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CIHM/ICMH 
 
 Microfiche 
 
 Series. 
 
 CIHM/ICMH 
 Collection de 
 microfiches. 
 
 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions 
 
 Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
 1980 
 
Technical Notes / Notes techniques 
 
 The Institute has attempted to obtain the best 
 original copy available for filming. Physical 
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 L'Institut a microfilm^ le mailleur exemplaire 
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 reproduction sont notis ci-dessous. 
 
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 Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ 
 Pages d6color6es, tachetdes ou piqudes 
 
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 13 
 
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The images appearing here are the best quality 
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 conformity avac les conditions du contrat de 
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 The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall 
 contain the symbol — ^- (meaning CONTINUED"), 
 or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever 
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 Un des symboles suivants apparaftra sur la der- 
 niire image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: 
 le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbols 
 V signifie "FIN". 
 
 The original copy was borrowed from, and 
 filmed with, the kcind consent of the following 
 institution: 
 
 National Library of Canada 
 
 L'exemplaire filmA f ut reproduit grAce A la 
 g6n6rosit6 de I'dtablissement prAteur 
 suivant : 
 
 Bibliothdque nationale du Canada 
 
 Maps or plates too large to be entirely included 
 in one exposure are filmed beginning in the 
 upper lift hand corner, left to right and top to 
 bottom, as many frames as required. The 
 following diagrams illustrate the method: 
 
 Les cartes ou les planches trop grandes pour Atre 
 reproduites en un seul clichA sont filmtes A 
 partir de I'angle supArieure gauche, de gauche A 
 droite et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre 
 d'images nAcessaire. Le diagramme suivant 
 illustre la mdthode : 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 8 
 
 6 
 
\ 
 
 tT^'^J:' 
 
 i-*1 
 
 V 
 
 
pp^ff 
 
 • i 
 
 ■^B 
 
 sas 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE 
 
 ETC. 
 
 Hv ROBERT BARR (LUKE SHARP; 
 
 AUTHOK OF "in a SIKAMliK CIIAIK," ETC. 
 
 V 
 
 W'illiain Brentoii.-~p. i. 
 
 \Vl Til FOR TV'SE VEN IL L US TK A TIO NS 
 UY C. M. D. HAMMOND G. D. HAMMOND, AND HAL HURST 
 
 31 n d n 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCAUH.LV 
 
 1893 
 
 -/.»: 
 
 .**^ 
 
mmm^mmmmm 
 
« 
 
 TO 
 
 AN H0NE8T MAN 
 
 AND 
 
 A GOOD WOMAN. 
 
rONTENTS. 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE 
 ONE DAY'S COTTRTSinP... 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME ... 
 
 PAQK 
 1 
 
 125 
 ... 219 
 
PRTNCTPAL TLLTTSTRATIONS. 
 
 lUi(i\ placed his portmanteau 
 
 on tlie (look Froiiiupiece 
 William Brenton ... Title 
 " Do you think I sliall bo 
 
 miased ? " 
 
 1 1(! again sat in the rocking- 
 
 ciiair 
 
 Ho saw stand in f? besidt- iiim 
 
 a stranger 
 
 A Venetian Cafe' 
 
 Venice 
 
 In Venice 
 
 The Brenton Murder 
 
 Mrs. Brent<in 
 
 (iold 
 
 I'ublioity 
 
 The Broken Toy 
 
 " She's pretty as a picttire " 
 
 liaising the Veil 
 
 Jane ... 
 
 The Detective 
 
 Jane Morton 
 
 "Oh, why did I do it?" ... 
 " How much time do you 
 
 give me?" 
 
 In the prisoner's dock . . 
 " I feel ver J grateful to you " 
 "Here's the detailed report" 
 "Guilty! Guilty of what?" 
 And then read it over to 
 
 himself 
 
 They drove along the silent 
 
 S vrt:?6LD ••• ••• ••• 
 
 She stamped her pretty foot 
 
 Ou IL ••• ••• ••• 
 
 Pasted thoni carefully to- 
 gether 
 
 rAOK 
 
 C 
 '.( 
 18 
 Iti 
 23 
 25 
 
 :io 
 lU 
 35 
 45 
 
 48 
 (JO 
 73 
 
 78 
 81 
 
 00 
 i)l 
 97 
 1)0 
 113 
 
 125 
 
 129 
 
 138 
 
 130 
 
 PAOK 
 
 She gave the letter to her 
 husband 147 
 
 MisH Soramerton accom- 
 panied by old Mrs. 
 Perrault l.'»7 
 
 IMiss Sommorton walked 
 rapidly along the wood- 
 land path IG3 
 
 She gazed dreamily at the 
 great Fulls 104 
 
 He was lying at full length, 
 with his camera-box under 
 his head for a pillow ... 170 
 
 '•You are not rich, tlien, i 
 imagine?" 185 
 
 " Beacon Street is Boston " 18S 
 
 Smoking in a meditative 
 manner 107 
 
 "Mr. Buel, I think?" ... 223 
 
 Mr. Hodden quickly found 
 that the appeal to CJoesar 
 was not well timed ... 241 
 
 "If 1 haven't robbed that 
 poor innocent young man 
 of a book" 242 
 
 " Uidti't you buy this book 
 for yourself?" 245 
 
 Entering the state-room, he 
 found Hodden still there 248 
 
 Ho found her reading his 
 lK)ok 252 
 
 At first Mr. Hodden held 
 aloof from his fellow- 
 passengers 200 
 
 The conversation was here 
 interrupted by Mr. Hod- 
 den 2C3 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ''My dear." said William Brenton to bis wife, "do 
 you think I shall be missed if I go upstairs for a while ? 
 I am not feeling at all well." 
 
 " Do you think 1 shall he missnl 1 " 
 
 "Oh, I'm so sorry, Will," replied Alice, looking 
 concerned ; " I will tell them you are indisposed." 
 '«5 " No, don't do that," was the answer; *' they are 
 
^ 
 
 FliOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 having a very good time, and I suppose the dancing 
 will hegin shortly ; so I don't think they will miss 
 me. If I feel hotter I will ho down in an hour or two ; 
 if not, I shall go to hed. Now, dear, don't worry ; hut 
 have a good time with the rest of tbem." 
 
 William Brenton went quietly upstairs to his room, 
 and sat down in the darkness in a rc^ king chair. 
 Remaining there a few minutes, and not I'eeling any 
 better, he slowly undressed and went to bed. Faint 
 echoes reached him of laughter and song; finally, 
 music began, and he felt, rather than heard, the 
 pulsation of dancing feet. Once, when the music had 
 ceased for a time, Alice tiptoed into the room, and 
 Bald in a quiet voice — 
 
 ** How are you feeling, Will ? any hotter ? " 
 
 " A little," he answered drowsily. " Don't worry 
 about me ; I shall drop off to sleep presently, and 
 shall be all right in the morning. Good night." 
 
 He still heard in a dreamy sort of way the music, 
 the dancing, the laughter ; and gradually there came 
 oblivion, which finally merged into a dream, the most 
 strange and vivid vision he had ever experienced. It 
 seemed to him that he sat again in the rocking chair 
 near the bed. Although he knew the room was dark, 
 he had no difficulty in seeing everything perfectly. 
 He heard, now quite plainly, the music and dancing 
 downstairs, but what gave a ghastly significance to 
 his dream was the sight of his own person on the 
 bed. The eyes were half open, and the face was 
 drawn and rigid. The colour of the face was the 
 white, greyish tint of death. 
 
 " This is a nightmare," said Brenton to himself; 
 "I must try and wake myself." But he seemed 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 3 
 
 powerless to do this, and he sat there looking at his 
 own body while the night wore on. Once he rose and 
 went to the side of the bed. Ho seemed to have 
 reached it merely by wishing himself there, and he 
 
 lie (iijitiii sal in the roching-chair. 
 
 passed his hand over the face, but no fueling of touch 
 was communicated to him. He hoped his wife would 
 come and rouse him from this fearful semblance of a 
 dream, and, wishing this, he found himself standing 
 at her side, amidst the throng downstairs, who were 
 now merrily saying good-bye. Brenton tried to speak 
 to his wife, but although he was conscious of speak- 
 ing, she did not seem to hear him, or know he was 
 there. 
 
 The party had been one given on Christmas Eve, 
 and as it was now two o'clock in the morning, the 
 departing guests were wishing Mrs. Brenton a merry 
 Christmas. Finally, the door closed on the last of 
 the revellers, and Mrs. Brenton stood for a moment 
 
w 
 
 4 
 
 FBOM WHOSE BOVENE. 
 
 giving instructions to the sleepy servants ; then, with 
 a tired sigh, she turned and went upstairs, Brenton 
 walking by her side until they came to the darkened 
 room, which she entered on tiptoe. 
 
 *'Now," said Brenton to himself, '* she will arouse 
 me from this appalling dream." It was not that 
 there was anything dreadful in the dream itself, but 
 the clearness with which he saw everything, and the 
 fact that his mind was perfectly wide awake, gave 
 him an uneasiness which he found impossible to 
 shake off. 
 
 In the dim light from the hall his wife prepared to 
 retire. The horrible thought struck Brenton that she 
 imagined he was sleeping soundly, and was anxious 
 not to awaken him — for of course she could have no 
 realization of the nightmare he was in — so once again 
 he tried to communicate with her. He spoke her 
 name over and over again, but she proceeded quietly 
 with her preparations for the night. At last she 
 crept in at the other side of the bed, and in a few 
 moments was asleep. Once more Brenton struggled 
 to awake, but with no effect. He heard the clock strike 
 three, and then four, and then five, but there was no 
 apparent change in his dream. He feared that he 
 might be in a trance, from which, perhaps, he would 
 not awake until it was too late. Grey daylight began 
 to brighten the window, and he noticed that snow 
 was quietly falling outside, the flakes noiselessly 
 beating against the window pane. Every one slept 
 late that morning, but at last he heard the prepara- 
 tions for breakfast going on downstair^ — the light 
 clatter of china on the table, the rattle of the grate ; 
 and, as he thought of these things, he found himself 
 
 ■iJi 
 
 •1 
 -5* 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. $ 
 
 in the dining-room, and sav; the trim little maid, who 
 still yawned every now and then, laying the plates 
 in their places. He went upstairs again, and stood 
 watching the sleeping face of his wife. Once she 
 raised her hand above her head, and he thought she 
 was going to awake ; ultimately her eyes opened, and 
 she gazed for a time at the ceiling, seemingly trying 
 to recollect the events of the day before. 
 
 "Will," she said dreamily, "are you still 
 asleep ? " 
 
 There was no answer from the rigid figure at the 
 front of the bed. After a few moments she placed 
 her hand quietly over the sleeper's face. As she did 
 so, her startled eyes showed that she had received a 
 shock. Instantly she sat upright in bed, and looked 
 for one brief second on the face of the sleeper beside 
 her ; then, with a shriek that pierced the stillness of 
 the room, she sprang to the floor. 
 
 " Will ! Will ! " she cried, " speak to me ! What 
 is the matter with you ? Oh, my God ! my God ! " 
 she cried, staggering back from the bed. Then, with 
 shriek after shriek, she ran blindly through the hall 
 to the stairway, and there fell fainting on the floor. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 William Brenton knelt beside the fallen lady, and 
 tried to soothe and comfort her, but it was evident 
 that she was insensible. 
 
 "It is useless," said a voice by his side. 
 
 Brenton looked up suddenly, and saw standing 
 beside him a stranger. Wondering for a moment 
 
 k 
 
6 FPiOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 how he got there, and thinking that after all it was a 
 
 dream, he said — 
 
 ** What is useless ? She is not dead." 
 
 ** No," answered the stranger, " but Don are." 
 
 lie saw standing beside him a stranger. 
 
 *' I am what ? " cried Brenton. 
 
 *' You are what the material world calls dead, 
 although in reality you have just begun to live." 
 
 ** And who are you ? " asked Brenton. *' And how 
 did you get in here ? " 
 
 
 ' rfMHW m .^lumunwia 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 7 
 
 Tlio other smiled. 
 
 ''How did you get in hero'?" be said, repeating 
 Brenton's words. 
 
 ** I ? Why, this is my own liouse." 
 
 " Was, you mean." 
 
 *' I mean that it is. lam in my own house. This 
 lady is my wife." 
 
 *' Was,'' said the other. 
 
 "I do not understand you," cried Brcnton, very 
 much annoyed. "But, in any case, your presence 
 and your remarks are out of place here.",; 
 
 " My dear sir," said the other, '' I merely wish to 
 aid you and to explain to you anything that you may 
 desire to know about your new condition. You arc 
 now fi«. from the incumbrance of your body. You 
 have already had some experience of the additional 
 powers which that riddance has given you. You have 
 also, I am afraid, had an inkling of the fact that the 
 spiritual condition has its limitations. If you desire 
 to communicate with those whom you have left, I 
 would strongly advise you to postpone the attempt, 
 and to leave this place, where you will experience 
 only pain and anxiety. Come with me, and learn 
 something of your changed circumstances." ■ 
 
 '*I am in a dream," said Brenton, "and you are 
 part of it. I went to sleep last night, and am still 
 dreaming. This is a nightmare, and it will soon be 
 over." 
 
 "You are sajung that," said the other, "merely 
 to convince yourself. It is now becoming apparent 
 to you that this is not a dream. If dreams exist, 
 it was a dream which you left, but you have now 
 become awake. If you really think it is a dream, 
 
 I 
 
8 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 then do as I tell you — come with me and leave it, 
 because 3^011 must admit that this part of the dream 
 is at least very unpleasant." 
 
 "It is not very pleasant," assented Brenton. As 
 he spoke the bewildered servants came rushing up 
 the stairs, picked up their fallen mistress, and laid 
 her on a sofa. Tlieyrubbe,; her hands and dashed 
 water in her face. She opened her eyes, and then 
 closed them again with a shudder. 
 
 " Sarah," she cried, " have I been dreaming, or is 
 your master dead ? " 
 
 The two girls turned pale at this, and the 
 elder of them went boldly into the room which 
 her mistress had just left. She waa evidently a 
 young woman who had herself under good control, 
 but she came out sobbing, with her apron to her 
 eyes. 
 
 '' Come, come," said the man who stood beside 
 Brenton, " haven't you had enough of this ? Come 
 with me ; you can return to this house if you wish ; " 
 and together they passed out of the room into the 
 crisp air of Christmas morning. But, although 
 Brenton knew it must be cold, he had no feeling of 
 either cold or warmth. 
 
 { ** There are a number of us," said the stranger to 
 Brenton, " who take turns at watching the sick-bed 
 when a man is about to die, and when his spirit 
 leaves his body, we are there to explain, or comfort, 
 or console. Your death was so sudden that we had 
 no warning of it. You did not feel ill before last 
 night, did you? " 
 
 ** No," replied Brenton. *'I felt perfectly well 
 until after dinner last night." 
 
 ^L. 
 
FBOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 IS 
 
 *'Did you leave your affairs in reasonably good 
 order?" 
 
 "Yes," said Brenton, trying to recollect. "I 
 think they will find everything perfectly straight." ^ 
 
 " Tell me a little of your history, if you do not 
 mind," inquired the other ; ** it will help me in 
 trying to initiate you into our new order of things 
 here." 
 
 *' Well," replied Brenton, and he wondered at 
 himself for falling so easily into the other's assump- 
 tion that he was a dead man, " I was what they 
 call on the earth in reasonably good circumstances. 
 My estate should be worth 3100,000. I had !?75,000 
 insurance on my life, and if all that is paid, 
 it should net my widow not far from a couple of 
 hundred thousand." 
 
 " How long have you been married ? " said the 
 other. 
 
 "Only about six months. I was married last 
 July, and we went 
 for a trip abroad. 
 We were married 
 quietly, and left al- 
 most immediately 
 afterwards, so we 
 thought, on our re- 
 turn, it would not 
 be a bad plan to 
 give a Christmas 
 Eve dinner, and in- ^ Venetian caf^. 
 
 vite some of our friends. That," he said, hesitating 
 a moment, "was last night. Shortly after dinner, 
 I began to feel rather ill, and went upstairs to rest 
 
lO 
 
 FliOM WHOSE BOUnNE, 
 
 for a while ; and if what you say is true, the first 
 thing I knew I found myself dead." 
 
 '* Alive," corrected the other. 
 
 **Well, alive, though at present I feel I belong 
 more to the world I have left than I do to the 
 world I appear to be in. I must confess, although 
 you are a very plausible gentleman to talk to, that I 
 expect at any moment to wake and lind this to have 
 been one of the most horrible nightmares that I ever 
 had the ill luck to encounter." 
 
 The other smiled. 
 . " There is very little danger of your waking up, 
 as you call it. Now, I will tell you the great 
 trouble we have with people when they lirst come to 
 the spirit-land, and that is to induce them to 
 forget entirely the world they have relinquished. 
 Men whose families are in poor circumstances, or 
 men whose affairs are in a disordered state, find it 
 very difficult to keep from trying to set things right 
 again. They have the feeling that they can console 
 or comfort those whom they have left behind them, 
 and it is often a long time before they are convinced 
 that their efforts are entirely futile, as well as ^ury 
 distressing for themselves." 
 
 " Is there, then," asked Brenton, *' no communica- 
 tion between this world and the one that I have 
 given up? " 
 
 The other paused for a moment before he replied. 
 
 " I should hardly like to say," he answered, "that 
 there is no communication between one world and 
 the other ; but the communication that exists is so 
 slight and unsatisfactory, that if you are sensible you 
 will see things with the eyes of those who have very 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 1 1 
 
 much more experience in tliis world than you have. 
 Of course, you can go back there as much as you 
 like ; there will be no interference and no hindrance. 
 But when you see things going wrong, when you sec 
 a mistake about to be made, it is an appalling 
 thing to stand there helpless, unable to influence 
 those 5^ou love, or to point out a palpable error, and 
 convince them that your clearer sight sees it as such. 
 Of course, I understand that it must be very difficult 
 for a man who is newly married, to entirely abandon 
 the one who has loved him, and whom he loves. But 
 I assure you that if you follow the life of one who is 
 as young and handsome as your wife, you will find 
 some one else supplying the consolations you are 
 unable to bestow. Such a mission may lead you to 
 a church where she is married to her second husband. 
 I regret to say that even the most imperturbable 
 spirits are ruffled when such an incident occurs. The 
 wise men are those who appreciate and understand 
 that they are in an entirely new world, with new 
 powers and new limitations, and who govern them- 
 selves accordingly from the first, as they will certainly 
 do later on." 
 
 " My dear sir," said Brenton, somewhat offended, 
 "if what you say is true, and I am really a dead 
 man " 
 
 " Alive," corrected the other. 
 ' ** Well, alive, then. I may tell you that my wife's 
 heart is broken. She will never marry again." 
 
 ** Of course, that is a subject of which you know a 
 great deal more than I do. I all the more strongly 
 advise you never to see her again. It is impossible 
 for you to offer any consolation, and the sight of her 
 
 1^1 
 
12 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 ^' 
 
 (5 
 
 XN^ 
 
 -i'^ 
 
 V 
 
 grief and misery will only result in iinhappiness for 
 yourself. Therefore, take my advice. I have given 
 it very often, and I assure you those who did not take 
 it expressed their regret afterwards. Hold entirely 
 aloof from anything relating to your former life." 
 
 Brenton was silent for some moments ; finally he 
 said — 
 
 *' I presume your advice is well meant ; but if 
 things are as you state, then I may as well say, first 
 as last, that I do not intend to accept it." 
 
 ** Very well," said the other ; " it is an experience 
 that many prefer to go through for themselves." 
 
 " Do you have names in this spirit-land ? " asked 
 Brenton, seemingly desirous of changing the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 "Yes," was the answer; *'we are known by the 
 names that we have used in the preparatory school 
 below. My name is Ferris." 
 
 "And if I wish to find you here, how do I set 
 about it?" 
 
 '* The wish is sufficient," answered Ferris. " Merely 
 wish to be with me, and you are with me." 
 
 ** Good gracious ! " cried Brenton, " is locomotion ^ 
 so easy as that ? " 
 
 "Locomotion is very easy. I do not think any- 
 thing could be easier than it is, and I do not think 
 there could be any improvement in that matter." 
 
 " Are there matters here, then, that you think could 
 be improved ? " 
 
 " As to that I shall not say. Perhaps you will be 
 able to give your own opinion before you have lived 
 here much longer." 
 
 " Taking it all in all," said Brenton, "do you think 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 »3 
 
 for 
 en 
 ke 
 
 le 
 if 
 
 3t ' 
 
 
 the spirit-land is to be preferred to the one we have 
 left ? " 
 
 "I like it better," said Ferris, ''although I pre- 
 sume there are some who do not. There are many 
 advantages ; and then, again, there are many — well, 
 I would not say disadvantages, but still some people* 
 consider them such. We aic free from the pangs of 
 hunger or cold, and have therefore no need of money, 
 and there is no necessity for the rush and the worry 
 of the world below." 
 
 " And how about heaven and hell ?" said Brenton. 
 ''Are those localities all a myth? Is there nothing 
 of punishment and nothing of reward in this spirit- 
 land?" 
 
 There was no answer to this, and w^hen Brenton 
 looked around he found that his companion had 
 departed. 
 
 /"•• 
 
 Venice. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 William Brenton pondered long on the situation. 
 He would have known better how to act if he could 
 have been perfectly certain that he was not still the 
 
H 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 victim of a dream. However, of one thing there was 
 no doubt — namely, that it was particularly harrowing 
 to see what he had seen in his own house. If it were 
 true that he was dead, ho said to himself, was not the 
 plan outlined for him by Ferris very much the wiser 
 course to adopt ? He stood now in one of the streets 
 of the city so familiar to him. People passed and 
 repassed him — men and women whom he had known 
 in life — but nobody appeared to see him. He resolved, 
 if possible, to solve the problem uppermost in his 
 mind, and learn whether or not he could communicate 
 with an inhabitant of the world he had left. He 
 paused for a moment to consider the best method of 
 doing this. Then he remembered one of his most 
 confidential friends and advisers, and at once wished 
 himself at his ofHce. He found the office closed, but 
 went in to wait for his friend. Occupying the time 
 in thinking over his strange situation, he waited long, 
 and only when the bells began to ring did he remember 
 it was Christmas forenoon, and that his friend would 
 not be at the office that day. The next moment he 
 wished himself at his friend's house, but he was as 
 unsuccessful as at the office ; the friend was not at 
 home. The household, however, was in great com- 
 motion, and, listening to what was said, he found 
 that the subject of conversation was his own death, 
 and he learned that his friend had gone to the 
 Brenton residence as soon as he heard the startling 
 news of Christmas morning. 
 
 Once more Brenton paused, and did not know what 
 to do. He went again into the street. Everything 
 seemed to lead him toward his own home. Although 
 he had told Ferris that he did not intend to take his 
 
FBOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 15 
 
 advice, yet as a sensible man he saw that the 
 admonition was well worth consid(iring, and if he 
 could once become convinced that there was no 
 communication possible l^etween himself and those 
 he had left ; if he could give them no comfort and no 
 cheer ; if he could see the things which they did not 
 see, and yet be unable to give them warning, he 
 realized that he would merely be adding to his own 
 misery, without alleviating the troubles of others. 
 
 He wished he knew where to find Ferris, so that 
 he might have another talk with him. The man 
 impressed him as being exceedingly sensible. No 
 sooner, however, had he wished for the company of 
 ^Ir. Ferris than he found himself beside tliat 
 gentleman. 
 
 *'By George ! " he said in astonishment, *' you are 
 just the man I wanted to see." 
 
 ''Exactly," said Ferris ; "that is the reason you 
 do see me." 
 
 " I have been thinking over what you said," con- 
 tinued the other, "and it strikes me tliat after all 
 your advice is sensible." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Ferris, with something like 
 a smile on his face. 
 
 " But there is one thing I want to be perfectly 
 certain about. I want to know whether it is not 
 possible for me to communicate with my friends. 
 Nothing will settle that doubt in my mind except 
 actual experience." 
 
 "And have you not had experience enough?" 
 asked Ferris. 
 
 " Well," replied the other, hesitating, " I have had 
 some experience, but it seems to me that, if I encounter 
 
t6 
 
 FnOM WHOSE nouiiNE, 
 
 an old friend, I could somehow make myself felt 
 by him." 
 
 "In that case," answered Ferris, "if nothing will 
 convince you but an actual experiment, why don't 
 you go to some of your old friends and try what you 
 can do with them?" 
 
 " I have just been to the office and to the residence 
 of one of my old friends. I found at his residence 
 that he had gone to my " — Brenton paused for a 
 moment — " former home. Evervthing seems to lead 
 me there, and yet, if I take your advice, I must avoid 
 that place of all others." 
 
 " I would at present, if I were you," said Ferris. 
 " Still, why not try it with any of the passers-by ? " 
 
 Brenton looked around him. People were passing 
 and repassing where the two stood talking with each 
 other. " Merry Christmas " was the word on all 
 lips. Finally Brenton said, with a look of uncertainty 
 on his face — 
 
 " My dear fellow, I can't talk to any of these people. 
 I don't know them." 
 
 Ferris laughed at this, and replied — 
 
 " I don't think you will shock them very much ; 
 just try it." 
 
 " Ah, here's a friend of mine. You wait a moment, 
 and I will accost him." Approaching him, Brenton 
 held out his hand and spoke, but the traveller paid 
 no attention. He passed by as one who had seen or 
 heard nothing. 
 
 " I assure you," said Ferris, as he noticed the look 
 of disappointment on the other's face, "you will 
 meet with a similar experience, however much you 
 try. You know the old saying about one not being 
 
FROM WHOSE JiOUBNE. 
 
 17 
 
 able to have his cake and eat it too. You can't have 
 the privileges of this world and those of the world }oii 
 left as well. I think, taking it all in all, you should 
 rest content, although it always hurts those who have 
 left the other world not to bo able to communicate 
 with their friends, anu at least assure them of their 
 present welfare." 
 
 ** It does seem to rae," replied Brenton, ** that 
 would be a great consolation, both for those who are 
 here and those who are left." 
 
 " Well, I don't know about that," answered the 
 other. " After all, what does life in the other world 
 amount to ? It is merely a preparation for this. It 
 is of so short a space, as compared with the life we 
 live here, that it is hardly worth while to interfere 
 with it one way or another. By the time you arc 
 as long here as I have been, you will realize the 
 truth of this." 
 
 *' Perhaps I shall," said Brenton, with a sigh ; 
 "but, meanwhile, what am I to do with myself? I 
 feel like the man who has been all his life in active 
 business, and who suddenly resolves to enjoy himself 
 doing nothing. That sort of thing seems to kill a 
 great number of men, especially if they put off taking 
 a rest until too late, as most of us do.' 
 
 ** Well," said Ferris, " there is no necessity of your 
 being idle here, I assure you. But before you lay out 
 any work for yourself, let me ask you if there is not 
 some interesting part of the world that you would 
 like to visit ? " 
 
 ** Certainly ; I have seen very little of the world. 
 That is one of my regrets at leaving it." 
 
 "Bless me," said the other, " you haven't left it." 
 
 
 
iB 
 
 FHOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 " Why, I thought you said I was a dead man ? " 
 
 "On the contrary," repUed his companion, "I 
 have several times insisted that you have just hegun 
 to live. Now where shall we spend the day ? " 
 
 " How would London do ? " 
 
 * * I don't think it would do ; London is apt to he a 
 little gloomy at this time of the year. But what do 
 you say to Naples, or Japan, or, if you don't 
 wish to go out of the United States, Yellowstone 
 Park?" 
 
 " Can we reach any of those places before the day 
 is over ? " asked Brenton, dubiously. 
 
 '' Well, I will soon show you how we manage all 
 that. Just wish to accompany me, and I will take 
 you the rest of the way." 
 
 *'How would Venice do?" said Brenton. ''I 
 <^idn't see half as much of that city as I wanted to." 
 
 " Very well," replied his companion, "Venice it is;" 
 and the American city in which they stood faded 
 away from them, and before Brenton could make up 
 his mind exactly what was happening, he found 
 himself walking with his comrade in St. Mark's 
 Square. 
 
 "Well, for rapid transit," said Brenton, "this 
 beats anything I've ever had any idea of; but it 
 increases the feeling that I am in a dream." 
 
 " You'll soon get used to it," answered Ferris ; 
 "and, when you do, the cumbersome methods of 
 travel in the world itself will show themselves in their 
 right light. " Hello ! " he cried, "here's a man whom 
 I should like you to meet. By the way, I either don't 
 know your name or I have forgotten it." 
 
 " William Bienton," answered the other. 
 
FHOM WHOSE BOUUNE, 
 
 19 
 
 **Mr. Speed, I want to introduce you to Mr. 
 Brenton." 
 
 **Ah," said Speed, cordially, *' a new-comer. One 
 of your victims, Ferris ? " 
 
 *' Say one of his pupils, rather," answered Brenton. 
 
 In Venice. 
 
 *' Well, it is pretty much the same thing," said 
 Speed. " How long have you been with us, and how 
 do you like the country ? " 
 
 " You see, Mr. Brenton," interrupted Ferris, " John 
 Speed was a newspaper man, and he must ask 
 
20 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 strangers how they like the country. He has inquired 
 so often while interviewing foreigners for his paper 
 that now he cannot abandon his old phrase. Mr. 
 Brenton has been with us but a short time," continued 
 Ferris, "and so you know. Speed, you can hardly 
 expect him to answer your inevitable question." 
 
 *' What part of the country are you from ? " asked 
 Speed. 
 
 " Cincinnati," answered Brenton, feeling almost as 
 if he were an American tourist doing the continent 
 of Europe. 
 
 " Cincinnati, eh *? Well, I congratulate you. I do 
 not know any place in America that I would sooner 
 die in, as they call it, than Cincinnati. You see, I 
 am a Chicago man myself." 
 
 Brenton did not like the jocular familiarity of the 
 newspaper man, and found himself rather astonished 
 to learn that in the spirit- world there were likes aiid 
 dislikes, just as on earth. 
 
 " Chicago is a very enterprising city," he said, in 
 a non-committal way. 
 
 " Chicago, my dear sir," said Speed, earnestly, **is 
 the city. You will see that Chicago is going to be 
 the great city of the world before you are a hundred 
 years older. By the way, Ferris," said the Chicago 
 man, suddenly reccllecting something, '* I have got 
 Sommers over here with me." 
 . *' Ah ! " said Ferris ; " doing him any good ? " 
 
 " Well, precious little, as far as I can see." 
 
 ** Perhaps it would interest Mr. Brenton to meet 
 him," said Ferris. " I think, Brenton, you asked me 
 a while ago if there was any hell here, or any punish- 
 ment. Mr. Speed can show you a man in hell." 
 
FBOM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 21 
 
 '* Eeally ? " asked Brenton. 
 
 "Yes," said Speed; "I think if ever a man was 
 in misery, he is. The trouble with Sommers was 
 this. He — well, he died of delirium tremens, and 
 so, of course, you know what the matter was. 
 Sommers had drunk Chicago whisky for thirty-five 
 years straight along, and never added to it the 
 additional horror of Chicago water. You see what 
 his condition became, both physical and mental. 
 Many people tried to reform Sommers, because he 
 was really a brilliant man ; but it was no use. Thirst 
 for liquor had become a disease with him, and from 
 the mental part of that disease, although his physical 
 yearning is now gone of course, he suffers. Sommers 
 would give his v;hole future for one glass of good old 
 Kentucky whisky. He sees it on the counters, he 
 sees men drink it, and he stands beside them in 
 agony. That's Avhy I brought him over here. I 
 thought that he wouldn't see the colour of whisky as 
 it sparkles in the glass ; but now he is in the Cafe 
 Quadra watching men drink. You may see him 
 sitting there with all the agony of unsatisfied desire 
 gleaming from his face." 
 
 ''And what do you do with a man like that?" 
 asked Brenton. 
 
 " Do ? Well, to tell the truth, there is nothing to 
 do. I took him away from Chicago, hoping to ease 
 his trouble a little ; but it has had no effect." 
 
 *' It will come out all right by-and-by," said 
 Ferris, who noticed the pained look on Brenton's 
 face. "It is the period of probation that he has 
 to paGS through. It will wear off. He merely 
 goes through the agonies he would have suffered on 
 
r 
 
 22 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 earth if he had suddenly been deprived of his 
 favourite intoxicant.'* 
 
 **Well," said Speed, *'you won't come with me, 
 then ? All right, good-bye. I hope to see you again, 
 Mr. Brenton," and with that they separated. 
 
 Brenton spent two or three days in Venice, but all 
 the time the old home hunger was upon him. He 
 yearned for news of Cincinnati. He wanted to be 
 back, and several times the wish brought him there, 
 but he instantly returned. At last he said to 
 Ferris — 
 
 *' I am tired. I must go home. I have rjot to see 
 how things are going." 
 
 " I wouldn't if I were you," replied Ferris. 
 
 ** No, I know you wouldn't. Your temperament 
 is indifferent. I would rather be miserable with 
 knowledge than happy in ignorance. Good-bye." 
 
 It was evening when he found himself in Cincinnati. 
 The weather was bright and clear, and apparently 
 cold. Men's feet crisped on the frozen pavement, 
 and the streets had that welcome, familiar look which 
 they always have to the returned traveller when he 
 reaches the city he calls his home. The newsboys 
 were rushing through the streets yelling their papers 
 at the top of their voices. He heard them, but paid 
 little attention. 
 
 " All about the murder ! Latest edition ! All 
 about the poison case ! " 
 
 He felt that he must have a glimpse at a paper, 
 and, entering the office of an hotel where a man was 
 reading one, he glanced over his shoulder at the page 
 before him, and was horror-stricken to see the words 
 in startling headlines — 
 
 (. 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 23 
 
 THE BRENTON MURDER. 
 
 The Autopsj/ sJioivs that Morphine was the Poison used. 
 
 Enough found to have killed a Dozen Men. 
 
 Mrs. Brenton arrested for Committing the Horrible 
 
 Deed, 
 
 "'^Wi^' 
 
 \ 
 
24 
 
 FBOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 For a moment Brenton was so bewildered and amazed 
 at the awful headlines which he read, that he could 
 hardly realize what had taken place. The fact that 
 he had been poisoned, although it gave him a strange 
 sensation, did not claim his attention as much as 
 might have been thought. Curiously enough he was 
 more shocked at finding himself, as it were, the talk 
 of the town, the central figure of a great newspaper 
 sensation. But the thing that horrified him was the 
 fact that his wife had been arrested for his murder. 
 His first impulse was to go to her at once, but he 
 next thought it better to read what the paper said 
 about the matter, so as to become possessed of all 
 the facts. The headHnes, he said to himself, often 
 exaggerated things, and there was a possibility that 
 the l)ody of the article would not bear out the flaming 
 announcement above it. But as he read on and on, 
 the situation seemed to become more and more 
 appalling. He saw that his friends had been 
 suspicious of his sudden death, and had insisted on 
 a post-mortem examination. That examination had 
 been conducted l)y three of the most eminent 
 physicians of Cincinnati, and the three doctors had 
 practically agreed that the deceased, in the language 
 of the verdict, had come to his death through mor- 
 phia poisoning, and the coroner's jury had brought 
 in a verdict that *' the said WilHam Brenton had 
 been poisoned by some person unknown." Then the 
 article went on to state how suspicion had gradually 
 
 ] 
 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
FBOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 25 
 
 i 
 
 fastened itself upon his wife, and at last her arrest 
 had been ordered. The arrest had taken place that 
 day. 
 
 After reading this, Brenton was in an agony of 
 mind. He pictured his dainty and beautiful wife in a 
 stone cell in the city prison. He foresaw the horrors 
 of the public trial, and the deep grief and pain which 
 
 4 
 
 Mrs. Brenton. 
 
 the newspaper comments on the case would cause to 
 a woman educated and refined. Of course, Brenton 
 had not the slightest doubt in his own mind about 
 the Insult of the trial. His wife would be trium- 
 phantly acquitted ; but, all the same, the terrible 
 suspense which she must suffer in the meanwhile 
 would not be compensated for by the final verdict of 
 the jury. . - ■ 
 
 I 
 
' 
 
 26 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 Brenton at once went to the jail, and wandered 
 through that gloomy building, searching for his wife. 
 At last he found her, but it was in a very comfortable 
 room in the sheriff's residence. The terror and the 
 trials of the last few days had aged her perceptibly, 
 and it cut Brenton to the heart to think that he 
 stood there before her, and could not by any means 
 say a soothing word that she would understand. 
 That she had wept many bitter tears since the terrible 
 Christmas morning was evident ; there were dark 
 circles under her beautiful eyes that told of sleepless 
 nights. She sat in a comfortable armchair, facing 
 the window, and looked steadily out at the dreary 
 winter scene with eyes that apparently saw nothing. 
 Her hands lay idly on her lap, and now and then she 
 caught her breath in a way that was half a sob and 
 half a gasp. 
 
 Presently the sheriff himself entered the room. 
 
 ** Mrs. Brenton," he said, ''there is a gentleman 
 here who wishes to see you. Mr. Eoland, he tells 
 me his name is, an old friend of yours. Do you care 
 to see any one ? " 
 
 The lady turned her head slowly round, and 
 looked at the sheriff for a moment, seemingly not 
 understanding what he said. Finally she answered, 
 dreamily — 
 
 *' Roland ? Oh, Stephen ! Yes, I shall be very 
 glad to see him. Ask him to come in, please." 
 
 The next moment Stephen Eoland entered, and 
 somehow the fact that he had come to console Mrs. 
 Brenton did not at all please the invisible man who 
 stood between them. 
 
 ** My dear Mrs. Brenton," began Roland, ** I hope 
 
 
 ♦:'■ 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 27 
 
 1/ 
 
 you are feeling better to-day? Keep up your 
 courage, and be brave. It is only for a very short 
 time. I have retained the noted criminal lawyers, 
 Benham and Brown, for the defence. You could not 
 possibly have better men." 
 
 At the word " criminal " Mrs. Brenton shuddered. 
 
 " Alice," continued Roland, sitting down near her, 
 and drawing his chair closer to her, *' tell me that 
 
 u will not lose your courage. I want you to be 
 brave, for the sake of your friends." 
 
 He took her listless hand in his own, and she did 
 not withdraw it. 
 
 Brenton felt passing over him the pangs of im- 
 potent rage, as he saw this act on the part of Roland. 
 
 Roland had been an unsuccessful suitor for the 
 hand which he now held in his o^vn, and Brenton 
 thought it the worst possible taste, to say the least, 
 that he should take advantage now of her terrible 
 situation to ingratiate himself into her favour. 
 
 The nearest approach to a quarrel that Brenton 
 and his wife had had during their short six months 
 of wedded life was on the subject of the man who 
 now held her hand in his own. It made Brenton 
 impatient to think that a woman with all her boasted 
 insight into character, her instincts as to what was 
 right and what was wrong, had such little real 
 intuition that she did not see into the character of 
 the man whom they were discussing ; but a woman 
 never thinks it a crime for a man to have been in love 
 with her, whatever opinion of that man her husband 
 may hold. 
 
 *' It is awful ! awful ! awful ! " murmured the poor 
 lady, as the tears again rose to her eyes. 
 
aS 
 
 FROM WBOSE BOURNE. 
 
 I 
 
 " Of course it is," said Roland; " it is particularly 
 awful that they should accuse you, of all persons in 
 the world, of this so-called crime. For my part I do 
 not believe that he was poisoned at all, but we will 
 soon straighten things out. Benham and Brown will 
 give up everything and devote their whole attention 
 to this case until it is finished. Everything will be 
 done that money or friends can do, and all that we 
 ask is that you keep up your courage, and do not 
 be downcast with the seeming awfulness of the 
 situation." ■• 
 
 Mrs. Brenton wept silently, but made no rej)ly. 
 It was evident, however, that she was consoled by 
 the words and the presence of her visitor. Strange 
 as it may appear, this fact enraged Brenton, although 
 he had gone there for the very purpose of cheer- 
 ing and comforting his wife. All the bitterness 
 ho had felt before against his former rival was re- 
 vived, and his rage was the more agonizing because 
 it was inarticulate. Then there flashed over him 
 Ferris's sinister advice to leave things alone in the 
 world that he had left. He felt that he could stand 
 tliis no longer, and the next instant he found himself 
 again in the wintry streets of Cincinnati. 
 
 The name of the lawyers, Benham and Brown, 
 kept repeating itself in his mind, and he resolved to 
 go to their office and hear, if he could, what prepara- 
 tions were being made for the defence of a woman 
 whom he knew to be innocent. He found, when he 
 got to the office of these noted lawyers, that the two 
 principals were locked in their private room ; and 
 going there, he found them discussing the case with 
 the coolness and impersonal feeling that noted 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 29 
 
 lawyers have, even when siDeaking of issues that 
 involve life or death. 
 
 "Yes," Benliam was saying, ** I think that, unless 
 anything new turns up, that is the best line of defence 
 we can adopt." 
 
 " What do you think might turn up '? " asked 
 Brown. 
 
 *' Well, you can never tell in these cases. They 
 may find something else — they may find the poison, 
 for instance, or the package that contained it. Per- 
 haps a druggist will remember having sold it to this 
 woman, and then, of course, we shall have to change 
 our plans. I need not say that it is strictly necessary 
 in this case to give out no opinions whatever to news- 
 paper men. The papers will be full of rumours, and 
 it is just as well if we can keep our line of defence 
 hidden until the time for action comes." 
 
 " Still," said Brown, who was the younger partner, 
 " it is as well to keep in with the newspaper fellows ; 
 they'll be here as soon as they find we have taken 
 charge of the defence." 
 
 " Well, I have no doubt you can deal with them in 
 such a way as to give them something to write up, 
 and yet not disclose anything we do not wish known." 
 
 "I think you can trust me to do that," said Brown, 
 with a self-satisfied air. 
 
 *' I shall leave that part of the matter entirely in 
 your hands," replied Benham. '* It is better not to 
 duplicate or mix matters, and if any newspaper man 
 comes to see me I will refer him to you. I will say I 
 know nothing of the case whatever." 
 
 " Very well," answered Brown. ** Now, between 
 ourselves, what do you think of the case ? " 
 
30 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 ^/T^ 
 
 
 '.ov'^ 
 
 Kfe?" 
 
 s>' 
 
 2^' 
 
 "Oh, it will make a great sensation. I think it 
 
 will probably bo one of the most 
 talked-of cases that wo have ever 
 been connected with." 
 
 ** Yes, but what do you think 
 of her guilt or innocence ? " 
 
 ** As to that," said Benham, 
 calmly, '*I haven't the slightest 
 doubt. She murf ered him." 
 
 As he said this, Brenton, for- 
 getting himself for a moment, 
 sprang forward as if to strangle 
 the lawyer. The statement Ben- 
 ham had made seemed the most 
 appalling piece of treacliery. That 
 men should take a woman's 
 money for defending her, and 
 actually engage in a case when 
 they believed their client guilty, 
 appeared to Brenton simply in- 
 famous. 
 
 " I agree with you," said 
 Brown. '' Of course she was the 
 only one to benefit by his death. 
 The simple fool willed everything 
 to her, and she knew it ; and his 
 doing so is the more astounding 
 when you remember he was quite 
 well aware that she had a former 
 lover whom she would gladly 
 have married if he had been as 
 rich as Brenton. The supreme 
 idiocy of some men as far as their wives are concerned 
 is something awful." 
 
 >rS^ 
 
 
 "'>>. 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
FliOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 31 
 
 *' Yes," answered Beiiliam, ** it is. But I tell you, 
 Brown, she is no ordinary woman. The very con- 
 ception of that murder had a stroke of originality 
 about it that I very much admire. I do not re- 
 member anything like it in the annals of crime. It 
 is the true way in which a murder should be com- 
 mitted. The very pub city of the occasion was a 
 safeguard. Think of poisoning a man at a c^'nner 
 that he has given himself, in the midst of a score of 
 
 Tuhlicity. 
 
 friends. I tell you that there was a dash of bravery 
 about it that commands my admiration." 
 
 "Do you imagine Koland had anything to do 
 with it?" 
 
 " Well, I had my doubts about that at first, but I 
 think he is innocent, although from what I know of 
 the man he will not hesitate to share the proceeds of 
 the crime. You mark my words, they will be married 
 within a year from now if she is acquitted. I believe 
 Roland knows her to be guilty." 
 
32 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 ** I thought as much," saiu Brown, *' by his actions 
 here, and by some remarks he let drop. Anyhow, 
 our credit in the aifair will be all the greater if we 
 succeed in getting her off. Yes," he continued, rising 
 and pushing back his chair, '' Madam Brenton is a 
 murderess." 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 Brenton found himself once more in the streets of 
 Cincinnati, in a state of mind that can hardly be 
 described. Eage and grief struggled for the mastery, 
 and added to the tumult of these passions w'as the 
 uncertainty as to what he should do, or what he could 
 do. He could hardly ask the advice of Ferris again, 
 for his whole trouble arose from his ner^ect of the 
 counsel that gentleman had already given him. In 
 his new sphere he did not know where to turn. 
 He found himself wondering whether in the spirit- 
 land there was any firm of lawyers who could 
 advise him, and he remembered then how singu- 
 larly ignorant he was regarding the conditions of 
 existence in tbe world to which he now belonged. 
 However, he felt that he must consult with somebody, 
 and Ferris was the only one to whom he could turn. 
 A moment late?; he was face to face with him. 
 
 " Mr. Ferris," he said, " I am in the most grievous 
 trouble, and I come to you in the hope that, if you 
 cannot help me, you can at least advise me what 
 to do." 
 
 ** If your trouble has come," answered Ferris, with 
 a shade of irony in his voice, ** through following the 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 JO 
 
 advice that I have ah-eady given you, I shall 
 endeavour, as well as I am able, to help you out 
 of it." 
 
 '' You know very well," cried Brenton, hotly, " that 
 my whole trouble has occurred through neglecting 
 your advice, or, at least, though deliberately not 
 following it. I could not follow it." 
 
 *' Very well, then," said Ferris, *' I am not surprised 
 that you are in a difficulty. You must remember that 
 such a crisis is an old story with us here." 
 
 '*But, my dear sir," said Brenton, "look at the 
 appalling condition of things, the knowledge of which 
 has just come to me. It seems I was poisoned, but 
 of course that doesn't matter. I feel no resentment 
 against the wretch who did it. But the terrible thing 
 is that my wife has been arrested for the crime, and 
 I have just learned that her own lawyers actually 
 believe her guilty." 
 
 " That fact," said Ferris, calmly, ** will not interfere 
 with their eloquent pleading when the case comes to 
 trial." 
 
 Brenton glared at the man who was taking things 
 so coolly, and who proved himself so unsympathetic ; 
 but an instant after he realized the futility of quarrel- 
 ling with the only person who could give him advice, 
 so he continued, with what patience he could com- 
 mand — 
 
 " The situation is this : My wife has been arrested 
 for the crime of murdering me. She is now in the 
 custody of the sheriff. Her trouble and anxiety of 
 mind are fearful to contemplate." 
 
 "My dear sir," said Ferris, "there is no reason 
 why you or anybody else should contemplate it." 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 **How can you talk in that cold-blooded way?" 
 cried Brenton, indignantly. " Could you see your 
 wife, or any one you held dear, incarcerated for a 
 dreadful crime, and yet remain calm and collected, 
 as you now appear to be when you hear of another's 
 misfortune ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Ferris, " of course it is not 
 to be expected that one who has had so little experi- 
 ence with this existence should have any sense of 
 proportion. You appear to be speaking quite seriously. 
 You do not seem at all to comprehend the utter 
 triviality of all this." 
 
 *' Good gracious ! " cried Brenton, " do you call it 
 a trivial thing that a woman is in danger of her life 
 for a crime which she never committed ? " 
 
 *' If she is innocent," said the other, in no way 
 moved by the indignation of his comrade, '' surely 
 that state of things will be brought out in the courts, 
 and no great harm will be done, even looking at 
 things from the standpoint of the world you have left. 
 But I want you to get into the habit of looking at 
 things from the standpoint of this world, and not of 
 the other. Suppose that what you would call the 
 worst should happen — suppose she is hanged — what 
 then?" 
 
 Brenton stood simply speechless with indignation 
 at this brutal remark. 
 
 " If you will just look at things correctly," con- 
 tinued Ferris, imperturbably, '' you will see that there 
 is probably a moment of anguish, perhaps not even 
 that moment, and then your wife is here with you in 
 the land of spirits. I am sure that is a consumma- 
 tion devoutly to be wished. Even a man in your 
 
 * 
 
 
FROM WHOSE BOUBNE. 
 
 5 
 
 
 state of mind must see the reasonableness of this. 
 Now, looking at the question in what you would call 
 its most serious aspect, see how little it amounts to. 
 It isn't worth a moment's thought, whichever way it 
 goes." 
 
 " You think nothing, then, of the disgrace of such 
 a death — of the bitter injustice of it ? " 
 
 " When you w^ere in the world did you ever see a 
 child cry over a broken toy ? Did the sight pain you 
 to any extent? Did you not know that a new toy 
 could be purchased that would quite obliterate all 
 
It 
 
 36 
 
 FBOM WBOSE BOURNE. 
 
 
 
 
 thoughts of the other? Did the simple griefs of 
 childhood carry any deep and lasting consternation 
 to the mind of a grown-up man ? Of course it did 
 not. You are sensible enough to know that. Well, 
 we here in this world look on the pain and struggles 
 and trials of people in the world you have left, just 
 as an aged man looks on the tribulations of children 
 over a broken doll. That is all it really amounts to. 
 That is what I mean when I say that you have not 
 yet got your sense of proportion. Any grief and 
 misery there is in the world you have left is of such 
 an ephemeral, transient nature, that when we think 
 for a moment of the free, untrammelled, and painless 
 life there is beyond, those petty troubles sink into 
 insignificance. My dear fellow, be sensible, take my 
 advice. I have really a strong interest in you, and I 
 advise you, entirely for your own welfare, to forget 
 all about it. Very soon you wdll have something 
 much more important to do than lingering around 
 the world you have left. If your wife comes amongst 
 us I am sure you will be glad to welcome her, and to 
 teach her the things that you will have already found 
 out of your new life. If she does not appear, then 
 you will know that, even from the old-world stand- 
 point, things have gone what you would call * all 
 right.' Let these trivial matters go, and attend to 
 the vastly more imoortant concerns that will soon 
 engage your attention here." 
 
 Ferris talked earnestly, and it was evident, even to 
 Brenton, that he meant what he said. It was hard 
 to find a pretext for a quarrel with a man at once so 
 calm and so perfectly sure of himself. 
 
 *' We will not talk any more about it," said Brenton. 
 
FROM WHOSE BOUHNE. 
 
 37 
 
 " I presume people here agree to differ, just as they 
 did in the world we have both left." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," answered Ferris. ''Of 
 course, you have just heard my opinion ; but you will 
 find myriads of others who do not share it with me. 
 You will meet a great many who are interested in the 
 subject of coxnmunication with the world they have 
 left. You will, of course, excuse me when I say 
 that' I consider such endeavours not worth talking 
 about." 
 
 "Do you know any one who is interested in that 
 sort of thing ? and can you give me an introduction 
 to him ? " 
 
 *'0h! for that matter," said Ferris, ''you have 
 had an introduction to one of the most enthusiastic 
 investigators of the subject. I refer to Mr. John 
 Speed, late of Chicago." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Brenton, rather dubiously. " I must 
 confess that I was not very favourably impressed with 
 Mr. Speed. Probably I did him an injustice." 
 
 "You certainly did," said Ferris. " You will find 
 Speed a man well worth knowing, even if he does 
 waste himself on such futile projects as a scheme for 
 communicating with a community so evanescent as 
 that of Chicago. You will like Speed better the more 
 you know him. He really is very philanthropic, and 
 has Sommers on his hands just now. From what he 
 said after you left Venice, I imagine he does not 
 entertain the same feeling toward you as you do 
 toward him. I would see Speed if I were you." 
 
 "I will think about it," said Brenton, as they 
 separated. 
 
 To know that a man thinks well of a person is no 
 
38 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 detriment to further acquaintance with that man, 
 even if the first impressions have not heen favourable ; 
 and after Ferris told Brenton that Speed had thought 
 well of him, Brenton found less difficulty in seeking 
 the Chicago enthusiast. 
 
 *' I have been in a good deal of trouble," Brenton 
 said to Speed, " and have been talking to Ferris 
 about it. I regret to say that he gave me very little 
 encouragement, and did not seem at all to appreciate 
 my feelings in the matter." 
 
 *' Oh, you mustn't mind Ferris," said Speed. " He 
 is a first-rate fellow, but he is as cold and unsym- 
 pathetic as — well, suppose we say as an oyster. His 
 great hobby is non-intercourse with the world we have 
 left. Now, in that I don't agree with him, and there 
 are thousands who don't agree with him. I admit 
 that there are cases where a man is more unhappy if 
 he frequents the old world than he would be if he left 
 it alone. But then there are other cases where just 
 the reverse is true. Take my own experience, for 
 example; I take a peculiar pleasure in rambling 
 around Chicago. I admit that it is a grievance to 
 me, as an old newspaper man, to see the number of 
 scoops I could have on my esteemed contemporaries, 
 but " 
 
 '* Scoop ? What is that ? " asked Brenton, 
 
 ■f 
 
 mystified. 
 
 " Why, a scoop is a beat, you know." r^ . 
 
 " Yes, but I don't know. What is a beat ? " 
 
 " A beat or a scoop, my dear fellow, is the getting 
 
 of a piece of news that your contemporary does not 
 
 obtain. You never were in the newspaper business ? 
 
 Well, sir, you missed it. Greatest business in the 
 
FBOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 39 
 
 : 
 
 world. You know everything that is going on long 
 before anybody else does, and the way you can reward 
 your friends and jump with both feet on your 
 enemies is one of the delights of existence down 
 there." 
 
 " Well, what I wanted to ask you was this," said 
 Brenton. " You have made a speciality of finding 
 out whether there could be any communication between 
 one of us, for instance, and one who is an in- 
 habitant of the other world. Is such communication 
 possible ? " • 
 
 " I have certainly devoted some time to it, but I 
 can't say that my success has been flattering. My 
 efforts have been mostly in the line of news. I 
 have come on some startling information which my 
 facilities here gave me access to, and I confess I have 
 tried my best to put some of the boys on to it. But 
 there is a link loose somewhere. Now, what is your 
 trouble ? Do you want to get a message to any- 
 body?" 
 
 ** My trouble is this," said Brenton, briefly, '* I am 
 here because a few days ago I was poisoned." 
 
 ''George Washington!" cried the other, "you 
 don't say so ! Have the newspapers got on to the 
 fact ? " 
 
 " I regret to say that they have." 
 
 *' What an item that would have been if one paper 
 had got hold of it and the others hadn't ! I suppose 
 they all got on to it at the same time ? " 
 
 "About that," said Brenton, " I don't know, and I 
 must confess that I do not care very much. But 
 here is the trouble — my wife has been arrested for 
 my murder, and she is as innocent as I am." 
 
mmmmm 
 
 ip-r3i 
 
 40 
 
 FliOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 ','. 
 
 *' Sure of that?" 
 
 *' Sure of it?" cried the other indignantly. '*0f 
 course I am sure of it." 
 
 " Then who is the guilty person ? " 
 
 '' Ah, that," said Brenton, '* I do not yet know." 
 
 " Then how can you be sure she is not guilty ? " 
 
 ** If you talk like that," exclaimed Brenton, *' I 
 have nothing more to say." 
 
 - "Now, don't get offended, I beg of you. I am 
 merely looking at this from a newspaper standpoint, 
 you know. You must remember it is not you who 
 will decide the matter, but a jury of your very stupid 
 fellow-countrymen. Now, you can never tell what 
 a jury uill do, except that it will do something 
 idiotic. Therefore, it seems to me that the very first 
 step to be taken is to find out who the guilty party is. 
 Don't you see the force of that ? " 
 
 ''Yes, I do." 
 
 "Very well, then. Now, what were the circum- 
 stances of this crime? who was to profit by your 
 death?" 
 
 Brenton winced at this. 
 
 "I see how it is," said the other, " and I under- 
 stand why you don't answer. Now — you'll excuse me 
 if I am frank — your wife was the one who benefited 
 most by your death, was she not ? " 
 
 " No," cried the other indignantly, " she was not 
 the one. That is what the lawyers said. Why in the 
 world should she want to poison me, when she had all 
 my wealth at her command as it was ? " 
 
 "Yes, that's a strong point," said Speed. "You 
 were a reasonably good husband, I suppose ? Rather 
 generous with the cash ? " 
 
 - 
 
 t 
 
 C/ 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 At 
 
 T{ 
 
 ] 
 
 (( 
 
 (I 
 
 " Generous •? " cried the other. ** My wife always 
 had everything she wanted." 
 
 " Ah, well, there was no — you'll excuse me, I am 
 sure — no former lover in the case, was there ? " 
 
 Again Brenton winced, and he thought of Eoland 
 sitting beside his wife with her hand in his. 
 
 *' I see," said Speed ; '' you needn't answer. Now 
 what were the circumstances, again ? " 
 
 ** They were these : At a dinner which I gave, 
 where some twenty or twenty-five of my friends were 
 assembled, poison, it appears, was put into my cup 
 of coffee. That is all 1 know of it." 
 
 *' Who poured out that cup of coffee ? " 
 My wife did." 
 
 Ah ! Now, I don't for a moment say she is guilty, 
 remember ; but you must admit that, to a stupid jury, 
 the case n'if/ht look rather bad against her." 
 
 *' Well, granted that it does, there is all the 
 more need that I should come to her assistance if 
 possible." 
 
 "Certainly, c -'tainly ! " said Speed. Now, I'll tell 
 you what we have to do. We must get, if possible, 
 one of the very brightest Chicago reporters on the 
 track of this thing, and we have to get him on the 
 track of it early. Come with me to Chicago. We 
 will try an experiment, and I am sure you will lend 
 your mind entirely to the effort. We must act in 
 conjunction in this affair, and you are just the man 
 I've been wanting, some one who is earnest and who 
 has something at stake in the matter. W^e may fail 
 entirely, but I think it's worth the trying. Will you 
 come ? " 
 
 "Certainly," said Brenton; "and I cannot tell 
 
 1^ 
 
42 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 t 
 
 you how much I appreciate your interest and 
 sympathy." 
 
 Arriving at a brown stone building on the corner of 
 two of the principal streets in Chicago, Brenton and 
 Speed ascended quickly to one of the top floors. It 
 was nearly midnight, and two upper stories of the 
 huge dark building were brilliantly lighted, as was 
 shown on the outside by the long rows of glittering 
 windows. They entered a room where a man was 
 seated at a table, with coat and vest thrown off, and 
 his hat set well back on his head. Cold as it was 
 outside, it was warm in this man's room, and the 
 room was blue with smoke. A black corn-cob pipe 
 was in his teeth, and the man was writing away as if 
 for dear life, on sheets of coarse white copy paper, 
 stopping now and then to fill up his pipe or to relight 
 it after it had gone out. 
 
 " There," said Speed, waving his hand towards the 
 writer with a certain air of proprietory pride, *' there 
 sits one of the very cleverest men on the Chicago 
 press. That fellow, sir, is gifted with a nose for 
 news which has no equal in America. He will ferret 
 out a case that he once starts on with an unerring- 
 ness that would charm you. Yes, sir, I got him his 
 present situation on this paper, and I can tell you it 
 is a good one." 
 
 " He must have been a warm friend of yours ? " 
 said Brenton, indifferently, as if he did not take 
 much interest in the eulogy. 
 
 ** Quite the contrary," said Speed. " He was a 
 warm enemy, made it mighty warm for me sometimes. 
 He was on an opposition paper, but I tell you, 
 although I was no chicken in newspaper business, 
 
 \ 
 
 ^ 
 
 \ 
 
FliOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 43 
 
 I 
 
 ; 
 
 that man would scoop the daj^liglit out of mc any 
 time he tried. So, to get rid of opposition, I got tho 
 managing editor to appoint him to a place on our 
 paper; and I tell you, he has never regretted it. Yes, 
 sir, there sits George Stratton, a man who knows his 
 business. Now," he said, "let us concentrate our 
 attention on him. First let us see whether, by putting 
 our whole minds to it, we can make any impression 
 on Ids mind whatever. You see how busily he is 
 engaged. He is thoroughly absorbed in his work. 
 That is George all over. Whatever his assign- 
 ment is, George throws himself right into it, and 
 thinks of nothing else until it is finished. Now 
 then." 
 
 In that dingy, well-lighted room George Stratton 
 sat busily pencilling out the lines that were to appear 
 in next morning's paper. He was evidently very 
 much engrossed in his task, as Speed had said. If 
 he had looked about him, which he did not, he would 
 have said that he was entirely alone. All at once his 
 attention seemed to waver, and he passed his hand 
 over his brow, while perplexity came into his face. 
 Then he noticed that his pipe was out, and, knocking 
 the ashes from it by rapping the bowl on the side 
 of the table, he filled it with an absent-mindedness 
 unusual with him. Again he turned to his writing, 
 and again he passed his hand over his brow. Sud- 
 denly, without any apparent cause, he looked first to 
 the right and then to the ieft of him. Once more he 
 tried to write, but, noticing his pipe w^as out, he struck 
 another match and nervously puffed away, until 
 clouds of blue smoke rose around him. There was 
 a look of annoyance and perplexity in his face as he 
 
 i\ 
 
44 
 
 FliOM WHOSE liOUltNE. 
 
 bent resolutely to his writing. The door opened, and 
 a man appeared on the threshold. 
 
 "Anything more about the convention, George?" 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes; I am just finishing this. Sort of pen 
 pictures, you know." 
 
 "Perhaps you can let me have what you have 
 done. I'll fix it up." 
 
 * " All right," said Stratton, bunching up the manu- 
 script in front of him, and handing it to the city 
 editor. 
 
 That functionary looked at the number of pages, 
 and then at the writer. 
 
 "Much more of this, George?" he said. "We'll 
 be a little short of room in the morning, you 
 know." 
 
 " Well," said the other, sitting back in his 
 chair, "it is pretty good stuff that. Folks always 
 like the pen pictures of men engaged in the skirmish 
 better than the reports of what most of them say." 
 
 "Yes," said the city editor, " that's so." 
 
 " Still," said Stratton, " we -^d cut it off at the 
 last page. Just let me se^* ^ast two pages, will 
 
 you?" 
 
 These were handed to i.*xm, and, running his eye 
 through them, he drew his knife across one of the 
 pages, and put at the bottom the cabalistic mark 
 which indicated the end of the copy. 
 
 " There ! I think I will let it go at that. Old 
 Eickenbeck don't amount to much, anyhow. We'll 
 let him go." 
 
 "All right," said the city editor. "I think we 
 won't want anything more to-night." . 
 
 
FROM WnOSE BOURNE. 
 
 45 
 
 Stratton put his hands behind his head, with his 
 fingers interlaced, and leaned back in his chair, 
 
 " She^s pretty as a picture.^' ' 
 
 placing his heels upon the table before him, A 
 thought-reader, looking at his face, could almost 
 have followed the theme that occupied his mind. 
 Suddenly bringing his feet down with a crash 
 
46 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 the floor, he rose aud went into the city editor's 
 room. 
 
 " See here," he said. " Have you looked into that 
 Cincinnati case at all ? " 
 
 "What Cincinnati case?" asked the local editor, 
 looking up. 
 
 *'Why, that woman who is up for jjoisoning her 
 husband." 
 
 *' Oh yes ; we had so'nething of it in the despatches 
 this morning. It's rather out of the local line, you 
 know." 
 
 " Yes, I know it is. But it isn't out of the paper's 
 line. I tell you that case is going to make a sensa- 
 tion. She's pretty as a picture. Been married only 
 six months, and it seems to be a dead sure thing 
 that she poisoned her husband. That trial's going 
 to make racy reading, especially if they bring in a 
 verdict of guilty." 
 
 The city editor looked interested. 
 
 " Want to go down there, George ? " 
 
 *' Well, do you know, I think it'll pay." 
 
 "Let me see, this is the last day of the conven- 
 tion, isn't it ? And Clark comes back from his 
 vacation to-morrow. W'ell, if you think it's worth 
 it, take a trip down there, and look the ground over, 
 and give us a special article that we can use on the 
 first day of the trial." 
 
 " I'll do it," said George. 
 
 * « • • « . « 
 
 Speed looked at Brenton. 
 
 " What would old Ferris say iwWj eh ? " 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 47 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 Next morning George Stratton was on the railway- 
 train speeding towards Cincinnati. As he handed to 
 the conductor his mileage book, he did not say to 
 him, lightly transposing the old couplet — 
 
 " Here, railroad man, take thrice thy fee, 
 For spirits twain do ride with me." 
 
 George Stratton was a practical man, and knew 
 nothing of spirits, except those which were in a small 
 flask in his natty little valise. 
 
 When he reached Cincinnati, he made straight for 
 tlie residence of the sheriff. He felt that his first 
 duty was to become friends with such an important 
 official. Besides this, he wished to have an interview 
 with the prisoner. He had arranged in his mind, on 
 the way there, just how he would write a preliminary 
 article that would whet the appetite of the readers 
 of the Chicago Arfjiis for any further developments 
 that might occur during and after the trial. He 
 would write the whole thing in the form of a story. 
 
 First, there would be a sketch of the life of Mrs. 
 Brenton and her husband. This would be number 
 one, and above it would be the Roman numeral I. 
 Under the heading II. would be a history of the 
 crime. Under III. what had occurred afterwards — 
 the incidents that had led suspicion towards the un- 
 fortunate woman, and that sort of thing. Under the 
 numeral IV. would be his interview with the prisoner, 
 if he were fortunate enough to get one. Under V. 
 
48 
 
 FROM WnOSE BOURNE. 
 
 he would give the general opinion of Cincinnati on 
 the crime, and on the guilt or innocence of Mrs. 
 Brenton. This article he already saw in his mind's 
 eye occupying nearly half Cc page of the Argus. All 
 would be in leaded type, and written in a style and 
 manner that would attract attention, for he felt that 
 
 I 
 
 " Raising the veil." 
 
 he was first on the ground, and would not have the 
 usual rush in preparing his copy which had been the 
 bane of his life. It would give the Arf/tis practically 
 the lead in this case, which he was convinced would 
 become one of national importance. 
 
FROM WHOSE BOmtNE. 
 
 49 
 
 The sheriff received him courteously, and, looking 
 at the card he presented, saw the name Chicago 
 Argus in the corner. Then he stood visibly on his 
 guard — an attitude assumed by all wise officials 
 when they find themselves brought face to face 
 with a newspaper man ; for they know, however 
 carefully an article may be prepared, it will likely 
 contain some unfortunate overlooked phrase which 
 may have a damaging effect in a future political 
 campaign. 
 
 " I wanted to see you," began Stratton, coming 
 straight to the point, '*in reference to the Brenton 
 murder." ' 
 
 *'I may say at once," replied the sheriff, ''that if 
 you wish an interview with the prisoner, it is utterly 
 impossible, because her lawyers, Benham and Brown, 
 have positively forbidden her to see a newspaper 
 man." 
 
 ''That shows," said Stratton, "they are wise 
 men who understand their business. Nevertheless, 
 I wish to have an interview with Mrs. Brenton. But 
 what I wanted to sav to you is this : I believe the 
 case will be very much talked about, and that before 
 many weeks are over. Of course you know the stand- 
 ing the Argils has in newspaper circles. What it 
 says will have an influence even over the Cincinnati 
 press. I think you will admit that. Now a great 
 many newspa})er men consider an official their 
 natural enemy. I do not ; at least, I do not until I 
 am forced to. Any reference that I may make to you 
 I am more than willing to submit to you before it 
 goes to Chicago. I will give you my word, if you 
 want it, that nothing will be said referring to your 
 
50 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 official position, or to yourself personally, that you do 
 not see before it appears in print. Of course you 
 will be up for re-election. I never met a sheriff who 
 wasn't." 
 
 The sheriff smiled at this, and did not deny it. 
 
 " Very well. Now, I may tell you my belief is that 
 this case is going to have a powerful influence on your 
 re-election. Here is a young and pretty woman who 
 is to be tried for a terrible crime. Whether she is 
 guilty or innocent, public sympathy is going to be 
 with her. If I were in your place, I would prefer 
 to be known as her friend rather than as her 
 enemy." 
 
 " My dear sir," said the sheriff, *' my official posi- 
 tion puts me in the attitude of neither friend nor 
 enemy of the unfortunate woman. I have simply 
 a certain duty to do, and that duty I intend to 
 perform." 
 
 **0h, that's all right! " exclaimed the newspaper 
 man, jauntily. " I, for one, am not going to ask you 
 to take a step outside your duties ; but an official 
 may do his duty, and yet, at the same time, dc a 
 friendly act for a newspaper man, or even for a 
 prisoner. In the language of the old chestnut, * If 
 you don't help me, don't help the bear.' That's all 
 I ask." 
 
 " You may be sure, Mr. Stratton, that anything I 
 can do to help you I shall be glad to do ; and now 
 let me give you a hint. If you want to see Mrs. 
 Brenton, the best thing is to get permission from 
 her lawyers. If I were you I would not see Benham 
 — he's rather a hard nut, Benham is, although you 
 needn't tell him I said so. You get on the right side 
 
FMOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 SI 
 
 :J 
 
 
 of Brown. Bro\\Ti has some political aspirations 
 himself, and he does not want to offend a man on so 
 powerful a paper as the An/ us, even if it is not a 
 Cincinnati paper. Now, if you make him the same 
 offer you have made to me, I think it will be all right. 
 If he sees your copy before it goes into print, and if 
 you keep your word with him that nothing will appear 
 that he does not see, I think you will succeed in 
 getting an interview with Mrs. Brenton. If you 
 bring me a note from Brown, I shall be s jry glad to 
 allow you to see her." 
 
 Stratton thanked the sheriff for his hint. He took 
 down in his note-book the address of the lawvers, 
 and the name especially of Mr. Brown. The two 
 men shook hands, and Stratton felt that they under- 
 stood each other. 
 
 When Mr. Stratton was ushered into the private 
 office of Brown, and handed that gentleman his card, 
 he noticed the lawyer perceptibly freeze over. 
 
 " Ahem," said the legal gentleman ; *' you will 
 excuse me if I say that my time is rather precious. 
 Did you wish to see me professionally ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied Stratton, "that is, from a news- 
 paper standpoint of the profession." 
 
 " Ah," said the other, " in reference to what ? " 
 
 *' To the Brenton case." 
 
 " Well, my dear sir, I have had, very reluctantly, 
 to refuse information that I would have been happy 
 to give, if 1 could, to our own newspaper men ; and 
 so I may say to you at once that I scarcely think it 
 will be possible for me to be of any service to an 
 outside paper like the Argics," 
 
 "Local newspaper men," said Stratton, "repre- 
 
52 
 
 FROM WHOSE liOUliNE, 
 
 sent local fame. That you already possess. I 
 represent national fame, wbicli, if you will excuse my 
 saying so, you do not yet possess. The fact that I 
 am in Cincinnati to-day, instead of in Chicago, shows 
 what we Chicago people think of the Cincinnati case. 
 I believe, and the Aiyus believes, that this case is 
 going to be one of national importance. Now, let 
 me ask you one question. Will you state frankly 
 what your objection is to having a newspaper man, 
 for instance, interview Mrs. Brenton, or get any 
 information relating to this case from her or others 
 whom you have the power of controlling ?" 
 
 " I shall answer that question," said Brown, ** as 
 frankly as you put it. You are a man of the world, 
 and know, of course, that we are all selfish, and in 
 business matters look entirely after our own interests. 
 My interest in this case is to defend my client. Your 
 interest in this case is to make a sensational article. 
 You want to get facts if possible, but, in any event, 
 you want to write up a readable column or two for 
 your paper. Now, if I allowed you to see Mrs. 
 Brenton, she might say something to you, and you 
 might publish it, that would not only endanger her 
 chances, but would seriously embarrass us, as her 
 lawyers, in our defence of the case." 
 
 "You have stated the objection very plainly and 
 forcibly," said Stratton, with a look of admiration, as 
 if the powerful arguments of the lawyer had had a 
 great efifect on him. " Now, if I understand your 
 argument, it simply amounts to this, that you would 
 have no objection to my interviewing Mrs. Brenton if 
 you have the privilege of editing the copy. In other 
 words, if nothing were printed but what you approve 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 53 
 
 of, you would not have the slightest hesitancy about 
 allowing me that interview." 
 
 **No, I don't know that I would," admitted the 
 lawyer. 
 
 " Very well, then. Here is my proposition to you : 
 I am here to look after the interests of our paper in 
 this particular case. The An/iia is probably going to 
 be the first paper outside of Cincinnati that will 
 devote a large amount of space to the Brenton trial, 
 in addition to what is received from the Associated 
 Press dispatches. Now you can give me a great 
 many facilities in this matter if you care to do so, 
 and in return I am perfectly willing to submit to you 
 every line of copy that concerns you or your client 
 before it is sent, and I give you my word of honour 
 that nothing shall appear but what you have seen 
 and appioved of. If you want to cut out something 
 that I think is vitally important, then I shall tell you 
 frankly that I intend to print it, but will modify it as 
 much as I possibly can to suit your views." 
 
 "I see," said the lawyer. ''In other words, as 
 you have just remarked, I am to give you special 
 facilities in this matter, and then, when you find out 
 some fact which I wish kept secret, and which you 
 have obtained because of the facilities I have given to 
 you, you will quite frankly tell me that it must go in, 
 and then, of course, I shall be helpless except to 
 debar you from any further facilities, as you call 
 them. No, sir, I do not care to make any such 
 bargain." , 
 
 ''Well, suppose I strike out that clause of agree- 
 ment, and say to you that I will ^end nothing 
 but what you approve of, would you then write 
 
 
m 
 
 H 
 
 54 
 
 FBOM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 me a note to the sheriff and allow me to see the 
 prisoner?" 
 
 "I am sorry to say" — the lawyer hesitated for a 
 moment, and glanced at the card, then added — " Mr. 
 Stratton, that I do not see my way clear to granting 
 your request." 
 
 **I think," said Stratton, rising, **that you are 
 doing yourself an injustice. You are refusing — I 
 may as well tell you first as last — what is a great 
 privilege. Now, you have had some experience in 
 your business, and I have had some experience in 
 mine, and I beg to inform you that men who are 
 much more prominent in the history of their country 
 than any one I can at present think of in Cincinnati, 
 have tried to balk me in the pursuit of my business, 
 and have failed." 
 
 *' In that matter, of course," said Brown, " I must 
 take my chances. I don't see the use of prolonging 
 this interview. As you have been so frank as to — 
 I won't say threaten, perhaps warn is the better word 
 — as you have been so good as to warn me, I may, 
 before we part, just give you a word of caution. Of 
 course we, in Cincinnati, are perfectly willing to admit 
 that Chicago people are the smartest on earth, but 
 I may say that if you print a word in your paper 
 which is untrue and which is damaging to our 
 side of the case, or if you use any methods that 
 are unlawful in obtaining the information you so 
 much desire, you will certainly get your paper into 
 trouble, and you will run some little personal risk 
 yourself." 
 
 *'\Vell, as you remarked a moment ago, Mr. 
 Brown, I shall have to take the chances of that. I 
 
FBOM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 55 
 
 am here to get the news, and if I don't succeed it will 
 be the first time in my life." 
 
 "Very well, sir," said the lawyer. "I wish you 
 good evening." 
 
 " Just one thing more," said the newspaper man, 
 *' before I leave you." 
 
 ** My dear sir," said the lawyer, impatiently, " I am 
 very bus3\ I've already given you a liberal share of my 
 time. I must request that this interview end at once." 
 
 "I thought," said Mr. Stratton, calmly, ''that 
 perhaps you might be interested in the first article 
 that I am going to write. I shall devote one column 
 in the Argus of the day after to-morrow to your 
 defence of the case, and whether your theory of 
 defence is a tenable one or not." 
 
 Mr. Brown pushed back his chair and looked 
 earnestly at the young man. That individual was 
 imperturbably pulling on his gloves, and at the 
 moment was buttoning one of them. 
 
 *' Our defence I " cried the lawyer. *' What do you 
 know of our defence ? " 
 
 '* My dear sir," said Stratton, " I know all 
 about it." 
 
 '* Sir, that is impossible. Nobody knows wdiat our 
 defence is to be except Mr. Benham and myself." 
 
 " And Mr. Stratton, of the Chicago Artfus,'" replied 
 the young man, as he buttoned his coat. 
 
 " May I ask, then, what the defence is ?" 
 
 " Certainly," answered the Chicago man. " Your 
 defence is that Mr. Brenton was insane, and that he 
 committed suicide." 
 
 Even Mr. Brown's habitual self-control, acquired 
 by long years of training in keeping his feelings out 
 
■'^^ 
 
 56 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 of siglit, for the moment deserted him. He drew his 
 breath sharply, and cast a piercing glance at the 
 young man before him, who was critically watching 
 the lawyer's countenance, although he appeared to 
 be entirely absorbed in buttoning his overcoat. Then 
 Mr. Brown gave a short, dry laugh. 
 
 **I have met a bluff before," he said carelessly; 
 *' but I should like to know what makes you think 
 that such is our defence ? " 
 
 ** Think f' cried the 3'oung man. "I don't think 
 at all ; I know it." 
 
 " How do you know^ it ? " 
 
 ** Well, for one thing, I know it by your own actions 
 a moment ago. What first gave me an 'nkling of 
 your defence was that book which is on yoar table. 
 It is Forbes Winslow^ on the mind and the brain ; a 
 very interesting book, Mr. Brown, rerif interesting 
 indeed. It treats of suicide, and the causes and con- 
 ditions of the brain that will lead up to it. It is a 
 very good book, indeed, to study in such a case, \jrood 
 evening, Mr. Brown. I am sorry that we cannot co- 
 oj)erate in this matter." 
 
 Stratton turned and walked toward the door, while 
 the lawyer gazed after him with a look of helpless 
 astonishment on his face. As Stratton placed his 
 hand on the door knob, the lawyer seemed to wake 
 up as from a dream. 
 
 " Stop ! " he cried ; *' I will give you a letter that 
 will admit you to Mrs. Brenton," ' 
 
 ' H 
 
vf.-. 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOUBNE, 
 
 57 
 
 •s 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ** There ! " said Speed to Brenton, triumphantly, 
 " what do you think of that ? Didn't I say George 
 Stratton was the hrightest new^spaper man in Chicago? 
 I tell you, his getting that letter from old Brown was 
 one of the cleverest hits of diplomacy I ever saw. 
 There you had quickness of perception, and nerve. 
 All the time he was talking to old Brown he was just 
 taking that man's measure. See how coolly he acted 
 while he was drawing on his gloves and buttoning his 
 coat as if ready to leave. Flung that at Brown all of 
 a sudden as quiet as if he was saying nothing at all 
 unusual, and all the time watching Brown out of the 
 tail of his eye. Well, sir, I must admit, that although 
 I have known George Stratton for years, I thought 
 he was dished by that Cincinnati lawj^er. I thought 
 that George was just gracefully covering up his defeat, 
 and there he upset old Brown's apple-cart in'the 
 twinkling of an eye. Now, you see the effect of all 
 this. Brown has practically admitted to him what 
 the line of defence is. . Stratton won't publish it, of 
 course ; he has promised not to, but you see he can 
 hold that over Brown's head, and get everything he 
 wants unless they change their defence." 
 
 "Yes," remarked Brenton, slowly, "he seems to 
 be a very sharp newspaper man indeed ; but I 
 don't like the idea of his going to interview my 
 wife." 
 
 " Why, what is there wrong about that ?" 
 
 "Well, there is this wrong about it — that she in 
 
 \ 
 
58 
 
 FltOM WHOSE BOVBNE. 
 
 ■ i ! 
 
 her depression may say something that will tell 
 against her." 
 
 " Even if she does, what of it ? Isn't the lawyer 
 going to see the letter before it is sent to the 
 paper?" 
 
 "I am not so sure about that. Do you think 
 Stratton will show the article to Brown if he gets 
 what you call a scoop or a beat ? " 
 
 "Why, of course he will," answered Speed, indig- 
 nantly; "hasn't he given him his word that he 
 will ? " 
 
 "Yes, I know he has," said Brenton, dubiously; 
 " but he is a newspaper man." 
 
 "Certainly he is," answered Speed, with strong 
 emphasis; ''that is the reason he will keep his 
 word." 
 
 " I hope so, I hope so ; but I must admit that the 
 more I know you newspaper men, the more I see 
 the great temptation you are under to preserve if 
 possible the sensational features of an article." 
 
 " I'll bet you a drink — no, we can't do that," 
 corrected Speed; "but you shall see that, if Brown 
 acts square with Stratton, he will keep his word to 
 the very letter with Brown. There is no use in 
 our talking about the matter here. Let us follow 
 Stratton, and see what comes of the interview." 
 
 "I think I prefer to go alone," said Brenton, 
 coldly. 
 
 " Oh, as you like, as you like," answered the 
 other, shortly. " I thought you wanted my help 
 in this affair ; but if you don't, I am sure I shan't 
 intrude." 
 
 "That's all right," said Brenton; "come along. 
 
 1 
 
/v 
 
 FROM WnOSE BOUIiNE. 
 
 59 
 
 '* 
 
 i 
 
 
 By the way, Speed, what do you think of that line of 
 defence ? " 
 
 ** Well, I don't know enough of the circumstances 
 of the case to know what to think of it. It seems to 
 me rather a good line." 
 
 *' It can't be a good line when it is not true. It is 
 certain to break down." 
 
 " That's so," said Speed ; '' but I'll bet you four 
 dollars and a half that they'll prove you a raving 
 maniac before they are through with you. They'll 
 show very likely that you tried to poison yourself two 
 or three times ; bring on a dozen of your friends to 
 prove that they knew all your life you were insane." 
 
 *' Do you think they will?" asked Brenton, 
 uneasily. 
 
 "Think it? Why, I am sure of it. You'll go 
 down to posterity as one of the most complete lunatics 
 that ever lived in Cincinnati. Oh, there won't be 
 anything left of you when thry get through with you." 
 
 Meanwhile, Stratton was making his way to the 
 residence of the sheriff. 
 
 *' Ah," said that official, when they met, ** you 
 got your letter, did you ? Well, I thought you 
 would." 
 
 *' If you had heard the conversation between my 
 estimable friend Mr. Brown and myself, up to the 
 very last moment, you wouldn't have thought it." 
 
 *' Well, Brown is generally very courteous towards 
 newspaper men, and that's one reason you see his 
 name in the papers a great deal." 
 
 "If I were a Cincinnati newspaper man, I can 
 assure you that his name wouldn't appear very much 
 in the columns of my paper." 
 
«V*"BSftM*W«S£»^' 
 
 
 I 
 
 Ml 
 
 60 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 **I am sorry to hear you say that. I thought 
 Brown was very popular with the newspaper men. 
 You got the letter, though, did you ? " 
 
 "Yes, I got it. Here it is. Eead it." 
 
 The sheriff scanned the brief note over, and put it 
 in his pocket. 
 
 " Just take a chair for a moment, will you, and I 
 will see if Mrs. Brenton is ready to receive you." 
 
 Stratton seated himself, and, pulling a paper from 
 
 Jane. 
 
 his pocket, was busily reading when the sheriff again 
 entered. 
 
 " I am sorry to say," he began, " after you have 
 had all this trouble, that Mrs. Brenton positively 
 refuses to see you. You know I cannot compel a 
 prisoner to meet any one. You understand that, of 
 course." 
 
 *' Perfectly," said Stratton, thinking for a moment. 
 *' See here, sheriff', I have simply got to have a talk 
 with that woman. Now, can't you tell her I knew 
 
 ^ 4 
 
 «.- 
 
 M 
 
 1 
 
^ / 
 
 FliOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 4i 
 
 v^ 
 
 . 
 
 her husband, or something of that sort ? I'll make 
 
 it all right when I se<3 her." 
 
 * « * « . • «. ' 
 
 *' The scoundrel ! " said Brenton to Speed, as 
 Btratton made this remark. 
 
 '* My dear sir," said Speed, *' don't you see he is 
 just the man we want? This is not the time to bo 
 particular." 
 
 "Yes, but think of the treachery and meanness of 
 telling a i)oor unfortunate woman that he was ac- 
 quainted with her husband, who is only a few days 
 dead." 
 
 " Now, see here," said Speed, *' if you are going to 
 look on matters in this way you will be a hindrance 
 and not a help in the affair. Don't you appreciate 
 the situation ? Why, Mrs. Brenton's own lawyers, as 
 you have said, think her guilty. What, then, can 
 they learn by talking with her, or what good can they 
 do her with their minds already prejudiced against 
 her ? Don't you see that ? " 
 
 Brenton made no answer to this, but it was evident 
 he was very ill at ease. 
 
 ** Did you know her husband ? " asked the sheriff. 
 
 "No, to tell you the truth, I never heard of him 
 before. But I must see this lady, both for my good 
 and hers, and I am not going to let a little thing like 
 that stand between us. Won't vou tell her that I 
 have come with a letter from her own lawyers ? Just 
 show her the letter, and say that I will take up but 
 very little of her time. 1 am sorry to ask this much 
 01 you, but you see how I am placed." 
 
 ** Oh, that's all right," said the sheriff, good- 
 
iSawfBgj 
 
 'mm 'm 
 
 «;e 
 
 62 
 
 FliOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 <:. 
 
 naturedly ; "I shall be very glad to do what you 
 wish," and with that he once more disappeared. 
 
 The sheriff stayed away longer this time, and 
 Stratton paced the room impatiently. Finally, the 
 official returned, and said — 
 
 ** Mrs, Brenton has consented to see you. Come 
 this way, please. You will excuse me, I know," con- 
 tinued the sheriff, as they walked along together, 
 "but it is part of my duty to remain in the room 
 while you are talking with Mrs. Brenton." 
 
 *' Certainly, certainly," said Stratton; "I under- 
 stand that." 
 
 " Very well ; then, if I may make a suggestion, I 
 would say this : you should be prepared to ask 
 just what you want to know, and do it all as 
 speedily as possible, for really Mrs. Brenton is in 
 a condition of nervous exhaustion that renders it 
 almost cruel to put her through any rigid cross- 
 examination." 
 
 " I understand that also," said Stratton ; " but you 
 must remember that she has a very much harder trial 
 to undergo in the future. I am exceedingly anxious 
 to get at the truth of this thing, and so, if it seems to 
 you that I am asking a lot of very unnecessary ques- 
 tions, I hope you will not interfere with me as long 
 as Mrs. Brenton consents to answer." 
 
 '' I shall not interfere at all," said the sheriff; *'I 
 only wanted to caution you, for the lady may break 
 down at any moment. If you can marshal your 
 questions so that the most important ones come first, 
 I think it will be wise. I presume you have them 
 pretty well arranged in your own mind ? " 
 
 "Well, I can't say that I have; you see, I am 
 
 \ 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 63 
 
 
 entirely in the dark. I got no help whatever from the 
 lawyers, and from what I know of their defence I am 
 thoroughly convinced that they are on the wrong 
 track. ' 
 
 ** What ! did Brown say anything about the defence ? 
 That is not like his usual caution." 
 
 *'He didn't intend to," answered Stratton ; ''but I 
 found out all I wanted to know, nevertheless. You 
 see, I shall have to ask what appears to be a lot of 
 rambling, inconsequential questions, because you can 
 never tell in a case like this when you may get the key 
 to the whole mystery." 
 
 " Well, here we are," said the sheriff, as he knocked 
 at a door, and then pushed it open. 
 
 From the moment George Stratton saw Mrs. 
 Brenton his interest in the case ceased to be purely 
 journalistic. 
 
 Mrs. Brenton was standing near the window, and 
 she appeared to be very calm and collected, but her 
 fingers twitched nervously, clasping and unclasping 
 each other. Her modest dress of black was certainly 
 a very becoming one. 
 
 George thought he had never seen a woman so 
 beautiful. 
 
 As she was standing up, she evidently intended the 
 interview to be a short one. 
 
 ** Madam," said Stratton, " I am very sorry indeed 
 to trouble you ; but I have taken a great interest in 
 the solution of this mystery, and I ha-, j your lawyers' 
 permission to visit you. I assure you, anything you 
 say will be submitted to them, so that there will be 
 no danger of your case being prejudiced by any state- 
 ments made." 
 
m 
 
 wmm 
 
 64 
 
 FBOM WnOSE BOURNE. 
 
 
 "I am" not afraid," said Mrs. Brenton, ''that the 
 truth will injure or prejudice my case." 
 
 *' I am sure of that," answered the newspaper man ; 
 and then, knowing that she would not sit down if he 
 asked her tc , he continued diplomatically, *' Madam, 
 will you permit me to sit down ? I wish to write out 
 my notes as carefully as possible. Accuracy is my 
 strong point." 
 
 " Certainly," saif^ Mrs. Brenton ; and, seeing that 
 it was not i)robable the interview would he a short 
 one, she seated herself by the window, while the 
 sheriff took a chair in the corner, and drew a news- 
 paper from his pocket. 
 
 ** Now, madam," said the special, " a great number 
 of the questions I ask you may seem trivial, but 
 as I said to the sheriff a moment ago, some word of 
 yours that appears to you entirely unconnected with 
 the case may give me a clue which will be exceedingly 
 valuable. You will, therefore, I am sure, pardon 
 me if some of the questions I ask you appear 
 irrelevant." 
 
 Mrs. Brenton bowed her head, but said nothing. 
 
 " Were your husband's business affairs in good con- 
 dition at the time of his death ? " 
 
 *' As far as I know they were." 
 
 "Did y^u ever see anything in your husband's 
 actions that would lead you to think him a man who 
 might have contemplated suicide ? " 
 
 Mrs. Brenton looked up with wide-open eyes. 
 
 ** Certainly not," she said. 
 
 *' Had he ever spoken to you on the subject of 
 suicide? " . • ... 
 
 ** I do not remember that he ever did." 
 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 6=^ 
 
 ''Was lie ever queer in bis actions? In short, did 
 you ever notice anything about him that would lead 
 you to doubt his sanity ? I am sorry if questions I 
 ask you seem painful, but I have reasons for wishing 
 to be certain on this point." 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Brenton ; "he was perfectly sane. 
 No man could have been more so. I am certain that 
 he never thought of committing suicide." 
 
 *' Why are you so certain on that point ? " 
 
 "I do not know why. I only know I am positive 
 of it." 
 
 "Do you know if he had any enemy who might 
 wish his death?" 
 
 " I doubt if he had an enemy in the world. I do 
 not know of any." 
 
 " Have you ever heard him speak of anybody in a 
 spirit of enmity ? " 
 
 " Never. He was not a man who bore enmity 
 against people. Persons whom he did not like he 
 avoided." 
 
 " The poison, it is said, was put into his cup of 
 coffee. Do you happen to know," said Stratton, 
 turning to the sheriff, " how they came to that con- 
 clusion ? " 
 
 *' No, I do not," answered the sheriff. " In fact, I 
 don't see any reason why they should think so." 
 
 " Was morphia found in the coffee cup after- 
 wards ? " 
 
 " No ; at the time of the inquest all the things had 
 been cleared away. I think it was merely presumed 
 that the morphine was put into his coffee." 
 
 " Who poured out the coffee he drank that night ? " 
 
 " I did," answered his wife. 
 
 I 
 
J 
 
 66 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 " You were at one end of the table and he at the 
 other, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 '* How did the coffee cup reach him ? " 
 
 *' I gave it to the servant, and she placed it before 
 him." 
 
 " It passed through no other hands, then ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Who was the servant ? " 
 
 Mrs. Brenton pondered for a moment. 
 
 " I really know very little about her. She had been 
 in our house for a couple of weeks only." 
 
 " What was her name ? " 
 
 " Jane Morton, I think." 
 
 " Where is she now, do you know ? " 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 "She appeared at the inquest, of course?" said 
 Stratton, turning to the sheriff. 
 
 " I think she did, ' was the answer. " I am not sure." 
 
 He marked her name down in the note-book. 
 
 " How many people were there at the diniier ? " 
 
 "Including my husband and myself, tiere were 
 twenty-six." 
 
 " Could you give me the name of each of them ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 She repeated the names, which he took down, with 
 certain notes and comments on each. 
 
 "Who sat next your husband at the head of the 
 table ? " 
 
 " Miss Walker was at his right hand, Mr. Roland 
 at his left." 
 
 " Now, forgive me if I ask you if you have ever had 
 any trouble with your husband ? " 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 67 
 
 >> 
 
 ith 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Never had any quarrel ? " 
 
 Mrs. Brenton hesitated for a moment. 
 
 "No, I don't think we ever had what could be 
 called a quarrel." 
 
 " You had no disagreement shortly before the 
 dinner ? " 
 
 Again Mrs. Brenton hesitated. 
 
 " I can hardly call it a disagreement," she said. 
 " We had a little discussion about some of the guests 
 who were to be invited." 
 
 " Did he object to any that were there ? " 
 
 " There was a gentleman there whom he did not 
 particularly like, I think, but he made no objection to 
 his coming ; in fact, he seemed to feel that I might 
 imagine he had an objection from a little discussion 
 we had about inviting him ; and afterwards, as if to 
 make up for that, he placed this guest at his left 
 hand." 
 
 Stratton quickly glanced up the page of his note- 
 book, and marked a little cross before the name of 
 Stephen Roland. 
 
 " You had another disagreement with him before, 
 if I might term it so, had you not ? " 
 
 Mrs. Brenton looked at him surprised. 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " she said. 
 
 " Because you hesitated when I spoke of it." 
 
 " Well, we had what you might call a disagreement 
 once at Lucerne, Switzerland," 
 
 " Will you tell me what it was about ? " 
 
 " I would rather not." 
 
 "Will you t^ll me this — was it about a gentle- 
 man?" 
 
68 
 
 FBOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 M 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Brenton. 
 
 " Was your husband of a jealous disposition ? " 
 
 '' Ordinarily I do i^ot think he was. It seemed to 
 me at the time that he was a little unjust — that's 
 all." 
 
 " Was the gentleman in Lucerne ? " 
 
 *'Ohno!" 
 
 " In Cincinnati ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Was his name Stephen Roland ? " 
 
 Mrs. Brenton again glanced quickly at the news- 
 paper man, and seemed about to say something, but, 
 checking herself, she simply answered — 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Then she leaned back in the armchair and sighed. 
 
 "I am very tired," she said. "If it is not abso- 
 lutely necessary, I prefer not to continue this 
 conversation." 
 
 Stratton immediately rose. 
 
 " Madam," he said, " I am very much obliged to 
 you for the trouble you have taken to answer my 
 questions, which I am afraid must have seemed 
 impertinent to you, but I assure you that I did not 
 intend them to be so. Now, madam, I would like 
 very much to get a promise from you. I wish that 
 3'ou would promise to see me if I call again, and I, 
 on my part, assure you that unless I have something 
 particularly important to tell you, or to ask, I shall 
 not intrude upon you." 
 
 " I shall be pLdsed to see you at any time, sir." 
 
 When the sheriff and the newspaper man reached 
 the other room, the former said — 
 
 " Well, what do you think ? " • • 
 
 ■i 
 
 7 
 
FltOM WHOSE IIOURNE. 
 
 69 
 
 1 
 
 ** I think it is an interesting case," was the answer. 
 
 *' Or, to put it in other words, you think Mrs. 
 Brenton a very interesting lady." 
 
 " Officially, sir, you have exactly stated my 
 opinion." 
 
 ** And I suppose, poor woman, she will furnish an 
 interesting article for the paper ? " 
 
 **Hang the paper ! " said Stratton, with more than 
 his usual vim. 
 
 The sheriff laughed. Then he said — 
 
 *' I confess that to me it seems a very perplexing 
 f?ffair all through. Have you got any light on the 
 subject?" 
 
 "My dear sir, I will tell you three important 
 things. First, Mrs. Brenton is innocent. Second, 
 her lawyers are taking the wrong line of defence. 
 Third," tapping his breast-pocket, " I have the name 
 of the murderer in my note -book." 
 
 to 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 ** Now," said John Speed to William Brenton, " we 
 have got Stratton fairly started on the track, and I 
 believe that he will ferret out the truth in this 
 matter. But, meanwhile, we must not be idle. You 
 must remember that, with all our facilities for dis- 
 covery, w^e really know nothing of the murderer 
 ourselves. I propose we set about this thing just 
 as systematically as Stratton will. The chances 
 are that we shall penetrate the mystery of the whole 
 affair very much quicker than he. As I told you 
 before, I am something of a newspaper man myself; 
 
^^m 
 
 70 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 and if, with the faciUties of getting into any room in 
 any house, in any city and in any country, and being 
 with a suspected criminal night and day when he 
 never imagines any one is near him — if with all those 
 advantages I cannot discover the real author of that 
 crime before George Stratton does, tli-^.. I'll never 
 admit that I came from Chicago, or belonged to a 
 newspaper." 
 
 "Whom do you think Stratton suspects of the 
 crime ? He told the sheriff," said Brenton, " that he 
 had the name in his pocket-book." 
 
 '•i don't know," said Speed, "but I have my 
 suspicions. You see, he has the names of all the 
 guests at your banquet in that pocket-book of his ; 
 but the name of Stephen Eoland he has marked with 
 two crosses. The name of the servant he has marked 
 with one cross. Now, I suspect that he believes 
 Stephen Eoland committed the crime. You know 
 Pioland ; what do you think of him ? " 
 
 " I think he is quite capable of it," answered 
 Brenton, with a frown. 
 
 " Still, you are prejudiced against the man," put 
 in Speed, "so your evidence is hardly impartial." 
 
 "I am not prejudiced against any one," answered 
 Brenton; "I merely know that man. He is a 
 thoroughly despicable, cowardly character. The only 
 thing that makes me think he would not commit a 
 murder, is that he is too craven to stand the conse- 
 quences if he were caught. He is a cool villain, but 
 he is a coward. I do not believe he has the courage 
 to commit a crime, even if he thought he would 
 benefit by it." 
 ' " Well, there is one thing, Brenton, you can't be 
 
FItOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 71 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 accused of flattering a man, and if it in any consola- 
 tion for you to know, you may be pretty certain that 
 George Stratton is on bis track." 
 
 ** I am sure I wish him success," answered Brenton, 
 gloomily ; *' if he brings Roland to the gallows I shall 
 not mourn over it." 
 
 " That's all right," said Speed ; ** but now we must 
 be up and doing ourselves. Have you anything to 
 propose ? " 
 
 ** No, I have not, except that we might play the 
 detective on Koland." 
 
 ** Well, the trouble with that is we would merely be 
 duplicating what Stratton is doing himself. Now, 
 I'll tell you my proposal. Supposing that we consult 
 "with Lecocq." 
 
 '' Who is that ? The novelist '? " 
 
 ** Novelist ? I don't think he has ever written any 
 novels — not that I remember of." 
 
 **Ah, I didn't know. It seemed to me that I 
 remembered his name in connection with some 
 novel." 
 
 " Oh, very likely you did. He is the hero of more 
 detective stories than any other man I know of. He 
 was the great French detective." 
 
 " What, is he dead, then ? " 
 
 ** Dead ? Not a bit of it ; he's here with us. Oh, I 
 understand what you mean. Yes, from your point of 
 view, he is dead." 
 
 ** Where can we find him ? " 
 
 ''Well, I presume, .n Paris. He's a first-rate 
 fellow to know, anyhow, and he spends most of his 
 time around his old haunts. In fact, if you want to 
 be certain to find Lecocq, you will generally get nxm 
 
I 
 
 h 
 
 72 
 
 FliOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 during ofticc hours in the room ho ust'd to frequent 
 while in Paris." 
 
 **Let us go and see him, then." 
 
 4K 4» « « * » 
 
 " Monsieur Lecocq," said Speed, a moment after- 
 wards, '' I wish to introduce to you a new-comer, 
 Mr. Brcnton, recently of Cincinnati." 
 
 "Ah, my dear Speed," said the Frenchman, "I 
 am very pleased indeed to meet any friend of yours. 
 How is the great Chicago, the second Paris, and 
 how is your circulation ? — the greatest in the world, 
 I suppose." 
 
 "Well, it is in pretty good order," said Speed; " we 
 circulated from Chicago to Paris here in a very much 
 shorter time than the journey usually occupies down 
 below. Now, can you give us a little of your time ? 
 Are you busy just now ? " 
 
 " My dear Speed, I am always busy. I am like 
 the people of the second Paris. I lose no time, but I 
 have always time to speak with my friends." 
 
 " All right," said Speed. " I am like the people of 
 the second Chicago, generally more intent on pleasure 
 than business ; but, nevertheless, I have a piece of 
 business for you." 
 
 "The second Chicago?" asked Lecocq. "And 
 where is that, pray ? " 
 
 "Why, Paris, of course," said Speed. 
 
 Lecocq laughed. 
 
 " You are incorrigible, you Chicagoans. And what 
 is the piece of business ? " 
 
 "It is the old thing, monsieur. A mystery to be 
 unravelled. Mr. Brenton here wishes to retain you 
 in his case." 
 
 I 
 
FliOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 72> 
 
 } 
 
 ■ 
 
 " And what is his case ? " was the answer. 
 Lecocq was c idcntly pleased to have a bit of real 
 work given him. 
 
 The detective. 
 
l! I, 
 
 V4 
 
 74 
 
 FBOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 Speed briefly recited the facts, Brenton correcting 
 him now ard then on little points where he was 
 wrong. Speed seemed to think these points im- 
 material, but Lococq said that attention to trivialities 
 was the whole secret of the detective business. 
 
 "Ah, said Lecocq sorrowfully, "there is no real 
 trouble in elucidating that mystery. I hoped it would 
 be something difficult ; but, you see, with my experi- 
 ence of the old world, and with the privileges one 
 enjoys in this world, things which might be difficult 
 to one below are very easy for us. Now, I shall show 
 you how simple it is." 
 
 " Good grecious! " cried Speed, "you don't mean 
 to say you are going to read it right off the reel, like 
 that, when we have been bothering ourselves with it 
 so long, and without success ? " 
 
 " At the moment," replied the French detective, " I 
 am not prei^ared to say who committed the deed. 
 That is a matter of detail. Now, let us see what 
 we know, and arrive, from that, at what we do not 
 know. The one fact, of Avhich we are assured on 
 the statement of two physicians from Cincinnati, is 
 that Mr. Brenton was poisoned." 
 
 " Well," said Speed, "there are several other facts, 
 too. Another fact is that Mrs. Brenton is accused 
 of the crime." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear sir," said Lecocq, " that is not 
 pertinent." 
 
 "No," said Speed, "I agree with you. I call it 
 very impertinent." 
 
 Brenton frowned at this, and his ol«' dislike to 
 the flippant, Chicago man rose to the surface 
 again. 
 
 
 1- 
 
 4 
 
 V,. N • 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 75 
 
 The Frenchman contmued marking the points on 
 his long forefinger. 
 
 '' Now, there are two ways by which that result 
 may have been attained. First, Mr. Brenton may 
 have administered to himself the poison ; secondly, the 
 poison may have been administered by some one else." 
 
 *'Yes," said Speed; "and, thirdly, the poison may 
 have been administered accidentally — you do not seem 
 to take that into account." 
 
 '*Ido not take that into account," calmly replied 
 the Frenchman, " because of its improbability. If 
 there were an accident; if, for instance, the poison 
 was in the sugar, or in ?ome of the viands served, 
 then others than Mr. Brenton would have been 
 poisoned. The fact that one man out of twenty-six 
 was poisoned, and the fact that several people are 
 to benefit by his death, point, it seems to me, to 
 murder ; but to be sure of that, I will ask Mr. Bren- 
 ton one question. My dear sir, did you administer 
 this poison to yourself? " 
 
 ** Certainly not," answered Brenton. 
 
 " Then we have two fact^ First, Mr. Brenton 
 was poisoned ; secondly, he w^as poisoned by some 
 person who had an interest in his death. Now we 
 will proceed. When Mr. Brenton sat down to that 
 dinner he was perfectly well. When he arose from 
 that dinner he was feeling ill. He goes to bed. He 
 sees no one but his wife after he has left the 
 dinner-table, and he takes nothing between the time 
 he leaves the dinner-table and the moment he be- 
 comes unconscious. Now, that poison must have 
 been administered to Mr. Brenton at the dinner- 
 table. Am I not right ? " 
 
76 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 " Well, you seem to be," answered Speed. 
 
 " Seem ? Why, it is as plain as day. There 
 cannot be any mistake." 
 
 " All right," said Speed ; ''go ahead. What next?" 
 
 " What next ? There were twenty-six people 
 aromid that table, with two servants to wait on them, 
 making twenty-eight in all. There were twenty-six, 
 I think you said, including Mr. Brenton." 
 
 " That is correct." 
 
 "Very well. One of those twenty-seven persons 
 has poisoned Mr. Brenton. Do you follow me '? " 
 
 ''We do," answered Speed; "we follow you as 
 closely as you have ever followed a criminal. Go on." 
 
 "Very well, so mueli is clear. Thwse are all facts, 
 not theories. Now, what is the thing that I should 
 do if I were in Cincinnati ? I would find out whether 
 one or more of those guests had anything to gain 
 by the death of their host. That done, I would 
 follow the suspected persons. I would have my men 
 find out what each of them had done for a month 
 before the time of the crime. Whoever committed 
 it mac- some preparation. He did something, too, 
 as you say, in America, to cover up his tracks. 
 Very well. By the keen detective these actions are 
 easily traced. I shall at once place twenty-seven of 
 the best men I know on the track of those twenty- 
 seven persons." 
 
 "I call that shadowing with a vengeance," re- 
 marked the Chicago man. 
 
 " It will be very easy. The one who has com- 
 mitted the crime is certain, when he is alone in his 
 own room, to say something, or to do something, 
 that will show my detective that he is the criminal. 
 
 ♦ m 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 11 
 
 >> 
 
 )0, 
 
 LS. 
 
 irc 
 of 
 
 py- 
 
 l1. 
 
 So, gentlemen, if you can tell me who those twenty- 
 seven persons are, in three days or a week from this 
 time I will tell you who gave the poison to Mr. 
 Brenton." 
 
 *'You seem very sure of that," said Speed. 
 
 " Sure of it ? It is simply child's play. It is mere 
 waiting. If, for instance, at the trial Mrs. Brenton 
 is found guilty, and sentenced, the one who is the 
 guilty party is certain to hetray himself or herself 
 as soon as he or she is alone. If it be a man who 
 hopes to marry Mrs. Brenton, he will be overcome 
 with grief at what has happened. He will wring his 
 hands and try to think what can be done to prevent 
 the sentence being carried out. He will argue with 
 himself whether it is better to give himself uj) and 
 tell the truth, and if he is a coward ho will conclude 
 not to do that, but will try to get a pardon, or at 
 least have the capital sentence commuted into life 
 imprisonment. He will possibly be cool and calm in 
 public, but when he enters his own room, when his 
 door is locked, when he believes nc one can see him, 
 when he thinks he is alone, then will come his trial. 
 Then his passions and his emotions will betray him. 
 It is mere child's play, as I tell you, and long before 
 there is a verdict I will give you the name of the 
 murderer." 
 
 '' Very well, then," said Speed, '* that is agreed ; we 
 will look you up in a week from now." 
 
 "■ I should be pained," said Lecocq, "to put you to 
 that trouble. As soon as I get the report from my 
 men I will communicate with you and let you know 
 the result. In a few days I shall give you the name 
 of the assassin." 
 
78 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 
 m i 
 
 'I ■ 
 
 " Good-bye, then, until I see you again," answered 
 Speed; and with this he and Brenton took their 
 departure. 
 
 *' He seems to be very sure of himself," said 
 Brenton. 
 
 Jane Morton. 
 
 ** He will do what he says, you may depend on 
 that." 
 
 The week was not yet up when Monsiour Lecocq 
 met John Speed in Chicago. 
 
FBOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 79 
 
 *' By the look of satisfaction on your face," said Mr. 
 Speed, *' I imagine you have succeeded in unravelling 
 the mystery." 
 
 "Ah," replied the Frenchman; "if I have the 
 appearance of satisfaction, it is indeed misplaced," 
 
 " Then you have not made any discovery ? " 
 
 *' On the contrary, it is all as plain as your big 
 buildings here. It is not for that reason, but because 
 it is so simple that I should be foolish to feel satis- 
 faction regarding it." 
 
 *' Then who is the person ? " 
 
 "The assassin," replied the Frenchman, "is one 
 whom no one has seemed to think of, and yet one on 
 whom suspicion should have been the first to fall. 
 The person who did Monsieur Brenton the honour to 
 poison him is none other than the servant girl, Jane 
 Morton." 
 
 )n 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Jane Morton ! " cried Speed ; " who is she ? " 
 " She is, as you may remember, the girl who carried 
 
 the coffee from Mrs. Brenton to monsieur." 
 " And are you sure she is the criminal ? " 
 The great detective did not answer ; lie merely gave 
 
 an expressive little French gesture, as though the 
 
 question was not worth commenting upon. 
 " Why, what was her motive ? " asked Speed. 
 For the first time in their acquaintance a shade of 
 
 perplexity seemed to come over the enthusiastic face 
 
 of the volatile Frenchman. 
 
 " You are what you call smart, you Chicago people," 
 
m 
 
 I 
 
 ■r 
 
 II 
 
 \i 
 
 i 
 
 1 -I 
 
 ■J 
 
 80 
 
 i^'iJOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 he said, *' and you have in a moment struck the only 
 point on which we are at a loss." 
 
 *'My dear sir," returned Speed, "that is the point 
 in the case. Motive is the first thing to look for, it 
 seems to me. You said as much yourself. If you 
 haven't succeeded in finding what motive Jane Morton 
 had for poisoning her employer, it appears to me that 
 very little has heen accomi)lished." 
 
 *' Ah, you say that hefore you know the particulaid. 
 I am certain we shall find the motive. What I 
 know now is that Jane Morton is the one who put the 
 poison in his cup of coffee." 
 
 " It would take a good deal of nerve to do that with 
 twenty-six people around the tahle. You forget, my 
 dear sir, that she had to pass the whole length of the 
 table, after taking the cup, before giving it to Mr. 
 Brenton." 
 
 " Half of the people had their backs to her, and 
 the other half, I can assure you, were not looking at 
 her. If the poison was ready, it was a very easy 
 thing to slip it into a cup of coffee. There was ample 
 time to do it, and that is how it was done." 
 
 " May I ask how you arrived at that conclusion ? " 
 
 ''Certainly, certainly, my dear sir. My detectives 
 report that each one of the twenty-seven people they 
 bad to follow were shadowed night and day. But 
 only two of them acted suspiciously. These two were 
 Jane Morton and Stephen Roland. Stephen Roland's 
 anxiety is accounted for by the fact that he is evi- 
 dently in love with Mrs. Brenton. But the change 
 in Jane Morton has been something terrible. She is 
 suffering from the severest pangs of ineffectual 
 remorse. She has not gone out again to service, but 
 
 .*a 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 8 1 
 
 ?" 
 
 lives 
 
 liey 
 
 iBut 
 
 ere 
 
 d's 
 
 !vi- 
 
 |nge 
 
 is 
 
 lual 
 
 Ibut 
 
 occupies a room in one of the poorer quarters of the 
 city — a room that she never leaves except at night. 
 Her whole actions show that she is afraid of the police 
 — afraid of being tracked for her crime. She buys 
 a newspaper every night, locks and bars the door 
 on entering her room, and, with tears streaming 
 from her eyes, reads every word of the criminal news. 
 One night, when she went out to buy her paper, and 
 what food she needed for the next day, she came un- 
 
 " Oh, ivhy did I do it l " 
 
 expectedly upon a policeman at the corner. The man 
 was not looking at her at all, nor for her, but she 
 fled, running like a deer, doubling and turning 
 through alleys and back streets until by a very round- 
 about road she reached her own room. There she 
 locked herself in, and remained without food all next 
 day rather than go out again. She flung herself 
 terror-stricken on the bed, after her room door was 
 bolted, and cried, * Oh, why did I do it ? why did 
 
 a 
 
ii 
 
 !! I 
 
 S2 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 I do it? I shall certainly be found out. If Mrs. 
 Brenton is acquitted, they will be after me next 
 day. I did it to make up to John what he had 
 suffered, and yet if John knew it, he would never 
 speak to me again.' " 
 
 '' Who is John ? " asked Speed. 
 
 *'Ah, that," said the detective, 'i do not know. 
 When we find out who John is, then we shall find the 
 motive for the crime." 
 
 *' In that case, if I were you, I should try to find 
 John as quickly as possible." 
 
 " Yes, my dear sir, that is exactly what should be 
 done, and my detective is now endeavouring to dis- 
 cover the identity of John. He will possibly succeed 
 in a few days. But there is another way of finding 
 out who John is, and perhaps in that you can 
 help me." 
 
 "What other way?" 
 
 ** There is one man who undoubtedly knows who 
 John is, and that is Mr. Brenton. Now, I thought 
 that perhaps you, who know Brenton better than I 
 do, would not mind asking him who John is." 
 
 *'My dear sir," said Speed, '* Brenton is no par- 
 ticular friend of mine, and I only know him well 
 enough to feel that if there is any cross-examination 
 to be done, I should prefer somebody else to do it." 
 
 *' Why, you are not afraid of him, are you ? " asked 
 the detective. 
 
 " Afraid of him ? Certainly not, but I tell you 
 that Brenton is just a little touchy and apt to take 
 offence. 1 have found him so on several occasions. 
 Now, as you have practically taken charge of this 
 case, why don't you go and see him ? " 
 
FIWM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 83 
 
 Mrs. 
 
 next 
 
 had 
 
 never 
 
 know. 
 Lid the 
 
 to iind 
 
 uld be 
 to dis- 
 lucceed 
 finding 
 ou can 
 
 ^vs who 
 lought 
 han I 
 
 no par- 
 m well 
 imation 
 
 it." 
 asked 
 
 ell you 
 to take 
 
 casions. 
 of this 
 
 *' I suppose I shall have to do that," said the French- 
 man, ** if you will not undertake it." 
 *'No, I will not." 
 ** You have no objection, have you, to going with 
 
 me?" 
 
 "It is better for you to see Brenton alone. I do 
 not think he would care to be cross-examined before 
 witnesses, you know." 
 
 "Ah, then, good-bye; I shall find out from Mr. 
 Brenton who John is.'* 
 
 *' I am sure I wish you luck," replied Speed, as 
 Lecocq took his departure. 
 
 Lecocq found Brenton and Ferris together. The 
 cynical spirit seemed to have been rather sceptical 
 about the accounts given him of the influence that 
 Speed and Brenton, combined, had had upon tho 
 Chicago newspaper man. Yet he was interested in 
 the case, and although he still maintained that no 
 practical good would result, even if a channel of 
 communication could be opened between the two 
 states of existence, he had listened with his customary 
 respect to what Brenton had to say. 
 
 "Ah," said Brenton, when he saw the Frenchman, 
 " have you any news for me ? " 
 
 "Yes, I have. I have news that I will exchange, 
 but meanwhile I want some news from you." 
 
 " I have none to give you," answered Brenton. 
 
 "If you have not, will you undertake to answer 
 any questions I shall ask you, and not take otfence if 
 the questions seem to be personal ones '? " 
 
 "Certainly," said Brenton; "I shall be glad to 
 answer anything as long as it has a bearing on the 
 case." 
 
H 
 
 84 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 Ill : ; 
 
 n 
 
 I 
 
 ■\t\ 
 
 \ 
 
 " Very well, then, it has a very distinct bearing 
 on the case. Do you remember the girl Jane 
 Morton?" 
 
 *' I remember her, of course, as one of the servants 
 in our employ. I know very little about her, 
 though." 
 
 "That is just what I wish to find out. Do you 
 know (inijthinff about her ? " 
 
 ** No ; she had been in our employ but a fortnight, 
 I think, or perhaps it was a month. My wife 
 attended to these details, of course. I knew the girl 
 was there, that is all." 
 
 The Frenchman looked very dubious as Brenton 
 said this, while the latter rather bridled up. 
 
 "You evidently do not believe me?" he cried. 
 
 Once more the detective gave his customary gesture, 
 and said — 
 
 " Ah, pardon me, you are entirely mistaken. I 
 have this to acquaint you with. Jane Morton is the 
 one who murdered you. She did it, she says, partly 
 for the sake of John, whoever he is, and partly out 
 of revenge. Now. of course, you are the only man 
 who can give me information as to the motive. That 
 girl certainly had a motive, and I should like to find 
 out what the motive was." 
 
 Brenton meditated for a few moments, and then 
 suddenly brightened up. 
 
 " I remember, now, an incident which happened a 
 week or two before Christmas, wh^,, i may have a 
 bearing on the case. One night I heard — or thought 
 I heard — a movement downstairs, when I supposed 
 everybody had retired. I took a revolver in my 
 hand, and went cautiously down the stairs. Of 
 
 I 
 
FBOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 85 
 
 en. I 
 
 s the 
 partly 
 y out 
 man 
 That 
 find 
 
 then 
 
 ned a 
 ave a 
 ought 
 posed 
 n my 
 Of 
 
 course I had no hght, hecause, if there was a burglar, 
 I did not wish to make myself too conspicuous a 
 mark. As I went along the hall leading to the 
 kitchen, I saw there was a light inside ; hut as 
 soon as they heard me coming, the light was put 
 out. When I reached the kitchen, I noticed a man 
 trying to escape through the door that led to the 
 coalshed. I fired at him twice, and he sank to the 
 floor with a groan. I thouglit I had bagged a 
 l)urglar sure, but it turned out to be nothing of the 
 kind. He was merely a young man who had been 
 rather late visiting one of the girls. I suspect now 
 the girl he came to see was Jane Morton. As it was, 
 the noise brought the two girls there, and I never 
 investigated the matter or tried to find out which one 
 it was that he had been visiting. They were both 
 terror-stricken, and the young man himself was in a 
 state of great fear. He thought for a moment that 
 he had been killed. However, he was only shot in 
 the leg, and I sent him to the house of a physician 
 who keeps such patients as do not wish to go to the 
 hospital. I did not care to have him go to the 
 hospital, because I was afraid the newspapers would 
 get hold of the incident, and make a sensation of it. 
 The whole thing was accidental; the young fellow 
 realized that, and so, I thought, did the girls ; at 
 least, I never noticed anything in their behaviour to 
 show the contrary." 
 
 " What sort of a looking girl is Jane Morton ? " . 
 asked Ferris. 
 
 " She is a tall brunette, with snapping black 
 eyes." 
 
 *'Ah, then, i remember her going into the room 
 
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86 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 where you lay," said Ferris, *' on Christmas morning. 
 It struck me when she came out that she was very 
 cool and self-possessed, and not at all surprised." 
 
 " All I can say," said Brenton, " is that I never 
 noticed anything in her conduct like resentment at 
 what had happened. I intended to give the young 
 fellow a handsome compensation for his injury, hut 
 of course what occurred on Christmas Eve prevented 
 that. I had really forgotten all ahout the circum- 
 stance, or I should have told you of it before." 
 
 **Then," said Lecocq, " the thing now is perfectly 
 clear. That black-eyed vixen murdered you out of 
 revenge." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 It was evident to George Stratton that he would 
 have no time before the trial came off in which to 
 prove Stephen Roland the guilty person. Besides 
 this, he was in a strange state of mind which he 
 himself could not understand. The moment he sat 
 down to think out a plan by which he could run 
 down the man he was confident had committed the 
 crime, a strange wavering of mind came over him. 
 Something seemed to say to him that he was on 
 the wrong track. This became so persistent that 
 George was bewildered, and seriously questioned 
 his own sanity. Whenever he sat alone in his own 
 
 :Ji 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 87 
 
 orning. 
 as very 
 3d." 
 
 I never 
 aent at 
 young 
 iry, hut 
 Bventod 
 •ircum- 
 
 erfectly 
 out of 
 
 would 
 lich to 
 esides 
 ch he 
 be sat 
 
 run 
 
 kl the 
 
 him. 
 
 LS on 
 
 that 
 lioned 
 
 own 
 
 room, the douhts arose, and a feeling that he was 
 on the wrong scent took possession of him. This 
 feeling became so strong at times that he looked up 
 other clues, and at one time tried to find out the 
 whereabouts of the servant girls who had been 
 employed by the Brentons. Curiously enough, the 
 moment he began this search, his mind seemed to 
 become clearer and easier ; and when that happened, 
 the old belief in the guilt of Stephen Roland resumed 
 its sway again. But the instant he tried to follow up 
 what clues he had in that direction, he found himself 
 baffled and assailed again by doubts, and so every 
 effort he put forth appeared to be nullified. This 
 state of mind was so unusual with him that ho had 
 serious thoughts of abandoning the whole case and 
 going back to Chicago. He said to himself, " I am 
 in love with this woman, and I shall go crazy if I 
 stay here any longer." Then he remembered the 
 trust she appeared to have in his powers of ferreting 
 out the mystery of the case, and this in turn 
 encouraged him and urged him on. 
 
 All trace of the girls appeared to be lost. He 
 hesitated to employ a Cincinnati detective, fearing 
 that what he discovered would be given away to the 
 Cincinnati press. Then he accused himself of dis- 
 loyalty to Mrs. Brenton, in putting his newspaper 
 duty before his duty to her. He was so torn by his 
 conflicting ideas and emotions that at last he 
 resolved to abandon the case altogether and return 
 to Chicago. He packed up his valise and resolved to 
 leave that night for big city, trial or no trial. He had 
 described his symptoms to a prominent physician, and 
 that physician told him that the case was driving 
 
■iiPPVP 
 
 88 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 him mad, and the best thing he could do was to 
 leave at once for other scenes. He could do no 
 good, and would perhaps end by going insane him- 
 self. 
 
 As George Stratton was packing his valise in his 
 room, alone, as he thought, the following conversation 
 was taking place beside him. 
 
 ** It is no use," said Speed; ** we are merely 
 muddling him, and not doing any good. The only 
 thing is to leave him alone. If he investigates the 
 Roland part of the case he will soon find out for 
 himself that he is on the wrong track ; then he will 
 take the right one." 
 
 *' Yes,-' said Brenton ; " but the case comes on in 
 a few days. If anything is to be done, it must be 
 done now." 
 
 ** In that I do not agree with you," said S^^'^ed. 
 *' Perhaps everything will go all right at the triai, :mt 
 even if it does not, there is still a certain amount 
 of time. You see how we have spoiled things 
 by interfering. Our first success with him has 
 misled us. We thought we could do anything; 
 we have really done worse than nothing, because 
 all this valuable time has been lost. If he had 
 been allowed to proceed in his own way he would 
 have ferreted out the matter as far as Stephen 
 Roland is concerned, and would have found that 
 there w^as no cause for his suspicion. As it is he 
 has done nothing. He still believes, if left alone, that 
 Stephen Roland is the criminal. All our efforts to 
 lead him to the residence of Jane Morton have been 
 unavailing. Now, you see, he is on the eve of going 
 back to Chicago." 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 89 
 
 "Well, then, let him go," said Brenton, de- 
 spondently. 
 
 " With all my heart, say I," answered Speed ; " but 
 in any case let us leave him alone." 
 
 Before the train started that night Stratton said to 
 himself that he was a new man. Richard was him- 
 self again. He was thoroughly convinced of the 
 guilt of Stephen Roland, and wondered why he had 
 allowed his mind to wander off the topic and waste 
 time with other suspicions, for which he now saw 
 tlicre was no real excuse. He had not the time, he 
 felt, to investigate the subject personally, but he 
 dattored himself he knew exactly the man to put on 
 Roland's track, and, instead of going himself to 
 Chicago, he sent off tlie following despatch : — 
 
 ** ^feet me to-morrow morning, without fail, at the 
 Gibson House. Answer." 
 
 Before midnight he had his answer, and next 
 morning he met a man in whom he had the most 
 implicit confidence, and who had, as he said, the rare 
 and valuable gift of keeping his mouth shut. 
 
 " You see this portrait ? " Stratton said, handing to 
 the other a i)hotograph of Stephen Roland. " Now, 
 I do not know how many hundred chemist shops 
 there are in Cincinnati, but I want you to get a list of 
 them, and j'ou must not omit the most obscure shop 
 in town. I want you to visit every drug store there 
 is in the city, show this photograph to the proprietor 
 and the clerks, and find out if that man bought 
 any chemicals during the week or two preceding 
 Christmas. Find out what drugs he bought, and 
 where he bought them, then bring the information 
 to me." 
 
90 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 " How much time do you give me on this, AFr. 
 Stratton ? " was the question. 
 
 *' Whatever time you want. I wish the thing 
 clone thoroughly and completely, and, as you know, 
 silence is golden in a case like this." 
 
 [ 
 
 ♦* How much time do you give me ? " 
 
 " Enough said," replied the other, and, huttoning 
 the photograph in his inside pocket, he left the room. 
 
 There is no necessity of giving an elaborate report 
 of the trial. Any one who has curiosity in the matter 
 can find the full particulars from the files of any 
 paper in the country. Mrs. Brenton was very pale 
 as she sat in the prisoner's dock, but George Stratton 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 91 
 
 thought he never saw any one look so beautiful. It 
 seemed to him that any man in that crowded court- 
 room could tell in a momec j that she was not guilty 
 of the crime with which she was charged, and he 
 looked at the jury of twelve supposedly good men, 
 and wondered what they thought of it. 
 
 The defence claimed that it was not their place to 
 show who committed the murder. That rested with 
 
 9q^ 
 
 ~^ 
 
 r 
 
 In the "prisoner's dnrl\ i> 
 
 the prosecution. The prosecution, ^Fr. Benham main- 
 tained, had signally failed to do this. However, in 
 order to aid the prosecution, he was quite willing to 
 show how Mr. Brenton came to his death. Then 
 witnesses were called, who, to the astonishment of 
 Mrs. Brenton, testified that her husband had all along 
 had a tendency to insanity. It was proved conclusively 
 that some of his ancestors had died in a lunatic 
 
92 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 asylum, and one was stated to have committed 
 suicide. The defence produced certain books from 
 Mr. Brenton's library, among them Forbes Winslow's 
 volume on ** The Mind and the Brain," to show that 
 Brenton had studied the subject of suicide. 
 
 The judge's charge was very colourless. It 
 amounted simply to this : If the jury thought 
 the prosecution had shown Mrs. Brenton to have 
 committed the crime, they were to bring in a verdict 
 of guilty, and if they thought otherwise they were to 
 acquit her ; and so the jury retired. 
 
 As they left the court-room a certain gloom fell 
 upon all those who were friendly to the fair prisoner. 
 
 Despite the great reputation of Benham and 
 Brown, it was the thought of every one present 
 that thoy had made a very poor defence. The prose- 
 cution, on the other hand, had been most ably con- 
 ducted. It had been shown that Mrs. Brenton was 
 chiefly to profit by her husband's death. The 
 insurance fund alone would add seventy-five thousand 
 dollars to the money she would control. A number 
 of little points that Stratton had given no heed to 
 had been magnified, and appeared then to have 
 a great bearing on the case. For the first time, 
 Stratton admitted to himself that the prosecution had 
 made out a very strong case of circumstantial evidence. 
 The defence, too, had been so deplorably weak that it 
 added really to the strength of the prosecution. A 
 great speech had been expected of Benham, but he 
 did not rise to the occasion, and, as one who knew 
 him said, Benham evidently believed his client guilty. 
 
 As the jury retired, every one in the court-room felt 
 that there was little hope for the prisoner ; and this 
 
FBOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 93 
 
 It 
 
 feeling was intensified when, a few moments after, the 
 announcement was made in court, just as the judge 
 was preparing to leave the bench, that the jury had 
 agreed on the verdict. 
 
 Stratton, in the stillness of the court-room, hoard 
 one lawyer whisper to another, " She's doomed." 
 
 There was intense silence as the jury slowly filed 
 into their places, and the foreman stood up. 
 
 " Gentlemen of the jury," was the question, " have 
 you agreed ui)on a verdict ? " 
 
 ** We have," answered the foreman. 
 
 ** Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty '? " 
 
 ** Not guilty," was the clear answer. 
 
 At this there was first a moment of silence, and then 
 a ripple of applause, promptly checked. 
 
 Mrs. Brenton was free. 
 
 CHAPTEK XL 
 
 George Stuatton sat in the court-room for a moment 
 dazed, before he thought of the principal figure in 
 the trial ; then he rose to go to her side, but he found 
 that Roland was there before him. He heard her say, 
 "Get me a carriage quickly, and take me away from 
 here." 
 
 So Stratton went back to his hotel to meet his 
 Chicago detective. Tht 'atter had nothing to report. 
 He told him the number of drug stores he had visited, 
 but all without avail. No one had recognized the 
 portrait. 
 
 "All right," said Stratton; "then you will just 
 have to go ahead until you find somebody who 
 
94 
 
 FliOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 does. It is, I believe, only a question of time and 
 perseverance." 
 
 Next morning lie arose late. He looked over the 
 report of the trial in the morning paper, and then, 
 turning to the leader page, read with rising indigna- 
 tion the following editorial : — 
 
 <( 
 
 THE liRENTON CASE. 
 
 ** The decision of yesterday shows the glorious un- 
 certainty that attends the finding of the average 
 American jury. If such verdicts are to be rendered, 
 we may as well blot out from the statute-book all 
 punishment for all crimes in which the evidence is 
 largely circumstantial. If ever a strong case was 
 made out against a human being it was the case of 
 the prosecution in the recent trial. If ever there was 
 a case in which the defence was deplorably weak, 
 although ably conducted, it was the case that was 
 concluded yesterday. Should we, then, be prepared to 
 say that circumstantial evidence will not be taken by 
 an American jury as ground for the conviction of a 
 murderer? The chances are that, if we draw this 
 conclusion, we shall be entirely wrong. If a man 
 stood in the dock, in the place of the handsome young 
 woman who occupied it yesterday, he would to-day 
 have been undoubtedly convicted of murder. The 
 conclusion, then, to be arrived at seems to be that, 
 unless there is the direct proof of murder against a 
 pretty woman, it is absolutely impossible to get the 
 average jury of men to convict her. It would seem 
 that the sooner we get women on juries, especially 
 where a woman is on trial, the better it will be for 
 the cause of justice." 
 
FBOM WHOSE BOURSE. 
 
 95 
 
 to 
 
 by 
 
 lari 
 mg 
 lay 
 
 :iio 
 
 at, 
 
 a 
 
 he 
 
 lem 
 
 iiy 
 
 Ifor 
 
 Then in other parts of the paper there were little 
 items fiimihir to this — 
 
 " If Mrs. Brenton did not poison her husb'^nd, then 
 who did ? " 
 
 That afternoon George Stratton paid a visit to Mrs. 
 Brenton. He had hoped she had not seen the paper 
 in question, but he hoped in vain. He found Mrs. 
 Brenton far from elated with her acquittal. 
 
 "I would give everything I possess," she said, '*to 
 bring the culprit to justice." 
 
 After a talk on that momentous question, and when 
 George Stratton held her hand and said good-])ye, she 
 asked him — 
 
 " When do you go to Chicago ? " 
 
 " Madam," he said, '* I leave for Chicago the 
 moment I find out who poisoned WilHam Brenton." 
 
 She answered sadly — 
 
 " You may remain a long time in Cincinnati." 
 
 " In some respects," said Stratton, **1 like Cincin- 
 nati better than Chicago." 
 
 *' You are the first Chicago man I ever heard say 
 that," she replied. 
 
 "Ah, that was because they did not know Cincin- 
 nati as I do." 
 
 " I suppose you must have seen a great deal of the 
 town, but I must confess that from now on I should 
 be very glad if I never saw Cincinnati again. I would 
 like to consult with you," she continued, " about the 
 best way of solving this mystery. I have been think- 
 ing of engaging some of the best detectives I can get. 
 I suppose New York would be the place." 
 
 "No ; Chicago," answered the young man. 
 
 " Well, then, that is what I wanted to see you about. 
 
96 
 
 FliOM WHOSE DOUltNE. 
 
 I would like to get the very best detectives that can 
 be had. Don't you think that, if they were promised 
 ample reward, and paid well during the time they were 
 working on the case, we might discover the key to 
 this mystery ? *' 
 
 " I do not think much of our detective system," 
 answered Stratton, "alt iugh I suppose there is 
 something in it, and some times they manage in spite 
 of themselves to stumble on the solution of a crime. 
 Still, I shall be very glad indeed to give you what 
 advice I can on the subject. 1 may say 1 have con- 
 stituted myself a special detective in this case, and 
 that I hope to have the honour of solving the 
 problem." 
 
 ** You arc very good, indeed," she answered, *' and 
 I must ask you to let me bear the expense." 
 
 " Oh, the paper will do that. 1 won't be out of 
 pocket at all," said Stratton. 
 
 *' Well, I hardly know how to put it ; but, whether 
 you are successful or not, I feel very grateful to 
 you, and I hope you will not be offended at what 
 I am going to say. Now, promise me that you 
 won't ? " 
 
 " I shall not be offended," he answered. " It is a 
 little difficult to offend a Chicago newspaper man, 
 you know\" 
 
 " Now, you mustn't say anything against the news- 
 paper men, for, in spite of the hard things that some 
 of them have said about me, I like them." 
 
 " Individually or collectively ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I must say individually. You said 
 you wouldn't be offended, so after your search is over 
 you must let me . The labourer is worthy of his 
 
n 
 
 IS a 
 lan, 
 
 te^vs- 
 iome 
 
 said 
 
 over 
 
 If bis 
 
 '^ I feel, very grafe/nl to yon." 
 
(i 
 
 t t 
 
 98 
 
 FHOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 hire, or I should say, his reward — you know what I 
 mean. I presume that a young man who earns 
 his hving on the daily press is not necessarily 
 wealthy." 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Brenton, what strange ideas you have 
 of the world ! We newspaper men work at the busi- 
 ness merely because we like it. It isn't at all for the 
 money that's in it." 
 
 " Then you are not offended at what I have said ? " 
 '* Oh, not in the least. I may say, however, that I 
 look for a higher reward than money if I am success- 
 ful in this search." 
 
 " Yes, I am sure you do," answered the lady, 
 innocently. ** If you succeed in this, you will be very 
 famous." 
 
 "Exactly; it's fame I'm after," said Stratton, 
 shaking her hand once more, and taking his leave. 
 
 When he reached his hotel, he found the Chicago 
 detective waiting for him. 
 
 *' Well, old man," he said, *' anything new ? " 
 " Yes, sir. Something very new." 
 " What have you found out ? " 
 "Everything." 
 "Very well, let me have it." 
 
 " I found out that this man bought, on December 
 10th, thirt}' grains of morphia. He had this mor- 
 phia put up in five-grain capsules. He bjught this 
 at the drug store on the corner of Blank Street and 
 Nemo Avenue." 
 
 " Good gracious ! " answered Stratton. " Then to 
 get morphia he must have had a physician's certifi- 
 cate. Did you find wiio the physician was that signed 
 the certificate ? " 
 
fhom whose bourne. 
 
 99 
 
 it I 
 
 irns 
 irily 
 
 lave 
 lusi- 
 :tlie 
 
 id?" 
 hat I 
 
 ;cess- 
 
 lacly, 
 ) very 
 
 atton, 
 
 ve. 
 lica^jo 
 
 lember 
 mor- 
 \i this 
 jt and 
 
 Ihen to 
 Icertifi- 
 Isigned 
 
 ** My dear sir," said the Chicago man, '* this person 
 is himself a physician, miless I am very much mis- 
 taken. "I was told that this was the portrait of 
 Stephen Roland. Am I right ? " 
 
 " That is the name." 
 
 "Well, then, he is a doctor himself. Not doing a 
 very large practice, it is true, but he is a physician. 
 Did you not know that ? " 
 
 " Here's the detailed report." 
 
 " No," said Stratton ; '* how stupid I am ! I never 
 thought of asking the man's occupation." 
 
 *'Very well, if that is what you wanted to know, 
 here's the detailed report of my investigation." 
 
 When the man left, Stratton rubbed his hands. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Stephen Eoland, I have you," he 
 said. 
 
lOO 
 
 FBOM WHOSE BOUIiNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 After receiving this information, Stratton sat alone 
 in bis room and thought deeply over his plans. He 
 did not wish to make a false step, yet thare was 
 hardly enough in the evidence he had secured to 
 warrant his giving Stephen Roland up to the police. 
 Besides this, it would put the suspected man at once 
 on his guard, and there was no question but that 
 gentleman had taken every precaution to prevent 
 discovery. After deliberating for a long while, he 
 thought that perhaps the best thing he could do was 
 to endeavour to take Eoland by surprise. Meanwhile, 
 before the meditating man stood Brenton and Speed, 
 and between them there was a serious disagreement 
 of opinion. 
 
 "I tell you what it is," said Speed, ''there is no 
 use in our interfering with Stratton. He is on the 
 wrong track, but, nevertheless, all the influence we 
 can use on him in his present frame of mind will 
 merely do what it did before — it will muddle the 
 man up. Now, I propose that we leave him severely 
 alone. Let him find out his mistake. He will find 
 it out in some way or other, and then he will be in 
 a condition of mind to turn to the case of Jane 
 Morton." 
 
 "But don't you see," argued Brenton, "that all 
 the time spent on his present investigation is so 
 much time lost ? I will agree to leave him alone, as 
 you say, but let us get somebody else on the Morton 
 
 case. 
 
 »» 
 
 \ 
 
FPiOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 lOI 
 
 lall 
 
 SO 
 
 as 
 ion 
 
 ** I don't want to do that," said Sj^eed; "because 
 George Stratton has taken a great deal of interest 
 in this search. He has done a great deal now, and 
 I think we should be grateful to him for it." 
 
 "Grateful!" growled Brenton ; "he has done it 
 from the most purely selfish motives that a man can 
 act upon. He has done it entirely for his paper — for 
 newspaper fame. He has done it for money." 
 
 " Now," said Speed, hotly, " you must not talk hke 
 that of Stratton to me. I won't say what I think 
 of that kind of language coming from you, but you 
 can see how seriously we interfered with his work 
 before, and how it nearly resulted in his departure for 
 Chicago. I propose now that we leave him nlone." 
 
 "Leave him alone, then, for any sake," replied 
 Brenton ; "I am sure I build nothing on what he 
 can do anyway." 
 
 "All right, then," returned Speed, recovering his 
 good nature. " Now, although I am not willing to 
 put any one else on the track of Miss Jane Morton, 
 yet I will tell you what I am willing to do. If you 
 like, we will go to her residence, and influence her 
 to confess her crime. I believe that can be done." 
 
 " Very well ; I want you to understand that I am 
 perfectly reasonable about the matter. All I want is 
 not to lose any more time." 
 
 " Time ?" cried Speed ; " why, we have got a,ll the 
 time there is. Mrs. Brenton is acquitted. There is 
 no more danger." 
 
 " That is perfectly true, I admit ; but still you can 
 see the grief under which she labours, because her 
 name is not yet cleared from the odium of the crime. 
 You will excuse me, Speed, if I say that you seem to 
 
 1 1 
 
 V 
 
 if:. 
 
I02 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 be working more in the interests of Stratton's jour- 
 nalistic success than in the interests of Mrs. Bren- 
 ton's good name." 
 
 " Well, we won't talk about that," said Speed ; 
 " Stratton is amply able to take care of himself, as 
 you will dc 'btless see. Now, what do you say to 
 our trying whether or not we can influence Jane 
 Morton to do what she ought to do, and confess her 
 crime?" 
 
 " It is not a very promising task," replied Brenton ; 
 "it is hard to g^jt a person to say words that may 
 lead to the gallows." 
 
 "I'm not so sure about that," said Speed; "you 
 know the trouble of mind she is in. I think it more 
 than probable that, after the terror of the last few 
 weeks, it will be a relief for her to give herself up." 
 
 " Very well ; let us go." 
 
 The two men shortly afterwards found themselves in 
 the scantily furnished room occupied by Jane Morton. 
 That poor woman was rocking herself to and fro 
 and moaning over her trouble. Then she suddenly 
 stopped rocking, and looked around the room with 
 vague apprehension in her eyes. She rose and 
 examined the bolts of the door, and, seeing evtiything 
 was secure, sat down again. 
 
 " I shall never have any peace in this world again," 
 she cried to herself. 
 
 She rocked back and forth silently for a few 
 moments. 
 
 " I wish," she said, " the police would find out all 
 about it, and then this agony of mind would end." 
 
 Again she rocked back and forth, with her bands 
 helplessly in her lap. ■ • .... 
 
 ' 
 
I 
 
 FliOM WIIOISE BOURNE. 
 
 103 
 
 I 
 
 { 
 
 "Oh, 1 cannot do it, / cannot do it/" she sobbed, 
 still rocking to and fro. Finally she started to her 
 feet. 
 
 **I icill do it," she cried ; " I will confess to Mrs. 
 Brenton herself. I will tell her everything. She 
 has gone through trouble herself, and may have 
 mercy on me." 
 
 *' There, you see," said Speed to Brenton, ** we 
 have overcome the difficulty, after all." 
 
 " It certainly looks like it," replied Brenton. 
 ** Don't you think, however, that we had better stay 
 with her until she does confess ? May she not change 
 her mind ? " 
 
 *' Don't let us overdo the thing," suggested Speed ; 
 " if she doesn't come to time, we can easily have 
 another interview with her. The woman's mind is 
 made up. She is in torment, and will be until she 
 confesses her crime. Let us go and leave her 
 
 alone." 
 
 George Stratton was not slow to act when he had 
 once made up his mind. He pinned to the breast of 
 his vest a little shield, on which was the word ''de- 
 tective." This he had often found useful, in a way 
 that is not at all sanctioned by the law, in ferreting 
 out crime in Chicago. As soon as it was evening he 
 paced up and down in front of Roland's house, and 
 on the opposite side of the road. There was a light 
 in the doctor's study, and he thought that perhaps 
 the best way to proceed was to go boldly into the house 
 and put his scheme into operation. However, as he 
 meditated on this, the light was turned low, and in a 
 few moments the door opened. The doctor came 
 
r 
 
 104 
 
 FliOM WHO Si: BOURNE. 
 
 down the steps, and out on ilie pavement, walking 
 briskly along the street. The reporter followed him on 
 the other side of the thoroughfare. Whether to do it 
 in the dark or in the light, was the question that 
 troubled Stratton. If he did it in tlie dark, he would 
 miss the expression on the face of the surprised man. 
 If he did it in the light, the doctor might recognize 
 him as the Chicago reporter, and would know at once 
 that he was no detective. Still, he felt that if there 
 was anything in his scheme at all, it was surprise ; 
 and he remembered the quick gasp of the lawyer 
 Brown when he told him he knew what his defence 
 was. He must be able to note the expression of the 
 man who w^as guilty of the terrible crime. 
 
 Having made up his mind to this, he stepped 
 smartly after the doctor, and, when the latter came 
 under a lamp-post, placed his hand suddenly on 
 his shoulder, and exclaimed — 
 
 ** Doctor Stephen Eoland, I arrest you for the 
 murder of William Brenton ! " 
 
 CHAPTEK Xlll. 
 
 Stephen Boland turned quickly around and shook 
 the hand from his shoulder. It was evident that he 
 recognized Stratton instantly. 
 
 ** Is this a Chicago joke ? " asked the doctor. 
 
 *' If it is, Mr. Eoland, I think you will find it a very 
 serious one." 
 
 •* Aren't you afraid that you may find it a serious 
 one ? " 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 105 
 
 " I ilon't see wliy I should have any fears in the 
 premises," answered the newspaper man. 
 
 '* My dear sir, do you not realize that I could 
 knock you down or shoot you dead for what you have 
 done, and be perfectly justified in doing so ? " 
 
 ** If you either knock or shoot," replied the other, 
 "you will have to do it very quickly, for, in the 
 language of the wild and woolly West, I've got the 
 drop on you. In my coat pocket is a cocked revolver 
 with my forefinger on the trigger. If you make a 
 hostile move I can let daylight through you so quickly 
 that 3'ou won't know what has struck you." 
 
 " Electric light, I think you mean," answered the 
 doctor, quietly. *' Even a Chicago man might find 
 it difficult to let daylight through a person at this 
 time in the evening. Now, this sort of thing may be 
 Chicago manners, but I assure you it will not go 
 down here in Cincinnati. You have rendered yourself 
 liable to the law if I cared to make a point of it, but 
 I do not. Come back with me to my study. I would 
 like to talk with you." 
 
 Stratton began to feel vaguely that he had made a 
 fool of himself. His scheme had utterly failed. 
 The doctor was a great deal cooler and more .collected 
 than he was. Nevertheless, he had a deep distrust 
 of the gentleman, and he kept his revolver handy 
 for fear the other would make a dash to escape 
 him. They walked back without saying a word to 
 each other until they came to the doctor's office. 
 Into the house they entered, and the doctor bolted 
 the door behind them. Stratton suspected that very 
 likely he was walking into a trap, but he thought he 
 would be equal to any emergency that might arise. 
 
IP 
 
 T 
 
 1 06 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 if 
 
 The doctor walked into the study, and again locked 
 the door of that. Pulling down the bhnds, he turned 
 up the gas to its full force and sat down by a table, 
 motioning the newspaper man to a seat on the other 
 side. 
 
 " Now," he said calmly to Stratton, " the reason 1 
 did not resent your unwarrantable insult is this : You 
 are conscientiously trying to get at the root of this 
 mystery. So am I. Your reason is that you wish to 
 score a victory for your paper. My motive is entirely 
 different, but our object is exactly the same. Now, 
 by some strange combination of circumstances you 
 have come to the conclusion that I committed the 
 crime. Am I right ? " 
 
 " You are perfectly correct, doctor," replied Stratton. 
 
 **Very well, then. Now, I assure you that I am 
 entirely innocent. Of course, I appreciate the fact 
 that this assurance will not in the slightest degree 
 affect your opinion, but I am interested in knowing 
 why you came to your conclusion, and perhaps by 
 putting our heads together, even if I dislike you and 
 you hate me, we may see some light on this matter 
 that has hitherto been hidden. I presume you have 
 no objection at all to co-operate with me ? " 
 
 " None in the least," was the reply. 
 
 ** Very well, then. Now, don't mind my feelings at 
 all, but tell me exactly why you have suspected me 
 of being a murderer." 
 
 "Well," answered Stratton, "in the first place we 
 must look for a motive. It seems to me that you 
 have a motive for the crime." 
 
 • "And might I ask what that motive is, or 
 was?" 
 
FIWM WHOSE nOVliNE, 
 
 107 
 
 t 
 
 * 
 
 ** You will admit that you disliked Brenton ? " 
 
 **I will admit that, yes." 
 
 ** Very well. You will admit also that you were — 
 well, how shall I put it *? — let us say, interested in his 
 wife before her marriage '? " 
 
 **I will admit that; yes." 
 
 "You, perhaps, will admit that you are interested 
 in her now ? " 
 
 *' I do not see any necessity for admitting that ; but 
 still, for the purpose of getting along with the case, I 
 will admit it. Go on." 
 
 *' Very good. Here is a motive for the crime, 
 and a very strong one. First, we will presume that 
 you are in love with the wife of the man who is 
 murdered. Secondly, supposing that you are mer- 
 cenary, quite a considerable amount of money will 
 come to you in case you marry Brenton's widow. 
 Next, some one at that table poisoned him. It was 
 not Mrs. Brenton, who poured out the cup of coffee. 
 The cup of coffee was placed before Brenton, and my 
 opinion is that, until it was placed there, there was 
 no poison in that cup. The doomed man was en- 
 tirely unsuspicious, and therefore it was very easy for 
 a person to slip enough poison in that cup unseen by 
 anybody at that table, so that when he drank his 
 coffee nothing could have saved him. He rose from 
 the table feeling badly, and he went to his room and 
 died. Now, who could have placed that poison in his 
 cup of coffee ? It must have been one of the two that 
 sat at his right and left hand. A young lady sat at 
 his right hand. She certainly did not commit the 
 crime. You, Stephen Koland, sat at his left hand. 
 Do you deny any of the facts I have recited ? " 
 
io8 
 
 FliOiM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 a f\ 
 
 
 \ 
 
 That is a very ingenious chain of circumstantial 
 evidence. Of course, you do not think it strong 
 enough to convict a man of such a serious crime as 
 murder?" 
 
 ** No ; I quite reahze the weakness of the case up to 
 this ijoint. But there is more to follow. Fourteen 
 days before that dinner you purchased at the drug 
 store on the corner of Blank Street and Nemo Avenue 
 thirty grains of morphia. You had the poison put up 
 in capsules of five grains each. What do you say to 
 that bit of evidence added to the circumstantial chain 
 which you say is ingenious ? " 
 
 The doctor knit his brows and leaned back in 
 his chair. 
 
 "By the gods ! " he said, "you are right. I did 
 buy that morphia. I remember it now. I don't 
 mind telling you that I had a number of experiments 
 on hand, as every doctor has, and I had those capsules 
 put up at the drug store, but this tragedy coming on 
 made me forget all about the matter." 
 
 " Did you take the morphia with you, doctor '? " 
 
 " No, I did not. And the box of capsules, I do 
 not think, has been opened. But that is easily 
 ascertained." 
 
 The doctor rose, went to his cabinet, and unlocked 
 it. From a number of j)ackages he selected a small 
 one, and brought it to the desk, placing it before the 
 reporter. • 
 
 " There is the package. That contains, as you 
 say, thirty grains of morphia in half a dozen five- 
 grain capsules. You see that it is sealed just as it 
 left the drug store. Now, open it and look for your- 
 self. Here are scales; if you want to see whether 
 
FJiOM WHOSE nOUHNE. 
 
 109 
 
 a single grain is missing or not, find out for 
 yourself." 
 
 " Perhaps," said the newspaper man, ** we had 
 better leave this investigation for the proper 
 authorities." 
 
 " Then you still believe that I am the murderer of 
 William Brenton ? " 
 
 *' Yes, I still believe that." 
 
 ''Very well; you may do as you please. I think, 
 however, in justice to myself, you should stay right 
 here, and see that this box is not tampered with 
 until the proper authorities, as you say, come." 
 
 Then, placing his hand on the bell, he continued — 
 
 "Whom shall I send for? An ordinary police- 
 man, or some one from the central oftice ? But, now 
 that I think of it, here is a telephone. We can have 
 any one brought here that you wish. I prefer that 
 neither you nor I leave this room until that 
 functionary has appeared. Name the authority you 
 want brought here," said the doctor, going to the 
 telephone, "and T will have him here if he is in 
 town." 
 
 The newspaper man was nonplussed. The doctor's 
 actions did not seem like those of a guilty man. If 
 he were guilty he certainly had more nerve than any 
 person Stratton had ever met. So he hesitated. 
 Then he said — 
 
 " Sit down a moment, doctor, and let us talk this 
 thing over." 
 
 "Just as you say," remarked Boland, drawing up 
 his chair again. 
 
 Stratton took the package, and looked it over care- 
 fully. It was certainly just in the condition in which 
 
no 
 
 FliOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 \ 
 
 w 
 
 it had left the drug store ; but still, that could have 
 been easily done by the doctor himself. 
 
 ** Suppose we open this package ? " ho said to 
 Eoland. 
 
 " With all my heart," said the doctor, " go ahead ; " 
 and he shoved over to him a little penknife that was 
 on the table. 
 
 The reporter took the package, ran the knife 
 around the edge, and opened it. There lay six 
 capsules, filled, as the doctor had said. Koland picked 
 up one of them, and looked at it critically. 
 
 "I assure you," he said, "although I am quite 
 aware you do not believe a word I say, that I have 
 not seen those capsules before." 
 
 He drew towards him a piece of paper, opened the 
 capsule, and let the white powder fall on the paper. 
 He looked critically at the powder, and a shade of 
 astonishment came over his face. He picked up the 
 penknife, took a particle on the tip of it, and touched 
 it with his tongue. 
 
 "Don't fool with that thing ! " said Stratton. 
 
 " Oh, my dear fellow," he said, "morphia is not 
 a poison in small quantities." 
 
 The moment he had tasted it, however, he sud- 
 denly picked up the paper, put the five grains on his 
 tongue, and swallowed them. 
 
 Instantly the reporter sprang to his feet. He saw 
 at once the reason for all the assumed coolness. The 
 doctor was merely gaining time in order to commit 
 suicide. 
 
 " What have you done ? " cried the reporter. 
 
 " Done, my dear fellow ? nothing very much. 
 This is not morphia; it is suljihate of quinine." 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 I I I 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 In the morning Jane Morton prcparetl to meet Mrs. 
 Trenton, and make her confession. She called at 
 the Brenton residence, hut found it closed, as it had 
 been ever since the tragedy of Christmas morning. 
 It took her some time to discover the whereabouts 
 of Mrs. Brenton, who, since the murdei, had resided 
 with a friend except while under arrest. 
 
 For a moment Mrs. Brenton did not recognize the 
 thin and pale woman who stood before her in a state 
 of such extreme nervous agitation, that it seemed as 
 if at any moment she might break down and cry. 
 
 ** I don't suppose you'll remember me, ma'am," 
 began the girl, "but I worked for you two weekr? 
 before — before " 
 
 " Oh yes," said Mrs, Brenton, ** I remember 3'ou 
 now. Have you been ill ? You look quite worn and 
 pale, and very different from what you did the last 
 time I saw you." 
 
 **Yes," said the girl, *'I believe I have been 
 ill." 
 
 ** You heUevc ; rent you sure ? " 
 
 ** I have been very ill in mind, and troubled, and 
 that is the reason I look so badly. Oh, Mrs. 
 Brenton, I wanted to tell you of something that has 
 been weighing on my mind ever since that awful day ! 
 I know you can never forgive me, but I must tell it 
 to you, or I shall go crazy." 
 
 *' Sit down, sit down," said the lady, kindly; "you 
 know wdiat trouble I have been in myself. I am sure 
 
 
T 
 
 I 12 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOUIiNE. 
 
 1 
 
 that I am more able to sympathize now with one 
 who is in trouble than ever I was before." 
 
 '' Yes, raa'am ; but you were innocent, and I am 
 guilty. That makes all the difference in the world." 
 
 "Guilty!'* cried Mrs. Brenton, a strange fear 
 coming over her as she stared at the girl ; " guilty of 
 icJiat ?■ " 
 
 • *' Oh, madam, let me tell you all about it. There 
 IS, of course, no excuse ; but I'll begin at the begin- 
 ning. You remember a while before Christmas that 
 John came to see me one night, and we sat up very 
 late in the kitchen, and your husband came down 
 quietly, and when we heard him coming we put out 
 the light, and just as John was trying to get away, 
 your husband shot twice at him, and hit him the 
 second time ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," said Mrs. Brenton, " I remember that 
 very well. I had forgotten about it in my own 
 trouble ; but I know that my husband intended to do 
 something for the young man. I hope he was not 
 seriously hurt ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am ; he is able to be about again now as 
 well as ever, and is not even lame, which we expected 
 he would be. But at the time I thought he was 
 going to be lame all the rest of his life, and perhaps 
 that is the reason I did what I did. When every- 
 thing was in confusion in the house, and it was 
 certain that we would all have to leave, I did a very 
 wicked thing. I went to your room, and I stole some 
 of your rings, and some money that was there, as 
 well as a lot of other things that were in the room. 
 It seemed to me then, although, of course, I know 
 now how wicked it was, that you owed John some- 
 
 !-i 
 
1 -si 
 
 Guilti/! Guilty (>/ what?' 
 
114 
 
 FliOM WHOSE BOUliNE. 
 
 thing for what he had gone through, and I thought 
 that he was to be lame, and that you woukl never 
 miss the things ; but, oh ! madam, I have not slept 
 a night since I took them. I have been afraid of the 
 police and afraid of being found out. I have pawned 
 nothing, and they are all just as I took them, and I 
 have brought them back here to you, with every 
 penny of the money. I know you can never forgive 
 me, but I am willing now to be given up to the 
 police, and I feel better in my mind than I have done 
 ever since I took the things." 
 
 " My poor child ! " said Mrs. Drenton, sympa- 
 thetically, ''was that «//?" 
 
 ** All ? " cried the girl. " Yes, I have brought 
 everything back." 
 
 **0h, I don't mean that, but I am sorry you have 
 been w^orried over anything so trivial. I can see 
 how at such a time, and feeling that you had been 
 wronged, a temptation to take the things came to 
 you. But I hope you will not trouble any more 
 about the matter. I will see that John is compen- 
 sated for all the injury he received, as far as it is 
 possible for money to compensate him. I hope 
 you will keep the money. The other things, of 
 course, I shall take back, and I am glad you came 
 to tell me of it before telling any one else. I 
 think, perhaps, it is better never to say anything 
 to anybody about this. People might not under- 
 stand just what temptation you were put to, and 
 they would not know the circumstances of the case, 
 because nobody knows, I think, that John was 
 hurt. Now, my dear girl, do not cry. It is all right. 
 Of course you never will touch anything again that 
 
 * Lt 
 
 :i v 
 
FROM WnOSE BOURNE, 
 
 115 
 
 )f 
 
 le 
 
 I 
 
 
 'i 
 
 does not belong to you, and the suffering you have 
 gone through has more than made up for all the 
 wrong you have done. I am sure that I forgive you 
 quite freely for it, and I think it was very noble of 
 you to come and tell me about it." 
 
 Mrs. Brenton took the package from the hands of 
 the weejnng girl, and opened it. She found every- 
 thing there, as the girl had said. She took the money 
 and offered it to Jane Morton. The girl shook her 
 head. 
 
 " No," she cried, *' I cannot touch it. I cannot, 
 indeed. It has been enough misery to me already." 
 
 "Very well," said Mrs. Brenton. "I would like 
 very much to see John. Will you bring him to 
 me?" 
 
 The girl looked at her with startled eyes. 
 
 " You will not tell him ? " she said. 
 
 " No indeed, I shall tell him nothing. But I want 
 to do what I can for him, as I said. I suppose you 
 are engaged to be married ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered the girl ; " but if he knew of this 
 he never, never would marry me." 
 
 " If he did not," said Mrs. Brenton, *' he would not 
 be worthy of you. But he shall know nothing about 
 it. You will promise to come here and see me with 
 him, will you not ? " 
 
 "Yes, madam," said the girl. 
 
 " Then good-bye, until I see you again." 
 
 Mrs. Brenton sat for a long time thinking over this 
 confession. It took her some time to recover her 
 usual self-possession, because for a moment she had 
 thought the girl was going to confess that she com- 
 mitted murder. In comparison with that awful 
 
ii6 
 
 FltOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 crime, the theft seemed so trivial tha> Mrs. Brenton 
 ahnost smiled when she thought of the girl's distress. 
 ' * • . « • « » 
 
 ** Well," said John Speed to Mr. Brenton, " if that 
 doesn't beat the Old Harry. Now I, for one, am 
 very glad of it, if we come to the real truth of the 
 matter." 
 
 *' I am glad also," said Brenton, " that the girl is 
 not guilty, although I must say things looked decidedly 
 against her." 
 
 " I will tell you why I am glad," said Speed. '* I 
 am glad because it will take some of the suj^erliuous 
 conceit out of that French detective Lecocq. He was 
 so awfully sure of himself. He couldn't possibly be 
 mistaken. Now, think of the mistakes that man 
 must have made while he w^as on earth, and had the 
 power which was given into his hands in Paris. After 
 ail, Stratton is on the right track, and he will yet 
 land your friend Roland in prison. Let us go and 
 find Lecocq. This is too good to keep." 
 
 *' My dear sir," said Brenton, "you seem to be 
 more elated because of your friend Stratton than for 
 any other reason. Don't you want the matter 
 ferreted out at all ? " 
 
 *' Why, certainly I do ; but I don't want it ferreted 
 out by bringing an innocent person into trouble." 
 
 ** And may not Stephen Roland be an innocent 
 person?" 
 
 " Oh, I suppose so ; but I do not think he is." 
 
 " Why do you not think so ? " 
 
 " Well, if you want the real reason, simply because 
 George Stratton thinks he isn't. I pin my faith to 
 Stratton." 
 
FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 117 
 
 " I think you overrate your friend Stratton." • 
 "Overrate him, sir? That is impossible. I love 
 him so well that I hope he will solve this mystery 
 himself, unaided and alone, and that in going back to 
 Chicago he will be smashed to pieces in a railway 
 accident, so that we can have him here to congratu- 
 late him." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 % 
 
 . 
 
 " I SUPPOSE," said Roland, ** you thought for a moment 
 I was trying to commit suicide. I think, ^Ir. Stratton, 
 you will have a better opinion of me by-and-by. I 
 shouldn't be at all surprised if you imagined I induced 
 you to come in here to get you into a trap." 
 
 *' You are perfectly correct," said Stratton; "and 
 I may say, although that was my belief, I was not 
 in the least afraid of you, for I had you covered all 
 the time." 
 
 " Well," remarked Roland, carelessly, " I don't 
 want to interfere with your business at all, but I wish 
 you wouldn't cover me quite so much ; that revolver 
 of yours might go off." 
 
 " Do you mean to say," said Stratton, " that there 
 is nothing but quinine in those capsules ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you in a moment," as he opened them 
 one by one. " No, there is nothing but quinine here. 
 Thirty grains put up in five-grain capsules." 
 
 George Stratton's eyes began to open. Then he 
 slowly rose, and looked with horrified face at the 
 doctor. 1 
 
ii8 
 
 FJiOM WHOSE BOURNE 
 
 " My God ! " he cried ; " who got the thirty grains 
 of morphia ? " 
 
 *' What do you mean ? " asked the doctor. 
 
 *' Mean ? Why, don't you see it ? It is a chemist's 
 mistake. Thirty grains of quinine have been sent 
 you. Thirty grains of morphia have been sent to 
 somebody else. Was it to Wilham Brenton ? " 
 
 "By Jove!" said the doctor, "there's something 
 in that. Say, let us go to the drug store." 
 
 The two went out together, and walked to the drug 
 store on the corner of Blank Street and Nemo Avenue. 
 
 " Do you know this writing?" said Doctor Roland 
 to the druggist, pointing to the label on the box. 
 
 "Yes," answered the druggist; "that was written 
 by one of my assistants." 
 
 " Can we see him for a few moments ? " 
 
 " I don't know where he is to be found. He is 
 a worthless fellow, and has gone to the devil this last 
 few weeks with a rapidity that is something startling," 
 
 " When did he leave ? " 
 
 " Well, he got drunk and stayed drunk during the 
 holidays, and I had to discharge him. He was a very 
 valuable man when he was sober ; but he began to 
 be so erratic in his habits that I was afraid he would 
 make a ghastly mistake some time, so I discharged 
 him before it was too late." 
 
 "Are you sure you discharged him before it was 
 too late." 
 
 The druggist looked at the doctor, whom he knew 
 well, and said, "I never heard of any mistake, if he 
 did make it." 
 
 " You keep a book, of course, of all the prescriptions 
 sent out ? " 
 
FPiOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 119 
 
 1 
 
 '' Certainly." 
 
 " May we look at that book ? " 
 
 "I shall be very glad to show it to yon. What 
 month or week ? " 
 
 ** I want to see what time you sent this box of 
 morphia to me." 
 
 ** You don't know about what time it was, do you ? " 
 
 *'Yes; it must have been about two weeks before 
 Christmas." 
 
 The chemist looked over the pages of the book, 
 and finally said, " Here it is." 
 
 " Will you let me look at that page ? " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 The doctor ran his finger down the column, and 
 came to an entry written in the same hand. 
 
 ''Look here," he said to Stratton, "thirty grains 
 of quinine sent to William Brenton, and next to it 
 thirty grains of morphia sent to Stephen Roland. I 
 see how it was. Those prescriptions were mixed up. 
 My package went to poor Brenton." 
 
 The druggist turned pale. 
 
 " I hope," he said, " nothing public will come of 
 this." 
 
 "My dear sir," said Roland, "something public 
 will have to come of it. You will oblige me by ring- 
 ing up the central police station, as this book must 
 be given in charge of the authorities." 
 
 " Look here," put in Stratton, his newspaper in- 
 stinct coming uppermost, " I want to get this thing 
 exclusively for the An/toi." 
 
 "Oh, I guess there will be no trouble about that. 
 Nothing will be made public until to-morrow, and 
 you can telegraph to-night if we find the box of 
 
I20 
 
 fhom whose bourne. 
 
 capsules in Brenton's residence. AVe must take an 
 officer with us for that purpose, hut you can caution 
 or hrihe him to keep quiet until to-morrow." 
 
 When the three went to William Brenton's resi- 
 dence they hegan a search of the room in which 
 Brenton had died, hut nothing was found. In the 
 closet of the room hung the clothes of Brenton, and 
 going through them Stratton found in the vest pocket 
 of one of the suits a small hox containing what was 
 described as five-grain capsules of sulphate of quinine. 
 The doctor tore one of these capsules apart, so as 
 to see what was in it. Without a moment's hesita- 
 tion he said — 
 
 *' There you are ! That is the morphia. There 
 were six capsules in this hox, and one of them is 
 missing. William Brenton poisoned himself ! Feel- 
 ing ill, he doubtless took what he thought was a dose 
 of quinine. Many men indulge in what we call the 
 quinine habit. It is getting to he a mild form of 
 tippling. Brenton committed unconscious suicide ! " 
 
 n': 
 
 -\ 
 
 ^%." 
 
 I 
 
FROM WHOSE nOUBNE. 
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A TtRoup of men, who were really alive, but invisible to 
 the searchers, stood in the room where the discovery 
 was made. Two of the number were evidently angry, 
 one in one way and one in another. The rest of the 
 group appeared to be very merry. One angry man 
 was Brcnton himself, who was f-ullenly enraged. 
 The other was the Frenchman, Lecocq, who was as 
 deeply angered as Brenton, but, instead of being 
 sullen, was exceedingly voluble. 
 
 '* I tell you," he cried, *' it is not a mistake of 
 mine. I went on correct principles from the first. 
 I was misled by one who should have known better. 
 You will remember, gentlemen," he continued, turn- 
 ing first to one and then the other, " that what I 
 said was this — we had certain facts to go on. One of 
 those facts I got from Mr. Brenton. I said to him in 
 your presence, ' Did you poison yourself ? ' He 
 answered me, as I can prove by all of you, * No, I did 
 not.' I took that for a fact. I thought I was speak- 
 ing to a reasonable man who knew what he was 
 talking about." 
 
 *' Haven't I told you time and again," answered 
 Brenton, indignantly, " that it was a mistake? You 
 asked me if I poisoned myself. I answered 3*ou that 
 I did not. Your question related to suicide. I did 
 not commit suicide. I was the victim of a druggist's 
 mistake. If you had asked me if I had taken 
 medicine before I went to bed, I should have told you 
 frankly, * Yes. I took one capsule of quinine.' It 
 
122 
 
 FROM WHOSE BOURNE, 
 
 i^» 
 
 has been my habit for years, when I feel badly. I 
 thought nothing of that." 
 
 "My dear sir," said Lecocq, "I warned you, and 
 I warned these gentlemen, that the very things that 
 seem trivial to a thoughtless person are the things 
 that sometimes count. You should have told me 
 evenfthini/. If you took anything at all, you should 
 have said so. If you had said to me, ' Monsieur 
 Lecocq, before I retired I took five grains of quinine,' 
 I should have at once said, ' Find where that (quinine 
 is, and see if it is quinine, and see if there has not 
 been a mistake.' I was entirely misled ; I was 
 stupidly misled." 
 
 '' Well, if there w^as stupidity," returned Brenton, 
 " it was your own." 
 
 " Come, come, gentlemen," laughed Speed, " all's 
 well that ends well. Everybody has been mistaken, 
 that's all about it. The best detective minds of 
 Europe and America, of the world, and of the spirit - 
 land, have been misled. You are (tU wrong. Admit 
 it, and let it end." 
 
 " My dear sir," said Lecocq, " I shall not admit 
 anything. I was not wrong ; I was misled. It was 
 this way " 
 
 '' Oh, now, for goodness' sake don't go over it all 
 again. We understand the circumstances well 
 enough." 
 
 *' I tell you," cried Brenton, in an angry tone, 
 *' that 
 
 *' Come, come," said Speed, " we have had enough 
 of this discussion. I tell you that j'ou are all wrong, 
 every one of you. Come with me, Brenton, and we 
 will leave this amusinor crowd." 
 
 .i 
 
 i 
 
 '■ 
 
k^ 
 
 FROM WHOSE JiOUPiNE, 
 
 12^ 
 
 it 
 
 LS 
 
 re 
 
 •«► 
 
 'f 
 
 >r 
 
 ** I shall do nothing of the kind," ansNVcred Bren- 
 ton, shortly. 
 
 " Oh, very well then, do as you please. I am glad 
 the thing is ended, and I am glad it is ended by my 
 Chicago friend." 
 
 " Your Chicago friend ! " sneered Brenton, slight- 
 ingly; ''It was discovered by Doctor Stephen Bo- 
 land." 
 
 ** My dear fellow,"' said Speed, " Stephen Boland 
 had all his time to discover the thing, and didn't 
 do it, and never would have done it, if George Strat- 
 ton hadn't encountered him. Well, good-bye, gentle- 
 men ; I am sorry to say that I have had quite 
 enough of this discussion. But one thing looms up 
 above it all, and that is that Chicago is ahead of the 
 world in everything — in detection as well as in fires." 
 
 *'My dear sir," cried Lococq, ''it is not true. I 
 will show you in a moment " 
 
 " You won't show me,'' said Speed, and he straight- 
 way disappeared. 
 
 " Come, Ferris," said Brenton, " after all, you are 
 the only friend I seem to have ; come with me." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " asked Ferris, as they left. 
 
 " I want to see how my wife takes the news." 
 
 "Don't," said Mr. Ferris — "don't do anything 
 of the kind. Leave matters just where they are. 
 Everything has turned out what you would call all 
 right. You see that your interference, as far as it 
 went, was perfectly futile and useless. I want now 
 to draw your attention to other things." 
 
 "Very well, I will listen to you," said Brenton, "if 
 you come with me and see how my wife takes the 
 news. I want to enjoy for even a moment or two her 
 
 I 
 
124 
 
 FItOM WHOSE BOURNE. 
 
 t> 
 
 relief and pleasure at finding that her good name 
 is clear." 
 
 " Very well," assented Ferris, '* I will go with you.'* 
 
 When they arrived they found the Chicago reporter 
 ahead of them. lie had evidently told Mrs. Brenton 
 all the news, and her face flushed with eager pleasure 
 as she listened to the recital. 
 
 *' Now," said the Chicago man, ** I am going to 
 leave Cincinnati. Are you sorry I am going ? " 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Brenton, looking him in the face, 
 " I am not sorry." 
 
 Stratton flushed at this, and then said, taking his 
 hat in his hand, *' Very well, madam, T shall hid you 
 good day." 
 
 "I am not sorry," s'>jd Mrs. Brenton, holding out 
 her hand, ''hecause I am going to leave Cincinnati 
 myself, and I hope never to see the city again. So if 
 you stayed here, you see, I should never meet you 
 again, Mr. Stratton." 
 
 " Alice," cried Stratton, impulsively grasping her 
 hand in hoth of his, "don't you tiiink you would 
 like Chicago as a place of residence? " 
 
 "George," she answered, "I do not know. I am 
 going to Europe, and shall he there for a year or 
 two." 
 
 Then he said eagerly — 
 
 '' When you return, or if I go over there to see you 
 after a year or two, may I ask you that question 
 again ? " 
 
 " Yes," was the whispered answer. 
 
 ♦ ♦ ■ * * « « 
 
 " Come," said Brenton to Ferris, "let us go.' 
 
ONE DAYS COURTSHIP. 
 
 CHAPTEll 1. 
 
 John Trenton, artist, put the linishin;^ touches to the 
 letter he was writing, and then read it over to himself. 
 It ran as follows : — 
 
 •I ' 
 
 And then read it over to himtelf. 
 
 
126 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP, 
 
 **My de'1 Ed., 
 
 ** I Jail for England on the 27th. But before 
 I leave I want to have another look at the Shawenegan 
 Falls. Their roar has been in my ears ever since 
 I left there. That tremendous hillside of foam is 
 before my eyes night and day. The sketches I took 
 are not at all satisfactory, so this time I will bring my 
 camera with me, and try to get some snapshots at 
 the falls. 
 
 ** Now, what I ask is this. I want you to hold that 
 canoe for me against all comers for Tuesday. Also, 
 those two expert half-breeds. Tell them I am coming, 
 and that there is money in it if they take me up and 
 back as safely as they did before. I don't suppose 
 there will be much demand for the canoe on that 
 day; in fact, it astonishes me that Americans, who 
 appreciate the good things of our country better than 
 we do ourselves, practically know nothing of this 
 superb cataract right at their own doors. I suppose 
 your new canoe is not finished yet, and as the others 
 are up in the woods I write so that you will keep this 
 particular craft for me. I do not wish to take any 
 risks, as I leave so soon. Please drop me a note to 
 this hotel at Quebec, and I will meet you in Le Gres 
 on Tuesday mornirg at daybreak. 
 
 "Your friend, 
 
 "John Trenton." 
 
 -■ 
 
 Mason was a millionaire and a lumber king, but 
 every one called him Ed. He owned baronial estates 
 in the pine woods, and saw-mills without number. 
 Trenton had brought a letter of introduction to him 
 from a mutual friend in Quebec, who had urged the 
 
 I 
 
Am 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 127 
 
 t 
 
 ■i 
 
 artist to visit the Shawenegan Falls. He heard the 
 Englishman inquire about the cataract, and told him 
 that he knew the man who would give him every 
 facility for reaching the falls. Trenton's acqnaiut- 
 ance with Mason was about a fortnight cid, but 
 already they were the firmest of friends. Any one 
 who appreciated the Shawenegan Falls found a ready 
 path to the heart of the big lumberman. It was 
 almost impossible to reach the falls without the 
 assistance of Mr. Mason. However, he was no 
 monopolist. Any person wishing to visit the cataract 
 got a canoe from the lumber king free of all cost, 
 except a tip to the two boatmen who acted as guides 
 and watermen. The artist had not long to wait for 
 his answer. It was — 
 
 " My dear John, 
 
 " The canoe is yours ; the boatmen are 
 yours; and the Shawenegan is yours for Tuesday. 
 x\lso, 
 
 " I am yours, 
 
 '* E.Mason." 
 
 On Monday evening John Trenton stepped off the 
 C.P.R. train at Three Rivers. With a roughing-it 
 suit on, and his camera slung over his shoulders, no 
 one would have taken him for the successful landscape 
 artist who on Piccadilly was somewhat particular 
 about his attire. 
 
 John Trenton was not yet E.A., nor even A.E.A., 
 but all his friends would tell you that, if the Eoyal 
 Academy was not governed by a clique, ho would have 
 been admitted long ago, and that anyhow it was only 
 
128 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 IV' ! 
 
 a question of time. In fact, John admitted this to 
 himself, but to no one else. 
 
 He entered the ramshackle 'bus, and was driven 
 a long distance through very sandy streets to the 
 hotel on the St. Lawrence, and, securing a room, 
 made arrangements to be called before daybreak. 
 He engaged the same driver who had taken him out 
 to **The Grays," as it was locally called, on the 
 occasion of his former visit. 
 
 The morning was cold and dark. Trenton found 
 the buckboard at the door, and he put his camera 
 under the one seat — a kind of a box for the holding of 
 bits of harness and other odds and ends. As he 
 buttoned up his overcoat he noticed that a great 
 white steamer had come in the night, and was tied up 
 in front of the hotel. 
 
 " The Montreal boat," explained the driver. 
 
 As they drove along the silent streets of Three 
 Rivers, Trenton called to mind how, on the former 
 occasion, he thought the Lower Canada buckboard by 
 all odds the most uncomfortable vehicle he had ever 
 ridden in, and he felt that his present experience was 
 going to corroborate this first impression. The seat 
 was set in the centre, between the front and back 
 wheels, on springy boards, and every time the con- 
 veyance jolted over a log — a not unfrequent occurrence 
 — the seat went down and the back bent forward, 
 as if to throw him over on the heels of the patient 
 horse. 
 
 The road at first was long and straight and sandy, 
 but during the latter part of the ride there were plenty 
 of hills, up many of which a plank roadway ran ; 
 so that loads which it would be impossible to take 
 
ONE DAY'S COUBWIUF. 
 
 129 
 
 through the deep sand, might be hauled up the steep 
 
 inchne. 
 
 At lirst the houses they passed had a dark and 
 
 deserted look ; then a light t^Yinkled here and there. 
 
 The early habitant was making his lire. As daylight 
 
 began gradually to bring out the landscape, the sharp 
 
 sound of the distant axe was heard. The early 
 
 habitant was laying in his day's supply of firewood. 
 
 V./fi'i^A 
 
 iftl#«#« 
 
 Theij drove along the silent streets. 
 
 " Do you notice how the dawn slowly materializes 
 the landscape ? " said the artist to the boy beside him. 
 
 The boy saw nothing wonderful about that. Day- 
 light always did it. 
 
 " Then it is not unusual in these parts '? You see, 
 I am very seldom up at this hour." 
 
 The boy wished that was his case. 
 
 K 
 
i.^.o 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 " Does it not remind you of a i)botograplier in 
 a dark room carefully developing a landscape plate ? 
 Not one of those rapid piates, you know, but a slow, 
 deliberate plate." 
 
 No, it didn't remind him of anything of the kind. 
 He had never seen either a slow or a rapid plate 
 developed. 
 
 " Then you have no prejudices as to which is the 
 best developer, pyrogallic acid or ferrous oxalate, not 
 to mention such recent decoctions as eikonogen, 
 quinol, and others ? " 
 
 No, the boy had none. 
 
 " Well, that's what I like. I like a young man 
 whose mind is open to conviction." 
 
 The boy was not a conversational success. He 
 evidently did not enter into the spirit of the artist's 
 remarks. He said most people got oli' at that point 
 and walked to warm up, and asked Trenton if he 
 would not like to follow their example. 
 
 " No, my boy," said the Englishman, ** I don't 
 think I shall. You see, I have paid for this ride, and 
 I want to get all I can out of it. I shall shiver here 
 and try to get the worth of my money. But with you 
 it is different. If you want to get down, do so. I 
 will drive." 
 
 The boy willingly handed over the reins, and sprang 
 oat on the road. Trenton, who was a boy himself 
 that morning, at once whipped up the horse and 
 dashed down the hill to get away from the driver. 
 When a good half-mile had been worried out of the 
 astonished animal, Trenton looked back to see the 
 driver come panting after. The young man was 
 calmly sitting on the back part of the buckboard, and 
 
ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 131 
 
 ire 
 ou 
 I 
 
 mg 
 
 iif 
 id 
 
 fer. 
 lie 
 lie 
 
 LS 
 
 id 
 
 when the horse began to walk again, the boy slid off, and, 
 without a smile on Lis face, trotted along at the side. 
 
 " That fellow has evidently a quiet sense of humour, 
 although he is so careful not to show it," said Trenton 
 to himself. 
 
 On reaching the hilltop, they caught a glimpse of 
 the rim of the sun rising gloriously over the treetops 
 on the other side of the St. Maurice Eiver. Trenton 
 stopped the horse, and the boy looked up to see what 
 was wrong. He could not imagine any one stopping 
 merely to look at the sun. 
 
 '' Isn't that splendid ? " cried Trenton, with a deep 
 breath, as he watched the great globe slowly ascend 
 into the sky. The distant branches of the trees were 
 dehcately etched against its glowing surface, and 
 seemed to cling to it like tendrils, slipping further and 
 further down as the sun leisurely disentangled itself, 
 and at last stood in its incomparable grandeur full 
 above the forest. 
 
 The woods all around had on their marvellous 
 autumn tints, and now the sun added a living lustre 
 to them that made the landscape more brilliant than 
 anything the artist had ever seen before. 
 
 "Ye gods!" he cried enthusiastically, "that 
 scene is worth coming from England to have one 
 glimpse of." 
 
 " See here," said the driver, " if you want to catch 
 Ed. Mason before he's gone to the woods you'll have 
 to hurry up. It's getting late." 
 
 "True, driver. You have brought me from the 
 sun to the earth. Have you ever heard of the person 
 who fell from the sun to the earth ? " 
 
 No, he hadn't. 
 
 I 
 
132 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 "Well, that was before your time. You will never 
 take such a tumble. I suppose they don't worship 
 the sun in these parts ? " 
 
 No, they didn't. 
 
 **When you come to think of it, that is very 
 strange. Have you ever reflected that it is always in 
 w^arm countries they worship the sun ? Now, I should 
 think it ought to be just the other way about. Do 
 you know that when I got on with you this morning I 
 was eighty years old, every day of it. What do you 
 think my age is now ? " 
 
 " Eighty years, sir." 
 
 '* Not a bit of it. I'm eighteen. The sun did it. 
 And yet they claim there is no fountain of youth. 
 What fools people are, my boy ! " 
 
 The young man looked at his fare slyly, and cor- 
 dially agreed with him. 
 
 *' You certainly have a concealed sense of humour," 
 said the artist. 
 
 They wound down a deep cut in the bill, and got a 
 view of the lumber village — their destination. The 
 roar of the waters tumbling over the granite rocks — 
 the rocks from which the village takes its name — 
 came up the ravine. The broad river swept in a 
 great semicircle to their right, and its dark waters 
 were flecked with the foam of the small falls near the 
 village, and the great cataract miles up the river. It 
 promised to be a perfect autumn day. The sky, 
 which had seemed to Trenton overcast when they 
 started, was now one deep dome of blue without even 
 the suggestion of a cloud. 
 
 The buckboard drew up at the gate of the house in 
 which Mr. Mason lived when he was in the lumber 
 
 
ONE BATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 133 
 
 ti 
 
 )t a 
 The 
 :s — 
 le — 
 lu a 
 Iters 
 the 
 It 
 
 jhey 
 Iveia 
 
 in 
 Iber 
 
 village, although his home was at Three Rivers. The 
 old Frenchwoman, Mason's housekeeper, opened the 
 door for Trenton, and he remembered as he went in 
 how the exquisite cleanliness of everything had im- 
 pressed him during his former visit. She smiled as 
 she recognized the genial Englishman. She had not 
 forgotten his compliments in her own language on 
 her housekeeping some months before, and perhaps 
 she also remembered his liberality. ^Ir. Mason, she 
 said, had gone to the river to see after the canoe, 
 leaving word that he would return in a few minutes. 
 Trenton, who knew the house, opened the door at 
 his right, to enter the sitting-room and leave there 
 his morning wraps, which the increasing warmth 
 rendered no longer necessary. As he burst into the 
 room in his impetuous way, he was taken aback to 
 see standing at the window, looking out towards the 
 river, a tall young woman. AVithout changing her 
 position, she looked slowly around at the intruder. 
 Trenton's first thought was a hasty wish that lie 
 wore better dressed. His roughing-it costume, whicli 
 up to that time had seemed so comfortable, now 
 appeared uncouth and out of place. He felt as if he 
 had suddenly found himself in a London drawing- 
 room with a shooting-jacket on. But this sensation 
 was quickly effaced by the look which the beauty gave 
 him over her shoulder. Trenton, in all his experi- 
 ence, had never encountered such a glance of in- 
 dignant scorn. It was a look of resentment and 
 contempt, with just a dash of feminine reproach in it. 
 *' What have I done ? " thought the unhappy man ; 
 then he stammered aloud, " I — I — really — I beg your 
 pardon. I thought the — ah — room was empty." 
 
!| 
 
 134 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 The imperious young woman made no reply. She 
 turned to the window again, and Trenton backed out 
 of the room as best he could. 
 
 ''Well!" he said to himself, as he breathed with 
 relief the outside air again, ''that was the rudest 
 thing I ever knew a lady to do. She in a lady, there 
 is no doubt of that. There is nothing of the back- 
 woods about her. But she might at least have 
 answered me. "What have I done, I wonder ? It must 
 be something terrible and utterly unforgivable, what- 
 ever it is. Great heavens ! " he murmured, aghast at 
 the thought, " I hope that girl isn't going up to the 
 Shawenegan Falls." 
 
 Trenton was no ladies' man. The presence of 
 women always disconcerted him, and made him feel 
 awkward and boorish. He had been too much of a 
 student in higher art to acquire the smaller art of 
 the drawing-room. He felt ill at ease in society, and 
 seemed to have a fatal predilection for saying the 
 wrong thing, and suffered the torture afterwards of 
 vcmembering what the right thing would have 
 been. 
 
 Trenton stood at the gate for a moment, hoping 
 ^Fason would come. Suddenly he remembered with 
 confusion that he was directly in range of those dis- 
 dainful eyes in the parlour, and he beat a hasty 
 retreat toward the old mill that stood by the falls 
 The roar of the turbulent water over the granite 
 rocks had a soothing effect on the soul of the man 
 who knew he was a criminal, yet could not for the 
 life of him tell what his crime had been. Then 
 he wandered up the river-bank toward where he 
 saw the two half-breeds placing the canoe in the 
 
'6 
 
 with 
 dis- 
 
 lasty 
 
 alls 
 nite 
 
 Iman 
 
 the 
 
 'hen 
 
 he 
 
 the 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHJP. 
 
 135 
 
 still water at the further end of the village. Half- 
 way there he was relieved to meet the genial Ed. 
 Mason, who greeted him, as Trenton thought, with a 
 somewhat overwrought effusion. There evidently 
 was something on the genial Ed.'s mind. 
 
 *' Hello, old man," he cried, shaking Trenton 
 warmly by the hand. "Been here long? Well, I 
 declare, I'm glad to see you. Going to have a 
 splendid day for it, aren't you ? Yes, sir, I am 
 glad to see you." 
 
 "When a man says that twice in one breath, a 
 fellow begins to doubt him. Now, you good-natured 
 humbug, what's the matter ? AVhat have I done ? 
 How did you find me out? Who turned Queen's 
 evidence ? Look here, Edward Mason, why are you 
 not glad to see me ? '' 
 
 " Nonsense ; you know I am. No one could be 
 more welcome. By the way, my wife's hero. You 
 never met her, I think ? " 
 
 " I saw a young lady remarkably " 
 
 " No, no ; that is Miss . By the way, Trenton, 
 
 I want you to do me a favour, now that I think of 
 it. Of course the canoe is yours for to-day, but that 
 young woman wants to go up to the Shawenegan. 
 Y"ou wouldn't mind her going up with you, would 
 you ? You see, I have no other canoe to-day, and 
 she can't stay till to-morrow." 
 
 " I shall be delighted, I'm sure," answered Trenton. 
 But he didn't look it. 
 
 ,V 
 
m 
 
 136 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 I I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Eva Sommerton, of Boston, knew that she lived in 
 the right portion of that justly celebrated city, and 
 this knowledge was evident in the poise of her queenly 
 head, and in every movement of her graceful form. 
 Blundering foreigners — foreigners as far as Boston is 
 concerned, although they may he citizens of the 
 United States — considered Boston to be a large city, 
 with commerce and railroads and busy streets and 
 enterprising newspapers, but the true Bostonian 
 knows that this view is very incorrect. The real 
 Boston is penetrated by no railroads. Even the jingle 
 of the street-car bell does not disturb the silence of 
 the streets of this select city. It is to the ordinary 
 Boston what the empty, out-of-season London is to 
 the rest of the busy metropolis. The stranger, jostled 
 ])y the throng, may not notice that London is 
 empty, but his lordship, if he happens during the 
 deserted period to pass through, knows there is not a 
 soul in tow^n. 
 
 Miss Sommerton had many delusions, but fortu- 
 nately for her peace of mind she had never yet met a 
 candid friend with courage enough to tell her so. It 
 would have required more bravery than the ordinary 
 society person possesses to tell Miss Sommerton 
 about any of her faults. The young gentlemen of her 
 acquaintance claimed that she had no faults, and if 
 her lady friends thought otherwise, they reserved the 
 expression of such opinions for social gatherings not 
 graced by the presence of Miss Sommerton. 
 
 
 
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 ^37 
 
 <^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 V 
 
 Eva Sommerton thought she was not proud, or if 
 there was any tinge of pride in her character, it was 
 pride of the necessary and proper sort. 
 
 She also possessed the vain belief that true merit 
 was the one essential, but if true merit had had the 
 misfortune to be presented to Miss Sommerton with- 
 out an introduction of a strictly unimpeachable nature, 
 there is every reason to fear true merit would not have 
 had the exquisite privilege of l)asking in the smiles 
 of that young Bostonian. But perhaps her chief 
 delusion was the belief that she was an artist. She 
 had learned all that Boston could teach of drawing, 
 and this thin veneer had received a beautiful foreign 
 polish abroad. Her friends pronounced her sketches 
 really wonderful. Perhaps if Miss Sommerton's 
 entire capital had been something less than her half- 
 yearly income, she might have made a name for 
 lierself; ])ut the rich man gets a foretaste of the 
 scriptural difficulty awaiting him at the gates of 
 heaven, when he endeavours to achieve an eartlily 
 success, the price of which is hard labour, and not 
 hard cash. 
 
 We are told that pride must have a fall, and there 
 came an episode in Miss Sommerton's career as an 
 artist which was a rude shock to her self-com- 
 placency. Having purchased a landscape by a cele- 
 brated artist whose work she had long admired, she 
 at last ventured to write to him and enclose some of 
 her own sketches, with a request for a candid 
 judgment of them — that is, she said she wanted a 
 candid judgment of them. 
 
 The reply seemed to her so ungentlemanly, and so 
 harsh, that, in her vexation and -anger, she tore the 
 
 If 
 
 ^ 
 
»3« 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 letter to shreds and stamped her pretty foot with 
 a vehemence which would have shocked those who 
 knew her only as the dignilied and self-possessed Miss 
 Eva Sommerton. 
 
 Then she looked at her libelled sketches, and some- 
 
 \ 
 
 She stamped Iter pretiy foot on it. 
 
 how they did not appear to be quite so faultless as 
 she had supposed them to be. 
 
 This inspection was followed by a thoughtful and 
 tearful period of meditation ; and finally, with con- 
 triteness, the young woman picked up from her studio 
 floor the shreds of the letter and pasted them care- 
 fully together on a white sheet of paper, in which 
 
 4 
 
ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 ^vith 
 who 
 Miss 
 
 une- 
 
 i 
 
 139 
 
 form she still preserved the first honest opinion she 
 had ever received. 
 
 In the seclusion of her esthetic studio Miss Som- 
 merton made a heroic resolve to work hard. Ilcr 
 life was to be consecrated to art. She would win 
 reluctant recognition from the masters. Under all 
 this wave of heroic resolution was an under- current 
 
 as 
 
 nd 
 )n- 
 iio 
 i*e- 
 ch 
 
 J 
 
 4 
 
 Faded them carefully logether. 
 
 of determination to get even with the artist who had 
 treated her work so contemptuously. 
 
 Few of us quite live up to our best intentions, and 
 Miss Sommerton was no exception to the rule. She 
 did not work as devotedly as she had hoped to do, 
 nor did she become a recluse from society. A year 
 after she sent to the artist some sketches which she 
 had taken in Quebec — some ur )wn waterfalls, some 
 
140 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 wild river scenery — and received from him a warmer 
 letter of commendation than she had hoped for. He 
 remembered her former sketches, and now saw a 
 groat improvement. If the waterfall sketches were 
 not exaggerations, he would like to see the originals. 
 Where were they ? The lady was proud of her dis- 
 coveries in the almof " unknown land of Northern 
 Quebec, and she wrote a long letter telling all about 
 them, and a polite note of thanks for the information 
 ended the correspondence. 
 
 Miss Sommerton's favourite discovery was that 
 tremendous downward plunge of the St. Maurice, the 
 Falls of the Shawenegan. She had sketched it from 
 a dozen different standpoints, and raved about it to 
 her friends, if such a dignified young person as Miss 
 Sommorton could be said to rave over anything. Some 
 Boston people, on her recommendation, had visited 
 the falls, but their account of the journey made so 
 much of the difficulties and discomforts, and so little 
 of the magnificence of the cataract, that our amateur 
 artist resolved to keep the falls, as it were, to herself. 
 She made yearly pilgrimages to the St. ^Faurico, and 
 came to have a kind of idea of possession which 
 always amused Mr. Mason. She seemed to resent 
 the fact that others went to look at the falls, and, 
 worse than all, took picnic baskets there, actually 
 lunching on its sacred shores, leaving empty cham- 
 pagne bottles and boxes of sardines that had evidently 
 broken some one's favourite knife in the opening. 
 This particular summer she had driven out to " The 
 Greys," but finding that a party was going up in 
 canoes every day that week, she promptly ordered 
 her driver to take her back to Three Kivers, saying to 
 
 I 
 
 y 
 
i 
 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 141 
 
 Mr. Mason she would return when she could have the 
 falls to herself. 
 
 "You remind me of Miss Porter," said the lumber 
 king. 
 
 '* Miss Porter ! Who is she ? " 
 
 " AVhen Miss Porter visited England and saw Mr. 
 Gladstone, he asked her if she had ever seen the 
 Niagara Falls. * Seen them ? ' she answered. * Why, 
 I own them ! ' " 
 
 "What did she mean by that '? I confess I don't 
 see the point, or perhaps it isn't a joke." 
 
 *' Oh yes, it is. You mustn't slight my good stories 
 in that way. She meant just what she said. I 
 believe the Porter family own, or did own. Goat 
 Island, and, I suppose, the other bank, and, there- 
 fore, the x\merican Fall. The joke — I do dislike to 
 have to explain jokes, especially to you cool, unsym- 
 pathizing Bostonians — is the ridiculousness of any 
 mere human person claiming to own such a thing as 
 the Niagara Falls. I believe, though, that you are 
 quite equal to it — I do indeed." 
 
 *' Thank you, Mr. :Mason." 
 
 " I knew you would be grateful when I made myself 
 clearly understood. Now, what I was going to pro- 
 pose is this : You should apply to the Canadian 
 Government for possession of the Shawenegan. I 
 think they would let it go at a reasonable figure. 
 They look on it merely as an annoying impediment 
 to the navigation of the river, and an obstruction 
 which has caused them to spend some thousands of 
 dollars in building a slide by the side of it, so that 
 the logs may come down safely." 
 
 " If I owned it, the slide is the first thing I would 
 destroy," 
 
142 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 J' 
 
 *' Wliat ? And ruin the lumber industry of the 
 Upper St. Maurice ? Oh, you wouldn't do such 
 a thing ! If that is your idea, I give you fair 
 warning that I will oppose your claims with all 
 the arts of the lobbyist. If you want to become 
 the private owner of the falls, you should tell the 
 Government that you have some thoughts of en- 
 couraging the industries of the province by building 
 a mill " 
 
 ''A mill?" 
 
 *' Yes ; why not? Indeed, I hav half a notion to 
 put a saw-mill there myself. It always grieves me 
 to see so much magnificent power going to waste." 
 
 " Ob, seriously, Mr. Mason, you would never think 
 of committing such an act of sacrilege ? " 
 
 *' Sacrilege, indeed ! I like that. Why, the man 
 who makes one saw-mill hum where no mill ever 
 hummed before is a benefactor to his species. Don't 
 they teach political economy at Boston ? I thought 
 you liked saw-mills. You drew a very pretty picture 
 of the one down the stream." 
 
 " I admire a ndncd saw-mill, as that one was; but 
 not one in a state of activity, or of eruption, as a 
 person might say." 
 
 " Well, won't you go up to the falls to-day, Miss 
 Sommerton ? I assure you we have a most unexcep- 
 tionable party. Why, one of them is a Government 
 official. Think of that ! " 
 
 *' I refuse to think of it ; or, if I do think of it, I 
 refuse to be dazzled by his magnificence. I want 
 to see the Shawenegan, not a picnic party drinking 
 beer." 
 
 ** You wrong them, really vou do, Miss Sommerton, 
 
JS 
 
 I 
 t 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSniP, 
 
 143 
 
 believe me. You have got your dates mixed. It is 
 the champagne party that goes to-day. The beer 
 crowd is not due until to-morrow." 
 
 " The principle is the same." 
 
 " The price of the refreshment is not. I speak as 
 a man of bitter experience. Let's see. If recollection 
 holds her throne, I think there was a young lady 
 from New England — I forget the name of the town 
 at the moment — who took a lunch with her the last 
 time she went to the Shawenegan. I merely give 
 this as my impression, you know. I am open to 
 contradiction." 
 
 " Certainly, I took a lunch. I always do. I would 
 to-day if I were going up there, and Mrs. Mason 
 would give me some sandwiches. You would give me 
 a lunch, wouldn't you, dear ? " 
 
 ** I'll tell them to get it ready now, if you will only 
 stay," replied that lady, on being appealed to. 
 
 *' No, it isn't the lunch I object to. I object to 
 people going there merely for the lunc\. I go for 
 the scenery ; the lunch is incidental." 
 
 "When you get the deed of the falls, I'll tell you 
 what we'll do," put in Mason. " We will have a band 
 of trained Indians stationed at the landing, and they 
 will allow no one to disembark who does not express 
 himself in sufficiently ecstatic terms about the great 
 cataract. You will draw up a set of adjectives, which 
 I will give to the Indians, instructing them to allow 
 no one to land who does not use at least three out 
 of five of them in referring to the falls. People whose 
 eloquent appreciation does not reach the required 
 altitude will have to stay there till it does, that's 
 all. We will treat them as we do our juries — starve 
 

 144 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 them into a verdict, and the right verdict at 
 that." 
 
 " Don't mind him, Eva. He is just trying to ex- 
 asperate you. Think of what I have to put up with. 
 He goes on like that all the time," said Mrs. Ma^on. 
 
 *' Really, my dear, your flattery confu cs me. You 
 can't persuade any one that I keep up this brilliancy 
 in the privacy of my own house. It is only turned 
 on for company." 
 
 *'Why, Mr. Mason, I didn't think you looked on 
 me as company. I thought I enjoyed the friendship 
 of the Mason family." 
 
 *' Oh, you do, you do indeed ! The company I 
 referred to was the official party which has just gono 
 to the falls. This is some of the brilliancy left over. 
 But, really, you had better stay after coming all this 
 distance." 
 
 "Yes, do, Eva. Let me go back with you to the 
 Three Rivers, and then you stay with me till next 
 week, when you can visit the falls all alone. It is 
 very pleasant at Three Rivers just now. And besides, 
 we can go for a day*s shopping at Montreal." 
 
 '* I wish I could." 
 
 "Why, of course you can," said Mason. " Imagine 
 the delight of smuggling your purchases back to 
 Boston. Confess that this is a pleasure you hadn't 
 thought of." 
 
 " I admit the fascination of it all, but you see I am 
 with a party that has gone on to Quebec, and I just 
 got away for a day. I am to meet them there to-night 
 or to-morrow morning. But I will return in the 
 autumn, Mrs. Mason, when it is too late for the 
 picnics. Then, Mr. Mason, take warning. I mean 
 
 i 
 
 ^ 1 
 
ONE DAY'S COUBTSnir. 
 
 145 
 
 IS 
 
 Les, 
 
 line 
 
 to 
 
 lii't 
 
 to have a canoe to myself, or — well, you know the 
 way we Bostonians treated you Britishers once upon 
 a time." 
 
 *' Distinctly. But we will return n;ood for evil, and 
 give you warm tea instead of the cold mixture you so 
 foolishly brewed in the harbour." 
 
 As the buckboard disappeared around the corner, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Mason walked back to the house, 
 the lady said — 
 
 '' What a strange girl Eva is." 
 "Very. Don't she ; ■ ike j^ou as being a tviflo 
 selfish ? " 
 
 ** Selfish? Eva Sommerton? Why, what could 
 make you think such a thing ? What an absurd 
 idea ! You cannot imagine how kind she was to me 
 when 1 visited Boston." 
 
 ''Who could help it, my dear? I would have 
 been so myself if I had happened to meet you 
 there." 
 
 " Now, Ed., don't be absurd." 
 *' There is something absurd in being kind to a 
 person's wife, isn't there ? Well, it struck me her 
 objection to any one else being at the falls, when 
 her ladyship was there, might seem — not to me, of 
 course, but to an outsider — a trifle selfish." 
 
 "Oh, you don't understand her at all. She has 
 an artistic temperament, and she is quite right in 
 wishing to be alone. Now, Ed., when she does come 
 again I want you to keep any one else from going up 
 there. Don't forget it, as you do most of the things 
 I tell you. Say to anybody who wants to go up that 
 the canoes are out of repair." 
 
 "Oh, I can't say that, you know. Anything this 
 
146 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 side of a crime I am willing to commit ; but to 
 perjure myself, no, not for Venice. Can you think 
 of any other method that will combine duplicity with 
 a clear conscience ? I'll tell you what I'll do. I will 
 have the canoe drawn up, and gently, but firmly, 
 slit it with my knife. One of the men can mend it 
 in ten minutes. Then I can look even the official 
 from Quebec in the face, and tell him truly that the 
 canoe will not hold water. I suppose as long as my 
 story will hold water you and Miss Sommerton will 
 not mind? " 
 
 "If the canoe is ready for her when she comes, I 
 shall be satisfied. Please to remember I am going to 
 spend a week or two in Boston next winter." 
 
 *' Oh ho, that's it, is it ? Then it was not pure 
 philanthropy " 
 
 ** Pure nonsense, Ed. I want the canoe to bo 
 ready, that's all." 
 
 When Mrs. Mason received the letter from ^liss 
 Sommerton, stating the time the young woman in- 
 tended to pay her visit to the Shawenegan, she gave 
 the letter to her husband, and reminded him of the 
 necessity of keeping the canoe for that particular 
 date. As the particular date w^as some weeks off, 
 and as Ed. Mason was a man who never crossed a 
 stream until he came to it, he said, " All right," put 
 the letter in his inside pocket, and the next time he 
 thought of it was on the fine autumn afternoon — 
 Monday afternoon — when he saw Mrs. Mason drive 
 up to the door of his lumber-woods residence with 
 Miss Eva Sommerton in the buggy besid^ iier. The 
 young laiy wondered, as Mr. Mason helped her out, 
 if that genial gentleman, whom she regarded as the 
 
€ ^ 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSniP. 
 
 147 
 
 most fortunate of men, had in reality some secret, 
 gnawing sorrow the world knew not of. 
 
 "Why, Ed., you look ill," exclaimed Mrs. Mason; 
 "is there anything the matter? " 
 
 "Oh, it is nothing — at least, not of much con- 
 sequence. A little business worry, that's all." 
 
 '* Has there been any trouble ? " 
 
 ^liss 
 in in- 
 
 gave 
 
 )f the 
 
 licular 
 
 Ls off, 
 
 Ised a 
 
 le he 
 
 )on — 
 
 1 drive 
 
 with 
 
 The 
 
 out, 
 
 Is the 
 
 She gave the letter to her hushand. 
 
 " Oh no — at the least, not yet.'' 
 
 " Trouble about the men, is it ? " 
 
 " No, not about the men," said the unfortunate 
 gentleman, with a somewhat unnecessary emphasis on 
 the last word. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Mason, I am afraid I have come at a 
 wrong time. If so, dont hesitate to tell me. If I 
 can do anything to help you, I hope I may be[allowed." 
 

 148 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 " You have come just at the right time," said the 
 lumberman, *' and you are very welcome, I assure 
 you. If I find I need help, as perhaps I may, you 
 will be reminded of your promise." 
 
 To put off as long as possible the evil time of 
 meeting his wife. Mason went with the man to see 
 the horse put away, and he lingered an unnecessarily 
 long time in ascertaining that everything was right 
 in the stable. The man was astonished to find his 
 master so particular that afternoon. A crisis may be 
 postponed, but it can rarely be avoided altogether, 
 and knowing he had to face the inevitable sooner or 
 later, the uahappy man, with a sigh, betook himself 
 to the house, where he found his wife impatiently 
 waiting for him. 8he closed the door and con- 
 fronted him. 
 
 " Now, Ed., what's the matter ? " 
 
 ''Where's Miss Sommerton?" was the somewhat 
 irrelevant reply. 
 
 " She has gone to her room. Ed., don't keep me 
 in suspense. What is wrong ? " 
 
 "You remember John Trenton, who was here in 
 the summer ? " 
 
 **I remember hearing you speak of him. I didn't 
 meet him, you know\" 
 
 ** Oh, that's so. Neither you did. You see, he's 
 an awful good fellow, Trenton is — that is, for an 
 Englishman." 
 
 " Well, what has Trenton to do with the trouble ? " 
 
 "Everything, my dear — everytlrig." 
 
 " I see how it is. Trenton visited the Shawenegan ? " 
 
 " He did." 
 And he wants to go there again ? " 
 
 <( 
 
ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 149 
 
 I the 
 jsure 
 . you 
 
 le of 
 see 
 jarily 
 right 
 d his 
 ay be 
 Bther, 
 ler or 
 [mself 
 iently 
 con- 
 
 jwhat 
 
 ^13 me 
 
 jre in 
 
 lidn't 
 
 he's 
 )r an 
 
 )le ? " 
 
 an?" 
 
 '' He does." 
 
 ''And you have gone and promised him the canoe 
 for to-morrow ? " 
 
 " The intuition of woman, my dear, is the most 
 wonderful thing on earth." 
 
 "It is not half so wonderful as the negligence of 
 man — I won't say the stupidity." 
 
 " Thank you, Jennie, for not saying it, but I really 
 think I would feel better if you did." 
 
 " Now, what are you going to do about it *? " 
 
 "Well, my dear, strange as it may appear, that 
 very question has been racking my brain for the 
 last ten minutes. Now, what would you do in my 
 position ? " 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't be in your position." 
 
 " No, that's so, Jennie. Excuse me for suggesting 
 the possibility. I really think this trouble has 
 affected my mind a little. But if you had a husband 
 — if a sensible woman like you conhl have a husband 
 who got himself into such a position — what would you 
 advise him to do? " 
 
 " Now, Ed., don't joke. It's too serious." 
 
 " My dear, no one on earth can have such a reali- 
 zation of its seriousness as I have at this moment. I 
 feel as Mark Twain did with that novel he never 
 finished. I have brought things to a point where 
 I can't go any further. The game seems blocked. I 
 wonder if Miss Sommerton would accept ten thousand 
 feet of lumber f.o.b. and call it square." 
 
 "Keally, Ed., if you can't talk sensibly, I have 
 nothing further to say." 
 
 " Well, as I said, the strain is getting too much for 
 me. Now, don't go away, Jennie. Here is what I 
 
hi 
 
 150 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 am thinking of doing. I'll speak to Trenton. Ho 
 won't mind Miss Sommerton's going in the canoe with 
 him. In fact, I should think he would rather hke it." 
 
 ''Dear mo, Ed., is that all the progress you've 
 made ? I am not troubling myself about Mr. Trenton. 
 The difficulty will be with Eva. Do you think for a 
 moment she will go if she imagined herself under 
 obhgations to a stranger for the canoe ? Can't you 
 get Mr. Trenton to put ofi* his visit until the day after 
 to-morrow ? It isn't long to wait." 
 
 '' No, that is impossible. You see, he has just time 
 to catch his steamer as it is. No, he has the promise 
 in writing, while Miss Sommerton has no legal evi- 
 dence if this thing cv( r gets into the courts. Trenton 
 has my written j)romise. You see, I did not re- 
 member the two dates were the same. When I wrote 
 to Trenton " 
 
 " Ed., don't try to excuse yourself. You had her 
 letter in your pocket, you know you had. This is a 
 matter for which there is no excuse, and it cannot be 
 explained away." 
 
 ** That's so, Jennie. I am down in the depths once 
 more. I shall not try to crawl out again— at least, 
 not while my wife is looking." 
 
 " No, your plan will not work. I don't know that 
 any will. There is only one thing to try, and it is 
 this — Miss Sommerton must think that the canoe is 
 hers. You must appeal to her generosity to let Mr. 
 Trenton go with her." 
 
 *' Won't you make the appeal, Jen ? " 
 
 *' No, I will not. In the first place she'll be sorry 
 for you, because you will make such a bungle of it. 
 That is your only hope." . 
 
ONE DAY'S COUliTSIUr. 
 
 151 
 
 "Oil, if success lies in bungling, I will succeed." 
 
 ** Don't be too sure. I suppose that man will bo 
 here by daybreak to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Not so bad as that, Jennie. You always try to 
 put the worst face on things. lie won't be here till 
 sunrise at the earliest." 
 
 ** I will ask Eva to come down." 
 
 '*You needn't hurry just because of me. Be- 
 sides, I w^ould like a few moments to prepare myself 
 fur my ' fate. Even a murderer is given a littlo 
 time." 
 
 " Not a moment, Ed. We had better get this thing 
 settled as soon -as possible." 
 
 '* Perhaps you arc right," he murmured, with a 
 deep sigh. ** Well, if we Britishers, as Miss S. 
 calls us, ever faced the Americans with as faint ji 
 heart as 1 do now, I don't wonder we got licked." 
 
 "Don't say Micked,' Ed." 
 
 " I believe it's historical. Oh, I sec. You object 
 to the w^ord, not to the allegation. Well, I won't 
 cavil about that. All my sympathy just now is con- 
 centrated on one unfortunate Britisher. My dear, let 
 the sacritice begin." 
 
 Mrs. Mason went to the stairway and called — 
 
 "Eva, dear, can you come down for a moment? 
 We want you to help us out of a difSculty." 
 
 Miss Sommerton aj^peared smilingly, smoothing 
 down the front of the dress that had taken the place 
 of the one she travelled in. She advanced towards 
 Mason with sweet compassion in her eyes, and that 
 ill-fated man thought he had never seen any one look 
 so altogether charming — excepting, of course, his 
 own wife in her youthful days. She seemed to have 
 
152 
 
 ONE DATS COUJiTSIIJF. 
 
 
 smoothed away all the Boston stiffness as she smoothed 
 her dress. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Mason," she said, sympathetically, as 
 she approached, *' T. am so sorry anything has 
 happened to trouble you, and I do hope I am not 
 intruding." 
 
 '' Indeed, you are not. Miss Eva. In fact, your 
 sympathy has taken away half the trouble already, 
 and I want to beg of you to help me off with the other 
 half." 
 
 A glance at his wife's face showed him that he had 
 not made a bad beginning. 
 
 " Miss Sommerton, you said you would like to help 
 me. Now I am going to appeal to you. I throw 
 myself on your mercy." 
 
 There was a slight frown on Mrs. Mason's face, 
 and her husband felt that he was perhaps appealing 
 too much. 
 
 " In fact, the truth is, my wife gave me " 
 
 Here a cough interrupted him, and he paused and 
 ran his hand through his hair. 
 
 "Pray don't mind me, Mr. Mason," said Miss 
 Sommerton, " if you would rather not tell " 
 
 " Oh, but I must ; that is, I want you to know." 
 
 He glanced at his wife, but there was no help 
 there, so he plunged in headlong. 
 
 " To tell the truth, there is a friend of mine w^ho 
 wants to go to the falls to-morrow. He sails for 
 Europe immediately, and has no other day." 
 
 The Boston rigidity perceptibly returned. 
 
 " Oh, if that is all, you needn't have had a moment's 
 trouble. I can just as well put off my visit." 
 
 " Oh, can you ? " cried Mason, joyously. 
 
 ■*•■ 
 
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP, 
 
 153 
 
 His wife sat down in the rockini^-chair with a sigh 
 of despair. Her infatuated husband thought he was 
 getting along famousl}'. 
 
 " Then 'your friends are not waiting for you at 
 Quebec this time, and you can stay a day or two 
 with us." 
 
 ** Eva's friends are at Montreal, Edward, and she 
 cannot stay." 
 
 ** Oh, then — why, then, to-morrow's uour only 
 day, too?" 
 
 ** It doesn't matter in the least, Mr. Mason. I shall 
 be most glad to put off my visit to oblige your friend 
 — no, I didn't mean that," she cried, seeing the look 
 of anguish on Mason's face, **it is to oblige you. 
 Now, am I not good ? " 
 
 "No, you are cruel," replied Mason. *'You are 
 going up to the falls. I insist on that. Let's take 
 that as settled. The canoe is yours." He caught an 
 encouraging look from his wife. " If you want to 
 torture me you will say you will not go. If you want 
 to do me the greatest of favours, you will let my 
 friend go in the canoe with you to the landing." 
 
 "What! go alone with a stranger?" cried Miss 
 Sommerton, freezingly. 
 
 " No, the Indians will be there, you kno -v." 
 
 " Oh, I didn't expect to paddle the canoe myself." 
 
 " I don't know about that. You strike me as a 
 girl who would paddle her own canoe pretty well." 
 
 " Now, Edward," said his wife. 
 
 " He wants to take some photographs of the falls, 
 and " 
 
 " Photographs? Why, Ed., I thought you said he 
 was an artist." 
 
^! 51 
 
 154 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 " Isn't a photographer an artist ?" 
 
 ** You know he isn't." 
 
 ** Well, my dear, yoxa know they put on their signs, 
 * artist — photographer, pictures taken in cloudy 
 weather.' But he's an amateur photographer; an 
 amateur is not so bad as a professional, is he. Miss 
 Sommerton ? " 
 
 " I think he's worse, if there is any choice. A 
 professional at least takes good pictures, such as 
 they are." 
 
 " He is an elderly gentleman, and I am sure " 
 
 *'0h, is he?" cried Miss Sommerton; ''then the 
 matter is settled. Ho shall go. I thought it was 
 some young fop of an amateur photographer." 
 
 '' Oh, quite elderly. His hair is grey, or badly 
 tinged at least." 
 
 The frown on Miss Sommerton's brow cleared 
 away, and she smiled in a manner that was cheering 
 to the heart of her suppliant. He thought it reminded 
 him of the sun breaking through the clouds over the 
 hills beyond the St. Maurice. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Mason, how selfishly I've been acting, 
 haven't I ? You really must forgive me. It is so 
 funny, too, making you beg for a seat in your 
 own canoe." 
 
 *' Oh no, it's your canoe — that is, after twelve 
 o'clock to-night. That's when your contract begins." 
 
 *' The arrangement does not seem to me quite 
 regular ; but, then, this is the Canadian woods, and 
 not Boston. But, I want to make my little proviso. 
 I do not wish to be introduced to this man ; he must 
 have no excuse for beginning a conversation with me. 
 I don't want to talk to-morrow." 
 
ONE DATS COURTSIlir. 
 
 155 
 
 »> 
 
 " Heroic resolution," murmured Mason. 
 
 " 80, I do not wish to see the gentleman until I go 
 into the canoe. You can be conveniently absent. 
 Mrs. Perrault will take me down there ; she speaks no 
 English, and it is not likely he can speak French." 
 
 " We can arrange that." 
 
 " Then it is settled, and all I hope for is a good 
 day to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Mason sprang up and kissed the fair Bostonian, 
 and Mason felt a sensation of joyous freedom that 
 recalled his youthful days when a half-holiday was 
 announced. 
 
 *' Oh, it is too good of you," said the elder lady. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," whispered Miss Sommerton ; "l 
 hate the man before I have seen him." 
 
 welve 
 
 >> 
 
 fins. 
 
 Iquite 
 and 
 
 jviso. 
 lust 
 me. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 When John Trenton came in to breakfast, he found 
 his friend Mason waiting for him. That genial 
 gentleman was evidently ill at ease, but he said in an 
 oft'-hand way — 
 
 " The ladies have already breakfasted. They are 
 busily engaged in the preparations for the trip, and 
 so you and I can have a snack together, and then we 
 will go and see to the canoe." 
 
 After breakfast they went together to the river, and 
 found the canoe and the two half-breeds waiting for 
 them. A couple of rugs were spread on the bottom 
 of the canoe rising over the two slanting boards 
 which served as backs to the lowly seats. 
 
 "Now," said Mason with a blush, for he always 
 

 156 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 told a necessary lie with some compunction, '* I shall 
 have to go and see to one of my men who was 
 injured in the mill this morning. You had better 
 take 3'our place in the canoe, and wait for your 
 passenger, who, as is usual with ladies, will probably 
 be a little late. I think you should sit in the back 
 seat, as you are the heavier of the two. I presume 
 you remember what I told you about sitting in a 
 canoe ? Get in with caution while these two men bold 
 the side of it ; sit down carefully, and keep steady, 
 no matter what happens. Perhaps you may as well 
 put your camera here at the back, or in the prow." 
 
 "No," said Trenton, "I shall keep it slung over 
 my shoulder. It isn't heavy, and I am always 
 afraid of forgetting it if I leave it anywhere." 
 
 Trenton got cautiously into the canoe, while Mason 
 bustled off with a very guilty feeling at his heart. 
 He never thought of blaming Miss Sommerton for the 
 course she had taken, and the dilemma into which 
 she placed him, for he felt that the fault was entirely 
 his own. 
 
 John Trenton [mlled out his pipe, and, absent- 
 mindedly, stuffed it full of tobacco. Just as he was 
 about to light it, he remembered there was to be a 
 lady in the party, and so with a grimace of dis- 
 appointment he put the loaded pipe into his pocket 
 
 agam. 
 
 It was the most lovely time of the year. The sun 
 was still warm, but the dreaded black fly and other 
 insect pests of the region had disappeared bef xe the 
 sharp frosts that occurred every night. The hilly 
 banks of the St. Maurice were covered with unbroken 
 forest, and " the woods of autumn all around the 
 
 .! 
 
ket 
 
 m 
 
 lie 
 
 Miss Sommertoii accompanied by old Mrs. Perrault 
 
1.8 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 vale had put their glory on." Presently Trenton sa.w 
 Miss Sommerton, accompanied by old Mrs. Perrault, 
 coming over the brow of the hill. He attempted to 
 rise, in order to assist the lady to a seat in the canoe, 
 when the half-breed said in French — 
 
 " Bettor sit still. It is safer. We will help the lady." 
 Miss Sommerton was talking rapidly in French — 
 with rather overdone eagerness — to Mrs. Perrault. 
 She took no notice of her fellow-voyager as she 
 lightly stepped exactly in the centre of the canoe, 
 ttnd sank down on the rug in front of him, with the 
 ease of one thoroughly accustomed to that somewhat 
 treacherous craft. 
 
 The two stalwart boatmen — one at the prow, 
 the other at the stern of the canoe — with swift and 
 dexterous strokes, shot it out into the stream. 
 Trenton could not but admire the knowledge of 
 these two men and their dexterous use of it. Here 
 they were on a swiftly flowing river, with a small fall 
 behind them and a tremendous cataract several miles 
 in front, yet these two men, by their knowledge of 
 the currents, managed to work their way up stream 
 with the least possible amount of physical exertion. 
 The St. Maurice at this point is about half a mile 
 wide, with an island here and there, and now and 
 then a touch of rapids. Sometimes the men would 
 dash right across the river to the opposite bank, and 
 there fall in with a miniature Gulf Stream that 
 would carry them onward without exertion. Some- 
 times they were near the densely wooded shore, 
 sometimes in the centre of the river. The half-breed 
 who stood behind Trenton, leant over to him, and 
 Vv^hispered — 
 
ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 159 
 
 ream, 
 ^e of 
 Here 
 11 fall 
 iiiles 
 e of 
 .'earn 
 tion. 
 mile 
 and 
 lould 
 and 
 hat 
 me- 
 re, 
 eed 
 nd 
 
 " You can now smoke if you like, the wind is down 
 stream." 
 
 Naturally, Mr. Trenton wished to smoke. The 
 requesting of permission to do so, it struck him, 
 might open the way to conversation. He was not an 
 ardent conversationalist, hut it seemed to him rather 
 ridiculous that two persons should thus travel 
 together in a canoe without saying a word to each 
 other. 
 
 " I heg your pardon, madam," be began ; " but 
 would you have any objection to my smoking ? I 
 am ashamed to confess that I am a slave to the 
 pernicious habit." 
 
 There was a moment or two of silence, broken only 
 by the regular dip of the paddle, then Miss Sommerton 
 said, *'If you wish to desecrate this lovely spot by 
 smoking, I presume anything I can say will not 
 prevent you." 
 
 Trenton was amazed at the rudeness of this 
 reply, and his face flushed with ang^r. Finally 
 he said, ''You must have a very poor opinion 
 of me ! " 
 
 Miss Sommerton answered tartly, *' I have no 
 opinion rhatever of you." Then, with womanly 
 inconsistency, she proceeded to deliver her opinion, 
 sajing, " A man who would smoke here would smoke 
 in a cathedral.'* 
 
 **I think you are wrong there," said ^Fr. Trenton, 
 calmly. ** I would smoke here, but I would not think 
 of smoking in a cathedral. Neither would I smoke 
 in the humblest log-cabin chapel." 
 
 *' Sir," said Miss Sommerton, turning partly round, 
 *' I came to the St. Maurice for the purpose of viewing 
 
I 
 
 I! '■ 
 
 I 60 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 its scenery. I hoped to see it alone. I have been 
 disappointed in that, but I must insist on seeing it in 
 silence. I do not wish to carry on a conversation, 
 nor do I wish to enter into a discussion on any subject 
 whatever. I am sorry to have to say this, but it 
 seems to be necessary." 
 
 Her remarks so astonished Trenton that he found 
 it impossible to get angrier than he had beexi when 
 she first spoke. In fact, he found his anger receding 
 rather than augmenting. It was something so entirely 
 new to meet a lady who had such an utter disregard 
 for the rules of politeness that obtain in any civilized 
 society that Mr. Trenton felt he was having a 
 unique and valuable experience. 
 
 " Will you pardon me," he said, with apparent 
 submissiveness — ** will you pardon me if I disregard 
 your request sufficiently to humbly beg forgiveness 
 for having spoken to you in the first place ?" 
 
 To this Miss Sommerton made no reply, and the 
 canoe glided along. 
 
 After going up the river for a few miles the boat- 
 men came to a difficult part of the voyage. Here 
 the river was divided by an island. The dark waters 
 moved with great swiftness, and with the smoothness 
 of oil, over the concealed rocks breaking into foam 
 at the foot of the rapids. Now for the first time the 
 Indians had hard work. For quite half an hour they 
 paddled as if in despair, and the canoe moved upward 
 inch by inch. It was not only hard work, but it was 
 work that did not allow of a moment's rest until it 
 was finished. Should the paddles pause but an 
 instant, the canoe would be swept to the bottom of 
 the rapids. When at last the craft floated into the 
 
ONE BATS COURTSHIP, 
 
 l6l 
 
 e been 
 ig it in 
 sation, 
 subject 
 but it 
 
 e found 
 .1 when 
 eceding 
 entirely 
 sregard 
 jivilized 
 wing a 
 
 pparent 
 Lsregard 
 ^iveness 
 
 iind the 
 
 le boat- 
 Here 
 waters 
 )thness 
 lo foam 
 me the 
 p* they 
 ipward 
 it was 
 mtil It 
 lut an 
 torn of 
 ito the 
 
 still water above the rapids, the boatmen rested, and 
 mopped the perspiration from their brows. Then, 
 without a word, they resumed their steady, easy 
 swing of the paddle. In a short time the canoe drew 
 up at a landing, from which a path ascended the steep 
 hill among the trees. The silence was broken only 
 by the deep, distant, low roar of the Shawenegan 
 Falls. Mi, Trenton sat in his place, while the half- 
 breeds held the canoe steady. Miss Sommerton rose 
 and stepped with firm, self-reliant tread on the 
 landing. Without looking backwar(i she proceeded 
 up the steep hill, and disappeared among the denso 
 foliage. Then Trenton leisurely got out of the 
 canoe. 
 
 *' You had a hard time of it up that rapid," said the 
 artist in French to the boatman. *' Here is a five- 
 dollar bill to divide when you get down; and, if you 
 bring us safely back, I shall have another ready 
 for 3'ou." 
 
 The men were profusely grateful, as indeed they 
 had a right to be, for the most they expected was 
 a dollar each as a fee. 
 
 *'Ah," said the elder, "if we had gentlemen like 
 you to take up every day," and he gave an expressive 
 shrug. 
 
 ''You shouldn't take such a sordid view of the 
 matter," said the artist. " I shuuld think you would 
 find great pleasure in taking up parties of handsome 
 ladies such as I understand now and then visit 
 the falls." 
 
 ''Ah," said the boatman, "it is very nice, of 
 course ; but, except from Miss Sommerton, we don't 
 get much." 
 
l62 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 \\ 
 
 *' Really," saic" the artist; "and who is Miss 
 Soramerton, pray ? " 
 
 The half-breed nodded up the path. 
 
 " Oh, indeed, that is her name. I did not 
 know." 
 
 " Yes," said the man, " she is very generous, and 
 she always brings us tobacco in her pocket — good 
 tobacco." 
 
 *' Tobacco ! " cried the artist. *' The arrant 
 hypocrite. She gives you tobacco, docs she? Did 
 you understand what we were talking about coming 
 up here ? " 
 
 The younger half-breed was about to say " Yes," 
 and a gleam of intelligence came into his face ; but 
 a frown on the other's brow checked him, and the 
 elder gravely shook his head. 
 
 '' We do not understand English," he said. 
 
 As Trenton walked slowly up the steep hillside, he 
 said to himself, " That young woman does not seem 
 to have the slightest spark of gratitude in her com- 
 position. Here I have been good-natured enough to 
 share my canoe with her, yet she treats me as if 
 I were some low ruffian instead of a gentleman." 
 
 As Miss Sommerton was approaching the Shawe- 
 negan Falls, she said to herself, ''What an insuffer- 
 able cad that man is? Mr. Mason doubtless told 
 him that he was indebted to me for being allowed to 
 come in the canoCj and yet, although he must see 
 I do not wish to talk with him, he tried to force 
 conversation on me." 
 
 Miss Sommerton walked rapidly along the very 
 imperfect woodland path, which was completely 
 shaded by the overhanging trees. After a walk of 
 
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 163 
 
 nearly a mile, the path suddenly ended at the top of a 
 tremendous precipice of granite, and opposite this point 
 
 Miss Sommerton walked rapidhj aloutj the woodhiud path. 
 
 the great hillside of tumbling white foam plunged for 
 ever downward. At the foot of the falls the waters 
 
I i 
 
 164 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 flung themselves against the massive granite barrier, 
 and then, turning at a right angle, plunged down- 
 ward in a series of wild rapids that completely 
 eclipsed in picturesqueness and grandeur and force 
 even the famous rapids at Niagara. Contemplating 
 this incomparable scene, ^liss Sommerton forgot all 
 
 She gazed dreamily at the great falls, j 
 
 about her objectionable travelling companion. She 
 sat down on a fallen log, placing her sketch-book on 
 her lap, but it lay there idly as, unconscious of the 
 passing time, she gazed dreamily at the great falls 
 and listened to their vibrating, deafening roar. 
 Suddenly the consciousness of some one near startled 
 
ONE DATS OOURTSfllP. 
 
 16=5 
 
 her from her reverie. She sprang to her feet, and 
 had so completely forgotten her companion that she 
 stared at him for a moment ni dumh amazement. 
 He stood back some distance from her, and beside 
 him on its slender tripod was placed a natty little 
 camera. Connected with the instantaneous shutter 
 was a long black rubber tube almost as thin as 
 a string. The bulb of this instantaneous attachment 
 Mr. Trenton held in his hand, and the instant Miss 
 Sommerton turned around, the little shutter, as if in 
 defiance of her, gave a snap, and she knew her picture 
 had been taken, and also that she was the principle 
 object in the foreground. 
 
 "You have photographed me, sir!" cried the 
 young woman, with her eyes blazing. 
 
 ** I have photographed the falls, or, at least, 1 
 hope I have," replied Trenton. 
 
 *' But my picture is in the foreground. You must 
 destroy that plate." 
 
 ** You will excuse me. Miss Sommerton, if I tell 
 you I shall do nothing of the kind. It is very 
 unusual with me to deny the request of a lady, but 
 in this case I must do so. This is the last plate 
 1 have, and it may be the one successful picture 
 of the lot. I shall, therefore, not destroy the 
 plate." 
 
 *' Then, sir, you are not a gentleman ! " cried 
 the impetuous young lady, her face aflame with 
 anger. 
 
 " I never claimec"" to be one," answered Trenton, 
 calmly. 
 
 *' I shall appeal to Mr. Mason ; perhaps he has 
 some means of making you understand aat you are 
 
1 66 
 
 ONE BAY'S COURTSniP. 
 
 not allowed to take a lady's photograph without her 
 permission, and in defiance of her wishes." 
 
 " Will you allow me to explain why it is unnecessary 
 to destroy the plate ? If you understand anything 
 about photography, you must be aware of the 
 fact " 
 
 " I am happy to say I know nothing of photography, 
 and I desire to know nothing of it. I will not hear 
 any explanation from you, sir. You have refused to 
 destroy the plate. That is enough for me. Your 
 conduct to-day has been entirely contemptible. In 
 the first i^lace you have forced yourself, through Mr. 
 Mason, into my company. The canoe was mine for 
 to-day, and you knew it. I granted you permission 
 to come, but I made it a proviso that there should be 
 no conversation. Now, I shall return in the canoe 
 alone, and I shall pay the boatman to come back for 
 you this evening." With this she swept indignantly 
 past Mr. Trenton, leaving the unfortunate man for the 
 second or third time that day too much dumbfounded 
 to reply. She marched down the path toward the 
 landing. Arriving at the canoe, she told the boatmen 
 they would have to return for Mr. Trenton ; that she 
 was going back alone, and she would pay them hand- 
 somely for their extra trip. Even the additional pay 
 offered did not seem to quite satisfy the two half-breeds. 
 
 " It will be nearly dark before we can get back," 
 grumbled the elder boatman. 
 
 **That does not matter," replied Miss Sommerton, 
 shortly. 
 
 **But it is dangerous going down the river at 
 night." 
 
 '* That does not matter," was again the reply. 
 
QUE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 167 
 
 **But he has nothmg " 
 
 ** The longer you stand talking here the longer it 
 ^ 11 he hefore you get back. If you are afraid for the 
 safety of the gentleman, pray stay here with him and 
 give me the paddle — I will take the boat down alone." 
 
 The boatman said nothing more, but shot the canoe 
 out from the landing and proceeded rapidly down 
 the stream. 
 
 Miss Sommerton meditated bitterly on the dis- 
 appointments and annoyances of the day. Once 
 fairly away, conscience began to trouble her, and 
 she remembered that the gentleman so uncere- 
 moniously left in the woods without any possibility 
 of getting away was a man whom Mr. Mason, lici- 
 friend, evidently desired very much to please. Little 
 had been said by the boatmen, merely a brief word of 
 command now and then from the elder who stood in 
 the stern, until they passed down the rapids. Then 
 Miss Sommerton caught a grumbling word in French 
 which made her heart stand still. 
 
 ** What is that you said?" she cried to the elder 
 boatman. 
 
 He did not answer, but solemnly paddled onward. 
 
 *' Answer me," demanded Miss Sommerton. 
 " What is that you said about the gentleman who 
 went up with us this morning ? " 
 
 " I said," replied the half-breed, with a grim 
 severity that even the remembrance of gifts of tobacco 
 could not mitigate, "that the canoe belonged to him 
 t0"day." 
 
 *' How dare you say such a thing ! The canoe was 
 mine. Mr. Mason gave it to me. It was mine for 
 to-day." 
 

 
 .1 I I 
 
 !.'■ 
 
 { 
 
 i68 
 
 ONE DAY'S COUliTSniP. 
 
 " I know nothing about that," returned the boat- 
 man doggedly ; "but I do know that three days ago 
 Mr. Mason came to me with this gentleman's letter 
 in his hand and said, ' Pierre, Mr. Trenton is to have 
 the canoe for Tuesday. 8ee it is in good order, and 
 no one else is to have it for that day.' That is what 
 Mr. Mason said, and when they were down at the 
 canoe this morning, Mr. Mason asked Mr. Trenton 
 if he would let you go up to the falls in his canoe, and 
 he said 'Yes.'" 
 
 Miss Sommerton sat there too horrified to speak. 
 A wild resentment against the duplicity of Ed. Mason 
 arose for a moment in her heart, but it speedily sank 
 as she viewed her own conduct in the light of this 
 astounding revelation. She had abused an unknown 
 gentleman like a pickpocket, and had finally gone 
 off with liis canoe, leaving him marooned, as it 
 were, to whose courtesy she was indebted for being 
 there at all. Overcome by the thoughts that crowded 
 so quickly upon her, she buried her face in her hands 
 and wept. But this was only for an instant. Eaising 
 her head again, with the imperious air characteristic 
 of her, she said to the boatman — 
 
 *' Turn back at once, please." 
 
 **We are almost there now," he answered, amazed 
 at the feminine inconsistency of the command. 
 
 ** Turn back at once, I say. You are not too tired 
 to paddle up the river again, are you ? " 
 
 ** No, madame," he answered, " but it is so useless; 
 we are almost there. We shall land you, and then 
 the canoe will go up lighter." 
 
 *' I wish to go with you. Do what 1 tell you, and I 
 will pay you." 
 
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 109 
 
 The atolid boatman gave the command ; the man 
 at the bow paddled one way, while the man at the 
 stern paddled another, and the canoe swung round 
 up-stream again. 
 
 w 
 
 had 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 down when Miss Sommertou put 
 
 HE sun nau gone clown wJ 
 her foot once more on the landing. 
 
 " We will go and search for him," said the boat- 
 man. 
 
 " Stay where you are," she commanded, and dis- 
 appeared swiftly up the path. Expecting to find him 
 still at the falls, she faced the prospect of a good mile 
 of rough walking in the gathering darkness without 
 flinching. But at the brow of the hill, within hearing 
 distance of the landing, she found the man of whom 
 she was in search. In her agony of mind Miss 
 Sommertou had expected to come upon him pacing 
 moodily up and down before the falls, meditating 
 on the ingratitude of womankind. She discovered 
 him in a much le. ^ romantic attitude. He was lying 
 at full length below a white birch tree, with his 
 camera-box under his head for a pillow. It was evi- 
 dent he had seen enough of the Shawenegan Falls for 
 one day, and doubtless, because of the morning's 
 early rising, and the day's long journey, had fallen 
 soundly asleep. His soft felt hat lay on the ground 
 beside him. Miss Sommerton looked at him for a 
 moment, and thought bitterly of Mason's additional 
 perjury in swearing that he was an elderly man. 
 True, his hair was tinged with grey at the temples, 
 
^ 
 
 li 
 
 hi 
 
 
 'W 
 
 170 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 but there was nothing elderly about his appearance. 
 Miss Sommerton saw that he ^yas a handsome man, 
 and wondered this had escaped her notice before, for- 
 getting that she had scarcely deigned to look at him- 
 She thought he had spoken to her with inexcusable 
 bluntness at the falls, in refusing to destroy his plate ; 
 
 He iras hjhuj at full length, with his camera-box under his head 
 
 for a 2^illow. 
 
 but she now remembered with compunction that he 
 had made no allusion to his ownership of the boat 
 for that day, while she had boasted that it was hers. 
 She determined to return and send one 01 the boat- 
 men up to awaken him, but at that moment Trenton 
 suddenly opened his eyes, as a person often does 
 
ONE DATS COUIiTSniP. 
 
 171 
 
 when some one looks at him in his sleep. He sprang 
 quickly to his feet, and put up his hand in bewilder- 
 ment to remove his hat, but found it wasn't there. 
 Then he laughed uncomfortably, stooping to pick it 
 up again. 
 
 *' I — I — I wasn't expecting visitors," he stammered. 
 
 *' Why did you not tell me," she said, '* that 
 Mr. Mason had promised you the boat for the day '? " 
 
 " Good gracious ! " cried Trenton, *' has Ed. Mason 
 told you that ? " 
 
 *' I have not seen Mr. Mason," she replied; *'I 
 found it out by catching an accidental remark made 
 by one of the boatmen. I desire very humbly to 
 apologize to you for my conduct." 
 
 "Oh, that doesn't matter at all, I assure you." 
 
 " What ! My conduct doesn't ? " 
 
 *' No, I didn't mean quite that ; but I Of 
 
 course, you did treat me rather abruptly ; but then, 
 you know, I saw how it was. You looked on me as 
 an interloper, as it were, and I think you were quite 
 justified, you know, in speaking as you did. I am a 
 very poor hand at conversing with ladies, oven at my 
 best, and I am not at my best to-day. I had to get 
 up too early, so there is no doubt what I said was said 
 very awkwardly indeed. But it really doesn't matter, 
 you know — that is, it doesn't matter about anything 
 you said." 
 
 " I think it matters very much — at least, it matters 
 very much to me. I shall always regret having treated 
 you as I die',, and I hope you will forgive me for 
 having done so." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," said Mr. Trenton, swinging 
 his camera over his shoulder. "It is getting dark. 
 
i 
 
 M 
 '■ ■ 
 
 ■m 
 
 172 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 I 
 
 Miss Somnierton ; I think we should hurry down to 
 the canoe." 
 
 As they walked down the hill together, he con- 
 tinued — 
 
 " I wish you would let me give you a little lesson 
 in photography, if you don't mind." 
 
 ** I have very little interest in photography, 
 especially in amateur photography," replied Miss 
 Somnierton, with a partial return of her old reserve. 
 
 " Oh, I don't wish to make an amateur photographer 
 of you. You sketch very nicely, and " 
 
 " How do you know that ? " asked Miss Somnierton, 
 turning quickly towards him: "you have never seen 
 any of my sketches." 
 
 '*Ah, well," stammered Trenton, ''no — that is — 
 you know — are not those water-colours in Mason's 
 house yours ? " 
 
 **Mr. Mason has some of my sketches. I didn't 
 know you had seen them." 
 
 " Well, as I was saying," continued Trenton, " 1 
 have no desire to convert vou to the heauties of 
 amateur photography. I admit the results in many 
 cases are very bad. I am afraid if you saw the 
 pictures I take myself you would not be much in love 
 with the art. But what I wish to say is in mitigation 
 of my refusal to destroy the plate when you asked 
 me to." 
 
 '* Oh, I beg you will not mention that, or refer to 
 anything at all I have said to you. I assure you it 
 pains me very much, and you know I have apologized 
 once or twice already." 
 
 *' Oh, it isn't that. The apology should come from 
 xae ; but I thought I would like to explain why it is 
 
 :| 
 
ONE DATS COURTSHIP, 
 
 ^72> 
 
 that I did not take your picture, as you thought I 
 did." 
 
 *'Not take my picture? Why I saw you take it. 
 You admitted yourself you took it." 
 
 "Well, you see, that is what I want to explain. I 
 took your picture, and then again I didn't take it. 
 This is how it is with amateur photography. Your 
 picture on the plate will he a mere shadow, a dim 
 outline, nothing more. No one can tell who it is. 
 You see, it is utterly impossihle to take a dark ohject 
 and one in pure white at the instantaneous snap. If 
 the picture of the falls is at all correct, as I expect it 
 will he, then your picture will he nothing but a shadow 
 unrecognizable by any one." 
 
 "But they do take pictures with the cataract as 
 a background, do they not ? I am sure I have seen 
 photos of groups taken at Niagara Falls ; in fact, 
 I have seen groups being posed in public for that 
 purpose, and very silly they looked, I must say. I 
 presume that is one of the things that has prejudiced 
 me so much against the camera." 
 
 " Those pictures, ^liss Sommerton, are not genuine ; 
 they are not at all what they pretend to be. The 
 prints that you have seen are the results of the 
 manipulation of two separate plates, one of the plates 
 containing the group or the person photographed, 
 and the other an instantaneous picture of the falls. 
 If you look closely at one of those pictures you will 
 see a little halo of light or dark around the person 
 photographed. That, to an experienced photographer, 
 shows the double printing. In fact, it is double 
 dealing all round. The deluded victim of the camera 
 imagines that the pictures he get^ of the falls, with 
 
174 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 
 i - 
 
 himself in the foreground, is really a picture of the 
 falls taken at the time he is being photographed. 
 Whereas, in the picture actually taken of him, the 
 falls themselves are hopelessly over-exposed, and do 
 not appear at all on the plate. So with the instan- 
 taneous picture I took ; there will really be nothing 
 of you on that plate that you would recognize as 
 yourself. That was why I refused to destroy it." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Miss Sommertoi., sadly, *' you 
 are trying to make my punishment harder and harder. 
 I believe in reality you are very cruel. You know 
 how badly I feel about the whole matter, and now 
 even the one little point that apparently gave me any 
 excuse is taken away by your scientific explana- 
 tion." 
 
 *' Candidly, Miss Sommerton, I am more of a culprit 
 than you imagine, and I suppose it is the tortures 
 of a guilty conscience that caused me to make this 
 explanation. I shall now confess without reserve. 
 As you sat there with your head in your hand looking 
 at the falls, I deliberately and with malice aforethought 
 took a timed picture, which, if developed, will reveal 
 you exactly as you sat, and which will not show the 
 falls at all." 
 
 Miss Sommerton w^alked in silence beside him, and 
 he could not tell just how angry she might be. 
 Finally he said, " I shall destroy that plate, if you 
 order me to." 
 
 Miss Sommerton made no reply, until they were 
 nearly at the canoe. Then she looked up at him 
 with a smile, and said, " I think it a pity to destroy 
 any pictures you have had such trouble to obtain." 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Sommertoxi," said the artist. 
 
 mi 
 
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 175 
 
 He helped her into the canoe in the gathering dusk, 
 and then sat down himself. But neither of them 
 saw the look of anxiety on the face of the elder boat- 
 man. He knew the Eiver St. Maurice. 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 From the words the elder boatman rapidly addressed 
 to the younger, it was evident to Mr. Trenton that 
 the half-breed was anxious to pass the rapids before 
 it became very much darker. 
 
 The landing is at the edge of comparatively still 
 water. At the bottom of the falls the river turns 
 an acute an Me and flows to the west. At the 
 landing it turns ^vith equal abruptness, and flows 
 south. 
 
 The short westward section of the river from the 
 falls to the point where they landed is a wild, 
 turbulent rapid, in which no boat can live for a 
 V »ment. From the Point downwards, although the 
 
 ater is covered with foam, only one dangerous 
 place has to be passed. Toward that spot the 
 stalwart half-breeds bent all their energy in forcing 
 the canoe down with the current. The canoe shot 
 over the darkening rapid with the speed of an arrow. 
 If but one or two persons had been in it, the chances 
 are the passage would have been made in safety. As 
 it was one wrong turn of the paddle by the younger 
 half-breed did the mischief. The bottom barely 
 touched a sharp-pointed hidden rock, and in an 
 instant the canoe was slit open as with a knife. 
 
 As ho sat there Trenton felt the cold water rise 
 
 \\- 
 
 m 
 
 rJ 
 
m^ 
 
 176 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 around him with a quickness that prevented his 
 doing anything, even if he had known what to do. 
 
 " Sit still ! " cried the elder boatman ; and then to 
 the younger he shouted sharply, '* The shore ! " 
 
 They were almost under the hanging trees when 
 the four found themselves in the water. Trenton 
 grasped an overhanging t.ciiich with one hand, and 
 with the other caught Miss Sommerton by the arm. 
 For a moment it was doubtful whether the branch 
 would hold. The current was very swift, and it threw 
 each of them against the rock bank, and bent the 
 branch down into the w^ater. 
 
 '' Catch hold of me ! " cried Trenton. '' Catcli hold 
 of my coat ; I need both hands." 
 
 Miss Sommerton, who had acted with commend- 
 able bravery throughout, did as she was directed. 
 Trenton, with his released hand, worked himself 
 slowly up the branch, hand over hand, and finally 
 catching a sapling that grew close to the water's 
 edge, with a firm hold, reached down and helped Miss 
 Sommerton on the bank. Then he slowly drew 
 himself up to a safe position and looked around for 
 any signs of the boatmen. He shouted loudly, but 
 there was no answer. 
 
 "Are they drowned, do you think?" asked Miss 
 Sommerton, anxiously. 
 
 ** No, I don't suppose they are ; I don't think you 
 amJil drown a half-breed. They have done their best 
 to drown us, and as we have escaped I see no reason 
 why they should drown." 
 
 *' Oh, it's all my fault ! all my fault ! " wailed Miss 
 Sommerton. 
 
 ** It is, indeed," answered Trenton, briefl3^ 
 
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 ^77 
 
 Miss 
 
 She tried to straighten herself up, hut, too wet and 
 chilled and limp to be heroic, she sank on a rock and 
 began to cry. 
 
 ** Please don't do that," said the artist softly. 
 *' Of course I shouldn't have agreed with you. I beg 
 pardon for having done so, but now that we are here, 
 you are not to shirk your share of the duties. I want 
 you to search around and get materials for a tire." 
 
 ''Search around?" cried Miss Sommerton dole- 
 fully. 
 
 "Yes, search around. Hunt, as you Americans 
 say. You have got us in^o this scrape, so I don't 
 propose you shall sit calmly by and not take any of 
 the consequences." 
 
 *'Do you mean to insult me, Mr. Trenton, now 
 that I am helpless ? " 
 
 ''If it is an insult to ask you to get up and gather 
 some wood and bring it here, then I do mean to 
 insult you most emphatically. I shall gather some, 
 too, for we shall need a quantity of it." 
 
 Miss Sommerton rose indignantly, and w^as on the 
 point of threatening to leave the place, when a 
 moment's reflection showed her that she didn't know 
 where to go, and remembering she was not as brave 
 in the darkness and in the woods as in Boston, she 
 meekly set about the search for dry twigs and sticks. 
 Flinging down the bundle near the heap Trenton had 
 already collected, the young woman burst into a 
 laugh. 
 
 "Do you see anything particularly funny in the 
 situation?" asked Trenton, with chattering teeth. 
 " I confess I do not." 
 
 " The funniness of the situation is that we should 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 ONE DAY'S COUItTbllir. 
 
 gather wood, when, if there is a match in your 
 l)Ocket, it must be so wet as to be useless." 
 
 *'0h, not at all. You must remember I come 
 from a very clamp climate, and we take care of our 
 matches there. I have been in the water before now 
 on a tramp, and my matches are in a silver case 
 warranted to keep out the wet." As he said this 
 Trenton struck a light, and applied it to the small 
 twigs and dry autumn leaves. The flames flashed up 
 through the larger sticks, and in a very few moments 
 a cheering fire was blazing, over which Trenton threw 
 armful after armful of the wood he had collected. 
 
 " Now," said the artist, " if you will take off what 
 outer wrai3s you have on, we can S2)read them here, 
 and dry them. Then if you sit, first facing the fire 
 and next with your back to it, and maintain a sort of 
 rotatory motion, it will not be long before you are 
 reasonably dry and warm." 
 
 Miss Sommerton laughed, but there was not much 
 merriment in her laughter. 
 
 ** Was there ever anything so supremely ridicu- 
 lous ? " she said. ** A gentleman from England 
 gathering sticks, and a lady from Boston gyrating 
 before the fire. I am glad you are not a newspaper 
 man, for you might be tempted to write about the 
 situation for some sensational paper." 
 
 " How do you know I am not a journalist ? " 
 
 *' Well, I hope you p^e not. I thought you were a 
 photographer." 
 
 ** Oh, not a professional photographer, you know." 
 
 ** I am sorry ; I prefer the professional to the 
 amateur." 
 
 " I like to hear you say that." 
 
 I 
 
ONl!: DAY'S COURTSHIP, 
 
 '79 
 
 >> 
 
 " Why ? It is not very complimentary, I am sure." 
 
 " The very reason I like to hear you say it. If 
 you were complimentary I would be afraid you were 
 going to take a chill and be ill after this disaster ; 
 but now that you are yourself again, I have no such 
 fear." 
 
 "Myself again!" blazed the young woman. 
 "What do you know about me? How do you know 
 whether I am myself or somebody else ? I am sure 
 our acquaintance has been very short." 
 
 " Counted by time, yes. But an incident like this, 
 in the wilderness, does more to form a friendship, or 
 the reverse, than years of ordinary acquaintance in 
 Boston or London. You ask how I know that you 
 are yourself. Sliall I tell you ? " 
 
 " If you please." 
 
 " Well, I imagine you are a young lady who has 
 been spoilt. I think probably you are rich, and have 
 had a good deal of your own way in this world. In 
 fact, I take it for granted that you have never met 
 any one who frankly told you your faults. Even if 
 such good fortune had been yours, I doubt if you would 
 have profited by it. A snub would have been the 
 reward of the courageous person who told Miss Som- 
 merton her failings." 
 
 " I presume you have courage enough to tell me 
 my faults without the fear of a snub before your 
 eyes." 
 
 ** I have the courage, yes. You see I have already 
 received the snub three or four times, and it has losu 
 its terrors for me." 
 
 " In that case, will you be kind enough to tell me 
 what you consider my faults ? " 
 
 
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 ONE DAY*S COUliTSniP. 
 
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 ** If you wish me to." 
 
 *' I do wish it." 
 
 '* Well, then, one of them is inordinate pride." 
 
 " Do you think pride a fault ? " 
 
 ** It is not usually reckoned one of the virtues." 
 
 " In this country, Mr. Trenton, we consider that 
 every person should have a certain amount of 
 pride." 
 
 ** A certain amount may he all right. It depends 
 entirely on how much the certain amount is." 
 
 ''Well, now for fault No. 2." 
 
 "Fault No. 2 is a disregard on your part for the 
 feelings of others. This arises, I imagine, partly 
 from fault No. 1. You are in the habit of classing 
 the great mass of the public very much beneath you 
 in intellect and other qualities, and you forget that 
 persons whom you may perhaps dislike, have feelings 
 which you have no right to ignore." 
 
 *' I presume you refer to this morning," said Miss 
 Sommerton, seriously. ** I apologized for that two 
 or three times, I think. I have always understood 
 that a gentleman regards an apology from another 
 gentleman as blotting out the original offence. Why 
 should he not regard it in the same light when it 
 comes from a woman ? " 
 
 ** Oh, now you are making a personal matter of it 
 I am talking in an entirely impersonal sense. I am 
 merely giving you, with brutal rudeness, opinions 
 formed on a very short acquaintance. Remember, I 
 Lave done so at your own request." 
 
 "I am very much obliged to you, I am sure. I 
 think you are more than half right. I hope the list 
 is not much longer." 
 
ONE DATS COUBTSniP. 
 
 i8r 
 
 I 
 
 1st 
 
 " No, the list ends there. I suppose you imagine 
 that I am one of the rudest men you ever met ? '* 
 
 " No, we generally expect rudeness from English- 
 men." 
 
 **0h, do you really ? Then I am only keeping up 
 the reputation my countrymen have already acquired 
 in America. Have you had the pleasure of meeting 
 a rude Englishman before ? " 
 
 " No, I can't say that I have. Most Englishmen 
 I have met have been what we call very gentlemanly 
 indeed. But the rudest letter I ever received was 
 from an Englishman ; not only rude, but ungrateful, 
 for I had bought at a very high price one of his 
 landscapes. He was John Trenton, the artist, of 
 London. Do you know him ? " 
 
 "Yes," hesitated Trenton, "I know him. I may 
 say I know him very well. In fact, he is a namesake 
 of mine." 
 
 ** Why, how curious it is I had never thought of 
 that. Is your first name J , the same as 
 
 his?" 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " Not a relative, is he ? " 
 
 ** Well, no. I don't think I can call him a relative. 
 I don't know that I can even go so far as to call him 
 my friend, but he is an acquaintance." 
 
 "Oh, tell me about him," cried Miss Sommerton, 
 enthusiastically. "He is one of the Englishmen I 
 have longed very much to meet." 
 
 " Then you forgave him his rude letter ? " 
 
 "Oh, I forgave that long ago. I don't know that 
 it was rude, after all. It was truthful. I presume 
 the truth offended me." 
 
l82 
 
 ONE BAY'S COURTSHIP, 
 
 '* "Well," said Trenton, " truth has to be handled 
 very delicatel3% or it is apt to give offence. You bought 
 a landscape of his, did you ? Which one, do you 
 remember ? " 
 
 ** It was a picture of the Thames valley." 
 
 "Ah, I don't recall it at the moment. A rather 
 hackneyed subject, too. Probably he sent it to 
 America because he couldn't sell it in England." 
 
 "Oh, I suppose you think we buy anything here 
 that the English refuse. I beg to inform you this 
 picture had a place in the Royal Academy, and was 
 very highly spoken of by the critics. I bought it in 
 England." 
 
 " Oh jTS, I remember it now, * The Thames at 
 Sonning.' Still, it was a hackneyed subject, although 
 reasonably well treated." 
 
 "Reasonably well! I ink it one of the finest 
 landscape pictures of the century." 
 
 " Well, in that at least Trenton would agree with 
 you." 
 
 " He is very conceited, you mean ? " 
 
 "Even his enemies admit that." 
 
 " I don't believe it. I don't believe a man of such 
 talent could be so conceited." , . 
 
 " Then, Miss Sommerton, allow me to say j'ou 
 have very little knowledge of human nature. It is 
 only reasonable that a great man should know he is 
 a great man. Most of our great men are conceited. 
 I would like to see Trenton's letter to j'ou. I could 
 then have a good deal of amusement at his expense 
 when I get back." 
 
 " Well, in that case I can assure you that you will 
 never see the letter." 
 
ONE DAY'S nonnTfiriTP. 
 
 •S3 
 
 "Ah, you destroyed it, did you ? " 
 ** Not for that reason." 
 
 *' Then you (//W destroy it?" 
 
 ** I tore it up, hut on second thoughts I pasted it 
 together again, and have it still." 
 
 " In that case, why sliouhl you ohjeet to showing 
 me the letter ? " 
 
 ''Well, because I think it rather unusual for a 
 lady to be asked by a gentleman to show him a 
 letter that has been written to her by another 
 gentleman." 
 
 *'In matters of the heart that is true; but in 
 matters of art it is not." 
 
 " Is that intended for a pun ? " 
 
 "It is as near to one as I ever allow mj^self to 
 come. I should like very much to see ^Fr. Trenton's 
 letter. It was probably brutally rude. I know the 
 man, you see." 
 
 "It was nothing of the sort," replied ]Miss Som- 
 merton, hotly. " It was a truthful, well-meant 
 letter." 
 
 " And yet you tore it up ? " 
 
 " But that was the first impulse. The pasting it 
 together was the apology." 
 
 " And you will not show it to me ? " 
 
 " No, I will not." 
 
 " Did you answer it ? " 
 
 "I will tell you nothing more about it. I am 
 sorry I spoke of the letter at all. You don't appreciate 
 Mr. Trenton's work." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon, I do. He has no greater 
 admirer in England than I am — except himself, of 
 
 course. 
 
 »» 
 
1 84 
 
 ONE DATS COUHTSniP. 
 
 I 
 
 "I suppose it makes no difference to you to know 
 that I don't like a remark like that." 
 
 *'0h, I thought it would please j'ou. You see, 
 with the exception of myself, Mr. Trenton is ahout 
 the rudest man in England. In fact, I begia to 
 suspect it was Mr. Trenton's letter that led you to a 
 wholesale condemning of the English race, for j-ou 
 admit the Englishmen you have met were not 
 rude." 
 
 **You forget I have met you since then." 
 
 "Well bowled, as we say in cricket." 
 
 "Has Mr. Trenton many friends in London ?" 
 
 " Not a great number. He is a man who sticks 
 rather closely to his work, and, as I said before, he 
 prides himself on telling the truth. That doesn't do 
 in London any more than it does in Boston." 
 
 " Well, I honour him for it." 
 
 "Oh, certainly; everybody does in the abstract. 
 But it is not a quality that tends to the making or 
 the keeping of friends, you know." 
 
 " If you see Mr. Trenton when you return, I wish 
 you would tell him there is a lady in America who is 
 a friend of his ; and if he has any pictures the people 
 over there do not appreciate, ask him to send them to 
 Boston, and his friend will buy them." 
 
 "Then you must be rich, for his i^ictures bring 
 very good prices, even in England." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Sommerton, " I am rich." 
 
 "Well, I suppose it's very jolly to be rich," repHed 
 the artist, with a sigh. 
 
 " You are not rich, then, I imagine ? " 
 
 " No, I am not. That is, not compared with your 
 American fortunes. I have enough of money to let 
 
 'J 
 
 4 
 
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 185 
 
 4 
 
 ' I 
 
 me roam around the world if I wIbIi to, and get ball' 
 
 drowned in the St. Maurice liiver." 
 
 '*01i, ^'s it not strange that we have heard nothing 
 
 from those boatmen ? You surely don't imagine they 
 
 could have been drowned ? " 
 
 " I hardly think so. Still, it is quite possible." 
 '* Oh, don't say that ; it makes me feel like a 
 
 murderer." 
 
 " You are not rich, then, I imagine ? " 
 
 *' Well, 1 think it was a good deal your fault, don't 
 you know." 
 
 Miss Sommerton looked at him. 
 
 "Have I not been punished enough already?" she 
 said. 
 
 " For the death of two men— if they are dead ? 
 Bless me ! no. Do you imagine for a moment there 
 is any relation between the punishment and the 
 fault ? " 
 
 > 
 
'^^r 
 
 186 
 
 ONE DAY'S OOUIilSIJir. 
 
 Mies Sommerton buried her face in her hands. 
 
 *' Oh, I take that back," said Trenton. " I didn't 
 mean to say such a thing." 
 
 "It is the truth — it is the truth ! " wailed the 
 young woman. " Do \^ou honestly think they did 
 not reach the shore ? " 
 
 " Of course they did. If you want to know what 
 has happened, I'll tell you exactly, and back my 
 opinion by a bet if you like. An Englishman is 
 always ready to back his opinion, you know. Those 
 two men swam with the current until they came to 
 some landing-place. They evidently think we are 
 drowned. Nevertheless, they are now making their 
 way through the woods to the settlement. Then 
 comes the hubbub. Mason will stir up the neigh- 
 bourhood, and the men who are back from the woods 
 with the other canoes will be roused and pressed 
 into service, and some time to-night we will l)e 
 rescued." 
 
 " Oh, I hope that is the case," cried Miss Som- 
 merton, looking brightly at him. 
 
 " It is the case. Will you bet about it ? " 
 
 *' I never bet," said Miss Sommerton. 
 
 " Ah, well, you miss a good deal of fun then. You 
 see I am a bit of a mind reader. I can tell just about 
 where the men are now." 
 
 " I don't believe much in mind reading." 
 
 "Don't you? Shall I give you a specimen of it? 
 Take that letter we have spoken so much about. If 
 you think it over in your mind I will read you the 
 litter — not word for word, perhaps, but I shall give 
 you the gist of it, at least." 
 
 " Oh, impossible ! " 
 
 •> 
 
ONE DAY'S COUliTSniP. 
 
 187 
 
 *' Do you remember it ? " 
 
 ** I have it with me." 
 
 " Oh, have you ? Then, if you wish to preserve it, 
 you should spread it out upon the ground to dry 
 before the fire." 
 
 " There is no need of my producing the letter," 
 replied Miss Sommerton; "I remember every word 
 of it." 
 
 " Very well, just think it over in j'our mind, 
 and see if I cannot repeat it. Are you thinking 
 about it ? " 
 
 "Yes, I am thinking about it." 
 
 " Here goes, then. * Miss Edith Sommerton ' " 
 
 " Wrong," said that j'oung lady. 
 
 '' The Sommerton is right, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, but the first name is not." 
 
 " What is it, then ? " 
 
 ''I shall not tell you." 
 
 '' Oh, very well. Miss Sommerton, — * I have some 
 hesitation in answering your letter.' Oh, by the way, 
 I forgot the address. That is the first sentence of 
 the letter, but the address is some number which I 
 cannot quite see, ' Beacon Street, Boston.' Is there 
 any such street in that city ? " 
 
 "There is," said Miss Sommerton. "What a 
 question to ask." 
 
 "Ah, then Beacon Street is one of the principal 
 s ^ets, is it?" 
 
 " One of them ? It is tin- street. It is Boston." 
 
 "Very good. I will now proceed with the letter. 
 *I have some hesitation in answering your letter, 
 because the sketches you send are so bad, that it 
 seems to me no one could seriously forward them to 
 
1 88 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSniP. 
 
 an artist for criticism. However, if you really desire 
 criticism, and if the pictures are sent in good faith, I 
 may say I see in them no merit whatever, not even 
 good drawing; while the colours are rnd on in a way 
 that would seem to indicate you havo not yet learned 
 the fundamental principle of mixing the paints. 
 
 " Bearon Street is BoHton" 
 
 If you are thinking of earning a livelihood with your 
 pencil, I strongly advise you to ahandon the idea. 
 But if you are a lady of leisure and wealth, I suppose 
 there is no harm in your continuing as long as you 
 see fit. — Yours truly, John Trenton.' " 
 
 Miss Sommerton, whose eyes had opened wider 
 and wider as this reading went on, said sharply— 
 
ONE DATS COVRTSltir. 
 
 189 
 
 *' He has shown you the letter. You have seen it 
 before it was sent." 
 
 ** I admit that," said the artist. 
 
 " Well — I will believe u,ll you like to say about Mr. 
 John Trenton." 
 
 ** Now, stop a moment ; do not be too sweeping in 
 your denunciation of him. I know that Mr. Trenton 
 showed the letter to no one." 
 
 ** Why, I thought you said a moment ago that he 
 showed it to you." 
 
 "He did. Yet no one but himself saw the 
 letter." 
 
 The young lady sprang to her feet. 
 
 '' Are you, then, John Trenton, the artist '? " 
 
 ** Miss Sommerton, I have to plead guilty." 
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 Miss Eva Sommerton and Mr. John Trenton stood on 
 opposite sides of the blazing fire and looked at each 
 other. A faint smile hovered around the lips of the 
 artist, but Miss Sommerton's face was very serious. 
 She was the first to speak. 
 
 "It seems to me," she said, " that there is some- 
 thing about all this that smacks of false pretences." 
 
 " On my part, Miss Sommerton ? " 
 
 ** Certainly on your part. You must have known 
 all along that I was the person who had written the 
 letter to you. I think, when you found that out, you 
 should have spoken of it." 
 
 " Then you do not give me credit for the honesty of 
 speaking now. You ought to know that I need not 
 
190 
 
 ONE DATS COUIiTSJlir, 
 
 i 
 
 have spoken at all, unless I wished to be very honest 
 about the matter." 
 
 '* Yes, there is that to be said in your favour, of 
 course." 
 
 " Well, Miss Sommertou, I hope you will consider 
 anything that happens to be in my favour. You see, 
 we arc ^oally old friends, after all." 
 
 **01( ncmies, you mean." 
 
 "Oh, 1 don't know about that. I would rather 
 look on myself as your friend than your enemy." 
 
 ** The letter you wrote me was not a very friendly 
 one." 
 
 *' I am not so sure. We differ on that point, you 
 know." 
 
 " I am afraid we differ on almost every point." 
 
 ** No, I differ with you there again. Still, I must 
 admit I would prefer being your enemy " 
 
 *' To being my friend ? " said Miss Sommerton, 
 quickly. 
 
 "No, to being entirely indifferent to you." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Trenton, we are getting along very 
 rapidly, are we not ? " said the young lady, without 
 looking up at him. 
 
 " Now, I am pleased to be able to agree with you 
 there, Miss Sommerton. As I said before, an 
 incident like this does more to ripen acquaintance 
 
 or friendship, or " The young man hesitated, 
 
 and did not complete his sentence. 
 
 "Well," said the artist, after a pause, "which is 
 it to be, friends or enemies ? " 
 
 " It shall be exactly as you say," she replied. 
 
 " If you leave the choice to me, I shall say friends. 
 Let us shake hands on that." 
 
ONE DATS COURTSnir. 
 
 191 
 
 She bold out her hand frankly to him as he crossed 
 over to her side, and as he took it in his own, a 
 strange tin-ill i)assed through him, and acting on the 
 impulse of the moment, he drew her towards him 
 and kissed her. 
 
 "How dare you!" she cried, drawing herself 
 indignantly from him. **Do you think I am some 
 backwoods girl who is flattered by your preference 
 after a day's acquaintance ? " 
 
 ** Not a day's acquaintance, Miss Sommerton — a 
 year, two years, ten years. In fact, I feel as though 
 1 had known you all my life." 
 
 "You certainly act as if you had. I did think for 
 some time past that you were a gentleman. But you 
 take advantage now of my unprotected position." 
 
 " Miss Sommerton, let me humbly apologize ! " 
 
 " I shall not accept your apolo[\,\ It cannot be 
 apologized for. I must ask you not to speak to me 
 again until Mr. Mason comes. You may consider 
 yourself very fortunate when I tell you I shall say 
 nothing of what has passed to Mr. Mason when he 
 arrives." 
 
 John Trenton made no reply, l)ut gathered another 
 armful of wood and flung it on the fire. 
 
 Miss Sommerton sat very dejectedly looking at the 
 embers. 
 
 For half an hour neither of them said anything. 
 
 Suddenly Trenton jumped up and listened intently. 
 
 "What is it ?" cried Miss Sommerton, startled by 
 his action. 
 
 "Now," said Trenton, "that is unfair. If I am 
 not to be allowed to speak to you, you must not ask 
 me any questions." 
 
mm 
 
 192 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Miss Sominerton, 
 curtly. 
 
 " But really I wanted to say something, and I 
 wanted you to be the first to break the contract 
 imposed. May I say what I wish to ? I have just 
 thought about something." 
 
 ''If you have thought of anything that will help 
 us out of our difficulty, I shall be very glad to hear it 
 indeed." 
 
 "T don't know that it will help us out of our 
 difficulties, but I think it will help us now that we're 
 in them. You know, I presume, that my camera, 
 like John Brown's knapsack, was strapped on my 
 back, and that it is one of iho few things rescued from 
 the late disaster?" 
 
 He paused for a reply, but she said nothing. She 
 evidently was not interested in his camera. 
 
 " Now, that camera-box is water-tight. It is really 
 a very natty arrangement, although you regard it so 
 scornfully." 
 
 He paused a second time, but there was no reply. 
 
 " Very well ; packed in that box is, first the camera, 
 then the dry plates, but most important of all, there 
 are at least two or three very nice Three River sand- 
 wiches. What do you say to our having supper ? " 
 
 Miss Sommerton smiled in spite of herself, and 
 Trenton busily unstrapped the camera-box, pulled out 
 the little instrument, and fished up from the bottom 
 a neatly-folded white table-napkin, in which were 
 wrapped several sandwiches. 
 
 "Now," he continued, "I have a folding drinking- 
 cup and a flask of sherry. It shows how absent- 
 minded I am, for I ought to have thought of the 
 
ONE DAY'S COUliTSIIir. 
 
 193 
 
 Llld 
 
 )Ut 
 
 lorn 
 
 lere 
 
 lor- 
 
 tnt- 
 bhe 
 
 wine loug ago. You Hliould have had a glass of 
 sherry the moment we landed here. By the way, I 
 wanted to say, and I say it now in case 1 shall forget 
 it, that when I ordered you so unceremoniously to go 
 around picking up sticks for the lire, it was not because 
 1 needed assistance, but to keep you, if possible, from 
 getting a chill." 
 
 ''Very kind of j'ou," remarked Miss Sommerton. 
 
 But the Englishman could not tell whether she 
 meant just what she said or not. 
 
 '* I wish you would admit that you are hungry. 
 Have you had anything to eat to-day ? " 
 
 " I had, I am ashamed to confess," she answered. 
 '* 1 took lunch with me and I ate it coming down in 
 the canoe. That was what troubled me about you. 
 I was afraid you had eaten nothing all day, and 1 
 wished to offer you some lunch when we were in the 
 canoe, but scarcely liked to. I thought we would 
 soon reach the settlement. I am very glad you have 
 sandwiches with you." 
 
 "How little you Americans really know of the 
 great British nation, after all. Now, if there is one 
 thing more than another that an Englishman looks 
 after, it is the commissariat." 
 
 After a moment's silence he said — 
 
 " Don't you think, Miss Sommerton, that notwith- 
 standing any accident or disaster, or misadventure 
 that may have happened, we might get back at least 
 on the old enemy footing again ? I would like to 
 apologize " — he paused for a moment, and added, 
 *' for the letter I wrote you ever so many years 
 ago." 
 
 " There seem to be too many apologies between 
 
 o 
 
 I) 
 
-7 
 
 194 
 
 ONE DATS GOUBTSniP. 
 
 us," she replied. *' I shall neither give nor take any 
 more." 
 
 "Well," he answered, "I think after all that is 
 the hest way. You ought to treat me rather kindly 
 though, because you are the cause of my being 
 here." 
 
 *' That is one of the many things I have apologized 
 for. You surely do not wish to taunt me with it 
 again ? " 
 
 ** Oh, I don't mean the recent accident. I mean 
 being here in America. Your sketches of the 
 Shawenegan Falls, and your description of the 
 Quebec district, brought me out to America ; and, 
 added to that — I expected to meet you." 
 
 ''To meet me?" 
 
 ** Certainly. Perhaps you don't laK that I called 
 at Beacon Street, and found you were from home — 
 with friends in Canada, they said — and I want to say, 
 in self-defence, that I came very well introduced. I 
 brought letters to people in Boston of the most 
 undoubted respectability, and to people in New York, 
 who are as near the social equals of the Boston 
 people as it is possible for mere New York persons to 
 be. Among other letters of introduction I had two 
 to you. I saw the house in Beacon Street. So, 
 you see, I have no delusions about your being a 
 backwoods girl, as you charged me with having a 
 short time since." 
 
 **I would rather not refer to that again, if you 
 please." 
 
 " Very well. Now, I have one question to ask you 
 — one request to make. Have I your permission to 
 make it?" 
 
ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 195 
 
 lied 
 
 b- 
 
 ay, 
 1 
 
 ost 
 
 rk, 
 
 on 
 
 to 
 
 wo 
 
 0, 
 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 [oil 
 
 lou 
 to 
 
 " It depends entirely on what your request is." 
 
 "Of course, in that case you cannot tell until I 
 make it. So I shall now make my request, and i 
 want you to remember, before you refuse it, that you 
 are indebted to me for supper. Miss Sommertou, 
 give me a plug of tobacco." 
 
 Miss Sommerton stood up in dumb amazement. 
 
 "You see," continued the artist, paying no heed 
 to her evident resentment, " I have lost my tobacco 
 in the marine disaster, but luckily I have my pipe. 
 I admit the scenery is beautiful hero, if we could only 
 see it ; but darkness is all around, although the moon 
 is rising. It can therefore be no desecration for me 
 to smoke a pipeful of tobacco, and 1 am sure the 
 tobacco you keep will be tho very best that can 
 be bought. Won't you grant my request, ^liss 
 Sommerton '? " 
 
 At first Miss Sommerton seemed to resent the 
 audacity of this request. Then a conscious light 
 came into her face, and instinctively her hand pressed 
 the side of her dress where her pocket was supposed 
 to be. 
 
 "Now," said the artist, "don't deny that you have 
 the tobacco. I told you I was a bit of a mind reader, 
 and besides, I have been informed that young ladies 
 in America are rarelv without the weed, and that 
 they only keep the best." 
 
 The situation was too ridiculous for Miss Som- 
 merton to remain very long indignant about it. So 
 she put her hand in her pocket and drew out a plug 
 of tobacco, and with a bow handed it to the artist. 
 
 "Thanks," he replied; "I shall borrow a pipeful 
 and give you back the remainder. Have you ever 
 
 ! 
 
 i\ 
 
196 
 
 ONE DAY'S COVIITSHIP. 
 
 ti' 
 
 tried the English birdseye ? I assure you it is a very 
 nice smoking tobacco." 
 
 *' I presume," said Miss Sommerton, " the boatmen 
 told you I always gave them some tobacco when I 
 came up to see the falls ? " 
 
 **Ah, you will doubt my mind-reading gift. Well, 
 honestly, they did tell me, and I thought perhaps 
 you might by good luck have it with you now. 
 Besides, you know, wasn't there the least bit of 
 humbug about your objection to smoking as we came 
 up the river ? If you really object to smoking, of 
 course I shall not smoke now." 
 
 " Oh, I haven't the least objection to it. 1 am 
 sorry I have not a good cigar to offer you." 
 
 " Thank you. But this is quite as acceptable. 
 We rarely use plug tobacco in England, but 1 find 
 some of it in this country is very good indeed." 
 
 ** I must confess," said Miss Sommerton, "that 1 
 have very little interest in the subject of tobacco. 
 But 1 cannot see why we should not have good 
 tobacco in this country. We grow it here." 
 
 *' That's so, when you come to think of it," answered 
 the artist. 
 
 Trenton sat with h' back against the tree, smoking 
 in a meditative manner, and watching the flicker 
 of the firelight on the face of his companion, whose 
 thoughts seemed to be concentrated on the embers. 
 
 "Miss Sommerton," he said at last, "I would 
 like permission to ask you a second question." 
 
 *' You have it," replied that lady, without looking 
 up. " But to prevent disappointment, I may say 
 this is all the tobacco I have. The rest I left in the 
 canoe when I went up to the falls." 
 
ONE DAT*S COURTSHIP. 
 
 T97 
 
 Ling 
 pker 
 lose 
 
 iuld 
 
 jsay 
 Ithe 
 
 V I 
 
 " I shall try to bear the disappointment as well as 
 I may. But in this case the question is of a very 
 different nature. I don't know just exactly how to 
 put it. You may have noticed that 1 am rather 
 awkward when it comes to sayinj]; the right thing at 
 
 Smoking in a meditatice manner. 
 
 the right time. I have not been much accustomed 
 to society, and I am rather a blunt man." 
 
 " ^tany persons," said Miss Sommerton with some 
 severity, " pride themselves on their bluntness. 
 They seem to think it an excuse for saying rude 
 
 ' Si 
 
T 
 
 198 
 
 ONE DATS COTTHTSHIP. 
 
 things. There is a sort of superstition that bhmtness 
 and honesty go together." 
 
 " Well, that is not yevy encouraging. However, I 
 do not pride myself on my bhmtness, but rather 
 regret it. I was merely stating a condition of things, 
 not making a boast. In this instance I imagine I 
 can show that honesty is the accompaniment. The 
 question I wished to ask was something like this : 
 Suppose I had had the chance to present to you my 
 letters of introduction, and suppose that we had 
 known each other for some time, and suppose that 
 everything had been very conventional, instead of 
 somewhat unconventional ; supposing all this, would 
 you have deemed a recent action of mine so unpardon- 
 able as you did a while ago ? " 
 
 " You said you were not referring to smoking." 
 " Neither am I. I am referring to my having 
 kissed you. There's bhmtness for you." 
 
 " ^ry dear sir," replied ]\Iiss Sommerton, shading 
 her face with her hand, "j'ou know nothing whatever 
 of me." 
 
 '* That is rather evading the question." 
 " Wc .i, then, I know nothing whatever of you." 
 " That is the second evasion. I am taking it 
 for granted that we each know something of the 
 other." 
 
 " 1 should think it would depend entirely on how 
 the knowledge influenced each party in the case. It 
 is such a purely supposititious state of things that I 
 cannot see how I can answer your question. I suppose 
 you have heard the adage about not crossing a bridge 
 until you come to it ? " 
 
 ** I thought it was a stream." 
 
ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 199 
 
 *' Well, a stream then. The prmciple is the 
 same." 
 
 ** I was afraid I would not be able to put the 
 question in a way to make you understand it. I 
 shall now fall back on my bluntness again, and with 
 this question, are you betrothed?" 
 
 ** We generally call it engaged in this country." 
 
 ** Then I shall translate my question into the 
 language of the country, and ask if '' 
 
 ** Oh, don't ask it, please. I shall answer before 
 you do ask it by saying, No. I do not know why I 
 should countenance your bluntness, as you call it, 
 ])y giving you an answer to such a question ; l)ut [ 
 do so on condition that the question is the last." 
 
 "But the second question cannot be the last. 
 There is always the third reading of a bill. The 
 auctioneer usually cries, ' Third and last time,' not 
 * Second and last time,' and the banns of approaching 
 marriage are called out three times. So, j'ou see, 
 I have the right to ask you one more question." 
 
 *' Very well. A person may sometimes have the 
 right to do a thing, and yet be very foolish in exer- 
 cising that right." 
 
 *' I accept your warning," said the artist, ''and 
 reserve my right." 
 
 " What time is it, cko you think ? " she asked him. 
 
 " I haven't the least idea," he replied ; " my watch 
 has stopped. That case was warranted to resist 
 water, but I doubt if it has done so." 
 
 " Don't you think that if the men managed to 
 save themselves they would have been here by this 
 time?" 
 
 " I am sure I don't know. I have no idea of the 
 
 I 
 
mm 
 
 200 
 
 ONE DAY'S COUETSniP. 
 
 distance. Perhaps tlicy may have taken it for 
 granted we are drowned, and so there is one chance 
 in a thousand that they may not come back at all." 
 
 " Oh, I do not think such a thing is possible. The 
 moment Mr. Mason heard of the disaster he would 
 come without delay. No matter what he might believe 
 the result of the accident to be." 
 
 "Yes, I think you are right. I shall try to get out 
 on this point and see if I can discover anything of 
 them. The moon now lights up the river, and if they 
 are within a reasonable distance I think I can see 
 them from this point of rock." 
 
 The artist climbed up on the point, which projected 
 over the river. The footing was not of the safest, 
 and Miss Sommerton watched him with some anxiety 
 as he slipped and stumbled and kept his place by 
 holding on to the branches of the overhanging trees. 
 
 "Pray be careful, Mr. Trenton," she said; "re- 
 member you are over the water there, and it is very 
 swift." 
 
 " The rocks seem rather slippery with the dew," 
 answered the artist; "but I am reasonably sure- 
 footed." 
 
 " Well, please don't take any chances ; for, dis- 
 agreeable as you are, I don't wish to be left here 
 alone." 
 
 " Thank you. Miss Sommerton." 
 
 The artist stood on the point of rock, and, holding 
 by a branch of a tree, peered out over the river. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Trenton, don't do that ! " cried the young 
 lady, with alarm. " Please come back." 
 
 "Say 'John,' then," replied that gentleman. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Trenton, don't ! " she cried as he leaned 
 
 
 \ 
 
ONE DAY'S COUJiTSHIP. 
 
 20I 
 
 •e 
 
 g 
 
 o 
 
 K 
 
 
 \ \ 
 
 still further over the water, straining the branch to 
 its utmost. 
 
 ''Say 'John.'" 
 
 "Mr. Trenton." 
 
 '* ' John.' " 
 
 The branch cracked ominously as Trenton leaned 
 yet a little further. 
 
 "John!" cried the young lady, sharply, "cease 
 your fooling and come down from that rock." 
 
 The artist instantly recovered his position, and, 
 coming ])ack, sprang down to the ground again. 
 
 Miss Sommerton drew back in alarm ; ])ut Trenton 
 merely put his hands in his pockets, and said — 
 
 " Well, Eva, I came back l)ceause you called 
 
 me. 
 
 >> 
 
 " It was a case of coercion," she said. " You 
 English are too fond of coercion. We Americans are 
 against it." 
 
 " Oh, I am a Home Piuler, if you are,'' replied the 
 artist. " Miss Eva, I am going to risk my third and 
 last question, and I shall await the answer with more 
 anxiety than I ever felt l)efore in my life. The 
 question is this : Will " 
 
 " Hello ! there you are. Thank Heaven ! I was 
 never so glad to see anybody in my life," cried the 
 cheery voice of Ed. Mason, as he broke through the 
 bushes towards them. 
 
 Trenton looked around with anything but a 
 welcome on his brow. If Mason had never been so 
 glad in his life to see anybody, it was quite evident 
 his feeling was not entirely reciprocated by the 
 artist. 
 
 "How the deuce did j^ou get here?" asked 
 
mm 
 
 wm 
 
 202 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 Trenton. ** I was just looking for you clown the 
 river." 
 
 " Well, you see, we kept pretty close to the shore. 
 I doubt if you could have seen us. Didn't you hear 
 us shout ? " 
 
 "No, we didn't hear anything. We didn't hear 
 them shout, did we, Miss Sommorton?" 
 
 " No," replied that young woman, looking at the 
 dying fire, whose glowing embers seemed to redden 
 lier face. 
 
 ** Why, do you know," said Mason, " it looks as if 
 you had been quarrelling. I guess I came just in the 
 nick of time." 
 
 '' You are always just in time, Mr. ^lason," said 
 ]\[iss 8ommerton. " For we were quarrelling, as you 
 sa,y. The subject of tlie quarrel is which of us was 
 rightful owner of that canoe." 
 
 Mason laughed heartily, while IMiss Sommerton 
 frowned at him with marked disapprobation. 
 
 '' Then you found me out, did you ? Well, I 
 expected you would before the day was over. You 
 see, it isn't often that I have to deal with two such 
 ])articular people in the same day. Still, I guoss 
 the ownership of the canoe doesn't amount to much 
 now. I'll give it to the one who finds it." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Mason," cried Miss Sommerton, "did 
 the two men escape all right ? " 
 
 "Why, certainly. I have just been giving them 
 * Hail Columbia,' because they didn't come back to 
 you; but j^ou see, a little distance down, the bank 
 gets very steep — so much so that it is impossible to 
 climb it, and then the woods here are thick and hard 
 to work a person's way through. So they thought it 
 
 „ 
 
 1 
 
il 
 
 ik 
 to 
 :d 
 
 it 
 
 i^' 
 
 1 
 
 . 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP, 
 
 203 
 
 best to come down and toll rae, and we have brought 
 two canoes up with us." 
 
 " Does Mrs. Mason know of the accident ? " 
 
 " No, she doesn't ; but she is just as anxious as if 
 she did. She can't think what in the world keeps you." 
 
 " She doesn't realize," said the artist, ** what 
 strong attractions the Shawenegan Falls have for 
 people alive to the beauties of nature." 
 
 " Well," said Mason, ** we mustn't stand here 
 talking. You must be about frozen to death." Here 
 he shouted to one of the men to come up and put out 
 the fire. 
 
 " Oh, don't bother," said the artist; " it will soon 
 burn out." 
 
 "Oh yes," put in Ed. Mason; "and if a wind 
 should happen to rise in the night, whore would v^y 
 pine forest be ? I don't propose to have a whole 
 section of the country burnt up to commemorate the 
 quarrel between you two." 
 
 The half-breed flung the biggest brand into the 
 river, and speedily trampled out the rest, carrying up 
 some water in his hat to pour on the centre of the 
 fire. This done, they stepped into the canoe and 
 were soon on their way down the river, lieaehing 
 the landing, the artist gave his hand to Miss Som- 
 merton, and aided her out on the bank. 
 
 " ^liss Sommei ton," he whispered to her, " I 
 intended to sail to-morrow. I shall leave it for vou 
 to say whether I shall go or not." 
 
 "You will not sail?" said Miss Sommerton 
 
 promptly. 
 
 " Oh, thank you," cried the artist; "you do not 
 know how happy that makes me." 
 
204 
 
 ONE DAY'S COUIiTSrilP, 
 
 ** Why Bhould it ? " 
 
 "Well, you know what I infer from your answer. " 
 
 " My dear sir, I said that you would not sail, and 
 you will not, for this reason : To sail you require to 
 catch to-night's train for Montreal, and take the 
 train from there to New York to get your boat. You. 
 cannot catch to-night's train, and, therefore, cannot 
 get to your steamer. I never before saw a man so 
 glad to miss his train or his boat. Good night, Mr. 
 Trenton. Good night, Mr. Mason," she cried aloud 
 to that gentleman, as she disappeared toward the 
 house. 
 
 "You two appear to be quite friendly," said Mr. 
 Mason to the artist. 
 
 **Do we? Appearances are deceitful. I really 
 cannot tell at this moment whether we are friends 
 or enemies." 
 
 ** Well, not enemies, I am sure. Miss Eva is a 
 very nice girl when you understand her." 
 
 '* Do you understand her ? " asked the artist. 
 
 " I can't say that I do. Come to think of it, I don't 
 think anybody does." 
 
 *' In that case, then, for all practical purposes, she 
 might just as well not be a nice girl." 
 
 ** Ah, well, you may change your opinion some 
 day — when you get better acquainted with her," said 
 Mason, shaldng hands with his friend. *' And now 
 that you have missed your train, anyhow, I don't 
 suppose you care for a very early start to-morrow. 
 Good night." 
 
 * f 
 
4 ^ 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTS II IP, 
 
 205 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Afteii Trenton awoke next morning he thought the 
 situation over very calmly, and resolved to have 
 question number three answered that day if possible. 
 
 When called to breakfast he found Ed. Mason at 
 the head of the table 
 
 '' Shan't wp wait for the ladies ? " asked the 
 artist. 
 
 ** I don't think we'd better. You see, we might 
 have to wait quite a long time. I don't know when 
 Miss Sommerton will be here again, and it will be a 
 week at least before Mrp. Mason comes back. They 
 are more than half way to Three liivers by this 
 time." 
 
 ** Good gracious ! " cried Trenton, abashed ; '* why 
 didn't you call me ? I should have liked very much 
 to have accompanied them." 
 
 " Oh, they wouldn't hear of your being disturbed; 
 and besides, Mr. Trenton, our American ladies are 
 quite in the habit of looking after themselves. 1 
 found that out long ago." 
 
 *' I suppose there is nothing for it but get out my 
 buckboard and get back to Three Eivers." 
 
 **0h, I dismissed your driver long ago," said the 
 lumberman. ** I'll take you there in my buggy. 1 
 am going out to Three Eivers to-day anyhow." 
 
 *'No chance of overtaking the ladies?" asked 
 Trenton. 
 
 " I don't think so. We may overtake Mrs. Mason 
 but I imagine Miss Sommerton will be either at 
 
wm 
 
 206 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 Quebec or Montreal before we reach Three liivers. I 
 don't know in which direction she is going. You 
 seem to be somewhat interested in that young lady. 
 Purely artistic admiration, I presume. She is 
 rather a striking girl. Well, you certainly have 
 made the most of your opportunities. Let's see, you 
 have known her now for quite a long while. Must be 
 nearly twenty-four hours." 
 
 " Oh, don't underestimate it. Mason ; quite thirty- 
 six hours at least." 
 
 '' So long as that ? Ah, well, I don't wish to 
 disv.ourage you ; but I wouldn't be too sure of her if 
 I were you." 
 
 " Sure of her ! Why, I am not sure of anything." 
 
 "Well, that is the proper spirit. You Englishmen 
 are rather apt to take things for granted. I think 
 you would make a mistake in this case if you were 
 too sure. You are not the only man who has tried 
 to awaken the interest of Miss Sommerton of 
 Boston." 
 
 " I didn't suppose that I was. iNevertheless, I am 
 going to Boston." 
 
 *' Well, it's a nice town," said Mason, with a non- 
 committal air. '' It hasn't the advantages of Three 
 Bivei ', of course; but still it is a very attractive 
 place in some respects." 
 
 "In some respects, yes," said the artist. 
 ♦ * • *' « « 
 
 Two days later Mr. John Trenton called at the 
 house on Beacon Street. 
 
 "Miss Sommerton is not at home," said the 
 servant. " She is in Canada somewhere." 
 
 And so Mr. Trenton went back to his hotel. 
 
 
ONE BAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 207 
 
 re 
 
 lie 
 
 It" 
 
 The artist resolved to live quietly in Boston 
 until Miss Sommerton returned. Then the fateful 
 number three could be answered. He determined 
 not to present any of his letters of introduction. 
 V/hen he came to Boston first, he thought he would 
 like to see something of society, of the art world in 
 that city, if there was an art world, and of the people ; 
 but he had come and gone without being invited 
 anywhere, and now he anticipated no trouble in 
 living a quiet life, and thinking occasionally over the 
 situation. But during his absence it appeared 
 Boston had awakened to the fact that in its midst 
 had resided a real live artist of prominence from the 
 other side, and nothing had been done to overcome 
 his prejudices, and show him that, after all, the real 
 intellectual centre of the world was, not London, but 
 the capital of Massachusetts. 
 
 The first day he spent in his hotel he was called 
 u])on by a young gentleman whose card proclaimed 
 him a rej)orter on one of the large daily papers. 
 
 "You are Mr. Trenton, the celebrated English 
 artist, are you not ? " 
 
 *'My name is Trenton, and by profession I am an 
 artist. But I do not claim the adjective, ' cele- 
 brated.' " 
 
 " All right. You are the man I am after. Now, 
 I should like to know what you think of the art 
 movement in America ? " 
 
 " Well, really, I have been in America but a very 
 short time, and during that time I have had no 
 opportunity of seeing the work of your artists or of 
 visiting any collections, so you see I cannot give an 
 opinion." 
 
mmmm 
 
 208 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 " Met any of our Americau artists ? " 
 
 " I have in Europe, yes. Quite a number of them, 
 and very talented gentlemen some of them are, too." 
 
 " I suppose Europe lays over this country in the 
 matter of art, don't it ? " 
 
 " I bep; your pardon." 
 
 ''Knocks the spots out of us in pictures ? " 
 
 '' I don't know that I quite follow you. Do you 
 mean that we produce pictures more rapidly than 
 you do here ? " 
 
 " No, I just mean the whole tout ensemble of the 
 thing. They are 'way ahead of us, are they not, 
 in art?" 
 
 " Well, you see, as I said before — really, I am not 
 in a position to make any comparison, because I am 
 entirely ignorant of American painting. It seems to 
 me that certain branches of art ought to flourish 
 here. There is no country in the world with grander 
 scenery than America." 
 
 " Been out to the Eockies "? " 
 
 ''Where is that?" 
 
 " To the Eocky Mountains ? " 
 
 " Oh no, no. You see I have been only a few 
 weeks in this country. I have confined my attention 
 to Canada mainly, the Quebec region and around 
 there, although I have been among the White 
 Mountains, and the Catskills, and the Adirondacks." 
 
 " What school of art do you belong to ? " 
 
 " School ? Well, I don't know that I belong to 
 any. May 1 ask if you are a connoisseur in art 
 matters. Are you the art critic of your journal ? " 
 
 " Me ? No — oh no. I don't know the first darn 
 thing about it. That's why they sent me." 
 
ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 209 
 
 :s. 
 
 >> 
 
 *' Well, I should have thought, if he wished to get 
 anything worth publishing, your editor would have 
 sent somebody who was at least familiar with the 
 subject he has to write about." 
 
 '' I dare say ; but, that ain't the way to get snappy 
 articles written. You take an art man, now, for 
 instance ; he's prejudiced. He thinks one school is 
 all right, and another school isn't ; and he is apt to 
 work in his own fads. Now, if our man liked the 
 French school, and despised the English school, or the 
 German school, if there is one, or the Italian school, 
 whatever it happened to be, and you went against 
 that ; why, don't you see, he would think you didn't 
 know anything, and write you up that way. Now, 
 I am perfectly unprejudiced. I want to write a good 
 readable article, and I don't care a hang which 
 school is the best or the worst, or anything else 
 about it." 
 
 '*Ah! I see. Well, in that case, you certainly 
 approach your work without bias." 
 
 " You bet I do. Now, who do you think is the best 
 painter in England ? " 
 
 " In what line ? " 
 
 " Well, in any line. Who stands ahead ? Who's 
 the leader ? Who tops them all ? Who's the 
 Raphael?" 
 
 " I don't know that we have any Raphael '? Wo 
 have good painters each in his own branch." 
 
 '' Isn't there one, in your opinion, that is 'way ahead 
 of all the rest ? " 
 
 '* Well, you see, to make an intelligent comparison, 
 you have to take into consideration the speciality of 
 the painter. You could hardl}^ compare Alma 
 
2IO 
 
 ONE DATS COUBTSIIir. 
 
 1 1 
 
 !| 
 
 Tadema, for iistance, with Sir John Millais, or Sir 
 Frederic Leighton with Hubert Herkomer, or any 
 of them with some of your own painters. Each 
 has his speciality, and each stands at the head 
 of it." 
 
 " Then there is no one man in England like Old 
 Man Rubens, or Van Dyke, or those other fellows, 
 I forget their names, who are head and shoulders 
 above everybody else ? Sort of Jay Gould in art, 
 you know." 
 
 " No, I wouldn't like to say there is. In fact, all 
 of 3'our questions require some consideration. Now, 
 if you will write them down for me, and give me time 
 to think them over, I will write out such answers as 
 occur to me. It would be impossible for me to do 
 justice to myself, or to art, or to your paper, by 
 attempting to answer questions off-hand in this 
 way." 
 
 ** Oh, that's too slow for our time here. You know 
 this thing comes out to-morrow morning, and I have 
 got to do a column and a half of it. Sometimes, you 
 know, it is very difficult ; but you are different from 
 most Englishmen I have talked with. You speak 
 right out, and you talk to a fellow. I can make 
 a column and a half out of what you have said 
 now." 
 
 *' Dear me ! Can you really ? Well, now, I should 
 be careful, if I were you. I am afraid that, if you 
 don't understand anything about art, you may give 
 the public some very erroneous impressions." 
 
 '* Oh, the public don't care a hang. All they want 
 is to read something snaj^py and bright. That's 
 what the public want. No, sir, we have catered too 
 
 
 1 1 
 
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 21 I 
 
 you 
 
 ejive 
 
 ant 
 lat's 
 too 
 
 long for the public not to know what its size is. You 
 might print the most learned article you could get 
 hold of, it might be written by What's-his-name De 
 Vinci, and be full of art slang, and all that sort of 
 thing, but it wouldn't touch the general public at all." 
 
 " I don't suppose it would." 
 
 "What do you think of our Sunday papers 
 here? You don't have any Sunday papers over in 
 London." 
 
 " Oh yes, we do. But none of the big dailies have 
 Sunday editions." 
 
 " They are not as big, or as enterprising as ours, 
 are they? One Sunday paper, you know, prints 
 about as much as two or three thirty-five cent 
 magazines." 
 
 *' What, the Sunday paper does ? " 
 
 " Yes, the Sunday paper prints it, but doesn't sell 
 for that. We give 'em more for the money than 
 any magazine you ever saw." 
 
 " You certainly print some very large papers." 
 
 With this the reporter took his leave, and next 
 morning Mr. Trenton saw the most astonishing 
 account of his ideas on art matters imaginable. 
 What struck him most forcibly was, that an article 
 written by a person who admittedly knew nothing at 
 all about art should be in general so free from error. 
 The interview had a great number of head lines, and 
 it was evident the paper desired to treat the artist 
 with the utmost respect, and that it felt he show3d 
 his sense in preferring Boston to New York as 
 a place of temporary residence ; but what appalled 
 him was the free and easy criticisms he was credited 
 with having made on his own contemporaries in 
 
 1 
 

 ^ 
 
 212 
 
 rA^/? DATS COUHTSHTP. 
 
 England. The principle points of each were summed 
 up with a great deal of terseness and force, and in 
 many cases were laughably true to life. It was 
 evident that whoever touched up that interview 
 possessed a very clear opinion and very accurate 
 knowledge of the art movement in England. 
 
 Mr. Trenton thought he would sit down and write 
 to the editor of the paper, correcting some of the more 
 glaring inaccuracies ; but a friend said — 
 
 " Oh, it is no use. Never mind. Nobody pays any 
 attention to that. It's all right anyhow." 
 
 " Yes, but suppose the article should be copied 
 in England, or suppose some of the papers should get 
 over there ? " 
 
 " Oh, that'll be all right," said his friend, with 
 easy optimism. " Don't bother about it. They all 
 know what a newspaper interview is ; if they don't, 
 why, you can teli them when you get back." 
 
 It was not long before Mr. Trenton found himself 
 put down at all the principal clubs, both artistic and 
 literary ; {'nd he also became, with a suddenness 
 that bewildered him, quite the social lion for the 
 time being. 
 
 He was astonished to find that the receptions to 
 which he was invited, and where he was, in a way, 
 on exhibition, were really very grand occasions, and 
 compared favourably with the finest gatherings he had 
 had experience of in London. 
 
 His hostess at one of these receptions said to him, 
 '' Mr. Trenton, I want to introduce you to some of 
 our art lovers in this city, whom I am sure you will 
 be pleased to meet. I know that as a general thing 
 the real artists are apt to despise the amateurs ; but 
 
 i 
 

 ONE DAY'S COUIiTSUTP. 
 
 2 1^, 
 
 in this iiistiinco I hope you will be kind enough not 
 to despise them, for my sake. We think they arc 
 really very clever indeed, and we like to be flattered 
 b}' foreign preference." 
 
 "Am I the foreign preference in this instance ? " 
 
 '' You ci;re, Mr. Trenton." 
 
 *' Now, I think it is too bad of you to say that, just 
 when I have begun to feel as much at home in 
 Boston as I do in London. I assure you I do not 
 feel in the least foreign here. Neither do I maintain, 
 like Mrs. Brown, that you are the foreigners." 
 
 "How very nice of you to say so, Mr. Trenton. 
 Now I hope you will say something like that to the 
 young lady I want you to meet. She is really 
 very charming, and I am sure you will like her ; and 
 I may say, in parenthesis, that she, like the rest 
 of us, is perfectly infatuated with your pictures." 
 
 As the lady said this, she brought Mr. Trenton in 
 her wake, as it w^ere, and said, " IMiss Sommerton, 
 allow me to present to you Mr. Trenton." 
 
 Miss Sommerton rose with graceful indolence, and 
 held out her hand frankly to the artist. " Mr. 
 Trenton," she said, " I am very pleased indeed to 
 meet you. Have you been long in Boston ? " 
 
 " Only a few days," replied Trenton. "I came 
 up to Boston from Canada a short time since." 
 
 " Up ? You mean down. We don't say up from 
 Canada." 
 
 "Oh, don't you? Well, in England, you know, 
 we say up to London, no matter from what part of 
 the country we approach it. I think you are wrong 
 in saying down, I think it really ought to be up to 
 Boston from wherever you come." 
 
214 
 
 ONE DATS COURTSHIP. 
 
 ■! : 
 
 li:! 
 
 His hostess appeared to bo dcliglitcd with this bit 
 of conversation, and she said, " I shall leave you 
 two together for a few moments to get acipiainted. 
 Mr. Trenton, you know you are in demand this 
 
 evening. 
 
 >> 
 
 " Do you think that is true ? " said Trenton to 
 Miss Sommerton. 
 
 *'What?" 
 
 *' Well, that I am in deman " 
 
 ** I suppose it is true, if Mrs. Lennox say it is. 
 You surely don't intend to cast any doubt on the 
 word of your hostess, do you ? " 
 
 *'0h, not at all. I didn't mean in a general way, 
 you know, I meant in particular." 
 
 " I don't think I understand you, Mr. Tren- 
 ton. By the way, j^ou said you had been in 
 Canada. Do you not think it is a very charming 
 country ? " 
 
 ''Charming, Miss Sommerton, isn't the word 
 for it. It is the most delightful country in the 
 world." 
 
 "Ah, you say that because it belongs to England. 
 I admit it is very delightful ; but then there are other 
 places on the Continent quite as beautiful as any part 
 of Canada. You seem to have a prejudice in favour 
 of monarchical institutions." 
 
 " Oh, is Canada monarchical ? I didn't know that. 
 I thought Canada was quite republican in its form of 
 government." 
 
 " Well, it is a dependency ; that's what I despise 
 about Canada. Think of r glorious country like that, 
 with hundreds of thousands of square miles, in fact, 
 millions, I think, being dependent on a little island, 
 
ONE DAY'S COUliTSIJIP. 
 
 21 
 
 \ « 
 
 away there among the fogs and rains, between the 
 North Sea and the Athintic Ocean. To be a 
 dependency of some splendid tyrannical power like 
 liussia wouldn't be so bad ; but to be dependent on 
 that little island — I lose all my respect for Canada 
 when I think of it." 
 
 ** Well, you know, the United States were colonies 
 
 once. 
 
 ») 
 
 "Ah, that is very unfortunate comparison, ^fr. 
 Trenton. The moment the colonies, as you call 
 them, came to years of discretion, they soon shook off 
 their dependency. You must remember you are at 
 Boston, and that the harbour is only a short distance 
 from here." 
 
 ** Does that mean that I should take advantage of 
 its proximity and leave ? " 
 
 " Oh, not at all. I could not say anything so rude, 
 Mr. Trenton. Perhaps you are not familiar with 
 the history of our trouble with England ? Don't 
 you remember it commenced in Boston Harbour 
 practically ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, I recollect now. I had forgotten it. 
 Something about tea, was it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, something about tea." 
 
 " Well, talking of tea. Miss Sommerton, may 
 I take you to the conservatory and bring you a 
 cup of it ? " 
 
 " May I have an ice instead of the tea, if I prefer 
 it, Mr. Trenton?" 
 
 " Why, certainly. You see how I am already 
 dropping into the American phraseology." 
 
 "Oh, I think you are improving wonderfully, 
 Mr. Trenton." 
 
^H5^^^5 
 
 »3F 
 
 ■Ri 
 
 m^ 
 
 IPVP 
 
 2l6 
 
 ONE DAY'S COURTSllIt. 
 
 When they reached the conservatory, Miss Som- 
 mcrton said — 
 
 " This is really a very great hreach of good 
 manners on both your part and mine. I have taken 
 away the lion of the evening, and the lion has for- 
 gotten his duty to his hostess and to the other 
 guests." 
 
 ** Well, you see, I wanted to learn more of your 
 ideas in the matter of dependencies. I don't at all 
 agree with you on that. Now, I think if a country 
 is conquered, it ought to be a dependency of the 
 conquering people. It is the right of conquest. 1 
 — 1 am a thorough believer in the right of con- 
 quest." 
 
 ''You seem to have very settled opinions on the 
 matter, JMr. Trenton." 
 
 "I have indeed, Miss Sommerton. it is said that 
 an Englishman never knows when he is conquered. 
 Now I think that is a great mistake. There is no 
 one so quick as an Englishman to admit that he has 
 met his match." 
 
 ** Why, have you met your match already, Mr. 
 Trenton ? Let me congratulate you." 
 
 **Well, don't congratulate me just yet. I am not 
 at all certain whether I shall need any congratula- 
 tions or not." 
 
 '* I am sure I hope you will be very successful." 
 
 " Do you mean that ? " 
 
 Miss Sommerton looked at him quietly for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Do you think," she said, " I am in the habit of 
 saying things I do not mean ? ' ' 
 
 **I think you are." 
 
ONE DAY'S COURTSniV. 
 
 21 7 
 
 a 
 
 iOf 
 
 i* 
 
 t 
 
 ** Wt'll, you arc not a bit more complimentary than 
 — than — you used to be." 
 
 " You were going to say than 1 was on the banks 
 of the St. Maurice ? " 
 
 "Oh, you visited the St. Maurice, did you ? How 
 far away from Bostm that seems, doesn't it?" 
 
 '* It is indeed a great distciuce, Miss Sommerton. 
 But apparently not half as long as the round-about 
 way we are travelling just now. Miss Sommerton, 
 I waited and waited in Boston for you to return. I 
 want to be a dependence. I admit the conquest. 
 I wish to swear fealty to Miss Eva Sommerton of 
 Boston, and now I ask my third question, will you 
 accept the allegiance ? " 
 
 IMiss Sommerton was a little slow in replying, and 
 before she had spoken Mrs. Lennox bustled in, and 
 said — 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Trenton, I have been looking everywhere 
 for you. There are a hundred people here who wish 
 to be introduced, and all at once. May I have him. 
 Miss Sommerton?" 
 
 *' Well, Mrs. Lennox, you know, if I said * Yes,' 
 that would imply a certain ownership in him." 
 
 '' I brought Miss Sommerton here to get her to 
 accept an ice from me, which as yet I have not had 
 the privilege of bringing. Will you accept — the ice, 
 Miss Sommerton ? " 
 
 The young lady blushed, as she looked at the 
 artist. 
 
 " Yes," she said with a sigh ; the tone was almost 
 inaudible. 
 
 The artist hurried away to bring the refreshment. 
 
 "Why, Eva Sommerton," cried Mrs. Lennox, 
 
3^ 
 
 2l8 
 
 ONE DAY'S COUIiTlS/ni'. 
 
 *'you accept a plate of ice cream as tragically as if 
 you were giving the answer to a proposal." 
 
 Mrs. Lennox said after\var(l that she thought 
 there was something very peculiar ahout Miss Som- 
 mertoii's smile in reply to her remark. 
 
 
 '\ 
 
 Tlu- End. 
 
 <i? 
 
IB if 
 
 ight 
 
 0111- 
 
 THE HERALDS OE EAMi:. 
 
 ih 
 
 ^m 
 
 CHAPTEll I. 
 
 Now, when each man's pUice in literature is so clearly 
 defined, it seems ridiculous to state that there was a 
 time when Kenan Buel thought J. Lawless Hodden 
 a great novelist. One would have imagined that 
 Buel's keen insight into human nature would have 
 made such a mistake impossihle; hut it must be 
 remembered that Buel was always more or less of a 
 hero-worshipper. It seems strange in the light of 
 our after-knowledge that there ever was a day when 
 Hodden's books were selling by the thousand, and 
 Buel was tramping the streets of London fruitlessly 
 searching for a publisher. Not less strange is the 
 fact that Buel thought Hodden's success well 
 deserved. He would have felt honoured by the touch 
 of Hodden's hand. 
 
 No convict ever climbed a treadmill with more 
 hopeless despair than Buel worked in his little room 
 under the lofty roof. He knew no one ; there were 
 none to speak him a cheering or comforting word; 
 he was ignorant even of the names of the men who 
 
CP 
 
 220 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 accepted the articles from his pen, wliicli appeared 
 unsigned in the daily papers and in some of the 
 weeklies. He got cheques — small ones — with illegible 
 and impersonal signatures that told him nothing. 
 But the bits of paper were honoured at the bank, 
 and this lucky fact enabled him to live and write 
 books which publishers would not look at. 
 
 Nevertheless, showing how all things are possible 
 to a desperate and resolute man, two of his books 
 had already seen the light, if it could be called light. 
 The first he w^as still paying for, on the instalment 
 plan. The publishers were to pay half, and he was 
 to pay half. This seemed to him only a fair division 
 of the risk at the time. Not a single paper had paid 
 the slightest attention to the book. The universal 
 ignoring of it disheartened him. He had been pre- 
 pared for abuse, but not for impenetrable silence. 
 
 He succeeded in getting another and more respect- 
 able publisher to take up his next book on a royalty 
 arrangement. This was a surprise to him, and a 
 gratitication. His satisfaction did not last long after 
 the book came out. It was mercilessly slated. One 
 paper advised him to read " Hodden ; " another said 
 he had plagiarized from that popular writer. The 
 criticisms cut him like a whip. He wondered why 
 he had rebelled at the previous silence. He felt like 
 a man who had heedlessly hurled a stone at a snow 
 mountain and had been buried by the resulting 
 avalanche. 
 
 He got his third publisher a year after that. He 
 thought he would never succeed in getting the same 
 firm twice, and wondered what would happen when 
 he exhausted the London list. It is not right that a 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 ''2 I 
 
 the 
 
 . 
 
 man should go on for ever without a word of encourage- 
 ment. Fate recognized that there would come a 
 breaking-point, and relented in time. The word 
 came from an unexpected source. Buel was labouring, 
 heavy-eyed, at the last proof-sheets of his third l)ook, 
 and was wondering whether he would have the 
 courage not to lo(3k at the newspapers w^ien the 
 volume was published. He wished he coul "■ afford to 
 go to some wilderness until the worst was over. He 
 knew he could not miss the first notice, for experience 
 had taught him that Snippit k Co., a clipping agency, 
 would send it to him, with a nice tyne-written letter, 
 
 savmg — 
 
 " Dear Siii, 
 
 '* As your book is certain to attract a great 
 deal of attention from the Press, we shall be pleased 
 to send you clippings similar to the enclosed at the 
 
 following rates." 
 
 I 
 
 It struck him as rather funny that any company 
 should expect a sane man to pay so much good 
 money for Press notices, mostly abusive. He never 
 subscribed. 
 
 The word of encouragement gave notice of its 
 approach in a letter, signed by a man of whom he 
 had never heard. It was forwarded to him by his 
 publishers. The letter ran : — 
 
 "Dear Sir, 
 
 " Can you make it convenient to lunch with 
 me on Frid..y at the ^letropole ? If you have an 
 engagement for that day can you further oblige me 
 
inzi 
 
 r 
 i 
 
 222 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 by writing and putting it off ? Tell the other fellow 
 you are ill or have broken your leg, or anything, and 
 charge up the fiction to me. I deal in fiction, any- 
 how. I leave on Saturday for the Continent, not 
 wishing to spend another Sunday in London if I can 
 avoid it. I have arranged to get out your book 'u\ 
 America, having read the proof-sheets at your pub- 
 lishers. All the business part of the transaction is 
 settled, but I would like to see you personally if you 
 don't mind, to have a talk over the future — always an 
 interesting subject. 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 "L. F. Brant, 
 " Of Rainham Bros., Publishers, New York." 
 
 Buel read this letter over and over again. He had 
 never seen anything exactly like it. There was a 
 genial flippancy about it that was new to him, and 
 he wondered what sort of a man the New Yorker was. 
 ^[r. Brant wrote to a stranger with the familiarity of 
 an old friend, yet the letter warmed Buel's heart. 
 He smiled at the idea the American evidently had 
 about a previous engagement. Invitations to lunch 
 })ecome frequent when a man does not need them. 
 No broken leg story would have to be told. He wrote 
 and accepted Mr. Brant's invitation. 
 
 ''You're Mr. Buel, I think ? " 
 
 The stranger's hand rested lightly on the young 
 author's shoulder. Buel had just entered the un- 
 familiar precincts of the Metropole Hotel. The tall 
 man with the gold lace on his hat had hesitated a 
 moment before he swung open the big door, Buel was 
 so evidently not a guest of the hotel. 
 
THK HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 22 
 
 " My name is Buel." 
 
 ''Then you're my victim. I've been waiting im- 
 patiently for you. I am L. F. Brant." 
 
 *'I thought I was in time. I am sorry to have 
 kept you waiting." 
 
 '^ Mr. Buel, I think r' 
 
 " Don't mention it. I have been waiting hut thirty 
 seconds. Come up in the elevator. They call it a 
 lift here, not knowing any better, but it gets there 
 ultimately. I have the title-deeds to a little parlour 
 
mmBinHi9VP 
 
 msmmm 
 
 Si 
 
 224 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 while I am staying in this tavern, and I thought we 
 could talk better if we had lunch there. Lunch costs 
 more on that basis, but I guess we can stand it." 
 
 A cold shudder passed over the thin frame of Kenan 
 Buel. He did not know but it was the custom in 
 America to ask a man to lunch and expect him to 
 pay half. Brant's use of the plural lent colour to 
 this view, and Buel knew he could not pay his share. 
 He regretted they were not in a vegetarian restaurant. 
 
 The table in the centre of the room was already 
 set for two, and the array of wine-glasses around 
 each plate looked tempting. Brant pushed the 
 electric button, drew up his chair, and said — 
 
 *' Sit down, Buel, sit down. What's your favourite 
 brand of wine ? Let's settle on it now, so as to have 
 no unseemly wrangle when the waiter comes. I'm 
 rather in awe of the waiter. It doesn't seem natural 
 that any mere human man should be so obviously 
 superior to the rest of us mortals as this waiter is. 
 I'm going to give you only the choice of the first 
 wines. I have taken the champagne for granted, and 
 it's cooling now in a tub somewhere. We always 
 drink champagne in the States, not because we like 
 it, but because it's expensive. I calculate that I pay 
 the expenses of my trip over here merely by ordering 
 unlimited champagne. I save more than a dollar a 
 bottle on New York prices, and these saved dollars 
 count up in a month. Personally I prefer cider or 
 lager beer, but in New York we dare not own to liking 
 a thing unless it is expensive." 
 
 " It can hardly be a pleasant place for a poor man 
 to live in, if that is the case." 
 
 My dear Buel, no city is a pleasant place for a 
 
 (( 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 225 
 
 first 
 and 
 
 man 
 for a 
 
 poor man to live in. I don't suppose New York is 
 worse than London in that respect. The poor have 
 a hard time of it anywhere. A man owes it to him- 
 self and family not to he poor. Now, that's one 
 thing I like about your book ; you touch on poverty 
 in a sympathetic way, by George, like a man who 
 had come through it himself. I've been there, and I 
 know how it is. When I first struck New York I 
 hadn't even a ragged dollar bill to my back. Of 
 course every successful man will tell you the same of 
 himself, but it is mostly brag, and in half the 
 instances it isn't true at all ; but in my case — well, I 
 wasn't subscribing to the heathen in those days. I 
 made up my mind that poverty didn't pay, and 
 I have succeeded in remedying the state of affairs. 
 But I haven't forgotten how it felt to be hard up, and 
 I sympathize with those who are. Nothing would 
 afford me greater pleasure than to give a helping 
 hand to a fellow — that is, to a clever fellow who was 
 worth saving — who is down at bed rock. Don't you 
 feel that way too ? " 
 
 ** Yes," said Buel, with some hesitation, " it would 
 be a pleasure." 
 
 *' 1 knew when I read your book you felt that way 
 — I was sure of it. Well, I've helped a few in my 
 time ; but I regret to say most of them turned out to 
 be no good. That is where the trouble is. Those 
 who ar'^ really deserving are just the persons who 
 die of starvation in a garret, and never let the outside 
 world know their trouble." 
 
 " I do not doubt such is often the case." 
 
 " Of course itr is. It's always the case. But here's 
 the soup. I hope you have brought a good appetite* 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 You can't expect such a meal here as you would get 
 in New York; but they do fah-ly well. I, for one, 
 don't grumble about the food in London, as most 
 Americans do. Londoners manage to keep alive, and 
 that, after all, is the main thing." 
 
 Buel was perfectly satisfied with the meal, and 
 thought if they produced a better one in New York, 
 or anywhere else, the art of cookery had reached 
 wonderful perfection. Brant, however, kept apologiz- 
 ing for the spread as he went along. The talk drifted 
 on in an apparently aimless fashion, but the publisher 
 was a shrewd man, and he was gradually leading 
 it up to the i)oint he had in view from the beginning, 
 and all the while he was taking the measure of his 
 guest. Hq was not a man to waste either his time 
 or his dinners without an object. When he had 
 once " sized up " his man, as he termed it, he was 
 either exceedingly frank and open with him, or the 
 exact opposite, as suited his purpose. He told Buel that 
 he came to England once a year, if possible, rapidly 
 scanned the works of fiction about to be published by 
 the various houses in London, and made arrange- 
 ments for the producing of those in America that 
 he thought would go down with the American i)eople. 
 
 '*I suppose," said Buel, "that you have met 
 many of the noted authors of this country ? " 
 
 **A11 of them, I think; all of them, at one time 
 or another. The publishing business has its draw- 
 backs like every other trade," replied Brant, jauntily. 
 
 ** Have you met Hodden ? " 
 
 *' Several times. Conceited ass ! '' 
 
 •* You astonish me. I have never had the good 
 fortune to become acquainted with any of our cele- 
 
 ! 1 
 
il get 
 
 one, 
 
 most 
 
 , and 
 
 , and 
 York, 
 ached 
 logiz- 
 ti'ifted 
 ilisber 
 ading 
 ming, 
 of liis 
 J time 
 e had 
 e was 
 or the 
 el that 
 apidly 
 led by 
 range - 
 
 that 
 )eoplc. 
 
 met 
 
 time 
 dra\v- 
 iintily. 
 
 } good 
 cele- 
 
 TIIE J IE li A LBS OF FAME. 
 
 o o 7 
 
 bratcd writers. I woubl think it a privilege to know 
 Hodden and some of the others.'* 
 
 ** You're lucky, and you evidently don't know it. 
 I would rather meet a duke any day than a famous 
 author. The duke puts on less side and patronizes 
 you less." 
 
 " I would rather be a celebrated author than 
 a duke if I had my choice." 
 
 '' Well, being a free and independent citizen of 
 the Democratic United States, I wouldn't. A'o, sir ! 
 I would rather be Duke Brant any d.„y in the week 
 than Mr. Brant, the talented author of, etc., etc. 
 The moment an author receives a little praise and 
 becomes talked about, he gets what we call in the 
 States ' the swelled head.' I've seen some of the 
 nicest fellows in the world become utterly spoiled by 
 a little success. And then think of the absurdity 
 of it all. There aren't more than two or three at 
 the most of the present-day writers who will be 
 heard of a century hence. Bead the history of 
 literature, and you will find that never more than 
 four men in any one generation are heard of after. 
 Four is a liberal allowance. What has any writer 
 to be conceited about anyhow ? Let him read his 
 Shakespeare and be modest." 
 
 Buel said with a sigh, " I wish there was success 
 in store for me. I would risk the malady you call 
 the ' swelled head.' " 
 
 ** Success will come all right enough, my boy. 
 'All things come to him who waits,' and while he is 
 waiting puts in some good, strong days of work. 
 It's the working that tells, not the waiting. And 
 now, if you will Hght one of these cigars, we 
 
r~-r. 
 
 ^st^sf^saemmi 
 
 228 
 
 THE HEUALD8 OF FAME, 
 
 will talk of you for a while, if your modesty will stand 
 it. What kind of Chartreuse will you have ? Yellow 
 or green ? " 
 
 ** Either." 
 
 " Take the green, then. Where the price is the 
 same I always take the green. It is the stronger, 
 and you get more for your money. Now then, I will 
 be perfectly frank with you. I read your book in 
 the proof-sheets, and I ran it down in great style to 
 your publisher." 
 
 "I am sorry you did not like it." 
 
 " I don't say I didn't like it. I ran it down because 
 it was business. I made up my mind when I read 
 that book to give a hundred pounds for the American 
 rights. I got it for twenty." 
 
 Brant laughed, and Buel felt uncomfortable. He 
 feared that after all he did not like this frank 
 American. 
 
 " Having settled about the book, I wanted to see 
 you, and here you are. Of course, I am utterly 
 selfish in wanting to see you, for I wish you to 
 promise me that we will have the right of publishing 
 your books in America as long as we pay as much as 
 any other publisher. There is nothing unfair in 
 that, is there ? " 
 
 "No. I may warn you, however, that there 
 has been no great competition, so far, for the 
 privilege of doing any publishing, either here or in 
 America." 
 
 "That's all right. Unless I'm a Dutchman lliere 
 will be, after your new book is published. Of course, 
 that is one of the things no fellow can find out. If 
 he could, publishing would be less of a lottery than 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 229 
 
 it is. A book is sometimes a success by the merest 
 fluke ; at other times, in spite of everything, a good 
 book is a deplorable failure. I think yours will go ; 
 anyhow, I am willing to bet on it up to a certain 
 amount, and if it does go, I want to have the 
 first look-in at your future books. What do you 
 say?" 
 
 '* Do you wish me to sign a contract ? " 
 
 " No, I merely want your word. You may write 
 me a letter if you like, that I could show to my 
 partners, saying that we would have the first refusal 
 of your future books." 
 
 *' I am quite willing to do that." 
 
 "Very good. That's settled. Now, you look 
 fagged out. I wish you would take a trip over to 
 New York. I'll look after you when you get there. 
 It would do you a world of good, and would show in 
 the pages of your next book. What do you say to 
 that ? Have you any engagements that would pre- 
 vent you making the trip ? " 
 
 Buel laughed. "I am perfectly free as far as 
 engagements are concerned." 
 
 " That's all right, then. I wish I were in that 
 position. Now, as I said, I considered your book 
 cheap at £100. I got it for i*20. I propose to 
 hand over the £80 to you. I'll write out the cheque 
 as soon as the waiters clear away this (Uhris. Then 
 your letter to the firm would form the receipt for 
 this money, and — well, it need not be a contract, you 
 know, or anything formal, but just your ideas on any 
 future business that may crop up." 
 
 " I must say I think your offer is very generous." 
 
 ** Oh, not at all. It is merely business. The i^SO 
 

 2.^,0 
 
 THE UEIIALDS OF FAME. 
 
 is on account of royalties. If the book goes, as I 
 think it will, I hope to pay you much more than 
 that. Now I hope you will come over and see me as 
 soon as you can." 
 
 **Yes. As 3'ou say, the trip will do me good. I 
 have been rather hard at it for some time." 
 
 " Then I'll look out for vou. I sail on the French 
 line Saturday week. When will you come ? " 
 
 " As soon as my book is out here, and before any 
 of the reviews Jippear." 
 
 ** Sensible man. What's your cable address ? " 
 
 ** I haven't one." 
 
 " Well, I suppose a telegram to your publishers will 
 find 3'ou. I'll cable if anything turns up unex- 
 pectedly. You send me over a despatch saying what 
 steamer you sail on. My address is ' Rushing, New 
 York.' Just cable the name of the steamer, and I 
 will be on the look-out for vou." 
 
 It was doubtless the effect of the champagne, for 
 Buel went back to his squalid room with his mind in 
 the clouds. He wondered if this condiion was the 
 first indication of the swelled head Brant had talked 
 about. Buel worked harder than ever at his proofs, 
 and there was some growhng at head-quarters because 
 of the numerous corrections he made. These changes 
 were regarded as impudence on the part of so un- 
 known a man. He sent off to America a set of the 
 corrected proofs, and received a cablegram, "Proofs 
 received. Too late. Book published to-day." 
 
 This was a disappointment. Still he had the con- 
 solation of knowing that the English edition would be 
 as perfect as he could make it. He secured a berth 
 on the Gemniiim, sailing from Liverpool, and cabled 
 
 r 
 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME, 
 
 231 
 
 Brant to that effect. The clay before ho sailed he got 
 a cablegram that bewildered him. It was simply, 
 " She's a-booming." He regretted that he had never 
 learned the American lanf»uace. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 Kenan Buel received from his London publisher a 
 brown paper parcel, and on opening it found the 
 contents to ])o six exceedingly new copies of his book. 
 Whatever the publisher thought of the inside sji the 
 w^ork, he had not spared pains to make the outside as 
 attractive as it could be made at the price. Buel 
 turned it over and over, and could almost imagine 
 liimself buying a book that looked so tastefully got 
 up as this one. The sight of the volume gave him a 
 thrill, for he remembered that the Press doubtless 
 received its quota at about the same time his parcel 
 came, and he feared he would not be out of the 
 country before the first extract from the clipping 
 agency arrived. However, luck was with the young 
 man, and he found himself on the platform of Euston 
 Station, waiting for the Liverpool express, without 
 having seen anything about his book in the papers, 
 except a brief line giving its title, the price, and his 
 own name, in the "Books Pieceived" column. 
 
 As he lingered around the well-kept bookstall before 
 the train left, he saw a long row of Hodden's new 
 novel, and then his heart gave a jump as he caught 
 sight of two copies of his own work in the row labelled 
 " New Books." He wanted to ask the clerk whether 
 any of them had been sold yet, but in the first place 
 
il 
 
 232 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 h 11 
 
 be lacked the courage, and in the second place the 
 clerk was very busy. As he stood there, a comely 
 young woman, equipped for travelling, approached 
 the stall, and ran her eye hurriedly up and down the 
 tempting array of literature. She bought several of 
 the illustrated papers, and then scanned the new 
 books. The clerk, following her eye, picked out 
 Buel's book. 
 
 " Just out, miss. Three and sixpence." 
 
 ** Who is the author ? " asked the girl. 
 
 "Kenan Buel, a new man," answered the clerk, 
 without a moment's hesitation, and without looking 
 at the title-page. " Very clever work." 
 
 Buel was astonished at the knowledge shown by 
 the clerk. He knew that W. H. Smith and Son 
 never had a book of his before, and he wondered how 
 the clerk apparently knew so much of the volume and 
 its author, forgetting that it was the clerk's business. 
 The girl listlessly ran the leaves of the book past the 
 edge of her thumb. It seemed to Buel that the fate 
 of the whole edition was in her hands, and he watched 
 her breathlessly, even forgetting how charming she 
 looked. There stood the merchant eager to sell, and 
 there, in the form of a young woman, was the great 
 public. If she did not buy, why should any one else ; 
 and if nobody bought, what chance had an unknown 
 author ? 
 
 She put the book down, and looked up as she heard 
 some one sigh deeply near her. ' 
 
 ** Have you Hodden's new book ? " she asked. 
 ■ ** Yes, miss. Six shillings." 
 
 '- The clerk quickly put Buel's book beside its lone 
 companion, and took down Hodden's. 
 
THE HEIiALDS OF FAME. 
 
 233 
 
 lone 
 
 " Thank you," said the girl, giving him a half- 
 sovereign; and, taking the change, she departed with 
 her bundle of literature to the train. 
 
 Buel said afterwards that what hurt him most in 
 this i^ainful incident was the fact that if it were 
 repeated often the bookstall clerk would lose faith in 
 the book. He had done so well for a man who could 
 not possibly have read a word of the volume, that 
 Buel felt sorry on the clerk's account rather than his 
 own that the copy had not been sold. He walked 
 to the end of the platform, and then back to the 
 bookstall. 
 
 ** Has that new book of Buel's come out yet ? " he 
 asked the clerk in an unconcerned tone. 
 
 '* Yes, sir. Here it is ; three and sixpence, sir." 
 
 "Thank you," said Buel, initting his hand in his 
 pocket for the money. " How is it selling ? " 
 
 "Well, sir, there ^on't be much call for it, not 
 likely, till the reviews begin to come out." 
 
 There, Mr. Buel, you had a lesson, if you had only 
 taken it to heart, or pondered on its meaning. Since 
 then you have often been very scornful of newspaper 
 reviews, yet you saw yourself how the great public 
 treats a man who is not even abused. How were 
 you to know that the column of grossly unfair rancour 
 which TJte Daily Argus poured out on your book two 
 days later, when you were sailing serenely over the 
 Atlantic, would make that same clerk send in four 
 separate orders to the " House " during the week ? 
 Medicine may have a bad taste, and yet have bene- 
 ficial results. So Mr. Kenan Buel, after buying 
 a book of which he had six copies in his portmanteau, 
 with no one £0 give them to, took his place in the 
 
234 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 train, and in clue time found himself at Liverpool 
 and on board the Geranium. 
 
 The stewards being busy, Buel placed his port- 
 manteau on the deck, and, with his newly bought 
 volume in his hand, the string and brown paper still 
 around it, he walked up and down on the empty side 
 of the deck, noticing how scrupulously clean the ship 
 was. It was the first time he had ever been on board 
 a steamship, and he could not trust himself un- 
 guided to explore the depths below, and see what 
 kind of a state-room and what sort of a companion 
 chance had allotted to him. They had told him 
 when he bought his ticket that the steamer would 
 be very crowded that trip, so many Americans were 
 returning; but his state-room had berths for only 
 two, and he had a faint hope the other fellow would 
 not turn up. As he paced the deck his thoughts 
 wandered to the pretty girl v»lio did not buy his 
 book. He had seen her again on the tender in 
 company with a serene and placid older wom.vn, who 
 sat unconcernedly surrounded by bundles, shawls, 
 straps, valises, and hand-bags, which the girl 
 nervously counted every now and then, fruitlessly 
 tiying to convince the elderly lady that something 
 must have been left behind in the train, or lost in 
 transit from the station to the steamer. The worry 
 of travel, which the elderly woman absolutely refused 
 to share, seemed to rest with double weight on the 
 shoulders of the girl. 
 
 > As Buel thought of all this, he saw the girl 
 approach him along the deck with a smile of apparent 
 recognition on her face. " She evidently mistakes 
 me for some one else," he said to hiniself, 
 
 y 
 
' 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 235 
 
 girl 
 
 "Oh, thank you," she cried, coming near, and 
 holding out her hand. "I see you have found 
 my hook." 
 
 He helplessly held out the package to her, which 
 she took. 
 
 " Is it yours ? " he asked. 
 
 *' Yes, I recognized it by the string. I bought it 
 at Euston Station. I am for ever losing things," 
 she added. " Thank you, ever so much." 
 
 Bu^l laughed to himself as she disappeared. 
 " Fate evidently intends her to read my book," he 
 said to himself. " She will think the clerk has made 
 a mistake. I must get her ^unbiassed opinion of it 
 before the voyage ends." . 
 
 The voyage at that moment was just beginning, 
 and the thud, thud of the screw brought that fact to 
 his knowledge. He sought a steward, and asked 
 liim to carry the portmanteau to berth 150. 
 
 "You don't happen to know whether there is 
 any one else in that room or not, do you ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " It's likely there is, sir. The ship's very full this 
 voyage." 
 
 Buel followed him into the saloon, and along the 
 seemingly interminable passage ; then down a narrow 
 side alley, into which a door opened marked ir)9--ir)0. 
 The steward rapped at the door, and, as there was 
 no response, opened it. All hopes of a room to 
 himself vanished as Buel looked into the small 
 state-room. There was a steamer trunk on the floor, 
 a portmanteau on the seat, while the two bunks were 
 covered with a miscellaneous assortment of hand- 
 bags, shawl-strap bundles, and packages. 
 
 li 
 
 ?(i 
 
236 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 i 
 
 The steward smiled. " 1 think he wants a room 
 to himself," he said. 
 
 On the trunk Buel noticed the name in white 
 letters ** Hodden," and instantly there arose within 
 him a hope that his companion was to be the 
 celebrated novelist. This hope was strengthened 
 when he saw on the portmanteau the letters 
 "J. L. H.," which were the novelist's initials. He 
 pictured to himself interesting conversations on the 
 way ovf •, and hoped he would receive some par- 
 ticulars from the novelist's own lips of his early 
 struggles for fame. Still, he did not allow himself 
 to build too much on his supposition, for there are 
 a great many people in this world, and the chances 
 were that the traveller would be some commonplace 
 individual of the same name. 
 
 The steward placed Buel's portmanteau beside the 
 other, and backed out of the overflowing cabin. All 
 doubt as to the identity of the other occupant was 
 put at rest by the appearance down the passage of 
 a man whom Buel instantly recognized by the 
 portraits he had seen of him in the illustrated papers. 
 He was older than the pictures made him appear, 
 and there was a certain querulous expression on his 
 face which was also absent in the portraits. ^He 
 glanced into the state-room, looked for a moment 
 through Buel, and then turned to the steward. 
 
 *' What do you mean by putting that portmanteau 
 into my room ? " 
 
 " This gentleman has the upper berth, sir." 
 
 " Nonsense. The entire room is mine. Take the 
 portmanteau out." 
 
 The steward hesitated, looking from one to 
 the other. 
 
■ 
 
 THE nERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 237 
 
 t{ rr 
 
 The ticket is for 159, sir," he said, at last. 
 
 " Tlien there is some mistake. The room is mine. 
 Don't have me ask you again to remove the port- 
 manteau." 
 
 ** Perhaps you would like to see the purser, sir." 
 
 " I have nothing to do with the purser. Do as 
 I tell you." 
 
 All this time he had utterly ignored Buel, whose 
 colour was rising. The young Iman said quietly to 
 the steward, '* Take out the portmanteau, please." 
 
 When it was placed in the passage. Hodden entered 
 the room, shut and bolted the door. 
 
 "Will you see the purser, sir? " said the steward 
 in an awed whisper. 
 
 *' I think so. There is doubtless some mistake, as 
 he says." 
 
 The purser was busy allotting seats at the tables, 
 and Buel waited patientl}'. He had no friends on 
 board, and did not care where he was placed. 
 
 When the purser was at liberty, the steward 
 explained to him the difficulty which had arisen. 
 The official looked at his list. 
 
 *' 159 — Buel. Is that your name, sir ? Very 
 good ; 160 — Hodden. That is the gentleman now in 
 the room. Well, what is the trouble ? " 
 
 " Mr. Hodden says, sir, that the room belongs 
 to him." 
 
 " Have you seen his ticket ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 ** Then bring it to me." . ' 
 
 " Mistakes sometimes happen, Mr. Buel," said the 
 purser, when the steward vanished. "But as a 
 general thing I find that people simply claim what 
 
m 
 
 27, 
 
 8 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 they have no right to claim. Often the agents 
 promise that if possible a i)assenger shall have a 
 room to himself, and when we can do so we let him have 
 it. I try to please everybody ; but all the steamers 
 crossing to America are full at this season of the 
 year, and it is not praticable to give every one the 
 whole ship to himself. As the Americans say, some 
 people want the earth for £12 or £15, and we can't 
 always give it to them. Ah, here is the ticket. It is 
 just as I thought. Mr. Hodden is entitled merely to 
 berth 160." 
 
 The arrival of the ticket was (juickly followed by 
 the advent of Mr. Hodden himself. He still ignored 
 Buel. 
 
 " Your people in London," he said to the purser, 
 ** guaranteed me a room to myself. Otherwise I 
 would not have come on this line. Now it seems 
 that another person has been put in with me. I 
 must protest against this kind of usage." 
 
 ** Have you any letter from them guaranteeing the 
 room ? " asked the purser blandly. 
 
 " No. I supposed until now that their word was 
 sufficient." 
 
 " Well, you see, I am helpless in this case. These 
 two tickets are exactly the same with the exception 
 of the numbers. Mr. Buel has just as much right 
 to insist on being alone in the room as far as the 
 tickets go, and I have had no instructions in the 
 matter." 
 
 " But it is an outrage that they should promise 
 me one thing in London, and then refuse to perform 
 it, when I am helpless on the ocean." , 
 
 " If they have done so " . 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 239 
 
 I "I 
 
 i>y 
 
 " //' they have clone so ? Do you douht my word, 
 sir ? '' 
 
 " Oh, not at all, sir, not at all," answered the 
 purser in his most conciliatory tone. *'But in that 
 case your ticket should have been marked 159-160." 
 
 "I am not to suffer for their blunders." 
 
 "I see by this list that you paid £12 for your 
 ticket. Am I right "? " 
 
 '* That was the amount, I believe. 1 paid what 
 I was asked to pay." 
 
 *' Quite so, sir. Well, you sec, that is the price 
 of one berth only. Mr. Buel, here, paid the same 
 amount." 
 
 " Come to the point. Do I understand you to 
 refuse to remedy the mistake (to put the matter in its 
 mildest form) of your London people ? " 
 
 " I do not refuse. I would be only too glad to give 
 you the room to yourself, if it were possible. Un- 
 fortunately, it is not possible. I assure you there 
 is not an unoccupied state-room on the ship." 
 
 " Then I will see the captain. Where shall I find 
 him ? " 
 
 ''Very good, sir. Steward, take Mr. Hodden to 
 the captain's room." 
 
 When they were alone again Buel very contritely 
 expressed his sorrow at having been the innocent 
 cause of so much trouble to the purser. 
 
 " Bless you, sir, I don't mind it in the least. This 
 is a very simple case. Where both occupants of a 
 room claim it all to themselves, and where both are 
 angry and abuse me at the same time, then it gets 
 a bit lively. I don't envy him his talk with the 
 captain. If the old man happens to be feeling a little 
 
 fj 
 
240 
 
 THE HERALDS 02'' FAME. 
 
 grumpy to-dtay, and he mos ■• ^'enerally does at the 
 beginning of the voyage, Mr. Hodden will have a 
 bad ten minutes. Don't you bother a bit about it, 
 sir, but go down to your room and make yourself at 
 home. It will be all right." ' 
 
 Mr. Hodden quickly found that the appeal to 
 CcTsar was not well timed. The captain had not the 
 suave politeness of the purser. There may be greater 
 and more powerful men on earth than the captain 
 of an ocean liner, but you can't get any seafaring 
 man to believe it, and the captains themselves are 
 rarely without a due sense of their own dignity. The 
 man who tries to bluff the captain of a steamship 
 like the Geranium has a hard row to hoe. Mr. 
 Hodden descended to his state-room in a more 
 subdued frame of mind than when he went on the 
 upper deck. However, he still felt able to crush his 
 unfortunate room-mate. 
 
 *' You insist, then," he said, speaking to Buel for 
 the first time, " on occupying this room ? " 
 
 ** I have no choice in the matter." 
 
 ** I thought perhaps you might feel some hesitation 
 in forcing yourself in where you were so evidently 
 not wanted ? " 
 
 The hero-worshipper in Buel withered, and the 
 natural Englishman asserted itself. 
 
 ** I have exactly the same right in this room that 
 you have. I claim no privilege which I have not 
 paid for." 
 
 *' Do you w^'n. to suggest that I have made such 
 a claim?" 
 
 *' I suggest nothing; I state it. You have made 
 Buch a claim, and in a most offensive manner." 
 
t the 
 ive a 
 lit it, 
 elf at 
 
 5al to 
 ot the 
 reater 
 iptain 
 ,1'aring 
 es are 
 . The 
 .mship 
 Mr. 
 
 more 
 on the 
 
 sh his 
 
 Liel for 
 
 litation 
 .dently 
 
 bd the 
 
 that 
 Ive not 
 
 U) such 
 
 made 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 241 
 
 " Do you understand the moaning of the language 
 you are using, sir ? You are calling me a liar." 
 
 '^''*"' *'' ^''*'i''^i''^'W*^''^^ ^ *' y^ 
 
 ,*«#' 
 
 
 »fft^:'Uii^, oH 
 
 Mr, Hodden quicl:hj found thai the appeal to Ca'sar ^ran 
 
 not icell timed, 
 
 " You put it very tersely, Mr. Hodden. Thank you. 
 Now, if you venture to address me again during this 
 
 n 
 
242 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 voyage, I shall be obliged if you keep a civil tongue 
 in your head." 
 
 " Good heavens ! Yon talk of civility ? " cried the 
 astonished man, aghast. 
 
 " If Ihaveti't robbed that poor innocent yoiinrj man 
 of a booh!" 
 
 His room-mate went to the upper deck. In the 
 next state-room pretty Miss Carrie Jessop clapped 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 243 
 
 her small hands silently together. The construction 
 of state-rooms is such that every word uttered in one 
 above the breath is audible in the next room. Miss 
 Jessop could not help hearing the who^e controversy, 
 from the time the steward was ordered so curtly to 
 remove the portmanteau, until the culmination of 
 the discussion and the evident defeat of Mr. Hodden. 
 Her sympathy was all with the other fellow, at that 
 moment unknown, but a sly peep past the edge of 
 the scarcely opened door told her that the un- 
 named party in the quarrel was the awkw^ard young 
 man who had found her book. She wondered if the 
 Hodden mentioned could possibly be the author, and, 
 with a woman's inconsistency, felt sure that she 
 would detest tlie story, as if the personality of the 
 writer had anything whatever to do with his work. 
 She took down the parcel from the shelf and undid 
 the string. Her eyes opened wide as she looked at 
 the title. 
 
 " Well I never ! " she gasped. *Mf I haven't lobbed 
 that poor, innocent young man of a book he bought 
 for himself ! Attempted eviction by his room-mate, 
 and bold highway robbery by an unknown woman ! 
 No, it's worse than that; it's piracj^ for it happened on 
 the high seas." And the girl laughed softly to herself. 
 
 In the 
 klapped 
 
 CHAPTER ni. 
 
 Kenan Buel walked the deck alone in the evening 
 light, and felt that he ought to be enjoying the 
 calmness and serenity of the ocean expanse around 
 him after the noise and squalor of London ; but now 
 
Ill 
 
 ■;i: 
 
 JIM' 
 
 i: 
 
 I- I 
 
 244 
 
 THE TIER ALBS OF FAME. 
 
 that the excitement of the recent quarrel was over, 
 he felt the reaction, and his natural diftidence led 
 him to blame himself. Most of the passengers were 
 below, preparing for dinner, and he had the deck 
 to himself. As he turned on one of his rounds, he 
 saw approaching him the girl of Euston Station, as 
 he mentally termed her. She had his book in lier 
 hand. 
 
 " I have come to beg your pardon," she said. *' I 
 see it was your own book I took from you to-day." 
 
 "My own book!" cried lUiel, fearing she had 
 somehow discovered his guilty secret. 
 
 "Yes. Didn't you buy this for yourself?" She 
 held up the volume. 
 
 "Oh, certainly. But you are quite welcome to it, 
 I am sure." 
 
 " I couldn't think of taking it away from you 
 before you have read it." 
 
 " But I have read it," replied Buel, eagerly ; " and 
 T shall be very pleased to lend it to you." . 
 
 "Indeed? And how did you manage to read it 
 without undoing the parcel ? " 
 
 " That is to say I — I skimmed over it before it was 
 done up," he said in confusion. The clear eyes of 
 the girl disconcerted him, and, whatever his place 
 in fiction is now, he was at that time a most unskilful 
 liar. 
 
 "You see, I bought it because it is written by a 
 namesake of mine. ^Fy name is Buel, and I hap- 
 pened to notice that was the name on the book ; in 
 fact, if you remember, when you were looking over it 
 at the stall, the clerk mentioned the author's name, 
 and that naturally caught my attention." 
 
 I 
 
THE JJA'IiALDS OF FAME. 
 
 245 
 
 over, 
 ce led 
 s were 
 3 deck 
 ids, he 
 ion, as 
 in lier 
 
 L ''I 
 
 ty." 
 
 le had 
 
 •* She 
 
 le to it, 
 
 ^m you 
 
 " and 
 
 r(>ad it 
 
 B it ^Yas 
 eyes of 
 IS place 
 nslvilful 
 
 n by a 
 I hap- 
 00k ; in 
 y over it 
 s name, 
 
 The girl glanced with renewed interest at the 
 volume. 
 
 '• Didnt ijou buy this book for yourself? " 
 
 " Was this the book I was looking at ? The story 
 I bought was Hodden's latest. I found it a moment 
 
246 
 
 Tilt: HERALDS OB FAME. 
 
 ago down in my state-room, «o it was not lost 
 after all." 
 
 They were now walking together as if they were 
 old acquaintances, the girl still holding the volume 
 in her hand. 
 
 ** By the way," she said innocently, ** I see on the 
 passenger list that there is a Mr. Hodden on board. 
 Do you think he can be the novelist ?" 
 
 " I believe he is," answered Buel, stiffly. 
 
 "Oh, that will be too jolly for anything. 1 would 
 &'o like to meet him. I am sure he must be a most 
 charming man. His books show such insight into 
 human nature, such sympathy and noble purpose. 
 There could be nothing petty or mean about such a 
 man." 
 
 " I — I — suppose not." 
 
 *' Why, of course there couldn't. You have read 
 his books, have you not ? " 
 
 ** All of them except his latest." 
 
 *' Well, I'll lend you that, as you have been so kind 
 as to offer me the reading of this one." 
 
 " Thank you. After 3'ou have read it your- 
 self." 
 
 " And when you have become acquainted with Mr. 
 Hodden, I want you to introduce him to me." 
 
 *'With pleasure. And — and when I do so, who 
 shall I tell him the young lady is ? " 
 
 The audacious girl laughed lightly, and, stepping 
 back, made him a saucy bow. 
 
 "You will introduce me as Miss Caroline Jessop, 
 of New York. Be sure that you say * New York,' for 
 that will account to Mr. Hodden for any eccentricities 
 of conduct or conversation he may be good enough 
 
lost 
 
 read 
 
 who 
 
 THE HERALDS Ot" FAMK 
 
 24? 
 
 to notice. I Hupposo you think American girls aro 
 very forward ? All Englishmen do." 
 
 " On the contrary, I have always understood that 
 they are very charming." 
 
 "Indeed? And so you arc going over to 
 sec ? " 
 
 Buel laughed. All the depression ho felt a short 
 time before had vanished. 
 
 ** I had no such intention when I began the voyage, 
 but even if I should quit the steamer at Queenstown, 
 I could bear personal testimony to the truth of the 
 statement." 
 
 ** Oh, Mr. Buel, that is very nicely put. I don't 
 think you can improve on it, so I shall run down and 
 dress for dinner. There is the first gong. Thanks 
 for the book." 
 
 The young man said to himself, "Buel, my boy, 
 you're getting on ; " and he smiled as he leaned over 
 the bulwark and looked at the rushing water. He 
 sobered instantly as he remembered that he would 
 have to go to his state-room and perhaps meet 
 Hodden. It is an awkward thing to quarrel with 
 your room-mate at the beginning of a long voyage. 
 He hoped Hodden had taken his departure to the 
 saloon, and he lingered until the second gong rang. 
 Entering the state-room, he found Hodden still there. 
 Buel gave him no greeting. The other cleared his 
 throat several times and then said — • 
 
 ** I have not the pleasure of knowing your name." 
 " My name is Buel." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Buel, I am sorry that I spoke to you 
 in the manner I did, and I hope you will allow me 
 to apologize for doing so. Various little matters had 
 
 f V 
 
 
248 
 
 THE TIEIiALDS OF FAME. 
 
 combined to irntate mc, and Ot" course, that is 
 
 no excuse. But " 
 
 " Don't say anything more. 1 unreservedly retract 
 what I was heated enough to say, and so we may con- 
 sider the episode ended. I may add that if the purser 
 has a vacant berth anywhere, I shall be very glad 
 
 Entering the state-room, he found Hodden still there. 
 
 to take it, if the occupants of the room make no 
 objection." 
 
 *' You are very kind," said Hodden ; but he did not 
 make any show of declining the offer. 
 
 "Very well, then; let us settle the matter while 
 we are at it." And Buel pressed the electric button. 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 249 
 
 The steward looked in, saying, — 
 
 "Dinner is ready, gentlemen." 
 
 "Yes, I know. Just ask the purser if he can 
 step here for a moment." 
 
 The purser came promptly, and if he was disturbed 
 at being called at such a moment he did not 
 show it. Pursers are very dii)lomatic persons. 
 
 " Have you a vacant berth anywhere, purser? " 
 
 An expression faintly suggestive of annoyance 
 passed over tho purser's serene brow. He thuuglit 
 the matter had been settled. 
 
 " We have several berths vacant, but they are 
 each in rooms that already cCoain three i)ersons." 
 
 "One of those will do for me; that is, if tho 
 occui)ants have no objection." 
 
 " It willlje rather crowded, sir." 
 
 " That doesn't matter, if the others are willing." 
 
 "Very good, sir. 1 will see to it immediately 
 after dinner." 
 
 The purser was as good as his word, and intro- 
 duced liuel and his portmanteau to a room that 
 contained three wild American collegians who had 
 been doing Europe "on the cheap" and on foot. 
 They received the new-comer with a hilariousness that 
 disconcerted him. 
 
 " Hello, purser ! " cried one, " this is an KngUsh- 
 man. You didn't tell us you were going to run in an 
 Englishman on us." 
 
 " Never mind, we'll convert him on the way over." 
 
 " 1 say, purser, if you sling a hammock from the 
 ceiling and put up a cot on the floor you can put 
 two more men in here. Why didn't you tliink 
 of that?" 
 
 fi 
 
 I 
 
250 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 " It's not too late yet. Why did you suggest it ? " 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Buel, '* I have no desire to 
 intrude, if it is against your wish." 
 
 ** Oh, that's all right. Never mind them. They 
 have to talk or die. The truth is, we were lonesome 
 without a fourth man." 
 
 " What's his name, purser ? " 
 
 ** My name is Buel." 
 
 One of them shouted out the inquiry, *' What's the 
 matter with Buel ? " and all answered in concert 
 with a yell that made the steamer ring, '' lies 
 all right." 
 
 " You'll have to Bing * Hail Columbia ' night and 
 morning if you stay in this cabin." 
 
 *' Very good," said Buel, entering into the spirit of 
 the occasion. " Singing is not my strong point, and 
 after you hear me at it once you will be glad to pay 
 a heavy premium to have it stopped." 
 
 " Say, Buel, can you play poker ?" 
 
 '* No ; but I can learn." 
 
 " That's business. America's just yearning for 
 men who can learn. We have had so many English- 
 men who know it all, that we'll welcome a change. 
 But poker's an expensive game to acquire." 
 
 ** Don't be bluffed, Mr. Buel. Not one of the 
 crowd has enough money left to buy the drinks all 
 round. We would never have got home if we hadn't 
 return tickets." 
 
 *' Say, boys, let's lock the purser out, and make 
 Buel an Ameri a,n citizen before he can call for help. 
 You solemnly swear that you hereby and hereon 
 renounce all emperors, kings, princes, and potentates, 
 and more especially — how does the rest of it go ! '* 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 251 
 
 " He must give up bis titles, honours, knighthoods, 
 and things of that sort." 
 
 " Say, Duel, you're not a lord or a duke by any 
 chance ? because, if you are, we'll call back the 
 purser and have you put out yet." 
 
 ''No, I haven't even the title esquire, which, I 
 understand, all American citizens possess." 
 
 ** Oh, you'll do. Now, I propose that Mr. Duel 
 take his choice of the four bunks, and that we ralHe 
 for the rest." 
 
 When Buel reached t .e deck out of this pande- 
 monium, he looked around for another citizen of the 
 United States, but she was not there. He wondered 
 if she were reading his book, and how she liked it. 
 
 >» 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Next morning Mr. Buel again searched the deck for 
 the fair American, and this time he found her read- 
 ing his book, seated very comfortably in her deck 
 chair. The fact that she was so engaged put out of 
 Buel's mind the greeting he had carefully prepared 
 beforehand, and he stood there awkwardly, not know- 
 ing what to say. He inwardly cursed his unreadi- 
 ness, t^nd felt, to his further embarrassment, that 
 his colour was rising. He was not put more at his 
 ease when Miss Jessop looked up at him coldly, with 
 a distinct frown on her pretty face. 
 
 " Mr. Buel, I believe ? " she said pertly. 
 
 " I — I think so," he stammered. 
 
 She went on with her reading, ignoring him, and 
 he stood there not knowing how to get away. When 
 
 ■I- 
 
■■i 
 
 mmmm 
 
 252 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 he pulled himself together, after a few moments' 
 silence, and was about to depart, wondering at 
 the caprice of womankind, she looked up again, and 
 said icily— 
 
 *$^* "■' 
 
 ■>iV>'v" 
 
 He found her rcadinij his hooJc. 
 
 "Why don't you ask me to walk with you? iJo 
 you think you have no duties, merely because you 
 are on shipboard ? " 
 
 ** It isn't a duty, it is a pleasure, if you will come 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 253 
 
 Do 
 you 
 
 with me. I was afraid I had offended you in some 
 way." 
 
 " You have. That is why I want to walk with you. 
 I wish to give you a piece of my mind, and it won't 
 be pleasant to listen to, I can assure you. So there 
 must be no listener but yourself." 
 
 " Is it so serious as that ? " 
 
 " Quite. Assist me, please. Why do you have to 
 be asked to do such a thing ? I don't suppose there 
 is another man on the ship who would see a lady 
 struggling with her rugs, and never put out his 
 hand." 
 
 Before the astounded young man could offer assist- 
 ance the girl sprang to her feet and stood beside him. 
 Although she tried to retain her severe look of dis- 
 pleasure, there was a morrj^ twdnkle in the corner of 
 her eye, as if she enjoyed shocking liim. 
 
 " I fear I am very unready." 
 
 "You are." ■'.-.. 
 
 " Will you take my arm as we w'alk ? " 
 
 " (krtamly not," she answered, putting the tips of 
 her fingers into the shallow pockets of her pilot 
 jacket. "Don't you know the United States are long 
 since independent of England ? " , 
 
 " I had forgotten for the moment. My knowledge 
 of history is rather limited, even when I try to 
 remember. Still, independence and all, the two 
 countries may l)e friends, may they not? " 
 
 " I doubt it. It seems to be natural that an 
 American should hate an Englishman." 
 
 " Dear me, is it so bad as that ? Why, may I ask ? 
 Is it on account of the little troulde in 1770, or when- 
 ever it was ? " 
 
■Jmmmmmt^ammtttma 
 
 254 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 li 
 
 " 1776, when we conquered you." 
 
 " Were we conquered ? That is another historical 
 fact which has been concealed from me. I am afraid 
 England doesn't quite realize her unfortunate posi- 
 tion. She has a good deal of go about her for a 
 conquered nation. But I thought the conquering, 
 which we all admit, was of much more recent date, 
 when the pretty American girls began to come over. 
 Then Englishmen at once capitulated." 
 
 *' Yes," she cried scornfully. ''And I don't know 
 which to despise most, the American girls who 
 marry Englishmen, or the Englishmen they marry. 
 They are married for their money." 
 
 " Who ? The Englishmen ? " 
 
 The girl stamped her foot on the deck as they 
 turned around. 
 
 " You know very well what I mean. An English- 
 man thinks of nothing but money." 
 
 ** Eeally ? I wonder where you got all your cut- 
 and-dried notions about Englishmen ? You seem to 
 have a great capacity for contempt. I don't think it 
 is good. My experience is rather limited, of course, 
 but, as far as it goes, I find good and bad in all 
 nations. There are Englishmen whom I find it im- 
 possible to like, and there are Americans whom I 
 find I admire in spite of myself. There are also, 
 doubtless, good Englishmen and bad Americans, if 
 we only knew where to find them. You cannot sum 
 up a nation and conden it in a phrase, you know." 
 
 " Can't you ? Well, literary Englishmen have 
 tried to do so in the case of America. No English 
 writer has ever dealt even fairly with the United 
 States." 
 
 Ill ti 
 
 ! V. 
 
orical 
 
 afraid 
 posi- 
 for a 
 
 ering, 
 date, 
 
 ) ovt?'. 
 
 know 
 i who 
 narry. 
 
 3 they 
 
 iglish- 
 
 ir cut- 
 
 jem to 
 
 link it 
 
 lourse, 
 
 in all 
 
 it im- 
 
 lom I 
 
 also, 
 
 ms, if 
 
 sum 
 
 ■now." 
 
 have 
 
 nglish 
 
 Jnited 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 255 
 
 " Don't you think the States are a little too sensi- 
 tive about the matter? " 
 
 " Sensitive ? Bless you, we don't mind it a bit." 
 
 *' Then where's the harm ? Besides, America has 
 its revenge in you. Your scathing contemx3t more 
 than balances the account." 
 
 " I only wish I could write. Tiien I would let you 
 know what I think of you." 
 
 " Oh, don't publish a book about us. I wouldn't 
 like to see war between the two countries." 
 
 Miss Jessop laughed merrily for so belligerent a 
 person. 
 
 **War?" she cried. "I hope yet to see an 
 American army camped in London." 
 
 *' If that is your desire, you can see it any day in 
 summer. You will find them tenting out at the 
 Metropole and all the expensive hotels. I bivouacked 
 with an invader there some weeks ago, and he was 
 enduring the rigours of camp life with great fortitude, 
 mitigating his trials with unlimited champagne." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Buel," cried the girl admiringly, 
 "you're beginning to talk just like an American 
 yourself." 
 
 " Oh, now, you are trying to make me con- 
 ceited." 
 
 Miss Jessop sighed, and shook her head. 
 
 "I had nearly forgotten," she said, ''that I 
 despised you. I remember now why I began to walk 
 with you. It was not to talk frivolously, but to 
 show you the depth of my contempt ! Since yester 
 day you have gone down in my estimation from 190 
 to 5(j." 
 
 ''Fahrenheit?" 
 
 I 
 
 .aaammaati^a 
 
t I 
 
 ! 
 
 256 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 " No, that was a Wall Street quotation. Your 
 stock has ' slumped,' as we say on the Street." 
 
 " Now you are talking Latin, or worse, for I can 
 understand a little Latin." 
 
 " ' Slumped ' sounds slangy, doesn't it ? It isn't 
 a pretty word, but it is expressive. It means going 
 down with a run, or rather, all in a heap." 
 
 ''"What have I done ? " 
 
 " Nothing you can say will undo it, so there is 
 no use in speaking any more about it. Second 
 thoughts are best. My second thought is to say no 
 
 more. 
 
 j> 
 
 ''I must know my cringe. Give me a chance to, 
 at least, reach par again, even if I can't hope to 
 atttiin the 90 above." 
 
 ''I thought an Englishman had some grit. I 
 thought he did not allow any one to walk over him. 
 I thought he stood by his guns when he knew he 
 was in the right. I thought he was a manly man, 
 and a fighter against injustice ! " 
 
 " Dear me ! Judging by your conversation of a 
 few minutes ago, one would imagine that you 
 attributed exactly the opposite qualities to him." 
 
 " I say I thought all this — yesterday. I don't 
 think so to-day." 
 
 ** Oh, I see ! And all on account of me ? " 
 
 *' All on account of you." 
 
 " Once more, what have I done ? " 
 
 " What have you done ? You have allowed that 
 detestably selfish specimen of your race, Hodden, 
 to evict you from your room." 
 
 The young man stopped abruptly in his walk, and 
 looked at the girl with astonishment. She, her 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 257 
 
 Your 
 L- I can 
 
 It isn't 
 s going 
 
 there is 
 
 Second 
 
 ) say no 
 
 ance to, 
 hope to 
 
 grit. I 
 Iver him. 
 Iknew he 
 
 ly man, 
 
 ion of a 
 Ihat you 
 
 m. 
 
 9> 
 
 I don't 
 
 ^Yed that 
 Hodden, 
 
 ralk, and 
 )he, her 
 
 hands still coquettishly thrust in her jacket-pockets, 
 returned his gaze with unruffled serenity. 
 
 ** What do you know about it ? " he demanded 
 at last. 
 
 ** Everything. From the time you meekly told 
 the steward to take out your valise until the time 
 you meekly apologized to Hodden for having told 
 him the truth, and then meekly followed the purser 
 to a room containing three others." 
 
 " But Hodden meekly, as you express it, apologized 
 first. I suppose you know that too, otherwise I 
 would not have mentioned it." 
 
 *' Certainly he did. That was beciuse he found 
 his overbearing tactics did not work. He apologized 
 merely to get rid of you, and did. That's what put 
 me out of patience with you. To think you couldn't 
 see through his scheme ! " 
 
 *' Oh ! I thought it was the lack of manly qualities 
 you despised in me. Now you are accusing me of 
 not being crafty." 
 
 " How severely you say that ! You quite frighten 
 me ! You will be making me apologize by-and-by, 
 and I don't want to do that." 
 
 Buel laughed, and resumed his walk. 
 
 "It's all right," he said; "Hodden's loss is my 
 gain. I've got in with a jolly lot, who took the 
 trouble last night to teach me the great American 
 game at cards — and counters." 
 
 Miss Jessop sighed. 
 
 "Having escaped with my life," she said, "I 
 think I shall not run any more risks, but shall 
 continue with your book. I had no idea you could 
 look so fierce. I have scarcely gotten over it yet. 
 
 s 
 
25^ 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 Besides, I am very much interested in that book of 
 yom-s." 
 
 *'\Vliy do you say so persistently 'that book of 
 mine ' ? " 
 
 "Isn't it yours :^ You bought it, didn't you? 
 Then it was written by your relative, you know." 
 
 *' I said my namesake." 
 
 ** So you did. And now I'm going to ask you an 
 impudent question. You will not look wicked again, 
 will you ? " 
 
 " I won't promise. That depends entirely on the 
 (piestion." 
 
 '* It is easily answered." 
 
 ** I'm waiting." 
 
 '' What is your Christian name, Mr. Buel ? " 
 
 '* My Christian name ? " he repeated, uncomfort- 
 ably. 
 
 "Yes, what is it?" 
 
 *' Why do you wish to know ? " 
 
 " A woman's reason — because." 
 
 They walked the length of the deck in silence. 
 
 " Come, now," she said, " confess. AVhat is it? " 
 
 "John." 
 
 Miss Jessop laughed heartily, but quietly, 
 
 " You think John commonplace, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Oh, it suits you, Mr. Buel. Good-bye." 
 
 As the young woman found her place in the book, 
 she mused, " How blind men are, after all — with his 
 name in full on the passage list." Then she said 
 to herself, with a sigh, " I do wish I had bought this 
 book instead of Hodden's." 
 
)ok of 
 
 jok of 
 
 you? 
 
 you an 
 agiiiii, 
 
 on the 
 
 L>mfort- 
 
 ;e. 
 
 it?" 
 
 >> 
 
 e book, 
 ith his 
 le said 
 lit this 
 
 THE IIEIiALDS OF FAME. 259 
 
 CIIArTER V. 
 
 xVt first Mr. llodaen hekl somewhat aloof from his 
 fellow-passengers ; but, finding perhaps that there 
 was no general desire to intrude upon him, he con- 
 descended to become genial to a select few. He 
 walked the deck alone, picturesquely attired. He 
 was a man who paid considerable attention to his 
 personal appearance. As day followed day, Mr. 
 Hodden unbent so far as to talk frequently with Miss 
 Jessop on what might almost be called equal terms. 
 The somewhat startling opinions and unexpected 
 remarks of the American girl appeared to interest 
 him, and doubtless tended to conlirm his previous 
 unfavourable impressions of the inhabitants of the 
 Western world. Mr. Buel was usually present during 
 these conferences, and his conduct under the circum- 
 stances was not admirable. He was silent and 
 moody, and almost gruH" on some occasions. Perhaps 
 Hodden's persistent ignoring of him, and the elder 
 man's air of conscious superiority, irritated Buel; 
 but if he had had the advantage of mixing much in 
 the society of his native land he would have become 
 accustomed to that. People thrive on the condescen- 
 sion of the great ; they like it, and boast about it. 
 Yet Buel did not seem to be pleased. But the most 
 astounding thing was that the young man should 
 actually have taken it upon himself to lecture Miss 
 Jessop once, when they were alone, for some remarks 
 she had made to Hodden as she sat in her deck-chair, 
 with Hodden loquacious on her right and Buel taciturn 
 on her ' "t. What right had Buel to find fault with 
 
 ;!'i 
 
 i 
 
I 
 
 ! 
 
 SIm 
 
 11' 
 
 Atjini Mr. Uodden held aloof from hisfellow-puasengers. 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME, 
 
 261 
 
 a free and independent citizen of another country ? 
 Evidently none. It might have heen expected that 
 Miss Jessop, rising to the occasion, would have 
 taught the young man his place, and would perhaps 
 have made some scathing remark ahout the tendc^ncy 
 of Englishmen to interfere in matters that did not 
 concern them. But she did nothing of the land. 
 She looked down demurely on the deck, with the 
 faint flicker of a smile hovering ahout her pretty 
 lips, and now and then flashed a quick glance at the 
 serious face of the young man. The attitude was 
 very sweet and appealing, hut it was not what we 
 have a right to expect from one whose ruler is her 
 servant towards one whose ruler is his sovereign. In 
 fact, the conduct of those two young people at this 
 time was utterly inexplicahle. 
 
 " Why did you pretend to Hodden that you had 
 never heard of him, and make him state that he was 
 a writer of hooks ?" Buel had said. 
 
 *' I did it for his own good. Do you want me to 
 minister to his insufferahle vanity? Hasn't he 
 egotism enough already ? I saw in a paper a while 
 ago that his most popular hook had sold to the 
 extent of over 100,000 copies in America. I suppose 
 that is something wonderful ; hut what does it amount 
 to after all ? It leaves over fifty millions of people 
 who douhtless have never heard of him. For the 
 time heing I merely went with the majority. We 
 always do that in the Stales." 
 
 " Then I suppose you will not tell him you bought 
 his latest book in London, and so you will not have 
 the privilege of bringing it \\\) on deck and read- 
 ing it?" 
 
T7^ 
 
 J l i ll l.X I L 
 
 fi'^ 
 
 262 
 
 THE II Eli A LBS OF FAME. 
 
 **No. The pleaRure of reading that book must bo 
 postponed until I reach New York. Jjut my punish- 
 ment does not end there. Wouhl you beheve that 
 authors are so vain tliat they actually carry with 
 tliem the books they have written ? " 
 
 " You astonish me." 
 
 '' 1 thought I should. And added to tliat, would 
 you credit the statement that they offer to lend their 
 works to inolt'ensivc people who may not be interested 
 in them and who have not the courage to refuse? 
 Why do you look so confused, ^\v. lUiel ? I am 
 speaking of ^Er. Hodden. Jfe kindly oflVrocl me his 
 books to read on the way over. He has a prettily 
 l)ound set with him. lie gave me the first to-day, 
 which I read ever so many years ago." 
 
 ** I tliought you liked his books ? " 
 
 " For the first time, yes ; but I don't care to read 
 tliem twice." 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by j\rr. 
 Hodden himself, who sank into the vacant chair 
 l)eside Miss Jessop. ]hi(!l made as though he would 
 rise and leave them together, but with an almost 
 imperceptible motion of the hand nearest him, ^fisp 
 Jessop indicated her wish that he should remain, 
 and then thanked him with a rapid glance for under- 
 standing. The young man felt a glow of satisfaction 
 at this, and gazed at the blue scji with less discon- 
 tent than usual in his eyes. 
 
 " I have brought you," said the novelist, " another 
 volume." 
 
 ''Oh, i}i((i}h you," cried ^liss Duplicity, with un- 
 necessary emphasis on the middle word. 
 
 " It has been considered," continued Mr. Hodden, 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 263 
 
 must be 
 r puninh- 
 icvo that 
 rrv \vitli 
 
 it, would 
 311(1 their 
 nterested 
 ) refuse ? 
 ? I am 
 <1 me his 
 a prettily 
 ;t to-day, 
 
 B to read 
 
 I by ]\rr. 
 mt chair 
 he would 
 1 almost 
 lim, ]\Iisf 
 remain, 
 or under- 
 tisfactiou 
 )S diseou- 
 
 another 
 
 with un- 
 
 Tloddeii, 
 
 *' by those whose opinions are thought highly of in 
 London, to be perhaps my most successful work. It 
 is, of course, not for me to pass judgment on such an 
 estimate ; but for my own part I prefer the story I 
 
 Till' cnin'ormiiaii vas here intirrupled l»j Mr. lioihiin. 
 
 gave you this morning. An author's choice is rarely 
 
 that of the pubhc." 
 
 *' And was this book published in America > " 
 
 ** I can hardly say it was published. They did me 
 
 u 
 
 II 
 
f 
 ■i 
 
 ^msm 
 
 linl 
 
 ii;|l 
 
 264 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 the honour to pirate it in your most charming 
 country. Some friend — or perhaps I shouhl say 
 enemy — sent me a copy. It was a most atrocious 
 production, in a paper cover, filled with mistakes, 
 and adorned with the kind of spelling, which is, alas ! 
 prevalent there." 
 
 " I beheve," said Buel, speaking for the first time, 
 but with his eyes still on the sea, " there is good 
 English authority for much that we term American 
 spelling." 
 
 "English authority, indeed! " cried Miss Jessop; 
 "as if we needed English authority for anything. If 
 we can't spell better than your great English 
 authority, Chaucer — well ! " Language seemed to 
 fail the young woman. 
 
 " Have you read Chaucer ? " asked Mr. Hodden, in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Certainly not ; but I have looked at his poems, 
 and they always remind me of one of those dialect 
 stories in the magazines." 
 
 Miss Jessop turned over the pages of the book 
 which had been given her, and as she did so a name 
 caught her attention. She remembered a problem 
 that had troubled her when she read the book 
 before. She cried impulsively — 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Hodden, there is a question I want to 
 
 ask you about this book. Was " Here she 
 
 checked herself in some confusion. 
 
 Buel, who seemed to realize the situation, smiled 
 grimly. 
 
 " The way of the transgressor is hard," he whispered 
 in a tone too low for Hodden to hear. 
 
 "Isn't it?" cordially agieed the unblushing 
 young woman. 
 
TEE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 265 
 
 [armmg 
 Lild say 
 trocious 
 istakes, 
 is, alas ! 
 
 st time, 
 is good 
 merican 
 
 Jessop ; 
 ing. If 
 English 
 smed to 
 
 dden, in 
 
 poems, 
 dialect 
 
 10 book 
 a name 
 n'oblem 
 book 
 
 kant to 
 ire she 
 
 smiled 
 
 [ispered 
 
 lushing 
 
 " What did you wish to ask me ? " inquired the 
 novehst. 
 
 " Was it the American spelling or the American 
 piracy that made you dislike the United States '? " 
 
 Mr. Hodden raised his eyebrows. 
 
 ** Oh, I do not dislike the United States. I have 
 many friends there, and see much to admire in the 
 country. But there are some things that do not 
 commend themselves to me, and those I ventured to 
 touch upon lightly on one or two occasions, much to 
 the displeasure of a section of the inhabitants — 
 a small section, I hope." 
 
 *' Don't you think," ventured Buel, " that a writer 
 should rather touch on what pleases him than on 
 what displeases him, in writing of a foreign country ? " 
 
 *' Possibly. Nations are like individuals ; they 
 prefer flattery to honest criticism." 
 
 " But a writer should remember that there is no 
 law of libel to protect a nation." 
 
 To this remark Mr. Hodden did not reply. 
 
 *' And what did you object to most, Mr. Hodden ? " 
 asked the girl. 
 
 '' That is a hard question to answer. I think, 
 however, that one of the most deplorable features 
 of American life is the unbridled license of the Press. 
 The reporters make existence a burden ; they print 
 the most unjustifiable things in their so-called inter- 
 views, and a man has no redress. There is no 
 escaping them. If a man is at all well known, 
 they attack him before he has a chance to leave 
 the ship. If you refuse to say anything, they will 
 wTite a purely imaginative interview. The last 
 time I visited America, five of them came out 
 
 ii 
 il 
 
 ij 
 

 266 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 'I 
 
 '# , # 
 
 
 to interview me — they came out in the Custom 
 House steamer, I believe." 
 
 " Why, I should feel flattered if they took all that 
 trouble over me, Mr. Hodden." 
 
 " All I ask of them is to leave me alone." 
 
 " I'll protect you, ^Er. Hodden. When they come, 
 you stand near me, and I'll beat them off with my 
 sunshade. I know two newspaper men — real nice 
 young men they are too — and they always do wliat 
 i tell them." 
 
 "I can quite believe it, Miss Tessop." 
 
 '* Well, then, have to fear while I'm on ])oard." 
 
 Mr. Hodden shook his head. He knew how it 
 would be, he said. 
 
 *' Let us leave the reporters. What else do you 
 object to ? I want to learn, and so reform m}^ 
 country when I get back." 
 
 '* The mad passion of the people after wealth, and 
 the unscrupulousness of their methods of obtaining 
 it, seem to me unpleasant phases of life over 
 there." 
 
 " So they are. And what you say makes me sigh 
 for dear old London. How honest they are, and 
 how little they care for money there ! Thcfi don't 
 put up the price 50 per cent, merely because a girl 
 has an American accent. Oh no. They think she 
 likes to buy at New York prices. And they are so 
 honourable down in the city that nobody ever gets 
 cheated. Why, you could put a purse up on a pole 
 
 in London, just as as was it Henry the 
 
 Eighth ? '' 
 
 ** Alfred, I think ! " suggested Buel. 
 
 " Thanks ! As Alfred the Great used to do," 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 267 
 
 Custom 
 all that 
 
 5y come, 
 ^vith my 
 eal nice 
 do wliat 
 
 ml." 
 how it 
 
 i do you 
 orm m}' 
 
 1th, and 
 btaining 
 ife over 
 
 me sigh 
 are, and 
 // don't 
 e a girl 
 link she 
 y are so 
 ver gets 
 1 a pole 
 iry the 
 
 Mr. Hodden looked askance at the young 
 woman. 
 
 " Remember," he said, " that you asked me for my 
 opinion. If what I have said is offensive to one 
 who is wealthy, as doubtless you are, Miss Tessop, 
 I most sincerely " 
 
 " Me ? Well, I never know whether I'm wealthy 
 or not. I expect that before long I shall have to 
 take to typewriting. Perhaps, in that case, 3'ou will 
 give me some of your novels to do, Mr. Hodden. 
 You see, my father is on the Street.'' 
 
 "Dear me!" said ^Fr. Hodden, ''I am sorry to 
 hear that." 
 
 ''Why? They are not all rogues on Wall Street, 
 in spite of what the papers say. Eemember your 
 own opinion of the papers. They are not to be 
 trusted when they speak of Wall Street men. When 
 my father got verj" rich once I made him give me 
 100,000 dollars, so that, should things go wrong — 
 they generally go wrong for somebody on Wall Street 
 — we would have something to live on, but, nn- 
 fortunately, he always borrows it again. Some day, 
 I'm afraid, it will go, and then will come the type- 
 writer. That's why 1 took my aunt with me and 
 saw Europe before it was too late. I gave him a 
 power of attorney before I left, so I've had an anxious 
 time on the Continent. ^ly money was all right 
 when we left Liverpool, but goodness knows where it 
 will be when I reach New York." 
 
 **How very interesting. T nevrr heard of a 
 situation just like it before." 
 
 M 
 
ii 
 
 268 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 W ' 
 
 
 
 ? 1 
 
 
 
 i^ — 
 
 
 
 •' A^k 
 
 i ; 
 
 
 t-3 
 
 -\V, 
 \i ill 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 The big vessel lay at rest in Now York Bay waiting 
 for the boat of the health officers and the steamer 
 with the customs men on board. The passengers 
 were in a state of excitement at the thought of being 
 so i^oar home. The captain, who was now in 
 excellent humour, walked the deck and chatted affably 
 with every one. A successful voyage had been com- 
 pleted, ^liss Jessop feared the coming of the customs 
 boat as much as Hodden feared the reporters. If 
 anything, he was the more resigned of the ^wo. 
 What American woman ever lands on her native 
 shore without trembling before the revenue hw oi 
 her country ? Kenan Buel, his arms resting on the 
 bulwarks, gazed absently at the green hills he was 
 seeing for the first time, but his thoughts were not 
 upon them. The young man was ^'n a quandary. 
 Should he venture, or should he r-, .c, that was the 
 question. Admitting, for the sake of argument, that 
 slie cared for him, what had he to offer ? Merely 
 himself, and the debt still unpaid on his first book. 
 The situation was the more embarrassing because 
 of a remark she had made about Englishmen marry- 
 ing for money. He had resented that on general prin- 
 ciples when he heard it, but now it had a personal 
 application that seemed to confront him whichever 
 way he turned. Besides, wasn't it all rather sudden, 
 from an insular point of view ? Of course they did 
 things with great rapidity in America, so perhaps 
 she would not object to the suddenness. He had no 
 
 ,11 
 
waiting 
 
 steamer 
 
 isengers 
 
 )f being 
 
 now in 
 
 I affably 
 
 en com- 
 
 customs 
 
 ers. If 
 
 he +W0. 
 
 : native 
 
 In vi ut 
 
 on the 
 
 le was 
 
 ere not 
 
 andary. 
 
 as the 
 
 nt, that 
 
 Merely 
 
 t book. 
 
 because 
 
 marry- 
 
 al prin- 
 
 ersonal 
 
 ichever 
 
 udden, 
 
 ley did 
 
 )erhaps 
 
 lad no 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 269 
 
 one to consult, and he felt the lack of advice. lie 
 did not want to make a mistake, neither did he wish 
 to be laughed at. Still, the laughing would not 
 matter if everything turned out right. Anyhow, Miss 
 Jessop's laugh was very kindly. He remembered 
 that if he were in any other difficulty he would turn 
 quite naturally to her for advice, although he had 
 known her so short a time, and he regretted that in 
 his present predicament he was debarred from 
 putting the case befo;;e her. And yet, w'hy not '? He 
 might put the supposidtious case of a friend, and ask 
 what the friend ought to do. He dismissed this a 
 moment later. It was too much like what people 
 did in a novel, and besides, he could not carry it 
 through. She would see through the sham at once. 
 At this point he realized that he was just where he 
 began. 
 
 " Dear me, Mr. Buel, how serious you look. I am 
 afraid you don't approve of America. Are you sorry 
 the voyage is ended '? " 
 
 " Yes, I am," answered Buel, earnestly. '* I feel 
 as if I had to begin life over again." 
 
 '* And are you afraid ? " 
 
 ''A little." 
 
 "I am disappointed in you. I thought you were 
 not afraid of anything." 
 
 *' You were disappointed in me the first day, you 
 remember." 
 
 *' So I was. I had forgotten." 
 
 *' Will your father come on board to meet 
 you?" 
 
 *' It depends altogether on the state of the market. 
 If things are dull, he will vpry likely meet me out 
 

 270 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 w 
 
 here. If the Street is brisk, I won't see him till he 
 arrives home to-night. If medium, he will be on 
 the wharf when we get in." 
 
 "And when you meet him I suppose you will know 
 whether you are rich or poor ? " 
 
 ** Oh, certainly. It will be the second thing I ask 
 him." 
 
 ** When you know, I want you to tell me. Will 
 you?" 
 
 " Are you interested in knowing ? " 
 
 "Very much so." 
 
 " Then I hope I shall be rich." 
 
 Mr. Buel did not answer. He stared gloomily 
 down at the water lapping the iron side of the 
 motionless steamer. The frown on his brow was 
 deep. Miss Jesso^^ looked at him for a moment out 
 of the corners of her eyes. Then she said, im- 
 pulsively — 
 
 *' I know that was mean. I apologize. I told you 
 I did not like to apologize, so you may know how 
 sorry I am. And, now that I have begun, I also 
 apologize for all the Hippant things I have said 
 during the voyage, and for my frightful mendacity 
 to poor Mr. Hodden, who sits there so patiently and 
 picturesquely waiting for the terrible reporters. 
 Won't you forgive me ? " 
 
 Buel was not a ready man, and he hesitated just 
 the smallest fraction of a second too long. 
 
 "I won't ask you twice, j^ou know," said Miss 
 Jessop, drawing herself up with dignity. 
 
 "Don't — don't go!" cried the young man, with 
 sudden energy, catching her hand. " I'm an un- 
 mannerly boor. But I'll risk everything and tell you 
 
n till lie 
 il be on 
 
 'i\[ know 
 
 ng I ask 
 
 LC. Will 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 271 
 
 gloomily 
 3 of the 
 )row was 
 ment out 
 uiid, im- 
 
 told you 
 now how 
 1, I also 
 ave saitl 
 endacity 
 ntly and 
 eporters. 
 
 ited just 
 
 Lid Miss 
 
 an, 
 
 with 
 
 an un- 
 tell you 
 
 the trouble. I don't care a — I don't care whether 
 
 you are rich or poor. I " 
 
 Miss Jessop drew away her hand. 
 " Oh, there's the boat, Mr. Buel, and there's my 
 papa on the upper deck." 
 
 She waved her handkerchief in the air in answer 
 to one that was fluttering on the little steamer, 
 liuel saw the boat cutting a rapid semicircle in the 
 bay as she rounded to, leaving in her wake a long, 
 curving track of foam. She looked ridiculously small 
 compared with the great ship she was ai)proaching, 
 and her deck seemed crowded. 
 
 ** And there are the reporters ! " she cried ; ''ever 
 so many of them. I guess Mr. Hodden will be sorry 
 he did not accept m3' offer of protection. I know 
 that young man who is waving his hand. He was 
 on the Herald when I left ; but no one can say what 
 paper he's writing for now." 
 
 As the boat came nearer a voice shouted — 
 '' All well, Carrie ? " 
 
 The girl nodded. Her eyes and her heart were too 
 full for speech. Buel frowned at the approaching 
 boat, and cursed its inopportune arrival. He was 
 astonished to hear some one shout from her deck — 
 *' Hello, Buel ! " 
 
 " Why, there's some one who knows you ! " said 
 the girl, looking at him. 
 
 Buel saw si man wave his hand, and automatically 
 he waved in return. After a moment he realized 
 that it was Brant the publisher. The customs 
 officers were first on board, for it is ordained by the 
 law that no foot is to tread the deck before theirs ; 
 but the reporters made a good second. 
 
272 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 I :. I .. 
 
 Miss Jessop ruBbed to the gangway, leaving Buel 
 alone. 
 
 ** Hello, Cap ! " cried one of the young men of the 
 Press, with that lack of respect for the dignitaries of 
 this earth which is characteristic of them. ** Had 
 a good voyage ?" 
 
 ** Splendid," answered the captain, with a smile. 
 
 ** Where's your celebrity ? Trot him out." 
 
 ** I believe Mr. Hodden is aft somewhere." 
 
 " Oh, Hodden ! " cried the young man, pro- 
 fanely ; " he's a chestnut. Where's Kenan Buel ? " 
 
 The reporter did not wait for a reply, for he saw 
 by the crowd around a very flushed young man that 
 the victim had been found and cornered. 
 
 'Tteally, gentlemen," said the embarrassed Eng- 
 lishman, " you have made a mistake. It is Mr. 
 Hodden you want to see. I will take you to him." 
 
 "Hodden's played," said one of the young men in 
 an explanatory w^ay, although Buel did not under- 
 stand the meaning of the phrase. " He's petered 
 out ; " which addition did not make it any plainer. 
 " You're the man for our money every time." 
 
 ** Break away there, break away ! " cried the 
 belated Brant, forcing his way through them and 
 taking Buel by the hand. " There's no rush, you 
 know, boys. Just let me have a minute's talk with 
 Mr. Buel. It will be all right. I have just set up 
 the champagne down in the saloon. It's my treat, 
 you know. There's tables down there, and we can 
 do things comfortably. I'll guarantee to produce 
 Buel inside of five minutes." 
 
 Brant linked arms with the young man, and they 
 walked together down the deck. 
 
THK f/ERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 273 
 
 ing Buel 
 
 m of the 
 itarics of 
 . ** Had 
 
 I smile. 
 
 »» 
 
 nan, pi'o- 
 Buel ? " 
 )r be saw 
 man that 
 
 ssed Eng- 
 It is Mr. 
 ;o him." 
 3g men in 
 lot under - 
 's petered 
 y plainer. 
 
 cried the 
 ;hem and 
 rush, you 
 
 talk with 
 ust set up 
 
 my treat, 
 id we can 
 ,0 produce 
 
 , and they 
 
 ** Do you know what this means, Buel '? " he said, 
 waving his hand towards the retreating newspaper 
 men. 
 
 "I suppose it means that you have got them to 
 interview me for l)usinoss purposes. I can think of 
 no other reason." 
 
 " I've had nothing to do with it. That shows just 
 how little you know about the American Press. Why, 
 all the money I've got wouldn't In-ing those men out 
 here to interview anybody who wasn't worth inter- 
 viewing. It means fame; it means wealth; it means 
 that you have turned the corner ; it means you have 
 the world before you ; it means everything. Those 
 young men are not reporters to you ; they are the 
 heralds of fame, my boy. A few^ of them may get 
 there themselves some day, but it means that you 
 have got there uow. Do you realize that ? " 
 
 "Hardly. I suppose, then, the book has been a 
 success?" 
 
 '* A success ? It's been a cyclone. I've been 
 fighting pirates ever since it came out. You see, I 
 took the precaution to write some things in the book 
 myself." 
 
 Buel looked alarmed. 
 
 ''And then I copyrighted the whole thing, and 
 they can't tell which is mine and which is yours 
 until they get a hold of the English edition. That's 
 why I did not wait for your corrections." 
 
 " We are collaborators, then ? " 
 
 *'You bet. I suppose some of the English copies 
 are on this steamer ? I'm going to try to have them 
 seized by the customs if I can. I think I'll make 
 a charge of indecency against the book." 
 
 T 
 
 I 
 

 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 ^r 
 
 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 11.25 
 
 lUlU 12.5 
 
 Ui lU 1 2.2 
 
 I!? 144 ■" 
 
 S ■:£ 112,0 
 
 14 IIIIII.6 
 
 v] 
 
 <^ 
 
 /a 
 
 v: 
 
 V 
 
 y 
 
 >(^ 
 
iV 
 
m 
 If: 
 
 it''' 
 
 b 
 
 274 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 I'! 
 
 1 i 
 
 . I 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Buel, aghast. " There 
 is nothing of that in it." 
 
 " I am afraid not," said Brant, regretfully. " But 
 it will give us a week more at least before it is 
 decided. Anyhow, I'm ready for the pirates, even 
 if they do come out. I've printed a cheap paper 
 edition, 100,000 copies, and they are now in the 
 hands of all the news companies — sealed up, of 
 course — from New York to San Francisco. The 
 moment a pirate shows his head, I'll telegraph the 
 word * rip ' all over the United States, and they will 
 rip open the packages and flood the market with 
 authorized cheap editions before the pirates leave 
 New York. Oh, L. F. Brant was not l)orn the day 
 beforo yesterday." 
 
 '* I see he wasn't," said Buel, smiling. 
 
 *' Now you come down and be introduced to the 
 newspaper boys. You'll find them jolly nice fellows." 
 
 "In a moment. You go down and open the 
 champagne. I'll follow you. I — T want to say a 
 few words to a friend on board." 
 
 '* No tricks now, Buel. You're not going to try 
 to dodge them?" 
 
 " I'm a man of my word, Mr. Brant. Don't be 
 afraid." 
 
 " And now," said the other, putting his hands on 
 the young man's shoulders, ** you'll be kind to them. 
 Don't put on too much side, you know. You'll for- 
 give me for mentioning this, but sometimes your 
 countrymen do the high and mighty act a little too 
 much. It doesn't pay." 
 
 ** I'll do my best. But I haven't the slightest idea 
 what to say. In fact, I've nothing to say." 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 275 
 
 m 
 
 'here 
 
 'But 
 
 it is 
 
 even 
 
 paper 
 
 1 the 
 
 p, of 
 
 The 
 
 h the 
 
 sy will 
 
 t with 
 
 leave 
 
 le clay 
 
 to the 
 
 Hows." 
 
 n the 
 
 say a 
 
 to try 
 
 )n't be 
 
 nds on 
 ) them. 
 '11 for- 
 s your 
 tie too 
 
 ;st idea 
 
 *'0h, that's all right. Don't you worry. Just 
 have a talk with them, that's all they want. You'll 
 be paralyzed when the interviews come out to-morrow ; 
 but you'll get over that." 
 
 "You're sure the book is a success on its own 
 merits, and not through any newspaper puffing or 
 that sort of thing, you know? " 
 
 "Why, certainly. Of course our firm pushed it. 
 We're not the people to go to sleep over a thing. It 
 might not have done quite so well with any other 
 house ; but I told you in London I thought it was 
 bound to go. The pushing was quite legitimate." 
 
 " In that case I shall be down to see the reporters 
 in a very few minutes." 
 
 Although Buel kept up his end of the conversation 
 with Brant, his mind was not on it. Miss Jessop 
 and her father were walking near them ; snatches of 
 their talk came to him, and his attention wandered 
 in spite of himself. The Wall Street man seemed 
 to be trying to reassure his daughter, and impart 
 to her some of the enthusiasm he himself felt. He 
 patted her affectionately on the shoulder now and 
 then, and she walked with springy step very close to 
 his side. 
 
 "It's all right, Carrie," he said, "and as safe as 
 the bank." 
 
 " Which bank, papa ? " 
 
 Mr. Jessop laughed. 
 
 " The Chemical Bank, if you like ; or, as yuu are 
 just over from the other side, perhaps I should say 
 the Bank of England." 
 
 " And did you take out every cent ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and I wished there was double the amount 
 
276 
 
 THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 ! '■) I 
 
 r 
 
 if 
 
 1; } 
 
 ■' ;i 
 
 to take. It's a sure tliiug. There's no speculation 
 about it. There isn't a bushel of wheat in the country 
 that isn't in the combination. It would have been 
 sinful not to have put every cent I could scrape 
 together into it. Why, Carrie, I'll give you a quarter 
 of a million when the deal comes off." 
 
 Carrie shook her head. 
 
 ** I've been afraid of wheat corners," she said, 
 ** ever since I was a baby. Still, I've no right to 
 say anything. It's all your money, anyway; and 
 I've just been playing that it was mine. But I do 
 wish you had left a hundred dollars for a type- 
 writer." • . 
 
 Mr. Jessop laughed again in a very hearty and 
 confident way. 
 
 " Don't you fret about that, Carrie. I've got four 
 type machines down at the office. I'll let you ha . >. 
 your choice before the crash comes. Now I'll go 
 down and see those customs men. There won't be 
 any trouble. I know them." 
 
 It was when Mr. Jessop departed that Buel sud- 
 denly became anxious to get rid of Brant. When he 
 had succeeded, he walked over to w^here the girl 
 leaned on the bulwark. 
 
 " Well ? " he said, taking his place beside her. 
 
 " Well ! " she answered, without looking up at him. 
 
 *' Which is it ? Rich or poor ? " 
 
 "Bich, I should say, by the way the reporters 
 flocked about you. That means, I suppose, that your 
 book has been a great success, and that you are 
 going to make your fortune out of it. Let me con- 
 gratulate you, Mr. Buel." 
 
 ** Wait a minute. I don't know yet whether I am 
 
THE HERALDS OF FAME. 
 
 277 
 
 ition 
 mtry 
 been 
 jrape 
 arter 
 
 said, 
 ht to 
 ; and 
 I do 
 type- 
 
 jr and 
 
 t four 
 ha 
 
 I 
 
 11 go 
 't be 
 
 sud- 
 len he 
 e girl 
 
 to be congratulated or not ; that will depend on you. 
 Of course you know I was not speaking of myself 
 when I asked the (question." 
 
 '* Oh, you meant me, did you ? Well, I can't tell 
 for oome time to come, but I have my fears. I hear 
 the click of the typewriter in the near future." 
 
 " Caroline, I am very serious about this. I don't 
 believe you think, or could think, that I care much 
 about riches. I have been on too intimate terms 
 with poverty to be afraid of it. Of course my present 
 apparent success has given me courage, and I intend 
 to use that courage while it lasts. I have been 
 rather afraid of your ridicule, but I think, whether 
 you were rich or poor, or whether my book was a 
 success or a failure, I would have risked it, and told 
 you I loved you." 
 
 The girl did not look up at him, and did not answer 
 for a moment. Then she said, in a voice that he 
 had to bend very close to hear — 
 
 " I — I would have been sorry all my life if you 
 hadn't — risked it." 
 
 11 
 
 f 
 
 ,t him. 
 
 )orters 
 
 ,t your 
 
 |)u are 
 
 e con- 
 
 THE END. 
 
 f 
 
 f! 
 
 ' I am 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. 
 
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 Strange Stories. 
 Beckoning Hand. 
 In all Shades. 
 
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 Phra the PhcDnician. 
 
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 Rod Spider. | Eve. 
 
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 The Seamy Side. 
 Ten Years' Tenant. 
 
 My Little Girl 
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 Golden Butterfly. 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
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 'Twas In Trafalgar's Bay. 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet. 
 
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 All Sorts and Conditions of Men. 
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 All in a Garden Fair 
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 Dorothy Forster. 
 Uncle Jack. 
 Children ofGlbcon. 
 Bell of St. Paul's. 
 To Call Her Mine. 
 
 The Holy Rose. 
 Armorel of Lyon- 
 
 St. Katherine'8 by 
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 The Shadow of the Sword. | Matt. 
 A Child of Nature. I Heir of Linne. 
 of Me 
 
 The Martyrdom 
 God and the Man. 
 Love Me for Ever. 
 Annan Water. 
 
 ladeline. 
 The New Abelard. 
 Foxglove Manor. 
 Master of the Mine. 
 
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 The Shadow of a Crime. 
 
 A Son of Hagar. I The Deemster* 
 
 ITIORT. & FRAIVC'EM C'01.1.1i\l4. 
 
 Transmigration. 
 From Midnight to Midnight. 
 Blacksmith and Scholar. 
 Village Comedy. I You Play Me False. 
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 Armadale. 
 After Dark. 
 No Name. 
 Antonina. I Basil. 
 Hide and Seek. 
 The Dead Secret. 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 My Miscellanies. 
 Woman in White. 
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 Poor Miss Finch. 
 Miss or Mrs? 
 
 The Frozen Deep. 
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 Law and the Lady. 
 Haunted Hotel. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Daughter. 
 The Black Robe. 
 Heart and Science. 
 "I Say No." 
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 The Legacy of Cain 
 A Rogue's Life. 
 Blind Love. 
 
 New Magdalen. 
 
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 Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 
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 Adventures of a Fair Rebel. 
 
 By B. .Tl. C'KOKEB. 
 Diana Barrington. I PrettyMiss Neville. 
 Proper Pride. | A Bird of Passa 'j. 
 
 By WIIifilATl CVl'I.KJi^." 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 By AI.PII0!V»F: DAUDET. 
 The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation. 
 
 Bv EKASVIU.*( UAW.<!iO.-V. 
 The Fountain of Vouth. 
 
 By JA.TIEM OK iTIIIjI^E. 
 A Castle in Spain. 
 
 Br J. I^EITII BERWErVT. 
 Our Lady of Tears. I Circe's Lovers. 
 
 By Ulf;ii. BO.MOVA.V 
 Tracked to Doom. 
 
 By llva. AN.'VIE EDWARDE!9. 
 Archie Lovcll. 
 
 Br u. TiAivviiii^e FEi\:v. 
 
 The New Mistress. 
 By PEBCV FITXOERAliD. 
 
 Fatal Zero. 
 
 By B. E. FRAIVCIL,ro:V. 
 
 8ueen Cophetua. I A Real Queen, 
 ne by One. I King or Knave 
 
 Pr<-f.byMirBARt'L.E FRERE. 
 
 I {\indurang Hari. 
 
T 
 
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 29 
 
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 TiiK Piccadilly ( j/0) Novels— co»/iM«f<<. 
 
 Ilr I<:UWAKD UAUBKTT. 
 Tho Capel Girls. 
 
 Ily C'I1A1CL.T<:H €4IBR0IV. 
 
 Robin Gray. I The Golden Shaft. 
 
 Loving a Urcam. I Of High Degree. 
 The Flower of the Forest. 
 
 Ily !•:. €>;riANVimi:. 
 
 The Lost Heiress. | Tho Fossickor. 
 Ily €ni<:c;iL. «>iRiI<FlTli. 
 
 Corinthia Marazion. 
 
 Uy TilOITlAH IIAKDV. 
 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 
 ily BKirr II ARTE. 
 
 A Waif of the Plains. 
 A Ward of the Golden Gato. 
 A Sappho of Green Springs. 
 Colonel Starbottlo's Client. 
 Busy. I Sally Uows. 
 
 Ily JIJIilAIV llAUTIIOR!VIi:. 
 
 Dust. 
 
 Fortune's Fool. 
 Beatrix Randolph. 
 
 Garth 
 
 Ellice Qucntin. 
 
 Sebastian Strome. 
 
 David Poindexter's Disappearance. 
 
 The Spectre of the Camera. 
 
 Ily Hit' A. IIEI^PM. 
 Ivan de Biron. 
 
 Ky INAA€ IIEIVDCIRHOIV. 
 Agatha Page. 
 
 Ily l^WvH. AliFRIi:» IIUIVT. 
 The Leaden Casket. | Self-Condemned. 
 That other Person. 
 
 Ry R. AMIIE KiniO. 
 A Drawn Game. 
 ♦The Wearing of the Green." 
 
 Ry K. liYNlV lillVTON. 
 
 lone. 
 
 Paston Carew. 
 
 Sowing the Wind. 
 
 Patricia Kemball. 
 
 Under which Lord? 
 
 '•My Lovet" 
 
 Tha Atonement of Learn Dundas. 
 
 The World Well Lost. 
 
 Ry HIFIVRY W. liUC'V. 
 Gideon Fleyce. 
 
 l{yJU!i»TIN McCARTIIV. 
 A Fair Saxon. 
 Linley Rochford. 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
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 Cuaker Cousins. 
 Ky D. CHRISTIE ITIIJRRAV. 
 
 Donna Quixote. 
 Maid of Athens. 
 Camiola. 
 
 Val Strange. 
 
 Hearts. 
 
 A Model Father. 
 
 Life's Atonement. 
 
 Joseph's Coat. 
 
 Coals of Fire. 
 
 Old Blazer's Hero. 
 
 By the Gato of the Sea. 
 
 A Bit of Human Nature. 
 
 First Person Singular. I Cynic Fortune. 
 
 The Way of the World. 
 
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 The Bishops' Bible. 
 Paul Jones's Alias. 
 
 ESv IlfJITIE NI!!(RET. 
 "Eail Upl" 
 
 »y CiiEORCiES OIINET. 
 A Weird Gift. 
 
 Ry Mrs. Or.IPllANr. 
 Whiteladles. . 
 
 The Piccadilly (3/6) Novels— co»/i«M*rf. 
 
 Ry €»L'iDA. 
 Held In Bondage, i Two Little Wooden 
 
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 Btrathmore. 
 
 Chando3. 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 
 Idalia. 
 
 CeciiCastlemainc's 
 
 Gage. 
 Trlcotrln. | Puck. 
 Folio Farine. 
 A Dog of Flanders. 
 Pa~carel. I Signa. 
 Pi'incess Maprax- 
 
 ine. 
 
 Ry IflAROARET A. PAlTfi. 
 
 Oantle and Simple. 
 
 By JA.llEi^ PAYIV. 
 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. 
 
 Loss Black than We're Paint. 
 
 A Confidential Agent. 
 
 A Grape from a Thorn. 
 
 In Peril and Privation. 
 
 The Mystery of Hirbridge. 
 
 Tha Canon's Ward. 
 
 Ill a Winter City. 
 
 Ariadne. 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 Moths. I Rufflno. 
 
 Piplstrello. 
 
 A Village Commune 
 
 Bimbi. I Wandn. 
 
 Frescoes.! Othinar. 
 
 In Marp.mma. 
 
 Syrlin.' Guilileroy. 
 
 Santa Barbara. 
 
 Walter's Word. 
 By Proxy. 
 High Spirits. 
 Under One Roof. 
 From Exile. 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
 
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 Valentina. 
 
 Talk of the Town 
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 The Burnt Million. 
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 Will. 
 Sunny Stories. 
 PRK'E. 
 The Foreigners. 
 
 Mr3. Lancaster's Rival. 
 
 Ry Rlt;ilARI> PKVCE. 
 
 Hiss Maxwell's Affections. 
 
 Ry C;iIARI.E«4 READE. 
 
 It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 
 The Double Marriage. 
 
 Love He Little, Love Me Long. 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. 
 
 The Course of True Love. 
 
 The Autobiography of a Thief. 
 
 Put Yourself in his Place. 
 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 
 Singleheart and Doublcface. 
 
 Good Storlesof Men and other Animals. 
 
 Wandering Heir. 
 A Woman-Hater. 
 A Simpleton. 
 Readiana. 
 The Jilt. 
 
 Hard Cash. 
 Peg Wofflngton. 
 Christie Johnstone. 
 Griinth Gaunt. 
 Foul Play. 
 A Perilous Secret. 
 
 Ry illi-s. J. II. RIDDETIi. 
 The Prince of Wales's Garden P&rty, 
 Weird Stories. 
 
 Ry E. \\. RORINSOIV. 
 Women are Strange. 
 The Hands of Justice. 
 
 Ry W. CL.ARK RVSMEfili. 
 An Ocean Tragedy. 
 My Shipmate Louise. 
 Alone on a Wide Wide Soa. 
 
 By JOIIN SAUI^^ERS. 
 Guy Waterman. | Two Dreamers. 
 Bound to the Wheel. 
 The Lion in the Path. 
 Ky KATIIABIIVE SA1JIVBERS. 
 Margaret and Elizabeth. 
 Gideon's Rock. I Heart Salvage, 
 lYit High Mills, I Sebastian, 
 
^■ 
 
 CHATTO & WINDU8, 214, PICCADILLY. 
 
 20 
 
 '!io\ZLS— continued, 
 
 lUA. 
 
 [wo Little Wooden 
 
 Shoes. 
 [II a Winter City. 
 Irladne. 
 PrlendBhlp. 
 Moths. I Rufflno. 
 Piplstrello. 
 AYlllageCommune 
 
 Blmbi. 1 Wandn. 
 Frescoes. 1 Othmar. 
 In Mareinma. 
 Syrlln. OulUleroy. 
 Santa Barbara. 
 ET A. PAl'Ii. 
 
 :» PAViv. 
 
 rd. 
 
 e're Paint- - 
 
 (it. 
 
 lOrn. ,. 
 
 tion. 
 
 •bridge. 
 
 Talk of the Town 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 The Burnt Million. 
 The Word and the 
 
 Win. 
 
 Sunny Stories. 
 
 . PBIi'i:. 
 
 1 The Foreigners. 
 
 [tlval. 
 KU PUVCK. 
 
 Sections. 
 
 .K« KIM OK. 
 
 xte to Hond. 
 age. 
 
 >ve Me Long, 
 ihe Hearth. 
 le Love, 
 ly of a Thief, 
 s Place, 
 ktlon. 
 oubleface. 
 and other Animals. 
 I Wandering Heir. 
 1 A Woman-Hater. 
 I A Simpleton. 
 
 Readlana. 
 I The Jilt. 
 
 i|. RIDDKri'. 
 les's Garden Pa.rty. 
 
 lOBIN^ON. 
 Itlce. .„.- 
 
 iise. 
 
 Iwide 8«»a. „„ 
 
 Two Dreamers, 
 lei. 
 
 Ye SAUNDERS. 
 
 labeth. 
 
 1 1 Heart Salvage, 
 I Sebastian, 
 
 The Piccadilly (3/6) Novfi.s- fo;i<i/iM*<i. 
 
 nr i.UKK siiAiti*. 
 
 In a Steamer Chair. 
 
 Ilr IIA^VLKV SiVIART. 
 
 Without Love or Licence. 
 
 Ilr R. A. STIi:R.M>AL.E. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 ny ri:rtii,% tiioiias. 
 
 Proud Malslo. | The- Ylolln-playcr. 
 
 R> iic%^€'i:h o:. TisoL.riOi*E. 
 
 tike Ships upon the Sea. 
 
 Anne Furness. | Habere Progress. 
 
 Eti iv.tiv tc'r<>;k:viefi«\ Ac. 
 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 
 The PiccAnii.Lv ( v6) Novki.s— fo>i/i»i(/r(/„ 
 Bjr AIVTIIONV TKOIiliOI*l{. 
 
 Frau Frohmann. I Kept In the Daxk. 
 
 Marion Fay. | Land-Leaguer^. 
 
 The Way We Live Now. 
 
 Mr. Scarborough's Family. 
 Ilr C. V. FRASER-TYTI.EK. 
 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 Ilr NARAII TVTIil<:il. 
 
 The Bride's Pass. | Lady Bell. 
 
 Burled Diamonds. 
 
 The Blackball Ghosts. 
 
 By ITIAIIK TlVAirV. 
 
 The American Claimant. 
 
 By J. H. Wl.XTEK. 
 
 A Soldier's Children. 
 
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 Oarr of Carrlyon. | Confidences. 
 Br MARY ALBERT. 
 Brooke Flnchley'i Daughter. 
 
 Br Mrs. ALKYAINBER. 
 Maid,Wlfe,orWldow? I Valerie' Fate. 
 
 Br ORANT ai.i.e:v. 
 
 The Devil's Die. 
 This Mortal Coll. 
 In all Shades. 
 
 Strange Stories. 
 
 Phillstla. 
 
 Babylon. 
 
 The Beckoning Hand. 
 
 For Malrale's Sake. | Tents of Shorn. 
 
 Great Taboo, j Duraaresq's Daughter. 
 
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 Phra the Phoenician. 
 
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 A Fellow of Trinity. | The Junior Dean. 
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 Red Solder. I Eve. 
 
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 Fettered for Life. 
 Between Life and Death. 
 The Sin of Olga Zassoullch. 
 Folly Morrison, j Honest Davie. 
 Lieut. Barnabas. A Prodigal's Progress. 
 Found Guilty. I A Recoiling Vengeance. 
 For Love and Honour. 
 John Ford ; and His Helpmate. 
 Little Lady Linton. 
 Br W. BESANT A J. RICE. 
 
 By Celia's Arbour. 
 Monks of Thelema. 
 The Seamy Side. 
 Ten Years' Tenant. 
 
 This Son of Vulcan. 
 My Little Girl. 
 Case of Hr.Lucraft. 
 Golden Butterfly. 
 Ready-Money Mortlboy. 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 'Twas In Trafalgar's Bay. 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet.' 
 Br811EE.SL.Eir BEAUCIIAJTIP 
 Grantley Grange. _^ _, 
 
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 In the Midst of Life. 
 
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 Camp Notes. I Savage Life. 
 
 CUroRlclcs of HQ-nian's Land, 
 
 boards, Sa. each. 
 
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 Dorothy Forster. I Uncle Jack. 
 
 Children of Glbeon. I Hcrr Paulus. 
 
 All Sorts and Conditions of Men. 
 
 The Captains' Room. 
 
 All In a Garden Fair. 
 
 The World Went Very V/ell Then. 
 
 For Faith and Freedom. 
 
 To Call Her Mine. 
 
 The Bell of St. Paul's. | The Holy Rose. 
 
 Armorel of Lyonesso. 
 
 St. Katharine's by the Tower. 
 
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 Californlan Stories. | Gabriel Conroy. 
 An Heiress of Red Dog. I Flip. 
 
 The Luck of Roaring Camp. | Maruja. 
 A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 Br HAROLD BRVDOES. 
 
 Uncle Sam at Home. 
 
 Uy ROBIi:RT BCCIIAIVAIV. 
 
 The Martyrdom of 
 
 Madeline. 
 Annan Water. 
 The New Abelard. 
 Matt. 
 The Heir of Llnne. 
 
 The Shadow of the 
 
 Sword. 
 A Child of Nature. 
 God and the Man. 
 Love Me for Ever. 
 Foxglove Manor. 
 The Master of the Mine. 
 
 By HALL. CAINE. 
 The Shadow of a Crime. 
 A Son of Hagar. | The Deemster. 
 
 Uy Coiiniinnilfr CAlfllORO.y. 
 The Cruise of the "Black Prince." 
 By itlrs. LOVKTT CA.?II^RO.\. 
 Decaivers Ever. { Juliet's Guardian. 
 
 By ACSTIIV CLARE. 
 For the Love of a Lass. 
 
 ilSy irirs. ARCHER CLIVE. 
 Paul Ferroll. 
 
 Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife. 
 By MACLAREN COBBAN. 
 The Cure of Souls. 
 
 By C. ALLSTON COLLINS. 
 The Bar Sinister. 
 
 nORT. & FRANCES COLLIIVS. 
 Sweet Anne Page. I Transmigration. 
 From Midnight to Midnight. 
 Fight with Fortune. | Village Comedy. 
 Sweet and Twenty. | You Play me False, 
 Blacksmith tvn4 Scholar. { Frances* 
 
30 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
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 Two-SiiiLMNii tiit\i.L'j—iontii:uC(t. 
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 Wo 
 
 Mlacollanics. 
 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 Tho Fallon Leaves. 
 Jezobora Daughter 
 The Mlack Robe. 
 Hettrt and Science. 
 "I Say No." 
 The Evil Genius. 
 Little Novels. 
 Legacy of Cain. 
 Blind Love. 
 
 Armadale. 
 After Dark. 
 No Name. 
 Antonlna. | Basil. 
 Hide and Seek. 
 Tho Dead Secret. 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 Miss or Mrs? 
 New Magdalen. 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 Law and the Lady. 
 Tho Two Destinies. 
 Haunted Hotel. 
 A Rogue's Life. 
 
 fly ITI. .D. €'OI.4lUIIOUnr. 
 Every Inch a Soldier. 
 
 fly DLTTOIV <'0«»K. 
 Loo. I Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 
 I«r C. KOniCKT «'K/%l»l>0< li. 
 Prophet of tho Great Smoky Mountains. 
 
 My i»IAT'r C^rtliU. 
 Adventures of a Fair Rebel. 
 
 Ily K. .Tl. C;K0KKBC. 
 Irfitty M'ss Neville. I Bird of Passage. 
 Diana Bariington. | Proper Pride. 
 Ky MllililAIfl WVIjMH, 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 iSv Alil*IIOIVMIf: DAIJDF/r. 
 The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation. 
 Ily lCUA!<ii7ll>l l>AW!liON. 
 The Fountain of Youth. 
 
 Ily ja:tii<:m dk aiiE^ijis. 
 
 A Castle In Spain. 
 
 Ily .1. liKITII ORRWKIVT. 
 
 Our Lady of Tears. I Circe's Lovers. 
 Kv 4 llAlllilCM UICKKIIVM. 
 
 Sketches by Boz. I Oliver Twist. 
 Pickwick Papers. | Nicholas Nickleby. 
 
 Ily l»i€K »4»IVOVAI%. 
 The Man-Hunter. | Caught at LastI 
 Tracked and Taken. | Wanted ! 
 Who Poisoned Hetty Duncan? 
 The Man from Manchester. 
 A Detective's Triumphs. 
 In the Grip of the Law. 
 From Information Received. 
 Tracked to Doom. 
 
 Ily ItliH. ANIVIE EDWAICnES. 
 A Point of Honour. | Archie Lovell. 
 
 Ily ITI. ItUTIIAlTI-KOWAKOS. 
 Felicia. I Kitty. 
 
 Ily EOIVAUO KGOLXISTOIV. 
 
 ''ily «. MAlWiLiLiE FENIV. 
 The New Mistress. 
 
 Ily P»:U€¥ FlTZOVIii^AL,!). 
 
 Bella Donna. I Polly. 
 
 Never Forgotten. I Fatal Zero. 
 The Second Mrs. Tlllotson. 
 Sevcnty-flve Brooke Street. 
 The Lady of Brantome. 
 By PJBKl^Y FiTXCiERAl.I> 
 nud olhirs. 
 Strange Secrets. 
 
 AI-BANY BE FOIVBI.AWQUE. 
 Filthy Lucre. 
 
 By R. B. FBANCIIil.OIV. 
 
 Olympia. 
 One by One. 
 A Real Queen. 
 
 Queen Cophetua. 
 King or Knave? 
 Romances of Law. 
 
 Tw()Siiii.LiN<'. N'')%vi s ■ ccilixui !. 
 By HA KOI. B FKEBlClllt II. 
 Seth's Brother's Wife. 
 The Lawton Girl. 
 
 Prrl. by Mir BAitTL,I<: FREKE. 
 Pandurang Harl. 
 
 Ily IIAIN FRIMWEI.Ii. 
 One of Two. 
 
 By EBWARB CiARKETT. 
 The Capel Girls. 
 
 Ily 4'IIABIiEM CilBIIOIV. 
 Robin Gray. In Honour Bound. 
 
 Fancy Free. Flower of Forest. 
 
 For Lack of Gold. Braes of Yarrow. 
 What will the The Golden Shaft. 
 
 Of High Degree. 
 Mead and Stream. 
 Loving a Dream. 
 A Hard Knot. 
 Heart's Delight. 
 Blood Money. 
 
 World Say? | 
 In Love and War. 
 For the King. I 
 
 In Pastures Green. 
 
 Xi'<;Qn of Meadow. 
 Heart's Problem. 
 The Dead Heart. 
 
 By %%II.I.IA.1I €;;i I.BERT. 
 Dr. Austin's Guests. I James Duke. 
 The Wizard of the Mountain. 
 
 Ily I<:RIVEMT t-il.A.WIIil.E. 
 The Lost Heiress. | The Fo8<iicker. 
 By IlEIVRV liiREVII.IiE. 
 A Noble Woman. | Nikanor. 
 
 Ily JBII!V lIABBERTOiV. 
 Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck. 
 
 By A:VBRE%V llAIil.lB^V. 
 Every-Day Papers. 
 
 Ily I.ndy BUFFIJ(9 IIABBV. 
 Paul Wyntor's Sacrifice. 
 
 By TilOlVIAM HARDY. 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 By jr. BERWICK. IIARWOOD. 
 The Tenth Carl. 
 
 JIX.1AIV nAIVTIIOBIM:. 
 Sebastian Strome. 
 
 By 
 
 Garth. 
 
 Ellice Quentln. 
 Fortune's Fool. 
 Miss Cadogna. 
 
 Dust. 
 
 Beatrix Randolph. 
 
 Love— or a Name. 
 
 David Polndexter's Disappearance. 
 The Spectre of the Camera. 
 
 Ily Hir ARTHUR HEEPiii. 
 Ivan de Biron. 
 
 My UEIXRV HEISiTIAIV. 
 A Leading Lady. 
 
 By Mrs. C'ANHEE HOEV. 
 The Lover's Creed. 
 
 By ITIi-M. CiEOROE HOOPER. 
 The House of Raby. 
 
 By TIGHE HOPKINS. 
 'Twixt Love and Duty. 
 
 Bv ITIrs. HUi'¥«>iERFORD. 
 A Maiden all Forlorn. 
 In Durance Vile. I A Mental Struggle. 
 Marvel. I A Modern Circe. 
 
 By Mrs. AEFREB lirivr. 
 Thornicroft's Model. I Self Condemned, 
 That Other Person. I Leaden Casket. 
 
 By .lEAIV INOEEOW. 
 Fated to be Free. 
 
 By HABRIETT JAV 
 The Dark Colleen. 
 The Queen of Connaught. 
 
 By ITIARK KERSHAW. 
 Colonial Facts and Fictlona. 
 
 -Trrr=?=3safeS!= 
 
s - cfi'iM'iiwf'. 
 
 re. 
 
 ITI^E FRERE. 
 RIM\VI<:i<li. 
 » VARUGTT. 
 
 :!4 <;iii»4>:v. 
 
 In Honour Bound. 
 
 Flower of Forest. 
 
 Braes of Yarrow. 
 
 The Golden Shaft. 
 
 Of High Degree. 
 
 Mead and Stream. 
 
 Loving a Dream. 
 1 A Hard Knot. 
 I Heart's Delight. 
 
 Blood Money. 
 
 n ciii'RERT. 
 
 ). I James Duke. 
 Mountain. 
 t-I.Ai^VSIil.K. 
 I The Fos«?icker. 
 tiSKKVIIil'E. 
 
 I Nikanor. 
 [ABBKRTOIV. 
 I Country Luck. 
 IT UAlil^lU^V. 
 
 I^'ptlf^ IIARDV. 
 
 crlflce. 
 
 AH HARDY. 
 
 rood Tree. 
 
 lu. ii ab wood, 
 hawthokim'. 
 
 Sebastian Stroma. 
 Dust. 
 
 Beatrix Randolph. 
 Love— or a Name. 
 Disappearance. 
 Camera. 
 11 UR llEI^Pi^. 
 
 IV IlEKillAIV. 
 
 lllEIj IIOEV. 
 
 lOE IIOOPKR. 
 
 "^'nOPKIIVJ^. 
 
 >uty. 
 liiERFORD. 
 
 lorn. 
 
 A Mental Struggle. 
 A Modern Circe. 
 fRED IirNT. 
 
 I Self-Condemned. 
 „. I Leaden Casket. 
 flNGEL-OW. 
 
 llETT JAY 
 
 naught. 
 fuERSUAW. 
 
 FiCtiODB* 
 
 CHAttO &c WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 
 
 3» 
 
 TwO-SHII.t.lf»0 NOVKLS— fO»l/lMM^(/. 
 
 ftj R. AMIIE lilI\<J. 
 
 k Drawn Game. I Passion's Slave. 
 '*The Wearing of the Green." 
 Bell Barry. 
 
 Br JOHN I.EVM. 
 The Lindsays. 
 
 Bv E. I.VIVIV l.irVTOiV. 
 
 Paston Carew. 
 "My Love!" 
 lone. 
 
 Patricia Kemball. 
 
 World Well Lost. 
 
 Underwhich Lord? 
 
 The Atonement of Learn Dundas. 
 
 With a Silken Thread. 
 
 The Rebel of the Family. 
 
 Sowing the Wind. 
 
 Br IIENBY W. I.L'< V. 
 Gideon Flevce. 
 
 Br JIMTIIV ITIcf%%RTIIV. 
 A Fair Saxon. I Donna Quixote. 
 Linley Rochford. Maid or Athens. 
 Miss Misanthrope. | Camiola. 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 The Waterdale Nci<<hboura. 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 B> HI <<III VIA^TOIifi. 
 Mr. Strnn^'er's Scaled Packet. 
 
 Br A«;!VEM .TIAC'DOi\El.li. 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 KATHABINE (Sl. IVIAC^QUOID. 
 The Evil Eye. I Lost Rose. 
 
 Br W' H. iiiAiiiiOru. 
 
 The New Republic. 
 Br I'liOBENC'E IVIARRIAT. 
 
 Open! Sesame! | Fighting the Air. 
 A Harvest of Wild Oats. 
 Written in Fire. 
 
 Br J. tlASTERlTIAIV. 
 
 Half-adozen Daughters. 
 
 Br bra:vi>eb iyiattiie\v.«i. 
 
 A Secret of the Sea. 
 
 Bv l.blONAUD IVIEKKIC'K. 
 The Man who was Good. 
 
 Br JEAN IVIID»I.ETIAN|i<. 
 
 Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion. 
 
 Br VIrv. iTIOIiE!>IU'OBTH. 
 Hathercourt Rectory. 
 
 Br •■. E. illI'DDOC'K. 
 Stories Weird and Wonderful. 
 The Dead Man's Secret. 
 From the Bosom of the Deep. 
 Bv D. f'HRI^I^TIE I^IIJRRAY. 
 
 Old Blazer's Hero. 
 
 Hearts. 
 
 Way of the World. 
 
 Cynic Fortune. 
 
 A Model Father. 
 Joseph's Coat. 
 Coals of Fire. 
 Val Strange. 
 A Life's Atonement. 
 By the Gate of tha Sea. 
 A Bit of Human Nature. 
 First Person Singular. 
 
 Kr ill URIC A % nnd UER.TIAiV. 
 One Traveller Returns. 
 Paul Jones's Alias. 
 The Bishops' Bible. 
 
 Br HENRY ilirRRAV. 
 A Game of Bluff. 
 
 Ry HUITIE Nli^BET. 
 "Ball Up!" 
 Dr. Bernard St. Vincent. 
 
 Br AE.IC'E O IIANI.ON. 
 The Unforeseen. | Chance 7 or Fate? 
 
 Two-Shili.ing tiovKL»—-contiiiufd. 
 
 Br <»EOIC(;E!i( OIINET. 
 Doctor Rameau. I A Last Love. 
 A Weird Gift. I 
 
 Br Tiri*. <»I.II*IIANT. 
 Whlteladies. | The Primrose Path. 
 
 The Greatest Heiress In England. 
 B> Tli-M. leOKERT Oif|<:il.|.V. 
 Phoobo'a Fortunes. 
 Br oi 
 Held in Bondage. 
 
 Strathmore. 
 
 Chandos. 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 
 Id a) la. 
 
 CecilCastlemaine's 
 
 Gage. 
 Trlcotrln. 
 Puck. 
 
 Folle Farine. 
 A Dog of Flanders. 
 Pascarel. 
 Signa. 
 Princess Naprax- 
 
 ine. 
 In a Winter City. 
 Ariadne. 
 
 ;TIAb<jari<:t 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Two Littq Wooden 
 Shoos. 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 Moths. 
 
 PIpistrello. 
 
 A Village Cora, 
 mune. 
 
 Blmbi. 
 
 Wanda. 
 
 Frescoes. 
 
 In Maremma. 
 I Othmar. 
 I Guilderoy. 
 
 Rumno. 
 : Syrlin. 
 
 ' Ouida's Wisdom, 
 Wit, and Pathos. 
 AI-JNEW l>AII.. 
 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 Br JATIEN I'AVN. 
 
 £200 Reward. 
 Marine Residence. 
 Mirk Abbey. 
 By Proxy. 
 Under One Roof. 
 High Spirits. 
 Garlyon's Year. 
 From Exile. 
 For Cash Only. 
 Kit. 
 
 The Canon's V/ard 
 Talk of the Town. 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 
 Bentinck's Tutor. ' 
 
 Murphy's Master. | 
 
 A County Family. I 
 
 At Her Mercy. I 
 
 Cecil's Tryst. 
 
 ClyffardsofClyfre. ! 
 
 Foster Brothers. 
 
 Found Dead. 
 
 Best of Husbands. 
 
 Walter's Word. 
 
 Halves. 
 
 Fallen Fortunes. 
 
 Humorous Stories. 
 
 Lost Cir Masoingbcrd. 
 
 A Perfect Treasure. 
 
 A Woman's Vengeance. 
 
 The Family Scapegrace. 
 
 What He Cost Her. 
 
 Gwendoline's Harvest. 
 
 Like Father, Like Son. 
 
 Married Beneath Him. 
 
 Not Wooed, but Won. 
 
 Less Black than We're Painted. 
 
 A Confidentiai Agent. 
 
 Some Private Views. 
 
 A Grape from a Thorn. 
 
 Glow-worm Tales. ■■>> 
 
 The Mystery of Mirbrldga. 
 
 The Burnt Million. 
 
 The Word and the Will. • • 
 
 A Prince of the Blood. ' ' • \ 
 
 Sunny Stories. \ 
 
 Br ^'' L.. PIRKI!«. 
 Lady Lovelace. 
 
 Br EDGAR A. DOE. 
 The Mystery of Marie Roget. 
 
 Br IVIvM. «;.«lTII>BEIili PR A ED. 
 The Romance of a Station. 
 The Soul of Countess Adrian. 
 Br E. V. PBI« E. 
 Valentina. I The ForelgnerSt 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. I Gerald* 
 
- V ' 
 
 34 
 
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 It Is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 
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 The Course of True Love. 
 
 Autobiography of a Thief. 
 
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 Guy Waterman. | Two P- earners. 
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 A Hatch In the Dark. 
 
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 Without Love or Licence. 
 
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 The Hysterles of Heron Dyke. 
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 Hoodwinked, &c | Back to Life. 
 
 Tw(;-SHiM.iNrt Hovr.t.'i—conliiun.t. 
 
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 The Afghan Knlfo. 
 
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 New Arabian Nights. { Prlnco Olio. 
 B%' Ri:RTIi% TIIOTI%M. 
 Cressida. | Proud Malsie. 
 
 The Violin player. 
 
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 Tales for the Marines. 
 Old Stories Retold. 
 
 T. AROI. 1*111 !4 TROi.IiOPE. 
 
 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 
 By F. KTICAIVOR TROI.I<OPE. 
 
 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
 Anne Furness. | Mabel's Progress. 
 By ANTHONV TROIiliOPK. 
 
 Frau Frohmann. I Kept In the Dark. 
 
 Marion Fay. | John Caldlgate. 
 
 The Way We Live Now. 
 
 The American Senator. 
 
 Mr. Scarborough's Family. 
 
 The Land-Leaguers. 
 
 The Golden Lion of Oranpore. 
 
 By J. T. TROWBUIU«Ji:. 
 
 Farnell's Folly. 
 By IVAIV TURCSFIVIFFP, Arc. 
 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
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 A Pleasure Trip on the Continent. 
 The Gilded Age. 
 Mark Twain's Sketches. 
 Tom Sawyer. | A Tramp Abroad. 
 
 The Stolen White Elephant. 
 Huckleberry Finn. 
 Life on the Mississippi. 
 The Prince and the Pauper. 
 A Yankee at the Court of King Arthur. 
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 Mistress Judith. 
 
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 Noblesse Oblige. 
 Disappeared. 
 Huguenot Family. 
 Blackball Ghosts. 
 
 The Bride's Pass. 
 
 Buried Diamonds. 
 
 Saint Mungo'sCity. 
 
 Lady Bell. 
 
 What She Came Through. 
 
 Beauty and the Beast. 
 
 Cltoyenne Jaquellne. 
 
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 A Child Widow. 
 
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 Cavalry Life. | Regimental Legends. 
 
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 The Passenger from Scotland Yard. 
 The Englishman of the Rue Cain. 
 
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 Sablna. 
 
 CFL.IA PARKER TTOOI^I^EY^. 
 
 Rachel Armstrong; or, Love & Theology. 
 
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 The Forlorn Hope. | Land at Last* 
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