red Cross. that I was indeed upon the trail of the men I was so anxious to encounter. With the breaking of day I was upon my feet. A rude step had gone up the stairs a few minutes before and I was all alert to follow. But I presently considered that my wisest course would be to sound the landlady and learn if possible with what sort of characters I had to deal. Routing her out of the kitchen, where at that early hour she was already en- gaged in domestic duties, I drew her into a re- tired corner and put my questions. She was not backward in replying. She had conceived an innocent liking for me in the short time I had been with her—a display of weakness for which I was myself, perhaps, as much to blame as she—and was only too ready to pour out her griefs into my sympathizing ear. For those men were a grief to her, acceptable as was the money they were careful to provide her with. They were not only always in the house, that is one of them, smoking his old pipe and black- ening up the walls, but they looked so shabby, and kept the girl so close, and if they did go out, came in at such unheard of hours. It 218 The Mark of the Red Cross. And without further disguise I acquainted the startled woman before me with the fact that I was not, as she had always considered, the clerk out of employment whose daily business it was to sally forth in quest of a situation, but a member of the city police. She was duly impressed and easily persuaded to second all my operations as far as her poor wits would allow, giving me free range of her upper story, and above all, promising that secrecy without which all my finely laid plans for capturing the rogues without raising a scandal, would fall headlong to the ground. Behold me, then, by noon of that same day domiciled in an apartment next to the one whose door bore that scarlet sign which had aroused within me such feverish hopes the night before. Clad in the seedy garments of a broken down French artist whose acquaintance I had once made, with something of his air and general appearance and with a few of his wretched daubs hung about on the white- washed wall, I commenced with every prospect of success as I thought, that quiet espionage of the hall and its inhabitants which I considered The Mark of the Red Cross. 22 I She threw back the shawl which she had held drawn tightly over her head, and advanced with an easy gliding step close to my side. “You do not disturb me, but my father is—is, well a trifle cross sometimes, and if he should speak up a little harsh now and then, you must not mind. I am sorry you are so ill.” What is there in some women's look, some women's touch that more than all beauty goes to the heart and subdues it. As she stood there before me in her dark worsted dress and coarse shawl, with her locks simply braided and her whole person undignified by art and ungraced by ornament, she seemed just by the power of her expression and the witchery of her manner, the loveliest woman I had ever beheld. “You are veree kind, veree good,” I mur- mured, half ashamed of my disguise, though it was assumed for the purpose of rescuing her. “Your sympathy goes to my heart.” Then as a deep growl of impatience rose from the room at my side, I motioned her to go and not irri- tate the man who seemed to have such control over her. “In a minute,” answered she, “first tell me what you are making." The Mark of the Red Cross. 223 these two desperate men, before making the attempt to capture them upon which so many interests hung. For while I felt it would be highly creditable to my sagacity, as well as valuable to my reputation as a detective, to restore these escaped convicts in any way possible into the hands of justice, my chief am- bition after all was to so manage the affair as to save the wife of Mr. Blake, not only from the consequences of their despair, but from the publicity and scandal attendant upon the open arrest of two heavily armed men. Strategy, therefore, rather than force was to be employed, and strategy to be successful must be founded upon the most thorough knowledge of the mat- ter with which one has to deal. Three days, then, did I give to the acquiring of that knowl- edge, the result of which was the possession of the following facts. 1. That the landlady was right when she told me the girl was never left alone, one of the men, if not the father then the son, always remaining with her. 2. That while thus guarded, she was not so restricted but that she had the liberty of walk- 224 The Mark of the Red Cross. ing in the hall,though never for any length of time. 3. That the cross on the door seemed to * possess some secret meaning connected with their presence in the house, it having been erased one evening when the whole three went out on some matter or other, only to be chalked on again when in an hour or so later, father and daughter returned alone. 4. That it was the father and not the son who made such purchases as were needed, while it was the son and not the father who carried on whatever operations they had on hand; nightfall being the favorite hour for the one and midnight for the other; though it not infrequently happened that the latter sauntered out for a short time also in the afternoon, prob- ably for the drink he could not go long without. 5. That they were men of great strength but little alertness; the stray glimpses I had had of them, revealing a breadth of back that was truly formidable, if it had not been joined to a heavi- ness of motion that proclaimed a certain stolidity of mind that was eminently in our favor. How best to use these facts in the building 226 The Mark of the Red Cross. “My father is in one of his impatient moods,” said she, “you had better go. I hope you will be successful," she murmured, glancing wist- fully at my basket. “What is that?" again came thundering on our ears. “Successful ? What are you two up to?” And we heard the rough clatter of advancing steps. “Go,” said she ; “you are weak and old; and when you come back, try and not cough." And she gave me a gentle push towards the door. “When I come back,” I began, but was forced to pause, the elder Schoenmaker having by this time reached the open doorway where he stood frowning in upon us in a way that made my heart stand still for her. “What are you two talking about?” said he, “and what have you got in your basket there?” he continued with a stride forward that shook the floor. “Only some little toys that he has been making, and is now going out to sell," was her low answer given with a quick deprecatory gesture such as I doubt if she ever used for herself. The Mark of the Red Cross. 227 “Nothing more ?” asked he in German with a red glare in the eye he turned towards her. “Nothing more,” replied she in the same tongue. “You may believe me.” He gave a deep growl and turned away. “If there was,” said he, “you know what would happen.” And unheeding the wild keen shudder that seized her at the word, making her insensible for the moment to all and every- thing about her, he laid one heavy hand upon her slight shoulder and led her from the room. I waited no longer than was necessary to carry my feeble and faltering steps appropriately down the stairs, to reach the floor below and gain the landlady's presence. “Do you go up,” said I, “and sit on those stairs till I come back. If you hear the least cry of pain or sound of struggle from that young girl's room, do you call at once for help. I will have a policeman standing on the corner below." The good woman nodded and proceeded at once to take up her work-basket. “Lucky there's a window up there, so I can see,” I heard her mutter. “I’ve no time to throw away even on deeds of charity." The Mark of the Red Cross. 229 ried rememberance of a possible contingency, went on to say, “But, by the way, in case we should need the coöperation of Mrs. Blake in what we have before us, you had better get a line written in French from Mrs. Daniels, ex- pressive of her belief in Mr. Blake's present affection for his wife. The latter will not other- wise trust us, or understand that we are to be obeyed in whatever we may demand. Let it be unsigned and without names in case of acci- dent; and if the housekeeper don't understand French, tell her to get some one to help her that does, only be sure that the handwriting em- ployed is her own.” Mr. Gryce seemed to perceive the wisdom of this precaution and promised to procure me such a note by a certain hour, after which I re- lated to him the various other details of the capture such as I had planned it, meeting to my secret gratification an unqualified approval that went far towards alleviating that wound to my pride which I had received from him in the beginning of this affair. “Let all things proceed as you have deter- mined, and we shall accomplish something that 23O The Mark of the Red Cross. it will be a life-long satisfaction to remember," said he ; “but you must be prepared for some twist of the screw which you do not anticipate. I never knew anything to go off just as one prognosticates it must, except once,” he added thoughtfully, “and then it was with a surprise attached to it that well nigh upset me notwith- standing all my preparations.” “You won a great success that day,” re- marked I. “I hope the fates will be as pro- pitious to me to-morrow. Failure now would break my heart.” - “But you won't fail,” exclaimed he. “I my- self am resolved to see you through this matter with credit.” And in this assurance I returned to my lodgings where I found the landlady sitting where I had left her, darning her twenty-third sock. “I have to mend for a dozen men and three boys," said she, “and the boys are the worst by a heap sight. Look at that, will you,” hold- ing up a darn with a bit of stocking attached. “That hole was made playing shinny.” I uttered my condolences and asked if any The Mark of the Red Cross. 23 I sound or disturbance had reached her ears from above. “O no, all is right up there; I've scarcely heard a whisper since you've been gone.” I gave her a pat on the chin scarcely consist- ent with my aged and tottering mien and pro- ceeded to shamble painfully to my room. CHAPTER XVII, THE CAPTURE. ROMPTLY next morning at the desig- nated hour, came the little note promised me by Mr. Gryce. It was put in my hand with many sly winks by the landlady herself, who developed at this crisis quite an adaptation for, if not absolute love of intrigue and mystery. Glancing over it—it was unsealed—and finding it entirely unintelligible, I took it for granted it was all right and put it by till chance, or if that failed, strategy, should give me an opportunity to communicate with Mrs. Blake. An hour passed; the doors of their rooms remained un- closed. A half hour more dragged its slow minutes away, and no sound had come from their precincts save now and then a mumbled word of parley between the father and son, a short command to the daughter, or a not-to-be- 232 The Capture. 233 restrained oath of annoyance from one or both of the heavy-limbed brutes as something was said or done to disturb them in their indolent repose. At last my impatience was to be no longer restrained. Rising, I took a bold reso- lution. If the mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet would go to the mountain. Taking my letter in the hand, I deliberately proceeded to the door marked with the ominous red cross and knocked. A surprised snarl from within, followed by a sudden shuffling of feet as the two men leaped upright from what I presume had been a recum- tent position, warned me to be ready to face defiance if not the fury of despair; and curb- ing with a determined effort the slight sinking of heart natural to a man of my make on the threshold of a very doubtful adventure, I awaited with as much apparent unconcern as possible, the quick advance of that light foot which seemed to be ready to perform all the biddings of these hardened wretches, much as it shrunk from following in the ways of their infamy. “Ah miss,” said I, as the door opened re- 234 The Capture. vealing in the gap her white face clouded with some new and sudden apprehension, “I beg your pardon but I am an old man, and I got a letter to-day and my eyes are so weak with the work I’ve been doing that I cannot read it. It is from some one I love, and would you be so kind as to read off the words for me and so re- lieve an old man from his anxiety.” The murmur of suspicion behind her, warned her to throw wide open the door. “Certainly,” said she, “if I can," taking the paper in her hand. “Just let me get a squint at that first,” said a sullen voice behind her; and the youngest of the two Schoenmakers stepped forward and tore the paper out of her grasp. “You are too suspicious," murmured she, looking after him with the first assumption of that air of power and determination which I had heard so eloquently described by the man who loved her. “There is nothing in those lines which concerns us; let me have them back.” “You hold your tongue,” was the brutal re- ply as the rough man opened the folded paper The Capture. 235 and read or tried to read what was written within. “Blast it it's French,” was his slow exclamation after a moment spent in this way. “See,” and he thrust it towards his father who stood frowning heavily a few feet off. “Of course, it's French,” cried the girl. “Would you write a note in English to father there ? The man's friends are French like himself, and must write in their own language.” “Here take it and read it out,” commanded her father; “and mind you tell us what it means. I'll have nothing going on here that I don't understand.” “Read me the French words first, miss,” said I. “It is my letter and I want to know what my friend has to say to me." Nodding at me with a gentle look, she cast her eyes on the paper and began to read: “Calmez vous, mon amie, il vous aime et il vous cherche. Dans quatre heures vous serez heureuse. Al- lous du courage, et surtout soyez maitre de vous même.” “Thanks!” I exclaimed in a calm matter-of- fact way as I perceived the sudden tremor that seized her as she recognized the handwriting 236 The Capture. and realized that the words were for her, “My friend says he will pay my week's rent and bids me be at home to receive him,” said I, turning upon the two ferocious faces peering over her shoulder, with a look of meek unsus- piciousness in my eye, that in a theatre would have brought down the house. - “Is that what those words say, you?” asked the father, pointing over her shoulder to the paper she held. “I will translate for you word by word what it says," replied she, nerving herself for the crisis till her face was like marble, though I could see she could not prevent the gleam of secret rapture that had visited her, from flash- ing fitfully across it. “Calmez vous, mon amie. Do not be afraid, my friend. J/ vous aime et il vous cherche. He loves you and is hunting for you. Dans quatre heures vous serez heureuse. In four hours you will be happy. Allons du cour- age, et surtout soyez maitre de vous méme. Then take courage and above all preserve your self- possession. It is the French way of expres- sing one's self," observed she. “I am glad your friend is disposed to help you,” she con- The Capture. 237 tinued, giving me back the letter with a smile. “I am afraid you needed it.” In a sort of maze I folded up the letter, bowed my very humble thanks to her and shuffled slowly back. The fact is I had no words; I was utterly dumbfounded. Half way through that letter, with whose contents you must remember I was unacquainted, I would have given my whole chance of expected re- ward to have stopped her. Read out such words as those before these men! Was she crazy? But how naturally at the conclusion did she with a word make its language seem consistent with the meaning I had given it. With a fresh sense of my obligation to her, I hurried to my room, there to count out the minutes of another long hour in anxious ex- pectation of her making that endeavor to com- municate with me, which her new hopes and fears must force her to feel almost necessary to her existence. At length, my confidence in her was rewarded. Coming out into the hall, she hurried past my door, her finger on her lip. I immediately rose and stood on the threshold with another paper in my hand, which I had 238 The Capture. prepared against this opportunity. As she glided back, I put it in her hand, and warning her with a look not to speak, resumed my usual occupation. The words I had written were as follows: At or as near the time as possible of your brother's going out, you are to come to this room wrapped in an extra skirt and with your shawl over your head. Leave the skirt and shawl behind you, and withdraw at once to the room at the head of the stairs. You are not to speak, and you are not to vary from the plan thus laid down. Your brother and father are to be arrested, whether or no; but if you will do as this commands, they will be arrested without bloodshed and without shame to one you know. Her face while she read these lines, was a study, but I dared not soften toward it. Drop- ping the paper from her hand, she gave me one inquiring look. But I pointed deter- minedly to the words lying upward on the floor, and would listen to no appeal. My re- solve had its effect. Bowing her head with a sorrowful gesture, she laid her hand on her heart, looked up and glided from the room. I took up that paper and tore it into bits. The Capture. 239 And now for the first time since I had been in the house, I closed the door of my room. I had a part to perform that rendered the drop- ping of my disguise indispensable. The old French artist had finished his work, and hence- forth must merge into Q. the detective. Short- ly before two o'clock my assistants began to arrive. First, Mr. Gryce appeared on the scene and was stowed away in a large room on the other side of mine. Next, two of the most agile, as well as muscular men in the force who, thanks to having taken off their shoes in the lower hall, gained the same refuge without awakening the suspicions of those we were anxious to surprise. Lastly, the landlady who went into the closet to which I had bidden Mrs. Blake retire after leaving in my room the articles I had mentioned. All was now ready and waiting for the de- parture of the youngest Schoenmaker. Would he disappoint us and remain at home that day? Had any suspicions been awakened in the stolid breasts of these men, that would serve to make them more watchful than usual against running unnecessary risks? No; at or near the time 24O The Capture. for the clock to strike two, their door opened and the tread of a lumbering foot was heard in the hall. On it came, passing my room with a rude stamping that gradually grew less distinct as the hardy rough went down the corridor, brushing the wall behind which Mr. Gryce and his men lay concealed with his thick cane, and even stopping to light his pipe in front of the small apartment where cowered our good landlady with her eternal basket of mending in her lap. At length all was quiet, and throwing open my door, I withdrew into a small closet connec- ted with my room, to wait with indescribable impatience, the appearance of Mrs. Blake. She came in a very few minutes, remained for an instant, and departed, leaving behind her as I had requested, the skirt and shawl in which she had left her father's presence. I at once endued myself in these articles of apparel—taking care to draw the shawl well over my head—and with a pocket handkerchief to my face, (a proceeding made natural enough by the sneeze which at that very moment I took care should assail me) walked boldly back to the room from which she had just come. The Capture. 24I The door was of course ajar, and as I swung it open with as near a simulation of her manner as possible, the vision of her powerful father lolling on a bench directly before me, offered anything but an encouraging spectacle to my eyes. But doubling myself almost together with as ladylike an atch-ee as my masculine nos- trils would allow, I succeeded in closing the door and reaching a low stool by the window without calling from him anything worse than a fretful “I hope you are not going to bark too.” I did not reply to this of course, but sat with my face turned towards the street in an attitude which I hoped would awaken his attention sufficiently to cause him to get up and come over to my side. For as he sat face to the door it would be impossible to take him by surprise, and that, now that I saw what a huge and muscu- lar creature he was, seemed to me to be the only safe method before us. But, whether from the sullenness of his disposition or the very evident laziness of the moment, he manifested no dis- position to move, and hearing or thinking I did, the stealthy advance of Mr. Gryce and his com- panions down the hall, I allowed myself to give 242 The Capture. way to a suppressed exclamation, and leaning forward, pressed my forehead against the pane of glass before me as if something of absorbing interest had just taken place in the street be- neath. His fears at once took alarm. Bounding up with a curse, he strode towards me, muttering, “What's up now? What's that you are looking at " reaching my side just as Mr. Gryce and his two men softly opened the door and with a quick leap threw their arms about him, closing upon him with a force he could not resist, desperate as he was and mighty in the huge strength of an unusually developed mus- cular organization. “You, you girl there, are to blame for this!” came mingled with curses from his lips, as with one huge pant he submitted to his captors. “Only let me get my hand well upon you . once—Damn it!” he suddenly exclaimed, drag- ging the whole three men forward in his effort to get his mouth down to my ear, “go and rub that sign out on the door or I'll—you know what I'll do well enough. Do you hear?” Rising, still with face averted, I proceeded to The Capture. 243 oath that rings in my ears yet, he lifted his heavy cane and advanced upon me with a bound, only to meet the same fate as his father at the hands of the watchful detectives. Not, however, before that heavy cane came down upon my head in a way to lay me in a heap at his feet and to sow the seeds of that blinding head-ache, which has afflicted me by spells ever since. But this termination of the affair was no more than I had feared from the begin- ning; and indeed it was as much to protect Mrs. Blake from the wrath of these men, as from any requirements of the situation I had assumed the disguise I then wore. I there- fore did not allow this mishap to greatly trouble me, unpleasant as it was at the time, but, as soon as ever I could do so, rose from the floor and throwing off my strange habili- ments, proceeded to finish up to my satisfac- tion, the work already so successfully begun. Love and Duty. 249 make conditions, and what do you think we are that you expect us to keep them? Can you do anymore than put us back from where we came from ?" For reply I took from my pocket the ring I had fished out of the ashes of their kitchen stove on that memorable visit to their house, and holding it up before their faces, looked them steadily in the eye. A sudden wild glare followed by a bluish palor that robbed their countenances of their usual semblance of daring ferocity, answered me beyond my fondest hopes. “I got that out of the stove where you had burned your prison clothing,” said I. “It is a cheap affair, but it will send you to the gallows if I choose to use it against you. The pedlar—” “Hush,” exclaimed the father in a low choked tone greatly in contrast to any he had yet used in all our dealings with him. “Throw that ring out of the window and I promise to hold my tongue about any matter you don't want spoke of I'm not a fool—" “Nor I,” was my quick reply, as I restored the ring to my pocket. “While that remains Love and Duty. 251 ready to promise that, are you not?” he inquir- ed turning to Mr. Blake. That gentleman bowed and named the sum, which was liberal enough, and the bank. “But," continued the detective, ignoring the sudden flash of eye that passed between the father and son, “let me or any of us hear of a word having been uttered by you, which in the remotest way shall suggest that you have in the world such a connection as Mrs. Blake, and the money not only stops going into the bank, but old scores shall be raked up against you with a zeal which if it does not stop your mouth in one way, will in another, and that with a suddenness you will not altogether relish." The men with a dogged air from which the bravado had however fled, turned and looked from one to the other of us in a fearful, inquir- ing way that duly confessed to the force of the impression made by these words upon their slow but not unimaginative minds. “Do you three promise to keep our secret if we keep yours?” muttered the father with an uneasy glance at my pocket. “We certainly do,” was our solemn return. 252 Love and Duty. “Very well; call in the girl and let me just look at her, then, before we go. We won't say nothing,” continued he, seeing Mr. Blake shrink, “only she is my daughter and if I cannot bid her good-bye—" “Let him see his child,” cried Mr. Blake turning with a shudder to the window. “I–I wish it,” added he. Straightway with hasty foot I left the room. Going to the little closet where I had ordered his wife to remain concealed, I knocked and entered. She was crouched in an attitude of prayer on the floor, her face buried in her hands, and her whole person breathing that agony of suspense that is a torture to the sensitive soul. “Mrs. Blake," said I, dismissing the landlady who stood in helpless distress beside her, “the arrest has been satisfactorily made and your father calls for you to say good-bye before go- ing away with us. Will you come 2" “But my—my—Mr. Blake?” exclaimed she leaping to her feet. “I am sure I heard his footstep in the hall ?” “He is with your father and brother. It was at his command I came for you." Dove and Duty. 253 A gleam hard to interpret flashed for an in- stant over her face. With her eye on the door she towered in her womanly dignity, while thoughts innumerable seemed to rush in wild succession through her mind. “Will you not come 2 " I urged. “I–," she paused. “I will go see my father," she murmured, “but—" Suddenly she trembled and drew back; a step was in the hall, on the threshold, at her side; Mr. Blake had come to reclaim his bride. “Mr. Blake ” The word came from her in a low tone, shaken with the concentrated anguish of many a month of longing and despair, but there was no invitation in its sound, and he who had held out his arms, stopped and sur- veying her with a certain deprecatory glance in his proud eye, said, “You are right; I have first my acknowl- edgments to make and your forgiveness to ask before I can hope—" “No, no,” she broke in, “your coming here is enough, I request no more. If you felt un- kindly toward me—" 254 Love and Duty. “Unkindly ?" A world of love thrilled in that word. “Luttra, I am your husband and rejoice that I am so ; it is to lay the devotion of my heart and life at your feet that I seek your presence this hour. The year has taught me—ah, what has not the year taught me of the worth of her I so recklessly threw from me on my wedding day. Luttra,”—he held out his hand—“will you crown all your other acts of devotion with a pardon that will restore me to my manhood and that place in your esteem which I covet above every other earthly good?” - Her face which had been raised to his with that earnest look we knew so well, softened with an ineffable smile, but still she did not lay her hand in his. “And you say this to me in the very hour of my father's and brother's arrest! With the remembrance in your mind of their bound and abject forms lying before you guarded by police; knowing too, that they deserve their ignominy and the long imprisonment that a- waits them " “No, I say it on the day of the discovery Love and Duty. 255 and the restoration of that wife for whom I have long searched, and to whom when found I have no word to give but welcome, welcome, welcome." With the same deep smile she bowed her head, “Now let come what will, I can never again be unhappy," were the words I caught, uttered in the lowest of undertones. But in another moment her head had regained its steady poise and a great change had passed over her manner. “Mr. Blake,” said she, “you are good; how good, I alone can know and duly appreciate who have lived in your house this last year and seen with eyes that missed nothing, just what your surroundings are and have been from the earliest years of your proud life. But good- ness must not lead you into the committal of an act you must and will repent to your dying day; or if it does, I who have learned my duty in the school of adversity, must show the courage of two and forbid what every secret instinct of my soul declares to be only pro- vocative of shame and sorrow. You would take me to your heart as your wife; do you realize what that means ?" 256 Love and Duty. “I think I do,” was his earnest reply. “Re- lief from heart-ache, Luttra." Her smooth brow wrinkled with a sudden spasm of pain but her firm lips did not quiver. “It means,” said she, drawing nearer but not with that approach which indicates yielding, “it means, shame to the proudest family that lives in the land. It means silence as regards a past blotted by suggestions of crime; and apprehension concerning a future across which the shadow of prison walls must for so many years lie. It means, the hushing of certain words upon beloved lips; the turning of cherished eyes from visions where fathers and daughters ay, brothers and sisters are seen joined together in tender companionship or loving embrace. It means,—God help me to speak out—a home without the sanctity of memories; a husband without the honors he has been accustomed to enjoy; a wife with a fear gnawing like a ser- pent into her breast; and children, yes, per- haps children from whose innocent lips the sacred word of grandfather can never fall with- out wakening a blush on the cheeks of their 258 Love and Duty. the joy and exaltation you offer, because your position as a gentleman, and your happiness as a man equally requires it." - “My happiness as a man!” he broke in. “Ah, Luttra if you love me as I do you—" “I might perhaps yield," she allowed with a faint smile. “But I love you as a girl brought up amid surroundings from which her whole being recoiled, must love the one who first brought light into her darkness and opened up to her longing feet the way to a life of culture, purity and honor. I were the basest of women could I consent to repay such a boundless favor—" - “But Luttra," he again broke in, “you mar- ried me knowing what your father and brother were capable of committing.” “Yes, yes; I was blinded by passion, a girl's passion, Mr. Blake, born of glamour and grati- tude; not the self-forgetting devotion of a woman who has tasted the bitterness of life and so learned its lesson of sacrifice. I may not have thought, certainly I did not realize, what I was doing. Besides, my father and broth- er were not convicted criminals at that time, 26o Love and Duty. do not ask me to bury that heart in any more exalted spot, than some humble country home, where my life may be spent in good deeds and my love in prayers for the man I hold dear, and because I hold dear, leave to his own high path among the straight and unshadowed courses of the world.” And with a gesture that inexorably shut him off while it expressed the most touching appeal, she glided by him and took her way to the room where her father and brother awaited her presence. Explanations. 263 ing there with no one in the room but myself. she steadied herself up as one who is conscious that all the storms of heaven are about to break upon her; and turning slowly to the door, waited with arms crossed and a still determina- tion upon her brow, the coming of the feet of him whose resolve she felt must have, as yet been only strengthened by her resistance. She had not long to wait. Almost with the closing of the street door upon the detectives and their prisoners, Mr. Blake followed by Mrs. Daniels and another lady whose thick veil and long cloak but illy concealed the patrician features and stately form of the Countess De Mirac, entered the room. The surprise had its effect; Luttra was evi- dently for the moment thrown off her guard. “Mrs. Daniels' " she breathed, holding out her hands with a longing gesture. “My dear mistress " returned that good woman, taking those hands in hers but in a re- spectful way that proved the constraint imposed upon her by Mr. Blake's presence. “Do I see you again and safe P” “You must have thought I cared little for Aaplanations. 265 “No," was the slow reply, “I found myself forced that night to inflict upon myself a little wound. It is nothing, let it go." “No, Luttra I cannot let it go,” said her husband, advancing towards her with something like gentle command. “I must hear not only about this but all the other occurrences of that night. How came they to find you in the refuge you had attained?" “I think," said she in a low tone the underly- ing suffering of which it would be hard to des- cribe, “that it was not to seek me they first invaded your house. They had heard you were a rich man, and the sight of that ladder running up the side of the new extension was too much for them. Indeed I know that it was for pur- poses of robbery they came, for they had hired this room opposite you some days previous to making the attempt. You see they were almost destitute of money and though they had some buried in the cellar of the old house in Vermont, they dared not leave the city to procure it. My brother was obliged to do so later, however. It was a surprise to them seeing me in your house. They had reached 266 A., planations. the roof of the extension and were just lifting up the corner of the shade I had dropped across the open window—I always open my window a few minutes before preparing to retire—when I rose from the chair in which I had been brood- ing, and turned up the gas. I was combing my hair at the time and so of course they recog- nized me. Instantly they gave a secret signal I, alas, remembered only too well, and crouching back, bade me put out the light that they might enter with safety. I was at first too much startled to realize the consequences of my act- tion, and with some vague idea that they had discovered my retreat and come for purposes of advice or assistance, I did what they bid. Im- mediately they threw back the shade and came in, their huge figures looming frightfully in the faint light made by a distant gas lamp in the street below. “What do you want?’ were my first words uttered in a voice I scarcely recog- nized for my own, ‘why do you steal on me like this in the night and through an open window fifty feet from the ground? Arent you afraid you will be discovered and sent back to the prison from which you have escaped?' 27o A., planations. of my husband. Besides, they were my own near kin, remember, and so had some little claim upon my consideration, at least to the point of my not personally betraying them un- less they menaced immediate and actual harm. The escape by the window which would have been a difficult task for most women to per- form, was easy enough for me. I was brought up to wild ways you know, and the descent of a ladder forty feet long was a comparatively trivial thing for me to accomplish. It was the tearing away from a life of silent peace, the re- entrance of my soul into an atmosphere of sin and deadly plotting, that was the hard thing, the difficult dreadful thing which hung weights to my feet, and made me well nigh mad. And it was this which at the sight of a policeman in the street led me to make an effort to escape. But it was not successful. Though I was for- tunate enough to free myself from the grasp of my father and brother, I reached the gate on street only to encounter the eyes of him whose displeasure I most feared, looking sternly upon me from the other side. The shock was too much for me in my then weak and unnerved 272 A:aplanations. and a lift out of the country. If I would se- cure them these, they would trouble me no more. But I could not concede to anything of that nature, of course, and the consequence was these long weeks of imprisonment and suspense; weeks that I do not now begrudge, seeing they have brought me the assurance of your esteem and the knowledge, that wher- ever I go, your thoughts will follow me with compassion if not with love.” And having told her story and thus an- swered his demands, she assumed once more the position of lofty reserve that seemed to shut him back from advance like a wall of in- vincible crystal. CHAPTER XX. THE BOND THAT UNITES. UT he was not to be discouraged. “And after all this, after all you have suffered for my sake and your own, do you think you have a right to deny me the one desire of my heart? How can you reconcile it with your ideas of devotion, Luttra?” “My ideas of devotion look beyond the present, Mr. Blake. It is to save you from years of wearing anxiety that I consent to the infliction upon you of a passing pang.” He took a bold step forward. “Luttra, you do not know a man's heart. To lose you now would not merely inflict a passing pang, but sow the seeds of a grief that would go with me to the grave.” “Do you then"—she began, but paused blushing. Mrs. Daniels took the opportunity to approach her on the other side. 273 276 The Bond that Unites. “Perhaps the sight of this paper will help you,” said she. And turning to Mr. Blake she exclaimed, “Your pardon for what I am called upon to do. A duty has been laid upon me which I cannot avoid, hard as it is for an old servant to perform. This paper—but it is no more than just that you, sir, should see and read it first.” And with a hand that quivered with fear or some equally strong emotion, she put it in his clasp. The exclamation that rewarded the act made us all start forward. “My father's hand- writing!” were his words. “Executed under my eye,” observed Mrs. Daniels. - His glance ran rapidly down the sheet and rested upon the final signature. “Why has this been kept from me?” de- manded he, turning upon Mrs. Daniels with Stern neSS. “Your father so willed it,” was her reply. “‘For a year' was his command, ‘you shall keep this my last will and testament which I give into your care with my dying hands, a secret from the world. At the expiration of ------- *=====< * - = A UE LICA T/OAVS OF G. P. A UTAVA M'S SOAVS. THE NEW PLUTARCH: Lives of those who have made the History of the World. Edited by WALTER BESANT, 16mo, cloth extra, per volume, . . • $1 Oo “We should place ‘The New Plutarch' among the very best of the recent series. . . . ... The volumes rise to the full dignity of biographical studies.”—A. P. Pvening Maiz. I. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. By CHARLEs G. 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