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Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmds d des taux de reduction diff6rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul cliche, il est i\\n\6 d partir de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, er nrenant le nombre d'images n^cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 mmmmmmmmmmm iniiimii '/>^ .r- FF ^ it A An LO T rA /^// FROM BAD TO WORSE, HARD TO BEAT ' ' 1 AND A TERRIBLE CHRISTMAS. THREE STORIES OF MONTREAL LIFE. By J. A. PHILLIPS, Author of^' Thompson's Turkey, and other Christmas Tales," dc. -«^^^^-«- LOVELL PRINTING AND PUBLISHING COMPANY. 1877. V TO EVKRY MAN, WOMAN Oil CHILD IN THE DOMINION OF CANADA OR ELSEWHERE WHO IS THE PROUD POSSESSOR OF ^^ THIS BOOK 18 i.f*ipfr]fM!I|| §1 ^WITH A UEQUKST THAT HE OR SHE WILL IMMEDIATELY INVEST IN A COPV OF THE SAME. a \i Scene 1. I " 2. r " 3. Ii Scene 1. A " 2. A " 3 A " 4. A Scene I. M " 2. M " 3. D " 4. M Scene 1. M " 2. M •' 3. D " 4. M V- A Scene 1. m " 2. M " 3. M " 4. M « 5. A Scene 1. Si " 2. D " 3. Ai ■ " 4. T HARD TO BEAT. A DBAMATIC TALE IN A PROLOGr*: ASi) FtVE ACTS. PROLOGUE.— Youthful Loves. Scene 1 . In the Jaws of Deatli 9 " 2. In the Anns of Love 15 " 3. In the Waste of Waters 20 ACT 1. FniENDs OR Rivals? Scene 1. A Perfect Mutt' 28 « 2. A Perfect Flirt 33 " 3 A. Perfect Fix 40 " 4. A Perfect Gentlemen 42 ACT II. Across the River. Scene L Mr. Harway Makes a Discovery 60 " 2. Mrs. Griffith Makes an Announcement 53 " 3. Dr. Griffith Makes up his Min.l Sfi " 4. Miss Howson Makes a Conquest 58 ACT III. Dead. Scene 1. Mr. Farron Finds a Subject 63 " 2. Mr. Morton Finds Himself Mistaken 68 " 3. Dr. Griffith Finds Himself Free 74 " 4. Miss Moxton Finds Herself Disgusted 79 ACT IV. On the Track. ♦ Scene 1 , Mr. Harway Gets Kicked Out 83 " 2. Mr. Fowler Gets Drunk 87 " 3. Mr. Morton Gets Information 102 " 4. Miss Howson Gets Married 107 " 5. A Good Many People Get Astonished HI ACT V. The Wages of Sin. Scene 1. Spending the Honeymoon 127 " 2. Dead on the River I3(> " 3. An Ugly Baby 143 " 4. The Curtain Falls '. 148 FROM BAD TO WOKSE. Ul! PAGE Chapter 1. Out of tlic Stmt 155 2. Out of the Srimire 1(U 3. Out of tlie Churcli 172 4. Out of tlio Canteen IS:^ 5. Out of the Sober Path 11)5 6. Out of the Theatre 21U 7. Out of the Honest Way 225 8. Out of tiie Court 237 1>. Out of the Detective's OtHce 245 10. Out of the World 254 A TERRIBLE CHRISTMAS. i I PAUE Part the First — The Madman's Story ^61 " " Secosd— The Sane Man's Story 264 PREFACE. "When these stories were written, more tlian four years ago, they were somewhat hastily pre])ared for weekly publication, and some things crept into them which calmer consideration has shown mo it would have been wiser to omit. In preparing the stories therefore, for publication for the first time in book form, I have carefully re-written them, making some alterations which I hope may prove improvements, without changing the plots or materially altering the language. I would fuin re])eat the experiment I tried three years ago when I published "Thompson's Turkey," of asking my readers to send me candid criticisms of the book, but its want of success then somewhat deters me. Out of some five Imndrcd and odd jiersons; who purchased the book not one complied with my request to criticise it; and the only criticism from my readers which I received was one from a lady to whom I had ])ro ul wltli-h ii immiIhmv mI' ||m« !MmI<t M< ll(i< fhnc Ml. lioiiiiiutrH wms l>nil< . ho h«M Mmv. m\\\ «ho «>M hninly lo^uoil iiofrio wlm MIIimI IIio |mih<, \s\ h«ll viUfi«M- hthi ^ono to nloop wllh hl« Itnil In I ho lioll I'm|)i> linil oontinnoti to (oil h.vrtni mi MmIhI l.oonMnl'M Ih m |iiolly <»iio j ovon limn, iMjihlvon yon«« t\^y\ holUit» tho «hv«H olivon MntI wllhiWM woio Hilly mvwn. i( hiul n hoMniiHil oppoMiMnoo. Tho ohMpol bImihIh mIuimI o»\o h«n>h->Hl HndlllVy yMnIs Oinn iIomiimiI. luul lnon inp ol'tt ll(ll« hUl viHinii in « ^vi»(lo wlopo Ohmu (ho i-omiI (o mii oloviiMon iiI'mImhiI. lUVy [W\. A hi»n«l »mv«miImv «lvivo nwoopM np lo within Ion yn\'i\n \>\' tho p\M-oh, f\\\\\ i« t^'infitvl on l>olh bIiIoh wilh ilwMvl' olivo (roow, >vhilo poopinjj on! iht^Mij^jK (ho Iomvoh nit» noon nninoiiMin whllo tunvhio (onU>i»(on«v«. nort( ii>»n rMllinjjH, n»otlof>( woodon hoiMllMtiinlM, nn^i, how a\\\\ (hoi>\ n l>t>«l o(" !•<»»«>« or olhor (loworH, (oiuloil Ity i^>mo h>vinji hrtiul whioh ondouvoivd (o \uy\^\\ ho-\v.',\M ||io Hpol, NvhM\\ Hvi>l«:o(o\vn, \)\v onon^ih (o ho roinovod IVom Km noiso «n»l bustlo. and « holy, j>omoo(\iI «|nlo( tinuitlly porvmlod (ho ^MXHMniMs i^f (ho «Uv««l, lM>>kon only l>v (ho tnorry (wit (or ol' I ho ItiiilM ss thoy wii\»i>sl (hoir w«y to (hoiv ovoninj^; roH(, or (ho hIimii(h oC K^uifhtx^r (\>Mn M\ i\\\\\n\\\\\^ (ioM whoti* Noino ohiklron woio wont tvt pUy. * On thi!« [v»r(ionl;«' ovoning. hv>wovov, ' ohtii'ohyiu^l hoio li(,th» of it* usu"*! ii.s|HV( ; (ho pU>( o(' ,«;i>>inul wKhin (ho oiroular ilrlvo •wrHs tho sootio o(' a woinl juxl (oi'rihio uninn'ition, Huoh mm limi lunx^r K>1\MV Nhm\ Nvi(t\iv»siHi on tho ishnul, and »noh iw, I (iuhI, uu\y novcr U> svhm\ thoiv rtjisun. Tho hooui'jj;o of cholom luul hoon sx\-^vtown ju\d i(^s suhurhM iVtr tho piwt wook, and humir^is \wn^ daily falliitt; victiinw to \t» violonco. S(unding nt ttio ch«iH>l dvX>r — amid a ganion of t»ilK>-n>.so8, iigor IIIIok, goro- Tiiums! jind other flowers and shrul)^ which grow in protUHiun in « neat liitlo enclosure extending aix)und tho chapel — one could IN TMM .MWrt liV iimrii If |tu' tliivo Ut , miiy Iml l»oo" luling Hi W, ^;ornr liHioii in 1)0 could ItiMttlcMiiHiltiMi llifiM n loiif'CtMtii f'»f<«MhMt <'^h((H'y. H \Vfl« •lil«l< ; (ln» 0♦•« juhI vivlil »MiiMi^h Ik Niivn llin mm»mm» (>'»>»» f.'ilnl «l»ul«f»»i««, y' '"''' " In Hii iinrMiliilM, ffUmuu*v\u(t llf/ltl, hm(I llm /(Mifldy /MtlliMriM|{ iiiiinMOM III' li|(H'l«, i«l(i Imlnn cliMiih Mimw «. «l»'»»|i Mdn/low m'»< fli** •>Ml'lli, ntiil hIkiI iitti IIm* ll(rltl oC IIionHmm. On IIim «*fli»(rM< r)//li( III lln> plol mI" ^•Miiml wllldti IIm« nlr«f«lnf drlvo wha a Iii((n» |»(I, Hi'i'iiiitigly lltlily '•»■ iWily Om»I wiimhim; »(♦»«.»• II wwf^ «»*vftr«l Mu/in^ liii' Ikmii'Ih llirnwhur m hiflil ll(/lil Irilo IImmiU»ki1m(/ mI//IiI , 'ii»| m lilt' I'Miili'MnC IJiM |iImI. wm»»« mIIm'I' (»llf*, nui] nrniUiitMl niifiiut] wfim Hiiiii«> ili>f.oti or iiMiiM Inr luMiMJn mII nlilMr.n. Ill lIlOHO pilH, (MOM- lllMMM |iIIh, HIkI ||||m(| hU Hm\l\l']ttU>*'\linU)h^ hiiiiumIh oI otirlli In llin vliinlly nl II'm Inv IimitmIh, w»wm ri((rrM»r'»i»« lii'iipM mI lltiM» wIiIi'Ii hImmio Willi n ^luiHlly vvlill'«ihMB« nri'lMr iho Ilii'KiMiM^ ll^lil nl llio liliiy.iiiff l«c Kufllinr nwny on IIim ii^lif, — \vIm>i»» IIim (Ii'bI vii'liiriH lifiil l«»iin liiiiind w»rr« Ittr^i* nfifnl»»»r« 'tf newly tnrwlo (rcnvoH, covKfMil willi iirnn, llirou//li whU'U n «i''l, HHi'li HM Im pitpnldi'ly iwnMMwIn'l wHli ^Iim«I«. In llift'ifvnlrtr ilrlvn \v«>i'n nnniMiniiH Iimiuhch, cnrlM, «'«rri«((nq, wnt(t/on«, «ll fillwl wHli ilcinl liiMlinH; onn voliirln IVoqinuilly (ofilrtinint/ K#»vm»l, nu'i lilt' liiiHi'HKH linvlii^ ciifpFinB nh-iippMil on Wuur l/»p« n» w«ll n« Mir«»#» [iir rtMir inniilti. Honitt of llinnn (|orpn(^n wnrM In colfinR, wititt^ wr/ijK pt'tj in 1.1(1' Hlit'otn, Honin t'lolJitifl in tJio ^Hrrnonln tli'W Ufy\ 'liryl in ; latnl Honio willi Ht'iircnly any rovnrin^ Ut lii'lo lli«ir n«l<i, no f^u*^ i/t im%U(i \\w\u ; nt» Mino lor nuMirnin^ rrinrnl«, no ono Ut mourn fV/r ih^rn', ^o linio lor miyiliinf^, hut (o Imrry t.liom U> iho pill :i: •' I don't know exactly now ; but I think— I think it would bo Harry." Ton dayH after Hurry Griffith sailed for Now York in the good Bhip Oazellc, hiden with sugar ond molttHHOH ; tho Captain, who did not usually take poHHongors, taking Harry as a favor, ttH ho had boon wo'l acquainted with his fathor, "You'll have to rough it a bit, my boy," ho said, •* but !t will do you good ; lots of fte»\\ sea air, and plenty of salt junk and hard tack, will put any quantity of flosh on your bones ; and I will land you in New York as fat as a pig." Harry did not show much regret at leaving the island, except ftt parting with Mamie. He was of a proud, ambitious nature, and luul already learned to value success above all things. His father hud been an ojwy-tomporotl, gowl-natured man who had all his life boon tho victim of every one who hmJ pro- fessed friendship for him, for tho sake of getting assisUmco f\x)m him. Tho vory ossonco of truth and honesty himself, ho believed all men to bo tho sumo; indooul(l be \e good n, who r, M ho t :t will link and ; nitd I , except nature, lan who iia40, not exactly business, but I was unexpectedly detained. I lam sorry about the duet; I suppose there is not time to try it I now, if we want to hear the first part of the concert ? " " 1 have been trying it all the afternoon, but I could not get on [very woU without you. 1 have a great mind not to go to the con- [cert now, just to punish you." " It will be pleasant punishment, if you will let me remain here I and practice the duet with you." MiHS Howson stood undecided for a moment and then said: " I think we had better go. I promised to meet some friends jthere, besides, auntie would be disappointed." " Oh, don't mind me," exclaimed Miss Moxton, « I don't care at I all about going." Another ring of the bell, and in a few minutes Mr. Johnson [entered the room in considerable haste. " Ah, Miss Howsun, afraid I would be too late, you know, didn't [want to miss the concert, we'll be in plenty of time, if it does not take you too long to get ready, you know," he paused as he noticed Morton, and looked towards Miss Howson. That young I lady did not feel very well at ease, and, wishing to gain a moment's time to collect her thoughts, introduced the two gentlemen* WiSBt V. i I '''ill ii :ili* 38 HARD TO BEAT. "Mr. Johnson allow me to introduce to you my ft-iend Mr. Morton , Mr. Morton, Mr. Johnson." Mcrtou made the slightest possible inclination of his head and said, very stiffly, " I think I have met the gentleman once already to-day." * Oh, yaas, yaas I" said Mr. Johnson, " billiards, you know, lost by a fluke ; shan't lose next time. "We'll be late. Miss Howson," he continued, " unless we hurry." Miss Howson had had time to recover herself, and in the brief moments occupied by the introduction she had decided, in her own mind, which of the two men it would be best to break with, if she was forced to renounce her present flirtation with both. Both men were rich, Johnson was the wealthier of the two, but Morton was also rich and doing a large, safe, paying business. In all her flirtations, and they were numerous. Miss Howson always took care for the contingency of the flirtation ending matrimonially and, therefore, she seldom flirted with any but " eligible" parties. In the present case she had renewed an old flirtation with John- son, on his return from England, but she had no intention of marrying him, and could better affbrd to break with him than with Morton, who was a great friend of her father's, and whom she really liked, although not able to persuade herself that she loved him enough to promise to become his wife when he asked the momentous question which she sometimes thought ebe could see trembling on his lips. The fact was Miss Howson fancied herself in love with some one else, and counted on Morton's help to gain her father's consent to her marriage, which she knew ho would oppose; she, therefore, was anxious to keep on good terms with Morton, at least for the present, and Mr. Johnson was doomed to be snubbed accordingly. " You have made a mistake, Mr. Johnson," she said, " and labor under some misunderstanding. I made no engagement to go to the concert with you, for auntie and I promised long ago to go with Charlie. I said I hoped to meet you there, but I never led you to believe that I could go with you." She turned to Morton and said, " S it down five minutes, Charlie, and I will get ready to go with you ; pray excuse me, Mr. Johnson, we shall be late unless I hurry," and, bowing slightly to that astonished gentleman, she left the room. Miss Moxton had retired some time before to don a very stiflf- looking bonnet and a wonderfully plain shawl, and the two A PERFECT FLIRT. 39 gentlemen left together looked- at each other for a raoraent very- much like two dogs who meet in the street and seem to be undeci- ded whether to fight or not. Johnson was more annoyed than he cared to show; he really liked Annie How^son. and had settled it in his own mind that he would marry her sometime, when he had got tired of his bachelor life, and he did not at all relish the quiet way in which Mr. Morton seemed prepared to contest the prize with him. Of course, he knew that he had no positive engagement with Miss Howson about the concert, but he took the liberty of doubting Miss Howson's word, and did not believe that Morton had any engagement either, and Mr. Johnson chafed at what he considered a preference shown to hia rival. Morton walked to the piano, and began' softly practising the duet he was to have tried with Annie. Johnson stood by the centre-table turning over the leaves of a photograph album with, out looking at it ; he was undecided whether it was best for him to go or remain until Annie returned, when the door opened and Julia Howson entered the room. " Good evening, Mr. Morton," she said with a merry smile crossing to Charlie and putting her arm familiarly on his shoulder, " I am ever so much obliged to you for those beautiful chessmen I and board ; they are just lovely. Annie says I am only wasting my time learning chess; what do you think, will I ever make a I good player ? " " If you take time and have patience to learn, you might," re- j plied Charlie, *' but I am afraid you are too great a madcaj) ever to [emulate Morphy or Staunton." The girl pulled his ears playfully, she looked on Charlie as a big j brother who humored and petted her, and she was rather proud of it. Noticing Johnson for the first time she spoke to him. and [ asked carelessly if he was going to the concert. Mr. Johnson looked a little annoyed, but recovering himself he I said with a smile: " I haven't got anyone to go with me, you know, and my ma don't allow me to go to places of public amuse- ment alone. If you would promise to take care of me, and your aunt doesn't object," appealing to Miss Moxton, who had just re- entered the room, *' I should like to go. I have secured a couple of good seats, you know, and, as the fellow says in the play 'the carriage waits.'" m 40 HARD TO BEAT. Miss Julia was nothing loth to accept the oflfer, and, ajflter some persuasion, Miss Moxton gave her consent, and the party started for the concert, Charlie, Miss Moxton and Annie in one carriage, Mr. Johnson and Julia in another. SCENE III. A PERFECT FIX. Twelve o'clock on the same night ; place, Mr. Morton's bed-room. The concert had not proved successful, as far as Mr. Morton in- dividually was concerned. Mr. Johnson, by a private arrange- ment with one of the ushers, expressed in current coin, had man. aged to get his seats changed for two immediately behind Miss Howson and her aunt, and Miss Annie had kept up an animated flirtation with him all the evening, very much to Mr. Morton's annoyance, and greatly to Miss Moxton's disgust. Mr. Morton now sat in his own room, indulging in a quiet smoke, and thinking over the events of the evening. He was trying to make up his mind whether he was jealous, and, if so, whether he loved Annie Howson, and could trust her enough to ask her to be his wife. • He thought not only of the present, but of the past. His mem- ory took him back to ten years ago, when he had left his island home to seek his fortune in a new country where there was a wider scope for him, and he pictured in his mind's eye the two loved ones he had left behind him, his mother and sister. Fancy re^ called to him Mamie's tearful entreaty to be taken with him, and the thought added to the bitterness of the feeling that he could never see her smiling face, or hear her loving voice again. On his arrival in Canada Mr. Howson iiad been one of his earliest and best friends, and it was to his business he had suc- ceeded when that gentleman retired. He remembered Annie when she was a little girl in short frocks, with a perpetual stickiness about the face, superinduced by the too-liberal allowance of candies provided by himself, and before she had gone to New York to be "finished." He remembered how he had petted and learned to love the little girl, who used to impose on his good nature, and tease him into letting her have her own way in everything, when mm A PERFECT FIX. 41 . ho could gratify her wishes or influence her father to indulge her ; and now it seemed to him that that love for the child, as a child, had strengthened into the love of a man for a woman, and he hoped to win her as his wife. Yet he was not altogether sure that he did desire Annie How- son for a wife, or that she would make him the loving and affec- tionate "helpmeet" that he often pictured to himself; for there would rise before him the picture of his " beau ideal " amongst women, his sister, and he thought how often he had said that he would never many any woman until he could meet one like his dead sister. <' Dead sister." Ah I there was the pain and the bitterness of it. Fonr years after his arrival in Canada his mother had died, and he wrote to Mamie to come to him, as he was able then to provide a home for her. Her answer was that she would leave the next week in the barque Montezuma, and after that all that he knew of her fate was the following paragraph from an American paper, published some five weeks after the sailing of the Montezuma from Barbadoes : " Tho ship Tropic Bird, from Demerara for Philadelphia, reports that on the 24th May, while off Cape Hatteras, she picked up a boat found bottom upwards, marked, Montezuma, New York. It is supposed that the Montezuma went down in the gale of 23rd idem, and that all hands are lost. The captain of the Tropic Bird reports having encountered a ver}' severe gale, which carried away his foremast, on 22nd May, and supposes the Montezuma was caught in the same storm and went down." He remembered the deep, deep, unutterable grief he experienced on seeing the announcement, and the long patient waiting for [news from that other boat in which he hoped Mamie might be. [Then came the recollection of letters from a friend in New York, giving full particulars of the loss of the vessel, as gathered from the owners, and related to them by the one surviving sailor. IVividly he recalled the nervous anxiety with which he read the Ishipping news for months and months afterwards, in the blind [hoping against hope that his loved one might have been saved and Ibe restored to him ; and then came the recollection of the gradual iying out of hope and the unwilling acknowledgment that the Bnvious waters had snatched his darling sister from him. Nearly six years had passed since then, yet at times the bitter- 1688 of the loss he had sustained would return to him, and he c 42 HARD TO BEAT. would sit wondering and thinking whether he could ever take again the same interest in life he had done before the first grand object of his life — the happiness of his sister— had been destroyed by her death. The midnight hour had passed, and a new day was dawning ere he decided to go to bed. He had not thoroughly made up his mind whether the memory of his dead sister was not dearer to him than the living woman he half thought he loved; but he thought he owed it to the living woman to marry her if she willed it so, and to strive to make her a loving and faithful husband. And 80 while the first streaks of morning were illumining the sky, and Miss Annie Howson was dreaming of a certain doctor she hoped to V in, Mr. Morton fell into a troubled slumber, after having resolved to offer !>Iis8 Annie his hand and fortune at the first favor- able opportunity. SCENE IV. A PERFECT GENTLEMAN. August twenty-third, eighteen hundred and seventy ; time, nine o'clock in the evening ; place. Dr. Griffith's consultation-room, Beaver Hall Hill, Montreal. At the close of the prologue Harry Griffith was left struggling j in the water. Of course, he did not perish, for the same steamer j which had caused the disaster succeeded, in spite of the storm, in launching enough boats to rescue the crew of the Gazelle. The I steamer was bound for New Orleans, and from thence Griffith made his way to New York, and finally to Toronto where he remained three years with his uncle. Canada quickly proved too slow for his fiery energy and yearning for rapid success ; and so, having a small amount of money, he went to New York to seek his fortune. For the next four years he had varying success, but, [ on the breaking out of the war, he was lucky enough to be en- gaged in the office of a broker who was well informed of the vari- ous army movements and political events transpiring at that! time, and, using his information to his own advantage, he made a | rapid fortune. Bold, unscrupulous, and almost unprincipled, he was one of the I leading spirits in the mercurial risings and fallings of the value 1, A PERFECT GENTLEMAN. 43 r take , grand (troyed ing ere is mind im than aght he ; 80, and ning the )Ctor she r having st favor- ime, nine Son-room, Itruggling steamer storm, in lie. The Griffith Iwhere he oved too and 80, [k to seek icess, but, to be en- If the vari at that te made a kne of the of gold during 18634, and his profits at times were enormous. The bad feeling instilled into him in boyhood remained, and he looked on all mankind as his natural enemies, whom it was his duty to fight, and conquer, if possible. He was known " on the street " as a hard man to deal with, honest, in so far as not to overstep the law, but tricky and always ready to take any advantage he could gain. The man's whole strength of mind and energy seemed to bo centered on one object, to gain money, and he sacrificed every- thing for that. Yet there was one tender memory left in Harry Griffith's heart, and one humanizing influence clinging to him, his love for Mamie Morton. The old feeling of his boyish love was strong in him, and he fondly pictured the time when he could claim her as his own. But that time seemed distant. Charlie still continued his objec- tion, and, as Mamie said she would never marry without her brother's consent, Harry was almost driven to despair. Then came Charlie's emigration to Canada, and, subsequently, his mother's death. Then all the strongeit passions of Griffith's nature called on him to make one effort for the possession of the girl he loved, and, unfortunately, circumstances helped him only too well. He had corresponded with Mamie, and knew of her departure for New York, en route for Canada to join her brother. He saw the announcement of the wreck of the Montezuma,and grieved for Mamie's loss as deeply as her brother did. But Mamie was not lost ; three weeks after the reported loss of the Montezuma, the two sole survivers, Tom Bowles and Mamie Morton, arrived in ew York, and Mamie, knowing no one else there, called at Harry riffith's office. When he found Mamie Morton was alive, his first thought was make her his wife before Charlie could learn of her rescue ; his he knew it would be very difficult to persuade Mamie fco do, but, rompted by his evil genius, he determined to tell her that Charlie as dead, and either inform her of the falsehood after their mar- or trust to chance that the brother and sister should not eet. His scheme was perfectly successful. Mamie never for a oment doubted his story that Charlie had died of tj'phoid fever, nd 80 she married Griffith a week after her arrival in New York. r his marriage he felt some little shame at the trick he had Ithe value »layed on an unsuspecting girl, and so put oflP the disclosure of the 44 HARD TO BEAT. I i I ii secret until, at last, he determined in his own mind that it was best not to disclose it at all, and so brother and sister lived on for six years, each mourning the other as dead. The unio;^ uid not prove a happy one. Harry Griffith had got into the habits of a fast life before his marriage, and he was not a man likely to render the domestic hearth happy. The constant excitement of a speculative life engendered a craving for other excitement, and unfitted him for the calm delights of home ; and so, almost before the first year of marriage had passed, Mamie found herself a neglected wife, and the evenings which her husband ought to have passed with her, were spent at the club, or amongst his gay companions. Still she loved him fondly, devotedly, and comforted herself with the idea that he was true to her, and when her little girl was bor-. ay - after their marriage, she was happy again in the smiles oi her baby, and hoped to regain the entire love of her hne^«and. But I. '^as ".ot to be. Harry Griffith grew more and more indifferent to his wife, and although her love for him was un- changed, she could not blind herself to the fact that he had ceased to love her. So passed five years, and then came a crisis in Harry Griffith's business, and his subsequent departure from New York. The speculations which had so prospered formerly, now all went wrong ; stocks would go up when they ought to have gone down, and down when they were confidently expected to go up ; and so the fortune Griffith had amassed was nearly all lost, and some of his later transactions, in his desperate efforts to recover his losses, were so questionable that he found it safest to leave New York for a while. He came to Montreal about one year before our story opened, and entered practice as a doctor, he having studied medicine in Toronto, although he had not practised in New York. Mamie did not come with him, and he represented himself as a bachelor. His acquaintance with Charlie Morton was renewed shortly after his arrival in Montreal, and Charlie introduced him to some of his friends, among others to the Howsons. Griffith soon began to pay rather marked attention to Miss Annie, and he was the " Doctor" whom that young lady fancied herself in love with. Matters had gone on very pleasantly for him until within the last few weeks, when Mamie had suddenly arrived in Montreal, and declared her intention to remain with him. Unable to induce A PERFECT GENTLEMAN. 46 her to return to Now York, he had taken a house at Longueuil for her, and there she was now residing with her daughter. Dr. Griffith sat in his study, thinking over his position, and endeavoring to see a way out of the difficulties by which he was surrounded. What he had intended as a flirtation with Miss Howson, had grown to a passion with him ; not only was he fascinated by her beauty, but her fortune was also a consideration to him, and he chafed at the restraint which rendered it impos- sible for him to marry her. Was it impossible ? It was impossible while he was a married man ; but, if he should become a widower ? He sat down to think about it. ' ' There was a ring at the bell, and soon afterwards the servant ushered in a man who said he wanted to see the doctor. He was a seedy-looking individual, who staggered slightly as he entered, and there came in with hira a strong smell of spirits. He was dressed in rusty black, and his hat was in the last stages of dilapidation. He drew out a very dirty pocket-handkerchief, with which he dusted his boots, then wiped his face, and returned it to his pocket, from which he drew a crumpled card, and handed it to Griffith with a slight bow. " Dr. Griffith, I suppose ; allow me to offer you my card." The doctor took the card, and read the name written on it, " Mr. Jambs Harway, General Agent, Montreal." "Take a seat, Mr. Harway; what can I have the pleasure of doing for you ? " Mr. Harway carefully deposited the dilapidated baton the floor, cleared his throat with a preliminary " ahem ! " seated himself, and Bald : " I don't suppose, Doctor, you remember ever seeing me before." "I really do not remember having had the pleasure," replied Griffith, seeing that the other hesitated, and thinking he had rather a queer patient to deal with. " No ; you don't remember ? I didn't think you would, because you never did see mo before, that I know of. You see I like to put things plain for I always acts as a perfect gentleman." The doctor bowed as the only answer to this speech. He was getting more and more puzzled about his patient. 'M 46 HARD TO BEAT. il'Iljl lllliil!:! ,-M„l"lP M'"\' "You've lived in New York, haven't you?" resumed Mr. Harway, after another slight polish of his face with the dirty handkerchief. " Yes ; I resided there for several years. May I ask what h your business with me ? I am rather busy just at present, as you may perceive," and he pointed to some manuscript which lay on the table. Mr. Harway hitched himself about half an inch forward on his chair, again had recourse to the handkerchief, and replied : " Certainly, certainly ; never hinder a gentleman's time, and being a gentleman myself I always acts as such." He paused again, and Griffith, thinking it better to take the initiative, asked, abruptly, ; r " What is your complaint ? " ** That's it ; you've hit it. My complaint is a tightness in the chest." "Ah! the result, probably, of indigestion." ^ " No. I think it is the result of having nothing to digest, caused principally by an emptiness in the pocket." " Oh ! " The doctor 1 ^oked at his visitor for a few seconds while a quiet smile played about the corners of his mouth. " You're a wag, I suppose, and have a begging letter, or something of the sort, about you." " Please don't insult me, sir ; I'm a perfect gentleman, and 1 1 always acts as such ; begging letters I'm above. Bo you think 1 1 look like a man with a begging letter?" The doctor looked at him and was forced to admit to himself I that his visitor did not look like a man who would carry around a| begging letter with any great probability of success. Mr. Harway was not nice to look at. He was ugly, he was I dirty; soap and water were evidently too great luxuries for him to indulge in, and he had the general appearance of being thoroughly | soaked in bad whiskey. " Well, if you don't come to beg, and you do not want to consult j me professionally, what do you want ? " " t want to borrow five dollars," replied Mr. Harway, promptly,! " or, to put it plainer, I want you to pay me five dollars on account j of what you owe me for keeping something for you." " Keeping something for me." "Yes." " What have you kept for me ? " A PEBFECT GENTLEMAN. 47 " A flecret." Dr. Griffith looked again at the man. Mr. Harway stood his gaze calmly, and met his eye steadily, and the two men regarded each other for a moment, as if each was mentally measuring the other's strength. "You see, doctor," . resumed Mr. Harway, " I know all about the gal as was thought to be drowned and wasn't; and I know her brother would give a'most anything to know she is alive. I don't understand your game in keeping Mr. Morton in the dark, seeing you're kind of friendly with him, but that ain't my business, and I'm a perfect gentleman, and don't interfere witl^ what don't con- cern me." Dr. Griffith regarded his visitor for a few seconds, and then said very quietly : " Look here, my dilapidated friend, I do not understand what you mean by my secret ; but, it appears you fancy you can extort money from my fears about something you pretend to know. If by * the gal as was thought to be drowned ' you mean Miss Mor- ton, I should be only too glad to know she is alive, but you may as well understand at once that you can make no money out of either Mr. Morton or myself, by your story, whatever it may be, I shall see Charlie to-night, and warn him not to be imposed on by you." Mr. Harway sat stupidly looking at the speaker, and mechanic^ ally drew out the dirty handkerchief and wiped his face with it. At last he gave vent to the exclamation. " Well, I'm blessed ! " " I'm glad to hear it," said Griffith, smiling quietly, " I should never have thought it, judging from your appearance. You do not look as if you were greatly blessed." •* I'm blessed I" reiterated Mr. Harway, and then paused. ^ " You said that before," replied the smiling doctor. "I'm blessed if you aint a going to swear the gal was drowned, an' I saved her life myself, an' brought her to New York, an' saw you with her." " You ! " exclaimed the doctor, springing up ; " you ! " "Yes, me; I'm a perfect gentleman, and as such bound to tell the truth ; my name is Tom Bowles, although it's more convenient for me to call myself Harway just at present. I brought the girl to your office six years ago, and I saw both of you several times afterwards." 48 HARD TO BEAT. !•■-; '^ I y Hi ii Dr. Griffith paused before replying. He did not really care very much whether Charlie Morton knew that his sister was alive or not, except that it might interfere with a half-formed plan in his mind, which he scarcely allowed himself to think of yet. lie bb- lieved that Harway was really the man Bowles, and that he knew that Mamie was alive, but did he know where she was at present? He would find out, if possible, whether Harway was in possession of sufficient information to give him any present annoyance; in a week or two — he did not finish that thought, but asked, abruptly, •' When did you last see Miss Morton ? " " Six years ago," answered Mr. Harway, thrown otf his guard by the suddenness of the question ; but he continued with scarcely any alteration in his tone, as he saw he had been caught in a trap, and a careless observer would have noticed no change in the man's tone or manner. *' Six years ago was the first time I saw her; and two weeks ago was the last. " Griffith had watched him closely, and noticed his hesitation, he therefore asked him, *' Where did you last see her?" "In New York," answered Mr. Harway, boldly. He knew he ^a,l to lie, and he told the lie he thought would look most like the truth. " Very well," replied the doctor, relieved to find that no imme- diate danger need be expected, as Harway would not be likely to search in Longueuil for a person he supposed was in New York, " I will make you a fair offer, my friend ; bring Mamie Morton to me within a month, and I will give you not five, but five hun- dred dollars. Until you find her you will get nothing." " Then she is alive; you admit that?" " Not at all. You say you saw her two weeks ago, I say she has been dead for years ; if you are right, and she is alive, find her; no one will be more pleased to see her than I. Tell me where she is and earn your reward." " Couldn't you let me have that five dollars on account." " Not a penny. You are an impudent impostor, trying to obtain money under false pretences, and you ought to feel obliged to me for letting you off instead of handing you over to the police. Go ! " Mr. Harway made a desperate clutch at his dilapidated hat, and prepared to depart. A PERFECT GENTLEMAN. 49 "All right, doctor ; I'm a perfect ^ontloman, and can take a hint You'll keep your word if I find the girl ? " "Yes." Mr. Harway bowed himself out, and when ho had reached the sidewalk ho soliloquized thus : *' The gal is alive, and there is some reason wh}' the Doc wants to keep her out of the way ; if I can find her my fortune is as good as made. Where is she ? Not in New York, that's sure, or he wouldn't have dropped on me so quick. In Montreal? I think not. Maybe he's got her somewhere across the water. Anyhow, I can watch him. Maybe he gets letters from her, and servants can easily be bought. I want that five hundred dollars, for I'm a perfect gentleman, and I like to earn an honest living, provided I don't have to work for it." Ho polished -his face with the dirty handkerchief, produced a plug of tobacco, bit otf a piece about the size of a walnut, gave it a twist with his tongue, sailor fashion, as he placed it in his cheek, and staggered away. Meanwhile Dr. Griffith returned to his seat and reflected on the interview. " Another danger to be guarded against," he thought, " but scarcely likely to give trouble. He won't tell Charlie as long as he thinks he can bleed me. I have only to persuade Mamie to remain in Longueuil until her confinement — she is as safe there as anywhere — and after that——" he paused, even to himself he did not like to confess the thought which was in his mind. wmmm ill III! ' II™'' If^ I I:.ii ACT IL— ACROSS THE RIVEE. SCENE I. MR. HARWAY MAKES A DI800VKRT. Time, August twenty-fourth, eighteen hundred and seventy; place, the village of Longueuil. Mr. Harway passed what he considered a pleasant evening, after his interview with Dr. Griffith. He got drunk. He always thou^'ht he passed a pleasant evening when he got drunk, but discovered his error next morning when ho awoke with a racking headache. He was not habitually an early riser, but this morning ho was i later than usual, and it was almost one o'clock before he got out of bed. He was enjoying all the miseries of a too-free ind '<]^ence in bad whiskey, and, fancying a walk would do him ', he started from his boarding house and strolled down No^^ . 'urae I street. It was a fine bright day, not too warm, and Mr. Harway found I his walk invigorated him so much that he extended it down St. Mary street as far as the Longueuil ferry. He had no definite object in walking in that direction, but after he had reached the ferry he suddenly took a fancy to cross to the other side. He thought the trip on the water would help to restore his shattered! nerves, and assist in his recovery from the last night's debauch, so he invested ten cents in a ticket, and took a seat on deck, 8o| that he could extract some comfort from a short black pipe. He had to wait some ten minutes before the boat started, and hel occupied his time in calling to mind, as well as possible, all that had passed between Dr. Griffith and himself on the previous even- ing. He was trying to determine whether it was really worth! while to spend his time hunting for a person he had never 8een,r and who may have been dead for years, as Dr. Griffith said shej was. He had never seen Mamie Morton, for the simple reason that hel was not Tom Bowles, as he had claimed, but a brother of Bowles I mm HR. HARWAY MAKES A DISCOVERT. 61 wife. Bowles had told the Htory of the wreck of the Montezuma, and how he had naved the life of a Minn Morton, a Indy paHHen^or, and also how she had married a gentleman in New York, and that hor brother had died a few days prior to her arrival. The story nimie but little impression on him at the time, but ho noticed as a curious feature in the case, that no mention had been made in the papers of the saving of the young lady, and that Bowles was re- ported asLtho only survivor. Mr. Harway had been compelled to " leave his country for his country's good," and selected Montreal as a place well suited for his peculiar faculty of getting a living without working for it. Ho had by chance become acquainted with a clerk in Morton's ofl8ce who was rather more fond of talking about his employer's affairs than he should have been. Prom him Harway learned enough to show him that Morton was the brother of the girl who had been saved from the wreck of the Montezuma by Bowles, and who was reported to have died. Ho also learned, for the first time, that Morton believed his sister had been drowned. This was sufficient for Mr. Harway, and ho soon came to the conclusion that there was "a game," as he expressed it, and that Dr. Griffith was the prime mover in it. It did not take him long to find that gentleman, and the review already recorded was the result. Mr. Harway landed at Longueuii, and, being in a pedestrian mood, strol leu about half a mile out of the village. Suddenly he started, and instinctively dodging behind a neighboring tree, cautiously peeped forth. The sight which met his view was not very alarming, a lady and gentleman accompanied by a little girl, apparently five or six years old, were entering the gate of a pretty little cottage standing a few yards back from the road. The gentleman was Dr. GriflBth. Mr. Harway remained behind the tree until Dr. Griffith and his companions had entered the cottage; then he produced the dirty handkerchief, polished his face a bit, and gave vent to the ex- pression. " I'm blessed ! " He really seemed to think he was " blessed " — as he expressed it— and, sitting on the grass, he pulled up the skeleton of a collar *i ,'».flf'' 'I 62 HARD TO BEAT. w il:! I ! •;:i!ti lift which did duty with him as linen, and held sweet communion with himself. " I'm blessed," soliloquized he, " if I aint hit it right off. That must be the gal and the little one is a responsibility incurred since the gal wasn't drowned. I suppose Bowles told the truth when he said he saw them manned ; that will give me a grip on the Doc somehow. Can't see his game ; but, I can see how to make it pay me. There is something or other he wants to keep dark, but what his game is I can't see." Mr. Harway stared very hard at the tree he was resting under, as if he expected to find there an explanation of Dr. Griffith's con- duct. Apparently, however, the explanation was not easy to arrive at, for he sat for nearly half an hour before he seemed to have come to any conclusion which was satisfactory to him. The explanation of Dr. Griffith's conduct in hiding Mamie's exist- ence, and the fact of his marriage, from Charlie Morton, seemed to flash on Mr. Harway all of a sudden, for he sprang up from the grass and, waving the dirty handkerchief in triumph over his head, excl&imed : "I'm blessed! I see it now just as clear as a yard of pump water. It's another woman." Then Mr. Harway sat down to think about it. The minutes stretched themselves into hours, and the sun began to sink in the west, but still Dr. Griffith did not leave the house, and Mr. Harway maintained his position behind the tree. Mr. Harway was hungry, ho had eaten nothing all day, and Mr. Har- w/*y was thirsty, but still he kept his post and watched the little cottage. He had quite made up his mind now as to what course of action he should pursue, and only wanted to be quite sure that the lady he had seen with Dr. Griffith was his wife ; once that was | ascertained he felt assured he could blackmail the doctor as much as he pleased. It was nearly six o'clock whea Dr. Griffith left the house, and proceeded towards the ferry, and Mr. Harway carefully kept him- self concealed until he had passed ; he then approached the house and boldly rung the bell. A smart little girl came to the door and inquired his busines? " Does Dr. Griffith live here ? " " Yes, sir ; but he has just gone over t-o Montreal." "Is Mrs. Griffith in?" " Yes ; do you wish to see her ? " 4t ^mmB GRIFFITH MAKES AN ANNOUNCEMENT. 53 "No I I oaly wanted to know if Dr. Griffith left a parcel here for me. He promised he would leave 3ome medicine here, and I was tj call for it ; will you sec if ho left anything for Mi*. Thomp- son — my name is Thompson." The girl made the requested inquiry, and, of course, answered, as Mr. Harway expected, that nothing had been left for him. He then drew the girl into a little casual conversation, and learned that the family had only lately arrived from New York, and had been at the cottage a few weeks. Fully satisfied with his day's work, Mr. Hai*way wended his way towards the ferry, thinking over his future plan of action. •' I shan't tackle him just yet," he thought. " I will let a few (lays elapse and, meantime, I can watch him, and, maybe, find out something more as will be useful." Ho had recourse to the dirty handkerchief and black pipe as he reached the ferry-boat, and, when seated on the upper deck, he again expressed himself, half-aloud. " I'm blessed I " SCENE II. MRS. GBIFFITH MAKES AN ANNOUNCEMENT. The scene which had transpired in the little cottage had not been a peaceful one. Doctor Griffith had visited his wife with the idea of securing her consent to remain in Longueuil for the next two wieks, but his mission had not been so successful as he had [ anticipated. Mamie was taking a walk with her little girl when the doctor I landed from the ferry-boat and met them, and they strolled up j together towards the cottage. The doctor did not feel in a particularly amiable mood, and IMamib was far from being pleased at the way she had been [treated since her arrival in Montreal ; the walk to the cottage was, {therefore, almost a silent one. The little girl ran ahead for most jof the way, and from time to time endeavored to attract the atten- |tion of her father with some casual, ohildish remark, but with only mrtial success. Arrived at the cottage Dr. Griffith prepared to urge his reasons ifor Mamie's remaining in Longueuil until after the birth of her baby ; but before he could do so she took the initiative by remarking : |i !il,Jj !|""[il 54 HABD TO BEAT. !;i- . '1| iw lill|| mi " Harry, I want to go over to Montreal to live ; it seems so strange for you to be living there, and ^an " — that was the little girl—*' and I over here. Besides, you come to see me so seldom, and I am getting nervous about my sickness, and I should like to have you with me when I am ill." Her husband drew her towards him and tried hard to show a semblance of the love he did not feel ; but the kiss he imprinted on her forehead was very cold, and she half turned from him with a sigh. "Don't get foolish fancies in your head," he said, playfully smoothing her hair, '* you will get through all r' ' t, and, of course, I will be with you ; but, I don't see what good ^ .a be done by your going to Montreal to live. You have a nice, comfortable house here, and it would be better for you and Fan to remain here until the winter sets in, then, of course, you must move over to Mont- real." She remained silent for a few moments, her head drooped on his shoulder, and a few tears forced themselves into her eyes as she answered : " Harry, you used to love me once— oh I how long ago it seems ^-don't keep away from me now, it won't be for long. 1 feel that I shall never live through the next few weeks, let me die with you. I have no one but you and Pan, let me be with both of you to the last." Her head rested on his siioulder, and she sobbed convulsively ae she clung to him. He held her tenderly in his arms, but there was no love in his heart as he tried to soothe her, and drive away her fears. He remembered how, years ago, he had loved this woman, and hung on her lightest word ; how he had sinned to win her, and how he had gloried in the fact of having won her, and he wondered at himself that he could now be so cold and insensible to her caresses ; bat another love had entered his heart, and it was dead to the one who loved him so well, even after she knew he no longer cared for her. Woman's love is a curious anomaly ; pure and holy in itself, it so often becomes attached to some impure and unworthy object but, like the limpet to the rock, it clings on till death; and, al- though conscious of the unworthiness of the object of its adoration still it cannot change its devotion, but remains constant in its affection to the last. ^i^i^pp MRS. GRIFFITH MAKES AN ANNOUNCEMENT. 55 Mamie Griffith knew her husband well and thoroughly. She knew him as a bold, bad, unscrupulous man, and was only too well assured that he had ceased to love her ; but at this moment all the old tenderness for him came back, and she almost persuaded her- self that she might yet re-kindle the aflfection of the past within bis breast, and win him back to her. She cried softly and quietly on his shoulder for a few seconds, and he continued to sraoothe Jier hair and try to calm her excited feelings. " Come, come, Mamie," he said, " you are exciting yourself un- necessarily ; there is no danger ; you will be all right in a few weeks, and, meanwhile, you can be very nice and comfortable here. 1 1 will come over every day to see you, and soor you will laugh at [your own foolish fears." His tone was soft and gentle, and he continued to caress her; but she drew slightly away from him, and looked up at him in partial distrust. " Harry," she said, " why do you want to keep me out of Mont- Ireal? Ever since I came from the States you have tried to pre- vent my visiting the city, and have made me remain here as much as possible. What is the reason? " " There is no reason," he answered, drawing her to him and [pressing her forehead with his lips, " it is only your own Imagina- Ition. I think it would be better for you to remain here until the ibaby is born ; you are not strong, and the air here is purer than jin a large city." " But I want to be in Montreal; I want to be with you." " And I say you shall stay here." His voice was cold and hard low, and there was no gentleness or tenderness in its tones. She drew herself quite away from him and stood proudly re- garding him for a moment ; then she said, not hastily nor angrily, but slowly and with emphasis : " I shall move over to Montreal on the first of next month, when Dur lease is up." "What?" " I mean what I say. You have some scheme or plot which I ^on't understand now, which requires my absence from Montreal ; [)ut I won't be made an innocent party to any of your schemes. rust me, Harry, oh, trust me as you used to when we were child- en together "—the woman's voice had grown soft and tender jain, and there were tears in her eyes — " and I will be true and y i 66 HARD TO BEAT. I loving to you, as I have always tried to be ; but" — and here her voice grew hard and firm again — " I am your wife, and as long as I live I will allow no woman to usurp my place. You might have ceased to love me, but you have no right to love any other woman while I am alive, and I won't permit it." She stood boldly and defiantly before him now ; and he lowered his eyes as he answered her, half soothingly : " Don't let us have a scene, Mamie ; you shall not come to Mont- real now ; I do not please that you should. In the course of three or four weeks you will be well over your sickness, and then you can come." " I will come next week," she answered obstinately, and then sat down exhausted on the sofa, and burst into a passionate flood of tears. All the Jealousy in the woman's nature was aroused ; she feared that her husband loved another, and she was of too fiery a disposition to remain quiet under the insult. He might not love her, but he should love no one else while she lived. : I I SCENE III. DR. GRIFFITH MAKES UP HIS MIND. Dr. Griffith and Mr. Harway crossed on the same boat from Lon- gueuil, but the latter, noticing the doctor, made himself scarce, and escaped observation. It was no part of the plan of systematic blackmail he proposed, that his victim should know too soon the information he had gained ; in fact Mr. Harway was not very cer- tain that he had gained any very important information yet, but I he had no doubt that, by quietly watching the doctor for a few days, he could supply the links he needed to complete the chain of evidence as to the " game" the doctor was up to. To put it in Mr. Harway's own thoughts to himself there was I "a woman in it somewhere," but who the woman was, and just "where" she came in were points he intended to discover before] he again visited the doctor. For this purpose he followed his in- tended victim home, and, having watched through the blinds and I seen him seated at the supper table, retired to satisfy the cravings .This own inner nature, he being very forcibly reminded that he nad had no breakfistst or dinner, and that all the support he h&dl received that day had been derived from the doubtful source of the iiiyiilii:: ' ^m DR. GRIFFITH MAKES UP HIS MIND. 57 black pipe, and an equally black bottle without which he never travelled. But Mr. Harway did not desert his post long; having fortified himself with some bread and meat at the nearest restaurant, and replenished the black bottle, he returned to Beaver Hall Hill and took up his position opposite Doctor Griffith's office. The doctor did not enjoy his supper. The scene with his wife had not tended to improve his appetite, and he soon rose from the table to return to his office. As he was leaving the room the pervantgirl handed him a small envelope which had been left for him during the day. On reaching his office he opened ic and read the few lines traced on the scented note-paper enclosed. This is what the note contained : " I have not seen you for a week. Why don't you call ? Annie." He read the lines several times, and pondered over them for a few minutes. In the humor he was then in it needed only some trifling incident to decide him as to the desperate step he had been contemplating for the past week. Annie Howson, and one hundred thousand dollars." That was the thought which filled his mind ; and, terrible as was the course [ he was steeling himself to pursue in order to attain his object, he jhad made up his mind to follow his evil inclination, ere he rose from his chair and donned his overcoat and hat to call on Miss I Howson. Mr. Harway, peeping through the blinds wondered at the stern, [hard expression which gradually crept over the doctor's face as he sat and thought over the details of his cruel design; but Mr. IHarway, bad as he was, would have shuddered if he could have [read the thoughts which wore passing through the man's mind. ["Annie Howson, and one hundred thousand dollars." The [words seemed to have photogi-aphed themselves on his mind, and XQ thought them over again and again as he lowered the gas, and Dassed out into the street. Mr. Harway slunk after him in the darkness and followed him until he reached Mr. Howson's residence in Sherbrooke street, le watched until the doctor had entered, and then approaching Ithe door he read the name, very plainly marked on the imposing brass plate, " James Howson." Amongst the various scraps of knowledge which Mr. Harway bad found very frequently useful to him was an acquaintance fi;-:i': i ..'lilj; m 'I 58 HARD TO BEAT. with the names of the richest men in any city where he may happen to temporarily reside, and when he read the name " James Howson " he recogrised it as that of one of the "merchant princes " of Montreal, and he rubbed his hands pleasantly together in a satisfied sort of manner. " I'm blessed,' he muttered softly, " if I don't see his game now. " It's a big fish you're angling for, Doc.', but I hope you'll land it and I'll come in for my shai-e of the spoils. I'm a perfect gentleman, and I do like to earn an honest living without having to work for it. SCENE IV. MISS HOWSON MAKES 'A CONQUEST. Miss Annie Howson sat alone in her parlor, anxiously expect- ing a visit from the doctor, and when she heard the door bell ring, she, imagining who it was, opened it herself in preference to waiting for the servant. " What a naughty man you are, not to have called on me fori so long a time," she said wL«:n they were seated together in the[ parlor. " How could I be sure you wanted to see me ?" He asked the I question in the tone of a man who felt confident he could receive | but one answer. " You may be certain I am always pleased to see you." She looked down for a moment, and blushed slightly ; and thej doctor, emboldened, drew up nearer to her. " You almost encourage me to tell a secret," he said, " Yonj are so kind. May I ? " " I suppose so," she answered, half aifecting not to understand] him. •' Women are always fond of secrets." " Mine is a very important one to me." 'I hope it is nothing wicked!" she said looking up to himj with a soft gentle light in her eyes, which said very clearly that| she did not think he could in any way be connected with a wicke secret. Hard as he was, and passionately as he loved her, he could nod repress a slight blush, the question was so pertinent to his thoughtj Pit he quickly recovered and even managed to smile as he place m J.i.; MISS HOWSON MAKES A CONQUEST. 69 3 may James rchant .santly I game J you'll porfect having ' expect- oor bell •efereuce in me for iv in the] isked tliel d receive I and the! id, "You Biderstandl up to hiral early that| a wicke could notl IH thought] he place his arm round her waist and drew her gently towards him, whis- pering : " Nothing very wicked, unless it is wicked to love you." She made a very slight movement as if to draw away from him, but he pressed her a little closer and took her hand, which remained passive and unresisting in his, as he continued : " Yes, Annie, I love you tenderly, devotedly, sincerely, with all the strength and passion of my nature. I have loved you from the moment I first beheld you, but feared to speak, dreading you might think me too presumptions. But I can resist no longer, I must know my fate to-night. Tell me, can you care a little for me?" He drew her still closer to him and pressed the hand she did not withdraw, and her head dropped gradually towards him until it rested on his shoulder. This was exactly the kind of love-making Miss Howson liked. She could not have believed any man loved her if he stood calmly before her and told her so. She did not exactly care that he should drop on his knees, but that arm around her felt very comfort- ing, it suggested protection and all that sort of thing, and the occasional pressure of her hand was very pleasant. She had had many flirtations and several proposals before, but none which came so nearly up to her idea of how a man should tell a girl he loved her. The words he used certainly did sound very much like dozens of similar speeches she had read in the cheap literature she was so fond of, but what of that, they were so sweetly uttered. Until now she had only thought she loved the Doctor, now she felt sure of it, and a slight sigh of pleasure escaped her as she allowed him to draw her still a little closer to him. " Look up at me, darling, and let me read in your eyes, whether there is any hope for me." She raised her head for an instant and looked at him with happy tears standing in her lustrous eyes. Ere she could replace her head upon his shoulder, he drew her blushing face towards him and kissed her, " And you will be my wife ? " She did not answer in words, but her eyes replied for her, and as he drew her to him again and pressed her unresisting lips, he felt that be had almost accomplished his object " Annie Howbod and one hundred thousand dollara." ^iiii ilji- do HARD TO BEAT. Yet at that moment there arose before him the remembrance of another woman he had once loved as pasBionately, and he in- voluntarily Hluiddered as he thought of the terrible moans ho had decided on for extricating himself from the dangerous positipn in which he was placed. tJf *^ ^l> k^ ^f ^^ ^U " Harry," said Miss Howson, and she flushed up a little as she used the word, for it was the first time she had addressed him by his christian name, ** Harry, I'm afraid you will have trouble with papa in getting his consent." " Do you think so?" For the first time the possibility of a ref\isal from Mr. Howson occurred to him. His acquaintance with that gentleman was very slight, and not particularly cordial, and it now seemed to him very likely that he would refuse to give his dauujhter's hand to a man of whose past life he knew nothing, and with whom he had been acquainted for less than a year. " I will try to persuade him to give you to me, nevertheless, little one, and I think I shall succeed." " I hope you will," she replied ; " but if he don't, what can we do?" "Do without it I" '* What ! Harry, you surely would not want to marry me withoot papa's consent. " " Of course 1 would much rather have it than not, but, if he won't give it, what else can we do ? I want to marry you, darling, | not your father, and 1 mean to do it at all hazards." He meant it too, and no one but himself knew the full mean- ings of those two words, " all hazards." He fully recogiiised the! risk he ran in marrying again while his wife lived; but would she livJB? Only he and his God knew what he had determined on | that point He could not possibly have pleased Miss Howson more than bjl telling her he meant to marry her at all hazards. It had a smackl of the " going through fire and water " about it which so muchl delighted her in literature, and which she had always fondlyl hoped to experience in real life. She was fully prepared to rani away with him that night, and would probably have consentedl had he proposed it. But he did not propose it ; his next questiool had something more of the prosaic about it. MISS HOWSON MAKES A CONQUEST. 61 "Annie, don't you think it would, perhaps, be better if we kept our engagement wecret for a Week or two, and, in the mean- while, I can get to know your father better, and possibly he may learn to like me, and so not refuse his consent when I ask for you ? " And then arose before Miss Howson's vision another scene. A grand marriage at the Cathedral ; splendid wedding presents ; half-a-dozen bridesmaids ; a champagne breakfast ; the congratula- tions of ifriends, the envy of rivals ; a paragraph in the papers, and a wedding tour. Yes, take it all together. Miss Howson thought she preferred the realistic to the romantic side of the picture; and, although she was fully determined to get married without her father's con- sent, if necessary, she thought it would probably be better to obtain the paternal blessing, if possible, aqd, therefore, she said, after a slight pause : " Perhaps you are right, Harry, it would be better to gain papa's consent; and, if you desire it, our engagement can remain a secret for the present ; but not for long, Harry dear, I am so anxious to shovy you to the world as my affianced husband." She allowed him to kiss her again, and I am not very certain but what she kissed him in return, for there was a pause of several seconds, and the eound of labial salutations several times repeated before he spoke again. " I think two weeks will be sufficient, darling ; if I cannot gain his consent in that time, I may well despair of ever doing so." " Perhaps lean help you, Harry." "Certainly, darling, I expect you to assist me all you can." " But I don't mean by myself, Harry, I mean through some one else, some one papa has a very high opinion of, and in whose judgment he places great confidence." Her manner was not very confident, and she seemed rather doubtful as to the manner in which he would receive her answer to the question ; he immediately asked her. " Who, Miss Moxton ? " " No; some one on whose opinion papa places more dependence than he does on auntie's." * " Who ? " •' Charlie Morton." " Charlie Morton ? " " Yes ; he told me he had known you from boyhood ; that you 62 HARD TO BEAT. ,1- were at school together, and if he will only help us I know papa will consent • he will almost always follow Charlie — Mr. Morton's — advice, and Charlie — Mr. Morton — will do anything I ask him." He thought over this I'or some time. The idea that the brother of his wife should use his influence to gain him the hand of another while that wife lived was something which staggered him for a moment ; and the multitude of thoughts which crowded into his mind as to his own designs with regard to that wife pressed on his brain so strongly that he remained silent for several minutes, and scarcely heard Annie's question : " Well, what do you say ? Don't you think we had better get Mr. Morton to help us I" " No," he exclaimed half starting from his seat, " I will owe nothing to Charlie Morton s I will win you or lose, by ray own exertions. I might lose you, but I intend to try hard to win you, and when I try I am hard to beat." irt! tfiir ACT III.— DEAD. SCENE I. MR. FARRON FINDS A SUBJECT. August twenty-ninth ; time, six o'clock in the evening ; place, MrH. Grub's boarding-house in St. Urbain Street. Mr. Frank Farron and his friend Mr. Gus Fowler occupied, jointly, a medium-sized room on the second Hoor of a boarding- house in St. Urbain Street. The room was furninhed, like most second-class boarding-houses, with a good deal of nothing and very little of anything. The most prominent feature in it was a huge stove which stood in one corner and occupied a very fair portion of the rather limited space, and which alternately kept the room too warm or too cold, owing to its having a weakness for suddenly blazing up very hot and then burning rapidly out. The landlady said it was the fault of the draught, but Mr. Fowler stoutlv main- tained that it was due to the plentiful scarcity of coal. This stovo was never taken down but stood solemnly in ils corner winter and summer. The remaining furniture consisted of two chairs, a washstund with a cracked basin and a mug minus the handle, a couple of trunks, a small table, and a bed which Fowler declared would soon prove too small if Farron continued to get stout in the way he was doing. The carpet was old, faded, and torn, and frequent patches bore evidence of the thriftfulness of its owner. The walls were covered with dingy paper, which showed all its blackened ugliness when the young men took possession of the room ; but Mr. Fowler soon remedied that defect by hanging on it half-a-dozen sporting pictures of impossible horses running with- out taking the trouble to touch the ground, and by suspending a pair of monster snow-shoes, which neither he nor his companion could wear. Messrs. Farren and Fowler were medical students attending 64 HARD TO BEAT. '' I Victoria College; and, although their lodging was not very Kurnptuous, they found it convenient on account of its propinquity to the diBBCcting-room. On the evening in question both gentlemen were at home. Mr. F.irron was seated at the table reading, and assisting his studios by constant application to a briar pipe, and occasional sips of s >raething which was in a glass at his elbow, and which looked considerably darker than water. From time to time he would ro- ra )V0 tho pipe from his lips, make a fresh addition to the now pattern he was gradually producing on the carpet, consult the glass, replace his pipeand continue his reading. Mr. Fowler was sitting by the stove with his feet resting on it, and his chair tipped slightly back. He was also armed with a briar pipe and a glass with something in it, but he was not or- namenting the carpet for tho simple reason that he found it easier to open the stove door and convert that article into a gigantic spittoon. " Silence reigned supreme " for about half an hour, when Fowler, having finished the contents of both the glass and the pipe, re- moved his feet from the stove and turned towards his companion; *• Say, Frank, what on earth are you studying so intently ? 1 should think you had had enough of it by this time at any rate." Mr. Farron looked up from his book, and, after an attack on the glass, which <'.ompletely emptied it, replied : " I've been studying a magnificent case, Gus — an amputation of the thigh just at the hip-bone ; I never road a more interesting case. " " Oh hang it I don't talk shop. I thought you were reading a novel, or I would have spoken to you long ago. What is the good of bothering about hip-bones and such things until term com- Tnences." ** Well, term will commence in a week, and I tho" lu i i polish up a bit; I've got awfully rusty during * amer vjua tion. Just read this description of the opera he contim offering Mr. Fowler the book. " No, thank you, I don't care about hip bones, cspe ially after supper." " I wish I could get a subject," half soliloquised Mr. Farron ; " I should like to try that operation ; it must be very interesting." " If all you want is a subject, I suppose there are plenty in the cellar at the college." Ifil I H^ MR. FARRON FINDS A SUBJECT. 66 *' No. I've been thoro, nnd tlioro is nothing very good. T hIiojjM like to get ft frcHh one." " I wish," said Mr. Fowlor, half Holiloquising, " that old mother Gnib could find it convenient to die just now ; if it's bones you want, she would supply little else, and if she proved only half as tough as the whit-loathor she provides for us and honors with the imnio of beefsteak, it would bo fun to see you trying to cut her up. But, no," he continued, sadly shaking his head, "there is no such luck ; she is one of the sort that never die ; she will gradually dry up, and some fine morning, when there is a stiff breeze, she will blow away like a chip, beefsteak and all. May the day not be far distant I" He shook his head again, put something out of a black bottle into his glass, mlded a little — very little — water from the mug without a handle, took a sip with an air of satisfaction, lighted his pipe, and resumed his seat by the stove. "Never mind your chaff now, Gus," said Mr. Farron, "old mother Grub won't die to please you, and I must look elsewhere for a subject." " Then why don't you " began Mr. Fowler, but ere he could complete the sentence he was interrupted by a knock at the door, and the head of a servant-girl quickly following the knock, she announced : "There's a man below wants to see you, Mr. Farron." " Tell the man to come up." The head was withdrawn and the two occupants of the room smoked on in silence until the door opened again and *' the man " entered the room. He was a middle-aged man of rather unprepossessing appear- anoo, dressed in a short coat and well worn dark pants, which were rolled up at the bottoms as if constantly expecting a tramp through the mud. " Good hevening, gents both," said the man, pulling off his hat and making a scrape with his foot, " I 'opes I sees you well." " Ah I Boggs, come in," said Mr. Farron, *' called about that I little bill, I suppose?" " That's hit," replied Mr. Boggs promptly, taking one step into [the room, and planting himself where the door-mat ought to have been I at wasn't, for the reason that there was no door-mat. " You told me to call, yer oner, hand has I ham not driving this week, hi thought a few hextra stamps would 'elp to keep 'ouse. No hof Ifonct 1) intended, gents both." 66 HABD TO BEAT. \w 'I'; ..Mi |.i i " AU right, Boggs, how much is it ? " asked Mr. Farron with the proud confidence of a man who is prepared to cancel liabilities to any amount. " Two dollars hand a 'alf, sir." " Got change for a five ? " " Yes, yer oner," replied Mr. Boggs, apparently slightly snr- prised at finding so prompt a response to his demand from a quarter where he had expected an excuse. But Mr. Bogga' surprise changed to absolute astonishment when Mr. Farron drew from his pocket-book a considerable roll of fives and tens, and selecting a five, handed it to him. " Hall right, yer 'oner ; 'ere's the change, with my hearty thanks, gents both." '■ Take somuthing, Boggs ? ' inquired Mr. Fowler, holding out the black bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. "Thank'ee, sir, hi don't mind hif hi do." He about half-filled the glass, made a sort of general sweep with h\s hand and saying, " 'Ero's your good 'ealths, gents both," gently tipped the glass and continued tilting until it was completely empty. He could not be said to have exactly " drunk " the liquor, he simply let it run down his throat; when it was down he smacked his lips in a satisfied manner, wiped them with the sleeve of his coat, and smiled pleasantly. " Hi shall be hon the stand again next week, gents both," he said, " hand shall allers be happy to serve you bin any way." Farron and Fowler exchanged an expressive wink, and Mr, Boggs brushed his hat with his sleeve preparatory to taking bis leave. " Wait a minute, Boggs," said Farron. " Have you done any- thing in the way of carrying dead freight lately ? " "No, sir, hi haint done nothink bin that line lately, hand hi'ml a'most afraid to try. The police makes themselves too busy with a poor man's business, hand hif hi was caught hit would be the death of the hold woman, she's that pertickler, gents both. There] haint abetter woman n(wu3r« than the hold woman," b^ con- tinued, warming with his subject, "honly she won't be 'apfy; 'taint no use doing nothink fur her, she won't be 'appy ; she's got\ a'most bft very think ha woman can want; she's ha 'ouse hand ha I 'ome, hand ha 'orse, hand ha 'usband with a 'appy art, but she! will worrit and worrit herself hand won't be 'appy, hand hif hi I iwii(fH";ii MR. FAURON FINDS A SUBJECT. 67 itly siir. , quarter surprise ew from (electing y hearty Iding out ^eep with I," jrently )mpletely he liquor, down he with the both," he eay." 1 and Mr. aking bis done any- land hi'in bu^y with lid bo the th. There! '-^ con- be 'a^ryil ; she's got le hand ha ■t, but she and hif hi was took hat the game you referred to, gents lx)th, hit would worrit the hold woman to death." Mr. Fowler made no direct reply to this speech, in fact he could scarcely be said to have replied to it at all, for he simply remarked, " Take another I " at the same time producing the black bottle. Mr. Boggs evidently believed with Shakespeare that " brevity is the soul of wit," for he replied with the one word *' Thanks," and took it. "Now, Boggs," said Mr. Farron, "lot's to business. I want a good fresh subject; can't you get one and take it to the College? You know it will be all right." " Hi'd rather not, gents both, but hif it was made well worth my while, hi might keep my heye hopen, hand maybe hi might see somethink." "You need not be afraid of the pay; you know that is all right." " His hit the hold price, gonts both ; hit's very little for the risk, hand bodies his hup." " Yes, I have no doubt they are * np ' when you get hold of theno," said Mr. Farron ; " but, come now, I know you have managed many a quiet job before ; get me a good subject inside of ten days and I don't mind giving you a trifle myself besides what the College pays." Mr. Boggs paused for a moment, scratched his heiid, and then remarked : " His hit ha man hor a woman ; hor does it make no differ- ence ? " " A woman would be best," said Mr. Farron promptly. "Hi'm sorry for that. Hi bailors feels squeemish habout women ; hi don't care so much habout men, but women his differ- ent; hit bailers makes me think hof m}^ hold woman." "Don't let your feelings get the 1 ^L't of you, Boggs," said Mr. [Farron. " You can make a good thing out of this if you like, and without any risk; why, bless me, how often is it you hoar any- thing of body-snat<;hing, and yet you know very well, Boggs, it's I done ofiener than most people suspect." " Hi knows it, gents both, hi knows it. Did you say ban hextra jfive hif it was a good one ? " " I did not say five, but, perhaps, it might be that." " Well, bi'U do my best, gents both, hand hif hi succeeds you'll ,.)■.■■■' .r'fiifi! mm 68 HARD VO BEAT. 'ear hof hit hinside hof ha week." After firing off which volley of h's Mr. Boggs bowed himself out of the room, and the students prepared themselves for an evening stroll. [. jfilil I'M 1 "': 'I. ^ -! If. '■ :;„,, .liiiil SCENE IL MR. MORTON FINDS HIMSELF MISTAKEN. Time, September fifth, eighteen hundred and seventy ; place, Mr. Howson's residence in Sherbrooke street. Mr. Morton hud not been able to carry out his intention with reference to Miss Howson during the past two weeks, for the reason that he had never been so fortunate as to find her alone. On the occasion of all his late visits ho had been forced, somewhat unwil- lingly, to endure the company of either Mr. Johnson or Dr. GriflStt,, and sometimes of both. I am afraid these trials did not sweeten Mr, Morton's temper, and he fervently wished both the doctor and Mr. Johnson could be transported to some remote portion of the earth, there to remain until he should desire their recall ; he thought it very | probable they would remain there some time. The three or four visits during which he had encountered his I two rivals, for so he felt them to be, had served to confirm him in his determination to ask Miss Howson to be his wife. She had been kinder to him on his last visit than she had been for some time past, and Mr. Morton flattered himself there was a touch of tenderness in her tone when she asked him to " call again soon." [ He determined to take advantage of the invitation, and so, on the! evening of this fifth day of September, although it was only three nights since he had seen her, he called again. Fate was not any kinder to him on this occasion than on former! ones, for on entering the parlor he found Dr. Griffith already there ; however, this time he was the last caller, and he determined | to quietly sit the doctor out. The meeting between the two men was polite, but not very I cordial. Charlie'Morton had never quite got over his boyish dis-l trust of Harry Grifiith ; he treated him as an old acquaintancej and school-fellow, and to the outward eye they were great friends; but there was no bond of sympathy between them, and they neverj grew to be more than intimate acquaintances and nothing more. Iliii'il.l; ;-j|:iiKL, Tjr^sjTi MB. MORTON FINDS HIMSELF MISTAKEN. 69 There is a much b> oader gap between the meaning of an " inti- mate acquai.ntorice ' and "a friend" than most people suppose. One is a person whom we meet frequently, are always on pleu^allt terms with, trust, perhaps, to a small degree with some of our little secrets which are not very important ; but we cannot place im- plicit confidence in him; we cannot open our secret soul to him, go to him for advice or comfort in the hour of need, place our whole trust in in the hour of danger. Although our tastes may assimilate, our pursuits be almost the same, our intercourse con- stant and intimate, yet we never get beyond that imperceptible barrier which divides acquaintanceship, however intimate, from true friendship. The other is one whom we can trust fully and entirely, in whom we repose our whole confidence, and lay bare our most secret thoughts to, certain that we shall get an honest expression of opinion, well and kindly meant ; it may not always be pleasant — a true friend's advice is frequently the reverse, for he will tell us our faults, which an acquaintance won't, — but there is a bond of sympathy between us which makes the most unplea- sant pills go down, because we know they are intended for our good. Two such friends may have the ocean roll between them, but it will not wash away the bond that links them together ; they may . ot see each other's faces for years, but the old kind feeling will remain ; their tastes, interests, pursuits may diti'er, but that very diflference frequently only serves to strengthen the bond ; there is something more than mere companionship between them — they are friends ; they can have trust and confidence in each other, and neither time nor distance will change the feeling. Thera is nothing like absence or danger, or difficulties to test friendship ; many persons walk trough life apparently surround- j.ed by friends, and yet when the time of trial comes it is found that they are simply intimate acquaintances, nothing more. And bo with marriage ; many and many a couple go through life to the grave, an^' never get beyond the stage of intimate acquaintance- ship; they have a transient passion for each other, which they think is love, that wears off; there is no bond of sympathy between them, and they drift into intimate acquaintanceship, and never rise to the height of friendship. Husband and«wife, of all people in the world, should be friends, — close, intimate, bosom friends and when they are not there is always danger of their union being an unhappy one; they may drift through life together without any serious mishap, but they are very apt to run aground 00 the first sandbank they meet. Ml if.;.: i ill !: I: t 70 HARD TO BEAT. Charlie Morton and Harry Griffith, from early associations, from circumstances and from habit, had reached the stage of inti- mate acquaintanceship, but they were destined never to pass it. The evening at Mr. Howson's was not a very brilliant one. Mr. Howson " looked in " for a little while, and the doctor engaged him in a lively discussion about the war and other current topics, but Mr. Howson did not seem to relish it very much, and after half-an-hour's conversation, in which the doctor did nearly all the talking, he went qS to his club, consoling himself with the reflec- tion that Charlie's presence would have a neutralizing effect on the doctor's fascinations, and that he would not be able to attack Miss Annie's heart — ^which he strongly suspected he was doing— too severely that night. Mr. Howson was an easy-going, quiet man, who was quite con- tent to let things take their natural course, so long as that course I was not highly, improper ; he was a man of very even tempera- 1 ment, but of strong will, and, when once he made up his mind on any subject, he was, to use a vulgarism, " as obstinate as a mule." He knew Miss Annie's weakness for flirting, but it gave him little uneasiness ; he consoled himself by saying " all women have a certain amount of devilment in them, and it is just as well if it comes out while they are young, they will make better wives and mothers for it by and by." So he troubled himself but very little about Miss Annie's suitors, thinking that ere long she would get tired of having half-a-dozen strings to her bow, and be content to settle down into staid matrimony. On that point Mr. Howson had made up his mind, and it would take a great deal to cause himj to change it. After his departure matters did not improve very much in thel parlor. " Th§ neutralizing " process was strongly at work, and! although everything went smoothly on the surface, each gentle-j man heartily wished the other at the bottom of the sea. As lc"| Miss Howson, she would have preferred a Ute-d-tite with her trothed, but she also desired to have a quiet talk with Charliek Morton, for she had determined to solicit his assistance in gainiDgl her father's consent to her engagement ; she felt, therefore, veryl much like Captain Macheath in the Beggars' Opera: ' " How happy I could be with either, Were 'tother dear charmer away." There was some singing and playing and a good deal of converl Bation about nothing, but it was hard work to each of the tbreel '""•W^iflff m MR. MORTON FINDS HIMSELF MISTAKEN. 71 to talk, and what was said was neither very brilliant nor very new. At last the little Ormolu clock on the mantelpiece chimed out half-past ten, and the doctor, tinding Morton was determined to sit him out, rose to go. Miss HowBon accompanied him to the door, and it seemed to Mr. Morton, who sat idly running his fingers over the keys of the piano, that it took much longer to say good-night than either necessity or politeness required; at last, however, she returned, with rather a heightened color, and seating herself at some little distance from the piano, said : " Sing something for me, Charlie; you only sang once to-night.'* *' 1 don't feel like singing, Annie," he answered, changing his seat to one a little nearer to her. " 1 have something very serious to say to you." •'Something serious to say to me?" she asked in surprise, riuiug and facing him, " that is a strange coincidence, tor I have something serious to say to you." He did not notice the inierruption, but went on : '* 1 want to ask you a very serious question, one ' ''"h will have a very great influence on both oui* future lives." " Uli, don't, Charlie, please don't," she said, sinking back in her chair, and looking at him half in wonder, half in sorrow. She knew he was going to propose to her, she could tell that ; but it tjeemed so sti'ange that ho could sit there so* calmly with his elbows resting on his knees and the tips of his fingers joined together, and make a Ibrmal proposal lor her hand. A few days ago she would have laughed at him, but now she wanted his help uud assistance, and she grew half Irightened as she thought that it she rejected him — as, of course, she must — he might use his intluence with her lather against her, and so increase the difficulty ot gaining his consent to her engagement. " It is a question," continued Mj\ Morton calmly, although his voice quivered a little with suppressed emotion, •« which 1 have ibr some time thought of putting to you, only I had not quite made up my mind whether it was best to do it or not ; now I have made up my mind; Annie, the question is — will you be my wile ? " She buried her face in her hands, which were clasped on the back of the chair, and half moaned, " Oh, Charlie, please don't." WT:i ' lit h V i Tmm 'i! 72 HARD TO BEAT. He rose and crossed over to her, and laid his hand on her shoul- der. ''1 know 1 am considerably older than you tiro, Annie; indeed I feel almost like an old man when I remember that I used to know you when you wore in short frocks, it seems so long ago, but you know the old adage, * better be an old man's darling than a young man's slave.' 1 love you, Annie, as truly as man can love woman ; I learned to love you when you were a little girl at school, and my lovo has gone on growing without my knowing it, until I f»iel as if it would be impossible for me to live without you. You used to love me when you were a little girl, Annie ; tell me, has all that lovo departed with the short frocks, oris there a little bit left yet? Look up at me," he continued, plac ig his hand on her head und smoothing her hair, " look up at m< and tell mo if you still love me as you used to." ** I still love you, Charlie, as I used to when T was a little girl, as if you Vrere my big brother ; nothing more." " And that is enough for the present ; give me leave to try to teach you to love me better ; I think I can succeed." " No, no, Charlie, it can never be. I cannot be your wife." " Why ? " ** Because — because I have promised to marry some one else." " Engaged I " He removed his hand from her head and returned to his seat, where ho sat with his head leaning on one hand, tho- roughly overcome by the suddenness of the blow. He knew Annie had been flirting with Johnson and Dr. Griffith both, as she had done with half-a-dozen others, but he did not think matters had gone so far as this. And with the knowledge that she was pledged to another, came also the knowledge that he loved her more truly, more deeply, and more devotedly than he had ever dreamed of. He sat stunned, and the hot teart^ almost started to his eyes. " Oh, Charlie, I'm so sorry," said a soft voice beside him, half | broken by a sob, and a little hand, white and plump, was laid on his sho. der, " I'm so sorry you should have taken it in your head to want t) marry me, at least just at this time when I am in such trouble, and want your help so much, and now I can't ask it." " In trouble, Annie ; trouble that I can help you out of? Tell me what it is, child j you know I never refused you anything you asked me." ill;iJiii!;!:k;lli' i MB. MORTON FINDS HIMSELF MISTAKEN. 73 shoul- indeod know )ut you , young iroman ; ol, and ,il 1 fv^el ou used all that eft yet? lead and itUl love ttlo girl, to try to rife." else." to hifl ^nd, tho- le knew 1, as she | matters she was )ved her had ever tarted to lira, half laid on fonr head in sach tk it." 3f? Tell Ihing you She pushed a low stool towards him and sat on it, resting her arm on his knee and looking up at him. " You're so good, Charlie, and I'm so sorry for your disappoint* raent, but I couldn't help it, you know, could I ? " "I suppose not, child ; I've been a fool, that's all ; but what is it you want me to do ? " " I want yoa to tell papa, and make him give his consent to my engagement." It was very hard for him to promise that; it was hard enough to know that the girl he loved was engaged to another, but it was [ harder still to think that he should have to lend his assistance to enable that other to w"n her. Still he loved her so well that he cared only for her happiness, and as she sat at his feet time seemed I to roll back, and she was again a little girl pleading to him to intercede with her father for some favor she wished to have grant- led. It was hard to see her another's, but, if it was for her happi- I ness, he was content. Are you sure you love this man, Annie?" he asked after a Ipauso , '* are you sure that you will be happy with him ? " " I never could be happy without him." "Who is he? ^' " Dr. Griffith." Somehow he had felt from the moment she told him of her en- gagement that Griffith was the man, yet, now that she called him by name he felt a strong and sudden aversion to the man, and he buld not promise to use his influence with her father to gain his lionsent. " I'm afraid papa don't like Harry," she continued, " but you rare at gchool with him, and have known him all his life nearly ; ^ou can tell papa how good he is, won't you, Charlie ? " He paused for a few seconds, unwilling to refuse, and still more |nwilling to consent. At last he said : "I cannot promiee to-night, Annie ; you are mistaken as to my lowing all about Harry Griffith's life; the ten most ia '^'•tant h&rs of his life are almost a blank to me. I will find out all I can bout them, and then — perhaps — I Oh, Annie," he exclaimed ssionately, his love and grief breaking down his usually calm, liet manner, " you don't know what you ask me to do when you ^k me to help your marriage with another man. I never felt itil this moment how much I love you and how hard and bitter [is to give you up ; but I love you too well, child, to let my hap- p^^-i^- 74 HARD TO BEAT. piness stand in the way of yours ; if you think you can bo happier with this man than with me, I can only nay, * God grant it may be BO,' but don't aek me to assiut in accompliHhing your marriage, at least not yet; give me a few days to think about it, then I will tm you again ; and now, good-night." Ho raised her head from his knee, where she was rapidly changing the pattern of his pantaloons with her tears, and, draw- ing her to him, preKsed his lips lightly on her forehead, and before she had time to say anything he had left the room. SCENE III. DR. GRIFFITH FINDS HIMSELF FREE. Time, September seventh, eighteen hundred and seventy; place, Griffith's residence in Longueuil. Mrs. Griffith did not carry out her determination to remove to Montreal, for the reason that on the day after her interview with her husband, she found herself so ill as to be scarcely able to leave her room, and for over a week she was compelled to keep in the | house. Dr. Griffith was very attentive to her during this time, visiting I her almost daily and striving hard to show a love for her which he did not feel. He did not attend her professionally himself, he called himself "Mr." Griffith in Longueuil and dropped the "Doctor" — but called in the aid of a village practitioner who pronounced Mrs. Griffith very weak, and advised her to keep very j quiet for a few days. On the sixth the baby was born ; a poor weak little girl witlij scarce strength enough in it to breathe the fresh air of heavenj Dr. Griffith was with Mamie at the time and remained with herl that night and the following day and night. She was very ill;l the village doctor gave but little hope of her recovery, and th«| disconsolate husband appeared greatly afflicted ; but there wan i| demon of joy dancing in his heart, and he could have thankedl God for saving him from a crime, only he had forgotten how thank God years ago. All that day of the seventh he watched by her, apparently witkj the deepest solicitude, but really he was watching her with a like stealthiness, dreading to see any signs of improvement Shi| 'V vm '» -v' fTlff DR. GRIFFITH FINDS HIMSELF FREE. 76 appier t may iri'iage, will Bee rapidly i, drtiw- d before seventy; emove to riow with le to leave I Bep in the (, visiting I ler which limself, he ipped the I ioner who! keep very girl with Df heaven. with heil Is very \^ ly, and th« lere waBij [e thankfli] an how j-ently witk| (with a lent Shi was very feeble and could scarcely speak, but it seemed to give her great pleasure to have her husband with her; she expected to die, and told him so, committing her two children to his care and praying him to fill, as nearly as possible, her place to them; he tried to comfort her, and even attempted to laugh away her fears, bat there was no heartiness in his voice, and only the blindest love could have thought that he meant the words he said. But Mamie's love was blind now ; in the hour which drew her close to the grave, as she thought, she forgave and forgot all his past neglect, all his coldness, all his unkindness ; she could only remember that he was her husband, the father of her children, and that he had loved her once ; and, when he whispered " Try to live for me, darling," she believed he felt the words he uttered, that his old love was returning, and she humbly prayed that her life might be spared, and that she might prove a source of joy and comfort to him in the future. The day of the seventh was murky and overcast, the sun seemed ashamed to shine out boldly, and only showed his face occasionally for a few minutes ; it rained fitfully, and the wind sighed mourn- fully through the trees surrounding the cottage ; altogether it was a very disagreeable day, and one calculated to depress the spirits. Dr. Griffith was fully conscious of its enervating influence, and after supper he went for a short walk to try and drive away the feeling of depression which was fast stealing over him. He felt "out of sorts " and tried air and exercise to invigorate him. Mamie was asleep when he returned, but the nurse told him that the village doctor had called during his absence and given her a sleeping draught. '* And he says, sir, that she looks a little better, and if she passes a good night there will be no danger," she added, as he turned to- 1 wards his wife's room. He stood by the bedside for some minutes, gazing intently at her, j but he did not seem to see her, his gaze was fixed far, far beyond in that dim and distant future which we are all trying to read, but whose mysteries we cannot pierce. At last he aroused himself with a start and watched her attentively as she slept, calm and peaceful as a little child. Her breathing was soft and regular and {the faintest tinge of color was returning to her cheeks; he care- Ifally tpok her wri&t in his hand and counted the pulse ; it was {very weak, but it was regular and fast assuming a healthy tone, it F i. f 76 HARD TO BEAT. was clear that the fever was abating and Mamie's chances oflifo were largely increasing. " Curse her," he muttered, '* the doctor is right, she will live, and if she lives what am I to do ? " He returned to the parlor and sat for a while thinking deeply ; a basket containing some knitting was lying on the table whero Mamie had left it when she was taken ill; mechanically ho began playing with the contents, pulling over the work without noticing what he was doing. It was a little jacket she had been knitting for the baby she expected, and the pins had been left sticking in the large ball of scarlet worsted; he pulled one of the pins out and began idly pushing it in and pulling it out of the ball ; again tind again he stuck it, sometimes with a fierce stab as if he was driving it into an enemy, sometimes with gentle carefulness as if testing the amount of resistance the fluffy substance offered to the blunt point of the instrument ; that bright little rod of glittering steel seemed to possess a curious fascination for him, and he sat playing with it until the clock tolled out the hour of midnight. He rose feeling h^t and feverish and opened the window to let in the cooling air, but still he held the little piece of steel in his hand, and still the thought was ringing in his ears, ** if she lives what am I to do ? " He turned from the window and approached his wife's room. "Half-an-hourwill tell now," he said, " If she awakes from this sleep with the fever gone, the doctor will be right and she will live ; and if she lives what am I to do ? " convulHi\ •* It is a terrible blow, my dear sir, a very terrible blow, but not quite unexpected ; you must endeavour to bear it with fortitude and not give way to your feelings too freely. We must all die, it i8 natural to die, sir, and we all have to do it at some time or other. The case was a bad one from the commencement, great prostration, never saw a person more thoroughly prostrated in my life ; to be sure I did have some hope last night, she seemed to be rallying a little, but it was only momentary, the last struggle, the final flic- kering up of life before it went out forever. It is sad, sir, very sad to lose so estimable a lady, but we must all die." It was the village doctor who spoke, and the scene was Mamie's bed-rodm. How still and solemn it seemed in the early morning light, and how awful in its terrible quiet seemed that rigid figure lying on the bed. So cold, so calm, so still ; a slight smile still ■m ^miim DR. GRIFFITH FINDS HIMSELF FREE. 77 hung around the lips whore it had been frozen by the icy hand of death ; the eyes were cloHod, and the face was calm and peaceful ; death must have come without a struggle, and the spirit have winged it way to its Creator without pain. Very peaceful and placid it looked in the grey tints of morning, very happy and con- tented to die ; but terrible, oh, fearfully terrible to the one who knelt cowering by the bod-side, his face hidden in his hands and convulsive sobs shaking his whole frame; he was free, he had attained the hope for which he had hoped and plotted ; the one barrier to his union with Annie llowson was removed ; but, as Harry Griffith knelt by that still, placid figure, he would have given up all his schemes, forfeited all his hopes, abandoned all his plans, if he could only have put the life back into that inanimate clay. It was the reaction after the long strain on his nerves which caused the sudden outburst of fooling, the village doctor had wit- nessed, more than any strong returning passion for the dead ; for a few minutes he really did feel that he could give up all to restore her to life once more, but it soon passed, and the cold, hard feeling of joj' that the one obstacle in his way had been removed, returned, and ho rose from his knees without one feeling of pity or sorrow in his heart for the one who had been cut off in the pride of her womanhood. The baby did not long survive its mother, and, on the day fol- lowing, mother and child were buried in one grave in the village churchyard. Dr. Griffith attended the funeral and mourned as became a bereaved husband and father, and a few of the villagers with whom Mamie had become acquainted during her brief sojourn amongst them also attended out of respect, and were not surprised at the depth of emotion shown by the new-made widower. Harry Griffith was a good actor, and few could have imagined that [ his grief was not real and that, under the outward garb of sorrow, there was a devilish joy filling his heart; all danger was f)assod I now, and he would win "Annie Howson and one hundred thous- I and dollars." After the funeral Dr. Griffith had the cottage closed up, dis- I charged the servants with handsome presents for their care of their dead mistress, and took his little girl over to Montreal with him. That afternoon Fan was placed in the Hochelaga Convent, where he had determined to leave her until he made up his mind "m- 78 HARD TO BEAT. as to what her Aiture life was to be, and he retarned to his office on Beaver Hull Hill for the first time in four days. He ibund two notes awaiting him ; one was fVom Annie reproaching him for his neglect in not calling on her, and asking him to see her immediately as she had something important to communicate ; the other ran as follows : Montreal, September ')th, 1870. Deab Doo, — Having being out of the city on business for the past ten days has prevented my calling on you sooner. You will be glad to hear that I have found the gal — of course you'll bo glad, you said so, and as I'm a perfect gentleman myself I alway» believe what another gentleman says. I've found her for certain — how is that for high, Doc? She's living over in Longueuil— how is that for low, Doc ? She is visited constantly by a Mr. Griffith — how is that for Jack, Doc ? and I'm coming to see you to-morrow evening to get my five hundred dollars— how is that for game, Doc ? Five hundred dollars ain't much considering the stakes you're playing for; but, I am a perfect gentleman and as that was the sum agreed on, it will do for the present. Eight o'clock sharp I'll be with you, until then I remain. Yours to command, Jambs Harwat. The letter, was written in a sprawling, irregular, shaky hand, as if the writer was not very much given to correspondence, and his | nerves were rather unsteady ; the odor of stale tobacco hung pi pably about it, and on one corner was the unmistakable impress I of a wet glass, which bad probably been placed there to hold thej paper steady. Dr. Griffith smiled in a quiet, satisfied way as he read the note! and then tore it into small pieces and threw them into the emptyj grate. " All right, my dilapidated friend," thought he, " you can comel as soon as you please now, you are too late, for I am free nowandl by to-morrow i-ight, if I mistake not, I shall have no cause to carel how soon it is known that Mamie Morton was not drowned six| years ago, but was buried today in Longueuil Cemetery." He ate his supper with a good appetite, smoked a cigar withl apparent relish, and started about half-past seven to pay a visit to| Miss HowBon. SCENE IV. MISS MOXTON FINDS HCR8BLF DIHQUSTED. M1B8 H0W8ON was alono when the doctor arrived. Miss Moxton, whonmongnt other peculiarities had a perfect mania for walking, had ^one for a constitutional, accompanied by Julia, who went under protest, and Mr. Howson was in his study looking over some new magazines; the parlor was therefore free to the lovers, and they were nothing loth to enjoy the pleasures of a Uteh-Ute. The doctor soon managed to get himself forgiven for his appar- ent ne<;ligence. He pleaded that important business had called him out of town, but forgot to mention what the business was or whore it had calli>d him, and Miss Howson was so well pleased to have him with her that she did not press him very closely with questions. She informed him of what had passed between Charlie Morton and herself, and he bit his lip with vexation as she said that Morton half promised to use his influence with her father to gain his con- sent to her marriage. " Annie," he said, half sternly, '' I don't want Charlie Morton's interference or assistance ; I think 1 am quite able to manage my own affairs without his help, and I am sorry you spoke to him at all about our engagement." " But, Harry, how much longer is our engagement to be kept secret ? I want it known as soon as possible ; there is no use being engaged unless the other girls know it." Dr. Griffith was not in quite so great a hurry to proclaim his engagement as Miss Howson appeared to be. Somehow a thought of that lonely grave in Longueuil would recur to him, nnd he felt as if be would prefer that a little more time elapsed before he took to himself another wife ; yet he did not let Miss Howson fancy that he was not as anxious as heisolf to proclaim their engagement, so he said : "I think to-morrow will end our concealment. I have paid more attention to your father of late, and I think I can venture to ask him for you now with a reasonable chance of success. Yes, to-morrow I shall ask him for you, Annie, and if he refuses his consent we must " " Do without it," whispered Miss Howson. " Oh, Harry, I hope ! I Pi 80 HABD TO BEAT. papa won't force me to it, but I'd run away with you to-morrow night, if you asked me." " Then I do ask you. Promise me that if your father refuses his consent you will elope with me to-morrow night. We can easily arrange the details without exciting any suspicion ; the train leaves for Toronto at eight o'clock, you can take a walk with your aunt about half-past seven ; it will not be very difficult to induce her to walk in the direction of the depot ; I will meet you there, and before she can recover from her surprise we will be far beyond pursuit. I will try hard, darling," — here he j. ftced his arm around her waist, — " to gain your father's consent ; only should he refuse it let us carry out our plan." Miss Howeon's head had gradually drooped toward his shoulder until it finally rented on it ; her face was raised to his, and bright, happy tears stood in her eyes : " I'll go with you, Harry, anywhere you ask me," she threw one arm around his neck and held her lips up to be kissed. Of course he kissed 'them ; they were warm, sweet, kissable lips, and it would have needed the soul of an anchorite to resist the temptation ; there was no show of resistance, and he kissed her pgain and again, getting more and more determined to win her with or without her father's consent. *• Well, I'm disgusted," exclaimed a hard, cold, clear voice, and the astonished pair saw the rigid figure of Miss Moxton standing before them. " Annie, I'm ashamed of you, as for you, sir, it's a shame, a perfect shame," and the flexible nose went up and the angular figure drew itself more pointedly together. The fact was that Miss Moxton's pedestrian predilections had not been thoroughly gratified, and she had been forced to return home somewhat summarily; M 3 Julia had obstinately refused to walk the many miles Miss Moxton had proposed to travel, and had resolutely sot her face towai*ds home ; this placed Miss Mox- ton in a dilemma; propriety forbade that Julia should walk home alone ; propriety also forbade that Miss Moxton should continue her walk unattended, and while propriety was thinking the mat- ter ovfcv, Julia was obstinately walking towards home; it did not take Miss Moxton long to discover that she had the worst of the position, and to induce her to accompany Julia, and so it chanced tiiat returning long before she was expected, and entering without any noi«e, Miss Moxton found Miss Howson in her lover's arms. " I assure yc i. Miss Moxton," said Dr. Griffith, starting up ; "I assure you that " \i ;r MISS MOXTON FINDS HERSELF DISGUSTED. SI '•Never mind your assurance, sir," replied Miss Moxton, in her most severe and acid tones, and with an extra upturn of the flex- ible nose. "I see you hare assurance enough and to spare; but I think it is only proper that Mr. Howson should be informed as to the terms of intimacy his daughter is on with a stronger." Miss Moxton turned to leave the room, but Miss Howson sprang to the door before her and stopped her exit. *' Don't say anything to father to-night, auntie," she said, " Harry intends to tell him of our engagement to-morrow." Miss Moxton made no I'eply, but with a scornful elevation of the DOse succeeded in opening the door and securing her retreat. Hor absence was a very brief one, for she quickly returned accompanied by Mr. Howson. " My sister-in-law has given me some very unpleasant informa- tion ; may I ask to have a few minutes conversation with you in the library." He bowed to Dr. Griffith and motioned him toward the door. The doctor did as requested, but paused for a moment to lock at Miss Howson who was weeping on the sofa, and at Miss Moxton who was standing rigid in the centre of the room. As he opened the door the latter lady gave a vigorous toss of her head and said : " Im perfectly disgusted." •p 3fC 9|C 3p T* ^ ^ Mr. Howson's interview with Dr. Griffith was very short, and eminently unsatisfactory to that gentleman; in very plain and con- cise terms he refused his consent to his marriage with Annie, and desired that the engagement should be considered as broken. He politely, but firmly, refused to listen to any explanation from the doctor, and finally bowed that gentleman out before he had time to fully recover from his astonishment. The doctor returned to the parlor to get his hat and coat, and contrived to whisper to Miss Howson as he passed her : " Remember, to-morrow night." She answered with an inclination of hor head, but so slight that neither of the two other occupants of the room noti^od it. The doctor then bowed with rather excessive politeness to Miss Mox- ton, who only elevated her nose^ and loft the house. Mr. Howson returned to the parlor and spoke to Miss Annie [who was still lying on the sofa crying. He was not harsh with her, but very firm; in almost the same words he had used to Dr^ Griffith he told her that he would not consent to her engagement. 62 HABD TO BEAT. " I know very little about the man," he said, " and nothing to his advantage ; he seems to be an ^-Venturer who is probably trying to marry you for the sake » "tke fortune he fancies be will get with you. I am sorry I did ij. un^^eceive him on that point, for you may as well understand that if you marry without my con- sent, you do so on your own responsibility, and not one cent of my fortune do you get. You will vevy seriously displease me if you have any further communication with this man ; yon have known him but a short while, and I do not think your feelings can be very deeply interested. I should like to see you married, but to some good man whom I know would take good care of you, not to some adventurer whose very name might not belong to him for all we know." Mr. Howson seldom indulged in so long a speech, and hisdaut^h- ter knew him well ough to feel assured that it would be useless to remonstrate with him ; he had " made up his mind," and when he had done that it was a very difficult thing to induce him to change it ; perhaps, with Charlie Morton's help she mig; succeed, but if that failed she was iully determined to elope with the doctor, She had inherited some of her fathers obstinacy, and her mind was as firmly made up to many the doctor aw his was to ftrevent ^ her. " She said nothing, but before she went to bed that night Hhe penned the following note which was delivered to Dr. Griffiih next morning : "Dear Harry, " Father continues to re' use his consent. We will do without it, I will meet you at the depot at seven this evening; we can be married before we leave the city, can't we? It would be bet ter I I think. " Annie. ACT lY.— ON THE TRACK. SCENE I. MR. HARWAY GETS KICKED OUT. Time, September tenth, eighteen hundred and seventy ; place, Dr. Griffith's office on Beaver Hall Hill. That amiably-disposed gentleman, Mr. Harway, had not allowed so long a time to elapse before calling on Dr. Griffith without having good reasons for so doing. He had watched the house at Longueuil for two or three days, and had formed an acquaintance with the smart little servant girl from whom he soon gained all the information it was in her power to give. From her he learned that Mrs. Griffith had resided in Now York for some years with bor husband ; and, as he was determined to present as strong a .jO as possible to the doctor, he repaired to New York for the purpose of gathering, if he could full particulars of the marriage, to settle, if practicable, the doubt which had arisen in his mind aa to whether the hvly who was called Mrs. Griffith in Longueuil was really Mamie Morton, or some one who bore the title " Mrs." only by courtesy. It puzzled him rather to think that the doctor should contem- plate so serious a crime as bigamy with the evidence of his guilt no conveniently at hand ; and he feared that after all he might be mistaken, and that the doctor may have to! i the truth when he md Mamie was deatl, and that the lady at Longueuil may not have any claims on him which would prevent his marriage with MissHowson; he, therefore, determined to gather all the facts possible relating to the case before making his demand on the doc- tor for the promised five hundred dollars. Hin visit to New York had proved entirely successful, although it had taken him longer than he had anticipated. His sister had left the city and Bowles had gone on a voyage, as ho discovctred from the owners of the ship in which he was mate. After some time Mr. Harway succeeded in finding Mrs. Bowles, who was re- Il]>::'" 84 HARD TO BEAT. siding at Yonkers, and from her he learned where and when Ma- mie Morton had been married to Harry Griffith, and without much difficulty obtained a copy of the certificate of marriage ; he also found out that the lady in Longuouil was undoubtedly the same who was saved from the wreck of the Gazelle, and married in New York six years ago, for Mrs. Bowles had seen her often, the last time only a few days before her departure for Montreal where she said she was going to meet her husband. Mr. Harway did not enlighten his sister as to his reasons for being so inquisitive about Mrs. Griffith's affairs, but fully satisfied with the information he had gained, he returned to Montreal and wrote the letter we have already seen to Dr. Griffith. He had no fear that Mrs. Griffith would be taken away from Longueuil, for the smart little servant girl had informed him of the expected baby, and somehow it never occurred to him for a moment that she might die ; it was, therefore, with a light heart and full con- fidence of success that he approached Dr. Griffith's office on the evening in question. The doctor was out when he called, and Mr. Harway retired to a neighboring restaurant and regaled himself with liberal doses of cold gin and water until it was almost ten o'clock, when he returned to the doctor's office. Dr. Griffith was in when he called the second time, but Mr. Harway could see at a glance that he was not in a very amiable mood ; his brow was knitted, and a dull passion shone in his eyes which showed that his temper was none of the mildest, and that it would be dangerous to trifle with him. He had not yet recovered from his interview with Mr. Howson, and he looked very much as if would like to have some object to vent his anger on, Mr. Harway noticed the look and instinctively kept near the door, remaining standing with the dilapidated hat in one hand and the dirty handkerchief in the other, as if prepared for instant flight on the first hostile demonstration. The dirty handkerchief was dirtier than ever, and appeared to have been innocent of soap and water since we last saw Mr. Harway using it; he gave it a" slight flourish now, and polished his face a bit before addressinr ' 'le doctor. Griffith sat by the table smiling rather grimly at his visitor and apparently enjoying his surprise at his cool reception. •' So, yon have really had the impudence to come back, after what I promised you. Well, what is your'story now. You have found Mamie, I suppose?" M' hU: 'II'IPP MR. HARWAY GETS KICKED OUT. 85 " Yes ; she is living in Longueuil." " That's a lie.'? " I'm a perfect gentleman, and as such I never tell a lie when the truth will do as well. I saw you with her with my own two eyes. I'm blessed if I did'nt, ten days ago." « Did you? Well you might have seen me in Longueuil some days ago with a lady whom I allowed to call herself Mrs. Griffith, a title she had no legal claim to; but how can you prove that that lady was Mamie Morton, or my wife ? " Bad as he was it cost him a pang to say this, and he turned a little way as he spoke of Mamie as being his mistress. " You're a deep one, Doc," said Mr. Harway partially recover- ing his composure and advancing a little from his position near the door, "you're a deep one, but 1 think I can prove too many lor you. You see, I thought you would try some such game as this, so I'm ready to answer all questions ; for I'm a perfect gentleman, and it ain't polite to refuse to answer another gentle- man's questions, if they are civilly put. I know you're married, for 1 haw the ceremony, and I've been to New York and have a copy of the certificate; I know it's Miss Morton you married, for I recognized her myself as the gal I saved, and my sister, who saw her only two or three days before she left New York, will come on here and identify her. Oh, you're a deep one, Doc, but I ouchre you this time, for I've got both bowers and the ace, and I mean to play them unless you do the square thing." "Do you? Play away, my dilapidated friend, but you won't win. How long is it since you were in Longueuil ? " "About ten days." "Then you have not seen this?" As he spoke he extended a copy of the Star for that evening to Mr. Harway who read, with j astonishment, the following paragraph under the heading Deaths": " At Longueuil, on 7th inst., Mrs. Mary Griffith, aged thirty- lone." " Well, I'm blessed I " exclaimed Mr. Harway, depositing the [dilapidated hat on the floor and taking both hands to give his face a good polishing with the dirty handkercheif " I'm blessed if [you ain't killed her again." " Killed her. Who says so ? " shouted the doctor in eo fierce a i manner, and springing forward so suddenly that Mr. Harway made one desperate dive for the dilapidated hat, and, missing it, I bolted bare-headed for the door. Once gaining this point of '";:%' Sd HARD TO BEAT. 81 vantage, he stood half-in half-out of the room, holding the door with one hand so as to be able to close it at a moment's warning and ventured to explain : " You needn't cut up so rough, Doe, I didn't mean to say you had murdered the gal, of course not, you ain't such a fool as that ; I mean you're trying to play off again that she's dead when she ain't. But it won't do," he continued, gaining confidence and edging himself slightly towards the delapidated hat, '« it won't do; I see your game plain now, and if you don't do the right thing by twelve o'clock to-morrow, I'll blow the whole story to Mr. Mor'^n and Mr. Howsou ; they'll thank me, and pay me too, so you see it ain't no use cutting up rough, Doc, for if you don't come down v;ith the dust right off, I'll let the cat out of the bu;^ sure as my name is James Harway, and I'm a perfect gentleman, and I never tell a lie when the truth will do as well." He stooped, as he finished, to pick up the dilapidated hat, with the evident intention of making a dignified and imposing exit; but the temptation of the bent figure was too great for Dr. GriflBlh, and ere, Mr. Harway had regained an upright position, the doctor's foot was raised, and a vigorous and well directed kick sent the perfect gentleman head first into the hall- way, where he carromed on the hat-rack and pocketed himself in the coal scuttle standing at the foot of the stairs, and lay a helpless mass, while the doctor stood over him glowering with rage, and looking very much as if he intended to repeat the operation. " Will you ?" he exclaimed fiercely, " then let me tell you that if you are not out of Montreal before to-morrow I will have you in jail for robbery and arson. I've btsen making inquiries too, and I've made discoveries as well as you, and I have discovered that Mr. James Harway is very badly wanted at Brattleboro, Vt., to explain what he knows about breaking into thu Bank there three monthj; ago and setting fire to it. I've telegraphed for the detectives, and they will be here to-morrow morning ; so if you know what is good for you I would advise you to get out of this at once ; it's no use trying to blackmail me for I won't stand it, and your secret, as you call it, is worth nothing ; if I really cared that Charlie Morton should not know that his sister only died thret' days ago insteaii of six years, as he supposes, would I have ad- vertised her death in the p»pers where anybody can see it. You are a very shallow fool, my dilapidated friend, ard k*ve ove^ reached yo«rself by trying to be too smart. A w«ek or ten days ■Tff^ MR. FOWLER GETS DRUNK. 87 le door arning, Bay you 9» that ; hen she ice and 'on'tdo. thing by . Moron ou see il ne down re as my i I never hat, with ing exit; . Griffith. B doctor's sent the sarromed standing be doctor much as I you that lave you too, and that Mr. Lo explain |e months |,ives, and what is^ |>nee ; it's md your red thai ted threi' lave ad- I it. You kve ove^ ten days ago I might have been induced to buy you otf, but now I am free, and nothing will you got from mo but hard words and harder blows. I have the cards in my own hand now and I mean to win, and when I say that, I am hard to beat." He slammed the office door behind him and left Mr. Harway to pick himself up and leave the house the best way he could. That gentleman did not, however, seem in a great hun*y to leave, for he remained several seconds where he had fallen, wiping his face in a mechanical sort of way with the dirty handkerchief, and ejaculating occasionally, » I'm blessed." At last he rose, shook himself together a bit, put on the dilapi- dated hat, brushed his boots with the diriy handkerchief as if to bhake the dust from olf his feet, and slowly left the house. Once bale on the sidewalk he paused a moment and shaking his fist at *hc iiouse, said : '•This game ain't played out yet, Doc, and you don't hold as many trumps as you suppose ; I'll have to clear out pretty sudden, that's evident, I don't want any detectives after me, but I'll five a shot at you before I go that'll make you jump. Hard to beat, arc you ? Well so am I, plaguy hard, as you'll find out before I'm done with you. Kick me out, did you ? I'll make that the worst kick you ever gave anybody as sure as I'm a perfect gentle- man. I'm blessed," he continued, turning to go down the hill, " if I ain't as dry as a red hot stove. I must get a little cool, re- freshing gin pretty soon,, or I'll go off by spontaneous combus- tion." The idea of so lamentable an occurrence seemed to animate him greatly, and he started down the hill at a good pace. SCENE II. MR. FOWLER 0ET8 DRUNK. Time, September tenth, eighteen hundred and seventy; place, Mrs. Grub's boarding-house in 3t. Urbain street. Mr. Augustus Fowler, commonly known as " Gus," stood before tho cracked looking-glass in his room in St. Urbain street, endea- voring to arrange his neck-tie to his entire satisfaction : and at Ijtet, al^or fiftoon minutes of hard labor and great loss of patience, he found he had so rirumpled and soiled the delicate white muslin mm |i[l m \'''i'. I 88 HARD TO BEAT. cravat he had intended to wear, that he was forced to abandon the idea of using it, and content himself with a black "butterfly" which had'seen nome service, but which possessed the advnntnge of having only to be hooked on to his collar button. You may laugh, if you please to, at Mr. Fowler for his clumsi- ness, but I tell you there is more in tying a neck-tie than is gen- erally supposed. A neck-tie per se is generall}' an amiable and well-disposed article of dress to manage, that is when a man don't care much whether it ties or not; a dexterous twist of the wrists, a skilful use of the thumbs and fore-fingers, and it falls into its place at once ; but, make a combination of love and a neck-tie, and the tie immediately becomes a fierce and untameable monster, obstinately refusing to be managed on any terms, and slipping, twisting, crumpling, and getting dirty in a most extraordinary manner. Mr. Fowler was in love, and — mind this is a secret — he was go- ing to see his girl. Is it any wonder then that it took him so long to arrange his neck-tie to his satisfaction ; first it refused to go under the collar at all, and, slipping from his hand, fell on the floor, when he put his foot on it and soiled one end ; then it twisted itself inside out and showed the seam in front, which necessitated his untying it after he had accomplished what he considered a most successful bow. It was a wonderful tie for getting up under the left ear; you may have noticed that ties seem to have a weakness for getting under one ear, and that there is a great partiality shown for the left ear; but this tie of Fowler's was as much in love with his left ear as he. Fowler, was with Bessie Sudlow, and persisted in get- ting up under it so often that by the time he had finished trying to pull it straight for the hundredth time, the tie was finished too, and, having lost all shape and semblance of a well-made cravat, appeared only as a limp, crumpled, dirty piece of muslin, which Mr. Fowlor discarded, and adopted the " butterfly," which, being of gentle disposition, was more easily managed. It was half-past seven, and Mr. Fowler had to hurry, or run the dreadflil risk of being late, and so receive Miss Bessie's reproaches | he therefore endeavored to complete the remainder of his toilette as speedily as possible. His hair did not take him over five minutes ; it had been cut, and shampooed, and oiled, and brushed, and curled, and puffed up to the last point of excruciation only halt-an-hour before by one ii MR. FOWLER 0KT8 DRUNK. 89 on the erfly" [intnge slumsl- is gen- )lc and ,n don't wrists, into its jeck-tic, ftonster, iUpping, »rdiiiary was go- ; him 80 jfused to II on the t twisted essitated jidered a jar; you getting for the his left in get- trying hod too, cravat, n, which h, being ■ run the caches ; toilette jeen cut, puffed up by one of theSW Lawrence Hall barbers, and Mr. Fowler had not intended to touch it at all ; but, in putting on a clean shirt, which he found absolutely necessary, although extremely careful, ho had an acci- dent ; his collar bn 'ton caught in the puff over the left ear, entire- ly demolishing it, and destroying at one fell tug the work which it had taken a painstaking barber nearly five minutes to accom- lieh. Mr. Fowler did not exactly swear, but he gave vent to a guttural expression which sounded something like an oath, and, as he tried again and again to restore that puff over the left ear to something like its pristine splendor, he gave vent to various ex- pressions of impatience which did not sound altogether like bless- ings. At last the puff over the left ear was settled to his satisfaction ; his neck-tie remained firm and well arranged under his collar ; his nether habiliments hung gracefully to his heels; his shirtfVont presented an unruffled space of white linen, starched to the last degree of stiffness, and ornamented with three small gold studs, and he had nothing to do but to put on his vest and coat and be ready to start. Nothing else to do? Mr. Fowler remembered, with a sudden [start, and a cold feeling down the back, that he did have some- thing else to do, and that something very important, and he looked [down at his slippered feet with a sigh. He had forgotten to put on his boots. Now putting on a pair of boots, especially old, well-worn ones lis not a difficult or dangerous task ; but, struggling into a bran Inew pair of patent leathers — made tight in the leg to suit the close- fitting ti-owsers — is a very different thing, and Mr. Fowler fully recognized the fact as he gazed at the brightly shining foot coverers calmly reposing under the table, and despairingly contemplated ^he probable consequences to the stiffly-starched shirt-front, or the ossibility of bursting a button off his pantaloons, or of totally mihiiating his shirt-collar. There was no help for it ; he must get them on ; he could not go in his slippers, and his old boots were too far advanced into the ['sere and yellow" to be seen in company with the gorgeous kpparel which he had provided especially for this occasion ; he, therefore, sat with a sigh of resignation on the edge of a chair pd tried to persuade the new-comers to go on easy. He tried the right boot first — somehow men generally do try be right boot first — and it went on beautifully ; one strong steady p ip;r i 90 HARD TO BRAT. pull, a slight wriggling of the toes, a light tap of the heel, and It was on. Mr. Fowler felt so elated at hissuccesB that he rose and walked a few steps about the room in the one boot and a ulipper to see how it went. It went well ; and he re-seated himself with a satisfied air to try the left boot. When accidents happen, they usually occur with the left boot, and so it was with Mr. Fowler ; just in proportion as the right boot had gone on easy, so the left boot seemed determined to have a struggle for it before yielding and allowing itself to be walked in as any respectable boot ought to do. First there was a decided misunderstanding between the heel and the instep ; both wanted to go down together — the heel having a little the worst of it,— which resulted in a dead-lock, and no amount of wriggling and steady pulling could persuade that boot to budge ; then Mr. Fowler diHcovored that the boot was twisted a little, and he had to take it off and put it on straight, then the toes got bent under the sock, which had become a little damp with the perspiration super- induced by the exertion of the first encounter, stuck to the lining of the boot, and another dead lock ensued. A good five minutes hod been spent ; the hands of the clock pointed to five minutes to eight, and Mr. Fowler very nearly swore as he pulled off the refractory boot for the second time ; he roHe and, going to the dressing-table, took up a box of powdered chalk, and poured a portion of its contents into the boot, giving it a good shake to make the powder spread. " I'll get you on this time," he muttered, •' or I'll know why." He knew why right off. Seating himself on the edge of the chair, he elevated his foot, inserted it into the boot, and, after gently working it well down, gave ** a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether," firmly determined to get it on then or never. But, alas for the vanity of human expectations I While the foot I was at its greatest altitude, while the pull was at its maximuin strength, and the boot at its severest point of resistance, " crack, crack," went both straps, and Mr. Fowler, totally unprepared for so unforeseen a catastrophe, fell backward over the chair, and! rolled iguominiously on the floor, to the serious disarrangement! of the stiff shirt-front, and very nearly causing a dislocation of j the collar button. Then he did swear. There was no doubt at all about it thul time ; he gave vent to an expression which ought to have con-l vinced any right-minded boot that it ought to go on-, but no, tbati MR. FOWLRR GETS DRUNK. 91 and it »o and )poi' to with a [t boot, e rijjht to have wall^ed decided wanted of it,— ling and '. Fowler o take it ,he Hock, n super- he lining the cloclc riy Bwore ho rone )Owdered )t, giving V why." ge of the and, after ■ong vA or never, the foot maximui' ( " crack, iparedfor jhair, &m rangeraentl location of put it th»| have con- at no, thrtj obstinate boot was beyond control, and could not be by any means persuaded to do its duty, and so, after one more ineffectual trial, Mr. Fowler was forced to give up the contest. Mournfully he pulled off the right boot, which had behaved so well ; spitefully he kicked away the left boot, which had behaved so badly ; and, with a gad, but resigned smile, put on the old boots which ho had so Bcornfully rejected a few minutes before. The boots were old ; they wore slightly torn, and they needed cleaning; but there was no help for it, he must wear them or nothing, so he wisely determined to submit to circumstances and don his old friends, mentally resolving, however, that he would keep his feet as much under the sofa as possible, or hide thom be- hind the friendly shade of Bessie's dress if he was permitted to sit sufficiently close to her. But they needed cleaning. That fault was quickly remedied, and in a short time he had them shining like mirrors. He pulled thenn on, placed his feet together and gazed at them with some- thing like a smile of satisfaction ; they did not look so bad after all ; it was wonderful how a good dose of blacking and a little skilful brushing had improved their personal appearance. Ah I there was one flaw he discovered ; the right toe had been missed ; it did not shine with the refulgent brightness of the surrounding leather : he elevated his foot on the edge of the chair, stooped over, brush in hand, to rectify the omission, and — oh I luckless Fowler ! — in that fatal moment the sole button by which his braces were fastened behind gave way with a loud snap, and he could feel his trowsers give a sudden start towards his knees. Here was a terrible position ; he could not go out without braces, his trowsers would not keep up without them : it was too late to think of taking them oflF and sewing on a button, it would take too much time, so there was nothing left to do but to go down stairs to the servant girl, and meekly request her to pin him up, which she obligingly consented to do, and accomplished the task after having only twice run the pin into his back. Poor Fowler ! his misfortunes had been great, and he was not in a very sweet or serene mood when he finally lit a cigarette — a cigar would have taken too long to smoke — and, after putting a few cloves in his pocket, started for Miss Sudlow's residence. *X» ^1^ %l0 %l^ aXf ^^ \t^ Miss Bessie Sudlow, the object of Mr. Fowler's adoration, was a fair-haired little creature of sixteen with whom he had managed IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I jl5 2.5 IM 2.2 ■16 m 2.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ■^ 6" ► VI 6> N^ ,% ^^ /S^ ''^i '/ Photographic Sdences Corporation m V «^ \\ ^ her and L have to I. Come lost dark ESSIE." ,he house away the from his He then condition his collar that lett is vest to perfectly bell, the slight through the door; lat ;— and adorned le another up again, "Yes, darling." Mr. Fowler used the word darling because he felt confident he could not be overheard, and be also gained a little additional assurance from the fact of a two inch door interposing between him and the person be thus ventured to address. He had thought several times that he would like to call Bessie " darling," but, somehow, when the proper moment for using the term arrived , he had always lost courage and had substituted some other word not quite as affectionate ; but now, thanks to the interposing door he had gained courage enough to use the term, and he felt as if he had accomplished something, and mentally determined to try to use it again when there was no interposing door and it might lead to happier results. " Oh, dear ! " said the voice on the other side of the door, " the door is locked 1 " " Unlock it, darling," promptly replied Mr. Fowler, now fully ma'.ing up his mind to use that term of endearment and no other. " But I can't, Gus, the key is gone." " D n it," ejaculated Mr. Fowler ; this word sounded a little, avery little, like "darling" through the key-hole, and Miss Bessie thought it was, but the now enlightened reader knows it wasn't. " Oh, Gus," she said, " what shall I do ; that old fool Chloe has locked me in and carried away the key. I cannot open the door." " I can't crawl through the key-hole, darling," said Mr. Fowler with a desperate attempt at gaiety, but feeling that if Chloe had been present in the flesh, and he had a good big pocket knife, he would have liked to cut her up into small pieces and introduce her in detail into the aforesaid orifice. '• No, Gus," said Miss Bessie, " but— but — don't you think — perhaps — couldn't you try — that is, the window isn't very high, you know." "Of course it isn't," said Mr. Fowler, as the idea suddenly dawned on him. " I've climbed higher places before now." " Then wait a minute until I open it, and you can get in that way." There was another gentle rustle of crinoline, and the soft trip- ping of little feet, and Mr. Fowler gave a slight hitch to his trowsei-s, just as sailors are popularly supposed to be constantly doing, and prepared to climb up through the window. i i94 HARD TO BEAT. I have, said that there was a low picket fence enclosing the few feet of ground in front of the house, and against this Mr. Fowler leaned in the most picturesque attitude he knew how to assume, unul the window opened and Miss Bessie appeared. How beautiful she looked in the dim, shadowy light with her golden hair framing her pure, girlish face all aglow with excite- ment, and the dim gas light — it was bad as she had said — throw- ing a faint beam of brightness over her. Very beautiful she looked, and very deeply in love Mr. Fowler felt, and he deter- mined to exhibit his prowess betbre his lady love, as gallant knights of old were wont to do before theirs. I have said that the picket fence was low, in fact it was about two feet and a half high, and as Mr. Fowler's left hand rested on the top he thought he would exhibit his powers as a gymnast- he was a pretty good one too — and so he made a slight spring and vaulted lightly over it. Oh, p^or misguided Fowler ! what made you change color so violently, and place your hand so suddenly behind you, as you alighted on the little grass plot ? That treacherous pin had given way, his braces were again unfastened and his trowsers in imminent danger of sagging down uncomfortably. There was no friendly servant maid at hand now; no way to repair the terrible damage, and he could only look up at the beauteous vision above him and sigh. The window was about eight feet high, and Fowler could have easily sprung up so as to grasp the window sill and swing himself into the room ; but, " what would be the consequences ?" He shuddered as he thought what they might be, and he stretched his hand up, as if to test the distance, and said sadly, " It's too high." " Can't you jump, Gus ? " asked Miss Bessie, who was rather hurt at her lover's apparent apathy, " I thought you could jump ever so high." "I could," said Mr. Fowler, sadly, "but — but I've sprained my," braces, he was going to say, but added, " ankle." " Oh, I'm so sorry," said Miss Bessie, leaning down towards him, and looking more like an angel than ever, he thought, '* does it hurt you much ? " " No — yes — that is, not a great deal." ** I'm sorry," said Miss Bessie again, sympathetically, then, suddenly, " Oh, Gus ! I've a splendid idea ; I'll get the step ladder MR. FOWLER GETS DRUNK. 95 Chloe uses to hang the clothes up and then you can get up without any trouble. Wait a moment, and I will bring it." The beautiful vision, as Mr. Fowler called it, disappeared, and he occupied a few spare minutes before her return in endeavoring to find the remnants of that treacherous pin, so that he might make some kind of temporary repairs, if possible; but no, no trace of the pin could be found, and he could only give an extra hitch or two to his trowsers, and await Miss Bessie's return. She soon came, and tears almost stood in her bright little eyes as she said. " I declare it's too bad, Gus, that iiateful old Chloe has locked the door at the bottom of the stairs leading to the kitchen, and I cannot get the steps to help you up ; I'm so sorry." She leaned far out of the window, and he drew himself together as if for one desperate spring; for one moment he hesitated, then prudence prevailed over rashness and he contented himself with reaching up to her and trying to take her hand. She held it down provokingly near him and he seized the plump little palm in his and gently squeezed it. The pressure was returned ; he could swear it was, and he raised himself yet a little higher that he might press the dainty little fingers to his lips ; his head was thrown back and his gaze fixed on the radiant face which glowed less than two feet above him ; one more effort and he could reach her hand ; his throat was swelling with the strain of stretching so much, but with a strong effort he raised himself a couple of inches, his lips were pressed to her fingers, he was drinking in sweet draughts of loving consent from her eyes when — "crack" went that faithless collar button, his " butterfly " fell to the earth, both ends of his collar started up under his ears, and he dropped to the ground thoroughly disheartened and discouraged. Miss Bessie, who did not know the misfortune which had happened to him, was surprised at his letting go of her hand so suddenly, but she said nothing ; she was just beginning to remember that it was not very proper to have a young man standing under the window kissing her hand, and that some of the neighbors might see it, and report the fact to her mother, so she said : "Gus, it's no use my keeping you standing there, you can't get in, that's evident, and it is after nine now and Chloe might come back at any minute, so I had better say good night. I shall be going to school on Monday, and, if you like, I will meet you after school is over,at the old place, and we will go to Alexander's and have some cream." M HARD TO BEAT. 4 I)' *i IT |l ■M Of course Mr. Fowler could make no response to this but " yos ;" he bad not courage enough now to add " darling," his two mis- fortunes coming so suddenly on him had rather dispirited him, and he climbed over the fence — he did not dare to jump this time — in a rather lazy, careless manner. He stood for a moment sadly on the sidewalk, half-irresolute which way to turn, and then fell on his ear a soft, silvery voice, saying gently: " Good-bye until Monday, Gus, dear." How sweetly that word of endearment slipped from her ruby lips, and how delightful they sounded to the enchanted Mr. Fow- ler ; his heart gave a great bound, and he very nearly scaled the fence and made a jump at the window to steal a kiss from the sweet ruby lips which had uttered that fond word ; but, prudence forbade, and he merely threw back his head and kissed his hand to her, saying gaily: •* Good night, darling." Ah, luckless Fowler, his evil genius was pressing him hard to- night, for as he threw back his head the action made the loose end of his collar fly up and strike him in the eye which caused him to turn weeping away. Mr. Fowler wended his way slowly and sadly down St. Domi- nique street ; he chose the darker and least frequented side of the street — although both sides are dark enough, for that matter — and kept well in the shade of the houses with his coat collar pulled up about his throat. He walked pensively down as far as Craig street and took a short cut across the Champ de Mars, steering as directly as possible for the Richelieu Hotel. Arrived there he enlisted the good services of the urbane bar-keeper, Isidore, and with his aid and assistance got himself pretty securely pinned up — two pins, crosswise, in the braces this time. Then Mr. Fowler thought he would take a drink ; having taken it, he concluded he wanted a smoke, took a cigar and sat down to enjoy it ; after a little while he concluded he would take another drink and did so. I am afraid Mr. Fowler's disturbed and uneasy state of mind had rather interfered with his usual steady and sober habits, for, on the entrance of some acquaintances, he insisted upon standing drinks round on the ground that he was "just going to have one." After that one others followed, and when Mr. Fowler left, in com- MR. l^OWLEB GETS DRUNK. 97 pany with his friends, about ten o'clock, he was very doubtfVil whether there was only one St. Vincent street for him to walk up or two ; if he shut one eye and took a good square look he could only see one ; but, every time he looked with both eyes he could gee two, and one of them seemed to be performing a slow waltis around the other ; which was moving and which was standing Btill he could not quite determine, any more than he could make up his mind which was the nearest way home for him to take, the one that moved or the one that stood still. It was very puzzling to settle this question, and Mr. Fowler loaned up against the house so that he might think about it at his leisure ; what bothered him most was when he shut the left eye and saw one street standing still, it would begin to move as soon as he opened the right eye ; but if he looked with the right eye he could see a stationary street which immediately began moving when he opened the left eye ; that was what he could not settle to his satis- faction, whether it was the street he saw with his right eye that was moving, or whether it was the one he saw with his left, and so he leaned against the wall to think about it. He was not, however, permitted to remain there long, for one of his companions, who was sober, took him by the arm and pulled him forward. "Come on, Gus, old boy," he said. " I had no idea you were so bad as this," '• Tshall rite," replied Mr. Fowler, " I'm porf ly sober ; on' I cou'ndt tell which street to go'p." " What on earth have you been drinking to get you so tight in such a hurry. I never saw you so before. What did you drink ? " " Braces," replied Mr. Fowler, sententiously. « What ? " " An' collar but'n." "I think you must be going mad," replied his companion. "Here, boys," to the others, " call a cab and let ua take him home." A cab was speedily brought and Mr. Fowler and his companions got in. Mr. Fowler recovered quite as rapidly as he had been at- tacked. Uis drunkenness seemed to be of that evanescent kind which will partially prostrate a man for a few minutes, but rapidl y passes away. By the time the cab reached Place d'Armes Hill he was more than half-sober, and protested against going home in each plausible terms that his companions, thinking he was all m 1 iiiii 98 HARD TO BEAT. right agreed to his proposal to go down to Freeman's and have some oysters. After oysters — and a few glasses of " 'alf-and-'alf " to prevent the oysters disagreeing with them — a game of billiards was pro- posed and the four adjourned to Chadwick's where they got a private room and enjoyed a quiet game for about an hour. It must not be supposed that these games were played dry ; on the contrary they were wet games, that is to say the losers of each game had to pay for drinks ; there were not many drinks, because there were not many games ; but Mr. Fowler conceived a passion- ate desire for brandy cock-tails, and not content with the regular drinks on each game indulged in several " drinks between drinks," which tended to make his playing rather peculiar. Wonderful billiards did Mr. Fowler play, and marvellous were the shots he made. The principal difficulty seemed to bo that he saw too many balls on the table ; he never saw less than seven or eight, unless he shut one eye, and then he invariably missed, and the extraordinary manner in which they managed to run about the table without hilting each other greatly surprised him. Still he was not discouraged, and, although he seldom made a shot, and rarely struck anything but the cushion, he was hopeful and con- fident to the last, and felt fully persuaded that when he " got his | hand in " he could do wonders. But although he could do nothing with the balls he did wonders I with the chalk ; every time he missed a stroke he chalked his cue; not content with chalking the tip he covered it half way up its length with a thick coat of chalk ; he chalked the butt ; he chalked his hand clear up to his wrist ; he chalked the cushion every time he had to rest his hand on it; he chalked the bridge whenever he had to use it ; he chalked his trowsers and his nose, and once, in a fit of partial abstraction, he meditatively began chalking hiq head until he had introduced a large premature patch of gv«^\ hairs. Still he wasn't drunk. Oh, dear no I He said he wasn't, ( he ought to know. He kept his legs well, however, walked abontj all right, and talked pretty reasonably ; his face was very muclil flushed, and his eyes looked as if they had been boiled and hadl not „ot thoroughly cooked, but he behaved quietly and orderljj much more so than some sober men do. About eleven the party left Chadwick's and went down to the! St. James, where they had a parting drink, Mr. Fowler avowinn ^^w^fmm MR. FOWLER 0ET8 DRUNK. 90 his intention of going to St. Urbain street, and his companions starting for their boarding-house in University street. I don't think Mr. Fowler could have gone directly home, for it was nearly twelve o'clock when he found himself opposite the Bank of Montreal ; he could still walk a little, but in a very un- certain and wobbling sort of way. The sidewalk in front of the Bank must decidedly have been too narrow, for, although there was no one else near him at the time, Mr. Fowler could not find room to pass the lamp-post, and so ran against it. r^ ' ,, ,. " Skuze me, o' fel'w ; didden shee'r." He leaned up against it, and feeling one of the projecting orna- menis, took hold of it and shook it warmly. '"Shall rite, o' fel'w ; '11 shee'r home, nev' far." He passed his arm affectionately around the post, and leaned his head against it; his hat fell off, but he did not notice it, and in a few seconds he was more than half- asleep. "Look a here, young fellar," said a loud, authoritative voice in his ear, ** this 'ere won't do. What's the matter with you ? " and a blue-coated limb of the law laid his hand on his shoulder and gave him a shake. " 'S hall rite, p'lesman; my fr'n '11 take m' home." . . .,« " Will he ; well I think not ; I'll just run you in and leave you where you'll be well taken care of; so come along, young fellar, and no nonsense with you; and to show his earnestness in his intention of *' running him in" he took Mr. Fowler by the arm and turned his steps towards the Central Station. But it was no use; tired and outraged nature could stand it no longer, and before he had got him fairly across the street, Mr. Fowler was fast asleep and fell heavily on the sidewalk. Fortunately he did [not hurt himself, and the policeman, calling a cab, put him into lit and took him down to the Central Station, where he was placed |in one of the cells in a state of unconsciousness. Mr. Fowler did not awake from bis drunken sleep until about bIx o'clock in the morning. He had not passed a very quiet or agreeable night; he had slept, but that sleep had been greatly disturbed by dreams which were partially realities. Tie dreamt jthat he was chained down to a bed of ice, while legions of fierce M terrible-looking monsters galloped over him, and he was )werless to resist their constant attacks. Monstrously hideous khapes, with long, clammy, sticky legs, seemed to crawl with lickening sliminess over his face, nibbling at his lips and eyes, 100 HARD TO BBAT. and scratching with malignant pleasure the end of his nose. Curious fantastic visions of monster rats, veith huge glittering white teeth, and tails of prodigious length and thickness, pasped before him. Squeaks of surpassing loudness and shrillness were ringing in his ears, and the dull, rusty croaking of gigantic por- tals ever and anon crashed upon his brain. Wild shrieks, and cries, and ribald laughter, and profane words seemed to ring perpetually in the air ; the low wail of sorrow, the wild outburst of frenzy, the piteous pleading of maudlin drunkenness were heard over and over by him. A dim chaos of sound appeared to be rolling constantly .through his mind, and slowly moulding itself into definite shape. He slept ; but it was the troubled, distempered sleep of the drunkard, which racks and wrenches the brain with frightful visions, and leaves him in the morning with tired, ach- ing limbs, and a dull, heavy head with sharp shooting pains dart- ing through it It was still quite dark in the close, fetid cell when Mr. Fowler awoke and tried to collect his scattered senses sufficiently to tell where he was. The horrors of his dream were partially realised, for there were ancient and wise looking rats prospecting about the bodies of the recumbent figures on the damp floor, and regi- ments, squadrons, brigades and armies of cockroaches were per- forming their evolutions along the floor, the walls, the sleepers and the ceiling ; the atmosphere was heavy with the fumes of stale liquor and still staler tobacco, and it seemed as if a combination of every known and unknown stench pervaded the place. There was about a dozen inmates of the cell beside Mr. Fowler, and they were for the most part lying on the floor in all sorts of uncomfortable positions just as they had fallen when first brought in ; some laid on their back with arms and legs distended, mouths open and stentorian breathing denoting that they had not yet re- covered from their drunken sleep ; others were crouched into small heaps, head down, looking as if dead, one or two were awake and standing at the barred door trying to induce the turnkey to pro- j cure them some coifee. One man was sitting in a corner of the i cell mumbling over something to himself, and as Mr. Fowler rose | to approach the door he t^ruck this man with his foot. " I beg your pardon, sir," he said politely, •' it was quite acci- dental I assure you ; but this place is so crowded there is scarcely | room to move without striking some one." " All right," replied the man, " that's enough, you're a gentle- 1 1] "■^^■i^^PBH MR. FOWLER GETS DRUNK. 101 hiB nose, glittering 9R, passed jess were antic por- and cries, jrpetually jf frenzy, sard over be rolling tself into itempered )rain with tired, ach- jains dart- [r. Fowler itly to tell y realised, ;ing about and regi- were per- e sleepers »es of stale ►mbination e. r. Fowler, ill sorts of st brought 3d, rnoutlw not yet re- into small awake and cey to pro- rner of the 'owler rose j quite acci- is scarcely I re a gentle- man I can see, and as I'm a perfect gentleman myself I can't ex- peot anything more than an apology from another gentleman." The man rose and approached the door at the same time as Fowler, and they enquired together if they could be allowed to bail themselves out. Mr. Harway (for, of course, it was him) appeared greatly relieved wheQ tolJ that his bail would be two dollars and a half, and still more so when informed that four dollars and a half had been found on him when he was picked up drunk on Notre Dame street. " All right. Doc," he muttered. " I'll give you the slip yet ; your detectives can't arrive before half-past nine, and by that time I shall be well on my way to New York." He stood near the door while Mr. Fowler made inquiry about his case and overheard what was said. Mr. Fowler's case was very simple, two dollars and a half was required for bail and he was free to go. But here a difficulty arose ; Mr. Fowler didn't happen to have two dollars and a half, and ho inquired whether he could send for a friend. The turnkey replied that he could do so, and, after some delay, brought a small boy who, in consideration of a promised quarter, agreed to go to Mrs. Grub's and inform Mr. Farron of the unpleasant condition his room-mate was in. While Mr. Fowler had been talking to the turnkey, Mr. Hai-way had been observing him attentively ; and, when the boy had been despatched, he turned to Fowler and said : " Excuse me, sir, I'm a perfect gentleman, and I mean no offence, but ain't I seen you somewheres before ? " 'Very likely," replied Mr. Fowler, good humoredly. "I'm pretty well known in Montreal" " I'm blessed I " excjiaimed Mr. Harway, as a sudden light seemed to break in on him. ** I'm blessed if you ain't the jentleman that I was so anxious to break the little game of faro I had at the last races. You shouldn't play so reckless, sir, or you'll lose your money." "I'm pretty sure to lose it playing with you," rejoined Mr. I Fowler, turning away; but Mr. Harway put his hand on his arm I and detained him. "Excuse me, sir, but you were with Mr. Morton that day, [ wasn't you ? " "Yes." " He's a great friend of yours, ain't he ? " 102 HARD TO BEAT. "Yes; what business of yours is that? " " Well, I'm blessed ! " said Mr. llarway, with omphaMis ; " I'm blessed if this ain't the quoo-ost go 1 ever hoard of. ^-iow, Doc, my boy, I'll be square with you before night. 1 couldn't afford to stay in the city long enough to do it myself, but I'll fix you now, never fear. Come here a minute, if you please, sir," ho continued to Fowler; "I have something of importance to tell you which concerns your friend, Mr. Morton. I'm a perfect gentleman, and I never tells a lie when the truth will do as well, so you can believe every word I say." The two men sat down together, and before Mr. Farron had arrived Mr. Harway had related all ho knew about Dr. Griffith to the astonished Mr. Fowler. " I don't suppose I shall make anything out of this job now," said Mr. Harway, in conclusion ; *' but I promised the Doc I'd get square with him for that kick last night, and I'm a perfect gentle- man, and always keep my word when it don't pay better to break it." SCENE III. MR. MORTON GETS INFORMATION. The trifling matter of providing bail for Mr. Fowler having been satisfactorily arranged by Mr. Farron, the two gentlemen left the Station, accompanied by Mr. Harway, and proceeded to the Jacques Cartier Hotel where Mr. Harway insisted that it was nec3S8ary to his peace of mind and happiness that he should have a little cold gin. "What will you take, gentlemen," he said : "I always find a little cold gin lies very warm on the stomach in the morning; it's a good thing for the digestion too, and helps the appetite wonder- fully if you put a little bitters in it. Gin and bitters," he contin- ued, to the bar-keeper, " I'll put in the gin." He about half filled a tumbler with raw gin, added a few drops of bitters and swallowed the mixture without troubling the water jug. Mr. Fowler needed the cool and refreshing services of a "John Collins" to restore him, and Mr. Farron wisely contented himself with a cigar. '.iiij'i ipp MB. MORTON GETS INFORMATION. 103 "Gentlemen," said Mr. Ilarway, after the drinks had been disposed of, *' I leave it to you to see your friend Mr. Morton rigiited. I'm blessed if I wouldn't like to slay und see the game out myself; but, there's folks coming here on this morning train that I don't want to see, and so I'll have to leave ; but I trust to you to fix the doctor all right. I told him I'd be even with him for that kick, and I like to keep my word ; and, if the affair gets into the papers, perhaps you wouldn't mind sending me one, gentlemen, I'd esteem it a favor, and as I'm a perfect gentlemen I am always willing to accept a favor from another gentleman. You see," ho continued, " I shouldn't have minded e:.ything so much as a kick ; if he had knocked me down with his fist, I shouldn't have cared so much about it ; I've had that done boforo. Even if he had tired at me with a revolver I should not have minded so long as it didn't hit me ; but a gentleman naturally has his feelings hurt when he gets kicked like a dog, and, as T'm a perfect gentleman, I couldn't stand it. So blow his game, ^^-utle- men, and let me know of i^ if you can." After delivering this speech Mr. Harway gave an address lo Fowler, and thci bowed himself out, and started for the depot to leave the city before the detectives from Battleboro' arrived. Mr. Fowler retired to his boarding house and betook him^olf to bed where he endeavoured to sleep off the effects of his last night's potations. It was afternoon before he felt suflBciently recovered to go out, and when he reached Mr. Morton's office he found that gen- tleman had gone for a drive around the mountain with t^ome friends from the States; he was therefore compelled to postpone his in- tended disclosure until the evening when he was told Morton would be at home. He, however, utilized the afternoon by a trip to Lon- gueuil where he discovered the house lately occupied by Mrs. Griffith, closed, and obtained particulars of her death from the neighbors. Mr. Harway had carefully instilled into Mr. Fowler's mind his own theory that Mrs. Griffith was not dead at all, but merely re- moved by the Doctor ; he, therefore, paid but little attention to the account of the funeral, etc., which he heard from the people he questioned on the subject; and it was in a strong belief that Mamie was alive that he called at Mr. Morton's in the evening. Mr. Morton had only returned from his drive a few minutes when Mr. Fowler entered his room, and he was enjoying a quiet 104 HARD TO BEAT. 1:111. ■ pipe and a glass of ale when Mr. Fowler made his presence known by a loud rap on the door. " Come in," said Mr. Morton, and Mr. Fowler did as requested; he sat by the table wheie Mr. Morton was seated and said, in a con- fidential sort of way : " Charlie, I ha^e something very serious to say to you." Charlie Morton smiled quietly, for he was accustomed to receive half-con fldences frOm Mr. Fowler, who was always getting himself into some little scrape. " What is it, Gus ; anything I can manage for you ? " "No; it is something you must manage for yourself I got into difficulties last night, old fellow, and — well — ^you see, the fact is — I got into quod." " Arrested ? " ** Yes." It cost Mr. Fowler something to make this confession; for Charlie Morton was one of the few men whose good opinion he valued ; and he scai'cely wanted to let him know where he had spent the night; still there was no way of explaining his story except by a full statement of the circumstances under which he had gained his infortnation ; so, Mr. Fowler '* made a clean breast of it/' and gave a/ull account of his meeting with Mr. Harway, and all that had been told him by that personage. " I'll tell you what it is, Charlie," he said in conclusion, " it's ray opinion that Harry Griffith is a rascal." — I am rather afraid that Mr. Fowler used an adjective before the word rascal, but I don': like to record it without being very sure — ** he is playing some double game, which I do not quite understand ; but confound hita I want to see his game spoiled." Mr. Fowler struck the table with his clenched hand as if exem- plifying the way he would like to see the doctor spoiled ; but un- fortunately he was rather too excited, and struck the table so hard that he hurt his knuckles, and put the back of his hand up to his mouth in the most inglorious and unheroic manner. Charlie Morton did not say anything for some minutes ; ue was strongly and deeply excited, but he was thinking the matter over as quietly and calmly aa he could. " Gus," he said at last, " I think this man Harway has been try- ing to make a fool of you. Poor Mamie was drowned years ago, for if she had not been she would have written to me long before now. She knew I was in Montreal ; and it is not likely she would be in the same city with me and not try to find me. I have not a MR. MORTON GETS INFORMATION. 106 very higli opinion of Harry Griffith's character ; and he might, very po3«ibiy, have tried to deceive me, but Mamie never would." " But suppose she thought you were dead ; suppose Griffith told in a con- ■ her so? " said Mr. Fowler, half doubtfully. " He might have done it, you know." Mr. Morton paused for some time before replying; he was think- ing over the strange intelligence he had heard, and when he spoke it was in a hard unnatural voice, quite unlike his own. " You may be right, Gus ; perhaps you are ; Mamie may be alive —oh, God grant that she is, — but I scarcely think she can be. I don't feel it, somehow; I don't feel as if Harry Griffith could have played so mean a part towards me. Why man," he continued, " I was his old school mate ; we were boys together — of course, I ob- jected to his marrying Mamie, because I always thought he would turn out bad ; but, such a devilish scheme as this I would be sorry to credit him with. And Annie too ," he stopped suddenly, and a hard cold look totally unlike his usual aspect seemed to come over his face. " Gus," he said after a while, " if Harry Griffith has done this thing to me ; if he has stolen my sister ; stolen my friendship ; stolen my love ; played me false everyway, while I have played him true, I will hunt him down, I'll hound him to death — I could kill him now without one particle of remorse, and I'll do it, if this story proves true." The man's whole nature seemed to have changed in the few seconds which had elapsed since Fowler told him the story he had heard from Mr. Harway. Morton had at first listened quietly, and with a gentlemanly smile of disbelief on his lips. He had said nothing ; and he had only regarded the tale as spme idle fancy of Fowler's, or a story which some designing person had told Fowler with the ultimate design of making money out of it ; but as the possibility of the truth flashed on him, all the latent strength and force of his nature was called into life, and he rose to leave the room, fully prepared to wring the truth from the doc- tor, if it cost the life of one or both in doing so. " Hold on, old fellow ; where are you off to ? " said Mr. Fowler, endeavoring to detain his companion. " You didn't put your hat on, and you might catch cold in the nose or some such thing." " Gus, I must see Harry at once. I can tell in one second after I ask him * where is Mamie,' whether the story you have heard is true or not. Come with me ; perhaps, it may be as well for a ! ' ! 'il Ml ■ ■^f^lj " \ ; ^Hi i M 106 HARD TO BEAT. both he and I that there should be a witness to oar interview, it may end fatally for one." " Look here," said Mr. Fowler, catching Morton by the arm, and placing his own back against the door, " this sort of thing won't do at all, Charlie ; no case of ' coffee for one, pistols for two,' where I am concerned. No sir. If you want a little of the manly art, I don't mind holding the sponge for you, and wiping your mouth out with a drop of vinegar when you can scarcely come to time, but, none of this blood and thunder business shall go on while I stand around. As soon as you get sane I shall bo happy to go up with you, and we'll interview the doctor together. I don't mind trying to hang him in a square sort of way, you know; but I won't have any unfair business while I am around ; so yon must promise me, Charlie, — I can trust to your word — that there shall be no violence, or you shall not go to see him to-night." Mr. Morton laughed a little at this outburst of his friend's, and his ill-humor seemed to pass away in a moment. " Gus, old fellow, you need not be at all alarmed," he said. " I shall not make this a desperate case ; come with me, if only to convince you how mild and amiable I can be." " Charlie," responded Mr. Fowler, moving from the door, and extending his hand, " put it there ! You're a brick, that's what you are, and I'll see you through this business as long as I have a leg to stand on ; and if the doctor's head wants punching we'll do it together, old fellow, and I'll introduce him to a few of the dodges I learnt from Joe Coburn, while I was in New York." The pair departed arm-in-arm for Dr. Griffith's office, and Morton tried hard to be merry and jolly as they went along. But the effort was a severe one ; the strong feeling which had been raised within him by the story he had heard could not be easily controlled, and Mr. Fowler, noticing his companion's excitement, was making mental bets with himself as to the probability of the doctor's head being " punched" as soon as Morton met him. The meeting, however, was not destined to take place. On reaching Dr. Griffith's office they were informed by the servant that the doctor had left town and would not return for two or three weeks. " Where has he gone ? " asked Morton. " I don't know exactly, sir ; but I think it must be somewhere west, as I heard him say he had to catch the eight o'clock train." Mr. Morton looked at his watch. It is no use trying to catoh mmmmm MISS HOWSON QETS MARRIED. 107 rview, it arm, and ling won't i for two,' the manly )ing your y come to lall go on I be happy igether. I you know ; id ; 80 you -that there light." fiend's, and he said. " 1 , if only to him at the depot now as it was already past eight, and the train bad started. " Gus," he said, " I don't know what to do ; whether I ought to follow Harry, or wait quietly until his return. What do you think ? " " I think it's no use trying to think about it to-night. You can't follow him now, for you don't know where he has gone, and even if you did there is no train now to go by. Wait until to-morrow, old fellow ; sleep over it, and perhaps some bright inspiration might come to you in your dreams." To tell the truth Fowler was rather glad that the doctor was absent, for he feared the consequences of a meeting with Morton in the humor that gentleman was in. " Better give Charlie a chance to cool oflf," was Mr. Fowler's mental soliloquy, " it can't do him much harm to wait until to-morrow." Morton turned impatiently away, and walked rapidly down the hill in silence. Mr. Fowler was a good walker, but he found some difficulty in keeping up with his companion, and he felt very much as if he was in for a walking match ; still he said nothing until they had descended the hill and were turning into St James street, when Mr. Morton suddenly stopped and said : " Gus, I have thought it over. I'll put this matter into the hands of a detective. I have great faith in detectives, they are wonderful fellows for finding out things. I'll set Murphy or CuUen to work to-morrow morning, and I'll soon know whether there is any truth in Mr. Harway's story or not." " That's right, old boy, let the matter rest until to-morrow ; and, as you've nothing special to do to-night, come up to my room and smoke a quiet pipe ; perhaps Frank may be able to give us an idea, he's a wonderful fellow for ideas although his head is always j so full of hip bones, and all that sort of thing. He linked his arm through Mr. Morton's, and they strolled up I St. James street, towards Mr. Fowler's boarding house. I somewhere lock train." Ing to catch SCENE IV. MISS HOWSON aXTS MARRIED. Howson set about her arrangements for her elopement in more business-like manner than would, generally, have been ex- ited fh}m a girl of her temper and disposition. 108 HARD TO BEAT. She had given up all hope of gaining her father's consent to her marriage with Dr. Griffith ; she knew him well enough to know that once he had " put his foot down," as he expressed it, it re- quired considerable power to get that foot up again ; but she knew also his natural kindness of heart, and, she wisely concluded that, although he would not consent to her marrying the doctor,8he would most probably be forgiven if she ran away without leave, and asked forgiveness afterwards. She did not try the plan Dr. GriflSth proposed ; she was a little bit afraid of Miss Moxton, and, therefore, did not like to give her the slightest opportunity of being able to interfere with the elope- ment. She had a sort of undefined idea that her aunt might catch her at the depot at the last moment, and spoil all her hopes by causing her arrest, or the doctor's arrest, the train's arrest, or somebody's arrest, and so prevent the consummation of her hopes, She was not at all clear about this arresting business ; but, she had got it in her head, somehow, that any two persons trying to elope, may be arrested by any person who pleased to do so, She could not exactly settle in her mind whether it was burglary I or manslaughter she could bo arrested for ; but she settled it defi- 1 nitely that they should not be arrested at all. She laid a very careful plot. In the first place, she took an I opportunity, after breakfast, to see her father ; and, with one small etfort to influence his consent to her marriage, appeared to ac [ quiesce in his desire. ;• Next she confined her plans to Julia — who entered into theni| warmly — and then the two sisters went out to make a call. Now, amongst Miss Howson's most intimate friends was a Mrs.! Sloper, an old schoolmate who had sloped oif with Sloper abontj two years ago; and who, having been forgiven by her father, been impressed with the idea that eloping was a very fine thingj To Mrs. Sloper Miss Howson and Julia went, and she was tolii[ of Mr. Howson's objection to Annie's marrying the doctor, and tin determination of both parties most intimately concerned toelop«j and her kind offices were solicited. "My dear child " said Mrs. Sloper, " I have not heard of anji thing so delightful since I ran away with dear Frank, — and a t«| rible time I had. You know how mother went on about my ma rying him, and how she persuaded father to order him out oft the house. I did not care so much for him, but I did not lil the way mother went on about it, and so I determined to have I I t-i :i I MR. HOWSON GETS MABRIED. 109 at any price. But mother was too smart for me for a while. Twice she spoiled our plans by going out with me when I wanted to go out alone, so that I could meet Frank, and we could be oflP, until I began to suspect that John, the coachman — who carried my letters to Frank and brought me his in return — was playing us both false. And so it proved to be; the mean old thing used to open both letters and read them, and then tell mother the contents, fle was making money by it, for, of course Frank and I both paid him, and mother also gave him money, so, he liked it very well. " When I was sure he was playing me false I did not know what to do; but, at last, I thought of Bridget, the cook, who had always been very kind to me, and I determined to confide in her. " ' Shure am' faith,' she said, * ye's needn't want any favors of that nasty old John. I'll fix it all right for ye, honey. You jist write a note to Misther Frank, tilling him to meet ye at the cor- ner the night afther tomorrow, and I'll show ye how to git off without any body suspectin' ye.' "And then she advised me to try a disguise. Oh, girls, you ought to have seen me after 1 had put on a suit of Bridget's clothes, and blacked my face, and had on a pair of father's ca.st-off boots, and wore a wig of curled horse hair ! I was a sight." The recollection of the " sight " seemed to come so vividly before Mrs. Sloper that she threw herself back in her chair and laughed heartily. At last she continued : " I dressed in the kitchen, and, just as I had finished, mother came down stairs. I was frightened I can tell you ; but I was [determined to get away if possible, so I faced her out. She [ looked at me suspiciously when she entered, and asked Bridget who I was. Bridget answered at once that I was a friend of hers, one who had been kind to her in the South, and that seemed to satisfy her. 'Bridget,' she asked, 'have you seen Jennie within half an hour? She is not up in her room, and I can't find her [anywhere.' " Bridget hesitated for a moment, and then answered, ' Shure, jmnm, I never goes up to her room, an' she sildim comes doun [here, an' how could I tell ye where she is? ' "My mother appeared satisfied with this rather ambiguous [answer ; and I went out the back way, as soon as possible. I met ^rank ; we got married ; father and mother forgave us, when they p)und they could not un marry us ; and you know how happy we We been together. So," concluded Mrs. Sloper, " I advise Annie 110 HABD TO BEAT. to black her face, and walk out of the house without any one recognising her." " No," replied Miss Howson, decidedly, " I won't black my face to please any one ; but I think I can manage without that, only I want you to help me. I want you to ask Julia and I to dine here to-day. To write a letter, I mean, so that I can show it to auntie, and prevent any suspicion. Then Harry can call for me about seven, and the four of us, you, Harry, Julia and I, can go to Dr. Bellowhard, and there will be no more trouble ; and Harry and I can take the train for Niagara to-night. In your note say * come early,' and I will tell auntie to send the carriage for us at half-past nine, and you can give the coachman a note I will write to papa." Mrs. Sloper immediately agreed to the plan, and wrote the required note, which was shortly afterwards delivered at Mr. Howson's residence. The doctor was duly notified of the plan and arrived at Mrs. Sloper's residence shortly after seven. He and the three ladies immediately proceeded to the residence of the Rev. Dr. Belle hard, and in a few minutes Dr. Griffith and Miss Howson were declared man and wife. Mrs. Sloper and Julia left the newly married couple to proceed to the depot alone, and returned to BJrs. Sloper's residence to await the arrival of the carriage which would only have one occupant instead of two. Annie had written the letter to her father and entrusted it to Julia, but that young lady felt uncommonly uncomfortable as she drove home alone, thinking of the possibility of her father's anger descending on her head. The station was crowded when the doctor and his young wife arrived ; but they met no one they recognized. Tickets and a state-room in the Pullman had been previously secured, and no time was lost in reaching the car as the conductor's warning voice was already crying " All Aboard," and the last bell was ringing. The doctor was assisting his wife up the steps of the car, when > gentleman, running out very hastily, struck her and almost threw her back into her husband's arms. " Excuse me, miss," he exclaimed. " 'Pon my word, you know, I'm quite ashamed of my carelessness ; can't see a yard before me without my glass, you know — why," he continued, after he had succeeded in fixing a diminutive eye-glass in his left eye and looked through it spy-glass fashion, " I declare it's Miss Howson ; I'm 'h ■' ii mm A GOOD MANT PEOPLE GET ASTONISHED. Ill iwfully glad to see you, you know, and ever so sorry that I was awkward enough to run against you, don't yon see. Are you going away, or only, like me, come to see some friends off? " and Mr. Theophilus Launcelot Polydor Johnson took off his hat and bowed very low. That fear about anybody being able to arrest her while running away returned to the young bride now; but she felt braver with her husband by her side, and she answered promptly : " My husband and I are about to start on our wedding trip to Niagara. Will you be kind enough to let me pass into the car, the train will start in a minute." " Your who ? " exclaimed Mr. Johnson in astonishment. " My husband, Dr. Griffith. Please let me pass." " Oh certainly, pray excuse me." He got off the step and the doctor assisted his wife into the car. The two men glared at each other for a moment, but neither spoke. In another minute the train was steaming out of the depot, and Mr. Johnson was left Btandi ng alone, gazing at the departing cars through his eye-glass, which was stuck so firmly in his left eye that it seemed as if it would never come out again. " Here's ago, you know," he said after awhile, addressing nobody in particular, and still looking at the red light of the fleeting train ; " it must be a go, don't you see, I can't make it out exactly ; but I'll see about it." He proceeded to see about it immediately by leaving the depot I and walking towards St. James street. SCENE V. A OOOD HANT PEOPLE GET ASTONISHED. Mr. Johnson stopped on the way and purchased a cigar ; he was not a man capable of any great amount of very hard thinking, but be had an idea that he always thought better while smoking than at any other time. He felt pretty certain that he had just witnessed an elopement ; but could not exactly make up his mind Mihat action he ought to take in the matter. Although a fool he was a gentleman, and it seemed to him that it was scarcely fair that he, an admirer of MiBB Howson's, should turn informer on her when she had shown 30 decided a preference for another as to marry him. And then 112 HARD TO BEAT. he thought that if she was really married — which he did not doubt — it could be of no advantage to him to have the runaways stopped ; but another consideration rose before him, and that wag his duty to the " old boy," as he mentally termed Mr. Howsoq ; and whether it should be honorable in him to keep the knowledge of Annie's elopement a secret from her father. " It's an awful puzzle, you know," thought Mr. Johnson ; *' it's a brick wall I can't find a hole in to peep through, don't you see. I must ask somebody about it ; perhaps it would be as well to ask Gus, he is an awfully clever fellow for getting himself and other people out of scrapes ; and he might see a way out of this which I can't. Yes," he added, after a few contemplative puffs at his cigar which seemed to inspire him, " yes, I'll tell Gus, and hear what he says about it." When Mr. Johnson reached Mr. Fowler's lodgings, he found that gentleman in close conference with Morton and Farron, They were talking very earnestly together when he entered the room, but stopped their conversation as soon as they saw him, so that a momentary pause ensued. " Halloa, Polly ! " exclaimed Mr. Fowler, breaking the silence, how are you? Sit down and have a pipe. I'm ever so glad to see you." Mr. Fowler, howevrer, did not look at all glad ; on the contrary he seemed annoyed, and looked very much as if he wished Mr. Johnson at the bottom of the Red Sea, in company with Pharaoh and all his host, or anywhere but where he was. Mr. Johnson did not take the chair Mr. Fowler kicked towards him, but after speaking to Farron and bowing to Morton said, " Gus, I want to see you about some private business ; can you | come outside for five minutes ? " " All right," replied Mr. Fowler looking very much as if thought it was all wrong ; and taking his hat he moved towards | the door, after saying to the others, " wa't. for me, I won't be long." " What is the matter, old fellow ? " he said when they had gainc 1 the landing. " I'm in a muddle, don't you bq% and I want a bit of advice | from you, you know." " Well, go on ; we can talk here just as well as in the street, I and I want to go out with Frank and Charlie as soon as possible. | No one can hear us here ; what is it ?" Mr. Johnson told his adventure as briefly as possible, and the I A GOOD HANT PEOPLE GET ASTONISHED. 113 doubt he was in as to what he ought to do, and was very much astonished at Mr. Fowler's suddenly seizing him by the arm and palling him back into the room they had just quitted. •'It is all right," shouted Mr. Fowler, greatly excited. " I know where the doctor is ; he has eloped with Annie Howson, and they are on their way to Niagara Falls ; Polly saw them at the depot, and Annie told him they were married, and where they were go- ing." « What ? " exclaimed both his hearers. " Eloped." " Yes," said Mr. Johnson, " that is, you know, they were going away together, don't you see, and Annie said she was married you know, and I am in a fix as to whether I ought to tell the ' old boy,' don't you see." There was dead silence in the room for a few seconds, which was broken at last by Morton, but his voice sounded so hard and unnatural that Fowler and Farron involuntarily started as they heard it. He was trying hard to keep cool and hide his emotion, but his face was very pale, his eyes glared fiercely, and his lips twitched convulsively as he spoke. " I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Johnson," he said ; " but as an old and trusted friend of Mr. Howson's I will save you the trouble of telling the * old boy,' by informing him myself. I can't go down to the Police Station with you just now, boys, " he con- tinued to Fowler and Farron, "that matter must rest until to- morrow morning. I must see Mr. Howson at once. Give me my hat, boys." He rose to go, and Fowler and Farron exchanged glances to know whether it would not be better for one or both of them to go with him, but before either of them had time to rise there was a knock at the door, and, in answer to Mr. Farron's cry, " come in," Mr. Boggs entered the room. " Good hevening, gents all," he said giving a sort of general bow, "hi 'opes hi sees you well." "Wait a moment, Charlie," called Mr. Fowler, as Morton moved toward the door, " I'm going out, and I'll walk a little way with you." " Make haste, then ; I feel as if I was on fire." Mr. Fowler did not make quite so much haste, however, as was expected of him, for the simple reason that he could not find his hat which had fallen off when he dragged Mr. Johnson into the room, and was quietly reposing at the foot of the stairs while wr 114 HARD TO BEAT. Mr. Fowler was searching under the bed, and in every likely and unlikely place for it. " Hi 'ave got what you wanted, Mr. Parron," said Mr. Boggs, advancing into the room, and speaking confidentially, " hand hits ha beauty." " All right," replied Farron, who had lost all interest in hip bones for the present. " Gall to-morrow and I will settle with you ; I am busy now." " Hall right, yer 'onor," replied Mr. Boggs, backing towards the door. " You'll find it a beauty, sir. Poor lady, so pretty-looking, too, hand she just 'ad a baby. The baby's there, too, has I thought hi might as well bring hit along." " Where did you get it, Boggs ? " inquired Mr. Fowler, who, after an unsuccessful dive under the bed for what he thought was his hat but found to be a boot, had just reappeared, looking vorj hot and dusty." " Hat Longueuil, gents both." " Longueuil I" The word fell like an echo from the lips of both students at once, and they looked into each other's faces with an expression half astonishment, half fear. •' When?" asked Farron. " Last night, gents both. Hi took hit hup to the college this morning, nice hand tidy done hup has a sack of potatoes, hand I should 'ave come round sooner but my hold woman was took with a sickness which hadded one to the male population, and hi 'opes it will make 'er 'appy." " Come on, Gus, what are you so long about ?" said Morton, turning from the window where he had been standing gazing with a vague, far-off look into the street. *' Don't be in a hurry, Charlie," said Farron. " Sit down a minute ; there may be something of more importance to attend to than Be<^ ing Mr. Howson a few minutes sooner or later. This man was engaged by me to procure a subject, he tells me he has got a mother and a little baby from Longueuil ; perhaps " He said no more, for Morton's face told him he understood all that " perhaps " might mean. " I see it Frank," he said, after a pause. " I can satisfy all my doubts at once. Let me once look on this corpse, and if it proves to be a stranger it will tend to allay my anxiety ; if it should be Mamie — " \ A GOOD MANT PEOPLE GET ASTONISHED. 115 He said no more, but a hard, stern look stole over his face, and he clenched his hands until the nails almost pierced the flesh. "Let us go," he exclaimed presently. " I am all on fire until I kDOW the truth," and he took Farron's arm and left the room. " Yes, let us go," echoed Mr. Fowler who had a misty sort of idea that the greater number of people went the better, and he clapped Mr. Johnson's hat on that astonished gentleman's head, and hurried him out of the room as hastily as he had a short while before ushered him into it. Indeed so great was Mr. Fow- ler's haste that he quite forgot he had no hat on, and would most undoubtedly have gone bareheaded had he not, fortunately, stum* bled over the one he had dropped at the foot of the stairs. " But, here, hold on, look here, old fellow, where are you going to, you know," said Mr. Johnson who, of course, had not under- Btood the dialogue about the body which Mr. Boggs had exhumed, " You can't go to Niagara to-night, don't you see ? " ''Niagara! Who wants to go to Niagara ? " " Then where are you going ? " " To the college." " No, thank you. I went into the dissecting room once with Frank, you know, and the fellows played tricks on me, don't you see; put a piece of liver in my pocket, pelted bits of ' meat,' as they called it, at me, and gave me nasty bones to smell, you know. No, I don't like a dissecting room." But his protest was unavailing, for Mr. Fowler had hurried him along so rapidly that they were already at the college and the four young men ascended the steps together. Mr. Boggs did not leave quite so hastily. As soon as he was satisfied that they were out of the house, he went to the closet in which he remembered having seen Mr. Fowler deposit the black bottle on a former occasion ; and, having found it, took a pretty good drink. He sighed, helped himself again, then replaced the bottle and glass, wiped his lips with his coat sleeve, and said, as he left the room : " Hi know they'd 'ave basked me hif they 'ad remained, for they know hi 'ave ha 'appy 'art I wonder, " he continued as he went down the street, " what it was has made them bolt hoff so sudden- ly? Hi 'opes has 'ow 'taint nothing wrong habout my subject, has hit might 'urt the hold woman hif hi was took up. Hit his ha bad time to worrit a woman when there 'as been ha hincrease to the census. Hi a'most wish hi 'adn't been bin this job ; but hit's p(MJ',f llA HARD TO BEAT. •0 'andy to 'ave ha few hextra dollars when one expects ha bin- crease that hi couldn't withstand the temptation." He returned contemplatively to the stand and resumed control of his horse and cab, which had been cared for during his absence by a brother Jehu. Mr. Farron led the way direct to the dissecting-room, and left his companions there. " "Wait a minute, Charlie," he said, " and I'll go down stairs and see about it." Morton leaned against one of the heavy oak tables and looked about him in a listless sort of way. The scene was not new to him, and, had it been, he would scarcely have paid any attention to it. Some fifteen or twenty students were working away at various parts of the human body which had been taken from the different subjects under dissection ; most of them were smoking, and occa- sionally a light jest or a snatch of a song might be heard. On a table at the furthest end of the room was a body at which a soli- tary student was at work ; it had not been dismembered yet, B^i he was opening the body to remove the intestines, etc. ; from time to time he took out portions and laid them beside him. It seemed an eternity to Mr. Morton before Parron returned ; yet it was only a few minutes before he re-entered the room and said: " It is up here, Charlie ; now don't get excited, it may be all a false alarm, but if it isn't we will know in a minute. Here, boys," ho continued, turning to his brother students, *' which is the last body sent up ; that of a woman ? " " It's over there in the corner," replied one of the students, who was scraping away very industriously at a leg bone ; " Billy is at work on it; he's practising post-mortem examination." "It's mighty queer," said the party mentioned as Billy, "I can't see through it at all." " What is the matter, Billy ? " inquired Mr. Farron, approach- ing the table. " The heart won't come out. I've got it now," and giving a good pull, he brought out the organ. The moment his eye fell on it he changed color, and, hastily passing it to his left hand, he took hold of something which appeared to be sticking in it, and drew it out. It was a long slender rod of glittering steel, with a finely sharp- i A GOOD MANY PEOPLE GET ASTONISHED. 117 enwl point, which he held np to the light, as he cried in a voice of terror : «< Great God, boys, this woman has been murdered ! " " Murdered I " Every student started from his work, the jest remained unfin- ishod, the song died on the. lips where it was to have been born, every voice was hushed as they gazed with utartled eyes on the fatal evidence held up before them; the trickling of a few drops of bloml to the zinc floor and the rumbling of a passing cart fell with terrible distinctness on the excited nerves of the horror-stricken group. The presence of death they did not mind, but to stand face to face with a foul crime, discovered by one of themselves, was a new experience to these embryo doctors. "Stand aside ; let tta sne it." Was it the voice of a man or of some tortured spirit thi spoke ? Was it the face of a man, or of a ghost, which met their gaze as they turned towards whence the sound proceeded ? Charlie Morton had started from the table against which he had been leaning at the sound of that word ** murdered," and was advancing toward the table on which the body lay. His face was as livid as those of the corpses around him, and his eyes blazed with almost a maniac glare ; he clutched at his collar as if it choked him, and, although he looked straight before him, he walked like one in a dream. He saw but one thing in that whole room, the still white form lying mangled on the table at the far end of the room ; he heard but one word, that one word " murdered." The students stood respectfully aside to let him advance ; they had been startled, shocked, astonished at the discovery Billy had made, but they felt now that that was only the first act of a ter- rible drama which was about to be enacted, and that one of the principal actors now stood before them. iMorton advanced slowly to the table and looked down at the form lying on it. One glance was sufficient ; all his worst fears were realized ; all doubt was at an end ; all hope was fled. The body was that of his sister. The form was torn and mangled bj'^ the dissecting-knife ; the face was pallid with the impress of death ; the light blue eyes were closed forever ; the ruby lips were blue from the touch of the destroyer ; years, sorrows, pain, suffering had left their traces in the hollow ch«eks, sunken eyes and dented lines ; but the heart that loved that form so well in years gone by knew it in an in- 118 HARD TO BEAT. stant; knew it, aye, would have known it even if he had not half hoped, half feared to find it there. The face was calm, there was almost a winile on it, no sign of pain at disyolution ; the murderer had, at least, heen merciful enough to make her death swift and sudden. He stood for some seconds gazing silently at the inanimate form, then stooped over it and pressed his lips to the cold rigid onea of the corpse. " My darling." he said, kneeling on the bloody zinc floor, and, throwing his arms around the corpse, he drew the head up to his shoulder and fondly kissed the lips and forehead ' " my darling, that I have mourned for six years as dead, to find you thus cruelly murdered, to know that I have been betrayed, deceived, and that your life has been made the penalty of gratifying that man's passion ; it is hard, very hard, to bear ; but you shall not go una- venged to your grave ; here, by your dead body, I swear to hunt Harry Griflith to death, to have his life for yours ; if there is any law in Canada he shall die the death of a dog, and, if the law will not do me justice, then I will take the law into my own hands, and kill him ci I would any wild beast." He dropped his head on the cold dead face and remained silent for some time. Mr. Fowler had meanwhile got a sheet from the janitor's wife and thrown it over the remains ; most of the students had quietly left the room at a signal from Farron, and he was explaining the state of affairs to them outside. Only Fowler, Johnson and a couple of students who had more curiosity than politeness now remained. Morton continued so long kneeling by his dead sister that Fow- ler feared he had fainted from excessive emotion, and at last approached him and placing his hand on his shoulder said : *' Charlie, old fellow, this sort of thing won't do ; don't break down now when you require all your energy and coolness to bring this rascal to justice. You don't need me to tell you, old fellow, how deeply I feel for you, you know it ; and you know that I will help you, if my help can do any good, in hanging the doctor." He put his arm round Morton's shoulder and tried to raise him from the ground ; at first he did not succeed, but after a short while Morton rose to his feet and held his hand out to Fowler. The two men clasped hands, with a warm close grip, and looked into each other's faces. No words were spoken, but actions and looks are frequently more expressive than words. mrm A GOOD HANT PEOPLE GET ASTONISHED 119 floor, and, i up to his ly darling, liu8 cruelly d, and that hat man's lot go una- ear to hunt here is any if the law own hands, Fowler was young, volatile, rather too fond of a spree and not of any great depth of character ; but he was greatly attached to Charlie Morton, and his heart was weeping for his friend although there were no tears in his eyes. " Come," he said, " come, old fellow, we mast go about this matter at once. Don't break down now, we have a tough fight before us. You may depend on it that rascal GriflSth has left very few tracks behind him, he is too clever for that. We may have trouble to prove that he committed the murder, although there is no c oubt in our minds that ho did. You know his favorite saying he is ' hard to beat ? ' " "Yes, yes, I know, "responded Mr. Morton, rousing himself with ' an effort, *'he says he is hard to beat, but murder and false- hood and cowardice and baseness are never hard to beat where truth and honesty and manliness are arrayed against them. Hard to beat," he continued savagely, " yes : we'll see who is hard to beat. He has robbed my life of all its sweetness, he has found it easy to triumph over me with his plots and schemes ; perhaps, he 11 find at the last I axn harder to beat than he thinks." By this time Mr. Farron had partially explained the case to the astonished students, and he now re-entered the room accompanied by some of them. Mr. Farrop was a very clear-headed, practical sort of young man, and, although greatly excited, he managed to keep pretty cool. " Look here, Charlie," he said, " you must get out of this as soon as possible; we are only losing time. The body must remain here for the present, Billy will look after it and Gus will notify the Coroner— of course, there must be an inquest — while you and I will go down to the Police Station and consult the detectives, if there are any there now. I believe one is always on duty at night, but I am not sure." " I am," said Mr. Fowler, " I saw Cullen there last night when I — well, when I had business there," he added suddenly remem- [ bering that he did not want his companions to know where he j had spent the previous night. " All right, Gus, you go at once to the Coroner, he lives some- I where in St. Denis street; you can find the number in the directory ; get him to come here to-night, if possible, and hold an {inquest early to-morrow morning. Hurry up now, take a cab; take BoggB if you can find him on the stand, and find out where 120 HARD TO BEAT. he lives, so that we can have him summoned ; hut, don't lot him have the least idea that he will be wanted, or he'll run away." " Not a foot shall he run if I have to tie him," replied Jlr. Fowler as he left the room. It was wonderful how Farron, actuated by pure friendship, had suddenly taken the lead, and, while Morton was dreaming of some indefinite plan of vengeance, put in motion the machinery of the law, which was almost sure to hunt the doctor down. Oh I a very practical man was Mr. Farron, and destined, perhaps at some future day to become a star in the medical firmament, for he had presence of mind, promptness, coolness, courage, patience and knowledge on his side ; and, only add experience to those and it does pot need much more to make a good doctor. Morton was half heart-broken, and had only a vague undefined idea of hunting the doctor down ; Farron was all coolness and determination ; he knew how to accomplish his end and he meant to do it. " Don't any of you touch the body," he said as he took Morton's arm to leave the room. '* It must be left as it is until the Coroner has seen it. Billy, you remain here ; you made the dis- covery and you will be one of the principal witnesses. I saw you draw the needle out of the heart, and if you will look on the left breast you will find a small blue spot ; I know how the murder was done exactly, there are two well authenticated instances on record." " I wonder if I could get a special train to-night," said Mr, Morton when they had reached the street. "A special train! what for?" . • • " For me to go to Niagara." ' . " Go to Niagara, what an idea ! what good could you do ? Be- 1 sides, you must remain here to attend the inquest. A detective will leave for Niagara by the first train to-morrow to watch the doctor, and the moment a verdict is given I will get the Chief to telegraph and have him urrested. There is no fear of his trying to run away; he thinks he is quite safe, and has not the mostdifi-l tant idea that detection has followed so speedily after his crime, [ In what queer ways things do come about," he continued, begin-j ing to philosophize, " if I hadn't have wanted a hip bone, it isl most probable this murder would never have been discovered ; orT at all events not until some future generation began to build onj the ground now used as a church-yard, and the wonderful dis- covery would have been made of a skeleton with a knittii needle driven through what had once been its heart." A GOOD MANY PEOPLE GET ASTONISHED. 121 lot him ►lied , '• Mr. [ship, had g of some ery of the ih ! a very , at some for he had tience and hose and it e undefined aolness and id he meant I as he took ; is until tiie lade the dis- I saw you on the left the murder nstances on said Mr. ou do ? Be- A detective to watch the the Chief w »f his trying (the most dis- jr his crime. " I must go to Niagara," said Morton, " not only that I want to be sure of Griffith's arrest, but " " Ah, yes ; poor girl it will be a terrible thing for her." " That's what cuts me. It seems so hard that in avenging the murder of my sister I should have to strike at the heart of the girl I love j but I can't help that, although it strikes into my own heart to cause her one moment's pain or sorrow." There was but little more conversation until they reached the Police Station, where they found Murphy on duty, and were lucky enough to meet the Chief, who was out visiting the different Stations. Their tale was soon told ; the Chief and the keen-eyed, quiet- looking, detective listening with eagerness to the strange story of crime. " I don't think there is a particle of doubt about the crime hav' been committed by him," said the Chief, when Farron had tolu be knew of the case ; " give me a description of him as near as you can, and I'll telegraph to Niagara at once to have him arrested on suspicion on his arrival. Murphy can go up for him >morrow night to bring him down, while Cullen works up the case in Longueuil." "No," said Morton, "I don't want him arrested until I am [there. I want to have him watched so that he cannot escape, [but I want to be there when he is arrested." " Don't want him arrested ? " " No. You see his wife is an old friend of mine. Poor girl I it rill be a terrible blow to her, and I would rather be there to help lerwhen the arrest takes place." " Well, it won't do any harm to telegraph to Niagara anyway. 18 not likely he will get any warning, and of course he has no lea that his crime has been discovered. He thought once his ictim was underground he was all safe, as he would have m as a general thing; and would have in this instance had it )t been for that body-snatching carter. I must look after him." Charlie," said Mr. Farron, " it's no use your going to Niagara ; inued, begifrm,^ ^^gj. ^^y ^^j^ ^ Jq^j^ ^f^j, ^]^q inquest, and funeral, and all pta of things. Now, I'm not wanted and I will go in your ce. I will look after Annie for you and tell her you sent me. bat is the best plan, old fellow, and you had better let me follow I" Thanks, Frank; you are right. I never knew until tOrnight bone, it w covered ; oi,l to build oij derful di! knitting Ion a 122 BABD TO BEAT. how true ft friend you were ; God bless you and reward you for standing by me in the way you have. I can never forget it." «Do you happen to have a photograph of him?" asked Murphy. "No," replied Morton, "but I suppose I can get one easily enough." " It might be useftil," said the detective, " although I don't expect there will be much difficulty in identifying the parties." " I've got a picture of his ugly mOg," said Mr. Farron, "and you shall have it to-morrow morning. Come, Oharlie, it is get- ting late and we have to see Mr. Howson yet. Nothing more can be done to-night, so there is no use wasting time here." " Wait a moment," said the Ohief, " you will be going near the telegraph office, would you mind sending this telegram to Nia- j gara; he won't be there before to-morrow night, but there's] nothing like having things prepared beforehand." They proceeded to the college where Fowler had just arrived! with the coroner; and, after an inspection of the body, it wu covered with a sheet and left where it laid until the next morning,] Morton insisted on remaining all night by his dead sister's body, and Farron, who would not leave his friend, shared his watch. To Mr. Fowler was entrusted the task of hunting up an under! taker, and making arrangements for removing the body as sooil as it had been viewed by the jury ; while to Mr. Johnson wuj commissioned the task of informing Mr. Howson of his daaghter'^ elopement, and the subsequent discovery of the murder. Mr. Johnson was not in a very happy frame of mind ; he discovered when he left the dissecting room that— to use his ( words to Mr. Fowler — " some fellow, you know, put somebod/j shin-bone in my pocket, don't you see, and when I went to wip my face I pulled it out with my pocket handkerchief, you knoi and rubbed the nasty thing all over my face, you see." He fulfilled his mission very creditably, however; but much astonished at Mr. Howson's manner of receiving the intellj gence. Of Annie's elopement he, of course, already knew, he had received her letter and had also seen Julia ; but the nei| of the discovery of the murder shocked him greatly. His aog against Annie for her disobedience was greatly increased, and Bwore in the most solemn manner that he would never recog her as a child of his again. His rage was terrible to see, frightened Mr. Johnson bo that that gentleman managed for ( m A GOOD HANT PEOPLE GET ASTONISHED. 123 •d you for get it." .?" asked one easily y\x I don't parties." irron, "and ie, it is get- ng more cat 9." )ing near the gram to Nia- 1 J but there's i jttBt arrived! , body, itv?a8 next morning. . Bister's body, his watch. up an under! body as booiI '. Johnson wmI his daughter'if ier. aind; he , use his ov i Bomebod/j went to wip lief, you kno« ee." lever; but ingtheintell eady knew, .J but the W. His an[ Weased, and Lever reco| [ble to see, L for 01 nei in his life, to utter three consecutive Bentences without a single "you know," or " don't you see." At last Mr. Howson cooled down a little, and finally promised to go down to the college and see Morton, who was a great favor- ite of his, and offer to have arrangements made for the ftineral taking place from his house ; and then Mr. Johnson departed. Mr. Howson went to the college as soon as Johnson had left, aod spent a long time in deep and earnest talk with Motton, with whom he strongly sympathized ; and the arrangements for the ftineral were completed before he left. Of Annie he said little, but that little was very bitter and levere. He would not listen to Morton's pleading on her behalf, and firmly declared he would never see her again. All that long desolate night Morton sat by the side of the dead form he loved so dearly ; silent, motionless, living his life over ' itgain. It seemed but as yesterday that he had played about St. Leonard's churchyard, a merry-hearted boy, climbing up on the BcaffoldiDg of the then uncompleted chapel, clambering, at the inuninent risk of his neck, up the steep roof and standing in the in the spire made to receive the bells, while a trim little figure in white, with flowing black hair, looked in wonder and I amazement out of her deep blue eyes at the feats " brother " was forming. Memory carried him back to that eventful evening [when Harry Griffith had been brought, almost dead, to his door, [and when Mamie had declared her love for him ; and he almost wished that the negroes had left him to perish in the grave from [which they had rescued him. Then came the thought of how he heard of Mamie's death, and how he had mourned for her, and I heart grew hard and bitter against the man who had so out- ;ed him. After that came the remembrance of his love for Annie iowBon, and how Griffith had agiun come between him and hap- [imesg ; and then came a crowd of other thoughts, tenderer, gen- |ier thoughts of her he loved ; and by the side of that cold, man- corpse Charlie Morton fought out a long, stern, bitter fight nth his two loves ; between duty and love ; between what he red to the dead, and what to the living. Great as was his sorrow over Mamie's wrongs, still greater was I grief at the thought of tfie pain and anguish about to fall on I one who was now more than ever all he cared for on earth. Dng and deeply he thought, striving hard to find some way to i hei^ and punish his sister's murderer. But there was no IH HARD TO BEAT. way. PaiTon's promptitude had already placed the case heyond his control ; it was now th-? property of the law, and he felt that the law must take its course. Willingly would he have given bis own life to save Annie from pain and disgrace, but the sacrifice was not permitted him ; he could almost have wished the doctor to escape if that would have shielded her from the odium of being a murderer's wife, but it was too late for that now; before another sun had set the story of the murder would be sent from end to end of the land, and fancy pictured to him how the newspapers woald glory in the item, how they would embellish the article with " double headers," and " oross heads," and, perhaps, even a por- trait of the murderer. It was impossible that Annie should not know her husband's guilt, even if he succeeded in evading the iaw. "Would she love him still ? That was a question which occurred to him again and again. Somehow, the man never thought that the death of the doctor might tend to promote his own happiness, by gaining him possession of the object of his affections. It never i entered his mind that Annie's love diverted from the doctor might I revert to him, he was too unselfish for that ; his own happiness j had no part in his thoughts ; he loved Annie deeply and truly, and he cared only that she should be happy, he never for one j moment gave any consideration to himself And what was to become of her ? That was another trouble-l some question over which he pondered deeply. Mr. Howson had! spoken so strongly and bitterly about her, that Morton knew therel was but little" to be hoped for from that quarter, for some time it| least. Where could she go ? What could she do ? These were puzzling questions, and Mr. Morton thought thought over them until the first faint flush of early moroiii{ came and fo>2ad him still with the difficult problems unsolved! and Mr. Farron fast asleep with his head resting on one of i heavy oak tables on which laid the book he had been reading, i which contained that very interesting hip-bone case which he 1 been looking over again when sleep overcame him. Mr. Fowler, having executed the commissions given him, turned to his boarding house. It was late, and Mr. Fowier ^ worn out, both in mind and body, but he did not retire to the I which he was destined to occupy alone that night. Instead^ doing so he went ^brough a curious and remarkable pjuitomin A OOOD MANT PEOPLE GET ASTONISHED. 125 which would haye caused a spectator to imagine that he Lad lost his lenses, and was a fit candidate for an apartment at Beaaport. In the first place he divested himself of his neck-tie, collar, coat and waistcoat ; then he tied his braces very tight round his waist, took off his cuffs and rolled his shirt sleeves up far above his elbows in two very hard, tight rolls ; then he took the bolster, doubled it in half and set it up on end at the head of the bed sup- ported by a pillow on each side. Great pains did he take to have it nicely adjusted, and properly balanced, and when it was arranged to his entire satisfaction he stood off, threw himself into a boxing attitude and began to spar in the most alarming manner. All kinds of wonderfVil feints, and guards, and passes did Mr. Fowler make ; and most tremendous blows did he bestow on the unoffending bolster, now with the right hand, now with the left ; straight from the shoulder, under cats, overcuts, all kinds of cuts. Every time he knocked the bolster down he would set it up again only to knock it down again ; with praiseworthy persistency wortLy of a better cause he kept up this exercise for nearly half an hour. Now springing back, now dodging, now guarding and always ending by knocking down the bolster, you could plainly see that' he was going through an imaginary fight, and doing so with great heartiness. Was he mad ? No, Mr. Fowler was perfectly sane. Was he dmnk ? No, he had taken only one drink during the whole even- ing. Was he merely exercising himself? No, he was far too tired for that ; the fact is Mr. Fowler was in fancy carrying out the advice he had given Mr. Morton with regard to the doctor, and was mentally " punching his head," And a terrible punching it would have got had it been in the place of the bolster which got pounded, and thumped, and shaken in a way no bolster had ever before been treated in Mrs. Grub's boarding house. At last with one tiremendous " back-hander," he knocked it completely off the bed, almost overturned the wash-stand, and a cloud of feathers gave evidence that he had punched its head to some pur- pose, for he had split the tick, and the brains, i. e., feathers, were coming out in large quantities. This seemed to restore him to his senses, and he paused in his [ work of destruction, and re-arranged the bod. "I wish it had been him," he said, "I'd have enlarged and I embellished his physiognomy to such an extent that all the pho- mf&^- YP^ if IW BAUD to B8AT. f tographers would have been trying to get pictox^es of him aa « gorilla, or one of Darwin's ' missing links.' " He slowly undressed, got into bed, and was soon in the land of dreams willk the golden-haired objeot of his affisction. ^W: ACT v.— THE WAGES OP SIN. SCENE I. SPINDINO TBI HONBTMOON. It is not my intention to enter into the partioulars of the inqnest which opened next morning and continued to sit for two days ; suffice it to say that Cullen succeeded in finding the ler- Tant who had lived with Mrs. Griffith, and she testified that on the night of her mistress' death she had seen the doctor sitting at the centre table in the parlor, playing with a ball of worsted and a knitting needle ; afterwards heard him go out into the yard, and heard the old grindstone which stood in one corner going ; (hoQght the doctor was shai'pening his pen-knife ; heard the doc- tor go into his wife's room, and did not hear any more until next morning when she was told her mistress was dead. There was 00 other man but Br. Griffith slept in the house. The nurse who [ was attending Mrs. Griffith had been sent to bed by the doctor who aid he would watch his wife for a few hours. The rest of the evidence went principally to show the motive I for the crime, and after two days' investigation the jury brought in a verdict of murder, ar.d stated that in their opinion the murder I had been committed by Dr. Griffith. A warrant for his arrest ^vas issued, and Farron and Murphy [left for Niagara. On the night of their departure the Chief received a telegram Ifrom Niagara which greatly annoyed him ; the train on which Dr. IGriffith and his wife had left had arrived, but neither of them Iwere on board. This made him fear that the doctor had either re- vived information of the discovery of the murder, or had wilfully aisled Miss Howson as to their destination, so as to elude pursuit, ' Mr. Howson should follow them. He telegraphed to various oints and sent instructions to Murphy which he would receive on [lis arrival ; but two days passed away and no information was 128 HARD TO BEAT. fiV' :1i received ; it appeared as if the earth had qnietly opened and swallowed Dr. Griffith and his wife. ifc 9ic >|c >ic * * >ie The mystery of Dr. Griffith's disappearance is very easily ex- plained. He had not gone to Niagara and never intended to go, although he had told Miss Howson they would go there and had bought tickets for that place ; but he had only gone as far as Prescott where he had remained over night, crossed to Ogdens- burg next morning, and, doubling back to Bouses Point, took the Ghampiain steamers for Whitehall, and from thence went to Saratoga, which he had always intended to make the limit of big journey. Very happy and pleasant were the three days it took to perform the journey, and very happy and pleasant were the three days the newly married couple passed at the far-famed watering place ; it was late in the season, the races were over and the hotels not more than half full ; but Congress Hall and the (Jnion are so large that when only half full they contain the population of a fair- sized flourishing village. But even had the hotel been empty they would not have cared ; they were all in all to each other, and did not want to make acquaintances. They preferred driving out to the lake together and being rowed over its calm surface, and a stroll through the quiet streets in the evening was more acceptable than the glare and glitter of the handsome parlors. So time slipped quietly awayi and, as Dr. Griffith seldom spoke to any one, and did not read the New York papers, he remained perfectly oblivious to the fact of his being accused of murder and being searched for everywhere, As for Annie she was as perfectly happy and contented as any young lady can be at Saratoga, if she happens to have eloped and forgotten to take ten or twelve trunks with her. Indeed she constantly declared she was " not fit to be seen," but for once in her life it did not seem to annoy her that she could not dress as well and expensively as her neighbors. She was too happy to mind such trifles, too happy in her new love, too happy to with him on whom she had centred all her affection. Her heart| had gone out to the man who had deceived her, and she felt per fectly happy and contented with him. She wrote to her father as soon as she arrived at Saratoga, tellingj him where she was, aitd asking his forgiveness for the rash stej she had taken. SPENDING THE HONEYMOON. 129 When Mr. Howson received the letter he at once called on Charlie Morton and showed it to him : " There's your murderer," said he, " go and catch him ; or telegraph and have him arrested." " But Annie ? " replied Morton, " what is to become of her ? " •'I don't know; and I don't care very much," replied Mr. Howson. " If she has pleased to marry a murderer she must abide by her choice. I will not have anything fltrther to do with her." " But I will," hotly replied Mr. Morton. " You ought to be ashamed of yourself not to have more feeling for your own daughter." " She is no daughter of mine, now," replied Mr. Howson. " Her disobedience has brought disgrace on me and mine, and the bed she has made for herself she must lie in. I don't want to be too harsh with her, and won't let her starve or go on the street for u living, but I won't have anjrthing to do with her." Mr. Morton knew it was useless to argue with him then, so he wisely let the matter drop. The next morning Morton and Murphy started for Saratoga, and arrived there the same evening. It was a bright, warm evening and Mrs. Griffith was seated at the window of her bedroom enjoying what little breeze there was, and the doctor was in the adjoining sitting-room writing a letter. There was a knock at the door, and, in answer to the doctor's " come in," Mr. Morton entered accompanied by Murphy and a local officer, whose services had been engaged by Murphy to make the arrest. Morton and Griffith looked into each other's eyes, but neither spoke. The doctor gazed at that stem, calm face and felt that the secret of the false part he had played was known to Morton ; but he cared nothing for that now, he little thought that the dead had been brought as evidence against him. " That is the man," said Morton, pointing to him, and the local ofScer advanced and put his hand on his shoulder : " I arrest you in the name of the law, for the murder of your wife Mary Griffith, at Longueuil, Canada, on 7th inst. You are my prisoner." Discovered I All his plans, all, his schemes, all his sin for no purpose. Discovered I and discovery meant death, and a shame- ful death at that. All the force of the evidence against him, all prpnfir ISO HABD TO BBAT. the oertaintj of his being hung, flashed through his mind in a moment ; and Morton wonld triumph over him at last, and perhaps console himself with Annie, after the gallows had done its work. That should never be ; he would sacrifice two more lives rather than thftt should happen. All this had passed through his mind in an instant, while he was standing by the chair Arom which he had risen on the en- trance of his unwelcome visitors ; in another instant he had put his hand behind him, drawn a small silver mounted revolver which he always carried, and aimed directly at Morton's head. But Charlie Morton's time had not yet come. Never from the moment of his entering the room had Murphy removed his glance from the doctor, and the lynx-eyed detective saw the rapid motion with which the pistol was drawn, and sprang forward in time to throw up Griffith's hand, and the bullet buried itself harmlessly in the fi«eooing of the room. The doctor turned savagely on the detective, and a fierce struggle for the possession of the pistol ensued ; but Murphy, althoagh not a particularly strong man, has a grip like a vice, and he held on until the local officer interfered, and in a few seconds the doctor was securely handcuffed. Simultaneously with the report of the pistol there rang out a piercing shriek, and then came a heavy fall in the adjoining apart- ment. Morton at once rushed into the room and found, as he expected, Annie lying senseless on the ground. It was the work of a moment to lift her in his strong arms and lay her gently on the sofa, and then he tried all the means he knew of to restore her to consciousness. And what a consciousness 1 He thought of it bitterly, sadly, M he chafed her hands and threw war iron her face; would it not be better for her if she never awoke from that death-like Awoon ; never returned to the world in which she was doomed to Buffer so much in the future ; never knew in this lifid the utter baseness of the man on whom she had placed her young affections, and who had brought such deep disgrace upon her ? He gaaed at the pale still &ce, and ashy lips, and he almost hoped — much as he loved her — that she had been saved from all further pain and sorrow in this world. It was many minutes before she showed any signs of returning oonsciousness, and the doctor had meanwhile been removed ; bat gradually a slight tinge of color showed itself on her cheeks, ■ '-'a BPBNDnrO TBI HOMITMOON. 131 slowly a few faint sighs escaped her, flatteringly the trembling •yelids opened, and she looked about her in a bewildered sort of way. Her gase M\ on Morton, and she looked at him half-won- dsringly as if she doubted her sonses in seeing him by her side. <' Charlie ? " she said questioningly. "Tes i lie still a little, Annie, you have not qnite recovered." " Where is Harry," she asked | then with a sadden exclamation as the remembrance of the cruel words she had heard came back to her, " Ah I they have taken him away ^ that man that said he hid committed no, I won't say it ; I won't believe it ; let m« go to him; " she rose in her excitement and would have moved toward the door, but Morton gently restrained her. " You cannot go just now, Annie ; you are too weak and excited ; when you recover I have something very serious to say to you." " Ah t " she exclaimed as another remembrance returned to ber, " that pistol shot ; tell me, — tell me," — she clutched his arm with OAd hand and pressed the other to her heart as she almost whispered the words, *' is he dead ? " "No." "Thank God for that! Who was wicked enough to fire at him?" "No one; don^t agitate yourself; I want you to recover your strength as fiut as possible. I have something very terrible to tell you." " Terrible I Terrible I What do you mean ? Ton cannot dare to insinuate that what I heard that man say is true 7 You know it is false." " It is true," moumfrilly responded Mr. Morton. " Alas I only too true." " It is a base, wicked lie ; this is some foul plot to separate him from me, and — you — ^you; it is you who have done this ; you have concocted this dastardly scheme," The woman's manner was wild and e:::cited now, and her eyes gleamed with anger and her face was flushed as scarlet as she approached Morton; but her manner suddenly changed, and she said in a sad sorrowful tone, " Oh ! Charlie, Charlie, to think that you, whom I have known ever fiince I was a little girl, should have done this thing." " Good heavens, Annie, what can you mean. Do you think — Here," he continued drawing a paper from his pocket, ''you must know the truth, some time. I cannot tell you ; read that." She took the paper from him and a violent spasm shook her 132 HABD TO BEAT. i whole frame as she read the first words : " Murder. — A doctor kills his wife and elopes with another woman." She did not falter, however, bat read on steadily to the end, and with distending eyes and horror blanching her lips and cheeks ; read with the words seeming to burn themselves into her brain ; read with all the blood in her body feeling as if it had turned to ice and her head to fire ; read, with the room dancing around her, the ttory of her husband's guilt. It was very accurately and substantially told, although it did have — as Mr. Morton had thought — a plentifal supply of " double heads," and '' cross headings," and was written in rather florid style ; but it was correct. Mr. Farron had seen that if he did not give the reporters a correct version of the whole a£fair they would hash up some kind of a story replete with — ^well, say, misstate- ments, I won't say lies, because newspapers never tell lies, every- body knows that ; and so he had told the whole story as he knew it ; and there it all was in print, even the story of her elopement, and she stood there and read it, read how the man she loved and honored had for years been a living lie ; how he had a wife living when he asked her to marry him ; how he had murdered that wife to gratify his wishes. She road it slowly and carefully, omitting nothing, and Morton stood and wondered at her firmness ; but his wonder changed to grief and fear when she threw the paper from her with a loud laugh and turned her flashing eyes, in which the light of madness gleamed, full upon him. " Ha, ha ! " she laughed, " he killed her, killed her that he might marry me. I will go to him at once, he shall find I can be faithful to him even now," and she turned and threw herself on the sofa in a violent paroxysm of hysterics. Mr. Morton rang the bell hastily, and three or four chamber- maids who had been waiting suspiciously near the door wonder- ing what that pistol shot meant, and what had caused the doctor's arrest, entered at once, and to them Morton resigned her while he went downstairs to obtain medical aid. A doctor was soon found, and under his hands she shortly be- gan to revive; but no returning consciousness came with the revival, the light of reason had fled, and brain fever set in. Mr. Morton sat all that long, dismal night by her bedside, watch- ing with almost breathless intensity and listening to her incoherent, rambling utterances. Now she was a happy school girl again ; SPENDINQ THE HONEYMOON. 133 Lgh it did r " double ther florid he did not hey would , misstate- ies, every- bS he knew alopement, > loved and wife living d that wife er that he ttd I can be herself on • chamber- or wonder- he doctor's ler while he J shortly be- Le with the It in. Bide, watch- I incoherent, I girl again; now she laughed over some youthful frolic ; then she would revert with horror to the dreadful story she had just read, and repeat long paragraphs, for the words seemed to have branded themsolves on her brain ; he sat and watched and wondered why his own brain did not give way under the strain which had been placed on it. He had telegraphed to Mr. Howson as soon as the doctor had pronounced the attack brain fever, he bad also sent a brief tele- gram to Miss Mozton informing her of her niece's condition, and DOW he could only watch and wait. *^^ ^0 *t« ^^ ^^0 ^k ^^ ^P ^P ^* ♦^ ^^ I have already mentioned that there was no doubt about Miss Moxton's temper, and had there been it would have been dispelled had anyone seen her when the news of Annie's elopement reached her ; her first act was to box the ears of Miss Julia, who conveyed the information, which so enraged that young lady that she vowed Dever to speak to her aunt again ; then Miss Moxton indulged in a long tirade about " shameful proceedings," and '* impudent hussies," and " the fast girls of the present day," and such like topics, and the way that flexible nose went up and down was wonderful to see. She fully shared Mr. Howson's resentment against Annie, and strongly advised him never to recognize her again. But Miss Moxton was like a good many dogs whose bark is worse than their bite, and the news of the murder, following so close on that of the elopement, greatly cooled her anger. Annie's punishment had been so terrible, and had followed so quickl}'^ on her fault, that Miss Moxton felt her heart melting towards the poor sorrow-stricken girl she had raised almost from infancy, and she knew that Annie had only to come to her and ask for forgiveness to receive it. But Annie did not come, and Miss Moxton's heart was getting hard again when Morton's telegram arrived, and it melted down in a moment. It was late in the evening when the telegram arrived, but Mr. Howson had not yet gone to the Club and was seated in the library when Miss Moxton entered. A visit to thftt sanctum from that lady was a great novelty, and Mr. Howson was propo:;tionally astonished. "Is there anything wrong, Jane?" he asked — ^Jane was Miss Moxton's Christian name. " Yes, there is something very wrong," responded Miss Moxton 184 HABD TO BEAT. I!i promptly. " Yon and I have both been wrong, James, and the sooner we repair that wrong the better. Did you receive a tele- gram from Charlie ? " " TeB ; the murdering doctor has been arrested, I am glad to say." " And Annie is dying of brain fever." " Not quite so bad as that, I think. Charlie says she is ill ; an attack of nervousness, that's all." " Nervous fiddlesticks I " exclaimed Miss Mozton with a Violent elevation of the nose. " Can't you see that the shock has deranged the girl, and unless she is properly taken care of she will die amongst strangerb 3r become a confirmed lunatic ? She must be brought home at once." " Not here ; she has chosen her own path, let her follow it. I will furnish whatever money she may require. I will not see her starve or beg ; but I never want to see her again." " James Howson, you're a brute. When Annie ran away I was as incensed at her as you ; but now she is ill, in trouble, in dis- grace, and amongst strangers; thank heaven my heart is not made of stone," this was said with a toss of the head and an eleva- tion of the nose which clearly indicated that Miss Moxton knew some one who was not so happily situated. " I shall go to Sara- toga to-morrow and bring her home." •' Not to my house." I " " Then it shall be to mine." "Yours!" " Yes, mine. You have forgotten, I suppose, that I have two thousand a year in my own right. I mean to take a house and have Annie live with me." Mr. HowBon looked at her in blank amazement. For fifteen years, since the death of his wife, Miss Moxton had presided over his establishment and filled the place of a mother to his children ; for fifteen years his household affairs had been managed Mth an ability which he only too well appreciated, and the idea of attempt- ing to continue housekeeping without Miss Moxton at the head of affairs seemed so hopeless to him that he sat looking at her in blank bewilderment. " You can't be serious, Jane." "I never was more serious in my life; ifyonhaveno feeling for your own daughter I have some for my sister's child, and I won't leave her to the cold charity of strangers while I have the -'HIKKlll SPENDtNO THE HONetMOON. 135 , and the ve a tele- m glad to is ill -, an 1 a violent 3 deranged e will die e mnBtbe How it. I not Bee her away I was ble, in dis- (art is not id an eleva- Ixton knew ro to Sara- have two house and JFor fifteen |sided over Is children ; led ' iithan ] of attempt- be head of at her in I no feeling Ihild, and I II have the means of providing a roof to shelter her. Will you be kind enough to tell me when the first train starts for Saratoga ? " " Six o'clock to-morrow morning/' he answered mechanically. "Very well, I shall go by that train. If you come to your senses before I return, you can telegraph me to bring Annie here, other- wise I shall take her to a hotel until I can obtain a house," and ^ss Moxton sailed majestically out of the room with her nose almost dislocated, it was so fearfully elevated. The next morning Miss Moxton left for Saratoga, where she arrived the same night and found Annie still dangerously ill. Amongst her other accomplishments Miss Moxton was an excellent nurse, and she immediately installed herself in the parlor adjoin- ing Annie's room and took that young lady under her special care. Good nursing is scarcely less important than good medical treatment ; but although Annie had the most constant and devoted care, and the best medical attendance which money lavishly spent could procure, it was three weeks before the light of reason once more shone in her eyes, and it was past the middle of November before she was strong enough to return to Montreal. She returned to her father's house, fully forgiven. Mr. Howson had made a show of holding out, but one week's experimenting at keeping house without Miss Moxton to manage for him brought him to terms, besides he really loved Annie very dearly, and when his anger had had time to cool, he made up his mind that he had spoken and acted hastily, and, like a sensible man as he y^M, he owned his rashness ; so, one fine morning Miss Julia was told to pack her trunks, the house was left in charge of the servants, and Mr. Howson and Julia started for Saratoga where they remained until Annie was strong enough to travel. During all the time of Annie's illness Mr. Morton never left her ; no brother could have been kinder or more affectionate, or more untiring in his efforts to be of service than he was. When she returned to consciousness it was he who devised all manner of contrivances to amuse and interest her; it was he who planned the short drives she was allowed to take — they never went out to the lake, as he had heard it was a favorite drive of the doctor's and he feared to awaken unpleasant memories. It was Morton who took her in his strong arms as he would a little baby and carried her down to the carriage; it was he who carefViUy Wrapped her up; as the weather grew colder ; it was he who was always by her side promoting her every wish. 136 HABD TO BEAT. Very gentle, and tender and kind was Mr. Morton and rery quiet and thankful was Annie ; Mr. Howson looked on contentedly, and even Miss Moxton forgot to turn up her nose. Very tender and affectionate was Mr. Morton, but it was not the affection or tenderness of a lover ; but rather that of a fond brother. No thought of taking advantage of his position to speak one word of love ever entered his head, and Annie saw and liked him the better for it. SCENE n. LEAD ON THE RIVER. Time, twentieth of Jan^^ary, eighteen hundred and seventy-one; place, the St. Lawrence river, opposite Montreal. Dr. Griffith was taken back to Montreal, but was not tried at the Court of Queen's Bench in September, the case being postponed by consent of counsel until the March term. He was very silent, very reserved ; had contented himself with a simple plea of "not guilty," at the preliminary examination, and engaged two of the best criminal lawyers he could get to defend him. He offered no explanation, gave no information to his counsel, and they made up their minds they were defending a hopeless case, although they tried their best to find some tenable line of defence. Time slipped away and Annie returned to Montreal ; she was still very weak, very pale, very thin ; all her beautiful hair, of which she had been so proud, had been cut off during the fever ; her form was wasted, her cheeks hollow and devoid of color, and she was scarcely recognisable as the happy, joyous beauty who had run away only a few short weeks before. She had never mentioned Griffith's name since that fatal night at Saratoga, and all allusion to him was carefully avoided in her pre- sence, she was very still and silent, all her old gaiety and spirit seemed to have been driven out of her, and she moved about the house like the ghost of her former self. Mr. Morton returned with the Howsons and continued as atten- tive as ever, the short drives were resumed, sometimes Julia or Miss Moxton accompanied them, sometimes they were alone. Almost every evening he made a short call, and she seemed to enjoy his society more than that of any one else ; a quiet sort of ad very entedly, Y tender ection or her. No word of him the renty-one; a-ied at the atponed hy mself with amination, )uld get to )rinatioii to defending me tenable il ; she was tul hair, of the fever ; color, and ^eauty who il night at [in her pre- and spirit about the as atten- 168 Julia or rere alone. Beemed to luiet Bort of DEAD ON THE RIVEB. 137 ^^' •^y melancholy had settled on her, and Charlie was the only person who seemed to possess the power of temporarily driving it away. For no one else would she sing or play, and, sometimes, when she was playing some brilliant piece he would see the tears start into her eyes and quietly course down her wasted cheek. It was very bitter for him to watch her grieving so, but how could he help her. Mr. Howson noticed this growing intimacy with great satisfac- tion; he had long ago ** made up his mind " that Annie should marry Morton, and it pleased him greatly to see that matters were tending that way. He was too wise a man, however, to interfere, and 80 things were allowed quietly to take their own course. Miss Moxton highly approved the turn affairs had taken, and so careful was she not to interfere that she generally managed, on some pretext or other, to leave the parlor when Morton called, so that he and Annie were a great deal together alone. One evening about the middle of December they were sitting together, she at the piano idly running over the keys with her thoughts far away, he looking sadly and pityingly at her ; present- ly she rose and pushing a low stool to his side eat on it, resting her head on his knee as she used to do when she was a little girl and Charlie was her big brother; somehow the old time seemed to have come back of late, and at times she could scarcely persuade herself that all the terrible events which had happened so recently were not a horrid dream, and that she was still a little girl with I her big brother to watch over and protect her ; only one thing re- called her to the reality of what had happened, a plain hoop of [gold on the third finger of her left hand. "Charlie," she said after a short pause, speaking so low that he [could scarcely hear her, " will they hang him ? " It was the first time she had alluded in any way to the doctor, |ind the question came with such startling suddenness that Morton ^voluntarily started ; in a moment her arm was thrown over his [shoulder in the old childish manner, and her face was raised be- schingly to his. " Oh, no, no, Charlie I " she cried piteously, ** not that, don't [et them kill him ; you can save him, I know you can. Do it for ly sake, Chai*lie ; 1 shall die if he does. Don't let them kill him, Charlie, I love him so. I know it is wrong. I know he has been ky wicked, that he committed — „4 K^ -" she could not utter the »ord, but continued, " but he did it for my sake ; I can't forget that, I \ wl 138 HARD TO BEAT. ifii Charlie, and I feel as if I was to blame too. And then I swore before God to love, honor, and obey him and to cling to him for better or worse; it has turned out worse— oh I so much worse— but that does not absolve me from my vow. I am his wife still and it is not for me to desert him when all are against him. Help me, Charlie, help me to save his life. I know what a hard thing I am asking you to do, to help the man who has so deeply, deeply' wronged you ; but, remember ' Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord, and be sure as you are merciful to him, so God' will be merciful to you in your hour of need. Promise me, pro- mise me, you will not let them take his life." The appeal had been uttered so earnestly and so rapidly that Morton had had no chance of interrupting her even had he been so disposed ; as she stopped now he said, very gently : " Annie, as '^od ' ly witness, if I had Harry Griffith's life in my hand I would givG it to you and say * take him, be happy with him if you ea" ; ' but it is not in my power; I am not his judge; he is in the hunda ^ " th« ^ /, and no action of mine can stay the law from taking its course. W hat the result of the trial will be no one can at present positively assert ; but it would be cruel in me to raise hopes when I see no probability of their being real- ized." She had scarcely heard him, she only knew from the tone of his voice that he wa« refusing her request, and she hid her face in her hands and wept silently. " Will you let me see him ? " she asked after a while, without looking up. He had been expecting this question ever since she had returned to Montreal, and he had prepared to answer it. " There is no objection to your seeing him as often as you like ; but I do not think your father would approve of your visiting him." The face, wet with tears, but radiant with a happy, thankful smile, was raised to his, and she said : " Take me to him to-morrow, Charlie, won't you ? Papa can scarcely object to a wife visiting her husband while he is in pri- son ; and I am sure he won't if you go with me." So it was arranged, and the next day their drive was to the Jail, and the promised interview took place. Mr. Morton, after gaining Annie admission to the ward in which j her husband was confined, withdrew; he did not wish to meet! ^lilliy DEAD ON THE RIVER. 139 tone of his face in her lile, without lad returned ,8 you like ; Hour visiting . thankful Papa can |e is in pn- to the jail in which lish to meet Harry Griffith, he wished never again to look on the man who had used him so cruelly; ho intended that justice should take its course, he had sworn that by the corpse of his murdered sister ; but as long as the law could execute justice without his inter- ference he was content. What passed between husband and wife it is not my business to relate ; let that be secret between them. Annie's visit had a strange effect on the doctor; hitherto he had been dull, apathetic, scarcely seeming to care whether he lived or died ; now he was all life and animation ; he had thought that Annie had discarded him like the rest of the world, but when he found out he had all her love still he felt there was something left worth living for, and he determined to leave no stone unturned to save his life, if possible. He had a long interview with his lawyers next day, and they were astonished at the clear and plausible way he mapped out a defence, which, wild and improbable as it wate, and scarcely likely to impress a jury, still afforded them the loop-hole which they had not been able to discover, and through which their client might escape. Annie's first visit was followed by others ; sometimes she was accompanied by Morton, occasionally she was alone. The turnkey an to look for her regularly two or three times a week, and so the old year died and the new one was born, and winter was fairly it in and the river frozen. It was in the middle of January when Annie began to put into lecution a scheme she had formed the first time she visited the loftor, and that was to effect his escape. They planned it over very carefully together, and it was agreed at if ^e succeeded in getting free he should go to Australia, here she promised to meet him in three years. As it was now very cold weather and the gaol was a little damp, e doctor had been allowed to wear his overcoat and cap, a con- ision which he found very useful to him when he came to plan ! escape. Annie furnished him with a rope, a file, and a bottle oil, which he thought would be all he would require, and the igiit of the twentieth of January was set down for the attempt ; e visited him during the day and took an affectionate farewell him, promising to come to him as soon as he sent for her. On part he was greatly agitated and excited, but tried to appear for fear the euspicions of the prison authorities should be lUfied. 140 HARD TO BEAT. The night was well adapted for his undertaking, it was intensely dark, cold, and a biting, chilling wind was blowing; a night when the guards in the yard would not be likely to see him if he suc- ceeded in getting out of the prison proper, so that he ran com- paratively little danger of discovery in attempting to scale the wall. He waited until nearly ten o'clock before he began his attempt to escape, and it was past one ere he stood outside the prison wall a free man. I am not going to describe his escape, for I have no notion of telling everybody how it was done. Suffice it to say that he succeeded in his plans and gained his liberty. He was well provided with money, Annie having given him nearly a thousand dollars, the proceeds of the sale of some of he. jewels, and he had his plan well laid out. It was to cross the river, hire a sleigh to drive him to Kouses Point, and take the train for some Southern city before his escape was discovered. It was intensely cold ; the thermometer stood almost twenty degrees below zero, and the wind was cutting like a knife as he made his way down the bank towards the river. He had intended making his way to St. Lamberts, but in his hurry to get out of the city and to leave the public streets, he took the river at once and bent his steps towards Longueuil. Some fatality seemed to influence his change of plan ; some un- seen power appeared to be urging him on to look once more, and for the last time, on the scene of his crime. He knew the risk of detection he ran ; he knew he was well known in Longueuil and j liable to be arrested at any moment if seen, but he trusted to the darkness and the little probability there was of any one being out! at that hour in the morning. A fierce desire to view again the! house where he had committed the murder took possession of him, j and he lost all power to control his passion. He would seethel spot once more, and from the place where he had done the foulj deed should date the new life he intended to lead in the future. Ho felt no remorse for his crime. He was sorry for it in one sense] but if it had to be done over again, he would probably have acie as he did before. Hard, cold, selfish and unscrupulous in gaining his ends he had been all his life, and hard, cold, selfish and m scrupulous he would be to the end. He was sorry that he had committed the murder, but it wasj selfish sorrow ; he was sorry because the result had been so dis trous to himself, and he cursed the folly which had prevented hj taking some surer and more certain way to avoid detection. ^I^m DEAD ON THE RIVER. 141 ntonsely ht when [ he sue- rail corn- scale the B attempt rison wall I have no ) it to say given him 3me of hev 19 the river, ae train for ost twenty knife as he ad intended D get out of iver at once In ; sorae un- ;e more, and w the risk of I ►ngueuil and I [rusted to the ^ne being out] 3W again the! ^ssion of himj rould see the! lone the fou^ [the future. ; in one sense] [ly have acie( lus in gaining llfish and n but it was I I been so dii prevented W tection. On through the darkness he went, now straying off th© track and stumbling amongst the ice heaps, again regaining the roAd by the aid of the balises placed to mark it. The cold wind whistled past him with a mocking laugh, and the drift covered him until he was a mass of snow. Once he strayed from the path and fell into an air-hole, going down to the arm-pits, and with difficulty saving himself from being drawn into the rapid waters below. By a great exertion he managed to extricate himself and again finding the road, continued on his way ; but the shock had greatly exhausted him, and he felt his strength begin to give way. Ho could feel the water on his trousers forming to solid ice ; he could hear the turbulent stream below roaring in its might, as it hurried on to the sea. A numbness was seizing his whole frame ; his feet felt like lead, his hands had no sensibility in them. Huge icicles hung from his hair, moustache and eye-lids, and a sound of singing was in his ears. And still the pitiless wind persistently pelted him with perpetual pillets of snow, and the fierce blast swooped down on him like a mighty giant, chilling his very life-blood. Still he kept on. To stop was death ; to go on was his only chance for life. Up almost to his knees in the drift at times or blown almost down by the mighty force of the wind. That sound of singing grew louder and louder in his ears, and now church bells mingled with t44«fH: and again and again loud noises, like the booming of cannon, reverberated through his brain. The blood, fast turning to ice in every other part of his body, seemed changing to fire in his head, and his mind grew stronger in its intensity of perception as his limbs grew feebler and feebler under him. Now in fancy he could see the church spire of Longueuil al- though it was still far, faraway from him, and memory's e3'e ])ictured him the little cottage, on the outskirts of the village; again he saw the still white face of his murdered wife lying placid on the pillow as he had last seen it; again he went through that [fearful scene which had placed the brand of Cain upon his brow; again he laid the white bosom bare; again he placed the sharp point of the glittering steel upon the snowy flesh ; again with [fiendish force he drove the slender rod into the vital part, with a blow by a hammer; again — Ah ; there before him he sees it now, a human heart, bleeding and pierced with a slender, glitering rod of steel ! It waves before him as he struggles, with difficult}', ^1 IC [i M Ml 142 HARD TO BEAT. forward ; mocking voices ring out around him through the driv- ing blast; sounds of ribald laughter and jeering shouts are borne to him on the whistling wind ; the very balises which mark his way seem to point at him and gibe him and hiss *' murderer " at him. He cannot pray ; long ago ho has forgotten how to address him- self to his Maker and sue for pardon and grace ; he has placed con- fidence only in himself all his life; and has never learned to look for help and comfort to the Divine Giver of all good ; ho has steadi- ly and persistently stifled the voice of conscience for years, and now it cannot be aroused ; no pitying angel is near him now, no soft words of comfort are whispered in his ear ; hard ho has livedo hard he must die, with little of hope or fear for that life boyond of which we all know nothing. Still he blunders on, now up, now down ; still the icy feeling in- creases in his limbs, and the bells sound louder and louder, and that pierced heart swings more fearfully before him ; still the mocking voices and ribald laughter ring out more and more distinctly, and then— he stumbles and falls, falls to rise no more ; and the distant spire grows more and more indistinct; the bells and singing grow fainte; and fainter ; the sounds of laughter and of mocking are scarcely heard ; the blood begins to cool in his head ; the pulsations j of the heart grow weaker and weaker ; a kind of sweet languor comes over him, a heavy drowsiness in which his thoughts travel back through long years and he is an innocent happy boy again ; he hears the songs of birds as he used to hear them when a youth ; the scent of the balmy southern flowers is in his nostrils; he sees cane- j fields nodding their waving plumes in the soft warm air ; he feels J the impress of youthful innocent lips upon his forehead, and thenl — the numbness and the drowsiness increase, he gradually sinks! into unconsciousness, the pulsations grow less and less marked, the! action of the brain slower and slower, and there, out in the middle! of the icy river, Harry Griffith ends his earthly career, frozen toj death. About five o'clock some habitants crossing with a load of hayl were startled at the sight of a man lying on the ice, and hastened| to raise and attempt to restore him to consciousness ; but it was i late, life had been extinct for hours, and Harry Griffith's guilty soul had winged its way to its Maker, where, let us hope, it wa mercifully dealt with. : ! SCENE III. AN UQLY BABT. Time, Juno twenty-fourth, eighteen hundred and seventy-one ; placg, Mrs. Griffith's bedroom in her father's house. The mortal remains of Harry Griffith wore consigned to their mother earth with but scant ceremony ; few followed the corpse to the grave, and only one heart mourned for the one it had so loved. Annie boro up well under the news of the doctor's death ; she gave way to no violent grief, but her melancholy grew deeper and deeper, and she seemed to bo slowly, but surely fading away. She grow more and more quiet in her habits, and even Charlie Morton seemed to have lost his power to amuse and interest her. Their drives together were discontinued, and she never sang or played now; indeed she tried as much as possible to avoid being left alone with Charlie, and he, seeing that his visits troubled her, came loss and less frequently. And so the long, dull winter passed away, the brief spring came and went in its mantle of green, and bedecked with myriads of gorgeous flowers. Mr. Howson tried to induce Annie to go to the seaside, or to accompany him on a trip to Europe ; but she steadily refused : " Let mo die here, in the old house, father," she said, " I know I shall not live long now, and I would like to end my days under the roof where some of the happiest, and some of the saddest hours of my life have been spent." With the summer came the quiet bustle and preparation incident to the advent of a little stranger. Mj^sterious garments of a non- descript character wore being busily prepared ; a subdued sort of preparation was going on ; a splendid cradle with wonderful mountings and gorgeous curtains was placed in Annie's room ; old Dr. Heartyman, the family physician, called frequently, and it was perfectly evident that an important event was at hand. At last one morning early, when the first faint streaks of day- light were fighting for the mastery over night and darkness, a little, feeble spirit struggled its way into the world and looked at it out of the pale grey eyes of a little girl. "What an ugly baby," exclaimed the doctor, involuntarily, when the red little specimen of humanity was presented to him. " I never saw a greater little fright." " Nor I," answered the nurse, " it's the most awfuUest looking I ever seed." . ii« W ' ■ -ii'-i 144 HARD TO BEAT. Thoy had both 8pokeri very low, but Annie's quick oar had caught the woixls, and a hot flush nuffused hor face as who called in a weak low voice from the bod : " Let me see it." Very tenderly hIio took the little form in her arms, and a stninge feeling thrilled through her as who pressed her babj* to her bosom for the first time. Long and earnestly she gazed on its ret' swollen little face, and a few warm tears fell on it as she though. of its father Ij'ing in a nameless grave. There was no doubt about its being an ugly baby ; the head was of immense size, misshapen, with curious bumps in some places and queer indents in others, as if it had been sat on ; as for fea- tures, if a baby can be said to have any, they were decidedly bud. It would not be perfectly true to say that it had no nose, but really that organ was so small that at first sight it seemed to be wanting; the deficiency in the nasal department, however, was more than made up in the mouth, which was so large that when it cried— which it did as soon as it was born — its bead appeared to open in half on a hin^e, and be in great danger of falling off. The body was most disproportionately small, th' and attenuated, that it was quite a wonder to find that such a frail form could contain such excellent lungs, for it could cry with great strength and persistency. It certainly was an ugly baby; every one who saw it said so, everyone but tho one who had 'given M birth ; to her it was the perfection of beauty, the embodiment of grace and loveliness Laugh at a mother's pride in her first-born if you will; but there, is a subtle essence of poetry in the pride a mother takes in the appearance of her offspring which we men cannot fully under- stand. " You ought to be ashamed to call her ugly," Annie said, indigantly as her weak condition would permit, " she is the very | image of her father, and no one could call him ugly." This was said in a sort of general way to both the doctor and the nurse, and they accepted it jointly by simply bowing their heads in acknowledgment. Very ugly was the baby, and very cross and feeble it proved I also ; it scarcely could be said to have enjoyed good health from the hour of its birth; it appeared to have come into the world without enough vitality to keep it alive, and, before it was ten days old, Dr. Hearty man declared that, although it might live, AN UGLY BABY. 145 I a strange hor bosom n iiH rei' be though. head was lome places , as for foa- jidedly bud. o nose, but jemcd to be t, however, J large thai n — its bead lit danger of small, th" [that such t could cry iW it said so, er it was the 1 loveliness ; but there, takes in the fully under- linie said, as is the very ] e doctor and )Owing their ole it proved health from |to the world it was ten I might live, for a few days longer, he did not believe there was any hope of its being reared. Annie was extremely weak, but anxiety for her child seemed to give her temporary strength, and in three weeks she was out of lied. Very pale, and thin and feeble she was, but hor heart was bound up in hor baby, and nho managed for it's sake to keep up well. She never forgot the words used by the doctor and nurse at the child's birth and used to sit for hours and hours looking at the fragment of humanity and repeating to herself: 'she is just like hor papa, t^he isn't ugly at all." On the twentieth of July the baby was seized with a severe attack of croup. Dr. lleartyman was sent for ; he saw at once there was no hope and he tried, in the gentlest and kindest way, to prepare Annie for the worst. " It is a very severe attack, my child," ho said, " and few babes of her age could withstand it, even if they were strong and hearty ; she is very weak and so — " " Oh no, no, doctor!" she exclaimed covering her fa o with her hands, "don't say she must die, don't tell me there is no hope; must everything I love die, and I be left alive. Oh, my darling," she continued passionately, throwing herself on her knees by the cradle and taking the little form in her arms, " would to God we could die together ; if you must go would that I could go with you. It seemed like a ray of sunlight when you came to bi-ighten the darkness of my life ; you are all I have to remind me of him, and you are so like him. Oh ! stay with me, or lot me go with you. And they called you ugly — you did, doctor, didn't you ? — my beautiful little baby ; and now you must die. Oh 1 doctor j'ou cannot call her ugly anymore, for in a short while she will be one of God's white-robed angels, and they are all beautiful. My poor little darling, they called you an ugly baby." " She is the prettiest ohild I ever saw in my life," blurted out Dr. Heartyman, with tears standing in his eyes, arj^ great sobs coming up in his throat, " I never saw such a pretty baby. She is the image of her father." "You think so?" » Yes." It was a lie, Dr. Heartyman, a gross, pnlpable lie, and you ought to have been ashamed of telling an untruth at your time of life; you knew it was an ugly little brat, but the bright, happy smile which for a moment lighted up the mother's face, the look ^' m \ ~; li i' 1 ;. !_ K^g^ ib^i< 146 HARD TO BKAT. of gratified pride and pleasure satisfied you. You had touched the key-note of her heart and let in a ray of sunshine on one who was weighed down with care and sorrow ; you had gratified a harmless and pardonable pride, and had, for the moment, light- ened the burden of care piossing heavily on a tired heart. Yet it was none the less a lie, doctor ; but I think that when the recording angel looked into your heart and saw the goodnesH and purity of your intention, he either did not record that sin against you, or dipped his pen in the sympathetic ink of mercy 80 that the record would quickly fade away. The baby died that night. Annie never recovered the shock of her baby's death ; she did not appear to have any special disease, she simply seemed to fade away. It was painfully evident that she was sinking, that she was daily losing strength and going, slowly but surely, to the grave. It was in vain that the most eminent physicians were called; in vain that every eflbrt which affection could prompt, and money procure, was made to rouse and interest her; Annie's interest in this life was almost over, she cared but little for this world now, and had placed her hopes in the life beyond the grave, whore she fondlj'- hoped to be united again to those two loved ones who had gone before her. The sun was sinking to rest on a warm July day, and his last departing rays lengthened the shadows in the room where Annie was lying in bed, taking her last look at the bright world, and bidding farewell to those kind and loving hearts she would know no more on this side of the grave. She knew she was dying : F^xe felt sure of that without the kindly warning of Dr. Heartyman, but she felt no fear ; she had long ago prepured herself for this, and tried to make her peace with her God. She wanted to die; life had lost all its sweetness and freshness to her, and she was anxious to pass that mystic boundary between the known and the unknown, and solve the problem of the hereafter at once ; so she had no fear, only a firm, quiet confidence in God's mercy and goodness to aid her through the awftil valley of the shadow of death, and to bring her to His everlasting kingdom. It was a very sad group which assembled around her bed, Mr. Howson, Julia, MissMoxton, Dr. Heirtyman and Oharlie Morton. Annie had taken leave of all of them except Charlie, somehow she seemed purposely to have left him for the last. Her voice was very low and weak, but she retained perfect consciousness, mmm AN UOLT BABT. 147 and was in possession of all her fnoulties : her illness had wasted the once plump form, and hollowed and paled her ch<>ek ; the color had faded from her lips, and the old bright, laughing sparkle of her eye was dimmed ; but a purer, holier expression had come over her face — a quiet, dignified calm which lent it a higher tone oflovelineHs. It was the first imprint of the beauty beyond the grave ; the beauty which we are taught to believe and hope comes when the deformity and unsightlinesH of sin has been shaken off, and when the spirit stands in the presence of its Creator. " Charlie," she said, holding out her attenuated hand to him, "I am so sorry for all the grief and misery I have caused you. I I know, I can see it now, that much of what has hnppenod was the result of my thoughtless, heartless flirting ; I didn't mean to pain or grieve you, Charlie, you have always been good and kind tome, my 'dear, big brother,' " a faint smile wreathed itself around her lips as she used the term, and she continued; " Yes, my big brother, for you always have been like a brother to me ; but I know I have pained and grieved you, Charlie, and you must try to forgive and forget me. No — don't forget me ; don't let me pass out of your mind ; think of me sometimes, Charlie, but don't think of me as the headstrong, wilful woman who caused you pain and suffering, but think of me as the little girl you used to take on your knee and pet and caress. Love me, Charlie, as you used to in those days." Ho was down on his knees by the bedside now with his face buried in his hands, and great heart-drawn sobs shaking his whole frame: it seemed so hard to him that all he loved must be taken from him, and in the bitterness of the trial he prayed that it might please God to take him too. " Don't cry, Charlie," she continued, " don't cry for me ; I shall be happier, I hope and trust, in the world beyond the grave than I ever have been, or could be on earth. 1 haven't been as good as loughtto have bec^. but God is very merciful, and I feel calm and happy in His love." There was a pause of some minutes broken only by the half- I suppressed sobs of the spectators, and then she spoke again, but 80 low, so feeble, that the words could scarcely be heard. " It is co.Tiing now, I can see it, death; but I do not fear it. I I see a bright and radiant form beside it, and fear is swallowed up in hope and thankfulness. Kiss me, Charlie, let the last memory I take out of this world be of your pure and noble love ; kiss me." •«! im'^ 148 HABD TO BEAT. Fondly and reverently he folded the frail, loved form in his arras and imprinted a kiss on the pale lips; the first kiss he had pressed on them since she had grown to womanhood. A happy gratified smile stole over her face, a bright joyous light danced for a moment in her eyes ; her lips trembled as if they strove to utter something, but only a faint sigh escaped them, and while he held her in his arms, while his lips were pressed to hers, the last beams of the setting sun flooded the room with a momentary burst of glory, and ere its brightness had passed away, Annie's spirit had taken its flight. SCENE LAST. THE CURTAIN PALLS. Time, April first, eighteen hundred and seventy-three ; place, the author's office. My story proper ended with the foregoing chapter; but, some- how, I cannot sever the connection between my readers and my- self without a few " last words." Even a criminalon the scaffold is allowed a few last words, and I suppose this culprit may be \ permitted to claim the same privilege. I cannot claim any very high or mighty moral for my tale ; it I has a moral, I suppose, that crime and wrong-doing is sure to meet its just punishment, that vice may be triumphant for a while, but retribution is certain to overtake the wicked ; I have not tried to gild evil so as to make it look like good, and I have not endea- vored to place virtue on stilts so that it may bo admired from a distance, like some sculptured marble ; I have tried to paint human nature as we see it around us every day, and if 1 have succeeded in that, and in interesting and amusing you, I have attained my purpose as nearly as I ever expected to do. It is now almost two years since the date of my last chapter, a perhaps you would like to know how some of the characters Ij have been writing about have fared in that time. Charlie Morton is not married, nor is he likely to be. Hisj heart lies buried in Mount Royal Cemetery under a pure whitel marble cross, bearing the inscription " Annie Griffith, aged 20| years 3 months," and he is not a man likely to love twice. Hel THE CURTAIN FALLS. 149 discovered where his niece had been taken, and finding she was in good liands with the kind-hearted nuns of Hochelaga Convent left her there, content to visit her frequently and endeavour as far as possible to fill a father's place to her. 8he is all he has to live for DOW, and Miss Fan stands a good chance of being a spoiled child as far as he is concerned, for her will is law with him, and he cannot bring himself to believe that the word " no," was ever invented to be applied to her. Often as he takes her^ out with him memory carries him back twelve years in his life, and he can almost fancy the fair-haired little creature by his side is Annie as he first knew her when a little girl. Very quiet, still and methodical is Mr, Morton's life now, having but one object, the education and happi- ness of his niece, and time slips by easily and pleasantly for him. Let us hope that the future may bring him all the happiness and love in an old age, which his single-heartedness and simplicity of character deserve. Mr. Harway was not so fortunate as he hoped to be; the detectives were rather too smart for him, and that perfect gentle- man is now serving out his time in the Vermont State prison where he will, probably, spend the next three years. He complains a little about the prison rules which do not permit the consumption of any cold gin ; and he protests strongly against the turnkey for taking away his handkerchief, thereby depriving him of the pleasure of dusting his boots and wiping his face afterwards; but 1 tliink he is well taken care of where he is, and there I shall leave him. Mr. Boggs does not drive a cab now; his participation in the body-snatching business came out rather strongly at the inquest, and he was consequently refused a license when he applied the j next year. He did not sutfer by it, however, for Morton made him a haadsome present, and he now keeps a hotel in the Eastern j Townships and is doing well. Theophilus Launcelot Polydor Johnson, Esq., is about to com- mit matrimony. Since Annie's death, Mr. Johnson has discovered that Julia is the girl for him, and ho proposes to lead her to the j hymenial altar some time next month, you know, and settle down and be steady, don't you see. Mr. Augustus Fowler — commonly called Gus — has abandoned the study of medicine and devoted himself to the legal profession. He says he has made up his mind that he was not quite equal to murder, therefore, he is not suited for the medical profession ; but 160 HARD TO BEAT. he thinks he can tell lies in .a plausible sort of way, and that will be of great advantage to him if he ever gets a case to plead. ' Mrs. Sudlow has been more gracious to him of late, and there is every prospect of a wedding in St. Dominique Street some time this sum- mer ; the golden haired little beauty having expressed her opinion that she prefers June to July because well, she didn't state the reason, but I suppose it is because June is one month earlier than July. I think that is alL and that everybody is disposed of, and, therefore, I will retire, and — and — " Prompter, ring down the curtain ! " Finis. g f : id that will lead." Mrs. ire is every te this sum- her opinion I't state the larlier than jedof, and, f FRi FROM BAD TO WORSE. iQ U iww^ FROM BAD TO WORSE. CHAPTER I. OUT or THK STREET. It was a cold, windy morning in December, about eight years ago. The 8now which had fallen during the night was drifting about in blinding clouds, rendering travel exceedingly unpleasant, and making those indoors very loth to quit their warm rooms to face the chilling blast. Perhaps it was the desire to get a little warmth into their half-frozen limbs which caused the crowd filling the gallery of the Recorder's Court, Montreal, on this particular morn- ing to be so great ; but, far more likely, it was that curious and [depraved taste which delights in witnessing the punishment of others, which so large a number of Montrealers, especially amongst I the lower orders, seem to have. It is a curious thing to sit and watch this gallery in the Recor* Ider's Court ; to see the men and boys who day after day frequent it, and stand patiently (there are no seats) for hours listening with [infinite relish to the dull monotony of the "drunks and disorder- llies," and the stereotyped sentence " One dollar, or Eight days " fall |from the lips of the Recorder. I have often sat and watched the gallery — when I was forced to lattend the Court daily — and wondered wl at possible pleasure these Ipeople could find in visiting the Court so often and hearing the same jold story told over and over again. It isn't funny work. Once jin a great while a little bit of humor will get into a case, or His lonor will say something funny, and all the policemen, as in duty Itwund, will laugh a quiet, decorous laugh, just sufficient to show [that they " see the point," which they generally don't, but as a general thing it is dreary work ; and how anybodj'^ can attend Court with any idea of deriving pleasure from it I cUnnot dis- pover. I remember one old man whose silvery locks gave him a grave M venerable appearance, and who seemed to be rather above the brdinary run of visitors to the gallery in station, who actually ! ! •m m' 156 FROM BAD TO WORSE. m\ attended during the whole sitting of the Court for Bevcntcen consecutive days and seemed really to enjoy it. I got quite accustomed to seeing his white head in the crowd, and felt quite disappointed on the eighteenth day when he failed to appear. I am afraid he is dead, or has left the city, for I have not seen him since ; and I scarcely think ho could have withstood the pleabuiv it affbi*ded him to attend the Court if he was in town. This gallery is not an inviting place. It is the very concentra- tion of filth, although the officers of the Court try manfully to make it presentable; but no amount of soap and water and scrub- ing can possibly get much of a start on the constant stream of tobacco juice which is squirted on the floor, and on the little plat- form which runs in front of the gallery. The smell is almost insufferable, and the normal condition of the walls is dirt. On the morning in question the Court was more than ordinarily crowded, for it was Monday, and, as is usual on that morning, the number of cases was large. The Court was a little late in open- ing, and practised observers expressed an opinion that the delin- quents would " catch it heavy," as the Recorder came in with a dark frown on his generally good-natured, jolly countenance. Evidently something had disturbed the usual serenity of his temper, and " the quality of mercy " was not at all likely to be strained that morning. There was very little of interest in the first dozen cases or so, they all coming under the denomination of " simple drunks." The next case, however, caused the Eecorder to smile as he road the j name " John Smith." "What is his real name?" asked His Honor, leaning over his I desk and speaking to the Sergeant who was in charge. ** I don't know," replied the Sergeant. " I never saw him before. He was very drunk when he was brought in, and refused to give! any other name." " John Smith I " shouted the Sergeant, and John Smith steppeiij in the dock. He was quite different in appearance to the " hai-d cases " whol had preceded him. He was apparently about twenty- five yearsj of age, tall, dark complexioned, with long, straight bla('k hair J and bright, piercing black eyes. His carriage was easy an(][ graceAil, and the hand which grasped the rail of the dock wa small and shapely as a woman's. His dress was shabby, but looke mt^mmmn OUT OF THE STREET. 167 Bevcnt«en got quite felt quite ippoar. I t seen him e plonijurc concentra- lanfuUy to and scrub- : stream of 3 little plat- II is almost iirt. ,n ordinarily aorning, the late in opeu- at the delin- oe in with a countenance. )f his temper, be strained \ cases or 80, drunks." The | he road the| ling overhi3 |w him before.' jfused to give I ^mith steppeil cases" who Uy-five yea" \t blaart of (his speech had made a groat improsHion on the small lH>y, and ho appeared, to a casual observer, to be moved to tears, for his face was almost buried in his hands ond his frame shook with emotion ; but a close examination would have shown that the thumb of hia left hand was suspiciously near his nose, and the expi*es8ive wink he gave at another small boy accused o*'the same heinous oifence was not very suggestive of foar or veneration for the majesty of the law. When the case was over the old gentleman went down stairs, and received fVom the Sergeant the diiforence between the amount at which the boy had been bailed— two dollars and a half— and the amount of the tine. " Has Arthur Austin's fine been paid ?" he asked. "No, nor not likely to be. He says he has no friends in the city to whom he could apply for help." " Could I see him, and talk to him f^r a f"w minutes?" " Certainly," said the Sergeant " politely, just step this way, please." The old gentleman followed the Sergeant, and was soon seated in the inner portion of the Station, talking to Arthur Austin. m OUT OP TUB HTUKKT. 161 Tlio yoiiti^ man'H Htory wiw very Hinipio, ari(J vt)ry {•omrnon He wuH an KiiKliHiiinuti, wIioho fiitliur hiul uriii^ratMcl U> Ihu Hl.ite* wbilo ho WiiH qiiitu a boy; liu had hooii in hiiHinoNH with hin fathor in Nov;* York onid HiicfHKxUwl at Hrnt, hut tho mania for drink, which hiul i^rown on him since hin miHfortunon, had caiiHcd hiH diHchar^u ahou'u thrcu wuckH hof(;rc tho opcnin^^ of my Htory, and ho waH now without a friend or a oiler any oxciiho lor hiH diHHipation, and Hoeinod hoArtily anhaniod of it. Tho old gontlonian looked at him quietly for a little while be- fore he Hpokc, then ho anked, Huddonly : " Wero you over locked up before ? " "Never," ho naid, with a shuddor, "and if I over get out I'll tako procioUH g'xxi euro 1 never got in again." " Thon you muHt give up tho uho of intoxicating drinkH." " I have done ho ; I have had my lant drop of intoxicating drink for my whole life." "Good I" Haid tho old gentloman, patting him on the back, "stick to that vow and you will bo all right." "I have mado no vow, and need to miiko none ; the memory of the miHory I suffbrod in that coll and in tho priHoner'n dock this raorning in btronger than all tho vowh I couiu make." The old gentleman talked to him for Homo time and at last paid his fine, gave him a dol'ar to buy nomething to oat, and told him local! ut bin office at two o'clock. On tho card which ho gave the young man waH printed " Lubbuck, Lowndn & Co., Prrxluco and CommiBsion merchants, Common street." The old gentleman was Mr. Stephen Lubbuck, the head of the firm. ifc 9|c Hi ^ ^ iif m That visit of Arthur Austin to Mr. Lubbuck proved the turning I point in his life, and opened to him a now and honorable career- The old gentleman had taken quite a fancy U) tho young man, [oLe o: those curious freak«» of n generous nature which sometimes occur With elderly gentlemen towards those whom they look on 88 young enough to be their sons. The quiet, gentlemanly manner, and plain straightforward answers of the young man, increased this feeling, and it was, therefore, not surprising that before the ^fM \i'm 162 PROM BAD TO WORSE. interview was over Arthur Austin found himself engaged at a fair salary as assistant bookkeeper to the firm of Lubbuck, Lownds & Co. He had several letters of introduction from New York and Boston houses ; and the firm by whom he had been employed here gave him an excellent character for everything except temperance. That point Mr. Lubbuck determined to risk, feeling confident that Arthur would not return to his old habit again. Arthur Austin's conduct for the next four months fully justified Mr. Lubbuck's good opinion of him, and the old gentleman con- gratulated himself on having secured a treasure. Early and late Arthur was at his post, and performed his duties better than any clerk Mr. Tiubbuck had ever had. Quick, attentive, fully acquainted with his business, Arthur Austin not only gained the confidence of his employer but of his fellow clerks, whom he was always ready and willing to assist in their duties. Arthur Austin had now a career of honor and useftilness opened to him, and seemed determined to profit by his opportunity. He left the boarding house he had been in, so as to remove himself from his old jolly companions, and went to one in a better and quieter neighborhood. He avoided all his old haunts, in order more securely to guard himself against temptation, joined a temperance association, and devoted his spare time almost entirely to reading. As the spring gradually advanced and navigation opened, Arthur j Austin proved himself of still greater service to his employers. He was acquainted with many of the leading produce and com. mission houses in Boston, New York and Chicago, and speedily j gained several new and valuable correspondents for Lubbuck, j Lownds & Co., whose business was greatly increased thereby, ai Arthur rose still higher in his employers' estimation. It was his custom on leaving the office to walk up St. James j fttreet and through Victoria square on his way home, and one evening, as he was crossing the square, he noticed a young lady standing by the fountain, with the tip of her parasol resting on thel low wall surrounding it. She was gazing in an abstracted, pre-j occupied manner into the water, and only presented aprofile view;! but as Arthur firot caught a glimpse of that outline he thoughtl he had never seen anything half so beautiful in his life. Justasl he stepped close behind her she started suddenly and looked up,| and in the action of surprise loosed her hold of her parasol, andj it immediately tumbled into the water. OUT OP THE STREET. 163 It was the work of a nioraont for hira to step forward, rescue the parasol, and return it to its o 'ner, with a few wordi} of apology for having unintention?*lly btfti'tled her. " Oh, don't apologize," she said, turning on him the full battery of the sweetest pair of blue eyes he had ever encountered, while a smile rippled for a moment across the rosiest and most kissable lips he had ever seen, *• it was my fault ; I stood dreaming while I waited for Frank, and your step startled me, that was all." Arthur stood for a moment, gazing at her in admiration, and wondering whether he might, with propriety, endeavor to improve the chance acquaintance, or simply raise his hat and pass on. '*Who was Frank ? " he thought, and somehow a feeling of deadly animosity to that unknown individual stole over him, and he would have very much liked to have had " Frank " there, and have bad it out with him on the spot. CHAPTER II. OUT OF THE SQUARE. Mr. Stephen Lubbuck was an old bachelor, and lived in a pleaeant little villa of his own on Sherbrooke street, where his widowed sister and her two daughters, and the little boy we have already seen figuring in the Recorder's Court, lived with him. Mr. Lub- buck was an easygoing, quiet old gentleman who had drifted through life very pleasantly, having met with few misfortunes other than those incidental to any young man struggling lo make his way in the world. He started from his home in England at the age of sixteen, and came to Canada, where, after several years roughing it, he settled down in Montreal as a clerk in a produce bouse. His progress was slow, but sure; and, at the age of thirty- five, he found himself admitted as a junior partner, and in a fair way to competency, if not great wealth. He had been too busy, heretofore, to think of matrimony, but now he began to think how pleasant it would be to have a home of his own and a bright, loving face to grace it. Ho was a careful, prudent man, however, was Stephen Lubbuck, and he thought he would get the cage first and then catch the canary that was to inhabit it. But it took him a year or two to get a cage to suit him, and then he looked about for several years more before he found any one to suit him; and he was still look- ing about him when he received intelligence of the death of his brother-in-law, Herbert Williams, and he thought of the bright little sister of ten he had left behind in Liverpool twenty-five years before, and who was now a widow, almost destitute, and with three children, two girls, aged eight and nine respectively, and a little baby boy of four months. He thought of his bright boyish days and his fond sister's love, and he thought he had found his canary — or canaries — and so he sent for and installed them in the cage. Very happily and pleasantly did the little family live together for the next ten years, and many and many a time did Mr. Lub- buck congratulate himself on the canaries he had finally put in his cage after so many years waiting. The two girls grew up to budding womanhood, but, as they grew OUT OP THE SQUARE. 165 older, they became more and more disBimilar, both in appearance and temperament. Frances, the elder, was a tall, robust girl, with big bones, and a general appearance of having been lately polished with an exceedingly rough towel. Her hair was an uncertain black, and her eyes of a waterish grey, quite the reverse of beautiful ; her nose was undoubtedly and defiantly a " snub," and her wide mouth displayed a formidable array of grinders, unquestionably highly useful in the masticatory department, but quite a failure as regarded beauty. There was no question about it, Frances was a very plain-looking girl, and had a decideoly masculine appearance. She was slightly masculine in tastes, too. When a little girl, she could run, jump, climb trees, and play marbles, or peg top with any boy in the neighborhood. As she got older she affected mus- cular exercises, could pull a good oar, use dumb-bells, etc., and managed to develop a vast quantity of bone and a good proportion of muscle; indeed she had more than once remarked, "I could take half these whipper-snapper things called yotng men, and break them across my knee without any trouble," and sh? certainly looked as if she could do it. She not only preferred boyish games and exercises, but also masculine studies. She learned Latin, Greek, mathematics, etc., and studied hard at medicine, for the practice of which she acquired a great taste ; and it was only by the greatest persuasion that her uncle could induce her to forego her pet idea of going to college, receiving a diploma and entering on general practice. In her early days she had killed four dogs, experimenting on them, and she totally destroyed the digestive [organs of three promising young cats, and made them lead miser- able lives until she had worried the whole twenty-seven lives out [of them. Now she experimented on the servants, but in a mild manner, and did not make more than one a month dangerously ill, which was better than some doctors could do. You must no'^ ^^ink I am describing a wild, uneducated bur- llesque on leminin- , ^oor Frank, as she was usually called, was as good and warm-hearted a girl as could be found in Montreal, Unlet and utipresuming in manner, talented beyond the average, and generous to a fault. Her great drawback was that she looked ■ike a man, thought like a man, had the tastes and feelings of a I man, and was a woman. It would have been hard in all Montreal to find a greater I contrast to Frances Williams than in her sister Jessie. Short, slight, petitCf with great masses of wavy golden hair, bright sky- 'I .4 166 FROM BAD TO WORSE. blue eyes, a clear pink and while complexion, a rosebud of a mouth, and pearls for teeth, Jessie Williams was the fairest, sweetest little vision one could wish to dawn upon him. Made all for sunshine, and joy, and pleasure, she flew about like a beautiful butterfly, carrying warmth and light wherever she went. In temper, as in appearance, the sisters were equally dissimilar. While Frances was quiet, slightly reserved and self-sustained, Jessie was all impulse, poetry and sensibility. It is almost use- less to say that Jessie was the pet of the family, in fact, almost a spoiled child. She had had a first-class superficial education ; could play the pipno well, sing passably, dance exquisitely, had a smattering of French, and had acquired an immense stock of romance, gathered principally from sensation novels and the American weekly papors. A girl of tender Iot 'ng qualities, capable of being & good usefi 1 wif^) and mother, or i heartless flirt and coquette, according to the circumstances into w ch she was thrown. Arthur Austin's dilemma did not last long. While he was debating with himself whether he should simply bow and pass on, or endeavor to take advantage of the slight opportunity offered him to improve a pleasant chance acquaintance, his doubts were suddenly simplified by his companion exclaiming: " Here's Frank 1 " Arthur turned and saw approaching them a severe and not very prepossessing female, who struck him very much at first as being a man in disguise. Miss Frances Williams — for, of course, she was *' Frank " — advanced rather quickly, and threw an inquiring glance from her sister to the strange gentleman she found her with. " Oh, Frank," said Jessie, before her sister could speak, " I got 80 tired waiting for you that I began to have a day-dream by the fountain, and I dropped my parasol into the water ; and — and — this gentleman," with a sly look at Arthur from under her eyelashes, which set his blood boiling, '* was kind enough to fish it out for me. " I am very much obliged to you, sir, for saving my sister's parasol from dro\ ling " said Frank, very demurely. " I hope yoa | did not hurt yoursvlf much by the exertion." *' Oh, no 1 1 assure you— very much pleased — allow mo — " stam- mered Arthur, so much surprised at the quiet, self-possessed tone I ■.M OUT OF THE SQUARE. 167 Bebud of a ,he fairest, . Made all a beautiful nt. dissimilar. f-8ustained, almost use- ct, almost a education ; litely, had a Be stock of els and the ties, capable less flirt and was thrown. hile he was and pass on, jr offered him doubts were and not very first as being [urse, she was m inquiring Le found her )eak, " I got ream by the I — and — this |sh it out for my sister's " 1 hope yoo I me — " Btam* >SBe8sed ton< of the masculine feminine he was addressing that he did not kno^ what he was saying. "Come, Jessie, let us go home," said Frank, turning to her sister, " I am sorry T kept you so long waiting," and she quietly walked off with Jessie without looking at Arthur Austin again. Bui Jessie turned as she passed the fountain, and shot back one bright glance and a half smile at Arthur, and he went home feeling lighter at heart and treading more elastically than he had done for many a long day. All the evening he thought of that brilli.^nt vision he had seen beside the fountain, and at night he I dreamed of a mass of golden hair, and a pair of sky-blue eyes, and heard a soft, sympathetic voice saying, " And this gentleman was kind enough to fish it out for me." ii( »!: ^ 3|( ^ ^ Arthur Austin thought a good deal about " the lady by the fountain," as he styled her, during the next few days ; and the memory of the handsome young gentleman who had so gallantly rescued her parasol and ruined his shirt cuff in so doing, was not quite absent from the mind of Jessie. Perhaps, you do not believe I in love at first sight ? Well, I do not altogether, in the abstract, and such passions are usually evanescent, yet they do sometimes occur, and both these young people who had met so casually felt the magnetic influence of each other's presence ; and, without being "in love" with each other, still very sincerely desired that tliis accidental meeting should not be their last. Fortune did not favor Arthur Austin for some days, for, although he almost " haunted " Victoria Square, he saw no more of "the lady by the fountain." About a week had elapsed, when one evening as he was walking home with a friend they met the object of Arthur's thoughts, [accompanied by her sister. As she approached Jessie averted her eyes, but took a sly glance lOQt under the lashes. Arthv\r timidly and half hesitatingly iiBed his hat, and then she turned towards him for a second, and cknowledged his salutation by a slight bow and a bewitching fittle smile. Frank elevated her snub nose a trifle higher than (ual, and was passing on when she noticed Arthur's companion, rho was bowing very politely, and then her features relaxed into smile, and she returned his salutation with the air of an old riend. Jessie, also, gave him a kindly smile and bow, and so the couples passed each other. 168 PROM BAD TO WORSE. !liii " You know them ? " said Arthur. * "Certainly," retiii nod Charlie Benson, his companion. "Prank and her sister are old friends of mine. You know them also, do you not ? I thought you bowed." " Yes, after a fashion. "Who are they ? " " Frank Williams and her sister. "Where did you meet them that you do not know their names ? " Then Arthur told of his little adventure by the fountain, and his friend laughed at it. " Case of love at first sight, I suppose ; struck dead and all that sort of thing, eh ? Well, a little harmless passion does not do a boy any harm." Benson was about thirty and Austin about twenty-five, so the former thought he could affect a few senorial airs. " You did not tell me the name of the youngest lady ? " « Jessie." " Jessie ; that is a very pretty name," said Arthur. " Yes ; and a pretty little doll of a girl," replied his com- panion. " Are you very intimate with them ? " " Yes, tolerably well so ; know them for about five years. Oh, don't be bashful, I know what you want to say, you want me to introduce you ; well, I will display the natural generosity of my disposition and promise to do so without being asked. Want to hear a little family history ? Here it is. Girls' father is dead, thoy and their mother live with their uncle, a rich old bachelor who will leave them all his money. There is a chance for yow.. I don't mind confessing I feel a little spooney on Frank myself sometimes, only she is so fond of practising medicine I am half afraid she would dose me to death in a year. Say, seriously, old bo}', Jessie would not he a bad spec for you," and he smiled a quiet, peculiar smile which Arthur remembered afterwards. "Ta, ta, I'm at home: the next time we meet them I will claim the privilege of an old friend, stop them, and introduce you." j % in i(i ^ % m if. Arthur Austin was duly introduced. Frank turned up her nose again, but Jessie smiled very sweetly, and, as the quartette walked I away together, Mr. Benson went a little ahead with Frank, and gave Arthur and Jessie an opportunity to pleasantly bring up the rear. The conversation was very commonplace, but Jessie had a charming way of saying nothing as if it meant some- OUT OF THE SQUARE. 169 )n. "Frank 3 m albo, do )t them that nintain, and and all that oes not do a r-flve, 80 the ly?" r. led his com- ^e years. Oh, u want me to irosity of my Want to hear lad, thoy and (rho will leave I don't mind letimes, only ,id she would Jessie would iculiar smile ;'m at home: (ge of an old up her nose i-tette walked Frank, and ^ly bring up but Jes8i9 leant some- thing, and smiling and looking up with those bright blue eyes of hors, which was very bewitching ; and Mr. Arthur Austin felt himself momentarily falling deeper and deeper into that un- fathomable abyss called love. He knew he was falling, but he liked it and wanted to fall more. After that first afternoon Benson and Austin managed to meet the girls several times, and Arthur's acquaintance progressed rapidly and pleasantly. There were no direct words of love spoken, few compliments and fewer ** pretty Hp'beches ; " but JesHio could scarcely fail to understand the warmth of his manner, and Hhe liked it. As for Arthur, he was alternately hot or cold as Jessie smiled on him, or smiled at some chance acquaintance they met. I am afraid Miss Jessie was a bit of a flirt, and liked, as all flirts do, to torment her victim a little, and then pacify him by a little extra graciousness ; just as a playful child will swing a pet kitten by the tail preparatory to giving it a saucerful of milk. One day about twelve o'clock Arthur was crossing Victoria Square, when he saw Jessie coming towards him alone. It was the first time he had met her alone since that memorable after- noon when he had saved her parasol for her, and bis pulse beat a little quicker as she approached. They met at nearly the old spot, and after a few formal sentences they got into closer conver- sation. Thoy were standing talking earnestly together when Mr. Ste- phen Lubbuck, coming up one of the side paths, saw them, and titopped in amazement at finding his pet niece and his confidential clerk in such close converse. The old gentleman took off his gold S|)ectacles, wiped them, put them on again, took another look, isatiutied himself that he had not labored under an optical illusion, land then retired the way he had come, without having been I noticed by the pair ; but there was a sterner and more angry ejprossion on his face than was usually to be found on that serene 1 countenance. ^K ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^* ^^ Arthur Austin's acquaintance with Jessie was rather a peculiar lone. He knew her personally ; he knew that she was an old friend of Benson's, and ihat she was the sweetest little lady he had ever met, but he did not know where she lived or who her relations were — except her sister ; or in fact scai'cely anything about her, except that he was deeply in love with her. At that last meeting by the fountain she had been kinder than usual, and, after accept- 170 FROM BAD TO WORSE. ing a pretty little bouquet which Arthur had ventured to present her with, had pulled a forget-me-not from it and fastened it in hiti button hole, promising that if ho and his friend Benson chancod to be walking down Sherbrooke street about four o'clock the next afternoon they should meet two young ladies they knew. Arthur Austin completed his errand and returned to the offlcO' To his surprise he found Mr. Lubbuck still there. The old gentle- man usually went home about half-past four, and it was long after that hour. Aif soon as Arthur entered Mr. Lubbuck said, very gravely, " Mr. Austin, I should like to see you in my private office for a few minutes." Arthur followed the old gentleman into that sanctum sanctorum of business houses, the " Private Office," and stood before his em- ployer awaiting developments. " Mr. Austin," said Mr. Lubbuck very gravely, and Arthur felt hurt that he should address him so formally, for lately ho had always called him by his Christian name, '' how long have you known my niece ? " " Your niece, sir I I know you have two nieces, but I have not the pleasure of being acquainted with them, nor have I ever seen them, to my knowledge ' " I am very sorry, Mr. Austin," said Mr. Lubbuck, severely, " that you should think it necessary to tell me a lie. I have been a good friend to you, have lifted you to a good position, and I regret, for the first time, to find that you are untruthful. You say you do not know my niece, yet I saw you talking to her not an hour ago." ** Do you mean in Victoria Square ? " asked Arthur, beginning to understand the facts of the case. "Yes." " Then Miss Williams is your niece ? " " Most undoubtedly." " I assure you, sir, I was not aware of the fact. If you bad asked me if I knew Miss Williams I should have admitted at once that I not only know her but greatly admire her; but I was not aware of the fact that she was your niece." " Is this true ? " " I hope you will not doubt me, sir, when I pledge my woi'd of honor as a gentleman to the truth of my assertion." •ed to present ened it in his nson chanced slock the next new. to the office- he old gentle- v&s long after ck said, very OUT OP THE 8QUABB!. j^^ "No, no, I do not doubt you in the leanf T «,-» ««««. on this subject. Good even inl'' ' ^ "^'^ '^"^ *^ ^^^ "(iood evening, sir." deeply .» what he,ho«Ids.;X?.11^ '■.^'""°' ""■""■■« te oflSce for a um sanctorum >efore his era- i Arthur felt ately ho had ng have you Jt I have not 8 I ever seen jk, severely, I have been sition, and I ill. You say 3 her not an r, beginning If you had itted at once ut I was not my word of I CHAPTER IIT. OUT OF THE CHURCH. " Jb88IE, how long have you known Mr. Austin ? " Jessie looked up at her uncle with a quick inquiring glance, and answered promptly ** about a month." " Do you think it right or proper for a young lady to have clandestine meetings with a man she has only known a month, aid whose acquaintance with her is at least a doubtful one? Where did you first meet him ? " " I met him in — in — " stammered poor Jessie, getting quite con- fused and growing uncomfortably red in the face. Before she could finish the sentence, however, Prank came to her assistance in her usual prompt manner, by saying, " Charlie Benson intro- duced Mr. Austin to us one afternoon when we were out walk- ing." " Oh ! you know him too I " •' Certainly, and I think him a very pleasant fellow," said Frank, anxious to give Jessie a little time to recover. Mr. Lubbuck stood a little in awe of his m^culine niece, and in very whole- some dread of her doses and decoctions in the medical line ; besides, he knew and liked Charlie Benson ; and he had, moreover, a hifjh regard for Arthur Austin ; he was not, therefore, disposed to view the matter very severely. Still, he did not like to be toolenientali of a sudden, so he preserved his grave manner and said, addressing Jessie, " I do not approve of young ladies meeting young gentle- men in public places, and standing talking confidentially to ihera; it does not look well, and frequently gives occasion for unkind and unpleasant remarks. How did it happen that you met Mr. Austin alone ? " " I — I — don't know," faltered poor Jessie, feeling very much like a naughty child who feared punishment, " I was on'iy — " " Uncle," said Frank, cutting in suddenly, and speaking in her prompt, determined way, *' it seems to me you are speaking very harshly to Jessie about a very simple matter ; one would tbinki that Jessie had been meeting Mr. Austin clandestinely, and by| appointment ; now I have been with her every time ihe has seei OUT OF THE CnUKCH. 173 ; glance, and ady to have vn a month, mbtful one? ng quite con- Before she er assistance Benson intro- )re out walk- said Frank, iMr. Lubbuck very whole- line; besides, eover, a hijjh Iposed to view ! 1 too lenient all ^d, addressing roung gentle- 1 i ally to them; In for unkind I you met Mr. very much onty— Baking in herl [peaking veryl \ would thinkl [inely, and by| I ghe bos Beei him and it has only been three or four times, and then only for a few minutes walk — and nho hnppoimd to be alone with him in the square because — because — "Frank hesitated a moment, blushed a little and continueil — " because I left her in the square for two or three minutes while I did an errand at Morgan's for Mamma." Frank omitted to state that it was on a former, and not the present, occasion she had so left Jessie. "Oh ! Prank," exclaimed Jessie. i " Don't be a fool, " said the brusque Frank sntto voce. •' You misunderstand me, Frank," said Mr. Lubbuck rather overcome by his niece's volubility, "I do not object to a proper acquaintance between Mr. Austin and yourselves; I only took exception to the manner in which that acquaintance had been formed ; but don't let us say any more about it; you girls are young and giddy, and I daresay no harm was intended on either side. I might say, " continued Mr. Lubbock, willing to make a little concession, "that I esteem Mr. Austin very highly; he is an exceedingly clever young man, steady, and undoubtedly a gen- tleman ; I scarcely think you can derive any harm from an acquain- tance with him, provided it is properly conducted and not allowed to go too far." " So you know him, too! " exclaimed Frank. "Certainly, my dear, he is my bookkeeper and confidential clerk, a very clever young man." " Then, Uncle," said matter-of-fact Frank, determined to make the most of the advantage she had gained, " if he is such a clever young man and you like him so much, why don't you ask hi:u to come and see you ? I'm very democratic in some things, you know, and I believe in employer and employee knowing each other Bocially as well as in business." " Yes, my dear, but — " •' Oh I you need not be afraid of me, I like men's society, — I wish I jvas a man, instead of a poor helpless woman, but you need not fancy I shall fall in love with his handsome face and fine moustache; and as for Jessie, if such a foolish notion gets into her head I'll give her a seidlitz powder, and bleed her. So, Uncle, ask Mr. Austin and Charlie Benson to dinner on Sunday." "Oh! its Charlie? is it?" "Don't be a silly old goose, but ask them like a good old fellow •8 you are." :|c :|e »|e :(( :ic ^ :(( m KKOM HAD TO WOKHR. " Mrrt. WillininH pi'ONMiitN litfi'coinpliiiHMitN (o Mr. Arlliiir Aimlin Mu\ roqiiONlM tlio pUmNuro of IiIh oonipnny to diriiior on Miiiiilny iioxl lit NIX o'clorU." It wuNnNlitV, loriiml lilllo iiol««, Itiit in Arlliiir AiiNtin'N oyim ii wtiN vory iirooioiiN, lor liotolt. Iliiit Mm. WilliriiiiH iiovor trurwtl IImiho Oiiry rliariU'torN, niul it. whh hm niiirli hh Iio (miiiIiI ( no rit tnko wino, and (piito right too — than in u year's business transactions togothor. I do not mind con- fessing that 1 desire to know 3'ou more thoroughly than I luivo done during the six months you have been with me, as I con- temphite some business changes this fall which may render it necessary for mo to boablo to trust implici'v in you. l,therelbro, hope to see you fro(piontly at my house in future, and hope tliut our social relations may prove as satisfactory as our business onos have done. 1 wish, however, to bo perfectly frank with you; yon will of course ho frequently thrown into the society of my nioooH, whoso aojuaintanco you have already made; now I do not object to an acqnaintjini.'i\ or oven a friend -^hip springing up between you, but there must Ik. no idea of its ever being anything nioro. Frank, I'm not afraid of, she's able to take care of herself, and is more than a match for an}' man, unless ho can stand unlimited experiments in n\odicine. and has the constitution of a horso; but my little pet Jessie ' scarcely more thati a child, and I won't have ony one trying to stuff her head with nonsense for thone many years lo come. I am plain with you, because I want no OUT OK TIIIC (!nill«!||. iir, ti)iHiui(lorN(iuil« * * t Ai'lliiir AiiHtin hooii Immuiiik^ a coiiHtunl. ninj woN-oiiio viHitor nl Ml*. LiiIiImicI<'h, him! ^n^w nttrndily in Ciivor not only with t.lin old (joiillt'inim, ImiI, with I ho wliolo (iiniily. Ilviwi KnuiU-wlio, ultli(>ii;{li hIio lil<(M| llid Hocinty oC nioii, /^onnniljy (lochiiod tlilit, I.Ik^ yotiii/; inon ol'tli^ pi-nHont, diiy had no hraiiiH and worn dnridndly " Hal " "dnciarnd llial, Arlliiir waH "a l)rin liitri l,ho day hol'oro, MiHH Frank's adtniralioii kinnv no hoiindN, and hIio alinoHl throw hor arrriH round liim and killod him tor py, hiil, contontod Iku-hoU' with sjapiiin^ him on t.lio hack and Haying, " Ihat'H lirMt rat'ango to say, Mr. liiilihuok Moomod to lil