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nidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas:
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THE

GEKIUKD STREET MYSTEM

AND OTHER

^WKIRD TAl^ES.

JOIIJN CilAliLE8 DENT.

^3^-J^^oi'

TORONTO:
ROSE PUBLISHING COMPANY

18«8.

■i'

rrrf ^f'ff, i-^F'"«. /^ T} "r;w'i,iy'Vf^ww»";wi-

Entered according to the Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand eight hiindred and eighty-eight, by Hunteh, Rose & Co., at
the Department of Agricnlture.

'^t^cSii'

PREFATORY SKETCIH.

:^^?'OHN CHARLES DENT, the author of tho
following reniarkahlo stoiics, was born in
Kendal, Westmoreland, England, in 1841.
His parents emigrated to Canada shortly
after that event, bringing with them, of
course, the youth who was afterwards to
become the Canadian author and historian.
Mr. Dent received his primary education
in Canadian schools, and afterwards stud-
ied law, becoming in due course a member of the Upper
Canada Bar. He only practised for a few years. He
found the profession ])rofitable enough but uncongenial
— as it could not Avell help being in an obscure Canad-
ian village, twenty years ago — and very probably he was
already cherishing ambitious dreams cf literary labors,
which he was eager to begin in the world's literarv cen-
tre, London. He accordingly relinipiished his practice
as soon as he felt himself in a position to do so, and went

Prefatory SkctcJi.

to Englaiid. lie li.id not miscalculated his i)owers, as too
many do under like circiiiiist;inces. He soon found remu-
nciative lifeiaiT work, ;iiid as lie became better known,
was engaged to wi'ite for S(,'Veral high-class periodicals,
notably, Once a Weal', for which lie contributed a series
of aiticles on interesting topics. But in England Mr.
Dent produced no very long (jr ?iinbitious work. Perhaps
he found that the requisite time for such an undertaking
could not be spared. At this jieriod he had a wife and
family depending on him for support, and it speaks well
for his abilities, that he was able to amply provide for
them out of the profits solely derived from his literary
labours. But of course to do this he had to devote him-
self to work that could be thrown off readily, and which
could be as readily sold.

After rejiiainiuor in England for several vears, Mr. Dent
and his family returned to Amei-ica. He obtained a po-
sition in Boston, which he held for about two years. But
he finally relinquished it and came to Toionto, having
accepted a position on the editorial staflf of the Telegram,
which was then just starting. For several years Mr.
Dent devoted himself to journalistic lal)Ours on various
newspapers, but principally the Toronto Weekly Globe.
To that journal he contributed a very notable series
of biographical sketches on " Eminent Canadians."
Shortly after the death of the lion. George Brown, Mr.
Dent se\eredhis connection with the Globe, and imuie-
diateb thereafter commenced his first ambitious under-
taking, The Canadian Portrait Gallery, which ran to

Prefatory Skefc/i.

} and

well

le for

scries
»

four large volumes. It proved to be a most creditable
and successful achievement Of course in a brief sketch
no detailed criticism of either this or the succeeding
woi'ks can be attempted. SulHce it to say that the bio-
graphies of Canadian public men, living and dead, were
carefully prepared, and written from an un-partisan stand-
point. In this book there was no padding; every indi-
vidual admitted had achieved somethins: of national
value, and the biographies are, therefore, of importance to
the student of Canadian history. This book deserved
and attained a considerable circulation, and brought to
its author a comparatively large sum of money.

Mr. Dent's second book was " The Last Forty Years :
Canada since the Union of 1841." This work has been
highly praised in all quarters, and is in every way a credit
to its author's really brilliant powers as a literary artist.

The third work was a " History of the Rebellion in
Upper Canada," Although written in his best manner,
with the greatest possible care, from authentic sources of
information not hitherto accessible, this work has had tiie
misfortune to meet with undeservedly severe criticism.
When Mr. Dent began his studies for the book he held Wil-
liam Lyon Mackenzie in high esteem, but he found it
necessary afterwards to change his opinion. He was able
to throw a flood of new liuht on the characters of the
men who took part in the struggle, and if the facts tended
to darken the fair fame of some of them, the historian
certainly ought not to be censured for it. The tendency
of the book was decidedly in opposition to the ideas en-

Prefatory Sketch.

tertainod to this dav 1>v tlie i^artizans of the "Old Fain-
il}'- Compact" on tlie one side, an<l also to the friends
iuif] admirers oi William Lyon Mackenzie on the other.
But the severe eritici>-m the work sustained, has left it
stronger than before, and it will stand undoubtedly as by-
far the best history of the " Rebellion" that has appeared.

In addition to these important works on Avhich his
reputation as a writer will rest, Mr. Dent has written
from time to time a great many sketches, essays and
stories, some of which are exceedino'lv intcrestinof and
wortliy of being preserved. All of Mr. Dent's work con-
tains a charm of its own. In writing historv, he was in
accord with Macaulay. He always believed that a true
story should be told as agreeably as a fictitious one ; " that
the incidents of real life, whether ].olitical or domestic,
admit of beini,^ so arrani,^ed as, without detriment to ac-
curacy, to counnand all the interest of an artificial series
of facts ; that the chain of circumstances which constitute
history may be as finely and gracefully woven as any tale of
fancy." Acting upon this theory, he has made Canadian
history very interesting reading. He is to my mind the
only historian, beside Mr. Park man, who has been able
to make Canadian events so dry in detail, fascinating
throughout.

In private life, Mr. Dent was a most estimable man.
He possessed (pialities of mind and lioait, having their
visible outcome in a courteous, genial manner that en-
deared him very closely to his friends. With all his wealth
of learning, which was very great, he was light-hearted,

Prefatory Sketch.

VI]

)l(l Fam-
i friends
10 other.
s left it
lly as by
ppeared.
Iiich his
written
ays and
ting and
ork con-
3 was in
it a true
3; "that
omestic,
it to ac-
d series
nstituto
y tale of
anadian
lind the
en able
nnatino;

)le man.
ig their
;hat en-
; wealth
1 carted,

wilt}' and companionable, and his early death leaves a gai)
not very easily closed.

The four stories composing the present volume were
contj-ibutcd Ijy their author at considerable intervals to
different periodicals. Some time prior to his death he
contemplated publishing them in book form, and actually
selected and carefully revised them with that ])urpose in
view. He thought they were worthy of being rescued
from obscurity, and if we com[)are them with much of a
similar class of work constantly issuing from the press,
we cannot think that his judgment erred. They are
now published in accordance with his wish, to take their
chances in the great world of literature.

Ft. W. 1).

ToiiuNTo, Oct. 25th, 1888.

r*
1^

wiJLxzz,^s^^L:: .

'■f'^'I'T ■^^T-T'^r"

CONTENTS.

,p PAGE

liiE Geukakd Stiieet Mystery jy

Gagtooth's Image ^3

The Haunted House on Duchess Street 81

SaVAREEN's DiS.VPrEARANCE II3 |

'■^S:&-\Lkk

\]*<r%

THE

GHRRARD STREET MYSTERY

name is William Francis Furloncr.
My occupation is that of a commission
merchant, and my place of business is
on St. Paul Street, in the City ot
Montreal. I have resided in Montreal
ever since shortly after my marriage,
in 18G2, to my cousin, Alice Playter,
of Toronto. My name may not be
familiar to the present generation
of Torontonians, though I was born in Toronto, and
passed the early years of my life there. Since the
days of my youth my visits to the Upper Province
have been few, and — with one exception — very brief;
so that I have doubtless passed out of the remem-
brance of many persons with whom I was once on

mmiHMI-LHH

Mi.9*Jto|iJ#JWW

"'^

TJic Gcrrard Street Mystery.

terms of intimacy. Still, tlierc are several residents ot'
Toronto whom I am happy to number among my warm-
est personal friends at the present day. There are also
a good many persons of middle age, not in Toronto onl}-,
but scattered here and there throughout various parts of
Ontario, who will have no difficulty in recalling my name
as that of one of their fellow-students at Upper Canada
College. The name of my late uncle, Richard Yarding-
ton, is of course well known to all old residents of
Toronto, where he spent the last thirty-two years of his
life. He settled there in the year 1829, when the place
was still known as Little York. He opened a small store
on Yonge Street, and his commercial career was a reason-
ably prosperous one. By steady degrees the small store
developed into what, in those times, was regarded as a
considerable establishment. In the course of years the
owner acquired a competency, and in 1854; retired from
business altogether. From that time up to the day of
his death he lived in his own house on Gerrard Street.

After mature deliberation, I have resolved to give to
the Canadian public an account of some rather singular
circumstances connected with my residence in Toronto.
Though repeatedly urged to do so, I have hitherto re-
frained from giving any extended publicity to those
circumstances, in consequence of my inability to see any
good to be served thereby. The only person, however,
whose reputation can be injuriously aftected by the
details has been dead for some years. He has left behind
him no one whose feelings can be shocked by the dis-
closure, and the story is in itself sufficiently remarkable
to be worth the telling. Told, accordingly, it shall be ;

\ \

TJie Gerrard Street Mystery.

Jilts of
vvariu-
L-e also
3 only,
arts of
' name
Canada
ircling-
;uts of
5 of his
e place
,11 store
reason-
11 store
id as a
ars the
;d from
day of
treet.
2jive to
iriiTular
oronto.
erto re-
those
see any
ovvever,
by the
behind
:he dis-
arkable
lall be;

and the only fictitious eleinent introduced into the
narrative shall be the name of one of the persons most
immediately concerned in it.

At the time of taking up his abode in Toronto — or
rather in Little York — my uncle Richard was a widower,
and childless ; his wife having died several months
previously. His only relatives on this side of the Atlan-
tic were two maiden sisters, a few years younger tlian
himself. He never contracted a second matrimonial
alliance, and for some time after his arrival here his
sisters lived in his house, and were dependent upon
him for supjiort. After the lapse of a few years
both of them married and settled down in homes
of their own. The elder of them subsequently became
my mother. She was left a widow when I was a mere
boy, and survived my father only a few months. I was
an only child, and as my parents had been in humble
circumstances, the charge of my maintenance devolved
upon my uncle, to whose kindness I am indebted for such
educational training as I have received. After sending
me to school and college for several years, he took me
into his store, and gave me my first insight into com-
mercial life. I lived with him, and both then and always
received at his hands the kindness of a father, in which
light I eventually almost came to regard him. His
younger sister, who was married to a watchmaker called
Elias Playter, lived at Quebec from the time of her mar-
riage until her death, which took place in 1846. Her
husband had been unsuccessful in business, and was
moreover of dissipated habits. He was left with one
child — a daughter — on his hands ; and as my uncle was

EES5

"S" If .«li^«

"i^wr^iwir

T'/f^ Gerrard Street Mystery,

averse to tlie idea of liis sister's child remaining under
the control of one so unfit to provide for her welfare, he
proposed to adopt the little girl as his own. To this
proposition Mr. Elias Playter readily assented, and little
Alice was soon domiciled with her uncle and myself in
Toronto.

Brought up, as we were, under the same roof, and see-
ing each other every day of our lives, a childish attach-
ment sprang up between my cousin Alice and myself.
As the years rolled by, this attachment ripened into a
tender affection, which eventually resulted in an engage-
ment between us. Our enojatxement was made with the
full and cordial approval of my uncle, who did not share
the prejudice entertained by many persons against mar-
riages between cousins. He stipulated, however, that our
marriaofe should be deferred until I had seen somewhat
more of the world, and until we had both reached an asfe
when we might reasonably be presumed to know our own
minds. He was also, not unnaturally, desirous that be-
fore taking u;>on myself the responsibility of marriage I
should give some evidence of my ability to provide for
a wife, and for other contingencies usually consequent
upon matrimony. He made no secret of his intention to
divide his property between Alice and myself at his death ;
and the fact that no actual division would be necessary
in the event of our marriage with each other was doubt-
less one reason for his ready acquiescence in our engage-
ment. He was, however, of a vigorous constitution, strictly
regular and methodical in all his habits, and likely to live
to an advanced age. He could hardly be called parsi-
monious, but, like most men who have successfully fought

TJic Gcrrard Street Mystery,

; under
fare, he
To this
d little
yself in

md see-

attach-

myself.

into a

engage-

rith the

3t share

Lst mar-

:,hat our

newhat

I an age

Dur own

hat be-

rriage I

ide for

sequent

ition to

death ;

cessary

doubt-

enn^age-

strictly

to live

1 parsi-

fought

their own wav throufjh life, he was rather fond of author-
ity, and little disposed to divest himself of his wealth
until he should have no further occasion for it. He ex-
pressed his willingness to establish me in business, either
in Toronto or elsewhere, and to give me the benefit of his
experience in all mercantile transactions.

When matters had reached this pass I had just com-
pleted my twent\'-first year, my cousin being thi'ee years
younger. Since my uncle's retii'ement I had engaged in
one or two little speculations on my own account, which
had turned out fairly successful, but I had not devoted
myself to any regular or fixed pursuit. Before any defi-
nite arran<:rements had been concluded as to the course of
my future life, a circumstance occurred which seemed to
open a way for me to turn to good account such mercan-
tile talent as I possessed. An old friend of my uncle's
opportunely arrived in Toronto from jVIelbourne, Austi-alia,
where, in the course of a few years, he had risen from the
position of a junior clerk to that of senior partner in a
prominent commercial house. He painted the land of his
adoption in glowing colours, and assured my uncle and
myself that it presented an inviting field for a young man
of energy and business capacity, more especially if he
had a small capital at his command. The matter was
carefully debated in our domestic circle. I was naturally
averse to a separation from Alice, but my imagination
took fire at Mr. Redpath's glowing account of his own
splendid success. I pictured myself returning to Canada
after an absence of four or five years with a mountain of
gold at my command, as the result of my own energy
aiid acuteness. In imagination, T saw myself settled down

(.mn

.VumS u:

T/ie Gcrrard Street Hfystery.

with Alice in a palatial mansion on Jarvis Street, and
living in affluence all the rest of my clays. Mj- uncle bade
me consult my own judgment in the matter, but rnther
encouraofed the idea than otherwise. Ho offered to ad-
vance me €500, and I had about half that sum as the re-
sult of my own speculations. Mr. Redpath, who was just
about returning to Melbourne, promised to aid me to the ex-
tent of his power with his local knowledge and advice.
In less than a fortnight from that time he and I were on
our way to the other side of the globe.

We reached our destination early in the month of Sep-
tember, 1857. My life in Australia has no direct bear-
ing upon the course of events to be related, and may be
passed over in a very few words. I engaged in various
enterprises, and achieved a certain measure of success.
If none of my ventures proved eminently prosperous, I at
least met with no serious disasters. At the end of four
years — that is to say, in September, 18G1 — I made up
my account with tbe world, and found I was worth ten
thousand dollars. I had, however, become terribly home-
sick, and longed for the termination of my volunta' y ex-
ile. I had, of course, kept up a regular correspondence
with Alice and Uncle Richard, and of late they had l^oth
pressed me to return home. " You have enough," wrote
my uncle, " to give you a start in Toronto, and I see no
reason why Alice and you should keep apart any longer.
You will have no housekeeping expenses, for I intend
you to live with me. I am getting old, and shall be glad
of your companionship in my declining years. You will
have a comfortable homo while I live, and when T die
you will get all I have between you. Write as soon as

TJic Gcrrard Street Mystery,

et, and
sle bade
t rotlier
I to ad-
the re-
vas just
I the ex-
advice,
vere on

of Sep-
3t bear-
may be
various
success,
us, I at
of four
lade up
rth ten
■ home-
a'y ex-
ndence
id V)oth
wrote
see no
longer,
intend
be glad
ou will
n T die
soon as

you receive this, and let us know how soon you can be
here, — the sooner the better."

The letter containing this pressing invitation found me
in a mood very much disposed to accept it. The only en-
terprise I had on hand which would be likely to delay me
was a transaction in wool, which, as I believed, would be
closed by the end of January or the beginning of Febru-
ary. By the first of March I should certainly be in a
condition to start on my homeward voyage, and I deter-
mined that my departure should take place about that
time, I wrote both to Alice and my uncle, apprising
them of my intention, and announcing my expectation to
reach Toronto not later than the middle of May.

The letters so written were posted on the lOtli of Sep-
tember, in time for the mail which left on the following
day. On the 27th, to my huge surprise and gratification,
the wool transaction referred to was unexpectedly con-
cluded, and I was at liberty, if so disposed, to start for
home by the next fast mail steamer, the Southern Cross,
leaving Melbourne on the 11th of Octol)er. I was so dis-
posed, and made my preparations accordingly. It was
useless, I reflected, to write to my uncle or to Alice, ac-
quainting them with the change in my plans, for I should
take the shortest route home, and should probably be in
Toronto as soon as a letter could get there. I resolved
to telegraph from New York, upon my arrival there, so
as not to take them altogether by surprise.

The morninn; of the 11th of October found me on board
the Southern Cross, where I shook hands with Mr. Red-
path and several other friends who accompanied me on
board for a last farewell. The particulars of the voyage

<?■

li!

!•!

The Gcrrard Street Mystery.

to England are not pertinent to the story, and may be
given very briefly. I took tlie Red Sea route, and ar-
rived at Marseilles about two o'clock in the afternoon of
the 20th of November. From Marseilles I travelled by
rail to Calais, and so impatient was I to reach my jour-
ney's end without loss of time, that I did not even stay
over to behold the glories of Paris, I had a commission
to execute in London, vvhich, however, delaj^ed me there
only a few hours, and I hurried down to Liverpool, in the
hope of catching the Canard Steamer for New York. I
missed it by about two hours, but the Fcr.^i<r was de-
tailed to start on a special trip to Boston on the foUow-
inof dav. I secured a berth, and at eiiiht o'clock the next
morning steamed out of the Mersey on my way home-
ward.

The voyage from Liverpool to Boston consumed four-
teen days. All I need say about it is, that before arriv-
ing at the latter port I formed an intimate ac(|uaintan.ce
with one of the passengers — Mr. Junius H. Grid ley, a
Boston merchant, who was returning from n hurried busi-
ness trip to Europe. He was — and is — a most agreeable
com}>anion. We were thrown together a good deal dur-
ing the voyage, and we then laid the foundation of a
friendship which has ever since subsisted between us.
Before the dome of the State House loomed in sia'ht he
had extracted a promise from me to spend a night with
him before pursuing my journey. We landed at the
wharf in East Boston on the evening of the 17th of De-
cember, and I accompanied him to his house on West
Newton Street, where I remained until the following
morning. Upon consulting the time-table, we found that

The Gcrrard Street Mystery. 25

the Albany express would leave at 11.30 a.m. This left
several hours at my disposal, and we sallied forth im-
mediately after breakfast to visit some of the lions of the
American Athens.

In the course of our peregrinations through the streets,
we dropped into the post otlice, which had recently been
established in the Merchants' Exchange l^uilding, on
State Street. Seeing the countless piles of mail -matter,
I jestingly remarked to my friend that there seemed to be
letters enough there to go around the whole liuman family.
He replied in the same mood, whereupon I banteringly
suggested the probability that among so many letters,
surely there ought to be one for me.

" Nothing more reasonable," he replied. " We Bos-
tonians are always bountiful to strangers. Here is the
General Delivery, and liere is the department where
letters addressed to the Furlong family are kept in stock.
Pray inquire for yourself."

The joke I confess was not a very brilliant one ; but
with a grave countenance I stepped up to the wicket and
asked the young lady in attendance :

" Anvthing for W. F. Furlong ? "

She took from a pigeon-hole a handful of correspond-
ence, and proceeded to run her eye over the addresses.
When about half the pile had been exhausted she sto])-
ped, and pro})ounded the usual inquiry in the case of
strangers :

" Where do you expect letters from ? "

" From Toronto," I replied.

To my no small astonishment she imniediately lianded
nie a letter, bcai-ing the Toronto post-mark. The address

The Gcrrard Street ^Tystcry.

ihi

was in the peculiar and well-known handwriting,' of my
inicle Rich aid.

Scarcely crediting the evidence of m}- senses I tore
open the enveloj^e, and read as follows : —

"Toronto, 9th December, 18G1.

" My Dear William — I am so glad to know that yoii are cominj?
home so nmch sooner than you expected when you wrote last, and
that you will eat your Christmas dinner with us. For reasons
which you will learn when you arrive, it will not be a very merry
Christmas at our house, but your presence will make it much more
bearable than it would be without you. I have not told Alice that
you are coming. Let it be a joyful surprise for her, as some com-
pensaticm for the sorrows she has had to endure lately. You
needn't telegraph. I will meet you at the G. W. R. station.

" Your affectionate uncle,

" Richard Yardixgton."

" Why, what's the matter ? " asked my friend, seeing
the blank look of surprise on my face. " Of course the
letter is not for you ; why on earth did you open it ? "

" It h for me," I answered. " See here, Gridley, old
man ; have you been playing me a trick ? If you have'nt,
this is the strangest thing I ever knew in my life."

Of course he hadn't been playing me a trick. A mo-
ment's reflection showed me that such a thing was im-
possible. Here was the envelope, with the Toronto post-
mark of the 9th of December, at which time he had been
with me on board the Persia, on the Banks of New-
foundland. Besides, he was a gentleman, and would not
have played so poor and stupid a joke upon a guest. And,
to put the matter beyond all possibility of doubt, I re-
meml)eretl that I had never mentioned my cousin's name
in his hearinfj.

tw;

exj

tur

]

aw£

pat]

mar

case

not

her.

nie,

and

that

need

grap

j and
I ho h(
4 thini
inqui
sfati<
% reac
jthat
W.
[taine
accon
when
of th(
the V
|T sta;

'lliil

The Gcrrard Street Mystery.

^r of niy
s I tore %

18G1.

ro comin,q;
I last, and
yc reasons
ery merry
iu(;h more
Alice that
some com-
ely. You I
tion.

NGTON."

1, seeing |
t)urse the
1 it ? "
lley, old I
have'nt,
:e.

A mo-
was im-
»nto post-
had been
of New-
vould not
est. And,
abt, I Te-
n's name

I handed him the letter. He read it carefully through
twice over, and was as much mystified at its contents as
myself ; for during our passage across the Atlantic I had
explained to him the circumstance under which I was re-
turning home.

By what conceivable means had my uncle been made
aware of my departure from Melbourne ? Had j\[r. Red-
path written to him, as soon as I acquainted that gentle-
man with my intentions ? But even if such were the
case, the letter could not have left before I did, and could
not possibly have reached Toronto by the 9th of Decem-
ber. Had 1 been seen in England by some one who knew
nie, and had not one written from there ? Most unlikely ;
and even if such a thing had happened, it was impossible
that the letter could have reached Toronto by the f)th. I
need hardly inform the reader that there w^as no tele-
graphic communication at that time. And how could my
uncle know that I would take the Boston route ? And if
he Imd known, how could he foresee that I would do any-
I thing so absurd as to call at the Boston post oflftce and
inquire for letters? "/ imll meet you at the G. W. 11.
{station." How was he to know by what train I would
reach Toronto, unless I notified him by telegraph ? And
[that he expressly stated to be unnecessary.

We did no more sight-seeing, I obeyed the hint con-
Itained in the letter, and sent no telegram. My friend
jaccompanied me down to the Boston and Albany station,
jwhere I waited in feverish impatience for the departure
jof the train. We talked over the matter until 11.30, in
jthe vain hope of finding some clue to the mystery. Then
started on my journey. Mr. Gridley's curiosity was

The Gcrrard Street Hfystcry.

i:ll

aroused, and 1 promised to send liim an explanation im-
mediately upon my arrival at home.

No sooner had the train glided out of the station than
I settled myself in my seat, drew the tantalizing letter
from my pocket, and proceeded to read and re-read it
again and again. A very few perusals sufficed to fix its
contents in my memory, so that I could repeat every
word with my eyes shut. Still I continued to scrutinize
the paper, the penmanship, and even the tint of the ink.
For what purpose, do you ask ? For no purpose, except
that I hoped, in some mysterious manner, to obtain more
light on the subject. No light came, however. The more
I scrutinized and pondered, the greater was my mystifi-
cation. The paper was a simple sheet of white letter-
paper, of the kind ordinarily used by my uncle in his cor-
respondence. So far as I could see, there was nothing
peculiar about the ink. Anyone familiar with my uncle's
writing could have sworn that no hand but his had
penned the lines. His well-known signature, a master-
piece of involved hieroglyphics, was there in all its indis-
tinctness, written as no one but himself could ever have
written it. And yet, for some unaccountable reason, I
was half disposed to suspect forgery. Forgery ! What
nonsense. Anyone clever enough to imitate Richard
Yardington's handwriting would have employed his tal-
ents more profitably than indulging in a mischievous and
purposeless jest. Not a bank in Toronto but would have
discounted a note with that signature aftixed to it.

Desisting from all attempts to solve these problems, I
then tried to fathom the meaning of other points in the
letter. What misfortune ha<] liappened to mar the Christ-

nii

-- r....«w-Jr!!i»»V!ll«ii«>*n.

The Gcrrayd Street Mystery,

.tion im-

ion than
n<,^ letter
i-read it
to fix its
at every
crutinize
the ink.
c, except
ain more
Hie more
mystifi-
ie letter-
1 his cor-
I nothing
ly uncle's
lis had
master-
its indis-
er have
eason, I
What
Richard
his tal-
jo\w> and
lid have
t.

jlems, I
ts in the
i Christ-

mas festivities at my uncle's house { And what cuuld the
reference to my cousin Alice's sorrows mean ? She was
not ill. That^ I thought, might be taken for granted.
My uncle would hardly have referred to her illness as
" one of the sorrows she had to endure lately." Certainly,
illness may l)e regarded in the light of a sorrow ; but
"^sorrow " was not precisely the word which a straight-
forward man like Uncle Richard would have applied to
it. I could conceive of no other cause of aftiiction in her
case. My uncle was well, as was evinced by his having
written the letter, and by his avowed intention to meet
me at the station. Her father had died long before I
started for Australia. She had no other near relation
except myself, and she had no cause for anxiety, much
less for " sorrow," on my account. I thought it singular,
too, that my uncle, having in some sti'ange manner be-
come acquainted with my movements, had withheld the
knowledge from Alice. It did not square with my pre-
conceived ideas of him that he would derive any satis-
faction from taking his niece by surprise.

All was a muddle together, and as my temples throb-
bed with the intensity of m}' thoughts, I was half dis-
posed to believe myself in a troubled dream from which
I should presently awake. Meanwhile, on glided the
train.

A heavy snow-storm delayed us for several hours, and
we reached Hamilton too late for the mid-day express for
Toronto. We got there, however, in time for the accom-
modation leaving at 3.15 p.m., and we would reach To-
ronto at 5.05. I walked from one end of the train to the
other in hopes of finding some one I knew, from whom I

i'"""ii»i)«H

*«<«** WMWr^l

The Gcrrard Street Mystery,

)

could iiiuke uiKjuirit's about lioiiiu. Not a .soul, 1 saw
several persons whom 1 knew to be residents of Toronto,
but none with whom I had ever been personally ac-
quainted, and none of them would be likely to know
anythin<j: about my uncle's domestic arrangements. All
that remained to he done under these circumstances was
to restrain my curiosity as well as I could until reachin<]f
Toionto. J>y the by, would my uncle really meet me at
the station, according to his promise ^ Surely not. By
what means could he possibly know that 1 would arrive
by this train { Still, he seemed to have such accurate
information respecting my proceedings that there was no
saying where his knowledge began or ended. I tried not
to think about the matter, but as the train approached
Toronto my impatience became positively feverish in its
intensity. We were not more than three minutes behind
time, as we glided in front of the Union Station, I pass-
ed out on to the platform of the car, and peered intently
through the darkness. Suddenly my heart gave a great
bound. There, sure enough, standing in front of the door
of the waiting-room, was my uncle, plainly discernible
by the fitful glare of the overhanging lamps. Before the
train came to a stand-still, I sprang from the car and ad-
vanced towards him. He was looking out for me, but
his eyes not being as young as mine, he did not recognize
me until I grasped him by the hand. He greeted me
warmly, seizing me by the waist, and almost raising me
from the ground. I at once noticed several changes in
his appearance; changes for which I was wholly unpre-
pared. He had aged very much since I had last seen
him, and the lines about his mouth had deepened con-

■V -,»•-- '■'^♦**».*^i*:<'9t'^M»lpnM--!

The (n'rrani Strt'ct Mystoy. ,^i

sideniltly. The iruii-!L;rey hair whicli I leiiiembeiLMl sk
well liad (li.sa[)i>eaiLMl ; its plate heiiii,^ sujiplied with a
new and ratlier dandilied-lookin*' wii;. Tlie oldfasliioned
i,neat-C()at which he liad worn ever since I could reiueni-
bcr, had been su|)i)hinted by a niodeni frock of spruce cut,
witli seal-skin collar and culls. All this I noticed in the
lust hurried i,Meetini,'s that passed between us.

"Never mind your lugi^Mge, my l)oy," he reniai'ked.
"Leave it till to-morrow, when we will send down for it.
If vou are not tired we'll walk home instead of taking- a
cab. I have a good ileal to say to you before we get
there."

I had not .sle})t since leaving Boston, but was too muoli
excited to be conscious of fatigue, and as will readily be
believed, I was anxious enou<di to hear what he had to
say. We passed from the station, and proceeded up
York Street, arm in aim.

" And now. Uncle Richard," I said, as soon as we wei'o
well clear of the crowd, — " keep me no longer in suspense.
First and foremost, is Alice well ? "

" Quite well, but for reasons you will soon understand,
she is in deep grief. You nmst know that "

" But, 1 interrupted, " tell me, in the name of all that's
wonderful, how you knew I was coming by this train ;
and how did you come to write to me at Boston T

Just then we came to the corner of Front Street, where
was a lamp-post. As we reached the spot where the
light of the lamp was most brilliant, he turned half round,
looked me full in the face, and smiled a sort of wintry
smile. The expression of his countenance was almost
ghastly.

TJie Ccrrard Street Mystery

"Uncle/' 1 quickly .said, "What's the matter? Are
vou not well ? "

ft/

" I am not as strong as I used to be, and I have had a
good deal to try me of late. Have patience and I will
tell you all. Let us walk more slowly, or I shall not
finish before we get home. In order that you may clear-
ly understand how matters are, 1 had better begin at the
beginning, and I hope you will not interrui)t me with
any questions till I have done. How I knew you would
call at the Boston post-ol+ico, and that you would arrive
in Toronto by this train, will come last in order. By the
by, have you my letter with you ? "

" The one you wrote to me at Boston ? Yes, here it is,"
I replied, taking it from my pocket-book.

" Let me have it."

I handed it to him, and he put it into the breast pock-
et of his inside coat. I wondered at this proceeding on
his part, but made no remark upon it.

We moderated our pace, and he began his narration.
Of course I don't pretend to remember his exact words,
but they were to this effect. During the winter follow-
ing my departure to Melbourne, he had formed the ac-
quaintance of a gentleman who had then recently settled
in Toronto. The name of this o-entleinan was Marcus
Weatherley, who had commenced business as a wholesale
provision merchant immediately upon his arrival, and had
been engaged in it ever since. For more than three years
the acquaintance between him and my uncle had been
very, slight, but during the last summer they had had
some real estate transactions together, and had become
intimate. Weatherley, who was comparatively a young

The Gerrard Street Mystery.

man and unmarried, had been invited to the house on
Gerrard Street, where he had more recently become a
pretty frequent visitor. More recently still, his visits
had become so frequent that my uncle suspected him of a
desire to be attentive to my cousin, and had thouglit pro-
per to enlighten him as to her engagement with me.
From that day his visits had been voluntarily discon-
tinued. My uncle had not given much consideration to
the subject until a fortnight aftei'wards, vhen he had ac-
cidently become aware of the fact that Weatherly was in
embarrassed circumst nces.

Here my uncle paused in his narrative to take breath.
He then added, in a low tone, ami putting his mouth al-
most close to my ear :

" And, Willie, my boy, I have at last found out some-
thing else. He has forty-two thousand dollars falling
due here and in Montreal within the next ten days, and
he has forged my signature to acceptances for thirty-nine
thousand seven hundred and sixteen dollars and twenty-
four cents."

Those to the best of my belief, were his exact words.
We had walked up York Street to Queen, and then had
gone down Queen to Yonge, when we turned up the east
side on our way homeward. At the moment when the
last words were uttered we had got a few yards north of
Crookshank Street, immediately in front of a chemist's
shop which was, I think, the third house from the corner.
The window of this shop was well lighted, and its bright-
ness was reflected on the sidewalk in front. Just then,
two gentlemen walking rapidly in the opposite direction
to that we were taking brushed by us j but I was too

■ •kMMW » '.: im-mit*-***- ■

T//C Germrd Street Mystery.

deeply absorbed in my uncle's communication to pay
much attention to passers-by. Scarcely had they passed,
however, ere one of tlicm stopped and exclaimed :

" Surely that is Willie Furlong ! "

I turned, and recognised Johnny Gre}', one of my old-
est friends. I relinquished my uncle's arm for a moment,
and shook hands with Grey, who said :

" I am surprised to see you. I heard only a few days
ago, that you were not to be here till next spring."

" I am here," I remarked, " somewhat in advance of
my own expectations." I then hurriedly" enquired after
several of our common friends, to which enquiries he
brief!}'' replied.

"All well," he said ; " but you are in a hurry, and so
ami. Don't let me detain you. Be sure and look in on
rae to-morrow. You will find me at the old place, in the
Romain Buildings."

We again shook hands, and he passed on down the
street with the gentleman who accompanied him. I then
turned to re-possess myself of my uncle's arm. The old
gentleman had (evidently walked on, for he was not in
sijxht. I hurried along, making sure of overtakinir him
before reaching Gould Street, for my interview with Gray
had occupied barely a minute. In another minute I was
at the corner of Gould vStreet. >Jo signs of Uncle Rich-
ard. I quickened my pace to a run, which soon brought
me to Gerrard Street. Still no signs of my uncle. I had
certainly not passed him on my way, and he could not
have got farther on his homeward route than here. Ho
must have called in at one of the stores ; a stranire thinir
for him to do under the circumstances. I retraced my

The Gcrrard Street Mystery.

steps all the way to the front of the cheiuist'.s shop, peer-
ing into every window and doorway as I passed along.
No one in the least resembling him was to be seen.

I stood still for a moment, and reflected. Even if he
had run at full speed — a thing most unseemly for him
to do — he could not have reached the corner of Gerrard
Street before I had done so. And what should he run
for ? He certainly did not wish to avoid me, for he had
more to tell me before reaching home. Perhaps he had
turned down Gould Street. At any rate, there was no
use waiting for him. I might as well go home at once.
And I did.

Upon reaching the old familiar spot, I opened the gate
passed on up the steps to the front door, and rang the
bell. The door was opened by a domestic who had not
formed part of the establishment in my time, and who
did not know me ; but Alice happened to be passing
through the hall, and heard my voice as I inquired for
Uncle Richard. Another moment and she was in my
arms. With a strange foreboding at my heart I noticed
that she was in deep mourning. We passed into the
dining-room, where the table was laid for dinner.

" Has Uncle Richard come in ? " I asked, as soon as we
were alone. " Why did he run away from me ? "

" Who ?" exclaimed Alice, with a start ; " what do you
mean, Willie ? Is it possiMe you have not heard ? "

" Heard what ? "

" I see you have not heard," she replied. " Sit down
Willie, and prepare yourself for painful news. But first
tell me what you meant by saying what you did just
now, — who was it that ran away from you ? "

The Gcrrard Street Mystery.

li'fe

(.'i

" Well, jjerhaps I should hardly call it running away,
but he certainly disappeared most mysteriously, down
here near the corner of Yon<3^e and Crookshank Streets.

" Of whom are you speakini^ ? "

" Of Uncle Richard, of course."

"Uncle Ivichard 1 The corner of Yonge and Crook-
shank Streets ! When did you see him there ? "

" When ? A quarter of an hour ago. He met me at
the station and we walked up together till I met Johnny
(J ray. I turned to speak to Johnny for a moment,
when "

" Willie, what on earth are you talking about ? You
are labouring under some strange delusion. Uncle Rich-
ard died of apoplexy more than six iveeks ago, and lies
buried in St. James's Cemetery."

I''

11.

^5 DON'T know how long I sat there, trying
to think, with my face buried in my hands.
My mind had been kept on a strain during
the last thirty hours, and the succession of
surprises to which I had been subjected had
temporarily paralyzed my faculties. Foi- a few
moments after Alice's announcement I must have been in
a sort of stupor. My imagination, I remember, ran riot
about everything in general, and nothing in particular.
My cousin's momentary impression was that T had met
with an accident of some kind, which had unhinged my
brain. The first distinct remembrance I have after this

TJic Ccrrard Street Mystery.

"\\

is, that I suddenly awoke fi'om iny stupor lo lin<l Alice
kneeling at my feet, and holding me by the liand. I'lien
my mental powers came back to me, and I recalled all the
incidents of the eveninjx.

" When did uncle's death take place ? " I asked.

" On the 3rd of November, about four o'clock in the
afternoon. It was (piite unexpected, though he had not
enjoyed his usual health for some weeks before, lie fell
down in the hall, just as he was returning from a walk,
and died within two hours. He never spoke or recog-
nised any one after his seizure."

" What has become of his okl overcoat ? " J asked.

" His old overcoat, Willie — what a (question ?" replied
Alice, evidently thinking that I was again drifting back
into insensibility.

" Did he continue to wear it up to the day of his
death ? " I asked.

" No. Cold weather set in very early this last fall, and
he was compelled to don his winter clothing earlier than
usual. He had a new overcoat made within a fortnight
before he died. He had it on at the time of his seizure.
But why do you ask ? "

" Was the new coat cut by a fashionable tailor, and
had it a fur collar and cufts ? "

" It was cut at Stovel's, I think. It had a fur collar
and cuffs."

" When did he be^in to wear a wig ? "

" About the same time that he bcf^an to wear his new
overcoat. I wrote you a letter at the time, making merry
over his youthful appearance and hinting — of course only
in jest — that he was looking out for a young wife. But

^^SSSSSi

iam*i«

T/ie Gerrard Street Mystery.

till:
llilll

you surely did not receive my letter. You must have
been on your way home before it was written."

" I left Melbourne on the 11th of October. The wig,
I suppose, was buried with him ? "

" Yes."

" And where is the overcoat ? "

" In the wardrobe upstairs, in uncle's room."

" Come and show it to me."

I led the way upstairs, my cousin following. In the
hall on the first floor we encountered my old friend Mrs.
Daly, the housekeeper. She threw up her hands in sur-
prise at seeing me. Our greeting was very brief ; I was
too intent on solving the problem which had exercised
my mind ever since receiving the letter at Boston, to pay
much attention to anything else. Two words, however,
explained to her where we were going, and at our request
she accompanied us. We passed into my uncle's room.
My cousin drew the key of the wardrobe from a drawer
where it was kept, and unlocked the door. There hung
the overcoat. A single glance was sufficient. It was the
same.

The dazed sensation in my head began to make itself
felt again. The atmosphere of the room seemed to
oppress me, and closing the door of the wardrobe, I led
the way down stairs again to the dining-room, followed
by my cousin. Mrs. Daly had sense enough to perceive
that we were discussing family matters, and retired to her
own room.

I took my cousin's hand in mine, and asked :

" Will you tell me what you know of Mr. Marcus
Weatherley ? "

mjsfutey

riw (icrrard Street Mystery.

This was evidently jiiiotlier surprise for her. How
could I have heard of Marcus Weatherley ? She an-
swered, however, without hesitation :

" I know very little of him. Uncle Richard and he had
some dealings a few months since, and in that way he
became a visitor here. After a while he beiran to call
pretty often, but his visits suddenly ceased a short time
before uncle's death. T need not affect any reserve with
you. Uncle Richard thought he came after me, and gave
him a hint that you had a prior claim. He never called
afterwards. I am I'ather glad that he didn't, for there is
something about him that I don't (juite like. T am at a
loss to say what the something is ; but his manner always
impressed me with the idea that he was not exactly what
he seemed to be on the surface. Perhaps I misjudged him.
Indeed, T think I must have done so, for he stands well
with everybody, and is highly respected."

I looked at the clock on the mantel piece. It was ten
minutes to seven, I rose from my seat.

" I will ask you to excuse me for an hour or two, Alice.
I must find Johnnie Gray.

" But you will not leave me, Willie, until you have
given me some clue to your unexpected arrival, and to the
strange questions you have been asking ? Dinner is
ready, and can be served at once. Pray don't go out
again till you have dined."

She clung to my arm. It was evident that she con-
sidered me mad, and thought it probable that I might
make away with my\self. This I could not bear. As for
eating any dinner, that was simply impossible in my then
frann^ of mind, although I had not tasted food since leav-

1'-. •m,

iAi

T/ig Gerrard Street Mystery,

\ I

!l ■'

I i

1 111

ing Rochester. 1 resolved to tell her all. 1 resumed my
seat. She placed herself on a stool at my feet, and lis-
tened while I told her all that I have set down as hap-
pening to me subsequently to my last letter to her from
Melbourne.

" And now, Alice, you know why I wish to see Johnny
Gray."

She would have accompanied me, but I thought it better
to prosecute my inquiries alone. I promised to return
sometime during the night, and tell her the result of my
interview with Gray. That gentleman had married and
become a householder on his own account during my
absence in Australia. Alice knew his address, and gave
me the number of his house, which was on Church
Street. A few minutes' rapid walking brought me to his
door. I had no great expectation of finding him at home,
as I deemed it probable he had not returned from wher-
ever he had been going when I met him ; but T should be
able to tind out when he was expected, and would either
wait or go in search of him. Fortune favored me for
once, however ; he had returned more than an hour before.
I was ushered into the drawing-room, where I found him
playing cribbage with his wife.

" Why, Willie," he exclaimed, advancing to welcome me,
" this is kinder than I expected. I hardly looked for you
before to-morrow. All the better; we have just been
speaking of you. Ellen, this is my old friend, Willie
Furlong, the returned convict, whose banishment you
have so often heard me deplore."

After exchanging brief courtesies with Mrs. Gray, I
turned to her husband.

TJie Gcrrard Street Mystery,

" Jolinny, clkl you notico aiiythiTiL;- reiiiiirkaltlu almut
the old <ifentleiuaii who was with me when we met on
Yoiuif]: Street this evenini; ? "

" Old gentleman ! who ? There was no one with you
when I met you."

" Think again, He and I were walking arm in arm,
and you had passed us before you recognized me, and
mentioned my name."

He looked hard in my face for a moment, and then
said i)ositively :

" You are wrong, Willie. You were certainly alone
when we met. You were walking slowly, and I must
have noticed if any one liad been with you."

" It is you who are wrong," I retorted, almost sternly.
" I was accompanied by an elderly gentleman, who wore
a great coat with fur collar and cuffs, and we were con-
versing earnestly together when you passed us."

He hesitated an instant, and seemed to consider, but
there wa^ no shade of doubt on his face.

" Have it your own way, old boy," he said. " All I
can say is, that I saw no one but yourself, and neither
did Charley Leitch, who was with me. After parting
from you we commented upon your evident abstraction,
and the sombre ex})ression of your countenance, which
we attributed to your having only recently heard of the
sudden death of your Uncle Richard. If any old gentle-
man had been with you we could not possibly have failed
to notice him."

Without a single wora by way of explanation or apol-
ogy, I jumped from my seat, passed out into the hall,
seized my hat, and left the house.

«»■?-

<«T"

ill

The Curnu'd Stirct Mystery.

i h

V'^

III.

' ' -^ XJT into the street I rushed like a niaduian,
banging the door after me. I knew tliat
Jolinny would follow me for an explanation,
so I ran like lightning round the next corn-
er, and thence down to Vonge Street. Then
I drop[)ed into a walk, regained my bret'th, and
asked myself what I should do next.

Suddenly I bethought me of Dr. Marsden, an old friend
of my uncle's. 1 hailed a passing cub, and drove to his
house. The doctor was in his consultation-room, and

alone.

Of course he was surprised to see me, and gave expres-
sion to some appropriate words of sympathy at my be-
reavement. " But how is it that I see you so soon ? " he
asked — " I understood that you were not expected for
some months to come."

Then I began my story, which I related with great
circumstantiality of detail, i3ringing it down to the mo-
ment of my arrival at his house. He listened with the
closest attention, never interrupting me by a single ex-
clamation until I had finished. Then he began to ask
questions, some of which I thought strangely irrelevant.

" Have you enjo\'ed your usual good health during
your residence aljroad ? "

" Never better in my life. I have not had a moment's
illness since you last saw^ me."

" And how have you prospered in your business enter-
prises ?

" Reasonably well ; but pray doctor, let us confine our-

The Geryard Street Mystery.

selves to the matter in hand. 1 have come for friendly,
not professional, advice."

" All in good time, my boy," he calmly remarked. This
was tantalizing. My strange narrative did not seem to
have disturbed his serenity in the least degree.

" Did you have a pleasant passage ? " he asked, after a
brief [ luse. " The ocean, I believe, is generally rough at
this time of year."

" I felt a little squeamish for a day or two after leav-
ing Melbourne," I replied, " but I soon got over it, and it
was not very bad even while it lasted. I am a toleraljly
good sailor."

" And you have had no special ground of anxiety of
late ? At least not until you received this wonderful let-
ter" — he added, with a perceptible contraction of his lips,
as though trying to repress a smile.

Then I saw what he was drivinjf at.

" Doctor," I exclaimed, with some exasperation in my
tone — " pray dismiss from your mind the idea that what
I have told you is the result of diseased imagination. I
am as sane as you are. The letter itself atibrds sufficient
evidence that I am not quite such a fool as you take me
for."

" My dear boy, I don't take you for a fool at all,
although you are a little excited just at present. But I
thought you said you returned the letter to — ahem —
your uncle."

For a moment I had forgotten that important fact.
But I was not altogether without evidence that I had not
been the victim of a disordered brain. My friend Gridley
could corroborate the receipt of the letter and its con-

.iJ

WSt-i

» I

T/ic Gcrrard Street Mystery.

tents. My cousin coiilcl bear witness tliiit 1 li;ul displayed
an ac([uaintanee with facts which 1 would not have been
likely to learn from any one but my uncle. I had
referred to his wig and overcoat, and had mentioned to
her the name of Mr. Marcus Weatherley — a name which I
had never heard before in my life. I called Dr. Marsden's
attention to these matters, and asked him to explain them
if he could.

" I admit," said the doctor, " that I don't quite see my
way to a satisfactory explanation just at present. But
let us look the matter squarely in the face. During an
acquaintance of nearly thirty years, I always found your
uncle a truthful man, who was cautious enough to make
no statements about his neifjhbours that he was not able to
prove. Your informant, on the other hand, does not seem
to have confined himself to facts. He made a charge of
forgery against a gentleman whose moral and commercial
integrity are unquestioned l»y all who know him. I know
Marcus VV^eatherley pretty w^ell, and am not disposed to
pronounce him a forger and a scoundrel upon the unsup-
ported evidence of a shadowy old gentleman who appears
and disap[»ears in the most mysterious manner, and who
cannot be laid hold of and held responsible for his slan-
ders in a court of law. And it is not true, as far as T
know and believe, that Marcus Weatherley is embarrassed
in his circumstances. Such confidence have I in his sol-
vency and integrity that I would not be afraid to take up
all his outstanding paper without asking a question. If
you will make inquiry, you will find that my opinion is
shared by all the bankers in the city. And I have no hes-
itation in saying that you will find no acceptances with

The Gcrrard Street Mystery.

your uncle's name to them, either in this market or else-
wliero."

" That I will try to ascertain to-morrow," I replied.
" Meanwhile, Dr. Alarsden, will you oblige your old
friend's nephew by writing to Mr. Junius C»ridIoy, and
asking him to acquaint you with the contents of the letter,
and the circumstances under which I received it?"

" It .seems an absurd thing to do," he said, "l)ut I will
if you like. What shall I say?" and he sat down at his
desk to write the letter.

It was written in less than five minutes. It simply
asked for the desired information, and requested an im-
mediate reply. Below the doctor's signature I added a
short postscript in these words : —

'* My story about the letter and its contents is discredited. Pray
answer fully, and at once. — W. F. F."

At my recjuest the doctor accompanied me to the Post-
office, on Toronto Street, and dropped the letter into the
box with his own hands. I bade him good night, and re-
paired to the Rossin House. I did not feel like encounter-
ing Alice again until I could place myself in a more satis-
factory light before her. I despached a messenger to her
with a short note stating that I had not discovered any-
thing important, and requesting her not to wait up for
me. Then I encjaged a room and went to bed.

But not to sleep. All night long I tossed about from
one side of the bed to the other ; and at daylight, fever-
ish and unrefreshed, I strolled out. I returned in time
for breakfast, but ate little or nothing. I longed for the
arrival of ten o'clock, when the banks would open.

After breakfast I sat down in the reading-room of the

TJic Gcrravd Street Mystery

hotel, and vainly tried to fix my attention upon the local
columns of the morning's paper. I remember reading
over several items time after time, without any compre-
hension of their meauino*. After that I remember — noth-

ing.

Nothing ? AH was blank for more than five weeks.
When consciousness came back to me I found myself in
bed in my own old room, in the house on Gerrard Street,
and Alice and Dr. Marsden were standing by my bed-
side.

No need to tell how my hair had been removed, nor
about the bags of ice that had been applied to my head.
No need to linger over any details of the " pitiless fever
that burned in my brain." No need, either, to linger
over my progress back to convalescence, and thence to
complete recovery. In a week from the time I have
mentioned, I was permitted to sit up in bed, propped up
by a mountain of pillows. My impatience would brook
no further delay, and I was allowed to ask (questions
about what had happened in the interval which had
elapsed since my over wrought nerves gave way under
tlie prolonged strain upon them. First, Junius Gridley's
letter in reply to Dr. Marsden was placed in my hands.
I have it still in my possession, and I transcribe the
following copy from the original now lying before me : —

Boston, Dec. 22nd, 1861.
Dr. Marsden :

" In reply to your letter, which has just been received, I have to
say that Mr. Fur'ui^j and myself became acquainted for the first
time during our recent passage from Liverpool to Boston, in the
Persia, which arrived here Monday last. Mr. Furlong accoai-
panted me home, and remained until Tuesday morning, when I

lettt

The Gcrrard Street Jfrstery

took him to see the Public Library, the State House, the Athe-
na'um, Faneuil Hall, and other points of interest. We casually
dropped into the post-office, and he remarked upon the great num-
ber of letters there. At my instigation — made, of course, in jest
— he applied at the General Delivery for letters for himself. He
received one bearing the Toronto post-mark. He was naturally
very much surprised at receiving it, and was not less so at its con-
tents. After reading it he handed it to me, and I also read it care-
fully. I cannot recollect it word for word, but it professed to
come from ' his affectionate uncle, Richard Yardington. It ex-
pressed pleasure at his coming home sooner than had been antici-
pated, and hinted in rather vague terms at some calamity. He re-
ferred to a lady called Alice, and stated that she had not been
informed of Mr. Furlong's intended arrival. There was something
too, aboiit his presence at home being a recompense to her for re-
cent grief which she had Bustained. It also expressed the writer's
intention to meet his nephew at the Toronto railway station upon
his arrival, and stated that no telegram need be sent. This, as
nearly as I can remember, was about all there was in the letter.
Mr. Furlong professed to recognise the handwriting as his uncle's.
It was a cramped hand, not easy to read, and the signature was so
peculiarly formed that 1 was hardly able to decipher it. The pecu-
liarity consisted of the extreme irregularity in the formation of the
letters, no two of which were of equal size ; and capitals were
interspersed promiscuously, more especially throughout the sur-
name.

"Mr. Furlong was much agitated by the contents of the letter,
and was anxious for the arrival of the time of his departure. He
left by the 13. it A. train at lI.oO. This is really all I know about
the matter, and I have been anxiously expecting to hear from him
ever since he left, I confess that I feel curious, and should be
glad to hear from him — that is, of coiirse, unless something is in-
volved which it wotild be impertinent for a comparative stranger to
pry into. " Yours, &c.,

"Junius H. Guidley."

8o that my friend has coin[)letuIy corroborated my ac-
count, so far as the letter was concerned. My account,

i'iji

J|:

e^mgtmm

T/ic Gerrard Street Mystery.

however, stood in no need of corroboration, as will pre-
sently appear.

When I was stricken down, Alice and Dr. IMarsden
were the onl}' persons to whom 1 had communicated
what my uncle had said to me during our walk from the
station. They both maintained silence in the matter, ex-
cept to each other. Between themselves, in the early
days of my illness, they discussed it with a good deal of
feeling on each side. Alice implicitly believed my story
from first to last. She was wise enou^di to see that I had
been made acquainted with matters that I could not pos-
silil}' have learned through any ordinarj' channels of
communication. In short, she was not so ena "^ .^ed of
professional jargon as to have lost her common seiise.
The doctor, however, with the mole-blindness of many of
his tribe, refused to believe. Nothing of this kind had
previously come within the range of his own experience,
and it was therefore impossible. He accounted for it all
upon the hypothesis of my impending fever. He is not
the only physician who mistakes cause for effect, and vice
versa.

During the second week of ni}'' prostration, Mr. Marcus
Weatherley absconded. This event so totally unlooked
for b}' those who had had dealings with him, at once
broujjht his financial condition to lio-ht. It was found
that he had been really insolvent for several months past.
The day after his departure a number of his acceptances
became due. These acceptances proved to be four in
number, amounting to exactly forty-two thousand dol-
lars. So that that part of my uncle's story was confirm-
ed. One of the acceptances was payable in Montreal, and

J.'V

lca\
Ictte

of III

and
tllOli

tVuii

U!l(|

fioii

riit Giyrard ."•'ficcl J/ys/c-ri'.

wus foi' s:2,*2.sr>.7<). The otlier three were payable at dif-
fciTiit Ijaiiks in Tun.'iito. Tliese last lia<l been (h'awn at
sixty days, and cicli nf tlieni bore a sinnatnre presiuued
to be that of Riclianl VardinLifton. One of them was tor
ss,072.ll: another was for S1(U14-.G3 ; and the third
and last was for s*20,(i20.5(). A short sum in simple ad-
dition will show us the a^^y^regate of these three amounts —

s^l)7:i 11
10,114 (j;5
20,(i2!> 50

.-^o'.»,7l(i 24
hicli was the amount for which my uncle claimed that

Ills name had been forired.

Witldn a week alter these things came to liuht a letter

ddi

t'ssoi

1 to the manairer oi one of the Icailinu" bankiuLT

institutions of Toronto arrived from Mr. Marcus Weather-
Icy, He wrote from New York, l)utstated tliat he should
lea\e there within au hour from the time of p()stim^ his
letter, lie voluntarilv admitted havinir for<j:eil the name

or my uuole to tue ihree ac('e[)tancos alio\e reriM'red to
.iiid entei'eil into other details about his allairs, which,'
thouL;'h interestin:^ enouL^h to his creditors at that time,
Would have no -special iiiterest to the })ublic at the pre-
~^('iit day. The banks where the acceptances had been
discomited weie wis..' aitei the fact, and detected numer-
little details wherein the forijed siujnatures <li(iered

eil.

from the genuine .-^iijnatures of mv Uncle Richard. In
each ca;;e they j'ucketed the loss and held their tonL^'ues,

aiK

1 I .1

ire sav

lev wmI not tliajH<. me tor calUnir atton-

lion to the matter, tm-n at this distance of time.

=;o

llic Gcrrard Street Mystery.

There is iKJt luucli more to tell. Marcus Weatherley,
the forger, met liis fate within a few days after writing
his letter fi'om New York. He took passage at New
Bedford, Massachusetts, in a sailing vessel called the Petrel
l)ound for Havana. 'J'he Petrel sailed from poi't on the
12th of Januarv, 18G2, and went down in mid-ocean with
all hands on the 23rd of the same month. She sank in
full sight of tlie captain and crew of the Cltij of Baltimore
(Inman Line), but the hurricane prevailing was such that
the latter weie unahle to rendei- any assistance, or to save
one of the ill-fated crew from the fuiy of the waves.

At i\n early stage in the story I mentioned that the
oidy fictitious element should be the name of one of the
ch.aracters introduced. The name is that of Marcus Wea-
therley himself. The person whom I have so designated
really bore a diri'erent name — one thai is still remem-
bered by scores of people in Toi'onto. Jle has paid the
penalty of his misdeeds, and I see nothing to l)e gaine<l
by perpetuating them in connection with his own proper
name, in all othei" particulars the foregoing narrative is
as true .is a tolerably retentive memory has enabled me
to record it.

I don't propose to attem})t any psychoh)gical exjdana-
tion of the events here recorded, for the very sutHcient
reason that only one explanation is possible. The weird
letter and its contents, as has been seen, do not rest upon
my testimony alone. With respect to my walk from the
station with Uncle Jlichard,and the communication ma<le
by him to me, all the details are as real to my mind as
any other incivlents of my life. The only obvious deduc-
tion is, that I was made the recipient of u communication

The (ii'rrdic/ Slrcct xllyslciy

of tlie kind wliich tlie world is uccustomed to reijai'd us
>u[)eriuituiiil.

Mr. Owen's publishers h.ive my fidl permission to appro-
priate this story in the next edition of his "Debatable Land
lietween this World and tlie Next." Should they do so,
their readers will doubtless be favoured with an elaborate
analysis of the facts, and with a pseudo-philosophic theory
about spiritual communion with human beings. My wife,
who is an enthusiastic student of electro-biolou'v, is dis-
posed to believe that Weatherley's mind, overweighted
by the knowledge of his forgery, was in some occult
inamier, and unconsciously to himself, constrained to act
upon my own senses. I prefer, however, simply to nai"-
Yd' ■ the facts. I iriay oi' may not have my own the(jry
al)out those facts. The reader is at perfect liberty to
form one of his own if he so |)leases. I may mention
tliat Dr. Marsden j>iofesses to believe to tlu^ present day
that my mind was iMsordei'isd l>y- the a)»pr()ach of the
fever which eventually struck me down, and that all 1
liavc (hjsci'ibed was merely tli(! result ol" what he, with
ilflightful periphrasis, calls " an abnormal condition (jf
the system, induced by causes too remote for specilic di-

agnosis.

It will be observed that, whether I was under an hal-
lucination or not, the information supposed to be derived
from my uncle was strictly accurate in all its details.
The fact that the disclosure subsequently became un-
necessary through the confessicm of Wextherley does
not seem to me to aHbrd any argument foi- the halluci-
nation theoiy. My uncle's conummication was important
at the time when it was given to me; and we have no

'/'//(' (icyyard Slrccl Mystery

\ ".

■I ,1

reason for believing that " those who are gone before "
are universally gifted with a knowledge of the future.

It was open to nie to make the facts public as soon as
they became known to me, and had I done so, Marcus
Weatherley might have been arrested and punished for
his crime. Had not ni}'^ illness supervened, I think I
should have made discoveries in the course of the day
following my arrival in Toronto which would have led
to his arrest.

Such speculations are profitless enough, but they have
often formed the topic of discussion between my wife
and myself. Gridley, too, whenever he pays us a visit,
invariably revives the subject, which he long ago chris-
tened " The Gerrard Street Mystery," although it miglit
just as correctly be called "The Yonge Street Mystery,"
or, "The Mystery of the Union Station." He has urged
me a hundred times over to publish the story; and now,
after all these years, I follow his counsel, and adopt his
nomenclature in the title.

GAGTOOTirS IMAGl:.

BOUT three o'clock in the afternoon of
Wethiesdav, tlie fourth of Septemlier,
1S84, I was riding up Yonge Htreet, in
the city of Toronto, on the top of a
crowded onniibus. Tlie omnibus Was
l)Ound for Tliornhill, and my own desti-
nation was the intermediate viUuixe of
Willowdale. Havinijr been in Canada
only a short time, and being almost a
stranger in Toronto, I dare say I was looking around me
with more attention and curiosity than persons who are
" native here, and to the manner born," are accustomed
to exhibit. We had just passed Isabella Street, and were
rapidly nearing Charles Street, when I noticed on my right
hand a large, dilapidated frame building, standing in soli-
tary isolation a few feet back from the highway, and pre-
senting the appearance of a veritable Old Curiosity Shop.

ii'-

dagtootJis Image.

A business was eaiiiod (;ii Ikiu in stcoiid liiiiid f'lirnitiiio <>f
till! poorest (lescription, Mnd tlic ohjcct oi" ilic jnopiictor
seemed to liave been U> collect about liiiu all sorts of
worn-out cominodifies, and objects vvliich were utterly
unmarketable. Every! >ody who lived in Toronto at the
tiuie indicated will romeuiber the establishment, which, as
I sul>se(juently learned, was owneil and carried on by a
man named Robert Southwoith, familiarly known to his
customers as " Old IJob." J liad no sooner arrived abreast
of the ^^ateway leadiui;' into tlie yard immediately ad-
ioinin*'' the bwiMiuLT to the southward, thaji my eves
rested upon somethini^ wliich instantly cause<l them to
open tliemselves to their very widest capacity, and con-
stiained me to si^fual the driver to stop; which he had
no sooner done than 1 alighted fiom my seat and re-
quested him to pi'oceed on his journey without \\\v. The
driver eyed me suspiciously, and evidently re<,^arded me
as an odd customer, but he obeyed my i-e(|uest, and drove
on northward, leavin-j- me standini-- in the middle of the
street.

From my elevated seat on the roof of the bus, 1 had
caught a hun-ied glimpse of a commonplace-looking little
marble Hgure, placed on the top of a pedestal, in the yard
already referred to, where several other tiixures in marble,
wood, bronze, stucco and what not, were exposed for sale.

'J'he particular figure which had attracted my attention
was about fifteen inches in height, and represented a
little child in the attitude of prayer. Anyone seeing it
for the first time would probably have taken it for a
representation of the Infant Samuel. I have called it
commonplace ; and considered as a work of art, such it

Gao-foof/is ImaQ;c.

umluijIitiMlly was; yet it imist liave jiossesscd a certain
• listiiictivc iii<livi<lMiility, for the luief ;^lance vvlii(;li I lia<l
caui,dit of it, even at that distance, luul hecn sutiieient to
convince nie that the figure was an old acimaintance of
mine. It was in conseciuenee of tliat conviction tliat I
had dismounted from the oninilms, foi'getful, for the
moment, of everytliing ])ut tlie matter wliieli was u|)j)er-
most in my mind.

1 lost no time in passing through the gateway leading
into the yai'd, and in walking up to tlie pedestal upon
which the little ligure was placed. Taking the latter in
my liand, I found, as I had expected, that it was not
attached to the pedestal, which was of totally dillerent
matei'ial, and much more elaborate workmanship. Turn-
ing the ligure upside down, my eyes rested on these
words, deeply cut into the little circular throne upon
which the ligure rested : — Jackson : Phouia, 1854.

At this juncture the proprietor of tlie estahlishmout
walked up to where 1 was standing beside the pedestal.

" Like to look at something in that way^ sir ? " he
asked — " we have more inside."

" What is tlie price of this?" I asked, indicating the
figure in my hand.

" That, sir ; you may have that for fifty cents — of
course without the pedestal, which don't belong to it."

" Have you had it on hand long ? "

" I don't know, Imt if you'll step inside foi" a moment
I can tell you. This way, sir."

Taking the figure under my arm, I followed him into
what he called " the otKce " — a small and dirty room,
crowded with old furniture in the last stage of dilapida-

:^=«

tion. From a (h'sk in one conuT hr took ;i l;ii';i' toiiir
laljc]lt3<l " Stock ]]oGk," to wliicli lie ivt'eiiV'l, .iltcr ulaiur
ing at a liieroglypliical device pasted on ilie limiic wliicli
I lield under my arm.

" Yes, sir — luid that (.'ver since tlio 1 l-tli of Mardi. ISSO
— bought it at Morris \- Black wcH's salo. sir."

" Who and what are ^h>ssrs. .Morri> \- lllackwcll '." J
( nqiiired.

" They wc?'e auctioneers, down on Ath-laidi* Stroet, in
the city, sir. Failed sometime last wintt-r. Mr. Morris
has since died, and I belioW' Black well, the otlier partner
went to the States."

After a few more questions, tindiuLj ti^at he kju \v noth-
ino; whatever about the matter bevond what he had al-
ready told me, I paid over the lifty cuts ; and, declininLC
with thanks his oiler to send my jturchase home to inc, I
marched off with it down tho street, and made the Ix.'stof
my way back to the Rossiu Hou-e, where I had l)een
staying for some days before.

From what has been said, it will be inferred that I — a
stranger in Canarla — must have liad some special I'cason
for incumberinif myself in mv travels with an intrinsi-
cally worthless piece of connnon Columbia marble.

I had a reason. I had (^tten .seen tliat little tiLTure be-
fore ; and the last time I had seen it, previous to the oc-
casion above monti^ned, lia I l.-ecn at the lown of Peoria,
in the State of Illinois, sometime in the month of June,
1855.

There is a story connected with that little praying
figure ; a story, which, to me, is a very touching one ; and
I believe myself to be the only human being capable of

(r(rj^-/(>i>///\\- hfiaor.

Irllin;^' it. IikUmmI, / am oiilv al'lf t<» tril ;i part of it.
I low tlie lii;ui'e caiiie to be sold l>y Jiuctiou, in tlir citv of
Toronto, at Messrs. Morris*.^" hlaekwell's sale oji tlie I ^-th
ot .March, 1S(S0, or how it evei- came to l»e in this part of
tlio world at all, I know no nioi'e than the readei' does ;
I'lit 1 can prol>al)ly tell all that is woi'th knowini;- ahout
the matter.

Jn the year 1850, and for 1 know not liow loiii^' pre-
viously, there livedat Peoria, Illinois, a journeyman-hlack-
smitli named Ahner Fink, i mention the date, 1S50, he-
cause it was in tliat year that I myself settled in Peoria,
and first had any knowledge of lum ; but I believe he liad
then been living there for some length of time. He was
employed at the foundry of Messrs. Gowanlock and Van
J)uzer, and was known for an 'weellent workman, of
steady habits, and good moral ciiai'acter — qualitieations
which were by no means universal, nor even conunon,
among persons of his calling and degree of life, at the
time and place of which I am writing. But he was still
more conspicuous (on the laciis a nonhicendo principle)
for another (juality — that of reticence. It was very rare-
ly indeed that he spoketo anyone, except when called upon
to reply to a question ; and even then it was noticeable
that he invariably employed the fewest and most concise
words in his vocabulary. If brevity were the body, as
well as the .soul of wit, Fink must have been about tlie
wittiest man that evei lived, the Monosyllabic Traveller
not excepted. He never received a letter from any one
•luring the whole time of his stay at Peoria ; nor, so far
as was known, did he ever write to any one. Indeed,
there was no evidence that he was able to write. He

! ;

;i I

"^-^

Cn;^ foot /is fniaij^c.

iiL'Vci Willi to chmcli, iKjr uven to " iiicctiii^' ; " iicvci Jit-
tcnd'Ml jiiiy piililic ciitrrtaimnoiit ; iKsver took any IkjH-
days. All his time was spent either at the foundry where
he worked, or at the boardinLj-lionsc where he lodged.
In tlie latter place, the L,n-eater part of liis lioursof rchixa-
tion were spent in lookini^ citlicr out of the window or
into the tire ; tliinkin^-, api)arently, aliout nothing parti-
culai'. All cndeavou s on the pait of Ins fellow hoarders
to (haw liini into conversation were utterly fruitless. No
oiH! in the jdaee knew anythinjj^ ahout his past life, and
when his fcjilow-journeyinen in tlie workshop attempted
to inveigle him intf) any confidence on that suhjeet, he
liad Ji trick (»f callini,^ up a harsh and sinister expression
of ctjuntenancc which effectually nipped all such experi-
ments in tlie hud. Even liis employers failed to elicit
anything from him on this head, beyond the somewhat
vague ]iiece of intelligence that he hailed from "down
east." The foreman of the establishment with a desper-
ate attempt at facetiousness, used to say of him, that no
one knew who he was, where he came from, where he
was going to, or what he was iroino- to do when he <iot
there.

And yet, this utter lac^ '^ sociability could scarcel}'
have arisen from posit'- .mess or unkindness of dis-

position. Instances not wanting in wdiich he had

given pretty strong evidence that he carried beneath that
rugged ar<d uncouth exterior a kinder and mors gentle
heart than is possessed by most men. Upon one occasion
he had jumped at the innninent peril of his life, from the
bridge which spans the Illinois river just above the en-
trance to the lake, and had fished up a drowning child

t
a
fr,

zo
pn

sti

i: %

I'khii its <l»'|itli i and Ikmiic it to lln- sliuic in sjilotv. In
tloiiiM M, Ik- liad itecn coiiipclltd to ^wini tlnoui;!! ii swift
and .stron<,^ current wliicli would tiavc swamped any swim-
nier witli oiie ]»article less streni^^tli, endurance and jduck.
At another time, liearin^diis landlady say, at dinnei-, that
an execution was in the liouse of a sick man with a larn'e
family, at the otlier en<l of tlie town, he left his dinner u!i-
touclied, trudi^iul oil" to the place indicatrd, and — though
the dehtor w'as an utter stranger to him — paid otl' the
del>t and costs in full, without taking;- any assi^nnnent ol'
the judgiuent or other security. Then he went (piietly
l»ack to his work. From mv knowleili^e of the worthless
and impeeunious chaiacter of the dehtoi', I am of opinion
that Fink never received a cent in tlie way of reimburse-
ment.

In ])ers()nal appearance he was short and stout. His
aj^e, when I first knew him, must have been somewliere in
the neiiilibourhood of thiitv-five. The onlv peculiarity
about his face was an abnormal formation of one of his
front teetli, which j)rotruded, and stuck ou'. almost hori-
zontally. This, as may be supposed, did not tend to im-
prove an expression of countenance which in other re-
spects was not very prepossessing. One of the anvil-
strikers happening to allude to him one day in his absence
by the name of " Gagtooth," the felicity of the sobriquet
at once commended itself to the good taste of the other
hands in the shop, who thereafter commonly spoke of him
by that name, and eventually it came to be applied to him
by every one in the town.

My acquaintance with him began when I had been in
Feoria about a week. I may premise that I am a phy-

Gagfoof/i's hiiagc.

sician aiul suruooii - a ^laduate of llar\'ar<l, I Voria was at
tliat time a coiiiparatively new place, but it Ljave promise
of <;oinix alie<a<l rapidly: a jnoniise, by tlie way, which it
has sinctf amply red'emcd. Messrs. (iowanlock and Van
Diizers foundry v/as a ]>retty extensive one for a small
town in a comparatively new district. They Uej»t about
a hundred and fifty hands employeil all the year lound,
and during the busy season this numbei »vas more than
doubled. It was in consecpience of my having received
the aj)pointment of medical attendant to that establish-
ment that 1 buried myself in the west, instead of settling
down in my native State of Massachusetts.

IVor (Jagtooth was one of my first surgical patients,
it came about in this wise. At the foundiy, two days in
tlie week, viz., Tuesdays and Fridays, were chieHy de-
voted to what is called "casting." On these days it was
necessary to convey large masses of melted iron, in vessels
specially manufactured for that purpose, from one end of
the moulding shop to the other. It was, of course, very
desirable that the metal should not be allowed to cool
while in transit, and that as little time as possible should
be lost in transferring it from the furnace to the moulds.
For this puipo.se Gagtooth's services were frecpiently
called into requisition, as he was by far the strongest man
about the jtlace, and could witliout assistance carry one
end of one of the vessels, which was considered pretty
good work for two ordinary men.

Well, one unlucky Friday afternoon he was hard at
work at this employment, and as was usual with all the
hands in the moulding .shop at such times, he was strip-
ped naked from the waist u[)wards. He was gallantly

(i(liJ^/(>(>//fs f///tfj^(\

6 1

supporting one end of one of the large receptacles already
mentioned, wliich happened to be rather fuller than usual
of the red-hot molten metal. He had nearly reached the
mouldinfr-box into which the contents of the vessel were
to be poured, when he stumbl^^d against a piece of scant-
ling which was lying in his way. He fell, and as a neces-
sary consequence his end of the vessel fell likewise, spill-
ing the contents all over his body, which was literally
deluged by the red, hissing, boiling li([uid tire. It must
have seemed to the terror-stricken onlookers like a bath
of blood.

Further details of the friglittul accident, and of my
treatment of the case, might be intej-esting to such of the
readers of this book as ha[)pen to belong to my own pro-
fession ; but to general readers such details would be
simply shocking. Ib)W even his tremendous vitality an<l
vigour of constitution brought him through it all is a
mystery to me to this day. 1 am thirty-six years oldei-
than I was at that time. Since then 1 have acted as
surgeoTi to a lighting regiment all through the great re-
Ix'ilion. 1 have bad })aticnts of all sorts of tenipei-ainents
and constitutions under my charge, but never have I
been brought into contact with a case which seemed more
hopeless in my eyes. He must surely have had moic than
one life in him. I have never had my hands on so mag-
niticent a specimen of the human frame as his was ; and
better still — and this doubtless contributed materially to
his lecovery — I have never had a case under my manage-
ment where th(» patient horehis sufferings with such uni-
form fortitud(^ and endurance. Sutlice it to say that he
recovered, and thatliis face bore no traces of the fiightlul

(Ja^/di >//i's Iiiitii^i'.

ordeal through wliicli he had passed. I don't think ho
was ever qnite tlie same man as l)et'()re his aecident. I
think his nervous system received a shock wliidi eventu-
ally tended to shorten liis life. Ihit he was still known
as inconiparal)ly the strongest man in Peoria, and con-
tinued to perform the work of" two men at the moulding-
shop on casting days. In every other respect he was a})-
parently the same; not a whit more <lisposed to he com-
panional)le than I " ^re his accident. I used fretpiently
to meet liim on the street, as he was going to and fnj
between his Itoarding-house and the work-shop. He was
always alone, and more than once I came to a full stop
and enijuired after his health, oi- anything else that
seemed to afford a feasible topic for conversation. \\v
was uniforndy civil, and even respectful, but contined his
remarks to replying to my ({uestions, which, as usual, was
done in tlie fewest words.

Uuring tlie twelve months succeeding liis reeoveiy, so
far as I am aware, nothini^ occuried worthy of beiuLT re-
corded in (Iagto<;th's annals. About the expiration of
that time, howevi-r, his landlady, by his authority, at his
recpiest, and in bis presence, made an niuiouncement to
the boarders assembled at the dinner-table which, I sliould
think, nmst literally have taken away theii- breaths.

Ciai^tooth was goin<r to be married !

I don't su])pose it would have occasioned greater aston-
ishment if it had been announced as an actual fact that
The Illinois river had conmienced to flow backwards.
It was surprising, incredible, but, like many other surpiis-
ing and incredible things, it was true. (Jngtooth was
really and truly about to marry. The object of his choice

(ra^tuol/is Iindgc.

was liis landlady's sister, by name Lucin<lu Howlsby.
How oi- when the wooing had been carried on, how the
enL;aL,^enient had been led up to, and in what terms the
all-important (piestion had been propounded, I am not
prepared to say. I need hardly observe that none of the
lioaiders had entertained the faintest suspicion that any-
thing of the kin<l was impending. The courtship, from
tirst to last, must have been somewhat of a ])iece with
that of the late Mr. Barkis. But alas ! Gagtooth did not
settle his affections so judiciously, nor did he draw such
a prize in the matrimonial lottery as Barkis did. Two
women more entirely dissimilar, in every respect, than
I'eggotty and Lucin<la Ijowlsby can hardly be imagined.
Lucinda was nineteen years of age. She was pretty, an<l,
for a girl of her class and station in life, tolerabl}- well
educated. But she was notwithstanding a light, giddy
creature — and, I fear, something worse, at that time. At
all events, she had a very {juesti(jnable sort of reputation
amoi'g the boarders in the house, and was regardiMJ with
suspicion by everyone who knew anything about her
poor Gagtooth alone excepted.

In due time tlie wedding took place. It was solemnized
at the boardiuLr-house ; and the bride and brideLfroom dis-
(laining to defer to the common usage, spent their honey-
moon in their own iiouse. Gagtooth had rented and
lurnished a little frame dwelling on the outskii-ts of the
town, on the bank of the river; and thither the couple
retired as soon as the liymeneal knot was tied. Next
iiiorninL;' the l)ridegroom made his a[>pearance at his
foige and went to work as usual, as though nothin<i; had
oecurred to disturb the serenity of his life.

ivi ;i

■^

(/(l!^tO()///'s /u/tHi^V.

Time passed l)y. liuiiionrs now {in<l tlioii i-eachud my
ears to the effect that Mrs, Kink was not l»ehavin«jf herself
very well, and that slio was leading' her luisl)and rat lie r a
liard life of it. She had been seen drlvinij out into the
countiy witli a young hiwyer from Sprini^dield, who ocea-
sionally came over to Peoria to attt.'ud the sittin^^s of
the District Court. She uKjreover had tlie reputation of
habitually indul^-iuL,^ in the contents of the cup that
cheers and likewise inebiiates. However, in the i-egular
course of things, 1 was called upon to assist at the tirst
appearance upon life's stage of a little boy, upon whon his
parents bestowed the name of Charlie.

The night of Charlie's birth was the first time I had
ever been in the house, and if I remember aright it was
the first time I had ever set eyes on Mrs. Fink since her
marriage. I was not long in making up my mind about
he)' ; and I had auipic opportunity for forming an o[)inioii
as to her character, foi- she was unalde to leave her bed
for more than a month, durin*!; which time I was in at-
tendance u])on her almost daily. I also att(^nded little
('harlie through measels, scarlet-i'ash, whooping-cough,
and all his childish ailments ; ami in fact I was a pretty
regular visitor at the house from the time of his birth
until his father left the neiijhbourhood.as I shall presentlv
have to relate. I believe Mrs. Fiidv to have been not
merely a }»roiligate woman, but a thoroughly bad and
heartless one in every respect. She was perfectly indif-
ferent to her husband, whom she shamefully neglecte I,and
almost indifferent to lier child. She seemed to care for
nothing in the world but dress and strong waters ; and to
|)rocure tliese Ihore was no depth of degra<lation to which
she would not stoop.

(i( ?i,'"A >ot// 's ////<7i^r.

As i\ result ol" my constMiit professional ;itt(Mi<lanc(!
ii|MMi Ills inodn'r diii-iriL;' tlic lii'st inoutli ot" little ( 'liarlie's
life, 1 hecainc liettei' ac(|uaintc(l with his father than any-
one in Peoria liadevor dono. He seemed to know that J saw
into and sym[»athi/ed with his domestic trouhles, and my
silent sympathy seemed to atlord him some consolation.
As the months and years passed l>y, his wife's conduct
became wor.sc and worse, and his afi'eetions centered tliem-
selves entirely upon liis child, whom he loved with a })as-
sionate ati'ection to which J have never seen a parallel.

And C'harlie was a child made to l)e loved. When he
was two years okl he was beyond all comparisoi: I'le
dearest and most beautiful little fellow 1 have ever seen.
Itis fat, plum[), chubby little figure, modelled after
Cupid's own ; his curly tlaxen hair; his matchless com-
plexion, fair and clear as the sky on a sunny summer
day ; and his bright, round, expressive eyes, which im-
parted intelligence to his every feature, coml>ined to
make him the idol of his father, the envy of all the
mothers in town, and the admiration of every one who
saw 1dm. At noon, when the great Ibundry-bell rang,
which was the si^jnal for the workmen to txo to dinner
Charlie might regularly be seen, toddling as fast as his
stout little legs could spin, along the footpath leading
over the conniion in the direction of the workshops.
When about halfway across, he would be certain to meet
his father, who, taking the child up in his bare, brawny,
snioke-liegrimed arms, would carry him home — the con-
trast between the two strongly suggesting Vulcan and
Cupid. At six o'clock in the evening, when the bell
announced that work was over for the day, a similar

GaL>-foo//^'s Iniavw

little drama was enacted. It wouM be ditticult to say
wlietlu'i- Vnlcaii oi- Cu[)i(l derived tlir ureater amount oi'
pleasure from these semi-daily incidents. After tea, the
two were never separate for a moment. Wliile the
mother was perhaps l»usily engaged in the perusal ol'
some worthless novel, the father would sit with his dar-
ling on his knee, listening to his childish prattle, and
perhaps so far going out of himself as to tell the child a
little story. It seemed to be an understood thing that
the n^iOther should take no care or notice of the lioy dur-
inir her husband's ])resence in the house. Me'nilarlv,
when the clock on the chimney-piece struck eight,
diarlie would jump down from his father's knee and run
across the room for his iii<>ht-dress, returnini; to his fathei-
to have it put on. When this had been done he would
kneel down and i-epeat a simple little prayer, in which
One who loved little children like Charlie was invoked
to bless father and mother and make him a good boy ;
after which his father would place him in his little crib,
where he soon slept the sleep of happy cliildhood.

]\lv own house was not far from theirs, and I was so
fond of Charlie that it was no unconnnon thing for me
to drop in upon them for a few minutes, when returning
from my ottice in the evening. L^pon one occasion 1
noticed the child more particularly than usual while he
was in the act of saying his prayers. His e3'es were
closed, his plump little hands were claspeil, and his cher-
ubic little face was turned upwards with an expression
of infantile trustfulness and adoration which 1 shall never
forget. I have never seen, nor do I ever expect to see,
anything else half so beautiful. When he arose from his

^'11

GagiootJi's fuingc.

f>7

knees and came uj) to luc to ^av "(ittod Nielli," 1 kis.setl
liis u|ituni('<l little face w itii i-ven i^'n^ater tV-rvour tliaii
usual. Af'tur lie had buuii put to l»ed 1 inuntioiicd the
matter to Ids father, and said something about my roi^ret
that the cluld's expression liad not been caught by a
sculptor and fixed in stone.

1 liad little idea of the efifcct my reiuarks were destined
to produce. A few evenitigs afterwards he inlbrmed me,
nmch to my surprise, that he liad determined to act upon
the idea wliich my words had suggested to his mind, and
that he had instructed Heber Jackson, tlic mar]»le-cutter,
to s:o to work at a "stone likeness" of little (.harlie, and
to finish it u}) as soon as possible. He did not seem to
understand tliat the ])roper performance of such a task
retpiired anything more than mere mechanical skill, and
that an ordinary tond)-stone cutter was scarcely the sort
of artist to do justice to it.

However, wlien tlie " stone-likeness " was fmislied and
sent home, I confess I was astonishe<l to see liow well
Jackson had succeeded. He liad not, of course, caught
the child's exact expression. It is probable, indeed, that
he never saw the exj)i-ession on Charlie's face, which had
seemed so beautiful tome, and which had suggested to me
the idea of its being "embodied in marble," as the profes-
sionals call it. But the imafje wasatall events, accordinnf
to order, a " likeness." The true lineaments were there
and I would have lecognised it for a representation of my
little friend at the first glance, wherever I might have
seen it. In short, it was precisely one of those works of
art which have no artistic value whatever for any one
who is unacquainted with, or uninterested in, the subject

Cnqtoof/i's fniat^r.

n'jMest.'iitnl . Itiit loiowiiiL: ;iii<l loving litilu < 'liiulic a;. I
dhl, I conlrss l)iji( I ii..ri| In (•(»iilr.iii]»l;ii(' .lucksoil's |>'k'('i'
of worktiijinsliip with an ailiiiiratiuii and (jnllmsiasiii
wliicli tlie contents of Italian ijallaiics liavc failed to
arouse in nie.

Well, the months tlcw l>y until sonii' time in the spi'inir
of l.S.'>">, whe'U the town was clectrilicd h}' the sudden and
totally unexp(!eted failuie of Messrs. Gowanlock and \ an-
Duzer, wlio up to that time wei'e curi'cntly reported to he
one of the wealthiest and most thriving firms in the
State. Their failuie was not only a great misfortune for
the workmen, who were tlius tin-own out of present em-
ployment — for the creditors di<l not carry on the business
— but was regarded as a public calamity to tlie town and
neighliouihood, tlie prosperity whereof liad been enlianced
ill no inconsiderable degree by the carrying on of so ex-
tensive an establislnnent in their midst, and Ity the enter-
prise and energy of the proprietors, both of wliom were
first-rate business men. The failure was in no measure
attributed either to dislionesty or want of |)rudenee on the
part of Messrs. Gowanlock and VanlJu/or, but simply to
the invention of a new })atent wliich rendered valueless
the particular agricultural implement which constituted
the specialty of the establishment, and of which there
was an enoinious stock on hand. There was not the sha-
dow of a liope of the firm being able to get upon its legs
again. The partners surrendered everytliing ahnost to
the last dollar, and shortly afterwards left Illinois for
California.

Now, this failure, wdiich more or less affected the entire
population of Peoria, was especially disastrous to poor

the

ever

him

wit

fath

feet

nion

ploy

di.ri

of CO

ill ;u
hand
with
pect
SI
arm-<
for li

(t( li^ /( >o(/i 's I till r^i^i ',

Fink. For past years he had been saving money, and as
Messrs. Oowanlock and VanDu/er allowed interest at a
liberal rate upon all deposits left in their hands by their
workmen, all his surplus earnings remained untouched.
The conse([uence was that the accumulations of years
were swamped at one fell swooj), and he fomid himself
reduced to poverty. And as though misfortune was not
satisfied with visiting him thus hc-avily, the very day of
the I'ailure he v/as stricken down by typlioid fever: not
the typhoid fever known in Canada — which is bad enough
— but the terrible ])utrid typhoi<l of the west, which is
known nowhere else on the face of the globe, and in
which the mortality in some years reaches forty per cent.

Of course I was at once called in. I did my best for
the patient, which was very little. I tried har<l, how-
ever, to keep his wife sobei-, and to compel her to inu'se
him judiciously. As for little Charlie, I took him home
with me to my own house, where he remaine<l until his
fjither was so far convalescent as to prevent all fear of in-
fection. Meanwhile I knew nothinir about Gai{tooth's
money having been deposited in the hands of his em-
ployers, and conse(|uently was ignorant of his loss. I
did not learn this circumstance for weeks afterwards, and
(>r course had no reason for sup])osing that his wife was
in anywise stiaitened for nioncy. Once, when hvv hus-
band had been prostrated for about a fortnight, I saw her
with a roll of bank notes in her hand. Little di<l I sus-
pect how they had been obtained.

Shoitly {iftrr my patient had begini to sit uj> in his
arm-chair for a litth' while every day, he begged so hard
for little (Charlie's presence that, as soon as I was satisfied

^^i

^^H

'ffr

• ' I

(t( li^ti >i >//i S hlh li^i '

that Jill (langoi of infection was past, I consented to allow
the child to return to his own home. In less than a
month afterwards the invalid was ahle to walk out in the
garden for a few minutes every day wlien the weather was
favourable, and in these walks Charlie was his constant
companion. The aflection of the poor fellow for his flaxen-
haired darling was manifested in everv uflanee of his eve,
and in every tone of his voice. He would kiss the little
chap and |)at him on the head a hundred times a day. He
would tell him stories until he himself was completely
exhausted ; and althouj^h I knew that this tended to re-
tard his complete recovery, I had not the heart to forl)i<l
it. T have often since felt thankful that I never made
any attem|)t to do so.

At last the fifteenth of Septend»ei- arrived. On the
morning' of that day Messrs. Rockwell and T)unl)ar's (. Com-
bined (yircus and Menagerie ma<le a triumphal entry into
Peoria, and was to exhibit on the green, down by the river
bank. The performance had been ostentatiously adver-
tised antl placardcMl on every dead wall in town for a
month back, and all tin; childrrn in tin; place, little (*harli(i
included, werci wild on the subject. Signoi" Maitigny was
to enter a <Ien containing three full-grown lions, and was
to go through the terrific and disgusting ordeal usual on
such occasions, (lagtooth, of <-ourse, was unalde to go;
but, being unwilling to deny his child any leasonable
pleasure, he had consented to Charlie's going with his
mother. 1 happened to be passing the house on my way
liomewards to dinner, just as the pair wiww about to
start, and called in to say good-bye to my patient. Never
shall I forget the eiubiace and tlie kiss whicM the father

till
ant

bef
tlK

ac(

li>I

agi

free

tran

j)erl

« ntr

Ifl"^

Gagtootlis hnagc.

/»

l.e.stowetl upon the little fellow. I can see thein now,
after all these yeai's, almost as distinctly as I saw them
on that terrihle iiftt'enth of 8i;ptember, 1855. 'J'hoyper-
tt'ctly chilli,^ to each other, and seemed unwillinf^ to part
even for the two or three hours durin<( which the perform-
ance was to last. 1 can see the mother too, impatiently
waitinu' in the doorway, and telling Charlie that if he
didn't stoj) that nonsense they would be too late to see
Sampson killing the lion. She — Heaven help her! —
thought nothing and cared nothing about the })leasure the
child v/as to derive from the entertainment. She was
only anxious on her own account ; impatient to .shew her
good looks and her cheap finery to the two thousand and
odd people as.sendiled under the huge tent.

At last they started. Gagtooth got up and walked to
the dooj", f<»llowing them with his eye as far as he could
see them down the dusty street. Then he I'eturned and
sat down in his cliair. Poor fellow ! he was destined
never to see either of tliem alive again.

Notwithstandinsf her fear lest .she mi<dit not arrive in
time for the commencement of the performance, Mr.s. Fink
and her charo-e rcjached the iiTound at least luilf an hour
before the ticket ofKce was opened ; and I regret to say
that that half hour was sutKcient to enable her to form an
acfpuiintance with one of the property men of the estab-
lishment, to whom .she contrived to make herself so
agreeable that he passed her and Charlie into tlie tent
free of charge. She was not admitted at the front en-
trance, but from the tiring-room at the back whence the
performers enter. She sat down just at the left of this
lutranee, inunediately arljoining the lion's cage. Ere long

till) poit'ormancc coiniiieiiced. Si^jnor Marti;;iiy, wIkmi liis
tui!i came, ♦Miten'd tlie ca^je as per aniiounccmcnt ; l>iit
lie was not loni,' in disr . orini^ by various sii^ais not to be
mistaken that liiscliari^cs were in no liuinour to be played
with on that day. F^ven the rintj master from his plaee
in the centre of the rin^^^ perceived that old Kini«' of the
Forest, the larijest and most vicious of the lions, was med-
itatini^ mischief, and called to the Sij^nor to come out of
the cage. The Signor, keepinj^ his eye steadily fixed on
the brute, bei^an a retrorrradc movement from the den.
lie had the door open, and was swiftly baekiuLC throuu'li,
when, with a roar that seemed to .shake the very earth,
old \\\\v^ sprauL;- upon him from the opposite side of the
cage, dashing him to theground like a iiinepin, and rushed
through the aperture into the crowd. C^)niek ns lightning
the other two followed, and thus three savage lions were
loose and unshackled in the midst of upwaid- oftwo thou-
sand men, women and ehildi'en.

I wish to linger over the details as brietly as possible.
T am thankful to say that J was not ])resent, and that I
am unable to describe the occiu'rence from personal ob-
servation.

Poor little Charlie and his mother, sitting close to the
cage, were the very first victinis. The child himself, T
think, and hope, never knew what hurt him. His skull
was fractured by one stroke of the brute's j>aw. Signor
Martigny escai)ed with his right arm slit into ribbons, liig
Joe Pentland, the clown, with one well-directed stroke of
a crowbar, smashe(l Old King of the Forest's jaw into a
hundred pieces, but not before it had closed in the lelt
breast of Charlie's mother. She lived for nearly an hour

(i\ti; /(>(>///' s /tiiiii^r

afterwanis, l»ut iicvn uttered a Nvllal'lo. \ wonder it'
she was ctniHcious. I woikUt if it was jK-nnittiMl to her
to realize what her sin — for sin it intist liave heon, in con-
templation, if not indeed — liad hrouj^dit upon herself and
her child. Had she })aid her way into the circus, and
entered in rr»)nt, instead of coqucttiuij with the pi-opoi'ty-
man, she would Iwivo IteiMi sittinir uivlcr a ditfen-nt part ot
the tent, tand lUMthor slie nor (Jharlie would liave sustain-
ed any injury, for the two younL,'er lions wcresliot hefon;
they had lcaj)t ten paces from the cai^e door. (Jld Kini;-
was easily despatcluid after doe l*entland's tremendous,
blow. Besides ( 'harlio and his motlier, two men and one
woman were killed on the .spot: another woman died
next dav from the injuries received, and several other
persons were more or less severely hurt.

lunnediately after dinnei' I ha<l driven out into the
country to pay a professional visit, so that 1 heard notli-
inu" ahout wliat ha<l occurred until s(jme hours afterwards.
J was infoi'med of it, however, hefore I reached the town,
on my way homeward. 'J'o say tliat I was inexpressihly
shocked and f^iieved would merely l»e to repeat a very
stupid platitude, and to say tliat I was a lunnan heini;;'.
1 had learned to love ])Oor little C'hailie almost as dearly
as I loved my own children. And his father — what would
he the eonse({Uence t(, him I

I diove <lirect to his house, winch was tilled with people
— neii,dd)ours and others who had called to adnunister
such consolation as the circumstances woidd admit of. I
am not ashamed to confess that the moment my eyes rest-
ed upon th(.' hereaved father I hurst into tears. Ife sat
with his child's body in his lap, aiid seemed literally

Ciogtflotlis hfiat^^i'.

transformed into stone. A breeze came in throufjh the
open doorvvay and stirred his thin iron-gray locks, as he
sat there in his aim chair. He was unconscious of every-
thing — even of the presence of strangers. His eyes were
fixed and gla/ed. Not a sound of any kind, not even a
moan, pas.sed his lips ; and it was only after feeling his
pulse that I wasahle to pronounce with certainty that he
was alive. One single gleam of animation overspread
his features for an instant when I gently removed the
ei'ushed corpse froiu his knees, and laid it on the bed, but
he (juickly relapsed into stolidity. I was informed that
he ha<l sat thus ever since he had first received the corp.se
from the arms of Joe Pentland, who had brought it home
without chanirinLr his clown's <lress. Heaven irrant that
I may never look uj»on such a sight again as the poor,
half-recovered invalid pi'esenttMl (hningthu whole of that
night and for several days afte»wards.

For the next three days 1 spent all the time with him
I po-ssibly could, for I dreaded either a relapse of the
fever or the less of his reason. The neighljours were very
kind, and took upcm themselves the Inirclen of everything
connected with the funeral. As for Fink himself, he
seemed to take everything for granted, and interfered
with nothing. When the time arrived for fastening
down the cotlin lids, I could not bear to permit that
ceremony to be performed without affording him an
opportunity of kissing the dead lips of his darling for the
Last time. 1 gently led him ujt to the side of the bed
upon which the two coffins were ])laced. At ."^ight of his
little boy's dea«l face, he fainted, and before he revived 1
had the lids fast(»ned down. It would have been cruelty
to subject him to the ordeal a second time.

Gag toot lis Image.

The (lay after the funeral he was sutticiently recovered
from the shock to be able to talk. He informed me that
he had concluded to leave the neighbcnirhood, and reijuest-
ed me to draw up a poster, advertising all his furniture
and effects for sale by auction. Ho intended, he said, to
sell everything except Charlie's clothes and his own, and
these, toirether with a lock of the child's hair and a few
of his toys, were all he intended to take away with him.

" But of course," I remarked, " you <lon't intend to sell
the ' stone likeness ? "

He looked at me rather strangely, and made no re|)ly.
I glanced around the room, and, to my surprise, the little
statue was nowhere to be seen. It then occurre*! to me
that I had not noticed it since (}a<rtooth had l)een taken
ill.

" By the by, where is it:*'' \ enquired—" I don't see
it."

After a moment's hesitation he told me the whoie
story. It was then that I learned for the first time that
he had lost all his savings throunh the failure of Messrs.
(lowanlock and Van Duzer, and that the morning when
he had been taken ill there had l>een only a dollar in the
house. On that morning he had acijuainted his wife
with Ids loss, but had strictly enjoine<l secrecy upoTi her,
as both (}ovvanlock and VanHuzer had promised him
most solenndy that inasmuch as they reganled their in-
debtedness to him as being upo»' a different footing from
their ordinary liabilities, he should assuredly be paid in
full out of the first money at their connnand. He liad
implicit relianc<' upon their word, and reipn'sted me to
take charge of the money upon its arrivo,., and to keep it

Giigtooi/is /j/i(i^v.

until li»' instructe<l mo, l)y post or otherwise, how to
dispose of it. To tliis I, of course, consentetl. The rest
of the story hr could only repeat upon the authority of
his wife, but I have no reason for dishelievini,' any j)or-
tion of it. It seems that a day or two after his illness
commenced, and after he had hecome insensihle, his wife
liad been at her wits' end for money to provide neces-
.saries for the house, and I dare say slie spent more for
liuuor than for necessaries. She declared that she had
ma<lt' up her mind to Jippl}- to me for a loan, when a
.strani;er called at the house, attracted, as he said, by the
little imai^'c, which had been placed in the fiont window,
and w-is thus visible to passers by. He announced him-
.selfasMr. Silas Pomero}', mrrchant, of Myrtle Street,
SpriuLrtirid. He said that the face of the little imaL,^e
strikiuLrly remindecl liim of the face of a child of Ids own
whieh had died some time before, lb- had not sup[)Osi!d
that tlie fiiruie was a likeness of any one, and had
stej>ped in, upon the impulse of the moment, in the hope
that he mii,dit be able to purchase it. He was williuL'' to
pay a liberal price. The nei^otiation emied in his takiui^
tlu^ ima-'e awav with him, and leavini,' a hundred dollars
in its stead ; on which sum Mrs. Fink had kept liousi;
ever since. Her husband, of coinse, knew nothini;; of
this for weeks afterwai'ds. VVHien lie lK.'i(an to j^^et better,
his wife had acquainted him with the facts. He had
found no fault with her, as he had determined to repur-
eha.se tlie ima,L(e at any cost, so soon as he miijlit be able
to earn ujoney enoUi^li. As for ijettini; a «lu]>licate, that
was out of tlie (juestion, for Heber .faek^oii had been
carried off by tin; typhoid ejiideinic, an<l (Jharlit; had

had

Gngfoot/is /nini^-c.

('lijm;4«'«l nuisii|«ral>ly •liiiin'4 IIm- liKtcn niniitli wliicli
liii<l <-l;i|i.s»'«l siiic«' tin- iiii;ii;<' liud Iti »ii linisliiMl. Aii<l iiuw
poor little Cliarli* liiiiisolf was •^^oiit', ami ilic L(i«'at desire
of liis father's lieait was to regain ])ossession of'tlie image.
Witli that view, as soon as tin; sale sliould )>'' over lie
would start for Springfield, tell his stoiy to Ponieroy,
and otler liini his money ''ack again. As to any furtlier
plans, lie did not know, he said, what he would do, or
where lie would go; hut he would certainly never live in
Teoria again.

In a few days the .sale took j)laue, and (iagtooth started
for Spiingtield with ahout three lunidred dollars in his
jtocket. Springfield is seventy miles from Peoria. He
was to return in ahout ten 'lays, l)y whicli time a tomh-
stone was to be leadv for Charlie's mave. lie had not
ordered one for liis wife, who was not huried in the .same
grave with the cliild, but in one just beside lum.

He returned within the ten days. His journey had
been a fruitless one. I'onieioy had become in.sol vent, and
had ab.sconded from Springfield a month before. No one
knew whitlier he had gone, but he nuist have taken the
image with him, as it was not among the effecLs whicli he
had left behind him. His friends knew that he was
greatly attached to the image, in con.se4uence of its real
or fancied resemlilance to his dead child. Nothing more
rea.sonable then than to suppose that he had taken it
away with him.

Oagtooth announced to me his determination of start-
ing on an expedition to find Ponieroy, and never giving
up the .search while his money held out. He had no idea
where to look for tlie fugitive, but rather thought he

GagtootJis Image,

w()ul<l try (laliforriia first. He could liardly expect to re-
ceive any remittance fruiii Gowaiilock and Van Duzer for
some months to come, hut he would acquaint me with his
address from time to time, an<l if anvtliinLi: arrived from
them I could forward it to him.

And so, liavinj,^ seen the tombstone set up over little
Charlie's Ljrave, he bade me good-bye, and that was the
last time 1 ever saw him alive.

There is little more to tell. 1 sup|)osed him to be in
the far west, prosecutin*,^ his researches, until one night in
the early spring of the following year. Charlie and his
mother had been interred in a corner of the cliurchyard
adjoining the second Kaptist Church, which at that time
was on the ver}- outskirts of the town, in a lonely, un-
fre([uented spot, not far from the iron bridge. Late in
the evening of the seventh of April, 185G, a woman pa.ss-
ing along the road in the cold, dim twilight, saw a bulky
object stretched out on Charlie's grave. She called at tht-
nearest liouse, and stated her belief that a man was lying
dead in the churchyard. Upon investigation, lier surmise
proved to be correct.

And that man was (lajj^tootli.

Dead ; partially, no doubt, from cold and exposure ;
but chietiy, 1 believe, fiom a broken heart. Where had he
spent the six months which had elap.sed since I bade him
farewell ?

To this (question I am unable to reply ; but this much
wa.s tv ident: he had dragged liimself back just in time to
die on the grave of the little 1)oy whom he had loved so
dearly, and whose brief existence had probably supplied
the one bright spot in his father's life.

pi'

Tl^

Gaj^-toot/is Image.

I lia<l him iHiriod in the same ijiave witli (/hailie ; and
there, on tlie hanks of the Illinois river, " Alter life's litful
fever lie sleeps well."

1 never received any lemittanee from his former em-
ployers, nor did I ever leain anything further of Silaa
Pomeroy. Indeed, s(^ many years have rolled away since
tlie occurrence of tlie events above narrated ; years preg-
nant with great events to the American liei)ublic ; events,
1 am proud to say, in whidi I boie my part : that tlie
wear and tear of life had nearly obliteiated all memory
of the episode from my mind, until, as detailed in the
opening paragraphs of this story, I saw " Gagtooth's
Image," from the toj) of a Thornhill onniibus. That
image is now in my possession, and no extremity less
urgent than that under which it was sold to Silas Pome-
loy, of Myitle >Street, Springfield, will ever induce me to
part with it.

;i;i.\(.

•n, ai

TTT^

THK

Hiiiiiited House oo M\m Street

l;i:i>(. A NAKUATIoN OK CKKTAIN STKANOK i;\ KN !> AI.LKtiKh TO J1A\ I,
TAKK.V I'LAr'K AT YOllK, ll'I'lK « A>A1> A, IN Oi; AlUjlT

TiiK VKAi; 1H2;J.

"O'l'iall tlu'ic Imii;,' till' Sh;uli>\v i>t' ;i I'Vur ;

A si'iisu of luysteiy tlu- spirit (huiutcd ;
And s;ii(l,'as plain us whispor in the ear,

TIjo place U hauiiteil."' -IIoup.

T. — Ol'TSlDE TiiK 11<»USE,

Sl7l*rOSE tlicic are at Ica.sL .1 ^c^mv of |iri'-
sons living' in Toronto at ilu' pivsmt
moment wlio rcuicmbcr tliai ([Ucci- old
house on Dncliess street. Not tliat tliero
was anything* specially r('nuu"kal)l(' aliont
t]»e house itself, which intleed, in its Itest
days, presented an aspect of rathrr sinii;'
respectability. I Jut the events \ am ali<»ut
to relate invested it witli an evil rejjutu-
II, and matle it an object to be contemplaled at a safe
E

Tlic Ifautiti'il I fousc on /h/r/uss S/nrf.

distance, ratlier than fronri any near approacli. Yoiuii,^-
sters on their way to school wore wont to eye it askance
as th(»y liurrieil by on their way to their daily tasks.
Even children of a larirer ji^rowth nianifesteil no iinbe-
comin<4' desire to penetrate too curiously into its inner
mysteries, and for years its tlireshold was seldom or
never crosse-l by anybody except Simon Washburn or
some of Ids clerks, who about once in every twelvemonth
made a quiet entry upon the ])remisos and i)laced in the
front win<lows announcements to the effect that the place
was " For Sale or To Let." The printing of these an-
nouncements involved a useless expenditure of capital,
for, from the time when the character of the liouse be-
came matter of notoriety, no one could be induced to try
the experiment of living in it. In the case of a house,
no less than in that of an individual, a ))ad n&uw is more
easily gained than lost, and in the case of the lutusc on
Duchess street its uncanny repute clung to it with a per-
sist»)nt grasp which time did nothing to relax. It was
distinctly and emphatically a place to keep away from.

'i'lie h(,use was originally built by one of the Ilidout
family — 1 think hy the Surveyor-General himself — soon
after the clo.se of the war of 1812, and it remained intact
until a 3'ear or two after the town of York became the
city of Toronto, when it was partly demolished and con-
verted into a more profitable investment. The new
structure, which was a shingle or stave factory, was burn-
ed down in l!S43 or 1(S44, and the site thenceforward
remained unoccupied until comparatively recent times
When T visited the spot a few weeks since I encounter-
ed not a little difficulty in fixing upon the exact site,

riic //tiiiiiti'ii Uoiisi- oil Ihii/ii'ss Shrr/.

which is covL'iocl l>y an iinpiv|)()s.-.cs.siiiL,^ low of dark red
htick, prosentin^' the as[)ect of haviiiL,' stood tlierc from
time immemorial, tliouj^di as I am informed, the liouses
have been erected within tlie last (inarter of a eenturv.
Unattractive as they appear, liowever. tliey are the least
nninviting feature in the landscape, which is piosaic and
s([iialid heyond description. Rickety, tumble-down tene-
ments of dilapidated lath and plaster stare the beholder
in the face at every turn. DuriiiL,' the L,^reater part of
the day the solitude of the neighbourhood remains un-
broken save by the tread of some chance wayfarer like
myself, and a ^(Mieral atmosphere of the abomination of
desolation reij^Mis supreme. Passiu!^ aloni^ the unfre-
(piented pavement, one finds it difKcult to realize t}ie
Fact that this was once a not unfashionable ((uarter of
the capital of rj)prr Canada.

The old Ijouse stood forty or lifty f»'et back Irom tlie
roadway, on the nortli si(h^ overlooking- tlio waters of
tlu; bay. 'J'lie lot was divided from the street by a low
picket fence, ami a<lmission to the enclosure was L'ained
by means of a small gate. In tliose remote times there
were few buildings intervening lu'tween Duchess street
and the water front, and those few were not veiy pre-
tentious ; so tlmt when the atmospliere was free from
fog you could trace from the windows of the upper story
the entire liithermost shore of the peninsula whicli has
since become The Island. The structure itself, like most
buildings then erecteil in York, was of frame. It was of
considerable dimensions for those days, and nnist have
contained at least eight or nine rooms. It was two
stories high, and had a good deal of painted fret-work

III

The llauntid 1 1 oust i>ii />//(//f\ss S/nrf.

altoiit tli(3 windows of the up|>ei' story. A stately elm
stoxl iiiiinediately in tlie rear, and its wide-spreatlinij
liranclies overshadowed tlie jjjreater part of tlie back,yard
and outhuildini^s. And that is all 1 liave been able to
learn about the exterior aspect of the place.

II. — INSinE THE IIOUSK.

SMALL porch-door, about half way down the
western side, furnished tlie ordinary mode of
entrance to and exit fron> tlie house. This
door opened into an apartment which served
the double purpose of sitting-room and din-
in-'-room, and wliich was connected by an
inner door with the kitchen and back premises.
Tlierc was, however, a nither wide-mouthed front entrance,
approached by a short tli,i,'ht of wooden steps, and opeii-
inrr into a fai?--sized hall. To the right of the hall, as
you entered, a door opened into what served as a draw-
iji<'-ro()m which was seldom used, as the occupants of the
house were not given to receiving much fashionable
company. To the left of the hall, another door opened
into the ilining-room already mentioned. A stairway,
facing the front entrance, conducted you to the upper
story, which consisted of several bed-rooms and a large
apartment in front. This latter must have been by long
odds the i)leasantest room in the house. It was of com-
fortable dimensions, well lighted, and cheerful as to its
outlook. Two front windows connnanded a prospect of
the bay and the peninsula, while a third wintlow on the

The llaiintcd JIviisc on Duclicss Sticct.

•^5

eastorii sido overlooked tlie valley ot tlic I)on, which was
l>y no iiwans the stai^iiaiit pool wliich it was destined to
ln'Conie in later years. Tin* only entrance to this cliani-
Imt was a door placed directly to the ri<;ht hand at the
lnad of the stairwav, which stairvvav, it nia\ lie men-
tio!ied, consisted of exactly seventeen steps. A small

hedi

room in the rear was accessihle only l)y a sepaiate
dooj' at the back of the uj)per hallway, and was thus not
directly C(jiniected with the larger apartment.

I am not informed as to the precise ninnher and fea-
tuies of the other looms in the upper story, except that
they were hedrooms; nor is any further information
respecting them essential to a full comjdehension of the
narrative. Why I luive Keen so j)reciso as to what may
at first appear trivial details will hereafter appear.

III. — THE TENANTS 01' THE HOUSE.

^'\v^^ S already mentioned, the house was prohahly
built by Surveyor-General Ridout : I ut it
docs not appear that either he or any mem-
% ber of liis ianiily ever resided tliere. The
v*!^W^ earliest occupant of whom I liave been able
to tind any trace was Thomas Mercer Jones —
the gentleman, I presume, who was afterwards
connected with the Canada Land t om}»any. Whether
lie was the first tenant I am unable to say, but a gentle-
man bearin<r that name dwelt there during the latter
part of the year 1810, and appears to have been a well-
known citizen of Little York. In l.Sl!> the tenant was a

■^.

ifi

sr,

/"//, /fiiiiiifiif llous,' (>n Ihii/ii'ss S/fiY/.

person iihiiumI Mi-Kccliiiic, a^ to wliom I have broii urialde
to •'lean a?iv infonnatioii vvliatoviT Iu'VoipI tli«' \ni\•^^ fact
that lie was a j)ewlioMt r in St. Jaims's eliurcli. He
appeals to liavt; ;fiven place to one of tlie ntuiierous nieni-
bcrs of tlie l*o\ve!I family.

Hut tlu' occupant with whom this nanative is more
immediately concerned was a certain ex-military man
named By water, who woke up the echoes of ^'oi k society
for a few hrief months, between sixty and seventy yeais
ago, and who, after passing a lurid interval of his mis-
spent life in this community, solve<l the great prohlem of
human existence l»y falling down stairs and breaking his
neck. Captain Stephen i»ywat».'r was a nuu.rais sujrf of
the most pronounced stamp. He came of a good family
in one of the Mi<lland Counties of Kngland : entered the
army at an early age, and was present '^"> a certain mem-
orable Sunday at Waterloo, on which occasion he is said
to have borne himself gallantly and well. lUit he ap-
pears to have ha<l a deep vein of ingrained vice in his
composition, which perpetually impelled him to crooked
])aths. Various ugly stories were current about him, for
all of which there was doubtlos more or less foundation.
It was said that he had been caught cheating at play,
and that he was an atlept in all the rascalities of the turf.
The deplorable event which led to the resignation of his
commis.->ion made considerable noise at the time of its
occurrence. A young brother otlicer whom he liad
swindled out of large sums of money, was forced by him
into a duel, which was fought on the French coast, in the
presence of two seconds and a military surgeon. There
seems to have been no doubt that the villainous captain

The flail Ud House on Diu/nss Stiret,

«7

liicd too soon, At any ratt*, the youth wlio liad houii
iiivei;,'l('(l into staking his life on tlie issuo was lot't dead
on the Held, while the a;,%M-essor rode ofl' unseathed,
followed l»y the execrations of his own second. A ri<;id
en([uiry was instituted, hut the princ" -al witnesses were
not forthcoming, and the murderer — lor as such he was
connnoidy n-^'arded — escaped the punishment which
everyhody considered lie had justly merited. The sever-
ance of his connection witli the army was a foregone con-
clusion, and he was formally expelled from his club. He
was .socially sent to Coventry, an«l his native land soon
hocame for liim a most undesirable i>lace of abode. Then
he cros.sed the Atlantic and made his way to U|)per Can-
ada, where, after a while, he turned up at York, and be-
came the tenant of tlie house on Duchess street.

At the time of his arrival in this country, which must
have been some time in 182:2, or perhaps early in 182.S,
Captain By water was a})parently about forty years of age.
fie was a bacheloi" and possessed of some means. For a
very brief period he contrived to make his way into the
select i^ociety of the I'rovincial capital; but it soon be-
eame known that he was the aristocratic desperado who
had so ruthlessly shot down young Remy Errington on
the samls near Boulogne, and who had the reputation of
being one of the most unmitigated scamps who ever wore
uniform. York society in tlio.se days could swallow a
good deal in a man of good birth and competent fortune,
but it could not swallow even a well-to-do bachelor of
good family and marriageable age who had been forced
to resign his commission, and had been expelled from a
not too straight-laced London club, by a unanimous vote

Tlic Ilamitcd House on DucJiess Street.

of tilt' coimiuUce. Captain l>v"\"ater was dioppotl witli a
hikIiK'Iuios- and severity wliicli he could not fail to under-
stand. He received no more invitations from mothers
with uiarriageahle daughters, a.nd when he presented him-
sentcd himself at their doors informally and forhidden he
found nohody at homo. Ladies ceased to recoi,niise him
on the stii'ot, and i^^^ntlemen received his hows with a
response so friL,dd that he readily eom])rehended the state
of atlhiis. He perceived that his day of grace was past,
anil accepted his fate with a supercilious shrug of liis
hi'oad shoulders.

Ihit the Captain was a gregarious animal, to whom sol-
itude wa-. insiipportahle. Society of some sort was a ne-
cessity of his existence and as the company of ladies and
gentlemen, was no longer open to him, he sought consola-
tion among persons of a lower gra'le in the social scale.
He began to fr.H[uent l)ar-rooms and other places of pul die
resort, and as he was free with his money he had no dith-
culty in finding companions of acortainsoi-twho were ready
an<l willing enough to drink at his expense, an<l to listen
to the liraggadocio tales of the doughty deeds achieved hy
him iluring his campaign in the Peninsula. In a few
weeks ho found himself the acknowledged head an.d frort
of a little coterie which .assembled nightly at the George
Inn, on King street. This, however, did not last long, as
the late potations and ribald caiousings of the company
disturlted the entire neighborhood, and attracted atten-
tion to the place. The landlord received a stern admoni-
tion to keep earlier ho'ars and less uproarious guests^
Whi'U Honiface sought to cany this admonition into etfect
Captain Bywater mountecl his high horse, nnd adiourn<Ml

The tlaitiiud House vn Ihniins Street.

to liis own |tlnc'('. lakiiii,' liis livr or six Im)om conipMnions
with luiu. Fiom tluit lime forw;n<l tin- lioiisc on Duciu-ss
street -was the regular place ot inert iiiir.

IV. — TiiK ()U(;ii.s IN TiiK Horsi:.

'mv^^ ATTAIN IJywnter. upon liis first arrival at
>W \(G:i'\ ^ *'''l'^. ^'«'^'' taken ui) hi.s (luarters at a imhlic
't4:^^t^, house. The "S'ork inns of the jieriod had an
%.i'f\ ''^ unenviaMe icputation, an<l were widely dit'-
Nvi-,;-^ ferent from the (.Mieen's and Rossin of tlK;

•^.-M? present (hiy. Some of my readers will douhtless
roincnil)er John CJalt's sava<;e tllni^ at them sev-
eral years later. To j»arody J)r. Johnson's eharacteri-
/ation of the famous leg of nuitton, they were ill-look-
ing, ill-smelling, ill-provided and ill-ke)>l. In a word,
they ward unendurahle places of sojourn toi' a man of
fastidious tastes and sensitive nerves. IVrhaps the
(^aptain's tastes were fastidious, though I can hardly
believes that liis nerves were sensitive. Possibly lie
wished to furnish clear evidence that lie was no mere
sojoui'iier in a strange land, hut that he had eome here
witli a view to permanent settlome' t. At all events his
stay at an inn was of brief dm ation. He rented the house
on Duchess street and furnished it in a style which for
those days might be called expinsive, moiv especially for
a bachelor's establishment. The greater part of the fui ni-
ture was sent up from Montieal, an I the (ajttain pro-
clnimed his intention of <dvinL! a LLr.fd house-warminj/

^^■

Tlh' Haunted IJousi' on niu/irss Stnuf,

at ail carl V (late, lie had lianlly l>ccoiii«; s('ttl(.'<l in the
place, however, hefoie liis chaiactei aii<l antecedent life
V)ecaine known, as alrea<ly mentioned, and the project was
abandoned.

\\\^ liouselioid consisted of a man-servant named dim
Snnnnei*s, wliom he liad jdcked up at Mc^ntreal, cand the
wife of tl»e latter, who enjoyed the reputation olheini^^an
excellent cook, in wliieh capacity she was afterwards
employed at the Gcvernment House ilurin;,' the i(^i,riniu of
Sir John Colhorne. At first this C(»uple had a tolerahly
easy time of it. The ('aptain was not exii;eant, and
allowed them to run the estahlishment pntty much
as tliey chose. Jle always rose late, and went out im-
mediately after hreakfast, accompanie<l hy his large
Newffjundland doi^ Nero, the only living' [)ossession lie
had hrouiiht witli him from hevond the sea. Master and
dog were seen no moie until dinnei-time, which was five
o'clock. Between seven and eight in the evening the pair
woulvl l)etiike tliemselves to the Geoi-;ife, wlierc the Cajituin
drank and howled himself hoarse until long past nudnight.
Jjut he was a .seasoned vessel, and generally had pretty
fair control over his limbs. He could always lind his way
home without assistance, and used to direct his man not
to wait uj> for him. The dog wa.s liis companion when-
ever he .stirred out of doors.

But when the venue was clianged from the tap-room of
the George Inn to the ^'aptain's own house, the troubles
of Jim Sunnners and his wife began. The guests com-
monlv aviived witidn a few minutes of each other, a; \
were all in their places by eight o'clock. Tliey met in the
large upper room, and their sessions were prolonged far

rih JIauuliti I louse ON Ihu/fcss Sfrrrf.

ii)t<» tlu' ni^lii, or latlu-r iiito tlic inoniiiiL;, lur it liap-
pcned oft-n eiioui^li tluit <laylii(lit |>(M'|tL'(l in tliruuiih
tlie fastern window and found Uic c()in|»any still undis-
persed. Ililiald jo>t.s, druidvcn lauulitcr and obscene
s()n<jj.s were kept up ilie wliole nii^lit tliiouLjii. The
(juantity of rum, wliisky, brandy and l»eci- ton.^uiued in
tlie course of a week nnist liavt; been sonietliin!^ to wonder
at. The refresh nients weio provided at the expense of
tlie host, and as it was Jim's business to keep up tlie
s.ipply of spirits, lemons and hot water, lie had no sinecure
on his hands. It nui.,dit well lie supposed that he mi^dit,
if .so minded, have found a more con«^enial situation, but
as a matter of fact, he was not over s('iu|tulous as to the
nature of his employment, and probably had his full share
of the fun. The (.'a})tain paid i;()od wages, and was lavish
in i^ratuities when he was in ijood humor. ( )n the whole
.Jim considered that he had not such a bad jilace of it,
an<l was by no means disposed to (juarrel with his bread
and butter. His wife took a «litl'eient view of ati'airs, and
ere lon<^' refu.sed to lemain on the premises ilurinj^' the
ni<ditlv ori:ies. This ditlicultv was «;ot over by an ar-
rani^aMuent wliereby .she was |)ermitted to cpiit the house
at eight o'clock in the ev«'ning, returning on the following
morning in time to prepare the CJa})taiu's breakfast. She
spent her nights with a married sister who lived a short
distance away, and by this means she avoided what to
any woman of resj>ectability must hav»^ been an unbear-
able intliction.

The orgie.s, in process of time, became a reproach to the
neighl>orhood and a scandal to the town. Thev were,
however, kept up with few interruptions, for .several

9-'

riii 1 1 an II till Ifuiisc ON ihtL/uss SirciL

nioiillis. Mole (lian one t(nvrisiiijiii (Icrljncd that so iiitol-
LMalilc a nuisance nuist be alu'ited, l>ut no one likeil to lie
tlic first to stir in sueli an nnpK'asant business, and the
hacehanalians continued to " vrx witli niiitli tlie drowsy
ear of ni'dit, ' unclieci\ed by nioie clean! v-livin<'- citi/.eiis.
Hut just al)oiit the time when tliese caiousini^^s had Ite-
couie Jilisoluteiy intolerable to the connnunity, they were
put a stop to without an\- outside int«'rl'erence.

V. riii: < ArAsritui'iiK in riii-; ikmsi:.

'.i/v% ^^ ^ ceitain Sumhiy niijlit, which was destined

to be nu'nioral)le in tlie annals of tlit^ Duchess

street house, the nuiubci- (»i' ('antain l>v-

•'ri^td'.J wuteis Ljuests wa,s smaller than usual. They

. >?^r consisted of onl\' three ])«isons :

.. .' 1. Henry .b)hn Portei-, an articled clerk in tlie

oliice of Simon Washburn. Mr. Washl»urn was a

well-known lawyer of those times, whose ollice was (»n

the coinerol" Duke and ( ieor<'e streets, lie acted i)ro

'r>"

tessionally lor the llidout family, and had the letting
a!id sale of the Duchess street pro})erty. It was j>robab|y
throuj^di this circumstance that his clerk Iwid become ac-
(|uainteil with ( 'aptain I>y water.

'1. .lanu's Mci)ou«.jall, who was emi)loyed in some sub-
ordinate capacity in the (Jivil Service.

W. Alfrcil .Jordan Pilkey, wliose occupation seems to

have been

noth

wwj^ m particular,

What had l>ecome of the other regular attendants does
not appear. N<»t only were the guests few in nund)er

Tlw Haunted House on Diu/it'ss S/nr/.

•A>

on this pjtrticiiliir ovcninLT, '"ut tlio piocortlini^'s tlu'iii-
st'lvL's soeiii to liuve been ot" a imicli loss noisy chaiMcter
than (titliiiary. It was noticL'tl that tlu; host was sonie-
wliat out of hiunor, anil tliat lie •lisplaycil siijMs of ill-
teniju'i' whicli wero n(it usual with liiiii. I lis (jcuicanor
rt'tlocted its(.'lf u})on lus company, ami the tun was noitluM'
fast nor fuiious. In fact the tinio passed somewliat
(iivarily, and the SL'(lerunt l)roi<e up at tliu unpicce'dcnt-
odly early liour of eleven o'clock. The man-servant saw
tlie company out, lockeil the (h)or, and lepaired to tlie
room up-stairs where his master still lini^ored, to see if
anythin;^' more was recpiired of liim.

The ( 'a[)tain sat in a lari^^e armchair hy the tii'c, sippiiiL,'
a final j^dass of i^vo^^. Ho seemed i^loomy and dispiiitcd,
as though he liad somethinij on liis mind. In response to
.lim's eiKpiiiy whether lie wanted anythinn' he ^^rowled
out: " No, *fo to hed, and he han^iMi to you," Jim took
liim at his woid, so far as tlio first clause of tlu; injunc-
tion was conceined. Ih' went to htd in his room on the
opposite side; of the hallway. In passing- thro\iy;h the liall
he percoived Nero lyinif asleep on the mat in front of his
master's bedroom, whicli was tlie small loom in the rear
of the lari^o a[)artment wliere the meetings were held.

.Jim had not been in bed many miinites a!id was in a
traiKpiil state between sleepiuL;' and wakiiiLf, when lu;
lu'ard his mastei' tuneri^^e from tlie liont loom and pass
aloiiLi; the hallway, as tliou_L,di about to enlei- his bed-
chamber. Anotlier moment and he wa-. roused from his
half-somnolent condition by tlie heaiiuLT of the sh.up re-
port of a pistol sliot, followed by a sound from Neio,
something between a moan and u liowl. Il< >pran<.( t.o

Tlic //nniif('</ House on Ihiclicss Shrct.

tlie llooi', liiit eio ho could make liis way into tlic liall lu;
was woll-ni'di stunned Itv liearinL; a tivniendous ciasli, as
th(>UL;li some larije body had l»eon huiled violently down
the stairs t'loiu top to l)ottoni. A va^ue thought of voh-
l»ers flashed throu;,di his l)iain, and he paused for a nio-
nicnt, as he hiniselt' atterwanls admitted, half ])aralyze<l
with friijht. He called aloud upon his master and then
upon the doi;-, hut receive<l no response fiom either. The
crash of the falling;- hody was succeeded by absolute sil-
ence. PulliiiLT his nerves toi'ether he struck a match
lii;hted his candle and passed in fear and tremblini; into
the hallway. The first sij^dit that <,n*eeted his eyes was
the seeminj^ly lifeless body of Nero lyin*,' stretched out at
the head of the stairs. Upon appioachinn' the body he
found blood tricklinn' from a wound in the poor ))iute's
throat. One of thr ( 'aptain's pistols lay on the floor, close
by. I>ut where wa.s the C.'aptain himself :* Shadini,' his
eyes and hoMiiiL;' the candle before him he peered fear-
fully down the stairway, but the darkness was too pro-
found to 'd;iiit of his seeing' to the bottom. l>y this time
a foreshadowini; of the tiuth hnd made its way to his
understandinj^. 1 le cre})t <^ingerly down the stairs, slowly
step by step, holdini; the candle far in advance, and anon
calliML,' ui)on his master by name. He had passed more
than half the way down before he received full e()ntirma-
tion of his forebodinjjrs.

There, Iv ing at full length across the hallway, between
the foot of the stairs and the front dooi', was the body of
llemy Errington's murderer, with the sinister, evil face
turned u[) to the ceiling;*. Ilis left arm, still !:^n-aspinjj; a
candlestick, was doubled under him, and his body, in its

ICC

f a

1 ' m

'/'//(' Haunted House ou /hu/wss Sinrt.

inipetuotis (loscoiit, lia«l torn uway tlio lower portion of
thr Italustrado. The distraiinlit serviiii^-nian raised the
head on his arm, and, by sucli means as occurred to him,
sou!L,dit to ascertain wliether any life still lingered ther(\
lie could tlnd no ])ulsation at the wrist, but ujx^n apply-
\\vf his ear to the left side he fancied he could detect a
slight lluttcrini:;' of the heart Then he rushed to the
kitchen, and returneil with a pitcher of water, which he
dashed in the prostrate face. As this produced no appar-
ent etfect he ran Icick ui)stairs to his bedroom, tliiew on
part of his clothes, and made his way at full speed to the
house of Dr. Pritchard on Newgat*? street.

The doctor was a late bird, and had not retired to rest.
He at once set out for Duchess street, Jim Summers ufoiuij:
round by the hous(>' of his sister-in-law on Palace street to
arouse his wife, who slej)t there. Upon receivinij[ his
wife's promise to follow him as soon as she couM huddle
on her clothiuL;', .lim ran on in advance, and reachccl the
Duchess street house, oidy a minuliior two later than Dr.
Pritchard. 'i'he doctor had been there long enough, how-
ever, to ascc'itain that the ('a[)tain's neck was broken, an(i
that he was where no human aid could reach him. lie
would presidi' over no more orgies in the large room on
the u})per story.

///(• /lannitd //oiisi on Diu/icss S/m/.

\\. — TIIK IN(,H:i:ST IN TIIK Hol'SE.

^ .^"Jl^^ IlKliM was an iii(|iR'st. That, inuler tlie cir-
* '''r/«r0 cuiiistaiiC'L's, was a matter of course, l)Ut notli-
'if "NK/Ai inir of imiHjrtaiicc was elicitetl beyond what
••H^^^^J lias alrca<ly iKJon ntjtcd. I'cjrtor, Mactloii^rall
r^ Jiinl IMlkey all atteiKleil, aii'l L,'avo evidence to
i (j^ the etft'ct that ( aptain iJy watur was tolerably
dnn»k when tlu-y Irl't him at eleven, hut that he
was upon tlu-' whole the most soher of the J)arty and
appeared quite capaMe of takini,^ care of himself. I'hey
had noticed his unconi^'enial mood, hut coidd afford no

coijjectint' as

to tl

le cause

was nn

possi

hie t

() sus-

pect anythini;' in the shape of foul l)lay. The ohvious
coTU'lusion to he arrived at was that the Cajitain's lonj;-
drinking' houts had pioduced theii- Ic^dtinuite result, antl
that at the moment when he met his death he was sutler-
iu!^ from, or on the veri^^e of delirium tremens, lie iLjene-
lally carried a loaded pi>Lol in his hreast pocket. He had
found the doiS asleep on tlu' mat hefore his hedchand»er.
It was jtrohahly asleej), u\\ at all events, it diil not haste-n
to i^et tMitof his way, and in a moment of in.-ane fuiy or
drunken stupidity he hail drawn forth his weapon and
shot the poor hrute d»'ad. lie had just tlu'U heen stand-
'u\[f utai the toji of the stairs. The ipiantity of li«jUoi' he
had drunk wassullieient to justily the conclusion that he
was not iis steady on his pins as a soher man would have
been, lie had uver-hakinced himself, and — und that wa;

riic llaiDitai House on J)iu/it-ss S/nri.

'J7

tlic wliulc ^iloly. 'J'liu eoroiiei's jury l»iuuglit in u \er-
clict in uccordancc with the tacts, and thu (aptain's body
was put to lied with tlie sexton's spade.

A will, diawn up in (hie Ibrin in the; ollice uF Mi. W asli-
liiii-n, and inoperiy signed and attested, liad ln'i-n nuule
hy llie deceased a slioit time aftei" takini,' pos.session of
the j>lace on huclu'ss street. His fortune cldelly consisti'd
olan inc'»ii»e of iive liundred pounds .steiling }>er annum,
secured on real I'state situated in (lloucesteisliire, Kn.n-
land. 'i'his income lapsed u])on liis deatli, and it luid tlius
heen unnecessary to n)ake any testamentary jirovision
respectinu^ it, except as to tlie portion which sliould ac-
crue between the last (piarter-day and tlie death of the
testator. This purtion was becpieathed to rn elder bro-
thel- residing in ( Jloucestershire. All tlie otlier property
of the deceased was becpieathed to Mr. Wa.sliburn, in
trust to iiispose of such personal belongings as did not
consist of ready money, and to transmit the proceed.s,
together with all the cash in hand, to the said elder bro-
ther in (doucester.shire.

The latter provisions were duly cariie<l into etiect l)y
Mr. Washliurn within a few days after the funeral, and
it might well have been supposed that the good people
of York had heard the last of Captain IJy water and his
affairs.

hut thev ha«ln't.

llic llaiintid IlotiiC on Diuhess Street.

VII. — THE r.I,A< K IK)C; AND HIS MASTKU.

< 'iTT'^r llif salt' of Cajitain Uywati'i-'s streets a ]ior-
lion of the fiimituiv Itt'loni^niii,' to tlu» dininn-
room, kitrlK'ii an«l one Itedroom were piir-
chase<l Ity Jim iSiniiniers, wlio, witli his wife,
continiKMl to reside in the Diielicss street
house penilini,' the lettini,^ of it to a new ten-
ant. These temporary occupants tlius lived in
three rooms, tlieir sleeping: apartment heinij on tlie upper
story at tlu northern •^ide of the house, a!id on the oppo-
site side of tile hall lV<»ni tlie lari^^e room wliich had heeii
the scene of no Uiuch recent dissipation. All tlie rest
of the house was lett hare, and the doors of the unoccu-
pied rooms were kept locked. Sunnners found employ-
ment as porter and assistant in llammell's groeery store,
but his wife was always on hand to show the premises to
anyone who mii^ht wisli to see them.

All went on tpiietly until nearly a mouth after the
funeral. Mrs. SummeiN ha«l an easy time of it, as no in-
tending tenants presented tljemselves, and her only visi-
tor was her married sister, who occasionally (hopped in
for an hour's chat. Jim was always at home by seven in
the evening, and the time glided ity without anythin.g
occurring to <liNturh the smooth current of their lives.

Butthi.sstate of thiii'^swas not to he of lon< ^continuance.
One night when Mj. Washburn was busy over his briefs
in his study at home he was <listurbed bv '<\ loud knock-

/'///■ Ifdiditcd Ilouac oil /hit/ii'ss S/nr/.

inj^ at liis front doui'. As it was nearly nii<liii;^'ht, iin<l as
everyone else in the house hiul retired to rest, lie answered
the sininnons in person. Upon unfastenin'4 the door he
found .lim and his wife at tlie tlireshold. 'I'licy were
only lialf dressed, and tlieir Ci)untenaiH'('s; were eoloi less
as I'alliilu Mors. They stunil>led impetuously into the
liail, and were evidently lal.oring undei* some tremendous
excitement. The lawyer conducted tliem into tl»e study,
where they potu'ed into Ids astonislird ears a most sinL,ni-
lar tale.

Their story was to tlw etl'ect tliat tliey luid heeii dis-
turlieil for several nights previously l»y straii.y;e and im-.N-
plicaliif noises in the house occupie<l l»y them on Duchess
street. They had been aroused from sleep at indetermi-
nate liours by the sound of gliding footstei)s j«ist outside
of the door of their bedroom. Once they had distinctly
heard the sound of voices, which seemed to come from
the lar^c front room across the hall. As tlie door of that
room was fast closed and locked, they had not been able
to distinguish the paiticular words, but they both declar-
ed that the voice was inaivcdlously like that of ('a[»tain
l»y water. They were persons of fairly steady nerves, but
their situation, all thiniis considered, was solitaiv and
peculiar, ami tiu^y had not by any means relished these
unaccountable manifestations. On eacli occasion, how-
ever, they had contiolled themselves .sufliciently to insti-
tute a vigorous invf -itigation of the premises, but IukI dis-
covered nothing to throw any light upon tlie subject.
They had found all the doors and the windows securely
fastened, and there was no sign of tlie presence of any-
thing or anybody to account for the gliding footsteps.

,'b^

,%.

<>\^>^^^0.

<^„

s:^^\%^^

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

L<*:

1.0

l.i

1.25

128 125

££

H2^

11.8

L4 llilii.6

c'?

/}.

■c).

^■

C^j

TOO The Haunted House on Duchess Street.

Tlioy lia<l uiilorkcd aiu' enkTod ilu' front room, and IouikI
it ]»are and deserted as it had been left ever since tlie re-
moval of the fuinitiii-e after tlie sale. They had even
gone to the length of unlocking and entering every other
room in the house, but had found no clue to the mysteri-
ous sounds which, had distui'bed them. Then they had
arifued themselves into the belief that ima<>ination had
imposed upon them, or that there was some natural but
undiscovered cause for what had occurred. Thev were
reluctant to make themselves the lauiihini^stock of the
town by letting the idea get abi'oad that they were afraid
of ghosts, and they determined to hold their tongues.
But the manifestations had at last assumed a complexion
which rendered it impossible to pursue such a course any
longer, and they vehemently protested that they would
not pass another night in the accursed liouse for any bribe
that could be offered them.

They had spent the preceding evening at home, as
usual, and had gone to bed a little before ten o'clock.
The recent manifestations had probably left some linger-
ing trace upon their nerves, but they had no premonitions
of further expi'riences of the same character and had
soon dr()p[)ed asleep. They knew not how long they had
slept when they were sudilenly and sinudtaneously ren-
dered broad awake by a succession of sounds w])ich could
not possibly be exi)lained by any reference to mere imagi-
nation. They heard the voice of their late master ns dis-
tinctly as they had ever heard it during his life. As
before, it emanated from the front room, but this time
there was no possibility of their being deceived, as
they caught not only the sound of his voice, but also

'^m

TJic Uaioitcd House on Piic/icss Street.

lOl

ad
il.l

is-
As
me
as
Iso

certain words which they had often heard from his lips
in by!L;"one times, " Don't spare the liquor, o-etitlemen,"
roared the Captain, "there's plenty more where that came
from. More sugar and lemon, you scoundrel, and be
handy there with the hot water." Then was heard the
jinglini;' of glasses and loud rappinps as if made with the
knuckles of the hand upon the table. ( )ther voices were
now heard joinin^^ in conversation, but too indistinctly
for the now thorougldy frightened listeners to catch any
of the actual words. There could, however, be no mis-
take. ( ^iptain By water had certainly come back from
the land of shadows and re-instituted the old o)<des in
the old spot. The uproar lasted for at least tive miimtes,
when the Captain gave one of his characteristic drunken
howls, and of a sudilen all was still ami silent as tlie

grave.

As might naturally have been expected, the listeners
were terror-stricken. For a {'q\v moments after the cessa-
tion of the disturbance, they lay there in silent, open-
mouthed wonderment and fear. Then, before they could
hnd their voices, theii' ears were assailed by a loud noise
in the hall below, followed by the mufHed " bow-wow " of a
dog, the sound of which seemed to come from the landing
at the head of the stairway. Jim could stand the pres-
sure of the situation no longer. We s}>rang from the ))e<l,
lighted a candle, and lushed out into the hall. This he
did, as he afterwards admitted, not because he felt brave,
but because he was too terrified to remain in bed, and
seemed to be impelled by a resolve to face the worst that
fate might have in store for him. Just as he passed from
the door into tiie hall, a heavy footstep was heard slowly

\02

The Haunted I louse ou Duchess Street.

ascending the stairs. He paused wliere he stood, candle
in hand. The steps came on, on, on, with measured tread.
A moment more and he caui^lit siiiht of the ascendini'-
figure. Horror of liorrors ! It was liis late master —
clothes, cane and all — just as he had been in life ; and at
the head of the stairs stood Nero, who gave vent to an-
other low bark of recognition. When the Captain reached
the landing place he turned halfway round, and the light
of the candle fell full on his face. Jim saw the whole
outline with the utmost clearness, even to the expression
in the eyes, which was neither gay nor sad, but rather
stolid and stern — just what he had been accustomed to
see there. The dog crouched back against the wall, an<l
after a brief halt near the stair-head, Captain B\'water
turned the knob of his bed-room door and passed in.
The dog followed, the door was closed, and once mo)'e all
was silent. Jim turned and encountered the white face
of his wife. She had been standing behind him all the
while, and had seen everything just as it had been pre-
sented to his own eyes. Moreover, im[)elled by some in-
ward ])rompting for which she could never account, she
had counted the footsteps as they had ascended the stairs.
They had been exactly seventeen !

The pair re-entered their room and took hurried coun-
sel together. They had distinctly seen the Captain tui-n
the knob and pass into his bed-room, followed by the
semblance of Nero. As they well knew, the 'door of that
room was locked, and the key was at that moment in the
pocket of Mrs. Sunnners' dress. In sheer desperation
they resolved at all hazards to unlock the door and enter
the )'Oom. Mrs. Summers produced the key and handed

< . i;.f

TJie Haunted House on DucJuss Street.

103

it to her husband. She carried the candle and accom-
panied him to the stair-head. He turned the lock and
pushed tlie door wide open hefore him, and both ad-
vanced into the room. It was empty, and the window
was found tirmly fastened on the inside, as it had been
left weeks before.

They returned to their own bedroom, and agreed that
any further stay in such a liouse of horrors was not to be
thought of. Hastily arraying themselves in such clotli-
ing as came readily to hand, they passed down the stair-
way, unbolted the front door, blew out the light, and
made their way into the open air. Then they relocked
tlie door from outside and left the place. Their intended
destination was the house of Mi's. Summei\s' sister, but
they determined to go round by Mr. Washburn's and tell
him their story, as they knew he kept late hours and
woukl most likely not have gone to bed.

Mr. Washburn, stolid man of law though he was, could
not listen to such a narrative without prcceptable signs
of astonishment. zVfter thinkinii' over the mutter a few
moments, he recpiested his visitors to pass the night under
his roof, and to keep their own counsel for the })resent
about their strange experiences. As lie well knew, if
the singular story got wind there would be no possibility
of tiudinii" another tenant for the vacant house. The cou-
pie acceded to the first request, and promised compliance
with the second. They were then shown to a spare room,
and the marvels of that stranu'e niu'ht were at an end.

Next morning at an early hour the lawyer and the ex-
serving man proceeded to the Duchess street house.
Everything was as it had been left the night before, and

I04

TJic ffaini/C(/ House on Ditc/icss Street.

no clue couldlio found to the mysterious circumstances so
solenmly attested to by Jim Summers and liis spouse.
Tlio perfect sincerity of tlio couple could not ])e doubted,
but Ml'. Wnsld)urn was on the whole disposed to believe
that they had in some way been imposed upon by de-
sioninii; persons who wished to frighten them off the pre-
nnses, or that their imnginations had played they a scurvy
trick. With a renewed caution as to silence he dismissed
them, and they thenceforth took up their abode in the
house of Mrs. Sunnners' sister on Palace street.

Ml", and Mrs, Summers kept their mouths as close as,
under the circumstances, could reasonably have been ex-
pected of them. But it was necessary to account in some
way for their sudden desertion of the Duchess street
house, and INFrs. Summers' sister was of an inquisitive dis-
position. By degrees she succeeded in getting at most of
the facts, but to do her justice she did not proclaim them
from the housetops, and for some time the secret was
pretty well kept, 'I'he story would probably not have
become generally known at all, but for a succession of
circumstances which took place when the haunted house
had been vacant al)Out two months.

An American immigrant named Horsfall arrived at
York with a view of settling there and opening out a gen-
eral store. He was a man of family and of course re-
quired a house to live in. It so happened that the store
rented to him on King street had no house attached to it,
and it was therefore necessary for him to look out for a
suitable [)lace elsewhere. Hearing that a house on Duch-
ess street was to let, he called and went over the pre-
mises with Mr. Washburn, who natui'ally kcj)t silent as

TJie IT any. ted House on Duehcss Street.

105

at
n-
•e-
re
it,
a

lis

to the supernatural appearances which had driven the
Sunimerses from tlie door in the middle of the night. The
inspection proved satisfactory, and Mr. Horsfall took the
])lace for a year. His household consisted of his wife, two
grown-up (hiugliters, a son in his fifteenth year, and a
l)lack female servant. They came up from Utica in ad-
vance of Mr. Horsfall's expectations, and before the house
was ready for them, hut matters were pushed forward with
all possible speed, and on the evening of tlie second day
after their arrival they took possession of the })lace. Tlie
fui-niture was thrown in higgledy-piggledy, and all at-
tempts to put things to rights were postponed until the
next day. The family walked over after tea fiom the inn
at which they had l)een staying, resolving to rough it for
a single night in their new home in preference to passing
another night amid countless swarms of " the pestilence
that walketh in darkness." Two licds were hastilv made
up on the floor of the drawing-room, one for the occupa-
tion of Mr. and Mrs. Horsfall, and the other for the two
young women. A third bed was hastily extemporized on
the floor of the dining-room for the occupation of Master
Cieorge Washington, and Dinah found repose on a lounge
in the adjacent kitchen. The entire househoM went to
bed sometime between ten and eleven o'clock, all pretty
well tired, and prepared for a comfortable night's rest.

They had been in bed somewhat more than an hour
when the whole family was aroused by the barking of a
dog in the lower hall. This was, not unnaturally, re-
garded as strange, inasmuch as all the doors and windows
liad been carefully fastened l)y Mr. Horsfall before retir-
ing, and there had certainly been no dog in the house

io6

The 1 1 aim I id House on Pitc/iess Street.

1 ..!!

then. The head of tlic family lost no time in lighting a
candle and opening the door into the hall. At the same
moment young G. W. opened the door on the opposite side
Yes, there, sure enough, was a large, black Newfoundland
dog, seemingly very much at home, as though he belonged
to the place. As the youth advanced towards him he re-
treated to the stairway, up which he passed at a great pad-
ding pace. How on earth had he gained an entrance ?
Well, at all events he must be got rid of ; but he looked
as if he would be an awkward customer to tackle at close
quarters and Mr. Horsfall deemed it prudent to put on a
])art of his clothing before making any attempt to expel
him. While he was dressing, the tread of the animal on
the Hoor of the upper hall could be distinctly heard, and
ever and anon he emitted a sort of low, barking sound,
which was ominous of a disposition to resent any inter-
ference with him. By this time all the members of the
household were astir and clustering about the lower hall,
Mr. Horsfall, with a lii^hted candle in one hand and a
stout cudgel in the other, passed up the stairs and looked
along the passage. Why, what on earth had become of
the dou" ! It was nowhere to be seen ! Where could it
have liidden itself ? It was certairdy too large an
animal to have taken refuu-e in a rat-hole. Had it
entered one of the rooms ? Impossible, for they were all
closed, thouiih not locked. Mr. H. himself havhig unlocked
them in the course of the afternoon, when solne furniture
had been taken into them. He, however, looked into
each room in succession, only to iind " darkness there and
nothing more." Then he concluded that the brute must
have gone down stairs while he had been putting on his

The Haunted I louse ou P/u/uss Sfreef.

le)

Lcd
of
it
an
it
all
cd

ll'C

ito
nd

clothes in the room below. No, that could not be, for
Georife Washinfjton had never left the foot of the stair-
way from the moment the dog tirst passed up. Had it
jumped through one of the windows ? No, they were all
fast and intact. Had it gone up the chimney of the front
room ] No ; apart from the absurdity of the idea, the
hole was not large enough to admit of a dog one-tilth its
size. In vain the house was searched throuixh and throut^h.
Not a sign of the huge disturber of the domestic })eace
was to be seen anywhere.

After a while, Mr. Horsfall, at a loss for anything bet-
ter to exercise his faculties u])on, openeil both the front
and back doors and looked all over the premises, alter-
nately calling Carlo I Watch I and every other name
which occurred to hira as likely to be borne by a dog.
There was no response, and in sheer disgust he re-entered
the house and again sought his couch. In a few minutes
more the household was again locked in slumber. Hut
they were not at the end of their annoyances. About
half an hour after midnight they were once n\ore aroused.
— this time by the sound of loud voices in the large upper
room. " I tell you we will all have glasses round," roared
a stentorian voice — "I will knock down the tirst man
who objects ! " Everybody in the house heard the voice
and the words. This was apj^arently more serious than
the dog. Mr. H. regretted that he had left his pistols at
the inn, but he determined to rid the place of the intrud-
ers whoever they might be. Grasping the cudgel lie
again made his way up-stairs, candle in hand. When
more than half way up he caught sight of a tali, heavily-
})uilt, red-faced man, who had apparently emerged from

io8

TIic I faiiiitcd I fousc on Diic/iess Strci't.

the lar^^er room, and who was just on the point of opening
the (h)or (tt tlic hack hech'ooni. "Who are you, you
scoundrel :* " excUxinied Mr II. Tlio man apparently
neither saw nor heard liim,l>ut o])ened tlie door witli tran-
(piil unconeerii and passed into tlie room. Mr. If. followed
([uickly at his very heels — only to find that he had hecn
heguiled with a counterfeit, and that there was no one
there. Then In; steppt^l l>ack into the hallway, and
entered the larger room with cudgel raisiid, fully expect-
ing to find several men there. To his unspeak;d>le
astonishment he found nobody. Again he hurrio<l from
rooiu tt» room, upstairs and downstairs. Again he exam-
ined the doors and windows to see if the fastenings had
heeii tampered with. No, all was tight and snug. The
family were again astir, hurrying hither and thither, in
(piest of they kuew not what ; but they f(jund nothing to
reward their search, and after a while all Leathered to-
gether half clad iu the diniug room, where the}'^ began to
ask each other what these sinirular disturbances could
mean.

Mr. Horsfall was a plain, matter of fact personage, and
up to this moment no idea of any supernatural visitation
had so much as entered his mind. Even now he scouted
the idea when it was timidly bioachcd by his wife. He,
however, perceived plainly enough that this was some-
thing altogether out of the conuuon way, and he announced
his intention of froino' to bed no more that ni<jht. The
others lay down again, but we may readily believe that
they slept lightly, if at all, though nothing more occurred
to disturb them. Soon after daylight all the family rose and
dressed for the day. Once moi-e they made tour after

The Haunted House o)i Ihiclicss Street.

!09

and

ted
|He,

inc-

i(e(

Ihat

[red

Lud

[tor

tour tliiuu^di all llie ruums, only to find tliat overytliinj,^ re-
mained precisely as it liad been left on the preceding
night.

After an early breakfast Mr. 11. proceeded to the house
of .^^r. Washhuin, where he found that gentleman was
still asleep, and that he eouldnotbe disturl>od. The visi-
tor was a patient man and declared his intention of
waiting". In about an hour iMr. Washburn came down
stairs, and heard the exti-aordinary story which his ten-
ant had to relate. He had certainly not anticipated any-
thing of this sort, and gave vehement utterance to his
surprise. In reply to Mr. H.'s enipiiries about the house,
however, he gave him a briefaccount of the life and death
of Captain Bywater, and supplemented the biography by
a narration of the singular experiences of Jim Summers
and his wife. Then the American fired up, alleging that
ids landlord had had no right to let him the house, and to
permit him to remov^e his family into it, without acquain-
ting him with the facts beforehand. The lawyer admitted
that he had perhaps been to blame, and expressed his re-
gret. The tenant declared that lie then and there threw
up his tenancy, and that he would vacate the house in
the course of the day. Mr. Washburn felt that a court of
law would probably hesitate to enforce a lease under such
circumstances, and assented that the arrangement between
them should be treated as cancelled.

'VMN^

I !• >

'///(• I Itiiiiih'ii I louse ''// Ihiihi'ss S/rtf/.

VI ri. — THE LAST OF THE flOUSK.
*'NJ) coiicelled it was.

Mr. Ilorsfall tompoiaiily
took his fjiinilv and hi.-, otlier ])eloniiin<:s
l)ack to the inn, hut soon afturwards secured
</^Pj;\ p^ a house where no quests, canine, or other-
(^..</ wJ wise, were in the liabit of intruding- tlicm-

ai«'

selves uninvited in the silent watches of the
night. He kept a store here for some years, and,
I believe, was buried at York. A son of his, as I am
informed — probably the same who figures in the fore-
going narrative — is, or lately was, a well-to-do resident
of Syracuse, N. Y.

Mr. Ilorsfall made no secret of his reasons for throwino-
up his tenancy, and his adventures were soon noised
abroad throughout the town. He was the last tenant of
the sombi'e house. Thenceforward no one could be in-
duced to rent it or even to occupy it rent free. It was
commonly regarded as a whisht, gruesome s{)ot, and was
totally unproductive to its owners. Its subsequent history
Has already been given.

• • • • • I

And now what more is there to tell ? Only this : that
the main facts of the f oref oing story are true. Of course
I am not in a position to vouch for them from personal
knowledge, any more than lam in a position to personally
vouch for the invasion of England by William of Nor-
mandy. But they rest on as good evidence as most other

Sli!"!

The Haunted House on Duchess Styeel,

1 1 r

that
[urse
lonal
^ally
[or-
Ither

piivato events of sixty-odd years aL;(>, and there is n<» rea-
son for doubtinif their literal truth. With rei^ard to the
supernatural element, I am fiee to confess that I am not
able to accept it in entirety. This is not Itecause I (jues-
tion the veracity of those who vouch for the alleged facts,
but because I have not received those facts at lirst hand,
and because I am not very ready to believe in the super-
natural at all. I think that, in the case under considera-
tion, an intelliixent investiiration at the time minht
pi bably have brought to light circumstances as towhiclj
the narrative, as it stands, is silent. Be that as it may,
the tale is worth the telling, and 1 have told it.

■;' I

'I''

|e in-
was
was

itory

niai
the
not

^I^^^^'V^^- 1

SAVAREEN'S DISAPPEARANCE.

A IIALF-FORGOTTEX CHAPTER IN THE HISTORY OF AN
UPPER CANADIAN TOWNSHIP.

CHAPTER I.

THE PLACE AND THE MAN.

\tn.

EAR the centre of one of the most flourish-
in o- of the western counties of Ontario,
and on the line of the Great Western
branch of tlie Grand Trunk Railway,
stands a pleasant little town, which, for
the purposes of this narrative, may be call-
ed Millbrook. Not that its real name is
Millbrook, or anything in the least similar
thereto ; but as this story, so far as its
main events are concerned, is strictl}' true, and some of
the actors in it are still living, it is perhaps desirable
not to be too precise in the matter of locality. The

114

Savarecn's Disappearance.

strange dis.appearance of Mr. Savareen made a good deal
of noise at the time, not only in the neigliborhood, but
throughout Upper Canada. It was a nine days' won-
der, and was dulj- chronicled and commented upon by the
leading provincial newspapers of the jjeriod ; but it has
long since passed out of general remembrance, and the
chain of circumstances subsequently arising out of the
event have never been made known beyond the limited
circle immediately interested. The surviving members
of that circle would probably not thank me for once more
dragging their names conspicuously before the public
gaze. I might certainly veil their personalities under
the thin disguise of initial letters, but to this mo'le of re-
lating a story I have always entertained a decided objec-
tion. The chief object to be aimed at in story-telling is
to hold the attention of the reader, and, speaking for my-
self, I am free to confess that I have seldom been able to
feel any absorbing interest in characters who figure mere-
ly as the M. or N. of the baptismal service. I shall there-
fore assign fictitious names to persons and places, and I
cannot even pretend to mathematical exactness as to one
or two minor details. In reporting conversations, for in-
stance, I do not profess to reproduce the iimssiraa verba
of the speakers, but merely to give the effect and purport
of their discourses. I have, however, been at some pains
to be accurate, and I think I may justly claim that in all
essential particulars this story of Savareen's ' disappear-
ance is as true as any report of events which took place
a good many years ago can reasonably be expected to be.

First : As to the man. Who was he ?

Well, that is easily told. He was the second son of a

Sa7 'are en's Disappcnranee.

115

^f a

fairly well-to-do Eiiglisli yeoman, and had l^een lnoii^lit
up to farming- pursuits on tlie paternal acres in Hertford-
shire. He emigrated to l^pper (Canada in or ahout the
year 1851, and had not been many weeks in the colony
before he became the tenant of a small farm situated in
the township of Westchester, three miles to the north of
Millbrook. A.t that time he must have l)een about
twenty-five or twenty-six years of age. So far as could
be judged by those who came most frequently into per-
sonal relations with him, he had no very marked indi-
viduality to distinguish him from others of his class and
station in life. He was simply a young Englisli farmer
who had migrated to Canada with a view to improving
his condition and prospects.

In appearance he was decidedly prepossessing. He
stood five feet eleven inches in his stockings ; was broad
of shoulder, strong of arm, and well set up about the
limbs. His complexion was fair and his hair had a de-
cided inclination to curl. He was proficient inmost ath-
letics ; could Itox and shoot, and if put upon his mettle,
could leap bodily over a five-barred gate. He was fond
of good living, and could always be depended upon to do
full justice to a well-piovided dinnei-. It cannot be
denied that he occasionally drank more than was abso-
lutely necessary to (piench a normal thirst, but he was
as steady as could be expected of any man who has from
his earliest boyhood been accustomed to drink beer as an
ordinary beverage, and has always had the run of the
buttery hatch. He liked a good hor.se, and could ride
anything that went on four legs. He also had a weak-
ness for dogs, and usually had one or two of those animals

it^

ii6

Savareen's Disappearance.

danuliiiu near his liecis wlionover lie stined uul of dcoi's.
Men and things in this country were regarded by liim
from a strictly trans-Atlantic point of view, and he was
fre([uently heard to remark that this, tliat, and the other
thing were ''notliink to what we 'ave at 'ome."

He was more or less learned in matters pertaining to
a^niculture, and knew somethino' about the current doc-
trines bearing on the rotation of crops. Jlis literary edu-
cation, moreover, had not been wholly neglected. He
could read and write, and could cast up accounts which
were not of too involved and com[)licated a character.
It cannot truly Ije said that he had read Tom Jones,
Roderick Random, and Pierce Egan's Life in London. He
reo-arded Cruikshank's illustrations to the last named
work — more particularly that one depicting Corinthian
Tom " getting the best of Charley," — as far better worth
looking at than tlie whole collection in the National Cal-
ler}^, a place where he had once whirled away a tedious
hour or two during a visit to town.

Then, he was not altogether ignorant concerning
several notable events in the history of his native land
That is to say, he knew that a certain king named Ciiarles
the First had been beheaded a good many years ago, and
that a disreputable pei'sonage named Oliver Cromwell
had somehow been mixed up in the transaction. He un-
derstood that the destinies of Great Britain were presided
over by Queen Victoria and two Houses of Parliament,
called respectively the House of Lords and the House of
Commons ; and he had a sort of recollection of having
heard that those august bodies were called Estates of the
Realm. In his eyes, everything English was ?2aso facto

Savarcciis Disappearance,

117

her

le
\to

to be commended and admired, wliereas everything un-
English was 12)80 facto to be proportionately condemned
and despised. Any misguided person who took a difi'er-
ent view of the matter was to be treated as one who had
denied the faith, and was worse than an infidel.

I have said that his appearance was prepossessing, and
so it was in the ordinary course of things, though he had
a broad sear on his left cheek which, on tlie rare occa-
sions when he was angry, asserted itself somewhat con-
spicuously, and imparted, for the nonce^ a sinister expres-
sion to his countenance. This distinurement, as I have
heard, had been i-eeeived by him some years before his
arrival in Canada. During a visit to one of the market
towns in the neighborhood of his home, he had casually
drop})ed into a gymnasium, and engaged in a fencing
bout with a friend who accom[)anied him. Neither of
the conte.btauts had ever handleMl a foil before, and they
were of course unskilled in the use of such danu'erous
playthings. During the contest the button had slipped
from his opponent's weapon, just as the latter was making
a vigorous lunge. As a conse<|uence Savareen's cheek
had been laid open by a wound which left its permanent
impress upon him. Hehimscdf was in the halut of jocu-
larly alluding to this disfigurement as his " bar sinister."

For the rest, he was stubl)orn as a luule about trifles
which did not in the least concern him, but as rea'arded
the affairs of every-day life he was on the whole pleasant
and easy-going, more especially when nothing occurred to
put him out. When anything of the kind </i<l occur, he
could certainly assunu' the attitude of an ugly customer,
and on such occasions the \voun<l on his cheek ])ut (jn a

I! I

118

Sai'nreeiis J)isappearaiicc.

lurid line which wasnot pleasant to contemplate. His ordi-
nary discourse mainly dealt with the events of his every-
day life. It was not irtellectually stimulating, and for
the most part related to horses, dogs, and the crop pros-
pects of the season. In short, if you have ever lived in
rural England, or if you have been in the habit of fre-
([uenting English country towns on market-days, you
nnist have encountered scores of jolly young faruiers who,
to all outward seeming, with the solitary exception of the
sinister scar, might pretty neai'ly have stood for his por-
trait.

Such was Reginald Bourchier Savareen, and if you
liave never come across anybody possessing similar char-
acteristics — always excepting the scar — your experience
of your fellow-creatures has been more liuuted than
might be expected from a reader of your age and mani-
fest intelligence.

His farm — I. e., the farm rented by him — belonged to
old Squire Harrington, and lay in a pleasant valley on
the western side of the gravel road leading northward
from Millbrook to Spots wood. The S(piire himself lived
in the red brick mansion which peeped out from the
clum[) of maples a little further down on the opposite
side of the road. The country thereabouts was settled
by a thrifty and prosperous race of pioneers, and pre-
sented a most attractive appearance. Alternate succes-
sions of hill and dale greeted the eye of the traveller as
he drove along the hard-})acked highway, fifteen miles in
lenii'th, which formed the connectinix link between the
two towns above mentioned. The land was carefully
tilled, and the liouses, generally speaking, were of a better

Savareeifs Disappearanct'.

119

to
n

lie

le-

Is-

LV
r

class than were to be found in most rural conununities
in Upper Canada ut that period. Savareen's own dwell-
ing was unpretentious enough, having Ijeen originally
erected for one of the sc^uiie's " hired men," but it was
sufficient for his needs, as he had not married until a
little more than a year before the happening of the
events to be presently related, and his domestic estab-
lishment was small. His entire household consisted of
himself, his young wife, an infant in arms, a man servant
and a rustic maid of all work. In harvest time he, of
of course, employed additional help, but the harvesters
were for the most part residents of the neighborhood,
who found accommodation in their own homes. The
house was a small frame, oblong building, of the con-
ventional Canadian farm-house order of architecture,
painted of a drab color and standing a hundred yards or
so from the main road. The barn and stable stood a
convenient distance to the rear. About midway between
house and barn was a deep well, worked with a windlass
and chain. During the preceding season a young orchard
had been planted out in the space intervening between
the house and the road. Everything about the place
was kept in spick and span order. The tenant was fair-
ly successful in his farming operations, and appeared to
be holding his own with the world around him. He paid
his rent promptly, and was on excellent terms with his
landlord. He was, in fact, rather popular with his
neighbors generally, and was regarded as a man with a
fair future before him.

■ u

■ \

. ''•:

t \

, 1'

120

Srr7 'arccn 's Disappcarand

CHAPTER ir.

THE NEIOH150RHOOD.

4^1^!^ BOUT a quarter ot a mile to the north of Sav

areon's abode was a charinin<^^ little hostelry,
kept by a French Canadian nanieil Jean Bap-
tiste Lapierre. It was one of the snuggest
and cosiest of imaginable inns ; l»y no means
the sort of wayside tavern commonly to be met
with in Western Canada in those times, or even
in times much more recent. The landlord had kept a
high-class restaurant in Quebec in the old days l)efore
the union of the Pi'ovinces, and piqued hiuiself upon
knowing what was what. He was an excellent cook,
and knew how to cater to the af)petites of more exacting-
epicures than he was likely to number among his ordi-
nary patrons in a rural community like that in which he
had piched his quarters. When occasion required, he
could serve up a dinner or supper at which Brillat Bav-
arian himself would have had no excuse for turning up
his nose. It was seldom that any such exigeant demand
as this was made upon his skill, but even his ordinary
fare was good enough for any city sir or madam whom
chance might send beneath his roof, and such persons
never failed to carry away with them pleasant remem-
brances of the place.

The creaking sign which swayed in tlie breeze before
the hospitable door proclaimed it to be The Royal Oak,

Savarcoi's IHsappcarancc.

121

orili-
3h he
he
Sav-
,g up
Inand
[nary
rhom
:sons
bem-

jfore
)ak,

hut it was commonly known throughout th^ whole of
that country-side as Lapierre's. The excellence of its
larder was proverbial, insomuch that professional men
and others used frequently to drive out from town ex-
pressly to dine or sup there. Once a week or so — usually
on Saturday nights — a few of the choice spirits thereabouts
used to meet in the cosy parlor and hold a decorous sort
of free-and-easy, winding up with supper at eleven
o'clock. On these occasions, as a matter of course, the
liquor tiowed with considerable freedom, and the guests
had a convivial time of it ; but there was nothing in the
shape of wild revelry — nothing to bring reproach upon
the good name of the house. Jean Baptiste had too mucli
regard for his well-earned reputation to permit these
meetings to defjenerate into mere orgies. He showed due
respect for the sanctity of the Sabbath, and took care to
make the house clear of company before the stroke of
midnight. By such means he not only kept his guests
from indulLcino; in riotous excesses, ])ut secured their
respect for himself and his establishment.

Savareen was a pretty regular attendant at these con-
vivial gatherings, and was indeed a not infrequent Visitor
at other times. He always met with a warm welcome,
for he could sing a good song, and paid his score with
commendable regularity. His Saturday nights' potations
did not interfere with his timely appearance o/i Sunday
morning in his pew in the little church whic/i ^tood on
the hill a short distance above Lapierre's. His wife
usually sat by his side, and accompanied him to and fro.
Everything seemed to indicate that the couple lived
happily together, and that they were mutually blessed

:<l

I 22

Sdi'arfcns Disappearance.

in their domestic relations. With reirard to Mrs. Savar-
een, the only thing necessary to be mentioned about her
at present is that she was the daughter of a carpenter
and builder resident in Millbrook.

There was a good deal of travel on the IMillVn-ook and
Spotswood road, more especially in the autumn, when the
]3utch farmers from the settlements up north used to
come down in formidable array, for the purpose of sup-
pl^'ing themselves with fruit to make cider and "ai)ple-
sass " for the winter. The great apple-producing district
of the Province begins in the townshii^s lying a few miles
to the south of Westchester, and the road between Mill-
brook and Spotswood was, and is, the most direct route
thither from the Dutch settlements. The garb and other
appointments of the stalwait CJanadian Teuton of those
days were such as to make him easily distinguishable
from his Celtic or Saxon neighbor. He usually wore a
long, heavy coat of coarse cloth, reaching down to his
heels. His head was surmounted by a felt hat with a
brim wide enough to have served, at a pinch, for the tent
of a side-show. His wagon was a great lumbering affair,
constructed, like himself, after an ante-diluvian pattern,
and pretty nearly capacious enough for a first-rate man-
of-war. In late September and early October it was no
unprecedented thing to see as many as thirty or forty of
these ponderous vehicles moving southward, one at the
tail of the other, in a continuous string. " They came
down emi)ty, and returned a day or two afterwards laden
with the products of the southern orchards. On the
return journey the wagons were full to overflowing.
Not so the drivers, who were an exceedingly temperate

^^T 'arccn 's Disappearance.

123

)ame

laden

the

ring.

jrate

and abstemious people, too parsimonious to leave much
of their specie at the Royal Oak. It was doubtless for
this reason that mine host Lapierre regarded, and was
accustomed to speak of them with a good deal of easy
contempt, not to say aversion. They brought little or no
grist to his mill, and he was fond of proclaiming that he
did not keep a hotel for the accommodation of such
canaille. The emphasis placed by him on this last word
was something quite refreshing to hear.

The road all the way from Millbrook to Spotswood,
corresponds to the mathematical definition of a straight
line. It forms the third concession of the township, and
there is not a curve in it anywhere. The concessions
number from west to east, and the sidelines, running at
right angles to them are exactly two miles apart. At
the northwestern angle formed by the intersection of the
''ravel road with the first side line north of Millbrook
stood a little toll-gate, kept, at the period of the story, by
one Jonathan Perry. Between the toll-gate and Sava-
reen's on the same side of the road were several other
houses to which no more particular reference is necessary.
On the opposite side of the highway, somewhat more than
a hundred yards north of the toll-gate, was the abode of a
farmer named Mark Stolliver. Half a mile further up
was John Calder's house, which was the only one until
you came to Squire Harrington's. To the rear of the
S{[uire's farm was a huge morass about fifty acres in ex-
tent, where cranberries grew in great abundance, from
which circumstance it was known as Cranberry Swamp.

Now you have the entire neighborhood before you, and
if you will cast your eye on the following rough plan yon

124

Savareeu's Disnppt arancc.

will have no dilHculty in taking in the scene at a single

glance

J 3

8idt

Church 4*

Lapierre's *^
Savareen'.s »J«

CO
09

o
o

Line.

u
u

^ '^

»I* .John Calder's.

•f* Stolliver's
Line.

s
o

ft.

Mill brook.

Sai 'iireen '.v Disappeara nee.

125

CHAPTKR TTI.

A .lot; UN FA' TO TOWN.

'w
en

s
o

,v'?.

NV-"

sPli <^ '■ ^^ *'^^^ early spring of the yetir 18")4 a letter
readied Savareen from liis former home in
Hertfordshire, c(mtaiiiin<^ intelli<'eiice of the
sudden death of his father. The old «fentle-
man had been tolerably well oti'in this world's
gear, but he had left a numerous family beliihd
him, so that there was no great fortune in store
for Reginald. The amount bequeathed to him, how-
ever, was four hundred pounds sterling clear of all de-
ductions — a sum not to be despised, as it would go far
toward enabling him to buy the farm on which he lived,
and would thus give a material impetus to his fortunes.
The executors lost no time in winding up and distribut-
ing the estate, and during the second week in July a let-
ter arrived from their solicitors enclosin*; a draft on the
Toronto agency of the Bank of Biitish North America for
the specified sum. Savareen made arrangements with
the local bank at Millbank to collect the proceeds, and
thus save him the exjjense of a journey to Toronto*
Meanwhile he concluded a bargain with Squire Harring-
ton for the purchase of the farm. The price agreed upon
was ^3,500, half of which was to be paid down upon the
delivery of the deed, the balance being secured by mort-
gage. The cash would ])e forthcoming at the bank not

W \

126

Savnt ecu's Disappearance.

ii I

(I It

later than the l<Sth of the month, and accordingly that
was the date tlxed upon for the completion of the trans-
action. Lawyer Miller was instructed to have the docu-
ments ready for execution at noon, when the parties and
their respective wives were to attend at his office in Mill-
brook.

The morning of Monday, the 17th, was wet and gave
promise of a rainy day. As there seemed to be no pros-
pect of his being able to do any outside work on the
farm, Savareen thought he might as well ride into town
and ascertain if the money had arrived. He saddled his
black mare, and started for Millbrook about ten in the
forenoon. His two dogs showed a manifest desire to ac-
company him, but he did not think fit to gratify their
desire and ordered them back. Before he had ridden far
the rain ceased, and the sun came out warm and bright,
but he was in an idle mood, and didn't think it worth
while to turn back. It seems probal)le, indeed, that he
had merely wanted an excuse for an idle day in town, as
there was no real necessity for such a journey. Upon
reachincr the front street he stabled his mare at the Pea-
cock Inn, which was his usual house of call when in
Millbrook. He next presented himself at the bank, where
he made enc^uiry about his draft. Yes, the funds were
there all right. The clerk, supposing that he wanted to
draw the amount there and then, counted the notes out
for him, and requested him to sign the receipt in the book
kept for such pui'poses. Savareen then intimated that
he had merel}' called to enquire about the matter, and
that he wished to leave the money until next day. The
clerk, who was out of humor about some trifle or other,

Sa7 'arcciis Disappcaraucc.

12:

Upon

Pea-

bn in

'here

were

id to

out

I book

that

and

The

Ither,

and who was, moreover, very busj^ that morning, spoke
up sharply, remarking tliat he had had more bother about
that draft than the transaction was worth. His irritable
turn and language nettled Savareon, who accordingly took
the notes, signed the receipt and left the ^^ank, declaring
that " that shop " should be troubled by no further busi-
ness of his. The clerk, as soon as he had time to think
over the matter, perceived that he had been rude, and
would have tendered an apology, but his customer had
already shaken the dust of the bank off his feet and taken
his departure, bo that there was no present opportunity
of accommodating the petty quarrel. As events subse-
quently turned out it was destined never to be acconnno-
dated in this world, for the two nev(n' met cigain on this
side the grave.

Instead of returning^ home immediatelv as he oui>;ht to
have done, Savareen hung about the tavern all day,
drinking more than was good for his constitution, and
regaling every boon companion he met with an account
of the incivility to which he had been subjected at the
hands of the bank clerk. Those to whom he told the
story thought he attached more importance to the affair
than it deserved, and they noticed that the scar on his
cheek came out in its most lurid aspect. He dined at the
Peacock and afterwards indulged in sundry games of
bagatelle and ten-pins ; but the stakes consisted merely
of beer and cigars, and he did not get rid of more than a
few shillinofs in the course of the afternoon. Between six
and seven in the evening his landlady regaled him with a
cup of strong tea, after which he seemed none the worse
for his afternoon's relaxations. A few minutes before

"!;;!|

128

Savareen's Disappearance.

dusk lie luountt'd his mare sukI staited on liis way lionie-
ward.

The ominous clouds of the early morning had long since
passed over. The sun had shone brightly throughout the
afternoon, and had gone down amid a gorgeous blaze of
splendour. The moon would not rise till nes.ly nine, but
the evening was dehghtfully calm and clear, and the
horseman's way home w^as as straight as an arrow, over
one of the best roads in the country.

CHAPTER IV.

GONE.

r precisel}^ eight o'clock in the evening of this
identical Monday, July 17th, 1854, old Jona-
than Perry sat tranquilly smoking his pipe at
the door of the toll-gate two miles north of
Millbrook.
The atmosphere was too warm to admit of the
wearing of any great display of apparel, and the
old man sat hatless and coatless on a sort of settle at the
threshold. He was an inveterate old gossip, and was ac-
quainted with the business of everybody in the neighbor-
hood. He knew all about the bargain entered into be-
tween Savareen and Squire Harrington, and how it was
to be consummated on the following day. Savareen,
when riding townwards that morning, had inforjned him
of the ostensible purpose of his journe}^ and it now sud-
denly occurred to the old man to wonder why the young
farmer had not returned home.

Savareeifs Disappearanct'.

129

)e at
of

the
ll the
It the

[s ac-
libor-
be-
was
Iveen,
him
sud-
lounii:

While he •sdX tliere pondeiing, tlie first stroke of the
town bell proclaiming the hour was borne upon his ear.
Before the ringing had ceased, he cauL,dit the additional
sound of a horse's hoofs rapidly advancing up the road.

" Ah/' said he to himself, " here he comes. I reckon
his wife'll be apt to give him fits for being so late."

In another moment the horseman drew up before him,
but only to exchange a word of greeting, as the gate was
thrown wide open, and there was nothing to bar his pro-
gress. The venerable gate-keeper had conjectured right.
It was Savareen on his black mare.

" Well, Jonathan, a nice evening,'' remarked the young
farmer.

" Yes, Mr. Savareen — a lovely night. You've had a
long day of it in town. They'll be anxious al:)out you
at home. Did you find the money all right, as you ex-
pected ? "

" O, the money was there, right enough, and I've got it
ill my pocket. I had some words with that conceited
puppy, Shuttle worih, at the bank. He'.-, altogether too
big for his place, and I can tell you he'll have the iiand-
ling of no more money of mine." And then, for about
the twentieth time within the last few hours, he recounted
the particulars of his interview with the bank clerk.

The old man expressed his entire concurrence in Sava-
reen's estimate of Shuttleworth's conduct. " I have to
pay the gate-money into the bank on the first of every
mouth," he remarked, "and that young feller always acts
as if he felt too up]iish to touch it. 1 wonder you didn't
drop into 'un."
H

1 30

Savarecn 's JHsappaxyancc.

" 0, I wasn't likel}' to do that," was the reply — " but I
gave liim a bit of my mind, and I told him it 'ud be a
lonf( time afore I darkened the dooi's of his shop a,ain.
And so it will. I'd sooner keep my bit o' money, when I
have any, in the clock-ease at home. There's never any
liousebreakinfif hereabouts,"

Jonathan responded by saying tliat, in so far as he
knew, there hadn't been a burglary for many a year.
" But all the same," he continued, " I shouldn't like to
keep such a sum as four hundred pound about me, even
for a single night. No more 1 shouldn't like to carry
such a pot o' money home in the night time, even if nobody
knew as I had it on me. Ride you home, Mr. Savareen,
and hide it away in some safe j)lace till to-morrow morn-
ing — that's my advice."

" And very good advice it is, Jonathan," was the re-
sponse. " I'll act upon it without more words. Good
night ! " And so saying, Savareen continued his course
homeward at a brisk trot.

The old man watched him as he sped away up the road,
but could not keep him in view more than half a minute
or so, as by this time the light of day ha<l wholly de-
parted. He lighted his [)ipe, which had gone out during
the conversation, and resumed his seat on the settle.
Scarcely had he done so ere he heard the clatter of horse's
hoofs moving rapidly towards the gate from the north-
ward, " Why," said he to himself, " this must be Sava-
reen coming back again. What's the matter now, I won-
der?"

But this time he was out in his conjecture. When the
horseman reached the gate, he proved to be not Savareen,

S(77'(rjr(://\\- f^isdi/^piwaiur

i;^i

le-

lu-ing
jttle.
)rses
)rth.
)ava-
iwon-

11 tlic
Ireen,

but mine host Lapierre, mounted on his fast-trotting nag,
Count Frontenac — a name irreverently ahbreviated by
tlic sportsmen of tlie district into " Fronty." The rider
drew up witli a boisterous " Woa ! " and reached out
towards the gate-keeper a tivocent piece by way of toH,
saying as lie di<l so :

" Veil, Mister Perry, how coes everytings wiss you ? "

" O, good evening, Mr. Lapierie ; I didn't know you till
you spoke. My eyesight's getting dimmer ever}' day, 1
think. Bound for town '. "

" Yes, I want to see what has cot Mi*. Safareen. lie
went to town early this morning to see about some money
matters, and promised to pe pack in a couple of hours,
put he ain't pack yet. Mrs. Safareen cot so uneasy apout
him to-night, that she came u[) to njy place and pegged
me to ride down and hunt him up. I suppose you saw
him on his way down ? "

"Saw him ! On his way down ! What are you talk-
ing about ? Didn't you meet him just now ? "

" Meet who ? "

" Savareen."

" Where ? When ? "

" Why, not two minutes ago. He passed through here
on his way home just before you came up."

" How long pefore ? "

" How long ; Why, don't 1 tell you, not two minutes.
He hadn't hardly got out o' sight when I heerd your
horse's feet on the stones, and thought it was him a-com-
m(f back airain. ^ou nmst a met him this side o' Stol-
liver's."

ill I

I fs'

!!
i

, *

1^2

S(r7 'anrn's Disappearance.

Thon followed further explanations on the part of old
Jonathan, who recounted the conveisation he had just
had with Savareen.

Well, of course, the key to the situation was not hard
to find. Savareen had left the toll-gate and proceeded
northward not more than two or three minutes before
Lapierre, riding south wai'd along the same road, had
reached the same point. The two liad not encountered
each other. Thei-efore, one of them had deviated from
the road. There had been no deviation on the part of
Lapierre, so the deviator must necessarily have been
Savareen. But the space of time which had elapsed was
too brief to admit of the latter's having ridden more than
a hundred yards or therea])0uts. The only outlet from
the road within four times that distance was the gate-
way leading into StoUiver's house. The explanation,
consequently, was simple enough. Savareen had called
in at Stollivers. Q. E. D.

Strange, though, that he had said nothing to old Jona-
than about his intention to call there. He had ridd<in oti'
as though intent upon getting home without delay, and
hiding his money away in a safe place for the night.
And, come to think of it, it was hard to understand what
possible reason he could have for calling at Stollivers.
He had never had any business or social relations of any
kind with StoUiver, and in fact the two had merely a
nodding accpiaintance. Still another strange thing was
that Savareen should have taken his horse inside the gate,
as there was a tying-post outside, and he could not have
intended to make any prolonged stay. However, there
was no use raising difficult problems, which could doubt-

yue^re"

Savanrii's Disappearance.

133

ly a
iwas
[ate,
lave
leie
liljt-

less Iju solvcil by a iiKJiiieiii's explaiiati(jii. It was alj.su-
lutely certain that Savareen was at Stollifer's because he
could not possibly have avoided meeting Lapierre if lie
had not called there. It was Lapierre's business to find
him and take him home. Accordingly the landlord of
the Royal Oak turned his horse's head and cantered i)ack
up the road till he reached the fi'ont of Stolliver's })Iace.

Stolliver and his two boys were sitting out on the front
fence, having emerged from the house only a moment
before. They had been working in the fields until past
sundown, and had just risen from a late sup[)er. Old
Stolliver was in the habit of smoking a pipe every night
after his evening meai, and in pleasant weather he gene-
rally chose to smoke it out of doors, as lie was doing this
evening, although the darkness had fallen. L'lpierre, as
he drew rein, saw the three figures on the fence, but
could not in the darkness, distinguish one from anotiier.

" Is that blister Stollifer ? " he asked.

" Yes ; who be you i " was the ungracious response, de-
livered in a ixrurt'tone of voice. Old Stolliver was a Ijoor-
ish, cross-grained customer, who paid slight regard to the
amenities, and did not show toad vantaiije in conversation-

" Don't you know me ? I am Mister Lapierre."

" 0, Mr. Lapierre, eh ? Been a warm day."

"Yes. Hass Mister Safareen gone ? "

" Mister who ? "

" Mister Safareen. Wass he not here shoost now ? "

" Here ? What fur ? "

The landlord was by this time beginning to feel a little
disgusted at the man's boorish incivility. "Will you pe

I V

.'lit il iJ'i

.iii

134

Savarecii's Disappraraucc.

so coot a« to Lcil nie," lie iiskcd, " it" Mister Salaiveii luiss
peen here ( "

"Not as I know of. Hain't seen him."

Lapierre was astounded. He explained the state of af-
fairs to liis interlocutor, who received the communication
with liis wonted stolidity, and proceeded to light his
pipe, as much as to say that the affair was none of his
funeial.

" Well," he remarked, with exasperating coolness, " I
guess you must 'a' passed him on the road. We hain't
been out here more'n a minute or two. Nobody hain't
passed since then."

This seemed incredible. Where, then, was Savareen ?
Had he sunk into the bowels of the earth, or gone up,
black mare and all, in a balloon ? Of course it was all
nonsense about the landlord having passed him on the
road without seeino; or hearino- anythin^f of him. But
what other explanation did the circumstances admit of ?
At any rate, there was nothing for Lapierre to do but
ride back to Savareen's house and see if he had arrived
there. Yes, one other thino; might be done. He might
return to the toll irate and ascertain whether Jonathan
Perry was certain as to the identity of the man from
whom he had parted a few minutes before, So Count
Frontenac's head was once more turned southward. A
short trot brought him again to the toll-house.- The gate-
keeper was still sitting smoking at the door. A mo-
ment's conference with him was sufficient to convince La-
pierre that there could be no question of 'mistaken ident-
ity. " Why," said Jonathan, " I know Mr. Savareen as
well as I know my right hand. And then, didn't he tell

Savarcen's Disappearance.

'35

een ?
e up,
IS all
I the
But
of?
but
•ived
iiL!;ht
than
from
ount
u A
|(Tate-
mo-
La-
Llent-
m as
tell

me about liis row with Slmttlevvortli, and that he had
the four hundred pounds in liis pocket. W h}', dark as it
was, I noticed the scar on his cheek when he was talkino-
about it. — I say, Missus, look here," he called in a louder
tone, whereupon his wife presented herself at the thres-
hold. " Now," resumed tlie old man, "jusi: tell Mr. La-
pierre whether you saw Mr. Savareen talking to me a few
minutes since, and whether you saw him lide otf up the
road just before Mr. Lapierre came down. Did you, or
did you not ? "

Mrs. Perry's answer was decisive, and at the same time
conclusive as to the facts. She had not only seen Sava-
reen sitting on his black mare at the door, immediately
after the town bell ceased rinofinr; for eifjht o'clock ; but
she had listened to the conversation l^etween him and her
husband, and had heard pretty nearly every word. La-
pierre cross examined her, and found that her report of
the interview exactly corresponded with what he had al-
reacv/ heard from old Jonathan. " Why," said she, " there
is no more doubt of its beinnj Mr. Savareen than there is of
that gate-post being there on the I'oad-side. ' Very good
advice it is,' .says he, ' and I'll act upon it without more
words.' Then he said ' good night,' and off he went up
the road. Depend upon it, Mr. Lapierre, you've missed
him somehow in the darkness, and he's safe and sound at
home by this time."

"Yes, yes, Mr. Lapierre, not a doubt on it," resumed
old Jonathan, " you v^e a passed him on the road athout
seein' 'im. It was dark, and you were both in a hurry.
I've heerd o' lots o' stranojer things nor that."

J_LJ

136

Saiunrceii's Disappcara)icc,

\ ti

Lapioire couldn't see it. He knew well enough that it
was no more possihle for him to pass a man on horseback
on that narrow highway, on a clear night, without seeing
him — more especially when he was out for the express
purpose of finding that very man — than it was possible
for him to serve out un /^etlt vcrre of French brandy in
mistake for a gill of Hollands, 'riie facts, however, seem-
ed to be wholly against him, as he bade the old couple a
despondent good-night and put Count Frontenac to his
mettle. He stayed not for brook — there ivas a brook a
short distance \\\> the road — and he stopped not for stone,
but tore along at a break-neck joace as though he was
riding for a wager. In five minutes he reached Sava-
reen's front gate.

Mrs. Savareen was waiting there, on the look-out for
lier husband. No, of course he had not got home. She
had neither seen nor heard anything of him, and was by
this time very uneasy. You may be sure that her anxiety
was not lessened when she hoard the strange tale which
Lapierre had to tell her.

Even then, however, she did not give up the hope of
her husband's arrival sometime during the night. La-
pierre promised to look in again in an hour or two, and
passed on to his own place, where he regaled the little
company he found there with the narrative of his even-
ing's exploits. Before bedtime the story was known all
over the neiofhborhood.

i 'ill

■X ,i! i|

S(i : •(trciit's I '>is(rp/\ innncc.

CHAPTER V.

ONE IIUNDllEl) POUNDS REWAai).

and
ittle
N'en-
all

/^^y^**^

'RS. Savareen sat up waiting for lior lord until
lung ))ast midnigl'.t, but her vigil was in vain.
La[»ierro, after closing up his inn for the night,
:^.l dropped in, according to his promise, to see
it" any news of the absentee had arrived.
Nothing further could be done in the way of
searching for the latter personage until daylight.
It was getting on pretty well towards morning when
Mrs. Savareen sought her couch, and when she got there
her slundter was laoken and disturbed, She knew not
what to think, but she was haunted by a dread that she
would never aij^ain see her husband alive.

Next morning, soon after da^dight, the whole neighbor-
hood was astir, and the country round was carefully
searched for any trace of the missing man. Squire Har-
rington went down to town and made inquiries at the
bank, where he ascertained that the story told by Sava-
reen to old Jonathan Perry, as to his altercation with
Shuttleworth, was substantially correct. This etlcctually
disposed of any possible theory as to Jonathan and his
wife having mistaken somebody else for Savareen. Squire
Harrington likewise learned all about the man's doings
on the previous afternoon, and was able to iix the time at
which he had started for home. He had ridden from the

I3S

Sa^'ciirecii 's Disappearance.

(lour ()i tlic Peacock jit aljout a ({iiaiter to ci«^lit. This
would bring him to the toU-^ijate at eipfht o'clock — the
hour at which Purry professed to have seen and conversed
with liiin. There was no longer any room lor doubt.
That interview and conversation had actually taken place
at eight o'clock on the previous evening, and Savareen
had ridden northward from the gate within five minutes
afterwards. He could not have proceeded more than a
hundred — or, at the very outside, two hundred — yards
further, or he must inevitably have been encountered by
Lapierre. How had he contrived to vanish so suddenly
out of existence ? And it was not only the man, but the
horse, which had disappeared in this unaccountable man-
ner. It seemed improbable that two living substances of
such bulk should pass out of being and leave no trace be-
hind them. They must literally have melted into thin
air.

No, they hadn't. At least the black mare hadn't, for
she was discovered by several mcmibers of the searching-
party a little before noon. When found, she was quietly
cropping the danjp herbage at the edge of the cran-
berry swamp at the rear of Squire Harrington's farm.
She was wholly uninjured, and had evidently spent
the nicrht there. The bit had been removed from her
mouth, but the bridle hung intact round her neck.
The saddle, however, like its owner, had disappeared from
her back.

Then the men began a systematic search in the interior
of the swamp. They soon came upon the saddle, which
had apparently been deliberately unbuckled, removed
from off the mare, and deposited on a dry patch of ground.

This
—the
.ersed
loubt.

place
/avoeii
inutes
,haii a
-yards
red by
[Ideiily
)ut the
leman-
nces of
•ace be-
bo thin

|n't, for
irching-
piietly
cran-
ls farm,
spent
>m her
neck,
id from

Interior

which

amoved

f round,

Sa: 'nrcen 's Disappearance.

139

near the ed^'c of the morass

A iittUi further in the in-
terior tliey came upon a man's coat, made of dark brown
stuff". Tills •,'arment was identified by one of the party as
belong to Savareen. It was wet and besmirched with
mud, ami, in fact was lying half in and half out of a little
puddle of water when it was found. Then the searchers
made sure of fi.iding the body.

But in this they were disappointed. The explored the
recesses of the swamp from end to end and side to side
with the utniost thoioughness, but found nothin;^ further
to reward their .search. The gi-ound was too .soft a!id
marshy to retain any tiaces of footsteps, and the mare and
saddle furnished the only evidence that the object of their
quest had been in the neighborhood of the swamp — and
of course this evidence was of the most vaufue and incon-
elusive character.

Then the party proceeded in a body to the missing
man's house. Here another surprise awaited them. The
coat was at once recognised by Mrs. Savareen as belong-
innr to her husband, but IT WAS not the coat worn by

HIM AT THE TIME OF HLS DISAPPEARANCE.. Of this there

was no doubt whatever. In fact, he had not worn it for
more than a week previou.sly. His wife distinctly re-
membered having folded and laid it away in the top of a
large trunk on the Saturday of the week before last, since
which time she had never set eyes on it. Here was a
deepening of the mystery.

The search was kept up without intermission for sev-
eral days, nearly all of the farmers in the vicinity taking
part in it, even to the neglect of the harvest work which
demanded their attention. Squire Harrington was espec-

I40

S(7 7 '(ircefi 's Disappearance.

iallv active, and left no stone unturnetl to unravel the
mystery. Lapierre gave up all his time to the search, and
left the Royal Oak to the care of its landlady. The local
constabulary bestirred themselves as they had never done
before. Every place, likely and unlikely, where a man's
lx)dy might }>ossibly lie concealed ; every tract of bush and
woodland; every barn and outbuilding; every hollow
and ditch ; every field and fence cornei", was explored
with careful minuteness. Even the wells of the district
were peered into and examined for traces of the thirteen
stone of humanity which had so unaccountably disap-
jieared from off the face of the earth. Doctor Scott, the
local coroner, held bhnself in readiness to summon a coro-
ners jurv at the shortest notice. When all these meas-
sures proved unavailing, a public meeting of the inhabi-
tants was convened, and funds were subscribed to still
further prosecute the search. A reward of a hundred
pounds was offered for any information which should lead
to the discovery of the missing man, dead or alive, or
which should throw any light upon his fate. Hand-bills
proclaiming this reward, and describing the man's personal
appearance, were exhibited in every bar room and other
conspicuous place throughout Westchester and the adja-
cent townships. Advertisements, setting forth the main
facts, were inserted in the principal newspapers of To-
ronto, Hamilton and London, as well as in those of several
of the nearest county towns.

All to no purpose. Days — weeks — months passed by,
and furnished not the shadow of a clue to the mysterious
disappearance of Reginald Bourchier Savareen on the
night of Monday, the 17th of July, 1854.

I|i|

:''^m

S(n'areen's Disappearance,

141

CHAPTER VI.

SPECULATIONS.

;> Jjl^'^ OR a long time subsequent to the night of the

disappearance a more puzzled community
-^^s^\ than the one settled alon<x the Millbrook

■-S:

Ml V. /J

and Spotswood road would have been hard
to find in Upper Canada. At first sight it
"i;_y* seemed probable that the missing man had been
murdered for his money, On the afternoon of
the day when he was last seen in Millbrook the fact
of his having four hundred pounds in ban v: bills in
his possession was known to a great many people, for,
as already intimated, he told the story of his dispute
at the bank to pretty nearly everyone with whom he
came in contact during the sultsequent poition of the day,
and he in every instance wound up his narration by pro-
claiming to all whom it might concern that he had the
notes in his pocket. But it was difficult co fix upon any
particular individual as being open to suspicion. There
had been no attempt on the part of any of his associates
on that afternoon to detain him in town, and his remain-
ing tliere until the evening had been entirely due to his
own inclinations. So far as was known, he had not been
tollo\ve<l by any person after his <leparture from the Pea-
rock at 7.45. Anyone following would have had no pros-
[)ecb of overtaking him unless mounted on a good horse,

'7»Pfi"^

F42

Sir: •(inr/is Disappearance.

and must perforce have passed through the toll-gate.
According to the testimony of Perry and his wife, nobody
had passed through the gate in his wake, nor for more
than an hour after him. But — mystery of mysteries —
where had he managed to hide himself and his mare dur-
ing the two or three minutes which had elapsed between
his de})arture from the gate and the arrival there of
Lapierre ? And, if he had been murdered, what had
become of his body ?

Had it been at all within the bounds of reason to sus-
pect StoUiver, suspicion would certainly have fallen upon
that personage. But any idea of the kind was altogether
out of the question. Stolliver was a booris^, uncompan-
ionable fellow, but a more unlikely man to commit such
a serious crime could not have been found in the
whole country side. Again, he could not have had any
conceivable motive for making away with Savareen,
as he had been working all day in the fields and knew
nothing about the four hundred pounds. Besides, a little
quiet investigation proved the thing to be an absolute
impossibility. At the time of Savareen's disappearance,
Stolliver had been sitting at his own table, in the company
of his wife, his family, and a grown-up female servant.
He had sat down to table at about a (quarter to eight, and
had not risen therefrom until several minutes after the
town bell had ceased to ring. On rising, he had gone out
with his two boys — lads of thirteen and fifteen years of
age respectively — and had barely taken up a position with
them on the front fence when Lapierre came along and
(questioned hiui, as related in a former chapter. So it was
certainly not worth while to pursue that branch of enquiry
any farther.

JY^

r?J

Savarcens Disappearance.

The only other persons upon wliom the shadow of sus-
picion could l>y any possibility fall were Lapierre and
Jonatlian Perry. Well, so far as the latter was concerned
the idea was too absurd for serious consideration. To
begin with, Jonathan was seventy-six years of age, feeble
and almost decrepid. Then, he was a man of excellent
character, and, notwithstanding his humble station in life,
was liked and respected by all who knew him. Finally,
he could not have done awav with Savareen without the
knowledge and concurrence of his wife, a gentle, kindly
old soul, who found her best consolation between the
covers of her bible, and who would not have raised her
finger against a worm. So that branch of the enquiry
might also be considered as closed.

As to Lapierre, the idea was at least as preposterous as
either of the others. The jovial landlord of the Royal Oak
was on the whole about as likely a man to commit rob-
bery or murder as the bishop of the diocese. He was
of a cheery, open nature ; was not greedy or grasping ;
had a fairly prosperous business, and was tolerably well-
to-do. On the night of the 17th, he had undertaken to
iXO down town and bring home the absent man, but he had
done so at the pressing request of the man's wife, and out
of pure kindness of heart. When setting out on his mission
he knew nothing about the altercation at the bank, and
was consequently ignorant that Savareen had any con-
siderable sum of money on his pei"son. His first know-
ledge on these subjects had been communicated to him by
Perry, and before that time the man had disappeared. It
also counted for something that Savareen and he had
always been on the most friendly term.s, and that Sava-

^■^pwr"^f"

144

Sn7'(rri't'//'s Disappearance.

reen was one of his best customers. But, even if he had
been the most bloodthirsty of mankind, he had positively
had no time to perpetrate a murder. The two or three
minutes elapsino- between Savareen's departure from the
toll-gate and Lapierre's arrival there had been too brief to
admit of the hitter's having meanwhile killed the former
and made away with his body ; to say nothing of his hav-
ing also made such a disposition of the black mare as to
enal)le it to be found in ( hanbeiTy Swamp on the follow-
ing day.

After a while people began to ask whether it was
probable tliat any murder at all had been committe 1.
The finding of the coat was an unfathomable mystery', but
it really fui-nished no evidence one way or the other.
And if thei'e had been a murder, how was it that no
traces of the body were discoveralde ? Plow was it that
no cry or exclamation of any kind ha<l been heard by old
Jonathan, sitting there at the door in the open air on a
still night ? It was certain tliat his ears had been wide
open, and ready enough to take in wliatever was stirring,
for he had heard the sound of ( *ount Frontenac's hoofs as
they came clattering down the road.

Such questions as those were constantly in the mouths
of the people of that neighborhood for some days after
the disappearance, but they met with no satisfactory an-
swer from any quarter, and as the time passed by it began
to be believed that no light would ever l)e thrown upon
the most mysterious occurrence that had ever taken place
since that part of the country had been first settled. One
of the consta])les, discouraged by repeated failures, ven-
tured in all seriousness to express a suspicion that Sava-

Savareen's Disappearance.

•45

reen had l)een bodily devoured by his mare. How else
could you account for no trace of him being visible any-
where ?

By an unaccountable oversight, Shuttlewoith had
kept no memorandum of the number of the notes paid
over to Savareen, and it was thus impossible to trace
them.

CHAPTER VIL

1 1

'•A \VlDo\V, HU.SIJANDLKSS, 8U15JECT TO FKAUS

J%^ HE positicjn of the missing man's wife was a
; particularly trying and painful one — a posi-
'£':^|L^)ij tion imperatively calling for the sympathy of
jL^^^^K' the connuunity in which slie lived. That
^\^ sympathy was freely accorded to her, but

time alone could bring any thing like trancpiillity
to a mind harrassed by such manifold anxieties as
hers. After a lapse of a few weeks Squire Harrington
generously offered to take the farm oif her hands, but to
this proposal she was for some time loath to assent. In
-spite of her fears and misgivings, fitful gleams of hope
that her husban<] would return to her flitted across her
mind. If he came back he .should find lier at her post.
Meanwhile the neighbors showed her much kindness.
They voluntarily formed an organisation o labor, and
haivested lier crops, threshed them out and conveyed
them to market for her. Her brother, a young man of
eijxhteen, came out from town and took up his abode with

146

Stwarcen's Disappearance,

her, so that she would not be left wholly desolate among
strangers. And so the summer and autumn glided by.

But this state of things could not last. The strange
solitude of her destiny ])reyed sorely upon her and when
the first snows of winter arrived, bringing with them no
tidings of the absent one, the fortitude of the hereaved
woman broke down. She gave up the farm, and with hei-
little baby boy and such of her household belongings as
she chose to retain, went back to the home of hor parents
in Millbrook. Slie was a few hundred dollars better ott
in this world's goods than she had been when she had left
that home about thirteen months liefore, l>ut her si)irit was
sadly Itent, if not altogether broken, and the brightness
seemed to have utterly faded out of her Hfe.

In process of time she became in some degree accus-
tomed, if not reconciled to her lot. But her situation was,
to say the least, anomalous. Her ])arents were, on the
whole, kind and considerate, but she was conscious of
being, after a fashion, isolated from them and from all the
rest of the world. She felt, as one who was, in the lan-
guage of the proverb, neither maid, wife nor widow. She
knew not whether her child's father was living or dead.
She was Ijarely twenty-three years of age, but she was
not free to form a second marriage, even if she had had
any inclination for such a union, which, to do her justice,
she had not, for she cherished the memory of her absent
lord with fond affection, and persisted in believing that,
even if lie were living, it was through no fiiult of his own
that he r<!mained away from her. She lived a very quiet
and secluded life. Tn spite of her mother's importunities,
she seldom stirred out of doors on week days, and saw few

SavcTirern's Disappearance.

'47

II'

mong

by.

range
when
3ni no
■eaved
th her
nii's as
arents
ter ott
ad left
rit was
rhtness

accus-
on was,
on the
ious of
I all the
he lan-
^v. She
^r dead,
she was
I ad had
■justice,
■ absent
:i(»- that,
his own
ry quiet
■tunities,

saw few

visitors. She was a regular attendant at church on Sun-
days, and sought to find relief from mental depression in
the consolations of relijTfion. Her chief consolation, liow-
ever, lay in her child, upon whom she lavished all the
tenderness of a soft and gentle nature. She fondl}'- sought
to trace in the little fellow's laight features some resem-
blance to the lineaments of him she had loved and lost. To
do this successfully required a rather strong effort of the
imagination, for, to tell the truth, the boy favored his
mother's side of the house, and was no more like his father
than he was like the twelve patriarchs. But a fond
mother often lives in an ideal world of her own creation,
and can trace resemblances invisible to ordinary mortals.
So it was with this mother, who often declared that her
l)oy had a way of " looking out of his eyes," as she ex-
pressed it, which forcibly brought back the memory of
happy days which had forever passed away.

Of course Savareen's relatives in the old country re-
ceived due notice of his strange disappearance, and of the
various cii'cumstances connected with that event. Mrs.
Savareen had herself communicated the facts, and had
also sent over a copy of the Millbrook Sentiriel, contain-
ing a long and minute account of the affair. A letter
arrived from Hertfordshire in due course, acknowledging
the receipt of these missives, and enquiring whether the
lost had been found. Several communications passed to
and fro during the first few months, after which, as there
was really nothing further to write about, the correspon-
dence fell oft'; it being of course understood that should
any new facts turn up, they should be promptly made
known.

148

Savareen's Disnppi 'araiwc.

The stars do not pause in their spheres to take note
of the atHietions of us mortals liere helovv. To ilic be-
reaved woman it seemed unaceountablo tliat the suc-
ceeding months should come and go as formei-ly, and
as thou<:rh nothing; had occurred to take the saltness and
savor out of her vouuij life. Ever and anon her slumbers
were disturbed by weird dreams, in which the lost one
was presented before her in all sorts of frightful
situatio;is. In these dreams which came to her in the
silent watches of the night, she never seemed to
look upou her husband as dead. Me always seemed to
be living, but surrounded l)y inextricable complications
involving great trouble an<l danger. She sometimes awoke
from these night visions with a loud cry whi(di startled
the household, and proved how greatly her nerves had
been shaken by the untoward circumstances of her fate.

In the early spring of the ensuing year she sustained
another painful bereavement through the death of her
mother. This event imparted an additional element of
sadness to her already cloudy existence ; but it was not
without certain attendant compensations, as it rendered
necessary a more active coui'se of life on her part, and so
left her less time to brood over her earlier sorrow. No
Benvolio was needed to tell us that

" Ouc tire burns out another's burning :
One pain is lessened bj' another's anguiHh."'

Most of US have at one time or another been forced to
learn that hard truth for ourselves. This forlorn woman
had probably never read the passage, but her ex})erienc(!
brought abundant confirmation of it home to her at this

S(i : 'a I'd 'II 's Disappearance.

'49

time. She was driven to assume the internal nianatje-
ment of the liouseliold, an<l found grateful solace in the
occupations which the position involved. She once more
began to take an interest in the prosaic ati'airs of every-
day life, and became less addicted to looldng forward to
a solitary, joyless old age. So that, all things considered,
this .second bereavement was not to be regarded in the
light of an affliction absolutely without mitigation.

it might wi'll have been supposed that the place she
was now called upon to fill would liave been the means
of drawing closer the ties between her .surviving parent
and her.self. For a time it certainlv had that effect. Her

ft/

pre-senee in his house must have done much to sol ten the
blow to her father, and her practical usefulness was made
manifest every hour of the day. She carefi Uy ministered
to his domestic needs, and diil \vhat she could to alleviate
the burden which had been laid upon him. But the old,
old story was once more repeated. In little more than a
year from the time her mother had been laici in her grave,
she was made aware of the fact that the household was
to receive a new mistress. In other words, she was to be
introduced to a stepmother. The event followed hard
upon the announcement. As a necessary consequence she
was compelled to assume a secondary place in her father's
house.

It may be tiue that first marriages are som^stimes made
in Heaven. It is even possible that secon* marriages
may now and then be forged in the same workshop. But
it was soon brought home to Mrs. Savareen th;it this par-
ticular marriage w^as not among the number. Her step-
mother, who was not much older than herself proved a

! ■ %

<ti

ISO

.SVk 'n rccu 's Disappi -nra iiu •.

verittililc tliurn in her .side. Slie was made to perceive
that she and her little boy were regarded in the liuht of
encuinl)rances, to be tolerated until they could be got rid
of. But not passively tolerated. The stepmother was a
ratlier coarse-grained i)iece of clay — an unsympathetic,
unfeeling woman, who knew how to say and to do un-
pleasant things without any ai)i)arent temper or ill-will.
The immortal clockmakcr, when he was in a more
(quaintly sententious humor than conuiion, once pro-
pounded the doctrine that the direct road to a mother's
heart is throuijh her child. He miuht have added the
equally incontestable proposition that the most etiectual
method of torturinn- a mothei's heart is through the same
medium. The mother who has an only child, who is all
the world to her, is actually susceptible to anything in
the shape of interference with her maternal prerogatives.
Such interference, by whomsoever exercised, is wholly in-
tolerable to her. This susceptibility may perhaps be a
feminine weakness, but it is a veritable maternal instinct,
and one with whicli few who have observed it will have
the heart to iind ftiult. In Mrs. Savareen's bosom this
foible existed in a high state of development, and her
stepmother so played uj)on it as to make life under the
same roof with her a cross too 1 'ard to be borne. After
a few months' trial, the younger of the two women re-
solved that a new home must bo found for herself and
her little boy. The carrying out of this resolve rendered
some consideration necessar v, for her own unaided means
were inadequate for her support. Her father, though not
what could be called a poor man, was far from rich, and
he had neither the means nor the will to maintain two

Savareen's Disappearatue.

lii

t'staljlishnientri, liuwevcr humble, liul she was oxpi^rt
Nvitli her needle, and did not despair of Ijeingable to pro-
vide for the slender wants of herself and child. She
rented and furnished a small house in the town, where
she found that there was no ground for present anxiety
as to her livelihood. There was plenty of ncedlew i-k to
be had to kee)) her nimble fingers busy from morn till
nij;ht, and her inc<jme from the first was in excess of her
expenditure. She was constrained to lead a humdrum
sort of existence, but it was brightened by the presence
and companionship of her boy, who was a constant source
of pride and delight to her. Whenever she caught herself
indulging in a despondent mood, she took herself severely
to task for repining at a lot which might have lacked
this element oi brigh^ ^ss, and wliich lacking that, would,
it seemed to liei', have been too dreary for human en-
durance.

No useful purpose would be served by lingering over
this portion of the narrative. Suffice it to say that the
current of the lonely woman's life flowed smoothly on for
.several vears, durino" which .she received no tidings of her
lost husband and heard nothing to throw the faintest
scintilla of light upon his mysterious disappearance.
Little Reginald grew apace, and continued to be the one
consolation in her great bereavement — the solitary joy
which reconciled her to her environment.

)•

-'^iffil'

^ >ib;

'i|

'5-^

Sat 'areen 's Disappearance.

CHAPTKIl VITI.

A OUKST AUIUVES AT THE ROYAL OAK.

T wj's cfettinfT on townrds the middlo of tlie
.,^. ■ r vi'iH month of Aumist, 185!). The harvest all alonu
ri^'~^jR-");y the Millbrook and Spotswood road was in full
/^ )%^^ ' progress. And a bounteous harvest it was,
^r^ P even for that favored region, S(|uire Har-

t^ rington confidently counted upon a yield of fifty

bushels of wheat to the acre. True, he was a
model farmer, and knew how to make the most of a good
season, but his neiglibors were not far behind him, and
were lookinii forward to full granaries when threshini;
should be over. For once there was little or no grum-
bling at the dispensations of Providence. The weather had
been as propitious as though the local tillers of the
soil had themselves had a voice in the making of it, and
even gruff Mark Stolliver was constrained to admit that
there were fewer g' 'ids for remonstrating with the
Great Disposer of ' i-han usual at this season of the

year. Every \) ' Ad in the township presented an ac-

tive spectacle ti.. ughout the day. The cradles were bus-
ily plied from early morn till nightfall, and the swaths of
goldon grain furnished heavy work for the rakers and
binders. The commercial crisis of 1857 had made itself
felt in the district, as well as in all other parts of Upper
Canada. Many of the farmers had fallen considerably

Savanru's Disappearance.

3.-)

belHiidliaiul, and Imd for oiicc in a way felt the ^ri|» of
hard times. But the prolific crops which were now heing
•gathered in bade fair to extricate them from sucli (»l»liL,'a-
tions as they had been compelled to incur, and the pre-
vailing tone was one of subdued though heartfelt satisfac-
tion.

On the evening of Saturday, the 13th of the month,
sun<lry of the yeomen who lived thereabouts assembled
at Lapierre's, after a hard week's work, to congratulate
one another on the prospects of the harvest, and to dis-
cuss a few tankards of the reaming ale for whicli the
Uoyal Oak was famous throughout the township. The
landlord himself was on hand as usual, to dispense the
hospitalities of his bar and larder. The live years wliich
Inid rolled over liis head since that memorable ni^iht of
Savareen's disappearance had left but slight traces of
their passage upon his jovial countenance. He had never
been able to fathom the impenetrable secret of that
strange July night, but he had all along been wont to re-
mark that the mystery would be cleared up some day,
and that he confidently expected to hear some tidings of
the missinor man before he died. As for his jjuests, thouoh
most of them had resided in the neifdiborhood at the time
of his disappearance, they had long ceased to give them-
selves any particular concern about the matter. 80 long
as there had seemed to be any prospect of getting at the
bottom of the affair they had taken a vigorous part in
the search, and liad exerted themselves to bring the mys-
tery to light ; but when month succeeded month without
supplying any clue to the puzzle, they had gradually re-
signed themselves to the situation, and, except when the

-\%

!l^i

4 'I

^«-a»<»0>0<^^

154

Saj anrn 's Disappearance .

M !

topic came iij» for discussion at their Saturday night meet-
ings, they seldom indulged in anything more than a pass-
ing allusion to it.

Ten o'clock had struck, and it seemed improbable that
any further company would arrive. The assembled guests,
to the number of seven or eight, sat in their accustomed
places around a goodly-sized table in the room behind the
bar. Lapierre occupied an e .y chair, placed near the
door communicating with the bar, so as to ])e handy in
case of his being needed there. Farmer Donaldson had
just regaled the circle with his favorite ditty, I'he Roast
Beef of Old England, which he llattered himself he
could render with line effect. Having concluded his ])er-
formance, he sat modestly back in his elbow-chair, anil
l)Owed to the vociferous plaudits accorded to him. The
tankards were then charged afresh, and each man devoted
himself to the allaying of his thirst for the next minute or
two. Mine host had promised to give Faintly as Tolls
the EveniniT Chime in the course of the eveniniif, and was
now called upon to redeem his pledge.

•' Ah, " he remarked; " that vas alvays a faforite song of
mine. And ton't you remember how font of it our frient
Safareen used to pe ? He used to call for it regular efery
Saturday night, schoost pefore supper in the old times.
Ah, put that wass a strange peesiness. I haf never peen
aple to think of it without perspiring.' And so saying-
he dived into the pocket of his white linen jacket, and
produced therefrom a red silk handkerchief, with which
he mopped his beaming countenance untU it .shone again.

" Ay," responded Farmer Donaldson, " that was the
strangest thing as ever hajjpened in these parts. I wonder
if it will ever be cleared up."

S(t I '(vrofs Disappe(xra)ici\

> •>

aud

" You know my opinion apout that," rosuni(j(l the host,
" J alvays said lie vould turn up. But it is — let me see —
yes, it is more that life years Jigo. ]t wass on the night
of the sefenteentli of Chooly, 1S54; and here it is, tlie
mittle of Aucust, 1H5I), Veil, veil, how the years go py !
Safareen was a coot sort. I thought much of liim, and
woot lii'ieto see him once acain."

" I don't say hut what he was a good fellow, "remarke<l
one of tlic company; "but i can tell you he had a devil
of a temper of his own when his blood was up. I re-
member one night in this very room when he had some
words with Sam Dolsen about that ))lack mare o' his'n.
He lired up like a tiger, and that scar on his eheek glow-
ed like a carbuncle. It seemed as if it was <>oini>' to crack
open. 1 made sure he was going to drop into Sam, and
he would 'a done, too, if our landlord hadn't interfered
and calmed him down."

" Yes, yes," interrupted Farmer Donaldson ; " Sa\'areen
had his tempers, no doubt, when he had been tlritdving
moie free than conmion ; but lie was a jolly feller, all
the same. 1 wish he was with us at this moment."

Tliis sentiment was pretty generally re-echoed all
round the festive board. Just then a rather heavy foot-
step was lieard to enter the adjoining bar-room from
outside. The landlord rose an<l passed out through the
doorway, to see if his services were re(juired. The door of
communication was left open behind him, so that the
company in the inner room had no dilHculty in seeing
and hearing everything that took place,

In the middle of th6 bar room stood a short, heavy-set
man, whose dress and bearing pronounced him to be a

: !

156

Saviinni's Disappearance.

stranger in those parts. He was apparently middle-aged
— say somewhere between thirty-five and forty. His
clothing was of expensive material, hut cut after a style
more i^vononce than was then seen in Canada, or lias ever
since been much In vo<:ue here. His hat was a hroad-
brimmed Panama, which cost twenty dollars if it cost a
penny. His coat, so far as could be seen under his thin
summer duster — was of fine bluish cloth, short of waist,
long of <-'i*'rt, and—the duster notwithstanding— plentifully
besprinkled and ti'avel-stained with dust. The waistcoat,
which seemed to Vie of the same nuiterial as the coat, was
very open-breasted, and disi)layed a considerable array of
shirt fiont. Across the left side was hung a heavy gold
watch-chain, from which dei)ended two great bull>ous-
looking seals. On his feet he wore a pair of gaiters of
patci.t leather, white from the dust of the road. In one
hand he carried a light, jaunty Malacca cane, while the
other grasped a Russian-leather portmanteau, called by
him and by persons of his kind a valise. He wore no
gloves — a fact which enabled you to see on the middle
finger of his left hand a huge cluster diamond ring, worth
any price from a thousand dollars upwards. His face
was closely shaven, except for a prominent moustache.
He had crisj), curling black hair, worn tolerably short.
His eyes were rather dull and vacant, not because he w^as
either slow or stu|)id, but because he felt or affected to
feel, a sublime indifference to all things sublunary. Vou
would have taken him for a man who had run the gaunt-
let of all human experiences — a man to whom nothing
presented itself in the light of a novelty, and who dis-
dained to appear nuich interested in anything you might

Savareen's Disappearance,

157

say or do. Taken altogether he had that foreion or rather
cosmopolitan look characteristic of the citizen of the
United States who has led an unsettled, wandering life.
His aspect was fully borne out by his accent, when he
began to speak.

" Air you the landlord ? " he asked, as the host stepped
forward to greet him.

He received a reply in the atfirmative.

" This, then, is the Royal Oak tavern, and your name
is Laj)ierre ? "

Two nods signified the host's further assent to these
undenialjle propositions.

" Have you got a s})are bedroom, and can you put nie
up from now till Monday morning ? "

The landlord again signitied his assent, whereupon the
stranger put down his cane and portmanteau on a bench
and ])roceeded to divest himself of his wrapper.

" You haf had su])per :• " asked Lajuerre.

" Well, 1 had a light tea down to Millbrook, but 1
know your Saturday night customs at the Royal Oak,
and if you hain't got any objections Id like to take a
hand in your eleven o'clock supper. To tell the truth,
I'm sharp-set, and I know you always have a bite of
something appetizing about that time."

Upon being informed that supper would be ready at
the usual hour, and that he would be welcome to a .seat
at the board, he signified a desire to be .shown to his
room, so that he could wash and make him.self present-
able. In response to an enciuiry about his hor.se, he inti-
mated that that animal for the present consisted of
Shank's mare ; that he had ridden up from town with

iii I

158

Savareen\s Disappearance.

Squire Harrington, and dismounted at that gentleman's
gate. " Tlie Squire offered to drive me on as far as
here," he added ; "hut as it was only a short walk I
reckoned I'd come on afoot."

Without further parley the guest was shown to his
chamber, whence he emerged a few minutes inter, and
presented himself before the company assembled in the
room behind the bar.

" Hope I ain't intruding, gentlemen," he remarked, as
he took a vacant seat at the lower end of the table ; "I've
often heard of the good times you have here on Satur-
day nights. Heard of 'em when I was a good many hun-
dred miles from here, and when I didn't expect ever to
have the pleasure of joining your mess. Guess I'd better
introduce myself. My name's Thomas Jetierson Haskins.
I live at Nashville, Tennessee, where T keep a hotel and
do a little in hor.setlesh now an' agin. Now, I shall take
it as a favor if you'll allow the landlord to re-fill your
glasses at my expense, and then drink good-luck to my
expedition." All this with much volubility, and without
a trace of bashfuhiess.

The company all lound the table signified their hearty
acquiescence, and while the landlord was replenishing the
tankards, the stranger proceeded to further enlighten
them respecting his personal affairs. He informed them
that a man had cleared out from Nashville about six
months ago, leaving him, the speaker, in the lurch to the
tune of twenty-seven hundred dollars. A few da^'s since
he had learned that the fugitive had taken up his quar-
ters at Spotswood, in Upper Canada, and he had accord-
ingly set out for that place with intent to obtain a .settle-

Savtrreeu's Disappeanmcc,

159

merit. He had reached Millbrook by the seven o'clock
express tliis evening, only to find that he was still fifteen
miles from his destination. Upon inquiry, lie learned
that the stage from Millbrook for Spotswood ran only
once a day, leaving Millbrook at seven o'clock in t^^"
morninii'. There would not be another statre until Mon-
day morning. He was on the point of hiring a special
conveyance, and of driving through that night, '^ ' all
of a sudden he had remembered that Lapierre .. i^itvern
was on the Millbrook and Spocswood road, and only three
miles away. He had long ago heard such accounts of the
Roj^al Oak and its landlord, and particulr'y of the Sat-
urday night suppers, that he had resolved to repair
thither and remain over for Monday's stage. " I was
going to hire a livery to bring me out here," he added,
"but a gentleman named »Squire Harrington, who heard
me give the order for the buggy, told me he lived close
by the Royal Oak, and that I was welcome to ride out
with him, as he was just going to start for home. That
saved me a couple of dollars. And so, here I be."

Lapierre could not feel otherwise than highly flattered
by the way the stranger referred to his establishment,
but he was wholly at a loss to understand how the fame
of the Roj'al Oak, and more especially of the Snturday
night suppers, had extended to so great a distance as
Nashville. In response to his inquiries on these points,
however, Mr. Thomas Jefferson Haskins gave a clear and
lucid ex})lanation, which will be found in the next
chapter.

i6o

Savareeiis Disappearance.

CHAPTER IX.

THE GUEST CREATES A SENSATION AT THE ROYAL OAK.

ELL," said Haskins, '' I didn't hear of you
, ™,rM«., quite so far off as Nashville. It was when
V^^Wtxllli^' I was travelling in Kentucky buying horses,
NlJ^'^/fe^^ last year. At Lexington I fell in with an
■ ^ "^''^ English cha]) named Randall, who used to

live in this neighborhood. I hired him to buy
horses for me. He was with me about three
months, an' if I could only 'a' kept him sober he'd been
with me yet, for he was about as keen a judge of a horse
as ever I came across in my boi'n days, and knew mighty
well how to make a baigain. Well, we hadn't been to-
gether a week afore he begun to tell me about a place
where he used to live in Canada West, where he said a
little money went a long way, and where good horses
could be bought cheaj). He wanted me to send him up
here to buy for me, and I don't know but I should 'a'
done it if I'd found he was to be trusted. But he would
drink like all creation when he had money. Old Bour-
bon was a thing he couldn't resist. He had an awful
poor opinion of all the rest of our American institootions,
and used to say they wa'n't o' no account as compared to
what he used to have to home in England; but whenitcome
to Bourbon whisky, he was as full-mouthed as Uncle
Henry Clay himself. He 'lowed there wa'n't anything

L OAK.

of you
5 wlieii
horses,
vith an
used to
to buy
t three
i'd been
a horse
might}''
)een to-
a place
said a
horses
liin up
auld 'a'
wouhl
1 Bour-
11 awl'ul
)otions,
ared to
it come
Uncle
lything

Savarcen's Disappearance,

\r^\

either in England or in Canada to touch it. An' when
he got four or five inches of it inside him, there was no
gittin' along with him nohow. There wa'n't anything on
airth he wouldn't do to git a couple of inches more, and
when lie got them he was the catawamptiousest critter I
ever did see. You couldn't place any more dependence
on him than on a free niiXizer. Besides, he used to ne-
gleet his wife, and a man who neglects his wife ain't a
man to trust with a couple o' thousand dollars at a time.
No sir-ree ! Not much, he ain't. But, as I was sa3'in',
the way he used to harp on this place o' Lapierre's was a
caution. Whenever we used to git ])lanted down in one
of our cross-road taverns, he'd turn up his nose till you
could see clean down his throat into liis stommick. The
fact is, our country taverns ain't up to much, an' some-
times I could hardly stand 'em myself. When we'd come
in after a hard day's ridin', and git sot down to a feed of
heavy short-cake and fat ])ork, then Randall 'ud begin
to blow about the grub up here at Lapierre's. He used
to tell about the hot suppers served up here to a passel
o' farmers on Saturday nights till 1 most got sick o'
hearing him. But I see your mugs air empty again, gen-
tlemen. Landlord, please to do your dooty, and score it
up to yours truly."

During this long harangue the assembled guests alter-
nately scanned the speaker and each other with inquir-
ing but vacant countenances. They were puzzling them-
selves to think who this Randall could be, as no man of
that name had ever been known in that communit3\
When Mr. Haskins paused in his discourse, and gave his
order for replenishment, Farmer Donaldson was about to

102

Sa7'arcc)t's Disappearance.

remonstrate aj;;ain.st tliis second treat at tlie expense of a
stranger, and to propose that he himself .should stand
sponsor for the incoming refresliments. But before he
could get out a word, the landlord suddenly sprang from
his seat with a white, agitated face.

" Tell me," he said, addressing the stranger — " What
like is this Rantall ? Please to tescripe his features."

" Well," drawled the person addressed, after a short
pause — " there ain't much to describe about him. He's
a tallish feller — fully four inches taller'n I be. He's
broad and stout — a big man ginerally. Weighs, I should
say, not much under a hundred and ninety. Ruther
light complected, and has a long cut in his face that
shows awful white when he gits his back up. Thunder !
he pretty nearly scared me with that gash one night
when he was drunk. It seemed to open and shut like a
clam-shell, and made him look like a Voodoo priest !
You'd think the blood was goan to spurt out by the
yard."

By this time every pair of eyes in the room was staring
into the speaker's lace with an expression of bewildered
astonishment. Not a man there but recoofnized the
description as a vivid, if somewhat exaggerated por-
traiture of the long-lost Reginald Bourchier Savareen.

The stranger from Tennessee readily perceived that he
had produced a genuine sensation. He gazed from one
to another for a full minute without speaking. Tiien he
gave vent to his surcharged feelings by the exclamation :
" For the land's sake ! "

An air of speechless bewilderment still pervaded the
entire group. They sat silent as statues, without motion,
and almost without breath.

Sarnrcen's Disappearance,

\C^■i,

\Q of a

stand

ore he

y from

' What

es.

I short
. He's
. He's
should
Ruther
,ce that
luinder '
e night
it like a
priest 1
by the

staring
wildered
zed the
cd por-
ircen.
that he
rom one
Then he
imation :

Eb<

,ded the
t motion,

Lapiene was tlie first to recover himself. IJy u sig-
nificant gesture he imposetl continued silence upon the
company, and began to ask (piestions. He succeeded in
eliciting some further pertinent information.

Haskins was unable to say when Randall liad ac(piired
a familiarity with the ways and doings of tl o peoi)le
residing in the vicinity of the Royal Oak, bui it must
have been some time ago, as he had lived in t^e States
long enough to have become acquainted wi/ii various
localities there. As to when and why he had l.d't (Canada
the stranger was also totally ignorant. Ho |':iiew, how-
ever, tliat Randall was living in the city of« New York
about three months ago, as he had seen liiia there, and
had visited him at his lodgings on Amity svreet in May,
when he Haskins) had attended as a delegate to a s])ort-
ing convention. At that time Randall had been employ-
ed in some ca])acity in Hitchcock's sale stf.ble, and made
a few dollars now and again by breeding dogs. He lived
a needy hand-to-mouth existence, and his poor wife had
a hard time of it. His diinking habits prevented him
from getting ahead in the world, and he never staid long
in one place, but the .speaker had no doubt that he might
still be heard of at Hitchcock's by an\ b(Kly who wanted
to hunt him up. " But," adtlcd Mr. Haskins, '' I hope 1
haven't got him into trouble by condng here to-night.
Has he done anything ? Anything criminal, I mean ? "

After a moment's deliberation, Lapierre told the whole
stor}'. There was no doubt in tlse mind of any member
of the company that Randall and Savareen were "parts
of one stupendous whole." Tho one important question
for consideration was : What use ought to be made of
the facts thus strangely brought to light ?

164

Savarccii's Disappearance,

■;<• I

Mi-

By this time supper was announced, and the .stran<,'er's
news, exciting as it was, did not prevcmt the guests from
doing ample justice to it. Haskins was loud in his
praises of the "spread," as he termed it. "Jack Randall,"
he remarked, " could lie when he had a mind to, but he
told the holy truth when he Ijragged you up as far ahead
of the Kentucky cooks. Yes, I don't mind if I do take
another mosscl of that frickersee. Do<i me if it don't
heat canvas-backs."

Before the meeting broke up it was agreed on all hands
that for the present it would be advisable for the guests
to allow the morrow to pass before saying anything to
their wives or anyone else about Mr. Haskins' disclosures.
It was further resolved that that fjentleman should ac-
company Lapierre to Millbrook after breakfast in the
morning, and that Mrs. Savareen's father should be made
acquainted with the known facts. It was just po.ssible,
after all, that Jack Randall might be Jack Randall, and
not Savareen, in which case it was desirable to save the
lost man's wife from cruel agitation to no purpose. It
would be for her father, after Icarninfif all that thev knew,
to communicate the facts to her or to withhold them, as
might seem best to him. On this understandinfj the
company broke up on the stroke of midnight. I am by
no means prepared to maintain that their pledges were
in all cases kept, and that they each and every one went
to sleep without taking their wives into confidence
respecting the strange disclosuies of the night.

fIF

Savareen's Disappearance.

165

i from
in his
ndall,"
but he
ahead
[o take
t don't

I hands
fjuests
ling to
losiires.
aid ac-
in the
e made
(ossible,
all, and
ave the
?se. It
knew,
lem, as
Vi<^ the
am h\'
es were
le went
itidence

CAAPTKR X

NO. 77 AMITV STIIKKT,

'i'ifJ^MZ\ tIE next day was Sunday, hut this circuui-
fe!^/«|;?N-^ stance did not deter Lapierre from liitehing
\' "^^j'i up his liorse and eonveying liis guest down
fi^^s^^ to AIilll)rook at an eaily hour. The pair
calle<l at the liousc of Mrs. Savareen's tatlier
before ten o'clock, and had a long interview with
hiui. ( 'hurch services began at eleven, but it was
remarked by the Methodist congregation, and commented
upon as a thing almost without precedent, that Mrs.
Savareen and her father were both absent on that day.
The old gentleman was much disturbed bv what he
heard from Mr. Haskins. His daughter ha«l ]»assed
through an ordeal of great suffering, and had finally be-
come reconciled to her lot. To tell her this news would
be to open the ohl wounds afresh, and to bring back the
domestic grief which time had about disj»elled. Yet his
course seemed clear. To tell her the truth was an im-
perative duty. It would be shameful to pei-mit her to
go on mourning for one who was in every way unworthy^
and who might turn up at any unexpected moment to
the destruction of her peace of mind. Moreover, the
secret was already known to too many persons to admit
of any hope that it would be permanently kept. She
must be told, and there could be no cjuestiou that her

III

i66

Savnreen's Disappearance.

father was the proper person to tell hor. She would,
however, wish to personally see and converse with the
man who had hrouglit the news, so there was no time to
be lost. Leaving? his two visitors to await his return,
the old man set out with a sad heart for his dau<diter's
house. Ho found her and her little hoy just ready to set
out for church, but the first glance at her father's face
told her that something" had happened, and that there
would bo no churcli-going for that day. She sat pale
and trembling as she listened, and the old man himself
was not nmch more composed. He broke the news as
gently as he could, and she bore it better than he had
expected, suppressing her agitation, and taking in all the
details without interruption. Kven when all the circum-
stances had been laid before her, her self-command did
not desert her. Yes, she must see the stranger from
Tennessee. Possihlv she mifdit extract something from
him which others had failed to elicit. Her father ac-
cordingly went Itack to his own home, and brought Mr.
Haskins over. The throe spent several hours in talking
of the affair, but the stranger had nothing more to tell,
and finally took his leave, promising to call on his way
l)ack from Spots wood.

Father and daughter spent the evening together, and
tried to reach some definite conclusion as to what, if any-
thin<Tf, ouirht to be done. There could be no reasonable
doubt that Randall and Savereen were one. Since there
was just the shadow of doubt, and the want of absolute
certainty, made it impossible for Mrs, Savareen to leave
the matter as it stood. She felt that she must know the
whole truth.

Savarccn's Disappearance.

167

A course was finally decided upon. Father and daughter
would start for New Vork without delay and prolje the
matter to the bottom. The news could not wholly be
kept from the stepmother, but she was enjoined to main-
tain a strict silence on the subject until further lij^ht
shoidd be thrown upon it. Master Reginald was tempor-
arily left in her charge.

They started for New York by the mid-day express on
Mcmday, and reached their destination on Tues<lay after-
noon. Lodgings were secured at a quiet, respectable hotel,
and then the old ma!i .set out alone to hunt up Hitch-
cock's stable. He had no difficulty in finding it, and the
man in charge of the ofKce readily gave him the informa-
tion lie sought. Jack Randall was no longer employed
at the establishment, but he lodged with his wife at No.
77 Amity street. The best time to catch him at home
was early in the morning. He was of a convivial turn,
and generally .spent his evenings about town. He was
supposed to be pretty^ hard up, but that was liis chronic
condition, and, so far as known, he was not in ab.solute
want. With these tidings the father returned to his
daughter.

Mrs. Savareen could not bear the idea of permitting the
evening to pass without some further effort. She deter-
mined to pay a visit to 77 Amity street, in person, and if
possible to see the man's wife for herself. A servant-maid
in the hotel undertook to pilot her to her destination,
which was but a .short distance away. It was about eight
o'clock when she set out and the light of day was fast
disappearing. Upon reaching the corner of Amity .street
and Broadwav, she dismissed her attendant and made the

1 68

Savareens Disappearance,

rest of the journey alone. The numbers on the doors of
the houses were a sufficient direction for her, and she
soon found herself ringing at the hell of 77.

Her summons was answered h}' a seed^'-lookini;' porter.
Yes, Mi's. Rainlall was upstairs in her room on the third
story. Mr. Randall was out. The lady could easily find
the way for herself. Secon<l door to the left on the third
tiat. Straiirht up. And so saying the man disappeared
into the darkness at the rear of the house, leaving* the
visitur to i^i'oup her way up two dind^'-li^hted stairways
as best .she could.

Tlie place was evidently a lodging-house of very infer-
ior descripti<»n to be so near the palatial temples of com-
meive just round the corner. The halls were un'^arpeted,
and, indeed, without the least sign of furniture of any
sort. As Mrs. Savareen slowlv ascended one tlii>ht of
stairs after another, she began to wonder if .she had not
done an unwise thing in venturiuii' alone into a hou.se and
localitv of which she knew nothino-. Havinii" reached the
thirfl story she found herself in total darkness, except for
.such faint twilight as found its way through a back
window. This however was just sufficient to enable her
to perceive the .second door on the left. She advanced to-
wards it and knocked. A female voice res[)onded by an
invitation to enter. She quietly turned the knob of the
door and advanced into the room.

n I

Sai 'areen's Disappearance.

169

CHAPTER XI.

AN 1NTERVII:\V BY CANDLHLIGIIT.

HE itpciitiiient ill which the " bold discoverer
7?.^^ in an unknown sea" found herself presented
;,| an appearance far from cheerful or attractive.
It was of small dimensions, but too large for
the meagre supply of furniture it contained.
Tlie unpapered walls displayed a monotonous sur-
face of bare whitewash in urgent need of renewal.
In one corner was an impoverished looking bed, on which
reposed, an infant of a few months old. At the foot of
the bed was a cheap toilet stand, with its acces.sories.
In the adjacent corner was a door apparently opening
into a closet or inner receptacle ot" some kind, against
which was placed a battered leather trunk with a broken
hasp. A small table of stained pine, without any cover-
injjf, stood near the middle of the room, and tvvo or three
common wooden chairs were disti-ibuted here and there
against the walls. The faint light of expiring day found
admission by means of a window looking out upon the
roofs to the rear of the house. The only artificial light
consisted of a solitary C'^ndle placed on the table, at the far
end of which sat a woman engaged in sewing.

The light, dim and inetfectual as it was, served to show
that this woman was in a state of health which her
friends, if she had any, musthavv. deemed to be anything

I/O

Savareen's Disappearance.

but satisfactory. It was easy to perceive that she had
once possessed an attractive and rather pretty face.
Some portion of lior attractiveness still remained, but the
beauty had been washed away by privation and misery,
leavinir behind nothinf; but a faint simulacrum of its
former self. She was thin and fragile to the point of
emaciation, insomuch that her print dress hung upon her
as loosely as a morning wrapper. Her cheeks were sun-
ken and hollow, and two dark patches beneath a pair of
large blue e3'^es plainly indicated serious nervous waste.
In addition to these manifest signs of a low state of
bodily health, her pinched features had a worn, weary
expression which told a sad tale of long and continuous
suffering. Most of these things her visitor, with feminine
quickness of perception, took in at the first momentary
glance, and any pre-conceived feeling of hostility wliich
may have had a place in her heart gave way to a senti-
ment of womanly sympathy. Clearly enough, any dis-
play of jealous anger would be wholly out of place in
such a presence and situation.

Mrs. Savareen had not given much pre-consideration
as to her line of action during the impending interview.
She had merely resolved to be guided by circumstances,
and what she saw before her made her errand one of
some difficulty. Her main object, of course, was to ascer-
tain, beyond the possibility of doubt, whether the man
calling himself Jack Randall was the man known to her
as Reginald Bourchier Savareen.

The tenant of the room rose as her visitor entered, and
even that sliorht exertion brought on a hollow couijh
which was pitiful to hear.

Sat 'arcen 's Disappearance.

171

" I am sorry to see/' gently remarked the visitor, " that
you are far from well."

" Yes," was the reply ; " I've got a cold, and ain't very
smart. Tjike a chair." And so .saying, she placed a
chair in position, and made a not ungraceful motion
towards it with her hand.

Mr.s. Savareen sat down, and l>egan to think what she
would say next. Her hostess saved her from much
thought on the matter l)y enquiring whether she had
called to see Mr. Randall.

" Yes," replied Mrs. Savareen, ' 1 would like to see him
for a few moments, if convenient."

" Well, 1 am sorry he's out, and 1 don't siippo.se he'll
be in ioY some time. He's generally out in the fore part
of the eveiiini!-; hut he's most alwavs home in the morn-
ing. Is it anything I can tell him ?"

Here was a nice complication. Had Mrs. Savareen
been a student of Moliere, the Htting reply to such a
question under such circumstances would doubtless have
risen to her lips. But I shrewdly suspect that she had
never heard of the famous Frenchman, whose works were
probably an unknown (piantity in Millbrook in those
days. After a momentary hesitation she fenced with the
(piestion, and put one in her turn.

"Do you know if he has heard from his friends in
Hertfordshire lately ?"

" Hertfordshire ? O, that is the place he comes from
in the Old Country. No, he never hears from there. I
have often wanted him to write to his friends in England,
but he says it is so long since he left that they have for-
gotten all about him. " Here the speaker was interrupted
by another lit of coughing.

172

Sdc arcens Disappearance.

'f^TS

" No," she resumed, '• he never oven wrote to England
to tell liis fiionds when we were married. He was only
a boy when he left home, and he was a good many years
in (^anady before he came over to the States."

Just at this point it seemed to occur to Mrs. Randall
that she was talking ratlier freely about her husband to
a person wliom she did not know, and she pulled herself
up with a rathei' short turn. She looked intently into
her visitor's face for a moment, as though with an in-
war<l monition that something was wron<r.

" J3ut," slic resumed, after a brief pause, "do you know
my husband ? I can't remember as I ever seen you be-
fore. You don't live in New York : f can see that. 1
guess you come from the West."

Then Mrs. Savareen felt that some explanation was
necessary. Slie fairly took tlie animal by the extreme
tip of his horns.

'* Yes," she responded, " I live in the West, and I have
only been in New Vork a very short time. I accidentally
heard that Mr. I\au<hill lived here, and I wi.sh to ascer-
tain if he is the same gentleman 1 once knew in Canada.
If he is, there is something of importance I shouM like to
tell him. Would you be so kind as to de.scribe his per-
sonal appearance for me ? "

The woman again insj)ected her very carefully, with
eyes not altogether free from suspicion.

" I don't exactly understand," she exclaimed. " You
ilon't want to do him any harm, do you ? You haven't
got anything agin him \ Wo are in deep e.iough trouble
as it IS.

The last words were uttered in a tone very much re-

Sa^'nrceu's Disappearance.

173

seiiibling a wail of despair. By this time tlie visitor's
sympathies were thoroiif,dily aroused on behalf of tlie
poor broken creature befoie lier.

She felt that she had not the heart to add to the bur-
den of grief which had been imposed upon the frail wo-
man who sat there eyeing her with anxiety depicted upon
her weary, anxious face.

" I can assm-e you," responded Mrs. Savarcen, "that I
have no intention of doing any harm either to him or to
you. I would much rather do you a kindness, if I could.
I can see for myself that you stand in great need of kind-
ness."

The last words were spoken in a tone which disaiiued
suspicion, and which at the same time stimulated curios-
ity. The shadow on Mrs. Randall's face passed aw^ay.

'* Well," said she, " I beg your jiardon for mistrusting
you, but my husband has never told me much about his
past life, and I was afraid you might be an enemy. But
I am sure, now I look at you, that you wouldn't do harm
to anybody. I'll tell you whatever yon want to know,
if I can."

" Thank you for 3'our good opinion. Will you be good
enough, then, to describe jMr. BandaUs personal appear-
ance ? I have no other object than to find out if he is
the person I used to know in Canada."

'' How long ago did you know him in Canady { "

" I saw him last in the sunnner of LS54 — about tive
years ago."

" Well, at that rate I've known him pretty near as long
as you hev. It's more'n four years since I first got ac-
quainted with him down, in Ole V'irginny, where I was

174

Savarcens Disappearance.

V >

'"II

YAW

raised. Why, come to think of it, I've got liis likcnesH,
took just before we was married. That'll sliow you
whether he's the man you knew."

As she spoke, she rose and opened tlie leather trunk in
the corner by the closet door. After rummaL,nn_L^ among
its contents, she presently returned with a small oval
daguerreotype in her liand. Opening the case slie lianded
it to Mrs. Savareen. "There he is," she remarkc«l, "an'
it's considered an awful jrood likeness."

Mrs. Savareen took the daguerreotype and apjiroached
the candle. The first glance was amply suHieient. It
was the likeness of her husband.

She made up her mind as to her line of action on the
instant. Her love for the father of her child died away
as she gazed on his picture. It was borne in upon her
that he was a heartless scoundrel, unworthy of any wo-
man's reixard. Before she withdrew hor <dance from the
daguerreotype, her love for him was dead and buried be-
yond all possibility of revivification. What v -uld it
avail her to still further lacerate the heart of the unluippy
woman in whose presence she stood t Why kill her out-
right by revealing the truth :' There was but a step —
and evidently the step was a short one — between her and
the grave. The distance should not be abridued bv any
act of the lawful wife.

She closed the case and quietly handed, it back to the
woman, whom it will still be convenient to call Mrs.
Randall. " I see there has been some misunderstanding,"
she said. " This is not the Mr. Randall 1 knew in Can-
ada."

fnql

Savarcens Disappearance.

175

In her kind consideration for the invalid, she deliber-
ately conveyed a false impression, though she spoke
nothing more than the simple truth. There had indeed
been " some misunderstanding," and Savareen's likeness
was certainly not the likeness of Mr. Randall. As matter
of fact, ^Irs. Savareen had really known a Mr. Randall in
Millbrook, who bore no resemblance whatever to her hus-
band. Thus, she spoke the literal truth, while she at the
same time deceived her hostess for the hitter's own <:ood.
Affliction had laid its blighting hand there heavily enough
already. Her main object now was to get away from the
house before the return of the man who had so villain-
ously wrecked two innocent lives. But a warm sympathy
for the betrayed and friendless woman had spi'ung up in
her heart, and she longed to leave behind some ]>ractical
token of her sympathy. While she was indulging in
these reflections the infant on the bed awoke and set up
a startled little cry. Its mother advanced to where it lay,
took it up in her arms, sat down on the edge of the bed,
and stilled its forlorn little wails by the means known to
mothers from time immemorial. When it became (piiet
she again deposited it on the bed and resumed her seat
by the table.

Mrs. Savareen continued standing.

" I am sorry to have disturbed you unnecessarily," she
remarked and will now take my leave. Is there anything
I can do for you ? I should be glad if I could be of any
use. I am afraid you are not very comfortably off', and
you are far from well in health. It is not kind of Mr.
Randall to leave you alone like this, You need rest and
medical advice."

176

Savnr^ett's Disappearance.

' ■.

Tlic'se were |>rol)ably the Hrst .sympatlietic wordn Mrs.
Randall had hoard from one of lier own sex for many a
lon<^^ da}'. Tlie tears started to her tired eyes, as she re-
plied :

" I guess there ain't no rest for me this side o' tlie
ijfrave. I haven't anv money to m.i medical advice, and T
don't suppose a doctor could do me any pjood. I'm pretty
well run down and so is baby. I'm told it can't live long,
and if it was only laid to rest I wouldn't care how soon
my time came. You're right about our being awful hard
up. l)Ut <lon't you be too hard on my husband. He has
his own troul)les as well as me. He hain't had no cash
lately, and don't seem to be able to git none."

" But he could surely stay at home and keep you com-
|)any at nights, when you are so ill. It must be very
lonely for you."

" Well, you see, 1 ain't much company for him. He's
ben brought up ditt'erent to what I hev, an's ben used to
hevin' things comfortable. J ain't stronj; enough to do
much of anything myself, with a sick baby. Y\\\ sure I
don't know what's to be the end of it all. Ks a gineral
thing he don't mean to be unkind, but

Here the long-suffering woman utterly broke down, and
was convulsed by a succession of sobs, which seemed to
exhaust the small stock of vitality left to her. The visitor
approached the chaii- where she sat, knelt by her side,
and took the poor wasted form in her arms.

They mingled their tears together. For some time
neither of them was able to speak a word, but the sym-
pathy of the stronger of the two acted like a cordial upon
her weaker sister, who gradually became calm and com-

Sn: '(incus nisappcaraiuc

\77

He's
to

and
to
itor

ide,

Don

posed. Tlio sobs died caw.'iy, and tlie sliattored frame
ceased to tivmMe. Tlieii they be^jan to talk. Mrs. Sava-
reeii's sliaro in tlie conversation was cliicHy cnrntined to a
series of sympatlietic ([Uestions, whereby she extracted
swell particulars as furnished a key to the present situa-
ti(^n. It appeared that the soi-disanf Jack Kandall had
made the acijuaintance of his second victim within a short
time after his departure from Canada. iCe had then been
eniraired. in business on his own account as a dealer in
hoi*ses in Lexington, Kentuckv, wdiere the father of the
woman whose life he ha<l afterwards bli;j;hte<l kept a
tavern. Ife had made soft speeches to her, and had won
her heart, although, even then, she had not been blind to
his main defect — a fondness for old ilourbon. After a
somewhat protracted coui'tship she had married him
but the sun of ])rosperity ha<l never shone upon them
after their marriai,^e, for his drinkiuLj hal)it had L,nown
upon him, and he had soon got to the end of what little
money he had. He had been compelled to give up busi-
ness, and to take service with anyone who would employ
liim. Then matters had gone from bad to W(jrse. He
liad been compelled to move about from one town to an-
other, for his habits would not admit of his continuing
long in any situation. She had acconn)aiued him wher-
ever he went with true wifely devotion, Ijut lia<l been
constrained to drink deeply of the ciip of privation, and
had never been free from anxiety. About six months ago
thev had come to New York, where he had at first found
fairly remunerative employment in Hitchcock's sale stable.
But there, as elsewhere, he had wrecked his prospects by
drink ami neglect of business, and for some time past tlio

.7S

Savaneii's lUsappitwaiux.

Ill:

1 1

11:

unlia|»])V ]>!iir Ik'kI Itecn entirely destitute. Tl\e l»aby
had Iteen liorn soon after tliey had taken up their quar-
ters in New York. Tlie mother's health, whicli had l»een
far from strong hefore this event, completel}- broke <lown,
an<l slie had never fully recovered. 'J'he seeds of con-
sumption, whicli had prohiihly heen implanted in her
before her birth, had rapidly devtiloped themselves under
the nnpromisini4' rei^imen to which she had l»een subjected,
and it was apparent that she had not long to live. Sha
was unable to atloid proi)er nourishment to lier child,
which languished from day to day, and the only strong
desire left to her was that she niii-ht survive Ion;; enough
to see it fairly out of the world.

Such was the sad tale poured into the sympathetic ears
of ^Irs. Savareen, as she knelt there with the poor crea-
ture's head against her boson. She, for the time, lost sight
of her own share in the misery brought about by the man
who, in the eye of the law, was still her husband. She
spoke such words of comfort and consolation as sug-
gested themselves to her, but the case was a hopeless one,
and it was evident that no permanent consolation could
ever again find a lodgment in the breast of the woman
k\vo supposed herself to be Mrs. llandall. Tlie best that
was left to her in this world was to hear the sad rites
pronounced over her babe, and then to drop gently away
into that long, last sleeji, wherein, it was to l«e hoped, she
would find that calm repose which a cruel fate had denied
her so long as she remained on earth.

Mrs. Savareen, it Avill be remembered, was a pious
woman. In such a situation as that in which she found
herself, wt^ may feel sure that she did not omit all refer-

sug-

away
(l, she
lenietl

pious
found
refer-

Savanciis Pisa/^pcnraiiu

1/9

enco to the consolations of reHj^ion. She pourtMl into the
ear of this sore-tried soul a few of those words at which
thinkers of the iiKjdern school are wont to sneer, but
which for eiirhteen centuries have hrout^ht halm to the
suticring and the atflicted of every clime, ^h>re(>ver, she
did not neglect to administer consolation of a material
kind. She ein])tied her purse into the invalid's laj). It
contained something like thirty dollars — more money,
prohahly, than Mrs. Ilandall had ever called her own he-
fore. " Keej) this for your owu use," she said — " it will
buy many little comforts for you and baby. No, I will
not take any of it back. T am comfortably otf and shall
not want it." Then, with a final 'jmbrace, and a few
hurried words of farewell, she stepped to the bedside and
imprinted a ki.ss on the little waif lying there, all un-
conscious of the world of sin and sorrow in which it held
so precarious a dwelling place. Her mission was at an
end. She silently passed from the room, closing the door
behind her.

CHAPTER XIT.

STILL A MYSTKRY.

^i^'U

'T the head of the stairway she paused for a
mon)ent to collect herself before passing
^^ down and out into the street. What she
53) had left behind her was of a nature well
i'/'^f fitted to excite emotion, and her bosom rose;
^"'" and fell with a gentle tenderness and pity. I>ut
she had learned self control in the school of ex-
perience, and her delay was a brief one. Mastering her

JPITnPp*

MMW

iSo

Sf? : •iffTi 7/ '.V / )/s(r/^/>, irnnicc.

\^'\

oinotioiis, she walked stoa-lily down the two llii;lits of
stairs, opened the fi'ont door for lierself, and was just
alioiifc to cross tho tliresliold when a man entered. Tlie
li^dit of tlie street lanij) fell ftdl upon his face. It was
the face of the man whose mysterimis di-:;ippearanee five
years l)efore had created such a profound sensation
thron<i;hout Western Cana<la. There was no ])ossil»ilitv
of mistaking' it, thou<5di it was greatly chanL,'ed foi* tho
worse. Five years had wrouf^dit terrible havoc ui)on it.
The scar on tlio left cheek was more cons])icuous than of
3'oro, and tlio features seemed to have settled into a per-
petual frown, l^ut, worst of all, th^ countenance was
bloated and besotted. The nose liad l)eeome bulbous and
spongy, the eyes watery and weak. The man's clothes
wore patclied and seedy, and presented a general aspect
of being desperately out at elb^ .,s. His unstea<ly step
indicated that he was at least half (h'unk at that mom-
ent. He did not see, or at any rate did not take any
notice of the woman who gazed into his face so intently.
As he staggered on liis way upstairs he stumbled and
narrowly escaped falling. Could it be possible that this
disreputable oltject was the man whom she had once
loved as her husband ? She shuddered as she passed out
on to the pavement. Truly, his sin had found him cnit.
She had no dilliculty in finding her way back to the
hotel, without asking questions of anybody. Upon
reachinjjf it she conferred for a moment with the office
clerk, and thtui i)assed uj) to a small general sitting-room
where she found her father. The old gentleman was be-
irinuinir to be anxious at her long absence.

Snvarccn's Disa/^pcaraucc.

iSr

' Well, lullirl, I Ini'l (licir is . -ill CXIHTSS fnl Slls|H'nsi<»ll

l!ii<l^;t; at iiiitliiiL;lit. I (liiiik we hat! Iieltt-i lake it. It
is now lialf-jnist ten. I liavo ii-aiiud all 1 wanteil to
know, an<l tlicre is no nso tor ns to stay liorc on cxpunso.
I»iit i>orlia])s you are tirnl, am' woiiI«I like a ni;^Mit's rest."

'■ l"'ouiiil ont ail you wanteo lo know ( Do you mean
to say you liave seen liini V

" N'e^, an<l I ni'ver wisli to sec or lieai' of liini auain in
this worjil. I)on't (|Uesti(in im- now. I will tell you all
befoie we net home, and at'tei' that I liojic you will never
mention his na'iie in my presenci'. Wlu-n sliall we
start > "

Findijiir lief reallv anxious to he irone, tlie ohl man
assenteil to hti' jtioposiLiou, and tliev startetl on tlieii'
wav liomewaid I'V the midniirht train. 'J'hev reached
Millhiook in due couise, the t'athei- liavijijj^ uieanwhilc
lieeii infornuid of all that his daui,diter had to tell him.
Savaieen's disa|ii»eaianee remained as profound a mystery
to them as ever, hut it liad at any rate been made eleai"
tliat he had ahsconded ot" his own free will, antl that in
doin<^ so he nmst have exercised a <jood deal of slirevvd-
nos.s and eunniuii'.

The ([ULStion as to how far it was advisable to take the
public into their i-onlidenee exercised the jud<j^ment of
both fatlier and dau;^diter. The conclusion arrived at vas
that as little as possible should be sai<l about the lue^^er.
Their errand to New York was already known, and could
not be wholly iij;nored. The fact of Savareen's existence
would have to be admitted. It wouM inevitably be
chronicled l)y the Seniiiid, and the recoid would be
transferred to the cohnnns of ct^^er newspai)ers. The

:.*,«

|S2

Savnrrcji's Disapf>earauce.

siili|«'ct \v<»uM Ito ''iscussed .nuoiinr thu local (juidiiijucs,
aii'i the excitement uf five years since would to some ex-
tent l»e revived. All this must naturally 1)8 expected,
and would have to he endured as best it niiffht ; hut it
wa"< resolve<l that people should not l»e eneouraijed to
a*»k <piestions, and that they should he made to under-
stand that the topic was not an a^neeahle one to the
|»ersons iniuiediately concerned. It mit^dit reasonahly he
ho|>ed tli.al {gossip would sooner or later wear itself out.
For the present it Nsowld he desirahle for Mrs. Savarcen
to keep within doors, and to hold as little communication
with her neighbors as possible.

'J'his programme was strictly adhered to, and cvery-
thi.ig turned out precisely as had been expected. Mr.
Ha--kins reached Millbrook on liis way home to Tennessee
within a day or two after the return of father an«l
daugliter from New York. He was informed by the
father that Kandall an<l Savareen were identical, but
that the family wished to suppress all talk about the
atfair as far as possible. He took the hint, and departed
on his way homeward, without seeking to probe further
into matters in which he had no personal concern.

It was hardly U) be supposed, however, that the local
population would show e(iual forbearance. Curiosity
was widesnread, and was not to be suj>pre.s.sed from a
ui<»re sentiment of delicacy. No sooner, did it become
known that the father and dau<rhter liad returned than
the former was importuned by numerous friends and
acquaintances to disclo.se the result of his journey. He
' ' ■' ese importunities as to admit that
Its living in the States under an

so lar responaeu to in
the missing man w;

Sai'nrroi's Disapfyearauce.

i«^3

uliiuiics,

«>me ex-

xpectod,

; l»ut it

a,i(C(l to

undtT-

to tlie

al»ly be

t'lf Ollf.
avait'eii
»i«'ati(>n

overv-
1. Air.
iinessee
ler and
)\' the
al, hut
ait tlie
ipartod
"urther

i local
liositv
from a
•ecoine
1 than
s and
. He
t that
er an

assuiiied name, imt lie added that iieithef liin dau«,diter
nor himself' was inclined to talk about the matter. He
said in etlect : " My dauL,ditei's hurden is a heavy one to
hear, and any one; who has any consideration tor either
her or nie will never mention the matter in the presence
of either of us. Anyone who does so will thereby forfeit
all ri<ditto be rei;arded as a friend or well-wisher." This
did not silence i,^ossipin^' toni;ues, but it at least prevent-
ed tliem from propounding^' their ([uestions directly to
himself. Ho was promptly interviewed by the editor of
the tSentiiicl, who received exactly the same information
as other people, and no more. The next number of the
paper contained a leading article on the subject, in which
the silence of Mrs. Savareen and her father was animad-
verted upon. The public, it was said, wei'e entitled to be
told all that theie was to tell. Savareen's disappearance
had long since become public pi'operty, and the I'aniily
were not justified in withholding any information which
might tend to throw light on that dark subject. This
article was freely copied by other papers, and for several
weeks the topic was kept conspicuously before the little
world of western Canada. Nowhere was the interest iu
the subject more keenly manifested than at the Royal
Oak, where it furpished the theme of frecpient and all-
but-interminable (fiscussio*:, Not a day passed but mint*
host Laj)ierre publicly congratulated himself upon his
acumen in having all along believed and declared that
Savareen was still in the land of the living. The land-
lord .shared the prevalent opinion that the family should
be more conununicative. " ( haf always," said he, "pcen
a coot fricnt to Mrs. SafarLcn I lespect her fery nn)oeh,

1 84

Sav(irirn\s Disappearance.

put I think sliL' iiiii^ht let us know ,soinetiiiu;s uioiv apout
her (li.sfoteiies in New York." Scores of otlier [»eison»
liarpe<l to tlie same monotonous tune. Hut fatlier and
(iaunhter suljmitted to this as to a ncce.s.sarv ix-nahvol'
their situation, and by dcc^rees tlie excitement tjuieted
<lown. I am not jirepared to say whetlier the step-
mother received furtiier enliglitenment than otlier jieople,
l)ut if she did .slie kept hei* tonL,nie between lier teeth like
a sensible woman. As tor Mrs. Savareen herself, she
consistently retVaine 1 from speakiuLj on the subject to
anyone, and even the most inveterate gossips sho\ve<l
suthcient re.speet for her feelings to ask her no ([uestions.
Slie held the even tenor of her way, doini;' her vvork and
maintaining herself as usual, l)ut she lived a .seehuled
life, and wa.s .seldom seen outside her own liouse.

Thus, several months passed away without the occur-
rence of any event worthy of being recorde<l. The mys-
tery of Savareen's disappearance renuiined a mystery
still. But the time was aj.proaching when all that had
so long been dark was to be made clear, and when the
strange i)roblem of live years before was to Ite solved.

Sararccii\s Pisnp/'rarivicr.

CHAITKi; XIII,

1S5

;i!

COALS OK KlIIK.

^^'^

% HK j^Moomy uiontli of N»>veiiil»i'i-, LS.jO, was
(liawiiu^ to its close. The Wfiitliei-, as usual

.1-^

Tf ' vib'/ L at tliat time of the year, was «iull ami sf>lx'r,
%^i-^,^^^K^ '"^'xl the skies were Mark and loweriiiL;-. More
)^'iy) than three months had elapsed since tlie

'p/ff journey to New Yoik, and Mrs. Savareen and her
attairs had ceased to be the enf^'rossini,^ toj)ics of
diseussion amoni,^ the people of MilHtrook and its neii;h-
borhood. She CDUtinued to live a verv^ secluded life,
and seKlom stirreil beyond the threshold of her own
door. Almost her only visitors were her father and l»ro-
ther, for her stepmother rarely intruded u}»()n her domain,
and indeed was not mueh encourai^ed to do so, as her
presence never brou^dit comfort with it. Tiie little boy
continued to /^^row apaee, ami it seemtKl to the fond mo-
ther that he became dearer to lier every day. Me was
the sole li;^dit and joy of her life, and in him weir bnund
up all her hopes for the future. Of late she had ceased
to scan his features in the hope of tracini( theie some re-
Semblance of his absent father. Since her visit to Amity
street, that fond illusion had wlioll}* dejfarted, never to
return. She had ceased even to speak to him about his
other paient, and had begun to rei^'ard herself in the lii,dit
of an actual widow. Such was the state of allairs

^^^»mmmmmm

m^^

I \

; I

IS6

S(77 'nrccn 's Disappearance,

wlic'ii tlio liiiiiulnnr) of luii- (;xist«'nce was hiokeii in ii|M;n
l)y 51 siiec(3s.sioii of L'ircuiustaiicos wliicli it now beconies
iiecL'ssaiy to unfold.

It was rapiilly <liJiwinL( towards six o'clock intheeven-
in<' and lli(! (liuknesK of ni<dit had alicadv fallen njion
the outer landscajx;. Mrs, Savaroen satin lier little |iar-
lof with hoi- Itoy upon her knee, as it was her custom to
sit at this hour. TIk; lamp had not heen li^dited, hut the
fireplace sent forth a luddy hla/e, niakini^^ the countless
shadows rcllect themselves on the Moor, and in the remote
corners of tlie roo?n. To hoth the mother and the child,
this houi", " hetween the dark and the daylii^dit " was in-
comparahly the most deliL,ditful of the twenty-four, foi- it
was cons(!crated to story-teHinf,^ 'J'hen it was that the
boy w^as first introduced to those old-time lej^ends which
in one form or another have thrilled the bosoms of happy
childhood for so many hundreds of years, and which will
continue to thrill them throu<(h centuries yet unborn.
'J'hen it was that In; made theaccpiaintance of Little Red
RiditiL,' Ilood, Jack the (iiant Killer, and the Seven
( 'hampi«)ns of Christendom. The min<^ded li;^ditsand shades
from the bla/in^' loi,^s of hickory in the fireplace lent ad-
ditional charm to the thousand and one stories which the
mothei' recounted for the child's edification, and I doubt
not that Jack's wondeiful bean-stalk is still associated in
Master Ke^^de's mind with that cosy little j'ooni with its
blended atmosphere of cheerful twilight and sombre sha-
dow.

A few minutes more and it would be tea time. It
would never do, however, to break off the storv of the
r»abes in tli(! Wood just at the time when the two emis-

S(77 'arccu '.v nisappcarauce.

fS7

sarns t)l tin.' wickcM niirlr luijuii tu i|ii;irirl in lli.' (Iij)llis
of tlie forest. Tlic cliiM's syinpatliics Iwul litcii tlioioiii^lily
.'iroiisod, and lie would not tamely sulniiit to Itc Iclt in
sMs|)(!nse. No, the ^Muesonie old tale must Im' told out, oi"
;it least as far us wliere the rol)in I'edbreasts, aft«'r mourn
ini;- over the fat(! of the ha[)less infants 'Mid cover them
with leaves." And no the mother Avent on with the nar-
rative. She had just I'eaehed the culminating' point when
a>i ajt{MoaeldfiL( footstep was heard outside. Then came
a knock at the door, followed hy the entrance of Mis.
Savareen's fathei-. it was ea.sy to see from his I'aet; thatv
this was no meie jM-rlunctory call. I'lvidently he had
news to tell.

" SometliinL,^ has ha|)itene<l, father," .said Mrs. Savareon,
as calmly as slie C(ju1<1.

" Well, yes, sonietliiuL,^ has happened. It is notliini^
very dreadful, hut you liad hetter prepare your.seli' to hear
unplea.sant news."

"It is that man — lie lias come."

"Yes, he has come to town."

" Is he at the door C

"No, lie is at my liouse. 1 thou;^dit I had lietter come
over and tell you, instead of lettinn" him come himself and
take you by suprise."

" What has he come for, and what does he want ? "
incpiired Mrs. Savaieen, in a harder tone (»f voice than
she was accustomed to use.

"Well, for one thiiiL; he wants to see you, and I sup-
pose you can't very well avoid seeini^^ him. Jle is your
hushand, you know. He knows nothing ahout tlie jour-
ney to New Voik. lie has no mean^, and looks shahhy

t88

S(77'(ir(rff\': Disappearance.
I sliouldii t wmiflcr il* lu; isn't loii'' Iim Uiis

jiiul sifkly,
world."

" So yoii (lifln't tell liiiii anytliinL;- aliout the Now York
trip \

" No, I didn't exactly know wliiit your views niii^lit be,
and lie looked such a worn-out, jiitit'ul olijccl tliat I held
niv toM'^K! ahouL it. I think vou had hcttersce him antl
hear what he has to say.

It apjicared that Savarecn had arrived at .Millhrook by
tilt' 4:1') ])iii. train from \rw Vi>rk,and lliat he had
slunk round liy the least frtMjut'utcd streets to Ids I'ather-
in-law's house without heinix recoufnisfd by any one. It
niii;ht be doubted, indeed, wdu'ther any oi" his old friends
would have reeoi^nised him, even it" they hail met him
face to taee in bioad daylight, for he was by no means
the ruddy, robust, self-eom|)lacent look iuLTpersonai^'e they
had Itecn accustomed to see in tin; old days when he was
wont to rid(! into town on his black nuire. His clothes
vvei'c seamy and worn, an<l his physicd jtroportious had
shrunk so nuu'h that the shabby n-arments seemed a
world too wide for him. His face, which three months
ago liad been bloated and sodden, hatl bi!e(;me pale and
emaciatetl, and the scar upon his left clieek seemed to
have develo]»ed until It was tlic most noticeable thing
about him. His step was feeble and tremulous, and it
was evident that his health had completely broken down.
He was in fact in a state bordering on collapse, and was
hardly Ht to be gv)ing about. His linancial condition was
on a par with his bodily state, \\v had expended his
last dime in the purcha.se of his railway ticket, and at
the nionuMit of reaching his father-in-law's door he had

Sif ,■ -fm (//'s nisa/^pcanuur.

iSy

\)rk

been wc'll-ui'_;li Ihiiiisliefl for want of food. Wlion a loaf
of liread and sonic slices of eoI<l moat had been set Ix'fore
him, Ik' had fallen to with the voracity of a junL,do tiner.
He' ha«l V()ncli>al"ed no fxplanation of his ])vesence, except
that he felt he was ;;;oinn- to dir, anil that lu; wanted to
see his wife and child. As he was tired out and sorely
in need of rest, lie hatl been put to bed, and his father-
in-law, after sceim;' him snuL,dy stowed away between the
sheets, had set out to bear the news to his wife.

There could 1h» no doubt as to what was the proper
thini;' to be done Mrs. Savareeii made the lire safe, put
on \m\' bonnet and shawl anil locked up the house. Then,
taking her littl*! boy by the haiui, she accompanied her
father to the old hous(^ where, six or seven years before,
the handsonu; young farmer had been in the habit of
visiting and paying court to her. On arriving she found
the invalid buried in the deep, profound sleep of exhaus-
tion. ( 'onsigning hei- boy to the care of her stepmother,
she took her ])lace bv the bedside ami waited. Her vinil
was a protracted one, for the tiredout sleeper did not
awaken until the small hours of the next moi'ning. Then
with a Itnig drawn respiration, he o[)ened his eyes, and
fixed them upon the watcher with a weak, wandering
expression, .is though he was unable to fully grasj) the
situation.

The trutli found its way to him by degi-ees. }fe shifted
liimself uneasily, as though he would have been ghiv' to
smother himself l)eneath the bedclothes, was it not for
lack of I'esolution. A wliipped hound nev(M' |iresented a
more abject appeaiance.

His wife was the first to speak. " Do you feed rested { "
she asked in a gentle tone.

ir;0

Str:'iirt'L-//\s- Disa/^l^carauce.

" Hesteil ;• O, yes, I rciiiciiiltci- now. W'u arc at your
fatlier's."

" Vos; liiit don't talk any more just now, if it tires you.
Try to go to sleep again."

" You are good to me ; better than I ileserve," lie re-
sponded, after a pause. Then, great tears welled U]) to
his eyes, and coursed one after another (hnvn liis thin,
worn face. It was easy to see that he was weak as
water. 1 1 is long journey by rail without food had been
too much for him, and in his state of health it was just
possible he might never rally.

The womanly nature of the outraged wife came upper-
most, as it alwa3's does under such circumstances. Her
love for the miserable creature lying there before her had
been killed and crucitied long ago, never to be revived.
But she could not forget that she had once loved him,
and that he was the father oi her child. No matter how
dee[)ly he had wrongiMl her, he was ill and suffering —
perhaps dying. His punishment had come upon him
withou: any act of hers. She contrasted his pr<'sent bear-
ing with that of other days. He was bent, broken,
crushed. Nothing there to remind her of the stalwart,
manly young fellow whoso voice had once stirred her
})ulse to admiration and love. All the more reason why
she shoidd be good to him now, all undeserving as he
might be. Our British Homer showed a true appreciation
of the best side of feminine nature when he wrote—

" () woman, in Dnrhoiir of ease,
Uncertain, roy, ami hard to ploaai-;
When pain and ant^uiHli \vriny thy l)row,
A niinlMterin;,' an^'el thou ! "

Sell 'iin'i 'II 's /)/st (/y>t V } raiur.

191

She rose ami approacliod the bed, while her ^w/.a rested
inildlv upon his t'nee. Drawini; forth lier liandkorehief,
slie wiped tlie salt teais I'roiii his cheeks '.vitli a caressiiin;
hand. To liiin lyin^L,' there inliis lielplessness, slie seemed
110 unfit rarthly representative of that Divine I'x'iU'H-
eenee " whose blessed task," .says Thackciay, " it will one
• hiy be to wipe the tear from every eye." Heiijcntleness
caused tlie spiiuLjs to well forth afresh, and the prostrate
ibrm was convulsed by sobs. Slie sat b}' Ids side on the
bed, and staunched the miniature Hood with a tender
toueli. By-and-by calm returned, and lie sank into a
profound and apparently dreande.ss sleep.

When lie aijain awoke it was bnjad davliuht. The tiist
object on which his eyes rested was the patient watcher
who had never l(;ft lier post the wh.ole ni^lit loiii^, and
who still .'^at in an armchair at his bedside, ready to min-
i.ster to his comfort. As soon as she perceived that he
was awake .she approached and took his wasted hand in
her own. He <^azed steadily in her face, but could lind
no words to speak.

" You are rested now, are you not?" she mui mured,
scarcely above her breath.

After a while he found liis voice and asked how loiiijr
lie had .slej)t. Bein«^ enlightened on tlie [)oint, he ex-
pressed his belief that it wa.s time for him to rise.

" N«)t yet," was the response; you shall have your
breakfa.st tirst, and then it will be time enough to think
about getting up. I i'orbid you to talk until you have
liad ."Something to eat," she added, playfully. " Lie still
for a few minutes, wdiile I go and see about a cup of tea."
And so saying she left him to himself.

■^

mmam

ill 'I

192

Sni (irirns /)is(ip/>i (n ranee.

Piiisently slu; rotunuid, Ix^aiiiii,^ a tray aiul eatal»les.
SIm! «|ui(!tly misud liim to a sitting,' postiin', and placed a
laiLj(! soft pillow at his hack, lit; siihinitted to lier min-
istrations like a child. It was long since he had been
tended witli siicli care, ami the position douhtless seemed
a little strjinL,'e to him. After drinkin;^ a cup ot" tea and
eatinj; several morsels of the i;ood thi Hi's set before him
lie evidently felt refres]ie«|. His eyes lost somewhat of
their lack-lustre air of conliinied invalidism, and his voice
leijfained a measure; of its natural tone. Wlien lie at-
tempted to rist; and dress himself, however, he betrayed
such a dei^ree of bodily feeijleness that his wife torbade
him to make further exertions. He yielded to her impor-
tunities, and r(;maint;<l in IxmI, which was manifestly tlie
best place for him. lie was pestcMed by no unnecessary
fpiestions to account for his pn.'sence, Mrs. Savareen
ri^jjhtly considering that it was for him to volunteer any
exj)lanations he mi^ht have to make whenever he felt
e([ual to the task.

After a while his little boy was brou^^dit in to see the
father of whom he dimly remembered to liave lieard.
His presence moved the siitk man to furtlier exhibitions
of tearful sensibility, but seemed, on tlie whole, to liavea
salutarv cHect. Lonii' absence and a va<^abond life liad
not (|uenelK!d the ])aternal instinct, and the little fellow
was caressed with a fervor tooL,^enuine to admit of tlie pos-
sibility of its being assumed. Master Ixet^^gie received
these ebullitions of alfeclion without nuich corresponding
dcMrionstrativeness. lie could not be expected to feel
any veliement adoiation for one whom he had never seen
since his earliest Itabyhood, and whose very nam«! for

S(rr(irct//'s nisapfyeixrance.

193

any
lelt

the

ja rd.

ions

vea

I ad

low

lOS-

ved
liner

feel

■ieen

for

sohK iimntlis |»as| li:i<l Ikmii |M'iiiiitt('«l t(» ^ink i»iif uf si^^'lit.
Mi>. art It's- prat tic, liowrx cr, was L;ral<.'ful in the i-ai^ of
lii.s futlier, will) iuokcd an<l iistunud us il entranced hy
sweet strains <»t" nnisic. ilis wasted- — worse than wasti-d
— past seemed to rise Itelore liiin, as tin cliilds accents
fell softly upon his ear, and ho seemed to r»ali/e more
tlian ever licw much lu; had thrown away.

In the course <»j' the I'orenooii Mrs. Savuroen's step-
nu»ther took lier pUiee in the sick ehamher, and she her-
self withdrew to aJiother r(jom to take the rest of whieli
slie was by this time sorely in need. The invalid would
not assent to the proposal to call in u physician. He de-
claroil that he was only dead tired, and that rest ;ind
(piiet would soon restore him without medicine, in so lar
as any lestoration was possible. And so the day passed
bv.

\\\ the evening' the wifeai,^ain took her jdacejit the bed-
side, and shi* had not been there loui^ ere her husband
vountaiily be^^aii his chaptei- ol Cxplanation.s. Mis story
was a strann'e one, )>ut there was no room to doubt (lie
trutli of any portion of it.

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

1.25

'- IIIIM

IIIW
U 111.6

.% %

•c^i

anHia

194

Savarccii's Disappearance.

jii!

CHAPTER XIV.

THE BAD HALF CROWN.

E began by coiii})ai'ing liimsolf to tlie l)ad half-
crowii, wliich always linds its Avay back, but
i>/ jlL whicli has uo right to expect a Avanii welcome
WfS^/^^ on its return. " Were it not,"' said he, " that
I feel myself to be pretty near the end of my
earth's journey. 1 could not have the face to tell
you my story at all. But 1 feel that I am worn
out, and don't think it likely that I shall ever leave
this room except for the grave. You shal Iknow eveiy-
tliing, even more fully than 1 iiave ever known it myself
until within the last few hours. They say that when a man
is nearing his end he sees more clearly than at any other
time of his life. For my part 1 now see for the first time
that 1 have never been anything but a woithless lout from
my cradle. I have never been tit to walk alone, and if
health and strength were to come back to me I should not
be one wliit better than 1 have hitherto been. 1 don't
know whether I ever tol<l you that I have a streak of
gipsy blood in my veins. My grandmother* was a Romany,
picked up by my grandfather on Wandsworth Conmion.
1 don't otier this fact as any excuse for my conduct, but I
have sometimes thought that it may have something to
do with the pronounced vagabondism which has always
been one of my most distinctive features. So long as 1

S(77 'n real's Disappearance.

195

was at liuiuc iti my tY'.llKji"'s liou.so lie kept uic i'lomdoin^
any tiling very outiugeuus, but 1 was always a cruaturo of
impulse, ready to enter into any hair-brained sclieme
without counting tlie cost. J never looked a week ahead
in my life. It was suiHcient for me if the present w\as
endurable, and if the general outlook for the future pro-
mised something new. My coming to this country in
tlie first place was a mere impulse, inspired by a senseless
liking for adventure and a wish to see strange faces and
scenes. My taking S(|uire Harrington's farm was an im-
pulse, very largely due to its pi'oxinuty to Lapierre's, who
is a jolly landlord and knows how to make his guests
comf oi'tal lie. J had no special aptitude for farm life; no
special desire to get on in the world ; no special desire to
do anything except pass the time as pleasantly as T could,
without thouglit or care for the future. And as I have
fully made up my mind to make a clean breast of it, I am
going to tell you something which will make you despise
me more than you ever desi)ised me yet. When 1 married
you I did so from impulse. Don't mistake me. I liked
you better than any other woman I had ever seen. I
liked your pretty face, and your gentle, girlish ways. I
knew that you were good, and would make an excellent
wife. But I well knew that I had no such feeling to-
wards you as a man should have towards the woman
whom he intends to make the companion of liis life — no
such feeling, for instance, as I have for you at this moment.
Well, I married you and we lived together as happily as
most young couples do. I knew that I had a good wife,
and you didn't know, or even suspect, what a brainless,
heartless clod vou had for your hi

I' I

\ I

you

youi

1 ''

ir)6

Savan-eii's Disappearance,

lite Ljjiidud by witlKJut anything j)arti('ul{ir li;ip|ifninL; to
(listurlj it. iJut tlio thinu' l^ecame inonotunou^ lu inc, and
1 had the senseless vairabond's desire for chan<n\ We di<l
t'aiily well on the farm, but once or twice I was on the
point of proposing to you that wo should emigrate to the
Western States. 1 beiran to drink more than was jjood
for me, and two or three times when I came home liaH-
sees over you re]»roached me, and looked at me in away
I didn't like. This 1 inwardly resented, like the besotted
fool 1 was. It seemed to me that you might have hold
your tongue. The feeling wasn't a very strong one with
me, and if it hadn't been for that cursed four hundred
pounds, things miglit have gone on for some time longer.
Of course I kept all this to myself, for I was at least sen-
sible enough to feel ashamed of my want of purpose, {ind
knew that I deserved to be horsewhipped for not caring
more for vou and baby.

" The legacy from my father, if pro[)erly used, would
have placed us on our feet. With a farm of my own, I
might reasonably hope to become a man of more imi)ort-
ance in our community than I had been. For a time
this was the only side of the picture that presented itself
to my mind. I began to contemplate myself as a landed
proprietor, and the contemplation was pleasant enough.
I bought the farm from Squire Harrington in good faith,
and with no other intention than to carry out the trans-
action. When I left home on the morning of that 17th
of July, I had no more intention of absconding than I
now have of running for Parliament. The idea never so
much as entered my mind. The morning was wet, and
it seemed likely that we should have a rainy day. I

Sava real's Disappearance

197

iiii; to

, ajid

• ■ .li.l

n the

to the

gOO( I

half-
way
iotted
leld

was ill a more loaferish nioo<l than usual, and thouL,dit I
mii^'ht as well ride to town to pass the time. The hired
man, whose name I have for<;"otten, was not within caU
at the moinetit, so I went out to the stahle to saddle
Black Bess for myself. Then I found that the inner
front paddinrj of the saddle had been torn by rats during
the night, and that the metal plate was exposed. To use
it in that state would have galled the marc's l)ack, Jind it
was necessary to place something beneath it. \ looked
about me in the stable, but saw nothing suitable, so I
returned into the house to get some kin<l of an (^Id rloth
for the purpose. If you had been there I should have
aske(l for what T wanted, but you were not to be seen,
and when I called out your name you did not answer.
Then, in a lit of momentary stu[iid petulance, I went
into the front bedroom, opened my trunk, and took out
the fii'st thing that came ujipermost. I should have
taken an<l used it for what 1 wanted just then, even if it
had been a silk diess or pettieoat ; but it hapiu'iied to be
a coat of my own. I took it out to the staltle, placed it
under the sad<lle, and roile otK Hefoi-e reaching the
frt)nt gate I saw how it wa.s that you had n<jt answered
mv call, for, as vou doubtless remembei', v"U wt-re out in
the orchard with baby in your ai'ins, at some distance
from the house. I nodded to you as I lodr past, little
thinking that years would elapse before I slujuld see you

again.

"I suppose you know all about how I spent the day.
I had a bit of a (piarrel with the clerk at the bank, and
that ]»ut me out of humor. T had not intended to draw
(he money, but to leave it on deposit till next morning:

^"^IfS-^

iqS

Sci:'(rnr//'s Disappearance.

Sliiittlewortli's ill-tempered remarks nettled me. I took
the notes in a liufl", and left the hank witli them in my
pocket. T ought to have had sense enouL;'h to ride home
at (jiice, Ijiit I went to the Peacock and muddled mvself
with drink. I felt elated at havinsf such a larsre sum of
money about me, and carried on like a fool and a sot all
afternoon. I di<ln't start for liome till a few minutes
before (hirk. Up to that moment the idea of clearing-
out had never presented itself to my mind. l:5ut as I
cantered along the cpiiet road I liegan t(j think what a
good time I could have with four hundred pounrls in my
pocket, in some far-oft' place whei'e I was not known, and
where I should be free from incumbrances of every kind.
" In the half-befuddled condition in which I then was,
the idea quickly took possession of my stupid imagina-
tion. I rode along, however, without coming to any
fixed determination, till I reached Jonathan Perry's toll-
gate. I exchangeil a few words with him, and then re-
sumed my journe}'. Suddenly it Hashed upon me that,
if I was refill}^ o<ji"o to make a strike for it, nothing was
to be gained by delaying niy flight. What was the use
of going home ? If I ever got there I should probably
bo unable to summon up sufficient resolution to go at all.
Just then I heard the sound of a horse's feet a<lvancing
rapidly down the road. An impidsc sei/qd me to get out
of the way. But to do this was not easy. There was a
shallow ditch alonir each side of the roatl, and the fence
was too high for a leap. Before I could let down the
rails and betake mvself to the fields the horseman would
be on the sjioi. As I cast rai)id glances this way and
thai, I canu! in front of tlie gateway of tli(i lane leading

Savarcrifs nisaf^pcarancc.

199

I took
in lav
loino
iiysi'lf
nil of
sot all
iiuites
ear i no-
t a.s I
^liat a
ill my
», and
Ivind.
1 was,

down by the side of Stolliver's house to his barnvard.
As it happened, the ,u^ate was open. On came the liorse
clatterini^ down tlie road, and not a second was to be
lost if I wislied to remain unseen. I rode in, dismount-
ed, shut to tlie o-ate, and led my mare a few yards down
the lane to an overhauLciiiL; black cherrv tree, lieneath
which I ensconced myself. Scarcely had 1 taken up my
positicm there when the horse and his rider passed at a
swift trot down the road. It was too dark for me to tell
at that distance who the rider was, but, as you shall hear,
I sot)ii found out. 1 stood still and silent, with my hand
on Bess's mane, coL;'itatinL;- what to do next. While I did
so, Stolliver's front door opened, and he and his boys
walked out to the front fence, where the old man lii^hted
his pipe. Then I heard the horse and his rider coming
back up the road from the tollgate. In another moment
the rider drew u]) and began to talk to Stolliver. I lis-
tened with breathless attention, and heard every word of
the conversation, which related to myself. I feared that
Bess would neigh or paw the ground, in which case the
attention of the speakers would have ])een drawn to my
whereabouts. But, as my cursed fate would have it, the
mare made no demonstration of any kind, and I was
completely hidden from view by the darkness and
also by the foliage of the cherry tree under whieh J
stood. The horseman, as you probal)ly know, was La-
pierre, who had been despatchotl by you to bring me
home. "^I'liis }U'oceeding on your part I regarded, in my
then frame of mind, in the light of an indignity. A

ettv thinii'. truV, iff was to be treated as though I was

unable to take c;tre of myself, and if my own wife was to

200

Siir<rj'tY//'s IHsappcaraiicc

si!?

Stolid people to liunt foi* \\w about the neighborhood ! I
waited in silence till Lapierrc had paid his second visit
to tlie toll-L;ato and ridden oft' homcAvards. Still I wait-
ed, until old Stollivfi- and his boys returned into the
house. Then T led the mare as softly as I could down
the lane, and around to the back of the barn, where we
were safe from observation.

" T chuckled with insane £;'leeat havinL;-elude<l Lapierre,
and then I determined on a course of action. Like the
eo'otistical villain I was, I had no more reii'ard for your
feelinn's tlian if you had been a stick oi- a stone. You
should never suspect that I had wilfully desei'ted you, and
should be made to believe that I had been murdered.
Havin<;" formed my plans, 1 led tlie mare along the edges
of the fields, letting down the fences wlienever it was
necessary to i\o so, and putting them carefull}' up again
after passing through, I made my way down past the
rear end of John Calder's lot, and so on to the edge of the
swamp behind S([uire llarrinton's. IJess would take no
harm there during tlie night and would be found safe
enough on the morrow. I removed the bit from lur
mouth, so that she could nibble the grass, and left the
bridle hanging round her neck, securing it so that she
would not be likely to trip or throw lierself. I .sIiowimI
far more consi<leration for hei' than I did foi- the wife ol
my bo.soni. 1 removed the .saddle so that she could lie
down and roll, if she felt that way disposed. J took the
coat I had used for a pad, and carried it a short distance
into the swamp and threw it into a puddle of water. I
deliberated whether I should [)uncturo th(^ end of my
finger with my jack-knife and stain my coat with the

T—.»^m

Sav(Urcii\s Disapprdraiicc.

201

Idootl, but concliKled that sucli a proceediiii;- was unneces-
sary. I knew that you would ))e inystitied b^- tlic coat
MS 3'ou knew (juite well that I had not worn it when I
left home in the niorninL;". Then I bade farewell to poor
Uess, and, unaccountable as it may seem to you, I wjis
profoundly touched at parting from lier in such a way.
I embi-aced her neck and kissed her on tlie forehead. As
I tore myself away from her T believe T was within an
ace of sheddiiiL;' tears. Yet, not a thoui^-ht of compunc-
tion on your account penetrated my soltish soul. I picked
my way through the swamp to the fourth concession, and
then struck out across uufre([uented fields for Harl)orough
station, eight miles away.

" The moon was up, and the light shone brightly all
the way, but I skulked along the borders of out-of-the-
wav fields, and did not encounter a human beinii'. As I
drew near the station I secreted myself on the dark side
of an old shed, and lay in wait for the tirst train which
might stop there. I did not have to remain more than
about half an hour. A mixed train came along from the
we>t, and as it drew up I spi'ang on Jthe })lattbrm of the
last car but one. To the best of my knowledge nol)ody
saw me get aboard. I was not asked for my ticket until
the train approached Hamilton, when I pretended that I
had lost it, and paid my fare from Dundas, where 1 pro-
fessed to have boarded the train. I srot off at Hamilton,
and waited for the east-bound express, which conveyed
nie to New York."

hii

IK
it

111

202

Saz'dnrji's I)isaf>pcarancc.

CllALTKR XV.

liii I

ill

UE(ilNAl,l) I'.OUUCniFJl SAVAHEKN DISCOVKllS THE GREAT

SECRET.

W-'^'jlp^ 1 1 rS far Savareen had l)ecii permitted to toll

f'V'f lif/ V SEory. .1 do not,

J[;^N^^| that it came irom his lips in

f^^J^:^"^ set down in the fc'orei^oini!:

^\-^\ the sake of hrevitv and 1

his own story. I do not, of course, pretend

in the precise words
chapter, but for
the sake of hrevitv and clearness, I have
'%^ deemed it best to present the most salient portion
of the narrrative in the first person. It was re-
lated to me years afterwards by Mrs. Savareen herself,
and I think I am warranted in saying that I have
given the purport of her relation with tolerable ac-
curacy. There is no need to present the se(][uel in the
same fashion, nor with anything like the same fulness of
detail. The man unburdened himself with all the ap-
pearance of absolute sijicerity, and made no attempt to
palliate or tone down anything that told against himself.
He admitteil that upon reaching New Yqrk he had en-
tered upon a career of wild dissipation. He drank, gam-
bled and indulged in debauchery to such an extent that
in less than six weeks he had got pretty nearly to the end
of his foui' hundred pounds. TTe assumed a false name
and carefully al»stained from ever looking at the news-

Sd .' •an ■( 7/'.v l)isaf^f>i uinvicc.

-03

IJIIKAT

piijiors, so tliat lie rciiiaiiird in iL;ii()i;iii('e of all that hatl
taken jjlace in the iiei^lilioi-liood of liis lioiiie after his
(l<'|)arture. JJeconiiiiL;' tired of tlie life lie was leading in
the o'l'eat city, he proeeedtMl southwanl, and spent some
iiiontlis wandei-ini;' ahoiit throu^di the Sontheni States.
His knowled^-e of horse-ilesh t^nahled him to pick nj) a
livelihood, and even at times to make money; but his
drinkint^ propensities steadily <3^aineil the mastery over
him and stouil in the way of liis permanent snecess in any
pursuit. JJurini;' a sojcMirn at a tavern in Lexin<^^ton,
Keutucky, he had formed an attaehment fiu'the daughter
of his landlord. She was a good girl in her way, and
knew how to take- care of herself; hut Mr. dack Ivandall
passed for a hacheloi', and seemed to ho several grades
above the ordinary trctjuenters oi' her fathei''s place.
Their marriage and subseipient adventures liave been
sutlleiently detailed by the unhappy woman lierself, (hir-
ing her confei'enee witli Mrs. Savareen at No. 77 Amity
street.

The sui-(H^<iiil llainlall had gone on fiom bad to woi'se,
until he had become the degraded creature of whom Ills
wile had cauiiht a momentary u'limnse under the iilareot
gas lam]) on her departure from tlic; Amity street lodg-
ings, 'i'he woman who sup[)osed lierself to be his wife
had informed him that a strann'o ladv^ had called and
been very kind to her, but she had told him nothing
about the lady having come from Canada. Why slie was
thus i'eti('(>iit I am unabh^ to say with ceitainty. Poi-haps
it was becausi; slu! attached no im|toitan(!e to tli(^ eiicum-

204

Sd lunrrifs Disappcaraucc.

Ii,:i

Htfiiico, aftcv tlie Ijuly's dodaration tliat tlic (lanuerieotypo
(lid not i'P|ii'('soiit tl)o man wlioni she wIsIumI to tinil.
IVM-liajis slic lia<l soiiii' inUliiiL;' of tli<> triitli, and <li<'a«le<l
to liavc; licr sus|)i('i(jns coiifiiincd. She knew tliat slio
liad l»ut a sliort time to livt^, and niay vciy \v(dl liavf de-
sired to sleep licr last, sleep without niakinL;* any iliseovery
detrimental to her jieace of mind. WhiitrvcM- \\\(\ cause
may liave lieen, she ke|)t silent to everythin;;' l>ut the
main I'aet that a kind lady had called and suj ilie(l her
Avith a snuill store of money to provide for hersi.dt' and the
eliild. Savareen never learned oi- even suspected, that
the huly who ministert'd to the wants of his vi(>tims was
his own wife, until the truth was told to him li\' the wife
hei'self. Small dlltereiiee to him however, where the
monev came fVom. lie had no scruples iibout takino; a
part of it to l>uy diink for himself and one or two loafers
he luimhered nmom;' his ptn'sonal actpiaintances. But
there was sullicient left to ))rovide for all the earthly
needs of the dyiiiL;- woman and her child. The little one
hreathed its last within two ilays of Mrs. Savju'een's visit,
and the motlier followed it to the n'rave a week later.

Since then ''.lack iiandall" ha<l dranL;ed on a solitary
existence in New ^"ork,a^ld had Keen on tin; veiy hrink
of staivation. Kvery half dime he could lay hold of, l»y
hook or by brook — and \ fear it was sometimes by both -
was spent in the old way. Then his health suddenly
bloke down, and for the first time he knew what it was to
lie weak and ill. h'innJIy h«' had bnen i'om|)elle 1 to a,dmit
U) hiniseir that he was utterly Ijeattni in the lace of life;

a
a

Stfrnnr/z's Pistippcnraucc.

20S

fyj)o

slio

ami Willi ;i |tr(»r<iiin"l ilisptli oriinaiiiicss wliicli Iransccndi'i)
any <>l lii-^ tuniii r acls_ he liail mail'' up lii^ iiiiihI i<» ict iii ii
ill liis wanr ainl il('s])air, to tlie wil" wliuiii lie Iia<l so
Uasi'ly ilcsLMti'*!. Since lt'a\iiiL;' W(!st^ .-^tcr lie lui'l heard
notliiiiL;' (»t' lier, ilirect oi' indirect ; I'ut Ik; doiil'teil not
tliat, she was supplied with tlie neci'ssarie-. of life, and
that slie W(juld yield him liei' lur^ivcness.

It is possible to sym|»allii/e with tlio [)rodi,i;al son, l»ut
wliose heart is wide uHoiie'li to liiid synil)athy for siudi a
p)rodiual hushaiid as this {

His wife lieaid Idin patiently out t(j the very end.
Then she tolil him oi the arii\al ot" Mr. 'I'homas .letl'erson
Ilaskins at tlie Koyal Oak, and the conseipient visit to
New Yoik. The recital did not greatly niovejiini. The
tellini;" of his own story liad a<^'ain reduced him to a state
of extreme exliaustion, and lie was for the time uoine- iu-
capalile of furthei" emotion. He soon after drop]>ed asleep,
and as he was tolerably certain not to awake until next
morniny, there was no occasion for further attendance
upon him. Mrs. Savareen drew to another apartment to
ponder a while, before retiring- to rest, on the strange tale
which she had heard.

Next morning it was apparent that Savareen was
alarmingly ill, and that his illness did not arise solely
from exhaustion, k. doctor was called in, and soon pro-
nounced his verdict. The patient was sufiering from
congestion of the kings. The malady ran a rapid course,
and in another week he lay white and cold in his cothn,

_.'_j

it i

206

Savnrccii's Disnppcai'ance.

the scar ou liis chuck, siiowini^ like a '..'iTal pale lidgt; uii
a patcli oi" lioar-iVust.

f;i

My story is tokk The young widow donned the con-
ventional woods — " the tiappini^s and tlie suits of woe " —
prescrilied hy custom under such circumstances. It is
only reasonal)le to Ix'lieve that she sincerely mourned the
loss of her <,nrlhood's ideal, hut it was surely too much to
expect that she should he overwhelmed hy :;n'ief at the
death of one who had heen practically dead to her for
years, and whose unworthiness had lecently been so un-
niistakahly brought home to her. With her subseciuent
fortunes the reader has no concern; l)ut it can be no
harm to inform him that she remains a widow still, an<l
that she at this moment resides with her son — a prosper-
ous lawyer — in one of the chief towns of Western C^anada.

Ull