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 )K MILLE, 
 
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 -YORK; 
 
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 1872. 
 
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: .■.;7»;- 
 
THE 
 
 •\ I- 
 
 1/ 
 
 / I' 
 
 cryptogrXm. 
 
 l.vC „ 
 
 *•' I 
 
 ^ Noocl. 
 
 By JAMES DE MILLE, 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 ^ ^ , 'THE DODGE CLUB... "CORD AND CREESE.'. "THE AMERICAN BARON." Ac 
 
 \ ■ ■ ■ ^' -. 
 
 f 
 
 WYTZr ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 — N E W YtTR Kr 
 
 HARJ>ER A. ^TWi^THERS, PUBLIS 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 I 8 7 2. 
 
 HERS, 
 
 ..•^. „ / 
 
 ^* 
 
 - /-"''jl^Siltf 
 
1 
 
 y- 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 
 Dis^ict of New York. 
 
 A 
 
 
 I 
 
 r: 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 s for the Southern 
 
 >\ CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^ TWO OLD VKIBICDS. 
 
 Chktwthdb Castlb was a Iai::ge baronial 
 'Vdansion, belonging to the Plantagenet period, 
 andgitnatedinMonmonthihire. It was a grand 
 old place, with dark towers, and tarrets, and 
 gloomy walls silrmoanted with battlements, half 
 of whUh had long since tombled down, while 
 the other half seemed tottering to min. That 
 menacing rain was on onjp side of the structure 
 concealed beneath a growth of ivy, which con- 
 trasted the dark green of its leaves with the 
 sombre hue of the ancient stones. Time widk 
 its defacing fingers had only lent additional 
 grandeur to this Tenarable t^ At it rose 
 there—" standing with half its battlemenU alone, 
 TBid with flve^hindred'yMH 6f ivy grown"--itt 
 picturesque magnificence and iu ahr of hoar an- 
 tiquity made it one of the noblest monuments of 
 the past which England could show. 
 
 All iu surroundings were in keeping with the' 
 central object. Here were no neat paths, no 
 well<kept aranues, no trim lawns. On the con- 
 
 sV-tarfl^siA^i^^fc iS*^ 
 
 
 traty, erety thing bore the unmistakable marks 
 bf neglect and decay ; the walks were ovei^grown, 
 the terraces dilapidated, and the rose pleasaunce 
 had degenerated into a tangled mass of bushes 
 and briers. It seemed as though the whole do- 
 main were about to revert into its original state 
 of nature ; and every thing spoke either of the 
 absence of a master, or elM of something more 
 important still— the aMence of money. 
 
 The cat\tle stood on slightly elevated ground ; 
 and from its gray stone ivy -covered portal so 
 magnificent was the view that the moat careless 
 observer wonid be attracted by it, and stand 
 wonder-struck at the beapty of the scene, till he 
 forgot in th^ glories of nature the deficiencies of 
 art. ' Below, and not far away, flowed the sil- 
 very WyiB, most charming of English streams, 
 winding tortuouslv through fertile m«tdows and 
 4vodded copses ; iarther off lay fretful vales and 
 rolling hills ; while in the distance die prospect 
 was bcmnded by the giant forms of the Webb 
 moqntains. 
 
 At the moment when this story opens these 
 beauties were but faintly visible through the 
 fast-fading twilight of a summer evening ; :^ 
 shadows were rapidly deepening ; and the ^ ~' 
 signs of life about the place appMrad when 
 some of the windows at the eastern end' 
 rays of light stole out into the gloon^ 
 
 The interior of the castle corresponded with 
 the extetjipr in magnificence an4 in ruin — in fts 
 picturesque cotnniingUng of splendor and decay. 
 The hall was hung with anns^and armor of past 
 generations, and ornamented 'with stags' heads, 
 antlers, and other trophies of the chase; but 
 rust, and mould, and dust covered them all. 
 Throughout the house a laige number of rooms 
 were empty, and the whole westvn end was un- 
 furnished. In 4he furnished rooms at the east- 
 em #nd ever^thihig belonged to a past genera- 
 tion, and all the massive and antiquated furni- 
 ture bore painful marks of poverty and n^ect. 
 Time was every where asserting ms power, and 
 nowhere was any Assistance made to his ravages. 
 
 Some comfort, however, was still to be found 
 in the old place. There were ro<Hns which were 
 as yet free from th4 general touch of desolation. 
 Among these was the dining-room, where at this 
 time ^^vy curtains were drawn, the lamps 
 shone o ut cheerilyl Mid,^e arly Jane thou|^ it 
 was, a bngfat wooctnre biased on ttn ampio 
 hearth, lighting up With a md^y i^ow the heavy 
 panelings and the time-wom tapestries. 
 
 Dinner was Just lover, the ^MMrt was on the 
 table, and two mntlemeQ wen, sitting over their 
 wine— though this is to be^taked ratker in a fig- 
 urative sense, for their coovenftfoairM lo ea< 
 
 i\. 
 
-Hi»« 
 
 8 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 grosBing as to moke them oblivious of even the 
 cliarms of the old ancestral |>ort of,rare vintage 
 which Lord Chetwynde had produced to do hon- 
 or to his gnest Nor is this to be wondered ati 
 Friends of boyhood and early manhood, gh'arers 
 long ago in ei^ other's hopes and aspirations, 
 they had parteS last when youth and ambition 
 were both at their height Now, after the lapse 
 of years, H^ywom and weary from the strife, 
 they hod met again to recount how thline hopes 
 had been fulfilled. / • 
 
 The two men were of distinguished appear- 
 ance. Lord Chetwynde was of about the me- 
 dium size, with slight figure, and pole, aristo- 
 cratic bee. His hair was silver-white, his feat- 
 ures were deUcately chiseled, but wore habittially 
 a sad and anxious expressioi). His whole p^y- 
 siqae betokened a nature'of extreme refinement 
 and senaibilitT, rather than force or strength of 
 chuacter. Bis companion. General Pomeroy, 
 waa a man of different stamp. He was tall, with 
 a high receding brow, hair longer than is common\ 
 with soldiers ; thin lipe, which spoke of resolu- 
 tion, aronnd which, however, there always dwelt 
 «8 he spoke a smile of inexpressible sweetness. 
 He had a long nose, and large eyes that lighted 
 up with every varying feeling. There was in his 
 fobe both resolution and kindOness, each in ex- 
 treme, as though he could remorselessly take 
 vengeance on an enemy or lay down his life for 
 a friend. ' 
 
 As long AS the servants were present the con- 
 versation, animated thongh it was, referred to 
 topics of a general character; but as soon as 
 they had left the room the two friends began to 
 *refor more confidentially to the past 
 
 ' " You have lived so very secluded a life," said 
 General Pomeror, " that it is only at rare inter- 
 nals that I have heard any thing of yon, and that 
 was hardly more than the fact that you were 
 alive. You were always rather reserved and se- 
 cluded, you know ^ you hated, like Horace, the 
 prq/iinum vulgus, ond held yourself aloof from 
 them, and so I suppose yon would not go into 
 political life. Well, I don't know but that, after 
 all, you were right." 
 
 " My dear Pomeroy," said Lord Chetwyndi 
 leaning back in his chair, "my circumstanci 
 have been sach that ientmnce into political li: 
 has scarcely ever depended on my own choici. 
 My position has been so peculiar that it has hardly 
 ever been possible for me to obtain advancement 
 in the common ways, even if I had desired it 
 ■ I dare say, if I had been inordinately ambitions, 
 I might have done something ; but, as it was, I 
 have done npthing. You see me just about where 
 I was when we parted, Indon't know how many 
 yean ago." ^ 
 
 "Well, at any rate," said the General, "yon 
 haw been spared the trouble of a career of am- 
 bition. Yon have Ured here qnietlv on your own 
 (tlaoe, and I ^are aay you have had far more 
 real httpiliwn than you would otherwise have 
 had." 
 
 "^ipfAxMfiV' rapwted Lord Chetwynde, in 
 —m HMHinM WS6. H* leaned his head on hfi 
 hand for a fbw- moments, and said nothing. At 
 last he looked up and said, with a bitter smile : 
 " The Btonr of nty life is soon told. Two words 
 will embody it all — disappointment and fiiil- 
 ■re." 
 
 Geoeral Pomeroy regarded his friend earnestly 
 
 for a few moments, and Jhen looked away with< 
 out speaking. 
 
 " My troubles began from the very first," coti- 
 tinued Lord Chetwynde, in a musing tone, which 
 seemed more like a soliloqu v than any thing^lse. 
 " There was the estate, saddled with debt hand- 
 ed down from my grandfather to my father. It 
 would have required years of economy and good 
 management to free it firom encumbrance. But 
 my bther's motto was always Dum vivinnu viva- 
 tHus, and his only idea was to get what ihoney 
 he could for himself, atid let his heirs look out 
 for themselves. In consequence, heavier mort- 
 gages were added. He lived in Paris, enjoying 
 himself, and left Chetwynde in charge of a fac- 
 tor, whose chief idea was to feather his own nest 
 So he let every thing go to decay, and' oppressed 
 the tenants in order to collect money for my fa- 
 ther, an4 prevent his coming home to, see tb*- 
 ruin that was going on. Yon may not have 
 known this l>efore. I did noi until after our 
 separation, when it all came upon me at once. 
 My father wanted me to join him in breaking 
 the entail. Overwhelmed by such a calamity, 
 nd indignant wiUi him, I refused to compiv 
 
 ith his wishes. We quarreled. He went back 
 
 Paris, and I nbver 'saw him again. 
 ' After his death my only idea was to clear 
 a^ay the debt, improve the condition of the 
 
 lants, and restpre Chetwynde to its former 
 
 ndition. How that hope has been realized 
 yin have only to look aronnd you and see. But 
 a^ that time my hope was strong. I went np to 
 
 indon, Where my name and the influence of 
 my friends enabled m^to enter into public life. 
 Y^u were somewhere in England then, and I 
 used to wonder why I never saw you. 
 Ybu must have been in London. I once saw 
 yAur name in an army list among the ofllcem 
 qf a regiment stationed there. At any rate I 
 i|i-orked hard, and at first all my prospects were 
 bright, and I felt confident in n{y future. 
 ; "Well, about that time I got married, trust- . 
 ing to my prospects. She was of aa good a film- 
 ily as mine, but had no money." 
 
 Lord Chetwynde's tone as he spoke about his 
 marriage had suddenly changed. It seemed as 
 though he spoke with an effort He stopped for 
 a time, and slowly drank a glass of wine. 
 
 " She married me," he eontinned, in an icy 
 tone, " for my prospects. Sometimes you know 
 it is veiy safe to many on prospects. A rising 
 young statesman is often a for better match than 
 a dissipated man of fortune. Some mothers know 
 this ; my wife's mother thought me a (|ood mutch, 
 and my wife thought so too. I loved her very 
 dearly, or I would not have married — though 
 I don't know, either : people often marry in a 
 whim." 
 
 General Pomeroy had thus far been gazing 
 fixedly at the opposite wlall, but now ho looked 
 earnestly at his friend, whose met were down- 
 cast whOe he spoke, and shoVed a deeper atten- 
 tion. 
 
 "My ofllce," said Lord Clytwynde, "was a 
 lucrative one, so that I was aMo to surround iny^ ' 
 bride with every comfort ; and the bright pros- 
 pects which lay before me made me certain 
 about my future. After a time, however, dif- 
 ficulties aroM. Yon are aware that the chief . 
 point in my Mij^on is Honor. It-i» my nature, 
 and was taught me by my mother. Our family 
 
 .■.^#64^*i,.V/, 
 
 /V 
 
 
o looked away with. 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 sUe to mmiastwf 
 
 jnotto ii, Nobhu* obBge, and the full meaning 
 of this great maxim mr mother had instilled 
 into everjr fibre of mv being. Bat on g^g 
 into the world I fband it ridiculed among'^y 
 own claM a« obeolete and exploded. Every 
 where it seemed to have given way to the mean 
 doctrine of expediency. My sentiments wera 
 gayly ridiuuled, and I soon (began to f^ that 
 I was not suited for political tifo. 
 " At length a crisu arrived. I hod either to 
 , socriflce my conscience or resign my position. 
 I chose the latter alternative, and in doing so I 
 gave up my political life forever. I need not 
 tell the bittemesa of my disappointment But 
 the loss of worldly prospects and of hope was 
 as nothing compwed with other things. The 
 worst of all was the reception which I met at 
 home. My young, and as I supposed loving 
 wife, to whom I went at once with my story, 
 and from whom I expected the wannest svm- 
 ix^hy, .greeted me with nothing but tears and 
 reproaches. She could only look npon my act 
 with the world's eyes. She called it ridiculous 
 Quixotism. She charged me with want of affec- 
 tion ; denounced me for beguiling' her to marry a 
 pauper; and after a painful interview we parted 
 m coldness." t ' 
 
 Lord Chetwynde, whose agitation was now 
 evident, here paused and drank another ghiss 
 of wine. Af^r some time he wen^ on : 
 
 "After all, it was not so ba^ I soon found 
 employment I had mode many powerful friends, 
 who, though they laughed at my scruples, still 
 seemed to respect my consistency, and had con- 
 fidence in my ability. Through them I obtained 
 a new appointment where I conld bejnore inde- 
 pendent, though the phMpects were poor. Hera 
 1 might jliave been happy, had it not been for the 
 continued alienation between my wife and me. 
 She had been ambitioos. She had relied on my 
 future. She was now angry because I had thrown 
 that future away. It was a death-blow to her 
 hopes, and she could not forgive me. We lived 
 in the same house, but I knew nothing of her 
 occupations and (unusements. Shie went much 
 into society, where she was greotly admired, 
 and seemed to be n^ectful of her home and 
 of her child. Ibore my misery as best I could 
 in silence, and never so much as dreamed of the 
 tremendous catastrq>he in whidh it was about to 
 terminate." 
 
 Lord Chetwynde panaed, and seemed over- 
 come ty his recollections. , 
 
 " You have heard of it, I snppose ?" he asked 
 at length, in a scarce audible voice. 
 
 The General looked at him,«nd for a moment 
 tbeu eyes met ; then he looked away. Then he 
 shaded his.eyea with his hand and sat as'thongh 
 awaiting further revehttions. 
 
 ImA Chetwynde did not seem to notice him 
 «t aU. Intent npon his own thon^ts, he welS 
 on in that strange (olUoqnizing tone With which 
 he had begun. 
 
 "She ftd-" he said, in k ^ice whisk was 
 little more than a whisper. <r 
 
 "MeBTens!" said GenenJ^Fomeroy; 
 I There was a long silence. "^ 
 I "It was aboat three years after onr mar- 
 riage," continued Lord Chetwynde, with on ef- 
 fort "She fled. Oie left no woid of fimwell. 
 Mie fled. She. fbrsook me. She forsook her 
 cnild. My God 1 Why?" ^ 
 
 «&^.ii«4 !•"'.; i"-. 
 
 He was silent again. 
 
 " Who was the man ?" asked th«rGeneiW, in 
 a strange vo^ and with aa effort 
 
 "He waakdown as Hedfleld Lyttoun. He 
 had been devoted for a long time to my wretched 
 wife. Their flight was so secret and so skill- 
 fully managed that I could gain no clew what- 
 ever to it— and, indeed, it waa hetter'so— per- 
 haps— yes— better >o." Lord Chetwynde drew 
 a long breath. " Jes, batter so," he continued 
 — " for if I had ^n able to track the scoun- 
 drel and take his llf«, my vengeance would have 
 been gained, but my dishonor would have been 
 procjaimed. To me that dishonor would hove 
 brought no additional pang. J had suffered all 
 that I could. More were impossible ; but as it 
 was my shame was not made public— and so, 
 above all— nimve all— my boy was saved. The 
 frightful scandal did not arise to chiish mv dar- 
 ling boy." •* ', 
 
 The a^tation of Lord Chetwtndo overpowered 
 him. His face grew more pallid, his eyes were 
 fixed, and Jus clenched hands testified to the 
 struggle that raged within him. A long silence 
 followed, during which neither spoke a word. 
 
 At length Lord Chetwynde went on. " IJeft 
 London forever," said he, with a deep sigh. , 
 " After that my one desire was to hide myself 
 from the world. I wished that if it were possi- 
 ble my very name might be forgotten. And so 
 I came back to Chetwynde, where I have lived 
 ever since, in the utmost seclusion, devoting my- 
 self entirely to the education and training of mr 
 boy. ' 
 
 '5Ah, my old friend, that bov has proved the 
 one solace of mfr lif». Well h'aa he repaid me 
 for my care. Never was there a nobler or a 
 mora devoted nature than hisp Foigive a fiither'a 
 emotion, my friend. If yon buvlne w my noble, 
 my brave, my chivalrous boy, yon would excuse 
 °>8- ^t boy would lay down his life for me. 
 In all his life his one thought has been to spare 
 meoll trouble and to brighten my dark life. Poor 
 ' ' Be knows nothing df the horror of shame 
 ings over him— he has found out nothinjil 
 It To him his mother is a holy thought — V 
 tne thought of bne who died long ago, whose I 
 memory lie thinks so sacred to me that I dare - * 
 not speak of her. Poor Guy 1 Poor Guy I" vi 
 Lord Chetwynde again paused, overcome by 
 •—) emotion. , 
 
 God only knows,-" he resumed, " how I feel / 
 for him and for his future. It's a dark future/ 
 for him, my frieiid. For in addition to th^ 
 grief which I have told you of there is another 
 which weighs me down. Cheti^de is notyet " 
 redeemed. I lost my life and my chance to 
 save the estate. Chetwynde is overwhelmed 
 with debt. The time is daily drawing near -« 
 when I will have to give up the inheritanc« 
 which has come down trough so long a line of / 
 ancestors. 4J1 is lost Hope itself has depart- ' 
 ed. lipw can I bear to see die place pass into 
 alien hands?" •- r— 
 
 ?* PASa iritfl fllwm tianiJa^** tnl.apwiirt»^ «tut fLm.^ 
 
 mrmao titw/ w ttcm Mmuay imoimptDtt iMC Ai W D *— •— - 
 
 eral, in surprise. "Give up Chetwynde? Im- 
 possible ! It can not ^ thought of.'' "rvr 
 
 "Sad as it isj* repUed L6rd Chetwynde. 
 moumftally, "it iSnst be so. SixW thousand 
 pounds are due within two yean. Unless I cta ' 
 raise that amount all must go. When Guy 
 comes of age he must break the entail and sefi 
 
 ..U.-"' 
 
 «i? 
 
 ri 
 
10 
 
 THE GRTPDOORAM. 
 
 ■1 
 
 f 
 
 I* '■ jUlribesinninK to pay again, 
 e^tfulTv. "When, I came 
 
 negleiite 
 
 the eatate. 
 
 too," he added, repetrullv. " When, 1 came 
 into it it was Dtterly impoverished, and every 
 available iticli of timber had been cat down: 
 but mv expenaea have been very imall, and if I 
 have fulfllied no other hope of my life, I hav^-«t 
 least done something for mv groond-down ten- 
 antry ; foK every penny which I have saved, after 
 paying (he interest, I have spent on improving 
 their homes and farms, so that the place is now 
 in venr good condition, thoagh I have been 
 obliged to leave the pleaanre'groonds utterly 
 
 ^' What are yoo goipg to do with your son f" 
 asked the General. 
 
 " I have just got him a commission in the 
 army," said Lord Chetwyndb. "Some old 
 fHends, who had actually renkembered me all 
 ihese years, offered to do something for me in 
 the diplomacv line ; but if he enterM that life I 
 should feel that all the world was pointing Uie 
 finger of scorn at him for his iQothers sake ; be- 
 sides, Iny boy is too honest for p diplomat No 
 — he mast go and make his own fortfnne. A 
 viscount with neither money, land, nor position 
 — the only place for him is the ormr." 
 
 A long si}enc<^' followed. .Lord Oietwynde 
 seemed to low himself among thoee painful rec- 
 ollections, which he had raised, while the Gen- 
 enu^ falling into a profound abstniction, sot with 
 his head on one hmd, while th< other drummed 
 mechanically on the table. As much m half an 
 hour passed away in this maimer. The General 
 was Arst to rouae himselt 
 
 " larrived in England only a few months ago," 
 he began, in a qniet, thoughtful ton^ " My life 
 has been one of strange vicissitudes. My own 
 country is almost like a foreign land to me. As 
 soon as I could get Pomeroy Court in order I de- 
 termined tfr visit yon. This visit was partly for 
 the sake of seeing too, and partly fw the sake 
 of asking a great tavor. Wnat rou have just 
 been paying has suggested a new idea, which I 
 think may be carried out for the benefit of both 
 of us. You must know, in the first pUce, I have 
 brought my littli;, daughler home with me. In 
 fiKt, it was for her sake that I came home — " 
 *' You were married, then ?" 
 " Yes,'in India. Yoo kwt sight of me early 
 in life, and so perhaps yoa do not know that I 
 exchanged' flmn the Queen's service to th^ of 
 the East India Ofmfmj. This step I neve; re- 
 gretted. My promotion was rapid, and aftOr'a 
 ^tr or two I obtain<9d a civil appointment 
 From this I rose to a higher office; and after 
 /ten or twelve years tlie Company recommended 
 me as Governor in one.^f the provinces of the 
 
 ' Bengal Presidency. It was here that I found 
 my sweet wife. 
 
 " It is a strange stoiy," said the General, with 
 a long sigh.. "She came saddanly upon me, 
 and changed all my' life. Thtis fiur I had so de- 
 
 . voted myself to business that no idea of love or 
 sentiment, ever entered my head, except when I 
 was a boy. I had leached the age of forty-five 
 without having hardly ever met with anv woman 
 
 ~wbo1iaTtoachield my beirt, or even my^Iiead, for 
 diat matter. 
 
 "My first sight of her was most sudden and 
 most strange," continued the Generfl, in the 
 tone of one wHo loved to linger upon eveYi<ii|he 
 smallest details of the story which be was tellug 
 
 — " strange and sudden. . I had been busy sll ds^ 
 in the audience cljamber, and when at lengtli the 
 eases were all'disposed of, I retired tboroilgMy ex- 
 hausted, and gave orders that no one should be 
 admitted on any pretext whaMver. On passing 
 through the halls to«my private apartment I 
 heard an altercation at the door. My orderly 
 was speaking in a very decided tone to some one. 
 
 " ' It is impossible,' I heard him 4ay. ' His 
 ExcellencyMias given positive orders to admit no 
 one to-dav.! ' ' '■ . ' ', 
 
 " I walked on, paying bnt little heed to -this. 
 Applications were common after hours, and my 
 rules on this point were stringent But sudden- 
 ly my atteiMon was arrested by the sonitd of a 
 woman's voice.. It afiected me strangely, Chet- 
 wyndfe. The tones-were ^vieet and low, and 
 there was an agony of supplication in them which 
 lent additional earnestness to her words. 
 
 "'Uh; do not refuse me!' the voiQ^id. 'Thery 
 say the Resident is just and merciful. Let mie 
 see him, I entreat, if only for one moment' 
 
 '" At these words I tamed, and at onc^Hiast- 
 ened to the door. A yoang gtrl stood there, 
 with her hands chisped, and in an attitude of 
 earnest entreaty. She had evidently come close- 
 Iv veiled, but in her excitement her veil hod been 
 thrown back, and her nf^nied face lent an^n- 
 speakkble earnestness to her pleading. At the 
 sight of heV I was filled with the deepest ^-m|ia- 
 thy. 
 
 " • I am the Resident,' said L * W|iat can I 
 do for you?' 
 
 " She looked at me earnestly, and for a time 
 said nothing. A change came over he^ face.- 
 Her ffoubles seemed to have overwhelmed her. 
 She tottered,^ and would have fall^p,:had I nM 
 supported her. I led her into the bOuse, and 
 sent for some wine. This restored her. 
 
 "She was the most beaij^tiful creature that I 
 ever beheld," continued the General, in a pen- ' 
 sive tone, after some silence. "She was tatfand 
 slight, with all that litheness and^^ce of miove- 
 ment which is peculiar to Indian women, and 
 yet she seemed^more European than Indian. 
 Hex face was sdudl and oval, her hair iiung 
 round it in rich masses, and her eyea were hwge,- 
 deep, and liquid, and, in addition to their natn- , 
 riU beauty, they.bore that sad expression which, 
 it is said, is t^e sure preciirMr of an ewly death. 
 Thank God!" continued the General, in a mus- 
 ing tone, " I aV^least did s6mething to bri^^ten ^ 
 that short life of hers. . 
 
 "As soon OS she waa tufflciently recovered 
 she told her story. -It was a strange one. She ' 
 wis the daughter of an English officer, who hav- 
 ing fallen in love with an Indian Begum gave 
 up Bome, con«tiv, and friendf, and manied . 
 her. Their daughter Aranna hod been brought 
 up in the European manner, and to the warm, 
 piissionate, Indian nature she added the re- 
 fined intelligence of the English ladv. When 
 she was fourteen her fl^her died. Her mother 
 followed in a few years. Of her father's fHendi 
 she knew nothing, and her mother's brother, 
 whn y— ^ ^^jnh of » distant prov ince, mml 
 the only one on whom she oonM rdy. Her mo- 
 ther while dying chargiri ber always to remem- 
 ber that she was the Saoghter of a Britbh of- 
 ficer, and that if she were ever hi need of pro- 
 tection she should demand it of the Eni^ish au- 
 thorities. After her mo^Mr'a death the Kajah 
 
THtl CRTPTpGRAH 
 
 11 
 
 laid I. < What can I 
 
 LUten now to my bropoaa]," he udd, with 
 greater earaettnea^ " ThatToa ihonld give nd 
 Chrtwynde U not to be thoogbt of for one mrf- 
 
 ^T!:..., .T**'.'**" ^ "»y »'»» patrimony and 
 my wife's inheritance I have tmaifed a fbrtuiie 
 during my reddenoe in Ii^ and I can thinic 
 
 nd in hii time df need." 
 
 IiordChetwyndendMirhtitiuid deprecatingly. 
 Wait— noremonitrance. Hearmeon£,"Mid 
 theG^neraL "IdonotatltyoatotakethUaaa 
 Iowa, or any thing of the Idnd. I only ad[ yon 
 to be a protector to my chUd. looaldMtrest 
 :n my grave if I tbongh't that I had Mt her un- 
 protected." 
 
 togh Her away, and aai^med the c<Wtrol of all 
 ber inheritance. At the age of eighteen iht-^rfu 
 to come into p o w bui on, and al the time -Aew 
 near i]te B^Jah inibrmed her that he withed her 
 to marryfbla wn. But thii ton was dettetable 
 to her, and to her Engliih ideas the proposal was 
 abhorrent, "vhe rdfosed to marnr hia^ The 
 Bajahswece that she shonldr At this she %^t- 
 ened that she would claim the protection of IhV 
 British) government FearAil of this, and en- 
 raged at her firmness, he confined her in Jier 
 rooms for several months, and «t length threat- 
 ened that if she did not consent he would osc 
 force. This threat rednoed-her to despdr. Sha 
 determined to escaoe and anpM'to the British 
 authorities) She bribed h^Hutendants, Mcaped, 
 . and^y good fortune reached my Residency, 
 
 "On bearing ber story I promised (hat fSif 
 Justice should be done her, and sn^fteeeded in 
 quieting her foars. I obtaiped a suitable home 
 for her, and found the widow of an Engliw oiBcer 
 who consented to live with her. 
 
 " Ah, Chetwynde, h(^w I loved ber ! A year 
 passed away, and she became my wife. Never 
 before had I known each happiness as I enjoyed 
 with her. Never since haVe I known any happi- 
 ness whatever. 8he loved R\e with such devo- 
 pon that she would ha^ Uid down her life for 
 me. She looked on me as her savior as well as 
 her husband. My happiness was too great to 
 hist. 
 
 "I felt it— I knev it," he continued, in a 
 broken voice. "Two years my darling Uved 
 ii-ith me, and then— she was taken away. 
 
 " I was iU,for a long time," continued the Gen- 
 eral, in a gentie voice. "I prayed for death, 
 but God spared me for my child s sake. I ra» 
 covered snfllciently to attend to the duties of my 
 office, but it was ^))Ai difficulty that I did so. I 
 never regained my former strength. My child 
 grew elder, and at length I detejpmined to retnm 
 to Engknd. I have come he^ to find all my 
 rektives dead, and yon, the old friend of my hoy- 
 liood, are the only survivor. One thing then », 
 however, that imbittera my situation now." My 
 health is still verjr precariou, and . I may at any 
 moment leave my child nnprotected. ^e irthe 
 one concern of my life. I said tha^l had come 
 here to ask a &vor of yon. It was tHia, that yon 
 would allow me to nominate you as her gnai^an 
 in case of my death, and assist Ihealso hi finding 
 any other gnairdhu.to succeed yofiTin case y^n 
 should past away before she reached maturity. 
 This was my purpose? But after What you have 
 told me other things have occurrad to my mind. 
 I have been thinking of a pUn which seems to 
 me to be the best tUng for both of ns. 
 
 " Wiat I" cried Lord Chetwynde, hastily in- 
 termpting him, " can. you imagine that it is 
 necessary to buy my good, office^?" 
 
 " You don't understand me yet, Chetwynde ; 
 I want more than th^t. 1 want to secure a pro- 
 tector' for her all her life. Hince you have told 
 me about your affairs 1 have formed a'strongde- 
 ^ 4tt-aM.b«.b«tcotb«i. ta^ yoH» a^ . . 'Xtofi, I 
 bawj never seen him, but I know very weA ue " 
 s'tock he comes from. I know his father," he 
 went on, laying his hand on his friend's arm ;' 
 "and I trust the' son is like the father.' Iij this 
 wa|p)roa see there will t>e no gift, ;io loan, no * 
 limation. The Chetwynde debts will be all ' 
 paiQ off, bnt it is for my daughter; .and where 
 couU 1 ^t a better dowryJ>" 
 
 "Upt she must b(» very young," said Lord 
 ChlBtwyn4e, " if yon were not married utatil forty- 
 five." 
 
 "She is only a child yet," said the General 
 " She hi ten vears old. That need not signify, 
 however. The engagement can be maUe Just as 
 well 1 free the estate from all its encumbrances ; 
 and as she will eventually be a Chetwynde, it will 
 be for her sake ariirell as your son's. There is 
 no obligation." 
 Lord "Chetwynde wmng hir friend's hand: 
 " I dp not know what to say," said he. " It i 
 would add years to my4ife to know that my son, 
 is not to lose the inheritance of his ancestors. • 
 But of course I can make no definite arrange- 
 ments nntil I have seen him. He is the one 
 chiefly interested ; and besides," he added, smil- 
 higly, "I can %et expect yon to take a father's, 
 'estimate of an only son. Yon must Judge him 
 for yourself, and see whethei' my account has 
 been to6 p^wtiaL"-" 
 
 "Of conrsi, of coniipe. I4tiiist see him at 
 once," broke in the General. " Where is he ?" 
 "In Irfland. I will tefegralih to him to- 
 night, (ind he will he. here in a touple of 
 diys.'' ^ 
 
 " He could fipt come kooner, I suppose?" siid 
 the General, anxiously. '. 
 Lord Chetwvnde laugfaM. 
 " I hardly think so-^from Ulster. Bnt why 
 snch haste? It positively ahnns me, for I'm an. 
 idle man, and have Iiad my time on mv hands 
 for half a lifetime." 
 
 "The old'Stoiy, Chetwjmde," said the (j^n-' 
 erol, with a smile ;«"pettippat government., I 
 pibmhwd my little giri thkt I wonld be. hack to- ' 
 morrow. She will be sadly dteppointed -at • 
 day's dehty. '\ shaU4>e ahnoM afiraid to meet 
 her. I fear she has been a little spoiled, poor 
 child; bnt you can scarcely wondw, nncler the 
 circumstances. After all, she is a good chUd 
 thou^ ; she has the strongest possible affection 
 for me, and I can guide her a»I '{dease throngb . - 
 her aflections." 
 
 After some furthaccotivecsation \Lord Chet- 
 wynde- sent off a telegram to his ton to com* 
 home without delay. 
 
 "l 
 
 .--' 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 . IHB wsiSD woiuir. . .. 
 
 Thb morning-room at Chetwynde Cftstle wa( 
 about the pleasantest one there, and the air gf . 
 poverty which prevailed elsewhere was her^ loet 
 
 ,^|ts%»50E.>'^^^i ykjUi 
 
.12 
 
 in the general appearance of comfort. It was a 
 large apartment, commensurate with the size of 
 the castle, and the deep bay-windows command- 
 ed an extensive view. , 
 
 On the morning following the conversation al- 
 ready mentioned General Pomeroy arose early 
 and It was toward this room that he turned his 
 steps. Throughout the onstle tliere was that air 
 of neglect already alluded to, so" that the mom- 
 ing-room afforded a pleasant contrast. Here all 
 the comtort that remained at Chetwvnde seemed 
 to have centred. It was with a feeling of in- 
 tense satisfaction that the General seated him- 
 self in an arm-chair which stood within the deep 
 recess of the bay-window, and surveyed the anart- 
 ,|nent. "^ '^ 
 
 The room was about forty feet long and thirty 
 feet wide. The ceiljng was covered with quaint 
 figures in fresco, the walla were paneled with 
 oak, and high-backed, stolid-looking chairf stood 
 around. On one side was the fire-place, so vast 
 tad so high that it seemed itself another room 
 It was the fine old fire-place of the Tudor or 
 riantagenet period— the unequaled, the unsur- 
 passed—whose day has long since been done, 
 and which m departing from the world has left 
 nothing to compeasate for it. Still, the fire- 
 place lingers in a few old mansions; and here 
 At Chetwynde Castle was one witliout a peer 
 It was lofty, it was broad, it was deep, it was 
 well -paved, it was ornamented not carelessly 
 but lovingly, as though the hearth was the holy 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 place, the altar of the cnstle and of the family 
 There was room in its wide expanse for the gath- 
 enng of a household about the fire ; its embrace 
 was the embrace of love ; and it was the type 
 and model of those venerable and haUowed places 
 which have given to the English language a word 
 holier even than " Home," since that woid » 
 'Hearth.' 
 
 It fres with some such thoughts as these that 
 UenerkI Pomeroy sat looking at the fire-place, 
 where a few fagots sent up a ruddy blaze, when 
 suddenW his attention was arrested bv a figure 
 which Altered the room. So qniet and noiseless 
 WM the entrance that he did not notice it until 
 the figure stood between him and the fire It 
 was a woman; and certainly, of all the women 
 Whom he had ever seen, no one had poss^d so 
 weird and mystical an aspect. She was a lit- 
 tlejorer the middle height, but exceedingly thin 
 nn^ emaciaied. She wore s cap and a gown of 
 black serge, and looked more like a Sister of 
 Chanty than any thing else. Her features were 
 thin and shrunken, her cheeks hollow, her chin 
 peaked, and her hair was as white as snow. Yet 
 the hair was very thick, and the Cap could not 
 ^ conceal its heavy wliite masses. Her side-face 
 • yj'"* "|"»«J Jpwanl him, and he could not see 
 her fully at first, until nt length she turned to- 
 ward a pictu^ which hung over the fire-phice, 
 and stood regfirditi«it fixedly. 
 
 It was the portrait of a young man in the dress 
 Qf« British offlcv;^ The General knew that it 
 
 and on her wan, thin cheeks. Her hair was 
 111.M •""*.' ""d her complexion was of an 
 unearthly grayish hue. It was a memorable face 
 -a face which, once seen, might haunt one long 
 
 afterv^ard In the ev& there was tenderness d"d 
 softness, yet the fashion of the mouth and cl. n 
 ^«1 to speak of resolution and force Jn sp te 
 of the ravages which age or sorrow had made. 
 She stood quite unconscious of the Generals 
 presence, looking at the portrait with a fixed and 
 
 ^'l»«'"''Zr*'"V ^u '''" l^"^ »'«'' f""" changed 
 in Its aspect. In the eyes there arose unuttera- 
 ble longing and tenderness; love so deep that 
 the sight oj it thus unconsciously expressed migh 
 
 whir«!!'v'^"^.'*"','''"^'«' and'ste?nest naTJre 
 while over all her features the same yearning exl 
 pression was spread. Gradually, as she stood 
 
 them together, and so stood, intent upon the ' 
 portrait, as though she found some speU there 
 whoso power was overmastering 
 
 At the sight of so weird and ghostly a figure 
 the General was strangely moved. There was 
 something startling- in such an apparition. At 
 first there cnme involuntarily half-superstitious 
 thoughts. He recalled all those mysterious be- 
 ings of whom he had ever heard whose occupa- 
 tion was to haunt the seats of old families. Ho 
 thought of the White Lady of Avonel, the Black 
 Lady of Scarborough, the Goblin Woman of 
 Hurslj and the Bleeding Nun. A second glance 
 served to show him, liowwer, that she could by 
 no possibihty fill the important post of Family 
 Ghost, but was real flesh and blood. Yet even 
 thus she was scarcely less impressive. Most of 
 all was he moved by the sonow of her fac^ She 
 naight serve for Niobe with her children jlfad • 
 she might serve for Hecuba over the bo^of 
 1 olyxena and Polydore. The sorrows of woman 
 have ever been greater than those of man. The 
 widow suffers more than the widower; the be- 
 reaved mother than the bereaved father. The 
 Ideals of grief are found in tlie faces of women 
 and reach their intensiu in the woe that meet J 
 our eyes m the Mater bolorosa. This woman 
 was one of the great community of sufferers, and 
 angwsh both past and present still left its traces 
 on her &ce. 
 
 Besides all this there was something more; 
 and while the General was awed by the majesty 
 of sorrow, he was at the same time perplexwl by 
 an inexplicable familiarity which he felt with that 
 
 k1f.?„«rrn ^'"^'t' '" ">«/«>". had he seen 
 t before? Or had he seen it before at all; or 
 had he only known it in dreams? In vain he 
 tried to recollect. Nothing from out his past 
 life recurred to his mind which bore any rescm- 
 binnoe to this f.we before him. The endeavor to 
 
 re- 
 idea 
 
 ^ ^".""ly "on igfiLord Ch etwynde. for whonL 
 flv^had written,' md whom he was expecting- 
 and now, as he sat there with his eyes riveted on 
 this singular flgnre, he was amazed at the ex- 
 pression of her fiice. 
 
 Her eyes were large and dark and mysterious. 
 «er face bore nnmistakable traces of sorrow 
 Vtep lines were graven on her pole forehead^ 
 
 recall this past grew pinful, and at length he 
 turned to himself. Then he dismissed the iuoa 
 as fanciful, and began to feel uncomfortable, as 
 though he were witnessing something which ho 
 had no business to see. She was evidently un- 
 conscious of his presence, and to bo a witness of 
 herismotion under sueh circumstances seemed tJT 
 him as bad as eaves-dropping. The moment, 
 tneratore, that he had overcome his surprise ho 
 turned his head away, looked out of the window, 
 and coughed severaf times. Then he rose from 
 his chair, and after ftanding for a moment he 
 turned once more. 
 Aa he turned he found himself face to face 
 
:heeks. Her hair was 
 complexion waa of an 
 t was a memorable face 
 I, miglit haunt one long 
 liere waa tendemeis and 
 of the mouth and cliin 
 ition and force, in spite 
 B or sorrow had made, 
 cious of the Genoijirs 
 ortrait with a fixed and 
 gazed her face changed 
 18 there arose unuttera- 
 !ss; love 80 deep that 
 :iou8ljr expressed might 
 t and sternest nature ; 
 1 the same yearning ex- 
 ndually.^as she stood, 
 te hands and clasped 
 tood, intent upon the " 
 )und some spell there 
 tering. 
 
 J and ghostly a figure 
 f moved. "There was 
 :h an apparition. At 
 irily half-superstitious 
 1 those mysterious be- 
 • heard whose occnpa- 
 » of old families. Ho 
 r of Avenel, the Black 
 e Goblin Woman of 
 un. A second glance 
 rer, that she cowld by 
 •rtant post of Family 
 md blood. Yet even 
 impressive. Most of 
 nowofherfac* She 
 h her children iijfend ; 
 )a over the bo<8es of 
 ["he sorrows of woman 
 I those of man. The 
 :he widower; the be- 
 sreaved father. The 
 tlie foces of women, 
 I the woe that meets 
 owsa. This woman 
 inity of sufferers, and 
 mt still left its traces 
 
 OS something more; 
 awed by the mojesty 
 le time perplexed l>y 
 hich he felt witli that 
 e years, had he seen 
 it before at ail ; or 
 reams? In vain he 
 ( from out his past 
 lich bore any resei^- 
 a. The endeavor to 
 and at length he re- 
 e dismissed the idea 
 Jl uncomfortable, as 
 wmething which ho 
 e was evidently un- 
 d to be a witness of 
 
 ng. The moment, 
 ime his surprise he 
 ont of the window, 
 Then he rose from 
 I for a moment he 
 
 iiraself fttca to face 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRA>r. 
 
 ^^^TmiSMB tbWATO X nCf^^iCH SbNO OV.„ THE K...K-P.ACE, ^U STOOD 
 
 BKOARDINO IT PIXKDLY." . 
 
 With the woman. She had heard him, and-tnmed 
 with a start, and turning thus their eyes met 
 
 If the General had been surprised before, ho 
 was now still more so at the emotion which she 
 evinced at the dght of himieU: She atarted bick 
 
 as though recoiling fW>m him ; her eyea were fixed 
 and stanng, her lips moved, her hands clutched 
 one another convulsively. Then, by a sudden 
 e^rt, she seemed to recover hewelf, and the 
 wjw stare of astonishment gave place to a ewifk 
 
'"» 
 
 u 
 
 IE CBYPTOGRAM. 
 
 glance of keen, ahaip, and eager scnidnj. All 
 this was the work of an instant, 'ilien her eyes 
 dropped, and with a low courtesy she tamed 
 away, and after ammging some chi^ she left 
 the room. j . 
 
 The General drew a long breath, and stood 
 looking at the doorwav in utter b^ilderment. 
 The whole incident had been most; perplexing 
 There was first her stealthy entry, And the sud- 
 denness with which she had appeared before 
 him; then those mystic sarrooi^ings of her 
 strange, weird figure which had e^kcited his su- 
 perstitious &ncie8; then the idjBa which had 
 arisen, that somehow he had known her be- 
 fore i and, fiiiaUy,'«ihe woman's own strong and 
 unconcealed emotion at the siiht of himself. 
 What did it aU mean ? Had heTever seen her ? 
 Not that he knew. Had she ever known him ? 
 If so, when and where ? If so, why such emo. 
 tjon? Who could this be that thus recoiled from 
 him at encountering his j^ahce ? Arid he found 
 all these questions utterly unanswerable. 
 
 In the General's eventful life there were many 
 things which he could recaU. He had wandered 
 over m^y lands ip all parts of the world, and 
 had known his share of sorrow and <rf joy. Seat- 
 ing higt^f once more in jiis chair he tried to 
 ■Wflfon np befbra.his.mefnorv the figures of 
 w wst, one by one, and compare th^ with 
 this woman whom he had seen. Out^ jdie 
 S^omn of that past the ghostly figures oime, 
 and passed -on, and vanished, till at last Smn 
 among them all two or three stood ibrdi ds- 
 nnctly and vividly; the fomu of those who bad 
 been associated with him in one event of his 
 life; that life's first great tragedy; forms well 
 remembered— never to be foigotten. He saw 
 tte form of one who had be«n betrayed and 
 forsaken, bowed and crnshed by grie^ and star- 
 ing with white fiice and liaggud eyes ; he saw 
 the form of the false fHend and foid traitor 
 dinking away with averted fiice; he saw the 
 form of the true friend, true as steel, standing 
 up solidly in his loyalty between those whom he 
 loved and the Rain that was before them ; and, 
 ustly, he saw the central figure of all— a fair 
 young woman with a fece of dauling beauty ; 
 highJwm, haoghty, with an air of Ugh-brad 
 grace and inborn delicacT ; bat the beauty was 
 nding, and the charm of aU that grace and dei- 
 
 sane for haWng had f och wild thouglits ua I hare 
 had this morning." 
 
 Then with a heavy sigh he looked out of the 
 window abstractedly. 
 
 An hour passed and Lord Chetwynde came 
 down, and the two took their seats at the break- 
 fkst-table. 
 
 "By -the -way,? said the General at length, 
 after some conversation, and with an effort iit 
 indifference, "who is that very singular-looking 
 woman whom you have here ? She seems to bo 
 about sixty, dresses in bUck, has veiy white hair, 
 and looks like a Sister of Charity." 
 
 .<Au"**v'" •"* ^"^ Chetwynde, carelesslv. 
 Oh, that must be the housekeeper, Mrs. 
 Hart. 
 
 "Mrs. Hart— the housekeeper ?" repeated the 
 General, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes ; she is an invaluable woman to one in 
 my position." 
 
 " I suppose she is some <Ad fiimily servant." 
 
 "No. She came here about ten years ago. 
 I wanted a housekeeper, she heard of it, and ap- 
 plied. She brought excellent recommendations, 
 and I took her. She has done veiy well." 
 
 -? ' Have yon ever noticed how very singuhtr her 
 wpeoranceis?" 
 ^*WeU, no. Is it? 
 
 icacy was vdled nnder a dead of shame and 
 sin. The face bopiaU that i«ony of woe wUeh 
 looks at us now fWmi the eyes of Goido's Beatrice 
 Cend— eyat which disdoee a grief demer dum 
 *^i^^ w»»ose glailee is never ibigotten. 
 ..u*!?T*Y *"" CMMfto the General aThboght 
 like lightning, which seemed to pierce to theto- 
 most depths of bis being. He started back as 
 he sat, and for a moment looked like one trans, 
 formed to stone. At the horror of that Thonght 
 Us bee changed to a deathly pallor, his itetmea 
 grew rigid, his hands dmched, his eyes fixed and 
 rtMing with an awful look. For a few moments 
 
 he sat thus, and then with a deep groan he sprang 
 -igil!*^ "d p a ce d the upa rtiMnk 
 
 "The exerdseseoned to"l>ring rdief. 
 .v."'.'? • *■"*• fool!" he matteradl' "The 
 thing's impossiWe-ves, abaplntely irainadble." 
 Again and again he paoefl the apurttHat, and 
 gradoaUv be recovered himsdf. ^ 
 
 '.' ^ '." !* *^ '* •««*» •• •»• nSuMi hU 
 seat, "ihas insuM^ or, mora probaUy, /am in- 
 
 I suppose it strikes you 
 so as a stranger. I new noUced her particu- 
 larly." 
 
 • She seems to have had some great sorrow," 
 said the General, slowly. 
 
 " Ym, I think she most have had some trou- 
 bles. She has a melancholy way, I think. I 
 feel sorry for the poor creative, and do what I 
 can for her. As I said, she is invaluable to me, 
 and I owe her positive gratitude." 
 
 "Is she fond of Gny?" asked the General, 
 ^Unking of her face as he saw it upturned to- 
 ward the portrait 
 
 "Exoeedinglty," said Lord Chetwynde. "Gny 
 was aboat eight yeare old when fhe came. From 
 the veiy first she showed the greatest fondness 
 for him, and attached herself to him with a de- 
 votion which surprised me. I accounted for it 
 on the ground that she had lost a son of her 
 own, and periiaps Gny reminded her in some 
 way of him. At »ny rate she has always been 
 exceedingly fond of him. Yes," poisued Lord 
 Chetwynde, in a musing tone, "I owe every 
 thing to her, for she once saved Gay's life. " 
 "Saved his life 7 Howr 
 
 "Once, when I was away, the place caaght fire 
 in the wing where Gny was sleeping. Mrs. Hart 
 mshed throngh the flames and savwl him. She 
 neariy killed herself too— poor old thing! In 
 addition to this she has nursed him through 
 three different attacks of disease that seemed 
 fetal. Why, she seems to love Gny as fondly 
 M I do." 
 
 "Anddoes Gay love her?" 
 
 " Exceedingly. The boy is most alfeetionate 
 by natnre, and of conrto she is prominent in his 
 
 """ •••^^"i"'" tkuw turBM away hnT wuvvrNi* 
 tion to other subjects; but flvtn hia abitneted 
 manner it was eWdent that Un, Hait was still 
 fomaoat in his ttmBg i|f, 
 
 f 
 
-,* -r 
 
 ■V- 
 
 leh wild thoughts u I hare 
 
 •igfa he looked out of the 
 
 id Lord Chetwynde came 
 ik their teats at the break- 
 
 Ud the General at length, 
 on, and with an effort at 
 that very singular-looking 
 e here ? She seems to bo 
 bUck, has veiy white hair, 
 
 of (Parity. " 
 d Chetwynde, carelessly. 
 
 the housekeeper, Mra. 
 
 Msekeeper?" repeated the 
 
 valuable woman to one in 
 
 me old fiimily servant. " 
 ere about ten years ago. 
 r, she heard of it, and ap- 
 cellent reconunendations, 
 las done very well." 
 ced how very singular her 
 
 had some great sorrow," 
 
 r. 
 
 lOst have had some tron- 
 
 ncholy way, I think. I 
 
 creature, and do what I 
 
 , she is invaluable to me, 
 
 jratitude." 
 
 ly?" asked the General, 
 
 I he saw it upturned to- 
 
 LordChptwynde. "Guy 
 1 when ime came. From 
 Bd the greatest fondness 
 lerseir to him with a de- 
 me. I accounted for it 
 had lost a son of her 
 reminded her in some 
 ate she has always been 
 u Yes," pursued Lord 
 ig tone, "I owe eveiy 
 e saved Guy's life." 
 
 IW?" 
 
 ray, the place caught Are 
 rat sleeping Mrs. Hart 
 Bt and iave4 him. She 
 >— poor old thing! In 
 It nnned him through 
 ot disease that seemed 
 to k>ve Guy as fondly 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 ^J 
 
 15 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 THE BABTEB OF A UFB.- 
 
 Two evenings afterward a carriage drove up 
 to the door of Chetwynde Castle, and a young 
 man alighted. The door was opened by the old 
 butler, who, with a cty of delight, exclaimed : 
 
 "Master Guy! Master Guy! It's welcome 
 ye are. They've been lookin' for yon th«se two 
 hours back." 
 
 " Any thing wrong ?" was Guy's first exchima- 
 tion, ^tttered with some haste and anxiety. 
 
 "Lord love ve, there's naught amiss; but 
 ye'te welcome home, right welcome, Master 
 Gtiy," said the butler, 'who still looked upon 
 his young roaster as the little boy who used to 
 ride upon his back, and whose tricks were at 
 once the torment and delight of his life. 
 
 The old bntler himself was one of the heir- 
 looms of the family, and partook to the full of 
 the air of antiquity which pervaded the pUce. 
 He looked like the relic of a by-gone generation. 
 His queue, carefully powderedf and plaited, stood 
 out stiff firom the teck of his head, as if in per- 
 petual protest against any new-fangled notions 
 of hair-dressing ; his iiverv, scrupulously neat 
 and well brushed, was threadbare and of an ante- 
 diluvian cut, and his whole appearance was that 
 of highly respectable antediluvianism. As he 
 stood there with his antique and venerable fig- 
 ure his whole face fairly beamed with deligiit 
 at seeing his young master. 
 
 "I was afraid my father might be ill," laid 
 Guy, " ftwm his sending for me in such a hurry." 
 "III?" said the other, radiant. "My lord 
 be better and cheerfnler like than ever I have 
 teen him since he canie back from Lunnon— the 
 time as you was a small chap, MasterGuy. There 
 be a gentleman stopping here. He and my lord 
 iMve been sittin' up half the night »-talkin'. I 
 think there be summut up. Master Guy, and<hat 
 be be connected with it ; for when my lord told 
 me to send you the telegram he said as it were 
 on business he wanted you^ but," he added, look- 
 ing perplexed, " it's t|ie first time as ever I heard 
 M business makin' a man look cheerful" 
 
 Guy made a jocuhw pbaon-atien and hurried 
 post him into the halL At he entered he saw a 
 figure sunding at the foot of the great stainsase. 
 It was Mra. Hart She wat trembling from head 
 to foot and clinging io the railing for support 
 Her face was pale at usual ; on each cheek there 
 was a hectic flush, and her eyet were fastened on 
 him. 
 
 "My darling nurse !" cried Guy with the warm 
 enthusiastic tone of a boy, and hurrying towaid 
 her he embraced her and kissed her. 
 
 The poor old creature trembled and did not 
 aay a single word. 
 
 "Now you didn't know I wat coming, did 
 you, you dear old thing ?» «akl Guy. " But what 
 U the matter? yQtj do yoa tramble so? Of 
 conneyouregUdtoteeyonrboy. Aravonnot?" 
 Mra. H»rt Cnffce d y p t p fcjm Wuh a n Arn iiHlo ii 
 of mute afl««tlon, deepi, (ervent, nntpeakable; 
 and then teiiing hit wann young hand in her 
 own wan and tremulont onet, A» praited it to 
 her thin white lipt and covered it with kittei. 
 
 "Ohj come now," taid Guy, "you alwaya 
 break down tbit way when I come home; but 
 yen mutt not— yoa really mutt not If yon do 
 ^|Ki(il cone home at all my mora. Iradly 
 
 won't Come, cheer up. I don't want to make 
 you cry when I come home." 
 
 " But I'm ciying for joy," »aid Mrt. Hart, in 
 a faint voice. " Don't be angry." 
 
 " You dear old thing ! Angry ?" exclaimed 
 G«y, affectionately. "Angry with my dariing 
 old nurse? Have you lost your senses, old wo- 
 man? But where is my fitther? Why has lie 
 sent for me? There's no bad news, I hear, so 
 that I suppose all is right" 
 
 "Yes, all is well," said Mrs. Hart, in a low 
 voice. "I don't know why you were sent for,, 
 but there is nothing bad. I think your father 
 sent for you to see an old friend of his." 
 " An old friend ?" 
 
 "Yes. General Pomeroy," replied Mrs. Hurt, 
 in a constrained voice. " Ho has been here two 
 or three days." 
 
 "General Pomeroy! Is it possible?" said 
 Guy. "Hat he come to England? I didn't 
 know that he had left India. I must hurry up. 
 Good-by, old woman," he added, afifectionatelv, 
 and kissing her again he hurried np stain to l^ 
 fiuher's room. 
 
 Lord Chetwynde was there, and General Pom- 
 eroy also. The greeting between father and son 
 was affectionate and tender, and after a few lov- 
 ing words Guy wat introduced to the General. 
 He shook him heartily by the hs«d. 
 
 "I'm tnre," taid he, "the tight of you hat 
 done my fiuher a world of good. He lookt ten 
 ^art younger than he^d when I hist taw him. 
 You really ought to take up your abode here, or 
 live tomewhere near him. He mopet drvadfdlv, 
 and needt nothing to much at the tociety of an 
 old mend. You could route him from hit blue 
 flu and ennui, and give him new life." 
 
 Guy then went on in a ratding way to narrate 
 tome eventa which had befidlen him on the road. 
 At he tpoke in hit animated and. enthusiastic 
 wav General Pomeroy scanned him eamesdy 
 and narrowly. To the mott catiiql obaerver 
 Guy Molynenx mntt have been tingulariy pre- 
 potsetdng. Tall and tlight, wUh a remarkably 
 well-thaped head covered with darit ending hair, 
 haael eyet, and regular featurea, hit whole ap- 
 pearance wat eminently patridan, and bora die 
 marka of high -breeding and refinement; bat 
 thera wat tomething mora than thit. Thoae 
 eyet looked fordi finankly and fjaarleasly; thera 
 was a joyous light in them which awidcened sym- 
 pathy ; while the open expreation of hit fiice, an4' ' 
 the clear and ringing accent of hit freth young- 
 voice, all tended to intpira confidence and tnitt 
 General Pomwoy noted all thit with delight, for 
 in hit anxiety for hit danghter't fntura he taw 
 that Guy wat one to whom he might tafely in* 
 trust the dearest idol of his heart 
 
 "Come, Guy," taid Lord Cheti^nde at lat^ 
 after hb ton had rattled on for hatf an hour or 
 more, "if yon ara above all oontiderationa of 
 dinner, we ara not I hara already had it pot 
 oif two hourt for yoa, and we thoold like to tea 
 
 e tigwt of pra pwriegmFyeHraet" " -= 
 
 AU right, Sir. I thaU be on hand bv dte 
 
 ■'" tifilT have to compkin of me in that 
 
 . I think." 
 - Jjring, Ony nodded gavly to diem and left 
 the room, and dieypretent^ heard him whitding 
 throogh die pattagaa genu from the hut new 
 opera. . 
 
 ,''iW ■iitl-i^lskiv'iv;^ ...V ' 
 
 ,./ 
 
16 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 "A oplendid fellawr," sata fhe GenenI, as the 
 door dosed, in a tone of hearty admiration. " I 
 »ee his father over again in him. I only hope he 
 will come into our view8." 
 
 " I can answer for his being only too ready to 
 do 80," said tord Chetwynde, conlidentty. 
 
 "He exceeds the utmost hopes thnt" I had 
 formed of him," said the General. "I did not 
 expect to see 80 frank and open a face, and such 
 freshness of innocence and purity. " 
 
 Lord Chetwynde's face showed all the delight 
 which a fond father feels at hearing the praises 
 of an only son. 
 
 Dinner came and passed. The General re- 
 tired, and Lord Chetwynde tlien explained to his 
 son the whole plan which had been made about 
 him. It was a plan which was to aflTect his whole 
 life most profoundly in it^ most tender part ; but 
 Gny was a thoughtless boy, and received the pro- 
 posal like such. He sliowed nothing but delight. 
 He never dreamed of objecting to any thing. He 
 declared that it seemed to him too good to be 
 true. His thoughts did not appear to dwell at all 
 upon his own share in this transaction, though sure- 
 ly to him that share was of infinite importance, 
 but only on the fact that Chetwynde was saved. 
 "And is Chetwynde really to be ours, after 
 oil ? he cried, at the end of a bunt of delight, 
 repeating the words, boy-like, over' tad over 
 again, as though he could never tire of hearing 
 the words repeated. After all, one can not 
 wonder at his thoughtlessness and enthusiasm. 
 Around Chetwynde all the associations of his 
 life were twined. Until he had joined the regi- 
 ment he had known no other home ; and beyond 
 this, to this high-spirited youth, in whom pride 
 of birth and name rose very high, there had been 
 from his earliest childhood a bitter humiliation 
 in the thought that the inheritance of his ances- 
 tors, which had never known any other than a 
 Chetwynde for its master, must pass from him 
 forever into alien hands. Hitherto his love for 
 h|» fiither had compelled him to refrain from all 
 expression of his feelings about this, for he well 
 knew that, bitter as it would be for him to give 
 np Chetwynde, to his father it would be sfill 
 worse— It would be like rending his very heart- 
 strings. Often had he feared that this sacrifice 
 to honor on his father's part would be more than 
 could be endared. He had, for his father's soke, 
 pot a restraint npon himself; .but this conceal- 
 ment of his feelings hod only increased the in- 
 tensitr of those feelings j the shadow had been 
 gradually deepening over his whole life, throw- 
 ing gloom over the sunlight of his joyous youth ; 
 and now, for the first time in many years, that 
 shadow seemed to be dispelled. Surely theiv is no 
 wonder that a mtt« boy should be reckless of the 
 ratare in the sanahine of such a golden present 
 When General Pomeroy appeared again, Guy 
 seized bis hand in a barst or generous emotion, 
 with his eyes glistening with tears of joy. 
 
 "How can I ever thank yon," he cried, im- 
 petuously, " for what yoa hava done for us I As 
 ""Thftve-* — *■ ... . • . 
 
 tw^to my life's end— 10 help me God I" 
 - And all this time did it never suggest itself to 
 the Toang num that there raight be a ravane to 
 the brilliant pjctnre which hie Cuct was so busily 
 sketching— that there waa nqoired from him 
 ■omathing mora than money or estate; some- 
 fting,^ indeed, in oompariioa with which aroa 
 
 Chetwynde itself was as nothing? No. In Us 
 inexperience and thoughtlessness he would h0H 
 looked with amazement npon any one who would 
 have suggested that there might be a drawback 
 to the happiness which he wa« portraying before 
 his mind. Yet surely this thing came most se- 
 verely upon him. He gave up the niost, for he 
 gave himself. To save Chetwynde, he was un- 
 consciously selling his own souL He was bar- 
 tering his life. All his future depended upon 
 this hasty act of a mpment. The happiness of 
 the mature man was risked by the thoughtless 
 act of a boy. If m after-life this truth came 
 homo to him, it was only that he might see that 
 the act was irrevocable, and that he must bear 
 the consequences. 'But so it is in life. 
 
 That evening after the Gener^il had retired. 
 Ouy and his father sat up far into the night, dia- 
 cussing the future which lay before them. To 
 each of them the future marriage seemed but a 
 Mcondary event, an accident, an episode. The 
 ftrst thing, and almost the only thing, was the 
 sa^y*tion of Chetwynde. Those day-dreams 
 which they had cherished for so many years 
 seemed now about to be realized, and Chetwynde 
 would be restored to all its former glory. No* 
 for the first time, each let the other see, to the foil' 
 how grievous the loss would have been to him. 
 
 It was not nntil after all the future of Chet- 
 wynde had been discussed, that the thoughts of 
 Ouy 8 engagement occurred to his father. 
 
 'But, Guy," said ho, "you are forgetting 
 one thmg. You must not in your joy lose sight 
 of the important pledge which has been de- 
 manded of you. You haw entered upon a very 
 solemn obligation, which we both are incUned to 
 treat rather lightly." 
 
 "Of course I remember it. Sir; and I only 
 wish It were something twenty times as hard 
 that I could do for the dear old General," an- 
 swered Guy, enthusiastically. 
 
 "But, my boy, this may prove a severe sacri- 
 fice m the future, " said Lord Chetwynde, thought- 
 
 "What? To marry, father? Of course I 
 shall marry some time;; and as to the question 
 of whom, why, so long as she is a hidv (and 
 General Pomeroy's daughter must be this'), and 
 IS not a fright (I own I hate ugly women), I 
 don t care who she is. But the daughter of such 
 a man as that ought to be a little an^ and aa 
 beautiful as I could desire, I am all impatience 
 to see her. By-the-way, how old is she i" 
 "Ten years old." 
 
 "Ten years!" echoed Guy, hiu^ing boister- 
 ously. " I need not distress myself, then, about 
 her personnel for a good many years at any rate. 
 But, I say, father, isn't the General a little pre- 
 mature in getting his daughter settled ? Talk of 
 match-making mothers after this ! " 
 
 The young man's flippant tone jarred npon his 
 fether. " He had good reasons for the haste to 
 which yon object, Gny," said Lord Chetwynde. 
 "Qpa was Uie friapdlassnass of his daaghtw in 
 *• tnmt-otmrttmg tm^^msg to him ridj 
 the other, and a stronger motiTe (for under any 
 circnmslances I should have bera her guanlian). 
 was to assist your fether upon the only t«rmi 
 npon which he oonld hava.ak^pted aasistancft 
 with honor. By this amuigei^t his danshtei'' ' 
 reaps the fell benefit of his m^, and he hat 
 his own iiiind at eiM. And, nS^nber, Gny,* 
 
• THE CRYPTOGAM. 
 
 continned Lord Chetwrnae, solemnly, "from 
 this time you must consider yoarself an a mar- 
 ried man ; for, oltliough no altar tow or priestly 
 benediction binds yon, yet by every law of that 
 Honor by which yoa profess to be guided, you 
 are bound irrevocably. " 
 
 "I know that," answered Guy, lightly. "I 
 think yoa will never find me unmindful of that 
 tie." 
 
 " I trust you, itay boy,"8aid Lord Chetwynde, 
 "as I would trust myself." 
 
 y- 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A STARTLING TI8IT0B. ' 
 
 After dinner the General, had retired to his 
 room, supposing that Guy and the Earl would 
 wish to be together. He had much to think of. 
 First of all there was his daughter Zillah, in 
 whom all his being was bound up. Her minia- 
 ture was on the mantle-piece of the room, and 
 t» this he went first, and taking it up in his 
 hands he sat down in an arm-chair by the win- 
 dow, and feasted his eyes upon It. His face 
 bore an exjlression of the same delight which a 
 lover shows when looking at the likeness of his 
 mistress. At times a smile lighted it up, and sa 
 wrapt up was he in this that more thon on hour 
 passed before he put the picture away. Then 
 he resumed his seat by the window and looked 
 out. It was dusk ; but the moon was shining 
 brightly, and threw a silvery gleam over the 
 dark trees of Chetwynde, over the grassy slopes, 
 and over the distant hills. That scene turned 
 his attention in a new direction. TTie shadows 
 of the trees seemed to suggest the shadows of 
 tlio past. Back over that past his mind went 
 wandering, encountering the scenes, the forms, 
 and the faces of long ago— the lost, the never- 
 to-be-forgotten. It was not that more recent 
 past of which he'fcad spoken to the Eari, but one 
 more distant— one which intermingled with the 
 Earl's past, and which the Eari's story had sug- 
 gested. It brought back old loves and old hates ; 
 It suggested memories which had lain dormant 
 for years, but now rose before him clothed in 
 fresh power, as vi\-id as the events from which 
 they flowed. There was trouble in these memo- 
 ries, and the General's mind Was agitated,'and 
 in his agitation he left the chair and paced the 
 room. He rang for lights, and after they came he 
 seated himself at the table, took paper and pens, 
 and began to lose himself in calculations. 
 
 Some time passed, when at length ten o'clock 
 came, and the General heard a faint tap at the 
 door. It was so faint that he could barely hear 
 It, and at first supposed it to be either his fancy 
 or else one of the death-watches making a some- 
 what louder noise than osnal. He took no fur- 
 ther notice of it, but went on with his occupa- 
 tion, whejii he was agidn intermpted by a louder 
 knock. This time there was no mistake. He 
 rose and opeyd riw door. ihhAiiig ttot it ym 
 the I<.arl who had brought him some informatior 
 as to his son's views. 
 
 Opening the door, he saw a slight, ftnil figure, 
 dressed in a non-like garb, and recognized the 
 honsekeeper. If possible she seemed paler than 
 usual, and her eyes were fixed upon him with 
 a itrango wistful earnestness. Her appaanmoa i 
 
 17 
 
 was:*» unexpected, and her expression so pecnl- 
 \M, that the General involuntarily started back, 
 i or a qioment he stood fooking at her, and then, 
 «^o\e"ng with an effort hi» self-powession,, be 
 
 "Md you wish to see me about any thing. 
 Mrs. Hart?" 
 
 "If I could speak-B few words to yon I should 
 be grateful, ' was the answer, in a low, supplica- 
 tmgtone. ' 
 
 1 . " ^on't you walk in, then ?" said the General, 
 •in a kindly voice, feeling a str»nge commisera- 
 tion for the poor creature, whose face, manner, 
 and voice eJcliibited so much wretchedness. 
 
 The General held thff door open, and waited 
 tor her to enter. Then closing the door he of- 
 ftred her a chair, and resumed his former seat. 
 But the housekeeper declined sitting. She stood 
 looking strangely confused and troubled, and for 
 some time did not speak a word. The General 
 waited patiently, and regarded her earnestly. In 
 spite of himself he found that feeling arising with- 
 in him which had occurred in the morning-room 
 —a feeling as if he had somewhere known this 
 woman before. Who was she? What did it 
 mean ? Was he a precious old fool, or was there 
 really some important mystery connected with 
 Mrs. Hart ? Such were his thoughts. 
 
 Perhaps if he tad seen nothing more of Mrs. 
 Hart the Eari's account of her would hare I)een 
 accepted by him, and no thoughts of her would, 
 have perplexed his brain. But her arrival now, 
 her entrance into his room, and her whole man- 
 ner, brought back the thoughts which he had be- 
 fore with tenfold force, in such a way that it was 
 useless to struggle against them. 'Ha felt that 
 there was a mysterv, and that the Earl himself 
 not only know nothing about it, but could not 
 e\-en suspect it. But what was the mystery? 
 That he could not, or perhaps dared not, con- 
 jecture. The vague thought which darted across 
 his mind was one which was madness tO(«nter- 
 tain. He dismissed it and waited. 
 At last Mrs. Hart spoke. 
 "Pardon me, Sir,'' she said, in a feint, low 
 voice, " for troubling yon. I wished to apologize 
 for intruding upon you in the morning-room. I 
 did not know you were tfiere. " 
 
 She spoke abstractedly and wearily. OTie Gen- 
 eral felt that it was not for this that she had 
 thus visited him, but that something more lay 
 behind. Still he answered her tviMk. as if he ' 
 took it in good faith. He hastened to reassni* 
 her. It wai no intrusion. Was she not the 
 housekeeper, and was it not her duty to go 
 there? What could she mean ? 
 
 At this she looked at him, with a kind of soU 
 emn yet eager scrutiny. " T was aAvid," sh* 
 said, after some hesita'tion, speaking still in m 
 dull monotone, whose strangely sorrowful ac- 
 cenu were marked and impressive, and in a yoice 
 whose toae was constrained and stiflF, but yet had 
 something in it which deepened the General's per- 
 plexity— " I was aftnid that r*rh^p« ynn m fghlL 
 ^ave witnessed some marks of agitation in me. 
 Pardon me for supposing that you could ha™ 
 troubled yourself so fitr as to notice one like me> 
 but- but— I— that is, I am a little— eccentrics 
 and when I suppose that I am alone that eccen- 
 tricity is marked. I did not know that yoa were 
 in the room, and so I was thrown off my gwud." 
 Every word of this singular being thrilled 
 
 m 
 
 L.M^V. vii&Ub<>»-.^(.^^H»<^..b<A<^ 'k 
 
 \ JVI Vf'\ - r 
 
18 
 
 THE CRYPTCkJRAMt- 
 
 ^ through the General. lie looked nt her steadily 
 without-8i)eaking for some time. He tried to 
 force his memory to reveul what it Was that this 
 woman suggested to liim, or who it was that she 
 lind been associated with in that dim and shad- 
 owy past which but lately ho hod been calling 
 up. Her voice, too — what was it that it sug- 
 gested ? That voice, in spite of its constraint, 
 was woeful and sad beyond all description. It 
 was the voice of suffering and sorrow too deep 
 for tears— that changeless monotone which makes 
 one think that the words which are spoken are 
 uttered by some machine. 
 
 Her manner also by thistimc evinced n greater 
 and a deeper agitation. Her hands mechanical- 
 ly clasjjcd each other in a tight, convulsive gr^sp, 
 and her slight frame trembled with irrepressible 
 emotion. Thei-e was something in her appear- 
 ance, her attitude, her manner, and her ijoice, 
 which enchained the General's attention, and 
 was nothing less than fascination. There was 
 something yet to come, to tell which had led her 
 there, and these were only preliminaries. This 
 the Genei-al felt. Every word that she spoke 
 seemed to be a mere formality, the precursor of 
 the real words which she wished to utter. What 
 was it? Was it her affection for Guy? Had 
 she come to ask about the betrothal? "Had she 
 come to look at Zillah's portrait? Had she 
 come to remonstrate with him for anitnging a 
 n^rriage between those who were as yet little 
 more than children ? But what reason had she 
 for interfering in such an affair ? It was utterly 
 Out of place in one like her. No ; thire was 
 something else, he could not conjecture whjit. 
 
 All these thoughts swept with lightning Speed 
 through his mind, and still the jKwr stricken creat- 
 ure stood before him with her eyes lowered and 
 her hands clasped, waiting for his artswer. He 
 roused himself, and sought once more to reassure 
 w her. He told her that ho had noticed nothing, 
 that he had been looking out of the window, and 
 that in any case, if he had, he should have thought 
 nothing about it. This ho said in as careless a 
 tone as possible, willfully misstating facts, fi-om 
 a generous desire to spare her uneasiness and 
 , set her mind at rest 
 
 "Will you pardon me, .Sir, if I intrude npon 
 your kindness so far as to ask one more question ?" 
 said the housekeeper, after listening drenmilv to 
 the General's words. " You are going away, and 
 I shall not have another opportunity. " 
 
 "Certainly," said the General, looking at her 
 with nnfeighed sympathy. "If there is any thing 
 that I can tell you I shall be happy to do so. 
 Ask me, by all means, any thing you wish." 
 
 " You had a private inteniew with the Earl," 
 said she, with more animation than she had jet 
 shown. 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I'ardon me, but will you consider it imper- 
 tmence if I ask you whether it was about your 
 past life? I know it is impertinent; but oh. Sir, I 
 have my reasons. " Her voice changed suddenly 
 to the humblest and most apologetic accent. 
 -The General's iiiterest was, if- possible, in- 
 creased i and, if there wore im|)ertinence in such 
 n question from a housekeeper, he was too ex- 
 cited to be conscious of it. To him this woman 
 seemed more than this. 
 
 "Wo were talking about the jiast," said he, 
 kindly. " Wo are very old friends. We weie \ 
 
 telling each other the events of our lives. We 
 parted early in life,- and have not seen one an- 
 other for many years. Wa also were arranging 
 some business matters." 
 
 Mrs. Hart listened eagerty, and then remained 
 silent for a long time. 
 
 " His old friend,"she murmured at last ; "bis 
 old friend ! Did you find him much altered ? ' 
 
 "Not more than I expected," replied the Gen- 
 eral, wonderingly. "His secluded life here has- 
 kejit hinj from the wear and tear of th«i worid. 
 It has not mode him at all misanthropical or 
 even cynical. His hfeart is as warm as ever. Ho 
 spoke very kindly of you." 
 
 Mrs. Hart started, and her hands involuntarily 
 clutched each other more convulsively. Her 
 head fell forward and htfr eyes dropped." 
 
 "What did he say of me?" she asked, in a 
 scarce audible voice, and trembling visibly as 
 she spoke. 
 
 The General noticed her agitation, but it caused 
 no surprise, for nlreadv his whole power of won- 
 dering was exhausted. He had a vague idea 
 thot the poor old thing was troubled for fear she 
 might from some cause lose her place, and wished 
 to know whether the Earl had made any remarks 
 which might affect her position. So with this feel- 
 ing he answered in as cheering a tone as possible : 
 "Oh, I assure you, he spoke of you in the 
 highest terms. He told me that you were ex- 
 ceedingly kind to Guy, and that you were quite 
 indispensable to himself." 
 
 "' Kinfl to Guy'— ' indispensable to him,'" she 
 repeated in low tones, while tears started to her 
 eyes. She kept murmuring the wiords abstract- 
 edly to herself, and for a few moments seemed 
 quite unc(fnscious of the Generals prasence. . He 
 still watcl^ed her, on his part, and gradualli^ the 
 thought rirose within him that the easiest/solu- 
 tion for all this was possible insanity. Inahnity, 
 he saw, would account for every thing, andivonld 
 also give some reason for his own strange feelings 
 at the sight of her. It was, ho thought, because 
 he had seen this dread sign of insanity in her 
 face— that sign only less terrible than that dread 
 mark which is mode by the hand of the King of 
 Terrors. And was she not herself conscious to 
 some extent] of this ? he thought. She had her- 
 self alluded! to her eccentricity. Was;she not 
 disturbed by a fear that he had noticed this, and, 
 dreading a disclosure, had come to him' to ex- 
 plain ? To her a stranger would be an object of 
 suspicion, against whom she would feel it neces- 
 sary to bo on her guard. The people of the 
 house were doubtless accustomed to her wavs, 
 and would think nothing of any freak, however 
 whimsical ; but a stranger would look with dif- 
 ferent eyes: Few, indeed, were the strangers or 
 visitors who ever came to Chetwynde Castle ; but 
 when one did come he would naturally be an ob- 
 ject of suspicion to thisi^r soul, conscious of 
 her infirmity, and strugghng desperately against 
 it. Such thoughts as these succc^cd to the oth- 
 ers which had been passing through the Gener- 
 al's mind, and he was just beginning to think of 
 Bome plAn by which lie conld soothe ttdi poor ~^ 
 creature, when he was aware of a movement on 
 her part which made him look up hastily. Her 
 eyes were fastened on his. They were large, lu- 
 minous, and earnest in their gaze, though dimmed 
 by the grief of years. Tears were in them, and 
 the look which they threw toward him was full 
 
vents of our lives. We 
 1 have not seen one an- 
 Wa also were arranging 
 
 ^t]y, and then remained 
 
 mnrraured at lost ; "his 
 Jd him much aftered ?" 
 pected," replied the Gen- 
 lis secluded life here has 
 r and tear of Ihii world. 
 It all misanthropical or 
 ; is as warm as ever. 1 1 e 
 I." 
 
 1 her hands involuntarily 
 ore convulsively. Her 
 !r eyes dropped." 
 f me ?" she asked, in a 
 id trembling visibly as 
 
 ciated face, that anew- white hair, that brow 
 marked by the lineo of suffering, that slight 
 figure \vith iu sombre vestments, all formed a 
 sight which would have impressed any man. 
 The General was so astonished that he sat mo- 
 tionless, wondering what it was now that the dis- 
 •aaed fancjr of one whom he sUll beUeved to be 
 
 insane would snggest. It was to him that d(e 
 was looking; it was to him that her shriveled 
 hands were outstretched. What could she want 
 with him ? 
 
 She drew nearer to him while he sat thus won- 
 dering. She stooped forward and downward, 
 with her eyes still fixed on his. He did not 
 move, but watched her in amazement Again 
 
20 
 
 THE CBYPTOGBAM. 
 
 I thot thought which the sight of her had at fir»t 
 suggested came to him. Agaio he thrast it 
 •way. But the woman, with a low moan, sud- 
 denly flung herself on the floor before him, ond 
 reaching out her hands clasped his feet, and he 
 felt her feeble frame all shaken by sobs and shud- 
 ders. He sat spell-bound. He looked at her 
 for a moment aghast. Then he reached forth 
 his hands, and Avithout speaking a word took 
 hers, and tried to lift her up. She let herself be 
 raised till she was on her knees, and then raised 
 her head once more. She gave him an inde- 
 scribable look, and in a low voice, which was lit- 
 tle above a whisper, bat whic^ penetrated to the 
 very depths of his soul, pronounced one single 
 
 solitary word, . 
 
 The General heard it. His face grew as pale 
 and as rigid as the face of a corpse ; the blood 
 seemed to leave his heart; his lips grew white; 
 he dropped her hands, and sat regarding her with 
 ^es in which there was nothing less than horror. 
 The woman saw it, and qnce more fell with a 
 low moan to the floor. 
 
 " My God ! " groaned the |{|eneral at last, and 
 said not another word, but sat rigid and mate 
 while the woman lay on the floor at his feet 
 The horror which that word had caused for some 
 ,time overmastered him, and he sat staring va- 
 cantly. But the horror was not against' the wo- 
 man who hitd called it up, and who lay prostrate 
 before him. ,. She could not have been personal- 
 ly abhorrent, for in a few minutes, with a start, 
 ^e noticed her once more, and his face was over-, 
 spread by an anguish of pity and sympathy. He 
 raised her up, he Iqd her to a couch, and made 
 her sit down, and then sat in silence before her 
 ivith his face buried in his hands. She recUned 
 pn the couch with her countenance turned to- 
 ward him, trembling still, and panting for breath, 
 with her right hand under her face, and her left 
 pressed tightly against her heart At times she 
 looked at the General with monmful inquiry, 
 and seemed to be patiently waiting for him to 
 speak, An hour passed in silence. The Gen- 
 eial seemed to be straggling with recollections 
 that overwhelmed him. At last he raised his 
 head, and regarded her in solemn silence, and 
 still his face and hia eyes bore that expression of 
 nnntteiftble pity and sympathy which dwelt there 
 when he nused her from the floor. 
 
 After A time he addressed her in a low voice, 
 the tones of which were tender and full of sad- 
 ness. She replied, and a conversation followed 
 which lasted for hours. It involved thin^ of 
 fearful moment— crime, sin, shame, the perfidy 
 of traitors, the devotion of &ithfal ones, the sharp 
 pang of injured love, the long angnish of despair, 
 the deathless fideli^ of devoted aflection. Bat 
 the report of this conversation and the recital of 
 these things do not belong to this bloce. It is 
 enough to say that when at hist Mrs. Hart arose it 
 was with a seraner face and a steadier step than 
 hod been seen In Her for vears. 
 
 That night the General did not close his eyes. 
 Hj« fgend, his bnaineM, even his d aught er, all 
 ww« -fi»»ij«Uoii,Tr ihoi^ih tu flbnl 11^ over- 
 whelmed and emshed by the weight of some 
 tremendous revelation. 
 
 "*\ 
 
 CHAPTER "v. 
 
 tSb FniDRE BBtDE. 
 
 It had b?en arranged that Gay should accom- 
 pany General Pomeroy up to I^ndon, partly for v 
 the sake of arrantging abont the matters relat- 
 mg to the Chetwynde estates, and partly for 
 the purpose nf seeing the one who was some day 
 to be bis wife. Lord Chetwynde was unable 
 to undergo the fatigue of traveluig, and had to 
 leave every thing to his lawyers and Guy. 
 
 At the close of a wearisome day in the train 
 they reached London, and drove at once to the 
 General's lodgings in Great James Street. The 
 door was opened by a tall, swarthy woman, whose 
 Indian nationality was made manifest by the 
 gny-c6lored turban which sannoui)ted her head, 
 as well as by her face and figure. At the sight 
 of the General she burst out int6 exclamations 
 'of joy. 
 
 "Welcome home, .sahib ; welcome home!" 
 she cried. " Little missy, her fret much after 
 yon." 
 
 "I am sorry for that, nurse," said the Gen- 
 eral, kindly. 
 
 As he was speaking they were startled by a 
 piercing scream ttma. an adjoining apartment, 
 followed by a shrill voice uttering some words 
 which endiBd in a shriek. The General entered 
 the house, and hastened to the room from which 
 the sounds proceeded, and Gny followed him. 
 The nproar was speedilr accounted for by the 
 tableau which p resented itself on o p anin g t^a 
 door. It Vros a tableau extremely vivant, and 
 represented a small giri, witU violent gesticuU- 
 tions, in the act of rejecting a daintr little, meal 
 which a maid, who stood by her with a tray, was 
 vainly endeavoring to induce her to acc«pt The 
 young lady s arguments were too foreible to ad- 
 mit of gainsaying, for the servant did not dan to 
 
 
, narse," siiid the Gen- 
 
 ventnre within reach of either the hands or feet 
 of her small bat vigorous opponent The pres- 
 ence of the trajp prevented her from defending 
 herself in any way, and she waa about retiring, 
 worsted, from the encounter, when the entrance 
 ' of the gentlemen gave a new .turn to the position 
 of affairs. The child saw them at once ; her 
 screams of rage changed into a cry of joy, and 
 the face wliich had been distorted with passion 
 suddenly became radiant with delight. 
 
 " Papa ! papa I" she cried, and, springing for- 
 >rard, she darted to his embrace, and twined her 
 arms about his neck with a sob which her joy 
 had wrung from her. 
 
 " Dariing papa I" she cried ; " I thought you 
 were never coming back. How could you leave 
 me BO long alone?" and, saying this, she burst 
 into a passion of tears, while her father in rain 
 tried to soothe her. 
 
 At this strange revelation of the General's 
 daughter Guy stood perplexed and wondering. 
 Certainly he had not been prepared for thiA His 
 Jiancie was undoubtedly of a somewhat stormy 
 nature, and in the midst of his bewilderment he 
 was consc^w* of feeling deeply reconciled to her 
 ten years. 
 
 At length her father snccebded iji quieting 
 her, and/ taking her arms from his neck, he 
 placed her on his knee, and said : 
 
 " Mjrdariing, here is a gentleman waiting all 
 this timfewtpspeak to yon. Come, go over to him 
 and shakje rtonds with him." 
 
 At tW» the child turned her large black eyes 
 on Guy, and scanned him superciliouslv from 
 head to foot. The result seemed to satis'fy her, 
 for she advanced a few steps to take the hand 
 which he had smilingly held out; but a thought 
 seemed suddenly to strike her which arrested her 
 progress half-way. 
 
 " Did he keep yon, papa?" she said, abruptly, 
 while a jerk of her head in Guy 'sdirection signified 
 the pro))er noun to which the pronoun referred. 
 
 " He had something to do with it," answered \ 
 her fiither, with a smile. | 
 
 "ITien I sha'n't shake hands with him," she 
 said, resolutely ; and, putting the aforesaid ap- 
 pendages behind her back to prevent any forci- 
 ble ajipropriation of them, she hurried away, and 
 clambered up on her father's knee. The Gen- 
 eral, knowmg probably by painful experience/ 
 the futility of trying to combat any determina- 
 Hwi pf this very decided yoftng lady, did not at- 
 tempt to make any remonstrance, but allowed her 
 to establish herself in her accustomed position 
 During this process Guy had Jeisure to inspect 
 ner. This he did without anu feeling of the im- 
 mense importance of this child's character to his 
 own future life, without thinking that this little 
 creature might be destined to raise him up to 
 heaven or thrust him down to hell, but only with 
 the Idle, critical view of an uninterested specta- 
 tor. Guy was, in fact, too young to estimate the 
 lutnre, and things which were connected with 
 that future, at their right value. He was little 
 more than a boy, awNwiirlooked with a hoy's 
 eyw upon this singular child. ' 
 
 She struck him as the oddest little mortal that 
 he had ever come acroM. She was very tiny, 
 
 SJh^ tn & J?*"i.*T*\: A",''"" fiP""""!'* looked 
 right, in fitce die looked fifty. In that fiwe there 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 was no childishness whatever. It was a. thin 
 peaked, sallow face, with a discontented expres- 
 sion ; her features were small and pinched , her 
 hair which was of inky blackness, fell oii her 
 Shoulders in long, straight locks, without a riiv 
 pie or a wave.ln them. She looked like an efr 
 but still this elfish little creature was rcdeeineli 
 from the liideonsness which else might have been 
 her doom by eves of the most wonderful brill- 
 w!?T A^ luminous, iwtent eyes-intenselr 
 Wack and deep as the depths of ocean, they 
 seemed to fill her whole face; and in memento 
 of excitement they could light up with volcanic 
 l.TlT'"*!"''^ i*"* '"'^"''''y °f ""»' ""'nre which 
 hZ ^„T i /"„"'P«^ 'hey were unfathoma- 
 ble, and defied all conjecture as to what their 
 possessor might develop into. 
 
 All this Guy noticed, as far as was iMwsible to 
 one so young and inexperienced; and the gen- 
 eral result of this survey was a state of bewilder- 
 ment and perplexity. He could not make her 
 out. She was a puzzle to him, and certainly not 
 a veiT attractive on& ' 
 
 t .u '",.?« '•»'* fin«"y adjusted herself on her 
 fathers kriee, the General, after the fashion of 
 parents from time immemorial, asked : 
 
 " Has my darling been a good child since 
 papa has been away ?" 
 
 The question may have betta a stereotyped 
 one. Not so the answer, which came out foU 
 and decided, in a tone free alike from penitence 
 or bravado, but giving only a simple statement 
 of facts. 
 
 "No," she said; "I have not been a good 
 girl. I ve been very naughty indeed. I haven't 
 minded any thing that was said to me I 
 Mratched the ayah, and kicked Sarah. I bit 
 Sarah too. Besides, I spilt my rice and mUk, 
 and broke the plate^ and I was just mmtt to 
 starve myself to death." K^tug w 
 
 At this recital of childish enormities, with its 
 ^gical ending, Guy burst into a lond laugh. 
 The child raised herself from her father's shoul- 
 der, and, fixing her large eyes upon him, said 
 slowly, and with set teeth: 
 "I hate you!" 
 
 She looked so nncanay as she said this, .and 
 th§ expression of her eyes was so intense in ito 
 malignity, that Guy absolutely gtarted.*^ 
 
 " Hush," exclaimed her father, more poremp 
 tonly than nsnal ; "you must not be so rude.''' 
 As he spoke she again looked at Gov, with a 
 vindictive expression, but did not deign to speak. 
 The face seemed to him to be utterly diaboKcal 
 and detestable. She looked at him for a mo- 
 ment, and then her head sank down upon her 
 father's shoulder. 
 
 The General now made an effort to turn tho 
 conversation to where it had left off, and nrwt- 
 Mg to ZiUah'g confe8sian< he said : 
 
 " I thon^t my little girl never broke her wort, 
 and that whqiTlrtobniised to be good while I " 
 was away, I cogld depend upon her being go." 
 This reproach seaned to-tonch Jiet. JSht 
 
 __^.^ .,„ "VWUUUA lAJ Wl ll ll ll —MPT. aflS 
 
 sprang up instantly and exclaimed, in vehement 
 tones : ^^ 
 
 "It '^4^^ who broke yonr pronise to me. 
 >ou said^Bionld come back in (liABTk and 
 you staid four. 1 did keep my word. I wat 
 good the first two days. Ask the ayah. When 
 I found that you had deceived me. tlMo I did 
 not care." < ( 
 
 tl 
 
 .■^^^i>dmi^*^i£)Arj'i^&ii^/k ^^i.-iMi^,^^Li^i>^- 
 
 vi*i*' 
 
33 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 " Brit you BhoaI4 hove trusted me, my child," 
 ■aid the General, in a 'tone of mild 'rebuke. 
 "You Bhould have known that I must hove had 
 some good reason for disappointing you. I had 
 Terv important business to attend to — business, 
 darling, which very nearly affects your hJappi- 
 1 ness. Some day, you shall hear about it." 
 
 "But I don't ^ant to hear about any thing 
 that will keep you away from me," said Zillah, 
 peevishly. "Promise never to leave me egain. " 
 "Not if I can help it, my (ihildJ' said the 
 General, kissing her fondly. ■ 
 _ " No ; but promise that you won't at all," per- 
 sisted Zillah. "Promise never to leave me at 
 all. Promise, promise, 'papa ; promise — prom- 
 ise." 
 
 "Well," said the General, "I'll promise to 
 take you with me the next time. That will do, 
 -^on'tit?" 
 
 " But I don't want to'go away,^' said this sweet 
 child ; ",and I won't go away. " 
 
 The General gave a despairing glance at Guy, 
 who he knew was a spectator of this scene. He 
 felt a vague desire to get Guy alone so as to ex- 
 plain to him that this was only oocasional and 
 accidental, and that Zillah was really one of the 
 sweetest and most angelic children that ever 
 were bom. Nor would this good Uencyal have 
 consciously violated the truth in saying so ; for 
 in his heart of hearts he believed all this of his 
 loved but sadly spoiled child. He opportunity 
 for such explanations did not Occur, however, 
 And the General had the painful consciousness 
 that Gupr was seeing his future bride under some' 
 what disadvantageous circumstances. Still he 
 trusted that the affectionate nature of Zillah 
 would reveal itself to Guy, and make a deep im- 
 pression upon him. ' 
 
 While ftuch thoughts as these^^were passing 
 through his mind, and others 'of a very varied 
 nature were occurring to Guy, the maid Sarah 
 Arrived to take her young charge to bed. The 
 attempt to do so roused Zillah to the most act- 
 ive resistance. She had made up her mind not 
 to yield. " I won't," she cried— " I won't go 
 to bed. I will never go away from papa a single 
 instant until that horrid man is gone. I know 
 he will take you away again, and I hate him. 
 Why don't you make him go, papa?" 
 
 At this remark, which was so flattering tk 
 Guy, the General made a Aiesh effort to appease 
 his daughter, but with no better success than 
 before. Children and fools, says the proverb, 
 speak the truth ; and the truth which was spoken 
 in this iutance was not very agreeable to the 
 visitor at whom it was flung. But Guy looked 
 on with a smile, and nothing inliis face gave any 
 sign of the feelings that he might have. He cer- 
 tainly had not been prepared for any approach 
 to any thing of this sort. On the journey the 
 G«aeral had alluded so often to that daughter, 
 who was alway* uppermost in his mind, that 
 Guy had expected an outburst of rapturous af- 
 fection from her. Had he been passed by un- 
 noticed, he ^uld have thought nothing of it ; 
 ~ but the malignancy jof her Iodic, and the ^-enom 
 of her words, startled him, yet he was toagood- 
 hearted and considerate to exhibit any feeling 
 whiHover. 
 
 Sarah's efliort to take Zillah away had resnlt- 
 e<l in su<!h a complete fiiilure that she retired . 
 difcomfited, and there was rather an awkwaid , 
 
 period, in which the General made a faint effort 
 to induce his daughter to say something civil to 
 Guy. This, however, was another failure, and 
 in a sort of mild despair he resigned himself to 
 her wayward humor. 
 
 At kst dintaei^ was announced. Zilkh still rei 
 fused to leave her father, so that he was obliged, 
 greater to his own discomfort, to keep her on 
 his knee during the meal. When the soup and 
 flsh were going on she was comparatively quiet ; 
 but at the first symptoms of entrdes she became 
 restive, and popping up her quaint little head to 
 a level mth the table, shevyed the edibles with the 
 air of an habitud at the Lord Mayor's banquet 
 Kaviole was handed round. This brought mat- 
 ters to a crisis. 
 
 "A plate and a fork for me, Thomas," she 
 ordered, imperiously. 
 
 "But, my (Jarling," remonstrated her fo- 
 ther, " this is miich too rich for you so late at 
 night." 
 
 "I like kaviole/' was her simple reply, given 
 with the nip. of one who is presenting an unan- 
 swerable argument, and so indeed it proved to 
 be. ' 
 
 "This latter scene was re-enacted, with but small 
 variations, whenever any thing appeared which 
 met with her ladyship's approval; and Guy found 
 that in spite of her youth Shis was a decided con- 
 noisseur in thu/delicacies of the table.' Now, to 
 tell the truth, he was not at all fond of chil- 
 dren ; but this one excited in him a pocitive hor- 
 ror. There seemed to be something in her 
 weird and uncanny; and he found himself con- 
 stantly speculating as to how he could ever be- 
 coiqe reconciled to her; or what changies fu- 
 ture' years could make in her; and whether 
 the lapse of time could by any possibility devel- 
 op this impish being into any sort of a present- 
 able woman. From the moment that he saw 
 her he felt that the question of beauty must be 
 abandoned forever ; it would be enough if she 
 could prove to be one with whom a ronn might 
 live with any degree of domestic comfort. But 
 the prospect of taking her at some period in the 
 fijbre to preside over Chetwjnde Castle filled 
 hiiiKwith complete dismay. He now Lvgan to 
 reolizb what his father had faintly suggested — 
 n&menr, that his part of the agreement might 
 hereafter prove a sacrifice. The prospect cer- 
 toiuly looked dark, and for a short time he felt 
 somewhat downcast; but he wa» young and 
 hopeful, and in the end he put all these thoughts 
 from him as in some sort treacherous tajais kind 
 old friend, and made a resolute detirminntiQu, 
 in spite of fate, to keep his vow with himf j 
 Aftdr anticipating the dessert, and preventing 
 her father from taking cheese, on the gix>und 
 that she did not like it, nature at last took pity 
 on that much enduring and long suffering man, 
 and threw over the daughter the mantle of sweet 
 nnco^onsness. Miss Pomeroy fell asleep. In 
 that URpless condition she was quietly conveyed 
 fhim her father's arms to bed, to the unspeak- 
 able relief of Guy, who felt, a» the door c " 
 as if a fearful Incubas had bopn removed. 
 
 On the following mdfning he started by an 
 early train for Dublin, so that on this occasion 
 he had no further opportunity of improving his 
 acquaintance with bis lovely bride. Need it be 
 said that the loss yru not netted by the fatui« 
 husband? « 
 
 -.r^ 
 
 i it ^- .Wi 
 
 
THE OBTirrOGBAH. 
 
 for me, Thomas," she 
 
 CHAPTEB Vj; 
 
 TWO^ lUI-ORTANT CHABACTER8. 
 
 About five years passed away since the 
 eresits narrated in the last chapter. , The Gen- 
 eral's hons^bld had leil their iMHim lodgings 
 not long after Gdy's visit, and had removed to 
 the family seat at Pomeroy Court, where tbey 
 had remained ever Aince. 'During these years 
 Gay had been living'the life common with yonng 
 ofiRcers, moving about from place to place, going 
 sometin^ on a visit to his father, and, on the 
 whole, extracting an nncommonly large amount 
 of enjoyment out of life. The memory tof his 
 betrothal never troubled^ him ; he fbrtnnately es- 
 o^»d my affair of the heart mors aerions than 
 an idle flirtation in a garrison town: . the odd 
 scene of his visit to General Pomeroys lodgings 
 soon faded into the 'remote jwst; and the pro- 
 4ectod;marriage was banished Jn his mind to the 
 dim shades of a remote future. As for the two 
 old men,, they only met once or twice in all 
 these years. General Pomeroy could not man- 
 age very well to leave his daughter, and Lord 
 thetwyndes health did not aUow him to visit 
 
 ii«l"S"'^V ?.® "^^ ^"^ *e General to bring 
 ZUlah with hmi to Chetwynde Castle, bnt this 
 Oje young Udy positively refused to consent ta 
 Nor did the General himself care particularlr 
 about takiflg her ihere. ' ■ ^ 
 
 ;3!!f M u'**K«~"^«"' *•« «»» of that^af^ "Have^^ 
 comtort which charatnenzes so many coantrr 
 hQpsM of England. It was irreguhir in shap/ 
 
 building being Elixabelhan, fh>m which there 
 
 weU-timbersd park surrounded It, beyond which 
 Uy the village of Pomeroy. 
 One morning in/ June, isifl, a man ^ame up 
 • avenue and entered the hall. He was of 
 lediura size, with short light hair, low br«w, 
 light eyes, and thin face, and he carried a scroll 
 of music m his hand. He entered the hall witUT' 
 the air of an habitutf, and proceeded to the south 
 parlor. Here his attention was at once arrested 
 by a.iigure standing by one of the windows. It 
 was a youpg giri, slender and graceful in form, 
 dressed in black, with masses of heavy bhick 
 hair coiled up behind her ||ead. Her back was " 
 turned toward him, and he stood in sIleQoe for 
 some time looking towanl her. 
 At last he spoke : "MissKrieff— " 
 The one called Miss Krieff turned and said, in 
 an indifferent monotone: " Good-momins. Mr 
 Gnaltier." ~W^ 
 
 Turning thus she showe4» fiuse whl|h had in 
 it nothing whatever of the fiigliah type— a dark 
 oUve complexion, ahnost swarthy, in fcct ; thick, • 
 luxuriant black hidr, eyes intensely bkck and 
 piercingly lustrous, retreating chin, and retreat- 
 ing narrow forehead. In that face, with iu in- 
 tense eyes, there was the possibility of rare charm 
 and fascination, and beauty of a very nnusoal ' 
 kind; but at the preseafi moment, as she looked 
 carelessly and almost sullenly at her visitor, there 
 was something repellent. 
 
 "here is Miss Pomeroy ?" asked Gnaltier. 
 jout, somewhere,".answerod Miss Krieff.t 
 shortly. X 
 "Will sWe not play to-day i" 
 "IthinkSiot.- 
 "Why?" 
 
 "The usual cause." 
 "What?" 
 
 "Tantrums," said Miss Krieff. 
 " It is a pity," said Gualtier, dryly, " that she 
 " w>jn^Ku'«f jin her lesMns. She wiU never 
 
 " '^^pWeaijir her ever pretending to take les- 
 sons ofimy body in any thing is absurd," said 
 Miss Krieff. " Besides, it is aa mnch as a teach- 
 er's life is worth. You will certainly leave the 
 house some day with a brokeahaacC'' 
 
 Gnaltibr smiled, showing a' set of huge yellow 
 teeth, and his sniall light eyes twinkled. 
 
 "It is nothing foFme, bnt I sometimee think 
 it milst be hard for you. Miss Krieff," said he, 
 insinuatingly. 
 
 " Hard I' she repeated, and her eyes flashed 
 as she glanced at Gnaltier; bnt in an instant it 
 passed, and she answered in a soft, stealthy 
 voice : " Oh yes, it is hard sometimes ; but then 
 dependents have no right to complain of the 
 whims of their superiors and beneGicton, yon 
 know." 
 
 Gnaltier said nothing, bnt seemed to wait Air. 
 ther diidosores. Atftn a time MissKrieff look- 
 ed np, and surveyed him with h^ penetrating, 
 gace. 
 
 " Yon ninsthaTea great deal to bear, I think," 
 
 ) you observed it ?" she asked. 
 "Am 1 not Miss Pomeroy's tutor? How 
 can I help observing it?" was the reply. 
 ^ "Have I ever acted as though I was dissatis- 
 ntnWt^ Vn~»AMViZir~iriu\'''"'!irZi"'''l *"*" **^ "'■ discontented, or did you ever see anv 
 SrlSwilSLiId jS^ltlH'*''L^"'^'' stvle thing in me which would teid you to tq,,^ 
 wiiitn wimam and Maty Introduced. A wide, I that I >|ras otherwise than contented ?" ^ 
 
II 
 
 i* 
 
 THE CBTFTOORAM. 
 
 "V- M 
 
 Yon we generally regarded •• a model ot 
 
 natore," loid Qualtier, in • cautioua, (lon- 
 
 jittid tone. " Why should I think otr«i*<-- 
 
 r ^^y My that no one but you oould i" "- 
 
 ^Uimfcm»toj." 
 
 MiM KfUff looked away, and a itealthy Bmile 
 crept orer her feature*. « 
 
 "Qood-natnret" ibe murmured. A laugh 
 
 %^ 
 
 that Munded almo«t like a. fob escaped her. 81 
 lence fulluwod, and Gualtier sat looking abstract- 
 edly at his sheet of miisic. , 
 
 "How.(io yon like the General?" he asked, 
 aliruptly. 
 
 "Hoar could I help loving Miss Pomerov s 
 fitther ?" replied Miss lUeff, with the old stealthy 
 smile reappearing. 
 
 '* Is he not just and honorable ?" 
 " Both — more too — heis generous and tender. 
 - He is above all a fond father ; so fond," she add- 
 ed, with something like a sneer, "that all his 
 justice, his tenderness, and his generosity are ex- 
 . erted- for the exclusive benefit of that, darling 
 diOd on whom he dotes. I assure yon, von can 
 ■ have no idea how touching it is to see them to- 
 gether." 
 
 "Do you often feel this tendemesa toward 
 them r" asked Gualtier, turqing bia thin sallow 
 face towaM her. 
 
 "Always," said Miss Krieff, slowly. She 
 rose frotn her chAir, where she had tokeil her- 
 •eat, and looked fixedly at him for soi>ie 
 without .one word. .j^,. 
 
 "You appear to be interested Iri this family," 
 said she at length. Gualtier looked at her for 
 a moment — then his eyes fcU. 
 ' "How can I be otiierwise than interested in 
 one like yon?" he murmured. 
 
 "Tlie General befriended yon. He found 
 you in London, and ofiiared you a large salary 
 to teach his daughter." 
 "The General w'as rery kind, and is so still." 
 Miss Krieff paused, and looked at him with 
 ^, ^^ k«i;n and vigilant scrutiny. 
 \^ "Would you be shocked," she asked at 
 ^^ength, ,"if you were to hear that tUa General 
 had an enemy?" r 
 
 ' " That would altogether depend npoawho the 
 enemy might be." -, ,m' 
 
 "An enemy," continued Miss Kriefi,.«ip|)! 
 intense bitterness of tone — "in his owq faih- 
 ily?" I 
 
 ' "JThat would be strange, "said Gualtier; ."but 
 I can imagine an enemy with whom I wonld not 
 ' ,1tpo{l<NMle4." 
 
 ^\'1l^hat wonld yon think," asked Miss- Krieff, 
 her pause, during which her keen 
 »was fixed on Gualtier, "if that 
 (n An the watch, aiid un- 
 are hdd|iConcealeil the 
 -___^ What would you sny 
 if ^KBtSKtWBl^'i'^ ao "'WjSB^^ 'hat only 
 . thatJWtorttr^o 86me 
 |ty to GeneralllWneroy?" 
 rmnWfell me more," said Gualtier, " be- 
 -ibrfrl an MTetr -1 ^»n fully capable of under- 
 standing all that hate may desire or accomplish. 
 But has this enemy of whom you speak done 
 anything? Ha» she foun4 out any thing? Has 
 aha ever discovered any way in which her bate 
 may be gratified?" 
 
 " Yon seem to take it for granted that his en- 
 «my. isa womanl" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "WeU, then, I will answer yon. 8h» h(U. 
 found out something— or, rather, 'he is !» the 
 way toward finding out something— which ^nny 
 yet enable her to gratify her desirea." 
 
 " Have you any objections to tell wha( that 
 may be?" asked Gualuer. 
 
 Miss Krieff said nothing for some time, dur- 
 ing which each looked eameatly at the other. 
 
 "No," said she at last. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " It is something that I have fonnd atnpng 
 the General's papers," said she, in a low vojce. 
 
 "Xou have examined the General's papers, 
 then?" (ft 
 
 "What I said implied that much, I bellorc.'* 
 said Miss Krieff, coolly. 
 
 " And what U it?" 
 
 "A certain mvsterioAs document." 
 
 ' ' Mysterious document ?" repeated G uoltier. ^ 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "\^hnt?" 
 
 " It is a writing in cipher." 
 
 "And you have made it out ?" ' 
 
 "No, /have not." 
 
 "Of whot use is it, then ?" 
 . " I think it may bfrof some importance, or it 
 Would not have been kept where it wos, and it 
 would not have been written in cipher." 
 
 What can you do with it?"-a8ked Gualtier, 
 liter some silence. 
 
 ' I do not yet see what I can do with it, but 
 others mdy." 
 
 "What others?" 
 
 "I hope to find some friend who may have 
 more skill in cryptography thon I have, and mny 
 be able to decipher it.' 
 
 " Can yon not decipher it nt nil ?" 
 
 "Only in part" 
 
 " Arid what is it that yon have fonnd out?" 
 ' " I will tell you some other time, perhaps." 
 
 " You object to tell me now ?" 
 
 "Yes." ■ ,-x 
 
 "When will yoU tell me ?" \ 
 
 "When we are better acquaintjed." 
 
 ' "Are we not pretty well acquainted now?" 
 " Not so wdl as I ^ofafc vi^^iall be here- 
 
 " i shall wait most pM^jW^HBteid Gual- 
 tier, earnestly, " till oa|MiBiPMHI '=y b^^^ 
 give me some jnore mUK^Ssi^^^^^Vv^'^' ^''' 
 might yon not give m^rorae^neral idea of thnt 
 which yon think, you have discovered ?" 
 
 Miss Krieff hesitated. 
 
 " Do not let me force myself into yonr confi- 
 dence," said* Gualtier. 
 
 " No," sud Miss Krieff, in that cold, i;epel- 
 lent manner which she Could so easily assume. 
 " 'There is no danger of that. But I h^ve no 
 objection to tell you what seems to me to be 
 the eenoral meamng of that which I have deci- 
 
 the general meamng i 
 phered," 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " As far a* I can see," said Miss Krieff, " it 
 ^;>inir£<»« ft^rmrnl Pnmar ny with atrocious crimes, 
 and implicates him in one in particnlar, the knowl- 
 edge ftf which, if it be really so, can be used against 
 him with terrible— yea, fiual effect I now caa 
 understand very easily' why he was so strangely 
 and franticallT eager to' betroth his child to the 
 son of Lord Chetwynde— why he trampled on all 
 decency, and boima his own dangfater, little more 
 
 ^t^^ 4 
 
 
 
*•];.: 
 
 i that much, I bellere, 
 
 hat i can do with it, but 
 
 deritatnU?" 
 
 ave diBcovored ?" 
 
 L 
 
 ce myself into your confl- 
 
 Moff, in th»t cold, |;epel- 
 e Could so easily assume, 
 of that. But I h^ve no 
 what seems to me to be 
 tf that vhich I bare deci- 
 
 ee," said Miss Krieff, "it 
 )rr>j with atrocious crimes, 
 ine in particular, 'thekiiowl- 
 eally so, can be used against 
 I, fiaal effect. I now caa 
 ? why he wag so strangely 
 to betroth his diild to the 
 le-^why be trampled on oU 
 is 6wn Oanghter, little mure 
 
 Ufcn a baby, to a stiaiiMr— ^hy he purchased 
 Qay Molyneox, body and soul, for money. All 
 is plain (bm this. Bat, after all, it is a pusde. 
 He makes so high a profession of honor thy t if 
 his profession were real he would have thought 
 df a betrothal any where except there. Oh, if 
 Lord Chetw\l|de Aply had the faintest concep- 
 Uonofthkl*'- T ■ 
 
 ' Tilt JCwied Gnaltier, with eager 
 Mtnulated to the utmost by 
 md tones. 
 
 ^M» a.^J'' '°'' "'''" tiifte," said Miss 
 
 KdK iMiMnK ber repellent tone — ''not now. 
 , If rflnJWeti worthy of my confidence, I will 
 [ive it to yoo,"' , "^ 
 
 "I will fry to show myself worthy of it, " said 
 i .Gualtior, and, after k time, took his departure, 
 leaving Miss Krioff to her thoughts. 
 
 Now, who was this Miss Krieff ? 6he was an 
 important member of the numerous household 
 whicJj the General had brought with him from 
 India. She had beep undet his guardianship 
 since her infancy; who she yfaa no one knew 
 but the General himself. Ilor position Wits an 
 honorable one, and the General alwayn tjceated 
 her with a resgect and affection tliat were olraost 
 ■patonial, 'Mfus her life had been passed, first 
 as playiiiate to Zillah, whom she exceeded in 
 ago by about four years, and afterward as com- 
 panion, frie«l, almost sister, to the spoiled child 
 ond wayward heiress. . 
 
 . Hilda Krieff was a person of no common char- 
 acter. Even in India her nature had exhibited 
 remarkable traits. Child as she then was, her 
 astuteness and self-control were snch os might 
 have excited the admiration of Macchiavelfi him- 
 self. By jwrsistent flattery, by the indulgence 
 of every whim, tad, above all, by the roost e.i- 
 aggerated protestations of devotion, she had ob- 
 tained a powerful influence orer Zilkh's nncon- 
 tro led but loving noture ; and thus she hod grud- 
 I S"i/i '""''° herself so indispensable to her that 
 I ZilLih could never bear to be separated from one 
 I who so humored oil her Whims, and bore her 
 Imost ungovernable fiu of passion with snch un- 
 I varying sweetness. Hilda had evidently taken 
 Ihec lesson from the General himself; and thus 
 "Zillah waft treated with equal servility bv her fa- 
 ther arid tfer friend. " ' • 
 Peraonally, there Was some general resemblance 
 ■between the two girUj though in Hilda the sal-' 
 »ow hue of Ul health was replaced by a clear olive 
 fcompexion; and her eves, w«ch yie seldom 
 ^ised, had a somewhat fortiTft manner at times. 
 Much was altogether absent fiW^ ZiUah's clw 
 Ht}i. gaze. Hilda's voice was W and me- 
 UiOMs, never even in the abandon of childish 
 l>lay, or in any excitement, had she been known 
 lo raise its tones ; her step was wft «nd noiseless. 
 >nd one htfd no idea that she was in the «wi 
 ■till she was found standing by one's side, 
 l.i.r i * "'"<>. San* described in her own way 
 Ithe charactenstics of HUda Krieff. ^ 
 
 .rt!" Fo"? her**' rt !?" •tiil!!?'™^ «*" •»«' 
 
 THE CBYnB§BAlt 
 
 « 
 
 la turn. For he 
 
 l^riS •^'"™'" *? ""wapvwas always ttjadyio 
 l^ake It np, ajd say as she had been naucbtvO 
 iFor my part," concluded Sarah, "I*m fl|2 to 
 I confess T have often giv Missy a sly shake when 
 I she was in one of them, tantrims, and I goTtho 
 [chance, and however that girfcaS be^UJS 
 
 meek spoken oven when she has books a^sUed 
 at her head is more than I ean tell, and 1 ^laa't 
 like it neither. I see a look In tUitm eyes of hats 
 sometimes as I don't like. '^ 
 
 Thus we see that Hilda's Christian-like for- 
 giveness of iiyuries met with bnt littln xpprecia. 
 tion in some quarters. But this matter«»dlittle. 
 since with the U<Keral and ZiUah she was alwars 
 iri the highest favor. 
 
 vyimt hud these years that liad passed dona 
 for /ilkh? In |iersonar appearance not verr 
 much. - The plain sickly child h«d developed into 
 u tall ungainly girl, whose legs and arms ap- 
 peared incessantly to present to their owner the 
 msolublo Voblem— What is to l)e done with 
 us r* Her face was suU thin and sallow, although 
 it wag redeemed by its nuignificent eyes and 
 wealth of lustrous, jet-black hair. As to bar 
 hair, to tell the truth, she managed its luxuriant 
 folds in a manner as little ornamental as pos- 
 sible. She would never consent to allow it to#- 
 be dregged,. affirming that it would drive her' 
 mad to sit still so long, and ft Was accordingly 
 tricked up with more regard to expedition than '■ 
 to neatness; and long untidy Iqcks might geo.' 
 ?™y' *>o ae«a straggling over her shouldeM. 
 Nefertheles8« mind possessedu^f lively imagina- 
 tion and grout faith might l^e traced in thia 
 girl the possibility of better things. 
 
 In mental acquirements she was lamentably, 
 deficient. Her mind was a garden goim ttf * 
 waste; the weeds flourished, but the good seed 
 refused to take root. It had been found almost , ' 
 impossible to give her even tho rudiments of a 
 good education. Governess after governess had 
 come to l^omeroy Court ; governess after govern- 
 ess after a short trial had left, each one telling 
 the same story s Miss Pomeroy'g abilities were 
 good, even above the average, but her disincli- 
 nation,.to learning was so great— snch was the -^ 
 delicately expressed formula in which they made 
 known to the General Zillah'*utter idleness and 
 selfishness— that she (the governess) felt that she 
 was unable to do her justice; that Jiossibly the 
 fault lay m her own method of imparting in- 
 struction, and that she therefore ha^ed to re- 
 sign the position of Miss Pomeioy'sTnstnicttesa. 
 Now, as each new teacher had begun a system 
 of hejj^own wliich she had not had time to. de- 
 velop, It may be easily seen that the little knowl- 
 edge whidj Zillah posaessed was of the most * 
 desultory character. Yet after all she had some- 
 thing in her fav6r. She had a taste for read- 
 ing, and this led her to a familiarity with the 
 best authors. More than this, her fatltier had 
 instilled into her mind a chivalrous sense of hon- 
 or; and from natural instinct, as wdl as fVom ' 
 his teachings, she loved all that wag noble and - 
 pore. Medieval romance was most congenial to 
 her taste ; and of all the heroes who figure there 
 she, loved best the pure, t))e high-souled, the 
 heavenly Sir Gakhad. AH the heroes of the 
 Arthnrian or of the CarlpvinKinn ejwpee were' 
 adowd by this waywardbnt itwietong pr 1. Hha 
 
 ^miisy, HiUw) - nvudu sii fui 'liuim~"i!niM[^ 
 
 _c^- -" — -- — - ■>.-.»~ -r dtt a window-sill 
 of the hbraiy, reading tales of Arthur and the 
 kn]«ht8 of thrHonnd Table, or of Charlonagne 
 and hu Paladins. Fairy lore, and whatever else 
 our medieval ancestors have loved, thus became 
 most familiar to her, and all he/ soul became im- 
 bued with these bright and radiant fancies. And 
 tbr^ugh it all she learned tlie one grent lesaoa 
 
 (i .*.y 
 
 V. 
 
 ] 
 
 •> X 
 
.0 
 
 26 
 
 TOB CliTFTOOHAM. 
 
 which these romRnMs teach — that the grandest 
 and most heroic of all virtues is self-abnegation 
 at the call of honor and loyalty. 
 
 The only trouble was, Zilkh took too grand 
 a view of this virtue to make it practically useful 
 in daily life. If she had thus taken it to her 
 heart, it might have made her practice it by giv- 
 ing up her will to those around her, and by 
 showing from day to day the beauty of gentle- 
 ness and courtesy. This, however, she never 
 thought of; or, if it came to her mind, she con- 
 sidered it quite beneath/her notice. Hers was 
 sinaply a grand theory, to carry out which she 
 never dreamed of any sacrifice but one of the 
 grandest character. 
 
 The General certainly did all in his power to 
 induce her to learn ; and if she did not, it woS 
 scarcely his fault. But, while Zillah thus grew 
 np in igQorance, there was one who did profit by 
 the instructions which she had despised, and, in 
 spite of the constant change of teachers which 
 Zillah's impracticable character had rendered 
 necessary, was now, at the age of nineteen, a 
 refined, well-educated, and highly-accomplished 
 voung lady. This was Hilda Krieff. General 
 romeroy was anxious that she should have evei7 
 possible advantage, and Zillah was ghid «^ugn 
 to have a companion in her studies. The ^ult 
 is easily stated. Zillah was idle, HildiL wsjl stu- 
 dious, and all that the teachers could impm was 
 diligently mastered by her. 
 
 CHAFFER VII. 
 
 THE SECRET CirHEB. / 
 
 Soke time passed away, and Guitltier* made 
 his usuaPVj/iits. Zillah's moods were variable 
 and capricious. Sometimes she would languidly 
 declare that she copld not take her lesson ; at 
 other times she would take it for about ten min- 
 ntes ; and then, rising hastily from the piano, she 
 would insist that she was tired, and refuse to 
 study any more for that day. Once or twice, 
 "By aii|^extit;nu> eifort, she managed to devote a 
 whole liaJf hour, and then, as though such ex- 
 ertion was superhuman, she would retire, and 
 for several weeks afterward plead that half hour 
 as an excuse for her negligence. All this Gnal- 
 der bore vrith perfect equanimity. Hilda said 
 nothing; and generally, after Zillah's retirement, 
 she would go to the piano herself and take a 
 lesson. 
 
 These lessons were diversifled by general con- 
 versation. Often they spoke about Zillah, but 
 very seldom was it that they went beyond this. 
 Miss Kriefl' showed no desire to speak of the 
 subject which they once hod touched upon, and 
 Gualtier was too cunning to be obtrusive. So 
 the weeks passed by without any renewal of that 
 confidential conversation in which they had once 
 indulged. 
 
 While Zillah was present, Hilda never in any 
 instan ce show'ed an^ sign whatever of anger or 
 ^Impatience. She seemed not to notice her-be- 
 havior, or if she did notice it she seemed to think 
 it a very ordinary matter. On Zillah's retiring 
 she generally took her place at the piano with- 
 out a word, and Gualtier Iwgan his instructions. 
 It was during these instnictions that their con- 
 versation generally tookpbica.. 
 
 One doy Gualtier cafne and /band Hilda alone. 
 She was somewhat distrait, but showed pleasure 
 at seeing him, at which he felt both gratified and 
 flattered. " Where is Miss Pomeroy y" he asked, 
 after the usual greetings had been exchanged. 
 
 *' You will not have the pleasure of seeing her 
 to-day," answered Hilda, dryly. 
 
 '•jU she ill?" 
 
 y^IU? She is never ill. No. She has gone 
 
 ''Ah?" 
 
 "The General was going to take n drive to 
 visit a friend, and she took it into her hand to 
 accompany him. Of course he'liad to take her. 
 It wos very inconvenient— and very ridiculous- 
 hut the moment she proposed it he assented, with 
 only a very faint effort at dissuasion. So they 
 have gone, and will not be back.for some hour?.''' 
 
 " I hope yon will allow me to sny," remarked 
 Gualtier, in a low voice, "that I 'consider her 
 absence rather an advantage than otherwise." 
 
 "You could hardly feel otherwise," said Hil- 
 da. "You Imve not yet got a broken- head, it 
 is true ; but it is coming. Some dny you will not 
 wolk out of the house. Yon will be Jjarried out. " 
 
 "You speak bitterly." 
 
 *« I feel bitterly." 
 
 ''Has any thing new happened?" he asked, 
 folh)wing up the advantage which her confession 
 gave him. 
 
 " No ; ■ it is the old story. Interminable trou- 
 bles, which have to be borne with interminable 
 patience." 
 
 There was a long silence. " You spoke once," 
 said Gualtier at last, in a low tone, " of some- 
 thing which you promised one day to tell me — 
 some papers. You said tha.t you would show 
 them some day when we were better acquainted. 
 Are we not better acquainted ? You have seen 
 me now for many weeks since that time, and 
 ought to know whether I am worthy to be trust- 
 ed or not." 
 
 ' ' Mr. Gualtier," said Hilda, fVankly. and with- 
 out hesitation, "from my point of view I have 
 concluded that you are worthy to bo trusted. I 
 have decided to show you the paper." 
 
 Gualtier began to murmur his thanks. Hilda 
 waved her hand. " There is no need oC that,"' 
 said she. " It may not amount to any/ihing, 
 and then your thanks will be thrown otaiCy. If 
 it does amount to something you \vil^8hare the 
 benefit of it with me — though you can not share 
 the revenge," she muttered, m a lower fone. 
 " Out, after all," she continued, " I do not know 
 that any thing can bo gained by it. The con- 
 jectures which I have formed may all be un- 
 founded." 
 
 " At any rate, I shall be able to see what the 
 foundation is,"Bnid Gualtier. 
 
 "True," returned Hilda, rising; "and so I 
 will go at once and get the paper." 
 
 "Have you kept it ever since f" he asked. 
 
 "What! the paper? Oh, you must not im- 
 agine that I have kept the original ! No, no. I 
 kept it long enough to mokft ft copy, and«tum e d- 
 the original to its phico." 
 
 "Where did you find it?" 
 
 "In the General's private desk." 
 
 "Itt^ it teem to be a paper of any import- 
 ance?' 
 
 " Yes ; it was kept by itself in a secret drawer. 
 That showed its importance." 
 
fne and /band Hilda alone. 
 itrait, but showed pleasure 
 h he felt both grntiKed and 
 Miss Pomeroy?" he aslied, 
 gs had been exchanged. 
 1 the pleasure of seeing her 
 Ida, dryly. 
 
 r ill. No. She has gone 
 
 going to take a drive to 
 ) took it into her hend to 
 course he-fiad to take her. 
 int— and very ridiculous— ' 
 oposed it he "assented, with 
 t at dissuasion. So they 
 t be back.for some hour?. 
 How me to say," remarked 
 ice, "that I 'consider her 
 intage than otherwise." 
 
 feel otherwise," said Hit- 
 
 yet got a broken; hend, it 
 
 ig. JSome day you will not 
 
 You will be iirried out." 
 
 iw happened?" he asked, 
 itage which her confession 
 
 itory. Interminable tron- 
 e borne with interminable 
 
 snce. " Yon spoke once," 
 in a low tone, "of some- 
 lised one day to tell me — 
 ud that you would show 
 ve were better acquainted, 
 [uainted? You have seen 
 ieks since that time, and 
 r I am worthy to be trust- 
 
 1 Hilda, frankly, and with- 
 my point of view I have 
 3 worthy to bo trusted. I 
 you the paper." 
 urmur his thanks. Hilda 
 ["here is no need oR that, ' 
 lot amount to aoWihing, 
 will be thrown awliy. If 
 lething you wil^share the 
 -though you can not share 
 ittered, in a lower tone. 
 ontinued, " I do not know 
 I gained by it. The con- 
 9 formed may all be un- 
 it be able to see what the 
 laltier. 
 
 lilda, rising; "and so I 
 t the paper." 
 9ver lince ?" he asked. 
 ? Oh, you must not !m- 
 the original ! No, no. I 
 
 ffiiilrfl n /*/iTtV- rnifl rotiiiTiflfl - 
 ttsnno n %\Myj f nuu Asvtuuuu 
 
 s." 
 
 idit?" 
 
 iriVate desk." 
 
 a a paper of any import- 
 
 ly itaelf in a secret drawer, 
 tance." 
 
 
 floc-c^fr ^ R 
 
 •» 
 
 -5/ THE CRYPTOGRAJL 
 
 Hilda then left the room, and 
 in a short time returned with a 
 paper in her hand. 
 
 " Here it is," she said, and she 
 gave it to Guattier. Gualtier took 
 it, and unfolding it, he saw this : 
 Gualtier took this singular pa- 
 per, and examined it lons^nd 
 earnestly. Hild|a. hod eopiwrout 
 the characters With painful mi- 
 nuteness and beautiful accuracy ; 
 but nothipg in it suggested to 
 him any revehition of its dark 
 meaning, and he put it down with 
 a strange, bewildered air. 
 "What is it aU?" he asked. 
 , " It seems to contain some mys- 
 ' tery, beyond a doubt. I can 
 gather nothing from the charac- 
 ters. > They are all astronomical 
 signs ; and, so far as I can see, 
 are the signs of the zodiac and 
 of the planets. Here, said he^ 
 pointing to the character ©, is 
 the sign of the Sun; and liere, 
 pointing to '^, is Libra; and here 
 is Aries, pointing to the sign r. 
 "Yc!i," said Hilda; "and that 
 ocelli's most frequently." 
 "What is it all?" 
 vl take it to be a secret ci- 
 
 ' t"How?" 
 
 "Why, this— that these signs ' 
 I are only used to represent letters 
 I of the alphabet. If such a sim- 
 I pie mode of concealment has been 
 used the solution is an easy 
 lone." ' 
 
 " Can you solve cipher alpha- 
 jbets?" ^ ^ 
 
 ' Yes, where there is nothing 
 I more than a concealment of the 
 j letters. Where there is any ap- 
 I pronch to hieroglyphic writing, or 
 I syllabic ciphers, I am baffled." 
 "And have yon solved this ?" 
 "No." 
 
 "I thought you laid that yon 
 ■had, and that it contained charg- 
 " against General Pomeroy." 
 
 " Thati^mydiiBenlty. I have 
 
 Iried the usual t^ta, and have 
 
 Tiade out several lines'; but there 
 
 s something about it which 
 
 puzzles me ; and thouglj-I have 
 
 Worked at it for nearly a'^ear, I 
 
 lliave not been able to get to the 
 
 fbottom of it'» 
 
 "Are you sure that your de- 
 I ciphering is correct?" 
 "No.". 
 " Why not?" 
 J' Because it ongfat tO Uj^ffyfo" |;.'\t ^-i' . ., "^ : "■ . ' • ." ^ °' 7 ' " "^ 
 ajt, wid it does not. It only kb. * '» -♦ '^\t>iao»ti'? -^XiSa Q^CTrfa f\\T^<r 
 
 phes to a quarter of it." _..- '^*.* '^ WV^ 
 
 •'Perhaps it is all hieroglyph^ 
 ic, or syllabic writins." 
 ';Perhap.«)," 
 " In that case can you solve 
 
 It I 
 
 '■ No J and that is one reason 
 
 «r 
 
 "^ li" cc i .. QC--^ ^.^ *5^ ^x^ tj J ^ i J. tj 
 
 cell ^«»-l3cSfx,Q'?>eO|^^,{(|g^U>4(<3 
 ,5> J^;^- -f ., ^;jj|{» P Q^.f^.31 l;} ^ .^ 4 4^ ^ 
 
 
 \Jimik,i,m 
 
 \ 
 
28 
 
 THE CBYFIOSHAM, 
 
 WHAT 18 IT AM,?' HE A8KKD." 
 
 "iriiylliSTeflidnghtofjTra. fl 
 any thing of the kind ?" * 
 *' No; never. And I don't 
 
 SoxtildVWvfWa 
 
 i gee how you have 
 
 iMrned anv thing aboat it, or how yon have been 
 able to arrive at any principle of action." 
 
 "Oh, as to that,'' returned Hilda, "the prin- 
 ciple vpon which I work la very limple j but I 
 
 IvSH yon to tiy die aotation with your oWB nn- 
 oided ingenuity. So, aimple jm my pbm is, I will 
 not tell yon any thing about h just now." 
 
 Gnnltier looked again at the paper with an ex- 
 pression of deep perplexity. 
 
 " How am I even to b^n ?" said he. " What 
 am I to do 7 You might as well ask ma to trans- 
 
THE CBYPTOGBAM. 
 
 Iftte the Feschito reraioii of the Sjriac gospels, 
 or the Rig- Veda." 
 
 . "I think," said Hilda, coolly, " that you have 
 lofficient ingennitr. " 
 
 "I have,"8aid Gualtier; "but, nnfortnnately, 
 my ingennity does not lie at all in this direction. 
 This is something different from any thing that 
 has ever come in my way before. See, " he said, 
 pointing to the paper, " this solid mass of letters. 
 It is a perfect block, an exact rectangle. How 
 do you know where to begin ?. Nothing on the 
 letters shows this. How do you know whether 
 you are to read from left to right, or from right 
 to left, like Hebrew and Arabic ; or both ways, 
 like the old Greek Boustrephedon ; or vertically, 
 like the Chinese; or, for that matter, diagonally? 
 Why, one doesn't know even how to begin ! " 
 
 "That must all be carefully considered," said 
 Hilda. " I have weighed it all, and know everv 
 letter by heart ; its shape, its position, and ail 
 about it." 
 
 A^«'Well," said Gualtier, "yon must not be at 
 
 Ctt4i»1>"^^'l if I ''^1 utterly. 
 
 >fW' At least you will try r '^ 
 
 ,'^"Try? I shall be only too happy. I shall 
 
 ' devote to this all the time that I have. I will 
 
 ■^give up all ray mind and all my soul to it. I 
 
 will not only examine it while I am by myself, 
 
 but I will carry this paper with me wherever I 
 
 go, and occupy every spare moment in studying 
 
 it. ni learn every character by heart, and think 
 
 over them all day, and dream about them all 
 
 night. Do not be afraid that I shall neglect it. 
 
 It is enough for me that you have given this for 
 
 me to attempt its solution." 
 
 Gualtier spoke with earnestness and impetuos- 
 ity, but Hilda did not seem to notice it at oil. 
 
 "Recollect, "she said, in her usual cool man- 
 ner, ''it is as much for your interest as for mine. 
 If my coiyectnre is right, it may be of the utmost 
 value. If I am wrong, then I do not know what 
 to do." 
 
 "You think that this implicates General Pome-- 
 roy in some crime ?" 
 
 ' ' That is my impression, from my own attempt 
 
 at solving it. But, as I said, my solutiop is only 
 
 a partial oift. I can not fathom the rest of it, 
 
 i and do not know how to begin to do so. That 
 
 I is the reason why I want your help." 
 
 29 
 
 CHAPTER Vlir. 
 
 DECIFHEBINO. 
 
 Many weeks passed away before Gualtier had 
 
 fanother opportunity of having a confidential con- 
 
 f versation with Miss Krieff. Zillah seemed to be 
 
 I perverse. She was as capricious as ever as to 
 
 f her music : some days attending to it for five 
 
 mivutes, other days half an hour ; but now she did 
 
 not choose to leave the room. She would quit 
 
 the piano, and, flinging herself into a chair, de- 
 
 dare that ^j^^ w»ye'l to see h ow Hilda sto od it 
 
 Aa iiiiua BOfttfiu hcrsclf^utd^ wroughl oirt daho' 
 
 rate combinations from the instrument, she would 
 
 listen attentively, and when it was over she would 
 
 give expression to some despairing words as to 
 
 her own stnpldity. 
 
 Yet Gualtier had opportunities, and he was not 
 slow to avail him*elf of them. Confldenthil in- 
 tercourse bod ariseo between himself and MIm 
 
 i 
 
 Krieff, and he was determined to avail hnnself 
 of the great advantage which this gave him. 
 They had a secret in common — she had admittSJ. 
 him to her intimacy. There was an understand-" 
 mg between them. Each felt an interest in the 
 other. Gualtier knew that he was more than an 
 ordinary music-teacher to her. 
 
 During those days when Zillah persistently 
 staid in the room he mad^ opportunities for him- 
 self. Standing behind her at the piano he had 
 chances of speaking words which Zilkh could 
 not hear. 
 
 „.'^'*!J?l "y^J"" finfeering there is not correct. 
 Miss Kneff, he would say in a low tone. " You 
 must put the second finger on G. I have not yet 
 deciphered it." 
 
 "But the book indicotes the third finger on 
 G. Have you tried ?" 
 
 "It is a blunder of the printer. Yes, every 
 day— almost every hour of every day." 
 
 "Yet it seems to me to be natural to put the 
 third finger there,. Are you discouraged?" 
 
 "Try the second finger once or twice, this 
 way ;" and hp played a few notes. " Discour- 
 aged ? no ; I am willing to keep at it for an in- 
 definite period." 
 
 "Ye*. I see that it is better. You must suc- 
 ceed. I was three months at it before I dis- 
 covered any thing." 
 
 " That passage is alkgro, and you played it 
 andante. I wish you would give me a faint hint 
 as to the way in which you deciphered it." 
 "I did not notice the directions," responded 
 Miss Krieff, playing the passage over again. 
 ' Will that do ? No, I wiU give no hint. You 
 would only imitate me then, and I wish you to 
 find out for yourself on your own principle." 
 
 "Yes, that is much better. But I have no 
 pnnciple to start on, and have not yet found out 
 even how to begin." 
 
 "I must pay more attention to 'expression,' 
 I see. Yod,,say my 'time' is correct enough. 
 If you ore not discouraged, yon will find it out 
 yet." 
 
 _.,'.'!*'"'■ ''*"'®' '* perfect If it is possible, I 
 wlU find It out. I am not discouraged." 
 
 •?WeU, I will hope for something better the 
 next time, and now don't speak about it any 
 mor%. The 'brat' is listening." 
 
 "■Allegro, allegro; remember. Miss Krieff. 
 You always confound andante with allegro." 
 
 " So I do. They have the same initials." 
 
 Such was the nature of Gualtier's musical in- 
 stmctions. These communications, however, 
 were brief and hurried, and only served to deepen 
 the intimacy between them. Tfhey had now mu- 
 tually recognized themselves as two conspirators, 
 and had thus become already indispensable to 
 one another. 
 
 They waited patiently, however, and at length 
 their patient waiting was rewarded. One day 
 Gualtier came and found that Zillah was unwell, 
 and confined to her room. It was tho slightest 
 t|»"gi" the world, but the General was anxio ua 
 
 ana imgity, and was staying in the room with 
 her ttying to amuse her. This Miss Krieff told 
 him with her usual bitterness. 
 
 "Andnow,"said she, " we will have an hour. 
 I want to know what you have done." 
 
 "Done I Nothing." 
 
 "Nothing?" 
 
 "No, nothing. My genins does not lie in 
 
 i|ll«^i8U..-fc<'j,>ui 
 
 .'i-i<M^^As.t^ 
 
80 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 that direction. Yon might m well hare expected 
 me to decipher a Ninevite inscription. I can do 
 nothing." 
 
 "Have yon tried P'*- 
 
 " Tried ! I ossure von that for the last month 
 the only thing that I nave thought of has been 
 this. Many reasons have nrged me to decipher 
 it, but the chief motive was' the hope of bringing 
 to you a complete explanation." 
 '' Have you not made out at least a part of it ?" 
 
 "Not a part — not a single word — if there are 
 words in it — which I very much doubt." 
 
 "Why should you doubt it ?" 
 
 "It seems to me that it must consist of hiero- 
 glyphics. You yourself say that you have only 
 made out ft part of it, and that you doubt whether 
 it is a valid interpretation. After all, then, your 
 interpretation is only partial — only a conjectui-e. 
 Now I have not begun to make even a conjecture. 
 For see— what is this?" and Gualtier drew the 
 well-thumbed paper from his pocket. "I have 
 counted up all the ditferent characters here, and 
 find that they are forty in number. They are 
 composed chiefly of astronomical signs ; but six- 
 teen of them are the ordinary punctuation marl^s, 
 sach as one sees every day. If it were merely a 
 secret tiJphabet, there would be twenty-six signs 
 only, nfet fody. What can one do with forty 
 signs? 
 
 "I haT6 examined different grammars of for- 
 eign languages to see if any of them hod forty 
 letters, but among the few books at my command 
 Icpn (ixii hone ; ond even if it were so, what 
 tlSen? '^Vhftt would be the use of trying to de- 
 cipher aj|i inscription in Arabic ? I thought at 
 one timOhat perhaps the writer might have 
 adopted. iHe short-hand alphabet, but changed 
 the signd. Yet even when I go from this prin- 
 ciple I can do nothing." 
 
 "Then you give it np altogether?" 
 
 " Yes, altogether and utterly, so far as I am 
 concerned ; but I still am anxious to know what 
 yon have deciphered, and how you have deci- 
 
 Shered it. I have a hope that I may gain some 
 ght fVom yoar discovery, and thus be able to do 
 something myself." 
 
 " Well," said Miss Krieff; "I will tell yon, since 
 jon have failed so completely. My principle is 
 a simple one ; and my deciphering, thoQgh only 
 partial, seems to me to be so true, as far as it 
 goes, that I con not imagine how any other re- 
 sult can be found. 
 
 " I am aware, " she continued, " that there are 
 forty difl«rent characters in the inscription. I 
 counted them all out, and wrote them out most 
 carefully. I went on the simple principle that 
 the writer had written in English, and that the 
 number of the letters might be disregarded on a 
 first examination. 
 
 "Then I examined the number ,of times ifi 
 
 which each letter occurred. I ibund that, the 
 
 sign r occurred most frequently. Next was n ; 
 
 /next H ; and then o, and n, and a, and t, 
 
 and i." Miss Krieff marked these signs down 
 
 -M«hesp^cer 
 Gualtier nodded. 
 
 " There was this peculiarity abont the8ft,signs, " 
 ■aid Miss Krieff; " that they occurred all through 
 the writing, while the pthera occurred some in 
 the first half and some in the second. For this 
 inscription is very peculiar in this respect It is 
 oi47 in the seoma naif that the sigiu of ponctna- 
 
 tion occnr. Tlie signs of the first half are all 
 astronomical. 
 
 " Yon must remember, " continued Miss Krieff', 
 " that I did not think of any other language than 
 the English. The idea of its being any dialect 
 of the Iflndustani never entered my head. So I 
 went on this foundation, and naturally the first 
 thought that came to ibe was, what letters are 
 there in English which occur most frequently ? 
 It seemed to me if I could find this out rmiglit 
 obtain some key, partially, at any rate, to the 
 letters which occuired so frequently in this writ- 
 ing. 
 
 "I had plenty of timeand unlimited patience. 
 I took a large iimjilmi Bl ililli ii iil books, written 
 by standard„»«(nor8, and counted the letters on 
 several Vf^ of each as they occurred. I think 
 I countjp more than two hundred pages in this 
 way. /began with the Vowels, and counted np 
 the number of times each one occurred. Then 
 I counted the consonants." 
 
 " That never occurred to me," said Gualtier. 
 " Why did you not tell me ?" 
 
 "Because I wanted you to decipher it your- 
 self on yoQr own principle. Of what use would 
 it be if you only followed over my track ? You 
 would theii have come only to my result. ■ But 
 I must teU you the result of my examination. 
 After counUng up the recurrence of all the letters 
 on more than two hundred pages of standard 
 authors, I made out an average of the times of 
 their recurrence, and I have the paper here on. 
 which I wrote the average down." 
 
 And Miss Krieff^ drew froin her pocket a paper 
 which she unfolded and showed to Gualtier. 
 
 On it was the following : 
 
 AVISASC or LETTUS. 
 
 T.... 
 
 ..162 
 
 ti 
 
 •■» 
 
 
 L.... 
 
 ..82 
 
 A.... 
 
 ..120 
 
 • 1 
 
 •I 
 
 
 D.... 
 
 ..40 
 
 II... 
 
 ..110 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 
 C... 
 
 .42 
 
 I. J.. 
 
 ..109 
 
 II 
 
 It 
 
 
 U. V. 
 
 ..86 
 
 8.... 
 
 ..104 
 
 u 
 
 u 
 
 
 B.... 
 
 ..80 
 
 O.... 
 
 ..100 
 
 «t 
 
 II 
 
 
 W... 
 
 .80 
 
 R.... 
 
 ..100 
 
 ti 
 
 II 
 
 «• 
 
 Q.... 
 
 ..80 
 
 "The rest," said Miss Krieff, "occnr on the 
 average less than thirty times on a page, and so 
 I did not mark them. 'F,' 'P,' and 'K' may 
 be supposed to occur more frequently than some 
 others ; but they do not. 
 
 " ' E,' then," she continued, " is the letter of 
 first importance in the English language. ' A,' 
 and ' T, and ' H,' are the next ones. Now there 
 are some little words which include these letters, 
 such as ' the. ' ' And' is another word which may 
 be discovered and deciphered, it is of such fre- 
 quent occurrence. If these words only can be 
 found, it is a sign at least that one is on the right 
 track. There are also terminations which seem 
 to me peculiar to the English language ; such as 
 ' ng,' * ing,' ' ed,' ' Iv,' and so on. At any rate, 
 from my studies of the Italian, French, and Ger- 
 man, and from my knowledge of Hindustani, I 
 know that there are no snch terminations in anv 
 of the words of those languages. So you see, 
 eonel nd ed Miss KrirfP, wiUi* quiet Maa«»r=t^^ir^ 
 simple principle on which I acted." 
 
 "Your gaiios is manrelonsly acute 1" ex- 
 claimed Gualtier, in undisguised admiration. 
 "You speak of your principle as a ritNpU one, 
 bnt it is more than I have been able to arrive 
 at" 
 
 "Man," said Miss Krieff, " reason too moch. 
 
 %^if, 
 
 /'*. 
 
 *.%" 
 
■t/> 
 
 8 of the first Imlf are all 
 
 3r, " continued Miss KriefT, 
 >f any other lanjgiiage than 
 a of its being any dialect 
 ir entered my head. So I 
 in, and natnrallv the firKt 
 ibe was, what letters are 
 h occur most frequently ? 
 >uld find this out Xnaglit 
 ially, at any rate, to the 
 so frequently in this writ- 
 
 leand unlimited patience. 
 Bfdifferent books, written 
 nd counted the letters on 
 s they occurred. I think 
 wo hundred pages in this 
 e Vowels, and counted np 
 Bch one occurred. Then 
 Its." 
 
 ed to me," said Gualtier. 
 Ime?" 
 
 you to decipher it your- 
 iple. Of what use would 
 ed over my track ? You 
 I only, to my result. ■ But 
 esult of my examination, 
 ecurrence of all the letters 
 ndred pages of standard 
 I avercige of the -times of 
 [ have the paper hero on. 
 BgjB down." 
 
 N froin her pocket a paper 
 1 showed to Gualtier. 
 ing: 
 
 or LETTKBS. 
 
 s. N 90 times per pago. 
 
 L 68 
 
 D 40 " " " 
 
 C 42 " " " 
 
 U. V...86 " " " 
 
 B 80 " " " 
 
 W 80 " " " 
 
 G 80 " " " 
 
 iss Krieff, "occur on the 
 f times on a page, and so 
 'F,' 'P.'and'K'moy 
 tore frequently than some 
 t. 
 Dtinned, " is the letter of 
 
 English language. ' A,' 
 he next ones. Now there 
 hich include these letters, ' 
 s another word which may 
 phered, it is of such fre- 
 
 these words only can be 
 aat that one is on the right 
 
 terminations which seem 
 English language ; such as 
 and to on. At any rate, 
 Italian, French, and Ger- 
 owledge of Hindustani, I 
 
 Bach terminations in anr 
 langnages. So you see, 
 
 WlUl M 4|IUM ■BtWf *-UM 
 
 ich I acted." 
 ■lArveloiuIy acntel" ex- 
 nndisgoised admiration, 
 trinciple a* a rimpU one, 
 h»re been able to airire 
 
 Ltieff, " tmaon too much. 
 
 Ton hare been imagining all sorts of langnages 
 in which this may have been written. Now, 
 women go by intuitions. I acted ib that way." 
 "Intuitions!" exclaimed Gualtier. "Yon 
 have reasoned out this thing in a way which 
 might have- done honor to Uacon. You have 
 laid down a great principle as a foundation, and 
 have gone earnestly to Work bfiilding up your 
 theon'. Champollion himself did not surpass 
 you." » 
 
 Gunltier's tone expressed profound admiration. 
 It was not idle compliment. It was sincere. Me 
 looked upon her at that moment as a superior 
 genius. His intellect bowed before hers. Miss 
 Krictf saw the ascendency which she had gained 
 over him; and his expressions of admiration 
 were not unwelcome. Admiration ! Karo, in- 
 deed, was it that she had heard any expressions 
 of that kind, and when they came they were as 
 welcome as is the water to the parched and thirsty 
 ground. Her whole manner softened toward 
 him, ond her eyes, which were usually so bright 
 and hard, now grew softer, though none the less 
 bright. 
 
 "You overestimate what I have done," said 
 she, "and you forget that it is only partially ef- 
 fected." "^ 
 
 "Whether partially or not," replied Gualtier, 
 " I have the most intense curiosity to see what 
 you have done. Have you any objections to 
 show it to me ? Now that I have failed by my- 
 self, the only hope that I have is to be able to 
 succeed through your assistance. You cai\ show 
 rour superiority to me here; perhaps, in atlier 
 hings, I may be of service to you. " ' 
 
 "I have no objections, "said MissKrieflF. "In- 
 leed I would rather show you my results than 
 lot, so as to hear what yon have to say about 
 •lem. I am not at all satisfied, for it is only 
 irtial. I know what you will say. You wiu 
 le several reasons, all of which are very good, 
 tor doubting my interpretation of this writ- 
 ing." 
 " I can assure you that I shall donht nothing, 
 .fter my own disgraceful failure any interpretal 
 ion will seem to me to be a work of genius. Be- 
 lieve me any interpretation of yours will only 
 yi me with a sense of mv own weakness." 
 "Well," said Miss Knefl; after a pause, "I 
 ill show you what I have done. My papers am 
 1 my room. Go and play on the piano till I 
 >me back." 
 
 Saying this she departed^and was absent for 
 lout a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes 
 Id then returned. 
 
 "How is Miss Pomeroy?" asked Gualtier, 
 rnmg round on the piano-stool and rising. 
 
 About the same," said Miss Krieff". "The 
 lenerol is reading Puss in Boots to her, I be- 
 leve. Perhaps it is Jack and the Bean Stalk, 
 >r Beauty and theHeast. It U one of them^ 
 lowever. I am not certain which." 
 Wie walked up to a centre-table and opened a 
 'per which she held in her hand. GualSer fol- 
 ded her, and took* seat by^lwuae. ^ 
 l««,i,„..1.- ""■""' remember," said Miss Krieflf, 
 I Uiat this interpretation of mine is only a pari 
 hM one, and mav be altogether >viong. Yet 
 *e reveUtions which it seemed to convey wens 
 itarUlng that they have produced a verj S 
 BrnpHMsion on my mind. I hoped that you would 
 |l>av« done something. If you bad arrived «* a 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 81 
 
 solttjion similar to mine, even if it had been a 
 partial one, I ^should have been satisfied that I 
 had amvod at a part of the truth at least. As 
 you have not done so, hothidg remains but to 
 show you what I have done." 
 
 Saying this, she opened the paper which she 
 neld and displayed it to Gualtier : 
 
 «£ 'tip -^-tQ [/^ 
 
 
 
 'sb 
 
 > 
 
 to 
 
 o 
 
 ]>. 5» trt In n a j^ 
 
 > rri >'^ i>>i r^.^ Uj- 
 
 <^ o.-< 
 
 > 
 
 o 
 •i 
 
 
 . 
 
 • t^':^-^i=i^b>> 
 
 A 
 
 *s^ 
 
 "SuailBt ^-ix *i8f 
 
 *. '^^ 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 , "In that writing," said she, " tliere are twen- 
 ty lines. I have been able to do any thing with 
 ten of them only, and that partially. The rest 
 is beyond my conjecture." 
 
 The pa|Mtf was written so as to show ntider 
 each charncrer the corresponding' letter, or what 
 Miss Krieff supposed to be the corresponding la- 
 ter, to each sign. 
 
 "This," said Miss Krieff, "is about half of 
 the signs. Yon see if my key is applied it makes 
 intelligible English out of most of the signs in 
 this first half. There seems *o me to be a block 
 of letters set into a mass of characters! Those 
 triangular portions of signs at each end, and all 
 the lower part, seem to me to be merely a Inass 
 of characters that mean nothing, but add^ to 
 conceal and distract." 
 
 "It is possible," saio, Gualtier, carefully ex- 
 amining the paper. 
 
 ^ "It must mean something," said Miss Krieff, 
 ' and it can mean nothing dse than what I have 
 written. That is what it. was intended to ex- 
 press. ThosQ letters could not have tumbled 
 into that position by accident, so as to make up 
 these word*. See," she continued, "here a,te 
 these sentences written out Separately, and you 
 can read them more conveniently." 
 
 She handed Gualtier a piece of paper, on 
 which was the following : 
 
 ' 9!*^^ '^^ *""* mercj on my wretched emil . Amen 
 O Pbrnaroy foriied a hundred thtmmnd dollars 
 OS Pomeroy eloped^with poor Lady Chetwynda 
 Bht acted out of a mad impulitg in jlyina 
 She littpned to mt Vind ran off with mt 
 She uxu pioued at W hunband^i act 
 Fell in with Lady il(inj Chetwynd 
 Bxpelled the army /ot gavtiug i 
 
 X Pomeroy t^ Pomeroy Berka 
 I am a miaerable vtilain ' 
 
 Gualtier read it long and thoughtfully. 
 " What are the initials ' O. N. ?' " 
 " Oteo Neville. It is the Genorol's name." 
 Silence followed. "Here ho is called O 
 Pomeroy, O N Pomeroy, and N Pomerov." 
 
 " Yes ; the name by which he is called is Ne- 
 ville." 
 
 " Your idea is that it' is a confession of guilt ' 
 written by this O./N. Pomeroy himself?" 
 "It reads so." 
 
 "I don't want to inquire into the probability 
 of the General's writing out this and leaving it 
 in his drawer, even in cipher, but I look only at 
 tlie paper itself" 
 
 " What do you think of it ?" 
 "In the first place your interpretation is very 
 mgenious." ' 
 
 "But— r i 
 
 "But it seems partial." 
 "So it does to me. That is the reason why 
 I want your help. Yon see that there are sev- 
 eral things about it which give it an incomplete 
 character. First, the mixture of initials ; th6n, 
 the mterehange of the first and third persons. I 
 At one moment the writer speaking of Pomeroy 
 as a third perton, running off with Lady Chet- 
 wynde, and again saying he himself fell in with 
 =»«. ^hm i there are incomp lete sentences, tech 
 as,* Fell in with Lady Mary Chetwynde— ' " 
 
 'I know all that, but I have two ways of ac- 
 counting for it" 
 |*What?" • 
 
 "Fitst, that the writer became confused in writ- 
 ing the cipher charactelv and made mistakes." | 
 
 "That is probabl^"si»/dGnaW»r.. "What 
 18 another way?" 
 
 "That he wrote it this way on purpose to 
 baffle." 1 ^'+ . 
 
 "I think the flht idea is the best: |f he hnd 
 wished to baflSe he neVer would have written it 
 at all." 
 
 " No ; but somebody else might hare written 
 it in his name thus secretly and guardedly. 
 Some one who vri^hed for vengetince, and tried 
 this way." . 
 
 Gualtier said iiothing in reply, but looked 
 earnestly at Miss Krieff. 
 
 A BEBIOns ACCIDKNT. 
 
 About this time an event took piece which 
 caused a total change in the lives of all at Pome- 
 roy Coim. One day, when out hunting, General 
 Pomero^met witlv an accident of a very serious 
 nature. •While leaping over a hedge the horse 
 slipped and threw his rider, falling heavily on 
 him at the same time. He was picked up bleed- 
 ing and senseless, and in that condition carried 
 home. On seeing her father thus brought back, 
 Zillah gave way to a perfect frensv of grief She 
 threw herself npon his unconscious form, uttering 
 wild ejacuUtions, and it was with extreme diffi- 
 culty that she coqld be taken away long enough 
 to aHow-thsGenWKl to be widraned and Idd ra 
 his bed. She th«n took he? place by her lather's 
 bedside, where she remained without food or sleep 
 for two or three days, refusing all entreaties to 
 leafB him. A doctor had been sent for with all 
 sneed, ahd on his arrival did what he coufe for 
 le senseless sufferer. It was a reiy serious oasst 
 
 nJi- i r ii feij-ii , ii.i.. 
 
T 
 
 ,*-VA f^'i-ji' ' 
 
 iblej" s^id Giuilti»r.. " What 
 
 e it this vaj on purpose to 
 
 V #'^ • 
 
 8t idea is the best: jf he hn4 
 1 never would have written it 
 
 body else might have written 
 ins secretly and guardedly, 
 ^ed for vengatmce, and tried 
 
 othing in reply, but looked 
 Lrieff. 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 [78 ACCIDKNT. 
 
 in event took place which 
 in the lives of all at Fonie- 
 when out hunting, General 
 I accident of a very serious 
 ng over a hedge the horse 
 8 rider, falling heavily on 
 He was picked up blecd- 
 I in that condition carried 
 r father thus brought back, 
 erfect frenzy of grief. She 
 unconscious form, uttering 
 it waa with extreme diffi- 
 B taken away lon g enon gh 
 >1« nnclrened and laid on 
 k her place by her father's 
 lained without food or sleep 
 refusing all entreaties to 
 had been sent for with all 
 ral did what he could for 
 It was a reiy serious case^ 
 
 and it was not till the third day that the General 
 opened his eyes; llie first sight that he saw was 
 the pale and haggard face of his daughter. 
 
 "What is thisP" he murmured, confusedly, 
 and in d faint voice. "Whiit.nre you doing 
 here, my darling?" 
 
 At the sight of this recognition, and the sound 
 of his voice, Zillnh uttered a loud cry of joy, and 
 .twined her arms about liim in an eager hunger 
 of affection. 
 
 "Oh, papa! papa!" she moaned, "yon ate 
 getting better ! You will not leave me — ^you will 
 not — you will notl" 
 
 All that day the Rector had been in the Hbuse, 
 and at this moraerit had been waiting in an ad- 
 joining apartment. The cry of Zillah startled 
 him, and be hurried into the room. He saw her 
 prostrate on the bed, with her arms around her 
 father, uttering low, half-hysterical words of, fond- 
 ness, intermingled with laughter and weeping. 
 
 "Miss Pomcroy," he said, with some stem- 
 Bess, "are you mad ? Did I not warn you above 
 all things to restrain your feelings ?" 
 
 Instantly Zillah started up. The reproof of 
 the doctor had so stung her that for a moment 
 she forgot her father, and regarded her ro]>rover 
 with a face full of astonishment and anger. 
 
 "HoAv dure yo^ speak so to. me?" she cried, 
 savagely. 
 
 'The doctor looked fixedly at her for a few mo- 
 ments, Qnd then answered, quietly : 
 
 " This is no place for discussion. I will ex- 
 plain afterward. He then went to the General's 
 bedside, and Buj;%'eyed his patient in thoughtful 
 silence. Already the feeble beginnings of re- 
 turning consciousness had faded awav, and the 
 sick man's eyes Were closed wearily. "The doctor 
 administered some medicine, and afler waiting 
 for nearly an hour in silence, he saw the General 
 sink off* into a peaceful sleep. 
 
 " Now." said he, in a low voice, " Miss Pome- 
 rqjr, I wish to soy something to you. Oome with 
 me." He led the wav to the room where he had 
 been waiting, while ^illuh, for the first time in 
 her hfe, obeyed an order. She followed in si- 
 lence. 
 
 " Miss Pomeroy," said the doctor, verv grave- 
 ly, "your father's case is very serious 'indeed, 
 and I want to have a perfect understanding with 
 you. If yoji have not thorough confidence in 
 me, yon have only to say so, and I will give you 
 a list of physicians of good standing, into whose 
 ihands you may safely confide the General. But 
 % on the contrarr, yon wish me to oontinae my 
 'tharge, I wiU'only do so on the conditioii that I 
 "m to be the sole master in that room, and that 
 ly injunctions are to be implicitly attended to. 
 fow, choose for yourself." 
 This grave, stem address, and the idea that he 
 might leave her, frightened Zillah altogether out 
 of her passion. She looked piteonsly at him, ond 
 grasped his hand as if in fear that he would in- 
 stantly cany out his threat. 
 "Oh, doctor!" she cried, "prav forgive me; 
 nnet ^vft me whendewr papa is ao jllT Tf 
 shall be all as you say, only you will not send me 
 away from him, wiU you ? Oh, say that you will 
 
 The doctor retained her ha^d,and answered 
 
 very kmdly : «• My dear child, I should be most 
 
 Sony to do so. Now that yonr father has come 
 
 back to consciousness, you may be the greatest 
 
 C 
 
 
 sa 
 
 possible comfort to him if you will. But, to do 
 this, you really must try to control yourself. ITj* 
 excitement which you have just caused him has 
 overcome him, ond if I had liot been here I do 
 not know what miglit have happened. Ucm$m- 
 ber, my child, that love is shown not by words 
 hut bv deeds ; and it would be but a poor return 
 tor oil your father's affection to give woy selflshir 
 toyour own grief." 
 
 "Oh, what have I done?" cried Zillah, in 
 terror. 
 
 "I do not suppose that yon have done him 
 very senous injury," said the doctor, reassuring, 
 ly; ' but you ought to take warning bv this. 
 You will i^nmiise now, wont you, that there shall 
 be no repetition of this (conduct ?" 
 "Oh, I; will! I will!" 
 
 "I will trust you, then," said the doctor, look- 
 ing with pitjr upon her sad face. " You are his 
 best nurse, if you only keep your promise. So 
 now, my dear, go back to your place by bis side." 
 And Zillah, with a faint murmur of thanks, went 
 back again. 
 
 On the following day General Pomeroy seemed 
 to have regained his full consciousness. Zillah 
 exercised a strong control over herself, and wo.i 
 true to her promise. When the doctor colled 
 he seemed pleased at the favorable change. But 
 there was evidently something on tlie General'M 
 mind. Finally, he made the doctor understand 
 that he wished to see him alone. The doctor 
 whispered a few words to Zillah, who instantly 
 left -the room. 
 
 " Doctor;" said the General, in a feeble voice, 
 as soon as they were alone, "I must know the 
 whole truth. Will you tell it to me frankly ?" 
 " I never deceive my patiehts," was the answer. 
 "Am I dangerously ill?" 
 "You are." 
 
 " How long have I to live?" 
 "My dear Sir, God alone can answer that 
 question. You have a chance for life yet. Yonr 
 sickness may take a favorable turn, and we may 
 be able to brine you around again." 
 
 " Bnt the clionces are against me, yon think?" 
 "We must be prepared for the worst," said 
 the doctor, solemnly. " At the same time, thei« 
 is a chance." 
 
 "Well, suppose that the turn should be unfa- 
 vorable, how long would it be, do yon think, be- 
 fore the end ? I have much to attend to, and it 
 is of the greatest importance that I should know 
 this." 
 
 " Probably'a month— possibly lesa," answered 
 the doctor, gravely, after a moment's thought ; 
 " that is, if the worst should take place. ' But it 
 is impossible to speak with certaintr nntil your 
 symptoms ara more fully derefeped. 
 
 " Thank you, doctor, for yonr frankness ; and 
 now, will you kindly seai^y daughter to mo?" 
 "Remember," said the doctor, doubtfully, 
 " that it is of the greatest possible moment that 
 yon should be kept ftva ftom all excitement. 
 Any agi tation of mind will snrdjr deatroy jaar 
 
 Taitcminco. ^ - 
 
 " But I mnst see herT answered the General, 
 excitedly. " I have to attend to something which 
 coiuwros her. It is her future. I could not di«. 
 easily, or rest in my grave, if this were nefljected. " 
 Thus far the General had been calm, bnt the 
 thought of Zilloh hod roused him into a danger- 
 oas asitation. The doctor saw that discussioa 
 
84 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 A 
 
 would on1}r aggravate this, and that his only 
 chance was to liiimur his fancies. iSo he went 
 ont, and found ^^illah pacing the passage in a 
 state of ancontrollable agitation. He reminded 
 her of her promise, impressed on her the necessi- 
 ty of caution, and sent her to him. She crept 
 softly to the bedside, and, taking her accustomed 
 seat, covered his hand with kisses. 
 
 •'Sit a little lower, my darling," said the 
 GeneraJ, "where I moy see your face." She 
 - obeyedj still holding his hand', which returned 
 with warmth her caressing pressure. 
 
 The agitation which the General had felt at 
 the doctor's information had now grown visibly 
 stronger. There was a kind of feverish excite- 
 ment in his manner which seemed to indicate 
 that his brain was aflfected. One idea only filled 
 that half-delirious brain, and this, without the 
 slightest warning, he abruptly began to commu- 
 nicate to his daughter. 
 
 " You know, Zillah,"gaid he, in a rapid, eager 
 tone which alarmed her, "the dearest wish of 
 my heart is to see you the wife of Guy Molyneux, 
 the son of my old friend. I betrothed you to 
 him five years ago. You remember all about it, 
 of course. He visited ns at London. The time 
 for the accomplishment of my desire has now ar- 
 rived. I received a letter from Ix)rd Chetwynde 
 on the day of my accident, telling mq that his 
 son's regiment was shortly to sail for India. I 
 intended writing to ask him to par us a visit be- 
 fore be left; but now," he added, in a dreamy 
 voice, " of course he must come, and — he must 
 marry yon before he goes." 
 
 Any thing more horrible, more abhorrent, to 
 Zillah than such language, at such a time, could 
 not bo conceived. She thought he was raving. 
 A wild exclamation of fear and remonstrance 
 started to her lips ; but she remembered the doc- 
 tor's warning, and by a mighty effort repressed 
 it. It then seemed to her that this raving delir- 
 ium, if resisted, might turn to madness and en- 
 danger his last chance. In her despair she found 
 only one answer, and thdt was something which 
 might soothe him. 
 
 "Yes, dear papo," she said, quietly; "yes, 
 we will ask him to come and see us." 
 
 "No, no," cried theiieneral, with feverish im- 
 patience. ' ' That wiifnot do. You must marry 
 him at once — to-day — to-morrow — do you hear ? 
 There is no time to lose." 
 
 " But I must stay with you, dearest papa, you 
 know," said Zillah, still striving to soothe liim. 
 " What would you do without your little girl ? 
 I am sure you can not waiit me to leave 
 yon." 
 
 "Ah, my child!" said the General, mourn- 
 fully, "I am going to leave you. The doctor 
 tells me that I have but a short time jko live ; and 
 I feel that what he says is true. If I must leave 
 yon, my darling, I can not leave you without a 
 protector." 
 
 At this Zillah's nnaccnstomed^f-control gave 
 way utteriy. Overcome by the hSqior of that 
 reveUition and the anguish o f that discover}' , she 
 fting hersnnmoimd him a^^clung to Bm piis- 
 donately. 
 
 'You shall not go!" she moaned. "You 
 
 ■hall not go ; or if vou do you r 
 you. I can not live without 
 
 1 must take me with 
 
 you. You know 
 
 ♦haf I can not. Oh, papa! papa!" 
 
 in a wild, despairing cry, reached the ears of the 
 doctor, who at once hurried in. 
 
 " What is this?" he said, sharply apd sternly, 
 to Zillah. " Is this keeping your promise ?" 
 
 "Oh, doctor!" said Zillah, imploringly, "I 
 did not mean to — I could not help it — but tell me 
 — it is not true, is it ? Tell me that my father^ 
 is not going to leave me !" 
 
 "I will tell you thi8,"8aid he, gravely. "You 
 are destroying every chance of his recovery by 
 your vehemence." 
 
 Zillah laoked up at him with an expression of 
 agony on her face such as, occustomcd as he was 
 to scenes of sufi'ering, he had but seldom cn- 
 countei'ed. 
 
 " I've killed him, then!" she faltered. 
 The doctor put his hand kindly on her shoul- 
 der. "I trust not, my poor child," said he; 
 "but it is my duty, to warn you of the conse^ 
 quences of giving way to excessive grief. " 
 
 "Oh, doctor! you are quite right, and I will 
 try very hard not to give way again. " 
 
 Dunng this conversation, which was low and 
 hurried. General Pomeroy lay without hearing 
 any thing of what they were saying. His lips 
 moved, and his hands picked at the bed-clothes 
 convulsively. Only one idea was in his mind— 
 the accomplishment of his wishes. His daugh- 
 ter's grief seemed to have no effect on him what- 
 ever. Indeed, he diq -(tot appear to notice it. 
 
 " Speak to her, doctor," said he, feebly, as he 
 heard their voices. '^ Tell her I can not die hap- 
 py unless she is married — I con not leave her 
 done in the world." 
 
 The doctor looked surprised. "What does ^ 
 he mean ?" he said, taking Zillah aside. " What 
 is this fatrfey ? Is there any thing in it ?" 
 
 ' ' I'm^sutte I don't know, " said Zillah. " It is 
 certainly on his mind, and he can't be argued or 
 humored out of it. It is an arrangement made 
 some years ago between him and Lord Chetwynde 
 that when I grew up I should marry his sdn, and 
 he has just heen telling me that hotwishes it car- 
 ried out n<Mv. Oh! what — what shall I do?" 
 she added, despairingly. " Can't you do some- 
 thing, doctor?" 
 
 "I will speak to him," said the latter; and, 
 approaching the bed, he bent over the General, 
 and said, in n low voice : 
 ' " General Pomeroy, you know that the family 
 physician is often a kind of father-confessor as 
 well. Now I do not wish to intrude upon your 
 private affairs; bufefrom what you have said I 
 perceive that there is something on your mind, 
 and if I can be of any assistance to you I shall 
 be only too happy. Have you any objection to 
 tell me what it is that is troubling yon ?" 
 
 While the doctor spoke the General's eyes 
 were fixed upon Zillah with feverish anxiety. 
 "Tell her," he murmured, "that she must con- 
 sent at once — at once," he repeated, in a more 
 excited tone. 
 
 " Consent to what ?" 
 
 " To this marriage that I have planned for her. 
 She knows. It is with the son of my old friend^ 
 Lprd Chetwynde. H() is a fine lad, and comes 
 of a good stock. I knew his father before lum. 
 
 The tones of her voice, which were wailed out | he is going — to India." 
 (. 
 
 1 have watched him closely for the last five years. 
 He will take care of her. He will make her a 
 good husband. And I — shall be able to die— in 
 |«nce. But it must be done — immediately— for 
 
ciy, reached the ean of the 
 
 hurried in. 
 
 lie Raid, sharply aqd sternly, 
 
 keeping your proraise ?" 
 
 lid Zillah, imploringly, "I 
 
 >uld not help it — but tell me 
 
 ? Tell me that my fathery 
 
 me !" 
 
 ), " said he, gravely. "You 
 
 chance of bis recovery by 
 
 ; him with an expression of 
 :h as, accustomed as he was 
 g, he had but seldom en- 
 
 hen !" she faltered. 
 
 hand kindly on her shouU 
 my poor child," said he j 
 to warn you of the conse- 
 r to excessive grief." 
 •re quite right, and I will 
 ;ive way again. " 
 sation, which was low and 
 aeroy lay without hearing 
 ley were saying. His lips 
 I picked at the bed-clothes 
 'Oe idea was in his mind — 
 f his wishes. His daugh- 
 ave no effect on him what- 
 
 l|ot appear to notice it. 
 ;t6r," said he, feebly, as he 
 
 Tell her I can not die hap- 
 Iried — I can not leave her 
 
 surprised. "What does 
 ung Zillah aside. " What 
 n any thing in it?" 
 now," said Zillah. " It is 
 and he can't be argued or 
 t is an arrangement made 
 n him and Lord Chetwynde 
 should marry his son, and 
 I me that hetwishes it car- 
 what— what thall I do?" 
 y. " Can't you do some- 
 
 im," said the hitter ; and, 
 he bent over the General, 
 ;e: 
 
 , you know that the family 
 ind of father-confessor as 
 wish to intrude upon your 
 om what you have said I 
 something on your mind, 
 f assistance to you I shall 
 lave you any objection to 
 is tronblingyoa?" 
 ipoke the General's eyes 
 th with feverish anxiety, 
 ired, "that she must con- 
 ," he repeated, in a more 
 
 liat I have planned for her. 
 I the son of my old friend, 
 3 is a flne lad, and comes 
 lew his father before Jum. 
 isely for the last five years, 
 ler. He will make her a 
 [ — shall be able' to die— in 
 9 done — immediately— f(« 
 
 The GMeral spoke in » reij feeble tone, and 
 I with frequent pauses. 
 
 " And do yon wish your daughter to go with 
 him? She is too young to be exposed to the 
 I dangers of Indian life." 
 
 I This idea seemed to strike the General veiy 
 forcibly. For some minutes he did not answer, 
 and it was with difficulty that he could collect 
 I his thoughts. At last he answered, slowly : 
 
 ' That is true — but she need not accompany 
 I him. Let her stay with me — till all is over — then 
 I she can go — to Chetwynde. It will be her nat- 
 
 I ural home. She will find in my old friend a sec- 
 Jond father. She ean remain with him — till her 
 ghusband returns." 
 
 A long pause followed. "Besides," he re- 
 sumed, in a fainter voice, "there are other things. 
 
 II can not explain — they are private — they con- 
 leem the affairs of others. But if Zillah were to 
 Jrefuse to marry him— she would lose one-half of 
 ■her fortune. So you can understand my anx- 
 liety. She has not a relative in the world— to 
 ■whom I could leave her." 
 I Here the General stopped, utterly exhausted 
 ■by the fatigue of speaking so much. As for the 
 ■doctor, he sat for a time involved in deep thought 
 ■Zillah stood there pale and agitated, looking now 
 
 at her father and now at the doctor, while a new 
 and deeper angtiish came over her heart. After 
 a while he rose and quietly motioned to Zillah to 
 Bbllow him to the adjoining room. 
 ' "My dear child," said he, kindly, when they 
 had arrived there, "yonr fether is excited, but 
 ret is quite sane. His pUn seems to be one 
 which he has been cherishing for years ; and he 
 bas so thoroughly set his heart upon it that it now 
 M evidently his sole idea. I do not see what else 
 
 an he done than to comply vrith his wbhes." 
 
 "What!" cried ZiUah, aghast. 
 
 *'To refuse," said the doctor, "might be fa- 
 It would throw him into a paroxysm." 
 'Oh, doctor!" moaned Zillah. "What do 
 on mean? Yon can not be in earnest. What 
 -to do such a thing when darling papa ia— is 
 Ring!" \ 
 
 Sobs choked her nttennce. She buried her 
 ace in her hands and saniiinto a chair. 
 \ " He is not yet so bad," Jhid the doctor, eam- 
 ptly, "bijt he is certainly in a critical state; 
 nd unless it is absolutely impossible— unless it 
 
 too abhorrent to think' of— unless any calamity 
 I j>e"er than this— I would advise yon to try 
 Id think if yon can not bring yourself to— to in- 
 Vgehi8wiBh,wilda8itmayBeemtoyoa. There, 
 
 H dear, I am deeply sorry for yon; but I am 
 
 nest, and say what I think." 
 [For a. long time Zillah sat in silence, gtmg- 
 nng with her emotions. The doctor's words 
 npressed her deeply ; but the thing which he 
 dnsed was horrible to hei--abhorrent beyond 
 
 t 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 33 
 
 Irords. But then there was her father lying i 
 pear to deaA— whom, perhaps, her self-sacrfflco 
 might save, and whom certainly her selfishness 
 »:j^jdde8troy. Shecoiddnothesit^e. Itjnw 
 rtsltter decision, but she mkde it. She n>ge to 
 ber feet paler than ever, but quite calm. 
 
 Doctor," said she, " I have decided. It is 
 
 hornble beyond words ; but I wiU do it, or any 
 
 thing, for hu sake. I would die to save Urn; 
 
 nd this is something worse than death. " 
 
 fche was calm and cold ; her voice seemed un- 
 
 ••"~l; her eyes were tearless. 
 
 It seems very hard," she murmnred, after a 
 pause; "I never saw Captain Moiyneux but 
 once, and I was only ten ytorsold." 
 
 "How old are you now?" lisked the doctor, 
 who knew not what to say to this poor stricken 
 heart. 
 
 "Fifteen." 
 
 I. l'^***^'", "''''*^' " '*'*' ''*' compaasionatelv ; 
 
 the trials of life are coming upon you early • 
 but, he added, with a desperate effort at con. 
 dolence, "do not be so despairing; whatever 
 m^y be the result, you are, ofter all, in the path 
 of duty; and that is the safest and the best for 
 us all in the end, however hard it ma v seem to 
 be in the present" 
 
 Just then the General's voice interrupted his 
 litUe homily, sounding querulously and imna- 
 tiently: "Zillah! Zillah!" ' *^ 
 
 She sprang to his bedside : " Here I am, dear 
 papa. 
 
 W 5^'"/°". ?<» "« I ""»' ?" h* Mked, abmptlr. 
 les, said Zillah, with an effort at firmness 
 which cost her dear. Saying this, she kissed 
 him ; and the beam of pleasure which at this 
 word lighted up the wan face of the sick man 
 touched Zillah to the heart She felt that, come 
 wliat might, she had received her rewai'd 
 
 "My sweetest, dutiful child," said the Gen- 
 eral tenderly; "you have made me happv, my 
 darting. Now get your desk and write for hiia 
 at once. You most not lose time, my child." 
 
 This unremitting pressure upon her gave Zil- 
 lah a new struggle, but the Genenl exhibited 
 such feveiish impatience that she dared not re- 
 sist. So she went to a Davenport which stood 
 in the comer of the room, and saying, quietlv, 
 • I virill write here, papa," she seated herself, 
 with her hack toward him. . . 
 
 " Are you ready ?" he asked. 
 "Yes, papa." 
 
 The General then began to dictate to her what 
 she was to write. It was as follows : 
 
 "My dbak old Fhibnd,— I think it will 
 cause you some grief to hear that our long 
 fnendship is about to be broken up. My days. 
 I fear, are numbered." ' . 
 
 Zillah stifled the sobs that choked her, and 
 wrote bravely on : -y 
 
 "You know the sorrow which has hUghted my 
 life; and I feel that I could go joyfully to my 
 beloved, my deeply mourned wife, if I could feel 
 that I was leaving my child— herchild and mine— . 
 happily provided for. For this pupose I should 
 hke Guy, before he leaves for India, to fulfill his 
 promise, and, by marryiqgj|iy danghter, give me 
 the comfort of knowing tfcW^JLtoav^ lutr in the 
 hands of a husband upon whom Ici|i emifident- 
 lyrely." 
 
 But at this point ZiUah's self-control gave war. 
 She broke down utterly, and, bowing her head ' 
 in her hands on the desk, burst forth into a pas- 
 sion of sobs. 
 
 The poor child could surely not, be blamed. 
 Her nature was im p»y^i ^vm)4-titt^^B)i [i g(. ipiim dT- 
 from her birth every whim bad been humoi«d, 
 and her wildest fancies indulged to the utmost: 
 and now suddenly upon this petted idoLwhohad 
 been always guarded so carefully fW>m the slight- 
 est disappointment, there descended the storm- 
 cloud of sorrow, and that too not gradually, but 
 almost in one moment. Her love for her fether 
 waa a passion ; and he was to be taken from ber, 
 
7 
 
 the hands of entire 
 imness, almost indif- 
 
 ther made these ar- 
 quick. 8ho was toa 
 
 of this eagerness was 
 se.' He appeared to 
 
 wn wishes, and sbow- 
 
 iver for her owij, c;rush 
 
 8G 
 
 and she was to Im given inj 
 strangers. The apparent 
 ference, with which her 
 rangem^ts, cot her to thi 
 yonng to know how mnci 
 attribatable entirely to dL 
 her as thinking of only his 
 ing no consideration whai 
 ing grief, and no appreciation qf the' strengtii of 
 her affecdon for him. friie''8clf-«acri<icing fa- 
 ther had changed into the' most selfish of men, 
 who had not one thp^iyt for her feelings. 
 
 "Ob, ZilUhl" «i)ed fier father, reproachfully, 
 in answer to her last oi^thnrst of grief. 8he roiie 
 and went to^iiilJ?edside(, struggling violently with 
 her emotion. / 
 
 " I can not write'tnis, dearest papa," she said, 
 in a tremulous voice; "I have promised to do 
 just as you wish, and X will keep my word ; but 
 indeed, indeed, I can not write this letter. Will 
 it not do as well if Hilda writes it?" 
 
 "To bo sure, to Im sure," said the General, 
 who took no notice of her distress. ' ' Hilda Will 
 d6 it, and then my little girl can come and sit 
 beside her father. 
 
 Hilda was accordinglv sent for. She glided 
 noiselessly in and took her place at the Daven- 
 port ; while Zillah, sitting by her f^tl^er, buried 
 ner liend in the bed-clothes, his feeble hands the 
 while pliiying nervously with the long, straggling 
 locks of her l)air which scattered themselves over 
 the bed. The letter was soon finished, fu'r it con- 
 tained little mot« tlian what has already been 
 given, except the reiterated injunction that Guy 
 should make all haste to r^cn Pomeroy Court. 
 It was then sent off to the post to the great de- 
 light of the General, whose mmd> became more 
 wandering, now that the strain which had been 
 placed upon it was removed. 
 
 " Now," said he, in a flighty way, and with an 
 eager impetuosity ivhich showed that his delir- 
 ium had increased, "we must think of the 
 wedding — my darling "jnust hav« a granfl wed- 
 ding," be mnrmnred to himself in a low whis- 
 per. 
 
 A shndder ran through Zillah as she sat by his 
 side, but not a sonnd^Ascaped her. She looked 
 up m terror. Had every jay of reason lefl; her 
 fitther? Was she to sacrifice herself on so hid- 
 eottf an altar without even the satisfaction of 
 knowing that she had given him pleasure? Then 
 she thong^t that perha[« her father was living 
 again in the past, and confounding this fearful 
 tiling which ha was planning for her with his own 
 joyous weddfaig. Tears flowed afresh, bat si- 
 lently, at the thought of the contrast Often had 
 ]ier tmh delight^ her childish imagination by 
 her powiiig deseriptions of the magnificence of 
 that wedding, where the festivities had lasted fon 
 a week, and the arrangements were oil made on 
 a scale of Oriental splendor. She loved to des- 
 cant upon the beauty of the bride, the richness 
 of her atdre, the magnificence of her jewels, the 
 indenr of the gnesta, the spleidor of the whole 
 
 iplay — liBtU^-SBIlah had ins^ibly learned to 
 think all thif the necessary atyoncts of a wed- 
 ding, and hod' bniit many a day-dream about the 
 pomp which ihonld surround her«, when the (Mo- 
 rions knight whom the fairy tales had led her to 
 expect should coipe to claim her hand. But at 
 this time It was not the sacrifice of ail this that 
 was wringing her heart. Sl|# gave it not even a 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 sigh. It was'rather the thought that this inan 
 riage,' which now seemed inevitable, was to take 
 place here, while her heart was wrung with opxi- 
 ety on his accoiuit — here in this room — by that 
 bedside, ,^ich her fears told her might be a bed 
 of di^U. \rhere Uy her father, her only friend 
 ■^Ihe one for whom she would lay down her life, 
 wd to soothe' whose delirium she had co^sente^ 
 to this^bhorrent sacrifice of herself. The mar- 
 iUge thus phuined was to take places thus ; it 
 Jnp to be a hideous, a ghastly mockery — a 
 fillhtful -violence to the soletniiity of sorrow. 
 S1|b was not to be married — she was to be sold. 
 The circumstances of that old betrothal had 
 never been explained to her; but shejfaiei/Uiat 
 money was in some way connected witb it, and 
 that she was %'irtually bought an^ sql^vlike a 
 slave, without any will of her own. 0tib bitter 
 thoughts as these filled her mind its t^O^t there 
 by her father's side. - '^'Ci^ 
 
 Presently her father spoke agoiiL ^" Have yon 
 any dresses, Zilhth ?" ^f 
 
 "Plenty, papa." • „ 
 
 " Oh, but I mean a wedding-dress — a fine new . 
 dresa; white satin my darling wore; how beau- 
 tiful she looked I and a veil you must have, and 
 plenty of jewels — pearls and diamonds. My 
 pet will be a lovely bride." 
 
 Every one j)f these words was a stab, and Zil- 
 lah was dumb ; but her &ther noticed nothing 
 of this. It was nlijij^ess, but, like many cases 
 of madness, it waii\^ cfiherent 
 
 "Send for yoar«yali, 4fBar," he continhed; 
 "I must' talk to her'^i^ut your wedding- 
 dress." 
 
 ZiUah rang the beU. As soon as the woman 
 appeared the General turned to her with his 
 usual feveiish manner. - V» '. 
 
 "Nurse;" said he, "Miss Pomoroy is to be 
 married at once. You must see — that she ,))as 
 every thing prepared— suitably— and of the very 
 best." 
 
 The aph stood speechless with amazement. 
 This feehng was increased when Zillah soi^, in a 
 cold monotone : 
 
 " Don't look surprised, nnrsa It's quite true. 
 I am to be married within a day or two." 
 
 Her master's absurdities the ayah could ac- 
 count for on the ground of delirium ; but was 
 "Little Missy" mad too? Perhaps sorrow had 
 turned her brain, she thought. At any rate, it 
 would be best to humor them. 
 
 " Missy had a white silk down from London 
 la«t week, Sir." 
 
 VNot satin? A wedding-dress shonld be 
 of satin," said the General. 
 
 "It does not matter, so tha^ it is all white," 
 said the nurse, with decision. 
 
 "Doesn't it? Very well," said the Geneml. 
 \f ' But she must have a veil, nurse, and plentv of 
 Jewels. She must look like my darling. Vou 
 reraen\ber, nurse, how the looked." 
 
 "Indeed I do, sahib, and yon may leave nil 
 to me. I will see that Missy is as fine and grand 
 as any oftiiea;"^"" • i- 
 
 The ayah tx^n already to hA excited, and to 
 fall in with this wild proposal. The verv men- 
 tion of dress had excited her Indhmfove of 
 fiqety. 
 
 "That is riglit," said the General; "attend 
 to it all. Spare no expense. Don't you go, m; 
 child," he continued, as Zillah rose and wolkea 
 
[^'•J'tfa/T'.-fi'"- 
 
 the thought that thb inan 
 Died inevitable, was to take 
 heart woa wrung with igixi. 
 here in thia room— by that 
 ar8 told her might be a bed 
 
 her father, her only friend 
 he would lay down her life, 
 lelirium ihe had co^isented 
 iflce of henelf. The mar- 
 ras ta tale phuiOv thus ; it 
 R, a ghastly mockery — a 
 
 the ■olemnity Of Mrrow. 
 UTie4 — she waa to be aold. 
 of that old betrothal had 
 to her; but ahejkneirlhat 
 vay connected wit!b it, and 
 ly bought an(| aol^.-like a 
 II of her own. 0fih bitter 
 i her mind its ahe'^t there 
 
 : apoke agoiiu ^"Mkyi yon 
 
 wedding-droaa — a fine new „ 
 
 f darling wore ; how be^n- 
 
 a veil you muat have, and 
 
 earls and diamonds^ My 
 
 ide." 
 
 words waa a atab, and Zil- 
 
 isr father noticed nothing 
 
 odas, but, like many casea 
 
 9jf cfiherent 
 
 |rah, 4par," he continhed ; 
 
 jr"-r^)out your wedding- 
 
 L As aoon aa the woman 
 1 turned to her vithhis 
 
 "•Miaa Pomeroy ia to bo 
 }a must see — that she ,|ias 
 -auitably — and ofthe very 
 
 leechlesa with amazement, 
 oaed when ZiUah aaid, in a 
 
 led, nursa It'a qoite tm& 
 ithin a day or two." 
 ilitiea the a^ah could ac- 
 imd of delinum ; but was 
 :oo? Perhaps aorrow had 
 thought. At any rate, it 
 )r them, 
 e silk down from London 
 
 (redding -dresa shonld be 
 
 leral. 
 
 sr, so tha^ it is all white," 
 
 iciaion. 
 
 y well," 'said the Geneml. 
 
 I veil, nnrse, and plenty of 
 
 ok like my darling. Vou 
 
 r the lookeid." 
 
 lb, and you may leave nil 
 
 : Missy is as fine and grand 
 
 sady to ftd excited, and to 
 proposaL The verr men- 
 cited her Indian fove of 
 
 tid the General; "attend 
 pense. Don't you go. my 
 oi ZiUfth rose and walked 
 
 "I think I can 
 ease. Stay by 
 
 ahndderingly to the window, 
 sleep, now that my mind is at 
 me, my da>;ling child. " 
 
 "Oh, papa, do you tMpk-I would|leave yon?" 
 said Ziliah, and she caifeback to the bed. 
 
 The doctor, who had been waiting until the 
 General should become a little calmer, now ad- 
 ministered an anodyne, and^ie fell /asleep, his 
 hand clasfieu in Zillah's, while she/ fearful of 
 making the slightest movement, wZ motionless 
 «nd deapaiiing far into the night. / 
 
 THE CBYPTOGBAM. 
 
 CHAPTEli X. 
 
 A WBDDINO IK EXTREUIS. 
 
 Two djys passed,; on the second Guy Moly- 
 
 neux arrived. Lord Chetwynde wos "ill, and 
 
 could not travel. He sent a letter, however, 
 
 full of earnest and hopeful, sympathy. He 
 
 ^tould not believe thatthmgs were as bad as his 
 
 old friend feared ; the instant that he could leave 
 
 he would come iip to Pomeroy Court ; or if by 
 
 , God's providence the worst 'should take place, he 
 
 [ would instantly fetch Zilloh(to Chetwynde Ca»- 
 
 j tie ; an4\tha General might rely upon it that, so 
 
 far as love and tendemesk could supply a father's 
 
 place, she Should not feel her loss. 
 
 On Guy's arrival he was sho\vn into the librarj-. 
 Luncheon was laid there, ond the housekeeper 
 I apologized for Miss Pomeroy's absence. Guy 
 j took a^chair and waited for a while, meditating 
 J on the time when he had last seen the girl who 
 I in a short lime was to be tied to him for life. 
 I The event wos excessively repugnant to him, 
 I even though he did not at all Realize its full im- 
 iportance ; ond he would have given ony thing to 
 Iget out of it; but his father's command was 
 I sacred, and for years he had been bound bv his 
 I father's wofd. Escape was utterly impossible. 
 I The entrance of the clei^man, who seemed 
 I more intent on th»r luncheon than any thing 
 I else, did not lessen Guy's feelings of repug. 
 ■nance. He said but little, and aank into-a fit 
 lof abstraction, from which he was roused by a 
 Imesaage thot the General would like to see him, 
 lUo hurried up stairs. 
 
 I The General smiled faintly, and greeted him 
 Iwith as much warmth as his weak and prostrated 
 Condition would allow. 
 t "Guy, my boy," aaid he, feebly, "I am very 
 plad to see yon. 
 
 To Guy the General aeemed like a doomed 
 
 pan, and the discovery gave him a great shock, 
 
 br he hod scarcely anticipated any thing so bad 
 
 s-this. In spite of thia, however, he expressed 
 
 I hope that the General might yet recover, and 
 
 ■e spared many years to them. 
 
 "No," said the General, sodly nnd wearily; 
 
 F no ; my days are numbered. I must die, my 
 
 f Iwy ; but I shall die in peace, if I feel that I do 
 
 not leave my child nncarod for." 
 
 Guy, in spite of his dislike and renngnanco. 
 
 nt deeply moved. r-«-™»,»- 
 
 "You need have no ftar of that, Sir," he 
 , went on to say, in aolemn, menaured tones. "I 
 solemnly promise yon that no unhmpineas shaU 
 ever reach her if t can help it To the end of 
 my hfe I will tnr to requite to her the kindness 
 r2 yon •«"'« Mown to us. My father feels as 
 1 do, and he begged me to assute you, if he ia 
 
 "ot able to see pu sgain, aa fie hopes to do, 
 that thoinstant Sour daughter needs fiis cnro ho 
 VI hirtself tuk^ her to Ch«*ynde Oaatle, and 
 wdl watch over ftar >yith the same &e nnd af- 
 fection that you^ur^lf would bestoW ; and she 
 shall leove hishi&ie only for mine.", 
 ' The General prtosed his hand feebly. "God 
 bless vou I" he salt, in a faint voice. 
 
 Suddenly a low sob 'broke the silence which 
 followed, lurning hastily, Guy saw in the dim 
 twilight of the sick-room what he had not before 
 observed. It wasji girl's flguie crouching at the 
 foot of the bed, her head buried in the clothes. 
 He looked at her— his heart told him who it was 
 —but he knew not what to say. 
 
 The General also had heard that sob. It raised 
 no pity and compassion in him ; it was simply ' 
 some new stimulus to the one idea of his distem- 
 pered brain. 
 
 " What, Ziliah !" he said, in surprise. " You 
 here yet ? I thought you had gone to get ready. " 
 
 Still the kneeling figure did not move. 
 ^ "Ziliah," said the General, querulously, and 
 wUU^nn excitement in his feeble voice which 
 showed how readily he might lapse into com 
 plete deUrium—" Ziliah, my child, be quicL 
 there IS no time to lose. Go and get ready fof 
 your wedding. Don't you hear "me? Go and 
 dress yourself." 
 
 "Oh, popa!' moaned Zilloh, in a voice which 
 incrced to the inmost heart of Guy, "will it not 
 do as I am ? Do not ask me to put on finery at 
 a time lilie this." Her voiS^ waa one of utter 
 anguish and despoir. 
 
 "A time like this ?" said the General, rousing 
 himself somewhat-" what do you mean, chiltW 
 Does not the Bible say. Like aa a bride ado^- 
 eth herself— for her husband— and ever shall bo 
 —world without end— amen— yea— white sntin 
 and pearls, my child— oh yea— white pearls and 
 satm— vye are«ll ready-jwhere are you, my dar- 
 ling?" Another sob Was the only reply to this 
 incoherent speech. Guy stood as if petrified. 
 In his journey here he had simply tried to mus- 
 ter up his own resolution, and to fortify his own 
 heart. He had not given one thought to this 
 poor despairing child. Her sorrow, her anguish, 
 her despair, now went to his heart. Yet he 
 knew not -what to do. How gkdly he would have 
 made hi^ escape from thia horrible mockery— for 
 her sake as well as for hia own 1 But for such 
 escape he saw plainly there was no poaaibility. 
 That delirious mind, in ite frenzy, waa too in- 
 tent upon its one purpose to admit of this. He 
 himself also felt a strange and painful sense of 
 guilt. Waa not he to a great extent the cause 
 of this, though the unwilling cause? AlilHe 
 thought, remorsefully, can wrong be right? and 
 can any thing justify such a desecration as this 
 both of marriage and of death? At that mo- 
 ment Chetwynde faded away, and to have saved 
 it was aa nothing. Willingly would he have 
 given up every thing if he could now have said 
 kLihia poor child^-rwho thos crouched dowo^r 
 crushed by a Roman's aorraw before ahe had 
 known a woman'a years — "FareweU. You are 
 free, I will give j'ou a brother's love and claim 
 nothing in return. I will give back all, and go 
 forth pennileas into the battle of life." 
 
 Bnt the General again interrupted them, speak- 
 ing impatiently: "What are yoa waiting for? 
 Is not Ziliah gettipg ready ?" 
 
 S&wa.'i 
 
 \-„ 
 
88 
 
 Guy scarcely kmyt what ho wat doing ; but, 
 obeying tbe instinctii of liijt pitv, ho bent down 
 and whi»|)ered to Zillah, "My poor child, I pity 
 you, and iiynipathizo with vou more than wordi 
 can tell. It ia an awfiil thing for you. But can 
 you not roiue yoUftelf ? Perhapa it woald calm 
 your father. Ho Is getting too excited. " V. , i ' 
 
 Zillah ahhmk awa^ as thoagh he wore polls- 
 •ion, and Ony at this resumed his former place 
 . in sadness and in desperation, with no olHer idea 
 than to^wait for the end. \ / 
 
 "ZiUah! Zillah I" cried the General, almost 
 fiercely. , 
 
 At this-Zillah sprang np, aivl rushed out of 
 the room. She hurried up stairs, and found 
 the ayah In her dressing-room with Hilda. In 
 the next room hor white silk was laid out, her 
 wreath and veil beside it. 
 
 " Here'* my jewel come to be dressed in her 
 wedding Jress,'' said the ayah, joyously. 
 /» "Be quiet I "cried Zillah, passionately. "Don't 
 dare to say any thing like that to me ; and you 
 may put all that trash away, for I'm not going 
 to be married at all. I can t do it, and I won't. 
 I hate him! I hate himt I hate him! I hate 
 him !" 
 
 , These words she tiissed out with the renom 
 "of a serpent. Her attendants tried remonstrance, 
 but in vain. HHda pointed out to her the hand- 
 some dress, but with no greater success. Vi^in- 
 ly they tried to plead, to coax, and to penoa'db. 
 All this only seemed to strengthen her determ- 
 ination. At last she threw herself upon the 
 floor, like a passionate child, in a paroxysm of 
 rage and grief. 
 
 The unwonted self-control which for the last 
 few days she had imposed upon herself now told 
 upon her in the violence of*the reaction which 
 had set in. When once she hod allowed the 
 barriers to be broken down, all 61se gave way to 
 the onset of passion; and the presence and re- 
 monstrances of the ayah and Hilda only made it 
 'Vprse. She foigot utterly her father's condi- 
 tion ; she showed herself now as selfish in her 
 passion as he had shown himself in his delirium., 
 Nothing could be done to stop her. Tile others, 
 femlliar with these outbreaks, retired to the ad- 
 joining room and waited. 
 
 Meani^ile the others were waiting also in the 
 room below., Xhe doctor was there, and sat by 
 his patient, exerting all his art to soothe hijn 
 and curb his eagerness. The General refused 
 some medicine which he offered, and declared 
 with passion that he would take nothing what- 
 ever till the wedling was over. To have used 
 force would have been fotal ; and so the doctor 
 had to humor his patient. The family solicitor 
 was there with the marriage settlements, which 
 had been prepared in great haste. Guy and the 
 clergyntan sat apart in thonghtful silence. 
 
 Half an hour passed, and Zillah did not ap- 
 pear. On the General's asking for her the cler- 
 gyman hazarded a remark intended to be pleas- 
 ant, about ladies on such occasions needing some 
 time to adorn themselves^a little out of place 
 
 Bttder the drcnmstances, but it fortunat^y M 
 in with the sick man's humor, ai 
 
 and satisfied him 
 
 THE CKYPTt)GB4M. 
 
 but she, fou^d^ the door bolted, and amidst Ifie 
 outcry and confusion iitth^ room could only dis- 
 tinguish that Miss I'onieruy was not ready. This 
 message she delivered without eutwing into par- 
 ticulara, • . ^ 
 
 •An hour passed, and another messenger went, 
 with the same result. It then became imixwNi- 
 ble to soothe the General any longer. Guy also 
 grew, impatient, for he had to leivo by that 
 Miening's train; and if the thing had *o lie it 
 nmst be done soon. He began to fa^pe that it 
 might bepostpon^— tha^ Zillah ftiight not corao <" 
 —and then he would have to leave the thing un- 
 finished. But then ho thought of his father's 
 command, and the General's desire — of his own 
 promise— ;of the fact that it must be done— of 
 the danger to the General if it were not done. 
 Between these conflicting feelings— his desire to 
 escape, and his desire to fulfill what he consid- 
 ered his obligations — his bruin grew confused, 
 and be sat there impatient for the end— to see 
 what it might turn out to be. 
 
 Another quarter of an hour passed. The Gen- 
 eral's excitement grew worse, and was deepening 
 into frenzy. Dr. Cowell looked mors and< more 
 anxionsi and at last, shrewdly suspecting the 
 cause of the dehiy,/determined himself to go and 
 take it-in hand. He accordingly left his patient, 
 and was just crossing the room, when his prog- 
 reas was arrested by the General's springing up 
 with a kind of convulsive start, and jumping out 
 of beJjNJeclaring wildly and incoherently that 
 something' must be wrong, and that he himself 
 would go otid bHng Zillah. The doctor had to 
 turn again to his patient. The effort was « 
 spasmodic one, and the General was soon put- 
 back again to bed, wjiere'he lay gi-oaning and 
 panting ; while the doctor, finding that he could 
 not leave him $ven for an instant, looked around 
 focsome Onie to send in his place. Who could 
 it be ? - Neither the lawyer nor tlie clergyman 
 seemed suitable. There was no one left but 
 Guv, who seemed t9 the doctor, from his face 
 and manner, to be capable of dealing with any 
 difficulty. So he called Gny.to him, and hur- 
 riedly whispered to him the state of thiflgs. 
 ,' " If the General has to wait anv Ictoiger, he 
 will die," said the doctor. " You'll haVe to go 
 and bring her. You're the only person. .You 
 must. 'Tell her that her father has already had 
 one fit, and that every moment destroys his hist 
 chance of life. She must either decide to come 
 at once, or else sacrifice hiirk." 
 
 He then ranj,the bell, and ordered the servant 
 to lead Captain Molynenx to Miss Pomeroy. 
 Guv was thus forced to be an actor where his 
 highest desire Yfat to be passive. There was no 
 alternative. In that moment all his future was 
 involved. He saw it; he knew it; but he did 
 not shrink. Honor bound him to this marrioge, 
 hateful as it was. The other actor in the scene 
 detested it as much as he did, bnt there was no 
 help for it. Could he dt passive and let the Gen- 
 oral die? The ma^Hage, after all, he thought,, 
 had to come off; it was terriblelto have it now ; 
 but then the lastc hauce pfthe-QbwHffeli fe was- 
 
 for the moment. 
 
 Three-quarters of an hour passed. " Surely 
 she must be ready how," said the General, who 
 grew more extited and irritable every moment. 
 A messenger was thereupon dispatched for her, 
 
 dependent upon this marriage.^ finiiat could ha 
 do? V 
 
 What ? A rapid surrey of his whole sitnntion 
 decided him. He would perform what he con- 
 sidered his vow. He would ,dp his part toward 
 saving tbe General's life, though that part was 
 

 ;f 
 
 or bolted, jind ainidgt Aa 
 iiLl()9 room could onl/ diii- 
 ucroy wiu not ready. This 
 withaut entering into par- 
 
 i another menenger went. 
 It then became imposHi- 
 iral any longer.^ Guy also 
 lie had to le^e by that 
 if the thing had -to be it 
 He began to hppe that it 
 :hii^ ZiUoh ifnight not cumo < 
 lave to leave the thing un- 
 le thought of hi« futticr'g 
 neral's desire — of his own 
 that it must be done — uf ' 
 leral if it were not done, 
 ing feelings — his desire to 
 to fulfill what he consid- 
 his bruin grew confused, 
 tient for the end— 'to see ' 
 to be. 
 
 n honr passed. The Gen- 
 worse, and was deepening 
 II looked morb andi more 
 shrewdly suspecting the 
 rmined himself to go and 
 «ordingly lefl his patient, 
 he room, when bis prog- 
 le General's springing up 
 ve start, and jumping out 
 y and incoherently that 
 >ng, and that he himself 
 lah. The doctor had to 
 ent. The effort was « 
 e General was soon put' 
 ere he lay groaning and 
 tor, finding that he could 
 ,n instant, looked around 
 I his place. \Vhp could 
 iv;rer nor the clergyman 
 ro was no one left but 
 le doctor, fram his face 
 ible of dealing wtth any 
 I Giiy.to him, and hur- 
 the state of things, 
 to wait anv Icwiger, he 
 r. •' You'll have to go 
 the only person. .You 
 r fother has already had 
 loment destroys his lust 
 St either decide to come 
 hini." 
 
 and ordered the servant 
 eax to Miss Pomeroy. 
 be an actor where his 
 passive. There was no 
 iment all his future was 
 le knew it ; but he did 
 id him to this marrioge, 
 >ther actor in the scene 
 9 did, bat there was no 
 passive and let the Gen- 
 1, after all, he thoughj^. 
 terribleVo have it now ; 
 irtl 8 life was 
 riage. '^ llfVhat could lie 
 
 THE CBYFTOGRAM. 
 
 •0 hari. He was calm, therelbre, and self-pos- 
 sessed, as the servant entered and M the way to 
 Zillah'g apartments. The servant on receiving 
 the order grinned in spite of the solemnity of the 
 occasion." He h»d a pretty clear idea of the 
 state of tl{iing»; he was well accustomed to what 
 was stylejj, in the servants' hall, "Missy's tauj- 
 tniros;" and he wondered to himself how Guy 
 would ever manajk her. He was too good a 
 servant, ijowever, to let his feelings be seen, and 
 so he led the way demurely, and knocking at Zil- 
 lah's doorii announced : 
 "Captmh Molyneux." 
 
 The xlopr was at once opened by the 'ayah. 
 At that instant Zillah sprang- to her feet and 
 looked at him ih a fury of passion. 
 
 " Yout" she cried, with indescribable malig- 
 nancy. "You! You herei How dare you 
 come here ? Go down stairs this instant I If it 
 is my money you wan(, take i(.all and begone. 
 I will novy, never, never, marry you !" 
 
 For a moment Guv was ovefSome. The tount 
 was certainly horrible. He turned pale, but 
 soon regained his self-poesession. 
 
 " Miss Pomerov,"said he, quietly, yet eomost- 
 Ir, "this is not the time for a scene. Your fa- 
 ther is'in the utmost danger. ' He has waited for 
 an hour and a ouarter. He is getting worse ev- 
 ery moment. He made oilb attempt to get out 
 of bed, and come for you himself. The doctor 
 ordered me to come,'and that is why I am here." 
 "I don't believe you! "screamed Zillah. "You 
 are trying to frighten me." 
 , " I have! nothing t6 say," replied Guy, moum- 
 I fully. "Your father is rapidly getting into n 
 i state of frenzy. If it lasts much longer he will 
 1 dia^'-T 
 
 Guy's words penetrated to Zilbdi's imhost soul. 
 rA wild fear arose, whi^li in a moment chased 
 owny the fiiry which had possessed her. Her 
 J face changed. She struck her hands against her 
 I brow, and nttered on exclamation of terror. 
 I "Tell him— tell hiffi— I'm coming. Make 
 I haste," she mooned. " lH be down immediate- 
 [ ly. Oh, make haste !" 
 
 She hurri^ back, and Guv went down stairs 
 I again, where he waited at the bottom with his 
 I soul in a strange tnmnit, and his heart on fire; 
 I Why was it thtt^ he had be^n sold for all this— 
 I he and thf^t wretched child? 
 i But now Zilkh was all changed. KoT4.she 
 Iwo* ns excited in her haste to go down stai^as 
 ^he had before been anxious to avoid it She 
 tushed back to the bedroom where Hilda wasi, 
 who, though unseen, had heard every thing, and, 
 foreseeing what the end might be, was now get- 
 long things ready, 
 
 r " Be qiyck, HUda 1" she gasped. '• Papa ia 
 |dvingl Oh, be quick— be quick! Let me save 
 f hint! ' 
 
 She literally tore off the dress that she had on, 
 Olid in less than five minutes she tn^ dressed. 
 She would not stop for Hilda to aritoge her 
 wreath, and-wa*j3ijgiing down stairs withdut her 
 veil, when the-ttyah ran afterjier with it — % 
 
 "You are leaving your luck, Ifiisy dorlingj" 
 
 " Ay— that I am," said Zillah, bitteriy. 
 
 „«fc "'?'2°u7JH.P"' il**?' Missy," pleaded the 
 *y«h- " S^lb Jw* talked so much about it" 
 
 Zillah stopped. The ayah threw it over het. 
 •no enveloped her in iu soft foUs. 
 
 89 
 
 It was your mother'! veil. Missy," she add- 
 ed. "Give me a kiss for her sake before too 
 go." 
 
 Zillah flung her arms around the 6ld woman's 
 neck. 
 
 " Hush, bush !" she^said. " Do not inake me 
 give woy again, or I can never do it." 
 
 At tho foot of the stairs Guy was waiting, and 
 they entered the room solemnly together— these 
 two victims— each summoning up all that Honor 
 ond Duty might supply to assist in what each 
 felt to be a sacrifice of ajl Ufe and happiness. 
 But to Zillah the sacrifice was worse, the task 
 was harder, ond^ the ordeol more dreadful. For 
 it was her.father, not Guy's, who ky there, with 
 a face that already seemed to have the touch of 
 death ; it was she whrf felt to its fullest extent 
 the ghas.tlinejs of'this hideous mockery. 
 
 But the General, whose eyes wore turned ea- 
 gerly toward the door, found in this scene no- 
 thing but joy. In his fi-en/.y he regarded them 
 as lilfssed ond happy, and felt this to be the full 
 liiation of bis highest hopes. 
 rAlh ;" he said, with n long gasp; "ftlire she 
 Alast Let us begin at once." v 
 
 jnhe little group formed itself around the 
 |iihe ayah and llilda being present in the 
 i^l^und. 
 
 oTow voice the clergjman began the mnr- 
 I service. Far more solemn and impressive 
 did it sound now than when heard under circum- 
 stnijces of gayety and splendor ; and as the words 
 sankinto Guy's soul, he reproached himself more 1 
 thi^t|«ver for never having considered tho mean-.-. 
 ing bt the act to which he hod so thoughtlessly ; 
 pledged himself. ' % 
 
 The General had now grown calm. He hyM 
 perfectly motionless, gazing wistfully at his 
 daughter's face. So quiet was he, and so fixed ' ' 
 was his gaze, that they thought he hod sunk into 
 some abstracted fit ; but when the clergyman, :. 
 ■with sqme hesitation, asked the question, 
 
 "Who giveth this woman to be married to 
 this man ?' the General instantly responded, in 
 a firm voice, "I do." Then reaching forth, he ■/■' 
 took Zilloh's hond, and instead of giving it to 
 the clergj-mon, he himself placed it within Guy's, 
 and for a moment held both bonds in his, while 
 he seemed to be praying for o blessing to rest on 
 their union. 
 
 The ^ice proceeded. Solemnly the priest 
 nttered fll|t^waming: "Those whom God hath 
 joined together, let no man put afiunder." Sol. 
 emnly, too, he pronounced the benediction — 
 " May ye so live together in this life that in the 
 world to come ye shall have life everlasting." ' • 
 
 And so, for better or wprse, 6ny Molynenx 
 and Zillah Pomeroy rose up — man and wife I 
 ■ After the marriage ceremony was ,over the 
 cleri^man administered the Holy Communion — 
 all ^o were present partaking with the Gdnend ; 
 and solemn indeed was the thought that filled the 
 mind of each, t\0 ere long, perhaps, one of their 
 number imt^t be— not fignratively, but lit erally 
 
 igvw HUuioreuangeis^mra'initliex 
 pany of heaven." j 
 
 igZj., 4* 
 
 Afterj this was all over the doctor gave the 
 Generol'a soothing draught He was quite calni 
 now ; he took it without objection ; and it had 
 the effect of throwing him soon into a quiet sleep. 
 
 The clergyman and the lawyer now departed ; 
 and the doctor, motioning to Gay and^illah to 
 
 It 
 
leave the room, took hii ptoce. with an wixt 
 wwnteimnce.iiy^tlie^tBMril'llisailde. Thehoa- 
 band and wife went into the adjoining room, from 
 which they conld hour the deep breathing of the 
 riclc man. 
 
 It waa an awkward moment. Ony had to de- 
 part in a short time. That anllen itolid girl who 
 now lat before him, black and i^oomy as a tbua- 
 
 pmtipa tartmr. He did not know exactly how 
 to treat her ; whether with indiffisrence as a will- 
 fill ch Id, or compassionate attention as one deep, 
 ly afflicted. On the whole he felt deeply for hor, 
 in mita of his own forebodings of his f&ture ; and 
 so he followed the more generons dictates of his 
 heart Her utter loneliness, and the tbonght that 
 
 «v^' 
 
 
 ^'1 * . Ul .Ail 
 
 '.i^i^'*^ 
 

 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 her father might soon be taken away, touched 
 him deeply ; and this feeling was evident in his 
 whole manner as ha spoke. 
 
 "Zillah/'said he, "oar regiment sails for In- 
 4ia several days sooner than I first expect^], and 
 it is necessary for me to leave in a short time. 
 You, of course, are to remain with your father, 
 and I hope that he may soon be restored to you. 
 Lot me assure you that this whole scene has been, 
 under the circumstances, most painful, for your 
 sake, for I have felt keenly that I was the inno- 
 cent cause of great sorrow to you. " 
 
 He spoke to her calmly, and as a father would 
 to a child, and at the same time reached out his 
 hand to take hers. She snatched it away quickly. 
 "Coptain Molyneux," said she, coldly, 'T 
 married you solely to please my. father, and h^ 
 cause he was not in a state to have his wishes 
 opposed. It was a sacrifice ot myself, and a 
 bitter one. As to you, I put no trust in you, and 
 take no interest whatever in your , plans. But 
 there is one thi«g which I wish* you to tell me. 
 What did papa mean by saying to the doctor, 
 that if I did not marry you I should lose one- 
 holf of my fortune?" 
 
 Ziikh's manner at once chilled all the warm 
 feelings of pity and generosity which Guy had 
 begun to feel. Her question also was an embar- 
 rassing one. He hod hoped that the explanation 
 might come later, and from his father. It was 
 an awkward'bne for hfm to make. But ZiUah 
 was looking at him impatiently. 
 j "Surely," she continued in a stem voice as 
 Ishe noticed his hesitation, "that is a question 
 [which I have a right to ask." 
 
 "Of course," said Guy, hastily. "I will tell 
 ,on. It was^ecause more than half your for- 
 tune was taken to pay off the debt on Chetwynde 
 Castle." 
 A deep, angry, crimson flush passed over Zil- 
 ih's face. 
 
 "So that is the reason why I have been sold ?" 
 ihe cried, impetuously. "Well, Sir, your jna- 
 loeuvring has succeeded noblv. Let me Icon- 
 [ratukte you. You have taken in a guilUess 
 lid man, and a young girl." 
 
 Guy looked at her for a moment in fierce <n^ 
 lignation. But with a groat effort he subdu^ 
 It, and answered, as calmlv as possible : 
 "You do not know either my fether 6r my- 
 slf, or you would be convinced that sncii lan- 
 [uage could not apply to either of ns. The pro- 
 ■osal originaUy emanated entirely fiwm General 
 'omeroy." 
 
 "Ah?" said Zilla, fiercely. "But you were 
 
 ise enough to take advantage of his geneixMity 
 
 id his love for his old friend. Oh I" she cried 
 
 luwting mto tears, " that is what I feel, that he 
 
 louU sacrifice me, who toved him MTfor your 
 
 «kos. I honestly beheved once that it was his 
 
 fanxiety to find me a protector " * 
 
 Guys face had grown venr pale. 
 „. -^"J •» '' "^w." he said, in a rolce which4 
 was deep and tremiUons «h>m his strong effnrT.r 
 
 fS:iSuaf„tS..'J!^-'oar.munrH:S! 
 
 n«lf^'"'""!,'':T"'"" •"'•^ Zillah, her face 
 
 flushed, nnd with accents of inde«ribable scorn. 
 
 'Good Heavens ! What are yo« if yon aw n« 
 
 'L'JZr''^' Oh.howlCeilTo;i 
 
 Guy looked at her, and for a moment was on the 
 point of answering her in the same fashion, and 
 pouring out all his scorn and; contempt. But 
 again he restrained himself. ^ 
 
 " You are excited," he said, co^y. "One of 
 these days you will find out your mistake. Yo« 
 will learn, as you grow older, that the name of 
 Chetwynde can not be coupled with charges like 
 these. In the mean time allow me to advise you 
 not to be quite so free in your language when you 
 are addressing honorable gentlemen ; and to sug- 
 gest that your father, who loved you better than 
 any one in the worid, may possibly have had some 
 cause for the confidence which he felt in us." 
 
 There was a coolness in Guy's tone which 
 showed that he did not think it iJorth while to 
 be angi-y with her, or to resent her insults. But 
 ZiUah did not notice this. She went on ns before ; 
 "There is one thing which I will nevdf for- 
 give." 
 
 "Indeed? Well, your forgiveness is so very 
 important that I should like to know what it is 
 that prevents me from gaining it." 
 
 "The way in which I have been deceived!" 
 burst forth Zillah, fiercely. " If papa hod wished 
 to give you half of his money, or all of it, I should- 
 not have cared a bit. I do not care for that at 
 all. But why did nobody tell me the truth? 
 Why was I told that it was out of regard to im 
 that this horror, this frightful mockery of mar- 
 riage, was forced upon me, while my heart was 
 breaking with anxiety about my father ; when to 
 you I was only a necessary evil, without which 
 you could not hope to get my father's money j 
 and the only good I can possibly have is the fu- 
 ture privilege of living in a place whose very name 
 I loathe, with the man who has cheated me, and 
 whoin all my life I shall hate and abhor? Now 
 go! and I pray God I may never see you 
 again." ' 
 
 With these words, and without waiting for k 
 reply, she left the room, leaving Guy in a state 
 of mind by no means enviable. 
 
 He stood staring after her. " And that thing 
 IS mine for life!" he thought; "that she-devil! 
 utterly destitute of sense and of reason ! Ob, 
 Chetwynde, Chetwynde ! you have cost me dear. 
 See you again, my fiend of a wife ! I hope not 
 No, never while I live. Some of these days I'll .1 
 give you back your sixty thousand with interest' 
 And you, why you may go to the devil forever 1" 
 
 Half an hour afterward Guy was seated in the 
 dog-cart bowling to the station as fiut aa two 
 thorough-breds could take him ; every moment i 
 congratulating himself on the increasing distance 
 which was separating him from his bride of an 
 hour. 
 
 The doctor watched all that night On the 
 following morning the General wak senseless. 
 On the next day he died. •> 
 
 -ClIATIim^J HF 
 
 A nttyr home. 
 
 Dbarlt fiad Zillah paid for that fVenry of her 
 dying father; and the consciousness that her 
 whole life was now made over irrevocably to an- 
 other, brought to her n pang so acute' that it 
 counterbalanced the grief which she felt for her 
 father's death. Fierce anger and bitter indtf. 
 
 , }siM 
 
48 
 
 'the cryptogram. 
 
 nation struggled with the sorrow of bereavement, 
 and sometimes, in her blind rage, she even went 
 ' so far OS to reproach her father's memory. Uu 
 all who had taken part in that- fateful ceremony 
 she looked with vengeful feelings. She thought, 
 and there was reason in the bought, that they 
 might have satisfied his mind without binding 
 her. They, could have humored his delirium 
 without forfeiting her liberty. They could have 
 had a mock priest, who might have read a serv- 
 ice which would have had no anthorifV, and im- 
 posed vows which would not be binding. On 
 Guy she looked with the deepest scorn, for she 
 believed that h» was the chief offender, and that 
 if he had been a man of honor he might have 
 found many ways to avoid this thing. Possibly 
 Gny as he drove off was thinking the same, and 
 cursing his dull wit for not doing something to 
 delay the ceremony or moke it void. But to 
 botli it was now too late. 
 
 The General's death took place too soon for 
 Zillah. Had he lived she might have been spared 
 long sorrows. Had it not been for this, and his 
 frantic haste in forcing on a marriage, her early 
 betrothal might have had different results. Guy 
 would have gone to India. He would have re- 
 mained there for years, and then have come 
 home. On his return he might possibly have 
 won her love, and then they could liave settled 
 down harmoniously in the usnal fashion. But 
 now she found herself thrust upon him, and the 
 rety thought of him was a horror. JS^ever conld 
 the remembrance of that hideous mockery at the 
 bedside of one so dear, who was passing away 
 forever, leave her mind. All the solemnities of 
 death had been outraged, and all her menxpries 
 of the dying hours of her best friend were for- 
 ever ossociated with bitterness and shame. 
 
 For some tune after her father's death she 
 gave herself up to the motions of her wild and 
 ungovernable temper. Alternations of savage 
 ttirj and mute despair succeeded to one another. 
 To one like her thejs was no relief from either 
 mood; and, in addition to this, there was the 
 prospect of the arrival of Lord Chetwynde. The 
 thought of this filled her with such a passion of 
 anger that she began to meditate flight. She 
 mentioned this to Hilda, with the idea that of 
 course Hilda would go with her. 
 
 Hilda listened in her usual quiet war, and with 
 a great appearance of sympathy. Slie assented 
 to it, and quite appreciated Zillah's position. 
 But she suggested that it might bo difficult to 
 carry out such a plan without money. 
 
 "Money!" said Zillah, in astonishment 
 "Why, have 1 not plenty of money? AQ is 
 mine now surely." 
 
 " Very likely," said HUda, coolly ; " but how 
 do yon propose to get it ' Yon know the lawyer 
 has all the papers, and every thing else under 
 lock and key till Lord Chetwynde comes, and 
 the will is read; besides, dear," she added with 
 a soft smile, "you forget that a married woman 
 can not possess property. Our charming En- 
 ■■»h law gives her no righta. iA#that yon nora- 
 inallv possess in reality belongTto your hus- 
 band." 
 
 At this hated word "husband," Zillah's eyes 
 flashed. She clenched her hands, and ground 
 her teeth in rage. 
 
 "Be quiet!" she cried, in a voice which was 
 ■carce audible from paation. " Can you not let 
 
 me forget my shame and disgrace for one mo- 
 ment ? Why must you thrust it in my face ?"' 
 
 Hilda's little suggestion thus brought full be- 
 fore Zillah's mind one galling yqt undeniable 
 truth, which showed her an insurmountable ob- 
 stacle in the way of her plan. To one utterly 
 unaccustomed to control of any kind, the thought 
 i^ded ttwh rage, and she now sought refuge in 
 thinking how she could best encounter her new 
 enemy, Lord Chetwynde, and what she might 
 say to show how she scorned him and his son. 
 She succeeded in arranging a very promising 
 plan of action, and mfide up many very bitter 
 and insulting speeches, out of which she selected 
 one which seemed to be the most cutting, gall- 
 ing, and insulting which she could think of. It 
 was v<iry^nearly the same language which Ae 
 had used to Guy, and the same taunts were re- 
 peated in a somewhat more pointed manner. 
 
 At length Lord Chetwynde arrived, and, Zil- 
 lah, after refusing to see him for two days, went 
 down. She enteied the drawing-room, her heait 
 on fire, and her brain seething with bitter words, 
 and looked up to see her enemy. That enemy, 
 however, was an old man whose sight was too 
 dim to see the malignant glance of her dafk 
 eyes, and the fierce passion of her face. Know- 
 ing that she was coming, he was awaiting her, 
 and Zillah on looking up saw him. That liist 
 sight at once quelled her fury. She saw a nolilo 
 and refined face, whereon there was an expression 
 of tenderest sympathy. Before fbe could re- 
 cover froih the shock which the si^t of sucli a 
 face had given to her passion he had odvani'ud 
 rapidly toward her, took her in his arms, aiij 
 kissed her tenderly. 
 
 "My poor child," he said, in a voice of in- 
 describable sweetness—" my poor orphan child, 
 I can not tell how I feel for you ; but you belong 
 to me now. I will try to be another father." 
 
 The tones of his voice were so full of affection 
 that Zillah, who was always sensitive to the pow- 
 er of love and kindness, was instantly softened 
 and subdued. Before the touch of that kiss of 
 love and those words of tenderness every emo- 
 tion of anger fled away ; her passion subsided ; 
 she forgot all her vengeance, and, taking his liniid 
 in both of hen, she burst into tears. 
 
 The Earl gently led her to a seat In a low 
 voioo full of the same tender affection he began 
 to talk of her father, of their oM friendship in 
 the long-vanished youth, of her father's noble 
 nature, and self-sacrificing character; till his 
 fond eulogies of his dead friend awakened in 
 Zillah, even amidst her grief for the dead, a tliuu- 
 Mnd reminiscences of his character when alive, 
 aiid she began to feel that one who so knew and 
 loved her father must himself have been most 
 worthy to be her tether's friend. 
 
 It waa thus that her first interview with the 
 Earl dispelled her vindictive paMion. At once 
 she began to look upon him as tlie one who was 
 best adapted to fill her father's phice, if that 
 place could ev er be filled. ITte more she mw 
 of hini, III* nifire^wr inii*buin Bflisetion <brhini 
 strengthened, and during the week which he 
 spent at Poiaero« Court she had become so 
 greatly changed that she looked back to her old 
 feelings of hate with monmfiil wonder. 
 
 In due time the General's will waa read. It 
 was venr iim|de; Thirty thousand pounds were 
 left to Zillah. To Hilda three thousand poundi 
 
 i. 
 
 <*ii% . 1 
 

 e and disgrace for one mo- 
 jron thrust it in my face ?' 
 estion thus brought full be- 
 one galling yqt undeniable 
 i her an insurmountable ob- 
 ' her plan. To one utterly 
 trol of any kind, the thought 
 d she now sought refuge in 
 iJd best encounter her new 
 ynde, and what she miglit 
 ) Bconied him and his son. 
 rranging a very promising 
 mfide up many very bitter 
 H, Out of which she selected 
 >/ be the most cutting, gall- 
 lich she could think of. It 
 same language which ^e 
 d the same taunts were re- 
 t more pointed manner, 
 hetwynde firrived, and^Zil- 
 see him for two days, went 
 :he drawing-room, her heart 
 seething with bitter words, 
 her enemy. That enemy, 
 man whose sight was too 
 ignant glance of her dafi; 
 nssion of her face. Knbw- 
 ling, he was awaiting her, 
 J up saw him. That fiiHt 
 her fury. She saw a nolilo 
 eon there was an elsprcssiun 
 ly. Before fbe could ic- 
 Vrhich the sigdt of such a 
 r passion he had advanced 
 took her in his arms, and 
 
 he said, in a Toice of in- 
 — "my poor orphan child, 
 sel for you ; but you belong 
 y to be another father." 
 ice were so full of affection 
 ilways sensitive to the pow. 
 ess, was instantly sofiencd 
 e the touch of that kiss of 
 of tenderness every emo- 
 ay ; her passion subsided ; 
 eance, and, taking his hand 
 iirst into tears. 
 1 her to a seat In a low 
 tender affection he began 
 of their oM friendship in 
 ith, of her father's nulile 
 ificing character; till his 
 dead friend awakened in 
 r grief for the dead, a tliou- 
 ' his character when alive, 
 that one who so knew and 
 t himself have been most 
 ir's friend. 
 
 !r first interview with the 
 dictive passion. At once 
 n him as the one who wo* 
 ler father's place, if that 
 Ued. The more the mw 
 ww^iNiiii ftuoisiiun ityr^'hiiiY 
 ring the week which he 
 )urt she had become so 
 he looked back to her old 
 loamflil wonder, 
 nerol'a will was read. It 
 rty thousand pounds were 
 dit thraa thousand poundi 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 were left as a tribate of affection to one who had 
 been to him, as be said, "like a daughter." 
 Hilda he recommended most earnestly to die 
 care and affection of Lord Chetwynde, and de- 
 sired that she and Zillah should never be sepa- 
 rated unless thejr themsolves desired it. To that 
 last request of his dying fHend Lord Chetwynde 
 proved fidthfol. He addressed Hilda with kind- 
 ness and affection, expressed sympathy with her 
 in the loss of her bencfitctor, and promised to do 
 all in his power to make good tlie loss which she 
 had suffered in his death. She and Zillah, he 
 told her, might live as sisters in Chetwynde Cas- 
 tle. Perhaps the time might come when %eir ' 
 grief would be alleviated, and then they would 
 both learn to look upon him with something of 
 that affection which they had felt for Genend 
 Poroeroy. 
 
 When Hilda and Zillah went with the Earl to 
 Chetwynde Castle there was one other who was 
 invited there, and who afterward followed. This 
 was Gualtier. Hilda had tecommended him.; 
 and 08 the Earl was very anxious that Zillah 
 should not grow up to womanhood without further 
 education, he caught at the idea which H^a had 
 thrown out. So before leaving he sought out 
 Gualtier, 9nd proposed that he should continue 
 his instructions at Chetwynde.^ 
 
 "You can live very well in the village," said 
 the Eari. ' ' There are families there with whom 
 you can lodge comfortably. Mrs. Molyneux is 
 acquainted with you and your style of teaching, 
 ^and therefore I would prefer you to any other." 
 Gnakier bowed so low that the flash of pleas- 
 ire which came over his sallow face, and his 
 imile of ill-concealed triumph, could not be seen. 
 I 'You are too kind, my lord," he said, obse- 
 jnionsly. " I have always done my best in my 
 Instructions, and will hombly endeaTor to do so 
 '" the future." 
 
 ^ So Gualtier followed them, and arrived at 
 'hetwynde a short time after them, bearing with 
 lim his power, or pel-haps his fote, to influence 
 lillah's fortunes and Aitnre. 
 
 Chetwynde Castle had experienced some 
 (hanges during these years. The old butler had 
 'Ben gathered to his fathers, but Mrs. Hart still 
 imained. The Castle itself and the grounds 
 lad changed wonderfully for the better. It had 
 "8t that air of neglect, decay, and roln which 
 id formerly been its chief characteristic. It 
 las no longer poverty-stricken. It arose, with 
 antique towers and venerable ivy-grown walls, 
 hibiting in its ontlfaie all that age possesses of 
 .nity, withent any otthe meanness of neglect, 
 seemed like one of the noblest remains which 
 igland possessed of/the monnmentt of feudal 
 los. The first sight of it elicited a crv of ad- 
 iiration from JOIIah; and she found 'not the 
 ■"' »'.>'» attractions in the fleure of the old 
 irl— himself a monument of the past— whose 
 Igure, as he stood on the stq« to welcome them, 
 rormed a foreground which an artist woold have 
 loved to portn^r. 
 
 -Arannd_ the uunie gn haTtBiiniiar "What 
 liaa once been little better than a wilderness was 
 ■now a wide and well-kept park. The roae pleas- 
 Inunce had been restored to iu pristine glory. The 
 llawns were smooth-slfaven and glowing In their 
 Irich emerald-green. The lakes and ponds were 
 ■no Irngor overgrown with dank rushes ; but had 
 |beon iwhiimeU from bting little better than 
 
 marshes into bright expanses of clear water, 
 where fish swam and swq^s lored to sport Long 
 avenues and cool, shadowrwalka wound far away 
 through the groves; and the stately oaks and 
 elms around the Castle had lost that ghostly and 
 glooinyair which had once beenspread about them. 
 Within the Castle eveiy thing had undergone 
 n corresponding change. There was no attempt 
 at modem splendor, no effort to rival the luxu- 
 ries of the wealthier lords of England. The 
 Earl had been content with arrestiiig the prog, 
 ress of decay, and adding to the restoration of 
 the interior some general air of modem comfort. 
 Within, the scene corresponded finely to that 
 which lay |*itlioHt; and. the medieval character 
 of the interior made it attractive- to Zillohs pe- 
 culiar taste. '^ 
 
 The white-faced, mysterious - looking honsfl. 
 keeper, as she looked sadly and wistfully at the 
 new-comers, and asked in a tremulous voice 
 which wos Guy's wife, formed for Zillah a strik- 
 ing incident in the arrival To her Zillah at 
 once took a strong liking, and Mrs. Hart seemed 
 to form one equally strong for her. From the 
 very first her affection for Zilklutvas very mani- 
 fest, and as the days passed it incieiised. ^he 
 seemed to cling to the young girl as though her 
 loving nature needed something on wbddk to 'ex* 
 pend its love ; as though there was a maternal 
 instinct which craved to be satisfied, and sought 
 such satisfaction in her. Zillah returned her ten- 
 der affection with a fondness which>wonld have 
 satiiCed the most exigeant nature. She herself 
 had never known the sweetness of a mother's 
 care, and it seemed as though she had suddenir 
 found out all this. The discovery was delight fJl 
 to so affectionate a nature as bm ; and her en- 
 thusiastic disposition made her devotion to Mrs. 
 Hart more marked. She often wondered to her- 
 self why Mrs. Hart had " taken soch a fimcy" to 
 her. And so did the other members of the housB- 
 ?!n' ^®*''P* •' ^^ because she was the wife 
 of Guy, who was so dear to the heart of his af- 
 fectionate old nurse. Perhaps it was something 
 in Zillah herself which attracted Mrs. Hart, and 
 made her seek in her oiio who might fill Guv'k 
 place. ' 
 
 Time passed awoj)-, and Gualtier arrived, in 
 occordance with the Eari's request Ziliah had 
 supposed that she was now treo forever from all 
 teachers and lessons, and it was with some dis- 
 may that she heard of Giultier's arrival. She 
 Mid nothing, however, but prepared to go throogh 
 the form of raking lessons in music and drawing 
 as before. She had begun already to have a cer. 
 tain instinct of obedience toward the Eari, and 
 felt desirous to gratify his wishes. But whatever 
 changes of feeling she had experienced toward 
 her new guardian, she showed no change of man- 
 ner toward Gualtier. To her, application to any 
 thing was « thing as irksome as ever. Perhaps 
 her fitful efforts to advance wero more frequent • 
 but after each effort she used invari^ly to n- 
 lapse into idleneso and todium. 
 
 Her manner troubled Gualtier as little as ever. 
 He let her Aave her own way quite in the old 
 style. Hilda, as before, was always present at 
 these inatructious ; and after the hour devoted 
 to Zillah had expired she had lessons of her own. 
 But Gnidtier remarked that, for some reason or 
 other, a great change had come over her. Her 
 attitude toward him had relapsed into one of rat^ 
 
u 
 
 \ TtfE CRYPTOGRAM. 1 
 
 cencemdreienne. Thempiiw<AMto„,....^„T , 
 nURMkamm^ w&IcK d|e bid foh^ojy inude 
 Momed now to be completdy fonottan by ber. 
 Tho ttaaltby conTeriadoiu in which they tued to 
 indoige were not renewed. Her manner wm inch 
 that he did not venture to enter npon hi* former 
 footing. True, ZilhUi wu always in the room 
 sow, and did not leave lo often aa she used to 
 
 alon^: yet on these ocoationi Hilda tbowed no 
 deeire'to retam to that intimacy which they had 
 once known in their private interview*. . 
 
 This nW state of things Onaltier bore meeldy 
 and pMien%. He waa dther too respectful or 
 too cunningly make any ndynnces hi^Helf. I'er- 
 haps he had aitoep conviction that Hilda'* chApged 
 
 d^ithtli\\iJ!'A !,MA*«. "t. 
 
 ''^^•^inif . ?ili'^ 
 
 .* M._«,ij.i iJi^Jt* -ilSs^tS'^-it hMM^^ik 
 
 ...^»..»i u^ , 
 
st-*',*--^' 
 
 X 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 45 
 
 cukms Hilda iliowed i 
 intimaojr which they had 
 Ivate interviewi. . 
 ings Omltier bore meekly 
 • either too reipectful or 
 rndvnncethi^tielf. ]'er- 
 iction that Hilda'* chapged 
 
 manner was bat temporanr, and that the purpose 
 I which she had once revealed might still be cher- 
 I ished in her heart. True, the General's death 
 had changed the aspect of jjiflBirs ; but he had his 
 I reasons for believing that it could not altogether 
 : destroy her plans. He had a deep conviction 
 1 that the time woold couie one day when he would 
 -know what was on her mind. He was patient. 
 He conid wait. So the time went on. 
 
 As the time passed the life at Chetwynde Cas- 
 tle became more and more grateful to Zillah. 
 Naturally affectionate, her heart had softened 
 under its new trials and experiences, and there 
 I was full chance for the growth of tliose kindly 
 [and generous emotions which, after all, were 
 I i)nost natural and congenial to her. In addition 
 ' to her own affection for the Earl and for Mrs. 
 Hart, she found a constraint on her here which 
 she had not known while living the life of a spoiled 
 ' and indulged cliiid in her own former home. 
 The sorrow through which she had passed had 
 made her less childish. 'The Earl began in re- 
 ality to seem to her like a second father, one 
 whom she could both r^ere and love. 
 
 Very soon after her Ant acquaintance with 
 him ^he found out that by no possibility could 
 he be a party to any thing dishonorable. Find- 
 ing thus that her first suspicions were ntterly 
 unfounded, she began to think it possible that 
 her miirriage, though odious in itself, had been 
 i planned with a good intent To think Lord 
 I Chetwynde mercenary was impossible. His char- 
 acter was so high-toned, and even so pnnctilious 
 in its regard to nice points of honor, diat he was 
 not even worldly wise. With the mode in which 
 [ her marriage had been finally parried dot he had 
 I clearly nothing whatever to do. Of all her sus- 
 [picions, her anger against an innocent and noble- 
 I minded man, and her treatment of him on his 
 first visit to Pomeroy Court, she now felt thor- 
 I oaghly ashamed, bhe longed to tell him all 
 ! about-it— to explain why it was that she had felt 
 I so and done so — and watted for some favorable 
 opportunity for making her confession. 
 
 At length an opportunity occttrrtsd. One day 
 I the Earl was tipeaking of her lather, and he told 
 I Zillah abont his return to England, and his visit 
 I to Chetwynde Castle ; and Anally told how the 
 I whole arrangement had been made between them 
 iby which she had become Guy's wife. He spoke 
 |with sofch deep affet^on aboul General Pome- 
 ~oy, and so feelingly of his intense love 'for his 
 aughter, that at last Zillah began to nndorstand 
 erfectly the motives of the actors in thU matter. 
 She saw that in the whole 'afl'air, ftom first to 
 last, there was nothing bnt the fondest thought 
 of herself, and that the very monev itself, which 
 fshe used to think hod "purchased her," was in 
 f rome sort an investment ibr her own benefit in 
 the future. As the whole truth flashed sudden- 
 ly into Zilkh's mind she saw now most clearly 
 not only how deeply she had wroAged Lord Chet- 
 wynde, but also— *nd now for the/Arst time— 
 Joyr foully she hail {n.nU«H f^^y ^y ^^^(^. mH- 
 nant accusations. To • generena nature like 
 Hers the shock 6f this discovery was intensely 
 painful. Tear* started to her eyes, she twined 
 II u?"' ««'nnd Lord Chetwynde'* neck, and 
 tola him the whole storvf :not excepttng a lingle 
 word of all that she had said to Ony. 
 
 ' ■ And I told him," she concluded, "all this— 
 I said that he was a mean fortnne-nnnter ; and 
 
 tliat you had cheated papa out of his money ; 
 and that I hated him — and oh I will you ever 
 forgive me?" 
 
 This was altogether a new and unexpected 
 disclosure to the iiarl, and he listened to ZilLili 
 in unfeigned astonishment. Guy had told hiin 
 nothing.^yond the fact communicated in a let- 
 ter—that "whatever bis future wife migh„ l>o 
 remarkable for, he did not think that amiability 
 was her forte." But all this revelatimi, unex- 
 pected though it was, excited no feeling of re- 
 sentment in his mind. ■ ' 
 
 "My child," said he, tenderlvj though some- 
 what sadly, "you certaihiy behaved very ill. 
 Of course j-on could not know us ; but surely 
 you might have trusted your father's love and 
 wisdom. But, after all, there were a good many 
 excuses for jrou, iny poor little girl— so I pity you 
 very much mdeed— it was a terrible ordeal for 
 one so young. 1 can understand more than you 
 have cared to tell me." 
 
 "Ah, how kind, how good you are!" said- 
 Zillah, whovhad anticipated some reproaches. 
 "But I'll never forgive myself ^r dioing j-ou 
 such injustice." 
 
 " Oh, as to that," said Lord Chetwynde ; *' if 
 yoa feel that you have done any injustice, there 
 IS one Way that I can tell you of by which you 
 can make full reparation. Will you try to mak^ 
 it, my little girl ?" 
 ' " Whpt do you want me to do?" asked' Zil- 
 lah, hesitatingly, not Wishing to compromise her- 
 self. The first thought which she bad was that 
 he was going to ask her to apologize to Guy — a 
 thing wliich she would by no means care about 
 doing, even in her most penitent mood. Lord 
 Chetwynde was ony thing ; but Guy was quite 
 another. The former she loved dearly ; bnt to- 
 ward the Litter she still felt resentment— a feel- 
 ing which was perhaps strengthened and sus- 
 tained by the fact that every one at Chetwynde 
 looked upon her as a being who had been placed 
 upon the summit of human happiness by tha 
 mere fact of being Guy's wife. To her it was 
 intolerable to l>e valued merely for his sak& 
 Human nature is apt-to resent in any case hav- 
 ing its blessings perpetually thrust in<its face ; 
 but in this C4tse what they called a Messing, to 
 her seemed the blackest horror of her life ; and 
 Zillah 's resentment was all the stronger; while 
 all this resentment she naturally vented on the 
 head of the one who had become her husband. 
 She could manage to tolerate his praises when 
 sounded by the Earl, but hardly so with the 
 others. Mrs. Hart was most trying to her pa- ' 
 tience in this respect ; and it needed all Zillah'a 
 love for her to sustain her while listening to the 
 old nurse as she grew eloquent on her favorite 
 theme. Ziljah felt like the Athenian who wns 
 bored to death by the perpetual praise of 'Aris- 
 tid^. If she had no other complaint against- 
 him, this might of itself have been enough. 
 
 The fear, liowever, which was in her mind as 
 to thef e pamtion whiA r 
 
 dispdled by Lord ChetwvndeTanswer . 
 
 " I want you, my child," said he, " to try and 
 impfove yourself— to get on as fast as you can 
 with your masters, sq that w|wn the time comes 
 for you to take your proper pbee in society you 
 may be equal to ladies of your own rank in educa- 
 tion itnd accomplishments. I want to be proud 
 of my daughtei^^when I show her to the wor((L" 
 
 N .: 
 
 i-.f^J^^iA^-iu 
 
 4 11 i^l ,4* , 
 
 •."■% 
 
*9 
 
 "And «o yon shall," snid Zillah, twining her 
 nrms again about his neck and kissing him fond^ 
 1 V. ' ' 1 promise you th'tft from this time ftffwaitl 
 I will tnr to study." - ' ^ 
 
 He kissed heK lovingly. "I am gnre," said 
 he, "that yon will keep yonr word, my child; 
 and now," be added, •'one thing more: How 
 much longer do you 'intend to keep up this 
 'Lord Chetwynde?' I^mnst be' called by an- 
 other name Ay you— not the name by which yon 
 called yonr own dear father— that is too sacred 
 to be given to'iiny other. But have I not sfeme 
 claim to be called ' Pathos,' daw ? (Jr does not 
 my little Zillah care enough for me /or that?" 
 ' At this the warm-hearted girl flung her arms 
 around him once more and kissed him, ond burse 
 into tears. 
 
 "Dear father!" she mnnnnred. 
 And from that moment perfect confidence and 
 love exigod |>etween these two. 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 bis lett^ to Ua ftther were half familiar, half 
 filial; a mixture of love and goud-fellowshin 
 showing a sort of union, so to speak, of the son 
 with the younger brother. They were full of 
 humor also, and made up of descriptions of life 
 in the East, with all. its varied wonders. Be- 
 
 sides this, Our happened to be stationfd'at thw 
 very pllce where General Pomeroy had been 
 
 CHAPTER Xn 
 
 • OORRESrONDBNOI. 
 
 Time sped mpidly and uneventfully by. Ghy'g 
 letters from India formed almost the only break 
 in the monotony of the household. Zillah soon 
 found herself, against her will, sharing in the 
 general eagerness respecting these letters. It 
 would have been a very strong mind in deed, or 
 
 -•veiyobdmrtrhant, whleh weldliave remain- 
 ed unmoved pt £(»d Chetwynde's delight when 
 he received hii boyW^letters. Their advent was 
 iiMo the Hegim from which every thing in the 
 family dated. Apart, however, from the halo 
 which surrounded these letters they were inter- 
 Mting in (kemielvei. Our wrtte easily and well. 
 
 Resident for so muny years ; «n4.he himself h^ 
 command of one of the hill stations whpre Zillah 
 herself had once Iteen sent to pass the summer 
 These places of which Guy's letters treated posl 
 sessed for her a peculiar interest, surrounded as 
 they were by some of the pleasantest associations 
 of her life ; and thus, from very, many causes, it 
 happened that she gradually came to take an in- 
 terest in thes$ letters which'increased rather than 
 diminished. ' ., ~ 
 
 In one of these there hod once come a note in- 
 closed to ZiUah, condoling with her on her fa- 
 ther's death. It was manly and sj-mpathetic 
 ond not at all stiff. Zillah had received it when 
 her bitter feelings Were in the ascendant, and did 
 I not think of answering it until Hilda «rged on 
 ; her the necessity of doing so. It is just possible 
 ; that if Hilda had made use of different arguments ■ 
 she might have persuaded Zillah to send some 
 sort of an answer, if only to pltese the EarL 
 i The arguments, however, which she did use hap- 
 pene^^ to be singularly iU chosen. The "hus- 
 brfhd ' loomed largely in them, and there were 
 very many direct allusions to marital authority. 
 i As these were Zillah's sorest points, such refer- 
 ences only served to ^cite fresK repugnance, 
 and strengthen Zillah's determination not to 
 write. Hilda, (lowever, persisted in hei» efforts : 
 nnd^the result was that finally, at the end of one 
 long and rather stormy diiicussion, Zillah pas- 
 sionately threw the letter at her, saying: 
 
 'I If you are so anxious to have it answered, 
 do it yourself. It is a worid of pities he is tiot 
 yonr husband instead of mine, you seem so iron- 
 derfuUy anxious about him." 
 
 "It js nnkind of vou to say that," replied 
 Hilda, in a meek voice, "when yon know so 
 well that my sympathy and anxiety are all for 
 yon, and you alone. -'Yon argue with me as 
 though I had tome interest in it; but what pos- 
 sible interest can it be to me?" 
 
 " Oh, well, dearest Hilda," sold 7au\ Jn- 
 stantly appeased ; " I'm always pettiih ; bat you 
 wont mind, wiU you? You never mind mv 
 wavs. / 
 
 '' I've a great mind to take yon at your woid^" 
 Mid Hilda, after a thougKtful pinnae, "and write 
 it f»r you. It ought to be answered, and yoa 
 won't ; BO why should I not do the part of a 
 friend, and answer it for you ?" 
 Zillah started, and seemed just a little nettled. • 
 "Oh, I don't oare," ahe laid, with assumed 
 indifference. "Ifyoaohoow to take th« trouble, 
 why I am sura I ought toke under obligations to 
 yon. At any rate, I etoWe glad to get rid of it 
 so long aa I have nothing to do with it. I sup- 
 po»« it mart b» done. " 
 
 Hilda made some proteirtations of her devo- 
 tion to Zillah, and some (brther converaatiM 
 followed, all of which nsnlted in thia— thaiiriAii 
 wrote the letter m iSiUak'e name, and aigned that 
 name in her ova hand, and under Zilkh's town 
 eye, and with Zillah's haU-reluctant, faa)r.pettish 
 concurrence. 
 
 /■ 
 
^^•^■f^ms' . 
 
 ther were half fnmiliar, half 
 r love and good-fellowship, 
 lion, K) to speak, of the ion 
 irother. They were full of 
 de np of descriptions of life 
 II its varied wonders. Be- 
 lened to be stationfd at the 
 ieneral Pomeroy hod been 
 ' years ; anihe himself h^d 
 he hill stations whpre Zillah • 
 n sent to pass the summer. 
 !h Guy's letters treated pos- 
 iliar interest, surrounded as 
 the pleasantest associations 
 , from very, many causes, it 
 adiially came to take an in- 
 wh|ch increased rather than 
 
 re had once come a note in- 
 doling with her on her fa- 
 s manly and .sj-mpnthetic, 
 Zillah had received it when 
 « in the ascendant, and did 
 ng it nntil Hilda jirg^ on 
 oing so. It is just piossiblq 
 e use of different arguments '>, 
 iiaded Zillah to send some 
 f only to please the EarL 
 ver, which she did use hap- 
 ly ill chosen. The "hus- 
 '_in them, and there were 
 sions to marital 'authority. 
 i so'rest points, such refer- 
 
 epccite fresh repugnance, 
 hh determination not to 
 vr, persisted in hei* efforts; 
 It finally, at the end of one 
 ny diA;ussion, Zillnh pas- 
 tter at her, saying : 
 ciou* to have it answer^, 
 % world of pities he is not 
 }f mine, ton seem so Won- 
 ;him." 
 
 ^on to say that," replied' 
 i<», "when yon kiiow so 
 IT and anxiety are all for 
 
 I Yon argtte with me as 
 ereat in it ; but what pos- 
 tome?" 
 
 Hilda," sold ZOloh, in- 
 n always pettilh ; hot yon 
 ? You never mind tty 
 
 take yon at your woid," 
 ightfnl ptinse, "and write 
 to be answered, and yoa 
 
 I not do the port of a 
 jr yon ?" 
 cmed jnst a little nettled. ' 
 
 ■he said, with assumed 
 ihooae to take th« trouble, 
 take under obligations to 
 ■dm glad to get rid of it 
 ng to do with it. I rap- 
 
 xMettotions of her dero- 
 me fhrther conTertatiOn 
 ■nited in thi»— tha^i£fa 
 i'« name, and signed that 
 and under Zillah's own 
 alf-relnctant, faalf'pettbh 
 
 bnt of this beginning there flowed results of an 
 nportnnt character, which were soon perceived 
 kvcn br Zilhih,jthongh she was forced to keep 
 her feelings to herself. Occasional notes came 
 afterward from time to time for Zillah, and were 
 Rnswered in the same way by Hilda. All this 
 %llah endured quietly, but with real repugnance, 
 irhich increased nntil the change took place in 
 ^r feelings which has been mentioned at the be- 
 |inning of this chapter, when' she' at, length de- 
 iermined to put an eqd to such an anomalous 
 Itate of things and assert 'herself. ' It was diffl- 
 |ult to, do so. She loved Hilda dearly, and 
 laced perfect confldence in her. She was too 
 .uileless to dream of any sinister motive injber 
 piend ; and ^he only difficulty of which she was 
 Vonscious was the fear that Hilda might suspect 
 he change in her feelings toward Guy. The 
 fery idea of Hilda's finding this .out alarmed her 
 ^nsitive pride, and mode her defer for a long 
 bme her intent At length, however, she felt 
 inable to de sa any longer, and determined to 
 nn the risk of discloung the state of her feei- 
 ng*. 
 
 j So one day, after the receipt^f a note to her- 
 |elf, a slight degree more friendly than usual, 
 ^e hinted to Hilda rather Aiyly that she would 
 pke to answer it herself. 
 
 " Oh, I am OS glad, darling !" cried Hilda, en- 
 hnsiastically. "It will be so much nicer for 
 ou to do it yourself. It will relieve me from 
 nbarrassment, for, after all, my position wat 
 ^Uarrnssing — writing for you always — and then, 
 bu knew, you will write Cur better letters than I 
 
 THE CBYPTOGRABt 
 
 *f 
 
 I "It will be a Heaven-bom gift, then, "returned 
 |llah, laughmg, "o« I never wrote a letter in 
 yiife." 
 
 ■" That is nothing," said Hilda. " I write for 
 lother ; bnt yon wjU be writing for yourself, and 
 hat makes ail the difference in the world, you 
 now." .J 
 
 "Well, perhaps so. Yon see, Hfldo, I have 
 pken a fancy to try my hand at it," said Zillah, 
 hnghingly, full of delight at the ease with which 
 lie had gained her desire. "You see," she 
 rent on,,«ith unusual sprightliness of manner, 
 [I got hold of a ' Complete Letter-Writer" this 
 Dommg; and the beanty, elegance, and even 
 lloqnence of those amazing compositions have" 
 » excited me that I want faf emulate them. 
 Sow it happens that Quyls the only correspond- 
 ■nt that I have, and so he must be my flrat vic- 
 
 3? *,W?«l' ^'"*'' iMghingly opened her desk, 
 irhile Hilda s dark eyes regarded her with ihup 
 »nd eager watchfulness. 
 " You must not make U too eloqiient, dear," 
 
 Md she. "Remember the very commonplace 
 fepistles that you have been giving forth in your 
 
 "Don't be atanned," laid ZiUah. "If it is 
 pt exactly like a child', first compodtion we 
 m all have great cause for thankfidaeM." 
 po sayin g she tOAk .'"* ^ ^1...^^ ^# 
 
 Uere, sold she, " is an opportunity of using 
 ome of this eUboratelv monognunmed paper 
 !.if iT' ''"^'nKP'P* «»t for me, becaml 
 sranted to see how they could worit my unpitun- 
 l«ng 'Z into a respectable cipher. They have 
 ~-de It utterly illegible, and I beUeve that it the 
 -t point to b« attainod. " I 
 
 Thus rattling on, she dated her letter, and be- 
 gan to write. She wrote as far as 
 
 "My dbab Got."— Then she stopped, and 
 redd it aloud.—" This is really getting most ex- 
 citing," she said, in high good-humor. "Now 
 what comes next ? To find a beginning— there's 
 the rub. I must turn to my ' Complete Letter- 
 ♦^nter.' Lfet me see. 'Letter from a Son at 
 Schoor—tbtkt won't do. 'From a Lady to It 
 Lover returning a Miniature'— nor that. ' Fr<^ 
 a Stii^ requesting to be allowed to pay his at. ' 
 tenUons to a Lady' — worse and worse. ' From 
 a Father declining the application of a Suitor for 
 his Laughter's AancT— absurd ! Oh, here we 
 WKr-i'From a Wife to a Husband who is absent 
 on urgent business.' Oh, listen, Hilda!" and 
 Zillah read : 
 
 " ' Beloved and honobed Husband,- 7%* 
 grief which wrung my heart at your dejiarture has 
 been mitigated by the deBghf which I experienced 
 at the receipt of your most welcome letters. ' Isn't 
 that delightful? Unluckily his departure didn't 
 wring my heart,«t all, and, worse still, I haya 
 no grief at his absence to be mitigated ty his^etl 
 ters. Alas I I'm afraid mine must be an ex- 
 ceptional cose, for even my 'Complete Letter- ' 
 Writer,' my vade-mecum, which goes into such 
 charming details, can not help me. After all I 
 suppose I must use my own poor brains.'^ 
 
 After all this 'nonsense Zillah suddenly grew 
 serious. Hilda seiemed to understand the cause 
 of her extravagant voktility, and watched her 
 closely. Zillah began to write, and went on 
 rapidly, without a moment's hesitation ; without 
 any signs whatever of that childish inexperience 
 at which «he had hinted. Her pen flew over the 
 I»per with a speed which «eemed to show that 
 she had plenty to say, and knew perfectly well 
 how to siy It. go she went on untU she had 
 filled two pages, and was proceeding to the third. 
 Then an exclamation from Hilda caused her to 
 look up. 
 
 "My dear Zillah," cried HUda, who was sit- 
 tong m a chair a little behind her, "what in the 
 world are you thinking of? From this disunoe 
 I can distinguish your somew&t peculiar calig^ 
 raphy— with its bold down strokes and decided 
 'character,' that people talk about. Now, at 
 you know that I write a little, cramped, German 
 han^, you will have to imitate my humble hand- 
 writing, or else I'm afraid Captain Molyneux 
 win be thoroughly puzzled— unless, indeed, you 
 tell liim that you have been employing an aroaa- 
 nensis. That will require a good deal of ex- 
 planation, but—" she added, after a thoughtftil 
 pause, f'l dara say it will be the- best in the 
 and." 
 
 At these word^ Zilhih started, dropped her 
 pen, and eat looking at Hilda perfectly aghast 
 .' "I never thought of that," she muinlured, 
 and sat iri^h an expression of the deepest dejec- 
 tion. At length a long sigli eteaped her> 
 
 "You are right, Hilday" she stid. "Of 
 cobne it wi ll need explanation ^ but how i« it 
 pjBlbte to do dwtlna letter? It cant be dofls;' 
 At least I can't do it What shall I do ?" 
 
 She was silent, and sot for a long time, look- 
 ing deeply vexed and disaf^nted. 
 
 '* Of course," sh« said at last, " he will have 
 to know all when he comes back ; but that ia 
 nothing. How utterly stupid it was in me not 
 ta think of the diffennce in car writing J Aiti 
 
 : I. 
 
 'I 
 
 %• 
 
48 
 
 THE CRYPWOBAM. 
 
 novi| 1 snppose I mnst give np my idea of writing 
 a letter. It is really hard— ^I have not a. single 
 correspondent." ' 
 
 Her deep disappointment, her vexation, and 
 . hcf feeble attempt to conceal her emotions, were 
 not lost upon the watchful JMMit. But the lat- 
 ter showed no signs that |Hftad noticed any 
 tflng. ^ / ' 
 
 " Oh, don't give it up !" she answered, with 
 ap|parent e«gomes8. " I dare say yon fan copy 
 my hand accurately enoug|(.^ avoid detection. 
 Here is a note I wrote yestoday. See if you 
 cfln't imitate that, and make ydur writing as like 
 mine as possible." 
 
 iSo saying she drew a note 
 and handed it to Ziilah. The 
 
 gerlv, and bpgan to tir to imilj 
 strokes shoW^d her the 
 
 om her pocket 
 .her took it ea- 
 
 it, but a few 
 mpossibility of 
 
 own the pen, 
 
 aean by what you 
 
 reproachfully that 
 At once her disap- 
 
 he utter 
 auch an undervaluing. She th 
 •nd leaning her hdad upon her Hand, sat looiung 
 upon the floor in deeper dejectiqn than ever. 
 
 "I can't copy such horrid camped letters," 
 «he said, pettishly ; " why shoulijl you write such 
 a hand ? Besides, I feel as if I vero really forg- 
 ing, or doing something dreadfiip. I suppose," 
 ■he added, with unconcealed bittlpmess of tone, 
 ".we shall have to go on as wo began, and you 
 must be Ziilah Molyneux for som^ time longer." 
 
 HildK laughed. I 
 
 "Talk of forging!" she said.^t "What is 
 forging if that is not? But really, Ziilah, dar- 
 ling, vou seem to me to show more feeling about 
 this than I ever supposed yoiu could possibly bo 
 capable of. Are you-avc& that your tone is 
 somewhat bitter, and that Qf I were sensitive I 
 might feel hurt? Do yot 
 said to lay any blame to m< 
 
 She spoke so sadly ani 
 Zillah's heart smote her. 
 pointment and vexation vanished at the thought 
 that she had spoktsn unkindly to her friend. 
 
 "Hilda!" she cried, "yon can not think that I 
 am capable of such ingratitude. You have most 
 generously given me your services all this time. 
 You have been right, from the very first, and I 
 have been wrong. You have taken a world of 
 trouble to obviate the difllcnlties which my own 
 obstinacy and temper have caused. If any ^rou- 
 ble could possibly ariae, I only could be to blame. 
 But, after all, none can arise. I'm sure Cap- 
 tain Molyrieux will very readily believe that I 
 disliked him too much when he first went away 
 to dream of writing to him. He certainly had 
 mery reason for thinking so." 
 
 "Shall you tell him that?" said Hilda, mild- 
 ly, without referring to Zillah's apologies. 
 
 "Certainly I shall," said Ziilah, "if the op- 
 portimity ever arises. The simple truth is al- 
 ways the easiest and the best. I think he is al- 
 ready as well aware as he can be of that fact ; 
 •nd, after all, why should I, or how could I, have 
 liked him under the circumstances % I knew no- 
 thing of him whatever; and every thing— yes, 
 .•very thinfc was against him." 
 
 XouJcnpw,no more of him now,"i»id Hil- 
 da; "and yet, though you are very reticent on 
 the subject, I have a shrewd suspicion, my dar- 
 ling, that you do not dislike him.^' 
 
 As she spoke she looked earnestly at Zilhih as 
 if to read her inmost sonl. 
 
 Ziilah was conscions of that sharp, close scm- 
 ^y, and blushed crimson, as this question whiph 
 
 thus concerned her most sacred feelings wai 
 brought home to her so suddenly. But she an- 
 swered, as lightly as fllie could : 
 
 " How can you say that, or even hint at it? 
 Ho^ absurd you are, Hilda! I know no more 
 of hifti now than I knew before. Of course I 
 hear very much about him at Chetwynde, but 
 what of that ? He certainly pervades the whole 
 atmosphere of the house. The one idea of Lord 
 Chetwynde is Guy; and as for Mrs. Hart, I think 
 if ho wished to use her for a target she would be 
 delighted. ,I)eath at such hands wohld be bliss 
 to her. She treasures up every word he has ever 
 spoken, from his earliest infancy to the present 
 day. " 
 
 " And I suppose that is enough to account for M 
 the charm which you seem to find in her society," 
 rejoined Hilda. ' " It has rather puzzled me, I 
 confess. For my own part I have never been 
 able to break through the reserve which Klie 
 chooses to throw around her. I can not get' 
 beyond the barest civilities with, her, though 
 I'm sure I've tried to win her good-will more 
 than I ever tried before, which is rather strange, 
 for, after all, there is no reason whatever why I 
 should try any thing of the kind. She seems to 
 have a very odd kind of feeling toward me. iSiie 
 looks at me sometimes so strangely that she pos- : 
 itively gives me an uncomfortable feeling. Mie j 
 seems frightened to death if my dress brushes 
 against hers. She shrinks away. I believe she 
 is not sane. In fact, I'm sure of it." 
 
 ' ' Poor old Mrs. Hart 1 ", said Ziilah. " I sup- 
 pose she does seem a little odd to yon ; hut I ; 
 know her well, and I assure you she is as far re- i 
 moved from insanity as I am. Still she is un- i 
 doubtedly queer. Do you know, Hilda, she seems % 
 to me to have had some terrible sorrow which hni 
 crushed all her spirit and almost^,.her very lite. 
 I have no idea whatever of her pasflife. She ii j 
 very reticent. , She never even so much as hiim i 
 at it" 
 
 "I dare say she has very good reasons," in- 
 terrupted Hilda. 
 
 ♦'Don't talk that way ^bont her, dear Hilila. I 
 You are too ill-natured, and I can't bear to have { 
 ill-natured things said abouHi^e dear old tiling. ] 
 You don't know her.as I dof or you would never 
 Ulkso." 
 
 "Oh, Ziilah— really— yon feel my little pleas- j 
 antries t^ much. It was only a thoughtless re- : 
 mark." ' 
 
 "She seems to me," said ZilUh, mnsinglr, , 
 after a thoughtful silence, "to be a veir — veW ;| 
 mysterious person. -Though I love her dearlr, I \ 
 see that there is some mystety about her. What- j 
 ever her histoi;y may be she is evidently far above 
 her present position, for when she does allow her- 
 self to talk she has the manner and accent oft j 
 refined lady. Yes, there is a deep mystery abogi 
 her, which is ntteriy beyond mv comprehension. 
 I remember onc« when she had been talking for | 
 a long time about Guy and his wonderful quali- 
 ties, I suddenly happened to ask her some trivial | 
 
 tfUSSBUUIl nutnlfc ttCT UUS UCIUCO •QoCMUO iO V'MI* 
 
 wynde ; but she looked at me so wUd and fright- 
 ened, that she really startled me. I was so ter- 
 rified that I instantly changed the conversation, I 
 and rattled on so as to give her time to rccorti I 
 herself, and prevent her from discovering nj| 
 feelings." 
 * ' Why, how veiy romantic !" said Hilda, will I 
 
 * .Wi'-.Ais.lt..'' 
 

 T^^fi"i 
 
 r most sacred feelings wu 
 r 10 luddenly. But she un- 
 it tllie could : 
 
 nay that, or even liint at it? 
 «, Hilda 1 I know no more 
 knew before. Of course I 
 but him at Chetwynde, but 
 certainly pervades the whole 
 ouse. 'rhe one idea of Lord 
 and OS for Mrs. Hart, I think 
 ler for a target she would be ,» 
 It such bands wolild be bliss m 
 ■ea up evei7 word he has ever W 
 rliest infancy to the present 
 
 that is enough to account for ,o 
 I seem to find in her society," 
 It has rather puzzled me, I 
 >wn part I have never been 
 ugh the reserve which she 
 round her. I can not get' 
 civilities witl^her, though 
 to win her good-will more 
 bre, which is rather strange, 
 is no reason whatever why I 
 ; of the kind. She seems to 
 I of feeling toward me. ^^he 
 les so strangely that she pos- 
 uncomfftrtable feeling, ^he 
 I death if my dress brushes 
 ihrinks away. I believe «he 
 t, I'm sure of it." 
 lartr'saidZiUah. "Isnp-^ 
 a little odd to yon ; but I 
 [ assure you she is os far re- 
 y as I am. Still she is un- _, 
 
 yon know, Hilda, she seems M 
 me terrible sorrow which hiu 
 it and almo8t<t.her very life. 
 ever of her past life. She ii i 
 never even so much as liinti ; 
 
 has very good reasons," 
 
 way ^bont her, dear Ilildiv i 
 red, and I can't bear to Imve | 
 id abouH^e dear old iliinj. 
 OS 1 4o( or you would never I 
 
 lly — you feel my little picas- j 
 Lt was only a thoughtless re- 
 
 le," said Zillah, musingk, 
 ilence, "to be a veiy — veir 
 Though I love her deorl.v,! : 
 
 1 mystery about her. Wlmt- ' 
 be she is evidently far above 
 for when she does allow her 
 the manner and accent of a 
 here is a deep mystery abuui | 
 beyond my comprehension, 
 ten she had been talking for 
 uy and bis wonderful quali- 
 lened to ask her some trivial | 
 20 DCtorawM~€anie to Ohet^ 
 Bd at me so wild and fright- 
 startled me. I was so ter- 
 
 r changed the conversation, I 
 
 to give her time to recovei I 
 
 i her from discovering njl 
 
 romanUc !" said Hilda, wilt 
 
 1| y^ THE CRYPTOGRAM. 49 
 
 a smile. «• Yon seem, (l^inlBnch circumstances, n6tes which went in her name. And what fault 
 to have brought your#^lf to consider our very ^as there? To Mrs. Hart, whose whole Ufe was 
 
 [prosaic housekeeper as aliaost a princess in dis- 
 Iguise. I, for my port, look- upon her as a very 
 I common person, s^ wew-jainded, to say the 
 Jleast, OS to be amsst hslf-witted. As to her 
 ■accent, that is notlung. I dare say she has seen 
 ■better days. <1 ha%e heard more than once of 
 ■ladies in destitute or reduced circumstances who 
 ■have been obligad to'take to housekeeping. Aft- 
 lerall, it is not bod^ ' Ijn sure it must be far bet- 
 Iter than being.a governess." 
 
 "Well, if I am roinantic, you are certkhily 
 prosaic enough. At all events I love Mrs. Hdrt 
 dearly. But 'come,, Hilda, if you are going to 
 vrite you most do so at once, for the letters are 
 '3 be |K)sted this afternoon." 
 
 Hilda instantly wept to the desk and began 
 Jier tnsk. Zillqji, however, went away. Her 
 ■chagrin And disappointment were so great that 
 [she conld not stay, and she even refused after- 
 HTosd to look at the note which Hilda Bhow^« 
 her. In fact, after that she would never look at 
 Ithem nt all. 
 
 Some time after this Zillah and Mrs. Hart 
 irere together on one of those frequent occasions 
 srhich they made use of for confidential inter- 
 iviews. Somehow Zillah had turned the conver- 
 ation froth Guy in person to the subject of her 
 orrespondence, and gradually told all to Mrs. 
 lart. At this she looked deeply shocked and 
 rieved. 
 
 'That girl," she said, "has some secret mo- 
 ..j." 
 
 She spoke with a bitterness which Zillah had 
 pever before noticed in her. 
 
 "Secret motive!" she repeated, in wpnder; 
 ' what in the world do yon mean ?" 
 
 "She is bod and deceitful," said Mrs. Hart, 
 >ith energy; "yon are tmsting your life and 
 ponor in the hands of a false friend." 
 Zillah started back and looked at Mrs. Hart 
 I Atter wonder. ^ 
 
 "I know,',' said she at lost, "that yon don't 
 Kke Hilda, but I feel hurt when yon use such 
 ^ngnage about her. She is my oldest and dearest 
 Hend. She is my sister virtually. I have known 
 |er all my life, and know her to her heart's core, 
 ■he is incapable of any dishonorable action j and 
 'he loves me like herself." 
 1 All Ziliah's enthusiastic generosity was aroiued 
 n defending against Mrs. Hart's charge a friend 
 hom she' so dearly loved. 
 I Mrs. Hart sadly shook her head. 
 I "My dear child," said she, "yon know I 
 fould not hurt your feelings for the world. I 
 im sorry. I will say nothing more about ker, 
 ■nee you love her. But don't yon feel that yon 
 re in a very false position ?" 
 "But whot can I do ? There is the dlfflcnlty 
 hbout the handwriting. And then it has oone 
 bn so long." " 
 
 i« "^''.^.'"''••"■^•"'"""^^""JdMn.Hart, 
 f " and tell him evArv thin g, » ^ 
 
 boond up in Guy, it was impossible to look at this 
 matter except as to how it affected hj^. But 
 Zillah had Other feelings— other memories. The 
 very proposal to write a "confession" fired her 
 heart with stem indignation. At once all her 
 resentment was roused. Memoiy brought back 
 again in vivid Colon that hidisons mockery of k 
 marriage over the death-bed of her fiuber, with 
 reference to which, in spite of her changed feel-' 
 ings, she had never ceased to think that it might 
 have been avoided, and ought to have been. Could 
 she stoop to confess to this man any thing what- 
 ~ever? Impossible! 
 
 Mnt Hart did not know Ziliah's thoiights. She 
 supposed she was trying tp find a way to extri- 
 cate herself from her difflcolty. 80 she made 
 one further suggestion. 
 
 ' ' Why not teU all to Lord Caietwynde ? Sure-' 
 Iv you ain do that easUy enoM^ Ho will un- 
 derstand all, and explun olL" 
 
 " I can not, ''^ said ZaSUk, coUB^, " It would 
 be doubting my friend— the lorin^ friend who is 
 to me the same as a sister — who i* Qsi only com- 
 panion I have ever had. She is the one thot I 
 love dearest on earth, and, to do any tUng apart 
 from her is impossible. Yon do not know heiw 
 I do^-ond I love her. For her I would give n* 
 every other friend." 
 
 At this Mrs. Hart looked sadly away, and 
 then the matter of tl;e letters ended. It woa 
 never again brought up-. 
 
 ^ ,~ .jvenri 
 
 Zillah shook her IimuL' 
 
 "Well, then— will yon let mo?" 
 I ,' ' ^°7 c«n I ? No ; it must bo done by my- 
 fse f-if It ever Is done; and aa to writing ft my- 
 I self— I can not." ' 
 
 Such a thought wos indeed abhorrent After 
 I a 1 It seemed to her in itself nothing. She om- 
 [ployed an amanuensis to cotfigMo those formal 
 D 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 MHEBOT CO0HT BBVIglTKD. 
 
 Over a year had passed awi^ unce ZiUah had 
 come to live at Chetwynde Castle, and slie had 
 como at length to find her new home almost as 
 dear to her as the old one. Still that old home 
 was far from l)eing foigotten. At fi^ she never 
 mentionedit; butatl«ngth,astheyearapproBc1i* 
 ed Its close, there come over her a great longing 
 to revisit the did phtce, so dear to her heart and 
 so well remembered. She hinted to Lord Chet- 
 wynde what her desires were, and the Earl show- 
 ed unfeigned deli|^t at finding that ZiUah's grief 
 had become so &r mitigated as to allow her to 
 think of such n thing. 80 he ui^ her by all 
 means to go. 
 
 " But of conrso Ton can't go jnst yet," said ho. 
 ' ' You must wait till May, when the place will bo 
 at its best. Just now, at the end of March, it 
 will be too edd and damp." 
 
 "And yon will go with me-^will yon not?" 
 pleaded Zaiah. / u«r 
 
 "If I can, my child; bnt yoi know Tory well 
 that I am not able to stand the fetigne of trav- I 
 oUng." > 
 
 " Oh, bnt yon ranst make an offort and tiy to 
 Jtaaditthir ttmo.— ^qa moi heortfr go awmr - 
 and leave von behind." 1, 
 
 Lord Ghetwvnde lookOckofl^tiaiMtely down 
 at the fkce which was upturned so tovin^^y to- 
 ward hi^ and prAmised to go if bo coold. So 
 the weeks passed away; bnt when May came ho 
 had a severe attack of gout, and though Zillah 
 waited through «U the month, until the severity 
 of the disease had rekixed, yet tho Eail did not 
 
 r 
 
60 
 
 THE CRyPTOGKAM. 
 
 o 
 
 find himiQir aUo to undertake mch a jonrney. 
 ZUtah wu therefore compelled either to give up 
 the vi«t or elw to go without him. She decided 
 to do the latter. Roberts accompanied her, and 
 her inaid Mathilde. Hilda too, of course, went 
 
 'i-,.?' ^^ ^ ^'^ •' *"" " P^t » pleasure as 
 'to Zillah to visit the old pkce, and ZiUah would 
 not have dreamed of going any where without 
 her. 
 
 PomeroT Court looked very much as it had 
 looked while Zillah was living there. It had 
 been well and even scrupulously cared for. ITie 
 grounds around showed marks of the closest at- 
 tention. Inside, the old housekeeper, who had 
 remained after the General's death, with some 
 •ervB^^hadpreserved every thing in perfect or- 
 oer, Ad nr^te the same state as when the 
 (^neral was living. This perfect preservation 
 of the past struck Zillah most painfully. As she 
 ■eijtwed, the intermediate penod of her life at 
 Chetwynde seemed to fade away. It was to her 
 as though she were still living in her old home. 
 She half expected to see the form of hir father 
 In thf hall. The consciousness of her true posi- 
 tion Wa» Violently forced upon her. With the 
 sharpness of the impression which was made 
 upon her bv the unchanged appearance of the 
 old home, there came another none less sharp. 
 If Fomeroy Court brought back to her the recol- 
 tection of the happy days once spent there, but 
 now gone forever, it also brought to her mind the 
 raUconscionsnessofherloiw. To her it was tn- 
 /«!flaiMi rmoMre dobmt. She walked in * deep 
 melancholy through the dear fiuniliu- rooms. 
 »ne lingered in profound abstraction and in the 
 oeepest sadness over the mournful reminders of 
 ttepast. She lo(Aed over aU the old home ob- 
 J«Ji, stood in the old places, and sat in the old 
 — " Sh» walked in silence thna^ aU the 
 
 house, and finally went to her own old room, so 
 loved, 80 well rernemborcd. As she Crossed the 
 threshold and looked around she felt her strength 
 give way. A great sob escaped her, and sinking 
 into a chair where she once used to sit in hai^ 
 pier days, she gave herself up to her recollections 
 For n, long time she lost herself in these. Hilda 
 had loft her to herself, as though her delicacy 
 had prompted her not to intrude upon her friend 
 at such a moment ; and Zillah thought of this 
 with a feeling of grateful affection. At length 
 she resumed to some) degree her calmness, and 
 summoning up all her strength, she went at last 
 to the chamber where that dread scene had been 
 enacted— that scene which seemed to her a double 
 tragedy— that scene which had burned itself in 
 her memory, combining 'the horror of the death 
 of her dearest friend with the ghastly &rce of a 
 forced and unhallowed marriage. In tbatiilace 
 a full tide of misery rushed over her soul. She 
 broke down utterly. Chetwynde Castle, the EarL 
 Mrs. Hart, all were forgotten. The past faded 
 away utterly. This only was Aer true home— 
 this place darkened by a cloud wfflch might never 
 be dispelled. 
 
 "Oh, papal Oh, papal" she moaned, and 
 flung herself upon the bed where he had breath- 
 ed his last 
 
 But her sorrow now, though overwhelming 
 had changed from its old vehemence. This 
 change had been wrought in Zilhih— the old, un- 
 reasoning passion had left her. A real afflic- 
 tion had brought out, by its gradual renovating 
 aniycreative force, all the good that was in 
 her. That .the uses of; adversity are sweet, is a 
 hackneyed ShakspeareaAism, but it is forever 
 true, and nowhere was iu truth more fully dis- 
 played than here. Formerly it happened that 
 an ordinary check in the way of her desires was 
 sufficient to send her almost into eonvulsions; 
 but now, in the presence of her great calamity' 
 she had learned to bear with patience all the or- 
 dinary ills of life. Her father had spoiled her ; 
 by his death she had become regenerate. 
 
 ITiis tendency of her nature toward a purer 
 and loftier standard was intensified by her visit 
 to Pomeroy Court. Over her spirit there came 
 a profounder earnestness, cau^ from the solemn 
 scenes in the midst of which shMtand herself. 
 Sorrow had subdued and qnietec^e wild im- 
 pulsive motions of her soul This renewal of 
 that sorrow in the very place of itt birth, deep- 
 ened the effect of ita first presence. Thw visit 
 did more for her inteUectnal and spirltnalgrowth 
 than the whole past year at Chetwynde Castle. 
 They spent about a month here. Zillah, who 
 had formerly been so talkative and restiesa, now 
 showed plainly the fhllness pf the change that 
 had come over her. She had grown into a Ufa 
 far more serious and thoughtful than any which 
 she had known before. She had ceased to be a 
 giddy and unreasoning girl She had become a 
 calm, grave, thoughtful wcnnan. But her calm- 
 ness and gravity and thong^tfolness were all un- 
 derlaid and interpenetra ted l^the fervid vehe- 
 
 mence of her iuteiiie iMmutiaSISt^ BeneaOi 
 the Enfdish. exterior lay, deep wiUiin her, the 
 Hioda blood. She was of that sort which can 
 be calm in ordinary lifb— so calm «a to conceal 
 utterly all ordinary workings of tiie ft«tfnl soul; 
 but which, in the face of any great excitement, 
 or in the presence of any great ymmg, iriU be all 
 
 -Mv 
 
^ / 1'*'^^ "** ^ ' 
 
 ■ent to her own old room, so 
 nborcd. As she Crossed the 
 1 around she felt her strengtli 
 sob escaped her, and sinking 
 ■he once used to sit in hop- 
 lerself up to her recollections, 
 lost herself in these. Hilda 
 self, as though her delicacy 
 3t to intrude upon her friend' 
 and Zillah thought of this 
 ■ateful affection. At length 
 
 6 degree her calmness, and 
 ar strength, she went at last 
 ■e that dread scene had been 
 irhich seemed to her a double 
 which had burned itself in 
 ling the horror of the death 
 I with the ghastly farce of a 
 Bd marriage. In tbat^loce 
 rushed over her soul. She 
 Chetwynde Castle, the Earl, 
 forgotten, The past faded 
 ohly was^r true hontie— 
 y a cloud wm ch might never 
 
 papal" she moaned, and 
 B bed where he had breath- 
 
 Dw, thoagh overwhelming, 
 its old vehemence. This 
 ight in ZilUh— the old, nn- 
 id left her. A real afflic- 
 , by its gradual renovating 
 nil the good that was in 
 of adversity are sweet, is a 
 reaAism, but it is forever 
 IS its truth more fully dis- 
 ^rmerly it happened that 
 the way of her desires was 
 ' almost into Convulsions; 
 nee of her great calamity, 
 \r with patience all the or- 
 er father had spoiled her; 
 become regenerate, 
 ler nature toward a purer 
 vas intenaified bv her visit 
 Dver her ■piril there came 
 M, caught from the solemn 
 f which BhApond herself, 
 and aniete^he wild im- 
 ir lOttL Thia renewal of 
 
 7 place of iu birth, deep- 
 first presence. This visit 
 Bctual and spirituatgrowdi 
 lar at Chetwynde Castle, 
 month here. ZiUah, who 
 talkative and restless, now 
 llness of the change that 
 She had grown into a life 
 houghtful than any which 
 
 She had ceased to be a 
 ; girL Bhe had become s 
 I woman. But her calm- 
 hong^tfolness were all un- 
 mted by the fervid vehe- 
 Mentinuifim. Beneath 
 lay, deep within her, the 
 |s of that sort which can 
 'e — so calm as to conceal 
 rkings of the fitful sonl; 
 of any great excitement, 
 ly great wiona^ will be aU 
 
 oronvhelmed and trai)^fbrmed into a furious tor- 
 nado of passionate rckgcL 
 
 ZiUah, tliuf'filent and meditative, and so 
 changed 6«m her old self; might well hove 
 awakened the^^onder of her friend. Uut what- 
 ever Hilda may have thought, and whatever 
 wonder she ipy have felt^ she kept it all to her- 
 self; for she was naturally reticent, and so seci»- 
 tive that she never expressed in words any feel- 
 ings which she might have about things that 
 went on around her. If Zillah chose to stay by 
 iherself, or to sit in her company without speak- 
 ing a word, it was not in Hilda to question her 
 or to remonstrate with her. She rather chose 
 Ito accommodate herself to the temper of her 
 Ifriend. She could also be meditative and pro- 
 inandlv silent. While Zillah had been taJka- 
 Mve, she had talked with her; now, in her si- 
 [lence, she rivaled her as well. She could follow 
 Zilkih in all herteoods. 
 
 At the end of a month they returned to Chet- 
 wynde Castle, and resumed the life which they 
 -had been leading there. Zillah's new mood 
 , seemed to Hilda, and to others also, to last much 
 longer than any one of those many mObds in 
 |which she had indulged bef^. But this proved 
 Ito be more than a mood, jft was a change. 
 : The promise which she haa given to the Eari 
 she had tried to fulfill most conscientiously. She 
 uneally had striven as much a8{X)ssible to "study. " 
 "?hat better understanding, bom of affection, 
 rhich had arisen between them, had formed a 
 lew motive within her, and rendered her capa- 
 )le of something like application. But it was 
 lot until after her visit to Pomeroy , Court that 
 he showed any effort that was at all adequate to 
 le purpose before her. The change that then 
 ime over her seemed to have given her a new 
 (ontrol over herself. And so it was that, at last, 
 he hours devoted to her studies were filled up 
 >y efforts that were really earnest, and also really 
 iffective. ' 
 
 Under these circumstances, it happened that 
 lillah Ijegan at last to engross GuaftJer's atten- 
 ion altogether, during the whole of the time al- 
 nted to her ; and if he had sought ever so eam- 
 itly, he could not have found any opportunity 
 ir a private interview with Hilda. What her 
 rishes might be was not visible ; for, whether she 
 rish^ it.or not, she did not, in any way, show 
 ' She was alwavs the same-cahn, cool, civU, 
 her music-teacher, and devoted to her own 
 lare of the studies. Those little "asides" in 
 iich they had once indulged were now out of 
 ' question; and, even if a favorable occasion 
 ansen, Goaltier would not have ventured 
 m the undertaking. He, for hU part, could 
 ot poMibly know her thoughts: whether she 
 'as still c lenshing her old designs, or had given 
 lem up altogether. He wnld only sUfle hU im- 
 itience, and wait, and watch, and wait. But 
 low was It with her? Was she, too, watchins 
 Md waiting for some opportunity ? He thought 
 f«o. But with whayaim, or for what purpoSi? 
 was ,heita.rf2^lft,rtii»»^^S 
 
 THE GRXPtoobAM. 
 
 told him this most plainly. It seemed to liim 
 to say : Wait, wait, wait ; whei? the time comes, 
 ihave that to say which you will be ghtd to 
 learn. What it might be he knew not, nor could 
 he conjecture ; but he thought that it might stUl 
 "rfu^ the secret of that mysterious cipher 
 which had baffled them both. ^ 
 
 Thus these two watched and waited. Months 
 passed away, but no opportunity for an interview 
 v*^!*: .^/ ''°"'^' '^ ""<•* •»«d been reckless, or - 
 If It had been absolutely necessary to have one, 
 she could easily have arranged it. The park was 
 wide, full of lonely paths and sequestered re- 
 treats, where meetings could have been had 
 qmte free from aU danger of observation or in- 
 terruption. She needed only to slip a note into 
 his hand- telling him to meet her at some place 
 there, and he would obey her wUls But Hilda 
 did not «*oose to do any thing of^the kind. 
 Whatever hhe did could only be done by herin 
 strict acoHince with U$ convenance: She 
 would have waited for qionths before she would 
 consent to cbnipromise herself so far a»to solicit 
 a stolen inteihiew. It was not the dread of dis- 
 covery, howArer, that deterred her; for, in a 
 place like Chitwvnde, that need not have been 
 feared, and if she had been so disposed, she 
 could have ha4,an interview with Gualtier eveir 
 week, which no one woidd have found out. tH 
 thing which deterred her was something very 
 different from this. It was her own priMft. Site 
 could not humble herself so far as to do this: " 
 Such an act would be to descend from the p<Jd- 
 tion which she at present occupied in his eyes. 
 To compromise herself, or in any way put herself 
 in his power, was impossible for one likp her. " 
 
 It was not, however, from any thing like moial 
 cowardice that she held aloof from making an 
 interview with him; noy was it from any thing 
 like conscientious scruples « nor yet from maid- 
 enly modesty. It arose, most of all, from pridei 
 and also from a profound perception e^ the ad- 
 vantages enjoyed by one who fulfiUed^all that 
 might be demanded by the proprieties of life 
 Iier aim was to see Gualtier under ciieamstancea 
 that were unimpeachable— in the room where be ' 
 had a right to come. To do mora than this 
 might lower herself in his eyes, and m. ^,^ h\n 
 presumptuous. ' 
 
 *> 
 
 ^ on her mi^eh S;:;SK^CJi- 
 cate to him he knew weU ; for it had at Uut hao- 
 pened that Hilda had chknged to^SnelS 
 
 I from her cool and undemonstratiTe manfiar^e 
 encountered sometimes-ror thought that he en- 
 conn'ered-an oirnest gtance which she thi«w 
 
 I at him» on greeting him, fuU of meaning; wwSh 
 
 CHAPTEB XIV. 
 
 HBW DISCOrBBIBS. 
 
 At last the opportunity came for which ther 
 had waited so long. 
 
 For many months ^hdi's appUcatiim to her 
 studies had beem incessant, and the Earl bMan 
 to notice signs of weariOHi in heC. His con- 
 science smote hinoi, and his anzieQr was anrased. 
 He had recovered horn his gont,lahd as lie iUt 
 particubuiy well he determined totake aUab on 
 a long drive, thinking that thj»^hang» woald be 
 
 ^BAeffciid toii^. ^henitio (aar thju he bad 
 brought too great a preafSre to bear on her, and 
 that she in her newi-hishi seal for stody mUht 
 carry bs^plielf-deyotioii'too fitr, and do tomeb- 
 jnry tr her health. Hilda declined going, ud 
 ^Uah and the Earl started off An- the day. 
 \ On that day Gualtier came at his nsnal boor. 
 On looking round the room he saw no signa of 
 
 
83 
 
 THE CRYPTOOI 
 
 aikh, and his eyes brightened u thev fell on 
 Uild*. « ^ 
 
 " Mn. Molynenx," laid ihe, after the niuaL >- 
 civilitiea, " haa gone out for a drive. She will ~ 
 not take her leMoiwto-day." 
 
 " Ah, well, ihalTl wait till yonr hour arrives, 
 or wiU.yon take your lesson now?" 
 
 " Oh, you need not wait, " said Hilda ; " I will 
 take my lesson now. I think I will appropriate 
 both hours." "^ 
 
 There was a glance of peculiar meaning in 
 Hildas eyes which Goaltier noticed, but he cast 
 his eyes meekly upon the floor. 11^ had an idea 
 that the long looked for revelation was about to 
 be giv^n, Jbut he did not attempt to hasten it in 
 „ any way. He was afraid that any expression Of 
 eagerness on his part might repel Hilda, and, 
 therefpre, he would not endanger his position by 
 asking for anything, but rather lyaited to receive 
 what she might volantarily offer. 
 
 Hilda, however, was not at all anxious to be 
 asked. Now that she could converse with Gual- 
 tier, and not compromise herself she had made 
 up her mind to give him her confidence. It was 
 Mfe to tal k to this nun in this room. The serv- 
 Bnts weK f(»w. They were far away. Ncrone 
 would dream of trying to listen. They were sit- 
 ting close together near the piano. < 
 
 "I have something to say to yon." said Hilda 
 •tlast 
 
 Gualtier looked at her with earnest inqnirr. 
 bnt said nothing. ^ ^ 
 
 "Yon -remember, of course, what we were 
 talking about the last time we spoke to one an- 
 other?" 
 
 "Of course, I have never forgotten that" 
 
 "It was nearly two years ago," said Hilda, 
 ^ At one time I did not expect that such a con- 
 versation could eyer be renewed. With the Gen- 
 .eral's death all need, for it seemed to be de- 
 stroyed. But now that need seems to have 
 arisen again." 
 
 " Have yoa ever deciphered the paper ?" asked 
 Goaltier. , 
 
 "Not mora than before,"iMid Hilda, "pot 
 1 have made a discovery of the Tei7 greatest 
 importance', aometbinis whiclrseiMirely ccmfirms 
 ' fS ^*'™"i' ajuptciois gathered fitMn Uie cipher. 
 Th^ are additi<Hial papers which I will Show 
 yon praaenUy, and *en yoa will see whether I 
 m right or not I merer expected to find any 
 thiiig of the kind. I tpuad them qaite by chance 
 white I was half me(thai>icaUy carrying ont my 
 M. idea. After the iGeneraTs death Iloct aU 
 interest in (he mattoii for some time, for tlrara 
 •aiBMd before me ao «a|rtienlar inducement to 
 *o OD with it Bnt this diaeovenr has changed 
 tte whole oqMct of the a<Ur. " 
 
 " What was it Oat 7<oa fonnd ?" asked Onal- 
 
 . ner, who WM M or;ciitiaMty. "Was it the 
 
 k^ to tin diriiw, «r was it a full explanation, or 
 
 wasitsoae^diffinMit?*' ' 
 
 "Thqr were certain bttws and bn«ness por 
 
 seemed t9 be set in the other like a wedge, and 
 while thif was decipherable the other Was not" 
 
 Gualtier nodded. 
 
 " Now I want yon to read again the part that 
 I deciphered," sdd Hilda, and she handed hint 
 a pieco of paper on which something was written 
 Guaitujr took it and read the following, which 
 the refcder has already seen; Each sentence was 
 numbered. 
 
 1. 6k may Ood havt mmy on my wrtielui souj 
 Amen 
 
 «. iP^'inennifarnaaXunirtdaimuanddoUaTt 
 
 tlM 
 
 ^*Uk Uiy Mary Chebaund 
 **ut tin army for aomino 
 
 then handed it 
 
 me, aU its difleriiiea ore as faunhnonntable as 
 •rar, and befora I show joa these new papers I 
 wajBt to refresh yoer tomiarj about the old ones. 
 ^ "Yon remember, fliyt of nil," said she, "the 
 " P""" character of that ciphbr writing, and of 
 my interpretotion, 'Om part that I deciphered 
 
 T. AHi 
 
 10. OlamamiiiraiUtmiin 
 
 Gualtier looked over it and 
 back. 
 
 " Yes,^' said he, " I remember, of course, for 
 {'happen to know every word of it by heart." i 
 
 " Ihat is very well,'' said Hilda, approvingly 
 "^itliow I want to remind you of the difficuL: 
 tiM it^ my interpretation before going on any fur- 
 
 " Joo remember that these were, first, the con- 
 fnsioii m the wa* of writing the name, for her* 
 there is 'O Pom^roy,' 'O N Pomeroy,' and 'N 
 Pomeroy,' in so short a document 
 
 "Next, there is the mixture of persons, the 
 writer sometimes speaking in the first person and 
 sometimes in the third, as, for instance, when he 
 say% ' O N Pomermf eloped with poor Lady 
 Chetwynde;' and then he says, 'She listened 
 to MM and ran off with me.' 
 
 " And then there are the incomplete sentences, 
 such as, 'FeU in with Lo^y Mafy Chetwynd'— 
 ' Expelled (he army for gaming. ' 
 
 "Lastly, there are two ways in which th4 
 lady's name is speUed, 'Chetwynde,' and ' Chet- 
 wynd.' 
 
 " Yon remember we decided that these might 
 be accounted tot in one of two ways. Either, 
 first, the wrilw, in copying it out, grew confused 
 m ibtmtng Ui ciidier characters ; or, secondly, 
 he framed the whole pqter with a deUbei^e pur- 
 pose to boflle and perplex." 
 
 "I remember all this," said Gualtier, quietlv. 
 " I have not forgotten it " 
 
 "TUe General's death changM the aspect of 
 afiUn so completely," said Hilda, "and mads 
 this so aKMuendy nseless, that I thought yoa 
 mi{^t have forgotten at least these minute par- 
 ti^ilars. It is necessary tx you to have these 
 things fresh in your mind, so as to regard the 
 whole subject thoroughly." 
 
 "Bnt what good will any discovenr be pow ?" 
 asked Gualtier, with unfeigned surpnse. " The 
 General is dead, 'and you can do nothing." 
 
 "The General is dead," said Hilda; "bntthe 
 tienml's daughter lives." ■ 
 
 Nothing could exceed the bitterness of tht 
 tone Jin which she uttered these Words. 
 
 -danghmrl OC, what p ossi bl e oonw i wr 
 aU dds be to her?" odced Gualtier, who 
 wished to ge^ at the bott6m of Hilda's purpose. 
 " I shodd never har<e tried to ttrike at the Gen- 
 eral, ' said Hilda, " if |ie had not had a daughter. 
 It was not him that I wished to harm, ft was 
 htr," ^ - 
 
 "And now," said Gnokiac^ after a sitenoe, 
 
 it>i- 
 
,^#fl"»% fe^ 
 
 '•e^ 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 he other like a wedge, ani] 
 tenblt the other #m not." 
 
 to read again tlie part that 
 Illda, and ihe lianded hint 
 lith tomething wa» written, 
 read the following, which 
 y seen; Each lentence was 
 
 nurey on my ur^hed nul 
 
 Aunind Ounuand doUan 
 
 '■ withpoor tody Chetwundt 
 
 ad iny/mlm tnfying 
 
 Mtfans/wOAtiM 
 
 ar h>ubemd'$ aet 
 
 fary Chetui/nd 
 
 tar gaming 
 
 rouBirItt 
 
 rtUtSn 
 
 er it and then handed it 
 
 rjr word of it by heart." 
 
 said Hilda, approvinglvj 
 remind you of the difflcuUl 
 >n before going on any fur^ 
 
 It these were, first, the con- 
 nriting the name, for here, 
 "ONPomeroy.'and 'N 
 a document 
 
 B mixture of persons, the 
 king in the first person and 
 , as, for ^tance, when he 
 
 eloped with poor Lady 
 a he says, 'She listened 
 
 me.' 
 
 I the incomplete sentences. 
 
 Lady Ma^ Chetwynd'— 
 r gaming.' 
 
 two ways in which th< 
 * Chetwynde,' and ' Che^ 
 
 1 decided that these might 
 le of two ways. Either, 
 ling it out, grew confused 
 characters ; or, secondly, 
 qier with a deliber^e par- 
 lex." 
 s,"saidGiudtier, quietly. 
 
 th changed the aspect of 
 said Hilda, "and made 
 less, that I thought yoa 
 t tout these minute par- 
 ty liir yoa to have these 
 uid, so OS to regard the 
 ly." 
 
 I any discoTerr be pow ?" 
 fUgned snrpnse. "The 
 m can do nothing." 
 d," said Hilda 5 "but the 
 I." 
 
 Bd the bitterness of the 
 id these words. 
 
 r wiiM * *»*i* *i>*i» ^■ ■■■■■■.— — 
 
 V Miked Onaltier, who 
 t6m of Hilda's purpose, 
 ^ed to ttrike at the Gen- 
 I had not had a daiwfatar. 
 rhdwd to harm. f| wsi 
 
 luaitiet, after a iilenoe, 
 
 "she is oat otjota reach. 6he Is Mrs. Moly- 
 neux. She will be the Countess of Chetwynde. 
 How can she be harmed ?' 
 
 As he spoke he looked with a swift interroga- 
 tlre glance at Hilda, and then turned away his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Trne," said Hilda, caatioasly and slowly; 
 " she is beyond my reach. Besides, you will ob- 
 serve that I was speaking of the past." I was 
 telling what I wished— not what I wish.'^' 
 
 " lliat is precisely what I understood," said 
 Gnaltier. "I only asked so as to know how 
 1 your wishesjlnow inclined. I am anxious to 
 serve you in an^ war." 
 
 I "So you have said before, and I take yon at 
 I TOur word," said Hilda, calmly. "I have once 
 before reposed confidence in yoa, and I intend to 
 I do so again. " 
 
 Gnaltier bowed, and murmured some words of 
 I grateflil acknowledgment. 
 
 'My work now, '* said Hilda, without seeming 
 I to notice bim| " is one of investigation. I mere- 
 ly wish to get to the bottom of a secret. It is to 
 I this that I have concluded to invite your assist- 
 ance." 
 
 " You are assured of that already. Miss ECrieflT,*' 
 
 said Gualtier, |n a tone of deep devotion. " Call 
 
 ' it investigation, or call it any thing you choose, 
 
 I if you deign to ask my assistance I will do any 
 
 I thing and dare any thing." 
 
 Hilda langhed harshly. 
 
 "In truth," said she, dryly, " this doe^ not re- 
 I qnirei'much daring, but it may cause tronble — it 
 I may also take up valuable time. I do hot ask 
 I for any risks, but rather for the employment <Mr 
 [the most ordinary qualities. Patience aind per 
 [severance will do all that I wish tio have 
 rdone." 
 
 " I am sonpr. Miss KriefF, diat there u notUag 
 
 li^oro than this. I should prefer to (o on some 
 
 Enterprise of danger for yoor sokeb" 
 
 He laid a strong emphans on these last words, 
 
 I but Hilda did not seem to notice it. I^e cqb- 
 
 I tinned, in a calm tone : 
 
 ' All this is talkfaigia the dark. Imnstex- 
 
 I phiin myself instead of talking round about the 
 
 I subject. To begin, then. Since our'lost inter- 
 
 Iview I could find out nothing whatevor that tend- 
 
 led to throw any lij^t on that mysterioas cipher 
 
 ■writing. Why it waa'-writtan, er why it shoald 
 
 |be so carefully prescjrved, I could not discover. 
 
 xhe General's death seemed tit make It useless, 
 
 knd so for a long dme I ceased to think abont it. 
 
 It was only on my last vWt to Pomeioy Court 
 
 hat it come to my mind. That was six or eight 
 
 Donths ago. 
 
 ■ 'On going there Mrs. Molynenxgiive herself _ 
 np to grief, and scarcely ever spoke a word. 8h(8«i, 
 I was muctt by herself and brooded over her'sor- ^ 
 ' rows. ShAspent miieh time In her fiither's room, 
 and still mei« time in solitary walks about the 
 groundl. I was much by myself. Left thus 
 alone, I rambled about the house, and one day 
 happened to go to the Genend's study. Here 
 every thing r«^n)ni^ nlmtwit fiTnftlj r n i 
 
 was here that I (band the eiplier 
 in. the cireum 
 
 to be. It 
 
 writing, uid, on vjsithng it -„-.., „„ wu«hbi- 
 stances of that discovery mrtorally suggested 
 themselves to my' mind." ' 
 
 Hilda had vanned with her theme, and spoke 
 wit.i something like recklessness as thoa^ she 
 was prepared at hist to throw awayeveiyiornide 
 
 88 
 
 and make a full confidence. The allusion to the 
 discovery of the cipher was a reminder to her- 
 self and to Gualtier of her former dishonorable 
 conduct. ^ Having once more touched u)K)n this, 
 it was easier for her to reveal new treachery upon 
 her part. Nevertheless she paused for a moment, 
 and looked with earnest scrutiny upon her com- 
 panion, lie regarded her with a look of silent 
 devotion which s^med to express any degree of 
 subserviency to her interests, and diswined ererj 
 suspicion. Reassured by this, she contihued : 
 
 "It happened that I began to examine the 
 General s. papers. It was quite accidental, and 
 afbse merely from the fact that I had nothing 
 else to do. It was almost mechanical on my 
 part. At any rate I opened the desk, and found 
 it full of documenu of all kinds which had been 
 wparently undisturbed for an indefinite period. . 
 Naturally enough I examined the drawer in which 
 I had found the cipher writing, and was able to 
 do so quite at my leisure. On first opening it I 
 found only some business papers. The cipher 
 waspo longer there. I searched among all the 
 other papers to find it, but in vain. I then con- 
 cluded that he had destroyed it. For sevwal 
 days I continued to examine that desk, but with 
 no result. It seemed to fiiscinate me. At last, 
 however, I came to the conclnsion that, nothing 
 more could be discovered. - 
 
 " All this time Mrs. Mdyneox leik me qnita 
 to myself and my search in the desX and my 
 discouragement were altogether tmknown to her. 
 After about a week I gave ap the dtwk and tore 
 nyi^ «way. Still 1 ooald not keep away ftom 
 It, and at the end of another week I retorned to 
 the search. This tin^e I went with the intention 
 of exfmining all the dnCWers, tosee if there waa 
 not some additional i4i)ce of concealment. 
 
 " It is not necessary for me to describe to rat 
 minutely the yarioas trials which I made. It is 
 quite enoagh for me now to .say that I at' hut 
 nmnd,oat uat in that verynrivate'drawar when 
 I had first discovered the dner writing there waa 
 a fake bottom of venrpecnUarconstnction. It 
 Jay close to the xeol hottom, flttfaig in very vieOf, 
 and left room only for a finr tUn pApeis. The 
 fohie bqttom and the real bottonf ii«reso thin thsit 
 no one could suniect aof tiling of die Und. 
 Something abbot flie poduon of tht dfacawer led 
 me to examine it minntely, and the idea (^a Mss 
 bottom came to my mind. I ctadd not find cot 
 the siecret of it, and it was only by tiie very mde 
 
 {irocess of prying at it with a kaifo that I at 
 ength made the discovexy." 
 She paused. ,^^'' 
 
 ;• And did yon findiSiy thing t" said'^iSLdticr, 
 eagetfy. ' 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "Papers?", • 
 
 i^'Yes. The old cipher wridn|e was t haw — ih at '• 
 iqH-concealed careintly, Jealously— donUy con-, ' 
 cealed, in fiwt Waa not this enough to show that 
 it had importance in the eyes of the roan vriio had 
 thus concealed it f ItmnstbesOi Nothing hot ' 
 
 Uy have led to such'extraordinaiy pains in the 
 concealment ef it. This I felt, and tUs oonvio. 
 tion only intensified myderire to get at the b^ 
 torn of the mystery wtddi it incloses. And this 
 much I saw plainly— that the dedphering wUdt 
 I have made carrias in itself so dmad a confes- 
 sion, that the man whoi madSlt woidd^wiBiiiij^ 
 
M 
 
 THE Cryptogram:.' 
 
 THK OLD CIF 
 
 conced It b^ in cipher writing and in secret 
 drtwerfc" 
 
 "But of course," said Gnaltier/^king ad- 
 vantage of a pause, "yon found something else 
 ?*"•*« «•?•»«•• With that yo« wtre already 
 
 *X»j gad it if this that I ail- going to teU 
 ' ^T**" . Th«*» ^ere iome papers which 
 eyidenUy been there for a long time, kept 
 ttere in the salne phwe with the cipher writing. 
 Wfcen I first found them I merely looked hasti- 
 ly over them, and then folded them all np to- 
 gether, and took them away so as to examine 
 Uiem in my own room at leisure. On looking 
 orer them I found the names which I expected 
 occmnng fhsquenUy. There was the name of 
 V. N. Fomeroir and the name of Lady Chet- 
 wynde. In addition to these there was another 
 name, «jd a renr singular one. The name U 
 ««ea Uhnte, and seems, to me to be an Amer^ 
 ^^^^ ^* "y r ate the^owner of it lived ia^ 
 
 "Obed Chute," repeated Gualtier, with the 
 air or one who is trying to fluten something on 
 his memoiy. " 
 
 WKITISO WAS TH12RE. 
 
 , V y'?"* '[M the nature of the connection 
 which he had with the others?" 
 
 "I should conjecture that he was a kind of 
 guide, philosopher, and friend, with a little of 
 the agent and commission-merchant," replied 
 Hilda, "But it is impossible to find out any 
 thing in particular about him from M>e meagre 
 letters which I obtained, I found nothing else 
 except these nepers, though I searched diligent- 
 ly, Kveiy thing is contained here. I have 
 theni, and I intend to show them to you without 
 any further dehty," 
 
 Saying this Hilda drew some papers from her 
 pocket, and handed them to Gualtier. 
 
 On opening them Gualtier found first a paper 
 
 which Hilda had copied, and the characters were 
 funUiar to him horn his former attempt to de- 
 cipher thtm. The paper wu thick and coarse, but 
 Hilda had copied the characters wy faithfolly. 
 "" » JT* W*««« «o«ipt witwm Odfbifa 
 
 ?Tl 'i^!!; . •• "■■ y*"*"' ^*^ "«^ whUo the 
 ink had fiulod into a pale brown : 
 
 ArJi^^iATiP- ^! '""•'oy the sum o7one boo- 
 dfMl thousand doUars In pajrmsnt tor my cUtm' 
 
 "OtuoCuvm." 
 
 ■ Zi. 
 
ature of the connection 
 others?" 
 
 « that he was a kind of 
 I friend, with « little of 
 iuion-mercbant," replied 
 ipoHible to find out any 
 nt him from ^e meagre 
 d. I found nothing else 
 ough I searched diligent- 
 ontained here. I have 
 liow them to you without 
 
 sw tome papers from her 
 m to Gualtier. 
 laltier found first a paper 
 iting. It was the same 
 , and the characters were 
 la foimer attempt to de- 
 waa thick and coarse, but 
 laracters twy faithfu ljy. 
 : t'BCBlpt wrtitsn out on a 
 bIIow with age, while the 
 fl brown: 
 
 It. was a singular document in every i»spect: 
 
 '""i:^?^"'"'°" "'^ *^^ •"" of money seemed to 
 conflrmTthe statemeiit gathered from the cipher 
 writinor. "^ 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 M 
 
 writing. 
 Tiie next document was a letter : 
 
 tt-n o r" ?'* ^°"*' ^'f^ *8, 1840. 
 
 DbabSih,— I take great pleasure in inform- 
 ing you that L. C. has experienced a change, 
 and IS now slowly recovering. I assure you that 
 no pmns shall be Spared to hasten her cure The 
 bMt that Hm York can afford is at her service 
 I hope soon to acquaint you with her entire re- 
 covoijr. Until then, believe me, 
 
 " Yours truly, Oded CHnrp 
 "Capt O. N. PoiiiEov." " V^HUTE. 
 
 The next paper was a letter written in a lady's 
 band. It was very short ; 
 
 tiv 11 J "^"U'YOBK, &ptem6er20, 1840. 
 
 TareweU, dearest fnend and more than broth- 
 er. After a long sickness I have at lost recovered 
 
 M;^'r*h!.t„^w ""Y ?/ ^'^ """^ "■« kindness of 
 Mr. Chute. We sfiall never meet again on earth • 
 bju I will pray for youf happiness%ill my latest 
 "■*""'• Mary Chetwynde." 
 
 There was only one other. It was a letter 
 also, and was as follows: » leiier 
 
 "Dear «?,» T "^"^ ^°"' ^'^ !»• 1840. 
 iJEAR HiB,— I have great pleasure in in- 
 forming you that your friend L. C. has at len«h 
 entirely recovered. She is very much bS 
 down, however; her hair is quit^ gray, and she 
 ooks twenty vears older. She is d^ply peni- 
 tent and profeundly sad. She is toXve me 
 to-mon-o,vand will join the Sisters of Ch.^r 
 
 andV:;" if "'^r '"•' ^'•'" "•" •" ^' f°' Sf 
 
 ana tor alB l ,emnm yours, very truly, 
 
 "Capt. 0.x Povnaov." """"'* ^'•''^• 
 
 Gualtier read these letters several times m 
 deep and thoughtful silence. Then he sat i^ 
 profound thought for some time. 
 
 JI^C '*j'* ""''» " ••'ngth, with some im- 
 pa lence, "what do you think of these ?" 
 What do ^ think r asked Gualtier, 
 
 ^ t .hint ""T*^ r","*"*- " ^ *»1 'eU vou what 
 I thmk; and as I have brooded over "these for 
 
 StXh' """• '•'="" ""'-^ ^y 'h« I »™ 
 
 Z .W k'" *"""■ '" "y ""» '""Pressions. To 
 ^.& ;J^ S'P"? '"*"' »« point out two 
 ^\^T^ i?"" •*'"« 'h" of 'he forgei^? 
 «nd the*econd that of the elopement. BevoTd 
 this I se^ something else. Thrforgery hasZn 
 
 ttn^TdvPh.^ cjme toa misei^ble termii' 
 Id bV K^' Wir™' '" """^ « l^n desert- 
 Se feU if Z;r«? '•^''«'■P?>■»'»P'' in New York. 
 
 reooveij rte had grown in appeai-anoe twenty 
 years older. Broken-hearted, shT did not dare 
 
 toeni kte;* "fom. to me perXjsT have 
 hhS. nJ^Ki "' •**' ?'^ ^^ 'o*'"'' '^ho employed 
 
 h. his ™i'jr "/ ?*• -nhapp/ woman ^hom 
 
 liL. {^"J" ^"•J' *''« roc^ant lover informed 
 about her £.te. f„ the midst of these there U 
 
 the last dMpairing farewell of the unhappy creat. 
 
 fZrT^^- ^V^'^ ••>« conscien^sS,^ 
 over has carefuUy preserved. ;in addition to 
 these, no doubt for the sake of easing hig con 
 ^wnce, he wrote out a confession o^f Ws sin 
 But he was too great a coward to write it out 
 plainly and therefore wrote it in ciphen I b^ 
 
 IrhaH f' '"7?"'** '■r^ dostroyed^hem all^ 
 he had found time; but his accident came too 
 quickly for this, and he has left these pawn^M 
 a legacy to the discoverer." papera,ns 
 
 fei^e?Jta!''^''*''«-'«'''''---'h - 
 " You are right," said he. " Every word that 
 ^u speak is aa true as fate. Yon hS^e^„eS- 
 ted to the very bottom of this secret Ibeheve 
 that this is the true solution. Your genius hw 
 solved the mystery. " ^ ^ 
 
 no'Ziif"'^'"?'^'" ^''^^ Hi""' who showed 
 of GrirJTuT*' *', *he_fervent admimion 
 tfon'^as evi;^ ""' '^^''''^ » " "^ f""- ^oiu- , 
 
 " Have you not solved it ?" 
 
 "Certainly not. Mine, after all. are merely 
 
 InThTr; Much mor^" remains'to be dol^ 
 
 u 'he firat place, I must find out something 
 
 t°Tj^^ Chetwynde. For month, I ft 
 
 tried, but in vain. I have ventured as far aS I 
 
 Si ? 'Jr"°r"r*''° P^'P'' »hout here. Once I 
 hinted to Mrs. Hart something about tlie elope- 
 ment, and she turned upon mf with that in C 
 ^es which would have turned an ordinary mor- 
 tal into stone. Fortunately for me. I bore it 
 ^d sunived. But since tl^t unfort^unate Tu^I 
 tion she shuns me more than ever. The other 
 
 S""* V ?r- ""'^"1' »"'«' 'hey will reveal no. 
 , «iing. Nothing, m fact, can be discovered here. 
 I The mystery ,s yet to be explained, and the exl 
 
 Ph|?^on must be sought elsewhere." 
 
 IJI don't know." 
 
 " Have you thought of any thing? Yon mn.t 
 have, or you would not have'communic.Kh , 
 me. There is some work which you wish me W 
 do. You have thoufht about it, and have dcT 
 
 Sh1Jrr'.'\^'"'A."J'' iBHtoVtoAmlricS 
 Shall I hunt up Obed Chute? Shall I search 
 through the convent, till I find that Sistenho 
 
 rsoTvJr^:^'''"^''"^"'' Teume:"''iv;s„" 
 
 erSISjSffinrhercorirn.*""'^'' -•>* 
 
 in!,. V ''"T- ^ '""'• no pl«n8-no def- 
 mite mm, beyond a desire to find out what it «U 
 means, and what there is in it. Wliat can I do? 
 What could I do if I found out all ? I Zllyt 
 Zat^'- " ««neral romorov were 1^%X 
 might be possible to extort from him aconfes^on 
 of his cnmes, and make them known TlhS 
 
 edG^lH^'V^ Pomeroy were aUve," interrupt- 
 
 wkhT^ ' ".".'* f «»* 'o confess all his crimas. 
 
 what good would that do ?" ^ 
 
 "What - - 
 
 ^.. -"'J^^^ C ri e d Hilda,-in-a t ow « #«ff= 
 greater vehemence and passion than any which 
 had yet escaped her. "Whatgood? dnmUia- 
 tion soiTow, shame, anguish, for his daughter! 
 It IS not on his head that I wish thew to dL 
 •cend, but on hers. You look inipri^ Y^ 
 wonder why? I will not tell roa-limrnow at 
 h»ut. It . not because she iipa.,ton,SrMd 
 «li«gree.ble , that i. a trifle, uid CdeSrte hw 
 
 'Aji^, 
 
 jM^^ 
 
 t 
 
 -, M 
 
*?"- 
 
 so 
 
 THE CRYPTOaRAM. 
 
 ciiuiiged fi'iim that ; it is not becanse she erer'in- 
 jm-eJ me— she nevei- injured me ; she loves me ; 
 but" — and Hilda's brow grew dark, and her eyes 
 flushed as she spoke — " there are other reasons, 
 deeper than all this — reasons which I will not 
 divulap even to yon, but which yet are sufficient 
 to iqjke me long and yearn and crave for some 
 opportunity to bring down her proud head into 
 the very dnst." 
 
 "And that opportnnity shall be ypnrs," cried 
 Gualtier, vehemently. "To do this it is only 
 necessaiy to And out the whole truth. I will 
 find it ont I will search over all Enghtnd and 
 nil America till I dycover all that you want to 
 know. General Pomeroy is dead. What mat- 
 ter ? He is nothing to yon. Bat she lives, and 
 is a mark for your vengeance." 
 
 •' I have said more than I intended to," said 
 Hilda, saddenly resuming her coolness. "At 
 any rate, I take yon at your word. If yon want 
 money, I can supply it.'' 
 ^^ "Money?" said Gnaltier, with a light laugh. 
 " No, no. It is something far more than that 
 which I want When I have socceeded in my 
 search I will tell yon. To tell it now would be 
 premature. But when shall I start ? Now ?" ' 
 "Oh no," said Hilda, who shon-ed no emo- 
 tion one way or the other at the hint which he 
 had thrown oot "Oh no, do nothing sudden- 
 ly. Wait until your quarter is up. When will 
 it be out?" 
 "In six weeks. ShaUIwait?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, then, in six weeks I will go." 
 "VenrwelL'* 
 
 " And if I don't succeed I shall never come 
 back." 
 Hilda was silent 
 
 "Is it arranged, then?" said Gualtier, after a 
 time." 
 " Yes ; and now I will take my music lesson. " 
 And HOda walked over to the piano. 
 After this interview no further opportunity oc- 
 curred. Gnaltier came every day as before. In 
 a fortnight he gave notice to the Earl that press- 
 ing private engagements wonld require his de- 
 parture. He begged leave to recommend a friend 
 of his, Mr. Hilaire. The Earl had an interview 
 with Gnaltier, and oourteoosly expressed his re- 
 gret at his departure, asking him at the same 
 time to write to Mr. Hiiaira and get him to come. 
 This Gnaltier promised to do. 
 
 Shortly before the time of Goaltier's departure 
 BIr. Hilaire arrive^. Gnaltier took him to the 
 Castle, and he was recognised as the new teacher. 
 In a Cbw days Gnaltier took his departure. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 mOM OISLHOOD TO WOHAITHOOD. 
 
 ONf evening ZilUh was sitting with Lord 
 Chetwynde in his little sanctum. His health 
 had n ot been good of late^ and sometiine s at- 
 tacks of goat ware saperMded. At this lime 
 he was confined to his room. 
 
 Zillah waa dnssed tor dinner, and had come 
 to sit with him until the second bdl rang.. 8he 
 had been with him constantly during his confine- 
 ment to his Voora. At this time she wlu seated 
 on a low stool near the fire, which tbraw iu 
 
 glow over her foee, and lit up the vast masses 
 of her jet-black hair. Neither of them had spok- 
 en for some time, when Lord Chetifrynde, who 
 had been looking steadily at her for some min- 
 utes, said, abruptly : 
 
 "Zillah, I'm sure Guy will not know you 
 when he comes back." 
 She looked up laughingly. 
 "Why, father? I think every lineament on 
 my face must be stereotyped on his memoiy." 
 
 "That is precisely the reason why I say that 
 he will not know yon. I could not have im- 
 agined that three years could have so thoroughly 
 altered any one." 
 
 "It's only fine ifeathers," said ZiUah, shaking 
 her head. "You must allow that Mathilde is 
 , incomparably I often feel that were she to 
 I have ^e le^^ea of the appearance which I 
 prraented, yftiw. first came here, there would be 
 nothing left forlhe but suicide. I could not sur- 
 vive her contemfat J was always fond of finery. 
 I have Indian blood enough for that ; but when 
 I remember my combinations of colors, it really 
 makes me shudder; and my hair was always 
 streaming over my shoulders in a manner more 
 neglige than becoming." 
 
 "I do Mathilde full justice," returned Lord 
 Chetwynde. "Your toilette and coiffure ara 
 now irreproachable ; but even her power has its 
 limits, and she could scarcely have turned the 
 sallow, awkward girl into a lovely and graceful 
 woman." 
 
 Zillah, who was nnnsed to flattery, blushed 
 very red at this tribute to her charms, and an- 
 swered, quickly : 
 
 " Whatever change there may be is entirely 
 due to Monmouthshire. Devonshire never agreed 
 with me. I should have been ill and dcUcate to 
 this day if I had remained ther^ and as to sal- 
 lowness, I must plead gniltv to that I remem- 
 ber a lemon-colored silk I'had, in which it was 
 impossible to tell where the dress ended and my 
 neck began. Bat, after aU, father, yon are a 
 very pnyudiced judge. Except that I am healthy 
 now, and well dressed, I think I am vejy much 
 the same personally as I was three years ago. In 
 character, however, I feel that I hare altered." 
 "No," he replied; "I have bean looking at 
 you for the last few minutes with perfectly un- 
 pr^udiced eyes, ttying to see von at a stnnger 
 would, and as Guy will when he returns. And 
 now '• he added, laughingly, "yon shall be pun- 
 ished for ^our audacity in doubting my power* 
 of discrimination, by having a Aill inventory giv- 
 en you. We will begin with the figure— about 
 
 the middle height, perhaps a little under it, slight 
 and graceful ; small and beautifully proportioned 
 head ; well set on the shoulders; complexion no 
 longer sallow or lemon-colorad, but clear, bright 
 transparent olive ; hair, blacM m night, and glossy 
 
 But here he was interrupted by Zilkh, who 
 suddenly flung her arms about his neck, and the 
 close proximity of the flwe which he was describ- 
 ing impededfui^iN^nt|MuM^ 
 
 « HUBli, IWIiw," tmmi "I wSi't hear an- 
 other word, and don't yon dare to talk about ever 
 looking at me with nnprq{odioed eyes. I want 
 you to love me without seeing my iaults." 
 
 " But would you not nther that I saw your 
 fiiilings, ZiUah, than that I ckHhed you with an 
 ideal periltction?" 
 
 
 
and lit ap the vast manei 
 
 Neither of them had ipok. 
 
 rhen Lord Cheturynde, who 
 
 sadily at her for some min- 
 
 » Guy will not koow yon 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAlt 
 
 "No ; I don't eaie for the bve that ia always I of semrihiiSHr .-j j,- • «,.. ^ , 
 
 ontforfiuiltt, andhaaa^'bnf even au^e flll^^th o^^":" <'^°»:. .^hey had also been 
 
 ..; ^ «n.-. ... . . . """we nuea with events upon which the world gazed in 
 
 awe, which shook the British empire to Us cei- 
 tr^ and sent a thrill of horror to the heart of 
 that empire, ^followed by a fierce thirsTfor 
 r?*^"l*'- *^°'-«heIndiinmntinT had broken 
 
 Itendei&t moments. That if not the love I give. 
 Iperbaps stnngers might not think dear papa, 
 land you, and Hilda absolately perfect ; bnt I can 
 Jnot see M'osle flaw, and I should hate myself 
 lif I could." ' 
 
 I Lord Chetimide kissed her fondly, bnt sighed 
 las he answered: 
 
 I "My child, yon know nothing of the world 
 
 II fewr life has some very bitter lessons in store 
 I for yon before yon will learn to read it aright, 
 land form a just estimate of the characters of the 
 ■people among whom yon are tliivwn." 
 I "But yoa surely would not have me think 
 ■people bad nntil I have proved them to be so 
 iLifo woold not be worth having if one must live 
 '^n a constant state of suspicion." 
 
 "No, nor would I have you thiWc aU whom 
 lyou love to be perfect Believe me, my child 
 lyou wiU meet with but few friends in the world 
 jHonor is an exploded notion, belcmgingtp a past 
 I generation. ^ ■ '^ 
 
 I "You may be right, &thm Jbti,L& mt like 
 I the doctnne ; so I shall go onJHIttir in mnni<i 
 Inntil I And them to be diiflHKi i^f t 
 
 I "I should say to yon, do^^^believe as 
 ■long as you can, and as much as yon can ■ bnt 
 ■tile danger of tiiat is when yon find that those 
 ■whom yon have trusted do not come up to the 
 ■standard which you have formed. After two or 
 ■three disappointments yon will fall into the od- 
 Iposite eittreme, think every one bad, and not be- 
 llieve in any thing or any body. " 
 
 I ."/i*^ ^ '^°'« I »'">»W come to that." 
 ■cried ?Ulah, passionately. " If what yon say is 
 ■true, lihad better not let myself like any body " 
 ■Then, |anghing up in his face, she added : "By. 
 ■tiie-wajr, I wonder if you are safe. Yon see yon 
 ■have iqade me so skeptical that I shaU begin by 
 Isnsiwcting my tutor. No, don't «i»eak,"«he went 
 ■on, inkhitif-earoest, half-mocking manner, and 
 Inutherhand before his mouth. "Thecaaeislioper 
 ■less, as fcr as yon are concerned. The wamiM 
 ■hui come too kite. 1 love you as I thought I 
 Ishouldinever love any one after dear papa. " 
 
 n I«raChetwynde smiled, and pressed Wfond- 
 py to hb breast. 
 
 The Steady change which had been going on in 
 aUrt, in mind and in person, was indeed siifB- 
 "-nttojustifyLordChetwynde'sremark. Enough 
 i*r. ''"^ ■•*"' **»■ "•'ange in per- 
 
 lal a|)peannce. Qreat as this wag, however. 
 
 "^•.IT*"?* '^''■' *".*•"* "O'o subtle chang^ 
 arhfchltad come over her soul. Her nature was 
 Jltens^ vehement, passionate; bnt iu develop- 
 ment was of sach a kind that she fas now ear^ 
 ^hJLr.'L -i'J!Lf22!?''? impulsive, and calm 
 H.,Sf tt^ ^ '^"'y *•«*• A profound 
 WJis nch nature, and the thoughtftiinewi of the 
 VWest w« added to the fine emotional sensibility 
 W the East J forming by their union a being of 
 ■a^ l M M pabi lity and «rf7 i. lefc yei dwp feel 
 
 the .tories of sepov atrocity hadbo^tordbV;;;: 
 ide, ""'' "' * * - - 
 
 I'lJ^'.!!*'" "'"'^ "'"'™' ""«« feeling, and 
 mother them, even though the concealed pas- 
 OT shonld coosumo like a fire within her. 
 nnme years had passed since ^er hasVy and 
 TOojnant matriage, and those yean had been 
 fwtW^a many ways. They hod matured the 
 
 rons^ Itself to send forti. armies for vengamce 
 and for punishment Dread stories were^^ 
 IZ V A""*' ""*'« »* Chetwynde Castie- rot 
 *ey had been spared its worst piU^poS; h^^ 
 
 Se:^"of'th'l'' """■' "'I'^^J'^ Sndtd noYlZ 
 wmiess of the scenes of Cawnpore. He had 
 been joined with tiiose soldiem who had b«n 
 
 hTS?r:Si*?'^'^'."' ""«"» «>» UelhUndhS 
 had ftwied in the danger and in the flnaJ tri- / 
 ninph of that memorabli expedition. ^ 
 
 n«Slf ""«"."iy of desire and the agony of im- 
 
 K^*^/*'^"*^*^''" •««e"werenBtuJ3. 
 Lord Chetwynde thought only of one thine fo^ 
 
 manymonths,«,dthat washdson'slctter At 
 
 taken possession of him lest his son might be in 
 danger Atfirst the lettem came regulfrlVriv- 
 mg detail, of the mutiny as he^Jllli 'thfl 
 Then there was a long break, for the army was 
 
 rBnT^''**'"^'^ Then'alettercTeC 
 T^«i ni.'^iL^P'P, ^^""^ ^W. ^hich roused 
 Lord Chetwynde from the lowest depths of de- 
 spair to joy and exultation and hope. Then 
 there was another long interval, in which the 
 t*rl, sick with anxiety, began to anticipate the 
 
 untn^f?^'""/f' "'"'''"« »»« despondency! 
 until, at last, a letter came, which rais^ him up 
 
 Ind^'S' »"'?«.»'«•»«'» Pi'oh of exultatioS 
 andteinmph. Delhi was takwi. Guy had dis- 
 
 tinguUherfhimself, and was honorably iK,ntion.S 
 hi the dispatches. He had been among tiiefim 
 1 '""^IJ^? '"^' *"** venetnt» Int^ the be- 
 leaguered c^ty. AU had fiUlen into their hands. 
 ITie gre^ danger which had impetided had been 
 dissipated, and vengeance had been dealt out to 
 those whose hands were red with English bhxKL 
 ?2 'J/1*^' ^T" '?««nni"« to end, was one long 
 noteoftnumph. It. enthnslMtic tone, coming! 
 w It did, after a long period of anxiety, coml 
 
 fhArT*""* *'*'.^'''- Though nittrally 
 the iMst demonstrative of men, Ee was now 
 werwhdined by the full tide of hi. emotions. 
 He burst into te^rs, and wept for some time tear. 
 ?J°l' t.,*? .''0 '■o**' ""o walking over to-2a- 
 tah, be kissed her, and laid his hand solemU^ 
 upon her head. ^ 
 
 "My daughter," said he, "thank God that 
 yonr htubapd i. preserved to you tiirough the 
 penis of waiv and that he is saved to yon. and 
 ^'"con*? to you in safety and in honor." 
 
 rhe ^ri's words sank deeply into Zilkh'e * 
 
 sikn^ " ""'*'*"«' •*"* """"d Iw bead in 
 
 .i.^I*."?'^'?,*!" d'd' *'»^ Qnr'« letteiu formed 
 
 jh e chief dell yh t of him wJumi h UoyedttiX- . 
 
 iher, it would have been hard indewl for a gen- 
 
 erous nature hke hers to refrain tnm alwring^ 
 feeling.. Sympatiiy with his amdaftrMid hU 
 joy was natural, nay, inevitable. In hi. lorrow 
 she wa« forced to console him by pointing out 
 all that might be considered a. briiHifinhiiMPKie- 
 C;„*-,"„'l?.i*L*!:f.^ '««?^ 'o -^IM" with 
 
 .^^-onat^unilygiriStoTheToSH^^SI KuUirtotZc'^lX^rgj'^i" 
 
 .^-I. ^ 
 
 'v-rWS, 
 
«8 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 ploits, n^hig im^Aation enlarged upon the more 
 meagre facts st^gd in th^ letters. This year of 
 anxiety and of flplmph,. therefore, compelled her 
 to think very 9tich about Guy, and, whatever 
 her feelings were, it certainly exalted him to a 
 prominent place in her thoughts. 
 
 And so it happened that, as moi}th succeeded 
 to month, she foupd herself more and more com- 
 pelled to identify herself with the Earl, to talk to 
 him about the idol of his heart, to share his anx- 
 iety and his joy, wljile all that aijxioty and all 
 that joy referred exclusively to the; man who 
 was her husband, but whom, as a hisband, she 
 had once abhoiTed. ' / ' 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE AMBRICAlf EXPEDITION. 
 
 AnouT three years had passed away since 
 Zillah had first come to Chetwynde, and the life 
 which she bad lived there had gradually come to 
 be Rrat^^ and pleasant and happy. Mr. Hilaire 
 was at^ntive to his duty and devoted to his pu- 
 pil, and Zillah applied herself assiduously to her 
 music and drawing. At the end of a year Mr. 
 Hilair6 waited upon the Earl with a request to 
 . withdraw, as he wanted to go to the Continent. 
 He informed the Earl, however, that Mr. Gual- 
 tier was coming back, and would like to get his 
 old Situation, if possible. T^ Earl consented to 
 take back the' old teachei^and so, in a few 
 months more, after an absence of about iv year 
 • and a halfi Gualtier resumed his duties at Chet- 
 ^vynde Castle, Wee Mr. Hilaire, resigned. 
 
 On his first visit after his return Hilda's face 
 expressed an eagerness 6C curiosity which even 
 her fine self-control could not conceal. No one 
 noticed it, however, but Gualtier, and he looked 
 atirer with an earnest expression that might 
 msao any thing or nothing. It mighc tell of 
 success or failure ; and so Hilda was left to con- 
 jectare. There was no chance of a quiet con- 
 versation, and she had either to wait as before, 
 perhaps for months, until she could see him 
 aloni, or. else tlirow away her scruples and ar- 
 ranged meeting. Hilda was not long in coming 
 to a conclusion. On Giialtier's second visit she 
 slipped a piece of paper into his hand, on which 
 ho read, after he had left, the following : 
 
 " / will be in the Wett A t^emte, near the Lake, 
 this i\ftemoon at three, o'clock." 
 
 That afternoon she made some excuse and 
 went out, as she said to Zillah, for a walk through 
 the Rirk. As this was a frequent thing-with her, 
 it excited no comment. The West Avenue led 
 horn the door through the Park, and finally, aft- 
 er a long detour, ended at the main gate. At 
 its farthest point there was a lake, surrounded 
 by a dense growth of Scotch larch-trees, which 
 formed a very good place for such a tryst— al- 
 though, for that matter, in so quiet a place as 
 Chetwynde Park, they might have met on the 
 Inain avenue without any fear of being noticed. 
 Here,_ then, at thret o'clock, Hilda went, and on 
 ^Baching the spot found Gualtier waiting for her. 
 
 She walked under the shadow of the trees be- 
 fore she said a word. 
 
 " You are punctual.V said she at last. 
 
 " I have been here ei*r since noon." 
 
 " You did not go out, tl^en ?" 
 
 "No, I staid here for yon." 
 His tone expMJssed fhe deepest devotion, anj i 
 his eyes, as they rested on her for a moment, ' 
 had the same expression. 
 
 Hilda looked at him benignantly and encon^ 
 agingly. 
 
 " You have been gone long, and I dare say 
 you hajig been gone far," she said. "It is this 
 which I wrtnt to hear about Have you found 
 out any thing, and what have you found out ?" 
 " Yes, I have been gone long," said Gualtier, 
 ' ' and have been far away • but all the time I have 
 done nothing else than seek after what you wish 
 to know. Whetliie^ I have discovered any thing 
 of any value will ,be for you to judge. I can 
 only tell you of the result. At any rate you will 
 see that I have not spared myself for your jake." 
 "What have you done?'^' a:sked Hilda, who 
 saw that Gualtier's devotion was irrepressible,' 
 and would find vent in words if she did not re- 
 strain him. " I am eager to hear. " 
 
 Gualtier dropped his eyes, and beganto Speak I 
 in a cool business tone. 
 
 " I will tell you every thing, then. Miss Krieff," 
 said h(5, " from the beginning. When lieft here 
 I went first to London, for the sake of making 
 inquiries about the elopements I hunted up lUl 
 whom I could find whose memories embraced 
 the last twenty years, so as to see if they could 
 throw^ny light on this mystery. One or two 
 had some faint recollection of the affair, but no- I 
 thing of any consequence. At length I found | 
 out an old sporting character who promised *t 
 first to be what I wished. He remembered 
 Lady Chetwynde, described her beauty, and said 
 that she was left to herself very much by her 
 husband. Ho remembered well the excitement 
 that was caused by her flight He remembered | 
 the name of the man with whom she had fled. 
 It was Reclfield Lyttoun. " 
 
 '^Jied/ield Lyttoun!" repeated Hilda, with i I 
 peculiar expression. 
 
 ■"Yes; but he said that, for his part, he had 
 good reason for believing that it was an assumed 
 name. The man who bore the name had figured 
 for a time in sporting circles, but after this event 
 it was generally stated that i< was not his trot 
 nalhe. I asked whether any one knew his tme 
 name. He said some people had stated it, but 
 ho conld not tell. I asked what was the name 
 He said Pomeroy. " 
 
 As Gualtier said this he raised his eyes, and 
 those small gray orbs seemed to bum and fiath 
 with triumph as they encountered the gaze of 
 Hilda. She said not a woM, but held out her L 
 hand. Gualtier tremblingly took it, and pressed J 
 it to hfs thin lips. 
 
 "This was all thot I could discover. It i 
 vague: it was. only partially satisfactdtf ; but it I 
 was oil. I soon perceived that it was only t j 
 waste of time to stay in London ; and after think- [ 
 ing of many plans, I finally determined to visit | 
 the family of Ladv Chetwynde herself. Of 
 course such an undertaking had to be carried | 
 out very cautiously. T found "nt where the f 
 ily lived, and went there. On arriving I went to 1 
 the Hall, and offered myself as music-teacher. It 
 was in an out-of-the-way place, and Sir Henry 
 Furlong, Lady Chetwynde's brother, happened 
 to have two or fhree danghtcrs who were study- 
 ing under a governess. When I showed him • 
 certificate which the Earl here was kind enon^ lo 
 
 '•m^^ :■ 
 
y^? 
 
 ipe fop yon." , 
 
 ised the deepest (devotion, anj 
 rested on her for a moment, ' 
 •ession. 
 him benignantly and enconr- 
 
 iri gone long, and I dare say 
 le far," she said. «' It is thii 
 lear about Have you found 
 
 what have you founcl out?" 
 !cn gone long," said Gunltier, 
 r away ; But all the time I have 
 :han seek after what yon wish 
 si: I have discovered any thing 
 ,be for you to judge. I can 
 I result. At any rate you will 
 spared mvself for your §ake." 
 )u done ? aSked Hilda, who 
 s devotion was irrepressible,' 
 It in words if she did not re- 
 n eager to hear. " 
 
 his eyes, and began. to fepeak 
 one. 
 
 rery thing, then. Miss Krieff," 
 beginning. When Tleft here 
 idon, for the sake of making 
 
 elopement. I hunted up all 
 1 whose memories embraced 
 rs, so as to see if they could 
 1 this mysteiy. One or two 
 lUection of the affair, but no-' { 
 quence. At length I found 
 l> character who promised «t 
 [ wished. He remembered 
 escribed her beauty, and said 
 herself very much by her 
 umbered well the excitement 
 her flight. He remembered 
 an with whom she had fled. 
 toun." 
 m J" repeated Hilda, with ( I 
 
 id that, for his part, he had 
 eving that it was an assumed 
 lo bore the name had figured 
 g circles, but after this eveot 
 ted that i< was not his true 
 ether any one knew his tme 
 ne people had stated it, hot 
 [ asked what was the nane 
 
 this he raised his eyes, and 
 Im seemed to bum and flash 
 ey encountered the gaze of I 
 ot a woM, but held out her I 
 nbllngly took it, and presMd 'f 
 
 at I could discover. It i 
 partially satisfnctdtf ; but it I 
 irceived that it was only * 
 in London; and after think- 
 [ finally determined to visit { 
 r Chetwyndo herself Of I 
 ertaking had to be carried 
 - 1 found out where the fantJ 
 lere. On arriving I went to I 
 myself as music-teacher. It 
 -way place, and Sir Ileniy 
 wynde's brother, happened 
 daughters who were stndj- 
 ■s. When I showed him • I 
 ii^rl here was kind enough It 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 ^48-/ 
 
 •tod ABE PDNCrnAL,' SAID SHB AT LAST." 
 
 ''I'lr'' '' ° »* * ^"7 " "c h impr c swd bytfc— Hg 
 jsiied me all about the Earl and Chetwynde 
 
 EjlfT^ f° ^ '^*"«*"«^ *« •'«" about thesi 
 ^" ^ "*" *^™ certainly lucky. He en- 
 
 the "it^ °"*^ *"** '°^^ constant access 
 
 1 "I had to work caationsly, of course. My 
 m WM to get hold of some of the domestic/ 
 
 •iTwreTOre oiaiendwtKere, a kind of bm^ 
 whom I propitiated, and gradually drew into 
 conversations about the family. My footing in 
 the house inspired confidence in him, and he 
 graduaUv became communicative. He was an 
 old gosdp, in hhi dotag^ and He knfiw «U about 
 the family, and remembered when LaAChet- 
 wynde wa« bom. He at first avoldSflij^B. 
 
f -, 
 
 - / - -i •-7- 
 
 1BE dtmOGRAlC. 
 
 non to her, bat I told bimrhmg ■tories4boat the 
 Earl, and w6n npon his sympathies so that he told 
 me at last all that the family knew about Lady 
 . Chetwynde. > • - 
 
 " His story was this : Lord 0rttwynde was 
 busy in politics, and left his wife veiy mncK to 
 herself. A coobess had qinmg up between them, 
 which increased •veiy day. Lady Chetwynde was 
 vain, and giddy, aod weak. The Hedfield Lyt- 
 tonn of whom I had heard in London was mach 
 cnier house, thon^ her husband knew nothfaig 
 about it. People were talking about them eveiv 
 where, and he only was in the dark. At but they 
 ran away. It was known that they had fled to 
 America. That is the hsttBat was ever heaid 
 of her. She vanished out of sight, and bet para- 
 mour also. Not one word has ever been heard, 
 about either of them since. From which I con- 
 jecture that Redfield Lytttjun, when he had be- 
 come tired of his victim, threw her off, and came 
 tack to resume his proper name, to lead a life of 
 honor, and to die in the odor of sanctity. What 
 do you think of my idea?" 
 •| It seems just,'^ said Hilda, thoughtfully. 
 In the three months which I spent there I 
 found out all that the femily could tell ; but still 
 I was far enough away from the object of my 
 teaxch. I only had conjectures, I Wetated cer- 
 tainty. I thought it all over; and, at Kngth, 
 saw that the only thing left to do was to go to 
 America, and try to get upon their tracks. It 
 was a desperate undertaking; America changea 
 so that traces of fugitives are very quickly oUiter- 
 ated; and who could datect or discover any after 
 a bpse of nearly twenty years ? Still, I detena- 
 ined to go. There seemed to be a slwht chanoe 
 that I might find this Obed Chute, who figniw 
 in the correspondence. There was also a ctanoe 
 of tracing Lady Chetwynde among the lecoids 
 of the Sisters of Charity. Besides, then was the 
 chapter of accidents, in which unexpected things 
 often turn up. So I went to America. Myflnt 
 «earch was after Obed Chute. To my anuuw- 
 ment, I found him at once. He is one of the 
 foremost banken of New York, and is weU 
 known all over the city. I waited on hun with- 
 out delay. I had documento and certificates 
 which I presented to him. Among othen, I had 
 written out a yery good letter fhnn Sir Henry 
 Furlong, commissioning me to find out about his 
 beloved sister, and another from General Pome- 
 roy.^the effect that I was his friend—" 
 ♦^That*aa(brgery,"intermptedHada, sharply. 
 Gnaltier bowed with a deprecatory air, and 
 nuitg bi^head in deep abasement. 
 "Go on," said she. 
 
 "You are too harsh," said he, in a plaading 
 
 Ydee. " It was aU for your uikt—" "^^ 
 
 "Go on," she repeated. 
 
 " Well, with these I went to see Obed Chnte. 
 
 . He was a tall, broad-shonldered, square-headed 
 
 man, with iron-gray bair, and a ftco-well, it 
 
 was one of those ttcu thMt make you feel that 
 
 the owner <^ do aor thing he chooses. On en- 
 
 tering his private office I introduced myself, and 
 
 myself. 
 nraptea 
 
 -*^ • lonrexpnmitlon. mnht^pted me 
 by shaking hands with me vehemently, and posh- 
 fa* me into a chah-. I «u down, ud weliTon 
 with my exphmation. I told him that I bad 
 come out as representaUve of the Ferkng fiiml- 
 ./' '55'i** *"""•* of General Pomeroy, now dead. 
 1 told him that there were several things wbiehl 
 
 wished 10 And oni Krrt, to trace Lady Chn- 
 wynde, and find out what had become of her 
 and bring her back to her friends, if ishe wen 
 alive; secondly, to dear up certain chiufies rela- 
 tive to a foigerv ; and, finally, to find out abom 
 the <kte of Bedfleld Lyttpun. " 
 
 "Mr. Obed Chnte at first was civil enough 
 after his rough way ; but, as I spoke, be looked 
 at me earnestly, ejing me fh»m head to foot 
 with sharp scrutiny. He did not seem to believe 
 my stonr. 
 
 '„'.'.' ^""»' "*^ •»"« »•»« I ^ ended, « is thit 
 all? ' . 
 
 "'Yes.'eaidL'^ ^ , 
 
 " 'So you want to find cut alfoat Lady Chet- 
 
 wj^de, and the foi^ery, and Bedfleld Lyttounr 
 
 «' « A|id General Pomeroy told yon to apply to 
 
 " ' Yefc On his dying bed,' said I, solemnlv, 
 
 his hst words were : " Go to Obed Chute, and 
 
 tellhimtoexpUinalL"' ~»-™| 
 
 "<ToexpkinaU!' repeated Obed Chnte. , 
 
 "•YeSi'saidL '"ITie confession," said tla 
 General, "can not be made by me. He mut 
 make it"' 
 
 " ' The confession !' he repeated. 
 
 *\* Yefc And 1 suppose that yon will not hA 
 nnmlling to grant a dying man's request ' [ 
 
 'Obed Chnte said nothing ibnr some time, but 
 Mt steing at me, evidenUy eogagpd in profound 
 thooght At any rate, he saw through and 
 through me. « ^ 
 
 "'Young man,' said hff at last, 'whew an 
 yon lodging?' ' 
 
 " 'At the Astor House,' nid I, in some snr. 
 prise. I 
 
 *'• Wdl, then, go back; to the Astor Houm 
 pack up yonr trunk, pay your Mil, take your iS 
 in the first steuner, and go right straight buk 
 home. When you get there, give my oompK. 
 ments to Sir Henry Furlong, and tell him if^ 
 wantt hu sister he.had better hunt her up him- 
 aelt As to that affecting message which tob 
 have brought horn Genend Pomeroy, I can (»It I 
 say, that, as he evidendy did not expUn this biuh 
 ness to you, I certainly win not Iwasonlyhii 
 agent Finally, if you want to find RediReld 
 Lyttoun, yon may mareh stntigfat out of tint 
 door, and look about yon tiU yon find him.' f 
 
 '•Saying this, he rose, opened the door, and, 
 
 with « savage frown, which forbade lemonstrance, 
 motioned me out 
 
 "I went oat There was evidentiy no hope of 
 ddng any tiling with Obed Chute. " 
 
 " Then yoa fiuled," said Hilda, in deep diMp- 
 pointment ' 
 
 "Failed? No. Do yoa not see how tiie reti- 1 
 cence of tiiis Obed Chnte oonflrms all pur mi- 
 pidons ? But wait tiU yoa hear aU, and I will 
 tellyou my conclusions. Yon vrill then see whetb- 
 er I n*ve discovered any tiling d^nite or not 
 
 I confess I was much disooaraged at fint it 
 my reception by Obed Chute. I expected) 
 tiling tnm thi s iBt e nri e wvand his Ura t al itT ^ 
 fled me. I did not venture back tiiera again, of 
 tsourse. I thod|g;ht of tiyhig other things, and 
 went diligentiy around among the convents «ad 
 reUgfaMs orders, to see ifl could find oat aar 
 tidng about tiie fate of Lady CheMvynde. Mr 
 letters of introduction ftxim Sir H. Fnriong and 
 fiwa Lord Chetwynde led these simple-ndndid 
 
 ,3&li 
 
 9<Ml > 
 
 lLJ*flJ 
 
'i^f »."■< 'i* ->r 
 
 i. Vint, to traee Ladjr CfaM- 
 >nt what had bocome of her 
 k to her friends, if she weit 
 < clear up certain charges relt- 
 and, finally, to find out abogt 
 ILjttonn. 
 
 ite at fint was civil enongli, I 
 Y ; but, as I spoke, he looked 
 >ying me from hea^ to foot 
 '. Ue did not seem to beliert 
 
 B, when I bad ended, 'is tbit 
 
 to find out attrat Lady Cb». 
 gery, and Sedfield Lyitoonr 
 
 Pomeroy told yon to apply to 
 
 dying bed,' said I, solemnir, 
 e: "GotoObedChnte,aod 
 
 I !' repeated Obed Chnte. 
 * " llie confession," kaid tha 
 be made by me. He mnit I 
 
 1 1' he repeated, 
 suppose that yon will not bel 
 i dying man's request ' | 
 d nothing for some time, but 
 ridently ttigagipd in profound 
 rate, be saw through and 
 
 said hf at last, 'where an 
 
 Boose,' nid I, in some sor. | 
 
 > boclt to the Astor Honie, 1 
 pay year Mil, take your fin 
 and go riftht stnright back 
 get there, give my oompfi- 
 Furlong, and tell him if he I 
 lad bettor hunt her up hia. 
 Fectinr message which yoo I 
 l«nenu Pomeroy, I can onh [ 
 stly did not expUn this but 
 ilywiOnot. I was only hit 
 yoa want to find Redfield 
 march straight oat of thu I 
 t yoa tin yoa find him.' 
 rose, opened the door, and, 
 irbidi Forbade remonstrance, 
 
 re was evidently no hope at 
 
 Obed Chute." 
 
 "said Hilda, in deep dinp- 
 
 >o yoa not see how the red- 
 !%ato confirms all pur at» 
 ill yoa hear all, and I will 
 IS. Yon will then see whetb- 
 any thing deflnito or not. 
 nuch disooaraged at fint it 
 I Chute. I expected even 
 wjaif^-uun wM iiniraiiy os^ i 
 mtnra back then again, of 
 >f trying other things, and 
 d among the convents sad 
 as if I conid find oat saj 
 of Lady Chetwynde. Mr 
 I from Sir H. Fariong and 
 B led these simple-mindtd 
 
 THE CBTPTOGRAIC 
 
 "1 
 
 r^ii 
 
 i>*fS 
 
 A 
 
 li 
 
 •with a 8AVA0K FBOWN US UOnoHBD MK OCT. 
 
 IpeopM to receive me with confidence. They 
 Ireadilv seconded my efforts, and opened their 
 I records to me. For some time my search was 
 ■in vafai : but, at Inst, I found what I Wantodt 
 lOne of the societies of the Sisters of Charity had 
 ■ the name of Sister Ursdh^ who joined them in 
 IjJievearlWO. She was Lady Chetwynde. She 
 I lived with them eight years, and then disappeared. 
 I Why she had lef^ or where she had gone, was 
 I equally unknown. She had disappeued, and 
 I that was th^ end of her. After this I came 
 I home." 
 
 I "And yotfihave found out nothing more?" 
 I said Hilda, IMmp disappointment. 
 I "NotWng,'*^safd Onaltier, dejectedly; "but 
 I are you not hashr in despising what I have found 
 lout? IsnotthUsomettiingP" 
 
 " I do not know that yon have discovered any 
 thing but what I knew before," said UMa, 
 Aui'idl » """^ """ conjortures— 
 
 "Conjectures!— m), comdusions fh>m addi- 
 tional facts," said Gualtier, ea«iriy. "What 
 we suspected is now, at least, more certain. The 
 reiy brutality of that beast, Obed Chute, proves 
 this. Let me tell yoa the conclusions that I 
 draw from this: - 
 
 Chetwynde's teve. and r^ a-SrSSTi^f^ ^TOtflUig m the way^ 
 
 Chetwynde's teve, and ran at^y widi"hwto 
 America. 
 
 1 '*^?".'"l' •* *"««d » hundred thousand dol- 
 J»", wWch forgery he hushed up through this 
 
 Obed Chute, paying him, no doubt, a UiSe smn 
 tar hush-money. 
 
 81 
 
 Obed Chnte. She was ill, and 
 finally, on her recttvery, joined 
 the Sisters of Charity. 
 
 "Fourthly, after eight years 
 she nm away— perhap to fall 
 into evil courses and die in in- 
 famy. 
 
 "And lastly, all this must be 
 true, or else Obed Chnte would 
 not have Been so close, and would 
 not have fired up so' at the very 
 suggestion of an explanation. If 
 It were not true, why should he not 
 exphun ? But if it be true, then 
 there 18 every reason why he 
 should not explain." 
 
 A long silence followed. Hilda 
 w-as evidently deeply disappoint- 
 __,_- «<>• From what Gualtier had 
 •^^ said at the beginning of the in-. 
 J terview, she had expected to hMr~ 
 something more definite. It 
 seemed to her as though all his • 
 trouble had resulted in nothing. 
 Still, she wa^ not on#to give way 
 t«> disappointment, "and she had 
 too much good sense to show her^ 
 self either ungrateful or nngt». 
 cions. 
 
 "Your conclusions are, no 
 
 doubt, ciprrect," said she at last, 
 
 in a pleasantor tone than she had 
 
 yet assumed ; " but they are only 
 
 inferences, and can not be made " 
 
 V 1. T V , "f *''^*" ** practical way in 
 
 which I hoped they, would be. We are still in 
 
 the attitude of inqWrers, yon see. The secret 
 
 which we hold is of auch a character that we have 
 
 to keep It to ourselvdis until it be cc^firmcd." 
 
 Gualtiw-'s fece lighipd up with pleasnre as Hfl- 
 da thus Identified hii^ with herself, ond^dasaed 
 him with her asthe sharer of the secret 
 
 "Any thing," said he, eagerly— "any iUng 
 that I can do, I will do. I hope yon know IhS 
 yon have only to say, the word—" \ 
 
 Hilda wared her hand.^ \ 
 
 "Itru8t;you,"said8he. ^' The time will coA ' 
 when you will have something to do. But jnS . 
 
 now I Aust wait, and attend upon cirenmstance*. 
 There are manv things in my mind which I will 
 not tell yon— that is to say, not yet. But when 
 the time comes, I promise to tell yon, Yom " 
 may be interested in my plans— or you may not 
 I will suppose that you are." 
 • • Can yon doubt it, Miss Krieff ?" 
 "No, 1 do not doubt it, and I promise yea 
 m^ confidmce when any thing (brther arises." 
 
 Can 1 be of na assistance now— in advisimr. 
 or m connseling?" asked Goaltier, in a heai^ 
 ting vwce. 
 
 " No— whatever half-formed pUns I may have 
 relate to people and to things which are altfr- "' 
 gother outside of your sphere, and so you could 
 
 ing." 
 
 "At least, teU me this mach— must I look 
 upon all my labor as wasted uttoriy? Will yon 
 at least accept it, even if it U uMless, as an offer- 
 ing to von?'' ' ^ 
 
 Ouaftier's pale sallow face grew paler ^d 
 
 .»v-4?r^^%n£i^ £S'3"S5L'S 
 
 ift,' 
 
 V 
 
 > >ti^im^i^ti^.^'^ 
 
 L.iai.>i^.,i'uj. 
 

 
 «s 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 !-' 
 
 
 THE GBTPtOOBAM:. 
 
 them anxiousi J upon Hilda. Hilda, for her part, 
 regarded lum with her usaal calmnen. 
 
 "Accept it?" said she. "Certainly, right 
 gladlpr and gratefully. My friend, if 1 was di»- 
 appointed at the result, do nob sappose that I 
 fail to appreciate the labor. You have shown 
 rare perseverance and great acuteness. The 
 next time you will succeed. " 
 
 This approval of his labors, «ligh( as it was, 
 and spoken as it was, with the air of a queen, 
 was eagerly and thankfully accepted by Gualtier. 
 He hungered after her approval, and in his huHr 
 ger he was delighted even with crumbs. 
 
 44- 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A FRESH DI8C0VEBT. 
 
 ^SOHE time passed away, and Hilda had no 
 more interviews with Gualtier. The latter set- 
 tled down into a patient, painstaking music- 
 teacher once more, who seemed not to have an 
 Idea bej-ond his art. Hilda held herself aloofs 
 and, even when she might have exchanged a f«w 
 confidential words, she did not choose to do so. 
 And Gualtier was content, and quiet; and na- 
 tient ^ "^ 
 
 Near^y eighteen months had pa»Sied away since 
 Zilkh's visit to Pomeroy Court, and she began to 
 be anxious to pay another visit. She had been 
 agitating the subject for some time j but it had 
 been postponed from time to fime, for various 
 reasons, the chief one being the ill health of the 
 , Earl. At length, however, his health improved 
 Mmewhat, arid Zillah determined to take ad^ 
 Tantagd' of this to.go. 
 
 This time, thelsight of, the Court did not pro- 
 duce so strone an efifijct as before. She did not 
 feel like sta^ng alone, but preferred having 
 Hilda with her,' and spoke freely about the past. 
 They wandered about the rooms, looked over all 
 the well-remembered places, rode or strolled 
 tlirongh the grounds, and found, at every step, 
 inside of the Court, and outside also, something 
 which called up a whole world of associations. 
 
 Wandering thus about the Court, from one 
 room to another, it was natural th|it Zillah 
 should go often to the libraiy, where her father 
 formerly passed the greater part of his time. 
 Here they chiefly staid, and looked over the 
 books and pictures. 
 
 . One day the conversation turned toward the 
 desk, and Zillah casually remarked that her fa- 
 ther used to keep this place so sacred from her 
 intrusion that she had acquired a kind of awe of 
 it, which she had not yet quite overcome. This 
 led Hilda to propose, laughingly, that she should 
 explore it now, on the spot; and, taking the 
 keys, she opened it, and turned over some of the 
 papers. At length she opened a drawer, 
 drew out a miniature. Zillah snatched it fi 
 her, and, looking at it for a few moments, 
 into tears. 
 
 "It's my Hfother."she cried^ 
 "nrrinoiherr Oh, myaaotherl" 
 
 Hilda said nothing. 
 
 " He showed it to me once, when4 was a lit- 
 tle child, ami I often have wondered, in a >-ague 
 war, what became of it. I never thought of 
 looking here." 
 . " You may find other tbinga here, also, if you 
 
 . / ' 
 
 l?°'^u"*"^.??^8»"*'^ "No doubt yonr pap, 
 k^t here all his mpat precious things, i* 
 
 The idea excited Zillah. She covered the por f 
 trait with kisses, put it in her pocket, and then 
 sat down to explore the desk. 
 
 There were bundles of papers there, lying on I 
 the bottom of the desk, lUl neatly wrapped, uj 
 and labd^d in a most businesvlike^ maniler. 
 Outside there was a number of drawer!, all of 
 which were filled with papers. These were nil 
 wrapped in bundles, and were kbeled, so as to 
 •how at the first ghince that they referred lo the 
 biwaess oMhe estate. Some Wre mortgages, 
 othlh ncAptSi others letters, others returned 
 checks and drafts. Jlothing among these had 
 anyinteroWforZilhih. 
 
 Inside the desk there were some drawM«,'which 
 ZUIah opened. Once on the search, she kept it 
 up most vigorously. The discovery of her mo- 
 thers miniature led her to suppose that some, 
 thing else of equal value might be found he«J 
 somewhere. But, after a long search, nothing] 
 whatever was found. The search, howevftr, onlj 
 became the more exciting, and the more she waj I 
 baffled the more eager did she become to follow f 
 |t out to the end. While she was investigating 
 in this way, Hilda stood by her, looking on with 
 the air of a sympathizing friend and interested 
 spectator. Sometimes she anticipated Zillah m 
 opening drawers which lay before their eyes, and 
 in seizing and examining .the rolls of papers wiili 
 which each drawer was filled. The search wrf 
 conducted by both, in fact, but Zillah seemed to I 
 take the lead. f 
 
 " There's nothing more," said Hilda at last, u 
 Zillah opened the last drawer, and found onlr 
 some old business letters. " You have exam- 1 
 ined all, you have found nothing. At any rate, 
 the search has given you the miniature ; and, be- 
 sides, it has dispelled that awe that you spoke! 
 of." 
 
 "Butfldear Hilda, there ought to t)e some 
 thing," said Zillah. "I hoped for something 
 more. I had an idea that I might find some- 
 thing— I don't know what— something which I 
 could keep for the rest of my life." I 
 
 " Is not the miniature enough, dearest?" said 
 Hilda, in affectionate tones. " What more conM 
 you wish for ?" 
 
 " I don't know. I prize it most highly ; but, 
 atill, I feel disappointed." ' 
 
 " There is no more chance," said Hilda. 
 ". No ; I have examined every drawer." 
 " Yon can not expect any thing more, so let ni 
 go away— unless," she added, "you expect to 
 hnd some mysterious secret drawer somewhere, 
 and 1 fancy there is hardly any room here for 
 any thing of that kind." ' 
 
 " A secret drawer I" repeated Zillah, with via- 
 ble excitement. "^Vhat an ideal But could i 
 there be one? Is there any place for one? I 
 don't see any place. Therq is the open place 
 where the books are kept, and, on each side, t 
 row of drawers. No ; there are no secret diaw- 
 
 ibifc .era lierer But see— whi^^ 
 
 As Zillah said this she reached out her hand 1 
 toward the lower part of the phice where the 
 books were kept. A narrow piece of wood pro- 
 jected there beyond the level face of the back of 
 the desk. On this piece of wood there was i 
 brass catch, which seemed intended to be fasten- 
 ed 5 but now, on accoont of the projection of the 
 
yti 
 
 .11 
 
 antly. " No doubt your pan I 
 et precious things.!' ' 
 
 Zillah. Slie covered the por.'. 
 It it in her pocket, and theo 
 
 the deslc. 
 
 les of papers there, lying on | 
 iesk, dll neatly wrapped.up 
 moiit business-like^ mantier. 
 I number of drawer*, all of 
 ith papers. These were all 
 
 and were hkbeled, so as to 
 nee that they referred io the 
 te. Some were mortgages, 
 ers letters, others returned | 
 
 Nothing among these 
 h, ^ 
 
 »ro were some drawers, which I 
 e on the search, she kept ii I 
 The discovery of her mo- 
 
 her to suppose that some- 
 value might be found he«j 
 Iter a long search, nothing] 
 
 The search, however, onlj I 
 jting, and the more she waa I 
 tr did she become to follow I 
 Yhile she was investigating 
 ood by her, lookiiig on with 
 izing friend and interested { 
 Bs she anticipated Zillah in 
 ;h lay before their eyes, and 
 ling .the rolls of papers with I 
 as filled. The search w«r| 
 t fact, but Zillah seemed to [ 
 
 lore," said Hilda at last, u 
 it drawer, and found on); 
 tiers. " You have exam'- 
 ind nothing. At any rate, [ 
 rou the miniature ; and, be- 1 
 1 that awe that you spokt I 
 
 , there ought to Im some- 1 
 "I hoped for something! 
 i that I might find some- 1 
 what — something which 1 1 
 t of my life." 
 lire enough, dearest?" said I 
 ones. •' What more could 
 
 prize it most highly ; bat, 
 >d." ' 
 
 chance," said Hilda, 
 ined every drawer." 
 !t any thing more, so let ni I 
 e added, "you expect to 
 secret drawer somewhere, [ 
 liardly any room here for 
 
 repeated Zillah, with \ia- 
 hat an idea 1 But could 
 re any pbce for one? I 
 There IS the open pUce 
 ^ept, and, on each side, • 
 there are no secret draw- 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 , it wssniot fastened. Zllah instantly ^ull- 
 
 || the wood, and it came out. 
 
 Fit was a shallow drawer, not more than half 
 
 I inch in depth, and the catch was the means 
 
 f which it was closed. A bit of brass, that 
 
 poked like an omvnental stud, was, in reality, 
 
 I spring, by pressing which the drawer sprang 
 
 J)en. But when 2illah looked there the drawer 
 
 Kis already open, and, as she pulled it out, she 
 
 \w it alL 
 
 [As she pulled it out her hand trembled, and 
 jtT heart beat fast A strange and inexplica- 
 le feeling filled her mind — a kind of anticipa- 
 lon of ciUamity— a mysterious foreboding of 
 M— which spread a strange terror through her. 
 lut her excitement was stcbng, and was not now 
 bsbe quelled ; and it would have needed some- 
 ling far more powerful than this vague fear to 
 Sop her in the search, into the mystery of the 
 
 fWhen men do any thing that is destined to 
 ffect them seriou^y, for good or evil, it often 
 Isppens that at theitime of the action a certain 
 Jiaccountable prenujuition arises in the mind. 
 Ibis is chiefly the case when the act is tb be the 
 kuse of sorrow. Like the wizard with Lochiel, 
 bine dark phantom arises before the mind, and 
 |«ms of the evil to como. So it was in the pres- 
 iit case. The pulling out of that drawer was an 
 iventful moment in the life of Zillah. It was a 
 Irisis fraught with future sorrow and evil and 
 bifering. There was something of all this in 
 er pind at that moment ; and, as she pulled it 
 pt, and as it lay before her, a shudder passed 
 lirongh her, and she turned her bice away. 
 I "Oh, Hilda, Hilda !i^he murmured. "I'm 
 ffraid— " . 
 
 1 "Afraid of what?" asked Hilda. "What's 
 he matter? Hera is a discovery, certainly. This 
 iecret drawer could never have been suspected. 
 Vhat a singnhv chance it was Uiat yon should 
 Ave made such a discovery I " 
 But Zillah did not seem to hear her. Before 
 he had done speaking she had turned to ex- 
 mine the drawer. There were several papers 
 a it. All were yellow and fade<l, and the writ- 
 ng upon them was |Wle wth age. These Zilhih 
 leized in a nervous and tremulous grasp. « The 
 Irst tine which she unfolded was the secret ci- 
 |her. Upon *this she gazed for some time in 
 lewilderment, and then opened a paper which 
 fcras inclosed within it. This paper, like the oth- 
 K, was faded, and the ink was ^e. It con- 
 pined what seemed like a key to decipher the 
 letters on the other. These Zillah placed on 
 Ine side, not choosing to do any more at that 
 pme. Then she went on to examine the others. 
 Vhat these were has already been exphuned. 
 •hey were the lettera of Obed Chute, and the 
 hrewell note of Lady Chetwynde. But in ad- 
 ution to these there was another letter, with 
 pich the reader is not as yet acquainted. It 
 WM as brown and as faded as the other papers, 
 |rith wr iting as pale juid as illegible. It w as in 
 RtFhamlwriiiDf «f ObedChnte.-^ U was ai fol- 
 pws: 
 
 ^1 " N«w ToBX, Octottr 10, 1841. 
 
 ' Dbar Sib,— L. C. has been in the convent 
 ^yenr. The seventy thousand dollare will never 
 gam trouble you. All is now settled, and no 
 no need ever know that the Redfield Lyttoun 
 ►ho ran away with L. C. was really Captain 
 
 Vom^ny. Thertfia no possibility »hat any ouq 
 can over find it out, unless you yourself disclose 
 yp'V secret Allow me to congratulate you on 
 the happy termination of this unpleasant bi^iness. 
 'YoMrs, truly, Oded Chdtb. 
 
 " Captain O. N. Puxiaov." 
 
 Zillah read this over many times. She could 
 not comprehend one word of it as vet. Who was 
 L. C. she knew not The mention of Captain 
 lomeroy, however, seemed to implicate her fa- 
 ther m some "unpleasant business." A dorkor 
 anucipation of evil, and a profounder dread, set- 
 tled over her heart. She did not soy a wolxl to 
 Hilda. This, whatever it was, could not be made 
 the subject of girlish confidence. It was soma- 
 thmg which she felt was to be examined by her- 
 self in solitude and in fear. Once only did^ she 
 lookatHUda. It was when the latter asked, in a 
 toneof^pipathy: 
 
 "DearZiJhih.whatisit?'* And, as she asked 
 this, she stooped forward and kissed her. 
 
 Zillah shuddered involhntarily. Why ? Not 
 because she suspected her friend. Her nature 
 was too noble to harbor suspicion. Her shud- 
 der rather arose from that mysterious premoni- 
 tion which, according to old superstitions, arises 
 warnihgly and instinctirely and bliridfy at the ap- 
 proach of danger. So the old superstition says 
 that this involuntary shudder will arise when any 
 one steps over the place which is destined to be 
 our grave. A pleasant fancy ! 
 
 Zillah shuddered, and looked up at Hilda with 
 a strange dazed expression. It was some time 
 before she spoke. 
 
 ' ' They are family papers, " she said. " I— I 
 don't understand them. I will look over them." 
 She gathered up the papen abruptly, and lef^ 
 the room. As the door closed after her Hilda 
 tot looking at the place where she had vanished, 
 with a Very singular smile on her face. 
 
 For the remainder of that day Zillah continued 
 shut up in her own room. Hilda went once 
 to ask, in a voice of the sweetest and tenderest 
 symMthy, what was the matter. Zillah only re- 
 plied that she was not well, and was lying down. 
 She wotfld not open her door, however. Again, 
 before bedtime, Hilda went At her earnest en- 
 treaty Zillah let her in. She was very pdie, wiUj 
 a weiry, anxious expression on her face. 
 Hilda embraced her and kissed her. 
 " Oh, my darling," said she, " will yon not tell 
 me your trouble? Perhaps I may be of use 
 to yon. Will you not give me your confi- 
 dence?" 
 
 "Not just yet, HUda dearest I do not want 
 to trouble you. Be(Hes, there may bo nothing in 
 it I will speak to the Earl first, and then I will 
 tell you." 
 
 " And yon will not tell me now ?" murmured 
 Hilda, reproachfully. 
 
 "No, dearest, not now. Better not You 
 will soon know all, whether it is good or bad. I 
 nm going back to Chetw ynde to-morro w." " _ 
 
 \. 
 
 "To-morrow? 
 
 "Jfes," said Zillah, monmfuOy. "I must go 
 back to end my suspense. You caix do nothing. 
 Lord Chetwynde only can tell me what I want 
 to know. I will tell him all, and he can dispel 
 my trouble, or else deepen it in my heart for- 
 ever." 
 
 ' ' How lerribte I What a frightfUl thing this 
 
 / 
 
 fob a5u i*'<f y' 'It.J 
 
64 
 
 THB CRTPTOGBAM, 
 
 
 matt be. My dsHIng, my friend, nr tUter, tell 
 me this— was it that wretched paper?" 
 
 "Yes/'taidZiUah. "And now, dealest, good- 
 night l>aTe ni»~i am verr miserable. " 
 
 Hilda kissed heV agdn. 
 
 */ Darling, I would not leare von, bat jon drive 
 me away. Yon have no confidence in yonr poor 
 Hilda. Bnt I will not reproach yon. Good> 
 /night, darling." 
 
 "Qood-night, dearest." 
 
 CHAPTER XVin. 
 
 A SHOCK. 
 
 The discovery of these papers thtis brought 
 the visit to Pomeroy Court to an abmpt termina- 
 tion. The place had now become intolerable to 
 Zillah. In her impatience she was eager to 
 leave, and her one th^ght noW was to apply to 
 Lord Chetwynde for a solution ^f this dark mys- 
 tery. 
 
 ''Why, Zillah," he cried, as she came back; 
 " what is the meaning of this ? You 4iave made 
 but a short stay. Was Pomeroy Court too 
 gloomy, or did yon think that yonr poor fa- 
 ther was lonely here without yton? Xonely 
 enonj^ he Was — and glad indeed i he is to see 
 his litUe Zillah." 
 
 And Lord Chetw^de kissed hw fondly, ex- 
 hibiting ^ delight which touched ZiUah to the 
 heart She C(mld not say any thing then and 
 tt)ere abont the real cause of her sudden retnri). 
 She would have to wait for a &vorable oppor- 
 tnnitv, even thou^ her heart was throbbing, in 
 her fierce impati^ce, as thoagb it ^onld burst 
 r She took refuge in caresses and in general re- 
 marks as to her joy on finding herself back again, 
 leaving him to suppose that the gloom which hung 
 around Pomeroy Court now bad been too op- 
 pressive for her, and that she had hnnied^way 
 ftom it y^ 
 
 The subject which was nppermort<4n Zillah's 
 
 mind was one which she haraly knifw how to in- 
 
 . traduce. It was of such delicMiV that tihe idea 
 
 of mentioning it to the Earl filled her with r»- 
 
 _ pngnance. For the first day she was distrait and 
 
 preoccupied. Other days followed. Her nights 
 
 jwere sleepless. The Earl soon sdw that there 
 
 was something on her mind, and taxed her with 
 
 it ZiUah burst into tears and sat weeping. 
 
 "My child," said the Earl, tenderlyf " This 
 must not go on. There can not be ^ny thing in 
 your thoughts wych you need hesiiate to tell 
 me. Will yoq. not show some confidence toward 
 me?" 
 
 Zillah looked at him, and his loving face en- 
 couraged her. Betides, this soiipense was unen- 
 durable. Her repugnance to mention vuch a 
 thing for a time made her silent^^ut at last she 
 ventured upon the dark and tf^Ue subject 
 
 " Something occarred at Pomeroy Court," she 
 said, and then stopped. 
 
 _ "WeU?':" laid (hfr&drJciBdlf «d.eseGib»- 
 gingly. 
 
 "It is something which I want very mnch to 
 ask you about—" 
 
 "Well, why don't yon?" said Lord Chetwynde. 
 "Mt poor child, jrott cant be afraid of me, and 
 yet it looks like it You are very mysterious. 
 This ' something' must have been very import- 
 
 ant to have ieiit yon bodt ■> woen. Was h n 
 discovery, or was it a Wght? Did joa find « I 
 dead body ? Bnt what U that yon can want'io I 
 ask me about? I have been a hermit for twenty I 
 Tears, l crept into.mv shell before von wen I 
 bom, .and here I have lived ever Unce. '^ I 
 
 The Earl spoke pkyfuUy. yet with an nneatr I 
 curiosi^ in hts tone. Zillah waa enotfnraged lo | 
 go on. I 
 
 " It is something," said she, timidly and het- 
 iutingly, " which I found among my ather's pt. I 
 pers." f 
 
 Lord Chetwynde looked all around the rooin. 
 Then he rose. 
 
 " Come into the library," said he. " Perhapi I 
 it is something very important ; and if so, then i 
 nee4 be no listeners." | 
 
 Saying this he led the way in silence, followed I 
 by ZiUah. Arriving there he motioned Zillah to I 
 a seat, and took a chair opposite, hers, looking m I 
 her with a glance of pmplexity and curiosit}'. I 
 Amidst this there waa an air of apprdiensiug I 
 about him, os though .he foared that the seem I 
 which ZiUah wished to te|l might he connected! 
 with those events in his life which he withed to I 
 remain nnreveoled. This suspicion was natnnL I 
 His own secret waa so huge, to engrossing, thit I 
 when one oome to hbn aa ZiUah did now, bowed I 
 down by the weight of another secret, he woakl | 
 natnralhr imagine that it was connected with bit I 
 own. He sat now opposite ZiUah, with this for I 
 in his face, end with the afar of a man who ni | 
 trying to fortify himself against aome menadu I 
 cahunity. ' 
 
 " I have been in very deep trpab](B," I 
 ZiUoh, timidly, and with downcast ^yet. ' _^ 
 time I ventored into dear ]Mpa's stody— andll 
 happened to examine his dew. " 
 She hesitated. 
 
 " WeU ?" said the Earl, in a low voice. 
 "In the desk I found a secret drawer, whietl 
 I would not have discovered except by the metot I 
 chance ; and inside of thia secret drawer I fonnd I 
 some papers, which->which have filled me vitkl 
 anxle^.'' « I 
 
 "A secret drawer?" toid the fiari, at Ziiul 
 agofai pansed. "And what were'these papenl 
 that ^on found in it ?" There was intense anx- 1 
 iety in the tones of his voice as he asked tliiil 
 question. 
 
 "Ifoandthere,"taidZUhh, "apaperwrittal 
 in cipher. There wat a kev connected with it, I 
 by means of which I was able to decipher it" 
 
 "Written in cipher? How singular I" said I 
 the Earij with increasing anxietv. "What could | 
 it possibly have been?" 
 
 ZUlah stole a i^nce at him feorfnUy and in-l 
 qulringly. She taw that he wat much excited | 
 and most eager in his Cariosity. 
 
 "What wat It?" repeated the Eari. "Wijl 
 do jroa keep me in tntpense ? You need not bt I 
 aflcoid of me, my child. Of course it is nothi^l 
 that I am in any way concerned with ; and vm I 
 if it were— why— M any rote, teU m« wb« HI 
 waa^— =#= ■ 
 
 The Earl spoke hi a tone of feverish exdte-l 
 ment, wnich was to unlike any thing tiiat ZSM I 
 had ever seen in him before uat her embanM-l 
 ment wat hicreased. 
 
 " It wat lomething," the went on, detpentdr, I 
 and in a voice which trembled wiA agitatii)i,| 
 "with which yon are connected — tometU^I 
 
 i ^-t'«fcia^V3 3(!<ti^'<A.3 
 
 «tfu''^^i^6'\i„ i. *? ' \Cm^ " '^'mSW 
 
 fJ^iSihi^ 
 
 
 ti li-*^ ■• ? J-wS^&s^* 
 
fcn hick m Kum. Waahil 
 it 1^ fright r Did jm flii((a| 
 what it that you can want' to I 
 hare been a liennit for twent; I 
 to.mT thell before yon wen I 
 ave lived ever kince. ' 
 
 THE GBTFTOGKAMi 
 
 playfully, yet with an nneair I 
 «. ^ ZiHaa was enoonraged to I 
 
 g," said she, timidly and hea- 
 [ foond among my &ther'« p*. I 
 
 I looked all aronnd the room. 
 
 library, "laid he. "Perhapi 
 r important ; and if lo, there 
 I." [ 
 
 d the way in tilence, followed 
 g there he motioned Zillah to I 
 :hair opposite, hers, looking u I 
 of poplexity and curiosit}-. [ 
 was an air of iqyrehensiun 
 igh,he feared that the seem 
 1 to tell might be connected I 
 1 his life which be wished to! 
 This suspicion was natonl I 
 so hoge, 10 engrossing, duti 
 lim as Zillah did now, bowed I 
 ; of Another secret, he wonid| 
 ^ it was connected with hit I 
 opporittf Zillah, with this feu I 
 k the air of a man who wul 
 iself against some menadigl 
 
 I very deep trpnbjjs," L„ 
 with downcast ^yea. ''T_ 
 
 dear papa's ttndy — and 1 1 
 le his deik." 
 
 ) Earl, in a low voice. , 
 rand a secret drawer, wUct 1 
 covered except by the meieH I 
 of this secret drawer I foond I 
 —which have filled me witli| 
 
 rt" said the tvA, as 73m\ 
 nd what were 'these papenl 
 t" There was intense anx- 1 
 ' his voice as he asked thil 
 
 laid ZiUah, "a paper writtti I 
 as a ker connected with it,| 
 
 was able to decipher it." 
 ler? How singalar!" nidi 
 sing anxiety. "What could I 
 1?" 
 ice at him ibarfnlly and in-l 
 
 that he was much excittdl 
 8 cariosity. 
 
 repeated the Eaii "VHi;! 
 ispensef Yon need notbtl 
 U. Of conrseitisnothii^l 
 r GODcemed with ; anderal 
 
 any nite, tell me who ill 
 
 1 a tone of feverish excite- 1 
 anlike any thing that Zillilil 
 I before that her embanM-l 
 
 ;," she went on, despentetf, I 
 h trembled with agitttiei,! 
 MX) connected— sometii&i|| 
 
 ihich Iliad Mvtr heard of before— something 
 thich illed me with horror. I will show it to 
 W— bvtiwantiiiattoaakyoaonething. Will 
 on answer itr 
 
 < Why shdidd I nott" said the Earl, in a low 
 oice. * 
 
 , " It is abont Lady CSietwynde," said Zillah^ 
 trhoie voice had dteii«way to a whisper. 
 
 The Earl's ftce seemed to tara to stone at he 
 Aoked at her. He had been half prepared for 
 his, bnt still, when it finally came, it was over- 
 ^hehning. Once before, and once only in his 
 Ife, had he toki hi* secret That was to Gen- 
 iral Fomdroy. Bnt Zillah wa» different, and 
 jrenithe, nmch at he loved her, waa not one to 
 Irhom he«onId speak obont snch a thing as this. 
 "Wdir said he at lastt in a harsh, con- 
 trained vdce. " Ash what yon wish. " 
 ZiUah started. The tone waa so different fron 
 hat in ««ieh Lord Chetwynde usually spoke that 
 he was frightened^ 
 "I— I do not know how t6 atk what I want 
 ) ask," the stammered. 
 
 "I can imagine it," said the Earl. "It it 
 Ibont my dishonor. I told General Pomeray 
 mboat it once, and it seems that he has kindly 
 Sritten it out for yonr benefit." 
 Bitterness indescribable was in the Esvl's tones 
 s he said this. ZiUah shrank back into herself 
 nd looked widi fear and wonder upon this man, 
 |rho a few moments before had been all fond> 
 I8S, bat now wat all tntpicion. Her first im> 
 ' I wat to go and carest him, and explain 
 the cipher so that it might never again 
 .\)l«llfasinthitVray< Bat she was too frank 
 nd honest to do this, aod, betides, her own de^ 
 pre to unravel the injury had by thit time ba- 
 ome 80 intense thitt it waa impossible to stop, 
 lie very agitation of the Eari, while it fright- 
 ned her, stil} gave new power to her eager and 
 leverish cariosity. But now, more than ever, she 
 MgaQ to realise what all this involved. That 
 ace Which canght her eyes, once all love, which 
 ■ad never before rggarded her with aaght but 
 mdemess, yet which now seemed cold and icy 
 -that face told her all the task that lay before 
 her. Could she encoanter it? But how could 
 |ihe help it? Dare she gat-oai Yet she could 
 not go back now. . 
 The Earl saw her hesitation. 
 " I know what yon wish to ask," said he, "and 
 mU answer it. Child, she dishonored me— she 
 dragged my name down into the dust I Do yon 
 -iskmore? ^fledwithavHIain!" . 
 That stem, white fece, which was set ih an- 
 ■guish before her, from whose lips these words 
 ■seemed to be torn, at, one by one, they were 
 Wang out to her earsL wa« remembered by ZiUah 
 Imany and many a time in after years* At this 
 ■moment the efibct npon her was appiUling. She 
 Iwns dninb. ^A vague dadrq to avert hU wrath 
 larose in her heart She looked at him imploring. 
 I V ; but her look had no longer any power. 
 \ Sg»h»'' j«^«*M, inap atientl y, after wai t..- 
 , w a tinw," *^8paatr Tefffie whaf R is that 
 I yon have found; teU me what this thing it that 
 I concenw me. Can it be any tiding more than I 
 I have said?" * 
 
 Zillau tremUfld. Thit MiddeB trantformation 
 I -thw complete diang« frpm warm aflbctien to 
 I icy coldnett—from derob^ love to iron stem- 
 I Best— wat aomething whidi ihe did not antioi- 
 
 .it i 
 
 «5 
 
 pate. Bdng thot taken :aumum^ tho wat all 
 unnenred and overcome, Sh« could no longer 
 rattrainhoraelf. • * 
 
 •'Oh,Jathen" the ctkC^hmtiqg fnto tears, 
 and flinging herself a|^ feet in nneoatroUable 
 emotion. "Oh, fatJ»l Donatlookatmeso- 
 donotH^^sotoyourpoorZillahi JHavelany 
 friend on earth but you ?" w^ . 
 
 She clasped his thin, white hands in hti«, white 
 hot tears ^apon them. But tha, Eari sat un- 
 moved, and changed not a matde of- his coun- 
 tenance. He waited for a time, taking no no- 
 Uoo of her anguish, and then spoke, with n» re- 
 laxation of the stemnett of his tone. . 
 
 "Daughter," said he, "do not become agi- 
 tated. It was yw yourself who hrrfiight on thit 
 ■conversaUon.' Let as end it at once. Show me 
 the papers of whiohryon-tpeak. You say that they 
 ara connected with m»*-that tbc^y fiUad jiou with 
 horror. Whatls it that yon mean? Something 
 more than cnriotii^ about the.nnhan>y woman 
 who wat once iny wife haa driven you to ask ex- 
 pbnationt of me. Show me the papers. " 
 
 Hit tone forbade denial Zillah taid not a 
 word. Slowly the draw hma. her pocket thote 
 papers, heavy with fete, and, with » tiembling 
 band, die gave them to the.EarL Scarcely had 
 the done to than she repented. But it was too 
 ute. Beside, of what avail would it have been 
 to have kept them t She herself hadhegun thit 
 conyenation; the herself had songht for a rav- 
 ehktion of this mystery. The and. mntt come, 
 whatever itmight be. 
 " Oh, fether i" she maanad, implorinsly. 
 "What U It?" asked the EirlT^'^ 
 "You knew my dear papa allhit Mfe, did von 
 not, from hit boyhood ?'" ' 
 
 "Yet," taid thaEari, mechaaieally, looking - 
 at the papera which ZiUah had pkced in hit 
 hand ; '^ yet— from boyhood." . 
 "And you loved and honored him?" 
 "Yes.'' 
 
 "Wat there ever a time hi which, you lost 
 sight of one an9ther, or did not know aU about 
 one another?" 
 
 "Certainly. For twenty years wa ket sidit 
 of one another oompleteiy. Why doyoaask?" 
 "Did ha ever live in Lcindon?"wked ZUhdi, 
 despakingly. 
 
 "Yes," said the Earl ;( Mho Uved there for two 
 years, and^ I scarcely ever s^w him. ' I was in 
 poUtiosjhawathithaaimy. I wat buqr every 
 moment otjof time ; he had aU that leiaoia 
 which officers enjoy, and leMSng the life of gay- 
 c^peo«Uac to them. But why do you atk? 
 What connection hat aU this wim tha papers ?" 
 ZULih murmurtd tome inawdil^ wiordt, and 
 then tat watahing tha Earl at ha began.to exam, 
 ina tha pmrt, with a fitce on which, theia were 
 vitible a thousand contending em^tiont.. The 
 Earl looked over the papert. Th«rawB|t the ci- 
 pher and the key; and there was uai. paper 
 written oat by ZiUah, containing thewip&niaon 
 At thft pji ihttf w ^oQrdinjLtfi t ho k or fl hithii iia « 
 per wldc^ obtained tha keywua wri«Mo^£e-^ 
 meot to flie efiecttbat two.thirda of tbe.kt^n 
 had no maanhig, Truttbig to thit, ZiUah bad 
 written out her. trantlation of the drdier, juit at 
 Hilda had before dona. . 
 ' /Hie Earl read the trantlation thi«ngb nait 
 eareftaUy. 
 " What't thit?" he exckimed^in deaperagitfc 
 
 a 
 

 66 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRABT.- 
 
 ! 
 i 
 
 tion. ZUkh made no nflj. In fact, nt that 
 moment her heart wu torobbing ao furiouHly 
 that sh^ conld not have ipoken a word. Now 
 hod come the eriaa of her fate, and hor heart, by 
 a certain deep instinct, told h6r this. Beneath 
 V nil the agitation arising from the change in the 
 Earl there was something more profound, more 
 dread. It was a continuation of thatxlark fore- 
 boding which she hnd felt at Pomeroy Court — 
 a certain fearful loolcing for of some obscure and 
 shadowy calamity. 
 
 The Earl, after reading tlio trnnslotion, took 
 the cipher writing nnd held up the key beside it, 
 while his thin hands trembled, and his eves 
 seemed to devour the sheet, as he slowly spelled 
 oat the frightful meaning. It was bad for Zillah 
 that these papers hod fallen into his hands in 
 such a wnv. Her evil star had been in the as- 
 cendant when she was drawn on to this. Com- 
 ing to him thus, from the hand of Zillah herself, 
 there was an authenticity and an authority about 
 tlie papers which otherwise might have been 
 wanting. It was to him, at this time, precisely 
 the same as if they had been handed to him by 
 the General hiragclf. Hod they been discovered 
 by hio|iself originally, it is possible— in fact, high- 
 ly probable— that ho would have looked upon 
 them with different eyes, and their effect upon 
 him would have been far othenvise. ^s it was, 
 however, Zillah herself had found th<e£a'and'given 
 them to him. ZilUih had been exciting him by 
 her agitation and her suffering, and had, last of 
 all, been rousing him gradually up to a pitch of 
 the most intense excitement, by the conversation 
 which she had brought forward, by her timidity, 
 her reluctance, her strange questionings, and her 
 genend agitation. To a task which requy-ed the 
 utmost coolness of feeling, and calm impartiality 
 of judgment, he brought a feverish heart, a heated 
 brain, and an unreasoning fear of some terrific 
 disclosure. All this prepared him to accept blind- 
 ly whatever the paper might reveal. 
 
 As he examined the paper he did not look at 
 Zillah, but spelled out the words from the char- 
 acters, one by one, and saw that the translation 
 was correct. This tpok a long time ; and all the 
 while Zillah sat there, with her eyes fastened on 
 him ; but he did not give her one look. All his 
 soul seemed, to be absorbed by the papers before 
 him. At last he ended with the cipher writing — 
 or, at least, with as much of it as was supposed 
 to be decipherable — and then he turned to the 
 other papers. These he read through ; and then, 
 beginning again, he read them through once 
 more. One only exclamation escaped him. It 
 was while reading that lost letter, where mention 
 was made of the name Redfield Lyttoun being 
 an assumed one. Then he said, in a low voice 
 which seemed like a groan wrung out by angaish 
 from his inmost soul : 
 "Oh, my God I mvGod!" 
 At hist the Earl finished examining the pa- 
 pen. He put them down feebly, and sat stai^ 
 mg blankly at vacancy. He looked ten years 
 older than when he had entered the dining-room. 
 _HisJiMe was as bloodless as the face of a corpse, 
 "TjIs lips were ashen, and new farrows seemed to 
 have been traced on his brow. On his face 
 there wu stamped a fixed and settled expliessioi 
 of dull, changeless anguish, which smote Zillal. 
 to her heart. He did not sea her—he did n0t 
 notice that other face, a* poUid as his o 
 
 which was turned toward his, with an agony in 
 ite expression which rivaled all that ho was en 
 during. No-^he qsticed nothing, and saw uu 
 one.. All his' Soul was taken up now with ono 
 thoaght. lie had fsad the paper, and had at 
 once accepted its terrific mea<[tng. To him it 
 had declared that in the tragedy of his youni; 
 life, not only his wife had been false, but iiin 
 friend also. More— tliat it was his friend who 
 had betrayed his wife. Mora yet— and there 
 was fresh anguish in this thoi^ht— this friend, 
 ofter the absence of many years, had letunicti 
 and claimed his friendship, and had received his 
 confidences. To him he had poured out , tlio 
 grief of his heart— the confession of life-I»ng 
 sorrows which had been wrought by the veiy 
 man to whom he told his tale. And this was 
 the man who, under the plea of ancient friend- 
 ship, had bought his son fur gold 1 Great Ileav-' 
 en { the son of the woman whom he had ruined 
 —and for gold I He had drawn oway his wife to 
 ruin — he had come and drawn away his son— 
 into what ? into a marriage with the daughter 
 of his own mother's betrayer. 
 
 Such were the thoughts, mod, frenzied, tlukt 
 filled Lord Chetwynde^s mind as he sat them 
 stunned — paralyzed by this hideous accumula- 
 tion of intolerable griefs. What was Zilkth to 
 him now ? The child of a foul traitor. The 
 one to whom bis noble son had been sold. That 
 son had been, as he once said, the solace of hit 
 life. For his sake ho had been content to live 
 even under his loud of sham^4n4 misery. For 
 him he had labored; for ^is happiness he had 
 planned. And for what ?» WijiAt f. That which 
 was too hideous to think bf-^a livii)^ death— « 
 nnion with one from vitba^'^i ot^ltt to stand 
 apart for evermore. v»,*'^ ^\\ .(^.s;;; 
 
 Little did Zillah ^nl^ ^tfi(y|f||»nght8 wei« 
 sweeping and surging thi«^l|pi^teiind of Lord 
 Chetwynde as she sat theki^-^^uia!>)iini with 
 her awful eyes. Little md she^n^i^the 
 feelings with which, nt that moment,^^'t^rd. 
 ed her. Nothing of this kind come t6Tb%' ,|)ne 
 only thought was present— the anguish whith be 
 was enduring. The sight of that anguish waj 
 intolerable. She looked, and waited, and at last, 
 unable to bear this any longer, she sprang for- 
 ward, and tore his hands away from his fkce. 
 
 "It's not! It's not I "she gasped. "Sajryoa 
 do not believe it! Oh, father! It's impossi- 
 ble !" *^ 
 . The Earl withdrew his hands, and shrank awaj 
 from her, regarding her with that blank gaze 
 which shows that the mind sees not the mate- 
 rial form toward which the eyes ore turned, but 
 is taken np with its own thoughts. 
 
 " Impossible ?" he repeiUed. " Yes. That ii 
 the word I spoke when I first heard that the hod 
 left me. Ii^possible? And why? Is a friend 
 more true than a wife ? After Lady Chetwyndt 
 failed me, why should I believe in NeviUe Pome- 
 roy? And you— why did yon not let me end 
 my life in peace? Why did yon bring to dm 
 •'•■« frightful- this damning evidence which de- 
 
 yi^my faith w o t la aon. but even in Hg 
 itself?" 
 " Father ! Oh, fttther !" moaned Zillah. 
 But the Earl turned away. She seized his 
 hand again in both hers. Again he shrank 
 away, and withdrew his hand from her touch. 
 She was abhorrent to him then ( 
 
 -4J^ 
 
toward hit, with an agony in 
 ;h rivuled all that ho was en 
 ^Sliced nothing, anu uw nv 
 
 wan taken up now with ono 
 
 bad the paper, and had at 
 terriHc mear^ing. To him ft 
 in the tragedy of hii young 
 vife had been falie.bat hU 
 >— lliat it waa liia friend who 
 wife. Mora yet— and there 
 in thia thoi^ht— this friend, 
 )f many years, had refunKhl 
 indship, and had received liij 
 liim he had poured out .the 
 —the confession of life-long 
 1 been wrought by the veiy 
 old his talo. And tliis won 
 ir,t6«j>lea of ancient friend- 
 8 son for gold I Great Heav- ' 
 woman whom he had ruined 
 [e had drawn away his wife to 
 
 and drawn away his son— 
 mwriago with the danghter 
 
 betrayer. 
 
 lioughts, mad, frenzied, tlut 
 ndo's mind as he sat there 
 1 by this hideous accumiila> 
 griefs. What was Zillah to 
 lild of a foul traitor. The 
 ble son had been sold. That 
 
 I once said, the solace of hit 
 ho had been content to lire 
 of sliam^j^4 misery. For 
 
 il; for ^ia hi^ppiness he had 
 rhat h] Wi»*t ?, That which 
 think t)f-^a liriiig. death— a 
 a win^^^ei o^U to stand 
 
 aii^ ^Al^bnghta were 
 g thre>(fi|fmteiind of Lord 
 It theii^-«E|tfj|b'^Wm with 
 Jttle ma she dni^i^ the 
 at that moment,^^'r^i^. 
 this kind came to M^'^^ne 
 isent — the anguish whith he 
 s sight of that anguish wa« 
 ked, and waited, ond at last, 
 any longer, she sprang for- 
 tnda away from his face. 
 >t 1 " she gasped. ' ' 8af yoa 
 Ob, father! It's impossi- 
 
 his hands, and shrank awaj 
 her with that blank gaze 
 ic mind sees not the mate- 
 ich the eyes ore turned, but 
 iwn thoughts, 
 repeated. "Yes. Thatii 
 ia I first heard that $he had 
 ? And why? Is a friend 
 9? After Ladr Chetwyndt 
 
 I I beliere in Mevi}le Pomfr 
 ly did ^ou not let me end 
 Why did yoa bring to dm 
 unning evidence which de- 
 tinaay-bat Bven in Ileava 
 
 ther!" moaned Zillah. 
 ed away. She seized hij 
 here. Again he shrank 
 lis hand from her touch, 
 to him then ( 
 
 THE CBTPTOGBAM. 
 
 •7 
 
 t?n!:i?'.,^S^^ gg ^r ^''ffl»!^h¥*r-« rf^ 
 
 at once a wild mrnlsion of feeling tookltace 
 TUhm her alw. All the fierce priJe of her hot, 
 impassioned Spath«m nature rose np in rebelll 
 103 agrbut this sadden, this hasty chwge. Why 
 Bhonld he so goon lose faith in Wither ? He 
 gniltyi-her father!— the noble— the genUe— 
 the stainlesi-the true— he I the pan in heart— 
 
 t, 'Alii 
 
 fore her as the ideal of manly honor and loyattr 
 and truth ? Never! If it came to a qaestttntt 
 between Lord Chetwynde and that idol "of her 
 young life, whose memoTT she adored, then -• 
 Lord Chetwynde must go down, i Who wu he 
 that dared to think evU for onMhoment of the 
 BobliBstofmenI CotddheUmi^co^&eiritb 
 
 x:* 
 
68 
 
 THE CBYPTOGRAM. 
 
 the father whom she had lost, in all that is highest 
 in manhood? No. The cha:rge was foal and 
 false. Lord Chetwynde waa fdke for go doubt- 
 ing his friend. ■> , 
 
 All this flashed 9Ter Zillah's mind, and at that 
 moment, in her rernlsion of indignant pride, she 
 forgot altogether all those doubts which, but a 
 short time before, had been agitating her. own 
 soul — doabts, too, which were so strong that 
 they bad forced her to bring on this scene irith 
 the Earl. All this was forgotten. Her Idjridty 
 to her father triumphed over doubt, so, soon as 
 she saw another sharing, that doubt ' / 
 
 But her thoughts were suddenly cheeked. 
 
 The Earl, who had but lately shrunk away 
 from her, now Kimed toward her, and looked at 
 her with a Strang^, dazed, blank expression of 
 iace, and wild vacant eyes. For a nM)ment he 
 sat turned toward her thus ; and thert, giviqg a 
 deep groan, he fell f6rward out of his chair on 
 the floor. With a piercing cry^Zillah a|Htng 
 toward him and tried tb raise him np,:, Her ct^ 
 aroused the h6u8eh<ri4> Mrs. Bart was flnt 
 among tboae who nished to the room to help 
 her. She flung her arms around the prostrate- 
 form, and lifted it upon the sofa. ' As he lay 
 
 .- there a shudder passed through Zillah'g fnmeat liBettet far, it seemed to her, it would be to carry 
 tiie sight which she bejield. For the Earl, in • tbat aeciet to the "grave than to disokiae it in any 
 
 eonfldanOB : to. easf third mnopi 
 
 falling, had struck hisi'liead against the shup- 
 comer of (he table, ancl his white and venerable 
 hairs were now all stained with blood, which 
 trickled slowly over his wan pale face. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A NEW FEBPLEXITT. 
 
 thoughts, and Mrs. Hart was preoccupied, and 
 more distrait thian usual. 
 
 Midnigh^came^ For honn ZiUah had brood- 
 ed over herWn soispws. She longed for sym- 
 pathv. Mrs. Hart seemed to her tobe .the one 
 id whom ahtf might best confl^ fSe' evident 
 affectioh whieb Mrs. ILu^fUt for the Earl was 
 of itself an: liidi^ment^ confidence.. Her own 
 rtf{itotimiliMr*}»i^^ housekeeper also impelled 
 'hei' td t^Mf^all that had happened. And so it 
 WWlMat, while they sat there together, Zillah 
 ^duailjr told her about her interview with the 
 
 But the stoiy which Zillah told did not com- 
 prise the whole truth. She did not wish to go 
 into details, and there were many circun\stance« 
 which she did aat feel inclined to tell to the 
 housekeeper. There was no reason why she 
 should tell about the secretv cipher, and very 
 many reasons why she should not It was an 
 affair which concerned her father and- her fam- 
 ily. That her own fears were well footldsd she 
 dared not suppose, and therefore die would not 
 einen hint about such fears to another. Abo\-e 
 alii she was unwilling to tell what effect the dis- 
 dlqsnre of that secret of hers had upon the EarL 
 
 At the sight of that venerable face, as white 
 as marble, now set in the fixedness of death) 
 whose white hair was all stained with the blood 
 that oozed from the wound on his forehead, all 
 Zillah 's tendemeaa returned, fiittedy idie re- 
 proached herself. 
 
 " I tave killed him ! it wa* aU my fanlt t" 
 she cried. "Oh, saiv him! D6 sbmethiogii 
 Can you not save him ?" - <- 
 
 Mrs. Hart did n6t sectt-tokear iMr^atall. 
 She had carried the E^ to>th»is«St, ancHfaen 
 she knelt by his side, with hev'atais flmig kroond 
 him. She seemed uneonse|oM (of the 'presence 
 of Zillah. Her head lay on the Eari's breast 
 At Ust she pressed her lips to Ua fbrahcad, whdre' 
 the blood flowed, with^ quicks fcterikh kisi. 
 Her white face, as it wV set against the stony 
 &ce of the Earl, startled ZiUah. She Mood 
 mule. 
 
 The servants hurrieddjn. Mrs. Hart roused 
 herself^ and had the am carried to his room. 
 Zillah fbllowed. The Earl was put to bed. A 
 servant was sent off for a doct^ Mrs. Hart 
 and Zillah watched anxiously ^ the doctor 
 came. The do^ju' dressed the wonnd, and gave 
 directions for thmreatment of the patieiUj^ Qui- 
 et above all ftiingi was enjoi ned. ApopHy was 
 -Untaditt^ tmt tt mm tmiy siiat "rte rau cbn- 
 viction of the doctor seemed to be that it was 
 mental tronUe of tome Und, and ^is conviction 
 was shared by those who wa^holvthe EarL ^ 
 
 Zillah and Mrs. Hart both watched that n^R. 
 lliey sat in anjidjoining room. But little was 
 ■aid at first 
 
 any 
 Whatever the 
 ibMtrmi|ht^!itW«iiid'fcaibetteifto hold it con- 
 oetfe4'Wt#diaila)EM «iid!hMto)f. r. . 
 
 What\Z&tab«*lihnUit»tii0«flMt.liiik«flhe had 
 been twktagtte'Btel OahtoliadyiGhiBtwynde; 
 that tiie mention of tieiiiilJBatili irtl fh o dMeed an 
 extraordinniy effect; that shetvmeditty with- 
 draw it, but the Earl inaUted'bOuknDwing what 
 she had to say. 
 
 "Oh," she cried, "how Uttarlrljament that 
 IsaidlanytUng^lrixMitJtl Bnt Lkad iseen some- 
 thing Bti home! wUeh exdtad *igt> icariosity. It 
 wu afaoat Lady Chetwynde. It stated that she 
 eh)J)e<l with a certain Kiedfield Lyttoun, and that 
 the name was an assumed one ; but what, " cried 
 Zilkh, suddenly starting fbrwajrd'^t/ what is the 
 matter?" " 
 
 While Zillab wM spMidpgiMtt Hart'i face- 
 always pal»-<faeoMd<tD<tiim gr^r,.and a shad- 
 dtt passed 'thrburfi h«i(<thh>, rimaciated frame. ■ 
 She pressed her hand ion kerlUMt. and sudden- 
 ly sank back with a groaat'iii 
 
 ZiUah s|>mn||<tQii!Mdivfaeri «M mised &er up. 
 Mrs. Hart IMUllMiM her htud Ion herhtertj and 
 gave mteranco'lnJowMoans'OfoiifrishtpiiZillah 
 ctefedi her liluads^ said, tbeii hurrieitoff' and got 
 ■one wine. ^ 'At the taste o/ tlm stimulating 
 UqAo^'^ipbor oreatare rarired, She then sat 
 panli|tg«iirithlMr«yaBfixedM the floor. Zillah 
 sat) lookiiHB \Kt faerinitlKmtkajilng a word, and 
 afhiid la tbrnh again apoo 'atsaUMt which had 
 produced •» diaastroas on eASwiU:l¥at wlif should 
 it? Why should this weaumalMw emotion eqpl 
 to that of the Eikrl M the vetflatentiasi of such t 
 thing? There was sai^Iy Mme unfathomable 
 mysterr about it The emotion of the Earl was 
 intellitf ble— t hat of Mrs. Hart Was n ot so. Such 
 
 wereWelhoughU that passed through her mind 
 as she sat there in silence watching her com- 
 panion. 
 
 Hours passed withont one word beinif spoken. 
 
 ZiUah fkwinently urged Mrs. Hart to go to bed, 
 
 but Mrs. Hart refused. She could fttt sleep, she 
 
 Zillah was busied with her own said, jaad she would rather be near the SsA 
 
Hart was preoccnpied, and 
 inaL 
 
 For hoars Zillah had brood- 
 tpwi. She longed for sym- 
 eemed to her tobd the one 
 best coiifi<^ ^nie evident 
 . £tol'<Ut for the Earl was 
 nt^ confidence.. Her own 
 1 housekeeper also impelled 
 t had happened. And so it 
 ' sat there together, Zillah 
 Mat her interview with the 
 
 ;h Zillah told did not com- 
 i. She did not wish to go 
 e were manv circun^stancea 
 feel inclined to tell to the 
 i was no reason why ghe 
 le secretv cipher, and very 
 he should not. It was an 
 ad her father and her fam- 
 ibara were well fontldsd she 
 nd therefore she Would not 
 I fears to another. Aboi-e 
 ; to tell what effect the dis- 
 of hers had upon the EarL 
 to her, it wonld be to carry 
 re than to disclose it in any 
 IrdMno^t.- Whatever the 
 oid'Mibetteifto hold it con- 
 
 1* to.tiis«fiMt<1lMti aha had 
 
 I khthkiKia^JQtotWjmde; 
 
 k«il tnl ) ) Bitilyfaitodiyed an 
 
 that •hsiwlsfeeditb' with- 
 
 insbt«d'oaL'&nowing what 
 
 'howUttsrhT'IJament thnt 
 iiti But IJutdiseen some- 
 exeitad isficvriosity. It 
 wynde. It stated that she 
 Kedfield Lrttonn, and that 
 med one ; but what," cried 
 ng forwaJrd'w^i^wbat is the 
 
 liMUpgiMm Hart'i facc- 
 ttxtiuii giiqr,.and a shud- 
 ^ititldo, rimaciated frame. 
 iOD'AeniiMrt. and sudden- 
 roaiK-'iiiii. •■ ■ 
 idivheri^kd ndsed her op. 
 lep htind Ion her: htert; : and 
 ntoamoCaagilkhr' iZitlah 
 Ithmi hnnieitoff' and got 
 tame qf the stioiulating 
 ire rarirad^ She then sat 
 Axed aa the floor. Zillah 
 Ihoat: iMjting a word, and 
 ■|nni«)aablMti which had 
 ■a efieou :i¥at wtf should 
 ranan dMw ODOtion eqfil 
 ^a veiJpMntiea of such « 
 mtt\j some nnfkthomable 
 le emotion of the Eofl wta 
 ri. Hart #as not so. Such 
 i poised through her mind 
 ilence watching her com- 
 
 st one wwd being spoken. 
 
 d Mrs. Hart to go to bed, 
 
 She could Mt sleep, sb« 
 
 rather be near the UiA 
 
 THE CRTPTOGBAM. 
 
 At length ZiUab, penetrated with pity for the 
 poor suffering woman, insisted on her lying down 
 on the sofa. Mrs. Hart had to yield. She lay 
 down accordingly, but not to sleep. The sighs 
 that escaped her from time to time showed that 
 her secret sorrt>w kept her awake. 
 
 Suddenly, out of a deep silence, Mrs. Hart 
 sprang up and turned her white &ce toward Zil- 
 lah. Her large, weihd eyes seemed to bum them- 
 solves into Zillah's brain. Her lips moved. It 
 was but in a whisper that she qioke : 
 
 "Never— never— never— mention it again— 
 either to him or to me. It is hell to both of us I " 
 
 She fell book again, moaning. 
 
 Zillah sat transfixed, awe-stmck and wonder^ 
 Ing. 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A MODEL mmSB, AND FUIEND IH NEED. 
 
 ZiLLAB did not tell Hilda about ;the particular 
 cause of the Earl's sickness for some time, but 
 Hilda was sufficiently acnte to conjecture what 
 it might be.~ She was too wary to press matters, 
 Mid although she longed to know all; yet she re- 
 fhiined fVom asking. She knew enough of Zil- 
 lah's (hmk ond'conflding nature to ftel snre that 
 the confidence wonld come of itself some da^ un- 
 asked. Zillah was one of thoee who can not keep 
 a secret. Wan^hearted, open, and impulsive, 
 she was ever on Ris watch for sympathy, and no 
 
 shate it with some one. She had divulged her 
 secret to the Earl, wfRi reralU that were hunent- 
 able. She had partially disclosed it to Mrs. Hart, 
 «rith result! eanolly kunentoble. The sickness 
 of the Earl and of Mrs. Hart was now added to 
 her troubles t and the time would soon come 
 when, (nm the iwoeasitiw pf her nataxe, she 
 
 would be compelled to pour out her sonl to Hll- 
 da. So Hilda waited. 
 
 Mrs. Hart seemed to be completely broken 
 down. She made a feeble attempt to take part 
 in nursing the Earl, but feinted away in his room. 
 Hilda was obliged to tell her that she would be 
 of more use by staying oway altogether, and Mrs. 
 Hart had to obey. She tottered obout, frequent- 
 ly haunting that portion of the house where the 
 Karl lay, and asking questions about his liiilth. 
 Zillah and Hilda were the chief nurses, arlrtbok 
 turns at watching. But Zillah was inexperi- 
 enced, and rather noisy. In spite of her affec- 
 tionate^ solicitude she could not create new qual- 
 ities within herself, and in one moment make 
 herself a good nurse. Hilda, on the contraiy, 
 seemed formed by nature for the sick-room. 
 SteakhyJ quiet, noiseless, she moved about as 
 silently as a spirit. Every thing was in its place. 
 The medicines were always arranged in the 
 best order. The pillows were always comfort- 
 able. The doctor looked at her out of his pto- 
 feSsionol eyes with cordial approval, and when 
 he visited he gave his directions always to her, 
 as though she alone could be considered a re- 
 sponsible being. Zillah saw this, but felt no jeal- 
 ousy. She humbly acquiesced in the doctor's 
 decision^ meekly felt that she hod none of the 
 qualities of a nurse ; and admired Hilda's genius 
 for that office with all her heart. Added to this 
 conviction of her own inability, there was the con- 
 sciousness that she bad brought all this upon the 
 Earl — a consciousness which brought on self-re- 
 proach and perpetual remorse. The very affiec- 
 tion which she felt for L^rd Chetwynde of itself 
 incapacitated her. A good nurse should be cool. 
 Like a good doctor or a good surgeon, his of- 
 fections should not be too largely interested. It 
 is a mistake to suppose that one's dear friends 
 make one's best nurses. They ore very well to 
 look at, but not to administer medicine or smooth 
 the pillow. Zillah's face of agony was not so 
 conducive to recovery as the c^m smile of Hil- 
 da. The Earl did not need kisses or hot tears 
 upon his face. What he did need was quiet, 
 and n regular administration of medicines pre- 
 sented by a cool, steady hand. 
 
 The Eari was very low. Ho was weak, yet 
 conscious of all that was going on. Zillah's 
 heart was gladdened to hear once more words 
 of love from him. The temporary fawdness of 
 heart which had appalled her had all passed 
 away, and the Old aff'ection had ratnmed. In a 
 few feeble worth he begged her not to let Guy 
 know that he was sick, for he woidd soon re- 
 cover, and it would only worry his son. Most 
 of the words which he spoke were about that 
 son. Zillah would have giv«n any thing if she 
 could have brought Guy to that bedside. But 
 that was impossible, and she cotdd only wait 
 and hope. 
 
 Weeks passed awmr, and in the interviews 
 which she had with Hilda ZiUah grodnllr let 
 her know all that had happene d. She toldf her 
 about ftedisuuVery of the papers, ud the (dhlir^ 
 which ther had upon the Earl. At list, one 
 evening, she gave the papers to Hilda. It was 
 when Zillah came to sit in> with the Earl. Hilda 
 took thb papers solemnly, and said that sba 
 would look over them. She reproaehed ZiUah 
 for not giving her her confidence befora, and 
 said that she hod a doim before any one, and 
 
 
70 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 if she had only told her all about it at Pomerojr 
 Court, this might not have happened. All this 
 Zillah felt keenly, and began to think that the 
 grand mistake which she had made was in not 
 taking Hilda into her confidence at the very out- 
 set ' ■■■- 
 
 " I do not know what these papers may mean," 
 said Hilda ; " bat I tell you candidly thiit if they 
 contain what I suspect, I would hare advised you 
 never to mention it' to Lord Chotwynde. It was 
 an awful thing to bring it all up to him." 
 
 "Then vou know all about it?" asked Zillah, 
 wonderingly. 
 
 "Of course, Everjr body knows the sorrow 
 of his life. It has been public for the last twen- 
 ty years. I heard all about it when I was a lit- 
 tle girl from one of the servants. I could have 
 advised you to good purpose, and saved you from 
 sorrow, if you had only confided in me." 
 
 Such were Hilda's words, and Zillah felt new 
 self-reproach to think that She had not confided 
 in her friend. 
 
 " I hope another time yon will not be so want- 
 ing in confidence," said Hilda, as she retired. 
 " Dp I not deserve it ?" 
 
 "You do, you do, my dearest!" said Zillah, 
 affectionately. "I have always said that .you 
 were like a sister — and after tliis I will tell you 
 every thing." 
 Hilda kissed her, and departed, 
 Zillah waited impatiently to see Hilda again. 
 She was anxions to know what etiect these pa- 
 pers would produce on her. Would she scout 
 them as absurd, or believe the statement ? When' 
 Hilda appeared again to relieve her, all Zillah's 
 cariosity was expressed in her face. But Hilda 
 said nothing about the papers. She itrged Zil- 
 lah to g^ and sleep. 
 ^ "I know what you want to say," said she, 
 
 " bat I will not talk about it now. Go off to 
 bed, darling, and get some rest You need 
 it" 
 
 So Zillah had to go, and -defer the conversa- 
 tion till some other time. She went away to 
 bed, and slept but little. Before her hour she 
 was up and hastened bock. 
 
 " Why, Zillah," said Hilda, "you are half an 
 hour before your time. Yoa an wearing your- 
 self out." 
 
 "Did yon read the papers?" asked Zill&h, as 
 the kissed her. 
 
 "Tw," said HUda, seriooslr. 
 - "And what do you think ?" 'asked Zillah, with 
 a frightened face. ^ 
 
 "My darling," said Hilda, "how excited von 
 are ! How yoa tremble ! Poor dear ! What is 
 <l^ the matter?'' 
 
 "That awfol-confosshp!" gasped Zillah, in a 
 scarce audible voice. , ^ 
 
 "My dariing,"8aid Hilda, passing her am 
 about iliUah's veck, "why should vou take it 
 •otohMrt? Yon have no concern with it. Yon 
 ■re Guy Molyneox'a wife. This paper has now 
 no con«em with yon." • 
 
 Zillah itarttd bock as though she had been 
 
 BBgi — Nothing 4!onld. have b e oo mow abhor- 
 
 did yon give it to me? Is it not your, father's 
 own confession ?" 
 
 Zillah shuddered, and burst into tears; 
 
 " No," she cried at last ; " J do not believe it. 
 I will never believe it. Why did I ask the Eari 1 
 Because I believed that he would dispel my anx- 
 iety. That is all." 
 
 " Ah, poor child ! " saidjiilda, fondly. " Yon 
 are too young to have trouble. Think no more 
 of this." 
 
 ' ' Think of it ! I tell you I think of it all the 
 time— night and day," cried Zillnh, impetuously. 
 "Think of it I Why, what else can I do than 
 think of it?" 
 
 ' ' But you do not believe it ?" 
 
 "No. Never wiU I believe it." 
 
 " Then why trouble yourself about it ?" 
 
 " Because it is a stain on my dear papa's mem- 
 ory. It is undeser>-ed — it is inexplicable ; but it 
 is a, stain. And how can ^. his daughter, not 
 
 rant to her, in snch a connection, than the sug- 
 gestion of her macTJoge. 
 
 "You believe it, thm?" 
 
 " Believe it ! Why, don't yon ?" said Hildo, 
 In wondering tone*. "Yon do, or you would 
 ■ot feel BO. Why did you ask the Earl ? Why 
 
 thin^ofit? 
 
 "A stain!" said Hilda, after a thoughtful 
 pause. " If there were a stain on such a name, 
 I can well imogine that you would feel anguish. 
 But there is none. How can there be ? Think 
 of his noble life spent in honor in the service of 
 his country ! Can you associate any stain with 
 snch a life?" 
 
 "He was the noblest of men!" interrupted 
 Zillah, vehemently. 
 
 "Then do not talk of a 8toin,"said HiWa, 
 calmly. " As to Lord Chetwynde, he, at least, 
 has nothing to say. To him General Pomeroy 
 was such a friend as he could never have hoped 
 for. He saved Lord Chetwynde from beggaiy 
 and ruin. When General Pomeroy firet came 
 back to England he found Lord Chetwynde at 
 the last extremity, and advanced sixty thousand 
 pounds to help him. Think of that 1 And it's 
 true. I was informed of it on good authorifj-. 
 Besides, General Pomeroy did more ; for he in- 
 trusted his only daughter to Lord Chetwynde—" 
 
 " My God I'' cried Zillah ; " what are you say. 
 ing ? Do you not know, Hilda, that every word 
 that you speak is a stab ? What do you mean? 
 Do you dare to talk as if my papa has shut tlie 
 mouth of on injured friend by a payment of 
 money? Do you mean me to think that, after 
 dishonoring his friend, he has sought to efface 
 the dishonor by gold ? My God! you will drive 
 me mad. You make my papa, and Lord Chet- 
 wynde also, sink down into fathomless deptbt 
 of infamy." 
 
 "You torture rov words into a meaning dif- 
 ferent from what 1 intended," said Hilda, quiet- 
 ly. "I merely meixnt to show you that Loid 
 Chetwynde's obligations to General Pomeroy 
 were so vast that he ought not even to suspect 
 him, no matter how strong the proof." 
 
 Zillah waved her hands \iith a gesture of de- 
 spair. ^^ ' 
 
 "No ilMlter how strong the proof!" she re- 
 peated. " Ah ! Ther? it is again. You qui- 
 etly assume my papa's gnllt ig arery word. Yoi 
 have read those papers, and have believed every 
 wwdr" 
 
 " Yon are ^«ry nnUnd, ZiUah. I was daii« 
 my best to comfort you." 
 
 "Comfort!" cried Zillah, In indescribable 
 tones. 
 
 twining 
 
 Ah, my darling, do not be crora," said Hilda, 
 ing her arms around ZiUob's neck. "Yos 
 
■4i< '^' 
 
 T^ 
 
 ne? Is it not jour, father's 
 
 and burst into tears; 
 It lost ; " I do not believe it. 
 t. Why did I ask the Earl I 
 lat he would dispel my anx- 
 
 • said^Hilda, fondly. "You 
 ve trouble. Think no more 
 
 tell you I think of it all the 
 ," cried Zillnb, impetuously. 
 T, what else can I do than 
 
 believe it?" 
 1 1 believe it." 
 le yourself about it ?" 
 ain on my dear papa's mem- 
 id — it isinexplicable ; but it 
 w can T^his daughter, not 
 
 Hilda, after a thoughtful 
 ere a stain on such a name, 
 hat you would feci anguish. 
 How can there be ? Think 
 It in honor in the service of 
 ou associate any stoip with 
 
 blest of men!" interrupted 
 
 Ik of a stain," said Hilda, 
 rd Chefwynde, he, at least, 
 
 To him General Pomeroy 
 he could never have hoped 
 1 Chetwynde from beggary 
 eneral Pomeroy first came 
 found Lord Chetwynde at 
 id advanced sixty thousand 
 
 Think of that ! And it't 
 id of it on good authority, 
 aeroy did mow ; for he in- 
 hter to Lord Chetwynde—" 
 iZillah ; " what are you say. 
 low, Hilda, that every word 
 tab ? What do you mean 1 
 as if my papa has shut the 
 1 friend by a payment of 
 :an me to think that, after 
 d, ho has sought to efian 
 t My God ! you will drjw 
 I my papa, and Lord Chet- 
 wn into fathomless depthi 
 
 words into a meaning dif- 
 tended," said Hilda, quiet- 
 nt to show you that Loid 
 ons to General Pomeroy 
 ought not even to suspect 
 trong the proof." 
 ands with a gesture of d» 
 
 strong the proof I" she r>- 
 Br9 it is again. Yon qui- 
 I goilt ip arery word. Yot 
 w, and have believed eray 
 
 dnd, Zillah. I was doing 
 
 m." 
 
 Zillah, in indescribabk 
 
 not be crof a, " said Hilda, 
 und Zillah's neck. "Ym 
 
 THE CEyPTOGRAM, 
 
 [know I loved yonr papa only less than you did. 
 I He wa%« father to me. What can I say ? Yon 
 I yoiuiJdr were troubled 1>y those papers. So was 
 1 1. And that is all I will say. I will not speak 
 of theia again." 
 
 And here Hilda stopped^ and went about the 
 room to attend to her duties as nurse. Zillah 
 stood, {«nth her mind full of strange, conflicting 
 feelingii. The Hints which Hilda had given sank 
 deep into her soul. What did they mean ? Their 
 frightfjU meaning stood revealed full before her 
 I in allits abhorrent reality. 
 
 Bevtewing those papers by the light of Hilda's 
 I dark interpretation, she saw what they involved. 
 r This, then, was the cause of her marriage. Her 
 I father had tried to atone for the past. He had 
 [ made Lord Chetwynde rich to pay for the dis- 
 I honor that he had suffered. He had stolen away 
 the wife, and given a^laughter in her place. She, 
 then, had been the medium. of this frightful at- 
 tempt at readjustment, this atonement for wrongs 
 that could never be a^ned for. Hilda's mean- 
 ing made this the only conceivable cause for that 
 premature engagement, that hurried marriage by 
 the death-bed, And could there be any other 
 reason ? Did it not look like the act of a re- 
 morsefnl sinner, anxious to finish his expiation, 
 and make ameitds for crime before meeting his 
 
 I Judge in the other world to which he was hast- 
 ening? The General had offered up every thing 
 to expiate his crime — he had given his fortune — 
 he had sacrificed his daughter. What other 
 cause could possibly have moved him to enforce 
 the hideous mockery of that ghastly, that un- 
 
 I paralleled marriage ? 
 
 I Beneath such intolerable thoughts as these, 
 
 I Zillah's brain whiried. She could not avoid 
 them. Affection, loyalty, honor — all bade her 
 trust in her father ; the remembrance of his no- 
 ble character, of his stainless life, his pure and 
 
 I gentle nature, all recurred. In vain. Still the 
 dark suspicion insidionslr conveyed by Hilda 
 
 I would obtrude ; and, indeed, under such cir- 
 cumstances, Zillah would have been more than 
 human if they had not come forth before her. 
 As it was, she was only human and young and 
 inexperienced. Dark days and bitter nights 
 
 I were before her, but among all none were mora 
 dark and bitter than this. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 A DA^K COMMISSION. 
 
 These amate^ir nurses who had gathered 
 about the Earl differed very much, as may be 
 supposed,, in theiif individual capacities. As for 
 Mrs. Hart, she Was very quickly put out of the 
 w»y. The strokis which had prostrated her, at 
 the outset, did n<)t seem to be one from which 
 •he«ould very readily recover. The only thing 
 which she did was to totter to the room early 
 ta the morning, <o as to And out how the Eari 
 "M. and then to totter back agai n uittil the next 
 ng. Mm. Mart thus was IneapabTe; and 
 
 ' nornmg. Aire. 
 
 Zillth was not vejy much better. Siiice her con 
 versation with Hjlda there were thoughts in her 
 I mind so new, sol different ftt)m any which she 
 had ever had befoke, and so frightful in their im- 
 port, that they changed all her nature. She be- 
 came melancholy, self-absorbed, anij preocca- 
 
 71 
 
 pied. Silent and distrait, she wandered about 
 the Earl's iroom aimlessly, and did iiot seem able 
 to give to him that close and undivided atten- 
 tion which he needed. Hilda found it necessary 
 to reproach her several times in her usual affec- 
 tionate way; and Zillah tried, after each re- 
 proach, to rouse herself from her melanclufar, 
 so as to do better the next time. Yet, the ^t 
 time she did just as badly; and, gn the whole, ac- 
 quitted herself but poorly of her Sesponsible task. 
 
 Jad thus it happened that Hilda was obliged 
 to assume the supreme responsibility. The oth- 
 ers ha^ grown more than ever useless, and she, 
 accordingly, grew more than aver necessary. To 
 this task she devoted herself with that assiduity 
 and patience for whtcli she was distinguished. 
 The constant loss of sleep, and the incessant 
 and weary vigils which she w# forced to main- 
 tain, seemed to have but little effect upon her 
 elastic and energetic nature. Zillah, in spite of 
 her preoccupation, could not help -seeing that 
 Hilita was doing nearly all the work, and remon- 
 flraited with her accoi^ingly. But to her earn- 
 est remonstrances Hilda turned a deaf ear. 
 
 "You see, dear," said she, "there is no one 
 but me, Mrs. Hart is herself in need of a nurse, 
 and yfto are no better than a baby, so how can 
 I help watchj^ing poor dear Lord Chetwynde ?" 
 
 "But ywrwill wear yourself out," persisted 
 ZiUah. *^ 
 
 "Oh, we will wait till I begin to show signs 
 of weariness," said Hilda, in a sprightly tone. 
 " At pnesentj I feel able to spend a great many 
 days and nights here." 
 
 Indeed, to all her remonstrances Hilda was 
 quite inaccessible, and it remained for Zillah to 
 see her friend spend most of her time in that 
 sick-room, the ruling spirit, while she was com- 
 paratively useless. ^She could only feel grati- 
 tude for so much kindness, and express that 
 gratitude whenever%ny occasion arose. Wliile 
 Hilda was regardless of Zillah's remonstrances, 
 she was equally so of the^ijloctor's warnings. 
 That functionary did not awh to see his best 
 nurse wear herself out, and warned her frequent' 
 ly, but with no effect whatever. Hilda's self- 
 sacrificing zeal'was irrepressible and invincible. 
 
 While Hilda was thus devoting herself to the 
 Earl with such tireless patience, and exciting 
 the wonder and gratitude of all in that little 
 household by her admirable self-devotion, there 
 was another who watched the pnM[res8 of events 
 with perfect cahnness, yet witflUeep anxiety. 
 Gualtier was not able now to give his music 
 lessons, yet, although he no longer could gain 
 admission to the inmates of Castle Chetwynde, 
 his anxiety about the Earl was a sufficient ex- 
 cuse for calling every day to inquire about hia 
 health. On those inquiries he not only heard 
 about the Earl, but also about all the others, 
 and more particularly about Hilda. He culti- 
 vated an acquaintance with the doctor, who, 
 though generally disposed to stand on his dig^ 
 nity toward musicians, seemed to think that 
 Gualtier had gained from th« Karl'ii patmnng. 
 
 a higher title to be noticed than any Which hia 
 art could give. Besides, the good doctor knew 
 that Gualtier was constantly at the Castle, and 
 naturally wished to avail himself of so good aa.« 
 opportunity of finding out all about the internal 
 life of this noble but secluded family. Qnaltier 
 humored him to the fullest extent, and |rith ■ 
 
 \,. 
 
\ 
 
 72 
 
 THE (»TPT06RAH. 
 
 great appearance of frankness told him as much 
 as he ' thoDght proper, and no more ; in retnm 
 for which confidence he received the fullest in- 
 fonnation as to the present condition of the 
 household. What sniprised Gualtier most was 
 Hilda's devotion. He had tibt anticipated it. 
 It Was real, yet what could be her motive? In 
 his own language — What 'game was the littlia 
 thing up to? This was the question which' he 
 incessantly asked himself, without being able to 
 answer it. His respect for her genius was too 
 great to allow him for one moment to supposed 
 that it was possible for her to act without scfme 
 deep motive. Iler immohition of self, her assi- 
 duity, her tenderness, her skill, all seemed to t^is 
 man so manyelMnents in the' game which she 
 was playing. Aftd for all these things he only 
 admired her the more fel^^•ently. That she would 
 Bucsceed he never for a moment doubted ; thought 
 what ^t. was -that she might be aiming at, and. 
 what it was that her success might involve, were 
 inscrdtable mysteries. 
 
 What game is the little thing up to? he asked 
 himself, affectiqiwtely, an4 with tejider empha- 
 sis. What gome? And this became the one 
 idea of'his mind. Little else were his thoughts 
 engaged in, except an attempt to fathom the 
 depths of Hilda's design. But he was baffled. 
 What th{tt design involved could hardly have 
 been discovered by him. Often and often he 
 wished th^t he could look into that sick-cham- 
 ber to see whatihe "little thing was up to." 
 Yet, could he hftve looked into that chamber, he 
 wouldj^re seen nothing that could have en- 
 ligfateniii him. He would have seen a slender, 
 graceful form, moving lightly about the room, 
 now stooping over the form of the sick man to 
 adjust or to smooth his pillow, now watchfully 
 and warily administering the medicine which 
 stood near the bed. Hilda was not one who 
 would leave any thing to be discovered, oven by 
 ^ those \rbo might choose to lurk in ambush and 
 spy at her through a keyhole. 
 
 But thongh Hilda's. plans were for some time 
 impenetrable, there came at last an opportunity 
 when he was furnished with light snfflcient to re- 
 veal them — ft lurid light which made known to 
 him poftiibilities in her which he had certainly 
 not suspected beforo.^ 
 
 One day, on visithtg Chetwynde Castle, he 
 found her in the chief parlot. H» thought that 
 she had come there imrposely in order to see 
 him ; and he was not disappointed. After a few 
 questions as to the Earls health, she excused 
 herself, and said that she must hurry back to his 
 room; but, as she turned to go, she slipped a 
 piece of paper into his hand, as she had done 
 once before. On it ho saw the following wotxls : 
 "Be in the Weit Avenue, at the former place, 
 at three o'clock. " 
 
 Gualtier wandered about in a state of ftv^rish 
 impatience till the appointed hour; mar^■eling 
 what the purpose might be which had induced 
 Hilda to leek the interview. He felt tfcat the pnr- 
 pose mu<t be of <hr-reachlng importftnce which 
 -mmld lead her to ««ek hint at such A tune ; but 
 *hat it was he tried in vain to conjecture. 
 
 At last the hour came, and Gualtier, who had 
 been waiting so long, w'as rewarded by the sight 
 of Hilda. She was ns calm as usual, but greeted 
 hiift with greater oordiality than she was in the 
 babit of •bowing, She also evinoed greater om- J 
 
 tion.than even on the fiirmw occasion^ and ted 
 the way to a morei lonely spot, and looked all 
 around most carefully, so as to guard against the 
 possibility of discovery. When, at length, she 
 spoke, it was in a low and guarded voice. 
 
 " I am so worn down by nursing," she said, 
 " that I -have had to como out for a little fre8h 
 air. But I would not leave the Earl till ther 
 absolutely forced me. Such is my devotion to 
 him that there is itn- impression abroad throiigh 
 the Castle that I will not survive him." 
 
 " Survive him ? Vou speak as though he were 
 doomed," said Gualtier. 
 
 "He— is— very— low, " sud Hilda, in a s«lem« 
 monotone. 
 
 Gualtier said nothing, but regarded her in si- 
 lence <br some time. 
 
 " What was the cause of his illness ?" he asked 
 at length. " The doctor thinks that his mind is 
 affected." 
 
 »" For once, Bomething like the truth has pen- 
 etrated that heavy brain." 
 
 " Do you know any thing that con have hap- 
 pened?" asked Gualtier, cautiously^ 
 
 "Yes; a sudden shock. Strange tp soy, it 
 was administered by Mrs. MolyneuJE.''^ 
 "Mrs. Molyneuxl'' 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I am so completely out of your sphere thjjt 
 I know nothing whatever of what is going on. 
 How Mrs. Molyneux can have given a shock to 
 the Earl that could have reduced him to his pres- 
 ent state, I can not imagine." * 
 
 " Of coarse it was not intentional She hap- 
 pened to ask the Earl about something which' re- 
 vived old memories and old sorrows in a very 
 forcible manner. He grew excited— so much so, 
 indeed, that he faintnl, and, in falling, struck 
 his head. That is the whole story. " 
 
 "Moy I ask," s^id Gualtier, after a thought- 
 ful pouse, " if Mrs. Molyneux's ill-fated ques- 
 tions had any reference to those things abont 
 which we have spoken together, from time to 
 time?" 
 
 " They had — and a very close one. In fact, 
 they arose out of those very papers which we have 
 had before us." ., 
 
 Gualtier looked at Hilda, as she said this, wi(h 
 the closest attention. 
 
 " It happened," said Hilda, " that Mrs. Moly- 
 neux, on her Uist visit to Fomeroy Court, was 
 seized with a fiincy to examine her father's desk. 
 While doing so, she found a secret drawer, which, 
 by some singuhir accident, hod been left sUrtcd, 
 ond a little loose— just enough to attract her at- 
 tention. This she opened, and in it, strange to 
 say, she found that very cipher which I have told 
 you of. A key accompanied it, by which she was 
 able to read as much as we have read ; and there 
 were also those letters with which you are famil- 
 iar. ' She took them to her room, shut heoelf ap, 
 and studied them as eagerly as ever either you or 
 I did. She then hurried back to Chetwynde Cas- 
 tle, and laid every thing before the EarL Out of 
 this aroae his ajtcitaiwiint anrf Um vmry nul wwnlt. " 
 " I did not know that there were sufficient ma- 
 terials for accompUshiqg so much« " said Ottaltie% 
 cautiously. 
 
 "No; the materials wei* not abundant Then 
 was the cipher, with-whkh no one would haw 
 Rtajiposed that any thing eonld be dona. Then 
 there were those other letters which lay with it 
 
 tmii- 
 
 ,*a 
 
he former occasion, and Jej 
 lonely gpot, and looked all 
 \y, so as to guard against th« 
 ■ery. When, at length, she 
 iw and guarded voice, 
 lown by nnriing," she said, 
 D come out for a Utile fresh 
 not leave the Earl (ill they 
 e. Such is my devotion to 
 rimpression abroad through 
 1 not survive him." 
 If on speak as though he were 
 tier, 
 low, " said Hilda, in a solemR 
 
 ing, but regarded her in si- 
 
 inse of his illness ?" he asked 
 octor thinks th^t his mind is 
 
 hiitg like the truth has pen- 
 rain." 
 
 ly thing that con hare hap- 
 Itier, cautiously^ 
 shock. Strange tp say, it 
 
 Mrs. MolyneuX.''^ 
 la- 
 tely ont of your sphere thjjt 
 tever of what is going on. 
 : can have given a shock to 
 ave reduced him to his pres- 
 mogine." • 
 
 not intantionaL She hap- 
 1 about somethipg which' re- 
 and old sorrowl in a very 
 1 grew excited— so much so, 
 ted, and, in fiiUing, struck 
 >e whole story. " 
 1 Gualtier, after a thonght- 
 
 Molynenx's ill-fated qucs- 
 ince to those things about 
 en together, from time to 
 
 a very close one. In fact, 
 D very papers which we hare 
 
 Hilda, OS she said this, wi(h 
 
 id Hilda, " that Mrs. Molj- 
 iit to Fomeroy Court, wm 
 examine her father's desk. 
 >und a secret drawer, which, 
 dent, had been left started, 
 it enough to attract her at- 
 tened, and in it, strange to 
 rry Cipher which I have told 
 ipanied it, by which she wu 
 08 we have read ; and there 
 s with which vou are famil- 
 i her room, shot hetvlf up, 
 lagerly as erer either you or 
 fid back to Chetwynde Goi- 
 ng before the EarL Out of 
 intj 
 
 at diereWere'sufflcientnu- 
 t)g so muofa^ " said Goaltiei^ 
 
 wei^ not abundant Then 
 which no one would hart 
 ing could be done. Then 
 >r letters which lay with it 
 
 lin the desk, which corroborated what the cipher 
 
 Iseemed to say. Out of this |^ suddenly arisen 
 
 Imin and anguish." 
 
 I "There was also the key," sqid Gualtier, in a 
 
 ■tone of delicate insinuation. 
 
 1 " True, " said Hil^a ^" had the k;ey not been 
 
 I inclosed With the popenij she could not have Mn- 
 
 Iderstood the cipher^ or made any thing out of 
 
 I the letters." 
 
 "The Earl must hove believed it nil." 
 
 "He never 'doubted for nn Instant. By the 
 
 I merest chance, I happened to bo ta a place where 
 
 I I saw it all," said Hilda, with a pecnUar enipha- 
 J sis. " I thought diat he would reject it at first 
 land that tlw first imralse would be to scout such 
 I a charge. J3nt mark this"— ahd her voice grew 
 Isolenin — "there mast have been some knowt 
 I edge in his mind of tUngs unknown to us, or else 
 I he could never bure been so utterly and com- 
 I pletely overwhelnMtdi- ' I| was a blow w'Wcb liter-J 
 I ally crushed him-^ai nrind and body." 
 
 There was a long ailence. 
 
 "And yonlthfaik be can not snrvivg this?" 
 I asked Gualtier. 
 
 "No," said Hilda, in a very strange, slow 
 I voice, "I do not think— that— he— can— recor- 
 ler. He is old jind feeble. T1)e shock was great. 
 I His mind wanders, also. He Is sinking slowlr 
 I but surely." v^ = /» 
 
 I She paused, hnd looked earnestly at Gualtier, 
 I who returned her look with one of equol eamest- 
 Iness. ^. ■'. 
 
 "I have yetko tell you whot purpose induced 
 Ime to oppoint this meeting .".liaid glie, in so 
 ■strange a voice that Gualtiefifkarted. But he 
 I said not a word. oi>V>T'* 
 
 HiTda, who was standing near 'to him, drew 
 luearer still. She looked all ground, with a 
 ■strange hght'tfa her eyes. Then she turned to 
 Ihim again, and said, in a low whisper^ 
 
 "I want you to get me somethftig." 
 
 Gualtier looked at her inquiringly, but in si- 
 I lence. His eyes seemed to ask her,, " What is it ?" 
 
 She put her mouth close to his ear, and whis- 
 ■ oered something, heard only by him. But that 
 ■low whisper was never forgotten. His face turrt- 
 led deathly ^ He looked away, and said not 
 |a word. 
 
 ■fii."?*i?'"'*^V "^ ¥*" "I •«" 8"5"K ^o^-" 
 ■bhe held out her hand. He grasped it. At that 
 ■moment their eyes met, and a look of intelli- 
 Igenco flashed between them. 
 
 THE cbyftogram: 
 
 »'. 
 
 ' •■"^-1 
 
 «AM. „ 
 
 conUn4e4 to rego^Zillah with horror, or else' 
 If affection had trii3rphed over a sense of injury, 
 he woulff have done somethingor said somethimi 
 m Jiis more lucid intervaU to assure Zillah of his 
 continued love^ Bnt nothing of the kind oc- 
 curred. He clung to Zillah like a child, and 
 the tew faint words which he oddressed to her 
 simply recognized her as the object of an affec 
 tion which had never met with an interruption. 
 Ihey idso had reference to Guy, as to whether 
 
 ml. ^^'^"T,*? •''"" >■«'' """^ wJ^ether any 
 ram^ letters had been received from him. A 
 
 I^^j i **™* '^"""8 ">« illness, -she tried ' 
 to road, but the poor weary brain orthe sick 
 man^ould not follow her. She had to tell him 
 in aftw general terms its contents. 
 
 Foraome weeks she hod hoped that the Eail 
 woold recover, and therefore delayed sending 
 the «d nejvs to. Guy. Bnt at length she 
 
 that a* illness would be long, and she saw 
 «»«t it was too senouB to allow Guy to remain 
 in ignorance. She longed to address him words 
 of condolence, and sympathized deeply with him 
 w the anxie^wUob tiH» ]Mew woidd bo felt by 
 a heart so aflbotionatB-as his. 
 
 And now as shethoBgJiti** writing to him there 
 came to her, more bitterly than ever, the thought 
 f* I^'^J^T^- She write 1 She could not. 
 It was Hilda who would write. Hilda stood be- 
 tween her and the one whom she wished to 
 soothe. In spite of her warm and sisterly af- 
 fecuon for her fnend, and her boundless trust in ' 
 her, this thought now sent a thrill of vexation ; 
 through her; and she bitterly lamented the 
 Cham of events by which she hod been placed 
 m such a position. It was humUiating and goU- 
 ing. But could she not yet escape? Might she 
 not even now write in her own name explaining 
 
 '.j?"-. ^' ''""l** "<»» be— not now, for what 
 would he the reception of such explanations, com- 
 ing 84 ther would with the news of his father's 
 
 JL--^""'^ •"" *£?** *•>««» *>tl» nny consid- 
 f^la?^'*!®'"' ^0"'<' not his anxiety about 
 his l|tterlMd him to regard them with an im- 
 patient disdain? But perhaps, on the other 
 hand, be n»ight feel softened and accept her * 
 explanation reiiily without giving any thought^ 
 to the strange de^ljwWch had been practi?e<f<P 
 for so long a tim^jWiia gave her « gleam of 
 
 ^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE JUDAS KI88. 
 
 ■«mtJ"*,''T^y ^^^ *"^ *••«' when the Earl 
 
 ■wUied a httlfljo as to recognise Zillah, all M. 
 
 ■old affection #as exhibited, and the temporary 
 
 ■avemoii which he had manifested durinrthi 
 
 ieventful ume when he bad seen the cipher wriUng 
 
 !!!l.P?y^?y.*'*ho'it l eaving a ny trace of iu 
 
 ejwjence. it is qrite^ikely hideed ffiar the 
 
 woo* cireumstance had been ntterlyvJMitera^ 
 
 l^ht TtIu rf"'^' *"** ^hen his eyes canght 
 
 En L 1^*^ ''^ *" him simply the one 
 
 •worn H loved next b?st to Guy. Hi. brain 
 
 V^ Intj' **^ '^* ••'' '■'«'""'«• "«»«d 
 C'l^ I "^"^ nearly gone. Had he 
 ■"Msmbered that scene h« would either have 
 
 ^ope I Jpt in her pprfaexity she could not 
 i^nght oonnsel from Hilda as usual 
 
 so-shojbnght oonnsel from HUdaas nsuali&li 
 Mrs. Hart being in the possession of heflKal 
 ftculues she might possibly have asked her ad- 
 vice also .but, as it was, Hilda was the only one 
 to whom ihe could, turn. 
 
 Hilda listened to her with that sweet smile, 
 and that loving and patient consideration, which 
 she always gave to Zilloh's confidences and ao- 
 peals. "^ 
 
 " Darling," g«ia she, after a longand thoughtful 
 sUence, "I understand fnUy the perplexity which 
 yon feel. In fact, this letter <mght to come from 
 
 yon, and from y ou only. 
 ISver began this. I'm s 
 
 ily Sony that- 
 
 . / :.° ;;• ' "■ *«"« I did it fi'ora the very 
 
 beat motives. Who could ever have dreamed that 
 It would become so enibniVossing ? And now I 
 don t know what to do— that is, not just now." 
 ^j„?° you think he would be angiy at th^ de- 
 
 "Do yon 70«»nelf think ao ?" asfad Hfldo in 
 reply. 
 
 
 ««• 
 
^^'"^ 
 
 CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 '^'.^^ 
 
 "^m 
 
 HILDA WHITES TO OUT MOLTKEUX. 
 
 1 "'^y, that is what I am isfraid of; but then 
 j^-isq't it possible that he niight bo-Usoftened, 
 'yiwknow — by anxiety?" 
 
 ^' People don't get softened by anxietf . They 
 ^t impatient, ailgiy with th^ world ahj^ With 
 Providence. Bat the best Way to judge is ttf 
 put yourself in his situation. Suppose you were 
 ifi Indi^ and a letter was written to yoi^ by your 
 wife-^or your husband, I suppose I shoiild say- 
 telling you that your father was extremely ill, and 
 that he himself had been deceiving you for some 
 Tears. The writing would be strange — qnjte un-: 
 ia<|kHiar ; the story would be almcMt incredible ; 
 vou' wouldn't know what to think. You'd be 
 a^ply anxious, and yet half believe that some 
 one was practicing a cruel jest on you. For my 
 part, if I had an explanatfon to moke I would 
 \yra\t for a time of prosperity and happiness. 
 ' Misfortune makes people so bitter. " 
 
 "That is the very thing that J'm afraid of," 
 said Zillah, despairingly. " And — oh dear, what 
 thaa I do?" 
 
 " Yon most do one thing 
 b writa him about his foth( 
 must do it, darling." 
 
 "Why, what do yon mi 
 now showing me/that'this 
 which I could nob do." 
 
 " You tmsunderstand me," said Hilda, *ith a 
 smile. ^lJ'>y> ^o yon reolly mean t6 say that 
 ytmjio notaeo liog easy it-ia^e^ get out o f^thi^ 
 
 Illy, and that 
 """oji yourself 
 
 u were just 
 tvery thing 
 
 difficulty?" 
 "Easy I It seems to me a terrible one." 
 " Why, my dariing child, don'tmyou see that 
 ofter you write your letter I con ct^ty it ? You 
 Surely have nothmg so very private to say thdt you 
 will object to that. I suppose all that yon want 
 to do is to break the news to him as gently «nd 
 
 tepderly as possible. Yon don't want to indul^ I 
 in expressions of pergonal affection, ' of cojjrse." 
 "Oh, my dearest Hilda!" cried Zillah, over- 
 joyed. " What an owl I am not to have thonght 
 of that ! It meets the whole diffltulty. I writt 
 — you copy it — aitd it will be nt.y letter after'alL 
 How I could have been to stupid I do not see. 
 But I'm always so. As to any private confi- 
 dences', there is no danger of any thing of tho: j 
 kind taking place between people who are w [ 
 very peculiarly situated as we tire." t 
 "I suppose not," said Hilda, with a smila 
 "But it's such a bore to copy letters." 
 "My darling, can any thing' be a trouble that I 
 I do for you ? Besides, yoa know how very fait 
 I write.' 
 
 Yon a^ always so kind," said Zillah, as tiit I 
 
 kissed her friend fondly and 
 I could do something for _ 
 I don't seem able to do an; 
 hot even for the dear old 
 I give to be like vou!" 
 
 " Yon ate far be| 
 Hilda, with perjii 
 words. ''But 00' 
 and bring it to mi 
 aS I can, and send 
 
 Under these cii 
 written. 
 
 The Earl lingered 
 
 Iwidi 
 
 p»orme!— 
 
 any body— 
 
 t wouldn't 
 
 iiiig," laid 
 
 ing in her 
 
 the letter, 
 
 Cotiy it as fiut 
 
 letter waiJ 
 
 stage, will 
 
 len he had 
 There' 
 he had not I 
 
 first, indeed, there was 
 
 seenfed better*. bd( that 
 
 lapse sorely puzsled the 
 
 bcien in such good hqndt he might hmiw suspected 
 
 the nurse of lieglect, but that Was the last thtni 
 
 that he could have thonght Of Hilda. Indeed, 
 
 Hildft hod been w fearful of the EatI's being neg- 
 
 
♦i^'t*~|:ft'' ' 
 
 
 Ton don't want to induigg I 
 t^onal affection, of course." 
 t Hilda!" cried Zillah, over- 
 owl I am not to have thought 
 he whole difflmilty. I writa 
 it will be ntjf letter after'ilL | 
 l)een «o stnpid I do not see, 
 
 A» to any private confi- 
 danger of aiiy thing of thei { 
 between p^pw who are 
 ited ai we tire." < 
 said Hilda, with a smile, 
 bore to Copy letters." 
 1 any thing be a trouble thit I 
 des,' yoa know how veiyfut 
 
 so kind," said Zillah, as tht 
 
 was jMHElCl'B') he hd 
 that P<V^^^- The ra- 
 the doctflll^f he had not 
 nds he might haw saspeeied I 
 , but that Was the last thlii| I 
 tbonght Af Hilda. Indeed, [ 
 urfiil of the £Ari's beiAgDer 
 
 THE CRYPTOG 
 
 the had, for his sake, assumed these 
 *% 'cares. Singnlariy enough, how- 
 , — ^-sinoa Ker assamptfon of the chief 
 mtiiaB him that the Earl had relapsed. 
 J^octor felt tbat nothing better in the way 
 nursing him coald be conceived of. Zillah 
 lougtatwt if it twd not been for Hilda the Eari 
 roia<y<irceiy have b«en alive. As for Hilda 
 ^e coold bnly dieekly deprecate the doc- 
 or's pjpises, and sigh to think that such care as 
 lers should prove to nnayailing. 
 \np Earl's case was, indeed, a mysterious one. 
 gAvr m^kingeveiy auowajnce for the shock which 
 - "^ght hav« experienced, and after laying all 
 
 76 
 
 — jle stress upon thuUw^on his headwlich 
 je had suffered when nUlOKrward, it still was 
 i si^bject of wonder to the doctor why he should 
 |iot recover. Hilda- had told him ih general 
 ^9, and with her nanal delicacy, of the cause 
 ,. ho Earl's illness, io that the doctor knew that 
 f aiose from mental trouble, and not from phys- 
 ^1 aiknent Yet, even under these circum- 
 ^ces, he was punled iit the complete prostra- 
 pon of the Eari, and at the adverse symptoms 
 Which appeared as time pttssed on. 
 
 I'he Earl sle)>t most of the time. ' He was in 
 I kind of stupor. This puzzled the doctor ex- 
 «melv. The remedies which ho administered 
 _ . jnea not to have their legitimate effect. In fact 
 hey seemed to have no effect, and the most power- 
 til drugs proved useless in this mysterious case. 
 "It must be the mind," said the doctor t<J 
 himself, as he fode home one day after finding 
 Hie Eari in a lower state than usual. •' It must 
 M the mind ; and may the devil take the mind; 
 pr hang me if I can ever make head or tail of it I " 
 Y«t on the night when the doctor soliloquized 
 Ji this &shion a change had come over the Earl 
 khich might have been supposed to be for the 
 -ter. He was exceedingly weak, so vfeak, ip- 
 - d, that it was only with ^ great effoinir that?lfe 
 tonld move his hand ; but he seemed to be more 
 fensible than usual. That "mind" which the 
 ■octor cursed seemed to have resuihed something 
 K iu former funct!on#. He asked various ques- 
 lons ; and, among others, he wished to hear 
 |iny's l^st letter. This Hilda promised he should 
 «r on the morrow. Zillah was there at the 
 ne, and the Earl catt an appealing glance to- 
 fard her; but such was her confldende in Hilda 
 at she did not dream of doing 'Mffi-jtfikttAt op 
 isitioit^ her decision. So sh^|j»^^^iMu, 
 nd bending over the Earl, sh^MM him, and 
 H, "To-morrow." , * '^^^ 
 
 This Eari, by a great,,,|P)rt, reached up hifi 
 
 fiin, feeble hand and too]|^erat 
 !! ?<»» w'" not ieave met' he mnmmred. 
 
 An4 2illah stooped down and tbld the Earl 
 that she would stay. •■• 
 
 There was trouble in the Earl's face. He lay 
 silent and motionless, with l)is eyes fixed upoii 
 ^Ulah. Something there was in his eyes ^hich 
 Bapressed such mute appeal that Zillah wondered 
 what it might be. She went over to him and snt 
 by his side. He feebly reached Mt his thin 
 hand. Zillah took it and held it in both of hers, 
 kissing him as she did so. ' 
 
 '' You will not leava me ?" be whispered. 
 "No, dear father." ^ 
 
 Afuint pressure of her hand was the Eari's 
 response, and a faint smile of pleasure hovered 
 over his thin lips. 
 
 " Have you written to Gov ?" he asked again. 
 Yes. IhaveXvrittenforhimtocomohome," 
 said Zyiah, who meant that Hilda hndw^ritt^ in 
 her name ; but, in her mind, it was all the same. 
 The Euri drew n deep sigh. There was trou- 
 ble in his fhce. Zillah marked it, but sTippoAd 
 ^that he was anxious about that son wlyo was never \ 
 absent from hin thoughts. She did not attempt 
 to soothe his mind in any way. He was not able 
 to keep up a conversation. Nor did she notice that 
 the pressure on her hand was stronger-whoniver 
 Hilda, with her light, stealtKy step, came near ; 
 nor did she see the fear that was in his face m 
 Jus eyes rested upon her. 
 
 The Eari drew Ziliy*(aintly toward him. She 
 bent down over hiifti ' 
 
 " Send her away," said he, in a low whisper. 
 
 •Who? , Hilda?" asked Zillah, in wonder. 
 
 Yes. You nurse too— you stay with mo." 
 
 Zillah at once arose. "Hilda," said she, "he 
 wants me to stay with him to-night I suppose 
 ho thinks I give up too much to yon, andaeglect 
 him. Oh dear, I only wish I was such a nnrtft 
 as you! But, sinde he wishes it, I will stay to- 
 night ;.^nd if there is any trouble I will call you." 
 
 "But, my poor child," said Hilda, sweeUv. 
 "you have been here all day." 
 
 _"0h; well, it is his wish, and I will stay here 
 all night." , ' ^ 
 
 Hilda remonstrated a little ; but, finding that 
 ZiUah was determined, she retired, and ZiUah 
 passed all thalWight with the Eari. He wis un- 
 easy. A terror seemed to be over hfta. Ho in- 
 sisted on holding Zillah's hand. At times he 
 Woild Mart and look fearfully around. Was it 
 
 c^-j; "Afep feared ? Whatever his fear was, 
 le^ttuJ-ncrthipg; but after each start he would 
 look>ge*r«lto at Zillah, and press her hand 
 roiDW^ And Zillah thought it was simply the 
 disorder of his nervous system, or, perhaps, the 
 ^ effect of the medicine^^hich he had taken. At 
 to those inedioiiDes, Ute was most careful jail. 
 
 «*r«pfai..i„ «7* jf - . luurnmrea. to tnose medicines, jQte was most carefol and 
 
 ^rtamlynot,ifyouwantmetostay,"saidlmost regular in^dmMsteringXnJl^^Cd^ 
 - ■ " if"^*" ^*'y «nxietv about these interfered with that 
 
 The Eari,kn still greater effbrt, dragged hw 
 town neararft him. ws-^ "w 
 
 i 7^u'* '"!? ">" ****«•." he whispered. 
 ' Zillah started at the torn of hU voite. It was 
 |t«meoffear. 
 
 iree?i£,!* '*^ ' ^**^*^^^'*°'^*«'fa. in * 
 [The Eari fttwnied. Zillah dL, 
 fw. She looked bMsk to Hild- 
 f «*••>«• "M to Star with bii^ 
 1 Poor dear !" said HUda. 
 •t yon will. ItisftwMm. He iov' 
 now. Tell him'thaty^ stay 
 
 watchfblneti about the Earl hii^lf which was 
 the chief reqajsite. Fully conscious that she was 
 palnftally irreiidar and niMiithodical, Zillah 
 pvo her chief thought to the passage of tho 
 hoars, ^ that avMynMriw'"" shouldJ^ S^y^fHir- 
 
 s.-. 
 
 f^'' 
 
 
 
 'M HghVtiine. 
 
 It WHS a long night, but i 
 and with it came HilcH^ ( 
 tionate, and sweet. / .v ^ .• - 
 
 • "How lias he been, dnfrling?" the kAodf ^ 
 
 "Qui^t," said ZUlah>earily. 
 
 "That's right} and Aotv, my dearest, go off 
 and get some rest. Xou must be very tired. " 
 
 ''?►'■* 
 
 <, 
 
 >,9 i 
 
THB EASI. OASFBD—' JUDAS ! 
 
 So Zillab went oi, and Hilda remained with 
 t)ie Earl. 
 
 \Day was just dawning when Zillal) ■ left the 
 Earl's room. She stooped over him and kissed 
 him. Overcome by fatigue, she did nSt thinli 
 mudi of the earnest, wistful gaze which caught 
 her ^es. Was it not the same look w^ich he 
 had fixed on her fr^uently before ? 
 
 The E!arl again drew her down as, she clasped 
 his hand. She stooped over him. 
 
 " I'm afmid of her," he said, in a low whisper. 
 •'Send Mrs. Hart" 
 
 Mrs. Hart? The Earl did not seem to know 
 that die was ill. No donbt his mind was wan- 
 dering. So Zillah thonght, and the idea was 
 natural. She thonght she would humor the de- 
 Ihions fancy. So she promised to send Mrs. 
 Hart. 
 
 "What did he say?" asked Hilda, foUowing 
 Zillah gut Zillah tol d h er accordin g to her own 
 
 "Oh, it's only his delirium," said Hilda. 
 " He'll take me fofYou when I go back. . Don't 
 let it trouble yon. Yon might (end Mathilde if 
 yon feel afraid ; bnt I banily think that Ma- 
 thilde would be so nsdfnl here as I." 
 
 "/ afraid? My dear UUda. can I take his 
 
 poor delirions fancy in earnest 7 Send Mathilde! | 
 I should hardly expect to see him alive again.' 
 
 " Alive again 1" said Hilda, with a singular in- 1 
 tonation. 
 
 " Yes ; Mathilde is an exedlent maid, bnt in I 
 a sick-room she is as helpless aa a child. 8be it I 
 far worse than I am. Do we erer venture to | 
 leave him alone with her?" 
 
 "Never mind. Do yon go to sle^, darlin|,| 
 and sweet dreams to you." V 
 
 They kissed, and Zillah went to her chamber, I 
 
 It was about dawn, attd the mottling twilight I 
 but dimly illumined die Ji$IL The Earl's rsoo I 
 was dark, and the faintjiight light ^ade it)jecti I 
 only indistinctly percapuble. The Earl's white! 
 face was torhed toward the door as Hilda en- 1 
 tered, with imploring, wtstfol expectancy upon I 
 it As he canght si^t of Hilda the ej^pration | 
 turned to one of fea^— that same fear which Zil' I 
 lahhadseennpo nit Whatdidhefty? Wliii| 
 was It that was upon hi* mind ? What i 
 thought threw its shadow over his soul ? 
 
 Hilda kxAed at him iUr a long time in silence, I 
 her fiace calm and impassive, her eyea intent upoi I 
 him. The Earl looli«d hack npon her with in-l 
 changed fear — looking^ock thus out of his vsak* [ 
 ness and hel p l aiM im i, wl|h> fear that seemed ii>| 
 
 'I'tiii^ 
 
IRE gbyftoqbam: 
 
 in earnest? SendMathilde?| 
 «ct to see him alive again." 
 lid Hilda, witb a singular in- 1 
 
 is «n excellent maid, bnt in I 
 s helpless as a child. 8he ii I 
 tn. Do we ever Tenture to | 
 b her?" 
 Do yon go to sle^, darling, I 
 jyou." V f 
 
 Sullah went to her chamber. I 
 n, attd the morning twilighi I 
 die yhfU. The Earl's rooni I 
 dnt Aight light /nade «l)jectt I 
 'cepttble. The Earl's wiiitcl 
 •rara the door as Hilda en- 1 
 ig, wiktful expectancy upoal 
 ight of Hilda the e^ffflfes^ I 
 r— that same fear which !&■ I 
 . What did heftgr? Whii i 
 It hto mifid? WbAtfJsulul 
 adow over bis sonl ? 
 Im ibr a long time in lileno; I 
 ipossive, her eyes intent npoi I 
 hfd back npon her with in-l 
 ngflMck Uras out of his wtak- 1 
 I, wl|h a fisar that seemed i» I 
 
 idSed br the oonsciovsneat of that weoknesai 
 sat Hilda s ftee softened not ; m> gleam of ten- 
 leraess mitigated the hard lustre of her eyes ; 
 ler expression lessened not from its set purpose, 
 "be Eul said not one word. It was not to her 
 lat he would utter the fear that was in him. 
 allah had promised to send Mrs. Hart. When 
 ronld Mrs. Hart come ? Would she ever come, 
 would she never come? He looked away 
 ivm Hilda feverishly, anxiously, to the door; 
 le strained his ears to listen for footsteps. But 
 10 footsteps broke the deep stillness that reigned 
 through uie vast house, where all slept except 
 bese two who faced each other in the sick-room. 
 There was a clock at the end of the corridor 
 intside, whose ticking sounded jdall and muffled 
 "-om the distance, yet it penetrated, with clear, 
 isrp vibrations, to the brain of the sick man, 
 uid seemed to him, in the gathering-excitement 
 )f this fearful nour, to grow louder and lander, 
 'U each tick sounded to his sharpened senspHike 
 M vibrations of a bdl, and seemed to be the ni- 
 leral knell of his destiny ; sounding thus to hiK 
 irs, solemnly, fatefnUrv bodingly ; pealing forth 
 ins with every sound the announcement that 
 >«ond after second out of those few minutes of 
 Jme which were still left him had passed away 
 From him forever. Each one of those seconds 
 ivas prok»)ged to his excited sense to the dura- 
 tion of an hour. After each stroke he listened 
 for Ae next, dreading to hear it, vet awaiting it, 
 itao'all the while feeling upon hiih the eves of 
 ine of whom he was to be the helpless, voiceless 
 rictim. 
 There had been bnt a few miiintes since Zil- 
 th left, but they seemed like long terms of du- 
 Uion to the man who watched and feared. Zil- 
 had gone, and would not return. Would 
 — . Hart over cSme? Oh, could Mrs. Hart 
 lave knowq that this man, of all living beings, 
 ^as thus watching and hoping for her, and thifit 
 J this man of idl others her presence would have 
 iven a heavenly peace and calm I If she could 
 jut have known this as it was then it would 
 lave roused he? even from the bed of death, and 
 )ronghrher to his side though it were but to die 
 It the first sight of him. But Mrs. Hart came 
 lOt. She knpw nothing of any wish for her. In 
 ler own extreme prostration she had found, after 
 wakefn} night, a little blessed sleep, and the 
 'atcher watched in vain. ^tr-' ■ 
 The clock tolled on. 
 
 Hilda looked oiit through the door. She tnm- 
 I and went out into the hall. She came back 
 ind looked around the room. She went to the 
 "indow and lookfilpfeut. The twilighLiras 
 fag. The gloomllras lessening tto 
 lim groves and shadowy trees. 
 omiBg. She went back int6 
 ^nce more into the hall. There t 
 
 Istened,, .'O^ Earl followed her 
 
 -eyes thaf-^re fhll of awful expectation. 
 Hilda came back. The Earl summoned all 
 ^is strength, and uttered a faint cry. Hilda 
 alked jip to-him ; -slw sto^ied-diBD^over hfaK 
 he ^rl uttered another cry. "^ 
 Hilda paused. Then she stoom down and 
 jiissed his forehead. • 
 
 The Karl psped. One word come hissing 
 
 "Judas I" ■'■■ y' ^ 
 
 77 
 
 I in her nsually 
 
 through Zil- 
 
 hy excitement 
 
 nt now this ex- 
 
 lih his eyes 
 
 CHAPTEB XXlk 
 THE HonsB or uoDsinKa. 
 
 ZiLLAH had scarcely &llen asle^ when a shrill 
 try roused her. She started np Hilda stood 
 by her side with wild ei(vitement| 
 impassive face. A cold thrill r 
 lah's frame. To see Hilda in 
 was an unknown thing to her; 
 citement was not concealed. < 
 
 " Oh, my darlinff ! my darling!" she cried. 
 
 "What? what?" Zillah almost screamed. 
 "What is it? What has happened ?" Fear told 
 her. She knew what had happened. One tiling, 
 and one only, could account for tttis. 
 
 " He's gone t It's over I He's gone ! He's 
 gone ! Qh, darting 1 Hon^ can I tell it ? And 
 so sudden I Oh, cahn yourself 1" And Hilda 
 flung her arms about Zillah, and groaned. 
 
 Zillah's heart seemed to stand still. She flung 
 off Hilda's arms, «fae tore herself away, and 
 rushed to the Earl's room. Such a sudden thing 
 as this— could it be ? Gone ! And it was only a 
 few moments since she had seen his last ghmce, 
 ahd heard his last words. 
 
 Yes ; it was indeed so. There, as she entered 
 that romn, where now the rays of morning en- 
 tereU, she saw the form of her friend— tiiat friend 
 whobi she called father, and loved as such. But 
 the white face was no longer tumied to greet her ; 
 the ijes did not seek hers, nor could that cold 
 handj ever again return the pressure of hers. 
 Whitip as marble was that face now, still and set' 
 in th^ fixedness of death; cold as marble was 
 now that hand which hers clasped in that first 
 fienzylof grief and horror; cold as marble and 
 as lifeless. Never again— never again might she 
 hold cbmmnne with the friend who now was 
 numbeiied with the dead. 
 
 She ^t in that room stricken into dumbness 
 by the ^hocfc of this sudden calamity. Time 
 j The awful news flashed through the 
 house. IThe servants heard it, and came silent 
 and awe|strnck to the room ; but when they saw 
 the whitf face, and the mourner by the bedside, 
 they stoid still, nor did they dare to cross the 
 threshold- Suddenly, while the little group of 
 servants] stood there in that doorway, with the 
 reverencb which is always felt for death and for 
 sorrow, there came, one who forced her way 
 through ihem and passed into the room. This 
 one bore pn her face the expression of a might, 
 ier grief Ithan that which could be felt by any 
 others — a grief unspeakable— beyond words, and 
 beyond thought. White-haired, and with a &oe 
 which no>»- seemed turned to stone in the fixed- 
 ness of its great agony, this figure tottered rath- 
 er than \yalked into the room. There was no 
 longer ankr self-restraint in this woman, who for 
 years had lived under a self-restraint that never 
 relaxed ; there was no thonght as to those who 
 might sea or hear ; there was nothing hut the ut- 
 ter abMidjmment of perfect grief— of gnef which 
 had re acl|ed its height and could blow no thing - 
 TBore ; tltAre was no thi n g l ee s -thani despair itself ^ 
 
 that despair which arises ^hmi all is lost — as 
 this wom4n flung hers||L^t allah, as though 
 she hadU^ grief superij^r w .ZUlafc'8i Ond a right 
 to passiefen her in thetJBie precedittce of 
 sorrow. It wqs thus that^Hn. Hart ^hie be- 
 fore the presence of the .dendjm4 flwVKpMlf 
 nponthp inanimate <!^HMw^<J^4faPthi9 
 
 } 
 
% 
 
 — ---i*. 
 
 the 
 dweller had 
 
 78 
 
 arms around that clhj^ 
 departed, and pressc 
 cold brow from whicl 
 passed away to its Iil{lin||ttality, 
 
 In the depths of^fnr own grief Zillah was 
 roused by a cry which expressed a deeper grief 
 than hers — a qi^ of agony — a ciy of despair : 
 
 " Oh, my Goa t Oh, God of mqrcy ! Dead ! 
 What ? dead ! Dead — and no explanation — no, 
 forgiveness I" * j,>i 
 
 And A^. Hart f^ down lifeless over tn( 
 form of the dted. 
 
 Zillah, rostr with a wonder in her soul which 
 
 BML- 
 
 What 
 
 Blleviate4:jdie sorrow of bereavement. 
 „Whatdiditmean? 
 
 ItionI" "Forgiveness!" What 
 Flliese ? His housekeeper .' — could she 
 iiw else ? What had she done which re- 
 ^is lamentation ? What was the Earl to 
 it hu death should cause such despair ? 
 , amidst snch thoughts Zillah was still con- 
 siderate about this stricken one, and she called 
 the ser\-ants, and they bore her away to her own 
 room. This grie^,-iron) whatever cause it iQay 
 Have arisen, was t^ much for Mrs. Hart Be- 
 fbro this she had been prostrated. She now 
 lost all consciousq^, and lay in a stupor Avm 
 which she could not be aroused. 
 
 The wondering questions which had arisen in 
 Zillah's mind troubled her and puzzled her at 
 fii^; but graddaUJM^ thought that she could 
 aiin|er thenu Mr^T^art, sh»thought, was won- 
 derfully attach^ to thft£arl. s£e had com- 
 mfttef^ some imaginary (Mnqaency in her man- 
 agement of the household, which, in her weak 
 and semi-delirions state, was weighing upon her 
 spirits. When she found that he was deadj/^ 
 shock was great to one in her weak at0at o*^- 
 she had only thought of some confession whipb! 
 she had wished to make to him, , :<. 
 
 When the doctor came difeiar ha '&d»id Zil- 
 lah still sitting therai hol<|H|yi£e l^mFof the 
 dead. Hilda came to tell al^&t she knew. 
 
 *' About half an hour. after Zillah left," she 
 said, "I was sitting by theuSvindqw, looliing out 
 to «||We rising sun. SaddetdgjuMarl gave- a 
 sndSPltart, and sat npnghtWoeC^ I rushed 
 oveffo him. * He fell back. ' I <d)Wed his hands 
 .and feet. I could not thin^ at first, that it was 
 any thing more than a faintlhg fit. The truth 
 equally came to me. He was dead. '* Aa aw 
 fol horror rushed over me. I ^d ftrom 
 nota to 'Mrs. Molyneux, and roused her 
 sleep. She sprang up and hooied to the 
 tifae knows tfe rest." v; 
 
 Sia was'^ilda's account ^ ''■ 
 Ab fonhe doctor, he could easily account fSr' 
 he sudden death. It was mi»d. His heart had 
 been affected, and he had died from j» sudden 
 I spasm. - It was oajy through the care of Miss 
 ^ Krieff that the E^rl had lived so long. 
 
 Bnt so great was Hilda's distress that Zillah 
 had to devote herself to the task ef soothing her. 
 
 icnudiing blow which a few ywrs b«foiiB had de-l 
 ■eended so suddenly upon her yonug l|fe, 8hi I 
 began to rally and to look forward to the future, I 
 Qny had been written to, not by her, but,4i| 
 usual, by Hilda, in iter name. The news of |ier I 
 father's death had'been- broken to him as deli. I 
 cately as possible. Hilda read it to Zillah, who, f 
 afker a few changes of expression, approved of it,' I 
 jUMlHtfHlgf he efi'ect of impressing iipon Zi|. I 
 fWl 'iiiflnf In^fiict :t|||t Gdr,n)ust soon conn I 
 home. The absence mus^ cease. In any case | 
 it could not UCst much longer. Either she would I 
 have liad to join him, or he come back to her, I 
 The prospect of his arrival now stood before her I 
 and the question arose how to meet itf-,, Wasijl 
 welcome or unpleasant? Afier all, was he not I 
 a noble character, and a valiant soldier — the sog I 
 of a dear friend ? Zillah's woman's heart judged I 
 him not harshly, and much of her thought wai I 
 taken, up with conjectures as to the probable t«. I 
 suits of that return. She began at length to look I 
 forward to it with hope; and to think that ahtl 
 might be happy with such a man for her hD|.| 
 band. The only thing that troubled her was the I 
 idea that any man, however noble, should hare I 
 thcright of claiming her as his without the pre.] 
 linnary wooing. To a delicate natuTAthis wail 
 intolerable, and she could only tnoKlhat he I 
 would be acceptable to her on his^rnnppevf 
 ance: ' I 
 
 In the midst of these thoughts a letter arriredl 
 from Gujr, addressed to that one who was now I 
 beyond its rmch. Zilhih opened this without I 
 hesitation, for I^rd Chetwynde had always beet I 
 in the habit of banding them to her directly he I 
 had read them. ^|., 
 
 Few things connected with thone whdn we i 
 have loved andJost are more painful, where all I 
 is M> exqnisitel^p^inful, than the reading of let- 1 
 ten by them or to them. The most triviM con. I 
 moBplaces-^he lightest expressions of regard- 1 
 an all invested with the tenderest pathos, aDdl 
 from our hearts there ^ms rung out at cvei;! 
 line the despairing refrain of " nevermore— nev- 1 
 ermore." It was thus, Add witn blending team, I 
 that^^Uah r^ad thigirst part of- Guy's letter,! 
 whii^was full pf Mder love^and thoughtful 
 qpnstderatioil. goon, however, this sadoessijratl 
 dispelled^h^itttention was aiflied ; «p even | 
 othe||Mp^as baiAshed in her ^l|||uTbing in- 1 
 teroi0^what%he read. After 80W9 prelimin-l 
 y^paragraphs the letter went on thus : 
 "Joa will A utonished, my deaf father, and, j 
 lOByloased, to learn that I have made up nrl 
 ivmma retom to Engliifid as soon as possibk I 
 As yoa may imagine, this resolve is a siiddfll 
 one, and I should be false to that perfect cos- 1 
 fidenoe which has always existed between tu, It | 
 I did not fhwkly acquaint you with the circno-l 
 stances which hue led to my decision. I ban I 
 oft^n mentioned to you my friend Captain Caiii-| 
 eron of the Royal Engineers, who is superintend- 1 
 ing the erection of some fortifications overlo(d:-| 
 ing the mountain pass. Isolated as we art fim I 
 all Enropcyi socwty, we have nntnrally bea| 
 
 tLivwki luuuh togBilwi, and ■ flno firtciid 
 grown op betwem ns. We constituted biffli| 
 member of our little mess, consisting of my m I 
 subalterns and myself; so that he hae been Tir-| 
 tnally living with us ever since oar arrival bm I 
 "Not very long ago oar little circle rec«iTed| 
 a very important additfon. This vat Csp(aii| 
 
 CHAFTEB XXIV. 
 
 X LCmit AND ITS COKSEQtmKCtS. 
 
 Sous weeks passed, and Zillah's grief gradu- 
 
 ally becamf kMened. 
 to liear nil blow at 
 
 She was far better able 
 this time than that fint 
 

 ch * hw years bfibi^ had d».| 
 ly upon her yornig l(fe. 8bi| 
 to look forwuxl to the tutun. I 
 itten to,'il6t by her, but,«| 
 
 her name. The neiyi of ^ | 
 been broken to him as. deli. I 
 
 Hilda read it to Zilloh, wlio, [ 
 I of cxpresiiion, approved «f It I 
 effect of imprewiing iipon Zil. I 
 It <:t)^ Gay must soon coae I 
 ice mus| cease. In any cai« I 
 ich longer. Either she wonld I 
 lim, or he come back to her. f 
 I arrival now stood before herj I 
 rose how to meet it«). Was it I 
 sant? After all, was he noil 
 ind a valiant soldier — the wi f 
 Zillah's woman's heart jud^ I 
 nd much of her thought wail 
 ectures as to the probable t«. I 
 bhe began at length to look I 
 hope ; and to think that At I 
 ith such a man for her bni-l 
 ing that tronbled her was tli«l 
 , however noble, should hare I 
 ig her as his withont the pr«.| 
 To a delicate naturAthis wti I 
 e could only tndBthat b«| 
 e to her on his''!nfflrappear'r 
 
 heso thoaghts a letter arriredl 
 id to that one who was not I 
 Zillah opened this witliooil 
 Chetwyndo had always beet I 
 ding them to her directly lie I 
 
 lectcd with those whA ve I 
 are more painful, where ail I 
 nful, than the reading of let- 1 
 liem. The most triviSI codi- I 
 itest expressions of regard-! 
 h the tenderest pathos, audi 
 ere seems mng out at evetjl 
 nefr^n of "nevermore— nerl 
 lus, And witn blending team, I 
 igirst part of- Guy's letter, 
 Suier lovA>iind tlioughlbll 
 n, howereivthis BadAgss^ntl 
 tiqnwasaiilmed; arideTei^l 
 unshed in her ^|i|ufhingii)-| 
 read. After soMq prclimis-l 
 letter went on thns : I 
 
 mished, my dear father, and, I 
 larn that I have made up m I 
 Snglifid as soon as posaikk I 
 ne, this resolve is a siiddAl 
 e false to that perfect cos- 1 
 Iways existed between as if I 
 
 ?|aaint yoa with the circDO-j 
 ed to my decision. I ban I 
 foa my friend Captain Cam- 1 
 igineers, who is superintend- [ 
 lome fortifications overlook- 
 u. IsoUtadaaweartfhia 
 y, wa have natnnJlT bea 
 ir, and s Ann flrtendsmirfin 
 OS. We constituted bint 1 
 mesa, coosisting of my tnl 
 tU, BO that he haa been Ti^| 
 ever since onr arrival hen. [ 
 igo our little circle recaredl 
 IcUtion. This was CRpttiil 
 
 TSksi CBYPTOOBAlt. 
 
 n 
 
 „^'l sister; who, having been left an or. 
 in England, and having no near relatives 
 hod come out to her brother. She was a- 
 wuang girL I had seen nothii^ of English 
 uies for a long time, and so it (Ud not need 
 lach persuasion to induce me to go to Cam- 
 ivn's bouse after Miss Cameron hod arrived, 
 lircnmstances, rather than any deliberate design 
 my part.1(^w me there more and more, till at 
 igth all mv evenings were spent there, 'hnd, in 
 ^% all my leisure time. - I always used to join 
 Jiss Canieron and her b|x>ther on their morning 
 tdes aML evening walks ; and very often, if duty 
 iventediiim from accompanying her, she would 
 me to tike his place as her escort. She was^ 
 '^ a fond of music as I am ; and, in the even-/ 
 ^'je generally spent most of the time in play- 
 _ or singing together. She played accompani- 
 luits to my songs, and I to hers. We per- 
 urmed duets ^g^er ; and thus, whether in the 
 louse or ontfff^it, were thrown into the closest 
 >~i8ible intercourse. All this came about so 
 jorally that several ihonths had passed away 
 this fiimiliar association before I began even 
 suspect danger, either for myself or for her. 
 iddenly, however, I awakened to the conscious- 
 as of tbiiact as it was. All my lifi^ was filled 
 )y Inez ^jttMron — all my life seeme^l^ centre 
 poiind herwaU my future sejpmed. pf, bhu^jc as 
 lidnight ajMlrffom her. Never before had I 
 )lt expn '^VUng interest in any woman, 
 lonnd as I hoS^Mn all my life, in boyhood by 
 lonor, and in ear^asanhood by le^ ties, I had 
 lever allowed i^^^o think of any other wo- 
 oan ; and I hatfmlW^jJKi been on my guard so as 
 lot to drift into any of thofeMttations with which 
 len in general, and especlHHjkwe Offlcers, con- 
 Ire to fritter' awaj^ the fnHess of affection, 
 [nexperience, combined With^he influence of 
 drcumstances, caused me to drift into this posi- 
 ' )n ; and the sitnation became one from which 
 . was hard indeed to extricate mysdf. I had, 
 lowever, been on my guard after a fashion. I 
 jad from the first scrupulotUly avoided those 
 lalanteriet and fofont de purler which arp more 
 ~ loal in Indian society than elsewhere. Besides, 
 bad long before made Cameron acquainted 
 ith my marriage, and had taken it for gianted 
 jat Inez knew it also. I thought, even after 
 bad found out that I loved her, that there was 
 10 danger for her— and that she had always 
 nerely regarded me as a married man and a 
 iend. But one day an ac^^^t revealed to me 
 _at she knew nothing about iny marriage, and 
 lad taken my attentions too fji^vonibly for her 
 — peace of mind. Ah, dear fiither, inch a 
 . -jvery was bitter ind^ in many ways. I 
 lad to crush out my I0VJ9 for my sake and for 
 lers. One way only was possible, and that was 
 leave! her fbrevar. I at once saw Cameron, 
 id tohl him frankly the state of the case, so far 
 I was concerned. Like a good fellow, as he 
 . hel'blamed himself altogether. 'Yoa see, 
 [dyneiix,' he laid, * a fellow is very apt to orei^ 
 >k theipossih te attracthrenesB of his own «i«t«r, ' 
 
 mii^no MIoft to prevent mis from going, 
 Int evidptly thought it my only (^ourse. I ac- 
 ^rdingly applied at once for leave, and to-night 
 J am ahout to start for Calcutta, where I will 
 rait till I gain a formal permit, and I will never 
 *-! Inez again. I haVe seen her for the last 
 Oh, fiither! tho«» word* of warning 
 
 which yon once spoke to me have become Airi- 
 ly true. Chetwyiide has been too dearly bought 
 At this moment the weight of my chains is too 
 hea>7 to be borne. If I could feel myself free 
 once more, how ghtdly would I give np all my 
 ancestral estates! What is Chetwynde to me? 
 What happiness can I ever have ip it now, or 
 what happmess can there possibly he to me with- 
 out Inez ? Besides, I turn from the thought of. 
 her, with her refined beauty, her delicate nataie, 
 her innumerable accomplisliments, her true and 
 tender heart, and think of that other one, with 
 her ungovernable passions, her unreasoning tam- 
 per, and her fierce intractability, where I can see 
 nothing but the^ool of a savage, unredeemed by 
 any womanly softness or feminine grace. Oh, 
 father! vm it well to bind me to a Hindu? 
 Yon willflgr, perhaps, that I should not judge 
 of the woman by the girl. Buty. father, when I 
 saw her first at ten, I found her impish, and at 
 fifteen, when I married her, she was no less so, 
 orily perhaps more intensified. Fierce words of 
 insult wei-e flupg at me by that creatuM. My 
 God I it is too' bitter to think of. Het' face is 
 before me now, scowling and malignant, while 
 behind it, mournful and pitying, yet loving, is 
 the pale sweet face of Inez. 
 
 " But I dare not trust mysfelf further. Never 
 before have I spoken to yonUbout the horror 
 which I feel for that Hindu. 1 did not wish to 
 pain you. I fear I am selfish ta doing so now. 
 But, after all, it is better for you to know it once 
 for all. Otherwise the discovery of it would bo 
 all the worse. Besides, this is iWrung out from 
 me in spite of mj^self by the anguish of my heart. 
 "Let me do justice to the Hindu. You have 
 spoken of her sometimes — not often, however, 
 and I thank you for it — as a loving daughter to 
 you. I thank her for that, I am sure. Small 
 comfort, however, is this to me. If she were 
 now an angel from heaven, she could not fill tlia . 
 pUceoflnez. /" 
 
 "Forgive me, dear father. This shall 6e the 
 lajst of complaints. Ilenceforth I am ready to^,, 
 bear my griefs. I am ready for thib sacrificeMijf 
 I can not see her yet, but when I reach Enghind . k' 
 I must «ee yon somehow. If you can not me 
 me, you must manage to send her off to VoA 
 eroy, so that t may see you in peace. With yhw^ 
 I will forget my sonows, and will be again a 
 light-hearted boy. 
 
 "Let me assure yon that I mean to keep my 
 promise made years ago when I was a boy. It 
 shall be the effort of my life to make my wife 
 happy. Whether I succeed or not will be an- 
 other thing. But I mast have time. 
 
 "No more now. I have written about this 
 for the first and the last time. Give my warm- 
 ^t and fondest love to nurse. I hope to see 
 yoa soon, and remain, dear father, 
 
 " Yonr aflbctionate son, 
 ■ * "GcYMdM-HEnx." 5* 
 
 For some time after reading this letter Zillah 
 ^ataa if stunned.— At firsts^ seemedrseare^i: 
 able to take in its full meaning. Gradually, 
 \however, it dawned upon her to its widest e3t- 
 tent. This, then, was the future that lay be- 
 tbre her, and this was the man for whose arrival 
 she had been looking with such mingled feel- 
 ings. Little need was there now for mingled 
 feelings. She knew well with what feeling to 
 
 ,3L-i,-. ' 
 
w- 
 
 
 80 
 
 THE CBTFFOGBAM. 
 
 expect him. She had at timea within the depths 
 of her heart formed an idea that her life would 
 not be loveless ; but now— but now — Thliman 
 wbu was her husband, and the only one to whom 
 she could loolt for love— this man turned firom 
 her in horror ; he hated her, he loathed her — 
 worse, he loolced upon her as a ilindo-^worse 
 still, if any thing could be worse, hhi hate and 
 his loathing were made eternal ; for he loved an- 
 other with the ardor of a first fresh love, and his 
 wife seemed to him a demon full of malignity, 
 who stood between him and the angel of his 
 heart and the heaven of his desires. Uis words 
 /of despair rang within her ears. The opprobri- 
 /ous epithets which he applied to her stung her 
 / to the quick. Passionate and hot-hearted, all 
 her women's nature rose up in arms at this hor- 
 rible, this unlooked-for assault. All her pride 
 Surged up within her in deep and bitter resent- 
 . ment. Whatever she might once have been, she 
 felt that she was different now, and deserved not 
 this. At this moment she would have given 
 worlds to be able to say to him, " You are free. 
 Go, nmrry the woman whom you love." But it 
 was too late. 
 
 Not the least did she feel Guy's declaration 
 that he would try to make her happy. Her 
 proud spirit chafed most at this. He was go- 
 mg to treat her with patient forbearance, and 
 try to conceal his abhorrence. Could she en- 
 dure this? Up and down the room she paped, 
 with angry vehemence, asking herself this ques- 
 tion. 
 
 She who had all her life been surrounded by 
 Idolizing; love was now tied for life to a man whose 
 hif^est desire with regard to her was that he 
 night b6 able to endure her. In an agony of 
 grief, she threw herself upon the floor: Was 
 there no esc&pe? she thought None? none? 
 Oh, for one friend to advise her ! 
 
 The longer Zillah thought of her position the 
 worse it seemed to her. Hours pMsed away, 
 and she kept herself shut up in her room, refus- 
 ing to admit any one, bnt considering what was 
 best to do. One thing only appeared as possible 
 under these circumstances, and that was to leave 
 Chetwynde. She felt that it was simply impos- 
 sible for her to remain there. And where could 
 she go? To Pomeroy Court? But that had 
 been handed over to him as part of the payment 
 to him for taking her. She could not go back to 
 a place which was now the property of this man. 
 Nor was it necessary. She had money of her 
 own, which would enable her to live as well as 
 she wished. Thirw thousand pounds would give 
 her an income suflicient for her wants ; and she 
 might find some place where she conld live in se- 
 clusion. Her first wild thoughts were a desire 
 for death ; bat since death would not come, she 
 could at least so arrange matters as to be dead 
 to this man. Such was her final resolve. 
 
 It was with this in her mind that she went out 
 to Hilda's room. Hilda was writing as she en- 
 tered, but on seeing her she hastily shut her desk, 
 -and spHMgfergM d to y eet her^aendi — 
 
 " My darling !" said she. " How I rejoice to 
 see yon ! Is it some new grief? Will you nev<!r 
 trust me ? You are so reticent with me that it 
 breaks my heart." 
 
 " Hilda," said she, " I have just been reading 
 a letter from Lord Chetwrnde to his father. He 
 is abont to return home.'' 
 
 Zillah'a yoIm, as sh* spoke, wm bard |md me- 
 talUe, and Hild» law that something wat wrong. 
 She noticed that Zillah used the words Lord 
 Chetwynde with stem empiiasis, instead ftf th« j 
 name Ovy, by which, she, Ilka tha tmt, had ol 
 ways spoKen of him. 
 
 ''I am glad to hear it, dear," said Hilds, 
 quietly, and in a cordial tone; "for, althoo)^ 
 you no doabt dread tha first meeting, especially 
 unde^ snoh painful oiroumatancas, yet it will be 
 for yonr happiness.'' 
 
 •'^Hilda,'^^ said Zillah, with increased stern- 
 ness, ** Lord Chetwynde and I will never me« I 
 again." ' 
 
 Hilda started back with nantterabla astonish, j 
 ment on her fhee. 
 
 "Never meet again 1" she repeated—" not | 
 meet Lord Chetwynde— your husband? What | 
 do yon mean ?" 
 
 " I nm going to leave Chetwynde as soon u { 
 possible, and shall never again cross its threshold." 
 
 Hilda went ot-qr to Zillah and put hec onu | 
 around her. 
 
 " Dartin g, " Baid> she, in her most caressing I 
 lones, "yott^no^ agitated. What is it?. Yoo 
 a\f9 in trouble. Wmi{ new grief can have coim 
 to yo\^ ? Will you not tell me ? Is there an; 
 one living who oan sympathize with you as i 
 can?" 
 
 At these accents of kindness Zillah's fortitude I 
 gave way. She put her' head on her friend'i I 
 shoulder and sobbed convulsively. The teanl 
 relieved her^ For a long time she wept in li. | 
 lence. 
 
 ''I hare no one now in the world bnt yog, I 
 dearest Hilda. And you will not forsake me, 
 wiUyon?" 
 
 " Forsake yon, my darling, nky sister ? forstkt I 
 yon? Never' while I livel But why do you I 
 speak of fiight and of being forsaken ? Whit | 
 mad fancies have come over you ?" 
 
 Zillah drew from her pocket the letter whick | 
 the had read. 
 
 "Here," she said, <*nad this, and you wil 
 know alL" 
 
 Hilda took the letter and read it in silence, i)l I 
 through, and then commencing it again, she one* | 
 more reitd it through to the end. 
 
 Then she flwig her arms around Zillah, io- 1 
 pnkively, and strained her to her heart. 
 
 \ * Yon understand all now ?" 
 
 "All;" said HUda. 
 
 " And what do yon think ?^ 
 
 "Think! It is horrible 1" 
 
 • ' What would you do f " 
 
 "I?" cried Hilda, starting np. 
 kUl myself." 
 
 ZiUah shook her head. 
 
 " I am not quite capable of that — not yet- 1 
 though it may be in me to do it — some time.! 
 But now I can not. My idea is the same as yonn, I 
 though. I will go into saclusion, and be dead to | 
 him, at any rate." 
 
 Hilda was silent for a few moments. Tha | 
 jhe read A e letter-agi^BF- 
 
 "I would 
 
 "ZiUah," said she, with a deep sigh, "it si 
 very well to talk of killiiig one's self, as I dU I 
 just now, or of running away ; hut, after ail, I 
 other things must be coiwiderea. I spoke baiti' I 
 ly ; but I am calmer than you, and I ought tt I 
 advise you calinly. After all, it is avary Mn-I 
 ous thing that 70a sptek of; and, indew,sn| 
 
 m 
 
ih* ipoke, WW bwd fuid me- 
 r that wnnetbiiig wmt wrong, 
 lillah oied tiie words Lord 
 rn emptuuii, initead of th« 
 bthe, lilM Out tmt, bad ol 
 
 hear it, dmur/'mid Hilda, 
 trdial ton*; "for, aUhoai^ 
 the first meeting, especial!; 
 Dironmstances, yet it will be 
 
 illah, with increased' stern- 
 ^0 and I will never meet | 
 
 k with UDntterablo astonish. | 
 
 wn!" she repeated— " not I 
 ide— year husband r What | 
 
 leave Chetwynde m soon w { 
 ver again crosa its tbrcshold.' 
 to Zillah and put her onsi I 
 
 ■he, in her most caressing 
 litated. What is it? Yoo 
 a{ new grief can have come I 
 not tell me ? Is there an; I 
 sympathize with you as I 
 
 >f kindness Zillah's fortitude I 
 t heT' head on her friend'i I 
 d convulsively. The tean 
 a long time siie wept in li. 
 
 now in the world but yoo, 
 d you will not forsake me, 
 
 f darling, nky sister? forsake I 
 I live I But why do yog I 
 of being forsaken ? What | 
 me over you ?" 
 her pocket the letter whidi I 
 
 I, "nad this, and you will 
 
 Iter and read it in silence, il I 
 immencing it again, she osn ] 
 1 to the end. >* 
 
 er arms around Zillah, in- 1 
 ed her to her heart. 
 iaUnow?" 
 
 THE CBYPTOGBAM.. 
 
 lead. . 
 
 capable of that — ^not y«t- 1 
 n me to do it — some tiis&J 
 My idea is the same as yotin, I 
 ito seclusion, and be dead to 
 
 e, with a deep sigh, "it it I 
 ' killing one's self, as I dUl 
 ming away ; but, after all, | 
 » coiwdered. I spoke haiti- 1 
 ir than yon, and I ought to I 
 After all, it is a very mh-I 
 speak of; and, indeoi, «• I 
 
 nni capable of such a thing ? Whatever I may 
 pdividuallv think of your resolve, I know that 
 on ore doing what the world will consider mad- 
 <u» ; and it is mv duty to put the case plainly 
 efore you. In the first place, then, your hua- 
 and does not love you, and he loves another — 
 ienr h*rd to bear, I allow ; but men are fickle, 
 Ind perhaps ere many months have elapsed he 
 p»y forget the cold knglish beauty as be gazes 
 ki your ijouthem face. You are very beautiful, 
 ^lloh ; and when he sees you he will change his 
 one. He moy love you nt first sight." 
 "Then I ihould devpigo him," said Zillah, hot- 
 ly. "What kind of Me is that which changes 
 \t the sight of every now face? Besides, yon 
 iorget how he despises me. I am a Hindu in 
 his eyes. Can contempt ever change into love ? 
 If such a miracle could take place, I should nev- 
 br believe in it. Those bitter words in that let- 
 
 r would always rankle in my heart" 
 , "That is true," said Hilda, sorrowfully. 
 [IThen we will put that supposition from us. 
 ^ut, allo>ving you never gain your husband's 
 ^ve, remember how much there is left you. His 
 bosition, his rank, are yours by right — you are 
 Lady Chetwynde, and the mistress of Chetwynde 
 Castle. You can fill the place with guests, among 
 .whom you will be queen. You may go to Lon- 
 don during the season, take the position to which 
 jrou are entitled there os wife of a peer, and, in 
 Ebe best society which the world affords, you will 
 receive all the adrairntion and homage which you 
 Beserve. Beauty like yours, combined with rank 
 .nd wealth, may make you a queen of society. 
 Slave you strength to forego all this, Zillah ?" 
 
 " You have left one thing out in your brilliant 
 bicture," replied Zillah. " All this may, indeed, 
 pe mine — but — mine on suiferanee. If I can only 
 ;et this M Lord Chetwynde's wife, I beg leave 
 decline it. Besides, I have no ambition to 
 khine in society. Had you urged me to remem- 
 ber all that the Earl bos done for me, and try to 
 endure the son for the sake of the father, that 
 inigbt possibly have had wdght. Had you 
 khown me that mr marriage wos irrevpcable, 
 bnd that the best thing was to accept the situo- 
 ■ion, itnd try to be a dutifiil wife to the eon of 
 ■be man whom I called father, you might per- 
 «p8 for a moment have shaken my pride. I 
 night have stifled the promptings of those wo- 
 manly instincts which have been so frightfully 
 butraged, and consented to remain passively in 
 a situation where I was placed by those two 
 (friends whorloved me best. But when you speak 
 B mo of the dazzling future which moylie before 
 ae as Lord Chetwynde's wife, yoii remind' me 
 lio* little he is dependent for happiness upon any 
 khing^hat I can give him ; of the brilliant career 
 In society or in politics which is open to him, and 
 which will render domestic life superfluous. I 
 have thought over all this most fully ; but what 
 jrou have just said has thrown a new light upon 
 It. In the quiet seclusion in which I have hith- 
 prto lived I had Almost forgotten that there was 
 lB-oatsi«k world, where naa^^eek tlteir happi- 
 iiess. Can you thltjk that I am able to enter 
 kbat world, and strive to be a queen of society, 
 Vith no protecting lova around me to warn me 
 »gainst its perils or to shield me from them? 
 Ko I I see it all Under do circumstances can 
 t live with this man who abttors me. No toler- 
 ktion can be possible bn eith6c^ii4B.< The best 
 
 .F 
 
 heciid 
 
 thing for me to do is to die. Bui since I can 
 not die, the next best thing is to sink out of bis 
 view into nothingness. So, Hilda,! I shall leave 
 Chetwynde, and it is useless to atiempt to dis- 
 suade me." 
 
 Zillah had spoken in low, measured tones, in 
 words which were so formal that they sounded 
 like a schobl-giri's recitation— a long, dull mon- 
 otone--the monotony of despair. Her face 
 drooped— her eyes were fixed on the flooi^her 
 white hands clasped each other, and she sat thus 
 —an imoge of woe. Hildo looked at her steadi- 
 ly. For a moment there flashed over her lips 
 the faintest shadow of a smile— the lips curled 
 cruelly, the 6ye8 gleamed coldly— but it was for 
 n moment. Instantly it had passed, and as Zil- 
 lah ceased, HihJo leaned toward her and drew 
 her head down upon her breast 
 
 "Ah, my pjwr, sweet dariingi mv friend! 
 my sister! my noble Zilbih!" she murmured. 
 " I will say no more. I see yon are fixed in 
 your purpose. I only wished you to act with 
 your eyes open. But of what avail is it ? Could 
 you live to be scorned— live on snffierance? 
 Never! / would die first What compensation 
 could it be to be rich, or famous, when you were 
 the property of a man who loathed you ? Ah, 
 my dear one! what dm I saying? But you are 
 right Yes, sooner than live with that man I 
 would kill myself. " 
 , A long silence followed. 
 
 "I suppose you have not yet made any plans, 
 darling,' said Hilda at last 
 
 ' ' Yes I have. A thousand phins at once came 
 sweeping through my mind, and I have some 
 general idea of what I am to do," said Zillah. 
 "I think there will be no difficulty about the 
 details. Yon remember, when I wished to run 
 away, after dear popa's death— ah, how glad I 
 am -that I did not — how many happy years I 
 should have lost — the question of money was the 
 insuperable obstacle ; but that is effectually re- 
 moved now. You know my money .is so settled 
 that it is payable to my own checks at my, bank- 
 ers', who are not even the Chetwyndes' bankers; 
 for the Earl thought it better to Iwve it with pa- 
 pa's men of business." 
 
 " You must be veir careful," said Hilda, " to 
 leave no trace by whicn Lord Chetwynde can 
 find you out You know that he will move 
 heaveiLJtiul earth to find you. His character 
 It ideas of honor would insure that, 
 let that you bore his name, would 
 and wormwood to him to be igno- 
 '■'"^"^^O"' doings. Besides, he kys great 
 stress oil hift'jpromise to your fiather." 
 
 " He heed ftot fear," said Zillah. "The dear 
 old name, which I love almost as prondly as he 
 does, shall never gain the lightest stain from me. 
 Of course I shall cease to use it now. It would 
 be easy to trace Lady Chetwynde to any place. 
 My idea is, of course, to take an assumed name. 
 Yon and I can live quietly and raise no suspi- 
 cions that we a re other th an we seem. Btit, 
 HBd«i sre yon snrr that yon are wilting to^p-- 
 into exile with me ? Can you endure it ? Ca^ 
 you live with me, and share my monotonous 
 life?" 
 
 Hilda looked steadily at Zillah, holding her 
 hand the while. 
 
 " Zillah," said she, in a solemn rdce, "whith- 
 er thoikpest, I will go ; and where thou lodgest, 
 
 \ 
 
 V 
 
■!l'^.^' 
 
 ,1 /* . 
 
 ' WHITHER TilOU OOKiiT, I Wlti OO. 
 
 Thy people shall be my peo])le, and 
 God! 
 
 I wUilodge. _.„ 
 tM God my God ! 
 
 A deep silence followed. ZiUoh pressed 11 il- 
 da> hand «nd stifled » half sob. 
 
 "At tfcy'rate," snid Hilda, "whoever else 
 
 n^y fail^ ytw— yoa Rave, at least, one .faithful^ 
 
 heart — one friend qi>, whom you can always, rely. 
 
 , No, you need ifwt 'thttnk me," said she, as Zil- 
 
 Inh fondly ki*pd her and wu» about to jipeak ; 
 
 ., "I am but a i(oor, selflsh creature, A(fcer all. 
 
 You know I con)d never he happy away from 
 
 yofl. You kn^« that there is no one in tlie 
 
 - world whom T love but you ; and there is no 
 
 other who lov«9 ine. Do I pot owe evtfry thing 
 
 to General Pometoy «nd to you, my darling f" 
 
 "Not njort than I owe to yau, dear Hilda. 
 I feel ashamed when. I think of how »inch I 
 made yci^ «ndure for years, through my selfish 
 exactions and my ungovernable temper. But I 
 have changed a little I think. "The Earl'a influ- 
 ence over me was for good, I hope. Dear Hil- 
 da, we have none IJut one another, and must 
 «ling together." . 
 
 Silence then followed, i^ui they sa( for mfong 
 bme, each wrapped up in plans for the fiuure. 
 
 as soon as ffae coqIj,] 
 conveniently def ' m^- ( 
 Shealsb told them of 
 their master's -espect- 
 ed retu'p, and thnt 
 every ihmg must be iif 
 reai^iiess for his r9> 
 ce'ption, so that, on 
 her retiiTH, she might 
 have no trouble bcfo« 
 her. She gaVfe^gome 
 fdnt hints that* she ] 
 might l)robubly mioet 
 him ht London, in or. 
 <ter to Jisnrm suspi- 
 cjon, and pdso to make I 
 It easier for Chcj. 
 
 WTido himself to cea- 
 Vki th'o fact flf Jierl 
 fligfct, if hewlslieilta 
 dv "80. _81i^ never! 
 ceased to be thought- 
 ful about prote^iiiigl 
 his ltcnol-,*ns far « | 
 j>ORs)ble. 
 
 The few dpvs V | 
 fore ZiUah> depart- 
 nre wer^ «mong the I 
 , most Wref^ied the 
 bad cVcr known. T)ie 
 home which she m 
 dearly loved, and | 
 wWch she W i 
 thought was to be I 
 hers forever, had to 
 
 CHAPTER XXV.. 
 COTTimq THB LAy tib. 
 
 OTTTmo THE h JKr T[K. n..»»nuugu>t^ 
 
 Feahtol that her courage Might fail jf she to Him, and pi 
 
 gave herself any more time-to reflfect on what 
 she was doing, Zillah announced «« the house- 
 hold, before the close of thnt day, that the shock- 
 
 be left, because she felt that she wa< not, wanted 
 •there, ^h^ went'obotit the grounds, visitcil cu 
 cry favorite haunt and nook— the spots cndearei 
 to her by th« rcmcmbriince of many happy hmin 
 passed among thojn-^nd her tears fltnved fast 
 andWittorly as sh^ thought thnt she was now 8«. 
 ing tjiem for tbajf^ time. The whole of the \m 
 day at ChettVyiTde ^e passed in the little church, 
 under which ^veiy^olynenx had been linric4.fcf 
 ccntunes back. It was full of their marble ji, 
 gics. Often had she wat9hed the sunlight flitX 
 cring over their pale sculptured faces. Dne wf 
 these forms had been her especial delight; fy 
 she could trace ih his features a strong fumily ». 
 semblance to' Lord Chetwynde. Tfcis ones ni^ 
 w^s G\fy. Foi-meriy sh^ used to scp a likeness be- 
 tween him «nd the Guy who wqs now alive He 
 had died in the Holy Laljd j but his bones had 
 been brought homft that thev Might r(Mtiii,tli« 
 frmily vault. She had beenibnd of w*ing ro- 
 mances as to his probable history and fate; but' 
 no thought of him was ia her roii^ to-day, ail" 
 she wept over the resting-place of one who had 
 filled a father's place to lier, or as she knelt and 
 prnved in her dtsolation tg Jlim wIiq lias prom, 
 iscd to- Be a father to the Atihcrless. karncstlr 
 did she entreat that IIi( presence tn|fcht be with 
 her, His providence di(w;i Jer lowh, way. I'oor 
 chiW! In the wild imptrisMJim^f herliatoi* 
 she jthought that ^ewiriaet^fff/ttfhi, m» mk-' 
 wd liw litwlLBhidi laBcp^lil? 
 
 .._ j\eMif\g in Hiljntht.^ Hho did not 
 know that she was morel v following her omi . 
 win, and turning her bock upcn the path of duty. , J 
 rhat duty lav in simple «rcq)tance of#the At« 
 
 Of LVd Otetwynde's dea-th "re-i^de^d rchang: v^ TchZa^TnTforiyaJt^^^^ 
 ne««a.7 fy he^ and that she^hould leave hoZ | or evU. ; uSp/ZlrilkSi ^^ nevw.p^tS 
 
, I 
 
 >:"« : 
 
 as 8Mn as «faeconl(l 
 Conveniently do* «t- 1 
 Shealsb told them tjf i 
 their moiMcr's expect- i 
 ed retnp, arid that i 
 every ihing must be ut 
 r^^ness for his re^ 
 ceptjon, so that, on 
 • her rettirn, she might 
 have no trouble befo« 
 her. She gaVfejscnie , 
 Wnt hhUs that* she 
 migbl j)robably miBet 
 Wm Sit London^ in or. 
 der to disoHti siispi- 
 cjon, and jdso to malce 
 it easier for C'hoi. 
 wyndo himself to ceij. 
 •enl the fact of berJ 
 fligbt, if he wlshe«l"to 
 dp "so. i?h% never L 
 ceased ta be thoughf- 1 
 fid abeut prote^tin^f 
 his ltonol-,*as far «s 
 ^oHsible. * [ 
 
 The few dpvs b^ | 
 fore Zillah> (fepnrt- 
 lire wci-^ «mong tlie I 
 most '\f'ren;}ied the 
 
 bad O'er kitowTi. lj,i\ 
 
 • home which she; 
 dearly loved, nnd I 
 wWch she 1^(|^J 
 thought was to h] 
 hers forever^ had to 
 felt that, she vni not,*an((ni- 
 botit the grounds, visited eV. i 
 nd nook — <he spots endeared 
 (ihrance of many happy hoiin 
 I'-^nd her tears fltnved fast 
 bought that she was now set. 
 t time. The whole of tlie laji | 
 fie passed in the little church, 
 ^olyneux had been buriedfor 
 was full of their marble tffl, 
 e wat9hed the sunMght flick. 
 sculptured faces. One bf | 
 en her especial delight : fcf 
 8 features a strong family rj.^ J 
 'hetwynde. T^is ones nmS ( 
 shfc used to scp alikenesjs be- 
 juy who wn» now alive. He ; 
 ly Lahd ; but his bones had 
 that they Mtght rest. in, the; 
 lad been fond of wdtvingi*- 
 ibable history and fate; but', 
 vas in her mii^ to-day, i) 
 ating.place of one who'^had 
 to her, or as she knelt and J 
 lion tq Jlim wIiq lias proni' 
 ) the Aitlicrless. Earncativ 
 Hit presence tnjttbt »« witfc 
 lir<b(!t fier loni^ way. I'oor 
 - ^f herliatnre , 
 jffj^ife Wis mak-' j 
 . ^^ hJitf'wSepBTile 
 in liiinbt * 8ho did not 
 merely foBowing her o«ii 
 l)ack H|ipn the path of duty, J 
 iple occt^tance of> the Alt 
 id for her, Wheihor for good 
 riikgei wore never. 
 
 
 ■■|m" 
 
 ;:i.-r 
 
 •:." V 
 
 ^riK'CHvPrOGRAM. 
 
 88 
 
 \'^^JZ1 ttfldvjn flying from one which seemedlinfttat^^^ njptives and eircnmstances 
 
 Ito proiinw tlnhappiness, she fo-got thaj V Ae- -that led to onrmarria^. I had his full and fr^ 
 •dietK« Is better than sijfcHfcV' «ven though the forgiveness for bavin^oubted him and no? 
 gacriflcebetbatofotie^sett. , f « womaii, beg to apttlogize to you for all that 
 
 J*''5^,' !'!L^!!;^)'^,!!?£ 'i'*'^'^f!'i'^5?^ i ^ ^^^t have saw as rpaJsionate girl. 
 
 [the castle^ exhausted from the violence- iof' her 
 J emotion,' and Yaint and weak fronSheftgngfast- 
 pingv' llilda expressed atatin At hef protracted 
 Tabsence, and sfid thai she was just about goittg 
 Jin search of her.', '♦ My darling," sold she, " you 
 I will wear ^ayyonr strength. Yoa«re tod weak 
 I no* to leave. , Tjet via urge 'yoa, for the last 
 I time, to stay ; give u{) your mad resolution." 
 f '' ' No, " said ZHMh. ' ' Yoo knojv you yourself 
 I said that I »V»Ui right." -' ' 
 
 "I didnot siy that ^o<i *ire right, darling. 
 I Hdi4 wliat I would do. lit- ^oat pUux ; but I did 
 not at pll^ay, or even hjnt, 4.hat it would W 
 i right."- ' ^ *. ■ ' ^ ■ , * ■ 
 
 J ^^ Never<niind, " said 2iHah,"wei>riJy ; " I have 
 Iter^ed myself to go through with, it, and I con 
 I do it.' Tte worst bitt'emess is over now.^ There 
 1 11 bat one thin^m<ire for jne to dp, an^ then the 
 I tjej between mo afld Chetwynde air^ fevered for- 
 
 J At Hilda's damest entreaty ehe took sonje l<e- 
 ■ fresbmentiiand then^lhydpiMito rest} but, feel- 
 n ittg tocuix«itcd to sfeop, she got up <o uccohipliah 
 I the task slio bad fcetwB ligr. Tht:rf was to wrke 
 to her hijjband, tcUing him of her db- 
 I partujfearid her reajion for dcvirig so, She wish- 
 [ ed Jo Oo'this in ds/ew words ns possible, to show 
 [.no Mjpw of ^ritesa td^Srd hiija, or of her own' 
 
 sufim^ig. 
 
 iroteas 
 
 fulkmt: 
 
 !t me also assure you, my h>rd, of my deep 
 sympathy for^u jn the trial which awaits you 
 pn your rotumf^wibcn yo^'will find Clietwynde 
 «Mtto d<!prived or the prgpence of that father 
 wtom you love. I feel for vou iind with you. 
 My Jpss IS oi^y second to yours ( for, jn your 
 tatber, I tost-l^c ouly frierid whom I possessed. 
 ■' - ■" Yo^, very respectfully, 
 
 *r . . "ZllH^AH." 
 
 Hilda of course had to copj- tblj; for the ob- 
 jection^to Zdlah's writing, was as strong as be- 
 fore, and 4j» explanation was ^pw tji^jre difficult 
 to make (ban ever. ZfUah, bbwevor, r«{id it In 
 Hilda's handwriting, and then Hilda tool it, as 
 she always did, to inclose it fon the mail. 
 
 She took it to.^er own r<jom, drew from her desk 
 a letter which was addi-essed to Guy, and this was 
 the ojKiMvhteh she lasted. iCillah'a letter was 
 carefully destroyed. Yet Zilkb went with Hiian 
 to the post-office, ao anxious was ehe about her 
 last letter, and saw if dropped in the box, as she 
 suppoeed. • ' . 
 
 Theii she felt that sh^ had cot the last tie. 
 
 I'dlK/twjmi 
 I had beetif' 
 I ed and 
 m; fetjings 
 
 ''Curtwnvt CMt^E, Hanh^O, 1859. 
 
 "■^.— Ypnr last Jetter did nbt reach 
 
 uiittl after yo4|t dc.ir father 
 
 ■ft It was tTifll-efore opep- 
 
 w,l nee4> not' describe what 
 
 Ahding it ; but will only say. 
 
 I that if it were posSiblo ibr me t&vfree!\ou from 
 I the galjing chains that bind you to me,' Iwotild 
 gladly do sOi - Itut, though it be. impossible for 
 I roe to render vou free to marry her wjiora you 
 lave, I can at l«wt rid you of my hated presence, j 
 J Icaa not dlejjbutj c^n be as good a's dead tg 
 l«yBu. To-morroW I shp leave Chetivyndefi.r- 
 lev*, «nd yod will, never see my face kgain. 
 [Search for m^, were yotf inclined to make it, will 
 ¥^ useless. I. shall ptibably depart from En- 
 gland, and lea«« no tn{co of iny whereabptits. t 
 shall live nn<lor kn wksitMed aame, so as not to 
 J let the nolil^arae ofChetwj^fe suffer any dit- 
 IJionot from me. ,tf\I 4ie, I y,m^ak9 vfiteii have 
 1 the news fent"4» ^ou. ,. ' t 
 
 "I)ooot tWA'ihat I'blatpe you. A man's 
 love w not undR» his orttff control. Had I re- 
 J rjained, iktimibto, bs your nyfo, I should hajo 
 lexpericitted the utinOit kindness and consideM- 
 J tio» Such kinjlTOss, however, to a nature )ik# 
 I mirt« would have been only galling,, Something 
 ■1 mare tliMi cold civifity is necessary <h order to 
 
 li!"',i°'!..f.?1"'" U!*" 'l^'^y '^"'*''"''""''^ of bus-'' '^ef amjianiiat' 
 [mm ami *ilb. 7horofor« J do iHji=^ehsoTO 'ir b ru m r n tii w inTr^ 
 
 .v J do iHji=rehi50TO ^to^ 
 
 sq^ject myself to such a life, 
 
 ' In this, the Um QonNnunication between ns, 
 I must V-t<S'.vou what I intended to reserve un- 
 til I could say it in. person. It needed but a few 
 weeks ihjjmatofssftciation with your deaf father 
 I Whom. I loVWl as my father, and whbin L called 
 I by that nmne, to mnve bow utterly I ha«I bepn 
 
 (WAPTER XXVI. 
 
 FLIOHT' ANV bEFnOE, '" >' 
 
 iftiouT a fortnight ftlier the <jvchls narrated in 
 out last ch/iptcr a cat?!j«ge stopped before the 
 door of a small cottage situated in, the viHtf^ 
 of 'renkQ' on the «a»st of I'embrokeshine. Two 
 ladies in deep ijiourriing gof out of it, mid ^tered 
 the gate of the garden wfiicB lay ilbctwecn them 
 end the house ; .while a maid descended froiirthe 
 rumble, and in voluble French, alteniatFng with 
 broken English, besoughttte toechman's tender 
 consideration for the bo^pwt>i«h he was hand- 
 iiig down in a manner expressive of enei:gy and 
 expedition, rather than thy regard for their con- 
 tents. A" resounding " thump" on the ground, 
 cmifjcd by the sudden descent, of one of her pre- 
 ciou? chargos* elicited t cry of agony froin the 
 f^niit\V«maa,. accompanied by the oothetic ap' 
 r*"^' • * . > •! ' 
 
 " Oh, mon Diear 'Qa'ist twque vous faiteela? 
 PreneigUrdodwoel" 
 
 Tll^ outbn^ attjBctqd tV attention qAe 
 MdMs, who .turned round to Witness the see^ 
 
 -i::-^ 
 
 Ori seeing distress-iiepicred cA every UneaineSit 
 of her «iithf«l Abl^ifs fa«6,.Tho youngefrof the 
 two said, #rith a faint ■gajfi: 
 ^ . *•', I'oor Mathilde 1 iTiat kian'* rough handlTng 
 •wiJI break the boxes and Her.heartw the same'- 
 tinjQ. But after oil it will only aftticiMte the 
 unhappy end, f^i^ «i«p*fhat she^w^l^Jr 
 
 1 .. , • ■vy0j^q^ 
 
 
 brongtitirerto: apethe^i'ndrMAildPLVt- 
 
 wyndb that there were so few to see anS to awr^ 
 ciato the resitlM of her skiU, yet even thcxv a few 
 could occaaioraiy be foHnd to dress me for. But 
 when she findTlbat I uttony repndiate Flinch 
 toiletlA for sitljng upon the rQcks, y>4 that the 
 
 ^neumboring fisfiovmen are not as a 
 I <Jnb0 latest coiffure, I am afraid to 
 
 '4 
 
 
84 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 consequences. Will it bo any thing less than a 
 suicide, do yon think, Hilda ?" 
 
 "Well, Zillah," said Hilda, "I advised you 
 not to bring her. A secret intrusted to many 
 ceases to bo a secret. It would have been better 
 to leave behind you all who had been connected^ 
 "with Chetwynde, but especially Mathilde, who is 
 both silly and taljcative." 
 
 "I know that her coming is sorely against 
 
 J oa« judgment, Hilda; but I do not think that 
 run any i;isk. I know you despise me for my 
 weakness, but I really like Mathilde, and could 
 not give her up and take a new maid, unless I 
 
 her temerity in venturing within the precincts of 
 the mighty ocean. Hilda always accompanied 
 her, but her amusements took a much more am- 
 bitious turn. She had formed a passion for col- 
 lecting marine curiosities; and while Zillah sat 
 dreamily watching the waves, she would clamber 
 over the rocks in search of sea-weeds, limpcte, 
 anemones, and Other things of the kind, shouting 
 out gladly whenever she had found any thing 
 new. Gradually she extended her rambles, and 
 explored all the coast within easy vwlking dis- 
 tance, and became familiar with every bay and 
 outlet within the circuit of several miles. ;Cil- 
 lah's strength had not yet fully I'etumed, so that 
 
 hod to. She is very fond of me, nnd would rath 
 
 er be with me, even in this outlandish place, ^ she was unable logo on these' long rambles, 
 than in London, even, with any one else. You I One day Zillah announced an intention of tak- 
 know I am the only person she has lived with in ■ ing a drive inland, and urged Hilda to come 
 England. She has no friends in the countiT, so with her. 
 
 her being French is in her favor. She has not j " Well, dear, I would rather not imless yon 
 the leost idea in whot county ' ce cher mais triste really want me to. I want very much to go" on 
 Shoteveen' is situated ; so she could nordo much the shore to-day. I found some beautiful spcci- 
 harm even if she would, especially as_Jier pro- ' mens on the chffs lost night ; but it was growing 
 nunciation 'of the name is more likely to be- too late for me to secure them, so I determined 
 wilder than to instruct her hearers." to do so as early as possible this afternoon." 
 
 By this time they had entered the house, and "Oh," said Zilkh, with a laugh, "I should 
 
 Zillah, putting her arm in Hilda's, j)roceeded to not dream of putting in a rivalrywith your new 
 inspect the mansipn. It was a very tiny one ; the passion. I should not stand a chance against a 
 whole house coukl conveniently have stood in the i shrimp ; but I hope your new aquarium will soon 
 Chetwynde drawing-room ; but ZiUah declared i make its appearance, or else some of your pets 
 that she delighted in its simgtiess. Evbry thing ; will come to an untimely end, I fear. I heard 
 was exquisitely neat, both within and without, i the l>ouse-maid this morning vowing vengeance 
 The pkce had been obtained by Hilda's diligent j against ' them nasty smelKn' things as' Miss Lor- 
 search. It had belonged to a coast-guard officer i ton were always a-Utterin'the house with.' " 
 who had.repently died, and Hilda, by means of "She will soon get rid of them, then. -Tbo 
 Gualtier, obtained possession of the \vholc place, j man has promised me the aqui(rium in two or 
 fiimiture and all, by ptfying; a high rent to the j three doys, and it will be the glory of «lie whole 
 widow. A housekeeper and ser^•ants were in- , establishment. But now — g<XKl-by, darling— I 
 
 eluded in the arrangements, ^illah was in ec 
 stasies with her drawing-roqpi/Avfuch extended 
 the whole length of the house, bavinnat the front 
 an alcove window looking upom the nalcony and 
 thence upon the sen, and commanding at the 
 back a beautiful view of the' mountains l)eyond. 
 The views from all the windows were charming, 
 and from garret to cellar the house was nicely 
 furnished and well appointed, so that after hunt- 
 ing into every nook ami .'omcr the two friends 
 expressed themselves delighted with their new' 
 home. 
 The account which they gave of themselves to 
 
 must bo off at once, so as to have as much day- 
 light as possible." 
 
 " You will be back before me, I suppose.' 
 " Very likely ; but if I am not, do not be I 
 anxious. I shall stay on the cliffs as fate as I can." | 
 "Oil, Hilda! I do not like your going alone. 
 Won't you take John with you ? I can easily I 
 drive' by myself." 
 
 "Any fate rather than that," said Hilda, laugh. 
 ing. " What could I do with John ?" 
 
 "Take AlAthilde, then, or one of the maidSi" 
 ' ' Mathilde ! My de»r girl, what are you think- 
 ing of 'i* You know she has never ventured out- 1 
 
 those with whom they were brought in contact , side of the garden gate since we havf been here, 
 waa a voiy simple one, and not likely to excite I She shudders whenever she looks at ' cettc vi- 
 sospicion. They \#ere sisters — the Misses Lor- j laine raer,' and no earthly consideration coulJ 
 
 ton — the death of their father not long before 
 had rendered them orphans. They had no near 
 relations, but were perfectly independent as to 
 means. They had come to Tenby for the benefit 
 of the sea air, and wished to lead iw ijuiet riM 
 retired ft life as possible for the next two years. 
 They had brought no letters, and they wished for 
 no society. 
 
 They soon settled down int«» theirnew life, and 
 their days passed happily and ouietly. Neither 
 of them had ever lived near the sea before,' so 
 that it was now a constant delight to tKem. Zil 
 
 induce her to put her foot on the shore. Hut j 
 what has put it in your head tliat I should want 
 any one with m|^p-day, when I Itave gone so | 
 often without jl^wctor ?" 
 
 "I don't I^H> sa><l Zillah. "You spokt I 
 about not bei^liome till late, and I felt ncn'" 
 
 " You nfted^)* be uneasy then, darling, on 
 that account. I shall leave the cliffs early. I 
 only want to be untrammeled, so as to 
 about at random. At any rate I simll tie horn j 
 in good time for dinner, aiid will be as hungi; 
 
 the breakers dashing over th<^ rocks licyond, 
 and tumbling at her feet ; or jhe would phiy like 
 a child with the rising tide; trying how far she 
 coiiUl run out with the re6eding wave before the 
 next white-crested bitlgiw should come seething 
 and foaming after bat, as if to punish her for 
 
 not to fret your foolish little- Head if I nni act 
 here at the very moment.! jpxpect." 
 ■ " Very well," said Zillah, ^' I will tu,t, aqd I 
 must not keep you talking amr longer." 
 " An revOir, ' »aid Hildii, kissing her. 
 nft'oir," she repeated, gayljr. 
 
 "An. 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 turing within the precincts of 
 Hilda always accompanied 
 nentg took a much more am- 
 lad formed a passion for col- 
 asities; and while Zillah sat 
 he waves, she would clamber 
 earch of sea-weeds, limpets, 
 ■ things of the kind, shouting 
 sr she had found any thing 
 e extended her rambles, and 
 1st within easy piking dis- 
 familiar with every bay and 
 rcuit of several miles. Zil- 
 ot yet fully I'etumed, so that 
 ) on these long rambles, 
 inounced an intention of tak- 
 and urged Hilda to come 
 
 rould rather not unless yon 
 I want very much to go' on 
 [ found some beautiful speci- 
 st night ; but it was growing 
 ecure them, so I determined 
 possible this afternoon." 
 h, with a laugh, "I should 
 ; in a rivalry-with your new 
 lot stand a chance against a 
 your new aquarium will soon 
 a, or else some of your pets , 
 timely end, I fear. I heard 
 
 I mominf; rowing vengeance 
 smelUn' things a? Miss Lor- j 
 
 tterin' the house with.' " 
 :et rid of them, then. ■Tho i 
 me the aquqrium in two or] 
 ill be the glory of ihe whole 
 t now — good-by, darling— I*; 
 so as to have as much dny- j 
 
 k before me, I suppose.' 
 ut if I am not, do not be { 
 on tho clilfg as late as I can." 
 ) not like your going alone. 
 in with you ? I can eoailj | 
 
 han that," said Hilda, laugh- 
 
 I I do with John ?" 
 
 then, or one of tho maids." 
 Je»r girl, what are you think- 
 she has never ventured out- { 
 Uo since we hav^ been here. 
 ever she looks at ' cettc vi- 1 
 earthly consideration could 
 cr foot on the shore. But 
 >ur head that I should want I 
 -div, when I have gone s 
 Bctor?" 
 Baid Zillah. " You spoke j 
 ne till kte, and I felt ncn- 
 
 >e uneasy then, darling, on j 
 ill leave the cliff's early. I 
 rammeled, so as to tumble 
 \t any rate I slmll 1)0 honw 
 incr, arid will be as liungrr | 
 tine yuu^ — I-oaly->vaat-} : ai 
 
 85 
 
 ' Zillah siifiled, and as she rose to go and dress 
 I for the drive Hilda took her path to the clitfs. 
 It was seven o'clock when Zillah returtied. 
 "■Is Miss Lorton in ?" she asked, as she en- 
 I tered. 
 
 "No, miss," answered the maid. 
 "I will wait dinner then," said Zillah; and 
 [ after changing her things she went out on the 
 balcony to wait for Hilda's return. 
 
 Half an hour passed, and Hilda did not como. 
 I Zillah grew anxious^ and looked incessantly at 
 her watch. Eight o'clock came— a quarter after 
 I eight. 
 
 Zillah coul4 Stand it no longer. She sent for 
 John. 
 
 ' John, " said she, " I am getting uneasy about 
 Miss Lorton. I wish yon would walk along the 
 beach and meet hen. It is too late for her to be 
 out alone," "* 
 
 John depatted on his errand, and Zillah felt a 
 sense of relief at having done something, but 
 this gave way to renewed anxiety as time passed, 
 and they did not appear. At length, after-what 
 seemed an age to tha saiTering girl, John re- 
 turned, but alone. 
 
 "Have you not found her?" Zillah almost 
 shrieked. 
 " No, miss," said the man, in a pitying tone. 
 "Then why did you come back?" she cried. 
 "Did I not tell you to go on till yoiijnet her?" 
 " I went as far as I could, miss." 
 " What do you mean ?" she asked, in a voice 
 pitched high with terror. 
 
 The man came close np to her, sympathy and 
 sorrow in his face. 
 
 "Ddti't take on so^ miss," said ho; "and 
 don'ti be- downhearted. I dare say she has took 
 .the road, and will be borne shortly ; that way is 
 longer, you know." 
 
 " No ; she said she would como by the shore. 
 Why did you not go on till you mot hor ?" 
 
 " Well, miss, I went as far as Lovers' Ray ; 
 but tho tide was in, and I could go no further." 
 Zillah, at this, turned deadly white, and would 
 have fallen if John, had not caught her. He 
 placed her on the sofa and called Mathildc. 
 
 Zillah'g terror was not without cause. Ix)vei-s' 
 Bay was a narrow inlet of the sea, formed by two 
 - projecting promontories. At low tidel^a nerson 
 could walk beyond these promontories alMg the 
 ■ (bore ; but at high tide the water ran up within ; 
 and there was no standing room any where 
 within the inclosure of the precipitous cliff". At 
 half tide, when the tide was fallihg, one might 
 enter here; butif the tide was rising, it ^vas of 
 course not to be attempted. Several times stran- 
 gers had been entl^ppcd here, sometimes with 
 fatal results. Tto place owed its name to th« 
 tragical end which was met with here by a lover 
 who was eloping with Ids lady. They fled by the 
 shore, and came to the bay," but fonnd that the 
 rising tide had made the passage of the further, 
 ledge impossible. In despair the lover seized the 
 lady, and tried to swim with her around this ob- 
 stacle, but the wftves proved stronger than love ; 
 the CHrrtntB >""^ ^ \\\vm out to aea; -aad^Jic mmt- 
 
 moming their Iwidics were found floating on the 
 water, with their arms ititi clasped around one 
 wiothii' in a death embrace, f^uch was the ori- 
 gin of the name ; artd the ploce had always been 
 looked upon by the pckjpin hero with « supersti- 
 tious awe, M >i pUco tg dIUiger and death. . 
 
 The time, however, was one wUch demanded 
 action ; and Zillah, hastily gnlping down some 
 restoratives which Matbilde had brought, began 
 to take measures for a search. 
 
 "John," said she, "you must get a boat, and 
 go at once in search of Miss Lorton. Is there 
 nowhere any standing room in the bay— no 
 crevice in the rocks where one may find a foot- 
 hold ?" 
 ^ ^ " Not with these spring-tid«s, miss, " said John. 
 
 A man might cling a little while to tho rocks ; 
 but a weak lady—" John hesitated. 
 
 'Oh, my God'" cried Zillah, in nnjigBliyj 
 
 she may be clinging there now, with ev^ino- 
 ment lessening her chance! Fly to the nearest 
 fishermen, John ! Ten pounds apiece if you get 
 to tho bay within half an hour! . And'any thing 
 you like if you only bring her back safe!" 
 
 Away flew John, descending the rocks to the 
 nearest cottage. There he breathlessly stated 
 his errand ; and the sturdy fisherman and his 
 son were immediately prepared to start. The 
 boat was launched, nnd they set out. It was 
 slightly cloudy, and there scetaed some prospect 
 of a storm. J-'illed with anxiety nt such an idea, 
 and also inspired with enthusiasm by the large 
 reward, they put forth their utmost efforts ; and 
 the boat shot through tho water «t a mpst un- 
 wonted pace. Twenty minutes after tho boat 
 had left the strand it had reached tho bay. AH 
 thought of more reward faded out soon from the 
 minds of these honest men. They only thought 
 of the young lady whom they hda often seen 
 along the shore, who might even now be in the 
 jaws of death. Not a wort! was snokeii The 
 sound of tho waves, as theydashed|)n tho rocks, 
 alono broke the stillness. Trembling with ex- 
 citement, they swept tho boat *lose mound the 
 rocky promontory. John, staft^ng up in the 
 bow, held aloft a lantern, so that every cranny » 
 of the rocks might be brought out into full relief. 
 At length an exclamation burst from him. 
 
 " Oh, Heavens ! she's been h««! ! " he gtbaned. 
 
 Tho men turned and saw in his hand the cov- 
 ered basket which Hilda alwayi took with her 
 on hor expedition* to bring home her speiSmena. 
 It seemed full o^them now. 
 
 "Where did you find it?" they asked. 
 
 " Just on this here ledge of rock." 
 
 " She has put it down to fresher hands. She 
 may be clinging yet," said the old fl'sherman. 
 "Let ua call." 
 
 A loud cry, "Miss Lorton 1 " rang through the 
 bay. The echo sent it reverberating back ; but 
 no human voice mingled with the sound. 
 
 Dcspondingly ami fearfully they continued the 
 search, still <jilling nt times, until'at last, as they 
 reached the outer p04iif4 the last hope died, and 
 they ceased calling. 
 
 " I'm nfeard she's gone," said Jqhn 
 Tlie men shook their ho " 
 pressed the general opinion. 
 
 Jqbi 
 
 hn bat ex. 
 
 God help that poor youhg thing at th< cotr" 
 tage!" said the elder fisherman. "She'll be 
 mighty cut up, I take It, now." 
 
 luy ci 
 
 with a sigh. 
 
 ^ 
 
 *t itl» » u each mii e r,"gaid Johu, 
 
 Itj this time they had ronnded the point, 
 Suddenly John, who had sat down again, called 
 
 " Stop ! I (09 something oq the vater n>o> 
 derl" . 
 
 .X 
 
 ^^.,^t.^..:., I. -M ...,•■ 
 
 
86 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 SHE CLrTe«<BBJ|>Iii, >HM IN A COKVDL8ITR 0BA8F." 
 
 The men looked in the direction wherotJie 
 pointed, and a small object was visible on the* 
 surface of the water. ITjey quickly rowed to- 
 ward it It WHS a lady's hat, which John in- 
 stantly recognized as Hilda's. The long crape 
 veil seemed to have caught in a stake which 
 arose frota the sandy boich above the water, 
 placed there to mark some water level, and the 
 hat floated there. Reverently, as thohgh they 
 were touching the dead, did those rough men 
 disentangle the folds, and ky the hat on the 
 bftdiet. ■ ' jf 
 
 "There is no hope n6w," said the younger 
 flshermon, itfter a solemn silence. "May our 
 dear Lord &nd our nie9sed Lady," he added, 
 crossing himself as he spoke, "have mercy on 
 her soul!" ' ' 
 
 "Amen!" repeated the others, gently. 
 
 " However shall 1 tell my poor little missis," 
 said John, wiping his eyes. 
 The others made 
 
 ■what we'd have done for ».any po<')r creature 
 among these rocks. ■ We couldn't take poy for 
 this night's job — my son nor me. And nil we 
 wish is, that it had been for some good ; ifcut it 
 wasn't the Lord's will ; nhd it oin^t for us to say 
 nothin' agin that ; only you'll tell your missij, 
 when she be's a bit better, that we madeLoId to 
 send her our re.'^pcctful sympathy." 
 
 John gave this promise ta the honest fellowi, 
 an(J then went slowly and sadly back to make 
 his mournful report. 
 
 Duriiig John^ absence Zillah had been wait- 
 ing in on a Jpny of suspense; in wtiich Mathilde 
 m<(de feeble efforts to console her. Wringing 
 her hands, she walked up and joWn in front of 
 <the house ; ond at lengtli, when she heafd foot- 
 stops coming along the road, she rushed in thit 
 direction. ' . 
 
 She recognized John. So' great was her Ex- 
 citement that she could not utter one word. She 
 
 ;iion a ie . Soon thy -dntMiat^ fiiw i^rm in n onnv i . hiv 
 rhe old man whU- Aid irdthine. : It was easier for I 
 
 J oh n. .. 
 
 skid mAhing. ; It was easier for hiinwite sildht. 
 In fact he had something which was more elo- 
 quont than words. He mournfully held out the 
 basket and tfaMat. , 
 
 ., fn an instimt ZiUah recognijked them, Slio 
 shrieked, aMd-^Q spewblosa and senseless en tb« 
 'hanigrotinA; , " 
 
 teocked the shore again, ^fhe ohl mWwhlP 
 pered a few words ta his son, and then turned to 
 John: • . ' ■• 
 
 " I say, comrade, " said ho ( " dori*» let htr—" 
 a JeHt of his head in the dinwtioii of t{ie dipttage 
 indicated to whom the prnnoun referred^"don't 
 let htr give ui that. We've done naught bot 
 
 , 
 
 > 
 
 - .n# 
 
 > ' 
 
 » 
 
 -^ 
 
 '' 
 
 
 I • 
 
 . j^K 
 
 
 '»' 
 
 
 V '- 
 
 t 
 
 ,■ ; , 
 
 u "•' 
 
 " '•; 
 
 tr 
 
 
 ■% 
 
 -s % 
 
 ■*' 
 
 'H 
 
 ,i;M ^z; 
 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 
 87 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 AN ASTOUNDINO LETTEK. 
 
 _ It needed tut thU new calamity to complete 
 ■the sum of Zillah's griefs. She had supposed tlint 
 Igbe had iilready suffered as much as she could. 
 iThe loss of her father, the loss of the Earl, the 
 Iseparation from Mrs. Hurt, were each successive 
 ■stages in the descending scale of her cakmities. 
 ■Nor was tt^ least of these that Indian letterwhich 
 Rod sent lier into voluntary banishment from lier 
 Ihome. It was not till all was over tliut she learned 
 Thgw completely her thouglits had associated them- 
 selves witjjwthe plans of the Earl, and iiow in- 
 sensibly herjjrhole future had become penetrated 
 
 L.>t*li nlnna <lKmit (^1117 'f'hn ^ffAl.fllf.Mir nP nit 
 
 which was commensurate with her ardent tem- 
 perament. 
 
 Weeks passed on. Recovering from the first 
 shock, siie sank into a state Of dreamy lisdess- 
 ness, which, however, was at times interrupted 
 by some wild hopes which would intrude in spite 
 of herself. These hopes were that Hilda, after 
 all, might not be lost. She might have been 
 fouml by some one and carried off somewhere. 
 Wild enough were these hopes, and ZiUah saw 
 tins plamly, yet still "tliey would intrude. Yet, 
 far from proving- a solace, they only made 'her 
 situation worse, since they kept her in a state of 
 constant suspense— a suspense,' too, which had 
 no shadow of a foundation in reason. So, alone, 
 and struagling witli the darkest despair, Zillah 
 
 „„.„..,.^ .... „ ... ,..,...,..„.^„ „„„ .i..ugjs""K Willi iiio uurKest acspair, ^lilali 
 
 with plans about Guy Ihe overthrow of all passed the time, without having sufficient energy 
 
 this was bitter ; but this, and all other griefs, of mind left to think about her fntmn nr thS' 
 ere forgotten in the force of this new sorrow. 
 
 A'bich, while it was the last,.\vas in reality the 
 -greatest. Now, for the first ti;me, she felt how 
 ■dear Hilda had been to her, i^he-had been more 
 ^hon a f fiend — slie had bdbn an elder sister. 
 JNow, to Zillah 's affectionate heart, there came 
 ■the recollectibn of all th« patient love, the kind 
 Hbrbearance, and the wise /Counsel of this match- 
 Tjess (rieni^ Since childhood they had been in- 
 kepftiable. Hilda had rivaled even her doting 
 Jfather in perfect submission to all her caprices, 
 land i1idulgcnce|of all' her whims. Zillali liad 
 jnatiu'ed so rapidly; dnd had changed so cora- 
 jdetefy, that she now looked upon her former willr 
 lliil and passionate thildliood with impatience, 
 lAnd could estimate at its full value that wonder- 
 bul meekness with which Hilda had endured her 
 [wayward and imperious nature. Not one recol- 
 bection of Hilda came to her but wa« full of in- 
 cidents of a love and devotion parsing the love 
 of a sister. 
 
 It was now, '6ince she had lost lier, that she 
 Penmed to estimate h^, as she thought, at her 
 
 iflill value. That loss ___ ^ 
 
 of all ; worse than that Jjf the Earl ; worae eveii 
 llian that of her father. !. Never more should she 
 experience that tender love, that wise patience, 
 that unruffled serenity, which the had always 
 
 of mind left to think about her future, or thtf 
 state of her affairs. ' 
 
 As to her affairs— she was nothing bWr than 
 a child. She had a vague idea that she Ms rfch ; 
 but she had no idea of where her money might 
 be. She knew the names of her London agents ; 
 but whether they held any funds of hers or not, ' 
 she could notvtell. She took it tor granted that 
 they did. CliW>^ she was, she did not know 
 even the common mode of drawing a clieck. 
 Hilda had done that for her since her flight from 
 Chetwynde. 
 
 The news of the unhappy f«tS of tlio elder 
 Miss Lorton had sent a shock through the quiet 
 village of Tenby, and every where might be heard 
 expressions of the deepest sympathy with the 
 younger sister, who seemed so gentle, so inno- 
 cent, so inexperienced, and so affectionate. All 
 had heard of the anguish into which she hail 
 been thrown by the news of the fearful calamity, 
 and a respectful commiseration forl|ielf so great 
 was exhibited by alL . The hqnest flsnermen who 
 had gone first on the search qn that eventful 
 night had not been, satisfied, bat early on the 
 
 lemed to her the greatest J^ following ftioming had roused all the fishing pop- 
 ulation, aijd fifty or sixty bo^ts started off be- 
 fore dawn to scour the coast, and to exai^ne the 
 sea bottom. This they kept up for two or three "" 
 •days ; but without success. Then, at lost, they 
 
 ■nown from Hilda. -Never more should she pos- g^vo up thd»8eait;h. Nothing of this, howevei^, 
 iss one devoted fnend-the true and tried friend 'was. known tp ZiUah, who, at that parti«ufar 
 if a hfe-to whom she might go in an^ sorrow, time, was in the firet anguish of her grief, and 
 jnd know and feel tMt she would receive the Ijyr -prostra^ in mind and body. Eveil the 
 L?".?!l/.-° i°'*^:''Zi_'''®'.'^°'L"''®} °^ wisdom, chattering Mathilde was awed by the BOlemnity 
 
 S evermore— no, ne^rmore I Such was the re- 
 Ifniin that seemed constantly to ring iil her ears, 
 lind she found heSrself murmuring those (Jespair- 
 pg lines of Poe, whdie the solitary word of the 
 Raven seems 
 
 |"C»oeht from name unhappy mSeterwho'm numer- 
 
 ■ ' ciAil Diaastar 
 
 ■ Followed fast and followea faster till hls-eonerDne 
 
 ' borden bore— » » . ■ 
 
 TiH the (Urges of hl»,Hope tlhit melancholy burden 
 
 01 'Neverj-neverraore!'" 
 
 It WAS awful to" her to-be, f6r the first time in, 
 
 ler life, alone. In the world. Hitheho, omidst 
 
 ler bitterest affliction^, she had alw ays tiad 8om<) 
 
 le-wSom slTo idted. ^Sfter her father's "death 
 
 le had LonfChetwyride and Mh. llart;.and 
 
 nh these she hlwiivs had Hilda. But now all 
 
 fere gone, and Hilda w'as gone. /J'o a^passion- 
 
 We and iritdtase nature like hers, sorrow was 
 
 |anableof|ivIn^[4)»ng8ii»l^ich are unknown to 
 
 older heafb. ond. to iho A|ffe«wJ,;to -a-dftpee 
 
 of woe. . 
 
 The people of Tenby were, nearly\ll'of the 
 hutnblerclass. , The widow who owned the house 
 ^ad moved away, and thiere wgre none with whom 
 Zillah could associate, except the rector and hjs 
 wife. T'ley w*r« old people, and had no chil- 
 dren, ^The "Rev. Mr. llarvey' had lived there 
 all his life, and was now well advanced in years. 
 At tluS first ttdings of the monnifiri even,t he had 
 gone to Zillah 's hpuie to gee if he could be of ahr 
 assistance ; but finding that »he was ill in bed, 
 he had setit his wife tq offer hf r services; Mp. 
 Harvey hod watch6d over ^r Zilbji in. her * 
 Jirie4 and'hnd scmthed her too. Ma^hild<; wnijM— 
 
 jiave Booh but a poor ottrse for one. in «n<;h a sit- 
 uation, and Mrs, Uarye;f's motherly care and 
 iwect wordg of cpnsohtion had somethii^, at 
 
 leant, tofi^ with J^iJlah'sMcovery. 
 When shei was bettor, Mrs. Harvey tai 
 
 , jW[edh«t* 
 
 to come and stay with tKljm for a f im«. J* would 
 give her a change of leciijfl, she iuud» and that 
 
 •■■>«>• ■ 
 
 fn* 
 
 J,. 
 I'd' 
 
 '•:/f->-*#'. 
 
:*•■ 
 
 88 ^ 
 
 was ali-important. 2feih «u deeply touched 
 hy her oiliBctionata HHetada, bat declined to 
 leave her house. 9w Mt. ake wid, as thooRh 
 solitude wonid be hMK far her onder snch cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 "My dear chihl,'*;Baid Strs. Harrey, who had 
 
 ... ftrmed almost a OMtemal affection for Zillah, 
 
 aad.hM come to address her always in that 
 
 -irny — "my uear dUid, you should "not try to 
 
 Ttj-i^fepen your tfrief 'rrv staying here and brooding 
 
 ■:if"*lfrer it. Even? tfaiag here only makes it worse. 
 
 ■ Ton must really con with me. if for only a few 
 
 g-^vv Jays, and see tf yaBr distrH* wiUnot be light- 
 
 *'■ '\"jBied somevtet." 
 
 4y^y» But ZiQali ^d that she could not bear to 
 
 asave, that tiie hoose seemed lo be filled with 
 
 k Hilda's preeence, and that as long as she was 
 
 taere thes was something to remind her of the , 
 
 me she bad lost. If she went away she should 
 
 . . imlaJpng to go back. 
 
 *"' '"^ut, my child, would it not be batter for 
 -nju to go to your friends ?" said Mrs. Harvey, as 
 ilaiicately as possible. 
 
 "I have no friends," said Zillah, in a falter- 
 ing voice. ' ' They are nil gone. " 
 
 Zillah burst into tears ; and Mrs. llaxvej, aft- 
 er weeping with her, took her departare, with 
 her heart full of fresh sympathy for one lo sweet, 
 and so unhappy. 
 
 Tiine passed on, and Zilloh's grief hard settled 
 down into a quiet melancholy. The r^or and 
 his wife were faithful friends to this friendless 
 girl, and, by a thousand little acts of sympathy, 
 strove to alleviate the distress of her lonely situ- 
 ation. For all tills Zillnh felt deeply grateful, 
 but nothing that they might do could raise her 
 mikid from the depths of grief into which it had 
 fallen. But at length there came a day which 
 was to change all this. 
 
 That day she was sitting by the front window 
 in tJie alcove, looking out to where the sea was 
 rolling in.its waves upop the shore. Suddfenlv, 
 to her surprise, she saw the villnge paitmnn, wno 
 had been passing along the road, open her gate, 
 and come up the pltth. Her first thought was 
 that her ettncealment had been discovered, aiu) 
 . that Gny had Written to her. Then a wild 
 thought followed that it was somehow connected 
 ifith Hilda. But soon these thoughts were ban- 
 ished by the supposition that it was simply a note 
 for one of the servants. After this she fell into 
 her former melancholy, when suddenly she was 
 roused by the ehtrance of John, who had a letter 
 to his luuid. 
 
 "A letter for yon, miss," said John, who had 
 no idea that ZilUh was of a dignity which de- 
 served the title of " my lady." 
 
 Zillah said not a word. With a trembling 
 hand she took the -lettar luid looked at it. 
 
 It was covffi^i with foreign )K>«t-marl»i hnt 
 
 this she did Hot notice. It was the handwriting 
 
 vhich exeited her attention 
 
 . " Hilda!" she cried, and sank back hreathlcw 
 
 Kin her chair. Her heart throblied as thongh it 
 
 fould burst. For a moment she could not move ; 
 
 THE CRYITOGrIm. 
 
 lyould bui 
 ^ but iticn. 
 
 wtthi 
 
 ahout your poor Hilda, I can not imagine. I 
 know that you love me dearly, and for me to 
 vanish from your si^jfit so suddenly and 'Sqi 
 strangCily must/ have caused yon at feast some, 
 sorrow. If yoi^ have been sorrowitig for me, ' 
 my "sweetest, do not do so any more. ' I am saft 
 and almost well, though I have had a f^trange 
 experience. 
 
 ',' When I left yon on that ill-fated evening/^ 
 expected to be back as I said. I walked up the 
 beach thoughtlessly, and did not notice the tide 
 or aijy thing about it. I tfolkcd a long distance, 
 and ftt lost feltHired, for t |wd done a great deal 
 that day. I happened to see a boat drawn up on 
 the shore, and it seemed to be a good place to sif 
 down and rest. I jumJMd in and ^at down on 
 one of the seats. I tooK off my hilfjSnd scnrf, 
 and Inxnriated ii^the fresh sea breezt that was 
 blowing over the water. I do not know how 
 long I sat there — I did not think of it at that 
 time, but at last I was roused from my pleasant 
 occupation very suddenly and painfully. All at 
 once I made the discovery that the boat wot 
 moving under me. I looked around in a panic. 
 To my horror, I found that I was at a long distance 
 from the shore. In an instant the truth flashed 
 upon me. The tide had risen, the boat had 
 'floated off, and I had not noticed it. I was fully 
 a mile away when I made this discovery, and, 
 cool as I am (according to you), I assure you I 
 nearly died of terror when the full reality of my 
 situation occurred to me. I looked all around, 
 but saw no chance of help. Far away on the 
 horizon I saw numerous sails, and nearer to tne 
 I saw a steamer, but all were too distant to be 
 of any scr^'ice. On the shore I could not see a 
 living soul. 
 
 "After a time I' rallied from ^ly panic, and 
 began to try to get the boat back! But there 
 were no oars, although, if there had been, I do 
 not see how I could have used them. In tny . 
 desperate efforts I tried to paddle with my hands, 
 but, of course, it was utterly useless. lit-'spite 
 of all my efforts I drifted away further and fur- 
 ther, and after a very long time, I do not knovr 
 how long, I found that I was at an immense dis- 
 tance from the shore. Weakened by an.viety 
 and fear, and worn out by my long-continneil 
 efforts, I gave up, and, sitting down again, I 
 burst into a passion of tears. The dily was pass- 
 ing on. Looking at the sun I saw that it was 
 (ho time when you would be expecting me back. 
 I thought of yon, my darling, waiting for me- 
 expeoting me — wondering at ray delay. How I 
 cnrsed my folly end thonghtlexsness in ever ven- 
 turing into such danger ! I thought of yonr in- 
 creasing anxiety as y«a waited, while st^l I did 
 not come. I thought, Oh, if she only knew 
 where her poor Hilda is — what agony it weald 
 give her 1 But such thoughts were h«a^t-bre«k- 
 in^, and at lost I dared not entertain, them, and 
 so I tried to turn my attention to the misery of 
 my situation. Ah, my dearest, think — onlv think I 
 of me, your poor Iiilda, in that boat, (iriftinf | 
 helplessly along over ilie sea out into the ocean! 
 
 letter, and, in a wild fevo- of excited fadfaig,4reail> 
 the following : ' 
 
 " N APLn, Junt 1 , 1868. 
 •'Mt owi» DEAREST Darlixo. — What yon 
 moat have suffered in the way of wonder about 
 mj sodden disappearance, and alsu in anxiety 
 
 witneaen momenfmy angursh grew greai- 
 «r. I saw no prospect of escape or of kelp. No 
 ships came near ; no boats of any kind were ris- 
 ible. I strained my eyes till they ached, hot i 
 could, see nothing that gave me hope. Oh, irt 
 d«rUrig,.how am I tell yon thg miseries of thai 
 fearful tine ! Wona than lA- do what I miglit,. 
 
Ida, I can not imagine. I 
 me dearly, and for me to 
 si^t 8o Buddenlr and •«d4>j 
 ) caused you at least some , 
 ve been sorrowitig for me, " 
 do BO an J more. I am safe 
 )Ugh I have had a ^trengo 
 
 on that ill-fated cvcning/0 
 as I said. I walked up the 
 and did not notice the tide 
 . I jihUkcd a long distance, 
 for i ^d done % great deal 
 sd to see a boat drawn up on 
 nad to be a good place to s^ 
 uni)|ed in and s&t down on 
 tooK off my hiji'Jiod scarf, 
 e fresh sea breezf that was 
 Iter. I do not know how 
 did ,not think of it at that 
 IS roused from my pleasant 
 ertly and painfully. All at 
 scovery that the boat wot 
 
 looked around in a panic. 
 I that I was at a long distance 
 an instant the truth flashed 
 e had risen, the boat had 
 
 not noticed it. I was full^ 
 : made this discovery, and, 
 inff to you), I assure you I 
 when the full reality of mv 
 
 me. I looked all around, 
 [)f help. Far away on the 
 aus sails, and nearer to toie 
 
 all were too distant to be 
 the shore I could not see a 
 
 ■allied from jny panic, and 
 the boat back'. But there 
 gh, if there had been, I do 
 1 have used them. In my • 
 id to paddle ^vith my bands, 
 8 utterly useless. Ih-spiie 
 ifted awoy further and fur- 
 r long time, I do not kno;r 
 It I was at an immense dis- 
 e. Weakened by anxiet; 
 out by my long-continued 
 ind, sitting down again, I 
 f tears. The dtly was pass- 
 the sun I saw that it nu 
 9uld be expecting me back. 
 f darling, waiting for me— 
 oring at my delay. How I 
 houghtlessness in ever ven- 
 der ! 1 thought of your in- 
 »n waited, while still I did 
 :ht, Oh, if she only knew 
 a Is — what agony it woaij 
 thoughts were haaVt-break- 
 t!d not entertain, them, and 
 attention to the miserv of 
 Y dearest, think — onlv ihiok I 
 ilda. In that boat, driftini | 
 ihc Kea out into the ocean! 
 mi ihy anguiali grow greit- 
 t of escape or of kelp. No 
 boats of any kind were rij. 
 r eyes till they ached, but 
 It gave me hope. Oh, nr 
 )U you tht miseries of that I 
 I than i|lf do what I miski,. 1 
 
 DBIKTINQ OfT TO SEA. 
 
 I Still could not keep away from me' the thoughts 
 
 bf you, my sweetest. Still they would Come^ 
 
 Jind never could I shake off the thought of your 
 
 lace, pale with loviT^jf^an^it^y, as you waited for 
 
 ■hat friend of yours who Would never appear. 
 
 TO), bad you seen me aft | was— had you but 
 
 hnagined, even in the faintest way, the Iwrrors 
 
 hat surrounded me, what would have been your 
 
 'clings ! But you could never have conceived 
 
 .. No. Had you conceived it yon would' have 
 
 ent every one forth in search of me. 
 
 "To odd to my grief, night was coming on. 
 I saw the sun go down, and still there was no 
 brospect of escape. 1 was cold and wretched, 
 Ihd ray physical snfferings were added to those 
 If my mind. Somehow I had lost my hat and 
 >arf overboard. I had to endure the «hill wind 
 M swept over me, the damp piercinp'blast that 
 Wne over the waters, ivithout any possibility of 
 heker At last I grew so cold and benumbed 
 UU: lay dw»nin^he bottom of the boat, with 
 he hope ofgettflng out of the way of the wind. 
 » was mdeed somewhat more sheltered, but the 
 belter at best was but slight. I had nothing to 
 
 '"^H"''*®"^ *'***' ■"•* "y misery was extreme. 
 '■ The twilight increased, and the wind grew 
 >ongor and colder. Worst of all, as I lay down 
 hd looked up, I could see that the clouds were 
 hthennf, and knew that there would be a storm 
 |ow far I was. out on the sea I scarcely dared 
 
 «B»,r 
 
 ' tor 
 
 lost. 
 
 m had scarcely any htme. The little hope that 
 m« left was gradoally driven away by the gath- 
 m dar'-.ness, and at length all around me was 
 
 STi i. .V "'*'"• ' ™»«^ 'n^»«'*' up. and 
 io»ea feebly out upon the waves.' They were 
 hidden frnmlny sight. I fell back, uid lay 
 1 for a long time, enduring horrors, which, 
 
 in my wildest dreams, I had never imagined its 
 liable to fall tothe lot of any miserable human 
 being. 
 
 "I know nothing more of that night, <ir of 
 several nights afterward. When I came 1)ack 
 to consciousness I found myself in a ship's cab- 
 in, and was completely bewiltjer^d. Gradually 
 however, I found out aU. This ship, which wos 
 an Italian vessel belonging to Naples, and was 
 called the Vittoria, had picked me uii on the 
 morning after I had drifted away. I was uncon- 
 scious and delirious. They took me on board, 
 and treated mo with the greatest kindness. For 
 the tender care which was shown me by these 
 rough but kindly hearts Heaven only can repay 
 them ; I can not. But when I had recovered 
 consciousness several doys had ehipsed, the ship 
 was on her way to Naples, and we were already 
 off the coast of Portugal. I was overwhelmed 
 with astonishment and grief. Then the question 
 arose. What was I to do? The captain, who 
 seemed touched to the heart by my sorrow, of- 
 fered to take the ship out of her course and land 
 me at Lisbon, if I liked ; or he would put me 
 ashore at Gibraltar. Miserable me! What good 
 would It do for me to be landed at Lisbon or at 
 Gibraltar? Wide saas would still intervene be- 
 tween me and m^ darling. I could not ask them 
 to land me at either of those places. B^iides, 
 the ship waa going to Naples, and that sfemeJ 
 quin H mu' as Lliibon, if not more so. It 
 seemed to me to be more accessible — moreen the 
 line of travel— and therefore I thought that by 
 going on to Naples I would really be more within 
 your juach than if I landed at mf intervening 
 point. So I decided to go on. 
 
 "Poor mel Iinagtna me on board a ship, 
 with no change oC,clothlng, no comfcrta or d^- 
 
 & '"■■ 0^ ■ .• I 
 
 ■4 
 
 ,■>„ J-. ...tiiksft'jfet^'. „■#» 
 
 
90 
 
 •ni 
 
 E CBYPTOGHIAM. 
 
 cncies of any kind, and nt the samp, time' pros-, 
 trated by sickiysas arising from my first misery. 
 It was u kind of low fever, combined with de- 
 lirium, that affected mo. Most fortunately fbr 
 me, the captain's wife sailed with him,vttnd to her 
 I ^lieve my recovery is due. Poor dear Mar- 
 garita! Her devotion to me saved me from 
 death. I gave her that gold necklace that I have 
 worn from childhood. In no other way could I 
 fittingly show m^ gratitude. Ah, my darling ! 
 the world is not all bad. It is full of honest, 
 kindly hearts, and of tliem all none is more no- 
 ble or more pure than my generous friend the 
 rtmple wife of Captain Gaddagli. May Heaven 
 bless her for her kindness to the poor lost 
 stranger who fell in her way ^ 
 
 "My sweet Zillah, how doei all this read to 
 you? Is it not wikHy improbable? Can you 
 imagine your Hilda floating ojit to sea, senseless, 
 picked up by strangers, carried off to foreign 
 countries ? J)o you- not rejoice that it was so, 
 and that you do not have to mourn my death ? 
 My darling, I fleed not ask. Alas ! what would 
 I not give to be sitting with your arms around 
 me, supporting my aching Iftad, while I told 
 you of all my suffering ? 
 
 "But I must go on. My exposure during that 
 dreadful night had told fparfully upon me. Dur- 
 ing the voyage I could scarcely moye. Toward 
 , ,i^ its close, hbwever, I was able to go on deck, and 
 
 ' the balmy air of the Mediterranean revived me. 
 At length We reached Naples Bay. As wo sailed 
 up to the city, the sight of all the gJoHous scen- 
 \ en: on every side seemed to flfl me with new 
 life and streingth. The cities along the shore, 
 ' the islands, tjie headlands, the mountains, Vesu- 
 Wus, with its canopy of smoke, the intensely blue 
 sky, the clear transparent air, all made mo feel 
 as'thoi^h I had been transported to a new world. 
 " I went at once to (he Hotel de I'Europe, on 
 the Strada Toledo. It is the best hotel here, and 
 is rery comfortable. Here I must stay for a time, 
 for, my darling, I am by no means well. The 
 doctor tbiiks that my lungs are afl'ected. I have 
 a very bad oough. He says that even if I were 
 able to travel, I must not think of going Tiome 
 yet, the air of Naples is my only hftpe, and he 
 tells me to send fcj England for niy friends. My 
 friends! Wh«« friends ha\e I? None. But, 
 darling, I know that I have a friend— one who 
 would go a long distance for her jwor suffering 
 Hilda. And now, darling, I want you to come 
 on. I have no hesitation in asking this, for I 
 know that you do not feel particularly happy 
 where you are, and you would rather be with me 
 than be alone. Besidas, my dearest, it is to Na- 
 ples (hat I invite yon— to Naples, the fairest, tove- 
 liest place in all the world ! a heaven upon earth ! 
 where the air is balm, and ev,pry scene is perfect 
 beauty ! You must come otit, W four own sake 
 B8 well as mine. You will be nW« lo rduse vour- 
 self from your mebncholr. We will go together 
 to *«t the sweet scenes that lie alt aroufid here ; 
 and when I am again by your side, with yoar 
 hand in mine, I will fo»^t that I ii/ave ever 
 
 iinmediate]y to offer his jierviees. Yon will n, j 
 him, no doubt, very soon after you get this leu I 
 ter. I?o not be afraid of tronbling him. We I 
 can compensate him fully for the loss of his time. 
 "And now, darling, good-by. I Ijavo written 
 a very long letter, and feel very tired. Come on 
 soon, and do' not delay. I shall count the dayi 
 and the hours till you join me. Coniit on soon 
 and do not disappoint your loving '^ 
 
 "Hilda. 
 "I'.S. — When you come, will you please I 
 bring on my turquoise brooch and my green 
 bracelet, The little writing-desk, too, 1 should 
 like, if ijiot too much trouble. Of course voa I 
 need not trouble affout the house. It will' be 
 quite safe as it stands, under the care of yonr 
 housekeeper and sen-ants, fill we get back again I 
 to England. Qnce more^ darling, good-by. 
 
 Tips astonishing letter wnS^^end by Zillah witL 
 a tumult of emotions that may be imagined but I 
 not described. As she finished "it the reaction in 
 her feelings was too much to be l)onie. A weight 
 was taken off her soul. In the firk rush of her I 
 joy and thankfulness she burst intij tears, nnfl 
 then onco more read the letter. Uiough she f 
 scarce could distinguish the word^^for^he teiui | 
 ofjoy that blinded her eyes. \ 
 
 To go to Naples— jjnd to Hilda ! what Renter I 
 happiness ctmrohe i^nceived of? AndXtlmt | 
 thoughtful Hilda had actually written to Go 
 tier! And she was alive! And she was i\ 
 Naples ! What a wonder to have her thus come i 
 back to her from the dead ! 
 
 With such a torrent pf confused thoughts Zil- 
 lah 's mind wns filled, until at length, in.herdeep I 
 gratitude ffi Heaven, she flung herself upon her 
 knees atid poured forth her soul in prayer. 
 
 CHAFrER XXVJII. 
 
 BETRATEO. 
 
 L 
 
 Zillah's excitement was so great that, for # j 
 that night, she could not sleep. There were many [ 
 things for her to think about. The idea that Hil- 
 da had been so marvelously rescuei^^and was still 
 alive and waiting for her, fille<l her mind. Ba^ 
 it did not prevent her from dwelliftg in thonghi 
 upon the frightful scenes through which she had 
 passed. The thought of her dear friend's lonelj 
 voyage, drifting over the seas in an open IxMt, 
 unprotected from the storm, and suffering from 
 \cold, from hunger, and from sorrow tillaenwl 
 left her, w^ ji painfyl on6 to her loving heatt f 
 Yet the pain of these thoughts did not disturb 
 her. Tbe. joy that arose ftom the conscioinnen 
 of Hilda's safety was of itself siiiRcient to ooun- J 
 lerbalance all else. Her safety was so unexpecF \ 
 ed, and the one fact was so overwhelming, tbit 
 the happiness which it co^sed was «ni?cient |o L 
 ovemfaster any sorrowful sympathy whicli sht^l 
 might feel for Hilda's mfgforfuneg. Seb^ifhet* 
 
 
 mgttt war 
 
 . , tr^vfti Tot ssd, 
 
 it was joyfuF; and often and often, as the hours 
 passed, she repeated that prayer of thankfukea 
 which the first perusal of the letter iiad causeil. 
 Besides thi%, the thought of going on to joii 
 Hilda waa a pleasant dne. Her friend had beM ' 
 BO thoughtful that the had orran^ all for btr. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed at the journey. I have 
 thought out all for you. I have written to Mr. 
 Gnaltier, in London, and asked him to bring 
 you on here. He will be only too glad to do us 
 this service. He is a simple-minded and kind- 
 , hearted man. |^have asked him to call on you 
 
 
 
r hU j|^rvie«s. Yoa will Me 1 
 y soon after you get this let. I 
 raid of troi^bling him. We I 
 I fully for tho loss of his time, 
 ng, good-by. I Ijnvo written I 
 nd feel very tired. Come on 
 ilay. I shall count the da^i 
 ou join mo. Comi* on soon, 
 nt your loving ^ 
 
 "Hilda. 
 yoa come, will you pkase 
 oise brooch and my green f 
 ! writing-desk, too, I slioulj [ 
 s\\ trotible. Of course von 
 ?out the house. It will" be 
 ids, under the care of yoar 
 vants, fill wo get back OKain 
 morCv darling, good-by. 
 "11." 
 
 \ * I 
 
 stter wa Wad by Zillah with 
 s that maybe imagined hut I 
 ho finihhed It the reaction in 
 nuch to be l)Onie. A weight 
 d. In the firftt rush of her k 
 s she burst intii tears, anfl 
 nd the letter, though she [ 
 lisli the word#^(or\he te.irs 
 jr eyes. \ I 
 
 Und to Hilda ! what Renter 
 fcpnceived of? AndXthat 
 1 actually written to Gbnl- 1 
 nlive ! And she was is ' 
 iider to have her thus conie^ 
 dead ! 
 
 it pf confused thoughts Zij- 1 
 until at length, in.herdeep 
 she flung herself upon her 
 th her soul in prayer. 
 
 THE CRYPTiOGRAM. 
 
 ER XXVJII. ■^-"" 
 
 tnATED. ; 
 
 f 1 
 
 It was 80 great that, for all' 
 ot sleep. There were mnny 
 about. The idea that llil- 
 lously rescue^^and was still j 
 her, filleil her mind. Bni j 
 • from dwelling in tlionsht 
 nes through which she had i 
 ; of her dear friend's lone); | 
 the seas in an open Iraat, 
 storm, and suflTering from 
 nd from sorrow till senst , 
 1 on6 to her loving heart. 
 ) thoughts did not disturb 
 8se from the conscionsnesj . 
 of itself sufficient lu ('(iiin- J 
 ier safety vru to unexpect^ j 
 vas 8o orerwhelming, tlut 
 it caused was sufficient p 
 nrfui sympathy whicfl shij 
 8 mfsforfunes. Set-if liet ' 
 
 SfcifJ 
 
 ir"WSH not sod. 
 in and often, as the ho<m I 
 hat prayer, of thankfulnea ] 
 of the letter had cnusctl. 
 ought of going on to joii I 
 Ine. Her friertd hod beet 
 had arranged all for ber. 
 
 companion could b^ more appropriate or 
 k>ra reliable than Mr. Gnalti^, and he would 
 .jiinly make/^iis appearance shortly. She 
 ought also of Ihe pleasure of living in Naples 
 d recalled all that she- had ever heard aboiu 
 B charms of that place. Amidst such thoughts 
 i these moniing came, and it was not until afl- 
 Jthe sun had risen that Zillah fell asleep. 
 riVo days after the receipt of that letter bv 
 jllah, Gualtier arrived. Although he had been 
 Jly a niusic-teacher, jet he had been assofi^ed 
 ■ the memory of Zillah with many happy Mirs 
 |Chetwyode; and his^tructions at Pomft-oy 
 lul, though at the tirtaJrksonTe to her, were 
 , y remembered pleasantly, since they were con- 
 Jcted with the memories of her father; and on 
 Is occasion he had tho additional advantage of 
 Ing specially sent by Hilda. Ho seemed thus 
 1 her mind to be in some sort connected with 
 llda. She had not seen him since the Earl's 
 !ss, and had understood from Hilda that he 
 I gone to London to practice his profession. 
 \s Gualtier entered, Zillah greeted him with 
 karmth which Was unusual from her to him 
 h which can readily bo accounted for under 
 cijcumstances. He seemed surprised and 
 jased. Ills small gray eyes twinkled, and his 
 Bow cheeks flushed with involuntary^delight at 
 ph marks of condescension. Yet in his man- 
 r and address he waS as humble and as servile 
 lever. His stoiy wa^^hortly told. Hehadre^ 
 ked, he sold, a short noto from Miss Krieflf, by 
 jich he learned Ihot, owiji^to ah act of thought- 
 bness on her partj_she had gone adiift in a boat 
 1 had been pi«lfetl up by a ship on its way to 
 Dies, to which place she had been carried. He 
 Herstood that she had written to Lady Chet- 
 hde to come and join her. Gualtier hoped 
 \Lady CJhetwvnde would -rfeel the same coi>- 
 nbeih him which Miss Krielf had expressil 
 nakSng^known to him that they ha^ been liv- 
 Kundc\an assumed name. Of course, unless 
 , en communicated to him it woiild 
 
 re been hppossible for him to find her. lie 
 ured her that with him her secret was per- 
 hly mviolab^, that he was perfectly reliable, 
 ? that the maXiy favors which he had received 
 fineral Potaeroy, from the late Earl, and 
 hersSWi^ would of themselves be sufficient 
 linake him gtmrd her secret with Watchful 
 Wance, and devote him8el||to her interests 
 jn the utmost zeal and fideUtc. 
 To Zillah, however, tho vojuHe assnronees of 
 Inltiers vigilance, Siecjecy, and fidelity were 
 ■te unnecessary. It was enough that she had 
 Iwn him for so many years. ' Her father had 
 Tt made him known to her. After him her 
 pnd father, Earl Chetwynde, had made him 
 
 \'^ u-iA ^" °5/."' "' ""« P^ hour in 
 : life, UiMa hereelf had sent him to hccom- 
 
 ly her. It mnild have beert strange Indeed 
 >nd«r such ditnutancea, any doubt what- 
 irwiih .flipird toJrim had for ♦ne moment en- 
 J hw mind. 
 [Ja^ 'ho il i ij aft w t h e. rec e ipt 'of Jmida's fattw 
 
 lull hull fn\nA At* tk^ a A. A* ' .m 
 
 91/ 
 
 kill sf^ I T-T3V. tuvuju. u» jAuu»» HWier 
 lull M mme for the first time to the rectorv, 
 ■ tew the ;.^fnl mm, to bur kjnd friends 
 bhe re^ the tetter tct them, while they 
 ^ned to ev^ry word with breathless interest. 
 r ""eitupting her with exclamations of pit* 
 Sympathy or of wonder. Mwt of all were 
 7 aUocted by the change which 4ad comaover 
 
 Zillah, who in one night had passed from duU 
 dwpair to lite and joy and hope. She seemed 
 fh. IT "u*^' " d'fferent being. Her face w^is 
 flushed with excitement; her deep, dwk ey^ 
 no longer downcast, flashed with radiant fefi 
 her voice was tremulous as she read the letter 
 or spoke of her hope of soon rejoining Hilda 
 These dear old people looked at her till their 
 ejes hlled with tears; tears which were half\of 
 .•Tr*'' *"*""/'«PP'neh8, and half of sadness ot 
 the thought that she was to leave them. 
 
 Ah, my child," said krs. Uar%ey, in fl 
 tremulous voice, "how glad I am thM you? 
 dear sister has been saved by our merciful G^od ; 
 but how sad -I feel to think that I shall lose yoi 
 now, when I have come to love you so '" 
 «,Jh V"'*""" Y ""''' inexpressible sadness, and 
 '/ 1^1 / ""'' T"? ''''^«"^"°" '" "« tones, that - 
 Zillah w'as tmiched to the heart. She t;ined 
 her arms fondly atout thp neck of the old lady 
 and kissed her tenderly. ^' 
 
 ^ "Ah, ray dearest Mrs. IIar>-ey," said she. 
 how can I ever repay you for nil your loving 
 
 arid feel all that yon did for me. Hut I was «, 
 
 "But, my poor child," said the rector, after 
 a long^conversation, in which £hey hod exhaiist- 
 ?r. "". «*>« possibilities of Hilda^s " situation," 
 
 this IS a long jQurpey. Who is this'Mr. Gual- 
 ticri' Do yo» know him? Would it not be 
 better for mo to go with you ?" 
 
 ■\^^h J"^ '"'?'* 'r*"^' ''"^^ g'>"<l vou are!" 
 said Zillah, again ferwhelmedj|gih gratitude. 
 But there is no p^cessity. <. I Iffilnown Mr. 
 Gualtier for years.^ He was ny^^icteacher 
 for a long time before m» dear father, left me. 
 Heisvery'goodand veiy faithl^." N 
 So no more was said on that matter 
 Before Gualtier came Zillah had arranged ev- 
 ery thing for her joui;ney. She decided.to leave 
 the house just as it was, under the care of the 
 housekeeu^, with the expectation »bf retuminir 
 nt no ve«y distant dat«. The rector promised 
 tb exercise a, general supervision-over her af-) 
 ftirs. She left with him moiiej- enough to pay 
 the year 8, rent in advance, which he was to 
 transmit to the owner. Such Arrangements as 
 thew gave great comfort to these kindly souls, 
 for in them they saw signs that Zillah <would re-- 
 tum;^nd they both hoped that-ths « sisters" 
 would _soon tire even of Italy, aJtin a fit of 
 homwickness come back again. WRh this hopo 
 they bade her adieu. 
 
 On leaving Tenbv, Zillah felt nothing but de- 
 light. As the coach drove her to the station, as 
 the railway train hurried her to London, as- the 
 tidal tram took heV to Southampton, as the pack- 
 et bore her across the Channel, w-ery moment of 
 the time was filled with jogMs anticipations of 
 her meeting Hilda. mfflKefs over other 
 losses and other <-ala<^iap in one instint 
 faded away, at the neSJ^MRlilda .was -safe, 
 Ihat, oni^thing ^^ 
 
 flUelSei 
 
 <'•■ 
 
 5^-l"g*j(|raJ!'!!!°t "-'\* ^^{^^^ 
 
 it' 
 
 Arrivkg at Paris, she \^s co^elled to wait 
 tor one day ^n account of some ^Wtotof connec- 
 tion in the trkihs for Marseffllis. dSllti^ ktfted 
 as» cicerone, apd accompanM hoi' 
 through the chief streets, throu^tT*i^ .; 
 la Concorde, the Champs Elvs^cs, and 
 de Boulogne. She was sufficiently, he 
 
 .» - 
 
02 
 
 THE fcBTFTOaRAM. 
 
 perience delight in spite of her impatience, and 
 to feel the wonder and admimtion which the 
 first ,§ight of that gan^ and splendid -capital al- 
 ways excites. But BM wits not willing to linger 
 here. Naples was the goal at whicli sjic wished 
 to arrive, and as soon as possibly she hurried 
 onward. 
 
 On reaching Marseilles she found the cily 
 crowded. The great mot'cments of the Italian 
 war were going on, and everr thing was af- 
 fected by it. Marseilles was one of the grand 
 centres of action, and one of the chief depots for 
 military supplies. The city was filled with' sol- 
 diers. ' The harbor was full of transports. The 
 streets were thronged with representatives of all 
 the difierent regiments of the French army, 
 from .the magnificent steel-clad Cuirassiers, and 
 the dashing Cliasseurs de Vincennes, to the in- 
 souciant Zouaves and the wildTurcos. In ad- 
 dition to the military, the city was filled with 
 civil ofBciaLs, connected with the dispatch of the 
 array, who filled the city, and rendered it ex- 
 tremely difficult for a stranger to find lodgings. 
 ■ Zillnh'was taken .to the Hotel de France, but 
 it was full. Gualticr went round to all the other 
 
 hotels, but retMrne(;l, 
 
 gence that nil 
 
 not very greu 
 
 be on board tin 
 
 found lodgin^ 
 
 ence to her 
 
 journey. A 
 
 once mote,'wii ^ 
 
 ceedesl in finding ixioi 
 
 h the unpleasant intelli- 
 
 ~ filled. But this did 
 
 uh, for she hoped to 
 
 l(ion; and whether shQ 
 
 A matter of indiffer- 
 
 with prosefeuting her 
 
 purs Guallicr returned 
 
 mation that ho had suc- 
 
 s for her in this hotel. 
 
 He had made an' earnest appeal, he said, to the 
 gallantly of some French oBicera, and they had 
 given up their rooms for the use of the fair An- 
 glafse. It was thus (hat Zillali was able to se- 
 ciire accommodation for the night, 
 
 All that evemng'Giialtier;'»peJit^ in searching 
 for thQ Naples steamer. Wh^n lie Aiftde his ap- 
 pearance on the following morning it Vns with 
 news that was very unpleasant tq Zilltdi. ' He 
 informed her that the rdgidar stea^icrs did not 
 run, that they hi^d been taken up by the Frq^ich 
 government as tr&nsports for the troops^ amd, 
 as far as he could learn, ^hcre were no provisions 
 whatever for carrying the mails. ' He could 
 scarcely think it possible that such should be tfa$ 
 case, but so i^ was. 
 
 At this intelligence Zillah was aghast. 
 
 " N6, mail steamers ?^" said she. " Impossi- 
 ble ! Even if they had taken up all of them for 
 transports, something would be put on the route. " 
 
 "lean assure you, my lody, that it is as I 
 said. I have searched every where, and can 
 not find out any thing, "«aid Gualtier. 
 
 "You need not address me by my title, ".said 
 Zillah. "At present I do not choose to adopt 
 it." 
 
 "Pardon me," said Gualtier, humbly. "It 
 is taken for granted in France that every wealthy 
 English lady is titled — every French hotel-keep- 
 er will call you ' mihidi,' and whv^hould not 1 ? 
 It is only a form. " ..>»^ 
 
 — i ' Woll," gaid Zi aaly**l <^it pMB: Bnt what 
 am I to do, here ? I must go on. ' Can I not go 
 by land?" . 
 
 '' You forgot, fnylod^, the war in Lombardy." 
 
 " But I tell/yon, I tAunt go on,"8oid Zillnh, 
 impatiently. /"Cost what it may^ven if I 
 have to buy a steamer." 
 
 Gualtier smiled faintly. 
 
 "Even if you wished to buy a iteamer, njl 
 lady, you could not. ' The French govemmeDtl 
 has taken up all for transports. Could yon noil 
 make np your mind to waitfor a few days?" I 
 
 ■♦* A few dayi.r.'.cried Zilluh, in tones of (le.| 
 
 spoir — "a few days!' What! aftev ^fau 
 here through France so rapidly I A few dmi'l 
 No. I would rather go to Spain,' and-catclith^l 
 steamer at Gibraltar that Miss Krieif spoke of." f 
 
 Gualtiersmiled. 
 
 "Xhot would take much linger time," mM 
 he. " But, my lady, I will/go out again, anjl 
 see if I can not find some Way more expeuitiouil 
 than that. /Trust to mo. /It will be Btranxc if [I 
 do not find some way. yWpukl you be willing%| 
 go in a sailing vessel?'/ , I 
 
 "Of course," said Eillah', without hesitatioul 
 " If nothing else can bo found I Shall be odIjI 
 too happy." ' , .1 
 
 Upon this, Gualtier departed with .the intco-l 
 tion of searching for a sailing vessel. .Zillah heiT 
 self would have been willing to go in ony thin}! 
 Such was her anxiety to get to Hilda, that railJ 
 or than stay in Marseilles she would have beal 
 willing to start for Naples tn an open boat. Bui 
 jon mentioning l^er' situation t6 Mathiide shee 
 countered, to her suii>riso, a very energetic ogkl 
 podtioii. That important personage expressdl 
 a very strong repugnance to any thing of tbt 
 kind, first, she dreaded a sea voyage in a e 
 Iqg -vessel ; and secondly, having got back ttl 
 F'htnae, she did not wish to leave it. If the rej 
 ular mail vessel had been going- she might ml 
 have objected, but as it' was she did not wishtl 
 go. Mathiide was veiy voluble, and vcrydtl 
 tcrmined ; but ZiQah tronbled h«i^self very litilil 
 about this. To get to Hilda was her one atll 
 only desire. If Mathiide stood in the way sltl 
 would go on in spite of her. She was willing iil 
 let Mathiide go, and set out unattended. Ti| 
 get to Naples, to join Hilda, whether in a ste 
 er or a^ sailing ves^l — whether with a maid o 
 without one — that was her only purpose. 
 
 On the following morning Gualticr madeb 
 appearance, with the announcement thdthe^h 
 found a vessel. It was a small schooner wli 
 had been a yacht belonging to •en £nglisbmii| 
 who had sold it at Marseilles for some reasoDi 
 other to a rtierchant of the city. Tliis m- 
 chant was willing to sell it, and Gualtier I 
 bought it in her name, as he could find no otl 
 way of going on. The price was large, but " n 
 lady" had' said that she' was willing to buj i{ 
 steamer, and to hoir it woujd be small. He I 
 ventured, thercfoTer to conclude the bar£iii| 
 He had done more, aijd had even engaj 
 crew, so that all was in readiness to start. 
 
 At this news Zillah wa^^erjoyed. Her loij 
 ing to^ be with Hilda wae go great that even if 
 she'h'ild been a miser sW would have willinf 
 paid the price dentanded, and f4r mure, 
 funds which she had brought with hoi*, and wbi 
 Gualtier had kindly taken charge of| amouDldj 
 to a considerable sum, and afforded ample mt 
 far the purelwse of the vessel. The vessel i 
 therefore regularly purchased, and Zillah at li 
 saw a way by which She cou^ once more p 
 ceed on her journey. Gualtier informed 1 
 that the remainder of pat day would be noe 
 for the completion of (no preparations, and t 
 they woold be ready to leave at aa early I 
 
 'V% 
 
ft: 
 
 faintly. 
 
 wuhod to buy a Bteiuner, njl 
 ot. ' The French govemneotl 
 >r trantports. Could you notl 
 d to wait-for ji few days?" 
 ^criedZiDah, in tones of (|«.| 
 ysl ' What ! aftev ^hurp 
 ice BO rapidly I A few dujs"! 
 ergo to Hpain,' and- catch 'thil 
 tr that Miss Krieft'spoko of," 
 
 ike much l(ii\ger time," uijl 
 ,dy, I will/go out again, gojl 
 1 some way more expeuitiogjl 
 ;o mo. /it will be strange ifC 
 ■ay. iffouU you be willing4i| 
 «1?7 
 
 lid Eillah', without hesitatioD.| 
 can be found I Shall be ot)\ 
 
 tier departed with .the inteii'l 
 r a sailing vessel. ^.Zillali hetJ 
 en willing to go in any thingl 
 3ty to g6t to Hilda, that raibJ 
 trseillcs she would have bai| 
 Naples fn an open boat. Bai| 
 situation tb Mathilde sliee 
 surprise, a very energetic o|k| 
 iportant personage cxpressel| 
 jgnnnce to any thing of tbt 
 rcaded a sea voyage in a sai-l 
 scondly, having got back it| 
 t wish to leave it. If the r 
 d been g^ingshe might mI 
 as it'was she did not wishtl 
 I vei7 voluble, and vcfyd^l 
 ih tronbled hat«elf very littlil 
 !t to Hilda Was her one ai^l 
 athilde stood in the waj tl«| 
 oof her. She was willing iJ 
 nd set out unattended. Tt| 
 in Hilda, whether ih a ste 
 iel — whether with a moid n 
 was her only purpose. 
 ; morning Gualtier made lii| 
 10 announcement that h(rh 
 
 was a small schooner wliidl 
 )elonging to.'on Englishnml 
 Marseilles for some reason g 
 mt of the city. Tliis dihI 
 
 to sell it, and Gualtier I 
 me, as he could find no otIiBJ 
 riie price was large, but "n 
 A she' was willing to buvil 
 r it would be small. lie iuJl 
 ir to conclude the bargaii| 
 ■V, add had even engagi 
 IS in readiness to start. 
 ith wa{»«verjoyed. Herlonf 
 da was 'go great that creni| 
 iscr shfr would have willini 
 landed, and fi^r more. 
 1 brought with her, and wit 
 y taken charge of| amounii^ 
 m, a nd afforded ample I 
 ' the vessel, 'rhe-rwet 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 _j the following moiriing. So ZiUah awaited 
 
 kith impatience the'Bippointcd time. 
 
 I Zillah awaked eptly on (he following morning, 
 
 fat Mathikle was Hot to be found. Instead of 
 
 Mathilde, a letter was awaiting her, which stated, 
 
 nveiy respectful language, thoit the dread which 
 
 Jiat personage felt at going in a sailing vessel 
 
 Iras 80 strong, and her love for her own dear 
 
 Jonntry so great, that she had decided to remain 
 
 Irbere she was. She therefore had come to the 
 
 lonclusion to Jeavo "miladi" without giving 
 
 jrarning, although «he would thereby lose what 
 
 Iras due her, and she hoped that ' ' miladi" would 
 
 Ibrgivahcr, and bear her in aifcctionate remem- 
 
 Jrance. With wishes and prayers for " miladi'g" 
 
 Ltiire happiness, Mathilde begged leavd to sub- 
 
 (cribe herself " naikdi's'* most devoted and gnit^^ 
 
 id servant., ' v 
 
 Such was the finol message of Mathilde to l^er 
 
 tadulgcnt mistress. But, although at°any other 
 
 ime Zillah would have been both wounded and 
 
 fcdignoHt at such desertion ijif ^r ot such a time, 
 
 let now, in the one eqgi;ossing thought that 
 
 ■lied her mind, she thought but little of this in- 
 
 udent. At Naples, she thought, she could very 
 
 iasily fill her place. Now she would have to be 
 
 Krithoot n maid for two or three days, but after 
 
 Ul it would make no veiy great diffejrence. She 
 
 loald rely upon herself, and endure a few days' 
 
 liscomfort very readily for Hilda's sake. It was 
 
 rith such feelings as these that she awaited the 
 
 rrival of Gualtier. When ho came, and heard 
 
 f the departure of Mathilde,^ he appeared to be 
 
 Jled with indignation, and nrged Zillah to wait 
 
 Ine day more till he could get another maid for 
 
 ler. But Zillah refused. She was determined 
 
 ) go on, and insisted on starting at once for the 
 
 lacht. Finding his remonstrances unavailing, 
 
 ■be faithful Qualtier conducted her to the fthoon- 
 
 Ir, and, as all things were' in readiness, they pat 
 
 Tit to sea immediately. , , 
 
 The schooner was a very hRndsomo one, and 
 In looking over it Zillah felt delighted withQudl- 
 ner's good' taste, or his good fortune, whichever 
 B might have been. It was, as has been said, a 
 lacht, which had been the property of an English- 
 lian who had sold it at Marseille!^. Ike cabin 
 Lras fitted up in the most elegant style, Ind was 
 Wch more roomy than was common in vessels 
 n thnt size. ITiore was an outer cabin with a 
 lable in the middle and sofas on either side, 
 Ind an inner cabin with capacious berths, "riie 
 fcntchful attention of Gnoltier was visible all 
 Ironnd. There were baskets of rare fruits, boxes 
 If hcinbons, and cake-baskets filled with delicate 
 Vacaroons and ratafias.^ There were also sev- 
 h-al books— volumes of the works of Lamdrtine 
 Ind Chateaubriand, together with two or three 
 If the latest English novels. He certainly had 
 leen particular to the last degree in attending to 
 Ul of her possible wants. 
 
 J After inspecting the arrangements of tbc cabin, 
 pllah went out on deck and seated herself at the 
 »ern, from whfch she watched the city which 
 py were fiist leaving behind4he!j»rr-0^rCa«tifig 
 [casual glance around, it struck her for a mo- 
 hent that the crew were a remarkably ill-looking 
 Jet of men ; but she was utterly inexperienced, 
 ■nd she concluded that they were like all sailors, 
 Ind should not be jndged by the same standard 
 V landsmen. Besides, was not her faithfiil 
 Bualtier there, whose delicate attention was so 
 
 ?» 
 
 evident even in the mo«t minute cirenmstanco 
 which she had noticed ? If the tho.ught of the 
 evil looks of the crew came to her, it was but for 
 a moment ; and in a moment it was dismissed. 
 She wfls herself too guileless to be suspicious^ 
 and was far more ready to cast from her all evil 
 thoughts than to entertain them. In her rnito- 
 cence and inexperience she was bold, when one 
 more brave but more exporiencei^wnld have 
 been fearful. ^^B 
 
 The wind.was fair, and the ya|HpIed swifC- 
 ly out of the harbor. 'J,1,e sea wiHwnootli, and 
 <iillah could look all around her upon the Mori- 
 ons scene. In a few hours they had left the land 
 far behind them, and then the grander feature 
 of the distant coast became more plainly visible. 
 The lofty heights rose up above the sea reced- 
 ing backward, but ever rising higher, till they 
 reached the Alpine •summits of the inland. AU 
 around was the blue Mediterranean, dotted with 
 white sails. All that she saw was novel and 
 striking; she had never sailed in a vacht before j 
 the water was sraoQth enough to'be pleasant, 
 and she gave herself up to a childlike joy. 
 
 On rising on the following morning they were 
 far out of sight of land. A delicious repast was 
 placed before her for her breakfast. After j)ar- 
 taking she snt on deck, looking out upon the 
 glorious sea, with such a feeling of dreamy en- 
 joyment as she had Scarcely ever known before. 
 Her one chief thought wm that every hour was 
 bringing her nearer to Hilda. When tired of the 
 deck she went below, and lity down in her cabin 
 and read. So tlje hours passed. On that day 
 Gualtier surpassed himself in delicate attention 
 to every possible wish of Iters. She herself was 
 surprised at the variety o{ the dishes which com- 
 posed her dinner. She cpuld not help express- 
 ing her thanks. 
 
 Gualtier' smiled, and murmured some scarce 
 audibly words. 
 
 Tijro days passed, and they were now far on 
 their way. Gualtier assured her respectfully that 
 on the following morning they would see the Ap- 
 ennines on the Italian shore. The voyage had 
 not been so rapid as it might have been, but it 
 had been exceedingly pleasant weather, and their 
 progress had been satisfactory. That evening 
 ZilLh watched the sun as it set in glory below 
 theVate»jr horizon, and retired for the night with 
 the thought that in twr^ays more she woiild b« 
 with Hilda. 
 Slie slept soundly l,hat night. 
 Suddenly she.waked with a-strange sensation. 
 Her dwams had been troubled. She thought 
 that she was drowning. In an agony she starte4 
 up. Water was all around her in the berth 
 where she was lying. The dim light of dawn 
 was struggling through thoslty-light, and she 
 looked around bewildered, not knowing at first 
 where she was. Soon, however, she remembered, 
 and then a great horror came over hpr. The 
 vessel was sink-in/;! 
 All was still. She gave a wild'cry, and st 
 Pj:rwauuij { t hrough tno water t<v the door: • ^mf 
 cried agam and again, till her cries became 
 shrieks. In vain. No answer came. Fiinffiag 
 
 a shawl around her she went into the outer cabin, 
 and thence asdended to the deck. 
 
 No one was there. 
 
 No man was. at the wheel. No watchers were 
 visible. The vessel was deserted! 
 
 ..^^^ifc.-i'ii*.-<5t A'«-P«to'.i5. 
 
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'AN AWFUL, PEAK CANE OVKU HER. 
 
 Louder and loader she shrieked. Her voice, 
 borne ofar over the wide waste of waters, died 
 ont in the distance, but brought no response. 
 She hurried to the forecastle. The door was 
 open. She called over and over again. There 
 was no reply. Looking down in the dim morn- 
 ing twilight she could see phunly that tb^ULatci' 
 _h!tjj P*'"'f"'>'^ there., 
 
 An awful fear came over ,i^ 
 
 The sails were lowered. The^Kmt was gone. 
 No one was on board besides herself. The schoon- 
 er was sinking. She 'had been deserted. She 
 had iHien betrayed. She would never see Hilda. 
 Who had betrayed her? Was Hilda really at 
 Naples ? Had she really written that letter and 
 
 sent Gualtier to her ? A thousand hoirid sus- 
 picions rushed through her mind. One thought 
 predominated — she had been betrayed! 
 But why ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 TWO IfWr CHABACTWBt 
 
 Ik spite of Gualtier's assurances, a steamer 
 was running regularly between Naples and Mar- 
 seilles, and the war had made no disturbance in 
 the promptituit^and dispatch of its trips. ItMb- 
 longed to a line whose ships went on to Malta, 
 touching at Italian ports, and finally connecting 
 
 with the steal 
 
 Company, ' 
 
 seilles one of 
 
 former port, 
 
 and variety o 
 
 On the ster 
 
 ing out over 
 
 ennines axon 
 
 gram} figure 
 
 its smoke cloi 
 
 One of these 
 
 sinewy, with 
 
 head. Arm cli 
 
 pression at o 
 
 no very rare 
 
 for there arc 
 
 and boldest r 
 
 He was a m 
 
 sixty, but hii 
 
 looked like a 
 
 ably dread to 
 
 The other w 
 
 bronzed by 
 
 wore a heav 
 
 the nnmistal 
 
 man, while i 
 
 about him si 
 
 British office 
 
 civilian. Hi 
 
 ing ; and a ( 
 
 he manifesti 
 
 sombre embl 
 
 "Well, \\ 
 
 long silence, 
 
 place on this 
 
 me like that 
 
 there is a cit] 
 
 Even New ■! 
 
 leave it no\ 
 
 couldn't dra 
 
 waiting for 
 
 must join th( 
 
 soon OS I cai 
 
 country till '. 
 
 pressed out 
 
 information 
 
 name's not ( 
 
 The one c 
 
 - " You'll h 
 
 ' think," said 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " The wai 
 
 "The wa 
 
 that the wai 
 
 American ?" 
 
 " Perhapf 
 
 the field an 
 
 specters of p 
 
 icans might 
 
 French prist 
 
 " Even so 
 
 have an int 
 
 of the thing 
 
 for. At an; 
 
 g o t o Loml 
 
 me. I shoi 
 
 to do'it in, I 
 
 proach to it 
 
 rear of the a 
 
 take part in 
 
 do so, for tl 
 
 " Yon rei 
 
 e¥^ 
 
 iJ,F/l"S=.i'iJ^-.^^ 
 
 .,.^';.^',^i!.:<ii!i._iU.: 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 95 
 
 '^ 
 
 lousand horrid sus- 
 nind. One thought 
 betrayed! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 AC'IKBB. ~" 
 
 snrancefi, a steamer 
 en Nap]es and Mar- 
 io no disturbance in 
 I of its trips. It 1k- 
 I went on to Malta, 
 d flnali,r connecting 
 
 with the steamers of th« Peninsular and Oriental 
 Company. The day after Zillah had left Mar-, 
 seilles one of these left Naples on its way to the 
 former port, having on board the usual number 
 and variety of passengers. •• 
 
 On the stem of this vessel stood two men, look- 
 ing out over the water to where the purple Ap- 
 ennines arose over the Italian coast, where the 
 grant} figure of Vesuvius towered eoijspicuous, 
 its smoke cloud floating like a pennon lii the air. 
 One of these men was tali, Ijroad-shouldcrcdj 
 sinewy, with strong square head, massive fore- 
 head, firm chin, and eyes which held in their ex- 
 pression at once gentleness nnd determination ; 
 no very rare compound in the opinion of some, 
 for the're are those who think that the strongest 
 and boldest natures are frequently the tenderest. 
 He was a man of about fifty, or perhaps even 
 sixty, but his years sat lightly on him ; and he 
 looked like a man whom any one might reason- 
 ably dread to meet with in a personal encounter. 
 The other was much younger. His face was 
 bronzed by exix)sure to a southern sun ; he 
 wore a heavy beard and mustache, and be had 
 the unmistakable aspect of an English gentle- 
 man, while the marked military nir which was 
 about him showed that he was without doubt a 
 British oflicer. He was dressed, however,' as a 
 Mvilian. His hat -showed that he was in mourn- 
 ing ; and a general sadness of demeanor which 
 he manifested was well in keeping with that 
 sombre emblem. 
 
 "Well, Windham," said the former, after a 
 long silence, " I never thought that there was a 
 place on this green earth that could take hold of 
 me like that Italian city. I don't believe that 
 there is a city any where that comes up to Naples. 
 Even New York is not its equal. I wouldn't 
 leave it now — no. Sir! — ten teqm of horses 
 couldn't drag me away, only my family are 
 waiting for me at Mai'seilles, you see — and I 
 must join them. However, I'll go back again as 
 soon OS I can ; and if I don't stay in that there 
 country till I've exhausted it — squeezed it, and 
 pressed out of it all the useful and entertaining 
 information that it can give — why, then, my 
 name's not Obed Chute." ' 
 
 The one called Windham gave a short laugh. 
 - " You'll have a little difliculty in Lombardy, I 
 think," said he. 
 "Why?" 
 "The war." 
 
 "The war? My friend, are you not aware 
 that the war need not be any obstacle to a free 
 American?" 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but you know that armies in 
 the field are not very much inclined to be re- 
 specters of persons, and the freest of free Amer- 
 icans might find himself in an Austrian or if 
 French prison as a spy." 
 
 " Even so ; but he would soon get out, and 
 have an interesting reminiscence. That is one 
 of the things that he would have to be prepared 
 for. At (inyrate, I have made up my mind to 
 pita T/nmhardy^ and I'll take m_y family with 
 me. I should dearly like to get a Concord coach 
 to doit in, ^t if I can't I'll get the nearest ap- 
 proach to it I can find, and calmly trot on in the 
 rear of the army. Perhaps I'll have a chance to 
 take part in some engagement. I should like to 
 do io, for the honor Of .the flog if nothing else." 
 " You remind me of your celebrated country- 
 
 man, who was, as he said, 'blao^mpulded for 
 want of a fight.'" 
 
 "That man. Sir, was a tme representative 
 American, and[ a type of our ordinary, everyday, 
 active, vi-vacious Western citizen — the class of 
 men that fell the forests, people the prairies, ~ 
 fight the fever, reclaim the swamps, tunnel the 
 mountains, send railroads over the phiins, and 
 dam all the rivers on the broad continent. It's 
 a pity that these Italians hadn't an army of these 
 Western American men to lead them in their 
 struggle for lit)orty. " 
 
 " Do you think they would bo better than the 
 French army ?" 
 
 " The French army !" exclaimed Obed Chute, 
 in indescribable accents. 
 
 "Yes. It is generally conceded that the 
 French army takes the lead in tnilitary mat- 
 ters. I say so, although I am a British officer." 
 
 " Have you ever traveled in the States?" said 
 Obed Chute, quietly. 
 
 " No. I have not yet had that pleasure." 
 
 " Yon have never yet seen our Western popu- 
 lation. You don't know it, and you cnn't con- 
 ceive it. Can you imagine the original English 
 Puritan turned into a wild Indian, with all his 
 original honor, and morality, and civilization, 
 combining itself with the intense animalism, the 
 capacity for endurance, and the reckless valor of 
 the savage ? Surround all this with all that ten- 
 derness, domesticity, and pluck which are the 
 ineradicable characteristics of the Saxon race, 
 and then you have the Western American man 
 — the product of the Saxon, developed by long 
 struggles with savages and by the animating in- 
 fluences of a boundless continent." 
 
 " I suppose by this you meon that the English 
 race in America is superior to the original stock. " 
 
 "That can hardlv be doubted," said Obed 
 Chute, quite seriously. "The mother country 
 is small and limited in its resources. America 
 is not a country. It is a continent, over which 
 our race has spread itself. The race in the mo- 
 ther country has reached its ultimate possibility. 
 In America it is only beginning its new career. 
 To compare America with England is not fair. 
 You should compare New York, New England, 
 Virginia, witlvEngland, not Americo. Already 
 we show diiferehces in the development of the 
 same race whiclf only a continent could cause. 
 Maine is as diff'erent from South Carolina as En- 
 gland froni Spain. But you Europeans never 
 seem able to get over a fashion that you have 
 of regarding our boundless continent as a small 
 country. Why, I myself have been asked by 
 Europeans about the healtli of friends of theirs 
 who lived in California, and whom I knew no 
 more about than I did of the Chinese. The fact 
 is, however, that we are continental, and nature 
 is developing the continental American man to 
 an astonishing extent. 
 
 "Now as to this Lombard war," continued 
 Obed Chute, as Windham stood listening in si- 
 lence, and with a quiet smile that relieved bat 
 slighdy the deep mmncholy of his face — " a s to 
 
 this Lombard war ; why. Sir, if it were possibld 
 to collect an army of Western Americans and 
 put them into that there territoi7"--waTing his 
 hand grandly toward the Apennines — " Uie way 
 they would walk the Austnans off to their own 
 country would be a caution. For the Western 
 American man, as an individnal, is physically and 
 
 ^;kl,Vi^ifc^ 
 
\ 
 
 \ 
 
 96 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM, 
 
 gpiritqally a yfghntic being, and sn army of gnch 
 would be irresistible. Two week*; would wind 
 
 np the Lombard \rtjr. Our Americans, "Sir, are 
 the most military pi^ople ip the wide universe." 
 "As yet, though, they haven't done much to 
 show their capacity, \' said Windham. " Vou 
 don't call the Kcvoluti6nnry war and that of 1812 
 any greater than ordinary wars, do you ?" 
 
 "No, Sir; not at kll," ^aid Obed Chute. 
 " We are well aware thak in Actual wars we have 
 as yet done but little in cdtrnpiftison with our pos- 
 sibilities and capabilities. >- In the'^volutionary 
 war. Sir, we were crude and unforrad«J— we were 
 infants, Sir, and our efforts were infaritile. The 
 swaddling bands of the colonial systeAi. had all 
 along restrained the free play of the national 
 muscle ; and throughout the war there wgs not 
 time for full development Still, Sir, from that 
 point of view, as an infant nation, we did re- 
 markable well— re-raarkable. In 1812 we did 
 not have a fair chance. We had got out of in- 
 fancy^ it is true ; but still not into our full man- 
 hoods ; Besides, the war was too short. Just as 
 we be^n to get into condition— just as our fleets 
 and arthies were ready to do something — the war 
 came to nn end. Even then, however, we did 
 re-markable well— remarkable. But, after all, 
 neither of these exWbited the Ataerican man in 
 his boundless possibility before ;h6 worid." 
 
 " You think, I snp|)ose, thi^t if a war were to 
 come now, you could do pronbrtionally better." 
 "Think it!" said Obed ; hi know it. The 
 American |)eople know it< And they want, 
 above all things, to have a chance to ^how it. 
 You spoke of that American who was blu» 
 moulded for want of a fight. I said that man 
 was a typical American. Sir, that saying is pro- 
 foundly true. Sir, the whole American nation 
 is blue-moulded, Sir. It is spilin for want of a 
 fight— a big fight." 
 
 " Well, and what do you intend to do about 
 it?" 
 
 " Time will show," said Obed, gravely. " Al- 
 ready, any one acquainted with the manners of 
 our people and the conduct of our government 
 will recognize the remarkable fact that our na- 
 tion is the most wrathy, cantankerous, high-met- 
 tled community on this green earth. Why, Sir, 
 there ain't a foreign nation that can keep on 
 friendly terms with us. It ain't ugliness, either 
 —it's only a friendly desire to have a fight with 
 somebody— we only want an excuse to begin. 
 The only trouble is, there ain't a nation that re- 
 ciprocates our pecooliar national feeling." 
 
 "What can you do, then?" asked Windham, 
 who seemed to grow quite amused at this con- 
 Tersation. 
 
 " That's a*l1iing I've often puzzled over," said 
 Obed, thoughtfully; "and I can see only one 
 remedy for us." 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
 " Well, it's a hard one — but I suppose it's got 
 to come. Yon see, the only foreign countries 
 that ai-8 near enough to ns to afford a satisfactory 
 field of operations are Mexico and British Amer- 
 ica. The first we have already tried. It ^as 
 awork, thoHghi Oia armies marched tbroogh 
 
 
 big 
 
 foi 
 e] 
 
 exico as though they were going on a picnic. 
 As to British America, there is no chance. The 
 population is too small. No, there is only one 
 way to gratify the national craving for a fight," 
 
 '^^ I don't see it." 
 
 "Why," said Obed, dryly, "to get 
 fight among ourselves. " 
 
 " Among yourselves ?" . t 
 
 "Yes— quite domestic— and all by ourselves." 
 " You «eem to mo to speak of a civil war." 
 "That's the identical circumstance, and no- 
 thing else. It is the only thing that is suited to 
 the notional feeling ; and what's more— it's got to 
 come. I see the pointings of the flng6r of Prov- 
 idence. It's got to come— there's no help for it 
 —and, mark me, when it does come it 'II be the 
 tallest kind of flghtin' that this revohing orb has 
 yet seen in all its revolutions." 
 
 "You speak very lighUy about so terrible a 
 tmng as a civil war," said Wjndham. " But do 
 you think it possible? In so peaceful and well- 
 ordered a country what causes could there be ?" 
 "When the whole nation is pining and crav- 
 ing and spilin for a fight," said Obwl, "causes 
 will not be wonting. I con enumAato half a 
 dozen now: First, there is the Aivery question ; 
 secondly, the tariffyiuestion ; thirdly, the mi- 
 frage question ; fourfhly, the question of the nat- ' 
 uralization of foreigners ; fifthly, the bank ques- 
 tion; sixthly, the question of denominational 
 schools." 
 Windham gave a short lough. 
 " You certainly seem to have causes enough 
 for a war, although, to my contracted European 
 mind, they would all seem insufficient. Which 
 of these, do you think, is most likelv to be the 
 cause of that civil war which you, anticipate ?" 
 
 "One, pre-emiftently and inevitably," said 
 Obed, solemnly. "All others ore idle beside 
 this one." Hb dropped abruritki|he half gas- 
 conading manner in which heJ^Hhn indulg- 
 ing, and, in a low voice, a^^^^^HTreal earn- 
 est, Windham, there is onetlHKn America 
 which is, every year, every montfi; every day, 
 forcing on a war from whitji there can be no es- 
 cape ; a war which wil^ cotivulse the repbblic 
 and endanger its existeftce ; yes. Sir, a war 
 which will deluge the land with blood from one 
 end to the otbo-." 
 
 Hi's solemn lone, his change of manner, and 
 his intense eametstness, impressed Windham most 
 deeply. He felt that there was some deep mean- 
 ing in the language of t)bed Chute, and that 
 under his careless words therp was a gloomy 
 foreboding of some future calamity to his loved 
 country. 
 
 "This is a fearful prospect," said he, "to one 
 who loves his <»untry. What is it that vou fear ? " 
 "One thing," said Obed— "one thing, and 
 one only— slavery! It is this that hos divided 
 the republic and mode of our country two na- 
 tions, which already stand apart, but are every 
 day drawing nearer to that time when a frightful 
 struggle for the mastery will be inevitable. The 
 South and the North must end their ditferences 
 by a fight ; and that fight will be the greatest 
 that has been seen for some generations. There 
 is no help for it. It must come. There arc 
 many in our country who are trying tolpostp^w 
 the evil day, bat it is to no purpose, 'f he'iirae 
 will come when it can be postponed no longer. 
 'fhen the war Wnsf come, and it wBI be the 
 slave States against the free." 
 
 " I never before heard an American acknowl- 
 edge the possibility of such a thing," said Wind- 
 ham, "though in Europe there are many who 
 have anticipated tbitb" J 
 
Ay, "to get 9|M(.big 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 Many Americans feel it ond feiir it," said 
 Ubed, with unchanged solemnity; "but thev 
 do not dar&to put their feelings or their fears ih 
 words. One may fear that his father, his mo- 
 ther, his wife, or his child, Aay die; bat to put 
 such a fear m words is heart-breaking. So we 
 who have this fear, brood over it in secret, and 
 in every shifting scene of our jiational life we 
 ook fearfiilly for those coming events which cast 
 their shadows before. The events which we 
 watch with the deepest anxiety are the Presi- 
 dential elections. p:vety four years now brinjts 
 a cnsis ; and in one of these the long antagonism 
 between ^orth and South will end in war" But 
 
 f , '^^rVP^J' "f ">"• What were wo talking 
 ot / Of Lombardy and the Italian,)var. What 
 do yon think," ho addgd, abruptly changing the 
 
 wa"rr'''*"°"' "^ ''''"' '** ™'' "'««*«' of 
 
 • "J '^'"^''^'d Windham, "that if any man 
 u able to rfo Lombardy at such » time, you are 
 tnat person. > .^ " 
 
 j^f"' ^„'!|'e"d to to-." said Obed Chute, 
 modestly "I ,„ay fail, though I generally suc- 
 ceed m what I set my mind on. I'll go, I ihink, 
 as a fighting neutral. " ' 
 
 "Prepared to fight on either side, I suppose." 
 
 GaribaTd'i "* ^"^ "* ^ ''"°"' •"*'■* '" ''k'" "«»'""' 
 "But, wouldn't you find your family a little 
 embarrassing m case of a fight ?" 
 
 J^^^n "'«^7»"\'? ^^m be safely in the 
 
 rear, at the base of my line of operations. There 
 
 will be no difliculty about it whatever. Ameri- business Ho .„„„; ' 
 
 cans are welcome all over Italy esneciallv «r.hi. .T^,^ '^° TP' "^"^ ' 
 
 time, for these /talians thlnt Ylir^'^lL"' ^'' ""*"'«'? posseithe Pacifi 
 
 . time, for these /taH^nVrhirfhaVELsS!: 
 pathizes with them, and wiU help^hem ; and as 
 U .HM f :5"'=''-'^hy. Boney. thoi^i an emperor, 
 IS still a democrat to his hearts core, and, Ihave 
 no doubt, would give a warm reception to a fight- 
 ing volunteer." * 
 
 "Have yon any acquaintance with any of the 
 French generals, or have ychi any pkn for getting 
 access to Napoleon?" i5"""k 
 
 jy^ r°' 1 1""' '"^'^'J' '° *•'« "-eMon and 
 good feeling of the man. It seems to me that a 
 reqaest from a free American to take part in a 
 fight could hardly meet with any thing else ex- 
 cept the most cordial compliance." 
 
 fi& ^"' ^"" "^ "^ «'"«■." Mid 
 
 The name of Obed Chute has already been 
 ni;°^^'/T*"^ He had embarked at Bombay 
 Z. hY^f " same steamer with Windham, and 
 they had formed a friendship which after cirium- 
 
 ^rv^L^ '"•^"i"^. ^' '''"" Windham's re- 
 Bene had repelled advances; his sadness and 
 preoccupation had repelled any intimacy; but 
 l>^re many days an event happened which 
 threw them into dose association. When about 
 
 .»,i r^i "" ''^^ ™^"8® '••« steamer was discov- 
 er^ to be on fire. Panic arose. The captain 
 tned to keep order among the sailors. This he 
 was very easily able to do. But with the pag- 
 M^fffiLit waa anotlwr thing, Goofusioir ire- 
 ^ailed every where, and the sailors themselves 
 were becoming demoralized by the terror which 
 mged among the others. In that moment of 
 danger two men stood fonh from among the 
 Pawengers, who, by the force pf their own slrong 
 •otUs, brought oi«6r out 6f that chaos " " ' 
 
 ' -, 97 
 
 these was Obed Chute. With a revolver in his 
 hand he went about Uying hold of each man who 
 !^Z M ^- T"'? "8»t«tea, swearing that ho 
 would blow his brains out if he didn't " stop his 
 
 Tl^t IT/ ^'"' "*''' ^""^ Windham, who 
 acted in a difterent manner.,, He collected Dines 
 pumps and buckets, and induced a tige 'u^l 
 ber to take part in the work of extinguishing the 
 
 « Jii • '^i!"'"^ u"" *=T"^' '"<» «»<=»» 00° recog- 
 nized in the other a kindred spirit ^ 
 
 AfteHanding at Suez they were thrown more 
 closely together; their intimacy deepened on the 
 tT.? M ^!f'^'"'«l"'»i nnd when they embarked on 
 the Mediterranean thejl^had beiome stronger 
 friends than ever. W^jaim ^ad told the oZr 
 that he had recently heard of the death of a 
 fiiend, and was going hbme fc settle his- affairs. 
 He hinted also that he w*8 in some govemmen 
 employ in India; and Obtd Chute did not seek ' 
 to kno^V more. Contrary to the generally re- 
 ceived view of the Yaiikee characteT/ he did not 
 show any curu^ity whatever, but received the 
 slight information which was given witli a deli- 
 cacy which showed no desire to learn more than 
 Windham himself might choose to tell 
 
 But for his own part ho was as fmnk'and com- 
 municative as though Windham had bc€li an old 
 friend or a blood relation. He had been kept in 
 New York too closely, he «ud, for the lust twenty 
 yms, aijd nCw wished to have a little breathing 
 spSce and elbow-room. So he had left New York 
 tor ban Francisco, partly on pleasure, partly on 
 business. .He spent some months in California. 
 
 nf n„„„i I ^r»; ""''"'^ '" China, touching 
 
 at Honolulu and Nangasaki. He had left direc- 
 uons for his family to bo sent on to Europe, Td 
 meet him at ^certain time at Marseilles. He 
 was expecting to find them there. He himself 
 had gone from China to India, where he had 
 
 h^r .Tf",'°;"" i'"'°«*' ">« <=»»""-v. nnd then 
 had embrtrked for Europe. Befoi* gl.ing back' 
 
 hUfZ^r ""I '?'^^*'^ "^ "P*""' ""'"e '^e with 
 his family in Italy, France, and Germany. 
 
 Ihere was a grandeur of view in this man's 
 
 waj of looking upon the world which surprised 
 
 FnJ'oiIl'?'r.?'*' '° "'""' '^«e'^' nmused him. 
 For Obed Chute regarded the wliolo world ex- 
 actly as another man might.regard his native 
 county or town; and spoke about going from 
 San F rancisco to Hong-Kong, touching at Nan- 
 gasaki, just as another might speak of going 
 from Livenwol to Glasgow, tonchhigat Roths./ 
 He seemed, in fact to regard our planet as rathir 
 a small aftair, easily traversed, and a place with 
 which he >vas thoroughly familiar. He had writ- 
 ten fiom San Francisco for liis family to meet 
 liira at Marseilles, and now approached that 
 place with the fullest confidence that his famUy 
 would bo there according to appointment. This 
 tyi)e of man is entirely ahd exclusively the prod- 
 uct of Amenca, the country of magnificent dis- 
 tances, and the place where Nature works on so 
 grand a scale that human beings insensibly catch 
 her s^je of expression. Obed Chute wa/aja.^^ _ 
 
 jvho ftit in every fibre the oppressive weight of 
 his country's gmndejif. ' Yet sb generous was his 
 nature that he fortwVe to overpower others by any 
 allnsions to tlvit grandeur, except where it wu 
 absolutely ^possible to avoid it. 
 
 Ona of I ~ZIiT"f ''° '"*'' 8™''"'^')' come to form a Hvmt 
 One of IrpBBTrtl for one another, and Obed Chute did 
 
 ,( f t /' " 
 
?' 
 
 bot hesitate to express his opinion about his 
 fnend. ' 
 
 i " I do not generally take to Britishers," said 
 ne, once, "for they are too contracted, and never 
 seem to me to have taken in a full breath of the free 
 «ir of the universe. They seem usually to have 
 been in the habit of inhaling an enervating moral 
 and intellectual atmosphere. But you suit me, 
 you do. Young man, your hand." 
 And grasping Windham's hand, Obed wrung 
 r It so heartily that he forced nearly all feeling out 
 of It. , 
 
 " I suppose living in India has enabl^ed^me to 
 breathe a broader moral atmosphere, "said Wind- 
 ham, with his usual melancholy smile. 
 
 "I suppose so," said Obed Chute. "Some- 
 thing has done it, any how. You showed it when 
 the steamer was buminir." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "By your eye." 
 
 " Why, what effect can one's moral ntmos- 
 pnere lirtve on one's eyes ?" 
 
 *'An0normou8efftct,"saidObedChute "It's 
 the same in morals as in nature. The Fellahs of 
 tne JViIo, exposed as they are to the action of the 
 hot rnys of the sun, as they strike on the sand, 
 are universally troubled with ophthalmia. In 
 «ur Mammoth Cave, in Kentucky, there is a inb- 
 terranean lake containing fishes which have no 
 eyes at all. So it is in character and in morals. 
 1 will point you out men whose eyes are inflamed 
 by the hot rays of passion ; and others who show 
 by their eves that they have lived in moral dark- 
 ness OS dense as thaf of the Kentucky cave, 
 lake a thief. Do you not know him by his 
 eye ? It takes an honest man to look you in 
 the face" 
 
 " You have done a great many rhinfs," said 
 Windham, at another time. "Have you ever 
 preached in your country?" 
 
 "No," said Obed Chute, with a laugh ; " but 
 1 ve done better— I've been a stump onrtor: and 
 stump oratory, as it is practiced in America, is a 
 little the tallest kind of preaching that this green 
 earth (he was fond of that expression) "has 
 ever listened to. Our orb^Sir, has seen strange 
 expenen^; but it is getting rayther astonished 
 .. " Penonnances of the American man," 
 GeoemHy," said Windham, "I do rtbt be- 
 lieve in preaching so much as in practices but 
 When I see a man like you who can do both, I'm 
 willing to listen, even if it be a stump Speech that 
 I hear. SUU, I think that von are decidedly 
 greater with a revolver in the' midst of a crowd 1 
 than you could be on a stump with a crowd be- 
 fore yon." I 
 
 Obed Chute shook his head solemnly, 
 "niere," said he, " is one of the pecooliari- 
 ties of yon Europeans. You don't understand 
 our nauonal ways and manners. We don't 
 separate saying and doing. With us every man 
 who pretends to speak must be able to act. No 
 man is listened to nnless he is known to be ca- 
 pable of knocking down any one who interrupts 
 him. In a conntir like ours speaking and act- 
 ing go together. The Stump and the Revolver 
 are two great American forces— twin bom— the 
 JMMoiato^powerof the Great Republic. There's 
 no help for it It must be so. Why, if I give 
 offense in a speech, I shall of course be called to 
 account afterward ; and if I can't take care of 
 myself and setUe the account— why— where am 
 
 THE CKYPTOGKAM. 
 
 IL. f ^°" '^? Onrs, Sir, is a singular 
 ^tate of society; but it U the last development 
 of the human race, and, of course, the best " 
 (.onverMtions like these diverted Windham 
 
 Obed Chutes fancies were certainly whimsical; 
 he had an odd love for paradox ind extraval 
 gance ; he seized the idea that happened to suir- 
 gest Itself, and followed it out with a dry Lwf; 
 tZt^r. n° "" °f.,«»'7'«'tness which made aft 
 Th.. ' 'u '**'" '■''^ •''' profound conviction. 
 f»ii!fi .'" ■ «=°"^e''«>'>on8 Windham never 
 Jvl™ 1.^ ''^""^"■'' entertainment, and to bo roused 
 trom his preoccupying cares. 
 
 ^•.> 
 
 CHAPTEB XXX. 
 
 PICKED UP ADUIFT. 
 
 Two davs passed since the steamer left Na- 
 ples, and they wore now far on their way. On 
 the morning of the third Windham came on 
 deck at an torly hour. No ona was up. Th« 
 nwn at the whwl was the only one visible. 
 Windham looked around upon the glorious 
 scene which the wide sea unfolds at such a time. 
 The sun had not vet risen, but all the eastern 
 sky was tinged with red ; and the wide waste of 
 
was coioreu with the ruddy hues which the ulrir 
 can downward^. But it was not hi^ ^ne^ 
 
 te°S inlfo '""•/" '^ "Z*^ °" 'he quar- 
 
 far^irL^^ht„ttr.fd'^''e"wSb 
 
 THE CRYITOGRAM. 
 
 99 
 
 uejeciea attitude and with a deiertml f..„.. 
 
 to turn his thought* to any thiniTelle Th! 
 steamer Apedihrouiih^***-™ .? *'**•,, -^ne 
 her machineiy wiS8it&\r«^T''u "' 
 made the soliTude'Xe^cSS^r Tht tn' 
 goS'To'EnTj''' rf-^'**^ though he":^^ 
 mhfr ikpnn^^^ "" '^"y i^y^"" e^nd, but 
 formnnce^f '^^'^ """" «"'"« homp to the per- 
 tormnnce of some mournful duty which W, 
 never absent from his thoughts 
 
 hemently than ever. ""Wham, more ve- 
 
 ''?Ji m"ust'fu™'?f ^'«"P°«'«n fi-'h-wife." 
 
 "n^mn.-^ W* Shall he belhind time." 
 
 with the lifelf'a hum5„''wr?'"Tr'"P'»r." 
 tum.hosteamerVheaT/H^?^^ " ^''" ''°»» 
 .,,.;."'"' <="ed the paptain, angrilv "n«m„ 
 it? •^•^i^y'^l^ "^'^^ ^•-•'iie to^^Vou S;t 
 
 indTgiTatr'" "^ ^ ^**'' -•'" -PP-sed 
 
 "oKw IvhTi?^ ?^ ^°" ''-^ «"•"-»• Do 
 He stepped forward, and whispered in the «.«. 
 in's ear some words whi.h .»?:rJ A".. "* *»P- 
 
 distinguish it moreTwnV It w^ a scL J""" ^ '"""'■ *■"« "»e captai„rface l^hSr wf T 
 
 -- — ..........uggcu. unt there 
 
 there which drew all his thoughts. By the for^ 
 rn^t, as he looked, he sawl figui^VtindtT 
 ^n^l ,f '''"'"•^^'-'' ^"""8 "on^ething as if fo 
 attract the attention of the passing staJner 
 The lignre looked like a woman, A Io^m^ 
 ghmce connnced him that it warf^ i„°X 
 deed and that this lonely figure was sbine wo 
 Z? '".'««'^''.«- It seemed^o aS to hfm' 
 
 leS ^J^r''. t"**' '^«'' ^h« mute y" 
 eloquent signal, and those despairing gestures 
 
 ll"*"^ P''"« ^'"" 'hrough Ms he«rt-™„ 
 sharp and unaccountable-something more Zn 
 
 Seneofmisi!:^''^'^ '^"^^ ""^ ""^ «=°^"on 
 scene of misery ; n was a pang of deep pitv and 
 
 frl°""fjl^'"r''^ with thi! IdneWsi^erer 
 troa whbm the steamer's course wV tS 
 
 rX"l 'wT ,"'•' ''"*""^" had n^ rS- 
 
 in «i ^iT"J'"' "'«'''' ""'» 'he^vo- 
 Thri^ . *^"" *o him out of her desoair 
 
 mastery ; but there seemed a sort of connection 
 
 SrFa!^ d "r •" "•?"«" i-isiWe y« 'i^! 
 sistiess J. ate had shown them to one another 
 
 er s head was turned 
 last It had ironB hAvnn<i -„j „iz^. ?• .""'.V- <>' 
 
 of more touching in its m,^« iTr^.l!-'^^.!™ 
 
 Th« n«r» • "-^H'-oneu wnat Had occurred. 
 .itfeStjr^-^^ 
 
 c x co.;^ r'' »'*■">' --httvrd tt 
 
 captam could not see very distinctly any thing 
 »!.\h«n the outline of a boat. ^ ^ 
 
 of more touching in ir^l^^^eSe'ZftS 
 
 s7tS«f ^?' ^'"T '^"'«"' «tSi had tid 
 so tragical a story. N„,v „ii .hig excited Wind- 
 
 Iv ! jka 
 
■<«m 
 
 100 
 
 THE CHYl^l'OGKAM. 
 
 should not perish unseen anJ jinknoivn. This 
 part wliich he hnU been tivtletl on to piny of sav- 
 ior and rescuer— this sudden vision of woe and 
 despair appealing to his mercy foi- aid-.-}i«d 
 chased away all customary thoughts, so that now 
 his one idea was to complete his work, and save 
 this poor castaway. 
 
 Hut meanwhile' he had not been idle. Tlie 
 captain, who had been so strangely changed by 
 a Jew words, Tiad called up tlie sailors, and in an 
 instant the fact was known to the whole ship's 
 company that they were goinjj to save a woman ' 
 lu distress. The gaUant fellows, lik^ true sail- ■ 
 . ors, entered into the spirit of the time with the 
 greatest ardor. A boat was got ready to be 
 lowered, Windham jumped in, Chute followed, 
 and lialf a dozen sailors took.|he oars. In a 
 short time the steamer had como up to the 
 Ijlace; She stopped; the boat was lowered; 
 down went the oars into the water ; and away 
 pped the boat toward the schooner. Obed Chute 
 steered. • Windham was in the b<Jw, looking ea- 
 gerly at the schooner, which lay there in the 
 same condition as before. The sun was now 
 just rising, and throwing its radiant b^ams over 
 the sea. The prostrate figure lay at the foot of 
 the mast. 
 
 Kapidly the distance between the boat and the 
 schooner was lessened by the vigorous strpkes of 
 the seamen. They themselves felt an interest in 
 the nesttlt only less than that of Windham. Near- 
 er and nearer they came. At length the boat 
 touched the schooner, and Windham, who wivs 
 in the bow, leaped on board. He'%rried ^o 
 the prostrate figure. He stooped down, and 
 with a strange unaccountable tenderness and-rev. 
 eience he took her in his arms and raised her tip. 
 1 erh^ps it was only the reverence which any 
 great calamity may excite toward the one tha't 
 experiences such- calamity; perhaps it was some- 
 thing more profound, more inexplicable— the out- 
 going of the^soul— which may sometimes have a 
 forecast of more than may l')e Indicated to the 
 material senses. This mfly seem like mysticism, 
 but It 18 not intended as such, 'it is merblv a 
 statement pf the well.kno\vti fact that sometim'es, 
 under certain circupistances, ther« arise within 
 tis unaccountaWo presentiments and forebodings, 
 winch seem to airticipate the actual future. 
 
 Windham tlien . stooped down, and thus ten- 
 derly and reverently raised up the figure of the 
 woman. The sun was still rising and gTeaming 
 over the waters, and gleaming thus, it threw its 
 f\ill rays mt»-the face of the one whqtti he held 
 sdpjKirted m his amis, whose head lias thrown 
 back as it lay on fcis breast, and wa^ upturned 
 so that he couW see it |)lainly. 
 
 And never, in all his dreams, had any fece 
 appeared before him which bore so rare and ra- 
 diant a beauty as this one of the mysterious 
 stranger whom he had rescued. The complex- 
 ion was of a rich olive, and still kept "its hue 
 where another would have been changed to the 
 pal or of death ; the closed eves were fringed 
 with long heavy lashes ; the eyebrows were thin, 
 and loftily arched; the hair was full of waves 
 and nndijlations. black as night, gleatning with 
 its jetty gloss in the sun's rays, and in its disorder 
 falling m rich luxuriant ma.sses over the arms and 
 the shoulder of him who supijorted her The 
 features were exquisitely beautiful; her nose »' 
 sUght departure from the Grecian ; her lips small | 
 
 and exquisitely shapen ; hei chin rounded fault- 
 essly. 1 be face was thinner than it might have 
 been, like the face of youth and beauty in the 
 midst of sorrow ; but the thinness was not emaci- 
 ation ; It had but refined and spiritualized those 
 matchlessouthnes, giving to them not the voluptu- 
 ous beauty of the C^jeek ideal; but rather the an- 
 gelic or saintly beauty of the medieval. She wa« 
 young too, and the bloom and freshness of youth 
 were there beneath all »he sorrow and the grief. 
 More than this the refined gmce of that face! 
 tlio nobility of those features, the stamp of high 
 breeding which was visible in every lineament 
 show,ed at ouce that she coujd be no common 
 person fhis was no fisherman's wlfe-no peas- 
 ant girl, but some one of high rank and breed- 
 ing— some one whose dress proclaimed her sta- 
 °!!'w ■^'l''",'""" features had told him nothing. 
 My God!" exclaimed Windham, in bewil- 
 derment. ' ' Who is she ? IIow came she here ? 
 What IS the meaning of it?" 
 
 But there was no time to be lost in Avonder 
 pr in vague conjectures. The girt was senseless. 
 It was necessary at once to put her under care- 
 ful treatment. For a moment Windham lin- 
 gered gazing upon that sad andisxquisite face- 
 and then raising her in his arm's, he went back 
 to the boat. "Give way, lads! "he cried; and 
 the saijors, whe saw it all, pulled *ith a will 
 Ihey were soon bock again. The sen.seles3 one 
 was lifted into the steamer. Windham carried 
 Her in lus own arms to. the c^bin, and placed her 
 tenderly in a berth, and committed her to the 
 caio of the stewardess. Then he waited impa- 
 tiently for news of her recovery. 
 
 ()bed Chute, however, insisted on ioing back 
 to the schooner for the sake of making a general 
 investigation of the vessel. On going on Tioaid ' 
 he found that she was water-logged. She seemed 
 to have been ke|)t afloat either by her cargo, ok 
 else by some peculiarity in her constructio/ 
 whidi rendered her incapable of sinking Ho 
 tore open the hatchway, and pushing an oar 
 down, he saw that there was no carco, so that 
 It must have been the construction of the vessel 
 which kept her afloat. Wliat that was, he could 
 not then find out. Hp was compelled, tlieie- 
 lore, to leave the question unsettled for the pres- 
 ent, and he took refuge in the thought that the 
 one who was rescued might bo abje to solve the 
 mystery. This allayed for a time his eager curi- 
 osity. Kut he determined to save the schooner 
 so as to examine it afterward at his leisure, A 
 hasty survey of the cabins, into which he plunged 
 showed nothing whatever, and so he w-as com- 
 pelled to postpone this for the present. JJot he 
 had a line made fast between the steamer and 
 the schooner, and the latfw was thus towed all 
 the way to Marseilles. It showed no signs of 
 sinking, but kept afloat bravely, and reached the 
 port of destination in about the same condition 
 m which it had been first found. 
 
 The stewardess treated the stranger with the 
 utmost kindness and the tenderest solicitude 
 and, at length, the one who had thus been so 
 strangely rescued came out of that senselessness 
 mto which-she had been thrown br the loss of 
 the hope of rescne. On reviving she told a brief 
 story. She said that she was English, that her 
 name wm Lorton, and that she had been trav- 
 eling to Morseilles in her own yacht. That the 
 day before, on awaking, she found the yacht f jU 
 
01- cliin rounded fault- 
 ier than it might have 
 ith and beauty in the 
 liiiness wan not emaci- 
 md spiritualized those 
 I them not tlie voluptu- 
 lalj but rather the nn- 
 e medieval. She wag 
 ind freshness of youth, 
 sorrow and the gi-ief. 
 d grace of that faeei 
 Bs, the suunj) of high 
 i in every lineament, 
 ;oaJd be no common 
 man's wife — no pens- 
 ilgh rank and breed- 
 I proclaimed her eta- 
 d told hini nothing. 
 Windham, in bewil- 
 IIow came she here ? 
 
 » be lost in wonder 
 
 lie girJ' was senseless. 
 
 put her under cnre- 
 
 ment Windham lin- 
 
 aml Exquisite face ; 
 
 arms, he went back 
 
 ids!" hq cried; and 
 
 pulled \frith a will. 
 
 The senseless one 
 
 Windham carried 
 
 ^bin, and placed her 
 
 rnmitted her to the 
 
 en he waited impa- 
 
 ery. 
 
 isted on going back 
 3f making a general 
 On going on lionid * 
 sgged. She secimfd 
 ler by her cargo,'<Ms 
 I her construction 
 le of sinking. He 
 id pushing an oar 
 s no cnrsro, so that 
 action of the vessel 
 that was, lie could 
 compelled, tlierc- 
 iettled for the prcs- 
 le thought that the 
 w'able to solve this 
 lime his eager curi- 
 save the schooner, 
 at his leisure. A 
 I which he plunged, 
 id so he was coni- 
 5 present. Put ha 
 n the steamer and 
 ras thus towed all 
 lowed no signs of 
 V, and reached the 
 lie same condition 
 d. 
 
 stranger with the 
 iderest solicitude, 
 had thus been so 
 that senselessness 
 mi by the loss of 
 ng she told a brief 
 Knglish, that her 
 le had been trav- 
 yacht. That the 
 und the yacht fall 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 / 
 
 WIN-DUAM TE.Nl>Ul.l.l- A.SU 
 
 --■<ii^V liAJa., 
 
 ^mm and abandoned. She had beeii a day 
 and » night alon^ in the vessel, without either 
 food or shelter. She had suffered much, and 
 JVM in extreme pro^ration, both of mind and 
 Wdy. But her snwjigest delire wag to get to 
 Noples, for her ijsrtu: was there in ill health, 
 
 and >he had been making the journey to visit 
 
 Windham and Obed Chute heard this verv 
 strange narrative from the stewarfes*. and talked 
 It over between themselves, considering it in all 
 us bearings. The opinion of each of tiiem was 
 
 / 
 
102 
 
 that there had been foul play lomewhere. Bnt 
 then the question aro»e: why should there hove 
 l)een foul play upon an innocent young gi;-l like 
 this ? She was an English lady, evidently of the 
 higher claasM^ her look was certainly foreign, 
 hut her EnglislPnccent was perfect. In her sim 
 jile story she seemed to have concealed nothing. 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAk. 
 
 The cxqiU||6e beauty of the young girfhad "flll"^ 
 d« of both of these men with a strong 
 
 the mind 
 
 desire to find out the cause of her wrongs, nnd 
 to avenge her. But how to do so was the diffi- 
 culty. Windham had important business in En- 
 gland which demanded immediate attention, and 
 would hardly ollow him to delay more than a few 
 <lay8. Obed Chute, on the contrary, hod plenty 
 of time, but did not feel lilte trjing to intrude 
 himself on her confidence. Yet her distress and 
 desoktion had an eloquenco which swayed both 
 of these men from their common purposes, and 
 each determined to postpone other designs, and 
 do all that was possible for her. 
 
 In spite of an hour's delay in rescuing Miss Lor- 
 ton, the steamer arrived at Marseilles at nearly 
 the usual time, and the question arose, what was 
 to be done with the one that they had rescued ? 
 Windham could do nothing;, but Obed Chute 
 could do pomething, nnd did do it. The young 
 lady was able now to sit up in the saloon, nnd 
 here it was that Obed Chute waited upon her. 
 
 Have you any friends in Marseilles?' he 
 asked, in a voice full of kindlv^sjlmpathy. 
 
 "No," said Zillah, in^a mournful voice ; " none 
 nearer than Naples." 
 
 ^^ "I have my family here, ma'am," said Obed. 
 1 am an American and a gentleman. If you 
 have no friends, would you feel any objection to 
 I stay with us while you are here? My family con- 
 sists of my sister, two children, nnd some serv- 
 ants. We are going to Itnlv as soon as possible, 
 and If yon have no objection we can take you 
 there with us— to Naples— to your sister." 
 Zillah looked up at the large honest face, 
 ^ Whose kindly eyes beamed down upon her with 
 "^' parental pity, and she read in that lace the ex- 
 pressibn of a noble and loyal natuiv. 
 
 "Yon are very— very kind," said she, in a 
 faltering voice. "You will lay me under very 
 great obl.^tions. Yes, Sir, I accept vour kind 
 otter. 1 shall be only too happy to put mvself 
 under your protection. I will go with you," and 
 may Heaven bless you '." 
 
 She held out her hand toward him. Obed 
 Chute took that Uttle hand in his, bnt restrained 
 lus great strength, and only pressed it lightly 
 
 Meanwhile Windham had come in to congrat- 
 ulate the beautiful girl, whose face had been 
 launung him ever since that time when the sun 
 lighted It up, ^ it lay amidst its glory of ebon 
 hair npon his breast. He heard these last words 
 nnd stood apart, modesUy awaiting some chance 
 to sjieak. 
 Zillah raised her face. 
 Their eyes met in a long earnest gaze. 
 Zillah was the first to speak. 
 " Yousavedmefrom ttfea»fulfate,"shesaid,in 
 «?•" ju™™"'""* '""**• "I ''card all about it. " 
 Windham said nothing, but bowed in silence. 
 ^lUah KH« firbm her chair, and advanced to- 
 
 ify of gaie. On the schooner, while her head lay 
 on his bi-east, thoMj eyes were closed in sense- 
 lessness— now they were fixed on his. 
 
 " Will you let me thank yon. Sir," she said, in 
 a voice which thrilled thnnigh him in; musical 
 vibrations, "formy///e, which you snatched from 
 a death of horror? To thank you, is but a cold 
 act. Believe me, you have my everhutina Brat- 
 itude." ■ " 
 
 She held out her hand to Windham. He took 
 It in both of his, and reverentially raised it to his 
 hps- A heavy sigh burst from him, and he let it 
 full. 
 
 " Miss Lorton," said ho, in his deep musical 
 voice, which now trembled with an agitation to 
 which he was unused, "if I have been the 
 means of saving you from\any evil, my own jo v 
 IS so great that no thanks itre needed ffom you" 
 or, rather, all thankfulness ought to belong to 
 me. 
 
 A deep flush ovei-spread Zillah's fcce. Her 
 large dark eyes for a moment seemed to read 
 Ins inmost sou!. Then she looked down in si- 
 lence. 
 
 As for Windham, ho turned away with some- 
 thing like abruptness, and left her with Obed 
 Chute. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXr. 
 
 THE PHEFtCT OF POLICE. 
 
 ward him, her face expressing strong emotion. 
 «ow he saw, for the first time, her wondrous eyes 
 in all their magnificence of beauty, with their deep 
 imfuthomable meaning, and their burning intens- 
 
 Obed Chute had requested his business agents, 
 Messrs. Bourdonnais Frdres, to obtain a suitable 
 place for his family on their arrival. He went 
 first to their ofiice, and learned that the family 
 were then m Marseilles, and received their ad- 
 diess. He then went immediately for Zillah. 
 and brought her with him. The family consist- 
 ed of two small girls, aged respecUvely eight and 
 ten two maids, a nurse, and a falet or courier, 
 or both combined. A sister of Obed's had the 
 responsibility of the party. 
 
 Delight at getting among any frieiids would 
 have made this party welcome to her; but Miss 
 Chutes thorough respectability made her posi- 
 tion entirely unobjectionable Obed Chute's feel- 
 ings were not of a demonstrative character. lie 
 kissed his sister, took each of his little giris up 
 m his arms, and held them there for about an 
 hour, occasionally walking up and down the room 
 with them, and talking to them all the time. He 
 had brought presents from all parts.of the world 
 for every member of his family, and when at 
 length they were displayed, the children made 
 the house nng with their rejoicings. Zillah was 
 soon on a home footing with this little circle. 
 Miss Chute, though rather sharp and very an- 
 Kular, was still thoroughly kind-hearted, nnd 
 sympathized deeply with the poor waif whom 
 Providence had thrown ander her protection. 
 Her kind care and rairemitting attention had a 
 favorable effect; and Zillah grew rapidly better, 
 and regained something of that strength which 
 she had lost during the terrors of her late ad- 
 venture. She was most anxious to go to Na- 
 ples ; bnt Obed told her that she troiild havB Mr- 
 wait for the next steamer, which would prolong 
 her stay m Marseilles at least a fortnight. 
 
 As soon as Obed had seen Zillah fairiy settled 
 in the bosom of his family, he set oat to give 
 information to the police about the whole mat^ 
 
•ttentlon. Windham, who was prex iil c^3!. 
 
 to be of such importance that the chi ;f of Mi™ 
 determined to pay Zillah a vi«t on th, f" lE 
 
 80 ini stenous on affair. This official spoke Fn 
 gli . very weU indeed, and had spent XhLi We 
 
 »t?h« in^^-^"""?.""'* Windham wtre pre«„t 
 
 litLyiUr""?.*'''".'' ,"* <*i«f offpoli^ad 
 *ith Zillah and heard all that she hJdto sav in 
 ^nswer to his many questions. The ihief C 
 lV>«8sunng her that the cw was aCeX 
 Loth as affecting her, and also as affect Cf™^"^ ' 
 fnd more particularly Marseilles. HjaSolSi 
 for bemg forced to ask a g,«,t manfoSS 
 .and hoped that she would undersdd Lis mol 
 lives, ana answer freelv. f 
 
 Zillah told her stoi^' in very much the samn 
 C 'h-itshe had told' it on Zard Vb^7t 
 Her father had died some years a J, ,hV«Ud 
 She and her sister had been livinAoirethrto 
 
 lenby. She then gave a minute »ccount of 
 the accidetit which Jiad happened t« Hild.^ a^d 
 
 ixapies This the chief of police banned vb™ 
 cano,u.ly and closely, examln^^ng' tlTenveloM 
 '^?,P?8'-T'''"^ and the stamps; f ""''•""I*' 
 -Zillah tf^en proceeded to give 4 account of 
 
 THE C9YPT0GHAM. 
 
 103 
 
 trutt- 
 
 herjoumejiA until the arrivai atMr/seilles <!h« 
 •^'J him (f\the confusion which Bp^^aileS 
 and how ^hiftail steamers bad C tJken off 
 the route ho* Qnaltler had fouX yacht and 
 purchased it W her, and how MShilffi d^ 
 X;hen she i-ecountetf h6r voyage up 
 
 •erted her 
 
 "Why' then, did she think 
 
 I to '.!. .!!^i' ' '"PP","", because he had been known 
 I to n. so long, and had been apparently a hum 
 ble, deroied, and Industrious'la, Ve worn 
 
 <! ^°"'' '.'*""■ '■ '^'^''W. *hen ?" 
 
 hlmsifint'h^ught •=''"'' "'''^°''' ';««>-•«" 
 
 yourSeS-?^ " "'" ''•' '^-'ftHl.^hice 
 "About Ave years " 
 
 his'dSlh r"'' *"^" ®'^'«'- '""> JO" before 
 I'About six months." 
 
 conflSLChfrn r *"' """^ ""^ P""'*^'^ 
 
 " No. H« n.«»l.. .!.-_.... 
 
 er, 
 
 ir!ll~"!f"'""°" '° '•'• work. He S 
 
 I 
 
 «« S-I .• n""'",''"^ i-ecounte<f h6r voyarn up 
 to the ,m. wh^n she had seen (he steamerf a^d 
 hod fallen prosirate ttl the foot of the mast 
 
 «,ill«r'''te .r 'l''.'^"'" y"«' •"^«»I at Mm. 
 
 "WhoisGualtier?" / 
 
 I'He is a teacher of music/and di^wlng." 
 
 Where does he live ?" ,' * 
 
 "In London." 
 ^J^Do you knowViny thind about his anteced- 
 "No.", \ 
 
 " Have yon known him loiig ?" -^ ' 
 
 '•Yes;, for five years." \ » 
 
 ^ilW. hesitated. She was thUing rfChet- 
 
 "Well— afterward— ?" \ * 
 
 "Afterward," said Zillah, "bit is after mr 
 fajher's death, he still co„'ti„«JJ ilk Tsl^^ 
 
 ,',' V '^ ,^® *«"<='> yo" »wter also ?* 
 
 1 68. V 
 
 ' flj"^°?'" *l'"^'' »««n>8 to have h 
 " Us' " "^ JuJff B« fi«m her 
 
 totir^ ^be ever moke use of his 
 'No." , 
 
 V Might she not have done so ?" 
 T I don t see how. No occasion eve 
 
 great con- 
 Qrvices be> 
 
 '. — J-— '-.v."iuua lu HIS work 
 ..«,"/ Panwular notice of him." 
 
 What-was your father?" 
 .A landed gentleman." 
 'Where did he live?" 
 
 Idon-Tdih"-^''"' '^"'•"™<» «» I-O"- 
 !.kilV 1^1 . "' '" Koneral terms. But the 
 
 lurtner. It would haVe resulted in nothing if ha 
 had done so, for Zilkh was detennined at «» 
 hazards, to guard her secret. '"■^'°^''' *' *" 
 
 nnnfjn i^.k" 7?'" notice Gualtier's manner V" 
 continued the chief, after another pause ' 
 
 ^v.r,ll "'''«^P»''^ "ny attention to him. nor 
 
 hl^^'ill'*^""'''?"''* °f »"y thini abo« 
 
 klMltiS^'" '^'^^ * l"^" and inoffensive 
 
 ]^at do you think of him now?" ^ 
 
 Tt. n mjlste"."'^' "■• *'^' ^^ ^'^'^ »W.V 
 "Do yon remember any thing that von can 
 
 with me." '"«' '"'• "'" '" 'he trouble 
 
 with?^' oK^r""^ ""^ *»"'^' °f -y ^M 
 
 "Nerer,''^ ,-i*-"^ 
 
 "Was any thing ever done which he ^ 
 
 nave taken as an insult or an injury?" 
 ^•.1.^* ''" "**" '™«ted in any other way than 
 irith the mostscrupulous politeness. Mrlt^ 
 ^y sister, an J myjelf were^aU incapableof tS^ 
 inghrni many other way." wi ireai- 
 
 him ?"*"*' '"'"' ^*™'' '"**"'' ""^ """""«' »<>»««1 
 
 e.v «f !''i"?"?*'"^ P''' *« »"»> dignified court. 
 ««y,of a lady to an inferior." 
 
 Did heseemtobe^aientlematf?"^ i — = 
 J^ gentleman? <3f conree not. " 
 
 \ 
 
 arose." j 
 
 „ — .-__„. v/i uuurse not. 
 
 ed thITv "«". have imagined himself slight- - 
 ™> then, by any humiliation ?" * 
 
 Certainly not." 
 
 "Could Gualtier have had any knowleto of 
 yonr pecuniary affairs?" """lej^ oi 
 
 "Possibly— in a genenU way." 
 
 *» 
 
 
IM' 
 
 ^. 
 
 THE CRTFTOORAM. 
 
 " Yon are rich, are vob not ?" 
 . "Yob." • . *, 
 
 " Might he not haire had some design on your 
 money r* 
 
 "I hare thought of that; bnt thercTare insa- 
 perable difficolties. There is, first, my sister: 
 and, again, ev en if she had not escaped, how 
 ~ vonid he ttmmt poneisTon of the propertj^' 
 
 The chieir did not answer this. He wentolMo 
 ask his own questions. 
 
 " Did you ever hear of the loss of any of your 
 money in any way —by theft, or by forgery ?" 
 
 "No." - 
 
 " Did any thing of the kind take place in yqnr 
 father'ti lifetime?" 
 
 "-Nothing of the kind whatever. " 
 
 " Do you know any thing about the anteced- 
 ents of your maid Matjiilde ?" 
 
 "No; nothing except what liftle information 
 she may have votanteei^. I never had any curi- 
 osity about the matter." 
 
 •'^ What is her full name?" 
 
 " Mathilde Louise Glassier. " 
 
 " le^hero does she belong ?" 
 
nke place iil yqnr 
 
 'THE Cryptogram: 
 
 "?•»« *^/^ on«s thot the wu born in Rouen • 
 •nd I «P5i,«, .he w.. brought up he^ t™ * 
 from Jier U,uont reference.", o. that pl^e i 
 believe the wejirt from there to P«ri.. u lajv'.- 
 
 ') ''"% '^'l'^ yo happen to get her V' ^ 
 
 lOB 
 
 What ,. her chamcter? I. ^e cunning r 
 Not as f«c as I have ever ^„. She always 
 
 t«.I!lV''''''''''^"'=? "■" "'"' •"«»" <»nJ medi- 
 tative for wimo timoj 
 
 " Vouriii»,er,"»oid he at length— " liow much 
 oilier is she lliaii you ?" ■ 
 
 "Abdut four yean." 
 
 •I.'^i?",'"''" ■"''* "■"' •he i» clover?" 
 bhe is very clever." 
 
 14 I. • .... " 
 
 '.' ^r.*' "'?' •'">^'»noK08 the afluirs ?' , 
 ,I„lL^^'!""'l ^ ''r' "°"""K al'o^'t them. 
 
 ^ "Nota8f«r.aslhavoever«»r. She alwavs I ,Io^, „ 'i ^ "T' """""g al.o.u them, 
 •truck me a. being quite w^ak out of her oZ SwM^ *T " ^""^ "•" »"""«"' '^^ "'/ "'^wc 
 |.ar.,cular departmenl She fUs L exceZ^cSTd r^r"""'"' ""^ ""'"'^ "" "'« P""- 
 '• M^I 4'5* *n oftwr „,^quite a ch Ud" ' iuo " - ' P"^'°«""'-'»'«t is, of co-U.^e/she 
 
 -h. J . I^W'We. I am not much of a judge of 
 diameter; bu^ a. far a. I could sc?,ihe w^ 
 .imply a weak, good-natured ^roaturZ fdon^ 
 think 8ho would willingly do wrong; but I think 
 
 I think h|ir flight from me was the work of Gual 
 
 "VVhfit i» her character othtfrwlso? U she 
 
 ."srSnr'*"*''«^°^''^'-'-'--i? 
 
 ou«s;;a\s.!i^"'''' ^•'^^ '»"''=''' --^ -«-- 
 
 cai'tlTifn^ose uiS^" °"« ^^"''™ '' "-"'^ »<» 
 
 .. ,^• . u I »v diflil^.?r 'iih' "•""'' " ''■'"« ''■""'^ f*" e'^'^'^'no- 
 
 Did she ever have any thing to do with him ?" J^i^thriUrpmL"' '"^t."^ ^^"^ '^'■*°"=' "''" '«-- 
 I never saw them together, in fact, when- r^tLr^l" . T^/''''™^"''' "I'o Koc. She is 
 ever he was in the houw .the wm alwavs in mv fZ ^"^i^f "<=»'^. f«r more accomj-lished, and 
 room. I don't see how it i, poTsihXtoZl t ShJtT "^"i ."^ °' **» «^'^'- '■» '« "o 
 could have been any undei^ndlnff Z, v„»^ „ i" ~^''*'* '='?""-''««ded Ihd clear-sighted, wiih 
 them. Tor several yeir. she was undl my ^^ Lr Sri^r ffl '"r.";^"'*- ' '^'° ''^Po«« "po 
 stant supervision, and if .any thing of th7k°n^ verv mHnl . h'""' 1^ "'" inipossiblc. She is 
 had bap,«ned I woulrf certiinly rocaU it nmv " ^ a ^ u"*'^™ character." . 
 even if I had not noticed it at the Hme " ' < " ^"'^ i^^l' ^^olrusted this Gualtier ?" 
 
 ■ ■ ■ Pli<rabkt„^!,""f*"".''''''"8^^'"«»'"i"«- - 
 
 piiciable to me. I can only account for it on the 
 
 gmund tha; she had^kno^,. him so long aS 
 
 ind an™ J^.*''*"?"'.*' *» ^^ ol.«,.,uiousnes. 
 ^ni^!^'"!"' «°n«='entionsness, tfot her usual 
 
 „_ ~..^^ .V a* uid time.' 
 
 thilde?" ^"^ ^J^'^'" any double with Ma- 
 "None whatever." 
 r,.'Z,?2'' "!!'"■'" "■? "O"'"!'"'''' vengefuk Did I 
 
 Mathilda ever ex"pen^^ ^rTn^X fw^^^^^ con'scientiousne^: rfJ-l^TS 
 
 nught have excited velfgeful Llings ?'■ . "* C a i LZ if' ^"a"' ^ "''"'' «»»« '^'""«» 
 
 _ !,he never experienced any th^- but 'kind- S'no oVer^^'d'^i^Iro^^^^^^^^^ ''"" 
 
 ni.i : / wll^^"' '"** ^T^^y ^"^ "«' "'»'"« o<^he place , 
 
 - "Tenby." 
 
 "ICo " ^""'''^^ '"'"e in Ao place ?" 
 
 "^T-I^Vherewashe?" 
 In London." 
 
 :;frnSelL""'"'^"°"'l":''''-^ '''«"'?•'" 
 
 ' u' ?? ^°° ''"•'* '^''«™ ''e was ?" 
 
 X knew nothing about hinh B»t mv sister 
 managed o«r affairs; and when GuaUieTleft us 
 I^are say he gave, his address to my ss or ?n 
 case of our wanting his services aatin " ' 
 
 ness. , 
 
 ne^?-'' ^'""' ""*'■ "**' ''*'■ *•"* "'« **«"> kind. 
 
 "Ohyes— quit9 80." 
 
 "When she lived^in England did she ever 
 jWk^aboat leaving you, and going CtZ 
 
 "No, never." 
 
 "Siie seemed quite contented then ?" 
 Quite." 
 
 "^"t she left you very suddenly at last. How 
 do you account for that?" 
 
 Jf?ni:^'° ""P'* «''°""'** ">»' ■''e found her- 
 Sveit.^nnTh" '=''7»'y. *nd did not wish to 
 ^ve It ; and then, also, her dread of a sea voy- 
 W. But, in addition te^ this, I think that Gual 
 Uer must hav^ worked upon her in wiLe way^' 
 "Uow? By bribery?" """io way. 
 
 off witr^r H*'^ think that, for she was better 
 Off with ffle. Her situation was very profitable " 
 
 -pen her '"'n^' '•"">• 4"''l h«%»ve Worked 
 apwineri'- Br menaces?" y : - 
 
 "Perliapsso." 
 
 ' J' ^ • ' ''".'^ ^ <^*" y<ft think of any thinir in 
 your situation which wpuld, by any Mssibultr 
 
 JMger, or m any fear of some imaguuuy dan- 
 
 ^-.fc..- .J. 
 
 »f wT' '*"*'i^°° Zaial. tfconght immediatel? 
 W her assumed name, and the possibility that 
 
 tiMltier might have reminded Mathildfl of th). . - "•* "7 "*'"^'' * "*""' ">ere was a gna 
 
 «d terrified her in some way. B„ .he cr^lHv t "°°"""' °"^''"' ^^ '«<* *« coSntfy 
 
 "No." ' """ewMtwgly, , | He is not now in England, then ?" 
 
 ud 
 not 
 
 „ ^ - ". wanting his services again. 
 You dismissed Gualtier, I suppose because 
 ^°) Y^"" "^' •'ee<ifor J^s se^li^sF 
 
 'You saf that she never treated him with nnv 
 particnkr attention?" — , '"•/"•n ^ (^tn any 
 
 h„r^" {''« '=?""*'7. she never showed anv thing 
 but njprked hauteur toward him. I was indiffe^ 
 ent-she took troublp to be dignified." 
 JIave you any living relatives ?" 
 "No— none." 
 
 therS""^" "" ^ ^^^'' '^'^^ "«' *«•"«>■ 
 
 ' Have you no guardian ?" 
 At my father's death there was a gnaidian— * 
 
 •minal onn— hnf hn i.ft .t » S"»™ian * 
 
 and we 
 
 ..>>• 
 
 ^,isA«S 
 
106 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 .»> 
 
 The chief of police seemed now to have ex- 
 haasted his questions. He rose, and, with renew- 
 ed apologies for the trouble which he had given, 
 .left the room. Obed and Windham followed, 
 and the former invited him to the library— a room 
 which was called by that name -from the fact that 
 there was a book-shelf in it containing a few 
 French novels. Here thev sat in silence for a 
 time, and at length the chief began to tell his 
 conclusions. 
 
 •'I ^nerally keep my mind to myself," siiicj 
 
 he, "buf it is very necessary for you to know 
 
 rtWhat I conceive to bo the present aspet^t of this 
 
 very important case. Let us sec, then, how I 
 
 would analyze it 
 
 " In the first place, remark the position of the 
 girls. «t 
 
 "Two young, inexperienced girls, rich, alone 
 in the world, without any relatives or any connec- 
 tions, managing their own affairs, living in dif- 
 ferent p'aces— such is the condition of the prin- 
 cipals in this matter. The guardian whom their 
 father left has disappeared — gone perhaps to 
 America, perhaps to India — no matter where. 
 He is out of their reach. 
 
 "These are the ones with whom this Gualtier 
 comes in contact He is apparently a very or- 
 dinary man, perhaps somewhat cunning, and no 
 doubt anxious to make his way in the world. 
 Ho is one of those men who can be honest as 
 
 ijj — il ■ 1. — J , . . . ""■""■• "» '" K" •" » yuciii. anis, ot course, placed her 
 Idhg as he is forced to be ; but who, the moment .alone in his power. He picked up a crew of 
 
 the pressure is taken off, can perpetrate crime 
 for his own interests, without pity or remorse. 
 I know the type wdl — cold-blooded, cunning, 
 selfish, hypocritical, secretive, without much in- 
 tellect, cowardly, but still, under certain circum- 
 stances, capable of great boldness. So Gualtier 
 seems to me. 
 
 "He was in constant connection with these 
 girls for five or six years. During that time he 
 must have learned all about them and their af- 
 faire. He certainly must have learned how com- 
 pletely they were isolated, and how rich they 
 were. Yet I do not believe that he ever had any 
 thought din-ing all that time of venturing upon 
 any plot against them. 
 
 " It was Fate itself that threw into his hands 
 an opportunity that could not be neglected. For, 
 mark you, what an unparalleled opportunity it 
 was. One of these sisters — the elder, the man- 
 ager of affairs, and guardian of the other— meets 
 with an accident so extraordinary that it would 
 be incredible, were it not told in her Own hand- 
 writing. She finds herself in Naples, ill, friend- 
 less, and but recently saved from death. She 
 can not travel to join her sister, so she writes to 
 ber sister to come to her in Naples! But how 
 can that young sister come ? It is a long jour- 
 ney, and dilBcnl^for a friendless giri. She has 
 no friends, so the elder Miss Lorton thinks very 
 naturally of the faithful music-teacher, whom she 
 baa known so long, and who is now in London. 
 She writes him, telling him the state of affairs, 
 and no doubt offers him a suflScient sum of mon- 
 ey to reward him for giving up his practice for a 
 time. The same d§y that her sister received her 
 tetter, he also i^ceives his. 
 
 "Can you not see what effect this startling 
 situation would have on such a man ? Here, in 
 brief, he could see a chance for making his for- 
 tune, and getting possession of th« wealth of these 
 two. By making way with them, one after the 
 
 other, it conld easily be done. He bad no pity 
 in his nature, and no conscjence in p^cular to 
 trouble him. Nor w<ire there any fears of future 
 consequences to deter him. These* friendless 
 girls would rtever be missed. They could pass 
 away from the scene, and no avenger could pos- 
 sibly rise up to demand an account of them at 
 his hands. No doubt he was forming his plans 
 from the day of the receipt of his letter all the 
 way to Marseilles. 
 
 " Now, in the plot which he formed and car- 
 ried out, I see several successive steps. 
 
 "The first step, of course, was to get rid of 
 the maid Mathilde. Miss Lorton's description 
 of her enables us to see how easily this could be 
 accomplished. She was a timid creature, whe 
 does not seem to have been malicious, nor does 
 she seem to have had any idea of fidelity. Gual- 
 tier may either have cajoled her, or terrified her. 
 It is also possible that he may hayp bought her. 
 Tliis may afterward be known when we find the 
 woman herself. 
 
 " The next step is evident It was to get rid 
 of the younger Miss Lorton, with whom he was 
 traveling. It was easy to do this on account of 
 her friendlessness and inexperience. How ho 
 succeeded in doing it we have heard from hor 
 own lips. He trumped up that story about the 
 steamers not nmning, and obtained her consent 
 to go in a yacht This, of course, placed her 
 
 scoundrels, set sail, and on the second night scut- 
 tled the vessel, and fled. Something prevented 
 the vessel from sinking, and his intended victim 
 was saved. 
 
 " Now what is his third step^ 
 
 "Of course there can be only one thing, ana 
 that third step will be an attempt of a similar kind 
 against the elder Miss Lorton. If it is not too 
 late to guard against this we must do so at once. 
 He is probably with her now. He can easily 
 work upon her. He can represent to her that 
 her sister is ill at Marseilles, and induce her to 
 come here. He can not deceive her about the 
 steamers, but he may happen to find \\iv juat 
 after the departure of the steamer, and she, ia 
 her impatience, may consent to go in a sailing 
 vessel, to meet the same fate which he designed 
 for her sister. 
 
 After this, to complete my analysis of thia 
 man's proceedings, there remains the fourth 
 step. 
 
 " Having got rid of the sisters, the next par- 
 pose will be to ob&in their property. Now if 
 he is left to himself, he will find this very eiisy. 
 
 "I have no doubt that he has made himself 
 fully acquainted with all their investmenU ; or, 
 if he has not, Jie will find enough among their 
 papers, which will now be open to him. He can 
 correspond with their agents, or forge drafts, or 
 forge a power of attwney for himself, and thua 
 secure gradually a control of all. There an 
 man^ wavs by which a man in his situation cu 
 obtam all that he wishes. Their bankers seem 
 to be purely business agents, and they have sp. 
 parenUy no one who (aketA^e^ar intetett a 
 them. 
 
 "And now the thing to be done is to heid 
 him off. This may be done in various waya. 
 
 " First, to prevent the fulfillment of his deaign 
 on the elder Miss Lorton, I can send off a met- 
 sage at once to the Neapolitan government, and 
 
 .V 
 
 ■^^>|i»jL J|to..-j/j,f.,at^_<gft.^it.j.g 1 
 
 .As*t[t ■f^^^^tV'- A^ ■4*'i - 
 
before this ; but there is a chance that he ig »,» 
 
 in il.e ca«, If «^„ " "'o^t^portant witness i 
 «-:l^£PneiLf„V^.e\^t-t^^^^^^^ 
 this sent tn'M-" ™r""' '"J''*' information of all ' 
 
 and communicate to her where her t-.?^^^'''' 
 .hat she can join her. or ^rite her aT^v*^.'" 
 
 .-Aotd^oJghr^hTv^^^^^^^ T" '" "'*''«" 
 
 ^\.ion. beca«S"thepriri,^'s"oTr Her"" 
 
 cunning would hkre been proSn '...^r""" 
 l<»ve doneT? ^' ""^*""^' "'''J' "•'ou'd he 
 
 4'?irfflfe'rstts'''i:« '" rT- 
 
 •nd the water had flowed o«ft^mh '^'"^ '''^''• 
 .'"'r open for inspect^oiT ZUlS t^I'Jf"""* 
 ••ken out and coiiv«..«h »„ i, ? trunks were 
 Wnu were not In n-..*? •*"■• ""ongh their con- 
 
 ^^STEer trunk, gave heT^T^STdt 
 
 »^*'b7th°SSi!!f?f'"'!?''''°".°' 'he yacht was 
 im! InZ^n! ^ P''"'*' ""'l his two comnan! 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 • ror 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 TOO MUCH TOOETHEB. 
 
 in ^{".l"**' H exhibited the deepest int««« 
 called an31^^"lm^W^LV"' '^« 
 
 p^SiJrwte hr ^"^' •her^.ot cots 
 
 WM .«i«r . "* "**'«'y afforded her. ^ha 
 .hemSrrL"dilv"1nJ "*" *"'7«- ^''P''*^ 
 
 .<?». 
 
108 
 
 THE CKYPTOGHAM. 
 
 1 
 
 dulged. He, on his part, revealed to Zillah nn- 
 mistakably the same profound melancholy which 
 has already been mentioned. She tried to con- 
 jecture what it was, and thought of no other 
 thing than the bereavement which was indicated 
 by the sombro emblem on his hat. Between 
 these two there was never laughter, rarely levity ; 
 but their conversation, when it turned even on 
 trifles, was earnest and sincere. Day after day 
 passed, and each inten-iew grew to bo more 
 pleasant than the preceding one. Often Obed ! 
 Chnto joined in the conversation ; but their 
 minds were of a totally diflferent order from his ; 
 and never did they feel this so strongly as when 
 some hard, dry, practical, and thoroughly sensi- 
 ble remark broke in npon some little delicate 
 flight of fancy in which they had been indulging. 
 One day Windham cdme to propose a ride. 
 Zillah assented eagerly. Obed did not care to 
 go, as he was anxious to call on the chief of po- 
 lice. So Zillah and Windham rode out togeth- 
 er into the countiy, and took the road by the sea 
 coast, where it winds on, commanding magnifi- 
 cent scf^ vie»«8 or sublime prospects of distant 
 mqunfains at almost ereiy turning. Hitherto 
 they had always avoided speaking of England. 
 Each seemed instinctively to shun the mention 
 of that name ; nor did either ever seek to draw 
 the other but on that subject What might be 
 tlie rank of either at home, or the associations or 
 connections, neither ever ventured to inquire. 
 Kaeh usually spoke on any subject of a general 
 nature which seemed to come nearest. On this 
 occasion, however, Windham made a first at- 
 tempt toward speaking about himself and his 
 past. Something happened to suggest India. It 
 was only with a mighty eflFort that Zillah kept 
 down an impulse to rhapsodize about that glori- 
 ous land, where all her childhood had been passed, 
 and whose scenes were still impressed so vividly 
 upon her memory. The effort at self-restraint 
 was successful ; nor did she by any word show 
 how well known to her were those Indian scenes 
 of which Windham went on to speak. H«^lked 
 of tiger hunts ; of long journeys thronj^h the hot 
 plain or over the lofty mountain ; of desperate 
 fights with savage tribes. At length he spoke 
 of the Indian mutiny. lie had been at Delhi, 
 and had taken partA the conHict and in the tri- 
 umph. What particular part he had taken he did 
 not say, but ho seemed to have been in the thick 
 of the fight wherever it raged. Carried away by 
 the glorious recollections that crowded upon his 
 memory, he rose to a higher eloquence than any 
 which he had before attempted. The passion of 
 the fight came back. He mentioned by name 
 glorious companions in arms. He told of heroic 
 exploits— dashing acts of almost superhuman 
 valor, where human nature became ennobled and 
 man learned the possibilities of roan. The fer- 
 vid excitement that burned in his sonl was com- 
 mnnicated to the fiery nature of Zillah, who was 
 always so quick to catch the contagion of anv 
 noble emotion ; his admiration for all that was 
 elevated and true and pure found an echo in the 
 heart of her who wai the daughter of General 
 
 for many an age, had shared the dangers and 
 the triumphs of those who had fought and con- 
 quered there. No, never before had Zillah 
 known such hours as these, where she was 
 brought face to face with a hero whose eve, 
 whose voice, whose manner, made her whole 
 being thrill, and whose sentiments found an echo 
 in her inmost soul. 
 
 And did Windham perceive this ? Could he 
 help it? Could he avoid seeing the dark olive 
 face which flushed deep at his words— the large, 
 liquid, luminous eyes which, beneath those deepl 
 fringed lids, lighted jip with the glorious fires of 
 that fer\id soul— the delicat^ frame that quiv- 
 ered in the strong excitement of impassioned 
 feelings ? Could he avoid seeing that this (feat- 
 ure of feeling and of pasnon thrilled or calmed, 
 grew indignant or pitiful, became stem or tear- 
 ful, just as he gave the word ? Could he help 
 seeing that it was in his power to strike the key- 
 note to which all her sensitive nature would re- 
 
 Fomeroy and the pupil of Lord Chetwynde. 
 Having herself breathed all her life an atmos- 
 phere of noble sentiments, her nature exnlted 
 in the words of this high-souled, this chivalrio 
 man, who himself, tnth from a scene which 
 liod tried men's seals as they hod not been tried 
 
 spond ? ^ 
 
 Yet in all Zillah's excitement of feeling she 
 never asked any questions. No matter what 
 might be the intensity of desire that filled her, 
 she never forgot to restrain iher curiosity. Had 
 she not heard before of this regiment and that 
 regiment from the letters of Guy ? Windham 
 seemed to have been in many of the places men- 
 tipnedtin those letters. This was natural, as ho 
 belonged to the army which had taken Delhi. 
 Buj( in addition to this there was another won- 
 dorSthcto were those hill stations in which she 
 haMived, of which Windham spoke so familiar- 
 ly. Of course — she thought after due reflection 
 —every British officer in the north of India must 
 be familiar with places which are their common 
 resoi|t ; but it affected her strangely at first ; for 
 hearing him speak of them was like bearing one 
 speak of home. 
 
 Another theme of conversation was found in 
 his eventful voyage from India. He told her 
 about the outbreidc of the flames, the alarm of 
 the passengers, the coward mob of panic-strick- 
 en wretches, who had lost all manliness and ail 
 human feeling in their abject fear. Then he de- 
 scribed the tall form of Obed Chute as it towered 
 above the crowd. Obed, according to Wind- 
 ham's account, when he first saw him, had two 
 men by their coUars in one hand, while in the 
 other he held his revolver. His voice with its 
 shrill accent rang out like a trumpet peal as he 
 threatened to blow out the brains of any maa 
 who dared to touch a boat, or to go off the quar- 
 ter-deck. While he threatened he also taunted 
 them. "You Britishers I" he cried. "If you 
 are — which I donbt — ^then I'm ashamed of the 
 mother country." 
 
 Now it happened that Obed Chute had al- 
 ready given to ZHhth a full description of hi« 
 first view of Wiidham, on that same occasion. 
 As he stood' witly his revolver, he saw Windhani, 
 he said — pale, mem, self-possessed, but activp, 
 \dth a line of passengers formed, who mpre baij 
 jAssing buckets along, and he was just detailr 
 in£jii^«^4<Men(o relieve the sailors atTthe^ 
 pnnps. "That man," concluded Obed Chnte, 
 " had already got to work, while I was indnlg- 
 ing ii»A 'spread-eagle."' 
 
 Windham, however, said nothing of himself 
 so that Zillah mi^t have Supposed, for all that 
 he said, that he Mimself was one of that ponie- 
 
 stricken crowd 
 
 and threatened 
 
 Nor was thii 
 
 every day. 01 
 
 the best thing f 
 
 must go out a 
 
 made no objec 
 
 iiewed from da 
 
 ppeak of other i 
 
 nnd sudden dea 
 
 erature. He Ic 
 
 dor. All Engli 
 
 The early Engl 
 
 Si^nser, the E 
 
 Mar>ell, and O 
 
 were all apprec 
 
 tion for the poe 
 
 no words to expi 
 
 for Milton; Graj 
 
 Thomson and C 
 
 appreciation; wh 
 
 olutionary poets i 
 
 ration which thej 
 
 ion and the Bror 
 
 his thoughts ; am 
 
 Zillah, they met 
 
 struck Zillah mos 
 
 •tray bits, which s 
 
 had treasured in I 
 
 and equally loved 
 
 peat them.to her 
 
 /(iving thus a new 
 
 to words whose i 
 
 ready felt to the 
 
 meaning, as Wind 
 
 ever known before. 
 
 felt the meaning o 
 
 conid have caused i 
 
 its deep musical \ 
 
 ring deep within h 
 
 profounder meanin, 
 
 whose dark eyes re 
 
 nnfethomable depth 
 
 -those eyes which 1 
 
 power that even wht 
 
 •he could /«/ them 
 
 that he was looking 
 
 erence! wth what 
 
 what despair! Yes, 
 
 face, with all the re^ 
 
 opressed, there was 
 
 never any look of intj 
 
 mate reverence — sile 
 
 <m may cast npon i 
 
 oner of adoration, bi 
 
 torn. 
 
 The days flew by 111 
 tnem in a kind of « 
 «»«ke when Windhni 
 
 [ *« barrenness and 
 l>« she thought nothi 
 Mplainod to her the n 
 
 ! wiles tm fresh news 
 
 he had been pemiiaH 
 \mmSk seemed to 
 MPhereofherthoughti 
 where those thoughts i 
 «"itent to remain hen 
 "re, and wait for any 
 «« thought of the en< 
 Mm must one day dc 
 
 ' ^i:'tifew'»i.^«^")i-*MJ6^^^^te^s4tSsS^ -x -i^^w.-. 
 
aK^LaS "'"* °*^ ^'«"« '««' "vileU 
 
 must go out as often as was Doisiblfl yiiiK 
 macle no objection. So th^ KSe\a1 ^ 
 iiewed from day to dav R..» urt^Su '*' 
 
 dor All Wn„i" k P**'*^/ *"" passionate ar- 
 uor. All fcnglish poetry was familiar t» hi!!! 
 The early English ^t/cal romance cLje^' 
 .SjMinser, the Elizabethan dramS; Waller' 
 Marvel and Cowley, I^velaee S 'socW n,,' 
 
 oiutionaiy poets rivaled ill the re^ „ th« „?^ •' 
 ntion which they extorted froiThim "'V^""- 
 »n and the Brownin/w werL J^»n ^*""^ 
 hi. thonghts , andrfhel^'i^'eXS-r r lo" 
 
 »aroVrtr?:ct«thH R 
 
 «-y bits, which she had t? i l"ga~ and 
 IS ISir o'v"edX'S Z^ X?'^ "r "' 
 
 :^titTo^Z7fiSS^^^^^ 
 
 felt the meaning of some of these What «u! 
 
 ».' "r i<»k or in,„i„ .(S'Sr,???. S 
 
 ■o. mereoto-Haien, ido.uioi , Vh, Li IS 
 one mav c««t nnnn . ji ■ . '"" > •"" looit that 
 
 o.rof^art?o7bnt''Sl7CS:?ll^ 
 
 .h^''^r£Wri''"*"j5;e ^'r ""-' 
 
 X tUl Lh ntvs Sy "^''"""K «' Mar- 
 
 •Pkere of he^thZrh? ■? "^^P^^ed out of the 
 •iWtKJhouAu^ '"'" "T" •'»'*"' '««'"> 
 ««tent rremaft-T^f ""*"''""^: She was 
 
 "^^ «.d waTfor at'^S W"' ^"^ "^T"- 
 *• thonght of the end o? an ' hf. iW^f 
 
 ■^--'-""l-y depart."" S.hJd"to''en3- 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 ^ 109 
 
 the?l^''sh°«''"^^^"'*'«'''«'"'e"? Then? Ah 
 
 pean^ to her th JaSth'e f^SLn^'^LrcoT 
 
 -^s^;e£rjt!~^rs- 
 
 politeness. He never ^H.,^'' °' conventional 
 
 l«t attempt ara.^mSime„1.%'Lt?" ''"' ^T'' 
 this much it would E„^h ^'"^ ''° *='■"'" done 
 mssment She would h» ^" ",P"'"''"' «='"''«■•- 
 back in^ hSiTa" 3 t d^S 'and """ 
 
 had rece ved an answer tn l,i.^!^ • ■ V ''"'"■"« 
 
 then nothing furXri^J ."" '"*''*'' *"" **"«» 
 
 S'fSc?^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 OlwiTi?^' *°™!>'"'e unsuccessful, lie ur^^l 
 
 oi.j«.«i- ST!;, ,2!'?. a'.cs»t; 
 
 flrst-rate s^r y*V"/'''««' «''owed himself a 
 
 yacht, and to know all about it. 
 
 «i-sLJt.'Sorir s; 
 
 .'A-,: 
 
no 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 ^ 
 
 it ; Windham certainly was not the one to re- 
 gard it ; and Zillah wag willing to shut her eyes 
 to it. And «o for many days they were thrown 
 together. Cruising thus over the Mediterra- 
 nean, that glory of seas — the blue, the dark, the 
 deep — where the transparent water shows- the 
 sea depths far down, witli all the wonders of the 
 sea ; where the bright atmosphere shows sharply 
 defined the outlines of distant objects — cruising 
 here on the Mediterranean, where i>ahce stretch- 
 es out her hand to Italy ; where on the horizon 
 the purple hills arise, their tops covered with a 
 diadem of snow ; where the air breathes balm, 
 and the tideless sea washes evermore the granite 
 base of long mountain chains, evermore wearing 
 awny and scattering the debris along the sound- 
 ing beach. Cruising over the Mediterranean — 
 oh ! what is there on earth equal to this ? Here 
 was a place, here was scenery, which might re- 
 main forever fixed in the memories of both of 
 these, who now, day after day, under these cloud- 
 less skies, drifted along. Drifting? Yes, it was 
 drifting. And wheref were they drifting to ? 
 Where ? Neither of them asked. In fact, they 
 were drifting nowhere ; or, rather, they were 
 drifting to that point where fate would interpose, 
 and sever them, to send them onward upon their 
 diflerent courses. They might drift for a time ; 
 but, at la.st, they must separate, nnd then — what ? 
 Would they ever again reunite? Would they 
 ever again meet? Who might say? 
 
 Drifting! 
 
 Well, if one drifts any where, the Mediterrane- 
 an is surely the best place ; or, at least, the most 
 favorable ; for there all things combine to favor, 
 in the highest degree, that state of moral "drift- 
 ing" into which people sometimes full. 
 
 The time passed quickly. Weeks flew by. 
 Nothing new had been discovered. No infontta- 
 tion had come from Naples. No letter had come 
 from Hilda. While Zillah waited, Windham 
 also waited, and thus passed six or seven weeks 
 in Marseilles, which was rather a long time for 
 one who was hurrying home on important busi- 
 ness. But he was anxious,* he said, to see the 
 result of the investigations of the police. That 
 result was, at length, made known. It was no- 
 thing; and the chief of police advised Obcd 
 Chute to go on without delay to Naples, and 
 urge the authorities there to instant action. He 
 seemed to think that they had neglected the busi- I 
 ness, or else attended to it in ^ich a way that it I 
 had failed utterly. He assured Obed Chute that ' 
 he would still exert all his power to track the ' 
 villain Gnaltitr, and, if possible, bring him to ' 
 justice. This, Obed believed that he would do ; j 
 for the chief bad come now to feel a personal ns 
 well as a professional interest in the affair, as 
 though somehow his credit were at stake. Un- 
 der these circumstances, Obed prepared to take 
 bis family and Miss Lorton to Naples, by the 
 next steamer. 
 
 Windham said nothing. There was a pallor 
 on the face of each of them as Obed told them 
 his plan— telling it, too, with the air of one who 
 i« communicating the most joyful intelligence,^ 
 snd thinking nothing of the wav in which such 
 jeyous news is received. Zillah made no ob- 
 servation. Involuntarily her eyes sought those 
 of Windham. She read in his face a depth of 
 despair which was without hope — profound — 
 nualterable — nninoTabI& 
 
 That day they took their last ride. But few 
 words passed between them. Windham was 
 gloomy and taciturn. Zilhih was silent and sad. 
 At length, as they rode back, they came to a 
 place on the shore a few miles away from the 
 city. Here Windham reined in his horse, and, 
 as Zilhih stopped, he pointed out to the sea. 
 
 The sun was setting. Its rich red light fell 
 full upon the face of Zillah, lighting it up with 
 radiant glory as it did on that memorable morn- 
 ing when her beautiful face was upturned as her 
 head lay upon his breast, and her gleaming ebon 
 hair floated over<his shoulders. He looked at 
 her. Her eyes were not closed now, as they 
 were then, but looked back into his, revealing iii 
 their unfathomable depths an abyss of melan- 
 choly, of sorrow, of longing, and of tenderness. 
 
 '_' Miss Lorton, "said Windham, in a deep voice, 
 which was shaken by an uncontrollable einiotinn, 
 ana whose tremulous tones thrilled through nil 
 Zillah 's being, and often and often afterward re- 
 carred to her memory — " Miss Lorton, this is 
 our last ride — our last inten-iew. Here I will 
 say my last farewell. To-morrow I will see yoii, 
 but not alone. Oh, my friend, my friend," my 
 sweet friend, whom I held in my arms once, as I 
 saved you from death, we must now part forever! 
 I go — I,mustgo. My God! where? To a lifa 
 of horror ! to a living death ! to a future without 
 one ray of hope I Once it was dark enough, God 
 knows ; but now — but now it is intolerable ; for 
 since I have seen you I tremble at the thought of 
 encountering that which awaits me in England !'' 
 
 He held out his hand as he concluded. Zil- 
 lah 's eyes fell. His words had been poured forth 
 with passionate fervor. She had nothing to say. 
 Her despair was as deep as his. She held out 
 her hand to meet his. It was as cold as ice. He 
 seized it with a convulsive grasp, and his frame 
 trembled as he held it. 
 
 Suddenly, as she looked down, overcome by 
 her own agitation, a sob struck her ears. 8I10 
 looked up. He seemed to be devouring her with 
 his eyes, as they were fixed on her wildly, hun- 
 grily, yet despairingly. And from those eves, 
 which had so often gazed steadily and proudly 
 in the face of death, there now fell, drop by drop, 
 tears which seemed wrung out from his very! 
 heart. It was but for a moment. AshecaughKJ 
 hereyes he dropped her hand, and hastily brusM 
 his tears away. Zillah's heart throbbed fust and 
 furiously; it seemed ready to burst. Her breiilh 
 failed ; she reeled in her saddle. But the par- 
 oxysm passed, and she regained her self-corn- ' 
 miind. 
 
 "Let ns ride home," said Windham, in a 
 stem voice. 
 
 They rode home without speaking another 
 word. 
 
 The next dav Windham saw them on board , 
 the steamer. lie stood oa the wharf and watched 
 it till it was out of sight. Then he departed in 
 the train for the north, nnd for England. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXTTT" "^ 
 
 THB agent's REPOBT. 
 
 Ox the south coast of Hampshire there ii • 
 little village which looks towqrd the Isle of 
 Wight. It consists of a single street, and >» 
 
 |['°"ti 8ngpncio iig| 
 r ."^ohaimingp 
 Jfontopassthesn 
 pnnsarpassed, am 
 I JMhting excellent. 
 l?"«.andhasnot 
 l»«ux of wealthy s 
 I'Mtous hotueg wfa< 
 
last ride. Bot few 
 m. Windham was 
 li was silent and sad. 
 ick, they came to a 
 niles away from the 
 xl in his horse, and, 
 1 out to the sea. 
 ts rich red light fell 
 , lighting it up with 
 at memorable mom- 
 was uptarncd as her 
 d her gleaming ebon 
 lers. He looked at 
 ilosed now, as they 
 into his, revealing iii 
 an abyss of melan- 
 and of tenderness, 
 ham, in a deep voire, 
 ontrollable etnotinn, 
 
 thrilled through nil 
 I often afterward le- 
 Miss Lorton, tliix is 
 irview. Here I will 
 jrrow I will see you, 
 end, my friend,' my 
 I my arms once, as I 
 ist now part forever! 
 ! where? To a lifo 
 ' to a future without 
 18 dark enough, God 
 it is intolerable ; for 
 )le at the thought of 
 its me in England !'' 
 he concluded. Zii- 
 id been poured forth 
 I had nothing to sny. 
 
 bis. She held out 
 s as cold as ice. He 
 rasp, and bis frume 
 
 down, overcome by 
 •uck her ears. She 
 ) devouring her with 
 
 on her wildly, hun- 
 id from those eyes, 
 teadily and proudly 
 w fell, drop bv drop, 
 
 out from hiB very, 
 lent. As he caught' I 
 
 and hastily brushed 
 rt throbbed fust and 
 
 burst. Her breath 
 idle. But the par- 
 alned her self-com- 
 
 dd Windham, in i 
 
 t speaking another 
 
 saw them on board , 
 3 wharf and watched 
 'hen he departed in 
 for England. 
 
 I E r O H T. 
 
 impshire there is t 
 towqrd the Isle of 
 ingle street, and ii 
 
 [fch^'^'""" fa<"<''' which «vf„,iB for mil^ 
 1 So i'Tfh"//'"* fortK«»S„veSr- 
 
 h'"'"»KSC '-??.''^1"«».<■o'• boating oT 
 I'l-I*. and hL not vet ^^ ^""^ '"" *' "'o™'""- 
 
 I . ^* *"•"»*»«»" may secure quiet 
 
 I HccommodBtrons arid a 
 
 of ilild^ "„n?r ^ ''''^^' ""«' ">« disappearance 
 JaS™ V^ "^"'//'"^"'Kht after 'ILwsZ 
 
 which w^„, ,h" ^^T""' "P *" " •''""» 
 
112 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 r:'i 
 
 in ; and after waiting for a few minuten in the 
 «nug parlor^ a lady entered. The slender and 
 elegant figure, the beautiful features, and well- 
 bred air of thiu lady, need not be again described 
 to those who have already become acquainted 
 with Miss Krieif. Nor ueed Gualtier's personal 
 appearance be recounted once more to those who 
 have already a sufficient acquaintance with his 
 physiognomy. 
 
 She shook hands with him in silence, and then, 
 taking a chair and motioning him to another, she 
 sat for some time looking at him. At length she 
 uttered one single word : 
 
 "Well?" . 
 
 " It's done," said Goaltier, solemnly. *' It's 
 all over."' 
 
 Hilda caught her breath — giving utterance to 
 what seemed something between a sob and a 
 sigh, but she soon recovered herself. 
 
 Gualtier was sitting near to her. Ho leaned 
 forward as Hilda sat in silence, apparently over- 
 /come by his intelligence, and in a low whisper 
 he said : 
 
 "Do you not feel inclined to take & walk 
 Bomewhere?" ' ' 
 
 Hilda said nothing, bnt^ rising, she went np 
 stairs, and in a few minutes returned dressed for 
 a walk. The two then set out, and Hilda led 
 the way to tha beach. Along the beach they 
 widked for a long distance, until at length they 
 came to a placetwhich was remote from any hu- 
 man habitation. Behind was the open country, 
 before them the sea, whose surf came rolling in 
 in long, low swells, and on either side lay the 
 beach. Here they sat down on some rocks that 
 rose above the sand, and for some time said no- 
 thing. Hilda was the first to speak. Before 
 saying any thing, however, she looked all around, 
 as though to assure herself that they were out of 
 the reach of all listeners. Then she spoke, in a 
 slow, measured voice : 
 
 " Is *Ae gone, then?" 
 
 "She is," said Gualtier. 
 
 There was another long silence. What Hil- 
 da's feelings were could not be told by her face. 
 %o outward appearance she was calm and un- 
 moved, and perhaps she felt so in her heart. It 
 was possible that the thought of Zillah's death 
 did not make her heart beat faster by one throb, 
 or give her one single approach to a pang of re- 
 morse. Her silence might have been merely the 
 meditation of one who, hanng completed one 
 part of a pUin, was busy thinking about the com- 
 pletion of the remainder. And yet, on the ottier 
 hand, it may have been something more than 
 tJiis. Zillah in life was hateful, but Zillah dead 
 was another thing ; and if she had any softness, 
 or n\iy capacity for remorse, it might well have 
 made itself manifest at such a time. Gualtier 
 sat looking at her in silence, waiting for her to 
 speak again, attending on her wishes as usual ; 
 for this man, who could be so merciless to others, 
 in her presence resigned all his will to hers, and 
 seemed to be only anxious to do her pleasure, 
 wha tever it might be. 
 
 "Tell me about it," sddHim&attengtYs, with- 
 out moving, and still keeping her eyei fixed ab- 
 stractedly on the sea. 
 
 Gualtier then began with hb visit to Zillah at 
 Tenby. • He spoke of Zillah's joy at getting the 
 letter, and her eager desire to be once more with 
 her friend, and so Mceot on till the time of their 
 
 aikrival at Marseilles. He told how Zillah all the 
 >ray could^talk of nothing else than Hilda ; of 
 her feverish anxiety to travel as fast as possible ; 
 of her fearful anticipations that Hilda might 
 have a relapse, and that after all she might be 
 too late; how excited she grow, and how de-- 
 spairing, when she was told that thd steamers 
 had stopped running, and h6w eagerly she accept- 
 ed his proposal to go on in a yacht. Tlie story 
 of such affectionate devotion miglifr have moved 
 even the hardest heart, but Hilda gave no sign 
 of any feeling whatever. She sat motionless — 
 listening, but saying nothing. Whether Gual- 
 tier himself was trying to test her feelings by 
 telling so piteous a story, or whether some re- 
 morse of his own, and some compassion fur bo 
 loving a heart, stUl lingering within him, forced 
 him to tell his story in this way, can not bo 
 known. Whatever his motives were, no effect 
 was produced on the listener, aJs far as outward 
 signs were concerned. 
 
 " With MathUde," said he, " I had some dif- 
 ficulty. She was very unwilling to leave her 
 mistress at such a time to make a voyage alone, 
 but she was a timid creature, and I was able to 
 work upon her fears. I told her that her mis- 
 tress hwl committed a crime against the English 
 ]awa in running away and living under an as- 
 sumed name ; that her husband was now in En- 
 gland, and would certainly pursue his wife, have 
 her arrested, and punish severely all who had 
 aided or abetted her. This terrified the silly 
 creature greatly ; and then, by the offer of a 
 handsome sum and the promise of getting her a 
 good situation, 1 soothed her fears and gi^ined 
 her consent to desert her mistress. She is now , 
 in London, and has already gained a new situa- 
 tion." 
 
 " Where?" said Hilda, abruptly. 
 
 " In Highgate Seminary, the place that I ^-as 
 connected with formerly. She is teacher of 
 French, on a good solary." 
 
 " Is that safe?" said Hilda, after some thouglit 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " She might give trouble." 
 
 " Oh no. Her situation is a good one, ond 
 she need never leave it." 
 
 "I can scarcely see how she can retain it 
 long ; she may be turned out, and then — we may 
 see something of her." 
 
 "You forget that I am aware of her movement^ 
 and con eadlypntastop to any efforts of that kind." 
 
 " Still I should be better satisfied if she were 
 in France— or somewhere." 
 
 "Should you? Then I can get her a place in 
 France, where von will never hear of her again." 
 
 Hilda was silent 
 
 "My plan about the yacht," said Gualtier, 
 "was mode before I left London. I said no- 
 thing to you about it, for I thought it might not 
 succeed. The chief difficulty was to obtain men 
 devoted to my interests. I made a journey to 
 Marseilles first, and found out that there were 
 several vessels of different sizes for sale. 'Ihe 
 jacht was the be w and mo st suitable for onr 
 purposQS, and, fortmuttelj, It remained nnso1crti& 
 I had reached Marseilles again with her. I ob- 
 tained the men in London. It was with some 
 difficulty, for it was not merely common ruffisna 
 that I wanted, but seamen who could sail a vet- 
 sd, and at the same time be willing to take p«rt 
 in the act which I contempUted. I told ttwo 
 
 _^'jiij*..-V.j 
 
 tjjifj.M';r',iL:Lret^iuiitifdA'jAl{ii0 
 
r some thought. 
 
 that an which wu reqnlred of them was to tail 
 for two dayi or so, and then leave the veuel. I 
 think they imagined it was a plan to make mon- 
 ey by insuring the vessel and then deserting her. 
 Such things are often done. I had to pay the 
 rascals heavily; but I was not particdar, and, 
 fortunately, they all turned out to be of the right 
 sort, except one— but no matter about him." 
 
 " Except one !" said llUda. " What do yon 
 mean by that?" ^''"- ' 
 
 " I will explain after a while, "/tsid (}ualtier. 
 "If she had not been so innocent, " said Gual- 
 tier, " I do not see how my plan could have suc- 
 ceeded. But she knew nothing. She didn't 
 even know enough to make inquiries herself. 
 She accepted all that I said with the most im- 
 plicit trust, and believed it all as though it were 
 Gospel. It was, therefore, the easiest thing in 
 the world to manage her. Her only idea was 
 to get to you." 
 Gualtier paused for a moment. 
 " Go on, '• said HUda, coldly. 
 "Well, all the preparations were made, and 
 the day came. Mathilde had left. She did not 
 seem to feel the desertion much. She said no- 
 thing at all to me about the loss of her maid, al- 
 though after three or four years of service it 
 must have been galling to her to lose her maid 
 BO abruptly, and to get such a letter as that silly 
 thing wrote at my dictation. She came on board, 
 and seemed verv much satisfied with all the ar- 
 rangements; I had done every thing that I could 
 thmk of to make it pleasant for her — on the same 
 principle, I suppos^" he added, dryly, " that they 
 have in jails— wheA^ they are 8ut« to give a good 
 breakfast to a pooi>1SBvil on the morning of his 
 executioa." 
 
 " Voi^ay as well omit allusions of that sort." 
 toid^Hilda, sternly. 
 
 Gualtier made no observation, ftnt proceeded 
 with his narrative. 
 
 " We sailed for two days, and, at length, came 
 to within about fifty miles of Leghorn. During 
 •11 that time she had been cheerful, and was much 
 on deck. She tried to read, but did not seem able 
 to do so. She seemed to be involved in thought, 
 M a general thing; and, by the occasional ques- 
 tions which she asked, I saw that all her thoughto 
 were about y<m and Naples. So passed the two 
 days, and the second night came. ' 
 
 Gnaltier pansed. 
 
 Hilda sat motionless, without saying a word. 
 Gnaltier himself seemed reluctant to go on ; but 
 he had to conclude his narrative, and so he forced 
 himself to proceed. 
 
 ' It wot midtaight"— he went on, in a very low 
 TOice—" it was exceedingly dark. The day had 
 been line, but the sky was now all overclouded. 
 The sea, however, was coniparatively smooth, 
 Md every thing was faTmble to the undertak- 
 ing. The boat was all riJMy. It was a good- 
 sued boat, which we had towed behind us. I 
 had prepared a mast and a sail, and had put 
 •ome provisions in the kicker. The men were 
 all expecting^" 
 
 ME CaYPTOGBAM. 
 
 113 
 
 ;"It was mfdnlght," said Gualtier," resumina 
 JU story once more, and speaUng with percepti- 
 ble agitotion in the toii« of his roice-" it !n» 
 "f "^S *^ *""* ^'!*^*^T d*rk. The men were 
 at the bow, waiting. AU was ready. ' In the 
 Mbin aU had been stiU for some dmc Her 
 Iighu had been pat out an hoar previons- 
 
 ■" WeU?" J-W Hilda, with feverish impatience. 
 as he again hesitated. i»»«u«.o, 
 
 .t.!!^""'" '^^ ^'^''•'' "»"'»8 himself with a 
 h» h aTI, * '"T?"?7 •b'tracUon into which 
 he had fi«Uen-"the first thing I did was to go 
 down into the hold with some augers, and bore 
 holes through the vessd's bottom." 
 
 Another silence fi^eired. 
 
 "Some angers," saH Hilda, after a time. 
 
 Did yon need mora than one ?" 
 
 "One might bi«ak." 
 
 'J Did any one go Uriih yon ?" she pewisteA • 
 * .u T^"!™ ." men--the greatest ruflUn 
 of the lot. 'Black Bill,' he wi caUed. ™e 
 got something to teU you abont him. I to<Jk 
 him down to help me, for I was afraid that I 
 might not make a snre thing of it Between us 
 we did the lob. The water began to rush {4 
 through half a doienJioIes, which we succeeded 
 in making, and We got out on deck as the vacht 
 was rapidhr filling." , . ' 
 
 Again Gualtier pansed for some time. 
 Whv do you hesitate so?" asked Hilda, 
 
 GualUer looked at her for a moment, with 
 soinething like surprise in his fine ; but without 
 making anpr reply, he went on : 
 
 " I humed into the cabin and 
 
 allexpectii 
 
 Hilda, fiercely. "Omit aU that— go on, and 
 don t kill meirith your long preliminaries." 
 
 'If yon bad snch a story to tell," said Gual- 
 Uer, humbly, "you would he gbid to take refUse 
 nr a little while in prelhninariea." 
 Hilda said nothing. 
 
 H 
 
 and listened. Th^ 
 
 was no sound. I put my ear close to the inner 
 door. AU was utterly and perftcdy stilL She 
 WM evidently sleeping. I then hurried out and 
 ordered the men into the boat Before embark- 
 ing myself I went back to the hold, and reached 
 my hands down. I felt the water. It was with- 
 in less than three feet of the deck. It had fiUed 
 vey rapidly. ■ I then went on board the boat 
 unfastened the line, and we liulled away, steer- 
 ing tM% as nwly as possibk|| toward Lahore. 
 We had rowed for about half an hour, when I 
 recollected that I ought to have locked the cabin 
 door. But it was too htte to return. We could 
 never have found the schponer if w« had tried. 
 The night was intensely dark. Besides, by that 
 time the schooner— iwm at tk» bottom of th» 
 tea/ •' 
 
 A long silence followed. Hilda looked stead- 
 ily out on the water, and Gualtier watched her 
 with hungry eyes. At hut, as though she felt 
 his eyes upon her, shis turaed and looked at him. 
 A great change had come over her face. It 
 was fixed and rigid and haggard— her eyes had 
 soinething in them that was awfuL Her lips 
 were white— her £»ce was ashen. She tried to 
 speak, but at flnt no sound escaped. At last ^ 
 she spoke in a hoarse voice utterly unlike her 
 own. 
 
 "^Sfeig gone, then." 
 
 - i K-r ar ■» ^waai^ »aaKua*. -— 
 
 "For evermore /" said Crualtier. 
 
 Hilda turned her stony face once more toward 
 the sea, while Gualtier looked all around, and 
 then turned his gase back to this woman tai 
 whom he had done so much. 
 
 "After a while"— he he^n once more, in a 
 stow, dull voice— "the wind came up, and we 
 
 iHV-*"/ 
 
 fim 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 "black Bttl, HAB KEPT OK KT TBAOK," 
 
 hoisted sail. We went on oar way rapidly, and 
 by the middle of the foUowing day we arrived at 
 Leghorn. I paid the men off and dismissed 
 them. I myself came back to London immedi- 
 ately, over the Alps, throngh Germany. I thought 
 it best to avoid Marseilles. I do not know what 
 the men did with themselves ; but I think that 
 they would have made some trouble for me if I 
 had not harried away. Black Bill said as much 
 when I was paying them. He said that when 
 he made the bu^in he thought it was only some 
 •bloody insurance business,' and, if he had 
 known what it was to have been, he would have 
 made a different bargain. As it was, he swore 
 I ought to double the amount I had promised. 
 I refused, and we parted with some high words- 
 he vowing vengeance, and I saying nothing." 
 
 " Ah !' said Hilda, who had succeeded in re- 
 covering something of her ordinary calm, " that 
 was foolish in you— you ought to' have satisfied 
 their demands." 
 =^-" Lh*yc^thoBt^t « s inc e ." , 
 
 " They may create trouble. You should have 
 stopifed their months." 
 
 " That is the very thing I wished to do ; bat 
 I was afraid of being too lavish, for fear that 
 they would sospcct the importance of the thing. 
 
 ,J think he is tiying to work this 
 
 1 1 thboght if I appeared mean and stingy '|tnd 
 poor they might conclude tlint I was some very 
 ordinary person, ai^ that the affair was of a. 
 very ordinary kindf- concerning very common 
 people. If they sitspected the true nature of 
 the cage they would ibo sure to inform the police. 
 As it is, they will^bld their tongues ; or, at tlie 
 worst, they will tr;^:and track me." 
 
 " Track you ?" M^d Hilda, who was struck by 
 something in Gunltiefr's tone.'" 
 
 ".Yes; the fact is— I suppose I ought to tell 
 you— I have been tracked oil the way from Leg- 
 horn." 
 
 "Bvwhom?" 
 
 '*Blnck Bill — I don't know how hof managed 
 it, but he has certainly kept on my track. I snw 
 him at Brieg, in Switzerlond, fli-st ; toext I saw 
 him in the railway station at Strasbon/g ; and yes- 
 \terday I saw him in London, standing opposito 
 f he door of my lodgings, as I was leaving for 
 ■his place. " / 
 
 "That looks bad," said Hildai seriously. 
 He is determined to~find out what this busi- 
 is, and so he watches me. He doesn't 
 thireaten, he doesn't demand money — he is Kim- 
 plj^ watching, His game is a deep one. " 
 
 Do you suppose that the others are with 
 him\?" 
 
 •«Not at nil. 
 up for himself.' 
 
 " I^ is bnd, " sold Hilda. " How do you know 
 tipt be is' not in this village ?" ^ 
 
 "As to that, it is quite impossible— and I 
 never expect to see him again, in fact." 
 
 "VVbynot?" V 
 
 " Befiiiuse I have thrown him off the track 
 completely. While I was going straight to Lon- 
 don it wiw easy for him to follow — especially as 
 I did not care to dodge him on the continent; 
 but now, ifrhe ever catches sight of me again ho 
 is much (Reper than I take him to be." 
 "But pj^rhaps he has followed you here." 
 " That i* impossible," said Gunltier, confident- 
 ly. " My mode of getting away from London was 
 peculiar. At soon as I saw him opposite ray lodg- 
 ings ipy mind was made up ; so I took the train 
 for Bristol, and went about forty miles, when I 
 got out and came back ; then I drove to the Great 
 Northern Statilpn immediately, went north about 
 twenty miles, and came back ; after this I took 
 the Southampton train, and came down last night 
 It would be rather diflicult for one man to follow 
 another on Such a journey. As to my lodgings, 
 I do not intend to go back. He will probably 
 inquire, and find that I have left all my things 
 there, and I dare tey he will watch that place for 
 the next six months at least, waiting for my re- 
 turn. And so I think he may be considered as 
 finally disposed of. \ 
 
 " Yon do not int^d to send for your thinsi, 
 then?" 
 
 ' ' No. There are articles thereof considerohla 
 value ; but I will let them all go — it will be ttdceii 
 as a proof that I am dead. My friend Black Bill 
 will hear of this, and fall in with that opinion. I 
 may also arrange a 'distressing cas ualty' pa ta-/ 
 iqA to insert in thr pipen for hlsfaenefiL "?^ 
 Hilda now relapsed into nlenoe once more, 
 and seemed to lose herself in a fit of obstrftction 
 so profound that she was conscions of nothing 
 around Iwr. Gaaltier sat r^^arding her silently, 
 and wonaering whither her tUsnghts were tead- 
 
 Jng. Alonj 
 
 on the' shore 
 
 gently over 
 
 dotted with i 
 
 passing in a 
 
 sizes leaving 
 
 Over two t 
 
 down here, a 
 
 had all the w 
 
 them, until ai 
 
 within a few i 
 
 notice it; bu 
 
 chance to inte 
 
 "The tide 
 
 next wave will 
 
 It was with 
 
 Then she rose 
 
 with Gualtier. 
 
 "I should 1 
 
 at length, in i 
 
 any thing mor 
 
 "I have be( 
 
 hesitation, "oi 
 
 have decided t 
 
 "ToChetwj 
 
 "Yes, and t 
 
 "To-morrov 
 
 "There is r 
 
 "The time has 
 
 "ToChetwy 
 
 scarcely undersi 
 
 " Perhaps no 
 
 that need not b< 
 
 reveal itself in t 
 
 cnmstances." 
 
 "But you ht 
 going there. ^ 
 take up your abi 
 " I do not int 
 sponse. " You 
 pose. I am goi 
 sary arrangemen 
 wynde." 
 
 "Lady Chetw 
 a kind of gasp. 
 
 "Yes," said I 
 
 covered all her u 
 
 all her old force 
 
 her ^oolness, whii 
 
 »n ascendency oi 
 
 Peated, quietly r 
 
 amazement, "an 
 
 Chetwynde has b 
 
 it not natural tha 
 
 preperations for I 
 
 She pr^rs it to I 
 
 "Good God I" 
 
 himself, as a thoi 
 
 n™ wiA bewildei 
 
 purpose? Wasth 
 
 verydeedtheonev 
 
 "be? And was it 
 
 "IsLordChetTi 
 
 M at length, as : 
 
 •Hnnge expression, 
 
 'LordChetwva 
 
 '•'nlynot." 
 
 ,"|^«> you know 1 
 
 No. I have i 
 
 Iwt have found out 
 
 jome which could 
 
 ** wpposing that i 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 sizes leaving behind them great traiiro"smokf Ln i r / ^'L' •'"* ™"«spondence between him 
 Over two hours had paswd since^th^v Z» \ "'^ ^^^ Chetwynda haTfor v«ra bin " r 
 
 Pllrlnra Ul^ — :^^ _i .... •*^'^U 
 
 -icei.:b.;^'th.^e;Zc-L^:£?^ 
 
 chance tointerrupt her meditations " " 
 
 iJie tide is rising," said ho, abruntlv "tha 
 
 twr^'i"'°"P'°'"'- WehadSi,ove" 
 ThiT '""' ".'"*"* ""»' ""da roused KV 
 
 any thing more that I calll jusf ^ow! " """"' " 
 hesititfoT.^?" thinking," said Hilda, without 
 fc!l "i '°f™y next course of action and I 
 
 '7fTr<5&;fe^''°^''«»-^"^-'^ 
 
 .*!m°'' *"^ to-morrow momini; " 
 "To-morrow I" " 
 
 «Ti7'l^'* 'u "° "^""^ f""" ^elay," said Hilda. 
 "TorT.'"" ",' If '=°"'« wh/„' I can act " 
 
 ica,Jw?n!, "^"''^^ "^"^'^^ G»«'tier. 
 icarcely understand your purpose." 
 
 ,h.f „!I5*P* "/"• " ^'^ "'Wa. drylv ; " it is one 
 SaS'- " '•" """"^ °f '™° "°der any cir- 
 
 «)in?"thf,^° V^ *°'°'' ostensible purpose for 
 ping there. You can not go there merelv tn 
 take up your abode on the old footing " ^ 
 
 sponJe ' "yI.?"''- '°k^° '•'"v '^'^ '^e cool re- ' 
 Te T .J ■ ™"^ '^ "■"* ""»» I have a pur- 
 pose. I am going to make certain rerv neces 
 jajy^arrangements for the advent of LaTy S 
 
 akin^oCp''"^'*'-'" "^''"^ ^"'•"'''"•' -'" 
 o^KlS"!:f?;:^^l«'l«-';a;'.re: 
 
 «.Te.;d 'all her « :KlK"aJd"'e b'^^'^ •".""" ''^ -"•eTsS.^ ] 
 
 !:!!.':!!:,5'i^-^of cSrWarTni^^^^^^ 
 
 have s^d ttrif- '" '"'^ '» "P"" °f «» "-Tt^n 
 h^me Thi 121™^" °"' "f '«» ^ould come 
 
 G.«It,er heard this with fresh suiirfsa 
 .„ „ ".°' ^"""^ ''^'"re that there had been 
 
 so very peculiar a correspondence," sSd he. 
 ^,J think that It will decide hiii to stajtn In- 
 
 sh^iiSlmeTom'J- ^'""' '' '" """'^ '"«' »«• 
 
 si^ht'^f "tr. h'i/'"''' "'""•''' "«^-'"- be lost 
 signt of, said Hilda, very gravely— " nor i« if 
 ever lost sight of; one must be prepared to J 
 counter such a thing as that " '^^^"'^ *° ™- 
 
 ;; But how?" *•"""•«• 
 
 ''H«'.!n''JI are various ways," said Hilda. 
 Ixualtier, but how can he be encountesed?" 
 
 J|U her- old fo;ce"TeKr«arTnf 3 ■'-'"- -ided nor "Jhurned.""^ w S'be m^? 
 
 rrlT.:; '^''''='' t' '-«VSven Tef s2 /r"Ji'^ encountered-and that, too. ^J^t 
 
 an ascendency over Giinltipr " v~, •• ,"■"-" J"'-"- 
 
 .„,! „..:..i'.. "nmtier. les, she re- Gimltior l^i.»j _» i._ . . . 
 
 — y~^.,.^^a, niiiun iiaa long 
 «n Ascendency over Gnnltier. " ""Ves" """she'"rp" 
 peated, qnietly returning the others' look of 
 •miuement, "and why should I not? Ldv 
 
 WmiSr' ^'^r ""'•' ^""'«er, quite foivettinir 
 himself as a thought struck him whichfilM 
 
 «2^ .u"^"' *•'* ■'^** ""at occurred to him in 
 ^deed the one which was in her mind ? S 3 
 
 ^L W Ch'^tt^di''" "?•' t** ''"•' '-^^-^ ? he-re, and H 
 •trange expression. ^^ *"* » *'"'"« ?f or 
 
 V„?"''l"K^'?''^'^.''* her in fi^h porplexitr 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 KEMODELINO THBH0U8EH0LD. 
 
 Two or thr^,r\l<5j2^ftenva,d, Hilda, attended 
 Itier drove up to the inn of the little vil- 
 ir ChetwvnHn n>.»i«. /-. i... " 
 
 *^ioiitrwy; mort (Ser- 
 
 •trange expression. 
 
 /'Lord Chetwradef 
 twnlynot." 
 
 bnt W- *' ''t™ "arrowly watched the paMrs. 
 w supposmg that the very last thing that Lord 
 
 by Gualtiei, ,..„,„ up «, me i 
 
 wl"n'!!'i «m'."^!J'''' ^*"''^ GualtieVs"t7p,;;d 
 hertj, and Hilda drove onto the Castle it^ 
 Her luggage JSM. with her, but it was small con- 
 
 though it wf mm uimuut^aadre iryguhiiit 
 
 stay. Onherandv«lthegeiTant8aUOTeete3l«»r 
 
 wyndfe Her ladyship, Hilda informed them 
 
 te?\hn'„' "^ '""'e" ^'i'*^'' ""* '^"^ "•»* toil 
 mlt„ rj!"" "''•' '*'^- ^he had sent her to 
 make certain arrangements for the reception of 
 Lord Chetwj-nde, who vaa expec<ed from India 
 
 m 
 
116 
 
 THR CRTPTOORAM. 
 
 I«- 
 
 at no rery distant date. She did not aa yet 
 know tlie time of hit probable arrival ; but when 
 (he bad learned it iheherielf would come to 
 Chetwynde Caitle to reCMVe him ; but until thnt 
 time she would stay away. The place where 
 she was staying just at present was particularly 
 healthy. It was a small village on the coast of 
 Brittany, and Lady Chetwynde wa^ anxious to 
 defer her return to the latest possible moment 
 Soch was -the information which Hilda conde- 
 scended to give to the servants, who received the 
 news widi anfeigned delight, for they all dearly 
 loved that gentle girl, whose presente at Chet- 
 wynde had formerly brightened the whole house, 
 4^and with whose deep grief over her last bereave- 
 ment thev had all most sincerely sympathized. 
 
 Hildy had many things to Ad. Her flrst duty 
 was to call on Mrs. Hart. The poor old house- 
 keeper still continued in a miserable condition, 
 hovering, apparently, between life and death, and 
 only conscious at intervals of what was going on 
 aronnd her. That consciousness was not strong 
 enoagh to make her miss the presence of Zillnh, 
 nor did her faculties, even in her most lucid in- 
 tervals, seem to be fully at >^-ork. Her memdry 
 did not appear io suggest at any time those sad 
 events which had brought her down to this. It 
 was only at times that she exhibited any recol- 
 lection of the past, and that was confined alto- 
 gether to " Guy ;" to him whom in whisperad 
 words she called " her boy. " Mrs. Hart was not 
 at A\ neglected. Susan, who had once been the 
 upper house-maid, had of late filled the place of 
 housekeeper, which she could easily 'do, as the 
 family was away, and the duties were light. She 
 also, with her sister Mary, >ifho was the under 
 house -maid, was assiduous in watching at the 
 bedside of the poor old creature, who lay there 
 hovering between life and death. Nothing, in- 
 deed, could exceed the kindness and tenderness 
 of these two humble but noble-hearted girls ; and 
 even if Zillah herself could have been brought to 
 that bedside the poor sufferer could not have met 
 with more compassionate affection, and certainly 
 could not have found such careful nursing. 
 
 Hilda visited Mrs. Hart, and exhibits! si^ch 
 tenderness of feeling that both Susan and Mary 
 were touched by it They knew that Mrs. Hart 
 had never loved her, hut it seemed now as if 
 Hilda had forgotten all that former coldness, 
 and was herself inspired bv nothing but the ten- 
 derest concern. But Hilda had mOch to attend 
 to, and after about hiilf an hour she left the room 
 to look after those more important matters for 
 which she had come. 
 
 What her errand was the sen-ants soon found 
 out It was nothing less than a complete change 
 in the household. That household had never 
 been large, for the late E^rl had been forced by 
 his cmsamstances to be economical. He never 
 enteruined company, and was satisfied with keep- 
 ing tne place, inside and outside, in an ordinary 
 Rtate of neatness." 
 
 The servant* who now remained may easily be 
 mentioned. Mathi lde had gone, away. Mrs. 
 
 - Hart lay oniTlcS-heff.~ 'Hieni was Snsan, the 
 
 upper honse-mMd, and Mary^her sister, the un- 
 der house-maid. There was Roberts, who had 
 been the lat^ Eari's valet, a smart, active young 
 man, who was well known to have a weakness 
 ^> for Susan ; there was the cook, Martha, a formi- 
 dable personage, who considered herself the most 
 
 important member of that household'; and be* 
 sides thesp ihere were the coachman and the 
 groom. These composed the entire establish- 
 ment. It WHS for the sake of getting rid of these, 
 in as quiet and inoffensive a way as possible, that 
 Hilda had now come ; and toward evening she 
 began her work by sending for Roberts. 
 
 ' ' Roberts, " said she, with dignity, aa that very 
 respectable person made his appeorancg); carry- 
 ing in his face the consciousness of one who had 
 possessed the late Earl's confidehce, "I am in- 
 trusted with a commission from her ladyship to 
 you. Lord Chetwynde is coming home, jind 
 great- changes are going to be made here. But 
 her ladyship can not forget the old household ; 
 and she told me -to mention to you how grateful 
 xhe felt to you for all your unwearied care and 
 assiduity in your attendance upon your hite mas- 
 ter, especially through his long and painful ill- 
 ness ; and she is most anxious to know in what 
 way she ran be of service to you. Her ladyship 
 has heard Mathilde speak of an understanding 
 which exists between you and Susan, the upper 
 house-maid ; and she is in hopes that she may 
 be able to further vour yiews m the way of set- 
 tling yourself: BX\i so she wished me to find out 
 whether you had formed any plans, and what 
 they were. " 
 
 "It's like her ladyship's thoughtftilness and con- 
 sideration, "said Roberts, gratef^dly, "to think of 
 the likes of me. I'm sure I did nothing for my 
 lord beyond what it were my bounden dooty to do ; 
 arid a pleasanter and afTabler spoken gentleman 
 than his lordship were nobody need ever want to 
 see. I never expect to meet with such another. 
 As to Susan and me," continued Roberts, look- 
 ingsheepish, "we wasa-thinkin'ofapublic, when 
 so fa^ as we could see our way to it 
 
 " Where were yon thinking of taking one?" 
 
 ' ' Well, miss, tou see I'm a Westmor^ndshire 
 man ; and somehow I've a hankerin' after the old 
 place." 
 
 And you're <{nite right, Roberts," sitid Hilda, 
 inNm encouraging tone. "A man is always 
 hamtier in his native pfaice among his own peo- 
 ple: Have yon heard 6f an opening there? 
 (^Roberts, at this, looked more sheepish still, 
 and did not answer until Hilda l^d repeated her 
 question. 
 
 "Well, to be nlidn with Vop, miss," said he, 
 " I had a letter this very weekfron^ my brother, 
 telling me of ak.public in Keswick as was for sale 
 — good-will, stock, and all, and \ capital sitto- 
 tion for business — towerists the irhole summer 
 through, and a little soroethin' n-ddin' in wiiiter, 
 Susan and me was a-regrettin' the Vmitation of. 
 our means, miss." 
 
 " That seems a capital opening, R«ikbert0,''taid 
 Hilft^ venr graciously. " It would be a pity to 
 lose it What is the price?" 
 
 " Well, miss, i^'s a pretty penny, Uut it's the 
 stand makes It, nuta — ^right on the shores of the 
 lake — ^boats to let a^>-«ll hours, inqui^ within. 
 They are a-askin' five hundred p<)und, miss." 
 
 "Is th at nnrta sonable?" f 
 
 "Mttoktion conrideratf, oif the contrsry, iiM**r~ 
 and Susan and me haa two hundred pounabe- 
 tween us in the |aTings-bank. My lord wak » 
 generous master. Now if her ladyship would 
 len4 me the extrr money I'd pay her bock ti 
 fiwt OS I made it*^ 
 
 "There is no necessity for that," lAid Ililda. 
 
 

 lT , , ' — ••■■"•' •i"i'i«}"» lu uo Ilia wm% 
 •nm which her ladyship mofitioned tp me. 80 now 
 I commiRsion you in her mjae to make all the nec- 
 ewary arrangements with jfe>ur bmtheri or, better 
 . •"". KO at once yqnrself-ja man can always ar- 
 range thme matters more i^atUfaclorilr hiratelf— 
 anU I wijllet you have thii money in three days, 
 with Lady Chetwjrndes beit wishes for the succes^ 
 of your undertaking; and f A will see,"8he added, 
 with a smile, "if Av^can hot get pretty Kusan a 
 wedding-dress, and any tHing else she may neail. 
 Before a week is over yoJ shall 1^ mine host of 
 the Keswick Inn. -And now," she concluded, 
 ,g«y'yi go and make yiur arrangements with 
 Suwin, and don't let any^ foolish boshfulness on 
 her part prevent you fnid hastening matter* It 
 would not do foryoii fo ledthischance slip thronnh 
 Toiir.flngers. I will see jhat she is ready. Her 
 advship has something fbr her too, ju»«HrtlKnot 
 let her go to you emptv-'' ' * " 
 
 " I never, never, can 
 you enough," said Bobe 
 done for me this day/ 
 to write a letter to her 
 respectful dooty ?" 
 
 T 'u'^fl' ^Ifi"-do SOI and give me the letter. 
 I shall be whting to-nigtit, and will inclose it. 
 
 ^VrJJJ"^' '^ ""' Mar>- and Susan sisters?" 
 .. Af^? "^ miss— sistets and orphelins." 
 "Well, then," snidsh'^ '■ 
 take more than you are 
 her ladyship lets you ca 
 not cast bovetous'ovcs o 
 I allow she would make 
 moid, she is a particular! 
 we can't spare her." 
 
 Roberts grinned from Ait to e/lf. 
 
 " [can't pretend tomaiJage tife women, miss," 
 said he ; "vpu mus^ speak to Mary ;" and *en. 
 with a low bow, Koberts Withdrew. 
 
 Hilda gave a sigh pf relief. •» There are three 
 disposed of, she murmured. "This is a fair 
 b^innifig." 
 
 On the following day she gave Roberts a check 
 for the money, drawn hyZiliahChetwynde} Wav- 
 mg off his thanks, she dismissed him, and sent 
 for the cook. That functionary quickly appeared 
 She was short of stature, large of bulk, red of 
 6ce, fluent of speech, hasty of temper— an rule, 
 she WM a good cook and faithful servant She 
 DobBed to Hilda on entering, and, closing the door, 
 •tood with folded arms and belligerent aspect, like 
 a porcupine armed for defense on the slightest 
 appearance of hostilities. 
 
 "Cfood-moming, -Martha," said Hilda, with 
 grear suavity. "I hope your rheumatism has 
 not bwn troubling you since the warm weather 
 iet in r 
 
 I, Martha bobbed with a more mollified air. 
 
 "Whicji, exceptin' the elher jints, where It's 
 •rttled, hkewist the knee jints— savin' of your 
 presence, miss— it's the same ; for to go dow-n «n 
 my bended knees, miss, it's what I couldn't do, 
 not If you was to give me a thousand-pun note 
 »my^^ hmd,^ aad my Easter 4ooty iiot 
 Wii Ute to perform, miss, which it be the first 
 «nle It aver wor the case; an' it owing to the 
 
 ■landed 
 
 hank her ladyship nor 
 ts, " for what'you have 
 light I make so bold as 
 dyship, to offer her ray 
 
 ' see that you do not 
 entitled to^ for though 
 W, Susan off, you must 
 I Mary too j for though 
 } very pretty little bar- 
 i good house-maid, and 
 
 .1. ^fLi^f^P i*. ""y wny. continued H^I. 
 «a. She is unable to Qrtam herself just yeL 
 bat sha has asked me to attend to sereral mau 
 
 vou, Martha. She has received a letter from his 
 lordship string that he was bringing with hinui 
 Staff of servanu, and among them a FrenA 
 
 Here Martha turned the porcupine again, 
 
 though Hilda paused for an instant. Marthi 
 wished to commit Miss Krieff to a piDposition,. 
 
 U«t she m,gl., have the gloiy of wjectiniTt with 
 •com. bo Hilda went on : 
 
 " Your mistress was afraid that von might not 
 care about taking the place of under-cook where 
 you have l>een head, and as she was anxious to 
 avwd hurting your feelings in any way, *» wished 
 me to tell you of this beforehand." J^ 
 
 Another moment and tlb apoplex/which had 
 been thrMtening since the moment when "un- 
 Uer-cook had l.ee» mentioned would have been 
 a fact, but luckily fpr Martha her overcharged 
 feelings here broke forthwith accents of bitter- 
 est scorn : 
 
 ., *j^'''u!' ■*''*> ""^ ^^^- Hnnder-cook, in-- 
 deed! which its w1m« I never abore yet, and 
 never will abear. fve lived at Chetwyn this 
 twenty year, gurf and woman, and hopes as I 'avo 
 done my dooty and giv satisfaction, which mv 
 . ,\"? ' gentleman, an' found no fault with his 
 wittle^dt ate them like a Christian and a no- 
 bleman, >B-thankin' the Lord, and a-sayin' 'I 
 never askk to seeji tidier or a 'olesomer din- 
 ner than MArtha sends, which she's^ be depend- 
 ed on as neve> bein' raw nor yet done to rags-' 
 an now when, as you may sny, getUn' on in 
 years, though not that old neither as to be de- 
 pendent or wantin' in sperrit, to have a French 
 cook set over me a talkin' furrin languidgis and 
 * j^'" "P BJodneM ony knows what messes as 
 nd iSson a^hristian stomach to as much as 
 look sit, nnd a horderin' about Marthar here and 
 Marthar there, it's what I can't consent to put 
 op with, and nobody as wasn't a mean spereted 
 creetnr^could expect it of me, whicih its not as I 
 wish to speak disrespectful of her ladyship, which 
 I considers a la^f and as allers treated me as sich 
 only expectin' to bend my di^ys in -Chetwyn it's 
 come sudden like; but thanks to the blessed 
 sainu, which I 'avo pat by as will keep me from 
 the wukkns and a charge on nobody ; and I'd 
 like to give wamin', if you please, miss, and if 
 so be as I could leave before monseer arrive." 
 
 Here Martha paused, not from lack of mate- 
 rial, but from sheer want of breath. She woiild 
 have been invincible in conversation but for that 
 fatalconstitutional infirmity— shortnessof breath 
 
 ■Tha brought her to a pause in the full flow of her 
 eloquence.^ ^ 
 
 Hilda took advantage of the lull. 
 
 "Your mistress," said she, " feared that yort . 
 would feel us you do on the subject, and her in- 
 structions to me were these: "IVy and keep 
 Martha if yon possibly can— we shall not easily 
 replace her ; but if she seems to fear that this ' 
 "^ *"'*"9'' cook m ay be domineering' " (fresh . 
 
 aad^IanBing sy upioiM OfljI^iexT), ""'wrtmy 
 make it uncomfortable for b * 
 
 __ „.„.„. her, we most think of 
 
 her instead of ourselves. She has been too fitith- 
 fal a servant to allow her to be trampled upon 
 now ; i^id if yoa find that she will not nallr con- 
 sent to stop, you must get her a good place—' " 
 
 "Which, if you please, mum," said Martha, 
 interrapting her excitedly, " we won't talk aboot 
 
 ■■■»£..■;.■'- 
 
ilB 
 
 THE CRTPTOORAM. 
 
 ■ pUc«— it ik ntter-Ijr nielMi, •mi I might (w for- 
 ffglUn' myaolf; but I mver thought," the "xm- 
 llMMMit, Vnishing awaj a haaty ie«r, " aa ti ^t« 
 Miuter Uiiy, meaning my lord, as would send 
 ol<l Mnrt^A awny. " 
 
 '* Oil, I am lure he did not mom to do that," 
 Miid Hilda, kindly; "but gontlemon have not 
 )ilnch.considoration( you know, nnd ho is accus- 
 tomed to French co}]kery. " The softer Inood 
 vanished at the bated finmu. 
 
 "And he'll never grdw to be the man his fa- 
 ther were," said she, excitedly, "on_thcm fiirrin 
 l^imcrncks and kickshaws as wouldn't nourish a 
 Imbhy, let alone a full-growed man, and 'e a Hen- 
 glishmnn. But it's furrin parts- as does it. I 
 never approved of the harmy." 
 
 " Her ladyship told me," said Hilda, with her 
 usual placidity, and without takingany notice of 
 tlie excited feeling of the other, " that if you in- 
 sisted on going I was to give you twenty pounds, 
 with ber kind regards, to buy some remembrartce. " 
 
 ■^ Which she's very kind," rejoined Martha, 
 
 . KiiK.li alias »oijr iviliu, lOJUIIICU inaiTIin, 
 
 . rather quickly, and with soma degree of asper- 
 ity ; " and if you'll give her my grateful dooty, 
 I d like to leave as sooii OS may b«." 
 
 " Well, if vou are anxiqus to do so, I snppoee 
 yon can. what kitchen-maids are there ?" 
 
 "Well, miss," said Martha, with digtiity, yet 
 severity, f sich dr^bs of girls as I 'ave 'ad wouM; 
 'ave provoked a saint, and mnyhnp I was a ifMHT 
 hasty; but takiik' up a sauce-pan, and <]n(£#it 
 that, dirty as were scandlus tjKbe'oFd, I throwod 
 the water as were hin it over 'er, nnd the sauce- 
 part with it, an' she declared she'd go, which as 
 the 'onsekeeper bein' in bed,' as you know, miss, 
 an' there likely to remain for hevermore, she did, 
 an' good riddance to her, soy I— ungrateful hus- 
 sy 08 had jist got her wages the day before, and 
 "ad a comfortable 'ome." 
 
 " It does not matteh 1 suppose the French 
 cook will bring his own subordinates." 
 ", ^ *' Wery liko, miss," said Martha, sharply. " I 
 ^iMive this very day. Good-momin', mi^s." 
 ' " Oh np ; don't be in such a hurry," said Hil- 
 d.i. "Yon have a week before yoH. Lot me 
 ««e you before evening, so that I may give yop 
 what your mbtress has sent." < 
 
 Martha sullenly assented, nnd withdrew. fifeS 
 The most difficult part of Hilda's business had 
 thus been quietly accomplished. Nothing now 
 remained but to see the coachman nnd groom, 
 each of whom she graciously dismissed with a 
 hy^me presept She told them, however, to 
 iln "^r about a week, until their successors 
 The large present which the liber- 
 
 a heat little speech. She had never been popular 
 among tliein ; but now the thought that ilioy 
 would never see her again, together, perliniw, 
 witti the very handsome presents wliich she had 
 made, and her very kind words, oflected them 
 deeply, and they showed some considerable feel- 
 ing. 
 
 Under such circumstances Hilda took her d». 
 narture {torn Cliotwynde Castle, leaving Gualtier 
 jn charge. In a few days the new servants ar- 
 rived, and those of the old onds who had thus far 
 remained now took their departure. The house- 
 hold^as entirely remodeled. The new onas took . 
 up thoii; places ; and there'was not on^sfngle ppr- 
 son tl\ere who knew any thing whatever about^^ 
 the late Kari, or Hilda, or Uualtier. ' T^ old 
 ones were scattered abipad, and it was njttt with- 
 in the bounds of ordinary (lossibility that any of 
 them would ever come near the place. 
 
 In thus remodeling the household it was some- 
 what enlarged. Tliera wasthe new housekeep- 
 er, a staid, matronly, respettablp- looking wo- 
 man ; three house-maids, .who had formerly lived 
 in the north of Kngland ; a coachman, who had 
 never before been out of Kent ; a butler, who had 
 ■formerly served in a Scotch family ; two footmen, 
 one of whom had served in Yorkshire, and the 
 other in Cornwall ; two grooms, who had been 
 bred in Yorkshire; a cook, Aho had hitherto pass- 
 'ed all her life in London ; oYid three kiichen-ioaids, 
 who also had served in thot'city. Thus the 
 household* was altogether new, and had been 
 carefully collected by Gualtier with a view 
 rather to tbe place from which they.had come 
 than to any great excellence on the port of 
 any of them. For so largo a place It was- but 
 a small number, but it was larger than the 
 household which had been dismissed, and they 
 soon settled down into their places. 
 ' One only was left of the old number. This 
 was Mrs. Hart. But she ky on hf r Bick-b«d, and 
 Hilda looked upon , her as one' ^hose life was 
 dooiiied. Had any thought of her itossible recov- 
 ery entered her mind, she would Have contrived 
 in some way to get rid of(ber. In spite of her 
 illness, she did not lac jjg|||(a ygj^j| for the new 
 housekeeper attached MMlraR^|^nd gave 
 her the kindliest care w^teMMBfifflUMthy. 
 
 Last of all, so compMnH^HpSKla's pre- 
 cautions in view'of iMBBHHpiTmffibulties 
 that when Gualtier came as the. hew steward, he 
 came under a novf name, ond was known to the 
 household as Mr. M'Kenzie. 
 
 (^hetnynde had given them enabled 
 L.a.1..^^ 'th patieiice, and even 
 
 I' ' 'f 
 
 ..^. rualtier, camo np to 
 
 had beeivaiuiy to Loij- 
 
 to Hildi^HiR>Mflne of 
 
 . expected Wre. few days. 
 
 . tnomi to Roberts, Susan, and Mary 
 
 iltier had bten made steward by Lady 
 
 nde. He took posseMioa of one of the 
 
 rooms,^^d at once entered upon the duties of 
 
 -UuaoffiM. 0b41w day ufhia arrival Htida^ieft', 
 
 «aying td. the remaining servants that she w6uld 
 
 never code back again, as she intended to livfe in 
 
 the south of France. She sho<^k hands with each 
 
 of them ver^gracioosly, making each one a pres- 
 
 . tnt in her own name, and accompaajring it with 
 
 CHAl'TER XXXV. 
 
 THE LABT OP THE CASTLE. 
 
 The new household had been led to expect 
 the arri>-al of Lady Chetiyynde at any moment. 
 'They understood that the old houscJiold had not 
 given satisfaction, that after the death of the 
 late Earl Lody Chetwynde Had gone away to re- 
 cruit he{ health, and, now that she was better, 
 sh e had determined t» make a oimpl^te changei 
 When slw herself ■ntT^Tother (^ingiSi WouKT 
 be nuide. This much GaaMer managed to com- 
 municate to them, sojw tojgive them somqi tan- 
 gible idea of the aifairs of the fiunily and prevent 
 idle conjecture. He let them know, also, that 
 Lord Chetwynde was in India, and might ciims 
 
 t 
 

 ^% 
 
 home at any moment, though hU enM«m.n.. 
 .iJY""".." '■«*.''"y» ^^ndy <^hotwyndo arriied .t 
 
 i^i —^afa H""-.. *>•'« wn, ,ery boa.i.i- 
 
 THE CnTPTOORAlf. 
 
 / 
 
 
 
 ■ould havo been wTlIinr.„ '^1*','™ «"•? thftt not 
 
 Btlfl. nilnr rw^m m <k».._^ . . ^ . 
 
 - exrfctufg, and who shut herself off all „ih», ""-'' """^ '" Kng'n"<l, looked im to «• 
 
 t'i:ltT'^'^''-'T!^jw^^^ z s^.rs j"i"':L''>»' -ahh could 
 
 .i.7whi;h".;,m;"i:;„Ti7crt'ed"Lr'r^'"','^'^if- 
 
 •ome cold innni,i„. „k„,.. L. „^./". ""«« made 
 
 mote from .ho ieat. of tEitv f milir nlTj 
 
 or»ett^s:ar«LS 
 
 ence arising. The maid at^buT^ Vhis g^^^" 
 »eclu«on to the effects of grief over her S 
 bIrTht' tKl!"" ""^"'^ «^"t "her'hTs-' 
 
 -ir rtt£LXTserarS"rr ^ 
 
 «)me quarrel with a wife whose Cuv and iT 
 penous demeanor they all had c-SVot^l 
 
 Now Jh,» .hi K ," """^P'^ ■"** '•■"^ «> much, 
 ^ow that she had attained it, there waa no* nn 
 hour, not a moment of the da y,Tn whfch .CdW 
 n i^^^s'^ToTo^L^""- 'I:." "^' "^ ? Jh-ta'd 
 
 in that boudoir wiiere she spent so much of 
 KiT^/: ""* °t«"P««on conristed of but 
 
 cdfetwvndVcasUe^.l^rover:^'"'' "■" '""^^ »' 
 
 with an-f.d 
 Hut s.iir.Si''^ 'hat wealVh cisS.' 
 
 anrHra'';LKarna'?hr;t'':;S 
 
 mont m Bht full wk.;. '""ruinat at any mo- 
 
 .ions to the cCM^''th„riii?;r^ '^t''-- 
 
 «?ain ,0 En„landr'An,?'..*'"J?': .«>«?. ^-ck 
 
 — ......cu i,,fH. riart, out onci» nr »•,.:»« _ , i"'"'""id, hi Hpiie ot 
 
 which it was imno««il.I« .„^ .".?"""* '^J'""*' 
 
 t,-^!^ --««*^1» <nMmiiHUhm (^^wieni* 
 
 .xi?.tfjn.n;^-tirb;o:rhrtf^^^^ 
 
 l'r„"T'?P*" bSh^m homeland Sbroij" 
 »« WW printed in remote towns in the north. 
 
 .«.«■»,&...- .&!-.. ...... _>. t 
 
 = (f 
 
 wv^*?!* ^f?*" 'i''"':^ •'^'^'f A"* boldly into Chet. 
 
 rai and It mjght give many advantages I„ the 
 V I,?!?*^' *ere would be no poSitv th.? 
 Lord Chetwy„de,\even if he dW Sf^^'t^! 
 dia, would ever sdek h«r nn» .i.o~. ""' '"jm in- 
 
 et^s'hlZr"' ?".•' ""'^ kn^wn to hSwh^ . 
 ever she-chose, without be nir comMlIn) tn.^L 
 
 AH thiftJiad occurred to her lonir before «nd 
 «he haii^^ed it in all its hS^NeZ 
 theless, „she had det-ided aga^Xond had 
 
 «ro*f-!n?.i. V""* '^^ » «'«rt«in profound in- 
 
 S forllit te^^" thought^hat it wL 
 
 Cwtlf n^fffp"*^^'' **>«"*« Chetwynde 
 castle, not to Pomeroy Court. Bv sarh «n «/.» 
 
 ^eandal would be avoided. It i^ri Chetwrnl ^ 
 
 d^ not come, well and good; if he dl? wS 
 
 then he must be met fcce to fiice; and in s^J 
 
 » » TO|jitfiil!>.4 ai ii«. ^ ^lafq 
 
 onffil^ *'?J'* •* '""""»«'. "d the fear 
 "fSJSlThf' T'i^"""''- For thut reason, 
 „J;X ,? °',''"'^' *''® determined to go to Chfct! 
 wvnde Castle, run eve^r mk, and mf^t her &S: 
 
ISO 
 
 THE CRYCTOGRAM. 
 
 While Hildli was thus hanghty and repellent 
 to her servants, there was one to whom she was 
 accessible ; and this was the new steward, Gaal- 
 tier, with whom she had frequent communica- 
 tions about the business of the estate. Their in- 
 terviews generally took place in that morning- 
 room which has already been described, and 
 which was so peculiarly situated that no prying 
 servants could easily watch them or overhear 
 their conversation, if they were careful. 
 
 One day, after she had dined, she went to this 
 room, and ordered hisr maid to tell the steward 
 that she woidd like to see him. She had that 
 day received a number of Indian papers, over 
 which she had passed many hours; for there 
 was something in one of them which seemed to 
 excite her interest, and certainly gave occupa- 
 tion to all her mind. 
 
 Gualtier was prompt to obey the mandate. In 
 a few minutes after Hilda had entered the room 
 he made his appearance, and bqwed in silence. 
 Hilda motioned him to a chair, in which he 
 -•w-«uMated himself. The intercourse of these t^vo 
 nad now become remarkable for this, that their 
 attitude toward one another had« undergone a 
 change corres^nding to their apparent positions. 
 Hilda was Lady Chetwynde, and seemed in re- 
 ality, even in her inmost soul, to feel herself to 
 , be so. She had insensibly caught that grand air 
 which so lofty a position might be supposed to 
 give ; and it was quite as much hsr own feeling 
 as any power of consummate acting which made 
 her carry out her part so well. A lofty and dig- 
 nified demeanor towardtherest of the household 
 might have,.^n bnt the ordinary act of one who 
 was playing ajiart ; but in Hilda this demeanor 
 i extended itself even to Gualtier, toward whom 
 she exhibited the same air of conscious social 
 superiority which she might have shown had she 
 been in reality all that she pretended to be. 
 Gualtier, on his part, was equally singular. He 
 seemed quietly to accept her position as a true 
 and valid one, and that, too, not only before the 
 servants, when it would have been very natural 
 ; for him to do so, biit even when they were alone. 
 This, however, was not so difficult for him, as he 
 had always been in the habit of regarding her as 
 his social superior; yet still, considering the con- 
 fidences which existed between this extraordinary 
 pair, it was certainly strange that he should have 
 preserved with such constancy his attitude of 
 meek subservience. Here, at Chetwynde, he ad- 
 dressed her as the steward of the estates should 
 have done ; and even when discussing the most 
 delicate matters his tone and demeanor corre^ 
 sponded with his office. 
 
 On this occasion he began with some intelli- 
 gence about the state of the north wall, which 
 bounded the park. Hilda listened wearily till 
 he had finished. ITien she abruptly brought 
 forward all that was in her thoughto. Before 
 doing 80, however, she went to the door to see 
 that no one was present and listening there, as 
 she had herself once listened. To those whe 
 were at all on their guard there was no danger. 
 The morning-room was only approached by a 
 
 •-long, nttiTow hall, in which no one coald eoine 
 without being detected, if any one in the room 
 chose to watch. Hilda now took her seat on a 
 chair from which she could look up the hall, and 
 thus, feeling secure from obsen-ation or from 
 listeners, she began, in a low voice : 
 
 " I received the Indian papers to-day." 
 
 " I was aware of that, my lady," said Gualtier, 
 respectfully. " Did you see any thing in them 
 of importance ?" 
 
 '* N^ing certain, but something sufficient to 
 exciw concern." 
 
 '>^bout Lord Chetwynde?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He can not be coming home, sorely?" said 
 Gualtier, interrogativelv. 
 
 " I'm afraid that he is." 
 
 Gualtier looked serious. 
 
 " I thought," said he, " my lady, that you had 
 nearly given up all expectation of seeing him for 
 some time to come." 
 
 " I have never yet given up those expectations. 
 I have all along thought it possible, though not 
 probdblo ; and so I have always watched all the 
 paperl to see if he had left his station. " " 
 
 "I suppose he would not write abont his in- 
 tentions. 
 
 "Towiom could he think oT writing?" asked 
 Hilda, with a half sneer. 
 
 "I thMght that perhaps he might write to 
 Lady ChetWynde." 
 
 " Lady Chetwynde's letters to him have been 
 of such a character that it is not very likely that 
 he will ever write to her again, except upd'er the 
 pressure of urgent necessity." 
 
 " Have you seen an^ thing in particular in any 
 of the papers about bim ?" asked Gualtier, afte'r 
 some silence. - 
 
 "Yes. In one. It is the Allahabad iVeip«. 
 The paragraph happened to catch my eye by the 
 merest accident, I think. There is nothing about 
 it in any of the other Indian papers. See ; I will 
 show it to you." 
 
 And Hilda, drawing a newspaper from her 
 pocket, unfolded it, and pointing to a place in one 
 of the inside columns, she handed it to Gualtier. 
 He took it with a bow, and read the following: 
 
 " Pkmomai — We regret to learn that Lord Chet- 
 wynde hasirecenUy resigned his position as Resident it 
 Lahore The recent death of hla father, the late Bart 
 of Chetwynde and the Uuxe interesta which demand 
 his petmpsl attention, are lasisnedas the causes for this 
 step. His departure for England wUl leave a vacancy 
 In our Anglo-Indian service which wlU not easUy be 
 flUed. Lord Chetwynde^ career In this hnportant part 
 of the empire has been so brilliant, that It la a matter 
 for sincere regret that be la prevented, Inr any canae, 
 from himalnlng hero; In the late war be made hla 
 name consplcuoos by hla valor and consommate mil- 
 
 which win place his name high on the roll of tlKxe 
 whom RngUnd loves to honor. Afterwaitl, In the 
 operaUons anlnst Tantla Tonpl, bla bold exploits wlU 
 not soon beloiigotten. His appohitment to the Reel- 
 draicy at Lahore was made only a few montha alnce; 
 vet In that ahort time ha has ahown an admlnlatnUre 
 talent which, without any reflection on our other able 
 offlclato, we mn aafely pronounce to be very rare in the 
 departmeaU of our civil aervlcei He la but a yoniv 
 inan yet ; but seldom has It happened that one so yonng 
 has (nhlblted sach mature Intetfeclnal powers, andsocE 
 firai deoMon In the management of the moat delicate 
 cmea. A nllant soldier, a wiae ruler, and a eenlal 
 friend, UM Chetwynde will be mtsMd In all thorn de- 
 -partmenta of puMIc and private life of which he haa 
 been ao consplcaons an ornament As joomallata, we 
 wtah to record this estimate of hit vlrtnM and hie gen- 
 las, and Wefeel anre that It will be ahaiwl by aU who 
 have b««n.% W w a ff amllla r wi th t h, w " " 
 
 ^Sg^S^nSSSlS^^Ie^ we wl« OS 
 SSfif^'^V' a proaperons voyage home; and we an- 
 H^S5^* -L^LIi" Sf "??** fomitr, a career corns. 
 5i?k^i!l?.S' "•]• "'«w»»«oo;,'Mk. and oooimenaante 
 jith the brilliant opeidnc which he made In this coon, 
 try daring those recent ' tlinea which tried men^ aonia' ' 
 
 Gualtier read thia paragraidi over twice, and 
 
 . then sat for so 
 
 looked up at I 
 
 intently watch i 
 
 "That's bad, 
 
 " It seems th 
 
 Hilda. 
 
 "Have you i 
 of passengers ?" 
 
 "Then he ha 
 
 "I'erlmpsnoi 
 altogether. Hji 
 
 "Would suci 
 omitted ?" 
 
 "I suppose n( 
 India as yet— un 
 an assumed nam 
 
 "An assumed 
 of that? Andil 
 have?" 
 
 "Ah! therela 
 
 afraid I have be 
 
 by that." And I 
 
 the youijig officer, 
 
 place. „" Years : 
 
 not made allowan 
 
 that this Low! Chi 
 
 from that Guy M( 
 
 this assailant of '. 
 
 licer, who is at or 
 
 the social circle ; 
 
 «l| this, has prove 
 
 with ft 'genius for 
 
 I confess, dawns 
 
 gives me a shock. 
 
 innocent boy. I f 
 
 he ft great, brave, 
 
 wink, is the first n 
 
 Hilda's words w( 
 
 Gualtier fblt that n 
 
 " You have an ai 
 
 "What is that?' 
 
 You need not e 
 
 *"What! Run , 
 
 Ma Hilda, scomfu 
 
 »»ce before I even 
 
 wming? That, at 
 
 " rhere is Pomer 
 
 .'No. Chetwynt 
 
 i live here, or— n( 
 
 counter him, it shni 
 
 in this house— perl 
 
 I »een this a mont 
 
 Mve been diflTerent, 
 
 "»'; but now, und 
 
 too Nte to go back, 
 
 w««lth from the pn 
 
 for myself, itbwel 
 
 »o Me pointed to t 
 
 PTOi me A new view 
 
 •ohkely to underrate 
 
 Wmed I will be forei 
 
 Jw«|htfolly, "that | 
 
 «l'yj but It is not 1 
 « «ct performed by o 
 
 Moold he remain the* 
 «we him to resign, en 
 wmtaghome? No; i 
 
of piXr?-'*'" ^^ ""■"" '» «"y «>f the li.u ' 
 ''No." 
 
 •4* P*i" ''® *"** ""' 'eft '■ct. " 
 
 altogeSr iT '„!^' ""' ^ ^" "»' '"«' '0 that 
 "wnf-M "'2 ""tne may be omitted." 
 
 omitt'Ji r** ""='• " """" ■« "» be likely to be 
 an «8,um^ nftme^."' '"'^'^' ""^ '«« «^ome under 
 
 of 'thatV ATd?nr:.i ^""''' "^ »" -p-M« 
 
 have ?" ^ *®™' ^hat motive could ho 
 
 f-^id^'fc J±:":::^"«»»«"«!«n.m,wer. r™ 
 
 THE cryptogham: 
 
 121 
 
 •ft-ii V u f " unaoieto Hnd an answnr I'n. 
 
 not mad'e aulln'e 7oSKi' V".*? [ have 
 that this Lord ChetwvnH» m..!!^ ' """'' "o* 
 
 I confess, dawns nnon !•.„ ' "*n'an who, 
 gives me'a sh^k.Tha™ ^n'^^ll'i:!^ """ *' 
 
 U^nJ^tl'-rrsTJsMffirJ^^^^^^ I 
 
 "m.t'i;rt?'"'™""*'»'"^"'^'jhe. 
 
 " WK r?^«""" ^^y here." 
 .raereisPoraeroy Court," hinted Gualtier 
 
 I li- het^'oSth^r:"' %rr'' '«'-• 
 
 counter him it .h«n k!^' ^^ l h«'e to en- 
 in this houi/LSS',^ J«^« •« '••ee, and here 
 I nwii thi. I^™"P» m this room. Had 
 
 formy«5lf iti/^^,'fjhich ' have laid down 
 
 M«i the Minted to hln '"'"' •"" "t" thi«"- 
 gi^en me^new view^? newspaper-" f„r it ha, 
 
 » Ukely to SndeSte him n"""' '."''"" "°t he 
 
 «lon. Y«thatc«n^»^^,'* ff^*' '" I^n- 
 down at al. and^f h„ h ^' '^'" '"''^ ""™« » "ot 
 like his co"id^tt'[;",;"t"r •l'"';"'-^ » "■"»«» 
 No, he can not ha\ZoTe C t! "^ ^ T'"""'- 
 no doubt, come in rheTxCtU^'^r •?""'^ "'"' 
 " St7/: tC?"""""- ''•"'"-." -d Gualtier. 
 hereto SCdV" ^'"^'"'' -"•' y« "»» "^on-e 
 
 deed; but now a «u /ri- u T*"y P^ohable inl 
 my mind,\S,d /s"^^ "K '""' hee" let into 
 is. ThatW'-a^Z"' '"?""«^«f man he 
 Fortrait-''wMthe~,f„i. **•", ?°'""^ »» the 
 one as he mTX havT bZ.„°r"'^ """^ ^uch a 
 that he rtSfkeeD It-v *° ""'n^ted by hate 
 to see hirdetest^PwT^ ZT.T *° ^ '""'^ 
 
 Xor^:ts^P•^^^S^s?m"2;rm^:J- 
 Te^s •'ifr^^urj'sT^'^!^^^^ «' - 
 
 Hilda's eyes lighted np. 
 
 she, «XrTj''"r'^''""''«l»'^y."««id 
 an5 whe'IjL h^ ^.^'esT^j, '^1" he is, 
 meet hiin " "«nes, i wm be prepared to 
 
 le "iio'^TfrfurrarmtS'*^ '"•' •' 
 
 Btmnce. Nor did GuXr'aSrany "^^Z 
 
 -•— 
 
 CHAPTER ;CXXVI. 
 
 FACE TO FACE. 
 
 t»K.'2tK";i,i«p^^^^^^ 
 
 ...? .. "'V' that he may not come to Enl 
 « ict performed bv^T^"'^:'"*''' '" ''"^ided 
 
 Mior pio, there can not bo the^Hght- 
 
 HIM.™ ,. i.=r"Udrsinr«zr*tf 
 
 noiselessness of her actions, hir manner and 
 
 habitT""?"', ^"^ •^•"^ intenS ;,rj 
 habit of motionless repoM, accomoani^ hv fnJ 
 <l»^\ fits of deep ahsSorX The pi^ 
 occasion she was reclining on her couch wh^!?, 
 fclSellm'"'?'"''^?'- ^hi^'S'lvSh:: 
 
 SmiL .„H .K "tt't"de she remained till evening 
 rjeSo aSstrerHr'" ""« "^'''■Kht. "ho sank in,^ 
 
 roi to^hr^'Ll *^' "'.'l' """*'"°"». that .he 
 row to her feet as a sadden noiw struck her 
 
 ««. ''waathen^seofacrriage^moX; 
 
122 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 rapidly np throngh the avenne toward the house. 
 Fora carriage to come to Chetwynde Castle at 
 any time was a most unusual thing ; but for one 
 to come after dark was a thing unheard of. At 
 once there came to Hilda a thought like light- 
 ning as to who it might be that thus dmve up ; 
 the thought was momentous and overwmhning ; 
 it might have been sufficient to have destroyed 
 all courage and all presence of mind had her 
 nerves been, by the slightest degree, less strong. 
 But as it was, her nerve sustained her, and her 
 courage did not fiilter for one single instant. 
 Wfth a calm face and firm step she advanced 
 to the window. With n steady hand she drew 
 the curtains aside and looked out Little could 
 be seen amidst the gloom at first ; but at length, 
 as she gazed, she was able to distinguish the dim 
 outline of a caniage, as it emerged from the shad- 
 ows of the avenue and drove np to the chief door. 
 Then she stepped back toward the door of her 
 boudoir, and listened, but nothing could be heard. 
 She then lighted two lamps, and, turning to a 
 cheval-glass at one end of her room, she put 
 
 one lamp on each side, so that the light mightkr crisis, whose full meaning and import she must 
 
 strike on her to the best advantage, and then 
 scrutinized herself with a steady and critical 
 glance. Thus she stood for a long time, watch- 
 ful and motionless, actuated by a motive far dif- 
 ferent from any thing like vanity ; and if she re- 
 ceived gratification from a survey of herself, it 
 was any thing but gratified pride. It was a deeper 
 motive than girlish curiosity that inspired such 
 stem self-inspection ; and it was a stronger feel- 
 ing tiian vanity that resulted fropa it. It was 
 something more than things like these which 
 inade her, at so dread a monunt, look so anx- 
 iously at her image in the glass. 
 As she stood there a tap came at the door. 
 "Come in," said Hilda, in her usual calm 
 tone, turning as she spoke to face the door. 
 It was the maid. 
 
 "My lady," said she, "his lordship has just 
 arrived." 
 
 To her, at that moment, such intelligence could 
 have been nothing less than ti-emertdons. It told 
 Jier that the crisis of her life had come ; and to 
 meet it was inevitable, wiiatever the result might 
 he. He hod come. He, the one whom she 
 must face ; not the crude boy, but the man, tried 
 in battle and in danger and' in judgment, in the 
 cami) and in the court ; the man who she now 
 knew well was not surpassed by many men amonjc 
 that haughty race to which he belonged, 'lljf 
 man was accus)jmed to face guilt and fear ; he 
 had learned to read the soul ; he had become 
 familiar with all that the face may make known 
 of the secret terrors of conscience. And how 
 could she meet the calm eyes of one who found 
 her here in such a relation toward him ? Yet 
 all this she had weighed before in her mind ; she 
 was not unprepared. The hour and the man had 
 come. iSlie was found ready. 
 
 She regarded the maid for a few moments in 
 lilence. At last she spoke. 
 
 "Very well," she said, coldly, and without 
 a n y pereepttbte emotion^rf mry kind. ^1 will 
 go down to meet his lordship. 
 
 His lordship has just arrived ! The words had 
 been spoken, and the speaker had departed, but 
 the words still echoed and re-echoed through tlie 
 •aul of the hearor. What might this involve ? 
 and what would he the end of this arrival ? 
 
 Suddenly she stepped to the door and called 
 the maid. 
 
 " Has any one accompanied his lordship ?" 
 
 "No, my lady." 
 
 "He came alone?" 
 
 "Yes, myladv." 
 
 " Did Mr. M'Kenzie see him ?" 
 
 " No, my lady. He is not in the house." 
 
 Hilda closed the door, went back, and agnin 
 stood before the mirror. Son^e tinie elapsed us 
 she stood there regarding herself, with strange 
 thoughts passing through Her mind. She did not 
 find it necessary, however, to make any altera- 
 tions in her appearance. . She did not change 
 one fold in her attire, or vary one hair of her head 
 from its place. It was as though this present 
 dress and this present appearance had been long 
 ago decided upon by her for just such a meeting 
 as this. Whether she had anticipated such a 
 meeting so suddenly — whether she was amazed or 
 not — whether she was at all taken by surprise or 
 not, could not appear in any way from her action 
 ytjikr demeanor. In the face of so terrible a 
 
 haVe felt profoundly, she stood there, q^lm and 
 self-contained, with the self-poise of one who has 
 been long preparecl, and who, wljen the hour big 
 with fate at last may come, is not overwhelmed, 
 but rises with the occasion, goes forth to the en- 
 counter, and prepares to contend with destiny. 
 
 It was, perhaps, about half an hour before 
 Hilda went down. She went with a steady step 
 and a cqlm face down the long corridor, ^wn 
 the great stainvay, through the chief hall, and 
 ■at length entered the drawing-room. 
 
 On entering she saw a tall man standing there, 
 jvith his back turned toward 'the door, looking 
 up at a portrait of the late Earl. So intently was 
 he occupied that he did not hear her entering; 
 but a slight noise, made )>y a chair as she passed 
 it, startled him, and he turned and looked at her, 
 disclosing to her curious yet apprehensive gaze 
 the full features and figure of the new Lord Chet- 
 W7nde. On that instant, as he turned and faced 
 her, she took in his whole face and mien and 
 statnre. She saw a broad, rintellectual brow, 
 covered vrith ijark clustering hair ; a face bronzed 
 by the suns of Ipdia and the exposure of the cam- 
 paign, the lowSr part of which was hidden by a 
 heavy beard and mustache ; and a tall, erect, 
 stalwart frame, with the unmistakable air of a 
 soldier in everj- outline. His mien had in it s 
 certain indescribable grace of high breeding, and 
 the commanding air of one accustomed to be the 
 ruler of men. His eyes were dark, and full of 
 quiet but resistless power; and they beamed 
 upon her lustrously; yet gloomily, and with « 
 piercing glance of scrutiny from under his dait 
 brows. His face bore the impress of a sadneu 
 deeper than that which is usually seen — sadneta 
 0iat had reigned ' there long — a sadness, too^ 
 1^-hieh had given to that face a more sombre cut 
 than common, from some grief which had been 
 
 f.dded to former ones. It was but for a moment 
 hat he looke<l at her, and then he bowed with 
 
 veeoiiHeBy. Hildanlsobowedwithonta'i 
 
 nd then waited for Lord Chetwynde to speak. 
 
 But Lord Chetwynde did not' speak for some 
 
 ime. His earnest eyes were still' fixed upon the 
 
 no before him, and though it might have been 
 
 rudeness, yet it was excusable, from the weight 
 
 which lay on his soul. 
 
Iho door nnd called 
 ed liis lordship ?" 
 
 im?" 
 
 t in the house." 
 snt back, and agnin 
 >rae ti;ne elapsed as 
 ersclf, with strange 
 mind. She did not 
 
 make any altera- 
 he did not change 
 one hair of her head 
 though this present 
 ance had been long 
 just such a meeting 
 anticipated sucii a 
 r she was amazed or 
 taken by surprise or 
 ivay from her action 
 ice of so terrible a 
 id import she must 
 od there, qilra and 
 oise of one who hng 
 
 , w^en the hour big 
 J not overwhelmed, 
 oes forth to the cn- 
 «nd with destiny, 
 alf an hour before 
 : with a steady step 
 ong corridor, ^wn 
 the chief hall, and 
 [-room. 
 
 nan standing there, 
 'the door, looking 
 '1. So intently wu 
 hear her entering; 
 chair as she passed 
 and looked at her, 
 apprehensive gaze 
 he new Lord Chet- 
 e turned and faced 
 ace and mien and 
 rintellectnal brow, 
 lir ; a face bronzed 
 posure of the cam- 
 h was hidden by a 
 and a tall, erect, 
 listakable air of a 
 mien had in it a 
 high breeding, and 
 customed to be the 
 
 1 dark, and full of 
 and they beamed 
 imily, and with • 
 )m under his dark 
 press of a sadnesi 
 ally seen — sadnea 
 — a Badness, too^ 
 I more sombre cait 
 ef which had been 
 
 I but for a moment 
 len ho bowed with 
 ed without a wofd,^ 
 twyndo to speak, 
 nt' speak for some 
 till tlxed upon tlw 
 : might hare been 
 i, from the weight 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 I Iko^JJST^'^'- ,'^'* •'«"«'«' and Sul 
 T^^t *^ """P'Vnd e'egant dressTwhich 
 
 Which had dwelt in his memory. Her eves did 
 
 rhone"hn" ""' r "u« «^'ho«e ofrimJ 
 
 wnom he had married; but deep, dark and 
 
 into h 8, The hair was now no lonwr dii 
 onlenHl, but enfolded in its dark. To3inJ,« 
 
124 
 
 THE CBYFTOORAM. 
 
 masses, so as to let ofTto the best advantage the 
 well-Bhaped head, and slender, beautifully ronnd- 
 ed neck. The one whom be remembered had 
 been hideous ; this one was beautiful. B6t the 
 beauty that he saw was, nevertheless, hard, cold, 
 and repellent. For Jlilda, iii her beauty and 
 grace and intellectual subtilty, stood there 
 watchful and vigilant, like a keen fencer on 
 guard, waiting to see what the first spoken word 
 might disclose ; waiting to see what that grand 
 lordly face, with its air of command, its repressed 
 grief, its deep piercing eyes, might shadow forth. 
 
 A singuhir meeting; but Lord Chetwynde 
 seemed to think it natural enough, and after a 
 few moments he remarked, in a quiet voice : 
 
 " Lady Chetwynde, the morning-room will be 
 more suitable for the inter\-iew which I wish, and, 
 if you have no ohjectionjswe will go there." 
 
 At the sound of these vtords a great revulsion 
 took place in Hilda's feelings, and a sense of tri- 
 umph succeeded to that intense anxiety which 
 for BO long a time had consumed her. The 
 sound of that name by which he had addressed 
 her had shown her at once that the worst part 
 of this crisis had passed away. He had seen 
 her. He had scrutinized her with those' eyes 
 which seemed to read her soul, and the end was 
 that he had taken her for what she professed to 
 be. He hod called her "Lady Chetwynde!" 
 After this what more was there which could ex- 
 cite fear? Was not her whole future now se- 
 emed by the utterance of those two words? 
 Yet Hilda's self-coptrol was so perfect, and her 
 vigilance so consummate, that no change what- 
 ever expressed in her face the immense revolu- 
 tion of feeling within her. Her eyes fell — that 
 was all ; and as she bowed her head silently, by 
 that simple gesture which was at once natural 
 and courteous, she effectually conc^led her face ; 
 so that, even if there had been a change in its 
 expression, it could not have been seen. Yet, 
 after nil, the triumph was hut ipstantaneonk. It 
 passed away, and soon thert came another feel- 
 ing, vague, indefinable — a premonition of the 
 future — a presentiment of gloom; and though 
 the intensity of the suspense had passed, there 
 ■till remained a dark anxiety and a fear which 
 were unaccountable. 
 
 Lord Chetwynde led the way to the mbming- 
 room, and on arriving there he motioned her to 
 a seat. Hilda sat down. He sat opposite in an- 
 other chair, not far off. On the wall, where each 
 could see it, hung his portrait— the figure of that 
 beardless, boyish, dashing young officer — very 
 different from this matured, strong-souled man ; 
 BO diflTerent, indeed, that it seemed hardly po^i- 
 ble that they could be the same. - 
 
 Lord Chetwynde soon b^^. 
 
 "Ladv Chetwynde, "said he, again addressing 
 her by that name, and speaking in a firm yet 
 mehincholy voice, "it is not often that a hus- 
 band and a wife meet as you and I do now ; but 
 then it is not often that two people became hus- 
 band and wife as you and I have. I have come 
 from India for the sake of having a full under- 
 ■ tondiiig with y on. T had, until late ly, an id ea 
 ofeomingfaere under an Hmnned nurne, wltli tSe 
 wish of sparing you the emb«nnssment which 'I 
 supposed that the presence of Lord Chetwynde 
 Jiimself might possibly cause you. In hct, I 
 traveled most of the way home from Indw under 
 an assumed name with that intent. But before 
 
 I reached England I condnded that there was no 
 necessity for tiding toguard against any embar- 
 rassment on your part, and that it would be in- 
 finitely better to see you in my own person and 
 talk to you without disgui«e." 
 He paused for a moment 
 " Had you chosen to come all the way in<your 
 own name, my lord," said Hikla, speaking now 
 for the first time, " I should have seen your name 
 in the list of passensgcs, and should have been 
 better prepar^^>All"tlielionor of your visit." 
 
 would have been impossible," 
 continue Lord Chetwynde, gloomily, half to 
 himself, and without appearing to have heard 
 HildiJb words, "here. In my home. Though 
 all tlip old servants are gone, still the old scenes 
 remain ; and if I had come here as a stranger I 
 should have shown so deep an interest in mv 
 home that I might have excited suspicion. But 
 the whole phin was impossible, and, after all, 
 there was no necessity for it, as I do not see that 
 your feelings have been excited to madness by 
 my appearance. So far, then, all is well. ■ And 
 now to come to the point ; and yon, I am sure, 
 will be the first to excuse my abruptness in do- 
 ing so. The unfortunate bond that binds us a 
 painful enough to you. It is enough for me to 
 say that I have come home for two reasons : first, . 
 to see ray home, possibly for the last time ; and 
 secondly, to announce to. you the decision at 
 which I have arrived with regard to the position 
 which we shall hereafter occupy towaixl one an- 
 other." 
 
 Hilda said nothing. Awe was a feeling which 
 was almost unknown to her ; but something of 
 that had come over her as, sitting in the presence 
 of this man, she heard him say these words ; for 
 he spoke without any particular reference to her, 
 and said them with a grand, authoritative air, 
 with the tone of one accustomed to rule and to 
 dispense justice. In uttering these, concluding 
 words it seemed to be his wil^ his decision, that 
 he was announcing to some inferior being. 
 
 "First," he went on to say, "let me remind 
 you of onr unhappy betrothal. Yon were a child, 
 1 a boy. Onr Mrenta are responsible for that 
 They meant well Let us not blame them. 
 
 "Then came our marriage by the death-bed 
 of your father. Yon were excited, and veiy 
 naturally so. Yon used bitter words to me then 
 which I have never foigotten. £verT taunt and 
 insult which you then ottered has bved in mv 
 memory. Why ? Not because I am inclined to 
 treasure np wrong. No. Rather because tob 
 have taken such extreme pains to keep alive'the 
 memory of that event Yon will remember that 
 in every one of thoM letters which yon hsre 
 written to me since I lefk England there has not 
 been one which has not been filled with innn- 
 endoes of the most cutting kind, and insults of 
 the most galling nature. My father loved von. 
 I did not But could you not, for his sake, hsre 
 refrained from insult ? Why was it necessoiy to 
 torn what at first was merely coolness into hste 
 and indignation ? 
 
 " I speak bitterihr about thoee letters of voon. 
 It was thoie; wBfcn Kept me so long in tedit 
 I could not come to see my father because jroa 
 were here, and I should have to come and tee 
 von. I could not give him trouble by letting him 
 know the truth, because be loved you. Tbu 
 yon kept me away fh>m him wd fh>m my home 
 
 at a time when 
 
 finally, to crowi 
 
 concealed from n 
 
 till it was too la 
 
 you wrote that h 
 
 of insult and vim 
 
 srdly stab, which 
 
 wrung by the grie 
 
 letter which you 
 
 and almost intolei 
 
 that my father — t 
 
 M loved you and i 
 
 less gentleman, th 
 
 ed ^011, and that 
 
 inflicted by Provii 
 
 made a cunning j 
 
 for the sake of y< 
 
 hit accomplice ; an 
 
 ance of Divine iu 
 
 ofus!" ■' 
 
 Deep and low g 
 
 wyndes voice as 
 
 tad low, yet restra 
 
 is put over the fee 
 
 yet can not hide t 
 
 underlies all the « 
 
 with intensest heat 
 
 dignation seemed i 
 
 and withering powi 
 
 herself involuntaril 
 
 teirific dennnciatioi 
 
 lord Chetwynde 
 
 "Calm yourself* 
 
 joar nature. Do - 
 
 th»t I, by any poss' 
 
 nttion? Not at all 
 
 the first and for the 
 
 letters were lying b 
 
 breathe one word ah 
 
 whom I kept no othe 
 
 that, while he loved 3 
 
 lore and his trust w 
 
 not add to his troubl 
 
 dnncterofthewon 
 
 ud bound me fast, 
 
 with affection. Th 
 
 spare hini, and sol] 
 
 I alwavs spoke of n 
 
 •pect, knowing well 
 
 «lf did not deserve 
 
 deeened it, and I qu, 
 
 for his sake. But i 
 
 rewn why I should i 
 
 speak of these thing! 
 
 yon know how your CO 
 
 limated by one whose 
 
 honorable gentlemen. 
 
 Even afler his det 
 
 *V>ie, "Imightpos 
 
 BdWBtion for you, am 
 
 ""M'uch plain Ungua 
 
 »M could take advai 
 
 Mier to give vent to 
 
 «> one who had never 
 
 ^^ration. Such 
 
 J*?*''y'">e, toward mi 
 
 K"» ever for^given oi 
 
 »"l_no doubt say, with 
 
 foiJPTenessisnotdesin 
 
 To your father, 1 
 
 ntdeavowthatlwoul 
 J<MW happiness I „, 
 
 I »•• 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 less eentleman. th« «„.i Je u"'.^. '"* '.'*'"- 
 
 .ret can not hide that consuming wuwion whi^h 
 underbes all the words, and niak^h»™ k 
 
 lOTd Chetwynde ^e a slight gestnre. 
 
 To^ ■SSir'^''"'""*''^' "yoS^Hothelp 
 iw T i!^ ^ y*^ suppose for one moment 
 
 fi^JV^VoTarS'^f^h' """ '""^* -"""'"- 
 Zfll. J , ."• ^ ""''« mentioned this for 
 
 £« t«™ i*^' ""ti?" ^^"""^ *:^«" "hi e your 
 h^r^^ '^'H? ^*'"' "■" I did not deiCT to 
 breathe one word about them to my father fW.m 
 
 S?1!h '^'•^'"^'^ y°" """^ '"""«» youfboth h.^ 
 
 Z^^ ^ hi» trouble* by showing h^m the ?Se 
 d«u»tter of the woman to whom he had wJd ™ 
 Md bound me fast, and whom he loolTed on 
 wth affection That sorrow I detemin^ to 
 f^ him, and so I kept silent So it wm th!^ 
 liJways spoke of you with th* fomuw'Jt 
 «pect, knowinir wnl .n .i._ .« ,t™ "' '^ 
 
 Jit'Z ;"*f t'* «le»"'."eontlnued Lord Chet- 
 Sinni"'*''" ^"^^y '"'^« hadl^me con^ 
 
 »fco r^^i/. I. T"^ ■'!"'"'«'<>• But one 
 Sw tolvl^" r*^""*^ of the death of my 
 
 QlWB^^ ^^^ *=°?**"*=* •• y««««. Lady 
 
 i "«>•• »ow UiS1t;.,M ''f f^hetwynde, I once 
 m han„7n^* ' r""."'T».''f •* ?««"•»> -bout 
 
 your father or mihe anticipated" hnT?*' 
 ..SS!? '^""'''"'8 me for years. 
 
 S^th mV a°nd^;t,d;r".Strre"."SecW^ 
 
 J:^ii'r;- •*• "^ '•-»''e^th^m^onen''hlh w« 
 needed to disencumber the estate/ It was to 
 fact, your dowry, advanced beforehand ' ^ 
 
 mentZKa.'^'i-'^!;rr.r"r 
 £ts^:««nrat^u" 
 
 That wrong I inten«f to undo as far m DoJhi«" 
 I have long ago decided upon 'the w"y Kl^j 
 
 let ?t^ t„':?rV''*,*"*?"' «'" Chetwynde, and 
 let It go to the hands of strangers. Mv nnpipni 
 line ends in m« b» :. .„ * , ^ "•? nncient 
 
 •pect, Uwing well iSl the time thTv "^ ^ I?' '' «« »» «''« h. 
 
 m happiness. 
 
 nation. Ne^ .^i;! 'sha^l yourLT Si" 
 Znf^'M^'"' •'>«,.P0''« Of flingii^g ,t^e tha^ 
 tount which you have so often flung. VoughaU 
 shave vour money back, to the last forthing aSd 
 
 r»?«.'"T'l> ""' "f""'* "-"e since hi ad- 
 vance. In this way I can also best keep my vow 
 
 r™n"r.' '^""""'l' '■"^ '•^^ ""'J' mo^e'ly which 
 
 JfTinry7urT;„ar '" " ^^''^ '^"^ -- 
 
 cJtEUtFn-^SSlrsar Sy^ffiS: 
 seem, quite adapted to make you hTppv^ You 
 seem to have appropriated it quite to voursetf 
 
 It T ""•* ""« of tho*e faithV..! °M d^m.S 
 with whom my boyhood wai passed vZw 
 surrounded /out^lf with yKin ^"^.i-r 
 Unni your money is paid yon will be^^?e at 
 l.berty to live heit,, or at Pomeroy Court Twch 
 ever you prefer. Both are your. „ow,The Casi 
 
 . ^u'^Sl^-X S^="4S::i^f-i"i«Z5!' 
 
196 
 
 A* 
 
 " And noafc" said Lord Chetwynde, in conclu- 
 sion, "we unaerstnnd oneanotlier. ' llie time for 
 taunts and sneers, for you, is over. Any letter!' 
 hereafter that may come to me in your hand- 
 writing will be returned unopened. The one 
 aim of my life hereafter shall be to undo, as far 
 as possible, the wrong done to us both by our 
 parents. That can never l>e all undone ; but, at 
 any rate, you may bo absolutely certain that 
 you will get back every penny of the money 
 which is so precious to you, with interest. As 
 to my visit here, do not let it disturb you for 
 one moment. I have np intention oT makin;; a 
 scene for the benefit of jOur gaping servants. 
 My business now is solely to see about my fa- 
 ther's papers, to examine them, and take awny 
 with me those that are of immediate use. While 
 I am hero we will meet a| the same table, and 
 will be hound by the laws of ordinary courtes}-. 
 At all other times we need not be const ioua of 
 one another'^ existence. I trust that you will 
 see the necessity of avoiding any opfen demon- 
 strations of hatred, or even dislike. Let your 
 feelings be confined to yourself, Lady Chet- 
 wynde; and do not make them known to the 
 servants, if you can possibly help it." 
 
 Lord Chetwynde seemed to have eniid ; for 
 he arose nnd sauntered up to the portrait, which 
 he regarded for some time with fixed attention, 
 and (Appeared to lose himself in bis thoughts. 
 During the remarks which he had been making 
 Hilda had sat looking at the floor. Unable to 
 encounter the stern gaze of the man whom she 
 felt to be her master, she had listened in si- 
 lence, with downcast eyes. There was nothing 
 for her to say. She therefore did the very best 
 thing that she could do under the circumstances 
 — she said nothing. Nor did she say any thing 
 when he had ended. She saw him absorb him- 
 self in regarding his own ])ortruit, and appar- 
 ently lose himself in his recollections of the past. 
 Of liRr he seemed to have now no consciousness. 
 She sat looking at him, as his side face was turn- 
 ed toward her, and his eyes fixed on the pic- 
 ture. The noble profile, with its clear-cut feat- 
 ures, showed much of the expression of the 
 face — an expression which was stem, yet sad 
 and softened — that face which, just before, had 
 been before her eyes frowning, wrathful, clothed 
 with consuming terrors — a face upon which she 
 could not look, but which now was all mourn- 
 ful and sorrowful. And now, as^he gazed, the 
 hard rigidity of her beautiful features relaxed, 
 the sharp glitter of her dark eyes died out, 
 their stony lustre gave place to a soft light, 
 whidv l)eamed upon him with wonder, with 
 timid nwe — with something which, in any other 
 woman, would have looked like tenderness. She 
 had not been prepared for one like this. -In her 
 former ideas' of him he had been this boy of 
 the portrait, with his boyish enthusiasm, and 
 his warm, innocent temperament. This <ldea 
 she had relinquished, and had known that ho 
 had changed during the years into the heroic 
 soldier and the calm judge. She had tried to 
 fami liarize herself with this new idea, and Jiad 
 BtRceefledTn Bioiiig so to a certain extent. 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. . 
 
 tionless before him.* All the sneering speechei 
 which she had prepared in anticipation of the 
 meeting were useless. She found no place for 
 them. But there was one result to this inter- 
 view which affected her still ntere deeply than 
 this discovery of hts moral superioritv. The one 
 great danger which she had always "feared had 
 passed away. She no longer had that dread 
 fear of discovery which hitherto had harassed 
 her ;' but in the place of this there suddenly 
 arose another fear — a fear which seemed as 
 terrible as the other, which darkened over her 
 during the course of that scene till its close, and 
 afterward — such an evil" as_ she never before 
 could have thought herself capable of dread- 
 ing, yet one which she had brought upon her- 
 self. 
 
 What was that? 
 
 His contempt— his hate — his abhorrence— this 
 was the thing which now seemed so terrible to her. 
 Tor in the course of that interview a sudden 
 change had come over all her, feelings. In spite 
 of her later judgment about him, which she had 
 expressed to Gualtier, there had been in her 
 mind a half contempt for the man whom she 
 had once judged of by his picture only, and 
 whom she recollected as the weak agent in a 
 forced marriage. That paragraph in the Indian 
 paper had certainly caused a great change to 
 take place jn her estimate of his chajacter; 
 but, -Hi spite of this, the old contempt still ^ 
 mained) and she had reckoned upon finding be- 
 lieath the mature man, brave though he was, 
 and even wise though he might be, much of 
 that boy whom she had despised. But all this 
 passed away as a dream, out of which she had 
 a rude awakening. She awoke suddenly tif-ihe 
 full reality, to find him a strong, stern, pVoud 
 jnan, to whom her own strength was as weak- 
 ness. Wliile he uttered his grand maledictions | 
 against her he seemed to her hke a god. He 
 was a mighty being, to whom she looked up 
 from the depths of her soul, half in fear, half in 
 adoration. In her weakness she oidmired liis 
 strength ; and in her wily and tortuous subtlety 
 she worshiped this straightfijrward and upright 
 gentleman, who scorned craft ~and cunnitig, and 
 who had sat in stem judgment upon her, to 
 make known to her his wiU. 
 
 For some time she sat looking at him os he 
 stood, with her whole nature shaken by these 
 new, tMfesq unparalleled emotions, till, finally, 
 with a Wirt, she came to herself, and, rising 
 slowly, Bho glided out of the room. 
 
 But, 
 after all, the reality had been too much for her. 
 She had not been prei>ared for one like this, nor 
 for such an effect as the sight of him had pro- 
 duced. At^this first interview he had overpow- 
 ered her utterly, and she had sat dumb and mo- 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXVII. 
 
 AN EFFORT AT CONCILIATION. 
 
 Lord Ciietwyndb's occupations kept him for 
 
 V 
 
 the greater part of his time in his father's library, 
 where he busied himself in examining, papers. 
 Many of these he read and restored to their 
 places, but some he put aside, in order to take 
 theni with him. Of the new steward ho tootiio 
 notice whatever. He considered the dismissal 
 of the old one and the appointment of Gualtier 
 one of those abominable acts which were con- 
 sistent with all the other acts of that woman whom 
 he supposed to Ije his wife. Besides, the papers 
 which he Sought had reference to the past, and 
 
X ; .. 
 
 ^11 the sneering speeches 
 kI in anticipation of the 
 She found no place for 
 one result to this inter- 
 r still iii)»re deeply than 
 iral superiority. The one 
 J had always fenrcd had 
 loiiger had that dread 
 h hitherto had harassed 
 of this there suddenly 
 L fear which seemed as 
 -•liich darkened over her 
 It scene tiU its close, and 
 vil as she never before 
 srself capable of dread- 
 had brought upon her- 
 
 te — his abhorrence^this 
 seemed so terrible to her. 
 that interview a sudden 
 ill her, feelings. In spite 
 l)Out Him, which she had 
 there had been in Iter 
 for the man whom she 
 f his picture only, and 
 as the weak agent in a 
 paragraph in the Indian 
 lused a great change to 
 mate of his chaj'actcr; 
 le old contempt still Re- 
 ckoned upon finding be- 
 , brave though he was, 
 he might lie, much of 
 despised. But all this 
 1, out of which she had 
 5 awoke suddenly tqrtlie 
 I a strong, stern, pVpud 
 I strength was as wcjik- 
 l his grand maledictions 
 to her like a god. He 
 
 whom she looked up 
 loul, half in fear, half in 
 ikness she admired liis • 
 ily and tortuous subtlety 
 ightfijrward and upright 
 
 1 craft ^nd cunnifig, and 
 judgment upon her, to 
 viU. 
 
 at looking at him as he 
 nature shaken by these 
 i emotions, till, finally, 
 to herself, and, rising 
 ' the room. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 COSCILIATION. 
 
 jccupations kept liira for 
 ne injiis father's librarr, 
 f in examining, papers. 
 i and restored to their . 
 aside, in order to take 
 new steHord he tooLao 
 onsidered the dismissal 
 ippointment of Gualtier 
 3 acts which were con- 
 cts of that woman whom 
 re. Besides, the papers 
 ferenco to the past, and 
 
 THE CRYFrOGBAM. 
 
 HE BOUGHT OOT BI8 FATHER'S OBAVE, AND BIOOO MUSING THEBE." 
 
 it "e/f""?"'"" yi* the affair, of the pres- 
 to «> I^^f T"^"^" °/ ^'^ occupation he used 
 hiT 1? J ""' 8^""'J«. ^i«"ng eve^r one of 
 ^Me well-knovm places which were lisociated 
 
 I o« hi,"f„tb'''^''°"^ ""*^ ^y^°^- H« "o-S 
 
 I h Li^n'^K?^™' ""•I "'"^ """"K there 
 wth feehngs which were taade np of sadness, 
 
 I S^^ w"^ something like r^pr^ch for Z 
 
 teen^nonfl/'"' ''°"^'^«'"i"y• True, he had 
 fiw Av« 1^° consenting parties; but when he 
 nt ga^e that consent he was little more than a 
 
 rKn ml"'."' "I' •="?»"« "f comprehending 
 m« full meanmg of such an engagement. His 
 £«l.er had ever since solemnly held him to il! 
 
 and had appeiJed to his sense of honor in order 
 to make him faithful. But now the father was 
 aead, the son won a mature man, tried in a thou- 
 sand scenw of difficulty and danger-one who 
 had learned to think for hijffclf, who had^incd 
 his manhood by a life of stoiSs, in which !f late 
 
 mw y ^"'' V ^ '■^^ '^^^ht in the develoftr r 
 ment of his character. They had left him a 
 
 ---. _. ...„ 't-imiuLier. xney naa iett him a 
 calm, strong, resolute man-a man of thought 
 and of aotion-a graduate of the school of In- 
 dian affairs-a sch<K,I which, in times that tried 
 men s souls, never failed to supply men who were 
 equal to every emergency. 
 I At the veiy outset he had found o3 tha condi- 
 
.«3" 
 
 1^ 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 tion of Mrs. Hart. The sight of his loved nurse, 
 thus prostrated. Ailed him with grief. The house- 
 keeper who now attended her knew nothing what- 
 ever of the cause of her prostration. Lord Chet- 
 wynde did not deign to ask any questions of 
 Hilda ; but in his anxiety to learn about Mrs. 
 Hart, he sought out the doctor who had attend- 
 ed his father, and from him he learned that Mrs. 
 Hart's illness had been caused by her anxiety 
 about the E^rL The knowledge of this increasecf, 
 if possiltle, his own care. He made the closest 
 inquiry as to the way in which she was treated, 
 engaged the doctor to visit her, and doubled the 
 housekeeper's salary on condition that she would 
 be attentive to his beloved nurse. These meas- 
 ures were attended with good results, for under 
 this increased^ care Mrs. Hart began to show 
 signs of improvement. Whether she would ever 
 again be conscious was yet a question. Tlie 
 doctor considered her mind to be irretrievably 
 affected. 
 
 Meanwhile, throughout all these days, Hilda's 
 mind was engrossed with the change which had 
 come over her — a change so startling and so 
 nnexpected that it found her totally unprepared 
 to deal <with it They met every day at thv din- 
 ner-table, and at no other times. Here Lord 
 Chetwynde treated her with scrupulous courtesy; 
 yet beyond the extreme limits of that courtesy 
 she found it impossible to advance. Hildas 
 manner was most humble and conciliatonr. She 
 who all her life had felt defiant of others, or 
 worse, now found herself enthralled and subdued 
 by the spell of this man's presence. Her wili- 
 ness, her stealthiness, her constant self-control, 
 were all lost and forgotten. She had now to 
 struggle incessantly against that new tenderness 
 which had sprung up unbidden within her. She 
 caught herself looking forward wistfully every 
 day to the time when she could meet him at the 
 table and hear his voice, which, even in its cold, 
 constrained tones, was enough for her happiness. 
 It was in vain that she reproached and even 
 cursed herself for her weakness. The weakness 
 none the less existed ; and all her life seemed 
 now to centre around this man, who hated her. 
 Into a position like this she had never imagined 
 thaf she could possibly be brought. All her cun- 
 ning and all her resources were useless here. 
 TliSs man seemed so completely beyond her con- 
 trol that My effort to win him to her seemed 
 useless. .He believed her to be his wife, he be- 
 lieved himself bound by honor to secure her hap- 
 piness, and yet his abhorrence of her was so 
 strong that he never made any effort to gain her 
 for himself. Now Hilda saw with bitterness 
 that she had gone too far, and that her plans 
 and her plots were recoiling upon her own head. 
 I'hey had been too successfuJ^^The sin of Ix)rd 
 Chetwynde's wife had in his eyc»j>roved unpar- 
 donable. 
 
 Hilda's whole life now became a series of al- 
 ternate struggles against her own heart, and long- 
 ings afker another who was Vorse than indiffer- 
 ent to her. Her own miserable weakness, so 
 unespeetCuf sod yet~to complete and hopeless, 
 filled her at once with anger and dismay. To 
 (ind all her thoughts both by day and night filled 
 'with thh one image was at once mortifying and 
 terrible. The mty intensity of her feelings. 
 Which would not stQp short at death itself to 
 gain their object, now made her own sufferings 
 
 all the greater. Every thing else was forgotten 
 except this one absorbing desire ; and her c(:>m- 
 plicated schemes and far-reaching phins we(e 
 thriistaway. 'I'hey had lost their interest. Henc&'° 
 forth all were reduced to one thought — how to 
 gain Lord Chetwynde to herselt 
 
 As long as he staid, something like hope re- 
 mained ; 'but when he would leave, what hope 
 cpuld there be? Would he not leave her for- 
 ever? Was not this the strongest desiv of his 
 heart? Had ho not said so? Every day she 
 watched, with a certain chilling fear at her heart, 
 to see if there were signs of his departure. As 
 day succeeded to day, however, and she found 
 him still remaining, she began to hope that he 
 might possibly have relented somewhat, and that 
 the sentence which he had spoken to her might 
 have become modifi^ by time and further ob- 
 servation of her. 
 
 So at the dinner-table she used to sit, looking 
 at him, when his eyes were turned away, with 
 her earnest, devouring gaxe, which, as soon as 
 he would look at her again, was turned quickly 
 away with tl^e timidity of a young bashful child. 
 Such is the tenderness of love that Hilda, who 
 formerly shrank at nothing, now shrank away 
 from the gaze of this man. Once, by a great ef- 
 fort, as he entered the dining-room she held out 
 her hand to greet him. Lord Chetwynde, how. 
 ever, did not seem to see it, for he greeted her 
 with his usual distant civility, and treated her 
 as before. Once more she tried this, and yet 
 once again, but with the same result ; and it wu 
 then that she knew that Lord Chetwynde refuted 
 tQ take her hand. It was not oversight — it was 
 ai deliberate purpose. At another time it would 
 have seemed an insult which would have filled 
 her with rage; now it seemed a slight which 
 filled her with grief. So humiliated had she be- 
 come, and so completely subdued by this man, 
 thot even this slight was not enough, but she still 
 planned vague ways of winning his attention to 
 her, and of gaining from him something mors 
 than a remark about the weather or about the 
 dishes. 
 
 At length one day she formed a resolution, 
 which, after much hesitation, she carried oat. 
 She was determined to make one bold effort, 
 whatever the result might be. It was at their 
 usual pUce of meeting— the dinner-table. 
 
 " My lord," said she, with a tremulous voice, 
 " I wish to have an interview with you. Can 
 you spare me the time this evening ?" 
 
 She looked at him earnestly, with mute in- 
 qciiry. Lord Chetwynde regarded her in some 
 surtinse. He saw her eyes fixed upon him with 
 a timid entreaty, while her face grew pale with 
 suspense. Her breathing was rapid from the sg- 
 itatiori that overcame her. . 
 
 " I hndiiome bu'siness this evening," said Lord 
 Chetwvnde, coldly, " but as you wish an inter- 
 view, t am at your service." 
 
 "At what time, my lord?" 
 
 "At nine," said Lord Chetwvnde. 
 
 Nine o'clock came, and Hilda, was in the 
 moming-Foom, which she had mentioned at&e 
 place of meeting, and Lord Chetwynde caiiM 
 there punctually. She was sitting near tho win- 
 dow. Her pale face, her rich black locks *r- 
 ranged in voluminous masses about her held, 
 her dark penetrating eyes, her slender and grace- 
 ful figure, all conspireH to make Hilda beantiAl 
 
 * 
 
 i,*..,- 
 
Hirnea toward hun, and a •oft, timid lust™ in 
 
 »an^^*'si.*'''"' "''«'" '«^« affect^ aivo^he? 
 
 Zfh ^^\™'*. " ^"1 Chetwynde entered 
 
 and bowed her beautiful head, while her »^Z 
 
 fularms. and smaU. dBii~.».ir7u-_ "f J"*', «?»<=»■ 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 TSZ'i^fs^^T^^'SSi 
 
 down at her side. 
 ?^M ?''^"^J'n<^e boiyed in silence. 
 
 tr«™!l^ '•"■-?' "^"^ "'•^ « a voice which waa 
 toemu ou. from an uncontrollable emotion '^l 
 wished to see vou here. We met hero once be^ 
 fore ; you sa..f what you wished ; I made no r^ 
 ^jr; I had nothing to say , I fel yowrep^cT 
 
 rtea, biu I might have said sometliing-onlv I 
 
 H ™ Hifi rr*' »"f r «iK'"ened i" 
 n*r «t .• P*^' ""'I 'I'ew n long bi«ith 
 Herjmouon neaily choked her, but the S 
 
 daci:' ^rhrsi"d«e;r^jre tt"ii'7r- 
 
 S^to/ri„g\7rt.^t5LS'i 
 ?s:^aui;^s;:j:-^^ 
 
 to look upon me with leniency. Whatl d!H ii. 
 theact of athonghtless girl, nWat finSin^he^ 
 
 120 
 
 the feelings of others. Besi^M ti.!.' i.» k j 
 
 TaSJ Mi? '•'^"^ •'"^-^ '"an Sn So':; 
 nature the lofty sentiments of a knieht-enW 
 
 espouse the cause of any one in distress wiThilT 
 warmest enthusiasm In ii u.-. *"»«>« 
 
 ever seen any one at once so beautifuUnd sS de!" 
 
 sucn total self-immoktion as this Hi« nBf,,~ 
 could not have changed, for the Indian paZ'aJ^, 
 
 iua hies "" «r'"':i^'^f^^ ""'J h"^^^^^^^^^ 
 ?h»„ , , "." •""*' ^ «''" the same. What 
 then, could there be which would be powerful 
 enough to harden his feelings and sted Kilrt 
 
 Xh\r' " "•'^'i".\pd^i'«ous'Sht L'tT^ 
 which was now exhibited to him? AH these 
 
 & ^''"^ ""'"«'" '" "''« ""«1« her appeal a^ 
 thTn,^ »°"" r «"»P'etely at its close; h^ 
 things too, she thought as the tears stream^ 
 from her eye«. and as her frame was sh^b^ 
 
 Lord Chetwynde sat looking at her in sileflM 
 for a long time. No trace whStever of "ommu! 
 eration appeared upon his face; but he cS 
 ued as stem, as cold, and as unmoved, win thw 
 
 ,-.. I had only .e^ryoT'for 'a mome„Ta"d S^t"? ?""?' "" '^Z'^' --^-^'^^oy^ZTZ 
 di(fno knowyon. 1 wm mad. I Z " .'ikv hrLT"" «■*''*" *■« •"^^ ^old hw how h" 
 bnt stdl It is a thing that may beTnfiS ^ ^'''- "•""' '"""-^ " 
 
 nances. And, after all, t was not sincer«— W 
 WM piqne, it was thoughtiessneT-U ,'^70 
 that deep-seated malice which yoa have kdd to 
 my charge. Can yon not think of tlTu? Can 
 pu not imagine what may have been "he fSl- 
 ings of a wild, spoiled, untutored girl, one X 
 :S?«h,!it^."".f '^r * $"«»' »"« ^ho found he N 
 at a^l restraint ? Can ycfc not nnderstand. or at 
 fe«t imagine, «,ch a ^a, this, and beSeve 
 that the one who once sinnld has now repented 
 
 T.^« »'''v *^ '"' y°" forgiveness ?^ ' 
 .!„ I • /?'. *^"" '^ere in the eyes of this 
 angular girl, this girl whose nfttuw wkT so mado 
 op of strength and weakness. Her eyes were 
 Mffu«Kl w-jth tears as she looked at lid cTe™ 
 jrnde, and flnaUy, as she ceased, she buried her 
 fiwe in her hands and sobbed aloud 
 
 Now, nothing in nature so move^ a man as a 
 woman s tears If the woman be beautiful and 
 rf «he loves the man to whom sheiks thev 
 rn^Tl^^ Anl hero the woman'^i'i^ 
 
 WTc indications of any response on his%m 
 
 S?rteSr™"''T'^''''''»"^*ingnkeCft 
 piiy or tender conaiHamt^n u_:i _ ?./. , . 
 
 Pity ?r tendT-conStrhara S £ V^'^^r^'^t^^^y^?-'^^'-^^^^ 
 
 Mnrit. «f I- --"■»'""'•"">• lau moditied the 
 
 - not ha^\ Jt^d^d SSSS;JSir 
 
 g^heard from evety quarte^-frem the Earl! 
 «{*„ » ^"^ *"•* fro°> the servants— tale^ 
 
 3 huSSei°«S^«!?*'™''''y' ^*^^^" 
 "«. nu londhiUM, and tender coMidemtion for 
 
 hated her Bitte7ind^"m„rt 'thariiate ha^' 
 
 LitulI^'^V''""'** ^ '"^^ ""' "» those naS 
 . mpulses of generosity which belonged to hhn^ 
 
 bitter must the hate have been; andbitter Si 
 must have been the whole of his past oSe^ 
 n connection with this woman, w-hich S e„^ 
 m such pitiless relemlessness. «--"'"« ena 
 
 At length ho answered her. His tone was 
 calm, cool, and impassive, like his facT !h^ 
 
 «hich°'ht 'T "' ""/, "^hangefrom th^'toS 
 Which he always addressed her; and makina 
 
 wCh** '■,r\'".*''\*"' ^""' her face hSta 
 her hands, hat whateW hopes she had indnliwd' 
 m dunng his silence, thoseh*^ weiTaltoS 
 
 "Lady Chet^vynde," he began, "all that you 
 have just said I have thought^r'long a^? fC 
 beginning to end. It has aU been in^ S 
 
 whe-nT«-,l '^ ^^ '"•^ ''^ alwav/hS 
 when the days dnties were over, and the mind 
 
 From the very first, you. Lady Chetwynde were 
 naturally the subject of those thougWto a' J^^ 
 
 We to be soon forgotten, and the revelation of 
 your character, which I then had, waHhe fi«t 
 thing which showed me the full 'weight of Ae 
 
 Mn.f K?r :i'",'^ ^ *"^ ■« thoughtiessl/accepted? 
 Most bitterly I kmented, on my voyage out, thai 
 I Imd not contrived some plan to eVade so has? 
 a fulfillment of my boyisl, promise, and that 1 
 had not satisfied theGeaeksfin «,™» „..."v.--u 
 
 i':^^"' i 
 
 Avni,i,i ..^TT • V"".""'" '" some way which 
 
 vroMld not have involved sach a scene. B« Jr 
 
 could not recall the past, and I felt bound by my 
 
 } on hat m spite of your malice and your insults 
 1 telt most considerately toward yon. I pitied 
 yon for be ng, like mysdf, Uie n/wUUng K 
 of a father 8 promise and of a sick man's whim, 
 and leanied to make allowance for eveiy woid 
 
 iM'.i^K 
 
180 
 
 
 and action of yoon at that time. Not one of 
 those words or actions had the smallest effect in 
 imbittering my mind toward yon. Not one of 
 Uiose words which you have just ottered has tug- 
 giBsted an idea which I have not long ago consid- 
 ered, and pondered over in secret, in silence, 
 and in sorrow. I made a large allowance also 
 for that hate which you must have felt toward 
 one who came to you as I did, in so odious a 
 character, to violate, as I did, the sanctities. of 
 death by the mockery of a hideous marriage. 
 An this— all this has been in my mind, and no- 
 thing tha^ you can say is able in any way to 
 bring any new idea to me. There are other 
 things far deeper and far more lasting than this, 
 which can not be answered, or excused, or ex- 
 phiined away — the long persistent^ expressions 
 of unchanging hate." 
 
 Lord Chietwyndd was silent Hilda had heard 
 all this withoi4t moving or raising her head. 
 Every word was ruin to her hopeSi But she 
 still hoped against hope, and now, since she had 
 an opportnnity to speak, she still tried to move 
 this obdarate heart. 
 
 "Hate!" she exclaimed, catching at his lost 
 word— "hate! what is that? the fitful, spjteful 
 feeling arising out of the recollection of one' mis- 
 erable scene — or perhaps out of the madness of 
 anger at a forced marriage. What is it ? One 
 kind word 'can dispel it." 
 
 As she said this she did not look np. Her 
 face was buried in her hands. Her tone was 
 half despairing, half imploring, and broken by 
 emotion. 
 
 "True," said Lord Chetwynde. "All that 
 I have thought of, and I used to console myself 
 with that. I used to say to myself, ' When we 
 meet again it will be different When she knows 
 me she can not hate me.' ^' 
 
 "Yon were right," faltered Hilda, with a sob 
 Which wag almost^ groan. "And what then? 
 Say — was it a wonder, that I should have felt 
 hate ? Was there ever any one so tried as I woaf 
 My father was my only friend. He was father 
 ' and mother and all, the world to me. He was 
 brought home one* day suddenly, injnred by a 
 frightful accident, and dying. At that unpar- 
 alleled moment I was ordered to prepare (ot mar- 
 riage. Half crazed with anxiety and sorrow, 
 and anticipating the very worst — at such a time 
 death itself would have been preferable, to that 
 ceremony. But all my feelings were outraged, 
 and I was dragged down-to that horrible scene. 
 Can you not see what effect the recollection of this 
 might afterward have ? Can you not once again 
 m^e allowances, and think those thoughts which 
 you used to think? Can you not still see that 
 yon were rij^t in supposing that when we might 
 meet all woold be different, and that she who 
 might once have known you could not hate 
 -•■yon?" 
 
 "No," said Lord Chetwynde, coldly and se- 
 verely. 
 
 HUda raised her head, and tooked at him with 
 mate inqniry. 
 
 " I will expUin," said Lord Chetwynde. " I 
 r already^ said all that Z onght to say; bat 
 
 Ci force me to say more, though I am unwill- 
 . Year letters, Lady Chetwynde, were the 
 things which quelled and finally killed all kind- 
 ly feelings." 
 
 ; 
 
 THE CBYFTOO&All- 
 
 mence. " They wer^ the lettsn of a hot-tempered 
 girl, blinded by piqai and self-conceit, anfl oare< 
 lessly indulging In a foolish spite which in her 
 heart sha did not seriously feel." 
 
 "Pardon me," said. Lord Chetwynde, with 
 cold politeness, " I think von are forgetting the 
 circi^stances under which they werewritten — 
 for this must be consldoi^d as well as the nature 
 of the compositions themselves. They wore the 
 letters of one whom my father loved^, and of/* 
 whom he always spokA in the tenderest language, 
 but who yet was so faithless to him that she 
 never ceased to taunt me with what 8h#«called ' 
 our baseness. She never spared i^ old man 
 who loved her. For months ana for years 
 these letters came. It was someAiiiMiiQre than 
 pique, something more than self-coh^^ or spite, 
 which lay at the bottom of such M^^tontinued 
 insults. The worst feature about/|1iegi teas their 
 cold-blooded cruelty. Nothing in gny circum- 
 stances or condition could prevent ttiis-^not even 
 that long agony before Delhi" — added Lor^ Chct- 
 w](nde, in tones filled with a deeper indignation— 
 " when I, lost behind the smoke and clond and 
 darkness of the great struggle, was unable to 
 write for a long time ; and, finallv, was able to 
 givQ my account of the assault and the triumph. 
 Not even that could change the course of the 
 insults which wflre'W) freely heaped upon me. 
 And yet it w(ni(|{^||^ve been easy to avoid all 
 this. MHiy writ4»at all ? There was no heavy 
 necessity (aid upon yoo. " That was the question 
 which I used to put to myself. But you per- 
 sisted in writing, and in sending to me over the 
 seas, with diabolical pertinacity, those hideous 
 letters in which every word was a stab." . 
 
 While Lord Chetwynde had been sp^afeini 
 Hilda sat looking at him, and meeting his stern 
 glance with a look which would have softened 
 any one less bitter. Paler and paler grew her 
 face, and her hands clutched one another in 
 tremulous ogitation, which showed her strong 
 emotion. * 
 
 "Oh, my lord!" she cried, as he ceased,' 
 " can yon not have mercy ? Think of that black 
 cloud that came down over my young life, filling 
 it with gloom and horror. I confess that you 
 and your father appeared the chief agents ; but 
 I learned to love Aim, and then all my bittemeu 
 turned on you — ^you, who seemed to be so pros- 
 perous, so brave, and so honored. It was yon 
 who seemed to have blighted my life, and so I 
 was animated by a desire to make you feel some- 
 thing of what I had felt My disposition is fiery 
 and impetuous; mv father's training made It 
 worse. I did not know you ; I only felt spite 
 against too, and thus I wrote those fatal letters. 
 I thought that vou could have prevented that 
 marriage if yon had wished, and therefore could 
 never feel any thing but animosity. But now 
 the sorrows through which I have passed hare 
 changed me, and you yourself have made me tee 
 how mad' was my action. But oh, my lord, 
 believe me, it was not deliberate, it was hastj 
 passion ! and now I would be willing to wipe out 
 every word in those hateful lettets with m^ 
 heart's blood!" — 
 
 Hilda's voice was low but impassioned, livitha 
 certain bumiag fervor of. entreaty ; her trordi 
 had become words almost 6f prayer, so deepwu 
 her humiliation. Her face was turned tdlttti 
 
 " Letters 1 " burst in Hilda, with eager rehe- 1 him with an imploi^ng expression, and her tja 
 
 iiSffiW 
 
 5"'^' 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 "■ ■•*""•>. nor those evM with ..ii-i-_ 
 
 their overtowing tS'tv th.t ,'!^ '^"^ J^*^"* 
 
 ISeitmnnlann.. -r . J 
 
 Am 
 
 181 
 Her h«nd«^4^ere clenched 
 
 He loves another, "»heim»n«d. "/..i. , 
 f^never, never, nev^ couKvl-beent^S 
 
 - " "«'"«"'« language. Lair Chetwynde," 
 ^•.nsualtono. " ^u fo^seTthat t 
 
 •aiu he, in his usuai tone " vx.. r .'.i.''. 
 
 that hideous letter which ySu wro^ZhS i«i. 
 every word of which is still !n^~"* '*"*'"• 
 ri«» nn between us to Sder K*"""^' T*^ 
 
 rjofr/oWte-^tM^ r 
 
 when f nil tlCtLTtUn ^ y**" "'""•i*- ^"t ' 
 
 that the^e whVwt c«™fr ""!,' "'"■^"«Wy 
 cnmstanceii nf C^-)^ "^P^^e, under snch cir- 
 
 Lord Chetwynde sat stem and silent 
 You are inflexible in yonr crueltv " b«m 
 
 not ««k me something? Have'vo^lr" ^°'* 
 
 tsi z htrhrsiasTrrdS^^Ss-d^' 
 
 eyes were fixed on me I" " ''^'"« 
 
 tough htr '^'' *'■''' * "''"'T •'"«'<'«' parsed 
 
 " r» «,.« .k ^' f *"*• "smorselcssly. » 
 ^It was the angiMh of bereavement and de- 
 
 No2yelLTo..Sl,'^*"""y "'f *« Evil One. 
 «wn In rlTi^J^''''P~"P''^ "">«» hideous 
 
 j^AM, with a bow, Lord Chetwynde wjth- 
 
 • CHAPTER XXXVIir 
 
 «KTI,NO THE DOO OK THE UON^a THACK. 
 
 unde"tand?ng SSLo'^?Lf °" ^ ??"« '» - 
 
 into de.pond/ncTshe.SK'„^'''T" '''»"'' 
 was to be done whenst^h^^ ^"^^ *•■"' 'h""^' 
 failed She had hilmb^ h";,;^'/^."' t^" harf 
 fore him— she had nmnifo..!^ j . ^'"" "^ 
 iove. ;Ket he hadTs^M ^7^!^)^'' 'l'"- 
 rema/ned ? It was Suto L v«t .!* 'l'"" 
 ?elf, she still looked forwMti to^■l,„^''•','^'■''«'■- 
 'ng with him : Blad of Vhf. .■ , ^''^ "»««'- 
 her nothing better Th« i! """' '?*"' "'»"'*1 Sive 
 over her wis no! ;„« t-^u''"«^ '^''i'^'' ^ad cqme 
 the sem^t" r tZ tS w«?„*' eT' "'• "^ 
 her secret being discovered by"hem- but?h "' 
 was another at Chetwvn.lA n.Jiy iT ' "' '"^f^ - 
 
 tomed to havefi^n-n* • . •• ''"^ ^" a^cn*- 
 Now they wire I^ov^r '"'".""«"« *i'h Hilda. 
 
 of the sen-ante hat TZ^^^V'"^?°'' "Pini*"* 
 get some general idea of theZtlT Ye. A- 
 
 ng a dMD rml" •'°" r,"' *'"'' »"«»» »" p^^ ■ 
 
 'ug a aeep game in order to win r>irii rhJ* 
 
 *,7,S? "°!^ *hut out from her confidence. 
 
 "^* '^''- She 8 got a long head, and I 
 
 /- 
 
n$ 
 
 THE CRTFTOGRAII. 
 
 V -r 
 
 can onljr gnen whmtit U that tli« is up to. Shell 
 never tell me. " And he thought, with some pen- 
 siveness, upon the sadness of that one fact, that 
 she wonld ner^ tell him. Meapwhile he con- 
 tented himself with watching until ^neihing 
 more definite could be known. * 
 
 Lord Chetwynde had much to occupy him in 
 his father's papers. He spent tlje. greater part, 
 of his time in the librai^, and though weeks^ 
 passed he did not seem to be near the end of 
 them. At other times he rode »bout the grounds 
 or sauntered through the groves. The seclusion 
 in which the Castleliad always be^n kept was not 
 disturbed. The county families were too remote 
 for ordinary calling, or e^tfi they did not know of 
 his arrival. Certain it is that no one entered 
 these soliUiy precincts except the doctor. The 
 state ttC things here was puzzling to hipi. Ho 
 saw Lord Chetwynde whenever he came, but Jio 
 never saw Lady Chetwynde. On his asking anx-- 
 iously about her he was told (hat shb was well. 
 It wns surprising to him that she never showed 
 herself, but he attributed it to her grief for the 
 dead. Ha did. not know what had become of 
 Miss Krieff, whose zeal in the sick-room had 
 won hh admiration. Lord Chetwynde was too 
 haughty for him to question, and the servants 
 were all new faces. It was therefore witl^mnch 
 pleasure that he one day saw Gualtier. Him he 
 accosted) shaking hands with him earnestly, and 
 with a familiarity which he had never cared to 
 bestow in former days. But curiosity was stron- 
 ger than hij9 sense of personal dignity. Gualtier 
 allowed himself to be questioned, and gave the 
 doctor that information which he judged best for 
 the benefit of the worl(f without. Lady Chet- 
 wynde, he told him, was still-mourning over the 
 loss of her best friend, and even the return of her 
 husband had not been sufficient to fill the vacant 
 place. Miss Krieif, he said, had gone to join her 
 • friends in North Britain, and he, Gualtier, had 
 been appointed steward in place of the former 
 one, who had gone away to Londpn. This in- 
 formation was received by the doctor with great 
 satisfaction, since it set his mind at rest com- 
 plete}; about certain things ^hich hod puzzled 
 him. 
 
 That 'evening one of the servants informed 
 Gualtier that Lady Chetwynde wished to see 
 him in the library. His pale foco flushed up, 
 and his eyes lightened as he walked there. She 
 was alone. He bowed reverentially, yet not be- 
 fore he^had out toward her a look full of unutter 
 able devotion. She was paler than before. There 
 was sadness on her face. She had thrown her- 
 self carelessly in an arm-chair, and her hands 
 were nervously clntchii|g one another. Never 
 before had he seen any thing approaching to 
 emotion in this singulwr being. Her present 
 agitation surprised him,; for he had not sus- 
 pected the possibility of arty thing lik« this. 
 
 She returned his greeting with a slight bow, 
 and then fell for a time into a fit of abstraction, 
 during which ahe did not take any farther notice 
 of him. Chialtier was more jmpressed by this 
 than by any other thing. Always before she 
 Juid been mlC-poMeaaedf with all her iaenlties 
 alive and in fall activity. Now she seemed so 
 
 dull and so changed that he did not know what 
 
 to think. He began to fear the approach of ^...^ .. 
 
 ■oma calamity by which all hi< plans would be I investigate something' for me^ and here is an 
 '''*''*^ I occasion on which, if you feel inclined, you con 
 
 "Mr. M'Kenzie," satd Hilda, rousing herself 
 at length, and speaking 'in a harsh, constrained 
 voice/ which yet was low and not audible except 
 to one who was near her, " have you seen Lord 
 Chetwynde since his arrival ?" 
 
 "No, mv lady," said Gualtier, respeotfulW, 
 yet wondering at the abruptness with which slie 
 mtroduced the subject. For it had always hith- 
 erto been bur fashion to lead the opnversatioa on 
 by gradual approachp ttSwaJJ-d the particular 
 thing about wlubfa she might wish to make in- 
 quiries. 
 
 "I thought," she continued, in the same tone, 
 "that; he might have called you up to gnin In- 
 formation about the condition of the estate." 
 
 "No, my lady, he has never shown any such 
 desii^. In fact, he does not seem to be con- 
 scions Uiat there is such a person as myself in 
 existence." 
 
 "Since he came," said Hilda, dreamily, "he 
 has been altogether absorbed in the investiga- 
 tion of papers relating to his father's business 
 affairs; and as he has not been' here for many 
 years, during which great changes must have 
 taken place in the condition of things, I did not 
 know but that he might have sought to gain in- 
 formation from you. " 
 
 ^" No, my h«dy," said Gualtier once more, still 
 prwerving that unfaltering respect with which he 
 alwky^ addressed her, and wondering whither 
 .these inquiries might be tending, or what they 
 might mead. That she should ask him any 
 thing about Lord Chetwvnde filled him with a 
 vagne alarm, and seemed to show that the state 
 of things was unsatisfactory, if not critical He 
 was longing to ask abopt that first meeting of 
 hers with Lord Chetwynde, and also about the 
 position which they at present occupied toward 
 one another — a position most perplexing to him, 
 and utterly inexplicable. Yet on such subjects 
 as these he di4 not dare to speak. He could 
 only hopQ that she herself would speak of them 
 to him, and that she had chosen this occasion to 
 make a fresh confidence to him. ^ 
 
 After his last answer Hilda did not say any 
 thing for some time. Her nervousness seemed 
 to increase. Her hands still clutched one an- 
 othOT ; and her bosom heaved and fell in quick, 
 rapid breathings which showed the agitation that 
 existed within her. 
 
 " Lord Chetwynde, " said Hilda at last, rousing 
 herself with a visible effort, and looking round 
 with something of her old stealthy watchfuhiets 
 — " Lord Chetwynde is a man who keeps his ova 
 cqunsel, and does not choose to give even w 
 mnch as a hint about the nature of his occup- 
 tions. Ho has now some purpose on his mind 
 which he does not choose to confide to me, aad 
 I do not know how it is possible for me to find 
 it out. Yet it is a thing which must be of im- 
 portance, for he is not a man who would stnj 
 here so long and labor so hud on a merQ^pfle. 
 His ostensible occupation ■ the business of tlio 
 estate, and certain plans Msing in connection 
 with this ; but beneath tmf ostensible occupa- 
 tion there is some pnipose i^ich it is impoasi- 
 bte fer ma to fiuhoss^ Yet Z most find' it out) 
 whatever it is, and I have invited yon here to 
 see if I could not get your assistance. Ton 
 once went to work keenly and indefatigably to 
 
 "K^'. 
 
•««ln exerelie your' talent.. It may result in 
 Mmet^ing of the pate.t Impbmnoe^' " 
 
 H Ida had Ifcoken in low tones, and a> she 
 eoncladed she fooked at Guahier ^ith a^ne! 
 trating glance. Such a req,««t showed hlm'rtw 
 
 fast, and h s face lighted up with joy. 
 
 "it ^IX''^^^ I""' '" » '«'^. ««n,e8t voice, 
 vo , th»?/ ,"°' ^ necMsary for me to tell 
 jou that 1 am always ready tb do your bidding 
 whatever u may be. There is no^ nece si,; fo 
 remind me of the past. When shall I b4 „ 
 
 of action which yootrouia like riie to follow?" 
 
 ^ not at Chetwynde that Iwarit you to work 
 But elsewhere You can do nothing hero I 
 myself have already done all that you could pos- 
 
 li^i^'J^'^K '"*"■" 'r '" '^ 4»y of i^uvestS- 
 non m this house. But in spite «f all my effoVta ' 
 I have found nothing, and i, I »ee pSy that 
 the search must be carried on in linotCXe " 
 J And where may that be?? asked Gnal. 
 
 w^l^l^^ «Ome purpose in his'; mind," Hilda 
 went on to say-" someone engh)ssing object 
 I know not wfiat, which is far S<or« impoXit 
 thwtany thing relating to busings, and wWch 
 ishw one great aim in life at pt^m. This is 
 
 tnlrf '°r "I'l'""- ^' """y ?hre,ten dan- 
 ger and If so I wish to guard agifeist it " 
 
 ^^U there any danger?" asked fcualtior, cau. 
 
 in.Sh^Ljr ''"''^' ''"^ ^^■'«^" "^d Gustier, 
 "Nothing." , '■: 
 
 " You seem agitated. "1 
 
 lr.""m!'K'" UK •"''"" ' '««'n."8«id Hilda, cold- 
 ^ " my health is not good. As to Lerd Chet- 
 wjmde, he IS going away in a short time, and the 
 pice to which^he goes will afford the best op! 
 portunity for Undi^g out what his punTol i^ 
 Iwish to Icnow if it is possible for you^in any 
 way to follow him so ns to watch Lim. You 
 Jd«,mething once before that was not more 
 
 Gualtiersrailed. 
 
 that I will do all that you desire. I only wish 
 f^M^T «°™thing more difficult, so Tha i 
 conlddo the more for you." 
 J'lX"',^* ^T '^»'',"8ai(l Hilda, gloom- 
 
 falnMs and patidnt obssrvation. " 
 
 •jii*'!'."^'' '' °* "" """» ever did it before " 
 ^HlGualtier » Yon shaU know the evenuoV 
 
 ^hat"wm^^''^^« *=»"'«« »"«=k again." 
 ^That will d^m. Be ready to leave when- 
 «w he does. Choose your own way of ob^rv 
 
 ?ow ^?^'- °P«"'y °' ««'«'y.- you yoSf 
 
 THE CBYPTOgWm. 
 
 JlMa qw kg^Tg 
 
 irtxr. 
 
 , imr »» to wfth- 
 
 ker w{tl,^„ 1 ?°?*^' .®'^'" "'^ '°oking at 
 
 S W Wh"''*^'*"^ 'T- ^''« «»»'e»«ly held 
 Mt her hand. He snatched it in both of his and 
 
 PW** it to his lips. 
 
 . "My God!" he cried, 
 "Ae matter?" , ' 
 
 "it's like ice! What 
 
 IM 
 
 ..o'wi;;^uiX ;:::.'«'!-''•».'''« walked 
 hisliTprur'' ""^r ''" '^"' ^''«"^«'^«' ^^ 
 
 CHAPTEU XXXIX 
 
 OBED STANDS A T B A T. 
 
 Os leaving Marseillesall ZlllahVtroubles seem 
 ed to retura46 her once more. The presoncTof" 
 Windham had dispelled them for a' me; now 
 hat he was present no longer there was nothing 
 TZl^V *^™'" '^"'^- ^'•^had cert«i^yc3 
 to wngh down any one, and among all her sorrows 
 
 the Cf fh'*''^'''^.r-«'"'"«"' '^"hed^rof 
 the Karl, he cruil discovery of thosa papers in 
 her fathers drawer by whfch there slewed o 
 bea sain on her father's memory, ZfntoU 
 erable msult which sh> had endur J'in that e . 
 
 ludoITto fl? ^h"" '"'^l'- '^J' despemte Jeso- 
 lution to fly the anguish which she hud en- 
 
 ny of that lone voyage in the drifting schooner 
 -all these now came back to her with fresher vi- 
 olence, recurring again with overpowering force 
 
 iZ ' V l"! '""^ '""^ '"^ ^^ kept^off ^ 
 in^L "' «h«re was not one memory amonjt 
 all these which so subdued her as the memo^ 
 ot the parting scene with Windham. This was 
 the great sorrow of her life. Would she eVer 
 meet. hira again? Perhaps not. Orwhy-should 
 she? Of what avaU woul^ it be ? 
 
 1,» !!l'"if °''°'' ""^ **" ».he gave herself np to 
 her recollections, and to the mournful thought' 
 that crowded in upon her. Among other thinra! ' ' 
 ^e could not help thinking and wSnderingaboW 
 Windham s despair. What was the reasSn that ^ 
 
 Sf ? wrr •'"Pi"""'' " *'•"«'» w««h over him- 
 self? What was the reason why he nerer ven- 
 tured to utter in wonls that which had s^ oft^ 
 been expressed in his eloquent face ? Above aJI 
 what was the cause of th2t despairing ciTHhS 
 
 ?a«^lf™"'ir *«y exJhangll tirr Zt 
 lareweiic It was the recognition on his Dart 
 
 obsScM^V "^^ T'^^- "^«* what could the 
 obstack^e? Clearly, it could not have been 
 the kn>%dp of her own position. It wUs 
 
 fvh^f 1*'k''*"'u*'"' Windham knew nothing 
 vhateyet about her, and could have not even 
 
 fo™ r*^"' k"* °^ ""' "*"•• I' •»"«» theZ 
 nnZ ^ "' "•'^.^aw. that this obstacle could 
 only be one which was in connection with him- 
 self. And what conid that be? WasheapriSt 
 under vows of celibacy? She smiled at the pre- 
 
 in England, and was he now 5n the way to his 
 bnde? Could this-be it? and was hKguish 
 he result of thj^onflict between love and hCr 
 in h breast? This may have been the ca^. 
 *inally,/was he married already? She conId 
 
 ^Tutfl ".°i? ?""^«?? L «nd i' ^-as in thjs 
 
 ri.»V.Ki.L u •""'""««' ana It was in this 
 that sh^ thought she conld find the meaning df 
 his passionate and despairing words, 
 
 Passing over those waters wher« once she 
 n^ l^^'^u "^ ?" hittemess'of death.'she m 
 
 I hCl % once had caused. Behind the 
 
 I black memory cfcthat l,onr of anguish rose up an- 
 
^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 <m 
 
 
 ( 
 
184 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 u 
 
 .« " 
 
 other memory which engrossod all her thoughu. 
 ^^ If she had tears, it was for Ais. It was Wind- 
 ■^ ham, whose image filled all her soul, and whose 
 last words echoed through her heart. For as 
 —she- gazed on these waters it was not of the 
 drifting schooner that she thought, not of the 
 hours of intense watchfulness, not of the hope 
 deferred that .gradually turned into despair; it 
 was rather of the man who, as she had often 
 heard since, was the one who first recognized 
 her, and came to her in her senselessness, and 
 bore her inliis arms back to life. Had he done 
 well in rescuing her ? Had ho not saved her for 
 a greater 80ht)w ? Whether he had or not mat- 
 tered not. He had saved her, and her life was 
 his. That strange rescue constituted a bond be- 
 tween them which could not be dissolved. Their 
 lives might run henceforth in lines which should 
 never meet, but sjill they belonged hencefortii 
 to one another, though they might'never possess 
 one another.. Out from amotig these waters there 
 Aune also 'sweeter memories — the memories of 
 voj^ges over calm seas, tinder the shadow of 
 th^' hoary Alps, where they passed away those 
 golden hours, knowing that the end must come, 
 *" yet resolved to enjgy to the full the rapture of 
 the present. I'hese Were the thoughts that sus- 
 tained her. No grief could rob her of these ; 
 but in cherishing them her soul found peace. 
 
 Those into whose society she had been thrown 
 respected her grief and her reticence. For the 
 first day she had shut herself up in her i-oom ; 
 but the confinement became intolerable, and she 
 was forced to go out on deck. She somewhat 
 dreaded lest Obed Chute, out of the very kind- 
 nes» of his heart, would come and try to enter- 
 tain her. She did not feel in the mood for talk- 
 ing. Any attempt at entertaining her she felt 
 would be unendurable. But she did not know 
 the perfect refinement of sentiment that dwelt 
 beneath the rough exterior of Obed. He seem- 
 ed at opce to divine her state of mind. With 
 the ntnibs^ delicacy he found a place for her to 
 sit, but said Uttle or nothing to her, and for all 
 the remainder <Jf the voyage treated her with a 
 silent deference of attention which was most 
 grateful. She knew that he was not neglect- 
 ful. She saw a hundred times a day that Obed's 
 mind was filled with anxiety about her, and that 
 to minister to her comfort was his one idea. But 
 it was not in words that this was expressed. It 
 was in helping her up and down from the cabin 
 to the deck, in fetching wraps, in speaking a 
 cheerful word from time to time, and, above 
 all, in keeping his family away from her, that 
 he showed his watchful attention. Thus the 
 time (Mssed, and Zillah was left to brood over 
 her griefs, and to conjecture hopelessly and af 
 random about thejature. What would' that 
 future bring forth? Would the presence of 
 Hilda console her in any way? She did not 
 see how it could. Afker the first joy of meet- 
 ing, she felt that she would relapse into her 
 usual sadness. Time only conid relieve her, 
 and her only hope was patience, 
 
 — *»* Anon Luojr jiuiumx ar zispwK^ ^joefl WOli 
 
 the party to a handsome house on the Strada 
 Nuova, where he had lodged when he was in 
 Naples before, and where he obtained a suite of 
 apartments in fh>nt, which commanded a mag- 
 nificent view of the t>ay, with all its unrivaled 
 icenety, together with the tumultuous life of the 
 
 street below. Here he left them, and departed 
 himself almost immediately to b^giti his search 
 afier Hilda. Her letter mentioned that she was 
 stopping at the "H6tel de I'Europe," in the 
 Strada Toledo ; and to this place he firat direct- 
 ed his way. » 
 On arriving here he found a waiter who could 
 speak English, which was a fortunate thing, in 
 his opinion, as he could not speak a word of any 
 other language. He at once asked if a lady by 
 the name of Miss Lorton was stopping here. 
 
 The waiter looked at him with a peculiar 
 glance, and surveyed him from head to foot. 
 There was something in the expression of his 
 face which appeared very singular to Obed— a 
 mixture of eager curiosity and surprise, which 
 to him, to say the least, seemed uncalled for un- 
 der the circumstances. He felt indignant at 
 such treatment from a waiter. 
 
 "If you will be kind enough to stare less 
 and answer my question," said he, "I will feel 
 obliged ; but perhaps yon don't understand En- 
 glish." 
 
 "I beg pardon," said the other, in very good 
 English ; " but what was the name-of the lady 't" 
 "Miss Lorton," said Obed. 
 The waiter looked at him again with the same 
 peculiar glance, and then repUed : 
 
 "I don't know, but I will ask. Wait here a 
 moment." ' -• 
 
 Saying this, he departed, and Obe4 saw him 
 speaking to some half a dozen persons in the 
 hall very earnestly an{l hurriedly ; then he went 
 oflj and in about five minutes returned in com- 
 pany with the master of the hotel. 
 
 "Were you asking after a lady?" said he, in 
 very fair English, and bowing courteously to • 
 Obed. 
 
 "I was," said Obed, \vho noticed at the same 
 tifne that this man was regarding him with the 
 same expression of eager and scrutinizing curi- ^. 
 ositv which he had seen on the face of the other. 
 "And what was the name?" 
 "Miss Lorton." 
 
 "Miss Lorton?" repeated the other; "yes, 
 she is here. Will you be kind enough to follow 
 me to the parjor until I see whether she is at 
 home or not, and make her acquainted with vour 
 arrival?" 
 
 At this information, which was communicated 
 with extrema politeness, Obed felt such immenso 
 relief that he forgot altogetherabont the very pecul- 
 iar manner in which he had been scrutinized. A 
 great weight seemed suddenly to have been iified 
 oflT his soul. For the first time in many weeks 
 he began to breathe freely. He thought of the 
 jov which he would bring to that poor young girl 
 who had been thrown so strangely under his pro- 
 tectltfti, and who was so sad. For a moment he 
 hesitateo whether to wait any longer or not. 
 His first irapidse was to hurry away and bring 
 her here ; but then in a moment he thought it 
 would be far better to wait, and to take back 
 Miss Lorton with him in triumph to her sister. 
 The othepR watched his momentary hesitation 
 -with Boow appMwif MixiMjr; irat at length 
 was dispelled by Obed's replv : 
 
 " Thank you. I think I had better wait and 
 see her. I hone I won't be detained long." 
 
 "Oh no. She is doubtless in her room. Too 
 will only have to wait a tern minntei." 
 Saying thia, they led the way to a pleaiut 
 
 ^ B If'. 
 
 .M. 
 
 ■<"^^4 
 
apartment looking ont on the Strada Toledo, and 
 here Obed took a Beat, and lost himself in specu- 
 tations as to the appearance of the elder Miss Lor- 
 ton. In abont five minutes the door was opened, 
 and the master of the hotel made his appearance 
 again. "^ 
 
 "I find," said ho, politely, "that Miss Lor- 
 ton is not m. She went out only a few minutes 
 before you came. She left word with her maid, 
 however, that she was goini to a shop up the 
 btrada Toledo to buy some jewelry. I am goins 
 to sefid a messenger to hasten her return. ShaU I 
 I send your name by him ?" 
 
 *' Well," said Obed, " I don't know as it'sW- 
 *"rSI7', S*'ter wait till I see her myself." 
 
 The landlord said nothing, but looked at him 
 with strange earnestness. 
 
 !.'Sr"t'?,°"'™>''" ^^ Obed, "hoflr ia she?" 
 "hne?" ^ 
 
 "Yes; MissLorton." 
 "Oh," said the landlprd, "very well." 
 * She recovered from her illness then ?" 
 "Oh yes." » 
 
 " Is she in good spirits ?" 
 "Goodspirito?" 
 
 !!X?' is she happy ?" 
 "Oh yes." 
 
 J2 ^ '^i"^ u^i^'tf '** ' '^ «'"«i'l "he 
 might be melancholv." 
 
 "Oh no," said the landlord, with some ap- 
 pearance of confusion; "oh no. She's very 
 well. Oh yes. ^ 
 
 His singular behavior again struck Obed rath- 
 er oddly, and he stared at him for a moment. 
 Bat he at last thought that the landlord might 
 not know much about the health or the happi- 
 ness of his guest, and was answering ftom gen- 
 eral impressions. " 
 
 "I wUI hasten then, Sir," said the Undlord. 
 sdvancing to the door, " to send the messenger 
 jnOjf you will be kind enough to wait, she wiU 
 be here soon. 
 
 He bowed, and going out, he shut the door 
 behmd him. Obed, who had watched his em- 
 ojrrasnnent, thought that he heard the key turn 
 The thing seemed very odd, and he stepped up 
 
 ..«.^5?""±?y*'- Jt was locked I ^ 
 
 tl^tu' ^^ ^ d*™edl" cried Obed, standing 
 briore the door and regarding it with astonUh- 
 
 hir,K- I. " ^« **?* '""^°"» '<"«•«[» fashions, 
 but his here /talian fashion of locking a man in 
 h a httle the cnrionsest. And what in thunder 
 uthemeamngoflt?" 
 
 ,y.^ '°*'^?* *' i^o^oo"" with a frown, while 
 mS!.i;".^!l' *"• .''*' ^"^^ *'•'«'' "'•owed that he 
 ^t lie deliberating whether to kick through the 
 pi^eu or not Bat his momentary indignation 
 ioon snbdded, «.d, with a short langh, he tmi- 
 
 i„j.'«r^ f"^ •*"'"l^ "P *® *•>« wind"'' with an 
 .™ 1 r* •«P«»«««>- There he drew np an 
 •raijclialr, and seaUng himself in this, he looked 
 
 ZZ ^ "IT*- ^" f*"" ^i"" hi. attention 
 and h s thoughu were aU engaged by the busy 
 '. "i.'i 'ongth he came to bibself, and 
 tn^ irnS '''^* '' " ^ *" •'^' tim e for th e ^». 
 ^rf *"» ^rt«?- He paced up and down 
 tto room impatiently, till growing tired of this 
 mfter monotonous employment, he sought the 
 
 «M Obedi padenee was fast failing. Bdll he 
 Jri i..**^ Md anothwr halfbour passed. Then 
 t» deliberated whether it would not be better to 
 
 THE CBYFTOGRAM. 
 
 US 
 
 go bacTc to his rooms, and bring t» younger Miss 
 I/)rton here to see her sister. But this thought 
 he soon dismissed. Having waited so long for 
 the sake of carrying out his first plan, it seemed 
 weak to pve it np on account of a little impa- 
 th«Tn-ii ^ ''«!«™i'>ed, however, to question 
 the landlord again ; so he polled at the bell. 
 ao answer came. 
 
 He puUed again and agaip for some minutes, 
 otm tnere was no answer. 
 Hp now began to ifeel indignant, and determ- 
 ined to resort to extreme measures. So going to 
 the door, he rapped upon it with his stick several 
 times, each time waiting for an answer. But fto 
 answer came. Then he beat incessantly agaiUst 
 fte door, keeping up a long, roUing, rattliii| vol- 
 1? "^f ^"J*"" w'thout stopping, and making noise 
 enough to rouse the whole house, even if every 
 body in the house shonld happen to be in the 
 deepest of slumbers; Yet even now for, some 
 time there was no response; and Obed at length 
 was beginning to think of his first purpose, and 
 preparing to kick through the panels, when his 
 attention was aroused by the sound of heavy foot- 
 steps m thehall. They came nearer and nearer 
 fW,„f„*r*^ waiting, and at length stopped in 
 front of the door. His only thought was that 
 this was the lady whom he sought ; so he stepped 
 back, and hastily composed his-face to a ple^ant 
 smile of welcome. With this pleasant unite he 
 awaited the opening of the door. 
 
 But as the door opened his, eyes were greeted 
 by a sight very different from what he anticipa- 
 ted. No graceful Indy-like form was there—no 
 elder and maturer likeness of that Miss Lorton 
 Whose face was now so famUiar to him, and so 
 
 ♦if I" ji^'J "^"^l" ?•■ *<• ««"■ d'armes, headed bv 
 the landlord. The latter enteredthe room, whUi 
 the others stood ontoide in the halL 
 
 " ^ell," said Obed, angrily. " What is the 
 meaning of this parade ? Where is Miss Lorton ?" 
 These gentlemen," said the landlord, with 
 much politeness, "will convey yoa to the resi- 
 dence of that charming lady. ''^ 
 
 "It seems to me," said Obed, sternly, "that 
 yon have been humbugging me. Give me a 
 civil answer, or I swear I'll wring your neck. Is 
 Miss Lorton here or not?" 
 
 The landlord stepped back hastily a pace or 
 
 A^ » . ™*^* * "*"*•»» to *« «e«w dWmea. 
 A half doxen of these filed into the room, and 
 arranged themselves by the windows. The rest 
 remained in theJtelL 
 
 " What U the meaning of this?" said Obed. 
 "Areyoacraiy?" ^ 
 
 "The meaning U this," said the othep, shacp- 
 
 SA'"f'/'XS?'y- ' •" "0* *•>« landlord of the 
 Hfltel de IXarope, bnt sub-agent of the Neapoli- 
 tan pohce.* And I arrest you in the name of tlie 
 king.' 
 
 " Arrest m«/" cried Obed. "What the deuce 
 do you mean ?" 
 
 "It means, Monsienr, that you are trapped at 
 '"»*• . I have watched ibr yoa for seven weeks. 
 
 and have got yon now. Yon need not I 
 
 sist. That is impossible." 
 
 f I'i 
 
 Obed looked round in amazem^t. What was 
 the meaning of it all? There were the gens 
 darmes— six in the balL and six in the room. 
 All were armed. All looked prepared to fidl on 
 him at the slightest signal. 
 
 " Are yoa a bom fool ?" he cried at lau, tarn- 
 
 *»ft(i>, 
 
186 
 
 • THE CBTFTOGBAH. 
 
 ^_ _ jilbfl^ " flgen t" " T )o Toa know what yoa 
 are doing ? I am'an Amerfcan, a native of the 
 Kt«at republic, a ft^ man, and a gentleman. 
 What do 70a mean by thii insnlt, and diete 
 beggarly policemen?" 
 
 "I mean this," said the other, "that yon are 
 my priioner.'' 
 
 , '• I am, am^ ll"«ald Obed, with « grim wnifc 
 "A prisoner! My fHend, that is a difficnlt thing 
 to com* to pass without mr consent" 
 
 And saying this, he quietly drew a rerolrer 
 from his breast poeket. 
 
 " Now," said he, *'my good fHend, look hera. 
 I have this little, instrument, and I'm a dead 
 
 "And so there is 
 ton here?" 
 
 "Na-" 
 
 ||Hasn't she been 
 No ; no such p« 
 
 "ThafUdo,"sVi 
 jome sadness in his 
 jMk his revolver in 
 fnend," said he, "y 
 ix« me to some anno 
 gwr duty I fcgiv, 
 gMWer whom 
 
shot I don'tlntend to be hnmbngged. If anv 
 
 hUfuf r" *T '" *"■'''' * movement I'll put a 
 bnUet through you. And you, vou scoundrel 
 
 Wv^lTh^M" ri°'y°"'^ ^^''^he first bulS: 
 Yonve got hold of the wrong man this time, but 
 rnS,^"i"L^ **,' """"fi*"'"" for this out of your 
 infernal beggarly government. As to you an- 
 swer my quesuons. First, who the deuce do yon 
 
 S: o^r,^} ^°° ^^ "^^ --^^ '"f-»' "^^ 
 n»S° ag?nt cowered beneath the stem#ye of 
 Obed He felt himself covertid by his%tol 
 and d,d not dare to move. The gens d'ames 
 looked disturbed, but made no eftbrt to^mer! 
 fere. They felt that they had to do with a de^ 
 perate man, and waited for orders 
 
 Obed "VwirS "^ fl"*?"""?" thundered 
 .n7»i, .y^ f *•'* ^*'"=« " 'he meaning of this, 
 and who the deuce do yon take me for ? Don' 
 
 Zm-a h T^, '**t'!I« * '■"''" "novement of the 
 
 ffbyttte;"^!:?'*"'^^"'''---^! 
 
 th:ss':ir„f^,Tu?;'..'''^^'-«- 
 
 «r ,£l?lli ^M." y"""" ^^eKa^'y Po'ice to me, 
 K I~ ^^''^.'''"f ^'""''' ""''«" his court 
 TTiere are a couple of Yankee frigates out there 
 
 ^l^"^^ ^""? f?*^ 'he wholfc^ncem in*™ 
 hiUf hour s bombardment. You've made a miJ^ 
 t^e, you poor, pitiful concern ; but I'min se^ch 
 .--Of mfonnation, and I'm bound to g" uTn 
 
 ^m'^.^fK""* ''^."^'" »"y "o™ htunbugghg 
 What s the meaning of this ?" "KK"* 
 
 «irj» '""' ordered to watch for anv one who 
 
 might come here and ask for 'MUs Loi-ton '" raid 
 
 e agent, who spoke like a criming a jud« 
 
 I have watched here for seven weeks You 
 
 upon him -.W^„;:rJ!."«''* **«""*« «««h 
 ^"l5.e prefect " ""''"^ ^"'^ *" '^«'«='' ?" 
 
 wh^^yorwe'reT^t?-"^ ''""' ^''^ f^- 
 "No." •' 
 
 1(2*"*'' y°° ''"*"' his crime ?" 
 ^No. It had something to do with the French 
 
 " Do you know Us name ?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What watit?" 
 
 ."G^*»«-."»aid the agent 
 
 "Ym •^*"* *"* ^ «n Gnaltier?" 
 
 ton' w!!° *•" *" "° "'='' P«™° " Miss Lor- 
 "Na-" 
 
 « v""' ■*'" h««" here at all ?" 
 " Thl M? ^'"'" '*:'3T '^ •'^" heen here. " 
 
 ".-.."idnrS hiScS'^i.T''^""^. '^•"' 
 
 a'C-hI^;V^ '. 7 "°t thji man 
 
 Tiarfi aBi^ ii.£ iT*.*"*': wt I wn the man 
 
 hmJ,f ""i "rhaps it would have been 
 
 5«^for me to have gone^tndght to the poH^" 
 
 "«2 However, I can go there now. I have • 
 »«««• «id a letter of1ntn>dacrton to the n?J? 
 J« of police here from the prefect at KifiiT 
 •kich i am «n«ou, now to deUver a. i^^ 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM^ 
 
 187 
 
 ^fp'itn- ^' "^ y*"""* '■'^^'J. in Ko with vou 
 o?me!"' """^ ^°" "•**"''' ^ '» *e least af^S 
 The agent still looked dubious • but Ohp,l 
 indignation, took from his pockel-bJok soma T 
 
 entenng a cab, they drove to the prefecture! 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 OLIUrSES OP THE TRUTH. 
 
 Meanwhile, during Obed's absence 7iii»h 
 remained in the Strada Nuov^ The tinjJws 
 l°f «* °« "Pon the street and upon tbe C 
 commanding a view of the most glorious s«n^?; 
 
 «!.?",''• *"u^. "J"** «'f 'he mostVcHgS 
 spectacles which any city can offer Full „f 
 
 unaffected by that first glimpse of NnpX whth 
 she then obtained from those JndHby wh ch 
 
 iJeauty, life, laughter, gayety, all have thoir 
 home here. Theair iielfls intoxicat^n T^I 
 gidd^,crowds that whiri along in every dTrecSn 
 
 re'^^th^nn'f "« '•" %'««•'"•«"' and amUTolou" 
 ^. K^"" f T°'^'"K humanity. For ages Naples 
 es tSfLl!?' captivating,'' and still shTpo^.sS^ 
 
 The scene upon which ZiUah gazed was one 
 So^. «""*•" ^"''^ hroughtdistmction andX"! 
 nZ hadTh^'* «^*^'' r*" heavier than h^. 
 
 'Jep.jj3l-,^rbe«lr":^^^^^^^^ 
 the deep blue waters of Naples Bay, dot.^ bv 
 
 hesZS '" i^^' ''f «"»•«•««« /e^b froij 
 the small fishing-boat up to the giant ship of wa/ 
 
 o the m,^«™i."!'."°"'!'^ "^K®'^ 'ateen sloop, 
 sL th« «v- ."'^•-packet Turning from t& 
 lhort\Z\Z^^t """ "J^" *he surroundtog 
 
 iSL.^ 5 "«•"• "'•*« hy, was the p?o- 
 cWn^t^l; a^d .weening beyond this the fong 
 ^nir^b f^""^ Z^^^' ^^ "'^ay, rose thf 
 green tree, of the gardens of the V^lla Reale. 
 »^» . V?^!^ *he hUU on whose slope S. 
 what 1. chdmed to be the gnve of VirJu whow 
 pictnre«,ue monument, whether It b^ reklTy liU 
 or not, .nggett. hU weU-known epitaphV ^ 
 
 "M?!ge"'BSJHila^ herow. Muitna gave 
 «e Ufe, Brundnrfum death; Naples a gnive.- 
 
 Throngh those hill. nm. the Titanic grotto of 
 
 S^??; utVf"^ '% •'»* hisZicttl^ 
 y°" .""'» •*»<» of the Cumaian. and Oscan.- 
 or, still more, the land of thelnxuri^ iS^ 
 or the empire; where SylU lived and noTm 
 loved to retire , which Julin. lonj mS hSS^S' 
 and every Roman of taate or refinement Th^« 
 
 S%l*relt «.ra;eS7erTrec^l^?Cre" 
 wa. M&nnm, where once the Bon^rjl^ 
 
 
188 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAMT" 
 
 % 
 
 at anchor ; Baite, wlfero once all Boman lax> 
 ury loved to pass the sumnier season ; Fateoli, 
 where St Paul landed when on his way to Casar's 
 throne. There were the waters in which Nero 
 thonght to drown Agrippinai and over which 
 another RoiOan emperor bnilt that colossal 
 bridge which set at defiance the prohibition t)f 
 nature. There was the rock of Ischia, termina- 
 ting the line of coast; and out at sea, immedi- 
 ately in. front, the isle oY Capri, forever aMo- 
 ciated with the memory of Tiberius, with his 
 deep wiles, his treachery, and his remorseless 
 cruelty. There, too, on the left and nearest 
 Capri, were the shores of Sorrento, that earth- 
 ly paradise whose trees are always green, whose 
 fruits always ripe ; there the cave of Polyphemus 
 penetrates the lofty mountains, and brings back 
 that song of Homer by which it is immortalized. 
 Coming nearer, the eye rested on the winding 
 shores of Castellamare, on vineyards and mead- 
 ows and orchai'ds, which' fill all this glorious 
 land. Nearer yet the scene was dominated by 
 the stupendous form of Vesuvius, at once the 
 glory and the terror of all this scene, from 
 whose summit there never ceases to come that 
 thin line of smoke, the symbol of possible ruin 
 to all who dwell within sight of it. Round it 
 lie the buried cities, whose charred remains have 
 been exhumed to tell what may yet be the fate 
 of those other younger cities which have arisen 
 on their ashes. 
 
 While the scene beyond was so enthralling, 
 there was one nearer by which was no less so. 
 This was the' street itself, with that wild, never- 
 ending rush of riotous, volatile, multitudinous 
 life, which can be equaled by no other cityi 
 There the crowd swept along on horseback, on 
 wheels, on foot ; gentlemen riding for pleasure, 
 or dragoons on duty; parties driving into the 
 country ; tonrists on their way to the envirohs ; 
 market farmers with their rude carts ; wine-sell- 
 ers; fig-dealers; peddlers of oranges, of dates, 
 of anisette, of water, of macaroni. Through 
 the throng innumerable calashes dashed to and 
 fro, crowded down, in true Neapolitan fashion, 
 with inconceivable numbers ; for in Naples the 
 calash is not full unless a score or so are in 
 some way clinging to it — above, below, before, 
 behind. There, too, most marked of all, were 
 the laxaroni, whose very existence inr Naples is 
 « sign of the ease with which life is sustained 
 in so fair a spot, who are bom no one knows 
 where, who live no one knows how, but who 
 secure as much of the joy of life as any other 
 human beings ; the strange result of that end- 
 less combination of races which have come to- 
 gether in Naples — the Greek, the Italian, the 
 Norman, the Saracen, and Heaven only knows 
 what else. 
 
 ISuch scenes as these, such crowds, such life, 
 such universal movement, for a long time attract- 
 ed Zillah's attention; and she watched them 
 with childish eagerness. At last, however, the 
 novelty was over, and siM began to wonder why 
 Obed Chute had not returned. Looking at her 
 "^wneb, ih« fouBd, to her unuement, that 
 hours had passed since his departure. He had 
 left at ten ; it was then mid-day. What was 
 keeping him ? She had expected him back be- 
 fore hdf an hour, but he had not yet returned. 
 She hod thought that it needed but a journey to 
 the Hotel de I'Earope to find Hilda, and bring 
 
 her here. Anxiety now began to arise in her 
 mind, and the scenes outside lost all^ charm for 
 her. Her impatience increased till it biecame in- 
 tolerable. Miss Chute saw her agitation, and 
 made some attempt to soothe her, but in vain. 
 In fact, by one o'clock, Zillah had given herself 
 up to all sorts of fears. Sometimes she thought 
 that Hilda had grown tired of waiting, and had 
 gone back to England, and was now searching 
 through France and Italy for her; again she 
 thought that perhaps she had> experienced a re- 
 lapse and had died here in Naples, far awav from 
 all friends, while she herself was loitering in 
 Marseilles; at another time her fears took a 
 more awful turn — her thoughts turned on Gual- 
 tier — and she imagined that he had, perhaps, 
 come on to Naples to deal to Hilda that fate 
 which he had tried to deal to her. Thesq 
 thoughts were all maddening, and filled her 
 witlf uncontrollable agitation. She felt sure at 
 last that some dread tiuag had happened, which 
 Obed Chute had discovlred, and which he feared 
 to reveal to her. Therefore he kept away ; and 
 on no other grounds could she account for his 
 long-continued absence. 
 
 Two o'clock passed — and three, and four, and 
 five. The suspense ' was fearful to Zillah, so 
 fearful, indeed, that at last she felt that it would 
 be a relief to hear any n^s — even the worst 
 
 At length her Buspenw'%as ended. About 
 half past five Obed returned. Anxiety wai on 
 his face, and he looked at Zihah with an expres- 
 sion of the deepest pity and commiseration. She 
 on her part advanced to^meet him with white 
 lips and trembUng framed and laid on his hand 
 her own, which was like ice. 
 
 " Yon^ave not found her ?*' she faltered, in a 
 scarce audible voice. 
 
 Obed shook his head, 
 
 "She isidead. then!" cried Zillah; "she is 
 dead t Sbv died here — among strangers — in 
 Naples, anf I — I delayed in Marseilles 1" 
 
 A deep groan burst fix>m her, and all the an- 
 guish 'of self-reproach and keen remorse swept 
 over her soul. 
 
 Obed dilute looked at her earnestly and monm- 
 fully. " 
 
 "My child," said he, taking her little hand 
 tenderly in both of his — " my poor child — ^yotj 
 need not be afraid that your sister is dead. She 
 is alive — as much as you are'." 
 
 "Alive!" cried Zillah, rousing herself from 
 her despair. "Alive! God be thanked) Have 
 you found out that ? Dot wbere is she ?" 
 
 "Whether' God is to be thanked or not I do 
 not know," said Obed ; "but it's my solemn be- 
 lief that she is as much alive as she ever was." 
 
 "But where is she?" cried Zillah, eagerly. 
 "Have yon found out that?" 
 
 " It would take a man with a head as long u 
 a hdrse to tell that," said Obed, sententioualy. 
 
 "What do you mean? Have you not found 
 out that ? How do you know that she is alive? 
 Yon only hope so — as I do. You do not know 
 so. Oh, do not, do not keep me in suspense." 
 
 " m«aii«"HMid Obed« jlewty"^ 
 "that this sister of yours has never been 
 Naples ; that there is no such steamer in exist- 
 ence as that which she mentions in her letter 
 which yon showed me; that there it no sodi 
 ship,' and no such captain, and no such captain'i _^^^^ 
 
 wife, asthoM-whick she writes about; tnatM ■ ^^' 
 
 such' person- V 
 way, and brou 
 iiinocent, trus 
 dear child, whi 
 assassins. " A: 
 with a deeper i 
 at the same tin 
 ed fist to heai 
 I'll trace all thi 
 these infernal d 
 "Oh, my Go 
 mean? Do yc 
 here at all ?" 
 
 "No such p« 
 
 ^ "Why, was 
 
 where, could th< 
 
 "She never 1 
 
 No such ship as 
 
 been here." 
 
 ' "Then she 
 
 mistake," cried 
 
 through her at ( 
 
 "No," said C 
 
 liberately, and w 
 
 etitionofthatnai 
 
 of Naples, show 
 
 Besides, your ei 
 
 stamps and the 
 
 mailed here, wh( 
 
 It was sent from : 
 
 this journey, whi 
 
 "Oh, my God 
 
 ror of Obed's me 
 
 "What do you 
 
 Do you wish to c 
 
 me where you h 
 
 done. Oh, my G^ 
 
 "My child, th 
 
 Obed Chute, wii 
 
 would cut ofi' my 
 
 knife, rather thai 
 
 do. But what ci 
 
 to know the whol 
 
 "Go 6n,"said 
 
 calm. 
 
 "Come," said 
 •eat "Calm y 
 worstj Fof at th 
 oration and wami 
 little the darkest c 
 with. The worst 
 much behind it all 
 about" - 
 
 Zillah leaned h 
 looked at him witi 
 "WhAiIlefty( 
 (i. once to the H6 
 find her there, or t 
 not relate the part 
 I will only say thai 
 ton had li«en there 
 police had been wa 
 for Gualtier. I w« 
 Bra of Police. I ( 
 from the prefect o; 
 wilh the utmost att 
 informed me that t 
 ^ whole case for ' 
 «U the vessels ths 
 ycted all their 
 juoogh foreign pai 
 •■ — Inthedtyto 
 
Zr'^dZ^uZT' ^^"^'^ "P "^"f' » that 
 way, ana brought here, except yoor own- noor 
 
 innocent truBtfal, lov^g Jf-yo«. my Cr 
 
 dear cUUd, who have been betrkyi by miLS 
 
 Msassins. " And by the EtemAll" cried Obed! 
 
 with a deeper solemnity in his voice, raising up 
 
 a* the same time his colossal arm and hi. clench- 
 
 1 11 trace all this out yet, and pay it out in fuU to 
 these infernal devils!" "• luu lo 
 
 «,li?^' '7 ^"^ '" *="*"• ^•'^- ■" What do yon 
 
 / .'!wu *"''*' P*"*"* ''"* ^^^i" •'een «» Naples." 
 
 I. Why, was she not picked up adrift? and 
 where. could they have taken her?** 
 
 " She never was picked up, Rely upon that. 
 No such ship as the one she mentions has ever 
 been here. 
 
 •"/^''®!l ■^®, '"" ^^«en down 'Naples' in 
 mistake, "cnedZiUah,. while a shudder passed 
 through her at Obedis frightful insinuatioiT^ 
 IK- ."; ««'^Obed. "She wrote.it down de- 
 hberately, and wrote it several times. Her rep- 
 etition of that name, her descriptiooof the chanis 
 of Naples, show that she did this intentionally 
 
 ZZ^'ITJ""!}"^ *"" *" Naples postage 
 stamps and the Naples post- marks. It was 
 mailed here whether it was written here or not. 
 It was sent from here to fetch you to fhis place, on 
 thw journey, wh;ch resulted as you remember." 
 r.r 3At!!^' ^°^^y"^'^ Zilloh. as the full hor- 
 " Wh ;T^ ' meaning began to dawn upon her. 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 189 
 
 ti-nri..^ i " "v,»"" wj unwu upon ner. now she dnm «ta 
 
 Do^you' A Wvrl til^-JLt/"™. r ^^^ ofToulS 
 
 .-J — --•-».•. T.uni, uo vou r 
 
 Do you wish to drive me to otter despair ? Tell 
 
 me where yon have been and what you have 
 
 "\r ^"I'm^ ^"^ ; ^^ "".'' "«* grief coming ?" 
 
 oJh ?nf .'"• '^t ^r^ "" ^'K"* ^'">''^'" «^d 
 Obed Chute, with solemn emphasis, "that I 
 
 wodd cut off my right hand with my own bowie- 
 knife, rather than bring-back to you the news I 
 do But what can be done? It is best for you 
 to know the whole truth, bitter as it is " 
 
 "Go 6n,"8ai4 Zillah, with an effort to be 
 calm. 
 
 J»^T.®A "''^ ^^' »nd he led her to a 
 Kat 'Calm yourself, and prepare for the 
 woistj For at the outset, and by way of prep- 
 
 httle thedarkest cnje that I ever got acquainted 
 ! i; J^T^i,"^ '' " 'hat there is over so 
 
 St^ " ^ ' ''"'''' '"•'"' »"y """« 
 
 i~.?'!f''.'^"*'^ .'!*'■ head upon her hand and 
 looked a^ him with awful forebodings. 
 
 When I left von,"saidObed Chute, " I went 
 
 S;rH? ^ ""^ "^"^ •*" ''^»«>P«. exjlecting to 
 find her there, or at least to hear of her I wiH 
 
 not relate the particulars of my inquiry there. 
 
 ton had been there. I fonnd, hdWow that thn 
 pohcehad been watching there TC;',!. wlet 
 for Gualtier. I went with thfem to the Prefect- 
 OT of Pohce. r pive my letter of intrednction 
 ^rt i B pr efect of^^MaweiHet , a nd w MHwitcd 
 the utmost attentioifi. The prefect himself 
 
 ^e. prefect showed me hU rolurtinous reports, 
 and went with me to the Harbor Bureau to shoW 
 me the names of ships which arrived here and 
 wereowned here. Never could ther? be a more 
 seardiing investigation than this had been. What 
 was the result ? ""»• 
 
 .Listen," said Obed, with impressive empha- 
 "s, yet compassionately, as Zillafi tang npoii his 
 words. " I will tell you all in brief. *Fh^L „" 
 such person as Miss Lo'rton ever came to the 
 Hotel de l-Europe Secondly, no such person 
 
 !^ -Tl!^ '" ^"f'^ "' »'•• Thirdly, nfiup 
 jmved here at the date mentioned by your ri^ 
 
 £"/;, .fT"i2:J.^K? "hip of that name ever came 
 ,i™^ ?k""- *'?hly, no ship arrived here at any 
 Urae this year that had picked up any one aX seaT 
 
 ™-S7 / **""« " '""™®- It w a base fiction 
 made up for some purpose." 
 
 "A fiction!" cried Zillah. "Never-never 
 — sne conld not so deceive me." 
 
 " Can the writing be forged ?" 
 I, " ^..*l°5l'' ■** h°'^ 't can,'^d Zillah, piteous- 
 L uJJf"" her writingso well," and stedrew 
 the letter from her pocket. " See-it is a very 
 pmiliar hand-and then, how conld any oni 
 spMk as she does about those things of here 
 £^a for wished me to bring ? No-it can not 
 
 ''WOT^r' *°'^ ^^'^ ^"'°" "i» »» «■<"«." 
 
 wrj**".'?"*- I'"' had been a foi^erv she 
 would not have been implicated in this.' Bat 
 now she does stand implicated in this horrible 
 
 inform-^ 3^T «.«..iirai. ine prefect himse f 
 ^rmed me that they kwl been «Mux!hin»into 
 
 ^ ^- LT '^"I **f"j '^"y had examined 
 •U tte vessels that had arrived, and had in- 
 V^ all their logs. The, had searehed 
 WJ. rrjfP'T-. They'had virited every 
 turn in the atj toyffiieh a ■truger might go. 
 
 A 3 
 
 JJ.X , L. 
 
 n«..M TJ ^T '^"^hlel It mnst be im- 
 PMsible. Oh, Sir ! we have lived together and 
 Jwed one another from childhood. She knows 
 all my heart, as I know hers. How can it be ? 
 
 Perhaps in her confusion she has imagined her- 
 sen in Kaples. 
 
 " No, " said Obed, sternly. » I have told yon 
 about the post-marks." « /uu 
 
 ■ftl-^K* ^"2 perhaps her mind was wandering 
 after the suffering of that sea voyage. " 
 
 But she never had any voyage," said Obed 
 Chute, grimly. "This letter wT^Tkten by h« 
 somewhere with the intention of making yoi be-v 
 
 If she had landed in Palermo or anr other place 
 yon would have had some sign of it'. But see— ^ 
 there 18 not a sign. Nothing but 'Naples' is' 
 here, mside and out— nothing but ' Naples ;' V 
 and she never came to Naples ! She wrote thte 
 to bring you here." 
 
 V "^m', T^ ^°^' how severely you judge her! 
 You will drive me mad by insinuating such fright- 
 ful suspicions How is it possible that one whom 
 1 know so well and love so dearly could be such 
 a demon as this ? It can not be. " 
 • "I'i»ten, my child," said Obe4 Chute, ten- 
 derly. "Strengthen yonrsrff. You have had 
 much to bear in your youkg Ufe, but this is D 
 «««er to bear than that was which yoiT mnst 
 " ^ *°" yeg that mo rning when you irst wpfca.^ 
 and Jbandlhe water In your cabin. TeU me— 
 
 in that hour when you rusM up on deck and 
 saw that vou were betrayed— in that hour— did 
 no thought come to your mind that there was 
 sori!e other than Gualtier who brought this upon 
 yon? •• ° ^ "^ 
 
 .n?l!.M ^"^y^ !^*.^^ ''** • ^ghtened face, 
 and said not a wdrd. 
 
 y 
 
 I 
 
140 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 " Better to face the worst. Let the tmth be 
 known, and face it, whatever it it. Look, now. 
 She wrote this letter which brought you here — 
 this letter T^ every word -of which is ji lie; she 
 it was who sent Guoltier to you to bring'you 
 ' here ; she it was who recommended to you that 
 miscreant who betrayed you, on whose tracks 
 the police of Franco and Italy are already set. 
 How do you suppose she will appear in the eyes 
 of the Kr««ch police ? Guilty, or not guilty ?" 
 
 .Zillah muttered some inarticulate words, and 
 then suddenly gasped out, " liut the hat and 
 the basket found by the fishermen ?" 
 
 "Decoys — commoa tricks, "said Obed Chute, 
 scornfully. " Clumsy enough, but in this cose 
 successful." 
 
 Zillah groahed, and buried her face in her 
 hands. ,« 
 
 A long silence folloVed. 
 
 "My poor child,!' snid Obed Chute at last, 
 " I hav6 been all the day making iriiiuirios every 
 where, and have already engaficed the police to 
 search out this mvstery. There js one thing 
 yet, howpver, which I wish to know, and you 
 *only can tell it. I am sorry to have to talk in 
 tJiis way, and give you any new troubles, but it 
 is for your sake only, and for vour sake there is 
 nothing which I would not do. Will you an- 
 swer me ona question ?" • 
 
 Ziibh looked upa* Her face had now grown 
 calm. The agitation had passed. The first 
 shock WM over, but this calm which followed 
 WHS the calm of fixed grief— a grief too deep 
 for tears. 
 
 " My question is^this, and it is a very im- 
 portant one: Do you know, or can you con- 
 ceive of any motive which cquld have actuated 
 this person to plot against vou in tliis way ?" 
 
 "I do not." 
 
 ••Think." 
 
 Zillah thought earnestly. She recalled the 
 past, in which Hilda had always been so de- 
 voted ;, she Aought of the dying Earl by whose 
 bedside she hod stood so faithfully ; she thought 
 of her deep sympathy with htfr when the writ- 
 ings were found in her father's desk ; she thought 
 of that deeper sympathy which she had manifest- 
 ed when Guy's letter was opened ; she thought of 
 her noble devotion in giving up ail for her and fol- 
 lowing her into seclusion ; she thought of their 
 happy life in that quiet little sea-side cottage. As 
 all these memories rose before hir the idea of 
 Hilda being a traitor seemed more impossible 
 thaii ever. But she no longer uttered any indij^ 
 nant remonstrance. 
 
 •• I am bewildered," she said. •' I can think 
 of nothing but love and fidelity in connection 
 with her. All' our lives she has lived with me 
 and loved me. I can not think of any imagina- 
 ble motive. I can imagine that she, like myself, 
 is the victim of some one else, bat not that she can 
 do anv thing else than lore me." 
 
 " Yet sba wrote that letter which is the cause 
 
 of all yoar grief. Tell me," said he, after a 
 
 __B iii!W , •'hMj ib »i B on < y of h wow n t"^ 
 
 • Yes--«noagh fin; her anpport. 
 
 '•Is she your sister?" 
 
 Zillah-feemed startled. < 
 
 •• I do not wish to intrade into vonr confidence 
 —I atif ask this to gain some light while I am 
 gntping in the dark." » 
 
 ■ •' She is not She is no nlatloil. ' But she 
 
 has lircKl with me all my life, and is the same ks 
 a sister." ' ■ 
 
 " Does she treat vou as her equal ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Zillah, with some hesitation, 
 "thatis— of late;" 
 
 ' ' But you have been her sup^oitantil of late ?", 
 
 "¥e8." 
 
 "Would you have any objection to tell her 
 name?" 
 
 "Yes," said Zillah; " I can not tell it. IwiU 
 tell this much : Lorton is an assumed name. It 
 belongs neither to her nor to me. My name is not 
 "Lorton." 
 
 "I knew that," said Obed Chute. "I hope 
 yott will forgive me. It was not curio^ty. I 
 ^wished to investigate this to the bottom ; but I 
 am satisfied — I Respect your secret. Will you 
 forgive me for the pain I have caused you ?" 
 
 Zillah placed her cojd hand in his, and said : 
 
 "My friend, do hot speak so. It hurts me 
 to have you ask my forgiveness." 
 
 Obed -Chute's face beamed with pleasure. 
 ' " My poor child," ho said, "you must go and 
 rest yourself. Go and sleep ; perhaps yon will 
 be better for it." 
 
 And Zilhih dragged herself out of the room. 
 
 CHAPTEI^ XLI. 
 
 OBED ON. THE RAUPAaE. ■ 
 
 Aj^oMo illness was the immediate resilt of so 
 much excitement, suffering, and grief. Gradu- 
 ally, however, Zillah struggled through it; and 
 at last, under the genial sky of Southern Italy, 
 she began to regain her usual health. Tho kind- 
 ness of her friends was unfaltering and inces- 
 sant. Through this she was saved, and it was 
 Obed's sister who brought her back from the 
 clutches of fever and the jaws of death. She 
 had as tender a heart as her brother, and had 
 come to love as ^ sister or a daughter this poor, 
 friendless, childlike girl, who had been thrown 
 upon their hands in so extraordinary a manner. 
 Brought uili in that puritanical school which is 
 perpetually on the look-out for "special provi- 
 dences," she regarded ZilUh's arrival among 
 them as the most marked special providence 
 which she had ever known, and never ceased to 
 aflSrm that something wonderful was destined to 
 come of all this. Around, this faithful, noble- 
 heahed, puritanical dame, Zillah's affections 
 twined themselves with something like filial ten- 
 derness, and she learned in the course of her ill- 
 ness to love that simple, straightforward, but ' 
 high-souled woman, whose love she had already 
 won. Hitherto she had associated the practice 
 of chivalrons ' principles jid the grand code of 
 honor exclosivelv witli am gentleijnen like the 
 Earfand her father, or with titled dames ; now, 
 however, she learned that here, in Obed Chute, 
 there was as fine an instinct of honor, as delicate 
 a sentiment of loyalty to friendship, as refined a 
 spirit of knight -g nantry^ as s t rong a moI^o Wfe^ 
 
 cor the weak and to become the champion of the 
 oppressed, and of profound a loatldfig for all that 
 is base and mean, as in dther of thprtfiiAuid 
 old genttomen by whom her character had been 
 monlded. Had Obed Chute beea bora an En- 
 glish lord his manners might hare had a finer 
 polish, but no training known among the sons 
 
 ; 
 
 liJy. t«aBwjJt .tyti), .. 
 
 ,-s,*'-fJ;. 
 
 I, *«ft.» »\ r'.V-.MS 
 
 i-iif 
 
 SiMf' ,S»*»Ssiti'^- 
 
tion of oU that is noble and honombfeand 
 
 P««ed m what Zillah considered as '«vnl^ 
 trade," wemed to her to have a nature J Ze 
 
 tit C^''""^ "* '^'" ?' ""> ChevalieTfiSy^ 
 
 that hero .on. ;,«,ret.an#,reprocAe. , ^^ 
 
 Obed, as has ^ready been seen, had a weak- 
 
 80ul that strange fascination which this city pos- 
 TZU "•"'5VT*.'^«*'"y''«'kand^Jner 
 
 tn« T ;r • ""^ ^""^' *'"» « "'"""ge mix- 
 tore of enthusiasm and practical observation aU 
 
 h.ZVlT •^">l!^ courseof his waSS^ 
 he had fallen m with a party of his countrymen. 
 
 ' ^. IviT *'»*.'"?'1«^ "Piritm and who Wled 
 
 Sil Wm«lfV".«"^ ''"^ neglecting Zillah, he 
 joined himself to these new frietads, and accom- 
 
 £r»fc..^T "} """y "J excursion into the coun- 
 t^ ^^i Naples-to Capua, to Cumai, to P«s- 
 !h^t?.J^<?°'"y.°"""^ »*«=«»• To^some of 
 St^tlZ." r'^,^«5««'»f to 80 in these u„- 
 ^Jpfhin ' ^^'^"' '*':*y '«"K''ed at dangers. 
 They had acquired a good-natured contempt for 
 
 ?„ rj *"/i'^^'"* ''^rs^' *»d as eaXman[ 
 ™l»S^^.h ^^^ Neapolitan laws, carried his re^ 
 Tolver, they were accustomed to venture anv 
 where with the most cardess ease, and Zmort 
 profound indifference to any^po'ssible dln^r 
 In ft«t, any approach t6 dan^r they woidd h^v; 
 hailed with joy, and to their adventurous ternw? 
 
 bwnithe greatest blessing which this land could 
 
 The whole country was in a most disturbed 
 condmon The Lombard war had diffu^d a 
 deep excitemenF among all classes. Every dav 
 new minors arose, and throughout ^e Neapoli- 
 ttm dommions the population were filled whh 
 •tange rague desires. The government itself 
 WM demorahzed-one day exerting iu utmost 
 ."STf V* '"M?*"". repressive measures, and on 
 toe nm^^lhng its own acts, and retrwting in 
 ftjr fron? the position which it had taken up. 
 The troops were as agitated as the people. It 
 WM felt Aat in case of an attempt at resolution 
 ^J!ft!!°' ^ "'"•^ »P«* I" the midst o? 
 !Li2i Lf^ ""* ''»* predominant, and was all 
 ^'^!!lT.""«"',''""*-*h« °«"'« of that 
 Sl^Tf^h^^ . 5'*'"*^ *". •"*'' "Ke, has shown 
 luniself ablto to draw nations after him, and by 
 
 rfkin*! "t^.* presence to paralyze the efforte 
 
 S?*^ . ^"^ o"* **"^ WM ' GaribaldL " 
 
 What ho was, or wliat he was to do were 
 
 JnUP^hich were but little known to tii^'i^ 
 
 nat Neapolitans. They simply accepted tiw 
 
 Xh T. "^ '^tl of •o-epeatTSe V 
 Sii!''r»?'* benefited. He was, in their 
 ^ghts, half hero, half Messiah, before whom 
 tlTt'"^ *""*? •'"'"'«» meltawra^d by 
 me httrt of this agitated mass there penetrated 
 flwmnnmenibte ramiflcatiomi of secret so«eti«L 
 
 **"0»0 >gePti gnldQr| . Hi rfM*ffwl _ i inil <n*mwtflTl 
 
 wprftwient excitement These were the men 
 SS '•''S'n^ted thoM daUy nunon. wUch thmr 
 boA government Md p«vle into a fever of agS! 
 
 Md^fas^red even the Uiaioni with wUd ideas of 
 
 THEfcEYFTOGBAM. 
 
 141 
 
 from ft Sonth J\.^r 1* * Southerner, fresh 
 
 leader, though, as he could not sneak ItnTii^*hI 
 
 »uuiea Mauan on their way out, and had nimH 
 It very extensively since tiieir arrival ""^ 
 
 Having exhausted the land excursions ti,« 
 Wy obtdned a yacht, in which they ^"^'nd^ 
 to make Uie circuit of the bay. On their fliS 
 voyage thev wont around its whole extent n^H 
 then, rounding .he island of Capri, they «.SS 
 
 consulung convenience without anrrS to 
 fashion. The Heidelbergians hiST^mXTh^? 
 
 tio^Z^K* ' ''if''' *'"'«='» «««ted snch adnSre- 
 tCm otV'.h'"' ^ ""'^'^ determined to^Sl 
 them. Obed, the officers, and the Sonth Spo- 
 hnmn went off, and soon returned wiU ^ fl^ 
 nel shuts and wide-awake hats of their otto for 
 
 costume. The lawyer and the clergyman ema 
 promised the matter by donning n»Ctack^ 
 and thus the whole part? finaUv mt nS* .»5 . ' 
 thU attire they mnKeir Si^' ^tVmai? 
 loud laughs at tiiestrenge trensfomation 3 
 a^h^nge of dress had made in each other's a^ 
 
 pn^SVJlil!!,'^ 'K^y "^^^ 'he drciit of the bay 
 and proceeded along the coast until Aeve3; 
 opposite to Salerno. It was alreTdy fofr^S 
 3"^ «f 'hey coidd not get b«:k t^NaJle, S 
 day they decided to land at this historic towS 
 *"h 'he hope tiiat they might be rewarfST; 
 Bome adventure. The yucht, thereforeTwS 
 headed toward the town, inA 2ew rtpS ov« 
 thewaves to her destination. ^ ' " 
 
 tl,«m "'^"'•["8 * headhuid *hich lay between 
 ?.The*v"l«H»*"^^'''u''^P~8ress was slow 
 ».»1»,7 1^ **J.T"^ 'h« harbor tiiey sat lazily 
 ^J^infiL the whuo JonsMjLihey ««S- 
 rfe«f ttewfndlnBfeich, and the&J^^^ 
 SS™ ''*' "^'^ to be weU up in his mffil 
 rii^'tf?'' ^"" "l««ountof the formwg™ 
 rW.f L.^*f ?''"1^' *.h™ "• «««>iven.ity was the 
 
 S^l ir^ PrefeMon tapght to OhristilmTn" 
 denti the mysteries of science. With their .1 
 tention thus divided betweenlh. EIle?d!L^ . 
 
143 
 
 THE CBYPTOGRAU. 
 
 tation of the clergrman and the charms of the 
 town, ihey approached their destination. 
 
 It was not until they had QHMtqnite near that 
 they noticed an nnnsual crtiBpDong the shore. 
 When they did notice it th^Rt fir«t supposed 
 that it might be one of those innumerable saints' 
 days which are so common in Italy. Now, as 
 they drew nearer, they noticed that the attention 
 of the crowd was turned to themselves. This 
 excited their wonder at first, but after a time 
 they thought that in so dull a place as Salerno 
 the arrival of a yacht was sufficient to excite cu- 
 riosity, and with this idea many jokes were 
 bandied about. At length they approached the 
 principal wharf of the place, and directed the 
 yacht toward it. As they did so they noticed 
 a universal movement on the part of the crowd, 
 who made a rush toward the wharf, and in a 
 short time filled it completely. Not even the 
 most extravagant ideas of Italian laziness and 
 curiosity could account for this intense interest 
 in the movements of an ordinary yacht ; and sp 
 onr Americans soon found' themselves lost in an 
 abyss of wonder. 
 
 yfhy should they be so stared at? Why 
 should the whole population of Salerno thus tdm 
 out, and make a wild rush to the wharf at which 
 they were to land ? It was strange ; it was in- 
 explicable ; it was also embarrassing. Not even 
 the strongest curiosity could account for sucb 
 excitement as this. r^ 
 
 "What 'n thunder does ijrall mean?" said 
 Obed, after a long silence. U 
 
 "There's something up," sCd the Cincinnati 
 lawyer, sententiously. 
 
 "Perhaps it is a repetition of the landing at 
 Naples on a grander scale," said the clergyman. 
 " I remember when I landed there at least fifty 
 lazaroni followed me to carry my carpet-bag." 
 
 "Fifty?" cried one of the Heidelbergians. 
 "Why, there are five hundred after us !" 
 
 "But these are not lazaroni," said Obed. 
 ' ' Look at that crowd ! Did yon ever see a more 
 respectable one ?" 
 
 In truth, the crowd was in the highest degree^ 
 respectable. There were some workmen, and 
 some lazaroni. But the greater number ctm- 
 sisted of well-dressed people, among whom w«re 
 intermingled priests and soldiers, and even wo- 
 men. All these, whatever their rank, bore in 
 their fiices an expression of the intensest curios- 
 ity and interest The expression was nilmistak- 
 able, an(9 as the yacht came nearer, those on 
 board were able to see that they were the objects 
 of no common attention. If they had doubted 
 this, this doubt was soon dispelled ; for as the 
 yacht grazed the wharf a movement took place 
 among the crowd, and a confused cry of ap- 
 plause arose. ^ 
 
 For such a welcome as this the yachting party 
 were certainly not prepared. All looked up in 
 amazement, with the exception of Obed. He 
 alone was found equal to the occasion. With- 
 out stopping to consider what the cause of such 
 a reception might be, he was simply conscious 
 =«fan act of pubiie good-will, and prepared to 
 respond in a fitting manner. He was standing 
 on the prow at the time, and drawing his tall 
 form to its full height, he regarded the crowd fpr 
 a moment with a benignant smile ; after which 
 he removed his hat and bowed with great em- 
 pramtment. 
 
 At this there arose another shout of appUuM. 
 ftom (the whole crowd, which completed the 
 amazement of the tourist's. Meanwhile the 
 yacht swung up close to the wharf, and as there 
 was nothing else to be done they prepared to 
 land, leaving her in charge of her crew, which con- 
 sisted of several sailors from one of the Ameri- 
 can frigates. The blue shirts of these fellows 
 formed a pleasing contrast to the red shirts and 
 reefing jackets' of the others, and the crowd on 
 the Wharf seemed to feel an indiscriminate ad- 
 miration for the crew as well as for the masters. 
 Such attentions were certainly somewhat em- 
 barrassing, and presented to these adventurous 
 sphits a novel kind of difficulty; but whether 
 novel or not, there was now no honorable escape 
 from it, and they hod to encounter it boldly by 
 
 E lunging into the midst of the crowd. So they, 
 inded — eight as singular figures as ever dis-' 
 turbed the repose of this peaceful to^n of Saler- 
 no. Obed headed the procession, dressed in a 
 red shirt with black trowsers, and a scarf tied 
 round his waist, while a broad-brimmed felt hat 
 shaded his expansive forehead. His tall form, 
 his broad shoulders, his sinewy frame, made him 
 by far the most conspicuous member of tljiis com- 
 pany, and attracted to him the chief admiration 
 of the spectators. Low, murmured words arose 
 as he paissed amidst them, expressive of the pro- 
 found impression which had been produced by 
 the sight of his magnificent physique. After 
 him came the others in Indian file ; for the crowd 
 was dense, and only parted sufficiently to allow 
 of the progress of one man at a time. The 
 Southerner came next to Obed, then the Heidel- 
 bergians, then the naval officers, while the cler- 
 gynuin .and the Cincinnati lawyer, ia their pic- 
 turesque pea-jackets, brought up the rear. Even 
 in a wide-awake American town such a com- 
 pany would have attracted attention ; how much 
 more so in this sleepy, secluded, quiet, Italian 
 town I especially at such a time, when all men 
 every where were on the lookkiut for great enter- 
 prises. %<j, 
 
 Obed marched on with h^ fpeirns till they left 
 the wharf and were able to walk oA together 
 more closely. The crowd followed. The Amer- 
 icans took the middle of the street, and walked 
 up into thtf town through what seemed the prin- 
 cipal thoroughfare, 'fhe crowd pressed after 
 them, showing no decrease whatever in their ar- 
 dent curiosity, yet without making any noisy 
 demonstrations. They seemed like men who 
 were possessed by some conviction as to the 
 character of these strangers, and were in full 
 sympathy with them, but were waiting to see 
 what they might do. The Americans, on their 
 side, were more and more surprised at eveiy 
 step, and could not imagine any cause whatever 
 for so very singular a reception. They did not 
 even know whether to view it as a hostile dem- 
 onstration, or as a sort of triumphant reception. 
 They could not imagine what .they had done 
 which might merit either the one or the other. 
 All that was left for them to do, therefore, they 
 did| and that mflcin, they accepted the sitas^ 
 tion, and walked along intent only upon the most 
 prosaic of purposes — the discoveir of a hotel. 
 At length, after a few minutes' walk, they found 
 the object of their search in a large stuccO edi- 
 fice which bore the prond title of " Hdtel de 
 rUniven" in French. Into this they tuifned, 
 
 3£i ■ 
 
 J, 
 
 r^-tU^^-^tvrf M-tJ^MS •-T**4mi_K>^^!^^f; J 
 
 ■*A i:^'\L^^i±^t^K.\Li!^-^tJ^t 
 
m"^ 
 
 i 
 
 •eeking refage and .PBftwihmeiit. The ci«wJ 
 without mpected th,ir Keclu.ioT TJ^T/dK 
 
 stantlv thJJ^u *?' """ *'"'='> "rose con. 
 
 in.!^" «?*«ri««« tbev were accosted by the land- 
 ^, who recetvei them with the utmost ob- 
 sequiousness, and a devotion which^g ab^ 
 l«o. He informed them that the whX hZi 
 
 nme theh- exceUencies would be pleased to dine 
 Their excelletacies informed him, thK«Kh ,],; 
 medmm of the Heidelbergians, thkt th^woSd' 
 be pleased to dine as soon as possible- where 
 upon the landloitl led them tr. Wo „Z!: 
 room and bowed himself out. ^ ***' 
 
 rheir room looked out upon the street. There 
 was a balcony m front of the windows ; a„d^^ 
 they sat there waiting, they could M«fkf 
 denw ctjwd as it stood in front of Se l^tet 
 
 ^h:tVthl{wl^'^p"^''y ' r'^»'^^^^^^^ 
 
 wnatc Ihat was the problem. Itifassoknot 
 
 SS TiKn «*"* li-'W "KE 
 
 «M. trr tbQ singDlar lutura of their sititftil™ 
 SSylsf "^'^ "«"•'>'' ^^'' though K"; 
 
 J^h!!!l^ " ^^ °'^' " """ I'" step out and 
 j« what « going on. TU j„st look around. S 
 
 Saying this, Obed pa«Ksd through the ooen 
 window, and went out on the balcony HisTt^ 
 pearance was thfl cause of an immenw sensitior 
 rot a moment the crowd was hul^ a 
 
 THE (mYPTOORAM; 
 
 148 
 
 muions, ytva la Ltbertat" " IV»„ I. 
 
 
 publica t" " Viva f Italia /'• «« r.„» 
 ims last word was caught up with a kinri nf 
 
 of SphiZ''**^'" ^" '^'«^ ''•A « thnnder 
 
 kader hi f u' °' ".'• ^^ ''^ *•"« acknowledged 
 ^i »/^" '"!? *.« responwbiUtyS 
 
 •oolTH'.SZte wai '£iZJ'^^' °' *^" 
 •sewitMicoUkothegaUopingofthorseg. Tie 
 
 Mund seemed to strike the ci»wd belnw .f .^. 
 or Jpr wonder The L^H, 7 ''" «=«"J««='«'«» 
 
 The crowd stood breathless and mute ■ Ti.„ 
 Americans saw in this « v»T!r." i " . ^* 
 to the evente ^f he ev^ni^^.n7"\7""'"'°" 
 no more account for ti.i"§:ant'rVoJu'r';! 
 had preceded it, they wait^"t" ^ theTnA''""* 
 
 They did not have to wait fong 
 
 the';i;j;wtio^r'ro:i° I'.i;'^ '"r*" 
 
 sight o^ these red-shirted stnin«»7^' j 
 very peculiar effect on ^e^lSlC i^^."**^ * 
 dent by their faces and ^elr l^ks Ti T„ 
 trr"of"oir«"^'^!i"'« forSb/eTiJpJr! 
 
 B«rhe°'s<Sn^';errli;roS "T"^ 
 ping forward; he SmlS :""""' '^•^' ""P- 
 
 «« Wh^"°fi".'r«'°'^''"- Rendeteri. " 
 ,^ What s tha he says ?" asked Obed. 
 
 ing 
 us 
 
 «' Toll k- — ^pT' . ,"~. "*"* on us to surrender ' 
 
 St SLtl^t^'lf?'' -""onsciouslJ^rSy. 
 K A*omclas- Tell him to come on and tak< 
 
 take 
 
 ^e Heidelbei^an translated this rerhatim 
 The cap ain looked puzzled. ''«™"»n- 
 
 .onrt^X^ri^y^' "^''- -y " -e" «et 
 
 JSi t^^'SrSr "cfe'i^"*"?"'' 
 forth his revolver, ho^it JSl^'yet": 
 
 reirs^r.TiShr^o:.'?^ "«- 
 
 v„„ ' "*•'" ■*■'* *•>» HeidelbeiKian "Tin 
 ,^_i!^?!L«t^ dragoon, ont«i4e," 
 
 &hv^'ZdfiL S'-^T f°rty-«i«ht shots to your 
 "hif'occS "*"'*"*'«*»"' "^"^ ItalianVon 
 as OW A • *'".'"*' ?"' nncommonly sti«ng°^ 
 
 wLP^aTht"**^ '''""' ^"^ ~--^- 
 
 offl^.*" *="""»*°<J«<1 to «W»t you," said the 
 
 
 
lU 
 
 THE CBYFrOGRAM. 
 
 " Well, go back and lay that yon tried, and 
 couldn't do it," loid the Ileiddbergian. 
 "Your blood will be on your own heads." 
 "Pardon me; some of it will be on yours, 
 and some of your own blood also," retorted the 
 Ueidelbergian, mildly. 
 
 " Advance !" cried thVofflcer to his soldiers. 
 "Arrest these men." 
 
 The soldiers looked at their captain, then at 
 the Americans, then at their captain again, then 
 at the Americans, oad the end of it was that 
 they did not more. 
 
 " Arrest them 1" roared the officer. 
 The Americans stood opposite with their re- 
 _ Tohers leveled. Thq soldiera stood stilL They 
 ' would not obey. 
 
 "My friend," said the Heidelbergian, "if 
 Tonr men advance, yon yourself will be the first 
 to fall, for I happen to have youtcovered by my 
 pistol. I may as well tell you that it has six 
 shiits, and if the first fails, the second will 
 not." 
 
 The officer turned polo. He ordered his men 
 to remain, and went out. After a few moments 
 he returned with tfvelve ^ore dragoons. The 
 Americans still stood watchful, with their re- 
 volvers ready, takinL; aim. 
 
 " You see," criedfthe officer, excitedly, "that 
 you are overpowered. There are as many men 
 outside. For the l4st time I call on you to sur- 
 render. If yon do not I will give no quarter. 
 You need not trv to resist." 
 
 "What is it that he say^?" asked Obed. 
 The Heidelbergian told him. 
 Obed laughed, i 
 
 "Ask him why he does not come and take 
 ns," said he, grimly. " We have already given 
 him leave to dp so." 
 
 The Heidelbergian repeated these words. 
 The captlun, ib a fury, onlered his men to ad- 
 vance. The Americans fully expected an at- 
 tack, and stoop ready to pour in a volley at the 
 first movement on the part of the enemyi But 
 the enemy did not move. The soldiers stood 
 motionlesi. ^rbey did not seem afraid. They 
 seemed rather as if they were animated by\ some 
 Biit feeling. It had been wbis^red 
 dy thi^t the Neapolitan army was unreliable. 
 This certaifily looked like it. 
 .,, "Cowards!" cried the captain, who seemed 
 to think that their inaction arose from fear. 
 "Yon will| luffer for this, you scoundrels! 
 Then, if yon ere afraid to advance, make ready I 
 
 present! fii 
 His comi 
 dressed to th^ 
 stood by theii 
 piece. The 
 surprise was 
 
 ilnd might as well have been ad- 
 I winds. The guns of the soldiers 
 ; sides. Not one of them raised his 
 aptain was thunder-struck ; yet his 
 p^ot greater than that of the Ameri- 
 cans when thij was hastily explained to them by 
 the Heidelberi^ans. Evidently there was disaf- 
 fection among\ the soldiers of his Majesty of 
 Naples when brought into the presence of Red 
 ShirU. 
 
 The captain Was so overwhehned by this dis- 
 oovery that he Vt ood li ke one par a lyzed, not 
 ' ^Tf what t(ri|to; — 'mis passive disofi^lence 
 
 . OD the part of hi 
 pected that he 
 
 men was a thing so unex- 
 left helpless, without re- 
 sources. 
 
 Meanwhile the erowd outside had been in- 
 tensely excited. They had witnessed the ar- 
 
 rival of the dragoons. Thev had seen them dis- 
 mount and enter the hotel after the captuin. 
 They luid seen the captain come down after 
 another detachment. They had known nothing 
 of what was going on inside, but conjectured 
 that a desperate struggle was inevitable betwcon 
 the Ked bhirts and the dragoons. As an un- 
 armed crowd they could offer no active interven- 
 tion, so they held their peace for a time, waiting 
 in breatliless suspense for the result. The result 
 seemed long delayed. The troopers did not 
 seem to gain that immediate victory over the lied ' 
 Shirts which had been fearfully anticipated. 
 Every moment seemed to postpone such a vic- 
 tory, and render it impossible. Every moment 
 restored the courage of the crowd, which at first 
 had been panic-stricken. Low murmurs passed 
 among tliem, which deepened into words of re- 
 monstrance, and strengthened into cries of sym- 
 pathy fur the Red Shirts ; mitil, at lust, these 
 cries arose to shouts, and the^houts arow wild 
 and high, penetrating to that upper room where 
 the assailants confronted their cool antagonists. 
 The cries had an ominous sound. 
 " Viva la Libtrta!" " Vtva la RepMiea!" 
 ''Viva Garibaldi!" 
 
 At the name Garibaldi, a wild yell of ap- 
 plause resounded wide and high— a long, KJirill 
 yell, and the name was taken up in a kind uf 
 mad fervor till the shout rose to a frenzy, ^nd 
 n^hing was heard but the confused outcries of 
 a thousand discordant voices, all uttering thnt' 
 one grand name, "Garibaldi J" "Garibaldi!" 
 "Garibaldi!" 
 
 The Americans heard it. What connection 
 there was between themselves and Garibaldi 
 they did not then see, but thev saw that some 
 how the people of Salerno had associated them 
 with the hero of Italy, and were sympathizing 
 with them. Obed Chute himself saw this, and 
 understood this, as that cry came thundering to 
 his ears. He turned to his friends. 
 
 " Boys," said h§, " we came here for a dinner 
 and a night's rest We've got the dinner, but the 
 night's rest seems to be a little remote. There's 
 such an infernal row going on||jLAround that, if 
 we wont to sleep this blessed^lght, we'll have 
 to take to the yacht again, and turn in there, 
 sailor fitshion. So I move that we adjourn to 
 that place, and put out to sea." 
 , His proposal was at once accepted withoift 
 'hesitation. 
 
 • ' Very weU," said Obed. " Now foUow me. 
 March!'' 
 
 With his revblver in his extended hand, Obed 
 strode toward the door, fdllowed by the othen. 
 The dragoons drew back and allowed them to 
 pass out without resistance. They *descended 
 the stairs into the hall. As they appear^ at 
 the doorway they were recognized by the crowd, 
 and a wild shout of triumph arose, in which 
 nothing was conspicuous but the name of Gari- 
 baldi. The mounted dragoons outside did not 
 attempt to resist them. They looked away, and 
 did not seem to see them at all. The crowd 
 
 h ad it all thdr own way^ 
 
 'nmNnh the crowd Obed acR^ced, fbllowciil 
 by his Riends, and led the w^ toward the 
 yacht. The crowd followed, "rhey cheert^; 
 they shouted; they yelled out defiance at the 
 king; they threw aside all restraint, and sang 
 theItalianTenionofthe"ManeiUaiae." Awild 
 
 
 . i^^It^SiUf^ CI %,^-i. 
 
A 
 
 Wcto'It'^»"!i ^^"^ ¥^ i>s ISongh some great 
 rictorjr had been Won'Jorsome lignal triulimh 
 achieved But amid.Ja]l their .ho^tfand S 
 !:^?.'PL^"«'.-»'» «'4 one word waa p^-em^ 
 'ord waa the name of 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 one 
 
 nent, and that 
 "Garibaldi!" 
 
 But the„Americana 
 marched on quietly 
 off from the wharf. . 
 thom from the crowd 
 
 14S 
 
 Jade no response. They 
 t their yacht, and pushed 
 L loud, long cheer followed 
 
 ..„.„.„„ tiuwuJ which stood there wnt(<h 
 
 iDg their departure; and, aa thTyachT mov«i 
 away, cheer after chJer .iose, which grJdS 
 died away in the distance. «r»uuaiiy 
 
 at the hotel at Salenio. But they did not have 
 much sleep Their ionderful adventure fomS 
 thethemeofdiscussidnall nightlong. AndaX^ 
 he only conclusion Which they could come to w^ 
 
 Sen foV'cl^ht'P ".""««"' h'adX:„''mT 
 token for Garibald^i; that Obed fhute had 
 
 b^n accepted as G Jibaldi himself; «*d, flnaJiV 
 coDjecturea of theselAmericang. '=°°°™®'' '"« 
 
 CH. 
 
 ANOT: 
 
 Time passed a 
 gained something 
 ity ; yet the sadnc, 
 relaxed. In addij 
 there now arose 
 What was she to 
 forever with thest 
 leave them? Th 
 perplexing one, 
 the utter lonelintR 
 distressing di8titi( 
 Bgainst such fei " 
 thoughts, but it 
 ber mind. 
 
 !R XLII, 
 
 IR HBVELATION. 
 
 ■ ■?'J Zillah once more re- 
 ikeherold spring and elastic- 
 « of her situation was noway 
 in to the griefs of the past, 
 10 problem of the future. 
 Jo7 Was ^e to go on thus 
 kind fnend»? or wai she to 
 subject was a painful and a 
 Id always brought before her 
 of her position with the most 
 "ess. Generally she fought 
 '> »"« tried to dismiss such 
 difficult to drive them from 
 
 f^^ 'he nan^ "orherf;;ndoTb.;i"ke«: T 
 er which he diWout a check for heVforThM 
 
 Mnn .if- . T^h pleasure in telling a storr 
 
 MOD this occasiok ZiUah's eager interesL hSJ 
 
 ^h^ /T' '"l-P"^"'"*^.^ encouS^ 
 Sn C ° ^M !?f ' '•"'•^ ''"yet some spWt 
 
 About a week or ton days aflei^is • Obed 
 
 a noTiceSl'lr '^* a;er«rio„;?^ 
 SoSvif n^..i. ^u"??*' """^ "«ked him anx. 
 lOMiy ,f any thlni ; had happened. 
 
 "ere 18 more troii ble in store for yoit I feared 
 
 welf'mv?""'' "™' '«*'' ••»' I IxKi to wait to 
 see if my fears were true. " 
 
 Zillah regarded him fearfullv not lrnA-.i 
 
 "I've kept this matter, to rovself till n/»-. >• 
 hf 1""^ 0»>«^>^,"but I do nSnd to k^D 
 It from you aiyr longer. I've 8Dok«n f^.f!^'^ 
 about it, and sl^ thiSL thltjou'y better kn?w 
 It. At any rat^" he added ^'it bn^«. k j 
 some thing* yo^ve borne ;Wt corned ^^fZ 
 of the rest, and «ems to ^aWem wrrs^".'"^ 
 
 feJ'lS n^ bTolr ^''''^ ''" «-»' •*« « 
 
 ." ][,°"^<l™f^ " said Obed, "has been returned." 
 "My draft returned ?" said Zil^ i„ ^f^ 
 ishment. "What do yon mean " ' '" "'T, 
 
 wi?,!l "v'"'"5[y ;* '^^ '*»''«"» of this. aK 
 rJn f . ^°" l"?^' "=■"»« '"»<='' about teri»-s 
 ago. I said nothing to yon about it hnt .^u 
 " upon myself to write for expKd'jnJ" ffl 
 evening I received this"-and he^dX a uZl 
 
 Jathom. I ve also forwarded an account of^l,!. 
 and a copy of this letter to the S at Mai^ 
 wd es, and to the police here, to Ci?t thfeSTn 
 their investigations. I'm afi^d the polce here 
 
 As Obed ended he handed the letter to Zillah. 
 wh^o opened It without a word, and^dSfot 
 
 '<Q.» T "^"«>».«1*mi6erlO,18l». 
 
 ». iJ .' ° answer to your favor of 7th instant. 
 
 Smn-f , "^^ "r*^ l''.'^''^ f""» Miss EU^ 
 f£3oSoJi". :'i """^^u' ""!:*y 'housand pound. 
 
 ex^' '^t^ it happened that all her funds were 
 
 Pl/^ Bhe"cotrSl th"^h^''cS'Z SL'ai'^""''-'>r«"a'^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 the 17th June she came in pereon and withdrew 
 Ae stock, m consols, whicUhe had depoeiZ 
 
 7^ H^r""!**^* ,*? ^"'^ thoosandTSnl! 
 C*30,000) as aforesaid. That it was Mim Piu. 
 Lorton he^elf there is no doubt ;Z i!Zl^ 
 same lady who deposited the finds, a^whS 
 •"•vent checks to n8«*m timff to ti'ma Th^ 
 
 waplea, must be an impostor^ and we reoom- 
 mendyou to hand hv over to the pou4 
 nw- . ™ *'*® J»onOT> be. Sir, your most 
 obedient servants, JB!to, Akd Bbo^e. 
 "Obb> Cinrr«, Biq.!r 
 
 J?..*^?'?'' u""* had been sh^^^SuS" 
 thte fetal sheet w^th wild eye, and haggard &«. 
 Obed made an effort to cry for help, Zut Mn«t 
 «^ '■''e a ^«n- His sfster cai^^ nmnimr to 
 and seelnj: Zillah'* condition, she tpofh^iSfi 
 
 WIUS4 , 
 
 Poor child I poor sweet child!" ahe cried. 
 
 ■i^' 
 
146 
 
 THE CPYPTOORAM. 
 
 ."!Kf.*21!°i°^.' '*•' ^ """'»' SJ^'^i" die I "" iMtant pnt an end to all theme 
 
 Jf tidignaa^ fflt 
 
 But ZUlah aqddlj rooMd hendf. It «^ no 
 ■oft mood thi* wa« orer her now; it wa«,|iot 
 • broken heart that was now threatening Hw. 
 ThlB letter leemed to throw a flood of light ov^ 
 ner dark and mysteriooa persecution, which in 
 
 ^Bg» aiiu' ftw lOTOd Hilda whidiKa^SsiMTO. 
 u®^' . ^T* '**' "y** flMhed, and ^e color which 
 had left her cheeka fliuhed bade again, moont. 
 >ng high with the full sweep of her indignant pan- 
 won. She started to her iiset, her hands clenched, 
 ^and her brows frowning darkty. 
 
 J 
 
 "Yon art 
 
 Item voice. 
 
 atone has l>e< 
 
 the one wlio 
 
 was my com] 
 
 my bed; wh( 
 
 has betrayed i 
 
 long sigh; " 
 
 know it Do 
 
 not look so'sad 
 
 your loving h( 
 
 as thopgh you 
 
 And slle hoi 
 
 »i«er. Obed ( 
 
 tended, and pr 
 
 "Sit down, 
 
 tenderly. " Y 
 
 if you can." 
 
 "lamialm, 
 fuintly. 
 
 "Come,"8Ri 
 
 about it now. 
 
 week, we will 
 
 You mtast drive 
 
 111 tell yott wh 
 
 and take vou to 
 
 Zillah looked 
 
 predating hb v 
 
 mens town, and 
 
 A week passec 
 
 •peak of this sui 
 
 oppressed by a 
 
 tituation. As 1( 
 
 rich she had nc 
 
 now!— now she) 
 
 the wide world, i 
 
 these noble-hear 
 
 do? This coulc 
 
 could she do — si 
 
 How could she 
 
 would become of 
 
 Could she go I 
 
 ■he had fled? 
 
 once, and was in 
 
 Sooner than do th 
 
 What, then, coub 
 
 den to these kirn 
 
 •he? She though 
 
 bat what could sh 
 
 «woy nearly all he 
 
 J^ng to get -bad 
 
 had robbed her. 
 
 For, to do this, 
 
 tain the help of 01 
 
 •he would have to 
 
 do this? cSuldsh 
 
 •orrow.of her life] 
 
 their fetal marriai 
 
 Guy's letter, and h 
 
 these things were 
 
 «ny one, and the 
 
 known was jntoler 
 
 •eek ailec Hilda it 
 
 her troe name, at 1 
 
 " S) q ^ l ii p r^ n t hing -1 
 
 „*"» of all her se 
 
 Hilda had betrayei 
 
 •ndrobbedher— ofi 
 
 •V doubt; and sb 
 
 owher seek after he 
 
 «ta redress for her i 
 
 At length she ha( 
 
 WSilJ^lH, 
 
 ^4^^jiXiM^ 
 
f'.e lu. been Ir^iZ^^^^sA^Ml^i', 
 U.e one wfco lived on m/fu,her'« bou^^v* who 
 
 my Ded; who had alt my love and trust— nha 
 has betrayed me I Ah, will," she added, lith a 
 
 not look so-gadly and so tenderly at me. I know 
 your loving hearts. You. at liast, do not Wk 
 
 • . *i^t \®''^ '"" ^^^ *'"nd» to the brother and 
 sw^er. Obed took that little hand whkh she e" 
 tended, and pressed it reverently to his lip. "^ 
 .««H^i '^"'^"'J^' P*^'' "^hild," Mid Miss Chute 
 SuL."'^""'™*"^''*^- T-ytobeeat: 
 
 fdnti"" ^^"^ *"*.' '^'" ^ "^<' '^i'J Z"'ah, 
 ab^'u^HoC'^T®'^- "Wewilltalk nomore 
 
 and take von to Salerno. " - ^*'"" 
 
 Zillah looked at him with a faint smila an- 
 preciamg hfe well-meant reference tHhai T 
 A 117' ''"^"'^. '"f* her with his sisJe . 
 A week passed, and Zillah was not allowed to 
 .peak of this subject. But all the dme sKs 
 oppressed by a sense of her utterly dewraJe 
 "7»t , A" long as she had beli/ved hTrsdf 
 nch she had not felt altogether heloleM W 
 now!-now she found hersel? a pau^ „"« in 
 SLT'^^r.'"' * t^""^^' on the'li'.unZof 
 
 J^^dSmfo^rrV"^'"" »««.rT"^ra; 
 
 Could she go back to that home from which 
 Ae had fled? Never! That thought £ 
 once, and was instantly scouted as imposslbte 
 Sooner than do that she would die of st-S^atS." 
 What, then, could she do? Live on as a bur 
 
 t?\^^ '""k'^ '«•"'»''? AlaslU^co^ld 
 
 ?r .r'^"}! •'r '^ Tht'sbtthi?gh' s 
 
 tiying to get^ack her money from thow who 
 
 Jo;'^':r'H''',K•• """'^'^^uwthisKne? 
 
 For, to do this, it would be necessary to oh- 
 "«,^'P of Obed Chute; and^Tt^at c.^ 
 
 WW ' ^ J-onm she reveal to another the Hoomt 
 wrmwof her life? Could she tell hm X 
 the.r fatal marriage; about the Earl- S 
 
 aI" f"*"' ""•* ''** «'8ht from hoTe? No^ 
 Awe tlungs were too sacred to be divulged to 
 «V one, and the very idea of making^em 
 known was intolerable. But if gh7be™n I^ 
 «ek afte, Hilda it would be necesLi^foten 
 kftroe name, at least to Obed Chut^and S. 
 
 THE CBYPTOOBAM. 
 
 S«S'!^r°* whwIrweBa involve the dis- 
 dMure of aU her secret. It could not be done 
 
 nKi.5 ,' and she was helpless; ahe could 
 
 r,^:Sf^h;i«^f "' *"'^'^^'" " "'^ 
 
 At length she had a conversation with Obed 
 
 147 
 
 I «?«T™?'^'" her draft. She told him that when 
 
 I »he flrst went to Tenby her sister had persuadS 
 
 &nker.*'i^HT "'• ''?' '"°"«-^ '""« h^^^o^^ 
 SZ HiM'^" ",7''h M«««". Tihon and 
 
 ha™ it H„ii v^if"*'f ,'""* «P'"« to London to 
 nave it done. She told Obed that thev we're 
 I'vuig in seclus on, that Hilda had char^^of thi 
 finances and drew all the checks, of^na^ 
 Messrs. Tilton and Browrte had been Wto M?e^ 
 that she was the Ella Urton who hod d^wsU^ 
 the money. In this Wiy it was easy fo^ W 
 
 lentforMSg^mt ""^'^ '"'* "^ "'■-^-'' «" 
 
 fnli'^J^r^f/'""^" ""'"^ ''« ''t 'ast. in tones 
 full of pity, " vou could not imagine once xvhar 
 niotive this Ilifda could have for beZ"^' "I" 
 Ilereyouhavemotiveenough. Itisave^f^r^ 
 
 nn .1 ^"c J;"' ""'» '"»'■'' b^en betraybg oM 
 another for less than this since the worKZ* 
 There was once a certain Judas who carriX; 
 a Plan of betrayal for a far smaller fi^re But 
 ind hTih """" ^°1 "^'*" associatiT GualSr 
 
 Zilllh'**''"r "'ti,-''*'^ •""" ''f^« •>«"»." said 
 "i- ' Icanhelievenothinglelse." 
 
 -„^ ""*! *"••* ">«' Gualtierlwa« ia attead- 
 ance on you for years ?" ^weaa- 
 
 II Yes." ^ 
 
 " Did you ever notice any thing Dke frimk^ 
 ship between these two ?" * ®"'*^ 
 
 "She always seemed to hold herself U fi.- 
 above him that I do not see howX^uM 
 have had any understanding. " ' 
 
 to^o^'?-'"' ***"» *" *I^ '0 her more than 
 
 ' That looks like confidence. And than rHa 
 sent him to take von to NanlM L .«.f ' *"* 
 the way ?" ^ ° P"' you out of 
 
 Zillah sighed. 
 Gn^de??""' ^^""''"k^econldh.veloTed 
 
 "It seems absurd. Anr thimr lik« lnv« k. 
 tween those two is impossible." * "'" ^ 
 
 ChJy T ^A^ ""dflrm conviction," saidObed 
 
 the prime mover in this. Both of th^J musT^ 
 
 a tool m his hands. Women will do anv thinL^ 
 ■"''!Z''\ /'•« '"«' «««^rificed you t^ Wm I? 
 isn t^o bad a case as it first looked " " 
 
 1 
 
 -•— - .« II. uiai lUOKeU. 
 
 ..iir?"' so' bad!" said Zfllah in wonHflr 
 
 What is worse than to betray a Vri^dr ^"• 
 
 ..I- r *", * *°,""" '^'ray* a friend for the 
 
 £l l^JZ' • ''"r '^ •'"^ ^'«' women hl^ 
 
 garni which he h^ThiyedTwTu^ T,^ 
 dltfr; «?"*»."' ^'i^ "terlin^^n^hS 
 SSfn^ of^fo^*"""?'' dollars-besides that 
 
 Such was Obed Chute's idea, «nd Zillah .c-^ 
 ceptid it ..the only true solution. AnjrotW 
 
 ■ill 
 
 
 f^ > 
 
% 
 
 .g, 
 
 :i 
 
148 
 
 THE CRYPTOGHAM. 
 
 solation Tronld force her to believe that Hilda 
 had been a hypocrite all her life — that her devo- 
 tion was a sham, and her love a mockery. Such 
 a thing seemed incredible, and it seemed far 
 more natural to her that Hilda had acted from 
 some mad impulse of love in obedience to the 
 strong temptation held out by a lover. Yes, she 
 thought, she had placed herself in his power, 
 and did whatever he told her, without thinking 
 of the consequences. The plot, then, ninst be 
 all Gnaltier's. Hilda herself never, never, nev- 
 er could have formed such a plan against one 
 who loved her. She could not have known 
 what she was doing. She could not have de- 
 liberately sold her life and robbed her. So Zil- 
 lah tried to think ; but, amidst these thoughts, 
 there arose the memory of that letter from 
 Naples — that picture of the voyage, every word 
 of which showed such devilish ingenuity, and 
 sach remorseless pertinacity in deceiving. Love 
 may do much, and tempt to much, she thought ; 
 but, after all, coi|ld such a letter have emanated 
 from any one whose heart was not utterly and 
 wholly bad and corrupt? All this was terrible 
 to Zillah. 
 
 "If I conld but redress your wrongs," said 
 Obed, one day—" if you would only give me 
 permission, I would start to-morrow for En- 
 gland, and I would track this pair of villains till 
 I compelled them to disgorge their plunder, and 
 one of them, at least, should make acquaintance 
 with the prison hulks or Botany Bay. But you 
 will not let me," he added, reproachfully. 
 Zillah looked at him imploringly. 
 " I have a secret," said she, " a secret which 
 I dare nol divulge. It involves others. I have 
 sacrificed every thing for this. I can not ment\oi 
 it even to you. And now all is lust, an^ I hi 
 nothing. There is no help for it, none. 'S 
 seemed to be speaking to herself. " For men," 
 she continued, "if they were hunted^^^wn, 
 names would come out, and then all yould be 
 know-n. And rather than have all known" — her 
 voice greV higher and sterner os she<%oke, ex- 
 pressing a desperate resolve — " rather than have 
 all known, I would die— yes, by A^'death as ter- 
 rible as that which stared me in the face when I 
 was drifting in the schooner I"^ '. 
 . Obed Chute looked at hec^>Fity was on his 
 ,4^. He held out his hand<|ilid took hers. 
 
 *' It shall npt be known, " said he. " Keep your 
 secret. The time will coibe some day when you 
 will be rigkted. Trust in God, my child." 
 The time passed on, bat Zillah was now a 
 
 Ey to this new trouble. ; How conld she live? 
 ) was penniless. Could she consent to remain 
 s a burden on kind friends like these ? These 
 thongbta agitated her incessantly, preying upon 
 her^fhind, and never leaving her by night pr by 
 day. She was helpless. How could she live ? 
 By what means could she ho))e to get a living ? 
 Her friends saw her meUtncholy, but attrib- 
 uted it all to the greater sorrows through which 
 she had passed. Obed Chute thought that the 
 b wt cnre waa perpetnal distraction. So he bos- 
 
 itd himself with arrauglu); Kuerer-^ndliigBeilH 
 of expeditions to all the charming environs of 
 Naples. Pompeii and Hercnlaneum opened be- 
 fore them the wonders of the ancient world. 
 Vesuvius was scaled, and its crater revealed its 
 awful depths. BUn, Misenum, and Puuuoli 
 were explored. Psntum showed them iU eternal 
 
 temples. They lingered on the beach at Salerno, 
 They stood where never-ending spring abides, 
 and never-withering flowers, in the vale of Spr- 
 rento — the fairest spot on earth ; best npresent- 
 ative of a lost Paradise. They sailed over every 
 part of that glorious bay, where earth and air 
 and sea all combine to bring into one spot all 
 that this world contains of beanty and sublimitv 
 of joyoiisnesb and loveliness, of radiance and of 
 deligHK Yet still, in spite of M this, the dull 
 weight of melancholy coold not be removed, but 
 never ceased to weigh her down. 
 
 At length Zillah conld control her feelings 
 no longer. One day, softened by the tender 
 sympathy and watchful anxiety of these loving 
 friends, she jrielded to the generous promptings 
 of her heart and told them her trouble. 
 
 "I am penniless," she said, as she concluded 
 her confession. "You are too generous, and 
 it is your very generosity that makes it bitter for 
 me to be a mere dependent. You are so gener- 
 ous that I will ask you to ge(, me something to 
 do. I know you will. There, I have told you 
 all, and I feel happier already."' 
 
 As she ended a mile passed over the face of 
 Obed Chute and his sister. The relief which they 
 felt was infinite. And this was all ! 
 
 ' ' My child," said Obed Chnte, tenderly, "there 
 are twenty ditfetent things that I can say, each of 
 which would put you perfectly at ease. I will 
 content myself, however, with merely one or two 
 brief reibarks. In the first place allow itie to state 
 that yo1fi are not penniless. Do yon think that 
 you aie^ing to lose all your property? N»^ 
 by the'^temal ! no I I, Obed Chute, do declare 
 ^^alT^ will get it back some day. So dismiss 
 r fears, and dry your tears, as the hymn-book 
 8. Moreover, in the second pUce, yon speak 
 of being a dependent and a burden. I can hard- 
 ly trust myself to speak in reply to that I will 
 leave that to sister. For my own part, I will 
 merely say that you are our sunshine— vou make 
 our family circle bright as gold. To lose, you, 
 my child, would be— well, I won't say what, only 
 when ygp leave us you may leave an order at the 
 nearest stone-cutter's for a tombstone for Obed 
 Chute." 
 
 He smiled as he spoke — his great rugged feat- 
 ures all irradiated by a glow of enthusiasm and 
 of happiness. 
 
 "But I feel so dependent — such a burden," 
 pleaded Zillah. V 
 
 " Ifthat is the case," said Obed Citiuto, "then 
 your feelings shall be consulted. I will em])loy 
 yon. You shall have an honorable position. 
 Among us the best ladies in the land become 
 teachers. President Fillmore's danghter taught 
 a schopl in New England. It is my purpose now 
 to engage you as governess." 
 "As governess?" 
 " Yes, for my chUdren." 
 "But I don't know any thing." 
 "I don't care — I'm going to engage yoa as 
 governess all the same. Sister teaches them the 
 mdiments. What I want yog to teach them 1» 
 
 nrattc. 
 
 " Music 7 I'm such a wretched player." 
 " You play well enough for me — well enough 
 to teach them ; and the beauty of it is, even if 
 yon don't play well now, you soon will. Doesn't 
 Franklin or somebody say that one learns by 
 teaching ?" 
 
 ^1 
 
 .^.'• 
 
 y^^ 
 
 J. 
 
 ff 
 
 m* 
 
u'S?.^ 'fece reoki nnatterable gmtitnde. 
 rWg, said ObfldChute, " ig purely a bnsi- 
 nes. transaction. 1 11 o^ly give you tL usual 
 W»ent-8ay five hundred dollars a year, and 
 
 II And— what?" 
 
 " Found— that is, board, you know, and cloth- 
 >"«j of course, also. Is it a bq^rgain ?" 
 
 Oh, my best friend ! how can I thank you ? 
 What can 1 say?" '' 
 
 .1. '[ ?*^,l '!''y' call me again your ' best friend :' 
 that IS all the thanks I want. ** 
 
 So the engagement was made, and Zillah be- 
 came a music-teacher. 
 
 THE CBYPTOGRAM. 
 
 149 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE REPORT. 
 
 DcRiNO Lord Chetwynde's absence Hilda re- 
 ceived constant communications from Gualtier 
 He had not very much to teU her, though his 
 watchfulness was incessant. He had contrived 
 to follow Lord Chetwynde to London, under dif- 
 ferent disguises, and with infinite difficulty: and 
 also to put up at the same house. Loi-d Chet- 
 wynde had not the remotest idea that he was 
 
 watched, and took no pains to conceal any of his 
 motions. Indeed, to a mind like his, the idea 
 of keeping any thing secret, or of .going out of 
 
 H« w-{ ^IT'^ T.''*^*' "*^«"" ""teested itself. 
 He was perfectlv ^and free from disguise. 
 He stopped at the Hastings House, an elegant 
 
 himself*altogether to ijusiness. At this house 
 Gualtier stopped alscv but could find out nothing 
 about Lord Chetwynde's business. He could 
 ' »n'y learn this much, that Lord Chetwynde 
 went everjr day, at eleven o'clock, to«ie ofllce 
 of his sohcitora, Mmsw. Pendergrast Brothers, 
 w th whom he was closeted for an hour or more, 
 iudently there was some very important busi- 
 new between them; but what that business was. 
 or to whom it might have reference, was a per- 
 fect mystery to Gualtier. This was about the 
 •um and substance of the information which his 
 letters conveyed to the anxious Hilda 
 
 tinn^ .ill''!"?' "»?X"""8 «■'•''='' *^"«l'ier men- 
 Uoned about Lord Chetwynde was read by her 
 with eager curiosity. She found herself admir- 
 
 hf. .^i^TJ^ '^'", "^ "•'" ""»" ^l"""" 8h« loved, 
 aISI rJ^^^'^^T''^^^ ">'» f™nk and open 
 demeanor. That she herself was cunning ^d 
 
 t^lilT"^ no obstacle to her appreciation of 
 
 tceoTrho """"?•', P*.'*?!"' *"''«^. the ab- 
 sence of those qualities in herself made her ad- 
 
 TZuT *",f hers,' since they were qualities 
 hi2 l.iv-,""'** "^""" ^"^ '" K"'"- Whatever 
 M^k^^ ?. ' ^^!^^- "*'«'" be, he was now 
 Tvar fh^v^""^ i' ""' '" 'he most open manner, 
 ZL ,h. ^'"t »' ^'cealment. She was work! 
 rf hIv V * ' 5" '"" *<"'"« •" th* broad light 
 •nS ""■ P**' "* 'he looked back upon it, 
 »onndra jOT^nsly amidst basenesses «^ 
 wwawiwandCTlmfeSjhig was straight and clear, 
 
 mLr ! T\ "^/'L' J"" man's-not dark, bu 
 mher a .h.ning Ught, where all was open to the 
 SJlH t 'he worFd. And what communion 
 
 Tier wily and tortuous nature? C^uld he not 
 easily discover it? Would not hU clear, open, 
 honest eyes see through andthroftgh the iMsk 
 of deceit with which she concealed her true 
 °u"!l*\. ^here was something in his gaze 
 which she never could face— something which 
 u- u* T?*;^"' significance to her-something 
 which told het that she was known to him, and 
 tiiat aU her character lay open before him, with 
 ail its cunmng, its craft, ite baseness, and its 
 wickednMS. No arts or wiles of hers could 
 avail to blind him to these things. This she 
 knew and felt, but still she hoped against hope, 
 and entertained vague expectations of some final 
 understanding between them. 
 
 But what was the business on which he was 
 engaged? What was it that thus led him so 
 constantly to his solicitors ? This was the prob- 
 lem that puzzled her. Various solutions sug- 
 g^sted themselves. One was that he was merely 
 anxious to see about breaking the entail so a* to 
 pay her back the money which General PomeroV 
 had advanced. This he had solemnly promised 
 
 I erhaps his long search through his father's 
 papers had reference to this, and his business 
 with his solicitors concerned this, and this only 
 This seemed natural But there was also an- 
 other solution to the problem. It was within 
 the bounds of possibility that he was taking 
 measures for a divorce. How he could obtain 
 one she did not see, but he might be trying to 
 do so. She knew nothing of the divorce law, 
 hut had a general idea that nothing except crinie 
 or cruelty could avail to break the bonds of 
 mamage. That Lord Chetwynde was fixed in 
 his resolve to break all ties between them was 
 painfully evident to her; and whatever his iq^ 
 mediate purpose might now be, she saw phiinly 
 that It could only have reference to this sepii- 
 ration. It meant that, and nothing else. He 
 abhorred her, and was determined to get rid of 
 her at all hazards. This she plainly saw. 
 
 At length, after a few weeks' absence. GuU- 
 tier returned, mda, fuU of impatience, ifent 
 tor nim to the moilling-room almost as soon as 
 he had arrived, and went there to wait for his 
 appearance. She did not have to wait long. In 
 a few minutes Gualtier made his appearance, 
 obsequious and deferential as usual 
 
 "You are back alone," said she, as she greet- 
 ed him. * 
 
 "Yes; Lord Chetwynde is coming back to- 
 morrow or next day, and I thought it better for 
 me t<» come back first so as to see you before ho 
 came. 
 
 II Have yon found out any thing more ?" 
 No, my lady. In my letters I explained 
 
 the iiature of the case. I made aU the efforts I 
 could to get at the bottom of this business, and 
 to find out what you called tiie purpose of his 
 life. But yon see what insuperable obstacles 
 were in the way. It was absolutely impossible 
 for me to find out any thing in particular about 
 ms affairs. I could not posubly gain access' to 
 Ilia papera. r tried R> gttiir inforamtioir fttmr 
 one of the clerks of Pendergrast— formed an ao- 
 qnaintance with him, gave him a dinner, and 
 succeeded in getting him drunk; but eve* that 
 was of no avail The fellow was commonieatiTe 
 enough, but the trouble was he didn't know 
 
 
150 
 
 *HE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 or pnqKises than I myself had. I have done all 
 that was possible for a man in my situation, and 
 grieve deeply that I hare nothing more definite 
 to communicate." 
 
 "You have done admirably," said Hilda; 
 " nothing more was possible. I only wished you 
 to watch, and you have watched to good purpose. 
 Tilts much is evident, from your reports, that 
 Lord t)het^yynde has some all-engrossing pur- 
 pose. What it is can not be known now, but 
 must be known some day. At present I must 
 bo cohtent with the knowledge that this purpose 
 exists." g 
 
 '•I have formed some conjectures," said Gual- 
 tier. 
 
 "On what grounds ? On any other than those 
 which you have made known to me ?" 
 
 "No. You know all." 
 
 " Jfever mind, then. I also have/ormed con- 
 jectures, and have a larger and broader ground 
 on which to build them. What I want is not 
 conjectures of any kind, but facts. If you have 
 any more facts to communicate, I should like 
 vei-y much to hear them. " 
 
 "Alas, my lady, I have already communicMed 
 to you all the facts that I know." 
 
 Hilda was silent for some time. 
 . " You never spoke to Lord Chetwynde, I sup- 
 pose?" said she at length. 
 
 " Oh no, my lady ; I did not venture to come 
 into communication with him at all." 
 
 "Did he ever see you ?" 
 
 " lie certainly cast his eyes on me, once or 
 twice, but without any recognition in them. I 
 really don't think that he is conscious of the ex- 
 istence of a person like me. " 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that. Lord Chetwynde 
 is one who can see every thing without appearing 
 to see it. His eye can take in at one glance the 
 minutest details. He is a man who is quite ca- 
 pable of making the discovery that you were the 
 steward of Chetwynde. What measure did you 
 take to avoid discovery ?" 
 
 Gualtier smiled. 
 
 "The measures which I took were such that 
 it would have puzzled Fouche' himself to pene- 
 trate my disguise. I rode in the same compart- 
 ment with him, all the way to London, dressed 
 as an elderly widow. " 
 
 "A widow?" 
 
 "Yes; with a thick black veil, and a very 
 largo umbrella. It is simply impossible that he 
 could penetrate my disguise, for the veil was too 
 thick to show my features. " 
 
 "But the hotel?" 
 
 "At the hotel I was a Catholic priest, from 
 Novara, on my way to America. I wore spec- 
 tacles, with dark glasses. No friend could have 
 recognized me, much less a stranger." 
 
 " But if you went with the clerks of Pender- 
 grast, that was an odd disguise." 
 
 " Oh, when I went with them, I dropped that. 
 I became an American naval officer, belonging 
 to Hie ship Niagara, which was then in London. 
 I wore a heavy beard ond mnstache, and talke<l 
 nroogh ray now. Bssidas, I wouht^rink no^ t 
 thing but whisky and sherry cobblers. My Amer- 
 ican trip proved highly advantageous." 
 
 "And do you feel confident that he lias not 
 reco^ized you ?" 
 
 "Confident! liccognitinn was nttorly impos- 1 
 -=•■'- It would have required my nearest friend i 
 
 ■ibie. 
 
 or relative to have recognized me, through such 
 disguises. Besides, my face is one which can 
 very easily be disguised. I have not strongly 
 marked features. My face can easily serve for 
 an Italian priest, or an American noval officer. 
 I am always careful to choose only such parts as 
 nature has adapted me for." 
 
 "And Lord Chetwynde is coming back?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "To-morrow, or next day." 
 
 " I wonder how long he wilj/^y ?" 
 
 "That is a thing which nb one can find out 
 so well as yourself." • 
 
 Hilda was silent. 
 
 " My lady," said Gualtier, after a long pause. 
 
 "Well?" bi «" 
 
 "You know how ready I am to serve you." 
 
 "Yes," said Hilda, dreamily. 
 
 "If this man is in your way he can be re- 
 moved, as others have been removed, "sold GuaU 
 tier, in a low voice. "Some of them have been 
 removed by means of my assistance. Is this 
 man in your way? Is he? Shall I help you? 
 For when he goes away again I can become his 
 valet. I can engage myself, bring good rec- 
 ommendations, and find employment from him, 
 which will bring me into close'contact. Then, 
 if you find him in your way, I can remove the 
 obstacle." 
 
 Hilda's eyes blazed with a lurid light. She 
 looked at Gualtier like a wrathful demon. The 
 words which she spoke came hissing out, hot and 
 fierce : 
 
 ' ' Curse you ! You do not know what yon are 
 saying. I would rather lose a thousand such as 
 you than lose him .' I would rather die myself 
 than have one hair of his head injured I" " 
 
 Gualtier looked at her^ transfixed with amaze- 
 ment. Then his head sank down. These words 
 crushed him. 
 
 " Can I ever hope for forgiveness ?" he falter- 
 ed at last. "I misunderstood you. I am your 
 slave. I — I only wished to serve you." 
 
 Hilda waved her hand. 
 
 "You do not understand," said she, as she 
 rose. " Some day you will understand all." 
 
 " Then I will wait," said Gualtier, humbly. 
 " I have waited for years. I can still wait. I 
 only live for you. Forgive me." 
 
 Hilda looked away, and Gualtier sat, looking 
 thoughtfully and sadly at her. 
 
 "There is one thing," said he, "which you 
 were fortunate to think of. You guarded against 
 a danger which I did not anticipate." 
 
 " Ah !" said Hilda, roused by the mention of 
 danger. " What is that ?" 
 
 "The discovery of so humble a person as my- 
 self. Thanks to you, my assumed name has 
 saved me. But at the same time it led to an 
 embarrassing position, from which I pnly escaped 
 by my own wit." 
 
 " What do you allude to? " asked Hilda, with 
 languid curiosity. 
 
 "Oh, it's the doctor. You know he has been 
 ttttetiding Mrs. Harf. Well, sotne^mo ago.T^- 
 fore I left for London, he met me, and talked 
 about things in general. Whenever he meets 
 me he likes to get up a conversation, ond I gen- 
 eridly avoid him ; but this time I couldn't. Aft- 
 er a time, with a great appearance of concern, he 
 said : 
 
XJlOfl»J>im«,WM^AIJ. IUB WAy l O lA >i .l>OW, l>H li »« Hl > A« Air KLD15HI.rinP<)W.-- 
 
 " ' I am sorry to hear, Mr. Gualtior, that you 
 •re about to ho suMrgeded. ' ' 
 
 "'Super»edo<ir said I.' 'What do yon 
 mean ?' ' 
 
 " ' I hear from Rome gossip of the aervantt 
 toat there is a now steward.' 
 
 '"A new steward! This is the first that I 
 have heard of it,' said I. ' I am the only stew- 
 ard here. 
 
 "'This one,' said he, <U— a— Mr. M'Ken- 
 zie. 
 
 "'M'Kentie!' said I, InsUntaneonsIy— 
 
 y 
 
 
 m 
 
 mi 
 
 % 
 
 
 « 
 
163 
 
 tHE OTYPTOGRAM. 
 
 •M'KeMier And t langhed. 'Why, lam 
 Mr. M'Kenzie.' ag, . 
 
 " ' Yoa I' said hJp utter amazem^ent. ' Isn't 
 your name doaltiel^' 
 
 '"Oh no,' said I; 'that is a name which I 
 adopted, When a mnsic-teacher, for professional 
 purposes. - Foreign taames are always iiked bet- 
 ter than native ones. My reiki name is M'Ken- 
 xie. The late Earl khQtr,«ll about it, and so 
 does Lady Chetwynde.' 
 
 " The doctor looked a little puzzled, but at hut 
 accepted my explanation and went off. Still I 
 don't like the look of the thing.'' 
 
 "No," said Hilda, who had listened with no 
 great interest, " it's not pleasant. But, after all, 
 there was no danger even if he had thought you 
 an impostor." 
 
 , " Pardon me, my hidy ; but doctors are great 
 ' ^ipgossips, and can send o, story like this flying 
 through the county. He may do so yet." 
 
 At another time Hilda wohld have taken 
 more interest in this narration, bat now she 
 seemed so preoccnpied that her usual vigilance 
 had left Her. Gualtier noticed this, but was 
 scarcely surprised. It was only a fresh proof of 
 her infatufition. 
 
 So after a few moments of silent thoughtful- 
 ness bo left the room. 
 
 CHAPTEB Xliy, 
 
 A 8TBAN0B KNCOUNTEB. 
 
 ••Oh the day after Gualtier's interview with 
 Hilda, Lord Chetwynde was still in London, oc- 
 cupied with the business which had brought him 
 there. It was between tea. and eleven in the 
 morning, and he was walking down Piccadilly 
 <m his way to the dhy, where he had an appoint- 
 ment with his solicitors. He was very much 
 preoccnpied, and scarcely noticed any thing 
 around him. Walking on in this mood he felt 
 his arm seized by some one who had come up 
 behind him, and a voice exclaimed : 
 
 " Wmdham ! by all that's great ! How are 
 yon, old fallow ?" and before he had time to re- 
 cover ttpnk his snrprise, his hapd was seized, 
 anproprioted, and nearly wrmg off by Obed 
 
 To meet Obed Chute thus in London was cer- 
 tainly strange, yet not so very much so, after all. 
 Lonaon is vast, mnltitndi|iou8, enormous — a nfir- 
 tion rather than a ci^, as De Qnincey weU re- 
 marks—a place where one may hide and never 
 be discovered ; yet after all there an tertain 
 streets where strangers are most flnqnent, and 
 that two strangers should meet one another here 
 in one of these few thoroug^fkres is more com- 
 mon than one would suppose. After the first 
 suiprise at such a sudden greeting Windham 
 felt it to be a very na^ral thiag fbr Obed Chote 
 to be in London, and evinced ns much pleasure 
 at meeting him as was |hown by the other. 
 
 ^* Hay you been BUrt ever dnce jaur return 
 
 rEngtend r* hoawgDV " 
 
 *'0h no," said Windham, "I've only been 
 here a short time, and I hare to leave this after- 
 noon." .■ 
 
 " I'm sorry fbr that ; I should like to se^ yon 
 — but I suppose it can't be helped; and then I 
 most go back immediately. " . ' 
 
 Ton are on your way to America, 
 Obno. 
 
 I mean— go back to 
 
 He 
 
 has 
 
 "Ah! 
 then?" 
 
 "America! 
 luly." 
 
 "Italy?" 
 
 " Yes ; we're Ml there yet" 
 
 "I hope Miss Chute and your family are all 
 well ?" said Lord Chetwynde, politely. 
 
 ' ' Never better," said Obed. 
 
 " Where are you staying now ?'* 
 
 "In Naples.'' 
 
 " It's a very pleasant place." 
 
 "Too pleasant to leave." 
 
 " By-the-way," said. Lord Chetwynde, after a 
 pause, and speaking with assumed indifference, 
 " were you ever able to find out any thing about 
 — MissLorton?" 
 
 His indifference was but poorly carried out. 
 At the mention of that name he stammered, 
 and then stopped short. 
 
 But Obed did not notice any peculiarity, 
 answered, quickly and earnestly ; 
 
 "It's that veiy thing, Windham, that 
 brought me here. I've left her in Naples." 
 
 "What?" cried Lord Chetwynde, eagerly; 
 " she is with you yot, then?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "In Naples?" 
 
 "Yes — with myfiimily. Poor little thing!' 
 Windham, I have a story to tell about her that 
 will makei your heart bleed, if you have tlie 
 heart of a man." 
 
 " My Grod !" cried SjotA Chetwynde, in deep 
 emotion ; " what is it ? Has any thing new hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 " Yes, something new-<Momething worse than 
 before." > 
 
 "But the — she is alive— is she not — she is 
 well — she — " 
 
 "Thank God, yes," said Obed, not noticing 
 the intense emotion of the other ; " yes — she has 
 suffered, poor little girl, but she is getting over 
 it — and one day I hope she may find some kind 
 of comfort. But at present, and for some time 
 to come, I'm afraid that anv thing like happi- 
 ness or peace or comfort wiU be impossible for 
 her." 
 
 " Is she very sad ?" asked Lord Chetwynde, in 
 a voice which was tremulous from suppressed agi- 
 tation. 
 
 "The poor child bean up wonderfully, and 
 struggles hard to make ns think that she is cheer- 
 ful ; but any one who watches her can easilv see 
 that she has some deep-seated grief, which, \n 
 spite of all our care, njay even ^et wear away her 
 young life. Windham, I've heard of cases of a 
 broken heart I think I once in my life saw a 
 case of that kind, and I'm afraid that this case 
 will— will come at last to be classed in tM list." 
 
 Lord'Chetwynde said nothing. He had no- 
 thing to say— he had nothing to do. His face in 
 the fi)w moments of this conversation had grown 
 ghastly white, his eyes were fixed on vacancy, 
 and an expression of intense pain spread over 
 his features . He wa lked along b y Obed Chute's 
 side wi^ the nncartaTn step of one who walks 
 in a dream. 
 
 Obed said nothing fbr some time. His own 
 thoughts were reverting to that young (prl whom 
 he had left in Naples buried nnder a mountain of 
 woe. Could he ever draw her forth fW>m that 
 overwhelming grief which preued her down? 
 
 tej- < ja^ '.s 
 
 ^tkat^H: 
 
Sw^ yen* on together through «eveml streets 
 withoijt any particular intention, each one occn- 
 £f.„7t'i, ".""^ thoughts, until at last they 
 found themselves at St. James's Park. Here 
 they entered, and walked along one of the chief 
 avenues. - - 
 
 I«.t'^"".f"™"^'*'"' Windham," said Obed at 
 „ 1T- *'^^?'"1«y«n have not forgotten the sto- 
 ly which Miss Lorton told about her betraval." 
 selfSSk"^^* bowed, withonttmsting him- 
 ^j'^^^ you remember the villain's name, too, 
 
 " Yes— Gnaltier," said Lord Chetwynde. 
 I put the case in the hands «f the Mar- 
 leUles police, and yon know that up to the time 
 when we left nothing had been dpne. Nothing 
 has been done since of any consequence 6n 
 my way here I stopped at Marseilles, and found 
 • that the police ha4 been completely baffled, an* 
 had found no trace whatever either of Gualtier or 
 of the maid Mathilde. When I arrived at Mar- 
 MiUes I found that the police there had been on 
 the look-out for that man for seven weeks, but in 
 •pito of the most minute inquiry, and the most 
 vigilant watchfulness, they had seen no sign of 
 •ny such person. The conclusion that I have 
 come to IS that he never went to Naples— at 
 teast not after his crime. Nor, on the other 
 Sf ' 'i* ll'^'ely that he remained in France. 
 The only thing that I can think of is that both 
 be anJ the maid MathUde went back to En- 
 gland. 
 
 '"There is Germany," said Lord Chetwynde, 
 who had not lost a word, "or the other states 
 iJ ^'i, *^'<"*'?<* « a pleasant pUce to go to. 
 Above aU, there is America-^the common land 
 
 Worid^ *° *'*'" ''*^" ***^^ *"''°'" '••« O'*' 
 "Yes, all that is true— veiy true. It may 
 ta so ; but I have an idea that the man may still 
 to in England, and I have 8ome hope of irettinir 
 on his track now. But this U not the imm^ 
 dmte purpose of my coming. That Was cau^ 
 by a discovery of new features in this dark case 
 which show % deliberate plan on the part of 
 (»naltier and others to destroy Miss Lorton so as 
 to get her money." 
 " Have you found out any thing else ? Has 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM.' 
 
 beid?" asked Ixirf Chet^d;, rbiJ^tHess rMa^ni^ " ^•'^,«'y *»«« had chMined him 
 .n«ety. ..Atanyrate, itTun'orberfiL Tn^n^. r\"!."J« J°pk«0. »'-k with 
 
 SL k" ^*, ""^ "'"a." *="" "'°t be w bid as 
 what iherhas already suffered." 
 
 "In one sense tt is not so bad, but m another 
 MMe It 18 worse. 
 "How?" 
 "Why, it is not so bad, for it only concerns the 
 
 lor -and Obeds voice dropped low— "for it 
 bows h^ that there is an accomplice of Gual- 
 ^*iJ!r° ^^. J"'"^ '^''b him in this crime, 
 ^h^liftl'}"'^^ '!* "* ""•* "'''' '««'"nP«e« 
 "Sri S '"°'''^^"^ Chetwynde, aghast 
 
 iSA 
 
 whicfh the other listened with rapt attention. A 
 tong discussion followed this revelaiSon. Lord 
 
 S^ *Tk"^* T'** "°*>'P ■*«'"« that Miss Lor- 
 tontad been betrayed by her sister as weU as by 
 
 Ki5 • ""i*^" ^T^''^y "«"«'««d by the colZ 
 blooded cruelty with which the abstraction of 
 the money was managed. To him this "Ella 
 Lorton seemed wronged a« no one had ever 
 
 ^'".^"?^. ^^""^ "^d his heart burned to 
 assist Obed Chute in Us work of vengean™ 
 
 "f?«/.1! ■"• ""*='•• "^"» I ""'^ he added, 
 w n .^^™ " i"°* """'b chance. At any rate 
 
 m fact, before many weeks, I expect to be on 
 my way back to India. As to this wretch.^" 
 this guilty pair, it is my opinion that they have 
 
 o^n!^^T^^ Hilda L*ton can not be old ta 
 cnme, and her Urst instinct would be to fly from 
 
 ation '"^f U^rr"' * ^"^S^ 8^'"^ determin- 
 "1?; i*^ " takes years to find this out, I am 
 ready Jam wiUmg to si«nd years in the 
 seara. The police of Italy and oV France are 
 alrealfy on the track of this affair. It i" my j^ 
 tention to direct the London police to the same 
 
 Rinfi ""1. "^"^ ''■y •"* l'"'8ive notice at , 
 Berlin and Vienna, so as to set the Prussian 
 and Austrian authonties to work.' If nil thesn 
 
 ff "fhi'l"'' ^Z "V **'*"8, then ni begin to 
 thmk that (Aese devils are not in Enfope. If 
 they are in America, I know a dozen NevTYork 
 detectives that can do something in the way of 
 
 &*^ T *'''*x ""^ artful .|coundnsls than , 
 hese. For my 6wn part, if, aife ten years of i 
 
 tw^« -^r^'i^- T'T'***- 14 spend twice the 
 AuL^ ^"t ",.?■■ her, Ihe poorlittle thing !" 
 Obed spoke like a tender, pitying father; and 
 
 his tones vibrated to the heart of Lord Chet- 
 
 For a time he was the subject of a niiiditT ' 
 
 were ajr concerned here. Might he not nw 
 make this the o^ect of his life^to y ve up eve,^ 
 thing, and search out these inAsrnal criminal 
 and avenge that fair girt whose image had been 
 fixed so deeply on his heart? But, then he 
 feared this Usk. Already she had chMined him 
 
 ^*Her sister," said Obed, who did not, 
 J»v5 " necawary to tell what ZilUh had 
 
 lot, as 
 
 re- 
 
 their not 
 
 ™«hd to him in obnfldence about 
 rang sistert. 
 
 lord Chetwrnde seemed overwhelmed. 
 
 Ubed then began and detailed to him every 
 onrnmstanc* of the affair of the draft, to aU df 
 
 with her. All his nature yearned and longed to 
 feel once/more the sunshine of her preSTnce; 
 but, on account of the verji^lntensitv of that 
 longing, the dictates of htnit and anty badl^ 
 him resist the impulse. The very tenderne^Tof 
 his love-Its. aU-consuming ardor-thoselrery 
 i„<?^ r. u '' '|"P«,"«^ him to espouse her c^uso 
 and fight her battles and win her' gratitndei at 
 the very same time held him back and bade him 
 avoid her, and tear her image from his heart." 
 
 S.^ i!I .7.*! H'.*°^ *'''"' '^0^ he, that he 
 ^M^^i^h«__o.verm.^ne .pell whieb. 
 
 teHTBMiJ thrown over him by the witchen- of 
 this young girt? Had he not his wifet Was 
 li? T ". Chetwynde Castle? Tfiat odious 
 wife, fbrced on him in his boyhood, long since 
 grown abhorrent, and now standing up, an im- 
 PMsable barrier between Kim «nduhe dearest 
 
 MM} and, whUe assenting to Obed'slKns, mad* 
 
 m\\ ^•^'- 
 
m 
 
 rrHE cbtftoobah: 
 
 no proposal to assist him in-ony my in,t)ieir ac- 
 complishment. '* 
 
 At the end of aboat two hoars Obed aii- 
 > nounced his intentions at present. He- had come 
 first and more especially to see Messiv^^ton and 
 Browne, with a hope that he might be able to 
 trace the affair )^k far enongh to reach Hilda 
 Lorton ; and secondly, to set the London police 
 to work. , 
 
 ,|/WilI yoa make wy stay 7" asked Lord Chet- 
 
 "No, not more than I can help. I can find 
 oat soon whether my designs are practicable or 
 not If they can not be immediately followed 
 out, I will leave il to the police, who can do far 
 better than me, and go back to Naples. tMiss 
 Lorton is better there, and I feel like traveling 
 about Italy till she bos recovered. I see that 
 the country is better for her than all the doctors 
 and medicines in the woirld. A sail round 
 Naples Bay may rouse her from the deepest 
 melancholy. She has set her heart on visiting 
 Kome and Florence. So I must go back to my 
 little girl, you see." 
 
 " Those nlimes," snid Lord Chetwynde, calm- 
 ly, and without exhibiting any signs of the emo- 
 tion which the allusion to that "little girl" 
 caused in his heart — " those names ought oer- 
 tainly to be traceable— 'Hilda Lorton,' 'Ella 
 Lorton.' The- names are neither vulgar nor com- 
 mon. A properly organized effort ought to re- 
 sult in some discovery. ' Hilda Lorton,' 'Ella 
 Lorton,'" he repeated, "'Hilda,' 'Ella'— not 
 very common names — ' Hilda,' ' Ella.' " 
 
 He repeated these names thus over and over, 
 but the names gave no hint to the speaker of the 
 dark, deep mystery which lay beneath. 
 
 As for Obed, he knew that Hilda was not 
 Hilda Lorton, and that a search after any one 
 by that name would be useless. Zillah had told 
 him that she was not her sister. At length the 
 two friends separated. Lord Chetwynde saying 
 that he would remain in London till the follow- 
 ing day, and call on Obed at his hotel that even- 
 ing to learn the result of his labors. With this 
 each went about his own business ; but into the 
 mind of Lord Chetwynde there came a fresh 
 anxiety, which made nim have vague desires of 
 flying away forever — off to India, to Australia — 
 any where from the power of his overmastering, 
 his hopeless love. And amidst all this there came 
 a deep longing to go to Italv — to Naples, to give 
 up every thing— to go back with Obed Chute. 
 It needed oil the strength of his nature to resist 
 this impnlse, and even when it was overcome it 
 was otily for a time. His business that day was 
 neglected, and he waited impatiently for the 
 evening. 
 
 Evening come at hist, and Lord Chetwynde 
 went to Obed's hotel. He found his friend 
 there, looking somewhat dejected. 
 
 " I suppose you have accomplished nothing," 
 he said. " I see it in your face." 
 
 "You're about right," said Obed. "I'm 
 going bock to Naples to-morrow." 
 
 "YooVb fiiitad ntteriy, thenr^ 
 
 "Yes, in all that I hoped. But still I have 
 done what I could to put things on the right 
 tmck." 
 
 " What have yon done ?" 
 
 "Well, I went first to Tilton and Browne. 
 One of my own London agents accompanied me 
 
 there, add introduced ine. They were at once 
 rety eager to do all that they could for me. 
 But I soon found out that nothing could be 
 dope. That girl— Windham— that girl,'' re- 
 peated Obed, with solemn emphasis, " is a little 
 the deepest party that it's ever been my lot to 
 come across. How any one brought up with 
 my little girl" (this was the name that Obed 
 loved to give to Zillah) "could develop such 
 superhuman villainy, and such cool, calculating, 
 far-reaching craft, is more than I can under- 
 stand. She knocks me, I confess. But, then, 
 the plan may all be .the work of Gualtier." ' 
 
 "Why, what lJl»w thing have vou found 
 out?" ' t 
 
 "Oh, nothing exactly new; only this, that 
 .the deposit of Miss Lorton's funds and the with- 
 drawal, which were all done by her in Miss Lor- 
 ton's name afid person, were managed so clever- 
 ly that there is not the slightest ghost of a clew 
 by which either she or the money can be traced. 
 She drew the funds from one banker and de- 
 posited them with another. I thought I should be 
 able to find out the banker from whom they were 
 drawn, but it is impossible. Before I came here 
 I had written to Tilton and Browne, and they had 
 made inquiries from all the London bankers, 
 but not oni of them had any acquaintanct 
 whatever with that name. It must nave been 
 some provincial bank, but which one can not be 
 known. The funds which she deposited were in 
 Bank of England notes, and these; as welt as the 
 consols, gave no indication of thdr last place of 
 deposit. It was cleverly managea, and I think 
 the actors in this affair understand too well their 
 business to leave a single mark on their trail. 
 The account had only been with Tilton and 
 Browne for a short time, and they could not 
 give mo the slightest assistance And so I failed 
 there completely. 
 
 "I then went to the police, and stated my 
 oase. The prefect at Marseilles had already 
 been in communication lyith them about it. 
 The^ had made inquiries at all the schools and 
 seimnaries, had searched the directories, and 
 every thing else of that kind, but could find no 
 music-teacher mentioned by the name of Gual- 
 tier. They took it for granted that the name 
 was an assumed one. They had also investi- 
 gated the name 'Lorton,' and had fonnd one 
 or two old county familfes ; but these knew no- 
 thing of the young ladies in question. Tliej 
 promised to continue their search, and communi- 
 cate to me any thing that might be discovered. 
 There the matter rests now, and there I sap- 
 pose it must rest until something is done by 
 somebody. When I have started the Austrian 
 and Prussian police on the same scent I will 
 feel that nothing more can be done in Europe. 
 I suppose it is no use to go to Spain or Busaia 
 or Turkey. By-the-way, there is Belgium. I 
 mustn't forget that." 
 
 I^ was only by the strongest effort that Lord 
 Chetwynde was able to conceal the intensity of 
 his interest in Obed's re velations. All that day 
 hti own hratnoi had been utterly forgotten, an 
 all his thonglfB had been occupied with Zillah 
 and her mysterious sorrows. When ha left 
 Marseilles he had sought to throw away all con- 
 cern for her affairs, and devote himself to tb« 
 Chetwynde business. But Obed s' appeaianoe 
 had brought beck before him in fresh strength 
 
 '.mi 
 
..^^ 
 
 •n hi8 memories of Zillah, and the darker color 
 which her tragedy aasumed excited the deepest 
 feehngs of bis nature. He struggled against 
 this in vain, and his future pkns took a color- 
 ing from this, which afterward resulted in very 
 important events. ^ 
 
 The two friends talked over this matter, in 
 which both were so deeply interested, far into 
 the ^ours of the moi-ning, and at length they 
 bade each other good-b v. On the following day 
 Obed was to go to Naples, and Lord Chetwynde 
 back to the Castle. ' 
 
 THE CaYPTOGRAli. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 ANOTHER EFPOBt. ' 
 
 Ta^ words of Hilda produced a deeper effect 
 upon Guahier than she could have imagined 
 Accustomed to rule him and to have her words 
 received and her commands obeyed without 
 remonstrance, she had grown to think that those 
 words of hers were: all-sufficient by themselves 
 and needed no explanation. She did not make all 
 lowance for the feelings, the thoughts, and, above 
 all, for the passions of one Uke Gualtier. She 
 was taken up with her own plans, her cares, her 
 desires, and her purposes. He, on his part, wks 
 absorbed in ope desire, and aU that desire was 
 centered opon the one who held herself so grand- 
 ly aloof from him, using him as her tool, but 
 never deigning to grant hip any thing more 
 Uian some slight word or act of kindness. Her 
 Oat words had sunk deep into his soul. They 
 rerealed to him the true condition of things 
 He learned now, for the first time, that she loved 
 Lord Chetwynde, and was anxious to gain his 
 love In return. Lprd Chetwynde, he saw, was 
 not an obstacle to be removed from her path, 
 bat rather an object of yearning desire, which 
 WM to be won for herself. He saw that she 
 wished to be in reality that which she was now 
 only m name, and that falsely— namely, Lady 
 Chetwj-nde. To a mind like his such a discov- 
 ery wag bitter indeed. AH the vengeful feelings 
 that layi^dormant within him were aroused, and 
 henceforth all the hate Which he w«8 capable of 
 feeling was turned toward thi« man, who had so 
 easily gained for himself that love for which he 
 had labored so long, so arduously, and yet sd 
 Twnly. Had he not devoted years to the task 
 of acqumn* that love? Had he not labored 
 with patience and unfaltering devotion? Had 
 he not endured slights atid insults without num- 
 ber ? Had he not crossed the ocean in her serv- 
 ice in search of information which she wished 
 tp^in? And for all this what reward had he 
 received? Nothing more than a cold smile. 
 »nt here came this man who was at once a 
 wnmger and an enemy— a man who abhorred 
 her, a man whom she ought to hate, on whom 
 •he had wrought fearful iniuries ; and lo, instead 
 or hating, she loved him in • moment I Bitter 
 , Jadeed were the thoagfatr^of Gnaltlw as these 
 
 things came to his mind. Scorn for himself, 
 or slights, or indifference, he might have bomi 
 
 m'^'^°1''"""'K ' """ '*•>«'» tJie one who showed 
 thii indifference and this scorn proved eager to 
 wcnflce him, herself, and every thing else to the 
 m«n whom she ought to hate, then his position 
 BBcarae intolerable— unendurable. The dislike 
 
 188 
 
 which he had felt toward Lord Chetwynde sooh 
 grew to bitter hate, and the hate rapidly became 
 so stro^ig that nothing but implacable vengeance 
 W0UI4 appease it. »««ulo 
 
 T £r?.i'"" '^'^ ^'y* ''^^ Gnaltier's arrival 
 Lord Chetwynde returned. His return was nni- 
 et and undemonstrative. The servants greet- 
 ed their master with the usual respectful wel- 
 come, but he took no notice of them. He went 
 to the hbranr, to which his portmanteau was at- 
 he w«!itl M ■■ '?""'•."'"« there a few moments 
 was (here * '°°'"" ^''° housekeeper 
 
 " ilow has she been ?'' he asked. 
 Very much better." 
 
 " Is she conscious ?" 
 ^'.'Not yet, altogether, but she is beginning to 
 
 " What docs the doctor say ?" 
 "He has great hopes, he saysj and ho tells 
 me that unremitting car6 may yet brinr" her 
 around. He seems to be veiy hopeful." 
 
 You have attended her, I hope, as I directed " 
 Yes my lord. I have devoted most of mv 
 time to her. I have neglected the house for her 
 sake. I told Lady Chetwynde that Mrs. Hart 
 depended lipbn me, and that I would nursoher " 
 1- , "', .'^"? ""' necessary. She might be 
 UisplQased if the house were neglected." 
 
 " CHi no, my lord. She showed the strongest 
 interest in Mrs. Hart, and I have to bring her 
 reports of the doctor's opinions every day." 
 
 " Ah ! Well. I am glad that yon have been 
 so attentive. You must continue to do so. De- 
 vote yourself chiefly to her. It is my will If 
 vou get into any trouble Tvhile I am away, let me 
 know, will yoo ? I have! given you my address, 
 and any letter from you Ivill reach me there " 
 "Yes, my lord." / 
 
 Lord Chetwynde thcnf returned to the library 
 and to his business. / '* 
 
 Yes. Itwas true thntMrs. Hart was recovering, 
 bhe had come out of tli^t deep stupor in which she 
 I? L '? *° '""*'• '^''^ assiduous attentions which 
 she had received were chiefly the cause of this. 
 Hilda hAd heard of this, and was greatly troub- 
 led. In Mrs. Hart'sirecovery she saw one great 
 danger, yet it was a dinger which she felt her- ■ 
 self powerless, to avert. The housekeeper had 
 been engaged now in this new duty directly by 
 Lord Chetwynde, and ill her present position 
 she did not dare to remonstrate. She thought 
 that Lord Chetwynde either understood her, or 
 at least suspected her; and believed that any act 
 of hers which might lead to the delay of Mm. 
 Hart's recoveiy would be punished by him with 
 infplacable veilgeance. In this delicate position, 
 therefore, she found that the only possible course 
 open to her was to wait patiently on her oppor- 
 tunities. If the worst came to the worst, and 
 Mrs. Hart recovered, her only reioarce would be 
 to le^ve Chetwynde for a time at least. For such 
 a step she had prepared herself, and for it she 
 had ev etT excaw. Lord Chetwy nde, at least, 
 lettfterlilsittd lier nor inspect her if she 
 
 \i 
 
 conid neitneriittffid her nor inspect „ .„„ 
 
 did so. She conld retire quietly to Foraeror 
 Court, and there await the issue of evenU. Such 
 a step in itself was not unpleasant, and she would 
 have carried it into execution long ago had it not 
 been for the power which LoW Chetwynde ex- 
 erted over her. It wa* thii, and this onlji, which 
 forced her to •taj'. 
 
 k.1U^^._ -!i*»> 
 
 
.<1 
 
 156 
 
 THE CBTFTOSAAIC. 
 
 Goaltier also wm not unmindful pf thia. On 
 the day of hU arriral he had learned that Mrs. 
 Hart was recovering and might soon be well. 
 He understood perfectly all that was involved in 
 her recovery, and 'the danger that might attend 
 upon it. For Mrs, Hart would at once recognize 
 Hilda, and ask after Zillah. There was now no 
 chance to do any thing. Lord Chetwynde 
 watched over her as a son might watch over a 
 mother. These two thus stood beforto him as a 
 standing menace, an ever-threatening danger in 
 ^'that paUi from which other dangers had been re- 
 moved at sach a hazard and at such a cost. 
 ' What could he do ? Nothing. It was for Hilda 
 to act in" this emejbency. He himself was 
 powerless. He feaied also that Hilda herself 
 did not realize the foil extent of her danger. 
 He saw how abstracted she had become, and 
 how she was engrossed by this new and unlooked- 
 for feeling which ha^ taken full poff session of 
 hlr.heart. One thing alone was possible to him, 
 and that was to warn Hilda. Perhaps she knew 
 the danger, and was indifferent to it; pe^aps 
 she was not at all aware of it; in any case, a 
 timely warning could not possibly do ntiy harm, 
 and might do a great deal of good. Under these 
 circumstances he wrote a few words, which he 
 contrived to place in her hands on the morning 
 when Lord Chetwynde arrived. . The words 
 wore these : / '^ ) 
 
 " Mr$. Hart it recovering, and the doctor hopes 
 that she will toon be entirely well." 
 
 Hilda read these words gloomily, but nothing 
 oould be done except what she had already de- 
 cided to do. She burned the note, and returned 
 .to her usual meditations. The arrival of Lord 
 . Phetwvndd soon drove every thing else out of 
 her mind, and <she waited eagerly for the time 
 for dinner, when she might see him, hear his 
 . voice, and feast her* eyes upon his face. 
 
 On descending into the dining-room she found 
 Lord Chetwynde already, there. Without a 
 thought of former slights, but following only the 
 instincts of her own heart, which in its ardent 
 passion was now flUed with joy at the sight of 
 nim, she advanced toward him with extended 
 hand. 8he did not say a word. She could not 
 speak. Her emotion overpowered her. She 
 cotud only extend her hand and look op into his 
 fkce imploringly. 
 
 . Lord Chetwynde stood before her, cold, re- 
 served, with a lofty hautenr on his brow, and a 
 coldness in his face which might have repelled 
 any one less impassioned. But Hilda was des- 
 perate. She bod resolved to make this last trial, 
 and ftake every thing upon this. Regardless, 
 therefore, of the repellent expression of his face, 
 and the coldness wnich was manifested in every 
 lineament, she determined to force a greeting 
 from him. It was with this resolve that she held 
 ont her hand and adtanced toward him. 
 
 But Lord Chetwynde stood unmoved. His 
 
 hands hnng down. He looked at her calml«(yet 
 
 coldly, withont anger, vet without feelingyp any 
 
 -kind. i bt Jlw i^ ^ wolwd he bowed. 
 
 "Ton Will not even shake hands y^ me?" 
 fidtered Hilda, in a stammering vol 
 
 "Of what avail would that be yT said Lord 
 Chetwynde. " Yon and I are forever separate. 
 We must stand apart forever. Why pretend to 
 a friendlbip which does not exist? I am not 
 yoor fidend, Lady Chetwynde." 
 
 Hilda was silent. Her hand fell by her side. 
 She shrank back into herself. Her disappoint- 
 ment deepened into sadness unutterable, a sad- 
 ness that was too |>rofound for anger, a sadness 
 beyond words. So the dinner passed on. Lord 
 Chetwynde was calm, stem, fixed in his feelings 
 and in his purpose. Hilda was despairing, and 
 voiceless in that despair. For the first time she 
 began to feel that all was lost. < 
 
 t 
 
 X!HAPTEB XLVI. 
 
 TBB TAULES TUBNED. 
 
 Lord Chbtwtmde had the satisfaction of see- 
 ing that Mrs. Hart recovered steadily. Day aft- 
 er day she improved, and at length became con- 
 scious of surrounding objects. After having 
 gained consciousness her recovery became more 
 rapid,' and she was at length strong enough for 
 him to visit her. The housekeeper prepared her 
 for the visit, so that the shock might not be too 
 great To her surprise she found that the idea 
 of his presence ih the same house had a better 
 eff'dct on her than all the medicines which she 
 had taken, and all the c«re which she had re- 
 ceived. She said not a word, but lay quiet with 
 astnile upon her face, as one who is awaiting the 
 arrival of some sure and certain bliss. It was 
 this expression which was on her face when Lord 
 Chetwynde' entered. She lay bock with her face 
 turned toward the door, and with all that wistful 
 yet htopy expectancy which has been mentioned. 
 He walked dp to her, took her thin, emaciated 
 hands in Ms, and kissed her pale forehead., 
 
 "My own dear old nurse," he said, "how 
 glad I am to find you so much better ! " 
 
 . Tears came to Mrs. Hart's, eyes. " My boy !" 
 she cried — "mv dearest boy, the sight of yoo 
 gives me lifel'* Sobs choked her utterance. 
 She lay Uiere clasping bis hand in both of hers, 
 and weift. ■ * ■ 
 
 Mrs. Hart hod already learned from tba- 
 honsekeeper that she had been ill for mai\y 
 months, and her own memory, as it gradually 
 rallied from the shock and collected its scattered 
 energies, brought bock before her the cause of 
 her illness. Had her recovery taken place at any 
 other time, her grief might have .caused a re- 
 lapse ; but now she learned that Lord Chetwynde 
 was here watching over her — "her boy," "her 
 darling," " her Guy" — and this was enough to 
 counterbalance the grief which she might have 
 felt. So now she lay holding his hand in hers, 
 gazing up into his face with an expression of 
 blissful contentment and of perfect peace ; feed- 
 ing all her soul in' that gaze, drawing from bim 
 new strength at every glance, and murmuring 
 words of tbndest love and endearment. As he 
 sat there the sternness of Lprd Chetwynde 's feat- 
 ures relaxed, the eyes sdftened into love and 
 pity, the hard lines about the mouth died away. 
 He seemed to feel himself a boy again, as he 
 opcg mors'lwld-that h a n d -whicli liad fl 
 boyhood's years. 
 
 He staid there for hours. Mrs. Hart would 
 not let him go, and ha did not care to do vio- 
 lence to her affections by tearing hiauelf away. 
 She seemed to cling to him as Aongh he were 
 the only living being on whom her afrectioni 
 were fixed. He took to himself all the love of 
 
 c: ■ 
 
 
M* 
 
 THB GBTPTOGBABL 
 
 V 
 
 157 
 
 thia poor, weak, Ibnd creatnre, and felt attrange 
 pleasure- in it. She on Iter part seemed to ac- 
 quire new strength from bis presence. 
 
 "I'm afraid, my dear nnrse," said he, " that 
 I am fatigning yon. I will )eaT» yon now and 
 come back again." 
 
 " No, no,'^said Mrs. Hart, earnestly ; " do not 
 leave me. Yoa will leave me soon enough. Do 
 not desert me now, my own boy — my sweet child 
 —stay by me." 
 
 "But all this &tigues yon." 
 
 '.'No, my dearest— it givisme new strength— 
 such strength as I have not known for a long 
 time. If you leave ine I shall sink back again 
 into weakness. I)o not forsake me." 
 
 So Lord Cbetwynde staid, and Mrs. Hart 
 made him tell her eU aboot what he had been 
 doing during the years of his absence. Hours 
 passed away in this conversation. And he saw, 
 and wondered as he saw it, that Mrs. Hart grew 
 stronger every moment It seemed as if his 
 nesence brought to her life and joy and strength. 
 He laughingly mentioned this. 
 
 " Yes, my dearest," said Mrs. Hart, "you are 
 right. You bring me new life. Yon come to 
 Ine like some strong angel, and bid me live. I 
 dare say I have something to live for, though what 
 it is I can not tell. ' Since he has gone I do not 
 tee what there is for me to do, or why it should 
 be that I should lingeif on in life, unless it may 
 be for you." ; 
 
 "For me— yes, my;^ear nnrse," said Lord 
 ■ Chetwynde, fondly kissing her pale brow — "yes, 
 m must be for me. Live, then, for me. " 
 
 " Yod have others who |ove yon and live for 
 you," said Mrs. Hart, mournfully. " You don't 
 need your poor «id nnrse now. " 
 
 Lord Chetwynde shook his head. 
 
 "No others can supply your place," said 
 he. " You will always be my own dear old 
 nnrse." 
 
 Mrs. Hart looked up with a smile of ec- 
 rtasy. 
 
 "I am going away," said Lord Chetwynde, 
 after some further conversation, " in a few days, 
 »nd I do not know when I will be back, but I 
 want yoii, for my sake, to try and be cheerful, so 
 as to gei well M soon as possiUe." 
 
 "Going awny !" gasped Mrs. Hart, in strong 
 mrprise. " Where to ?" 
 
 "1*0 Italy. To|Florence," said Lord Chet- 
 wynde. 
 
 "To Florence?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Why do yon leave Chetwynde ?" 
 
 "I have some business," said he, "of a most 
 important kind ; so important that I must leave 
 evoy thing and go away." 
 
 "Is your wife going whh you ?" 
 
 "No— she will remain here," said Lord Chet- 
 wynde, dryly, 
 
 Mrs. Hart conld not help noticing the very 
 peculiar tone in which he spoke of his wife. 
 
 " S he will be lonely with out yon," said she. 
 -'^tit''-^f!mawn nran be attended to, and 
 ttli is of vital importance," was Lord Chet- 
 wynde's answer. 
 
 Mrs. Hart was silent for a long time. 
 
 "Do von expect ever to come back?" sh^ 
 ■iked at last 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 "But yon do not know io ?" 
 
 " I should be iorry to give Up Che^nde for- 
 ever, " said he. 
 
 ' ' Is there any danger of that ?" 
 
 " Yes., I am thinking of it The affairs of 
 the ^tate are of such a nature tha( I may be 
 compelled to sacrifice even Chetwynde. You 
 know that for three generations this prospect has 
 been before us." ' . 
 
 "But I thought that danger was averted by 
 your marriage?" said Mrs. Hart, in a low 
 voice, 
 
 . "It was averted for my father's lifetime, but 
 now it remains for me to do justice to those who 
 were wronged by that arrangement ; and justice 
 sbiUl be done, even if Chetwynde has to be sac- 
 rificed." 
 
 " I understand," said Mrs. Hart, in a quiet, 
 thoughtful tone — "and yoa are going to Flor- 
 ence?" 
 
 " Yes, in a few days. But yon will be left m 
 the\care of those who love you." 
 
 "Lady Chetwynde used to love me," said 
 Mrs. Hart ;" and I loved her." 
 
 " I am glad to know that — more so than I can 
 say." 
 
 "She was alwavs tender and loving and true. 
 Your father loved her like a daughter." S 
 
 *f So I have understood." 
 ' "You speak coldly." 
 
 " Do I ? I was not aware of it. No doubt 
 her care^^ill be as much at your service as ever, 
 and whi^ I come back again I shall find you in s 
 green oTd age— won't I ? Say I shall, my dear 
 old nurse." 
 
 Tears stood in Mrs. Hart's eyes. She gazed 
 wistfully at him, but said nothing. 
 
 A few more interviews took place between 
 these two, ond in a short time Lord Chetwynde 
 bade her an affectionate farewell, and left the 
 place once more. . 
 
 On the morning after his departure Hilda was 
 in the morning-room waiting for Gualtier, whom 
 she had summoned. Although she knew that 
 Lprd Chetwynde^vos going awar, yet his depart- 
 ure seemed sudden, and took her by surprise. 
 He went away without any notice, just as he Had 
 done before, but somehow she had expected 
 some formal announcement of his intention, and, 
 because he had gone oway without a word, she 
 began to fe^ aggrieved and injured. Out of thia 
 there grew before her the memory of all Lord 
 Chetwynde's coolness toward her, of the slights 
 and insults tO which he had subjected her, of the 
 abhorrence which he had manifested toward her. 
 She felt that she was despised. It was as thon|^ 
 she had been foully wronged. To all these this 
 lost act was^l^dded. He hod gone away without a 
 word or a st^n — where, she knew not— why, she 
 could not telL It was his abhorrence for her 
 that had driven him awav — this was evident 
 
 " Hell hath no fuiy like a woman scorned." 
 And this woman, who found herself doubly and 
 trebly scorned, lashed herself into a fury of in- 
 dignation. In this new-found fuiy she ibnnidU 
 the first relief which she had known from the 
 torments of unrequited passion, from the longr 
 ing and the craving and the yearning of het hot 
 and fervid nature. Into this new fit of indig- 
 nation she flung herself with complete abandon- 
 ment Since he scorned her, he should suffer— 
 this was her feeling. Since he refused her love, 
 he should feel her vengeance. He should know 
 
 '-^^V«f' 
 
168 
 
 THE C&TPTOORAM. 
 
 that she. might be hated, but she itM not one 
 who could be despised. For evenr slight which 
 he bad heaped npon her he should pay with his 
 heart's blood. Under the pangs of this new 
 disappointment ihe writhed and groaned in her 
 anguish, and all the tumults of feeling which she 
 had endured ever since she saw him now seemed 
 te congregate and gather themselves up into one 
 Outburst of furious and implacable vengefttlness. 
 /Her heart beat hot and fast in her tierce excite- 
 ment. Her face was pale, but the hectic flush 
 on either cheek told of the fires within ; and the 
 nen'ous agitatfon of her manner, her clenched 
 hands, and heaving breast, showed that the last 
 remnant of self-control was forgotten and swept 
 away in this furious rush of passion. It wM m 
 such a mood as this that Gunltier found her as 
 he entered the momingrroom to which she hod 
 summoned him. 
 
 Hilda at first did not seem to see him, or at 
 any rate did not notice him. She was sitting 
 as before in a deep arm-chair, in the depths of 
 which her slender Rgntk seemed lost. Her hands 
 vvere clutched together. Her face was turned 
 toward that portrait over the fire-place, which 
 represented Lord Chetwynde in his early youth. 
 Upon that face, usually so like a mask, so im- 
 passive, and so unapt to express the feelings that 
 existed within, there was now visibly expressed 
 an array of contending emotions. Sne had 
 thrown away or lost her self-restraint; those 
 feelings raged and e^cpressed themselves uncon- 
 trolled, and Gualtier for the first time saw her 
 off her gOnrd. He entered with his usual stealthy 
 tread, and watched her for some time as she 
 sat looking at the picture. He read in her fa6e 
 the emotions whidi were expressed there. He 
 saw disappointn^t, rage, fury, love, vengeance, 
 pride, and desire all contending together. He 
 learned for the first, time that this woman whom 
 he had believed to be cold as an icicle was as 
 hot-hearted as a volcano ; that she was fervid, 
 impulsive, vehement, passionate, intense Ui love 
 and in hate. As he learned this he (eji/ma sqnl 
 sink within him as he thought that iUiras not re- 
 served for him, but for another, t{/call forth all 
 the fiery vehemence of that stgcny natnre. 
 
 She saw him at last, as with a passionate ges- 
 ture she tore her eyes away from the portrait, 
 
 which seemed to fascinate her. The 'sight of J least, there wiU be nothing but destruction. 
 Gualtier at once restored heroutwaT4 calm. She'] is, therefore, as if I now were standing faci 
 was herself once more. She waved her hand 
 loftily to a sent, and the very fact that she had 
 made this exhibition of feeling before him seem- 
 ed to harden that proud manner which she Usu- 
 ally displayed toward him. 
 
 "I have sent for yon," said she, in calm, 
 measured tofles, "for an important purpose. 
 Yon remember the last journey on which I sent 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes, my lady." 
 
 "Yon did that ,well. I have a^hefohe on 
 which I wish yoo to go. It refen to the same 
 person." ■ ,^- 
 
 • "L ord Chetwynde?"! '.^ 
 
 T Hlldabowed. 
 
 "I am readvj" said Gualtier. 
 
 "He left this morning, and I don't know 
 where he has gone, but I wish yon to go after 
 him," 
 
 " I know where he intended to go." , 
 
 "How? Wh«re?" 
 
 " Some of the senmntt overheard him speak- 
 ing to Mrs. Hart abont going to Italy. " 
 
 "Italyl" 
 
 "Yes. I can come up with him somewhere, 
 if von wish it, and get on his track. But what 
 is It that yon wish me to do ?" 
 
 "In the first place, to follow him np." 
 
 " How — at a distance — or near him ? That is 
 to say, shall f. travel in disguise, or shall I get era- 
 ploy near his person f I can be a valet, or a 
 courier, or any thing else." 
 
 " Any thing. This mnst be left to yon.> I 
 care not for details. The grand result is what I 
 look to." 
 
 " And what is the grand resnlt?'' 
 
 "Something which you yonnelf once pro- 
 posed," said Hilda, in low, stem tones, and with 
 deep meaning. 
 
 Gualtier's face flushed. He understood her. 
 
 " I know," said he. " He is an obstacle, and 
 you wish this obstacle removed." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You understand me exactly, my lady, do 
 you ?" asked Gualtier, earnestly. ' ' You wish^t 
 removed— j'lMt a$ other obatacles have been re- 
 moved. You wish never to see him again. Yon 
 wish to be yonr own mistress henceforth— and 
 always." 
 
 " Yon have stated exactly what I mean," said 
 Hilda, in icy tones. 
 
 Gunltier was silent for some time. 
 
 " Ladv Chetwynde," said he at length, in a 
 tone which was strikingly different from that 
 with which for years he had addressed her— 
 "Lady Chetwvnde, I wish you to observe that 
 this task upoii which you now send me is for 
 different fh>m any of the former ones which I 
 have undertaken at your bidding. I havd' al- 
 ways set out without a word — like one of those 
 Haschishim of whom you have read, when he 
 received the mandate of the Sheik of the mount- 
 ains. But the nature of this errand is snch that 
 I may never see you again. The task is a peril- 
 ous one. The man against whom I am sent is 
 a man of singulafacuteness, profound judgment, 
 dauntless courage, and remorseless in his venge- 
 ance. His acuteness may possibly enaUe him 
 to see through me, and frustrate my plan before 
 it is fairly befun. What then ? For me, at 
 
 It 
 face to 
 face with death, and so I crave the liberty of say- 
 ing something to yon this time, and not depart' 
 ing in silence." 
 
 Gualtier spoke with earnestness, with dignity, 
 yet with perfect respect. There was that in his 
 tone and manner which gave indications of a far 
 higher nature than any for which Hilda had ever 
 yet given him credit His words struck her 
 strangely. They were not insubordinate, for he 
 announce^ his intention to obey her ; they were 
 not disrespectful, for his manner wns full' of his 
 'M taverence; but they seemed like an assertion 
 t>f something like manhood, and like a blow 
 a gainst thht undis puted ascendency which she 
 
 tier, " you can n( 
 
 hii3 Bd long midntiuned over him. ' In spite oT~ 
 her preoccupation, and her tempestuous passion, 
 she was forced to listen, and she listened with a 
 vague surprise, looking at him with a cold stare. 
 
 "Yon seem to me," said she, "to speak as 
 though you were unwilling to go — or afliiid." 
 
 "Fardon me, Lady Chetwynde," said Gool- 
 
 
TSt CBTPTOORAll 
 
 \w 
 
 der, " yon can not think that I hare laid that 
 . I would go, but that, as I may never see you 
 again, I wisli to say (omething. I wish, in fact, 
 now, after all these years, to have a final under- 
 standing with you." 
 
 "Well?" said Hilda. 
 
 "I need not remind you of the past," said 
 Gnaltier, "or of my blind obedience to nil your 
 mandates. Two events at least stand out con- 
 spicuously. I fiave assisted you to the best of 
 my power. Why I did so must be evident to 
 you. You know veiy well thi\t it was no sordid 
 motive on my port, no hate toward others, no 
 desire for vengeance, but something for different 
 —something which hais animated me for years, so 
 that it was enough that you gave a command for 
 ma to obey. For years I have been thus at your 
 call like a slave, and now, after all these years — 
 now, that I depart on my last and most pbrilons 
 mission, and am speaking to you words which 
 may possibly bo the last that you will ever hear 
 from me — I wish to implore you, to beseech you, 
 to promise me that reward which you must know 
 I have always looked forward to, and which can 
 be the only possible recompense to one like me 
 for services like mine. " 
 
 He stopped and looked imploringly iit her. » 
 
 "And what is that?" asked Hilda, mechanic- 
 «lly, as though she did not fully understand him, 
 
 "■ Yourself," said Gualtier, in a low, earnest 
 Toicie, with aU his soul in the glance which he 
 thr^w upon her. 
 
 The moment that he said the word Hilda 
 started back with a gesture" of impatience and 
 contempt, and regarded him with an expression 
 of onger and indignation, and with a frown so 
 black that it seemed as if she would have blasted 
 him with her look had she been able. Gnaltier^ 
 however, did not shrink from her fierce glaned. 
 His eyes were no longer lowentd before hers. 
 He regarded her fixedly, calmly, yet respectfully, 
 with hia head erect, and no trace of his old un- 
 reasoning gubmixsion in hi^ face and manner. 
 Surprised as Hilda had Evidently been at his 
 words, she seemed "i^o less surprised at his 
 changed demeanor. It was the first time in her 
 life that she Md seen in him any revelation of 
 manhoqdl and that view opened up to her very 
 nnpleasant possibilities. 
 
 ^•This is not a time," she said at length, in a 
 •harp voice, "for sach nonsense as this." 
 
 " I beg yonr pardon, Lady Chetwynde," said 
 Gaaltier, firmly, "I think that this and no other 
 is the time. Whether it be ' nonsense' or not 
 need not be debated. It is any thing but non- 
 sense to me. All my past life seems to sweep up 
 to this moment, and now is the crisis of my fate. 
 Allmy future depends upon it, whether for weal 
 or woe. Lady Chetwynde, do not call it non- 
 sense — do not underrate its importance. Do 
 not, I Implore you, underrate me. Thus far yon 
 have tacitly assumed that I am a feeble and al- 
 most imbecile character. It is true that my ab- 
 ject devotion tfl you has forced me to give a 
 
 1S9 
 
 and that though yon Snay treat this oocasion with 
 levity, I, can noU All my life. Lady Chetwynde, 
 hangs on your ansWer to my question. " 
 
 Gmdtier's manner was most vehement, and 
 indicative of the strongest emotion, but the tones 
 jOf his voice wore low and only audible to HildH. 
 Low as the voice was, however, it still none the 
 less exhibited the intensity of tho passion that 
 was in his soul. _ 
 
 Hilda, on the contrary, evin^d a stronger rage 
 at evenr word which he uttered. The baleful 
 light of her dark eyes grewmore'^ry in its con- 
 centrated anger and scorii. 
 
 " It seems to me," said she, in her most con- 
 temptuous tone, " that you engage to do mf- 
 will only on certain conditions ; and that you ai4 
 taking advifntage of my necessities in order.' to 
 drive a bargain." \ 
 
 " Y6u are right, Lady Chetwynde," said Gnal- 
 tier, calmly.' " I am trying to*drive a bargain ; 
 but remember it is not for money-^it is for your- 
 
 " And I," said Hilda, with unchang^ scorn, 
 "will never submit to such coercion. When 
 yon dare to dictate to me, you mistake my char- 
 acter utterly. What I have to give I will give,^ 
 freely. My gifts shall never be extorted frorti 
 me, even though my life should depend upon my 
 Compliance or refusal. The tone which you have 
 chosen to adopt toward me is scarcely one that 
 will make me swer\-e from my purpose, or alter 
 any decision which I nmy have made. You have 
 deceived yourself. You seem to suppose that 
 yon are indispensable to me, and that this is the 
 time when ,3r<ju can force upon me any condiciona 
 yon cl^oose. As far as that is concerned, let me 
 tell yoii plainly that von may do what you choose, 
 and either go on this errand or, stay. In any' 
 case, by no possibility, will I make any promise 
 whatever." 
 
 This Hilda said quickly, and in her usual 
 scorn. She thoui^t that such indifference ra^ht 
 bring Gualtier to terms, and make him decide to 
 obey her without extorting this promise. For 
 a moment sho thought that she had succeeded. 
 At her words a change came over Gualtier's face. 
 He looked humbled and sad. As she ceased, he 
 turned his eves imploringly to her, and said : 
 
 "Lady (Chetwynde, do not say that. I en- 
 treat you to give me this promise." 
 
 "I will not!" said Hilda, sharply. 
 
 "Once more I entreat you," said Gualtier, 
 more earnestly. ' 
 
 ' ' Once more I refuse, " said Hilda. • ' Go and 
 do tlu» thing first, and then come and ask 
 me." 
 
 " Will you then promise me?" 
 
 "I will tell you nothing now." 
 
 "Lady Chetwynde, for the last time I implore 
 Ton to {^ve me some ground for hope at feast, 
 fell me— if this thing be accomplished, will you 
 give me what I want?" 
 
 " I will make no engagement whatever," said 
 Hilda, coldly. 
 
 Jlind obedience to all your wishes. But mark JQusltieF atr^Ss-geeBtedr^te niafr~bii 
 
 this well. Lady Chetwynde, such obedience it 
 Klf involved some of the highest qualities of 
 nuuhood. Something like courage and forti- 
 tude and daring was necessary to carry out those 
 as of yours which I so willingly undertook, 
 i not wish to speak of myself, however. I 
 
 only wiah to show yon that I am in earnest, | promise." 
 
 once above his dejection, his humility, and his 
 prayerful attitude, to a new and stronger asaer- 
 tionof himself. 
 
 "Very well," said he, gravely and stemlr. 
 " Now listen to me, Lady Chetwynde. I witt 
 no longer entreat— I iiutst that you give me this 
 
 -II 
 
 a ik-:>i b 
 
 '■^^■j. 
 '^^1^ 
 
160 
 
 •^HE CBTFTOQRAM. 
 
 "InsUt!" 
 
 Nothing can describe the tcom and contenpt 
 of Hilda'* tone aa the ottered this word. 
 
 "I repeat it," said Onaltier, calmly, and with 
 deeper emphasiii. "liniitt that you give me 
 yonr promise." 
 
 "My friend," laid Hilda, contemptnonsly, 
 "yon do not seem to nnderstand our potitioni. 
 This seems to me lilce impertinence, and, unless 
 you malie an apology, I shall be under the very 
 unpleasant necessity of obtaining a new stew- 
 As Hilda said this she turned paler than ever 
 with suppressed rage. 
 
 Gnaltier smiled scomfbUy. 
 
 " It seems to roe," said he, " that yon are the 
 one who does not, or will not, understand our 
 respective positions. Yon will not dismiss me 
 from the stewardship. Lady Chetwynde, for yon 
 will be too sensible for that You will retain me 
 in that dignified office, for you know that I am 
 Indispensable to you, though yon seemed to deny 
 it A moment since. You have not forgotten the 
 relations which we bear to one another. There 
 •re certain memories which rise between us two 
 which will never escape the recollection of either 
 of us till the latest moment of onr lives ; some 
 of these are associated with the General, some 
 with the Kari, and some— with Zillah !" 
 
 He stopped, as though the mention of that Ltst 
 name bad overpowered him. Ag^r Hilda, the 
 pallor of her face grew deeper, and uie trembled 
 with mingled agitation and rage. 
 
 "Go!" said she. "Go! and let me never 
 see year face again 1 " 
 
 "No," said Gualtier, "I will not go till I 
 ohopse. ' As to seeing my face again, the wish is 
 easier said than gained. No, Lady Chetwynde. 
 You are in my power I You know it. I tell it 
 to you here, and nothing can save yon from me 
 if I turn against you. Yoq have never under- 
 stood me, for yon have never taken the trouble 
 to do so. You have shown but little mercy to- 
 ward me. When I have come home from serv- 
 ing you — you know how — hungering and Thirst- 
 ing for some slight act of appreciation, some 
 token of thankfulness, you have always repelled 
 me, and denied what I dared not request. Had 
 yon bat given me the kind attention which a 
 master gives to a dog, I woidd have followed you 
 like a dog to the world's end, and died for you 
 — like a dog, too," he added, in an under-tone. 
 " But you have used me as a stepping-stone ; 
 thinking that, like such, I could be spumed aside 
 when yon were done with me. Yon have not 
 thought that I am not a stone or a block, but a 
 man, with a man's heart within me. And it is 
 now as a man that I speak to yon, because yon 
 force me to it. I tell you this, that you ore in 
 my power, and you must be mine !" 
 
 "Are you a madman?" cried Hilda, over- 
 whelmed with amazement at this outburst. 
 "Have you lost your senses? Fool! If yon 
 mean what you say, I defy yon I Go, and use 
 your power ! / in Uie power of such as yon ? — 
 jHc w ri''" , - - J^---.^ 
 
 Her brows contracted as she spoke, and fh)m 
 beneath her black eyes seemed to shoot baleful 
 flres of hate and rage nnatterable. The full in- 
 tensity of her nature was aroused, and the ex- 
 pression of her fiwe was terrible in its fury and 
 malignancy. But Gualtier did not recoiL On 
 
 the contrary, he feasted hit eyes on her, and a 
 smile came to hU features. 
 
 " You are beautiful !" said he. " You have 
 a demon beauty that is overpowering. Oh, beau- 
 tiful fiend ! You can not resist. You must be 
 mine — and you shall ! I never saw you so love- 
 ly. I love you best in your fits of rage." 
 
 "Fool I':. cried Hilda. "Thhisenough. You 
 are mad, or else drunk ; in either case Vou shall 
 not stav another day in Chetwynde Castle. Go I 
 or I/will order the servants to put you out." 
 
 "There will be no occasion for that," said' 
 Gualtier. coolly. " I am going to leave you4l»u 
 very night to join Lord Chetwynde." C. V 
 " It is too late now ; your valuable servle'es 
 are no longer needed," said Hilda, with a sneer. 
 " You may spare ycurself the trouble of such a 
 journey. Let me know what is due you, and I 
 will pay it." 
 
 " You will pay, me only one thing, and that is 
 yoarfelf," said Gualtier. " If you do not choose 
 to pay that price you must take the consequences. 
 I am going to join Lord Chetwynde, whedier you 
 wish me to or not. But, remember this !"-rand 
 Gualtier's voice grew menacing in its intona- 
 tions — "remember this; it depends upon you 
 in what capacity I am to join him. Yon are the 
 one who must say whether I shall go to him as 
 his enemy or his friend. If I go as his enemy, 
 you know what will happen ; if I go as his 
 friend, it is you who must fall. Now, Lady 
 Chetwynde, do yon understand me ?" 
 
 As Gualtier said this there was a deep mean- 
 ing in his words which Hilda could not fail to 
 understand, and there was^ni^e same time such 
 firmness and solemn d^fiiskm that she felt that 
 he would certainly Ao^tm \\i6 sold. She saw at 
 once the peril that l^befoie heri'. An alterna- 
 tive was oiTered : th^.-ol^arVqA,, tit some to teims 
 with him; the oth^^|(|i ik^aei^ifi^r and hope- 
 less ruin. That ni'^^ ^i*^^" ^^ menaced 
 was no common one. :°|l|fyF4ne which placed 
 her under the grasp of 'm^Um.,i|4,frqm which 
 no foreign land could sbeiter hlr^jULlHR' pros- 
 pects, her plans, her hopes, were iigli^4l| instant 
 dashed away from l>efore her; aiia>fl#^i^lized 
 now, to the fullest extent, the frightthl truth 
 that she was indeed completely in the power of 
 this man. The discovery of this acted on her 
 like a shock, which sobered her and drove away 
 her passion. 
 
 She said nothing in reply, but sat down in si- 
 lence, and remained a long time without speak- 
 ing. Gualtier, on his part, saw the effect of his 
 last words, bat he made no effort to interrupt 
 her thoughts. He could not vet tell what she in 
 her desperation might decide; he could only 
 wait for her answer. He stood waiting patiently. 
 
 At last Hilda spoke : 
 
 " You've told ihe bitter tmths — but they are 
 truths. Unfortunately, I am in yonr power. If 
 you choose to coerce me I must yield, for I am 
 not yet ready to accept ruin." " 
 
 " You promise then ?" 
 
 "Since I must— I do." 
 
 ^TlMwk yuu ," s aid O u al tierr^'^an d no wi 
 
 BILDA IKXS A 
 
 will not see me again till all is over either with 
 him or with me." 
 
 He bowed respectfully and departed. After 
 he had left, Hilda sat looking at the door with a 
 face of rage and malignant fury. At Sengtb, 
 starting to her feet, she hurried up to her room. 
 
 S^^i^a^l^S^S^^^ 
 
THE CRTPTOORA&r. 
 
 101 
 
 CHAPTER XLVn. 
 
 BILDA IKBS ▲ OCUr BBRKATB BBX VBIT. 
 
 Thk Mtoniahing change in Oaaltier was an 
 overwhelming shock to Hilda. She had com- 
 mitted the fatal mistake of underrating him, and 
 of putting herself completely in his power. She 
 had counted on his being always humble and 
 docile, always subservient and blindly obedient. 
 She had put from her all thoughts of a possible 
 day of reckoning. She had fostered his devo. 
 tion to her so as to be used for her own ends, and 
 now found that she had raised up a power which 
 might sweep her away. In the first assertion of 
 that power She had been vanquished, and com- 
 pelled to make a promise which she had at fir 
 refused with the haughtiest contempt. She cou 
 only take refuge in vague phins of evading 
 promise, and in punishing Gualtier for w 
 seemed to her his unparalleled audacity. 
 
 Yet, after all, bitter as the humiliation l.a^ 
 been, it did not lessen her fervid passion for I^rd 
 Chetwynde, and the hate and the vengeance that 
 bad arisen when that passion had be^ con- 
 temned. After the first shock of the aflFair with 
 Guoliier^had passed, her madness and fuiy 
 sgainst him passed also, and her wild spirit was 
 once ogain filled with the all-engrossing thought 
 of Lord Chetwynde. Gualtier had gone off, as 
 be suid^ and she was to see him no more for 
 wme time— perhaps never. He had his own 
 plans and purposes, of the details of which Hil- 
 da knew nothing, but could only conjecture. 
 She felt that failure on his pai$ was not probable, 
 and gradually, so confident Vaa »«he that he 
 would sncgped. Lord Chetwys8|i b^?io ionium 
 to her not merely a doomed mamM>ut,Kma^^u 
 bad already undergone life dooni. > Atitf^w 
 mother change came over her — that change 
 which Death can make in the heart of the most 
 implacable of mei» when his enemy has left life 
 forever. From the pangs of wounded love she 
 bad sought rcfugti in vengeance— but the pros- 
 pect of a gratified vengeance was but a poor 
 oompensation for the loss of the hope of a re- 
 quited love. The tenddmess of love still re- 
 mained, and it struggled with the ferocity of 
 vengeance. That love pleaded powerfully for 
 Lord Chetwpde's life. Hope came also, to 
 lend its assistance to the arguments of lore. 
 Would it not be better to wait — even for years — 
 «nd then perhaps the fierceness of Lord Chefc- 
 wynde's repugnance might be alhiyed? Why 
 destroy him, and^her hope, and her love, for- 
 ever, and so hastily,? After snch thoughts as 
 these, however, the remembrance of Lord Chet- 
 wynde's contempt was sure to return and intens- 
 ify her vengeance. 4 
 
 Ijnder snch cireumstances, when distracted by 
 » many cares. It is not surprising that she for- 
 got all about Mrs. Hart. She had understood 
 the full meaning of Gnaltier's warning about her 
 proqiective recovery, but the danger passed from 
 bermind. Gnaltier had gone 6n his errand, and 
 'M Wttg «nre he would not falter. Shut np in 
 "hyrown ehamberr sh e a w aitea Hr deep aglatlon 
 tbe first tidings which, he might send. Day snc- 
 teeded to day ; no tidings came j and at last she 
 began to hope that he had failed— and the pleas- 
 «ntest sight which she could have seen at that 
 time would have been Gualtier returning diMp< 
 pomtod and baffled. 
 
 L 
 
 nes, 
 
 Meartwhlle, Mrs. IFart, left to herself, steadily 
 and nipMly recovered. Ever since her first rec- 
 ognition of Lord Chetwyn(|o her impft(vement had 
 been mhrked. New ideas seemed to have come 
 to her ; new motives for life j apd with these the 
 desire of life; and at thepromptings of that de- 
 sire health ca^ie back. Tliis poor creature, even 
 in the beat days of her life at Chetwynde Castle, 
 had not known an» health beyond that of a 
 moderate kind; and so a moderate recovery 
 would suffice to give her what strength she had 
 lost, 'i'o be able to wander about the house onoe 
 more was ail that she needed, and this was not 
 long denied her. 
 
 few days after Gnaltier's departnre she 
 — go about. She walked through the old 
 I, traversed the well-known halls," 
 the well-remembered apartments, 
 was enough for the first day. The 
 %ent about the gi:ounds, and visited 
 fhere she sat for hoars on the Earl's 
 sd in an absorbing meditation. Two 
 days passed on, and she walked about 
 used to. And now a strong desire 
 seised her to see that wife of Lord Chetwynde 
 whom she so dearly loved and so fondly remem- 
 bered. She wondered that Lady Chetwynde had 
 not come to see her. She was informed that 
 Lady Chetwyqde was ill. A deep sympathy then 
 aroiib in her heart for the poor friendless lady^ 
 the fair girl whom she reipembered— and whom 
 she now pictured to herself as bereaved of her 
 father, and scorned by her husband. For Mrs. 
 Hart pghtly divined the meaning of Lord Chet- 
 wynde's Words. She thought long over this, and 
 at last there arose within her a deep yearning to go 
 and see this poor friet^ess orpl^tffed giri, wHose 
 life had been so sad, and was still so mournful. 
 So one doy, full of such tender feelings as 
 these, and carrying in her mind the image of 
 that beautiful young girl who once had been to 
 dear to her, she went up herself to the room 
 where Hilda staid, and asked the maid for 
 Lady Chetwynde. i^fitt* 
 
 " She is ill," said the QHRSB 
 Mrs. Hart waved her asiall^Ph serene dignity 
 and entered. The maid stoqdawe-struck. For 
 Mr*. Hart had the air and the tone of a lady, 
 and now when her will was aroused she very weO 
 knew how to put down an unruly servant. So 
 she walked grandly past the maid, who looked in 
 awe upon her stately figure, her white face, with 
 its refined fi^tuce;^ and her venerable hair, and 
 passed through th|^|ialf-opened door into Hilda's 
 room. . "' ' ^ 
 
 Hilda had been sitting on the sofis, Vhkh waa 
 near the window. She was looking ouL^^tract- 
 edly, thinking upon the great problenfwBich lay 
 before her, upon, the ^solution of which she could 
 not decide, when suddenly she'hecame aware of 
 someone in the 'i-oom. 'She looked up. It was 
 Mrs. H^! 
 
 At t lj u y fe h t her blood chilled within her. 
 Ifer fac^l^prfH'erspread with an expression of 
 ntter horror. T he shock was tremendouSj Sl» 
 tiad fbiTgotten aU about the woman. Mib.HmT' 
 
 had been to her like th'e dead, and now to see 
 her thus suddenly was like the sight of the dead. 
 Had the dead Earl come into her room and Stood 
 before her in the cerements of the grave she 
 would not have been one whit ibora iioriifled, 
 more bewildered. 
 
 
 # 
 
 ■■m 
 
'»■ 
 
 ) 
 
 '■\ .'3 
 
 •.'1 ■ 
 
162 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 •*«- 
 
 But snon in that strong mintl of hers reason 
 regained its ])lnce. She saw liow it hail been, 
 and though she still wondered how Mrs. Hart 
 had come into her room, yet siie prepared as best 
 slio might to deal with tliis new and tmexpected 
 danger. She arose, carefully closed the door, 
 and then turning to Mrs. Hart she took her hand, 
 and said, simply, 
 
 " I'm so glad to see yon about again." 
 
 ' ' Where is Lady <:"hetwynde ?" 
 
 This was all that Mrs. Hart said, as she with- 
 drew her hand anU looked all about the room. 
 
 Like lightning Hilda's plan was <lecided 
 upon. " 
 
 " Wait a moment," said she ; and, going into 
 tlie ante-room, she sent her maid away upon some 
 errand that would detain her for some time? 
 Then she came back and motioned Mrs. Hart to 
 a chair, while she took another. 
 
 "Did not Lord Clietwynde tell you about 
 LAdy CJieUjjnde'i'" she aslied, very cautiously. 
 Slia, \<'a3 anxious, first of all, to see how much 
 !Rrrs>*tiart kiiew. 
 
 rXoL^ smfl Mrs. Hart, "ho scarcely men- 
 tioned ner name." She looked su.«piciously at 
 Hilda while she spoke. 
 
 "That is strange," said Hilda. "Had you 
 'any conversations with him 't" 
 
 "Ves, several." 
 
 "And he did not tell you?" 
 
 "He told mo nothing about her," said Mrs. 
 Hart, dryly. 
 
 Hilda drew a long breath of relief. 
 
 "It's a secret in this house," said she, "but 
 you must know it. I will tell yon all about it. 
 After the Earl's death Lady Clietwynde haj)- 
 pened to come across some letters written by his 
 son, in which the utmost abhorrence was express- 
 ed for the girl whom he had married. I dare 
 say the letters are among the j)apcrs yet, and 
 you can see them. One in particular was fear- 
 ful in its denunciations of her. He reviled her, 
 called her by opprobrious epithets, and told his 
 father that he would never consent to see her. 
 Lady (^etwyndo saw all these. You know how 
 high-spirited she was. She at once took fire at. 
 
 these insults, and declared that she would nevei" Mated to awaken her fears. Her position hud al 
 
 A/^«M>^««^ ^n nnn T .nax-l (~^V\ »»*■•*•« A f%. WK.i •••••..*» 1. X ... 1 '. _ _^ •. . _ Tl .11 I 
 
 Hearing this. 
 
 consent to see Lord Chetwynde. She wrot'e him 
 to that effect, ahd then departed from Chettuuide 
 Castle forever." ^ 
 
 Mrs. Hart listened with a stem, sad face, and 
 said not a word. 
 
 " I wfent ^rith her to a place where she is now 
 living in seclusion. I don't think that Lord 
 Chetwynde would havoJtome home if he had 
 not known that she hau left, 
 however, he at once came here. ' 
 
 "And you?'* said Mrs. Hart, "what are yon 
 doing here? Are you |ia Lady Chetwynde of 
 whom the servants sjJcaW^' 
 
 "I am, temiwrarily," said Hilda, with a sad 
 
 smile. " It was /illah's wish. UkC ^'anted to 
 
 avoid a scandal. She sent oft' all twH)ld servants, 
 
 I hired new ones, Md persnaded me to stay here 
 
 ,for a time as LaSy Chetwynde. She fllUid a 
 
 — tlcftf CTtt crcuturo^^t&nursc you, &nu novaQcoiiBcs 
 
 to write about you and ask how you are. " 
 
 "And you live here as Lady Chetwynde?" 
 asked Mrs. Hart, sternly. ' ; 
 
 "Temporarily," said Hilda— <*!'* that wairihe 
 arrangement between us. Zilhih did not wfflt 
 to have the name uf Chetwynde dishouored by 
 
 stories that his wife had run away from him. 
 She wrote Lord Chetwynde to that effect. When 
 Lord Chetwynde arrived I saw him in the libra- 
 ry, pnd he requested me to'dtay here for some 
 months until he had arranged hi^ ulans for tlic 
 future. It was very considerate in^illah, but at 
 the same time it is very eimbarrassing to me, and 
 I am looking eagerly forward to the time when 
 this deceit can be oyfer, and I can-rejoin inv 
 friend once more. I am so glad, my dear Mrs. 
 Hart, that you came in. It is such a relief to 
 have some one to whom I can unburden nivself 
 lam very miserable, and I imagine all thetinie 
 that the servants suspect me. You will, of 
 course, keep this a profound secret, will you not, 
 my dear Mrs. Hart ? and help me to i)lay this 
 wretched part, which my love for Zillah has led 
 me to undertake ?" 
 
 Hilda's tone was that of an innocent and sim- 
 )>lc girl who found herself In a false position. 
 Mrs. Hart listened earnestly without a word, ex- 
 cept occasionally. The severe rigidity of her 
 features never relaxed. What eft'ect tliis story, 
 so well told, produced upon her, Hilda conlil not 
 know. At length, however, she had fmislicd, 
 and Mrs. Hart arose. 
 
 "You will keep Zillah 's secret?" said Hilda, 
 earnestly. "It i$ for the sake of Lord Chet- 
 wynde. " 
 
 " Yon will never And me capable of doing any 
 thing that, is against his interests," said Mrs. 
 Hart, sqicmnly ; and without a bow, or an adieu, 
 she retired. She went back to her own room to 
 ponder over this astonishing story. 
 
 Meanwhile, Hilda, left alone to herself, wns 
 not altogether satisfied with the impression whidi 
 had been made on Mrs. Hart. She hei'self hud 
 played her part admirably — her story, long pre- 
 pared in case of some sudden need like this, was 
 coherent and natural. It was s]ioken fluently 
 and unhesitatingly ; nothing could have been 
 iMJtfer in its way, or more convincing ; and yet 
 she was not satisfied with Mrs. Hart's demeanor. 
 Her face was too stern, her manner too frigid ; 
 the questions which she had asked |poke of sus- 
 picion. <-' All these were unpleasant, and calcu- 
 
 ways been oiie of extreme peril, and she had 
 dreaded some visitor who might remember her 
 face. She had feared the doctor mpst, and had 
 carefully kept \)ut of his way. She had nut 
 thought until lately of the possibility of Mrs. 
 Hart's recovery. This came ajwu her wiili a 
 suddenness that was liewilderiiig, Ai^ the con- 
 sequences she could not foretell. 
 
 And now another fear suggested itself Might 
 not Lord Chetwynde himself have some suspi- 
 cions ? Would not such suspicions account for 
 his coldness and severity ? I'crlmps he su8|iecie J 
 the truth, and was preparing some way in which 
 she could be entrapped and punished. I'cilm)}! 
 his mysterious business in Lotion related to tijfs 
 alone. The thought filled 1^ with alarm, niid 
 now she rejoiced that Gunlticr was on his track. 
 She began to believe that she could never Up safe 
 until ivord ChMwyiide was '* removed. " And^ if^ 
 Ix)id Chetwynde, then others. Who was tliii 
 Mrs. Hart that she should have any |iowcr uf 
 troubling her ? Measures might easily Ite taken 
 for silencing her forever, and for " renioving" 
 such a feeble old obstacle as this. Jlilda knew 
 means by which this could be edited, blie 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM, 
 
 ^ "SHH STOOD lk)B A LITTLE WI^ILB AND LISTEKED 
 
 JnT^ ''t i;"y ^y '"'"'''' "'« •^'*'' •^""W Ix" done, 
 ,J"^ "■'* "«"■«» enough to do it. 
 
 wvnS- ?rPt*"i"*^ "f »'"» new danger in Chet- 
 nnde Cu«tle itself gave a new direction to her 
 trouble*. It wa« a« though a guif had su^ldenly 
 
 yawned Ijeneath her feet All that night she lay 
 deliberating as to what was best to do under the 
 circumstances. Mrs. Hart was safe enough for 
 a day or two, but what might she not do here- 
 after in the way of mischief? She could not to 
 
164 
 
 fate CRTFTOGRAIC: 
 
 got rid of, either, in an ordinary way. Slie had ! night On the following morning a letter Yfaa 
 ^n BO long in Chetwynde Castle that it seemed ^ brought to her. , It had a foreign post-mark, and 
 morally impossible to dislodge her. Certainly | the address showed the handwriting of Gualtief. 
 
 she was not one who could be paid and packed 
 off to some distant place like the other sen-ants. 
 There was only one way to get rid of her, and to 
 this one way Hilda's thoughts turned gloomily. 
 
 Over this thought she brooded through all the 
 following day. Evening came, and twilight 
 deepened into darkness. At about ten o'clock 
 Hilda left her room and Quietly descended the 
 great staircase, and went over toward the chamber 
 occupied by Mrs. Hart. Arriving at the door she 
 stood without for a little while and listened. 
 There was no iftsise. She gave a turn to the 
 knob and found that the door was open. The 
 room was dark. She has gone to bed, she 
 thought. She went back to her own room again, 
 and in about half an hour she returned. The 
 door of Mrs. Hart's room remained ajar aa she 
 had left it. She pushed it farther open, and put 
 her head in. All was still. Tliere were no 
 sounds of breathing there. Slowly and cau- 
 tiously she advanced into the room. She drew 
 nearer to the bed. There wa&iigJight whatever, 
 and in the intense darkness no onUine revealed 
 the form q{ the bed to her. Ncnrdr and nearer 
 she drew to the bed, until at last she touched it. 
 Gently, yet swiftly, her hands passed over its snr- 
 foce, along the quilts, up to the pillows. An in- 
 ▼oinntary cry burst firam her — 
 The bed was empty I 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 ntOK LOVa TO txkgeakce, aitd trom tbhob- 
 
 AHCE TO I.OVX. 
 
 On the night of this lost event, before she re- 
 tired to bed, Hilda learned more. Leaving Mrs. 
 Hart's room, she called at the housekeeper's 
 diambers to see if the missing woman might be 
 there. The housekeeper informed her that she 
 had left at an early hour that morning, without 
 saying a word to any one, and that she herself 
 had taken it for granted that her ladyship knew 
 all abont it. Hilda heard this without any com- 
 ment; and then walked thonghtMly to her own 
 room. 
 
 She oertainily bad enoi^ care on her mind to 
 occnpjr all het thoughts. The declaration of 
 Gnaltier was of itself an ill-omened event, and 
 ■he no longer had that trust in his fidelity which 
 
 'she once had, even though he now might work 
 in the hqie of a reward. It seemed to her that 
 with the loM cf her old ascendency over him 
 
 *Uie would lose altogether l^s devotion ; nor could 
 
 bitter resentment of hia rebellion, had arisen in 
 her mind. The afliur of Mrs. Hart feemed 
 worse yet. Her raddan appearance, her sharp 
 quMtionings, her cold Inorednlitv, terminated at 
 l«»t by hwrprompt flight, were all circumstances 
 
 togs. Her troahlea seemed now to increose'every 
 day, each one coming with stariling suddenness, 
 and each one being of that sort against which 
 no precautions had been taken, or even thought 
 
 'She poksed an anxious day and a sleepless 
 
 the remembrance of his fbhner service* banidi „„^ .„„,. .^ . 
 
 that deep distrast of him which, along with heM; po$ed. As for the sick man himsdf, he was much 
 
 This at once brought back the old feelings about 
 Lord Chetw^de, and she tore it open with fe- 
 verish impatience, eager to know what the con- 
 tents might be, yet half fearful of their import. 
 It was Nvritten in that tone of respect which 
 Gnaltier had never lost but once, and which l^e 
 had now resumed. He informed her ttet on 
 leaving Chetwynde he had gone at once up to 
 London, and found that Lord Chctwynder was 
 stopping ut the same hotel where he had j)nt up 
 last. He formed a bold design, which he put in 
 execution, trusting to the fact that Lord Cliet- 
 wynde had never seen him more than twice at 
 the Castle, and on both occasions had seemed not 
 even to have looked at him. He therefore got 
 himself tip very carefnllv in a foreign fashion, 
 and, as he spoke French perfectly, he went to 
 Lord Chetwynde and offered himself ns a vafefrn.. 
 or courier. It hapfwned that Lord Chetwynde * 
 actually nee^cid a man to serve him in tliis capac- '- 
 ity, a fact which Gualtier had found out in tlie 
 hotel, and so the advent of the valet was quite 
 welcome. After a brief conversation, and an in- 
 quiry into his knowledge of the languages and 
 the routes of travel on the Continent, Lord Gliet- 
 wynde examined his letters of reconimendatiun, 
 and, finding them very satisfactory, ho took him 
 into his emuloy. They remained two days lon- 
 ger in London, during which Gualtier made such 
 good use of his time and opportunities that ho. 
 managed to gain access to Lord Chetwynde's 
 papers, but found among them nothing of any 
 importance whatever, from which he concluded 
 that all his papers of any consequence must have 
 been deposited with his solicitors. At any rate 
 it was impossible for him to find out any thing 
 from this source. 
 
 Learing London they went to Paris, where 
 they passed ^ few days, but soon grew wearv of 
 the place ; «nd Lord Chetwynde, feeling a kind 
 of languor, which seemed to him like a premo- 
 nition of disease, he decided t* go to Germany. 
 His first idea was to go to Baden, although it was 
 not the season ; but on his arrival at Frankfort he 
 was so overcome by the fhtigne of traveling that 
 he determined to remain for a time in that city. 
 His increasing languor, however, had ahirmed 
 him, and he had called in the most eminent 
 physicians of the place, who, at the time the let- 
 ter was written, were prescribing for him. Tht 
 writer said that they did not seem to think that 
 this illness had any thing very serious in it, and 
 simply recommended certain changes of diet and 
 various kinds of gentle exercise, but he added 
 that in his opinion there waa §owethin</ in it, and 
 tkat thie illHete teat more leriout than was tv/i- 
 
 disoonraged. He had grown tired of his phyai- 
 chins and of FhwUiMt, nnd wished to go on to 
 Baden, thinking that the change might do him 
 good. He seemed anxiont for constant cbaage, 
 and spoke as though he might leave Baden fur 
 som e atharOemiaimhy, «f flwtowa -gtrwrto 
 Italy, to which ybux his thonghta, for some rea- 
 son or other, seoned always turning with eager 
 impatience. 
 
 As Hilda read this letter, and took in the 
 whole of its dark and hidden meaning, nil her 
 former agitation returned. Once more the ques- 
 
 J, '. u^t.ju^uikit'iW'^V/'aii^&M^tLfiiii,) '4,v ■ 
 
 i. 
 

 •o i^TF^ /-» r 
 
 If. 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 tlon arose which had before so greatlr boraned I «hall iivo . _-j i. i. •. . 
 
 her. The diMppeamnce of Mrf??i!j.Z3T tKf'"'^^''"^' »!?•»«»«->«• were th« 
 
 fter. The disappearance of Mrs. Hart, and the 
 Increaging danger., which had been gathering 
 aroand her head, had for a time taken up her 
 thoughts, but now her great, preoccupying care 
 came baclj with fresh vehdmence, and reSimed 
 more tlian its former sway. Mrs. Hart was for- 
 
 wordi upon which her hc^rt fed^i^:,^7h,t 
 earned to that heart a wild and feverish joy. 
 
 h^feh T^ ""T '!""^ P-^S* 'vhich sfc 
 • u j.«. ^^'^ "°* 'he love which burned with- 
 m her diffused through all her being S wfter 
 qualities which are bom of love , fnd lie ha^ 
 and the vengeance upon which sW haFof late 
 
 g«ted hseir„o-m;;^irwrwdf S,rw\^^^^^ 
 
 gotten as completely as though ihe had never 
 existed. Oualtier's possible tefldelitv to her sng 
 
 and I^rdChetwyndeonlv, hissi^nesrhVir^^ThYnl „ t"^' ' tendemWall feminine^ aS 
 Wsdoom, whichUetoWmi„l"1J;.te'^rd; I'w fcflT!! «^J?J!f <??. I'liJj f'^^ ^y 
 
 lus doom, which came to her mind. On one sid^ 
 stood Love, pleading for his life ; on the other 
 Venpanco, demanding its sacrifice. 
 ShaUhe live, or shall he diet 
 This was the question which ever and ever 
 ranginhersouL " Shall he live, or die ? Shall 
 he go down to death, doomed by me, and thus 
 end aU my hope, or shall he live to scorn me?" 
 In his death there was .the satisfaction of venjse- 
 ance, but there was also the death of hope. In 
 his death there was fresh security for herself; 
 but m his death her own life would lie dead. Oil 
 each side there were motives most powerful over 
 a imnd hke hers, yet so evenly balanced that 
 she knew not which way to turn, or in which way 
 to incline. Death or Ufe?— life or death? 
 laus the question came. 
 
 «.n"i?n!!"' hours passed on ; and every hour, she 
 well knew was freighted with calamity ; every 
 hour was dragging Lord Chetwynde on to that 
 point at flthich the power to decide upon hU fate 
 would be hers no longer. 
 Why hesitate? 
 
 This was the form which the question took at 
 last, and under which it forced itself more and 
 more upon her. Whv hesitate? To hesitate 
 was of Itself to doom him to death. If he was 
 to be saved, tiiere was no time for dehiy. He 
 must be saved at once. If he was to bo saved 
 •lie must act hei-self, and that, too, promptly and 
 oiergetically. Her part could not be performed 
 Jy merely wnting a letter, for the letter might 
 be delayed, or it might be miscarried, or it miRht 
 ba neglected and disobeyed. She could not trast 
 the fulhllment of a command of mercy to Gual- 
 twr. She herself could alone fulflU such a. pur- 
 pose. She herself most act by herself. 
 
 As she thought of this her decision was taken 
 Yes, she would do it. She herself would arrest 
 his fate, for a time at least. Yes— he should 
 live, and she herself would fly to his aid, and 
 Hand by his side, and be the one who would 
 match him from his doom. 
 
 Now, no sooner was this decision made than 
 tliere came over her a strange thrill of joy and 
 woltatton. He should live I he should live I 
 Uiis w,s the refrain which rang in her thonghu. 
 He should live ; and she would be the life^rer 
 At tast he would be forced to look upon her 
 with eyes of gratitude at least, if not of affec- 
 •OD. It should no longer be in his power to 
 irom her, or to turn away coldly and cruelly 
 ftt)m her proffered hand. He should yet learn 
 to loo k upnn h er m his b ea t friend . He shorfd 
 
 «tm to call her by tender names ; and speak to 
 iMr woi^s of fondness, of endearment, and of 
 WW. Now as deep as her despondency had 
 bwijjo high rose her joy at thU new prospect ; 
 md hwrhope, which rose out of this re«)lntion 
 wsbright to a degree which was commcinsonite 
 wfth the dorkneM of her previout d«ip«Ir. Uo 
 
 ojj,vhich she had first seen I^rfThet^e j; 
 
 sire to fly to the rescue of this man, whoiS sl^ 
 had buttitely hapded over to the assCn? S^ 
 hungered and thWted to be near him, to staad 
 by his side, to see his face^to touch hii han?to 
 hfttr his voice, to give tolm that which should 
 sa%e him from the fate which she herself had 
 dealt out to him by the hands of her own agenT 
 It was thus that her love at last triumphed over 
 *er venjfpance, and, sweeping onward, drove 
 awMT nil other thoughts and feelings. 
 
 lo^^rf .h!'.!'"' '"? °*" '•?* ''^^ ' hut even the 
 Jo\e of the tigress is yet love ; and such love has 
 
 %^'^ profound depths of tenderness, its ca- 
 J«dty of intense desire, ito power of complete 
 
 l*Wh W°", °' of "elf-immohition-feelings 
 which,'W'the tigress kind of love, are as deep It 
 in any other, and perhaps even deeper. 
 
 But from her in that dire emergency the one 
 thingthat was required above aU else was haste. 
 , ''"' •^if'*''" ^"®''- '"^here was no time for de- 
 lay. Iheile was one at the side of Lord Chet- 
 wynde whose heart knew neither pity nor re- 
 morse, whose band never faltered in dealing in 
 b ow and who watched every failing moment of , 
 his life with unshaken determination. To him 
 her cruel and bibody bebesu had been committed 
 m her madlhont<if vengeance ; those behests he 
 was now canyiflg out as much for his own sake 
 as for hers ( accomplishing the fulfillment of his 
 own purposes under thf'jtioak of obedience to 
 her oMers. He was tbTdeatroying angel, and 
 his mission was deadi. He could not know of 
 the change which had come over her s nor could 
 he dream ft the possibility of a change. She 
 •lone could bring a roprieve*x)m tiiat death. 
 and stay his hand. 
 
 Haste, then— she mnrmufed to herself— oh. 
 haste, or it will soon be too late 1 Fly ! Leara 
 every thing and fly J EveM.honr brings him 
 nearer to death until that hdffi- comes when yoa 
 may save him from death. Haste, or it may be 
 •<»''««— and the mercy and the pfty and the 
 tenderness of love may be all nnayaiiing I 
 
 It was with the frantic haste which was bom 
 of this new-found pity that Hilda ptepand for 
 her journey. Her preparations were not exteiw- 
 ive. A httie luggage suiBccd. She did not 
 wish a maid. She hod all her Ufe leiied npon 
 
 i herself, and now set forth npon this flueAd 
 Mimey alone and unattended, with her heart 
 J'f" y'th one feeling only, and only one hopo. 
 Itneeded but a ilion ttmr^i!6ttipl|Bte her m^ 
 arations, and to annonnce to the astonished do- 
 mwtics her intention of going to the Continent 
 Without noticing their amaiement, or caring for 
 it, she ordered the carriage for tiie nearest Mo- 
 tion, and in a short time afker her first dedakm 
 she was seated in the cars and hurryina onwud 
 to London. % "# 
 
t^- 
 
 tee 
 
 « 
 
 Arriving there, shehnade a ahofl stay. She 
 had some things to procure which, were to her of 
 infinite importance. Leaving the liotel, she went 
 down Oxford Street till she came to a druggist's 
 ■hop, which she entered, and, ^oing np to the 
 derkj she handed him a paper, which loolced 
 like a doctor's prescription. The clerk took it, 
 and, after looking at it, carried it to an inner of- 
 fice. After a time the proprietor appeared. He 
 scanned Hilda narrowly, whil6 she retumetl his 
 glance with her iisnal haughtiness. The drug- 
 gist appeared satisfied with his inspection. 
 
 ■'Madame," said he, politely, "the ingre- 
 dients of this prescription are of such a nature 
 
 V - ' ' ' i^ 
 
 THE CBTPTOGRAM. 
 
 '1- 
 
 idea-'her one purpose. How she passed thax 
 journey she could not afterward remember, but 
 it was at length passed, and, following the guid- 
 ance of that strong purpose, which kept its 
 place in her mind when other thingx were lost, 
 she at last stood in th« stAtion-bdtise at Frank- 
 fort 
 
 " Drive to. the Hotel Rothschild," she cried to 
 the cabman whom she had engaged. " Quick ! 
 for your life!" 
 
 The cabman marked her agitation and frenzy. 
 
 He whipped up his horses, th^ cab dashed 
 through the streets, and reached the ho'teL 
 Hilda hurried out and went up the steps. Zl'ot- 
 
 ttuit the law requires me to know the name anp - teringrather than walking, she advanced to a man 
 
 'Is ho 
 
 address of the purchaser, so as to enter them un 
 the purchase book.*^' 
 
 " My address," said Hilda, quietly, "is Mrs. 
 fienderson, 51 Eustdn Square. 
 
 The druggist bowed, and entered the name 
 carefully on his book, after which he himself 
 prepared the prescription and handed it to Hilda. 
 
 She asked the price, and, on hearing it, flung 
 down a sovereign^ after which she was on the 
 point of leaving without wailing for the change, 
 when the druggist called her back. 
 
 "Madame," said he, "you are leaving' with- 
 out your change." 
 
 Hilda started, and then turning back she took 
 the changeand thanked him. 
 
 " I thoi^ht you said it wits twenty shillings,*' 
 she remarked, quiedy, seeing that the druggist 
 was looking at her with a strange expression. 
 
 "Oh no, mamme; I said ten shillings." 
 
 " Afc ! I misunderstood you," and with these 
 words Hilda took her departure, carrying with 
 her the precious medicine. 
 
 That evening she left London, and took the 
 steamer for Ostend. Before leaving she had sent 
 a telegraphic message, to Gualtier at Frankfort, 
 announcing the fact that she was coming on, and 
 . asking him, if he left Frankfort before her arriv- 
 al, to leave a letter for her at the hotel, letting 
 her know where they might go. This she did 
 for a twofold motive : first, to let Gualtier know 
 that she was coming ; and secondly, to secure a 
 means of tracking them if they went to another 
 place. But the dispatch of this message filled 
 her with fresh anxiety. She feared first that the 
 message might not reach its destination in time ; 
 and then that Gualtier might utterly misunder- 
 stand her motive — a thing which, under the cir- 
 cumstances, he was certain to do — and, under 
 this misapprehension, hurry up his work, so as 
 to have it completed by the time of her arrival. 
 Tliese thoughts, with many others, agitated her 
 so much that she gradually vrorked herself into 
 an agony of fear; and the swiftest speed of 
 steamboat or express train seemed slow to the 
 desire of that stormy spirit, which would have 
 forced its way onward, far beyond the speed 
 •which human contrivances may create, to the 
 side of the man whom she longed to see and to 
 save. The fever of her fierce anxiety, the ve- 
 Jiemence of hor draire, the intensit j of her an- 
 guiih, all worked upon her delicate' orgoniiation 
 with direful eflTect Her brain became confused, 
 Md thoughts became dreams. For hours she 
 lost all consciousness of surrounding objects. 
 
 Yet amidst all this confusion of a diseased and ^ .^, 
 
 ^erworked brain, and amidst this delirium of .| fallen, but the landlord supported her, andcalM 
 wild thought, there was ever prominent her one . for the maids. I1iey hurried forward, and UUd* 
 
 who had come to meet her. He seemed to be 
 the proprietor. 
 
 "Lord Chotwyndel" she gasped. 
 here ?'' She spoke in German. 
 
 The proprietor shook his head. 
 
 ** He left the doy before, vestcrday." 
 
 Hilda staggered back witK a low moan. She 
 did not really think that he could bo hero vet, 
 but she had hoped that he miglit to, and'tlio 
 disappointment was great . 
 
 " Is there a letter here," she asked, in a faint 
 voice; "for Lady Chetwynde?" 
 
 "I think so. I'll see." 
 
 Hurrying away he soon returned with a letter 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Are you the one to whom> it is addressed ?" 
 he asked, with deep respect. 
 
 '' I am Lady Chetwynde," said Hilda, and at 
 the same time eagerly snatched the letter from 
 his hand. On the outside she at once I'ecognizod 
 the writing of Gualtier. She saw the address, 
 "Lady Chetwynde." In an instant she tore it 
 open, and read the contents. 
 
 The letter contained only the following words : 
 
 " FtAKKroKT, HAtel RoriisoiiiLU, 
 October SO, t8S9. 
 
 " We leave for Baden to-day. Our business is 
 progressing very favorably. We go to the Hotel 
 Franfnis at Baden. If yon come on you mast 
 follow us there. If we go away befor; your ar- 
 rival I will hsave a note for you." 
 t» 
 
 Tlie letter was as short as a telegram, and lis 
 unsatisfactory to a mind in such a state as hers. 
 It had no signature, but the handwriting was 
 Gualtier's. 
 
 Hilda's hand trembled so that she could scarce- 
 ly hold it. She read it over and over again. 
 Then she turned to the hindlord. 
 
 " What time does the next train leave for Ba- 
 den ?" she asked. 
 
 "To-morrow morning at 5 a.ii., mjladi.'' 
 
 " Is there no train before ?" 
 
 "No, mUadi," 
 
 "Is there no steamer?" 
 
 " No, miladi— not before to-morrbw ntcyning. 
 The five o'clock train is the first and the quickest 
 way to go to Baden." 
 
 " I am in a great hurry," said Hilda, fiiintly. 
 " I muat be c^led in time for the fiv e o'c lock 
 train." 
 
 "Ton shall be. militdi." 
 
 " Send a maid — and let me have my room 
 now — as soon as possible— for I am worn out" 
 
 As she said this she tottered, and would hsve 
 
 of her delirious 
 
 Js . 
 

 •r"f '^J^ , "P '" *'*' "**"" ""d tenderly pat to 
 bed. The landlord was an honest, tender-heart- 
 ed German. Lord Chetwvnde had been a guest 
 of snfflcient distinction to be well remembered by 
 a landlord^ and his 111 healtR had made him more 
 conspicuous. T,he arrival of this devoted wife, 
 who herself seeing as ill as her husband, but 
 who yet, in spite of wealcness, was hastening to 
 him with such a consuming desire to get to him, 
 affected most profoundly this honest landlord, and 
 all others in the hotel. ^That evening, then, 
 Hildft.'s faith and love and constancy formed the 
 chief theme of convemation ; the visitors of the 
 hotel heard the sad story fi-om the landlord, and" 
 deep was the pity, and profound the sympathy, 
 whwh were expres^ bydl.. To the ordinary 
 pathos of this affecting example of conjugal love 
 some additional power was lent by the extreme 
 beauty, the excessive prostration and grief, and, 
 above all, the illustrious rank of tfais devoted wo- 
 man. 
 
 Hilda waa put to bed, but there was no sleep 
 for her. ^The fever of her anxiety, the shock of 
 her disappointment, the tnmult of her hopes and 
 fears, all made themselves felt in her overworked 
 brain. She did not take tlje five o'clock train on 
 the following day. Tlie maid came to call her, 
 but found her in a high f«ver, eager to start, but 
 quite unable to move. Before noon she waa de- 
 lirious. 
 
 In that delirium her thoughts wandered over 
 those scenes which for the past few months had 
 been uppermost in her mind. Now she was shut 
 np in her chamber at Chetwynde Castle reading 
 the Indian papers; she heard the roll of carriage 
 wheels; she prepared to meet" the new-comer 
 face to fece. She foIlowed<)iim to the morning- 
 room, and there Ijstened to his fierce maledic- 
 tibns. On the occasion itself she had been dumb 
 before him. but in her delirium she had words 
 of remonstrance. These words were expressed 
 in eveiy varying shade of entreaty, deprecation, 
 conciliation, and prayer. Again she watched a 
 Item, forbidding face over the dinner-table, and 
 sought to appease by kind words the just wratf 
 of the man she lovad. Again she held ^ut he 
 hand, only to have AerWible advances repelled 
 in coldest scorn, l^^io^he saw him leave her 
 forever without a word of farewell— without even 
 a notice of his departure, and she remained to 
 give herself up to vengeance. 
 
 That delirium carried h^r through many'past 
 events. Gualtier again stood up before her' in 
 rebellion, proud, deffaint, merciless, asserting him- 
 self, and enforcing her «iibmi«sion ^o his will. 
 Again there came into her room, Middenlv, and 
 -ike a spectre, the awful preswice of Mrs.'Hart, 
 with her white face, her stem looks, her sharp in- 
 gniries; and her ominous words. Again she pui^ 
 med this woman to her own room, in tbe dark, 
 and ran her hands over the'bed, and found that 
 bed emp^,., 
 
 But Lord Chetwynde wAs the centml\bject 
 Of her delirious fancies. It was to him that 
 m tho n gh ta reverted^ 4i»iB^brief T^mtnderings 
 wer reminiscences of Gualtier and Mrs. Hart, 
 Whatever thoughts she might have about these, 
 Ihose thoughts would always at last revert to 
 Wm. And with him it was not so much the past 
 «i»t suggested itself to her diseased Imagination 
 ••the future. That future was sufficiently dark 
 ttO terrible to be jiortrayed In fearful colors by 
 
 THE CBYPTOGBAM. 
 
 id 
 
 ^«r iijcoher«L ravings. There itere wh'isper- 
 ed words— fl^Ms of frightful meaning, w^ds 
 whioh expressed those thouj^ta which in her 
 sober senses she would liave died rather than re- 
 VMl. Had any one been standing by- her bed- 
 side who knew EngUsh, he might have learned 
 from her words a stor^ of fearful import-a tale 
 which would have chilled his blOod, and which 
 would have shown him how far different this 
 sick woman was from the fond, selfrsacriflcing 
 wife who had excited the sympathy of all in the 
 hotd. But thero was none who could under. . 
 stand her. 1 he doctor knew no language beside 
 his own except a little French ; tin maids knew 
 no hiijg but German. And so it was that while 
 Hilda unconsciously revealed the whole of thoslCs 
 frightful secrets which she carried shut up within 
 her breast, that revelation was not intelligible 
 to any of those who were in contact with her. 
 Well waa It for her at that time thht she had 
 chosen to come away without her mdid ; for had 
 that maid been with her thtfn she would have 
 learned enough of her jnistress to send her living 
 back to England in horror, and to publish abroad 
 the awful intelligence. 
 
 Thua a week passed— a week of delirium, of 
 ravings, of incoherent speeches, unintelligible to 
 all those by whom she was surrounded. At length 
 her strong constitution triumphed over the as- 
 saults of disease. The fever was allayed, and 
 sense returned ; and with returning sense there 
 came the full consciousness of her position. The 
 one purpose of her life rose again within her 
 mind, and even while she was too weak to move 
 shevwas eager to be upland away. 
 
 " How long will it Ije," she asked of the doc- 
 tor, " before I can go on my journey ?" 
 
 "If every thing is favorable, miUdi," answer- 
 ed^ the doctor, "as I hope it if ill be, you may be 
 able to go in about a week. It will be a risk 
 but you are so excited that I would rather liave 
 you go than stay." 
 " A week >. A week !" exclaimed IliU., 
 liringly. "JL can not wait so long as'^am 
 1 will go before then— or eUe I will die." 
 If you go before a week," said the doctor, 
 wAmingly, and >vith evident anxiety, "you,»vili 
 risk youjp life." ' 
 
 Hilda.; " MAfis )ife worth now ?" she l3Sr- 
 mured, witSifcThoan of anguish. ^I must and 
 'ml go on, if I die for it— and in wMMays." 
 
 The doctor made no reply. H^HTher des- 
 peration, and perceived that any rSbonstranoe 
 would be, worse than useless. To keep such a 
 resolute and detennined spirit chained here in a 
 sick-chamber would be impossible. She would 
 chafe at the confinement so fiercely that a re- 
 newal of the fever would be inevitable. She 
 would have to be allowed her own way. Most 
 deeply did he commiserate this devoted wife, and 
 much did he wonder how it had happened that 
 her husband had gone off from her thus, at A time 
 when he hi mself wa« threatened with illnesa. 
 An*^npw, as fae{6re,'^thoiaktndly Gennan tiram^ 
 in the hotel, on learning this new outburst of con- 
 jugal love, felt a sympathy which was beyond nil 
 expression. To none of'^them had there evefri 
 before been kno\yn any thing ai^roachiog to so 
 piteous a case as this. 
 
 'Hie days passed. Hilda waa avaridont about 
 I oreiy new sign of increasing strength. U^ 
 
 eve|t*j 
 
v^' 
 
 TT^ 
 
 
 
 1^8 
 
 CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 iver bodQy pnin 
 id, und\^ the 
 
 . strong determfhation, her intei 
 powerful will,' at last triumphe 
 ^nd weakness. It was as shi 
 • tMrd day ^he managed to Jrag herself fr<s| lier 
 .bed and prepare for a fresft journey. In jgirepa- 
 Hktion for t^f| however, she was compere^ to 
 'bftve a maid to accompany her, and she setw^ 
 udne of those who had, 'been her attendants, 'tm 
 
 desire, ttfld her ried to her room. 
 
 effort, and sent Gr 
 letter fur hm. In 
 
 , simple-hearted, atfectionate G^rmnij.gBf 'teme'im] 
 chen by name, one who was jult ^ited to ' 
 |ier present situatio|i. 
 journey ' 
 
 Then she 
 h^n to sj 
 Jlliort til 
 
 peare$k bringing anmer of t0 
 tantaHzing.ii^es, wht^^jiJways 
 mock l|fU|j^Md to lure tpft on to 
 ment. ^jcil^pSr impa'tieirttB^ 
 ihad in 
 
 y misfortune. 
 
 ed i^to the 
 
 she reached 
 
 nd had tjbt 
 
 ir a letter. 
 
 notjkieen 
 
 ' 111 Stop 
 iuj3n«5^'jiirogress- 
 ^e ge away irSm Mn- 
 foryou.^ 
 
 Bhtf! 
 
 ^ed ready to 
 i disappoint- 
 its Con ten tft. 
 
 she tore Qpen H^ ei 
 tgnts. Tliis " ^ 
 Mpiewhat moAMJiltiuni 
 It read as follows 
 
 j^iminish^d, ;and it was with the 
 fever of curiosity tk l|||fore that 
 
 lyonr^thecol^'^: 
 
 |J^ others; tfl| 
 
 '■''^'* 
 
 '' We leave for Lauswne toiofe*i HCwi Intend , 
 to, stop at the Hotel Gibbon. It iS' not probable 
 tbat ony fuhher journey will be made. Buinoss 
 tnost favorable, ond prospects i^e that everv thing 
 will sooti be brought to a ^npciSUfiil issue.^' 
 
 ■^^- 
 
 'Hielette^ikas dated mjvember 2, bnt it wtjs 
 now th» lOth of that mopth, and Hilda was far 
 behind tii4|^| She had iier\-ed herself up to this 
 *' effort, an* tli«ihope of finding the object of her 
 seRrcKatBadeillad sustained her. ,Buthernew- 
 fo^4 (itiength WB now utterly exhausted by the 
 '> fatigue* of trava^ and the new disappointment 
 y/i^ch she had experienced created discourage- 
 ment a«>d despondency. This told still ipoi* upon 
 ■ r- y^ stAhigth, and she was com)ielled to wait here 
 Jj^ t\yo day^ chafing and frfetting against her 
 f >' WMknesa. 
 
 ' , ifothing could exceed the faithful attention of 
 Gretchen. She had heard at Frankfort, fi-oin the 
 gpSsip of the servants, the story of her mistress, 
 and' all her German sentiment was roused in be- 
 h^f 6f one so sorrowful and so Beautifi^. Her 
 ' nMural kindness of heart also led to the utmost 
 ' devotion to Hilda, and, so far as careful and in- 
 cessaHt nttentioncould accomplish any thing, nil 
 .wsdone that was possible. By the 13th of No- 
 y ^ vaii}>er Hilda was ready to start once more, ond 
 on that morning she left for Munich. 
 * This journey was more fatiguing than the last. 
 In her weak state she was almost overcdme. 
 Twioe she fainted away in the cars, and all of 
 t^ Gretchen's anxious care was required to bring her 
 • to her destination. The. German maid imploral 
 h^ with tears to getout at some of the towns on 
 the way. But Hilda resolutely refused. She 
 hoped to find rest at Munich, and to stop short 
 of that place seemed to her toeodanger her pros- 
 pect of siiceess. Again, as heinke strong 8«ul 
 triumphed over the infirmity, oHH^Mly, andt)i$ 
 place of her destination wa%JW|M[ttained. 
 
 She reached it man dead tuH^^^ Gretchen 
 lifted het into a cab. She was taken to the IQttel 
 des Etrangers. At the very first moment of her 
 entrance^lo the hall she had asked a breathless 
 
 q uestion ' ^ hg gervaut whaappeaieda^ l_ 
 
 "Js Lord Chetwynde here 'r 
 
 T A' JMTd Chetwynde ? No. He has gone. " 
 
 * Gione I " said Hilda, in a voice w^ ch was like 
 a groan of despair. ' ' Gone ! When ?" 
 " Nearly a week ago," said the servant. 
 At this Hilda's strength again loft her utterly, 
 And she fell bacK almost senseless. She was «ar- 
 
 chapter: 
 
 THE ANOniaH OF 
 
 HEART. 
 
 As Hilda read these ominou^^ords a chill like 
 that of death seemed to strike tSplier inmost soul. 
 Her disappointment on her. arrhial here had al- 
 ready been bitter enough. She ^/fA looked upon . 
 Munich as the place where she wo^d surely find 
 the end of her journey, and obtain the reward 
 of her labors. But now the objett of her search > 
 was once more removed, and a new journey more 
 fdtigumg than the others was set before Iier. 
 Could she bear if ? — ^he who even now f^ the 
 old weakness^ and something even worse, coming 
 back irresistibly upon her. Could she, indeed, 
 bear another journey ? This question she put to 
 herself half hopele^y ; but almost immediately 
 her Ksolnte soul asserted itself, and proudly an- 
 swered it. Bear such, a journey ? Ay, this 
 journey she could bear, and not only this, but 
 many more. Even though her old weakness was 
 Coming back over her frail form, still she rose 
 superior to that weakness, and persisted in her 
 determination to go on, and still on, without giv- 
 ing up her purpose, till she reoched Lord Chet- 
 wynde, even though it should only be at the mo- 
 ment ofher arrival to drop dead at his feet. 
 
 There wat more now to stimulate her than the 
 determination of a resolute ftndjn vincible wi!l. 
 
 The words of that last 
 inous meaning, which 
 by far than any of the oi 
 which they bore hod not 
 import as this. 
 
 The first boi^ 
 gressing veryfavofi 
 
 The second, thaf 
 voraUy. 
 
 This last one tol 
 toon be brought ta 
 
 Well she" knew the 
 
 these di9erei)(^messagi 
 cessive stages' of the terrii 
 ing on, and tq Oj^rt whii 
 much, at the^ cost of such^ 
 She saw the form of Lord 
 more and more every day, and still, while he 
 struggled ogaitist the apfiroach of insidious dis- 
 ease,, yielding, in spite of himself, to its resistlesi 
 
 jhirk and om-' 
 
 \ore strongly 
 
 "le messages 
 
 feoiful an 
 
 w^as pro- 
 i^ing most fa- 
 he business tcould 
 
 ;hese words. 
 
 -Hwny* 
 
 ich Was go* 
 
 endured so 
 
 g to herself. 
 
 iwvnde fuiling 
 
 She I 
 
 Ke,' siimmonin 
 
 mre^he sfoppec 
 
 T^fthysicians in det 
 
 'Atne time there i 
 
 filled with one di 
 
 lit, of which 1 
 
 Bringly patient 
 
 ^kness of .his i 
 
 . , ijioting every 
 
 . sign which migh 
 
 lYttoo. who thought 
 
 ■^ j. hjm to join in hii 
 
 j,>^ in order to join 1 
 
 * give him her con 
 him the reward w 
 that she would gn 
 
 Thoughts like t 
 Wretched and ain 
 
 • weakness, yet con 
 rush onward and 
 graSp of the destrt 
 a thousand contei 
 the extreme of the 
 struggle as this pr 
 night was enough 
 that stage of utter 
 of travel irapossib 
 tion her mind sti 
 thoughts that neve 
 which prevented h 
 the one idea that y 
 while she was tha 
 going on — that woi 
 directed. That en 
 was now, as she vyJ 
 bnt too zealously! 
 own hands. And 
 do? He had aln 
 would he now giv< 
 wished ? She raigl 
 don a command to 
 ceedings till she can 
 so, was it at all pro 
 happened, woukl hi 
 done so, because sh 
 issue comnunds ai 
 The servant had asi 
 a master, and the i 
 had been non-comn 
 the prospect of her 
 ^e, and upon he 
 hjm, and reducing 1 
 
 , hu refusal to fall in- 
 Bnt now it haSt 
 
m. She saw him going from place to 
 
 eo, summoning the physicians of each town 
 
 Wre he stopped, and giving up both town and 
 
 jHiysicians in despair. iShe saw, also, how' a}l 
 
 in J*""" """* *'*^ ^y ^^ ^^'^ one who was 
 «M with one dark pnrpos^ in the accomplish- 
 ment of which be was perseveringly craeland 
 aringly patient— one who watched the growing 
 »kne8s of his victim with cold-blooded inter- 
 , Rioting every decrease of strength, and every 
 .sign which might give token of the end— one, 
 k'i^too, who thought that she was hastening after 
 F W. jum to join in his work, and was only delaying 
 # in order to join him when all was ovBr, so as to 
 give him her congjatolatlons, and bestow upon 
 lum the reward whicCTie had made her promise 
 that she would graflt. 
 Thoughts like these filled her with mildness. 
 , Wretched and almost hopeless, prostrated by her 
 ■ weakness, yet consumed by an ardent desire to 
 rush onward and save the dying man from the 
 graSp of the destnjyer, her soul became a pnay to 
 a thousand contending emotions, and endured 
 the extreme of the anguish of suspense. Such a 
 struggle as this proved too much for her. One 
 night was enough to prostrate her once moro^ to 
 that stage of utter weakness whioh m^de all hope 
 of travel impossible. In that state of prostra- 
 tion her mind still continued active, and, the 
 thoughts that never ceased to come were those 
 which prevented her from rallying readily. For 
 the one idea that was over present was this, that 
 while she was thus helpless, her work was still 
 going on— that work which she had ordered and 
 directeil. That emissary whom she had sent out 
 was now, as she wfell knew, fulfilling her mandate 
 but too zealously. The power was now all in his 
 own hands. And she herself-what could she 
 do? He had already defied her authority— 
 
 wished ? She might have tetegt^hectSom Lon- 
 don a command to him to stop all further pro- 
 ceedings till she came ; bii», even if she had done 
 80, was It at all probable that he, after what had 
 happened, would have obeyed ? She had not 
 done so, because she did not feel in a position to 
 usue commands any longer in her old style 
 The servant had assumed the air and manner of 
 8 master, and the message which she had sent 
 had been non-committal. She had relied npek 
 the prospect of her own SMedjt&iinl upon m 
 Awe, and upon her o^^iibW^tbnMtSg 
 torn, and reducing hiTO%*ibedience in case of 
 , hw refusal to fall in with her wishes. ^^ 
 
 But now it hafPfllen out far differently from 
 what she had exj%ted, and the coflawfe of her 
 own strength had rtmed all. Now eveiy day and 
 every hour was taking hope away from het. and 
 ginngit to that man who, from Bfeing h^ool, 
 V TP **• *"« assertion of mastership over her. 
 «ow»ery moment was dragging away from her 
 tneman whom she sought so eagerly— dragging 
 lum away from her love to the darkness of that 
 Wace to which her love and her lomdng might 
 
 THE CKY^lglRAM. . , J, jgj 
 
 ^ini had not interfajpd with her purpose when 
 Gualtier returned to teU of his iticcessrand to 
 mingle with his atory the redtal of Zillah's love 
 and longing after her. But now it was different. 
 Now she had handed over to that sntne betraW 
 one who had become dearer to hen than life itself 
 -one, too, who had grown dearer still ever since 
 that mmnent when she had fiftit resolved to save 
 till!!' J 'ne had never arrived at such a resolu- 
 tion—if she had borne with the struggles of her 
 heart and the tortures of her suspense-if she 
 had fought out the battle in solitude and bv her. 
 self, alone at Chetwynde, her sufferings would 
 have been great, it is true, but they would never 
 have ansen tothe proportions which they now as- 
 sumed. ITiey would never have reduced her to 
 this anguish of soul which, in its reaction upon , 
 the body thus deprived her of aU strength And 
 Hope, rhat moment when she had decided 
 against vengeance and in favoc, of pity, had 
 borne for her a fearful fnlit. Jt was the point at 
 Which all her love was let loose suddenly from 
 that repression which she had striven to maintain 
 over it, and rose np to gigantic proportions, fill- 
 mg all her thoughts, and overshadowing all otha 
 feelings That love npwpervaM all her being, 
 occupied all her thoughts, and absorbed all her 
 spmt. Once it was love; now it had grown to 
 something morejt had become a frenzy ; and the 
 more she y»dd«Jpto ite overmastering power, the 
 more did tbif power enchain her. 
 
 Tormented and tortured by such feelings as 
 these^er >veary, ovenvom frame sank once more, 
 and the sufferings of Frankfort were renewed at 
 Munich. On the next day af^r her arrival she 
 was unable to leave. For day after day she lay 
 prostrate, and all her impatient eagerness to go 
 onward, and all her resolution, profited nothing 
 when the poor frail flesh was so weak. Yet in 
 ••pite of all this, her soul was strong; and that 
 
 ■ ^ 1 — wM« '•»« n»ivii^ ^ niiu limb 
 
 soul, by Its indomitable purpose, roused up once 
 njore the shattered forces of the body. A week 
 
 that week she 
 
 — WlHiir " -™ " ' — -;-^ rr- 
 
 "•'w penevraie. - . -j\ 
 
 Now, also, there arose wiUi 
 of remorse. Neviw bei 
 Ae fearful meaning of t.., 
 had never stirred her heai 
 to the betrayer her life-1^ 
 Mter, the one whi so loved . 
 M innociBnt, the/ affectionate 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 [er the agonies 
 
 imdwstood 
 
 a feeling 
 
 led over 
 
 _jdmost 
 
 i^atitnistful, 
 
 S snch a 
 
 away, but at the end of 
 arose tov stagger forward. 
 
 Her journey to Lausanne was made somehow— 
 she knew not how— partly by the help of Gretch- 
 en, whMvatchcd over her incessantly with inex- 
 haustible devotion— partly through the strength 
 of her own forceful will, which ker* before htv 
 g» great end which was to crown s&'itfuch en- 
 i^raVoBr She was a shattered invalid on this 
 ^°^Wl ^"® *"^" "'at another snch a journey 
 voi^^ impossible. She hoped that this one 
 would end her severe trials. And so, amidst hope 
 and fear, her sq^il sustained her, and she went on. 
 Such a joumte as this to one less exhaust^^ 
 would ht^e b«dh one m«momble on aopuiuit of 
 its.physicol and mental anguish, but to Hilda, in 
 that extreme of suffering. It was not memorable 
 at all. It was less thaj|.a dream. It was i» 
 """"■j^How It passed she knew not. After- 
 ward ^ only could roiaibmber that in some why 
 it did pass. ' 
 
 Qn-tha^-twentyasecond i^Kj,^t Ta<»vtmbtir 
 fe. 
 
 reached LanswSe. Gretehen lifted her out of 
 the coach, nndwppdrtwi %peu s|i*)tottct^a into 
 the Hotel Gibh^. Wmi wa« liibding in the^ 
 doorway. At first he did not BDti«i4(ba two wo- 
 men, but somethini^in Hilda's appeai^nce struck 
 him, and he lookafl earnestly at her. 
 
 An exclamatioh burst from him. 
 
 •'My God I" he groaned. 
 
 / 
 
C ^: 
 
 Hilda's arbital at the hotel gibbon. 
 
 ■V For a moment he stood staring nt them, and 
 tnen advanced with a rapid pace. • ' 
 
 It was Gaaltier.' 
 
 Hilda recognized liim, but said nothing. She 
 could not speak a word. 8he wished to ask for 
 something, but dreaded to ask that question, for 
 she feared the repiy. 
 
 In that interval of fear and hesitation Gualtier 
 ha<l leisure to see, in one brief glance, all the 
 chungo that had come over her who had once 
 been so strong, so calm, so self-reliaiit, so unmwed 
 by the passions, the feelings, and the weaknesses 
 of ordinary humanity. He saw and shuddered. 
 
 Thin and pale and wan, she now stood before 
 , him, tottering feebly with unsteady step, and 
 staying herself on the arm of her maid. Her 
 cheeks, which, when he last saw them, were full 
 and rounded with the omliiies of youth and 
 health,^were now hollow and sunken. Around 
 _her e)-e^ were thos e dark clouded marks which 
 "Bfe tlie sure signs of weakjiess and disease. Her 
 hands, as they gnispcd the arms of the maid, 
 were thin and white and emaciated. Her lips 
 were bloodless. It was the face of Hilda, in- 
 deed, but Hilda in sorrow, in suffering, and in 
 grief — such a face as he had never imagined. 
 But there were some things in that face which be- 
 
 longed to the Hilda of old, and bad not changed. ' 
 The eyes still flashed dark and piercing; they 
 at least had not failed ; and still their penetra- 
 ting gaze rested upon him with no diminution 
 in their power. Still the rich masses of ebon 
 hair wreathed themselves in voldminous folds, 
 and from out the luxuriant black masses of that 
 haii- the white face looked forth w|th its pallor 
 rendered" more awful from the contrast. Yet 
 now that white face^was a face of agony, niul the 
 eyes which, in their mute entreaty^, were turned 
 toward him^were fixed ^nil staring. As lijcame 
 up to her she grasped his arm ; hof lipe movcdik 
 but for a time no audible sound escaped. At\ 
 lengfh she spoke, but it was i|i a whisper : 
 
 "■• la he alivef" 
 
 And that was nil that she said. She stood 
 there panting, and gasping for breath,, awaiting 
 his reply with a certain awful suspense. 
 
 " Yfis, mylady^" said Gualtier, iaakindof 
 wilderment, as Ihough he had not yet ^ot over 
 the shock of suoi an apparition. " He Is alive 
 yet." \ 
 
 " God be thanked^" moaned Hilda, in a low 
 voice. " I have arri^^ in time — at last. He 
 must be saved— »nd heshall be saved. Come." 
 
 She spoke this hist word to Gaaltier. By b«r 
 
words, as well as by her face and manner, he saw 
 that some great change had come over her, but 
 why It was, he knew not yet. He plainh- per- 
 ceived, however, that, she had turned from lier 
 purpose, and now no longer desired the death of 
 the man whom she had commissioned him to 
 destroy. In thatamoment of hurried thought he 
 wondered much, lot, from his knowledge of the 
 recent past, he made a conjecture which was not 
 far from the truth. 
 
 "Come," said Hildo. " I have something to 
 say to yon. I wish to see you alone. Come." 
 . And he followed her into thojiotel. 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 yi 
 
 . ^ ■ ^~ ' 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 BLACK BILL. 
 
 On the day after his meeting with Lord Chet- 
 wynde Obed had intended to start for Naples. 
 Lord Chetwynde had not chosen to tell Obed his 
 real name ; but this maintenance of his incogni- 
 to was not at all owing to anv love of mysterv- 
 
 f?5,?,"y .'l^''l! '" >*«P " *««'■«'• He chose to b^ 
 " Vy.ndham" ^use Obed thought him so, and 
 *e had no i-eaSon for being othepvise with him 
 He thought, dlso, that to tell his real name miglit 
 involve a troublesome explanation, which was not 
 desirable, especially since there was no need for 
 it. Had that explanation been made, had the 
 jTie name been made known ot this inter^•iew, a 
 flood of light would have poured down upon this 
 dark matter, and Obed would have had at last 
 the key to every thing. But this revelation was 
 not made, and Windham took his dei)arture 
 from his friend. 
 
 On the following morning, while Obed was 
 dressihg, a note was brought to his room. It was 
 from the police, and requested a visit from him 
 «s matters of importance had been found out with 
 reference to the case which he had intrusted to 
 Uiem. At this unexpected message Obeds start 
 for Naples was postponed, and ho hurried of!" as 
 rspidly as possible to the office. " 
 
 On arriving there he soon learned the cause of 
 the note. An Went had occurred which was in 
 the highest degree unexpected, and had not arisen 
 outof the ordinary inqujjjes of the detectives at 
 all. It seems that on the evening of the previous 
 day a man had come voluntarily to lodge inform- 
 ation against this same Gualtier for the purpose 
 of liaylrtg a search made after him. He was one 
 
 I'f.'rZPi!^!'*™*''®" .»" T^".<!?"> we" known 
 
 " " " ' 501, and by his 
 
 the name of 
 
 might him- 
 
 lad detained 
 
 to face with this 
 
 tntl^ polft^nd recogniie 
 own ruffian companions, 
 "Black Bill." In order 
 Klf hear what he had to*, 
 thoiflfprmer, and sent for , 
 
 Qm was soon brought ....„ .„ ,„^„ „,„, m,, 
 new actor in the great tragedy of ZiUah's life. 
 Ue was a short, stout, thick-set man, with bull 
 neck, broad shoulders, deeAxhest, low brow, flat 
 nose, square chin, and sinflpack eyes, in which 
 -a»re toy a mingled exprMSi of ferocity and 
 TT-^- J*" ?7 swarth^omplexion, heavy 
 black beard, and thick, matted, coal-bkck hair, 
 •ogethe^ with his black eyes, were sufficiently 
 
 ???.l ^..7.'^.^"™,^"^^ Of thjwiame of 
 .Altogether, he lookedllke a per- 
 
 " Black Bill." 
 feet type 
 nntaiil' 
 
 irfect ruffianism ; and Olied invol- 
 cold shudder pass over him as h'e 
 
 thought of Zillah falling into the hands of any 
 set of villains of which this man was one. 
 On entering the room Black BUI was informed 
 u'lP'^'* was.ljy-gely interested in the aftair 
 which he had made known, and was bidden to 
 tell his story once more. Thereupon Black Bill 
 took a long and very comprehensive stare at 
 Obed from head to foot, after which he went on 
 to narrate hiS story. 
 
 _ He had been engaged in the month of June, 
 he said, by a man who gave his name as Rich- 
 ards. He understood that be was to take part 
 in in enterprise which was illegal, but attended 
 with no risk whatever. It was simply to assist 
 m «hking n vessel at sea. Black Bill remarked, 
 with hiucli nai\ etd, that he always was scrupulous 
 ^1 obA) iiig the laws ; but just at that time he was 
 °i!" II ''■"' ""** y''''''ed to the temptation. He 
 thought it was a case where the vessel was to be 
 sunk for the sake of the insurance. Such things 
 were very common, and friends of his had assisted 
 before in similar enterprises. The price offered 
 for his services was not large— only fifty pounds— 
 and this also made him think it was only some 
 common case. 
 
 He found that three other men had olso been 
 engaged. They were ordered to go to Marseilles, 
 and wait till they wef^ wanted. Money was 
 given them for the journey, and a certain house 
 was mentioned as the pkce where they should 
 stay. ' * 
 
 They did not have long to wait. In a short 
 time the man who had employed them called on 
 them, and took them down to the harbor, where 
 they found a yijry handsome yacht. In about on 
 hour afterward he returned, accompanied this 
 time by a young and beautiful lady. Black Bill 
 and all the men were very much struck by her 
 appearance. They saw very well that she be- 
 longed to the upper classes. They saw also that 
 their employer treated her with the deepest re- 
 spect, and seemed almost like her servant. They 
 heard her once call him "Mr. Gualtier," and 
 knew by this that the name "Richards" was an 
 assumed one. They all wondered greatly at her > 
 appearance, and could not understaiid what was 
 to bo her part in the adventflre. Judging from 
 what they heiird of the few words she addressed 
 to this Gualtier, they saw that she was expecting 
 to sail to Naples, and was verj- eager to arrive 
 there. 
 
 At last the second night came. Gualtier sum- 
 moned Black Bill at midnight, and they both 
 went into the hold, where they bored holes. The 
 other men had meanwhile got the boat in readi- 
 ness, and had put some provisions and water in 
 her. At last the holes were bored, and the vessel 
 begarf to fill rapidly. Black Bill was ordered 
 into the boat, Gualtier saying that he was going 
 to fetch the yonng lady. The men all thought 
 then that she had been brought^n board nverely 
 to be fQiyed into taking part in the sinking of the 
 vessel. None of them undontood the idea of the 
 
 ,thingjitJilL _.,. _v ^ 
 
 They waitedir a time', according to Black 
 Bill. The nigJBVas iritdijsely dhrk, and they 
 «uld hear nothiMg, jg|ii snddenlylJualtier camia 
 to the boat and gotW - ■ f • 
 
 " Where's the girL?" said Bla 
 "She won't eyg/Jf^iimg 
 it.Jt'i 
 ty,i«Jd<( 
 
 snAie time unloo™.™ 
 he repeated.'^ "Of? 
 
 
 ■ sM' 
 
172 
 
 KUWe cflyi-roGRAM. 
 
 Th» " lads" refM^tWind a great outcry arose. 
 They swore that.tjw^ would not leave the vessel 
 without the girl,<-Aiid that if he did not go back 
 instantly aiylget her, they would pitch him ovei^ 
 board and nave her themselves. Black Uill told 
 him they thought it was only an iosurance busi- 
 ness, and nothing like tl;^is. 
 
 Guiltier remained quite calm during th^^ 
 cry. ids goon as he could make himself heard 
 he told tl^eiti, in a cool voice, that he was armed 
 with -A mVolver, and would shoot them all down 
 lid i^ot obey him. He had hired them 
 .lie said, and thev were in for it. If 
 yed him, he would pay them when they 
 hore ; if not, he would blow theirbrains out. 
 : %ll said that at-this threat he drew his 
 1 piftol and snapped it at Gualtier. It would 
 Fgo off. Gualtier then laughed, and said that 
 iVhich had a needle run down the nipple 
 did not generally explode — by which Bluck Dill 
 saw that his pistol hod been tampered with 
 
 Here Black Bill paased for a while, and Obed 
 asked hihi one or two queitions.. 
 
 "What is the reason," he askedy "that you 
 did not give information to the police at first, in- 
 stead of waiting till now ?" 
 
 tion like that there," said BlaCk Bill, 
 'ugh to answer. You see I wanted' 
 rto payihy hoKfli little gairfe. I wanted fur 
 to find opt who the gal was. If so be as I'd 
 found out that, I'd have had somethin' to work 
 on. 'I'hat'sfust an' foremost. An' next, you 
 understand, I was anxious to git a bold of li'in 
 so as to bo'nble to pay off that oncdtamon blact 
 score as I had agin him. Arter humbuggin' mo, 
 hocusin' my pistol, an' threat'nin' murder to 
 me, an' makin' mo work wuss than a gallev- 
 slavo in that thar bodt, I felt petiklaf anxious to 
 pay him off in the same coin. That's the reason 
 why I sot up a watch on him on my own ac- 
 count, instead of telling the beaks." 
 
 "Do you know," asked Obed again, "what 
 _ There was a^ng altercation, but the end of it I hatf' become of the others tliat were witli you in 
 was that Gualtfer gave them a certain time to de- the boat ?" 
 cide, after which he swore that he would shoots • 
 
 . -„ Never have laid eyes on 'em since that bless- 
 
 itle was armed, he was d^term'] ed artemoon when I stepped a^^l^o to follow 
 
 Gualtier. P'r'aps they've beenj 
 
 them down, 
 
 ined ; they were unarmed, and at his mercy ; and 
 the end of it was, they yielded to him and rowed 
 jiway. One thing which materially influenced 
 ts^|bem was, that'pey had drifted away from the 
 .Khooner, and sK*. bad been lost in the deep dark- 
 .. ness of the night. Idfides, before their alterca- 
 ti(in was over, they aQ felt sure that the vessel had 
 sunk. So they rowed on sullenly all that night 
 and all the next day, with only short intervals of 
 rest, guarded all the time by Gualtier, wniK pis- 
 tol in hand, kept tliem to their worll?"' ^i 
 
 They reached the coast at a point not far fcom 
 
 Leghorn. It was a ^^V^d 8pot,Wwith wooded 
 
 shores. Here Gualti^^Kbped pu^aid them, 
 
 and ordered them to ^m LeglRVh. As for 
 
 himself, ho swore they Pould never see him 
 
 again. They took tlje Sioney, and rowed ofl' for 
 
 a^ttle distance along tfle sh^jyhen Black Bill 
 
 ' djlie them put him ashoi^^fty did so, and 
 
 ■iPwed op. He plunge^Tn^Jne woods, and 
 
 walked fa«ck till he got on Gamer's trail; whi^di 
 
 he followed up. Black Bill here remarked, with 
 
 a mixtnre of triumph and mock cqgtritiou, that 
 
 'an accident in his early life had sent him tp^ias- 
 
 IJJralia, in which conntry he had learned" 
 
 ■'-iiotice the track of animals or of mail" 
 
 " place, however wild. Hepe Gualtier h 
 
 ; .^Mrel^s^^nd his track vi^ pjain. Blacl 
 
 "mnsioliowed him from place to place, anU ^ 
 
 Guotier reached the nearest railway station was 
 easily able to keep him hi sight. 
 
 In this way he had kept him in sight through 
 North Italy, t*er the Alps, through Germany, 
 and, finally, to London, where he followed him 
 to the door of his lodgings. Here he had made 
 inquiries, and had learned that Gualtier was liv- 
 ing there imder the name of Mr. Brown ; that 
 he hadi-only been there a few weeks, but seemed 
 inclined to stay permanently, as' he had brought 
 _J t h^ Jhj a clo thes, wane fun»UBiie, jhmI ^ his 
 papers, together with pictures and other valua- 
 bles. Black Bill then devoted himself to the task 
 of watching him, which he kept up for some time, 
 till one dmy Gnaltier left by rail for the west, and 
 '• never ratnmed. Black Bill had watched cfver 
 since, bnt had seen nothing of him. Ho thought 
 he must have gone to America. 
 
 _ id — p'r'nps 
 they're sarvin' thpir time out inTfie galleys— 
 p'r'aps they've jined the /talian army— i)'r'nps 
 they ve got back here again. Wot 's become of 
 them his Honor here knows better'n me." 
 
 After thiM Black Bill went on, and told all the 
 rest that he^^iad to say. He declared that he 
 had watched Gualtier's lodgings for more than 
 three months, expecting that he wcrftj^retum. 
 At last he disguised himself and wei#^here to 
 make inquhpes.' The keeper of the house told 
 him that mthing bad been heard from ''Mr.' 
 ,Brown" sinoQ he left, and he had p&cked nwpy 
 •11 his thingsin hope of his return. But a Liv- 
 erpool paper had recently been sent to him with 
 a marked paragraph, giving an account of the 
 recovery of the bo^v of a .man who had been 
 drowned, and who in all respects seemed to re- 
 ipnble his late^^ger. Why it had been sent 
 %p^^im ho did i^ know ; '1Sut he thought that 
 ^Hiaps K^e paper had b^^found^g the pack- 
 ets q£sil|e tlec«ase^, and tlW^uthori^es had sent 
 tn^AJI to the address, thinUMg tliat the no- 
 ight thus reach his friend^."; 
 
 After this JJlack Bill begftn to lose hope of 
 )s. fie did not believe that Gualtier had 
 led, but that it was a common trick to give 
 to a belief in- tli^'mind of his lodging-house 
 keeper that he had met .with his death. In this 
 belief he waited for a short time to see if any 
 fresh intelligence turned up ; bnt at length, as 
 Gualtier made no sign, and Black Bill's own re- , 
 sources wero-exliausted, he had concluded that 
 it would bo best to make known the whole cir- 
 cumstance to the police. 
 
 Such was the substance of his narrative. It 
 was interrupted by frequent questions; but Black 
 Bill told a coherent tale, and did not contradict 
 himself. There was not the slightest doubt in 
 the HJiadB of-bis hearera-that he waa^^ n o o f th e 
 greatest scoundrels that ever lived, but at the 
 same time there was not the slightest doubt that 
 on this occasion he had not taken part willingly 
 against the life of the yonng girl. He and hii 
 associates, it was felt, had been tricked and over- 
 reached by the superior canning of Gualtier. 
 They saw also, by Bhick Bill'a woount, that thii 
 
 *:, 
 
 >>3 
 
»# 
 
 Gnoltier was bold and conrogcons to a hjgh de- 
 gree, with a cool calcutntlon and a daring that 
 were not common among men. . He had drawn 
 the^ men into the commisBion of what they ex- 
 pected wonld' be some slight offense, and tlien 
 forced them to bo his unwilling allies in a foiil 
 murder, lie had paid them a small price for 
 the commission of a great crime. He had bul- 
 lied them, threatetied them, and made them his 
 slaves by his own clever management and the 
 ■-^fiforco of his own nature, and that, too, although 
 tnese very men were, all of them, blood-stniiied 
 rudtans, th6 most reckless among the dregs of 
 society. From Black Bill's story Ubed gained a 
 new view of Gualtier. 
 
 After Black Bill had been dismissed, the lodg- 
 ing-house keeper, who had been sent for, madq 
 his QQpcamnce. His account was quite in ac- 
 cordttMO with what had been said. This roan, 
 whom qe called Brown, hod taken lodgings with 
 him in May last, and had staid a few weeks. 
 He then had been absent for a fortnight or so. 
 On his return he passed a few days in the house, 
 and then left, since which time he had not been 
 .toard of. The Liverpool paper which had been 
 iMiiini gave the only hint lit the possible cause 
 0^^^ absence. In reply (^ an inquiry from 
 OlMKhe landlord stated that Mr. Brown's ef- 
 fkinHwied to be very valuable.- There was a 
 fine pTOfi^ a dozen >jiandsome oil-paintings, a 
 private (Slhi an iron box, a jewel box, and a 
 trunk, )*flK<fi'0'i> >'' weight, was filled with 
 lomethii^pimhaps of value. On the .whole, ho 
 could not think that a^h things-would be left by 
 any one without ^^>f^Kfort to regain possession 
 of them. <jf they MHtold at a saknfice, they 
 would bring a very linfe sum. 
 
 The lodging-house keeper wais then flowed to 
 take his departure, after which Obed and the 
 magistrate discussed for some time the new ap- 
 pearance which had been given to this alfair. 
 Their conclusions weie similar, in most respects. 
 
 It seemed to them, first, that, this Gualtier, 
 whose names were so numerous, had planned his 
 crime with'% far-reaching ingenuity not often to 
 be met with, and that after the accomplishment 
 of his crime he was still as ingenious in his ef- 
 forts after |>erfcct concealmejnt He had baffled 
 the police of Frande, of Italy, ond of England 
 thus for. He had also baffled eompletely that one 
 enemy who had »> long a time followed on his 
 track. His last act iii leaving his lodgings was 
 well done — though putting the notice in the Liv- 
 erpool paper, and seiil^ing it to the landlord, 
 wemed more clumsv than his usual proceedings. 
 It was readily concluded that the notice in that 
 paper was only a ruse, in order to secure more 
 perfect concealment, or, perhaps, elude pursuit 
 more effectually. 
 
 It seemed also most likely, nnder the circnm- 
 ttances, that he had actually gone as far as Liv- 
 erpool, and from that port to America.\ If tlut 
 were the case it would be difficult, if not jjifi^- 
 •ibie, ever to get op his track or discover hiiA. 
 "" Lonly chance^poare4te=bfrin thft'ptobabit. 
 ity tliat he would send, in iome way flHbtWer, for 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 178 
 
 Judging by the enumeration which the 
 landlord had given, they were too valuable to be 
 lost, and in most Cases the owner would make 
 •owe effort to recover theml The magistrate 
 •aid that he would direct the landlord to keep the 
 
 things carefully, and, if any inqniry ever came 
 after them, to give immediate information to the 
 I>olice. This was evidently the only way of ever 
 catching Gualtier. 
 
 The motive for this crime appeared quite plain 
 to these inquirers. Judging by the fiicts, it seem- " 
 ed us though Gualtier and Hilda had been.lovers, 
 and had |)lunned this so as to secure all the prop- 
 erty of the younger sister. To Ubed the motive 
 was still more plain, though he did not tell what 
 ho knew — namely, the important fact tliat Hilda 
 was not the sister at all of her victim, and that 
 her own property was small in comparison with 
 that of the one at whose life she aimed. He 
 thought that to tlell.this eVen to the police w^d ; 
 l)ff% violation of sacred confidence. After/the 
 commission of the crime it seemed plain/that 
 these criminals had taken to flight together Jmost 
 probably to America. This they could easily do, 
 as tlieir fnnds were all portable. 
 
 A careful look-out at the lodging-house was 
 evidently the only means by which the track of 
 the fugitives could be discovered. Even this 
 would take a long time, but it was the only thing 
 that could be done. 
 
 After this a careful ei^amination was made of 
 the things which Giultier had left behind at the 
 lodging-house. The pietures were found to be 
 very valuable ; the piano, also, was new — one of 
 CoUard's — and estimated to be worth one hun-' 
 dred and fifty pounds. The jewel box was found 
 to contain articles of great value, some diamond 
 rings, and turquoise and pearl. Many of tho 
 things looked like keejisakes, some of them hav- 
 ing inscriptions, such as "To M. — from G.," 
 " To M. —from L. , " " From Mother. " ThesK , 
 seemed like things which no living man could ., 
 willingly give up. How could it bo known that 
 Gualtier had indeed given up such sacred posses- 
 sions as these ? 
 
 On opening the trunks, one was fbnnd to con- 
 tain books, chiefly French novels, and the other 
 clothes. None of these gave any fresh i" 
 the homo or the friends of the fugitive. 
 , Last of all was the writing-desk, 
 opened with intense curiosity. It wns h| 
 here something might be discovered. 
 
 It was well filled with pftpers. But^ 
 examination served to show that, in the first 
 place, the papers were evidently considered very 
 valuable by the owner ; and, in the second place, 
 that they were of no earthly value to any one 
 else. They were, in short, three diffierent manu- 
 script novels, whose soiled and faded appearance 
 seemed to speak of frequent ofi'erings to different 
 publishers, and as fVcq uent refusals. There they 
 lay, still cherished by the author, inclosed in his 
 desk, lying there to bo claimed perhaps at some 
 future time. There were, in addition to these, 
 a number of receipted bills, atid some season tick- 
 ets for railways and concerts — and that was all. 
 
 Nothing, therefore, was discovered from this 
 examination. Yet the result gave hope. It 
 seemed as if no man woidd leave things like these 
 — th ia,piniii>r ^he8e: pigturea, these keepsakes-rt!r:= 
 and never seek to get them again. Those very 
 
 those things jvhich he had left in the loc^ng-' ^lanuscript novels, rejected as they had been, 
 T„jj„ . .1 were still things which the author would not will- 
 ingly give up. The chances, therefore, were very 
 great tha| at some time, in some way, some ap- 
 plication wN>ii)d ho made for this property. And 
 on this thoyinagisirato relied confidently. 
 
 ■ -I 
 
 ;i i 
 
 'I 
 'It 
 
 «h 
 
 't,^^ 
 
174 
 
 THE CKYPTOGRAM. 
 
 Obcd spent Bnother day in London, and had 
 anotlior interview with the magistrate. Ho 
 found, liowovor, that nothing more could be done 
 by him, or by any one eJHe, at present, ttnd so he 
 returned to Naples via Marseilles. Ho called on 
 the prefect of police at the latter city to accpmint 
 him with the latest, inteUigenco of this alfair; 
 heard that nothing more had been discovered 
 about Miithildo, and then went on his way, ar- 
 riving in dno time at his destination. Ho told 
 his gister_tho result of his joumev, but to Zilluli 
 he told nothing nt all al>out it. Ilaviiigdone all 
 that man could do, Obed now settled himself 
 down oncei more in Naples, beguiling his time 
 l)ctween the excitement of excursions with his 
 friends, and the calm of domestic life with his 
 family. Naples, on the whole, seemed to him 
 the pleosantest spot to stay in that he had seen 
 fur n long time, and ho enjoyed his life there so 
 much that ho was in no hurry to leave it. 
 
 CHAPTKIl LI. 
 
 A STAHTHXG PnOPOSAL. 
 
 Onr:i> and his family thus remained in Naples, 
 and Zillali nt last had an occupation. The new 
 duties which she had undertaken gave her just 
 enough of cmjjloyment to fill the day antToccitpy- 
 her thoughts. It was a double blessing. In the 
 fust place it gave her a feeling of indeiiendenco ; 
 and again, and especially, it occupied her 
 thoughts, and thus j)revented her mind from 
 preying njwn itself. Then she was able to gain 
 alleviation for the troubles that had so long op- 
 pressed her. She felt most profoundly the change 
 from the feeling of poverty and dependence to 
 one of independence, when slio was_ nctuajly 
 "getting her own living." She know that her 
 independence wos owing to the delicate generos- 
 ity of Obed Chute, and that under any other cir- 
 cumstances she would probably liftve had no ref- 
 uge from starvation ; but her gratitude to her 
 friends did not lesson at all her own self-com- 
 pliiccncy. There was a childish deligiit in Zillah 
 over her new position, which was due, perhaps, to 
 the fact that she had always looked upon herself 
 as hopelessly and incurably dull ; but now the 
 discovery that sho could actually fill the position' 
 of music-teacher brought her a strange triumph, 
 which brightened many n dark hour. 
 
 Zillah already had understood and appreciated 
 the delicate feeling and high-toned generosity of 
 Obed Chute and his sister. Nothing could in- 
 crease the deep admiration which sho felt for 
 these simple, upright, honest souls, whoso pure 
 
 ' affection for her had proved such n blessing. If 
 there had been nothing else, her very gratitude 
 / to them would have been a stimulus such as tho 
 ordinary governess never has. Under such a 
 stitnulus tho last vostigo of Zillah's old willfulness 
 died out. She was now a wotnan, tried in the 
 crucible of sorrow, and in that fiery trial the 
 
 -——--dross hmLheea removed, and only the pure gold 
 remained. Tho wayward, impetuous girl had 
 reached her last and fullest development, and 
 sho now stood forth in odversity and affliction, 
 right noble in her character' — an earnest woman, 
 devoted, tender, enthusiastic, generous. 
 
 The fondness and admiration of her friends in- 
 crea.sed every day. The little children, whose 
 
 musical education ihe hod now begun, had al- 
 ready learned to love her ; and when sho wns 
 transformed from a friend to a teacher they loved 
 her none tho less. JSillah's capacity for teaching 
 was so remarkable that it'sufprised herself, and 
 sho began to think that she had not been under- 
 stood in the old days. But thofi, in the old dnys, 
 she Vvas a petted and 8])oiled child, and wuiiM 
 never try to work until the last year of her lite 
 with the Earl, after he had extorted from her n 
 promise to do differently. 
 
 Obed Chute saw her success in her new position 
 with undisguised satisfaction. Uut now that she 
 had become a govemcsH ho was not at all in- 
 clined to relax his exertions in her behalf. She 
 was of too much importance^ ho said, to waste 
 her lifo and injure her healt^in constant drudg. 
 ory, and so he determined tSat she should not 
 sutler for want of recreation. In Naples there 
 need never be any lack of that. Tho city itself, 
 with its noisy, Inflghing, jovial popuWl ion, recms 
 to the English eyt as thouglit it was kce|)iiig one 
 perpetual holiday. The Ktrhda Toledo looks to 
 the sober northerner as thougli a constant carni- 
 val were going oiv. Naples has itself to oiler to 
 the visitor, with «s never-ending gayety and its 
 many-sided life — its"Hrilliant cafe's, its lively the- 
 atres, its gay pantoirtimeii, its buifooneries, its 
 macaroni, its laznroni, itnd its inntimerabic fes- 
 tivities.,. Naples has also a cluster of attractions 
 all around it, which keep their freshness lunger 
 than those of any other city. Among these Obed 
 Chuto continued to'tako Zillah. To him it was 
 the bust ha|)]iincss that he cou^d desire when he 
 had succeeded in making tho t^e pass pleasant; 
 ly for her. To see her face flush up with that in- 
 nocent girlish enthusiasm, and to hear her merry 
 laugh, which wns still childlike in its freshness 
 and abandon, wns something so pleasant that he 
 would chuckle over it to himself all the evening 
 afterward. 
 
 So, as before, they drove about tho environs or 
 sailed over the bay. Very little did Obed t'hute 
 know about that historic past which lived and 
 breathed amidst all these scenes through ^(hich 
 ho wandered. No student of history was lie. 
 To him tho cave of Polyphemus brought no rec- 
 ollections ; tho isle of Capri was a simple isle 
 of the SCO, and nothing more ; Misenum could 
 not give to his imagination the vanished Homait 
 navies ; ruzzuoli could not show the traces of 
 Saint Paul ; and there was nothing which coald 
 make known to him the mighty footprints uf the 
 heroes of the past, from the time of the men of 
 Osca, and C'uma;, and the builders of Pa'stum's 
 Titan temples, down through all the periods of 
 Roman luxury, and through all gradation's of 
 men from Cicero to Nero, and down farther to 
 tho last, and not tho least of all, Belisarins. 
 The past was shut out, but it did not interfere 
 with his simple-hearted enjoyment. - The present 
 was sufficient for him. He had no conception of 
 art ; and the proudest cathedrals of Naples, or the 
 noblest sculptures of her museums, or the most 
 jsdiant pictnma, nftvur awakened any emotjon 
 within him. Art was dumb to him ; hut theii 
 there remained something greater than art, and 
 that was nature. Nature showed him hero her 
 rarest and divinest beauty ; and if in the presence 
 of such beauty as that — beauty which glowed in 
 jmmortal lineaments wherever he turned his eyes. 
 —if before thkJio slighted tho lesser beauties of 
 
 
 r 
 
THE CRYITOGRAM. 
 
 ira 
 
 in tmn"'!;iin\\',\ I 
 
 'ZILLAUS CArACITT FOB TEACHINO SDBPBISKO IIEBSKLF. 
 
 art, he might be sneered atby the mere dilettaiitei 
 but the emotions of liis own soul were none the 
 less true and noble. 
 
 One day they hod arranged for a sail to Capri. 
 Miss Chute could not go, and Zilluh went vrftfi 
 Olied Chute alone. She had frequent]y^a 
 before. It was a glorious day. Most Mys in 
 Naples are glorious. The Neapolitan bolitmi 
 sang songs all the way — songs older, perhaps,' 
 the time of Massaiiiellp — songs which may' have 
 come down from Norman, or even from lioman 
 davB. There was ope lively air which amused 
 Zillah— 
 
 "How happ7 is the fisher's Hfe, 
 EccomI Eccola, 
 The fisher and his faithful wUe, 
 KccoIb!" 
 
 It was a lively, ringing refrain, and the words 
 had in them that sentiment of domestic life which 
 Jfnotusiually found in Continental songs. The 
 sea glittered around them. The boat danced 
 lightly over the waves. The gleaming atmosphere 
 showed all the scenery wiUi startling distinct- 
 new- (Where is there an atmosphere like that 
 of Naples?) - The sky was, of an intense blui 
 and the deep azure of the sea rivaled the oi 
 of the sky that bent above it. The breezei 
 
 sw-opt over, the sea brought on its wings life nnd 
 health and joy. All around there Jlftshed before 
 them the w liite sails of countless boats that sped 
 in eveiy direction over the surface of the waters. 
 They landed in Cnpri, and walked about the 
 and. They visited the cave, and strolled along 
 e shore. At length they sat down on a rook, 
 And looked ovelr the waters toward the city. Ue- 
 fore them spread out the sea, bounded by the 
 white gleaming outline of Naples, which extend- 
 ed fur along the shore ; on the lefl was Ischia ; 
 and on the right Vesuvius towered on high, w ith 
 its smoke cloud hovering over it, and streaming, 
 far along through the air. Never before had the 
 Bay of Naples s(femed so lovely. Zillah lost her- 
 self in her deep admiration. Obed Chute also 
 sat in profound silence. Usually he talked; 
 now, however, he said nothing. Zillah thought 
 that he, like herself, was lost in the beauty of 
 this matcbleas^aeeR& — , — .,..„-- 
 
 At length the long silence was broken bv Obed 
 Chute. 
 
 " My child," said he, "for the List few weeks 
 I have been thinking much of you. You have 
 wound yourself around my heart. I want to say 
 something to you now which will surprise you, 
 perhaps — and, indeed, I do not know bow you will 
 
176 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 tnkc it. But in whatever way yon take it, do not 
 be iifniid to tell me exactly how yoa feel. What- 
 ever you may say, I insist on being your friend. 
 You once called me your ' best friend.' I will 
 never do an^ thing to lose that title." 
 
 Zillah looked up in wonder. She was bewil- 
 dered, ller brain whirled, and nil presence of 
 mind left her. She suspected what was coming, 
 but it seemed too.^extraordinnry, and she conld 
 scarcely believe it. She looked at him thus be- 
 wildered and confused, and Obed went calmly on. 
 
 "My child," said he, "yon are so noble and 
 go tender that it is not surprising that you have 
 fixed yourself fast in my old heart. You are very 
 dear and very precious to me. I do not know 
 how I could bear to have you leave me.. . I hope 
 to have you near me while I live, in some way or. 
 other. How siiali it be ? Will you be a daugh- 
 ter to me — or will you be a wife ?'■' 
 
 Obed Chute paused. II9 did not look at her ns 
 he said this. He did not see the crimson flush 
 tliat shot like lightning over that white and beau- 
 tiful face. He looked awnv over the sea. 
 
 But a deep groan from 2illali aroused himt 
 
 He started and turned. 
 
 Her face was upturned to his with an expres- 
 sion of agony. She clasped his arms with a con- 
 vulsive gra«p, and seemed to gasp for brertth. 
 
 '* Oh God!" she cried. "Is this so? I must 
 tell you this much, then — I will divulge my secret. 
 Oh, my fiiend-r-l am married !" 
 
 CHAPTER Lir. 
 
 A BETTEtt UNDER8TANDIK0. , 
 
 For a long time not a word was spoken. Obed 
 sflt tluinder-si;ruck by this intelligence. He loot- 
 ed at her in wosder, as her fair girlish face was 
 turned toward him, not kriowjng how to receive 
 this unparflllcUd communication. 
 
 " Oh, my friend," said Zillah, "have I ever 
 in any way she^ that I could Imye expected 
 this ? Yes, I hm married — and it is about my 
 marriage that the secret of my life lias grown. 
 Forgive me if I can not tell' you more." 
 
 "Forgive yon? WhatVre you saying, my 
 child ?" iald Obed Chute, tehderly. "'l am the 
 one who mu6t be forgiven. I have disturbed and 
 troubled you, when 1 was only seeking 'to secure 
 your lifippiness." 
 
 • By. tlMs.time Obed had recovered from his sur- 
 prise, and began tQk«ontemplate the present state 
 of alfflirs irt their new aspect. It certainly was 
 strange that this young girl should bo a married 
 Woqnan, but so it was ; drtif what then ? 'i^Yhnt 
 th*ri ?" was the question which suggested itself 
 t<v2illah also. .Would it make any difl'erence— 
 QT rather would it not make nfl the difference in 
 the world ? Ilitherto shelind felt unembarras^ 
 ed iiv his society, but Jiercafter <fill would be^if- 
 ferent. Never again could^ho feel the same 8e- 
 gree of ease ns before in hi^resence. Would 
 be not hereafter seetn to tier and to himself as a 
 
 — relBctedToTerP 
 
 But these thoughts Boon wer« diverted into 
 another^annel by Obed Chute hirtself. " 
 
 ■" So you are married ?" said he, solemnly. 
 
 "Ye8,"'faltered Zillah. , 
 
 " W^ll, my child," said Obed, with that same 
 tendemos^in his voice, >'hich was now so ^fa- 
 
 miliar to her, " whether it is for good or evil I do 
 not seek to know, I only say this, that if there 
 is any thing which I could do to secare your Imjl- 
 piness, you could not find any one who would do 
 more for you than Obed Chute." 
 
 "Oh, my friend!" 
 
 "Just now," said Obed Chute, ''I s^ked you 
 to be my wife. Do not avoid the subject, ni_», 
 child. I am not ashamed of hafing ma(i<i tlint 
 proposal. It was for your happiness, as I 
 thought, ns well as for my own. I loved yoit ; 
 and I thought that, perhaps, if yon were my wife, 
 I could make you happier than you now nre. 
 But since it is not to be, what then ? Why, I love 
 you none the less ; and if you can not be my wife, 
 you shall be. my daughter. , Qp not look upon nra 
 as a passionate youth. My nve is deep and ten- 
 der and self-sacrificing. I think, perhaps, it is 
 innch more the love of a father thap that of a 
 husband, and that it is just as well that there are 
 obstacles in tl\^ way of my proposal. Do not look 
 so sad, my little child," continued Obed Chute, 
 with increased tenderness. «* ' Why should you I 
 I am your friend, and you must love me as much 
 as you can — like a daughter. Will you be a 
 daughter to me ? Will you trust me,;iny child, 
 and brighten my life as you have been i^iing ?'' 
 
 He held out his hand. 
 
 Zillah took it, and burst into tears. A thou- 
 sand contending efnotions were in her heart and 
 agitating her. . 
 
 " Oh, my friend and benefactor I" said she; 
 " how can I help giving you my love nnd my grnt- 
 itiide ? You have been to me a father, and a 
 friend — " 
 
 " Say no more," said Obed, interrupting her. 
 " It is enough. We will forget that this conver- 
 sation has taken {dace. And as foi: myself, I 
 will CTleriSh your secret, my child. It is ns safe 
 with -me ns it v^MHd be with yourself only." 
 
 Now ns he spok^ with his frank, generous face 
 turned towni-d her, and the glow of affection in 
 his eyes, Zillah felt as though it would be b«ti«r 
 to give liim her full confidence and tell him atl. 
 In telling him that she was married she had made 
 a beginning. Why should she not tell ev»rr 
 thing, nnd make knpwn the secret cf her life? 
 It would be safe with him. It would be n nlH' 
 return for his generous affection. Above nil, it 
 would be frank and honest. He would then 
 know all about her, and there would be nothing 
 more to conceal. ,- j' 
 
 Thus she thought ; but still she shrftnk from 
 such a ^nfcssion and such a confidence. It 
 would iirvolve a disclosure of all th^Ljmost solemn 
 anil sacred memories of her life. It would do 
 violence to her most delicate instincts. Conld 
 she dq this ? It was injipiMJi^ilile. Not unless 
 Obod' Chute insisted on Icnowing every thing 
 c^nld she venture to.hiy^bnre bof |«ist life, and 
 make known the secrfts qr lierlteart. And slio 
 well knew that such a |1iit^4t'6ii!a never lio re- 
 (>iiired of her; at Ibast by#fc^j;l||jerou8 friend. 
 liideed, she knew- well itAj^avwouldl be mn<t 
 likely to rcfti se her co nfidfet^, eron if she were 
 ■IrcrotfiBr it oif irnrh-niropctvjTOir S*ffliv 
 
 "I f*l," said Zillah at length, As tlie^ 
 thought's oppr^sed her, " that I am in a filM 
 position, Yqu have l>eon s«r gemellus to m(?ilmt 
 y<ju have S' right to know nil about mw I ought 
 to let you know my true name, nnd raake you tifi- 
 quatrtted with the story of my life." 
 
 tttter whiciv ho Hu 
 
 o 
 
THE CBYPTOGEAM. 
 
 17r 
 
 " Vou ought to do nothing of the sort," said 
 Obed Chute. " There are some things which 
 can not be breathed to any hnman being. Do 
 you furm so low an estimate of me, my dear 
 child, OS to think that I wonid wish to have your 
 
 - confljence unless it was absolutely necessary, 
 and for your own good ? Ko. You do not un- 
 derstand me. The affection \yhich I have ^ 
 you, which you call generosity, gives me no such 
 claim, and it gives me no desire to tear open 
 those wounds which your poor heart must feel so 
 keenly. Nothing can prevent my loving you. I 
 tell you you are my daughter, {.accept you as 
 you are. I wish to know nothing. I know 
 enough of you from my knowledge of your char- 
 acter, ., I only know this, that you have suffered ; 
 and I should like very much to' be able to console 
 you or -moke ,y4)u happier.'', 
 
 " You have done very much for me," said Zil- 
 hih, looHiiig nt him with deep emotion. 
 
 *" Kottiiig, a^far as I am concerned ; but it is 
 pleasant to n^ to know that any thing which I 
 haf^ done is grateful to' you," said Obed, calmly 
 and benigqantlv. ■"■Keep your secret to your- 
 self, my dear child.. You came to me from the 
 tea ; .4?^ I onlj^hopo tWifyou will continue with 
 meTas long nj^ you can to brighten my lite, and 
 let me hear your voidS and see your face. ,• And 
 t|)at is a simple wish. Is k not, my child ?"f. ' 
 t'^Vou are overwhelwing me with your good- 
 ness," said ^loh, wi|h another gratelid glance. 
 i'She \^ mo^t gnjieful fdr the way in which 
 Obed had given, up his idea«f matrimony. Had 
 
 ^ showit the excitement of a disappointed lover. 
 
 wil j^ril% woiild have been a dark future before 
 
 ' '^^9f ^^'^^ '"^'^^ h"^ *° leave his family, 
 
 pmoo^ZMi ijhe had found a home. But Obed 
 
 *b(tmORH|te of this kind. He himself said 
 
 ■ that_, inR9pl3/><>t ^ave her &i a wife, he would 
 b^ satisfied t* nave her as a daughter. And 
 when he learndd that she itns married, he at 
 once tqpk up the paternal attitude, and the nf- 
 -fection w))ich he expressed was tliat tender yet 
 cahh feeling which might become a father. At 
 the expression of such. a feeling as this Zillah's 
 generous <nnd 4ofiTig heart .Responded, And all 
 I ,i<£er nature warmed beneath its genial influence.. 
 j^ Yes, she woifld be to him as a daughter ; she 
 would show him a||l the gratitude and dovqtiOH 
 of which, she was dapable. Under such circum- 
 atances tii' tliese- her, life could go on as it had 
 before^nd tlt«. iiltervi^fw of to-day jvQuld not 
 
 out the sliglitest shadoj^ over |he sunshine of 
 lire,- ISo she fult, and so ^b 
 Obed f 
 
 thefaturo^- ISo she fult, and so she said 
 
 tpok pnins to assure her over and over 
 tgun howentirely <be had sunk all consTdem- 
 tioBS of himself in bis regard for her, and that 
 the idea of making her. iiis wife wa» not riiore 
 precious thaq that of making her his daughtsr., 
 
 "It was to have you Hoar mo," said he, " to 
 ^Qf^e Jrdu happy, to give youja home which 
 should be all yours.; ^ut this^an be doM in 
 •notlier a«A a bettel-' *»)•, my child: so 'rnm 
 content, if you are," 
 
 Before th ey left Uife place Ziiluh garo him, in 
 fenera* tenn8,-^^*ontmi8 Of twr BCcrffl, wltfi- 
 out mentioning namei and places.- She said 
 that she Ms married when very young, thflt ai 
 |ftr father nad died, that the roan to whom sh** Tt 
 
 *ll«d.l)een married disliked her, and she had.mt si 
 •ten hira fo%years ; that once she had (een^ a 1) 
 letter whiclv ho hud written to a friend, in which ' 
 
 ■'it. 
 
 he alluded to her in such insulting language, and 
 with such expressions of abhorrence, that she 
 had gone into sei'li|sion, and had determined to 
 preserve that seclusion till she died. Hilda, she 
 said, hnd accompanied her, and she had bjelicved 
 her to bo faithful until the recent discovery of 
 her treochery. 
 
 This much Zillah ffdt herself bound to tell ' 
 OI)ed Chute. From this he could nt once nn- 
 ^rstand her situation, while a't the same time it 
 would be impossible for him to know who she 
 waa or who her fiicnds were. That she would 
 not t#l to any human being. 
 
 All the sympntliies of Obed Chute's nature 
 were aroused as he listened to what Zillah told 
 him. , lie was indignant that she should have 
 l)een ItSl through any motive into suiOi'^a mar- 
 riage. In his heart be blamed her friends, who- . 
 ever they were, and especially her father. But 
 most of all he blamed this unknown huslmiid of 
 hers, who, after consenting to a marringc.'had 
 chosen to insult and revile her. What he 
 thought' he did not choose to say, but to him- 
 self he registered a vow that, if" he could ever 
 find out this villain, he would avenge all Zillah's 
 wrongs in his heart's blood, which vow brought 
 to his heart a great peace and calm. . 
 
 This day was an eventful one for Zillah, but 
 the result was not what might at one time have 
 been feared, After snch an interchange of con- 
 fidence there was an understanding between her-' 
 and her friend, Which deepened the true and 
 sincere friendship that existed between them. 
 Zillah's manner toward him became more con- 
 fiding, more trustful — in short, more filial, He, 
 too, insensibly took' up the, port of a J^arent or 
 guardian ; yet he was as solicitous about her 
 welfare and happiness as in the days when he 
 had thought of making her his wife. 
 
 --*«- 
 
 CHAFER L 
 
 LUX, 
 
 \S HBACH. 
 
 "Come!" •■* 
 
 This was the word whic]) Hilda had addressed 
 to Gualtier iii froig of the Hotel Gibbon at Lau- 
 sanne, and, saying tM^ she tottered toward the 
 doori supported by Gretchen. That stout Ger- 
 man mard upheld her in her strong arms, as a 
 iB'other might hipld'up a child as it learns to wa^lk. 
 
 %re yet its unsteady feet Jiave^ound piU ihe<way 
 to plant'ttheitipclves. Gualtier had iSf'i^^ S<>t 
 
 over the shock of such a surprise, but n& saWhor . 
 weakAess, andj<iv»8 sufi|eiently hit^seluto offw 
 his arm to assisthis n^istr^ss.' BMIilda did hot 
 seem to see it. J^,,Bny i^to she did qpt accept 
 the Offer. Her oniy'^im '«rb» to get into the'iio- 
 tel, and the assistance of GrMcuen was quits 
 enpugh for hbr. . * « i 
 
 Althong^ £h«tchei^ i^hns suM^rlN mir) still ,< 
 evclRhlS sTigDrSx^tionJH'hich s|e made, oven the » 
 motion of JKjr limbii *hich w^MieqMro^ of her, 
 tho ugh they sc arcely felt her weight, was too. 
 mu(!ir fSJlJief in hill Weakness arid" prosfraiion. 
 She paiitlp.fgr breath ilt her utter exhaustion, and 
 t length, on reachin^^ the hall, she ^ood for a 
 few moiQonts nt the foot of flie staiijvav, as though 
 stniggling td regain her broath,%n(Ltiion'8udden'i' 
 
 ly fainted away in the arms of djjncher 
 ' At this' the itout maid to<^ pIf.U 
 
178 
 
 ' and carried her np stnirs, while Gualtier led the 
 way to the suite of apartments occupied by Lord 
 Chetwynde. Here Hilda was placed on a sofa, 
 and after a time came to herself. 
 
 She then told Gretchen to retire. Tlie maid 
 obeyed, and Hilda and Gualtier were left alone. , 
 The latter stood regarding her, with his pale face 
 full of deep anxiety and apprehension, dreading 
 he kftew not what, and seeing in her something 
 which seemed to take her beyond the reach of that 
 coercion which he had once successfully applied 
 to her. 
 
 "Tell me," cried Hilda, the instant that 
 Gretchen had closed the door after her, looking 
 around at the same time with something of her 
 old sharp vigilance—" tell me, it is not too late 
 yet to save him ?" 
 
 "To save him !" repeated Guahier. 
 " Yes. That is what brought me here." 
 Gualtier looked at her with eager scrutiny, 
 seeking to fftthora her full meaning. Silspecting 
 the truth, he was yet unwilling to believe it. 
 His answer was given in slow, deliberate tones. 
 " No," safd he, "it is— not— yet— too— latey 
 to— save him— if that is really what you wish." 
 " That is what I have come fof,^' said Hilda; 
 " 1 am going to take my place at his bedside, to 
 undo the past, and bring him back to life. That 
 is my purpose. Do you hear?" she said, while 
 her white lips quivered with excitement, and her 
 shattered frame trembled with the intensity of 
 her emotion. 
 
 " I ht*r,,my lady," said Gualtier, with his old 
 respect, but with a dull light in his gray eyes, and 
 a cold and stem intonation which told of the an- 
 ger which was rising within him. 
 
 Once he had shaken oft' her authority, and had 
 spoken to her with the tone of a niMter. It was 
 not probable that he would recede Jibw from the 
 stand which he Imd then taken. But, on the 
 other hand, Hilda did not now seem like one over 
 whom his old menaces would have any effect. 
 There was in her, besides her suffering, an air of 
 reckless self-sacrifice, which made it seem as if 
 no thre(it8 of his could again affect her. 
 
 "You hear?" said die, with feverish im[^- 
 tience. " Have you nothing more to say ?" 
 
 " No, nothing. It is for you to speak," said 
 Gualtier, grufflv. "You began." 
 
 " He must be saved, " said Hilda ; " and I must 
 save him; and ymi must help me." 
 
 Gualtier turned away his liead, while a dark 
 frown came over his face. The gesture excited 
 Hilda still more. 
 
 " What ! ' she hissed, spring! »« to her feet, and 
 grasping his arm, "do you hesitate? Do vou 
 refiup to assist mo ?" _ 
 
 "Our relation* 'are changed," said Gualtier, 
 slowlv, turning round as he spoke. " This thing 
 I will not do! I have begun my work." 
 
 As he turned he encountered the eyes of Hil- 
 da, which were fixed on him— stem, wrathful, 
 menacing. 
 
 " You Have begun it 1" she repeat«l. " It was 
 my work — not yours. I order you to desist, and 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 And whfti is it that you ask ? 
 
 know. 
 
 „ ...._ . What? 
 
 To thrust from me the dearest hope of my hfe, 
 and just as it was reaching fruition." 
 
 Hilda's eyes were fastened on Gualtier as he 
 said these words. The scorn with which he dis- 
 .owned any obedience, the confidence with which 
 he spoke of that renunciation of his foi-mer sub- 
 ordination, were but ill in accordance with those 
 words with which he expressed his "dearest 
 hope." 
 
 ' ' Dearest hope ! " said Hilda—' ' fruition ! If 
 you knew any thing, you would know that the 
 time for that is rapidly passing, and only your 
 pcompt obedience and assistance will benefit you 
 now. ' 
 
 " Pardon me," said Gualtier, hastily ; " tfor- 
 got myself in my excitement. But you ask im- 
 possible things. I can not help you here. The 
 obstacle between you and me was neariy removed 
 — and you ask me to replace it. " 
 
 " Obstacle !" said Hilda, in scorn. " Is it thus 
 that you mention himf" In her weakness her 
 wrath and indignation burst forth. " That man 
 whom you call an obstacle is one for whose sake 
 I have'dragged myself over hundreds of miles; 
 for whom 1 am now ready to lay down my life. 
 Do not wonder. Do not question me. Call it 
 passion— madness — any thing— but do not at- 
 tempt to thwart me. Speak now. Will yoo 
 help me or not ?" 
 
 "Help you!" cried Gualtier, bitterly, "help 
 you ! to what ? to do that which will destroy my 
 last hope— and after 1 have extorted from you 
 your promise ! Ask me any thing else." 
 " 1 want nothing else." 
 " You may yet want my aid." 
 " If you do not help me now, I shall never 
 want you." 
 
 " You have needed me before, and will need 
 me again." 
 
 " If Ae dies, I shall never need faa again." 
 " If he dies, that is the very time when you 
 will need me." 
 
 "No, I shall not— for if Ac dies I will die my- 
 self!" cried Hilda, in a burst of uncoutrolkble 
 passion. ^- 
 
 Gualtier started, and his heart sank within 
 him. Long ai)d earnestly he looked at her, but 
 he saw that this was more than a fitful outburst 
 of passion. Looking on her face with its stem 
 and fixed resolve, with its intense meaning, he 
 knew that what she had said was none other 
 than her calm, set purpose. He saw it in ^vcry 
 one of those faded lineamenls, upon which such 
 
 'r 
 
 ou lUMul obay. Yuh run iSnt i]n nrty thinfji'lflfi 
 
 
 'p wrought in so short a time. 
 loUows round her eyes, in her 
 her white, bloodless lips, in 
 litcd hands, which were new 
 |)crate resolve. Fi-om this lie 
 o„„ ...»v v..«.v^vas no appeal. He learned how 
 strong thot passion must be wiiicli had thus 
 overmastered her, and was consumiiic nil the 
 energies of her powerful naturq. To tins s ho 
 was sacrificing the lalwr of years, and all the 
 prospects which now lay before her ; to this she 
 gave up all her fntiire life, with all its possibili- 
 
 a change hod 
 He read it ii 
 sunken ch 
 her thin, e| 
 clepched in 
 saw that the 
 
 ro go on is impossible, if 1 ^land between you I Ses of wealth widirbnor and staUon. A cor- 
 and him. Only one thing Is left for you, and that onet, a castle, a princely revenue, rank, weann, 
 utoZy me, and assist me as before." and title, all lay before her within her grasp 
 
 " Obey .yon!" snid Guallier, with a cold and yet now she turned her back, upon ihein, anfl 
 almost feiicious glanc?. "The time for obe; cam? to the bedride of the man «'"'««''?»* 
 dience I think is pdst. That much you oupht to ! >vo» necessary to her succesa, to save him froio 
 
 «iini i i anxinty 
 
THE CEYITOGBAM. 
 
 179 
 
 death. She trampled her own intere8t8 in the 
 dust; she threw to the winds the hard-won re- 
 sults of treachery and crime, and only that she 
 might be near him who abhorred her, and whose 
 first word on coming baclc to consciousness might 
 be an imprecation. Beside this man who hated 
 her, he who adored her was as nothing, and all 
 his devotion and all his adoration were in one mo-" 
 ment forgotten. 
 
 All these thoughts flashed through the mind 
 of Gualtier as at that instant he comprehended 
 the situation. And what was he to do? Could 
 he associate himself with her in this new purpose? 
 He could not. He might have refrained from 
 ths work of death at the outset, if she had bid 
 him refrain, but now that he had begun it, it 
 was not easy to give it np. bhe had «et him to 
 the task. It had been doubly sweet to him. 
 First, It HSLB a delight to his own vindictive na- 
 ture ; and secondly, he had flattered himself that 
 this would be an offering well pleasing to the wo- 
 man whom he adored, ^e had set him to this 
 task, and when it was fully completed he might 
 hope for an adequate reward. From the death of 
 this man he had.accustomed himself to look for- 
 ward in anticipation of the highest happiness for 
 himself. All his future grow bright from the 
 darkness of this deed. 
 
 Now in one instant his dream was dispelled. 
 The verjp' one who hod commanded him to do 
 this now- came in a kind of frenzy, with a face 
 like that of death, bidding him to stay his hand. 
 Deep, dark, and bitter was that disappointment, 
 and all the more so from its utter suddenness. 
 Anft because he could read in her face and in 
 ker words not only the change that had taken 
 place, but also the cause of that change, the 
 revulsion Of feeling within himself became the 
 more intolerable. His nature rose up in rebell- 
 ion against this capricious being. How could 
 he yield to her wishes here ? He could not sway 
 with every varying feeling of hers. He could 
 not thus retire from his unfinished work, and 
 give np his vengeance. 
 
 Indignant as he was, there was yet something 
 in Hilda's countenance which stirred to its 
 depths the deep passion of his soul. Her face 
 hid the'expresMon of one who had made up her 
 mind to die. To such s one what Aords could 
 be say — what arguments could he use ? F^or a 
 time pity overmastered anger, and his answer 
 was mild. 
 
 "You ask impossibilities," said he. "In no 
 case can I help you. I will not eveii let you do 
 what you propose." 
 
 Hilda looked at him with a cold glapce of 
 Kom. Siie>seated herself once more. 
 "You will not let me !" she repeated. 
 " Certainly not'. I shall go on with the work 
 which I have beipin. But I will see tj^it you 
 receive the best attentit)n. You are excited 
 now. Shall I tell the maid to come to you? 
 ton had better pnt an end to this interview ; it 
 is too much fur yon. You need rest. ' 
 Gualtier siwko quietly, and Keemed really to 
 
 fwl «nmB anvioty ahoii'f, hw «mm4) 
 
 ton()^< of impudent superiority which qnce before 
 he had ventured to adopt. Her strength revived 
 under such a stimulus, and for a time her bitter 
 contempt and indignation stilled the deep sorrow 
 and anxiety of her heart. 
 
 Tlie voice with which she 'answered was no 
 longer agitated or excited. It was cool, firm. 
 and penetrating — a tone which reminded him of 
 her old domineering manner. 
 
 "You are not' asked t6 give np yonr work," 
 said she. "It is done. You are dismissed. " 
 
 "Dismissed!" said Gualtier, with a eneex. 
 "You ought to know that I am not one who 
 can be dismissed." . 
 
 "I know that you can be, and that you are," 
 said Hilda. "If you wpre capable of under- 
 standing me yon would know this. But you, 
 base and low-bom hireling that you are, what 
 can there be in common between one like you 
 and one like »i« f" 
 
 " One thing," said Gualtier. " Cfitae!" 
 
 Hilda changed not a feature. 
 
 " What care I for that ? It is over. I have 
 passed into another life. Your coarse and vul- 
 gar threats avail nothing. This moment ends 
 alt communication between us forever. You 
 may do what vou like. All your threats are 
 useless. Finally, you must go away at once." 
 
 "Go away?" 
 
 " Yes — at once — and forever. These 'rooms 
 shall never sec you again, / am here, and will 
 stay here." 
 
 " You ?" 
 
 "7/" ^* 
 
 "You have no right here.'' J 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "What right?" 
 
 "The right of love," said Hilda. "I come 
 to save him!" 
 
 "You tried to kill him." 
 
 " That is passed. I will save him now. " 
 
 "You are mad. You kApw that Ibis is idle. 
 Yon know that I am a dj^ptermined and despe- 
 rate man." ' p 
 
 "Pooh! What is the determimition or the 
 desperatioi) o( one like yon ? I know well what 
 you think. Once vou were able to move me 
 I by your threats. That is passed. My resolve 
 , and my despair have placed>«iie beyond your reach 
 forever. Go — go away. Begone ! Take your, 
 threats with you, and do your worst." 
 
 " You are majj — you are utterly mad," said 
 Gualtier, confounded at the desperation of on^ 
 whom he felt v(m so utterly in 14s power ; one, 
 too, who herself must have known this. ' "You 
 have forgotten yonr past. Will you force me to 
 remind you of it ?'^ 
 
 " 1 have furgotim nothing," said Hilda ; " but 
 I ca«c nothing for it." 
 
 " You must Ciire for it. Ym will be forced 
 to. Your future happens to d^iend on it." 
 
 "My future happens to be equally indilTerent 
 to me, said Hilda. " I. have civen up kll my 
 plans and lio|iei<. I am beyoi)a ifOfir reach, at 
 any rate. Yon,Are powerless agaiatt me now." 
 ^ (tii n ltiffrHtnlfril. 
 
 e D0« 
 
 : I 
 
 In miacaiculated utterly the nature of Hilda, and 
 tdied too much on the fact that he had once ter- 
 rified her. These cool words threw into Wlda a 
 vi»id excitement of feeling,- which for a time 
 tamed all her thoughts upon this man, who un- 
 <l«r such circumttancet dared to tqstone that 
 
 Yon speak lightly, iiaid h^, "of tbf past 
 and the future. Yon are excited. If yOtfSbink 
 caltgly about your position, you will see that you 
 afe now moro'lih my power thap ever J. and you 
 will see, also, that I Urn billing \o uso'ttiat pow> . 
 «r. Do not drive mo to extreme*." 
 
180 
 
 TflE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 ich ': 
 
 "These are yonr old threats," said Uildo, 
 with bitter contempt. "They are stale now." 
 
 '''Stale:" repeated Gualti^r. "There are 
 things which can never be stale, and in such 
 things you and I have been partners. Must I 
 remind you of them.?" 
 
 "It's not at all taecessary. Yoa had much 
 'better leave, and go' back. to Engliihd, or any 
 Avhere else. " 
 
 These words stung Gualtier. 
 
 " I will recall them," he cried, in alow, fierce 
 voice. '*You have a convenient memory, and 
 may succeed (or a time in banishing your 
 thoughts, but you have that on your soul which 
 no efforts of yotirs can banisli — things whic'' 
 must haunt you,' cold-blooded as you are, even 
 ns they have Haunted me — my God ! — and haunt 
 mo yet." 
 
 " The state of yonr mind is of no concern to 
 me. Y'ou had better obey my order, and go, so 
 as not to add any more to vourjiresent apparent 
 troubles.'' " "** 
 
 "Your taunts are fooUsh," said Gualtier, sav- 
 agely. " You are in my power. 'What if 1 use 
 it ?" 
 
 " Use it, then." 
 
 Gualtier made a gesture of despair. 
 
 "Do you know what it means?" he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " You do not — ^you can not. It means the 
 downfall of all your hopes, your desires, your 
 plans." • 
 
 "I telliyou I BO longer carp for thing? like 
 those." 
 
 " You do not mean it — you cnn not What !' 
 can you come down from being Lady Chetwynde 
 io plain Hilda Krieff?" . '\, 
 
 "I have implied that, I believe," salt} Hilda, 
 in the same tone. "\Now you understand me. 
 Go and pull me down as fast as yon like, " 
 
 "But," said Gualtier, mn»»^gxcitgj[ly, , " vou 
 do not-khow.ewhat you are soymj^rhere is 
 something more in store for you than JJiStre hu- 
 miliation — something worafe than a change in 
 station — something more terrible than ruin it- 
 self. Y'ou are a criminal. You know it. It is 
 for this that you must give your account. And, 
 remember, such crimes as yours, are not com- 
 mon Ones. Such victims as i the Enrl of Chet- 
 wynde and Zillah are not those whom one can 
 sacrifice with impunity. It is such as these that 
 will be traced back to you, and woe be to you 
 when their blood is required at your hands! 
 Can you face this prospectj Is this future so 
 very indifferent to yt)u ? ^f you have nothing 
 like remorse, are you also utterlv destitute of 
 fear?" 
 
 " Yeg," said Hilda. • 
 
 " I don't believe it," said Gualtier, rudely. 
 
 " That is because you think I have no alterna- 
 tive," said Hilda ; " it is a. mistake into ivhich a 
 base and cowardly nature might naturally fall:" 
 
 "'You have no alternative," said Guoltier. 
 "It's impossible." 
 
 ~«thiwB,"sal(JHlWB7^ 
 "What?" 
 She whispered one word. 
 
 looked at him with calm f(nd unchanged con- 
 tempt. 
 
 " Yon dare not," he cried. 
 
 "bar* not?" she repeated. "What I d.ire' 
 administer to others I dare administer to mrscll'. 
 Go and perform your threats ! Go with your iii- 
 fQrmOtion — go and let loose the authorities upon 
 me! Go! Haste! Go — and see — see how quick-, 
 ly and how completely I will elude your gi-asp ; 
 As for you — your power is gone. Yon made ono 
 'effort to exert it, and succeeded for the moment. 
 But that has passed aWay. Never— never more 
 can any threats of yours move me in the »<liglit- 
 .^t. 'You know. that I am resolute. Whether 
 you believe that I am Resolute about this matter 
 or not makes no difference wUatev'er to me. \"ou 
 are to go from this place at once — away fiom this 
 place, and this town. That is my mandate. I\ 
 .am going to stay; and, since you hove refused ' 
 your assistance, I will do without it henceforth." 
 
 At these words Gualtier's face gr^ pale with 
 rage and despair. He knew well Hilda's resolute 
 character. That ^er (ast determination would 
 be carried out he could scarcely doubt. Yet still 
 his rage and his prid»4)ur8t ^rth. 
 
 "Hilda Krieff," said he, for the first time dis- 
 carding ,thB pretense'ofjrespect and the tilso title 
 by wl^ich he had so lo^g addressed her, " do you 
 not knO|W'who you aiSs? Whdt right have you 
 to order me away, and stay here your.self — you 
 with the Earl of Chetwynde — you, an unmarried 
 girl ? Ans\fer me that, Hilda Krieff." , ' 
 
 "Whot right ?" sajld Hilda, as loftily ns before, 
 utterly unmdSred by tffis utterance of her tnie- 
 name. "What right? The right of one who 
 comes in love to save the object of her love. 
 That . is all. By that right I dismiss you. I . 
 drive you away jj(d g^lld myself by his bedside." 
 
 " You are very bold and very reckless," said y 
 he, with his white face turned toward her, Iiu|k 
 in rage, half in despair. "You are fliiigfhg 
 yourself into a position which it jyill be impos- 
 sible fpr you, to hold, and you are insulting 'nnd ' 
 defying one who can at any mom^t have you 
 tdrust from the place. 1, if I chose, could now, 
 at this instant, have you arrested, and in iliis 
 very room." 
 
 " You ! " said Hilda, with a sneer. '' 
 
 "Yes, I," said Gualtier, emphatically. "I 
 have but to lodge my information with the au- 
 thorities against you, and before ten minutes you 
 would be carried away from this place, and sepa- 
 rated from that man forever. Yes, Hilda KrielT, 
 I can do that, and yoa know it ; nnd yet you.darc 
 to taunt me and insult me, nnd drive me on to do 
 things ofowhich I migh^ afterward repent. God 
 knoAvB I'do not wish to do any thing-but what is 
 in accordance with your will. At this moniehc 
 I would still obey any of' your commands but 
 this one j yet you try me more than mortal nature 
 can endure, and J warn you that I will not bear 
 
 it." , ■ ; 
 
 Hilda laHghed. 
 
 Since this interview hoA commMicedjinstead'of 
 gtbwing >Yeaker, she had scemw^^tber. to ^n- 
 
 \ 
 
 Iftramrttiongti the Bxcitcmenti 
 been a stimulus, and had roused her to a new life. 
 It Mid ^ifgti her thoughts suddenly and violently 
 away from the''thing8 over, whidi she had long 
 brooded. Pride |iad been stirred up, Mid had re- 
 pairo(|t%tii} ravagw of love. Ai^tkis hitt threat 
 of aWtioc'a «he laugked. . • " 
 
 It stnick ;ipon 
 
 Gualtier's ear with fgarM emphasis, yit was t|)e 
 same wovd vhich she'hoa once wljispOTed to'him 
 in the park at Chetwynde. He recoiled with 
 horror. A (huddefpaMed throu^ him. Hiwa 
 
 
 
 
THE CRYITOGRAM. 
 
 >}&! 
 
 " Poor creature!" she said. " And do yon real- 
 ly think you can do any thing here? Your only 
 |ilace where you have any chance is in England, 
 nnd then only by long and careful preparation. 
 What could you do here in Lausanne ? 
 
 " I could have you flung in prison, and sepa- 
 rated from him forever," said Qnaltiei;, fiercely. 
 "You! you! And pray do you know who 
 you are ? Lord Chetwynde's valet I And who 
 "would t«ke your word against Lord Chetwvnde's 
 wife?". 
 " That you are not." 
 " I am," said Hilda, firmly. 
 " My God ! what do you mean ?" 
 " I' mean 'that I will stand up for my rights, 
 and crush you into dust if you dare to enter into 
 any frantic attempt against me here. You ! why, 
 what are you? You are Lord Chetwynde's 
 , scoundrel valet, who plotted against his master. 
 Here in these ixKims are the witnesses and the 
 proofs of your crimes. You would bring an ac- 
 cusation against me, would you ? You would in- 
 form the magistrates, perhaps, that I am not Lady 
 Chetwynde — that I aman impostor — that my true 
 nnme is ^ilda If rieff — that I sent you on an er- 
 rand to destroy your master ? And pray have 
 you thought how yon could prove so wild and so 
 Improbable a fiction ? Is there one thing that 
 Tou tMuld bring forward ? Is there one living b«- 
 Ing.who would sustain the charge? •• You know 
 that there,is nothing. Your vile slander would 
 only recoil on your own head ; and even if I did 
 nothing — even if I treated you and your charge 
 with silent contempt, you yourself would suffer, 
 fur the charge would excite such suspicion against 
 voii that you would undoubtedly be arrested. 
 
 " But, unfortunately for you, I would not be 
 silent. I would come forward and tell the mag- 
 istrates the wliolottruth. Anil I think, without 
 lelf-conceit, there U enough in tny appearance to 
 win for me belief against the wild and frenzied 
 fancies of a vuJgai valet like you. Who would 
 ■ , believe you when "Lady Chetwynde came forward 
 to tell her story, and to testify against you ? 
 
 " I will telj you what Ijidy Chetwynde W6uld 
 have to say. -She would tell how she once Ctn- 
 ployed you in England ; how you suffered some 
 slight from hgr ; how ypu^ were dismissed from 
 her service. ; That then jou went to London, and 
 engaged f pilVself as valet to Lord Chetwynde, by 
 Whom you were not knowii ; tltat, out of venge- 
 ance, you* determined to ruin him. That Lady' 
 Chetwynde wa^dkiou? about her husband, and, 
 hearing of his illness, followed, him from place to 
 place; that, owing to her intense anxiety, 8h6 
 broke down and, nearly died ; that she Vitally 
 reached this place tq.find her villainous servant — 
 the one whon) shd hi^d dismissed — actifig at hec 
 ' husband's valet. That she turned him off on th«v 
 '»pot, )vherenpon he went to the Authorities, and 
 lodged some malicious and insane charges against 
 her. But Lady Cliotwyndo. would have more 
 than this to say. iShe oould show certain viais, 
 which are no doubt in these rooms, to a doctor ; 
 -aaa^geT^eir contcnt g ; and h e 
 tell to the conrt what it \fiw tliat fiad caused 
 tills Kiysttirious disease to one who had always 
 befcre been so healthy. Ah'd wherA^O you thitjk 
 yonf diaj^ge would be in the face of XijMly.Ghet-* 
 wyide'titory ,* in (he face of th&e\tidencex>f the 
 (laUairathedoctor'iahalyaisr , -, ., 
 Hilda paused fnd regarded* Ott^iier with pMd 
 
 " ^ , ":■'•■'■, 
 
 contempt. /Gualtier felt the terrible truth of'^ll 
 that she had said. He saw that here in Lau- 
 sanne he had no chance. If he wished for venge- 
 ance he would have to delay it. And yet ho 
 did not wish for any vengeance on her. She had 
 for the present eluded his grasp. In spite of his 
 assertion of pow;er over her — in spite of the co- 
 crcidn by which he had once extorted a promise 
 from her — he was, after all, full of that same 
 all-absorbing love and idolizing affection for her 
 which had made him for so many years her will- 
 ing slave and her blind too). Now this Sudden 
 reasserfion of her old supremacy, while it roused 
 all his pride and stimulated his anger, excited 
 also at the same time his admiration. 
 
 He spoke at length, and his tone was om of' 
 sadness. 
 
 "There is one other thing whub : 
 me," said he; "my own heart, 'vci 
 
 IS Bgamst 
 
 :an not do 
 
 any thing against you." 
 
 " Yotir heart," said Hilda, "is very ready, to 
 hold you back when you see danger ahead." 
 
 Gualtier's pale face flushed. 
 
 "Tha ijp fals e,". said he, "and you know it. 
 Did my nSIM^ quail on that midnight sea when 
 I was face to face with fotir ruffians and quelled 
 their mutiny ? Yon have already told me that it 
 was a hpld act." g 
 
 "Well, at least yon yean armed, and they 
 were flat," said Hilda, with unchanged scorn. , 
 
 "Enough," cried Gualtier, flashing a deeper ■ 
 and an angrier red. " I will argue with you no 
 more. I will yield to you this time. I 'will 
 leave the hotel and Lausanne. I will go to 
 England. He shall be under your care, and you 
 may do what youjchoose. i 
 
 " But remember this," he c<i|^ued, waming- 
 ly. "I have your promise, given to me solemn- 
 ly, and that .promise I will yet claim. This man 
 may recover ;f but, if he does, it will^,onIy be to 
 despise you. His abhorrence will be the only 
 reward that you can expect for your passion and 
 your mad self-sacrifice. But evep if it were 
 possible for him to love you — yes, to love you as 
 you Iqye him — even then you could not have 
 him. I'or I live ; and while I live you could 
 never be his. No, never. I have yohr promise, 
 and I will come between you and him to sundef 
 you forever apd to cast fcM down. That much, 
 at least, I can do, and you know it 
 ■ " And now farewell for the present. In any 
 event you will need me again. I shall go to 
 Chetwynde Castle, and wait there till I am 
 wanted. The time will yet come, orid that 
 soon, when you, wiH ogain wish my help. I 
 will gite yotf six mpritltp to try to carry out this 
 wild plan of yours. At f he end oft that time I / 
 shall iiave something to do and td say ; but I ex- j, 
 pect to be needed before then. Jf {'am needed, / 
 you may rely upon me as befor& I wjll foi^t 
 every injury and be as devoted as ever. " 
 
 With tfae^ oininoa|.word9 Gyaltier with- 
 drew. 
 , Hilda sank back' in her chair exhausted,* and ^ 
 
 heart. 
 
 At length she snigmoned her strength), and, 
 ffetng to lier fee^tgihe walked . feebly through 
 several rooms. , Finally she reached one which 
 wag darkened. '^ l)cd„wflg ihertr, on which Ikf 
 a flgurei' The flgnb was quite itiiotionless ; bnt 
 Mu heart told her who thift,m|ght be. 
 
 *f. 
 
 
 ». 
 
182 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 CHAPTEE LTV. 
 
 MUmBIHG *HE SICK. 
 
 The figure tet lay n|ion tb« bed as Hilda en- 
 tered the roooi sent a saock to her heart at the 
 first glance. Very different was this one from 
 that tall, Strom ^'^'^ ^'ho but lately, in all the 
 pride of maniT beauty and tnatured strength, 
 f)'^"^-- overawed uer br liis presence. , Wliat was he 
 now ? Wliere bow was all that virile force, and 
 strong, resistlea. nature, whose Avermastering 
 power she hac experiemed? Alns! but little 
 of it caDM be seen in this wasted and emaciated 
 figure uan now lay bemre her, seerftrt^ly at the 
 last verae of life. His features hnd grown thin 
 and acaonated, his lips were drawn tight over 
 his teetii, his face had the stamp oi -omethifig 
 like death upon it. He was sleepiTig fitfully, 
 but his eyes were only half closed. His thin, 
 bony hands moved restlessly about, und his lips 
 miutered inarticulate words from time to time. 
 Hilda placed her hand on his forcheiid. It was 
 cold and damp. The cold sent a ciiill through 
 every nen-e. She bent down low over him. 
 She devoured hiSn with her eyes. That face, 
 worn owoy by the progress of disease, that now 
 lay unconscious, and without n rav of intelli- 
 gence beneath her, was yet to her the best thing 
 in all the world, and the one for whica she woiUd 
 willingly give np the world. She stooped low 
 down. She pressed her li])3 to his cold fore- 
 head. An instant she hesitated, and then she 
 pressed her lips this time to the wliile lips that 
 were before her. The long, passionate kiss did 
 not wake the slumberer. He knew not that over 
 him was bending one who had once sent him to 
 death, but who now would give her own life to 
 bring him back from that death to which she had 
 sent him. 
 
 Such is tlje change which can be worked in 
 the basest nature by the power of almighty love. 
 Here it was made manifest. These lips had 
 once given the kiss of Judas. ()n this face of 
 hers tha Earl of Ch^twynde had gazed in hor- 
 ror ; and these hands of hers, that now touched 
 tremblingly the brow of the sick man, had once 
 wrought out on him that which would never be 
 mode known. But the lips which once gave the 
 kiss of Judas now gave that km which was the 
 outpouring of the devotion of all her stiiid, and 
 thesfe han(|8 wflre ready to deal death to herself 
 to rescue him from evil. She twined her arms 
 around his neck, and gazed at him as thougli her 
 longing gyes would devour every lineament of 
 his features. Again and again she pressed hel 
 lip to his, as though she would thus force t^fM 
 him life and health and strength. But the 
 sick man lay unconscious in her arms, all un- 
 heeding that full tide of passionate love which 
 was surging and swelling within her bo«om. 
 
 At butt footsteps arnuR«Ki her. A woman al- 
 tered. She walked uj the bedside and looked 
 with tender lympathy at Hilda Khe hnd heard 
 from Gretchen that this was l.»dy Chetwynde, 
 who had come to nurse her hnshand. 
 
 'Afeyot n l iB ii u i'» t >-!''"- i i nkt!d Hilda, whq-fe- 
 
 " Forgive me, my lady, if I say that yon ym0 
 self are in need of a nurse. Ysu will not be mi^ 
 to endure this fatigue. Yori look overworn now. 
 Will you not take some rest ?" 
 
 "No," said Hilda, shaiiply end decisively. '■ 
 
 "My lady," said the I nurse, "I will waicli 
 while you arc resting. " 
 
 " I shall not leave the room.'' *• 
 
 "Then, my lady, I will spread a mattress on 
 the sofa, and you may )ie dowi;." 
 
 "No, I imi best herfl by his side. Here I can 
 f^et the only rest and l!le only strength that I 
 want. I must Be near enough to touch his luin J 
 and to see his face. V Here I will stay." 
 
 " But, my lady, ydlf will breakcjown utierlv." 
 
 " No, I shall not break down. 3Fmi>11 be strong 
 enough to watCh him until he is eitllier better ov 
 worse. If ho gets better, he will bring me back 
 to health ; if he gets worse, I will accompany him 
 to the tomb." ,' 
 
 Hilda spoke denpOTately. Her ol3 self-contidl, 
 her reticence, and calm had departed. The niii>o 
 looked at her with a face full df sympatliy, niul 
 said rtot a word. The sight of this young and 
 bciutiful wife, herself so weak, so wan, anil vet 
 so devoted, so young ond beautiful, yet so wast- 
 ed and emaciated, whose only desire was to li\e 
 or die by the side of her husband, roused nil ilirf 
 feelings of her heart. To some Hilda's conduct 
 would have been unintelligible ; but this lione<t 
 Swiss nurse was kind-hearted and sentimental, 
 and the fer\id devotion and utter self-abnegation 
 of Hilda brought tears to her eyes. 
 
 "Ah, my lady," said she, " 1 see I shall soon 
 have two to nurse." 
 
 " Well, if you have, it will not be for long," 
 sakl Hilda. 
 
 The nurse sighed and was silent. 
 
 " May 1 remain, my lady, or shall I go? 'she 
 asked. 
 
 " You mav go just now. See how my maid 
 is doing, and if she wants any directions." . 
 
 The nurse retired, and Hilda was again alone 
 with the sick man. She sat on the bedside lean- 
 ing over him, and twined her arms about him. 
 There, as he lay, in his weakness and senseless- 
 ness, she saw her own work. It was she, and no 
 other, who haddoomed him to this. Too well had 
 her agent carried out the fatal commission which 
 she had given. As his valet he had had constant 
 access to the person of Lord Chetwynde, and had 
 used his opportunities well. She understood per- 
 fectly how it was that such a thing as this had 
 been brought about. Khe knew everf part of iho 
 dread process, and had read enough to know, the 
 inevitable results. 
 
 And now — would he live or die ? I.ifc was 
 low. Wouldit ever rally again? Had she come 
 in time to save him, or was it all too late ? The 
 Veproacbes which she hurled against herself were 
 now over^vlielihtng her, and these repivachei al- 
 ternated with feeliniinLpf intei^se tenderness Sli« 
 was weak from her own recent illnaos, fnmi the 
 unwonted fatigue «rhich she had endured, and 
 from the excitement of that recent interview with 
 
 tiuHlti e i. I ' liu g tUMi »nU tugg grand thy 
 by a thousand contending emotions, Hilda mt 
 there until at length weakness and fiitigue over- 
 powftred her. It seemed to her that a change 
 was ^omin|( over the face of the sick man. Sud- 
 denly he moved, and in such a way that \u» (aee 
 was turned fall toward hor as he lay on his side. 
 
 vined at one glance the character of the new- 
 comer, 
 
 "Y*, my lady." 
 
 " Well, I am to be the nnr$e after this, but I 
 should like you to remain. You can wait in one 
 of the ante-rooms," 
 
'no; 
 
 AM UCBT UEUB UV HI8 glUK. 
 
 At that moment it seemed to her that the worst 
 had come — that at last death himself had placed 
 his stamp there, and that there was now no more 
 hope. The horror of this fancy altogether over- 
 came her. She fell forward and sank down. 
 
 When at length the nurse returned she found 
 Hilda senseless, lying on the bed, with her arm 
 still under the bead of Lord Chetwynde. She 
 railed Gretchen, and the two made a bed on the 
 mix, where they lifted Hilda with tenderest care. 
 She lay long unconscious, but at lost she recov- 
 ered. Her flrst thoughts were full of bewilder- 
 ment, bat finally she comprehended the whole 
 situation. 
 
 Now at length she found that she had* been 
 wasting precious moments upon useless reflec- 
 tion8..and idle self-reproaches. If she had come 
 to save, that safety ought not tor bo delayed. She 
 hurriedly drew from her pocket a vial and opened 
 it. It was the same which she had obtained from 
 
 London druggisL ^^^he smeHcd it; imd then 
 ted it.;, After this she rose up, in spite of the 
 iolicitati()tis of the .nurse and Gretchen, and tot- 
 tered toward the bed with nnsteudy steps, sup- 
 ported by her attendants. Then she seated her- 
 •elf dn the bedside, and, asking for a spoon, slie 
 tried with a trembling hand to pour out some of 
 
 the mixture from the vial. Her hands Mhook 
 so that she could not. In despair she a&>wed 
 the nurse to administer it, while Gretchep sup- 
 ported her, seating herself behind her in Such a 
 way (hat Hilda could lean against her, and still 
 see the face of the sick man. In this position 
 she watched while the nurse put the liquid into 
 Lord Chetwynde's mouth, and saw hitovwallow 
 it. 
 
 " My lady, yon must lie down, or yon' will 
 never get over this," said the nurse, tiornestly, 
 and passing her arms arouiid Hilda, she gently 
 drew her hack to the sofu, assisted by Gretchen. 
 Hilda allowed herself to be moved back without 
 a word. For the remainder of that day she 
 watched, lying on her sofa, and gav^ directions 
 about the regular administration of the medicine. 
 At her request thev drew theSifa close up to the 
 bedside of Lord Chetwynde, ntid propped her up 
 high with pillo ws. There she lay weakly, with 
 her fnce^nied^luwitrdfaiin, snd liBr-hiBKl«l«8p^~ 
 ing his. • > 
 
 Night came, and Hilda still watched. Fatigue' 
 and weakness were fast overpowering hftr. 
 Against these she straggled bravely, and lay with 
 hQ[.eyes flxed on Lord Chetwynde. In.that sharp 
 exorcia^ of her senses^ \*tiieh'were all aroused in 
 
 ,»'», ■'. 
 
184 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 his behalf, she became At last nwai^ of tfa^ fact 
 that they were getting beyond her controL' Be- 
 fore her eyes, as she gazed upon this man, there 
 came other and different visions. SHe saw an- 
 other sick-bed, in a different room from this, with 
 another form stretched upon it — ^ form lilce thiS) 
 yet iinlilce, for it was older — a form with vener- 
 able gray hairs, with white, emaciated foce, and 
 with eyes full of fear and entreaty. At that 
 sight horror came over her. She tried to rouse 
 herself from the fearful state into which she was 
 drifting. She simimoned up all that remained of 
 her pliy!>ical and mental energy. The struggle 
 was severe. All things round her seemed to 
 change incessantly into the semblances of other 
 things ; the phantoms of a dead past — a dead but 
 not a forgotten paiSt^rowded' around her, and 
 ell ttte force of her will was unavailing to repel 
 them. She shuddered as she discovered the full 
 extent of her own weakness, and saw where she 
 was drifting. ^ Fbr she was drifting helplessly 
 into the realm of sliadowy memories ; 4nto the 
 place where the past holds its empire ; surround- 
 ed by all those forms which time and circttm^ 
 stance have rendered dreadful; forms from which 
 memory shrinks, at whose aspect the soul loses 
 all its strengtii. Ileret they were before her ; 
 kept back so long, they now crowded upon her;i 
 they asserted themselves, they forced themselvesl 
 before her in her weakness, 
 ed ; the strong, active intellect, which in healtl^ 
 had been so powerful, now, in her hour of weakf 
 ness, failed her. She struggled against thes« 
 horrors, but the struggle was unavailing, and a{k 
 last she yielded — she failed— she sank down headj- 
 long and helplessly into the abyss of forgotteh 
 things, into the thick throng of furifis and images 
 from Vhich for so long a time she had kept her- 
 self apart. 
 Now they came before her. | 
 
 The room changed to the old room at Chat- 
 wynde ( '«»tle. There wa§ the window lookihg 
 out ii|H)n <h(B park. There was the door openihg 
 mto the hall. Zillah'stQod there, pale and fear- 
 ful, bidding her good-liiglit. Theilg was "the bed 
 upon which lay the form of a venerable miin, 
 whose face was ever turned toward her with 
 its expressiim'bf fear, and of piteous entreajy. 
 "Don't leave me," he murmured to the phan- 
 tom form of Zillah. "Don't leave me with 
 her," and his thin finger pointed to hersejf. 
 But Zillah, Ignorant of all danger, promised Ito 
 send Mrs. Hart And Zillah walked out, stanld- 
 ing at the door for a time to give her last look]— 
 the loofc which the jrfiantom of this visibn n6w 
 had. Then, with a momentary glance, U»e 
 phantom figure of Zillah faded away, and oilly 
 the prostrate figure of the Earl appeared befdre 
 her, with the white face, and the venerable hair, 
 and the imploring eyes. ' 
 
 ^hen she walked to the window and Idbkled 
 o^; then she walked to the door aiid looksd 
 down the halL Silence was every where. ^lU 
 were asleep. No eye beheld her. Then she i e- 
 turned. She saw the white face of the sitk 
 s»n,^int^h«^inploring e^ eneonnteredlief bT 
 A);ain she walked to the wmdow ; then she went 
 to his bedside. T 
 
 ... She stooped down. His wlrito face was bi- 
 neath her, with the imploring eyes. She kissed 
 him. 
 
 "Judas I" 
 
 That was the soand that she beard — the last 
 sound-i-for soon in that ahhqrrent vision the 
 form of the dead lay before her, and around it 
 the household gathered; and Zillah sat there, 
 with a face of agony, looking up to her and say- 
 ing : 
 
 " I am the next victim !" / 
 
 Then all things were forgotten, ana innumer- 
 able forms and phantoms came confusedly to- 
 gether. 
 
 She was in delirium. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 SETTING A TBAP. 
 
 GuALTiER was true to^is word- On the even- 
 ing of the day when he had that interview 'with 
 Uilifa he left the hotel, and Lausanne also, and 
 set out for England. On the way he had much 
 to think of, and his thoughts were not at all 
 pleasant. This frenzy of Hilda's had taken him 
 by complete surprise, and her utter recklessness 
 of life, or all the things most desirable in life, 
 were -things on which he had iiever counted. 
 Her dark resolve also which she Jmd- announced 
 to him, the coolness with which she listened to 
 
 — , his mcnaces^aijd the stem way in which she 
 
 Her brain reel-| turned on hiTrTmth dvpnaces of her own, showed 
 him plainly that, for the present at least, she wa| 
 beyond his reach, and nothing which he might 
 do could in any way affect her. Only one thing 
 gave him hope, and that was the utter madness 
 and impossibility of her design. He did not 
 know what might have passed between her and 
 Lord ChUwynde before, but he conjectured that 
 she had Men treated with insult great enough to 
 inspire her with a thirst for vengeance. He now 
 hoped that Lord Chetwynde, if he did recov§r, - 
 would regard her as before. He was not ftirian 
 to change; his mind had b^n deeply imbit- 
 tered against the womjin whom he believed his 
 wife, and recovery of sense would not lesien that 
 bitterness. So Gualtier thought, and tried to 
 believe, jet*in his thoughts he also consideted 
 the possibility of a reconciliation. And, if such 
 a thing could take place, then his jnitid was fully' 
 made up what to do. He would trample oOt all 
 feel^gs of tenderness, and sacrifice love to full 
 and complete vengeance. That reconciliation 
 should be made short-lived, and should end in 
 utter ruin to Hilda, even if he himself descend- 
 ed into the same abyss with her. 
 
 Thoughts like these occupied his ndnd oncd 
 he reach^ Londoii. "llien he drove to the 
 Strand Hotel, and took two front-rooms on the 
 second -Story looking, out upon the street, com- 
 manding a view of the dense oi-owd that always 
 went thronging by.' ♦ 
 
 Here, on the evening of his arrivA}. his thoughts 
 turned to his old lodging-house, anq tQ Miose nn- 
 mCTous articles of vidue which he had teflf there. 
 Ho had once mode np Ms mii}4. to let ^em go, ' 
 and never ,seek to regfcin tiotsession w them. 
 MeTras romctomttiat to do bo xrortld'te to wp/"" 
 danger his safety, and perhapa to put a wafch-l 
 ful pursuer once more on his track. Ye^ then 
 was sorttethihg in the thought which was attract- 
 ive. Those articles Arere of great intrinsic value, 
 and some of them were precious souvenirs, of - 
 little worth to any one else,^yet tp him beyond 
 
 \ 
 
 -^ 
 
price. Would it not 'fie worth while to make an 
 effort/^t least to regain possession of themT" If 
 it cofild bo done, it ■would represent so much 
 money at the least, and that was a fhiag which 
 it was needful for him to consider. And, in any 
 case, those mementoes of the past were suffi- 
 ciently valuable to call for some effort and some 
 risk. The more he thought of this, the more re- 
 sistless became the temptation tajpake this effort 
 and run thjs risk. V^ 
 
 And what danger was there? NftVhat was the 
 risk, and what was there to fear? Jpnly one per- 
 son was in existence trom whom any danger 
 could possibly be apprehended. ITiat one was 
 Black Hill, who had tracked him to London^ 
 and afterward watched at his lodgings, and whom 
 he had feared so much that for his sake, and for 
 his alone, he had given up every thing. And 
 now tlie (juestion that arose was this, did Black 
 Bill really require so touch precaution, and so 
 great a sacrifice ? It was not likely that Black 
 Bill could Saw given any information to the 
 police ; that would have been too dangerous to 
 himself. Besides, if the police had hard of 
 such a story, they would have given some sign. 
 In England every thing is known, and the police 
 are forced to work openly.^ Their detective iws- 
 tem is n clumsy one compared with the vast sys- 
 tem of secrecy carried on on the Continent. Had 
 they found .out any thing whatever about so im- 
 portant a case as this, some kind of notice or oth- 
 er would have'JtJJpeared in the papers. Gualtier 
 had n^sr ceased to watch for some such notice, 
 but bdd never found one. So, with such opin- 
 ions about the English polled, he naturally con- 
 cluded that they knew nothing about him. 
 
 It was therefore Black Bill, and Black Bill 
 only, against whom he had to guj^rd. 'As for 
 him it was indeed possible, he th^ght, tha» he 
 was still watching, but ha^^dly probable. He was 
 not in a position to'spend so many months in 
 idle watching, nor was heable tp employ a con- 
 federate. Still less was it possible for such a 
 man to win the landlord over to his gide,.and 
 thns get his assistance. The more he thought 
 of these things the more useless did it seem to 
 entertain ■ any further fear, and the more irre- 
 - Bjstible did his desire become to regain posses- 
 sion of those articles, which to him were of so 
 much value. Ijtfler «uch circumBtancesy^ ho 
 finally resolved to make an effort. 
 
 Yet, so cautioiu was he by nature, so wary 
 and vigijknt, and so accustomed to be on his 
 ?nard, that in this case he determined to run no 
 risk by any exjws'ure of his person to observa- 
 tion. He therefore deliberated carefully about 
 various modes by which lie could apply to the 
 lamllord. At first he thought of a disguise ; but 
 nnally rejected this idea, thmking that, if Black 
 Bill were really watching, ho would expect some 
 kind of a disguise. At last he decided that it 
 »obM be safest to fifid «ome tind of a messen- 
 |w, «nd send him^a^er instructing him wljat (a 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 kind of messenger which Would be best suited to 
 hi% and was unwilling to take any other. 
 
 Among the multitude which London holds 
 almost any type of man can be found, if one looks 
 long enough. The one which Gualtier wished is 
 a common kind there, and he did not have a long 
 search. A street boy, sharp, quick-witted, nim- 
 ble^ cunning— that was what he wanted, and that 
 was what hb found, after regarding many differ- 
 ent specimens of that tribe aud rejecting ^icm 
 The boy whom he selected was somewhat less 
 ragged than his companions, with a demure face 
 which, however, to His scrutinizing eyes, did not 
 conceal tlie precocious maturity of mind and fer- 
 tility of resource which lay beneath. A few 
 words sufficed to explain his wish, and the boy 
 eagerly accepted the task. Gualtier then took 
 him to a cheap clothing store, and had him dressed 
 in clothes- which gave him the appearance of 
 being the son of some gfnall tradesman. After 
 this he took,him to his room in the hotel, and 
 carefully instructed him in the part that he Was 
 to perform. , The boy's wits were quickened by 
 London Mfe; the promise of a handsome reward 
 quickened them still more, and at length, after 
 a final questioning, in which he did his part to 
 satisfaction, Gualtidr gave him the address of 
 the lodging-house. 
 
 ''I am going we8t,"soid he; "I will be back 
 befbre eight oclock. You must come at eieht 
 exactly." 
 
 " Yes V," said the bpy. 
 
 "Very well. Ng^o." And the boy^'^with 
 a bob of his heod, tj^^is departure. 
 
 The boy went ofj^iffia at length reached the 
 place which Gimltier hadindicated. He rane at 
 the door. ''" \ * 
 
 A servant came. 
 
 "IsthisMr. Gillis's?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Islfoin?" \,t • 
 
 " Do you want to seeliiint'' - 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What for?" > \ 
 
 "Particular business." . 
 
 " Come in," said the servant ; and the bov en- 
 tered the hall and Waited. In a. few mbments 
 Mr. Gillis made his appearance. He regarded ' 
 the boy carefully from head,±d foot. . 
 
 ">Como into the p«i!lef>"»aid be, leading the 
 way mto a room on thjljght. The boV followed, 
 and Mr. Gillis shut tUWoor. 
 
 "Well," said he, seating himself, "what is it 
 that you want of me ?" 
 
 "My father," said the boy, "is a grocer in 
 Blackwall. He got a letter this morning from 
 afne^d of his who stopped'here some time back. 
 He had to»go to America «f a sudden and lef^ , 
 
 Mk for and what to W. 
 
 -^ tj''!! resolte^Jie-took a walk q u i, »ii me 
 W«l o« the follqwing morning, looking cnre- 
 jm M the faces of the «reat multitude which 
 tronged the street, and trying to find s^me one 
 ij"'^' be suited to his patj>o8e. " In that 
 erowd there were many who would have gladly 
 ,™*r'«'ten •»« busitoeiw if Ji&had asked them, 
 ■Bt Gualtier hod made np his mind ela to the 
 
 his things 
 "Ah! , 
 
 of the lod{ 
 "Mr. 
 " Brown 
 
 such a lodgei 
 
 to get 'em.',, 
 Willis. ''*T\*!uit is tte name 
 
 iid thfthofi •• » 
 . Cls Gillis. " Yes, there was 
 iij^f, bill I don't know jaboui 
 
 , things. *jn wWt^herra-Tnmnent till I g5 
 Mid ask Mrs. GJIIis.wv 
 
 V Saying this^r. 
 about fifteen rtrtwe 
 
 "Well, my boy;*__^ 
 things of Mr. Brown's h« 
 you have come for thi 
 on?" 
 
 the> room. After 
 IS he rettti-ned. 
 
 1 there are some 
 I believe; and 
 
 Ave( you a wag- 
 
..'v-jsr-i ;• 
 
 'It. ■ 
 
 JSC ' 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 CAUEFUI4.Y ISSTUUCTEU HIM IS THE PART HE WA8 TO IfKRFOUM. 
 
 "No. I only come to see if they, were here, 
 and to get your bill." 
 
 "And vour father is Mr. Brown's friend ?" 
 
 "Yes'r." , 
 
 "And Mr. Brown wrote to him?" 
 
 "Yes'r." 
 '. " Well, you know I wouldn't like to give up 
 the things on nn uncertainty. They are very 
 rnluablc. I would require some order from 
 your father." -^ ' 
 
 "Yes'r." 
 
 Mr. Gillis asked a number of questions of the 
 boy, to which he responded without hesitation, 
 and then left the room again, saying that hf 
 \vould go and i^ake out Mr. Brown's bill. 
 
 lie WAS gone a long time. The boy amused 
 himself by staringatthe things in the room, at the 
 .ornaments, and pictju^-Mtu began to think that 
 Mr. Gillis was neVer ooming.back, when at last 
 1: jfootstftpsivere heard in thehall, thedoor opened, 
 , Wd Mr. Gillis entered, followed by two other 
 *men. Oius^of thefte men had the face of a prize- 
 fighter, 0/ a ticket-of-leave man, with abundance 
 , Of black hair and beard ; his eyes were black and 
 piercing, and his face was the same which has 
 alreojdy been described its the face of Black Bill. 
 Bot' he was respectably Aressed in black, he 
 
 wore a beaver hat, and had -lost something of l)is 
 desperate air. The fact is, the police had taken 
 Black Bill into their employ, and he was doing 
 very weH in his new occupation. The other wfls 
 a sharp, wiry man, with a cunning face and n 
 restless, fidgety manner. Both he and Black 
 Bill looked crfrefuUy at the boy, and at length 
 the sharp man spoke : t 
 
 ' ' You young rascal, do you know who I am ?" 
 
 The boy started and looked aghast, terriftcd 
 by such ftn address. 
 
 " No, Sir," he whimpered. 
 
 ' ' Well, I'm Thomas S. Davis, detective. Do 
 you nniderstand what that means ?" 
 ' " Yes 'r," said the boy, whoso self-possession 
 completely vanished at so fortoidablo on an- 
 nouncement. 
 
 "Come now, yoiing fellow," said DaMS, 
 "you've got to own up. Who are you ? ' 
 
 '-M'lH the son of Mr. B. F . B ak e r, groceiv^ 
 Blackwall," said the boy, in a quick monotone. 
 
 "What street?" 
 
 " Queen Street, No. 17," said the bd>'. 
 ' " There ain't no such street." 
 
 "There is, 'cos he lives there." 
 "You young rascal, don't y 
 
 know?" 
 
 you suppose I 
 
 --S* 
 
 .U .*^.' 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 "Well, t onght^ft know the place wheie I was 
 bred end bomd," Haid the boy. 
 
 " You're a young scamp. You needn't try to 
 coroo it over me, you know. Why, I know 
 Blackwall by heart. There isn't such a street 
 there. Who sent you here ?" 
 
 "Father." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " He got a letter from a man as used to stop 
 here, askii)' of him to get his things away." 
 
 " What is the name of the riian ?" 
 
 "Mr. Brown." 
 
 " Brown ?" 
 
 "Yea'r." 
 
 " Where is tliis Mr. Brown now ?" 
 
 "In Liverpool." 
 
 " How did he get there ?" 
 
 " lie's just come back from America." 
 
 "Seo here, boy, you've got to own up," said 
 Davis, suddenly. "I'm a detective. We be- 
 long to the police, tjo make a clean breast of 
 it." 
 
 "Oh, Sir!" said the boy, in terror. 
 
 "Never mind 'Oh, Sir!' but own up," said 
 Davis. "You've got to do it." 
 
 " I ain't got nothin' to own up. Km sure 1 
 don't see why you're so hard on a poor cove as 
 never did you no harm, nor nobody else." 
 
 And saying this the boy sniveled violently, 
 
 "I s'pose your dear maiAttia dressed you up 
 in your Sunday clothes to come here ?" said the 
 detective, sneeringly. 
 
 "No, Sir," said the boy, "she didn't, 'cos 
 Bbe's dead, she is." 
 
 " Why didn't your father come himself?" 
 
 " 'Cos he's too busy in his shop." 
 
 "Did you ever hear the name of this Brown 
 before to-day ?" « 
 
 "No, "Sir, never as I knows on." 
 
 " But you said he is a friend of your father's." 
 
 "So he is, Sir." 
 
 " And you never heard his name before ?" 
 
 " Never, Sir, in rtiy life. Sir— not this Brown." 
 
 " Is your father a religious man ?" 
 
 " A what, Sir ?" 
 
 "A religious man." 
 
 "Idunno, Sir." i 
 
 "Does he go to church?" ^ v. 
 
 "Oh, yss'r, to meetin' on Sundays." 
 . "What" meeting?" 
 
 "Methodist, Sir." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "At No. 13 King Street," said the boy, with- 
 out a moment's hesitation. 
 
 " YdU young jackass, "said Davis. " No. 1 3 
 Kfiig Street, and all the numbers near it in 
 Blackwall, are warehouses— what's the use of 
 ttying to humbug me?" 
 
 " Who's a-trym' to humbug you ?" whimpered 
 the boy. " I don't remember the numbers. It's 
 somewhere in King Street. I never go myself." 
 
 " You don't, don't jou ?" 
 
 "No^Sir." 
 
 ''Now^jee here, my boy," said Davis, stem- 
 «f, "TknowyoK Yrni can t come it over me. 
 You've got into a nice mess, you have. You've 
 got mixed in with a conspiracy, and the law's' 
 goin' to take hold of you at once unless you 
 nwke a clean breast of "it." 
 
 i^Oh Lord!" cried the 
 Whntamla-doin'of?" 
 - " Nonsense, you young rascal ! Listen to me 
 
 187 
 Do yon know any thing 
 
 boy. "Stop that. 
 
 now, and answer me. 
 about this Brown ?" 
 
 " No, Sir. Father sent me." 
 ' "Well, then, let me tell you the police are 
 after him. He's afraid to coifle here, and sent 
 you. Don't vou go and get mixed up with him. 
 If you do, it 'II be JMM for you. This Brown 
 IS the biggest viU|^pi the kingdom, and any 
 man that cntchoMBf 'II make" his blessed for- 
 tune. We're on ma tracks, and we're bound to 
 follow him up. So tell mo the truth — where is 
 he now ?" 
 
 "InLivei-pool, Sir." \ 
 
 " You lie, you young devil IButJ^f you don't 
 own up, it 'II be worse for you." - 
 
 " How's a poor cove like mo to kiiow ?" crieJf-' 
 the boy. " 1 m the son of a honest man, and I 
 don't know any thing about your police. " 
 
 "You'll know a blessed sight more about it 
 before you're two hours older, if you go on hum- 
 buggin us this fashion," said Davis, sternly. 
 
 "I ain't a-humbuggin'." 
 
 " You are— and I won't stand it. Como new. 
 Brown is a murderer, do you hear ? There's a 
 reward otlered for him. He's got to be caught. 
 You've gone and mixed yourself up with this 
 business, and you'll never get out of the scrape 
 till yon make a clean breast of it. That's all 
 bosh about your father, you know." 
 
 "It ain't," said the boy, obstinately. 
 
 "Very well, then,"said' Davis, rising. "You've 
 gfl to go with us. Well go first to Blackwall, 
 and, by the Lord, if we can't find your father, 
 we'll take it out of you. You'll beput inflie jug 
 for ten yoars, and you'll have to tell after all. 
 Come along now. " 
 
 Davis grasped the boy's hand tightly and took' 
 him out of the room. A cab was at the door. 
 Davis, Black Bill, and the boy got into it and 
 drove along through the streets. The boy was 
 silent and meditative. At last he spoke : 
 
 " It's no use goin' to Blackwall," said he, sulk- 
 ily. " I ain't got no father." 
 
 "Didn't I know that?" said Davis. "You 
 were lying, you know. Are you goin' to own 
 up ?" ^ 
 
 "I s'pose I must." 
 
 " Of course you must." ''^ 
 
 " W«ir, will you let me go if I tell you t/ll?" 
 
 "If you tell all we'll let yqu go sometime, but 
 we will want you for a while yet." 
 
 "Well," said the boy, "I can't help it. I 
 s'pose I've got to tell." 
 
 "Of course you have. And now, first, who 
 sent you here? 
 
 "Mr. Brown." 
 
 " Ah I Mr. BnJwn himself. Where did you 
 see him ?" 
 
 '■'In the Strand." 
 
 "Did you ever see him before?" 
 
 " No. He picked mV^p, ajidi 
 
 " Do vou knoW where fiirlslodgiii 
 
 "Yes'-r." 
 Where?" 
 
 here.' 
 
 " At the Strand Hotel. He to 
 room and told me what I was ti 
 know any thing about him or his 
 only went on an errand. " 
 
 '"Of course you did," said Davis, encourag- 
 ingly. " And, if you tell the truth, vou'U be aft 
 right; but if you try to humbug us,'' he added, 
 sternly, " it '11 be the woi-se for you. Don't you 
 
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188 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 go and mix yonrself np in a murder case. I 
 don't want any thing more of you than for yoo 
 to take us to this man's room. You were to see 
 him again to-day — of coarse." 
 
 "Yes'r." * 
 
 "At what time?" 
 
 " Kight o'clock. 
 
 "Well— it's now four. You take us to hiS) Jiight from her own couch, until at last she had 
 
 rkfn Otlfl IVaMI UraSf t1./..>A " ' Ina* nn«a.»! ..^ . 1 ^ -11 1 ^ ■ . . 
 
 room, and we'll wait there. 
 
 Tlie boy assented, and tlie cab drove off for 
 the Strand Hotel. 
 
 The crowd in front of the hotel was so dense 
 that it was some time before the cab could ap- 
 proach the entrance. At last they reached it 
 and got out, Black Bill first, and then Davis, 
 who still held the hand of the boy in a tight 
 grasp, fur fear that he might try to escape. 
 They then worked their way through the crowd 
 and entered the hotel. Davis said something to 
 the clerk, and then they went up stairs, guided 
 by the boy to Goaltier's room. 
 
 On entering it no one was there. Davis went 
 into the adjoining bedroom, but fonnd it empty. 
 A carpet-bag was lying on the floor open. On 
 examining it Davis found only s shaving-case 
 and some changes of linen. 
 
 " We'll wait here," said Davis to Black BiU, 
 as he re-entered the sitting-room. " He's out 
 now. He'll be back at eight to see the boy. 
 We've got him at last." 
 
 And then Black Bill spoke for the first time 
 since the boy had seen him. A grim smile 
 spread over his hard features. 
 
 " Yit," said he, ^' we've got him at last!" 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 AT HIS BEDSIDE. 
 
 tf EANWHiLB Hilda's position was a hard one. 
 Days passed on. The one who came to act as 
 a nurse was herself stricken down, as she had al- 
 ready been twice before. They carried her away 
 to another room, and Gretchen devoted herself 
 to her care. Delirium come on, and all the past 
 lived again in the fever-tossed mind of the suf- 
 ferer. Unconscious of the real world in which 
 she lay, she wandered in a world of phantoms, 
 where the well-remembered forms of her past life 
 surrounded her. Some delirinms are pleasant. 
 All depend upon the ruling feelings of the one 
 upon whom it is fixed. But here the ruling feel- 
 ing of Hilda was not of that kind which could 
 bring happiness. Her distracted mind wandered 
 again through those scenes through which she 
 had passed. Her life at Chetwj-nde, with all its 
 later horrors and anxieties, came bock before her. 
 Again and again the vision of the dying Earl tor- 
 mented her. What she said these foreign nurses 
 heard, but understood not. They soothed her 
 as best they might, and stood aghast at her suf- 
 ferings, but were not able to^jMlfiy thing to al- 
 leviate them. **"**i0ffijnr*"'"""**i her mind 
 turned to the ofgnnBfS of the last few days 
 
 Flo cne DeosKK 
 
 Meanwhile, as Hilda lay senseless. Lord Chet- 
 wynde hovered between 'life and death. The 
 physician who had attended him came in on the 
 morning after Hilda's arrival, and learned from 
 the nurse that Lady Cbetwynde had come snd- 
 deidy, more dead than alive, and was herself 
 struck down by fever. She had watched him nil 
 
 of Lord Chetwvnde ; again the anguish of sus- 
 pense' devoured her, as she struggled against 
 Weakness to reach him ; and again she felt over- 
 whelmed by the shock of the first sight of the 
 lick. man, on whom she thought that ane saw the 
 stamp of death. >., 
 
 lost consciousness ; but all her soul seemed bent 
 ^n.one thing, and that was that a certain medi- 
 cine should be administered regularly to Lord 
 Chetwynde. The doctor asked to see it. He 
 smelled it and tasted it. An expression of-horror 
 passed over his face. 
 
 ' ' My God ! " he murmured. " I did not dare 
 to suspect it! It must bo so !" « 
 
 "Where is Lord Chetwynde's valet?" he 
 asked at length, after a thoughtful pause. 
 
 "I don't know, Sir," said the nurse. 
 
 "He always is here. I don't see him now." 
 
 " I haven't seen him since Lady Chetwynde's 
 arrival." 
 
 "Did my Iddy see him ?" 
 
 "I think she did. Sir." 
 
 " Yo)» don't know what passed?" 
 
 ' ' No, Sir. Excent this, that the valet hurried 
 out, looking very pffle, and has not been ^ack 
 since. " 
 
 "Ah!" murmured the doctor to himself. 
 "She has suspected something, and has come 
 on. The volet has fled. Could this scoundrel 
 have been the guilty one ? Who else could it be ? 
 And he has fled. I never liked his looks. He 
 had the face of a vampire. " 
 
 The doctor took away some of the medicine 
 with him, and at the same time he took with 
 him one of the gksses which stood on a table 
 near the bed. Some liquid remained in it He 
 took these away to subject them to chemical 
 analysis. The result of that analysis served to 
 confirm his suspicions. When he next came he 
 directed the nurse to administer the antidote 
 regularly, and left another mixture also. 
 
 Lord Chetwynde lay between life and death. 
 At the last verge of mortal weakness, it would 
 have needed but a slight thing to send him out 
 of life forever. The only encouraging thing 
 about him for many days was that he did not 
 get worse. From this fact the doctor gained en- 
 couragemenlt though ho still felt that the case 
 was desperate. What suspicions he had formed 
 he kept to himself. 
 
 Hilda, msanwhile, prostrated br this new at- 
 tack, Ittf helpless, consumed by the fierce fever 
 which noted in all her veins. FiercerSaid fiercer 
 it grew, until she reached a critical point, where 
 her condition was more perilouH than that of 
 Lord (^hetwynde himself. But, in spite of all 
 that she bad suffered, her constitution was 
 strong. Tender hands were at her service, kind- 
 ly hearts sympathised with her, and the doctor, 
 whose nature was stirred to its depths by pity 
 and compassion for this beautiful stranger, who 
 had thus fallen under the power of so mysterious 
 a calamity, tws miwmlwng In his attentioni. . 
 'ITw crisisof tha fc»Br cama, WRMirdnriilglii, ^"^ 
 while it lasted, he staid with hor, listening to her 
 disconnected ravings, and nndeistinding enough 
 ofwem to perceive that her fiincy was bringing 
 back before her that journey from England to 
 Lausanne, whose fiitigues and anxieties hod i«> 
 doced her to this. 
 
 ;-,^^;a:>- 
 
Mjr God !" cri«a the doctor, u acme sharper 
 lamentation bant firom Hilda; " it would be bet- 
 ter for Lord Chetwynde to die than to survive a 
 wife like this^" 
 
 With the morning the crisis had passed, ahd, 
 thanks to the doctor's care, the result was favor- 
 able. Hilda fell into a profound sleep, but the 
 fever had left her, and tne change was fur the 
 better. 
 
 When the doctor letqmed once more he found 
 her awake, withont fever, yet very feeble. 
 
 "My lady, "said he. "yon must be more care- 
 ful of yourself for the sake of others. Lord Chet- 
 wynde is weak yet, and though his symptoms ar^ 
 favorable, yet he requires the greatest care." 
 
 "And do you have hope of him ?" asked Hilda, 
 eagerly. This was the one thought of her mind. 
 f' I do have hope," said the doctor. 
 Hilda looked at him gratefully. 
 " At present," said the doctor, "yon must not 
 think or talk about any thing. Above all, you 
 most restrain your feelings. It is your anxiety 
 about Lord Chetwynde that is killing you. Save 
 yourself for his sake." 
 
 "But may I not be carried into his room?" 
 pleaded Hilda, in imploring tones. 
 
 "No ; not to-day. Leave it to me. Believe 
 -me, my lady, I am anxious for his recovery and 
 for yours. His recovery depends most of all 
 upon you." 
 
 " Ym," said Hilda, in a faint voice; "far more 
 than you know. There is a medicine which he 
 must have." 
 
 "He has been taking it through all his sick- 
 ness. I have not allowed that to be neglected," 
 laid the doctor. 
 
 ^. " You have administered that ?" 
 L^ " Most certainly. It is his only hope." 
 i " "And do you understand what it is?" 
 
 " Of course. More— I understand what it in- 
 volves. But do not fear. The danger has passed 
 now. Do not let the anguish of such a discovery 
 torment you. The danger has passed. He is 
 weak now, and it is only his weakneia that I have 
 to contend with." 
 " You understand all, then ?" repeated Hilda. 
 " Yes, all. But yon must not speak about it 
 now. Have 6onftdence in me. The fact that I 
 understand the disease will show you that I 
 know how to deal with it. It baffled me before ; 
 but, as soon as I saw the medicine that yon gave! 
 J suspected and understood." 
 Hilda looked at him with awful inquiir. 
 "Be calm, my lady," said the doctor, in a 
 sympathetic voice. " The worst is over. You 
 Iwve saved him." 
 
 " Sav that again," said Hilda. " Have I, in- 
 deed, done any. thing? Havd* I, indeed, saved 
 hmi? 
 
 "Most nndonbtedlv. Had it not been for 
 yon he would br this time have l>een in the 
 other world," said the doctor, solemnly. 
 Hilda drew a deep sigh. 
 "That is some consoUtion," iha said, in a 
 mournful voice. 
 
 You are too w ea k now to twlK " bftnt '^W 
 
 THE CBYFTOGRAAL 
 
 189 
 
 iiet me assure yon again that you have every 
 wason for hope. In a few dars yon may be re- 
 moved to his apartment, where your lo^-e and 
 devotion will soon meet with their reward." 
 
 ..»"?'".'"•.*'"" th«*»g,"askB>UIUda, earoeatly. 
 It Lord Chetwynde still delirioua r 
 
 t'es— but only sli^tly so. It is more like 
 a quet sleep than any thing else ; and, while he 
 sleeps^ the medicines are performing their appro- 
 priate effect upon him. Every thing is progress- 
 ing favorably, and when he regains his senses he 
 will be changed very much for the better. Hut 
 now, my lady, you must think no more about it. 
 Try and get some, sleep. Be as calm in your 
 mind as yott tan until to-morrow." 
 And with these words the doctor left. 
 On the following day he came again, but re- 
 fused to speak on the subject of Lord Chet- 
 wynde's illness; he merely assured Hilda that 
 he was still in an encouraging condition, and 
 told her that she herself must keep calm, so that 
 her recovery miglit be more rapid. For sevei-al 
 days he forbade a renewal of the subject of con- 
 versation, with the intention, as he said, of spar- 
 ing her e\-ery thing which might agitate her. 
 Whether his preeautions were wise or not may 
 be doubted. Hilda sometimes troubled herself 
 with fapcies that the doctor might, perhiips, sus- 
 pect aH the truth ; and though she succeeded in 
 dismissing the idea as absurd, yet the trouble 
 which she experienced from it was sufficient to 
 agitate her in many ways. That fever-hanfited 
 land of delirium, out of which she had of kte 
 emerged, was still near enough to throw over her 
 soul its dark and terrific shadows. It needed 
 but a slight word from the doctor, or from any 
 one else, to revive the accursed memories of an - 
 accursed past. 
 
 Several days passed away, and, in spite of her 
 anxieties, she grew stronger. The longing which 
 she felt to see Lord Chetwynde gave strength to 
 her resolution to grow stronger ; and, lis once 
 before, her ardent will seemed to swav the func- 
 tions of the body. The doctor noticed this 
 steady increase of strength one day, and prom- 
 ised her that on the following day she «houId be 
 removed to Lord Chetwyndes room. She re- 
 ceived this intelligence with thirdeepest itrati- 
 tude. ^ "^ ' 
 
 " Lord Chetvvynde's symptoms," continued the 
 doctor, ' ' are still favorable. He is no longer in 
 delirium, but in a kind of gentle sleep, which is 
 not so \*M defined bs ^ be a stupor, but is vet 
 stronger thMi fth ordinary sleep. The medic'ipe 
 which is being administered has this effect. 
 Perhaps yoii Ire aware of this ?" 
 Hilda bowed. 
 "I was told so." 
 
 "Will yon allow me to ask how it was that 
 you obtained that particuUr medicine?" he ask- 
 ed. " Do you know what it involves ?" 
 
 " Yee," said Hilda ; " it is only too well known 
 to me. The horror of this well-nigh killed me. " 
 " How did you discover it— or how did yon 
 suspect it?" 
 
 Hilda answered, withont a moment's hesita- 
 tion: 
 
 "The snddenneu of Lord Chetwynde's dis- 
 ease ahtrmed me. His valet wrote about his 
 symptoms, and these terrified me still more. I 
 hurried up to London and showed his report to 
 A UMuiiin txfhmn pliysKiaii. '"vxe looked^sfaixTlt^^ 
 od, asked me much about Lord Chetwynde's 
 health, and gave me this medicine. I suspected 
 fW>m his manner what he feared, though he did 
 not express his fiiar in words. In short, jt seem- 
 ed to me, from what he said, that this medicine 
 waa the ontitlote to tomepoUbn." 
 
 ikY,i^i:/^'jLi.j^.2j.^.'^J^^i^i7>:.\ 
 
 
. 190 ' 
 
 "Yon are right," gaid the doctor, lolemnly'; 
 and then he remained silent for a long time. 
 
 " Do you suspect any one ?" he asked at last 
 
 Hilda sighqd, and slowly taid : 
 
 "Yes— I do. " 
 
 "Who is the one?" 
 
 She paused. In that moment there were 
 struggling within her thoughts which the doctor 
 did not imagine. Should she be so base as to 
 •ay what was in her mind, or should she not? 
 That was the question. But rapidly she pushed 
 aside all scruples, and in a low, stem voice she 
 said: 
 
 "I suspect his valet." 
 
 " I thought so," said the doctor. " It could 
 have been no other. But he must have had a 
 motive. Can you imagine what motive there 
 could have been ?" 
 
 "I know it only too well," said Hilda, 
 "though I did not think of this till it was too 
 late. He was injured, or fancied himself injured, 
 by Lord Chetwynde, and liis motive was venge- 
 ance." 
 
 "And where is he now?" asked the doctor. 
 
 "He was thunder-struck by my appearance. 
 He saw me nearly dead. He helped me np to 
 his master's room. I charged him with his 
 crime. , He tried to felter out a denial. In inm. 
 He waS crushed beneath the over^vhelming sur- 
 prise. He hurried out abruptly, and has fled, I 
 suppose forever, to some distant country. As 
 for me, I forgot all about him, and fainted away 
 ' by the bedside of my husband." 
 
 The doctor sighed heavjiy, and wiped a tear 
 from his eye. . if 
 
 He had never known so sad a case as this. 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 BACK TO LIFE. 
 
 On the next day, according to the doctor's 
 promise, Hilda was taken into Lord Chetwynde's 
 room, t^he was much stf'onger, and the new- 
 fpund hope which she possessed of itself gave her 
 increased vigor. She was carried in, and gently 
 hiid upon the sofa, which had been rolled up 
 close by the bedside of Lord Chetwynde. Her 
 first eager look showed her plainly that during 
 the interval which had elapsed since she saw him 
 last a great improvement had taken place. He 
 was still unconscious, but his unconsciousness 
 was that of a deep, sweet sleep, in which pleasant 
 dreams had taken the place of delirious fancies. 
 His face had lost its aspect of horror ; there was 
 no longer to be seen the stamp of death ; the lips 
 were full and red; the cheeks were no longer 
 simken ; the dark circles had passed away from 
 around the eyes ; and the eyes themselves were 
 now closed, as in sleep, instead of havingthat half- 
 open appearance which before was so terrible 
 and so deathlike. The chill damp had left his 
 forehead. It was the face of one who is sleeping 
 in pleasant slumlwr, instead of the face of one 
 who was sinking rapidly into the realm where 
 the sleep is et ernal. All this Hilda saw at the 
 tint ginnce. 
 
 Her heart thrilled within her at the rapture 
 of that-discovery. The danger was over. 'I'he 
 crisis had passed. Now, whether he lay there 
 for a longer or a shorter period, his recovery at 
 
 last was certain, as far as any thing human and 
 mortal can be certain. Now her eyes, as fliey 
 tamed toward him, devoured him with all their 
 old eagerness. Since she had seen him last she 
 too had gone down to the gates of death, and 
 she had come back again to take her place at 
 his side. A strange joy and a peace that passed 
 all nnderstanding arose within her. She sent 
 the nurse out of the room, and once more was 
 alone with this man whom she loved. His face 
 was turned toward her. She flung her arms 
 about him in passionate eagerness, and, weak as 
 she was, she bent down her lips to his. Uncon- 
 scious he lay there, but the touch of his lips wns 
 now no longer lijse the touch of death. 
 
 She herself seemed to gain new strength from 
 the sight of him as he thus lay in that manly 
 beauty, which, banished for a time, had now re- 
 tumed again. She lay there on her sofa by his 
 bedside, and held his hand in both of hers. She 
 watched his ^ce, and scanned every one of those 
 noble lineamehts, which now lay before her with 
 something like their natural beaitty. 'Hopes 
 arose within her which brought new strength 
 every moment. This was the Jfe vriiich she had 
 saved. Sheforgot— did not choose to think— that 
 she had doomed this life to death, an/i chose 
 only to think that she had saved it from death. 
 Thus she thought that, when Lord Chetwynde 
 came forth out of his senselessness, she would 
 be the first object that would meet his gaze, and 
 he would know that he had been saved from 
 death by her. 
 
 Here, then, she took np her place by his bed- 
 side, and saw ho^^ry day he grew better. 
 Evety day she he|||^BHined her old streneth, 
 and could at lend^^Htbout the room, though 
 she was still thi'alM|lble. So the time pass- 
 ed ; and in th« room the one who first escaped 
 from the jaws'^f death devoted herself to the task 
 of assisting, the other. 
 
 At last, one morning as the sun rose. Lord 
 Chetwynde waked. He looked around the room. 
 
 £e lifted himself up on his elbow, and saw Hil- 
 i asleep 6n the sofa near his bed. He felt be- 
 wilfjered at this strange and unexpected figure. 
 How did she get here? A dim remembrance 
 of his long sickness suggested itself, and he had 
 a vague idea of this figure attending upon him. 
 But the ideas and remembrances were too shsd' 
 owy to be grasped. The room he remembered 
 partially, for this was the roopi in which he ha^ 
 sunk down into this last sickness at Lausanne. 
 But the sleeping form on the sofa-puzzled him. 
 He had seen her last at Chetwynde. What was 
 she doing here? He scanned her narrowly, 
 thinking that he might be mistaken from some 
 chance resemblance. A further examination, 
 however, showed that he was correct. Yes, this 
 was "his wife," ret how changed! Pale as 
 death was that face; those features were tBln 
 and attenuated ; the eyes were closed ; the hair 
 hung in black masses 'round the marble brow; 
 an expression of sadness dwelt^ there; and in 
 her fitful, broken slumber *he sighed hearilv. 
 He looked at her long and stcadfusily, and then 
 jank wearily down upon the pillows, btit still 
 kept his eyes fixed upon this woman whom he 
 saw there. How did she get here ? What was 
 she doing? What did it all mean? His re- 
 membrance could not supply him with facts 
 which might answer this question. He conU 
 
not understand, and so he lay there in bewUdep- 
 ment, making feeble conjectures. 
 
 When Hilda opened her eyea the first thing 
 that she saw was the face of Lord Chetwynde, 
 whose eyes were fixed upon hers. She started 
 and looked confused ; but amidst her confusion 
 an expression of joy darted across her face, 
 ■' which was evident and manifest to Lord Chet 
 wyndo. It was joy— eager, vivid, and intense ; 
 joy mingled with surprise ; and her eyes at last 
 rested on him with mute inquiry. 
 
 "Are you at last awake, my lord ?" she mur- 
 mured. " Are yon out of your stupor ?" 
 
 " 1 suppose so," said Lord Chetwynde. " But 
 I do not understand this. I think I must be in 
 Lausanne. " 
 
 T, ." T^i.y"" ""^ '" Lausanne, my lord, at the 
 Hotel Gibbon. 
 
 "The Hotel Gibbon?" repeated Lord Chet- 
 wynde. 
 
 "Yes. Has your memory returned vet ?" 
 < "Only partiany. I think I remember the 
 journey hero, but not \erj well. I hardly know 
 where I came from. It must have been Baden. " 
 And he tried, but in rain, to recollect. 
 
 "You went from Frankfort to Baden, thence 
 to Munich, and from Munich you came here " 
 
 "Yes," said Lord Chetwynde, slowly, as he 
 began to recollect. "You are right. I begin 
 to remember. But I have been ill, and I was ill 
 at all these places. How long have I been here*" 
 
 "five weeks." F 
 
 "Good God!" cried Lord Chetwynde. "Is 
 It possible ? I must have been senseless all the 
 time. 
 
 " Yes, this is the first timd that you have come 
 to your senses, my lord." 
 
 '^ I can scarcely remember any thing." 
 
 "Will you take your medicine now. i*v 
 lord ? •' 
 
 "My medicine?" 
 
 "Yes," said Hilda, sitting up and taking a 
 vial from vthe table; "the doctor order«33 this 
 to be given to you when you came out of vour 
 itnpor. ^ 
 
 " Where is my nune ?" asked Lord Chetwynde. 
 abruptly, after a short but thoughtful silence. 
 
 She IS here, my lord. She wante to do your 
 bidding. I am your nurse." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 "Yes, my lord. And no\t— do not speak, 
 btit take your medieihe," said Hilda; aiid she 
 poured out the mixture into a wine-glass and 
 handed it to him. j 
 
 He took it mbchanically, and without a word 
 and then his head fell back, and he lay in silenci 
 lor a long time, trying to recall his scattered 
 thoughts. While he thus lay Hilda reclined on 
 the sofa in perfect silence, motionless yet watch- 
 ful, wondering what he was thinking about, and 
 waiting for him to speak. She did not venture 
 to interrupt him, although she perceived plainlv 
 hat he was fully awake. She chose rather to 
 leave him to his own thoughts, anil to rest her 
 late upon the course which those thbughu might 
 .fv ,. ' '"*' '''® silence was brokton. 
 Mwve been very illf he safiTilt last, Tn- 
 qtunngly. ^ 
 
 "Yes, my lord, very ill. Y*m have been^ 
 I^'" *•)* ^^'y borders of the gmve." 
 Yes, it must -have been severe. I felt it 
 commg on when I aitived in France," he mur- 
 
 •FHE CRTPTOGftAM. 
 
 mnred; 'i I remember now., 
 near about it ?" 
 
 m 
 
 '6^t how did yon 
 
 " Your valet telegraphed. He was frightened." 
 said she, "and sent for me." 
 " Ah ?" said Lord Chetwynde. 
 Hilda said nothing more on that subject. She 
 would wait for another and a better time to tell 
 him about that. The story of her devotion and 
 of her suffering might yet be made known to 
 him, but not now, when he had but partly re- 
 covered from his deliriQm. r j 
 
 Little more was said. In about an hour the 
 nurse came in and sat near him. After some 
 tinie the doctor came and congratulated him. 
 Let me congratulate you, my lord, " said he, 
 on your favorable condition. You owe yoiTr 
 hfe to Lady Chetwynde, whose devotion has sur- 
 passed any thing that I have ever seen. She has 
 done every thing— I have done nothing. " 
 
 Lord Chetwynde made some commonplace ' 
 compliment to his skill, and then asked liim how 
 'o"«'' would be before he might recover. 
 
 " Ihat depends upon circumstances, 'said the 
 doctor. "Rest and quiet are now the chief 
 things which are needed. Do not be too impa- 
 tient, my lord. Trust to these things, and rely 
 upon the watchful care of Lady Chetwynde." 
 
 Lord Chetwynde saidnothing. 'mfilda, who 
 had listened ««gerly to this conversation, though 
 she lay with closed eyes, his silence was perplM- 
 ing. She could not tell whether he had softened 
 toward her or not A great fear art>se within 
 her that all her labor might have been in vain ; 
 but her matchless patience came to her rescue. 
 She would wait— she would wait— she should at 
 last gam the reward of ber patient wailing. 
 
 The doctor, after fully attending to Lord Chet- 
 wynde, turned to her. 
 
 "Yon are weak, my lady," he said, with re- 
 spectful sympathy,, and full of pltj- for this de. 
 vot^ wife, who seemed to him only to live in 
 her husband s presence. " You must take mora 
 care of yourself for hit sake." 
 
 Hilda murmured some inarticulate words, and 
 the doctorjMlfter some further directions, with- ' 
 
 Days passed on. Lord Chetwynde grew stron- 
 ger every day. - He saw Hilda as his chief at- 
 tendant and most devoted nurse. He marked 
 her pale facff, her wan features, and the traces of 
 snftenng which still remained visible. He saw' 
 that all this had been done for his sake Once 
 when she was absent taking some short rest, he 
 had missed that instant attention which she had 
 shown. With a sick man's impatience, he waa 
 troubled by the clumsiness of the hired nurw. 
 and contrasted it with Hilda's instant readinw^ 
 and gentle touch, and soft voice of love. 
 
 At last, one day when Hilda was giving him 
 soine medicine, the vial dropped from her hands. ■ 
 and she sank down senseless by his bedside! 
 She was carried away, and it was long before 
 she came to herself. 
 
 " You must be careful of yonr lady, my lord " ' 
 said the doctor, after he had seen her. "She 
 
 has worn herself out for you, and will die lume 
 
 day by your bedside. Never have I seen sodi 
 tenderness, and such fond devotion. She is the 
 one who has saved you from death. She ii now 
 
 pving herself to death to insure your racoTerr 
 Watch over her. Do not let ber sacrifice hendf 
 now. The time has come when she can spu« 
 
193 
 
 THE CKYPTOGRAM. 
 
 herself. Snrely now, at lost, thei^ ought to be 
 8ome peace and rest for this noble-hearted, this 
 gentle, this loving, this devoted lady !" 
 
 And as all Hilda's devotion came before the 
 mind of this tender-hearted physician he had to 
 wipe away his tears, and turn away his head to 
 conceal his emotion. 
 
 But his words sank* deep into Lord Chet- 
 wynde's souL 
 
 CHAPTER LVUI. 
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 
 
 Time passed away, and Lord Chetwynde stead- 
 ily recovered. Hilda also grew stronger, and 
 something, like her former vigor began to come 
 back. She was able, in spite of tier own weak- 
 ness, to keep up her position aa nurse ; and when 
 the doctor remonstrated she declared, piteously, 
 that Lord Chetwynde's bedside was the place 
 where she could gain the most benefit, and that 
 to banish .her from it would be to doom her to 
 death. Lord Chetwynde was perplexed by this 
 'devotion, yet he would not have (Keen human if 
 he had not been affected by it. 
 
 As he recovered, the one question before hiii' 
 mind was, What should he do? The business 
 with reference to the payment of that money 
 which General Fomeroy had advanced was ar- 
 ranged before he left England. It was this 
 which- had occupied so much of his thoughts. 
 All was arranged with his solicitors, and noUiing 
 remained for him to do. He had come to the 
 Continent without any well-defined plans, n;iere- 
 ly in search after relaxation and distraction ftf 
 mind. His eventful illness had brought other 
 things before him, the most prominent thing 
 among which waa.the extraordinary devotion of 
 this woman, from^,ifhd)n he had been planning 
 an eternal separation. He could not now accuse 
 her of baseness. Whatever she might once have 
 done she had sureir atoned for during those 
 hours when «he stood by his bedside till she her- 
 self fell senseless, aa he had seen her fall. It 
 would have been but a common generosity which 
 would have attributed good motives to her ; and 
 he could not help regarding her as full of devo- 
 tion to himself. 
 
 Under these circumstances it became a vary 
 troublesome question to know wha!t be was to 
 do. Where was he to go? Should he loiter 
 about the Continent as he once proposed ? But 
 then, he was uhder obligations to this devoted 
 woman, who had done so much for him. What 
 was he to do with regard to her? Could he send 
 her home coldly, without a word of gratitude, or 
 ^without one sign expressive of that thankfulness 
 which any human being would feel under such cir- 
 cumstances ? He could not do that. He must do 
 or say something expressive of his sense of obli- 
 gation. ' To do otherwise — to leave her abruptly 
 — would be brutal. What could he do? He 
 could not go back and live with her at Chet- 
 wvnde. There was another, whose image filled 
 . all his heart, and the memory of whose looks 
 TBd words made all other things nnattniciive. 
 Had it not been for this, he mast have yielded to 
 pity, if not to love. Had it not been for this, he 
 would have spoken tender words to that slender, 
 i^hite-faced woman who, with her imploring eyes, 
 hovered about him, finding her highest happiiieu 
 
 in being his slave, seeking her only recompense 
 in some kindly look, or some encouraging word. 
 All the circumstances of his present |>osition 
 perplexed him. He knew not what to do ; and, 
 in this perplexity, his mind at length settled upon 
 India as the shortest way of solving all difficul- 
 ties. He could go back there again, and resume 
 his old duties. Time might alleviate his grief 
 over his father, and perhaps it might even miti- 
 gate the fervor of that fatal passion, which had- 
 arisen in his heart for another who could never 
 be his. There, at any rate, he would have suf- 
 ficient occupation to take up his Uioughts, and 
 break up that constant tendency which he now 
 had toward memories of the one whom he had 
 lost. Amidst all his perplexity, therefore, the 
 onlything left for him seemed to be India. 
 
 The time was approaching when he wduld bs 
 able to travel once more. Lansarine is the most 
 beautiful place in the world, on the shore of the 
 most beautiful of lakes, with the stupendous forms 
 of the Jura Alps before it ; but even so beautiful 
 a place as this loses all its charms to the one 
 who has been an invalid there, and the eye 
 which has gazed upon the most sublime scenes in 
 nature from a sick-bed loses all power of admir- 
 ing their sublimity. And so Lord Chetwynde 
 wearied of Lausanne, and the Lake of Geneva, 
 and the Jura Alps, and, in his restlessness, he 
 longed for other scenes which might bo fresher, 
 and not connected with such mournful associa- 
 tions. So he began to talk in a general way of 
 going to Italy. This he mentioned to the doc- 
 tor, who happened one day to ask him how he 
 liked Lausanne. The question gnve him an op- 
 portunity of saying that he looked upon it simply 
 as a place where he had been ill, and that he was 
 anxious^o get off to Italy as soon as possible. 
 " Italy ?" said the doctor. 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What part are you going to?" 
 " Oh, I don't know. Florence, I suppose — 
 at first — and then other places. It don't much 
 matter." 
 
 Hilda hoard this in her vigilant "watchfulness. 
 It awakened fears within her that all her devo- 
 tion had been in vain, and that he was planning 
 to leave her. It seemed so. There was, tliei-e- 
 fore, no feeling of gratitude in his heart fur all 
 she had done. What she had done she now re- 
 called in her bitterness — all the love, the devo- 
 tion, the idolatry which she had lavished npoc 
 him would be as nothing. lie had regained the 
 control of his mind, and his first thought was to 
 fly. The discovery of this indifference of hii 
 was terrible. She had trusted much to her de- 
 votion. She had thought that, in a nature like 
 his, which was at opce so pure, so high-minded, 
 and so chivalrous, the spectacle of her noble self- 
 sacrifice, combined with the discovery of her pro- 
 fonnd and all-absorbing love, would have awak- 
 ened some response, if it were nothing stronger 
 than mere gratitude. And why Should it not be 
 so? she thought. If she were ugly, or old, it 
 would be different But she was young ; nnd, 
 more than this, she was beautiful. True, her 
 cheeks were not cb roundedin they once were, 
 her eyes were more hollow than they used to be, 
 the pallor of her complexion was more intense 
 than usual, and her hps were not so red ; but 
 what then ? These were the signs and the marks 
 which had been left apon her face by that death- 
 
 .i,R,;t/l,.-;.t.:'^:A.i^t^ 
 
 ,-;»'ii;'-:.i'.'iaii,.....^ 
 
 .i. ...,,*»»:,>■-■ ')^ ■ ^i\ 
 
iMi deroUonMich she had shown toward him. 
 If there wis any change in her, he alone was the 
 cause, and' she had ofTered herself np to him 
 ITiat pallor, that delicacy, that weakness, and 
 that emaciation of frame were all the visible signs 
 and tokens of her self-sacrificing love for him 
 These things, instead of repelling him, ought to at- 
 tract him. Moreover, in stite of all these things, 
 
 «^en ""n her wasted form, she could see that 
 
 The was yet beautiful. Her dark eyes beamed 
 more darkly than before from their hollow orbs 
 against the pallor of her face the ebon hair shone 
 more lustrously, as it huni; in dark voluminous 
 masses downward, and the white face itself 
 showed features that were faultlessly beautiful 
 Why should he turn awajr from so beautiful a 
 woman, who hyl so fully proved her love and 
 her devotion ? She felt that after thU conspicu- 
 ous example of her loVe he conld never again 
 bMg forward against her those old charges of 
 deceit which he had once nttered. These at 
 Ims^ were dead forever. All the letters which 
 she had written from the very first, on to that 
 last letter of which he had spoken so bitterly— 
 1^ were now amply atoned for by the devotion 
 of the last few weeks— a devotion that shrank 
 not ftom suffering, nor even from death itself. 
 Why then did he not reciprocate? Why was it 
 that he held himself aloof in such a manner from 
 her caresses? Why was it that when her voice 
 grew tremulous ftom the deep love of her heart 
 she found no response, but onlv saw a certain 
 embarrassment in his looks? "There mtistlWe 
 some cause for this. If he had been heart-whole 
 she thought, he must have yielded. There is 
 something in the way. There is some other 
 love. Yes, that is it, she concluded ; it is what 
 I saw before. He loves another I 
 
 At length, one day, LcW Chetwynde began 
 to sp^k to her more directly about his plans. 
 He had made np his mind to make them known 
 to her, and so he availed himself of the first op- 
 portunity. "^ 
 "I must soon take my departwre, Ladv Chefr. 
 wynde, said he, as he plunged at once into iba 
 midst of affairs. "I have made up my mind 
 to go to Italy next week. As I intend to return 
 to India I shall not go back to England again. 
 All my business affairs are in the hands of my 
 •ohcitors, and they will arrange all that I wish 
 to be done." 
 
 By this Lord Chetwynde meant that his so- 
 licitors would arrange with Hilda those money- 
 matters of which he had once spoken. He had 
 too much consideration for her to make any di- 
 rect allusion to them now, bit wished, neverthe- 
 less, that she should onderMand his words in 
 this way. \ 
 
 And in this way she did understand them. 
 Her comprehension and apprehension were full 
 •nd cemplete. By hU ton(e and his look more 
 than by his words she .pdrceived that%he had 
 gained nothing by all her devotion. He had not 
 mwit to inflict actual suffering on her by these 
 words. He had simply used ihem because he 
 _^^!>mtJtma Jiest to acqni^ ber with hia 
 n»Ue liTthe most direct way, and^u he had tried 
 |w a long time to find some delicate way of do- 
 ^tlus without success, he had at length, in 
 Wspenjtion, adopted that which was most sim- 
 * and plain, bat to Hilda it was abrupt, and 
 •««MJ«h she waa not altogether unprepared, yet 
 N 
 
 TEIB CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 193 
 
 ih!^*!,'!!"' * ^"nder-chip, and for a moment 
 she sank down into the depths of despair. 
 „f li. ^ she rallied. In spite of the consciousness 
 of the truth of her position— a truth which wal 
 unknown to Lord Chetwynde-she felt as though 
 Wh.?"? 'I^'aT""'^ ingTBtitude and injustice 
 Wha she had done entitled her, she thought, to 
 something more than a cold dismissal. All her 
 pnde and her dignity arose in arms at this slight. 
 
 she listened to his Words. Then all the pent-up 
 feelings of her heaSt^urst forth irrepressiW 
 
 Lotd Chetwynde," said she, in a low and 
 mournful vo.ce, "I once would not have said to 
 
 the right to say it, nor if I had would mv pride 
 have permitted me. But now I feel thati hive 
 ^rned the nght to say jt ; and aa^lo my pride, 
 that has long since b«en buried in the dust! 
 Besides, your words render it necessary that I 
 should speak, and no longer keep silence. We 
 had one interview, in which you did all the 
 speaking and 4 kept silence. We had another - 
 interview in Which I made a vain attempt at' 
 conciliation. I now wish to speak merely to 
 explain thingb as they have been, and as they 
 are, so that hereafter you may feel this, at least, 
 that I have b^n frank and open at last. 
 
 'Lord Chetwynde, you remember that old^ 
 bond that Wund me to von. What was I ? A 
 ^1 of teny^a child. Aflerward I was held to 
 ,»^ bond; under circumstances that have been 
 impressed upon my memory indelibly. My fa- 
 ther in the last hour of his life, when delirium 
 was upon him, forced me to carry it out You 
 were older than L You were a grown man. I 
 was a child of fourteen. Could you not have 
 found snme way of saving me? I was a child. 
 You wei-e a man. Could you not have obtained 
 some onj who was not a priest, so that such a 
 mockeiy of a marriage might have remained a 
 mockery, and not have become a reaUty? It • 
 would have been easy to do that My fether's 
 last hours would then have been lightened all 
 ^jesame, while you and I would not have been 
 J^'^Kin that irrevocable vow. I tell you. Lord 
 Chet^^e, Jhat, in the years that followed, this 
 thought was often in my mind, and thus it was 
 tliat I learned to hiy upon yon the chief blame 
 of the events that resulted. 
 
 "You have spoken to me, Lord Chetwynde, 
 in very plain language about the letters that I 
 wrote. You found in them taunts and sneers 
 which you considered intolerable. Tell me, my 
 lord, if you had been in my position, would 
 j'on have been more generous? Think how gall- 
 ing It is to a proud and sensitive natote to dis- 
 cover that it is tied np and bound beyond the 
 possibility of release. Now this is fiir worse toY 
 4 #oman than it is for a man. A woman, un- 
 less she is an Asiatic and »fllave, does not wish 
 to be given up unasked. I found myself the 
 property of one who was not only indifferent to 
 me, but, as I plainlv saw, averse to me. It was 
 but natu ral tha t I should meet scorn with ac orn. 
 Injom Mtenf eouid iwni botwaen^e Bhat"— 
 and in your cold and constrained answers to 
 your father's renurks about me I saw how strong 
 was your aversion. In yonr letters to me this 
 was ftUl more evident What then? I waa 
 proud and impetuous, and what yon merely 
 hinted at I expressed openly and unmistakably. 
 
194 
 
 V 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRABf. 
 
 You found fault with tliis. You. may be right, 
 but my conduct was after all natural. 
 
 " It is this, Lord Chet\\ynde, which will ac- 
 count for my last letter to you. Crushed by the 
 loss of my only friend, I reflected upon the dif- 
 ference between you and him,' and the thought 
 brought a bitterness which is indescribable. 
 Therefore I nrrote as I did. My sorrow, inst^ul 
 of softening, imbittered me, and I poured forth 
 all my bitterness in that letter. It stung you. 
 You were maddened by it and outraged. Yon 
 saw in it only the symptoms and the proofs of 
 what you chose to call a 'bad mind and heart.' 
 If you reflect a little you will see that your con- 
 clusions were not so strictly jost as they might 
 hare been. You yourself, you will see, were not 
 the immaculate being which you suppose your- 
 self to be. 
 
 _" I say to you now. Lord Chetwynde, that all 
 this time, instead of hating you, I felt very dif- 
 ferently toward you. I had for you a feeling of 
 regard which, at least, may be called sisterly. 
 Associating with your father as I did, possessing 
 his love, and enjoying his confidence, it would 
 have been strange' if I hod not sympathized with 
 him somewhat in his affections. Your nan^e was 
 always on his lips. You were the one of whom 
 he was always speaking. When I wished to 
 make him happy, and such a wish was always in 
 my heart, I found no way so sure and certain as 
 when I spoke in praise of you. During those 
 years when I was writing those letters which 
 vou think showed a ' bad mind and heart, 'J was 
 incessantly engaged in soiinding your praises to 
 yqur father. What he thought of me you know. 
 If I had a ' bad mind and heart,' he, at least, who 
 knew me best, never discovered it. He gave me 
 his confidence — more, he gave me his love. 
 
 " Lord ChetwjTide, when you came home and 
 crushed me with your cruel words I said nothing, 
 for I was overcome by your cruelty. Then I 
 thought that the best way for me to do was to 
 show you by my life and by my acts, rather than 
 by any words, how unjust you had been. How 
 you treated my advances you well know. With- 
 out being guilty of any discourtesy, you contrived 
 to make me feel that I was abhorrent. Still I 
 did not despair of clearing my character in your 
 sight. I asked an interview. I tried to explain, 
 but, as you well remember, you coolly pushed all 
 my explanations aside as so much hypocritical 
 pretense. My lord, you were educated by your 
 father in the school of 4ionor and chivaliy. I 
 will not ask yon now if your conduct was chival- 
 rous. I only ask you, was it even just ? 
 
 " And all this time, my lord, what were my 
 feelings toward you? Let me tell you, ond you 
 yourself can judge. I will confess them, though 
 nothing less than despair would ever have wrung 
 Bnch.a confession out. of me. Let me tell yon 
 then, my lord, what my feelings were. Not as 
 expressed in empty words or in prolix letters, but 
 as manifested by acts. 
 
 " Your valet wrote me that you were ill. I 
 left immediately, filled with anxiety. Anxiety 
 and fadgoe both overpowered me. When I 
 ch«tFnii&fbrrt wu RiHick down by f&rir. 
 It was becanae I fonnd that yon had left that my 
 fever was so severe. Scarce had I recovered 
 than I hnrried to Baden, finding out your ad- 
 dress from the people of the Frankfort Hotel. 
 Yon bad gone to Munich. I followed yon to 
 
 Munich, so weak that I had to be carried into 
 my cab at Baden, and out of it at Munich. At 
 Munich another attack of fever prostrated me. 
 r had missed you again, and my anxjety was in- 
 tolerable. A thousand dreary fears oppressed 
 me, I thought that you were dying-^ • 
 
 Here Hilda's voice faltered, and she popped 
 for a time, struggling with her emotion.^' 
 
 " I thought that you were dyirtg," she repeat- 
 ed. "In my fever my situation was rendered 
 infinitely worse by this fear. But at length I re- 
 covered, and went on. I reached Lausanne. 
 I found you at the last point of life. I had time 
 to give you your medicine and leave directions 
 with your nurse, and then I fell down senseless 
 by your side. 
 
 " My lord, while vou were ill / was worse. 
 My life was despaired of Would to God that I 
 had died then and there in the crisis of that fe- 
 ver I But I escaped it, and once more rose from 
 my bed. 
 
 *' I dragged myself back to your side, and 
 staid there on my sofa, keeping watch over you, 
 till once more I was struck down. Then I recov- 
 ered once more, and gained health and strength 
 again. Tell me, my lord," and Hilda's eves 
 seemed to penetrate to the soul of I^rd Cli'ct- 
 wynde as she spoke — " tell me, is this the sign 
 of a ' bad mind and heart }>' " 
 
 As Hilda had spoken she had evinced tiie 
 strongest agitation. Her hands clutched one 
 another, her voice was tremulous with emotion, 
 her face was white, and a hectic flush on either 
 cheek showed her excitement. • Lord Chetwynde 
 would have been eithei* more or less than hunlhill 
 if he had listened unmoved. As it was, he felt 
 moved to the depths of his souL Yet he could 
 not say one word. 
 
 " I am alone in the world," said Hilda, mourn- 
 fully. " You promised once to see obout my hap- 
 piness. That wos a vow extorted from a boy, and 
 it' is nothing in itself. You said« not long aRo, 
 tliat you intended to keep your promise by sep- 
 a|4ting yourself from me and giving me some 
 money. Lord Chetwynde, look at me, think of 
 what I have done, and answer. Is this the wny 
 to secure my happiness ? What is money to me ? 
 Money ! Do I care for money ? What is it that 
 I care for ? I ? I only wish to die ! I have but 
 a short time to live. I feel that I am doomed. 
 Your money. Lord Chetwynde, will soon go back 
 to you. Spare your solicitors the trouble to 
 which you are putting them. If you can give 
 me death, it will be the best thing that you can 
 bestow. I gave you life. Can you not return the 
 boon by giving me death, my lord ?" 
 
 These last words Hilda wailed out in low tones 
 of despair which vibrated in Lord Chetwynde's 
 breast. 
 
 "At least," said she, "do not be in haste 
 about leaving me. I will soon leave you forever. 
 It is not much I ask. Let nte only be near yea 
 for a short time, my lord. It is a small wish. 
 Bear with me. You will see, before I die, that I 
 have not altogether a ' bad mind and heart.'" 
 
 Her voice sank down into low tones of suppli. 
 cstion ; TierTjead drooped forward ; her intensr^ 
 feeling overcame her ; tears burst from her eyes 
 and flowed unchecked. 
 
 " Lady Chetwynde," said Lord Chetwynde, in 
 deep emotion, " do as you wish. You have kJt 
 gratitude for your noble devotion. I owe my 
 
 
life to yon If yoa really care about accomoa 
 nying me I will not thwart your wishes Te^„" 
 
 ZTa.C''"- ^-"'o"" never againVk Of 
 And/hi« was all that Lord Chetwynde said. 
 
 THE CKYPTOGRAM. 
 
 ]i>^ 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 ON THE BOAD. 
 
 Before Lord Chetwynde left Lausanne the 
 
 r^d V rh ! *'f^ "'* K^' enthusiasm upon 
 Lady Chetwynde 8 devotion and foresight: but 
 his information caused Lord Chetwynde to med 
 
 that the doctor had said this, and gave ],er ex- 
 phination. She said that the valet hid des^rited 
 thesymptoms ; that she had asked aUndTdS 
 
 dote, bhe herself, she said, did not know what 
 
 ^e ""''sha\'Id'"'h '"'^r""^'y "uspectM the 
 relet, hhe had charged him with it on her ar- I 
 nval. He had looked very much confused «nd ' 
 had immed atcly fled from the place. iRuiU 
 hj her opinion, had been confirmed by his fllX 
 To her opinion Lord Chetwynde assented and 
 wnclude<f that his valet wished to plunder 'hto 
 .^.n- "*""""/ """y """PJcious circurtstane" 
 about him and remembered that be had taken 
 
 ufied with the letters of ^Commendation ^hTch 
 he had brought and which he had not takOT the 
 trouble to verify. He now believed that these 
 ette« were al no better than forgerics.^nd that 
 he had we l-nigh fallen a victim to one of the 
 worst of villains. In his mind this revelafl of 
 the doctor only gave a new claim upon his irrat- 
 itade toward the woman who had rescued him 
 
 witlrlura., His position was embarmssing. Here 
 was ft won,r.n to whom he lay under the deep- 
 «t obligations^ whose tender and devoted lo,^ 
 was manifested in every word and action, and 
 SSm W""^ utterly incapable of reciprocating 
 
 ^Iff^l i,-^''" T •*"•"''"'• *"" her b^utv d"d 
 aot atfect him ; she was, as he thought, his "wife 
 yet he could never be a husband to her. He; 
 piteous appeal had, moved his heart, and forcal 
 
 ward impatiently for some opportunity of lefving 
 her. He could think of India only as the olace 
 *"■;<=»« '^"f i'ke'y to give him this^pp^rtuSv 
 Md concluded thrfl after a short ml i„ Floil 
 ence he would leave for the East, and resume 
 
 wrote to the aiithonties in England, and applied 
 
 ^^ir'^^^i!^ V" ?""« P"""'"" in the Indian 
 wrv ice, which he had not yet quitted, or, if poss" 
 be, to go back to his old place. A return t'^^n- 
 
 whilt """.'i''' **"'y '"'P«- «nd the only way by 
 which he could escape from the very pecn iar di^ 
 acuities of his situation. F^uimr an 
 
 A T,.f- ^'. g gJgitioiu^Jie loot4«f««j 
 Mm" ,??■ ui?^ coureMy^ch well tecame 
 Mm^ and whibh might pas. very well foTthat 
 
 S t^ir «^ °^ ^5''='' •"> '««' •'estitute. His 
 
 Zi. V . "]'"^ ""^ •"'« sense of obligation 
 made him tenderiy considerate. If Hilda couW 
 luve been content with any thing except Sve 1 
 
 content with this she was not It was «»w«I 
 
 ai remarks; now there were thinw wlii.H «I! 
 Tnce"""^ "'""ft to an.intereiafge S 'JonT 
 
 oTh^fei^^J^sKKtSfRi: 
 
 So^SLsfs^s^SS 
 
 in the carriage; she touched him/her a™ S 
 
 e /n'th^oilih J'l'" *"•"='• thrilled' tCS her 
 even though she knew too well that he was col. 
 and calm and indifferent. But this w«. .?i . 
 a better thing than that abhonSce Tnd rS 
 nance which he had formerly m«^f^,edf'a„; 
 the fnend y smile and the genid rem^ k ;hich 
 he often directed to her were received by her wth 
 joy, and treasured up in the depth, of her ^3 
 us something precious; "' 
 
 Traveling thus together, through wenea of 
 grandeur and of beauty, «ated .?de bTsWeft 
 was impossible to avoii a closer infimacv thai 
 r^sThe ve^%''''i'!,'^ J^'^^•'«'^^™e?l•^ 
 ness, the^very fact that he wa« thus throm-n into 
 constant contact with a woman who wm « oncl 
 beautiful and clever, and who auBK toe 
 had made an open confession of •yC^tion to 
 him, was pf itself sufficient to Ins^REChinff 
 hke kindliness of sentiment at feaSt iXTCrL 
 even though that heart were the^lS and^he 
 ^8t susceptible that ever beat The "cLneS 
 
 calculated in the highest degree to excite a mm 
 munion of soul. Hilda was dever and ven-r3 
 with a deep love for the beautiful, and a foS 
 acquaintance with all modem literature^ There 
 
 K,"sun".'rv"'''"/ '^' '"i i''« "^^ *h-h had 
 w^^h .h * ^ •P*^"' "•■ "^eJebrated in fiction of 
 M she was ignorant. Femey, «,cred to Vol- 
 taire ; Geneva, the birth-place ofJiousaeau • the 
 J^ira Alps, sung by Byron ; the tVu^nd placM 
 of lesser note embalmed by French ^ oIZ.- 
 writers in song and story.Vere aU JrSt Jd^SJ 
 her with a delight that was girlish in if^^lhusr 
 nstic demonstrativeness. llrd ChetwJndJ h^' 
 self intellectual, recogniiod and resL-t^ »ivl 
 
 brilliant intellect ofhia'TompanTon. "IK tha? 
 
 — „,^ iMxcu iiiB lire at iije risk nf 
 
 his beds de, overworn with duties 8elf-iimms«l 
 through love for himc-the woman w^o had oviS 
 
 at?aeTiirwffffKa"te:j^ 
 
 thA^fc™.*." "='"'"n"tance had contributed toward 
 theforma ion ofa closer association between thee» 
 two. Hilda had no maid with her, but was tr«! 
 t"f, ""•ttended. On leaving Lausanw Ae 
 found that Gretchen wa« unwilling to go to 
 ftaly, and had, therefore, parted wi* her^ri* 
 many kind word., and the bestowal of jot^S 
 
 3^* 
 
190 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 ' ^ 
 
 i* 
 
 
 sufficiently valuable to make the kind-hearted 
 German maid keep in Iver memory fur many 
 yearn to come the recollection of that gentle 
 
 tflauifenng English lady, whose devotion to her 
 husband hod been shown so signally, and almost 
 at the cost of her own life. Hilda took no maid 
 witli her. Kither she could not obtain one in so 
 sm.ill a place as Lausanne, or else she did not 
 cliooso to employ one. Whatever the cause may 
 ,havo been, the result was to throw her more upon 
 the cnro of Lord Chetwynde, who was forced, if 
 not from gratitude at least from common polite- 
 ness, to show her many of those little attentions 
 which are demanded by a lady from a gentleman. 
 Traveling together as they did, those attentions 
 were required more frequently than under ordi- 
 nary circuiiistances ; and although they sfeemed 
 to Lord Chetwynde the most ordinary common- 
 places, yet to Hilda every separate act of atten- 
 tion or of common politeness carried with it a joy 
 v*vhicli was felt through oil her being. If she hod 
 ' reasoned about that joy, she might perhaps have 
 seen how unfounded it was. But she did not 
 reason about it ; it was enough to her that he was 
 by her side, and that acts like these came from 
 him to her. In her mind all the past and all the 
 future were forgotten, and there was nottiing but 
 an enjoyment of the present. 
 
 Their journey lay through regions which pre- 
 sented every thing that could charm the taste 
 or awaken admiration. At first there was the 
 grandeur of Alpine scenery. From this they 
 emerged into the softer beauty of the Italian 
 clime. It was the 8implon Koad which they 
 traversed, that gigantic monument to the genius 
 of Napoleon, which is more enduring Lhati even 
 the fame of Marengo or Austerlitz ; ' and this 
 road, with its alternating scenes of grandeur and 
 of beauty, of glory and of gloom, had elicited 
 the utmost admiration from each. At length, 
 one day, as they were descending tiiis road on the 
 slope nearest Italy, on leaving Domo d'Ossola, 
 they came to a place where the boundless plains 
 of Lombardy lay stretched before them. There 
 the verdurous fields stretched away beneath their 
 eyes — an expanse of living green ; seeming like 
 the abode of perpetual summer to those who 
 looked down from the habitation of winter. 
 Far awny spread the plains to the distant hori- 
 zon, where the purple Apennines arose bounding 
 the view. Nearer was the Lago Maggiore with 
 its wondrous islands, the Isola Bella and the 
 Isola Madre, covered with their hanging gardens, 
 whose green foliage rose over the dark blue wa- 
 ters of the lake beneath ; while beyond that lake 
 lay towns and villages and hamlets, whoso far 
 wliite walls gleamed brightly amidst the vivid 
 green of the surrotmding plain ; and vineyards 
 also, and groves and orchards and forests of 
 olive and chestnut trees. It was a scene which 
 no other on earth can surpass, if it can equal, 
 and one which, to travelers descending the Alps, 
 has in every age brought a resistless charm. 
 
 This was the first time that Hilda had seen 
 this glorions land. Lord Chetwynde had visit- 
 ed Naples, but to him the prospect that lay be- 
 
 _1 ) e a t h waa as striking as though he had never 
 
 seen any of the beauties of Italy. Hilda, however, 
 felt its power most. Both gazed long and with 
 deep admiration upon this matchless scene with- 
 out uttering one word to express their emotions ; 
 viewing it in silence, as though to break that si- 
 
 lence would break the spell which had been thrown 
 over them by the first sight of this wondrous land. 
 At last Hilda broke that spell. Carried awny by 
 the excitement of the moment she started tu'her 
 feet, and stood erect in the carria«»;<Kiid tlicn 
 burst forth into that noble paraphrase which By- 
 ron has made of the gk>riou8 sonnet of Filicnja : 
 
 "Italia I O lUlial thou who hut 
 
 The fatal gift of l)cauty, which became 
 A fuiicml duwcr of present woes and paMt, 
 On thy sweet brow ia sorrow plowed by shame, 
 And annals graven in characters of flame. 
 O Uod I that thou wert In thy nakedncwi 
 
 Less lovely, or more poweifnl, and conldxt claim 
 Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who ttcwn 
 To Bbed thy blood and drink the tears of thy distress." 
 
 She stood like a 8ibyl, iiospired by the scene 
 before her. Pale, yet lovely, with dl her Intel- 
 lectual beauty refined by the sorrows through 
 which she had passed, she herself might hn^-e 
 been taken for an image of that Italy which i-lie 
 thus invoked. Lord Chetwynde looked at her, 
 and amidst his surprise at snch an outburst of 
 enthusiasm he had som? such thoughts as these. 
 Jiut .suddenly, from some unknown cause, Hilda 
 sank back into her seat, and burst into tears. 
 At the display of such emotion Lord Chetwynde 
 looked on deeply disturbed. What possible con- 
 nection there could be between th^se words and 
 her agitation he could not see. Bat he was full 
 of pity for her, and" he did what was most nat- 
 ural. He took her hand, and spoke kind words 
 to her, and tried to soothe her. At his touch 
 her agitation subsided. She smiled through her 
 tears, and looked at him with a glance that spoke 
 unutterable things. It was the first time that 
 Lord Chetwynde had shown toward her any thing 
 approaching to tenderness. 
 
 On that same day another incident occurred. 
 
 A few miles bej-ond Domo d'Ossola there was 
 nn inn where they had stopped to change horses. 
 They wailed here for a tima till the horses were 
 ready, and then resumed, their journey. The 
 road wa»t on before them for miles, winding 
 along gently iti easy curves and with a gradual 
 descent toward those smil(ng vale^vhich lay be- 
 neath them. As they drove onward each turn 
 in the road seemed to bring some new view be- 
 fore them, and to disclose some fresh glimp.se to 
 their eyes of that voluptuous Italian beauty wliich 
 they were now beholding, and which appeared 
 all the lovelier from the contrast which it pre- 
 sented to that sublime Alpine scenery-^the gloom 
 of awful gorges, the grandeur of snow-cnjiped 
 heights through which they had been journey- 
 ing. 
 
 Inside the carriage were Lord Chetwynde and 
 Hilda. Outside was the driver. Hilda was just 
 pointing out to Lord Chetwynde some peculiar 
 tint in the pnrple of the distant Apennines wlien 
 suddenly the carriage gave a lurch, and, with a 
 wild bonnd, the horses started off at full speed 
 down the road. Something had happened. 
 Either the harness had given way or the horses 
 were frightened ; at any rate, thev were running 
 away at a fearful pace, and the driver, erect on 
 his seat, was striving with all his might to hold 
 in th« maddened animals. His efforts were iSL 
 to no purpose. On they went, like the wind, 
 and the carriage, tossed from side to side at 
 their wild springs, seemed sometimes to leap into 
 the air. The road before them wound on down 
 a spur of the mountains, with deep rannes on 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 It was n foarful moment. For a time Hilda 
 said not a word; she sat motionless, like one 
 paralyzed by terror; artd then, as the c^iZ 
 gave a wilder lurch than fcual she gave ut^ 
 
 around Lord Chetwynde. / ° "" 
 
 "Save me I fth, save me!" she exclaimed, 
 hhe clung to him desperately, as thoueh in 
 Jus chnging to him she fad so^le assur^cS o" 
 safety Lord Chetwynde sat erect, lookipK ont 
 rhn"" "^'^ '^f"™ W"". dowiKwhicluhS w^' 
 dashing and saying not a wonl* Mechanicals 
 he put his arm around this paniclstrlcken woman 
 who clung to him so tightly, as though 1^ U^a 
 Bdent gesture hff meant ^^s'how that^he^oSd 
 protect her as f^ as possible. But in so neril 
 
 At last the horsM, in their onwani career. 
 
 ^e to a carve ra th^ roftd, where, on one side. 
 
 there was a hill, and on the itherVd^livhy It 
 
 ^«s a sharp turn. Their impetus was "(k,^ ,wif 
 
 S.rmv^nffTK""''^/'?""*'ri'»«'- them, 'and was 
 tiirown off the road down'^e decUvity. For a 
 
 L4I0 HBB'DOWN.toeON THB OaASS." 
 
 few paces the horses dragged itxnward as it lay 
 on Its side, and then the weight 6f the carriage 
 was too mnch for them. They .topped, then 
 staggered, then backed, and then, with a heavy 
 plunge, both carriage and horses went down into 
 the gully beneath. 
 h was not more than thirty feet of a descent 
 
 fnl. l" ^rlT """ """ '^'7 bed «<■ « mountniu 
 torrent. The horses struj^led and strove to free 
 themselves. ITie driver jumped off uninjured, 
 and sprang at them to stop them. This he sir! , 
 ceeded m domg, at the cost ef some severe 
 
 Meanwhile the occupants of Ui4 carriage had 
 telt the full consciousness of the danger As the ' 
 carriage went down Hilda clung more closely to 
 Ix>rd Chetwynde. Ho, on his part, said not a 
 word, but braced himself for the fall. The car- 
 nage rolled over and over in its descent, and all 
 ast stopped. Lord Chetwynde, with Hfldh in 
 nis Arms, was thrown violently down. A« soon ^ 
 as ho could he raised himself, and drew HUda 
 put from the wreck of the carriage. 
 
 She was senseless. 
 
 He laid her down upon the grass. Her eves 
 were clowd, her hair was all disordered, her face 
 was as Avhite as the face of a coti)sc. A stream 
 
 l\ 
 
 J 
 
of blood trickled down over her marble forehead 
 from a wound in her head. It waiTa piteoui 
 ■light. 
 
 Lord Chetwjrnde took her in liii armi and car- 
 rfed her off a little diitunce, to a place where 
 there wm some water in the l«d of the brook. 
 With thii he nought to restore her to conscipns- 
 ncsg. For • long time his eftorts were unarkil- 
 ing. 
 
 At last he called t»- the driver. 
 
 other, he said, "and ride for your life td^ the 
 nearwJt house. Bring help. Theladyisstunnbd, 
 and must be taken away mi soon as possible. 
 Oct tliem to knock up a litter, and bring a couple 
 of stout fellows back to help us carry her. Make 
 haste— for your life." ' - 
 
 The driver at once comprehended the whole 
 litaation. He did as he was bid, and in a few 
 
 THE CRYrtOORAM. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. ' / 
 
 ^*HB CLAWi OF TUB AMKBICAH EAOLB. 
 
 vi.u*Jr^''i"'*^.P1P'.'*^ ♦» 'P"^« Naples and 
 ^isit other places in Italy. lie intended to go 
 to Kome and Florence, after which he expfectS 
 to go to Venice or Mihin, and then across th'e 
 Alps to Germany. Two vetturas held the^am- 
 ihr, And in due time they arrived at^Terraciuif 
 Here they parsed the night, and ^Ur on the 
 
 fhi l^IIf '^V^'% •"' ""i'' •"P**""* to traverse 
 the I'ontuie Bfarshes and reach Albono by even- 
 
 'ITiese famous marshes extend from Terraclna 
 to Nettuno. iThey are about forty-ffve miles in 
 length ond from four to twelve in breadth 
 Drained successively^by Roman, by Goth, arid by 
 pope, they successively relapsed into their natu- 
 \ "?"• ""'" '■>« perseverance of Mus VI com- 
 
 shoulder, tenderly supported ; that face white, 
 and the lips bloodless, the eyes closed, and blood 
 trtfckhng from the wound on her head. It was 
 
 m ' ^'"''''* "'*" " *''^*' ""^ ""^ "'*'" 'P"'' ""■ 
 
 And I^rd Chetwynde was moved to his inmost 
 ■oul by that sight. 
 
 Who was this woman ? His wife ! the one 
 who stood between him and his,de^ires. 
 
 Ah, true ! But she was something more. 
 
 And now, as he looked at her thus lying in 
 tas arms, there came to him the thought of all 
 that she had been to hira-the thought of her nn- 
 aylng love— her matchless devotion. That pale 
 face, those closed eyes, those mute lips, that 
 beautiful head, stainea wth oozing blood, all 
 spoke to him with an eloquence which awakened 
 a response within him. 
 
 "Was this the end of all that love and that de- 
 votion? Wa* this the fulfiUraent pf ^is promise 
 to Geneml Pomeroy? Was he doing by this 
 woman as she had done by him ? Hid she not 
 made more than the fullest atonement for the 
 
 followed himjthrough Europe to seek him and to 
 snatch hun from the grasp of a villain ? Had 
 she not saved his life at the risk of her own? 
 Had she not stood by his side tHl she fell lifeless 
 at his feet in her uni>arnlleled self-devotion? 
 ihese were the questions thai^cnme to him. 
 
 ~.^l? ^^"S^V' •"" '' ''« "i^hed for love, 
 could he ever find any equal to this? That 
 poor, fr^l. Blender frame pleaded piteously ; that 
 white face, as it lay upturned, was itself a prayer. 
 
 Involuntanly he stooped down, and in his deep 
 ptty he pressed Jiis lips to that icy brow. Then 
 ^a^t^UlT '"' ''^^'«d «t her. Once more he 
 
 w if* ^!!i?,?l '•"* »*"» h" «P» met hers. 
 MyOgiir he groaned ; "what can I do? 
 JVhy did r ever see— that other one ?" 
 
 An hour passed and the driver returned. 
 Four met. came wth hwn, <rarryi„g » rSde lit- 
 h k H'Ua's senseless form was placed 
 
 ■'^. 
 
 A_ 1 .1. t "»<iioc»«ioo luiiu was piaceu. 
 
 whn« T V^l^f"^?*,'"" •» *•" »«""«' house, 
 
 . ,;-, -— — ■■ ■■■■—■.uiiiD luuiiu nere jret 
 their living by hunting and by robbery, and ore 
 distinguwhed by their pole and sickly appear- 
 ance, ^t this time the duturbed state of Italy 
 and pai^larl^ of the papd dominions, made 
 traveling Sometimes haaardous, and no place wm 
 more dapgerous th^n this. Yet Obed gave this 
 I no thought, but started on the journey with as 
 much cheerfidness as though he were mnkiuK a 
 railway trip from New York to Philadelphia 
 
 About half-wav there is a solitary inn, situated 
 close by the road-side, with a foHom and deso- 
 late air about it. It is two stories high, with 
 small windows, and the whitewashed st^o walU 
 made It look more like a lazaretto than any thine 
 else. Here they stopped two hours to f4d the 
 
 w«^/.S^ !P "^^^ ""i' *''5«""'''- The place 
 1^1.1 'c *•""' L^'P* ^y a misereblft old man 
 and his wife on whom the ujhiealthy atmosphere 
 ol the marshes semaed to hkio brought a prema- 
 
 UII^K*^^- .^^ «*"'•• "»' "l^k Italian, so 
 that he wos debarred from the pleasure of talk- 
 ing with this man ; but he exhibited much svm- 
 pathy toward him, and made hini a present of a 
 bundle of cigars — an act whicl* the old mart 
 viewe<l, nt first, with absolute incredulity, and at 
 length with rinutterable gratitude. 
 
 Leaving this place thev drove on for i||)nt 
 two miles, when suddenly the cart-iage in wliich 
 Obed and the family were traveling fell fornnrd 
 with a crash, and the party were thrown pell- ■ 
 mellK)gether. The horses stoppedi No imury 
 was done to any one, and Obed got out to see 
 what had taken ptace. The front axle was 
 liroken. 
 
 Here was a rerv awkward dilemma, and it was 
 difficult to tell what ought to be done. There 
 was the other carriage, but it was small, and ' 
 co^ld not contain the family. The two maids, 
 ateor would have to be left behind. ,Obed thou At 
 at first, of sending on his familf and waiting: / 
 but he soon dismissed this idea. For the-pres- / 
 ent, at least, lie saw that they would have to 
 drive back to the inn, and this they flnallv.did. 
 Here Obed exerted all his ingenuity and all his 
 mechanical skill in a futile endeavor to repair 
 the axle. But th« rough ^tch which he suc- 
 ceeded at Inst in making was so inefficient that, 
 on attempting to start once more, the carriage 
 again broke down, and they were forced to give 
 np this hope. 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 J 
 
 
 «,.«, „- " Z "" """o '^ Ko go back wm 
 
 cWon Ol[:Kf/l' " "r .««'T?<?'- Th« ele- 
 
 ction OM £,"a ny a rived aTaTnf • '^''"' ''* 
 they could haveany accommodation Ahe nl^h, 
 
 projjoMl.;'"/^"'"" """'""!?» "wrnned at this 
 th« Nme K8 as dangerous ^^ ,he n.Jd''^' it iil 
 
 •~"°" •- ,» regular lort. J 
 that would ottack an inn ?'- 
 "The brigands," said the valet. -" rheVn, 
 
 "Not • bit of it," said Obad • " !•», a„ n 
 aware that I'm alone " ' ^ ™''*®" 
 
 "Pooh I" anul niv.^ . 41 .L 
 
 Alter this the vulet dravn Imflt »!.i, .u 
 H^l-i^^ocomerill^jr^-- 
 
 heard nothing of what had liS'Th"'" 
 were quite iguortint of Ehe^xistmil^r '^^^^ 
 ger, and Obed thoMht it ,he iZ „. '"^ J*""- 
 
 ^ '*h[;£s9r^-^°" 
 
 lawless condition an7,L"?;o"vrn'l E'1 "^.f ' 
 ber, wen, scouring the t^XVn-.o^es °'j^ 
 
 against a thousand. But Obed W. nln„„ !,' 
 thU Th.tl T""* "'''"^'' he occupied fArored 
 
 exhalations. Outside of thf. '.' . 1" ? ""^^y, 
 
 "Pooh!" said Obw] • «f.i,— , '"K pe«t fla, _„„„ „i. 
 
 dammr V " "■■•'."■»" m on tne look- 
 
 .how, himsei? iTKdy If rr.:"?^ T'^y 
 
 .r •"?.'««' Pl-e for th™ family^oS-f^K 
 tt;i a^Xcktar^ ' woul^^ti"! 
 
 It -11 be dSfbifo!:" rn;:Vnd z' "•^'""•.'^ '«!"i'-« -' -« 
 
 do for uT" ^ * ****"• *""* «*« '^*'" they can 
 
 2n?fan he^S"^!l*?'r'^ HeVadcon. 
 As hTU'J'tS,X^;«»<l had madenphi, mind. 
 
 whi ch WM «„f,« .. • ' *"••£' »'"' *^"8"» too. 
 
 jSedtss^hS^sHS 
 
 f^h.oned four.posted structure oTUUus" 
 
 . All these things Obed took i» with oiJe ranid 
 glance,,and saw the,«dvantage"of his Zirion • 
 In these roomt/with his revolver nn,l ^i 
 nition, he felt quite at ^^ He ?eh '^Z!i!"^ •" 
 
 B^^eved at tha? mcJIhent tLt he' 2 rTnow 
 Italian, for he wished very much to ..b . 
 
 questions of the old inn-kwiTr h„?,v^ *"""' 
 
 misfortune which he hadSdire """ ""^ * 
 
 abou't oufsfdV^S'^d' "^""^ "^ ""^^"^ 
 thanhnS-hu^^e^S^^i^hl^^I - 
 
 th. h^T """"^eives possibly in alliance with tI^ r^j' *"** V^^ ""'* he replenished the fira ^ 
 S^s^B.^O,::^"^'""'-*'^ '"'«'» change S -Pfo've c^ken . bedstid i^^ . 
 
 »<r2.r ",T""«* *" •"« '«Je» had produced this 
 Hw^ke. ?^d th3..,fj*^!^r°!*. «». ««^» 
 
 awake, and thougl. such watchfulness migteTtot 
 be needed, yet he felt that for his fatBHy^ffi- 
 it was wisest and J)est. To sit >A> ^7- i.f* 
 
 a^<- 
 
200 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 II '/ 
 
 Time passed on. Midnight came, and no- 
 tliing had occurred. Another hour passed ; and 
 then another. It was two o'clock. 
 
 About a quarter of an hour after this Obed 
 was roused by a sudden knoclting at the door of 
 the inn. Shouts followed. He heard the old 
 man descend the stairs. Then the door was 
 opened, and loud noisy footsteps were heard en- 
 tering the inn. 
 
 At this Obed began to feel that his watchful- 
 ness was not useless. 
 
 Some time now elapsed. Those who had come 
 were sufficiently disorderly. Shouts and cries 
 nnd yells arose. Obed imagined that thev were 
 refreshing themselves. He tried to guess' at the 
 possible numl)er, and thought that there could 
 not be more than a dozef, if so many. Yet he 
 
 only some brigands. Bat keep cool. I'll take 
 care of you. Perhaps you'd better get up ana 
 dress, though. At any rate, keep cool. You 
 needn't bother as long'as you've got me." 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 Al FLOREKCE. 
 
 had acquired such a contempt for Italians, and 
 had such confidence in himself, that he felt very 
 much the same, at the prospect of an encounter 
 with them, as a grown man might feel at an en- 
 counter with as many boys. 
 
 During this time he made no change in his 
 position. His revolver was in his breast pocket, 
 and he had cartridges enough for a long siege. 
 He smoked still, for this habit was a deeply con- 
 firmed one with Obed ; and lolling at the foot of 
 the bed, with his head against the wall, he awnit- 
 ed further developments. 
 
 At last there was a change in the noise. A 
 silence followed; and then he heard footsteps 
 moving toward the hall. He listened. The foot- 
 steps ascended the stairs ! 
 
 They ascended the stairs, and came nearer and 
 nearer. There did not seem to be so many as a 
 dozen. Perhaps some remained below. Such 
 were his thoughts. 
 
 They came toward his room. 
 
 At length he heard the knob of the door turn- 
 ing gently. Of course, as the door was locked, 
 and as the bed was in front of it, this produced 
 no effect On Obed the only effect was that he 
 fat upright and drew his revolver from his pock- 
 et, still smoking. 
 
 Then followed some conversation outside. 
 
 Then there came a knock. 
 
 "Who's there?" said Obed, mildly. 
 
 • ' Aperite 1 " was the answer, in a liarsh voice. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Aperite. Siamo poveri. Date vostro ar- 
 gento. 
 
 "Me don't understand /talian," said Obed 
 "Me American. Speeky English, and go to 
 bkzesl 
 
 At this there was a pause, and then a dull 
 deep crash, as if the whole body outeide had 
 precipitated themselves against the door. 
 
 Obed held his pistol qnickly toward the door 
 OBBpsite the thinnest panel, which had yielded 
 ■lightly to that blow, and fired. 
 
 Once I 
 
 Twice!! 
 •Thrice!!! 
 
 Three explosions burst forth. 
 
 And then came sharp and sudden deep groans 
 ^jmin, .intermingled with savage yells of ragfc 
 
 There wag a sound as of bodies falling, and re- 
 treating footsteps, and curses low and deep. 
 
 Loud outcries came from the adjoining room 
 The noise hod awaket<ed the fiunily. 
 
 Obed stepped to the door. 
 
 "Don't be afraid," Mid he, quietly. "It'g 
 
 After her accident Hilda was carried to the 
 nearest house, and there she recovered, after 
 some time, from her swoon. sHe knew nothing 
 of what Lord Chetwynde had thought and done 
 during that timtf when she lay in his arms, and 
 he had bent ov^er her so full of pity and sorrow. 
 Some time elapsed before she saw him, for he 
 had ridden off himself to the nearest town to 
 get a conveyance. When he returned it was 
 very late, and she. had to go to bed through 
 weakness. And thus they did not meet until 
 the following morning. 
 
 When they did meet Lord Chetwynde asked 
 kindly about her health, but evinced no stronger 
 feeling than kindness — or pity. She was pale 
 and sad ; she was eager for some sign of ten- 
 derness, but the sign was not forthcoming 
 Lord Chetwynde was kind and svmpathetic. 
 He tfied to cheer her; he exerted" himself to 
 please her and to soothe her, but that was all 
 That self-reproach which had thrilled him as«he 
 lav lifeless in his arms had passed as soon as she 
 left those arms, and, in the presence of the one 
 absorbmg passion of his soul, Hilda was no- 
 thing. 
 
 When they resumed their journey it was as 
 before. He was courteous to an extreme. He 
 anticipated her wishes and saw after her com- 
 forts with the greatest solicitude, but never did/ 
 he evince any desire to pass beyond the limit 
 of conventional politeness. To' him she wi» 
 simply a lady traveling in his company, to 
 whom he was under eveiy obligation, as far^j 
 gratitude was concerned, qr kindly and watcjifql 
 attention, but toward whom no feeling of ten/der- 
 ness ever arose. 
 
 He certainly neglected none of those ordinaiy 
 acts of courteous attention which are ctitnmon 
 between gentlemen and Udies. At JUlan he- 
 took her around to see all the sights /of that 
 famous city. The Breda Palace, the/Ami)hi- 
 theatre, above all, the Cathedral, were visited, 
 and nothing was omitted which migh/give her 
 pleasure. Yet all this was different from what 
 it had been before. Since the accident Ifilda 
 had grown more sad, and lost her sArightlinew 
 and enthusiasm'. On first recorerin* her senses 
 she had learned about the events of that acci- 
 dent, and that Lord Chetwynde had tried to 
 bring her to life again. She had/hoped much 
 from this, and had fully expected Avhen she saw 
 him again to find in him somethuig softer thin 
 before. In this she bad been/ utterly disap- 
 pointed. Her heart now sank ilrithin her, and 
 scareely any hope was left. Lrtiguid and dull, 
 ane txie(r~no longer to wiff Lowl C h e t wrlidc 1^ ~ 
 brilliancy of conversation, or bfr^enthnsiastic in- 
 terest in the beautiful of nature and of art 
 These had failed once; wh(^ should she try 
 them again ? And since he Mad been unmoved 
 by the spectacle of her lifelesf foim— the narrow 
 etcape from death of one ^ho ho well knew 
 
201 
 
 I 
 
 THE CBYPTOGRAM. . ' 
 
 At lengtl/they nsumed their journey and in iT' '?'" "?''"«^ '" hw heart K^i 1" 
 
 took placed Their arrival here terminated that 
 clo e assoj^mtion enfonSbd by their joumeywhch 
 had been^o precious to Hilda. Here Lord Chet 
 
 tervnkT t^*^ him except at certain stated in 
 hn^/ T?*"! """^ ">«> e™"- she began to lose 
 
 hav^ loved her «nder such cireumstan^s ? ^" 
 
 t *'o«nce Lord Chetwvnde went his o«t, 
 
 ly. He visued most of the places of int«rf«J 
 
 iri company with her, took her to^he I "?- 
 
 ! Church of Santa r»^„ .1,- 1. . . t. " 
 
 merest) 1 
 
 t. rcu L-' ^ „ " ' '"** "or 10 tne i;uo 
 t^^ Church of &m,a Cmce, the Palazzi V^— 
 M l.>"i, walked with her thrpngh the oictuS 
 f^^ne, and drove oat with her Mvemf timel 
 
 ana ne was left to his own reSonrces, and she 
 necessarily to hers. She could not teU where 
 wli '"L**"' ^^"^^y conjectured that he was 
 rfhng about without any "^rticuhir purwL ?„ 
 the character of a common sight-seer. ^^' 
 
 with f i "'•'" '?«'''' '"'^ "o rauch to herself 
 without the ,oy of his presence to softenTor 
 
 there began to rise within her bitter fe^lin,« 
 
 o-:?™S™.r«s?th-rts?£E 
 
 ^tt that she had ever left Ch^^wjnde and 
 
 for at times hope 'wou'w '^S S.^i 
 tenderness take the place of vindSk^n^^ 
 From hope she would ,<gain sink into desp^ 
 
 SSScfbhon" °"'' ""'^ '"•«'"^''«' « 'he 
 .1.^^ M ''? *" "'''' ''«'' P"*^e '"»■ rowed. Whv 
 
 l«l • u ——••— "(5 "CI UCVOl 
 
 honor' iit rv'"" ''^•'- Not «H"t^"8ens;'of 
 Ws rnstrnrf,^f "" *""'-°"' of K'«titude, not nil 
 brance of his Jf "'"""^' ?°'«^'=" the remem- 
 e^v !... u ^•'^™" P"^"'** f° General Pom- 
 woy could excite within him any desire Zf 
 
 asJ^t^t^fKii^c^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 mrhtr'hlm'^ TWs Tr ^"^ ''"^ ''"- «» 
 on that%he2l':?"«VeTu S^^^ 
 could not force himself to muse oCht o^ 
 
 Steirrte;rSiS-?s 
 
 Fo .?te"'rL7'i':?^''"'^'"''y"''=°"'="«dt^he . 
 ».«„ .k • "^ '"* '=oo'«'" ™o«l8 he now feh 
 
 nes ot His life. She it was who had been thn 
 cause, unwilling no doubt as he now thouKh? bS 
 «.ll no less the cause of the blight that had dt 
 
 ^nS'pre'^P^!?™"* the day when%n,t 
 
 — rnrni„„ I, ,; ' '" "'" pos't'on— a hanger-on he could not hoi., T • , ' "" """ Pa''«ed 
 
 forcing herself on an unwilling man who at fi«n««l p ^^ *'""""« *''« '^"y when first 
 
 best only tolerated her? The only soft ZLir m^^? if °'"*'^? P~P«^ ">«t unholy agree- 
 
 for Jier that had ever arisen in his heart w« ^T' i *»*""•« that had exiled him LThU 
 
 S"? r/« than Pi.y. Could ."e t,^tl" iTwliSSSPf ^^P'^r'" 
 
 ever this pity would change to love, or that even t.,Z^ ^"* .'"emed'to him the joys of vir- 
 
 Ae p,ty tself would las?? Was he not Iven ^f2 '^ "'"^ '"" ^^"^ »"«» been filled Vi^h 
 
 BOW longing to get rid of her, and iW ienHv " '. "^^V™"** *'"«=h "«* was never a^ 
 
 Kt"f V^'i?** .°f »"• I"d'»" -pSS ^"^.^^"l ^y'\^^ to this woma^fwho 
 
 «"" t !ririi^\ri(ij-* ««' ""« «aid 
 
 Wie ■].. ««^j -T* «^*«»^ riw «a,d, be- to write. Ahnv- .hIT -r*. .^ ""^ «««* 
 
 »»„ .« . T .^ "" ™""' never hope in aiiv 
 
 ^"^K" ^'t^'r *•" J""'" «»^s h^x 
 
 ™!!i I??' Between him and those hopes that 
 
 h™^' iSsr •"' "^ •"'• -de«Tt£ 
 
 lif- !!.*"f !S^' ''?.'?»"'«l not avoid recaUina hia 
 
 new: and «»rn ,nito o£ WJf J- ^TT' 
 -«6*e .lie conid not i? ^**'*^ *• ««'^. be- 
 
 «iS*S'"not*S/*'*' •" ^"^ Chetwynde'. 
 found hkl Jr. „• '"T ,""*"• «'»l«ble. He 
 SiSriU" ,• ^T"*"" "^^"^ »« «» once 
 faT^,^ r ^. ^ •'J™' "»««™'r embarms- 
 
 * Of common generiMitr, compeUirf him »o 
 
 to Write. Ab;;i-riXre' cZldTeve"rX;nr 
 
 £w£Sh^/h!:;?'mSrrirr 
 ^s^^teX-"cr.tfe^^ 
 
 ^i**'- 
 
203 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 him from death. She had watched by him day 
 and night till her own life well-nigh gave way. 
 i^he hud repented, Bn4 had mark^ her repent- 
 ance by a devotion which could not be surpassed. 
 For all this he felt giUit^fnl. His gratitude, in- 
 deed, had been so profound^and'so sincere that 
 it had risen up between him and his just hate, 
 and had forced him to forgive her fully and free- 
 ly, and to the uttermost, for all that she had done 
 of her own accord, and also for all of which she 
 had been the accidental cause. He had lost his 
 repugnance to her. He could now talk to her, 
 he could even take her hand, and could have 
 transient emotions of tenderness toward her. 
 But what then ? What was the value of these 
 feelings ? He had fivrgiven her, but he had not 
 forgotten the past. That was impossible. The 
 memory of that past still remained, and its re- 
 sults were still before him. He felt those results 
 every hour of his life. Above all, she still stood 
 before him as the one thing, and the only thing, 
 which formed an obstacle between him and his 
 happiness. He might pity her, he might be 
 grateful to her ; but the intense fervor of one 
 -^j^ssion, and the longing desire to which it gave 
 rise,'ini[de-(t impossible for her ever to seem to 
 him any thing else than the curse of his life. 
 
 At Florence he was left more to himself. He 
 was no longer forced to sit by her side. He 
 gradually kept by himself; for, though he could 
 tolerate her, he could not seek her. Indeed, his 
 own feelings impelled him to avoid her. The 
 image of that one who never left his memory 
 had such an effect on him that he preferred soli- 
 tude and his own thoughts. In this way he 
 could best struggle with himself and arrange 
 his lonely and desolate future. India now ap- 
 peared the one hope that was left him. There 
 tie might And distraction from troublesome 
 thoughts in his old occupations, and among his 
 old associates. He had bidden farewell to Cliet- 
 wynde forever. He had left the fate of Chet- 
 wynde in the hands of his solicitors; he had 
 signed away all his rights ; he had broken the 
 entail ; and had faced the prospect of the ex- 
 tinction of his ancient family. This resolution 
 had cost him so much that it was impossible 
 now to go back from it. The exhibition of Hil- 
 da's^evotion never changed his resolution for 
 anJMtant. The papers still remain^ with his 
 solicitors, nor did he for one moment dream of 
 countermanding the ordera which he had once 
 given. 
 
 What Lord Chetwynde most desired was soli- 
 tude. Florence had been chosen by him as a 
 resting-place where he might await letters from 
 England about his Indian appointment, and for 
 those letters he waited every day. Under these 
 circunfstances he avoided all society. He had 
 taken unpretending lodgings, and in the H6tel 
 Meubles, overlooking the Ponta delU Trinita, 
 he was lost in the crowd of fellow-lodgers. His 
 suite of apartments extended over the third story, 
 lielow him was a Russian Prince and a German 
 Grand Duke, and above and alt around was a 
 crowd of trav elers of all nations. He brouKht 
 no letters. He desired no acquaintances. FJ^- 
 ence, under the new regime, was too much agi- 
 tated by recent changes for its noblesse to pay 
 •nvattention to a stranger, howeverdistinguished, 
 oniess he was forced upon them ; and so Lord 
 Chetwynde had the meet complete isolation. If 
 
 Hilda had ever had any ideas of going with Lord 
 Chetwynde into Florentine society she was soon 
 undeceived, when, as the days passed, she found 
 that Florentine society took no notice of her. 
 Whatever disappointment she may have felt. 
 Lord Chetwynde only received gratiflcation from 
 this, since it spared him every annoyance, and 
 left him to himself, after the first week or so. 
 
 By himself he thus occupied his time. He 
 rode sometimes through the beautiful country 
 which surrounds Florence on every side. When 
 wciary of this he used to stroll about the city, 
 along the Lungh' Amo, or through the Casino, or 
 among the churches. But his favorite place of 
 resort was the Boboli Gardens ; for hero there 
 was sufficient life and movement t(^ be found 
 among the throng of visitors ; or} if"l)e wislied 
 seclusion, he could find solitude among the se- 
 questered groves and romantic grottoes of this 
 enchanting spot. 
 
 Here one day ho wandered, and found a place 
 among the trees which commanded a view of 
 one of the principal avenues of the gardens. In 
 the distance there opened a vista through which 
 was revealed the fair outline of Florence, with 
 its encircling hills, and its glorious Val d'Amo. 
 There arose the stupendous outline of II Duomo, 
 the stately form of the Baptisteir, the graceful 
 shaft of the Campanile, the medieval grandeur 
 of the Palazzo Vecchio ; and the severe Etruscan 
 massiveness of the Pitti Palace was just below. 
 Far away the Amo wound on, through the ver- 
 durous plain, while on either side the hills arose 
 dotted with white villas and deep green olive 
 groves. Is there any view on earth which can 
 surpass this one, where 
 
 "Amo wins us to the fair white walls, 
 
 Whe^ the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps 
 A softer feeling for her fairy lialls. 
 Qirt by her theatre of hUfg, she reaps 
 Her com and wine and oil, and Plenty leaps 
 To laughing life, with her redundant hnm. 
 
 Along the banks where nulling Amo sweeps 
 Was modmi Luxury of Commerce bom, 
 And buried Loaming rose, redeemed, to a new mom." 
 
 It was upon this scene that Lord Chetwynde 
 was looking out, lost in thoughts which were 
 sometimes taken up with the historic charms of 
 this unrivaled valley, and sometimes with his 
 own sombre future, when suddenly his attention 
 was ail«sted by a figure passing along the path- 
 way immediately beneath him. The new-comer 
 was a tall, broad-shouldered, sqnare-faced man ; 
 he wore a dress-coat and a felt hat ; he hnd no 
 gloves, but his thumbs were inserted in the arm- 
 holes of his waistcoat*; and as he sauntered along 
 he looked around with a leisurely yet compre- 
 hensive stare. Lord Chetwynde was seated in a 
 place which made him unseen to any in the~path, 
 while it afforded him the fullest opportunities of 
 seeing others. This man, who thut walked en, 
 turned his fnll face toward him and disclosed the 
 well-known features of Obed Chute. 
 
 The sight of this man sent a strange thrill to 
 the inmost heart of Lord Chetwynde. He here ! 
 In Florence I And his family, were they with 
 him? And <Aer— when he saw him UL London- 
 he said that she was yet with him — was she with 
 him now ? Such were the thoughts which came 
 to Lord Chetwynde at the sight of that face. 
 The next instant he rose, hurried down to the 
 path after Obed, who had strode onward and 
 catching hia arm, he laid t 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 When did you ar 
 
 . "Mr. Chate, yon here I 
 nve ?" 
 
 OM turned with a start and saw his friend. 
 .In... J !5 ,a«ain!" he exclaimBd, "by all 
 
 that s wonderful! But how did you ^t here?" 
 
 Unf iV.1^ !. "^ •**" '■""' '*" •"■ "'fee weeks. 
 But It doesn t seem possible that it should really 
 
 w,/.? ' w" u^'^'^' "■'"' K™"'«f warmth Xn 
 was usual to h.m as he wrung Obed's hand. 
 
 . Its possible," said Obed, with a character- 
 istic squeeze of Lord Chetw^nde's hand^which 
 made u numb for half an hour aftenvaixl ^' It's 
 possible, my boy, for it's the actual fact. But 
 sull, 1 must say, you're about the last man I ex- 
 pected to see in these diggins. When I sHw you 
 ind w«™ «v^^" r'^! "Pto yo-ceyes in business, 
 
 ny'XIhere."" '*'"" ^'"^ *^°'"« "°'^' ^'^ °" 
 
 "On your way there? You don't say so' 
 
 Bat you'll stay here some time ?" ' ""^ *« • 
 
 &,f!^r^**' '1.''° *"'"*""'« ''""e to spare. The 
 fiictis I came here to pass my leisureUme. I'm 
 expecung a letter every day which may wnd m" 
 off.^ But it may not come for weeks. '^ 
 
 " W'"" ™ ^'"* '*'''' '° ^"'''* ^"•"''^ Obed. 
 
 "I should think you'd rather stay home- 
 among your friends." «uy nome— 
 
 wi,hY*"~i.'?"",'l''"*"^'"«^'^r^fdChetwynde, 
 with assumed indifference. •' The fact is, fife in 
 Indm unfits one for life i„ Enghind We\« 
 new tastes and acquire new habits, i „eVer ye 
 Mwa returned Indian who could he oontent 
 For my part, I'm too young yet to go inX £^: 
 ing a returned Indian; «nd'«, aftir I flnTshed 
 my business I applied for a reappointment " 
 -. 1. J l^f ^ K*^ ^eal in what you sav " re- 
 
 S ^^ "l^T »"""»' i^landl^col 
 tawtcd. A man who has lived in a country like 
 India feels this. We Americans, accustomed as 
 
 Kn^o'nr",""'"^ ?'r««P''««' of atunS! 
 Z SnS ' Tif^' •>* depressed in a country 
 like Kngland. There is in your country. Sir a 
 
 S<r "^ AnH""i; *"""'"«"»?' American, is ;„ffo- 
 Sy." ""* ""-^ ^•'''""' ^ 'h" "■other 
 
 ml!"^ 1""'^ on tog,ther chatting about nn- 
 memuH things. Obed referred onfe more to 
 
 is M^t^TnT'" 11!'^ •)* ' "y""' British Empire 
 After M!ft?h" 'S?' *' '?*'"' •" ""'"'' 'he earth. 
 Tu i '*" ^he States it seemed to mo that I 
 
 S Th^re'"vL*A r ^!''°" '^'"^ '"^^ "Ssh 
 «dIIo7/K„^^ "^"'i?";.' * '""'"'e"' in itself; 
 «5 aT^ .V '"•* Indin, another continent • 
 «d Aden, and Malta. You have a smal Icounl 
 ^" Win " ""/t '!?er than New York State." 
 "weVmn- '""^/^"^ Chetwynde, with a smile, 
 \rl\T **,'^.'^ * K™"* "Jeal mon^ yob know 
 Wejud colonies that were worth all the rLt 
 23«»njuely those colonies took it Into C 
 _^*'o set up for thems elves, and itaB^l^t 
 =W^«naeat notimj of ths^tin mid 8tnBra£# 
 
 *" not «,. The only hope now left is tlit our 
 
 20S 
 
 countries may always be good friends, as tliev are 
 m.w^,w you and I are-as we always are, JuZ. 
 ever we meet under such circumstances l^s those 
 
 n«il J^l ^, " ""'"^^r 'han water, ' said old Tat- 
 nail, when he sent his Yankee sailors to helo 
 Admiral Hope; and the same sentiment is s*» 
 n the mind of every true Englishman whenever 
 he sees an American of the right sort " ' ' 
 " Ami X' •"•Ve'ltiments," said Obed, henrtilv. 
 And although I. don't generally hanker after 
 Bmishers, yet I have « kind of respect fo. £ 
 
 ScZ 2'i '",."':''" "*■ '"' "»™*ne8s and con! 
 traction, and all the more when I see that it can 
 turn out men like vou." " 
 
 . After a short stroll the two seated themselvpj. 
 ■n aqmet sequestered place, and had a longco^ 
 versation Obed informed him of the many even"s 
 which had occurred since their last meeUng l" e 
 news about Black Bill was received brCd Chet! 
 hr**fw"'l.'^'^ «"'T"^' ""d he 4d a strong 
 
 wh ch ^e h J K H ""Pri""" '^'''^^ connection 
 « he had had with the principals in this 
 
 He then questioned Obed, with deep interest 
 about his Ufe in Naples, about his joi^mey to 
 Florence, and many other things, with the pur- 
 pose of drewmg him on to speak about one whom 
 whoT i"."' ""r '"[""'"' •""""on. hut abo« 
 iuT W K*^''- '° k''"""- "^ «^'J "othing 
 t^on h^tnb 1 • K 'he course of the convars,^ 
 tion, he told all about that affair in the iWtino 
 Marshes, in which he recently vanished ?rom 
 view at o very critical moment. 
 MtV^lt !h^""' **" P'^en with his usual mod- 
 esty for this man, who was often so grandilo- 
 quent on the subject of his country, ^ "4^ 
 meek on the subject of himself. To g ve his ml 
 
 r??oThe"'chi'l ^•^'«" " "-"^ ""important 
 TnW In ij^fP"^' !" " '«"7 remarkable af- 
 fair, so that the facts themselves may be more 
 appropriately stated. These facu Lord Chet- 
 wynde gathered from Obed's narrativein sjuo 
 ot his extreme modesty. ^ 
 
 fJI^^^Jl^'" "'1°*' '.''^"' '•'«"' had been silence 
 „n.. V?k' "•".'^^her inaction among the assail- 
 ants. 1 he agitation of his fumilyexcited hissym- 
 
 t^him Ih'n'jiT'lS-'^""' ''"' "^""-^ 'hem, telling 
 them that the affair was not worth thinking aboutT 
 and urging them to be calm. His words inspired 
 
 dZ^ Ti?"*^ "••""' '"<* "•''y «" arose and 
 dressed Their room was at the end of the build- 
 ing, as has been said. Obed's room adjoined it, 
 and the only entrance into their room was through 
 --fe, nfrrow passage ran from the central hall 
 as far as the wall of their room, and on the side 
 
 Ob^'s '**'^ ''" "" ''°*"' ^^'"^ '^"^ ""'" 
 
 ^n^^1 1""'"* """® """^ Pe«* on the flre, he 
 called to his sister to watch at the window of her - 
 i^Ti "i- 't"" "^plenishing his pipe, and load- - 
 ing the discharged chambers of his revolver, he 
 awaited the renewal of hostilities. The long si- 
 lence that followed showed him that his flre %«*= 
 
 ;~v« niuiTcu mm mat nis nre h m 
 
 been very serious, and he began to think that 
 X'^ft T "«"™- «o the time passed nn- 
 til five o clock came. The women in the adjoin- 
 
 irLTn?. ""T P*'^*?."}' '""'"'• h"' watchfulTand 
 apparently calm. Below there were occas onal 
 jonnd. of fbotsteps, which showed that the as- 
 soitanUwerestlUinthepkce. The excitement -. 
 
 '% 
 
204 
 
 THE CBTFTOOBAM. 
 
 TO SrRINO FORWAHO WITH LEVELED FI8TOL UPON HIS ASSAILANTS WAS TUB WOUK 
 
 OF A MOMENT." 
 
 of the occasion was rather agreeable to Obed 
 than other\vi8e. He felt that he hod the advant- 
 age in every. respect, and wag certain that there, 
 could not be very many assailants below. Their 
 long delay in resuming the assault showed that 
 they were cowed. 
 
 At last, however, to his intense gratification, 
 he heard footsteps on the stairs. Ho knew by 
 the sound that there could not be more than four, 
 or perhaps six. When near his door the foot- 
 steps stopped. There was a momentary silence, 
 and then suddenly a tremendous blow, and a 
 panel of the door crashed in at the stroke of an 
 axe, the head of which followed it. Quick as 
 lightning Obed took aim. He saw how the axe 
 hod fallen, and judged exactly the position of 
 the man that dealt the blow. lie fired. A shriek 
 followed. That shot had told. Wild curses 
 arose. There was a mad rush at the door, and 
 again th e axe felW 
 
 Once more Obed watched the fall of the axe 
 and flred. Again that shot told. There were 
 groans and shrieks of rage, and deep, savage 
 curses. 
 
 And now at lost Obed rose to the level of the 
 occasion. ' Ue rapidly reloaded the emptied cham- 
 
 bers of his revolver. Stepping to the door of tiie 
 inner room he spoke seme soothing words, and 
 then hurrying back,J|p drew the ponderous bed- 
 stead away. Ontsi^he heard shuffling, as of 
 footsteps, and thougbt they might be dragging 
 away those who had been wounded last. AU 
 this had been done in a moment. To unlock 
 the door, to spring forward with leveled pistol 
 upon his assaiknts, was but the work of another 
 moment. 
 
 It was now dim morning twilight. The scene 
 outside was plainly revealed. There were three 
 men dragging away two — those tn-o who had been 
 wounded by the last shots. On these Obed sprang. 
 One went down before his shot The others, 
 with a oty of terror, ran down the stairs, and out 
 of the house. Obed pursued. They ran wildlr 
 up the road. Again Obed fired, and one wretch 
 fell. Then he pnt the revolver in his pocket, 
 
 anil <*hag<vi tha Atlinr tnaW- T^ha i" ' 
 
 nnu VUtlUWU . , 49II' WXBMr llMlUt JLUB 1 
 
 tween thAm lestenedrap^dly. At last Obed came 
 up. He reached out Ills arm and caught him by 
 the collar. With a shriek of terror the Moun- 
 drel stopped, and fell on his knees, uttering fhintie 
 prayers for mercy, of which Obed understood nqt 
 one word. He dragged him badk to itte booiCk 
 
 ■^'„ 'iln.'. 
 
a TUB WOUK 
 
 fonnd a rope in the stable, boand him lecnrelv 
 and put him in the dining-room. Then he went 
 about to 8eek the hindlonL He could not be 
 fonnd Both he and his wife had apparently 
 fled. But Obed fonnd something else. 
 
 In a lower room that opened into the dininc- 
 room were three men on two beds, wounded, 
 fcmt, and shivering with terror. These were thi 
 men that had been wounded at the first attack 
 In the anguish of their pain they made gestnreii 
 of entreaty, of which Obed took no notice. iUp 
 stairs m the hall were those two whom he had 
 struck with his last shote.' There were no others 
 to be seen. "■.•■«;• uj 
 
 After finishing his search,, Obed went np the 
 road, and earned back the man whom he had 
 ibot. He then informed his family of the result 
 In the midst of their horror at this tragedy, and 
 ^eir joy at escaping from a terrible fate, thev 
 
 .K V!?"'" P"^ *'°'" *^ sufferers, wr^tchM 
 Apugh t^ were. Obed shared this feeling. 
 
 JlS/T rf*''^''" l^P*^*^ "'"> *e end of the 
 
 fi^. He lifted one by one the wounded ^vretches, 
 
 jutting Aem on the beds in th« rooms which he 
 
 ^^red. Then he and his sister dressed their 
 
 Etwie ' "* *'"^*^' *"'* "•* *•'" »' 
 
 ^^^L^^° ^'^ S?" '"'""^»' happened that 
 • troop of papal gendunjerie came along, Obed 
 «TOed them, and calmly handed over the pris- 
 
 ZVl k"" **^r ?*"^ """""d bewildered, 
 tat took charge of them, evidently not at al 
 Mmprehendmg the situation. An hour or «> 
 ^ard the valet arrived with a fresh carriage. 
 ^ -M^. ""^"i"? 9»'«d's stoiy with won^ T; 
 WM able to explain it to the soldiers. 
 
 Obed then set out for Home, and, after some 
 ^ itay, came on to Florence. 
 
 Such was the substance (if his stoiy. 
 
 THE pbyptogram:' 
 
 MS 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 " TliB VILLA. 
 
 T^ERE were many things in Obed Chute's 
 narra ion which affected Lord^Chetwynde pro- 
 
 »)ntme Marshes had an interest for him which 
 WM greater than any that might be created by 
 
 S^r'ST.lff "' l^"!"^ ""<• indomitable plucfe 
 ftat had been exlubited on that occasion by the 
 modest narrator. Beneath the careless and ofT- 
 Und recital of Obed Lord Chetwynde wm able 
 
 heCS'lI*" ^"" *?'«"* of the Zier to" uJh 
 he had been exposed, and from WWch his own 
 cool courage had saved him. An onIin.nr mT 
 ^mL'"''' "'P»«"«««:es, would have base"; 
 ffl^i!. *"' *• ?• P""""** »' W. family hadta- 
 j'oiild have been ot best a sort of frennr at the 
 We to the love which he had for his familv and 
 
 te^yi^TiCrnt:Af^'? 
 
 Sa.mM.tlfr'* *• "•^* r'*^* devotion-! 
 ««M stUl maintain the «,rene.t calm «nd the 
 mort complete preMnco of mind in the face of 
 «wfW danger. Ewiy point In thiu itoiy pro. 
 
 dneed an effect on the mind of-ihe liat«n«F o..^ 
 
 eySa'' m^ir ^ "''"^ H? hi'^oM 
 eyes tbat memorable scene : Obed watchinir and 
 smoking on his bed by the sideTf the do^,i.^J 
 
 She\':^Z''"^f»f"'«'"""^ •" *« adjoinl^^^^ 
 -the sound of fooutepr, of violent knockinm: 
 of funous entrance, of wild and lawles^m^^ 
 He imagined the.flight of the old man a"d mI 
 
 %n^ »"'''°i" '*'™'' «»' P"*"!* through c„„„i^ 
 %nd treachery, gaw np thdr hotel and the^ 
 guests to the fury of the brigands. He bron/ht 
 
 SThS'oiJ^d' L'"' '"•"'^/'^^ of watchfulTat 
 ing wnen Obed lay quietly yet viirilantlv rwlin 
 
 ing on the bed, wit^ his pi^ i"C mouthlnd' 
 bis pistol in his pocket, lis.Vning t^ Z ^ouS 
 below, to see what they might foreshadow • wheth 
 er they told of peace or of war wWl.., ii. 
 nouncfed theJ^^f^^Z'llStl^^rZ 
 of an assault made by flendsiby thoS^ Sn 
 bngands whose name has becomeTho^r 
 whose tenderest mercies are pitiless crnehv^^ 
 to fall into the hands of whorShe™£ SS 
 that man or woman may know 
 
 One thought gave a horror to this narrative. 
 Among the women in that room hJL tKn^ 
 who to him was infinitely dearer thanany other 
 upon earth. And this 'danger had th^ten^ 
 
 her-adangertoo horrible to think ot^nTS 
 made his very l.fe-blood freeze in the course of 
 
 tl^w ".r^'r • ^i^ ""^ the one S on 
 which his houghts turned most; that hoirib^ 
 tha appalling danger. So fearih'l was it to hiS 
 ^t he en«ed Obed the privilege of having savS 
 W He longBd to have been there in Ob^ 
 place, so as to hM:e done this thing for her He 
 him«lf had once saved her from death, and tS 
 scene could never depart fh)m his memory • .but 
 
 Yet, during ©bed's narmtive, althonsh thesA 
 feelings were within hU heart, he said Ht.K 
 nothing. Hi listened with apparent cJmnesS. 
 offering no remark, thonsh at that rim^ ^ 
 Noughts of his heaA were*!!, ?ntent fn faS" 
 
 that he forced himself to keep sUence. For ^ 
 he had spoken he would have reveal^ all. If 
 
 to the T'T '" r"''* ^'-^ •»«'« kno^ evil 
 
 to the most careless or the most preoccnniS 
 
 listener, all the depth of that loVe SS 
 
 his whole being. Her very name to hSn Jraa 
 
 something which he eoold not mSS J^ Sh^ 
 
 nsibls emotion. And she, in fearful SX 
 
 temfic danger, in a situation so hoiriblS; could 
 
 •no so precions. - ""*•»« 
 
 And so he listened in silence, with only a casn- 
 
 & KV"'" "^^ h-^flnidied h^s^rj. 
 
 coollv L^u" **""" •PPropriate remarks, ve^ 
 
 tnend; which remarks were at once ouiatlv 
 
 Th<Jni •«<» *e; "what wv^aftSTiUf 
 These ItaUans are mbbish, at the best They are 
 about equal to Mexican.^ YonVo re«l aSS 
 our Mexican war, of coaree. To inVricSr 
 ovw,ach rnbWdi is almost . disgrSi:" ^°^ 
 feftis e^iT?'.!'*?: **• *°"«'' "hrther ha 
 
 i^i^ifiifii"'" 
 
206 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRABl 
 
 Yet, in spite of Lord Chetwynde's interest ^n 
 the alfair or the Pontine Marehes, there was an- 
 other story of Obed's which produced a deeper 
 eflect on his mind. This was liis account of his 
 interview witli Blacl( Bill, to which he had been 
 summoned in London. The story of Black Bill 
 which Obed gave was one wHich was full of awful 
 horror. It showed the unrelehting and pitiless 
 cruelty, of those who had made themselves her 
 enemies ; their profound genius for plotting, and 
 their far-reaching cunning. He saw that these 
 enemies must be full of boldness and craft far l>e- 
 yond what is ordinarily met with. Black Bill's 
 account of Gualtier's behaviqr on the boat when 
 the men tried to mutiny impressed him deeply. 
 The man that could commit such a deed as he 
 had done, and then turn upon a desperate crew 
 as he did, to baffle them, to subdue them, and to 
 bring them into submission to his will, seemed 
 to him to be no common man. His flight after- 
 word, and the easy and yet complete way in which 
 \0k had eluded all his pursuers, confirm^ this view 
 ^0f his genius. Obed himself, who bad labored 
 80 long, and yet so unsuccessfully, coincided in 
 ^is opinion. 
 
 \ The chief snbje(it of interest in these affairs to 
 b(>th of these men was Zillah ; yet, though the 
 c<inversation revolved around her as a centre, no 
 direct allusion was for some time made to her 
 present situation. Yet all the while Lord Chet- 
 w^rJide was filled with a feverish curiosity to 
 know where she was, whether she was still with 
 Obed's family, or had left them ; whether she was 
 far away from him, or here in Florence. Such an 
 immensity of happiness or of misery seemed to 
 him ^t that time to depend on this thing that 
 he did not dare to ask the question. He waited 
 to see Whether Obed himself might not put an 
 end to this suspense. But Obed's thoughts were 
 all abso^-bed by the knotty question which had 
 been raised by the appearance of Black Bill with 
 his story! From the London police ho had re- 
 ceived no fresh intelligence since his departure, 
 thoujiti evipry day he expected to hear something. 
 From the\ Marseilles authorities he had heard 
 nothing since his last visit to that city, and a 
 letter which he had recently dispatched to the 
 prefect at Naples hod not yet been answered. 
 As far as his^knowledge just yet was concerned, 
 the whole thing had gone into a more impene- 
 trable mysteiT than ever, and the principals in 
 this case, after committing atrocious crimes, aft- 
 er baffling the police of diti'erent nations, seemed 
 to have vanished into the profoundest obscurity. 
 But on this occasion he reiterated that determ- 
 ination which habad made before of never losing 
 Bight of this puipose, but keeping at it, if need 
 were, for years. \Ue would write to the police, 
 he said, perpetnolW, and would give information 
 to the authorities\of everr conntnr in Europe. 
 On his return to America he would have an ex- 
 tensive and comprehensive search instituted. He 
 would engage detec^tives himself in addition to 
 any which the polled might send forth. Above 
 all, he intended to linake free use of the news- 
 "^pSpers. Ho had, he said— Miffiirfliis lie was n 
 -true American — great\foith in |tdvortising. He 
 had drawn up in his mind alHitodv the formulas 
 of various kinds of notllces which he intended to 
 Kave inserted in the principal papers, by which he 
 hopetl to get on the track\of the criminals. Once 
 on t|ie|r track, he felt assured of success. 
 
 The unexpected addition of Black Bill to the 
 number of actors in this important case was right- 
 ly considered by Obed as-of great moment. He 
 had some idea of seeking him oat on liis return 
 to London, and of employing him in this search. 
 Black Bill would be stimulated to such a search 
 by something far more powerful than any mere 
 professional instinct or any hope of reward. 
 The vengeance which he cherished would make 
 him go on this errand with an ardor which no 
 other could feeL He had his own personal 
 grievance,against Gualtier. He had shown this 
 by his long and persistent watch, and by the 
 maligiuincy of his tone when speaking of his 
 enemy. Besides this, he had more than passion 
 or malignancy to recommend him ; he had that 
 qualification for the purpose which gave aim and 
 certainty to all his vengeful desires. He hnd 
 shown himself to, have the instinct of a liloud- 
 hound, and the stealthy cunning of an Indian in 
 following on the trail of his foA True he had 
 been once outwitted, but that arose trSia the fact 
 that he was forced to watch, and was not ready 
 to strike. The next time he would be ready to 
 deal the blow, and if he were once put on the 
 trail, and caught up with the fugitive, the blow 
 would fall swiftly and relentlessly. 
 
 Debate about such things as these took up two 
 or three hours, during which time Lord Chet- 
 wynde endured his suspense. At length they 
 rose to leave the gardens, and then, as they were 
 walking along, he' said, in oa indifferent a tcne 
 as he could assume ; 
 
 " Oh — by-ihe-way — Miss Lorton is here with 
 your family, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Obed ; "she is with us still." 
 At this simple answer Lord Chetwynde's heart 
 gave a great bound, and then seemed to gtojn 
 beating for some seconds. He said nothing. 
 
 " She is here now in Florence with us," con- 
 tinued Obed. " She is quite one of the family. 
 We all call her Ella now ; she insisted on it. I 
 have taken a villa a few miles away. Klla 
 prefers the country. We often drive into tlie 
 city. ,It^ a wonder to me that we never met 
 before." 
 
 "Yes; it is odd." 
 
 "She came in with us this morning with a 
 watch, which she left at I'enafrio's to be mended. 
 It will bo done this evening. She could not wait 
 for it, so I staid, so as to take it out to her to- 
 night. I strolled about the town, and finally 
 wandered here, which I think the prettiest place 
 in Florence. I'd been walking through the gar- 
 dens for an hour before you saw me." 
 " How has she been of late?" 
 " Very well indeed — better, in fact, than she 
 has ever been since I first saw her. She was not 
 very well at Naples. The journey here did her 
 much good, and the affair of the Pontine Marshes 
 roused her up instead of agitating her. She be- 
 haved like a trump — she was as cool as a clock ; 
 but it was a coolness that arose from an excite- 
 ment which was absolutely red-hot. Sir. She 
 seemed strung up to a pitch ten notes higher than 
 
 nRual, and oiice or twice ail raingfiTfiOT vftt - 
 
 they seemed to me to haVe a deep fire in them 
 that was stunning I I never, in all my bom 
 days, saw the equal of that little thing," ex- 
 claimed Obed, tenderly. 
 
 "It's having an occupation," he continued, 
 *'aa I believe, that's done her this good. She 
 
 ■■..miii 
 
ton is here with 
 
 was afraid she would be a dependent, and the 
 fear arose out of a noble feeling. Now she finds 
 her positton an honorable one. It gives her a 
 fine feehi^K of pride. The poor little tUng seems 
 to have beeXjbrought up to do nothing at all: 
 but now the disew^enr that she can do somethinff 
 actually intoxicates W And the beauty of it 
 is, she does it weU. Y^ir. My children have 
 been pushed along at a ti^endous pace, and 
 ^ey love Ella better than me or sister ten times. 
 But you II see for yourself, for you've got to come 
 right straight out with me, my boy. You Wind- 
 ham, are the one that Ella would rather see than 
 any other You're the man that saved her from 
 death, j^nd gave her to me." 
 
 At this Lord Chetwynde's stont heart, that had 
 never quailed in the face of death, throbbed fever- 
 ishlv in his intense joy, and his whole frame 
 thnUed at the thought that arose in his mind 
 Uoing to her was easy enough, through Obed's 
 warm fnendship. And he was going to her ' 
 This was the only thought of which he was conl 
 
 SCIOUS. 
 
 The carriage was waiting in front of the watch- 
 maker s shop, and the watch was ready ; so thev 
 drove out without delay. It seemed to Lord 
 Chetw^nde like a dream. He was lost in an- 
 ticipations of the coming meeting— that meeline 
 which he had never dared to hope for, but which 
 wsfl now before him. 
 
 Obed Chute, on coming to Florence, had rent- 
 
 w i" J. » °" ® "'"P** "^ *■»« •>'"* overlooking 
 Val dArno. It was about twelve or fifteen 
 miles away. The road ran through the plain, 
 and then ascended thp hills gently, in a winding 
 direction, till it reached the place. The villa wjw 
 MiTounded by beautiful grounds, wherein trim 
 gsrdens were seen, and fair winding walks, in- 
 terspersed with fountains and statuary and pavil- 
 ions Besides these there were extensive forests 
 of fhick-growing trees, whose dense branches, in- 
 terlacing overhead, threw down heavy shadows. 
 Through thrae dim woods many pathways pene- 
 trated, leading to sequestered nooks and roman- 
 tic grottoes. Here there wandered several little 
 brooklets, and in the midst of the forest there 
 was a lake, or rather a pond, from the middle 
 of winch rose a marble Triton, which perpetiinllv 
 spouted forth water from his shell. The villa it- 
 self was of generous dimensions, in that style 
 which IS so familiar to us in this country, with 
 broad piazzas and wide porticoes, and no lack 
 of statuaiy. Here Obed Chute had made him- 
 self quite at home, and confided to Lord Chet- 
 wynde the fact that he would prefer this to his 
 hou,e on the Hudson River if he could only see 
 the bars and Stripes floating from the Campa- 
 nile at Florence. As this was not likely to him- 
 Pen, he was forced to look upon himself as mere- 
 ly a pilgnm and a sojourner. 
 
 Lord Chetwynde entered the villa. Obed re- 
 huuned behind for a few moments {o giV^ome 
 
 SZ'hf •n'"' '^r""*'- AloftAallZ 
 . fc,!!^i " ""h "'''•' »'»'"'» °" «»ch side, and 
 Jfonn^n at the farthest end. On eith^^ide 
 ««» were doorg opening into spncioiBjSfcrt- 
 ments. Lord Chetwynde tumed^o tiffi, 
 
 S th«!h1"r«"u'''r' '"«"'' which'extelid- 
 M the whole length of the housaAUft looked 
 "oand, and his attention was a?onc?tr^t^ 
 
 THE CRYlTXXJRAM. 
 
 S07 
 
 JieUrt beat fast and furiously ; for, though he 
 ^ou Id not d stinguish her features,' which* wer^ 
 partly turned awa^, yet the shapTwas famiUal! 
 
 of hirHfr^SLlj"*' 'he sweetest memoriS 
 oi ms hte. The lady was sitting in a half-re- 
 clming position on an Egyptian couch, her head 
 was thrown back, a book hung listlessly in o^e 
 hand and she seemed lost in thought. tJo deep 
 was her abstraction that the noise of Lord Chet- 
 
 ««A .^ r" ""'r"* •'*'■ '•« P^us^d involuntarily, 
 and stood for a few moments in silence ^ ' 
 
 Ye8,ltwa8s/,e/ One look told him this It 
 
 aU his thoughts, who in his illn^had been ever 
 present to his delirious dhjams. It wasZ one 
 to whom his heart had never censed ,o turn 
 since that first day when that head had lain f™ 
 
 LrhTH"fl''° Y ^'^'' '^^ 'hat rich, luxuriant 
 hair had flowed^m a sea of gknr over his arms 
 burnished by the red rays o^?risini sip. To 
 walked softly forward and drew near. Then the 
 no.se of his footsteps reused her. S^he turned 
 . Ihere came over her facB the sudden light of 
 joyous and rapturous wonder. I„ that sudden 
 She Zrt'i? r"""*, *" ^« ^'h »"d senl 
 IllfW^Tw^'^r'^i*' ''^' f**'' »"^ »he book 
 W nS ^ J'^l^- ^°V" '""""" "h* pressed 
 her hand to her heart, ahd then, with both hands 
 outstretched and with her beautiful face all aglow 
 with joy and delight that she could not conceal, 
 she stepped forward. But suddenly, as though 
 some other thought occurred, she stopped, and a 
 crimson glow came over her pale* face. She cast 
 down her eyes and stood waiting. 
 „WK^5;l'*"^^"''^''.1"«ht her outstretched hand, 
 which still was timidly held toward him, in both 
 
 11a-1 *hem spoke, but he held her hand, and 
 she did not withdraw it. 
 
 " Oh 1" he cried, suddenly, As though the words 
 were torn from him, "how 1 have J^iiged for 
 this moment !" .^b'=" '"^ 
 
 .Ko^!!'*l?J'*^ f ''!"' h««*»J' 4d confusedly, and 
 then withdrew her hand, while Another flush swept 
 over her faca "^ 
 
 "Mr. Windham," she falteksd, in low tones, 
 what an unexpected pleasurBl I-I thought 
 you were in PIngland." ^ 
 
 "And so I was," said I^rd Chetwvnde, as he 
 devoured her with the ardent jaze of his eves; 
 but my busine^ was finished, and 1 left-"'.'- 
 How did yo^ find ns out ?f she asked, smil- 
 ingly, as, once more resuming li er self-poss^sion. 
 she sat down again upon the itgyptian sofa and 
 picked up her b^k. " Have JSi been in con^ 
 [r. Chute ?" / 
 
 Lord Chettvynde. "It was 
 
 iim into my /way at the Boboli 
 
 irning. I haf\e been here for— 
 
 eternity— ahd ^va■ thinking of 
 
 - •, ,- v.-'" he came up, Jltd now I am 
 
 reconciled to all my past." . 
 
 A silence foUowed, and each seemed to take a 
 hasty jjhinceatth^er. On 2ilkh'« face there= 
 
 spondence with 
 "No," laugh 
 fate that threw 
 Gardens this m 
 well, for a sma 
 going away w 
 
 were the traces of sorrow; its lines had grown 
 hnor, and Its air more delicate and spiritual. Lord 
 Uietwynde s face, on the other hand, showed stilt 
 he marks of that disease which had brought him 
 to d^th s door, and no longer hiid that glow of 
 
 "y a figure at the farthest end. It was a lad7 mnX ZiT*"'!.' k HVT*^*" h-^d that glow of 
 •ho*, youthful fi«e and rfendei- figure made t .t£rS!i '"•• *^^ ^ its Characteristic 
 
 4\- 
 
808 
 
 THE CBTPTQ09A1C. 
 
 ■•/■ • I 
 
 SHE SEEMED U>8T IN TUOUOUT. 
 
 "Ton have been ill," said Zilkh, suddenly, 
 and with some alarm in her voice. 
 
 ' ' Yes," said Lord Chetwynde, sadly ; " I hare 
 been as near death as it is possible for one to be 
 and live." 
 
 "In England?" 
 
 "No; in Switzerland." 
 
 "Switzeriand?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I thonght that perhaps some private troubles 
 in England bad caused it," said Zillab, with tones 
 of deep sympathy, for she reccdlected his last 
 Words to her, which expressed such fearful an- 
 ticipations of the future. 
 
 " No ; I bore all that. It was an unexpected 
 circumstance," he said, in a cautions tone, " that 
 caused my illness. But the Italian air has been 
 beneficial. But yon — how have yon been? I 
 fear that yon yourself have been ill." 
 
 " I have had some troubles," ZiUah replied. 
 
 Lor d Chetwynde forbore to qnestiwi her ri wnt 
 those ^ooGlBi; He wenroirttr speak Bbont^ie 
 air of Val d'Arao being the best thing in jthe 
 world for all illness, and congratulated her on 
 having so beantifhl a spot in which to live. Zil- 
 lab grew enthusiastic jn her •praises of Florence 
 and all the surrounding sceneiy; and a> each 
 
 learned bow long the other had been here they 
 wondered why they had not met.. 
 
 " But I," said Zillab, " have not gone often 
 to the city since the first week. It is so beanti- 
 fnl here.'"^ , 
 
 "And I," said Lord Chetwynde, "have rid- 
 den all about the environs, but have never been 
 near here before. And even if I had, I shonld 
 have gone by it without knowing or suspecting 
 that yon were here." 
 
 OI>ed Chute had much to see about, and these 
 two remained long together. They tnlked wer 
 many tilings. Sometimes there were long pauses, 
 which yet were free from embarrassment. The 
 flush on Zillah's cheek, and the kindling light 
 of her eye, showed a pleasure which she could 
 not conceal Happiness was so strange to her 
 that she welcomed eagerly this preseiit hour, 
 which was so bright to her poor sorrow-laden 
 heart. Lord Chetwynde forgot liis troubles, 
 he banished the fatnre, and, as before, he saied 
 
 ISffprBient, and enjoysdlt to the ML- 
 
 Oped returned at last and joined them. IIm 
 time fled by rapidly. Lord Chetwynde made s 
 move to return at about eleven o'clock, but Obei 
 would not allow him. He made him stay thst 
 night at the villa. 
 
 K-a&- 
 
CHAFTER LXIir, 
 
 A ORAXOB. 
 
 Although Lord Chetwynde wm always out 
 ' day, yet he had alwRira ~>»...^^i ._ u.- ' 
 
 THE CRYPTOQBAM. 
 
 M9 
 
 k., ,i„„ — . u u J '^"""Tnae was always out 
 by day yet he had always returned to his Vooms 
 
 &l "''''*• °."u'"' •'"'tf"' niKht, that twelve 
 odock came without any signs of his return 
 
 111 if 7 '' "'"' ungovernable passion her whole 
 lie, in which it was with difficulty that she kept 
 
 t^T, i.'u"?'™^ *"•*""«» within her. This 
 Bight she had grown more nervous than nsnid. 
 
 LiT V£"\^*' '•'•.'"^ •'»»'"«** ^ '»»« culmin- 
 •Uon of the long excitements through which she 
 bid passed. His absence filled her with a thou- 
 nnd fears. The longing of her heart grew in- 
 Merablo as the hours passed by Without any 
 
 ■ SSL.?M iT'vT'k lr"y "' «J"ng to her 
 •wrant to ask if he had come back, she at hut 
 dbfflissed the servant to bed, and saf herself at 
 fti» door of her room, lisfeijing for the sound of 
 fcotsteps In that watiSiful attitude she sat. 
 
 , dumb and motionless; but the hours passed by 
 tarw she sat there, and fltiU he came not. 
 . Jr^It^A f °*^ hours her mind was filled with 
 SjSr.K fT" 1"^ '?""«•• Sometimes she 
 ttonght that he t^ been assjissinafed. At 
 otter times she fkricied thot Gnaltier might 
 
 !!l!!i„r' r ?. ''> P"""'*^' «"<• «'"»e back from 
 iSl 'h« h °^^'«>8?*''ce, to track the man 
 
 tagth left her, and another took possession of 
 Ii«, which was far more natural and probable, 
 »»i which finally became a deep and immof- 
 •ble conviction. She thought that Lord Chet- 
 wynde had at last yielded to his aversion; and 
 BnwUhng, from motives of gratitude, to have 
 •V forawl fareweU, he had concluded to leave 
 
 «l^nV^''?.'l!'' *? "J^"*""' ** """ "«>08ht first 
 Mme toTieV, " that is it. He wearies of my per- 
 petna presence. He does not wish to subjwt 
 lumself to my mean entreaties. He has cut the 
 connection abruptly, and is this night on his 
 wiy to Leghorn to take the steamer. He has 
 gone to India, and left me forever. To-morrow, 
 no doubt, I shall get a letter acamdnting me 
 
 Sidlrjir?"*' '"'P- ""^ •''^^*"« -« - 
 
 tJ^'h.T'* "he thought of tj»8 the more in- 
 toise her ronviction became, %ptU at hist, from 
 fte foree of her own fancies, she became IsVe™ 
 
 toM her of his departure. Then there came 
 ow her a mighty sense of desolation. What 
 Aoald she do now ? Life seemed l„ that Z- 
 
 ttg. Again diere came to her that thought 
 wh^ch many time* daring the last few weSs 
 M occurred, and now had grown familiar- 
 A. .wful thought of suicide. The life she li»^ 
 
 and of passion, who once had Ms«n superior to 
 I all feeling, now Uy a prey to an agonrof soul 
 that threatened n«son ana life itself*^^ '^ 
 
 But suddenly aU this was brought to an end. 
 A about mid-day Lonl Chetwynde return^ 
 Hilda heard his footstep and his /o ce A gSi 
 joy darted through her, and her ««t top^ 
 was to fling herwif upon him. and w,^p 3S 
 happiiiess upon his breast But that wLTthing 
 which was denied her-a privilege which St 
 
 the fimt rush of joy she restnuned he^elf/nnd 
 I«:king the door of her room, she sat listening 
 .,lv^"'f'' """^ ^'*^y breathing. She heard him 
 speak a few careless words to the servant, "h™ 
 
 about an hour. She watched and waited but 
 
 to™:'r1 r*^ '"""••"« '" «° «>•>»• '^I hare 
 
 tonnented him too much," she said to hewelf 
 
 "I have forced my«Jf upLn him ^I Imve 2 
 
 myselt common. A greater delicacy and a more 
 
 retiring habit will be more agreible to hC 
 
 Let me not destroy my present happiness. It U 
 
 joy enough that my fears are dispe'ISedH^d thiS 
 
 ^if T°' rV'"^' "?,"• ^ »he^treined hw- 
 
 f!ll~ ^T 5»"»t seJf-restraint was the mightest 
 
 task which she had ever undertaken-and m 
 
 passively listening, when every feeling prompted 
 
 her to rush forth eagerly to g^et him. ^ 
 
 He went away that day, and came back by 
 
 meS'ih« Mr-'^''' ""M^""" ''i-. »«^ thSj 
 met on the following morning 
 
 ahi^'r,' »'."•«.«"" 8'an<=« which she stole at him. 
 Ae noted in him a wonderful change. His faw 
 had lost Its gloom ; there was an ixpression of 
 peace and blissful tranquillity which she had 
 never observed before, and which she had nerer 
 thought possible to one who had appeared to her 
 as he always had She sat wonE^as thev 
 waited for breakfast to be served-a mSiHvS 
 they generally took together-and baffled herself 
 n vain conjectures, A great change had cer- 
 tMnly come over him. He greeted her with . 
 h»jff ?r''l. genial smUe. He had shaken her 
 hand with the warm pressure of a good-hearted 
 
 ^ nnf .vi^*.r" ''P"8!">We'» with the seryanu. 
 He noticed he exquisite beauty of the day. He 
 had something to say about many little trifles, 
 fcven in his best moods, during the journey, he 
 
 ?ln Tul '^"J'^" "■"• '^'''«» he' had never 
 been otherAvise than resened andnelf-contained ; 
 his face had never altogether lost its cloud of 
 core. Now there was not a vestige of care to be 
 seen; he was joyous; he was even hilnrions; 
 and seemed at peace with himself and all the 
 world* 
 
 What had happened? 
 
 This was flie question which Hilda incessantly 
 asked herself. It needed something umumal to 
 change so completely this strong nature, and 
 transform the sadness which had filled it into 
 peace and joy. What had happened? What 
 
 l«t now the kst hope had^eK J^dTw •k Ihe ffi„ Coalf^hegtmtifledre'ngewice? 
 JMf waa-nntWn- kJU . u—j JT ^: .. 'I'^^^Ltne foeUngjuato^M|h( for that -Wasrit 
 
 lews of some raddeSwIane? She did not 
 
 l«t were sent away ; and this >voman of feeling 
 
 -_,..-.. „ „. ^^ Miuueinmrane r yue did not 
 ^''■V^J^r^ Chetwynde heard that he 
 had inherited millions it would give such joy m 
 this, which would make itself maniibit in alLldi \ 
 looks and words and acts and tones. WhS-^ 
 would be needed to produce such a change in 
 herself? Would vengewioe, or riches, or tonor 
 
 L'-tt. . 
 
210 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 , be Bufflfient ? No. One thing alone could do 
 
 thi«. Were the, by any po88ibil!tv,-ever to gam 
 Lord Chetwynde to beritelf, then she felt that f(he 
 would know the same aweet peace and calm joy 
 Oil that which she now read in his face. In that 
 event she thought that she could look npon her 
 worst enemy with a smfle. But in him what 
 could it mean? 'Coul^ it be possible that he had 
 any one whose smile would bring him such peace 
 as this? Once before she suspected that beloved 
 another. Could it be within the bounds of pos- 
 sibility tlfat the one whom he loved lived in Flor- 
 ence? 
 
 Thi» thought filled her with dismay. And 
 yet, why not? Had he, not set out from Kn- 
 glond for Italy? Uad he not dragged himself 
 out of his sick-room, almost before he could 
 walk, to pursue his journey ? Had lie not broken 
 off almost oil intercourse with herself after the 
 ^ first week of their arrival ? Had he not been 
 
 ■%| occupied with some engrossing business all the 
 time sime then ? What business could have at 
 once so occupied him and so changed him, if it 
 were not something of this kind ? ' There was 
 one thing whjch could at once account for his 
 coolness to her and his inaccessibility tot her ad- 
 vances, for his journey to Florence, for his occu- 
 pation all the time, and now for this strange 
 mood of happiness which had come so suddenly 
 yet so gently over him. And that one thing, 
 which alone, to her mind, could' at once account 
 for all these things, was Love. 
 
 Tlie time passed, and Lord Chctwjtnde's new 
 mood seemed lasting. _ Never had he been so 
 considerate, so gentle, and w kind to Hilda. 
 1 At any other time, or under any other circum- 
 
 stances, this change would |iave stimulated her 
 mind to the wildest hoj)efl ; but now it prompted 
 fears which filled her with despair. So, as the 
 davs passed, the struggle rnged within her breast. 
 
 Meanwhile Lord (^lietwj-nde was a constant 
 visitor at the villa of Obed Chute, and a welcome 
 ^ guest to alL As the days possed^he constant 
 
 assocLf^tioii which he had with Zillalrinade each 
 better known to the other than ever bef«re. The 
 tenderness that existed between thera was im- 
 pressed in the presence of the oihors Vout on the 
 frequent occasions when they were left alone to- 
 gether it found expression by acts if not by 
 words, by looks if not by acts. Lord Chetwynde 
 conid not forget that first look of all-absorbing 
 and overwjielming joy with which Zillah hod 
 , greeted him on his sudden oppearonce. A ipos- 
 
 \^f ter, to a certaui extent, over himself, he coerced 
 
 himself so far as not to alarm Zillah by any ten- 
 der words or by any acts which told too much ; 
 yet in his face and in his ey^ fih« could read, if 
 me chose, all his devotion. As- for Zillah, the 
 change which she had felt from the d^ monot- 
 rmy of her past to the vivid joy «f tin present 
 .^ was so great and so powerful that its effects were 
 too manifest to be concealed. She could not 
 conceal tlie glow of health that sprang to her 
 cheek, the light that kindled in her eye, the res- 
 onant tone that was added M her voice, and the 
 s^ag thatcame ttf her Btep. .Nor could she, in 
 her girlish innocence, conceal altogether how 
 completely sho' now rested all her hopes and all 
 ' her happineM npon Lord ChetwVnde ; the flush 
 of joy that arose at his arrival, the sadness thot 
 overspread her at his departore\ Bat, Obed 
 ^ Chute and his sister were not obiwrvant; and 
 
 these things, which would haVe been so ntanifest 
 to others, were never noticed by them. It deem- 
 ed to both of them as though Zillah merely 
 shared the pleasure which they felt in the socioiy 
 of this Windham, whom Obed loved and admired 
 and they thought that Zillah 's feelings were nfere^ 
 ly of the same character as their own. 
 
 Neither Lord Chetwynde nor Zillah cared to 
 disclose the true state of the cose. Lord Cliet- 
 wvnde wished to see her every day, but did not 
 wish them to know that he came every d«y. 
 That might seem strange to them. In point of 
 fact, they would have thought nothing of it, but 
 would ha^ve welcomed him as warmly as ever; 
 but Lord Chetwvndo could not feel Sure of this. 
 Apd if he nsitcd her every day, he did not wish 
 to let the world know it How it happened can 
 not be told ; by what mysterious process it oc- 
 curred can scarcely be related; such a process , 
 is too indefinable for description; but certain it 
 is that a mysterious understanding ^rang up l)e- 
 tween him and Zillah, so that on every olternnte 
 day vvhen he rode toward the villa he would 
 leave his horse at a house about a quarter of n 
 mile away, and walk to the nearest part of tlio 
 park, whete there was a small gate among tho 
 trees. Here he usually entered, and soon reach- 
 ed a smoll kiosk near that pond among the woods 
 which has alreodv been spoken of. The liouse- 
 (lold was so small and so quiet, and the woods 
 were so unfrequented and so shadowy, that there 
 was scarcely any possibility of intemiption. 
 Even if they hod been di^overed there by Obed 
 himself. Lord Chetwynde's presence of mind 
 could have readily furnished a sotisfactor}' story 
 to account for it. He hud olreody arranged that 
 in his mind. lie would hove ' ' hoppened to meet"' 
 Zilltth on the road near the ^te, and come in 
 here with her. By this it will be seen, on the 
 strength of this mysterious understanding, that 
 ^illoh was not averse to tliis clandestine meet- 
 ing. In fact, she always was there. Mouv timss 
 they met there in the weeks which Lord Chet- 
 wynde passed in Florence, and never once did 
 she fail to be there first to await him. 
 
 Perhaps it was because each had a secret be- 
 lief that this was all temporary — a happiness, a 
 bliss, in fact, in this part of their mortal livei, 
 but a bliss too gmat to last. Perhaps it was 
 this that gave Zillah the courage and spirit, to be 
 at the trysting-place to receive this man vho ^ 
 adored her, and never to fail to be there firat— ' 
 to think that not to be (here ^rst would be al- 
 most a sin — and so to receive, his deep and fer- 
 vent expressions of gratitude for her kindness, 
 which were reiterated kt evciry meeting. At ^ 
 any rate, Zillah was always there on tho dayi 
 when Lord Chetwynde wished ^ei^ be there; 
 and on the occasions when he vi^nd the villa 
 she was not there, but was seated in the drawii^- 
 room to receive him. Obed Chnte thought thai 
 Lord Chetwynde came three tipes a week. 
 Zillah knew that he came seven times a week. 
 
 For'^Some time this state of things had con- 
 tinued. Windhatti was the chosen friend of 
 Obed, and the fitvored ggest at Obed's vil&. 
 Zillah knew that this could not Ust, and used to 
 try to check her happiness, and reason it down. 
 But as the hour of the tnrst approached all at- 
 tempts of this kind were foi]gotten, and she was 
 there watching and waiting. 
 
 To her, one day thus waiting, Lord Chet«yad« 
 
 JiA 
 
ctnie with a ud imUe on hia face.' am 
 
 WM melancholy and preoccupied. ' 
 
 You do not look well to-day,^' said Zilkh 
 wondenngly, and in toaes which we^ fu of 
 
 «irff hSyT ' '""""' -"•«•"/« her and 
 
 "MiM Lorton," «aid he, sadly, ".omethinf 
 
 ha. happened which ha. throwfr the "«,d«? 
 
 gloom over me. Shall I tell you? WilT^u 
 
 KTh'"'? *'"' '^y «'«"» ' ^ will tou vou.^ ; 
 
 kave thi. day received a letter giving memv an- 
 "India I 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 SIl 
 
 !.„ ; «"»l«" tnw out with white lipi 
 
 li.TntTIl'^ 'he a.hj)nJ«Rnsf dcpiir. 
 
 India I "he repeated, a. her gteatV^es were 
 
 fixed m agony upon him ; and thfn .he^top^^ 
 
 prewinj^er hand to her heart "WPPOU, 
 
 Ixifd rhlK?/^ """ l°">'^ •« "'enw that 
 ejught her ham! in hU, .fcarce knowing wiat^ 
 
 i 'nS.""' ?!f^^„"T' " ''•'' ""ll^ " ''° "«' '"^k «> 
 •I me. i«nim despair; lam heart-brJken- 
 L"h':!J!°'.A°°'' «,tho futUhi; but the fuXk 
 
 ?tS? frt; '^'.'^•. ™*"""« »f -oh one wa. subiect. 
 ter a.^»T""r "^ »!"■ °""^ »»«J m^hbughl 
 m«^e from t me to time about the best coatum^^ 
 For some day. Lord Chetwynde busied Wm^S • 
 
 pecially for the occasion, and tailor, had to fee \ 
 •een, and measuremenu had to be Uken OfS 
 
 KTee wuh his 'constant attendance upon Zillah 
 for every day he was punctual at the ^rm m- 
 pUce or in the villa. "7«ing- 
 
 Meanwhile Hilda', intolerable anxiety had 
 taken another and « rery natural turn. sL b^ 
 gap to feel mten«5ly curio.».bout the object^ 
 Lord Chetwynde's daily Xji^ations. IlavinK 
 ma^ InZl'' *^ '=on«''''»iShth.uhe« was a wc? 
 
 Zillah gasped this out with white lips while m„*!f ?^'^h '° *"'°"'''"*'**h.t there was a w"^ 
 
 jiK T^r. Vp^7rm"arhrh^vy 
 
 tarfiM. But she said not a word. ' 
 
 Ktfo^rmir^"^'er»^«"-' yo„ 
 
 ,4"?i^iSi^rittt-'iS^^ 
 
 Wfl, and her lips moved : ^- 
 
 " Never'" 
 
 :rr "", ""»> ""oiy nour on y strentrthenpH 
 
 this conviction, until at length it was rSy 
 
 fi^m th^ '*"«' °f J^^onsy which she suffered 
 \? u "^" ^"" "'«'* " extreme as those which 
 she had .QfferM before from fear, of anxieTv or 
 juspense, heth when hurrjingTn t« ^ve i^rd 
 ChetwynCafld when watchfng at hi^^S 
 In her wild, ungovernable passion and her unconl 
 
 which a betrothed mistress might feel, and thefeme 
 nnreason.ng indignation which a t'rSe^lLw! 
 
 lul wife milrht hm-o lul.o.^ =.,. •• . . ..' 
 
 .-..^ ..„. ..^.w Hune luturt; but the fut 
 
 not immediate; lean vetwaitafew we«U1i7";:Sil r".""'.?""".*^ inuignation which a tn 
 Tou will ,.iU come f.r^ r>myt:Z-^o^^r^^; ™^'" ^-^^ -hen «us™,cting a husb^^^^ 
 "• ^ tL HJ?r ^ f '^''".*^ """* '"*'■ "'ith an insatia- 
 
 e. 2^'„!fe»'^.'!^.™J!^."!.*J«!'^ •- his secret, and 
 
 »•■• t .■ '.. ikL« jJ^T » . ■»""■•"»•"=■ Willi an insatia- 
 
 Zdlah caught he^ hand away, and her eve. t^lT!^X'^?' whatteight be his secret, and 
 
 II. T^r. dropped from ben'^th hw h^v^ «h^ "'.**' '" T^" '^ '"" ">" ""^ might be of 
 
 she.. But Kha .„:.! „„ ._ . ""^ neavy whoM existence shn nnur &)> ««.,flj._» * i.^, . 
 
 ''Never!' 
 
 IMt Wju the only word that she said. 
 
 -_♦ 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 MASQUKRADE. 
 
 m^^S.Xrfi'.r' «"!'.'l«y f-Uof new., 
 
 TUB 
 
 -JT^-i 1 . f™" "owe one day full of new. 
 Md particularly dihted upon the grandeu? of a 
 m^Tii »?•"*='*. r"'" t-kf place" 1: 
 j^Tk ^u"-., "* *"hed to go, ind to take 
 f !„► ^^ """ ""«» "^^ »•» "i^d. and his «! 
 dTL^Ji" T^^y communicate! toaillh. 
 thl^.^"*:^''"*^"'^*^ who happened to be mo™ «r%;;V"'u'u°" '"". I'"T"» was to re- 
 there at the time. Obed had learnedthat {» -^ 1 **' *** P"""h her rival in the affections of 
 to be conducted with the WghS dSS of ^ ^H."*." "".•"'«■• ™ther an^bstacle in rtTe wav of 
 "•flcence. He had talked a^tlf\!?»hl^* k*""?""* •»'" "''*«tioij8. Dmirivedthusof Xlid 
 
 American, with whom he h'aftetWe «« " IflS"!' ^^ J^V' ° «^'» «^ ""y ^^^^ 
 ^ ^rS ^ r!'. '^" »"«. he w«^'S In theS ^l^^hetwynde became inte^ted 
 5>- liord Chetwynde exDressad tka .««^ j . . . *™"'^ of the masquerade. The state of 
 
 •K Md ZUlah at once sho^ 2riiJ?ZK*^ "'"'' *"*« ***'='' he hadSllen evir n^nwihe dS 
 •i-m that wa. »«. ^^y^^ *^''?'' «"th..- | covey of Zil|ah had deprived him of^hat cJn^ 
 
 stant reticence Which ns^d to 1» hi. „!.. ".!2" 
 
 whoM existence she now felt confident BeWnd 
 tins dMire there lay an implacable resolve to take 
 l^^H'^'' ■'" .*?.^/ .""y "P"" her. and the discov- 
 tXh [ '"«'•'**'' ""'n*! *« only .ynonymou. 
 
 r.^r.K*- '*?'"^''*"«~'"='' -hich she would wreak 
 npoh this destroyer of her peace. . 
 
 dJl'rr"%''i»i'"''' howevei-, to accomplish sach a , 
 fmrn^i, " *"■ """""f *^°"''> he found out 
 
 from the wrvants, nor was there any one whom 
 she could emptey to obse^e her " hu.bandV 2S 
 
 dZ.» V •'"' ^"■" ^ *■«" *• »eed of tha^ 
 deep 4evotion and matchless fidelity which she 
 had once received from Gualtier, But he wS 
 
 fr T^:* ??"'•' "•'•' "°» «"«> for him? 8h2 
 thought of this often, but still deUyed " dol^ 
 
 m,nH K ""' m". "'•' •"""■«•" "he ^ve the coml 
 ThtKn ?/''•' 'T** «"«'7 thingMd comeTo 
 do her bidding. But she hesitated. Even n 
 her unscrupulous mind there was a Dercention 
 of the fitness of things, and she w^Zr to 
 
 TLt i!'"J\'i!"»"'^ '^^ "'» »f 'he man who w 
 deeply loTed her, when her purpose was to re- 
 
 TZV *** P""'"'' uh""" "^''' '" tl« affections^ 
 
 another nrmn ni- n>>k__ __ vl... i . .. ""•"»"• 
 
 "«, ana ^uiali at once showed a gMisl 
 
 iZ ^?Sel2J^*"» „?•«» '"tended to 
 "CSld rfS^ *^PP?'"' ^'•'' •• •" Athe. 
 
 -^^^^^^mBmmm 
 
 :; y : '■"i«m'»u aepnvea him of that con- 
 stant reticencrWfiich us^d to be his char ^t^ 
 
 U«L ^JS.^u''** P'r?"" ■"'J'8enW«nd talkaT 
 rl^L, .fc .change had inspired ahirm in Hilda 
 Mther than joy, and she had considered tliis the 
 S^nT:Z *" "ll'ir* "•« love w« Ae'a'ni! 
 Z««I.^*^''L"'"'' him now. Afker the maa. 
 querade had been mentioned he himsetf so 
 nhoutit Int hefuU««ofhisJoyit.li» 
 
 .tea-', «W-i 
 
^» 
 
 sit 
 
 THE CBTPTOORAH. 
 
 , ,'»» , 
 
 and Hilda, tttu Wondering wh ^ •« ihoold mvoi- 
 don inch • thing, began to wonder wlut inter-, 
 est tlie tiling might lutre t* him. No donbt he 
 wu going. Of th»r the (bit aisured. . If lo, the 
 myBterioni being R> whom slw believed he waa 
 devoted would necestwilr be there toow She be- 
 lieved that the expectation 6f being there with 
 her had'eo intoxicated him>that this maranerade 
 was the chief thing in his thouglits, and there- 
 fore he had made mention of it. So she watch- 
 ed to find ODt the meaning of this, ■> 
 
 One day a parcel c^me for Liord Chetwynde. 
 The senrantt were -out of sight, and she u|>ened 
 it. It waa a salt of clothes in the Cavalier fash- 
 ion, with ifvrj accessory necessanr to make up 
 the costume. The meaning of this was at unce 
 evident to her. He was going to this masquer- 
 ade as a Cavalier. What then 7 This discovery 
 at'once made plain befora>her all that she might 
 ■ do. Under these circumstances it would be pos-i 
 sible for her to- (aUow and to track him. Per- 
 haps her own g6od fortune and cleverness might 
 enable hpr to discover the one to whom he was 
 devoted. But a complete disguise was necessary 
 for herself. She was. not long in cfioosfng such 
 a disguise. She decidednpon the costume of the 
 Conpagttia deUa J/isertcorc/ia-rfne. which was 
 eminently Florentine, and, atiMpmie time, bet- 
 ter adapted for purpbiies of conbMlment than anr 
 other cbnld possibly be. It -consists of a black 
 robe with a girdle, and a hood thrown over the 
 head in sucha way as to show only the eres. It 
 would be as suitable a disguise for a woman as 
 Ibr a man, and would give no possible chance of 
 <«cognition. At the same time, belonging as it 
 did to that fkmons Florentine society, it ijronld 
 be recogniud by all, and while, insuring a com- 
 plete 'disguise, would excite no comitaent. 
 
 Lord Chetwynde left early on the morning of 
 . Ae iSte, taking hia coatnme with him, showing 
 ^ Hilda that he waa evidently going in company 
 with others. It was with great impatience that 
 she waited the'progrcss of the hours ; and when, 
 at length, the tihie came, and sh|B was depoeited 
 at the gate of the Villa Rinalci,^En- agitation was 
 excessive. Entering here, sba||Hid the grounds 
 illuminaied. 
 \ They were extenstve, and filled with groves 
 and spacious avenues and dashing fountains and 
 beantiftil sculptures. Already a large crowd bad 
 assembly, and Hilda walkedaqiongthem, watch- 
 ing on every side for the man Whom she sought. 
 , In so large a place as this, where the grounds 
 were,^ extensive, it was' difficult indeed to find 
 plar person, and two hours passed away 
 l^atrch. ^t she was patient and de- 
 mand there was but one idea in her mind, 
 lie and th«jra^ty of thejMsembled throng 
 »t for one nmBiM divert her, though this 
 ithe first scenffisrthe kind that she had ever 
 
 held, and its novelty might virell have attracted 
 her attention. The lights which flashed out pa 
 brightly through the gloom of nig^t— thejiouy 
 crowd! which thronged ererr where — the roam- 
 ing «pray that danced upward from tiie ftnmtaiiis, 
 
 glftWfinJng in ttia Hirht t\t thft lhr*n» frtin ♦tiftwti<l 
 
 HivmMtwy >u sucuKus us uarMntt|iB ' "luvunniaMiHs^ 
 
 scenes of mirth and revelry that arose on every 
 side— all thesjB had no attraction (br this woman, 
 who had come hero tat one purpose only, and 
 who carried this pnipoae deep in her heart The 
 company wore vveryimaginaae attire. Most of 
 thtm were in masks, bat some of them had none : 
 
 while Hilda, In her monmftil robe, that spoke to 
 all of death and funereal rites, was alone in tli^ 
 singularity of her costume. 
 
 She wandered throughout all the grounds, and 
 through the villa i|Mlf, in search of one thing, 
 but that one thing shj; could not find. At length 
 her weary feet refused to support her any lonv.^ 
 ger in what seemed a" hopeless search, and sli^ 
 sat down near ohe of' the fouutains in the rcif-1 
 tral avenue, and gave herself up to desDopdenw 
 thoughts. ^ , WL^'A. 
 
 About half an hour pissed, wMpi *adM||^b|i'o 
 figures approached that riveted hei^MpWon. 
 1%ey were a man and a wt>ma!i. Her hjnrt bent 
 fast. Th^re was no mistake about the mJkn. Ijis 
 dress was the dress which she herself had teen 
 and examined. He wore a domino, but beneath 
 it could be seen his whiskers, cut after the Kn- 
 gliih fashion, and long and pendent; But Hilda 
 knew that face so familiarly that there wag no 
 doubt in her mind, although she only saw the low- 
 er portion. And a woman was with him, rat- 
 ing on his arm. They pass^ by her in silenra 
 Hilda waite<l till they had gone by, and tli'en 
 arose, and followed stealthily. Now had come 
 the time for discovery, perhaps for vengenQce. 
 In her wild impulse she had brought a <lngger 
 'with her, which she had secreted in her bi-east. 
 As she fbllowed her hand ployed mecijnnicaNy 
 with tlie hilt of this dagger. It was on tliiit that 
 she had instinctively placed her ultimate resolve. 
 They walked on swiftly, but neither of them turn- 
 ed td' see whether they were followed or not. 
 The idea of such a thing never seemed to hare en- 
 tered into the mind of either of them. After a 
 time they left the avenue, and turned into a side- 
 path ; andr following its course, they went on- 
 ward to the more remote parts of the grounds. 
 Here'.there were but few p^ple, and these grew 
 fewer as they went^on. At length they came to 
 the end of this, path, and turned to the right. 
 Hilda hurried onwkrd stealthily, and, turning, 
 saw an arbor embowered among the trees. Near 
 by wtw '^JUljL^M^^pnK Item the branch of ' 
 a tree <>'^^iBHMHOfli^ heard low voices,* and 
 
 knew '^^ffllnPnHI '"^ the..i||iiapi'"'i' 
 crept nii|MH|^B|WBPt close to i^^lnclose, 
 indeed, nNlHHPf^'^HFsItting at the back, had 
 but a few inches between themselves and this list- 
 ener. The rays of the lantern shone in, so that 
 Hilda could see, as they sat between her and the 
 light, the outlines of their forms. .But that light 
 was 'obstructed by the leaves that clung to the 
 arbor, and in the shadow then- features were in- 
 visible. Two dork figures were before her, and 
 that was all. 
 
 " We can stay here alone for some time," said 
 Lord Chetwynde, after a long silence. He spoke 
 in a whisper, which, however, was perfectly aod- 
 ible to Hifda. 
 
 " Yes," said the other, speaking in the same 
 whisper. "'He is amusing himself in the Grand 
 Avenue." 
 
 " And we have air hoar, at least, to ourselves.. 
 We are to.meet him iHt the Grand Foantain. He 
 irilI«aifr&Ku^ 
 
 There was another silence. 
 
 Hilda heitrd this with stAuige feelings. Who 
 waa this h» of whom they spwe? Was he the 
 hnslband of this woman? Ofconne. There was 
 no other expUuiation. They conld not be so cao- 
 tkrat aiul 10 regoMfol aboat any oAer. - Nor, hi- 
 
 h» 
 
THB CRTPlioiUM. 
 
 ;i» injuriaftMband, and usetitn aa an 
 
 A ligh escaped the other. / 
 
 of the future." ^ 
 
 " Don't think of the futnre'. The D»»n» i. 
 onr only concern. When r Vw„v r .P^"' " 
 
 H|P^e'to fc'«oV'ifr<:„^^"«''- 
 
 TnitaMn?.^ "'"^.'^w »" impaggioned and in- 
 
 " Oh rl!7^^' K*'''.''' P'«"*^ *«r heart. 
 And I ^ I."''*' l''°"«'"' " »'°'' he loves her ' 
 what blessed fortune was it " r<»n.»^ r j 
 Chetwynde "that led me to ^^ heTi^FC 
 jnce-thatirought us both her^ t^ this o,^" See 
 m,InT, ft '*''" '"'» ""« ""Other's society? 
 aiosf r/orri^"^- ' thought ^^I 
 The lady said flothing. 
 
 tion -^nighty aslE "^ '^"^ "^"^ "'^ 
 W«f^ °'< '^r '^'*" "■• conscioua of time. 
 
 side was the mighty po,vcr of love; onThe^ 
 the dread for^e of hate. TenderneU d wel! ^ 
 vengeance waited there. Clor^Sl^ 
 these three, but while Hilda heard ^n,LZ^ 
 b«athi„g of M,o lovers, the; wrr^1.:;:2.So«''o? 
 her presence, and honrj „„. .i.- ...^r"*"':"*"' 
 
 "AnBvoaunha'p^yr- ™" ^'On, Chetwynde. bn«thi„gof M,e lov. .. _ ,.„.__^,„^^^ 
 
 of;;i?i^*'''p^'''-'-'-i'-h.nki.g to^^^^^ 
 "^- ' ■ o^"rh2!^''^--''>""-«3/K^^^ 
 
 Unconscious of all else, and oblivioos of #1,- 
 
 fcjich knew tJio IdSpf the Other, thomrh aowS'. 
 had spoken It. ^K^ •""^' """WnnowonU 
 
 Phl',^''' ™J'.'"en<fPtaddeply exclaimed Lord 
 thetwynde, m a vo ce which Wm low .^ j-!^ 
 and fufi of pa«,ion-. voke ww"h Z U. o«? 
 and no longer a whispei^"Oh niTftCrf?!^ 
 beov^! fotgive my 'IJord^, foVK't^^ifl"/ 
 nes^mypassmn; fonfive m^ lovS^ ItfiaZZ 
 to me when I know that I must lose you TS^ 
 
 I must go to the other end of the earth and mv 
 er never, nev^r mon, can we hope^^Tj^" 
 
 -— ■■wi aireiuiy let 
 
 first, that both were Enffliah tu'^ua 
 
 dSn« ''^I'^'^V «n which this might have b^n 
 0B^ saiiea in the same steamer PnMif.i„ Zi.-£ 
 
 ;; And do you remembe^ what I said ?" ' 
 I have not forgotten. " 
 
 it. Tbiil^..» **• «"^*'" ••*"■ •»"«• «n*held 
 
 But Hilda had alre^v I«.rn.rf .k- .. "' ""at divide 
 
 «t, that bothlSX^iiir™^^'''" ™°«h-H'\°"'your 
 
 « Ji'l^r'"!''' P**.""^ *■»"'' <"">ra him in pwsion. 
 ate mpetuosity-bnming wonls thev w™ .n^ 
 
 H«^i„n » t' '? "y'nP'thy With their meaniV 
 He clung to^lier hand. Every moment d«^ri^ 
 h.m monp and more of that sdT^Xt JS tS 
 pmfonnd consideration for her^The^Sd^ 
 
 .^tten himself as to speak wonls UkTtl^ Bui 
 W separation was near, and .he W«SSe S 
 J;m, and the hour and the-opporttmi^'^SS 
 
 IB mtoleroble, he groaned. •''God knows how 
 WthfuHy I have kept a ^nard over my Wort, and 
 
 fi^tS™ ^. Vr^"*;!: '°"P"« ovrirmasti, me. Sy 
 ».. ?■'* hke hell without you. Oh love I oh 
 
 6^-K-c,c..'r<,si'a3sj 
 
 ?«^ts« 
 
 ^deop sUence foUowed, broken bya «,b from 
 
 '«Tui!!!!!lil? ™'""' y*»" ■"» ">'ne!" he cried, 
 s.^ r " "'i?? """^ '"'« d«oWon and Si: 
 
 K^wiu^L;g!c Jag ^^£ 
 
 fo.««t HllThHS^hlnKJkSf 
 K fw ^? *^'* y**" ^"- SmI I gjve up 
 
 winds. I trample even on Aonor and Atf» for 
 
 yonr sake. Come with me !" ^ ' 
 
 He paused, breathkiM fit>m tiM terrible emo. 
 
 k4[^;^c, 
 
 ' t^s. 
 
214 
 
 THE CBYI 
 
 )GBA&L 
 
 tion that had now oveqwwered him. The lady 
 trembled. She tried to withdraw her hwd, l>ut 
 he clung to it. She staggered to herieet, and 
 Mood trembling. / 
 
 "Oh !" she fullered, "do not teJhpt rao! I 
 am weak. I am nothing. Do' not; do not!" 
 
 ; ''Tempt you? No, no!" cried Lord Chet-i 
 wynde, feverishly. " Do not say so. I ask you 
 only to save me from despair.", / 
 
 lie rose to his feet as he said this, and stood b; ' 
 her, still holding that hand which he would nc I: 
 relinquish. And the one who watched them i \ 
 her agony saw an anguish as intense as hers i: i 
 that quivering frame which half shrank awa f 
 twm Lord Chetwynde, and half advanced toward 
 him ; in those hands, one of which was held in 
 his, wliile the other was clasped to. her heart; 
 and in Lord Chetwynde himself, who, though he 
 stood there before her, yet stood trambling from 
 head to foot in the frightful agitation of the hour. 
 All this Hilda saw, and as she saw it she learned 
 this — that all the hopes which she had ever^irm- 
 ed of winning this man to hei-self were futile and 
 baseless and impossible. In that moment thej; 
 faded away ; and what was left ? What ? Venge- 
 ance I 
 
 Suddenly Lord Chetwynde roused himself from 
 # the struggle that raged within him. It; was as 
 "though ho had resolved to put an end to all these 
 conflicts with himself. He dragged Zillah towafd 
 him. Wildly and madly he seized her. He 
 flung his arms about her, and pressed her to his 
 heart. 
 
 " My love! my darling !" he exclaimed, in low 
 tones that were broken, and scarce audible in the 
 . inteiisity of his emotion, "you can not — you will 
 not — you dare not refuse mo !" 
 
 Zill&h at first was overwhelmed by this sudden 
 outburst. But soon, by a mighty effort, she 
 seemed to gain control over hereelf. She tore 
 herself away, and staggered back a few paces. 
 
 "^are me!" she gasped. "Have pity! 
 have mercy ! If you love me, I implore you by 
 ' your love to be merciful ! I am so weak. As 
 you hope for heaven, spare me !" 
 
 She was trembling violently, and her words 
 were scarcely coherent. At the deep and pite- 
 ous entreaty of her voice Lord Chetwynde's heart 
 was touchal With a violent etfort ho seemed 
 to regain his self-control. A moment before he 
 had been possessed of a wild, ungovernable pas- 
 sion, which swept all things away. But now this 
 was succeeded by a calm, and he stood for a time 
 silent. 
 
 "You will forgive me/' he said at last, sadlv., 
 " Yon are more noble than I am. Yon do right 
 to refuse me. My request seems to you like mad- 
 ness. Yes, you are right to refuse, even though 
 ^ I go into despair. But listen, and yoci will see 
 how it is. I love you, but can never win yon, 
 for there is a gulf between ns. You may have 
 suspected — I am married already ! Between ns 
 there stands one who keeps us forever asunder ; 
 and — that — one — / — hate — tcorte — Man — ' 
 <imtkt" — -- V— ^- , 
 
 He spoke these last words slowly, and with a 
 savage emphasis, into which all the intensity of 
 his love had sent an indescribable bitterness. 
 
 And there was one who heard those words, 
 in whose etrs they rang like a death-knell ; one 
 croached behind among the shnibbery, whose 
 bands clung to the lattice of tlie arbor ; who, 
 
 nongh secure in her concealment, could scarcely 
 
 ide the anguish which raged within her. At 
 
 hese words the anguish burst forth. A groan 
 
 escaped her, and all her senses seemed to fail in 
 
 that moment of agony. 
 
 Zillah gave a cry. 
 
 " What was that H Did you hear it ?" she ex- 
 claimed, catching Lord Chetwynde's arm. 
 
 Lord Chetwynde had heard it also. 
 
 "It's nothing," said he, after listening for a 
 moment. ' ' Perhaps it's one of the deer. " 
 
 "I'm afraid," said Zillah. 
 
 " Afraid ! Am not / with you ?" 
 
 ' 'Xet us go, " murmured Zillah. ' ' The place 
 is dreadful; I^an scarcely breathe." 
 
 " Take off jpur ma8k,"^said Lord Chetwynde; 
 and with trembling hands he assisted her to re- 
 move it. Hi^ tone and manner reassured her. 
 She began to think that the sound was nothing 
 after nil. Lord Chetwynde himself thought but 
 little of it. His own excitement had been so in- 
 tense that every thing else was disregarded. He 
 saw that ^he was alarmed, but attributed this to 
 J;h.cS-.e3;ei(cment which she had undergone. He 
 now did his best to soothe her, and in his new- 
 found calm he threw\ awny that impetuosity 
 which had so overpowered her. At last she re- 
 gained something like her former self-possessiun. 
 
 ^We must go back," said he at length. 
 "Wait hefe a few moments, and I will go up 
 the path a short distance to see if the way is 
 clear." 
 
 He went out, and went, as he said, a little 
 distance up the path. 
 
 Scarcely had his footsteps died out in the dis- 
 tance when Zillah heard a noise directly behind 
 her. She started. In her agitated state she was 
 a prey to any feeling, and a terror crept over her. 
 She hastened out with the intention of following 
 Lord Chetrfynde. 
 
 The figure, crouching low behind the arbor, 
 had seen Lord Chetwynde's departure. Now 
 her time had come — the time for vengeance! 
 His bitter words had destroyed all ho|ie, and all 
 of that patient cunning which she might other- 
 wisis have obsen°ed. Blind with rage and jms- 
 sion, there was only one thought in her mind, 
 and that was instant and immediate vengeance. 
 She caught her dagger in her hand, and siruds 
 out upon her victim. 
 
 The light which hung from the branch of the 
 tree shone upon the brbor. The back-ground 
 was gloomy in the dense shadow, while the in- 
 tervening space was illumined. Hilda took a 
 few quick paces, clutching her dagger, and in a 
 moment she reached the place. But in that in- 
 stant she beheld a sight which sent through her 
 a pang of sudden horror — so sharp, so intense, 
 and accompanied by so dread a fear, that she 
 seemed to turn to stone as she gazed. 
 
 It was a slender figure, clothed in white, 
 with a white mantle gathered close About tRe 
 throat, and flowing down. The face was white, 
 and in this dim light, defined against the dark 
 4Hi«k-£rouBd of trees, it 8«eraed-Uke thelitceat—; 
 the dead. The eyes — large, lustrous, burning- 
 were fixed on her, and seemed filled with con- 
 suming fire as they fastened themselves on her. 
 The dark hair hung down in vast voluminons 
 folds, and hy its contrast added to the marble 
 whiteness of that face. And that face ! It wu 
 a face which was never abs^t from hor thougbti^ 
 
ou?" 
 
 nh. «' The place 
 uhe." 
 
 Lord Chetwyiide; 
 ssisted her to re- 
 er reassured her. 
 iind was nothing 
 nself thought but 
 It had been so in- 
 Jisregarded. He 
 attributed this to 
 undergone. He 
 , and in his new- 
 that impetoosity 
 At last she re- 
 9r self-possessiun. 
 1 he at length, 
 ind I will go up 
 lee if the way is 
 
 he said, a little 
 
 ed ont in the di»- 
 e directly behind 
 ited state she was 
 or crept over her. 
 ition of following 
 
 he branch of the 
 rhe back-ground 
 Dw, while the in- 
 . Hilda took a 
 dagger, and in » 
 But in that in- 
 sent through her 
 iharp, so intense, 
 a fear, that she 
 gazed. 
 
 lothed in white, 
 1 close About tite 
 e face was white, 
 against the dark 
 
 IUIcA thfl frtCfl o' 
 
 itrous, burning— 
 I filled with cun- 
 emselves on her. 
 vast voluminoni 
 id to the marble 
 lat face ! It wu 
 •Ota hor tbougbti^ 
 
 -"«■« BKHK U I A W OH T y UlUII IM IT TBgOPOg ggl^XTjntg gf ^WHaRHr.* 
 
 • fcc« which haunted her dreams— the face of 
 ber Tictlm— the face of Zillah ! 
 
 Hilda bad only one thought, and that was this, 
 u«t the sea had given np its dead, and that her 
 flctim had come to ponfront her now ; in the 
 boar of vengeance to stand between her and an- 
 
 other victim, It was but for an instant that she 
 stood, yet in that instant a thousand thoughts 
 swept through her mind. But for nn instant ; 
 and then, with a ll^ud, piercing shrieit, she leaped 
 back, and with a thrill of mortal terror plunged 
 into the thick wood and fled afar— fled with tha 
 
 v^^-ttJ^u, ^iLf ^^3,t'i 
 
\ 
 
 216 
 
 THE CBTFTil^atAMr 
 
 feeling that the aTenger waa following fast after 
 her. 
 
 The shriek roosed L<^ Chetwjrnde. He 
 nuhed backi Zillah had fainted, and wns lying 
 senseless on the grass. He. raised her in his 
 arms, and held her pr o wad convulsively to hif 
 heart, looking with unotterable longing upon her 
 pnle face, and pressing his burning Upa to her 
 cold brow. There was a great terror in his heart, 
 for he conid not think what it might be that had 
 happened, and he feared that some sudden alann 
 had done this. "Bitterly he reproached himself 
 fi)r 80 agitating her. He had' excited her with 
 his despair ; and she, in her agitatiota, had be- 
 come an easy prey to any sudden fear. Some- 
 thing had happened, he could not tell what, but 
 he feared that he had been to some extent the 
 cause, by the agitation which he had excited 
 within her. All these thoughts and fears were 
 in his mind as he held her upraised in his arms, 
 and looked wildly around for some means of re- 
 storing her. A fountain was playing not far 
 away, under the trees, and the baJtMpaf running 
 water came to his ears amidst thrdei^ stillness. 
 There he carried his precious burden, and dashed 
 water in her face, and chafed her hands, and 
 mnnnured all the time a thousand words of love 
 and tenderness. To him, in his intense anxie- 
 ty, the moments seemed hours, and the passage 
 M every moment threw him into despair. But 
 at last she revived, and finally opened her eyes to 
 see the face of Lord Chetwynde bending over 
 her. 
 
 " Thank God ! "- he murmured, as her opening 
 eyes met his. ^ 
 
 "Do not leave me!" moaned Zillah. "It 
 may come again, and if it does I shall die !" 
 
 " Leave you !" said Lord Chetwynde ; and 
 then he said nothing more, but pressed her hand 
 in silence. 
 
 After a few moments she arose, and leaning 
 heavily on his arm- she walked with him up the 
 path toward the fountain. On the way, with 
 many starts and shudders of sudden fear, slie 
 told nim what had happened. She had heard a 
 noise among the tries, and had hurried out, 
 when suddraly a figure rushed up to her — an 
 ■wfiil figure I It wore a block robe, and over 
 its head was a cowl with two holes for the eyes. 
 This figure waved its Arms wildly, and finally 
 gave a long, wild veil, which pierced to her 
 heart She fell senseless. Nevu while life lusts, 
 she said, would she be able w foiget that ab- 
 horrent cry. 
 
 Lord Chetwynde listened eagerly. 
 
 "That dress," he said, "is the costume of a 
 Florentine society that devotes itself to the burial 
 of the dead. Some one has woni it here. I'm 
 aflnsid we have bden watched. It looks like it." 
 
 " Watched! who could think ofnidi a thingf ** 
 
 "I doift know," said Lord Chetwynde, 
 thoughtfully. "It tanj have bam acddentak 
 Some masker has watched ns, and luu tr^ to 
 frighten yon. Tliat is all. If I thought that we 
 coold have any enemy, I would say that it was 
 
 'SiirthM is Ifliposslbte: ^¥e 
 known here. At any rate, you must not think 
 that there has been an v thing supernatural about 
 it. It seems to me, he concluded, "that we 
 havk been mistaken for some others." 
 
 This way of accounting for it served to quiet 
 ZUlah's (bars, and by the time that they reached 
 
 the fountain she was more calm. Obed Chute 
 was waiting there, and as she pleaded fatigue, 
 he at once had the cai^ge ordered. 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 niLDA's^DBOISION. 
 
 Hilda fled, and eoittinned long in that frantic 
 flight through the thick woods. As the branches 
 of the underbrush crackled behind her, it seemed 
 to her that it was the noise of pursuit, and the 
 horror of thkt unexpected vision was before her, 
 for to face it again seemed to her worse thnn 
 death. She was strong of soul naturally ; Iter 
 ner>-e8 were not such: as give way beneathiM^ 
 pressure of imagination ; she was not n ii.fipi" 
 who was in any degiiee liable to tl^o ordinitiT 
 weaknesses of a woman's nature; ^t>^9 latt 
 few months had opened new iieelings lyithln her, 
 and under the assault^ of those fierce, resistless 
 feelings the strength ^f her nature had given 
 way. Even had shd possessed oil her old 
 strength, the sight of Ihis unparalleled appari- 
 tion might have overwMlmed her, but as it was, 
 it seemed to mak« her Insane. Already shaken 
 to her inmost soul by^ long suffering and wild 
 alternations of feeling, she had that night at- 
 tained the depths of datfaairin those words which 
 she had overheard. {Immediately upon that 
 there came the direful phantom, which she felt 
 that she could not look upon and live. That 
 fece seemed to bum itseff into her mind. It was 
 before her as she fled, a^ a great horror thrilled 
 through her, diving her onward blindly and 
 wildly, until at but nature itself gave way, and 
 she fell shrieking with tema^ 
 
 Then sense left her. ' 
 
 How long she lay she knew not There was 
 no one near to bring back the lost sense. She 
 awaked shuddering. She had never feinted thus 
 before, and it seemed to her now as though she 
 had died and risen again to the sadness of life. 
 Around her were the solemn forest trees. The 
 wind sighed through their bimnches. The san 
 was almost at the meridian. It was not mid- 
 night when she feinted. It was mid-day almost 
 when she recovered. There was a sore pain at 
 her heart ; all her limbs seemed full of bruises ; 
 but she dragged herself to a little opening in the 
 trees where the rays of the sun came down, and 
 there the sun's rays warmed her once more into 
 life. There, as she sat, she recalled the evenu 
 of the night The horror had passed, and she ^o 
 longer had that awful sense of a pursuing phan- 
 tonf; but there renulned the belief, fixed within 
 her soul, that she had seen the form of the dead. 
 She was not superstitions, but in this instance 
 the sight, and the eflTects of that sight, had been 
 so tremepdons that she oodd not reason tliein 
 awiy. 
 
 She tried to dismiss these thooghts. Whst 
 was she to do? She knew not And now ss 
 she thought there came back to her the remem- 
 
 Dhetwyndc s. wonls," and tfae'a^"' 
 terancfl of his hate. This tecollection rose op 
 above the remem1(rance of her terrors, and gave 
 her something dse for thought What should 
 she do? Should she give up her purpose and 
 return to Englabd? This seemed to her intoU 
 erable. Chetwynde Castle had no attnutioui 
 
 *^ dJnL^4»j^ ?'(■ ■4*-'' JW -»f ^^ ^ 4 ^,*i/^'4i"l^» 
 

 ■n* even if .he were now auared beyond all 
 doubt that she should be for aU the rest of her 
 
 Zh f *««»«'»«' were fixed on her brow be- 
 yond the chance of removal-even if the court 
 and the anstpcracy of England were eager to re- 
 ceUe her into their midst-yet even Te "she. 
 foand in th«e thing, nothing which could aVvi^ 
 ate ner smDf. nnH nnfhin.. ».k:.i ■ • .» . 
 
 THE CRYPrrOGRAJtt 
 
 .». iZ^lZe •"■"»" """""g wnicn could allevi- 
 ate her gnof, and nothing which could afford any 
 
 nn« M?"" i**K '•'?,'"" "»*" penetmted with 
 one Idea, and that idea was all set upon Lord 
 Chetwynde. If he was lost to her. then there 
 wjs only one of two alternative^-^i^Lh to £ 
 mH^ or vengwnce. Could she Jie? Not yet 
 IVom that she tnmed, not in fcr, but rather 
 * £^I„« i"5""'* »omething yit remained to 
 
 «fH ?£' •^?m''^**t°^ vengeance lt>se np fiercely 
 and irremtibly. It retnmed witi something of 
 that vehemence which had markted iu presence 
 Z3t fr^T "'«'"' !:'••'" "•»« ^o'hed forth to 
 how could she now act ? She felk as though the 
 •ffort after vengeance would draW her once more 
 to confront the thing of horror which she h.S ai! 
 ready met with Could she face it again ? 
 
 the memory of Goaltier. He wiis yet faithful 
 Ae behevirf ^„d ready to act for her in ani 
 
 lo liim she could now turn. He coijd 
 now do what she could not. IfshehadhimXe 
 ISrJ°. ™' "^ ^Z' I?"" '""'«». "he miihtTs^ 
 IZ Sh^fu' ^°' »'»»•":«*»'' *nd for*venge- 
 BMs, and longed with a weary Mhse of deiX 
 uon for some one who might assUt her and do 
 this work which lay before her ' 
 
 ml^V'fS' *"*! «>«"o go. The warmth of the 
 •un had restored something of her strength 
 ne new resohition. which she bad fonned had 
 Jjven energy to her sonl. She wwdered about 
 
 «U fi.li ^''*^'''?' "•" boundai^^of the villa. 
 She followed this for wme distande, expec ng 
 
 w f "^^ ""'* '•J' *•"' •'<«« of 4 wall. Go- 
 tag up to the top of thi., she looked oW the wait 
 
 Ftoence m tiie dtetance. She mw ^ttv iear y 
 where she WM, and knew that thi. ^ tfie near- 
 •Jt point to her lodging.. To co back to Thi 
 
 J^entr,ncowo«ld*;4iire ."lo^ZSur 'u 
 w»ld ahK, excite snrprise. One in her peculiar 
 Mstam«v^on going oa( of the grounds, mloht be 
 CM' ••«« '"ought it better to ivoRk 
 Btatooked up and down the road, anj^seeing no 
 23tetr*[L,r'!f '*^P^*^ *e ^p oflhelSu 
 
 6aI&er'^.n^L!h-'!!!L'!<^"J''»«'ni letter to 
 
 ~T^/'.ffl^.? ' '^'** ^"'*'> ^J^ ww w*« once. 
 
 After this exdtemont she kept hertied ft^ 
 
 •wdays. Lord Chetwynde he^ Saithe w.t 
 
 W without expreidng inr en^ % " 
 
 J^ner again, g^ „,^ 
 
 *** ««> «cite M much hope wlMn her, now feU 
 
 differently on her ear.. She had made nk> her 
 
 ^thT- ,.^?* ''".•"; ">"' 'here was noTopl 
 She had called to he.» side the minister o? C 
 vengeance. Lord Chetwvnde saw her ^iXe 
 and downcast eyes, but did not trouble hinCelf 
 h-'^i. '"'" ""f ""T "f ""•* "ew changein 
 him h^l "ee^ed^to be growing indifferent to 
 H mI '"' '^"8'" 5 »>■' 'he change concerned him 
 M. rhn.. K."* ""* """'her in his heart, and all 
 his thoughts were centered on that other 
 
 After the masquerade Lord Chetwynde had 
 burned out to the nlLi, on the following day to 
 S?n^t "•.I.'""" about her health. He found 
 
 f ^J"'i """='• '"^*"' «•«* exhibiting suS- 
 cient weakness to excite his anxiety. Which 
 of the many causes that she had for agitation 
 and trouble might now be disturbing her he 
 
 Zhl."""*'i\"' '"' «"'K»'t to allefiate he? 
 troubles as much as possible. His departure 
 for Indw had to be postponed, for how could 
 L Atlfrf " ""*=''. a state? Indeed, as long 
 as Obed Chute remained in Florence he did not 
 see how he could leave for India at aU. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVL 
 
 FAITHFUL STILL. 
 
 Whew Hilda sent off her note to Gnaltier she 
 felt certain that he would come to her aid AU 
 
 !h-'o^!l^-i''"**^ ^':!**T *hem had not shaken 
 the confidence which she felt in his willingnew 
 to assist her in a thing like this. She undemwd 
 his feelings so perfectly that she saw in this pni^ 
 pose which she offered him something which 
 would be more agreeable to him than any other 
 and all that he had ever expressed to her of hii 
 feelings strengthened this view. Even his at- 
 tempts to gain the mastery over her, his coer- 
 cion by which he foreed fhJm her thai memoSi 
 ble promise, his rage and his menaces at Lau- 
 sanne were so many proofs of his love for her 
 Thlu" "w^'P""' hate to Lord Chetwynde: 
 m«LT *? ?^"''« had once despised while s^ 
 made use of it she now called to her aid, so a.' to 
 make use of it again, not thinking of what tte 
 reward would be which he would claim, not ««! 
 ing what his hope might be, indifferent to wStI 
 ever the future might now reveal, and intent! 
 ?"i^-!L'!?".*.1??!:*"«."".'.h« hest aniT^ickest yny^ 
 
 ....J _^.. .^„r.„K ,„ ine oest ana ahickest way 
 the accompKshment of her own ven^fUl deslrei 
 rhi. confidence which she felt in GualUer wu 
 not ""founded nor was her hope disappointed. 4 
 
 JL^VnT'' "'**"?'"' '•"•^ •«"' herfetterX- 
 irtllr.u" T'l*'; It was dated Florence. It 
 •bowed that he had arrived in the city, ^d in! 
 formed her that he would caU upon heJ « i>on 
 M he could do so with safety. There was no 
 signature, but hi. handwriting was well known 
 
 her, and told her who. the writer was. 
 
 About an hour after her receipt of the letter 
 
 SS'i'JS'norr"^ T. "*"•''''« '° her presSic? 
 ne had not ch anged in appewrnncfl sincp ah* w' 
 
 WW BIW, But had the fame aspect. Like aU pale 
 
 ?h«,^ M*?"* °"^ .** "»*» of consnmpUve laok. 
 *•« ~nW be Karcely any change In Li which 
 
 ^a^'™'rfl'\ I»Hild4however,the« 
 Z,lUfS T"^^ K?'"*^ *hlch wat at one. 
 manifest to the warehing gase of hU .mall, keen 
 eye. a. they rested upon her. She was nit, in- 
 deed, K> wretched in her appearance a. on thrt 
 
 
THE CiRTPTOGEAM. 
 
 218 
 
 eventful day when she had astonished him by her 
 arrival at Lausanne. Her" face was not ema- 
 ciated, nor *ere her eyes s« in darlc cavernous 
 hollows as then, nor was there on her brow the 
 stamp of mortal weakness. What Gualtier saw 
 in her now had reference to other things. He 
 had seen in her nervousness and agitation before, 
 but now he marked in her a loss of all her old 
 self-control, a certain feverish impatience, a wild 
 and unreasoning eagerness— all of which seemeti 
 to rise out of recklessness and desperation, tier 
 gestures were vehement, her words carele 
 impassioned in tone. It was in all this tUt he 
 marked the greatness of the change in her. ^ The 
 feverish warmth with which she greeted him was 
 of itself totally different from her old manner, 
 end from its being so different it seemed to him 
 unnatural. On the whole, this change struck him 
 painfully, and she seemed to hijn rather like one 
 in a kind of delirium than one in her sober senses. 
 "When I last bade you good-by," said she, 
 alluding in this very delicate way to their part- 
 ing at the hotel in Lausanne, " you assured me 
 that I would one day want your ser^ic^. You 
 were right. I was mad. I have overcome my 
 madness. I do want you, my friend — more than 
 ever in my life before. You are the only one 
 who can assist me in this emergency. You 
 gave me six months, you remember, but they 
 are not nearly up. You understood my position 
 better than I did." 
 
 She spoke in a series of rapid phi uses, hold- 
 ing his hand the while, and looking at him with 
 Wning intensity of gaze— a gaze which Gualtier 
 felt in his inmost soul, and which made his whole 
 being thrill. Yet that clasp of his hand and 
 that gaze and those words did not inspire him 
 with any pleasant hope. They hardly seemed 
 like the nets or words of Hilda, they were all so 
 imlike herself. Far different from this was the 
 Hilda whom he had known and loved so long. 
 That one was ever present in his mind, and had 
 been for years- her image was never absent. 
 Through the years he had feasted his soul in 
 meditations upon her grand calm, her sublime 
 lelf-poise, her statuesque beauty, her superiority 
 te all human weakness, whether of love or of re- 
 morse. Even in those collisions into which she 
 had come with him she had risen in his estima- 
 tion. At Chetwynde she had shown some weak- 
 ness, but in her attitude to him he had discov- 
 ered and had adored her demoniac beauty. At 
 Lausanne she had been even grander, for then she 
 had defied his worst menacei^ and driven him 
 utterly discomfite'd from her presence. Such 
 was the Hilda of his thoughts. He found her 
 now changed Jrom this, her lofty calni trans- 
 formed to feverish impatience, her domineering 
 manner changed to one of obsequiousness and 
 flattery. The qualities which had once excited 
 his admiration appeared now to have given way 
 to others altogether commonplace. He had part- 
 ed with her thinking pf her as a powerful demon, 
 ha came back to her fi nding her »we»kwoman. 
 ~ But nothing In Mi manner showed Mi thoughts. 
 Beneath all these lay his love, iind the old devo- 
 tion manifested itself in his reply. 
 
 "You know that always and under all clr- 
 cnmstances, my lady, yon can command my 
 services. Only one exceptional case has ever 
 •risen, and that you yourself can understand and 
 mouie." 
 
 Hilda B4t down, motioning him also to a seat, 
 and for a moment remained silent, leaning her 
 head on her hand in deep thought. Gualtier 
 waited for her next words. 
 
 "You must not expose yourself to danger," 
 said she at length. 
 "What danger?" 
 
 ■"" iecognize you if he sees you here." 
 
 that, and have guarded against it. 
 
 not at home now, is he ?" 
 No." 
 ,"I knew that very well, and waited for his 
 departure before venturing here. I know very 
 well that if he were to catch even the faintest 
 glimpse of me he would recognize me, and it 
 would be somewhat difficult for me to escape. . 
 But to-day I happened to see him go out of the 
 Porta Livoma, and I know he is far off by this 
 time. So, yon see, I am as cautious as ever. Mn 
 the whole, aad as a general thing, I intend to be 
 guided by circumstances. .Perhaps a disguise 
 may be necessary, but that depends upon many 
 different things. I will have, first of all, to learn 
 fh)m you what it is that yon want me to do, and 
 then I can arrange my plan of action. But be- 
 fore yon begin I think I ought to tell you a very 
 remarkable incident which happened m London 
 not long ago— and one, too, which came very 
 near bringing my career, and yours also, my 
 lady, to a very sudden and a very unpleasant 
 termination." 
 At this Hilda gave a start. 
 "What do you mean?" she asked, hurriedly. 
 "Oh, only this, that a very nice little trap 
 was laid for me in London, and if I had not been 
 unusually cautious I would have fallen into it. 
 Had that been the case all would have been up 
 with me ; though as to yon, I don't see how 
 vour position would have been affectetl. For," 
 ho added, with deep and uncontrollable emotion, 
 " whatever may happen to me, you must know 
 enough of me by this time, in spite of my occa- 
 sional rebellions, to be as sure of my loyalty to 
 yon as of your own existence, and to know that 
 there could be no possibility of my revealing any 
 thing abont you ; no, "he added, as his clenched 
 fist fell upon the table, and his face flushed up 
 deeply at his rising feeling—" no, not even if it 
 were still the fhrfiion to employ torture; not 
 even the rack cotUd extort fh)m me one syllable 
 that could implicate you. Afler all that I have 
 said, I swear that by all that is most holy !" 
 
 He did not look at Hilda as he said this, bat 
 his eyes were cast on the floor, and he seemed 
 rather like a man who was uttering a resolution 
 to himself than like one who was making a 
 statement to another. But Hilda showed no 
 emotion that corresponded with his. Any dan- 
 ger to Guidtier, even though she herself were im- 
 plicated, had no terrors for her, and could not 
 make her heart throb fiister by one single pulsa- 
 tion. She had other thhigs on her mind, which 
 to her far outweighed any considerations of P*'; 
 gonal danger. Personal danger, indeed, instead 
 of being drMd«df would bow, 1h her preaart 
 mood, have been almost welcomed, so as to af- 
 ford some distraction flrom the torture of her 
 thoughts. In the secret of her heart she more 
 than once wished and longed for some appalling 
 «alamity— something which might have powerto 
 I engage all her thoughu and all her mind. The 
 I angiush of her heart; arising out of her lore nX 
 
 J-^i. - 
 
 s.vt.iu:<iitii^^&ijiM 
 
Ji*/' ; 
 
 ^THE CBYPTOOBAM. 
 
 1 
 
 elf to danger," 
 
 Lord Chetwynde, had grown io intolerable t^at 
 any thing, even danger, eren discovery, even 
 death itself, seemed welcome now. 
 » It was this feeling which filled her as she wgnt 
 on to ask Gnaltier about the nature of the danger 
 which he had escaped, wishing to know what it 
 might be, yet indifferent to it except so fur as it 
 might prove to be a distraction to her cares. 
 
 When Gnaltier last vanished from the scene 
 he had sent the boy to his lodging-house, with 
 the agreement that he should meet him at eight 
 o'clock. The boy's visit and its results have al- 
 ready been narrated. 
 
 As for Gnaltier, he was profonndly conscious 
 all tlie while of the possibility that a trap might be 
 laid for him, and that, if this were the case, the 
 advent of his messenger would be seized npon 
 by those who might be in pursuit of hiin, so as to 
 pt on his track. The very cautiousness which 
 had caused him to seek out so carefully a proper 
 messenger, and instruct him in the part which he 
 was to play, kept him on the anxious look-out for 
 the progre**of events. From the Hme that the 
 boy left he stationed himself at the window of his 
 room, which commanded a view of the main 
 entrance, and watched with the closest scrutiny 
 every one who came into the hotel. After a 
 time he thought that the supposed pursuers 
 might come in by some other entrance. With 
 this fear he retreated into his bedroom, which 
 also looked ont in front, and locked the do6r. 
 He found another door here which led into an 
 adjoining room, which was occupied. The key 
 of the door between the bedroom and the sitting- 
 room fitted this other door, so that he was able 
 to open it. The occupant was not in. Throngh 
 this door he designed to retreat in case of a sur- 
 prise. But he still thought it most likely that 
 any pursuers woMd come in by the main door 
 of the hotel, relying npon his information to the 
 boy that he was to be absent. 80 with this view 
 he stationed himself at the bedroom window, as 
 he had at first stationed himself at the sitting- 
 room window, and watched the main entranca 
 It was a task which needed the utmost vigilance. 
 A great crowd was thronging there and sweepl 
 ing by ; a^ among the multitudes that filled the 
 sidewalk it was impossible to distinguish any 
 particular forms or faces except among those 
 who passed up the steps into the hotel. Any 
 one who had less at stake would have wearied 
 of such a task, self-imposed as it was ; but Gnal- 
 tier had too much at stake to allpw of weariness 
 
 fsi' '*'" ^^ ''^P' ■" '''* ^^'^ "'"le awake, 
 iwtking with his eyes at the main entrance, and 
 with his ears listening to the footsteps that came 
 •long the haU, to discover any signs of danser 
 to himself. 
 
 At last a cab drove op and stopped in fiwnt 
 of the door. Gnaltier, who had been watching 
 •roiy thing, noticed this also. A man got out! 
 m sight of that man sent a shock to Gualtier's 
 
 .."• , ?" ^"«'' »■'«' *■«» «nd that figure in 
 ipite of the chang ed dress. It wm Blank Bill. 
 —A second took to confirm that first impres- 
 *m was enough. Like Ughtning there came to 
 Ms mind the thought that Black BiU had been 
 Wtehing for him ever since with inexhaustible 
 Proenee, bad enoonnterad the b«>y, perhaps with 
 no co-operation of the landloid, and had now 
 ewne to arrest him. One moment sufficed to 
 tring to his mind the thoaght, ud the few which 
 
 ' 219 
 
 was bom of the tbonght. Without waiting to 
 take another glance, or to see who else might 
 bo in the cab, he hastily unlocked the doors of 
 the bedroom, glided into the hall, passed down 
 a back stairway, and left the hotel by a 'side en- 
 trance far removed from the front^loor. Then 
 Oaning swiftly for^¥ard he mingled with the 
 crowd in the Strand, and was soon lost to the 
 pursuit of any followers. 
 
 Such was Gualtier's ^tory. To all this strange 
 account Hilda listened attentively. 
 
 "I' seems," said^he at length, "as though 
 Black Bill has befen more persevering tlian we 
 suppofced. ' 
 
 " Far more so than I supposed," said Goal- 
 tier, "I thought that he would have given up 
 his watch long ago; or that, whether be wished 
 or not, he had been forced to do so from want of 
 resources. But, after all, he certainly has man- 
 aged to hold on in some way. I suppose he has 
 secured the co-operation of the landlord, and has 
 got np some business at no great distance from 
 the phice, so that on the appearance of my mes- 
 senger hs^wns sent for at once." 
 
 " Did you see the others in the cab ?" 
 " No ; Black Bill was enough for me. I sup- 
 pose the boy was there with him." 
 . "Don't you think it likely that Black BiU 
 may have had some communication with the 
 police ?" 
 
 "I have thought over that question, and it 
 does not seem probable. You see Black Bill is 
 a man who has every reason to keep clear of the 
 poUce, and the very information which he would 
 give against me would be equally against him- 
 self. Such information would first of all lead 
 to his own arrest. He would know that, and 
 would keep clear of them altogether. Besides, 
 he IS an old offender, and beyond a doubt very 
 well known to them. His past career has, no 
 doubt, been marked by them ; and this informa- 
 tion which he would give would be to them mere- 
 ly a confession of fresh crime. Finding them- 
 Mlves unable to catch me, they would satisfy 
 themselves by detaining him. Oh no; Bhick 
 Bill is altogether too cunning to have any thihir' 
 todo with the police." 
 
 "All that you have been saying," ramariced 
 Hilda, "is very well in ite way, but unforto- 
 nately it is based on the supposition that Black 
 Bill would tell the truth to the police. But, on 
 the contrary, it is highly probable that h^ would 
 do nothing of the kind. He has ingenuity enough, 
 no doubt, to make np a stoty to suit his partica- 
 lar case, and to give it such a coloring as to keep 
 himself free from every char^." 
 
 "I <lon't see how he could do that very well 
 After all, what would be the essence of his storr ? 
 Simply this: that a crime had b«en committwi, 
 and that he, with some others, had participated 
 init. The other offenders would be out of reach. 
 What then? What? Why, Black Bill, from the 
 fact of his own acknowledgment, would be taken 
 
 in AhaMwA " 
 
 ioj^mje^ 
 
 I don't see that. As I see It, then ore m- 
 rions ^y« by which a man with any cnnnins 
 could throw all the guilt on another. He might 
 deny that he knew any one was on board, bat 
 only inipected it He might iwcmt that he and 
 the rest were ibreed into the boat by you, he and 
 they being nnarmed, and TOO weU armed. There 
 an other nnioaitioiu abo by which he woidd 
 
 ^^ ^it-tfii^. W , 
 
 'J^^^L'f^i"'.. ^,a\i,JS.f€,i4U^' 
 
^ 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 i' 
 
 be able to present himgolf in the ligWt of aiAinno- 
 
 cent seaman, wllo, forced to witness the conimis- 
 
 . sion of a crime, had Ipst no time to commnnicate 
 
 to the authorities the knowledge of that crime." 
 
 "There is something in what you say. But 
 in thftt case it woi)ld have been necessary for Him 
 to inform the police months ago." 
 
 "Very well.? and why may he not?" ' 
 
 "He niay haw; but it strikes me that 
 would be more inclined to work the thing .u; 
 himself; for in that cade, if he succeeded, thi 
 prize wonld-'be all his own." 
 
 Some furdier discussion followed, and then 
 Hilda asked : 
 
 "I suppose, by the way tou speak, that you 
 saw nothing more of them ?'' 
 
 •>No." 
 
 • " You were not tracked ?" 
 ■ "No." 
 
 " Where did yon go after leavirig the hotel?" 
 
 " I left London that evening for iSouthampton, 
 and th^n I went west to Bristol ; after that to 
 Chetwynde. I staid at Chetwyndetill I got 
 your note." 
 
 "Did yon jiot see any thing in any of the pa- 
 pers which might lead to the suspicion that you 
 were sought aft^, or that any thing was being 
 done?" 
 
 "No, nothing whatever." ,-^,^ 
 
 " If any thing is going qp, then, it must Be in 
 eecret." 
 
 "Yes ; and then, yon know, in a country like 
 England it is'impossible for the police to work so 
 comprehensively or so efficiently as they do on 
 the Continent— in France, for instance. 
 
 " I wonder if the French police are at work ?" 
 
 " How could they be ?" 
 
 "I hardly know, unless BMck Bill has really 
 informed the London police, and they have com- 
 municated' to the authorities in France. Of 
 course it aD depends on him. The others can 
 bave done nothing. He alone is the man from 
 whom any danger could possibly arise. His 
 Bteadv perseverance has a dangerous look, and 
 It is difficult to tell what may come of it yet^ 
 
 After some further conversation Hilda9n>- 
 oeeded to give Gualtier a general idea ^the 
 circumstances which had taken place since they 
 parted at Lausanne. Her account was bri^f and 
 meagre, since she dtt not wish to say more Ihan 
 was absolutely necessary. From what she tfrtd 
 Gualtier gathered this, however— that Lord Chet- 
 wynde had continued to be indifferent to Hilda, 
 and he conjectured that his indifference bad grown 
 into something like hostility. He learned, more- 
 over, most plainly that Hilda suspected him of 
 an intrigue with another woman, of whom she 
 "was bitterly jealops, and it was on this rival 
 whom she hated that she desired that venge- 
 ance for which sh? had summoned him. This 
 much he heard with nothing but gratification, 
 since he looked upon her jealousy as the be- 
 ginning of hate ; and the vengeance which she 
 once more desirisd could hardly be thwarted a 
 aecon d time. 
 
 When she OHJidt* describe the affair of ificT 
 masquerade, however, her tone changed, and she 
 became much more explicit. 8he went into all 
 the details of that adventure with the utmost 
 minnteneaa, describing all the particulars of 
 every scene, the dreaaea which were worn both 
 by Lord Chetwynde and herself an4 the general 
 
 appearance of the grounds. On the«eshe linger* 
 ed long, describing little incidents in her search, 
 as though unwilling to come to the denouement. 
 When she reached this point of her story she be- 
 came deeply agitated, and as she described the 
 memorable events of that meeting with the fear- 
 ful figure of the dead the horror that filled her 
 soul was manifest in her looks and in her words, 
 and communicated itself to Gualtier so strongly 
 that an involuntary sjiudder passed through him. 
 
 After she had enjpd he was silent for a long 
 time. 
 
 You do not say any thing?" said she." 
 I.hardiv knojv what to say on the instant," 
 'as the reply. 
 
 But are you not yourself overawed when 
 ybu think of my attempt atf vengeance being 
 foiled in so terrible a manner ? What would you 
 think if yours were to be baffled in the same 
 waV ? What would you say, what would you 
 do,^ there should come to you this awful phan- 
 tom? Oh, my God !" she cried, with a groan 
 of horror, " shall I ever forget the agony of that 
 moment when that shape stood before me, and 
 all life 'seamed on the instant to die out into 
 nothintj^ness!" 
 
 Gualtier was silent for a long time, and pro- 
 foundly thouglitful. 
 
 "W'^hat ore you thinking' about ?" asked Hil- 
 da at lasl'^ with some impatience^ 
 
 "I am\ thinking that this event may be ac- 
 counted for on natural grounds," said he. 
 
 " No," sVid Hilda, warmly ; " nothing in na- 
 ture can account for it. When the dead come 
 back to life; reason falters." 
 
 She shuddered as she spoke. 
 
 " Yes, my l^dv," said Gualtier, " but the dead 
 do not come back to life. You have seen an ap- 
 parition, I doul^t not ; but that is a very different 
 thing from tho factual manifestation of the dead. 
 What yoii saw was but the emanation of your 
 own brain. It Was your own fancier which thus 
 became visible, o^d the image which became 
 apparent to your eye was precisely the saqae as 
 those which cbmd in delirium. A glass of 
 brandy or so may aerve to bring up before the 
 eyes a thousand abhorrent spectres. You hare 
 been ill, you have bopn excited, yon have been 
 taking drugs; add to this that on that occa- 
 sion you were in a state of almost'fi-enzy, and 
 you can at once accotint for the whole thing 
 on the grounds of a stimulated imagination and 
 weak or diseased optic ner^'es. I can bring for- 
 ward from various treatises on the optic nerves 
 hundreds of cases as singular as yours, and ap- 
 parently as unaccountable. Indeed, if I find that 
 this matter continues to affect you so deeply," 
 he continued, with a fiiint smile, " my first duty 
 will be to read up exclusively on the subject, 
 and have a number of books 'sent here to you, 
 so as to let yon see and judge for yourself." 
 
 CHAPTER LXVlt 
 
 A SHOCK. 
 
 GcALTiER made atill further oxplanationi on 
 this point, and mentioned several ipecial cases of 
 aptiaritiona and phantom illuaioni of which he 
 hul read. He showed how in the lives of many 
 great men inch thinga bad token place. The 
 
 \ .»«_ 
 
t^:i.i **°''/^f ed. »«« maintained, mw real 
 apparitions of thi. sort, and was thus prepared, 
 *s he thouKht, for the propheUc oflSce. ITie 
 Mchontes and lainu of the Middle Ages had 
 the same ejtpenemce. Jeanne d'Ans was a most 
 conspicnons instance. Above all these stood 
 forth two men of a later day^ the representatives 
 of two opposite pnnciples, St two systems which 
 were in etenud antagonism, yet these two were 
 alike m their intense natures, their vivid imair- 
 inations, and the forca of their phantom iUu- 
 sions. Lnther threw his ink-bottle at the head 
 of the dew^ and Loyola had many a midnight 
 straggle with the same grim personage. 
 - ^S"" ^« ?.""** «»tened*attenti!^y, mider- 
 standing fully his theory, and foUy appreciating 
 theexamploi which he cited in order to illn* 
 towe that theory, whether the examples were 
 ttMe weU-known ones which belong to general 
 Urtoiy, or special instances which had come 
 under hu own personal observation. Yet 1.II 
 his arguments and examples failed to have any 
 2«fn JTJ®" 'r'"'*e''«f- After all there r^ 
 S!r5? ♦ t!^ 'u 5"' "'"''' ""d immoTable, the 
 Mm that she had seen the dead, and in very 
 deed; and that ZiUah herself had risen up bZ 
 fore her eyes to confound her at the moment of 
 the execution of her rengeanca Snclv a con 
 viction was too strong to be removed by any ar- 
 cnmento or illiistntinna ti,.. :—•/_' 
 
 ^ CBYPTOGRAM, 
 
 sai 
 
 riiienta o^uiiii^tior m^rrctfrr.^ I IS TuYtT"^' r "''r'' »-- «t -Ji«^^in^ 
 
 Xni. k.j I. •--""""• ^'wiconvicuon,more- 
 
 ow^had bem deepened and intensified by the 
 horror which had followed when she had fl^ "^ 
 mad fear, feehng herself pursued by that afr- 
 horrent shape, till she had &llen senseless, ^t 
 thing ofthl. could be ai^ued .war. Nor dM 
 
 ^1^11'" T" ''^"» **• While she list- 
 med carefully and attentively to Gualtier's woids. 
 
 mSJef " '*'^** reiteretion of h«r for- 
 
 go this WM dismissed. One thing remained 
 however, and that was the conclusion thft LoS 
 Chetwynde was canying on a desperate intrigue 
 • rt K T" ^"^^Jl """^«<1 ^?' »ho"K»» whether 
 Ztnr:!"u °^^''' ^fP '""' h'mself English or 
 rfc™^?""*'*'"''^ ItwasevidentthatLord 
 Chetwynde s case was not that of the convention- 
 alccsbeo There was too much desperation in 
 S^! !^ ;fW»explained the course wKich would 
 be ewiest to them To tn«,k Lord Chetwynde, 
 and find out who this woman was, should be the 
 flm thing. On learning this he waa to Im™ 
 i7;;^H"d«- Hilda's ;orko"f"eSi?;| 
 would begin whh a reveUUon of the whotecase 
 
 IS J "IT^k'"'*.'*"*'' •""» 'ft"* this S« 
 wrid be guided by circumstances. ^ 
 
 ViL'™„'"J? f" nnderstending as this Gualtier 
 fW^T^ *** ^^ ''" ''''* •' «"«*• Lord 
 SL"!-!^"'''%^"1'« *''« ^"* continued as h^ 
 »m.» ni^"*^ o ^^^ «""«» '''«''Iy romantic cir- 
 
 from his thoughts further and further ererr day. 
 He did not feel capable of rousing himwlf to 
 
 1™ '•'• ««J«y of "Miss Lorton," so long he 
 
 Cd'S^mflS^'^ Chute's leaving Florence, he 
 3«Lr«^kf ' ****" "/ ""y '"7 immediate 
 nSS 2" ^l' ?"J*- -*« f"" Z«^h 'he soon 
 ff :l^..'.'^jLr. rP««?, .nd ceased to 
 
 house of the fSte champdtre. Lord Chetwynde 
 
 wM.hT"i^ '>' "f""* '=°««'» "'^r himself 
 Y'Wcb he had fonnerly maintained, and guard- 
 
 ^ r? ^/^}y '«»'"'" ""y ««"' intbreakinre 
 that o^ the Villa Rinalci. fet though he cbuld 
 control his acts, he could not control his iXl 
 and there were times in these sweet, stolen interl 
 view, of theirs when his eyes would rest on her 
 with an expression which told more plninlv than 
 
 Te^d^'il """^ "' "^ '"-^'^''•'"^ '»- -S 
 
 But While Lord Chetwynde was thus contlnu- 
 
 mg his secret visits, there waa one on his track 
 
 whom he little suspected. Looking upon hU 
 
 lessness had aUowed to get into his employ he 
 had let him go, and had never made any Tffon 
 to follow him or punish him. As for Hiir^r 
 ^U^nlV^^A^ ^^ * "'?"«'"' »' ^'^ »ne of vSca. 
 still stay with him rather than leave. " Whv 
 cant she go quieUv back to Chetwynde?" he 
 
 l.^^\ '"'* '»*? ^'t """^ generous nature in- 
 teiTosed to quell the thought He could not for- 
 get her devotion m saving his life ; though there 
 were times when he felt that the prelongition of 
 that life was not a thing to be thankful for 
 .„^' J *''* '"S''^' ^"^ thing went on plois- 
 ^te^- "JT'hly. Obed was always delighted 
 !S ^K^u"^*"*™' '^^ **"^<* have felt disapMint- 
 
 m;.I r-I . ""»"<=« wuHug evBiy alternate day. 
 Miss Chute shared her brother's appreciation of 
 the visitor. ZiUah herself showed no signs which 
 they were ab e to pereeive of the depth of her 
 feelings. Filled, as she was, with one stronir 
 I»Mion, It did not interfere with the performance 
 of her duties ; nor, if it had done so, would her 
 fnends have noriced it She had the morning 
 
 Sct^J^de!'"'''"' "^ "^^ "'^'-«'» f- 
 In setting about this new task Gualtier felt the 
 need of cauuon. It was far more perilous than 
 any which he had yet undertaken. Once he re- 
 lied upon Lord Chetwynde's ignorance of his face, 
 or his contemptuous indifference to his existence 
 On the strength of this he had been able to come 
 to him undiscovered and to obtain emplovment 
 ,Bnt now all was changed. Lord Chet^vynde 
 was keen and obsenant When he had once 
 chMcn to take notice of a face ho would not 
 readily forget it ; and to venture into his pres- 
 ence now would be to insure discovery. To 
 guard against that was his first aim, and so he 
 determined to adopt some sort Of a disguise, 
 liven with a disguise he saw that it woiHd be 
 perilous to let Lord Chetwynde see him. Hilda 
 had told him enough to make known to him 
 tnat his late master was fullv conscious now of 
 th^ cause of his disease, and' suspected his valet 
 only, so^t the watch of the pursuer must now 
 be maintiA|ied without his ever exposing himself 
 to the view of this man. 
 
 After a long and fiareful deliberatioii he chose ' 
 '0?* disg uise the coatnme of > Tnscaa peasast. 
 ^tfiongfi^he hid once fold HSIda that he never 
 adopted any disguises but such as were suited to 
 his character, yet on this occasion his judgment 
 waa certainly at fault, since sflch a disguise was 
 not the one most appropriate to a man of his ap- 
 pearance and nature. HU figure had none of 
 the litheness and grace of movement which is so 
 
 entninnn «mnn.« *i..a .a x_j &. .. .. 
 
 Sin 
 
 ' tblnk .bo,.rthrft^fllSrefa,TeZ^^ thejitheness and grace of mc^lment whkhTs w 
 wuiui Dgnra in the inmmer- 1 common among that class, tod bis sallow skin 
 
 4. . 
 
i' 
 
 tn 
 
 THE CBTFTOGRAM. 
 
 '■ i 
 
 "bk roi.Lon-KD watchfAllt add btkaltbilt." 
 
 Iiad nothing in common with the rich olive com- 
 plexion of &e Taiean face. But it is joat poBsi- 
 ble^that Gualtier may have had some little per- 
 ■owJ vanity which blinded him to his shortcom- 
 ings in this respect. The pallor of his face was, 
 however, to some extent corrected by a red leer- 
 chief which he bound around his head, and ihe 
 effect of this was increased by a darlc wig and 
 mnstoche. Trusting to this disguise, ho pre- 
 pared for his nndertidiing. 
 
 The next day after his intoniew with Hilda 
 he obtained a horse, and waited at a spot near 
 Lord Chetwynde's lodgings, wearing a volumin- 
 ous cloak, one comer of which was flung over liis 
 left shoulder in^lUtyltnlian fashion. A horse 
 was brought np to tli^oor of the hotel ; Lord 
 Chetwynde rnmo out, mounted him, and rode off. 
 Oualtier followed at a respectful distance, and 
 kept up bis watch for about ten miles. He was 
 not noticed at olL At length he saw Lord Chet- 
 wynde ride into the gateway of a villa and dis- 
 appear. Ho did not core about following any 
 further, and was very well satisfied with having 
 found out this much so easily. 
 
 Le(lving his horse in a safe phkce, Gualtier 
 then posted himself amidst a clump of trees, and 
 kq>t up his watdi for houra. Ue hod to wait 
 
 almost nntil midnight ; then, at last, his patience 
 was rewarded. It was about half past eleven 
 when he saw Lord Chetn^nde come out and 
 pass down the road. He himself followed, bat 
 did not go back to town. He found an inn on 
 the road, and put up here for the night 
 
 On the following day he passed the morning 
 in strolling along the road, and had sufficient ac- 
 quaintance with Italian to inquire from the peo- 
 ple about the viUa where Lord Chetwynde had 
 gone. He learned that it belonged to a rich 
 Milor Inglese, whoso name no one knew, bat 
 who was quite popular with the neighboring 
 peasantry. They spoke of ladies in the rilla; 
 one old one, and another who was young and 
 very beautiful. There were also children. All 
 this was very gratifH'ing to Gualtier, who, in his 
 own mind, at once settled the relationship of all 
 these. The old woman wot the mother, he 
 thought, or perhaps the sister of the Milor In- , 
 glese J the vou ng lady was bis wife, an d they lad 
 children. 'HelesrnAd that the Milor Inglar-^ 
 was 0%-er fifty years old, and the children were 
 ten and twelve ; a circumstance which seemed to 
 show that the younger ladv must at least be thir- 
 ty. He would have liked to ask more, but vu 
 aJBraid to be too inquisitive, for fear of excitkg 
 
 i$^t 
 
 i'l^* 
 
 ,^iJ.^ti!l^ 
 
THE CBYPTOGRAM. 
 
 fwpicion. On the whole, he wm veiy well satis- 
 fled with the information which he had gained ; 
 yet tliere still remained far mor* to be done, and 
 there was the necessity of continued watching in 
 person. To this necessity he devoted himself 
 with untiring and zealous patience. 
 
 For several days longer he watched thus, and 
 fcamed that on alternate days Lord Chetwynde 
 was accustomed to ride in at the chief gate, 
 while on the other days he would leave his horse 
 behind and walk in at a little private gate at the 
 nearer end of the park, and some considerable 
 distance from the main entrance. This at once 
 excited his strongest suspicions, and his imagin- 
 ation suggested many different motives for so 
 tery clandestine yet so very methodical a sys- 
 tem of visiting. Of course he thought that it 
 had reference to a lady, and to nothing else. 
 Then the question arose once more — what to do. 
 It was difficult to tell ; but at length his decision 
 was made. He saw that the only way to get at 
 the bottom of this mystery wonid be to enter the 
 grounds and follow Lord Chetwynde. Such an 
 enterprise was manifestly full of danger, but 
 there was positively no help for it. He could 
 not think of going back to Hilda until he had 
 gained some definite and important information ; 
 and all that he had thus far discovered, though 
 TBiy useful as for as it went, was still nothing 
 more than preliminary. The mystery had not 
 
 Sheen solved. He had only arrived at the 
 inning of it The thought of this necessity, 
 which was laid upon him, determined him to 
 make the bold resolution of running all risks 
 and of tracking Lord Chetwvnd^ through the 
 smaller gate. 
 
 So on one of those days when he supposed 
 that Lord Chetwynde would be coming there 
 he entered the little gate and concealed himself 
 in the woods, in a place from which he could see 
 any one who might enter while he himself would 
 . be free flom observation. 
 
 He w4 right in his conjectures. In about 
 half an flour the man whom he was expecting 
 came alonfl^ and entering the gate, passed close 
 beside him. Gualtier waited for a time, so as to 
 pot a respectful distance between himself and 
 the other. Then he followed watchfully and 
 stMlthily, keeping always at the same distance 
 behind. For a hundred yards or so the path 
 woand on so that it was quite easy to follow 
 without being perceived. The path was bH)ad, 
 •mooth, well-kept, with dark trees overhanging, 
 and thus shrouding it in gloom. At last Lord 
 Chetwynde suddenly turned to the left into a 
 Mrrow, rough pathway that scarce deserved 
 the name, for it was litde better than a track. 
 Gualtier foUowed. ThU path wound so much, 
 Md put so many intenrening obstacles between 
 mm and the other, that he was forced to hurry 
 up so as to keep nearer. In ^oing so he stepped 
 Mddenly on a twig which lay across the tract 
 
 \\y)?u !?* ? '""^ ""P- -A' »•'« "oment 
 wrd Chetwynde was but a few yards away. 
 |y t^"|8a. «md just as Gualtier had poiaed him- 
 
 IT ™ *^ w»- M«» Br «Mlght tto%jrw of 
 
 SlIT"^*^ "P"" •'•'^ There wos no time 
 w wait iTie danger of discovery was too groat. 
 
 iJ.u^'3'?"' *•? P'""«^ *"'» »h« tWck, dense 
 
 !?^i *?' *?*^ "" *■»' • '<»»« «J«'*nco in » 
 wntog direction. At first he heard Lord Chet- 
 wynde • voice shouting to him to stop, then steps 
 
 228 
 
 at if in pursuit j but flnaUy the iioundi of pursuit 
 ceased, and Gualtier, discovering this, stopped 
 to rest. The fact of the case was, that Lord 
 Chetwynde 8 engagement was of too great im- 
 portance to allow him to be diverted from it— to 
 run the risk of being late at the tryst for th»jake 
 of any vagabond who might be strolling about. 
 He had made but a short chose, and then turned 
 hack for a better purpose. 
 
 GMialtier, while Ije rested, soon discovered that 
 he had not the remotest idea of his position. 
 He was in the middle of a dense forest. The 
 underbrush was thick. He could see nothing 
 which might give him any clew to his where- 
 abouts. After again assuring himself that nil 
 was quiet, he began to move, trying to do so in 
 as straight a line as possible, andH^inking that 
 he must certainly come out somewh^bw 
 
 He was quite right j for after abouThalf an 
 hours rough apd difficult journeying he came to 
 a path. Whether to turn up or down, to tlie right 
 or the left, was a question which required some 
 time to decide ; but at length he turned to the 
 right, and walked onward. Along this he went for 
 nearly a mile. It then grew wider, and finally 
 became a broad way with thick, well-cut hedges 
 on either side. It seemod to him that ho was 
 approaching the central port of these extensive 
 grounds, and perhaps the house itself. This 
 belief was confirmed soon by the appearance of 
 a number of statues and vases which ornamented 
 the pathway. The fear of approaching the 
 house and of being seen made him hesitate for 
 some time; yet his curiosity was strong, and 
 hid eagerness to investigate irrepressible. He 
 felt that this opportunity was too good a one to 
 rose, and so he walked on rnpidlv yet watchful, 
 ly. At length the path made a 'sudden sweep, 
 and he saw a sight before him which arrested 
 his steps. He saw a broad avenue, into which 
 his patli led not many paces before him. And 
 at no great distance oflT, toward the right, ap- 
 peared the top of the villo emerging from among 
 trees. Yet these things did not attract his au 
 tention, which centered itself wholly on a man 
 whom he paw in the otqiibB. 
 
 This man was tall, MS|dyhonldered, with 
 rugged features and widjb-square brow. He 
 wore a dress-coat ond a brood-brimmed hat of 
 Tuscan straw. In ojHnStant, and with a snr- 
 pnse that was only e<^aled by his fear, Guol- 
 tier recognized the form and features of Obed 
 Chute, which had, in one interview in New Yoi*. 
 been very vividly impressed on his metnorr. 
 Almost at the same time Obed happened tq see 
 him, so that retreat was impossible. He looked 
 at him carelessly and then turned kway ; but a 
 sudden thought seemed to strike Lim ; he tnmed 
 once more, regarded the intruder intently, and 
 then walked straight np to him. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIIL 
 TUB vnioH d» «» maoK- 
 
 GuALTiRR Stood rooted to the spot, astounded 
 at such a discovery. His first impolse was flight 
 Bnt that was impossible. The hedgeway on 
 either side was high and thick, preventing any 
 Mcape. 'llie flight would have to he made along 
 the open path, and in a chose he did not feet ooi»i 
 
 !:l 
 
 , 
 
 aa:sj4«,i'.r -v- 
 
S24 
 
 THE CRYFTOGKAM. 
 
 fldent that he could escape. Besides, he felt 
 more like relying on his own resources. Ho had 
 a hope that his disguise might conceal him. Otiv- 
 er thoughu also passed through his mind at that 
 moment. How did this Ubed Cliut'e come ^re? 
 Was he the Milor Ingleso ? How did he come 
 into connection with Lord Chetwynde, of all oth- 
 ers ? Were they working together on some dark 
 plot against Hilda? That seemed the mg«t nat- 
 ural thing to believe. 
 ^ But he had no time for thought, for even while 
 ' these were passing through his mind Obed was 
 advancing toward him, until finally he stood be- 
 fore him, confronting him with a dark fitjwn. 
 There was something in his face which showed 
 Gualtier that he was recognized. 
 
 "You!" cried Obed; "you! I thought so, 
 and it is so, by the Lord ! I never forget a face. 
 You scoundrel I what do yon want? V\'hat are 
 you doing here? What ore you following me 
 for ? Are you on that business again ? Didn't 
 I give you warning in New York '(" 
 
 There was something so menacing in his look, 
 and in his wrathful frown, that Gualtier standi 
 back a pace, and put his hand to his breast-pock- 
 et to seize his revolvert " 
 
 "No you don't!" exclaimed Obed, and quick 
 as lightning he seized Gualtier's hand, while he 
 held his clenched fist in his face. 
 
 " I'm up to all those tricks," he continued, 
 " and you can't come it over me, you scoundrel ! 
 Here — off with all that trash." 
 
 And knocking oif Gualtier's hat, as he held his 
 hand in a grasp from which the unhappy prison- 
 er could not release himself, he tore off his wig 
 and his mustache. 
 
 Gualtier was not exactly a coward, for he had 
 done things which required grpot boldness and 
 presence of mind, andObed,him8elf had said this 
 much 'lit his criticisms u)>on Black Bill's story ; 
 but at the present moment th^ was something 
 in the tremendous figure of Obdd, and also in the 
 fear which he had that all was discovered, which 
 made hiiii cower into nothingness before his an- 
 tagonist. Yet he said not a word. 
 
 "And now," said Obed, grimly, "perhaps 
 you'll have the kindness to inform me what you 
 are doing here — ^y6u, of nil men in the world — 
 dodging about in disguise, and tracking my foot- 
 steps. What the devil do y6n mean by sneak- 
 ing after me again ? Yota saw me once,'and that 
 ought to have been enough. What do yon want ? 
 Is it something more about General Pomeroy ? 
 And what do you mean by trying to draw a pis- 
 jfiX on nie $n my own premises ? Tell me the 
 truth, you pean, sallow-faced rascal, or I'll shake 
 the bones out of your body !" 
 
 In an ordinary case of sudden seizure 6ual- 
 ,jtier might have contrived to get out of the diflB- 
 cnlty by bin cunning and presence of mind. But 
 this was by no meaOS an -ordinary case. This 
 giant who thus seemed to come down upon-bim 
 as suddenly as though be had dropped from the 
 skies, and who thundered forth these fierce, im- 
 perative questions in his ear, did not allow him 
 inch space in which to collect Ms thoughts, or 
 time to put them into execution. There began 
 to come over him a terror of this man, whom he 
 fancied to he intimately acquainted with his 
 whole career. "Thus conscience does make 
 cowards of us all," and Gualtier, who was gen- 
 •rally not a coward, felt raiy much like one on 
 
 this occasion. Morally, as well as physically, 
 he felt himself crushed by his o])pon^ri^' It was' 
 therefore, with utter helplessness, and the loos of 
 all his usual strength of mind and (wlf-contrfil, 
 that he stammered forth his answer ; 
 
 "I— I taipe here— to— to get some informa- 
 tion." 
 
 '' " You came to get information, did' you ? Of 
 course yoif did. bpies generally do. 
 
 "I came (o see you." 
 
 " To see me, hev ? Then w^ didn't you come 
 like a man? What's tfib meaning of this dis- 
 guise?" ** . 
 
 " Because you refuAe^ j^gbrmation once, and I 
 thought that if I came in\lotlier character, with 
 a different story. I mig^^^e a better chonce." 
 
 " Pooh ! don 1 1 sea tKf tyqu're lying ? Why 
 didn't you come up tbrojigh the avenue like a 
 man, instead of snmkin^algng the paths ? An- 
 swer me that" 
 
 "I wasn't sneaking. I was merely taking a 
 little stroll in your beautiful grounds.' 
 
 "Wasn't sneaking?" repeated Obed; "then 
 I'd like very much to know what sneaking is, for 
 my owT^ private information. If any man ever 
 looked like a sneak, you did when I first caught 
 yourfley^"' 
 
 ■^9?'' ' sneaking," reiterated Gualtier; "I 
 was pgnply strolling about. . I found a gate nt 
 the lower .end bf the park, and walk^ up quietly. 
 I was anxious to see you." 
 
 "Anxious to see me?" said Obed, with a pe- 
 culiar intonation. 
 
 "Yes," 
 
 " Why, then, did yon look scared out of yonr 
 life when you did see me ? Answer me that." 
 
 " My answer is," said Qualtier, with an effort 
 at calmness, "that I neither looked scared nor 
 felt scared. I dare say I may have put myself 
 on my guard, when you rushed at me," 
 
 " 1 didn't rush at you." * 
 
 "It seemed to me so, and I fell back a step, 
 and prepartid for the shock." 
 
 "Fell back a step!" sneered Obed; "yoa 
 looked around to see if yoa had any ghost of a 
 chance to run for it, and saw you hod none. 
 That's about it." 
 
 " You are very much mistaken," snid Gunliier. 
 
 "Young man," replied Obed, severely, "I'm 
 never mistaken ! So dry up." 
 
 "Well, since I've found yon," said Gualtier, 
 " will you ollow me to ask you a question ?" 
 
 "What's that?— ^o« found mef Why, yon 
 villain ! / found you. Yoa are a cool case, too. 
 Answer you a question ? Not a bit of it. But 
 I'll tell yon what I will do. I intend to teach 
 yoa a lesson that you won't forget." 
 
 "Beware," said Gualtier,^ understanding the 
 other's threat — "beware how you offer violence 
 to me." 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble yourself at all. I intend 
 to beware. My first idea was to kick yon all 
 the way oat; but you're snch a poor, pale, piti- 
 ftd concern that I'll be satisfied with only one 
 parting kick. So off with yoa!" 
 
 At tiiia Obed released hit {pram, and keepisg 
 Gualtier before him he forced him along the 
 avenue toward the gate. 
 
 " Yoa needn't look round," said Obed, grim- 
 ly, as he noticed a fhrtlTe glance of Gualtier's. 
 " And yoa needn't try to get at yonr revolver. 
 "Tain't any manner of nse, for IVe got oitt, and 
 
Obed, with s pe- 
 
 fell back a step, 
 
 THE CHYITSOGKAM. " i ' : 
 
 fcster.than vpu. rnvJlean LTfV' ^ ''"" "■"" '«""'»' ha<l been of «,T^ "" '''" Chetwynda 
 
 don't know ^ Sdf eiSe/ hZ'^" ,T°" "'"'e'friendsMp Uko ll^LlTT """ "".'""l- 
 I do, although iCTmv Wvl. il '" ""1' «»UiiRht l« exZtedsnT '*'*,'!"' •''•"8 ^^'ch 
 •bout hem e%ereKr«C %^'JJ""''''''"«N°«nt..bleoB^S^^ un.o- 
 
 can't coma it «..,'.»_ '_ "'.""°™*"?n- You of it; yet what Lord Ph«, . "^"fflc'ent proofs 
 
 can't Pnn,«ir' ""^ J""' "ntormat rfn 
 cant come it over mo, nohow for r™ » r 
 
 ed by him on the de«tmv^"f l.^""'*^ ^ "wt- 
 
 
 could not tell. It M>pi^Zii""V "?' ^''*'* he 
 singular freak of fo«^^„i «« though, by soma 
 with Obed cimte'I ""feV'd '"""^"«" '" '"^e 
 destine meetiZ wirh h«! i*"".^""*? «'■"•- 
 Obed Chute wf! th« v«J!. •°""'**ere. If go, 
 
 eJ by him on ti;'^':. :^;^7 *»"''l ^ «act. 
 violator of his frLn^^ "' "^ »**«« *"'' ""o 
 
 thlt.ViSi'SlJ'V'Sl'"- 
 help wondering whether in [hi. V j'°"'*'^°» 
 tion of these two thiv h.i" _?> ?'<«« omocS*.^ 
 
 ,- vj^uiivu lb lur- II 
 
 a wild bound forward. But i,« " ""■""ineip wonderinir wh^thA- :^'ZZ'< '.""^""'u-not 
 
 enough; for«bed t™e if h . n ""^ ""' q"ick tion of these two thivh.i *'''■ ?'°«' •»«>cS»- 
 
 
 behavior toward her show^ h^ Chetwynde's 
 of toferance of her « thom.h^ T^'^ * '''"<» 
 riecesaarv evil hift „^„i r"*u ^^ ^'^'^^ her« 
 
 he wo„7d r Ar hai t^vrttri''^ 
 
 suspicion of the tmth al...^t "*« f^'P'est 
 
 ■tUl non. .to iJi ■h,3,lS;'l^¥«^ ™ 
 
 
 ---T—— .uai, vuuH larsne was Mfc 
 •li«TO , >i«l, moi«>»ir. Hun; .-'ill'S'''' 
 
 
 f««hlr drie*?74*ea Jf* ''?''"*''"'^°^ "^ 
 •fflODg th«f t,!r*^ i""* ^""l"- Concealed 
 iKiuK to hL^ J ""^ motionless, hardly 
 
 
 ther%«&7aThWS' "^^^ "»- 
 tainlv the hist m • w "'*''"*"'''"■ ce»* 
 
 
226 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 «!^ 
 
 were based on lelf-evident irttlu. Yet «tiU the 
 question remnined : How Wte' It thdt these two 
 men, who more thi^n all Others were connected 
 with those atfsirs which, most deeply affected 
 himself and Hilda, and fkrom whom'^ie had the 
 chief if not the only reason to fear danger, 
 could now be joined in such intimate friend- 
 ship ? And this was a question which was un- 
 ' answeriible. ' 
 
 As Hilda's position seemed safe, he thought 
 of his own, and wondered whether there Ctoulu he 
 danger to himself ffom, this. Singularly enough, 
 on that eventful day fie had been seen by both 
 Lord Chetwynde and Obed Chute. Lord Chet- 
 wynde, he believed, could not have recognized 
 him, or he would not have given up the pursuit 
 so readily. Obed Chute had not only recognized 
 him, but also captured him, and not onl^ cap- 
 tured him, but tery severely punished him ; yet 
 the verv fact that Obed Chute' had suffered him 
 to go showed how complete hir ignorance must 
 be of the true state of the case. , If he had but 
 .known even a portion of the truth he would nev- 
 er have allowed him to go ; if lie and Lqrd Chet- 
 wynde were rcallv allied in an'^nterprisd such as 
 he at first feared when he discovered t|^ alli- 
 ance, then he himself would have been deutined. 
 True, Ol^d Chute knew no more of him than 
 this, thjt^t he had once made inquiries about the 
 Chetwyiide family affairs ; yet, in case of any se- 
 rious alliance on their part, this of itself would 
 have been si).fficient cause for his detention. Yet 
 Obed Chute had sent him off. \Vhat did that 
 show ? This, abdve all, that he could not have 
 any great purpose in connection with his friend. 
 
 Amidst all these thoughts his sufferings were 
 extreme. He lay there fearful of piirsnit, yet 
 unable to move, distracted by pain both of body 
 and mind. Time passed on, but his fears con- 
 tinned unabated. H^ was excited and nervous. 
 The pain had brought on a deep physical pros- 
 tration, which deprived him of iliis usual self- 
 possession. Every moment he expected to see 
 a gigantic figure in a dress-coat and a broad- 
 brimmed hat of Tuscan straw, with stejp, re- 
 lentless face and gleaming ej-es, striding along 
 the road toward him, to seize him in a resistless 
 grasp, and send him to some awful fate ; or, if 
 ^ot that, at any rate to administer to him some 
 tremendous blow, like that catapultian kick, which 
 would hurl him iit an instant into oblivion. 
 
 The time passed by. He lay there, in pain 
 and in fear. Excitement and suffering had dis- 
 ordered his brain. The constant apprehension 
 •f danger made him watchful, and his distem- 
 pered imagination made him fancy that every 
 sound was the footstep of his enemy. Watch- 
 ful against this, he held his pistol in his nerveless 
 grasp, feeling conscious at the same time how in- 
 effectively he would use it if the need for its use 
 should arise. The road before him wound round 
 the hill up whici) h^ had clambered in such a 
 way that hut a small part of it was visible from 
 where he sat Behind him rose th? wall of the 
 par k, and all aroand the trees grew thickly and 
 
 ~ifieifere31itm. - -^^ - -~-- - - 
 
 ' Sndd^nlr, as he looked there with ceaseless 
 ^igi||bce, he became aware of a figure that was 
 Rioving up the roadi It was a woman's form. 
 The figure was dressed in white, the face was 
 white, and round that face .there were gathered 
 great masses of dark bAir. To his disordered 
 
 senses it seemed at that moment as if this ngure 
 gUded along the ground. 
 
 Filled with a kind 9f horror, he raised him- 
 self up, one hand still grasping the pistol, wliilo 
 the other clutched a tree -in front of him with n 
 convulsive grasp, his ciyes fixed on this figure. 
 Sonwthing in its outline served to create all iliii 
 new mar that had arisen, and fascinated kits gnzo. 
 To his excited sensibility, now rendered morbid 
 by the terrors of the last few hours, this figure, ' 
 with its white robes, seemed like lomething ru. 
 peniatnral sent across his path. It was dim 
 twilight, and the object was a little indistinct; 
 yet he could see it sufficiently well. There v.m 
 that about it which sent an awful suspicion over 
 him. AU that Hilda had' told him recurred to 
 his mind. 
 
 And now, just as the figure was passing, and 
 while his eyes were riveted on it, tUe face sluwly 
 and solemnly turned toward him. 
 
 At the sight of the face which was thus pre- 
 sented there passed through him a sudden )inng . 
 of unendurable anguish — a spasm of terror so in- 
 tolerable that it might make one die on the spot. 
 For a moment only he saw that face. The next 
 moment it had turned away. The figure passed 
 on. Yet in that moment he had seen the face 
 fully and perfectly. He had recognized it ! He 
 knew it as the face of one who now lay far down 
 beneath the depths of the sea-rof one whom he 
 had betrayed— whom he had done to death! 
 This .was the face which now, in all the pallor 
 of the grave, was turned toward him, and seem^ 
 cd to change him to stone as he gazed. 
 
 The figure passed on — the figure of Zillah— to 
 this conscience-stricken wretch a phantom of the 
 dead ; and he, overwhelmed by this new hofTor, j; 
 sanj( back into insensibiUty. '^ 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 TBB VIBIO)( or TUB LOST. 
 
 It was twilight when Gnaltier sank hack sense- 
 less. When he at last came to himself it was 
 night. The moon was shining brightly, and the 
 wind was sighing through the pines solemnly and 
 sadly. It was some time before he could recall 
 his scattered senses so as to understand where 
 he was. At lost he remembered, and the gloom 
 around him gave additional force to the thrill of 
 superstitious horror which was excited by that 
 remembrance. He roused himself with a nild 
 effort, and hunted in the grass Jor his pistol, 
 which now was his only reliance. Finding this, 
 he hurried down toward the road. Every limb 
 now ached, and bis brain still felt the stupefying 
 effects of his late swoon. It was only with ex- 
 treme difiicult^that he could itf&g himself along; 
 yet such was ttlB horror on his mind that he de- 
 spised the paiiy «i\4 hnrried down the road rap- 
 idly, seeking only to escape as soon as possible 
 out from among the shadows of these dark and 
 terrible woods, and into the open phiin. His 
 liasty, hurried step* were siiended with ih 
 verest pain, yet he sped onward, and, at last, 
 after what seemed to him an interminable time, 
 he emerged out of the shadows of the fo»est into 
 the broad, bright moonlight of the meadovi 
 which skirt the Amo. Hurrying along for a few 
 hundred yards, he sank down at last by the road- 
 
 .**. 
 
nt as if till* flgura 
 
 ilile, completely cxhniuted. In about an hour 
 he -resumed hin journey, and then sank exhaust- 
 ed once more, after tmversing-a few miles. If 
 wa» sunriiMj »)efore he reai'hed the inn where he 
 stonped. All that day and the next nightJie lay 
 in bed. On the following day he went to Flor- 
 ence ; and, Uking the hour when he knew that 
 Lord Chetwynde wag ouj, he called on Hildii. 
 
 THE CnYPTOGRAM. 
 
 nt 
 
 visit which ho. had paid on his first anivnl at 
 , Florence fi-om England. He hod firmly resolved 
 notMo see Iier until he had dpne something of 
 some consequence, and by this resolution he in- 
 tended that he should go to her as the tribmph- 
 ant discoverer of the mystery which she sought 
 to unravel. 8<fmething had, indeed, been domj, 
 but the dark mystery lay still unrevepled ; and 
 what he had discovered was certainly important, 
 vet not of such a kind as could excite any thing 
 like a feeling of triumph. He went to her now 
 because he could not help it, and went in bitter- 
 ness and humiliation. That he should go at all 
 under such circumstances only showed how com- 
 plete and ^ttcr hod l)eon his discomfiture. But 
 yet, in spite of this, there had been no cowardice 
 of which he could accuse himself, and he had 
 •hrank from no danf^er. He had dared Lord 
 Chetwynde almost face to face. Flying from 
 him, he had encountered one Vvhom he might 
 never have anticipated meeting. Last of all, he 
 had been overpowered by the phantom of 'the 
 dead. All these w^re suflicient causes for an in- 
 terview with Hilda, if it wore only for the sake 
 of letting her. know the feorful obstacles that 
 were accumulating before her, the alliance of 
 her worst enemies, and the reappearance of the 
 ipectre. 
 
 As Hilda entered the room and looked at him 
 ihe was startled at the change in him. The hue 
 of his face had changed from its ordinary sallow 
 complexion to a kind of grizzly pallor. His hands 
 ihook with nervous trcmulousness, his brow was 
 contracted through pain, his eyes had a wistful 
 eagerness, and he seemed twenty years older. 
 
 " You do'not look like a bearer of goo<l news," 
 laid she, after shaking hands with him in si- 
 lence. 
 
 Gnaltier shook his head mournfully 
 
 " Have you found oat nothine( ?" 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 "I'm ofraid I've found out too muchbv far " 
 
 "What do you mean?" ^ 
 
 "I hardly know. I only know this, that my 
 Marches have shown me that the mystery is deep- 
 er than ever." ^ 
 
 "Ton seem to me to be very quickJv discpur- 
 •gwl, said Hilda, in a disappointed tone. "' 
 
 'That which I have found out and seen " 
 •md Gualtier, solemnly, "is something which 
 • discourage the most persevering, aiid ap- 
 e boldest. My lady,'' hn nddnH Jn...^ 
 
 able to speak. His word* came painfully and 
 ilo*ly, and in this wapr he told his story. 
 
 He began by narrating the steps which he had 
 taken to secure himself from discovery by the use 
 of a disguise, and his first tracking of Lord Chet- 
 wynde to the gates of the villa. He described 
 the situation to her very clearly, and told her all 
 that he had learned from the peasants. He then 
 
 ir. h«.i „1. 1, .1. " 7 '•"""• """ "o iiau learnea irom ttie peasants He then 
 
 HI the boldest. My lady,'' he added, nlourn- 
 fiiUy, there is a power at work which Stands 
 Between you and the accomplishment oif your 
 purpose, ni)d dashes ns back when thot purpose 
 _^wis nearest to its attainment." 
 1. Im" "**'. ""•'eretand you," said Hilda, slow- 
 ly, while a dark foreboding arose, in her mind, 
 ma a fearful suspieioTi of Gunltier's meaning. 
 
 leii me wh.nt you mean, and what you have 
 ■ i^Z r'^K »in'=e I saw you last. You certainly 
 must have had a very unusual experience. " 
 
 It was with an evident effort that Gualtier was 
 
 ered Lord Chetwynde's periodical visits, altern- 
 ately made at tho great and the small gate, and 
 had resolved to find out the reason of such very 
 singular journeys. ' 
 
 To all this Hilda listened with breathless in- 
 terest and intense emotion, which increased, if 
 possible, up to that time when he was noticed and 
 pursued by Lord Chetwynde. Then followed the 
 story of his journey through the woods and the 
 paths till he found himself face to face with Obed 
 Chute. 
 
 At the mention of this name she intemipted 
 him with an exclamation of wonder and despair, 
 followed by many questions. She herself felt all 
 that perplexity at this discovery of his friendship 
 with Lord Chetwynde which Gualtier had felt, and 
 nil the thoughts which then had occurred to him 
 now came to her, to be poured forth in innumer- 
 able questions. Such questions he was, of course, 
 unable to onswer. Thp nppeaiance of this man 
 upon the scene was a circumstance whi<;h excited 
 in Hilda's mind vague apprehensions of some un- 
 known danger; yet his connection with Lord 
 Chetwynde was so inexplicable that it was im- 
 possible to know what to think ofte fear. 
 
 Tho discussion of this new turn in the prog- 
 ress of things took up some time. Exciting ai 
 this intelligence had been to HMa, the conclu- 
 sion of Gualtier'g narrative was far more g<j. 
 This was the climax, and Gualtier, who Iwdl 
 been weak and languid in speaking aboiu tl)a 
 other things, here rose into unusual excit«Dimt. 
 enlarging upon every particular in that eccur- 
 rence, and introducing all those details which 
 I-*.°lr", v''!^ '""fP""''"" had in that moment 
 of half delinum thrown around the figuro which 
 he had seen. 
 
 " /J floated before me," said hey with a shud- 
 der; "its robes Mere white, Md hung down aa 
 though still dripping with the inator of the sea. 
 It moved noiselessly until it mme opposite to. 
 mo, and then turned its fuU face toward me 
 Iho eyes were bright and luiftinons, and seened 
 to bum into my souL Tb^ are before me yet. 
 Never shall 1 forget the horror of that moment 
 
 nen the figure passed oo ] fell down sens^ess." 
 In the name of God!" burst forth Hilda 
 whose eyes dilated with tho terror of thftt tateT 
 while she trembled fro» head to foot in fearful, 
 1^•mpathv, "is this true? Can it be? Did vou 
 too, see Aw/" ~.?"u» 
 
 " Herself; and no oAor!" answered Gnaltier 
 in a scarce audible voice. * 
 
 "Once before," said Hilda, "that appari^fo* 
 came. It was to me. Yon know what the et 
 feet wafc^told TOO. Yoti were fteii yefyecW^ 
 and philojDplucal. Yob found it veiy eeLoy to 
 account for it on scientific principles. You spoke 
 of excitement, imagination, and diseased opifcs 
 nenes. Now, in your own case, have you been 
 able to account for this in the same way ?" 
 
 "I have not," said Gualtier. "Such anrn- 
 ments to me now seem to be nothing but words. 
 
 i 
 
 'I 
 
 
 I 1 
 
 I 
 
 ,1 
 
 
 / 
 
228 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 — empty wovjls, sathfectoiy eitough, no doubt, 
 to those who have never had this revelation of 
 
 . another world, but idle and meaningless to those 
 who have seen what I have seen. Why, do I 
 not know that she is beneath the Mediterranean, 
 and yet did I not see her myself? You were 
 
 ' right, though t did not understand your feelings, 
 when you found all my theories rain. Now, since 
 I have had your experience, I, too, find them 
 vain. M^t's the old story — the old, old hackneyed 
 sayinglr.he continued, wearily — 
 
 " ' There are more things In heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Thau are dreamt olia yonr piiUosophy."' 
 
 A long silencd followed.- 
 
 "We have been warned," said Hilda at 
 length. "The dead arise before us," she con- 
 tinued, solemnly, "^to thwart our plans and our 
 purposes. The dead wife of Lord Chetwynde 
 - comes back from beneath the sea to prevent our 
 undertakings, and tp protect him 'from us." 
 
 Gualtier kaid nothing. In his own soul he felt 
 the deep truth of this remark. Both sat now for 
 some time in silence and in solemn meditation, 
 while a deep gloom settled down upon them. 
 
 At last Gualtier spoke. 
 
 " It would have been far better," said he, "if 
 yon had allowed, me to complete that business. 
 It was nearly done. The worst was over. You 
 should not have interfered." 
 
 ^ilda made no reply. In her own heart there 
 were now wild desires, and already she herself 
 ^d become familiar with this thought. <>< .: 
 
 "It can yet be done," said Gualtier. 
 
 "But how can you do it again — after this?" 
 said Hilda. 
 
 " You ,are now the one," replied Gualtier. 
 "You have the powec and the opportunity. As 
 for me, you know that I could not become his 
 valet again. The chance was once all my own, 
 but you destroyed it. I dare not venture before 
 him again. It would be ruin to both of us. He 
 would i-ecognize me under any disguise, and have 
 me at once arrested. But if you know any way 
 in which I can be of use, or in which I can have 
 access to his presence, tell me, and I nill ghidly 
 risk my life to please you." 
 
 But Hilda knew of none, and had nothing to 
 say. 
 
 " Yon, and you alone, have the power now^' 
 said Gualtier ; " this work must be done by you 
 alone." 
 
 "Yes," said Hilda, after a pause. " It is true, 
 I have the power — I have the power." she re- 
 peated, in ^ tone of gloomy resolve, " and the 
 power shall be exercised, either on him, or on 
 mt/seff." 
 
 ''Gnyourtel/r 
 
 "Yes." '' 
 
 "Are you still thinking of such a thing as 
 that ?" asked Gualtier, with a shudder. 
 
 "That thought," said Hilda, calmly, "has 
 been familiar to me before, as you very well 
 know. It is still a familiar one, and it may be 
 acted upon at any mom ent." 
 
 'Would you dare 10 do ft?" 
 " Dare to do it ! " repeated Hildo. " Do you 
 ask that question of me after what I told you at 
 Lausanne ? Did I not tell you there that what I 
 dared to administer to another, I dared also to 
 - administer to mvself ? You surely must remem- 
 ber how weak all those menaces of yours proved 
 
 when you tried to coerce me again as you had 
 done once before. You ''must know the reason 
 why they were so powerless. It was because to 
 me all Ufe, and all the honors and pleasures of 
 life, had grown to be nothing without tlrnt one 
 aim after which I was seeking. Do you not un- 
 derstand yet ?" 
 
 \"My God!" was Gnaltier's reply, "how yoa 
 love that rtan!" These words burst forth in- 
 voluntarily, as he looked at her in the anguish 
 of his despair. 
 
 Hilda's eyes fastened themselves on his, and 
 looked at him out of the depths of a despair 
 which was deeper than his own — a despair which 
 had now made life valueless. 
 
 " You can not — ^you will not," exclaimed Gual- 
 tier, passionately. 
 
 "1 can," said Hilda, "and it is very possible 
 that I will." 
 
 " You do not know what it is thot you speak 
 about." 
 
 " I am not dfraid of death," said Hilda, coldly, 
 " if that is what jou mean. It con not be worse 
 than this life of mine.i" 
 
 " But you do not understand what it means," 
 said Gualtier. " I am not speaking of the mei« 
 act itself, but of its consequences. Picture to 
 yourself Lord Chetwynde exulting over this, and 
 seeing that hated obstacle removed which kept 
 him from his perfect happiness. You die, and 
 you leave him to pursue uninterrupted the joy 
 that he has with his paramour. Can you face 
 such a thought as that ? Would not this woman 
 rejoice at hearing of such a thing ? Do you wish 
 to add to their happiness ? Are you so sublimely 
 self-sacrificing that you will die to make Lord 
 Chetwynde happy in his love ?" 
 
 "How, can he be happy in his love?" said 
 Hilda. " She is married. 
 
 " She may not be. You only conjecture that. 
 It may be her father whom she guards against, 
 or her guardian. Obcd Chute is no doubt the 
 man — either her father or guardian, and Lord 
 Chetwynde has to guard against suspicion. But 
 what then ? If you die. can he not find some 
 ^other, and solace himself in her smiles, and in 
 the wealth that will now be all his own '(" 
 
 These words stung Hilda to the quick, and 
 she sat sileiit and thoughtful. To die so ns to 
 get rid of trouble was one thing, but a death 
 which should have such consequences ns these 
 was a very different thing. Singularly enough, 
 she had never thought of this before. And now, 
 when the thought came, it was intolerable. It 
 produced within her a new revolution of feeling, 
 and turned her thoughts away from that gloomy 
 idea which had so often haunted her. 
 
 "//is is the only one against whom yon can 
 work," continued Gualtier ; ' ' and you alone have 
 the power of doing it." 
 
 Hilda said nothing. If this work must be 
 done by her, there were many things to be con- 
 sidered, and these required time. 
 
 "But you will not desert me," said she, aad- 
 denly 4 for she fancied fi-om Gualticr'a manner 
 
 that he had given up all further idea of helping 
 her. 
 
 His face flushed. 
 
 " Is it possible that tou can still find any way 
 to employ me? This is more than I hoped for. 
 I feared that your indignation at my failnre 
 would cause you to dismlM me at useless. If 
 
again as you had 
 t know tlie reason 
 
 It was because to 
 8 and pleasures of 
 ; without that one 
 ;. Do you not un- 
 
 i reply, "how you 
 ds burst forth in- 
 lier in the anguish 
 
 selves on his, and 
 spths of a despair 
 1 — a despair which 
 
 :," exclaimed Gual- 
 
 it is very possible 
 
 is that you speak 
 
 said Hilda, coldly, 
 it can not be worse 
 
 d what it means," 
 saking of the mere 
 inces. Picture to 
 Iting over this, and 
 moved which kept 
 SB. Yon die, and 
 iterrupted the joy 
 iir. Can you face 
 dd not this woman 
 ng ? Do you wish 
 e yon so sublimely 
 
 die to make Lord 
 
 II 
 
 1 his love?" said 
 
 ly conjecture that 
 le guards against, 
 ;e is no doubt the 
 lardinn, and Lord 
 St suspicion. But 
 he not find some 
 her smiles, and in 
 1 his own ?" 
 to the quick, and 
 To die so ns to 
 hing, but a death 
 equences ns these 
 'ingiilarly enough, 
 lefore. And now, 
 IS intolerable. It 
 olution of fueling, 
 from that gloomy 
 ed her. 
 
 Bt wbt)m yon can 
 ind you alone have 
 
 lis work must be 
 
 things to be con- 
 
 ie. 
 
 ie,"Raid she, snd- 
 
 aualtiet'a manner 
 
 er idea of helping 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 "the bead ANp THE LOST ALL COMB TO ME." 
 
 yon can find ony thing for me to do, I can as- 
 sure yon that the only happiness that I can have 
 wul be m domg that thing." 
 
 ' f ■/"v <■«'■'""■"•'>''* ^"W"' "«""> not your 
 fault. You have done well, and suffered much 
 I am not ungrateful. You will be rewarded yet! 
 i shall yet have something for you to do, I will 
 send for you when the time comes." 
 
 She rose as she said this, and held out her 
 hand to Gunltier. Ha took it respectfully, and 
 Jith on eamg^t look at her, full of gratitude and 
 devotion, he Withdraw. 
 
 fi,„V"{!f ^^HTu*"" "J"?? *'""« involved in deep 
 
 X. h^""!^ '^'^"'T """K* ""ggested thom- 
 !!I^'. ..■'*' .^T*.*^ "^''''''y impracticoble, or 
 «t iMst objectionable. Nor was she as yet pre- 
 pared to begin with her own hands, and by ter- 
 «lf, that part which Gualtier hod suggested. 
 ^'yet wgj^her ner^■e8 steady enough: But 
 
 anv Zl?h f "Tf i° "'^°"*'"« '■«" t« «fe than 
 any thing thnt could have happened short of act- 
 Mlly gaining him for herself: 
 
 Wearied at last of fruitless plana and resnlt- 
 w» thoughts, she wont out for « walk. She 
 
 dressed herself in blaj*, and wore a heavy black 
 crape veil which entirely concealed the futures. 
 ^he knew no one in Florence from whom she 
 needed to disguise herself, but her nature was of - 
 Itself secretive, and even in a thing like this she 
 chose concealment rather than openness. Be- 
 sides, she had some vague hopes thot she miitht 
 encounter Lord Chetwyndo somewhere, perhaps 
 w'lth this woman, and could watch him while un- 
 observed herself. 
 
 She walked as far as the church of Santo 
 Croce. She walked up the steps with a vague 
 idea of going in. 
 
 As she walked up there came a woman down 
 the steps dressed in as deep mourning as Hilda 
 herself. She was old,, she was slender, her veil 
 was thrown back, and the white face was plainly 
 visible to Hilda as she pissed. Hilda stooS 
 rooted to the spot, t hongh^e o ther woma n did 
 not notice her emotion, inffiould she have seer 
 her face through the veil. She stood paralyzed, 
 and looking after the retreating figure as it moved 
 
 away 
 
 "The dead and the lost," she murmured, at 
 she stood there with clasped hands— "the dead 
 and the lost all come to met Mrs. Hart I 
 About her face there can be no mbtake. What 
 
 fii 
 
 .:;{.: 
 
 M 
 
 III 
 
 m 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 .li. 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 is she doing here— in the same town with Lord 
 Chetwynde? Am I ruined yet or not? 'I'm 
 afraid I hare not much time left me to run my 
 course. " 
 
 In deep despondency she retraced her steps, 
 and went back to her room. ( 
 
 g CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 NEW PROJECTS. 
 
 The unexpected appearance of Mrs. Hart was 
 ip many respects, and for many reasons, an aw- 
 ful shock to Hilda. » It Was a new danger, lest 
 , terrible than that which had arisen from the 
 phantom which had twice appeared, yet perhaps 
 in reality more perilous. It filled her with ap- 
 prehensions of the worst. All that night she 
 lay awoke thinking over it. How had Mrs. 
 Hart come to Florence, and why, and what was 
 she doing here? Such were her thoughts. Was 
 she also in connection with Lord Chetwynde and 
 with this Obed Chute ? It seemed probable. If 
 so, then it seemed equally probable that there 
 was gome design on foot ngninst her. At first 
 the thought of this inspired in her a great fear, 
 and a desire to fly from the impending danger. 
 For a moment she almost decided to give up her 
 present purpose forever, collect as much money 
 as she conld, and fly to some distant place, where 
 she might get rid of all her danger and forget all 
 her troubles. But this thought was only mo- 
 mentary, for higher than her desire for comfort 
 or peace of mind rose her thirst for vengeance. 
 It would not satisfy her that she alone should 
 si^er. Lord Chetwynde also should have his 
 own share, and she woidd begin by unmasking 
 him and revealing his intrigue to her supposed 
 husband. 
 
 On the following day Gualtier called, and in a 
 few words she told him what had taken place. 
 
 " Are you really confident that it was Mrs. 
 Hart y" he asked, with some anxiety. 
 
 "As confident as I am of my own existence. 
 Indeed, no mistake was possible." 
 
 Gualtier looked deeply troubled. 
 
 " It looks bad," said he ; " but, after all, there 
 are ways of accounting for it. She may have 
 heard that Lord Chetwynde intended to go to 
 Italy and to Florence— for It was quite possible 
 that he mentioned it to her at the Castle— and 
 when she went away she may have intended to 
 come here in search of him. I dare say she 
 went to London first, and found out from his 
 solicitors where he had gone. There isn't the 
 slightest probability, at any rate, that ho can 
 have met with her. If he' had met with her, 
 you would have known it yourself soon enoogh. 
 She would have been here to see his wife, with 
 the same affectionate solicitude which she show- 
 ed once before— which you told me of. No. 
 Rest assured Ldli Chetwynde knows nothing 
 of her presence here. There are others who 
 take up all Jiis thoughts. It seems probable, 
 ^e hta jntt arriTBd, and there Ir no 
 doubt that she is on the look-out fbr him. At 
 any rate, there is one comfort. You are sure, 
 70U say, that she did not recognize you 7" 
 
 " No ; that was impossible ; for I wore a thick 
 rell. No one could poisibly distinguish mr feat- 
 u««." 
 
 " And she can not, of conrsej^ snspect that yon 
 are here?" 
 
 "She can not have any such suspicion, unless 
 we have been ourselves living in the dark all this 
 time — unless she is really in league with Lord 
 Chet^vynde. And who can tell? Perhdps all 
 this time this Chute and Mrs. Hurt and Lord 
 Chetwynde have their own designs, and are qui- 
 etly weaving a net around me from which I can 
 not escape. Who can tell ? Ah ! how easily I 
 could escape-T-if it were not fbr one thing !" 
 
 "Oh, as to Ihat, you may dismiss the idea," 
 said Gualtier, confidently; "and as for Lord 
 Chetwynde, yOu may rest assured that he does 
 not think enough about you to take the smallest 
 trouble one way or another." 
 
 Hilda's eyes blazed. 
 
 " He shall have cause enough to think about 
 me yet," she cried. " I have made up my mind 
 what I am to do next." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " I intend to go myself to Obed Chute's villa." 
 
 "TheviUa! Yourself 1" . 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 " I— myself. You can not go." 
 
 " No. But how can you go ?" 
 
 " Easily enough. I have nothing to fear." 
 
 " But this man is a perfect demon. How will 
 you be able to encounter him ? He woujd treat 
 yon aa brutally as a savage. I know bi|fi)vell. 
 I have reason to. You are not the one to go 
 there." 
 
 " Oh yes, I am," said Hilda, carelessly. " Yoa 
 forget what a difference there is between a visit 
 from you and a visit from me." 
 
 "There is a diflference, it is true ; but I donbt 
 whether Obed Chute is the man to see it. At 
 any rate, you can not think of going witliont 
 some pretext. And what one can you possibly 
 have that will be at all plausible ?" 
 
 " Pretext I I have the best in the world. It 
 is hardly a pretext either. I intend to go open- 
 ly, in my own proper person — as Lady Chet- 
 wynde. " 
 
 " As Lady Chetwynde !" repeated Gualtier, in 
 amazement. " What do you mean ? Would it 
 be too much to orfk you what your plan may be, 
 or what it is that you may have in view ?" 
 
 "It's simple enough,' said Hilda. "It is 
 this. You will understand it readily enough, I 
 think. You see, I have discovered by. accident 
 some mysterious writing in cipher, which by an- 
 other accident I have been enabled to unravel. 
 Now you understand that this writing makes 
 very serious charges indeed against tny father, 
 the late General Pomeroy. He is dead ; but I, 
 as an afTectionnte daughter, am most anxidiis to 
 understand the meaning of this fearful accusa- 
 tion thus made against the best of pien. I have 
 seen the name of this Obed Chute mentioned in 
 some of the papers connected with the secret 
 writing, and have fbund certain letters from him 
 refeiring to the case. Having heard very unex- 
 pectedly that he is in Florence, I intend to call 
 on him to implore him to expiain to me all thlF 
 mystery." 
 
 "Thiit is admirable," said Gnaltier. 
 
 " Of course it is," said Hilda ; " nothing, inaeea, 
 could be better. This will give me admission to 
 th« villa. Once in there, I shall have to rely upon 
 cinnimttancei. Whatever those circumstance! 
 
') snspect that yon 
 
 Ed Chute's villa." 
 
 may be, I shall, at least, be confronted with Lord 
 Clietwynde, and find out who this woman is I 
 hope to win the friendship and the confidence of 
 these people. They will pity me, sympathize 
 with me, and mvite me there. If Lord Chet- 
 wynde 18 such a friend, they can hardly overlook 
 bis wife. The woman, whoever she may be 
 even if she hates me, as she must, will yet see 
 that It IS her best_policy to bo at least civil to 
 ine. And that will open a way to final and com- 
 plete vengeance." ^ 
 
 To this plan Gualtier listened in unfelimed ad- 
 miration. * T " 
 
 "You have solved the mystery !" said he, ex- 
 citedly. You wijl— you must succeed, where 1 
 have tailed so miserably." 
 
 "No, " said Hilda, "yon have not failed. Had 
 It not been for you I could never have had this 
 chance. It is by your discovery of Obed Chute 
 that you have made ray present course possible. 
 You have suffered for my cause, but your suffer- 
 ings will make that cause at last triumphant." 
 
 !• or such a result as that I would suffer ten 
 thousand times more," said Gualtier, in impas- 
 sioned tones. ^ 
 
 "You will not be exposed to any further suf- 
 fenngs, my friend," said Hilda. "I only want 
 your assistance now." 
 
 "It is yours already. Whatever you ask I 
 am ready to do." 
 
 " What I ask is not much," said HiWa " I 
 merely want you to be near the spot, so as to be 
 ui readiness to assist me." 
 
 i" m" '*** *P°' ' ^° y°" "'^" *' 'lie villa?" 
 No, not at the villa, but near it, somewhere 
 •Jong the road. I wish you to see who goes and 
 comes. Go out there to-day, and watch. You 
 need not go within a mile of the villa itself; that 
 will be enough. You will then know when Ivjrd 
 Chetwynde.comes. You can watch from behind 
 •ome hedge, I suppose. Can you do that ?" 
 
 •11' l*'''Tr'!'n' is but a slight thing. Most 
 wilhngly will I do this, and far more, no matter 
 what, even if I have to face a second time that 
 phantom. 
 
 "I will go out to-morrow, or on the following 
 <l«y. I want yon to be on the watch, and see 
 who may go to the villa, so that when I come 
 you may let me know. I do not want to call 
 unless I positively know that Loi-d Chetwynde 
 will be there, and the family also. They may 
 possibly go out for a drive, or something may 
 happen,-and this is what I want you to be on the 
 ook-out for. If J^rd Chetwynde is there, and 
 Uiat woman, there will probably be a scene, "con- 
 hniicd Hilda, gloomily ; " but it will be a scene 
 in which, from the very nature of the case. I 
 onght to be triumphant. I've been sufTering too 
 much of late. It is now about time for a change, 
 and It seems to me that it is now my tuifl to have 
 good fortune. Indeed, Ijcan not conceive how 
 there can be any failure. The only possible awk- 
 wardness would be the presence of Mrs. Hart. 
 If she should be there, then-why, then, I'm 
 •fraid aU would be over. Th«t U» risk, how. 
 
 *, and l mutt ran tC^ 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM, 
 
 "If M rr^ r ^ regarded," said Gnaltier. 
 J M !!*• "S" ''"^ '"""'• ^^^ Chetwynde, you 
 would have known it before this." 
 
 ^ That is my chief reliance." 
 Have you those paper*?" 
 
 "P«j)er»?" «i 
 
 231 
 
 " Yes ; the cipher and the letters." 
 
 «' l^"* ^T t^^'** ^ ""' ^'^y 'hat I had them all?" 
 
 t^. ; '< '^°!S^J," '!'?' y°" ^^^ gi^en them all 
 to — to fier, said Gualtier. 
 
 iZ^ ^ '^I'^j H"' ^ Kot them back, and have 
 kept them, I don't know why. I 8„pp„se it was 
 from an instinct of forecast. Whatever was the 
 reason, however, they are now of priceless valuu 
 J-or they enable me now to go as the daughter 
 of one who has been charged in* these paiwrs 
 with the commission of the most atrocious crimes 
 rhis must all be explained to meTand by this 
 Obed Chute, who 48 the only living person who 
 can do it. 
 
 " I am glad that what I have done will be use- 
 ful to you, said Gualtier. " You may tn.st to 
 me now to do aU that man can do. I will cirand 
 watch and wait till you come." 
 
 liilda thereupon expressed the deepest gimi- 
 tude to him, and she did this in language far 
 more earnest than any which she had ever before 
 used to him. It, may have been the conscious- 
 ness that this would be the last service which he 
 was to perform for her; it may have been an in- 
 tentional recognition of his past acts of love and 
 devotion ; it may have been a tardy act of recog- 
 nition of all his fidelity and constancy; but, what- 
 ever it was, her words sank deep into his soul. 
 
 Those words," said he, "are a reward for 
 all the past. May I not yet hope for a future 
 reward ( 
 
 " You may, my feiend. Did I not give vou 
 my promise?" ■ ^ •' 
 
 ^" Hilda/" 
 
 This word Burst from him. It was the first 
 time that he had so addressed her. Not even in 
 the hour of his triumph and coercion had he ven- 
 tured ujion this. But now her kindness had em- 
 boldened him. He took her hand, and pressed 
 It to his lips. 
 
 ««7 ''*'^ " P™8«"t'«nent of e\-il," said he. 
 
 We may never meet again. But you will not 
 forget me ?" 
 
 Hilda gave a long sigh. 
 
 " If we meet again," said she, "we chall see 
 enough of one another. If not"— and she paused 
 for a moment- "if not, then"-and a solemn 
 cadence came to her voice— "then you will be 
 the one who will remember, and /shall be the one 
 to he remembered. Farewell, my friend !" 
 
 She held out her hand. 
 
 Once more Gualtier pressed it to his lips. 
 
 Then he took his departure. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXL 
 
 A RACE FOB LIFE, 
 
 0.V leaving Hilda Gualtier went out to the 
 villa. Beforo his departure he furnished him- 
 self with a new disguise, different from his foI^- 
 mer one, and one, too, which he thought would 
 be better adapted to his purposes of concealment, 
 A gray wij;, a slouched hat, and the dress 
 
 peasant, served to give him the appearance of an 
 aged countryman, while a staff which ho held 
 in his hand, and a itoop in his shoulders, height, 
 ened the disguise. He got a lift on a wine-carl 
 for some miles, and at length reached a place not 
 far away fVom the villa. 
 The villa itself, as it rose up from unong son 
 
 iii 
 
 '1 m i 
 ■ W- i 
 
 ! 1 L* 
 
 m 
 
 > 3 
 
 .'^i^^J 
 
832 
 
 ta 
 
 fi^YP 
 
 TOGRAM. 
 
 tr- 
 
 ronnding trees, on a spnr of the Apennines, was i too strong to be resisted! He datermined to 
 in sight. Oneither side of the valley rose the | venture ni«r*r-how near he didZt know ; °i 
 
 mountains. The Amo, as it wound "along, ap- 
 proached the place on this side of the valley, and 
 the mountains were not more than half a mile 
 distant, though on th6 other therjilain was sev- 
 eral miles in width. The pkcp vh'ch Gualtier 
 had chosen seemed to him to be quite near 
 enough to the villa for observati6n, and far 
 enough distant for safety. The thought of a 
 possible encounter with Obed Chute was ever 
 present in his mind, and this time he determined 
 to guard against all surprise, and, if an encount- 
 er should be inevitable, to use his revolver be- 
 fore his enemy could prevent him. His pride 
 and his manhood both urged him to gnin some 
 satisfaction for that shame on both which he had 
 experienced. 
 After watching one afternoon he obtained lodg 
 
 any rate, he could safely ventiire much nearer 
 than this. Had he not his disguise, and was he 
 not armed ? And when he mot Hilda would it 
 not be shame to him if he could only tell her 
 that he had staid so far away, and had feared to 
 venture nearer ? 
 
 He started off. His bowed form, white face 
 peasant garb, and the staff which supported his 
 unsteady steps, he thought would be surely nn 
 impenetrable disguise. True, once before the 
 keen glance of Obed Chute had penetrated his 
 disguise, but then the circumstances under whicli 
 they met were suspicious. Now, even if he 
 should chance to meet him, he could riot be sus- 
 pected. Who would snspeet an aged peasant 
 toiling along the public highway ? 
 
 He gained fresh courage at every step. As 
 
 «„ r i. — ""fi""^"/'" """■"■<' uuiKMieuioug- lie gainea tiesh courage at every step. As 
 ing at a humble farm-house, and when the next I he drew nearer and still nearer to the vUla he 
 
 TrTr^ ^aT i!' ™'"'. ''?.'?'"''^ ^y ^''"P- """1 i "^"K*"" ♦" """'' °f venturing into the ZLt 
 encouraged by the result of his meditations. He once more. He thought that rf he did^o he 
 began to be hopeful about final success. The could be more guarded, and steal along through 
 
 or,« wti!!:h "^ n'''* ^^fT"'' '""'"'"^ '" ^^ "■« '"''''' •^'d" 'he paths, and not on' hem 
 mJpvnr Hi?H ^ " '^"' ^^ ""y .Possibility. The thought became a stronger temptation to 
 
 ^^mn^Lf ^°"*' ""k^ Pl"'"'-^,! "J"^ """ "'"' ' "'"'^«'' "«»'«^' '"' hnd almost decided to venture 
 a comple^te and irreparable breach between her- ; into that little gate, which was now full in view 
 filT^^i^*""^ Chetwynde. To him this was the | He sat down bVthe road-sido and looked at " 
 first desire of his heart, since that removed the At length he rose and walked on, hJiving made 
 wie great obstacle that^ay between him and her. up his mind to pass through, « any rate, a.Td be 
 If he could only see her love for Lord Chetwynde guided by circumstances It would be some- 
 > transformed to vengeance, and find them cliaiiged thing to his credit, he thought, if he could only 
 
 oZ!inHirrVr'"''-°^'^L'''"1.'-'"P*'*r"f^^^^^ ""'>'* '1"»' >■« ^ad befn in those gn,un<h 
 open and implacable enmity, then his own hopes again. 
 
 A^llaTTf " T'^ ^ secured, OS he thouglu. | But as he advanced he heard the sound of «■>- 
 ^~ t T^l^'' beginmngof this. In Hilda's ; preaching .wheels. Some carriage was coming 
 W« «;~r 'h *' '"r VJ '??'"'• ^^. Tl^''^ *" I "'P'^'ly •^"'^n '•■« ™'«J t"*""! hi-nVnnd he paused 
 ik^n ZZ.t^t Tif *^"' feeling which had now for a moment, as the idea struck him that pos*i 
 
 taken possession of her. He had witnessed also «-•-— ^ - — *^ 
 
 a greater consideration for himself;- arising this 
 
 time not out of coercion, but from free-will. Alf 
 this was in his favor. Whether she couM ever 
 
 biy the tremendous Obed Chute might be in it. 
 
 He walked on very slowly, looking keenly ahead. 
 
 Soon the carriage came into view from behind 
 
 a bend in the road. A thrill passed through 
 
 A.ii J • i .. '•"""^' ■"■" "-""'u o»ci B ucim 111 uio roBQ. A tnnu passed throuirh 
 
 Mly 8ucc«Ki in her thirst for vengeance did not Gualtier in spite of himself. He grasp«i his staff 
 much matter. Indeed n was better for him ttt^t | in his right hand, and plunging his 1^ "mo hi, 
 
 Ihnnlrrw?'** ""'•'^ 'a'I^ T' ''.'" '>'-*« breast-pScket, he'grasp^ hif piltoL Nearer and 
 should remain unsausfied, for then Lord Chet- nearer the carriage came, and he could easily 
 
 ^^her r^rl^""'^ "'fTI f ""^ "".T '"'•«^"' '"^"K"'^" '•>« «1"^« face,'broadJhoSlders a ,d 
 Iv!^/ l-% Y' ""'' '^^ .•""" '^""'•^ ^"'^ »« "t"''^"' ff^we of Obed Chute. \Vith him here 
 £mi?f opportunities of binding her to | was a kdy, whose face he could not as yet reeo? 
 
 All »h«« .i,„n„i,.. -„ J u- . .^ I °'^*- ^"^ "ow there arose within him an in- 
 
 AU these thoughts encouraged him. A hope tense desire to see the fart of this lady She 
 
 S Z tZ T A ". ^'^'* ^"'^V ,""•" "">' "'"' '^y*'"'* * "loubt the very one of whom Lord 
 yhich he had ever dared to entertain before. He Chetwynde was so eager and so constant in 
 
 S£'8 dTJitT '" "TP'"'*"^ '''^"?^ ^"•' ''" P«"""- Could hXt see her Z otc i 
 
 d«.n«r «n ri P'f"^?""* P«T«"«8, and SO much would be a gttjat gain, for he could recognise 
 
 ^^ITmZ^^^Tf'"^ '*'^'^" i*"""' '••"' '' '•*"■ eJse'^here, and Thus do something of import- 
 
 ^izinrhK^. ^\}!'V '?^'^" ^"""^ *"'=°"'- *"•=" '" """""K HiWa. With this detem in«- 
 
 ^Nnw «. hT ^.^'""'""''•u. u. r tion in his mind he went on, and bowing down 
 
 Now, as he sat there watching, his fears of his head like a decrepit old man, he hobbled 
 
 Jent^re^nTre^'^o'l' f"f fil/f ^^oldened to along, leaning on hisTaff, but aMheL^ time 
 ;rero?Hndi.''" ^'. r^I" !";" . l"'r!!: ••l? •'-P'n^ »■■->- upturned and fixed on th,lady, 
 
 wishes of Hilda. Her image drove out from his 
 thoughts tifc frowning face of Obed Chute, and 
 the white form of that phantom whose aspect 
 
 hnH ^„^ ~\j \^- ",.;,'" '"i^"'' "*o an "ngu'HU 01 tear and of wondv. 
 Bad on<» crushed him into hfelessness. He .the lady's face tecarae plainly discenyble. 
 Thought that it was but a feebla <l«vntinn »„ ».i, ^fi.~. i ^wu:^ Zrzr: F.T.J.}^^'^"^ 
 
 "Thought that it was but a feeble devotion to wait 
 in ambush at such a distance, when, by Ventur- 
 ing nearer, he might learn much more. Hours 
 passed, and there was no sign of any one be- 
 longing to the villa either going or coming, and 
 •t length the thought tliat was in his mind grew 
 
 The carriage came nearer and nearer. A 
 strange feeling came^ over Gualtier— something 
 like an anguish of fear and of wondv- At lost 
 
 face I White it was, and the whiteness was in- 
 tensified by the deep blackness of the hair, while 
 the eyes were large and lustrous, and rested full 
 upon him in something like pity. That fiicsl 
 Was this another vision f 
 Great God I 
 
 i-f 
 
THE CRrPTOGRAM. 
 
 stop!' she cbikd, teariko with one hand at th, reim." 
 
 A groan burst from him as this face thus re- 
 Tealea Itself. What was this? What did it 
 mean? Was this, too, a phantom? Was it a 
 dKeit and moclceiy of his, senses ? Was it an 
 eidolon from the realms of death, or could it be 
 an actual material object— a living being ? Here 
 was one whom ho knew to be dead. How came 
 she here? Or by what marvel conld any one 
 dse so resemble her? Yet it waa not a resem- 
 blance. Uvaahertelft 
 
 His brain whirled All thoughts of all things 
 111 f ?:?y "»*•"" horror and in that sur- 
 pnse. Spell-bound he stood, while his face was 
 upturned and his eyes were fixed on the ladv. 
 
 And thus, as he stood rooted to the 8pot,"mo- 
 
 nr.„HTl.''*,"""«v"*' '='"'ri«8e came whirling 
 pp and flashed past him. That singular flguroT 
 L^ ^T^ «5arb, with rigid face, and with 
 «orror m his eyes, which stared like, the eves 
 «L' "*."!.y.; attracted the look of the lady. At 
 MUhoii»a»T«gne idea th»l it was a beteftr. 
 bat on cMUmg closer she recognized all. As 
 
 A. «?„ • .r'ercing scream. She stiatt-hed 
 
 fte^ins convuUively and tor« at them in a sort 
 
 "It> htl It is he! Stop!" she cried, 
 
 j^.'jAS 
 
 teanng with one hand at the reins and with 
 inL^ii^f .^^""'V''»'»"K vehemently in some nn- 
 Stop! Quick! fceue him, or it wiU be too 
 
 That scream and those words roused Olwd 
 He, too, had noticed the figure by the roadl 
 side, but he had only thrown a careless gl^ce 
 It "'t: °[,Zj"."'. however, thrilled thi-rgi; 
 hira. He pulled in the horees savagely. 'Jhw 
 were foaming and plunging. V 
 
 «.i^'.'"' fv 'H* '^'"'''' '••■•'PP""^ 'he reins, and 
 with trembhng frame, and eyes flashing with ex- 
 citeinent, stood staring back. 
 
 "There! there!" she cried— "there I tell 
 yon, is Gualtierrm^ assassin ! He isjis^dsed ! 
 I know him! It Is Gmiltier! Ho:irScking 
 me now! Stop him! Seize him! Doi,^ l"! 
 him escape! Makehnfete!" 
 
 TheM^wonls burst from faeFlifceii^ toi iw u, ,Bd^- 
 fhese, v^ith he^^ld gesticulations, showed thd 
 intensity of her excitement. In an instSht Obed 
 had divined the whole moaning of this. A man 
 in disguise had already penetrated oven into his 
 pounds This he thought wis the same man, 
 m another disgiiuo. atill haunting the place and 
 prowLng about with bis sinister motive. Bjr 
 
 ';i 
 
 >> 
 
284 
 
 Zillah'g words he'sAw that \ho had recognized 
 this man as that veiy Gualtier after whom he 
 had been searching so long, and whose name had 
 been so constantly in his mind. And now, ,i»4 
 the same'instant, he saw that the man who had 
 once sought him in America, and who had re- 
 . cemly ventured into his park, was the very nine 
 whoi had betrayed Miss Lorton — the 'man tm 
 whose track he had been setting the police tf 
 England, F{ance, and Italy. 
 
 It was but for an instant that this thought 
 filled his mind. In another instant Obed had 
 flung down the reins and sprung into the road. 
 
 Meanwhile Gualtier had stood motionless, hor- 
 ror-stpicken, and p/iralyzed. But the scream of 
 Zillnh and her frantic words had shown him be- 
 _^ rond the possibility of a doubt that she was at 
 any rate alive, and more than this, that she had 
 recognized him. How she had thus come to life 
 he-«Q^ld'not know, nor was there time to conject- 
 ure. For now angther danger was impending, 
 and, in the person of Obed Chute, was rushing 
 down swiftly upon him. At the sight of this new 
 peril he hesitated not a moment, but snatched 
 his pistol, took aim, and fired shot after shot. 
 But in his haste and agitation a correct aim 
 was impossible. lie fired wildly. Foi5 bullets, 
 o»e after the other, whi'stled through Melair past 
 Obed's head, yet he still came on. The visiop 
 of that awful face rushing down upon him thus 
 throogh the smoke-clouds, with vengeance gleam- 
 ing from the eyes, and the resolute mouth close 
 shut in implacable sternness, was sufficient to 
 show Gualtier that his career was nearly run. 
 He had a sudden feeling that all was lost. With 
 tt wiljhleop he bouhded over the ditch by the road- 
 tidd, and tore over the fields with the frantic speed 
 of one flying from death. 
 But the avenger was at his heels. 
 -■ To fly froni vengeance and from death is a 
 thing that brings a strong motive to exertion, 
 but there are other things sometimes which mav 
 give an equal impulse. Gualtier was lithe, sin- 
 ewy, and agile, nimble of foot too, and inspired 
 by the conscionsness of danger ; but the man who 
 pursued him was one whose mighty thews and 
 sinews had been formed under the shadows of 
 the Alleghanies, and trained by years of early 
 experience to every exercise of strength. This 
 man also was inspired by a feeling which could 
 contribute a motive for exertion as powerful as 
 the fear which filled the heart t)f Gualtier, and 
 . his own pride, his' honor, and his affection for 
 Zillah, all urged him on. He followed fast, and 
 followed faster. Gualtier had a long start, but 
 Obed steadily gaiiietl, until at last the fugitive 
 could hear the footsteps of his pursuer. 
 
 Between the skirts of the hills and the Amo 
 there was a plain about two miles in width. On 
 the other side of the river the fields spread away' 
 again for a wider extent, interspersed with groves 
 and vineyards. The Amo was full, and flowing 
 rapidly. Hero, then, seemed to be to the fugitive 
 the last chance for escape— here, in that swift- 
 flowing river. Gualtier could swim admirably. 
 Toward this river ho turned his flying s tep s, 
 thinking that his pnrsaer mlgilt not bo able to 
 follow, and hoping for safety hero. Yet all the 
 time he expeoWd to hear a pistol-shot, for Obed 
 had already told him, in that memorable meeting 
 in the park, that he carried a revolver. That he 
 did not aae it now seemed to Gualtier to show 
 
 ' THE CRYFTOGRAM. 
 
 plainly that he must have left it behind, ^s for 
 Obed, b^ neither fired a pistol-shot nor threatened 
 to fire one. He did not even draw his revolver 
 from his pocket. He simply ran as, fust as he 
 cQuldafter the fugitive. • 
 
 That fugitive, in order to gain the river; was 
 confpelled to run obliquelv, and thys hogaVe a\f 
 additional advantage to nu pursuer, who tried 
 to head him off, and thns was able to gain on 
 him b^ some additional paces. But to Gualtier 
 that nvor-bank was now the place oT salvation, 
 and that was at any rate a lost resort. Besides 
 this, his pistol still was in his hand, and in it 
 there still remained two shots, which might yet 
 avail him at the last moment. Onward, then, 
 he bounded with frantic exertions while >heSe 
 thoughts sped through his mind. But, mingled 
 with these, there came strange floating thoughts 
 of that figure in th^ carriage — that one who 
 had. met with a wondrous resurrection from 
 the death to which he had. sent Her, and who 
 was now looking on at Ills flight, and the pur- 
 suit of her avenger. All these various thoughts 
 swept confusedly through his brain in the mad- 
 ness of that hour ; for thus it is that often, when 
 death seems to impend, the mind becomes en- 
 dowed with colossal powers, and all the events 
 of a stormy and agitated life can be crowded 
 into one moment Now, as Gualtier fled, and 
 as he contrived his ^lan of escape by the rivcr7 
 there were in his mind, parallel witli these 
 thoughts; others of equal power — thoughts of 
 that fair yoimg girl whoin he had cast adrift in 
 A sinking ship on the wide midnight sea. 8aved 
 she had been, beyond a doubt, for there she 
 was, with her eyes fixed on him in his agony. 
 Avenged she would be also, unless he could 
 escape that terrible pursuer who now every mo- 
 ment came faster and faster behind. 
 » Avenged? /No, not yet. - Still there was a 
 chance. The river flowed near with its full 
 stream.' The opposite shores seemed to invite 
 hjm ; the tretes and groves and vineyards there 
 seemed to beckon bim onward. At last his feet 
 were on theibank. One plunge, he thought, and ' 
 he would bWsafe. But for one instant he delayed 
 that plunge. There were other desii-es in his 
 heart than/ that of safety — there was the desire 
 for vengeitnce. Still there, was a chance left. 
 His pistol was in his hand — it yet held two 
 shots. In these he might find both safety and 
 vcngeancei 
 
 Suddenly he turned as he reached the bank, 
 and instantaneously he discharged the last shots 
 of the pistol at his pursuer. Then he plunged 
 headlong into the river. 
 
 Another pursuer, even if he had not fallen, 
 might have faltereid at all these pistol-shuts. 
 Not so Ol^d. To him the revolver was & h- 
 miliar j(hUp— a toy, in fact, the sport of all his 
 life. Often before had pistol-shots whistled 
 about his head, and under circumstances far 
 more dangerous than this. Obed's life had 
 boon a varied . one, and he could tell many 
 strange tales of adventures in the western parts 
 of America^that countiy where civ ilized man 
 tins encountered, and can still enconntoi^lMg' 
 tribes which are his most formidable foes. Jf^. 
 at that moment Obed could have bared Kis 
 mighty body to plunge into the Amo, he could ^ 
 have exhibited a vast number of old scars from 
 woundf which hod been received in Kansas, in 
 
 £^ii^'..V.'« i 'i -J^.^kifrtM^ i-feji^ 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 23S 
 
 pistol shots flashed b'ef^ie Wn he h d not , me S f^c in^d f„^°' **°^' '''"•. ' '^'''"'' •"*??«" ^^ 
 even tp wink his eves, but rushinR on with .m ^^r '" a i • '^ T "'"'''■«'"- I' didn't seem' 
 abated vigor, he reached thS^^rrbank rjRi ~v„fvo^'''^"'T'u''' "^^^ 
 in a morn,„t had plunged inlfter GunS"'- ^ i^f^^^^^^^ breajt-pocket, n.^d exhibit- 
 
 in a moment had plunged in after GunltWr 
 
 Ihe fugittve hejird that plunge. He heard 
 behyid h.m the quick strokes of a stfiong swim- 
 
 ??^'n"."h ir. ^l ''"*"' """^ '«'' ""»* «» ««« lost. 
 ^nH^^l^r I 'I' l''""''*' t" '""' staked every thing, 
 and that last chance had failed utterlv This 
 man who had insulted him, bullied him, and 
 ovorpowoi^d him-this man who had bee.^ ?m- 
 
 nver-bank-this man who had gained on him 
 
 had run-this demon of a man was now gainiuK 
 on him in the water also! If his pursuer had 
 . stood gn the bank and had shot him, he might 
 have received the wound and sank to death with- 
 out a murmur. But to be followed so, to be 
 A^}t *? •^"^Kfi'l back-this was the terror 
 and the shame. This stimulated him to fiercer 
 exertions." D,apair itself gave a kind of mad- 
 
 S,l »* T""^'**" ?"""«■•• Nearer and 
 nearer that pursuer came; more and more des 
 perat« grew Gualtier's efforts. I„ vain As he 
 Snrj'VT"! •"'r'' ""Perhuman exertions he 
 
 ™nint i^/'"i,°i"r- That despair which a 
 moment before had intensified his efforts now 
 relaxed his strength. He felt himself dragged 
 back to the shore from which he had been fly- 
 ing. He was ost! He stniggled no lo^r to 
 ^pe, but only to keep his head above water 
 from an instinct of self-presenation. And in 
 that anguish of fear aad despair that now settled 
 npon his soul he Jiad a vagne terror that on the 
 moment of landing he would be annihilated. 
 
 But, instead of that, be felt himself raised to 
 
 m« feet, and the strong grasp relaxed its hold. 
 
 He looked up at his captor, and saw him stand- 
 
 ing before him regarding him with a grim smile. 
 
 bo you re the Guajtier, are jou," said Obed, 
 
 of whose exploits I have heard 8o much? 
 
 wJl^if'^*''"'* '.'?'^' P'""''^'' I should sav, but 
 you rt) done con-siderahle mischief, somehbw." 
 Guultier did not know what to make of this, 
 >ot thought it onlv a little preliminary play 
 .fte which he would be flung headlong into the 
 nver by gome catapnltian kick, 
 tan^ff '"'"'•" ""''^ Obed; "a fellow that pre- 
 rfhiJ.^.f?'^/- «™>\<"' ought to be ashamed 
 ofhimself for flnng such shots as you did. ^ Yon 
 mferea fool, you! you've gone.nnd losj six of 
 of th/.l n^"''** *"^ ™'"' "'«"■ •'««'• »"d "ot one 
 
 m ve gone and disgraced America in the perl 
 •on of her great national and original weapon- 
 the ereriasting revolver. Don't you feel like a 
 looi F You know you do !" 
 
 K^hu'^^^tT"^.,"!^'^"^ Gualtierwas, if 
 poMiWe, still more bewildered. [ 
 
 for you tempted Providence. Providence mivi 
 
 - . -.1 tempted Providence. Providence gave 
 JMtha roost glorious chance I ever saw in all 
 
 2 r^vniv-*^"- V^^' L'?'".« "P y"" "Chance with 
 the W'olver von had this here boundless plain to 
 
 S m?S"- ^T- ^ *" ^"^f^ » hundre,! Indian. 
 W my day with less of a chance, and aU the odd. 
 
 IpH'it i\, - I • ■'•""".-I'ULiiei, nnu exliibit- 
 
 "I saw "iTon^^^L^^.^^t '^"'"ndeJ Gnahier. 
 1 saw, he continued, " that it would be a most 
 unscientific waste of lead. The very first Thht 
 you fired showed that you were u fertrnnac 
 qoainted with out American invention, 'and the 
 next was as bad. Why, out of the whole six 
 only one hit me. See here." 
 • :^"'' Obed held up his left hand. The last 
 
 |-!r^H°J""'.-M'«'^'''. ''"««'' »""* heen shot off, and 
 blood was still flowing. ' 
 
 Gnahier looked at this with fresh nma^ement. 
 
 nort^i^' "'u ^^^ "^ ^'^ had one-tenth 
 part of vour chances, and had been in your 
 place, ra have got off. With such a starl W 
 engage to escape from a dozen men. I'd droo 
 SIX with the pistol, and dodge the other six. See 
 .T- ?" ,y.°", ^^ 'hat bit of woods?" And 
 t?i'"^.,^r""""1.r'''"' he pointed to a clump of 
 rees that rose like_ an island from the plain. 
 
 Do you see that ?" ^ 
 
 Gnahier said nothing. 
 
 V.'.!-^^^"'i^?l 'u' y""* '^hat you'd ought to do. 
 roud ought to have made straight foFthat in a 
 btee-lme; then dodged behind it. Perhaps I'd 
 ha^e followed ; but then you could have crossed 
 
 L». 1" ?■ r'^^ «"' ""' "^ «8ht, and while I 
 was: looking for you, off you'd get to the river. 
 It 1 U have gone on the opposite side you could 
 have cut off among the mountains. A man," 
 concluded Obed, m a tone of intense soleranity- 
 
 as that has tempted Providence, and don't desferv* 
 any thing. Young man, you're a gone sucker ! " 
 Gualtier heard all thig, and understood this 
 eccentric but gnm address. He felt that it was 
 all over with him He had one desperate thought 
 of snatching at the revolver, which Obed still held 
 m his hand with apparent carelessness ; but he 
 saw that such an attempt would be madness. The 
 rery instant that he had looked Obed had no- 
 ticed it, and understood it. » 
 
 He gave a low laugh. 
 iiZlT-'^ better not," said he, and then itio- 
 tioned him toward the carriage. Gualtier walk- 
 ed on m sdence Obed did not deign to touch hi. 
 pnsoner, nor did Gualtier dare to make any ef- 
 fort to escape. Thare was no chance now, since 
 that other chance- had failed; and, besides, the 
 sight of Obed s revolver was itself suflScient to ' 
 prevent such an attempt. 
 
 "You've showed considerable sense in walk- 
 ing quietly along," said Obed, as they came near 
 to the carpaOT. " If you'd tried to run it would 
 have been wirse for you. You'd have 16st a 
 limb, sum: 
 
 Then Obed stopped, and forced him to look at 
 the ground which they had gone.over, and show- 
 ed what excellent chances he had thrown away 
 
 On reaching the carriage Zillah was calmer, 
 tho^h «tiU gmtly excited. SbB^ Rthl n^Kn^ 
 
 to^ualtier, nor did the latter venture to look at 
 her In the flight his wig and hat had fallen off 
 so that now his hated face was distinctly visible 
 
 Obed put hi. hand for a moment on Gualtier'i 
 snoulder. 
 
 ' ' Is this^the man ?" he asked. 
 
 ZiUah bowed. 
 
 S'li 
 
 I'll,' 
 
 ■•■'I I ., 
 
 ii.il ', 
 4 
 
236 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 -%.. 
 
 On this Obedmnde tii; pris|iiiner get on the 
 front seat of the carriage, and drove rapidly back 
 to the villa. -*^ ^ • 
 
 ^ 
 
 CIUFIER LX;XII. 
 
 IN PRISON. 
 
 Gdai.tieii was driven back to the villa, quite 
 in ignorance as to his final destination. He was 
 on the front seat, not bound at all, and there was 
 one moment when there seemed a last chance of 
 escape. It was at a time when Zillah had no- 
 ticed Obed's wound, and began to question him 
 about it with eager sympathy, while Obed tried to 
 assure her that it was nothing. But Zillah would 
 not be satisfied. She insisted on binding it up. 
 She took her handkerchief, and, though she knew 
 no more about such things than a child, prepared 
 to do what she could. Obed soon saw her ig- 
 norance, and proceeded to give her directions. 
 At lost he took her handkercliicf and tore it into 
 several strips, with ti, laughing promise to tear his 
 up some diiy for her. At this moment he wos 
 quite intent on Zillah, and she was absorbed in 
 her work. It seemed to Gnalticr thai he was 
 forgotten. The carriage, also, was - ascending 
 the hill. On each side were lofty trees over- 
 slmdowin^it, while beyond them lay a deep for- 
 est. All this Gualtier saw. Here w/is a last 
 chance. Nq\f JBr never might he escape. He 
 watched for airinstant. Obed was showing Zil- 
 lah how to mate the knot, when suddenly, with 
 a quick leap, (ftaltier sprang from the carriage 
 seat out into tne road. He stumbled and fell 
 forward as his feet touched the road, but in an 
 instant he recovered himself. The road-side was 
 a steep bank, which ascended before him, covered 
 with forests. . Beyond thi8_ were the wild woods, 
 with rocks and underbrush'. If he could but get 
 there he might find a refage. Thither he fled with 
 frantic haste. He rushed up the steep ascent, 
 and in among the trees. For some distance the 
 wood was open, and the trees rose on high at 
 wide distances with no underbrush. Beyond 
 that there was a denser growth. Through this he 
 ran, stimulated by this new chance for life, and 
 wishing that he had once again that revolver 
 whose shots he had wasted. ' 
 
 As he leaped from the carriage Zillah had given 
 A loud cry, and in another moment Obed had di- 
 vined the cause and had sprung out in pursuit. 
 Gunltier's start did not amount to more than a 
 dozen paces. Obed also was armed. His chance 
 of escape was therefore small indeed. Small as 
 it was, however, it wns enough to stimulate him, 
 and he hurried onward, hearing at every pace 
 the step of his pursuef. At length he reached 
 the thicker part of tha wood. He turned and 
 doubled here like a fox. He did not know where 
 to go, but sought to gain some slight advantage. 
 He thought that he might find some place where 
 for a few moments he might baffle his pursuer. 
 This was the hope |'that now remained. Turning 
 and doubling, therefore, and winding, he con- 
 tinned his flight ; but the pOrgnn r still maintain- 
 ed his pursuit, and as yet Gnaltier had gained 
 no advontage. In fact, he had lost ground grad- 
 ually, and the underbrush had not delayed the 
 progress of Obed. \ Gnaltier felt this, but still 
 strove to attain his nurpoBe. "i 
 At last he saw a p^ce where there was a steep 
 
 precipice, thickly wooded np to its vety margiK 
 and then descending abruptly. Toward this he 
 fled, thinking that some place might show itself 
 where he might descend, and where his pursuer 
 might fear to follow. He bounded along in a 
 winding direction, trying to conceal his purpose. 
 At length he reached the edge of the precipice. 
 At the point to which he had come the descent 
 jvas abrupt, but ledges jutted out from the side 
 of the clitf, and seemed to afford a chnncc for u 
 descent to one who was bold enough to venture. 
 There was no time for examination or for hesi- 
 tation. Swiftly Gualtier ran on till he reached 
 what seemed a favorable place, and" then, throw- 
 ing himself over, his feet caught- a projecting 
 ledge, and he reached down his hand to secure a 
 grasp of a rock, so as to let himself down further. 
 He loqked down hurriedly so as to see the rock 
 which he wished to grasp, when at that very in- 
 stant his arm was seized, and a low, stern voice 
 said : 
 
 "No go! Up with you, you scoundrel! ond 
 thank the Lord I don't blow your brains out." 
 
 He was dragged up, flung on the ground, nnd 
 his bands bound tightly behind him with ()l)ed'a 
 handkerchief. * After this, he was dragged back 
 to the carringe. 
 So failed his lost hope. . 
 " You couldn't have done it," said Obed. " I 
 saw it all the time. I could have shot you fifty 
 times, but, as I knew I was going to catch you, I 
 didn't touch my pistol. I don't blame you fur 
 making tlie trial. I'd have done the same. But 
 you see now that you have got your hands tied 
 up by way of punishment. You can't sny bi^ 
 that I've treated you on the square, any how." 
 
 Gualtier said nothings but was taken'back nnd 
 pjit in the carriage once more. Zillah saw that 
 ins hands were tied, and felt more secure as to 
 the result of this second capture. 
 
 The carriage now soon reached the villa. Here 
 Obed handed out Zillah, and gave orders to tlie 
 sen-ants to make ready the brougham. He in- 
 formed Zillah Hi«t he himself intended to take 
 Gualtier to the, city and hand him over to tlie 
 authorities ; and that she might make her mind 
 easy as to his capture this time, for he would not 
 allow even an attempt at an escape again. 
 
 During these preparations Obeid stood waiting 
 near the carriage, while Gualtier sat there with 
 his hands bound. Gladly would he have availed 
 himself of any other chance, however desperate, 
 but there was none. His han^s were bound, his 
 enemy was watchful and armed. Under such 
 circimistnnces there remained no hope. His last 
 attempt had been made boldly and vigorously, but 
 it had failed. So he gave himself up to despair. 
 The brougham was soon ready. Obed pat 
 Gualtier inside and got in himself after bim. 
 Then they drove away. Lord Chetwynde was 
 expected that afternoon, and he might meet him 
 on the road. He had made up his mind, how- 
 ever, not to recognize him, but to let him leam 
 the great event from Zillah herself. After giving 
 information to his sister as to the time at which 
 he exp e ct ed tobe b a ck h e dtw» off'; andj 
 the brougham with its occupants was moving 
 swiftly onward out of the villa park, down the 
 descending road, and on toward Florence. 
 
 Obed rode inside along with Gualtier all the 
 way. Daring that drive his mind found full 
 occupation for itael£ The discovery and ths 
 
 .^^^^4^^j££j*«!^l^UMd^^kl^Ji£SL^ .'U /^ 
 
 fftmi.^^^ Ax^U 
 
 W 
 
4 
 
 i 
 
 B secure as to 
 
 -Z'r'u'* >«:opiized in his prisoner the Ainn 
 w^o had once visited him in New York for .h» 
 
 Kr ce^tat trTr Ss tVt fh a'd" 
 
 haJ^n.X'rvTdVati;,;rde:;'%f 
 
 had for so long a SmeA^ffS^^ ""' •""" '*'«' 
 
 of .he chief EVroSnSS yet" whTha^"^: 
 hist been captured by himself' ^" *''° '"«• " 
 
 Forence Ho .«!»i,I if *"°"W 'rack him to 
 I iwsiiion Obed felt himself drawn r. """ l"^ 
 
 mot ve of rtl GZil^r^'""? ""^ ?'*«'"' 
 
 gjr them, and ^L^hoVr"! .rpfi^nt 
 J^^« was another thing -to which it ll^A 
 
 r ""-"M'™*? it»eemeda8thonghthUGual-i 
 
 THE CBrPTOGRAM. 
 
 237 
 
 tainlynot inferior in iul;?*? ^"°" *«» ^er- 
 
 rh"eSs'«rhSi;-,^^^^^^^ 
 
 had he and OlZlhL f^Ln "' ""''"'Ke fatality 
 of interest in S Sother-a 1^'''"?"". «™""^ 
 one was the assaihmt and ^rraC"",h„''';r '!"' 
 savior and defender ? '^'™>«'^' "ho other the 
 
 heSSt^dTnlirffr ^'^>?' ""^ 
 manhTnuSfarhTSe butferr ''^ ""e 
 
 the tmth- that i. if r? - '"'** '''"covered 
 
 any investigation^ on hi ZnSZ wkh «/ 
 erence to her private nffnir. „ ""' '^'.'h ref- 
 
 that moment, aituaied aa he was^ nri.L„> ' 
 
 f; 
 
238 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 have necessarily come to his ears? He had. 
 How, then, was this ? That yacht must have gone 
 down, and she must have gone down with it — 
 drowned in her cabin, siitlucated there by the 
 woterg, with^t power to make one cry. *So it 
 tnust have been; but still here she was, alive, 
 strong, vengeful. It could not be a case of re- 
 semblance ; for this «rpman had penetrated his 
 disguiso^had recognized him, and at the recog- 
 nition had started to her feet with wild excla- 
 mations, (Miunding on h^r companion to pursuit. 
 But in nddition to this there was something 
 still more »trange. However she may have es- 
 caped — as she must have done — by what wonder- 
 ful concuntence of circumstances had she met 
 with Obed: Chute, and entered into this close 
 friendship with hin^ That man was familiar 
 with a dark past, to which she was related in 
 some strange way. How was it, then, that of 
 all men in , the world, this one had become her 
 friend and brotector ? 
 
 But, even so, there was another mystery, so 
 strange, so^ dark, so inexplicable, that the others 
 seemed as ndthing. For he had discovered in 
 her the one whom Lord Chetwynde wa^ seeking 
 with suqn zeal, and such passion, and such un- 
 failing constancy. How was it that Lord Chet- 
 wynde ^ul found her, and where had he found 
 her? and if "he had found her, how had he known 
 her ? Was he not living with Hilda oirterms at 
 least of rcsfiect, and acting toward her as though 
 he believed her to be his wife ? What could be 
 the cause that had brought him into connection 
 with Obed Chute? Obed Chute had been the 
 confidant of Lody Chetwynde, and knew the 
 story of her shame. How was it that the son of 
 such a mother could associate so habitually with 
 the man who so well knew the history of that 
 mother ? If he were not acquainted with his mo- 
 ther's historv himself, how could. he have found 
 out Obed Chute for his friend ? and if he were 
 acquainted with it, how could he have tolerated 
 him OS such? From, either point of view the 
 question was unanswerable, and the problem in- 
 ' soluble. Yet the fact remained that Lord Chet- 
 wynde was in the habit of making constant visits 
 to the house of the man, the very man, to whom 
 the history of Lord Chetwynde's mother was 
 known as a story of shame, and who himself had 
 been the chief agent in helping her, as it ap- 
 peared, from the ruin to which she had flung 
 herself. 
 
 Then, ngairr, there arose the question as to what 
 might be the position of Zillah. How did she 
 happen to be Hving with Obed Chute ? In what 
 way was she living? How did it happen that 
 Lord Chetwynde was carrying on a series of 
 clandestine visits to a woman who was his own 
 wife ? Hilda's story of that passionato* interview 
 in the kiosk at the Villa Rinalci was now intel- 
 ligible in one sense. It was no phantom that 
 had terrified her, bat the actual form of the liv- 
 ing Zillah herself. Yet, making allowance for 
 this, it became more nnintelligible than ever. 
 For what could have been the meaning of that 
 scene r if Zillah were alive and his wife, why 
 should Lord Chetwynde arrange so elaborately 
 this interview in the kiosk ? why should he ^e at 
 , once so passionate and so despairing? why should 
 he vow his vows of eternal love, and at the same 
 time bid her an eternal farewell ? What was the 
 meaning of his information about that "other 
 
 whom he hated worse than death," which Hilda 
 had felt like a stroke of death ? And why should 
 Lord Chetwynde remain with his false wife, 
 whom he hated, while his true wife, whom he 
 loved, was so near ? Why, in the name of Heav- 
 en, should he treat the one with even civility, and 
 t>nly visit the other by means of clandi-stino 
 meoliiigs and stolen interviews? Could such 
 questions be answered at all ? Were they not 
 all mad together, or were he and Hilda miidder 
 than these ? What could be the solution of these 
 insoluble problems ? 
 
 Such were the questions which filled Guoltier's 
 mind as he drove along — questions which bewil- 
 dered his brain, and to which he could not find 
 an answer. At one time he tried to think that all 
 these — Zillah. Lord Chetwj'nde, and Obed Chute' 
 — were in alliance ; that they understoodono an- 
 other perfectly, ted Hilda aI«o ; and tnVi they 
 were weaving together some deep plot which wag 
 to be her ruin. But this also seemed absurd. 
 For, if they understood lier,^ and knew who she 
 was, why should they take any trouble to weave 
 plots for her? That trouble they could spare 
 themselves, And could arrest her at once whenev- 
 er they chose. Why did Lord Chetwynde spare 
 her if he knew all ? Was it out of gratitude be- 
 cause she had saved him from death ? Impossi- 
 ble ; for he habitually neglected her now, and 
 gave up all his thoughts and his time to Zillah. 
 Was it possible that Zillah could have been saved, 
 found out her husband, and was now inciting 
 him to this strange course from some desire to 
 get fresh proof against Hilda ? No ; that was 
 impossible, for she must already have found dut 
 proof enough. The withdrawal of her money 
 would of itself be enough to show Hilda's com- 
 plicity ; but her assumption of the rdle of Lady 
 Chetwynde was too audacious for a true wife to 
 bear unmoved or unconvinced. 
 
 But these things were inexplicable. He could 
 not find even a plausible solution for such diffi- 
 cult problems. His excited brain reeled beneath 
 the weight of puzzks so intricate and so compli- 
 cated. He was ||||^>elled to dismiss ,them nil 
 from his thoughts. But though he dismissed 
 such thoughts as these, there were others which 
 gave occupation to his whole mind, and these at 
 last excited his chief interest. First among these 
 was the thought of Hilda. That Very afkemoon 
 she might be coming out to carry out' her plan 
 of visiting Obed Chute, and confounding Lord 
 Chetwynde. She would go out knowing nothing 
 of that one whom she had doomed to death, hot 
 who was now there to confront her. She would 
 go out, and for what ? . What ? Could it be 
 aught else than ruin, utter and absolute ? 
 
 "This was his last dark terror — all fear for him- 
 self had passed away. He feared for her, and 
 for her alone. His love for her, and his devo- 
 tion to her, which had been so often and so con- 
 spicuously tested, which had sent him on such 
 tedious and such perilous enterprises, now, when 
 all was over with himself, and not a ray of hope 
 remained, made him rise above self and s elfiih 
 considerations, and regard her prospects nndW 
 safety alone. The thought of her going out to 
 the villa in utter ignorance of this new and ter- 
 rific tnith was intolerable. Yet what could he 
 do ? Nothing ; and the fact of his own utter help- 
 lessness was maddening at such a time as this. 
 He watched through the .window, acanniug all 
 
 /•^.^ V «ii-^ 
 
 ..I'l. i,.1lM^j),^j.iJk}i&&^ 
 
 
the pnMer»-bv with feverish anxiety, which wm 
 10 manifest that at length Obed noticed it, and 
 lupposing that he was meditating some new plnn 
 of escape nearer the city, sternly reprimanded 
 him, and drew the blinds so that nothing could 
 be seen. And thus, with close-drawn blinds and 
 !"".«"'=?' ',''«y 'J'^ve toward the city : so that 
 If Hilda had gone along the road, Gualtier could 
 not nave seen her. 
 
 At the same time Obed, in thus shutting out 
 Gualtier froni all sight of the outside worid, shut 
 out himself also. And though Lord Chetwynde 
 may have passed on his way to the villa, yet lie 
 could not have been seen by the occupants of the 
 brougham, nor could he have seen them 
 
 At kst they reached Florence, and Obisd drove 
 op to the prefecture of the police. There ho 
 made his statement, and Gualtier was handed 
 over to the authorities, and put in prison on a 
 charge of attempted murder committed in Italian 
 waters. 
 
 Gualtier «a8 pnt into a small chamber, with 
 whitewash^walls narrow iron-gmted window, 
 and solid oalcen aoors, in which thei« was a 
 smaU round openir^g. There was an iron bed 
 .if^KS "fu": .^'"''tJer flung himself upon 
 the bed, and buried his head in his hands. He 
 felt as if he had reached the verge of despair- 
 JlfM'*?!,"' '!"" ™°raent, it was not of himself 
 that he thonght. Far above his distress and his 
 
 iTi'h^T "•;? P*"'*" °f ••« '»ve, and thus 
 . tamed his thoughts toward Hilda. Was she on 
 
 Jh'irfiTL^ Was she going to ruin? Or was 
 •he still at her hotel ? She had not said for eer- 
 ttiD that she was going to the villa on that dav • 
 she said that she was going on that day or the 
 next. Perhaps she had postponed it, and re- 
 ler^ed her visit for the next. It seemed proba- 
 We. If It were indeed so, then there was vet 
 hme to make an effort to save her. How could 
 he make such ah effort ? How could he eain 
 communication with her? 
 
 He rose from his bed, and watched through the 
 opening of his door. There was a guard outside, 
 who paced backward and fonvard solemnly! 
 Gnaluer 8 knowledge of human nature, and of 
 italmn human nature in particular, suggested to 
 him a way by which he might send a message. 
 After some delay he signaled to the guard, who, 
 »n»r looking around cautioncly, came up to his 
 
 fhi'LH^u p **"'■! " ™«««Ke." said Gualtier, in 
 the best Italian that he could muster. «'It is 
 W|- important It is to a friend. I will pay 
 
 The guard looked interested. 
 Where is your friend ?" he n^ked. 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 389 
 
 h/e agatn. It was no phantom, but heriel> that 
 appeared to you and me. I art in prison. Do 
 not go out to the villa. Fly and save yourself. " 
 J-olding this up, he took it to the guard. 
 If you bring back an-nnswer to this," said N*-^ 
 he, you shall have two hundred piastres. If 
 you don't find the person, you shall have fifty " 
 
 of Hilda, and wrote it out for his information 
 charg,„g him that it must be delivered™" her! 
 •elf, and no other. The guard said jhat he 
 could not go himself, but would send his joun 
 ger brother. Tins satisfied Gualtier, and ?5e 
 guard again departed. ' 
 
 After some time he jeturned, and paced 1 
 and down as before. An hoUr passed Gt 
 tier become impatient. Then two hours elapi 
 
 lie tHen beckoned to the guard. 
 
 .'! »® u* *^"° * '""8 time," said he. 
 1 erhaps he is waiting," said tlfc guard ; " if 
 it IS possible he will deliver the message " 
 
 Gualtier waited. « 
 
 Three hours passed. 
 
 The guard at last came back to his door. He 
 handed back to Gualtier the letter which he had 
 wntten. . "» unu^ 
 
 '' The lady," said he,"" was not at home. She 
 had gone away. My brother waited all this 
 time, but she did not return. Shall he go back 
 and wait? * * 
 
 "No,"saiaGjialtier. 
 
 He gave a hundred piostres to the guard. He 
 took his note, and tore it up. All hope faded 
 awny within hin,, nnd despair, black and darit 
 settled down upon his soul. ' 
 
 inthecHy. Can I have the message sent ? 
 I will pay two hundred piastres if I get an an- 
 il 
 Afe guard hesitated. 
 
 "I triu"' ^'"^ '"'' ■'^®'""'«'' moments' thought J 
 
 il"" wT"^' ""dwMgpnefor a bout tttin tv 
 
 Md Mid^ P"'''"'"'* intelligence with Guiltier, 
 
 "^ {'!'"'' '' *'*" •'e done, signore." 
 nn./* k- ""''r* "■*"' ■'""'«• »"d, tearing li le«f 
 Zil •"" P«=ket-book, pcncUed the foUowtag 
 
 "A miracle has happened. She hat come to 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIII. 
 
 OBEd's new ADVKNTnBB. 
 
 Aftkb leaving Gualtier in custody Obed Chute 
 drove away from the police station with an ex- 
 pression of tranquil satisfaction oi). his fine face • - 
 such an expression as might befit one who is con- 
 scious of having done his duty to the uttermost 
 He drove down the Lungh' AtBp, and through 
 the Piazza, and past the Duomo. There was 
 no further nee^jio keep the blinds closed, and as ». 
 he drove on halooked out upon the inhabitants 
 of Florence, with a grand benignity of expression 
 to which no language can do justice. Many 
 things conspired to fill his breast with the seren- 
 est satisfaction und self-complacency. First he 
 had savedhimself from being humbu|«ed. Sec- 
 ondly, hellM been l«e victor in two very respect- 
 able trials of muscle, in which he, by the sheer 
 power of muscle, bitd triumphed, and in the firet 
 of which, his triumph had been gained over a man 
 aimed vitha,yevolver, and using that revolver, 
 while he MTjr generously scorned to use his own. 
 ihirdly/this man was the very one wlhom he 
 had soprfcht for months, and who had eluded eh- 
 tirely ijie^police of Italy, France, and Engtaa*^ 
 Obed also had been merciful and magnanimous 
 in his hour of triumph. He had been too great- 
 hearted to avail himself of any undue advantage 
 m the stnfe, or to do one single act of unneces- 
 Miy cruelty when thut strife was over, and the 
 victory *a8 won. He had not bound his victim 
 till the new flight of that ^-Ictim had compelled 
 hira ; nor had he spoken even one harsh word 
 
 3 
 
 
240 
 
 it^- THE CRYITOGBAM. 
 
 to liim. IIo hnd cnpturcd him fiiiily nnU brhve- 
 ly.too, nnd in tlio^ost quiet and uno!>tcnfntioug 
 tnAnnor liad handed him over to tho police of tho 
 (toiintry. j 
 
 Of course there were nomo things whjHi might 
 hnve been more ngrceahlo under the circum- 
 itanccfl. The mvRtery whicli Biirroiinded this 
 man wns not pleiiMant. It wns not plensnnt, aft- 
 er having cnpturcd Jiim, to find himself still baf- 
 fled in his cndeororH to nndcrstiind him or his 
 motive; to find thot this mnn hnd forced him to 
 intcnvenve the case of Lady Chetwynde with thnt 
 of Zillah, when to hiH/mind thone two cnses were 
 as far nsimdcr ns tho poles. Yet, nfler nil, the per- 
 plexity which arose from this could not interfere 
 with the enjoyment ,inf his triumph. Baffled he 
 might be, but still thfcre was no i-eason why he 
 should not enjoy the calm pleasure whicliM-ises 
 from the consciousness of having well nndpfully 
 performed n virtuous action, nnd of liavin^dqne 
 one's duty both to one's ^cighbor and one's. 
 
 So Obe<I, ns he drove about before going home, 
 enjoyed the full consciousness of his o)vn merit. 
 lie felt at ponce with himself, with the world at 
 la/ge, and, for that matter, even with Gunltier. 
 80 long OS Gualtier had baffled him and eluded 
 his most ardent search, ho had ex|)erienced the 
 bitterest and the most vindictive feelings toward 
 the villain who had per|)etrnted such foul crimes, 
 and persisted in evading nil pursuit. But now 
 thnt this mysterious villnin had been captured, 
 and by himself, he felt that bitterness ond vin- 
 dictiveness no longer. Ho was satisfied that the 
 law would administer to him the full punish- 
 ment which wns due to his crimes, nnd as far 
 as he was concerned personally he had no feel- 
 ing against him. Ho was simply desirous of 
 justice. 
 
 Seated thns in his brougham he 't^tvve pnst 
 Giotto's Cnmpapile, and pnst thosd immortel 
 gates of bronze which Ghiherti made for the 
 Baptistery, aiMl.JKbich Michael Angelo declared 
 to be worthy of being the gates of I'nradise. It 
 was jyst at this last place, as the brougham was 
 moving leisurely on, that his attention was ar- 
 rested by a figure which was seated on the stone 
 steps immediately ontijido of one of those gates. 
 It was a woman, elderly, decrepit, and apparent- 
 ly poor. She was dressed in deep mourning. 
 She was very pale, her hair was as white as snow, 
 and her eyes looked forth with an eager, watch- 
 ful, wistful expression — an expression of patient 
 yet curious vigilance, like that of one who is wait- 
 ing for some friend, or some enemy, who delays 
 to appear. It was a memorable face — memora- 
 ble, too, from its sadness, and from the eager yet 
 almost hopeless scrutiny which it turned toward 
 every one that passed. This was the figure that 
 attracted Obed. He gave it one look, and that 
 one look was enough for him. 
 
 The moment that he saw this Woman an 
 exclamation burst from him — an exclamation 
 . whiph was so load that the woman heard him. 
 aie' gtarted and looked up. At that-moment 
 toe Ditragham stopped, and Obed, tearing open 
 the door, sprang out and hurried up the steps of 
 the Bai^istcry, where the woman wns sitting. 
 She had seen him. A flush passed over her 
 pale, ghastly fiice ; a wild light came to her eyes. 
 Tremblingly and with deep excitement she rose 
 to her fee^ steadying herself by grasping the 
 
 bronze gateway, and looked at him with an earn- 
 est, wondering^nzo. 
 
 Obed Chute cnmo toward her qnickly, yet with 
 R certain reverenlini wonder in liis fiu-e. Tho 
 triumph and the self-complacency hnd nil, died 
 out, nnd there wns l«ft nothing but a moumfiil 
 Buriirisc, with wliieli there wns also mingled a 
 deep nnd iuexprcssihlo pity nnd sympnthy. 
 
 Ho rnme nearer nnd ncnrcr, still with'nit thin 
 on his face, while she stood awaiting him nnd 
 watching him, clinging all tho while to the broiizo 
 gates of Ghibcrti. 
 
 "Is this possible?" snid Obed, as he enmo 
 near her and regarded her ean\.cstly. "is it 
 possible ?" he rejieated, in a low, soft voice, with 
 a deep solemnity in the tones that was fnr differ- 
 ent from his usual manner. "Is this indeed 
 you — aud here too ?" 
 
 He HQd out both his hands, flis fnce sofu 
 encd ; tift hard lines seemed to fade awny into 
 a certain unspenknble tenderness, and in his 
 ej^tlwre w««~^ look of i^ifinite pity and com- 
 passion. \^ J 
 
 "Yes, it is I." SSid^tW woman, in a voice 
 whiel^sounded like a moan. "I nm still alive 
 — 8tiir4iv^g[:(>H'— while so many who are better 
 are dead aW are nt rest." 
 
 She placed one hand in his, while with the 
 other she still clung to the gateway. The hand 
 which she gave was shriveled and emneintcd, 
 and cold also to Obed as he felt it while holding 
 it in both of.his. 
 
 " Years have passed," said he at length, after 
 n long and solemn silence, during which each re- 
 garded the other most earnestly — "years hnve 
 passed," ho repeated — "years — since you left 
 — since I saw yoti last Are you living here?" 
 ho continued, after some hesitation. " I suppose 
 you are with one of the religious houses ?" 
 
 The womnn shook her head wearily. 
 
 "No," said she; "I am by myself. I nm 
 alone in the world. I am now simply 'Mrs. 
 Hart. ' I ha ve c^me here pn important busincsn. 
 It is more than important ; it is a matter of life 
 and death. " 
 
 "Mrs. Hart! Is that the name that yoa 
 have?" asked Obed. 
 
 .. "That is niy name," said Mrs. Hart, wchrily. 
 " It has been/my name for many years, and has 
 done me good service. " 
 
 Obed said nothing, hut regarded her for a long 
 time in silen;c|e, wondering all the while nt the 
 mysteriops^ fnfe of this unhappy woman. 
 At lost he spoke. 
 
 " HSve you been here long?" he asked. "1 
 have been here for some weeks, but I have never 
 seea you." 
 
 r IVor have I seen yon," said Mrs. Hart. "I 
 hK^e been here long, but I have seen no one 
 wnom I know. I am alone." 
 
 "And are you able to go alone about this 
 business of whicli yon speaks— this business 'of 
 lifb and death?' Have you any help? Is it a 
 thing which yon could commit to the police ?" 
 No," said Mrs. Hart. " T rn me h ero m 
 
 seach of— of aTriend; but I have not been able 
 to find him." ^^ 
 
 " Are yon alone, then ?" aske4 Obed, in pro- 
 found syiiipathy, while his fnce and his voice still 
 showed the deep feeling of his heart. "Have 
 yon no one at nil to help yon ? Is this a thing 
 which yon mnst do by yourself? Could not an- 
 
 ^ m 
 
 ':^00^ 
 
 
t him with an earn- 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 e nnmo tliat you 
 
 lave not been aHT" 
 
 'la THIS INUEBD TfOU— AND HEHK TOO?"' 
 
 Other as8i8t you f Would it be possible for yon 
 to et ine help you in this? I con do mnch if 
 Toil will allow me— if vou will ngain put confi- 
 dence in an old friend/' 
 
 Mrs. Hart looked at him earnestly, and tears 
 itarted to her eyes. 
 
 .i^'I^'aV '■"snd," she murmured, "I believe 
 ttat God has sent you to me. I see in your 
 faw and I hear in vour voice>that you «ill can 
 
 friind' "v ^'^ "**" y^V '^''°'''''' ^y only 
 
 fnend ! Yes, you can help me., ; There is no 
 
 secret of mmo which I need hide from you. 1 
 wil tell you ail-when I get stronger-and yon 
 idlwlr ^"'^'-'-'7w^know,"re 
 
 ^^^ ^^^ ""'"y* ""^ '■'"• * "n>8 said not one 
 
 brfom hi^ 1 "■",' l^""l'^ *■"""«' ^''i^h no' long 
 before had dared the shots of a desperate enemyT 
 
 now trembl^ violently at the tears bf an old w^ 
 his emJcmr' ^^-^" ' ^ ^"^ J«M»lped dowa 
 
 whiX^ T y"" «^'"8?" he asked, in a voice 
 Which had changed to one of strange sweetness 
 «nd tenderness. "You are weak* Will you 
 let me dnve yon now to your home ?" 
 
 DitaonX "/""f"" ^"'- ""^ '"oked at him 
 piteonsly, and made no reply. 
 
 "I think it wiU be better for you to ro 
 home in my carrwge," said Obed, gently urging 
 
 She stiU looked at him with the same piteous- 
 
 " In what port of tfcacity do you live?" said 
 "bed, as he took her hand and drew it inside 
 his arm. Come, let me lead you to the car- 
 nage. 
 
 Mrs. Hart held back for a moment, and aijain 
 looked at him. ' 
 
 1. 1' j/?"* "° ^<""«." «he said, in a voice which 
 had died away to a whisper. 
 
 At once the truth flashed upon Obed's mind 
 
 I have no home," continued Mrs. Hart " I 
 
 was tnnied out yesterday. Last night I slept in 
 
 the Boboh Gardens. For two days I have had 
 
 nothing to eat." 
 
 Obed Chute staggered back as though he had 
 received B violent blow. " O God !" fae^ groBned. 
 " has It come to this ?" 
 
 He said not another word, but gently led Mm, 
 Hart to the brougham. He drove to a ca& 
 first, and, persuaded her to take some nourish- 
 ment. Then he took her once more into the 
 carnage, and they drove slowly out of tht 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 '! !i If 
 
 '«^ 
 
242 
 
 THE CEYPTOGRAM.' 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 liEWILDEBHENT. 
 
 ScABCELT any thing was said on the drive ont 
 •rom Florence to the villa. Tears fell frequent- 
 ly from the eyes of the poor wanderer as she sat 
 wrapped in deep thought. Obed sat iidiilefice, 
 looking out of the window upon vacancy, seeing 
 nothing ; or, rather, seeing still that face, with its 
 wan lips and ghastly outline, which had told so 
 thrilling a story of homelessness and starvation. 
 His thoughts were going back through the years 
 — the Long-vanished years. And as he thought 
 there came over his rugged face an inflnite pity 
 and tenderness ; from his eyes there beamed sad- 
 ness and compassion unutterable. He kept si- 
 lence thus, all that drive, because he could not 
 trust himself to speak. 
 
 It was only when they reached the gateway 
 of the villa that he opened M» lipsw Tj^ieU, ba 
 they drove through, he tamed toward ber, and 
 putting his hand on her arm, ho said': 
 
 " Here is your home now — while yon live." 
 " Oh, my friend 1" murmured Mrs. Hart ; and 
 she could say no more. , * 
 
 On reaching the door Obed assisted Mrs. Hart 
 ont of the brougham, and they entered the hall. 
 There were sounds of voices in the drawiqg- 
 room, and on crossiqg thq threshold of the 
 villa a gentleman's Toioe arose in a cheer&l and 
 sprightly tone : '\ ' 
 
 "Checkmated again! Really, Miss pinon, 
 after this you'll have to give me $,he /<)3d8 of a 
 pawn ; you're beaten me seven g^ljiies 6ut of our 
 last ten." 
 
 "I don't believe it wi 
 voice. "I firmly belie' 
 along',' that vou let me .1 
 taught me chess yoursel;' 
 that I could catch np 
 a time?" 4 
 
 " I don't pretend, to account for it. Miss Lor- 
 ton," said the gentjemon's voice. "ITiere, be- 
 fore you, is something better than theory. It is 
 an indisputable fact. There is my king, with 
 yoiHE^ueen imm^iately in front of him, and 
 yonr rook in foe distance guarding that strong- 
 ■ . minded lady.>' And where is my queen ? Why, 
 • gadding about with knights and bishops, when 
 she ought to have been standing by the side of 
 her unfortunate husband." 
 ^ As these words came to her ears Mrs. Hart 
 i stood stillj and one hand grasped Obed Chute's 
 arm convulsively, while the other was pressed to 
 ' j her brow. 
 
 i^^ ■"What is tjiis? Who are Me««r Are tA«u 
 liere?" she askdd, in a thrilling voice. "Am I 
 dreaming ? Is this some mockery, or are they 
 both here? Is it some surprise ? Tell me, my 
 friend. Did you arrange all this ?" 
 
 She looked at Obed in a bewildered manner. 
 He thought that her mind was wandering. 
 
 "Come," said he, kindly, "you must go 
 yonr room now and rest, and then — " 
 But here a loud remark from the gentleman, 
 -. -fioUoweu^OT ft- merry answer fn>ui the lady, Iih 
 termpted Obed, and Mrs. Hart prevented him 
 from finishing his sentence ; for suddenlv she 
 started away from 1>im, and, without a word, 
 hurried into the roont from which the voices 
 came. Obed stood for a moment quite con- 
 founded, and then, feeling assured that the poor 
 
 J, Dud a lady's 
 iid I've said it all 
 W yon. Why, you 
 iind how is h possible 
 my master in so short 
 
 to 
 
 creature's brain was tamed, followed her hm- 
 
 riedly. 
 
 , Mrs. Hart burst into the room, with a white 
 
 face and eager, inquiring eyes; Konsed by the 
 
 noise of footsteps, Lord Chetwyndo and Zjllah 
 
 tnmed. To the amazement of both they saw 
 
 Mrs. Hart 
 
 Had the form of General Pomeroy, or of Earl 
 Chetwynde, appeared at that instantbefore them, 
 they could not have Jieen more confounded. 
 Lord Chetwynde, hovMver, was cool and calm. 
 There was nothing in his secret which was very 
 important, and there was therefore no fear of a 
 discoverv to disturb the unfeigned joy that min- 
 gled with his wonder at this sudden appearance 
 of his old nurse, blended also with deep and 
 sharp grief at the wearjr, wan, and wretched face 
 that he saw before hun. As to his assumed 
 name and the revelation of his trae one, that did 
 not trouble htm at all, for he could give his ex- 
 planation very readily. But with Zillah it was 
 ditfereiit Rightly or wr6ngly, she considered 
 her secret a thing which shbnld be guarded like 
 her heart's blood ; and now sbe^ saw suddenly 
 before her the certainty of a full and grand dig- 
 • Closure — a disclosure, too, not merely in the pres- 
 ence of Obed Chute, but of Windham also. Yet 
 even this fear, terrible as it would have been at 
 other times, was successfully mastered, and her 
 generous and loving nature tunied away from 
 selfish fears, with longing and joy and pity, to 
 this dear old friend ; and these feelings, mingling 
 together at that sudden tight, drove away aU 
 others. 
 
 But now to these succeeded a new surprise, 
 which was overwhelming. For just as she start- 
 ed, in obedience to her ifhpulse, she saw Lord 
 Chetwynde hurry forward. She saw Mrs. Hart's 
 eyes fixed on him in a kind of ecstasy. She 
 saw her totter fdrward, with all her face over- 
 spread with a joy that is but seldom known— 
 known only in rare moWnts, when some lost 
 one, loved and lost — some one more precious 
 thon life itself— is suddenly found. She saw Lord 
 Chetwynde hurry for\vard. She saw Mrs. Hart 
 run toward him, and with a low moan, a long- 
 ing, yearning cry, fling herself upon his breast 
 and clasp him in ^er arms. 
 
 She heard her words — words wonderful,- 
 thrilling, and beyond all understanding : 
 
 "Oh, my boy! Oh, my own I Oh, Guy! Oh, 
 my little boy! Oh, my darling! My God! I 
 thonk Thee for this joy!" 
 
 Uttering such broken ejaculations Mrs. Hart 
 burst into a passion of tears, and only Lord 
 Chetwynde's strong amu prevented her from 
 falling. 
 
 He upheld her. He kissed her. Ho mur- 
 mured words of affection, deep and tender and 
 true. With gentle urgency he drew her to a 
 sofa, made her sit down by his side, and placed 
 her head against bis breast, and took her emacia- 
 ted hands in his. He seemed to have forgotten 
 the presence of others in that sudden, that ove^ 
 whelming feeling of oompaaaion for his aged, hit • 
 
 heart«broken nnrse. no ' 
 
 * 11^^ — 
 ncuusciuns vtot 
 
 waanne 
 
 of Zillah. In that moment his whole soul and 
 his whole heart were tnmed to this wan face that 
 leaned against his breast. 
 
 He said very little. Ho«[,could he say mnchf 
 A few attempts at soothing her — a faw loving 
 words— these were all. And these were enough ; 
 
 ..iti 
 
 

 )Ilowed her hor- 
 
 for better than these wag the lore that xru ex- 
 pressed m his strong embrnce-the lovrth^ 
 suj^ned her „o,v. «„a changed de*;^ iS 
 
 "My dearest," he said— "dearfl«i aM «„-« 
 -nurse! mammal Don't gne^TolcoJ^ 
 
 inv-nM f* "*"* \'°''™ *'"' emotion. How ho 
 
 nn^r ""' ""''"" '"' '=""«' »»» "<•«"• dd 
 
 "Look up, old woman. Look up Lei „„ 
 
 «e^your face. You don't know bZ d^ it"L' 
 
 And Mrs. Hart raised her face and in hon 
 face he read a love infinite, L/ronsumlng im 
 penshable-a love Which now, howeterwriat^ 
 
 •"she ^irlJ'^'^'" "■« ^^^ thatYhe S^*^ 
 bhe said nothing more, but, clingine to him 
 
 Ltf wa^' '"^"^ "•"' "•"""'"•-K ibTl": 
 
 2r '• I j^e hTmTro':?g^' LiV^'^B "^ 
 
 ^.ti^-'-^.tosedcyoT- SZher^rd tZ 
 watehed and watched for a long time^ Oh, how 
 tong ! But you never came. " ' - 
 
 " You ! watching for me ! here in FlorwiPo i" 
 exclaimed Lord Chetwynde, in wonder ^'M„ 
 poor old dear! why?" ^ ^ "''*'^- *^^ 
 
 ,«1'J *ir m" »»? «K«in-not now-I am too 
 weak. Hold my hands fast, my own. Let m^ 
 «ee your dear face-oh, how dear I" 
 . And with her hands in his, and her eyfis feed 
 jngjjer soul upon his face,' she ky'^Ts 
 
 .,^r"^r"*' 0"^ Clft'« had stood thunder- 
 itmck. To account for thi? amazing scene vZ. 
 
 Ipt? Sr'''^ '•'''' ^ "'" "otTenT 
 tempt It. 1 hat was beyond the renrh nf h.,»o- 
 
 opacity But he not^d all thrhol? .eS 
 
 n«s, and that unfathomable love whic^ & 
 
 ftom that wan, worn face, and he felt th\u This 
 
 o™r t^ VillT" ^i?'^*' "y""- "« '^e'" softly 
 r«n^ ?[" • r''">V.'*»®^ motionless hither- 
 
 o^lSe ,^m."« ''" ''""'^ ^^ '^ '"'^ '^'''"""r out 
 
 They went into another apartment, and sat 
 
 ment that it ovenvhSlmed her. 
 
 bhe had seen Mrs. Hart's joy. She had hear.) 
 tT'' *° W'-'lhaih thename of ''GuJ." s£ 
 i^mes"fhe'"fl?" »'«' '^ose tender, wei^lknown' ' 
 of rntTr 1 ""^ """?** "''* «'»'•«»' the letters 
 
 Se^? ro^M*'.v'"'lS *"'''^'>' ^ '^"'h in this 
 
 rd *? Windham Guy Molyneux f 
 rue question wasjoo bewildering. A thou-' 
 «Md circumstances at once suggested themselves 
 
 wSfhTSh':^'^ AlltffnastSretck 
 ZtL-f ' ^^ "'*' **"«• ««<» ">« words of 
 ^nBth..h-" '™«"n«*««» now Windham^ 
 
 tt»;in»!f,'"'l" r.'^^ •' 'he thonghU that 
 'orthU Windham waiAer* WindKani, with 
 
 'aiJ CRYRTOGRAM, 
 
 213 
 
 her to fly with h m to IndTaf And Z\T'^ 
 man be Guy Molvneux ? Thi ^ conldrlhis 
 coincidence Srsle USTo^l^^rSf 
 
 a mixture of deep joy and deadirfea? mS 
 might the end be? 4at could « bl?" 
 
 one? If ,J,«„^ 'u""* 5*° "nen be indeed 
 «n11 /V'"®^ "*'*' 'hen how could this lo™ 
 and hate be reconciled ? Would Windhani cS 
 
 Windham's love that the thought of h"s osi.^ 
 hhu' '•??"«'"?• "PP^"-*^ *e wildest i^p3 
 bihty. ho; that, at least, could not be. iftiu£ 
 was her own. Not yet cinld she ble^d Ws m 
 
 oTngttt'l'i"^- ^''•>!:^-aS,S"t he' 
 ciung to this as her only o«Jmfort, and honed 
 
 xweannhiie Obed had been s ttine in a hpu.i 
 ^°™«"'/q"«l t? hen., and keeping! SenceXi 
 
 strain his feelings no longer. " «-oi"a «- 
 
 . Can you tell, " he asked at length—" can von 
 raagine, Miss Lorton-have yoHhe r^mof«.t 
 idc^^of what in thunder is Ve°m^„7or.3l 
 
 .fl f ''?' ''I'*''^'" '*^'^ ZiUah ; "I don't under 
 stand i I can't even imagine. " " 
 
 bla„k^liLk''of"Zji;:'';.'Z'EL?sri' "'"' * 
 does not affonl a"w^'; nof one'^s S^woTTha? 
 can express the idea; so I will T^ort^ thf 
 American, and merely" rem.rkl«,T^ip,2! 
 en moment I'm catawampou.ly chawed ip.'^?^ 
 Do you know Mn. Hart?" said Zillah 
 'Of course you do." ■»«« ^uian. 
 
 pri'si.**"- "*" ^" '**^ ^^' *° '"omenta^ sun 
 
 "Yes-her." 
 
 "Mrs. Hart? Oh, I see. Yes I kn*. i... 
 miajr^earaaao. TW. .ft^*«f ^J^'J^^^ 
 Florenca I brought her <it heixTThelSd 
 
 me th.Whfcr hrna^n^^^Jl^JTof atr^^^ 
 th.; i^*^ m"u'"« *^"'"''"-' 'he very h«t3on 
 nave Deen Windham. And vet ha «« th. ».T- 
 -theidentlcalindividud. iu did y"„ e™riS 
 such jov," he continued, after a p«ij "« th!S2 
 
 wa.lnl.er&oawhertotdght'^hSn? wST 
 
 \ 
 
244 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 when I met her she was in as deep a despair. She 
 was crouching on the steps of the Baptistery, look- 
 ing with eager eyes — hungry eyes — to find some 
 one. And all this time it was Windham. She 
 CJime here to find him, and him only. She 
 has been here for weeks, perhaps for months, 
 wandering about, in suffering and weakness, 
 looking every where for Windham. She had 
 spent all her money ; she had been turned out 
 of her lodgings ; she had neither food nor shel- 
 ter. For two or three days she had not eaten 
 any thing. When I Jinppened, by the merest ac- 
 cident, to find her, do; you know what she was 
 doing ? She was dying of starvation, but still 
 she was looking for Windham ! And I solemn- 
 ly believe that if I had not found her she would 
 be there at this moment. Yes, she would be 
 sitting there in nflscry, in want, and in starva- 
 tion, still looking after Windham. And if she 
 had died there, on that spot, I feel convinced that 
 the last movement of her lips would have been 
 -a murmur of his name, and the last look of her 
 dying eyes would have been for Windham. I 
 saw all this in every look of hers, and in every 
 word of hers that she has thus far uttered to me 
 about her fearful experiences. I saw this ; and 
 now I beg leave to ask, in the quietest Wny in the 
 world. Who is this Windham, and what is ho to 
 her?" 
 
 Here Obed ceased. He had spoken in a wny 
 that showed the deep emotion wliich he felt, and 
 the sorrow and sympathy that filled his soul. 
 As he spoke of Mrs. Hart's miseries his voice 
 trembled. Never in his life had he met with sor- 
 row like her sorrow. It was not this last scene 
 in her life which gave him this feeling, but it was 
 his knowledge of that awful past in which she had 
 lived, and sinned, and suffered — that past whose 
 sufferings were perpetuated still, whose lurid 
 shadows were now projected into these later days 
 uf her life. All this he felt, and he~~B)i«ijved [t, 
 and he sought earnestly to solve the problem 
 which th6se things held out to his mind ; but he 
 could not find a solution, nor could Zillnh give 
 one. For her part, it was with unfeigned horror 
 that she listened to Obed's recital of Mrs. Hart's 
 sufferings and despair ; yet as she listened there 
 came to her mind the same question which had 
 been asked by Obed, Who is this Windham? 
 and what is he to her ? Cdlild her old devotion 
 as the nurse of Guy account for this ? Or was 
 there some deeper cause ? Had she come to save 
 him from something ? Yet from what ? From 
 danger ? Yet from what danger ? 
 
 And thus to each of these alike there came the 
 same problem, yet to each tliero came no hope 
 of solution. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXV. 
 
 DKSPAin. 
 
 The time seemed long indeed to Obed and to 
 Zilhih, as they sat there in silence, wondering, 
 be\rildered, yet utterly unable to fathom the 
 ^4tef mystery that iay befen them^ Half 
 hour elapsed; and at -last some one crossed the 
 hall and came to thd door. It was I^rd Chet- 
 wynde. He looked troubled and excited. 
 
 "Miss Lorton," said he, "she wants you. I 
 don't understand what she says. It is very 
 strange. She must bo out of her senses. Comis 
 
 in, Mr. Chute. See if yon can help me out of 
 my bewilderment." 
 
 He offered his arm to Zillah, but she did not 
 take it. It seemed as if she did not see it. 
 Filled with vague fears and apprehensions, she 
 walked into the room where Mrs. Hart was, and 
 Lord Chetwynde and Obed Chute came after her. 
 
 Mrs. Hart was lying upon the sofa. As Zil- 
 lah entered she fixed her eyes upon her. 
 
 " I have been too selfish," said she. " In my 
 joy at finding my boy so unexpectedly and so 
 wonderfully, I have not been able to spetik one 
 word to my sweet girl. Oh, Zillah, my child, 
 you, I know, will forgive me. But are you not 
 amazed to see me ? Yet I am still more amazed 
 to see you. How did you come hero ? How is 
 it that I find yoti here — along with my noble 
 friend — in his house ? I am all overcome with 
 wonder. I can not understand this. I do not 
 know what to say, or where to begin to ask the 
 questions that I wish to ask. Mr. Chute seems 
 a kind of Providence," she added, with peculiar 
 emphasis in the faint tones of her weak voice— 
 "a kind of Providence, who comes to people in 
 their last extremities, and saves them from de- 
 spair! Mr. Chute," she continued, "is my 
 savior!" She paused for a time, and looked n't 
 Obed with a certain deep meaning in her eyci". 
 Then she turned to Zillnh again. " My cliild," 
 she said, " dear, sweet Zillah ! you will have to 
 tell me all about ,this. Why was it that you tied 
 away from Chetwynde ? And oh ! how could you 
 have the heart to give me up to strangers ?" ' 
 
 Amazed, speechless, overcome by wonder, 
 Zillah conld not say a word. She went to Mrs. 
 Hart, folded her in herarms, and kissed over 
 and over again the white lips of the woman who 
 had once been dear to her in Chetwynde Cnstle. 
 
 " I do not understand it," said Mrs. Hart, 
 feebly, and with an expression of deep amaze- 
 ment; "I do not «Omprehend all this at all. 
 Here yo(i all apfi, all of you whom I love— the 
 only ones Ofi earth whom I love. Here k my 
 boy, my darling, whom I came to seek ! Ilere 
 is Tny sweet Zillah, who brightened my moiimfnl 
 life at ChetAvynde Castle with her love and ten- 
 derness. And here I see my best friend, who 
 came to save me from death and despair, and 
 brought me here to life and joy and ho|)e! 
 What is the meaning of it all ? My boy can not 
 tell me. Soy, my sweet Zillah, can not you tell 
 me ? Do you not know ? Do you understand ? 
 Say, whose plan is it ? Is it your plan ? Who 
 has brought ns all together ?" > 
 
 "It is God," said Zillah, solemnly. "I do 
 not understand how you came here. I^et u> 
 thank God that you have found your friends." 
 
 She spoke at random ; she knew not what to 
 say. In her own dark perplexity she was un- 
 able to say any thing else ; and when slie saw 
 that Mrs. 1 Inrt was equally perplexed, and turned 
 to her for information, she conld only find an an- 
 swer in those words which werd prompted by 
 her heart. So she spoke, and she could say no 
 more. 
 
 Kor c ould th>othw». AH w wewhiBt. Thtt 
 
 white face looked wistfully from one to the oth- 
 er, with eager eyes, as though seeking from each 
 some explanation ; but none could give her that 
 which she sought. In the faces that surrounded 
 her she saw nothing else but a wonder which wm 
 f\illy equal to her own. 
 
 *• 
 
1 help me ont of 
 
 Obed Chnte had now a fresh canse fop bewil- 
 derment. For here was Zillah claimed fondlv as 
 ■ a dear and loved friend by Mrs. Hart. Who 
 was she? Was her mysterious story bound up 
 in any way with the tragical life of the other who 
 thus claimed her? He had been sufBcientlv 
 astonished at the mating between the woman 
 whom he had rescued and his friend Windham • 
 but now he saw his prot<?ge, MissLorton, recoil 
 nized by her as her dearest friend, and called bv 
 the most loving nnmes^with an affection, too, 
 which was fuUv returned by the one whom she 
 thus addressed. What to think or to say he 
 knew not. Of all the mysteries of which he had 
 ever heard none equaled this, and it seemed to 
 become more complicated every instant He 
 w^ at once perplexed by this insoluble problem 
 and vexed because it was insoluble. To his calm 
 and straightforward mind nothing was so nggra- 
 vating as a puzzle whiph could not be explained 
 He abhoired all mystertes. Yet here he found 
 one fullb^e fclm which baffled his utmost 
 powere|m|fcrehen8ion— one, too, in which he 
 himsein^Hermixed, and in which he saw 
 ""• ■^■■Windhnm and Miss Lorton all 
 S d t ""*^ ^*'"*' *" vone, equally in 
 
 But if Obed's bewilderment was great, what" 
 can be said of that which filled the mind of Lord 
 Chetwynde ? He saw his old nurse, whom he so 
 deeply and even so passionately loved, turning 
 away from himself to clasp in her arms, and to 
 greet with the fondest affection, that beautiful 
 gir who was dearer to him than any thing else 
 in life. Mrs. Hart knew Miss Lorton! Above 
 all, he was struck by the name which she gave 
 her. She called her "Zillah!" More than this 
 she nientioned Chetwynde ! She reproached this 
 girl for running away from Chetwvnde Castle' 
 And to all this Miss Lorton said nothing, but 
 accepted these fond reproaches in such a way 
 that she made it seem as though she herself must 
 once in very deed have med in Chetwynde Cas- 
 
 1 1' ". ,5 "" ''• *'"'■ H"*^ ''""«'l her " Zil- 
 tah! To whom did that strange name belong? 
 To one, and to one alone. That one was the 
 (laughter of General Pomerov, whom he had 
 married, and who was now his wife. That one 
 lie hated with a hate which no feeling of duty 
 and no bond of gratitude could either lessen or 
 overcome. Was he not married ? Had he not 
 wen that wife of his a thousand times ? Had he 
 not associated with her at Chetwynde Castle, at 
 Lausanne, on the road, and in Florence ? What 
 madness, what mockery was this ? It would 
 Beem as though Mrs. Hart had mistaken Miss 
 ixirton for that detested wife who stood between 
 him and his love. But how could such a mis- 
 take he made ? True, the complexion of each 
 was dark, and the hair of each was black, and the 
 torms and flgores were not unlike ; but the feat- 
 ares were widely different; the large, soft, lov- 
 ing eyes of Miss Lorton were not like those 
 gleaming, fiery orbs that he had teen in the wo- 
 man whom he thought his wife ; and the expres- 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 2iS 
 
 Cottld Mrs. Hart be in B delirium? SheCstbe 
 mil Bn< then the worst of it was, that if she 
 
 .T.."?.^ MissLorton must be mad also. 
 „lr ^^i. '"I"" •"'•* Mrs. Hart, ronsing her- 
 S„„r. .T?"""' '" "1^" ^^"^ Chetwynde's 
 laounhts. It seem* to me that I have sudden- 
 
 ly escaped from a hell, where I have been livinir 
 
 and have come into heaven. Where am I? 
 
 low „ ,t that I find myself among those whom 
 
 I hold most dear? Oh, my old friend! my 
 
 aTStt"-'"*"'*^""'^'^^''"""^^ 
 
 "to^h°ih»? "f^^^l" 'fP]'**^ ^^^ solemnly, 
 
 to the best of my knowledge and belief, though 
 
 at the present moment I feel inclined to doubt 
 
 hnl?f/-> ^I' *?'■" "!? y""' •'""''• »» I really 
 hold It ? Am I not dreaming ?" 
 
 " No, my dear old nurse. lam really alive, 
 and you are ahve, and I am really your boy- 
 ih^V^"^~ ^"^'' '""^ "* " ' understand aU 
 
 .J'^'^^'i-™^ r^* *'•'''''' 8>''« ™e your hand 
 too. You have become reconciled to him. then 
 I see how it is. Ah ! how dear yon are to one 
 another! My God! what bleswrfness is this! 
 
 "ii^^'J. *''2"'«'" **' y°" ••«* fled from him, 
 and lefl him forever. But he found yon. You 
 are reunited once more. " 
 
 She placed ZiUah's hand in Lord Chetwynde's, 
 and Lord Chetwynde held it closely, firmly, in 
 a passionate grasp, not knowing what all tbjs 
 meant, yet in his vehement love willing to take 
 blindly all that might be given to him, even 
 though It came to him through the deliriiiin of 
 his old nurse. He held it tightly, though Zil- 
 lah in a kind of terror tried to withdraw it. He 
 held It, for something told him in the midst of 
 his bewilderment that it was his. 
 
 Tears flowed from Mrs. Hart's eyes. There 
 was a deep silence around. At last Obed Chute 
 spoke. 
 
 " My Christian fiiend8,"8aid he, "it's been my 
 lot and my privilege to attend the theatre in my 
 youthful days, and I've often seen what they call 
 tituattoni; but of all the onparalleled situations 
 that were ever put upon the boards, from '7a 
 down to 'AO, I'll be hanged if this isn't the great- 
 est, the grandest, and the most bewildering. 
 I m floored. I give up. Henceforth Obed Chute 
 exists no longer. He is dead. Hie jacet. In 
 memoriam. E pluribus nnum. You may be 
 Mr. Windham, and you, my child, may be Miss 
 Ixirton, or you may not. You may be somebody 
 else. We may all be somebody else. I'm some- 
 body else. Ill be hanged if I'm myself. To 
 my dying day I don't expect to understand this 
 Don t try to explain it, I beg. If you do I shall 
 go mad. The only thing I do understand just 
 now is this, that our friend Mrs. Hart is very 
 weak, and needs rest, and rest she shall accord- 
 ingly have. Come," he continued, turning to 
 her; "yon will have time to-morrow to see 
 them again. Take alittle rest now. You have 
 called me your friend several times to-day. I 
 claim a friend's privilege. You must lie down 
 by yonrself, if it's only for half an hour. Don't 
 refuse me. I'd do as much for yon." 
 
 Obed's manner showed that same tender com- 
 passion which he had already evinced, l^rg. 
 Hart complied with his request. She mim und 
 took nts arm. - . _ 
 
 ""Tell me one thing plainly," said Qhed, ai 
 Mn. Hart stood up. " Who are these?/ Is not 
 this Mr. Windham, and is not this Miss liOrton? 
 If not, who are they ? That's fair, I think. I 
 don't want to be in the dark amidst inch nni- 
 venal light." 
 
 • 
 
 
 , 
 
 / . 
 
8I«' 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 lUb 'it po'tejble that yon don't know?" said 
 &K Harti wonderingly. " Why should they 
 Gcmceal it from you? These are my dearest' 
 children — my friends — the ones dear to my heart. 
 Ob, my friend, you will understand me. This is 
 Lord Chetwynde, son of the Earl of Chetwynde, 
 and this girl is Zillah, daughter of Neville PomeT 
 roy — Lady Chetwynde — his wife. " 
 
 "God in heaven!" exclaimed Obed Chute. 
 "Is 'this 80, or are you mad, and are they 
 mad?" 
 
 "I do not know what you mean," said Mrs. 
 Hart. " I have spoken the truth. It is so." 
 
 Obed said not another word, "but led her out 
 of the room, with^is strong brain in a state of 
 bewilderment greater than ever, and surpassing 
 ally thing that he had known before. 
 
 L»rd Chetwynde wac left alone with Zillah, 
 
 hc/lding her hand, to which he still clung — though 
 
 Zillah in her deep embarrassment tried to with- 
 
 ^ draw it — and looking at her with eagerness yet 
 
 perplexity. 
 
 "Great HeaVen!"he cried. *'Do you un- 
 derstand this? Oh, my love! my own! my dar- 
 ling ! What is the meaning of it all ?" 
 
 "I don't know," stammered Zilluh, in con- 
 fusion. " Don't yon know ?" ' 
 
 "It's a mockery. It's her delirium," cried 
 
 Lord Chetwynde, passionately. " tjome Vnta- 
 
 lixing demon, has put this into her wandering 
 
 ' Kind. But ofe! my dearest, something must be 
 
 true; at least you knew her before." 
 
 "Yes," said Zillah. 
 , " Where ?" cried Lord Chetwynde. 
 "At Chetwynde Castle," said Zillah, faintly. 
 "At Chetvfynde Castle?" 
 "Yes." '' 
 
 "Oh, Heavens! Chetwynde Castle! What 
 fe this? Can il be a mockery? What does it 
 all mean? Yon! you! You'of all others! my 
 own ! my darling 1 You can never deceive me, " 
 he cried, in piercing tones. " Tell me, and tell 
 me trulv, what were yon doing in Chetwynde 
 Castle?*' 
 
 "Living there," said Zillah. " I lived there 
 for years, till the Eart died, and then J left, for 
 certain reasons.'! 
 
 "Great God! What is it that you are sav- 
 ing?" He gasped for bi«ath. 
 "Only the truth," said Zillah. 
 Lord Chetwynde held her hand still ; his eyes 
 seemed to devour her in the intensity of their 
 gaze. A thousand bewildering questions were 
 in his mind. What! Was not his wife even 
 now in Florence? Was he not familiar with 
 her face? What did this mean? What ut- 
 ter mockery v«w this ! Yet every word of Zil-i 
 lah's went to corroborate the words ofi Mi-s.l 
 
 Hart. 
 
 As for Zillah, she anw his embarrassmenti' 
 but interpreted it falsely. " He is beginning w 
 think," she thought, " that I am the one to who£ 
 be was married. His ojd hate and abhorrenle 
 are returning. He ii afraid to make hims^f 
 sure of it. He loves Miss Lorton, but hates ^e 
 ghter^ General PomeFoy^ When he £^s 
 out who I am he will loathe me." Then w|ilo 
 Lord Chetwynde stood silent in astonishn^ent 
 and bewilderment, not understanding how iti^as 
 possible for these things to be, the thought flaihed 
 npon her mind about that last Ifetter. Ha^had 
 loved another. Inez Cameron was his truelove. 
 
 Sh| heridf was nothing. Bitterly came this re- 
 membrance to her mind. She saw herself now 
 cast out from his heart, and the lofe that had 
 awakened would die out forever. And in thnt 
 moment, as these thoughts rushed through her 
 mind, as she recalled the words of that last letter 
 the scorn and insults that were heaped upon her- 
 self, and, above all, the fervent love that was ex^. 
 pressed for another — as she brought these thiqgs 
 back which had once been so bitter, one by one 
 —hope departed, and despair settled over her 
 heart. 
 
 Bui; Lord Chetwynde clung to her hand; The 
 thoughts of his heart were widely different from 
 those of hers, and her despair was exceeded by 
 his own. Who she was and what she was he 
 could not understand ; but the thought that he 
 had a wife, and that his wife was General Pome- 
 roy's daughter, was immovable in his mind. 
 
 " My darling !" he cried, in imploring tones, 
 in which there was at the same time a world of 
 love and tenderness; " my own darling ! You 
 know well thnt for you I, would give up nil my 
 life and all my hope, and cvcrj- thing that I hnve. 
 J<"or you, oh ! my sweet love, I have trampled 
 npon honor and duty, and have. turned my back 
 upon the holy memories of my father ! For you 
 I have stifled my conscience and denied my 
 God ! Oh ! my own, my only love, listen ftnd 
 answer. In the name of God, and by all your 
 hopes of heaven, I implore yon to answer' me 
 truly Ihis one question. >Vho are jt)u? WImt 
 is your name? How is it that Mrs. Hart has 
 made this mistake ?" -^ * 
 
 And as Lord Chetwynde gfye utterance to 
 this appeal there was in his voice an anguish of 
 entreaty, as though his very life hung upon her 
 answer. It thrilled to the inmost soul of Zillah, 
 who herself was wrought up to an excitement 
 which was equal to his, if not superior. 
 
 " Mrs. Hart has made no nlistake," replied 
 Zillah, in low, solemn tones ; " she has spokea 
 the truth. As yon have askod^ so must I an- 
 swer. In the name of God, then, I tell you. 
 Lord Chetwynde, that I am Zillah, daughter of 
 General Pomeroy, and— your wife .'" 
 
 " Oh, my God !" cried Lord Chetwynde, with 
 a deep groan. 
 
 He dropped her hand. He staggered back, 
 ufid looked at her with a face in which there was 
 nothing else than horror. 
 I What was then in his mind Zillah could not 
 possibly know, She therefore interpreted that 
 jook of his from her own knowledge and sus- 
 fpicions only. She read in it only his own un- 
 conquerable hate, his invincible aversion to her, 
 which now, at the mentipin of her true name, had 
 revived in all its original force, and destroyed 
 utterly the love which he had professed. All 
 was lost I lost! lost! lost! and doubly lost! 
 Better far never to have seen him than, having 
 seen him and known him and loved him, to lose 
 him thus. Snch were her thoughts. Ali-eady 
 her emotion had been overwhelnling ; this was 
 the last, and it was too much. With a low 
 moan^of mttreaty ftnd~ of despair she waite 
 the name which she loved so much. It was that 
 word "Windham," which he had made so sweet 
 to her. 
 
 Saying thii, and with that moan of despair, 
 she threw up her arms wildly, and sank down 
 senseleu at his feet. 
 
 
liv-"' 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVX 
 Hilda's ia^t tbhturb. 
 
 miveJ S 4^"^ "''^ restomtives tiU she 
 
 sight of i^^ChetwATfte'L7,;«^"„'^^^^^ 
 half-frantic words, conld not lesserTher despair 
 She implored to Be carri^l to her nwm, and rtere 
 she was at once .taken. Lord Chetwlnde's m 
 P .8h was now not less than hers. N^"th bitter 
 SndeK'in"^"^..'" **"'"« bewilderlTent he 
 
 rif.ZJjl^^Ufe °f despair. In thejniZ of 
 
 ^HE CBYFrtwaUM. 
 
 247 
 
 tt'him'tran, *& this t^ servant 
 
 read the folloiSame: ^ '""'"^ "' ''• '^^ 
 
 " ^dy Chetwynde. " 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVII, 
 
 THE CRTPTOOBAl, DECIPHBBED. 
 
 spo^P!This":t?e i^ff^hid"*^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 a fclrnf*^"*^" ■'"*''■ ''^" P"""<? the iallerH^ 
 a lever of aintation OhoH i.«,i k^.. P'""'v "• • 
 
 thoughts less intend' and feiliS? L^'/\*^ 
 but yet equally perplex" ng'^'lKd'been'^S 
 ming up ,„ h.8 mind the ^neral outlinetof ?hL 
 gmnd mystery, and the ,.«ults wp„, "re i^^J ■ 
 
 ™ losi in an abyss of despiir. In the midst"of Mi^r^/^^"^ "^^ ">« ''"'=» that these three were 
 
 ton make such a mistak«y n, ^^ mmL^t- 
 
 „*f«""%. that on tha appearance of Mr. 
 
 ?rof^£oXr!^'''"« '» acriu"f:?t2liS: 
 
 7»|rrf/y,.that Miss Lorton and Wihdham had 
 
 ham at aU, but Guy Molyneu "sTof he Zt 
 Earl of Chetwynde; and, that Miss. lirf on wS ' 
 not Miss Lorton, but Zillah, danghterof Nev^ 
 Pomer^v, and wife of Lord'ch.^y'Se i ^'""^ 
 The Earl of Chetwynde I NevfttePomerov! 
 t^i r^ "u""^ «^«'Pt Mm. Hart" knT^d 
 they have the remotest suspicion of Vhe nnrfAnn^ 
 
 Wh„l;^L'l'!:?T.°f,TPe«t? Know or suspect? , 
 
 ffliat was his final thought ^ " 
 
 iSiiL'narnXr ""aSt^eSt""^^ ^ 
 
 be bltS ^\*''VK'" that a walk ont.lde would 
 r a in^ r. m "!''^ *"^ '^« "^ 
 
 ™«ig ms pipe, when he was aroused by the en- 
 
 2d ust ."rrlfoT'-r''? H-noxnced thJ^t a lady 
 .««» just arrived, wd wuhed to Me him on rt^ 
 
 nothing.' Had ti.v;o7C":fCffirrs 
 
 something more, a, Obed now began To «W„l!! 
 for months while neither one knew the SfterZ 
 
 it was a piuzle. ™ 
 
 exSlt^Tw^TE"*!'''!"''!"''^ •» '"'•common 
 also «W^.,n„ ^ ®^'' an exercise demanded 
 
 SrrXi:"S™h°a"dtB?fcis'''^i^ ""i? 
 
 £rf tsett'^-red^ Sri'S 
 
 I Wf !Lv that you will excuse the liberty which 
 is m,«„f 1' >' the object that brings mrhe« 
 wnSd .^"It 'T^E^ *^» I have Ln^or 
 tCt T ^™fi* !''•'#"• It Vas only if Jat« 
 Ttl^T^^ thatWwer* re.idlng here, ud 
 
 ^ ??J •'1?'^ *t I came to lee you." ' . 
 
 Ob«i Chute bowed ««in, butTrid not . wo«L 
 
 I 
 
 i.JU^^, 
 
 
 r 
 
 I (1 
 
848 
 
 THE 0»f PTOGRAM. 
 
 His bewilderment was vet strong, and he did not 
 wish to commit him^jf' This lady was beauti- 
 ful, and graceful itt^er manner. Hhe called 
 herself Lady Chetwynde. 'J^e name puzzled 
 hitfi, and, in addition to the other puzzle that had 
 visited him on this eventful day, was hard to be 
 borne. But he bore it bravely, and was silent. 
 In hig^ilence he regarded his visitor witn the 
 closest scrutiny. At the first glance he had 
 marked her beauty. A further observation 
 showed that she was agitated, that she was pale, 
 and bore- marks of suffering. She was a womaa 
 in distress. In the midst of Obed's perplexity the 
 discovery of this aroused his ctiivnlrous sympathy. 
 
 This was Hilda's last venture, and she felt it 
 to be such'. She had come out with the exp^ta-, 
 tion of finding Gualtier on the road, and of re- 
 ceiving some message from him. She had seen 
 nothing of him. She had waited about half an 
 hour on the road, till she coufd wait no longer, 
 and then she had gone onward. She thought 
 that Gualtier might have failed her, but such a 
 thing seemed so improbable that she began to 
 fear some disaster. Perhaps he had fallen n 
 victim to his devotion. The thought of thii) 
 troubled Iter, and increased her agitatidn ; and 
 now, when she found herself in the presence of 
 ' Obed Chute, her agitation was so marked as to 
 be visible to him. Yet, as far as he was con- 
 cerned, this agitation only served to favor her 
 canse in his eyes. 
 
 "Mr. Chute," said Hilda, in low, steady 
 tones, "I am Lady Chetwynde. I am the 
 daughter of General Pomeroy, once Captain 
 Pomoroy, whom vou knew. He died a few 
 years ago, and on his death-bed arranged n mar- 
 riage between me and the only son of the Earl 
 of Chetwynde. It was a sudden marriage. He 
 insisted on it. He was dying, and his wishes 
 could not be denied. I yielded, and was mar- 
 ried. My husband left me immediately after the 
 marriage ceremony, and went to India, where he 
 remained for years. He only returned a short 
 time ago. My father. General Pomeroy, died, 
 and the Earl of Chetwynde took me to live with 
 him. I lived with him for years. I was a 
 daughter to him, and he loved me as one. He 
 died in my arms. I was alone in the world till 
 his son, the young Earl, came home. Pardon 
 me for mentioning these family details, but they 
 are necessary in order to explain my position 
 and to prepare the way for those things which I 
 have to say. " 
 
 Hilda paused for a while. Obed said nothing, 
 hot listened with an unchanged face. 
 
 "Not long after my father's death," said 
 Hilda, " I went to pay a visit to my old home, 
 Pomeroy Court. I happened to look into my 
 father's desk one day, and there I found some 
 papers. One of them was a writing in cipher, 
 and the rest consisted of letters written by one 
 who signed himself Obed Chute, and who wrote 
 from New York. All related to the wife of the 
 Earl." 
 
 H ild a stopp ed again, and waited to see the ef- 
 fectof ttiis; But Obed said nothing, -nor conld 
 she see in his face any indication of any emotion 
 whatever. 
 
 "That writing in cipher,"she continued, " dis- 
 torbed me. The letters vrere of such a charac- 
 ter that they filled me with uneasiness, and I 
 thought that the writing in cipher would explain 
 
 all. I therefore triid to decipher it. I oMaineJI 
 books on the* subject, and studied up the way by 
 which such things may be unraveled. I applied 
 myself to this task for months, and at last siic-'' 
 ceeded in my object. I never felt ceitain, how- 
 ever, that I had deciphered it rightly, nor do I 
 yet feel certain ; but what L did find out had a i 
 remarkable connection with the letters which ac- 
 companied it, and increased the alarm which I 
 felt Then I tried to find out about you, but 
 cou^jHiot. You alone, I thought, could explain 
 this mystery. It jyas a thing which filled roc 
 with horror. I cart not tell you how awful were 
 the (ban that arose, and how intolerable were 
 the suspicions. But I could never get any ex- 
 planation. Now these things have never ceased 
 to trouble me, and they always will until they 
 are explained. 
 
 "Yesterday I happened to hear your name 
 mentioned. It startled me. I made inquiries, 
 and found that a person who bore that name 
 which was so familiar to me, and about which I 
 had made such iilquiries — Obed Chute — was liv- 
 ing here. I at once resolved to come out and 
 see you in person, so as to ask you what it all 
 means, and put an end, in someway or other, 
 to my suspense." ' 
 
 This recital produced a strong effect on Obed, 
 yet no expression of his face told whether that 
 effect was favorable or unfavorable. Earnestly 
 Hilda watched his face as she spoke, so as to read 
 if possible her fate, yet she found it impossible. 
 His face remained stolid and impassive, though 
 she saw this much, that he was listening tO''her 
 with the deepest attention. What was most per> 
 plcxing was the fact that Obed did not say one 
 single word. 
 
 In fiict, in this position, he did not know what 
 to say. So he did the very best thing that he 
 could, and said nothing. But the mystery that 
 had begun that day with the advent of Mrs. Hart 
 was certainly deepening. It was already un- 
 fathomable when Mrs. Hart had said that Zilkh 
 was Lady Chetwynde, and that Windham was 
 Lord Chetwynde. Here, however, came one who 
 made it still more hopelessly and inextricably 
 entangled by calmly announcmg herself as Lady 
 Chetwyn4e ; and not only so, but adding to it 
 an account of her life. Which wafi the true one ? 
 Mrs. Hart could not lie. She did not seem to 
 be insane. About Zillah there bad certainly been 
 a mystery, but she conld not deceive. He be- 
 gan to have vague ideas that Lord Chetwynde's 
 morals had become affected by his Indian life, 
 and that he had a great number of wives ; but 
 then he rememberoi that this woman cla'thied 
 to be General Pomerov's daughter, which Mrs. 
 Hart had also said of Zillah. So the problem 
 was OS dark as ever. He began to see that he 
 was incapable of dealing with this subject, and 
 that Mrs. Hart alone conld explain. 
 
 Hilda, after some delay, went on : 
 
 "I have mentioned my attempt to discover the 
 cipher writing, " said she. ' ' My deciphering wu 
 I such that it seemed to involve my father in avenr 
 heavy chwnP- ^f inB^e me think that he hair 
 been guilty of some awful crime. " 
 
 " Your father, Qeneral Pomeroy?" 
 
 Obed Chute uttered this suddenly, and mth 
 deep surprise. 
 
 Hilda lUrted, and then said, very placidly, 
 "Yes." 
 
 fe.. 
 
 nk 
 
 
 "■-" i^& 
 
"I feared go." 
 
 '• ifcyTiff'^ any time with your father?" 
 
 Obed Chute 8aid nothing more, though Hilda 
 
 . "eemed to expect it; so, finding him silent, she 
 
 went on without regarding himl though! if she 
 
 by those words she at once lost all that svm- 
 feTt for"her*'°°*'^^™''"'' which thus far he had 
 • "On deciphering that paper of which I have 
 spoken I found that itchar^ p,y father? Gen! ' 
 e«l Pomeroy, with several crimes, all equally 
 abhorrent. I will show von the pap^r itself, 3 i 
 my mterpretation of it fine by lineVso tha vou ' 
 may see for yourself the agony that such a i^s- ' 
 covery would naturally produce in the mind of 
 a daughteh I will also show you thosp lett^ 
 
 yt.?«r» '"""" ""'' '" ™^ "''^^^ ™"^ 
 &{ving this, Hilda produced 'some papers 
 
 ~ she laid on the table before Obed Chme? 
 The first was the writing in cipher. 
 1 he second was her own interpretation such 
 
 M she had already shown to GuaUier an* to ZU- 
 
 The third was the same thing, written out line ' 
 by Lne for the sake of legi^Uity, as follows : 
 
 OftSSr^ilS!/^!!' •?"*»«»<*'*«« »o«Z Amen 
 Si ^^^"¥ ""P^ •«'»* poor Ladu CheUomdt 
 BKt lUUtua tome and ran offwUK^^ 
 **«»?*• P'9««'o< her huebind'e act 
 ^<n w«jl Lad, Mary Chetwynd 
 
 THE CBYPTOGRAM. 
 
 249 
 
 ITfi: "" "■rmfjor gaming 
 N Pomeroy qf Pomeroy Berti 
 01 am a miaeriibU villain 
 
 «.« °"*'j'r"'u''*'! *''^ P"' ^""'n » paper which 
 contamed her key for deciphering this. 
 
 niSTri^^ * laid down those letters written by 
 Obed Chute, which have already been given 
 
 AU these Obed Chute examined Sullv. 
 3?,h Z t^ ^''""?« he looked at, compared i 
 !2^. 1''1?!m"'* •'^" *•"• ""» interpretation 
 written by H.Ida. As she looked anxiously a" 
 his face It struck her that when he took dp tha 
 2? wkH Si!' '^'^^ '"though he was famU- 
 prepared. Obed Chute's connection with this 
 business wiw mysterious to her, hut it had been 
 of such a nature that he might be able to re^d 
 fn paper and know the fullness of its meaning 1 
 After reading those lette™ which had been w'rit 
 ten by himself-among which, however that 
 btest letter which Hilda had shown ZiHah was ' 
 
 M K ^ '1?"r'"' *""'' "P ""'' ^<^i paper ?n 
 which she had carefully written out inVa^uUs 
 Ae meaning of each line, such as has, .Sy' 
 bw. given where the line U extended hy^l 
 actere which are not interpreted. Over this he 
 
 dphlr Sf P'P""' '^'''*''' contained only the 
 
 HMl'ffi'^i'^'-^»'« paper, and looked ] 
 "Did it ever strike von," he asked "that 
 
 Krr r"" "^"^"^ •^"•"'^' -«> » «" 
 
 ^I^haye hoped that it was," said Hilda, pa- 
 
 i.o^J"? ?°^ ^ assured of it," srild Obed 
 wh^h'^ " fo"- yourself, and think for a momm 
 whether any human being would think of writ 
 ing such stuff as that." And he motbned con 
 temptuously to the paper wher* her intemremt°on 
 was written out. "There's no meanimH^ ?ex 
 
 ' TA^ :^t^ ^.^"'^ ""'^ noticed ?oVthefiri 
 
 I h^r"'^' the miserable scoundrel who wmTe 
 
 this has done it so as to throw suspicion Zn 
 
 the man whom he was bound to love wi h „ iT^i" 
 
 contemptible hedrt, if he had one, which he 
 
 Ind n^^T- Th« infernal sneak r "" 
 And Obed, glaring at the paper actimllv 
 
 ranllSrs^r*?^- ^'^'i^e^kS 
 
 In your deep love for yo^ufather-'-and h^re 
 H. da.magined a sneer-'^ou will be rejoiced 
 
 i ^n ; J unraveled it all mtfny years ago-a . 
 
 most before you were bom, certainly befJreTon 
 
 ever thpnght of ciphen,. k have a[ tl e Tappers 
 
 t^ me You couldn't have qome to Xttii^" 
 
 son than me-in fact, I'm the on^ peZ^l 
 
 , suppose, that you could come to. l^^oX^ 
 
 fore explain the whole matter, so that for th^ 
 
 rest of your life your affectionate and gWleless 
 
 nature anarno longer be disturbed by thosefam 
 
 enta\,le suspicions which you lave cuTtivat^' 
 
 about the noblest gentlema^ ,nd most s tainS 
 
 soldier that ever breathed." "'uimess 
 
 With these words he left the room, and short- 
 
 teSa':"' ""•' '"''"■ -''^ ''-p-^ 
 
 own"%T "^^'''P''*'' 'felf-a facsimile of her 
 ,°n o ■ •? r "*"' Vas a mass of letters, written out 
 in capitals on a square block. Ever^ cipher wL 
 written out here in its Roman equivalent 
 
 tni-ch'aVcKf If "'" """^ '"'°^^'' ^- »'•'' 
 
 • ''^°" V^e mistaken it," he said. " In the 
 
 cipher there is a double alphabet. The uppej 
 
 second. <? The second nlphabet has most of thA 
 ^«ers of the first; thoie of most f?^^ent oc! 
 currence are changed, and mstead of astr^ 
 nomical signs, punctuation marks are used. Yo^ 
 have succeeded I see, in finding the key to the 
 
 thTtW' •"" y°" •>" ?"' '^«'» '» havefhongte 
 that the lower part required a sepamte examiS- 
 
 ^ of !;,t«L • "^"^ *° ?"PP°*'' '•"" »» this mass 
 lw„v!!f » ""'"«»»""S. and was inserted by 
 way of recredtion to the mind that was waTricJ 
 with wnting the first, or perhaps to Si 
 Now if you had read it all you would hZ2i 
 tte entire truth. The mSn that wrote thfs Tag 
 a villain : he has written it so that the nppL" p„r? 
 throws suspicion upon his benefactor. Whefhe" 
 he did this by accident or on purpose the Lord 
 
 ^LT..^"' ""^ ""^"*«'' «""»"«". sneakin'iTt 
 rascal that it was ever my luck to light on. A^d 
 
 v^heknew what honoc was, and duty, ^^ 
 
 Swhoie tSi."""" " *«' ''^' '««""'"•- of 
 
 «,m1^ ""* '"'"^ ^o""" ^^'^^ OiW* another paper 
 
 which was written out in the usual manner ' 
 
 If you look at the first paper," said Obed 
 
 int;„g to the one which gavrtTe inins^tion^f 
 
 £ II 
 
 S 111 
 
 pointin 
 
S60 
 
 each letter, above dc- 
 Bcril^d, "you will nee 
 that the first part reads 
 like your translation, 
 while the lower part has 
 no meaning. This arose 
 from the peculiar nature 
 of the man who wrotb 
 it. He couldn't do any 
 thing straight When 
 he made a confession he 
 wrote itln cipher. When 
 bk wrqw in cipher he 
 wrote it so as to puzzle 
 and mislead any one who 
 might try to find it out. 
 He couldn't write even 
 a cipher straight, but 
 be«an in the middle and 
 wound all his letters 
 about it. Do you see 
 that letter 'M' in the 
 eleventh line, the twelfth 
 one from the right side, 
 with a cross by the side 
 of it? That is the first 
 letter. You must read 
 flrom that, but toward the 
 left,f or seventeen letters, 
 and then follow on the 
 line immediately above 
 it. The writing then 
 runs on, and winds about 
 ' this central line till this 
 rectangular block of let- 
 ters is formed. You sup- 
 posed that it read on like 
 ordii^ary writing. You 
 Me what yon have found 
 oat is only those lines 
 that hqipened to be the 
 'top ones, reading in the 
 nsual way from left to 
 right. Now take this 
 first paper. Begin at 
 that cross, read from 
 right to left for seven- 
 teen letters, and what 
 do you find?" 
 
 Hilda did so, and 
 slowly spelled out this : 
 
 "MY NAME IS 
 NOT KBIEFF." 
 
 A shock of astonish- 
 ment passed through her. 
 
 "Krieff?" she repeat- 
 ed— "Krieff?" 
 
 "Yes, Krieff," said 
 Obed; "that was his 
 last alias." 
 
 "Alias? Krieff?" 
 faltered Hilda. 
 ^^^ "Yes. He had one 
 or two others, but this 
 was his l«.st.'- 
 
 THE CBTFTOORAM. 
 
 ''- r r > * "L > « o >■ o o { > }B^ ^ ^ o Q 
 
 JO O .n - -I 
 
 "• C> ..^ |,j {/\ ^ l« 
 
 ^ ^ tK o S -^O «*« - X?'»' ^ t/»I '^'^ * ft 
 
 «• b r -#0 <•< -{"♦ o»ci-.^«»»>>3<3 <i 
 
 ^ f Z '^ > --3 mSJrZt»«^6^*^n) 
 <i:bOkV^ ^fw <->n»»*^'«*ic''o»*>2 
 
 H»-r»* c*n-b ^^oj,^ «B«»y ^x> 
 
 ^"tt ^ 
 
 m i »^ 
 
 x<«»z-.oO'<c>^r jp) 
 
 -i*^* to -< r 2 ^ ? 
 
 » A 2. 
 
 1: 
 
 (A 2 r > 0-1 
 
 to o *^ 
 
 3- •« 
 
 D <; o 
 
 
 is it, then, tfiat wroie 
 
 "His? Whose? 
 this?" 
 
 " Read on. But it is not worth while to bother 
 with this block of letters. See; I have this pa- 
 
 eer where it is all written out. Read this ;" and 
 e handed the other paper to Hilda. 
 She took it mechanically, and read a* follows : 
 
 ~"Tffy 8iMSeTrn6l'Kfte(C~ iTOirTi uitseiablF 
 villain, but I was once named Pemberton Pome- 
 roy, of Pomeroy, Berks. I fell into vice early in 
 life, and was expelled the army for gaming. I 
 changed my name then to Redfield Lyttouu. 1 
 fell in with Lady Mary Chetwynde. She was 
 thonghUess, and liked my attentions. ,1 knew 
 
 ■J 
 
 ,.. »*i.Yt 
 
\. 
 
 Ae was piqned at her hnsband's act in leavinn 
 lus party and losing his prospects Out of «pit5 
 she hstened to me and ran off with me. Neville 
 followed us and rescued her from me before it 
 was too late. She acted out of a mad Impulse 
 m flying, and repented bitterly. My brother 
 saved her. Let all know that I, Pemberton 
 Pomeroy, eloped with poor Lady Chetwynde, 
 and that she wjis saved by Neville Pomeroy 
 Let the world know, too, that I, Pembertin 
 Pomeroy, forged a hundred thouwnd dollariL 
 and my brother paid it, and saved me. I writ^ 
 this m cipher, and am a villain and a coward too. 
 •cull . A^n "°^ "*"'^ ""'""^ wretche^ 
 
 On reading this Hilda then compared it with 
 
 1?- °K f Pu P?""- ^''" *»'' »« "»«=« «hat the lines 
 which she had translated were dnly fragmentary 
 portions that happened to read from left to right 
 Doubt was impossible, and this which* Obed 
 cam e gave her was the truth. She laid the pa- 
 per down, and looked thoughtfully awav Tliere 
 were several thing, here which 'disturbed hen 
 *„ „",^.'! "^V""? '"" "•« "»«"« mentioned a 
 written this had once gone by the name of Krieff 
 I think It my duty," said Obed"chute. " t^ 
 ^ve you a full exphmation, since you have isked 
 It. ihe parties concerned are now all dead 
 
 !S^«rr r* ^ ^ ""' '•'"«•"«' of «"« «f them: 
 ^?Zl^ nll?*^'; ."° "*«'" "'hy I should not 
 teU von aU that I know. I have joado up mv 
 nund to do so, and I wiU. ^ ' 
 
 "Neville Pomeroy, then, was an English gen- 
 
 ?*""• ^ ,'?*'!' *««" n»«ch of Britishers, and 
 have gjBnerally found that in a time of triaJ the 
 
 Knglish gentleman comesontuncommonlystrone 
 I got acquainted with him in an odd kind of wav 
 He was a young fellow, and had come ont to 
 Amenca to hunt buffaloes. I happened to be 
 on the Plains at the same time. I was out for a 
 Hnall excurMon, for the office at New York was 
 not the kmd of place where a fellow of my size 
 coBld be content all the time. We heard a great 
 
 II"^T?'?!i.*""*^' ^"^'™* y^W'^ST' «nd conject- 
 nred that the savages were attacking sdme party 
 or other. We dashed on for a mile or hv^an^ 
 came to a hollow. About fifty rascally Sioux 
 were there They had surroundedl^lS 
 whites, and captured them, and were preparing 
 to strip each for the purpose of indul^n| in f 
 httle amusemont they have-that is, buil^m, a 
 &n on one s breast. They didn't do it that time. 
 «any rate; and the fight that foUowed when wl 
 eme up was the prettiest, without exception, 
 aut I ever saw We drove them off, a? an^ 
 We; and as we had revolvers, and they had only 
 common nfles, we had it «U o„r own w^y 
 Tbrty of those Sioux devils weh» left behind, 
 dead and wounded, and the rest vamosed. ^ 
 PrJr ^^ "y. *"' introduction to NeviUe 
 
 •Mmed to bke me, and we kept together on the 
 
 THE CBYFroORAM. 
 
 231 
 like one, I know; but I was, and am The 
 
 h^if'^'"?^^'"'""" *• * d'fferent'animalfrim The 
 broker of Europe. So is the American bimker 
 one of whom you see before vou ' 
 
 sonl? Tf?"!'* "^y "»y Jhing more about onr pei-- 
 
 wr„Vhoo!i?- ^* *l*^""' ''*^»™ friends- "e 
 went back home and I took to the desk. Some- 
 howwe kept writing to one another. He h^ 
 
 h„ff w"* "*"'.' '" America, and got me to 
 buy Stock for him " He was rich, and^n had 
 a large amount of money in my hands. I got 
 the best investments for him thei were, and was 
 glad to do any thing for a man like that. 
 
 I U now go on straight and tell you all that 
 you care to hear. Some of this-in fact, mo" 
 
 "^ m!*^ ^°' *"'• °"' »'" '""K afterward. * , 
 n«n,S ^?'"7. '••^ *•»*• * .^"""g^' brother, 
 rnS^fr^.^^"?? 1 """"'y- . He was an officeJ 
 Lot WhT* V 1,"? *."'' ^y <'i«'ipated, andiioon 
 fn tW h„ ^rJ* 'J.'^l^'- N"^"'" '"«1 done 
 nft-K^ ^ K.*'°u'' f"": *•" ''™"'e^ «"<! had paid 
 oft his debts three times, each time saving W 
 from ruin But it was no use. There Z>Z 
 very devil himself in Pembirton. He «^s by 
 o^lLTi"?^ "^ the meanest n«^s.thni was ever 
 Sfi^'i ''""*^'' the fellow was not bad-looking. 
 
 W*^* IP*' ""'* "^'^P*'" ''"t" the ">«'*. and at 
 last got into a scrape so bad, so dirty, that he 
 
 had to quit the Guards. It was a gamb^rt g af! 
 fijr of so infamous a character that it was impos- 
 sible for his brother to save him. So he quTt'^^ 
 
 N^??^ '."•"'} ""T '"'" *°"^ oo""** than ever. 
 Neville tnod stiU to save him ; he wanted to get 
 him an office, but Pemberton refused. K- 
 while, out of a sense of decency, he had changed 
 
 this name he became pretty wellknown to a 
 
 the acquaintance of the wife of the Enri of Chet- 
 wynde. It seems that the Eari was wraoDed ud 
 in politks, and had offended her by ^ Ep^ 
 
 ^fi^a ^r v.f ''*' T ""fy- ""'^ «'"" desperate. 
 Bedfield Lyttoun turned up, and amus«rf her. 
 bhe compromised herself very seriously by Al- 
 towing such marked attentions from himrand^ 
 people began to talk about them. The Earl 
 knew nothing at all about thisj as he was busy 
 all the day. There was a sort of quarrel b^^ 
 
 finnl » ^"i* Neville heard of it, and made a 
 finiJ attempt to save his brother. I think this 
 time he was actuated rather by regard for the 
 . , Earl who was his most intimate friend, than by 
 ^n v hope of saving this wretched fool of a brother 
 «ni!,"; A' .^y "•?'!?* ^'™ed him, and threat- 
 ened totell theEarihimself ofallthitwasgoing 
 h«'„„ iT^""" ^kaUrm, and pretended tha! 
 he would do as Neville said. He promised to 
 
 T.tV'I^r^^":^y^^''- ButhisbSK 
 vice had only made him savage, and he determ- 
 ined to carry out this game to the end. Ha 
 r^^P^'r"*'' Ji*'"*"'' ""'' ""•"•'y unprincipled. 
 m^^''^'^^^^ T" **"/ "^d thoughUess.-'^Sh.^.-^:. 
 liked the scoundrel, too, I suppose. At any rate^ 
 he induced her to run away with him. K; 
 
 was a broker and banker. 
 
 - -.__-™ „». „ .„,, awaj witn mm. For the 
 
 dSfts •S'i'f* ^T"' •"i'^« "» "« '"'Ked somS 
 in ™; h2!S *^°"? ?"* ""'* Neville had money 
 in my hands, and drew for this. 1 susneci 
 nothing;, and the drafts were paid. He ZT 
 
 rd"L;r.h?Ai°.!?y;.5ji'!? •"• ^«"" «» 
 
 Twv i 7 ""'"y.'n "me to run ott with his victin 
 Don t lookJ and foolish a. Lady Chetwynde waMho 
 
 J'-^fc^'^^ArV 
 
 mo 
 
 I 
 
 my 
 
 loment 
 
232 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 that she had taken the inevitable step she repent- 
 ed. 8he thought that it would be imposiible to 
 it^race it, and gave herself up to despair. Tliey 
 fl^d tp America under assumed names. 
 
 '' '£l)eir flight was immediately known to Ne- 
 ville. He lost not a moment, but hurried'oujt to 
 America ; and as the ship in which he sailed was> 
 fiUi^er than the o(her, he reached New York first. 
 }i|l- came , at once to me. Then he learned, for 
 t|ie first time, of the forgery. About one hun- 
 dred thousand dollars had been drawn and paid. 
 We took counsel together, and watched for the 
 arrival of the steamer. Immediately on its being 
 reported in the bay we boarded her, and Pem- 
 berton Pomefioy was arrested. He was taken 
 to prison^and Neville induced Lady Chetwynde 
 to come with us. I ofTered my house. The 
 privacy was a most important thing. She had 
 been freed from Pemberton's clutches, and Ne- 
 ville shewed her that it was possible for her to 
 escape yet from complete infamy. The sudden- 
 ness of this termination to their plan startled her 
 and horrified her. Remorse came, and then de- 
 spair. All this preyed upon her mind, and with 
 it all there came a great longing for jher son, 
 whom sl^e had left behind. The end of it all 
 was that she fell under an^attack of brain-fever, 
 and lingered for many months a victim to it. 
 She fyially recovered, and weqt into a convent. 
 After staying there some time she suddenly left 
 That is the meaning of those letters which you 
 found. Of course I kept Neville Pomeroy ac- 
 quainted with these circumstances on his return.' 
 
 " Meanwhile Pemberton Pomeroy had lain un- 
 der jfrrest. Neville went to see him, and took ad- 
 vttmage of his misery to exact fi-ora him a solemn 
 promise never to search after Lady Chetwynde 
 ngain^ or interfere with her in any way. Soon 
 after that Pemberton Pomeroy was freed, for Ne- 
 ville declined to appear against him, and the case 
 .droppedT Neville then weirt back to England. 
 
 " Pemberton PomerqjfTemained. There was 
 no more hope for bim«ni England. The money 
 which he had gaine«n>y his forgery he, of course, 
 had to refund { JMt his brother generously gave 
 him a few thousands to begin life on. Pember- 
 ton then disappeared for a year or two. At the 
 end of that time he came back. He had gone 
 to England, and theh returned to America, where 
 he had lived out West. All his money was gone. 
 He had fallen into low courses. He had taken 
 a wife from the dregs of the foreign population, 
 and, as though he had some spark of shame left, 
 h^lmd changed his name to KriefF. He had spent 
 „ his last cent, and came to me for help. I helped 
 him, and put him in the way of getting a living. 
 
 " But he had lived a wild life, and was com- 
 pletely used up. When he came to me he was 
 prettv well gone in consumption. I saw he 
 co\ilidn't last long. I went to see him a good 
 many times. He used to profess the deepest re- 
 ))entance. He told me once that he was writing 
 a confession of his crimes, which he was going to 
 send to his brother. The miserable creature 
 had scarcely any spirit or courage left, and gen- 
 crally when I visited him he used to begin cry- 
 ing. I put up with him as well as I could, though. 
 One day when I was with him he haqded me a 
 paper, with considerable fuss, and said^I was not 
 to open it till after his death. Not long after- 
 ward he died. I opened the paper, and found 
 that it contained only thi8 cipher, together with 
 
 a solemn reqaest that it should be forwarded 
 to his brother. I wrote to Neville Pomeroy, 
 telling himi of his brother's death, and he at 
 once came out to New York. He had him 
 decently buried, and I gave him the papers. I 
 had taken a copy myself, and had found a man 
 who helped me to decipher it. There Was no- 
 thing irf it. The poor fool bad wanted to make 
 a confession some way, but was too mean to do 
 it like a man, and so he made up this stuff, which 
 was of no use to any one, and could only be de- 
 ciphered by extraordinary skill. But the fellow 
 is dead, and now you know all the business." 
 
 Obed Chute ended, and bent down his head in 
 thought. Hilda had listened with the deepest 
 attention, and at the conclusion of this actiount 
 she, too, fell into deep thought. There were 
 many things in it which impressed hor, and soma 
 which startled her with a peculiar shock. 
 
 But the one idea in her mind was different 
 from any thing in this narrative, and had no con- 
 nection with the mystery of tl^p secret cipher, 
 which had baffled her so long. It was not for 
 this, not in search of this interpretation, that she 
 had come. She had listened to it rather wearily, 
 as though all that Obed could tell was a matter 
 of indifference, whichever way it tended. , To 
 find that her interpretation was false had excited ' 
 no very deep emotion. Once the search into tlifs ■' 
 had been the chief purpose of her life ; but all the 
 results that could be accomplished bv that search 
 luid long since been gained. The cipbt^r writing 
 was a dead thing, belonging to the deful past. 
 She had only used it as a plausible excuse to 
 gain admittance to the villa.for a higher purpose. 
 
 The time had now come for the revelation of 
 that purpose. 
 
 "Sir, said she, in a low voice, looking earn- 
 estly ot Obed Chute, " I feel very grateful to 
 you for your great kindness in favoring me with 
 this explanation. It has been hard for me to 
 have this interpretation of mine in any way affect 
 my Cither's memory. I never could bring my- 
 self to believe it, knowing him as I . knew him. 
 But, at the same time, the very idea that there 
 was such a charge in writing disturbed me. 
 Your explanation. Sir, has made all clear, and 
 has set my mind at rest in that particular. 
 
 " And now. Sir, will you excuse me if I men- 
 tion one more thing which I would like to ask 
 of you. It concerns me, you will see, even more 
 closely than this writing could have concerned 
 me. It touches me in a more tender place. It 
 is very strange, and, indeed, quite inexplicable, 
 why you, Sir, a stranger, should be interwoven 
 with these things which are so sacred to me; 
 but so it is." ■" 
 
 Obed was affected by the solemnity of her 
 tone, and by a certain pathos in her last words, 
 and by something in her manner which showed |t 7^ 'I 
 deeper feeling by far than she had evincetli^I'dK. 
 
 What Hilda now proceeded to say she had 
 long thought over, and prepared, with great de- 
 liberation. No doubt the woman whom Lord 
 Chetwynde loved lived here. Most probftbl y she 
 was Obed Chute's young wife, possibly his dsiog 
 ter ; but in any case it would be to him a terri- 
 ble disclosure, if she, Lord Chetwynde's wife, 
 came and solemnly informed him of the intrigne 
 that was going on. She bad made up her mind, 
 then, to disclose this, at all hazards, trusting to 
 circumstances for full and complete satisfaction.' 
 
 ,> ( 
 
 ■<» 
 
 
 •k -• 
 
 
 i4t»"' 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 ^-a 
 
 "Si 
 
 'TU8,' HK CniED, 'ILI, HAVE THIS CLEARED UP NOW, ONCE AND FOKKVEK." 
 
 ^ir,' she continued, in a voice which ex- 
 preyed Btill deeper emotion, "what I have to 
 My IS something which it pains me to say, vet it 
 must be said. I am Lady Chetwynde, and'trav- 
 eled here with Lord Chetwynde, who is the only 
 acqimintance I have in Florence. I hurried From 
 tnglnnd to his sick-bed, in Switzerland, and 
 •"^If^ "8 life. Then I came here witK^m. 
 
 Otlate I have been suspicious of him. Some 
 things occurred which led me to suppose that he 
 was paying attentions to a lady here. My jeal- 
 ousy was aroused. I learned, I need not say 
 fiow, th^t he was a constant visitor here. I fof- 
 lowed him to a masquerade to which he refused 
 to take me. I saw him with this lady, whose 
 face I could not see. They loft yon. They walk- 
 ed to an arbor. I Ustened-fbr, Sir, what wife 
 Vonld not listen ?-and 1 heard him make a 
 frantic declaration of love, and urge her to fly 
 *"" '" "'•. Had I not interrupted them at that 
 -inoB.««i U»y might have «ef DH. HrTtWiTk 
 of my lonely condition— think what it costs mv 
 jsnde to speak thus to a stranger. Tell me, what 
 is this ? Is It possible, or do I dream ? Tell me. 
 do yon know that my husband loves this wo^ 
 nan r 
 
 The emotion with which Hilda spoke grew 
 rtronger. She rose to her feet, and took a step 
 
 nenrw to Obed. She stood there with clasped 
 hands, her beautiful face turned toward him with 
 deep entreaty. 
 
 Obed looked nt her in a fresh bewilderment.' 
 He was silent for a long time. At last he start- 
 ed to his feet. 
 
 "Well, marm," said he, as he clenched his 
 fist, I don t understand. I can't explain. Ev- 
 ery thing is a muddle. All I can say is this— 
 there's either treachery or insanity somewhere, 
 and may I be cut up into sausages and chawed 
 up bv Comanches if I'll stand this any longer 
 Yes,' he cried, "by the Lord! Ill have this 
 cleared up now, once and forever. I will, bv 
 the Eternal!" ' ^ 
 
 He brought his huge fist down with a crash ou 
 the table, and left the room. 
 
 Hilda sat waiting. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVin. 
 "the wife of lokd chetwtkde." 
 Hilda sat waiting. 
 
 Obed had gone in search of those who could 
 face this woman and answer her story He 
 went first to send word to Zillab, summoning her 
 
 ' .1, 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
tS4 
 
 THE CRYITOGEAM. 
 
 down. Zillah had been feebly reclining on her 
 couch, dintracied by ihoughM nt once perplexing 
 and agonizing, filled with despair at the dark 
 calamity winch bad suddenly descended, with a 
 blacic future ariaing before her, when she and 
 " Windham" were to be sundered forever. He 
 hated her. That was her chief thought ; and 
 Windham's love had gone down in an instant 
 before GuV's deadly abhorrence. A lighter dis- 
 tress might have been borne by the assistance 
 of pride ; but this was too overmastering, and 
 pride stood powerless in the presence of a 
 breaking heart. In such a mood as this was she 
 wlien the message waa brought to her which 
 Obed had sent. 
 
 The wife of Lord CtMtwynde waa down stairs, 
 and wished to see her I 
 
 The wif« of Lord Chttwifttdel 
 
 Those words stung her like serpents' fangs ; 
 a tumult of fleroe rage and jealousy at once arose 
 within her ; and at this new emotion her sorrow 
 left her, and the weakness arising from her 
 crushed love. With k start she rose to her feet, 
 and hastily prepared to descend. 
 
 After summoning Zillah, Obed went ii^ search 
 of Lord Chetwynde. 8omo time elapsed before 
 hfe could find him. Jii^ had been wandering 
 about the groundrin a state bordering on dis- 
 traction. 
 
 Meanwhile Hilda sat waiting. 
 
 Alone in the great room, where now the shad- 
 ows were gathering, she was left to her own dark 
 reflections. The sufTerings through which she 
 had passed had weakened her, and the last scene 
 with Obed had not been adapted to reassure her 
 or console her. The stale of suspense in which 
 she now was did, not give her any fresh strength. 
 Her nervous system was disorganized, and her 
 present position stimulated her morbid fancy, 
 turning it toward dark and sombre forebodings. 
 And now in this solitude and gloom which was 
 about her, and in the deep suspense in which she 
 was waiting, there came to her mind a thought 
 — a thought which mode her flesh creep, and 
 her blood run chill, while a strange, grisly hor- 
 ror descended awfully upon her. She could not 
 help remembering how it had been before. Twice 
 she had matle an effort to anticipate fate and 
 grasp at vengeance — once by herself alone, and 
 once in the person of Gualiier. Kach attempt 
 had been baffled. It had been frustrated in the 
 same way precisely. To each of them there had 
 come that fearful phantom figure, rising before 
 them awfully, menacingly, with an aspect of ter- 
 rible import. Well she remembered that shape 
 as i( had risen before her at the pavilion — a 
 shape with white face, and white clothing, and 
 burning eyes — that figure which seemeit tp 
 emerge from the depths of the sea, with the drip 
 of the Water in her dark, dank hair, and in her 
 white, clinging draperies. It was no fiction of 
 the imagination, for Gnaltier had seen the same. 
 It was no fiction, for she recalled her horror, and 
 the flight through the forest, while the shape 
 pursued till it struck her down into senseless- 
 
 A shoddei passed through her once more at 
 the recollection of these things. And there arose 
 a' question of awfnl import. Would it come 
 a£^in ? Now was the third attempt — the fateful 
 third I Would she again be baffled, and by 
 thatt She feared no human foe ; bat thii hor- 
 
 ror waa something which she could never again 
 encounter and live. And there came the terror 
 over her that she might once again see this. 
 ) She was alone amidst her terror*. It was 
 growing late. In the great room the dimness 
 was deepening, and the furniture looked ghostly 
 at the further end of the apartment. It was not 
 long since Obed had gone, but the time seemed 
 to her interminable. It seemed to her as though 
 she were all alone in the great house. 8he strug- 
 gled with her fancies, and sat looking at the 
 door fixedly, and with a certain awful expecta- 
 tion in ber eyes. 
 
 Then, as she looked, a thrill flashed through 
 all her being. For there, slowly and noiselessly, 
 a figure entered— a figure which she knew too 
 well. Uobed in white it was ; the face was pale 
 and white as the dress ; the hair wa» thick and 
 ebon bhick, and hung down loosely ; the dress 
 clung closely. Was it the drip of,tbe seorwave— 
 was it .the wet clothing that thus clung to the 
 flgtite which had once more oonte from the dark 
 ocean depths to avenge her own cauae ? There, 
 in very deed, stood the shape of horroi — 
 
 "her garmenta "< 
 ClinglDg like cerements, , •n 
 While toe wave conatantty -.; - 
 Dripped from ber clotbiiig.''i 
 
 It wa8''sAe. It was the one w^o had been 
 sent down to def^ beneath the waters, but who 
 now retunied |(^ tna hurt liiaia, no longer to warn 
 or to baffle,^)bictt» change finpi victim to aveng- 
 er! • >,.»' V* /.. 
 
 The aniBi^ of dUM m<WMnt won greater fur 
 than all th^fi^ei t^ch Hilda had ever known. 
 Her he^ct |(iMi|itodNi^i>g t all life teemed to ebb 
 away (toK^ W^jlB^' ^ ''"^ presence. Wilaly 
 there aro^^c^^dBftt of flight; but she was spell- 
 bound, her^lntrm^D^ii^yzed, and the dark, 
 luminous em of tn^|flMaifenchained her own 
 gaze. Suddenly she^vit3t( « convulsive eflTort, 
 mechanically, and sprui^<^<^%er feet, her hands 
 clutching one dnother in a' kind of spasm, and 
 her brain reeling beneath such thoughts as make 
 men mad. In that deep agony a groan burst 
 from her, bat she spoke not a word as she stood 
 there rooted to the spot. 
 
 As for Zillah herself, she, on entering, had seen 
 Hilda, hod recognized her, and was stricken dumb 
 with amazement. That amazement made her 
 stop and regard her, with wild, staring eyes, in 
 utter silence. There had been only one thought 
 in her mind, and that was to see who it could 
 possibly be that dared to come here with the pre- 
 tense of being "Lord Chetwynde's wife." In 
 her eagerness she had come down in a rather 
 neglig^ costume, and entering the room she 
 found herself thus face to face with Hilda. At 
 that sight a thousand thoughts flashed at once 
 into her mind. In a moment she had divined 
 the whole ^tent of flilda's perfidy. Now she 
 could understand fully the reason why Hilda had 
 betrayed her ; ^why she had formed so carefully 
 contrived and so elaborate a plot, which had been 
 carried- ont so patiently and so remorselessly. 
 TKat sight of Hilda showed lier,^ too, what must^ 
 have bMn the height and the depth end the fall 
 extent of the plot against heryonng, undefended 
 life — its cruelty, and the baseness of its motive. 
 It was to take her place that Hilda had betrayed 
 her. Ont of such a motive had arisen such foal 
 ingratitade and sach deadly crime. Yet in htr 
 
 \.J&^'i< 
 
 iJri 
 
■-P. 
 
 THE CRYProaHAlL 
 
 ''W 
 
 !e aadi- 
 
 (eneroDi heart, while her mind nndoretood this 
 much, and her judgment condemned this vile 
 traitor, the old habit of tendemen awalcened at 
 the Bight of the familiar face, once m dear, 
 pearly had iihe loved her, fondly had she trusted 
 her; both lovo and faith had been outraged, and 
 the friend had doomed to death the unsuspecting 
 friend ; yet now even this last wrong could not 
 destroy the old love, and her thoughto were less 
 of vengeance than of sad reproach, Iuvolun> 
 tarily a cry escaped her. 
 
 "Oh, Hilda I Hilda 1" she ex 
 voice of anguish, "how could vi 
 Zillah!" ' 
 
 To Hilda's excited and almost , 
 these words seemed like reproaci 
 the dead— the preliminaries to tUa« 
 whic|j the dead was about to piv>iiod., 
 flict. She trembled in dread aniScii 
 in a hoarse, unnatural voice, and in 
 tie words, gasped out, 
 
 " What do you want ?" 
 
 For a few momenu Zillah said not a word, 
 Uiongh those few moments seemed like hours to 
 Hilda. Then, with a sudden impulse, she ad- 
 vanced toward her. Her impulse was one of 
 pity and kindliness. She could not help seeing 
 the anguish of Hilda. ¥or a moment she forgot 
 all but this, and a vague desire to assure her of 
 forgiveness arose wjthin her. But that move- 
 ment of hers wa«J0rribte to Hilda. It was tfie 
 ^vance of the «)i%ath«l aveijger of blood, the 
 irresistible puhishe^f ,^rSiitfi |he»advent of 
 a frightful thkg^ ^rlKwe pf^fcfe^as horror, 
 whose approach was death. With a wild shriek 
 of mortal fear she flung up her arms, as if to 
 »hnt out that awful sight, or to avert that terrible 
 ate, and then, as though the last vestige of 
 Mrength hod left her utterly, she staggered back, 
 Md sank down, shuddering and gasping for 
 breath, into her chair, and sat there with her 
 eves fixed on Zillah, and expressing an intensity 
 of fear and apprehension which could not be 
 mistaken. Zillah saw it. She stopped in won- 
 der, and thus wondering, she stood regarding her 
 m silence. 
 
 But at this moment foototeps were heard, lind 
 Obed Chute entered, fqilowed b*Lord Chet- 
 wynde. 
 
 Obed had but one thbught Ht his mind, and 
 •kV "? *° ""•■*''«• '••■» mystery as soon as pos- 
 nble; for the presence of such an inexplicable 
 mystery as this made him feel uncomfortable and 
 hnmihated. Until this was e%>Liined in some 
 wy he knew that he would be able to find rest 
 neither by night nor by day. He was, thei^fore, 
 reiolved to press things forward, in hope* of get- 
 
 her whole fVaitae trembling, and aU her soul on 
 lire, aa it kindled with the fury of her passiunato 
 iqdignation. 
 
 "Z/er husband!" she exclaimed, with infinite 
 passion and unutterable contempt— " Aer hus- 
 band ! Say, Mr. Chute, do you know who it is 
 that you see before you? I will tell you. He- 
 hold, Sir, the woman who betrayed me ; the 
 false friend who sought my life, and, in return 
 for the love and corifidenco of years, tried to cast 
 me, her friend, to death. This, Sir, is the woj 
 man whom you have been so long seeking, her- 
 self— the paramour of that wretch, Gualtier— my 
 betrayer and my assassin— //i/rfa Kritk. " 
 These words were flung forth like lava-fire, 
 lorching and blighting in their hot and intenso^^' 
 ite. Her whole face and manner and tone hod 
 changed. From that gentle girl who, as A|fes 
 Lorton, had been never else than sweet andtwft 
 and tender and mournful, she was now trans- 
 formed to a wrathful and pitiless avenger, a bale- 
 ful fury, beautiful, yet terrific j one inspired by 
 love stronger than death, and jealousy as cruel 
 as ^he grave ; one who was now pitiless and re- 
 morseless ; one whose soul was animated by the/ 
 one feeling only of insUnt and implacable veng^ 
 ance. The fierceness of that inexorable wrath 
 glowed in her burning. .eyes, and in the rigid 
 .outstretched arm with which she pointed toward 
 Hilda. In this moment of her fervid passion her 
 Indian nature was all revealed in its hot, tem- 
 pestuons, unreasoning fury ; and the Zillah of 
 this sceBj^ was that June Zillah who, years be- 
 fore, had turned away from the bedside of her 
 dying father to utter those maledictions, those 
 taunts, and those bitter insulte, which Lord Chet- 
 wynde so well remembered. 
 
 Yet to Hilda at that instant these words, with 
 all their fury and inexorable hate, came like balm 
 and sweetne8S||^|^e gentle utterances of peace 
 and calm. wKHPsed her up at last from that 
 great and unetlffiHiae horror into which she had 
 fallen ; they brovght back her vanished strength ; 
 they restored her to herself. For they showed 
 her this one thing plainly, and this above all 
 things, that it was not the dead who stood thus be- 
 fore her, but the living ! Had her former suspense 
 been delayed a few moments- more she would 
 have died in her agony ; but now the horror had 
 vanished ; the one before her bore no longer the 
 terrors of the unseen, but becdtie an ordinary liv- 
 ing being. It was Zillah VerMt, not in death as 
 an apparition, but in life aaj,^man. She cared 
 nothing for the hate and tMe Vengeance, nothing 
 for the insult and the scorn. She cored nothing 
 for the mystery that enshrouded Zillah, nor was 
 it of any coilsequence to her then how she had 
 
 til.. .„™ 1 — -, — o — ."".«, ... iiupcB ui (50I.- II or any consequence 
 
 tag some clew at least to the labyrinth in whi^i been sav^sd. Enough was it that ZiUah was^nif 
 
 toward HUda, lo that he stood between her and 
 
 <<i"i.^°^i"*'*.**'^ abmptly, turning to Hilda, 
 t nave brought the man you wish to see. Here 
 te is before you, face t o face. , Xookjithim and 
 •*U«*''™; I«l»i*man your husband y" 
 
 These words stung Zilhih to the soul. In an 
 ™««nt all pity ond alt tenderness toward Hilda 
 jMwhed utterly. AU her baseness arose before 
 «», unredeemed by any further thought of for- 
 ^ove or of her nreeent misery. She sprang 
 "wwwd, her eye^ flashing, her hands clenched; 
 
 vigor of her strong soul returned. 
 
 But on the others the effect of Zillah's words 
 was overwhelming. Obed Chute started back in 
 amazement at this revelation, and looked won- 
 derint^y upon tWa woman, who had but Inte^ 
 been winning his sympathy as an injured wife; 
 and he maneled greatly how this delicate, this 
 beautiful and high-bred lady, could, by any pos- 
 sibility, be identified with that atrocious mon- 
 ster whose imMge had always existed in his mind 
 as the naturWibrniH Zillah's traitorous friend. 
 
 On Lord Chetv^de the eflfect of all tbia, 
 
 it- 
 
 ; f 
 
 ..«, .-*m- i'-M:',,' 
 
256 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 though equally great, was different. One look 
 at Hilda in her first consternation and horror, 
 and linother at Zillah in her burning passion, 
 'had been enough. As Zillah finished, he caught 
 her outstretched hand as it was pointing toward 
 Hilda, and there rushed through all his being a 
 rapture beyond words, as a dim perception of the 
 trutli came to his mind. 
 
 "Oh, my darling!" he cried, "soy it again. 
 Can this be possible ? Is she, then, an impostor ? 
 llav^, I, indeed,- been blinded and deceived all 
 this time by her?" 
 
 Zillah tore her hand away from his grasp. In 
 that moment of fury there ,fiime to her a thou- 
 sand jealous fears to distract her. The thought 
 that he nad been so°far deceived as to actually 
 believe this woman his wife was intolerable. 
 There was a wrothful cloud upon her brow as 
 she turned her eyes to look at him, and in those 
 eyes there was a glance, hard, stern, and cold, 
 such as might befit an outraged and injured wife. 
 Hut as she thus turned to look at him the glance 
 thiit met hers was one before which her fury sub- 
 sided. It was ti glance upon which she could 
 not look and cherish hate, or even coldness; 
 for she saw in his face a wild rapture, and in his 
 eyes a gleam of exultant joy, whilq the flushed 
 checks and the ecstatic smile show«d how deep- 
 ly and how truly he loved her. On that face 
 there was no cloud of shame, no trace of embar- 
 rassment, no sign of any consciousnessof acts 
 that might awaken her displeasure. There was 
 nothing there but that old tenderness which she 
 had once or twice seen on the face of Windham 
 — a tenderness which was all for her. And she 
 knew by that sign that Guy was Windham; and 
 being Windham, he was hers, and hers alone. 
 At this all her hardness, and all her anger, and all 
 the fury of her passion were dispelled as quickly 
 as they had arisen, and a greatcalm, full and deep, 
 came over all her being. He loved her 1 That 
 was enough. The fears which had tormented her 
 since Mrs. Hart's revelation, the fury which had 
 arisen but a few moments a^Mt the dai-k prompt- 
 ings of jealousy, weranow iRl dispelled, and she 
 saw in Lord Chetwynde her own Windham. 
 
 Quickly and 8wif(hi||g|iad these thoughts and 
 feelings come and gone; but in that moment, 
 when Zillah's attention was diverted to Lord 
 Chetwynde, Hilda gained more of her self-com- 
 mand. All was lost ; but still, even in her de- 
 spair, she found a fresh strength. Here all were 
 herWemies ; she was in their power and at their 
 mercy ; her very life was now at theiv disposal ; 
 they could wreak on her, if they chose, a full and 
 vengeance ; yet the thought of all this only 
 jthened her the more, for that which dee^ 
 ened her despair only intensified her hate. And 
 BO it was that at this last moment, when all was 
 lost, with he^^Bemies thns before her, the occa- 
 sion only serVwI to stimulate her. Her strength 
 tgf had returned ; H\e summoned up all her energies, 
 and stood grandly aMMv. She rose to her feet 
 and confronted the^ all— defiant, haughty, and 
 vindictive — and brought against them all the un- 
 QOiM(U8rabl0 pi'ido ~of-4u)r ftt^oiig and' ttnbbuiir 
 nature. '■*!/ 
 
 "Tell ml again," 4|| Obed Chute, "what 
 name was it that yon gave this woman ?" 
 
 "I am Zillah, dahghter of General Pomeroy, 
 and this woman is llilda iMnefi'," was the re- 
 
 ply. . ^ 
 
 enea h 
 
 "HHda— Hilda— Hilda Krieff! Hilda Krieff!" 
 said Obed Chute. " My good Lord !" 
 
 But Hilda did not notice' this, nor any thing 
 else. ■► 
 
 "Well," she said, in a cold and bitter tone, 
 "it seems that I've lost the game. Amen. Per- 
 haps it's just as well. And so you're alive, nficr 
 all, are you, Zillah, and not in the sea? Giinl- 
 tier, then, deceived me. That also is, after nil, 
 just as well." 
 
 " Wretched woman," said Lord Chetwynde, 
 solemnly, "Gualtier did not deceive you." Ho 
 did his work. It was I who saved her from 
 death. In any case, you have the stain of mur- 
 der on your soul." 
 
 " Perhaps I have, my lord," said Hilda, cool- 
 ly, "and .other stains also, nil of which make it 
 highly inilppropriate for me to be your wife. Yoa 
 will, however, have no objection to my congratu- 
 lating you on the charming being you have gain- 
 ed, and to whom you have addressed such very 
 (Mssionatc vows." 
 
 " This woman," said Lord CItetwynde, " hard- 
 ly deserves to be treated with ordinary civility. 
 At any rate, she is not fit for you," he added, in 
 a low voice, to Zillah ; " and you are too agitated 
 for further excitement. Shall I lead you awiiv?' 
 
 " Not yet," said Zillah, " till I have asked one 
 question. Hilda Krieff," she continued, "an- 
 swer me one thing, and answer me truly. What 
 was it that made you seek my death ? Will yon 
 answer ?" 
 
 " With pleasure, " said Hilda, mockingly. ' ' Be- 
 cause I hated vou." 
 
 " Hated me !" 
 
 "Yes, hated you always, intensely, bitterly, 
 passionately." 
 
 "And why ? What had I ever done? " 
 
 "Nothing. The reason of my hate was in 
 other things. I will tell you. Uecause I was 
 your father's daughter, and you supplanted me." 
 
 "You! Impossible!" 
 
 "I will telF^jrou. In my childhood he was 
 fund of me. I was taken to India at an early 
 age. After you were bom he forgot all about 
 me. Once I was playing, and he talked to me 
 with his old affection. I had a locket around 
 my neck withMliis name on it — '■Hilda Pome- 
 roy.' Ue happened to look at it, and rpad the 
 name. 'Ah,' said he, 'that 3 a better name 
 than Hilda Krieff. My child, I wish you could 
 wear that namb,^ I wanted him to tell me what 
 he meant, but he wouldn't. At another time he 
 spoke of you as being my 'little sister.' He 
 frequently called me daughter. At last I found 
 some old papers of my mother's, when I salt 
 that her name was HilRa Pomeroy, and then I 
 understood it all. She was his first wife, though 
 I believe now that they were not married. He, 
 of coursa deceived her, inA (ivugh she thought 
 she was Mb wife, yet her child could not take hU 
 name. I osked him this, but he refused to ex- 
 plain, and. warned mo never to mention the sub- 
 ject. This only showed me stiltfmore plainly 
 the miserable tmth. 
 
 ^' YwiTB pmwd. J ftHind myself driyeir wrt^ 
 from my father's affections. You were the world 
 to him. I, his eldest daughter, 'km nothing. 
 Y'ou were his hgiress. Good God ! woman, do 
 you think I coBid help hating one who calmly 
 appropriated every thing that ought to bo mine? 
 
 " ^ow you know about as moch as you need 
 
THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 lockingly. "Bc- 
 
 know. I began years ago to plan against von, 
 and kept it up with never-failing patience.' It 
 was tlie only pleasure I liad in life. I won't go 
 into particulars, I'll only say that nearly all 
 your troubles came through my management. 
 From time to time hereafter you will gradually 
 remember various things, and think with tender 
 regret upon your loving Hilda. 
 
 " At last things were all ripe, and I slipped 
 away. I got you out of the way also, and I ftank- 
 ly avgw that I never expected to have the pleas- 
 ure of seeing you again. I also hoped that Lord 
 Chetwynde would not come back from India. 
 But he came, and there is where I broke down. 
 That is all I have to say." 
 Hilda stopped, and looked defiantly at them. 
 'Young woman," said Obed Chute, in calm, 
 measured tones, " yon are very aggravating. It 
 is well that vou have generous people to deal 
 with. I don t know but that I ought to take 
 vou now and hand you over to the police, to be 
 lodged in the same cell with your friend Gual- 
 tier; but—" 
 '' Gnaltier !" groaned Hilda. " What ?" 
 " Yes, Gualtier. I caught him yesterday, and 
 handed him over to tha police." 
 
 Hilda looked around wildly, and with a deep- 
 er despair in her heart. 
 
 "You," Continued Obed, "are much worse 
 than he. In this business he was only your tool. 
 But you're a woman, and are, therefor«, sacred! 
 You are safe. It would be better, however, and 
 much more becoming in you, to refrain from 
 that aggravating way of speakin^which yon have 
 just used. But there is one question which I wish 
 to ask; and then our interview will terminate : 
 
 " You say you believe yourself to be the elder 
 daughter of General Poraeroy?" 
 "Yes." ^ 
 
 237 
 
 " Do yon know your mother's maiden name ?" 
 "Yes. Hilda Krieff> 
 " Did she ever tell you about her marriage?" 
 " I was too young when she died." 
 " Did you ever see any record of her mar- 
 nnge?" 
 "No." 
 
 " You know nothing definite about it, then ?" 
 No." • 
 
 "Well, then, allow me to inform you that you 
 are as much astray here as you were in rt«t oth- 
 er thing. This Hilda Kneff was the wife of 
 Pemberton Pomeroy— married after his »lope- 
 ment business. He took her name. You were 
 thdr daughter. I saw yon once or twice when 
 Tisiting him. You were then a baby. Neville 
 Pomeroy took charge of yonr mother and you 
 after yonr father's death. These are the facts of 
 the case." 
 
 "What is all tt(is?" cried Zillah, eagerly, as 
 •he heard these liames. " Do you know a'bout 
 
 Hilda had no more to say. The news about* 
 Gualtier, and the truth as to her parentage, jwe^ 
 fresh shocks, and already her strength began to" 
 giro way. Her spirit could not long be kept up 
 to that height of audacity to which she had raised 
 it. Beneath all was the blackness of her, de- 
 spair, in which WMjiot one ray of hope. 
 
 She rose in sih^e. Obed accompanied her 
 to her carriage, miicYi was yet Waiting tliere. 
 Soon the wheels rattled over the gravel, and 
 Hilda drove toward Florence. 
 
 Obed walked out and sauntered through the 
 grounds. There was a twinkle in his eve. He 
 walked on, and on, till he reached a place \p the 
 depths of the woods fiir away from the villa. 
 Then he gave utterance to his fceUnes 
 How? ^ 
 
 Did he clench his fists, curse Heaven, weep, 
 and rave? 
 Not he ; not Obed. 
 
 He burst forth into peals of stefitorian laueh^ 
 ter. 
 
 ' • Oh, dear ! " Ije screamed. "Oh, creation ! 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! Oh, Lord ! making love on ' 
 the sly I getting spooney! taking romantic walks! 
 reading poetry ! and all to bis own wife ! Oh, 
 ho, ho ! Ha, ha, ha, ha I And be stole off with 
 her at the masquerade, and made a 'passionate 
 declaration'— to his— good thunder!— his wife! 
 his own wife 1 Oh, Lord I oh. Lord ! I'll never 
 get over this!" 
 
 He certainly did not get over it for at least 
 two hours. 
 
 He had at last fully comprehended the whole 
 thmg. Now the true state of mind between the 
 qnondam Windham and Miss Lorton became evi- 
 dent. Now he began to suspect how desperately 
 they had been in love.' A thousand little incidents 
 occurred to his memoir, and each one brought 
 on a fresh explosion. Even his own proposal, to 
 Zillah was remembered. He wondered whether 
 Windham had proposed also, and been rejected. 
 This only was needed to his mind to complete the 
 joke. 
 
 For two hours the servants at the villa heard 
 singnkr noises in the ,wood8, and passers-by 
 heard with nwe the same mysterious sounds. It 
 was Obed enjoying the "joke." It was not until 
 quite late that he had fully exhausted it 
 
 This lady came here with some questions 
 
 about a cipher writing which she had nusunder- 
 
 Jtood^n J I explained it all. She thought the 
 
 -(jienMaliraa gntlty, feai I expbined that Be was 
 
 the best fellow that ever lived. It's too long to 
 
 .1?^* ^"^ «*P'*'n It *!• to yon to-morrow. " 
 
 Oh, thank God I" murmured Zillah. 
 
 ni. Jvil"* ' *"" couldn't have believed it ?" cried 
 Obed Chute. 
 
 ^"N«W' "«^«"'" wW Zillah; "though the 
 tried hard to make me." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 MDTUAL CNDERSTANDIKO. 
 
 Meakwhile Lord Chetwynde and Zillah were 
 left together. A few hours before they had been 
 sitting in this same room, alone, when Mrs. Hart 
 entered. Since then what wonders had taken 
 place! What an overturn to life! What an 
 opening into unlooked-for happiness! For a 
 few moments they stood looking at one another, 
 not yet able to realize the full weight of the hap. 
 piness that had c ome so sud dnnly. And «« tliev 
 looked, each could read In the mce of the otheT" 
 all the soul of each, which was made manifest, 
 and the full, unrestrained expression of the long- 
 ing which each had felt. 
 
 I»rd Chetwynde folded her in his arms. 
 
 "What is all this?" he said, in a low voice 
 " What can it mean ? I can not yet believe it ; 
 can you ? What, my darling, are w^ not to have 
 
 ■ f 
 
258 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 
 onr stolen inten-iewg any more? Have we no 
 longer oar great secret to keep ? Are yon really 
 mine ? I don't nnderstand, but I'm content to 
 hold you in pay arms. Oh, my wife ! " 
 
 Zillah murmured some inaudible protest, bat 
 her own bewilderment had not yet passed away. 
 In that moment the first thought was that her 
 own Windham was at last all her own in very 
 truth. 
 
 "And are you sure," she said at last, "that 
 you have got over your abhorrence of me ?" 
 
 Lord Chetwynde did not understand this ques- 
 tion, but considering it a joke, lie responded in 
 the customary manner. 
 
 " But what possible means could have induced 
 yon to leave Chetwynde Gastle at all ?" he asked ; 
 for, as he had not yet heard her story, he was all 
 in the dark. 
 
 " Because you wrote that hideous, that horri- 
 ble letter," said Zillah; and as the memory of 
 that letter came to her she made an effort to 
 draw away from his embrace. But the effort 
 was fruitless. 
 
 " Hideous letter ! What letter ?" 
 "The last one." < 
 
 " My darling, I don't know what yon mean." 
 "Don't you remember how you reviled 
 me?" 
 " I didn't; I don't understand." 
 "You called me a Hindu, and an imp." 
 , " Good Heavens I what do you mean ?" 
 
 " But you do not hate me now, do you ? Tell 
 me, and tell me truly, are you sure that your ab- 
 horrence has all passed away ?" 
 "Abhorrence!" 
 
 "Ah I you need not fear to confess it now. 
 You did abhor me, you know." 
 
 " On my honor, I do not know what yon are 
 talking about, my own darling. I never wrote 
 about ypn except with respect ; and that, too, in 
 spite of those awful, catting, sneering letters 
 which you wrote for years, and that last one, 
 written after ny father s death. " 
 
 " Heavens 1 what do you mean ?" cried Zillah, 
 aghast. "I lent letters to yon regularly, but I 
 never wrote any thing bnt affectionate words." 
 
 " Affectionate words ! I never received a let- 
 ter that was not a sneer or an insult. I came 
 home under an assumed name, thinking that I 
 would visit Chetwynde unknown, to see what 
 sort of a person this was who had treated me so. 
 I changed my intention, however, and went there 
 in my own name. I found tliat woman there — 
 an impostor. How was I to know that ? But I 
 hated linger from the outset." 
 
 "Ah," said Zillah, "ypu were then full of 
 memories of Inez Cameron.* 
 
 This thought had suddenly stung her, and, 
 forgetting the Windham of Marseilles, she flung 
 it out. 
 
 "Of what? Inez? What is that?" asked 
 Lord Chetwj'nde, in a puzzle. 
 " Inez Cameron." 
 
 " Inez Cameron I Who is Inez Cameron ?f 
 Inez Came ron," said Zillah, wondering— 
 
 "^that fair companion of so many evenings, about 
 whom yuu wrote in such impassioned language 
 —whose image you said was ever in your heart." 
 
 " In the name of Heaven," cried Lord Chet- 
 innde, "what is it that yon mean? Who is 
 she?" 
 
 "Captain Cameron's sister," soid Zillah. 
 
 "Captain Cameron's sister?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Captain Cameron has no sister. I never 
 saw any one named Inez Cameron. I never 
 mentioned such a name in any letter, and I nev- 
 er had any image in my heart except yours, my 
 darling." 
 
 " Why, what does it all mean ?" 
 
 " It means this," said Lord Chetwynde, '.' that 
 we have for years been the victims of some dark 
 plot, whose depths we have not yet even imag- 
 ined, and whose subtle workings' we have not yet, 
 begun to trace. Here we are, my darling, ask- 
 ing questions of one another whose meaning we 
 can not imagine, and making charges which nei- 
 ther of us nnderstand. Yon speak of some letter 
 which I wrote containing statements that I nev- 
 er thought of. You mention some Inez Cam- 
 'eron, a lady whom I never heatd of before. 
 You say also that you never wrote those lettera 
 which imbittered my life so much." 
 
 " Never, never. I never wrote any thing but 
 kindness." 
 
 " Then who wrote them ?" 
 
 "Oh!" cried Zillah, s&ddenly, as a light burst 
 on her; "I see it all! But is it possible ? Yes, 
 that must be it. And if you did not write that 
 lost letter, then she wrote it." 
 
 "Shef Who?" 
 
 " HUda." 
 
 Hereupon ensued a long explanation, the end 
 of which was that each began to understand 
 better the state of the case. And Lord Chet- 
 wynde exulted at finding that all the baseness 
 which he had imagined against his wife was the 
 work of another ; and Zillah felt ecstasy in the 
 thought that Lord Chetwynde had never loathed 
 her, and had never can-ied in his despairing heart 
 the image of that dreaded and hated phantom, 
 Inez Cameron. 
 
 " The fact is, I couldn't have written that let- 
 ter for another reason, little girl. I always made 
 allowances even for those letters which you did 
 not write, and until that last one came I always 
 laid great stress on my father's love for you, and 
 hoped some day to gain your love. " 
 
 " And that you would have done in the ordi- 
 nary way if we had met in Chetwynde Castle." 
 
 "Would I, indeed?" 
 
 " Yes," sighed Zillah ; " for I think I learned 
 to love yon from your letters to your father." 
 
 "Oh no! no, no," laughed Lord Chetwynde; 
 " for did yon not at once fall in love with that 
 Windhom?" 
 
 80 the time passed. 
 
 But amidst these mnrmnrs of affection, niid 
 these explaqations of vanished mysteries. Lord 
 Chetwynde caught himself looking to the post 
 few months at Florence. , 
 
 ' ' Ob, those intefrviews !" he murmured, " those 
 sweet, stolen interviews I " 
 
 "Why, Sir," said Zillah, "yon speak as though 
 you feel sorry for all this 1" 
 
 "No, my darling. My fond recollection of 
 thpun can not interfnrn wfth T "y j"y M t h" J*^,, 
 ent ; for the groat meaning of this present is tKat 
 while we live we shall never part again." 
 
 Lord Chetwynde did not go back to Florence 
 that night. There were a thousand things to 
 talk over. On the following day Obed explained 
 all about the cipher, and told iftany stories aboni 
 
 his early all 
 
 things too 
 
 wynde wai 
 
 pointment \ 
 
 mediate dc 
 
 insisted thi 
 
 be his gnes 
 
 To this 
 
 and enforce 
 
 would be tl 
 
 Sometimi 
 
 They had i 
 
 she was an 
 
 n thing whi 
 
 justice. Tl 
 
 the woman ' 
 
 seejned to ] 
 
 knew well, \ 
 
 ately Hilda 
 
 she was a W' 
 
 in distress. 
 
 thing go; I 
 
 going to the 
 
 On the se< 
 
 to his roomi 
 
 and grave. 
 
 to greet him, 
 
 "Wetalk( 
 
 "My darling 
 
 Zillah look 
 
 "She has I 
 
 "Dead!"( 
 
 "Yes, and 
 
 LordCbet^ 
 
 ing bis rooms 
 
 who informed 
 
 lady whom th 
 
 was found dea 
 
 knew the can 
 
 was much wo 
 
 so much shod 
 
 befitted one w 
 
 On qnestionin 
 
 her suspicions 
 
 We by the bed, 
 
 She knew her 
 
 her tongue. I 
 
 wynde, who n 
 
 nine. The nn 
 
 ted suicide. 
 
 him, which he 
 
 script, and cor 
 
 she had done, 1 
 
 declarations of 
 
 the whole, not 
 
 He knew thn 
 
 he did not kno 
 
 anguish that m 
 
 as she nerved 
 
 he could conje( 
 
 him how often 
 
 it had come. 
 
 "he had gone to 
 
 writing this moi 
 
 lo iil i nt i 
 
 ™ "iiii Ills nam 
 pfamation of thi 
 enidible. All m 
 vu buried in th 
 
IF 
 
 lusearljraBsociation with Neville Pomeroy. These 
 thmgs to«.k up all the next day. Sd ffi 
 wynde was in no huny now. His In^nn ai^ 
 
 mediate desire to go to his lodgings, and Obed 
 insisted that Lord and Lady Chet^^nde should 
 
 lo this Lord and Lady^lket*ynde agreed 
 and enforced a promise from Obed Chute Xt he 
 would be their guest in Chetwyude Casde 
 
 ThPvT-T"" 'J'"''" *'"'"«''»« *^e<l on Hilda 
 They had no desire to pnrune her. To Zi lab 
 she was an old friend; and her treason wm "of 
 a thing which could be punished in a com of 
 justice. To Lord Chetwynde she was, aCaU 
 the woman who had saved his life with Xt still 
 seejned to him like matchless devotion hJ 
 
 ately HUda loved him. To Obed Chuterfinallv 
 
 fn diZs* ""X; t"*^ "O^^niably 'a' woSil 
 m aistress. That was enough. «' Let thn nnnr 
 thing go ; I half wish that I^could save herXm 
 
 On the second day Lord Ch«»ynde drove in 
 to his rooms He ^turned lool^ng vZ 1 " 
 and grave. ZiUah who had gone oftiy li^^iy 
 to greet him, wondered at this "niiingiy 
 
 u^^/ *f "'^'^ ?J'^"' »P«"nK her." said he softlv 
 K' '"?"/"' ?" "beyond'our reach now^^ 
 ZiUah looked at him with fearful inqniiy 
 She has gone— she is dead 1" 
 
 T fut^ ^y ber own hand. " 
 
 THE CRyPTOGBAM. 
 
 259 
 
 lady whom the .^^cj;;. . p'^^^^d tTb": hM 
 was found dead in her bed b^WmaJd No ot 
 knew the cause The absence of her husband 
 was much wondered at. I^rd Chetwynde wm 
 
 ^fiTed o?e1^ ''"* Ws deportmenffld hZ 
 n„ „f.» ^ • '"' ^"' '^"^ » bereaved husband 
 On quesrionmg the maid he found that she had 
 
 W„ ."'^E"!!"^"' u^''" '"'d '"""d " vial on rte U^ 
 ble bv the bed, about which she had said noThinT 
 She knew her duty to a noble family and heki 
 her tongue. She gave the vial to £o?d Chet^ 
 wynde, who recognized the presence of stmh- 
 
 £, wh ctheS,rawr "iSL'/f "'^'^ *" 
 jcnpt. and comSeSTVu.l IZ^t 'XZl 
 
 rte whole, not to *rthii to 'it " "^"^ °" 
 
 He knew that «ht> had committed luicide but 
 
 he did not know, nor did anylivinK beinc thl 
 
 M She nened her heart for the act. All thi« 
 tL k"'** T^^""' f^"* ber letter, wh^h told 
 him how often she had meditated this At last 
 t had come. Leaving the vill. i„ her d^pli 
 
 
 nt^^he^preMiice of her Atucer; — 
 
 .„Hn ■ ^°e*'^nde had not gone into Flor- 
 
 SLSor'Th'i"'"*'* •>'*^ ^'^^«'' ^« 
 nl.W..i "'• "■"8; there was no bewiiaerin* ex- 
 S b™ Ifwf ''■,'" '?'«''' »■-<» "-"'"*'"- 
 
 Til. tali of HiU. j.v« . .Iiocklo tlm, „h» 
 
 wynae anu ^illah, she was taken tn hoi. >,„j 
 Prom that bed sh'e was d^t ned neve? to ^« 
 
 she'fl!T '*«""■,'? '*"'«'• »'>^'" tbe hourtha„ 
 she fled on a wild and desperate errand ^hn 
 
 er loTch'et^ '^> *° ^'°^"-' '---b a " 
 
 rsS£?5S5e:i?S;iS£^ 
 
 Ss?^Jy;nreT«n?h?mta 
 Chetwynde. For weeks she had kept up her 
 »earch, growing feebler every day and m»^ 
 day spending more and mow of h Jr' Uttle stor7 
 struggling vehemently against that mor^l S 
 r„?„n ''' .'•'"/"" •" »" ber fmme, and b^. 
 n^jPou""'*?"*'^*^*" ^"'idst despair. At l^t 
 
 S' shf h Yf 'Tl-''^^- «»•« £«1 seen "S 
 boy -she had found him with Ziilah. The dan 
 
 ^Ini^^' V^f^-^ «^«1 to her to Ce" 
 w^fu"). ' '^^ ''""'' "°' *"»^'- «"'! ber cup 
 A mighty revulsion of feeling took place from 
 the depths of despair to the heights of haVnf 
 ness. Her jjurpose was realized. 'ZrewSoI 
 thing more to live for. -mere was no- 
 
 falfa"!*!!"!',!^"?- ^u^ii ?'"To»8 *»" eained, the / 
 false^ngth which had sustained her so lone 
 ga e-^ay utterly. Her weary frame"l^8^t ImI ' 
 extended upon a bed from which she would no 
 Z^l '^rr'*"«'* '° 'i'* *■<»• the watch and the 
 TZf ^u^it ^8*'- "«' '"bor was over Now 
 came the Jtoction. Rapidly she yielded It 
 seemed ns though joy had kiU^ her. ^Notli. i 
 great purpose had given her a fictitious stren«h 
 
 Sstr^n';;2H!" *J'LP"'Tf'« ^-^ accomplished; 
 tne strengih^eparted, and a weakness set in com 
 mensum,;??ritl, the strongth^theT^i^s of' 
 approaching dissolution. weakness of 
 
 She herself knew that all was over. She would 
 not have it otherwise. She was ghid tha? U wS 
 so. It waa with her now a time "o chant nnunl 
 mTto^C'"*'"^'""'' I-'f" b«l nXg 
 Once again Ziilah stood at her bedside con- 
 stant and loved and loving. But there was o„e 
 whose presence inspired a deeper joy" fo^whom 
 their -ZfohT ^.'"hed-dying ey^' wUtful i" 
 their watch for him. How she had watched 
 
 stZl/^h •""', """"J*"-' ""'^ *bose eyes had 
 
 «« h„ /'IT'"'''** """"K'' tbe throngs of pasih 
 ers-hv at Flnmnnn i»l.;i^ j ■ x.JL^^^Vrr 
 
 of hope grew dimmer! Now they''wai'ted"foJ 
 ''1^7'"K. «nd his app«^h ne>W f^^Z 
 
 affSn !hW\'i"'f' ^ *•"• »™« "> 'bat fond 
 
 a^Wlirw:l"-2iirj-^ ^^ 
 
/ i 
 
 xs^ 
 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM., 
 
 Wf-SaTrrSWIW T9B BVBR HKARD ABOOT TOPR MOTMtB?!!L 
 
 On this Obed Chnte niied to look vi\th oyes 
 that iometimes glistened with manly tears. 
 
 Days pnRfied on, nnd Mrs. Hart grew weaker. 
 It WAS poRsible to count the hours that remained 
 for mortal life. A strange desolation arose in 
 
 Lord Chetwynde's heart os the prospect of her 
 end lowere<l tnifore him. 
 
 One dny Mrs. Hart was alone tvith him. Obed 
 Chntd' had called away 2illah for some pnrpoae 
 or other. Before doing so he had whispered 
 
 
 Mi 
 
 -.^■^ 
 
m 
 
 , THE C^PTOGRAM. 
 
 tomethfng to the dying woman. As they iS^ 
 the held out her hand to Lord Chet^ynde. 
 
 "Conjp here and sit nearer," she wailed 
 
 ftHrth—" nearer; take my hand, and listen." 
 
 f Lord Chetwynde did so. He sat in a chair 
 
 by the bedside, and Iield her hand. Mrs. Hart 
 
 . lay for a moment looking at him with an earnest 
 
 and mexplicable gaze. 
 
 " Oh!" she moaned, "my boy— my little Guv! 
 cnn you'liear what I am going to say? Bear 
 It! Be merciful! I am dviijg now. I must 
 fell it before I go. You will .be merciful, will 
 von not, my boy ?" , 
 
 "Do ijot talk so," faltered Lord Cfietwynde, 
 in deep etnofion. 
 
 "Oh, my boy!" said Mrs. Hart, "do you 
 know— have you ever heard any thing about— 
 your — your mother ?" 
 "."JlymotherT - 
 "Yes." 
 ■ "No; nothing except that she died when I 
 wa.1 an infant." 
 
 "Oh, my boy! she did not die, though death 
 would have, been ^ blessing." 
 A' thrill passed through Lord Chetwynde. 
 "Norse! nurse!" he cried— "my dear old 
 nurse, what is it that you mean ? My mother ? 
 She did not die? Is she alive? Intlienameof 
 God, tell me all!" 
 
 "My boy !" said Mrs. Hart, grasping the hand 
 that held hers convulsively — "mv boy ! can you 
 bear it?" • j j 
 
 "Where is my mother?" asked Lord Chet- 
 wynde. 
 
 Mrs. Hart struggled up. For a moment 
 she leaned on her elbow. In her eves there 
 lleamed the light of undying love— love deep, 
 Teaming, unfathomable — love stronger than 
 life. It was but a faijit whisper that escaped 
 her wan, white lips, but that whisper pierced 
 to the 80i|il of the listener, and rang through all 
 nu being with echoes that floated down through 
 the years. ^,"„„ 
 
 And thw whisper nttw^d th«5|»wjrds : 
 
 " Oh, tin/ ton ! I—I-Aim youVmother !" 
 
 A low moan burst from Lord Chelwj-nde. 
 He caught her dying form in his nnrts, ««id a 
 thousand words of love burst from him', as though 
 by that embrace and by those words of love/ 
 would drag her back from her jmmortalim 
 And- then, at last, in that fembra«r and in the 
 
 ' . 261 
 
 hearing of those words of love, there were some 
 tew moments of happiness for one who had sinned 
 and suffered so much ; and as she lay back her 
 face was overspread ^fith an expre^dn of unut- 
 terable peace. 
 
 When Zillah returned she saw Lord Chet- 
 wynde bowed down, with his arms cjosping the 
 form of Mrs. Hart. The smile was still on her 
 face, but It ivas onljf the form of that one who, 
 had suffered ami loved so much which now lav 
 there; for she herself hud departed from earth 
 forever, and found a pkce ''where the wearv 
 are at rest." ► •' 
 
 Long afterward Zillah leam^ore about the 
 past history of that woman whom she had known 
 and loved as Mrs. Hart. It was Obed Chute 
 who told her this, on one of his frequent visits to 
 Chetwynde Castle, He himself had heard it 
 from the foilner Lady Chetwynde, at the time 
 when she was in New York, aqd before she 
 joined the Sisters of Charitv. 
 
 Neville Pomeroy had known her well as a boy 
 aiid they had carried on an unmeaning flirtation, 
 which might hove developed into something more 
 senous had it not been prevented by her mother 
 who >vas on the look-out for something higher. 
 Lord Chetwynde met her ambitious views, and 
 though he was poor, yet his title and brilliant 
 prospects dazzled the ambitions mother. ^ The 
 daughter married him without loving him, in the 
 expectation of a lofty position. When this was 
 lost by Lord Chetwyndes resignation of his posi- 
 tion she could not forgive him. S^e Indulged 
 in foll^ which ended in sin, until she was weak 
 and wicked enough to desert the man whom she 
 had sworn to love. When it was too late she 
 had repented. NeviUe Pomeroy and Obed 
 Chute had saved her from ruin. The remainder 
 of her life was evident. She had left the Sisters 
 of Chanty, from some yeakOk after her child, 
 and had^succeeded in gdMH. employment in 
 r Chetwynde Castle. Such'V^nges had been *- 
 wrought in her by her sufferings that the Earl ! 
 never recognized her; and so she had lived i 
 solacing herself with her child. \ 
 
 The knowledge of her history, which was after- 1 
 ward coinmunicated to heWB, did not interferi' 
 ^itlv his filial affection. HeFremains now lie in 
 the vaults of Chetwsmde Castle beside those of 
 the Lnrl. 
 
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 "THi: DODCli CLUB. 
 
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T^':*xsr 
 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 
 ■♦: 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE DODGE CLUB." 
 
 ''#x 
 
 IV/m ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 % 
 
 IWfcSfc 
 
 
 ^•: 
 
 ^4- -a 
 
 ^ 
 
 NEW YORK: I 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKEIN SQUARE. t , 
 

 i 
 
 -S 
 
 
 ' Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year i860, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 
 District of New York. 
 
 On the moi 
 Newt announ* 
 at Sydney, Ne 
 bavigatiun htu 
 Tent uf this sh 
 the usual exc 
 the post- office 
 moil; and littl 
 busilv discusHi 
 hitd been gath 
 by the offlcerg 
 
 At the lowe; 
 warehouse, wit 
 ty, over wliich 
 with newly-gjl( 
 
 f 
 
 -f«TB hrartlie to 
 contour of feat 
 brow, broad an 
 those grand sha 
 love to glorify tl 
 this he had tliot 
 twance whicb 
 
 ^jjuii. 
 
 fVij 
 
^\ 
 
 CORD AND GREESE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE LETTER FROM BEYOND THE 8KA. ' 
 
 0» the morning of July 21, 184«, the Daily 
 Newi announced the arrival of the ship Rival 
 at Sydney, New South Wales. As ocean steam 
 havigation had not yet extended so far, tlie ad- 
 vent of this ship with the Kn^h mail' created 
 the usual excitement. An ^f^ crowd lieset 
 the post - office, waiting for tire delivei-y of the 
 mail ; and little knots at the syeet corners wei-e 
 busily discussing the latest hints at news which 
 hiid been gathered from papers brought ashore 
 by the officers or ]>a88engers. 
 
 At the lower end of King Street was a large 
 warehouse, with an office at the upi)er extremi- 
 ty, over which was a new sign, which showed 
 with newly-gilded letters the words : 
 
 COMPTON &> BRANDON. 
 
 The general appearance of the warehouse 
 showed that Messrs. Cbmpton and Brandon 
 were probably commission merchants, general 
 agents, or something of that sort. 
 
 On the morning mentioned two men were in 
 the inner office of this warehouse. One was an 
 elderly gentleman, with a kind, benevolent as- 
 pect, the senior paf tner of the firm. 'Jhe other 
 was the junior partner, and in every respect pre- 
 sented a marked contrast to his companion. 
 
 He had a face of rather unusual appearance, 
 •Bd an air which ip England is usually consid- 
 ered foreign. His features were regular — a 
 straight nose, wide brow, thin lips, and square, 
 massive chin. His coraplexioaj»rM olive, and 
 bis eyes were of a dark hazej^o^vith a pe- 
 cuharity about them whiclj)/* ndt uitiully seen 
 in the eye of the Teutonicl/bt Celtui^ace, but is 
 sMnJtimes found among the \m^ of the south 
 of Europe, or in the East. It is diffi);ait to find 
 « name for this peculiarity. It may-be seen 
 •ometimes in the gipsy; sometimes in the more 
 incwssful among those who call themselves 
 ^intual mediums," or among the more pow- 
 Wul Aesmerizers. Such an eye belong^ to 
 *^' ", ^n«P»rte, whose glance at times 
 conid iiaake the boldest and greatest among his 
 marshris quaij. What is it? Magnetism? Or 
 the Kvelation of the soul ? Or what ? 
 
 ^° *!''" man t here were other things which 
 ive himlBBTonlr nrtfio ™i5«7^wiS;5I^ JFJn 
 
 gave himlBe Took ofthe great Napoleon. The 
 contour of feature was the same ; and on his 
 Brow, broad and massive, there might be seen 
 tnose grand shadows with which French artists 
 nye to glorify the Emperor.' Yet in addition to 
 tins Be had that same serene imn^taityA coun- 
 , tenance which characterieed ^Pthe!^ which 
 
 could serve as an impenetrable mask t6 hide 
 even the intensest passion. 
 
 'J'hero was also about this man a certain aris- 
 tocratic air and grace of attitude, or of manner, 
 which seemed to sh<iw lofty birth and gentle 
 breeding, the mysterio&s index to good blood or 
 high training. How such a roan could have 
 happened to fill the position of junior partner in 
 a commission buHiness was certainly a problem 
 not easily solved. There lie was, however, a 
 man in appearance out of place, yet in reality 
 able tc fill that place with success ; a man, in 
 fact, whoM resolute will enabled him to enforce 
 success in any calling of life to which either out- 
 side circumstances or his own personal desires 
 might inWte him. '' 
 
 " The mail ought to be open by this time, "said 
 Brandon, indi^'ercntly, looking at his watch. ' ' I 
 am somewhat curious to see how thing.s are look- 
 ing., I noticed quotations of wool rather higher 
 than by last mail If the papers are correct which 
 I saw then w6 ought to do very well by that \aisX 
 cargo." 
 ' Mr. Compton smiled. 
 
 " Well* Brandon, " said he, " if it is so it will 
 «howthat you are right. You anticijiated a rise 
 about; this tirtie, you know. You certainly have 
 a remarkable forecast about the chances of busi- 
 ness." 
 
 "I doh't think there is much forecast," said 
 Brandon, with a smile, "it was only the most 
 prdinaiy calculation made from the well-known 
 fact thot the exportation this year had been 
 slight. But there come* Iledley now. " he con- 
 tinued, moving his head a little to one side so as . 
 to look uplthe street "TJie letters will soon 
 show us all." 
 
 Mr, Compton looked out in the direction which 
 Brandon indicated and saw the clerk approach- 
 ing. He then settled himself back in his chair, 
 put his hands in his pockets, threw one leg over 
 the other, and began whistling a tune with the 
 air of a man who was so entirely prosperous ^d 
 contented that no news whether good or evil 
 could greatly affect his fortnties. ^ 
 
 In a short time the clerk entered the inner 
 office, and, lajing the letters down upon the table 
 nearest Mr.-Compton, he withdrew. 
 
 3fr. Compton took np the letters one by one 
 And re«d-Ae ^iddreaaes; wJater Brandon lookwh^ 
 
 carelesslv on. There were ten or twelve of them, 
 all of which, except one, were addressed to the 
 firm. This one Mr. Compton selected from 
 among the others, and reaching it out in hia 
 hand said : 
 
 • ' This is for you, Mr. Brandon. " 
 
 "For me?" repeated Brandon, with marked 
 
 
10 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 :sc;iS.:S":^^'" '^ """^^ "' "-^ ' ^^j^r^^y -- •^"0-. i *.- to 
 
 address with eager curiosity. 
 
 The address was simply 'as follows: 
 
 ■ <d^}</ney. G^^ ^tiU/t ^/fu/e^. 
 The letters were irregular and loosely formed, 
 
 - ■ J ■' ~ J — •" »""", » luillTO 
 
 you after a sdepce of years, and my first word is 
 to implore your forgiveness. I know my noble 
 boy that you grant it, and it is enough for me to 
 fwk It. After asking this I can die content on 
 tliat score. ,.,. 
 
 " Lying as I do now at the point of death I 
 find myself at. last freed from the follies a'ml 
 
 ---- ... . ..,v-t,„>„. ,„,„ ■^^ocij' luimcu, uuu myseii at. last ireeU from the fiillip<i o„ i 
 
 as though written by a tremulous hand -such prejudices which have been my ruin tKJ 
 
 be ome" ehxcd'" *"™ "''" "'' """'" have , roll away f,.m njy nynd, ahd'l percei '"^t ' 
 
 oecome leiuxea. ,„,id ^^1 i i,ave been roe years. Most of nil r 
 
 Mr. ( ompton went on opening the letters of see the madness that instigated me to turn .L" L 
 
 the hrm without takmg any further notice of his you, and to put against the Wrio^^eTtl e » 
 
 partner. 1 he latter sat for some time looking at of sons my own miserableVrWe and the acct 
 
 f?!.''^^'5.^V"'"."' ventunng to open it, He held tion of a lying scoundrel. May God IrnveLX" 
 
 it in both hands, and looked fixedly at that ad- 
 dress as though from the address itself he was 
 ' drying to extort some meaning. 
 
 He held it thus in both hands looking fixeclly 
 at it, with his head bent forward. Had ]VIr. 
 Comi)ton thought of taking a look at his usually 
 impassive conipanion, he wouJd liave bean sur- 
 prised at the diifljge which had taken place in 
 him at the mere sight of that tremulous hand- 
 writing. For in that ho had read grief, misfor- 
 tune, perhaps death ; and as he sat there, paus- 
 ing before he dared to break the seal, the con- 
 tents of the letter had already Ibeen conjec- 
 tured. •" 
 Gloom therefore unutterable gathered upon 
 
 upon me for this ! 
 
 " I have not much strength,. dear boy ; I have 
 to wn«e,|t intervals, and Lt stealth, so as not fe 
 be ^iscofered, for I am closeJy watched. " lU 
 must never know that 1 have sent this to you' 
 Frank and your <nother are bo«h w»k, and my 
 only help is your sister, my sweet Edith, sU'" 
 watches me, and, enables me to- write this ia 
 safety. 
 
 "I n*ttst tell you aU*without reserve before 
 strength leaves me forever. 
 
 "That man I'otts, whom you so justly hated 
 was and is the caij^ of all my sufl^ritig a«dof 
 yours. You used fBK.jvonder how such a man as 
 that, a low, vulgar knave, could gain such an iii- 
 
 J,i«f„<.o 1,/f . .....™-w.„ 6„...c,cu upuu iiiai, a low, vulgar knave, coud gain sui 
 
 lus face ; his futures fixed themselves into such ; fluence over me and swa^ me a/he did -l will 
 rigidity of grief that they became more express- try to explain ^- . 
 
 ive than if they had been distorted by jmssionate " I'erhaps vou remember snmPtlnnT „l,«., .», -k ' 
 ^motions; and overhis brow collecteic?loud u,K,n \ lamentablJS T^Tx S^SK^ 
 cloud, which deepened and darkened every in- pard. The first that 1 ever h™ r/l nf ,^ ■ 
 
 stant till they overshadowed all; and his' face Ltts wa in hscoLeron with tt^ 
 L^:!r:!lr.'>!:i«.f.H"-l--"''''^<' nothing so Nvhom he acted parkas varefaSlT"^' 
 
 much as that which the artist gives to NajHjleon 
 at the crisis hour of .Waterloo, when the Guard 
 
 has recoiled from its last charge, and from that 
 Imperial face in its fixed agony tRTsoul itself 
 
 ' ,^ .seems to cry, " Lost ! " " Lo"it . 
 
 Yet it was only for a few minutes. Hastily 
 
 subduing his feeling Brandon rose, and clutch- 
 
 \. ing the letter in \is hand as though it were t(X) 
 
 , » precious to l)e trusted to his jiocket, he quietly 
 
 ,,Jt left the office and the warehouse and walked up 
 
 the street. 
 
 He walked on rapidly until he reached a large 
 building whicHforo the sign "Australian Hotel." 
 Here he enterrtl, and walked up stairs to a room, 
 and locked himself in. Then when alone in his 
 own apartments he ventured to open the letter. 
 
 The paper was poor and mean ; the handwrit- 
 ing, like that of the address, was tremmlous, and 
 W many places quite illegible ; tlie ink wift pale ; 
 . .J. ^^ whole appeiiraiice of the lettgi' seemed to 
 indicat*) poverty and weakness on the part of the ' 
 writer. J, IJy a very n^iral imi)ulsc Brandon 
 hesitated before beginning to read, and took in 
 »U these things with a quick glance. • ' 
 
 At jast li» nerved himself to the task and be- 
 gan to rc/ad. . 
 This Vvas the letter. • • 
 
 " Bbawoow, Mairth 10. 1846.' 
 
 business agent. Just before Despard ieftto 
 on his fatal voyage he wrote to me about'' 
 lift'airs, and stated,. in conclusion, that this «Lit 
 Potts was going to England, that he »'as, sorry 
 
 Jp-I to lose him, hut recommended him very caniest- 
 
 '■■" )y to me. 
 
 "You recollect that Colonel Despard wiis 
 murdered on this voyage under very mysterious 
 circumstances on shipboard. His MolayWrant 
 Uracao was convicted and exe(?uted. I'utts dis- 
 tinguished himself by his 'zeal in avengiug his 
 master's death. .• , 
 
 "About a year after thin'otts himself came 
 to England and visited me. Ho ^as, as you 
 know, a rough, vulgar n*an ; but his connection 
 with my n>urdored friend, and the warm recom- 
 mendations of Ihat friend, made me receive him^ 
 with the greatest • knidness. Besides, he hiid 
 
 V 
 
 many things to tell me about my Jioor friend, and 
 brought the newn)apers both from Manilla and 
 Calcutta which contained accounts of the trial 
 " It was this man's desire to settle liini«|lf 
 somewhere, and I gave him letters to diH'ertnr 
 people. , He ^en went off, and I diAnot ste 
 hiiiLforiwo yejihi.* At the end of'thattipie Ii« . 
 retilThed with iAiwing accounts of a tin nilno 
 which lie*jw'Jrorking in Cornwall. He had 
 bought itVli^ Ipw pr ice, and the retu nis from 
 
 and was /s^Rhgthe stock. Ho came first 10 me 
 
 to let me lak-e what I Wished, I carel&sly took 
 
 worth. 
 
 , . ■» * i.v^.^v. «*!<; iiiu jnai. worus 
 
 Which ymi will eter hear from your father. I iim 
 dying, my dear feoy, and dying'of a broken heart ; 
 but whtre I am dy|ng I am afraid to tell you. 
 That bitterness I leave for ;^)ii to find oiu some 
 day foryou^If. In ,)overty unsp,.aka.blc, in an^ I moiis^ being"niirl^°^«/p;;:conr"rXM. 
 
 five Jhousatid iMjiindaf w 
 
 On th^ ftiUowing yenrlhe dividend wasj^or- 
 
Ut resen-« before 
 
 "Bmra shk w^„h« h./..^ ..^, ,„ ,„„, ,„.^ ,^ ^^^^^^ ,. 
 
 ,a,glow4ng account of the mine .'nteS rae 
 '«««Jy. Another year the' dividend ^sTShT 
 jnd^^aasured me that he expee,«l to paJ'Sn^' 
 
 fi.ll'^'""*"'^.'^"' **« demowof avari6« took 
 
 nill ptBspgsion llf mo. Vision. «»-™!ll- 
 
 to me, and I dete,^l„elr l^o^e 'hrri'?*^ 
 »anin.hekiMom. AfW STHt^aX?^ 
 "njg I had mto money to invest in the mine T^ 
 raised enormous suin, on rtv lan<l«H «.„,. , 
 put allAat I was worfh »„X '*"^«l^'nte, and 
 
 ?.??^ '?»""?» rae. I WVfced frommhftn, ;SS 
 
 ^fiTJI'^i'^*"''^'?"' """' ''"« '■«* 'oo^tflf yonre. 
 with all ,te reproach, is haunting my dySfe C™ 
 
 the'SiHty^'r^fV^hT.rth^'^ 
 
 thing, rhe stock wiffWonijJdesg. ThelfclUnd 
 "I had nn frianA «„ i..i_ 
 
 t 
 
 ^^ to Ilstenl; the en^eatn^S 
 •> SS'.r .."r*^ ev«n against you. I^'^[ 
 
 Kve rd ^ ^*'" y^-* the latter W- 
 ^ wn^ve ud became^ 5l«<!««^ My noble 
 
 tb£-r=:i^sr«t^^ 
 
 Mi'A^.i'?'^ '«?'^'* ^ '•"^ "''"""ted «nik- 
 
 JIU' AU.tlus came upon me during ^^Ij 
 
 wJ.'"'^",' ta'«^k this, my spn. This man Potft 
 w« „„, nmie* ife .eemed to;have gmU^^ 
 
 
 Miste^ that h^niMbi to Ag^T^ilS'u^jS:; 
 BcoUnarel lauded f^n^ ft™ ."^^** 
 
 fi,-. ■""'! "'"' ""^ ««ate8 weresoljiiWnn- 
 fo^nutely, though tl.eyhave been fHOI ° 
 ily toJS ages, they wero not entailed. A ^ling 
 of honor ,vas the cause of this neglect, ^f 
 were sold, and *• purchaser waalhi! yian Pottt 
 
 KdToS^.qfen'aLf''' ""> --' »^ 
 
 fi.'/ 
 
 «) 
 
 .^ 
 
 
 r0'\^ 
 
dORD AND CREESE. 
 
 '1 , 
 ■ 
 
 I' 
 
 /friend, therefore he 
 lev life, and punished 
 man the ruin of U8 
 
 "Now, since my eyes have been opened, I 
 have had many thoughts: and among all that 
 occurs to me none is more prominent than the 
 mysterious murder of my friend. This man 
 Potts was with him at the time. He was chief 
 ' witness against the Malay. The counsel for the 
 defense bore down hard on him, but he man- 
 ned to escape, and Uracao was executed. Yet 
 this much is evident, that Potts was largely ben- 
 clited by the deaths of Despard. He could not 
 have ma4e all his nfoney by his own savings. I 
 believe that the man who wronged me so foully 
 was fully cap4>le of murder. So strong is this 
 conviction now that I sometimes have a super- 
 stitious feeling that becaus^ I neglected all in 
 quiry into the death of m 
 has visited me from that ot 
 me, by making the same 
 both. 
 
 "The mine, I now brieve, was n colossal 
 sham ; and all the nione* that I invested in 
 stocks went directly to Pofts- Good God ! what 
 madness was mine ! 
 
 "O my boy! . Your njOther and yopr brother 
 are lying here sick ; youdsister attends on us all. 
 though little more thanfa child. iSpon I must 
 leave them ; and for those who are destined to 
 live there is a future whiph 1 shudder to contem- 
 plate. Come home at once. ( lome home, what- 
 ever yon are doing. Leave ail liusiness, and all 
 prospects, and come and save them. That much 
 you can do. Come, if it is only to take them 
 back with you to that new.Jand where you live, 
 when» they may forget their anguiifh. 
 
 "Come home, my son, and take vengeance. 
 This, perhaps, yoU can not do, but you at least 
 can try. IJy theOime that you read tbe.se words 
 they will be my wica from the grave ; and thus 
 I invoke you, and call you to take venge- 
 ance. 
 
 "But at least come and save your mother, 
 your brother, and your sister. 'I'he danger is 
 imminent. Not a friend is left. They all hold 
 aloof, indignant nt me. Thi^ miscreant has his 
 own pliMis with regard to them, I doubt not ; and 
 he will disperse them or send them off to starve 
 in some foreign Inrtd. Come and save them. 
 
 " But 1 warn you to l)e carefal about yourself 
 for their sakes. For this villain is powerful now, 
 and hates yoa worse than any bmly. His arm 
 hlay reach even to the )inti(K)des to strike you 
 there. Be on your guard. Watch every one. 
 For once, from wordS'Wbich fell from hini liasti- 
 
 t 
 
 ly, I gathered that he had some dy rk plan against 
 you. TVust no one. Rely on yourself, and may 
 God help you ! 
 
 "Poor boy! I have no estate to leave you 
 now, and what I do send to you may seem to you 
 like a mockery. Yet do not despise it Who 
 knows what may be -possible in these days of 
 science ? Why may it not be possible to forte 
 the sea to give up-its prey? 
 
 "1 send it, at any rate for I have nothing 
 else to send. You know that it has been in our 
 fiimily for centuries, and have heard how stout 
 old Peter Leggit, with' nine sailors, escaped by 
 night through the Spanish iieet, and what Offer- 
 ing they endured before they feachcd England. 
 He brought this, and it has been preserved ever 
 since. A legend has grown up, as a matter of 
 course, that the treasure will be recovered one 
 day when the family is at its last extremity. It 
 may not be impossible. The writer intended 
 that something should come of it. 
 
 " If in that other world to which I am going 
 the disembodifld spirit can assist man, then he 
 sure, () my son, 1 will assist you, and in the 
 crisis of your fate I Will be near, if it is only to 
 communicate to your spirit what you ought;,to do. 
 
 "God bless you, dear l)oy,'and farewell. 
 " Yotir aii'eetiomite father, 
 
 "Rali'h Brandon." 
 
 This letter was e^^dently written by fragment- 
 ary |)ortions, as though 'it had been doTie at in- 
 ter^als. I^lome parts were written leisuieJA- — 
 others apparently iri haste. The first half nud 
 been written evidently with the greatesf case. 
 liie writing of the last half* showed weakness ami 
 tremuh)Msne8S of hand ; many words wouW ha\e 
 been quite illegible to one not familiar with the 
 handwriting of ^lie old man. Sometimes the 
 word was written two or three times, and there 
 were numerous blots and unmeaning lines. It 
 grew more and more illegible toward the close. 
 Kvidently it was the wOlfk of on» who was but ill 
 able to exert even sufficient strength to hold a 
 pen in his trembling hand. 
 
 Ill this letter there was folded a large piece of 
 coarse paper, evidently a blank leaf torn from n 
 book, brown with age, which was worn at the 
 folds, and prote<'tetl there by ])ieces of cotton 
 which had been pa.>:ted upon it. The paper was 
 covered with writing, in ink that was much faded, 
 th<aigh stitl quite legible. 
 
 Opening this Brandon read the following : 
 
 ... ir-^: 
 
CoSd and CREfiSE. 
 
 18 
 
 
 
 4^^* 
 
 %Ad^ { ** 
 
 .//J 
 
 large piece of 
 if torn from tt 
 s worn at the 
 ices of cotton 
 rhe paper was 
 18 much tiided, 
 
 i 1 vid. 
 
 f Ol^ 
 
 :. pfl^ 
 
 •^^^^^rfHj 
 
 * 1 ' . 
 
-W"' 
 
 U 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 CH4PTER II. 
 
 ,^ ALIFETRAOBDT. *. 
 
 Not a word or a gesture escaped' Brandon 
 diuring the pemsal, but after he had' finished 
 he read the whole .through twice, then laying it 
 down, he paced up and down the room. His 
 olive skin had become of a sickly tawny hue, 
 his eyes glowed with intense TVis'tre, and his 
 brow was covered with those gloomy Napoleonic 
 clouds, but not a nerve was shaken by the shock 
 of this dread intelligence. 
 
 Evening came and night ; an^'the night passed, ' 
 and morning-came, but it found him still there 
 pacing the room. 
 
 Eiarlier than usual next morning he was at the 
 
 office, and waited for some time before the senior 
 
 partner made his appearance. ' When he came 
 
 , in it was with|r«raile on his face, and a general 
 
 air of congraflfflition to all the workl. 
 
 "Well, Brandon," said he, cordially, "that 
 last shipment has turned out finely. More than 
 a thousand pounds. And it's all your doing. I 
 objected, but you were right. Let me congratu- 
 lateyou." 
 
 Something in Brandon's face seemed to sur- 
 .prise the old gentleman, and he paused fqr a mo- 
 ment. " Why what's the ihatter, my boy ?" he 
 said, in a paternal voice. " You have not heard 
 any bad news, I ho[)e, in that letter — I; hope it's 
 ■othing serious ?" > 
 
 Brandon gave a faint smile. ' : 
 
 "Serious enough," said Be, looking away]»ith 
 an abstracted gaze, "to pvt a, sudden end to my 
 Aostralian career." 
 
 "Oh no — oh no4J''*a3d the other, earnestly; 
 " not so bad as that " ' *. ■»" 
 
 " I must go home ai once. " 
 
 ♦'Oh well, that may be, but yon will be back 
 again. Take a leavaof absence for five years if 
 yon wish, mM«d«in!|>!jDWt for good. I'll do the 
 business and won't complain^ my boy. > I'll keep 
 joor place comfortable for you till your return. ' 
 
 Brandon's stem face softened as he looked at 
 the ^d man, whose features were filled with the 
 kindest expression, and whose tone showed the 
 afiectionate interest which he felt. 
 
 "Your kindness to me, Mr. Compton," said 
 he, vary slowly, and with deep feeling, "has 
 been beyond all words. Ever since I first came 
 to this country ypu have been the truest and the 
 best of friends. I hope you know me well enough 
 to believe that I can never forget it. But now 
 all this i^t an end, and all the bright prospects 
 that I had here must give way to the coil of th« 
 sternest duty. In that letter which I received 
 last night (l)ere came a sunuA'ons home which i 
 can not neglect, and my whole Ufe hereafter 
 jnnst be directed toward the fulfillment of that 
 . . gammons. From -mid-day yesterday until dawn 
 , this morning I pocbd my roo^ incessantly, Uy- 
 ing out liiy plans for the Aiture thus suddenly, 
 {hntst ii(k)n me, "and thotigh I, have not been 
 atHe to''decide lippn any thkig deflnite, yet I see 
 
 i i ^ itly that ntWhitig hw* -WMtB-ft-liffr wtft: wwMfr 
 mo tb accomiillsh mv dnty. The first thing- for 
 me to do U U> acquaint y»u with itfts mjatajii!^ 
 'ap a\f pnVt hi the<J)U8ine»B.'', • " ' 
 
 'J-VMr. ComptoO, placed his eltiow oij dta taijile 
 •lMar ^hich he had «enl«d hunself, feai\|l| At head 
 ^>on his^ian*); on<) lookw at the Aoor. .From 
 / Brandon's tone^e perceived that. (IHb resolutic^ 
 
 was irrevocable. The deep dejection which he 
 felt could not be concealed. He was silept for a 
 long time. 
 
 " God knows," said he, at last, "that I would 
 rather have failed in business than that this should 
 have happened. " 
 - Brandon looked away and said* nothing. ' 
 
 "It comes upon me so' suddenly," he contin- 
 ued. "I do not know what to think. And 
 how, can I manage these vast affairs without yo\if 
 assistance ? For you were the one who did our 
 business. I know that welL I had no head fur 
 
 it." " ; ;. :. 
 
 "¥on can reduce it to smaller proportions," 
 said Branaon; " that can easily be done." 
 
 The old man sighed. 
 
 " After all," he continued, <* it is not the busi- 
 ness, U's losing you that I tVink of, dear boy. 
 I'm not thinking of the business at' all. My 
 grief is altogether about your departure. I 
 grieve, too, at the blow which must have fallen 
 on yon to make this necessary. " 
 
 "The blow is a heavy one," said Brandon; 
 "-gfr heawy that every thing else in life must !)« 
 forgotten except''the one thought — how to re- 
 coVar from it ; and perhaps, also," he added, in 
 a l6wer"voice, "how to return it." 
 
 Sir. Comjjton wa*- silent for a long time, and 
 with every minute the deep dejection of his f^e 
 and manner increased.- He folded his anns and 
 shut his eyes in deep thought. ^ 
 
 i" My boy," said he at last, in tnat some pa- 
 ternal tone which he had used before, and in a 
 mild, calm voice, " I supjMse this thing can not 
 be helped, and all that is left for me to do is to 
 bear it as best I may. I willjiot indulge in any 
 ■"^-(^■setflsh sorrow in the presence of -your greater 
 trouble. I will ''rather do aU^in my power to 
 coincide with your wishes.^'! see-now that yoi'i 
 must have a good reason for yoiir decision, al 
 though I do iM>t seek to look .into tUfM^i ' 
 son."' 
 
 "Believe me, ''said Brandon, "I would show 
 you t^e letter at once, but it is so terrible that I 
 would rather that yon should not know. It is 
 worse than death, and I do not even yet begin 
 to -Imow the worst.' " 
 
 The old man sighed, and looked at him witH 
 deep commiseration. 
 
 " If our separation must indeed be final," said 
 he, atjast, "I will take careiliat you shall suf- 
 fer no loss. You shall hove your full share of 
 the capital." 
 
 "I leave' that entirely to you," iaid Brandon. 
 
 "Eoitunately our business is not much 8ca|- 
 tered. A settlement can easily be made, and 1 
 will ahunge it so that yon shall not have any 
 loss. Our babtnce-sheet was made ontonlj' te 
 mdnth, and it showed our^flrm t» be worth thirty 
 thousand pounds. Half of thip is yours, and-.- ' 
 
 " Half r' interrupted the other. '.' My dear 
 fHendi yon mean a quarter." 
 
 The' 0I4 man waved his hand. • •' 
 " " I said haM?.«iu} I mean half. "' . v . ' 
 
 l<T-..-.!ll f..»V ■-....» " " ■*■ <> -'., « 
 
 <f\ 
 
 "Voumust," ^ ' ■' . / - : • 
 
 "Neter." ': '",.-,. 
 
 "Yon. ihall. • Why, think sf the petty biBK 
 n««B (hot I'was dodng when you Came herek I .< 
 was worth abont fou«; thoufain'd. You hay^Ttallt,; 
 up the business, to its present dJmenrfliB*..^ Do 
 ^ou suffwse that I don t know*?" " '^ 
 
 ,■• *^. 
 
 *• ».i. 
 
 ^.•rt5"^ 
 
 
 ,'■■> 
 
 
oked at bim witU 
 
 Q: 
 
 fie;' • sTd zsz. ^°" '' "^^ «"'* "^ -"- 
 
 "Stop," said Mr. Compton. "I have not 
 said all. I attach a condition to this TLich I 
 implore yoa not to refuse. Listen w me, and 
 you will thea bp able to see. " ' 
 
 Mr Compton rose and looked carefully out 
 into the office. There was no one neaT He 
 then retumpd, locked the door, and drawing his 
 chair close to Brandon, began.'in a lowToice : 
 
 You have your secrets and I have mine I 
 don wish to know yours, but my own I LmJ 
 mg to tell to you, not merely for the sake^ 
 Hympathy, but rather for the 4e of yonralsist. 
 anoe I am going to tell yon who I amTa^d 
 why I came out here. ' 
 
 "My name is not Compton. It is Henrv 
 
 IvTt- ^"";3^r;'y«fe-'«PaaBedatYork' 
 iTierp I marnbd, had a son, andlived happilv 
 for^years-in fact, during the childhood of my 
 
 .wl^i ;«'««,«'"»' boy of mine, Edgar, that led to 
 aB my troubles. I suppose we indul^ him to^ 
 much. It was natural. He was our^SW^hiW 
 and so we rumed him. He got beyond ow con- 
 trpl at last, atid us«l to run wild abL the stilts 
 l''°it;.'"'"""'^^°':''^^--^Wm,butit 
 
 " He went on from bad to worse, until at last 
 he got in With a set of mi^cnSate who were 
 among the worst in the countiy. Mv GodTto 
 h„,^ fi.ir ^-r '^y- »"<=« a «l^eet cfiil^ could 
 led,^ and so he went on from bad to worse 
 
 liHithfl't'"""- ^?^i^^wiiT; 
 
 gat m wi h fliese miscreants, as I was tellinir voiu 
 
 lth«r"' T r "'" f""» ""« month- iL^°^ 
 another. At last a great binxlary took ph^r 
 
 BHgs,^he,pthe.Cr^ker, ^T^IZ^.^^. 
 
 The oldwan was sil«ht;^; some tlfce. 
 I do not thmk, after aU, that Jie was fruiltv ■ 
 bn Bnggs turtied Kihg's Evidence, and^cS; 
 'm7.Z:Z;r'^^'''^ "> t'j^sporta^J^: 
 
 nlil^f "' ■ u'^u*" ^ ""^ '" *e woria, and in com- 
 pLance with the entreaties of my p^^ wife X 
 nearly werit mad with ^«f i„IJ^LV*^> ^''2 
 
 CORD AND CHEESE. 
 
 cltenged my name to Compton. My boA terJ 
 »« for three years. I be^ « businLsZt he^ 
 
 ^S ^{ '^'"'^"^ "^1 '•« was" bS5 
 . permission to hire out a» a servant. I'took hL 
 
 r'as'^L^sT ^T'"'^." one kn^w'tt 
 ««j^was my son, and so we ^^ad him with us 
 
 lea'nidTfi f""* *« fitter lesson which h'e Bai 
 
 »1 V^"*^ P*^^ *'''' 'ncllnations. As long as iiis 
 
 ■' -Sv^ wrirKT*"*' ^'^ ^^ r^ contfnMnd 
 7,t r' : ^ « >«'. wlien'the th.^ years 
 • '^■'""^*"^«**^«**ivB.. CrOckerlrM 
 
 ^ at abJJT the same time, and my boV fell 
 ,»gfn un^^r his evil mflacnce '^nn Kl for 
 »briu a year, when, «t>la-t, one mominrrietter 
 
 R/'f^J" P^fT.'wife wfig agafh nearlr distracted 
 §»>« *o««ht^of nothing, bTto wj?^ XSa 
 
 16 
 me take her and go in searoh of him again. So 
 uLT "" ^"*"''- Af'«' » 'ong seaXi found 
 
 Wsoll tv- "* ^ """^ '■«"'^' « connections 
 hisold, vicwus associate*. True, they had cham«S 
 theu- names, and. were trying to niss^r C*^ 
 men. Crocker cklled himsetf CkriflH n ?*** 
 called himself Potts." ^''' '^'* ^"S^" 
 
 ^';Pott8!"<;ried Brandon. 
 
 '''S2rf"^~nV^Ji'''r •"kedBmndon. - 
 18^5, replied M^. Compton.* "Crockor " 
 
 first effor^"^ UiSSL d'^e S ™^ 
 son from these scoundrels. Wid aU that I coiddT 
 J offered to give him half of my property ami 
 finally all, if he would only leave CforeTer 
 and come back. The wretcLd boy refused hI 
 did not appear to be altogether bL buThe had 
 a weak natui-e, and could not gerrid of tiie to 
 fluence of these iiieti. , ® " 
 
 found A lL'^h'„1''it " y«" ""•I a half, until I 
 fi^A .1. *«'' there was no hope. I could 
 ,.? u*'"« '" <>° there, and if I^^remaiiJ^ i 
 would hav, to starve or gi out td serWcT^^iJ 
 I could not. think of dotog. ^ n;e!are?to 
 
 ner son She was resolved, she Said. t<k^»4.v 
 him tdi the last. I tried to dlSe^^T ■ 
 could not move her. I told her that I coSd Z 
 
 TonZ «T^ » °' '*?' "^J^- A*"! "he went off 
 2^me ^.Innfi ff » «'"«i°n « "urse with the 
 wme CJolonel Despard with whom Briggg. or Z 
 he c^ed himself, Potts, was staying. "^ ' " 
 
 "John->John Potts." , 
 
 resumS"" "^^ ""'"'"«' '""•'«'•' *"<• Compton 
 
 " Thus my wife actually left me. I could nof 
 Bta;^ and be a sUve. So I made her pSe to 
 wiite me, and told her that 1 would Sh^ « 
 much money ^ I could. She clung to me hjf 
 broken-hearted as I left her. Our pmSg >Si 
 a bitter one-bitter emwgh ; but I woufK" 
 iw^ "y heart with grief than be a se^an^ "* 
 
 my heart was open to receive her 
 lived i^^l^'^t. ^ ""y Jonely life out here and , 
 h^riMA^'^.r*"^*""- At la,t, in Septem- 
 Wtei f*^'J^ "**" -^rived fix,m iX bringing a 
 letter fi^m my wife, and IndiaflTpaperg Ae 
 ,n^.„whlch tiey^Wght weuZgh^Zve ^ 
 
 Compton buried his face in his hands and re- 
 ipainoj silent for some timft 
 
 «» fhTfl"*""'?* ' ''"T® '^" ™o« than a, cWld 
 
 panP^: 
 
 tJ!l ^""^^ .inquiringly at Brandon, but the la«ir 
 t«t«avo no sign; , , i 
 
 "i^rhapg nqt," he continued— "no: tob 
 »re Wo,TounBr:.8f*™„r^ WeJl, it wittnOm 
 
 ' "•""I'" inji, ne continaed— "no: 
 ♦ere Wo,young,.Srcours^; Well, it wu. h 
 
 iSr*/"''^'^ ir. *'"''* *•* ^"'"nol had em- 
 barked for ManilliL. Tli« KJW i.j _ 
 
 If' ■.•'5x, 
 
 
 barked f^r 
 hogilMwi t| 
 
 *. "■ 
 
 • f- 
 
 iiJla._ The brfg was laden with" 
 •nC box ihooki, and the Ck>I- 
 
 ,A.,C"^ 
 
 ^,\' 
 
 
 v-\ 
 

 I 
 1 
 
 -vM 
 
 CORD AND CREESK. 
 
 IHEUk's 80MK MT8TBBY ABOOT IT WHICH I CAN'T FATHOM 
 
 onel went th«re partly for his health,' partly on 
 business, taking with him his vnlet Potts." 
 
 "What became of liis family?" interrupted 
 Brandon. 
 
 " He had a son in England at school. His 
 wife had died not lung "'before this at one of 
 the hill stotions, where she had gone for her 
 health. Grief may have 'had something to do 
 with the Cobnel's voyage, fbr he was very much 
 IIIMrilid to his wife. 
 
 I *'ifliil8 ij8^ only to come at long intervals in 
 Ukose day^, ,and this one l>touKht the account 
 not only of Che Coloiiel's fate, liut of the trial at 
 MMiUa and the execution of the man that wa* 
 Condmnned. 
 
 " It was a very mysterious case. In the 
 month of .Iiilj » l>oat an-ived nt Manilla which. 
 carrtBil th e l yw and on e paHnemrer from the brig 
 
 riV^nu. Uiie of the men, * lialay nameif Ura- 
 oao, Was in irons, and he was immediately given 
 up to the amhoritieit." 
 
 " Who were the other*?" 
 
 "Potte, as he called himself, the rokmel's 
 Talet, Clark, three I^aocnrs, and the Captain, an 
 iuUan named Cigole. Information was at once 
 
 laid against the Malay. Potts wasfthe chief wit- 
 ness. He said that he slept in the cabin while 
 the Colonel slept in an inner state-room; that 
 one morning early he was roused by n frightful 
 shriek and saw Uracao rushing froi.i the Col- 
 onel's state-room. He sprang up, cliased him, 
 and caught him ju«t as he was about to leap 
 overl)oard. His creese covered with blood wis 
 in his hand. The Colonel, when they went to 
 look at him, had his throat cut from ear to ear. 
 Clark swore that he was steering the vessel and 
 saw Potts catch Uracao, and heljjed to hold him. 
 The Captain, Cigole, «wore tliat he was waked 
 by the noise, ^d rushe^^ont'in time to see thii 
 ("lark had g6a^ aa maCV nf the ves^. OS the 
 I^oscats, two had been down below, but one wns 
 on- de^k and swore to have seen the same. On 
 this t^timony Uracao was condemned and ese- 
 
 5sr 
 
 '^llfl 
 
 low did they hapjlen to leave the brig?^ 
 
 *' They said that a great storm came up about 
 
 three days' sail from Manilla, the vessel sprang 
 
 a leak, an^ they had to take to the boat. Their 
 
 j testimony wos very clear iijdeed, and there were 
 
 : no contradictions ; but in spite of all this it wii 
 
 t 
 
 .•^- 
 
 
felt to bo a y^ry jnyiterious case, and even the 
 exhibition of the Miiky creese, carefully cov- 
 ered with tbe stains ofNLlood, did not altogether 
 disjjel this feeling. " > 
 
 " Havjp you got the pa^rs vet, or are there any 
 in Sydney that contain aii account of this (fffair i"" 
 
 " I have kspt them all. You may r&d the 
 whole case if you care about it." 
 , . "J shouW like to, very much," said Brandon, 
 with greatriTOlmness. 
 
 "When I heard of this before the mail was 
 opened I felt an agWny of fear lest my misenible 
 boy migfit be implicated in some Way. To my 
 [-.- tmmetlse relief Bis name did not occur at nil." 
 
 " You got a lutter from your wife ?" said liraii- 
 
 CORD AND CRfESE. 
 
 17 
 
 / ,don, interrogatively. 
 
 " Yes,' said the old man, with a sigh. " Tlie 
 last tliat I ever received from her. Here it is " 
 And, saying this, he opentid his pocket-book find 
 took out a letter, worn and faded, and blackened 
 by frequent readings. 
 
 Uraiidon fook it respectfully^ and read the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 f "Cau^tta, August IS, ISiS. 
 
 "My dearest IIknrv,— By the par^rs that 
 I send you, you will see what has occurred. Our 
 dear Edgar is well, indeed better than usual, and 
 I woiUd feel much cheered if iKwere not for the 
 sad fate of the poor Colonel. Thl>«is the last let- 
 ter that you will ever receive from me. 1 am 
 going to leave this country never to return, and 
 do not yet know where I will go. Wherever I 
 go.I will be with my <iarling Kdgar. Do not 
 worry about me or about him. It will be better 
 for you to try afiid forget all about us, since we 
 are from this time the same as dead to you 
 Good-by forever, my dearest husband ; it shall 
 be my daily prayer that God may bless you. 
 " YoHr affectionate wife, Mary." 
 
 Brandon read this in silence, and handed it 
 
 back. 
 
 "A strange letter," said Compton, moumful- 
 •y- '^t Awt it gave a bitter pang to think of 
 mv Mary thus giving me up fprever, so coldly 
 and for no reason : but afterward I began to un- 
 derstand why she wrote this. 
 
 "My beUef is, that these vUlains kept my son 
 in their clutches for some good reason, and that 
 Uiey had some equally good reason for keeping 
 ner. There's some mysteiy alwut it which I 
 on t fathom. Perhaps slie knew too much about 
 the Colonel's affairs to be allowed to go free 
 fhey might have detained her by working nixjii 
 fijr love for her Son, or simply by terrifving her 
 «he was always a timid soul, poor Maiy. Tbat 
 letter is not her composition ; there is not a word 
 there that sounds like her, and they no doubt told 
 her what to write, or wrote out something, and 
 made her copy h. 
 
 "And now, " said Compton, after another long 
 P«nie, I haye got to the end of my story. 1 
 know nothing more about them. 1 have Uvod 
 here ever since, at first despairing, but of late 
 more resiipied fn my lot \ ■••■'■■ 
 
 father to do as I say an(^ help me. Half! whv, 
 I would give all that 1 have if 1 could get them 
 uack again. " 
 
 Brandon shuddered perceptibly at the words 
 
 heart-broken father;" but he quickly recov- 
 ered himself. He took Compton's hand and 
 pressed it warmly. 
 
 " "Dear friend, J will make no objection to any 
 thing and I promise you that all mv best ettorts 
 »"»", »e directed toward finding -them out." 
 
 " Tell them to, come to me, that I am rich, 
 and can make them happy." ' i 
 
 " I'll make them go to you if tliey are sOte ." 
 said Brandon. ^ ' 
 
 "God bless you!" ejaculated the old man. 
 terveiitly. , ' 
 
 J3randon spent the greater part of that day in 
 making business arrangements, and in reading 
 the paperj which Comp|on had preserved con- 
 taining an account of the Despard murder. 
 
 It was late at night before he returned to his 
 hotel. As he went into the hall he saw a struii- 
 ger sitting-there in a lounging attitude reading 
 tlie (Sydney News. • r 
 
 He was a thin,\mall-sized man, with a foreign 
 air, and quick, r^tless manner. His features 
 wererf;mall, a heavj\beaid and mustache covered . 
 his face, his brow was low, and>lis eyes black 
 and twmkling. A sharp, fur^ glance which 
 he gave at Brandon attracted tUe attention of the 
 latter, for there was something in the glanci 
 that meant more than idle curiosity. 
 
 Kven in the midst of his cares B^tmdon's curi- 
 osity was excited. He walked w«h nssmiied in- 
 difference up to the desk as though looking for the 
 key of his room. Glancing at the hotel book hia 
 eye ranged down the column of names till it rest- 
 ed on the last one, ' » 
 
 ''Pietro Cii/ole." . ■- 
 
 — Cigole : the name brought singular associa- 
 11°"*', rS^ ""* ™°" *'•" "ny coniiectioil with 
 1 otts ? The words of his father's letter rushed 
 into his mind—" Jlis arm may reach even to 
 the antipodes to strike you. Be on your guard. 
 Watch every one. He has some dark plan 
 against you .' 
 
 With these thoughto in his mind Brandon 
 went up to his room. 
 
 i;t « ti | | if F h n vo nn fr 
 
 CHAITER III. 
 " "a man overiioabd!" 
 
 Ik so small a town as Sydney then was Bran- 
 don could hoiie to learn all that could be learned 
 rtwut Cigole. By casual inquiries he learned 
 that the Italian had come out in the Rival, and 
 had given out that 4ie was agent for a London 
 house in the wool business. H« had bought up 
 a ci^nsiderable quantity which he was preparinit 
 to ship. a' 
 
 Urandon could not help feeling that there was 
 some ruse about this. Yet he th ought, 6n the 
 
 «tlwB-liHiid, why ithonkWre iWnt-hiB namff-W" 
 boldly before the wortd ? If lie is in realjty fol- 
 lowing me why should he not drop his nsme'i> 
 Ilut then, again, why should hof Perhapa he 
 thinks that I can not possibly kn6w any tWng 
 about his name. Why should I ? I was a child 
 Whtn Des;>ard was murdoired. It may be meraly 
 a siipibrit/ of names. . 
 
 m^ 1 
 
 «ire m life it is to got some trace of these dear 
 ones whom I still love as tenderly as ever. You, 
 my dear boy, with your ability may conjecture 
 fome way. Besides, you will perhaps be travel- 
 uig more or less, aiid may be able to fiear of 
 t.ieir e»te. This is the condition that I malie. 
 I unplore you by your pity for a heart-lj<«ken 
 
 ^: 
 
; 
 
 ^ 
 
 18 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 Brandon from' time to time had opportanltieA 
 of hearing more about Cigole, yet always tlie nan 
 seemed absorbed in buSiqess. ' ' 
 
 Ue wondered toi,him8elf whether he had better 
 confide his suspicions to Mr. Compton or not. 
 Yet why shouW he7 The old man would bedome 
 excited; and feel all sorts of wild hopes about 
 discovering his wife and son. Could it be possi- 
 ble that the Italian after so many years could 
 now aftbrd any clew whatever ? Certainly it was 
 not vety probable. 
 
 On the whole Brandon thought that this man, 
 whoever he was or whatever his purpose might 
 Be, would be encountered best by himself singly. 
 If Mr. Cjompton took part he would at once 
 awaken Clgi)le's fears by his clumsiness. 
 
 -Brandon felt quite certain that Mr. Compton 
 would not know any thing about Cigole's presence 
 in Sydney unless he himself told him. For the 
 old man was so filled with trouble At the loss of 
 his partner that he could think of nothing else, 
 and all his thoughts were taken up with closing 
 up the concern so as to send forward remittances 
 of money to London as soon as possible. Mr. 
 Compton had arranged for him to draw £2000 
 on his arrival at London, and three months after- 
 ward ASOOO— £10,000 would be remitted during 
 the rollowing year. 
 
 Brandon had come to the conclusion to tell 
 Mr. Compton about Cigole be%)re he left, soObK* 
 if the man remained in the country he might be 
 bribed or otherwise induced to tell what he knew ; 
 yet thinking>it possible tWtit Cigole had designed 
 to return in the same ship with him, he waited 
 to see how things would turn out. As he could 
 not help associating Cigole in his mind with 
 Potts, so he bought that whichever way he 
 turned this man woidd try to follow hiHy His 
 anticipations proved correct. Ue had taUen pas- 
 sage in the ship Java, and two days .before the 
 vessel left he learned that Cigole had taken his 
 passage in her alap, having pat on board a con- 
 siderable quantitjrof wogl. On the whole Bran- 
 don felt grafifled lo hear this, for the close asso- 
 ciation of a lon^ ^ea voyage would give him op- 
 portunities to t«^t this man, and probe him to 
 the bottom. Tlife thought of danger arising to 
 himself did not ent«r his mind. He believed that 
 Cigole meant mischief, but had too much confi- 
 dence in his own |>ower8 to fear it. 
 
 On the .'ith of ^August the ship Jam was 
 ready, and Mr. Compton stood on the (luartei*- 
 deck to bid good-by to Brandon. 
 
 " God bless you, dear boy ! You will find the 
 money coming promptly, and Smithers & Co.'s 
 honse is one of the strongest in London. I have 
 brooght you a parting'gift," said he, iA-« low 
 voice. He drew from his pocket a pistol, which 
 in those days was less known than now— indeed, 
 this was the fifst pf its kind which had reached 
 Australia, and'Mr. Compton had paid a fabiilous 
 price for it. " Here, "said he, " toke this to re- 
 member me by. They call it a revolver. Here 
 is a box of patent cartridges that go with it. It 
 i» from me to yon. And mind." he continued, 
 
 " G^ bless yon !" cried Compton, " I see by 
 ^vjur face^hatyon will do it. Good-by." 
 I He wrung Brandon's bund hard and left the^ 
 
 Mte IherS caa«r iSVgr his face a vengeSnooE 
 which Brandon had never seen there l)efore — 
 " mind, if ever you see John Potts, give him one 
 of those patent partridges, and tell hiqi it is (he 
 Inst gift of aVbken-hearted father." 
 
 Brandon's face turned ghastly, and his lips 
 seemed to freeze into a smile of deadly meaning. 
 
 [■ship. 
 
 About six feet away stood Cigole, looking over 
 the stem and smoking a cigar. He was near 
 enough to hear what had been said, but he did 
 not appear to havetieard it. Throwing his cigar 
 into the water, he plunged his hands into his 
 pockets, and began whistling a lively air; 
 
 "Aha, Oepitano," said he, in a foreign accent, 
 " I have brought my wool off at hist." 
 
 Brandon paced Uie deck silently yet wateh- 
 f«lly. 
 
 The good ship Java went out with a fine 
 breeze, which continued for some days, until nt 
 last nothing could be seen but the wide ocean. 
 In those few 4»ys Brandon had settled himself 
 comfortably on board, an4,had learned pretty well 
 the kind of life which he would have to lead for the 
 next six months or so. The captain was a quiet, 
 amiable sort of a person, without much force of 
 character; the mate was more energetic and 
 somewhat passionate ; the crew cdpsisted of the 
 average order -of men. There wtd no chance, 
 certainly, for one of those eonspiruci^ such as 
 Mr. Compton li^dJiinted at as having taken place 
 on the Vishnu ; for in his account of that affair 
 he evidently believed that Uracao had been made 
 a scape-goat for the sins of the others. 
 
 Brandon was soon on the best of terms with 
 the officers of the ship. As to Cigole it was dif- 
 ferent. The fact of their beingj|he only passen- 
 gers on board might of itself hay^e been a suffl- . 
 cient cause to draw them together ; but BrandoiT 
 found it diflScult to pass beyond the extremest 
 limits of formal intercourse. Brandon himself 
 considered that his pnrpo.ses would be best sene(l 
 by close association with this man ; he hoped that 
 in the course of such associe^tipn he might draw 
 something from Cigole. gfit Cigole bafBed him 
 constantly. He wa» as polite aniAcoiirteous as 
 Wl Italians «e I heliadan abundance of remarks 
 all iteady about the state of the weather, the pros- 
 pects of the voyage, o# the tiealth of the seamen ; 
 but beyond these topics it was difiicult to induce 
 him to go. Brandon stifled the rewntment which 
 he felt toward thisi man, in bis eiohttsto break 
 dewn the barriers of formplity which heTJSjit up, 
 and sought to draw him out on the subject of the 
 wool trade.. Yet here he was baified. Cigole 
 always tookW the air of a maa who was speal^ 
 ing to a rival in business, and pretended to be 
 very cautions and guarded in his remarks about 
 wool, as though he (eared that Brandon wonkl 
 interifere with his prospects. This sort of thing 
 *as kept up with such great delicacy of man- 
 a^meut on Cigole's part thai Brandon himself 
 wbuld havn been completely deceived, and would 
 have come tti atmuder liim |u< nothing more than 
 a B|)ecu]ator in W(h>1, had it uot^been for a certain 
 deep instinct within him, wWh tuiuU him re- 
 gard this man afronp «Aowa»^||^!ettitedjl« w>uh> 
 thing/ar deeper th«nii)uii«l|j|i«tb foi^« sncop- 
 fiil siieculation. 'S'> ^ 
 
 11 Sl l 
 
 "cS 
 
 igfjTo managed to baflfe ifie inMt iclextroai 
 efforts and the most delicate contrivance* uf 
 Brandon. He would ackno^i^ge that he »m 
 an Italian, and had been in all parts of Qal7i 
 h>it carefully refhtined from telling where hf ««• 
 boni. He asserted that this was the 6nt ti^ 
 thitt he had been in the Ea«t«m seas, ^e i<^ 
 
'^ 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 mark^ once, casually, that Cigole was a very 
 common nam«| amoHg Italians. He said tliat 
 he M no acquaintajices at all in England, and 
 was only going there now because he heard that 
 there was a good malket fqr wool. At another 
 time he spoke as though much of his life had 
 bjsen passed in Marseilles, and hinted that he 
 was a partner of a commercial house there. 
 
 Cigole never made ilny advances, «nd never 
 even met half-nmi tho»e which Brandon made. 
 He was never da hi« guard for one instant 
 I'olite, sraUing, fdkive),, never Idoking Brandon 
 fiurly i» the face, f fc usually spoke with a profu- 
 sion of bows, gestures, /and commonplaces, adopt- 
 ing, in faci, that part which is always at once 
 both the easiest and tjie safest to play— the non- 
 committal, pure and berfect. ■ 
 
 It was cunning, but low cunning after all, and 
 Brandon perceived fhat, for one who had some 
 purpose, to accomplish with but a common soul 
 to sustain him, this was the most ordinary way 
 , to do it. A villain of profounder cunning or of 
 larger spirit would have pursued a different path. 
 He would have conversed freely and with ap- 
 parent unreserve ; he wobld have yielded to all 
 friendly advances, and made them himself; he 
 would have shown the highest art by concealing 
 art, in accdVdance with the hackneyed proverb 
 " Ars est cehire artem. " ' 
 
 Brandon despised him as an ordinary viUain 
 and hardly thought it worth his while to take 
 any particular notice of him^ except to watch 
 I Hum m a general way. But Cigole, on the con- 
 trary, was very different. His eyes, which never 
 met ^those of Brandon fairly, were constantly 
 watching him. When moving ^bont the quar- 
 teMeck or when sitting in the cat)in'he usually 
 lud the air of a map who was pretending to be 
 mtent on somethingelse, but in reality watching 
 finudon's acts or Sstening to his words. To 
 any other man the knowledge of this would have 
 been in the highest degree irksome. But to 
 Brandon it was gratifying, since it confirmed 
 his suspicions. He saw this man, whose con- 
 stant efforts were directed toward pot commit- 
 ting himself by word, doing that veJy thing by 
 m attitude, his gesture, and the furtive glimce 
 of his eye. Brandon, too, hafl his part, but it 
 was infinitely greater than that of Cigole, and 
 th^urpose that now animated his life was un- 
 lijpigible to this man who ^fatched him. But 
 Cigole's whole soul was a;j)parent to Brandon • 
 and by his smaU arts, his low cunnrag, his sly 
 observation, and many other petnliarities, he ex- 
 bibjted that which is'seen in its perfection in the 
 ordinary spy of despdtic countries, such as used 
 to ahound most in Rome (md Naples in the good 
 oWdays. . ' " 
 
 For thecoftiroon spy of Europe may deceNe 
 IM English or American traveler; but t 
 Weflchman, th6 Genpan, the Spaniard, or 
 Italian, always recognizes him. 
 
 8o«randon'? superior penetration discovei 
 the true character of Cigole* 
 
 ~it!,"iu*^'^i^"*"""' *"**''* same Cigole 
 who had figured m the affair of the Vishlu; 
 
 19 
 
 ihatho had been sent out by PottA to do some 
 W to hmiself, and that he was caf^ble of any 
 <mne. Yet he could no» see how lie could do' 
 S iL"F' J ^*' certiainlv Could not incite the sim- 
 PMtoded c^)tain and the honest mate to con- 
 nm^. Hawaatoogw^tacowaidtoattempt 
 
 any violence. So Brandon concluded that he 
 had simply come to watch him so as to learn his 
 character, and carry back to Potts all the knowl- 
 edge that he might gain. 
 
 This was his conclusion after a close associa- 
 tion of one month with Cigole. Yet he made up 
 his mmd not to lose sight of this man. To him 
 he appeared only an agent in villainy, and there- . 
 fore unworthy o/ vengeance; yet he might be 
 made use of as an aid in fcWt vengeance. He 
 therefore wished to have a clew by which he 
 might afterward find him. 
 
 "You and I," said he one dav, in conversa- 
 tion, "are both in the same trade. If I eyer 
 get to England I may wish some time to see you. 
 Where can I find you ?" 
 
 Cigole looked in twenty difterent directions, 
 and hesitated for some time. 
 
 " Well," said he at Ijist, "I do not think that 
 you will wish to see me—" and he hesitated- 
 but, he resumed, with an evil smile, " if yon 
 should by any possibility wish to do so, you can 
 find out where I am by inquiring of Giovanni 
 Cavallo, 16 Red Lion Street, London." 
 
 "Perhaps I may not wish to," said Brandon, 
 coolly, "and p^l-haps I may. At any rate, if I 
 do, 1 will remember to inquire of Giovanni Ca- 
 vallo, 10 Red Lion Street, London." 
 
 He spokecwith deep emphasis on the address 
 Cigole looked uncomfortable, as though he had 
 at Inst made the mistake which he dreaded, and 
 had committed himself 
 Sothe,time passed. ^, 
 
 ''^''l^® *""' ^^^ ^y* ^^^ weather had-be- 
 •^f*^ stormy. Strong head-winds, accom- 
 panidd'offcn by very heavy rains, had to be en- 
 «oun^red. In spite of this the ship had a very 
 good passage' northward, and met with no pai^ 
 ticular obstacle until her course was turned to- 
 ward the Indian Ocean. Then aU the winds 
 were dead against, her, and for weeks a wifltes- 
 sion of l(jng tDcks fjr to the north and to the 
 south brought her btft a short distance onward, 
 Kvery day made the w^d more violent and the 
 Storm vi/'orse. And no* the season of the equi- 
 nox was approkching, when the monsoons change, 
 and all the winds that sweep-oyer these seas alter 
 their bourses. For wfeeks before apd 'hfter this 
 season the winds ore all unsettled, and it seems 
 as If theelements wefe let iW Friim the 
 first ympa tJSeptembeJk this bpcame 'manifest; " 
 and ev^ft-day brought tliem face to face with 
 sterner diffleulties. Twice before ihe naptain 
 had been to Australia; and for yeajrs he had 
 been in the China trade; so that he knew these 
 ^ well ; but he said that, he had nevdr known 
 the equinoctial stoons begin mt early; and jaae 
 with such violence. 
 Opposed by such difficulties as,these the ship 
 H^hut a sljjjv paSsage— the best routes' had 
 "It been disedyered— and it was the middle 
 itember beftre they enteiM^thft Indian * 
 ,• The ^eatlier thert beifcihe *Addenly 
 i^td they drifted aJoiig bey oitid the ' " 
 
 -iWeBteni extremity of Java, about a Eun- 
 
 J^ ."WM «outh of the Straits of Sunda. Here 
 
 to. encounter the China fleet which 
 
 jtHirf strait, for every day one or 
 
 risible. , . • 
 
 » bonie on helplessly by the 
 
 lich at this place are numnons 
 
 Thelitreams that flow thrott|^ 
 
 v'-^j- 
 
20 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 
 \'i 
 
 ! ■, 
 
 the many isles of the Indian Archipelago, uniting 
 with tlie gr6«ter southern streams, here meet and 
 blend, causing great difflculties to navigation, 
 and often bntHnig even the most ext)ericneed seu- 
 tnun. Yet it was not all left to the currents, for 
 frequently and suddenly the storms came up ; 
 und the weather, ever changeful, kept the sailors 
 constiintly ontlie idert. 
 
 Yet between the storms the culms were fre- 
 quent, and sometimes long contiinied, though of 
 such a sort as rccpiired, watehfiilMess. For out 
 of the midst of dead calms the storm would sud- 
 denly rise in its might, und all the care which 
 experience could suggest was not always able to 
 avert disaster. 
 
 " I don't like this weather, Mr. Brandon. It'i 
 the worst that we could have, especially just^ 
 here." 
 
 "Why just here?" 
 
 "Why, we're opposite the Straits of Sunda, 
 the worst place about these parts." 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Pirates. The Malays, you know. We're 
 not over well prepared to meet them, I'm afraid. 
 If they come we'll have to fight them the best 
 ,we can ; and these calms are the worst thing 
 because the Malay jiroas can get along 
 glitest wind, or with oars, when we can't 
 at all." 
 
 re the Malays any worse than usual now ?" 
 Brandon. 
 ' Well, no worse than they've been for the last 
 years. Zangori i is the worst of them all. " 
 ' ' Zangorri ! I've lieard of him. " 
 "I shoidd think you had. \*Wiy, there never 
 was a pirate in these seas that did so much dam- 
 age. No mortal knows the ships that devil has 
 captured and buiHed. " . 
 
 "I hope you have arms for the seamen, at any 
 rate." , 
 
 "Oh, fl(c have one howitzer, and small-arms 
 for the men, and we will have to get along th6 
 bc^^t way we can with these; but the owners 
 oui^ht never to send fj^ here witliout a better 
 ecjuipment.'' 
 
 " I su|(]jose they think/it would cost too much. " 
 
 "Yfo; that's it. They think only about the 
 
 profits, and trust tolu/'k for our safety. Well, 
 
 I only hope we'll get4ufely out of this place — 
 
 that's nil." 
 
 And the cajjtain walked off much more ex- 
 cited than usual. _ 
 
 They tlriftfed on through days of cahn, which, 
 were succeeded liy fierce but short-lived storflis, 
 and then followed by calms." Their course lay 
 sopnetjmes north, sometimes south, sometimes 
 nowhere. Thus the time pasi^ed, until at kingth, 
 about the middle of Se])tember, they came In 
 sight of n l(*ng, low island of sand. 
 
 "I've heard of that sand-bank before," said 
 the captain, who showed Ibme' surprise at see- 
 ing it; "but I didn't believe it was here. It's 
 not down in tjie charts, Here we are three him- 
 dred andftfty miles southwest of the Straits of 
 Sijn daf-ntla the cliart makes this nkce all open 
 *iiterr "Well, seein's believin' ; and after this 111 
 swear that there is such a thing as Coffin Island." 
 
 ^. 
 
 Is that'the name?" 
 
 That's the name an old sea-captain gave it, 
 and tried to get the iSdmiralty to put it on the 
 c!".rt8, but they wouldn't. But this is it, .-uid 
 no mistake." 
 
 " Why did he call it Coffln Islanjl ?" 
 "Well, he thought that rock looked like a 
 cofHn, and it's dangerous enough when a fug 
 comes to deserve that name." 
 
 Brandon looked eArnestly at the island which 
 the captain mentioned, and which they were 
 slowly approaching. 
 
 It lay toward the north, while the ship's course, 
 if it had any in that calm, was southwest. It 
 was not more than six miles away, and apiwjared 
 to bo about five miles long. At the nearest ex- 
 tremity a black rock arose to a height of aboul 
 fifty feet, which a|i|)eared to be about five hun- 
 dred feet long, and was of such a sl'inpe that the 
 imagination might easilji see a resCmlilance to a 
 Coffin., At the farthest extremity of the island 
 was a low mound. The rest of the island was 
 fiat, low, and'sundy, with no trace of vegetation 
 IKirceptible from the ship, exce|)t a line of diiigj- 
 Kreen under the roc'k, which looked like grass. 
 Y The ship drifted slowly on. 
 \ Meanwhile the captain, in anticipation of a 
 8t\)rm, had caused all the sails to be taken in, 
 and, stood anxiously watching the sky toward 
 the southwest. ' 
 
 • There a dense mass of clouds lay piled along 
 the horizon, gloomy, fcwering, menacing; frown- 
 ing over the calm seas as though tbcy woidd soon 
 destroy that calm, and fiing forth all the fury of 
 the winds. These clouds seemed to have started 
 up from the sea, so sudden had been their ap- 
 pearance; and now, as they gathered themselves 
 together, tl)eir forms distended, and heightened, 
 and reached foi-ward vast arms »into (be ukv, 
 striving to climb there, rolling upward volumin- 
 ous cloud m&sses which swiftly ascended toward 
 the zenith. ISo quick was the progress of these 
 clouds that they did not seem to come from the 
 banks below ; but it was rather as though all the 
 air suddenly condensed its moisture airtl made it 
 visible in these dark masses. "' 
 
 As yet there was no wind, and thie water was ' 
 as smooth as glass ; but over the wide surface, 
 as far as the eye could reach, the long swell of 
 the ocean had changed into vast rolling undula- 
 tions, to the motion- of which the ship yielded, 
 slowly nsc^ding and descending ns the wateis 
 rose and fell, while the yarJs creakid, and the 
 rigging twanged to the strain ujwn them. 
 
 Every moment the sky grew darker, nnd as 
 gloom gathered aMove so it increased below, till 
 all the sea spread ouf a smooth ebon mass. 
 Darkness settled down, and the sun's face wm 
 thus olycured, and a |>retematural gloom gather- 
 ed upon the face of nature. Overhead vast black 
 clouds went sweeping past, covering all things, 
 faster and faster, till at last far down in the 
 northern sky the heavens were all ob.scured. 
 -"But amidst all this there was as yet not a 
 breath of wind. Far above the wind careered 
 in ft iiarrow current, which did not touch the sur- 
 face of the sea but only bore onward the clouds. 
 The agitation of the sky above contrasted with 
 the stillness below made the fatter not consoling 
 but latheL fearful, Jor this could_be none flther 
 than that treacherous stillness which precgden ' 
 the sudden outburst of the hurricane, 
 
 For that sudden outburst all were now look- 
 ing, expecting it every moment. On the side 
 of the ship where the wind was exjjected the 
 captain was standing, looking anxiously at the 
 black clouds jon the horizon, and all the crew 
 
 HK PU8H1 
 
■«f'v' 
 
 't?:v- 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 'HE PUSHED HIM HEADLONG OVER THE UAIL AND HKLrLESSLV INTO THK 8EA. " 
 
 were gazing there in sympathy with him. From 
 that quuMer tie wind would burst, and it was 
 for this assault that all the uk-eparations had been 
 
 made. "^ 
 
 • lecting clouds, hut at length lie turned awny'^ 
 and seemed to find a supreme fascination in the 
 sand-bank. He stood at the stem of the shil., 
 looking fi.\edly toward the rock, his arms fold- 
 ed, and his thoughts all absorbed in that one 
 tiling. A low railing ran round the (|uarter- 
 •leck. The helmsman stood in a sheltered place 
 which rose only two feet above the deck. The 
 captam stood by the companion-way, looking 
 south at the gtorm ; the mate was near the cap- 
 stan, and all were intent and absorbed in tlieir 
 cxiiectation of a sudden squall. 
 
 Close by the rudder-post stood CiRole, look- 
 ing with all the rest at the gathering storm. Hi-s 
 fM^Avasoaly^aif turned, and as us anfhew ^cB- 
 W this with only a furtive glance, for at times 
 ms stealthy eyes turned toward Brandon ; and 
 
 k J u "*'"" °" '"""''' '^''1 "<" ^e"! to be ab- 
 sorbed by some overma.stering thought. 
 
 fsnddenly a faint, fluttering ripple appeared to 
 the southward ; it came quickly ; it seemed to 
 Msh over the waters ; with the speed of the wind 
 
 It moved on. till a quick, fresh blast struck the 
 ship and .sighed through the rii;giiig. ,^ien a 
 famt breathing of wind succeeded ; but far away 
 thftre rose a low moan like thatHvhicb arises from 
 
 !■„,.„ .. T, 1 ■ , ^ ""='e ruse a low moan like tiatWicbari-ies from 
 
 roar, subdued by distance, sounds faintly, yet 
 wamingly, to the ear. 
 
 At this first touch of the tempest, and the 
 menacing voice of its approach, not a word was 
 spoken, but all stood mute. Brandon alone np- 
 IMjaretl not to have noticed it. He still stood 
 wall folded arms and absorbed air, cazine at 
 the island 
 
 The roar of the waters in the distflnce grew 
 louder, and in the direction from which it came 
 the dark water was all white with foaln. and the 
 boiling flood Wvanced nearer in myriad-num- 
 bered waves, WKjct-flceined now like an army ■ 
 rushing to the charge, tossiijg on high its crested 
 Tieads and its countless foan ' " " 
 
 ening to bear down all Im 
 
 At last the tornado s«i 
 
 At the fierce blast oft 
 far over, the masts ere 
 waves rushed up and 
 
 Jaiid threat- 
 
 the ship rolled 
 and groaned, the 
 
 Jgainst the side. 
 
 At thfU instant Cigole darted quickly toward 
 Brandon, and the moment that the veseel yield- 
 
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22 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 ed to ^e Mow of the storm he fell violently 
 against him. Before Brandon had noticed the 
 storm or had time to st^dy himself be had 
 pushed him headlong over the rail and helpless- 
 ly into the sea — 
 
 " Uqnldag projedt In ondaa 
 
 Prwcipitem." 
 
 Cigole clang to the rail, and instantly shrieked 
 oat: 
 
 "Man overboard!" 
 
 The startling cry rang through the ship. The 
 captain tamed round with a face of agony. 
 
 "Man overboard!" shouted Cigole again. 
 "Help! It's Brandon!" 
 
 " Brandon 1" cried the captain. " He's lost ! 
 O Gpd!" 
 
 He took up a hen-coop from its fastenings and 
 flang it into the sea, and a couple of pails after 
 it. 
 
 He then looked aloft and to the south with 
 eyes of despair. He could do nothing. For 
 now the storm was upon them, and the ship 
 was plunging furiously through the waters with 
 the speed of a race -horse at the touch of the 
 gale. On the lee -side lay the sand -bank, 
 now only three miles away, whose unknown 
 shallows made their present position perilous in 
 the extreme. The ship could not turn to try 
 and save the lost passenger; it was only by 
 keeping straight on that there was any hope of 
 avoidin^.that lee-shore. 
 
 All on board shared the captain's despair, for 
 all taw that nothing could be done. The ship 
 was at the mercy of the harricane. To turn was 
 impossible If they could save their own lives 
 now It would be as much as th^y could do. 
 
 Away went the ship — away, farther and far- 
 
 turned toward the direction where that sand isl- 
 and lay which had been the cause of his disaster. 
 At first it was hidden from .view by the swell of 
 waves that rose in front, but soon rising upon 
 the .^rest of one of these he perceived for aw.ny 
 the dark form of the coffin-shaped rock. Here 
 tlien before him lay the island, and toward this 
 both wind and wave impelled him.- 
 
 fiut the rock wa« far to the right, and it miglit 
 be that the island did not extend far enough to 
 meet him as he neared it. It was alxiut five 
 miles in length, but in his efforts he might not lie 
 able to reach even the western extremity. Still 
 there was nothing else to do but to trv. Beso- 
 lately, therefore, though half despairingly, he put 
 forth his best strength, and struggled manfully to 
 win the shore. 
 
 That lone And barren sand-bank, after all, of- 
 fered but a feeble chance for life. Even if he 
 did reach it, which was doubtful, what could lie 
 do ? Starvation instead of drowning would lie 
 his fate. More than once it occurred to him that 
 it would be better then and there to give up all 
 efforts atid let himself go. But then there cone 
 the thought of thos^dear ones who waited for 
 him in England, the thought of the villain Who 
 had thrown him from the ship, and the gfeater 
 villain who had sent him out on his murderous 
 errand. ' He 'could riot bear the idea t^at they 
 shotUd triumph ov^r him so easily aiid so q\iick- 
 ly. His vengeance should not be taken from 
 him ; it had been baffled, bat it still nerved hia 
 arm. 
 
 A half hour's struggle, which seemed like 
 many hours, had brought him much nearer to 
 the island, but his strength was almost exhau^. . 
 His clothes^ caught in the rush of the iitaves,'an'd 
 
 ther, every moment leaving at a greater distance | clinging to him, confined the free action of his 
 the lost man who struggled in the waters. limbs, and lent an additional weight. Another 
 
 At last they had passed the danger, the island half hour's exertion might possibly bring him to 
 
 was left behind, and the wide sea lay all around. 
 But by this time the storm was at its height ; 
 the ship could not maintain its proper course, 
 but, yielding to the gale, fled to the northwest 
 fiu* out of its right direction. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SINKING IN DEEP WATBBS. 
 
 the shore, but that exertion hardly seemed possi- 
 ble. It was but with difficulty now that he conld 
 strike out Often the rush of the waves from be- 
 hind would overwhelm him, and it was only by 
 com-ulsive efforts that he was able to surmoant 
 the raging billows and regain bis breath. 
 
 Efforts like these, however, were too exhaust- 
 ive to be long continued. Nature failed, ai;d 
 already a wild despair came over him. For a 
 quarter of an hour longer he had continued his 
 exertions ; and now the island was so near that 
 a quarter of an hour more might bring him to it. 
 But even that exertion of strength ^^ now no 
 longer possible. Faintly and feebly, and with 
 
 Brandon, overwhelmed by the rush of waters, 
 half suffocated, and struggling in the rush of the 
 
 waves, shrieked out a few despairing cries for „ _ 
 
 help, and sought to keep his head above water failing limbs and fleivefy- throbbing' heart, he 
 as best he could. But his cries were borne off ! toiled on, until at last any farther effort seemed 
 by the fierc? winds, and the ship as it careered impossible. Before him was the mound which 
 madly before the blast was soon out of hearing, he had noticed from the ship. He was at the 
 
 He was a first-rate swimmer, but in a sea like j western extremity of the island. He saw that 
 this it needed all his strength and all his skill to i he was being carried in such a direction tint 
 save himself from impending death. Encum- | even if he did struggle on he might be home 
 
 liered by his clothes itwamMl^more difficult, 
 yet so fierce was thij^gMMfwind and wave that 
 he dared not.sto^f(iHpnioment in his struggles 
 in ord er to divesir himself of his clothing. 
 - At. Aril, by a mere blind instinct, he tried to 
 swim after the ship, as though by any possibility 
 he could ever reach her again, but the hurricane 
 was against him, and he was forced sideways for 
 out of the course which he was trying to take. 
 At last the fbll posaeiaion of his senses was re- 
 stored, and fbllowing the ship no longer, he 
 
 helplessly past the isknd and out into the open 
 sea. Alrendy he could look past the ishind, and 
 see the wide expanse of white foaming waves 
 which threatened to engulf him. The siglit 
 'weskmrad irha VtOe ni«nj|fh wu left, imdmBde 
 hi^cfforts even fbebler. <• 
 
 Oaspairingly he looked around, not knowing 
 what he songht, but seeking still for sometliing, 
 he knew not what In that last look of despair 
 his eyes caught sight of something which at com 
 gave him renewedf hope. It wh not for aw^r> 
 
 **j*W 
 
CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 Borne along by the waves tt was but a few yards 
 distant, and a littleTwhind him. It was the hen- 
 coop which the Captain of the Java had thrown 
 orerboard so ^ to give Brandon a chance for 
 Bfe. That last chance was now thrown in his 
 way, for the hen-coop had followed the same 
 course with himself, and had been swept along 
 not very far from him. 
 
 Brandon was nerved to new efforts by the sight 
 of this. He turned and exerted the last rem- 
 nants of his strength in order to reach this means 
 of safety. It was near enough to be accessible. 
 A few vigorous strokes, a few struggles with the 
 waves, and his hands clutched the bars with the 
 grasp ofta drowning man. 
 
 It waJ a large hen-coop, capable of keeping 
 several men afloat Brandon clung to this and 
 tt last had rest. Every piirjute of respite from 
 snch struggles as he had carried on restored his 
 strength to a greater degree. He could now 
 keep his head high out of the water and avoid 
 the engulfing fury of the waves behind. Now at 
 last he could take a better survey of the prospect 
 before him, and see more pUinly whither he was 
 going. 
 
 The sand-bank- lay before him ; the mound at 
 the western extremity was in front of him, not 
 very far away. The rock which lay at the east- 
 em end was now at a great distance, for he had 
 beai swept by the current abreast of the island, 
 and was even now in danger of being carried past 
 it. Still there was hope, for wind and wave 
 were blowing directly toward the isknd, and 
 there was a chance of his being carried full upon 
 its shore. Yet the chance was a slender one, for 
 the set of the tide rather carried him beyond the 
 line of the western extremity. 
 
 Every minute brought him nearer, and soon 
 his fate would be decided. Nearer and nearer 
 he came, still clinging to the hen-coop, and mak- 
 ing no efforts whatever, but reserving and collect- 
 ug together all his strength, so as to put it forth 
 tt the final hour of need. 
 
 But as he came nearer the island appeared to 
 mme more and more out of the line of his ap- 
 proach. Under these circumstances his only 
 chMce was to fioat as near as possible, and then 
 make a last eflTort to reach the land. 
 
 Nearer and nearer he came At last he was 
 close by it, but the extreme point of the island 
 Ity to the riglit more than twenty yards. This 
 MS the crisis of his fate, for now if he floated on 
 •"JMonger he would be carried farther away. 
 
 The shore was here low but steep, the waters 
 •ppeared to be deep, and a heavy sgrf dashed 
 upon the island, and threw up its spray far over 
 toe mound. He was so near that he could dis- 
 Mguish the pebbles on the beach, and could see 
 heyond the mound a long, flat surface with thin 
 grass growing. 
 
 Beyond this point was another a hundred yards 
 »way, but fcrther out of his reach, and affording 
 no hope whatever. Between the two points there 
 j»M an mlet mto the island showing a little cove : 
 ^^gJ'^ JMtJiere became wyder, and long 
 nwfw careered one past another over the infer- 
 l^ng space. It was a hopeless prospect. Yet 
 l«*»s his last chance. r r-- 
 
 Brandon made up his mind. He let go the 
 ™-«>op, and summoning up all his strength he 
 •mck out for the shore. But this toe the wind 
 «" ••• WWB acainst him, bearing him past the I 
 
 28 
 
 point, and the waves dashed over him more quick- 
 ly and furiously than before. He was swept past 
 the pomt before he had made half a dozen strokes ■ 
 he WM borne on still struggling; and now on 
 nis left lay the rollers which he had seen. In 
 spite of all his efforts he was farther away from 
 ^e island than when he had left the hen-coop 
 Yet aU hope and all life depended upon the issue 
 of this last effort. The fifteen or twenty min- 
 utes of rest and of breathing-space which he had 
 gamed had been of immense advantage, and he 
 struggled with all the force which could be in- 
 spired by the neames* of safety. Yet, after alL 
 human efforts cnnnerwithstand the fury of the 
 elenjents, and here against this strong sea the 
 strongest swimpier could not hope to contend 
 successfully. 
 
 ■ ■ "W*ver I ween was swimmer 
 In snch an evil case." 
 
 He swam toward the shore, but the wind strik- 
 ing him from one side, and urging on the sea, 
 drove him sideways. Some progress was made, 
 but the force Of the waters was fearful, and for 
 every foot that he moved for«ard he was carried 
 SIX feet to leeward. He himself saw this, and 
 calculating his chances he perceived with despair 
 that he was ah%ady beyond the firpt point, and 
 that at the present rate there was nojMjjibility 
 of gaining the farther point. 
 
 Already the waves leaped exnltingly about 
 him, dashing over him now more wildly, since 
 he was exposed more than before to their full 
 sweep. Already the rollers lay close beside him 
 on his left. Then it seemed as though he would 
 be engulfed. Turning his head backward with 
 a last faint thought of trying to regain the hen- 
 coop, so as to prolong hfe somewhat, he saw it 
 for away out of his reach. Then all hoMi fcft 
 him. jj ^\ 
 
 He was now at the outermost line W rollers. 
 At the moment that he turned his head a huge 
 wave raised him up and bore him forward. He 
 struggled still, even in that time of despair, and 
 fought with his enemies. They bore him on- 
 ward, however, none tlie less helplessly, and de- 
 scending carried him with them. 
 
 But now at last, as he descended with that 
 wave, hope came back, and all his despair van- 
 ished. 
 
 For as the wave flung him downward his feet 
 touched bottom, and he stood for a moment erect, 
 on solid, hard sand, in water that scarcely i«acbed 
 above his knees. It was for a moment only that 
 he stood, however, for the sweep of the water 
 bore him down, and he fell forward. Before he 
 could regain himself another wave came and 
 hurled him ferther forward. 
 
 By a violent effort he staggered to his feet 
 In an instant he comprehended his position. At 
 this western end the island descended gently 
 into the water, and the shoal which it formed ex- 
 tended for miles away. It was this shoal that 
 caused the long rollers that came over them so 
 vehemently, and in such marked contrast with 
 th»mor8 abrupt waves of the sea behind.: 
 
 In an instant he had comprehended tlds, and 
 had taken his course of action. 
 
 Now he had foothold. Now the ground be- 
 neath lent its aid to his endeavor ; h$ was no lon- 
 ger altogether at the ihercy of the water. He 
 bounded forward toward the shore in such a di- 
 rection that he could approach it without oppiw 
 
 ,„j(^<.».*afftSi-i 
 
24 
 
 CORD AND CREESE„. 
 
 ; 
 
 HE STAOOEREO UP A FEW PACES UPON THE 8ANDT DECLIVITT. 
 
 ing hinuelf' entirely to the wares. The point 
 that stretched out was now within his reach. 
 The waves rolled past it, but by moving in an 
 oblique direction he could gain it 
 
 Again and again the high rollers came for- 
 ward, hurling him up as they caught him in their 
 embrace, and then casting him down again. As 
 he was caught up from the bottom he sustained 
 himself on the moving mosa, and supported him- 
 self on the crest of the ware, but as soon as his 
 feet touched bottom again he sprang forward to- 
 ward the point which now became every minute 
 more accessible. Wave after wave came, each 
 more furious, each more ravenous than the pre- 
 ceding, as though bounding one another on to 
 
 make sure of their prey. But now that the hope 
 of life was strong, and safety had grown almost 
 assured, the deathlike weakness ifhich hut ohurt- 
 ly before had assailed him ga^'% way to new-bom 
 strength and unconquerable resolve. 
 
 At length he reached a place where the roUen 
 were of less dimensions. His progress became 
 more rapid, until at length the water became ex- 
 ceedingly shallow^ being not mat^ than a fuoli 
 depth. Here the first point, where the mound 
 was, protected it frony the wind and sea. Thii 
 was the cove which m had noticed. The water 
 was all white with foam, but offered scarcely sny 
 resistance to him. He bad but to wade onwaca 
 to the shore. 
 
 That shore w 
 gered up a few j 
 «nd then fell dov 
 
 He could not i 
 on. but he lay w 
 be fell into a sou 
 
 THE MYSTl 
 
 When Brandi 
 
 morning the sun 
 
 lie rose at once a 
 
 oned limbs, to a hi 
 
 were partly dry, 
 
 and impeded his 
 
 every thing, and 
 
 Then he examine 
 
 tuning cartridges. 
 
 with the help of 
 
 good order. As 
 
 in copper they wei 
 
 intd a silver case \ 
 
 neck. It was cyl 
 
 unscrewed. On i 
 
 fiuher's letter and 
 
 were uninjured. 
 
 small compass and 
 
 He now began t( 
 
 had ceased, the \< 
 
 l>ree«e was blowing 
 
 fled the water and 
 
 and on which he ha 
 
 covered with a coa 
 
 the sand. But the i 
 
 thrown up into rij 
 
 it was constantly s 
 
 ■nonnd was not far 
 
 «f the island he coui 
 
 rock which ho had 
 
 length he had before 
 
 ihe width appeared 
 
 whole aspect it seei 
 
 nbominauon ofdesc 
 
 At th6 end where 
 
 t«(l in two points, h 
 
 eOTB where he had f 
 
 points was distingui 
 
 mentioned, which fn 
 
 of an irregular obloi 
 
 ws low, and descer 
 
 The island Itself app« 
 
 Mce of some sand- 
 
 lieen formed by cur 
 
 •he curreiits of the 
 
 ikow fr<»^ the South 
 
 «lii« bank hiy ppjb 
 
 union. "■ 
 
 A short survey sh 
 ••nn also that thei« v 
 futoining life, and t 
 "•(only perhaps top 
 *»^ of atarvati on. 
 
 ^ 
 
be fell into a sound sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THB MYSTEBT OF COFFIN ISLAND. 
 
 When Brandon awaked on the foUowinjr 
 morning the sun was already high in the sky 
 
 He rose at once and walked slowly up, with stiff- 
 ened limbs, to a higher spot. His clofljes already 
 wwe partly dry, but they were uncomfortable 
 and unpeded hig motion. He took off nearly 
 erwy thing, and laid them out on the sand. 
 Then he examined his pistol and the box con- 
 twiung cartndges. This box held some oil also, 
 with the help of which the pistol was soon in 
 good order. As the cartridges were encased 
 IB copper they were uninjured. He then exam- 
 nwd B siTver case which was suspended round his 
 neck. It was cylindrical in shape, and the top 
 unscrewed. On mining this he took ait his 
 fiuhers letter and the inclosnre, both orwhicfi 
 were uninjured. He then rolled them, up in a 
 sin^l compass and restored them to their place. 
 
 He now began to look about him. The>storm 
 had ceased, the waves had subsidy, a slight 
 bresM was blo>ving from the sea which just rof- 
 llDd the water and temiiered the heat The isl- 
 
 .CORD AND ofiEESE. 28 
 
 geSV'X^I^e"' JS r "saty Je^U^^- ^^^^^^^^ ^^T.""^^. 'i ""'-' ""« " 
 and then fell down exhawted upon the Kromd^' " M»n k ^"J""^}" *""* '"^^•* '•'^ ^^out 
 He could not move. It wasTte • niKL for^t ,r?h- """^ ■ "^^ *'",'?'"^ "^^ *^ «='=°"« 
 on, but he lay where he had fallen i^d at Zt 'h,fV l" "^"^J u^r" ^"^ ^"^ remained 
 !,» fell !„.„ »-L„..„.. .,_-.""" ""'^°' "n"' at «8t that the captain of the Java would not give him 
 
 Up. • 
 
 Still subsistence of some kind was necessary 
 and there was nothing to be done but to explore 
 the sandy tract before him. Setting forth he 
 walked toward the rock along the sea-shore On 
 one side toward the north the shore was shallow 
 and sloped gently into the water; but on the 
 southern side it dascended more abruptly The 
 tide was offt. A steep beach appeared here cov- 
 ered *ith stones to which myriads of shell-fish 
 were attached. The sight of these suggested the 
 Idea to him that on the opposite side there might 
 be clams in the sand. He walked over there in 
 search of them. Here the slope was so gradual 
 that extensive flats were left uncovered by the 
 receding tide. ^ 
 
 When a boy he had been sometimes accus- 
 tomed to wander on sand flats near hia^ome 
 and dig up these clams in sport. Now HB boy- 
 ish experience became useful Myriads of little 
 holes dotted the sand, which he knew to be the 
 iiKications of these moUusc^and he at once be- 
 gan to scoop in the sand wflKhis hands. In a 
 short time he had found enough to satisfy his 
 .hunger, and what was better, he saw all around 
 an unlimited supply of such food. 
 
 Yet food ivas not enougli. Drink was eniially 
 necessary. The salt of these shell -fish aggniva- 
 ted Mie thirst that he had already begun to feel 
 
 and on which he had b^n cast wasTow flat and' 3 hL "?' *'"" '"' ""^ '^"^'^^ ^^"^ ' 
 covered mth a coarse giWwhich s^w out nf ^ * *^' ^' "'*' ''™ ""'^ ">««« might 
 
 -hesand. Bntthe,andSf;^Tn^ryplL2 te^VrhT. .^' ^^ "T""^ * ^''t^^ 
 thrown up into riJge.,, and appeared wthSJ i„« ' ^\u <^«^™'"«i ^ ^^ f"r it neverthe- 
 it «vas constantly Jifting and d?ZiSt T§«1l ' "^ *^* T'^ ^ *''' "^ "^"""^ *« P«>«'i«> 
 .noand was not f^ away and at the^tm «nH '•"="?»? .^?« *e rock at the eastern end, To- 
 „f .h- :„i...j K„ .'r.,T*y'.?"". ?' V"^ eastern end ward this he now once more directed his stens. 
 
 uf the island he could see the black onUine of t& 
 rock which ho had noticed from the ship. The 
 .ength he had before heard to be about five miles. 
 the width appeared alxmt one mUe, and in ite 
 whole aspect it seemed nothing better than the 
 nbomination of desolation. 
 
 At th6 end whe^e he was the island termina- 
 te)! m two points, between which there was the 
 Wre whore he had found refuge. One of these 
 pointe was distinguished by the mound already 
 menuoned, which from where he stood appeared 
 <rf an irregular oblong shape. The other^^nt 
 was low, and descended gently into the water, 
 rhe island itself appeared to be merely the emerge 
 Mce of some sand-bank which, perhaps, had 
 been fonnsd by currents and eddies; for here 
 the currejits of the Strait of Sunda encounter 
 nose fn^ the Southern and Indian oceans, and 
 mL ' Pr<»b«b»y near their point of 
 
 ),-^ '.'"'". *"T*J' ''*°'^«^ ••«"» this. It showed 
 <m also that there was but little if any hope of 
 Mrtaining life, and that he had escape! drown- 
 Hovly ^rhaps to perish by the m6n lingering 
 etonies of starvarion. " 
 
 _Al«ti^ hunger and diirst had begun to be 
 m, and how to satisfy thve wants he knew not. 
 ^he would not despaJf^ Perhaps the Java 
 n«ht return in searoh of him, and his conflne- 
 "»«t would only last for a day or so. 
 
 He understood the act of Cigole in a way 
 tMtWMsatiafactoiy to himself. He had thrown 
 
 - S^u • 1 J .. •"""' vurecieu ms Steps. 
 
 . The island was all of sand except the rockson 
 the south beach and the cUff at the eastern end. 
 Coarse grass grew very extensively over the sur- 
 face, but the sand Whs fine and loose, and in 
 many places thrown up into heaps of many dif- 
 ferent shapes. Tfie grass grew in tufts or in 
 spires and blades, thinly scattered, and nowhere 
 forming a sod. The soil was difficult to walk 
 over, and Brandon songht the beach, where the 
 damp sand afforded a firmer foothold. In about 
 an hour aqd a half he reached the rock. 
 
 It was between five hundred and irix' hundred 
 feet in length, and about fifty in height. There 
 was no resemblance to a coffin now as Brandon 
 approached it, for that likeness was only discern- 
 ible at a distance. Its sides were steep and pre- 
 cipitons. It was one bUck solid mass, without 
 any outlying crags, or any fragments near it 
 Its upper surface appeared to be level, and in 
 varioiw places it was very easy to ascend. Uff 
 one of these places Brandon climbed, and won 
 stood on the top. 
 
 Near him the summit was somewhat rounded • 
 at the farther end it -was flat and irregukr: but 
 i>«wwiF Ariwo (mds it saiik Intd a deep hoDoiT^ 
 where he saw that which at once excited a tnl ' 
 mult qf hope and fear. It was a pool of water 
 at le<^ fifty feet in diameter, and'deep too, since 
 the sides of the rock went down steody. But 
 was It fresh or salt ? Was it the acciiinlation 
 trom the showers of the rainy season of the trop- 
 ics, or was it but the result of the past night's 
 
 «; 
 
2G 
 
 CORD AND CHEESE. 
 
 Btorni, which had hurled wave after wave here 
 till the hollow was filled ? 
 
 With hasty footsteps he rushed toward the 
 margin of the pool, and bent down to taste. For 
 a moment or so, by a very natural feeling, he 
 hesitated, tlien, throwing off the fever of sus- 
 pensie, he bent down, kneeling on the margin, 
 till his lips touched the water. 
 
 It was fresh ! Yes, it was from the heavens 
 above, and not from the sea below. It was the 
 fresh rains from the sky that had filled this deep 
 pool, and not the spray from the sea. Again and 
 agitin he quaffed the refreshing liquid. Not a 
 trace of the salt-water could be detected. It 
 was a natural cistern which thus lay before him, 
 fonned as though for the reception of the rain. 
 For the present, at least, he was safe. 
 
 He had food and drink. As long as the rainy 
 , season lasted, and for some time after, life was 
 ' secure. Life becomes doubly sweet after being 
 purchased by such efforts as those which Bran- 
 don had put forth, and the thought that for the 
 |>resent, at least, he was safe did tot fail to fill 
 him with the most buoyant hope. To him, in- 
 deed, it seemed just then as if nothing more Could 
 be desired. lie had food and drink in abund- 
 ance. In that climate shelter was scarcely need- 
 ed. What more could he wish ? 
 
 The first day was passed in exploring the rock 
 to see if there was any place which he might .select 
 for his abode. There were several fissures in the 
 rock at the eastern end, and one of these he se- 
 lected. He then went back for his clothes, and 
 brought them to this place. So the first day went. 
 
 AU tlie time his eyes wandered round the ho- 
 rizon to see if a sail mi^t be iil sight. After 
 two or three days, in which nothing appeared, he 
 ceased his constant watch, though still from time 
 to time, by a natural im])idse, he continued to 
 look. After all he thought that rescue might 
 come. He was somewhat out of the track of 
 the China ships, but still not very much so. An 
 adverse wind might bring a ship close by. The 
 hope of this sustained him. 
 
 Rut day succeeded to day and week to week 
 with no appearance of any thing whatever on the 
 wide ocean. V , 
 
 During these long days he passed the greater 
 part of his time either under the shelter of the 
 rock, where he could best avoid the hot sun, or 
 when the sea-breeze blew on its summit. The 
 frightful solitude offei-ed to him absolutely no- 
 thing which could distract his thoughts, or pre- 
 vent him from brooding upon the hopelessness 
 of his situation. 
 
 Brooding thus, it became his chief occupation 
 to read ove^ and over his father's letter and the 
 inclosnre, and conjecture what might be his 
 course of action if he ever escaped from this 
 place. His father's voice seemed now to sound 
 to him more imploringly than ever; and the 
 winds at night, as they moaned round the rock, 
 seemed to modtdate themselves, to form their 
 sounds to something like a wild cry, and wail 
 forth. "Com e home 1'^ Yet that home was now 
 surely farther removed than ever, and the winds 
 seemed only to mock him. More sad and more 
 despairing than Ulysses on the Ogygian shore, 
 he too wasted away with home-sickness. 
 
 Kartipiro ik yXviciic aiuni voarov bivpofutuf. 
 
 Fate thus &r had been, against him, and the 
 
 melancholy recollections of his past life could 
 yield nothing but despondency. Driven from 
 home when but a boy, he had Itecome an exile, 
 hod wandered to the other side of the world, and 
 was just beginning to attain some prospect of a 
 fortune when this letter came. Rising up from 
 the prostration of that blow, he had struggled 
 against fate, but onlv to encounter a more over- 
 mastering force, and this last stroke hod lieen 
 the worst of alL Coidd he rally after this? 
 Could he now hope to escape ? 
 
 Fate had been against him ; but yet, perhaps, 
 here, on this lonely island, he might find a turn- 
 ing-point. Here he might find that turning in 
 the long lane which the proverb speaks of. *' The 
 day is darkest before the mom," and perhaps lie 
 would yet have Fate on his side. r 
 
 But the sternest and most courageous spirit 
 can hardly maintain its fortitude in an utter and 
 unmitigated solitude. St. Simeon Stylites could 
 do so, but he felt that on the top of that pillar 
 there rested the eyes of the heavenly hosts and 
 of admiring mankind.. It is when the conscious- 
 ness of utter solitude comes that the soul sinks. 
 When the prisoner thinks that he is forgotten by 
 the outside world, then he loses that strength 
 which sustained him while hp believed himself 
 remembered. 
 
 It was the lot of Brandon to have this sense 
 of utter desolation ; to feel that in all the world 
 there was not one human being that knew of his 
 ,fate ; and to fear thot the eye of Providence only 
 saw him with indifference. With bitteme«s he 
 thought of, the last words of his father's letter: 
 " If in that other world to which I am going the 
 disembodied spirit can assist man, then he sure, 
 () my son. I will assist you, and in the crisis 
 of your fate I will be near, if it is only to com- 
 municate to your spirit what you oiight to do." 
 
 A melancholy smile passed over his fine ns lie 
 thought of what seemed to him the utter futility 
 of that promise. 
 
 Now, as the weeks passed, his whole mode of 
 life affected both mind and body. Yet, if it be 
 the highest state of man for the soul to live by 
 itself, as Socrates used to teach, and sever itself 
 from bodily association, Brandon surely hnd at- 
 tained, without knowing it, a most exalted stage 
 of existence. Perhaps it was the period of pn- 
 rificfttion and preparation for future work. 
 
 The weather varied incessantly, onlms and 
 storms alternating ; sometimes all the sea lying 
 dull, listless, and gUssy under the buniing sky ; 
 at other times both sea and sky convulsed with 
 the war of elements. - 
 
 At last there came one storm so tremendous 
 that it exceeded all that Brandon had ever seen 
 any where. 
 
 The wind gathered itself up froy the south- 
 east, and for a whole day the forces of the tem- 
 pest collected themselves, till ot lost they burst 
 in fury upon the island. In sustained violence 
 and injhe frenzy of its assault it far surpassed 
 that flftt storm. Before sundown the storm was 
 at i ts height, and, though yet day, the clouds 
 were BO dense imd so hlack Ihiilll becaBrliU 
 night. Night came on, aiid tKe storm, and roar, 
 and darkness increased steadily every hour, i^o 
 intense woa the darkness that the bond, when 
 held close by the face, could not be distinguished. 
 So resistjess was the force of the wind that Bmn- 
 don, on looking a^i to sea, hi^^ «ling to the 
 
CQIID AND CREESE. 
 
 ir1)ecanifrlil>« 
 
 rock to prerent himself from being blown away 
 A dense ram of spray streamed through the 
 «r, and the surf, rolling up, flung its crest all 
 across the island. Brandon could hear beneath 
 him, amidst some of the pauses of the stonn, the 
 lussmg and bubbhng of foaming waters, as though 
 the whole island, submerged by the waves, wm 
 slowly settling dowiiinto the depths of the oJ;ean 
 Brandon s place of shelter was sufflcientlv ell 
 erated to be out of the reach of the waves that 
 inight r^sh upon the land, and on the lee-side of 
 the rock, so that/he was sufficiently protected. 
 Sand, which he had carried up, formed his bed. 
 In this place, wluch iiaa more like the lair of a 
 wild beast than the abode of a human being, he 
 had to h ve. Many wakeful nights he had pSsed 
 tee, but never had he known such a ni^Tt as' 
 
 "^A^ ^^ u' ^"I'y *''^»* *''" hurricane that 
 vould have been mconceivable if he had not 
 
 ;!Tl-"- ?i? «Sft«»f refined and rendered 
 acateby^g vigds^d slender diet, seemed to 
 detect todible woMs in the voice of the storm 
 Looking ont through the gloom his sight seemed 
 to discern shap^ flitting by like lightning, as 
 
 fZfJt ^^^^ °*^ "'^ *'°'™ '"^ ^**'- 
 
 It needed all the robqst courage of Ms strong 
 nature to sustain himself i^ the presence "Bf the 
 wild fancies that now came iW,ing and throng- 
 mg before his mind. The wo?da of his father 
 louiided m his ears ; he thought he heard them 
 spoken from the air; he thought he saw an 
 aged specU^ face, wan with sufTering and grief 
 in front of his cave. He covered his eyes with 
 his hands, and sought to reason down his super- 
 stitious f^hng. In vain. Words rang in his 
 ears, muflled words, as though muttered in the 
 storm, and his mind, which had brooded so 
 ong over his futher's letter, now gav^ shape to 
 the Mise of winds and wavei. "»pe ro 
 
 !!ri"»''® """* of your fate I will be near." 
 
 h, / ".^ .^."".'^ •" *="^'* B«ndon, aloud, and 
 hg started to his feet 
 
 But the storm went on with its fury, and still 
 
 his eyes saw shapes, and his ears heard fantastic 
 
 8oun4s So the night passed until at last the 
 
 storm had exhausted itself. Then Brandon sank 
 
 down and slept far on into the day. 
 
 ci^^^^'J^u *'^**'*"' "8"'" "•« «ora» had snb- 
 Bded. The sea was still boisterous, and a fresh 
 breeze blew which he inhaled with pl^I^ 
 After obtaining some shell-fish, and satisfyinir 
 tas appetite, he went to the summit of the rock 
 for water, and'then stood looking out at sea. 
 
 His eye swept the whole circuit of the horizon 
 »n hont seeing any thing, until at length he turned 
 to look ma westwardly direction where the isl- 
 Md spread out before him. Here an amazing 
 aght met his eyes. -•'— .lug 
 
 The mound at the other end had become com- 
 aaTltTa^t^ietKuaKht Zt v^eLT' '>^^- «<=»''-. •» the dir^t]rark"of 
 
 ^WfC7^,'^ktut"^'rddTe*S '" • K'fT'r'^''' ^-^r^^ic^ZS 
 
 southern end was flat o^the surface Tnd JarklJ mLTn^Ti '?""•*• ^'''« ^'"•«'» ^ *^^^ 
 
 & .From the distance at whkh he sS h ™ h!fn „/* ''^'''PPt L" *'dtl,-the crest of 
 
 looked Uke a rock, around which the Lnd^H tT ^fP "f '*"f^7'"'^'' rises out of the<^|ni 
 
 •Mtmnlated, but wS iL hiln !.„„ **°d .Md bed. Here the wildest storms in the wq^KCm 
 
 AtthatdirtanceitiSifkea^u v„. S!lI!i"ff^*L^*"SL Not long ago wi'SonnZ 
 M ^-^^ ^ "''* * "**• '»"* fl««-««ff w^p^jon^from oat ito place and hnrM 
 
 27 
 there WM something in its shajie and in its po- 
 sition which made it l«oi like a shij K 
 had been cast ashore. The idea was a Itar^ug 
 
 grew until at last, unable to endure this sus- 
 pense, he hurried off in that direction 
 
 islindTf hL'^'' '™t""" ^° '"«' •>««" on the 
 ishind he haf never been close to the mound 
 
 ^\'!!i'^?1^"*^ for the most part in the nZhl 
 borhood of the rock, and had never thoughtXt 
 a barren sand hillock was worthy of f vi'sit 
 But now It appeared a very different object in hi; 
 
 He walked on over half the intervening dis- 
 tance, and now the resemblance instead of tiding 
 out^ as he anticipated, grew more close. It wa! 
 8^ too far to be seen very distinctly ; but th^ 
 even from that distance, he saw thi'miSS^I 
 ble outhne of a ship's hull ^^ 
 
 There was now scarcely any doubt about this 
 
 wUh Jn*i "1 "'"'■'' .''•''='''>■ ""^a^d, filled 
 with wopder, and marvel mg by what strani^ 
 chajjcMhis »ssel could haveUh^d iu S 
 
 There it lay. It could not by any possibility 
 have been cast ashore on the prec^i^ St 
 The mightiest billows that ever rose from oc««n 
 shore °%^^'?*^« «ft«d a ship so far uponZ 
 
 yZ\^^ If '""fi*'"*. »nd that the sand 
 
 A^J" Zd^ """""l " ^y ™<=«=essiye storms 
 
 As he walked nearer he regarded more closely 
 
 he formation of this westera end. He sawYhe ' 
 
 low northern point, and then the cove where he " 
 
 had escaped from the sea. He noticed that the 
 
 southern point where the mound was app«J^ 
 
 L^^*."**!^ of peninsula, and the the^iVZ: 
 
 M '^'V" ^^r^y T"^*" »>« «^ouId Jco^t 
 for this wonder., This ship, he saw, must have 
 been wrecked at some time long before upon this 
 island. As the shore was shallow it had run 
 aground and stuck fast in the sand. But suc- 
 cessive storms had continued to beat upon it nn- 
 
 ^»n»? T^"*^ T*^' I*''?'' *« '""«" were con. ' 
 stently driving about had gathered all around it 
 higher and higher. At h«t, in the course of 
 
 L?a'if7"? accumulation had gathered about 
 this obstacle till a new bank had been formec 
 and joined to the island ; and the winds had lent 
 
 n .u""!.'. ^^'"8 "P *•'« loose sand on hirfi till 
 all the ship was covered. But last night'sltorm 
 had to some extent undone the work, and now 
 tne wreck was once more exposed. 
 
 Brandon was happy in his conjecture and riitht 
 m his theory. All who know aw- thing abSut 
 the construcuon and nature of sand ishuids such 
 as this are aware that the winds and waters work 
 perpetual changes. The best known example of 
 this IS the far-fcmed .^able Island, which Um oft" 
 the coast of Nova Scotia, in the direct track of 
 
 \' 
 
 ■J 
 
 1.1 .» 
 
■*?■ 
 
 -I?' 
 
 28 
 
 ' CORD AND CREESK 
 
 'i 
 
 '*OBBAT HBATEM8!" CRIED BRANDON, STARTING BACK — " IHt 'viSHNU!'" 
 
 away into the Bea. In ftsrce storms the spray 
 drives all acrosH, and it is imp<?sHil)le to venture 
 ont But most of all, Sable Island is famotts 
 for the melancholy wrecks that have taken place 
 there. Often vestsels that have the bad fortnne 
 to run aground are broken upi but sometimes the 
 sand'^gathers about them uid covers them up. 
 There are numerous mouifds here which are 
 known to conceal wrecked ships. Some of these 
 Tiite been opened, and thfe wreck beneath has 
 been brought to view. Sometimes also after a 
 severe gale these sandy /mounds are torn away 
 and the buried vessels «K exposed- 
 Far away in Aostralia Brandon bad heard of 
 8abla Island ih>m different sea captains who had 
 
 \: 
 
 ■'k 
 
 been in the Athmtic trade. The stories which 
 these men had to tell were all largelv tinged with 
 the snpematural. One in particular who had 
 been wrecked there, and had taken refuge for the 
 night in a^ut bnilt by the British Govemment 
 for wrecked sailors, told some wild story aboat 
 the apparition of a negro who waked him up at 
 dead of night and nearly IpUed him with horror. 
 
 With all these thoughts in hi M|&iid , Brandon 
 wproached the wreclt and at IwlSwd^dwe be- 
 side it. 
 
 It had been long baried. The hull was abont 
 two-thirds nncovered. A vast heap of sand still 
 clung to the bow, but the stem stood out fall in 
 view. Although it most have been there for * 
 
 oi--*5 
 
 long Ume the 
 
 Dtemed to hav 
 
 (he sand. Al 
 
 come loo8e,.an( 
 
 were no masts, 
 
 still remained, 
 
 brig. So deep] 
 
 Brandon, from 
 
 the whole deck 
 
 level with the de 
 
 been chopped ai 
 
 The hold appen 
 
 there may have 
 
 cealing somethii 
 
 ing of the deck i 
 
 the other side hi 
 
 there was a qua: 
 
 light, but only di 
 
 door of the cabi 
 
 li^t 
 
 All these thing 
 A pensive melanc 
 ing of pity for th( 
 were capable of fi 
 he walked around 
 Mad her name. 
 
 The stem was 1 
 had to kneel to i 
 him the letters we: 
 remaining on the 
 there and knelt dc 
 still legible and pa 
 letters: 
 
 "Great Heaven 
 l>Mk-"the Vishn 
 
 CH 
 
 THB DWELLER 
 
 A»WR a momeni 
 
 my for a short dii 
 
 looked fixedly at the 
 
 Could Ihis be indec 
 
 »n«t marvelous coii 
 
 JPonit? It was in 
 
 mm Calcutta for M 
 
 this vessel to be pra 
 
 liow did it get here? 
 
 let why not? As 
 
 no matter in itself for 
 
 »«« are sometimes bi 
 
 "oods which last fo 
 
 »<»d might endure ft 
 
 npbvsand. Besidei 
 
 Md been laden with s 
 
 other wooden mated 
 
 •flott. It might hav 
 
 ou the cnrrenu bore 
 
 not so wonderful that 
 
 of Ulonel Despard. 
 
 The true marvel w; 
 
 _^^b«in cast ashor* 
 
 J*»re this ship was. 
 
 He stood for a long 
 ^•trength had been 
 *«f of his island Ufe 
 "jw. were becoming i 
 ■""into a morbid at 
 
V 
 
 the Band. All the caK k ^ "" '^^^ ^y 
 come loo«,,,a„d the ^t "i;pi°:7J' ""d be- 
 mm no masts, but the lowlr Wrt of f J^' i, T 
 
 s "r^r*^-, '""''^"« th^theieitr': 
 
 been chopped «w^ Thet^lh"'''^""' '" ''»'•«' 
 
 S~«esS-£S 
 
 him the letter we^oblkemSS b.u h« ' "'^'^' 
 remaining on the oppose jS *"" ^« «'"' ««">« 
 there and knelt dowT Thjrn » "^/''«"' o^er 
 
 still legible and p« of a fifth 'V^ '^" ''"'"^ 
 letters: ""• ^^ese were the 
 
 VISH^ 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 l^i-^the'^RS/" ''"^ ^■^'^"'^ «*«"-« 
 
 CHAPTER VT. '"- 
 
 ran DWELLER ,N THE SUNKEN SHIP 
 
 fiom Calcutta for Manni» w • '^'^"" «»"«1 
 liow did It get here? ^'onK' And if so, 
 
 »o'^tS^in?it:^i'r'^a^'h^^ 
 «el» are sometimes buHt of ^.^ ^"'*'*" ""^ 
 -roods which taLTfor n?m^ "'^.y'."' """er 
 irood mijtht endnL f "mniense periods. Any 
 
 l.»d SeeTlTdon ^ Jll^' ^1^''« ^collected 
 
 »f Colonel I^aiS"* "''' ** "«» ^"*»" 
 
 J«»e this sW?^ '*"' *" *^ ««*e place 
 
 thousand strange fancies. The clowd do«r. „f 
 
 cealed within "B""™' spectacle was con- 
 
 trit^^wibTe'liXT^ ^r'^r 1!- 
 Jl^ come he.«, and hf hXn ^ ^ast^t^ 
 
 Sil'*" "■" ""'''•"« -•>-" he might^'nol 
 feehjig now remaining was one of intense cS 
 
 eii^w r JrJre^Ss'er 5^"":;^ •"'» 
 tr.Torrh^b^£r%r-^^^^^^ 
 
 had blown th, sand awaJ'^aJswept trdtt'"'' 
 cle^ as though the^ had'b^n ffittef^N" 
 eouTrbe'seeV^ ''' '^' '»°^"»'^« »' -^ ktd 
 
 patient labor was accomplished Mf 
 
 ile entered. The cabin was ahn.,» - Wl4- 
 
 which it could en^~.L»?! T"'"K t^'^ngh 
 tmted through tC^^ks Of te'""''^ P?"*" 
 fine, impalpable dusTTndh !?* **"°™;''y '" « 
 available^urface within ^'"^ "'"""■^ ''"«'^- 
 
 to ItooTrsS'tawS" 7" ' '^''"^ --^""^ 
 
 P4,^, 
 
 .J 
 
 crumbled at the touch "' "^ "*'*"''* ""^ 
 
 Brandon went into each of the«> nwnu to «„. 
 
 v^- 
 
30 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 cession, and brushed out the henvy, wet sand from 
 tjff berths. The rotten quilts uiid blankets fell 
 with the sand in matted masses to the floor. In 
 each room was a seaman's chest. Two of these 
 
 were covered deejdy ; the other two butiiglitly : 
 the latter were unloi-ked, and he ojiened the lids. 
 
 " In the crisig of your fate I will be near." 
 
 The horrors of the jmst jiight recurred. The 
 air of the cabin was cloi^e and sutt'ocating. Thej i- 
 seemed in that dark room before him some dread 
 I'resence, he knew not whirt-;Tiome Being, who 
 had uncovered tliis his abode and enticed him 
 here. 
 
 He found himself rapidly falling into tliat state 
 in which he would not have been alile either lo 
 advance or retreat. One overmastering horror 
 seized him. Twice his spirit sought to over- 
 come the faintness and weakness of the flesh. 
 Twice ho step|ied resolutely forward ; but each 
 time he faltered and recoiled. 
 
 Here was no place for him to summon up liin 
 strength. He could bear it no longer. He turned 
 abruptly and rushed out from the damp, gloomy 
 place into the wanii, bright suushine and the free 
 air of heaven. 
 
 The air was bright, the wind blew fresh. He 
 drank in great draughts of that delicious brecie, 
 »nd the salt sea seemed to be inhaled at each 
 breath. 
 
 ^ The Sim shone brilliantly. Tlje sea rolled afar 
 and nil around, and- sparkled biefore him under 
 
 . the sun's rays with that infinite laughter, timt 
 y. He took it down, but it fell ai)art uviipiOixov yiXaana of which ^gchylus spoke in 
 ng conri)letely corroded. In the mid- his deep love of the salt sea. .Speaking paren 
 
 tJjily some old clothes ap|)eared, however, and 
 tliMe in the same stage of decay as every thing 
 dsA ■ In one of them was a "book, or rather 
 whiA had once been a book, but now the leaves 
 werAull stuck together, ond formed one lump 
 of slike and mould. In spite of his most care- 
 ful seiiWi he had thus far found nothing what- 
 eyer wh^'h could be of the slightest benefit to 
 him in hik^olitude ajad necessity. ,» 
 
 There wai^njill two rooms which he had not 
 yet examiiied. These were at the end of the 
 ca^bin. Hi tlie stern ofifha. ship, each taking up 
 , -<Jhe half ofyiie width. The sand had drifted in 
 here to about the same depth as in the side- 
 rooms. He entered first the one nearest him, 
 which was on the right side oY the ship. This 
 room was al)out ten feet- long; extending from 
 the middle of the ship to the side, )itid alwut six 
 feet wide. A telescope was the first thing which 
 attracted his attention. It lay in n rack near 
 the doorway, 
 at once, bei 
 
 die of the room there was a compass, which hung 
 from the ceiling. But the iron pivot had rusted, 
 and the plate had fallen down, ^ome more gims 
 iind swords were here, Init all rusted like the 
 others. There was a table at the wall bv the 
 stern, covered with sand.. An arm-chair stood 
 close by it, and opposite 'tnis was a couch. At 
 the end of this room was a bertii which had the 
 .same apj)earance as the other berths in the other 
 looms. The (piilts and mattresses as he felt 
 them beneath the damp sand were ecjually de- 
 cayed. Too long had the shij) been exposed to 
 the ravages of time, and Brandon saw that to 
 seek for any thing here which could be of the 
 slightest ser\'ice to himself was in the highest 
 degree useless. 
 
 This last room seemed to him as though it 
 might have been tlio captain's. That cajjtain 
 was Cigole, th* very man who had flung him 
 Dverlward. He had unconsciously by so doing 
 ^-ent him to the scene of his early crime. Was 
 this visit to be all in voin ? Thus far it seemed so. 
 But might there not yet be something beneath 
 this sand which might satisfy him in his search ? 
 
 There still remained another room. Might 
 there not be something tliere ? 
 
 Brandon went back into the cabin and stood 
 - ' looking at the open <loonvay of that other room. 
 
 He hesitated. Why? "I'eriuips it was the 
 thought tluit here was his last chance, that here 
 his exploration must end, and if nothing came 
 of it then all this adventure would he in vain. 
 Then the fantastic hopes and fetirs which by turns 
 had agitated him would prove to have been ab- 
 surd, and he, instead of being sent by Fate as 
 the minister of vengeance, wonid be" only the 
 coiAmonplace victim of ah everyday accident 
 
 perhaps it was some instinct" within him that 
 tnaaeTtnowTi to his mind what awaited him there. 
 For now as he stood that old horror came upon 
 him full and strong. Weakness and excitement 
 made his heart beat and his ears ring. Now his 
 fancy became wild, and he recalled with painful 
 vividness his father's words : 
 
 theticjilly, it may be said that the only ones fiDm 
 among articulate speaking men who have found 
 fittitig 4>ilhAii for the sea are the old Greek, the 
 Scandinavian, oiuT tfaejb^nglishman. 
 
 Brandon drew in new Strength and life with 
 every bieiith, till at .last he begail to think onic 
 more of returning. 
 
 But even yet he feared that when he entered 
 that cabin the siicU would be on liiui. The 
 thought of attemjiling it was intolerable. Yet 
 what was to l)e done? To remain unsatisfied 
 was e(iuiilly intolerable. To go back to his rock 
 was not to be thought of. 
 
 But an eft'ort must be made to get rid of this 
 womanly fear; why^should he yield to this? Sure- 
 ly there wer6 other thoughts which he miglrt c^fr,.. I 
 to his mind. There came over him the memory 
 of that villain who h(id cast him here, who now 
 wan exulting iri his fancied success and bearini; 
 back to his master tlie news. There came to 
 him the thought of his father, and his wrongs, 
 and his woe. There came to his memory his 
 father's dying words summoning him to venge- 
 ance. There came to him the thought of those 
 who yet lived, and suffered in England, at the 
 mercy of a pitiless enemy. Should he falter at 
 a superstitious fancy, he — who, if he lived, had 
 so great a purpose ? 
 
 All superstitious fancy faded away. ■ The thirst 
 for revenge, the sense of intolerable wrong arose. 
 Fear and horror died out utterly, destroyed I))' 
 Vengeance. 
 
 "The rresencTe, then, is my ally," he mur- 
 mured. " 1 will go and face It." 
 
 And he walked resolutely, with a firm step, 
 back into the cabin. 
 
 Yet even then it needed all the new-bom res- 
 olution which he had sumrnoned up, and sll the 
 thought of his wrong, to sustaiii him as he en- 
 tered that inner room. Even then a sharp thrill 
 passed through him, and bodily weakness conid 
 only l>e sustained by the strong, i-esolute, stub- 
 bom soul. 
 
 The room was about the size of the ca|)tain's. 
 
lummon u|) liin 
 
 '4 
 
 1 
 
 ^ORD Ayp CREKSE. 
 
 31 
 
 
 
 m ( 
 
 ■'■'"'"" •"'"" ' ''^^^^^^^^«^^'^^::^j^^.. 
 
 I..7 Whose ^r::;!, e e h;Tfe,^„tT/''"L?"'"^« 
 «hi<h he knew bv an in*,™„ ""'• .'^''ed, and 
 be here • inlbrnal conviction must 
 
 w£"f "!'"1. ""^ "^''^""1 "'Im to the shore and 
 '"hplmd Arown off the covering of s,nd„hh 
 
 hnf f -u- L ° **"■" "'«' '""■ned toward him— 
 M„. ff 'r '!''"'■''. " "' °"<''' human. and vet mosk 
 oftS ieZ" 'U« ";« f"? "fOeath-thlrct 
 
 fivce^re seemed like an effort at a smile of S 
 the appearance of Death in Ufa, and lemi^„ » 
 
 . .... wiiiic uiRr. 
 
 If that Form had suddenlv thrown off it, 
 
 wifctrd':^?'' r" ''^ "'^ '^'^ -^z^^r^z 
 
 r.;„ P'^"'*«J hnnd to meet him, he would not 
 
 have been surpriwd, nor would he have Cn one 
 
 whit more horror-strickeft "" 
 
 Brandon stood fixed. He could not move. 
 
^' 
 
 32 
 
 COBD ^D CipiESE. 
 
 -i»";. 
 
 H« was like one in a nigtitmare. Hii limbs 
 geemed riKid. A spell was upon him. His 
 eyes seemed to fasten themselves on the hollow 
 cavities of the Form before 'him. But uni^er 
 that ^remendoos pressure he did not altogetlicr 
 sink. Slowly his spirit rose ; A thought of Hight 
 came, but it was instantly rejected. 'Itie next 
 moment he' drew a long breath. ^' I'm %i in- 
 fernal fool and coward," he muttered, lie topk 
 three steps forward, and stood, beside the Eigure. 
 , lie laid his hand firmly npon the head utlie hair 
 fell oft" at his touch. ;^j'^l'oor devil, said he, 
 "I'll bury your bones, at any ra^." The spell 
 was broken, and Brandon was himself again. 
 Orice more Brandon walked out into we open 
 
 air, but this time there was not a vestige of hor- mouth being exactly like what one^ may see iii 
 
 ror 1^ He had encountered whatjie dreaded, 
 and it was now in his eyes only a mass ot bones. 
 Yet there w^ much to fliink of, and the struggle 
 which had raged within him had exhausted him. 
 
 The sea-breexe played about him and "^soon 
 reRtored his sti^angth. What npxt to do was the 
 question, and after some deliberation hq decided 
 at once to remove the skeleton and bury it 
 
 A flat board ^hich had served as a shelf sup- 
 plied him with an easy way of turning up the 
 sand. Occupation was pleasant, and in an hour 
 or two he had scooped oat a place, large enough 
 for the purpose which he had in view. He then 
 went back mto the inner cabin. 
 , Taking his board he removed carefully the 
 sand which had covered the skeleton. The 
 clothes came away with it As he moved his 
 board along it struck something hard. He 
 could not see in ihat dim light what it was, so 
 lie reached down his hiuid and grasped it 
 
 It was something which the fingers of the 
 skeleton also encircle^, for his own hand as he 
 grasped it touched those fingers. Drawing it 
 forth beoperceived that it was a common junk 
 bottle tightly corked. 
 
 Thei% seemed a ghastly comicality in such a 
 thjing as this, that this lately di^ded Being 
 should be nptliing more than a common skele- 
 ton, aiid that he should be discovered in this 
 bed of horror doing nothing more dignified than 
 clutching a junk bottle like a sleeping drunkard. 
 Brandon smiled faintly at the idea; and then 
 thinking that, if the liquor were good, it at 
 least would bia welcome to hlhi in His present 
 situation. He walked out upon the deck, in- 
 tending to open it and test its content^. So he 
 
 «at down, and, taking his knife, he pushed the >to hare its due. 
 
 cork in. Then he smelled the supposed liquor to 
 ' lee what it might be. There was only a musty 
 odof. He looked in. The bottle appeared to 
 be filled with paper. „ Then the whole truth 
 flashed uiMn his mind. He stnjek the bottle 
 npon th^'deck. It broke to atoms, and there 
 ' lay a scroll of paper covered With writing. 
 
 He seized it eagerly, and was about-opening 
 it to read what was 'Written when he noticed 
 something else that also had fallen from the 
 bottle. 
 
 - it was a cord aboattwo TOrds in length, made 
 of the entrail of some animat^and still as strong 
 fttid as flexible as when it was first made. ' He 
 , . took it up carefully, wondering why such a thing 
 as this should have been so carefully sealed np 
 and preserved when so many other things had 
 been neglected. 
 
 nothiitg very remarkable except the fact that, 
 though very thin, rt appeared to' have l>een lun 
 (wisted but plaTted in a veir iieculiar manner ' 
 out of many fine strands. The intention hiuP 
 evidently been to give to -it ^e .iMmost |>oMsilile 
 strength together with ttiAsmalles^'size. Hrun-'' 
 don had heard of cords ulted by Imdays uiul 
 Hindus for ossasstination, and this Ruined like 
 the description which he had read of t|iem.^ 
 
 At one end of the cord was a piece of bronze 
 about the size of a common marble, to which 
 the 6brd w<ts<attached by a most peculiar knot. 
 The bronze itself was .intended to represent the- 
 head of sOme Hindu^dol, the grotesque ferocity 
 of its features, an^he hi(te<)us grimace of the 
 
 the images of Mother Kal(or Bowhani. 
 
 At once the cord associated itself in his mind 
 with the horrors which he. had heard of as hav- 
 ing been perpetrated in the names of tbesie fright- 
 ful deities, and it seemed now to be more than n 
 common one. He carefully wound it up, placed 
 it in his'^Mcket, and prepared to examine the 
 manuscript 
 
 The aun was high in. the heavens, the nea- 
 breeze still blew freshly, While Brandon, o|>ening 
 the manuscript, began to read. 
 
 CHAPTER Vil. 
 
 MANnSCRIPT FOUND IN A BOTTLE. 
 
 " Bbio ' VisuND,' Ansirr in the Cuimksx 8ei. 
 JtUij 10, 1828. 
 "Whobwer finds this let him know that I. 
 Lionel Despard, Colonel Qf H'. M. "87th iJegi- 
 ment, have been the victinarof a foul conspimcv 
 perfonned against me by^he captain and crew 
 of the brig Vishmi, and especially by my servant, 
 
 "John Potts. 
 
 " Expecting at any timeV> perish, adrift help- 
 lessly, at the mercy of winds and waves, I sit 
 down now before I die, to write *11 the circum- 
 stances of this attair. L will inclose the manu- 
 script in a bottle and fling it into the sea, trust- 
 ing in God^that he may cause it to be bortie to 
 
 Those who may be enabled to read my WT>rdi< so 
 that they may know my fate and bring tlio guilty 
 to justice. Whoever finds this let him, if iiossi-. 
 ble,*have it sent to my friend, Kdl])h BriUidon, 
 of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, England, who 
 will do more than any other man to cause justice 
 
 "To further the ends of justice and to satisfy 
 the desires of my friends, I will write an account 
 of the whole case. 
 
 " In the name of God, I declare that John 
 Potts is guilty of my death. Ha was my servsnt. 
 I first found nim in India under very remarkable / 
 circumstances. / 
 
 "It was in the year 1826. The Govertmenf 
 was engaged in an effort to put down bsf da of 
 assassins by whom the most terrific atrocities had 
 been committed, and I was appoi|ited to conduct . 
 tlie work in the district of Agra. 
 
 "The Thuggee society is still a niysteiy, 
 thodgh its nature may yet be revealed if thiey can 
 only capture the chief* and make him confess. 
 As yet it is not fiilly ^nown, and though I have 
 
 The chief was captured In 1880, and by his coo- 
 
 ennegiecteo. . , ', .(bsrton aU Uie atrodona, system of Thuggee was re- 
 
 The cord, on a close examination, presented veiled. ' 
 
'%. 
 
 { 
 
 ptod to coaduct 
 
 bMTd much which I have reported to the Go\»- 
 iAiiicut, yet I anulow to bcliovo that anv human 
 ^ b«flg» can actuKlly practice'what I have heard 
 rhe assassinu'whom I was pursuigg iluded 
 o<it pursuit with mar^eljjns agility and cunning 
 but one by one we captured them, and puniHhed 
 them summarily. At hut we Hummnded a band 
 of Thugs, and to our amazement found^^ong 
 them a European and a small boy., i^ijljsnr at- 
 
 \ '!f^'',^'fL"'"''^l!/*>"''« » desperate resiSltaate, 
 
 \ Bird lulleO thejftSelves rather than fall into 6uf 
 
 hands; but the European, leadingjbrward <he 
 
 httle boy, feU on his knees and iffiplored us to. 
 
 gave him.- 
 
 "I had heard^hat an EOglishmon had joined 
 these wretches, and at first tJibuglit that this was 
 the man ( so, desiroug of capturing him, 1 or- 
 dered iny men whenever they foiind him to spare 
 his life if possible. This man was at once seized 
 and brought before me. " ' 
 
 "Hehadapi'teousstorytotell. lie wiid that 
 his name was John Potts, tliat he belonged to 
 Southamptoii,. and had been in India a year 
 He had come to Agra to look out for^emiJoy 
 as a servant, and had been caught by the ThdgH 
 TOey ottered t» spane his life if^he would join 
 them. Iiiccording^o him they always make this 
 offer. If It tewl only beea himself that was con- 
 cerned he said that he would have died a hun- 
 dred timeft. rather than have accepted'; but his 
 4«ttte boy was with him, and to save his life he 
 consented, hoping that somehow or oilier he 
 might escape. The;g^ then received him with 
 some hojrrible ceremonies, and marked on his 
 arm and «n the arm of his s^i, on the inner part 
 of the right elbow, the name of Bowhani in 
 Hindu characters. /Potts showed me his arm 
 and that of his son in proof of this. 
 
 "He had been with them, according to his 
 "W account, about three mouths, and his life 
 had been one continuous horror. Ho had picked 
 up enough of their hingnage to conjecture to some 
 Mtentthe nature of their belief, which, he assert- 
 ed, weuld be most important information for the 
 Government. The Thugs had treated him very 
 kindly, for they looked upon him as one of them- 
 selves, atid they are aU very hnmanp 8n*»affec- 
 tionate to one another. His worst fear had been 
 that they would compel him to do murder; and 
 he would have died, he declared, rather than con- 
 sent ; but, fortunately, he was spared. The rea- 
 son of this, he said, was because they always do 
 their murder by strangling, since the shedding 
 of blood u not acceptable to tlieir diviiity. He 
 could not do this, for it requires great dexterity. 
 Almost all their strangling is done by a thiiri 
 strong cord, curiously twisted, aixmt «8ix feet in 
 length, with a weight at one end, generally carved 
 so as to *epresent the face of Bowham. This 
 they thr^ with a peculiar jerk around the neck 
 Of their yictim; The weight swings the cord 
 round and ^tad, while the strangler pulls at 
 tfte other eiH and death is inevitable. His 
 Jiands, he said, were coarse an<Wlumsy, nnh'ke 
 Uie delicate Hmdu hands ; and so, although they 
 to»d him to toctiee incessantly, he conld not 
 •Mm. He aaid nothing about the boy, bat, from 
 what I law of that boy afterwardr^ believe that 
 Mture crtited him espcciaUy to be a Thug, and 
 I? "."oonbt that he learned then to wield the 
 eord with as mndh dexterity as the beat strangler 
 of them all. ° 
 
 CORD A'ND CREESR 
 
 n^n'l"' f "«?<''»t|?n With ihem had shown him 
 ^nch of their ordinary habits and some of their 
 beliefs. I gathered from what he said that the 
 ^Z'hl./l!'^JSf«,«. ■*"««>- w the worship of 
 Bowhani a frightful demon, whose highest ft.v 
 >» the sight of death or dead, bodies. tC wl o 
 are lier disciplos must offer „p human ^l^:tims 
 killed without the .hoddfng ftj blood,' and the 
 
 1 e motive for this ,« neviSr gain, for they rarely 
 rplunder, hut purely religious zeal. The reward 
 IS an .mm.rtal.tyoT bliss herealler, which Bow- 
 ham wil secure them ; a life like that of the Mo- 
 hammedan Paradise, where there are material . 
 joys to be possessed fo^evW without satietv, 
 Destruction, which begins as a kin<l of duty b" 
 comes also at last, and naturally perhaps, an a^ 
 sorbmg paeaion. As the hunter in pursuing his 
 prey is earned away by excitement and the en- 
 tluisinsm of the chase, or, in hunting the tiger, 
 feels the delight of brhving danger and displafini 
 courage so here that same passion is felt to an 
 extraordmanr degree, for it is man that must, be 
 pursued ancf destroyed. Here, in a^ditton" to 
 courage, the hunter of man toiust call into exer- ^ 
 cise cunning, foresight, eloquence, intrigue. All 
 this I afterward brought to the attention of the 
 Oosprnment with venr good results. 
 
 "Totts declared that night and day he had 
 been on the wjitch for a chance to escape, but so 
 internal was the cunning of these wretches; and-' 
 so anictt their senses «liarpened as they had h^n 
 by long practice, thjft success became hopeless. 
 He had fallen into deep dejection, and concluded 
 that his only hope lay in the efforts of the'^Gov- 
 omment to put down these assassins. Our ap- 
 pearance had at last savdd him. , , 
 "Neither I, nor any of my men, nor any En- 
 glishman who heard this story, doubted for an 
 instant the truth of every word. All" the news- 
 papers mentioned with delight the fact that an En- 
 glishman and his son had been rescued. Pity was 
 felt for that father who, for his son's sake, had con- 
 sented to dwell amidst scenes of terror, and gym- 
 Ijathy for the anguish that he mu»li*ave endured 
 dunng tUft terri&v captivity. A thrill qf4orit)r 
 passed through all our Anglo-Indian society at 
 the revelation which J^e made about Thugww- 
 and so great was the feeling in his favor that a 
 handsome subscription was made up for him bv 
 the oflScers at Agra. ■' 
 "For my part I believed in him most im- 
 plicitly, and, as I Mv¥ *im to be unusuallv 
 clever, I engaged hhn at #^ to be my 8er>-- 
 ant. He staid with me, aM %.«Ey month won 
 more and jBwre of^my cohfidAce. Jle had a 
 good head for business. Matters of considerable 
 dehcacy which I intrusted to him werev well per- 
 fonn«^and at last I thought it the mosk^rtu- 
 nate lilfbumstance in my Indian life that I bid^- 
 found such a man. 
 
 "After about three years be expressed a wish 
 to go to England for the sake of his son. He 
 thought India a bad place for a boy, and wished 
 to try and start in some bjisiieaa ia his natifi ^ 
 land for his son's sake, „ " 'r\' ^^ 
 
 "That boy had (dways been myldetestation— 
 a crafty, stealthy, wily, malicious Uttlo demon, 
 who was a perfect Th^^g in his nature, without 
 My religiona basis to his Thnggeeism. I pitied 
 Potts for being the father of such a son. I could 
 not let the litUe devil live in my house ; his cnf 
 
84 
 
 CORD AND CI«:ESE. 
 
 elty to animals which he delighted to torture, i 
 his thieving propensities, and his infenial deceit, 
 were all so intolerable. He was not more than ' 
 twelvej but he was older in iniquity than many I 
 a gray-headed viUain. To oblige Potts, whom 
 I still trusted implicitly, I wrote to my old friend 
 Kalph Brandon, of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, 
 requesting him to do what he could for so de- 
 ' _, serving a man. 
 
 " Just about this time an event occurred which 
 has brought me to tliis. 
 
 "My sweet wife had been ill for two years. 
 I had obtained a faithful nurse in the person of 
 a Mrs. Compton, a poor creatme, but gentle and 
 affectionate, for whom my dern- love's sympathy 
 had been excited. No one could have been 
 more faithful than Mrs. Compton, and I sent 
 my darling to the hill station at Assurabad in 
 hopes that the cooler air might reinvjgorate her. 
 " She died. It is only a month or two sint e 
 that frightful blow fell and crushed me. To think 
 of it overwhelms me— to write of it is impossible. 
 " I could think of nothing but to fly from my 
 unendurable grief. I wished to get away from 
 India any where. Before the blow Crushed me I 
 hope4 that I might carry my darling to the Ca|ie 
 of Good Hoi)e, and therefore 1 remitted there 
 a large sum ; but after she left me I cared not 
 where I went, and finding that a vessel was go- 
 ing to Manilla I decided to go thei-e. 
 
 "It was I'otts who found out this. I now 
 know that he engaged the vessel, put the crew 
 on board, who were all creatures of his own, and 
 t'X)k the route to Manilla for the sake of carry- 
 ing out his designs on me. To give eveiy thing 
 a fair appearance the vessel was laden with store 
 and things of that sort, for which there was a 
 demand at Manilla. It was with the most per- 
 fect indifference that I embarked. I cared not 
 where I went, and hoped that the novelty of the 
 sea voyage might benefit me. 
 
 " The captain was an ItaUan named Cigole, a 
 low-browed, evil-faced Wllain. The mate was 
 named Clark. There were three Lascars, who 
 formed, the small crew. Potts came with me, 
 and «lso an old servant of mine, a Malay, whose 
 life 1 had saved years before. His name was 
 Uracao. It struck me that the crew was a small 
 one, but I thought the captain knew his business 
 better than I, and so I gave myself no concern. 
 " After we embarked Potts's manner changed 
 very greatly. I remember this now, though I 
 did not notice it at the time, for I was almost in 
 • kind of stupor. He was particularly insolent 
 to Uracao. 1 remember once thinking indiffier- 
 ently that Potts would have to be reprimanded, 
 or kicMl, or something of that sort, but was not 
 capable of any action. 
 
 *' Uracao had for years slept in front of mj* 
 doo^r when atliome, and, when traveling, in the 
 same room. He always waked rtt the slightest 
 noise. He regarded his life as mine, and thought 
 that he was bound to watch over me till I died, 
 
 Although this was often inconvenient, yet it would 
 have broken the affectionate fellow's heart if X 
 
 TSd forbidden. Tt, so It went on. Potts made an 
 eflbrt to induce him to. sleep forward among the 
 Irfwcars, but though Uracao had borne insolence 
 from him without a murmur, this proposal made 
 hia eyes kindle with a menacing fire which si- 
 lenced the other into fear. 
 
 "The passage was a quick one, and at lost we 
 
 wei-e only a few days' sail from Manilla. Now 
 our quiet came to an end. One niglit I was 
 awakened by a tremendous struggle in n-.y cabin. 
 Starting up, I saw in the gloom two figures 
 struggling desperately. It was impossible to see 
 who they were. I sprang from tha bertii and 
 felt for my pistols. 'iTiev were gone. 
 
 " 'What the devil is this?' I roared fiercely. 
 " No answer came ; hut the next moment there 
 was a tremendous fall, and one of the men clung 
 to the other, whom he held downward. 1 sprung 
 from my berth. There were low voices out in 
 the cabin. 
 
 " ' You can't,' said one voice, whi'cli I recoe- 
 nized as Clark's. ' He has his pistols. ' 
 
 " ' He hasn't,' said the voice of Cigole. 'Potts 
 took them awny. He's unarmed. ' 
 
 '• ' Who are you?' I'fcried, grusimig the man 
 who was holding the other down. 
 
 "'Uracao,' said he; 'Get your pistols or 
 you re lost!' 
 
 " ' What the devil is the matter ?' I cried, an- 
 grily, for I had not even yet a suspicion. 
 " '1-eel around your neck,' said he. 
 " Hastily I put my hand up. A thrill of hor- 
 ror passed/tirough me. It was the Thuggee cord. 
 "'Who is tliis?' I cried, grasping the man 
 who had fallen. ^^, 
 
 " 'Potts,' cried Uracao. « Your pistols are 
 under your berth. Quick ! Potts tried to stran- 
 gle you. There's a plot. The Lascars are Thugs. 
 I saw the mark on their arms, the name of Bow- 
 hani in Hindu letters.' 
 
 " All the truth now seemed to flash across me. 
 I leaped back to the berth to look under it for 
 my pistols. As I stooped there was a rush be- 
 hind me. 
 
 '"Help! Clark 1 Quick !' cried the voice of 
 Potts. ' This devil's strangling me ! ' 
 
 "At this a twnult arose round the two men. 
 Uracao was dragged off. I'otts rose to his feet. 
 At that "moment I found my pistols. I could 
 not distiuguiijh^wrsons, but I ran the risk and 
 fired. A saarp cry followed. Somebody was 
 wounded. 
 
 " ' Damn him !' cried Potts, ' he's got the pis- 
 tols.' 
 
 "The next moment they had all rushed out, 
 dragging Uracaeu with them. „The door was 
 drawn to violentlji. with a bang and fastened on 
 the outside. They had captured the only man 
 who could help me, and I wa»a prisoner at the 
 mercy of tliese miscreants. 
 
 "All the remainder of the night and until the 
 following morning I heard noises and tramp- 
 ling to and fro, but had no idea whatever of 
 what was going on. I felt indignation at the 
 treacherj- of Potts, who, I now peixeived, had 
 deceived me all along, but had no fear whatever 
 of any thing that might, happen. Death was 
 rather grateful than otherwise. Still I determ- 
 ined to sell my life as dearly as possible, and, 
 loadii^g my pistol once more, I waited for them 
 to come. The only anxiety which I felt was 
 ab out m y poor faithful Mala^ 
 
 ''Rnt timn nnaoiMl nn/l a* 
 
 Bat ume passed, and at last all was stilL 
 There was no sound either of voices or of foot- 
 8te^)8. I waited for what seemed hours in im- 
 pauence. Until finally I could endure it no lon- 
 ger. I was not going to die like a dog, but de- 
 termined at all hazards to go out armed, fact 
 them, and meet my doom M once. 
 
CORD AND CREESK 
 
 »j>ing the man 
 Qur pistols or 
 
 A few ngorons kicks at the door broke it 
 open and I walked pw. ITiere was no one in 
 tiie cabm. I went out on deck. There was no 
 one there. I saw it all. I was deserted. More- 
 the bng had settled down so 16w in the water 
 that the sea was up to her gunwales. 1 looked 
 out o^-er the oceawilo see if I could perceive any 
 trace of them— Potts and the rest. I saw no- 
 thing. They must have left long before. A faint 
 jmoke in the hatchway attracted my attention 
 Looking there, I perceived that it had been burn- 
 ed away. The vilhiins had evidently tried to 
 scuttle the brig, and then, to make doubly sure, 
 had kmdled a fire on the cargo, thinking that 
 the wooden materials of which it was composed 
 would kindle readily. But the water had rush- 
 ed in too rapidly for the flames to spread ; never- 
 theless, the water was not able to do its work, 
 for the wood cargo kept the brig afloat, She 
 was water-logged but still floating. 
 
 "The masts and shrouds were all cut away 
 The vessel was now little better than a raft, and 
 was drifting at the mercy of the ocean currents 
 For my part I did aot much care. I had no 
 desire to go to Manilla or any where else ; and 
 the,loveof life which is usually so strung did not 
 exist I should have preferred to have l)een 
 kiUed or drowned at once. Instead of that I 
 hved. 
 
 "She died on June 16. It waa the 2d of 
 Jaljr when this occurred which I have narrated 
 
 r-iV^T.""® '"*• ^•"' » *e«k I have been 
 drifting I know not where. 1 have seen no land 
 There are enough provisions and water on board 
 to sustain me for. months. The weather has 
 been fine thus far. 
 
 "I have written this with the wish that who- 
 ever may find it wiU Rend it to Ralph Brandon 
 Lsq., of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, that he may 
 see that justice is done to I'otts, and the rest of 
 the conspirators. Let him also tty, if it bo not 
 joo late to save Uracao. If thia fall into the 
 hands of any one going to EngUnd let k be de- 
 hver^ to him as above, but if the finder he going 
 to India let him place it in the hands of the Gov- 
 ernor-General ; if to China or any other place, 
 et him give u to the authorities, enjoining them 
 however, after using i^ to send it to lialnh 
 iiranuon as above. 
 
 "It will be seen by this that John Potts was 
 in connection with the Thugs, probably for the 
 sake of plundering those whom they murdered • 
 that he conspired against me and tried to kill 
 me; and that he has wrought my death (for I 
 expect to die). An examination of my desk 
 shows that he has token papers and bank bills 
 to the amount of four thousand pounds with 
 him. It was this, no doubt, that induced him 
 
 ICn fhla A**awnn* . ^—-^ 
 
 <t Sight. 
 
 "4«7«M 
 
 ea^Hhys 
 
 .n i^.i. »!.• — ' '-"""■i "lai uiuucea mm 
 to make this attempt against me. 
 
 I desire also hereby to appoint Henry Thorn- 
 ton, Sen. Esq. of Holby Pembroke, Solicitor, 
 my executor and the guardian of my son Conrt- 
 T7' iwiT T ' '^neath a fiither's blessing 
 «»5»UaatIpo8ge«». Let him try to secure 
 ^W^»pn«riH^tSipe Town Ibr my boy, and, if 
 Powible, to regain for him the four thousind 
 Poonda ♦hich Potts has carried off. 
 
 .K. "Z?"*..*^"" "•'* manuscript I also inclose 
 «ne strangling cord. 
 
 ^J^y God have mercy upon my sonll 
 "LiokblDespahd." 
 
 3C 
 
 I "Jul;/ 28. —Since I wrote 'this there has been 
 
 a series of tremendous storms. The weather has 
 
 , cteared up again. I have seen no land and no 
 
 I 'V«/y 31.— Land to-day visible at a great 
 dwtan^ on the south. I know not what land" 
 
 SS' "° "°* **" '" ""•"*' '""''"°" ^ "™ 
 
 wel/*Tlf'~rr*^..™'^''' '"^"•J "'e south- 
 west. It seems like the summit of a ranee of 
 mountains, and is probably fifty miles distant. 
 If w„1'J^*i- :~'^ ^^ appeared on the horizon. 
 of ri^h^^ '° ^ '^ ""^ ^' ^'^""^ °«' 
 
 ;•"' ' 'J;— A series of severe gales. The 
 
 „ y . *^"8 o^er the biig in these storms, 
 
 «ncFlipfctimes seems about to cany her down 
 
 W^^'&^sTnfr' ''"' """* ^'^™'''"'«- 
 "Attffust 25. -.Land again toward the west. 
 
 ilri°"/f. ?"?.'' ' '""y •* •^"^'"'g among «ho 
 islands of the Indian Archipekgo. • 
 
 iTJf'!?''*"'*.*''T^-~^.'""® '*«" "*-•'' <■•"• « «eek. 
 Unfortunately I am beginning to recover again. 
 A faint blue streak in the north seems like land. 
 
 ^^ September 10.— Open water. 
 
 "September 28.— A series of storms. How 
 the bng can stand it I can not see. I remem- 
 ber Potts telling me that she was built of mahojr- 
 any and copper-fastened. She does not appear 
 to be much injured. I am exceedingly W' 
 from want and exposure. It is with difficulty 
 that I can move about 
 
 " Octofter 2.— Three months adrift. My God 
 have merty on me, and taake haste to deliver 
 mel A Storm is rising. Let all Thy waves 
 and billows overwhelm me, O Loi-d ! 
 
 H„vl^ tI"" f '^^ **"^'''' "°'"'- K^eed three 
 I days. The bng has run aground. It is a low 
 island, with a rock about five miles awav. Thank 
 Ood, my last hour is at hand. The sea is rush- 
 ing in with tremendous violence, huriing sand 
 uiJon the brig. I shaU drift no more. I can 
 scarcely hold this i>en. These are my last 
 words. This IS for Ralph Brandon My bless- 
 ing for my loved son. I feel death coming. 
 \V .ether the storm takes me or not, I must dil 
 . \\ hoever finds this will take it from my 
 hand, and, in the name of God, I charge him to 
 do my bidding." 
 
 aw,- 
 
 This was the last The concluding pages of 
 the mannscnpt were scaicely legible. The en- 
 tries were meagie and formal, but the hand- 
 writing s|)oke of the darkest despair What 
 agonies had this man not endured durine thoa« 
 three months I 
 
 Brandon Voided up the manuscript reveren- 
 tially, and put it into his pocket He then 
 went back Into the cabin. Taking the bony 
 skeleton hand he exclaimed, in a solemn voice. 
 
 In the name of God, if I am saved, I swear to 
 do your bidding!" 
 
 He next proceeded to pe^iflB^^h« j 
 to the remains of Colonel I>espard. On remov- 
 ing the sand something bright struck his eye. 
 It was a gold locket As he tried to oiien it 
 the rusty hinge broke, and the cover came off. 
 
 It was a painting on enamel, which waa m 
 bright as when made— the iiortiait of a bMnti- 
 fnl woman, with pensive eyes, and delicate. In- 
 teUectual expreBsion; and appeand aa thoagh 
 
 / 
 
M 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 THKKG MONTHS ADHIFT." 
 
 It might have been worn oronnd the Colonel's 
 neck. Brandon sighed, then patting this in his 
 pocket with thc) manuscript he proceed to his 
 task. In an hour the remains were buried in 
 the grave on CbflSn Island. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TUB SIGNAL or FIRE. 
 
 The wreck broke in upon the monotony of 
 Brandon's island life and changed the current 
 of his thongttts. The revelations contained in 
 Despard's manuscript came with perfect novelty 
 to his mindi Potts, his enemy, now stood be- 
 fore him in okrker colors, the foulest of miscre- 
 Mits, one who hitd descended to an .association 
 with Thuggee;, one who bore on his arm the 
 dread mark of Bowhani. Against such an en- 
 emy as this he would have to be wary. If this 
 enemy suspected his existence could he not read- 
 ily find means to effect his destniction for- 
 
 ■ ever? Who could tell what mysterious allies this 
 man might have? Cigole bad tracked and fol- 
 Iwyed hi m with the patience and vind ictiveness 
 
 -of a bioodofaonnd. Tfien mlgfalii nluuiy such 
 as he. He saw phunly that if he ever escaped 
 his first and highest necessity would be to work 
 to secret, to conceal his true name, and to let 
 it b« rappcMd that Louis Brandon had been 
 drowned, while another name would enable him 
 to do what he wished. 
 
 '•*>;A' 
 
 The message of Despard was now a sacred 
 legacy to himself. The duty which the murdered 
 man had imposed upon his father must now be 
 inherited by him. Even this cojild scarcely add 
 to the obligations to vengeance Hnder which he 
 already lay ; yet it freshened his passion wid 
 quickened his resolve. 
 
 The brig was a novelty to him here, and us 
 day succeeded to day he found occupation in 
 searching her. During the hotter part of the 
 day he busied himself in^ shoveling out the sand 
 from the cavern with a board. In the cool of 
 the morning or evening he worked at the hatch- 
 way. Here he soon reached the cargo. 
 
 This cargo consisted of staves and short boanls. 
 All were blackened, and showed traces of fire. 
 The fire seemed to have bunied down to n depth 
 of four feet, and two or three feet under the sides; 
 then the water coming in had quenched it. 
 
 He drew out hundreds of these staves and 
 boards, which were packed in bundles, six boards 
 being nailed together as box-shooks, and thirty 
 or forty staves. These he threw out upon the 
 deck and on the sand. What remained he drew 
 about and scattered loosely in the hold of the 
 VMseL He did this with a purposf. for he I " 
 
 forward to the time when some ship might paa, 
 and it would then be necessary to attract her at- 
 tention. There was no way of doing so. He 
 had no pole, and if he had it might not be no- 
 ticed. A fire would be the surest way of draw- 
 ing attenti;n, and all this wood gave him the 
 means of building one. He tcattored it about 
 
 J-it.a^UitiL 
 
CORD AND CREESB. 
 
 on the sand, so that it might dry in the hot 
 lun. 
 
 Yetit was also necessary to have some sort of 
 s Bigrml to elevate in case of need. He hiid no- 
 thing but a knife to work with ; yet patient ef- 
 fort will do much, and after about a week he had 
 cut away the rail that ran along the quarter-deck, 
 which gave him a pole some twenty feet in length! 
 The nails that fastened the boards were all rust^ 
 ed 90 that thev could not be used in attaching 
 any thing to this. He decided when the time 
 came to tie his coat tS it, and use that as a flag. 
 It certainly ought to be able to attract attention. 
 Occupied with such plans and Libors and pur- 
 poses as these, the days passed quickly for two 
 weeks. By that time the Heree rays of the sun 
 lud dried every board and stave so that it be- 
 came like tinder. The ship itself felt the heat • 
 the seams gaped more widely, the boards warped 
 and fell away from their rusty nails, the timbers 
 were exposed all over it, and the hot, dry vrind 
 penetrated every cranny; The interior of the 
 hold and the cabin became free from damp, and 
 hot and dry. 
 
 pen Brandon flung back many of the boards 
 and staves loosely ; and after enough had been 
 thron-n there he worked Liboriously for days cut- 
 ting up large numbers of the boards into fine 
 sfJints, untU at last a huge pile of these shavings 
 were accumulated. With these and his pistol 
 he would be able to obtain light and fire in the 
 time of need. 
 
 The post which he had cut off" was then sharp- 
 ened at one end, so that he could flx it in the 
 nnd when the time came, should it ever come. 
 Here, then, these prepai-ations wero Completed. 
 After all his labor in the cabin nothing was 
 fonnd. The bedding, the mattresses, the chests, 
 the nautical instruments had all been ruined 
 The tables and chairs fell to pieces when the 
 tand was removed ; the doors and wood-work 
 tank away ; the cabin when cleared remained a 
 wreck. 
 
 The weather continued hot and dry. At night 
 Brandon flung himself down wherever he hap- 
 pened to be, either at the brig or at the rock 
 Every day he had to go to the ro«k for water' 
 Md also to look out toward the sea ftt>m that 
 Sde. At first, while intent upon his work at the 
 mm, the sight of the barren horizon every day 
 did not materially affect him ; he rose superior 
 todespondency and cheered himself with his task. 
 But at length, at the end of about three weeks, 
 aU thw work was done and nothing more re- 
 mained. His only idea wua to labor to effect his 
 ft»po, and not to insure his comfort durine his 
 rtay. , 
 
 Now OS day racceeded to dav aU his old gloom 
 iwnmed. The excitement of the last few weeks 
 tad acted favorably upon his bodily health, but 
 when this was removed he began to feel mora 
 ttan his old weakness. Such diet as his mkR 
 rastom nature, but it could not preserve heaSC^ 
 ^jtrawat length to loathe the food which Ifi' 
 "WWSIe, and it was only by a stem resolve 
 M»t he forced himself to swallow it. 
 
 At length a new evil was superadded to those 
 which had Already afllicted him. During the 
 am port of his stay the hollow or pool of water 
 on the rock had always been kept filled by the 
 wqnent rains. But now for three waeka, in 
 act ever since the uncoverinc of the Vitknu, not 
 
 87 
 
 a single drop of rain had fallen. The sun shone 
 with intense heat, and the evaiwration was great. 
 
 Ihe wind at first tempered this heat somewhat. / 
 but at last this ceased to Wow by day, and often/ 
 for hours there was a dead calm, in which the 
 water of the sea lay unruflled and all the air was 
 motionless. 
 
 If there could only have been something which 
 he could stretch over that precious pool of water 
 lie might then have arrested its flight. But he 
 had nothing, and could contrive nothing. Every 
 day saw a perceptible decrease in its volume, and 
 at last It went down so low that he thought he 
 could count the number of days that were left 
 mm to live. But his despair could not stay the 
 operation of the laws of nature, and he watched 
 the decrease of that water as one watehes the 
 failing breath of a dying child. 
 
 Many weeks passed, and the water of the 
 pool stiU diminished. At last it had sunk so 
 low thqt, Brandon could not hope to live more 
 than another week unless rain came, and that 
 now he could scarcely expect. Tlie look-out be- 
 came more hopeless, and at length his thoughts, 
 instead of turning toward escaiie, were occupied 
 ydtb deliberating whether he would probably die 
 of starvation or simple phvsical exhaustion. He 
 began to enter into that state of mind which he 
 had read m Despard's MSS., in which Ufe ceases i 
 to be a .matter of desire, and the only wish left 
 18 to die as quickly and as painlessly as possible. 
 
 At length one day as his eyes swept the wa- 
 ters mechanically out of pure habit, and not ex- 
 pecting any thing, he saw far away to the north- 
 east something which looked like a sail He 
 watehed it for an hour before he fairly decided 
 that It was not some mocking cloud. But at 
 the end of that time it had gro»Ti larger, and had 
 assumed a form which no cloud could keen so 
 long. '^ 
 
 Kow his heart beat fest, and all the old long- 
 ing for escape, and the old love of life retumwl 
 with fresh vehemence. This new emotion over- 
 powered him, and he did not try to strumrle 
 
 with it. .f 66 » 
 
 Now had come the day and the hour when all 
 Ufe was in suspense. This, was his first hope, 
 and he felt that it must be his lost. Experience 
 had shown that the island must lie outside the 
 common track of vess^, and, i^ the ordinary 
 course of things, if this passed by he could not 
 hope to see another. 
 
 Now he had to decide how to attract her no- 
 tice. She was still far away, yet she was evi- 
 dently drawing nearer. The rock was higher 
 than the mound and more conspicuous. He de- 
 termined to carry his signal there, and erect it 
 somewhere on that place. So he took tip the 
 ht«vy staff, and bore it laboriously over tlie sand 
 till he reached the rock. 
 
 \ By the time that he arrived there the vessel 
 imd come nearer. Her top-sails were visible above 
 .rtiehorizon. Her progresswas very slow, forthere 
 
 wo« only very little wind.- Hw rtuddinglwlfa 
 
 were all set to catch the breeie, and her course 
 was such that she came gradually nearer. Wheth- 
 er she would come near enougli to see the island 
 was anotlier question. Yet if they thouriit of 
 keeping a look-out, if the men in the top* had 
 glasses, this rock and the signal could easily be 
 seen. Hefeared, however, that this would not be 
 thought o£ The existence of Coflin laUod wu 
 
 V. 
 
m^l^mmf 
 
 ts 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 "still hb stood tribe, holding aloit bis signal. " 
 
 not generally known, and if they sopposed that 
 there was only open water here they would not 
 be on, the look-out at alL 
 ^ Nfivertheless Brandon erected his sipial, and 
 B8 there Wag no place on the solid rock where he 
 could in»prt it he held it up in his own hands. 
 Hours pwsed. The ship liad come very much 
 nearer, brtt her hull was not yet visible. Still 
 he stood there under the burning sun, holding 
 •loft his signal. Fearing that it might not be 
 sufficiently conspicuous he fastened his coat to 
 the top, and .then waved it slowly backward and 
 forward. 
 
 The ship moved more slowly than ever ; but 
 still it was coming nearer ; for after some time,* 
 which seemed to that lonely watcher like entire 
 davs, her hull became visible, and her course 
 still lay nearer. 
 Now Brandon felt that he must be noticed. 
 -JHAwa ved hi* sign a l incewutntly, Heeven leaped 
 in the air, so that he might he seen. He thought 
 that the rock would surely be perceived from the 
 ship, and if they looked at that they would see 
 the flgnre upon it. * 
 
 ^ Then despondency came over him. The hull 
 of tlie ship was visible, but it was only the np- 
 pcrmost line 6i the hull. He was itanding on 
 
 the very top of the rock, on its highest poin» 
 From tli» deck Aey could not see the rock it- 
 self. He.stoopea down, and perceived that the 
 hull of the ship sank out of sight. Then ho knew 
 that the rock would not be visible to them at «11. 
 Only the upper half of his body could by any 
 possibility he visible, and he knew enough of the 
 sea to understand that this would have the dark 
 sea for a back-ground to observers in the ship, 
 and therefore could not be seen. 
 
 Still he would not yield to the d^ection that 
 was rapidly coming over him, and deepening into 
 despair eveiy minute. Never before had he so 
 clung to hope — never before had his soul been 
 more indomitable in its resolution, more vigo^ 
 ouB in its strong self-assertion. 
 
 He stood there still waving his staff as though 
 his life now depended upon that dumb yet elo- 
 quent signal— as though, like Moses, as long u 
 hia anas were ereet, so long wonid he he ai^ 
 to triumph over the assault of despair. H^nra 
 passed. Still no notice was taken of him. Still 
 the ship held on her course slowly, yet steadily, 
 and no change of direction, no movement of any 
 kind whatever, showed that he had been seen. 
 What troubled him now was the idea that the 
 ship did not come any nearer. This at flnt bt 
 
refused to believe, but at last he saw it beyond 
 
 We above the horizon. 
 
 The rfhip was now due north from the rock 
 saihng on a line directlj. parallel with the island' 
 
 And now Brandon saw that his last hopi of atl 
 tracting attention by the signal was gon^ The 
 .hip was moving onward to the wes* and every 
 minute would make it less likely that tliose o^ 
 board could see the rock. 
 
 During the hours, in which he had watched 
 the ship he had been busy conjectuHng wh^ 
 
 ^l^'^^r^ r*^ ^"^"^ what portihe might have 
 come. I he direction indicated China ahnost 
 andoubtedly. He depicted in his mind at^^ i 
 conmiodious, and swift ship, with many pasS 
 gers on their way back to England. i^iT^. I 
 med pleasant society, and genoml inten-ou.^ 
 His fancy created a thousand scenes of delX ' 
 
 5" I ^M^T "^'"^ "'-*'«. ^^'^^y "•««=« of men •' 
 AH earthly happiness seemed to him at that time 
 
 ss;:\re^°"'-«'*'''«'''p-'"eh';r 
 
 'Ihe seas were bright and spailcling, the skies 
 
 the white sweUing sails puffed out like clouds 
 .gainst the blue sky beyond. That shfp sS 
 to the lonely watcher like Heaven itself Oh^ j 
 to pass beyond the limits of this narrow sand^ 
 
 0l^to,^chT/''^*"'i^" ""«» enter tS I 
 
 Oh! to reach that ship which moved on so mi- I 
 
 jestically, to enter there and be at rest " I 
 
 It was not given him to enter there.' Br»n- ' 
 
 a«a . Already the sun was sinking, and the 
 udden nighfof the tropics was coming "wiftly I 
 on 1 here was no longer any hope. ^ I 
 
 He flung the staff down tifl it broke asunder ' 
 on the bird rock, and stood for a few moments ' 
 looking out at sea in mute despair °"*"'*"** 
 
 let could he have kif5wn what was shortly to 
 be the fate of that ship-shortly, only in a few 
 day»-he would not have des,idr,^,Ve woSd 
 have rejoiced, since if death wereTi he hT" lot 
 
 rwcued and gam the sweet hope of life afresh 
 
 B^CT/ '"f- .""'^ extingiilshed in bS' 
 «But Brandon did not remain long in idlenels 
 There wag yet one rosouree-«ne which he^ 
 alr»dy thought of through that long day, but K 
 ««ted to try, since he would havelo foreake hta 
 «gnal-8tation ; and to remain there with Ws staff 
 «*nied to him then the only punK.se of hfsS 
 bi^enT ""' '"«"'^-«t«ff had foiled, he had 
 
 .«?! *T" hat' ,fi"'e<l to work its appropriate 
 ^, and orfier things were before h^ He 
 took his ,. oat and descended f^oto the rock t^ 
 n»ke a last effort for life. He walked Lk 
 
 te'' "•* «''^*'""« 8'°°™ towa,^ the wreTk 
 ;«^ «^^^*"* whatever. He walked with a 
 =-«» lagging back, hnt adranefng calmlv. 
 
 i«Lr 1.** *i"' l"'^" 'n • wa of fire, and the 
 
 WW uarsnes*. There was no moon. The stum 
 •bone dimly from behind a kind of haze th« 
 
 C;:&".r''''- '"•« *ind came uTmore 
 "Wly from the Mst, and Brandon knew that 
 
 CORD AND CREESE, 
 
 89 
 
 to attract further and further away. That ship 
 had now died out in the dark of the ebon sea; 
 
 Lr^tn^H— '''\"°''*'' '''"=^ ■'" notice wer^ 
 all against him, yet he never faltered 
 
 «f Xi? h ''T? ^u" "''^ resolution, which was 
 fhe ch«n""''^' * • """k^'" '■" «gnal-fl^, whatever 
 th«f It fl Ti"' • *'™ '"'8''* he. He thought 
 that the flamed flanng up would of necessity at- 
 tract attention, and that the vessel might turn, 
 or lie-to and try to discover whdt this might be 
 
 I Ueath had now become to him rather a tiling to 
 I w» T'''^ *^" ''^°''^^- ^or he knew thai it 
 i w^nlH 1^* k''""^' "^ •"■« ' """J how much better 
 td'ely UL" " '^'""^ ""^''^ """ «f« - 
 This decision to die took away despair De- 
 spair is only possible to those who value this 
 earthly hfe exclusively. To the soul that looks 
 forward to endless lif^ despair can never cpml 
 
 wi.^T.iT"'' *," "°'«"°" P°'To»« that Brandon 
 went to the wreck, seeking by a last chance after 
 Ute, yet now prepared to relinquish it. Ho had 
 stn.ggl«l for life all these weeks ; he had fought 
 
 SnTLf d** ^' '"■" '^i^ -""tt^srable spirTtS 
 agony, all day long, on the summit of that ixKk, 
 and now the bitterness of death was past. 
 An hour and a half was occupied in the walk 
 I over the sand to the wreck. Fresh waveT of 
 I fZt^ come over all things, and now, though 
 i i^Jn7rJ?-\''°'jt'^''' "•« g'oom was intense 
 wher^thi^I"'' ''^■Yi^ "•« ^''y "hovp showed 
 where the stars might be. Where now was the 
 ship for which Brandon songht ? He cared not ' " 
 
 wasbK"V"M"t''r*«"''l-«^- Thowi^d 
 Z n^^^ t'*''?'^ ^y *•■« ♦''"^ 'hat he reacheil 
 
 w^k^s l'» u,^"? • "i*'".^ ^'^ °°' hlown for 
 weeks. Jt would take the ship away farther 
 
 cSn e.Ti?''' "' i''« '^""'^ -'- his iL; 
 awav fnri ^V u^^y ^ P"* 'hat last chance 
 a>*ay forever, and thus make an end of suspense. ' 
 fhi; , P''«Pa™t,>on8 had long since been made; 
 the ^I^ 7°K '"^ '°°^'y ""■''^'' "hout the hold 
 iL^t^ft'^T^t-'^ ""« thread-like splinter; 
 th^fjre ' ""■'"''"« '*'"'• "« '"^ «"Jy to apply 
 
 intl.'Vn'^rh''" ""«" handkerchief and tore it up 
 into fine threads, these he tore apart again and 
 
 2S '"ulT^f "i' '^y «■«- a?mos^"cS 
 as tant. He then took-these loose fibres, and dc- 
 
 ' XiZhT 1^'"°'*'' P"' '"«"' "ndenieath the 
 D^toT -n^ II ^'^ ^""^r^- '^''•«" he took his 
 pistol, and holding it close to the lint fired it 
 Ihe explosion rang out with startFing force iil 
 
 flr^ ^7 '"^ ""^ H'V^'P' '•»« "■" received tl^ 
 fire and glowed with the sparks into spots of red 
 heat. Brandon blew with his breath, and the 
 wind streaming down lent its assistance 
 
 in a few moments the work was done. 
 
 it blazed ! 
 
 But scarcely had the first flame appeared than 
 
 though the fickle wind were tantalizing him-at 
 one time helpmg, at another baffling him. Onco 
 more B,»ndon blew. Once more thi blwe aro^ 
 m!!S?"".^"* ''" *="?' '■''«'' •" front of it till it 
 S£rf*« "'"'".?*''• '^''« hkze ren mpidly 
 through he fine splints, it extended itself towarJ 
 Ae^hav,^, It threw it. arms upward to Z 
 
 *«- 
 
 «f^-' 
 
■i\'-wwiw"n;c. I' 'V"' w"fmrmiwj,^''^''^m'f'rfm^mmiififf;^miffmf^^f^i'^iil&ffnit 
 
 40 
 
 The dry wood kindled. A million sparks flew 
 ont as it cracked under the assault of the devour- 
 ing fire. The flame spread itself out to a larger 
 volume ; it widened, expanded, and clasped the 
 kindling all around in its fervid embrace. The 
 flame had been baffled at first ; bUt now, as if to 
 assert its own supremacy, it ru8he4 out in all di- 
 rections, with something that seemed almost Uke 
 exultation. That flame had once been conquered 
 by the waters in this very ship. The wood had 
 saved the ship from the waters. It was as though 
 the Wood had once invited the Fibe to union, 
 but the Water had step])ed ip and prevented 
 the union by force ; as though the Wood, resent- 
 ing the interference, had buttled the assaults of 
 the Wateb, and saved itself intact through the 
 long years for the embrace of its first love. 
 
 Now the FiKE sought the Wood once more 
 after so many years, and in ardor unspeakable 
 embraced its bride. 
 
 Such fontastic notions passed throng^ Bran- 
 don's fancy as be looked at the triumph of the 
 flame. But he could not stay there long, and as 
 he had not madja up his mind to gire himself to 
 the flames he; Clambered up quickly out of the 
 hatchway and stood upon the sand without 
 
 The smoke was pouring through the hatchway, 
 the block voluminons folds being rendered visible 
 by the glow of the flames beneath, which now 
 had l^ned the ascendency, and set all the vnnds 
 at defiance, indeed it was so now that what- 
 ever wind came only assisted the flames, and 
 Brandon, as he looked on, amused hitnself with 
 the thought that the wind was like the world of 
 man, which, when any one is first stfnggling, 
 lias a tendency to crush him, but when he has 
 once gained a foothold exerts all its eflTorts to 
 lielp him along. In this mood, half cynical, half 
 imaginative, he watched the progress of the 
 flames. 
 Soon all the fine kindling had crumhled away 
 1 at ihe touch of the fire, and conununicating its 
 o^ heat to the wood around, it lank down, a 
 {Rowing mass, the foundation of the rising fires. 
 Here, from this central heart of fire, the flames 
 rtuhed on upon the wood which lay loosely on 
 . all sides, filling the hull. Through that wood 
 ' the dry hot wind had streamed for many weeks. 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 And fast and furious, with eager advance, the 
 flames rushed on devouring every thing. Through 
 the hatchway, around which the fiercest flKg 
 gathered, the stream of flame rose impetuously 
 on high, in a straight upward torrent,'hurling up 
 a vast pyramid of fire to the ebon skies, a 0Xoy6( 
 liiyav ■Kiiiyiava which, like thfit which once il- 
 lumed the Slavonic strait with the signal-fire first 
 caught from burning iVoy, here threw its radi- 
 ance far over the deep. 
 
 While the- lighter wood lasted the flame was 
 in the ascendant, and nobly it did its work. 
 Whatever could be done by bright radiance uiid 
 far-penetratii^g lustre was done here. If that 
 ship which had passed held any men on board 
 capable of feeling a human interest in the visible 
 signs of 9alamity at sea, they would be able to 
 r^ in this flame tl)at tliere was disaster some- 
 where upon these waters, and if they had human 
 hearts they would turn to see if there was not 
 some suffering which they might relieve. 
 
 But the lighter and the dryer wood was at last 
 consumed, and now there remained that which 
 Brandon had never touched, the dense masses 
 which still lay piled where they had been placed 
 eighteen years before. Upon these the fire now 
 marched. But already the long days and weeks 
 of scorching sun and fierce wind had not been 
 without their effects, and the dampness had been 
 subdued. Besides, the fire that advanced ujiori 
 them had already gained immense advantage ; for 
 one half of the brig was one glowing moss of 
 heat, which sent forth its consuming forces, and 
 withered up, and blighted, and annihilated all 
 around. The close -bound and cldse- packed 
 masses of staves and boards received the ^esili^ 
 less embrace of the fire, and where they did not -> 
 flame they still gave forth none the less a blaze- 
 less glow. 
 
 Now from the burning vessel the flame arose 
 no more ; but in its place there appeared that 
 which sent forth as vivid a gleam, and as far- 
 flashing a light. The fire had full sway, thongfa 
 it gave forth no blaze, and, while it gleamed bat 
 little, still it devoured,. From the sides of the 
 ship the planks, blasted by the intense heat and | 
 by the outburst of the flames, had sprung away 
 and now for nearly all the length of the veswl 
 
 till every stave and every bdard had become dry 1 th4 timbers were exposed without any covering, 
 
 to its utmost possibility. Now. at the first breath 
 of the flame the wood yielded; at the first touch 
 H flared up, and prepared to receive the embrace 
 of the fire in every fibre of its being. 
 
 Tlie flame rolled on. It threw its long arms 
 through the million interstices of the loose piles 
 of wood, it penetrated v/orj where with its sub- 
 tle, far-reaching power, till within the ship the 
 glow broadened and widened, the central heart 
 of fire enlarged its borders, and the floods of flame 
 that flowed from it .rushed with consuming fury 
 through the whole body of the ship. 
 
 Glowing with briglit lustre, increasing in that 
 brightness every moment, leaping up as it con- 
 sumed and flashing vividly aa it leaped up. A 
 thousand tongues of flainjB 8tr«tmed npwf^ 
 
 Between these flashed forth the gleam of the fire 
 inside, which now in one pure mass glowed with 
 dazzling brightness and intense heat. 
 
 But the wood inside, damp as it was, aod solid 
 in its fibre, did not allow a very swift progress 
 to the fire. It burned, but it burned slowly. >It 
 glowed like tlie charcoal of a furnace from be- 
 hind its wooden bars. 
 
 The massive timbers of mahogany wood yield- 
 ed slowly and stubbornly to the conflagration. 
 They stood up like iron bars long after all the 
 interior was one glowing moss. But, though 
 they yielded slowly, still they had to yield with 
 the parage of hours to the progress of the fire. 
 And so it came to pass that at length the strong 
 sides, sapped by Uie steady and resistless ass ault, 
 
 througfi* the crannies ofi' the gaping deck, and i suirehdered. One by one the stout timbers, now 
 between the wide orific^ of the planks and tim- wasted and weakened, gt7e way and sank down 
 hers the dazzling flames-beamed ; a thousand | into the fervid mass beneath. At last the whole 
 resistless arms seemed «xtepded forward to grasp centre was one accumulation of glowing asbea, 
 the fabric now completely at its mercy, and the [ and all that remained were the bow, covered 
 hot breath of the fii« shriveled up all in its path | with sand, and the stem, with the quarter-deck, 
 before yet its bands were laid upon it. I The tire spread in both directions. The stem 
 
!W^l^IfWB?IWip 
 
 yWdad flm. Here the strong deck gnstained for 
 
 !,S?,K Tf*' "l '?' «'« ^" h-J consumed 
 evwy thing beneath, but at last it sunk in ; the 
 ambers of the sides followed next, and aU hsA 
 gone. With the bow there was a longerand a 
 harder struggle The fire had penetmtJi fa^ 
 into that part of the vessel; the flames smoul- 
 dered ther^ but the conflagration went on, and 
 moke and blue fl^ames issued from every paW of 
 iha sandy momid, whi'ch, fiercely assailed by the 
 heat, gave way in every direction, broke into a 
 million crevieen, and in places melted and wn to- 
 jjether in a glowing molten heap. Here the fires 
 
 S ml"i^.'' ""' "^^ ^'^y "^"^ -I ^"-""^ 
 
 Long before morning Brandon had fallen 
 
 -^P. He had stood fir»t near the burnkg 
 
 IT^« K ^" *''* '•'*' '"'■'^'^ ''™ "> move awayf 
 and he had gone to a ridge of sand, where tWs 
 pemnsuU joined the island. There he sat down 
 
 A^^h? fl'^Ji"'*'"?''''" fora'ongtime. -S 
 Ae light flashed, and if that ship for whom he 
 was .signaling had noticed this si^, and^h^ex! 
 
 one that chose to examine. '' 
 
 But hours i«ssed on. He strained his eves 
 
 Md''" '^'r:? '" "*« ''"^"«" in wWchX 
 sbiD had vanmlinH tn <uio ;<• .1 . 
 
 CX)RD AND tJBEESE. 
 
 41 
 
 n.i!l^ qoMtion at a timo, mess-mate, " said-th. 
 
 & «",^^±""r*' '">«> «y«ta7 to London ,^1 
 LM??,iT. K * "^T^ •""'• We saw this light 
 
 bow and came up to see what it was. We found 
 
 Se"!S:s!^^ '*"" "«■ '"' -rning.^&1 
 
 ITie Captain waved his hand proudlv to where 
 
 -i'y^l^ttlX '''' '"^- ••^- -- -^e^ 
 
 of vo^y-^T^n ' .^'•^ y"» «« 'he fire a/,e„d 
 n2, 1 .?"■"?* fi""**"". who now begun to com 
 prehend the situation. ^ 
 
 "Yes." « 
 
 yes'telJay"?^"" '"'''''' '**' "* '"""^ '^e north 
 
 mo'i^i'. """"*'• '^"' ■*" '^''' ?§•=« before this 
 
 J LTdi,''zsr'"'' "*f *""' •'•"•" 
 
 ha^you t"n here^ *"' "'«' "«> '"'"' '»"« 
 Brandon had long since decided on the nart 
 he WM to plsy His stoty was all ,«ady 7 ' 
 
 My name 18 Edwaitl Wheeler. I 4me out 
 hogshead staves and ho* .1.^.1.., «•„ ^, «" "• 
 
 .hipisiv vs;i"^'ri?rerwrret?.[i1ro^rr»'" «•- h'T^V'^r^uh . r^":/ 
 
 there. None appeared. 'l^Tv^^^oTLZltXSlJ^ZT ^l '"r"^ '"^'^ ^-^^ 
 ■ "^"I; ^' *«"' °" burning and glowing vrith ™conZ~:i .^ "'*' ^*^"• "' September kst we 
 iwinderfij energy all through the nigT^rlt I ™U^Zd^«„W T^?''""'' r™ "^^ ""«=k on 
 hst not long before dawn, the stem ffu i„ and ch^ ^« ^'. " "*? ^*» "" ""/ "' the 
 rtothmg now wa« left but the sand-monid t^t thT^ mlS^ . T* ^'^'••'^ »"«" '^''•. «nd 
 r?"^ the bows, which, burning benea°h »ue I tain «d c»!, « **" '"T'.^ °''^ •"•• '^'h" cap- 
 forth smoke and fire. """cam, gai e tain and crew put out the boat, ind tried to set 
 
 Then, exhausted by fetigue. he sank H„om «„ k ?i! *T" *'»«"np«l and drowned. I staid 
 
 -'^.he «u.d and feu inufa sorKp"*"' '""^ '^ tt s't^n^'^eV".' "Tl"*; '^''"' ^3 
 
 In the midst of thronging dreains. fi«m A- ., ^^ m*"' *"•" *hr had a solid canro was 
 
 depths of that imaginanflaSd ^ShS^^eS aCtter "" V"^ ''"•' TH"^'^ "S'^ al 
 
 ^mt wandered in sleep, lie was suddenly rouS^ and bv th; .I^/lu"^ >*"^ '"'"■ '«^«'-«' J«vs, 
 
 .\ hand was kid on £i. .i,«..i,i„. .. uV^u .^- '"" "y the end of that time a shml h..i fi>w„i.i 
 
 --J..™ w „.„» luuiguiaiT land where his weHrv 
 n.mt wander^ ij, sleep, L was suddenly ro3 
 
 ti^Z"" ^^ Z" *■" *b'"''*'«^' which sh^k 
 
 "M^l ^' f »i» ho*nK, voice shouted in his earT 
 
 Mess-mate! Halloo, mess-mate ! Wake upV-' 
 
 ,<»S°" '"*"*^ "f *"•' f*^*! with wild, V«- 
 tomshed eyes arouni It was day. iC,^ 
 «s two or three hoars above the horizo.^*' He 
 WM surrounded by half a dozen seamen who 
 2^'X'o"? "^ «i'h -ondering but "kin"!; 
 £to ^!h«M'1""'P"H''*PP*'*^'« he their 
 «;f".. 5 t'**.* 'P3^-8'««« in his hand. He 
 WW a stnrdpr, thick-set man of about fifty, Wow 
 gmzled hair, weather-beaten face, grogbr^M^ 
 and whiskew, coming all round under^ chhS! 
 »ve hm, the air of old Benbow as he apM^re 
 on the stage-" a reg'lar old salt," "LK™! 
 or whatever other mime the popdar tl^^« 
 to ^ply to the British tar. "^ "^^ \ 
 
 wiA^J^iiL"'' u'lf'^ m««hmate," said thU man, 
 
 twr. •w^."'y°""'»""Khtnow..CW 
 Cheer up ! Won't you take a drink ?' And he 
 held out a brandy-flask. * 
 
 Brandon rose mechunicallv in a kinH nr»... 
 notyet nnde^tanding his ^ foj "ne, nrye"; 
 knowing whether he was alive or dead. He t^k 
 d» flask wd raised i t to hi«lin. -aej™^ 
 TJ^nS^ gdve him ne,y life/ffo ^kKf 
 
 S::-^«^tW^I;r''^'''^tr^^ 
 
 wWyiS^T'Sr"'*>r"««-'»' 
 
 M}uZ7 V^^ ^' how and when did you 
 
 Sij^'the'ivrrriy^'?./**- - - -y I 
 
 ' C t%f 
 
 .„j / "■• '™ •■"rui uwtea tor several davs. 
 ^d by the end of that time a shoal ha.1 foS. 
 Sevend storms have occurred since, andXve 
 heaped the sand all over her. I ., n^ Hv2h^ 
 ever since in great misery. Yesterday a vm!3 
 
 tCXV rVj ' "«"" - •he"'">^k o^ 
 there, which she did not notice. In desDair I 
 
 {ha"v;tSyT ^"° «»•»•"»««• ThiS-sJl 
 On hearing this stoiy nothing could exceed 
 WrtJ'*"'*'' -»«* '/"P-'hy of these h"n^ 
 hearted seamen Tfie Captain insisted on hU 
 taking juiother drink, apologised for having to 
 iS^nffT^i^ England7and finatlv huK 
 
 !^ *°.^^^ »«*"« »w« ho»t»Bnuidon 
 stood on the deck of the Falcon. '»"""" 
 
 9 .— 
 
 CHAPTER DC . ' 
 
 THK MALAT PIRATK. 
 
 TK^**^!"-''!' had.pawed since Bnmdon's resiine. 
 The light wind which had brought jip th« J^A^^L 
 soon died oat, and before th/kX'Jti £ 
 teftftf befiinra 0,1m sucoeedeTSa S«* wS 
 nothing lefk but to drift. ■" 
 
 rndi.?l'2:'" **•''?'■ ■*" " •''"«>«. hero on the 
 likjTL^" H » '«^«*i?n- The calmnesTb 
 •l.lryP''*!' dw'kness. It may be felt. The 
 stagnation of the waters seems Seep wonrii to 
 J«.troy all life there. The air is thfckToZL^ 
 ' ne, fevensh ; there i« not a breath or a mZpv 
 
 LiH'SiiAv, \ J. 
 
48 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 3{ wind ; even the swell of ocean, whicd is nev- 
 er-ending, here approaches as near as possible to 
 an end. The ocean rolled but slightly, but the 
 light undulations gave a lazy, listless motion to 
 the ship, the spars creaked monotonously, and 
 the great sails flapped idly in the air. 
 
 At such a time the calm itsolf is sufficient- 
 ly dreary, but now there was something which 
 'fflitade all things still more drear. For the calm 
 was attended by a thick fog ; not a moist, driz- 
 zling fug like those of the North Atlantic, but a 
 • Bultnr, dense, dry fog ; a fog which gave greater 
 emphasis to the heat, and, instead of alleviating 
 it, made it more oppressive. i> 
 
 It was so thick tliat it was not possible while 
 standing at the wheel to see the forecastle. 
 Aloft, all the heavens were hidden in a canopy 
 of sickly gray ; beneath, the sea showed the 
 same color. Its glassy surface exhibited not a 
 ripple. A small space only surrounded the ves- 
 sel, and beyond |g/ things were lost to view. 
 
 The sailors were scattered aboiit the ship in 
 groups. Some had ascended to the tops with a 
 fiiint hope of finding more air; some were lying 
 flat on their faces on the forecastle : others had 
 sought those phtces which were under the ^ils 
 where the occasional flap of the broad canvas 
 sent down a slight current of air. 
 
 The Captain was standing on the quarter-deck, 
 while Brandon was seated on a st«ol near the 
 wheeL He had been treated by the Can|din witfi 
 unbounded hospitality, and supplied with eveiy 
 thing that he could wish. 
 
 "The fact is," said the Captain, who had 
 been conversing with Brandon, "I don't like 
 calms any where, still less calms with fogs, and 
 least of nU, calms off these infernal islands." 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because to the north'ard is the Strait of 
 Sunda, and the Malay pirates are always cruis- 
 ing obout, often as far as this. Did you ever 
 happen to hear of Zangorri ?" 
 ''Yes." 
 
 "Well, all I can say is, if you hadn't been 
 wrecked, you'd have probably had your throat 
 cut by that devil." 
 
 ' ' Can't any body catch him ?" 
 "They do^'t catch him at any rate. Wheth- 
 er they can or not is another question. " 
 "Ha*p you arms?" 
 
 " Yes. I've got enough to give Zangorri a 
 , pieasanter reception than he usually gets from a 
 merchant-ship ; and my lads are the boys that 
 can use them." 
 
 " I wonder what has become of that other 
 ship that passed me on the isUnd," said Bran- 
 ■don, after a pause. 
 
 y " She can t be very far away from us," replied 
 the Captain, "and we may come up with her 
 before we get to the Cape. ' 
 
 A silence followed. Suddenly the Captain's 
 attention was arrested Iw something. He raised 
 his hand to his ear, and listened veiy attentively. 
 "Do yon hear that?" he asked, quickly. 
 
 Brandon arose and walked to where the Cap- 
 tain was. Then both listened. And over the 
 =ieaiteei<e came unmistakable sounds. Theregu-, 
 lar movement of oars ! Oars out on the Indian' 
 Ocean ! Yet the sound was unmistakable. 
 
 "It must be some poor devils that have es- 
 taped from shipwreck, said the Captain, halTto 
 himself. 
 
 m 
 
 "Well, fire a gun. - 
 
 "No," said the Captain, cautiously, afker « 
 pause. "It may be somebody else. Wait a 
 bit." 
 
 So they yaited a little while. Suddenly there 
 came a cry of human voices — a volley of guns ! 
 Shrieks, yells of defiance, shouts of triuraphj 
 howls of rage or of pain, all softened by the dis- 
 tance, and all in their unison sounding appalling- 
 ly as they were borne through the gloom of the 
 fog. 
 
 Instantly every man in the shiji bounded to his 
 feet They had not heard the first sounds, but 
 these they heard, and in that superstition which 
 is natural to the sailor, each ifuin's' first thought 
 was that the noises came from the sky, and so 
 each looked with a stupefied countenance at his 
 neighbor. -^ 
 
 But the Capt^ti^'did not share tha/*ommon 
 feeling. "I knew it!" he cried, "^expected 
 it, and blow my old eyes out if I don't catch 'em 
 this time!" 
 
 "What?" cried Brandon. 
 
 , But the Captain did not hear. Instantly his 
 whole demeanor was changed. He sprang to 
 the companion-way. He spoke but one word, 
 not in a loud voice, but in tones so stem, so 
 startling, that every man in the ship heard the 
 worff: 
 
 "Zangorri!" 
 
 All knew what it meant. It meant that the 
 most blood-thirsty pirate of these Extern seas 
 was attacking some-ship behind that veil of fog. 
 
 And what sliip ? ITiis was the thought that 
 came to Brandon. Could it by any possibilitr 
 be the one which passed by him when he strove 
 so, earnestly to gain her attention ! 
 
 "Out with the long-boat! Load the car- 
 ronade! Man the boat! Hurry up, lads, for 
 God's sake!" And the Captain^ dashed down 
 into the cabin. In an instant he vfes back again, 
 buckling on a belt with a couple of pistols in it, 
 and calling to his men, " Don't shout, don't 
 cheer,, but Ifurry, for God's sake!" 
 
 And the men rushed about, some collecting 
 arms, others laboring at the boat. The Fakim 
 was well supplied with arms, as the Captain had 
 said. Threeguns, any quantity of smaller arms, 
 and a long Tom, formed her armament, while 
 the long-boat had a carronade in her bows. 
 Th&nktf to the snug and orderly arrangement of 
 the ship, every thing was soon ready, ihe long- 
 boat was out and afloat. All the seamen except 
 four were on board, and the Captam went down 
 last. 
 
 "Now, puU awar, hids!" he cried ; "no talk- 
 ing," and he took the tiller ropes. As he seated 
 himself he looked toward the bows, and liis eyes 
 encountered the calm fiace of Brandon. 
 
 " What ! you here ?" he cried, with unmistak- 
 able delight. 
 
 Brandon's* replr consisted sifnply in drawing 
 a revolver from his pK>cket 
 
 " You're a bri(;k !!' said the Captain. 
 
 Not another word was spoken. The Captain 
 steered the boat toward the direction from which 
 the sounds came. These grew louder every mo- 
 ment — more menacing, and more terrible. 
 
 The sailors put all their strength to the oars, 
 and drove the great boat through the water. To 
 their impatience it Seemed as though they wonlil 
 never get there. Yet the place which they desired 
 
 i^t 
 
 so much 
 
 werenov 
 
 onward, 
 
 sight thn 
 
 . of the kin 
 
 the ship I 
 
 rushing a 
 
 In a m 
 
 from the 
 
 swiftly do 
 
 panic see 
 
 looking ai 
 
 cape. ' 
 
 The boi 
 
 bqst, and i 
 
 he took ail 
 
 explosion ( 
 
 shriek foll( 
 
 boat, filled 
 
 down benei 
 
 The long 
 
 sicfe of the 
 
 his left hai 
 
 right, leape 
 
 knife struck 
 
 and the M 
 
 Brandon^ wa 
 
 ors, who spi 
 
 vessel betbr< 
 
 first shock o: 
 
 But the f 
 
 boanded up 
 
 Boosed by tt 
 
 «?> «nd rea< 
 
 arrived. In 
 
 Us men, and 
 
 from his wore 
 
 «nd not mon 
 
 the former h 
 
 ahoat, and jn 
 
 «li the lattei 
 
 The first thi 
 ley into the cr 
 ing to face the 
 the sailors rusi 
 e«, some with 
 muskets. i 
 The Malays 1 
 with their cree 
 •ad used them T 
 themselves upoi 
 ■Dg like wild be 
 In the midst c 
 ■ng a clubbed It 
 •tature, broad a 
 Three or four < 
 knocked down b 
 , "Down with 1 
 Zangorri!" 
 
 A venomous t 
 
 ?• the Malay. 1 
 
 in an instant thej 
 
 •"^k np a positi 
 
 "^w me mon 
 
 «• CapfintTt 
 
 P?f» <ung the Mai 
 
 did so, poured in I 
 
 quarter-deck. ^ 
 
 ine Captain with 
 
 »• next instant 
 
 ""•f *ain was gr 
 
onwanl, thHand^ of'*a'Z''r '^^""'^ 
 sight through the gloom Bvif !^""' "" ">"*' 
 , of the kind that is Ssed^V fh„M ."'*' '^'" » *>»»» 
 the ship a lariw nZbpV '^ ^"^y"' ^n boartl 
 mhing'^aboutl'nSt.^^.^'*' ««^ -«« , 
 
 In a moment the boat was senn a i. 
 from the Malays. A scom nf fh ^ 'I""" ""» 
 .*i% down the shiJgsTde to th„-°\^'^'«'«» 
 panic seemed to seL til the ^f '^t' ^d a 
 J-kinK around irxeso.utS^ t sZ^e:;; o^^ 
 
 Hhriek followwL The n«v^ •'"' '^^ ^ '«'riflc 
 boat, filled wth ^h^Td^^TLt^' 
 down beneath the waters ^ '^"^' ^^n' 
 
 siroffeht' ^Sr^ after tonched the 
 his left hand, ^nd S.^'^ "J "^P* '^i'h 
 right, leaped upwari A^w '.* '"''"'"^^ '" ^ 
 
 knife stJatCBatfwfL!?'^ "P«ft«d 
 Md.the Malay fell "Z^' !J!"' the revolver, 
 
 Braadotfwas on boarcn„ri aI "«' instant 
 0^ who sprang „™rdf?'^r^ ^^ »" '^e «*«- 
 vessel betbre the Kr,. *'?">'«'«» into the 
 first shock of su^..^^ "'** "^y fr°"» the 
 
 Boosed by Cnot 'of fh^^; hS^hJ^r^^^J 
 «P, and reached the deck^usi « ,1? '""i^"'* 
 amved. In fierce, stern t;^^? t^ '?** ^'°" 
 his men, and the^MS^^^, ^^ ''"'"'^^ to ' 
 from his words Th^Z «ati'ered new courage 
 
 the former had^reS hI^^''^ **i'°" ' b?' 
 ahoat, and m^tTf the^ ^^^ ^ei^ arms 
 
 i^ h.tt^ th^iftThK^^'s.rx- 
 hy^L's: SSd' of' fcf aTrK*" •-' "^ -' 
 
 «»« to face their new eS/ ' ;?iLf ^^ """^ try- 
 the sailors rushed upon thL ^ ""^J °""'°eit 
 es, some with pwtoh ^T' """''^'"^""tlass- 
 mnskets. ,''"'*"*' «Pd some with clubbed 
 
 «'«insedth^Sr^i7„T*«'»«<l "P muskeV 
 themselves noon fh!?, . ^' m""*"' """armed, Audk 
 n like ^u'CsU "'*^'*' •'*'^« "^ tZ? 
 
 ing^.thK'^illrX^ *"« «'>^«^- -eJ<J- 
 "tatnre, broad S L^ "^"* * •"a" of short 
 Three or fourtf th^ feat muscular power 
 
 knocked diZlS^R'^ir' '^"^^ »-" 
 ^Down_w.thhimr'yelIedthe6aptain. "if, 
 
 offheMai::;'"'TStar' r-- *« -^ark face 
 « Minstan^-they mhed i?h^ *" ^^ '»«"' and 
 *?k up a positioTfhi, \ r^'""*^«=''and 
 
 Jje Captain with h7s pift^Uhnt"*** *^^ ?«ace. 
 
 *• next instant he C LLt "r^""" ^ead; 
 
 '»«8*ain was jmiDDl^hv^^'^ '''*'™- The 
 
 grappled by two powerful men. 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 Th^rest of the saUor, we«, driving all befo« 
 
 i hand he held « cuSin h"'"'^'" '" his lefl 
 blow that he g^ve told ^U "g''^' *"«* every 
 through the st^^Ie tL^«»^u'' ^^'^ ^o-^ht ji 
 Zangorri stood^^ h^ SL^^LT ' ^'"'^ 
 cessful. Atth^ reL:. k- ^^"^ heen unsuc- 
 he hastily lSl£ Jif 'he Malays made 
 revolver which h«h^ of the chambers of his 
 ofthree ^^2^1^^,^^^ '""o the hearts ' 
 deck first. TWZn wC f "?^ "»« <l»arter- 
 tain fell dead frorB,^^^ ^^"^ '*°-" 'he Cap- 
 stooped to^uS his^Se ?nLT'l,J""* «" »^ 
 prostrate mn. Anoth«r ti. . ** ''*art of the 
 the boatswain's as^Z "''"^ T' "^"^ one of 
 ant was kick«l uH^"?: *?•* 'he other assaU- 
 the boatswain hbClf '^^ "^ *"** overboard by 
 
 ^^^Ln^AtrZVj'' fT '-°»>'« 'o 
 of fury caltedou his^ „^'^yi'"«f ^'h a howl 
 
 Two quick f^hLltoZ^ *'"^« " ^''^■ 
 went two of them ' zTniT? "'P*'"*' and down 
 hand, and S iS^k^Z^r^^^^on's 
 Brandon had shifted UgS. ^* °«' '"stant 
 he fired, ZangomTZitt'^K^ ?"•«■• h«nd ; 
 
 his'ir rroS"iS 'a^d'rlr «« -"" 
 
 hurled Zangom'She^fer'aVdS v''""!^* 
 A cry of terror and Hi.^ , h™ there, 
 
 lays as^hej^^'SJS^osefrxjmtheMa- 
 shouted; thet« wm no fo«L « ..^he sailors 
 of the pirates we^lSnJJ^r ''«?'*"«' "ome 
 hoard aSd tried TsKwaf ^i^P^i °^-- 
 their furr, shot at tlK^^wreShes l^tC^^"'^ ^ ■ 
 
 qnaner. X^'Sl'^'^a^i-f ' of,«iving 
 ahve was Zangorri himwJftt^ ® .""^^ one 
 
 •"KtriF'^ hiKi:;;\"hrar '"^ '^•^ 
 -itSis"g^;'™a: s:: '-r- «-«ion 
 
 >»ith ap|«^ Kn^^J^^e o<i5he sailors came up 
 
 nim. He's mine!" "»-«'7- iJont touch 
 
 "He must die." 
 
 stem?£e£:,frbalS;n^r''7"^ ^ » 
 seemed to feel tharhe hid th« ^l"'',*^*"*""" 
 since he had not only caotuii^ 7*^* !¥«" here, 
 own hands, hue hadS^ cSr^llJ^ 
 
 fail E^glft"' ''••» '-1 «P0kf ; «.d in^e^ 
 
 -^f^/inK^^^"^''^""^^ 
 
 'Kt^idSorher. ''^^ -^ --«fc of th^ 
 
 ^^» scoundrel!" cried 
 ^^Jfto thank mef<,r. Y^ 
 
 'on, "yo n hare 
 
 inn dies wone 
 
 "Ah, "sneered Zangorri. "Wnll n>. v 
 time. But mv death »,-ii\. . : "«*•»« 
 
 d««lsof EmrufhuZt^Vr ^^J''' '^« hon- 
 you, tho^fo^TOr^^iv^'^"' '?^*"- ' 'hank 
 the Enga?n7^:r^^^^^^ yet to teU 
 
 the^yt'^oWEy-l^-X*"^^*"'" 
 
(4 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 "Why do yon hate them?" wked Brandon, 
 whose curiuHity wan excited. 
 
 " My brother's blood was shed by them, and' 
 a Malay never forgives. Yet I have never found 
 the man I sought. If I had found him 1 would 
 not have killed any more." 
 
 "The man — whot mon?" 
 
 "The one whom I l|ave songht for fifteen 
 years through all these seas," said the other, 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "What is his name?" 
 
 " I will nbt »\)eak it. I hod it carved on my 
 creese which hangs around my neck." 
 
 Brandon thrust his hand into the bosom of the 
 Malay where he saw a cord which passed around 
 his neck. He drew forth a creese, and holding 
 it up saw this name out upon the handle : " JUHN 
 POTTS." 
 
 The change that came over the severe, im- 
 passive face of Brandon Was so extraordinary 
 that even Zangorri in his pain and fury saw it. 
 He uttered an exclamation. The brow of Bi'an- 
 don grew ivs block as night, his nostrils (|uivered. 
 Ins eyes seemed to blaze with a terrilic lustre, and 
 a slight foam spread itself over his (juivering lips. 
 But he commimded himself by a violent eflbrt. 
 
 He looked all around. Tlie sailors were busy 
 with the C^aptoin, who still lay senselesp. No one 
 observed him. t^e turned to Zangorri. 
 
 "This shall he mine;" said he, and he threw 
 the cord around his own neck, and^ut the creese 
 under his waistcoat. But the sharp eye of the 
 Malay had Iteen watching him, and as b,e raised 
 his arm carelessly to put the weapon where he 
 desired, he thoughtlessly loosed his hold. That 
 instant Zangorri, took advantage of it. By a 
 tremendous- «lfort he disengaged himself and 
 iMJunded to his feet The next instant he was 
 at the taflrail. One hasty glance all aronnd 
 showed him all that he wished to see. Another 
 moment and he was beneath the water. 
 
 Brandon had been taken unawares, and the 
 Malay was in the water before he coluld think. 
 But he dfew his revolver, in which thei« yet re- 
 mained two shots, and, stepping to the iaifrail, 
 watched fer Zangorri to reappear. ) 
 
 Daring the figh^ change hadScome^ver the 
 scene. The fog had begun to be dissipated and 
 a wider horizon npfieared. As Brandon looked 
 he saw two vessels upon the smooth surface of 
 the sea. One was the Fakon. The other was a 
 large Malay proa. On the decks of this last was 
 a crowd of men, perhaps about fifty in number, 
 who stood lookmg toward the ship where the 
 light had been. The sweeps were«out, and they 
 were preparing to move away. But the escape 
 of Zangorri had aronse<l them, and they were 
 evidently waiting to see the result. . That result 
 lay altogether at the disposal of the m^ with 
 the revolver, who stood at the stern fronPvrhich 
 Zangorri had leape<I. 
 
 And now Zangorri's head appeared above the 
 waves, while he took a long breath ere he plunged 
 again. 'The revolver covered him. In a mo- 
 ment a bullet could have plunged into his brain. 
 
 Bttt BnuKloa did ntitfice. Heconld not. It 
 was too cold-blooded. True, Zangorri was 
 stained with countless crimes ; but all his crimes 
 4<t that moment were forgotten : he did not appear 
 m Zangorri the merciless pirate, but simply as a 
 wounded wretch, trying to escApe from death, 
 'iliat death «Brandon could not deal him. 
 
 I The sailors wen still int,ent npon the Captain, 
 ■whose state was critical, and Brandon alone 
 watched the Malar. Soon he saw those on 
 board the proa send down a boat and row quick- 
 ly toward him. They reache<l him, dragged 
 . him on board, and then rowed back. 
 I Brandon turned away. As yet no one had 
 been in the cabin. He hurried thither to see it' 
 perchance anvone was there who might be saved. 
 
 He entered the cabin. The first look which 
 he gave disclosed a sight which was enough (<> 
 chill the bloo<l of the stoutest heart that ever l>etit. 
 
 All around the cabin lay human bodies dis- 
 torted by the agonies of death, twisted anil 
 twined in different attitudes, and still lying in. 
 the pHOsition in which death had found them. 
 
 Oiie, whose appearance showed him to be the 
 captain, lay gras|)ing the hair of a Malay, willi 
 his sword through his enemy's heart, while n 
 knife still remained buried in his own. Another 
 lay with his head cut open ; another m*h his faco 
 torn by the explosion of a gun. 'rheFe were 
 four whites here and about ten Malays, all dead. 
 But the fourth white was a woman, who lay 
 dead in front of a door that led to an inner 
 cabin, and which was now closed. The woman 
 appeared to be about fifty years of age, her ven- 
 erable gray hair was stained w-ith blood, and her 
 hand clutched the arm of a Malay who hiy dead 
 by her side. 
 
 While Brandon stood looking at this sight he 
 became aware of a movement in a conjeri of the 
 cabin where there were Ave or six bodies jieajietl 
 together. He hurried over to the plac^, and, 
 pulling away the bodies of several Malays, found 
 at length a Hindu of large stature, in whom life 
 was by no means extinct, for he was pushing 
 with hands and feet and making faint efforts to 
 rise. He had been wounded in many ploce», 
 and was now quite nnconscious. 
 
 Brandon dragged away all the bodies, laid 
 him in as easy a posture as possible, and then 
 rushed up to the deck for some water. Ke- 
 tuming he dashed it over the Hindu, and bonnd 
 up one or two wounds which seemed most dan- 
 gerous. 
 
 His care soon brought the Hindu to consciotu- 
 ness. 
 
 'ITie man opened kis eyes, looked upon Bran- 
 don first with astonishment, then with speechless 
 gratitude, and clasping his hand moaned fainllj, 
 in broken English, > *- 
 
 •" Bless de Lor! Sahib!'*" ^ 
 
 Brandon hurried up on deck and calling tome 
 of the sailors had the Hindu conveyed there. 
 All crowded around him to ask him questions, 
 and gradually found out about the attack of 
 the pirates. The ship had been bemlmed the 
 day before, and the Malay proa was iWiight, evi- 
 dently with evil intentions. They had kept i* 
 good watch, and when the fog came had some 
 hope of escape. But the Malay boats had sought 
 them through the fog, and had found them. 
 They had" resisted well, but were overiwwered hv 
 numbers. The Hindu had been cook of the ship, 
 and had fought^^till the last by the side of his fn^'- 
 tain. 
 
 Without waiting to hear the Hindu's story 
 Brandon went back to the cabin. The door that 
 opened into the inner cabin was shut. He tried 
 it It was locked. He looked into the keyhole. 
 It was locked from the inside. % 
 
CORD AND CRBESE, 
 
 1 to conscioiu- 
 
 "«HK FLDNO HKB8ELF OJI HKB KMEKS 
 
 "Is any one there?" he asked 
 
 A cry of surprise was the sole answer. 
 
 criJeLZ"'" ^'^ '^ ^"-"^ Open," 
 
 Then ciimo the sound of light footstetx. th« 
 
 key was tamed, the door slide! back and there 
 
 .Pl^ired before the astonished eyt of flindo^ 
 
 ■ bT,^ ""'h '^"2' *^? "«'"'«"' 'hat she ^w ht 
 «tmg herself on her knees in a transport of g™™ 
 tnde and raised her face to Heaven, while heTTiw. 
 altered inaudible words of thanks^vlnS . 
 
 8lendlZr.f'''.''r^°""« ««rl, with a delicate, 
 
 ender frame and features of extreme loveUness 
 
 Her complexion was singularly colorlMs H-r 
 
 h.l-^Vu ^T ""^^ he'' shouldew. In one 
 
 dtiie'^l^f;*^ '» ''-"=•• ^"^ *-« ^«^ * 
 
 ^tm con d do with that knife" ^* ^"^ 
 
 at the i«^ 1? *' ''™ •" "h^ >'"«>». then looked 
 « tbe keen glittering steel, and, with a solemnitv 
 ofwcent which showed how deeply sCwTn 
 Mraest, murmured, half to herself 
 It TOoId at least have saved me !" 
 Bnwdon smilea upon her with »ch a smile as 
 
 IK A TRANBPOKT OF OBATITCOB." 
 
 o%tm:iai^;r '"•''«*"' *''"''''p~«« 
 
 "-niereis no need," lie said, with a voice of 
 deep feeling "there i. „o n^d of thirnow 
 
 me""'Ve'll J^ •^r"'^" Com« Z. 
 ? V^? *?'^' ."*^ But w«Jt, " said Bran- 
 don, and he looked at her earnestly and mw, 
 pityingly. "There are things here whichTu 
 iit";^u7: ^"'y^-hTyoureyesii/SI 
 
 sh:;mTey^'''''"'^f '^^•- "'^^-^ 
 „..".^°» ™"»V' "»^^ Bwndon, firmly, but still 
 
 man who lay in blood outside the door. The 
 girt looked at him and seenied at fit«t as though 
 
 fl^'^fTf 'l'h««'.''« «"nething inZ 
 fece so ful of compassion, and entreaty, and 
 calm control that she consented. She clos^hJL. 
 ^^'Ji.^^1^'"?''- B-^ndon took it" 
 
 .iJi-^ k .t. '""\T "»""• Brandon took it 
 to ?he dik. ''^ T ^^"'^ °^ ''"™' •"«» «P 
 
 fmm Mr.T"'?"'*' W^^e'ed with a cry of joy 
 from all the sailors. The girl looked around. sS^- 
 saw the Malays lying dead upon the deck. ShlB 
 
 n . " 'i!!? i.*"" '^ "»«°«^' ond the proa thaV 
 had temfied her. But she saw no fiimiKcJ^ 
 
'4S 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 Rbe turned to Brandon witki -* <°ace of horror, 
 and with white lips asked : 
 
 "Where are they all?" 
 
 "Gone," said Brandon. 
 
 " What ! All ?" j^agped the girl. 
 
 " All — except yourself and the cook." 
 
 She shuddered from hxltfA, to foot ; at last, 
 coming closer to Brandon, she whispered : "And 
 my nurse — ?" 
 
 Brandon said nothing, hot, with a face ftill of 
 meaning, pointed upward. The girl rnidenitood 
 him.' She reeled, and would have fallen l&d not 
 Brandon supported her: Then she covered -her 
 face with her hands, and, staggeigpg away to a 
 seat, sank down and wept bitterly. - 
 
 All were silentt Even the rough sailors re- 
 
 rcted that grief. Rough I Who does not know 
 t'sailors are often the most tender-hearted of 
 Taeijf, and always the most impulsive, and most 
 quick to sympathy ? '' 
 
 So now they said nothing, but stood in groups 
 sorrowing iit^her; sorrow. The Captain, mean- 
 while,- hod revived, and was already on his feet 
 looking around upon the scene. The Hindu 
 ' also bad gained strength with ever^ throb of his 
 heart and every breath'of the air. 
 
 Bnt suddenly a cry arose from one of the men 
 irtio 6tood nearest the hotchwayj/i^v, ■ 
 " The ship is sinking ! " h,^i^ 
 Every .one started. Yes, (kie' ship was sink- 
 ing. No one had noticed it; but the water was 
 already Within a few feet of the top." No doubt 
 Zangorri had been scuttling her when he rushed 
 out of the hold at the noise of 'the attack. 
 
 There was nothing left but to hasten away. 
 There was time to save nothing. The bodies of 
 the dead had to be left with the ship for ^eir 
 tomb. • In a short time they had'all hurried into 
 '^the boat and were palling away. But not too 
 soon. For scarcely had they pulled away half 
 It dozen boat-lengthy from the ship than the wa- 
 ter, which had been rising higher and higher, 
 more rapidly every moment, rushed madly with 
 a final onset to secure fts prev ; and with a groan 
 like that of some living thing the ship went 
 down. • '^feii 
 
 A yell came from over the^^ter. It rose 
 ' from the Malay proa, which Was moving away as 
 fast as the long sweeps could carry her. But the 
 dead were not revenged only. They were re- 
 membered. Not long after reaching the Fa/con 
 ' the sailors were summoned ta the side which 
 looked toward the spot where the ship had sunk, 
 jvad the solemn voice of Brandon read the burial- 
 ;jlc0^ the Church. 
 
 iiiti!^%J^ that service h6 understood the 
 had es^ped when the ship passed 
 i without noticing his signal 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 BEATRICB. 
 
 It waq natural that a young girl who had gone 
 ^dmmgh (o feaffiil an ordeal sEouId for some tiura 
 feel its eiFects. Her situation excited the warih- 
 «Bt sympathy of all on board the ship ; and her 
 ^'pearance Wliq^ such as might inspire a chival- 
 rooa respect- in the hearts of those rough but 
 kindly and sensitive sailors w^o had taken part 
 in her rescne. 
 
 Her whole appi^krance marked her as dne of 
 no common order. There was about her an air 
 of aristocratic grace which inspired involuntary 
 respect; an elegance of manner and complete 
 self-possession which marked perfbct breeding. 
 Added to this, her face had something which is 
 grehijr even than beauty — or at leastf somethini^ 
 without which beauty itself is feeble — namely 
 chamcter and ei^pression. Her soul spoke (iii 
 in every lineament of hor ndble features, 'an' 
 threw around her the charm bf spiritual^jtKalta' 
 
 tion. d ' ' 'jfefi 
 
 To such a charm as this BranoAn didtaBahm 
 indifferent. His usual self-abstraMO^Pwhied 
 to desert him for a time. ' The part thai he h&A 
 taken in her rescue of itself formed a tie betwesn 
 them; bnt there was another bond in the fact 
 that he alone of all on board could associate with 
 her on equal termi>, as a high-bred gentleman with 
 a high-bred lady. 
 
 The Hindu had at once found occupation, for 
 Brandon, who had seen the stuff* that was in him, 
 offered to take liim for his servant He said that 
 his nome was Assgeelo, but be was commonly 
 called Cato, and preferred that name to any oth- 
 er. He regarded Brandon as his saviour, with 
 all the superstition which Hinilus can feel, and 
 looked up to this saviour as a superior being. The 
 offer of employment was eagerly accepted, and 
 Cato at once entered u|)on the few duties which 
 his situation could re(|uire on ship-board. 
 ' Meanwhile the young lady remained unknown. 
 At first she spent the greater part of her time in 
 her room, and only came out at meal-times, when 
 the sadness of her face preveilted any thing ex- 
 cept the most distant and respectful courtesv. 
 No one knew her name, and no one asked it 
 Cato was ignorant of it. She and the old nurse 
 had only been known' to him as the young missis 
 and the old missis.^ 
 
 Brandon, roused mm his indifference, did all 
 4^ his ppwer to mi^gate the gloom of this fitir 
 young creature, whom fate had thrown in his 
 way. , He J|uid ti^t his attentions were not im- 
 acceptablilKnbytBvh^he cafne out more^fre- 
 
 she had'WMHPBI'^er^ntitude to himself, ^e 
 persisted in regarding him alone as the one to 
 whom she owed her Gfe, and apologized to him 
 for her selfishness in giving way so greatly to her 
 grief. After a time she ventured to tell him the 
 story of the voyage which she had been making. 
 She was on her way from China to England. 
 Her father lived in England, |>ut she had passed 
 her life in Hong-Kong, having been brought np 
 there by the old nurse, who had accompanied 
 her on her voyage until that fearful calamity. 
 
 She told Mm at different timto that her &ther 
 was a merehant who had business all over th« 
 world* and tl^at he had of late taken up bis sta- 
 tion in his own home and sent for her. 
 
 Of her father she did not say mnch, and did 
 not seem to know pitch. She had never se^j 
 him. She' had beat in Honf^Cong even ' 
 she could remember. %e believed, however, 
 that tihe was bom in England, but di4 not know 
 for certidn. ' Her nurse had not known' her till 
 she had gone to China. 
 
 It' was certainly a carious life, but quite nat- 
 ural, when a biuy merclwnt devotes, all liii 
 
 
 \ 
 
 - (-.», 
 
 <«»* 
 
y 
 
 i yoang missu 
 
 out more.fi*- 
 
 hu fiimil;. Khe had no mothv, but thouirht ihe 
 
 I M. K '. J""""""' "'"' "''P^uxi to bear wHm 
 *!?.jhrfjj8»ched home and met fiw fcther 
 L.«.B, th„ time that «he had been a month on 
 ndon knew much of the evenu of her 
 
 • CXmD AND CHEESE, 
 
 1. «f.jhH^hed 
 
 
 
 ™,.1"..?i?,*i!' i^r^'wffiTl.ta^i,. jK 
 
 never Heeg, 
 
 - If. It. 
 
 pity on 
 
 eoald not help looting with inexpi^ib 
 one BO tovely, yet no neglected 
 
 - Jni^lTh'^"; *■" "" «>««>' money was con- 
 cerned, «he had never .offered. , Her afcom- 
 p .8hment8 were numerous. , She wa^ pXfo" 
 ately fond of muwc, and was familiar with J^ 
 tiw cl««ic compositions. Her voice y,Z7nS' 
 trained, for sh,^ had enjoyed the advantaT of 
 
 been banish^, «nd hajf^nT^rtTo-H^nrKon"^ 
 '^"iVatiethHegiment. She 
 
 u band-master in t..o x woniietii KniKim«n> «i. 
 a^thS-^''^-^'^-"^^^^^ 
 
 ^ sometimes, wVhTe couK Z^r 
 ucing, from this very cause, and yet she sL^ 
 nothing about it. Brandon did not like to i^k 
 ^ *»>™r'"y' «nce he saw that she ^d not ^ 
 yond to lus hmu. So he coijjectured and woT 
 *«^- ,.«« Jhought that her name must to of' 
 ^e lordhest kind, and that she for sTe reL^ 
 
 Yet as he thought this, he was not insensibln 
 to the music of her soft, low voice thTnnni,! 
 
 Hi T u"!^ *** superiority of his nature 
 StTS *■'«"«'• « it. Circumstanies ?hre^ 
 
 aavantage of circumstances to the ut- 
 
 HKMt. 
 
 „ .jj L "^ ""' ^ ^'^^^ any name bv which 
 ^dress her, and chief of those was tZ S 
 ^^n. After calling her Ma'am and Miss irT 
 
 S.«e"he:Lfr'^' -o-onedayatthediV 
 
 "«' 1 ao not know ypnr name, and have tievnr 
 W a chpnce to fl„<f it out .If its no offeZ 
 P^payon would be so good as to tr»U?" "^ 
 
 son th«nTiJ!?^ ^S* "^'^""^ fln-he'l critn- 
 ««. then looked at Brandon, who was gaX 
 Medly on hu plate, and with visible emb^M 
 ^^a' ^ '^^Hf "Beatrice." •""•*™«'- 
 1 1,^ .;. ^ ™achy, said the Captain "Ah! 
 -& M,ss Treachy, you wai pS^r^ 
 ?&nr^^ «> everlasting S^^^ 
 B«tBitii«S»^S fr^/he lips of Brendon. 
 '^^SZTiCST «''«'-'«^ a little 
 Oh that is only ray Christian name!"- 
 
 -e«M^nS"?^' '^^ theCapt«„. " 
 "WHiat be o Christian name?" 
 
 forward and he «^„SI. r" """"e his head fell 
 
 JJeatnco could.no* help associatiiiir *i,il -,k 
 «n Brandon with the knoturf™ 5^ ''''""«" 
 That mune was hateful t^SS?? VZ^^'^ 
 
 tW« wi^Zrei^' '"'"'""«' "''« '"-^ 'oW it, 
 
 should he feer^^CkS'a i??f?"?,"feoSr 
 
 name. InS lll*^""" """ ^ •^'^ «>'»e gre^ " 
 ."Zbn iliT'"*,'"^ *"•« ""«' has los™ 
 Z^Z m"" '■ "~"^ '*'«"»«d -»«■ He now ' 
 
 'elt. Her outraged pnde made sadness impos- 
 
 '- .dible. 
 
 'How 
 
 
 twoT£:Z^i^ in his state-room for about 
 ^tnce there, who gn^d'Sn';! '^ dS^t 
 
 nr^^H"*^ " '^^"^ '"-'•i'' fi«* «• he ap. 
 K^ h"er ^J; " ***' "•*[. ''«'• '^Wch at onc^ 
 aJS pity'' ^"^'^ "'^"y -^^ indignation, and 
 
 "Yes," saict Brandon, in a low voir« ""k„» 
 now that I am able to ^ aboutlgLTl fi,^ 
 act IS to apologize to you for m/rude^L in 
 quiring the table so abAiptly as to mXulL^ 
 •'^ a personal insult to vol Mn'^ T Ll^ 
 wra believe me when-I saVThattTnuft J^ 
 S^o^l'Tl'^ Something like a sp^m 
 
 "I confess," said Beatrice, fiwnkly "thut T 
 
 do^S r "''•" ^"P'""'^ h^ sSietwi^tJ 
 ao with the conversation about me I am ™ri 
 
 Uny mdeed that; did you wch". IZ^"^ 
 
 \ -^ 
 
 ^^■> 
 
 yi&i'MS^ *tJ ^j-.\, 
 
*8 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 might have known you better. Will you forgive 
 me?" 
 
 Brandon smiled, &intly. " You are thp one 
 who must forgive. " /' 
 
 "But I hate my name so," burst out Beatrice. 
 
 Brandon said nothing. 
 
 "Don't you? Now confess. " 
 
 " How can I — " he began. 
 
 "You do, you do!" she cried, vehemently; 
 "but I don't care — for I hate it." 
 
 Brandon looked at her with a sad, weary smile, 
 and said nothing. "You are sick, "she said; "I 
 am tlioughtMss. I see that my name, in some 
 way or other, recalls painful thoughts. .How 
 wretched it is for me to give pain to others!" 
 
 Brandon looked at her appealingly, and said, 
 "You give pain? Believe me! believe me! 
 there is nothing but happiness where you 
 are." 
 
 At this Beatrice looked confused and changed 
 the conversation. There seemed after this to be 
 a mutual understanding between the two to avoid 
 the subject of her name, and although it was 
 a constant mortification to Beatrice yet she be- 
 lieved that on his part there was no contempt for 
 the name, but something very different, some- 
 thing associated with better memories. 
 
 They now resumed their old walks and con- 
 versations. P2very day bound them more close- 
 ly to oiie another, and each took it for granted 
 that the other would he the-constant companion 
 of every hour in the day. " 
 
 Both had lived unusual lives. "' Beatrice had 
 jmuch to say about her Hoog-Kong life, the 
 Chinese, the British officers^ and the festivities 
 of garrison life. Brandon had lived for years in 
 A'ustralia, and was familiar with all the round of 
 events which may be met with in that country. 
 He had been bom in England, and had lived 
 there, as has already been mentioned, till he was 
 almost a man, so that he had much to say about 
 that mother-land concerning which Beatrice felt 
 guch curiosity. Thus they settled down again 
 naturally and inevitably into constant association 
 with each other. 
 
 ■Whatever may have been the thoughts of Bran- 
 don during the fortnight of his seclusion, or what- 
 ever may have been the conclusion to which he 
 came, he carefully refrained from the most re- 
 mote hint at the home or the prospects of Bea- 
 trice. He found her on the seas, and he was 
 content to take her as she was. Her name was 
 a common one. She might be connected with 
 his enemy, or she might not. For his part, he 
 did not wish to know. 
 
 Beatrice also showed equal care in avoiding 
 the subject The effect which had lieen produced 
 by the mention of her name was still rememlwred, 
 and, whatever the.cause may have been, both this 
 and her own strong dislike to it prevented her 
 from ever making any allusion eitlier to her fa- 
 ther or to any one of^her family. She had no 
 Kcniples, however, about talking of her Hong- 
 Kong life, in which one person seemed to J||ive 
 —figured Baost proffiineatly — a iBftB who bad iired 
 
 there for years, and given her instruction in mu- 
 lie. He was an Italian, of whom she knew no- 
 thing whatever but his name, with the exception 
 of tlie fact that he had been unfortunate in Eu- 
 rope, and had come out to Hong-Kong aa band- 
 master of the Twentietli Regiment. His name 
 was I'oolo LanghetU. 
 
 "Do you like music?" asked Brandon, ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 " Above all things, " said Beotrice, with on in- 
 tensity of empha-sis which spoke of deep feeling. 
 
 "Do you play?" 
 
 " Soniewhat. 
 
 "Do you sing?" 
 
 " A little. I was co'hsidered a good singer in 
 Hong-Kong ; but that is nothing. I sang in the 
 Cathedral. Langhetti was kind .enough to praise 
 me ; but then he was so fond of me that what- 
 ever I did was right. " 
 
 Brandon was silent for a little while. " Lan- 
 ghetti was fond of you ?" he repeated, interrog- 
 atively, and in a voice of singular sweetness. 
 
 "Very," returned Beatrice, musingly. "He 
 eilwaya called me 'Bice'— sometimes 'Bicetta,' 
 'Bicinola,' 'Bicina;' it was his pretty Italian 
 way. But oh, if you could hear him play! 
 He could make the vidlin speak Uke a human 
 voice. He used to think in music. He seemed 
 to me to be hardly human sometimes." 
 
 " And he loved to hear you suig ?" said Bran- 
 don, in the same voice. 
 
 " He used to praise me," said Beatrice, meek- 
 ly. "His praise used to gratify, but it did not 
 deceive pie. I am -not coilceited, Mr. Wheeler." 
 
 "Would you sing for me?" asked Brandon, 
 in accents almost of entreaty, looking at her with 
 an imploring expression. 
 
 Beatrice's head fell. "Not now — not yet- 
 not here," she murmured, with a motion of her 
 hand. "Wait till we pass beyond this ocean. 
 It seems haunted." 
 
 Brandon understood her tone and gesture. 
 
 But the weeks passed, ai)d the months, and 
 they went over the seus, touching at Mauritius, 
 anJ afterward at Ca])e Town, till finally they 
 entered the Atlantic Ocean, and sailed North. 
 During all this time their association was clo$e 
 and continuous. In her presence Brandon soft- 
 ened ; the sternness of his features relaxed, and 
 the great purpose of his life grew gradually 
 fainter. 
 
 One evening, after they had entered the At- 
 lantic Ocean, they were standing by the stem 
 of the ship looking at the waters, when Brandon 
 repeated his request. 
 
 "Would you be willing to sing now?" he 
 asked, gently, and in the same tone of entreaty 
 which he had used before. 
 
 Beatrice looked at him for a moment without 
 speaking. Then she r^sed her face and looked 
 up at the sky, with a deep abstraction in her 
 eyes, as though in thought. Her face, usually 
 colorless, now, in the moonlight, looked like 
 marble; her dark hair hung in |)eculiar folds 
 over her brow — an arrangement which was an- 
 tique in its style, and gave her the look of u 
 statue of one of the Muses. Her stniight, Gre- 
 cian features, large eyes, thin lips, and well- 
 rounded chin — all had the same classic air, an<l--> 
 Brandon, as he looked at her, wondered if she 
 knew how fair she was. She stood for a mo- 
 iBeat in aileiiee^ aad^hca heganr ^t^w aa a jm fer- 
 velous and a memorable epoch in Brandon's life. 
 The scene around added its inspiration to the 
 voice of the singer. The ocean spread ufar away 
 before them till the verge of the horizon seemed 
 to blend sea and sky together. Overhead the 
 dim sky hung, dotted with innumenihle stan, 
 prominent among which, not far above the bo- 
 
 
CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 moment as. if to decide upon her 8on« at iLt I oi«„» ♦"'''«*^'«»e8 of music spoken of in in- 
 c«aght her idea from this sieno aro.m7her S i ZH^^'r. ."" '^"'^' of Orph^,« hushing i^l 
 l^n one of the most magnificent of l£ I Zr^^rn't '"''!" ^^ "■« '"''K"' «*his 
 compositions : " "' ^'*'^ I *""8- -At last all thoughts of his own left him 
 
 itninir rotnainA^] 1...* aL-^ ^ I • 1 ■ * 
 
 compositions : 
 
 "I clell Immensl narrano 
 Del KT^Kd' Iddio la irloria." 
 Her Srst notes jfcnred forth with a sweetness 
 
 board the ship. It was the first time she had 
 »nng as she afterward said, since I^nghetti had 
 
 ZZa V7 -^ *"."«• ««' ^"'«^ Jong silent 
 Mead of hftvmg been injured by the sorrow 
 th")..gh which she had pIkkI, was puiTftTir 
 ^arvebHs. and thrilling. A gliw ifke'^rme d I 
 "ne n piratmn pass.! over the marble beauty 
 
 ^^ «pe8k of all that glory of which she sang, 
 M the sacred finj of genius flashed from them ' 
 
 petrntmg with their sublime meaning, all on 
 ^ the ship looked and listened with 'amaze 
 S li.J!^f ,'""t *'^"•? '"««n,m«n held the 
 JiiT thi W^- ""n«lo" « own soul was filled 
 with the fullest effects He .Wl watching her 
 
 .„j .1.V ."•"•■Bills oi nis own left him. 
 
 and nothing remaine.1 but that which the song 
 of Beatrice swept over his spirit. 
 
 But Beatrice saw nothing and heard nothing 
 except the scene before her, with its grand in? 
 spiration and her own uttei^uice of itfjl^ 
 Brandons own soul was more and more over- 
 come; the divine voice thrilled over his heart: 
 he shudderwl and uttered a low sigh of rapture. 
 My God I he exclaimed as she ended ; " I 
 never before heard any thing like this. I never 
 dreamed of such a thing. Is there on earth an- 
 other such a voice as yours ? Will I ever again 
 W any thing like it? Your son^ is h1^jL_ 
 w»co from those hCTrcnsbfwIiIcFyouslnir It 
 18 a new revelation." e " 
 
 He poured forth these words wiih passionate 
 impetuosity. Beatrice smiled. 
 
 reliil^"*'''^"' "*^*^ '" J*""^ ™^" ^^ *'•"?'/ 
 '^ You terrify me, " said he. 
 ]'Why ?" asked Beatrice, in wonder. 
 Because your song works upon me like * 
 
 N 
 
60 
 
 CORD AND CBEESE. 
 
 spell, and all my sonl sinks away-j^and all my 
 \dll is weakened to nothingness." 
 
 Beatrice looked at him with a monrnfhl smile. 
 "Then you have the tme passion for music," 
 she said, "if this be so. for my part it is the 
 joy of my life, and I hope IjOigive np all my life 
 to it." 
 
 " Do yon expect to see Langhetti when yon 
 reach England ?" asked Brandon, abruptly.. 
 
 " I hope BO," said she, musingly. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 • THE UIPROVI8ATORB. 
 
 The character of Beatrice onfolde^more and 
 more e^ery day, and every new development ox- 
 cited the wonder of Brandon. 
 
 She kaA once that music was to her like the 
 breath of life, and indeed it seemed to bef; for 
 now, since Brandon had witnessed her powers, 
 he noticed how all her thoughts t0Ql»^M»lor- 
 ing from this. What most snrpij^im mm was 
 her profound acquirements in the more difficnlt 
 branches of the art. It was not merely the case 
 of a great natural gift of voice. Her whole soul 
 seemed imbued with those subtle influences which 
 mtisic can most of all bestow. Her whole life 
 seemed to have been passed in one long inter- 
 course with the greatest works of the greatest 
 masters. All their works were perfectly well 
 known to her. A marvelous memory enabled 
 her to have their choicest produotioiu at com- 
 mand ; and Brandon, who in the early part of 
 his life had received a careful musical edncation, 
 knew enough about it to estimate lightly the 
 full extent of the genius of his companion, and 
 to be astonished thereat. 
 
 Her mind was also full of stories aboqt.the 
 lives, acts, and words of the great masters. For 
 her they formed the only world with which she 
 cared to be acquainted, and the only heroes whom 
 she had power to admire. All this flowed from 
 one profound central feeling — namely, a deep and 
 all-absorbing lolre of this most divine art To 
 her it was more than art. It was a new faculty 
 to him who possessed it It was the highest 
 power of utterance — such utterance as belongs 
 to the angels ; such utterance as, when possessed 
 by man, raises him alipost to an equality with 
 them. jf 
 
 Brandon found oat every day mme new power 
 in her genius. Now her voice was unloosed from 
 the bonds which she bad placed upon it. She 
 sang, she said, because it was better than talk- 
 ing. Words were weak — song was aU expres- 
 sion. Nor was it enough for her to take the 
 compositions of others. Those were infinitely 
 better, she said, than any thing which she could 
 produce; but "each one must have his own na- 
 tive expression ; and there were times when she 
 had to sing from herself. To Brandon this 
 seemed the most amazing of her powers. In 
 -Italy the power of improvisation ia not nncom- 
 mon, and Englishmen generally imagine that 
 this is on account of some peculiar quality of 
 Uie Italian language. Tliis is not the case. One 
 can improvise in any language ; and Brandon 
 found that Beatrice could do this with the En- 
 glish. 
 
 " It is not wonderful," laid she, in answer to 
 
 his expression of astonishment, "it is not evoi 
 difficult. There is an art in doing this, but, 
 when yon once know it, you find no trouble. It 
 is rhythmic prose in a series of lines. Each line 
 must contain a thought Langhetti found no 
 difficulty in making rhyming Unes, but rhymes 
 are not necessary. This rhythmic prose is as 
 poetic as any thing can be. All the hymnn of 
 the Greek Church are written on this principle. 
 So are the Te Deum and the Gloria. So were 
 all the ancient Jewish psalms. The Jews im- 
 provised. I suppose Deborah's song, and per- 
 haps Miriam's, are of this order. " 
 
 "And you think the art can be learned by., 
 every one?" 
 
 "No, not by every one. One must have a^, 
 qiiick and vivid imagination, and natural fluei\^ 
 cy — bat these are alL Genius makes all ti^ 
 difference between what is good and what is bod. 
 Sometimes yoa have a song of Miriam ^atjivj 
 while the world lasts, sometimes a p<w 
 song like one of mine. " ° V 
 
 "Sing to me about music," Sidd Brandon,^ 
 snddttily. 
 
 Beatrice immediately began an improvisation. 
 But the music to which she sang was lofty and 
 impressive, and the jnarveloas sweetness of her 
 voice produced an indescribable effect And 
 again, as always when she sang, the foshion of 
 her fiwe was changed, and she became transflg- 
 ored before bis mres. It was the same rhythmic 
 prose of which sn^ had been speaking, sung ac- 
 cording to the mods in whieh tb« Gloria is cbant- 
 edi and divided into bars of equal time. 
 
 Brandon, as always yielded to the spell of her 
 song. To him it was an incantation. Her own 
 strains varied to express the changing sentiment, 
 and at Jast, m the song ended, it seemed to die 
 awa^ in melodions melancholy, like the dying 
 strain of the.&bled swan. 
 
 "Sing on!" he exclaimed, fervently; "I 
 would wish to stand and hear your voice fo^ 
 ever." 
 
 A smile of ineffable sweetness came over her 
 face. She looked at him, and said nothing. 
 Brandon bowed his head, and stood in silence. 
 
 Thus ended many of their interview's. Slow- 
 ly and steadily this young girl gained over him 
 an ascendency which he felt hourly, and which 
 was so strong that he did not even struggle against 
 it Her marvelous genius, so subtle, so delicate, 
 yet so inventive and quick, amaced him. If be 
 spoke of this, she attributed every thing to Lan- 
 ghetti. " Could you but see him," she would 
 say, " I should seem like nothing 1" 
 
 " Has he such a voice ?" 
 
 " Olr! he has no voitae at all It is his sonl," 
 she would reply. "l|4 speaks through the vi- 
 olin. But he taugltt' vie tU that I know. He 
 said my voice was God's gift He had a strange 
 theory that the language of heaven and of the 
 angels was music, and that he who loved it best 
 on earth made his life a%l bis thoughts moM 
 heavenly." 
 " Yon mnst have been fond of such a i 
 
 "Very," saidBeatrice, with the utmost da- 
 plicity. "Oh, I loved him so dearly I" 
 
 But in diis cofifession, so artlessly made, 
 Brandon saw only a love that was filial or •)•- 
 terly. "He was the first one," said Beatrice, 
 " who showed me the tme meaning of life. He 
 exalted his art above all other arts, and alwap 
 
 "K 
 
 >A><M 
 
 riMt. 
 
io," Boid Brandon, ^ 
 
 nu|iitiuned that it was the pnnwt and best thing 
 which the world possessed. This consoled him 
 tor exile, poverty, and sorrow of many kinds " 
 " W as he married ?" / "•• 
 
 Beatrice looked at Brandon with a singntor 
 mule. Marned! Langhetti married ! Par- 
 
 ir^'riSnt??* "' ^^"'"'^ '- «»--«<= 
 
 CORD AND CaiEESB. 
 
 »1 
 
 fhH"",!^!^^^ "T^ *° Brandon, is it not truer 
 lyl" ^^sKd.""' "•''« '-'^f^ -"^ '^ 
 ^'^' You were bom to be an artist," he said, at 
 
 er r„^^''V'^**i"?5','y- " ^hafs what I nev- 
 er can^ I anj afraid," said she. " Yet I hoiL 
 
 ^rinp^is^^K-ii^-- 
 
 L^^hettiha^^-p^-- ^^^"«n!ii:r=^— -I 
 
 Beatn'ce look^V^ the s^ v^Za «^n^ : Z.ri'"'''^' """""S'^' "'« op^n 
 se«ne smile. "LaSghetti hj Z^s^Tm sTL m^r"'lW°f "^^ ""''•"°"«'''* «>"'»<^'' 
 of art," she said. "As an arti,t he is .Ul firl LVL T We»i„] t« '"'^'T'-*!^"™ of great mas- 
 ■md vehemence, and enthusiasm. He is aware to siy tlwt S^^ » J""''''.- I^"«hetti used 
 of all human passions, but only as an artist. He tCnw thS h«T«™- 'L^ T'^ ""*« "^ """dern 
 h« on y one love, and that is music. This ig Thly coA^S^^d 7„'=«'^«> h«?^enly inspiration. 
 liM idol. He seems to m« himself like a son.r ,,^7 .^^f^ ^ ** '^*^'»'' prophets. He 
 Bat all the mptures which p^and novXt ^ofeon^l^ *^"' """ '^'T"*''"*'"" "^ ^'"h 
 apply to lovers are felt by him in his mus°c H^ toterSS.tS'T'"'"- k ^° ""'" '* P^«" *»"« 
 wante nothing wljUe he has this. He thinks So JhSJ^!^ .• ^/"*' >"' '^ '^«'™'*° " P^en 
 mnsieian's lite the highest life. He Zs thos^ L 1^^^^*'° -^^^ ?*"'^'* "'' 'he other. Why 
 to whom the revelations of GoA were commS Ltall^hrf^i'^'' '^^^ "" •>« «^d, and eT 
 were musicians. As David and Is^iT^eiv^ ^& ?^^^,^"* ^'.'"" "«' * I^'""* «>" »« 
 inspiration to the strains of the hZ^ hn ^iiT„„"'^" "'" ?"f"°" "'^ '"'^T"-*""* the in- 
 «ys, have Bach and Mozart, HandeSnTidn C '"»«««'««' «>f the great masters of modem 
 Beethoven and Mendelssohn. And wher/ in i " v„„ » i. • , 
 
 deed," she continued, in a musing tonrSf Z ' hav«I n ' J^ ^"^™^' ""« » """>' «nd yon 
 laoqmzing, " where,' indeed, caS man n^sl^ SornotJc^T" < Y^rh'°" '""'^' ""' ^''«^*'» 
 near heaven as when he Ustens to the inspired she rMe^Ld .'v ^'""' * P'"T^**' »" •'*«>'" 
 strains of these lofty souls ?" '"spu^a f °® '^{ed. " Yonr intercourse with me wUl 
 
 "Langhetri," sJd Brandon, in a low voice, ' foi^a 1 1*° "'^tt" 'V^' "*"« "«" » ^e- 
 "does not understand love, or he would not put ^rpuriTin ifJl'' ''"•* V*^ "^^ '^"'' «« 
 mnsicin Its place." r , "»™ » pniKwe in life— suited to my powers- 
 
 ab^SattehSl'""- •:^*' 'Poke ,cnce ' n'of ^Lrfl^-'^^ '^ ^"'"^ *«-«^'' ^ ^'"^ 
 ntL^'^'m"" "" '"" *'"■" "'«"• '"•**=•' he e^- " How do you know that I have a purpose, as 
 
 U call it ?"'iuilrivl H™« J„_ -ii ? f^™" "" 
 
 pressed to me. 
 "What were they?" 
 
 •J ^l""' w^T® ^ ™4' them as he said them," 
 Mid she. ."lor on t^ theme he had to express 
 nnnself in music." J "^ 
 
 Brandon waited in kpt expectation. Beatrice 
 otgan to sing : 
 
 "Pairest of all most fclr, * 
 
 r^? l«ve, how comest thou 
 . Unto the goni t 
 St'll as the evening breeze 
 Over the starry wave— 
 The moonlit wave— 
 
 "The heart Ues motionless: 
 So Btlll, so sensitive ; 
 
 Love fims tfte breexe. 
 SS' »t his lightest touch. 
 The myriad ripples rise, 
 And mnrmur on. 
 
 "And ripples rise to waves, 
 *^,.^'"'*» to rolling seas. 
 
 Till, far and wide. 
 The endleaa billows roll. 
 In nudulations long, 
 For evermore 1" 
 
 ton^'Lvl"" '".•^ ""^"y *"*» » «"»«« ondible 
 toae, which sank into Brandon's heart, lingering 
 •ad dying about the last word, with touching 
 wdnnattetable melancholy, it was Ukfthf 
 ^t of one wlio loved. It was Uke the cry 
 (« some yearning Rbart. 
 
 ^JjJL^^tB^M Jookfldjt Bi»mioa 
 ^?Sf^*«^^»!Ptlnate^ She had song these 
 g.« an artist. For a moment Bmndon had 
 I'nw nt .K^\!I'!: "P"*''"!? her own feel- 
 "«^ But the bright smile on her face con- 
 ^^d» strongly with the meUncholy of her 
 ™w;that he saw this was not so. 
 
 i«l I hH '^''' " I^Khettl sans abont it ; 
 ■o i nave never forgotten his words/' 
 
 you adl It ?".asked Brandon, after a ^u^ 
 J^m the expression of your face, and your 
 whole manner when yon are alone and subside 
 into yourself, she replied, simply. 
 ..^v** °f ^hat kind?" he continued. 
 
 but I kn^r that it must be deep and jJl-ab^ 
 sorbing. It seems to me to be too stem for 
 i-ove; you are not the man to devote yourself 
 
 !^n, r"*^!, ^°^Hy ** ™"/ he Ambition, yet 
 somehow I do not think so.''^ ^ 
 
 " What do you think it is, then ?" asked Bran- 
 a whi" " ^""^* ** '""^ ^^ °^'y' '^™'»t t" 
 She looked at him earnestly: she looked at 
 him pityingly. She looked at him ^B^ith 
 that sympathy which might be evinced by Uhe's 
 Guardian AngeL if th.it Being might by any 
 chance become visible, she leaned toward him 
 and spoke low in a voice only audible to him : ' 
 Something stronger than Love, and Avar- 
 ice, and Ambition," said she. " There can be 
 only one thing." "• 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Vengeance I'.' she sud, in a voice of inex- 
 pressible monrafulneas. > 
 Brandon looked at her wonderingly, not know- 
 •ng how this young giri could have divined his 
 tho^ts. He long remained silent. 
 
 -jT!!''*^ **'*'^ *^ '"•"*'* *«rth«Trma h»fc - 
 ed pensively at the sea. 
 
 -» "X°? *^.* ""■^'"f* being," said Brandon, 
 
 ^ •• ?*^;-.. ^■" r" *«" "»« »ny «>><»«> f" 
 
 I mi^t, ' said she, hesitatingly; "but I 
 •^.T?*",. y"" *'•* think me impertinent." 
 
 No, said Brandon. " Tell me, for perhaps 
 yon are mistaken." »™"»i« 
 
 "You will not think me impertinent, then? 
 
 LS'iV'.V^ ^i^>f '' f L (^i . t 
 
\ 
 
 62 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 / 
 
 You will only think that I said so because ron 
 aakedme?" / 
 
 "I entreat you to believe that it is impossible 
 for me to think otherwise of you than you your- 
 self would wish." 
 
 "ShaUIsayit, then?" 
 »'Ye«.'; ' 
 Her voice again sank to a whisper. 
 " Your name is not Wheeler." 
 Brandon looked at her earnestly. " How did 
 you learn that ?" 
 
 " By nothing more than observation 
 "What is my name?" 
 *' Ah, that is beyond my power to know,"i 
 she with a smile. "I have only discovered 
 you are not Now you will not think me t^ spy, 
 will you ?" she continued, in a pleading vdce. 
 
 Brandon smiled on her mournfully as she stood 
 looking at him with her dark eves upraised. 
 "A spyl" he repeated. "'To me it is the 
 . sweetest thought conceivable that yon could take 
 the trouble to notice me sufficiently. " He checked 
 himself suddenly, for Beatrice looked away, and 
 her hands which had been folded together clutched 
 each other nervously. "It is always flattering 
 for a gentleman to be the object) of a lady's no- 
 tice," he concluded, in a light tone. 
 
 Beatrice smiled. " But where," he continued, 
 " could you have gained that power of divination 
 which you possess ; you who have always lived 
 a secluded life in so remote a place ?" 
 
 " You did not tliink that one like me could 
 come out of Hong-Kong, did you?" said she, 
 laughingly. 
 
 " Well, I have seen much of the world ; but I 
 have not so much of this power as you have. " 
 
 "You might have more if— if — " she hesitated. 
 "Well," she continued, "they say, you know, 
 that men act by reason, women by intuition." 
 
 " Have you any more intuitions?" ask^ Bran- 
 don, eamestlv. 
 
 " Yes, " said she, mournfully. 
 "Tell me some." 
 
 " They will not do to tell," said Beatrice, in 
 the same mournful tone. 
 "Why not?" 
 "They are painful." 
 " Tell them at any rate. " 
 "No." 
 
 "Hint at them." 
 
 Beatrice looked at him earnestly. Their eyes 
 met. In hers there was a glance of anxious in- 
 quiry, as though her soul were putting forth a 
 question by that look which was stronger than 
 words. In his there was a glance of anxious 
 expectancy, as though his soul were speaking 
 unto hers, saying: "'Bell all; let me know if 
 you suspect that of which I am afraid to think." 
 "We h^ve met with ships at sea, " she resumed, 
 in low, deliberate tones. 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Sometimes we have caught up with them, 
 we have exchanged signals, we have sailed in 
 sight of one another for hours or for days, hold- 
 ing intercourse all the while. At hist a new 
 morning has come, and we looked out over the 
 
 seemed to Ml of themselves tato rhythmic 
 pauses. 
 
 "I understand you," said Brandon, with a 
 more profound monmfubiess in his voice. ' ' You 
 speak likie a Sibyl. I pray Heaven that your 
 words may not be a prophecy. " 
 
 Beatrice still looked at him, and in her eyes 
 he read pity beyond words; and sorrow also as 
 deep as that pity. 
 
 " I^oyou read my thoughts as I read yours ?" 
 
 "^^ivadon, abruptly. 
 Yes," she answered, mournfully. 
 
 He turned his face away. .. , 
 
 "Did Langhetti teach you this also?" he 
 asked, at last. 
 
 "He taught me many things," was the an- 
 swer. 
 
 Day succeeded to day, and week to week. Still 
 the ship went on holding steadilv to her course 
 northward, and every day drawmg nearer and 
 nearer her goal. Storms came — some moder- 
 ate, some severe ; but the ship escaped them all 
 with no casualties, and with but little delay. 
 
 At last they passed the equator, and seemeti 
 to have entered the last stage of their joomey. 
 
 sea, and the other ship has gone from sight 
 We have left it forever. Perhaps we have drifted 
 away, perhaps a storm has perted'uB, the end is 
 the same — separation for evermore." 
 
 She spoke moumfoUy, looking away, her voice 
 inaensibly took up a cadence, and the words 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 TH^ STRUOaLB FOH LIFE. 
 
 At length the ship came within the latitude 
 of the Guinea coast 
 
 For some days there had been alternate winds 
 and calms, and the weather was so fltful and »> 
 fickle that no one could tell in- one hour what 
 would happen in the next All this was at lut 
 terminated by a dead, dense, oppressive calm 
 like those of the Indian Ocean, in which exer- 
 tion was almost impossible *and breathing diffi- 
 cult ITie sky, however, instead of being clear 
 and bright, as in former calnis, was now over- 
 spread with menacing qlouds; the sea looked 
 black, and spread out before them on eveiy side 
 like an illimitable surface of polished ebony. 
 There was something appalling in the depth and 
 intensity of this calm with such accompaniments. 
 All felt this influence. Although there was ev- 
 ery temptation to inaction and sleep yet no ow 
 yielded to it The men looked suspiciously 
 and expectantly, at every quarter of the heavens. 
 The Captain said nothing, but cautiously had all 
 his preparations made for a storm. Every half 
 hour he anxiously consulted the barometer, and 
 then cast uneasy glances at the sea and sky. 
 
 But the calm which had set in at midnight, 
 and had become conflrmed at dawn, extended 
 itself through the long day. The ship drifted 
 idly, keeping no course, her yards creaking Uii- 
 I V as she slowly rose and fell at the movement uf 
 the ocean-undulatlons. Hour after hour passed, 
 and the day ended, and night came once more. 
 
 The Captain did not turn in that night In 
 anxious expectation he waited and watched on 
 deck, while all around there was the very black- 
 nesg of darknesB. Brandon began to see fftas 
 the Captain's manner that he expected something 
 far more violent than any thing which the ship 
 had yet encountered, but, thinking that his pres- 
 ence would be of no consequence, he retired *t 
 the usual hour. 
 Tho deep, dense calm continued until ntaitj 
 
Ives into rhythmic 
 
 midnight The watchers on deck still waited id 
 thesame an^ug expectation, thinking that the 
 night would ^ng on the change which they ex- 
 
 Almost half an hour before midnight a faint 
 light was seen in the thick mass of clouds over- 
 head— it was not lightning, hot a whitish streak 
 as though produced by some movement in the 
 clouds. All l6oked up in mute expectation 
 
 SddBenly afaint puff of wind came from' the 
 west, blowing gently for a few moments, then 
 stopping, and then coming on in a stronger blast 
 
 CORD AND CHEESE. 
 
 •M 
 
 ntVll "''/P' "^"^^ "*""« '■'"• °^«» •* the rtH)M 
 of the storm, now at this new onset vieldwl 
 
 The awful biUows dashed over and over her 
 peeping her in the^fur^ fmm end to end.' 
 The men clung helplessly to whatever rigrina 
 hiy nearest, seeking only i'n that first momeS 
 dread to prevent themselves from being washed 
 
 tain, &d wondenng while they waited 
 
 At the first p«il of thunder Bmndon had start, 
 ed up. He had lain down in his clothes, in or- 
 
 lings," was the an- 
 
 In the midst of this the whole scene burst 
 forth into dazzling light at the flash of a vast 
 miss of lightning, which seemed to blaze from 
 eveiy part of the heavens on every side simul- 
 taneously. It threw forth all things-ship, sea, 
 and sky-mto the dazzled eyes of the watehere! 
 They saw the ebon sky, the black and lustrous 
 sea, the moUonless ship. They saw also, fur off 
 to the west, a long line of white which appeared 
 to extend along the whole horizon 
 
 But the scene darted out of sight instantly, 
 and instantly there fell the volleying dischaige of 
 a tremendous peal of thunder, at whose reverb- 
 eraoons the air and sea an« ship all vibrated 
 
 Now the sky lightened again, and suddenly, 
 as the ship lav there, a vast ball of fire issu^ 
 irom the black clouds immediately overhead, de- 
 scending hke the lightning straight dowmvard, 
 tiU all at once it struck the main truck. With a 
 row louder than that of the recent thunder it 
 exploded ; vast sheets of fire flashed out into the 
 air, and a stream of light passed down the entire 
 mast shattering it as a tree is shattei^d when 
 th. hghtmng strikes it The whole ship was 
 8h«ken to ite centre. The deck all around the 
 mastwaa shattered to splinters, and along itsex- 
 tMt Md arouiid Its base a buret of vivid flame 
 started into light 
 
 - Wild confusion foUowed. At once all thft sail- 
 on were ordered up, and began to extinguish the 
 Sres, and to cut away the shattered mast The 
 blows of the axes resounded through the ship 
 ITie ngging \v»a severed; the mast " 
 
 shattered, needed but afew MowbT i J^/ u'v*^°'^ ^^ '^"^ «" the door 
 1«M fibres. '•"^* **» ''^" •" ^hich was on the windward side. 
 
 Inned until ntarlf 
 
 l«M fibres. 
 
 it^™!!^'^''""''?' ""^ furiously, and in^sistibly, 
 hJT^ «« though the whole tempest which 
 they had so long expected was at hist let loose 
 
 ^S^JT- Z^''*^ "^ * '"'' ""»". «"d. while 
 % w«e yet trying to get rid of the mast, a 
 tiwnendous squall struck the ship. It yielded 
 and turned far over to that awful blow: The 
 mn started back from their work. The next 
 jniitont a flash of lightning came, and towaH the 
 f«m I.* <"'^'' them, rose a long, white wall of 
 Zn\v t^'^ £* ^«n-gnard of the stonn, seen 
 aZ^ /"■■* ^"^ "'*^' '^hich was now upon 
 Jhm, ready to M on their devoted heada. 
 
 "W Captain. The men awaited some word. 
 krjJ!""',T"\ '^•'" "** ''•ten., which 
 hiD^S?-!? K^* " heap befys them, stnick the 
 K«. the aocnmnlatef fury of that resist- 
 h« ..^ ' ""^hurled their ntmo«t weight upon 
 w •« she lay before them. "^ 
 
 nn^r^'fiS '^"' "".^ knocked. It was opened a't 
 
 an"dUJd :r??::'"'''^'^''''-p^«. --"'«-. 
 
 ,. "I.<J>d not lie down," said she. "I knew 
 that there would be something frightful. Bnt 
 I am not afraid. At any rate," she added, " I 
 MOW I Will not be deserted " 
 
 lJ^l^^lL"^f "*"'■'"«' ^"^ ^"^^ "tt to her an 
 India-nibber hfe-preserxer. " What is this for?" 
 
 hJ^^n,"^- u ^'^^ ^'"' to Pnt it on. It may not 
 be needed, but it is best to have it on." "And 
 what ,,-111 yon do ?" " I-^h ! I can swim, yon 
 know. But you don't know how to fasten it 
 W.ll;ron aflbw me to do so?" She raised her 
 arms. He passed the belt around her waist en- 
 circhng her aWost in his arms while doing so, 
 '?l'i".''r'^,','"''."^'' had boldly grasped the head ' 
 of the "dweller m the wreck,^' now trembled as 
 he fastened the belt around that delicate and 
 slender waist ■ 
 
 But scarcely had this been completed when the 
 squaU strode the ship, and the waves foUowed 
 till the VMsel was thrown far over on her side: 
 111. .!;*"''°u ^^'"? Beatrice in one arm. clung 
 with the other to the edge of the skylight, and 
 thus kept himself upright / e •, «<« 
 
 He rested now for a moment "I must go 
 on deck, he said. " I do not wish you to lea?e 
 R^n^T f" "'"^■1 Nothing more was said. 
 BrAndon at once lifted her with one ann as 
 though she were a child and cbimbered alone 
 grasping such fixtures as afforded any thing to 
 which he could cling; and thus, with hands and 
 feet, groped his way to the door of the cabin. 
 
 »„,„ J , . - -■■-.- o.uc. There were 
 
 ?.i^"' ""*^ hetween them was a seat 
 This, ' said he, " is the safest place for von. 
 can you hold on for a short time? If I take 
 you on deck yon will be exposed to the waves." 
 I will do whatever you say," she repUed: 
 and clinging to the arm of the almost perpen- 
 dicutar seat, she was able to sustain herself there 
 onUdst the tossing and swaving of the ship. 
 
 Brandon then ckmberedl out on deck The 
 ship lay far over. The waves came leaping upon 
 her in succes-sive swrcs. All around the wa 
 was glistening with phosphorescent lustre, and 
 when at times thejightninj; flashed forth it light- 
 «J np the scene, BneFifiowed the ocean stirrednp ~ 
 to fiercest commotion. It seemed as thonrii 
 cataracts of water were rnshing over the doom- 
 
 ^ !!'f'!^J.''K?,'' ""* 'X har>\eHi, and at the mer- 
 cy of the billows. Tlie force of the wind «m 
 tremendous, exceeding any thing that BiMdon 
 had ever witnesse<l before. 
 What most surprised him now wms the inaction 
 
^ 
 
 mmmnKiiiiiiim 
 
 V- 
 
 ' the ship's company. Why was not something 
 bing done ? Where was the Captain ? 
 He called out his ii,ame; thei#waa no re- 
 sponse. He called after the mate; there was 
 no answer. Instantly he conjectured that in the 
 first fierce onset of the storm both Captain and 
 mate had been swept away. 'How many more 
 of that gallant company of brave fellows had 
 perished he kne^v not.. The hour was a perilous 
 and a critical one. He himself determined to 
 take the lead. ) 
 
 Through the midst of the storm, with its tu- 
 mult and it^ fury, there came a voice as full and 
 dear as a tpimpet-jieal, which roused all the 
 sailors, and inspired them once more with hope. 
 " Cut away the masts : " The men obeyed, with- 
 out caring who gave the order. It was the com- 
 mand which ^ch man had been expecting, and 
 whith he knew was the thing that should be 
 done. At once they sprang to their work. The 
 tnain-roast had already been cut loose. Some 
 went to the fore-mast, otHers to the'mizzen. The 
 vast waves rolled on ; the sailors guarded as best 
 they could against the rush of each wave, and 
 then sprang in the intervals to fheir work. It 
 was perilous in the highest degree, but each man 
 felt that his own life and the'hves of all the oth- 
 ers depended upon the accomplishment of this 
 work, t^d this nerved the arm of each to the task. 
 At last it was done. The last strand of rig- 
 ging had been cjt away. The ship, diseiunim- 
 bered, slowly righted, and at last rode uprigm. 
 
 But her situation was still dangei^us. She 
 lay in the trough of the sea, and the gigantic 
 waves, as they rolled up, still beat upon her with 
 all their concentrated energies. Helpless, and 
 now altogether at the meroy of the waves, the 
 only hope left those on board lay in the strength 
 of Uie ship herself. 
 
 None of the ofiicers were left As the slijp 
 righted Brandon thought that some of them 
 might make their appearance, but^none came. 
 The Captain, the mate, and the second mate, all 
 had gone. Perhaps all of them, as they stood 
 on the quarter-deck, had been swept away simul- 
 taneously. Nothing could now be done but to 
 wait. Meming at last came to the anxious 
 watchers. It brought no hope. Far and wide 
 the sea raged with all its waves. The yrind 
 blew with undiminished and irresistible violence. 
 The ship, still in the trough of the sea, heaved 
 and plunged in the 4verwii^lming waves, wlllcl) 
 howled madly around and lea)>ed over her Ke 
 wolves eager for their prey. The wind was too 
 fierce to permit even an attempt to rig a jury- 
 mast. 
 
 The ship was also deeply laden, and this con- 
 tributed to her |)eril. Had her cargo been small- 
 er she would have been more buoyant ; but her 
 fhll cargo, added to her dangerous position as 
 she lay at the mercy of the waves, made all hope 
 of escape dark indeed. <■' 
 
 Another night succeeded. It was a night of 
 equal hoiTor. The men stood watching anx- 
 iously fbr some sign of abatement in the storm, 
 bnifiione cnme. Sea and sty frowned oier them 
 darkly, and all the powers which they controlled 
 were let loose unrestrained.- 
 
 Another day and night came and went Had 
 not the Falcon been a ship of unusuld strength 
 ■he would have yielded before ihls to the storm. 
 Ab it was, she began to show signs of giving way 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 to the tremendous hammering t9 Which she had 
 been exposed, and her heavy Australian cargo 
 bore her down. On the morning of the third 
 day Brandon saw that she was deeper in^the 
 water, and suspected a leak. He ordered the 
 pumps to be sounded. It was as he feared. 
 There were four feet of water in the hold. 
 
 The men went to work at the pumps and 
 wprked by relays. Amidst the rush of the waves 
 over the ship it was di£Bcult to woilt^dvanta- 
 gebusly, but they toiled on. Still, in spite^f 
 their eftbrts, the leak seemed to have increased^ 
 for the water did noLlessen. With their utmost 
 exertion they could do. little more than hold 
 their own. 
 
 It was plain that this sort of thing could not 
 last. Already three nights and three days of 
 incessant toil and anxiety, in which na one had 
 slept, had produced their natural eii'ecfts. The 
 men had become faint and weary. / But the 
 brave fellows never murmured ; they did even* 
 thing which Brandon ordered, and worked aji- 
 complainingly. 
 
 Thus, through the third day, they labored on. 
 and into the fourth night That night the storm 
 seemed to have reached its climax, if, indeM, 
 any climax could be fouftd to a storm which st 
 the very ontset had burst upon them with such 
 appalling-suddenness and fury, and had sustained 
 itself all along with such unremitting enerjjjr. 
 But on that night it was worse for those on 
 board,- since the ship which had 'resisted so long 
 began to exhibit signs of yielding, her planks and 
 timbers so severely assailed began to give way, 
 and through the gaping seams the ocean waters 
 permeated, till the ocean, like some beleaguering . 
 army, foiling in direct assault, began to succeed 
 by opening secret mines to the very heart of the 
 besieged ship. 
 
 On the morning of the fourth day all hands 
 were exhausted from night-long work, and there 
 were ten feet of water in the hold. 
 
 It now became evident that the ship was doom- 
 ed. Brandon at once began to take measures 
 for the safety of the men. 
 
 On that memorable day of the calm prenons 
 to the outbreak Of the storm, the Captain had 
 told Brandon that they were about five hundred 
 miles to the westward of the coast of t^enegam- 
 hio. He could not form any idea of the distance 
 which the ship had drifted during the progress 
 of the storm, but justly considered tliat whatev- 
 er progress she had miade had been toward the 
 land. Their prospects in tha%[lirection, if they 
 could only reach it, were not nopeless. Sierra 
 Leone and Liberia were there ; and if they struck 
 the coast any where about they might make their 
 way to either of those places. 
 
 But the question was how to get there. There 
 was only one way, and t^iat was by taking to the 
 boats. This was a desperate undertaking, but 
 it was the only v(flj of escape now left. 
 
 There were three boats on board — nz., the 
 long-boat, the cutter, and the gig. . These were 
 the only hope now left them. By ve nturing i n 
 these there would be k chahce of escape. 
 
 On the motoing of the fs^^ih day, when it 
 was found that the water wm W^<m»ing, Bran- 
 don called the men together aimraded this to 
 them. He then t(^d them that it vipuld be nec- 
 esH^ to divide themselves so th 
 number should go in each boat. 
 
 a sufficient 
 :e offered to' 
 
'<4S: 
 
 To this the men assented with great reading" 
 
 Brandon declined. ^"'^«" »"'>'»"»; but 
 
 tnPVn?^'"*'^ '■«'• *««• despemte ven 
 tura All the provisions and water dmtoZM 
 be needed were put on board of each b^t Tr^ 
 
 water were in the hold. Thn ihir. „ T? , "' 
 iuchlonger. There was'^Jo Seto"/1"°* ^^^^ 
 
 COKD AND CREESE, 
 
 56 
 
 obedience to hb dii^cTn! ""^ *=''''"-«'«" '" 
 
 huSedTtreSS^^nr«.*« ««»«J •>« 
 to the quarterXk. Cato " "^^'^f^^ Beatrice 
 up to the «hira^d ^a^^^jH'T^ h., boat clos*. 
 
 ^rer»1f^rwtl75"-«--^ 
 
 msmmMmfmm 
 
 icirC ""^""iiHJr tne giant screes of th. 
 
 SMeSr"'"^.^«'^"« boat^th mr- 
 
 ™^ wWcriredTitdT^P- ''^ *"« 
 ficiently under the le^TtcTw t^';!? l"'" 
 w.^.etnoeso.uchsoosrrhu'Jl^d'SlgS- 
 
 wJ'a'diJtutrdKnytiTw'r'- "^^ 
 
 a':.xf^£t.%F»-^F'^"- 
 
 away instantly they prepared to row 
 
 ^ ilrandon turned away his eyes involun- 
 
 -^..STard'str fL^Sg'htr "'^ 
 
 M well M n;« . t!l • '5"^"*^ ">«"» »»hind 
 
 w^S^h're'^Jrsiui^'irv^^^ 
 
 *e cutter in desp^ation ^e^x^iZ"'""^ 
 
 Si-rs-^^-^^^ 
 
 K;.I'l?e '^«"'"'l°» 'bought that sK 
 A'kf^ his hand and made a peculiar 
 
 was now .mH„7 "^'"H "«"ong. Uut the boat 
 
 Brandon handled the oar with « a . -. 
 eqnal to that of the Hindu.Zd „"5er such ™»?^ 
 
 trr".'' T^^^'' '^^ «' »"«« Btr^ngand ski^fT 
 the boat skimmed lightly over thf c^ts of th« 
 
 xfer^^ "^"^ P«^^ »■" «"t« tL s^tyoni 
 
 h?grbetn r^e^^rwr s« - ?« 
 
 But he discovered L'«it«o;;'the i'Sri 
 ters, and at last.lie could no longer doubt fZt 
 thecut^ahK,. Uke the long-boat Vd°Ssf:l 
 
 AH day lonjfehey rowed before the wind an.l 
 S '^kt™s%r^:^^- ^6^^ 
 
 v-uro looK turns at the oars— not over-«x«rtin. 
 
 £d Sr^^' ^^"""^ "'''««y '« kS^cs 
 
 of the wav^'*™,^'*""' ""I.'" «^'«'« *« "»h 
 mo waves. iJiis last was the r constmif Han 
 
•S r-V-"v:-.-l'i''fl:f^^''i;-;r".:f^S'V<MS^,- 
 
 fiS 
 
 COED AND CREESE. 
 
 ■iv. 
 
 ilirected her to put on, Baying nothing, but see- 
 ing every thing with her watchful, vigilant eyes. 
 
 "Are you afraid?" said Brandon once, just 
 after they had evaded an enormous wave. 
 
 "No! was tl)«T«M)ly, in a calm, sweet voice; 
 "I trust in you." V. 
 
 " I hope your trust may not be vain,"' replied 
 Brandon. 
 
 •' You have saved my life so oflen," siud Bea- 
 trice. "that my" trust in yott has now become a 
 
 she smiled faintly as she spoke. There was 
 something in her tone which sank deep into his 
 M>al. 
 
 Tbe night passed and morning came. 
 
 Fir the last half of the night the wind had 
 been much less boisterous, and toward morning 
 
 the gale had very greatly subsided. Brandon'i 
 foresight had secured a mast and sail on board 
 the gig, and now, as soon as it conld be erected 
 with safety, he pnt it u|), and the little boat dushed 
 bravely over the watery The waves had lessened 
 greatly as the day wore on ; they no longer h)8« 
 in sucii giant masses, but showed merely the more 
 common proportions. Brandon and Cato now 
 had an opportunity to get some rest from their 
 exhahstive labors. Beatrice "at last yielded to 
 
 Bnndnii's earnwrfeqtiwl, «ird, flndiiig that Ui« . 
 immediate peril had pdssed, and that his toil for 
 the present was over, she obtained some sleep 
 and rest for herself. 
 
 For all that day, and all that night, and «D 
 the next day, the little boat sped over the waten, 
 heading due east, so as to reach land wherenr 
 
''^y^,'"'8*'t find it, in the liope that the knH 
 might not be very far awav fnL III •.,."*! 
 Mttlein«nt8 of the Zst Th« ^ '^■*"'"'"*^ 
 water which had be^Lt fn .h'^T""°5' '^'^ 
 an anipie supply, wh." h''"woSd'tt'7o'r aS 
 time. Brandou.8ha,ed with Cato n the m«^* 
 agement of uClmt, not allowing his ^aTto" 
 have more ofSfie If bor than himself ° 
 
 During these days Brandon and Beatrice wen, 
 of course thrown into a closer intimacy It Ich 
 a time the nature of man or woman Unr.J^ 
 apparent, and here BeatriceZSTbk X 
 and a simple trust which to Rr,,mi-7„ " 
 
 mjm ,i,U„g there I %„ "Jl. ''" '»'« " ' 
 
 But can I do nothitiK? It u h.^j t 
 to ait idle while you wear^out vour m" '"' ™' 
 ^;Yoa^can8,„g," said Brandon. ' 
 
 JLa^hetti's song," he sai4, and turned his 
 
 oofm^StrsHhew^o^^rr/rtrb^^^^^ 
 
 had heard before. '°"Png which Brandon 
 
 Now, as they passed over the smi. n . • 
 
 Day thus Lcceeded to dav until »l.„ r .1. 
 
 , Beatrice remonstrated. " Do nnf " ..i-i u 
 in an imploring tone ' v«., 1! ! ^"* *''«' 
 too much Whv «L,I I ^°",'!S^"« already done 
 "ThJ ■ 1 u ^ ^ftould you kil yourseltr- 
 The wind has 8top,4" answered Brandon 
 ^1T« calm ,s treacherous, and no time o^ghtt 
 
 ;; But wait till you have rested." 
 ^1 have been resting for days." 
 
 worffihfda'nimT?"'"' """"«""•« "'•«'«' ->» 
 
 •i-ttniiitdifir z^t'^'^r""^ '«" 
 
 »9rkaow » — ™-- '^^^«atJs the Jam* to 
 
 --t^isSi:! tre^^r' ^r*^« -- 
 
 «»f id tTe 1? *■ * '^"''^ ""^ '""''"^ «ar" 
 A W, dark cloud la^along the eaater., hori- 
 
 CORD AND CBEKSE. 
 
 iSSSSr£;^?Sr^^ 
 
 loi^ranyS^ubt "KiL lL':" ^"^ ^"^ "" 
 
 waking S tS's.:^.e''tt"7' ."".'' "■« «'»<»». 
 ward thut-sCeTlidi the^v Cff '^'"'"^"^ '"^ 
 long and so eameslry to ,1= Twns",""!'!"' 
 what land ? No doiibt if^lo ''*"'*' 1*"' 
 
 coast Of ^eneg^mttbutThaToX' aV'" 
 that extensive coast there ««mT "^'""^ 
 where landing might be cemr„ 1 ?i""^ P'***" 
 t"i"« worse fhan'Lr'lLvaJ^Si "' ""'«■ 
 
 ltd bv'TT""'"' .'1:°- whicrwe^' 
 ized by deahiigs with slave-traders op 
 which were flourishing i„ native barCism Y«. 
 
 ^^Tinrhrj^ertusr^"-^^^^^ 
 si^ I :;:i \r,n "^-"-'-^ lofty 
 
 I They rowed raUthnr!?'"' "'^r""' ''"'""''«• 
 
 calin and glassy The^L'^''^- f*!'' '^•"«'- was 
 
 ' fervid b^^s fhe a?;:^"rtra„H""" ''" ""^ 
 
 w^iiUqLSS^StttuSdS^f^ 
 
 neirVandVth^ir^!'"'" t' '« '» ^' 
 wem^havellome'^^^U^^^^ 
 
 atfas'TJe^c?^"' ^f """''- ^^^ '•»« 'a^wa, 
 
 for? tm''^c:ts"2 fr*'-^"! ^ »- 
 
 Java to^^^Jiteatt?^^^^^^ 
 i"g count.., wir ill' y^odS-J^^^^^ 
 
 i'fSSiM^^^^^ 
 
 mTeSelvt »''ei. should rel alt^^ate^^ 
 
 nrandoi rnwArl till ». ;__ ,^ ?" — 
 
 
 that bumiL'warf "t^ '1 '""•**.' "PP'« "" 
 exertion in !„ch'Sri7^J«^^-«""^^ 
 
 sibl. Even to si^JtU, iTattKngT; 
 
CORD ANDCREESE. 
 
 58 
 
 with the reflected glare from t|ie dead, dark sea 
 
 around, was painful. , „ j^ 
 
 Beatrice redoubled her entreaties to Brandftn 
 that he shonld Test. She wished to have he«f 
 mantle spread oyer their heads as a kind of can- 
 opy, or fix the sail in some wav and float idly 
 through the hottest part of ifie Aky. But Bran- 
 don insisted that he felt no evil efl'epts as yet; 
 and promised when he did feel such to do as she 
 said. , . 
 
 At last they discovered that their water was 
 almost out, and it was nece-ssary to get a fresh 
 ^ supply. It was the afternoon of the seventh 
 day. Brandon had been rowing ever since mid- 
 day. Beatrice had wound her mantle about his 
 head in the style of an Eastern turban so as to 
 protect him from the sftn's rays. Looking out 
 for some place along the shore where they miglit 
 obtain water, they saw an opening in th«J line of 
 coast where two hills arose to a height of several 
 hundred feet. Toward this Brandon rowed. 
 
 Stimulated by the pro8i)ect of setting foot on 
 shore Brandon rowed somewhat more vigorously 
 than usual ; and in about an hour the boat en- 
 tered a beautiful little cove shut i» between two 
 hUls, which formed the outlet of a nver. Far 
 up its winding course could be traced by the. 
 trees along its borders. The hUls rose on each 
 • side with a steep slope, jjnd were covered with 
 palms. The front of the harbor was shut in 
 from the sea by a beautiful little wooded island. 
 Here Brandon rowed the boat into this cove? 
 and its prow grated against the pebbles of the 
 
 Beatrice had uttered many exclamations of 
 delight at the beauty of this scene. At length, 
 iurprised at Brandon's silence, she cried, 
 
 "Why do you not say something? Surely 
 this is a Paradise after thd sea !" 
 
 She looked up with an enthusiastic smile. 
 
 He^hadXrisen to his feet. A strange, vacant 
 expression Was in his eyes. He made a step for- 
 ward as if to land. His unsteady foot trembled. 
 He reeled; and stretched out his arms like some 
 one gioping in the dark. 
 
 Beatrice shrieked and sprang forward, loo 
 late; for the next moment he fell headlong into 
 ♦he water. 
 
 parts, who had settled here originally a poor 
 young man, but had Anally grttwn gray and ridi 
 in his adopted home. He had bought the place 
 when it was exposed for «ale, with the Intention 
 of founding a new seat fc*; his own family, ami 
 had given it the name of Thornton Grange. » 
 
 Generations of care and^ tasteful culture hnd 
 made Thohit«n Orange one of the most beautiful 
 places in the county. All around were wide 
 parks dotted with ponds asd clun^ of trees. 
 An avenuft of elms led up to the door. A well- 
 kept la^vn was in front, and behind was an ex- 
 tensive grove. Every thing gjwke of wealth nud 
 elegance. „ 
 
 On an afternoon in Fwrnary a gentleman in 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 THE BADINAGE OF OLD FRIENDS. 
 
 The town of Holby is on the coast of Pem- 
 broke. It has a small harbor, with a hght-house, 
 and the town itself contains a few thousand i)eo- 
 ple, most of them belonging to the poorer class. 
 The chief house in the town stands on a rising 
 ground a little outside, looking toward the water. 
 Its size and situation render it the most conspicu- 
 008 object in the neighborhood. 
 
 This house, from its appearance, must have 
 been built more than a cpntury before. It be- 
 longed to an old family which had become «x- 
 =ntinct, and now was occupied by a new owner, who 
 had given it another name. This new owner was 
 William Thomtoa, Esq., solicitori who had an 
 office in Holby, and who, though vtsy wealthy 
 stiU attended to his business with undiminished 
 Application. The house had been originally pur- 
 chased by the father of the present occupant, 
 Hwiy Thornton, a well-known lawyer in these 
 
 clerical dress walked 'UpjjS'* avenue, rang at the 
 door, and entering he pat/ his name to the serv- 
 ant as the Rev. Courte&j^aaespard. lie was the 
 new Rector of Holbj« aiiclliftd only been there 
 
 one week. t 
 
 He entered the drawftig-joom, sat down upon 
 one of the many lounging "chairs mih which 
 it was filled, and waited. He did not have to 
 wait long. A rapid step was soon heard de- 
 scending the stairs, and in a few minutes a lady 
 entered. She came in with a bright smile of 
 welcome on her face, and greeted him with much 
 
 warmth. ..... 
 
 Afim.'^omton was very stnkmg in her appear- 
 an64^»A dear olive complexion and large, dark 
 hazefc eyes' marked Southern blood. Her hair 
 wasblack, wavy, and exceedingly luxuriant. Her . 
 mouth was small, her hands and feet delicately 
 shaped, and her figure slender and elegant. Her 
 whole air had that indefinable grace which is the 
 sign of high-breeding ; to this there was added 
 exceeding loveliness, with great animation of 
 face and elegance of manner. She was ^ perfect. 
 lady, yet not of the EngUsh stamp ; for her looks 
 and manner had not that cold and phlegmatic air 
 which England fosters. She looked rather like 
 some Italian beauty— like those which enchant ns 
 as they smile from the wiffis of the picture-gal- 
 leries of Italy. . 
 
 "I am so glad you have come! said she. 
 "It is so stupid here, and I expected yoa an 
 hour ago." ,_ , 
 
 " Oh, if I had only known that ! said Despard. 
 " For, do you know, I have been dying of cnnii." 
 
 " I hope that I may be the means of dispel- 
 ling it." ,. ',,.,. 
 
 " As surely so as the sun disperses to cloads. 
 
 " You are never at a loss for a compliment. 
 
 " Never when I am with you." ' 
 
 These few words were spoken with a smile «y 
 each, and a slightly melodramaric gestnft, as 
 though each was conscious of a little extiara- 
 
 gance. u v " 
 
 "You must be glad to get to your old home, 
 she resumed. ' ' You lived here fifteen, no, p- 
 teen years, you know." I 
 
 "Eighteen." , , J„ 
 
 " So it was. I was sixteen *hen yon left! 
 "Never to see you again till I came back, 
 Mid Despard, with some m ournfulness^Kx^laJt 
 at the floor. ' '^ 
 
 "And since then all has changed." ] 
 "But I have not," rejoined Despard, Uf UM 
 
 same tone. i\ 
 
 Mrs. Thornton said nothing for a momenL, 
 " By-the-way, I've been readinig siicb a m 
 
 book,'' she resumed. " It has just come oat, 
 
CXJRD AND CREESE 
 It would suit yon, I 
 
 lad i» making a BenMtion. 
 know." . 
 
 "Wh*^it?" * 
 
 which Bhe handed to hun. He took it, and read 
 the title out loud. ; 
 
 ' "Christian'rCroggT 
 
 A rtrangeexpressi/n passed over his (ace. He 
 looked at her, holditig the book out at arms'- 
 lengm with feigned/consternation. 
 
 J'^i ^^ ^°" ?»''« the heart to recommend 
 this book to me, Mrs. Thornton ?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Why it's religious. Religious books arc my 
 terror. How could 1 possibly oj^n a book like 
 
 8he laughed. 
 
 " You are mistaken," she said. " It is an or- 
 dinw^novel, and for the sake of youf peace t)f 
 mind ^^^88ure you that there is not a pirticle of 
 tehgion m it. Rut why should you look with 
 such repugnance upon It? The expression of 
 your fece is simply horrar " 
 
 "Pietistic iooks have been t{ie bane of my 
 
 SSv. ;h?i»T^''T^' '•'? '••"'Psodical, the medi- 
 tottve style^f book in which one garrulously ad- 
 dresses one s soul from beginning to end, is sim- 
 p^^ torture to me. You see religion is a different 
 thing. I he rhapsody may do for th« Taberna- 
 cle people, but thoughtful men and women n^d 
 wmething different." \ "">» women neea 
 
 le cbn 
 
 69 
 
 ^riZff??'^?!!!L -^'^ -tip-ts ancl^ 
 
 !r„l ST?' ^«y entirely accord with 
 iny mvn. bull I must own that your horror 
 »*7.<* °»e w novel, to say tiie least of it " 
 y„„ Would you' like me to trj to pn.«lytize 
 
 "You may try if you wish. I am open to 
 wnnetjon ; tut the Chureh of aU the a^ the 
 Apostohc, theCatholic, has a strong holdTme" 
 
 You need not fear that I will eyer tiy io 
 oosen It. I only wish that I may see ^i.rfi.n^ 
 in Trinity Church every Sunday ^^ ^°" ^"^ 
 
 l%at happiness shall be yours," answered 
 Mrs. Thornton. "As there is no ( "tholic chS 
 jepi wiU give you the honor of my presence at 
 
 dupio m^"'" *' "^ i^^iilhea place of wor- 
 
 " Isn't tha^a little cUfusing?" 
 
 . -a ^"If ' *"'" ""'"^ P*'<P'"-d, gmvely. •' ?,«:- 
 ticft enables one to keep all distinct. '^ ' 
 " Rut what is the gpod of it?" 
 
 .r!!jyy '^''""^ I>e»P«rd; "yon see in each 
 novel there are certain situations. rerhapTon 
 an average theremay bo forty each. InterTtinK 
 characters also may average ten each. ThriUi^ 
 
 fifteen each Now by reading novels sfngly the 
 ertect of all thw is weakened, for you only have 
 
 he work of each in it. divided, Wlated stetl 
 but where you read accoitling ^ my phin you 
 have the aggregate of all these effects in one 
 combined-that .s to say, in ten boohs which 
 I read at once I have two hundred thrilling 
 scenes, one hundred and fifty overwhelming «! 
 tastrophw, one hundred interesting characters 
 and four hundred Hituations of absorbing S- 
 tion. Do you not see what an advantage thei^i 
 !« in my plan? Ry following this ro^I hat^ 
 been able to stmiuhite a somewhat faded appetite 
 and to keep abreast of the literature '^Sf tS^« 
 
 .ii'l^^l!"'"" t'^^We plan ! And do you read 
 a^l books in that way? Why, one^coJd write 
 ten novels at 4 time on the same principle, tad 
 If so he ouglit to write very much better." 
 
 T « J h -I '^'^ '7 '^ ?°°»« '^y- At present 
 I am busily engaged with a learned treatise on 
 the hjanboLcaTNature of the Mosaic Econom7 
 
 He smiled away the extravagance of ttjla last 
 rcniark, and she only shook her head. ^ 
 Cine." " * compliment, but it is awfalljj- pto- 
 
 ^Not profenity; say rather justiflabl| idol- 
 
 ."Keally, I feel overcome; I do n«t know 
 
 JbHo siy. ATa.r;rate:"!L;e7oa"1il,Tk: nof ttay^'S'terh "^^ *!."'' '^'^ ^ 
 'he.book ; I know you will fl„d it pCanr- J^Ld tnTr'^'^ ^ ^"^ y°" *»" '^' ^^ ^o" 
 
 th. wl Vi. ' """• ^ ""P* yon wil 
 
 « A J ''"r y°" "^^ "'"» *' pleasant " 
 „,!, •' M "* '"** **™es from you could not he 
 tZT^ftP'^^"'^ "AlthetJetim^ 
 " 2? J?*^ *^^^' ^ "^ novels singly. " 
 
 "ffi! Whyhowelsecanoneridthem?" 
 I always read several at a time. " 
 
 "YoJ««"?.'""i^'"^ *' "'« whimsical idea. 
 UiU Zll T ^^ ^ "timuUte my interest 
 
 "■''^''^Y.u"''" ""^^ ^"- Thornton,. breath- 
 »Iy. "What was that?" 
 
 "The Symbolical Nature of tJje^Mosaic Econo. 
 my,'- said Despard, placidly. "»»c i!*ono- 
 
 " And is the tiUe all your own ?" 
 "All my own." 
 
 . "Then pray don't write the booL The title 
 ofSh .^''•"""""'UdseeifitSS^^nM 
 i; uta'L"e7 "-"-""-"^ -rits bring 
 "I've been thinking seriously of doine so " 
 saKl Despard, " and I don't know but tmit I ^y 
 follow your.advice. It wiU save some trouble, 
 and perhaps amount to just as much in the 
 
 cie's ?^'"^ ^° ^°° °'^^° ^''^ *"'='' ^"^""^^ fen- 
 
 " No, frankly, not often. I consider that title 
 the one great idea of my life " 
 
 " Rut do not dwell too much upon that," said , 
 Mrs. Thornton, m a warning voice; ^'It micht 
 make you conceited." ^i migm 
 
 » «hSy" u^ *°^" rejoine^the other, with 
 a shudder. "Db you really think so ? I hope 
 
 ceited people?" 
 "No." 
 "Am I conceited?" 
 
 Jti^\ I l^ y°^'" ^^^ M"- Thonnton, 
 >"th a slight bow and a wave of the hand, which 
 she accompanied with b smile . 
 
 ^ ^d I like you." said Jiespard, in the «iBfc 
 
 " You conW not do less." 
 
 " This," said Deqiard, with an air of thonaht- 
 tiil seriousness, "is a solemn occasion. .3Ser 
 such a tender confession from each of ua what 
 ^To^l" "^ Wh« is It that the novels . 
 
 " I'm sure," returned Mrs. thomton, with the 
 
60 
 
 COHD AND CREESE. • 
 
 game afsumed nolemnity, "it is not for me to 
 8ay. -> You must make tlie proiKJiiition." 
 
 "We can not do any tl^ntf,le88 tli'an fly to- 
 getJier.'-' *■ . 
 
 "I should think npt" , 
 "But wliere?" 
 
 " And not only whcM.bnt how ? By rail, by 
 gteflnilM>at, or liy cnnal ? A cunnl KtrikcK me as 
 tlie,l>e8t mode of fliglit. It is Hecluded." 
 " Free from observation," said Ueiipard. 
 "Quiet,'" rejoiried Mrs. Tliorulon. 
 "Poetic." 
 
 "Kcpolc." -' •' 
 
 " Unfriended." . 
 "Solitary." 
 "Mow." 
 
 "And, best of all, hitherto tintried." 
 " Yes, its novelty is undeniable." 
 "So much so," ^id Mfn. Thornton, "that it 
 overwhelms one. It is a bright, original idea, 
 and in these days of commonplace is it not cred- 
 itable ? The idea is mine. Sir' and I will match 
 it with your — what? — your Symbolical Nature 
 of the Mosaic Cosmogony." 
 . " Economy." 
 
 "But Cosmogony is better. Allow me tb 
 suggest it by way of a changes" "■ 
 
 "It must bo so, since you say it; butJ have 
 a weakness fof the word Economy. It w .de- 
 rive<l from the Greek — " 
 
 "Greek!" e.\claime<l Mrs. Thornton, raising 
 her hands. " You surely are not going to be so 
 ungenerous as to quote Greek! Am I not a 
 lady ? WilUyou be so base as to take me at a 
 disadvantage in tljpt way ?" 
 
 " I am thoroughly ashamed of- myself, and 
 you may consider that a tacit (ywtogy is going 
 on within my piind whenever I see vou."- 
 " You are forgiven," said Mrs. Thornton. 
 " I can not conceive how I could have so far 
 forgotten myself. I do not usually speak Greek 
 to ladies. I consider^it my duty to make my- 
 self agreeable. And you have no idea how 
 agreeable I can make myself, if I 'try." 
 
 "I? I have no ideji? Is it you who say 
 that, and to me?" exclaimed Mrs. Thornton, in 
 that slight mclodramatio tone which she li«id em- 
 ployed thus far, soiriewhat Exaggerated. "After 
 what I told you — of my feelings ?". 
 
 "I see I shall have to devote all the rest of 
 *iy life to making apologibs." 
 
 "No. Do not make ajwiogies. Avoid your 
 I)e8etting sins. Othenvise,-fond as I am of you" 
 — and she simke with exaggerated solemnity — 
 " I must regai'd you as a failure." 
 
 The conversation went on iminterruptedly in 
 this style for some time. It api)eared to suit 
 each of them. Despards face, naturally grave, 
 assisted him toward maintaining the mock-seri- 
 ous tone which he chose to adopt; and Mrs. 
 Thornton's peculiar style of face gave her the 
 same advantage. It pleased each to express for 
 the other an exaggerated sentiment of regard. 
 They considered it banter and badinage. How 
 Jar it was safe was another thing. But they had 
 
 known one another years before, and were only 
 resuming the maimer of earlier times. , 
 
 Yet, after all, was it safe for the grave Re<tor 
 of Holby to adopt the inflated style of a trouba- 
 dour in addressing the Lady of Thornton Grange ? 
 Neither of them thonght oY it. They simply im- 
 proved the shimng hour after this foshiun, until 
 
 at length the r6nveniatian was inlemipted by the 
 opening of folding-doors, and tha entrance of a 
 seiTant who aiuiounced^nlinnor. 
 
 On entering the dining-room Despard was' 
 greeted with respectful formality by the master 
 of the house. lie was a man of alH>ut forty, with 
 the pnifcshional air of the lawyer alxiut him, and 
 an al)HtrHcted expressioi) of face, such as usually 
 behHM{s to^one who is deeply engrossed in the 
 cares of business. His tone, in spite of ituJ'rieiid- 
 liness, was naturally stiff", and was in market! 
 contrast to the warmth of Mrs. Thornton's greet- 
 ing. 
 
 "How do you like your new quarters?" lie 
 asked, as they sat down. 
 
 " Very well," said Despard. " It is more mv 
 home, you know, than any other place. I lived 
 there so many years as sch<)bl-boy with M^. Car- 
 soti that it seems natural to take up my station 
 th^re as home." 
 
 ■jMr. Thornton relapsed into his* abstraction 
 while Despard was sfieaking, who directed the 
 remainder of his conversation to Mrs. Thornton. 
 If was light, idle chat, in the same tone as that 
 in which they had before indulged. Once or 
 twice, at some unusimlly extravagant remark, 
 Mr. 'ITiomton Uxtked up in perplexity, which 
 was not lessened on seeing their perfect gravity. 
 They had a long discussion as to the meaning 
 of the phrase " the day after to-monx)w. " Des- 
 pard asserted that it meant the same as eternal 
 duration, and insisted that it ipust be so, since 
 when to-morrow came the day after It was still 
 coming, and when that came there was still the 
 day after. He supported his theoir with so much- 
 earnestness that Thornton, after listening for a 
 while, took the trouble to go heavily and at 
 length into the whole question, and conclude it 
 triumphantly against J)espard. 
 
 Xlien the subject of politics came np, and a 
 probable war with France was considered^ Ues- 
 jiard professed to take no interest in the subject, 
 since, even if an invagl6n took place, clergymen 
 could «lo nothing. They were exemjit fiom mil- 
 itary duty in common with gangers. The men- 
 tion of this brought on a long discussion as to the 
 spelling of the word ganger. Desjiard asserted 
 that nobody knew how it was spelled, and that, 
 from the necessities of human nature, it was siui- 
 ply impossible to tell whether it was yaugtr or 
 ijuager. This brought out Thornton again, who 
 mentioned several law papers in which the word 
 had been correctly written by his clerks. Des- 
 pard challenged him on this, and, because Thorn- 
 ton had to confess that he had not examined the 
 word, dictionary in hand, he claimed a victory 
 over him. \ 
 
 Tliomton, at this, looked away, with the smile 
 of a nuin who is talking unintelligible things to a 
 child. 
 
 Tlien followed a long conversation betweea 
 DesparU and Sre. ThomtonilBDUt i-cligion, art, 
 music, and a iSiscellaneous asseniblage of other 
 things, which listgd for a long time. At length 
 he rose to go. \Mr8. Th ornton went to a |i <le- 
 table and took t^ a book. •" 
 
 " Here," said she, " is the little book yon lent 
 mo ; I ought to have sent it, but I thought you 
 would come for it." 
 
 " And so I will," said he, " some day." 
 " Come for it to-morrow. " 
 " Will you bo at home?" 
 
.^.< \ 
 
 emipted by the 
 » entrance of a 
 
 1 DeHpard wag" 
 ■ by th« master 
 Imut forty, with 
 alKJiit bim, and 
 8uch a* UMimlly 
 iigroKHeU in the 
 liteof it&JirieiKt- 
 was in marl(e(l 
 hornton'R greet- 
 
 r quarters?" lie 
 
 y w'itli Mfr. Car- 
 e up my station 
 
 hi^ abstraction 
 ho directed the 
 
 Mrs. Thornton, 
 ime tone as that 
 ilged. Once or 
 .vacant remark, 
 jqdexity, whicli 
 peifeia gravity. 
 I to the meaning 
 morrow." Ues- 
 
 same as eternal 
 lust be Bo, since 
 after It was still 
 lere was still the 
 ory with so muA- 
 r listening for a 
 
 heavily and at 
 and conclude it 
 
 yj with the smile 
 jgible things to a 
 
 ersation between 
 but religion, art, 
 sniblage of other 
 time. At length 
 I went to ajide- 
 
 tle book yon lent 
 ut I thought you 
 
 COHD 'AND CREEflFi 
 
 iff.. 
 
 * ' }i- 
 
 "MH8. ISOBNTON, WALKING TO TH« WINDOW, LOOKED OUT. " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then of coprse I'll come. And now I must 
 tear myself awiy-. Good-night !" ^ 
 
 Da pard called again. Mrs. Thornton had In 
 wntmg and the desk was strewn with pape™. 
 
 1 know I am disturbing Uu," said he after 
 4e usual greetings. " I see tL yoH^ writing 
 «. I w,U not stay but a mom^t.' I havrcoino' 
 yon know, after that little book." ' 
 
 " Indeed, you are not disturbing me at all I 
 hsve been trying to continue a letter which I be 
 CabZt'S"'^ -^ --'" ««°- Tht'iit 
 
 "And how is Paolo?" 
 
 " I have not heard for some time. I oneht to 
 4^L^n. He w;ent to America last summed" 
 
 now, since youVre' hr,;r;ou's a~ 'T' U flT^ '"'":"."'" '"^" *" '« 
 SiTa';;"/'" r^P'■^""^ '*" I am so tl 
 
 S^« of Sr^Jr."""' "P '•^■" "'^'^^ ^'"^ * P-'^y 
 Despard looked at her for a moment as she 
 
 stood in her bright beauty before him. A sudden 
 
 *or unfading power of compliment, for an 
 unending supply of neat «nd pretty speThes 
 commend ine to the Rev. Courtenny De.Cd " ' 
 Vet singularly enough, no one else ever 
 di-eamed thatofme." "wj e»er 
 
 " You were always so." 
 "With you." 
 "Inihe old days." 
 "Now lost fore"\^r." 
 JHieir voices sank low and expressive of a deep 
 .me^rholy. A silence followed. Despard at 
 last, with a sudden effort, began talking in his 
 usual extravagant strain about badgers tiU at last 
 
 of!^;2 ™?" ^^" *" ''"'8''' "'"' "'« radiancy 
 x.f their spinuwa^restored. ".Strange," said hS-= 
 taking up a prayer-book vvith a peculiar binding 
 on which there was a curiously intertwisted tiguFe 
 m gilt. That pattern has been in my thoughts 
 and dreams for a week " ""«"" 
 
 "How so?" , 
 
 "Why, 1 saw it m your hands last Sunday, 
 and my eyes were drawn to it till iu whole figure 
 
 ;-;S»ai<: 
 
M 
 
 >M 
 
 tm 
 
 'm* 
 
63 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 seemed to stamp itself on my mind.- See ! I can 
 trace it from memory." And, taking his cane, 
 he traced the curiously involved figure on the 
 carpet. 
 
 "And were your thoughts fixed on npthing 
 better than that?" 
 
 5' I was engaged in worship," was the reply, 
 with marked emphasis. 
 
 " I must take another book next time." 
 
 "Do not. You will only force me to study 
 another pattern." 
 
 Mrs. Thornton Jaughed lightly, and Despard 
 liopked at her with a smile. . 
 
 " I'm afraid your thoughts wander, ' she said, 
 lightly, "as mine do. There is no excuse for 
 you. Therciis for me. For you know I'm like 
 Naaman ; I have to bow my head in the temple 
 of Baal. After ail," she continued^ in a more' 
 serious voice, "I suppbse I shall bo able some 
 dny to worship before my own altar, for, do you 
 "know, I expect to end my days in a convent. ' 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " For the purpose of perfect religions seclu- 
 sion." 
 
 Despard looked at her earnestly for a moment. 
 T^en his usual smile broke out. 
 . " Wherever you go let me know, and 111 take 
 iip my abode outside the Vails and come and 
 look at you every day throngh the grating." 
 
 " And would that be a help to a religious life ?" 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but 111 tell you what would be 
 a help'. Be a Sister of Charity. Ill be a faul- 
 ist^ 111 devote myself to the sick. Then ^ou 
 and I can go together ; and when you are tired 
 I can assist you. I think that idea is much bet- 
 ter than yours." 
 
 " Oh, very much, indeed !" said Mrs. Thorn- 
 ton, with a strange, sad look. 
 
 " I remember a boy and girl who once used to 
 go hand in hand over yonder shore, and-^" He 
 • stopped suddenly, and then hastily added, " and 
 now it would be very sad, and therefore very ab- 
 surd, in one of them ta britig up old memories." 
 
 Mrs. Thornton sud(fenly rose, and, walking to 
 the window, looked out. , " I wonder if it will 
 rain to day !" she said, in a sweet voice, full of a 
 tremulous melancholy. 
 
 "There are very dark clouds about," returned 
 Despard, monmfuily. 
 
 "I hope there will not be a storm," she re- 
 joinedj with the same sadness. Her hands were 
 held tightly t<^ther. " iSome things wilL{^rish 
 if a storm comes." 
 
 "Let us pray that there may be oJm and 
 peace," said Despard. . -^ 
 
 She tamed and looked at him for a^moment. 
 Ktrange that these two ^should pass so qiiickly 
 from Myely to gloom! Their eyes met, and 
 each read in the face of the other sftdness be- 
 yond words. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TWO LETTERS. 
 
 Despard did not go back to the Grange for 
 •ome days. About a week had passed since the 
 scenes narrated in the preceding chapter when 
 one morning, having finished his breakfast, he 
 went into his library and sat down at the table 
 to write. A litter of papers lay all around. The 
 
 walls were covered with shelves, filled ^(h books. 
 The table was piled high with ponderous tomes.' 
 Manuscripts were strewn around, and Ijooks were 
 scattered on the floor. Yet, amidst all this dis- 
 order, some order was apparent, for many of these 
 books lay open in certain places, and others were 
 arranged so as to be within reach. 
 
 Several sheets of paper, covered with writing, 
 lay before him, headed, " Tha Byzantine Poets." 
 The books were all in Greek. It was the library 
 of a hard-working student. 
 
 Very different was the Despard of |he library 
 from the Despard who had visited the Grange. 
 A stem and thoughtfiU expression was read in 
 his face, and his eyes had an abstraction which 
 would have done credit to Mr. Thornton him- 
 self. 
 
 Taking his seat at the table, he remained for 
 a while leaning bts head on his hand in deep 
 thought. Then he took up a-y^ and drew a 
 piece of paper before him to trj^' it. Ha began 
 to draw upon it the same figure which he had 
 marked with his cane on Mrs. Thornton's carpet. 
 He traced this figure over and over, until at last 
 the whole sheet was covered. 
 
 Suddenly he flung down the pen, and, taking 
 up the paper, leaned back in his chair with a mel- 
 ancholy face. "What a poor, weak thing I am!" 
 he muttered at lost, and let the paper fall to the 
 floor. He leaned ms head on his hand, then re- 
 sumed his pen and began to make some idle 
 marks. At length he bigan to- draw. 
 
 Under the fine and delicate strokes of his pen, 
 which were' as neat and as exquisite as the must 
 subtle touches of an engraving, a picture gmda- 
 ally rose to view. , It was a sea-side scene. The 
 place was Holby Beach. In the distance was 
 the light-house ; and on one side a promontory, 
 which protected the harbor. Upon the shore, 
 looking out toward the sea, was a beautiful girl, 
 of about sixteen years of age, whose features, as 
 i they grew beneath his tender touches, were those 
 of Mrs. "jTioraton. Then beside her there grad- 
 I ually rose another figure, o youth of about eight- 
 een, with smooth face and clustering locks, who 
 j looked exactly like what the Rev. Courtenny 
 I D^pard might have been some seven or eight 
 years before. His left arm was around her waist, 
 I her arm was thrown up till it touched his shorl- 
 I der, and his .right hand held hers. Her head 
 feaned against him, and both of them, with a 
 subdued expression of perfect happiness, tinged 
 with a certain {lensive sadness, were looking out 
 upon the setting sun. 
 
 As soon as he finished he looked at the sketch, 
 and then, with a sudden^ impulse, tore it into a 
 thousand small fragments. He drew the written 
 manuscript l)efore him with a long and deep-drawn 
 sigh, and began writing with gient rapidity upon 
 the subject of the Byzantine Poets, lie h^ just 
 written the following words : 
 
 "The Anacreontic hymns of John Damasce- 
 nuR form a marked contrast to—" when the sen- 
 tence was interrupted by a knock at the door. 
 =^Come inl" It w ar tha mrvnttt with lettei-s bm^ 
 the post-offlce. Despard put down his pen grave- 
 ly, and the man laid two letters on tlie table. 
 He waited till the servant had departed, then 
 seizing one of them, a small one, addressed in • 
 lady's hand, lie pressed it vehemently to bis Upi 
 and tore it open. 
 
 It was as loUows i 
 
 "Thobktoh G»a 
 
 ■4^ 
 
 
CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 68 
 
 ♦both WBBE tOOKBTO OUT UPON THB SETTING SON." 
 
 Dbah Mr. Despahd,— I mppose I may nev- 
 er expect to see you again. Yet I must see f ou, 
 
 pLTn/^^ • "^r'^ " ^<"7 '""K '«««r La 
 
 Paolo of so smgukr a character that you wiU 
 bwe to explain it to me. I shaU expect you this 
 afteraoon, and till then, I remain, 
 '* Yours sincerely, 
 
 iiiii_ ^ " Tekesa Thornton. . 
 
 "Tbobhtom GiANoi, Friday." 
 
 ^pard read this letter a score of times, and 
 pUced It reverenUy in an inner drawer of his 
 
 foUoiw: " "^^ **"* "*•*'' *"'* "^ »* 
 
 i.« "^^"*jj' NovaSootia, January 19,*84r. 
 1,-. J ""*" CouHTBNAY,-I was Very glad to 
 ftew of vour appomtment as Rector of Holby 
 
 re fully estaUlished in the old Rectory, where 
 
 11.*^ ^ "T^ y^"- I WM there often 
 
 Moogfcm poor old Cars ong day to know thatU 
 
 -Jiu*ffiiao](| place. 
 
 N<l^°<Lr'" '^^y *'•''' *»* I •"" 'n """fax, 
 h«^l.S^'*- J*^ ««"nent was ordered off 
 M j^i J^T^""' '"** ^ ?™ ^"'" »^«>ning to 
 
 SmS^" T ^^ i' *^P'V^ """^ ■"»•"'"(? "P f '« 
 Zl^K . u**?"' '^'"' "^y accommodations 
 "Mch J but it 1. not a bad little town, consider- 
 
 ing aU things. The people are pleasant, and there 
 IS some stir and gayety occasionally 
 
 Not long before leaving Quebec, who do vou 
 ^k turned up? No less a perK,.! thanKo 
 Langhettj, who in the course of his wanderinm 
 came out there. He had known some exS 
 dinanr adventures on his voyage out; and iC 
 ««^ the immediate cause of this letter 
 «hi„ r '«''',P«f««e early in June last in the 
 ship Tecumsth, from Liverpool for Quebec It 
 WM an en^grant ship, and cmmmed «ith'pas- 
 
 ot that middle passage, which occurred last year 
 when those infernal Liverpool merchants, for the 
 sake of putting a few additional pgunds in their 
 pockets, sent so many thousands to destruction, 
 ine Jectmgeh was one of these. It wa« 
 crammwl with emigrants. You knowLanghetti's 
 extraordinary pluck, and his aueer way of devot- 
 mg lumself for othek^ Weiji, wh at did h« do 
 
 left the cabm and took up his abode in the steer- 
 age with the sick emigrants. He is very quiet 
 about this, and merely says that he hefped to 
 nurie the sick. I know what that means. . 
 
 .h-. mortality was terrific. Of all the ships 
 that came to Quebec on that fktal summer tfte 
 y««.m««A showed the Urgeat record of deaths, 
 un reaching the quarantine station Laughetti at 
 
 '^M*i.' 
 
 '41^"^ ." ; 
 
64 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 once insisted on continuing his attendance on the 
 sick. Haijds were scarce, and his offer was 
 eagerly accepted. He staid down there ever so 
 long till the worst of the sickness was over. 
 
 " Among the passengers on the Tecumseh were 
 three who belonged to the superior class. Their 
 names were Brandon. He took a deep interest 
 in them. They suffered very much from sick- 
 ness both during the voyage and at quarantine. 
 The name at,pnce attracted him, being one well 
 known both to him and to us. , At last they all 
 died, or were supposed to have died, at the quar- 
 antine station. Langhetti, however, foUnd that 
 one of them was only in a ' trance state,' a«d 
 his efforts for resuscitation were successful. This 
 one was a young girl of not more than sixteen 
 years of age. After her restoration he left the 
 quarantine bringing her with him, and came up 
 to the city. Here he lived for a month or so, 
 until at last he heard of me and came to see me. 
 
 " Of couise I was delighted to see him, for I 
 always thought him the noblest fellow that ever 
 breathed, though most undoubtedly cranky if not 
 crazy. I told him we were going to Halifax, 
 and as he had no settled plan I vade him come 
 here with me. 
 
 " The girl remained for a long time in a state 
 of mental torpor, as though her brain had been 
 affected by disease, but the journey here had a 
 beneficial effect on her, and during her stay she 
 has steadily improved. About a week ago Lan- 
 ghetti ventured to ask her all about herself. 
 
 " What will you say when I tell you that she is 
 the daughter of poor Ralph Brandon, of Brandon 
 Hall, your father's friend, whose wretched fete 
 has made us all so miserable. You know no- 
 thing of tkis, of course ; but where was Thorn- 
 ton ? Why did not he do something t6 prevent 
 this horror, this unutterable calaniity? Good 
 God !• what suffering there is in this world ! 
 
 " Now, Courtenay, I come to the point. This 
 poor Edith Brandon, still half dead from her 
 grief, has been able to tell us that she has still a 
 relative living. Her eldest brother Louis went 
 to AubUulia many yeoi's ago. A few weeks be- 
 fore her father's death ho \vrote to his son telling 
 him every tiling, and imploring him to come home. 
 8be thinks that her brother must bai;|i|„ England 
 by this time. *'- 
 
 "I want yon to hunt up Louis Brandon. Spare 
 no trouble. In the name of God, and b^ the 
 m«nory <Jf yonr father, whose most intimate 
 friend was this poor old Brandon, I entreat you 
 to search after Louis Brandon till you find him, 
 and let him know the fate of his friends. I think 
 if she could see him the joy of meeting one rela- 
 tive would restore her to health. 
 
 " My boy, I know I have said enough. Your 
 own heart will impel you' to do all that can be 
 done for the sake of this poor voung girl. You 
 can fina out the best ways of learning informa- 
 tion. You had better go up at once to London 
 and make arrangements for finding Brandon. 
 
 Write me soon, and let m e kno w. 
 
 "-""YoonflScirdraiteTnielB, " 
 
 "Hbicbt Despabd." 
 
 Despard read this letter over and over. Then 
 he put it in his pocket, and walked up and down 
 the room in deep thought. Then he took out 
 Mrs. Thornton's note and studied it /or a long 
 time. So the hours passed away, antU at length 
 
 two o'clock came and he set out for Thornton 
 Grange. 
 
 On entering the drawing-roohi, Mrs. Thornton 
 was there. 
 
 " So you have come at last," said she, as they 
 shook hands. 
 
 " As if I would not come ten times a day if 
 I could," was the answer, in an impetuous voice. 
 " Still there is no reason why you should per- 
 sisteiitly avoid the Grange." 
 
 "What would you say if I followed my own 
 nnpulse, and came here every day?" 
 
 " I would say', Good-moming, Sir. Still, now 
 that you are here, you must stay." 
 '*I will stay, whether 1 must or not." 
 "Have you recovered from the effect of my 
 prayer-book yet ?" 
 
 " No, nor ever will I. You brought thfe same 
 one last Sunday." 
 
 "That was in order to weaken the effect. 
 Familiarity breeds contempt, you know." 
 
 "Then all I can say is, that contempt has 
 very extraordinary manifestations. Among oth- 
 er strange things, it makes me cover my paper 
 with that pattern when I ought to be writing on 
 the Mosaic Economy." 
 "Cosmogony, you mean." 
 "Well, then, Cosmogony." 
 " Cosmogony is such a delicious word ! It 
 has been the hope of my life to be able .tojntro- 
 duce it in a conversation. There is oibh one 
 other word that compares with it." " 
 
 " What is if?" 
 
 "I am afraid to pronounce it." / 
 
 ."Try, at any rate." 
 
 "Idiosyncrasy," said Mrs. Thornton. Fo^ 
 five or six years I have been on the look-out for 
 an opportunity to use that word, and thus fur I 
 ■have been unsuccessful. I fear that if the op- 
 portunity did occur I would call it ' idiocraej-.' 
 In fact, I know I would." 
 
 "And what would be the difference? Yonr 
 motive would be right, and it is to motives that 
 we must look, not acta." 
 
 After some further badinage, Blrs. Thornton 
 drew a letter from her pocket. 
 
 " Here,'' said she, gravely, " is Paolo's letter. 
 Bead it, and tell too what you thinkof it." 
 
 Despard took the letter and began to read, 
 while Mrs. Thornton, sitting opposite to him, 
 watched his face. 
 
 The letter was in Italian, and was accompa- 
 nied by a large and closely-written manuscript 
 of many pages. 
 
 " HALnpAZ, Not* Sootia, January i, 1941. 
 " Mt Sweetest Little Sister,— I send yon 
 my dianr, as I promised you, my Teresella, ami 
 you will see all my adventures. Take care of 
 yourself, be happy, and let ns hope that we may 
 see one another soon. I am well, through the 
 mercy of the good God, and hope to continue «o. 
 'There is no such thing as music in this place, 
 hut I have found an organ where I can plaj. 
 My»Crem ona Is unin jured, though it has paww. 
 tHronth hard times i t sends » mHe of lovrts 
 my Tereslna. Remember your Paolo to the just 
 and upright Thornton, whom you love. May 
 God bless my little sister's husband, and fill hii 
 heart with love for the sweetest of children I 
 
 "Read this manuscript carefully, Teresnola 
 nia dolcissimft, and pray for the souls of tho* 
 unhappy ones who perished by the pestilenoe. 
 
brought thb same 
 
 ;e, BIrs. Thornton 
 
 CHAPTER XV, 
 
 JOURNAL OF PAOLO UNGHBTTI. 
 
 Liverpool, June 2, 184fi.-I promised you. 
 my leresma, to keep a diary of all my wanderl 
 
 T') «r ^ .'^"' "•" '^^'^i-K whether it 
 wdl be worth reading or not, but knowing this- 
 
 hat my corelhna will read it all with equal inl 
 terest, whether it be trivial or important 
 I have taken passage in the^hip Tecumseh 
 
 rom L.ve.jpool to Quebec. I hafe embark^ in 
 her for no better reason than this, that, she is ttie 
 fi«t that W.U sail and I am impatient. M^, 
 
 kIJwI.^V"^ "°' '«*'« <■»' * fortnight. 
 A fortnight m Liverpool I Hotror' 
 
 ^'^Jtu'*? u °° .'^"■'^ '" »«cure my room. I 
 am told that there is a large number of emigrants 
 It 19 a pity, but It can not be helped. All shins 
 
 Tw'^r'"* T ^"^'""'^ " ^^e evacuated 
 There will soon be no peasants to till the soil 
 
 !r.LT''T""'* '^**'y ""'«' ^ 'n that most 
 wretched of countries! Is Italy worse 1- Yes 
 far worse; for Italy has a past to contmst wwl 
 the pr^nt, whereas Ireland has no past 
 .t T • uA/""* *•— We are many miles out in 
 ™n^l?'"r'- '^^"'"^ «"* Bix hundred em^ 
 S^^nW^i. ?'""'*~'",™L*°'°«"' «««» children. I 
 am told that most of these are from Ireland, un- 
 happy Ireland! Some are from England/Z 
 a« going to seek their fortune in Amfri«?-» As 
 
 look on them I think, My God! what taiselr 
 there is in this world ! And yet what c m Td^ 
 l^^T^x "n } -^helpless. Let the world 
 suffer. All will be right hereafter 
 
 Jm^ 10. — isix hundred passengers ! Thev are 
 f crowded together in a mamier that is frightfd 
 to me. Comfort is out of the question ; theC 
 istress IS every where prtsent ; the ,x,ir wWch^ 
 only try to escape suffering. • During storms tC 
 jre shut m; there is lUtle ventiUtion ; Tnd the 
 hoHDr that reigns in that hold will not let me 
 
 ,tr T- T "'•^Pl I '"'^« remonstmted US^ 
 4e captain, but without eftect. He told me ^at 
 he could do nothing. The ownen, of the shfp 
 
 fw f Z ^^' *^ ''« ^'^ ^-ployed t^ wke 
 a.em to their proper destination V G^- 
 wh«t will become of them? ' 
 
 wiV'^'^'f'^^.'lfT '^" * '*"' ^"y^ of fine 
 on deck. Among them I noticed three who. 
 from their a,.pearance belonged to a differen 
 «IM«. There was a lady with a yonnR man and 
 ffif r^ ^^V^e™ evidentlj he? c^Hdren 
 ne lady has once been beautiful, and still bears 
 Je uuces of that beauty, thouS C IS S 
 Mtw the extreme of sadness. The son U a man 
 
 *n7who^ihtet:;r.Ht» 
 ctdt^odi'^BS:Kr'Khr'°^pr'^ 
 
 nf Artomi. n. ." wrono- She reminds me 
 m Tt; I?"' " fl^*"'" '» her inmost 
 
 hSS^'^' '» meet- wifh7ne who dS^ 
 m Jipret my ideas with so divine a voice But 
 
 «» one IS Holy Agnes or Saint Cecilia. There 
 ^ha, swce, and holy face the same depth o7 
 "^on which our painter, portmy oil the face 
 
 COBD AND CKEESE. 
 
 65 
 
 2st^?'!h«'"^K. ™' ^'^'^ '■'""5'y «™«p «"«d 
 
 ^tlf- / °"^ • P'«««"gers, separated by the 
 
 fetrvt"'P*"°'"u'''^''' f"' 'hey are iLni- 
 testly trom among the upper classes, but still 
 more so by the solemn isolation of grief It is 
 touching to see the love of the mofher for her 
 chUdren, and the love of the children for thei 
 mother. How can I satisfy the longings w*ich 
 I feel to express to them my sympatic? 
 
 T hlT.^""^ ^"^^ • ' Jengthgained my desire. 
 I have become acquainted with that lit^ group 
 I went up to them this moming in otedie^e to 
 a resistless impulse, tod with Ihe most tend« 
 sympathy that I could express; and, wi h ^nv 
 
 rfctf "^,?* yT« '"'^ » b<;ttle of^n^ 
 for hi^mother. He took it gratefully and frank- 
 \y. He met me half-way in my advances. The 
 poor lady looked at me with speechless gratitude 
 
 rmrie""^"^'^' "^- /our'synlp^tjS 
 
 rewlI^L^r^'" '?'** ^' "^ ^'^ °° »fher 
 reward than the consciousness that I may have 
 alleviated your distress " "i^y iu*»e 
 
 A^}'^ ^'^ %^\^ P*^'' Clotures. Cast 
 ofT^^Ttf! '•'^ ^^"^ '"."^' ^"'^ °-«« been one 
 tlh^J' }^^ ''*"^ """^ '° *e foulest of phices, 
 the hold of an emigrant ship. I went b^k to 
 the captairj to see if I could not do sometS n 
 
 hT;!, ^ ^^ ' """^^ "^^ ^ if^ wished, but 
 h»L i!!! T "°,I°*"° ^"^ '" the cabin. Had 
 
 there been I would have hired one and insisted 
 
 on their going there. 
 
 »/^Il[?"'/,° ^l^^ '^y- *"^ ™^e this proposal 
 as dehcately as I could. There were two b^hs 
 n my room. I urged her and her daughter to 
 
 tie so put off. To the mother I portrayed the 
 
 to rT " V*"" ^"«'''''' *" '•"'' de^ orhon^rt 
 to the daughter I pointed out the condition of the 
 
 Z h!!: ' '^ *•*' ■"" ' S''"^'^ 'he position of his 
 moUier and sister, and thus I worked upon the 
 holiest feehngs of their hearts. For mvsdf I m- 
 
 d^r«„ « '•";«««"«. and that I prefentid 
 doing so. By such means as these I moved them 
 
 LXm""- 'i?«y«^'dsowi,hanexpresriono7 
 thankfulness that brought tears to my eyes. 
 
 h»»rr^ Madame," said I, "you wiU bi«ak my 
 te^H *""'.!?• Take the room and say mS^ 
 thing. I have been a wanderer for years, and 
 can live any where." ' ' 
 
 r txJ'^ "*" '•" "•*" ife" ^ '"""^ ""t their mimes, 
 in^il -T ""'"'• » ^'y '°«^ at one another 
 in astonishment. " Langhetti ?"8aid the mother. 
 
 II Did yon ever live in Holby ?" 
 
 Chn^h\„^? ^"'^^^ *'^ "'«"°*«t ™ Trinity 
 Church, and 1 and my sister Uved there some 
 years. Mie lives there still." 
 
 ^|fr^^ '^ fier ejaisnfetlon. 
 Why? 1 1 asked, with eager curiosity. 
 
 "Wh«. J * I ""V™- ,""» eager curiosity. 
 
 L^ettir^i "'''*'^' '^'^ •'*"' 
 
 "r"«iT*r^ r """ .*** '•»'«""" earnestness. 
 chLC^f '• ^f™ "" ''"■'^ "«* these are the 
 children of one who was your fathers friend. He 
 I^mIT ""y h""hand, and the father of thM. 
 chUdnm, was llalph Brandon, of Bmndon vS^' 
 
 t. 
 
6« 
 
 COBD^KD CREESE. 
 
 I stood for a moment stupefied. Then I borst 
 into tears, llien I embraced them all, and said 
 I know not what of pity and sympathy and affec- 
 tion. My God ! to think of such a fate as this 
 awaiting the family of Kalph Brandon. Did you 
 know this, oh, Teresina? If so, why did you 
 keep it secret? But no — you could not have 
 known it. If you had this woi\Jd n9t have hap- 
 ]iened. 
 
 They took my room in the cabin — the dear 
 ones — Mrs. Brandon and the sweet Edith. The 
 son Frank and I stay together among the emi- 
 grants. Here I am now, and I write this as* the 
 sun is getting low, and the uproar of all 'these 
 hundreds is sounding in my ears. 
 
 June 30. — There is a panic in the ship. The 
 dread pestilence known as "ship-fever" has ap- 
 peared. This disease is the terror of emigrant 
 ships. Surely there was never any vessel so 
 well adapted to be the prey of the pestilence as 
 tBis of ours I- I have lived for ten days atnong 
 the steerage passengers, and have witnessed their 
 misery. Is God just ? Can he look down un- 
 moved upon scenes- like these ? Now that the 
 disease has come, where will it stop ? 
 
 July.S. — The disease is spreading. Fifteen are 
 prostrate. Three have died. } - 
 
 July 10. — ^Thirty • deaths have occurred, and 
 fifty are sick. I am:assisting to durse them. 
 
 July 1.5. — Thirty-four deaths since my Ust. 
 One hundred and thirty are sick. I will labor 
 here if I have to die for it. 
 
 <Juhf 18. — If this is my last entry let this 
 dtory^be sent to Mrs. Thornton, care of Will- 
 iiim Thornton, Holby, Pembroke, England — 
 (ihe above entry was written in English, the re- 
 mainder was ail in Italian, as before). More 
 tluin two hundred are sicL Frank Brandon is 
 down. I am afraid to let his mother know it. 
 I am working night and day. - In three days 
 there have been forty-seven deaths. The crew 
 are demoralized and panic-stricken. 
 
 July2Z. — i;hall I survive these horrors ? More 
 than fifty new deaths have occurred. The dis- 
 ease has spread omonjj; the sailors. Two are 
 dead, and seven are tick. Horror prevail^ 
 Frank Brandon is recovering slowly. M^. 
 Brandon does not know that he has been sick. 
 We send word that we are ftfiraid to come for 
 fear of communicating the disease to her and to 
 Edith. 
 
 July 27. — More than half of the sailors are 
 sick. Eleven dead. Sixty-Seven passengers 
 dead since last report. Frank Brandon almost 
 well, and helping me in my work. 
 
 July 30. — Nearly all the sailors more or less 
 sick — five now deaths among them. Ship almost 
 unmanageable. In the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 
 Talk of putting into some port. Seventy passen- 
 gers dead. 
 
 Augutt 2. — Worse yet. Disease has spread 
 into Uie cabin. Three cabin passengers dead. 
 God have mercy upon poor Mrs. Brandon and 
 sweet Edith ! All the steerage passengers, with 
 a few excejhions, prostrate. Frank Brandon is 
 vtulk but hdpa m«. I worii ftight sttd ihf. '- The- 
 ship is like a floating pest-house. Forty new 
 deaths since last report. 
 
 August 7. — Drifting along, I know not how, up 
 the St. Lawrence. The weather calm, and two or 
 three sailors able to manage the ship. (Captain 
 Hid mote both dead. Ten cabin paMcngen 
 
 dead. Three more sailors dead. Only thirty- 
 two steerage passengera dead since Ipt report, 
 but nearly all are sick. Hardly an/^one to at- 
 tend to them. 
 
 ■ August 10. — Mrs. Brandon and Edith both 
 sick. Frank prostrate again. God in heaven, 
 have mercy! 
 
 August 15. — Mrs. Brandon and Edith very 
 low. Frank better. 
 
 August 16. — Quarantine Station, Gosse Isl- 
 and. I feel thor fever in my veins. If I die, 
 farewell, sweetest:sister. 
 
 December 28, JEfaUjax, Nova Scotia. — More 
 than four months have elapsed since my last en- 
 try, and during the interval marvelous tliiiijn 
 have occurred. These I will now tiy to recall as 
 I best can. 
 
 My last entry was made on the day of the ar- 
 rival of the Tecumseh at the Quarantmo Station, 
 Gosse Island, Quebec. We were delayed there - 
 for two days. Every thing was in confusion, A 
 large number of ships had arrived, and nil wers 
 filled with sick. The authorities were taken by 
 surprise ; ond as no arrangements had ever been 
 made for such a state o( things the sufi'ering wns 
 extreme. The aitiVal df the Tecumseh with her 
 frightful- record of deaths, and with sevenil hun- 
 dred sick stjll on board, completed the confusion. 
 At last the passengers were removed somehow, 
 I know not how or when, for I myself on the 
 evening of our arrival was struck down by the 
 fever. I suppose that Frank Brandon may have 
 nursed me at first ; but of that I am not sure. 
 There was fearful disorder. There wpre few 
 nurses and fewer doctors ; and as fast as the 
 sick died they were hurried hastily into sliollovr 
 graves in the sand. I was sick for two or three 
 weeks, and knew nothing of what was going on. 
 Tlie first: thing that I saw on coming to my senses 
 was Edith Brandon. 
 
 She was fearfully changed. Unutterable grief 
 dwelt upon her sweet young face, which also was 
 pale and wan from the sickness through which 
 she bad passed. An awful feeling shot tiirough 
 me. My first question was, "Is your mother 
 on shore ?" . . ■ 
 
 She looked, at me for a moment in solenftn si- 
 lence, and, slowly raising her hand, pointed up- 
 ward. 
 
 " Your brother ?" I gasped. 
 
 She turned her head away. I was silent, 
 Thev were dead, then. O God ! and this child 
 — what had she not been suflTering ? My mhid 
 at once, in its agony of sympathy with her, burst 
 through the clcitids which sickness hod thrown 
 around it. " Poor child 1" I said- "And why 
 are you here ?" 
 
 " Where else can I go ?" she answersd, monin- 
 fuUy. 
 
 "At least, yon shonld iiot Vear yourself oat 
 by my bedside." 
 
 "Yon are the only one left whom t know, I 
 owe yon far more than the small attendance 
 which I have given yon." 
 
 " But will yon not take some rest ?" 
 
 Wair^ar yon weiaromw. ¥«f^ 
 
 are too weak now to think of these thmge." 
 
 She laid her thin hand oh my forehead gently. 
 I turned my head away, and burst into a flood 
 of tears. Why was it that this child was caUed 
 npon to endure such agony? Why, in the midii 
 of that /tgony, did she come to me to save my lift ? 
 
oswerad, mourn- 
 ear yourself out 
 
 bnt the next day I was stronger, and madeher 
 go and repose herself. "^"^ 
 
 For two successive days .she cam* back On 
 .he third day she did not appear. Kou^ 
 day also she was absent Ru&^urses attS 
 to me^ They knew nothing of her. My mSv 
 inspired me with such eneixy that on tLe^o^^ 
 
 AH W «iU confusion. Thousands of sick 
 were on the .sknd. The mistake of the first 
 week had not yet been repaired. No one knew 
 any thmg of Edith. I sought her through all the 
 wards. I went to the superintendent, and forced 
 .KyrnV"'''^'" ''•"•"''-• Nooneil 
 My despair *as terrible. I forced the «i.n«r. 
 mtendent to caU up aU the na^^ and dS 
 and question .them aU, one by one. At K 
 old Insh woman, with an awfil look at me hin? 
 ed that she could teU something^* her ^d 
 »h«pered I word or t#o in the superintendent's 
 
 •.on. J iV Tel^ »n God's name !" 
 m dead-house, "ihe"lnurmured. 
 Where is it? Take me there!" I cried to 
 J,e woman. I clutched her arm and st^r^" 
 
 • -ri'i"*! %^°'^' '*"' ^''ed, open on all side^ 
 row was tdith. She waa. more beautiful than 
 
 When I revived I wasjying in one of the sirk 
 s eds, wKh a crowd of s^ff^^ers & '^e f 
 had only one thought, and that was E<mh' t 
 n^ at once, weak and trembling, b" tSS'olve 
 of my soul gav, strength to my tody. A^^wf^ 
 feariad taken possession of Jje, which w.^ ac^l 
 com,mn.ed by a certain wild hopT^ I hj^el' ' 
 «..h staggering feet, to the dead-house ^ 
 
 ._^A11 the bodies were gone. Kew ones had come 
 
 " Where is she ?" I cried to the old woman who 
 
 -Ba:'^:Liks?'"^^'""''-^-^ 
 
 I burst out into a torrent of iranrecation« 
 wt«.'C^ni.tr«J'2'«-°r «"'«» '0 the 
 
 CORD AND CREESE, 
 
 67 
 
 , — — ..w, uo i iiujiiF fi pieco oi 
 
 woman. She grasped it eagerly. " Brine a sDadT 
 
 How did I have such a mad fancy? lwni;iM 
 I , rou. This ship-fever of enTeStes K'«S 
 of .tapor, in which death genemUy takw d1«™ 
 i;om.t,mes, however, the patient who hw Mhn 
 
 Ihiii I IrnlJ, 'r^"«2"- ^ "«»« 'WO revived. By 
 0^ 1 *"* ""'^'"f tho«> who were throw^ 
 
 « jou died by the fever or by the s^r j 
 
 •■ .1 
 
 But when I saw Edith as she lay tbere mv soul 
 feibTeTny!^' '"'%'"'* »•« '»««^ ^^iS- 
 IWore Tt^Ll ' ^: overwtieimed m^ 
 
 aftertw^'''iri7.«=ri«l. »« I hurried on 
 There! m^?' T^fh''"?^ "'V'l"^ '» «°>«-" 
 wasth;rerairhad'^^'^ftr'"'««'-'^- '' 
 
 I r^^r^J^^'^l^J^;^ '''-* •'o- before 
 'Twenty-four hours." 
 "And when did I feint?" " " 
 "Yesterday." 
 
 A pnng shot through me. " TeU me " T ..ri-^ 
 hoarsely, "when she was buried" ' ^ 
 
 V "Last night." ; 
 
 "O God!" I gntaned, and I conld mv «« 
 
 Cu-f^'tT^VrThrr---^^^^ 
 
 £fi::pherwrron"^oi%S"?ythl 
 
 IZ" mZ ""T. l^ * thousand m7„n5^ 
 
 asked^tSSgJ."'"'"' ^"^ '^^ "^^ b«'?" I 
 "Yes," said the woman, confidently. 
 Hope returned faintly. She led the way. 
 
 nver m^irmured solemnly along the ^o^ ah 
 
 .Kr ^t-r ""hei^*^ i« s: tXesslf 
 
 tnat hour. -Ihe moon seemed enlarged to thn 
 dimensions of a sky; the murmur of "he river 
 «,unded hke a c^tamct, and in the y^t mui^^ 
 1 heard voices which seemed then like theS 
 ofthed^A But the lustre of that 4Zemt^ 
 glow, and the booming concord of fanci^Sln^ 
 voices were aU contemned as trifles I car^fil 
 nothing either natund or supernatural. On^f one 
 bought was present-the^tece where SwL 
 
 We reached it at last. At the end «f a row 
 of graves we stopped. "Here," said the Von^Z 
 "are twelve graves. These «^rem«leLtniX' 
 These are those twelve which you saw '' ^ 
 
 wh£;::thSS?t:zy^''"«-- 
 i'^^^t^Twu/trip&sa 
 
 Ia;i™!!:"'"'""'"'^*^«°»«-hoburiedher. ^^ 
 i.ii "^'^ ""* *P'"'« ""^ "»">«» np the soil T 
 
 ponoa. 1 had thrown out much pjirth k„» i, j 
 not yet reached herf I fe "^y fi^ J»LM 
 
 '|md TBank down jiisti;^-- ^/--«^-^^ 
 thing which gave back a hollow sound 
 My knees gave w^und I sank down Rii» T 
 
 rdSrsftoa-^^^^"^^ 
 
 "Come, Sir," «ud th, woman, mddenly, fa 
 
 I: 
 
68 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 I TOQK UEB IN MT ABM8 AND BBOUOUT^BB FOBTH FBOM THE a;tAV£," ETC. 
 
 lier strong voice, -yet pityingly. '♦ Yori can do no- 
 thing. I will dig her out ina minnte." 
 
 " God forever bless you !" I cried, leaping out 
 and giving place to her. I watched her as she 
 threw out the earth. Hungrily I gazed, devour- 
 ing that durk aperture with my eyes till at last the 
 rough boards appeared. 
 
 Then I leaped down. I put my fingers at the 
 edge "ind tore at it till it gave way. TIm lid was 
 only fastened with a few nails. My bleeding 
 fingfts clutched it. It yielded to my frantic ex- 
 eitions. 
 
 O my God ! was there eve^ a sight on earth 
 like that tthicb now met my eyes as I raised the 
 lid and loiiked below ? The moon, which was 
 high in the sky, streamed down directly into the 
 narrow coll. It showed me the one frhom I 
 sought. Its bright beams threw a Instre round 
 that face which was upturned toward me. Ah 
 me ! how white was that fa«e ; like the face of 
 nsomtNteepinginnidon carved in alabaster. Bathed 
 in the nt^nbeams it lay before me, all softened 
 and r\;fi])ed and made pure ; a face of unearthly 
 beauty. The dyrk hair caught the moon's rays, 
 •n4 encircled the head like a crown of immortal- 
 ity/. Still the eyes were cloted as though in 
 ■l^ber ; still the lips were fixed into a smile. 
 
 She lay as one who had fallen into a deep, sweet 
 sleep — as one who in that sleep has dreams, in 
 which are visions of m«re than earthly beautr, 
 and scenes of more than mortal happiness. 
 
 Now it was with me as though at that uii- 
 equaled vision I had drawn into my inmost being 
 some sudden stimulus — a certain rapture of new- 
 bom strengjth ; strength no longer fitful and spas- 
 modic, biit firm, well fortified and well sustained. 
 
 I took her in my arms and brought her fonh 
 from the grave into the life of earth. 
 
 Ah me I how light a thing was -that frail and 
 slender figure which had been worn down by the 
 nnparalleled Buffering through which she bad 
 passed. TUs thought transfixed me «ith a pang 
 of angiiifliAven awed the rapture that I ^t at 
 clasping her in my arms. 
 
 But now that I had her, where was I to seek 
 for a place of shelter ? I turned to the woman 
 and asked : " Is 'there any secluded pla ce where 
 Bfie may sleep undisturbed till she wakes—" 
 
 " No : there is none but Vhat is crowded with 
 the sick and dying in all this island." 
 
 " I must have some place." 
 
 " There is only one spot that is quiet" 
 
 "What oner 
 
 "The dead-house." 
 
■■7SSK' 
 
 ■ r 
 
 CORD AND CKEESE. 
 
 
 "^^^ i.*^ "J"^ y°" *'"''' ''»^e still more." 
 
 Well, she said, hesitatingly, "I have the 
 rbom where me end my man live, l suppose we, 
 could give up that." ' I'l'*"^ "«" 
 
 "Take me there, then." 
 
 "Shall I help you carry her?" 
 r-)".?"/ ' ?"'"'«.'^. drawing back i«y pure 
 Edith from her outstretched hands '"No I 
 will carry 'her." ■ ■""> ^ 
 
 The woman went on without a word. She led 
 .he way back to the low and dismal shedrf wh ch 
 Uy there bke a vast charnel-house, and thence to 
 a low hut some distance away from aU, where 
 •be opened a door. She spoke a few wo;d8 to^ 
 ^ awn, who finally withdrew. A light was buminR 
 
 f <Sed? . """ "*™ ^ ^'^ '''« ""^ '*''>«"' 
 
 • J' Come here," said I, "three times a day. I 
 will pay you well for this. " ' 
 
 The woman left AU night long I watched, 
 ^he lay unmoved^nd unchanged. Where wa^ 
 herspmt wandering? Soared it among theTplI^ 
 
 ,r,nlM„T «V-«*»^".°'W ? Linger^ it aiS idst 
 ^ smwhine of heavenly glory ? Did her seraphic 
 
 r^hT?'^'^' t*"" P*^" '" »'«' «*«embhig? of 
 Aeholy? Was she. straying amidst the track- 
 less patlis of ether with those whom she 1^ 
 
 '"'rf. "•• Hf"'.""'* "^'^ ^•^ 8°"« before ? 
 
 All night long I watched her as she lay with 
 her marble face and her changeless smUe. There 
 seemed to be communicated to me an influence 
 fim her which opened the eyes of my sSS 
 
 ZVrZ ™^ 'P'"' '^?8''' ^ f°«« itself upon 
 hwfer-off perceptions, that so it might catch her 
 BOdw and bring her back to earth 
 
 ■n*moming dawned. There was no change 
 Mid-day came, and stiU there was no chan.T'^i 
 
 h^ ^^1^TK" ***' •"!* '^« ^-PerintendenTiiad 
 heard about the grave being opened, and found 
 
 K t5. ""'• "S '""^ '» induce'me toTve 
 the h^r^r ^Jif !''•' ""^ '^''"'» I had rescu^. 
 Ihe horror of that request was so tremendous 
 
 f^f IST^ r '"'" passionless calm, men 
 I iBft^ed he threatened. At his menace I re^ 
 jomed in such language that he tumed^e 
 
 'Murderer !" saw I, sternly, " is it no?enough 
 tl»t you have senllto the g^ve many wretches 
 
 .1&.r ^^, ^ Do youseek JZTh^ 
 to death this single one whom I tave rosc.^? 
 »»you want all Canada ^nd all the worldS 
 with the account of th« horrore done here where 
 we are buried alive? i-ee, she is n^J dS 
 ^X^f Sleeping. And yet you put hefTn 
 
 Mff^'; and she must be buried. " -. . , 
 
 "Back again"— she murmured, in a scart* 
 *^f;*'«7««-" among men, iid 'to earth "^ 
 fmm^/ AeRealm of Light, must I be severed 
 from your lofty ctoromunion !" 
 
 felfVlt "^^"-^^"^ the anguish which I had 
 felt at the grave was renewed. "You have 
 brought me back," said she, moumfullj. ^ 
 
 JNo, Iretumed, sadlv— "noti It was nnf 
 Gods wiU that you shoiUd leave this lifr He 
 
 ^nd H^"!'^^"' "^ r"- You were J^eping' 
 and I brought you to this place." ^' 
 
 " I he^Il?'Ilf!;i!-l''' """?'?'«<'' rfosing her eyd. ^'i 
 
 1 heard all while my spirit was away. I know 
 where you found me.'' ^ i Know 
 
 Jl ' ,«™r«*!y'" «he said, after a silence. Her 
 h^«i"**ll*"?- ^".' 'his time the tmnce wL 
 broken. She slept with long, deep breathing 
 
 uiS'^.'^r '■■^T' "«•" ^ watcTeli hf; 
 
 Uirough the long night. At flret fever came. 
 
 raViS^Tr^ He-- «le«P became calm™ 
 she slumbered like a weary child ■ 
 
 fnlS'K '•'•' ^''^''^ ""^ superintendent came, 
 foUowwi by a dozen armed men. He entered 
 
 to Iwsh him, and led him gently to the bedside 
 h»v» 1^ ^ whispered—" but for me she would 
 have been bubied alive 1" 
 
 T^e man seemed frozen into dumbness. He 
 stood ghastly white with horror, thick drops stari^ 
 ed from his forehead, his teeth chattered, he stajt- 
 gered away. He looked « me with a'haunt^ 
 tace, such as belongs to o^e who thinks he has 
 seen a spirit. 
 
 rJt'*"' Ti" •"* *^"'"^5 "«'o not ruin me. 
 Ood knows I have tried to do my best !" 
 
 tliinrtr?''^"*^ "Leave me: You have no-' 
 riling to f«ir." He turned away.with his white 
 face and departed in silence with his men. 
 
 After a long sleep Edith waked again. She 
 said nothing. I did not wish her to s^k Shi 
 
 te„thf '• ^^5 '"** ''^'^^ «y<*> *i"^ng such 
 thoughts as belong to one, and to one alone, who 
 
 had known what she had known. 
 I dW not speak to her, for she was to me a ^ 
 
 aid not refuse nounshment, and grew stronirer 
 ITlf ^^ ""^ ""« to have her movTto 
 if^^ff' i.^®"^ ^ obtained proper accommoda- 
 tions for her and good nurees. 
 ^1.^''^ told you what she was before this. 
 Subsequently there canje a change. The nuraes 
 and the doctors caUed it a stupor. 
 
 There was something in her face which in- 
 «^l?ff'"^* among aU who saw her. If it is the 
 sottl of man that gives expression to the features, 
 then her soul must have been familiar with thinm 
 unknown tn no ii„... ^r. ■_ » "uugo 
 
 to the gi^ve except ove? my co^,tnS o"?Z ZZZ't "'"t". '•'""«'' «'"' ^^w notS, 
 «)'pse of the flmt munieior 2« ZL to avCalf r?,^ «be walked in a dream, with eyS 
 
 hinds on het,^' ™^ ^ '*? I na'f closefl, and sometimes, raiirmurinir inandi 
 
 words. The nursm. h«lf l«v»j »„j u.ir ,. 
 
 "4" '" S ^;j7h«^"ith<«e Who w«re with 
 TJl ,Ane nwn is mad," thei> said. 
 
 writa M^""*.'" P*"'*- I KTOW excited as I 
 m£, .^^^•T' "^"l'"'*'- I^tmebeealm 
 
 Ef^ . '??'*^ ••*"■ "y^* suddenly and 
 
 looked full at me with an earnest and steiul&gt 
 
 ■ ''$»"■ 
 
 Mk. 
 
 .»*,.i,jt...' 
 
 nor. Yet there^ were some little children in the 
 house Wlio felt^all love and no fear, for I have 
 seen her gm^ng on them with a smile so swtet 
 
 wh«, 1 "i;'^!"" '^K^'- '^'"">8«. «d spirit, 
 what thonglus, what memories are these which 
 
 make her hfe one long reverie, and haTe taken 
 
 . 1 -^f 
 
 \ 
 
70 
 
 ■^■^1 
 
 4^^ 
 
 CORD AND 6bEESE. 
 
 from her all pc^e^^ to eiQoy the beautiful that 
 dwells on earth|^ 
 She fills allftaydiou^hts with her lon^pess^ 
 
 her tears, iini 
 marks-ofsc^ni 
 lives and mo^' 
 is it that 66 ovei 
 face of hers 
 
 to her seen 
 it is a pregnantVj 
 is no time then 
 soul has illimitaf 
 
 ^Spiritual fface, bearing the 
 I am never be forgotten. She 
 iidst her recollection^. What 
 as all her thoughts ? That 
 Caa though it had bathed it- 
 self in the atmosphereHif some diviner world than 
 this; and her eyes seto as if they may have 
 gazed upon the Infinite Mystery. 
 
 Now from the few words which she has casual- 
 ly dropped I gather this to be her own belief. 
 That when she fell into the state of trance her 
 soul w«^ parted from her body, though ptiU by an 
 inexplicable sympathy she was aware of what was 
 passing around her lifeles^ form. Yet her sonl 
 had gone forth into that Spiritual world toward 
 which we look from this earth with such eager 
 wonder. It hod mingled there wi|h the souls of 
 others. It had put forth new powers, and learned 
 the use of new faculties. Then th&t soul was 
 called back to its body. 
 
 This maiden — this wonder among mortals — is 
 not a mortal, she is an exiled soul. I have seen 
 her sit with tears streaming down her face, tears 
 such as men shed in exile. For she is like a 
 banished man who has otUy one feeling, a long- 
 ing, yearning homesickness. She has been once 
 in tlfat radiant world for a time which we call 
 three days in our human calculations, but which 
 Inite; for as she once said — and 
 [lougfat, full of meaning — there 
 ^all is infinite duration. The 
 powers ; in an instant it can 
 live years, and she in those three da^-s had the 
 life of ages. Her former life on earih has now 
 but a fiiint hold upon her memory in comparison 
 with 'that life among the stars. The sorrow that 
 her loved ones endured has become eclipsed by 
 the knowledge of the blessedness in which she 
 found them. '' 
 
 Alas ! it is a blessing to die, and it is only a 
 curse to rise from the dead. And now she en- 
 dures this exile with an aching heart, >vith memo- 
 ries that are irrepressible, with longings unutter- 
 able, and yearnings that can not be expressed for 
 that starry world and that bright companionship 
 from which she has been recaUed. So she som^ 
 times speaks. And Uttle els^ can she say amidst 
 her tears. Oh, sublime and mysterious exile, 
 could I but know what yon know, and have but 
 a small part of that secret which yon can not ex- 
 plain ! 
 
 For she can not tell what she witnessed there. 
 She sometimes wishes to do so, but can not. 
 When asked directly, she sinks into herself and 
 is lost in thought. She finds no words. It is 
 as when we try to explain to a njan who has 
 been always blind theJwenes before our eyes. 
 We can not explain them to such a man. And 
 so with her. She finds in her memoir things 
 which no human language has been made to ex- 
 press. These languages were made for the earth, 
 jiot£>r. heaven. In aider ta^ell me what she 
 knows, she would need the langimge of that 
 world, and then she could not expi^ it, for I 
 could not understand it 
 
 Only once I saw her smile, and that was when 
 one of the nurses casually mentioned, with hor- 
 ror, the death of some acquaintance. ' * Death ! " 
 she monnured, and her eyes lij^ted iq> with a 
 
 kind of ecstasy. " Oh, that I might die 1" She 
 knows no blessing on earth except that which 
 we consider a curse, and to her the object of all 
 her wishes is this one thing — Death. I shall 
 not soon forgot that smile. It seemed of itself 
 to give a new meaning to death. 
 
 Do I believe this, so wild a theory, the very 
 mention of which has carried me beyond myself? 
 I do not know. All my reason rebels. It scouts 
 the monstrous idea. But here she stands before 
 me, with her memories and thoughts, and her 
 wonderful wbrds, few, but full of deepest meaning 
 — words which I shall never fot;get — and I rec- 
 ognize something before which Keason falters. 
 Wl^ence this deep longing of hers? Why when 
 tehej thinks of death does her face grow thus n- 
 diaht, and her eyes kindle with hope? AVhy 
 does she so pine and grow sick with desire? 
 Why does her heart thus ache as ddy succeeds to 
 day, and she finds hevself still under the sun- 
 light, with the landscapes and the music of this* 
 fair earth still arotmd her ? 
 
 Once, in some speculations of mine, which I 
 think I mentioned to you, Teresina, I thought 
 that if a man could reach that spiritual world he 
 would look witfi contempt upon the highest 
 charms that belong to this. Here is one who 
 believes that she has gone through this expe- 
 rience, and all this earth, With all its beauty, is 
 now an object of indifference to her. Perhaps 
 you may ask, Is she sane ? Yes, dear, as sane 
 as I am, but with a profounder experience and a 
 diviner knowledge. 
 
 After I had been in Quebec about a month I 
 learned that one of the regiments stationed here 
 was commanded by Colonel Henry Despard. I * 
 called on him, and he received me with nn- 
 bounded delight. He 'made me tell him all 
 about myself, and I imparted to him as milch of 
 the events of the voyage and quarantine as n^ 
 adnsable. I did not go into particulnrs to any< 
 extent, of course. I mentioned nothing about 
 the grave. That, dearest sister, is a secret be- 
 tween you, and^nie, and her. For if it should 
 be possible that 1^ should ever be restored to 
 ordinary human' sympathy and feeling, it n-ill 
 not be well that all the world should know what 
 has happened to her. 
 
 His regiment was ordered to Halifax, and I 
 concluded to comply with his urgent solicitations 
 and accompany him. It is better for her at any 
 rate that there should be more friends than one 
 to protect her. Despard, like the doctors, sup- 
 poses that she is In a stupor. 
 
 -The journey here exercised a favorable influ- 
 ence over her. Her strength increased to a 
 marked degree, and she has once or twice spok- 
 en about the past. She told me that her father 
 wrote to his son Louis in Australia some weeb 
 before his death, and urged him to come home. 
 She thinks that he is on his way to England. 
 The Colonel and I at once thought that he ought 
 to be sought after without delay, and he promised 
 to write to his nephew, your old playmate, who, 
 he tells me, is toi>e a n e ig h bor of yours. ^ 
 
 If he is still the one whom I remember— in- 
 tellectual yet spiritual, with sound reason, yet a 
 strong heart, if he is still the Courtenoy Despard 
 who, when a boy, seemed to me to look out upon 
 the world before him with such lofty poetic en- 
 thusiasm — then, Teresella, you should show him 
 this diaiy, for it will came him to undentind 
 
 '^M^i^ ' ii^^^-tru .!><.!. /iJLs^--^^i.k^ 
 
 iM^Aeis^XSi^ 
 
1 •;• 
 
 i ' /cord and crb^se. 
 
 things vitkh }fe ought to know. I gupDose it- 
 would be utilntelligible to Mr. Thornton wto J, 
 
 ' f^h.*."^ i'^'^','**'- '^'h«'-nton should be informed 
 of the leading facts, so, that he may see if so^^ 
 thiflg can be done to alleviate the distress n?t 
 
 ''T,'^' -"»•«« of one whose fatTe7wasth: 
 eariitet b^ne&ctor of his fiunily. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HITBBAND AND WIPE. 
 
 ''It is now the middle of February " said 
 Despard, after a long pause, in .vhichTe ifad 
 given himself up to the stren^ . ellections whkh 
 the diary was calculated to excite. , " If Lo^g I d„n n»i7 "°i "S"? '^*°"' '''«' «"»ndon of Bmn 
 
 "You are cahn,"said Mrs. Thornton. "Have Shf ^r""",'!""*^' ""^ 'ooked at her eamestlv 
 
 n 
 
 "But 'no^'-h^^'r^"?" P*"""^ ''^«'- W" face. 
 
 «ut now, he continued, suddenly, "I sunno^ 
 
 Thornton fltust see my uncle's letter. Hi^B 
 
 00 in this cas& Kdith is beyond all consokrinn 
 f«.m human brings, and atiU farther teSal" 
 
 In this resi^^hi"* '^l ^^'''■* '''^^ i" his favor. 
 
 of ""^/'rong sense of Justice." ^™«'"V. o»« 
 When Thornton came in to dinner DesnarH 
 
 _- „„.. _ .j..»,^„„„ f x[ ,g a story so full of an 
 pish that the heart might break out of pW C 
 pahy, but what words could be found? J kZ 
 "f "K *o say. I am speechless. My G^t 
 what horror thou dost permit !" ^ " 
 
 "But something must be done." said Mrs 
 Iliomton, impetuouslv. ' 
 
 it we conJd reach our hands over the irrave and 
 bnne back thow. who !,.„„ j «» . ^ and 
 
 IT,""" (s'cdujr. I our 
 under s hght obligations to him. T thoirfTt th^ 
 things Lke these constituted a faint "kirn, ifn 
 one's gratitude, so that if one werTexpS t^ 
 oTfSenr-'' ""«*" ""' ^ "^'"^^'her Sl^ 
 Thornton looked uneasy as his wife spoke 
 
 Un "C^'ttu""'","'"' "*"'^ over the grave and I " ■r^,^^\ *'®' "y°" '*o not understand." 
 
 bang back those who have passed awav^«„ ^ ■' ^''® answered ; " for this thinir is «I 
 
 soul of Edith might find pei^^uS-nl^" ?""''• '"<='^'We. If my father's friend Z^S 
 
 we can give her no peacT^ ^elw^wisC to do r'."^?. ™''*,?^ and unwept, forXnty i^ 
 
 die. Yet something must be done andTthe^I^ i I "?' «'«"«ihe guilt of ingratitude ? H<^^ ™n 
 
 ^;.u 2. Y ,'"■"' "™ "se'ess there. If we 
 ^^t^'' •""" "i" greatest earthly hanniness^t 
 .ftS^*" '"" '"^"' ""-^ "*"• «he ^uld 4h 
 
 " Then you believe it. " 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 j.«»™,i ta. I did „„, ta,„ a„, y„ 
 
 "And even if it be a hallucination it is a 
 ilime one. and «« v,vi^ .i... =. '»uon, it ig a 
 
 ject. 
 '.' Then you knew it !" 
 
 I eSfn' if^^v*"*" """ "nderstand this unless 
 1 expiam it. lou are stating bald facts- but 
 
 m.XoTh' P!''"'""' "* *«y "'*. ^-^ ve? much 
 modified by circumstances." j- mutn 
 
 " WeU, then, I hope yon wiU tell me all with 
 out resene, for I wish t5 know how iHs n^kr^Ss' 
 . iT ^ ,»"'PP«n«J, and I have st(W dlv Md 
 coldlv aloof. Mv God!" she cried, ta uLZ 
 
 thfnk of Z"^'? '""^r ' '" "-^'^ last mint; 
 
 ^.- ^.^.. ..... a naiiucation it is a ^^f^V^:^^.^^.^^..^^^^ •-- 
 
 stL^r^tiijst^i--;^^^^^ 
 
 ,;^° ?>?«.»»>« you would itiad Paok,'8 Lrv L«n^'' Bnu,don,»^ga„ Thornton, "was a 
 'ont thinking him insane." "^^'"^ ^"^ ^ViT'l^\^^ •''"*""*'' ••"* of uliboZed 
 
 ■i.j.1. T . . ■'"" would 
 without thinking him insane. 
 
 thiSrl"^'^- "^^™ *•"»' '^onld be no- 
 'Owa t wlU are snre to m adnMi, n e»r nlHcd,' 
 
 r-.™, ^.« uworiy impracticable. He was no 
 
 ^ «„^? ^ .""^""'y inexperienced in busi- 
 *«8, and he was always liable Jo be led astrav bv 
 ^^TS«!i ™P^: . .Somehow o. oihe^S^ 
 
 .;„„ JTT^ "••puims. oomenow or other a mair 
 named Potts excited his interest alxjut Z^TJ^ 
 t-JeTErn "^"^'"e-vidgarS" 
 
 onlv a hnr ' 1 I' ""™ ^ ■■'^ "'m 'ast I was tnrer- W n~nj C * .'"®'^ ^"'«*'" adven- 
 
 r/hi T'.*°*l '•e came with his seraphic face «^ .V^ ii ?"r "" V^'"« infatuated with him 
 
 Mdhis divine music to give me an SmZ! f"^ «>.»««% beheved that this man was wor^^ 
 
 wh^h has biased my lif? eveTsfn^i rhave ' ^ ""™'"^ ^*"' *« man««,„,„r„7?5i5? 
 f te'Z. •5""' "P'"' "''" ^ •"»«»« those whom 
 
 7.r kT^-TT'' '^"'"ea tnat tnis man was worthv 
 to be intrusted with the management of^k^ 
 
 J^'^Hrfnv'!?"'-,. ^'^ "»^« went on r 
 iT^rrio? J "•** "^ remonstrated with him. 
 1, m perticukr, went there to expkin to himXi 
 
1 
 I 
 
 ""•■"•....„,.„,„„„„ I 
 
 72 
 
 GORD AND CREESE. 
 
 the speculation in which he was engaged could not I 
 result in any thing except loss. Hnt he renenlcd 
 all interference, and I had tu leave him to him- 
 self. 
 
 "His son Ix)Hi8 was a boy full of energy and 
 fire. The ^imily were all indigni)nt at the conK- 
 dence which Knlph Brandon put in this I'otts — 
 Louis most of all. One day he met I'otts., 
 Words paused between them, and Louis struck 
 the scoundrel. I'otts complained. Brandon had 
 his son^ip on the siK)t ; and after listening to his 
 explanations gave him the aliemative either to 
 apologize to I'otts or to leave the house forever. 
 J,,ouis indigiumtly denounced Potts to his father 
 us a swindler. Brandon ordered him to his foom, 
 ivnd gave him a week to decide. 
 
 "The servants whispered till the matter was 
 noised abroad. The county gentry had a meet- 
 ing about it, and %lt so strongly that they did 
 an unparalleled thing. They actually waited on 
 him to asisure him that I'otts was unworthy of 
 trust, and to urge him not to treat his son so 
 harshly. All Urandon's pride was roused at this. 
 He said words to the deputation which cut him 
 off forever ft-om their sympathy, and they left in 
 a rage. Mrs. Brandon wrote to me, and I went 
 there. I found Brandon inflexible. I urged him 
 to give his son a longer time, to send him to the 
 army for a while, to do any thing rather than 
 eject himx He refused to change his sentence, 
 llien I pointed out the character of-i'otts, and 
 told him many things that I had h^rd. At (his 
 he hinted that I wished to have the management 
 of his business, and was actuated by mercenarj' 
 motives. Of course, after this insult, nothing 
 more was to be said. I went home and tried to 
 forget all almut the Brandons. At the end of 
 the week Loui» refused to apologize, and left his 
 father forever. " 
 
 " Did you see Louis ?" 
 
 "I saw him before that insult to ask it he 
 woidd apologize. " 
 
 " Did you try to make him apologize?" asked 
 Jlrs. Thornton, coldly. 
 
 "Yes. Bjut he. looked at me with such an 
 air that I had to ajwlogize myself for hinting at 
 such a thing. He was as inflexible as his father. " 
 
 " How else could he have l)een?" 
 
 " Well, each might have yielded a little. It 
 does not do to be so inflexible if one would suc- 
 ceed in life. " 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Thornton. "Success must 
 be gained by flexibility. The martyrs were all 
 infle;(ible, and they were all unsuccessful." 
 
 Thornton looked at his wi(e hastily. Des- 
 pard's hand trembled, and his face grew paler 
 still with tt more livid pallor. 
 
 " Did you try to do any thing for the ruined 
 son?" 
 
 " How could I, after that insult^" 
 
 "Could you not have got him a government 
 office, or purchased a commission for him in the 
 army?" 
 
 " He would not have taken it from me." 
 
 " Yo u could- h ave cp^|)erated _witlL hlaJjno^ 
 
 ther, and done it in her name. " 
 
 " I could not enter the house after being in- 
 sidted." ' 
 
 " You could have written. From what I have 
 heard of Brandon, he was just the man who 
 would have blessed any one who would interpose 
 to save his son." 
 
 " His son did not wish to he saved. He tuts 
 all his father's inflexibility, but an intellu<'t lu 
 clear as that of the nuist practical man. He has 
 a will of iron, dauntless resolution, and an im- 
 ]ilucable temper. At the same time be has the 
 open generosity and the tender heart of his father," 
 
 " Had his tather a tender heart?" 
 
 " So tender and att'ectionaie that this sucritice 
 of his son must have overwhelmed Irim with the 
 deepest sorrow." 
 
 "Did you ever after make any advances to any 
 of them ?" 
 
 " No, never. I never went near the house,' 
 
 " Did'you ever visit any of the county gentty 
 to see if something could be done ?" 
 
 " No. It woidd have been useless. Besides, 
 the very metitiou of his name would have been 
 resented. I should have had to fling myself 
 headlong against the feelings of the whole public. 
 And no man has any right to do that.^. 
 
 " No," saidVlrs. Thomtbn. " No man has. 
 That was another mistake that the maityrs made. 
 They would fling themselves against public cipin- 
 ion." 
 
 "All men can not be martyrs. Besides, the 
 cases are not analogous." 
 
 Thornton spoke calmly and dispassionately. 
 
 "Tnie. It is absurd in me; but 1 admiie one 
 who has for a moment forgotten his own interests 
 or safety in thinking of others.," 
 
 "That does very well for poetry, but not in 
 real life." 
 
 " In real life, such as that on board the Ti- 
 rnmse/i f" murmured Mrs. Thornton, with droop- 
 ing eyelids. 
 
 "You are getting excited, my dear," said 
 Tliomton, patiently, with the oir of a wise father 
 who overlooks the petulance of his child. '■{ 
 will go on. I had business on the Continent 
 when ])oor Brandon's ruin occurred. You were 
 with me, my dear, at Berlin when I heard nlK)iit 
 it. I felt shocked, but not surprised. I feared 
 that it woidd come to that." 
 
 "You showed no emotion in particular." 
 
 " No ; I was careful not to trouble you." 
 
 "You were iay^erlin three months. Was it 
 at the beginninpw end of your stay ?" . 
 
 "At the beginning." 
 
 "And you staid?" 
 
 " I had business which I could not leave." 
 
 "Would you have -been ruined if you had 
 left?" 
 
 "Well, no — not exactly ruined, but it would 
 have entailed serious consequences." 
 
 " Would those consequences have been as se- 
 rious as th6 Tecumseh tragedy?" 
 
 " My dear, in business there are ndes which a 
 man is not permitted %o neglect. There are du- 
 ties and obligations which are imperative. The 
 code of honor there is as delicate, yet as ligid, as 
 elsewhere." 
 
 "And yet there are times when all obligntioni 
 
 of this sort are weakened. When friends die, 
 
 this is recognized. Why should ifcnot be fo 
 
 'Ilea they jire in dan ge r of a fate worse jhan 
 
 death?" 
 
 Thornton elevated his eyebrows, and made no 
 
 "51'ly- 
 
 "You must have heard about it in March, 
 
 then?" . 
 
 " Yes, at the end of January. His min took 
 
 place in December, 1846. It was the middle of 
 
 THEN, COVE 
 
advances to i 
 
 rs. Besides, the 
 
 jetry, but not in 
 
 I 1 * * ,,fi''"'''*'" 
 \,. -"• ' '••" '■•■' ■ ■ ■ • ' 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 THKN, COVERiMO HKB FACK With !..,„ . ^^^^^^^^^^^^^HI^HHIJ^B 
 WITH HKK HANI.8, «HK «„H8T ,KTO AN iooK, Jr X.XHS » 
 ' Iwfnro T ~-» I , . y 
 
 amily to parts unknown " "P-nure ot tiM 
 
 «,_.•!/ "'aiiuuii, ana tne 
 amily to parts unknown." 
 u'l?''..''® ""'''® "° particular 
 
 inquiries?" 
 ''And you said not a word to me !" 
 "Amrthl:;^!-'* of agitating you, my dear." 
 
 nSl s'iow-of '^ Lr " '•""'"« ^"'^•f 
 rr. .h^^n J J^'' ''"' ' <»n not help it It is 
 
 SSL"'iVCi7^\;Ts''tS^ 
 
 «ni*relv enoimh .1.1. » " '* *" *''"' quality, 
 
 »«eiy enougn that I owe mv father's 4iVo ..;j 
 
 ray 3Wn comfort for many vL™ p!.„i ' T*^ 
 owesM much an I m- n y ears, f aolo also 
 
 taen'Hon of eiteLT' "! ^'I?*"'*. *ith the 
 TT"!* WM "n ms fn? ^ ""'r,"' Agrigentnm. 
 u» » Tu "*''' 'onr years before I w«« h««. ' 
 % father w« .toppingjt GitgentlTwirhU We 
 
 s»*-^ 
 
 ' hIJh ^'°' " ""^ "^"^ ♦''•'" "''^ yean, oH. My father 
 T.ns^n,ade him Z^J^l 'Ae^M^^^^i 
 Girir^mi""' "^"^ ""?' ""'^ Englishmen visited 
 
 ttr^rS-p ^^4l«^-lf onX^oo^a-i 
 
 treason and was now in nH»in ij„ *^ 
 .-ted of &ngi„, e^ ILSnalVr wZ 
 
 were showing g«eirt activity. My father b^ 
 
 feed bt liF^"^' '^'^' "'^ had iC 
 hi 5^ by ^lilam named Cigole. My mi 
 ther did n^ tell them all this, but m^vT 
 formed tjfem of hi» danger. ' ""' "ereiy in- 
 
 At/first they did not know what to do bnt 
 the pr.y«„ of my mother moved their hemi 
 
 found out, however, where my father was c™ 
 fined and resolved upon a des^m, "JJarCv" 
 
 «d 7v r*'"' ""1 *'"°''^ "" »>°'"-'> of the yachT 
 and by paymg a heavy brib« obtained p^rmtal 
 
7^ 
 
 CORD AND CREE8E. 
 
 sion to visit my father ir. pHion. Brandon's 
 friend wa« about the same height lu my father. 
 When tliey reached his Gell''they urged my fa- 
 ther to exchange clothes with him and escape. 
 At first he positively refused, hut when assured 
 that Brandon's friend, being an Englishman, 
 would be sot free in a few days, h« consented. 
 Brandon then took him aiyay unnoticed, put him 
 on board of the yacht, and sailed to Marseilles, 
 where he gave him money enuugh to get to En- 
 gland, and told him to stop at Brandon Hall till 
 he himself arrived. He then sailed bock to see 
 about his friend. 
 
 " He fonnd out nothing about him for some 
 time. At last he induced the British embassa- 
 dor to take the matter in hand, and he did so 
 with such effect that the prisoner was liberated. 
 He had been treated with some severity at first, 
 but he was young, and the government was 
 persuaded to look upon it as a vouthfui freak. 
 Brandon's powerful influence with the British 
 embassador obtained his unconditional release. 
 
 "My father afterward obtained a situation 
 here at Holby, where he was organist till he 
 died. Through all his We he never ceased to 
 receive kindness and delicate atas of attention 
 from Brandon. When in his last sickness Bran- 
 don came and staid with him (ill the end. He 
 (hen wished to do something for Paolo, but Pa- 
 olo preferred seeking bis own fortune in his own 
 way." 
 
 Mi-8. Thornton ended her little narrjitive, to 
 wliich Despard had listened with the deepest at- 
 tention. 
 
 "Who was Brandon's friend?" asked Des- 
 pard. 
 
 " He was a British ofBcer," said Mrs. Thorn- 
 ton. " For feur of dra^ng in his government, 
 and perhaps incurring dismissal from the army, 
 he gave an assumed name— Mountjoy. This 
 was the reason why Brandon was so long in find- 
 ing him." 
 
 " Did yonr father not know it?" 
 
 "On the potisago Brandon kept it seeret, Mid 
 after his frien^^'s deliverance he came to see my 
 father undach|g_a8suine<l name. My father al- 
 ways 8|)oke othira as Mountjoy. After a time 
 he heard that he waa dead." 
 
 "I can teliyou his true name," said Mr. 
 Thornton. "There is no reason why you should 
 uot know it." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Lionel Dwpard— yonr fother, and Ralph 
 Brandon's bosom friend. " 
 
 Despard looked transfixed. Mrs. Thornton 
 gazed at her husband, and gave an unutterable 
 look at Despard, then, covering her face with 
 her hands, she burst into an agony of tears. 
 
 "Mv God," cried I>e8|)ard, p.issing his hand 
 over his. foreliead, "my father died when I was 
 » child, and nobody was ever able to tell me any 
 thing about him. And Brandon was his friend. 
 He died thus, and his family have perished thus, 
 while I have known nothing and done nothing." 
 
 " You at least are not to bhune," said Thornton, 
 
 .«. j«u uou .»«.i.^yHflfti'U of JUwidonf 
 n^une. You were in the north of England when 
 jttis happened, and knew nothing whatever about 
 It." 
 
 TlMt erening Despard went home with a deep- 
 er traubie in his heart. He was not seen at the 
 GtHMjIi^ * month. At the ^d of that time he 
 
 returned. He had been away to London during 
 the whole interval. 
 
 As Mrs. Thornton entered to greet him her 
 whole face was overspread with an expression nf 
 radiant joy. He took both her hands in his and 
 prexsed them without a word. " Welcome back,' 
 she murmured — "you have been gone a luiij; 
 time." 
 
 " Nothing but op overpowering sense of duty 
 could have kept me away so long," said he, iu ii 
 deep, low voice. 
 
 A few similar commonplaces followed ; but 
 ^vith these two the tone of the voice invested the 
 feeblest communplaces with some hidden mean- 
 ing. 
 
 At lost she asked : " Tell me what success you 
 had ?" He made no reply ; but taking a paper 
 from his pocket opened it, and pointed tu a 
 marked paragraiih. This was the month uf 
 Man^h. The paper was dated January 14, 1847. 
 The paragraph was as follows : 
 
 " DisTBEBBiKo Cabua,ltt. — The ship Java, 
 which left Sydney on the nth of August lost, re- 
 ports a stormy passage. On the 12th of iSeptem- 
 ber a distressing casualty occurred. They were 
 in |S. lat. 1 1° r 22", E. long. 105° C 8«", when 
 a sbuall suddenly struck the ship. A passenger, 
 lyOjuis Brandon, Esq., of the firm of Compton &. 
 Brjandon, Sydney, was standing by th6 lee-<|iiar- 
 tei| as the squall struck, and, distressing to nar- 
 rate, he was hurled violently overboard. It wan 
 ini|x>s8ible to do any thing, as a monsoon wan 
 beginning, wjiich raged for twenty-four hours. 
 Mr. Brandon was coming to England on bn»- 
 iness. 
 
 I" The captain reports a sand-bank in the lati- 
 tude and longitude indicated above, which he 
 'Cottin island,' from a rock of peculiar 
 at the eastern extremity, i^hips will do 
 wtU in future to give this place a wide benh." 
 
 ip despondency came over Mrs. Thornton's 
 face as she read this. " We can do nothing, " 
 said she, mournfully. " He is gone. It is bet- 
 ter for him. We must now wait till we hear 
 more from Paolo 1 will write to him at once." 
 "And I will write to'my uncle." 
 There was a long sitence. " Do vou know," 
 said Despard, finiOly, "that I have heen think- 
 ing much about my father of late. It seenu. ve^ 
 strange to me that my tmcle never told me about 
 that Sicilian affair befoie. Perhaps he did not wirii 
 me to know it, for fear that through all my life 1 
 should brood over thoughts of that noble heart lo«t 
 to me forever. But I intend to write to him, and 
 obtain afresh the paniculars of his death. 1 wish 
 to know more about my mother. No one wa< 
 ever in such ignorance of his parents as I have 
 been. They merely told me that my father and 
 mother died suddenly in India, and left me an 
 orphan at the age of seven tmder the care of Mr. 
 Heniy Thornton. They never told roe that Bran- 
 don was a very dear friend of his. I have thought j 
 also of the circumstances of his death, and the? 
 bM seem confused, tiome say he tlied_m Cat- 
 
 ctmH,"OtfaeryTBy"nr Uliiiia, and Mi. Th et n ^ 
 once said in Masilla. Hmtb is some mjMi; 
 about it" 
 
 " When Brandon was visiting my father," nii 
 Mrs. Thornton, " you were at school, and h« der- 
 er saw you. I think he tfaoaght you were Ueoi} 
 Despard's son." 
 
heJuuljust^ceived. cC wr« f„C ^''••^'' 
 
 CORD AND CBKESK. 
 
 that on the mhjZ^^:,^, .Tt"f "^' "^P""" 
 l..ng,b,»jt near ih^^^^ [^^'[1^7 %:''''> 
 HoBting l)ottom ituwanl r^vl "'*"''*■ 't was 
 
 been expected fi,r two momh ' i'"" •"" """^ 
 tmm (hlTthat she mavlmv« ^ '"^^ " " '"'^"^ 
 rhe/«/.o«wa«o„h"rUvfLr^"''r'^ *" ■*»• 
 Jon, and belonged to £„ Hi^^''"''^;^^""- 
 man, & Co." "*• ^"nKwood, Fkx- 
 
 CIIAPTER XVII 
 
 THE 8HADOW OK THE AP„,CAN FOKE8T 
 
 Lbt 08 return to the castaways 
 
 It was morning on the coast of Africa-Afri„ 
 
 -«?o;"sTu'^ite'r"wtir ""'?'' "--• "^ 
 WKhhiik ISfrontof the 17 **"'' ^'^« '«« 
 which cotjcealeJ and p'rc^J^teS f' "■" ''" '«'«'"1 
 
 Here the paJni-ti«es erew TKo .-j 
 «eeply, the slimmit was fofty' and th« . ** "^ 
 |«lnu. afforded a deep, dens^^LlfJ^, ^he, owenng 
 w?. fine and short, aid b^S^ZjL.^' ^' K«Jf« 
 withering heat was as fine ^R^ twm the 
 Cwn. Upthepabn^.SfJS^^'^^'lf^'' 
 sand parasitic plants, wnered wH^I^ w ^""" 
 gorgeous, golden, nkh^yZiM a '^'^^ 
 BinlsofstanyphiiMBeflS.?? description, 
 "they leaped ftimtaS^,„ J!!: '^°"«'' ">« »'^ 
 
 d« muniiuring 'r^eTaf 'X'fil" W' 
 
 ocean; ro>md the shore the low tones onh«,i^ ' 
 
 il.v-wash ng surf were hnmo "" «»nes ot the gen- 
 
 andulatioilf from the o«Trs^" "^^ '° « '««" 
 
 ^X™r s: tfTo'st'^-^:: -^ •"« ^-^^ 
 
 ^ned his eyes and tS^^^l !^"»! 
 Sgri*""* sights and heanS Z^r^^r- 
 
 ^t^^TiZt^r''^ ''-"'ing with 
 wtoene.Thirh^Syrl'rtt'^Tlar^^^^^ 
 
 »««fcri3v^S^shlT "°'.*™ *»'' '"oked 
 ~*™Hrf np mi, knelt down by hT " ) 
 
 '"•ft;.t^ Ib-^M'- • W time 
 •«-»«neticpo^erSrS„2.»'«if*- 
 
 wtiiie, as she removed her hand h« 
 
 eyes again. Ho tcx.k hnr i,.! i ' , ."P®"*"" his 
 
 vently to hislifH,! - I 1"2 •V'' ""^ ''eld it fer- 
 
 , dreamy voice " wh„ „ ' "*'*' ''«• '" » low. 
 
 nothing J^e- I knVj'rr'n'"' ^J"' ^ «m-bn; 
 
 ory; that them hLTen " li " '"??' *" ««"'- 
 
 -70- ; but I c*r„,H thirw",^^ "' «^-' 
 
 —I know that thern l.«- 1^ *"■' «"tow s 
 
 but I can not remem.irwt''"""' '""'""""«• 
 
 Ueatnce smiled sadly "it „,:ii ., 
 you \n time " /• n wui all come to 
 
 "ooker™^:^^ its; 'i''th""'";:"7''' """•> 
 
 at last entered the sp rk?worId a "f ^,' """ ^ '"'*' 
 
 come with me; and I felT a rf' """^ "'"f •^■"" had 
 
 never express. S" 1 1 ft^ a„d^^t ^"^ """ ^ <=«" 
 
 I am yet on the elrth i-S k''"?*" ""*> ""at 
 
 all the earth thist «; h ,"«'' '^'"" "^--e of 
 ,,^^ „ in tiiis M, or how I got here, t know 
 
 ;; Jo" must sleep," "said she, gently 
 ■And you — vou vr.1. " !,_ " V- 
 
 "tasy. And now if h- * *"* °"« '""K ec- 
 
 choly smile. *• """ * melan- 
 
 an?shXt&herh''T "''T'"'«'<' "H 
 ller touch^lffht XTol«''''"'''^*"^ 
 W song of surpassSmSe^^'u?^ '" * 
 yielded to the snbTle m^nt^T^'A ' *"•" 
 to him as he lay ""="»»«•»». and sleep came 
 
 .Jw^'sXot?ilira:;^r*'^?"'"«- 1^»»- ^ 
 
 ■10 tpiie mm some cordial to drinW o^j .u 
 draught revived him. Now h» „ c ' "^ *•" 
 
 »w™. 1, 1 '^' 'eamng against a tree whifp P^ 
 '•t.^here.'^tiJte^^VL'**'-* "''??•««'. "« to 
 
 life' ihivXtLfii£""vl''r"'"'-^n'* 
 
 •tt^ggling to regain kn^Vof 1^"''^^ 
 Je put hts hand in h|,.bo^., ^^f/Sg fo, 
 
 " ^ "^^ wmething .uspended .bout my neck," 
 
 «flX^< <AlL- 
 
% 
 
 > 
 
<# 
 
CORD AND CUEEbE. 
 
 Perhaps I shall 
 
 latrjce 
 'How 
 
 said he, "which is precious. 
 know what it is after a time." 
 
 Then, after a pause, ' ' Was there not a \vreck ? 
 he asked. 
 
 "A'es; and you saved my life." 
 ; "Was there not a fight with pirates ?" 
 
 "Yes; and you saved my life," said 
 again. 
 
 " I begin to remember," said Brandon, 
 long is it since the wreck took place ?" 
 
 " It was January 15." 
 
 " And what is this ?" 
 
 " February 6. It is about three weeks." 
 
 « ' How did I get away ?" 
 
 " In a boat with mo and the servant." 
 
 " Where is the servant ?" 
 
 "Away providing for us. Yon ha* a sun- 
 itroke. He tarried you up here." 
 
 " How long have I been in t^s place?" 
 '" A fortnight." 
 
 Numerousquestionsfollowed. Brandon smem- 
 ory began to return. Yet, in his etforts to regain 
 knowledge of himself, Beatrice was still the most 
 prominent object in his thoughts. His dream-life 
 persisted in mingling itself with his real life. , 
 
 "But you," he cried, eameftly— " you, how 
 iiave you endured all this ? You are wearj- ; you 
 have worn yourself out for me. What can 1 ever 
 do to show my gratitude ? Yon have watched-tne 
 night and day. Will you not have more Care of 
 your own life ?" ' * . 
 
 The eyes of Beatrice kindled with a soft hght. 
 f What is my life?" said she. "Do I^iot owe 
 it over and over again to you ? Ait Iraeny that 
 I am worn out." , VlSli 
 
 Brandon looked at he^ >«p^fflihest, longing 
 
 eyes. ifej 
 
 His recovery was rapid.i In a few days he was 
 able to go about. Catd^rocured fish from the 
 waters and game fronVrhe woods, so as to save 
 the provisions of theitoat, and they looked for- 
 ward to the time wiren they might resume their 
 journey. But to Brandon this thought was re- 
 pugnant, and »n--1iourly struggle now went on 
 within him. Why should he go to England? 
 What could, Jie«do? Why should he ever part 
 ftpmher? i^'^" 
 , "Oh, to burk all links of habit, and to wander On 
 
 away, 
 On ftoih Island onto Island at the gateways of the 
 
 dayl" 
 In her presence he might find peace, and perpet- 
 ual raptilire in her smile. 
 
 In the midst of such meditations as these her 
 \-oice once arose from afar. It was one of her 
 own songs, such as she could improvise. It spoke 
 of summer isles amidst the sea; of soft winds 
 and spicy broeies ; of eternal rest beneath over- 
 shadowing palms. It was a soft, meltmg strain— 
 a strain of enchantment, sung by one who felt the 
 intoxication of the scene, and wh<Me genius im- 
 parted it tb others. He was like iJlrsses listen- 
 ing to the song of the sirens. It seemed to him 
 as though all nature there joined in that marvel- 
 ous strain. It was to hfm as though the very 
 winds were lulled into calm, and a delicious lan- 
 guor stole upon all his senses. 
 
 "Sweet, sweet, sweet, Bod Pan, 
 SiNet In the flelda by the river, 
 
 Blinding sweet, oh irreHt gttd Pan. 
 The sun on the hills foriiot to die, 
 And the lllr revived, and the ingoa-Aj 
 
 The sun on the 
 
 And the lllf rev...-, 
 
 Came back to dream by the river 
 
 It was the fuXiynpvv omS, the oiro koAXi/iov of 
 the sirens. 
 
 For she had that divine voice which of itself 
 can charm the soul ; bet, in addition, she had that 
 poetic genius which of itself could give words 
 which the music might clothe. 
 
 Now, as he saw her at a distance through the 
 trees and marked the statuesque calm of her 
 classic face, as she stood there, seeming in liet 
 song rather to soliloquize than to sing, breathing 
 forth her music "in profuse strains of unpremed- 
 itated art," the very beauty of the singer and 
 the very sweetness of the song put an end to all 
 temptation. 
 
 " This is folly," he thought. " Could one like 
 that assent to my wild fancy ? Would she, with 
 her genius, give up her life to me? No; that 
 divine music must be heard by larger numbers, 
 'she is one who thinks she can interpret the in- 
 spiration of Mozart and HandeL And who an 
 I?" 
 
 Then there (Jame amidst this music a still 
 small voice, like the Voice of those helpless ones 
 at home ; and this voice seemed one of entreaty 
 and of despair. So the temptation passed. Bui 
 it passed only to be renewed again. As for Bea- 
 trice, she seemed conscious of no such etfect as 
 this. Calmly and serenely she bore herself, sing- 
 ing as she thought, as the birds sing, because she 
 could not help it. Here she was like one of the 
 classic nymphs— like the genius of the spot— like 
 Calypso, only passionless. 
 
 Now, the more Branden felt the power of her 
 presence the more he took refuge within himself, 
 avoiding all dangerous topics, speaking only of 
 external things, calling upon her to sing of loftier 
 themes, such as those "cte/» immensi" of whiih 
 she had sung when he first heard her. Thus he 
 fought down the struggles of his own heart, and 
 crushed out those rising impulses which threat- 
 ened to sweep him helplessly away. 
 
 As for Beatrice hersejf she seemed changeless, 
 moved by no passion and swpyed by no impulse. 
 Was she altogether passionless, or was this her 
 matchless self-control ? Brandon thought that it 
 was her nature, and that she, like her master 
 Langhetti, found in music that which satisfied 
 all jiassion and all desire. 
 
 In about a fortnight after his recovery from 
 his stupor they were ready to leave. Ti.e \iro- 
 visions in the boat were enough for two weeb 
 sail. Water was put on board, and uiey bade 
 adieu to the island which had sheltered them. 
 
 This time Beatrice would not let Brandon ro* 
 while the sun was up. They rowed at night, and 
 by day tried to get under the shadow of the shore. 
 At last a wind sprang up ; they now sailed along 
 swiftly for two or three days. At the end oi 
 that time they saw Euroi)ean houses, beyond 
 which arose some roofs and spires. It was 
 Sierra *Leone. Brandon's conjectures had been 
 right. On landing here Brandon simply wd 
 that they had been wrecked in the Falfon, m 
 had escaped on the boat, all the rest having per- 
 ished. He gave Hh nnnie as Wheeler. n»- 
 authorities received these unfortunate ones with , 
 great kindness, and Brandon heard that a ship 
 would leave for England on the (ith of Mm^"' 
 
 The close connection which had existed Be- 
 tween them for so many weeks was now lerefl 
 ed, and Brandon thought that this miff't pe^J 
 haps remove that extraordinary power which Ml 
 
 ■'•, 
 
^ 
 
 feh that she exefteil.Over him. Not so Tn 
 ber^bsence he found Ifimself constantly Wkin" 
 forwTB^towtu-d a meetine with her nm.;!r ufl^ 
 
 4'Ji"S'„.-»'' ■»'' "' » <« .h. 
 
 Now theirlntercourse was like f hnt ««• .k . . 
 days on board the Falcon *^^ "''^ 
 
 "It is like the Falcon " oniH «„„» ■ 
 
 .» I can never forget that I owe my life to ton " 
 ud Brandon, vehement^ "■/ uw to yon, 
 
 COKD AND CKEESE. 
 
 ^v^ uover lorget that I owe i 
 said Brandon, vehemently 
 
 "And I," rejoined B^trice, 
 eves, wniph vat w<..« __£. . . ^ 
 
 your own sank under it." ^ "^ 
 
 iUumined with a ^7onT.5crhS'j::,rbefo" 
 
 rs-d'irrSLar-'^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ffltumic^tTheThL"''' ''^^ ^"^^ "P the 
 and,J.fi.omtett?;y5&;S^^ - 
 
 «-^arnoXs-s-- 
 
 Ao, said Brandon: "therTJinhL 
 
 ''Do you know what it is?" 
 yet I tte£3? •">-• I ^0 not ask , hut 
 '' And yet i/ou offer to go ?" 
 " B^rjf^' c ^^T "^ y" '0 the very last » 
 
 thatoverpowr™d1v?;^7^ '^"*^ "'* "'""Ifhts 
 a glancefof J I^ sIre^«^T°° '^''""«- ^^ «« 
 that of someS wWrh h """°P?««ioned, like 
 man cares, hmCl JI t^*^ ^' ^'"^ '^y""^ "»- 
 " Louis BranAm^"^' °^ '"'''' P''"P''" "f'^oe. 
 
 abltVu'KS'otrT'' !."'^''"f ""-^^ 
 held out he?C w^'Ik^""'^"'"' face. She 
 
 cahnly, "and hold it so^h.? f^ '"'?''' '^^ ^^e, 
 to sp^." "^ " "^ ">** I "nay have strength 
 
 on'th^:'l?rStLf\'^'' "the«^ . Hme 
 
 rnr^€Sirfr--^ 
 
 n«_.,„i, „ °^J^**° '"th a sad, measured 
 
 mklf- 'j V " "' unutterable sadness "Im 
 08 be friends here at least on th« ^ r v * 
 
 ««J.h England we mTs^CslSL^^tlt" 
 
 "For evermore '"cried Brandon, in agonv 
 «J^. evermore!" repeated Beatrice, S^^„al 
 
 JBecaul I know that there is sormw for me 
 
 n-ce,;' would you htt'gl^aSr' •" '""""""« 
 '•^^'C'bil'l'i^r-^A^.thlft.ture. Oh 
 
 Bmndon answer^ not a word. 
 
 ..«.„?")•?*"/» llHibilinmmrfiiii,,. iMa do™ mTS ?^ ^" ll»lt,and Sun, 
 
 .."W^"^dXt'rl^;^ar:"Vf •''', •-''• ^^ ^^ 
 
 ".. a reproach to me f"Cd -nryo?" ' '""'^ SS "^^ ' ''''^^" «"" "er^^ic;',;;^ 
 ,^«Aatmoment of awaking w»« .^t bo 'a mi!!!'' ""'"-"n emphasis-" T Hi.. iX,^ 
 
 ^^^^J^«moment of awaking waajw^w^'^S^ '" T""..' 
 P"«t««Hfht,* continued Bmn<ion ;„ = ' ^ •* "*"nK that, gfi 
 
 •wept yon. "' '"" "^ memory 
 
 OM^otheTii" .•"''"'*^ "wmetim*. looking at 
 
 
 i^*^-' 
 
.\ 
 
 78 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 ^\ 
 
 
 i m 
 
 
 
 -"Si^ili-.ij«ikv.',-A\^>iVAo 
 
 'l THOUUHT TOU DKAO, AND KNEW THE FULL MEA8URK OF UESi'AIB. 
 
 agony. I read there the name of the one who 
 had driven him to death. The shadows of the 
 fbrext grew darker around me ; m the full mean- 
 ing of that revelation came over my soul they 
 deepened into blacliness, and I fell sengeless by 
 vour side. 
 
 " Better had Ca*o left ns both lying there to 
 die, and gone off in the boat himself. But he 
 -tiavivwj jua* X laid.you uown ^jfiutlyf aim proppoQ 
 up vour hmd, but never, again darml to deiile yon 
 with the touch of one wi infninous as I. 
 
 "There still remained the other package, which 
 I read — how you reached that inland, and how 
 you got that MS. , I neither know nor seek to 
 discover ; I onlv know that all my Ipirit awnked 
 within me as I read those words. A strange, 
 
 inexplicable feeling arose. I forgot all about ynn 
 and your griefs. My whole soul was fixed en 
 the figure of that bereaved and solitary man, who 
 thus drifted to his fate. Ho seemed to speak to 
 me. A fancy, bom out of fVeniy, no doubt, for 
 all that horror well-nigh drove me tnad— a fiincr 
 came to me that this voice, which hnd come from 
 % distance of eighteen years, had spoken to me; 
 a-^lfl^ |a<icy, bffl'flUBe I was eighteen vcarB okl^ 
 that therefore I was connected with these elgliteeii 
 years, filled my whole soul. I thought that lhi» 
 M8. was mine, and the other one wurs. I twd 
 it over and over, and over yet again, till f«ry 
 word fbrced itself into my memory— till voo "wl 
 your sorrows sank into oblivion beside the *»• 
 of this man. 
 
 "I sat nea^ 
 sighed in the/su 
 brain whirled. 
 sea, and figofe 
 thought r saw > 
 Despardc He |i 
 terablo/yet with 
 tended his hand 
 der/foncies than 
 brain. But whc 
 /itement had pae 
 'lirifus. 
 
 "When that 
 
 look at yon. 'J 
 
 breathing. Youi 
 
 knelt down and p 
 
 dare to touch yo 
 
 and toid Cato to 
 
 neck. Then I wi 
 
 "Bat on that 
 
 MSS., I seemf 
 
 of being. Ij 
 
 mmld not I 
 
 i< given me 
 
 evermore. 
 
 " 1 have awakei 
 famy if it he not t 
 tiomething more t 
 the foundation of i 
 with which I have 
 have now died to r 
 to a new one. 
 
 ''Louis Brandoi 
 infl^red by those wl 
 eonjecture but I w 
 God that i may nev 
 my heart to learn, 
 must also avenge the 
 »re implacable. VV 
 be crushing. 
 
 "Bull most go e 
 
 jou strike; I wiU w 
 
 tiieir infamy and th 
 
 Wb I will not turn t 
 
 Mar ones of yours 
 
 *eir sakes will accer 
 
 Brandon had held I 
 
 a convulsive pi-essun 
 
 *• stopijed she mad 
 
 it He would not 1< 
 
 li|» and pressed it tht 
 
 Three times he mi 
 
 «ach time failed. At 
 
 be uttered, in a hoars 
 
 "Oh, Beatrice! Ik 
 
 "I know it," said 
 
 »nich she had used 
 
 monmfulness — "I ha 
 
 »onld say also, 'Loui 
 
 It were not that this < 
 
 fhat you, Brandon, of 
 
 J)»ed by one who bear 
 
 ">e hours of the n 
 
 <ood watching theKnB 
 
 """dottctmjg to her 
 
 "ptheThames. It^vas 
 
 We shall soon te 
 
 «« for the last time. 
 
 "lau that we must par 
 
 Inen, in a low voiw 
 
 y*". which thrilled thi 
 
 •»• being, Beatrice U 
 
ngnea m tnaair. I dai-ed not touch you Mv 
 
 ^aTZur.! *'"''«''' } '■^'^ voic^out^^ 
 .^:,1» /^*^ /P'**'**' '" the gloom. T 
 
 .ffir ■ l^^'^ »' me with sadness nnut- 
 
 rXKST"'? "^"f 'y ""'• attectio„,1fn™ex^ 
 t«d^ hw hand 08 though to bless me Mad 
 
 iMpftin. But when mornine camn »t»i »^„ ^ 
 ^£men. had passed I kne^ S SbS^^n Te-- 
 
 look^i"'vou'"'''r"""«^ '^"'*' ^ '^™* °ver to 
 looK at yoo. lo mjr amazement, von were 
 brajtlung. You, life ^a, „„,^,j of^^If"! 
 
 dare to touch you. I folded up the tn.a«7,«. 
 
 Si'^'iTSrr '".P^L."'^™ aga^n .rorS^"v^J; 
 
 " Rnf „n J 7"'^^ y°'' '^ y°» recover^. 
 
 l^:*^oth»?^1"-^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 Sen mSHH^„"-i.^*:7' ""^ «f*ngth 
 eremore. *iP^ •" "'" '*'^''' *« part for 
 "1 have awakened to infamy; for what ix in 
 ftmy .f it he not thi., to bear the name I K 
 tjomethmg more than pride or vanity has b^n 
 ^e foundation of that fSeling of shame wd Se 
 with which I have always regarded it And I 
 
 j^srJyfhrrmnoT^^ 
 
 «nK«nu-e but I wish never to hear. *? p^ 
 
 ™ ^1^ ™r'.?° '"'' '^' ""y 1<« among those 
 yon strike; I will wait on amorig them fharZ 
 
 tl'Sr.fotTu™'"'''" '"% When y A2 
 C ol o? v™,« "T'u ' **" "''"'' °f 'hose 
 u«r ones of yours who have suffered ana fi.r 
 4«r sakes will accept th% blow of AvengT" 
 
 Bnwdon had held her hand in silence f^d with 
 .convutove p.-essun, during tl.es^^^rf"'*'"!^ 
 *• .U,pi«d she made a feint effort to^Sidmw 
 
 t^dp^iTtht'^^- ^^"-^-li'-h.^ 
 
 Oh, Bea nee ! Beatrice ! how I love vmf?" 
 nioamfulne8s-"Ihav^ k^ ^ ? ""^ '"'*''''" 
 
 "P'heThamM r. ,^ 1 , ^"^J' '^e'^ "filing 
 
 " We Hh^f ■ ^ ?'^"' '»"■• *" *e morning 
 »ve sbaii soon ^le there " mM h. . >. : *• 
 
 "•« for the last time Sng 'and fo/^ f ""*' '" 
 "■ent that we must pan " *' ^' '°'" * "'^ 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 79 
 
 "f*7* ro»de ns one; onr nnltv 
 •fa iDdiKBoIahle by ict of thme 
 For were thU mital beinS eSded 
 
 Thee from the eternal bond 
 
 the m,ubles which had afflicted^hero: ^3 
 
 CS months X^'i^Tn'tl.'; '""^^ '°-^ "*^ 
 nals a notice which £d1&y'4,~«f -- 
 
 "a T'l^cheJ'^e™ toTe""!?r "' '"^ ^''''^-' 
 
 losi'irfrT "''^^ ^^^" ^^^p-^^^^'X 
 
 f«/i! 1^''^ •!? "''* ^'"'^^ •'J' rail and coach as 
 far as the village of Brandon. At the in„ he pS^ 
 
 weS"uS."'"it'E;£{«"e. Words 
 ion for them. iHoSTei tn^^^S" 
 
 CHAPTER XVriL 
 
 INCJPlniES. 
 
 So many years had elapsed since Brandon 
 
 ered the lower part of the face like a i^k 
 His nose which, «hen he left, had a Z^sh 
 roundness of outline, had since Come Si 
 and chjseled into the straight, thin Gi^artZf 
 "IS eyes alone remained the same vet tlie^' 
 prension had gmwn ditferent, m"^. ^f ,/.''*' °f: 
 ttsi rooked forth thmugh them ladbMnchan^ 
 by experience and by suffering ^ '^""'"^Ked 
 He gave himself out at the inn as nn A^.^ 
 
 nes. leanng two buttons off his coat h. «n 
 terad the shop of the village ,«iir '"*'' '" ™- 
 
 Good-moming," said he, civiUy. 
 
 tJood-moniing, Sir ; line mominir Sir " « 
 •wered the tailor, volubly. U™w« .'uS 
 
 
-^ 
 
 CORD AND CI^SE. 
 
 rwith a cast in 'his eve, and on looking at 
 Brd^don he had to put his head-on one side, 
 which be did with a quick, odd gesture. 
 
 "There are two buttons oif my coat, and I 
 want to know, if yon can repair it for me ?" 
 
 " Certainly, Sir ; certainly. Take off your 
 coat, Sir, and sit down. " 
 
 "The buttons," said Brandon, "are a little 
 odd ; but if you have not got any exactly like 
 them, any thing similar will do." 
 
 "Oh, I think well (it you out, Sir. I think 
 we'll fit you out," rejoined the tailor, briskly. 
 
 He bustled about among his boxes and draw- 
 ers, pulled out a large number of articles, and 
 finally began to select the buttons \vhich were 
 nearest like those on the coat. 
 
 "This is a fine little village," said Brandon, 
 carelessly, 
 
 " /es. Sir; that's a fact. Sir; that's just 
 what every body says. Sir." 
 
 " What pld Hall is that which I saw just out- 
 side the village f 
 
 " Ah, Sir, tliat old Hall is the very best in the 
 whole county. It is Brandon Hall, Sir." 
 
 "Brandon HaU?" 
 
 "Yes, H>ir." i 
 
 "I Bup^se this village takes the name from 
 the Hall — or is it the UaD that is named \|fter 
 the village ?" » 
 
 "Well, neiAer, Sir. Both of them were 
 named after the Brandon family." 
 
 " Is it an old family ? It must be, of course. " 
 f "The oldest in the county, l?ir." 
 
 "I wonder if Mr. Brandon would let a stran- 
 ger go through his grounds? There is a hill 
 back of the house that I should like to see." 
 
 " Mr. Brandon !" exclaimed the tailor, shak- 
 ing his head ; "^Ir. Brandon! There ain't no 
 Mr. Brandon now !" 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 " Gone, Sir — ruined — died out." 
 
 "Then the man that lives there now is not 
 Mr. Brandon?" 
 
 " Nothing of the kind, Sir ! He, Sir ! Why 
 he isn't fit to clean the shoes of any qf the old 
 Brandons I" 
 
 "Whoish*?" 
 
 "His name. Sir, is Potts." 
 
 "Potts ! That doesn't sound like one of your 
 old county liames." 
 
 " I should think not, Sir. Potts ! Why, Sir, 
 Ws generally believed in this here community 
 to be a villain, Sir," said the little tailor, myste- 
 riously, and with the look of a man who woidd 
 like very well to be questioned further. 
 
 Brandon humored him. " How is that?" 
 
 " It's a long story. Sir." . 
 
 " Oh, well — tell it. I have a great cifriosity 
 to hear any old stories current in your English 
 villages. I'm an American, and English life is 
 new to me." 
 
 " I'U bet yon never heard any thing like this 
 in allyonr bom days. " 
 
 ""Tell it then, by all means." 
 — The tuilor jumped down fFuiu Iiih mwi, went^ 
 mysteriously to the door, looked cautiously out, 
 and then returned. 
 
 " It's just as well to be a little careful," said 
 he, " for if that man knew that I was talking 
 •bout him he'd take it out of me quick enough, 
 I tell you." 
 
 " You seem to be afhdd of him." 
 
 "We're all afraid of him in thevijlsge, and 
 hate him ; but I hope to God he'll cat«h it yet I" 
 
 "How can you be afraid of him? You at] 
 say that this is a free country." , 
 
 "No man. Sir, in any country, is free, except 
 he's rich. Poor people can be oppressed in 
 many ways ; and most of ns are in one way or 
 other dependent on him. We hatA him all the 
 worse, though. But I'll tell you about him." 
 
 ".Yes, go on." 
 
 "Well, Sir, old Mr. Brandon, about twenty 
 years ago, was one of the richest men in tlio 
 county. About fifteen years ago the man Potta 
 turned up, and however the old man took cl fun- 
 cy to him I never could see, but he did take a 
 fancy to him, put all his monev in some tin 
 mines that Potts had started, ancl the end of it 
 was Potts turned out a scoundrel, as every one 
 said he would, swindled the old man oi^t of ev- 
 ery penny, and i^uined t(im completely. Bran- 
 don had to sell his estate, and Potts bought it 
 with the very money out of wbich he bad cheat- 
 ed the old man." ' 
 
 "Oh! impossible!", said Brandon. "Isn't 
 that some village gossip ?" 
 
 " I wish it was. Sir — but it ain't. G\> ask any 
 malf here, and he'll tell you the same." 
 
 "And what became of the family?" asked 
 Brandon, calmly. 
 
 " Ah, Sir ! that is the worst part of it. " 
 
 "Wliy?" 
 
 " I'll tell you. Sir. He was ruined. lie gnve 
 up all. He hadn't a penny left. He went out 
 of the Hall and lived for a short time in a small 
 house at the other end of the village. At la<t 
 he spent what little money he had left, and they 
 all got sick. You wouldn't believe what bsp- 
 pen»l after that. " 
 
 " What was it'?" 
 
 "They were all taken to the alms-house." 
 
 A burst of thunder seemed to sound in Bran- 
 don's ears as ho heard this, whKA he had never 
 even remotely imagined. The tailor was occu- 
 pied with his own thoughts, and did not notice 
 the wildness that for an instant appeared in 
 Brandon's eyes. The latter for a moment felt 
 paralyzed and struck down into nothingness by 
 the shock of that tremendous intelligence. 
 
 "The people felt dreadfully about it," cortin- 
 ued the tailor, " but they couldn't* do any thing. 
 It was Potts who had the family taken to the 
 alms-house. Nobody dared to interfere." 
 
 "Did none of the county fafnilies do any 
 thing ?" said Brandon, who at last, by a violent 
 eflbrt, had regained his composure. 
 
 "No. They had all been insulted by the old 
 man, so now they let hift' suffer." 
 
 " Had he no old friends, or even acquaint- 
 ances ?" 
 
 "Well, that's what we all asked ourselves, 
 Sir ; but at any rate, whether he had or not, 
 they didn't turn up— that is, not in time. There 
 was a young man here when it was too lato." 
 
 " A yonng man ?" 
 
 ^*¥eB, Sir." 
 
 Was he a relative?" 
 
 "Oh no. Sir, only a lawyer's clerk; wanted 
 to see about business I dur* say. I'erhsiM t(i 
 colleict a bill. Jjet me see ; the lawyer who sent 
 him was named Thornton." 
 
 " Thornton !" said Brandon, aa the name ttnk 
 into his soul. 
 
 r>-K 
 
 \ . 
 
"Tm; helivedatHolby." 
 Braodon drew a long breauh 
 
 h"L"or weeki""^ """ "" "«=" "^ '"« ^J-- 
 
 ii!l:!^t f„'"'Pr'«' *«y «11 «lied there?- said 
 .. M t" " ^'^nge, sweet voice. 
 
 .. wi! ♦ "■■ xr "^'''^^ "'^'^ "°t 80 happy." 
 WhatTsnffenng could be greater P 
 
 .„^ ?^H^^ ''° '^^ dreadfully in this town, Sir- 
 r„ IL^"^ "'^ !''« not true, but if it is it's ei^ough 
 to make » man's blood run cold " '^""S" 
 
 "You excite my curiosity. Remember I am 
 an Amencan, and these things s«^ odd to m^ 
 
 Jot a^ed^ ^"^ ^^^^ f """^ '^' 
 "'So onT ''°^' ^^' "^' Wanyhow." 
 "WeU, Sir, the old man diL in the alms- 
 house. The othe« ^t well/As^nas Zy 
 were well enough they went a/ay " ^ 
 
 " How did they get away ?/ 
 "Potts helped them," re^ed the tailoik-in « 
 P^ar tone. « They'we.^ away f.^m S vil" 
 
 " Where did they go ?" 
 
 knl^*^'t '"^,'" L^e'TooL I only^tell what I 
 know 1 heard young Bill Potts, the old fellow's 
 ^n boasting one night at the inn whe^ he was 
 
 He Mid hey wanted to leave the viUnge. w Ws 
 father helped them away to America.'^' 
 
 "To America?" 
 
 "Ym, Sir." ^ " , 
 
 Brandon madd no rejoinder, 
 .k Tr i"""? **••* *ey %vent to Livwpool and 
 
 " mi""" t^'^T '•^ ""^« their EeL.^^ 
 diffe^lv P*n,°'/°'«ri«'?" ""k^d Brendon^ in^ 
 ditreren ly I „ever saw or heard of them " 
 , P't t yon. Sir?" asked the tailor who evi- 
 dently thought that America was Kke 'sTme Fn 
 
 a x"'^'4rr T,'^^ ni«y h^ore^S; 
 rvoSfyouJS'*"^'''^- ^-««o-«t^ 
 
 «i,?;'°"der what ship they went ont in ?" 
 ,hom^hJ "Tj ' *"^,' ^■'■- Bill Potts kept dark 
 SLSg.""" ""' ""'^ *'"«' ^-Kh, t'4t set 
 
 "What was ikat?" 
 
 COkD AND CBEKSE. 
 
 ^redible; and yet thai passage hai tj 
 twS.'Se'^w'"o. T t^ '?■" *'"''«' '«««"''« he- 
 
 sSrar '^ ■» «•»•»' ■"■»* «»« 
 2««:sa±'Sxsf'Ss5 
 
 S '^'*''^'' «^«'Vith griss liklveh-et ore?-, 
 
 and the hare^uSTcov^^The ht^^""'^'^ 
 
 Sil *" 't H"^ -"'-P th^ughTipToT 
 
 wid^wran1^"o^' "'h"'/"? '''^"«'' «™'- -J 
 theHM? fl .?*' "ndiJafng ground. Before 
 
 J««.nntTr "U^it sloped doSrf t^wiS »£ 
 
 JSL"' »r out, on the nearer side of which 
 
 *we was an island with a Kght-house- on h- 
 right w« another promontory,^ ^Md^ ' 
 Se"n*'^ t?, '""^ -"ole^eounty Xlikft 
 Brerfdon '^"°^''^''°ve was the village of 
 
 Bmndon Hall wasone of the oldest and most 
 magnificent of the great halls of Engla "d Z 
 
 nmidst the grmes of six hundred years its 
 
 "Why, that they went out in an emigrent ship TZ]!^^'^ T' "T« "'" '«»" """^dTa J^ 
 steprage passengers. " ""grant snip ol foliage speaking of wealth, luxury snlenar^ 
 
 Bmndon wa. silf„.._ ^ , P=J"«l!«-A-d «il that me'n Wft 
 
 M 8t9pr«ge passengers 
 
 Brandon wim silent. 
 
 "Poor [)eopJe !" said he at last. 
 »n?{ 1* I'^t "\® '""'"■ hid finished his coat 
 h. i„f"^ ^' ''"'i' '" '"«>• fiaving obtained a" 
 H„ '"'^?l??»«n that the man could giv^ Bra„ 
 don paid him and left. ^ '^'"' """>- . .- «„„, „„« wan 
 
 Passing by the inn he walked on till >.« „.™ ^ T""® "" he reached the 11^ 
 
 •BlU^^e, a distance almost imme*.urbtert^ 
 om one tn thA nth... _i-i.> i. """"w > m 
 
 „„, ^j„^.u>ai,^ oi weaitn, luxury, solendnr 
 
 power influence, and aJl that men To J foa Ji 
 s^niggle for, or fight for; fh,m all of wh c?Z 
 and h.s had bee»>astout; and the oneTho had 
 
 srjjt'Thistiiiir 7""^"^ r^"^ 
 
 ♦ Brandon entered the gate, and /alfcpH nn fi,„ 
 
 "I«Mr. 
 
 I oThe^fSr iFr^^^^'^^^ r? 
 
 ■iii 
 
 _-,™™, „ „„,„„j;e almost immeasurahlB • »« I mL' *•""* t'™e a man entered. 
 
 . f .i,At 
 
82 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 ron ABK, UB. JOHN POTTS Ol? POTTS HALL.' 
 
 and Btoat. He had a thoronghly plebeian air ; 
 he was dressed in blacic, and had a bnnch of 
 large seals dangling from beneath his waistcoat. 
 His face was round and fleshy, his eyes were 
 small, and his head was bald. The general ex- 
 pression of his lace was that of good-natnred 
 simplicity. As he caught sight of Brandon a 
 ft-ank smile of welcome arose on his broad, fat 
 face. 
 Brandon rose and bowed. 
 "Am I addressing Mr. John Potts?" 
 " You are. Sir. John Potts of Potts Hall." 
 "Potts of Potts Hall!" repeated Brandon. 
 Then, drawing a card from his pocket he handed 
 it to Potts, lie had procured some of these in 
 tiondon. The card read as follows : 
 
 BEAMISH & HENDRICKS, 
 FLOUR MEROHAIITS * FROVmOH SEALERB, 
 8B FiONT STBiirr. Cihoihkat i, _I 
 
 OHIO. 
 
 " I, Sir," said Brandon, " am Mr. Hendricks, 
 junior partner in Beamish & Hendricks, and I 
 nope you are quite well." 
 
 "Very well, thank yon," answered PotU, 
 smiling sad sitting down. " I am happy to see 
 you. 
 
 "Do you keep your health. Sir ?" 
 
 "Thank you, I do," said Potts. "A touch 
 of rheumatism at odd times, that's all." 
 
 Brandon's manner was stiflT and foimal, snd 
 his voice bad assumed a slight nasal intonation. 
 Potts had evidently looked on him as a perfeit 
 stranger. 
 
 "I hope. Sir, that I am not taking up your 
 valuable time. You British noblemen have your 
 valuable time, I know, as well' as we business 
 men." 
 
 "No, Sir, no, Sir, not at all," said Potts, evi- 
 dently greatly delighted at being considered a 
 British nobleman. 
 
 "Well, Sir John— or is it my lord?" said 
 Brandon, interrogatively, correcting himself, and 
 looking inquiringly at Potts. 
 
 " Sir Jolm'll do," said Potts. 
 
 " Well Sir John. Being in England on busi- 
 ness, I came to ask yon a few questions about t 
 
 matter of some finporSnce-fo nS 
 
 "Proceed, Sir!*' said Pqtts, with great dig- 
 
 '' ' There's a young man that came into onr em- 
 ploy last October whom we took a fancy to, or 
 rather my senior did, and we have an idea of 
 
 C noting him. My senior thinks the world of 
 , has the young man at his house, and be is 
 
COHD AND CBEESK. 
 He calls him 
 
 awn nuking up to hi« daughter 
 adf Brandon— Franic Brandon " 
 
 At this I'otte started from kn easy loanginit 
 itutude, in which he was tryina to '"dn" .h! 
 
 .S r"''!1 ""^ r'.'' ^'^^''S^nV.Tsity of gate 
 looked Brandon fujl in the iace. 
 
 • "I think the young man.is fairish, " continues 
 Brandon, "but nothing extraordinary. ™ 
 mdnstnous and sober, but he ain't quick, and he 
 never had any real business -expe^ence ^1 he 
 came to OS. Nnw m., »„..,•„. iiJ_ .t "" "e 
 
 / 
 
 " He would never tell " 
 
 •'rtoSs^rsa?"""''""*''^ -""^ -^-?" 
 
 .".All I know," said Potts, "is this, I got of- 
 
 came to us. "Now, mj. senior ^'^' he ^ei^firn ficialinV' ""T' ?»''' P'"'^' "" this, I got , 
 was infatuated with him, gave him a lIS si - i BrandTf TJ'"'' ^Z^' "" <J'«> «' Q"eC " 
 «7.and, ,n spite of my yamings that he^ught gasWl ^Jr^^ '"l^^l^^ "' ""e floor and 
 ta be cautious, he wants to make him hefd- ^?ru«„ ?:" ?T*'"'> '^ recovered. 
 
 year. And so bent on thix i. ho .ho* t i ^ I . ,^ m 'rl. *' """' '"^® escaped 
 
 year And so b^nt on tii?; if he tha^rkno^r 
 
 would dissolve partnership with me if I refused 
 
 take the young man, let him marry his da^S' 
 
 «jd leave bim aU his money when he d L' 
 
 That s no sinall sum, for old Mr. Bearish is 
 
 worth ^n ;eal estate round Cincinmitirer two 
 
 millions of dollars. So. you sefe. *,.,.« ^ J u. 
 
 to feel anxious, more^Swt,! In'. ^"^ I ,.^"»*n«?- 
 
 ten, that I thought I had a very good chaise mv ° w i? ° '"" J°" "•^"^ theta. " ^ ' 
 
 self with old Beamish'g daughtef-^ ^" ' ^*"- """ **'' ^"'- ' ■ ■• 
 
 Bnrndon spoke all this very rapidly, and with 
 the air of one who was trying to conci. I his feel 
 ings of diHhke to the clerk of whom he was «> 
 jealous. Potts looked at Mm uith an enc^ur^ 
 ging smile, and asked, ^1w stopped, 
 
 4^^°"",^'^"^ ''«'P«" •« hear of me r 
 ITiat 8 just what I was coming to. Sir John '" 
 Brandon drew his chair tieaterf apparently in 
 deep excitement and in a more naial to„e ih^ 
 ever, »vith a confidential air, he went ou? 
 
 Kon see, I mistrusted thii young man who 
 wascanymg everj- thing before him wiZ hth 
 hand, nsht in mv vat^ ,^tu ._■ , ■ » "igu 
 
 It'sDo«iriMo""'ri.""'' °* """' ''»^« escaped. 
 ^ JThen his name may reaflf be' Frank Bran- 
 
 othl^ariS.""" ''""'• ■"^^''°'''*^« 
 "Are what?" 
 
 (( - — 
 
 I don't 
 
 VVeU, now, iMr John, could you tell me what 
 
 ah:!S%•'d^t^l.i«-^^rctS 
 
 " ol^Kr*'""^ ^^^""^ '='«'ring his throat! 
 mac ever Uved. He was very weU off but want 
 ed to get richer, and so he ^pecuhited in TSn 
 « "he'timr'^''- I "■" "oS^whh hS 
 
 ^jfj^^:}<i!^^ »!*-«« §re>TpHcT«Jet'c:k i?r "rl^ 
 
 ays told property. AfteVZ. ff„.!!? "-!?"" ''.P'<«"J»d 
 
 f.ii„ - — 1 " owui iiimseit. But the 
 
 fellow was always on his guai^ a,id always told 
 the^«me story. This is what h& : H^e Ss 
 
 i n'n '?!•""■ ^"'' "^Ph Brandon of Bran- 
 don Hall, Dj^onshire, »nd that he»got yery W 
 
 uon, hir John, but he says t wa? you. and 
 thM yon drove the fiunily away. tD then 
 
 11)6 Old man, he says, died before they left but 
 
 IT.i.^'Lir'V'* ••«=«"« »♦• the othei. iC 
 /m I believed it was all a lie, and didn't tMnk 
 here was any such phice as Brandoh Hall S,"{ 
 
 1 tr'T* "^ *'"'' ""t- »»tu.tdly enS Sk 
 Mft, when two millions were at stake ™' 
 Potts winked. 
 
 .n'l'u^?"' ^ ""'••'enly found my health rivinir wav 
 
 SeMrr/a^?^-'-' ^o-eewraTa'ISI: 
 
 fl'f^ 'aughed with intense glee. 
 
 in. t„ « \ **™« here after wandering about, try- 
 
 ^S^K= "' --h^I'fo/^-K 
 
 ^Mn himself and ask him." 
 
 You did right, 8ir," said Potts, who had 
 
 J*« an intense interest in this narrative. "I'm 
 
 M ^ n"" y"" °"«ht to have come to. I can 
 
 tenlr""'- ^'B-^'-isamir 
 
 " tt« wt. '^ ■""* '?""'' himself ruined, 
 ever kn«w ..f- "'^I'^tf ^ ™'"ed than any .^an I 
 eyer knew of, and all his estates were sold I 
 
 haj an?.4r' "'T'l'"'' ""'e« inThel^untJ 
 h^lS?^i. / .''"h. the sale was forced, and I 
 bought the whole establishment at a remirHly 
 
 and darwl to say that I had ruined their father 
 
 that w^r ;^"'^ 'r" "*" ^"-^'"k the ,^a4 ra 
 
 mir^Z uT"^,'" "'•' Brandy rAther than 
 an inju^r. U .hows, though, what human natl« 
 
 AlitA Vk. i T ' ™'7 considerate y sent them 
 aUto the alms-house, where they had good S 
 good attendance, and plenty to eat alTllr^i? 
 
 ,,„ \ ""*• *?«° and visit him two or threa ^im. 
 
 m 
 
 fel((ii^;:ri£i'.._*^.« 
 
.,..,», 
 
 84 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 z' 
 
 was, bis infernal pride. Look at ma, now ! I'm 
 not proud. Put me in the alnu-honse, and would 
 I 'curse voD ? I hope not. 
 
 " At iaat old Brandy died, and of course I had 
 to look out for the family. They seemed thrown 
 on my hands, you know, and I was too good-na- 
 tured to let them suffer,^ although they treated me 
 BO abominably. The best thing I could think of 
 was to ship them all off to America, where they '. 
 could all get rich. So I took them 'to Liverpool j , 
 
 " Did they want to go ?" % ', 
 
 " Tjtgr didn't seem to have an idea In their 
 heads. They looked and acted just like three 
 bom fools." 
 
 "Strange!" 
 
 "I let a friend of mine see abo.nt them, as I 
 had considerable to do, and he got them^ a pas- 
 sage." 
 
 " I suppose you paid their, way out. " 
 
 "I did. Sir," said Potts, with an air of mu- 
 nificence ; " but, between you and me, it didn't 
 cost much." 
 
 " I should think it must have cost a consider- 
 able sum." 
 
 "Oh no! Clark saw to that CUrk got them 
 places as steerage passengers." 
 
 " Young Brandon' told me once that he came 
 out as cabin passenger." 
 
 " That's his cursed pride. He went o^t in the 
 Steerage, and a devilish hard time be had too." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh, he was a little crowded, I think ! There 
 Were six hundred emigrants on board the Tecum- 
 aeh—" " '%. 
 •"Thewhatr 
 
 "■The Tecumsfih. Clark did that business 
 nea|ly. E^h passenger had to take bis own 
 provisions, so he supplied them with a Jot. Now 
 what do yon. think he gave them?" ^7 
 
 "I can't imagine." 
 
 " He bought them some damaged bread at one 
 quarter the usual price. It w^all mouldy, you 
 know," said Potts, trying to m'ake Brandon see 
 the joke. " I declare Clark and' I roared over 
 iit,ft)T a couple of months, thinking how surprised 
 they must have been when they sat down to eat 
 their first dinner." 
 
 "That was very neat," rejoined Brandon. 
 
 "They were all sick when they left," said 
 Potts; "but beforp they got to Quebec they 
 were sicker, I'll bet." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Did you ever hear of ship-fever ?" said Potts, 
 in a low voice which sent a sharp thrill through 
 every fibre of Brandon's being. He could only 
 nod his head. 
 
 "Well, the Tecumaeh, with her six hundred 
 passengers, afforded an uncommon fine field for 
 the ship-fever. That's what I- was g^ng to ob- 
 ■arve. They had a great time at Quebec last 
 rammer ; but it was unanhnously voted that the 
 Tecamseh was the worst snip of the lot. I sent 
 oat an agent to see whajmad become of my three 
 friends, and he came hick and told me all. He 
 
 id tluit vfauut fourjpiuidred of tlw Tecunueh't 
 passengers died dnnng the voyage, and ever so 
 manv more after landing. He obtained a list of 
 the dead from the quarantine records, and among 
 them were those of these three youthful Brandons. 
 Yes, they joined old Cognac pretty soon — lovelpr 
 and plcasnnt in their lives, and in death not di- 
 vided. But this young devil that you speak of 
 
 mus^ have escaped. I dare say lie did, for tha 
 confusion was awfuL" 
 
 " But couldn't there have been another son ?" 
 
 " Oh no. There was another son, the eldest, 
 the worst of the whole lot, so ii^emally bad that 
 even old Brandy himself couldn't .stand it, but 
 packed him off to Botany Bay. It's well he went 
 of his own accord, for if he hadn't the law would 
 have sent him there at last transported for life." 
 
 " Perhaps this man is the same one." 
 
 " Oh no. This eldest Brandy is dead." 
 
 "Are yon sure?" 
 
 " Certain — best authority. A business friend 
 of mine was in the same ship with him. Brandy 
 was coming home to see his friends. Ho fell 
 overboard and my friend saw him drown. It 
 was in the Indian Ocean." 
 
 "When was that?" • 
 
 "Last September." ^ 
 
 "Oh, then this one must be the other of 
 course!" 
 
 " No doubt of that, I think," said Potts, cheer- 
 ily. 
 
 Brandon rose.. "I feel much obliged, Sir 
 John," said he, stifily, and with his usual nasal 
 tone, "for your kindness. This is just what I 
 want. Ill put a stop to my voung man's giime. 
 It's worth coming to England to find out this." 
 
 "Well; when you waUc him out of your office, 
 give him my respects and tell him I'd be very 
 happy to see Mm. Por I would, you knofi, I 
 really would."' 
 
 "Ill tell him so," said Brandon, "and if he 
 is alive perhaps he'll come here." 
 
 "Ha! ha! hal" roared Potts. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Brandon, and pretend- 
 ing not to see Potts's outstretched hand, he bowed 
 and left. He walked rapidly down the ovenu*. 
 He felt stifled. The horrors that had been re- 
 vealed to him had been but in part anticipated. 
 Could there be any thing worse ? 
 
 He left the gates and walked quickly away, he 
 knew not where. Turning info a by-path he went 
 up a hill and finally sat down. Brandon Hall 
 lay not far away. In front was the village and 
 the sea beyond it. All the time there was but 
 one train of thoughts in his mind. His wrongt 
 took shape and framed themselves into a few 
 sharply defined ideas. He muttered to himself 
 over and over the things that were in his mind: 
 "Myself disinherited and exiled! My father 
 ruined and broken-hearted I My father killed! 
 My mother, brother, and sister banished, staned, 
 and murdered !" 
 
 He, too, as far as Potts's will was concerned, 
 had been slain. He was alone and had no hope 
 that any of his family could survive. Now, as he 
 sat there alone, he needed to make his plans for 
 the future. One thing stood put prominently be- 
 fore him, which was that he must go immediate- 
 ly to Quebec to find out finally and absolutely the 
 fate of the family. 
 
 Then could any thing else be done in En- 
 gland? He thought over the names of those 
 who4iad been tfae^mwt intimate friends of his fo^ 
 ther— ITiomton, Langhetti, Despard. Thornton 
 bad neglected his &ther in his hour of need. He 
 had merely sent a clerk to make inquiries after 
 all was over. The elder Langhetti, Brandon 
 knew, waa dead. Where were the others? Nona 
 of thepi, at any rate, had interfered. 
 ^ There remained the family of Despard. Biw 
 
 *-* >#-.5 
 
CORD AND 
 
 mo ne core. If he chose to look in the annv 
 «g«ter he might very easily find out; but^^ 
 .hould he ? He had n.iver known or h^ml muS 
 of him in any way "«uu laucn 
 
 not even whether he wa* alive or dead '"«' 
 
 For a time he discussed the question in hig 
 mmd whether it might not be well to^L him 
 out so-as to show him his father's fate Td i^ 
 his co-operation But after a few mome^ 
 wnsideration he dismissed this thought Wly 
 .hould he seek his help ? Courtenay UespW 
 
 WhJ make"!.n;»H"'"'^"""' "'*'""' "^"'^n' 
 wtiy make any advances to one whom he did 
 
 not know? Afterward it might be w^ to fiml 
 him, and see what might be do^ne wVor thS 
 ' 5"' " y«' there could be no reason what i 
 ever why he should take up his timfl^JI^h ' 
 
 The end of it all was that he condnded what 
 
 under any circumstances, of betraying him And 
 where now was Beatrice ? In tdw^'afthi. 
 man whom Bnuidon had just left H^lhl^^ 
 hUfcas he came and went ? Had shrhea^dl^" 
 
 KuL^Vrpe^th'rrnSts 
 
 ,te.;^e^So^r^^^^^ 
 
 ^n thousand pounds which'^ComptrriS ^" 
 «3«irmSdrt by a ^uS^^ «'» N^Imed 
 
 'SB 
 
 than be Uken alvve —lir iM.U? " l'''''P* ■■■">«■ 
 seaman Peter LegBlt wh^iTh^v V, ''^ ?y '™»'y 
 
 pu.hedupi![kJ"l^'^|edre7f?om>VanSr'''' ""' ^ 
 V J ^ ' Balphe Brandon" 
 
 i-ive days afterward Brandon, with his Hin^n 
 
 4 
 
 ^ CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ' *■ THE DEAD ALIVB. 
 
 , It -was early in the month of Animst vhm. 
 i^r^h^r^- A 1«^. wooden building Xd 
 
 in„ ^^ly^" ^e superintendent?" he asked, bow- 
 ing courteously. '"^oa, <)ow- 
 
 now.""'" '*^'*" ''**^ " H« *« i° Quebec ^ust 
 
 thit I wS.y°" "^ «^^« ">« 'he infomation 
 "What is it?" 
 
 he ledthe way to an imier offici.' ^ ^'"* 
 
 clerk ^^ '^•'^ '*'*^ •"""* «"^ in ?" -^ked the 
 "Last year." 
 
 Brandon bowed. 
 
 SZtdS*' rr^'*^ fn.m th?sWpi 
 oooks and thwe who died on shore. It is « 
 
 tSstr"""*"'^- ^^•°"l«'y"'like.oloJw 
 
 Brandmnwwed and advanced to the desk. 
 
 were «!m!I!. ■ °" ^""^ '^P *how whether they ' 
 were seamen or passengers, and the paasemtera 
 are marked as cabin and steerage. B^S 
 ;S^..'» ^ i^Po-^ihle to kee^ .SLf^ 
 
 li-^l^ *■"'' ""^«- Those for whichhS 
 Woked did not appear. At iMt he came T tU 
 
86 
 
 CORD AND CREESK. 
 
 list of those who hnd died on Rhore. After read- 
 ing a fewniiiiieH hiH eye was arrested by one — 
 
 " /irani/on, EUzabetli." 
 
 It was bis mutber. lie read on. lie soon 
 came to another — > 
 
 " Brandon, J-'dillt." It was his MHter. 
 
 "Do you find any of the names jr" asked the 
 clerk,.jeeing Hrandon tuni hit head. 
 
 " Yes," said Hranrlon ; " this is one," and lie 
 pointed to the l|\Ht name. " Uu^I see a murk 
 o]ii)o»ite that name. Wiiatisiti' 'B^and'A.' 
 What is the meaning?" 
 
 " Is that party a relative of yours?" 
 
 "No," said Hnindoh. 
 
 " You don't mind hearing something horrible, 
 then ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 The I'lerk drew a long breath. 
 
 " \\ ell, Sir, those letters were written by the 
 late Kii])eriiitcndent. The poor man is now u 
 lunatic. He was here last year. 
 
 "You see tliis is how it was: The ship-fever 
 broke out. The number of sick was awful, and 
 there were no preparations for thfera here. The 
 disease in some res|)ect8 was worse than cholera, 
 and there was nothing but confusion. Very many 
 died from lack of nnrsiiig. Hut the worst feat- 
 ure of the whole thing was the hurried buiinls. 
 
 " I was not here last year, and alhwho were here 
 then have left. Hut I've heard enough to make 
 me sick with horror. You ])^rhap8 are awai=e 
 that in this shi|)-fever there sometimes occurs a 
 tot/1 loss of sense, which is apt to be mistaken for 
 ii&th ?" 
 
 The clerk paused. Brandon regarded him 
 steadily for a moment. Then he turned, and 
 looked earnestly at the book. 
 
 "The burials were very hastily made." 
 
 "\Vell?' 
 
 " And it is now l)eli^<ed that some were bur- 
 ied in a state of tra 
 
 " Hinied aliv 
 
 " Buried ali 
 
 Tliere was a long silence. Brandon's eyes 
 were fi.xed on the lxH)k. At last he pointed to 
 the name of Kdith Brandon. 
 
 "Then, I sup])oSet" he said, in a steady voice, 
 which, however, was in a changed key, "these 
 letters ' B' and ' A' are intended to mean some- 
 thing of that description ?" 
 
 " i^'omething of that sort," replied the clerk. 
 .Brandon drew a long breath. 
 
 " But there is no certainty about it in this 
 particular ca.se. I will tell you how these marks 
 happened to be made. The clerk that was here 
 last told me. 
 
 "One jnoming, according to him, the super- 
 intendent came in, looking very much excited 
 and altered. He went to this l>ook, where the 
 entries of burials had been made on the preced- 
 ing evening. This name was third from the 
 last. Twelve had been buried. He penciled 
 these letters there and left. People did not no- 
 tice him ; ev ery bo<ly was sick or busy. At last 
 
 ^n the cvEniTigToflfie next rtayi'^fien they were 
 to buiy a new lot, they found the su|)erintendent 
 digging nt the grave the third from the last. 
 They tried to stop him, but ho shouted and moan- 
 ed alternately 'Buried alive!' 'Buried alive!' 
 In fact they saw that he was crazy, and had to 
 confine him at once." 
 
 "Did they e.\amine the grave?" 
 
 " Yes. The woman told my predecessor that 
 
 she and her husband — who did the' burying 
 
 had examined it, and foimd the body mit unly 
 dead, but corrupt. (So there's no doubt of it. 
 That party must have been dead at any rate." 
 
 " V\1io was the woman ?" 
 
 " An old woman that laid them out. tfhe and 
 her husband burie<l them." 
 
 '' Where is she now ?'' 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " Does she stay here yet ?" 
 
 " No. She left last year." 
 
 "What became of the superintendent?'' 
 
 " He was taken home, but grew no better. At 
 last he had to be sent to an asylum. Some ex- 
 ninination was made by the authorities, but no- 
 thing ever came of it. The papers made no mert"- 
 tiun of the atrair,''and it was hushed up." 
 
 Brandon read on. At last he came to anoth- 
 ername. Itwassimply this: "/ir(j/i</on." There 
 was a slight movement on the clerk's part m 
 Brondon came to this name. " There is no 
 Christian name here," said Brandon. '"I sup- 
 pose they did not know it." 
 
 "Well," said the clerk, ■" there's something 
 peculiar about that. The former clerk never , 
 mentioned it to any Ixxly but me. That nam' 
 didn't die nt all." 
 
 "Whiit do you mean?" said Brandon, who 
 could scarcely speak for the tremend<^ struggle 
 between boiie and despair that was ^oiug on 
 within him. ^,V 
 
 " It's a false entry." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "The superintendent wrote that. Fee, the 
 handwriting is difi'eront from the others. One Is 
 that of the clerk who made all these entries ; the 
 other is the superintendent's." 
 
 Brandon looked and saw that this was thcca^e. 
 
 " What was the cause of that ?" 
 
 "The clerk told me that after making thcsie 
 next fifteen entries of buried ]>arties — bin led the 
 e( ening at\er these last twelve — he went nwny to 
 see al)out something. When he came buck the 
 next morning this name was written in the su- 
 perintendent's hand. He did not know >'liat to 
 think of it, so he concluded to ask the .Mijiirin- 
 tendent ; but in the course of the day he heard 
 that he was mad and in confinement, as I have 
 told you." 
 
 "Then you mean that this is not an entrj' of 
 a death at nil.'' 
 
 "Yes. The fact is, the superintendent for 
 some reason got it into his head that this Bran- 
 don" — and he pointed to Edith's name — "had 
 l)een buried alive. He brooded over the name, 
 and among other things wrote it down here at 
 the end of the list for the day. That's the way 
 in which my predecessor accounted for it." 
 
 " It is a very natural one," said Brandon. 
 
 "Quite so. The clerk Jet it stand. You sec, 
 if he had erased it, he might have been over- 
 hauled, and there would have been a committee. 
 He wa s afi-aid of that ; so he thought it belter 
 to ray nothing about TIT He wonldn tfinvctnld ' 
 mo, only he said that a party came here once for 
 a list o'f all the dead of the Tecummli, and he 
 copied all out, including this doubtful one. He 
 thought that he hnd dpne wrong, and therefoif 
 told me, so that if any particular inquiries were 
 ever made I might know what to say,'' 
 
 "Are there many mistakes in thesenwords?" 
 
m out. iVhennJ 
 
 COpD AND CREESE. 
 
 87 
 
 lore's Romething 
 mer clerk never, 
 me. Tlittt miin' 
 
 this was the cafe. 
 :?■' 
 
 ter mnking these 
 rties — hiiried the 
 -he went inviij- to 
 le came back the 
 vritten in the su- 
 lot know >'liat to 
 ask the .tii|iirin- 
 ;he day he heard 
 emeht, as I have 
 
 i not an entr)- of 
 
 iperintendent for 
 il that this Kran- 
 li's name — "had 
 1 over the name, 
 
 it down liere at 
 That's the way 
 ited for it." 
 lid Brandon, 
 stoiid. You see, 
 
 have h)een over- 
 een ft committee, 
 thought it better 
 onldnt hnvolrtd"^ 
 inie here once for 
 WuiHHeh, and he 
 Hibtfnl one. He 
 iig, and therefore 
 ar inquiries were 
 to say." 
 a thesei records?" 
 
 "A STBANO.. FEEUNO P.^g^D OVER BRANDOK. 
 
 for'^r tC wr«: si""*"^. "i '"^ ««' 
 
 hadnotbeentkTpVlaX'siTr^troT'^ °^ 
 there was imucuracy " ^ secretly, of course 
 
 HK STEPPED FOl.WAHD." 
 
 v?Sr * fii"' ^«P«- •''en. 'hat Fmnk might 
 ^iJed whLi\, <^ A ''"•' "'' '" Q"ebec'he de- 
 W«l «n „V^ '^■- ^^ "*" "" '>e arrived he in- 
 
 Suo'inisr"' '" ""' '^'"''^ p«p«- "o 
 
 INirrtP NOTICK! I 
 
 "W. "''>»caraeoutintheehip7Vcum«Alul4}l 
 
 ^ to any one who can'^.ve the'al'.v'^TnXffl.^.e'X^^ 
 
 ' HknBV PETiitt8, 
 
 8m.7»hL "^ "'*." "«"' '» ^f"""*"! »nd in- 
 serted the same notice in the pvers there at/d 
 
 TOssfl. After waiting Ave or six weeks in 
 Montreal he went to Tor.>nto, and advertis^ 
 agam, givmg his new address. He waited h^ 
 
 yJSrV""'^ '"1 "' '«"«"' 'he momh of C 
 >emher began to draw to n close. Not vetX 
 IK.ndent, he began to form a plan for Xrtt 
 '"8J" «* <^y. "<y of the United States. 
 
 tinna*^ir f \^.''u'"^ '""*"«<» many commnnica, 
 tions. aU of which, however, were made wi°h the 
 
 ^^^ 
 
68 
 
 CORD Aia> CREESE. 
 
 %'agne bopa of ntttng a reward. None were at 
 all rellabla. M length he thought that it wag 
 nseleu to wait taif lunger in Canada, and con- 
 cluded to go to New York as a centre of action. 
 
 He arrived in New York at the end of Decem- 
 ber, and immediately began to insert hiit notices 
 tn all parts of the country, giving his address at 
 the Astor House. 
 
 One day, as he came in from the street, he 
 was informed that there was some one in his 
 room who wished to see him. He went up calm- 
 ly, thinking that it was some new person with 
 intelligence. 
 
 On entering the roon^ he saw a man standing 
 by the wiildowi in his shirt-sleeves, dressed in 
 coarse clothes, llid man mas very tall, broad- 
 shouldered, with large, Roman features, and heavy 
 beard and mustache. His face was marked by 
 profound dejection; he looked like one whose 
 whole life had been one long misfortune. Louis 
 Brandon had never seen any &ce which bore so 
 deep an impress of sufiering. 
 
 The stranger turned .as he came in and looked 
 at bim with his sad eyes earnestly. 
 
 " Sir, " said he, in a voice which thrilled through 
 Brandon, " are yoa-ilwiry Peters ?" 
 
 A strange feuing passed over Brandon. He 
 stepped forward. 
 
 " Frank !" he cried. In a broken voice. 
 
 " Merciful Heavens!" cried the other. "Have 
 you too come up from the dead ? Louis!" 
 
 In this meeting lietween the two brothers, aft- 
 er so many eventful vears of separation, each had 
 much to tell. Each^ad a stoty so marvelous 
 that the other might have doubted it, had not 
 the marvels (^ his own experience been equally 
 great. JbYank's story, however, is the only one 
 that the reader will care to hear, and that must 
 be reserved for another chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Frank's stobt. 
 
 "Arras you left," said Frank, "all went to 
 confhsion. Potts lorded it with a higher hand 
 than ever, and my father was more than ever 
 in^Mated, and seemed to feel that it was nec- 
 essaiy to justify liia harshness toward yon by 
 pnUidy exhibiting a greater confidence in Potts, 
 like a tliorougbly vulgar and base nature, this 
 man could not be content with having the power, 
 but iQved to exhibit that power to us. Life to 
 me for years became one long death ; a hundred 
 times 1 would hare turned upon the scoundrel 
 and taken vengeance for our wrongs, hot the 
 teare of my mother forced me to use self-control. 
 Yoii had been driven off; I alone was left, and 
 she imploi'ed me by my love for her to stand by 
 her. I wished lier to take her dwn little property 
 and go with n^ and Edith where we might m 
 live in seclusion together; but this she would 
 not do for fear of staining the proud Brandon 
 t"""" 
 
 ''Potts grew worse and worse everjr year. 
 There was a loathsome son of his whom he used 
 to bring with him, and my father was in&tuated 
 enough to treat the younger devil with the same 
 civility which he showed to the elder one. Poor 
 fiuher ! he really believed, as he afterward told 
 me, that these men were putting millions of 
 
 money into his hands, and that he would be the 
 Beckford of his generation. 
 
 "After a while another scoundrel, called 
 Clark, appeared, who was simply the counterpart 
 of Potts. Uf this man somethino^ very singular 
 was soon made known to me. 
 
 " One day I was strolling through the grounda 
 when suddenly, as I passed through a gmve 
 which stood by a fish-pond, I heard voices and 
 saw the two men I hated most of all on earth 
 standing near me. They were both naked. 
 Thev had the audacity to go bathing in' the finh- 
 pond. Clark had his back turned toward me, 
 and I saw on it, below the neck, three marb, 
 fiery rod, as though they had been made by a 
 brand. They were these ;" and taking a pencil, 
 Frank made the following marks : 
 
 .•^■-■' -^^ 
 
 . \^>4M^iiii0i\a with intense excitement. 
 ^0i,^Mr4J^ien in New bouth Wales," said 
 Frank^ j^^p^wrhuM know whether it is true 
 or not t^.tm^lk^yt^bfi^ds on convicts?" 
 
 " It is true, a»P|d^fvicts of the very worst 
 kind." .^,,'. 
 
 " Do you know wttuHpey mean ?" " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Only the worst are branded with a single 
 mark, so yon m^ imagine what a triple m^ 
 indicates. But I will tell you the meaning of 
 each. The first ( /|\ ) is the king!s mark put on 
 those who are totally irreclaimable and insubor- 
 dinate. The second ( R. ) means runaway, and 
 is put on those who have attempted to escape. 
 The third (-(-) indicates a murderous attack on 
 the guards. When they are not hung, they are 
 branded with this mark; and thotse who are 
 branded in this wav are condenmed to hard 
 work, in chains, for fife." 
 
 "That's about what I supposed," said Frank, 
 quietly, " only of course you are more particular. 
 After seeing this I told niy father. He refused 
 to believe me. L determined to bring matters 
 to a crisis, and charged Potts, in my father's 
 presence, with associating with a branded felon. 
 Potts at once turned upon me and appealed to 
 my father's sense of justice. He accused me of 
 being so far carried away by prejudice as not to 
 hesitate to invent a^foul slander a^^ainst an hoii- 
 est man. He said that Clark would be wDling 
 to be put to any test ; he could not, however, ask 
 him to expose himself— it was too outrageous, 
 but would simply assert that my charge wu 
 false. 
 
 " My father as usual believed every word and 
 gave me a stem reprimand. Louis, in the pm- 
 
 ~ijii'. 
 
,;--«*^ 
 
 CORD AND CHEESE. 
 
 'W 
 
 wse of my mother aiid xinter p^nriMl m. «..i. 
 on thiwday . I'oor man ! f hi m ™ J .""'"" 
 
 ^». In 1 u/r .L ■ ' *"* Wow goon fell U 
 
 "im in 184f. that the-cnwh came I have V th 
 
 Hall couraged ever. 'b^T'':^." !LfI'.'^-^l"«' «f: 
 
 luw lo ume nereafte 
 erery penny waa lost. 
 
 Mn.h«., He found th:"S;e«":;tr.t 
 n, so he took <h«i-™. -,<• .1.. ' ""'P 
 
 "All pur friends and acquainSnce. stood ' ^' " "'" "''''""' "" ' -" • "^'" 
 
 Joof Myfeth^^-rolZtS" 
 near him. Old Langhetti was " 
 knew nothmg about this. I will 
 V Um presently. 
 
 "Colonel Lionel Despard wa 
 Coartenay, was ignorant of all t 
 m the North of England. 'Iliergt 
 and I can't account for his inactf 
 
 ned Langhetus daughter too.' 
 t6ry. 
 
 "They are ^1 false, Prank." 
 
 Jrank drew a lonir brraith «'\«7 "Tougn. 
 
 there, and Potts hJi Sio th^J '^u "'''' 
 
 There we all p„.yed forlTthTM o^'nrmvT 
 
 ther's prayer was heard Hr di«^ «f ^ /^^/"" 
 
 .hejrt lie rest of us ted "n ' ^''^"' 
 
 'fccarcely had my father b^n h«^^ v 
 Pbtts came to take us awav i? ■ "^ ,''**" 
 ** should leaved SuX^'an? ff""".'"*^ t"' 
 
 -"way to Am«S.^r;ere an1:^«-'"-^^ 
 we were panJyl^y ^^-'^f^" 'f '«t"'"*i 
 
 let oan^lves'^rft; rnftotTrSt^ "^^ '"" 
 wherever he wished We did „„, ^^""^ ""' 
 
 wbere or other we mijtht all ilt« WK.ri 
 could we do? WlmtScoulSido?'T±! 
 w« DO friend to whom I couWlook and^ff 
 erer thought of any thinK it wL^^ a • ^ 
 might possibly afford ^ f ' 'k' r^i*^' A™««» 
 
 lid 
 
 •lay. In the midst of all i &n • u" " .~"~ 
 n..n«rf mo back to life Most of Af" "• 
 mspired fortitude by the howl,, il"' 'i*'. "l"" 
 eyes, and by the n^i„„„vM'"'_^"'«di" "• 
 
 ought po-;^ibly afford ™TchJ^ir^»^T.'"' *» •" '" «•« 4 
 till deathcame. ^^ '" «*' * ''™g give up your o 
 
 eyA -d by'r;src;rhKmt"''^i" '^ 
 
 You will leave S u^t nht'T ^"f ^^^ ^ 
 
 I recwered, and then «ood by his' .!#.. 
 
 best 1 might I foiin<t fi..» k u s ' "W'» 
 
 I my mothrof my Sknesf At I."!^ "*"*' •"" 
 
 and sister In the^S fe i si5«^ 't h"^ T '^f 
 
 guaremine, I^griettr^totyt Wm^^ 
 
 t'A.'H'' •"" •=°»p'«'«'^ -d Sits 
 
 '•St^nrp'-a'"*"''^"''''"-^™'- 
 senseless. My mmw'and LT ""^'^ '"''«"« 
 and were akoSd onlo^'iTrr 'T' 
 - able to nu«e them^lS"^ MytttSi 
 
 I .uSf *" " '°"« ^■^- At'last Fmnk m- 
 
 time. I felt it comfng\l''^Csflr'^„''S 
 me ; for a time T th«„»k. V ? ^'^"^ nursed 
 
 till death came. 
 
 pI.*^ r *"°^*^ ourselves to be sent wherever 
 
 PMte chose, since it could not iZibly Cke 
 
 tlungs worse than they were. HiZZLl T^ 
 
 It T T^^ ^di&rence, put rSli^- 
 
 gw»m the steerage on board of a aiDwd^l^ .u °;—" "'"^ '"-^ "»9 wa 
 
 provisions some mouldy bi^ *^ "^^ P^"* *"» "o attendance. 
 
 We simply lived and suffered, and were all '"'!??&,,'"'*,•'«>"'• 
 
 <*^. U» son of iZghetS^ •'''N^Loms, w«i Pa- arat^ and Edith hadTiSS?'-'"' '^" '*'" 
 You look ^e. Zt^w. „^W,^H.rLS/^^^^^ -edX^u.. 
 
 at last I revivedTh« J P"*****' """l when 
 few 8ick wr^ln'lft^d""''^^^'' -"-^ •"« 
 
 no attendant All was confusioni 
 
 m^ IM ?!!"' ,'" K*^" •" »»« pity a^d hdpC 
 w necks, kissed ns, and wept aloud. 
 
 |«hev, there was^only one in aU that ship 
 
 ^an ^^t^ " '•^ '^"' • &«» »f horror 
 C^n ^ou bear what I am going to sa^r * 
 
 ^" Speak!" 
 
 at the is£',S?rAi"'^*Ti"''Tf "^'^'f 
 this 8toirbn?C72S^l, " "*"* ^''* »« 
 charge of 'the dS'^aSLf^T" ''*"' "^ 
 
 /., 
 
i"y 
 
 ) 
 
 
 
---■■f- 
 
 00 
 
 "Alas!" said Frank, in a voice of despair, "I 
 saw that woman — the keeper of the dead-house — 
 the grave-digger's wife, ^he told me this story, 
 but it was with a troubled eye. I swore venge- 
 ance on her unless she told me the truth. She 
 wap alarmed, and said she would reveal all she 
 knew if I swore to keep it to myself. I swore it. 
 Can you bear to hear it, Louis ?" 
 "iSpeaf!" 
 
 "She said only this: 'When the grave was 
 opened it was foUod that Edith Brandon had not 
 been dead when she was buried."' ^ 
 
 Louis groaned, and, falling forward, buried 
 his head in both his hands. 
 • It was a long time before either of them spoke. 
 At last Louis, without lifting his head, said : 
 "Goon." 
 
 *' When I left the island I went to Quebec, but 
 could not etay there. It was too hear the place 
 of horror. I'went up the river, working my way 
 as a laborer, to Montreal. I then sought for 
 work, and obtaiiled employment as porter in a 
 warehouse. What mattered it ? What was rank 
 or station to me? I only wanted to keep myself 
 from starvation and get a bed to sleep on at night. 
 
 " I had no hope or thought of any thing. The 
 horrors through which I had passed were enough 
 to fill my mind. Yet above them aM one horror 
 was predominant, and never through the days 
 and nights that have since elapsed has my soul 
 ceased to quiver at the echo of two terrible words 
 which have never ceased to ring ttfrough my 
 brain — ' Buried alive!' 
 
 "I lived on jn Montreal, under an assumed 
 name, as a comnton porter, and might have been 
 living there yet ; but one day as I came in I heard 
 the name of ' Brandon. ' Two of the clerks who 
 were discussing the news in the morning paper 
 hapjiened to speak of an advertisement which had 
 long been in the papers in all parts of Canada. 
 It was for information about the Brandon fcmily. 
 
 " I read the notice. It^seemW to me at first 
 , that Potu was still trying to get control of us, 
 but a moment's reflection- il|pwed that to be im- 
 probable. Then the mention of ' the friends of 
 the family' made me think of Langhetti. I con- 
 cluded that he had escaped death and was trjing 
 to find me out 
 
 "I went to Toronto, and found that yon had 
 gone ttf<i|ew York. I had saved much of my 
 wages, and was able to come here. I expected 
 Langhetti, but found you." 
 
 "Why did yon not think that it might be 
 me?" Br 
 
 " BeStve I heard a threat of Potts obout you, 
 and took it for granted that be would succeed in 
 carrying It out." .Ya» 
 
 "What was tHifhreat?'' 
 ^"He found out somehow that my father had 
 ^tten a letter to you. jpsuppose they t^d him 
 so at the viikge post-oBce. One day when ho 
 was in the room he said, with a laugh, alluding 
 to the letter, ' I'll uncork that young Brandy- 
 flask before kmbV 
 
 " W ell the Twtice of n^kleath- apppurwl in 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 " I do not tliink so now." 
 
 the English paijers." "^ i 
 
 Frank looked earnestly at him. 
 
 "And I accept it, and go und*r an assumed 
 name." 
 
 "SodoL It is better." . 
 
 " You thought Langhetti alive. Do you think 
 he is?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "The efforts which he made were enough to 
 kill any man without tlie plague. He must hare 
 died." 
 
 After hearing Frank's story Lonis gave a full 
 account of his OAvn adventures, omitting, how- 
 ever, all mention of Beatrice. That was some- 
 thing for his own heart, and not for another's ear. 
 
 " Have you the letter and MS. ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Let me read them." 
 
 Louis took the treasures and handed them to 
 Frank. He read them in silence. 
 
 " Is Cato with you yet ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It is well." 
 
 "And now, Frank," said Louis, "you have 
 something at last to live fur." 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 " Vengeance !" cried Louis, with bnming eyes. 
 
 ""Vengeance!" repeated Frank, without emo- 
 tioji — " Vengeance ! What is that to me ? > Do 
 you hope to give peace to your ow-p heart by in- 
 flicting Buffering on our enemies? What can 
 they possibly suffer that can atoiie for wh«| they 
 have inflicted ? All that they call feel is as no- 
 thing compared with what we have felt. Venge- 
 ance!" he repeated, musingly; "and what sort 
 of vengeance? Would you kill them? Wliat 
 would that effect ? Would he be more misera- 
 ble than he is ? Or would you feel any greater 
 happiness? Or do you mean something more 
 far-reaching than death ?" 
 
 "Death," said Louis, "is nothing for such 
 crimes as his." 
 
 " You want to inflict suffering, then, and yon 
 ask me. • Well, after all, do I want him to suf- 
 fer? Do I care for this man's sufferings ? What 
 are they or what cojjt thoy be to me ? He stands 
 on his own plane, far beneath me ; he is a coarse 
 animal, who can, perhaps, suffer from nothing but 
 physical pain. Should I inflict that on him, what 
 good would it be to me ? And yet tliere is none 
 other that I can inflict." 
 
 ■ " Langhetti musl'have transformed you," said * 
 Louis, " with his spiritual ideas." r- 
 
 " Langhetti ; or perhaps the fact that I three 
 times gazed upon thp face of death and stood 
 ujwn the threshold Of thot place where dwells 
 the Iiiflnite Mysterv. So when yon speak of 
 mere vengeance my heart does not respond. But 
 there is still something which may make a pur- 
 pose as strong as vengeance." * 
 
 "Name it." 
 
 "The senseof intolerable wrong!" cried Frank, 
 in vehement lones ; " the pnNcncj,of that foul 
 pair in the fane of our ancestors, SBr own exile, 
 and all the sufferings of the past ! Do you think , 
 that I can endure this ?" , 
 
 " No — you rtiust have vengeance." « 
 
 "No; not vengeance." * 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "Justice! " cried Frank, starting to his feet 
 "■Timtipw — stric t, stem, mercilcsa ; and tlint jn»- 
 tice means to me all that you moan by verfi^ni'i;, 
 I,«t us make war nrfltinst him from this time forth 
 while life lasts ; let us cast him out and get lnuk 
 our own ; let us put him into the power of llw 
 law, and let that take satisfaction on him for his 
 crimes ; let ns cast him out and fling him ftoin 
 . , us to that power which can fittingly condemn. I 
 
nded them to 
 
 ned you," said _' 
 
 dMpue h m and despise his sufferingB. His 
 W will gne me no gmtification. The ^. 
 guish that a base nature can suffer is only Z- 
 goBUagto me-he suffers only out of his b^i 
 ness. To me, and with a thing like "hat, ven^ 
 anee 18 impossible, and justice is enough "^ 
 At any rate you will have a purpose, and 
 yonr purpose points to the same resnltis minT" 
 "But how 18 this possible?" said Frank "Ho 
 IS strong, and we are weak. What can we do ?" 
 We can try," said Louis. " You are re^y 
 undertake any thing. You do not value^^ 
 life There is one thing which is before u^ ^ l[ 
 « desperate-u is almost hopeless; but we are 
 both ready to try it " 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "The ^essage from the dead," said Louis 
 spreaj^ing before Fmnk that letter from thel^I 
 ure-ship which he himself had so often reLi I 
 .< y , "^ J^"" 8™"K to "y this ?" I 
 
 "How?" 
 
 J!if°f ' '^"°'^- „ ' ■""*' fi"t find out the re- 
 wnrees of science. v»v .^o ic- 
 
 i ::«^7.-y»"Catoyet?" 
 
 ^"Canhedive?" 
 
 'He was brought up on the Malabar coast 
 among the pearl-fishe«%nd can remain uS 
 water for an inftredible space of time Rm r 
 ,':^'S «"'> --r^ "^'«'' -'" enaWe m^nf;^,; I 
 ^go down under jth^«cean depths. This wiU ' 
 be our object now. If it succeeds, then we ^„ I 
 g^n^our^purpose ; if not, we mast think'of^^r ' 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 91' 
 
 » 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE DIVINO BUSINESS. 
 
 Is a little street that runs from Broadwav not 
 »r from WaU Street, there was a low d^^Avay 
 
 which bore the foUowing letten., somewhat fadT 
 
 BROCKET Sc C<X, 
 
 CONTRACTORa 
 
 About a month after his arrival at New York 
 
 Bnuidon entered this place and walked up tJ°he 
 
 dMk, where a stout, thidt-set man was sitHn^ 
 
 Tefk t'A^ ''' •-'^ -<» ^ <^'-ws^" "he 
 
 '''£ '^S^"'"'" "^-l Brandon, inquiringly. 
 (W,».l^' . ? answered the other, descendini? 
 
 nugi/slS vtlff ""'^'"^« ---'« f- 
 *We are in that line of bngJness." 
 ., Y^ have to make use of diving apparatus ?" 
 
 ';i riSderstand that yon have gone Into th,-« 
 ^mess to a Urger exteL than J°e in l^^" 
 
 ^<**a 
 
 -. J^*^ *",''>"•*•* Brocket, modestly. "I think 
 w. do the leading business in thaVline." ^ 
 
 rSe"-»^^^ 
 t£:s:BXi.rSuL\r;"'t£ 
 
 «« .here they still cling to .he"o1d ?Sor 
 
 diving which was begun three thousand vean. 
 
 ^^ 1 erfectly so," said Brocket. 
 Do you work with the divinir-hpll Sn „ 
 j business or with armor?" ""'"K-^e" »n your 
 
 " With both. We use the diving-bell fnr «- 
 .^onary puT„,se8, but when k L^nSLS^t 
 move about we employ armor." °**?*«^ «« 
 
 dom of mo^e™: nt"? '''^' "■ ^^^^ " ^^ ^^ «-«- 
 "The armor is far better than the bell Th^ 
 
 Zm « -^ ^.•° *"d »"t Md aU throuch 
 
 5i'^rbuir?"'^^'''«--p-fit«hrs 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 Sso^mfsKSn!^^^ 
 
 »^ked about the bed oflhirerTli they^S 
 
 her, and m her cabin they obtained a sum of 
 
 "IV oir.r^K^"'^"^^""-'^ «'d eoi^"°' 
 
 out rJrTe^m^saiSrArlrir^ '-''- 
 quite communicative .'Voi j£ Zr7, 
 «hips always carried ready cash-tteV fc, ,? ^^ 
 bank-notes and bills of e/chaZ, ^ .v "** 
 only find one you're sure of mZey.^ "^''" '^ 
 
 min^riL-r^Se'jnW'^^^'-^^" 
 
 «=t bStrsiSeJ/iS "r^"' 
 
 'How far down can a diver go in annor?" 
 
 o?Ari!rtrg;r'£v& 
 
 ^ « felt at first frem^the comp^^ air bn! 
 
 far J'fiT'^^'"^- *'«" «"" eaTir^down^'i 
 far as fifteen or«xteen fathoms." 
 
 « r .u TK.**" 'hey stay down ?" 
 «r« ,. II 1 ^"*.' y°" ''"ow, they go down and 
 are puUed up only in the middle ofiheZ ^ 
 at evening, when their work is done." ^ 
 ..How with the men in armor?" 
 
 Oh, they can stand it ahnost as well TT.— 
 come up oftener, though. There" ZadJSi'! 
 age m the annor : a man can fling off His wekht 
 and come up whenever he likes " ** 
 
 Haveyou^er been down youraelf?' 
 
 MCiu 'S"^ "' "^" ""wn yourself?" 
 
 "•* y«*— onener than any of m v men r-. 
 the oldest diver in the country, uLT But? 
 don t go down often now. d^ hm^ work an.l 
 I ni getting old." "' *"'* 
 
 ." vv' 'm """^'' '""'*'■ 'han other work ?" 
 
 andSten's^itr'Srr''"'^ 
 
 healthy. The reaf^ ^'^.^ptd'J'; -«« 
 cireumstance that happened two yHC.'' 
 
92 
 
 COKD AND CREESE. 
 
 , " What HM that?" 
 
 Brocket drew a long breath, looked for a mo- 
 ment meditatively at the floor, and then went on : 
 
 "Well, there happened to be a wreck of a 
 steamer called the Saladin down off the North 
 Carolina coast, and I thought I would try her as 
 a speculation, for I supposed that there might be 
 considerable money on board one way or an- 
 other. It was a very singular affair. Only two 
 mi^n had escaped ; it was so sudden. They said 
 the vessel struck a rock at night when the water 
 was perfectly still, and went down in a few min- 
 utes, before the passengers could even be awak- 
 ened. It may seem horrid to you, but you must 
 know that a ship-load of passengers is very prof- 
 itable, for they all carry money. Besidas, there 
 are their trunks, and the clerk's desk, and so on. 
 So, this time, I went down myself The shjp 
 lay on one side of the rock which had pierced 
 her, having floated off just before linking ; and 
 I had no ditticulty in getting on board. After 
 walking about the deck I went at once into the 
 saloon. ISir," said Brocket, with an awful look 
 at Brandon, "if I should live Tor a hundred 
 years I should never forget the sigjit that I saw. 
 A hundred passengers or more had been on 
 board, and most of them had rushed out of their 
 state-rooms as the vessel begun to sink. Very 
 many, of them lay on the floor, a frightful multi- 
 tude of dead. 
 
 "But there' were others," continued Brocket, 
 in a lower tone, " who had clutched at pieces of 
 furniture, at the doors, and at the chairs, and 
 many of these had held on with such a rigid 
 clutch that death itself had not unlocked it. 
 Some were still upright, with distorted features, 
 and staring eyes, clinging, with frantic faces, to 
 the nearest object that they had seen, i^everal 
 of them stood around the table. The most fright- 
 fol thing was this : that they were all staring at 
 the door. 
 
 " But the worst one of all was a corpse that 
 was on the saloon table. The wretch had leap- 
 ed there in his ftNt mad impulse, and his hands 
 had clutched a brass bar that ran across. He 
 was facing the door ; his hands were still cling- 
 ing, his eyes glared at me, his jaw had fallen. 
 The hideous face seemed grimacing at and threat- 
 ening me. As I entered the water was disturb- 
 ed by my moti<t)i. An undulation sot in move- 
 ment by my entrance passed through the length 
 of the saloon. All the corpses swayed for n mo- 
 ment. I . ptopped in horror. Scarcely had I 
 stopped viiiin the corpses, agitated by the motitm 
 of the water and swaying, lost Ifieir hold ; tlieir 
 fingers slipped, and they fell forward simultane- 
 ously. Above all, that hideous flgure on the ta- 
 ble, as its fingers were loosened, in falling for- 
 ward, seemed to take steps, with his demon face 
 still staring at me. My blood ran cold. It 
 seemed to me as though these devils were all 
 rushing at me, led on by that fiend on the table. 
 For the first time in mv life, Sir, I fbit fear under 
 the sea. I started back, and rushed out qiwking 
 as thounh all hell was liehind me. When I got 
 
 municative. He described to him the exact 
 depth to which a diver in armor might safely go 
 the longest time that he could safely remain un- 
 der water, the rate of travel in walking along a 
 smooth bottom, and the distance whiph one could 
 walk. He told him how to go on board of a 
 wrecked ship with the least risk or difficulty, and 
 the best mode by which to secure any valuables 
 which he might find. At last he became so ex- 
 ceedingly friendly that Brandon ask^ him if he 
 would be willing to give personal instructions to 
 himself, hinting that money was no object, and 
 that any price would be paid. 
 
 At this Brocket kughed. " My dear Sir, yon 
 take my fancy, for I think I see in you a man 
 of the right sort. I should be very glad to 
 show any one like you how to go to work. Don't 
 mention money ; I have actually got more now 
 than I know what to do with, and I'm thinking 
 of founding an asylum for the poor. I'll sell you 
 any number of suits of armor, if you want them, 
 merely in the way of business ; but if I give yon 
 instructions it will be merely because I like to 
 oblige a man like ypu." 
 
 Brandon of course expressed all the gratitude 
 that so generous an oft'er could excite. 
 
 "But there's no use trying just yet; wait till 
 the month of May, and then you can begin. You 
 have nerve, and 1 have no doubt that you'll learn 
 fast." 
 
 After this interview Brandon had many others. 
 To give credibility to his pretended plan for the 
 pearl fisheries, he bought a dozen suits of diving 
 armor ahd various articles which Brocket assured 
 him that he would need. He also brought Cato 
 with him one day, and the Hindu described the 
 plan which the pearl-divers pursued on the Mala- 
 bar coast. According to Cato each diver hud a 
 stone which weighed about thirty pounds tied to 
 bis foot, and » sponge filled with oil fastened 
 around his necL On plunging into the water, 
 the weight carried him down. When the diver 
 reached the bottom the oiled sponge was used 
 from time to time to enable him to breathe hy 
 inhaling the air through the sponge applied to 
 his mouth. All this was new to Brocket. It 
 excited his ardor. 
 
 The month of May at last came. Brocket 
 showed them a place in the Hudson, about twen- 
 ty miles above the city, where they could prac- 
 tice. Under his direction Brandon put un the 
 armor and went down. Frank worked the [lumpii 
 which supplied him with air, and Cato managed 
 the boat. The two Brandons learned their purtu 
 rapidly, and Louis, who had the hardest ta^k, 
 improved so quickly, and caught the idea of the 
 work so readily, that Brocket enthusiastically 
 assured him that ho was a natural-bom divef 
 
 All this time Brandon was quietly making sr- 
 rangem^ts for a voyage. He gradually obtained 
 every thing which might by any possibility lie re- 
 wired, and which he found out by long deiibeni- 
 nons with Frank and by hints which he gained 
 by wett-miinaged questions to Brocket. 
 
 Thus the mont hs of May and June passed un- 
 
 lip to Che 8urfifl:e I could not speak. I instantly 
 \»h the Sniadin, came home with my men, and 
 have never been down myself since." 
 
 A rong conversation followed about the general 
 condition of sunken ships. Brocket had no fear 
 of rivals in business, and as his interlocutor did 
 not pratend to be one he was exceedingly com- 
 
 tit St teuglli they were WSS^lSSafC 
 
CORD a!sD creese. 
 
 CHAITER XXn. 
 
 THE IgLET OP BANTA CRUZ. 
 
 It was July yhea Brandon left New York 
 for San Salvador. 
 
 He had purchased a beautiful litti« schooner, 
 which he had fitted up like a gentleman's yacht, 
 and stored with all the articles which might be 
 needed. In cruising about the Bahama Isles 
 he intended to let it be suppo-sed that he was 
 traveling for pleasure. True, the month of July 
 was not the lime of the year which pleasure-seek- 
 ers would choose for sailing in the West Indies, 
 bat of this he did not take much thought 
 
 The way to the Bahama Isles was easy They 
 stopped fo»a while at Nassau, and then went to 
 San Salvador. 
 
 The first part of the New World ivhich Co- 
 hunbus discovered is now but seldom visited, and 
 few inhabitants are found tlfere. Only six hun- 
 dred people dwell upon it, and these have in 
 general but httle intelligence. On reacting this 
 place Brandon sailed to the harbor^ieh Co- 
 lumbus entered, and made many inquiries abaiit 
 that immortal landing. Traditions stiU snrvfwa 
 among the injople, and all were glad to show the 
 nuh Englishman the lions of the place. 
 
 He was thus enabled to make inquiries with- 
 out exciting suspicion about the islands lying to 
 the north. He was informed that about four 
 leagues north there was an island named Guahi 
 Mid as there was no island known in that direc- 
 tion nanied Santa Cruz, Brandon thought that 
 this might be the ona He asked if there were 
 any smaU islets or sand -banks near there but 
 no one could tell him. Having gained aU the 
 mformabon that he could he pnreued his voyage 
 In that hot season there was but little wind' 
 The seas were visited by profound calms which 
 continued long and rendered navigation slo^;^ and an 
 ^ous. Sometimes, to prevent themselves from ine 
 being swept away by the currents, they had to I ''Not very near 
 out anchor. At other times they were forced '' " "" • • ^ ^"• 
 to keep m close by the shore. They Waited till 
 the night came on, and then, putting out the 
 sweeps, they rowed the yacht slowly along 
 
 It was the middle of July before they reached 
 the island of Guahi, which Brandon thought 
 might be Santo Cruz. If so, then one league 
 
 I'II'tk"'' Zf ^^l' ^""^ ""K"" '« ^ 'he islefof 
 the Three Needles. Upon the discovery of that 
 would depend their fate. 
 It was evening when they reached the south- 
 
 Xh«r 9""^^ /°" """ ""« ''"-e when i 
 aU the future depended upon the fact of the ex- 
 istence of an islet to the north. That night on 
 
 Th '"•"''J''"™ *•» P«»«« in deep anlciety. 
 Ihey rowed the vessel on with their sweeps, bfit 
 
 nthJ'^M T *"" '"'■8° »« ^ J«««l ^" one 
 night. Morning came, and still they rowed. 
 
 H«^' ""T"* '**'*^' ""'' 'he hot sun burned 
 down upon them, yet thev still toiled on, seeking 
 to pass beyond a point which lay ahead, so as t5 
 •«the open water to the north. Gnidually they 
 nea red it, ^ nd the sea-view JiLAont opened ^ 
 
 93 
 
 over all the space that lay one league to the north. 
 They sounded as they went^ut found only deep 
 water. Thev looked all a^nd, but found n^ 
 
 «^ac?of"th'fVr "'*"'"' "'■'^"'^ •'^^ '^" 
 Tha| evening they cast anchor and went ashoro-. 
 a the jsknd of Guahi to see if any one knTwT 
 other islands among which might I« found one 
 named Santa Cruz. Their disappointmem w^ 
 profound. Brandon for a whiirthough" th^ 
 tC^er""Th°''''' '^•". S«l.^'«^°r was ^ant in 
 the letter. This very idea had occurred to him 
 before, and h^ud made himself acquainteSwi'th 
 all the places of that name that existed. None 
 of them seemed, however, to answer the require- 
 ments of the writing. Some must have^a h,^ 
 t e name since ; others were so situated that no 
 land couW be mentioned as lying to (he north? 
 On the whole, it seemed to him that this Saii 
 Salvador of Columbus .ould alone 1« men tbn^ 
 It was aUuded to as a weU-known place, of which 
 particuar description was urniecessarn and no 
 other place at that day had this character excent 
 ! the one on which he had decided '^ 
 
 hJ^" ^TJ''^ remained, a faint one, but stiU a 
 hope, and this might yet be realized. It was 
 that Guahi was not Santa Cruz; but that some 
 other island by about here, which might be con- 
 sidered as north from San Salvador. This could 
 be ascertained here ift Guahi better perhaps than 
 any where else. With this faint hoj^he landei 
 G»>ahi IS only a small island, and there are but 
 
 ZrlvhtfiT'* "P^" •!:.*'>" *"PP"" themselves 
 party by fishing. I„ this deUghtful climate their 
 wartls are not numerous, and the rich soU pro- 
 due^ almost any thing which they desire. The 
 hsh about here are not plentiful, and what they 
 
 w..,"*1?'^ ^I*'"'^- '"'«'« *"« nothing'b^ 
 water. More and more of the view expos^ it- 
 •Hf, ontti at hut the whole horizon wasWsibte- 
 of d nL'^^.tT" "° I""* there-no isUnd-no sign 
 to £ ^^ "*"" *•''"'• '^"y '""«•<* "o ">"«h 
 A Ught wnd arose which enabled them to sail 
 
 catch have"tobe"so'nghifo7rt'k"ongdi 
 
 AreJh^any other islands near this ?" asked 
 Brandon oflBme people whom he met on land- 
 ing. -—•*** 
 
 "Not very near." 
 
 " Which is the nearest?" 
 
 "San Salvadoft*" 
 
 .'.' wr^.."*®!!^ "°y °^^^^ '" "hout this Utitude ?" 
 
 Well, there IS a small one nlwut twelve 
 
 leagues eas. I here are no people On it thongh " 
 
 "Whatisitsgtaie?" ^^ 
 
 " Santa (,'ruz.*"' 
 
 Brandons heart beat fast at the sound of that 
 name It must be so. It must be the island 
 which he sought. It hiy to the north ofSan 
 Salvador, and its name was Santa Cruz. 
 
 " It is not down on the charts ?" 
 
 " No. It is onlv a small islet " 
 
 Another confiwiation, for the message said 
 plainly an islet, whereas Guahi was an isLd. 
 How large is it ?" 
 
 "Oh, perhaps a mile or a mile and a half 
 
 " I6 there any other iyhmd near it ?" 
 "I don't know." 
 " Have you ever been there?" 
 No." 
 
 — PlainljtaofurtJiwinftmtaariontimiM hemffi-" 
 ered here. It was enough to have hope strength- 
 ened and an additional chan.o for success. Bran- 
 don obtained as near as iK)8gU.lo the ojfcct direc- 
 tion of Santa Cruz, and, going back to the yacht, 
 took advantage of the light breeze wWch stiU wm^ 
 blowing and set sail. 
 Night came on very dark, but the breeze still 
 
94 
 
 CORI> AND CREESE. 
 
 "an island cuveued with falm-tregr lay there." 
 
 continued to send its light brenth, and before this 
 the vessel gently glided on. Not a thing could 
 be seen in that intense darkness. Toward morn- 
 ing Louis Brandon, who had remained up nil 
 night in his deep anxiety, tried to pierce through 
 the gloom as he strained his eyes, and seemed as 
 though he would force the darkness to reveal that 
 which he sbught. But the darkness gave no to- 
 ken. 
 
 Not Columbus himself, when looking out over 
 these waters, gazed with greater eagerness, nor 
 did his heart beat with greater anxiety of sus- 
 pense, than that which Brandon felt as his vessel 
 glided slowly through the dark waters, the same 
 Qver which Columbus had passed, and moved 
 amidst the impenetrable gloom. But the long 
 night of suspense glided by at last ; the darkness 
 faded, and the dawn came. 
 
 Frank Brandon, on waking about sunrise, 
 came up and saw his brother looking with fixed 
 intensity of gaze at something directly in front. 
 H e t urn e d to g e e what it H iight be 
 
 An island covered with ' palm-trees lay there. 
 Its extent was small, but it was filled with the 
 rich verdure of the tropics. The gentle breeze 
 ruffled the waters, but did not altogether efface 
 the reflection of that beautiful islet. 
 
 Louia pointed toward the northeagt. 
 
 j'rank looked. 
 
 It seemed to be aboiit two miles away. It was 
 a low sand island about a (piarter of a mile loni;. 
 From its surface projected three rocks thin j.\\ 
 sharp. They were at unequal distances from 
 each other, and in the middle of the islet. Tlie 
 tallest one might have been aliout twelve feet in 
 height, the others eight and ten fbet reHiiectively. 
 
 Louis and Frank exchanged one long look, but 
 said not a word. That look was an eloquent one. 
 
 This then was unmistakably the place uf their 
 search. 
 
 The islet with the three roclw like needles Ivini; 
 north of (<anta Cruz. One league due north of 
 this was the spot where now fasted all their hope*. 
 
 The island of Santa Cruz was, as had been 
 told them, not more than a mile and a half in 
 length, the sand island with the needles lay abogt 
 two miles north of it. On the side of Santa 
 Cruz which lay nearest to theitt was a small cove 
 just large enough for tho'yacht. Here, after 
 rn^ jeme 4ekw» tl»ey^ w«re «W« ta«nt«r andJaniL— , 
 
 The tall trees that covered the island rose over 
 beautiful glades and grassy slopes. Too smtll 
 and too remote to give Kup|M>rt to any number 
 of inhabitants, it had never haen touched, by the 
 hand of man, but stood l>eforo them in all thst 
 pristine beauty with which nature bod flnt en>' 
 
 \ 
 
I-., -J. 
 I 
 
 ^7^f Af ■ "!",""'?'' Brandon in some degree 
 of thfttAfnean ,slu„d where he had passed sSme 
 h^! T^ Beatrice. The recolleclion of tWs 
 bn^ over him an intolerable melancholy, and 
 .made the very beauty of this isknd painM to 
 
 ^■« h! i" ''^ T '"'"' '"^°K within his heart, 
 md as he traversed its extent his eye wandered 
 • ^rtout in search of places where he might be able 
 r to conceal the treasure that lay under the sea, if 
 he were ever able to recover it fromits p« 
 place. Ihe isUnd afforded many spots which 
 were weU adapted to such a purple " 
 
 which was bald and flat on its summit. On the 
 ijestem side it showed a precipice of some forty 
 or fifty feet in height, and on the eastern side U 
 descended to the water ip a steep slope. The 
 toll trees which grew all areund shroudJdit from 
 
 ,^ J"I-M "'""^ *' "^ *"" "J'o^e'l the^ 
 . to be visible on every side. Climbing to this 
 place they saw something which showed them 
 that they could not hope to carry on any oper^ 
 tions for that day. j " "uy opera 
 
 On the other side of the istand, about ten 
 mies from the shore, there lay a la^ge brie be^ 
 
 Z W^f T "r " ^^^"^ "■« L'»'t«l States and 
 tZ Jlu'^u :^*.'""8 ^ '»>'" vessel was 
 m the neighborhQod it would not do even to 
 
 li*h!^^"rf' ""'•'''' ^'*»'''"' '^^ about 
 tetuig his yiM^ht le seen. Whatever he did he 
 wished to do secretly. 
 
 The brig continued in sight all day, and thev 
 remained on the island. Toward ev;ning thev 
 ri^-l?"?'^l'*'"' and rowed out toZMl 
 banlh^Vhich they called Needle Islet. -It was 
 mere y a low spit of sand, with these tliree si^ 
 gularly-shaped rocks projecting upward. There 
 wus nothing else whatever to^be seen upon k 
 
 CORD AND WlEESE. 
 
 ) OTlEI 
 
 96 
 
 CILVPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE OCEAN DEPI^HS. \ 
 
 rfJ^fT"' "^"""'nB dawned and Brandon bur- 
 ned to the rock ancT looked areund. during the 
 mgh a shght ,vind had sprung up, „nd wm still 
 genUy breath ng. Far over the wide sTthere 
 was not a sail to be seen. The brig hXpS 
 .way. They were finally left to therasdlr 
 
 Now at last the Ume of trial had come. Thev 
 fere eager to make the attempt, and soon the 
 . f« t was unmoored, and raov^'^siowly omo S 
 m he dir«;tion of Needle Island, A Lhl bree^ 
 .UU blew fitfully, but promised aVany momem to 
 U^j yet while it lasted they passed'^o^ZZm ' 
 
 Rpfni r -ri "'^"' °" '"'» 'he sei beyond-. 
 Before they h«l come to the spot which thev 
 
 ^cBm^aea-fofiS^torheoan^, Altho^^ 
 Wly m the morning the sun was burning hot, 
 
 nl J u? ? !"'."""'»'• ^M heard, nor did a 
 
 rft ?^ " • /•"«"" «"'«"• 'he minds of any 
 Of them. One idea only was DreH«nt--«n« Z 
 OTTwhelming that ^ lesL ZuKaLTJo" 
 
 dinwy feelings were completely obliterated. Aft 
 er two hours of steadvlabo'r tLy at KachS 
 a place which seemed to them to be exacToM 
 eague due north of Needle Islet Loold^Kk 
 hey saw that the rocks on the ishind^eS fi™ 
 this distance fcloser together, and Sw «,^ 
 sharper, so that they actually' bore a Ser re 
 ZgZ^ to needles frem th^s point th'Tto a^y" 
 
 faf{?nma 'i**^ ''"'""'*'^ ^« 'vater wa» fifteen 
 
 llfk u ?™ 'hey put down the .anchor for 
 although there was no .vind, yet theffi^iht 
 be caught in some cmrent, Ld d^iftSS 
 away from the right position. Kraaually 
 
 astlirJth'^'" '"*'*• "'-'*'"' "">« heen fioating 
 astern with the pumpme apparatus in it so that 
 the adventurous diver might readily be ^cTmpa 
 
 "m'^ttr^''"''*'^ -»'»-"««''' 'he^- 
 But there wa^the prospect that this seareh 
 would be long and ardnous,';md Brandon w^So^ 
 willing to exhaust himself too soon. He IZT 
 ready resolved that the first exploret"„ s^dd' 
 
 BreSn i^ ^Il^'°- ^«."'"^" had foS 
 iJrandon in all his wanderings with that silent 
 
 submission and perfect devotion which is more 
 hT"]" t"'°"« H'"*!"* 'h«n any other l^pk" 
 He had the air of one who w JsatisfiKth 
 obeying his master, and did not ask the end of 
 any conamands which might be given. He was 
 aware that jhey w*re about to explore th"^,^ 
 depths but showed no curiosity about the S 
 
 send hL^'^''- « '' ^"^ »~"J™'« P"i°e To 
 send him 4own first at different iwints 7o that 
 he might see if th^re was any thi^re which 
 looked hke what they sought "«rewnicn 
 
 Asgeelo-orCato, as Brandon commonly caUed 
 him-had made those simple prtfeSK^Toni S • 
 
 TiT'""" """""K his claisOT^ apMraus 
 whuA the ,«ari-divers have usedlwHi^^rp^ri! 
 diving-first commenced. Twelve or fifteen s^es 
 were in the boat, a flask of oil, and a "Se 
 which was fastened areund his'Ck ffio 
 were all that he required. Each stone weight 
 about th.rtv pounds. One of therfffitied aS 
 tf^w'; Tl™*^'' 'J'" "PongeTith oil, so as 
 W , ?■ '"hale air t-jMath the water; and 
 hen standing on the ec»|^he boat and fling- 
 
 nfo the'^^r?'""-?'" "Pfrh" head, h'e leapll 
 into the jvarer and went d^n feet foremost. 
 
 Over the smooth water the ripples flowed from 
 
 he spot where Asgeelo had disaTpearedr^tend 
 
 ng in successive concentric ciretes, and mdiating 
 
 VrlT "?'^"'»."°"; far and wide. Louis and 
 
 l-^ank waited in deep suspense. Asgeelo re- 
 
 , mained long beneath the water, but to them the 
 
 time seemed frightful in its duration. Profound 
 
 ^f e'y »>^«»n to mingle with the suspense, for fear 
 
 Jtat the faithful servant in his devbtion had over- . 
 
 H,-3i Pp^ers-lest the disuse of his early 
 
 pfcctuHf had weakened his sklll-lest the weight 
 
 k%rhi;:?ti:eret[e;e'^ •'-^^^ "'- '^»- ^^ 
 
 ki^.^'r*^*hew»5en»e hadlieconilintoler-— 
 
 ' ablT.nHTKlT T TT^'? ""^ becoimUntoler- 
 
 able and the two had afready begun to exchange 
 
 I glances almost ol despair, a plashwas heard.Zd 
 
 , Asgeelo emerged far to the right. He struck out 
 
 Istrongytowardthe boat, which was at onc™roC 
 I toward him. In a few minutes he was taken in. 
 
 ' u 1 "?' "PP^'i '" be much exhausted. 
 ne bad seelMiothing. 
 
 i? 
 
 : -:i .-i^ihX 
 
 
00 
 
 CORD AND CHI 
 
 fe..^a= 
 
 
 
 
 'a dark, sinewy Xi^N EMKReSD FROM BENEATH,'^ ARMED WITH A LOIlV>, KEEN KNIFE." 
 
 They then rowed about a )iundred yv^» fur- 
 .ther, and Asgeelo prepared to descend'once more. 
 He squeezed the oil out of the sponge and re- 
 newed it again. But thjb time he took a knife 
 in his hand. , ' ■ ""vi 
 
 '•' What is that for?" asked Frank and Louis. 
 , •"Sharks!" answered Cato, in a terrible tone. 
 
 At this Louis and Frank exchanged . |;lances. 
 Could they let this devoted servant thus tempt so 
 terrible a death ? ' 
 
 "Did yon see any sharks?" asked Loais. 
 
 "No, Sahib." 
 
 " Why de you fear them, then ?" " t 
 
 " I don't feAr them, Sahib. " 
 
 " Why do yon take this knife ?" 
 
 "'One may eomp. Sahib." 
 
 After some hesitation Asgeelo was allowed to 
 go. As before he plnttged into the water, and 
 remained underneath quite as long ; but now they 
 had become £dlSkized with his powers and the 
 suspense waal; jBHfareadful. At the expiration 
 of the t>B<i4gHMP reappeared, and on b^g 
 taken intA tnS9Nln>f again announced that he 
 had seen nothing. /, 
 
 They now rowed a bundled yards farther on 
 in the same direction, toward the east, and As- 
 geelo made ^mother descent. He came back With 
 die same result. 
 
 It began to grow discouraging, but Asgeelo 
 was not ye t fatigued, and they therefore deterrn-- 
 ^ined^feTet him wortc as long as lie was able. 
 He went down seven times more. They still 
 kept the boat on toward the east till the line of 
 " needles" on the sand island^ad become thrown 
 farther apart and 'stood at long distances. As- 
 geelo came up each tihie unsucc^fid. 
 
 He at last went down for llMtleventb time. 
 
 They were talking as usual, not expecting that he 
 wbMd reappear for some minutes, when saddenlv 
 a shout was heard, and Asgeelo's head emerged 
 from the water jio| more than twenty yards from 
 the boat. He was swimming with one hand, and 
 in the other he hel<l nn uplifted knife, which ht 
 occasionally brandished in the air and splashed 
 in the water. 
 
 Immediately the cause of this became manifest] 
 Just biehind tufa n sharp block fin appeared cdti 
 ting the surface of the water. 
 
 It was a shark ! But the monster, a cov-in] 
 like all his tribe, deterred by the ])laiibing of the 
 water made by Asgeelo, circled round him ai)di 
 ^'" prey. • 
 
 \ightful. Yet Asgeelo ap- 
 
 alarmed. Hekwain,tlow- 
 
 hg his head and watching 
 
 by his easy dexterity to he 
 
 native element as his pnr- 
 
 eyes fixed on hidl and holding 
 
 cla«p. The knife was a long, 
 
 Asgieek) had carried with Jiini , 
 
 hesitated to 
 The momi 
 
 rred not 
 ^ , occasion: 
 the monstei 
 31, 
 
 SU1 
 
 his 
 
 koei 
 
 for 
 
 I 
 ball 
 self 
 before 
 re^ a bul 
 'Hiey h ad 
 agony of horror: 
 
 Asgeelo, compelled to watch, to guard, to 
 splash the water, and to turn frequently, made 
 but a slow passage over those twenty yards which 
 separated him from the boat. At last it seethed 
 as i Cha-ch ose to stay ttieie. It seemed to thnm 
 whd^MlHd him with such awful horror tbuhe 
 
 could, do nothing. A ] 
 
 ^'this monster, who kept hira- 
 
 where a ball would be spent 
 
 ' indeed any aim could di- 
 
 (hat swiil darting figiue. 
 
 do but to look on in an 
 
 .■•■%, 
 
 .i-:i*i'.*^«i 
 
:een knife. 
 
 ^ght have escaped had he chosen, but that he 
 l,«l some |dea of voluntarily encounterinTthe 
 moOBter. Jhw became evident at kst, af the 
 rf»rt passed before him when they saw AsSelo's 
 , fooe turned toward it ; a face fuU of fiercfhSte 
 fDd vengeance ; a face such as one tun.s toward 
 some mortal enefliy. i^wura 
 
 lrn!l« "Th" "^"'t^' ''*"^« ^"^''e ^'* his long 
 Me. rhe shark gave a leap upward. Thf 
 
 H^I^7^" ''5'.''"' "'""K''' «f ""« '"Others 
 Had he-BeSFdragged down? Impossible! And 
 vet It seemed equally impossible that be coidd 
 have gone down of bfs own accord, , 
 
 .M^LTh"""'"* "'?''■ '""I'«''«« ^'W ended. A 
 white flash appeared near the surface. The next 
 imtiint a dark, sinewy ann emerged from be- 
 neath armed with a long, keen knife whd. 
 jeem^.to tear down with one t^endou^ sTmke 
 that white, shining surface. 
 
 ti^^^^^^'^iT^ that emerged inaseaof 
 oiooa and toam Triumph was inhis dark face 
 
 Tw Hf ''""'^ ''^^''"«'' •>» knife exultancy ' 
 te shark floated upward to the Kuiface, dveinL 
 the sea with the blood which had issued from hf 
 stroke dealt by Asgeclo. Not yet, howevTwh^ 
 the vmdictive fury of the Hin^u satiated ' He 
 iwam up to it. He daslied his knife ov«r d^A 
 over the white belly till it became a hW*u2 
 ™« of gapmg entrails. Therf he came intoX 
 
 He sat down, a hideous figure. Blood covered 
 Sr4Ss.'"""^«^-^»^'--«ehK 
 
 The strength which thisman had shewn wn« 
 tremendous, yet bis <jttickrt^"a"d aS^eve^ 
 
 In^h'"" H ""f ^T «°«"nensurate^h w" 
 ttrengfh. Brandon had once seen prooft of Ws 
 
 tW,v ""' '*«f'lHie« of the MaUy pis 
 r.S^rh^ """"l*^ ^"^ •" 'he cabin of tharHl! 
 
 towSnoTtot"' '"' '1 """ »•« J^ done 
 men was not to be compared to this. 
 
 CORD AND CREESE, 
 
 97 
 
 I r Sd^f •'"^ "^i""*' V"^ *«" ^«nt on about 
 a_ hundred and fifty yards to the Xvest Fmm 
 
 Jl^^t "' ^^^.•'^ked toward th^'ke?th" 
 
 nt^ • .^"''''*'' '^^ 'he three sharp, rieedl/ 
 bi^*^ This^T"'^'' '° '""T 5-°«V^^com.i 
 St fnr ^^ "«=<mstance baa an encouraging- 
 fhif,'/ . ^"^^ "J 'he brotfiere ai though 
 
 This time Brandon himself resolved to mi , 
 down; partly because be thought tC A Lto 
 had worked long enough^^nd ought not R 
 exhausted.on that first dV/andpartro^'',^ 
 count 'fan intolemble impatience, Wa„™«r-" 
 ne^ss to see for hiiaself rather than intCtTto. 
 
 There was the horror of the shark whi^h 
 might huve deterred any other ma>^ ft wa^ J- 
 danger which he ha<j,ever, takenTnto a^co^nt 
 But the resQlye of hlr'soul was stronmr than 
 any fear, and he ^determined to facTefen tWs 
 £? k ■«.."t'V'"' ""'' "'«' ""' -aslndiffer^jL 
 u^M^L ^'^''T "'^ «o precious to him as 
 tV«a»S others. Fearless by nature he waTof 
 
 anrkiiJ. ^^^ ^ enpounter peril of 
 
 aIZ'Tx^^u"'^'^'^^, "^ ""^ f'^l «'''«"' of this new 
 
 ?n afvlav i^H-"*^ r'l.'i"«' "•"• ^^ he attempt 
 r«,?ir/?^ '" dissuade his brother. He himself 
 
 mo^, but as he was not able, he did not sun- 
 pose that his brother would hesitate ^ 
 ihe apparatus was in the boat. The Dumn- 
 S.?«^r '" ''•^*^™ ' »"'» this, wi?hZ 
 rg^l^ee^'?^'^— nS^^^^^ • 
 
 wS^oSrH-utrSiS'^""-^^^^^ 
 
 ^ "^ "* compared to this li-i — r *'""""' "'ver,. 
 
 They could not help asking him why he ffllH Th« I"^ Brandon put on his diving armor 
 
 .tat once made his escape t? the bLT EtSd ^t, '°P«« """l. "V^^ «ere aU carefully an^S 
 
 staymg to fight the mq^ster. *t«4^ . "'?' Ti^'" ^"^ attached to his bdt ^d 
 
 As««l„-« .^ .„- ._'^_. i%ta tewas slowly lowered down to the bottom of £ 
 
 hich Rrnnrinn „. a _^,i. ..J^a'^'* 
 
 m ....,.«:„,«, to 
 
 Of staymg to fight the mqpster. 
 Asgeelo s lodk #m^loomy j 
 
 fc^ ti3r^ jjieces my son, Sahit 
 »on whOT he first went down, and?! havn"fn]«i7.„V"'i~'u"'T,°"""™ "' ""« »«nd and gravel 
 avenge^ I kU, d ^ y,^^^ on Ae fibar 'SeLmW "" ^"u^"^ '^''""" '"*^" '5 
 
 1^ I -left it fon#er.-S That shwk di"d L^^ ^'^?' **' "«' '•'^e'". wlOph on knd 
 -^ , „...„.... .,J .. t"*' "harked I " ^vy ben«ith the water loi» l^s exTp^ve 
 
 XS 4.^^„«f^^K the we*^r assists hto. 
 5« Ts usna^ rr"'"' ""^ ™?"«'«"«ly transparent, ; 
 
 n»;LTate^nirhSrt£so 
 Set siar ^--<^'^»pe tir^" 
 
 not attacfc me ; I attacked him." ""ars^oia 
 
 «Ssfj,n"co^trerb?r«i^i^^^^^^^ '-"' -^Sit siar. 
 
 orele which 18 comparatively krge : he is alan « hi „i^^ "^^ ?°*** "» •" the direction which 
 
 coward, and a goo<fc 
 ne only choos 
 Mtly t h atJie^j, 
 »venge his son. 
 In his last tHiinnwWHIiMlll i k- 
 
 wtWMfuKthan beforeiSBIrt«U^H "" ^""^ 
 
 * to the sniifhu, J; ilRw*^ Island was now 
 
 (MrU^h^ and^^ndon thought that 
 
 tfn reputed trimnph- erTgSSvKM'J! b"^"!"*' '°'^ 'hem wheth- 
 aWed hunAo command, and them to obey, with 
 
 Down/in the depths to which he had descend- 
 
 ^i^-H fK'"'':^' ""^"^^ «'"'' "fd the stoSi 
 yet^xpiored. fr24K"rrfH^P«,"r'«'dVhere""Bran" 
 
 >,i 
 
 I ^npj 
 
 ...1,^ 
 
98 
 
 (T 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 lay at his feet, so fragile in their BtrntHure, and 
 so delicately poised in their position, that tlwy 
 must have formed themselves in deep, dead still- 
 ness and absolute raotionlessness of waters. The 
 very movement which was caiued by his passage 
 'Enlaced them ia all directions, and cast them 
 do^n every where in ruins. Here, in such depths 
 as these, if the sounding lead is cast it brings up 
 these/ragile shells, and shows to the observer what 
 profound culm must exist here, far away beneath 
 the ordinary visioiNrf man. I 
 
 Practice had enabtfi^JUpdidon to move with 
 much ease. Hu breathlngwas without difficulty. 
 The first tmu'Jes arising from breathing this con- 
 tineu Ja ha<j long since been surmounted. One 
 tube ran down from the lK)at, through which the 
 fresh air was pushed, and another tube ran up a 
 little distance, through>which the air passed and 
 left it in myriad bt^bres'that ascended to the sur- 
 face. ■* - ■ 
 
 He walked on, and soon came to a place where 
 things changed their appearance. Hard sand 
 was here, and on every side there arose cuiious- 
 ly-shaped coral st^ctures, which ^resembled more 
 than any thin^ else a leafless forest. These coral 
 tree-like forms twisted their branches in strange 
 involutions, and in some phices formed a perfect 
 barrier of interlaced arms, so that he was forced 
 to make a detour in order to avoid them. The 
 chief fea^ hero was that his tube might get en- 
 tangled among some of the loftier straggling 
 branches, and impede or retard his progress. To 
 avoid this caused much delay. ^ 
 
 Now, among tHe coral rocks, the vegetation of 
 the lower sea began to appear of more vivid col- 
 ors and of far greater variety than any which he 
 had ev6r seen. Here were long plants which 
 clung to the" coral like ivy, seeming to be a spe- 
 cies of marine parasit^ aod'as it grew it throve 
 ■ moreliixur^ntly. HereAere some which threw 
 put long aims, terminatiflg in y^t, broad, palm- 
 like lea/es, the arms intertwined among the coral 
 branches and the leaves hanging downward. Here 
 were long streamers of fine, silk-like strings, that 
 were suspended from umny a projecting branch, 
 and hillocks of sjiongy substance that looked like 
 moss. Here, too, we're plants which threw forth 
 long, ribbon-like leaves of variegated color. 
 
 It was a forest undei; the sea, and it grew 
 de^r at every step. 
 
 At last his progret^s in this direction was term- 
 iiiated by a rock which came from a southerjy 
 direction, likd a spur from the islands. It arose 
 to a height of about thirty jfeet overhead, and 
 descended gradually as it ran north. Brandon 
 turned aside, and walked by its base along its 
 entire extent. 
 
 ^t its 'termination there arose a long vista, 
 where thS ground ascended and an opening ap- 
 peared through ttlfs marine "forest," On each 
 side the involuted corals flung their twisted arms 
 in more curious and intricate folds. The vege- 
 tation was denser, more luxuriant, and more 
 varied. Beneath him was a growth of tender 
 substance, hairy in textijre, and of a delicate 
 nri^Feea cokH-^ whkh^ looked more like lawn gnus 
 of the upper world than any thing else in nature. 
 
 Brandon walked on, and even in the intense 
 desire of his soul to find whnt he sought he felt 
 himself overcoqie by the sublime influence of this 
 submarine world. ' He seemed to have intruded 
 into som^ other sphere, plandM his rash foot- 
 
 f 
 
 ■* 
 
 steps where no foot of man had trodden beibre. 
 and using the resources of science to violate the 
 hallowed secrecy of awful nature in her most 
 hidden retreats. Here, above all things, his soni 
 Was oppressed by the universal silence around. 
 Through that thick helmet, ind^, no sound 
 under a clap of thunder could be heard, and the 
 ringing of his ears would Of itself have prevented 
 consciousness of any other noise, yet none the 
 less was he aware of the awful stillness ; it was 
 silence that could be felt. In the sublimity of 
 that lonely pathway he felt what Hercules is 
 imagined to have felt when passing to the under- 
 world after Cerberus, 
 
 Stnpent nbl undae segue torpescit ft«tnm, 
 
 Vid half exptected to heai^some voice from the 
 dweller in this place : 
 
 "Quo pergls andazr 81«te proserentem gradam." 
 .^ There came \i> him 'only such dwellers as be- 
 longed to the place. He saw them as he moved 
 along. He saw them darting out from the hid- 
 den penetralia around, moving swiftly across and 
 sometimes darting in shoals before him. Thev 
 began to appear in such vast numbers that Bran- 
 do^ thought 'of that monster which lay a mangled 
 he4) upon the surface above, and fancied that per- 
 haps his kindred were here waiting to auenge his 
 death. As this fear came full and. Wen defined 
 before him he drew from his belt the knife whiih 
 Asgeelo had given him, and Frank had urged 
 him to take, feeling himself less helpless if he 
 hcTd this in his hand. 
 
 The fishes movgd about him, coming on in new 
 and more startl«i5?drowd8, some dashing past, 
 others darting upward, and others moving swift- 
 ly ahead. One large one was there with a train i 
 of followers, which moved up and floated for a 
 moment directly in front of him, its large, staring 
 eyes seeming to view him in wonder, ai^l solemn- 
 ly working its gills. But as Brandon came close 
 it gave a sudden turn and darted off with all its 
 attendants. " '^ 
 
 At last, amidst all these wonders, he saw far 
 ahead something which drove all other thoughts 
 away, whether of fear, or of danger, or of horror, 
 and filled all his soul with aii overmastering pa^ 
 sion of desire and ho|ie. 
 
 It was a dark object, too remote as yet to he 
 distinctly visible, yet as it rose there his fancv 
 seemed to trace the outline of a ship, or what 
 might once have beeti a ship. The presentation 
 of his hope before him thus in wimt seemed like 
 a reality was too mtich. He stood still, and his 
 heart be^t With flercse throki. 
 
 The hope was sa precious that for a time he 
 hesitated to advance, for fear lesr^he hope might 
 be dispelled forever." And then to fail at this * 
 place, after so long a search," when he seemed ttr' 
 have reached the end, wotdd be an intolerable 
 grief. .V 
 
 Tliere, too, was that strange pathway whith 
 seemed made on 'purpose. How came it there? 
 He thought that perhaps the ol(ject lying befon 
 Itim might have caused some current which set 
 in -^ere and prevenred ilie^pwrffi ^ plnnw is 
 thatXplace. These and manv other thoughts 
 came ^ him as he stood, iinwiUing to move. 
 
 But a\ last he conquered his feelings, and ad- 
 vanced, ^ope grew strong within him. He 
 thought of the time on Coffin Island when, in like 
 manner, he hod hesitated before a like object, 
 
CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 wrentem gradnm." 
 
 
 -'■■-t~ "»» Buoiig, suspense unen- 
 Whatever that object wj^ he must 
 
 durable, 
 know. 
 
 It might indeed be a rock. He hod passed 
 one shortly before, which had gradnally deSd 
 mto the lK.m,m of, he sea; thrmigh/bo „ tn 
 moafon of .l.o s*,„e, which after an inM 
 had ansen again from the bottom. It waslon J 
 
 i * sl^'h""' r*"' ""'* '^""''«'l forward at thf 
 other. Such a shape was perfectly natural for a 
 ■^k. He tned to cn.sh d^n ho^, soTto b^ 
 prepared for disappointment. He tried to con! 
 nnle himself that it must be a rock, and couhl 
 by no possibility be any thing else. Yet W« of 
 forts were totally fruitless. ^tiU the conv5 tion 
 renuuned that it was a ship, and if so, U couW 
 be no other than the one he sought 
 
 ewmi. rhe coral rocks continued no further 
 
 a^d cSe"d"wftift'^"°'"."r. "'« '^ --««'; 
 
 fehes-had departed. ITie sense of solernityTeft 
 
 could he ho^to^^J^slfeT'^o^f'^''''^^"' 
 slightest movVmeijton his^art ciS« T. 'k" 
 
 will, and a deteSaho'l"to''rk'^"t tr'C 
 hazard, alike impelled him on Dan^m ' i 
 
 Hope grew stronger as he drew nearer M'h^ 
 dark mass gradually formed ks^fTTn; M! 
 d.stinct outline. ;/h, TcerSif Unt "defS 
 
 h:Z. 1 —i"*"^'^- i'le sense ot so emnitv left Hi«Hn^ — .? ^ y. '"""^a itsell into a take, 
 
 him; only one thing, was perceptible, aKarnf" ' •"*: ^'" """certain lines deffi? 
 
 was the object toward which he walked. ITITI^ "''^" '^^^ '^^ "'« •fiance to 
 
 And now he felt within him such an uncon- ' ^ "^"""^ """"" ""^ " " 
 
 tmUable impulse that even if he had wished he 
 could neither have paused nor gone boLk To 
 go forward was only possible, if seemed to hS 
 
 ^^^r' i '""^^'^ '""> 'o move. Again as 
 once-before he recalled the kst words of Z'fo 
 ther, so weU remembered: ""' ^"'"'^ °"iis fa- 
 
 7jTi.'^V" •''*' ""jef world to which I am eo- 
 lUfthe disembod (><) ....:«. . . ""• go- 
 
 a ship became greater and greater. He conlH 
 nol^nger resist the convictiof that 'thiimuTtt 
 
 n.S?nV?ai^tirL^r^ t^ Sr'"- 
 w y a rock should be fonned he" h. thfs sTa^ 
 
 .S-Hfs=oseS:i;»^-- 
 
 
 o™- of your i^'i ^iil^ n^r.^/tTs orS 
 communicate to your spirit what'y"u'oug"ll{ to 
 
 It was Ralph Brandon who had said this 
 Here in this object which ky before liTm if ii 
 
 Se" rlh''H ''"■?' '«' •"'^'"'^ the spi'ii of 
 another Ralph Brandon present, awaiting him 
 
 vrWchfo;^L^''•"*•''^'^°^P'«^dover hU hL, 
 vrmen forced him involuntarily to look im in 
 ^.te of his excii«nent a shudder paZd "Luih 
 t-^Jr "''L^^' «»' 'h^ «m-fice^?the°^'' 
 the boat was floating. But half-way up wlf^ 
 
 S;s'^.iTs."°^™«^°'^'^-''''»Vaio;7 
 
 1 Vl ' """IKS. 
 
 L^ohim, inhislonel 
 l'*Ter 8een^ed so m"*-* 
 of the deep as he 
 seen him ? that \ 
 ed his knife in-a 
 how utterly helpl 
 into himself fro 
 
 »R at them. Had they 
 lis thought. He clutch- 
 hold, feeling all the while 
 was, and shrinking away 
 
 "e ttici^ 'hat they were malignant- 
 
 -Atfe 
 
 He waited'. 
 
 ^ irJ^liil "" T"'** ""*^^« seen hinj, for 
 yP^ually moved away «„,il they, were out 
 
 - - . ...v,,^ u , „Ro a lower, alter thp f 
 of a ship of the days of Queen EliMbeth Th 
 
 that th s must be no other, by any concAL^ 
 
 Her sides were coverud with fine dm^k sMs" 
 
 and weakness, nothing iuii"" rhorTZl"?.'*"." ''^P"' ^^ •»" inch, mingTe^ 
 
 w these three' demon! At bisJ 1 e Si°. " "'T' ''^^ «^-«eed 
 
 ,> „♦ .i,__ .... I ■»' ui*-t ne could delay no longer. One of th* 
 
 masts lay over the side,and this afforded an easv 
 
 w.,y by which he could clamber upward u,«„""Z 
 
 deckoftt^t^r^''""'^"" '"^ •"-» ^^ 
 
 The ship which iiad thus lain here thrnn»». 
 
 centiines, saturated with wateHhaUiad S 
 
 trated to itsJnmost fibre, still held together ^n^ 
 
 3 of the sea 
 tiii^lK! 
 
 Bnndon did not 
 
 j£/yii» 
 
 ^gjn^i^i 
 
 Ivance for some 
 
 . %HnAgiT( 
 and the li||f tTjat came 
 surface of the sea was 
 fore,s.^j|gM 
 
 %ir Miffn^ptnd j-flii'down 
 as befot* stated, hdi topple, 
 i-easo^yieldld^to Ifceif o 
 
 mh 
 
 m^ 
 
 ■om above, where the 
 
 ~iuch nearer than be- 
 
 mt-pf tiftjhip. 
 
 ■ed th^m& had lost 
 
 le masts, 
 
 the some" 
 
 which, as 
 
CORD AND CREESE, 
 
 • 
 
 .■^' 
 
 
 
 
 'the masts has falliw and i^y, encdiibkked with the aiaoiNU, over thb side." 
 
 the TMsel was slightly on one Bide,1iad gradually 
 bome them dwvn ; the bowsprit also had fallen. 
 The hatchways had )rielded, and, giving way^i had 
 junk down within the hold. The doors which 
 led into the cabin in the lofty poop wera lying 
 prostrate on the deck. The large sky-light which 
 once had stood there had also followed the same 
 fate. 
 
 . Ikf ore going-doam Rntndon had ju r aB gedr^: 
 signal to send to Frank in case he fi>nnd the ship. 
 In his excitement he had not yet given i(. Be- 
 fore venturing further he thought of this. Bnt 
 he decided not to make the signal. The idea 
 came, and was rejected amidst a world of yary- 
 ing hopes and fears. He thought that if he was 
 
 successful he himself would be the best messen- 
 ger of success ; and, if not, he would be the best 
 messenger of evil. 
 
 He advanced toward the cabin. Turning awar 
 from the door he clambered upon the poop, and, 
 looking down, tried to see what depth there miglif 
 be beneath. He saw something which looked as 
 though it had once been a table. iSlowly and 
 
 cautiously helot hi awalf down tliruuglt tf iaopen-- 
 ing, and his feet touched bottom. He mored 
 downward, and let his feet slide till they toocbed 
 the floor. 
 
 He was within the cabin. 
 
 The light here was almost eqnal'to that with- 
 oat, for the sky-light was very wide. The floor 
 
 J*- 
 
 .■(>,^^^ii} ■ 
 

 
 
 ■ 
 
 =f^— 
 
 
 ■^ — 
 
 -5^ 
 
 
 
 _-._ 1 
 
 .- 
 
 — - : 
 
 ijt 
 
 £— -' 
 
 ■p 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE 8I0B. 
 
 w«i ronken n like the deck of the ghip. He 
 
 ' ^^ r""'' '" ■*" ^''«'* »>« rai*'" first search 
 for the treasure. Suddenly his eye caught^ght 
 of^.ometh.„g which drove ajy ,,Jy Xr 
 
 "■ 3' ?.1 *"'' m"^ * ^^ ""«> 'here, propped up I 
 Wrin.. the wall, was a skeleton in i 8ittinVp<»- 
 "*!-j -^^u""^." ""^ » belt with a sword at- 
 twhed. The figure had partly twisted 'Llf 
 n.nnd,but its hea<l and Bhoulden,U^"oprop£ 
 np against the wall that it could not fall -^^ 
 Brandon advanced, filled with a thousand emo- 
 ^ ■ ^"S,^«'"J "'M 'ying down in ft^Ht He 
 
 in^ H-tT""^- *.«"''' ""K onX-bony 
 ^Ff^dj' ^^ " "*• 1° "'« dim light he saw 
 
 Siy^'ptr ""* ^-""^' '"--tTi •; 
 
 Here he had, calmly taken his seat when the 
 Aip was settling slowly d«*wn into the embmce 
 of the waters. Heife he had taken his sealS! 
 ly Md sternly, awaiting his death-perhaps whh 
 . feeUng of grim triumph that he cou d thus e ude 
 V^u V^'"* ^ "■«'">»"' """1 this the hand 
 
 BiSldLv^i"'." "i;'^«^'"" "«" P««^ through 
 
 Bruidon *,mind He put the ring on his own 
 
 .ger and turned away. His ancestor h«^sum 
 
 ^Ji^^ff • '"'' ''"'^'«' ^'^- Where WM 
 tteasure that was promised ? 
 
 ftwP^inipatidnce now rose to a fever 
 
 S*2d ^BTh "^ I!""."?! 1?*° «"^^h of which he 
 looked. The doom Mall faUen away. Yet he 
 MW nothing in any of them. ' *' "^ 
 
 Jd he"wk ? ** r^u^'u '" '•'^P '^•'»»"- Wher« 
 H.A !,„? . • ^°"''* he venture down into the 
 S?.n '^Z?"'* T^""' ^ H°* "»'ld he hope to 
 tod any tiling there, amidst the niins of thTin? 
 totfor where guns and chains lay, perhaps all n. n 
 *d together where they had ^hCPit^oi^d" 
 mi a longer time to find it than he h.^ at first 
 «PPo«d. Yet would he falter? Nol-Slthe 
 ^ give up he would pass years here till h^h„d 
 to««bered the.whu^ s^ anS sT^e^t^J 
 
 S^Y« h hPrr"'^^ °^'" 'he bottom of the 
 toat 1 fi h-id hoped to solve the whole my"! 
 <2 « ^ ^i vi«,t ; and now, since he saw no 
 
 ti"°''''»l««r»"^'«<'''horhim ^^' 
 
 the r^nrn7 •"* •"'°"«'"«- ^'«' these thoughts 
 ™ result of excitement that was now a fitn,^ 
 
 ^b'^Ja '"^ »^ othe« thatV^cXer. ™"^' 
 
 SwhS'irsrortc 
 
 ^eCitheZ^^! Some feeliW which mus 
 
 SS? The one vhTk ..'". • '* ''•'^V What was 
 ,l"|-One whjch had inspimi the awssBBF 
 ire to secure rHII m^^T .i.„. ._-™^*?*' 
 
 eOBD AND CREESE. 
 
 iteTBBis. ."'^ """^'^ flaa inspired theajossBBB- 
 S^hLTr,""',"'"'^ 'hat treSSre 
 »ucn He had toiled and fought. His last hZ 
 
 MihMild ? * '" •"" "••"'* """^ '="™«' 
 
 The skeleton was at one end, supported by the 
 ^ Iwo posts projej^«l ,;„ S sWe? > 
 
 101 
 
 •"•y, pm It on on, ,ii, md C„ t„ It "' 
 
 entpJ^^"? '^ calm," he said to himself "This 
 enterpnse is hopeless Ypa >ho w„ • j 
 tm^ the ship, r^overed' .h« ^P""""''''' <^P- 
 
 SZnr ~ "' - "oSe'^eiv-r 
 aX ISreTper^oiT' "'"' '^' "^ -^'"-^ 
 
 Suddenly as he thought ho felt the floor »«. j 
 Hlly giving way benealhhim He st^5"K": 
 before he could move or eveJi "■ '.'""^'hnt 
 rection to go the floor sank ii 
 sank with it downward. 
 
 Had it not been that the ti 
 tent, and had been carefully 
 
 hJ hL"*""^"/. "'* """'h flashed upon him He 
 
 Over this trap-door old hLi. h i, ',''* "'"P- 
 
 scerZn/ anl^i, •?' ^^ "'^ht await his de- 
 scendant, and thus silent y indicate to him t^ 
 place where he must look ? ^"^ "'^ 
 
 nejf were metaU ic bam I 
 
 jjjink in what di- 
 1 he at once 
 
 npleex- 
 
 M> as to 
 
 "g rocks at 
 
 Wrose tip ftgnin overcome. He hardly dared 
 to take one up so as to see what it SiTb^ 
 F..a.e actual sight would realize ho^ StJ^y 
 
 pace more he stooped down. In a sort of fnr„ 
 ffelSr" " '"'"*"^'' '""'» and"„SrifH?S 
 'Down under the 8ea the action of water lud 
 
102 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 not de8troy«d the color of those bars which he 
 held up in the dim light that came through the 
 waters. The dull VeUuw of thooe rough ingots 
 seemed to gleam with dazzling brightness before 
 his bewildered eyes, and tilled his whole soul with 
 a torrent of rapture and of trhitnph. 
 
 His emotions overcame him. Tbe bars of gold 
 fell down from his trembling hands. lie sank 
 back and leaned against the wall. 
 
 But what was it that lay under his feet? What 
 fere all these bars ? Were they all gold ? Was 
 thjs indeed all here-^the plunderfof the Spanish 
 t:eaHure-ships--the weiiltll^faich''auglitp.iircha8e 
 a kingdom — the treasure equal to an empire's 
 revenue — tbe gold and jewels in countless 
 store? 
 
 A few moments of respite were needed in or- 
 der to overcome-the tremendous conflict of feel- 
 ing which raged within his breast. Then once 
 more he stooped down. His outstretched hand 
 felt over all this space which thns was piled up 
 vfith treasure. 
 
 It was about four leet square. The ingots lay 
 in the centre. Around the sidfs were boxes. 
 One of these he took out. It was made of thick 
 oaken plank, and was about ten inches long and 
 eight wide. The rusty nails gave but little re- 
 sistance, and the iron bunds which once bound 
 them peeled off" at a touch. He opened the 
 box. 
 
 Inside was a casket. 
 
 He tore open the casket. 
 
 It wasjilled with jewels .' 
 
 His work was ended. No more search, no 
 more fear. He bound the casket tightljr ti^i the 
 end of the signal-line, added to it a bar |of ^Id, 
 and clambered to the deck. 
 
 He cast off the weight that was at his waist, 
 which he also fastened to the line, iind let it go. 
 
 Freed from the weight he rose buoyantly to 
 the top of the water. 
 
 The boat pulled rapidly toward %im and took 
 him in. As he removed his helmet he saw 
 Frank's eyes fixed on his in mute inquiry. His 
 face was ashen, his lips bloodless. / 
 
 Louis smiled. 
 
 "Heavens!" cried Frank, "can it be?" 
 
 " Pull up the signal-line and see for yourself," 
 was the answer. 
 
 And, as Frank pulled, Louis uttered a cry 
 which' nude him look up. 
 
 Louis pointed to .the sun. " Good God ! what 
 a time I must have been down !" 
 
 "Time I" said Frank. "Don't say time — it 
 wj^s eternity J" 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Beatrice's jouknal. 
 
 Bbandon Hall, 
 September 1, 1848. — Paolo Langhetti used to 
 say that it was useful to keep a diary; not 000;^ 
 from day to day, for each day's events are (poti- 
 cr^ly^ trivijy,^ and therefore not worthy of record ; 
 but rather a statement in full of more important 
 events in one's life, o<vhich may be turned to in 
 later years. I wish I had begun this sixteen 
 months ago, when I first came here. How full 
 would have been my melancholy record by this 
 time! 
 Where shall I begin? 
 
 Of course, with my arrival here, for that is tht 
 time when we separated. There is no need for 
 me to put down m writing the events tliat took 
 place when he was with me. Not a word that 
 he ever spoke, not a look, that he ever gave, has 
 escaped my memory. This much I may set 
 down here. 
 
 Alas ! the shadow of the African forest (e\\ 
 deeply and darkly upon ma Am I stronger 
 than other women, or weaker? I know not. 
 Yet I can be calm while my heart is breaking. 
 Yes, I am at once stronger and weaker ; so weak 
 that my heart breaks, so strong that I can liide 
 
 llV !,. 
 
 I will begin from the time of my arrival here. 
 
 I came knowing well who the man was and 
 what he was whom I had for my father. I ' 
 came with every word of that despairing voyager 
 ringing in my ears — that cry from the drifting 
 Vishnu, where Despard laid down to die. How 
 is it that his very name thrills through me? I 
 am nothing to him. I am one of the Imteful 
 brood of murderers. , A Thug was my father— 
 and my mother who ? And who am I, and 
 what? 
 
 At least my soul is not his, though I am his 
 daughter. My soul is myself, and life nn earth 
 can not last forever. Hereafter I may stand 
 where that man may never approach. 
 
 How can I ever forget the first sight which I 
 had of my father, who before I saw him had 
 become to me as abhorrent as a dcmoti ! I cane 
 up in the coach to the door of the Hall and l(X)ked 
 out. On the broad piazza there were two men; 
 one was fitting, the other standing. 
 
 The <o^ who was standing was somewhat eld- 
 erly, with n broad, fat face, which expressed ni>- 
 thing in particular but vulgar good-nature. He 
 was dressed in block, and looked like a serious 
 butler, or perhaps still more like some of the 
 Dissenting ministers whom I have seen. He 
 stoo^ with his hands in his pockets, looking at 
 me v^th a vacant smile. 
 
 The other man was younger, not over thirty. 
 He was thin, and looked pale from dissipation. 
 His face was covered with spots, his eyes were 
 gray, his eyelashes white. He was smoking r 
 very large pipe, and a tumbler of some kind of 
 drink stood on the stone paVement at his feet. 
 He stared at me betweert the pufis of his pi|)e, 
 and neither moved nor spoke. 
 
 If I had not already tasted the bitterness 
 of despair I should have tasted it as I saw these 
 men. Something told me that they were my 
 father and brother. My very soul sickened at 
 the sight — the memory of Despard's words came 
 bade—and if it had been possible to hare felt 
 any te^er natural affection for them, this recol- 
 lectioi would have tlestroyed it. 
 
 "I wish to see Mr: Potts," said I, coldly. 
 
 My father stared at me. 
 
 "I'm Mr. Potts," he answered. 
 ,,;!^I am, Beatrice," said I ; " 1 have just arrived 
 fronTdltmbJik-^., 
 
 By this tii«the'aWfferiH>d^QBened the door, 
 
 aftd i got oiiltod walked u}) 6n the plarnir" " 
 "Johnnie," exclaimed my father, "what the 
 
 devil is the tneaning of this ?" 
 
 " Gad, I don't know," returned John, with a 
 
 pnfT of ^oke. 
 
 "Didk't yon say she was drowned off the 
 
 ilKcanVstr 
 
 ji^. 
 
 

 "I MW io in the newspapen." 
 
 ''Didn't you tell mo aiwut tU Falcon rescuing 
 
 "'n^'hnr "'^" ""T T"* » «*'' """ escaped." 
 
 "So you're the girl, are you ?" said ho at last. 
 "^ am your daughter," I answered. 
 I saw him look at John, who winked in return 
 Ho walked Up and down for a few minutes 
 
 "'^"^.^1 ''°''P*n ,?"'•. '""ked at me again 
 "nior«i«HTefy«^l,"gajahefttia.,t, "but how 
 
 i;f'o"fTh.S ''" ™ *^ p*^^ ^y^ -y 
 
 "No." 
 
 I.'no""''"^ "*'*'"8 but your oAvn statement?" 
 
 " And you may be an impostor. Mind you— 
 Im a magistrate— and you'd letter be careful " 
 You can do what you clioose,"8uid I, coldlV 
 
 dowSh'eXoIse,.'"'''^"'^'^'-"-"^' 
 I was silent. 
 
 "Johnnie,'' said my father, "III have to leave 
 her to you. You arrange it. " 
 
 John looked at me lazily, still smoking, and 
 for some time said nothing. *' 
 
 "I suppose," said he at last. 
 
 103 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 ''7 T""'^ ? W f-ce- He did not look like 
 
 " I have ju4 come from (^hina," said I "and 
 
 Ho looked at me f6r soiro time without 4Mnk 
 .ngaword. I began to think tlmt^ was ^Sl 
 
 at 'IS TaThi^- ^'"i'"'* .«»«"K'"er," saici he 
 at last, m a thm, weak voice. "1— I didn't 
 know that you ha<K*omo-I-I knew that he 
 
 r-'C'?^°"-*"' heard you wore fat 
 pea— ^ Mm. (..ompton— yesf-^oh yes— 111 show 
 you where you can find Mrs. CotaK 
 
 He was embarrassed, yet not unkinf ^'l^n 
 was wonder in his face, as though he was sw! 
 pnsed at my appearance. Perhaps i, was b^ 
 cause ho found me^ «nlike my fat ,e7 ul 
 walked toward the great stairs, Vmft me S 
 tnne tun,mg h,s head to look at me,'a^ ascend 
 ea them. I foUowed, and after going to the 
 third storv we came to a room. 
 
 "That s the place, " said he. 
 
 ,h^l ""^j ,'"/"^''' "''"■out replving to my 
 thanks, and left me. I knocked at ?he do7 
 After some delay it was opened, and I went^n 
 Atlnn pale woman was there. Her hair wm 
 I !!!::!!"'■: "''"'«■ . "^r face was marked by Z 
 
 potitth/oVgh: Yo"u'b;i;vryouTnLw^ 
 
 " it. •• sLetVs?wh» I [ !,"!:R'*'''"K gentleness and 
 
 sweetness, .she l<K.ked like one of these women 
 
 !8 or nRVntinn <rti. «*V.^ .__l_* «. 
 
 wuld .send for her. I never saw the use of it. 
 ."»!?' ;•»/"" *'""^ 'his is the party?" 
 Oh, I dare say. It don't make any differ- 
 
 «ice any way. Nobody would take the\rouble 
 
 to come to yon with a sham storv " 
 ''That's a fact," said my father. ~ 
 "wJi ""'-f® but you've tfot to take her." 
 
 whySght" •""■•"•' ^°"''""'^°' 
 
 "I don't think any thing of the kind," returned 
 
 Ji^%rse^r£..''^°"'^"''"^'''«'«he's"t^e 
 
 who liv» li.,„o f , """'Y "»o one or inese women 
 wno me lives of devotion for others, who «uirer 
 out of the spirit of self-sacrifice, and count thJr 
 
 ™ri T T l"'^ '"'P'""^*'' ^ nothing in com- 
 pamon with that of those whom they love. My 
 heart warmed toward her at the fi™t glance I 
 saw that this place could not be altogi her cor- 
 rupt since she was, here. ""'"Keinor cor- 
 
 "I am Mr. Potts's daughter," said I-"ai^ 
 youMrs.Compton?" ' "* 
 
 «4'ovSi^^-i=:;l^^S' 
 L^Ji:^^Z"!l!!«:!-^.«™^:^"iv4Sg 
 
 .,,, , ,^ 6 loot »hnr.i.» " *^™>"*" ""«r and the 
 
 "Ifyou're the girl," he said. "voi. onn ~u • ' "'"' ^^e me was such a lo^ik as one 
 
 of you. 
 
 Oomptonl At the mention 
 !tadder passed through me. 
 lie family of the murdered i, 
 ance Hved with his murderer 
 out • 
 
 "••^ -s^wii III 
 
 ndl Ipd ever 
 '^'ih^Hith 
 1 expopt- 
 i companion 
 
 "Where is 
 
 I«tood quieUy. Had J not been prepared for 
 
 bX dL!.'"'"'." *'•'/ '»'«'" perhSrhave 
 ^ LHTt.-""^*"" f!?^'- ^"' I had .rekd the 
 
 I«S|d there^^neariyhalf an hoorr^ta. 
 
 to «3 " ^' """^-^^^ ^''"' "J"^ 'he piazza 
 ?alf l*^.*""^- 7''"^ •'"<* «^ently forgot 
 S dL; w' Ta ^^ '•"' " "«° camLtowai 
 ^e dAor who did not look Uke a senJlL li 
 «« *;essed in black. He was a ^W v^ 
 1«mbhng man, with thin, light haiUKd'aft 
 
 why ? Ami then sofrightful'?' 
 ThU nf ' r^ hand and co,v«red it with kisses. 
 This new outburst surprised i^B as much as hc^ 
 former fear. I did not know what to do ''Ah' 
 aword,prepared"~fo"r7hewoAtrrd'™T "^Z^ffi"""' ""^ t'^"'''" «he murmured; 
 fXeTairruS''''^^ woman, VciSn ea"h r"' ''' '=°'"^>'^^' "^ "^ «" P'-- on 
 
 A servant was passing along. " Where is c.f^hH",*"""^^ ^^ the tenderness and sympathy 
 M«. Corapton ?" I Lked * ^""^ '" ?L''^ '?','«• I* was full of the gentlest love 
 
 '"= "^ - ' How did you come here?" I Asked 
 
 She started and turned on me her former look 
 
 of fe^r; 
 
 Comptdn. You are timid. Do not be afraid of 
 me. 1 am incapable ot inspiring fear." ,-* pressed 
 
 >Sc!TfinH^ll''' ***"? *° •'""^^ ^hat it is. 
 Mnce I find one like you living, here it wiU not 
 seem altogether a place of desf&ir " 
 
 Oh, dear child, what wbrds ai-e these ? You 
 speak as if you know all. " r^ 
 
 J- 1 know much," said I, "and IhAve gnffeixsd 
 
 "Ah, my dearest I you are tooy^ung and too 
 
 I 
 
 i-., 
 
104 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 beantifiil to suffer." An agony of sorrow came | ated, and nothing that money could effect would 
 over her face. Then I saw upon it an expression ' (be spared to render it the most splendid festival 
 
 which I have often marked since, a strange strug- 
 gling desire to say something, which that excess- 
 ive and ever-present terror of hers made her in- 
 capable of uttering. JSome secret thought was 
 in her whole face, but her faltering tongue was 
 paralyzed and could not divulge it. 
 , • She turned away with a deep sigh. I looked 
 at her with much interest. She was not the wo- 
 man I expected to find. Her face and voice 
 won my heart. She was certainly one to be tnwt- 
 ed. But still there was thin mystery about her. 
 
 Nothing could exceed her kindness and tender- 
 ness. She arranged my room. She did every 
 thing that could be done to give it an air of com- 
 fort. It was a very luxuriously furnished cham- 
 ber. All the house was lordly in its style and 
 arrangements. Tliat first night 1 slept the sleep 
 of the wcflry. % 
 
 The next day I spent in my room, occupied 
 with my own sad thoughts. At about three in 
 the afternoon I saw him come up the avenue. 
 My heart throbbed violently. My eyes were 
 riveted upon that well-known face, how loved! 
 how dear ! In vain I tried to conjecture the rea- 
 son why he should come. Was it to strike the 
 first blow in his ju^t, bis implacable vengeance ? 
 I longed that I might receive that blow. Any 
 thing that came fiiom him would l>e sweet. 
 
 He stuid a long time and then left. What 
 passed I can not conjecture. But it had evident- 
 ly been an agreeable visit to my father, for I 
 heard him laughing uproariously on the piazza 
 about something not long after he hud gone. 
 
 I have not seen him since. 
 
 For several weeks I scarcely moved from my 
 room. 1 ate with Mrs. Compton. Mer reserve 
 
 that could be imoglined. 
 
 I did as he said. The dress-maker^ leame, and 
 I allowed them to array me as they'cHosei. My 
 father informed me that he would not give me 
 the jewels till the time came, hinting a fear that 
 I might steal them. 
 
 At last tlie evening afl'ii^. Invitations had 
 been sent every where. It was expected that 
 the house would be crowded. My father even 
 ventured to make a personal request that 1 would 
 adorn myself as well as possible. I did the "best 
 I could, and went to the drawing-room to receive 
 the expected crowds. 
 
 The l»Ui! came and passed, but lio one ap- 
 peared, My father looked a little troubled, bfit 
 he and John waited in the drawing-room, t-erv- 
 ants were sent down to see if any ona was ap- 
 proaching. An hour passed. My father looked 
 decjdy enraged. TVo hours passed. Still no 
 one came. Thrpe hours paswed. I waited calm- 
 ly, but my father and J^n, wjio had all lh« 
 time been drinking freely, became furious. It 
 wos now midnight, and all hope had left them. , 
 Tliey had been treaty with scorn by the wh^e- 'I 
 county. \, 
 
 The servants were laughing at my father's dis- 
 grace. Tlie proud array in the dttferent rooffls ■ 
 was all a mockery.- The elaborate tire-Hwks 
 could not bo used. „ 
 
 My father turned his eyes, Indamed by «nger 
 and 8trong^drink, toward me. 
 
 , "She's a d< d bad investment,' 
 
 him sav. 
 
 It," I'^rd 
 lid not deiKifii 
 
 !«igif< 
 
 " I told j'ou so,"' said John, who did ik>t ( 
 to look at me ; " but you were determined^; 
 •They then sat drinking in silence fur soia^l 
 was impenetrable. It was with painfTlT fear ancK time. • 
 
 trertibling that she touched upon anything con$* "Sold!" said my father, suddenly, witli' an 
 
 nected with the affairs of the house or the family, 
 
 ' .1 saw it and spared her. I'oor thing, she has ai- 
 rways been too timid for such a life as this. 
 
 ' 1 At the end of a month I began to think that I 
 
 ''"^oiild live here in a state of obscurity without 
 being molested. Strange that a daughter's feel- 
 ings toward a father and brother should l)o those 
 of horror, and that her desire with reference to 
 them shoidd be merely to keep out of their sight. 
 I had no occupation, and needed none, for I had 
 my thoughts and my memories. TheM memo- 
 ries were bitter, yet sweet. I took the sy^eet, 
 and tried to solace myself with them. The days 
 aM gone forever ; no longer does the sea spread 
 
 ) wide ; no longer can I liear his voice ; I can i 
 hold him in my arms no more ; yet I can re- 
 member*^ " 
 
 "Das siigse^te Oliick fiir die tranemde Bmst, 
 Nach der Bchonen Llehe vcrKcliwnndeher Last, 
 8lnil il^r Mebo Schmerzen uiid KisKen." 
 
 I think I hi»d liveil 'this sort of life for three 
 montlis withovt seeing either iqy father or 
 brother. «.- 
 
 At the eili{of that time myfather Aentfor me, ^ , , 
 i' lN> informed mathat he intended to give a grand > you'll !« 
 
 me to do the Ifonors. Ile^liad ordered dress- 1 "No,''i(iafd my father, with gome aiii)e»nuice 
 makers for me ; he wished m^ to wear some jew-, of vexation) '* nqf thKt ; vfeW take our title the 
 els which he had in the house, and informed rae way all the lorda do, from tlje estates, li ^ 
 
 ofth. 
 
 John made no reply. 
 
 "1 thought the county would take to' her. 
 She's one of their own sort," my father muttered. 
 
 " If it weren't for you they might," said John; 
 " but they aiin't overfond of her dear father." 
 
 '^ Br.t 1 sent out the invita in her nanci" 
 
 " Ko go anyhow." 
 
 " 1 thought I'd get in with them all^ght away, 
 hobnob with lords and biA'onetb, and maybe get 
 knighted on the spot." 
 ' 'John gave d long 8ct«am of laughter. 
 
 "■Vou old fool!'" hi cried; "so that's what 
 you're up to, is it ? Sir John — hd, ha, ha ! Vou'll 
 never bi made SiiHlohn by parties, I'm afraid." 
 
 " Oh, don't yon be too sure. I'm nut put 
 down. I'll try again," he continued, nfier i| 
 pause. <'*'Kext year I'll do it. Why, slie'H ranr- ■ 
 
 ~ ■ in- 
 
 ry a lord, find then won't I l)e a lord's fl|(lier-ii 
 iawL What da you say to that ?" • ". 
 "When didl'^u get these notions in y« 
 
 blessed 1)1 
 
 "Oh 
 myself, 
 
 taked John. . 
 
 them — It's not no much for ■ 
 but for you. For if I'li} a lord 
 
 l i fchftl" 
 
 fathi 
 
 that it wpu)d be the grandest thing of the kind Lord Brandon, and yben I die you'll get the tii 
 that had^ever taken place. Ii'ire-woits were go^ ! tie. " ' ' 
 
 ing to be let oflf; the {(roundo were to fe iUumin- 1 '.' And that's-your little game. , Well, yoa're 
 
 o 
 
pbyed such good little games in your 1 
 got nothing to say, except—' lio it '' 
 
 CORD AND CREESE, 
 life that I've 
 
 lOS 
 
 "Where?" 
 she 8 the one that'U give me a hft " a , u "• ""^ """^ ^'^ "ot a word. 
 
 ^Well, she ought to be able to do something " th^MT u""^ ^ ''*"''« °f "<-''•*''«. and hinted 
 By this time I concluded that I hXlone mv fiit'^a^"'"' "''" ^°° ^'"''' ^"^ething abont^ 
 duty and prepared to retire. I did not wNh t^ '■ n.' " """"'"" "'"' ^ «"*'! ">» I repented 
 overhear any of their conversation?^ As I hS^ ' w h^.d^'''"""' T '*'"''"'" f""" »'eadTo f^l 
 oat Of the room I still heard their remarkr: | was ^ ternble7w'T" "'^''T '^'''" '^^""^^'''i^'' 
 
 "'""' ■* "•"' ' - ' ' T.Z'Z'!^.'!'^^ "t.seemed to me as though 
 
 « ni . i u . . ^' " "'"" remarks : 
 
 jelfthe Queen," suid John. 
 " It's the diamonds, Johnnie " 
 
 :l!!.t .'L"L"'''_'i> 'l"? «'^' '■e'^lf- r don?f like 
 
 another would be death. I tried to'sornhp" w" 
 but^she looked tearfully at meloJVZg tJ^e 
 
 .^iSS'^^L^r'^1!"^':^^-''^ whether 
 
 .he;.yshe WVfWk nlrtreTndth'J^^^^^^^^ , ^i T"!f^ ^™« ^ « 
 
 " Why that's the way with tha k3 its ' Z,^TIT'"^ **" fl'' ^''^ '^""^J « m« >Wt . 
 what the. lords like." its, deep sadness and shook her bead I do nnt 
 
 .»*« '00* rfoicn.'" •' "ou^KeeiJer, none of the servants pav anv at- 
 
 This was the last I heard. Yet one thing was SZ^.nf ' T'"""'""- '^'''^'^ '" »» '■ni'»J«nt 
 evident to me from their conversation. MyT Stheln h° T"*^" "'^ '^«'- ^ """^ed 
 ther had some wild plan of effecting an enVr^n^ I first 1^.." l^""?l™*^ '" ''«'• room when 
 mtft society through me. He thought tha^^fter 0„™ orTl ? her differently from the rest. 
 *^was onoe recognized he might get sufficient ' halls Thl « "^'^ "''™ '""^"'« "' ""« "f the 
 .nfluencft to gain » title and found I famnv j i wt, hJi Tf "^^P ''^P'^' "' '"s manner, 
 also miff ht marrv „ i^...i 1 1 . .u " ". ™™"y-, 1 1 « hat he does 1 have not yet found out. He has 
 
 also might marry a lord. He thu8"d;Mmed of 
 
 oS S'^ ' '^'^ °"';^^*' K'^''' "°Wes 
 » Amidst, my sadness 1 almjet smiled at this 
 Sd'T^'V'*' ^"*/°'!"''' ^^orO, affected „e 
 \»i !^il# .■ ^. " ^ ''"®*'' """h wl'om tiiev 
 
 x:'chirt=s^3^;^- 
 ..ri^aitrb-^r ''^'^'^'^^ --'"'•''- '^^^^^^ 
 
 j^unng these months Mrs. Compton s tender 
 
 lewtioii to me never ceased. I resixjcte.! her ^ to i^o ,.,„ -n ' i . ° -•-"' • "'"««<^ 
 
 , fcrbm-e to axci.e that painful fear to vhh.h ' lift'"™ i-'lH^'^" ^"""""''^ "«■•« 'here, high 
 lewas subject >()„ce or twice I forgot myself I" ea wS 1 .11 . '* 'T ""' "^iWe^tha 
 
 .ad began spenkmg to her about her «1,ange po- ilH . 1 ]'"" ''« ««««"ated witlt his memory 
 
 mn here, she stopped me with her l^k'of !„ i ts' .^f '""«'"« '^f "■« ""«' ""^ '« J<«k 
 
 ! J?" '."';JP'' e-^Pa;ise, and feed my soul with 
 
 — ^ „„,o „„j, ^.,,^ jouna out. He hna 
 
 always shown great respect to me, though why 
 I can not imagine. He has the ime timidity 
 of manner which marks MVs. Comiton. H s 
 name is Philips. ' " 
 
 ^ I once asked Mrs. Compton who Philips was 
 ; «nd what ho did. .She answered .luickly'haTh; 
 
 to keep hLs accounts. ' 
 
 ;; Has he been with him lonj; ?" I continued, • 
 Ves, a considerable time,' she said— but t 
 saw that, the subject distressed her, so 1 chiin^d 
 
 For more than three months I remained in mv 
 
 alarm. 
 
 I V^*"® 'ooJted at nie piteously. 
 
 I '''^*a are the only one that is kind to me " I 
 
 «. dijtmo. "'"• "' ^"^ ---"•-J. ^y«u' are 
 Slje siahed|ftd was ^Uent. The mys,e,j;abont 
 
 old and dVF memoriei. There it would lie 'ihe 
 same seaj'ixim which he so often save me bver 
 
 atm'f2^""f.'"' '■t''*'^ -l-" '- n".;"^ 
 at my feet, and I gave back that life to him aKaT 
 1 useil to itscend a hill wlfich was half a S 
 hehind the Hall withjn the grounds and na* 
 
 !.''M"„'*i^-'"^".'«'«J:,'>8M did, at leajt r ,ho;i^ht"so 
 lliere for monthsCl nsed to go. 
 
 tne blue water. 
 <^_ far away t9 
 
 *m 
 
 >«n.rm;s!;i;hZ4dTfi.r'g:^mT^^^^^^ ;■" «rtenyard. -ThereV;;:"^;;;^ 
 
 .•Werlove, and her evEr-presenS WW J ''■""''' '" •"•* 'wl^fixedly Aon t 
 fte™ in her past that so iiCc dter SVl7' SCLrf ^""7""''' ^ V - -«y t* 
 
 »fte too Iteen mixed up with thfi rrim« L .i "'«>outh, to that island on the African shore 
 ^«*«..'^e! impossible Liu.XTomo^h^'f h"^"*.*" onc»^ recjinedjo m/ armS?.,^ the 4ltL- 
 «datka« that prist havo b«enrSZ ttw r?!'!^*'?^''"*' "■"' ""y '""«»' «as polhrt on* V* 
 w black a clouTover ber life. TJT wha t-Sa^ t h'il^r^J'T'Jt"'' '^''^'^ ' afterwa'rd S ^' 
 
 iwor; eirtuiaNW feBt-^i(kJ( 
 wjfb them \|iith my iHif, bill 
 
 nnconHc iQus. Me never knew the anguish 
 
 longed to be able to 
 d«red not. . Ue lav 
 
 "Infamy, my blood i., pollution. iC'*'""" ( V^^ "i""*! with tjie e£,o of his voice ; . ej„Id 
 
 m'- 
 
 
 f 
 
 
 Milt. ii„ I 1 B«"«"»i way aoout t 
 
 SSfc.'/^ * ^'"^ '^" out of agUnd? 
 .i^<i^"Triie answered, dreamilv 
 
 ■• .. ■ . <* 
 
 One day th? idea ..a—, 
 tend in^ nmible int<tt|je i 
 den to get • widei" vit^' 
 
 i 'I 
 
 i 
 
 he«d to M- 
 
 'oiits<'de,.jn ^jkU 
 Pt to tht gatS; 
 
.106 CORD AND CREESE, 
 
 ( The porter came out and asked what I wanted. 
 ' I t()la him. 
 
 " 'i>Ki can't go out," said he, rudely. 
 
 "WhVnot?" 
 
 "()h, ihem's Potts's orders — that's enough, 1 
 tUink.-' I 
 
 " He riever said so to mo," I replied, mildly. 
 
 "That's no wdds ; he said so to nic, and he 
 told me if you made any row to tell you that you 
 were watclied, and might just us «ell give up at 
 once. " 
 
 " Watched !" said I, wonderingly. 
 
 " Ves — for fear you'd get skittish, and try and 
 do something foojish. Old Totts is bound to 
 keep you under his thumb." 
 
 I turned away. 1 did not care much. I felt 
 more sui-prise than any tiling else to tliink that 
 he Woidd take the trouble to watch me. Wheth- 
 er lie did or not was of httle conseipience. If I 
 coiUd only be where 1 had the sea before me it 
 wa;^ enough. 
 
 That day, on going back to the Ilall, I saw 
 John .<ittiiig on the piazza. A huge bull-dog 
 « liich he used to ti\ke with him evory where was 
 l^ing at his feet. ' Just Itefore I readied the steps 
 a .Malay servant came out of the lioiise. 
 
 lie was about the same age as John. I knew 
 liiin to be a Malay wlian 1 Hrst saw him, and 
 ciitu'lutled that my father had picked him up in 
 the luist. He was slight but very lithe and 
 muscular, willi dai k glittering eyes and glisten- 
 , iiig white teeth. He never looked at me when 
 I met him, hut always at tlie groinid, without 
 seeming to I* aware of my existence. 
 
 The .Malay was passing out when John colled 
 out to him, . v' 
 
 "Hi, there, VijiA'" 
 
 Vijal looketl careftisly at him. 
 
 '■Here!" rried John, in the tone with which 
 he would have addje.ssod his dog. 
 
 Vijal stop|)ed carelessly. 
 
 " I'ick up my hat, and hand it to me." 
 
 His hat had fallen down behind him. Vijal 
 stood without moving, and rcguritejl him with an 
 evil smile Tr" 
 
 " I)— n you, do you hear?" cried John. 
 "Pick up my hat." 
 
 But A'ijal did ndt move. 
 
 " If you don't, III set the dog on you," cried 
 John, starting to his feet in a rage. 
 
 t^till V'ijul remained motionless. 
 
 "Nero! " cried John, furiously, pointing to 
 Vijal, "seize him, Kir.", 
 
 The dog sprui)g up and at once leaped upon 
 Vijul. \ijal warded oft" the assault with hi 
 arm. The dog seize<l it, aiA held on, as wii 
 his iMture. Vijal did not utter a cry, biit seizin 
 the dog, he threw him on his back,' anil Hingin,, 
 • himself u|M>n him, fixed his own teeth in the 
 dog's throat. . 
 
 John burst into a torrent of the inosl fiightful 
 
 curs-OS. He ordered Vyal to let go of the dog. 
 
 •■ Vijii did not move; *iit while the dog'o teeth 
 
 wc;-e fixed in his arm, his own were ijtill fixed as 
 
 terncionsly in'tlm thront of the dog. 
 
 John sprang forwftrd and kicked him with 
 
 jal sat down, his arm nmning hlood, with the 
 knife in his hand, still glaiing at John. 
 
 During this fiiglitful scene I stood rtxitcd to 
 the spot in horror. At last the sight of \jji,i , 
 suffering roused me. I rushed forward, arul 
 tearing the scarf from my neck, knelt down and 
 reached out my hand ta stanch the blood. 
 
 Vijal drew back. "Poor Vijal," said I, "let 
 me stop this blood. I can dress woupds. How 
 you suti'er!" 
 
 He looked at me in bewililerment. Sunirise 
 at hearing a kind word in this house of Ikihoi 
 se(!med to depri\ e him of speech. Passively lig 
 let me lake his arm, and 1 bound it uj) as Htll 
 a.s I could. 
 
 All this time John stood cursing, first me 
 and then Vijal. I said not a word, and Mjui 
 did not seem, to hear him, but sat regarding nie 
 with his tiery black eyes. When at last I hml 
 finished, he rose and still stood staring at ine. 
 I walked into the house. 
 
 John buried a torrent of imprecations after 
 me. The last words that I heard were the same 
 as he liifR said once before. " You've got to \v 
 took doWi ; and I'll be d— d if you don t gci 
 look down precious soon !" 
 
 1 told Mrs. Compton of what had h.npjieneil. 
 As usual, she was seized with terror. Mic lowkeil 
 at me \Hth a ghmce of fearful apprehension. A: 
 last she gaspcti out : 
 
 "They'll kill you." 
 
 " Let them," said I, carfelessly ; " it would k 
 better than living." 
 
 "Oh dear!" groaned the poor old tliiii|;''* 
 and sank sobbing in a cli:uf. I did what 1 
 could to s(X)the liar, but to little purpose, .'-he 
 afterward told me that Vijal had es. apwl I'lmher 
 ptmishment in spiteof John's threat.-, uiul hinted 
 that they weie half jifraid of him. 
 
 The next day, on attempting to go out, rhili|is 
 told me that I was not to be permitted to leave 
 the house. I coiisldeied it the result of Joliii'^ 
 threat, and yielded without a word. 
 
 After this I had to seek distraction from mv 
 thoughts within the house. Xo\v there camu 
 over mc a great longing for music. Once, wlicu 
 in the drawing-room on that famoin evening <if' 
 the aborti\e Icie, which was the only time I cvtr 
 was there, 1 had noticed a magnificent grand 
 piano of most costly workmanship. The thimiik 
 of this came to my mind, and an imcontpieralili' 
 desire to try it arose. So I went down and be- 
 gun to play. 
 
 't was a little out of tune, hut (he tone was 
 
 elously full and sweet. I threw ni\ self » iili 
 
 cribable delight into the chann of the hour. 
 
 [I the old joy which music once ti.sed to briiiK 
 
 lO back. Imagination, stiiniikted by the 
 'welling harmonies, trans|H)rtcd mo far"iiHi\v 
 from this prison-house ngd its hateful asswia- 
 tions to that happier time of youth when mil a 
 thought of sorrow «inio over mo. I lost mjsill 
 tlmrein. Then that.passod, that life vanished, niul 
 (he sea- voyage iM'gan.. The thoughts of mv 
 mind aiul tbeeihotions of my heart passed doHii 
 to the ipii^vering cli nrds anil tremhlml iiitn liti' 
 
 trighiiui violence. lie Icniiedoniiim and stiunp 
 od on hlin. At last, Vijal drew a knife (Voiii his 
 girdle and made a dnsb at John. This fj jght- 
 elied jlohn, who fojl back ciirsingr \ iial then 
 raised his heiA|, 
 The dog (Siy rootionless. He was dead. Vi- 
 
 aiiil sound. 
 
 1 do not know,^ow long I find been plnjing 
 when suddenly I hoard a sob l«hiiid mo. I 
 slurted and tiimod. It was Philips. 
 
 He wBi) standing with tears in hjs eyos'and o 
 rn])t expression on his emaciated ta«o, his'liandi 
 
cursing, first me, 
 I word, ami Mjai 
 sat regarding iia 
 hen at last I luul 
 3d staring at me. 
 
 mprecations after 
 »rd were tlie same 
 ' You've got to Iw 
 I if vou don t gei 
 
 ily; "it would le 
 
 hut the tone nns 
 threw imseltHitli 
 harm of tli» hour. 
 ice used to brinn 
 iiniilated li.v ilie 
 ed mo far nwhy 
 i hateful assM'Jii- 
 Koutii when wit a 
 10. I lost mvseir 
 
 life vanislie<l, Rill! 
 
 thoughts uf inv 
 icart passed liiiw" 
 riMiih|p{l iriln liti- 
 
 lind l)een jilajing 
 > liiBhiiid me. I 
 
 hj^g listless, and hi.s whole air that of one 
 m as 1 turned and stopiwa,* the suoll that 
 
 "Can you sing?" . 
 
 " H'ouid you like mo to do so ?" 
 
 I bo'^m'.^r'''' '" " *"'""'• 'mplorinK voice. 
 1 began a ow song-a strain a.s,K-i«ed with 
 
 krif w'"^/' "'"'^•' ' had imZn 
 
 Wien /I stopped! turned again. Phflin; 
 had not changed his attitude. uTt as I turS 
 he^^uttered a„ exclan^.iOn and tore out .1 
 
 ''•HeJ'kmr^r^;:^'''^"^^-'^''-'-'^^'- 
 
 Uith these words he ruslied' out of the room 
 i Kept up my musir f„r about ten days whp'n 
 
 Tu 11*' /JT"" "'"PI** ^'"^"''- I 'v,i in the . 
 ' ^r," wl"^," t heard heavy foo,s.r 
 
 ^1? 
 
 
 -fl 
 
108 
 
 CORD AND CREE3E. 
 
 He turned and left me. I closed the piano 
 forever, and went to my room. 
 
 The year ended, and a new year began. Jatiu- 
 ary passed away. My melancholy began to af- 
 fect my health. I scarcely ever slept at night, 
 and to'eat was difficult; I hoped that I was going 
 to die. Alas ! death wUf not come when one calls; 
 
 One day I warf in my room lying on the couch | 
 when Mrs. Compton came. On entering she | 
 looked terrified about something, bhe spoke in { 
 a very agitated voice: "They want you down 
 stairs." 
 
 "Who?" ^' 
 
 "Mr. Potts M>4 John." 
 
 "Well," said I, and I prepared -to get ready. 
 *' When do they want me ?" 
 
 " Now,", said Mrs. Compton, who by this time 
 was crying. 
 
 "Why are you s^^itated?" I asked. 
 
 " I am afraid foryBu." 
 
 " Why so ? Can any thing be worse ?" 
 
 " Ah, my dearest! you don't know — ^you don't 
 know." 
 
 I said nothing more, but *ent drtwn. On en- 
 tering the room I saw my father and John seated 
 at a table with brandy before,, them. A t^iiyd 
 man w^ (here. He was a thick - set, njun of 
 aboui the same height of my fiither, buti)r»6re 
 muscular, with a strong, square jaw, thick neck, 
 low brow, and slem face. My father did not 
 show any actuid ferocity in his face wliatev^r he> 
 felt ; but this .man's face expressed relentless cru- 
 elty. \ '' ^ 
 
 On entering the room, I walked up a little dis- 
 tance and stood looking at theih. ' 
 
 "Tliere, Chirk ; what do you think of that'" 
 said my father. ^ ^ j,, 
 
 The name, Clark, at once, made known to me 
 who thin man was — that old associate of my fa- 
 ther — his assistant on b<)ai;d the Vishnu. Yet 
 the name did not add. (5ne whit to the abhor- 
 rence which I felt— ray father was worsei even 
 than he. .. , 
 
 The man Clark lookedT Bt .me scrutinizingly 
 for some time. 
 
 "So that's the gal," said he, at last. 
 
 "Tiint's the gal," said my father. 
 
 Clark waved his hand at me. "Turn round 
 sideways," said he. 
 
 1 looked at him quietly without moving. He 
 repeated the order, bnt I took no notice of it. 
 
 " D— n her !" said he. " Is she deaf?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said John; "but she's 
 plucky. .She^l^ust as soon you'd kill her as not. 
 There isn't any way of moving her." « 
 
 " Turn round I" cried my father, angrily. 
 
 I turned as he said. " You see;" said ho, with 
 a laugh, "she's been piously brought up; slie 
 honors hv fiither." 
 
 At this Clark burst into a loud lai^;h. 
 Some conversation foUqwed aliout me as I 
 stood there. <Jlark then ordered itte to turn 
 round and fitco him. 1 took m\ notice; btit on 
 my father's orderiiig1t». I ol>eyodjas b^^.. T-his 
 appeared to amuse them Kill very grB^tly. jiw^'M 
 
 "TOO" 
 
 done. Clark gave me many AttnmaiuW on pur- 
 pose to se^ my .refni'tUand-hwepiy fitther's^or- 
 . der Wl^ich followod"9bcye<I. * ■ 
 
 " Wdl," said be, at bst, leMiinit back> Hb 
 chairy''Tihei»ftshov^y.pieceof Airnitiire.* Jfotft 
 iim Wt 4 iMd oner«itl|iir. " 
 
 He rose from his chair and came toward me. 
 I stood looking at him with a gaze so tixed iinj 
 intense that it seemed as if all my being weu 
 centred in my eyes. 
 
 He cume up and reached out to take hold nf 
 my arm. I stepped bock. He looked up an- 
 grily.. But, for some reason, tiia mnmuut that 
 he caught sight of my face, an expression of fcui- 
 passed over his. 
 
 •"Heavens!" he groaned; "look at tjiat 
 face!" ' . 
 
 I saw my father look at mp. The samp lior- 
 ror passed over his countenance. An uwt'al 
 thought (<^me tp me. As these men turned their 
 faces away frcmi me in fear 1 felt my strength 
 going. I turned and rushed from the room. 1 
 do not remember any thing more. \ 
 
 It was earjy in February when mis occurred. 
 Until the begiiming of August I lay sensclcs.s, 
 For the first four months I hovered faintly lie- 
 tween life and death. " . V 
 
 Why djd' they not let me die ? Why did I not 
 die ? Alas ! had I died I might now have been, 
 bcyond-this sopow : 1 have iraked to meet it all 
 again. ^ 
 
 Mrs; Ojmpton says she found me on the floor 
 of my Own roon), and that I- was in a kind of 
 stupor. ' I had no fever or delirium. A dcwtor , 
 came, who said it was a congestion of the br;jin. 
 Thoughts like mine might- well destroy the brain' 
 forever. , ' y 
 
 For ,a month I have been slowly rew)vcring. 
 I can ndW walk about the room.- I know nu- 
 thing of what Is ^ing on m the house, and wi^h 
 to know nothing. Mrs, Compton is as devoieil 
 as ever, 
 ■"tlliyielgot thus far, and will stop hi;r©; I liave 
 beeti several days writing this. Lt^iust stop till 
 I am stronger. / 
 
 •f .;. CHAPTER -XXVi 
 
 THE BV2ANTINK HYHNtSTS. 
 
 More than a year had passed since thnt visit 
 to Thornton Grange which bos already been men- 
 tioned.., ,Despard had n^t forgotten «r negleetc) 
 the melancholy case of the Brandon family. He 
 hud written in all directions, and had gone on 
 frequent visits. ' 
 
 On his rtjtum from one of these he wCnt to the 
 Grange. Mrs. Thornton wast'Sitting^in the draw- 
 ing-room, looking |)ensively out of the window, 
 when she saw his well-kuown figure advancing 
 up the ave^tie. His face was sad, and iiervadctl 
 by a melancholy expression, Which was noticeable 
 now as he walked along. 
 
 But when he came into the roon} that hiclan- 
 choly fac» suddenly lighted up with the tnohl 
 rauliant joy. Mrs. Thonitpn advanced to irteft 
 him, and Iv^ took -her hand in both of his. , 
 
 ''I ought to sat-, welcome back again," laU 
 she, with fnrced liveliness, "but fou may have 
 b£en 'in Ilolby a-it^k foj" i)U I knoyr. When 
 did you come'backl' Confess nhw that y'm h»ve 
 
 imjf vourself itr yntir stutty insteajlw 
 paying your resiiects in the prttper <iuartcr." 
 
 •'•Despard B(niled. "I arrivcKl homo at eleven 
 this morning. It is now -three f.m. by my wntchi', | 
 Hhiil I say how ImpatientlV. I have> waited ^iU" 
 . three o'clock should cqm^ - *. " 
 
 ^',.0h 1^6 ! 'dun'tttsay lany Uiing of ihe aorL I . 
 

 CORD AND CKEKSE. 
 
 can imagine all that you would say. But teU me 
 where you have been on this last visit ?" 
 
 «>dfiXToL!"^''"^"' «'-'•-•'•"« -t 
 
 •'Have you been to London again?" 
 "Where have I not been?" 
 By this time they' had seated „ themselves 
 My hm journey " said Despard, 'Mike my fori 
 njerones, was, ofcou.^, about the Brandon af- 
 
 frnswMrTht^^s^xs 
 
 that nothing whatever can b" done HnT"'' ^"""""^ ^''' "«^ '^'="' '° ''»« Hall 
 know, also that I coulHot sitXvn ^ Z ' '" --' ""' '' '' «""=«• 
 calmly under this conviction. I have felt most 
 keenly the presence of intolerable wrong. Eve^ 
 day I have felt as if I had shared in the h.famT 
 of those who neglected that dying man. 'Iha^ 
 was th« reason why I wrote to Australia to see 
 If the Brandon who was drowned was really the 
 
 ZL^^^'^- i'r'"'''y"'''"''^.»hathewa8 
 the same man, and there is no doubt about that 
 
 'fhere was one who said that if I were rich 
 r"i.>, ^h""!^,''.*^^" " prosecution, but as I am 
 not rich that d.d me no good. That man w'ould 
 
 L . „ , , — :" »•<""• A"uc man would 
 
 Sa^"k5- ' "" ^°'""' '^ '•"^^^ ""''^''"''en 
 
 hJlt^!"" •"• 't?™ W^"" •'•*' «" hardens the 
 "TJ l""1.i ^?-..7'"'""°"' "*■'«■■ a pause 
 
 """rly all the more spiritual qualities ?" 
 I don t think that th« law does th:s neoes- 
 «.nly. It depends after aU on the man him- 
 self. If I were a lawyer, I should still love 
 iau«c above all tilings." '"» io>e 
 
 mtiS "• '^''^ ^°" *-*'*'■ ''"°"' * '""'>'" ^'^'^ 'o*'e<l 
 
 th.'i.TC ?f'.''"?'^,''"°"?^ of them to answer 
 tnat. I nut m England music is not loved so de- 
 
 hS "' '?, *!•'""■. "'""*"?'• ^« *' incpnceiva- 
 ble that an Ital.an lawyer s),o.,ld love music ?" 
 
 1 don t know. I^w is abhorrent to me* It 
 Sti" * P"^*"^'"™ that kills the finer sen- 
 . " Why 86, ,inore than medicine ? 'ITie feet is 
 "wnere ordinary men are concerned any scien- 
 Ufif profession renders Art distasteful. At least 
 mu IS BO in Kngland. ' " 
 
 100 
 
 l^m"2J" ^ '" *^.^"«g« of Bmndon. I 
 Tent on t.^' »"^'"'«'° «1"iries. ^ Without ex- 
 ffnlt^ f„ T°P'? ,«.''nP"'^ed with the unfor- 
 tunate family, and looked with detestation uron 
 the man who ha.l supplanted them. ^ 
 
 1 heard that a young Indy went there kst 
 year who was reputed to be his daughter E^ 
 
 She has ner- 
 
 but a burly John BulT, which made Jiis storv lu 
 
 one like her should go into that place and" never 
 be _seen again, I_do not know what to think of 
 
 ftu IS so in Kngland. After all most denTn u n . i • °."^ *^°"''* teUJiow. T 
 
 on the man himself, and one who i.rdl!h a " m.'^rr h"^^' P'-^f "HTainst him 
 ke»n sensibilitv tn .h« ',.»,o™.. „r" ^ ^ „ "^"' .* . ""' ' found out in Brandon il.n «, 
 
 Do you suppose that she really went them 
 and never aime back ?" "^ ^^"^ 
 
 " That is Mgiat they say. " 
 
 there/'*'" ^^ "^' '^"^'■^ '•"' ^^^ >"*•'«?» 
 "Yes, so they do." v 
 
 matted?" '''' '''^^"'"" '"'"' »ome step& in the 
 
 ^^'^^V^u^^y '^"^ ^^^ h idsVughter 
 Some of the vdlagera who havea>oen to the Ihi i 
 at different time^say that theyAeard her Dlav- 
 mg and singing. 'V|^ jM|t«i™ ner piay- 
 
 "That does not sognd like imjirisonment.'" 
 ^ 1 he caged bird sings." 
 
 ' .! /\^" ^'°}' "''"'' '*'•« iM Jlrisoner?" 
 
 I think u odd that sheC never cQme out. 
 not even to go to church*' ^ 
 
 "It is odd." 
 
 '"This man Potts ex'cUed sufficient Interest in 
 my mind tolead me to make many inquiri^ i 
 found^ throughout the county, that e^very body 
 utterly despised him. They all thoueht th«{ 
 poor Ralph Brandon had bee^ almost S. anl 
 l^y liLs madnegs had ruined his family. Every 
 
 him, but no one could teUJiow. They could 
 
 i.«»_ •; •,. — '. "" """ """ '" oorn wit I a 
 Lew sensibiUtytothe charms of art will carry it 
 through life, whatever his profe*i6n.may be '' 
 
 «ut suppose the man himself has neither. 
 h^^Jfin f "''"^''"y' "«' *ny appreclatioii of the 
 bwutiflil, nor any syjnpathy.whatewr with, those 
 ^who 16ve such things, what theh?" " 
 
 Well, said Despartl, "that question an, 
 «werg itself, As a-man is born, so he fs and if 
 nature denies him taste or sensibility it mrikes no 
 aifertnce what is his profession. " 
 *' w l'''0'7'too Wjade ,no reply. 
 
 , , ^.^.t.llCIL 111111. 
 
 I A, u n. **"' '" l^rondon the sad particn- 
 Itirs 6f the final fate of the poor wife^d her 
 unfortunate children. They h'il been sentlwar 
 or assisted away by this Potts to Amerka, and 
 had all died- either on the way out or/shordy 
 
 -. 6., ...i»..„«.r y^f.V''«J'''«<J«rHved, according to the jfllagers^ 
 
 Jrs. Tliomton si>oke earnestly ..she -ked t /[IZ 'S^Xt^T^fc 
 
 Hn have .^H J''™- i norntoo njade ,no reply. 
 sj«5^#=s«=======^-*»»t journey, '' *itd.bei<pimir**Trar 
 
 JeBjandon^cas^-i-rS^nS^ 
 tf .omething cmld not te dow. I h^ been 
 ^ Aere before on the same errand', but without sue- 
 em. I was eouully unsnccessfhl this time. " 
 
 I tri9d to And out abo.lt Pott»,'jhe man who 
 had purchased th64*t«te, but .leanl^tbit it wa^ 
 
 >i. .« .i. . — .r '-" "■»»•. M Bceinea lo me 
 
 that they must ha*e received this information 
 
 « M. "' Jir^""' ^^° ■■''"'•' *" 'hat poor com- 
 .mirtty wouKfhavo been able to bace thVfortnne. 
 of tho-unhai)py emigrants." ■ 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 " I faav ■ ^^ * • 
 
 ,.\» 
 
 ve d nng lU l t hfl tliiMJ,'* toi4 1) e!ji> a r d . — 
 
 LC ^m*'"'"'!'":"'' ""'' I suppose no^hin^ 
 WW renjafiw to be d-.tje, When w^ hear agaiS 
 from I mf6 there may 1h! some pew informatton 
 upon \Wiich \j;e can »^-" 
 
 "A»^-yo 
 poets. " " 
 
 VVes, if.^i-vijjjlj^igtraa.' 
 
 Jou,cai| go back to y«ur BysandqB 
 
 ''-ill 
 
 
 i'^ 
 
 ¥■■!' 
 
 ■' f' 
 
 .n 
 
 ■h ' 
 
110 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 cooling draught ?" said Despfird, eagerly. ' ' Yo» 
 oi)eii heuvuii before me, and ask mjuf 'i will en- 
 
 ter. 
 
 HtUI 
 
 His voice trembled, and he patisti'd. 
 
 " You never forget yourself, said Mrs. Xhora- 
 ton, with slight agitation, looking away as she 
 sj)oke. " ' 
 
 " I will be back at any hour you say." 
 
 " You will do no such thing. Since you are 
 here you must remain anddine,^nd then "go with 
 me. Do you sujjpose I would trust you ? W'in, 
 if I let you go, you might keep me waitiiiga 
 jf hole houfri" 
 
 '\Well, Jfyour will is not law to me what is? 
 'fo stay will only 
 
 " Y«^ know 1 shall onlWhe too happy.!' 
 " JtmS I «teU be etemaily'grateful. Yon see, 
 M I roM yon before, there is a field of labor here 
 for the lovar srf music which is like a new world. 
 I wiil,^awe ^m the grandest musical compositions 
 thai you liave ever seen. I will let you hrfve the 
 oH hymns of the saints who lived" when Con- 
 stattinnple was the only civilized 8|)ot iu.Kuroi)e, 
 and the Christians there weie hurling back the 
 MfeiBunraedans. You shall sing the noblest 
 songs that you have ever seen." 
 
 •• How — in tireek ? Y'ou must teach me the 
 alpiasset then. 
 
 • No; I wiU translate them for you. The 
 Greek hymns are all in rhytlimical "prose, like ! Si)eak, and your senniit obfeys. 
 the Te JJeimi and the Glur'ui. A literal trans- add to rh* happiness." 
 lation can be sung as well as the originals. You i " ThenNjet me inafekjou happy by forcing vou 
 wU tlien epter into the mind and spirit of the to stay." "^'^ 
 
 ancient Eastern Church .letbre the days of the j Despard's face showfed hi? feelings, and to 
 '*'l'"I?' .. . ji"ige hy its expression his language had not 
 
 'ies, contmued Desnard, with an enthu- been extravagant. 
 siasm which he did not care to conceid, " we \ The iflernoon passed quietlv. Dinner was 
 will go together at this sweet task, and we will served lip. 'J'hornton came in, and greeted Des- 
 sing the kM' iKdrrn)v vfttpav, which holdii, the i pard with his usual abstraction, leaving his wife 
 same place in the Greek Church that the 7e | to do the agreeable. After dinner, as usual, lie 
 JJnim does in ours. We will chant «pgether' the prepared for a nai). and Desjjard and Mrs. Thorn- 
 Golden Canon of St. .solin Uainitscene — the ton started for the fOte. 
 
 Queen of Canons, the p-andest song of ' Christ I It was to be i»i some gardens at the other ami 
 IS risen' that mortals ^ver composed.' Your of Holbv,, along the shore. The townsi)eoi)lc 
 heart and mine will bear together with one feel- 1 had rece"mly formed a i)ark there, and this wn- 
 ing at the sublime choiaj. strain. We will sing one of the i|>reliniinaries to its formal inaugtira- 
 the 'Hymn of Victorj'.' We will go together tion. 'J'he trees were hung with inniiniernlile 
 over the songs ^ St. Cosmas, St. 'I'heophanes, ' lamps of varied colors. There were bunds ot 
 and St. Theodore f>t. Gregory, St. Aiuilobus, ; music, and triumphal arches, and gay festoons. 
 and St. Andrew of Crete shall inspire us ; and and wreaths of flowers, and every thing that is 
 the thoughts that have kindled the hearts of I usual at such a time. 
 
 martyrs at the suike shall exalt our souls to On arriving, Despard assisted Mrs. Thoiiiton 
 heaven. But I have more than this. 1 have from the carriage and ottered his arm. She Umk 
 some compositions of my own ; poor ones, in- it, but her hand rest^ed so lightly on it that its 
 deed, yet an ettort in the right way. They are j touch was scarce iwrceptible. They walkeit 
 u collection of those hymns of the Primitive around through the illuminated paths. Great 
 
 t 'hurch which are contained in the New Testa- 
 ment. I have tried to set them to music. They 
 are: 'Worthy js the Lamb,' 'Unto Him tha't 
 loved us,' 'Great and marvelous are thy works,' 
 and the 'Trisagion.' Yes, we will go together 
 at this lofty and heavenly work, and 1 shall be 
 able to gain a new interpretation from vour sym- 
 pathy." 
 
 Despard sjwke with a vehement enthusiasm 
 
 crowds of jKiople were there. All looked with 
 respectful pleasui^ at Mrs. Thornton aud the 
 Rector. 
 
 " You ought to be glad that yon have come,' 
 said she. ".See how the.se |MX)r peojile feel it: 
 We are Hot [jersons of v^y great conseipienc*. 
 yet our jireseiice is mni-keff and enjoyed. " 
 
 "All places are alike to me," answered Des- 
 pard, "when I am with you. Still, there are 
 
 that kindled his eyes with unusual lustre and ; circumstances about this which will make it for- 
 spread a glow over his pale faCe. He hxiked like ever memorable to me. " 
 
 some devotee under a sudden inspiration. Mrs. 
 Thornton caught all his enthusiasm ; her eyes 
 brightened, and her face also flushed with ex- 
 citement. 
 
 " Whenever yon are ready to lead rae into that 
 new world of music," said she, '■ 1 am ready to 
 
 '■ " Are ffc willing to begin next Monday ? " 
 - " Yes. All my time is my own." 
 
 "Then I will come for yon." ^ 
 
 "Then I will be waiting for yon. By-the- 
 way, are you engaged for to-night ?" 
 
 •• No; why?" 
 
 " There is going t. !ie a fete champetre. It 
 
 but 1 have to go to ptay the pdltmlfertk, Mr 
 Thornton does not want to go. Would you 
 lacriflce yourself to my necessities, and allow mo 
 yvur escort ?" 
 
 " Would a thirsty man be willing to accept a 
 
 " Look at those lights.'exclaimed Mrs. Thoni- 
 ton, suddenly ; " w hat varied colors 1" 
 
 " Let us walk into that grotto, 'said Despard, 
 turning toward a cool, dark*'pluce which lav be- 
 fore them. 
 
 Here, at the end of the grotto, was a tree, at 
 the foot of which was a seat. They sat donni 
 and staid for lioni-s. In the distance the lightc 
 fwinkle<l and music arose. They said little, but 
 listened to the confused miirmi'ir which in the 
 pauses of the music came up fii>m afar. 
 
 Then they rose and walked \m'k. Entering* 
 the principal path a great crowd streamed o.) 
 which they had to fiice. 
 
 ing low and s|>eaking in a sad voice, "are coU' 
 pelled to go against the tide." 
 
 "Shall we turn back and go with it?" 
 
 " Wo can not." 
 
 " Do you wish to turn aside ?" 
 
 'ltwMkeirPniir<n" 
 
 M-. 
 
CORD AND CKEESE. 
 
 I Mrs. Thorn- 
 
 "We can not. Ve must wnlk against the i 
 Ode and against the rusli, of men. If tve turn 
 
 III' 
 
 rkness." 
 
 iill tliey reached the 
 
 pme," said Mrs. 
 
 Yes, I am thinking 
 
 sjiide there is nothing but u 
 
 'ITiey walked on in silene 
 gate. * 
 
 '"ITie carriage has not 
 Thomtcm. 
 
 " bo vou prefer ridinc?" 
 
 '' fl'" ""* <■"'■■ Will you walk ?" 
 "^ith pleiism^i" 
 
 , They walked on slowly. About half-way thev ^ 
 met the carnage. Mrs,,yhornton ordered k 
 
 .he wa^'"^ ',' "■""' "•" "^'^ '°f 
 
 "• ;T!l/V"^r'.! "" "'""''y' ^y'^^s so httie that 
 
 at last Mrs 'Ihomton began to ..^eak about "l?e 
 ■ ..5k^. which they had proposedVo undertake 
 espard s enthusla^ seemed to have left him 
 lis rei,lies were > ague and general. <Jn reai^l 
 mg he gate he stood still for a moment, under 
 the trees and hnlf turned toward her " Yni 
 don t say any (hiiia about the music ?" said she ! 
 Ihat s because I am so stupid. I- have losf 
 my^head. I am no; capable of a smgle coherent : 
 
 "You are thinking of something else all th? 
 
 " My brain is in a whirl, 
 of something else." 
 "Of what?" 
 "I'm iifiaid to say." 
 
 Mrs. Thornton vtm silent. Thev entered th^ 
 gate and walked up the avenue, slo^lv an^„7 
 lenee Despard made one or two effbrts to s"on 
 nnd then continrted. At last thev reached Th^ 
 oor. he lights were streaming "brightly from 
 the window. Despard stood, silently ^ 
 »V ill you not come in ?" 
 " No, thank you, " .said he, drramily. " It i J 
 mther too late, and I must go. Good-night. " I 
 He held out his hand, (ihe offered hprs nn^ 1 
 he took it. „e held it long, anSf s!Lo;;d "as ' 
 though he wished to say something. Nhe felt ' 
 the throbbing of his heart in his'^hand as 
 clasped hers. .She said nothing. Nor did Des 
 pard seem able to say any thing. At last he 
 let go her hand slowly and reluctantly 
 .. Vou will not forget the music ?""said he. 
 
 "Good-night." 
 
 ,i,"rJ°*'u ""*'■ '!""'' "««'" '" •'o'h of his. As 
 *BhghtHhone through the windows she saw his 
 h^a fi.ce full of longing beyond words, and 
 sadness unuttenible. ' 
 
 "Gootl-night, she faltered. 
 
 He let go her hand, and turning away was 
 bst amjdst the gloom. She waited, till the^sJn^ ' 
 
 On the following moitaing Despard was walk ' 
 ■ng «k,ng when he met her suddenratTcoraer 
 « VT'- u "" ^^PP*"! ^'th * radiant f^r 
 
 hlH IS 
 
 too much happinuM 
 
 '-- -= "Tj-jn ii B oO| — i^i j " n Ul nil Tft Mt 
 
 »„.. K "^V <>T light to a poor captive when 
 
 yoa.bnrst rpon me so suddenly'^Where are you 
 
 ;;0h, I'm only going to do a little shopping." 
 
 k: 
 
 ;; Well, %hy not?" ' 
 
 n>y £e"'Ld''tlfar^f^^'""'' """^ «''°PP'"« ''^ "°' 
 esfemiar- ' ^- P""*'*""^* *"Wd not be 
 
 He turned, however, and waIlf»H «,i.i u 
 
 tr^te"''^. ttar p'"^."^'' ""-' 
 
 ««iJ %, on parting ''WiirT'""" """''''" 
 Monday? Ifyou "fon 't rV r," ^"""^ "'''^' 
 tortheconse.'uencJs " ' ^ """' ^ responsible 
 
 , m^t^coraEr*" "^' ^''^' ''"'' --" «^P-% 
 ;; I did not hope for any thing else. " V 
 
 'you l'lot1:Zr^'r ™-' -li <-or me. If, ^ 
 I)e.spard's eyes brightened. 
 
 'priviS; 'i'";,,''"*"" r" """'^ me so sAv'eet a 
 
 " ffn„ <• • ^' ."'"' '"^'•ompanv you. " 
 laugliliig;; '*"' '^•^ ' """ »tay a^ho,^e,"said she, 
 
 ! wW u^^Hhe'c^iV^ V"' "PP"'"''''' '""e ' 
 there, j:id M.' i^Sn "^^ ^TXo^'Tr 
 deep disappointment. \The strangers vireeW 
 
 "'h. w '^ f ""■ "'"■ '""• «"1 Sv4 wTa note 
 his handftm r;^'" ''°"]«'.!'°^'inX not^hi 
 
 I was so anxious to go with vou to thf church 
 t to-day «bout our music. I know my own i^w 
 ers; t«y are not contemptible; thev are not 
 iSSv ^ ""^ "'^ "i>'' -'1 -^o''y and 
 
 S?if^=-"cie-^uis 
 
 b^icH fi,r .^^"^ ^''t "P y*""" ""•""""ipts !ad 
 
 Suwy^it:.';^ T„"c'' '^"'' --'' 
 
 ** TP 'p '' 
 On Thursday Despard called, and IVfrs. Thom- 
 tor».was able to ,accompaHy him. The church 
 w«8 an old one, and had one of the best — 
 Hi, t. f v ^^^^"^"^ ^'^ '» P% ""d Bhe tS 
 
 c-reSa^diriM '^'^' ""'' '"« "''««'« -"^e 
 XrlZv '«K''''.V^"tten out from tb^pnscions 
 
 7ri.STo'highr """^•"^ "^ '°^'''' •«• ''^'^^ . 
 
 ht. John Damascene, who, according to Desl 
 pard was the l«8t of the I^tsJern liymn^t^ M^ 
 1 hornton s voice was rich atid fiiU.' As she came 
 n. ?■■ °:'^° -yf ^>'/'°-Iies jirrfrt ion T) « v - -!T -— 
 ?««Ffir«pre oflndescribalile exultation biend- 
 >..g with the triumph peal of the. >,KarDes2d 
 
 SJc^andTJTT.'^'^P' ''^»'^- «•«« ■ 
 hasso— and tbeir blended strains bore aloft tha 
 
 sublimest of ^t^^^ancea, "Christ is JTwsn !'" " ,' 
 
 men followed a more mournful chant, full of 
 
 sadnos. and profounjJ^meUncholy, the rix/Zuv 
 
AND THEIB BLKNDKU 8THA1N8 BOKK ALOFT THK SVBJLIMEST OF CTtEBANCBS, ' CMniST 
 
 » 18 ariskn!'" .' > 
 
 dairattfuiv — the Last Kiss — the hymn of thedlgcul, 
 by the same i>oet. 
 
 Then followed a suhlitner strain, the hymn of 
 8t. Theodore on tUe Jiulgmcnt — n/c I'mipav Ttjv 
 ^■cnjv — where all tlhe hon-ors -of the day of 
 doom are set forth. ITie cRnnt was commensu- 
 rate with the dread splehdors of the theme. ITie 
 voices of the two singers blended in jwrfect con- 
 cord. The sounds wliich were thtis wrought out 
 
 hflre tfaemccives throu^lt tlwi vuultMl mkIw, retum-^ 'flw <4>«ww w^TTfinWeloniroiift H w w lw fi P 
 
 tnar atrn'in tn iiyait- fwtrn r^at^ti irvmn ..finn fn *lin.» »■■.«. ana_u^... »....* .,C ^ :_<>^.. 1 -J* * . ' 1 
 
 n^spdrd then prodnc«!(l some compositions of 
 his own, made after the manner '" the Kastem 
 chants, which he insisted were the primitive nonp 
 of the early Church. The words wore those frag- 
 ments of hymns which are hnfteddetl in the text 
 of the New Testament. He chose first ilie song 
 of the a|igels, which was first sung hy "* lirait 
 voice out oFhBaw.n"— iVHii'iff; aaivd Toi'hm -V»- 
 hold, the'lahernticle of ^o<i is wfth men .' 
 
 ing again to their own ears, imparting to their own 
 hearts something of the awe with which imagina- 
 tion has enshrouded the Day of days, and giving 
 
 to their voices thot^addened cadence which tRej ing." Th«f« wm a gentle ranrtmir in the ftov'' 
 «d spirit can convey to its material utterailce. j of tlfcit solemn, soothing strait wliich waslik: 
 
 sorrow past, of ^ef stayed, of mis.^ tt «n enil 
 forever, of teanj dried, and a'timp when "thers 
 shall be no n)ore death, uQithdr sdrrow nor erf-. 
 
UE8, 'CHRIST 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 
 bop^ al-holv cato, and sZ/'S. '^°"^'' 
 
 As Deapard rose from the or^n Mm Thorn 
 
 ton looked at him with moistened m^ ^°™" 
 
 rhat, he repheX "it is ours "to aim after 
 liere is such a worl<l\ t.; .i.„. ....... ,." ""^'^• 
 
 tal reach? Yn,;"..""^''®"' ^'^^ »nor- 
 
 do h„t^K • A. " ""^^ '^"'' '" Joing what vou 
 as I amf "" ""^^ ^'^^ '^''"« "»« '^ «« «tuS 
 
 take me toXch„;cht"4r /!".■■ '"""/"^ *" 
 as well Kive vou un Tt ^ ..L*" 'P*""^ ' may 
 h«ro o % ^ P" " " «8 difflcu t to tet voii 
 
 r.„1™l*'L!HL"!y «'r<'"ie« 1 have two or 
 
 -«..„ • ■: •^I'-'Tft « IS ours "to am aftpr " a_- i ,7 "™ "™nu i^ama of Thilipt 
 f«h.„h.l,|„„r„„";i,SZ'S~"i ■^''.""* '>"l»"' "P" l» . note .Jfeh h. 
 
 We sang it here. 
 
 D — — ...I. ./Ill uuys [[ 
 
 gotten days now past forever. 
 We stood hand in hand " 
 His voice faltered. 
 ^ " Sing, " he said, after a time, 
 lean not." 
 
 . ^ Despard sighed. " Perhaps it is bettei* not • 
 a a^ ''"'"''' »' "- --"'f'Jly. Aud'sSd no-t 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 CLA8PED HANDS. 
 
 . TtoEiR singing went on. 
 
 The}' used to meet ince a w^lr «„j • 
 ,*e chu.h « the organ. Vesjatf aZt/s^it 
 
 Krew 'to^ „ ""•""' r":"P'' '=*""« in'" •"*«, and 
 
 "..^fSJWr ^"^ V™' Senerally with a sweet 
 w ."elf SIrrf* * tendern^Hs of greeting 
 iM W U . , '*"''y *" '«" on hi« knee! 
 i>etoi^ hor. Ho^ else oould he feel ? Was she 
 
 presence 
 
 "S% ■' " "ndeV oar control 
 To love or not ta love t" 
 
 .iSrj.Z'; r?/ >,';r "I""' ih* «.* 
 
 
 ;j.aj.dto,w;i;h;i;; e^irrr^/ i, 
 
 '>.riw,.a.>,g|'S;y, : : , g; js^ 
 
 on infi Hiiliioj.* .r^r -^ • * . . 
 
 .?rJ,»" .'SfcT.r' Si", ';-""■ ^"W 
 
 I „ ■ r—'^" mmr an i 
 
 hS:^^i^;Wof^;^';":r^ 
 
 C f "^'P« meetings ho ,wis bon- 
 h&ta^r. , '!""K^-" sweet face smiling on 
 
 , objectlf iiSffit^ Pt:.? "P"" *Ws gne 
 - minotaser-l A ha|,py boy h.,^|:^,d.i„ ^he society ofthi. 
 
 ■ i^r 
 
lU 
 
 CORD AND CREESK 
 
 del 
 
 / 
 
 ■weet playmate, then a yontig girlof his own 
 age; a happy boyhood, here in Holby, where 
 they had always been -inseparable, wandering 
 band in hand along the shore or over the hills ; 
 a happy boyhood where she was the one and 
 onfy companion whom he knew or cared for — 
 this Wjis the sole legacy of his early life. Leav- 
 ing Holby he had left her, but had never forgot- 
 ten her. He had carried with him the tender 
 memory of this bright being, and cherished his 
 nndying fot^dness, not knowing what that fond- 
 ness meant. He had returned to find her mar- 
 ried, and severed from him forever, at least in 
 this life. Wlien he found that he had lost her 
 be began to understand how dear she was. All 
 life stood befyie him aimless, pointless, ahd 
 meaningless without her. He came back, but 
 the old intercourse could not be renewed; she 
 could not l)e his, and he could ouly live, and 
 love, and endure. Perhaps it would have been 
 wiser if he hnd at once left Holby and sought out 
 some other nbotlc. But the discovery of his love 
 WAS gradual ; ii came through suffering and an- 
 guish ; and whpn he knew that hi^ love was so 
 intense it was then impossible to leave. To be 
 to breatlie the same air, to see her face 
 , t^ nurse his old memories, to hoard 
 embranees of her words and looks — 
 became the chief occupation of his 
 iilitude, and the only happiness left 
 life. 
 !iy he went up with a stronger sense of 
 n; in his heart- than usui^l, going up to 
 see her in' order to get consolation from the sight 
 of her fate and the soimd of her voice. Their 
 former levity had given place to a seriousness of 
 manner; which was very different. A deep, in- 
 tense my shone in the eyes of each at meeting, 
 but that quick repartee and light badinage which 
 tliey had used of old had been dropped. 
 
 M^usic was (he one'thing of which they could 
 specie without fear. Despard could talk of bis 
 liyliantino poets, rtnd the chants of the 'feastem 
 Ohiirch,'withont being in danger of reawakening 
 jMiinfiil memories. The piiitio stood close by, 
 ' and always aflljurded a convenient mode of dis- 
 tracting nrtention when it became too absorbed in 
 one another. 
 
 For Mrs. Thornton did not repel him ; she did 
 not resent his longing; she did not seem forget- 
 ful /)f what he so well remembered. How was it 
 with her who had given her hand to another ? 
 
 "What she fplt the while ' 
 
 Dure be think f" 
 
 ' Yet there were times when he thought it pos- 
 sible that sne might feel as he did. The thought 
 brought joy^ but it also broiigjit fear. For, if 
 the stniggle ag)lin«t this feelmg needed all the 
 strength of his nature, what must it cost her? 
 If she. had such a stWiggle as he, h^w could she 
 endure it? Then, as he considered this, he 
 thought to himself that he would rather she would 
 not love him thn^ love him at such a cost. He 
 was ivilluigit-fT^'n-riHfT his own heart. He wish- 
 =«l"«nly {o^dore.hcf, and Was coiifefif fiiarsRe 
 should receive, and permit, and accept his adora- 
 tion, herself unmoved — a paJ^sionless divinity. 
 ^ In t)icir intercourse it was strange how fre- 
 quet^tly there were long pausOT of perfect silence, 
 during which neither spoke a word. Some- 
 times each sat looking at the floor ; sometimes 
 
 they looked at one another, as though <hey could 
 read each other's thoughts, and by the mere gaze 
 of their earnest eyes could hold ample spiritual 
 communion. 
 
 On one such occasion they stood by the win- 
 dow looking out upon the lawn, but seeing no- 
 thing in that abstracted gaze. Despard stimd 
 feeing her, close to her. Her hand was hanging 
 by her side. He stooped and took that little 
 slender hand in his. As he did so he tiembled 
 from head to foot. As he did so n faint Husli 
 passed over her face. Her head fell forwnid. 
 Despard held her hand and she did not withdraw 
 it. ])es])ard drew her slightly toward him. She 
 looked up into his face wjjh large, eloquent 
 eyes, sad beyond all description, yet speaking 
 things which thrilled his soul. Helooked down 
 upon her >«ith eye» that told her all that was in 
 his heart. She turned her head eiixay. 
 
 Despard clung to her hand as though that hand 
 were his life, his hope, his joy — as though that 
 alone could save him from some abyss of desjiair 
 into which he was falling. His lips moved. In 
 vain. No audible sound brokp that intense still- 
 ness in wliich the beating and throbbing of thofie 
 tycp forlorn hearts could be heard. His lips 
 moved, but all soimd died away upon them. 
 
 At last a stronger effort broke the silence. 
 
 "Teresa!" 
 
 It was a strange tone, a tone of longing nnnt- 
 terable, a tone like that which a dying man might 
 use in calling before him one most dear. And 
 all the pent-up feeling of years rushed forth in 
 concentrated energy, and was borne to her cars in 
 the sound of that one word. She looked up with 
 the same glance as before. 
 
 " Little playmate," said he, in a tone of infr 
 nite sweetness, " have you ever forgotten the old 
 days? Do you remember when you and I last 
 stood hand in hand?" 
 
 His voice sounded like the utterance of tears, 
 as though, if he could have wept, he would then 
 have wept as no man wept before ; but his ,eye8 
 were dry through his manhood, and all that tears 
 can express were shown forth in his tone. 
 
 As he began to speak her head fell again. As 
 he ended she looked up as before. Her lips 
 moved. She wlilspered but one word : < 
 
 "Courtenay!" 
 
 She burst into a floQd of tears and sank into a 
 choir. And Despard stood, not daring even to 
 soothe her, for fear lest in that vehement ,conv^^ 
 siop of his soul "all his ^f-command should give 
 way utterly. 
 
 At length Mrsi Thornton rose. "Lama." 
 said she, at last, in a low, sad voice, " let us go 
 to the piano." 
 
 "Will you sing the Ave Maria f" he asked, 
 moumftilly. 
 
 "I dare not," said she, hastily. "No, any 
 thing but that. I will sing Rossini's CujusAni- 
 mam." 
 
 Then followed tboBe words which tell in loft? 
 strains of a broken heart : 
 
 Calus anfmam gementcm_ 
 
 ContrlBtiitam et flehentcm" 
 Pertrausivlt gladlusi 
 
iaf" he asked, 
 
 lich tell in loftj 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 JOUBNAL OF PAOLO LANOHETTI. 
 
 *„^!If hi^'"' 2''«»""0" Mw Despard next she 
 Aowed him a short note which she had hst re 
 cdved fronr. her brother, accompanying h^^!!,'"" 
 
 Hall/ttx, A},ril 10, 1847.— I exist he™ h.,* 
 ■wthing more. Nothing is offerj^ ? AmM 
 .oionml town that can afford interest IJfeT.^8 
 un^monotonously. The officers and their fSs 
 m what hey are every where. They areZ a 
 He and^pieasant, and try to get the best ouTof 
 hfe. Ihe to,vnspeople are hospitable, and there 
 IS mnch refinement among them 
 
 d,^?'!!f^^^'''"■"'^'"°'' 1'^" in a cottage ont- 
 Mde of the town, whjre I can be secludid and 
 
 .t once Ma s™ageli.d:^ L " Frot'thelnr 
 m,t of a h.11 appropriately named MoTnt Mi "A^" 
 
 Kht5rn.r ''"* ^''^ '''-" ^"^-s 
 
 The winter has passed since my last entiT an.I 
 
 ?tn?<;.rora"m^- I •■"•« '-™<1 ?o licat"' 
 Jd T .« ,S moose-hunt with Colonel Des- 
 
 " HM «^ f ^^""'" 'l°'^« "'^ " 'noose which I 
 Uled are low over the door of my studio I 
 Iwvc joined in some festivities ami h„v« i 
 the honors of my house. ItTs an old fill "? 
 wooden structure which tC IZ^^^'^'^ 
 (^ the winter has passed, and April is now here 
 In his country there is no spring. Snow isvp; 
 
 wen ""illi' ^T' ^ ''*''' «"''^«'' ^y '"-easure 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 -, 110 
 
 wSh'so d.«f ''%*'"'^ P'""^" ''"•• '^hich she long, 
 r^ h if^P * fcnging. There is sympathy in 
 a^l those hearts with one another. Sh^S n 
 
 nd thettre'bir^T ""*« ""»- «"•' -^? 
 uiiu inese are but the utterances of what she fepl« 
 
 «mh^hes^W,«,o„,h„t human words can 
 
 ThevtelMR^.^ «•"'' ^•"'''«'' "♦ '■e'' bouI. 
 iney t61«|mat the first time they sane it ^ 
 
 thev camelo this passage slie bu^t int^ tl» 
 
 ancf sank down alm^ sensel^s : '^ 
 
 it "na St peSis'llf '??« collar JSSJSr'*: 
 Cone.p,ent.b^^aSra*n>Zta™^''Shs. 
 
 a^lovewS^S^'rSf^X^^ 
 
 , SSSr-^^etor. • 
 
 •"^1' lii^aciwT™" '•""««'■ «oes on pleas- 
 in ind h.Sw"fn'rf'' " '°'" ^"'-bree.effish- 
 
 fiam^^Z^eirr""'"'^ -"-h o„e can 
 
 ' finliie^ljWtV"'" Tho^'f"^'^'^ oMWBrey 
 ™«!at has sZhtl J''\'^««P ^alm of that holy 
 
 H»cid. She s in ""^V'''- ?"'* ••?' 8^"^» '"»'•« 
 '^ehasl.enexVdt;he^£i,!;T£rh2;2:| 
 
 agiTr' ** ^'•~''''"' '^•'"'^^ "»•«' «>o"Tie' he,^ 
 
 terE'""^;^"' '" ""'" f ""■•''^'' ''y 'he Holy Sis- 
 a sai^r T^''-\"i['''' '"^'" ""'• 'ook upon her w 
 
 Wie told them onc« that she was tiofa Catho- 
 I'c, but that any fotroof worship waL sweet ami 
 precious to her-most of all, thetofj u«era„ces 
 of he praye^ and hymns of the Church She 
 
 wlh '■"I*" *° •^"8""^' »>■" «»vs that God 
 
 wishes only love and ,,niise. Yet she joins in aM 
 their ntes, «„d in this House, w ere Jl at 
 offfirt""' ^''^-n-- '^ in tirde'r^fove 
 
 td^'^T" ^' ^^^^—^ '"'^■<' «een her for the firn 
 time in many months. .She smiled I never 
 sjiwter smile before, except once in the sh n 
 «heu I to d my name and made her mo her t..ko 
 my place in the cabin momw. take 
 
 leayement, i told her all about the sad fate of her 
 brotber L„u,s,^yhich your old friend Co«i^„av 
 
 i Xened'wirT"'^"^'' '° ""'' "-'«^«" 
 " He in not dead^ ' 
 
 knowirsay '"*■" ""^ """«^ ^ ''id "<>« 
 For Loui, Brandon is known to have faUen 
 
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116 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 overboard from tho ship Java daring a tremen- 
 ious monsoon, several hundred miles away from 
 any land,. How could He possibly have escaped 
 death ? '' The Captain, whom Courtenay Despard 
 found out and questioned, said he threw over a 
 hen-coop and a paiL These could not save him. 
 Despard also inquired tor months from every ship 
 that arrived from those parts, but could learn 
 nothing. The next ship that came from New 
 South Wales foundered off the coast of AIMCa. 
 Three passengers escaped to Sierra Leone, and 
 thence to England. I^espard learned their names,* 
 but they were not Brandon. The information 
 which one of them, named Wheeler, gave to the 
 ship-owners afforded no hope of his having been 
 found by this ship, even if it had been possible. 
 It was simply impossible, however, for the Falcon 
 did not pass the g]x>t where poor Brandon fell 
 '^overboard till months had elapsed. 
 
 All these things I knew, and they came to my 
 mind. She did not notice my emotion, but after 
 a pause she looked at me again with the same 
 earnestness, and said, 
 
 "My brother Frank is not dead." 
 This surprised me as much as the other. 
 "Are you sure?" said I, revertntly. 
 "lam." 
 
 "How did you learn this? All who have 
 inquired say that both of your brothers are 
 dead." 
 
 ' ' They told me, " said she, " many times. TTiey 
 said that my brothers had not come among them 
 to their own place, as they would have had to 
 come if they had left the earth. " • 
 
 She spoke solemnly and with mysterious em- 
 phasis. I said nothing, for I knew not what to 
 say. 
 
 On going home and thinking over this, I saw 
 that she believed herself to have the power of 
 communicating with the departed. I did not 
 know whether this intelligence, \vhich she be- 
 lieved she had received, had beeti gained in her 
 trance, or whether she thought, that she had re- 
 cent interviews with those on high. I went to 
 see her again, and asked this. She told me that 
 once since her recovery she had fallen into that 
 state, and had been, as she called it, "in her 
 home." 
 
 I ventured to ask her more about what she 
 considered a communion with the departed. She 
 tried to speak, but looked like one who could not 
 find words. It was still tho same as before. She 
 has in her mind thoughts which can not be ex- 
 pressed by any human langiiage. She will not 
 be able to express them till such a language 
 is obtained. Yet she gave me one idea, which 
 has been in my mind ever since. 
 
 She said that the language of those among 
 whom she has been has nothing on earth which 
 is like it Except music. If our music could be 
 developed to an indefinite extent it might at last 
 l>egin to resemble it. Yet she said that she some- 
 times heard strains here in the Holy Mass which 
 reminded her of that language, and might be in- 
 telligible to an i mmofl dgy***' 
 
 This is ihfl idMHCoshe imparfavl to mn^ »nH 
 "T have thoi^tTWrever since. 
 
 Auffutt 2H. — Great things have happened. 
 . ■ When I last wrote I hiul gained the idea of 
 transforming music into a language. The though]^ 
 came to me that I, who thirst for music, and love' 
 it and cherish it above all things — to whom it is 
 
 an hourly comfort and solace — that I might rig« 
 to utter forth to her sounds which she might hear. 
 I had already seen enough of her spirirual tone 
 to know what sympathies and emotions might 
 best be acted upon. I saw her several times so 
 as to stimulate myself to a higher and purer ex- 
 ercise of whatever genius 1 may have. 
 
 1 was encouraged by the thought that from mr 
 earUest childhood, as I began to learn to speak 
 so I began to learn to sifig. As I learned to 
 read printed type sp I read printed music. Tlie 
 thoughts of composers in music thus became as 
 legible to me as those of composers in words. 
 So all my life my knowledge has widened, and 
 with that knowledge my love has incrfeised. Tliis 
 has been my one aim in life — my joy and my de- 
 light. Thus it came to pass that at last, wheii 
 alone with my Cremona, I could utter all my ort) 
 thoughts, and pour forth eveiy feeling that was 
 in my heart. This was a language with me. I 
 spoke it, yet there was no one who could under- 
 stand it fully. Only one had 1 ever met witli to 
 whom I told this brides yourself—she could ac- 
 company pje — she could understand and follow 
 me wherever I led. I cotdd speak this language 
 to her, and she coold hear and comprehend. 
 This one was my Bice. 
 
 Now that $hejftLd told me this I grasped at the 
 thought. Never before had the idea eStered mr 
 mind of trying upon her the effect of my music. 
 I had given it up for her sake while she was with 
 m^ not Kking to cause any sound to disturb her 
 rapt and melancholy mood. 
 
 But now r began to understand l|ow it was 
 with her. She had learned the language of the 
 highest places and had heard the New t^ong. She 
 stood far above me, and if she Could not under- 
 stand my music it would be from the same reason 
 that a grown man can not comprehend the words 
 of a lisping, stammering child. She had that 
 language in its fullness. I had it only in its cru- 
 dest rudiments. 
 
 Now Bice learned my words and followed me. 
 She knew my utterance. I was the mastei^-she 
 the disciple. But here was one who could lead 
 me. I would be the follower and disciple. From 
 her I could learn more than in all my life I could 
 ever discover by my own unassisted efforts. 
 
 It was mine, therefore, to struggle to o'. ercome 
 the lisping, stammering utterance of-my purely 
 earthly music ; to gain from her some knowledge 
 of the mood of that holier, heavenly expression, 
 so that at last I might be able in some degree to 
 speak to this exile the language of the hone 
 which she loved ;r that we, by holding commune 
 in this language, might rise together to a higher 
 spiritual ittnim, and that she in heimjlitude might 
 receive at least some associate. 
 
 So I proposed to her to come hack and staj 
 with me again. She consented at once. 
 
 Before that memorable evening I purified mj 
 heart by fasting and prayer. I was like one who 
 was seeking to ascend' into heaven to take part in 
 that cel&stial communion, to join in the Ne* 
 Song, the music of the angels. 
 
 Hy fnafHig nnH p ntyer T sought H O to Mflend, 
 and to find thoughts and fit utterance for tfiiie 
 thoughts. I looked upon my office as similar to 
 that of the holy prophets of old. I felt that I 
 jiad a power of utterance if the Divine One iroolil 
 only inspire. 
 
 I faited and prayed that lo I might rednn 
 
 tUi grosser mat 
 ^akken evety nei 
 ufthe brain. So 
 protch to the aoi 
 
 ae saints and p 
 entered upon 
 ion, and they had : 
 visitation of angeb 
 A prophet — ^yes- 
 fgr the prophet to 
 DO other way than 
 So I fasted and | 
 from the holy prii 
 sty: 
 
 Mnoda cor menm, 
 
 fid labia Isaiae propi 
 
 For so Isaiah ha 
 
 the Unguage of he 
 
 pUm. 
 
 She, my divinity, 
 
 in iBy house, bore 
 
 me and gentle beyi 
 
 thoughts of her ov 
 
 golf as wide as that 
 
 from the immortal. 
 
 On that evening s 
 
 which looks out upoi 
 
 mqpn shone down th 
 
 the opposite side ro 
 
 ■arrants were away i 
 
 Ah, my Cremona 
 
 were ever able to uttt 
 
 mortals might listen, 
 
 thou canst utter then 
 
 "You are palel" s 
 
 kindly and affectionai 
 
 as a guardian angel 
 
 p«l«. You always foi 
 
 now yon suffer anxiel 
 
 I have my consolatioi 
 
 I did not make an 
 
 mona, and aought'to I 
 
 with hers, to that lol 
 
 tret wandered, that 8< 
 
 less. She started at i 
 
 fbrth, and looked at t 
 
 eyes. I found my ow 
 
 id entranced. Now 
 
 spirstion so longed for 
 
 from where her very sc 
 
 wt of the glory of he 
 
 l^y grew brighter w 
 
 "Ounce, and all my h( 
 
 fwdy to burst in the ft 
 
 ment. 
 
 Now I felt the spiri 
 "Mtosof the inspired! 
 of music which for a 
 [liter forth now at hut 
 >t should sound. 
 
 I exulted in that soni 
 
 lud caught the tone, an 
 
 ra«nmg and exulted, as 
 
 must always exult when 
 
 My which he has ever 1 
 
 "^ed spiritual gaze. 
 
 hhe shared my exult* 
 
 It face swiftly, like th« 
 
 l^wion of surprise and 
 
 Wte lightens up at the" 
 
 »■«•>, in some foreign la 
 
 "Pwtedly hears the sou 
 
tto grosser material frame, and sharpen and 
 «u^en every nerve, and stimulate ev^ Tre 
 ofthe brain So alone could I most n^lyaT 
 pro«:h to the .ommune of spirits. Thus had 
 
 ?T T!S ■""* ''?P''«'« of °»d done when thS 
 haJ entered unon the seareh after this commuS^ 
 wo, and they tad received their reward e^nZ 
 
 A prophet— yes— now, in these days it is left 
 for Uje prophet to utter forth his iiSri™ ion bv ' 
 DO Other way than that of music ^'"™"°° ">' 
 
 ,-!?V*'tf^""'^.P™>'«'*- I took up the words 
 fjm the holy priesthood, and I said, JZy 
 
 For so Isaiah had been exalted till he heard 
 the^guage of heaven, the music of theS 
 
 ■n^ r ^"^u^^' ?^ "^"""^ enshrined again 
 m ay house bore herself as before- Idnd^o 
 me and gentie beyond all expression, hue with 
 thfl«ght8 of her own that ph.^ed be^^^n Ta 
 
 SLrirrS^'-^^^^-p-'-'h-oAai 
 
 mqpn shone down there, the dark, rockylliUs'on 
 the opposite side rose in heavy massif The 
 
 Ah, my Cremona! if a material instrument 
 were ever able to utter forth somids to wl S- 
 mortals might listen, thou, best gift of my fatC 
 tboo canst utter them ! « "' "ly latner, | 
 
 "You are pale;- said she, for she was alwavs 
 kmdly and affectionate as a mother wXacMd 
 « a guardmn angel with his ward. "You are 
 !±.J°"5^""'^'' C""^' yourself for othe^a'd 
 Em^tn^sotS^'""'- ^--«^' 
 
 with hers, to that lofty rSilm where her spirit 
 
 ^ hhe started at the first tone that I struck 
 fon*, and looked at mo with her hi^e el™^t 
 r- l^°"°i'' ">^ *"^ l^«> fixed oS^'er^X 
 «rf entranced. Now there came at hwt th'e"n I 
 2^n«.on so longed for, so sought for It ^e 
 from where her very soul looked forth into S 
 «« of the gloiy of her lustrous, spirituS^ 
 
 wuance, and all my heart rpse np tiU it seemnd 
 IJy to bun.t in the frenzyTthSt insp'ii^^^J 
 
 of music which for a lifet meT^^. k°"* 
 
 owning and exu ted. as the noef nr »i.. • • 
 "iMt always nxnh ^^ ^. '"® """sican 
 «J whi^h he h« *'"'"'""'' «1«« ""Wiraer than 
 
 wt^'r^Siriik^l^'r;. There came over 
 
 ^t^rjri^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ^Ughtens up at the throbbing of his heart! 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 117 
 
 
 I So his eyes light np, and his heart beats fast«r 
 
 h^irtLTi'^' ' ^'i? ^•"^ 'ongingof h^uUfteJ 
 nome, the desire after that home is aDoeased Kv 
 
 TnT.rf,^"^'^ associations. ^^^ ^^ 
 
 thJ/"!^*^ ^\^ *"* comprehended. Now all 
 the feebngs of the mehmcholy months came n,»h 
 
 . ' Oh thou," I said, in tliat lanirawre whi<h mv 
 .flL?!,.^''* commune with them. I y^^ 
 
 thriilh ; ?•"»» hast learned the mystery of 
 *at tiou hast learned I wiU coZ^^'te i 
 bo^'^hL"/ ?"^' "1° »>W«e/n.d to hi- 
 
 g?rw'^rrffiTt^r„?Ti3£ 
 
 Heaven means nothing more than love ofth^ 
 
 "lutSToft; ilS' -- the labor^and the 
 
 Now all this, and much more-far mom-w«. 
 
 ' expressed in the tones that A^ToTZ^Z 
 
 UZJLT'^'UI'"^'"^''- ItcamTfortt 
 It was apprehended by her. I saw it. I knew k 
 
 "t/r"^^- "«' «J<» dilated more wi^;S 
 -my words were not unworthy of her heanW 
 
 T1^«L "' P"^?' """• •"«" o^e"- the soul ! 
 There came over her face an expression which "^ 
 
 JeS^'thrJ^'^t' "".* °f P«"'e1„effablJ!!hJ 
 peace that passeth understanding. Ah me r 
 
 S'^'"'^''''"^'"^'^''- Porshe^l^d 
 walked toward me. And «-^w»t-e»i» J™ - 
 
 ^r.rt""id "^^-^wi^r 
 
 d^ethT h! •^rPJ-'t^P"'""""'! I-^^-^e th« 
 
 tion Th« ♦^ "^^i "•"."'' *^ 't* ho^ in fnii- 
 
 ^e»t^.r„T n***'"'^ '""» "''«" moduUtion 
 — *w«et beyond all expression. 
 
 bhe was so close that she almost tourhMl m. 
 
 Her eyes were still fixed on minSTw^ 
 
 there, but not t«« of wrrow. Herfc^",!!;^ 
 
 <M 
 
118 
 
 COED AND CREESE. 
 
 I DID MOT MAKB ANV HBPLY, BDT TOOK MY CREMONA, AND 80UUHT TO LIFT UP ALL 
 MY 80DI. TO A LBVEL WITH UER8." 
 
 cloM to mine that my strength left me. My 
 arms dropped downward. The music was over. 
 
 She held out her hand to me. I caught it in 
 both of mine, and wet it with my tears. 
 
 " Paolo," gfttd she, in a voice of musical tone ; 
 " Paolo, you are already one of us. You speak 
 our language. 
 
 "You have^aught me something which flows 
 from love— duty. Yes, we will labor together ; 
 asd they -wlHr liro on hi^h wtft tearn even in 
 their radiant home to envy us poor mortals." 
 
 I said not a word, but knelt ; and holding her 
 Hand still, I looked up at her in grateful adoration. 
 
 November 28. — For the last three months I 
 nave lived in heaven. She is changed. Music 
 DM reconciled her to exile. , She has found one 
 
 who speaks, though weakly, the language of thai 
 home. 
 
 We hold together through this divine meaiam 
 a lofty spiritual intercourse. I learn from her of 
 that starry world in which feu- a brief time slie 
 was permitted to dwell. IJer seraphic thoughts 
 have become commnnica^ to me. I have made 
 them my own, and all my spirit has risen to > 
 higher cdtitude. 
 
 Ho I have at teif recetred that revelation.^^ 
 which I longed, and the divine thoughts wWf 
 which she has inspired me I will make known to 
 the world. How? Description is inadequate. 
 but it is enough toJiay that I have decided upon 
 an Opera as the best mode of making known 
 these ideas. 
 
 I have resortei 
 
 ■Uch, though a 
 
 «m, because the 
 
 My Opera is o 
 
 rsfers to Promet 
 
 ihed from her. 
 
 IdJve — since he i 
 
 •Me agonies thr 
 
 r^resents the ol( 
 
 .weeds -^ the glo 
 
 Mem — the inexoi 
 
 Love endures 
 
 triomphs. The 
 
 Athene. Sh6 re) 
 
 life and increase, 
 
 Vengeance and ei 
 
 For so the worli 
 
 that Human Und 
 
 Koified under Atl 
 
 Love over all, and 
 
 of Divine Vengeai 
 
 I am trying to 
 
 rimplicity of the c 
 
 time to pervade it i 
 
 of love in its wid 
 
 chorus of seraphim 
 
 the chief part is thj 
 
 tzbausted myself. 
 
 Bat where can I , 
 
 ly render mv thouj 
 
 isBice? She alor 
 
 Iw the power of cai 
 
 own mmd the ideas 
 
 ill, she alone could < 
 
 i»t over the earth 
 
 •lie is in a laxuriouf 
 
 wonld not listen to e 
 
 Patience! perhapi 
 
 mrveloos voice to r 
 
 December 15. — Ri 
 
 grown more edited. 
 
 •toosphere of that 
 
 will with rapture. 
 
 Mm. We hold intei 
 
 We stand upon a hig 
 
 ■on men. She hae 
 
 ■»Je me to Ije a pan 
 
 Now I begin to un 
 
 nmat world to whi( 
 
 time borne. I know 
 
 her longings. In me 
 
 nnqiienchable thirst « 
 
 Cot there. All h 
 laterial pleasure ( 
 
 I Ijve in a frenzy. 
 "«i« my sole though 
 Oitfaid thinks that I 
 P«yme. Ishiilewitli 
 1*9; being given by th 
 «>ul*|hey but have , 
 S*«ablejoy8to whici 
 
 My Cremona ft mj 
 'hings for me. Ah 
 •ool's flight! my Gui: 
 ■aylnspirer! had ever 
 W earth a lot like oui 
 «> this life ever learned 
 «>inmunion? We ris* 
 •""U" are home up in c( 
 "»piiuie we cease to b 
 
 My Opera is flnishet 
 iWne Love which has 
 
Ihave resorted to one of those classical themps 
 which though as old as civmzatior^ vet Z^ 
 WW, because they are truth ' ^ ^'^^ 
 
 My Opera is on the theme of Prometheus Tt 
 refers to Prometheus Delivered. ,Twr-„ ji' 
 med from her. l-rometheuTrepresints I h?„t 
 Lave-smce he is the god who^u^Sir^endir 
 able agonies through his love fi.r r^„„ "^ 
 
 VMgeance and enthrones the God of Lov^ 
 jonified under Athene^viU^at'S eiJt Div^'; 
 
 --V^ty^TrclScI? fZ^yTatler -^ 
 toe to pervade it aU with ZIZ t^^^S^e 
 of love in us widest sense. It opens wUh! 
 Aorns of seraphim. Prometheus Ent^ but 
 
 i^i'irrys':.^'-"''^*-- o-hatii 
 
 CORD AND eREESE: 
 
 119 
 
 Bat where can I get a voice that can ^equate- 
 ly render my thoughts-our thoughts " Where 
 isB^? She alone has this voi?e; she aE 
 
 5!^ ™n!:?Tr °^ '^"=''L"K "««> absorb ng'.toW 
 <wn mmd the ideas which I form; and" "uh it 
 JB, die alone could express theiT I would wan 
 to over the earth to find her. But ^rhans" 
 Ae « m a luxurious home, where her asS^TaX 
 wold not listen to such a proposal. '^°*'"''^' 
 i^ence! perhaps Bice may at last brinir her I 
 iMrvelous voice to my aid. ^ • I 
 
 2i W„T r- I "^« in a sublime en thu^- 
 tm. We hold intercourse by means of intsfc 
 
 2.'S "The* S!^'^^p';i"« 'h- Vt orom: 
 
 «A. m« ; K * ^^ '^^ "»« there, and has 
 Mde me to be a partaker in her thoughto 
 Now I begin to undei-stand something of thn 
 
 present tnere. All here seems poor and mean 
 Jifll 1 ^"fu'y-. ^y ^"^ « on fire. Mu- 
 
 ycSa",r^^tTix£l"; 
 
 uL^iffi ^,'^° imputed to me in some meas- 
 urti sufficient to enable me to breathe fortht 
 
 have made^t^anae'irdSiX^Jo^en.^ 
 
 I have had one performance of my worT^r 
 
 rather our work, for it is all hen.. Hers are 'tL 
 
 thoughts, mine is only the expi^ion ^ '^ 
 
 mi„h. "*^' "'" * P**^ «<■ «"Mtude in which r 
 might perform undisturbed and with™7 inL 
 
 th^ace as the spot where I might l^ve my ^ 
 
 wet^oirtnf ^""^^ '^^ ^« -•'-'-- 
 
 Mount Misery is one barren rock without a ' • 
 blMe of gross on aU its dark iron-like surface./ ^V^ 
 Around It is a vast accumulation of granit^^d ^ 
 
 ed the ve?^'r''^'^''«««- '^« trel^are sS I . ■ 
 ed, Ae very ferns can scarcely find a nkce to 
 
 sKy 1 he mooii shone with marlelouslustrfi 
 
 riX WnJ. K '*°"^ "" ""« " Wilderness ; on the 
 nght, close by, was a smaU lake, which ^m«? 
 ^kp a sheet of silver in the moon's' rayTCrS 
 on hxy the ocean, stretching in its biundleL if 
 
 en^^old-unmffled-undisturbed in that dead 
 My Opera begins with an Alleluia Choms T . 
 
 tones that accompany them * 
 
 Kho was with me, exulting where I was ex 
 
 bh^s my Inspiring Muse. I invoke hertten . 
 
 thoth^ex^L^'^^^^r^s. ^ir 
 
 on eartl^ and to all m heaven, and that is music 
 I exulted then on that baii, bhisted rock r 
 triumphed She joined me i,^ it aL, We* ex 
 ulted together. We triumphed. We mou?n^ 
 
 we rejoiced, we despaired^ we hooel^^^^ - 
 
 Sn Th^veT*"*^- The ve^in'S: ^ " 
 
 She stood before me, white, slender aerial 
 hke a spirit from on high, as pare as h^t. I 
 
 one common motive. • " o uo^ea 
 
120 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 What is this? Is it love? Yesi bat not as 
 men call love. Ours is heavenly love, ardent, 
 but yet spiritual ; intense, but without passion ; 
 a banting love like that of the cherubim ; all- 
 consuming, all-engrossing, and enduring for ev- 
 ermore. 
 
 Have I ever told her my admiration ? Yes ; 
 but not in words. I have told her so in music, 
 in every tone, in every strain. She knows that 
 I am hers. She is my divinity, my muse, my 
 better genius — the nobler half of my souL 
 
 I have laid all my spirit at her feet, as one 
 prostrates himxelf before a divinity. She has ac- 
 cepted that adoration and has been pleased. 
 
 We are blended. We are one, bat not aft- 
 er an earthly fiitshion, for never yet have I even 
 touched her hand in love. It is our spirits, our 
 real selves — not 'our merely visible selves — that 
 love ; yet that love is so intense that I would die 
 ' for evermore if my death could make her life 
 more sweet. 
 
 She has heard all this from my Cremona. 
 
 Here, as we stood under the moon, I thought 
 her a spirit with a mortal lover. I recognized 
 the full meaning of the sublime legend of Muma 
 and Egeria. The mortal aspires in purity of 
 heart, and the immortal comes down and assists 
 and responds to his aspirations. 
 
 Our souls vibrated in unison to the expression 
 of heavenly thoughts. We threw ourselves into 
 the rapture of the hour. We trembled, we 
 thrilled, till at last frail mortal nature could 
 scarcely endure the intensity of that perfect joy. 
 
 So we came to the .end. The end is la chorus 
 of angels. They sing the divinest of songs thaf 
 is written in Holy Revelation. All the glory of 
 that song reaches its climax in th« last strain : 
 
 " And Qod shall wipe awajMll tears' from their eyes !" 
 
 We wept together. But we dried our team 
 and went home, musing on that " tearless eter- 
 nity" which lies before us. 
 
 Morning is dawning as I write, and all the 
 feeling of my soul can bo expressed in one word, 
 the sublimcst of all words, which is intelligible to 
 many of different languages and different ractts. 
 I will end with this : 
 
 "Alleluia!" 
 
 \ CHAPTER XXVra. 
 
 THIS HC8T KND. 
 
 The note which accompanied Langhetti's jour- 
 nal was as follows : 
 
 "Halivaz, J9M«m6er 18, 1S48. 
 
 "TBRKspoLA iciA DOLCI88IMA, — I Bend yoo 
 my journal, sorelfa carissima. I have been si- 
 lent for a long time. Forgive me. I have been 
 sad and in affliction. Hut affliction has turned 
 to joy, and I have learned things unknown be- 
 fore. 
 
 " Terenina mia, I am coming back to En- 
 gland immediatdy. You may expect to see me 
 Jtt anv time during the next thnfi months. §J)^ 
 will be with me; but so sensitive is she — so 
 strange would she be to yon — that I do not 
 know whether it will be well for you to see her 
 or not. I dare not let her be exposed to the 
 gaw of any one unknown to her. Yet, sweetest 
 ttreilina, perhaps I may be able to tell her that 
 
 
 I have a dearest sister, whose heart is love 
 whose nature is noble, and who could treat her 
 with tenderest care. 
 
 . " I intend to offer my Opera to the vrorld at 
 London. I wjll be my own impresario. Yet 
 I want one thing, and that is a Voice. Oh for 
 a Voice like that of Bice ! But it is idle to wish 
 for her. ' 
 
 "Never have I heard any voice like here, mv 
 Teresina. God grant that 1 may find her ! 
 
 " Expect soon and suddenly to see your most 
 loving brother, PAOto." 
 
 Mrs. Thornton showed this note to Despani 
 the next time they met. He had read the jour- 
 nal in the mean time. 
 
 " So he is coming back ?" said he, 
 
 "Yes.". 
 
 " And with this marvelous girl ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " She seems to me like a spirit" 
 
 "And to me." 
 
 "Paolo's own nature is so lofty and so spirit 
 ual that one like her is intelligible to him. Hap- 
 py is it for her that he found her." 
 
 "Paolo is more spiritual than human. He 
 has no mateiiolism. He is spiritual. I ant uf 
 the earth, earthy ; but my brother is a spirit im- 
 prisoned, who chafes at his bonds and longs to 
 be free. And think whot Paolo has done for 
 her in his sublime devotion !" 
 
 " I know others who would do as much," said 
 Despard, in a voice that seemed full of tears; 
 " I khow others who, like him, would go to the 
 grave to rescue the one they loved, and make 
 all life oqe long devotion. I know others," he 
 continued, "who would gladly die, if by dying 
 they could gain what he has won— the pos.session 
 of the one they love. Ah me ! Paolo is happy 
 and blessed beyond all men. Between him anj 
 her there is no insuperable barrier, no gulf as 
 deep as death. " 
 
 Despard spoke impetuously, but suddenly 
 checked him,'<elf. 
 
 "I received," said he, "by the last mail a 
 letter from my uncle in Halifax. He is ordered 
 off to the Cape of Good Hope. 1 wrote liim a 
 very long time ago, as I told you, asking hun 
 to tell me without resen-e all that he knew about 
 my father's death. I told him plainly that there 
 wjm a mystery about it which I was determined 
 t»iolve. I reproached him for keeping it secret , 
 from me, and reminded him that I was now a 
 matiu« man, and that he had no right nor any 
 reason to maintain any further secrecy. I in- 
 sisted on knowing all, no matter what it might be. 
 
 " I received his letter by the last mail. Here 
 it is ;" and he handed it to her. ' ' Read it when \ 
 yott get home. I have written a few words to^ 
 yon, little playmate, also. He has told me alL 
 Did you know this before ?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, Lama, " said Mrs. Thornton, with a look 
 of sorrowful sympathy. 
 
 " You knew all my father's fate?" 
 
 "Yes, Lama." 
 
 "And yo« kept it seepet^?'- ^^^^^— - 
 
 "Yes, Lama. How could I bear to teD yoo 
 and give you pain ?" 
 
 Her voice trembled as she spoke. Despani 
 looked at her with an indescribable expressioa 
 
 "One thought," said he, slowly, "and OM 
 feeling engrosaea all my nature, and even thif 
 
 news that I havi 
 Even the<tbought 
 M> mysterious, ca 
 have all my life I 
 little playmate, w 
 She was sileni 
 over the keys. 'J 
 which were almo 
 inaudible except tc 
 ton had to bow hei 
 he said. 
 
 "I must go," 
 "and visit Brando 
 I can dp, but my i 
 examination. U'h 
 with it. My unci 
 
 make an exuminat; 
 "And you are g 
 
 Thornton," sadly. 
 Despard sighed. 
 " Would it not h 
 
 her hand in his — "> 
 
 littleplaymote, ifl, 
 She gave him on 
 
 I^en tears filled ha 
 " This can not gt 
 
 "It must come to ti 
 
 CHAI 
 
 BEATRIC 
 
 October 30, 1848.- 
 and 1 am still for fro 
 ataost altogether. \ 
 Itay succeeds day, ai 
 My window looks 
 there and feed my he 
 that sea ^Is up. it 
 solitude. It is music 
 iflice. Oh, how I gh 
 down by its margin a 
 how I should rejoice 
 over me forever I 
 
 November 15, — Wh 
 
 now I do not know. 
 
 iiotUng to record. J 
 
 us gentle, and as affe( 
 
 poor, timorous, kindly 
 
 iier. Poor wretch, h< 
 
 liow did Mrs. Compto 
 
 December 28. — In st 
 
 constant seclusion I fet 
 
 surveillance, not from 
 
 others, i have been t 
 
 fortnight and perceived 
 
 walks .^mho were at work 
 
 lieir eyes:— i,8ee that i 
 
 MowthatI wasofsuffl 
 
 Vesterday a strange i 
 
 Compton was with me 
 
 other my thoughts turn 
 
 huve often tried to form I 
 
 How could she ever hav( 
 
 fc^r? WhatcoaMsh 
 
 4^rtnrnedtoMr8. t 
 
 'Did you ever see mi 
 
 What there could hav" 
 
 •M not tell, but she treii 
 
 wft greater fear in her ft 
 
 fflwfcofoie. This time 
 
 il 
 
 \-'^'rfi<., .'t , 
 
■m 
 
 CORD AND CKKESE. 
 Bww that I have heard can not driv« !» ■ ^^^ 
 
 little playmate, what those thouKhto are?" 'L .*^/' ''="«* Mw- ComDtoii 3rl«nl„ .< u 
 She wa. silent l^pards & "Lered f"" I '7'. " T "^ '• ^onXk at SS- "''' 
 orer the keys They always s,K,ke in low t»^ Shi h"/ .""''?"'^'l y°"> " said I kCIv 
 
 1 '"''' ^'>^ i aomq litre t ll'l,„t .i„ .i 
 peopk want with me f wZL /A <^° ''>«^« 
 
 1 can write no more. ^ ^ '^'-^ ^""'"'^ '"«' 
 
 — ._. „„„ „j5„,„_ J jjg know whnt 
 
 ^.hit. MynnclePVa^^^irTm^S 
 make an examinatioif " *' 
 
 no^o^Z^T. ^'"« """^ '^«-'» ?" «id Mrs. 
 Desjiard sighed. 
 
 linleplaymate, if I ..ZV^^^lTrlZ^P' 
 
 i>r,atdc;°e"f '""" "' «"^-^™-^- 
 '•;;iSt':^r^r^s>^'-"--^- 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX, 
 
 BEATRICE'S JOURNAL. 
 
 ahnost altogether. ^^/LmTLl^l^Z 
 
 I """T^^" '^y- "'"^ ««•=»' day is a blank ^^ 
 
 My wtedow looks on the s^, and I «;„ sit 
 there and feed mv heart nn tho ™„ J • . . 
 that sea calU im i, • ^ memones which 
 
 Musea Wis up. |t is company f* me in mv 
 
 S Oh^h'" ""."t^' """"KV can-noTh^rTt^ 
 >T)ice. Oh, how 1 should reji/ce if -I pouU m 
 
 SiffoSe7r«'^'^°--«--o^^flS 
 
 ^r, timorous, kindly souL sends me flowera hv 
 
 meillance, not fromM™ (im^ ^^ «>nie me! its tones 
 others. I have b^oJt twlel rin ."h V" "'«''' «''<» ''"y- 
 fortmghtandpe,x:eivedls;WnIy ^^^ ^r* ''•"My "'solution is formed Thi. 
 
 ^mr ejes. ..4,8ee that I am watched I did n,.f .i! • '" "^™*' "> him and flv At i.;„i.. 
 
 t4Te?hiK;L-J''^«''™«- No- 
 stnuige thoughts T«!«\J "?' . »?™«nted by 
 
 -Ji^WhSinsi^l^att^-f 
 
 thS alflSe?/t'me i.T'h""'"^rr'>^ -«»■ -^en 
 of .hem Now M« C^T'} ''«^ «"«''""'"'« 
 
 to that Ti.„ I "^"a"- , ' et It need not come 
 He .f;J,T' "^ ""' ^ dependent. * 
 
 loved me because he lovS my 'voice lil'Vf 
 my voice better than me. And ?h^" i "'*" 
 Ah me will i,o I "d that other one 
 
 night and day. ^ ^ " """^ "" "^ heart 
 
 k»o..Wi;^VfTufflcre^J-^^^ 
 yesterday a strange incident occurred Mra 
 
 hJ ij^ """^ conjectures— mv mothpr 
 
 te'^wttST r"f " -«" Smy 
 TTt,,lIiT. ■Sl^*'^^'«'«ei»lik«? Sod 
 /rtumetJ to Mrs. Compton, »nd said: 
 i>id you ever see my m„,hor ?'• 
 
 nil, -'■-'""' °"° ueiiiuieu ana looked at mn ai i i ""■'.>«■■• -woiyetl 
 
 farpAG.-.trotyetl Not yet I 
 
 /■ 
 
 \ 
 
 -■■. , ■> :-"-^- 
 
CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 "oh!" ckiku 
 
 COMPTON, 8UDDBi(LT, " <»H, DON't LOOK AT MK 80 ; UOn't LOOK 
 ,, AT ME 8o!" 
 
 I waited long. Tbey were lon- 
 
 them to retire, 
 ger than uaiuil. 
 
 At about ten o'clock MrH. Comptp)™ eiflie into 
 my room, with ns frightened a fafce a» usual. 
 " They want yon," paid ghe. 
 
 I knew whom she meant. "Must I go?" 
 said I. 
 
 "Alas, dear child, what can you do? Trnst 
 in God. Ho can save yon." 
 - -4Iealoiie can navome." said I, "if He will. 
 It has come to this that I have none but Him in 
 whom I can trust. " 
 
 She began to weep. I snid no more, but 
 •bcyed the commnnd and went down. 
 
 bince I was last there months had passed — 
 
 months of nnffering and angnifh in body and 
 mind.' • The remembrance of my lust visit theie 
 came oyer me as I entered. Yet 1 did not trem- 
 ble or falter. I crossed the threshold and enter- 
 ed the room, and stood before them in silence. 
 
 I saw the three men who had been there be- 
 fore. He 9Jt(\ his son; and the man Clark. 
 They hid alt been drinking. Their voices were 
 loud and ciieir Liughter boisterous as I Approach- 
 ed; - When i entered they beoHiie qniei, itnd «il 
 three stared at me. At last A« said to.h$r«fln, 
 
 "She don't look any fatter, does she, John- 
 nie?" 
 
 " ^ho gets enough to eat, any how," answered 
 John. 
 
 "She's one c 
 
 "that don't fai 
 
 needn't talk— y 
 
 "Uard wor 
 
 others, thi^kinj 
 
 hoarse laughter 
 
 humor with the 
 
 their attention 
 
 said'Tor some tii 
 
 "Can you dt 
 
 to me abruptly. 
 
 "Ye8,"Ians 
 
 "Ah! Ithoi 
 
 education, any I 
 
 hadn't learned i 
 
 and banging on i 
 
 I said nothing 
 
 "Why do you 
 
 looking savagely 
 
 I looked at the 
 
 "Come now," 
 
 we if you can dai 
 
 I stood still. 
 
 oath. " Do you 
 
 "I can not," 81 
 
 ^'jPerhaps you 
 
 *itfi a sneer. " 
 
 her." 
 
 "I'd rather not 
 
 "Clark, you ti 
 
 »nd he gave a hoa 
 
 "Yes, Clark," 
 
 chance." 
 
 Clark hesitated 
 toward me. I sto 
 k»ked at him fixec 
 thought in that hou 
 what they were, 
 hat I held life chea 
 the moment, and fe 
 Clark came up to 
 move. 
 
 "Curse her!" sfl 
 
 »»th a ghost. She 
 
 Be. laughed boistc 
 
 "He's afraid. H 
 
 cried. " What do i 
 
 "WeU," drawled 
 
 ever heard of Clark 1 
 
 These words seei 
 
 qnick. 
 
 "Willygu dance? 
 I made no answer. 
 "Curse her! mak 
 
 stwtingupfromhisc 
 ."00, you fool!" 
 
 Clark stepped towi 
 
 h«id on mine, while 
 
 other round my waist 
 
 loHng touch all my nal 
 
 started back. Ther«ci 
 
 over me. I neither k 
 
 Jet I spoke slowly, i 
 
 All that I had read in 
 
 "««'*, the very spirit 
 
 •eemed to inspire me. 
 
 "Touch me not," I 
 
 • 1 am near enough to E 
 
 1 cned, stretching out i 
 
 jew again will I obei 
 
 KiU me if yoa choose, I 
 
 ,v.ii:-„.,w-ii-'.KV.i;\' 
 
1 
 
 M> 
 
 
 said for some time 
 " Yes, " I answered. | 
 
 I said nothing. 
 
 "Why do you stare so, d— n you ?" hA ^ri^^ 
 looking savagely at me.* ^joaf be cried, 
 
 I looked at the floor. 
 
 «e"if;oTrd:nS''Sane;7.""^*''^-'" 
 
 Jh^'^ryou'£7-'"''«-P-'«''wi'ha„ 
 
 "I can not," said I. | 
 
 mui a sneer. Here, Jojinnie, go ai^d help 
 "I'd rather not," said John. I 
 
 »-! K "^ ^""J ""-^ "-y"" »ere always mv " 
 »nd he gnve a hoarse laugh """"js gay, | 
 
 ^Yes, Clark," cried jJhn. "Now-syour| 
 toS m'r''"/'1 '"T "."J^'ne"', and then came 
 
 botl holH Ufi. oK ^ . wn^in their hands, 
 
 ^ Ckrk came up to me and ^topped.*^ i ^^ „„t 
 
 "Curse her!" said ho "Va .. . "* 
 
 with a ghost. She ooks like n„l ^t" '^T" 
 He laughed bois'eSy ""'' ""^ *'°*- I 
 
 ^VeU ^d™»,1 r,\"''".''r ""*'- Johnnie?" 
 everheird of n t k"'"''"' 1 *''^ "'^ «"' «™e I 
 %,p!^ 1 . "''' •**'"« "^'■«''^ of any thing " 
 ^These words seemed to sting Ckrk to^he 
 
 Sratw^^'^''^'-'^'^---- 
 
 -;.?gTpS;;SLi*'1?j^y;££«.d,! 
 
 .foo, you fool !" 7 ®' °^^ ■'""7 , 
 
 V , ■ "^"''6'^ knew nor cared what T b.;/ 
 gthat 1 had read in that manuscript wK my ' 
 
 "Touch me not," I said '<Tv,s.,i,i 
 • «. near enough ^o dS'.! Jw "iryo" •• 
 
 Kill m!^ u ""^^ ""« command of yours 
 
 J^.f you choose, and send me after cS 
 
 CORD AND CHEESE. 
 
 123 
 
 , Cla?k'^:nfba^"?y;^"-' «•"' ^'^^^ ""«- 
 
 edthea^ofKaifESin^tf/'^''- 
 one to th« »>ho. I . "" '"OKea m tear from 
 
 ' 4e kno«r^?r** T^^"^ ^"h an oath : 
 " M s. <"nm. . ^"'- ^^-orapton told her. " 
 Tlmg " sa d^r° T'f' •'"«"* *'- about the 
 at me. ^ity '^inli' T ''"''^ "P '-^"% 
 that fear whid, I had «!f «"^\'nore. Agaii'i 
 shown upon thdr fici '*" ^ ''"='" ^'^"^ -" 
 I I looked upon these wretches as thn..„l, t i, i 
 
 tout^rword^JlS^ri^Stithlnr'^ 
 
 deadfitld^S-tidf^'ir - '-- *« 
 to avenge him" ' ' ^ am appointed 
 
 I he^rd j1S7o- :.°"' "' "•^ ■-- ^» I 'ef' 
 
 «^nt .t, and give me safe deilvi^'^^i^a 
 
 " CI^PTERXXX 
 
 SMITUBRS « CO. 
 
 Bnnfp^"-!' '"'1 '^" detestable, buffiliu, a 
 possessing the ringV S'' ''' "^ ""doubtedly 
 
 They go, „!,„ ,1, „|,^ I.„h3 , kS „t 
 • • way tow^ ,Hf ?"^!^*"y'^«rOf - 
 
 
IS4 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 one of the directors, \ns regarded as bluff, and 
 shrewd, and cautious, but full of the milk of hu- 
 Ain kindness ; and Philips, the cashier, was uni- 
 versally Uked on account of his gentle, obseq^uious 
 ^ manner. 
 
 So wide-spread and so active were the opera- 
 tions of this bank that people stood astonished 
 and had nothing to say. 'ffae amount of their 
 accommodations was enormous. Those who at 
 first considered it a mush^-oom concern soon dis- 
 covered their mistake; for theBrandon Bank had 
 connections in London which seemed to give the 
 command of unlimited means, and any sum what- 
 ever that mights be needed was at once advanced 
 where the security was at all reliable. Nor was 
 the bank^artfcular about security. John Pbtts 
 profes.sed to trust much to people's facei and to 
 their character, and there were tijrnes when be 
 would take the etecurity without looking at it, or 
 even decline it and be satisfied with the name. 
 
 In less tj^an a year the bank had succeeded in 
 j^ning the fullest confidence eveti j>f those who 
 had at first/been most skeptical, aM John Potts 
 had grown to be'considered without^oubt one of 
 th» most considerable men in the toonty. 
 
 dne day in March John Potts was sitting in 
 the parlor of the bank when a gentleman walked 
 in who seemed to be about sixty years of age. 
 He had a slight stoop, and carried a gold-headed 
 ' cane. He was dressed in black, had gray hair, 
 and a very heavv gray beard and mustache. 
 
 " Have I the honor of addressing Mr. Potts ?" 
 said the stranger, in a peculiarly high, shrill voice. 
 "I'm Mr. Potts," said the other. 
 The stranger thereupon drew a letter from his 
 pocket-book and handed it to Potts. The letter 
 was a short one, and the moment Potts had read 
 it he sprang up and held out his hand eagerly. 
 
 "Mr. Smilhers, Sir! — you're welcome, 'Sir, 
 I'm sure, Sir! Proud and happy, Sir, to see 
 you, I'm sure!" said Potts, with great volubility. 
 Mr. Smithers, however, did not seem to see his 
 hand, but sealed himself leisurely on a chair, and 
 look^ for a moment at the opposite wall like one 
 in thought. 
 
 He was a singular-looking old man. His skin 
 was fresh ; thet-e was a grand, stem air upon his 
 brow when it was in repose. The lower part of 
 his fiu-e was hidden by his beard, and its expres- 
 sion was therefore lost. His eyes, however, 
 were singularly large and luminous, aJlthough-he 
 wore spectacles and generally looked at the floor ' 
 "I have but recently retuhied from a tour," 
 •aid he, in the same voice; "and my junior part- 
 ner has managed all the business in my absence, 
 which has lasted more than a year. I had not 
 the honor of being acquainted with your banking- 
 house when I left, and as I had business up this 
 way I thoulght I would call on you." 
 
 "Proud, Sir, and most happy to welcome you 
 to our modest parlor," said Potts, obsequious- 
 ly. " This is a pleasure — indeed I may say. Sir, 
 a privilege — which I have long wished to have. 
 In fact, I have never seen your junior partner. 
 Sir, any more than yourself. I have only seen 
 your agents, Sir, and have gone on and done my 
 -iaige biisiness' with yon by writing.** ^ " 
 
 Mr. Smithers bowed. 
 
 "Quite so," said he. "We have so many 
 connections in all parts of the world that it is im- 
 possible to have the pleasure of a personal ac- 
 quaintance with them alL There are some with 
 
 whom we have, much larger transactions than 
 yourself whom I have never seen. " 
 
 "Indeed, Sir!" exclaioied Potts, with (tr^t 
 surprise. " Then you must do a larger husinass 
 than I thought." 
 
 " We do a large business," said Mr. Snjithcrg 
 thoughtfiiUy. ' 
 
 ' ' And all over the world, you said. Then yon 
 must be worth millions." 
 
 " Oh, of courso, one ran not do a business like 
 ours, that commands money, without a largo tun 
 ital." ' 
 
 "Are there many who do a larger business 
 than I do ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. In New York the honse ^f Peyton 
 Brothers do a business of ten times the araouiit— 
 ves, twenty times. In San Francisco a ne» 
 house, just started since the gold discoveries, hiis 
 done a business with us almost as large. In 
 Bombay Messrs. Nickerson, Bolton, & Co. are 
 our correspondents ; in Calcutta Messrs. Hoster- 
 mann, Jennings, & Bkck ; in Hong Kong Messra. 
 Naylor-A Tibbetts; in Sydney Messrs. Sandford 
 & Perley. Besides these, we have correspond- 
 ents through Kurojie and in all parts of Knglnnd 
 who do a much larger business than yours. But 
 I thought yon were aware of this," said Mr. 
 Smithers, looking with a swift glance at I'otts. 
 
 "Of course, of course," said Potts, hnstilv; 
 "I knew your business was enormous, W I 
 thought<%ur doings with you were consider- 
 able." ■;,»- ■ ^ 
 
 "Oh, you are doing a snng business," said 
 Smithers, in a patnpnizing tone, " It is our cus- 
 tom whenever we Ji&ve correiipondents who are 
 sound men to encourage them to the utmost. 
 This is the reason why you have always found us 
 liberal and prompt" 
 
 "You have ddne great service, Sir," said 
 Potts. "In fact, you have made the Brandon 
 Bank whatltis to-day.'' 
 
 " Well,"8aid Smithers, " we hive agents every 
 where ; we heard that this bank was talked alwut, 
 and knowing the concern to be in sure hands we 
 took it up. My Junior has mdde arrangtHnents 
 with you which he says have been satisfactory." 
 " Very much so to me," replied. Potts. "Yon 
 have always found the money." 
 
 " And you, I suppose, Ijave furnished die se- 
 curities." 
 
 " Yes, and a precious good lot of them you are 
 npw holding." 
 
 " I dare say," said Smithers ; " for my part I 
 have nothing to do with the books. I merely at- 
 tend to the general affairs, and trust to my jun- 
 ior for particulars." 
 
 " And you don't know the exact state of our 
 business ? said Potts, in a tone of disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 "Nql Hoy should I? The only ones wiih 
 which I am faihiUar are our American, European, 
 aiid Eastern agencies. Our English correspond- 
 ents are managed by my Junior." 
 
 " You must be one of the largest houses in 
 London," said Potts, in a tone of deep admira- 
 tion. 
 
 "Oh yes.'t _ -- 
 
 " Strange I iiever heard of yon till two years 
 ago or so." 
 "Veiy likely." 
 
 " There was a firiend of mine who was telling 
 me something about some Sydney merchants who 
 
^CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 ~A 
 
 were sending consignments of wrv^i .„ 
 Co^n,PU.n & Hrandon^ Do 'ofknr'.hlr' 
 I have lieurd n.y Junior spealc of them •' 
 Vou were u, Sydney, ^6™ not?" 
 
 Do you know Con.pton & Brandon r 
 I looked in to see them. I think H~„ i 
 is dead isn't hn ? ii- ■ '""« Urandon 
 IS aeau, isnt he? Drowned at sea-or some- 
 
 what you want as before. If I -ere v«,. i 
 jvcn.ld_ embark all my available L^nT 1^1 
 
 yon I ^ 
 
 Baid Pot* " ^''•^'J' c^'ninK to that, I think, " 
 mMt^*,'ir''i" /""„««? '"'■8« ''"Po-i". as you 
 
 *' Are vnii fnmilini. nn*i. al. 1^ ■• . . * Yes. hut fifkt mi£k " • 
 
 'Yes," said Potts. 
 
 " Are you familiar with the banking business ?' 
 asked Smithers, suddenly. "uiuness r 
 
 .,lir^"' ""J: "?f '■^'y- I haven't had much 
 experience; but I'm growing into it." ^ 
 
 bosintVmeSr ''^""' ^""^ "••^'o" «"> good 
 
 d^li'^r/ctliier'''^ ""^ ^"'=' iB, I tn,st a good 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 JmS roran?^'"^' " ^""^ ^'-- ""- = » 
 an^ihie"?"'- ''^"^ '»'«=•' ""^-^ «Jepends 
 ." W nril."^!.'^' «•"> '-'-ble man." 
 
 ..v' -. »tyet?" 
 
 ^ les, but not miich. " 
 
 will Jo^°for*'you '"^ """« °' """' '''"'• '^»"« - 
 
 men^."' ' '^•"•'' '"''*'^ ^' ,«« the best invest- 
 
 "Oh that is very easily foUd out n.,t if 
 
 J-ou ain't learn, we will let you know ihe M« • 
 
 oHhe^ r-T" ?"" '" "'" '"'"" PrZ/^ing' Some" 
 and 1h- """* ''°'"P''"ieH are working qnieX 
 and gettmg enormous dividends " ' ^' 
 
 ^^ California?" said Potts; "that ought to 
 
 Iv h^h ""-.r '* 1°""'"K''ika it. I cleared near- 
 ly half a million in a few months. " 
 
 A few months!" cried Potts, opening his 
 
 ''Yn..r h. • """ '^"ao'e man." 
 
 whatYh"ve'"h~""'r " *" •" «"*'"«' '-» «^- 
 " Very fast indeed. Sir. Why, Sir, in ano.hpr .n^' ^*' ''* .'""'® ««^t* wh" keep us well un • 
 
 X ^^.c'-iT-rieSn^isrh'"?? ''^ ^' -^-S"^^ "^ "" " ^'^""'^ '^ 
 
 ^'"?hT- "'T ""'J;^ " snccessiLl " °"''*" '' eholldl,-!"'^ '" T'^ ^•"'»' tbcightfuUy. " I 
 
 rhatis nght. The true- mode Of success in a^^ ^^ f ^ """ »»^^« 'd' things. It has 
 JTT '•^'' ^°"" *" ho'dness. iCt ,? the ^?^„ ""v '*• ^' 'i'"'^ '^e chink ofcash" 
 
 secret 5 my success. Perhaps.you .^ £ There'ri^Jig^U h/"" «°'^ "•" "^ '^^^ 
 mithers, m a confiden- •• i^„ "..^ ""^ "»^ 
 
 .wa;;""cp;;2nued Mr. sSr inTo*"«H"°' 
 
 thouj««ds of pounds formed my capital n»t 
 ny' -iotto was boldness, and now I H wnr,^ f 
 J«tf not say h0w many Millions If Zw^^t 
 make money fast you must be bold."'^ |P** 
 
 «ied''potr«:2:S;/°"«'°-xh3^bani 
 ■i2-enS;£^^i;':ra"r':r'^''"' 
 
 foreign Moans, railway icrb In/ «'"'!Tri««! 
 
 stock of all ::orts. ^'ha^rtriiuToiTut'; 
 
 have made ten times more than evribst If 
 y^ want to make money, y., ^u^^/^ Z 
 
 ' Well, I'm sure," said Potta " t'™ i, u 
 "That's right." 
 
 "Oh, it wiU not hurt it at all Pi,iu„ 
 WMage it all under rn^ a- \- ^"'Mps can 
 
 ibe're r '''° '°°" *''' *''«•■ '" ■P«"lalioii 
 
 "^M. one or two." 
 know r "'** ^°" '"''"' "^y *'*'J**''°'' to 'et me 
 
 IiJs^"! w'ill ^I'l ''*"'r'. *•" «"'«'"'' your husi- 
 SlarsV:'"may S"'!"' "^ ""'^ ^^ «">• P"" 
 
 .he7it'v^s;Ti;'rSr?. ""«' •- '•■« »-' 
 
 ''You haven't heard the real truth." 
 "Ith^ZVJ e-^claimed Potts, in wonder. 
 
 I thought K was e-xaggerated." 
 .»,.„ *'"" u. **" -y"" stories far more wonderful 
 -''"l?-;?",n'''"K y"" have heard." '"»'«'"»fi»l 
 
 " W„ 1 "** ■'■', «"«^,l'°tts, breathlessly. 
 m.-nH. ir **"' ^n»'thers, confidentialhs "I don't 
 mind telhng you something which is known Tm 
 
 ^Sr^^ma^'l-".'?^ One-halfofourVie 
 <rv ?**^® '" California operations." 
 loudont say so!" 
 
 «sJ'.K°" *^ .'''■* ■'"'"ys heen bold," continned 
 ^'mithe;^, with nn air ot still greate^ co^fiS 
 I read some time since in one of HumboW^a 
 books abo„^ g„,j ^i„^ ^^^_^ ^^ the n news 
 of the discovery I chartered a ship and 3 
 
 thWwen,^! *'?""« "^ ^'"' Fnincisco, where ^ 
 tnere were already very many people. I ^W A« 
 
 ^wfreronrr^p'-''''' »"^^^'^^^ 
 
 as a warehonse at enormous prices. I then or- 
 
 man'l^theTJ."/ T**"^' "»'' P"' * «« "«^ " 
 man at the head of it. ^hey found a nhjce on 
 
 r 
 
 m enlarge your business, and <£aw on us fo! I S^ ™°"""'""'""."""''"KtoLondon. TTiea 
 ^ ^ "" I * '•"••nd my company is 8tm working." 
 
#^' 
 
 I2(> 
 
 CORD AND CHEESE. 
 
 "Wliy did you leave?" asked I'otts, hrenlh- glad if y»ii woiilcf^onnent to give me a clmnce. 
 lossly. I Have yon any (il)je<>ti<>n ?" 
 
 " jJccaiise I rould make more money by iKsiiig j "()li no. I wiW^nieiilion your cano the rie*t 
 ill Loiulom My ninn there in reliable. I litiviy time I write, if you wish it. Mill I can not c,,!). 
 Unind liini to i\>t hy ^iviiiK l>><n u share in the''trul tlje imrtirnlar operationH of^ie ollirc. Mt 
 business. I'lMiple soon foinul ont that ."^niilliors- control is Hiiproinc in geneiid iimttel|; niid vmi 
 it Co. hnd iimdc cnornmus sums of money in see it would not i>o jKisslble for nic to I'fcieiicii' 
 ( 'aliforniii, but they don't know cxitclly bow. i with the sinaUer details. " ' ' 
 
 The iiiiineiise ex|mii>ion of our business during i "Mill vcMuiutuht mention me." ^ 
 
 the last year has tilled them with wonder. I-'or ' " I will do lift." .siiid t^inilliers, and takinjr out 
 you know every iiiece of gold tlwl 1 i^eiit home his |iiHket-bo<ik he j)ie|iaicd to write, 
 "has been utilized by my .Iiiiiior."^, ' " I.er me xoet, " 
 
 I'otts was .'^ileiit, himI siil l(K)kiiJjjr^'l>n'ulhleKS . name i< — what?' 
 ndnjiraiion at this millionaire. Allfiis thoughts , " tlohn — John I'otts.!' 
 
 were iii;en in his face 1 lis whole heart was laid | " John L'ottB, " reiJ<iined the other, as he wrote 
 bare, and the ofie thing xisilile was an iiiteiiHO | it down. 
 
 milhcrs rose. "You may rontiniie to dinw 
 
 Kaid he, "your fliiistian 
 
 desire to share in that golden entorjjrise. 
 
 " I hiive orgi\ni/.ed two comiianies on the sumo 
 
 , |iriiui|ile as flie lust. 'IheiViharcs are seljiiig at a 
 
 large iireniiuiu In the London market. I take a 
 
 leading part in each, and my name gives stability 
 
 on us as Iwfore, and any |)incltrt)*e8 of stock which 
 you wish will be made " 
 
 I'otts thanked him profusely. 
 
 " I wish to see your cashier, to learn his mwlc 
 
 <o tli^; enterprise.- if I (iud the thing likely to of managing the accounts. Much depends Sjn 
 succeed I coiitiiiup; if not, why, lean easily sell that, and n>liort conversation will satisfv me.", 
 out. I am on the poiijt of orga»iziiig a ihinti "Ceriai^y, ."^ir, certainly." saift i'otts, obse- 
 
 cried I'ott.s, ea- 
 
 company. 
 
 ■■'Are the shares taken up? 
 gerly. 
 
 '■ \o, not yet." -. 
 
 "Well, could I obtain some?" • 
 
 '■ I really can't say," replied Smithers. " You 
 
 ^ might make an np]ilicatiou to my Junior. I do 
 
 notl'iing whatever with the details. I don't know 
 
 what plans or agreements ho may have been 
 
 making. ' 
 
 ■' I slioidd like exceedingly to take stock. IIow 
 doihe shares sell ?" ' 
 
 " 'I'lic price is high, as we wish to confine our 
 shareholders to the richer classes. 
 it at less than X'10(i() a sliare.' 
 
 "„I woidj} tak'e any ipunititv. " 
 
 quiously. J^Thilips !^' he called. - • „ 
 
 I'liilips cathe in as timid and a.s sltii;ik:ng a.- 
 usual. 
 
 "This is Mr. Smithers, the great Sn)iik;'rs of 
 Smithers & Co., Hankers; he w i.shcs to lihYe ii 
 talk with you." 
 
 riiilips looked at the great man with deep ro- 
 jspeet and made nn awkward bow. '' 
 
 " Yon may come with me to my hotej," wiiJ 
 Smithers ; and with n slight bow to I'otts he left 
 the bank, follo^ved by I'hilips. 
 
 lie went up stairs and into a lat^go fmrlor on 
 the second story, which hMiketl into ilic street. 
 Wc never put ; lie motioned riiiii]i5 to a chittr near the window, 
 I and seated himself in nn ann-cliair opp(jsiie 
 
 "f^iitliers l(H)ked at the other w ith a seaichiiig 
 
 'J dare say some may be in the market yet," ' glance, and said nothing for<^ome time, 
 said Smithei-s, calmly. "They probably sell at large, full eyes, as they fixed themselves on the 
 a higlf premium though." i face of the other, seemed to read I'is inmost 
 
 " I'd |iay it," said I'otts. *' I thoughts and study every jiart of his weak uricl 
 
 "Well, yon may write and see; I know no- .irresolute chai'acter. 
 thing abo'tit it. " ' , | At length he .said, abruptly, in a slow, mcas- 
 
 "And if they're nil taken up, what then?" urcil voice, " Kdgar I.awt<ai!" 
 
 "Oh-— then — I really don't know. Why can't i At the sound of this name I'liilijis stinted from 
 you organize a company yourself?" his chair, and stood on his feet trembling. Ili> 
 
 " Well, you tee, I don't know rfhy thiiig about face, always pale, now became ashtn, his lijis 
 the place." | turned white, his jaw fell, his eyes seemed to 
 
 "Tree; that is a disadvantage. But j-ou start from their sockets. He stood lur a fe» 
 might find some people who do know." j seconds, then sank hack into a chaii^ 
 
 "That would Ih) ven* diftienlt. I do not see Smithers eyed him steadfastly. "You see I 
 
 know you," said he, after a time. 
 
 I'hilips cast on him nn imploring look. 
 
 "The fact that I know your name," contin- 
 ued Smithein, "shows also that I must know- 
 
 Ho not forget 
 
 howjye could begin. And if 1 did find anyone, 
 how could I trust him?" 
 
 " Ybu'd have to do as I^did — give him a share 
 
 of the bnsirw.ss." _.., 
 
 ■ "It woiml be much better if I could get some i something of your history. 
 
 stock in one of your companies. Your exjierience that !" 
 
 and credit would make it a success." , « I "My — my history-?" Ciltered Philips. 
 
 "Yes, there is no dou))t that our companies I "Yes, your history. I know it all, wretchetl 
 would all l)e^successful since we have a man on man ! I knew your father jvliom you ruined, and 
 the spot." / j whose heiTrt yon broke." 
 
 "And thilrs another reason. why T should pre- ! I'hilips said not A word, but again turned nn 
 
 fer buying stock from you. Y(Hfegee I thight forin ' imploring face to this muTi,.>i. ^__ 
 
 'a company, l)ut> what could I dor' j " I have bronglit you here to let you know tliat 
 
 , " Could not your cashier help you ?" there is one who holds you in hi.t power, and that 
 
 "No, not in any thing of that sort." | one is my.self. You think I'otts or Clark haie 
 
 " Well, I can say nothing alxjut it. My Junior you at their mercy. Not so. I alone hold your 
 will tell you what chances there are."' : fate in my hands. They dare not do any thing 
 
 " liut while 1 see you |>ers6nally I should be ', against you f(}r fear of tliiir own necks." 
 
 J.: 
 
 Philips looked I 
 
 grejiter than lys fe 
 
 "Why," h,i fait 
 
 ' w got him to sta 
 
 vanced him«ionov 
 
 " You arf the ca 
 
 'Can yon tell me 
 
 o'ves Smithei-s & V, 
 
 I'liilips looked ot 
 
 "Speak:' 
 
 "Two hundred 
 
 pwmdfc " 
 
 "AndifSmithen 
 fflent to-marrow, do 
 would te proihpt ah 
 
 Pl'ilips shook his 
 . Then you see t 
 •» not so i»owerful ai 
 
mo a cliance. 
 
 ciiHO the Tie?ft 
 I ran not n,n. 
 
 Iteljj niul y(){i 
 10 to hkieiti'ii' 
 
 ind takin);.()iit 
 
 iie. 
 
 i>ur ^hiistiiin 
 
 2r, ns lie wrote 
 
 tiniie to <lra\v 
 uf stuck which 
 
 pnm liis mwlL' 
 h (h'|ipml» ^n 
 sntisty me.", 
 J i'otis, (ib>e- 
 
 I slii talking a.> 
 
 t !-'u|ilk;'rs of 
 he» ty-hhye ii 
 
 with deep rc- 
 
 ly hotel," said 
 J Potts he left 
 
 ^fio parlor on 
 ltd llie siroet. 
 r iIm! window, 
 ■ opposite 
 ih a seari liing 
 e time. Mis 
 Iselves on llic 
 i(J his inmost 
 his weak ami 
 
 a slow, meas- 
 
 is started from 
 tnlilin);. Hi" 
 shtn, his lijis 
 e» sncmed tn 
 )od ibr a fo« 
 
 ' ' You sec I 
 
 ; look. 
 
 nine," contin- 
 ,1 must know. 
 o not forget 
 
 lilips. 
 
 all, wretched 
 III ruined, and 
 
 ain turned nn 
 
 ■oil know that 
 )wer, and thnt 
 ir Clark haic 
 one hold your 
 do any thing 
 jcks." 
 
 Philip,, looked np now in wonder 
 greiiter than lys fear ' 
 
 I'hdips shook hig head. 
 Then yoi, see that the man whom vou fear 
 « not 80 powerful as some others." ^ 
 
 .'! f '''on«l"2""' «CJ¥ his fiwnd ?" 
 
 I.)o you irmiw w ho I am^*^' 
 " S'mithers & Co " sniil l>l,;i;. „ ■■ 
 
 'nVelUetme,ellV;'\1.i tof^m-:;;e.& 
 Co. are-,l)«yond your eomprehension vV h .7 
 they are friends to Potts ol not t eems tLt^^*:: 
 
 |;l.fflcult for him to pay if they, ^hoil t^demand 
 
 sSdTrer ''"' ^"'^ ^--«<^ "Pon'fr ""IS 
 
 something el.-e?" " "" ^ '*" -'''"» 
 
 Philips looked up fenrfullv. 
 1 ha^re^n i„ Vork. itiCalcutta; and in M«- 
 
 
».\ 
 
 198 
 
 CORD AND CREESE, 
 
 nilla ; and I know what Potts did in each place. 
 Yow look frightened. You have eveiy reason to 
 be so. I know what'W«ft.i)pne at York. I know 
 that you were sent to Botany Bay. I know that 
 yon ran Away from yoar father to India. I know 
 your life there. 1 know how narrowly you es- 
 caped going on bottrd the Vi»hnu, and being im- 
 plicated in the Manilla murder. Madman that 
 you were, why did you not take your poor mo- 
 , ther and fly from these wretches forever?" 
 
 Philips trembled from head to foot. He said 
 not a word, but bowed his head upon his knees 
 and wept. 
 
 "Where is she tiow?" said Smithers, sternly. 
 Philips mechanically raised his head, and point- 
 ed over towalrd Brandon Hall. 
 
 " Is she confined against her will ?" 
 
 Philips shook his head. 
 
 "She stays, then, through love of yoa?" 
 
 Philips nodded. 
 
 " Is any one 'else 'there?" said Smithers, after 
 a pause, and. in a jStrange, sad voice, in which 
 there was a felterinig tone which Philips, in his 
 fright, did not notice. 
 
 "Miss Potts," he said. 
 
 " She is treated cruelly, " said Smithers. "They 
 say she is a prisoner ?" ' 
 
 Philips noidded. 
 
 "Has she been sick?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How long?" 
 
 " Eight months, last year." 
 
 " Is she well now ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Smithers bowed hi* head in silence, and pnt 
 his hand on his heart. Philips watched him in 
 an agony of fright, as though every instant he 
 
 voice. " I see that in spite of your follies and 
 crimes there is something g(K)d in you yet^ You 
 love your mother, do you not ?" 
 
 Tears came into Philips's eyes. He siehed 
 "Yes," he said, humbly. " 
 
 " And you are kind to her — that other one?" 
 
 " I love her as my mother," said Philips, earn- 
 estly. • 
 
 S"mithers again relapsed into silence for a long 
 time. At last he looked up. Philiiis saw his 
 eyes this tinker no longer stem and wmthful, but 
 benignant and indulgent. 
 
 " You have been all your life' under the power 
 of merciless-men," said he. "You have been 
 led by them into folljir and crime and suffering. 
 Often you have been forced to act against vour 
 will. Poor wretch 1 I can save you, and I in- 
 tend to do so in spite of yourself. You fear 
 these masters of yourst You must know now 
 that I,, not they, am to be feared. They know 
 your secret but dare not use it against yon. I 
 know it, and can use it if I choose. You have 
 been afraid of them all your life. Fear them no 
 longer, but fear me. These men whom you fear 
 are in my power as well as you are. I know all • 
 their secrets^there is not a crime of theirs of 
 which yoiyknow that I do not know also, and I 
 know fikr more. 
 
 " You must fn)m this time forth be my agent. 
 Smithers A Co. have agents in all parts- of the 
 world. You shall be their agent in Brandon 
 Hall. You shall say nothing of this interview to 
 any one, not even to your mother-^^n shall not 
 dare to communicate with me unless you are re- 
 quested, except abont such thiilgs as I shall 
 specify. If you dare to shrink in any one point 
 -. .- , -., , . from your duty, at that instant I will come down 
 
 was apprehensive of some terrible calamity. upon you with a heavy hand. You, too are 
 
 "How is she? continued Nmithers, after a ! watched. '* " ' 
 
 time. " Has she ever been happy since she went 
 tliere?" 
 
 Philipe shook his head slowly and mournfully. 
 
 "Does her father ever show her any aifec- 
 tion?" ,,! ■ 
 
 "Never." ""■ > 
 
 "Does her bipthtf?" 
 
 ♦'Never." ;\^ 
 
 " Is there iny'one who does ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Mm. Compton." 
 
 "Your mother?" 
 
 "Yes," 
 
 " I will not forget that. No, I will never for 
 get that. Do you think that she is exposed to 
 any danger?" 
 
 "MUa Potts?" 
 . SAiMliers bowed, 
 
 " I don't ki^ow. I sometimes fear so," 
 
 " Of what kind?" 
 
 "I don't know. Almost any horrible thing 
 may happen in that horrible phuse." * 
 
 A pang of agony shot across the sombre brow 
 of Smithers. He was silent for a long time. 
 >"H«VB yoa ever ■Ughte4 her?" ha asked M 
 
 "Nevof,' cHed Philipt, "I conld worship 
 her — " 
 
 Smithers smiled nppn him with a smile so 
 sweet that it chased all Philips's fears away. 
 He took- coange and began to snow more cahn. 
 
 I have other agents here in Brandon 
 besides yourself. Many of those who go to the 
 l)ank as customers are my agents. You can not 
 be felse without my knowing it ; and when von 
 are false, that moment you sha]l be handed over 
 to the authorities. Do yon hear ?" 
 
 The face of Smithers was mild, but his tone 
 
 was stem. It was the warning of a just vet 
 
 . merciful masj^r. All the timid nature of Philips 
 
 bent in deep^subjectioh before the powerful spirit 
 
 of this man,. He bowed his head in silence. 
 
 "Whenever an order comes to yoi| ftem 
 Smithers & Co. yoa must obey ; if you do not 
 obey instantly whatever it is, it will be at tiM 
 risk of your life. Do yoij hear K* 
 
 Philips bowed. { 
 
 " There is only oiie thing now in which I wiih 
 you to do any thing. You mnst send every month 
 a notice directed to Mr. Smithers, Senior, abont 
 the health of Ai« daui/hter. Should any sudden 
 danger impend yon must at once communicate 
 it. Yoa nndersund?" 
 
 Philips bowed, 
 
 " Once more I warn yon always to remember 
 that I am your master. Fail in one single thing, 
 and vou perish. Obey me, and you shall be re- 
 warded. Now go !" 
 
 <Titti|sr TOse, ana^ iiioi^aescl than anrefi 
 tered fVom the room. ' 
 
 When he lefV Smithers locked the door, i He 
 then went to the window and stood lookii^ st 
 Brandon Halli with his stem fece softened tnto^ 
 sadness. He hammed loy ^nk as' he stood 
 
 low 1 
 
 'fear nothing," s«id Smithen, in if gentle itbere--wonb whfehdkM bid beM^uogferCMy. 
 
 'Atnong them w 
 ended: 
 
 "And the gi 
 Bball bat c 
 No act of I 
 Thee fi'om 
 Nor shall i 
 To disunite 
 
 With a sigh h 
 in his hands. I 
 off as be sat thei 
 sod revealed the 1 
 iisir showed ttie ( 
 
 Yet when he t 
 bnt a most intima 
 ny could recogni; 
 Brandon, 
 
 CH. 
 
 PAOl 
 
 Many weeks pai 
 
 the chief occupatio 
 
 Thornton, liis jo 
 
 heen without resul 
 
 The inquiries whicl 
 
 ont useless. Finall 
 
 it was utterly hope 
 
 the event, to attem 
 
 Enough had been d 
 
 more could possibly 
 
 Baffled, but not 
 
 for the present froc 
 
 uhed it and wrote 
 
 fMmation. Meanti 
 
 life St Holby, and A 
 
 to sssist him. 
 
 So the time went 
 
 tin one day in Marcl 
 
 -W entering the ) 
 
 "^ stranger. Mi 
 
 "w*! and sat down s 
 
 •nd he and Despard 
 
 He was of mediur 
 
 His brow was veiy 
 
 "M black, and clu8t< 
 
 His eyes were largo, 
 
 on&thomable depth, 
 
 nndefinable and mysti 
 
 lustrous, where all th 
 
 show itself— beiiignan 
 
 uketheeyesofaheiug 
 
 Hii face was thin and 
 
 *we thin, with a per 
 
 J"**"*** and gentleii 
 
 « was such a face as 
 
 ^tle John— the su 
 
 "* the inspired. 
 
 "You do not know 1 
 
 It is Paolo!" 
 
 De.jpard at once ad 
 
 ijh the wannest oordi 
 
 I »W8 only a Utth 
 
 "«, and you hAva-« 
 
 •S'lBd DeepaixL 
 
 "'*f 1 knew thai yo 
 
 «^, hot m» not sni 
 
 "What I 2>r««oi, 
 ««• a fond smile at I, 
 
 jMiii, 
 
"id^f "«™ '^''"» *'«'«'. with which the strain 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 / 
 
 
 129 
 
 and he shook his 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 PAOLO LANOHETTI 
 
 lifeatHolby am?M™ Th . ^ '*'"™ '^ h" 
 
 Mi» brow was very broad nnH hi^ ,,. »r - • 
 «. black, and clu^teS„''"„1,Jter bL\Lt 
 ■muthoniable d«iith urh:»i. "" •" {Jussess an 
 
 Ai"e fin-^ ^ubC.'h"'*,'*^*""^ 'he 
 
 ''fcli"So"r ''°°"''*^'''**'»M«.TT,prnton. | 
 
 -iS*!!?^ "' ""'* advanced and neetml hi.„ 
 ""Ih the wannest cordiality *^ *^ '"•" 
 
 I WM only . Uttle fellow when I mw von 
 y, «nd you h*va chaneea ^^.v' ■. "r 7° " 
 *«, lild DB«n«rf <.S*?^ •omewhsfr mice 
 ™ ^ui^eapMd. "But when did you ar- 
 
 see you first of all? Infidel! 
 head at her, playfully. 
 
 ph«linlJn5r?orhi'o^'4ir'' ."|.«"8««« » 
 secure a sinKer Oh ifT ' ^"' "'"'**** «"» ^ 
 
 Ta^^rvim, in ^'"*', "'?""' "' ^"'"don Hair. She 
 was living in a seclusion so stripf »h»f ;. , 
 
 confinement, and there w^ « „! ! ' ", ^""^ 
 
 ..y ih« vo„ li„ te.rib.™ " """l" J"" 
 Yes. 
 
 '' J?'tl,>on go to the HaU?" 
 
 No. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 de^ISr- '"°" '"•' ""»'»'>«* -11-in in- 
 
 ^r™*!! 'hi"^""! !"u'"°'' " "«"°«'". ond then said 
 youiS^V:«" 'hat, and perhaps more fi 
 
 said D^rd'""' *' "*""" 'hat.can be donel" 
 
 hi^^dTlioiSf rl-r^to" '!? t^ 
 
 to thi'nk of ClwLTi- "h, B.c„a cam! 
 
 to thTnk "o^ Cl^itTnd' «,?,' ''"'"" '^'•"^ 
 
 gecttosuchto=ts"^c;x:rci:s 
 
 Vei^Semnir .^Sr,!!"'' " «*"' «id he at last, 
 
 Sn'oiTKr3r>=- 
 iS'""h;r??'n"«^p^^^^^^ 
 
 tonisiinr ""''''"''-^y^ De^paol. in .^ 
 
 "No, no,"muhnured l^nirhetti "v~ j 
 not; nor dare I explain Xf I mean It h**" 
 been in my thoughts for v^« r» u *' ^m 
 
 / 
 
 P'ain ; only one. ^ 
 
 .'.' Y^^ ^" «ried DespaM, eagerly. 
 A woman named Compton.'* 
 t^omptonl 
 
 land 5^-, ifVi^TJ^t^''^. Aks-andriaa, 
 
 woman, 'l wollV L'^^"heTrti4i:' T ^ 
 perished in the attempt'" '""^ '**«' h^ 'f I 
 
 '•^.^f r^^-SnXn^imi™* ""* *" ^ 
 ,.., ^hink, Teresuola/^ said he. aAnr . .•.:■ 
 "if you were in captiVify wh^wonL kI^"**- 
 ofmyopem? Coufd I h^avrSK.J^"k 
 about operas even if I believed tW.K ™"^ 
 ^- .™- ..u..e « ni. Sister. " Were vou I f"'""*^ *" ""e welfare of thr^rld ' f S ^" 
 «|«H ««. Wf.-.. that I woul]'^^/- -- a-.jje? Now^^ 
 
 A t **• * """' tiy *nd Mve her—l 
 
 "»•' Iknw S«rv„ ""' "hen did you ar- 
 
130 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 muBt give np all. MV> opera mart stand aside "Yes." 
 
 till it be God's will thal^) give it forth. No, the " Is she what you anticipated ?" 
 
 one object of my life now must be to find Bice, " More. She is indescribable. She is almusi 
 
 to see her or to see Mrs. Compton, if she is alive." unearthly. I feel awe of lier, but not fear, tslie 
 
 " Is the secret of so much importance ?" asked is too sweet to inspire fear." 
 Despard. 
 
 Langhetti looked at him with mournful mean- 
 ing. 
 
 " If you but suspected it," said he, "your 
 peace of mind would be lost. I will therefore on 
 no account tell it. " • 
 
 Despard looked at him wonderingly. What 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 The Jast entry in Beatrice's journal was made 
 could he mean ? How could any one affect him? by her in the hope that it might be the last. 
 His peace of mind! That hud been lost long In her life at Brandon Hall her soul had 
 ago. And if this secret was so terrible it would crown stronger and more resolute. Besides, it 
 distract his mind from its grief, its care, and its had now come to this, that henceforth she must 
 hinging. Peace would be restored rather than eitiier stay and accept the punishment which they 
 destroyed. i might contrive or Hy instantly. 
 
 'I must find her. I must find her," said 
 
 Langhetti, speaking half to himself. " I am 
 
 weak ; hut much can be done by a resolute will." 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Thornton can assist you," said 
 
 ^^^Bespard, 
 
 Langhetti 'shook his head. 
 "No; lie is a man of law, and does not un- 
 derstand the man -who acts fiom feeling. I can 
 
 For she had dared them to their faces ; she 
 had told them of their crimes ; she had tlireat- 
 ened punishment, bhe had said that she wns 
 the avenger of Despard. If she had desired in- 
 stant death she coidd have said no more tlmii 
 that. Would they pass it by ? She knew-their 
 secret — the selret of secrets ; she had proclaimed 
 it to their faces. She had called Potts a Thug 
 
 be as logical as he, but I obey impulses which are and disowned him as her father ; what now re- 
 imintelligible to him. He would simply advise maine<l? 
 
 me to give up the matter, adding, perhaps, tliat 
 I would do myself no good. Whereas he can 
 not understand that it makes no ditterence to me 
 whether I do myself good or not; and again, 
 that the highest good that I can do myself is to 
 seek after her." 
 
 Mrs. Thornton looked at Despard, but he 
 avoided her glance. 
 
 " No," said Langhetti, "I will ask assistance 
 fiom another — from you, Despard. You are one 
 wlio acts as I act. Come with me." 
 
 " When ?" 
 
 "To-morrow morning." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 But one thing — flight. And this she was fiillv 
 resolved to try. She prepared nothing. To giiin 
 the outside world was all she wished. The need 
 of money was not thought of; nor if it had been 
 would it have made any difference. She coukl 
 not have obtained it. 
 
 The one idea in her mind was therefore flight. 
 She had, concealed her journal under a louse 
 piece of the flooring in one of the closets of her 
 room, being unwilling to encumber herself wiih 
 it, and dreading the result of a search in ca^e she 
 was captured. 
 
 She made no other preparations whatever. A 
 light hat and a thin jacket were all that she tnuk 
 to r&Hist the chill air of Mai-ch. There wot a 
 
 "Of course you will. Yon would not be a 
 Despard if you did not. You would not be the . fever in her veins which was heightened by ex- 
 son of your Cither — your father!" he repeated, in citement and suspense. 
 
 tlirilling tones, as his eyes flashed with enthu- I Mrs. Compton was in her room during the 
 siasiDh "Despard!" he cried, after a pause, | evening. Beatrice said but little. Mrs. Coinp- 
 "yonr father waa a man whom you might pray • ton talked drearily about the few topics or. which 
 to now. I saw him once. Shall I ever forget she Jinerally spoke. She never dared talk about 
 the day when he calndy went to lay down his ' ~ ' 
 
 the aflTairs of the house. 
 
 Beatrice was not inpatient, for she had no 
 idea of trying to escape before midnight. Ii'he 
 sat silently while Mrs. Compton talked or prosed, 
 absorbed in her own thoughts and plans, 'ihe 
 hours seemed to her iqterminable. Slowly and 
 heavily they dragged bn. Beatrice's suspenee 
 and excitement grew stronger every moment, 
 yet by a violent effort she preserved so )ierfect 
 an outward calm that a closer observer than Mrs. 
 Compton would hare foiled to detect any emo- 
 tion. „ 
 
 At last, abont ten o'clock, Mrs. Compton re- 
 tired, with many kind wishes to Beatrice, tiiid 
 many anxious counsels as to her health. B«i- 
 " Bu t I must go ont. J must think," he trice listene<l patiently, and made some ( wei*! 
 continued. " I will go and walk about the remarks, after which Mrs. Coidipton withi 
 
 life for my father ? Despard-, I worship your fa- 
 ther's memory. Come with me. Let us emu- 
 late those two nobis 'nen who once before res- 
 cued a captive. We can not risk our lives as 
 they did. Let us at least do what we can." 
 
 " I will do exactly what you say. You can 
 think and I will act.lT'* 
 
 " No, you must tliink too. Neither of us be- 
 long to the class of practical men whom the 
 world now delights to honor ; but no practical 
 man would go on our errand. No practical man 
 would have rescued my father. Generous and 
 lofty acts must always be done by those who are 
 not practical men. 
 
 grounds." 
 
 Saying this he left the room. 
 
 " Where is Edith Brandon ?" asked Despard, 
 after he had gone. 
 
 " She is here," said Mrs. Thornton. 
 
 " Have you seen her?" 
 
 She was now left to herself, and two houn 
 still remained before she could dare to ventura 
 She pace<l the room f etfully and anxiously, won- 
 dering why it was that the time seemed so long, 
 and looking from time to time at her watch in 
 the hope of finding that half on hour had paiMd, 
 
bat leeing 16 her disappointment that only two 
 or three minutes hati gone. ^ 
 
 At last eleven o'cloclc came. She stole a„t 
 quietly mto the hall and went to the toTof Z 
 
 ^™ T K °'^^°"^«' '^"'ne up from the dinine- 
 room, which was near the hall-duor. hhe knel 
 to whom those voices belonged. Evidendvk 
 was not yet the time for her vinture ^ 
 
 J^he went back, continuing her excitement as 
 best she might. At kst, after a long, long su^ 
 [lense, midnight sounded ** 
 
 Not yet The suspense became agonizinir 
 How could she wait ? But she wc.it b^k Zfn 
 
 l^k'^'e^'^ ^""''•'^-' ^^^ ^-«"«« -tC 
 
 «h«f '^'''*...^®"' '" "»« ''««J of the stainvav 
 Sheheard nothing. She could see a light s^rJiml 
 .ng from the door of the dining -haUbeW 
 
 h*, "^•'' '"''••"" """^-'S '" the hall itself bui 
 she heard no voices. ' 
 
 Softiv and quietly she went down stairs The 
 lights dashed out through the door of thTdinint 
 r«om into the hall; and as she arrived at the f^ 
 of the staors she heard subdued voices in conv^ 
 
 tliere! Whatif they now discovered her ' Whut 
 merey would they show her, even if they were 
 capable of merey? "ley were 
 
 Fear lent wings to her feet. She was almn-t 
 .faud to breathe for fear that the? mTghira 
 her. hhe stole on quietly and noiseless tm.fhl 
 •^.Jat led to^theUth eut3aT£ 
 
 ?5.e ir''ofi7rni:i?°t7i';r 
 
 pemlly u^d by the serv^ and ui bVZ 
 .n|D«tes of the house for convenience ^ 
 
 Tie key was in it. There was no light in the 
 immeJwte vicinity. Around it all was Vloom 
 
 m'&r * ''"'"^»^' '^''''-•" '«'' "'''«-" 
 
 nSnlTwith*' •'''^*" ''''•'>"«'«'''• ^»'!«='' trembled 
 gutly with excitement, and turned it ft the 
 
 Scarcely had she done so when she heard foot 
 nent was her only plan conceal- 
 
 wSiuXsiS'^ t;?Sk""shrr" ??''*''•'"• 
 
 of the nich^^^fi-rmli k u ® '"Pf*<J '"to one 
 
 ^C&L^ ^otflSTnot hope to b.^ 
 
 J^nese servants were the two who had been 
 
 »e could do nothing, therefore, but wait 
 
 COED AND CREESE. 
 
 131 
 ;;ithain't been locked yet," said the other. 
 
 a«o.;^Wh'^c5dhUlSi,\'e"^^^^^^ 
 
 Any one," said the other, ouietlv "0.,r 
 ble..d^young master has, no' d'ou? i,^^^ 
 
 ''Anv 1. t. '*""'■ """' ^"me along." 
 
 ".«S""i r""' "'^ ""I « '^» *■ 
 
 i.oveiea. Hut what was to li« «loi.o 9 ci i . 
 not been, prepared forX '^ '''"' '"''^ 
 
 ^^he stood for some tfine in desnair Sho 
 hought of otfmr ways of escaje Kre Ss 
 hP t ' nT' '"''"■'' ^h« ''i'l ""t <lare to ti^ f" 
 £i.iro2"%;° f-T '*"^"'>' '" front?f ,J 
 
 uum Huea. ^he knew of no others vho .i„ 
 teimmed to try the south door. ^ ''*" ^ 
 
 Qmetly and swiftly she stole away, and glided 
 
 >ke a ghost, along the entire length of tie build' 
 
 h„H hi' """ ?""" "^'^ « "'« «""'h end as it 
 
 Si-ac^ldS ""'■'^- «— '.edthlr 
 
 c.S'brtir^i^iJLr'-''^^ ^- 
 
 t> le stood des|,aiiiiig. Only one way was now 
 let., and that Liy through thehall-d.mH K^?f 
 stets '^«^' "^ '^' •"J'^ '»'•"«. "he he ,^ Lt- 
 
 of conctenTiere'^^r' "'" ''"«'"«^' ^''aL 
 
 Ah, Philips," said she, quietly, " I am walk 
 mg about for exercise and amu^'mcnt Tou, 
 not sleep. l>on t In, stanled. It's on^y me '^ 
 
 Philips stood like one paralyzed. 
 f«.™Kr ' *"'■ '''*" ''°*"'" ho said at last in a 
 
 fS^^rwi^i^Vo:^''^-'^''--^^^^^ 
 
 ^^'What do you „,««„?■. ^k^d Beatrice, in ' 
 '"??..**«««*■ ioareihrt^ir Hut cBeer ripT* " 
 
 "wiTr.j «••■'' irot reii. m 
 
 .. V u " y"" "•*"" hy f, lends?" 
 If on have friends who are more tjowerfnl th.n 
 
 Beatrice wondered. A vague thought of Bnui 
 
 once. 1 et the thought gave her • ddici^, iov 
 and .t one disHted .he extreme ,J^a^„^^ 
 
182 
 
 CORD AND CBEE9E. 
 
 hod thns far disturbed her. Could Philips be con- 
 nected with hitn t Was Ae in reality considerate 
 about her while shaping the coursb of his gloomy 
 vengeance ? 'i'hese were the thoughts which 
 flashed across her mind as she stood. 
 
 " I don't understand," said she, at last x" " but 
 I hope it may be as you say. God knows, I 
 need friends!' 
 
 She walked away, and Philips also went on- 
 ward. She walked slowly, until at last his steps 
 died out in the distance. Then a door banged. 
 Evidently she had nothing to fear from him. At 
 last she reached the main hall, and stopped for 
 a moment. The Ughts from the dining-room 
 were still flashing out through the door. The 
 grand entrance lay before her. There was the 
 door of the hall, the oidy way of escape that now 
 remained. Dare she try it ? 
 
 She deliberated long. Two alternatives lay 
 before her — to go back to her own room, oc to 
 try to pass that door. To go back was as re- 
 pulsive as death, in fact more so. If the choice 
 had been placed full before her then, to die on the 
 spot or to go back to her room, sIm would have 
 deliberately chosen death. The thought of re- 
 turning, therefore, was the last upon which she 
 could dwell, and that of going forward was the 
 only one left. To this she gave her attention! 
 
 At last she made up her mind, and advanced 
 cautiously, close by the wall, toward the hall- 
 door. After a time she reached the door of the 
 dining-room. Could she venture to pass it, and 
 how ? She paused. She listened. There were 
 low voices in the room. Then they were still 
 awake, still able to detect her if she passed the 
 door. 
 
 She looked all around. The hall was wide. 
 On the op|>osite side the wall was but feebly 
 lighted. The hall lights had been put out, and 
 those which shone from the room extended for- 
 ward but a short distance. It was just possible 
 therefore to escape observation by crossing the 
 doorway along the wall that was most distant 
 (W)m it. 
 
 Yet before she tried this she ventured to "jjut 
 forward her head so ^a to peep into the .room. 
 She stooped low, and looked cautiously and slow- 
 ly- 
 
 The three were there at the farthest end of 
 the room. Bottles £nd glasses stood before them, 
 and the^ were conversing in low tones. Those 
 tones, *ol^ever, were not so low but that they 
 reached her ears. They were speaking about her. 
 
 "How could she have found it out?" said 
 Clark. 
 
 "Mrs. Compton only knows on« thing," said, 
 Potts, "and that is the secret about her. She^ 
 knows nothing more. How could she ? ' 
 
 "Then how could that cursed girl have found 
 out about the Thug busioess ?" exckimed John. 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 "She's a deep one," said John, "d— d daep 
 — deeper than I ever thought. 1 always said flie 
 was plucky — cursed plucky — but now I see site's 
 deep too-:7:and 1 be^n to have my doubts ab out 
 
 the way Ae ought to be took down 
 
 "I never could make her out," said Potts. 
 " And now I don't even begin to understand how 
 she could know that which oidy we have known. 
 Do you thiilk, CUrk, that the devil could have 
 told her of it ?" 
 
 " Yes," laid Clark. " Nobody bat the devil 
 
 conld have, told her that, and my belief is that 
 she's the devil himself. She's the only person I 
 ever felt afraid of. D — n it, I can't look her in 
 the face." 
 
 Beatrice retreated and passed across to the 
 opposite wall. She did not wish to see or hear 
 more. She glided by. She was not noticed.' 
 She heard John's voice — sharp and cleai-T— 
 
 " We'll have to begin to-morrow and take her 
 down— that's a fact." This was followed by 
 silencf). 
 
 Beatrice reached the door. She turned the 
 knob. Oh, joy ! it was not locked. It o|iened. 
 
 Noiselessly she passed through ; noiselessly she 
 shut it behind her. She was outside. She was 
 free. 
 
 The moon shone brightly. It illumined the 
 lawn in front and the tops of the clumps of trees 
 whose dark foliage rose before her^ She saw all 
 this ; yet, in her eagerness to escape, she saw 
 nothing more, but sped away swiftly down the 
 steps, across the lawn, and under the shade of 
 the trees. 
 
 Which way shoidd she go ? There was the 
 main avenue which led in a winding direction 
 toward the gate and the porter's lodge. There 
 was also another path which the servants geneN 
 ally took. This led to the gate also. Beatrice 
 thought that by going down this path she might 
 come near the gate and then turn ofl' to the wall 
 and try and climb over. 
 
 A few moments of thought were suflicient for 
 her decision. She took the path and went hur- 
 riedly along, keeping on the side where the 
 shadow was thickest. 
 
 She walked s^viftly, nntil at length she came 
 to a place where the path ended. It was close 
 by the porter's lodge. Here she paused to con- 
 sider. 
 
 Late as it was there were lights in the lodge 
 and voices kt the door. Some one was talking 
 with the porter. Suddenly the voices ceased and 
 a man came walking toward the place where she 
 stood. 
 
 To dart into the thick trees whei« the shadow 
 lay deepest was the work of a moment. 8he 
 stood and watched. But the nnderbrush was 
 dense, and the crackling which she made attract- 
 ed the man's attention. He stopped for a mo- 
 ment, and then rushed straight toward the pkce 
 where she was. 
 
 Beatrice gave herself up for lost. She rushed 
 on wildly, not knowing where she went. Behinil 
 her was the sound of her pursuer. He followed 
 resolutely and relentlessly. There wa^ no refuge 
 for her but continued flight. 
 
 Onward she sped, and still onward, through the 
 dense underbnish, il^ch at every step gave no- 
 tice of the direction which jshe had takeiL Per- 
 haps if she had been wi^r she would have 
 plunged into some thick |;rowth of trees into 
 the midst' of absolute di^kness and there re- 
 mained still. As it was she did not think of 
 th|B. Escape was her onlir thought, and theonir 
 
 way to this deemed ta bejby flight. 
 
 ^6 she fled ; and after })er come tier remorK- 
 less, her unpitying pursuer. Fear lent wings to 
 her feet. She fled on 4»x>ugh the underbniih 
 th^t crackled as she pasted and gave notice of 
 her^ track through the dark, dense groves; TO 
 still fimidst darkness and gloom her pursuer fol- 
 loweiL 
 
 •ONW.\KD 81 
 
It, through utter w««kn».. ._j ^ . . »"«ush. 
 
 ler ounaer i 
 
 ShTeouId do no m^« "^P*"" <="«« "^^ her. 
 
 i.Sl?rcrgSrthSVfS*'*'"''''r'«t»'egloom 
 not find her.^^triol h Tt *'"«' '"« «»»'d 
 
 «*<Jetemined to wniTri i k^ ^ ''"*"«'»> 
 »«kea movemem" Si„ii ' J** ventured to 
 
 £f me "gain, It i^.» Xbq by [j. i^i"°if;t 
 for many niinntes ^^^^^'^J^ **« ««>«» "Ur 
 
 for^l'l?'"'/;:!'? ''"""'^'^/•P. «"<« ™n «, one runs 
 R^ir„ "5 '""K "-esf had refreshed her De- 
 
 4teXL jp-Sn-d-ti!" Trwr Sniii 
 
 on her. Still she rushed on "" *■» Kai"'"* 
 At liut . ,tr«,g hMd seized her by the ahoul. 
 
 ■J 
 
134 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 
 
 der, nnd she tank down upon the mosB that lay 
 under the forest trees. 
 
 " Who are you ?'* cried a familiar voice. 
 
 " Vljal !" cried Beatrice. 
 
 The other let go his hold. 
 
 " Will you betray me ?" cried Beatrice, in a 
 mournful and de!«pairing voice. 
 
 Vijal was silent. 
 
 " What do you want ?" said he. at last. ' ' What- 
 ever you want to do I will help you. I will be 
 your slave." 
 
 "1 wish to escape." 
 , "Come then — you shall escape," said Vijnl. 
 
 Without uttering another word he walked on 
 and Beatrice followed. Hope rose once more 
 within her. Hope gave strength. Despair and 
 its weakness had left; her. After about half an 
 hour's walk they reached the jiork wall. 
 
 " I thought it was a poacher," said Vijal, sad- 
 ly; "yet. I am glad it was you, for I con help 
 you. I will help you over the wall." 
 
 He raised her up. She clambered to the top, 
 where she rested for a njoment. 
 
 "God bless you, Vijal, and gpod-by!" said 
 she. 
 
 Vijal said nothing, ' 
 ■.^he next moment she was on the other side. 
 Thf road lay there. It ran north away from the 
 viUiige. Aloug this road Beatrice walked swiftly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 "PICKBirnP AWBIFT." 
 
 . Os the morning following two travelers left a 
 
 tmnll inn which lay on the road-side, about ten 
 
 miles north of Brandon. It was about eight 
 
 o'clock when they took their departure, driving 
 
 • in their own carriage at a moderate pace along 
 
 A the road. 
 
 \j "Look, Langhetti," said the one who was 
 
 driving, pointing with his whip to an object in 
 
 ' the road directly in front of them. 
 
 Q, Langhetti raised his head, which had been 
 
 , bowed down in deep abstraction, to look in the 
 
 'K -.. direction indicated. A flgnre was approaching 
 
 ' them. It looked like a Woman. I^he walked 
 
 very slowly, and appeared rather to stagger than 
 
 to walk. 
 
 "t*e appears to be dnmk, Despard," said 
 J^Anghetti. " Poor wretch, and on this bleak 
 March morning too ! Let us stop and see if we 
 can do any tiling for her." 
 
 They drove on, and as they met the womajn 
 
 Despard stopped; 
 
 I hhe was young and extraordinarily beautiful. 
 
 I Her lace was thin and white. Her clothing was 
 
 of fine materials but scanty and torn to shreds. 
 
 \ j ■, As they stopited she turned her large eyes up 
 
 \ dei^ringly and stood still, with a face which 
 
 \ ""■ seiaimed to express every conceivalle emotion of 
 
 IS ,-, anguixh and of hope. Yet as her eyes rested on 
 
 ^ i I.anghetti a change came over her. The deep 
 
 and nnuttei-able nadness of her face passed away, 
 
 — and was succecdeu by a radiant flash of joy. Sha 
 
 threw out her arms toward him with a cry of 
 
 wild entreaty. 
 
 The moment that Langhetti saw her he started 
 up and stood for an instant as if paralyzed. Her 
 PVy came to his ears. He leaped from the car- 
 ■rioge toward her, and caaght her in his arms. 
 
 ■^^ 
 
 " Oh, Bice ! ' Alas, my Bicina !" he cried, and 
 a thousrtnd fond words canje to his li|is. 
 
 Beatrice looked up with eyes tilled with grpte- 
 ful tears ; her lips murmured some inaudible sen- 
 tences ; and then, in this full assurance of sufetv 
 the resolution that had sustained her xo long 
 gave way altogether. Her eyes closed, she gave 
 a low moan, and sank senseless upon his breiist. 
 
 Langhetti supported' her for a moment, then 
 gently laid her down to try and restore her. He 
 chafed her hands, and did all that is usually done 
 in such emergencies. But here the case was dif- 
 ferent — it was more than a common faint, and 
 the animation now suspended was not to be re. 
 stored by ordinarj' efforts. 
 
 I.4inghetti boWed over her as he chafed her 
 hands. "Ah, my Bicina," he cried; "is it 
 thus 1 find you ! Ah, poor thin hand ! Alas, 
 white wan face ! A^hat suffering has been youre, 
 pure angel, among those fiends of hell !" 
 
 He paused, and turned a face of agony toward 
 Despard. But as he looked at him he saw a 
 grief in his countenance that was only second to 
 his own. Something in Beatrice's appearance 
 had struck him with a deeper feeling than that 
 merely human interest which the generous heart 
 feels in the sufferings of others. 
 
 " Langhetti," said he, " let ns not leave this 
 sweet angel exposed to this bleak wind. We 
 must take her back to the inn. We have gained 
 our object. Alas ! the gain is worse than a fail- 
 ure." 
 
 "What can we do?" 
 
 " I.«t us put her in the carriage between os, 
 aitd drive back instantly." 
 
 Despard stooped as he spoke, raided her rev- 
 erently in his arms, and lifted her upon the seat .^ 
 He sprang in and put his arms around her sense- 
 less form-, so as to support her against himself. 
 Langhetti looked on with eyes that were moist 
 with a sad yet mysterious feeling. 
 
 Then he resumed his place in the carriage. 
 
 "Oh, Langhetti {" said Despard^ "what ii it 
 that I saw in the face of this (joor child that w 
 wrings my heart ? What is this mystery of yoiin 
 that you will not tell ? " 
 
 "I can not solve it," said Langhetti, "and 
 therefore I will not tell it." 
 
 "Tell it, whatever it is. " * 
 
 "No, it is only conjecture as yet, and I mil 
 not utter it." 
 
 "And it affects me?" 
 
 "Deeply." 
 
 "Therefore tell it." 
 
 " Therefore I must not tell it ; for if it prove 
 baseless 1 shall only excite your feeling in vain.' 
 
 "At any rate let me know. For i have the 
 wildest fancies, and I wish to know if it is possi- 
 ble that they are like your own." 
 
 " No, Despard," said Langhetti. "Not now. 
 The time may come, but it has not yet." 
 
 Beatrice's head leaned against Despard's shoul- 
 der as she reclined against him, sustained bv his 
 arm. Her face was upturned ; a face as white 
 as marble, her pure Grecian features showing 
 now tlieir iiuiUless lines Uk« the sc-ulpturei fiice 
 of some goddess... Her beauty was perfect In its 
 classic outline. But her eyes were closed, and 
 her wan, white lips parted ; and there was sor- 
 row on her face which did not seem appropriate 
 to one so young. 
 
 "Look," said Langhetti, in a mournful voice. 
 
 ' ^v you ever in a/i 
 
 fectly and so faiiltj^ 
 
 lonld but have seen 1 
 
 moods of inspiration, 
 
 •'*[ '•""e imagiiifed si 
 
 Oh, Despard!" h 
 
 ra which (he Q^her ht 
 
 <m without a word- 
 
 raetoteilpyonthissec 
 
 - sidMpread; Jfmyf 
 
 'ife mnst at once l>e m 
 
 lamed to one dark pi, 
 
 .™» to that purpose (il 
 
 '•■'^possibility of « doH 
 
 "J ..T. ""*' "' h 
 Fluch I hardly dare 
 
 hiiv^i^ii 
 
.'" he cried, and 
 lilt li]i8, 
 
 lied with grate- , 
 e inaudible sen- 
 irance of safety, 
 ed her no long 
 losed, niie gave 
 ipon his liieiist, 
 moment, then 
 sstore her. He 
 t is usually done 
 he case was dif 
 mon faint, and 
 18 not to be re- 
 
 CORD AND <!:5EESE. 
 
 .<*' 
 
 rai^d her rev- 
 ' upon the seat . 
 ound her sente- 
 igainst himself, 
 hat were moist 
 
 loumful voice. 
 
 • iJi 
 
 W Vnn pvar in aII «•« 
 
 fonld but have spftiThar !^t u , "' " J "" 
 
 «^of i„7;r:s.the*;f s L^ra^^nruiJ^ 
 
 in wUch Wer had 7^1^' "''" % """•^'^ 
 I'im without . wori-.'Oh n ' IT '^^■^ '" 
 ^^^od thi"l«,'"'i JaTnl' T- "'' 
 
 Format""' S"":'*"'^ '■'' ">«"' I ™Plon> yon. 
 
 andro;\,i'rtS'''aorw™°?h!!:2' "'' 
 of it even to yourself/" " ^^ij^ »"' 
 
 il"!''!'.'! fP"'"' '^i'h a wild and vehement 
 
 m„J ^'*" ""^ ^*'" *«'•! I>espard, "that 
 rou e mv cunosity to an intolerable deg,S- 
 
 you 
 
 " R« u •* "" intolerable degiee?" 
 
 It u. evident." said he to Langhetri, "that 
 
 
18« 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 /I 
 
 ■be haa escaped from Brandon Hall during the | 
 paat night, bhe will, no doubt, be pursued. 
 Whaf shall we do f If we go back to tbia inn^ 
 they will wonder at onr bringing her. There is 
 another inn.a mile further on.", 
 
 " I ha^Q^ieen thinking of that," replied Lan- 
 ghetti. "It will be better to go to the other inn. 
 But what shall we say about her? Let na say 
 ^e is an invalid going home." 
 
 "And am I her medical attendant?" asked 
 Despard. „ 
 
 "No; that is not fiecessary. Yon are her 
 guardian — the Rector of Holby, of course — your 
 name is sufficient guarantee." 
 
 "Oh," said Despard, after a pause, " I'll tell 
 i yon. something better yet. I am her brother and 
 .< abe is my sister — Miss Despard." 
 
 ' Aaihe spoke^e looked down upon her marble 
 fiuw. He did not see Langbetti's countenance. 
 Had he done so he would have wondered. For 
 Langbetti's eyes seemed to seek to pierce the verv 
 soml of Despwd. His face became transformed. 
 ■•K Its usual serenity vanished, and there was eager 
 wonder, intense and anxious cuhosity — An en- 
 deavor to see if there was not some deep 
 meaning underlying Despard's words. But Des- 
 pard showed no emotion. He wm conscious'of 
 no deep meaning. He merely munnnted to him- 
 self as he looked down upon the dnsonscidua 
 fiice:" 
 
 "My sick sister— my sister^ Beatrice." 
 
 Langhetti said not a word, but sat in silence, 
 absorbed in one intense and wondering gaze. 
 De<)pard seemed to dwell upon this idea, fondly 
 •nd tenderly. 
 
 " Khe is not one of that brood," said he, after 
 * pause. "It is in name only that she belongs 
 to them." 
 
 " Tliey are fiends and she is an angel," said 
 Lanriietd. 
 
 ' 'ileayen has sent her to ns ; we must preserve 
 her forever." 
 
 "If she lives," said Langhetti, "she must 
 never gft back." 
 
 " Go baxk 1" cried Despard. " Better &r for 
 -her to die." 
 
 " I myself wouTd die rather than give her up." 
 
 "And I, too. But we will not. I will adopt 
 her. Yes, she shall cast away the link that binds 
 her to these accursed ones— her vile name. I 
 will adopt her. She shall have my name — she 
 shall be my sister. She shall be Beatrice De^ 
 pard. 
 
 "And surely," continued Despard, looking 
 tenderly down, " surely, of all the Despard race 
 there was never one so beautiful and so pure as 
 ■he." 
 
 Langhetti did not say a word, but looked at Des- 
 pard and the one whom he thus called his adopt- 
 ed sister wi^ an emotion which he could not 
 control. Tears started to his eyes ; yet over his 
 brow there came something which is not gen- 
 erally astociated with tears — a lofty, exultant 
 expression, an air of joy and peace. 
 
 '' Your sister^" said Despand, ' ' shall nnrse her 
 — "haek -tyJaMih 8lte wIlIdoTO fljr 
 
 Langhetti — or rather trom her own noble 
 generous instincts. In Thornton Grangti she 
 will, perhaps, find some alleviation for the sor- 
 rows which she may have endured. Onr care 
 shall be around her, and w« can all kbnr togeth- 
 ■r for her future wet&re." 
 
 They at length reached the inn of which they 
 had spoken, and Beatrice was tenderly lifted ont 
 and carried up stairs. Sl^e was mentioned u 
 the sister of the Kev. Mr. Despard, of Holby, 
 who was bringing her back fh>m the sea-Bide| 
 whither she ha^jone for her health. Unform- 
 nately, she had been too weak for the journey. , 
 
 The people of the inn showed the kindest at- 
 tention and warmest sympathy. A doctor wa( 
 sent for, who lived at a village' two miles farther 
 on. 
 
 Beatrice recovered from her foint, but remained 
 unconscious. The doctor considered that her 
 brain was affected. He shook his head solemnly 
 over it, as doctors always do when theydiave 
 nothing in particular to- say. Both Langhetti 
 and Drapard knew more about her case than he 
 did. 
 
 They saw that rest was the one thing needed. 
 But rest could be better attained in Uolhy than 
 here ; and besides, there was the danger uf pur- 
 suit. It was necessaiy to remove her ; and that, 
 too, without delay. A close carriage was pro- 
 cured without much difficulty, and the patient 
 was deposited therein. . \ \ 
 
 «A slow journey broughMhem by easy stages 
 to Holby. Beatrice remained unconsciuus, A 
 nurse was procured, who tra^^ed with her. The 
 condition of Beatrice wa^the same which she de- 
 scribed in her diary. Great grief and extraordi- 
 nary suffering and excitement\bad overtasked 
 the brain, and it had given way. V So Despard 
 and Langhetti conjectured. "' 
 
 At last they reached Holby. They drove tt 
 once to Thornton Grange. 
 
 • ' What is this ?" cried Mrs. Thornton, who had 
 heard nothing from them, and , ran oiit upon the 
 piazsa to meet' them tys she saW them comitg. 
 
 "I have found Bi^" said Langhetti, "and 
 have brought her bere.\' 
 
 "Where is she?" \ 
 
 "'l'here,"saidLanghi^. "Igiveher&yoat 
 care — It is for yon to gi^e her back to me." . , 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 OS TBK tBACK. 
 
 Bkatbicb'b disappearance was ki^wn at Bnui- 
 don Hall on the following day. The servants 
 first made the discovery. They ^nnd her ab- 
 sent from her room, and no one had seen her 
 about the house. It was an tmusual thing for 
 her to be ont of the house early in the day, and 
 of late for many months she had scarcely erer 
 left her room, so that now her absence at once 
 excited suspicion. The news was communicated 
 trom one to another among the servants. Afraid 
 of Potts, they did not dare to tell him, but flnt 
 sought to find her by themselves. They called 
 Mrs. Compton, and the fear which perpetnally 
 possessed the mind of this poor, timid cnsstore 
 now rose to a positive firenzy of anxiety and 
 dread. She told all that she knew, and that was 
 uiai sne mKi eeen nor^Tue evening ueioiu ■b'i*^ i 
 al, and had left her at ten o'clock. 
 
 No sati8fiH:ti,on therefore could be gained from 
 her. The servants tried to find traces of her, 
 but were niuble. At length toward evening, on 
 Potts's return from the buk, the news was ood- 
 muoicated to him. 
 
■-f:'-i 
 
 CORD AND CKEESR 
 
 
 tod Btarts. ^ ''®' ""'^ conversing by fits 
 "I don't think she's kiUed herself "g-idp „ 
 
 ;; Of course she ranst" 
 ^^Jnclud.„g „„ B„„,„„ ^^ I „ ^,^ 
 
 ''t^^:'??S!rs^/'''Hch.rk; 
 
 thlB.^ny^low'^'' ^•'''^ "^-' W- ,..k of 
 irflh" TO (^'id fi.^'"^"i'^ " ?*P*"" 8«n'e. I'oniy I »^i!/,''*^ '*!''P««'l !»»» silence 
 
 >-:?sj.rh'2,i'£,^.'^ "-. don.. 
 
 ".. .nd th. ^t;,J3 ;x !:"* ■» ««»'• 
 
 Potts shook his head. 
 
 "After what she toid me it*. ™„ k i- * . 
 
 « «o any .|,i„„ whv.'^KH '. ^^ ^'^'^ "he 
 
 • I ?.». ' V: "" i"-">orrow ?" / ' "^ 
 
 a«ely?"" "•" '"^ ^ «»" l^er^'reM Po.ts, sav- 
 " But where?" / 
 
 «>« to^S.l'SZ.f^ '''""/*''''^'' «^'-' to 
 "What?" """""K- .1, 
 
 Joh„t?^„tfc><'rotts. ^Yonrpnp, 
 
 ^ Joh^n^pounded k fist on the table with «vage 
 
 "My blood-honnd ! Good oM n j .^ 
 
 TfieTdpTtr*""''"^^''" 
 
 we'll arrive at tlTe sDot J.f^. "i""* "^"^^ 'hat 
 It'B.thebest wrthrTTll°".h« '» «>'« her. 
 
 - --•- """"IV Ills neau mc 
 nope.iii feeling about thin h« ' "" """ "" 'ery 
 
 wives went fonh toTAT^'w '■'«*"» lliem- 
 !»«. «.d. Ttt, 'nfl.'?.:;!? """'ion l«d 
 
 toldherany thing?" aS J i "* '"^ °"'^"' '- ■*''"*°"' ""is. He wa»«),.w«„ .„ ...-! 
 
 ;;M.e didn't know any thihg to teU." 
 Mrs. Compton must have blown hen " 
 
 •Jl^nStTn^SS'te 7-ftuthat 
 »h« she told us S^oiTpf l>v.ng that knows 
 d»^*.W,sher^^^^^^^^^ How 
 
 "Jou're not going to give unTho ^ u he was required to sLt „^J\ "' " "^"^ 'h«i 
 
 jwr asked Cl^k. «*"«•*« "P the search, are trail oat^Srongh the ftn;.. h ''* J""' """ "» her 
 :;G^»eitup! Not I." and nptoTeT.tl '"'«''' down the stefl., 
 
 We most get her back." L '"'« "thers followed after Th- j i ^ . 
 
 ^'allh -5^/^^- ^-^--^^^k^^^^ 
 TWe was a long silence. ^"^ of h^ dres, ,t {"^bfu^ tZ^^-'}!- 
 
 /:P^fnJT^X^rL^<^ moodily, S^riea^^tar^^TT*-^-^^^ 
 
 «f the trial no onel,-. 2^' ?'' ""*'« the time fromJuLl T*» h8d-w?n'lered in her flight 
 
 I ««girl did."" ""• ••"• """>'«'n«l it to me till Z5i|'„d £lS S^^A^j^'^'he^J ^A 
 
 I j^And she is only twenty yea„ old," rejoined 
 
 J "'W^tf'rf.e^is'tSlfTP'" ™™«*«d ChrkT 
 I •"dcruA h^" '^ •'""» ''« "'Mt fight it oni 
 
 ff^ ■ 
 
 romJ^al. 
 ert^Kn 
 '■/^■Ple 
 
 , (?^«n«> I w^^ttyj'T' y«»" have 
 I S;;^ h*. ,i.5^^£^h n^ fo«owe«^ 
 
 ,^meJs^tJi^«l;T£llCrK^ 
 
 - » do Then he W th!m ti "'"i *^ «w I»5l Wii: 
 
 ^marked Clark , he .ILli^hS* A^'pST^SI""'!**' I*^ ^"^1 
 
 » ^.r*?'^? ' '°"« <leep howl. "^ op !«• . 
 
 ;; What's thi«?"saiaPotU. 
 ^ -™...... , wall r^ihow * 53? Z'w.^"''' «°» «^ *« 
 
,-f;.-,- 
 
 :i>K*.rKs.!s..--*-,a!Ff./;-v.-;i ip- :, 
 
 , 188 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 r,iu 
 
 =^^. 
 
 'war, Do^T TOO bbk?^ shb'b got ovkb tuh wall somehow." 
 
 The others at once understood tbaMbiB mnst 
 be the case. ' In a short time they Were on th^ 
 other side of the wall, where the dog found the 
 trail again, and led on while they followed as 
 before. 
 
 They did not, however, wish to seem like pur- 
 suers. That would hardly be the thing in a coun- 
 try of law and order. They chose to walk rather 
 slowly, and .John held the dog by^ strfip which 
 he had brought with him. They soon found the 
 walk much longer than they had anticipated, and 
 began to regret that they had not come in a car- 
 ri^. They had gone too far, however, to rem- 
 edy this now, so they resolved to conflue on 
 their way as they were. 
 
 "Gad!" said John, who felt &tigued first, 
 " what a walker she is I" 
 
 " She's the devil !" growled Clark, savagely. 
 
 At last, after about three hours' walk, the dog 
 
 stopped at a place by the road-side, and snuiFed 
 
 in aU directions. The others watched him anx- 
 
 -iously for kJong.-timA. The Aog ran all around 
 
 ,glu£B'ng at the ground, but to no purpose. 
 
 He bad lost the trail. Again and again he 
 triad to recover it. But his blood-thirsty instinct 
 
 a completely at tugik The trail had gone, 
 i^last the animah>aiii|i9 up to his master and 
 erooMed down at his feet With • low mowL 
 
 ■/ 
 
 " Sold 1" cried John, with a curse. 
 
 "What con have become of her ?" said Pofti. 
 
 "I don't know,"*. said John. "I dire sar 
 she's got took up in some wagon. Yes, thats 
 it. That's the reason why the tr^il has gone."" ^ 
 . " What shall we do.i^w ? We can't follow. 
 I^ may have been the ooacA, and she may ha^e 
 got a lift to the nearest railway station." 
 
 "Well," said John, "111 tell, you what wean 
 do. Let one of us go to the inns that are near- 
 est, and ask if there was a girl in the coach that 
 looked like her, or make any inquiri||tlmt mar 
 be needed. We could find out that Wnh at an; 
 rate." 
 
 The others assented. John swore he was too 
 tired.' At length, after some conversation, iber 
 all determined to go on, and to hire a carriage 
 iMick. Accordingly on they went, and soon reach- 
 ed an inn. -f 
 
 Here they made inquiries, but could learn no-^ 
 thing whatever about any girl that had stoppeii 
 there^ Pofta then hired a carriage and drove off 
 to the next inn, leaving the others behind. He j 
 returned in about two hours. His face bore an 
 expression of deep perplexi^. *• 
 
 *' Well,, what luck, dad ?'' asked Joha »> 
 
 "There's the devil to pay," growled" Pot* 
 
 "Did,>ott find her'/" 
 
^B& 
 
 AND CH?;E8K. 
 
 180 
 
 Ilia wilTtoUl 1 °" '""^ ''^'- f^nd, till it L 
 
 ii her brother. " 
 
 "Who?"^ 
 
 " His name is Courtena 
 ood Lionel J>e8|)ard," saic! I'ott^ 
 
 The others returned his look 'in 
 dennent. ^ 
 
 "IVe been thinking «n<l thinking," said Potts 
 
 I, son of Col- 
 utter bewil- 
 
 II is will to call us 
 
 
 CHAI*TER XXXV. 
 bbatkick's becovbrt. 
 
 — . ^~°/' '""^ "JO overt! 
 
 of the world aJind C l^ZjZTT'' 
 rfm «,„k down by the nJ^Z K Jun2 
 when she began to lecovar ftr.™ »i. wag june 
 J«.n.ble e^eiten,rZ>„'S™whlV£\2 
 
 i'^^reS'^^hra^rirs^v^^^^^^^^ 
 
 H*^ Jove anil cS, °eo3d do'^^t^^J^ 
 mittmjrfy exerted for her benefit. "^ 
 
 " v«- •• J l!: "" "'"""' before. 
 "And have >ou nursed me?" 
 
 ,No, replied the stranger; "it was not per- 
 
 mit! 
 
 1 me. 
 
 " «. tSL""^*^ -" °""™<"«*fieatrice, ferventlv 
 lie na» one sorrow Imu ima i ' ""^'""'v- 
 ' ' He. " said VVh *"ve you ?" 
 
 )a must not soeaic v^ ...:/i- "?.^.'- ^^^ 
 
 ss- I now 
 
 onJself 
 
 Bn f-you. 
 
 Be Ihp 
 .e i,ri 
 
 ■■I»!__l , """ "»™ TOW 
 
 "litoigly exerted for her benefit 
 
 f«te in their lovelines.,. were ^S-,!^ "?" 
 Ae expn^ion that dweU nZ ^^1^1^ ''^ 
 P«N « was spiritual, it w^Toly "li XT^ 
 
 In WeoiJuSmSnTSL'" ^'•"™« ^"'W* 
 Wnt fancy that^w.^ '"i"* " ""' ''"d * 
 «e,Sithefol •? '"?''■«' stateof exist- 
 
 «fcon» h^X« piltn^K appointed to 
 
 ^I^ghetU." said Beatri^. ..Qh, God be 
 home^'ifhtsiTter ' " "'"'" ^•"' *° •- »>-« -^ 
 
 so lovinjflv ? Ah ^T-Za •" ""•'" j"" "**" 'o *Pe"'' 
 
 irtS^ pi2S'" ■°°*" "™ '» - •* 
 
 idlf°Tlnl^' ^*^*« '^g** to «<=over rap- 
 idly. I^nghetti's sister seemed to her alnm^ 
 
 iuh'soS'r*'* '""'' 1''« "»'* CnZAZ. 
 with some of her most pleasant memories i^ 
 atmosphere of love was around her t^e n^r 
 Hufferet inhaled <he pure and life-g^Wng^ '^d 
 strength came with every breath ^ ' ^ 
 At length she was able to sit un and thon 
 frtetti saw her., He gi^t^l h6r wSh^ 
 the ardent and impassioned warmth which W_ 
 so sinking «t*M»«»T,Hc of hJK i^^^H^t^ 
 
 -= ».uo... nna impassioned warmth which waa 
 so sinking «t*«ni«ertsHc of his impuki^^ 
 «flfectk,na.e nature. Then she sawX^rd."^ 
 fiiifjK ^ fomething about this man which 
 fiUed her with indefinable emotions. TtTk^owt 
 «Ige which she had of the mysterious fate of S 
 father did not repel her from him. A wondl "" 
 and subtle sympathy seemed aiWto iClS 
 tweenthetwd. lie stem fccerflSSSd 
 
 0. 
 
-'^^ 
 
 m 
 
 CORD AND CKKKSE. 
 
 /^^ 
 
 1 ' 
 
 •>! 
 
 11 
 
 
 ^^:iM 
 
 ^ -2"- " ~^=5 a-— .-.js 
 
 r- ^^^^H. sfl^i^ 
 
 /iiJ^^E.^^^JBH 
 
 
 ^\ i''"''''^'^'%^' 
 
 II 
 '. ', '1' 
 
 I 
 
 1 > 
 
 j 
 
 ' I' 
 
 1 
 
 'iff' ''^ • 
 
 ■I , ni. 
 
 ii,' *'■"■■«: "f^J 
 
 IIATRICli AFB^IEt) HEB STE8 AFTER HER LONG nNCOS80IOD8NB88, 8HB LOOKCD 
 " AHOCND IN WOKDBB." 
 
 f n softer nndMBM^ial exprcission wiien 
 h«r. His tlimwas gentle and aflection- 
 at^' almost paternal. ' 
 
 What W» the feeling that arose within her 
 heart tovylrd this nmn ? With the one fof her 
 father who had inflicted on his father so terrihle 
 a fotd, how did she dure to look him in the faiie 
 or exchange words with Irim? Should she not 
 ^rather shrink away as onee" dte sii»Bk from 
 Brandon ? 
 
 Yet she did not shrink. His presence bronght 
 a 8tra<igo peace and calm over her soul. His in- 
 fluence was more potent over? her than that of 
 Langhetti. In this strange cf>mpany he seemed 
 to her to be the centre and the chief. 
 
 Te Beatrice Edith was an iippenetntUe mjs- 
 tery. Hei" Whole "mamier excited her dee|»< 
 reverence and at the saine time her strongeat en- 1 
 riosity. 'Hie fact that she was hit sister wonU I 
 of itself have won her heart ; but there were ott- 
 er things about her which aflFected her strangely. 
 
 Edith moved among the others with s straiift I 
 far-off air, Vn air at once full of gentle ntfectiofti j 
 jret tftaeccupieda Her manner in d i c a ted I ^ J 
 yet tni love pf one who was far abpve thepi. ™| 
 was like some grown person associating "ii''| 
 
 Soung children whom ho loved. " Her ioal *«I 
 ke a star and dwelt apart" . 
 
 Paolo seemed igiore like an equal; bat P«jJ| 
 hims^f approached equali^ only beouiBe hec 
 
 fvk, 
 
 During these week 
 MiDlans. She embi 
 _ "Yoa have a miss 
 I, for nothing that youi 
 .joo. I have written 
 tttwordiuary cireum 
 it ii. Never hav6 I 
 AwM be representc 
 Vdce. At my time < 
 ■r way. My Bice, ( 
 war together." 
 
 Jtattrice grasped ea 
 
 » Alger, to iiiterpret 
 
 i, netml delightful ti 
 
 «|i«ndent on no frienc 
 
 ■ifiwsg. She would i 
 
 ^leness, with her I 
 
 c.would come to 
 
 «J» the purpose,' the 
 
 mot her lifa If tl 
 
 , "Ueh could alleviate » 
 
 I wltant joy which was 
 
 Mraw Art— that Art i 
 
 Wh and heaven. An 
 
 •Mjoy, that she had oi 
 
 »w so sensitive to mu 
 
 wran itself appeared t 
 
 I ^jtlwse were lovere 
 
 W Mights to which CO 
 
 ■tn. To the »onl whi 
 
 "Pwity for understand 
 
 nmarejoys peculiar, at 
 
 »luch nothing else that tl 
 
 , .Ifnghettiwasthehia 
 
 I "»*>. Edith was the p 
 
 I "Wty. Be,itrice was th 
 
 J ■^•VoJeethatbrough 
 
 1. *"• Thomton'and D 
 
 T StTT ^^0 TOhlfmi 
 
 I ^..^'"h the others wi 
 
 «•* was like the son 
 
 J«gtietti like the min 
 
 I .7**'ce l«8embled th 
 
 "w* the spiritual is o 
 
 "••wasthe Voice whici 
 
 A*^ 
 
,CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 
 
 141 
 
 — -V t.i«»t. 7* men ft 
 
 tt tnoiher, yet more delic&te and 
 
 f onipiWJenl„:'" '""^ """'*''•'•• """ »'«^""1 
 
 le once qucHtioned Mm. Thom-ton, Uit re-" 
 
 led no MtiHfaction. Mn,. Thornton V,^k7d 
 
 Interio;!., but Hhook her head ^ 
 
 ; Your brother treads her tike a divinity "t 
 . ^.uppone he think. «he i. Home.hin^^re 
 
 "it^'Tnl'r'' '.*"" ""'' "' '"'^ *»"'^'' I feel ?". 
 res , and HO does every one. I feel tow.ir./ 
 
 jer a, thongh .he belonged to anotk^r Zrl± 
 bfae take* no interent in this." 
 t'_ "She minted me. '^ " 
 
 "Oh yen ! Every' act of love>,V kindness 
 wUch .he can perfo,™ .he seeks out and d^s 
 taj^now as you glow better she ftfHi bac^ uS 
 
 ^Sdr^iinded by such friends as }hese Beatrice 
 .'iff'i'^ ,^!e.'."'i '■7 ""^"K'h- Weeks went on! 
 
 «i« length sh/liegLrirmovea^^^^ 
 ■ gt^ides and /rives, and to stroU .h^ugh'S Z:i'^lX>SJl^^- .-' H 
 
 in his hiu. . « ■" ""»"■«. indeed that he 
 
 l^mesS.h'^'""'""! *""'""'"■«**' "''""W have 
 JZj wi,i i"r'* "" ** "!•*"' ""•! """"W '"Ok rot 
 
 ducetl the most powerful ettects. '^"«'"'"* P"'-^- 
 Ihomio. f„„„J ,h„,.t|,i, b„n„ .,,„ r„ S 
 
 During these weeks Paolo made known to her 
 to^htns. She embniced them cfgerly 
 I / ^'^oa.'^ve a mission, "said he. "It was not 
 I, for Bothmg that your divine voice Was J^nTo 
 
 SLnii; '^•'^"*" "^ "J*™ ""Jo-- 'he most, 
 tttt.ori.naryc.rcurast.moes. You know what' 
 kk Never hav« I been able to decide hov^^t 
 *aM be represented., I have pmyed for a 
 ISr.. "^ W"'';^J^ ^°" we^e^own in 
 KgetlS-P'"'^"'''"*'*'"^- ^'u" 
 
 . £!!™! ^^P**^ ^K^'"'-'' »' this idea. To be 
 tJnger to interpret the thoughts of LanirheV 
 
 »Wi could alleviate sorrow and imef it w«« fh« 
 «to.t joy which was created wiSierT the 
 2rJW""" ^« '^'"•■'» «'»"« » common t^ 
 i Strihirsrh i^"" '"fJBeatricp tC w^ 
 ™»J<>jr, that she had one of thoM HatunM whfch 
 J« » sensitive to music Ihat «nder iS^ Iwer 
 i^jnitself appeared to open before he? ^ ' 
 
 aaw her and s^^'^ZJ^T^^iSTr^ 
 
 I^.«h,t.i had .uit^^ed^d^i^it^XuttS 
 M! k'?*""' ""I' *■«• K ""e Relieved him^lf "hi 
 H.gh-1'nest and Beatrice the Pythian Tw that 
 
 more'sr;. ''' ^- -- <^-- -J 
 
 " We will not Bdt up « new Delki," said he 
 Our revelations are not new. ^e bTiv^ 
 
 In preparing for the great work bef<ira tJiBm i» 
 was necessary to get alJame for ^Te'''S ' 
 own name won rf„..M., .i.u . ^^"^'i''- "^r 
 
 Bd the de- I take his namLhnTTw ^r«r«"i *i-hed h^ to 5C>i; 
 ing to her diS? S^jJ^' Pf^?*'-'' ."''""ed an exnio^J ^:^ 
 it was the. " No "riH- " r'* '*"'"'• ^^'-W? 
 
 her by the in ,hfs"' lliopt^her'"".^'^"""''. ''"""""^^ Ff 
 ommon to name is Desoa^ ifV ' ''2 "'"•'' *'««''- ««•• 
 there waa I shil L^^^lll "l'^!" tokes«ny other i«me , k 
 
 inthis. ladoptiheV ^he U mvsister H«. 
 
 Tshf ll'" ^r"!- " ■"«> '«k«^S other Jt 
 
 I shall consider it as an intolerable slight ">- 
 
 He expressed himself so strongly that Beatrim 
 
 Afl.these were lovers of music, and therefon, ' ^„i i '"*" '.' *" ^"fcmous for her to take that 
 Mdll^ghts to which common mo^ are ^^^ ' fnd f. "'^'- k" "n "^ 'de» had become w3^ 
 J*. To the »onl which i. endZd^tHhe ' «ft^ tr^-'^»fi^«^"J'*'»«nthatreS 
 «PMi^ for understanding the deliirhts of ton« I i u *» 'citations\df Despai^. ' ■ 
 
 Aware JOJ.S p«mliar. at oSce pure «*d enSunW J^'l'^^'^^*^ foed'at onca m fece ^ 
 
 ridrt W^^ ® P'-esiding or inspiring di- ter for a iife^JTy n^^^* •"^^'^*" """>« het- 
 
 -S.1V f*"nce was the medium of uttetance »nH Ik HP • '^^P«fd wm an English nama 
 
 Hhe Voice that brought down heaven to ™rth ^,'/'^''"«'' anstocrati?, was not o^wU^ 
 
 ^iJhorntoit-and IJespapd Xd .^"i «^*/'"«r. ."3^' have-. ^ "'"'-'' * 
 
 I ^'^^tfie irabUme effect* and iffimo! „,m i "" i"*'"*^? "^"^^^^KisW^^^ 
 
 ! <»« which the other, wrought ourvvitWn thZT Zd ^f "«''«" ' "ho had never ^en up hh dd 
 
 Edift was like the sonl. " *^*"°- > '^'*'' f'?'«™«> manner toward her. "it L „I 
 
 I ^~ '^ " ■ I What other things f _ - 
 
 '■■^ 
 
 >' KV*--^^ 
 
 r -w^^ 
 
142 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 " Not connected with Art,''continnedLangh9t- 
 tl, evasively. " 1 will tell you some day wWbn the 
 time comeii. " / 
 
 " Now you are exditing my cnrioMty," said 
 Beatrice, in a low and eahiest tone. ' "You do 
 not Isnow what thoughts you excite ^thin me. 
 Either you ought not to excite such' ideas, or if 
 you do, it is your dutyito satisfy them." 
 
 "It is not time yet; 
 
 " What do you mean bv that ?" 
 
 "That is a secret." 
 
 " Of course ; you make it one ; but if it is one 
 connected with me, then surely I ought to know." 
 
 " It is not time yet fot\you to know." 
 
 " When will it be time?" 
 
 "I can not telL" 
 
 " And you will therefore keep^t a secret top- 
 ever?" 
 
 "I hope, my Bicina, that the time will come 
 before long." 
 
 " Yet why do yon wait, if you know or even 
 suspect any thing in which I am concerned 'i" 
 
 " I wish to spare you." 
 
 ''That is not necessary. Am I so wea^ that 
 I can not \ieai to hear any thing which you miiy 
 have to tell? You forget what a life I have had 
 for two years. Such a life might well prepare 
 me for any thing." 
 
 "If h were merely something which might 
 create sorrow I would teH It. I believe that 
 you have a self-reliant naturq, which has grown 
 ,^ stronger through affliction. But that which. I 
 Iwve to ten is different. It is of such a charac- 
 ter that it would of necessity destroy any peace 
 of mind which you have, and fill you with hopes 
 and feelings that could never be satisfied." 
 
 " Yet even that I could betfr. Do you not 
 see that by your very vagueness you, are exciting 
 my thoughts and hopes 7 You do not know what 
 I know." 
 
 "What do yoa know?'' asked Langhetti, ea- 
 gerly. 
 
 Beatrice hesitated. No; she could not tell. 
 That would be to tell all the holiest secrete of 
 her heart. For she must then tell almut Bran- 
 . don, and the African island, and the manuscript 
 which he carried and which had been taken from 
 his bosom. Of this she dai-ed not speak. 
 She was silent. 
 , "You can not knoto any thing," said Lan. 
 
 ghetti. " You may suspect much. I only have 
 suspicions. Yet it would not be wise to com- 
 municate these to you, since they would prove 
 idle and without result." 
 
 So the conversation ended, and Langhetti still 
 maintained his secret, though Beatrice hoped to ' 
 find it out, 
 
 , At length she was sufficiently recoverM to be 
 able to begin the work to which langhetti wished 
 to lead her. It was August, aild langhetti was 
 impatient to be gone. So wherhAugust began he 
 made preparations to depart, and in a few days 
 tliey were in London. Edith was left with'^Mrs. 
 Thornton. Beatrice had an attendant who went 
 M t b hw, ha l f chaper &a^hatf kdyVguBd. r— 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE AFFAIRS OF SMITHERS * CO. 
 
 For more than a year the vast operations of 
 Smithers & Co. had astonished business circles 
 in London. Foqnerly they bad been consid- 
 ered as an eminently respectable house, and as 
 doing a safe busiiiess ; but of late all this had 
 been changed in so sudden and wonderful a man- 
 ner that no one could account for it. Leavini! 
 aside their old, cautious policy, they undertook 
 without hesitation the largest enterprises. For- 
 eign railroads, national loans, vast joint-stocli 
 companies — these were the things that now ocm- 
 pied Hmith^s & Co. The Barings themselves 
 were outrivaled, and Smitl&rs & Co. reached the 
 acme of their sudden glory on one occasion, wlien 
 they took the new Spanish loan out of the grasu 
 of even the Rothschilds themselves. 
 
 How to account for it became the probleia 
 For, allowing the largest possible success in theit 
 former business to Smithers & Co., that business 
 had never been of sufficient dimensions to allow 
 of this. Some said that a rich Indian had bfr 
 come a sleeping partner,, others declared that the 
 real ^'mlthers was no more to be seen, and that 
 the business was managed by strangers who had 
 bought them out and retained their name. Uth- 
 I era again said that Smithers & Co. had made 
 large amounts in California mining speculationg. 
 At length the general belief was, that some indi- 
 viduals who had made millions of money in Cali- 
 fornia had bought out Smithers & Co., and weie 
 now doing business under their name. 
 
 As to their soundness there was no question. 
 Their operations were such as demanded, ^m of 
 all, ready money in unlimited quantities. ibU 
 they were always able to command. Between 
 them and the Bank of England there seemed 
 to be the most perfect understanding and the 
 most enviable confidence. The Rothscliikls spAe 
 of them with infinite respect People began)|B 
 look upon them as the leading house in Europe. 
 The sudden apparition of this tremendous power 
 in the commercial worid threw that wotld into a 
 state of consternation which finally ended in won- 
 dering awe. 
 
 But Smithers & Co. (wntinned calmly, yet snc- 
 cessfully, their great enterprises. The Kussian 
 loan of fifteen millions was negotiated by them. 
 They took twenty millions of the French loan, 
 five millions of the Austqan, and two and « 
 half of the Turkish, 'iliey took nearly all the 
 stock of the Lyons and Marseilles Railroad. 
 'They owned a large portion of the stock of the 
 Penmsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Com- 
 pany. They had ten millions of East India 
 stock. California alone, which was now dai- 
 zling the world, could account to the common 
 mind for such enormous wealth. 
 
 The strangest thing was that Smithers himself 
 was never seen. The business was done by bii 
 subordinates. There was a young man who rep- 
 resented the house in public, and who called 
 himirtf Menderson; ne was a person of i liitiiK H 
 gnished aspect, yet of reserved and somewhat 
 melancholy manner. No one pretended to be 
 in his confidence. No one pretended to know 
 whether he was clerk or partner. As he ww 
 the only' representative of Smithers A Ca, Iw 
 was treated with marked respect wbereTwheq)' | 
 pMTOd. 
 
 ■.■ii..„.--., ^h\tii^-. 
 
The vonng man, whether partner or clflrk ».«^ 
 meit^ial world, and the Ma^^l w /u " /=.?"■ 
 
 derson, theif representative Hi,l „T ■ " 
 
 the rates of discounrwere i^fe 1 amT' ^"^ 
 (at the result of that «Sr- ^^"don 
 
 o%8t,ons o/the Rothschilds we^ obSd fr^m 
 
 Co. MeoDeil fnr..^ '^ J TT^T' ""' '''mitherg & 
 
 wo4Hd^ Smithe™ & rr""^ ^r'r'*' "f * 
 ont Thr, I J ""«"* * Co. came forth victori- 
 
 ion. ^rCd'nX^tht''hVr;v''''T>'"-"- 
 
 •"tter hnmiliation for that Dmi-^T^K' • ? u'** * 
 
 "ceofreven^^-^™^ *,""** ^'«^^^ 
 Cut M Sf;.,- '^.T"* '^'*«<1 *» "wallow 
 
 •cr.^^tf.!rr-irKL^u" 
 
 CORD AKD CREESE. 
 
 3KS:£rs%"e%n' ''^'^'^ 
 
 agencies, r^cumte«lt-'''''^"^'P'"?"'' «««' his 
 tbat his pUnn^c' ,;rr":rer '"xj?™"^?-. 
 was so vast that if nftL ^ "• ^'* capital 
 
 market. CoSinto^hf fi^5'" •=""'™' °<*^'he 
 the older hou^^eThM' V"''"^"'«'«* •" 
 money than any of them «„,?<•! '"'^' ''°"'^' «' 
 of action. V "' '"'' '^■' «'-e«te>- freedom 
 
 othll'^ZfrnK^J'S '"« ««-««. and 
 ers & Co. had vast f„„^ '*"[" """ ^mith- 
 capitals of Eu^ an^ir?" *'?'"*' '" «" '^e 
 the West InSeTt^eiroi/"®"*^"- ^^'^^ '" 
 
 tnmed to carry on a noIW ^t"i. ^°- Z^*" *^°n- 
 those older bSkem Th?P*?i'\^5'' ^°'""« '« 
 ular felt this and 4,. J^^""'**''"'^' '" Partic- 
 
 mined to the Lo/drHouse. ^'''«*""^ "" 
 
 ou5; offmJn wfVair," **» ?'-'"^ "•7«te- 
 the ^ce, a^ whX Xf« ^^ '""\'° '""« '"> 
 to possess ^horityThri ^rr*" '^"^^ '•™ 
 he received from H«n;i!l!" ^* treatment which 
 
 affS^e-showS therrL""*^* ^'"^'«' <^ 
 and friendly ;andfi^Jwn^'° ^J"""' •'«™«e 
 they all tho^htUmZ'ST^''^"'-'^^"'^P^ 
 
 Jel^:«rnB^^«'^^^^^ 
 
 mr«.?rior^en^r;a;r„e?-•^-°»• '"« ^'-er^th": 
 
 onTf:d' '""' '"""' '" -^"^ '«««" -ere lying 
 
 from VOUr Rran,!^., U.li . '" fOUIS. It 8 
 
 ^ from y„„r Brandon Hall corresp^^ndr^ he Jd! 
 'asfoi.T''"'^''"'''"^"*'^''- Theletterwa. 
 
 to «U you what they we&fnJ^n&OJ 
 
-t l-^'-- 
 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 
 v^3 ^%) 
 
 
 v/ y 
 
 ' LANOHKTTl 18 AU%'K. 
 
 informed ron that they kept three spies at Holbv 
 to watch her. One of these returned, as I told 
 you in my last letter, with the information that 
 she had gone to London with a party named T>an- 
 ghetti. Ever aince then ihei/ have been talking 
 U over, and have come to the conclusion to get a 
 detective, and keep him Imsy watching her with 
 the idea of getting her back, I think. I hope to 
 God they will not get her back. I f yon take any 
 Jnterest in her, Sir, bs you appear to do, 1 hotw 
 yofli will use your powerful arm to save wsr.ii 
 will be terrible if she has to come back here. 
 She will die, I know. Hoping soon to have 
 something more to oommunicate, 
 
 " I remain, yours respectfiiUr, 
 
 " Mr. Smrnns, Sen., London." 
 
 Lonia read this letter tft^r several times and 
 fell into deep thought. 
 
 Kmnk went on reading his letters, looking up 
 from time to time. At last he put down the last 
 one. 
 
 "Loais!" said he. 
 
 Louis looked up. 
 
 " Yon came so late last night that I haven't 
 had a chance to speak about any thing yet. I 
 want to tell y ou so me thing very Important." 
 
 **wenr "'' ' — — — 
 
 "Langhetti is alive." 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 "You knew itt When? Why did yon not 
 teUme?" 
 
 " I didn't want to tell any thing that miglit 
 distract you from your purpose." - 
 
 \'.i; 
 
CORD AND CHEESE. 
 
 eral times and 
 
 thooght^you would give up all to fii^tS." ^ 
 
 "Well. I thought it would be better to let 
 n^mg mtejpose now.between us and our pur- 
 poK. No, he continued, with a stem tone 
 "no, no one hnwnvop /io»- i, . " '""o. 
 
 145 
 
 ^iZ' „„ ' r '■""""''«<'. with a stem tone 
 'no no one however dear, however loved and 
 
 thought that your generous heart would on Iv be 
 
 ^r^- . .^°" ^""^"^ f««' «''« giving up eveS 
 tfung to find him out and see him, and, theretw7 
 I did not wish yon even to know it. Yet i £ 
 
 Sie^Lrnr-"^ "^ ""—' -'«''- 
 d«;tot?„!" " ^"'^°"'" -'-l ^-k, with 
 •_. " Yes thank God !" said Louis. " You will 8e« 
 
 , But, asked Frank, "do vou not think Lan 
 (*etu IS a man to be trusted /• 
 
 "That is not the point," replied Louis " I 
 ^X^"«''«"> ''* °"« "^ the'nobli'men tha! 
 HL ^n .^"V "^ «» f™"* what 1 have 
 St'ai hL :^ *"' '^''^"^h his name and 
 
 arnd^rrAettL~ 
 
 or hmithers, or Forsyth, or any bJ^Telse you 
 OT Henderson. We keep our i«Tt teru;e^w« 
 have a purpose before us nnTfT.!. ^ ° 
 (rm his'torb to its a™ceompli?hmo;^ •'^^o'ii mH' 
 
 her grave of horror unutterable, calls us An 
 Pjjonal feeling must stand aside^ F«nk-yo^" 
 «d mjje-whatever they be. tiS we^haveZ" 
 
 "L;^°.h^.^?'"' ^"''^" '"'''J ^"k. «emly 
 
 i^^'anTso'Li'l!' Her^or/t'T- ^"^ 
 opera-house to bring o.t aJo^i^'l^St in 
 
 Jteno/ic^s^sr !^t 5 r 
 
 K-fo^itM"? --^ ^' -^"'51^ 
 
 X^irK„"tirrSb£r 
 
 opera may be worth tktJL t "*' •"* 
 
 "lU arrange all that I" gaid Frank -tj.- 
 
 "Tiw n fair cham^r T?*^ ^^^«*8ftettl shall 
 ^^wir Chance. I U arrange a plan to enforce 
 
 inWdo'^'.fnte *'" ^'*P '■''» P«nn«nently 
 "«Witi of hi. own, Mdted by the letter which | 
 
 FranL "« "'"*' " ^^^^t «^«" from 
 
 faiu"'' '"*"" '^".".''^ he do? That Beatrice had 
 fallen among friends he weU knew He h^ 
 
 her o,„ „„„^ £.„„„ n^ ,„, its 
 of hjr tag Bta b„k isaln.. h.^"']? E 
 
 K.^^^K "^^"^ .h,'* 'houghts. Yet, on the other 
 hand he conside,^ the fact that she wm to«- 
 
 ^.. ^« .P''«"bihty of this filled him wi.hlor- 
 ror The idea of her being taken back t> U« 
 unaer the power of those mifcrewte from whom 
 
 Between him and her there was a gulf unfeth 
 
 Wo?,I,l I,: A ' ''*' ''""^ »««"fl'^« life itself 
 would he refuse to sacrifim «von *.- ;<■ i 
 
 more dear than life S? '''''" """* 
 
 Yet here was a case in which she was ftn-lnn 
 
 ger connected with, but striving S seTr ttf 
 
 iierinaangB ? That were imp)s8 Me. AUalonff 
 
 her Zlh-Hf n**".'V""**'* ""•! unsuspected by 
 
 questi-m With him was-rir^ttcftrt 
 
 gu2-2!S*?f V"™ >**"'.'"°'^ »•"' 'hat WM the 
 
 LanghetU would k.H>w the charJw^^S 
 mies as well as Beatrice herself, and sTS 
 
 rln^L.*? ^T*^™ l'''"*^ ''is chief reliance on 
 Langhetti, and determined merely to secure «^.m« 
 
 rj'n " T}^ T'^ "^'^ h"'. '"'HeUiim kTw 
 It necessary he would have Rent a band of m«n .!! 
 w«ch «d gu«i her by day «.d iTght ftTt^ 
 
 '^, 
 
 :i^ '' A 'A Ak 
 
 , X '" ^-V -"^ •' 
 
 >£3^)> 
 
146 
 
 COED AND CREESE. 
 
 idea never entered his mind for tlie simple reason 
 that lie did not think . the danger was pressing. 
 England was after all a country of law, and even 
 A father coirid not carry off his daughter against 
 her will when she was of age. isp he comforted 
 himself 
 
 " Well," said he, at last, rousing himself from 
 his abstraction, " how is Potts now ?" 
 
 " Deeper than ever," answered Frank, quietly. 
 
 "The Brandon Bank—" 
 
 "The Brandon Bank has been going at a 
 that would have foundered any other com 
 long ago. There's not a man that I sent thei 
 who has not beoi welcomed and obtained 
 that he wanted. Most of the money that they 
 advanced has been to men that I sent. They 
 drew on us for the money and sent ns various 
 securities of their own, holding the securities of 
 these applicants. It is simply bewildering to 
 think hoVir easily that scoundrel fell into the 
 snare." ' 
 
 ''When a nian has made a fortune easily he 
 gets rid of it easily," said Ixiuis, laconically. 
 
 "Potts thinks that all his applicants are lead- 
 ing men of the county. I take good care that 
 tliev go there as baronets at least. Home are 
 lor^. He is overpowered in the presence of 
 these lords, and gives them what they ask on 
 their own tentis. In his letters he has made 
 some attempts at an expression of gratitude for 
 our great liberality. This I enjoyed somewhat. 
 The villain is ^ot a difficult one to manage, at 
 least in the finaitcial way. I leave the denouement 
 to you, Louis." 
 
 "The denouement must not be long delayed 
 now." 
 
 " Well, for that matter things are so arranged 
 that we may have ' the beginning of the end' as 
 goon as you choose." 
 
 "What are the debts of the Brandon Bank to 
 ns now ?" 
 
 " Five hnndred and fifteen thousand oiie hun- 
 dred and fifty pounds," said Franl^ 
 
 "Five hundred thousand — very, good," re- 
 turned Lonis, thoughtfully. " And how is the 
 sum secured?" 
 
 "Chiefly by acknowledgments from the bank 
 with the "indorsement of John Potts, Presi- 
 dent.' 
 
 " What are the other liabilities?" 
 
 " He has implored me to purchase for him or 
 sell him some California stock. I have reluc- 
 tantly consented to do so," continued Frank, 
 with a sardonic smile, "futirely thVongh the re- 
 quest of my senior, and he has taken a hundred 
 snares at a thousand |M)unds each." 
 
 "One hi^ndred thousand pounds,'" said Tx>ni8. 
 
 "I consented to take his notes," continued 
 Frank, " purely out of regard to the recommenda- 
 tions of my senior." 
 
 " Any thing else?" asked Louis. 
 
 " He urged me to recommend him to a good 
 broker who'might purchase stock for him in re- 
 liable companies. I created a broker and recom- 
 — aanded initti He 
 
 to tell him which stocks were best, so I kindly 
 advised him to purchase the Mexican and the 
 Guatemala loan. I also recommended the 
 Venezuela bonds. I threw all these into the 
 market, and by dextrous manipulation raised the 
 price to !i per cent, premium. He paid XIOS for 
 eveiy jCIOO. When he wants to m11 out, at he 
 
 may one day wish to do, he will be Incky if he 
 gets 35 per cent" 
 
 " How much did he buy?" 
 
 "Mexican loan, fifty thousand; Guatemala, 
 fifty thousand ; and Venezuela bonds, fifty thou- 
 sand." 
 
 He is quite lavish." 
 
 . That makes it so pleasant to do 
 
 busjii^is with him." 
 
 Did you advance the money for this ?" 
 He did not ask it. He raised the monev 
 somehow, perhaps from our old advances, and 
 bought them from the broker. The broker was 
 of course myself The beauty of all this is, that 
 I send applicants for money, who give their 
 notes; he gets money from me and gives his 
 notes to me, and then advances the money to 
 these applicants, who bring it back to me. ' It's 
 odd, isntit?" 
 
 Louis smiled. 
 
 " Has he no bona fide debtors in his o^m coun- 
 ty?" 
 
 "Oh yes, plenty of them; but more than 
 half of his advances have been made to mv 
 men." 
 
 "Did you hint any thing about issuing 
 notes ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, and the bait took wonderfully. He 
 made his bank a bank of issue at once, and sent 
 out a hundred and fifty thousand pounds in notes, 
 I think it was in this way that he got the money 
 for all that American stock. At any rate, it 
 helped him. As he has only a small supph- of 
 gold in his vaults, you may very readily conjec- 
 ture his i)eculiar position." 
 
 Louis was silent for a time. 
 
 " You have managed admirably, Frank," said 
 he at last. 
 
 "Oh," rejoined Frank, "Potts is very small 
 game, financially. There is no skill needed in 
 playing with him. He is such a clumsy bungler 
 that he does whatever one wishes. There is not 
 even excitement. Whatever I tell him to do he 
 does. Now if I were anxious to crush the Roths- 
 childs, it would be very different. There would 
 then be a chance for skill." 
 
 "You have had the chance." 
 
 " I did not wish to ruin them," said Frank. 
 "Too many innocent people would have suf- 
 fered. I only ^Rflshed to alarm them. I rather 
 think, fVom what I hear, that they were a little 
 disturbed on that day when they had to pay four 
 millions. Yet I could have crushed them if I 
 had chosen, and I managed things so as to let 
 them see this." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "I controlled other engagements of theirs, 
 and on the same day I magnanimously wrote 
 them a letter, saying that I would not press for 
 payment, as their notes were as good to me aa 
 money. Had I pressed they would have gone 
 down. Nothing could have saved them. But 1 
 did not wish that. The fact is they have locked 
 np their means very much, and have been rather 
 
 VMXwSmm tn IIMC* X^Umj-- UlLiQ VSOXtOSUr tr i 
 
 now." 
 
 Louis relapsed Into his reflections, and Fnnk 
 began to answer his letters. 
 
 %}.^-4*^^l \f. i 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 \, 
 
 CORD And creese. 
 
 » THE ."PBOMBTHBU8." 
 
 It took some time for Langfcefti to make his 
 preparations m.JSondon. Se^ember came h^ 
 fore he had completed them. ' To his surprise 
 these arrangements were much easier than he 
 had supposed People came to him of their 
 own accord before he thought it possible tZ 
 they could_,have heard of his proj«:t. What 
 most surpnsed him was a caU from the manager 
 
 S?"h ^T^T ^''^"^' *''° offered to^TiJ 
 into his hands for a price so low as to sumrise 
 Langhett. more than any thing else that h J oc- 
 curred. Of course he accepted the offer grate- 
 fi.% and eagerly The manager said that tht ^ur d 
 
 budding was on his hands, and he did not wish h^L.. v " "" u"" ".'"" '»'"™"'e circum- 
 to use It for the present/for which rea«,nh« ^JT t.^°" f^'^ii"^ *''«>' i^dmived yo.ir voice 
 wouW be gUd to turn it 'over tohim He «!j mo™ „f '''"^- . ^3 '^"^'^ "hall admire it Zo^ 
 marked also that there was very much stock Tnlr '^V""'' '^"" P«rfoniiance." 
 the theatre that could be made use of, for which del^'ttV^r^f'^,' 1"'^' "« »>« ""'J- »>ewil- 
 he would charge nothing whatever. Langhetd S'his o^i ""' '>,*=''*" ■* ""K'*' ««"»« ^ 
 w«nt tn ^ u „„,, ,„..... . . . j^"f8nf " ^J'^^J^^.^pera successful. His exertions were 
 
 147 
 
 I them to me uid influenced all the journals in 
 my favor. I should be sure of this if It were no" 
 ^r'!v's°rif l" "■'?« '!"«""'« actual re^l^tT 
 dered It U . >r "'^P'^ perplexed and bewil- 
 aered. It is a thing that is without parallel I 
 hava.a company such as no one has ever before 
 gaAered together on one stage. I have emTnem 
 prima donnas who are quite willing to sing s^ 
 ond and third parts without caring what I ^ 
 hem, or whether I pay them or not. I ffi 
 the musical, world. ^If I. can say is that thi 
 
 U Vha^^"'}'^H,^"•' ^ •^•'" not'^comprehend 
 what it^n J^ '^ to find out from some of them 
 what It all meams but they give rae no satisfac- 
 
 voTr r^L^^r^\'"y ^'"""' y°» will make 
 rn'L.f*"^""t.r. '^« r»' fevorable circum- 
 
 ■ - .„.g„ ..v^imiijj wnaiever. Lanehetti 
 
 w«,t to see it, and found a large number ofln^g' 
 nificently painted scenes, which could be used in 
 hiB piece. On asking the n,anager how scenes 
 of this sort came to be there, hV learned tha 
 
 mrXM^ht^^n**"" .^'P-^nting the "Midsum- 
 mer Night 8 Dream," or s5)mething of that sort 
 
 - ...., „j^.„ „„v»,c»Bnu. HIS exertions were 
 OS unremitting as though he were still strugrifna 
 aga.n.st difficulties. After aU that had beeffi 
 foijum he knew very weU that ho was sure of a 
 good house, yet he worked as hard as though h^ 
 audwnce was very' uncertain. * 
 
 ,«tVh"„?l! »!!:!,„Tr^.!l.T"'"« ^'i™"- I-n- 
 
 » ^..^-v.> x^icaiu, or sometmng of that sort ai- in„.-i, .u ' — ^»-'»"i. 
 
 Langhetti's means were very Iknited and ns „!.«„• W "'^.''PP^ted evening came. Lan- 
 
 he had risked every thing on tiJis^Pment ho fhose halv''*"'^'^ f*»T'^ " ^'^ "^"-"^ f"'™' 
 
 was rejoiced to find events so very g^atly in his co^LmH^-' r/l?^"'" "^^""^ ^ 8"«" '"™ 'he 
 
 fiivor. ■^ * "J"" •"» co-operation of the entire musical worid and of 
 
 Annflior n{«>„„.. ^, , the press. Yet when ho i««i,„,i „...._■ . 
 
 &Tor. 
 
 Another circumstance which was equallv in his 
 fcvor If not more so, was the kind consideration 
 of the London papers. They announced his 
 forthcoming work over and over again. Some 
 of their writers came to see him so m to get the 
 particulars, and what little he told them they de- 
 »^bed m the most attractive and effective man- 
 
 tntJtT ""'"'*'■ *''"P*^P'*' presented themselves 
 to form his company, and he also received appli- 
 
 fflL J:/''!^'"!"'"'^"^ "^""^ eminence and 
 foftmes phiced them above the need of any such 
 thmg. It was simply incomprehensible to Lan- 
 ghetti, who th^ughly understood the ways of 
 the musiad world; yet since they offered he was 
 
 mth these persons he was amazbd to find that 
 
 Ss tKn""' "'!.'?'*"^' •"'*'«■«'*"' "bout 
 terns , they an ^ssured hira that they were ready 
 
 to take any parlVhatever, and merely wish^ to 
 Zn-jH"* '?P'*«'"t«tion of apiece so new and 
 •oongirtilashiswassaidtobe. They all named 
 • price which was excessively low, and asS 
 h.m that they did so onjy for form-i X Zi 
 
 toving it to Langhett! either to take thwn on 
 th«r own terms or to reject them. hT, of 
 ^could not reject aid so powerful and so 
 
 m«l« he invited representatives of the London 
 ^^""^ present at tha hxBt, TheyaltcMw 
 
 Mcounts for their respective joumab. * 
 
 JE^thi^ ha* come into my hands. I don't 
 ™o«»twidit. It seems to me exactly as if there 
 «. »me powerful, unseen hand assisting me^ 
 
 '«r.who^dthe;:"iX^L7.^StLnse"^^! ^L*^* ^ '""^"k"^ 
 
 ■*"" ^'•««^«»ewM such, one as had never befow 
 
 the press. Yet wheiiheloorjiTut^s^wX 
 
 tr.s.:a.'"' '''' ^^"«°^'^« -->- ^^ 
 
 When he thus looked out it was long before 
 the t me. A great murmur had attract^ hS 
 
 part. AU the boxes were filled. In the pit wS 
 
 v,.rL'i?"^^"°" ?<'8«"''emen and kdi^,Z 
 very gnlleries were thronged. 
 
 The wonder that had all along filled him was 
 now gieater than ever. Ho well knew und" 
 what circumstances even an ordinarily good honw 
 
 doubted fame in the prima donna, or else the 
 
 teL'^'lfP'^, '}"•'' """P^hensive efforts on 
 fte part of a skiUful impresario. His efforts had 
 been great, but not such as to insure any thW 
 
 iply KssTlZ ^ "' "'"' "^ ^«- -" 
 
 He did not attempt to account for it. He ac- 
 
 foTmance ''°"' ""'^ P«pared for the per- 
 
 hT!lf r ".fC"" ''^^ *"* audience may have 
 had of the "Prometheus" of Langhettf need 
 hardly be conjectured. Thev had h^ of ?t m 
 a noveltv^ '/hey had hea«f that the^«,mp«? 
 was the best ever collected at one time, andXt 
 tne prima donna wa» a prodigy of genius That 
 wasenoughforthem. ^hey^aiteH a staS 
 expectation which was so high -pitched th.t Jt 
 wouldhavep„^v^di«.t«,us1n Sietlri^L 
 mrpteee or any linger who should have proved 
 to be in the sliglitest degree inferior. CoW. ~ 
 mate exce lence alone in every part could now 
 jave the piece from ruin. This LanSfehl 
 
 work^'Lr "kV"^ *"■ '•- ^ confident fa & 
 work and in his company. Most of aU, he h«l 
 confidence in Beatrice. 
 At last the curtain rose. 
 
us 
 
 l)een represented. A "blaze of dnzzling light filled 
 the stage, and licfore it atopd seven forms, repre- 
 senting the seven arcluingels. They began one 
 of the Bubliniest strains ever heard. Kach of 
 these singers had in sijme way won eminence. 
 They liud,.thi'own themselves into tliis work. 
 The iniisic which had* been given to them had 
 produced an e.xnlted ettifct upon their own hearts, 
 nnd now they rendered t'ovth that grand "Chorus 
 of Angels" which those who "heard the "I'ro- 
 inetheus" have nwer-forgotten. The words re- 
 sembled, in some Jneasure, the opening song in 
 Goethe's " Faust," but the music was LauKbetti's. 
 The eifect of this magnitice'nt opening was 
 wonderful. The audience sat spell - bound -r- 
 hushed iijto stillness" by those transcendant har- 
 monies -which seemed like the very song of the 
 nngels' themselves; like that "new song' which 
 is spoken of in Kevelation. 'J'he grandeur of 
 Handel's stupendous chords was renewed, and 
 every one present felt its power.. 
 
 Then came the second scene." "■ Prometheus lay 
 suffering. The ocean nymphs were around him, 
 sympathizing with. his woes. '|'lre sufferer lay 
 chained to a bleak rock in the Summit of frosty 
 Caucasus. Par and vAde extended an expanse 
 •of ice. In the distance arose a vast world of 
 snow-covereiil peaks. In front was a mer de ijlai: 
 which extended all along the stage. 
 
 Prometheus addressed all nature — "the divine 
 ether, the swift-winged winds, Earth the All- 
 mother, and the infinite laughter of the ocean 
 waves." The thoughts were those of ^schylus, 
 expi-cssed by tHe nuislc of Lunghetti. 
 
 The ocean nym|)hs bewailed him in a song of 
 , mournful sweetness, whose indescribable pathos 
 touched every heart. It was the intensity of'sym- 
 l)athy— sympathy so profoimd that it became an- 
 guish, for the heilrt that felt it had identilicd it- 
 self with the heart of the sufferer. 
 
 Then followed an extraordiiniry strain, it was 
 the Voice of L'niversid Nature, animate and in- 
 animate, mourning over the agoiy' of the (Jod of 
 Ix)ve. In that strain was heard the voice of 
 man, the sighing of the winds, the moaning of 
 the sea, the munnur of the trees, the wail of bird 
 and beast, all blending in extraordinary unison, 
 and all speaking of woe. 
 
 And now a third scene o^ned. ,It was Athene. 
 Athene represented Wisdinn or Human Under- 
 standing, by which the God of Vengeance is de- 
 throned, and gives place to the eternal nile of the 
 God of Love. To bnt few of those present could 
 this idea of Langhetti's be intelligible. The most 
 of them merely regarded the fable and its music, 
 without looking for any meaning- beneath the 
 surfaca. 
 
 To these, and to all, the appearance of Beatrice 
 was like a new revelation. She came forward 
 and stood in the costume which the Greek has 
 given to Athene, but in her hand she held the 
 olive — her emblen) — instead of the sjxiar. From 
 Beneath her helmet her dark locks (lowed doii-n 
 .nnd were wreathed in thick waves that clustered 
 
 heavily about her head^ ^ 
 
 Mere, as Atheito, thrpure rtasslcal eontbui^ ff 
 Beatrice's features apjteared in manelous beauty 
 — faultless in their [wrfect Grecian mbuld. Her 
 large, dark eyes looked with a certain solemn 
 ontaning out ui)on the vast audience. Her whole 
 MM was refined and sublimed by the thought 
 tluu was within her. In her artistic nature she 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 had appropriated this character to herself so 
 thoroughly, that, as she stood there, she felt her- 
 self to be in-riMility all tliat she represented. The 
 8|)ectator8 caught the same feeling fiom her 
 Yet so marvelous was her beautv, so astonish- 
 ing was the perfection of her form and feature 
 so accurate was the living representation of the 
 ideal goddess that the whole vast audience after 
 ojie glance burst forth into pealing thunders of 
 s]>ontaneous and irresistible a))plause. 
 
 Beatrice had opened her mouth tij l)Cfiin. bin 
 as thlltt thunder of adiriiration arose she fell hack' 
 a pace. Was it the applause that had overawed 
 her? 
 
 Her eyes were fixed on one spot at the extreme 
 right of tlie pit. A face was there which en- 
 chained her. A face, pale, sad, mournful, wi.h 
 dark eyes fixed on hers in steadfast des])air. 
 
 Beatrice faltered and fell back, but it was not 
 at the roar of applause. It was that fai^e— the 
 one face among three thousand before her, the 
 one, the only one that she saw. Ah, how in 
 that moment all the past came rushing before 
 her — the Indian "Ocean, the Mfllay pirate, where 
 that face first appeared, the Atlantic, the ship- 
 wreck, the long sail over thfe seas in the boat, the 
 African isle ! 
 eJ tSb'e stood so long in silence that the spectators 
 wondered. • 
 
 Suddenly the face which had so transfixed her 
 sank down. He was gone, or he had hid him- 
 self Was it because he knew that he jvas the 
 cause of her silence ? 
 
 The face disappeared, and the spell was brb- 
 ken. Langhetti stood at the side-scenes, watch- 
 ing with deep agitation the silence of lieutrice. 
 He_^ was on the point of taking the desperate 
 step of going forward when he saw that she had 
 regained her composure. r 
 
 ."he regained it, and moved a step forward 
 with such calm scretiity that no one couW have 
 suspected her of having lost it. She began to 
 sing. In an o[)era v^ords are nothing — music is • 
 nil in nil. It is suflicicnt if the words express, 
 even in a feeble and general way, the ideas which 
 breathe and bum m the music. Thus it was 
 with the words in the opening song of Beatrice. 
 
 But the music ! What knguage can describe 
 ft? 
 
 <^pon this nil the richest stores of Langhetti's 
 genius had been lavished. Jnti)rtliis all the soul 
 of Beatrice was thrown Mith sithlime self forget- 
 fulncss. She ceas*d to be hej;f«l* Before the 
 audience she was -'jLtelJl^ '<<*^ 
 
 Her voice, alwiiwTnli^lknyly rich and full, 
 was now grandei^'imn iflo(^'ea|iacious than ever. 
 It |X)ured forth a falj^strdfcm of spatchless har- 
 mony that carried.1^11 the audience captive. 
 Strong, soaring, (Kinetrating, it rose aisily/ to the 
 highest notes, and Hung them fortl) with ej lavish, 
 and at the same time far-reaching )x)Hf r that 
 penetrated every heart, and thrilled all wbHcJieaixl 
 it. Ron.sed to the highest enthusiasm by the 
 sight of that vast assemblage, Beatrice gave Her- 
 self upL to the intpxication of the hour, 
 threw fierself into the spirit of the piei'e ; sli 
 took deep into her heart the thought of Lan- 
 ghetti, aiid uttered it forth to the listeners with 
 harmonies that were almost divine — such har- 
 monies na they had never before heard. 
 
 There was the silence of death as she sang. 
 Her voice stilled all other sounds. Each listen- 
 
 THE 
 
 w seemed almost afra 
 ed at one another in 
 them sat motionless, 
 ^ forward, anconscious 
 "one Voice. 
 A( last it ceased. 
 
 I?, 
 
 
-THE ArPEARANCE OFBEATH.CB WAS UKE A «KW HBVKCAT.ON." 
 
 ^•«rS "' °' ""^ ""'"K "'"^''I" that 
 
 Ar last It ceased. For a momant there was 
 
 a pause. Then there arose a deep, low thunder 
 
 of ap,.Iaase that deepened and intensified itself 
 
 every moment till at last it rose on h gh i^one 
 
 ^"hlime outburst, a frenzy of acclaj^on ,ueh 
 
 I .'iJW?! 
 

 ISO 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 Beatrice was called out She came, and re- 
 tired. Again and again glie was called. Flow- 
 en were showered down in heaps at her fieet. 
 The acclamations went on, and only ceased 
 through the consciousness that more was yet to 
 come. The piece went on. It was one long 
 triumph. At last it ended. Beatrice had been 
 loaded with honors. Langhetti was called out 
 and welcomed with almost equal enthusiasm. 
 His eyes filled with tean of joy as he received 
 this well-merit^ tri|>ate to his genius. He and 
 Beatrice stood on the stage at the same tima 
 Flowers wer^.flang at him. He took them and 
 laid them at tnefeet of Beatrice. 
 
 At this a louder roar of acclamation arose. It 
 increased and deepened, and the two who stood 
 there felt overwhelmed by the tremendous ap- 
 plause. 
 
 So ended the first representation of tlie "Pro- 
 metheus!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVra., 
 
 THE 8KCRBT. 
 
 Tub triumph of Beatrice continued. The 
 daily papers were filled with accounts of the new 
 sin^r. She had come suddenly before them, 
 and had at one bound reached the highest emi- 
 nence. She had eclipsed aU the popidar favor- 
 ites. Her sublime stnins, her glorious enthusi- 
 asm, her marvelous voice, her perfect beauty, all 
 kindled the popular heart The people forgave 
 her for not having an Italian name, since she 
 had one which was so aristocratic. Her whole 
 appearance showed that she was something very 
 dmerent fh>m the common order of artistes, as 
 difletent, in fact, as the "Prometheus" was 
 from the common order of operas. For here in 
 the "Prometheus" there were no endless iteration^ 
 of the one theme of love, no perpetual repetitions 
 of the same rhyme of amor« and cw>re, or amor' 
 and CHor'; but rather the efibrt of the soul after 
 sablimer mysteries. The " Prometheus" sought 
 to solve the problem of life and of human snffer- 
 inff. Its divine sentiments brought hope and 
 consolation. The great singer rose to the alti- 
 tode of a sibyl ; she utter^ inspirations ; she 
 herself was inspired. 
 
 As she stood with her grand Grecian beau^, 
 her pure classic features, she looked as beautiful 
 as a statue, and as ideal and passionless. In 
 one sense she could never be a popol&r favorite. 
 She had no archness or coquetry like some, no 
 volaptuonsness like others, po arts to win ap- 
 plause like others. StjUs^e stood up and sang 
 as one who believed (haiiahis was the highest 
 mission of hnmanity, to ntMr divine truth to hu- 
 man ears. She sang loftily, thrillingly, as an 
 angel might sing, and^those who saw her re- 
 vered her while thev listened. 
 
 And thus it was that the fame of this new singr 
 er went quickly through England, and foreign 
 Journals spoke of it half-wonderingly, half-cyn- 
 fcally, as usual ; for Continentals never have any 
 Ha^ in EnglisfaioT, or in tfie power which any 
 Englishman may have to interpret art. lite 
 leading Prtjnch journals conjectured that the 
 " Prometheus" was of a religious character, and 
 therefore Puritanical ; and ccmsequently for that 
 reason was popular. They amused themselves 
 with the idea of a Fnritanical opera, dechued 
 
 that the English wished to Protestantiifrjjimgic 
 and suggested "(Calvin" or "The Sabbath" aa 
 good subjects for this new and entirely Ehgliiili 
 class of operas. i 
 
 ,But soon the correspondents of some of the 
 Continental papers began to Write glowing ac- 
 counts of the piece, and to put ^nghetti in the 
 same class with HondeL He was an Italian 
 thev said, but in this case he united Italian grace 
 and versatility with German solemnity and mel- 
 ancholy. They declared that he was the great- 
 est of living composers, and promise for him a 
 great reputation. 
 
 Night after night the representation of the "Pro- 
 metheus" went on with undiminished success; 
 and with a larger and profounder appreciation of 
 its meaning among the better class of minds. 
 Langhetti be^n to show a stronger and fuller 
 confidence in the success of his piece than he had 
 yet dared to Evince. Tet now its success seemed 
 assured. What more could he wish ? 
 
 September cam« on, and every Succeeding 
 night only made the success more marked. One 
 day Langhetti was with Beatrice at the theatre, 
 and they were talking of many things. There 
 seemed to be somet^ng on his mind, for he spoke 
 in an abstracted manner. Beatrice noticed this 
 at last, and mentioned it 
 
 He was at first very tnysterious. " It must 
 be that secret of 
 
 ' yours which you will not till 
 "Von said once before that it 
 
 ^. 
 
 me," said she. 
 
 was connected with me, and that you would teH 
 it to me when the time came. Has not the tim4 
 come yet?" 
 
 " Not yet," answered LanghettL 
 
 "When will it come?". 
 
 "Idoiftknow." ■; 
 
 " And will yon keep it secret always T ■ 
 
 "Perhaps not" 
 
 "You speak undecidedly." 
 
 " I am undecided." 
 
 "Why not decide now to tell h?" pleaded 
 Beatrice. "Why should I not know it ? Sure- 
 ly I have gone through enough snfi'ering to bear 
 this, even if it bring something additional." 
 
 Langhetti looked at her long and doubtfully. 
 
 " You hesitate," said she, 
 
 "Yes." 
 ■ "Why?" 
 
 "It is of too much importance." 
 
 "That is alt the more reason why I should 
 know it Would it crush me if I knew it ?" 
 
 * ' I don't know. It might " 
 
 " Then let me be crushed." 
 
 Langhetti sighed. 
 
 " Is it something that yon know for certain, 
 or is it only conjecture ?" 
 
 "Neither," said he, "but half-way between 
 the two." 
 
 Beatrice looked earnestly at him for some 
 time. Then she put her head nearSk- to his and 
 spoke in a solemn whisper. 
 
 " It is about my mother !" 
 
 Langhetti looked at her with a startled ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "Iritnotn- / . —= 
 
 He bowed his head. 
 
 " It is — it is. And if so, I implore — I con- 
 jure you to tell me. I.«ok— I am calm. Think 
 — I am strong. I am not one/vho can be cait 
 down merely by bad news." 
 
 " I may t^U^u soon." 
 
 "Say you « 
 "IwilI,"Ba 
 "When?" 
 "Soon." 
 "Why not! 
 "Thatisto< 
 "Qf course . 
 not- to Be so ? 
 cernsme? aijd 
 in the endeavor 
 it may be ?" 
 
 She spoke g< 
 moved, and lool 
 "When will 
 "Soon, perhs 
 tation. 
 "Why not n< 
 "Oh no, Imu 
 
 " To-morrow, 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "Yes," said si 
 
 jou do not, 1 sh 
 
 noconfidence in r 
 
 Langhetti was 
 
 "I shall expe< 
 
 tjlce. 
 
 Langhetti still 
 
 "Oh, very wel 
 
 ihe, in a lively toi 
 
 " I have not co 
 
 " Yes yon have 
 
 "I was deliberi 
 
 " I asked you ( 
 
 •nrely that means 
 
 " I do not say e 
 
 " But you will ( 
 
 " Do not be so ( 
 
 ' "Yes, rwilll)6 
 
 me you will vef I d 
 
 "In telling ydta 
 
 "^iorrow or joV 
 
 «o long as I know 
 
 that I am actuated 
 
 you know me bett 
 
 Mbjects me to the t 
 
 anxious to have tlic 
 
 "The removal ' 
 
 pense." 
 
 "Thatisirapossi 
 "You would not 
 
 was." 
 
 "Tellme, then.• 
 "ThatiswhatI 
 
 "Do you fear foi 
 
 ion?" 
 
 "Only for you." 
 "Donot fearfoiri 
 it is not only my di 
 may know this." 
 
 Langhetti seemed 
 Whatever this secret 
 troubled he seemed i 
 either from fear that 
 Jiielf or result in am 
 probable, lest it mij 
 This last was the mc 
 wence him most str 
 ••wet of which he spi 
 *>>W>ly important cht 
 ly the life and fortwic 
 MibraMdlwrowni 
 
 ka^'iiikifaiyg^ 
 
"Say you will." 
 
 "Soon." -<«Vj» 
 
 " Why not to-morrow ?" 
 
 "'^^" '"^ ^V ^<»' ^"^ impatient" 
 ^ Of courw I am," gaid Beatrice. " Oneht I 
 not to be 80 ? Have you not said that tw" con 
 cern* me ? a«d ia not all my imaginarn aroZl 
 
 m„™^ ^'^.^t "P earnestly that I^nghetti was 
 mo yedj^and looked still mo.^ undecidli 
 
 When will you tell me ?" 
 J^^n, perhaps/ he replied, with some hesi- 
 
 " Why not now ?" 
 ^'Oh no, I must assure myself fl«t about some 
 
 "To-morrow, then." 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " Jes, " said she ; « it must be to-morrow If 
 yon do not, I shaU think that you haveXtie or 
 noconfidence in me. I shall nvnLf ;, . °l 
 
 Langhetti was silent *'^' " ^"»°'™«'- " 
 
 ^I shall expect it to-morrow," repeated Bea- 
 Langhetti still continued silent 
 
 •he.Tn'iuv'^yTonl''"^"" «'^-"'---t'" -id 
 " I have not consented." 
 " Yes yon have, by your silence. " • 
 I was debberating " 
 
 ^n^JffnS/rZ-^^""''''^--^-' 
 
 "'i«t7o"u wj;^o''so^''^"«''«''^ -™-tly. 
 " Do not be so certain " 
 
 «o long as I know this. You w! I «„, 
 
 t: ir '^"T^ "^ simple femSinTcuZT 
 Youkiiow me better, This secret is one ffi 
 , rabjects me to the tortures of susiwn^, ""i i 
 Mxious to have them removed "P""*^' ""*' ^ "" 
 ^•he removal wifl be worse than the sus- 
 
 "That is impossible." 
 ^^You would not say so if you knew what it 
 
 I'Tellme, then." 
 ','That is what I fear to do." 
 ^Do you fear for me, or for some other per- 
 
 "Onlyforyon." 
 ii ll^.""*/**' ^"i"^^ *«". I bese^h yon • for 
 ly knr Ss7 '"•"' "»' "^y P-yeMhat'"! 
 
 eStTr «f«" " teU i tl^tricr 
 either from fear that it might not be anyTn2r?n 
 
 Fotoble, lest it might too greatly affect Iwr 
 Tb, last was the motive which apJe^Sto^n 
 
 "cret of which he spoke mast have been raa of 
 ffi'L™P««?»'«hamcter,«ffectingm;stX^ 
 
 COBD AND CREESE. 
 
 161 
 
 Langhetti assented and nromiHwI n„ ♦>... ^ 
 
 It was for these, tl^en, that Beatrip^^^itad in 
 anxious exiiectation, ' "«»" w 'waj^ m 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE CAB. 
 
 gr^ed'whh"'?,* H *"''*"\'' P«»*»™«mce had been 
 greetea with louder applause than usual «nH 
 what was more gratifying to one like her th«„f 
 fectiye passages had been listenll to S a stiU 
 ness which spoke more loudly thaa "he loud«.t 
 applause of the deep interest of thraudUce 
 
 heWorffoSstrdtrsiiS^^ 
 
 ma"n"wfi Z'^lta^'V^ Z^"- 
 
 fsaPjimfsSpaS^^^^^ i 
 
 discoye.7 she wK on the ^int o^ing tk S 
 Ste1en^y"^n'""'- ?*"' "^bman^foLSS 
 Sd ii^H Pr'T"'«.'° !"''« ''«'• wherever she 
 
 *"/.«'""«, I^nghetti abou^ so small a maSw- • 
 «o that at length she decidtd to employ tZ^rl ' 
 ^venng cabman, thinking t^Tat hecou?J^eC 
 to her lodgings as weU as ahy body else. 
 
 took no notice. Then she |tried to open thS 
 
 •—•«« uui uo go irom 
 hhe sat down and thought . What~miiW K. 
 
 *«™n'"«°^*"^ ThfylrerenowSSiS 
 . ~- — _..„ ,„,i„„og oi ueatrj™ he„«|f ci:„ mucn taster rate than is con^mon in the str«>«t« 
 
 •1 her own id«» ^ C i^^^^ \ t"^^^' '^"'^ '^"' 't 8oi«« 1 S 
 
•152 
 
 CORD AND CHEESE. 
 
 \"1 
 
 cried Deatricc, and t>he ojjened 
 
 She was not afraid; Iler chief feeling wag one [ \" Help mff ! 
 of indignation. Either the Ciibnmn was drunk the ciil) door. 
 — or wlmt t Conid he hiive l)een hired" to carrv j " 'I'lio policeman can do nothing," sixid I'otts. 
 her off to her enemies ? Was slie l>etrayed 'i ' | " Yon are not of ago, lie will not dure to take 
 
 'J'his thought Hushed like lightning through you from nie.' * 
 her mind. • "' implore you." cried Ileatrice, "sdvp me 
 
 .Mie was not one who would sink down into in- I from this man. Take meto the '])olice-s^t ion- 
 action at the sudden onset of terror. Her chief any where rathecthan leave me here!" 
 feeling now was one of indignation at the audaci- j " Yon can not," «uid I'tJtts to tlie liewililoied 
 ty &f such an nttem|it. < )beying the first impulse ' policeman. " Li.<ten. ^he^ig mfdiiugliiir imd 
 tiiat seized her, she took the solid roll of nuisic underage. She run awiiy witl»i« stmllinj^ Imlian 
 which she carried with her and dashed it against vagahond, with whom she jsijjijding an iniproiK'r 
 the front window so violently that she broke it life. I have got her back." i\ • 
 in piet'es. Then she caught tilie driver by the " It's false I" cried Heatpict^,V.cliemently "I 
 sleeve and ordered him to stop. j fleil from this man's housC^eSOiise 1 feaied his 
 
 "All right," said the driver, and, turning a violence." ^ '■ 
 
 corner, he whipi)ed up his horses, and they gal- 
 loped on faster than ever. 
 
 "If you don't stop I'll call for help!" cried 
 Beatrice. * 
 
 The driver's only answer was a fresh ap])lica- 
 tion of the whip. 
 
 The street up which they turned was narrow, 
 and as it had only dwelling-houses Fl was not bo 
 biightly lighted as Oxford Street. There were 
 but.few foot-]>assengers on thcj. sidewalk. As it 
 was now about midnight, most of the lights were 
 ' Jiegas-lami)s were the chief ineans of 
 
 illumination 
 
 Yet there was a chance that the police might 
 save her. With this hojie she dashed her music 
 scroll against the windows on eilCh side of the 
 cab and shivered them to atoms, calling at the 
 toj) of her voice for help. The swift rnsh of the 
 cab and the sound of a woman's voice shouting 
 for aid aroused the police. They started forward. 
 Hut the horses were rushing sO swiftly that no 
 one dared tt> touch them. The diiver seemed to 
 them to have lost control. They thought that 
 the horses were running away, and that' those 
 within the cab were frightened. 
 
 Away iheff went through street after street, 
 and Beatrice never ceased to call. The excite- 
 ment which was created by the rimawny horses 
 did not abate, and at length when the driver 
 stojiped a policeman hiliTied up. 
 
 The hotise before wliich the c.nb stopped was a 
 plain two-story one, in a (piiet-Iooking street. A 
 light shone from the front-parlor window. As 
 the cab drew up the door opened and a man 
 came out. 
 
 lieatrice snw.the ])oliccm.an. 
 
 "Help!" she cried; "1 implore help. This 
 »Tctch is carrying me away." 
 
 " What's this'j'" growled the policeman. 
 
 At this the man that had come out of the 
 house hurried forward. 
 
 "Have you found her?" exclaimed n well- 
 known voice. "Oh, my child! How could you 
 leave your father's roof I" 
 
 It was John I'otts. 
 
 IJeatrice was silent, for a moment in ntter 
 amazement. Yet she made a violent effort 
 against her despair. 
 
 " You have no control over me," said she, liit- 
 
 =leTlyr~ "1 am of age. And yon," «iid she to 
 
 the policeman, "I demand yonr help. I put 
 
 myself lunler yonr protection, and order you 
 
 either to take that man in charge or to let me 
 go to mv home." 
 
 " ( )h," mv daughter !" cried Potts. " Will you 
 still be relentless ?" 
 
 "That is an idle story." s^fd I'otts. 
 
 "Save me!" cried Heatrice. ' .. 
 
 " I don't know what to do — I sujipose I'vpf^t 
 to take you to the station, at any rule," said the 
 pt>liceman, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Well, " said I'otts" to Beatrice, "if yon dci go 
 to the station-house you'll have to be handed back 
 to nvc. „Yoii are under age." 
 
 " It's Ms^!? cried Beatrice. " I am twenty." 
 
 " ''*'">. S^''"" ""' """" ''"'" seventeen." 
 
 " Lan^Wi t'tin prove that I am twenty." 
 
 " lloWiP I huve documents,' anil a father's 
 word will Im) believed before a paramour's." 
 
 This taunt stung Beatrice to the soul. 
 
 "As to your charge about my cruelty I can 
 prove to the world that you lived in s]ileiHlor in 
 Brandon Hall. Every one of thb servants can 
 testify to this. Yonr morose disiKisition mmlo 
 you keep by yourself. You always treated your 
 father with indittcrenco, and" finally ran away 
 with a man who unfortunately had won your af- 
 fections in Hong Kong." 
 
 "You well know the reasoni.why I left your 
 roof," replied Beatrice, with calm and severe dig- 
 nity. " Your foul aspersions upon my character 
 are unworthy of notice. " 
 
 "And what shall I sav abont your aspersions 
 on my character':;''' cried I'otts, in a loud, nide 
 voice, hoping by a sort of vulgar self-assertion 
 to brow-beat Beatrice. " Do you reiuemher the 
 names you called me and your threats ajiiinst 
 me? When all this is brought out in the police 
 court, they will see what kind of a daughter you 
 have been." 
 
 " You will be the last one who will dare to 
 let it be brought into a jiolice court." 
 
 " And why 'i Those absurd charges of yours 
 are worthless. Have yon any ])roof 'j"" he con- 
 tinued, with a sneer, "or has your paramour 
 any 'i'" 
 
 •' Take me away," said Beatrice to the jiolicc- 
 man. 
 
 " Wait !" exclaimed Potts; "yon are poing, 
 and I will go to' reclaim you. The law will give 
 you back to me ; for I will jirove that you are 
 under age, and I have never tieated you with 
 any thing except kindness. Now the law can do 
 nothing since yon are mine. But as you are so 
 young and inexperienced I'll tell you what will 
 bapjMSnr ^^^ r : r - —,-.--: — '--— 
 
 "The newspapers," he continued, after » 
 pause, "will be full of your story. They will 
 print what I shall prove to be true— that you linil 
 an intractable disposition — that you had formed 
 a guilty attachment for a dram-major at Hong 
 Kong — that you ran away witli him, lived for a 
 
 •oh, my DAI 
 
CORD AND CHEESE? 
 
 153 
 
 '•OH, Mv dvuohter!" cried rorrs, "will rou still be helemless?- 
 
 fhile ftt IIolI)y, and tlien went with yonr para- 
 monr ,o London If you Imd only Zr LuZ 
 .on would have been ctf of my power; but vou 
 ont pretend to be mamed/ Vou d^t 12 
 onrself Langhetti, b..t have taken anothor 
 S w7, -^ ""' ''"\'T """"PTer reiK^rtei-s will 
 ! ml P''^"/"" by some otiier one of your 
 
 1' ^l*"^ P*"*" but your own father; and yoii— 
 ™/^''^'^v^' *" K'^^'o^^ «n ""8 8tag^ and 
 .Tove"rF„' 7^^ ""^ R^'igion mil he known 
 
 tinn 'Ji*'" ''^™e"<|<'U'' menace Beatrices resolu- 
 LTr "'«'"?'■**' *" P''«=««- That this would 
 >« w «ho weU knew. To escape from Potts wag 
 
 K 
 
 ; ■ • \ . 
 
 to have herself made infamous publiclv under the 
 sanction of the law, and then, by that same kw 
 to be handed back to him. At least whelhci- it 
 was so or not, she thought so. There was no 
 help — no fnend. 
 
 "Go," said Potts; "leave me now and vou 
 become covered with infamy. Who would "be- 
 lieve your storj- ?" 
 
 Beatric« \v«s silent, her slender frame Wie= 
 rent by emotion. 
 
 "O God!" she groaned— but in her deep 
 despair she could not find thoughts even for 
 prayers. 
 
 "You may go, policeman," said Potts; "mv 
 daughter will come with me." 
 " Faith and I'm glad ! It's the best thing for 
 
154 
 
 COBD AN© CREESE. 
 
 hor ;" and the policeman, much rUiavdd, ratarned- 
 lo his boat. ' * 
 
 " Some of you 11 liave tb nay |br them windors, " 
 !-:\id the cabman. , . •• 
 
 " All right," answered PAtis, fjuiotly. 
 
 " There is your home for to-niglit, at any rate," 
 j.iid I'olts, pointing to the hoase. ' ' I don't tliink 
 1 onliave any chance left. You had bettefJto in." 
 
 His tone was one full of bitter taunt. Scarce 
 'imscions, with hor brain reeling, and her lii^bg [; 
 trembling, Dcatric« entered the house. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 DiscoyEniEs. 
 
 The next morning after Bbatrice's last per- 
 farmance I.anghetti determined to fulfill his 
 pwmise and tell her that secret which she had 
 lioen so an.xious to know. On entering into his 
 Varlor ho saw a letter lying on the table addressed 
 t o him. It bore no postage stamp, or post-offlce 
 mark. _,. t % 
 
 He opened it and read the following : 
 
 • ' "^ 
 
 " London, Sfptember 8, 1849. 
 
 "SiONOBE, — Cigole, the betrayer «nd intend- 
 ed assassin of your late father, is now in London. 
 You can find out about him by inquiring of Gio- 
 \ anni Cavallo, 16 Red Lion Street. As a traitor 
 to the Carbonarv you will know that it is your 
 duty to punish him, even if your fiUal piety is not 
 strong enough to avenge a father's wrongs. 
 
 "C-VBDOyXBO.',' 
 
 Langhetti read This several times. Tlien he 
 c.illed for his kndlord. 
 
 'Who left this letter?" he asked. 
 
 rA young man." 
 
 \Do you know his mamft?" 
 
 hat did he look like?" 
 
 "He looked like a counting-house clerk more 
 th.in any thing." 
 
 "When was it left?" 
 
 "About six o'clock this morning." 
 
 Langhetti read it over and over. The news 
 that it contained Ailed his mind. It was not yet 
 ten ffclock. He would not take any tirefikfast, 
 but went out at once, jumped into a cab, and 
 drove off to Red Lion Street. . •» *t 
 
 Giovanni Cavallo's office was iri a low, diif|pr 
 building, with a dark, narrow doorway. It was 
 one of those numerous establishments conducted 
 ni)d supported by foreigners whose particular busi- 
 ness it is not easy to conjecture. The building was 
 full of offices, but this was on the ground^floor. 
 
 Langhetti entered, and found the interior ns 
 dingy as the exterior. There, was a table in the 
 middle of the room. Beyond this was a door 
 which opened into a Imck-room. 
 
 Only one person was here — a small, bright- 
 eyed man, with thick Vandyke beard and sinewy 
 though small frame. Langhetti took off his hat 
 and bowed. 
 
 -" " i wish fiTiee Signofe CafaHoT" wad lie,Tir 
 Italian. 
 
 " 1 am Signore Cavallo," answered the other, 
 blandly. 
 
 Langhetti made a peculiar motion with his left 
 arm. The keen eye of the other noticed it in an 
 iastant. He returned a gesture of a similar char- 
 
 acter. I..anghetti and he then exchanged some 
 more secret signs. At last I^nghqfti made one 
 which caused the other to tlart, and to bow witli 
 deep, respect. 
 
 "I did not know," said he, in a low voice, 
 " that any of the Interior Council evBscnitR> to 
 London?!S..Rut come in here," and he IcmIJIic 
 wav into the inner room, the door of which he 
 locked very mysteriously. 
 ■ A long conference followed, the details of wh^h 
 woidd only bo tedious. At the close CUvallo suit!, 
 
 "There is some life in n» yet, and what life 
 we have left shall bo spent in trapping that mii- 
 crennt. Italy shall be avenged on one of her 
 traitors, at kiiy rate." ' i 
 
 " You will write as I told you, and let me 
 know ?" 
 . "Most faithfully." 
 
 Langhetti departed, sattsfled with the rtsnlt of 
 this interview. ' What surprised him most was 
 the letter. I'he writer must have been one who 
 had been acquainted with his past life. He was 
 amazed to nnd any one denouncing Cigole to 
 hi'm, but finally concluded that it must be siimc 
 old Carbonaro, exiled through the afflictions wliich 
 had l>efallen that famous society, and cherishing 
 in his exile the bitter resentment which only ex- 
 iles Can feci. 
 
 Cavallo himself had kno^vri Cigole for years, 
 but had no idea whatever of his early career. 
 Cigole had no suspicion that Cavallo had anything 
 to do with the Carbonari. His firm were gen- 
 eral agents, who did business of a miscellaneous 
 character, now commission, now banking, and 
 now shipping ; and in various ways they had had 
 dealings with this man, and kept up an irregular 
 coiTespondence with hira. 
 
 This letter had excited afresh within his ardent 
 and impetuous iiature all the remembrances of 
 early wrongs. Gentle thoifgh he was, and pnre 
 in heart, and elevated in all his aspirations, he 
 yet was in all respects a true child of the South, 
 and his passionate nature was roused to a storm 
 by this prospect of jnst retaliation. All the lofty 
 doctrines with which he might console others 
 were of no avail here in giviilg him calm. He 
 had never voluatarily pursued Cigole; but now, 
 since this villain had been presented to hifl^ he 
 could not turn aside from what he.conside:ed the 
 holy duty of avenging a father's vrtongs. 
 
 He saw that for the present every thing would 
 have to give way to this. lie determmed at once lo 
 suspend the representation of the "Prometlieiis," 
 even though it was at the height of its popuhirity 
 and in the full tide of its success. He determined 
 to send Beatrice under his sister's care, and to 
 devote himself now altogether to the pursuit of 
 Cigole, even if he had to follow him to the worlds 
 end. The searchlafter hiln mi|ht' not be long 
 afler all, for CavallD felt sanguine of speedy sue-, 
 cess, and assuredum.that the traitor was in his 
 power, and that tni Carbonari in London'were 
 sufficiently numerous to seize hira and send him 
 to whatever punishment might be deemed most 
 
 fitting . ■ 
 
 ~Witlr snch plans Shdpinppses Xanghetii w 
 to visit Beatrice, wondering how she would re- 
 ceive the intelligence of his new purpose. 
 
 It wac two o'clock in the afternoon before he 
 reached her lodgings. On going up he rapped. 
 A servant came, And on seeing him looked frigbt- 
 ened. 
 
 ■WHAT LIFE 
 
f^ 
 
 CORD AND CftEESE. 
 
 ' WHAT LIFE WE HAVE LEFT SHALL BB SPENT IN TKAPI'ISO THA^ 
 
 SE^'T. 
 
 'iIgMiMDcsi«rdin?" 
 
 ThelSr^t said nothing, but ran off. Lan- 
 ghctti stood wniting in suqmse ; but in a short 
 {^e the kndlady came. She had a troubled 
 look, and did not.even rotam his salutation. 
 
 "IsMisaDespardin?" 
 
 ^'She is not here. Sir." 
 
 "yothetc '" 
 
 •*Jfro,Sir. Fm frightened. 
 Mrt early this morning, too." 
 
 "A man here. What for?" 
 
 "Why, to ask after her." 
 
 "And did he see her?" 
 , "She wasn't here." 
 
 " Wasn't here I Wli& do you mean 
 
 There was a man 
 
 "Sh^didn't come home nt all last night, I 
 i^aited up for her till four.r 
 / " Didn't come' home VJcried Langhetti, ps an 
 awful fear came over liiurl 
 \ "No, Sir." 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that she didn't come 
 home at her nsual hour ?" 
 
 "^No, Sir—not at ail ; and 8S rwarsayfirafl 
 sat up nearly all night." 
 
 ' ' Heavens 1 " cried Langhetti, in bewilderment 
 
 What is the meahing of this ? But take me to 
 her room. Let me see with my own eyes." 
 
 The landlady led the way np, and Langhetti 
 followed anxiously. The roomff were empty. 
 Every thing remained just as she had left it Hw 
 
 
 K' 
 
 II' 3*: 
 
 I 
 
a*^ 
 
 <m 
 
 M 
 
 ( 
 
186 
 
 
 A' ■» 
 
 CORD ANDXIBEESE. 
 
 1 
 
 mngic was Iring loosely aroand. "the landlady 
 gaid that she h«l touched nothing. 
 
 Longhetti asked about the man who had called 
 in the moming. The landlady could tell no- 
 thing about him, except that he was a gentleman 
 with dark hair, and very stem eyes that terrified 
 her. He seemed to be A-ery angry or very ter- 
 rible in some way about Beatrice. 
 
 Who could this be ? thought Langhetti. The 
 landlady did not know his name. iSome one was 
 certainly interesting himself very singularly about 
 Cigole, and some one else, or else the same per- 
 son, was very much interested about Beatrice. 
 For a moment he thought it might be Despard. 
 This, however, did not seem probable, as I>es- 
 paijl would have written him if he were coming 
 to town. t I 
 
 Deeply perplexed, and almost in despair, Lan- 
 .^etti left the house and drove homo, thinking on 
 Uie way what qught to be done. He thought he 
 would wait till evening, and perhaps sli^ would 
 appear. He did thus wait, and in a fever of ex- 
 citement and suspense, but on going to the lodg- 
 ing-house again there was nothing more kijgiira 
 alwut her. 
 
 Leaving this he drove to the police-office. 
 It seemed to him now that she must have been 
 foully dealt with in some way. He could think 
 of no one but Potts ; yet how Potts could man- 
 age it was a mystery. That mystery he himself 
 could not hope to unravel The police might. 
 With that confidence in the police which is <^m- 
 mon to nil Continentals he went and made known 
 his troubles. The officials at once promised to 
 make inquiries, and told him to call on the fol- 
 lowing evening. 
 
 The next evening he went there. Tlie police- 
 man was present who had been at the place when 
 Potts met Beatrice. He told the whole story — 
 the horses running furiously, the screams from 
 the cab, and the appeal of Beatrice for help, to- 
 gether with her final acquiescence in the will of 
 her father. 
 
 Langhetti was overwhelmed. The officials 
 evidently believed that Potts was an injured fa- 
 ther, and showed some coldness to Langhetti. 
 
 " He is her father ; what better could she do ?** 
 asked one. 
 
 " Any thing would be better," said Langhetti, 
 mournfully. "He is a villain so remorseless 
 that she had to flv. Some friends- received her. 
 She went to get her own living since she is of 
 age. Can nothing be dmie to rescue her?" ' 
 
 " Well, she might begin a lawsuit ; if she reaP 
 ly is of age he can not hold her. But she had 
 much better stay with him." 
 
 Snch^ere the opinions of the officials. Thfiy 
 courteoDsly granted permission to Langhetti to 
 take the policeman to the hoase. 
 
 On knocking an old woman came to the door. 
 In answer to his inquiries she stated that a gentle- 
 man had been living there three weeks, but that 
 on the arrival of his daughter he had gone home. 
 
 "When did he leave W 
 
 "4f — tcrday aon iing."^ ■ , . 
 
 ^^ yon 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THET MEET AGAIN. 
 
 At four o'clock on the motiiing .of Beatrice'i 
 capture Brandon was roused by a rap at his bed- 
 'room door. He rose at once, and slipping on 
 his dressing-gown, opened it. A man entered. 
 
 "Welly" said Bi-andon. 
 
 " Something bos happened." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " She didn't get home lost night The landlady 
 is sitting up for her, and is terribly frightened." 
 
 " Did you make any inquiries?" 
 
 "No, Sir; I came straight here in obedience 
 to your directions." 
 
 " Is that all vou know,?"' 
 
 "AU." ■ \i'-- 
 
 "Very well," said igrandon, calmly,- 
 mav go. ' 
 
 'llie man retired. Brandon sat down and bnr- 
 ied his head in his hands. Such news as this 
 was sufficient to overwhelm any one. The man 
 knew nothing more' than this, that she had not 
 returned home and that the landlady was fright- 
 ened. In his opinion only one of two tilings 
 could have happened : either Langhetti had tak- 
 en her somewhere, or she had been abducted. 
 
 A thousand fancies followed one another in 
 quick succession. It was too early as yet to go 
 forth to make inquiries ; and he therefore was 
 forced to sit still and form conjectures as to what 
 ought to be done in caf>e his conjecture might 
 be true. Sitting there, he took a rapid sun-e; 
 of all the possibilities of the occasion, and laid his 
 plans accordingly. 
 
 Brandon had feared some calamity, aiid with 
 this fear hod arranged to have some oiie in the 
 house who might give him information. Thg 
 information which he most dreaded had come ; 
 it had come, too, in the midst of a time of tri- 
 umph, when she had become one of the supremg 
 singers of the age, and had gained all that bet 
 warmest admirer might desire for her. 
 
 If she had not been foully dealt with she mnst 
 hojre gone with Langhetti. But if so — where— 
 and why ? - What possible reason might Lan- 
 ghetti havA for taking her away ? This oonjec- 
 tore was impossible. 
 
 - Yet if this was impossible, and if she hod not 
 gone with Langhetti, with whom could she haro 
 gone ? If not a friend, then it must have been 
 with an enemy. But with what enemy? There 
 W08 only one. 
 
 He thought of Potts. Ho knew that thii 
 wretch was capable of any villainy, and wonld 
 not hesitate at any thing to regain possession of 
 the one who had 'tied from him. Why he shoold 
 wish to take the trouble to regain possession of 
 her, except out of pure villainy, he could not im- 
 agine. 
 
 With snch thoughts at these the time poswd 
 heavily. Six o'clock at last came, and he set oat 
 for the purpose of making inquiries. He went 
 first to tne theatre. Here, afker some trouble, be 
 feund-tfa^a e who had ^ tha place in,chamM B4r^ 
 by questioning them, he learned that Beatrice 
 had left by herself in a cab for her home, and 
 that Langhetti had remained some time later. 
 He then went to Beatrice's lodgings to qoMtifla 
 the landlady. From there he went to Loii^ieUi i 
 lodgings, and found that Langhetti had cam 
 home about one o'clock and wm voijtiiVf. 
 
 ,i±.K 
 
 »i...v . > , 
 
 
J^^' *'"f»«'. had left by herself, and had 
 Brt gone any where with Langhetti. She had 
 iKrt re ume<f home. It seem^ to him rn^t 
 probable that either voluntarily or invokntn, 
 dM5 had come under the control of Potts. Wha^ 
 Sin"" *"* '^^"■"^tonees wa« now ?he 
 One course seemed to him the most direct and 
 Mrtain; namely, to go up to Brandon « once 
 «]d m^e mquiries there. From the leS 
 which PhJms had sent he had an Idea of th" 
 
 Imd also been secured. It was not his busing 
 todo any thmg more than to see that CiS 
 •hould fall into Bo harm "eaince 
 
 By ten o'clock he had acted upon this idea, and 
 was at he railway station to take the express 
 tauff. He reached Brandon village abont'duVk 
 He went to the inn in his usualTsguise as Mr 
 Smithers, anU sent up to the haU foTMr. Potts 
 
 Potts was not there. Hethen«entfor PhUiM 
 After some delay PhiUps came. His nsuanil 
 nudity was now if possible still more marked 
 Mdhe was at first too embarrassed to sS ' 
 
 ^^He has been there about three weeks, hasn't 
 "Yes,Sir.> * I 
 
 "SoyouAVioteme. You thought when he 
 
 '^'s?rc'o:sS"^'"''-'"p''''^"«"-^ 
 
 •' And he hasn't got back yet ?" 
 •'Not yet." "^ 
 
 " Has he written any word ?" 
 "None that I know of." 
 
 to "gSh Jr '"'"' ''"^ "^ ""™ "^y ''^y »«' '»•«»» 
 
 .iL!!^.°'i''?r'*'''.'"'^' •"" I en««««l from what 
 «% said that he was afmid of having hterat 
 
 "Afraid? Why?' 
 
 "S^T ww*"^ «''ng,secret of theirs.* 
 
 meelS ' ''"''^'" '^^ ^''"'P"' 
 
 Brandon had carried Asgeelo with him as h« 
 w« often in the habit of ddng o^ hisTu'mevs 
 After his interview with Phili,^ he st^ "Se 
 « the veranda of the .ilkge ian for s^e tfme 
 •pd then went around through the viUage. sto^ 
 ^ at a number of houses" What3 t wX 
 A« he was engaged in, it occupied him for s^^ 
 «a hours, «,d he did not get b^k to the M 
 
 CORD AND CBEESE. 
 
 «mi ».?. Ti u-^ "?* "*>' y«» returned. Philins 
 CMne to teU him that he had just received a M^ 
 
 to tack that day about one o'clock. This intelli- 
 
 XnH^*rT''"P"''*'»«'»'»«*in«deflnite. 
 ft«ndon found enough to occupy him dating 
 
 bid VJIZi* '\* P««P'« »f 'he neighto^ 
 Znilir - i !!™^^?^"'"^ ^^<*n' body, ami had 
 
 fi?he J;:r« bo's "' """' "^ '"« '^'-'''• 
 
 4KnT^.!f'l«"«' !-»..-«» "t the™ 
 
 «.— tl — , ^" ""' ■» "e inn, ani 
 
 2r A^"±*"f|"'«i'r™""y id'« «"d «im- 
 
 »ILdn»«S.2±:l^'*"''°" "'">™d and 
 "™«i up ud down tha veranda. 
 
 ■4*7 
 
 iirandon stood outside of thn rnr.n.1 
 steps, in such a position as to i^^™?*^' ''".^^e 
 ous, and waited there tSl 0^„ . ^' consjiicn- 
 •«ich the pkce Wd his Urt ^7T*? "•'"•^'^ 
 
 nofhi'^L'i'r'lirt'' wa/that Potts could 
 Potts s.'^pSttTni.Sarre.'''" «™' «"'> 
 
 tric^o'n.r Kn"e" '"^S^kXt 
 the carriage and touched hisXi '' ''^ 
 
 volub^y'"i'.K mel5.^*'*V'''? ''" »-"' 
 most uJxpectS^e^uVJ^V."'*''' " ""^'^ » 
 BeSJrice w"h!f "'^^ °™"."^°" '°«ked steadily at 
 
 s^r.; irckTn^'^r j-t„f r^r- 
 
 were still fos^ned on his « Sgh^^ailn.:^" 
 Then beneath the marble whitenei othT& 
 
 The siL of h""'^'^ " ^'»'™ fl"'"'. that Z 
 ZVT ,''°P^ ,"^'"8 from despair^. i„ her 
 ^es there gleamed the flash of rJognition • for 
 Tn It f^""" T}^ had made known\l Us 'soul 
 to the other. In her mind there was no nernfex 
 mg question as to how or why he cLSe Tere ^' 
 
 KtteitZ her""'""^"^ "-' «« >^ 
 All this took place in an instant, and Potts. 
 
 Snce"^ !?&,"'' -J"'. »otice\hT h3 
 Tu^tr' . f"® **"'• *""' '" 't nothing but a caso- 
 
 '^ n^'AT" *'™"8«^ "P«" another 
 "I wish^"i^ JT yesterday," said Brandon. 
 WtL !^^J ^ y?" "hont a matter of very 
 iitt e importance perhaps to yon but it U nZ 
 which is of interest to m'e. B^i am d'etl n^J 
 »^" 'f ^^'he-way, I am somewhat in a huiTv 
 and rf this lady will excuse me I will driveTo 
 
 i^ehghted. Sir, delighted .'"cried Potts "Al- 
 Xbt^r.^' '"'"'^"'' '" ''"'*^-- y"" »<• ^ 
 Brandon hekl out his hand. Beatrice held out 
 hers. It was cold as ice, but the fieree thrill that 
 Lh htTf her frarne at the touch of his fVvl*, 
 bL^"™ th ^? '^'th it wsl, an ecstasy tlwt 
 ^tnce thought It was worth while to have un- 
 
 forT1«^ J'^r"" "^'^'' P^' twenty-four houra 
 tor the joy of this one moment. 
 
 Brandon stepped into the carriage and seated 
 
 touched her. He could hear her breathini 
 How many months had passed since Xysfi 
 
 ^"^':,?^?"""' What sorrows had they ^ 
 endured ! Now they were side by sid e, m^ fa? 
 « moment they forgot thai t h drfatemn^^ 
 sat before them. . ««»u7 
 
 ^^i""*"^' '*5f*"* "'*°'' '^ 'he man who was not 
 only a deadly enemy to each, but who made It 
 mpo«.blo for them to be more to oneZuJ^ 
 han they now were. Yet for a time theyforaot 
 ibis m tfce joy of the ecstatic meetinr i^X 
 
 »... i> ^ •^"' »io ocsiauc meeting. At the 
 gate Pott, got out and excused hiinMlf to Bntf 
 don, saying that be woold be up diieodj. 
 
 «.\P 
 
 .#v. 
 
168 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 "Entertain this gentleman till I come," said 
 he to Beatrice, "for he is a great friend of 
 mine." 
 
 Beatrice said nothing, for the simple reason 
 that she could not speak. 
 
 They drove on. Oh, joy ! that baleful pres- 
 ence was for a moment removed. The 'driver 
 saw nothing as he drove under the overarching 
 elms — the elms under which Brandon had sport- 
 ed in his boyhood. He saw not the long, fen'id 
 glance that they cast at one another, in which 
 each seemed to absorb all the being of the other ; 
 he saw not the close ela.sped hands with which 
 they clung to one another now as though they 
 would thus cling to each other forever and pre- 
 Tent separation. He saw not the swift, wild 
 movement of Brandon when for one instant he 
 flung his arm around Beatrice and pressed her 
 to his heart. He heard not the beating of that 
 strong heart ; he heard not the low sigh of rap- 
 ture with which for but one instant the head of 
 Beatrice sank uiwn her lover's breast. It was 
 but for an instant. Then she sat upright again, 
 and their hands sought each other, (bus clinging, 
 thus speaking by a voice which wab fully intelli- 
 gible to each, which told how each felt in the 
 presence of the other love unutterable, rapture 
 beyond expression. ^ 
 
 They alighted from the caniage. Beatrice 
 led the way into the drawing-room. No one 
 was tliere. Brandon went into a recess of one 
 of the windows which commanded a view of the 
 Park. 
 
 "AVhat a beautiful view!" said he, in a con- 
 rentional voice. 
 
 She came up and stood beside him. 
 
 " Oh, my dariing! Oh, my darling!" he cried, 
 over and over again ; and flinging his arms around 
 her he covered her face with burning kisses. Her 
 whole being seemed in that supreme moment to 
 be absorbed in his. All consciousness of any 
 other thing than this unspeakable joy was lost to 
 her. Before all others she was lofty, high-souled, 
 Berene, self-possessed — with him she was nothing, 
 she lost herself in him. 
 
 "Do not fear, my soul's darhng," said he; 
 " no harm shall come. My power is every where 
 — ev6n in this house. All in the village are mine. 
 When my blow falls you shall be saved." 
 
 She shuddered. 
 
 " You wiU" leave me here?" 
 
 "Heavens! I must," he groaned; "we are 
 the 8])ort of circumstances. Oh, my darling!" 
 he continued, "you know my story, and my 
 vengeance." 
 
 "I know it all," she whispered. "I would 
 wish to die if I could die by your hand." 
 
 "I will. save you. Oh, love — oh, soul of 
 ' mine -r- my arios ye around you ! You are 
 watched — but watched by me." 
 
 "You do not know, she sighed. "Alas! 
 your father's voice ttiust be obeyed, and your 
 vengeance must be taken." 
 
 ' * Fear not, " said he ; " I will guard yon. " 
 h aaawered uothiBgr C«mkl she esB&de in 
 his assurance? She could not. She thought 
 with horror of the life before her. What could 
 Brandon do ? She could not imagine. 
 
 They stood thus in silence for a long time. 
 Each felt that this was their last meeting, and 
 each threw all life and all thought into the mp- 
 tnre of this long and ecstatic embrace. Aft- 
 
 er this the impassable gulf must reopen. She 
 was of the blcKxl of the accursed, 'i'hey must 
 separate forever. 
 
 Ho kissed her.« He pressed her a thousand 
 times to his heart. His burning kisses forced » 
 new and feverish life into her, which roused all 
 her nature. Never before had he dared so to 
 fling open all his soul to her ; never before IiqJ 
 he so clasped her to his heart ; but now this mo- 
 ment was a break in the agony of a long sepa- 
 ration — a short interval which must soon end 
 and give way to the misery which had preceded 
 it — and so he yielded to the rapture of the hour, 
 and defled the future. 
 
 The moments extended themselves. They 
 were left thus for a longer time than they hoped. 
 Potts did not come. They *vere still clinging to 
 one another. She had flung her arms around 
 him in the anguish of her unspeakable love, he 
 had clasped her to his wildly-throbbing heart, 
 and he was straining her there recklessly and Je- 
 spairinglyv when suddenly a harsh voice burst 
 upon their ears. 
 
 "The devil!" 
 
 Beatrice did not hear it. Brandon did, nnd 
 turned his face. Potts stood before them. 
 
 "Mr. Potts!" said he, as he still held Bea- 
 trice close to his heart, " this poor young lady is 
 in wretched health. She nearly fainted. . l,had 
 to almost carry her to the window. Will yWbc 
 good enough to open it, so as to give her wme 
 air ? Is she subjtict to these faints ? Poor child !" 
 he said ; "the air of this place ought surely to 
 do vou good. I sympathize with you most deep- 
 ly, Mr. Potts." 
 
 "She'ssickly — that's a fact, "said Potts. "I'm 
 very sorry that you have had so much trouble— 
 I hope you'll excuse me. I only thought that 
 she'd entertain yon, for she's very clever. Has 
 all the accomplishments — " 
 
 "Perhaps you'd better call some one to take 
 care of her, " interrupted Brandon. 
 
 " Oh, I'll fetch some one. I'm sorry it hap- 
 pened so. I hope you won't binmo me, f-ir," 
 said Potts, humbly, and he hurried out of the 
 room. 
 
 Beatrice had not "moved. She heard' Brandon 
 speak to some one, and at first gave her;>elf up 
 for lost, but in an instant she understood the full 
 meaning of his words. To his admirable pres- 
 ence of mind she added her own. She did not 
 move, but allowed her head to rest where it w.if, 
 feeling a delicious joy in the thought that Potts 
 was looking on and was utterly deceived. When 
 he left to call a ser\'ant she raised her head and 
 gave Brandon a lost look expressive of lier 
 deathless, her unutterable love. Again and 
 again he pressed Iicr to his heart. Then the 
 noise of servants coming in roused him. He 
 gently placed her on a sofa, and sup]x>rtcd her 
 with a grave and solemn face. 
 
 ' ' Here, Mrs. Compton. Take charge of her," 
 said Itotts. " She's l>een trying to fuint." 
 
 Mrs. Compton come up, and kneeling dom 
 kisfied Beatrice's hn nd" iihe said nntliing. 
 
 "Oughtn't she to have a doctor?" said Brain 
 don. 
 
 " Oh no— she'll get over it. Take her to let 
 room, Mrs. Compton." 
 
 'ICan the poor child walk?" asked Bran- 
 don. 
 
 Beatrice rose. Mrs. Compton asked her to 
 
 ' ;^au^.i 
 
CORD AND CKEESE, 
 
 THB devil!" rOTT9 OTOOn HEFORB THEM, 
 
 toke her arm. She did so, and leaning heavily ' 
 upon It, walked away. ' 
 
 ^ "She eeems very delicate," said Brandon. 
 
 I did not know that you had a daughter " 
 
 Potts sighed. 
 
 " I have," said he, " to my sorrow. - 
 To your sorrow !" said Brniidon, with ex- 
 qnisitely simulated sympathy. 
 
 "Ycs/wplied the^other. " I wouldn 't tell it 
 
 wtryone— bnt yon, W. Pmithers, are differ- 
 ent Irom most iieople. You see I have led a. 
 wvmg hfo. I had to leave her out in (hiim for 
 many years with a female guardian. I supi.ose 
 •he was not very well taken care of. At any 
 Mf?, she got acquainted out there with a stroll- 
 m Italian vagalmnd, a dnim-major in one of 
 we regiments, named Langhetti, and thU viihiin 
 
 piine<l her affections bv his helUsh orts He 
 knew that I was rich, and, like an unprincipled 
 adventurer, tried to get her, hoping to get a for- 
 '''""• I did not know any thing about this till 
 after her nmvnl homo. I sent for her some time 
 ago and she cnmo. From the first she was very 
 sftiky. She did not treat mo like a daughter at 
 all. On one occanion she actually abused me 
 and called PW names to^my iace. hho rnHednra 
 a Thug ! What do you think of that, Mr. Smith- 
 erg?" 
 
 The other said nothing, but llioro was in his 
 face a horror which I'otts considerodjis directed 
 toward his unnatural offspring. 
 
 "She was discontented here, though I lot her 
 have every thing. I found out in the end all 
 about It. At last she actually ran oway. She 
 
160 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 joined this infamoas Langhetti, whom she had 
 discoverfsd in some way or other. They lived 
 together for some time, and then went to Lon- 
 don, where she got a sitaation as «n actress. 
 You can imagine by that," said Potts, with 
 sanctimonious horror, " how low she had fallen. 
 
 "Well, I didn't know what to do. I was 
 afraid to make a public demand for her through 
 the law, for then it would all get into the papers; 
 it would be an 4wful disgrace, (iiid the whole 
 county would know it. S^ I waited, and a few 
 weeks ago I went to London. A chance oc- 
 curr^ at last which threw hel: in my way. I 
 pointed out to her the awful nature of the life 
 she was leading, and offered to forgive her all if 
 sh^ would only come back. The poor girl con- 
 sented, and here she is. Bnt I'm very much 
 afraid," said Potts in conclusion, with a deep 
 sigh, " that her constitution is broken up. She s 
 very feeble." 
 
 Brandon said nothing. 
 
 "Excuse me for troubling yon with my do- 
 mestic aflbirs ; but I thought I ought to explain, 
 for you hare had such trouble with her yourself." 
 
 "Oh, don't mention it. I quite pitied the 
 poor child, I assure you ; and I sincerely hope 
 that the seclusion of this place, combined with 
 the pure sea-air, may restore her spirits and in- 
 Tigorate her in mind as well as in body. And 
 now, Mr. Potts, I will mention the little matter 
 that brought me here. I have had business in 
 Cornwall, and was on my way home when I re- 
 ceived a letter summoning me to America. 1 
 may have to go to California. I have a very 
 honest servant, whom I have quite a strong re- 
 gard for, and I am anxious to put him in some 
 good country house till I get back. I'm afraid 
 to trust him in London, and I can't take him 
 with me. He is a Hindu, bnt speaks English 
 and can do almost any thing. I at once rentem- 
 bered yon, especiallv as you were close by me, 
 and thought that in your large establishmenft 
 yon might find a place Tor him. How is it?" <o 
 
 "Mv dear Sir, I shall be proud and happy. 
 I should like, above all thin^, to have a man 
 here who i^ recommended by one like you. The 
 fhct is, my servants are all miserable, and a good 
 one can not often be had. I shall consider it a 
 fovor if I can get him." 
 
 "Well, that is all arranged — I have a regard 
 for him, as I said before, and want to have him 
 in a pleasant situation. His name is Asgeelo, but 
 we are in the habit of calling him Cato — " 
 
 "Cato ! a very good name. Where is he 
 now?" 
 
 "Atthe hotel. Iwill send him to yon at once," 
 ■aid Brand9n, rising. 
 
 " The sooner the better," returned Potts. 
 
 " By-the-way, my junior speaks very encourag- 
 ingly about tl^ prospects of the Brandon Bank — " 
 
 "Does he?'* cried Potts, gleefully. "Well, 
 I do believe we're going ahead of every thing." 
 
 "That's right. Boldness is the true way to 
 ■access." 
 
 "**tJh, iiBTBr ftar. We mre bold enoogti;" 
 " Oood. But I am hurried, and I must go. I 
 trill send Asgeelo up, and give him a letter*" 
 
 With these words Brandon bowed an adieu 
 and departed. Boforo evening Asgeelo was in- 
 ttalled as one of the sen-ants. 
 
 CHAPTER XLn. > - 
 
 LAKOHETTI'S ATTEMPT. 
 
 V Two days after Brandon's visit to Potts, Lan- 
 ghetti reached the village. 
 
 A searching examination in London had led 
 him to believe that Beatrice might now be sought 
 for at Brandon Hall. The police could do nothing 
 for him. He had no rig^t to her. If she was of 
 age, she was her own mistress, and must make 
 application herself for her safety and deliverance; / 
 if she was under age, then she must show that she 
 was treated with cruelty. None of theser things 
 could be done, and Langhetti despaired of ac- 
 complishing any thing. 
 
 The idea of her being once more in the power 
 of a man like Potts was frightful to him. This 
 idea filled his mind continually, to the exclusion 
 of all other thoughts. His opera was forgot. 
 ten. One great horror stood before him, and all 
 else became of jio account. The only tjiin^ for 
 him to do was to try to save her. He could find 
 no war, and the(«fore determined to go and see 
 Potts himself. 
 
 It was a desperate undertaking. . From Bea- 
 trice's descriptions he had on idea of the life from 
 which she had fled, and o^er things had gives 
 him a true idea of the character, of Potts. He 
 knew that there Was scarcely any hope before 
 him. Yet he went, to satisfy himself by making 
 a last effort. 
 
 He was hardly the man to deal with one like 
 Potts. Sensitive, high-toned, passionate, im- 
 petuous in his feelings, he could not command 
 that calmness which was the first essential in such 
 an interview. Besides, he was broken down by 
 anxiety and want of sleep. His sorrow for Bea- 
 trice had disturbed all his thoughts. Food and 
 sleep were alike abominable to him. His fine- 
 strung nerves and delicate organiuttion, in which 
 every feeling had been rendered more ocute by 
 his mode of life, were of that kind which lould 
 feel intensely wherever the affections were con- 
 cerned. His material frame was too weak for 
 the presence of such an ardent souL Whenever 
 any emotion of onnsual power appeared he sank 
 rapidly. 
 
 So now, feverish, emaciated, excited to nn in- 
 tense degree, he appeared in Brandon to confront 
 a cool, unemotional villain, who scarcely ever lost 
 his presence of inind. Such a contest coold 
 scarcely be an equal one. What oonld ho bring 
 forward which could in any way affect such s 
 man ? He had some ideas in his own mind which 
 he imagined might bo of service, and trusted more 
 to impulse than any thing else. He went up early 
 in the morning to Brandon Hall. 
 
 Potts was at home, and did not keepLan^et- 
 ti long waiting. 
 
 ' There was a vast contrast between these two 
 men — the one coarse, fat, vulgar, and strong; 
 the other refined, slender, spiritual, ant] delicate, 
 with his large eyes burning in their deep sockets, 
 and a strange myst ery in his face. 
 
 ** I inn IfrolJTtBiiBliwtl,* wild lie, Bbniptly^ 
 " the manager of the Oovent Garden Theatre." 
 
 " You ar«, are you ?" answered Potts, rudely; 
 " t}ien the sooner you get out of this the better. 
 The dov}l himself couldn't be more impudent. I 
 have just saved my daughter from your cltttche^ 
 and I m going to pay you off, too, my fine fbUow, 
 before long." , v 
 
 5 
 
 
CORD AND CHEESE. 
 
 161 
 
 >ko.Uo,i — 1,1 1. V_ X,"^. "^Vv^ " '"*' 'na'hw testimony is worthless ?" 
 
 "Yon can't." cried Tjin™i,»..i *..^_ 
 
 the dead conld speak they would tell a different 
 story. 
 
 •'VVhat the devil do'you mean," cried Potts, 
 
 by the dead ? At any rate you are a fool : for 
 very naturally the dead can't speak ; but what 
 concern that has with mV daughter I don't know 
 Mind, you are playing a dangerous game in'trv- 
 ing to bully me. " " j 
 
 Potts spoke fiercely and menacingly. Lnn- 
 ghetti 8 impetuous soul kindled to a new fervor 
 at ihis insulting language. He stretched out his 
 long, thm hand toward Potts, and said • 
 
 "I hold your life and fortune in my hand 
 Give up that prl whom you caU your daughter '' 
 
 Potts stood for a moment staring 
 
 I ",'J'I'u^*li'y^°"^°'" '>«<="«'>' »»•«"«*• "Come, 
 I call that ^, nch racy ! Will your sublime 
 fecellency have the kindness to explain yourself? 
 If my life is m your hand it's m a devilish lean 
 Md weak one. It strikes me you've got some 
 kink m your brain— some notion or other. Out 
 wifkit, and let us see what you're driving at!" 
 ■*^& y"" *now a man named Cigolp?" said 
 
 "Cigole ! " replied Potts, after a pause, in which 
 he had stared hard at Lapghetti ; "well, what 
 
 «,? . "*™*P* I do, and perhaps I don't" 
 mentlv ** '" "^ Power," said Langhetti, vehe- 
 
 " Much good may he do you then, for I'm sure 
 when he was m my power hp never did any good 
 to me." . , ^ " 
 
 "He wiU do gooa in this case, at any mte." 
 Mid Langhetti, with an effort at calmness "Ho 
 was connect»d with you in a deed which you 
 must remembe^, and can teU to the world w-hat 
 be Knows. 
 
 .'r.V®"- .?:'•*' 'f ''«'d<^ '" *aid Potts. 
 JHe wiU tell" cried Langhetti, excitedly, 
 "the true storvoftheDespaid murder." 
 
 Ah 1 said Potts, "now the murder's out 
 ^'? ^hat I thought. Don't you suppose I 
 «»w through you when you first began to>eak 
 » mystencMiriy ? I kneV that.you^ad leaVned 
 wme wonderftil story, and that you were going 
 to trot It out at the right time. But if yon think 
 you re going to bully me you'll find it haVd work " 
 -^^gole 18 in' my power," said Langhetti, 
 
 ' Potts^"^ '° ^''" """'' ^ *""' ^^" ^^"^ 
 " Parti vsa" 
 "Why?" ■ 
 
 th^^^-rTm'Sr "*"' •^"""P""' °f ■-"" '" 
 ^'Sp he says, no d6ut)l; but wholl believe 
 
 r2^l\^I! Kolntf'to turn Queen's evidence !" said 
 Unehelti, solemnly. 
 
 .J.1, "^l'" fT^'len'^e''' returned Potts, 'con- 
 trniptuously, "and what's his evidence worth- 
 ftae^denoe ofj> m n n like that agajna t * a eatte» 
 fflwrt-nnbleinished chamcter ?'^^^^^^ 
 He will be able to show what the character 
 "wV^'"'-f.Tl>'"'^«*"«^ I^hetti? 
 
 Who will believe him t" 
 ^jNoonecan helpit" 
 
 ^1 f?'''T~'^'' •'"*'■ friends-and both 
 •MmiM of mbie: bai luppoae I prove to the 
 
 vlf" ??'''',' «'i«^>anghetti; furiously. 
 
 «cin'?1 ." ' »'' °f «=°«tempt at him- 
 Can 1 1 ! He resunfcd : " How verv sim 
 pie, how confiding you must be, mJd^T^n 
 ghetti! Let me explain my mwlning. Ymltet 
 up a wdd charge against a gentleman of cK- 
 ter and position about a mi^er. In the fi^t 
 place, you seem to forget that'^e ica murderer 
 
 Manmi l^l"'!^ u'"7 P™P«^'y convicted at 
 Manilla, and hanged there. It wis twenty veare 
 ago. What English court would consider the ca^ 
 
 r^ttS'h fi^ill '"'^•™P«'tW Spanish c^urt 
 nas settled it finally; and punished the criminal? 
 Ihey did so at the time wfien the%ise was fresh 
 
 now brir?''*''i'^"-S"«* '^"J »r/umphant You 
 now bring forward a'man/ A*ho, y^u hint will 
 make statements against me. Sup^sehe does' 
 What then ? Why, I will show what this man . 
 Lt ^n T"* y •?.'?^ Langhetti, will be the 
 
 Shrink """ ^ ""] •'""K "P "K^i""' Wra. I 
 will bnng you up under oath,,and make vou teU 
 
 how this Cigole-this man 4o^stifitCinst 
 
 me-once made a certuilT^timony inXilr 
 
 against a cijrtain Langhetti fciiior, by which that 
 
 certain Langhetti senior was b^tmyl^ ,« the 
 
 Government, and was saved only by the MW of 
 
 two Englishmen, one of whom wis this same 
 
 Despard I will show that this Langhe tileV 
 
 .or wasVour father, and that the son, Wd of 
 
 avenging, or at any rate resenting, his fiuher's 
 
 vvrong, ,s now a bosom friend of Sis father's i" 
 
 tended murderer- that he has nreed him on 
 
 affunst me. I will show, my deaFLanghetd 
 
 how yon have led a ronng life, aodTwhen . 
 
 of r;r^"L" ".""« ^""« >^°" thraiS ron: 
 
 of my daughter j how you followed her here, and 
 seduced her away from a kind father; hovy at 
 infiml» nsfc I reg«in«l herj how. you came to 
 Z.r*f r^r'""' ''T"-' ""d how o^" the 
 ove for my daughter, prevented me fro^ hand- 
 ngyou over to the authorities. I will prove you 
 to be a scoundrel of the vilest description, and 
 
 She'^UlZ'T'v''' -h^.'^-you tSink'wouQ 
 be tlie >erd;ct of an English jurv, or of any indoa 
 in any land j and what do you'think woX g 
 your own fate? Answer me that " ''^""'" "• 
 
 friLTi f^^u r^}" f^''^ vehemence. The 
 frightful truth flashed at once across Lnnghet^ 
 ti 8 mind that Potts had it in his power here to f 
 show aU this to the world. He wiEToverl^Mm? ^ 
 ecL He had never conceived the possibilitv of 
 Shis E" "'""'"^ him silently.^h a s^,^! 
 
 "Don't yon thinjf that yon had better ofMmd 
 comfort yourself With yonr dear friend Cole 
 your fathers intended murderer?" said he e» 
 Ugth. "Cigole told me all about this ?„„"g 
 ago. He told me many things about his Ufa 
 whichwouMberiightlydam.g n,to hi "chaL^ 
 
 >? 
 
 »!,.. .u' "' T'TT ""• * •^oSYmfaid tellintf'yoa 
 that the worst thing against him in English eves 
 IS his betrayal of your father. But this «jomi to 
 have been a very slight matter to >ou. Its odd 
 too; Ive always supposed that Italians under- 
 Btood what vengeance means. " 
 
 »iwm"*iI'*"*' ff'* **■* *" etprewion of agony 
 which he could not conceal .Every word o? 
 Potustmighimtothiwul. rib .to3d fo? liS 
 
 pli4J(\. 
 
 v.* ,s Si, 
 
162 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 time in silence. At last, vithoat a word, he 
 walked out of the room. 
 
 His brain reeled. He Btaggej«d rather than 
 wnlked. Potts looked after him with a smile of, 
 trivrnph. Uo lefl tlie Hall and returned to the 
 village, -v 
 
 " CHAPTER XLIIL 
 
 THE BTBAMOER. 
 
 A PEW weeks after Langhetti's visit Potts had 
 a new visitor at the bank. The stranger entered 
 the bank parlor noiselessly, and -stood qnietly 
 waiting for Potts to be disengaged. That worthy 
 was making some entries in a small memoran- 
 dtim-book. •jTuming his head, he saw the new- 
 comer. Potts looked surprised, and the stranger 
 said, in a peculiar voipe, somewhat gruff and 
 hesitating, 
 
 "Mr. Potts?" 
 
 "Yes," said Potts, looking hard at his vis-' 
 itor. 
 
 He was a man of singular aspect His hair 
 was long, parted in the middle, and straight. 
 He wore dark colored spectacles. A thicb^ bihck 
 beard ran under his cliin. His linen was not 
 tiA'er-cIean, and he wore a long wirtout coat. 
 
 " I beMng to the firm of Bigelow, Higginson, 
 & Co.,. Solicitors, London — I am the Co." 
 
 "Weill" 
 
 " The business aboat which I have come is one 
 of some importance. Are we secure from inter- 
 ruption?*!* 
 
 " Yes," said Potts, " as much as I care about 
 being. I don't know any thing in particular that 
 I care about locking the doors for. ' 
 
 "Well, you know best," said the stranger. 
 " The business upon which I hare come concerns 
 you somewhat, but your. son principally." 
 , Potts started, and looked with eager inquiry 
 at the stranger. 
 
 "It is such a tprious case," said the latter, 
 " that my seniors thought, before taking any steps 
 in the matter, i( would be best to consult yon 
 pjivately." 
 
 " Wdl," returned Potts, with a fkx)%vn, " what 
 is this wonderful case ? " 
 
 " Forgery," said the stranger. 
 
 Potts started to his. feet with a ghastly face, 
 and stood speechless for some time. 
 
 "Da you know who you're talking tor' said 
 he, at last 
 
 '^John Potts, of Brandon Hall, I presume," 
 ■aid the stranger, coolly. "My business con- 
 cerns him somewhat, but his son still more." 
 
 ''What the devil do you mean?" growled 
 Fotts, in a savage tone. 
 
 " Forgerjr," said the stranger. " It is an En- 
 glish woid, I believe. Forgery, in which* your 
 , son was chief agent Have I made myself un- 
 derstood?" 
 
 Pottf looked at him again, atd then slowly 
 went to the door, locked it, and put the key in 
 his pocket 
 
 **TliHt*B rlghtj* said the itraui or,' tiuiedr. ^ -^ 
 "You appearTo take things easy," rejoined 
 
 Potts, angrily ; "but let me tell 4ou, if yon come 
 
 to bully me you've got into the wrong shop." 
 "You appear somewhat heated. You mast 
 
 be calm, or else we can not get t^ business ; and 
 
 in that cose I shdl have to \vkh 
 
 " I don't see how that would be any affliction," 
 'Said Potts, with a sneer. 
 
 " " That's because you don't anderstaild inj- po- 
 lition, or the state of the present business, ior- 
 if I leave it will "be' the Signal for a number of jh- ■ 
 Crested parties to make a combined dfttack on 
 you." 
 
 "An attack?' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Who is there?" said Potts, defiantly. 
 
 " Giovanni -Cavalla, for one; my seniors, 
 Messrs. Bigelow & Uigginson, and several otli- 
 ers. « 
 
 " Never heard of any of Ihem before." 
 
 *' Perhaps not But if you write to Smitliers' 
 & Co.«they will tell you that Bigelow, Higginson, 
 & Co. are their solicitors,' and do their confiden- 
 tial business." 
 
 " Smithers & Co. ?"" said Pott?, aghast. 
 
 "Yes. It would not be for your interest for 
 Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. to show Smithers & 
 Co. the proofs- which , they have against you, 
 would it?" 
 
 Potts was silent An expression of consterna- 
 tion came over his face. He plunged his hands 
 deep in his pockets and bowed his head frown- 
 iljgly. 
 
 " It's all bo^h," said 'he, at last, raisingjliis 
 
 head. " Let tliem show and be d d. \yjmt 
 
 have they got to show ?" ^ 
 
 " I win answer your question regularly," said 
 the stranger, "in accordance with my instruc- 
 tions" — and, drawing a pocket-book from \m 
 pocket, he began to read from some memoranda 
 written there. 
 
 " ls<. The n6tes to which the name of Enlph 
 Brandon is attache^, 150 in number, amounting 
 to £93,500." 
 
 "Pooh!" said Potts. 
 
 "These forgeries were known to several l)e- 
 sides.your son and yourself, and one of these men 
 will testify against you, Others who know Bran- 
 don's signature swear that this hicks an import- 
 ant point of distinction common to all the Bran- 
 don signatures handed down from father to son. 
 You were foolish to leave these notes afloat. 
 They have all been bought up on a speculation 
 by those who wished to make the Braadoh prop- 
 erty a little dearer." 
 
 "I don't think theyll make a fortune ont of 
 the speculation," said Potts, who was stifling with 
 rage. " D n them ! who are they ?" 
 
 "Well, there are several witnesses who are 
 men of such character that if my seniora sent 
 them to Smithers & Co. Smithers S. Co. would 
 believe that yoa were guilty. In a court of tew 
 you would have no better chance. One of these 
 witnesses utmhe can prove that your tnie name 
 is Briggs.'* ^ ♦ 
 
 At this Potts bounded from his chair and 
 stepped forward with a terrific oath. 
 
 " You see, your.son's neck is in very conside^ 
 able danger." 
 
 " Yours is in greater," said Potts, with men- 
 acing eyes. . 
 
 "i<<rt at-aa Even gupporfHg rt wt ywwsw 
 absurd enough to offier violence to an humble 
 subordinate like me, it would not interfere with 
 the policy of Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co., 
 who are determined to make money out of thi» 
 transaction. So you lee it's abratd to talk of 
 violence." 
 
 W; ■ 
 
 :\A. 
 
The stranger took no fhrther norice pf Potts 
 tat looked again at his memoranda; while the 
 latter, whose face was now terrifle from the furi- 
 ous passions which it exhibited, stood like a wild 
 beast in a cage, •' willing to wo^d, but yet afniid 
 to«tnke. ■ ' 
 
 •'The next.case," said the stranger, "ft the 
 Thornton forgery." ' > 
 
 "Thornton!" exclaimed Potts, with greater 
 agitation. ' 
 
 -.wf'^*"*^ ^''® stranger. "In connection 
 with the Uespard morder there were two sets of 
 forgenes; one being the Thornton correspond- 
 OTce, and the other your correspondence- with 
 ^e Bank of Good Hope." 
 
 ..«-i^^?"'' "'•'*''* "" tl*"?" cried Potts. 
 ^ne« have jron been unearthing this rubbish ?" 
 T,^' ' Said the /stranger, without noticing 
 Ports 8 exclamation,' "there are the letters to 
 Thornton, Senior, Jwenty years ago, in which an 
 attempt wat made to obtain Colonel Despard's 
 money for yourself One Ckrk, an.accomplice 
 of yours, presented the letter. The forgery was 
 at once detected. Clark might have esdaped, 
 but he made an effort at burglary, was caught 
 and wndemned to transportation. He had l^en 
 already out once before, and thU time received 
 a Dew brand in addition to the old ones " 
 
 Potts did not say a word, but sat stuMfied. 
 _ 1 homton. Junior, is connected with us, and 
 his testimony m valuable, as he was the one who 
 detected the foi^ry. He also was the on»who 
 irent to the Cape of Good Hope, wh^re lie'had 
 the pleasure of meeting with yon. This brines 
 mo to the third case," continued the stranger 
 
 " Letters were sent to the Cape of Good Hope 
 ordering money to be paid to John Potts. Thorn- 
 ton, Senior, fearing from the first attempt that a 
 Miliar one would be made at the Cnpe, where 
 die deceased had funds, sent his son there. Yountf 
 Thornton reached the place just before you did! 
 and would have arrested yon, but the proof wai 
 not sufBcient." *^ 
 
 "Aha!" cried Potts, grasping at this— "not 
 •offlcient proof 1 I should think not." His voice 
 was husky and bis manner nervous. 
 . " ^ *"l**i'™' not'-but Messrs. Bigelow, Hig- 
 ginson, & Co. have informed me that, there are 
 parties now in communication with then! who 
 can prove how, when, where, and by whom the 
 forgenes were executed." 
 
 . f' ^i.\" ^~T^ ""^"^ "« '" "Mwd Potts, in 
 • fresh burst of anger. 
 
 ."}°^JJ*>P^'^^tthf>ytUiU,. The man has 
 «m»dy written out a statement in Cull, and is 
 only waiting for my return to sign it before a 
 magistrate. 'PhU will be • death-warmnt ftr 
 your son ; for Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. 
 wll have him arrested at once. You aw aware 
 tftat he has no chance of eacmt. The amount 
 
 too opormons, and the proof is too strong." 
 
 .TOnld believe any thing agunst a man like 
 me, John Potts— a man of the county?" . 
 gngUsh la w is no jespecter of persons," raid 
 
 CORD Aini CREESE. 
 
 -A»t«w5k;^^B«A goSfoTnot^ 'But"if 
 um make cUfi distinctions, the witnesses about 
 iftwe docnmenu are of great influence. There is 
 fhomfon of Hdby, and Colonel Henry Despard 
 
 Bi^i" ^'S.IP*^ "°P«> ^'"» '^hora Messrs. 
 Bwelow, Hira^nson, & Co. have had con«- 
 •pondence. There are also othen." 
 
 „M ?'" "^ ?• ","'" ^Claimed Potts, in a voice 
 Zhn^ '^t^ little tremulous. " Who is this foS 
 who has been making out papers ?" 
 
 ul\^!^ """^ " *''•'"?»! true name Lawton. 
 SS'lnV^.?^'^"'^'^ «»»->' --^-tiao^- 
 
 «eJSrxSffiSsrs;£t 
 
 Se7os"p^^''^'^«- ^o-momenthrw°aS 
 » ^Wlips !" he gasped, at length. 
 
 A Pn M- K **"' ''™ "" business to Smithem 
 &Co. He has not yet returned. He does not 
 mtend to, for he was found oat by Messre Bi^ 
 low Hi^nson, & Co., and you know how ti,^ 
 r^»l fi.„ u^ ^'^''\ succeeded in extracting the 
 ruth from him. As I am in a huiry, and you 
 too m,wt be busy," continued the stiinger, ^.ll 
 unchanged accents, "I wiU now comfto the 
 point. ITiese forge* papers involve an amount 
 to the extent of-Bmndon forgeries, £i)A,r,QO- 
 
 1?.^'""^"'^'^ ^^°^' ^^^ «f Good Ho,«; 
 poOO ; being m aU £102,500. Messrs. BiLl 
 ow Higginson, & Co. have instructed me to say 
 ^oll^ul ^"".««» .these papeni to you at their 
 face without charging interest. They will hand 
 them over to you and you can destroy them, in 
 SSUT' '"""^ *•' charge must' bS 
 bl<^' ■• "^' *" "'^^ ^°"''' " ^"" ^"^^ *^^ •'cvUs 
 
 "That would be murder," said tlie stranger 
 with a pe<;uUar emphasis. . ^ ' 
 
 His tone stung Potts to the quick. 
 You appear to take me for a bom fool," he . 
 cried, stndmg up and down. 
 
 "Not at all. I am only an agent carrvhiff 
 out the instructions of others. " "»" : ™g 
 
 Potts suddenly stopped in his walk, 
 hissed*^* yo" ^ those papers about you?'' he 
 
 "AU." 
 
 Potts looked aU around. The door was locked. 
 rtJughl*"® ''"*"^'" ^'^ "^ '•» 
 
 "No use," said he, calmly. "Messrs. Bige- • 
 low, Higgmson, & Co. would miss me if anr 
 hing happened Besides, I may as weU tell yoa 
 that I am armed. ' 
 
 The strangec rose up and faced Potts, while, 
 from behind his dark spectacles, his eyes seemS 
 '"K'owUkeaifa Potts retreated with a cuiX^ 
 Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. instructed 
 me to say that if I am not btek with the money 
 by to-morrow night, they wiU at once begin a<^ 
 tion, and have your son arrested. They will 
 also inform Srtiithers & Co., to whom they say 
 yon are indebted for over ^eOOO.OOO. So that 
 .smithers & Co. wilLat wice come down uoou 
 yoa for payment" *^ 
 
 a'^^ ?4'^f * P°- •'"<»'' "ny th^K "boot 
 this? asked PoW, in a voice of intent anxi- 
 ety. ^ 
 
 'l^y do bnsinesa with yon the same as ever, 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 .'.' i!u ^ ''" y™ "oppose they can know it ?" . 
 ihey would never believe it" • 
 
 "ITiey wouldnieUeve any statement made by 
 Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co. My senion 
 have been on vour track for a long time, and have 
 come into conbecuon with various parties. One 
 
 
 fi^M^ .>iifit^ 'AUr ■ 
 
164 
 
 man who is an Ital^Mkey consider^mpoi 
 They authorize meH|nte to you that this man 
 can also prove the foffbries. " 
 
 " Who ?" gasped Pptts. 
 
 "His name is Cigole." 
 
 "Cigole!" 
 
 "Yes." , 
 'D- him I" 
 
 COBD AND CREESE. 
 
 rtahc 
 
 " You may damn him, but that won't silence 
 him," remarked the other, mildly. 
 
 "Well, what are you going to do?" growled 
 Potts. 
 
 "Present you the offer of Messrs. Bfgelow, 
 Higginson, & Co.," said the other, with calm per- 
 tinacit}'. "Upon it depend yonr fortune and 
 your son's life. ' 
 
 " How long are you going to wait ?" 
 
 "Till evenjng. I leave to-night. Perhaps 
 yon would like to think this over. I'll give you 
 till three o'clo<^. If you decide to accept, all 
 well; ifnot, Igoback.^' 
 
 The stranger rose, and Potts unlocked the 
 door for him. 
 
 After he left Potts sat down, buried in his own 
 reflections. In about an hour ClarK came in. 
 
 "Well, Johnnie!" said he, "what's up? You 
 look down — any trouble?" 
 
 At this Potts tol^ Clark the story of the recent 
 interview. CladOpoked grave, and shook his 
 head several time^ 
 
 "Bad! bad! Md!" said he, slowly, when 
 Potts had ended. §' You're in a tight place, lad, 
 and I don't see what you've got to do but to 
 knock under." 
 
 A lopg silence' followed. 
 
 " When did that chap say he would leave ?" 
 
 "To-night." 
 
 Another silence. 
 
 "I suppose," said Clark, "we can find out 
 how he goes?" 
 
 " I suppose so," returned Potts, gloomily. 
 
 "Somebody might go with him Or follow him," 
 ■aid Clark, darkly. 
 
 Potts looked at him. The two exchanged 
 glances of intelligence. 
 
 " Yon see, you pay your money, and get your 
 papers back. It would be foolish to let this man * 
 get away with so much money. One hundred 
 and two thousand five hundred isn't to be picked 
 np every day. Let us pick it up this time, or try 
 to. I can drop down to the in|i this evening, and 
 ■ee the cut of the man. I don't like what he 
 told about me. I call it backbiting." 
 
 " Yon take a proper view of the matter," said 
 Potts. "He's daiigerouB. He'll be down on 
 yon next What I don't like about him is his 
 cold-bloodedness." >, 
 
 " It does come hard." 
 
 " Well, we'll arrange it that way, shall we?" 
 
 " Yes, yon pay over, and get your documents, 
 and I'll try my hand at getting the money back. 
 I've done harder things than that in my time, 
 and so have yon— hey, lad 1" 
 
 " 1 remember a few." 
 
 der if this man knows uiy of 4he!Bi" 
 
 "No," said Potts, confidently. "He would 
 ^ve Haid something." 
 
 "Don't be too sure. The fact is, Fve been 
 ttaubled ever since that girl came out so strong 
 on ns. "What are you going to do with her?" 
 
 "Don't know," growled Potto. "Keep her 
 •till somehow." 
 
 " Give her to me." 
 
 "What'll yon do with her?" asked Potts, in 
 surprise. 
 
 "Take her as my wife," said Clark, with a 
 grin. " I think I'll follow your example and set 
 up housekeeping. The girl's plucky; and I'd 
 like to take her down." > 
 
 "We'll do it ; and the sooner the better. You 
 don't want a minister, d(^ you ?" 
 
 " Well, I think I'll have it done up 8hip-ghn|)c ; 
 marriage in high life ^, papers all full of it ; luve> 
 ly appearance of the bride— ha, ha, ha! I'll 
 save you all further trouble about her — a hus- 
 band is better than a father in such a case. If 
 that Italian comes round it'll be his last round." 
 
 Some further conversation followed, in which 
 Clark kept making perpetual references to his 
 bride. The idea haid takefi hold of his mind com- 
 pletely. 
 
 At one o'clock Potts went to the inn, where he 
 found the agent. He handed over the money in 
 silence. 'liie agent gave him the documents. 
 Potts looked at them edl carefully. 
 
 Then be departed. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE STRANOEB's 8T0BT. 
 
 That evening a number of people were in the 
 principal parlor of the Brandon Inn. It was a 
 cool evening in October ; and there was a lire 
 near which the partner of Bigelow, Higginson, 
 & Co. had seated himself. . 
 
 Clark had come in at the first of the evening 
 and had been there ever since, talking volubly 
 and laughing boisterously. "The othqrs were 
 more or less talkative, but none of them rivaled 
 Chtrk. 'rhey were nearly all Brandon people; 
 and in their treatment of Clark there was a cer- 
 tain restraint whicb<^e latter either did not wisit 
 or care to notice. , As for the stranger he snt 
 apart in sUence without regarding any one in 
 particular, and giving no indication whether he 
 was listening to what was going on or '^as indif- 
 ferent to it ^1. From time to time Clark threw 
 glances in his direction, and once or tnice he 
 tried to draw some of the company out to make 
 remarks about him; but the company seemed 
 reluctant to touch upon the subject, and merely 
 listened with patience. 
 
 Cliurk had evidently a desire in his mind to be 
 very entertaining and lively. With this intent he 
 told a number of stories, most of which were in- 
 termingled ynth allusions to the company present, 
 together with the stranger. At last he gazed at 
 the latter in silence for some little time, and then 
 turned to the company. 
 
 ' ' There's one among ns that hasn't opened his 
 mouth this Evening. I call it unsociable.. I move 
 that the pailty prooeed to open it forthwith. AVho 
 seconds theimotioft ? Don't all speak at once." 
 
 The company looked at one another, but no 
 OKQ mode any reply. 
 
 "What! no one speaks! All rlgSt; SISee 
 gives consent;" and with these words CUrk ad- 
 vanced towi^ the stranger. The latter said no- 
 thing, but sot in a careless attitude. 
 
 " Friend r »ld Clark, standing before the 
 stranger, "We're all friends here— we wish to be 
 sociable— «) think you are too silent— will yoo 
 
 I 
 
 i^ 
 
> better. You 
 
 Sf 
 
 !' OOHD AND CREESE, 
 
 to Wn^enodgli to open your mouth? If yon 
 wont tcai a story, perhaps you wiU bo good 
 enoDgh^ wPK.iis a song ?'' 
 
 [The aitraoger sat npright. 
 
 " WelV'^d he, in the same peculiar harsh 
 Toice an^ slow tone with which- he had spoken 
 t«V<m Hthe request is a fair one, and 1 shall 
 ht happy to open my mouth. , I ngnt^o state 
 that having no voice I shaU beSunable to give 
 
 you a song but I'll be glad to telK» story, if the 
 Oompany willhsten." " ' 
 
 " The company wiU feel honored," stdd ClArk. 
 in a mocking tone, as he resumed his seat. ' 
 ■ The s^ger arose, and, going to the fire- 
 place, picked up a piece of charcoal. 
 
 Clark sat in the midst of the circle, lookinjt at 
 bun with a sneering finile. 
 
 "It's rather an (^d stoiy," said. the stranger, 
 "and I only heard it the other day: perhaps 
 yon won t beheve it, but it's true " 
 
 "Oh never mind the truth of it!" exclaimed 
 Clark—" push along. " • 
 
 The stranger stepped up to the wall over the 
 iire-place. 
 
 '.' ^^J""*.,^ '^P I wish to make a few marks, 
 which I wiU explain in process of time; Mv 
 story IS connected with these." 
 
 .. "Z,*"**'^ •>'* charcoal and made upon the wall 
 the following marks : "" 
 
 165 
 
 + 
 
 He then timed, and stood for a moment In 
 auence. 
 
 The eflect,nnon Clark was appalling. His 
 ftce turned Lvid, his arms cluti;hed violently at 
 fte soit of his chair, his jaw fell, and his eyes 
 WOT lixed on the marks as though fascinated by 
 
 TTie stranger appeared to take no notice of 
 
 "These marks " said he, " were, or rather are, 
 jpon the back of a fnend of mine, about whom 
 I m gomg to tell a little story : 
 
 The first ( /f^ ) u the Queen's mark, kit on 
 cmain pnsoners out in Botiiny Bay, who weKr 
 auiy uunbordinate. 
 
 ff^.Sy .'T'l'*. ^7' attempted to escape. 
 
 « fte guards. When thev don't hang the cnl- 
 pit they put this on, and those who are branded 
 
 for UfeT*^ ''°**'*'* •"" ""^ **"*' " <*»*"»' 
 rflT"^ BSMto are on the back of a ftiend 
 £ «^ •*" ^t ^ *'"^ "o* mention, bat 
 w conrenienoe lake I WiU caU him Clark." 
 
 Clark didn't even resent this, but sat mute, 
 with a face of awful e xpectation. 
 _ ''My friend Clark had led a life of stranee 
 .icjssitud^, said the stranger, "having slipped 
 through the meshes tt the law very successfid- 
 ly a great number of times, but finally lie was 
 caught, and sent to Botany Bnv. H6 scr^■ed 
 his ume out, and left; but, finally, after a ge- 
 nes of vei7 extraordinary adventures in India, 
 and some odd events in the Indian Ocean, he 
 came to England. Bid luck followed him, how- 
 ever He ma^e an attempt at burgkry, and was 
 caught, convicted, and sent back again to his old 
 station at Botany Bay. • 
 
 . " Of course he felt n strong reluctance to stiAr 
 in such a place, ahd tl.erefore began to plan an 
 escape. He madeon.i attempt, wiiicli was un- 
 successful He theti laid a plot with two other 
 notorious offenders. :S2a«h of these three had 
 been branded with tWwe letters which I have 
 marked. One of thes^ was named Stubbs, and 
 another Wilson, the third was this Clark. No 
 one knew how they mejt to make their arrange- 
 ments, for the prison rcjguhitions are very strict: 
 but they did meet, and managed to confer to- 
 gether. They contrived to get rid of the chains 
 that were fastened around their ankles, and one 
 stormy night they started oflt and made a run for 
 
 ''The next day the guards were out in pursuit 
 with dogs. They went all day long ofi their 
 track over a very rough conntrj-, and finally came 
 to a nver. Here they prepared to pass the night. 
 Un rising early on the following momin« 
 they saw sometjiing n;oving on the top of a hill 
 on the opposite side of the river. On watchinir 
 It narrowly they saw three men. They hurried 
 on at once m pursuit. The fugitives kept well 
 allead, however, as was natural ; and since they 
 w4re mmnjig for life and freedom they made a 
 better pacef. 
 
 " B"* 'hqr were pretty well worn out. Tliey 
 had taken no provisions with them, and had not 
 palciUated on so close a pursuit. They kept 
 ahead as best they could, and at Ust readied a 
 narrow nver that ran down between cliflTs through 
 a gully to the sea. The cUffs on each side were 
 high and bold. But they had to cross it; so 
 down on one side they went, and np the other. 
 
 Clark and Stubbs got up first Wilson was 
 just reaching the top when the report of a gnn 
 was heard, and a bullet struck him in the arm. 
 Groaning in his agony he rushed on trying to 
 keep np with his companions. 
 
 " Fortunately for t^em night came on. Thev 
 hurried on all night, scarcely knowing where 
 they were going, Wilson in an agony trjing to 
 keep up with them. Toward morning they 
 snatched a little rest under a rock near a brook 
 and then harried forward. 
 
 " For two days more they hastened on, keep- 
 ing out of reach of their pursuers, yet still know- 
 ing that they were followed, or at least fearing 
 
 It. They haid gon e over a wild mnntry nloogjh fl. 
 
 coas^ and keeping a northward direction. At 
 length, after four days of wandering, they came 
 to a little creek by the sea-shore. There wet« 
 three houses here belonging to fishermen. They 
 rushed into the first hat and implored food and 
 drink. The men were off to Sydney, but the 
 kind-hAarted women gave them what they h^ 
 They Were terrified at the aapeot of these wi^S. 
 
 
 
CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 ed men, whoM natnral ferodtjr had been height- 
 ened by hardship, fiunine, and gnifering. Gaant 
 and grim a* they were, they leemed mord! terri- 
 I4e than three wild beasts. The women knew 
 that they were escaped convicts. 
 
 "There was a boat lying on the beach. To 
 this the first thoughts of the.fugitires were direct- 
 ed. They filled a cask of water and pat it on 
 board. They demanded some provigions from 
 the fisherman's wife, jlbe^ flighte ned wwaan 
 gave them some fish end a few ship -biscuit 
 They were about to forage for themselves when 
 Wilson, who had been watching, gave the alarm. 
 
 "Thmr pnrsners were upon them, lliey had 
 to run for it at once. They had baldly time to 
 rash to the boat and eet out a little distance 
 whep the guard reached the beach. H» iMter 
 
 fired a few shots after them, bnt the shotg took 
 noefiisct 
 
 " The fugitives put out to sea in the open boat 
 They headed north, for they hoped to catch Eome 
 Australian ship and be taken up. Their provi- 
 sions were soon exhansted. F&rtnnately it was the 
 rainy season, so that they had a plentif(il supply 
 of water, with which they managed to keep their 
 cask filled ; but that did not prevent them from 
 ^affigHBythfrago ni e a of fun infc Clark and Stubbt^ 
 soon b^n to look at Wilson with looks that 
 made him quiver with tenor. Naturally enoif^ 
 gentlemen; von see they were starving. Wilson 
 was the weakest of the three, and therefore wis 
 at their mercy. They tried, however, to catch 
 fish. It was of no use! Thete seemed to bo no 
 fish in those leu, or eke thebto of btead crumb 
 
 .i.ijfii^m 
 
 which they put 
 Wt 
 
 "The two m« 
 the eyes of fiec 
 desire, beaming 
 famine had tat 
 muniing Wilson 
 ■The stronger ] 
 •nfiil silence. 
 
 "The lives of 
 
 (le longer," he at 
 
 "They sailed 
 
 Stubbs began to 
 
 nnderstand, gem 
 
 thing for these 
 
 tame glances wl 
 
 Each one feared 
 
 chance, and each 
 
 "Theyconldi 
 
 the how, the othi 
 
 another. My ini 
 
 lar endurance. ^ 
 
 Enough ; the bd« 
 
 one was left. 
 
 "A ship was b 
 crew saw a boat 
 They stopped and 
 stained with blooi 
 was ky around, 
 boat which chilled 
 took Clark on be 
 and raved in his 
 tell of what be 1 
 age lio one, spoke < 
 Town, and put hir 
 "My friend is 
 yon like my story j 
 The stranger sa 
 lowed, which was t 
 half groan and hal 
 He lifted himsel 
 &ce livid and his i 
 out of the room. 
 
 CHI 
 
 bkatbiqe'b 
 
 September 7, 18^ 
 long account of her 
 by and London, anc 
 omitted, as it wonl( 
 etition of what has 
 Bnindon left me m; 
 fierce impulse which 
 the remainder of th 
 of consciousness oft 
 he had only left mo i 
 me in sd|ne way wit 
 
 Night came, and 
 What availed his p 
 *hnt I feared ? W 
 hav^ in this house? 
 . wot«BBedr= 
 
 In the morning I ! 
 go to Mrs, Compton 
 mmt, I saw standinj 
 Hod I seen Brando 
 nsveibeen more ama 
 •d ait me with a war 
 
 "jUow did you ge 
 
 , v^ ^ .. \ 
 
^ch they pnt down were not an'ottractive 
 
 "The two men began to look nt Wilson with 
 the e>es of fiends— eyes that flamed vyith foul 
 desire, tieaming from deep, hollow orbit*, which 
 famine had made. The days passed. One 
 morning Wilson h»y dead." 
 
 .The stranger paused for a moment, amidst on 
 awful silence. 
 
 "The lives of these two were pre8er\ed a lit- 
 Ue onger, he added, in slow, measured tones. 
 
 c J t^ ""'**' .°"-. ^" * '■^^ ^nys Clark and 
 Stubbs began to look at one another. You will 
 nnderstand, gentlemen, that it was an awful 
 thing for these men to cast at each other the 
 wne glances which thev once cast on Wilson 
 Each one feared the other; each watched his 
 chance, and each guarded against his companion 
 rhey could no longer row. The one sat in 
 the how, the other in the stern, glaring at one 
 mother. My fntend Gark was a man of singu- 
 tar endurance. %Jnt why go into particulan.? 
 Enough; the bdSt drifted on, and at hist only 
 one was left. ■; 
 
 "A ship was jailing from Australia, and the 
 am saw a boat drifting. A man was there 
 Biey stopped tind picked him up. The boat was 
 Homed with blood. Tokens of what that blood 
 was ky around. There were other things in the 
 boatwhichchiUedthe blood of the sailors Thev 
 took Clark on board. He wa»-mad at first 
 and raved in his deUrium. They heard him 
 tdl of what he had done. During that voy- 
 age no one.spoke to him. They touched at Cape 
 lown, and put him ashore.- 
 
 "My friend is yet alive andvjvell. How do 
 yon hke my story?" 
 
 The stranger sat down. A deep stiltoess fol- 
 lowed, which was suddenly broken by something 
 half groan and hal f curse. It was Clark 
 
 He lifted himself heavily from his chair, his 
 &ce hvid and his eyes bloodshot, and staggered 
 out <rf the room. m '»» 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 le^ 
 
 CHAPTER XL V. 
 beatbice's jodbnai, concldded. 
 
 September 7, 1849.— pTiis part begins with a 
 todgMcount of her escape, her fortunes at Hol- 
 liy and London, and her recapture, which is here 
 wiitted, as It would be to a large extent a rep- 
 Wition of what has already been stated.]— After 
 Bm<ton left me mv heart stiU tlirobbed with the 
 fierce impulse which he had imparted to it. For 
 Um> leraamder of the day I was upheld by a sort 
 ofconsciousnMs of his presence. I felt as though 
 tohadcHriy left me m perron and had surrounded 
 me m s^pe way with his mysterious protection. 
 
 Night came, and with the night came gloom. 
 
 l»ve in this hoiue ? I fKX a^dC^ Ih^ *^i ^ u '.""u""" '''"'* *■" *•«» "«**'«^ but 
 *^ returned. - ~^ ^^-' *"^iS^J??i| «he onlv looked the more temfled . W l>yUfa>. 
 
 In the morning I happened to croes the haU to 
 go to Mrs. Compton'8 room, when, to my araaze- 
 matl saw standing outside the Hindu Asgeelo. 
 Han I seen Brandon himself I could scarcely 
 teve been more amazed or oveijoyed. He look- 
 
 .r..*"* '"'*' * »"n*ing gesture. 
 ;Uow did you get here ?" 1 whiapereil. 
 
 " My master sent me." 
 A thrill passed through my reins. 
 "Do not %ar," he said, and walked mysteri- 
 ously away. , ' 
 
 I asked Mrs. Comptoii who he was, and she 
 said he was a new servant whom//c had just 
 Hired, bhe knew nothing more of him. 
 ' September 12.^A week has passed. Th»«' 
 far I have been left alone. Perhaps they do not 
 ^now what to do with me. Perhaps they are 
 busy arranging some dark plan. 
 
 Can I trust? Oh, Help of the helpless, save 
 me I ^ 
 
 Asgeelo is here— but what can one mnn do? 
 At best he can only report to his master my 
 agony or my deoth. May that Death soon com& 
 Kindly will I welcome him. 
 
 Septetiiber 15.— Things are certainly different 
 here from what they used to be. Tha'senants 
 take pains to pnt themselves in my way, go as to 
 show me profound respect. What is the raenn- 
 mg of this ? Once or twice I have met them in 
 the hall and have marked their humble bearing 
 Is It mockery ? Or is it intended to entrap mo ? 
 1 will not trust any of them. . Is it possible that 
 this can be Brandon's mysterious powei? 
 
 Impossible. It is rather a trick to win my 
 confidence. But if so, why & They do not need 
 to trick me. I am at their mercy. 
 
 I am at their mercy, and ara without defense. 
 What wiU become of me ? What is to be my fate ? 
 Philips has been as devoted as ever. He 
 leaves me flowers every day. He tries to show 
 jyrapathy. At least I have two friends hero— 
 1 hihps and Asgeelo. But Philip* is timid, and 
 Asgeelo 13 only one against a crowd. There is 
 Vijnl— but I have not seen'^m. 
 
 September 25.— To-day in my closet I found a 
 number of bottles of diflferent kinds of medicine, 
 nsed while I was sick. Two of these attracted 
 my attention. One was labeled '"Laljanum " 
 another was labeled " Uydror.ynnic Acid—Poi. 
 son. I suppose they nsed these drugs for mv 
 benefit at that time. The sight of tfiem gavi ' 
 me more ioy than any thing else that I could 
 have found. t. 
 
 When the tune comes which I dread I shall 
 not be without resource. Tliese thaU save me. 
 
 October 8. —They leave me unmolested. They 
 are waiting for some crushing blow, no doube > 
 Asgeelo sometimes meets me, and makes siiniB 
 of encouragement. 
 
 To-day Philips met me and said; "Don't fear 
 —the crisis is coming." I asked what he meant. 
 As usiuU he loOftd frightbned and hurried away. 
 What docs he mean^ What crisis? The 
 only crisis that I can Ullnk of is one which fills 
 me wth dread. WMn that comes I will meet 
 it hrmly. / 
 
 October 10.-HMr8.,Compton told me to-day 
 that I hihps/had gone to London on businesi 
 t TJ ^ """* ^^^^ ^*'7 '""'''' troubled. 
 
 should feel alarm about the departure of Philip* 
 for London I can not imagine. Has it an v thing to 
 do with me ? No. How can it ? My fa'te, w&t. 
 
 J^*' ^ """* ^ 'W)ught out here in this pUhml 
 I *^. ^^—Tlie dreaded crisis has come at 
 lost WiU not this be my last entry? How can 
 I longer avoid the fate that impends? 
 
 This afternoon He sent for me to come down. 
 
 1- » , i ^^ 
 
 ife iutii 
 
i^~ 
 
 166 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 1 went to the dining-room expecting some hor- 1 
 ror, niid I was not <lisap|K)inteJ. The three 
 were sitting there an tliey luid sut beforej and I 
 tliought tiiut there was trouble upon their fuccs. I 
 It was only two o'clock, and they had just fin- ] 
 ished lunch. I 
 
 fjohn was the first to speak. He addressed 
 me in a mocking tone. ' 
 
 " I have the honor to inform you," inid he, 
 "that the time has arrived When you are to be 
 took down." 
 
 I paid no attention whatever to these words. 
 I felt culm. The old sense of superiority came 
 over me, and I looked at Him without a tremor. 
 
 My tyrant glanced at me with a dark scowl. 
 "After your behavior, girl, you ought to bless 
 your lucky stars that you got off as you did. . If 
 I lind done right, I'd have made you pay u]i well 
 for the trouble you've given. Hut I've spared 
 you. At the satne time I wouldn't have done so 
 long. I was just arranging a nice little plan for 
 your benefit when this gentleman" — nodding his 
 iicad to Clark — "this gentleman saved me the 
 treuble," 
 
 I said nothing. 
 
 " Come, Clark, spenk up — it's your affair — " 
 
 "Oh, you manage it," said Clark. "You've 
 got the 'gift of gab.' I never had it." 
 
 " I never in all my born days saw so bold a 
 man as timid with a girl ns you are." 
 
 " He's doin' what I shouldn't like to try on," 
 said .John. 
 
 " See here," said my fyront, sternly, "this gen- 
 tleman has very kindly consented to take charge 
 of you. lie has even gone so fur as to consent 
 to maiTy you. He will actually make you his 
 wife. In my opinion he's cnizy, but he's got his 
 own ideas. He has promised to give you a tip- 
 top wedding. If it had been lefl to mc,"Jie went 
 on, sternly, "I'd have let you have something 
 very difierent, but he's a soft-hearted fellow, and 
 is going to do a roCtish thing. It's lucky for 
 you though. You'd have had a precious hard 
 time of it. with me, I tell you. You've got to be 
 grateful to hijn ; so come up here, and give him 
 a ki4>s,'iind thank him." 
 
 iio prepared was I for any horror that this did 
 not surprise me, 
 
 ■ "Do you hear?" he cried, as I stood motion- 
 less. I said nothing. 
 
 " Do as I say, d — n yon, or 111 make you. 
 
 ' ' Come, " said Clark, "don't make a fuss about 
 the wench now — it '11 be all right. !»he'll like 
 kissing well enough, and be only too glad to give 
 me one before a week." 
 
 " Yes, bat she ought to be made to do it now." 
 
 " Not nepessary, Johnnie ; all in good time." 
 
 My master was silent for some moments. At 
 lost he spoke again : 
 
 " Girl," said he. " You are to be married tfe- 
 mwrow. There won't be any invited guests, 
 but you needn't mind that. loull have your 
 hiisiiand, and that's more than you deserve. You 
 don't want any new dresses. Y'our ball dress 
 ^■will do.' " 
 
 "Come, I won't stand that," said Clark. 
 " She's got to be dressed up in tip-top style. I'll 
 stand the damage." 
 
 " Oh, d— n the damage. If you want that sort 
 of thing, it> shall be done. But there won't be 
 time." 
 
 " Oh well, let her fix np the best way she can." 
 
 At this I turned and loft the room. None nf 
 them tried to prevent mo. I went up lo my 
 chamber, and sat down thinking. 'Ilic hour Imil 
 come. 
 
 This is my last entir. My only ref'ugc frnm 
 horror uns|ieakuble is the I'uison. 
 
 Perhaps one day some one will find my jour- 
 nal where it is conceided. Let them leniii fiom 
 it what anguish may be endured by the inno<ent. 
 
 May God have mercy uim)ii my soul ! Amen. 
 .October U, 11 o'c/o<A-.— Hope! 
 , Mrs. Compton came to me a few minutes 
 since. She had received a letter from riiillps hy 
 As^eelo. She said the Hindu wished to sec mc. 
 He was at my door. I went there. He told mo 
 that I was to fly from Brandon Hall at two 
 o'clock in the morning. He would take care of 
 me. Mrs. Comjiton said she was to go with mo. 
 A place had been found where we could get shel- 
 ter. 
 
 Oh my God, 1 thank thee ! Already when I 
 heard this I was mixing the draught. Two 
 o'clock wos the hour on which I had decided for 
 a different kind of flight. 
 
 Oh God ! deliver the captive. Save mc, as I 
 put my trust in thee ! Amen. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE LAST ESCAPE. 
 
 The hour which Beatrice had mentioned in 
 her diary was awaited by her with feverish im- 
 patience. She had confidence in Asgeelo, nnd 
 this confidence was heightened by the fact tlmt 
 Mrs. Compton was going to accompany her. 
 The very timidity of this poor old creature would 
 have prevented her from thinking of escaj)e on 
 any ordinary occasion ; but now the latter showed 
 no fear. She evinced a strange exultation. She 
 showed I'hilips's letter to Beatrice, and miule her 
 read it over and over again. It contained only a 
 few words. ' > 
 
 " The time has come at last. I will keep my 
 word to you, dear old woman. Be remly to- 
 night to leave Brandon Hall and those devils 
 forever. Tho>IIindu will help you. 
 
 "Edgah." 
 
 Mrs. Compton seemed to think far more of the 
 letter than of escaping. The fact that she had 
 a letter seemed to absorb all her faculties, nnd 
 no other idea entered her mind. Beatrice had 
 but few preparations to make; a small jwircel 
 contained all with which she dared to encumber 
 herself. Hastily making it up she waited in ex- 
 treme impatience for the lime. 
 
 At last two o'clock came. Mrs. Compton was 
 in her room. There was a faint tap at the door. 
 Beatrice o)f ned it. It was Asgeelo. The Hin- 
 du stood '^th his finger on his lips, and then 
 moved awny slowly and stealthily. They fol- 
 lowed. 
 • Th e Hi nd u l ed Jhe wa y , cnm-inga smal l l«n- 
 
 tem. He did not show any very great caution, 
 but moved with a quiet step, thinking it sufficient 
 if he made no noise. Beatrice followed, nnd 
 Mrs. Compton came last, carrying nothing but 
 the note from Philips, which she clutched in her 
 hand as though she esteemed it the only thing 
 of value which she possessed. 
 
 ■>■ 
 
HIS A88AILAST, A!(D Tta£ OTHER HOLWNO THE KSUB ALOFT." 
 
 In spite of Beatnce'g confidence in Asgeelo 
 ^e ftit her heart^wnlt with dread as she passed 
 throiiKh the hall and down the great stairway. 
 But n , sound disturbed them. The lights were 
 «« piif, and the house was still. The door of the 
 iming-room was open, but no light shone through. 
 
 Asgeelo led the way to the ndrth door. They 
 t!?i^"i.'!!i"'-i'^ without any interruption,_and lU 
 fcwreach^ It Asgeelo turned the kev and held 
 
 taJr ,*'»'[. «P«"/^«- a moment. 'Then he 
 inmeU and whispered to them to go out. 
 Jteatnco tookl two or three steps forward, when 
 mddenly a dark figure cmergwl from the stair- 
 ■^ that led to the senants' hall and with a sud- 
 den spring advanced to Asgeelo. 
 The la^r dropped the lamp, whidh feU with 
 
 a rattle on the floor but still continued burning. 
 He drew a long, keen knife from his breast, and 
 seized the other by the throat. 
 
 Beatrice started back. By the light thatflick- 
 ered on the floor she saw it all. The gigantic 
 figure of Asgeelo stood erect, one arm clutching 
 the throat of his assailant, and the other holdins 
 the-knifo«loftr 
 
 Beatrice rushed forward and canght the up- 
 lifted arm. 
 
 " Spare himj" she said, in a low whisper. 
 "He is my friend. He helped me to escape 
 once before." 
 
 She had recognized Vijal. 
 
 The Hindu dropped his arm and released his 
 hold. The Malay staggered back and looked 
 
 i^^-J 
 
\ 
 
> i; 
 
 170 
 
 ^OKD AND CREESK 
 
 Wmiout a 
 
 ;door was 
 
 nted the 
 
 oach and shut 
 
 eoroMtly at Beatrioev Recognizing her, lie fell , 
 onhis-kneesonclkiiMdherhand. | 
 
 " I will keep Vour secret," he mnmrared^ I 
 Beatrice hunted out, and the others foUinred. i 
 They heard the key torn in* the door after tnem. 
 Vyal had locked it from the inside. 
 
 Asgeelo led the way with a swift step. Thev 
 went down the main avenue, and at length 
 reached the gate without any interruption. The 
 gates were shut 
 
 Beatrice looked around in some dread for fear 
 of being discovered. Asgeelo said nothing, but 
 tapped at the door of the porter's lodge. The 
 door joon opened, and the porter came out. He 
 said nodiing, but opened the gates in silence. 
 
 They went out. The huge gates shut behind 
 
 theitt. They heard the key turn in the lock. In 
 
 ivher excitement Beatrice wondered at this, and 
 
 ' taw that the porter must also be in the secret. 
 
 Was this the work of Brandon ? 
 
 They passed down the road a little distance, 
 and at length reached a place where there were' 
 two coaches and some men. ) 
 
 One of these came up and took Mrs. Compton. 
 "Come; old woman," said he; "you and I are 
 to go in this coach." It was too dark to see whd 
 it was ; but the voice sounded like that of Shil- 
 ips; He led her into the coach and jump^ ki 
 after her. 
 
 There was another figure there. 
 in .silence, and motioned to the 
 word. Beatrice followed) the 
 opened, and she entered, 
 box. The stranger ent( 
 the door. 
 
 Beatrice had not seen tfidf &ce of this man; 
 bat at the sight of the iMiline of his figare a 
 ■trange, wild thought os^e to her mind. As he 
 teated himself by her si% a thrill passed through 
 erery nerve. Not i^;jvord was spoken. 
 
 He reached ouf one hand, ana caught hers in 
 A dose and fervid clasp. He threw his arm 
 •boat her waitt|«nd drew her toward him. Her 
 head, sank in a^Iicious languor upon his breast ; 
 ■and she felt th«%st throbbing of his heart as she 
 ■£y there. He held her pressed closely for a 
 i- kmg while, drawing quick and heavy breaths, 
 and not speaking a word. Then he smoothed 
 her brow, stroked her hair, and caressed her 
 cheek, ityory touch of his made her blood tingle. 
 " Do you know, who I am?" said at last a 
 well-known voice. 
 
 She made no answer, but preiaed hia hand 
 and nestled more closely to his heart. 
 
 The carriages rushed on swiftly. They went 
 through the rilloge, passed the inn, and soon en- 
 tered thd open country. Beatrice, in that mo- 
 ment of ecstasy, know not at^d cared not whither 
 Uiey wore g(iing' Enough t|iat she was with him. 
 "Yon have saved mo frotn a fiite of horror," 
 ■ laid she, ntnnulously ; " yrrather, you have pre- 
 vented me from saving myself" 
 
 " How could you have saved yonrself ?"' 
 "Ifoundpoisop." 
 ^=^ She felt the ihOiMer that poned throngh his 
 frame. He pressea\her again to his heart, and 
 ■at for a long time inXsilence. 
 
 " How had you the heart to let me go back 
 when vou could get ine away so easily?" said 
 ■he; after a time, in a reproachful tone. 
 
 " I cpu\d not save ypu then," answered he, 
 ," ^t^out open violence) I wished to defer that 
 
 for (he accomplishment of a pnnwae which yon 
 know. BJit I secured ronr santy^ for all the 
 servants at Brandon Hall are in my {>ay." 
 "What! V«altoo?" 
 
 "No, not Vijal; he waa incormptible ; b« 
 all the others. They would have obeyed year 
 slightest <vish in any respect. They would have 
 shed their blood for you, for the simple reason 
 that I had promised to pay each man an enor- 
 mous sum if he saved yon from any trouble. 
 They were' all on the look out. You never nfere 
 so watched in your life. If you had cliosen to 
 run off every man of them would have helped yon, 
 and would have rejoiced at the chance of making 
 themselves ridh at the expense of Potts. Under 
 these circumstances 1 thought you were safe." 
 
 "And why- did you not tell me?" 
 
 "Ah! love, there are many things which I 
 must not tell you. 
 
 He sighed. His sombre tone bronght back 
 her senses which had been wandering. She 
 stru^led to get away. He would not release her. 
 
 "Let me go!" said she. "I am of the ac- 
 cursed brood — the impure ones ! You ore pol- 
 Inte^ by my touch !" 
 
 " I will not let you go," returned he, in a tone 
 of infinite sweetness. " Not now. This may be 
 our last interview. How can I let you go?' 
 
 " I am pollution." 
 
 "Yon are angelic. Oh, let tu not think of 
 other things. Let us banish from our minds the 
 thought of that barrier which rises between us. 
 AVhile we are here let us forget every thing ex- 
 cept that we love one another. To-morrow will 
 come, and our joy will be at an end forever. 
 But you, darling, will be saved ! I will guard 
 }-ou to my life's end, even though I can not come 
 near you." 
 
 Tears fell from Beatrice's eyes. He felt them 
 hot upon his hand. He sighed deep!}-. 
 
 " I am of the accursed brood I— the accursed! 
 —the accursed ! You dishonor your name by 
 touching me." 
 
 Brandon clung to her. Ho would not let ber 
 go. She wept thera upon his breast, and still 
 murmured the words, "Accursed! accursed!" 
 
 Their carriage rolled on ; behind them cauM 
 the other ; on for .mile after mile, round the lays 
 and creeks of the sea, until at lost they reached 
 a village. 
 
 "This is our destination," said Brandon. 
 
 " Where ai« we?" sighed Beatrice. 
 
 " It is Denton," he replied. 
 
 The coach stopped before a little cottage. As- 
 geelo opened the door. Brandon pressed Besr 
 trice to his heart 
 
 " For the last time, darling," he murmured. 
 
 She said nothing. He helped her out, catch- 
 ing her in his arms as she descended, and lifting 
 her to the ground. Mrs. Compton was already 
 waiting, having descended first Lights were 
 burning in the cottage window. ^ . 
 
 "This is your homo for the present," mi 
 Brandon. " Hero you are safe. You will find 
 every thing that^yon waat^ andthe^ flertantuaL- 
 faithful. You may truKt them." 
 
 He shook hands with Mrs. Compton, presto 
 the hand of Beatrice, and leaped into the eo«cli. 
 
 "Good-by," he called, a* Asgeelo wbipH 
 the horses. 
 
 "Good -by forever," mnrmnrad Beattics 
 through biur tears. 
 
 ■i 
 
 
 :*.lJbii 
 
7 »■ 
 
 
 COBD AND CREESE, 
 
 :hing8 which I 
 
 . / CHAPTER XLVn. 
 
 BOD8ED AT LAST. 
 
 T ABO^.t'»« time Dospard received a call from 
 langhetti. "I am going away," said the lat- 
 ter, after the preliminary greetings. "I am 
 wqU mongh now to resmne my search after Bea- 
 trice 
 
 " Beatrice ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What can yon do?" 
 
 "I haven't an idea; but I mean to try to do 
 lomething. ' ■' 
 
 Langhetti certainly did not look lilce a man 
 who was capable of doing very much, espe- 
 
 dally against one like rmt^* 'i^in™^ Zl nf:^>t\^'^'''^'ll''''''''^^^^^'-o^^^ 
 ilC^and emaciated, his slender fo'rT s^etfi rLltlTJ''^^£..r3.»>«."'-"««'««d., I found 
 
 lie, and emaciated, his slender form seemid 
 roidy to yield to the pressure of the first fatigue 
 which he might encounter. Yet his resolution 
 TO9 strong, and he spoke confidently of beini? 
 able m gome mysterious way to efl-ect the es- 
 cape of Beatnce. He had no idea how he could 
 do It. He had exerted his strongest influence, 
 and had come nwav discomfited. Still he had 
 confidence in himself and trust in God, and with 
 these he determined to «et out once more, and 
 , to succeed or perish in the attempt. 
 
 After he had left Despard sat moodily in his 
 itndy for some hours. At last a visitor was an- 
 nounced. He was a man wjwm Despard had 
 Mver seen before, and who gave his name as 
 Wheeler. . 
 
 The stranger on entering regarded Despai-d 
 fiM-some time «Pith an eame^ glance in silence. 
 At last he spoke : ^ 
 
 '•You are the son of Lionel Despard, are yon 
 
 'J Yes," said Despard, in some surprise. 
 Excuse me for alluding to so sad an evbnt • 
 tat you are, of course, aware of the common 
 Moiy of his death." 
 
 "Yes,"repUed Despard, in still grtsater sur- 
 prae. 
 
 "That Btory is known to the world," said the 
 •tranger. "His case was publicly tried at Ma- 
 nilla, and a Maky was executed for the crime." 
 _ 1 know that," returned Despard, "and I 
 tTOw, ah», that there were' some," and that there 
 KUI are some, who suspect that the Malay was 
 mnocent.." ' 
 
 " Who suspected this ?" 
 
 i'.'JJ^,."°'''° "®"'7 Despard and myself." 
 Will yon allow roe to ask yon if your sus- 
 picions pointed at any one ?" 
 
 "My uncle hinted at one person, but he had 
 nothing more than suspiciona." 
 
 "Who was the man?" 
 
 "A man who was my fether's valet, or agent, 
 *no accompanied him on that voyage, and took 
 •n active part in the conviction of the Mahiv " 
 
 "What was his name?" 
 
 "John Potts." 
 
 " Where does he live now ? 
 In Brandon, 
 
 171 
 
 ^^^ ^ '"'*y'""^ ■^?' e'-en suspect then that any 
 thmg else was possible. It wisonly subseauent 
 circumstances that led n,y uncle t6 bA^^ml 
 vague suspicions." ' ® "*"°« 
 
 " What were those, may I ask ?" 
 «l,«.nw "^^^-^ ""* '«"'" "^d Despaid, who 
 
 theri^rTn^ipSr^^^^^ 
 
 was led to form them ?" ""your uncle 
 
 "No." 
 
 1^ About how long ago was this?" 
 A bout two years ago— a little more nerhaiw 
 ll'^^Zt\^^ ">-\-'f '» 'he task^oTCrrl 
 
 mred Beattic* 
 
 Ja^T^- T**"* ™y queitrona,lntT^in« 
 ■MWBS to learn how much you knew. You will 
 w shortly that they were not idle. Has any 
 *tag ever been done by any of the itOative. tb 
 JJwjw wAethef. thews auspicions w«re cor- 
 
 Ji^L^uT^^L^ T' *•""*• Th«/ "cceptod 
 •• w wiahUihed dot the dedaion of the Manilk 
 
 V . -, ---J «-'"•" "D "laiuminea.. i 
 
 It impossible, however, to learn any thing The 
 
 oTof In?"'^" ^ '" 'r« "^-^ ""at it & faS 
 out of men s minds. The person whom I siw- 
 
 C^^ ^°;?\ he was unassailable, and I 
 
 <?,Iri ,«'°«'PeWed to give up the effort " 
 .mt»,V^°" 1 -7" ^^''e »» Jeam something of the 
 truth ? asked the stranger, in a thrilling voice 
 tion " whole soul was roused by this qnes- 
 
 II More than any thing else," replied he. 
 ".hl^r !? *^«"?,fl-h«nk," began the stranger, 
 
 three hundred miles south of the island of J^ 
 which p)es by the name of Coffin Island. It iS 
 so called on account of a rock of peculiar shape 
 at the eastern extremity. I was coming from tfce 
 East, on my way to Enghwd, when a violent 
 Storm arose, and I was cast a^hora alone u^i 
 
 ^„?. h rt . yS'" "^y '*«"' extraordinarMS 
 you, but what I have to teU is stiU more extraor- 
 dinary. I found food and water there, and liv^ 
 for some time. At hist another hurril»ne came 
 and bleHaway all the sand from a mound at the 
 western end. This mound had been piled^bont 
 a wrecked vessel— a vessel wrecked twenty i 
 ago, twenty yeara ago,'' he repeated, with ati 
 ling emphasis, "and the name of that vesael 1 
 the Vtshnu." 
 
 f '"''he »^'i**'"'f cried Despard, starting to hia 
 teet, while his whole frame was shaken by emo- 
 tion at this strange narrative ' ' The Vithnu /" 
 uv , ' *he Vishnu r continued the atranger. 
 You know what that means. For many ySara 
 that vessel had lam there, entombed amidst the 
 sands, untU at last I-on that lonely isle-aaw 
 the sands swept away and the buried ship re- 
 vealed. I went on board. I entered the cabin. 
 I passed through it. At last I entered a room at 
 one corner. A skeleton lay there. Do yon know 
 whose it was?" ' 
 
 " Whose?" cried Despard, in a frenir of ex- 
 citement ' 
 
 " Your father's r said the stranger, in on aw> 
 ful voice. 
 
 "God in heaven 1" exchdmed Despard. and 
 he sank back into his seat. 
 
 "In his hand he held a manustript, which was 
 nia ia a t m essage to fais ftiends. I t was indo iif 
 in a bottle. The storm had prevented him tnm 
 throwing it overboard. He held it there as though 
 waiting for some one to take it I was the one 
 appointed to that task. I took it. I nod it^i^ 
 and now that I have arrived in Endond I hwP 
 brought it to yon." ■ 
 
 " When ia it ?" cried Deapud, in wild 
 ment. . 
 
 »««t<^ c^ ., 
 
 ihhM 
 
y'\ 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 •♦^ere," said the stranger, and he4aid a pack- 
 age upon the table. 
 
 Despard seized it, and tore open the coverings. 
 At the first sight he recognized the handwriting 
 of his father, familiar to him from old letters 
 ^vritten to him when he was a child — letters 
 which he had always preserved, and every turn 
 of which was impressed upon his memory. The 
 first glance was sufficient to impress upon his 
 mind the conviction that the stranger's tale was 
 
 true. ,. . , 
 
 Without another word he began to read It. And 
 
 BS he read all his soul became associated with that 
 lonely man, drifting in his drifting ship. There 
 he read the villainy of the miscreant who had 
 compassed his death, and the despair of the cast- 
 away. 
 
 That sufferinjt man was his own father. It 
 was this that gave intensity to his thoughts as he 
 read. The dying man bequeatj^ed his vengeance 
 to Ralph Brandon, and his blessing to his son. 
 
 Despard read over the manuscript many times. 
 It was his facer's words to himself. 
 
 "I am in haste," said the stranger. "The 
 manuscript is yours. I have madi inquiries for 
 •Ralph Brandon, and find that he is dead. It is 
 for you to do as seems good. You are a clergjr- 
 man, but you are also a man; and a father's 
 ^VTongs cry to Heavon for vengeance." 
 
 "And they shall be avenged!" exckimed 
 Despard, striking his clenched hand upon the 
 table. 
 
 "I have something more before I go," con- 
 tinued the stranger, mournfully— "something 
 which you will prize more than life. It was worn 
 next your father's heart till he died. I found it 
 there." 
 
 Saying this he handed to Despard a minia- 
 ture, painted on enamel, representing a beauti- 
 ful woman, whose features were like his owti. 
 
 " My mother !" cried Despard, passionately, 
 and he covered the miniature with kisses. 
 
 " I buried your father," said the stranger, aft- 
 er a long pause. " Ilis remains now lie on Cof- 
 fin Island, in their last resting-place." 
 
 " And who are you ? What are yon ? How 
 did you find me out ? What is your object ?" 
 cried Despard, eagerly. 
 
 " I am Mr. Wheeler," said the stranger, calm- 
 ly ; "and I come to give you these things in or- 
 der to fulfill my duty to the dead. It remains 
 for you to fulfill yours." 
 
 ''That duty shall be fulfilled I" exclaimed 
 Despard. "llie law does not help mo: I will 
 help myself. I know some of these men at least. 
 I will do the duty of a son. " 
 
 The stranger bowed and withdrew. 
 
 Despan} paced the room for hours. A fierce 
 thirst ror vengeance had taken possession of him. 
 Afftin and again he read the manuscript, and 
 after each rniding his vengeful feeling Wame 
 atronger. 
 
 At last he had a purpose. lie was no longer 
 the imbecile— the cmshed-r-the hopeless. In the 
 full knowledge of his father's jtisery his own be- 
 came endnrwie. ' 
 
 In the morning he saw LanghettI and told him 
 all. 
 
 "But who is the stranger?" Despard asked 
 hk wonder. 
 
 "It can only be one person," said LanghettI, 
 wdsranly. 
 
 "\Vho?" 
 
 " Louis BrandoiL He and no other. 'Who 
 else could thus have been chosen to find the 
 dead? He has his wrongs also to avenge." 
 
 Despard was silent. Uvenvhelming thouglitg 
 crowded upon him. Was this man Louis Bran- 
 don? - 
 
 "W^e liiiust find him,'" said he. "We mast 
 gain his help in our work. We must also tell 
 htm about Kdith." 
 
 "Yes," replied Langhetti. "But no doubt 
 he has his own work before him ; and this is bat 
 part of his pbin, to rouse you from inaction to 
 vengeance." 
 
 CHAPTER XLVHL 
 
 WHO IS HE? 
 
 On the morning after tho last escape of Bea- 
 trice, Clark went up to Brandon HalL It wai 
 about nine o'clock. A sullen frown was on hia 
 face, which was pervaded by an expression of 
 savage malignity. A deeply preoccupied look, 
 as though ho were altogether absorbed in his 
 own thoughts, prevented him from noticing the 
 half- smiles which the servants cast at one an- 
 other. 
 
 Asgeelo opened the door. That valuable serv- 
 ant was nt his post as usual. Clark brushed past 
 him with a growl and entered the dining-room. 
 
 I'otts was standing in front of the fire with a 
 flushed face and savage eyes. John was stroldng 
 his dog, and appeared quite indifferent. Clark, 
 however, was too much taken up with his owu 
 thoughts to notice I'otts. He came in and sat 
 down in silence. 
 
 "Well," said Potto, "did you do that busi- 
 ness?" 
 
 " No," growled Clark. 
 
 " No !" cried Potto. " Do you mean to saj 
 you didn't follow up the fellow?" 
 
 "I mean to sjiy it's no go," returned Clark. 
 " I did what I could. But when yon are after a 
 man, and he tnms out to be the Devil himself, 
 what can yon do ?" 
 
 At these words, which were spoken with nn 
 usual excitement, John gave a low hiU|$h, but 
 said nothing. 
 
 " You've been getting rather soft ktel^r, it seems 
 to me, " said Potto. ' ' At any rate, what did you 
 do?" 
 
 "Well," said Clark, slowly—" I went to that 
 inn— to watch tlie fellow. He was sitting by the 
 fire, taking it very easy. I tried to make out 
 whether I had ever seen him before, but could 
 not. He sat by the flre, and wouldn't say a word. 
 I tiled to trot him out, and at last I did so. Ho 
 trotted out in good earnest, and if any man was 
 ever kicked at and ridden rough-shod over, I'm 
 that individual. He isn't a man— he's Beelie- 
 bub. He knows every thing. He began In a 
 playful way by taking a piece of charcoal and 
 writing on the wall some marks which belong 
 to me. and which I'm n little delicate »b<)atl» 
 
 Blfg pspls KffTtB fec»rfl» Hoa ny Ba y nurict^ 
 " I)id he know that?" cried Potto, aghast 
 "Not only knew it, but, as I was Mj'mf, 
 marked it on the wall. Hint's a sign of knowl- 
 edge. And f()r fear they wouldn't bo understood, 
 ho kindly explained to ahout a dozen people pw 
 I ent the particular meaning of^.edch." 
 
 •!iijfcj«! ,Atrj^^ 
 
 
 SU. 
 
a do that bnsi- 
 
 on mean to laj 
 
 "The deViirgald John. 
 Jr,i„ » n*i"'i! ^•'^'^ ''« ^'"«'" "'joined Clnrk 
 KL a JtriV^v ""?'"«• '""Member when 
 f.i™^- il * - • ^^ continued, pensively 
 'hearing the pan|on read about 8on.'e Cwriu 
 
 »etf ; but I teU ^ou this handwriting on the wall 
 ased me up a good deal more thai that other 
 Still what followed was worse " 
 
 Clark paused for a little whUe, and then tak- 
 ing a long breath, went on. ' 
 
 " He proceeded to give to the assembled com- 
 pany an account of mv life, particuhir^ th"t 
 venr mterestmg part of it whidT I pas4d „„ 
 my^l^tv,s,t to Botany Bay. You C^J 
 
 He stopped for a whiia 
 
 ^Zi!:'.S^zT'''f^'' *«'^" "'"'«» I'""". 
 Schrhad'tMb^i? whv'Zt":,'"^ 
 
 .tood up theiflHH^ toW fK ^' •^*'''' 
 ogl^h^at I SSXMt.%^e°^^^^^^^^^ 
 Pbbs^ffl^.M-S^Seub£ 
 
 ^CWk^stopped again, and no one spoke for a 
 
 "Md^wal'^L^Tl"' ""^'"u" ""*•" '"' '^""ned. 
 I,^. !L I ^ *" «" '^'^'^ I did so at last 
 is th*" "'""«* midnight. I found him sTi i 
 Mtting there. He smiled at me in a way that 
 
 in w! ^°''' *"'^ •'"''" '*^''"» «t ""h other 
 
 !.' V * ''"T ♦hat too ?" said John. 
 "wir'\ ""?«'" «">"•«> Clark, dejectedlr 
 
 Well, when he said that I looked a litile siil 
 P™*", as you may bo sure. 
 
 «nt i.ll^''*''" y°«''! "^ '««''.' Mid he, ' for you 
 wwt to see me you knftw. Youre goinit to fol 
 W me,' says ha « YonVe got you^p"ftols 1 
 «dy, w, as I always like tofb ij^a fS'rU 
 giro you a chance. Come.' «°»'™m.iu 
 At this I fairly staggered. 
 
 get^itfromme. Come.' ™ gumg to 
 
 .. "J '^^^ yo« I conU not move. He smiled 
 
 C "l «'r?V'"'' -"""'y «ot up and leftj 
 TT' / "ood f*"- wme time fixed to the snot 
 
 i\ Wsr^rlTh'"'"'-; ' '''■«■' "»« ''-'' h^' 
 
 rai, says 1, 1 11 have it out with him • i n..k~i 
 
 itWM the dhv^f h'» J fl J ^ *"* """^ """> •hot 
 "g" toe dbv il, but I fired my othei- pistst Hi 
 
 IPWlrenjendous laugh, tu^«l hisS, and 
 
 "0 1 MI hewiroramost on the ground. I bel 
 
 JriSn^" ?'l "'«'"• Wheri came to U 
 
 ^^2^^?!;'' {^'"^'^ ""iKht here." | 
 
 Ai !!• end«l cawk «««, M«i, goiflg to the dde- 
 
 CQRD AN6 CBEESE. 
 
 173 
 
 h'Snrrat ""' * ""^ «'"*'' «'" """"Oy. -Wch 
 
 your pistols an??Sfhte„S .'?" '"" ^^^^'-'^ 
 •' Whei J^''"'' '''*" •"^'«^'" ~P««i Clark. 
 
 a. ai,JrwVa';t'Si;.rw:rt"'d^'''^''^'? 
 
 " i"£nt1„t J iri' '"•""•^ •«>" -«^ -^""n- 
 
 giril'IotaS^'*^ ""'"'«"■'' ^O""- "The 
 "The girl! Gone!" 
 
 ;;&£?'"•''*''"'"*'"*«>•" 
 
 " I'd rather lose the girl than Mn r«».... 
 '.' I 'hink the devil is loose. " 
 
 .ta^fS"" °' "• ""•■»» '■»• "J ti.i»« 
 
 No— none of them. 
 
 !' "«^"f, >ou asked them all ?" 
 Yes. 
 
 I' JDid they go out through the doors?" 
 
 mere 8 treachery somewhere!" cried Tnt,n 
 with more excitemen't than usual! ^"' 
 
 ine others were silent. 
 
 au,'''sa'rd"rh^'A'"^Si^,:;^r^^"7 ^^ 
 
 Sr:*'"'^ «'r '"^e «»^ camSut^^LXne; 
 
 woriA Wv"^*" '" '•*'!■ "'."«' "'her side of thj 
 world. We ve been acting ke fbols. W« n„.A» 
 to have silence.1 her at firat. " "**** 
 
 "No," rejoined Potts, gloomily "Tli««.',. 
 somebody at work deeper than she is. CfJ^ 
 body-but who ?-whor "■■"*"*"• ^^^ 
 
 " r«^ ^V^^- •'*^"'" •"'d Clark, finnly 
 
 3b^rrhishS.Va£f.tiyrs^^^^ 
 
 a good deal between them. iThnk he's man 
 
 Sf'TtTsnl'^^'Tlrir- He^hiSSbuS 
 ^.■... I 1 ' 'he devil; it's this Italian. We 
 must look out; he'll be a«.„nd here again p!*,! 
 
 C'"*'* eyes brightened. 
 The next time," unit! nc, "i,Ufa<j — 
 tols fresh, and then see if hollescape mo!" 
 
 At this a noise wag heaixl in the lialL Pntt. 
 
 went out. The servants had been iwurini t h^ 
 
 ' grounds as before, but withVoSr * ° 
 
 d„r »""•• "''' '^*'''"- " I «rf«l it with M 
 
 tf r fi "T "'""«•" •>"*" 'hrough the KiJ? 
 and a litUe distance ouuide the so™. ,1. iV 
 
 I tried him with Mr.. Coipton to^'^^T^ S 
 
 &\K <• a^J&j^ ji ^ i.ijj^i/^,itj^ d 1 
 
 ^.«tf! 
 
 V 
 
 ^. '-iit 
 
174 
 
 r 
 
 COBD A17D CRE£S£. 
 
 nent together, and of course had horses or car- 
 riages tliere." 
 
 " What does the porter say ?" asked Clark. 
 
 "He swears that he was up till two, and then 
 went to bed, and that nobody was near the gate." 
 
 "Well, we can't do any thing," said I'otts; 
 "bnt I'll send «ome of the servants oflF to see 
 >vhnt they can hear* The scent was lost so soon 
 that we can't tell what direction they took." 
 
 "You'll never get Her again," said John; 
 " she's gone for good this time." 
 
 Potts swore a deep oath and relapsed into si- 
 lence. After a time they all went do^n to the 
 bank." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 THE RUN ON THE BANK. 
 
 Not long after the bank opened a number of 
 ])coplc cante in who asked for gold in return for 
 some bank-notes which they offered. This was 
 nn unusual circumstance. The people also were 
 strangers. Potts wondered what i^ could mean. 
 There was no help fbr it, however. The gold 
 was paid out, and Potts and his friends begaiD^o 
 feel somewhat ali^rmed dt tlie thought which now 
 jiresented itself fA the ftret time that their very 
 large circulation ot notes might be returned upon 
 tiiem. He communicated tliis fear to Ckrk. 
 
 ",JIow much gold have you?" 
 
 " Very little." , 
 
 "How much'/" 
 
 "Thirty thoiisand." 
 
 "Phew!" said Clark, "and naarly two hun- 
 dred thousand out ih notes !'' 
 
 Potts was silent. 
 
 ' ' What '11 you do if there is a run on the l)ank ?" 
 
 "Oh, there won't be." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " My credit is too good." 
 
 " Your credit won't be worth a rush if people 
 know this." 
 
 While they talked persons kept droppmg in. 
 Most of the villagers and people of the neighbor- 
 liood brought back the notes, demanding gold. 
 By about twelve o'clock the influx was constant. 
 
 Potts began to feel alarmed. He went out, 
 nnd tried to bully some of the villagers. They 
 tlid not seem to pay any attention to him, how- 
 ever. Potts went back to his parlor discomfited, 
 vowing vengeance against Ihose who had thus 
 slighted him. The worst of these was the tailor, 
 who brought in i^otes to the extent of a thousand 
 pounds, and when Potts ordered him out and told 
 him to wait, only kughed in his face. 
 
 " Haven't you got gold enough ? " said the tai- 
 lor, with a sneer. " Are you afraid of the bank ? 
 Well, old Potts, so am I.*^" 
 
 At this there was a general laugh among the 
 people. 
 
 The bank clerks did not at all sympathize with 
 the bunk. They were too eager to pay out. 
 Polts had to check them. He called them in his 
 uailor, And oiileied them^ to pay out more slowly. 
 They oil declare<l that they coi33n't. 
 
 The day dragged on till at last three o!clock 
 came. Fifteen thousand pounds had been paid 
 out. Potts fell into deep despondency. Clark 
 had remained throughout the whole morning. 
 
 "There's going to b» a run on the bonk?" 
 ■aid he. "It's only begun." 
 
 Fotts's sole answer wat a curse. 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" he asked. , 
 
 "You'll have to help me," replied Potts. 
 "You've got something. 
 ' " I've got fifty thousand pounds in the Plym- 
 outh Bank." 
 
 " You'll have to let me have it." 
 
 Clark hesitated. 
 
 "1 don't know," said he. 
 
 "D''— n it, man, I'll give you any security vou 
 wish. I've got more security than I know"w"hat 
 to do with." 
 
 " Well," said Clark, " I don't know. There's 
 a risk." 
 
 "I only want it for a few days. I'll send 
 down stock to my London broker and hart it 
 sold. It will give me hundreds of thousatids— 
 twice as much as al^tho bank issue. Then I'll |iay 
 up these devils weH, and tkat d — d tailor worst 
 of alL I swear I'll send it all down to-day, and 
 have every bit of it sold. If*there'§ gokig to be 
 a ri;n, I'll be ready for them." 
 
 " How much have you?" 
 
 "I'll send it all down — though' I'm devilish 
 sorry,'' continued Potts. "How much? Why, 
 see here ;" and he penciled down the following . 
 figures on a piece of paper, which ho showed tu 
 Clark : 
 
 California Company jC100,00« 
 
 Mexican bonds 4- • 60,0(i0 
 
 Guatemala 
 Venezuela do. 
 
 6Ci,(KW 
 50,000 
 £260,000 
 
 " What do you think of that, my boy?" said 
 Potts. , 
 
 " Well," returned Clai-k, cautiously, "I don't 
 like them American names. " 
 
 "Why," said Potts, "the stock is at a pre- 
 mium. I've been getting from twenty to twenty- 
 five per cent, dividends. They'll sell for three 
 hundred tliousand nearly. I'll sell Aiem all. ril 
 soil them all, " he cried. "I'll have gold enough 
 to put a stop to this sort of thing forever." 
 
 " I thought you'had some French and Uussion 
 bonds," said Clitrk. 
 
 "I gave those to that devil who had the— the 
 papers,' you know. He consented to take t|i^ni, 
 nnd I was very glad, for they paid less thkn the 
 others." 
 
 Clark wa9 silent. 
 
 "Why, man, What are you thinking about? 
 Don't you know that I'm good for two millions, 
 what with my estate and my stock ?" 
 
 " But you owe an infernal lot." 
 
 •^And haven't I notes and other securities 
 from every body ?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, from every body ; but how can you get 
 hold of them ?" 
 
 " The first people of the county !" 
 
 " And OS poor as rats." 
 
 " London merchants I" 
 
 " Who are they ? How can you get back your 
 money ?" 
 
 "^mithers & Co. will let me hfeve what I 
 want." : 
 
 "If Smithers & Co. knew the present state of 
 aiTairs I rather think that they'd back down." 
 
 "Pooh! What! Duck down from a man with 
 
 my means ! Nonsense 1 They know how rich I 
 
 am, or they never would have begun. Come, 
 
 don't be a ak)]. It 'II take three days to get gold 
 
 J for mf stock, and if you don't help mo the btak 
 
1- » 
 
 ■"■■■'"■#7 
 
 There's 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 ■ 
 
 g 
 
 ■ 
 
 (t 
 
 'm dcrilish ■ 
 
 » 
 
 uch? Why, ■ 
 
 r 
 
 ' SI 
 
 e followini! ' H 
 
 'o 
 
 1 showed tu ^1 
 
 s. 
 
 . ■ 
 
 H 
 
 
 
 xiDo.ono H 
 
 R 
 
 60.0(10 ■ 
 
 ? 
 
 SO.MK) ^ 
 
 60,000 ■ 
 
 t 
 
 may stop before I get it. If you'll help me for 
 three days I'll pay vou well." ,• 
 " How much will you give ?" 
 
 , ".'"". »/S '®" 'I'ousand pounds— there! I 
 uon t mmu.c 
 
 -ni"^""®! *^''? J?.* y*""" ""t* fo"" "''ty thou- 
 
 srtt*s.;?^'^'^''"'-^"''''«'''^''''- 
 
 .hl^"K"?r'j T°"> 8°' me" where my hair i» 
 ■hon^ hu t I don't mind. When cani have the 
 
 "The day after |o-morrow, ni go to Plym- 
 oathnow, get the money to-m3rn)w, and you «m 
 Me It the next day." 
 
 Wft the stock, and he'll bring up the gold at 
 
 ClMk itart«d off ^mediately for Plymo»tB,. 
 
 nnd not Mng after John went awJiv to London. 
 
 SeT"*' »o await the stoJpi which ho 
 
 The next day came. The bank opened late 
 
 h^ ff ^"Ik .^a"' P"* "P, » "•'"'=« 'hat it was to 
 be Closed that day at twelve, on account of the 
 absence of some of the directors. 
 
 At abont eleven the crowd of people began to 
 make their appearance as before. Their de- 
 mands were 8omewhat.hirger 4h,ttn ea Ae M»»fci^ 
 h«^ tl' ^l*"*"?. '**''■'' *"" thousand pi.mds 
 had been r«iid. 'At t^elv^the bank Was shut in 
 
 Sth'r not!?: '='*--*0P'«. ^S -oi^ce 
 Strangers Were there from all parts of tti* 
 cou«y. The viHajje inn was crowded, and a 
 large mimber of carriages waA outside. Potts 
 began to look forward to the tiext day with deep 
 
 
 I 
 
 ;i 
 
 
 Hi! 
 
 
 '^-^V-^S^! 
 
 •#■: 
 
> 
 
 m 
 
 CORD AND CREESK. 
 
 /n 
 
 anxiety. Only Ave UiQMpnd pounds reifinined 
 in the banlc. One maniliad cume with notes to 
 tiie ejRent of fire thonsand, andthad oiily been 
 got riCof by the shutting of the bank. Ue lef)^ 
 vowing vengc^ce. 
 
 To I'otts'B immense relief Clark made his ap- 
 pearance iHu-ly on the foUowin(( duy. He had 
 brought (h» money. Potts ^ve him his note for 
 sixty thousand pounds, and the third day began. 
 liy l«n o'clock the doors were besieged by the 
 laigest crowd that had ever assembled in this 
 quiet village. Another host of , luokers-on had 
 collected. When the doors wet« opened they 
 poured in with a rush. 
 
 The demancls on this third day were very hirge:' 
 The man with the five thousand had fought his 
 way to the counter first, and clamoi«d to te paid. 
 The noise and confusion were overpowering^ Ev- 
 •jy body was cursing the bank or lauding at it. 
 Each one felt doubtful about getting his p»y. 
 Potts tried to be dignified for a time. Ho Order- 
 ed them to be quiet, and assured them that they 
 would all be paid. His voice was drowned in 
 the wild nproar. The clerks counted out the 
 gold as rapidly as possible, in spile of the re- 
 mopstrances of Potts, who on three occasions 
 called them all into the parlor, and threatened to 
 dismiss them unless they counted more sloffly. 
 His threats were disregarded. They went back, 
 and paid out as rapidly as before. The amounts 
 required ranged from five or ten pounds to thou- 
 sands of pounds. At hist, after paying out thou- 
 sands, one man came up who had notes to the 
 ■mount of ten thousand pounds. This ^vas the 
 largest demand that had yet been made. It was 
 doubtful whether there was so large an amount 
 left. Potts came out to see him. There was no 
 help for it ; he had to parley with the eqemy. 
 
 He told him that it was within a few minutes 
 of three, and that it wonid take an hour at least 
 to count out so much— would he not wait till the 
 next day ? There would be ample time then,*. 
 
 The man had no objection. It was all the 
 same to him. He went out with his bundle of 
 notes through the crowd, telling them that the 
 bank could not pay him. This intelligence mode 
 the excitement still greater. There was a fletce 
 rush to the counter. The clerks worked hard, 
 «nd paid out what they could in spite of the hints 
 antt even th» threats of Potts, till at length the 
 bonk clock struck the hour of three. It had been 
 put forward twenty minutes, and there was a 
 great riot among the people on that account, but 
 they could not do any thing. The bank was 
 dosM for the diiy, and they had to depart 
 
 Both Potts and Chirk now waited eagerly for 
 the return of John. He was ex))ected before the 
 next <ay. He ought to be in by midnight. 
 After waiting impntiently for hours they at length 
 drove out to see if they could find him. . 
 
 About twelve miles fivm Brandon they met 
 lim at midnight with a team of horses and a 
 number of men, oil of whom were armed. 
 "Have you got it r 
 
 " Yes," said John, " what there is of it." 
 wtiat do yon mean by that?" 
 
 "I'm too tired to explain. Wait till we get 
 home." * 
 
 It was four o'clock in the morning before they 
 reached the bank. The gold was taken onf and 
 deposited in the vaults, and the three went up to 
 
 freshed themselves, after which Johh remarked, 
 in his usual laconic style, 
 
 " Yon'\-e been and gone and done it." 
 
 "What?" asked Potto, somewhat puzsJcd. 
 
 " With your speculations in stocks. " 
 
 ' ' What about them ?" 
 
 "Nothing," said John, "only the^ happen to 
 be at a small discount." 
 
 "A discount?" 
 
 "Slightly." 
 'Potto was silent j ^ ~ 
 
 " How much ?" asked Clark, 
 
 "I have a statement here," said John. 
 "When I got to London, I saw the broker 
 He said that American stocks, particularly those 
 which I held, had undergone a great depreiin-v 
 tion. He assured me that it was only tempomn- 
 that the dividends which thpse stocks paid were 
 enough to raise them in a short time, perhaps in 
 a few weeks, and that it was madness to sell out 
 now. He declared that it would ruin the credit 
 of the Biundon Bank if it were known tlwt we 
 sold out at sndi « fearful sacrifice, and advised 
 ^ to raise the money at a less co8t.i~ 
 
 " Well, I could oiUy think of Smilhers & Co 
 I went to their office. They were all away, r 
 saw one of the clerks who said they had g«ne to 
 see about some Russian loan or other, so tliet« 
 was nothing to do but to go back to the broker. 
 He assured me again that it was an unheard of 
 sacrifice j that these very stocks which I held had 
 fallen terribly, he knew not how, and advised ,- 
 me to do any thing rather than make such a sac- 
 rifice. But I could do nothing. Gold was what 
 I wanted, and since Smithers & Co. were away 
 this was the onlv way to get it" 
 
 * • Well ! " cried Potts, eag«rly. « ' Did you get 
 
 It f 
 
 " Yon saw that I got it I sold out at a cost 
 that is next to ruin." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Well,* said John, " I will give you the state- 
 ment of the broker," and he drew from his pock-,* 
 et a paper which he handed to the others. Th«r 
 looked at it eagerly. k 
 
 It was as follows ; 
 
 10« shares CsHfomU 9 £1000 each. OS per 
 
 cent dlsounnt -.Itifm 
 
 SO shares Meztcan. 76 per cent disconot 12,M0 
 
 60 shares Goatemals. 80 per cent dis- 
 eonnt ...X. in.onn 
 
 60 shares Veoeiuela. 80 percent discoun t W,m 
 
 Mt!,m 
 
 The feces of Potto and Chirk grew black aa 
 night as they reod thw. A deep execration hurst 
 from Potts. Clark leaned back in his chair. 
 
 " The bank's blown up !" said he. 
 
 " No, it ain't," rejoined Potto. 
 
 "Whyiiot?" 
 
 "There's gold enough to pav all that's likclr 
 tobeoflfered." 
 
 " How much more do yon think will be offer- 
 ed?" 
 
 Not much ; it stands to reason." 
 
 ^ou 
 
 It stands to reason that every note which 
 Ve issued will he sent back to you. SaJ'Jl 
 
 trouble you to give me my sixty thousand ; and 
 I advise you as a friend 'ib hold on to the rest." 
 " Chtrk !" said Potto, "you're getting limider 
 and tiraider. You ain't got any more pluck these 
 times than a kitten." 
 
 It's a time when a man's got to be catvfnl 
 
 tke HalL The/ brought out b^ndy and re-lof hiieamiug»,"said CUrk. **Howmudibwt 
 
1 out at a coit 
 
 it that's likclr 
 . will be oSet- 
 
 ^to paX With. WhatVe7o-Xo"Iy 
 
 " Well !" Vid Potta. " lT,o Bnuidon Bank 
 may igo-bnJ^what then? You K flmt 1 
 jujve the Branl^on estate. Thata wortf ?wo ^i! 
 
 ." n"" ^' *' ^•"" "'o hnndred thousand " 
 
 intlSrCdlT "^^ •^'^' ""» '""''-^ 
 oweLui^Sa/^"^'^"*''^'***- You 
 J^Pooh! thafa ib offset by securities which I 
 
 "Queer securities!" 
 "All good, ''said pW 
 
 CORD AljfD CREESE. 
 
 /■ 
 
 177 
 
 while the one who had been paid was making 
 .tmngemenu about conveying CuTev "wav.* 
 
 OoJetJv ^"7 '7 />*'»°«k- 'll'e stmnijer S 
 qpietly to the cleik opposite that lie wanted 
 
 stmS^ *^°"'^** P"?*^" """wered the 
 
 tum^ZZr'' "'=~'»-«>^'''« yo". Sin" .>>■ 
 
 Potts had hea'rd this and came forward. 
 
 "All first-rate. It'll 
 
 be ,11 right. : We'll hi|ye to put it through " 
 
 all right ?!'«ied Chirk, 
 
 'But.whatifitisn 
 nvagely. 
 
 mS ^X "^ ^ f™ ^'°^"'«"' * Co. ,0 
 
 SmitiLTco'''* '"^' ''""^ -- «"«><" 
 
 . JS** "t • ^ •" «"'. *He«tote to M back on 
 fu.?v'te,l'-J''?"Wexph,inrthem: 
 tf tney had only been in trtwn.! shouldn't have 
 tad to make this sacriflcai You n^n't ftl? 
 troubled about your moriej^v TU^J.^ou ^ 
 canty on the estate to any iitonnt I'Urivev^ 
 •scanty for seventjr thoui.nd> siJd Pottf ^ 
 Clark thought fir a whila ^ 
 
 ^:'Well!"saidhe,..it's.^butI-Urun 
 
 J'th-^i^^'' '?" *^.^*^ " •* V "ow to make 
 ont_the papen.; but whenever ySu fetch ojTin 
 
 thil' e!iSL°°°T*r^^' and youll^ign the papen. 
 
 la'^rha^iT'?'-^^'^*^^ 
 
 Pottswent down not fcng after. Tt wu th„ 
 fourth day of the tun. MiscdLeU^l£ 
 l^lnto''^'^ •"" ''••' «mounKe^"tl 
 irwei^So'uT "'" ""•" *'«° ^^« »^'"- 
 
 HA'Jf T** .* *"*" **"»« 'n ^'l> a camet-boir 
 He Mlled out . vast quantity of notes^ ^: 
 
 Potts heard this and camrfout. ^^ 
 
 ^ How much?" he asked. v 
 
 Thirty thousand pounds. " \ 
 
 Do you want it in gold?" \ 
 
 <>f course." , 
 
 ftS" ^*'" '^'' ' '^"'^ °° Me«m. Smithirs 
 "% I want gold." 
 
 »TO H) par out his last sovereiim. 
 
 ^S-Sr^lJn^.rc'h.""'^ *"'' "^ '""» °f »- 
 He <^h,r man who had wiUted stood calmly, I 
 
 <> ur , — , """ """ ™">e forward. 
 
 get ^U •■' ^ '^"' '^° ' "^ *"" "''•e^d to 
 " ^ draft on Smithers & Co. ?" 
 
 , , Couldn't take even Bank of 1!hgland notes " 
 said the stranger j " Im only an a^nt Tf7o'„ 
 can . accomm«h»te me I'm wny.Tm sure."^"" 
 
 Potts was silent His fiice was ghastly 
 much agony as such a man could end! 
 felt by him nt that moment. 7 
 
 Half an hour afterwaixl the shutters wer« nn. 
 and outside the door sto<i a wSd aud rioto« 
 crowd the most noisv of whom was the taUon 
 
 The Brandon Bank had foilea. 
 
 As 
 waa 
 
 CHAPTER L, • 
 
 THE BANK DIBECT0R8. 
 
 The bank doors were closed, and the bnnk di 
 
 ri w*^"^ 'u^ '» '•'«'' oZriflections. ( tark 
 had been in through the day, and at Te criti™l 
 moment his feelings had meip^wered hK 
 much that he felt compelled to^oveVto tSin^ 
 
 ^f^hC^"^V""''' -••^-'•tb he'!;SiS 
 refresh himself and keep up his spirits. 
 
 Potts and John remained in the bank parior 
 
 The clerks had gone. Potts was in tliarstate 
 
 of dejection m which even liquor was n t dS 
 
 "mil "llh'"'^"" ?."«' nonchalance. 
 i.„ .. ' f^hnme," said Potts, after a Jbjm^. 
 lence, "werensedup!" ^^P" 
 
 . flTr^ ^'? >""'«^ that's a fact "You were 
 • fool for fighting it out so long. " 
 
 Wte. " *'" "* '^*'"- ' ""^ "^Powible, at «,y 
 
 •i'.^" "'*'" ^"^^ ''^Pt yout gold." 
 Ihenmyestotewould have been KooA B* 
 inf'J ^r?.*" '*«'" 'hrough this'^ic.d^ 
 In fdct I hadn't any thing elsi to do." ^ ^" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Smithers & Co," 
 
 "Ah! ves." 
 
 "They'll be down on me now. That's what 
 I was afraid of aU along. " ^^ 
 
 '* How much do you owe them ?^ 
 ..^'■^" hundred and two thousand pounds." 
 
 d»HiTJ:.^;'i!" ' *"""«'* •* *" ""•>'«- »"- 
 
 "It's been plowing every day. It's a dread-* 
 damrerous thiag to have nnljniltea credit.''""" 
 
 debtsdtSCbanf:'''^'""'''"*'"''""**"'- ^ 
 
 "si'n™ nll:'>^K^"'';'i"'''"« » '""8 hreath, 
 th^m„?^■i''"^^•"* * •^"n* n»*nd telling vou 
 1 t.K ^ f"" °P"'«°" '• them debts isn't worth 
 m™« <T «;^«,«=ro'iof people came herd for 
 money, a didn't hardly ask « question I ' 
 dieUedoutroyiUly. I wJuted to KZi, .J 
 
 Hti^^'i^ 1. 4 ■• !^**^ ^'-^ ' • f \^^* '-J'J 
 
 14* '^ I -i^t- 
 
irs 
 
 CORD AND CREESIl. 
 
 « 
 
 as to get into Parliament some daj. ~ I did wliat 
 is called 'going it blind.' " 
 
 " How much is owing yon ?" 
 
 "The books say five hundred and thirteen 
 thousand pounds — but it's doubtful if I can get 
 any of it. And now Smitbera &■ Co. will be 
 down on mo at once." 
 
 " What do you intend to do ?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " Haven't you thought ?" 
 •> "No, I«»uldn't." 
 
 "\Vell,^ave." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " You'll have to try to compromise." 
 
 "What if they won't ?" 
 
 John shrugged his shoulders, and said nothing. 
 
 "After all," resumed Potts, hopefully, ^'it 
 can't be so bad. The estate is worth two millions. " 
 
 "Pooh!" 
 
 "Isn't it?" 
 
 " Uf course not You know, what you bought 
 it for." 
 
 "That's because it was thrown away." 
 
 " Well, it 'II have to be thrown ^wav again." 
 
 " Oh, Smithers & Co. '11 be easy. 'They don't 
 care for money." ' ) 
 
 " Perhaps so. Thb fact is, I don't understand 
 Smitlicrs & Co. at all. I've tried to see through 
 their little game, but can't begin to do it." 
 
 " Oh, that's easy enough ! They knew I was 
 rich, and let me have what money 1 wanted." 
 
 flobn looked doubtful. 
 
 At this moment a rap was h^ard at the back 
 door. -jf 
 
 " Tliero comes Clark !" saicthe. ^- 
 
 Potts opened the door. Clark' entered. His 
 face }vas flushed, and his eyes bloodshot. 
 
 "b'ee here," said he, mysteriously, as he en- 
 tered the room. ' j' 
 
 "What?" asked the others, anxiously. 
 
 "There's two chaps at the inn. One is the 
 /talian — " 
 
 "Langhetti!" 
 
 "Ay," said Clark, gloomily; "and the other 
 is his raatfe — tlmt fellow that helped him to carry 
 off the gaL They've done it again this time, and 
 my opinion is that these fellows are at the bottom 
 of all our troubles. You know ivhose son he is." 
 
 Potts and John exchanged glances. 
 
 "I went after that devil once, and I'm going 
 to try it again. This time I'll take some one 
 who isn't afraid of the devil. Johnnie, is the 
 dogattheHaU?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " All right !" said Clark. " 111 bo even with 
 this fellow yet, if he is in league with the deviL" 
 
 With these words Clark went out, and left the 
 two together. A glance of savage exultation 
 passed over the face of Potts. 
 
 " If he comes back successftdf" said he, " all 
 rif^fat, and if he doesn't, why than" — He paused. 
 
 " If he doesn't come bacl^said John, finish- 
 ing the sentence for him, '^hy then — all right- 
 
 ; CHAPTER LL 
 
 A STBDOOLE. 
 
 All the irresolution which for a time had char- 
 ecterized Despard had vanished Iwfore the shock 
 Of that great discovery which his father's manu- 
 
 script had revealed to him. One parpose liow lay 
 clbarly and vlividly before him, one which to so 
 loyal and demoted a nature as ijis was the Imliest 
 duty, and thajt was vengeance on his father's mup. 
 derers. ■■i- 
 
 In this purpose he took refuge from his own 
 grief; he casti aside his own longings, his anguish ' 
 his despair. Langhetti wished to search after his 
 " Bice;" Despard wished to findthose whom his 
 dj^ father hid denounced to him. In tlie ii)- 
 tensity of his 'purpose he was careless ns to tlie 
 means by which that vengeance should be ac- 
 complished. He thought not whether it would 
 be better to tnUt to the slow action of the law, or 
 to take the task into his own hands. Ilia oAiy 
 wish was to be confronted witb either of these 
 men, or both of them. 
 
 . It was with this feeling in his heart that he set 
 out with Langhetti, and the two went'oncc more 
 in company to the village of Brandon, where they 
 arrived on the last day of the "run on the Imiik."' 
 
 He did not kilow exactly whatit would be l)est 
 to do first. His one idea was to. go to the Hall, 
 and confront the murderers in their own place. 
 Langhetti, howeW, urged the need of help from 
 the civil magistrate. It was while they were de- 
 liberating about tliis that a letter was brought in 
 addressed to tjie jRev. Courtenay Despard. 
 
 Despard did not recognize the handwriting. 
 In some surprise |iow any one should know that 
 ho was here he obened the letter, and his sui^ - 
 prise was still greater as he read the following : 
 
 "Sir, — ^There dre two men here whom von 
 seek — one Potts, the other Cktk. You can "see 
 them lx)th at any time. 
 
 " The young lady whom you and Signer Lan- 
 ghetti formerly rescued has escaped, and is now 
 in safety at Denton, a village not more than 
 twenty miles away. She lives in the last cot- 
 tage on the left-hand side of the ro^d, close by 
 the sea. There is an American elm m front." 
 
 *■ 
 There was no signature. 
 
 Despard handed it in silence to Langhetti, who 
 read it eagerly. Joy spread over his fuee. l^c 
 started to his feet. 
 
 "I must go at once, " said he, excitedly. "Will 
 yon?" 
 
 ' ' No," replied Despard, " Yon had better go. 
 I must stay ; my purpose is a different one." 
 
 " Bat do not you also wish to secure the safety 
 of Bice?" 
 
 ' ' Of course ; but I shall not be needed. Yon 
 will be enough." 
 
 Langhetti tried to persoade him, but Despaid 
 was immovable. For himself he was too impa- 
 tient to wait. He determined to set out at once. 
 He could not get a carriage, but he managed to 
 obtain a horse, and with this he set out. It was 
 about the time when the bank had closed. 
 
 Just before his departure Despard saw a man 
 come from the bank and enter the inn. lie knew 
 the face, for he had seen it when here beforej It 
 was Clark. Atthe*ightof tbiAfaceallhisfloBM- 
 est instinct awoke within him— « deep thirst fo» 
 vengeance arose. He could not lose sight of 
 this man. He determined to track him, and thiu 
 by active pursuit to do something towaid the ac- 
 complishment of his purpose. 
 
 He watrtied him, therefore, as he entered the 
 inn/ and caught a hasty glance which CUrk di- 
 
 h'^ii^^^^^ 
 
rec ed at himself and LanghettL He did not 
 mderstand the meaning of the scowl that passed 
 orer the nifflan's face, nor did Clark nnderatand 
 the full meaning of that gloomy frown which low- 
 wed over DeajMird's brow as his eyes blazed wiath- 
 fiiUv and menacingly upon him. 
 
 Clark came out and went to the book On 
 qnitting the bank Despanl saw him looking ba^ 
 
 •.rte V '.•n'l'* """ J""* '««""«• He then 
 J^hedhimtillhewentuptothellall. 
 lu^iT^i- 1?'*^^ an honr Clai* came^ck on 
 
 £ t^t ^ ^"'^'°'^' '^'^ »*«"» ^^^^ °ff «' » 
 On questioning the landlord Despard fp«nd 
 •MrlP^* had asked him about thVdiJtion 
 which Langhetti had taken. The idea at once 
 fl-hed upon him that pos«bly CUrk wished to i 
 
 ■^^ ■- * 
 
 pursue Langhetti, m order to find out about Bea- 
 trice.^ He determined on pursuit, both for Lan- 
 ghotti's sake and his own. •""•■" '"^ lab- 
 
 He followed, therefore, not far behind Clark 
 nding at first rapidly till he caught sight of him 
 ^ 'hesummitof a hill in front, and thtn keeping 
 at about ihe same distance behind him. He had 
 
 do, but held himself prepared for «njF courae irf 
 
 After riding about an hour he put spurs to hi* 
 horee, and went on at a more rapid pace. Yet 
 
 Sv H * himself must have gone on more Jtt 
 «S r* -i \°*'5' P"' •"" "'^ hoiw at its fullest •^ 
 spped, with the intention of coming up with hia 
 enwny as soon as possible, H wim m. 
 
 He iiide on at a tremendous pace for anothflc 
 
Jr 
 
 flip?!' 
 
 100 
 
 CXIRD AND CBEE8B. 
 
 half honr. At last the road took a tndden torn ; 
 and, whirlMg around ,here at the atmoit ipeed, 
 he bunt upon a scene which was at atmling t^ 
 it was unexpected, and which ronsed to madness 
 all the fervid pawion of his natpn). 
 
 The road here descended,' aM in its descent 
 wound round a hill and led into a gentle hol- 
 low, on each side of which hillf ame which 
 were Covered with trees. 
 
 Within tliis glen was disclosed a frightful spec- 
 tacle. A man lay on the ground, torn fh>m his 
 hpree by a hti^ blood-hound, which even then 
 was rending him with its huge fangs ! llie dis- 
 mounted rider's foot was eritanglml in the ftir- 
 nips, and the horse was plunging and dragging 
 him along, while the dog was pmllng him back.. 
 The man himself uttered not a cry, but tried to 
 fight off the 4oR with his hands as best he could.. 
 
 In the horror of the moment Despard saw that 
 it was Langhetti. Tor an instant his brain reeled. 
 The next moment ho hod reached the spot An- 
 other horsenlan was standingrclose b^, without 
 ' pretending even to interfere. Despard did not 
 see him; he saw nothing but Langhetti. He 
 flung himself from his horse, -'and drew a re- 
 volver from his pocket A loud report rang 
 through thfi air, and in an instant the huge 
 blood-hound gave a leap upward, with a. pierc- 
 ing yell, and fell dead in the road. 
 
 l>Bspard flung himself on his knees beside 
 Langhetti. He saw his hands tom^nd bleed- 
 ing, and Uood covering his face and breast A 
 low grouf was all that escaped from the sufferer. 
 
 " Ledve me," he gasped. " Save Bice." 
 
 In his grief for I^anghetti, thus lying before 
 him in sudi agony, Despard forgot aU else. He 
 seized his handkerchief and tried to stanch the 
 blood. 
 
 "Leave me !" gasped LanghcMf again. " Bice 
 will be lost" His head, whjoiniespard had rap- 
 ported for a moment, sanMMck, and life aeemed 
 to leave him. y' 
 
 Despard started npr Now for the first time 
 he recollected the stranger; and in an instant 
 understood who he was, and why this had bieen 
 done. Suddenly, as he started up, he felt his 
 pistol snatched from his hand by a strong grasp. 
 He turned. 
 
 It was Uie horseman — it was Clark — who had 
 stealthily dismounted, and, in his deKperote pur- 
 pose, had tried to make sure of Despard. 
 < But Despard, quick as thought, leaped npon 
 'liim^ and caught his hand. In the struggle the 
 pistol fell to the ground. Despard caught Clark 
 m bis arm», and then the contest began. 
 
 Clark was of medium size, thick-set, muscn- 
 lar, robust, and desperate. Despard was tall, 
 hot .bis ftame was well knit, his muscles and 
 sinews were like iron, and he was inspired by a 
 higher spirit and a deepei' passion. 
 
 In the first shock of -that fierce embrace not 
 a w6rd was spoken. For some time the strug/ 
 gle was maintained without result. Clark had 
 caught Despard at a disadvantage, and this for 
 
 his Strength effectually. 
 
 At last he wound one arm around Clark's neck 
 in a strangling grasp, and forced his other arm 
 under that of Clark. Then with one tremen- 
 dous, one resistless impulse, he put forth all his 
 ttrength. Hia antagonist gave ytvj befors it 
 Honeled. 
 
 Despard disengaged one arm and dealt him a 
 tremendous .blow on the temple. At the' same 
 inatant he twined his le«4d)ii|it those of the oth- 
 er. At the stroke Clark, who had already stog- 
 gei«d, gave way utterty and fell heavily back- 
 ward, with Itoapard upon him. 
 
 The next instant Despard had seiied his throat 
 and held him down so that he could not move. 
 
 The wretch gasped and groaned. He strug- 
 gled to escape from that iron bold in vain. 
 The hand which had seiied him was not to be 
 shaken off. Despard had fixed hit grasp there, 
 and there in the throat of the fainting, sutfoca- 
 ting wretch he held it 
 
 The struggles grew feinter, the arms rehixed, 
 the fiice blackened, the Umbe stiffened. At hut 
 all efforts ceasedi 
 
 Despard 4hen arosei| and, tuning Clark over 
 on his fece, took the bridle flrom one ,of tlio 
 horses, bound his hands behind hipi, and fjis- 
 tened his feet securely. In the fierce struggle 
 Chirk's coat and waistcoat had been torn awnv, 
 and slipped down to some extent His shirt- 
 collar nad burst and slipped with them. As Des- 
 pard tnm^ bbn over and proceeded to tie him,. 
 something struck his eye. It was a bright, red 
 scar. 
 
 - He pulled down t^e shirt A mark appeared, 
 the full meaning of which he knew not, but^could 
 well conjecture. There were three bninds-^^ry 
 redound these were Um marks : » \ 
 
 wmmmjLiam^ 
 
 CHAPTER LH. 
 
 FACE TO FACE. 
 
 Ox the same evening Potts left the bank at 
 about five o'clock, and went up to the Hall with 
 John. He was morose, gloomy, and abstracted. 
 The great question now before him was hoir 
 to defd with Smithers ft Ca Should he write to 
 them, or go and see them, or what? How could 
 he satisfy their claims, which he knew would no«r 
 be presented? Involved in thoughts like these, 
 he entered the Hall, and, followed by John, went 
 to the dining-room, where father and son sat 
 do wn t < j »efreslt^ t hnmsel vw | „pver a l i ot tle.j){L^ — 
 brandy. 
 
 They had not been seated half an hour before 
 the noise of carriage-wheels was heard ; and on 
 looking out they saw a dog-cart drawn by two 
 magnificent horses, which drove swiftly up to tin 
 portico. A gentlonan dismounted, and, throw- 
 iiig the reins to hie Mrrant, cam* up the stqii. 
 
 &<ii^S^^ 
 
 !■&, 
 
SPi-" 
 
 The itrangOT was of medium size, with an «iv 
 litocratic iir, remarkaUy regular f&tnres. of 
 pore OwwiM outline, and deep, bkck, lunrous 
 •res. Hill brow was dark and stern, and cloud- 
 ed o^fer by a gloomy frown. 
 
 " Who the devil is be ?" cried Potts. "D— n 
 a»t porter I I told him to let no one in to-day " 
 
 "I believe the porter's playing fMt-«nd looU 
 with us. But, by JoTe! djw4ir«Sethat fellow's ' 
 •^w V"y'»"'"»°'^,)>*o else has such eyes?" 
 
 "OldSmithei 
 "Smithora 
 
 CORD Jk^D CEEESE. 
 
 ^" t' 
 
 181 
 
 iayonngSmithers?" 
 or else the devil," said John,. harshly. 
 " he continued. "I've 
 
 " I begin to have an idea, „„ vuu»,.ueu. 
 
 ,,",„.'"« ''^"" "*• fo«" »onie time." 
 "What Is It?" 
 
 " Old Smithers had these eyes. That last chao 
 that drew the forty thousand out of you kept his 
 eyes covered. Here comes this fellow with Uie 
 sune evftj. I begin to trace a connection be- 
 tween them." , ... 
 
 "Pooh I Old Smithers is old enough to be 
 this man's grandfather." 8" w ue 
 
 smithers hadn t a wrinkle in his face?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 •'Oh nothing -only his hair mightn't have' 
 been natural; that 8 all." ••• »«»o 
 
 Potts and John exchanged glances, and no- 
 thing was said for some time. 
 
 "Perhaps this Smithers & Son have been at 
 the bottom of all this, " continued John. ' ' Thev 
 sre the only ones who could have been strong 
 
 "Hut why should they ?!■' 
 
 John shook his head. 
 
 " Despard or Langhetti mav have got them to 
 
 * r J^f *"?' *•"" ''-^ «''•' *<1 «'• Smithen 
 & to. wIU make money enong^ ont of the spec- 
 nhtion^to i»y them. As for me and you, I be- 
 ^ to have a general bul^vary accnmte idea of 
 
 room. The servant came down to nnnoun^ 
 
 "What name?" asked PMts. & '. 
 
 " He didn't give any. " " 
 
 Potts looked perplexed. 
 
 "Come now, ' said John. " This feUow has 
 OTer«,ached hirtiself at last. He's come he^"f 
 perhaps it won t be so easy for him to get out. 
 m have aU the ser^ante ready. Do y5u keen 
 
 Sn! ,{• JK ?'^'. ■"'^ "'•'«n '•»« time comes 
 ring the bell, and 111 march in with aU the serv- 
 
 Potts looked for a moment jtt his son with a 
 glMce of deep admiration. "7 "' 
 
 * finger tlun I have in my whole body. tS • 
 
 The stranger was standinc looking ont of one 
 of the windows. His attitude brought l«ck to 
 Potts 8 recollection the scene which had once 
 uZa , 'Tf' ''"IIP "'"^ ^mi'hers was holding 
 ?h^J^T^" ''%'\-T- '*"'»« Hicollection of thU 
 threw i flood of light on Potts's mind. He re- 
 caUed it with a savage exultation. Perhaps they 
 were the sam^, as John sald-perhapsT no 
 most assuredly they must be the same. ' 
 
 Pottitohrsefr.wZVea;!^'" ""^"^ 
 ^ The stranger turned and looked at Potts for a 
 Aw moments. He neither bowed nor uttered 
 f«ny salutation whatever. In his look there vZ 
 a certain temfic menace, an indefinable glanceof 
 conscious power, combined with implacable hate, 
 riio frown which usually rested on his brow 
 darkened and 3eepened tiU the gloomy shadows, 
 that covered them seemed Uko thunder-clouds. 
 
 Before that awful look Potts felt himself cow. • 
 enng involuntarily; and he began to feel less 
 conBdeneo in his o^vn power, and less sure that 
 the stranger had flung himself into a trap. How- 
 ever, the silence was embarrassing; so at last. 
 with an effort, le said : ^^ 
 
 " Well ; is there any thing yon want of Ine? 
 J.m in a huny. 
 
 " Yes," said the stranger, "I reached the vil- 
 J.]^j«»;<J'»y 'o call nt the bank, but found it 
 
 too ""''■' ' *"PP*>*® >°""^e Bot a draft on me, 
 
 "Yes," said the stranger, mysteriously. "I 
 suppose I may call it a draft." , 
 
 i, 'liF^T'J^ TA" troubling your head about 
 le, then, returned Potts ; " I won't nav " 
 
 "Yotf won't?" ^^' 
 
 "Not a penny." 
 
 nvii .?,''"?• .®°, ™"« °f contempt flashed 
 over the stranger's fac& ' 
 
 "Perhaps if you knew what the draft is. vou 
 would feel differently." ' ^ 
 
 " I don't care what it i»." 
 
 .'.'Thatjlepends upon the drawer." 
 
 I don t care who the drawer is. I won't pay 
 
 L., ' » " i '^'"^ ^"^^ "■ it's Smithers & Co. Ill 
 
 settle all when I m ready. I'm not going to be 
 
 bnll ed any longer. I've borne ehougli. Yoa 
 
 ,"i^v * .??'' '^.r'^ f*"'''" ^^ e«°tin"e<l, pet- 
 «; I see through you, and you can't keep 
 np ihis sort of thing much longer. '• 
 
 o„9"'°" ^PP**' t° '""' ">at you know wh6 I 
 
 wve got this fellow, whoever he is; and if he 
 toMout to be what I suspect, then ^e'U sprinj 
 
 tei7ti;s:»""' '•"'" ^ '^"•^ " " '» p'«? 
 
 With these words Potts departed, and, ascend 
 mt the stairs, entered the di^ing-rooii. 
 
 Something:of that sort," said Potts, mdely ; 
 
 andlet me tell you I don't care who you are.* 
 ^^ l-hat depends," rejoined the other, calmly. 
 
 veiy much npon circumstances." 
 
 "So you see," tontinued Potts, "you won't 
 get any thing ont of me-not this time," he add- 
 
 fJl*ll'*'^r:^'* *''*' "t^ngor, "Is different 
 TOu tOT "** *^ presented at the bank 
 
 He spokfrja^ tone of de^ «o femriw-^r iffilt= 
 tone which seemed like the tread of some inevita- 
 ble Date advancing upon its victim. Potts felt 
 an indefinable fear steaUng over him in spite of 
 himself. He said not a word. • ^ 
 
 " My draft, '• continued the stran|^r, in a ton* 
 which was still more aggressive in its dominant 
 and self-assertive newer— "my draft vma drawn 
 r twenty years ago." ;* 
 
 A^\ 
 
 I 
 
lea 
 
 *CORD AND CBIliESE. 
 
 PotU looked wtmderingly and half fearfully 
 at him. ' i 
 
 "My draft," aaid the other, "was drawn by 
 Colonel Lionel Uespard." 
 
 A chill went to the heart of Potts. With a 
 Tiolent effort he shook otf his fear. 
 
 "Pooh!" said he, "you're at that old story, 
 are yon? That nonsense Won't do here." 
 
 " It was datetl at sea," continued the stranger, 
 in tones which still deepeneil in awful emphasis 
 — " ftt son, when the writer was all alone. 
 
 "It's a lie!" cried Potts, while his face grew 
 white. 
 
 "At sea," continued the other, ringing the 
 changes on this one word, "at sea — on board 
 that ship to which yon had brought him — the 
 Vishnu!" 
 
 ^ Potts was like a man fascinated by some hor- 
 rid 8i)ectacle. He looked fixedly at his interloc- 
 utor. His jaw fell. 
 
 " There he died," said the stranger. " Who 
 caused his death ? Will you answer ?" 
 
 With a tremendous etfort Potts again recover- 
 ed command of himself. I 
 
 " Vou — you've been reading up old papers," 
 replied he, in a stampefiii^'voice. "You've 
 got a lot of stuff in yoiir head which you think 
 will frighf^ me. You've come to the wrong 
 shop." ' 
 
 lilJt in spite of these words the pale fiice ond 
 ner\pii» miuiner of Potts showed how deep was 
 hid agitation. 
 
 " I myself was on board the Vishnu" said the 
 other. ' 
 
 "You! 
 
 "Yes, 
 
 "You if "Then yon must have been precious 
 smnll. The Vishnu went down twenty years 
 ago." / 
 
 " I wAs on board of the Vishnu, and I saw 
 Colonel /Despard. ' ' 
 
 emory of some awful scene seemed to 
 
 'the tones of the speaker — they thrilled 
 
 the coarse, brutal nature of the listener. 
 
 iw Colonel Despard," continued the 
 
 " Pead men tell no tales, " mtitterei! Potts, in a 
 scarce articulate voictt 
 
 '^Ko you thought when you locked him in, nnd 
 set fire to the ship, and scuttled her ; but you sco 
 you were mistaken, for here at least was a (lend 
 man who did tell tales, and 1 was the listen- 
 er." 
 
 And the mystic solemnity of the man's face 
 seemed to mark him as one who might indeed 
 have held commune with the dead. 
 
 " He told mo,"continued the stranger, "wlicro 
 he found you, and how." 
 
 Awful expectation was manifest on the face 
 of Potts. 
 
 " Ho told me of the mark on your arm. Draw 
 up your sleeve, Briggs, Potts, or whatever oJhor 
 name you choose, and show the indelilJe char- 
 acters which represent the name of Ihwhani. " 
 
 Potts started back. His lips grew ashen. Hig 
 teeth chattered. . 
 
 "He iiave me this," cried the stranger, in a 
 louder voice ; " and this is the draft width you 
 will not reject." , i 
 
 He strode forward three or four paces, and 
 flung something toward Potts. 
 
 It was a cord, at the end of which was a me- 
 tallic ball. The ball struck the table as it fell, 
 and rolled to the floor, but the stranger held the 
 other end ifl his hau)!,' 
 
 is?' 
 
 " Thco !" cri^tie ; "do you kno* 
 
 what that 
 
 The 
 inspire 
 throng! 
 
 'I 
 ■tran,. 
 
 , lie !" cried Potts, roused by terror and 
 horrcjr to a fierce pitch of excitement. 
 
 . saw Colonel Despard," re()ealted the strfln- 
 Ifor the third time, "on board the Vtshnu 
 he Indian Sea. I learned from him his 
 stort— " 
 
 ! paused. , 
 
 'iTlieu," cried Potts,- quickly, to whom there 
 suddenly came an idea which brought courage 
 with it ; " then, if you saw hira, what concern 
 is it of mine ? He was alive, then, nnd the Des- 
 pard murder 'never took place.?' 
 
 "It did take place," said the Other. 
 
 " You're talking nonsense. How could it if 
 yon saw him ? He must have been alive." 
 
 " lie was dead!" replied the stranger, whose 
 eyes had ne^^^ withdrawn themselves from those 
 of Potts, and now seemed like two fiery orbs 
 blazing wrathfully upon him. The tones pene- 
 Bnted 16 the very soul of the listener. He shud- 
 dered in spite' of himself Like most ^ndgar na- 
 tures, his was accessible to superstitious horror. 
 He heard and trembled. 
 
 " He was dead," repeated the stranger, " and 
 vet all that I told you is true. I learned from 
 him his story." y 
 
 Had the straitgrnr beeiKCMympian Jovj^ and had 
 he flung forthftJUpt Ms ptht h*nd a thuhder-bolt, 
 it could notJwVfe 'rapdl^ a more appalling ef- 
 fect than thil^ WljiftMfila brought upon Potts by 
 the sight of tB|^»d|r<lIe started back in hor- 
 ror, uttering a ci^stTaMMyjar^etween a jcrenm and 
 a groan. Big <Mps of {K^igtion started from 
 his brow. He trembled an1|^[^^^ifislered from head 
 to foot. His jaw fell. Hd'gfajM! speechless. 
 
 "That is my draft," said th'^ Stranger. 
 
 "What do you wont?" gasped Potts. 
 
 "The titltf deeds of the Brandon estates!" 
 
 "The Bfandon estates!" said Potts, in a fal- 
 tering voice. 
 
 I ' ' Yes, the Brandon estates ; nothing less. " 
 ' ' ' And Will j'ou then keep silent ?" 
 
 " I will give you the cord." 
 
 "Will yoii keep silent?" 
 
 " I am yolir master," said the other, haughtily, 
 as his burning eyes fixed themselves with a con- 
 suming gaze upon the abject wretch before him ; 
 " I am your master. I make no promises. I 
 spare you or destroy you as I choose." 
 
 These words reduced Potts to despair. In the 
 ^ilepths of that despair he found hope. He start- 
 ed up, defiant. . With an oath he>8prttng to the 
 bell-rope and palled again and again, till the 
 peals reverberated throujgK the house. 
 
 The stranger stood mth a scornful smile on 
 his face. Potts turned to him savagely : 
 
 " I'll teach you," he cried, " that you've come 
 to the wrong shop. I'm not n child. Who you 
 are I don't know and don't care. You are the 
 cause of my ruin, and.yQuJljepflnt ofitJl 
 
 The stranger said nothing, but stood witji tho 
 same fixed and scbrnful smile. A noise was 
 heard outside, the tramp of a crowd) of men. 
 They ascended the stairs. At last John<'appeared 
 at the door of the room, followed by thirty serv- 
 ants. Prominent among these was Asgeelo. 
 I Near him was VijaL Potts gave a triumpbaat 
 
 'Hfiial!" cried Po 
 
J 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 t I 
 
 f 
 
 Ii« 
 
 I'll! 
 
 
 in 
 
 
 If -5 , , 
 
 '1 
 
 [Si 
 
 liflli 
 
 » I 
 
 i 
 
 
 'Mil 
 
 • 
 
 
 '*|!itlh„,r' 
 
 
 mile. The servantg ranged themaelres around' 
 U16 room* M 
 
 " Now," cried Potts, "you're in for it You're 
 ra B tmp, I think. Yonll find that I'm not ^ 
 bom Idiot. Give up that cord !"• "^ * ™ "»' « 
 .^l *^n8er said nothing, but wound up the 
 
 gartled I'otts with his scornful smUR 
 -cllrLf"^ Potte. addressing the senants. 
 tatch that man, and tie his hands and feet." 
 
 J^7?'l •'.'"' *?''*'" "■"' «"""" ''■•""nd 
 «lTr "' •^°?? » <"-der. As Potts spoke they 
 »tood jhere looking at the sfranger, buVnot one 
 
 S f/(L T """^ '"''"'^ •>•«» «"'» '""•'ed jn 
 
 thefc^^^^^ •" '"^"-' -""-e f- 
 
 I ^v?"v ^^'T *'''"^ ^°"''' " <J'* yo» hear what 
 A My? Seize that man!" 
 
 - 1.?^^*'* '^"^"tyTi revtd; "■•■ — 
 
 ,^IU my belief," said Jphn, " that they're aU 
 
 ^ lobl^,lua5^'^"^f"l- At that instant Asgec- 
 to bounded fonvard Mso with one tremencUius 
 
 to 1 ir*'"*^ "^ •'^ ""* '»>^o«'^'"»e<l him 
 
 "imtfOl DO Ton KNOW WHAT THAT 18?" 
 
 The Stranger waved hi» hand. • 
 
 Let him go!" said he. 
 Asgeelo obeyed. 
 
 Tnhn^''"f •"'" *'"''"'* *'•*' menninffifef this T cried 
 
 resstimjative"^"' ""^ '"« -^ts-motion- 
 fj/**?!" 'hclMt time, "roared Potts, with a ner- 
 
 ^n^'^Tn"!!! '"^ n>«ionless. Tlie stmnger 
 fc^^^^ii*" """"^ ""'"«J« ^''h 'he same 
 
 rsmile. 
 
 know' Iriiefi^ Yoh'r^'^' ^•°" •^°"'' 
 ' . ""^ ■"• »o" are in mv power 
 Bn^gs-you op^t get a,vay. nor /an'^ou; 
 
 Po»8 rushed, with an onth, to the door. Half 
 a dozen sen-ants were standing tliere As he 
 aT^X^^ toward thep» 1.14,^^^^,^^ 
 clenched fists Ho rushed ujion them. ^ 
 
 Toh"".^''- 1^" *?"' «""»'"« "t the lips ^ 
 John stood cooled unmoved, looking around 
 
 ™Th' Ti '#"'^"' the face of c^ch 
 ifrfn^iiv*"^ werem,yo„d his authority"' 
 He folded bis arms, and- said nothing. '' ' 
 
 mAn^'Zi?^"" '*• '"''■'' heen mistalen in yonr 
 mn, said the, stranger, cooUy. "These aw 
 
 ■■ in 
 
 ^ 
 
 ; ' 
 
) 
 
184 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 not yonr serrants : they're mine. Shall I tell 
 them to seize you ? 
 
 Pottg glared at him with bloodshot eyes, bnt 
 said nothing. 
 
 " .'^Imll I tell them to pull up your sleeve and 
 display the mark of Bowhani, Sir ? Shall I tell 
 who and what you are ? Shall 1 begin from your 
 birth and give them a full and complete hiHtory 
 ofyDiirlife?" 
 
 I'otts looked around like a wild beast in the 
 arena, seekj^g for some opening for escape, bat 
 finding nothing except hostile races. 
 
 "Do what yov like!" he cried, desperately, 
 with an oath, and sank down into iitolid despair. 
 " No ; you don't mean that," said the other. 
 . " For 1 have some London policemen at the inn, 
 and I might like best to hand vou over to them 
 on charges which you can easily imagine. You 
 don't wish me to do so, I think. You'd prefer 
 being at large to being chained up in a cell, or 
 sent to Botany Bay, I suppose ? Still, if you pre- 
 fer it, I will at once arrange an interview be- 
 tween yourself and these gentlemen." 
 
 " What do you wani?" anxiously asked Potts, 
 who now thought that he might cqme to terms, 
 and perhaps gain his escape from the clutches of 
 liis enemy. 
 
 ' ' The 'title deeds of the Brandon estate," said 
 the stranger. 
 "Never!" 
 
 "Then off yon go. They must be mine, at 
 
 any rate. Nothing can prevent tliat. Either 
 
 give them now and begone, or deUy, and you go 
 
 at once to jail." ; 
 
 "I won t give them," said Potts, desperately. 
 
 "Cato!" said the stranger, "go and fetch the 
 
 policemen." 
 
 "Stop!" cried John. 
 
 At n sign Asgeelo, who had already taken 
 two steps toward the doqr, paused. ^^ 
 
 "Ilero, dod," said John, "you've got to 'do 
 it. You might as well hand over the papers. 
 You don't want to get into quod, I think.'' u V 
 Potts turned his jmleTace to his#n. 
 "Do it!" exclaimed John.'- 
 ■f" Well," he said, with a sigh, " since I've got 
 to, I've got to, I suppose. YoBknow best, John- 
 nie. I always said you had a long head." 
 
 "I must go and get them," he continued. 
 , " I'll go with you ; or no— Coto shall go with 
 yon, and I'll wait here." 
 
 The Hinjuwent with Pottg, holding his collar 
 In his pohWTuI grasp, and taking care to let 
 Potts see the hilt of a knife which he carried up 
 his sleeve, in the other hand. 
 
 After aljait a Quarter of an hour they returned, 
 and Potts VAded over to the stranger some pa- 
 pers. He lodked at them carefully, and put 
 them in his' pocket. Ho then gave Potu the 
 cord. Potts took K^ an ab8tra(:ted way, and 
 (oiiLnothing. 
 
 '^u must leave this Hdkto-night," said the 
 stranger, sternly — "you 
 main here." 
 
 yet? I know yon. IH pay yon up. What 
 complaint have you against mo, I'd like to know ? 
 I never harmed you. 
 
 "You don't know me, or you wouldn't sav 
 that" ' 
 
 "I do. You're Smilhers & Co." 
 
 "True; and I'm several other people. I've 
 had the pleasure of an extended intercourse with 
 you. For I'm not only Smithers & Co. , but I'm 
 also Beamish & Hendricks, American mei-cluints. 
 I'm also Bigelow,,lIigginBon, & Co., solicitors to 
 Smithers & C<V Besides, I'm your London 
 broker, who attended to your specuhitioiis in 
 stocks. Perhaps you think that you don't know 
 me after all." 
 
 As ho said this Potts and John exchanged 
 glances of won^r. 
 
 "Tricked!" cried Potts — " deceived ! hum- 
 bugged! and mined! Who are you? Wlint 
 have you against me ? Who are you ? Who ? ' 
 
 And he gazed with intense curiosity ujion tlie 
 calm fece of the stranger, who, in his turn, look- 
 ed upon him with the air of one who was suney- 
 ing from a superior height some feeble creature 
 for beneath him. 
 
 "Who am I?" ho reputed. "Who? lam 
 the one to whom all this belongs.' I ani one 
 whom you have injured so deeply, that what I 
 have done to you is nothing in comparison." 
 
 "Who are you?" cried Potts, with feverisli 
 impatience. "It's a lie. I never injured yoiu 
 I never saw you b<<fore till yon came youi-se'lf to 
 trouble ma Those whom I have injured are nil 
 dead, except that parson, the son of— of the offi- 
 cer." 
 
 " There are others." 
 
 Potts said nothing, bnt looked with some fear- 
 ful discovery dawning upon him. 
 
 "You know me now!" cried the stranger. 
 " I see it in your face. " ' 
 
 " You're not him !" exchimed Potts, in a 
 piercing voice. 
 
 " I am Louis Bha^^don !" 
 
 "I knew it! I |^new it!" cried John, in a 
 voice which was alntbst a shriek. 
 
 "Cigole played fulso. I'll make him pnj- for 
 this," gasped Potts. 
 
 •" Cigole did not plS'y f4d8e. He killed nc as 
 well as ho could — But away, both o* you. I 
 can not breathe whihj you aie'hoi'e. I will allow 
 you an hour to \to gon^" 
 
 At the end of the hflur Brandon of llrnnilon 
 Hull was at lost master in the home of his ances- 
 tors. 
 
 »J' 
 
 your son. I re- 
 
 " f.^ve the Hall ?" gasped Potts. 
 "Y««" — . — 
 
 ^:¥m 
 
 For a moment Ip stood o^nrhelmed. He 
 looked at John. John noddeirali head slowly. 
 
 " You've got to do it, doij," said be. 
 
 Potts turned savagely at the stranger. He 
 shook liin clenched list at him. 
 
 "D — n you!" he cried. "Are you iatkflcd 
 
 4 
 
 CHAPTER Lin. 
 
 THIS COTTAOK. 
 
 When Desp^d had bound Clark ffi returned 
 to look after Lan^hetti. He lay feebly and mo- 
 tionless upon the ground. Despard carefully ex- 
 amined his wounds. His injuries were very se- 
 >'Bre. His arms were lacerated, and his bIiouI- 
 der torn ; blood also was issuing from a wound 
 on- the side^of his iieclc7^^^>BgpiiPd bmnid fhese^ 
 up as best he could, and thttn sat wondering wliat 
 could lie done next. 
 
 He judged that he i^^ht be four or five mite 
 from Denton, and saw that this was the place to 
 which ho must go. Besides, Beatrice was then, 
 and she could nurse LatighettL But how couU 
 
 be get there ?- 
 
 possible for L 
 
 tried to form 
 
 done. He be 
 
 hung between 
 
 down with hii 
 
 • bushes for ibis 
 
 on the road be 
 
 ft was a fai 
 
 f.-om t/ie direcl 
 
 it, explained hi 
 
 tiling if the far 
 
 his friend and 
 
 not take long 
 
 nirned his hon 
 
 were strewn on 
 
 these Langhetti 
 
 who by this tini 
 
 at one end, whe 
 
 three horses wer 
 
 on the wagon, s 
 
 on his Icnees. 
 
 Slowly and ca 
 Despard had no 
 It was where tl 
 village iun stood 
 htftd. 
 
 It was about n 
 
 %y reached the 
 
 itrthe windows. 
 
 and knocked. A 
 
 for the mistress, a 
 
 recognized him 1 
 
 But I>espard's fa 
 
 pi-essed her hand i 
 
 " My dear ador 
 
 loved Langhetti.'' 
 
 "Langhetti! "si 
 
 "He has met ' 
 
 doctor in the place 
 
 Beatrice hurried 
 
 " We will first 
 
 "Is there a bed rei 
 
 "Oh yes! Brii 
 
 who was now in an 
 
 ' She hurried afie 
 
 lifled Langhetti on 
 
 whicli Beatrice show 
 
 .him on the bed. M 
 
 ried off for a doctor 
 
 Beatrice sat by 
 
 tw)w of the almos 
 
 med in every ixjssil 
 
 Ine doctor soon arri 
 
 eft directions for hit 
 
 ly in cpnstant watch 
 
 Leaving I^nghett 
 
 fnce, Despard went 
 
 He found one withoi 
 
 «n hour Clark wa'j sa 
 
 *l4h Despard lodge 
 
 I?®" bv the brands i 
 
 Mm to be a man of d 
 
 ^^™|e^^ntran8p< 
 
 — jr**iw* next wroii 
 
 He told her about L 
 
 ««n« on immediately 
 
 loen he returned to 
 
 «np with Langhetti. 
 
 "« let him. She said 
 
 w of the place by I 
 
 ■•wed, however, and 
 
be get there ? — that was thn nniui»i<.« t» 
 
 d^ H„'L ™^ P'"" ''>' ^ '»«''' th« might te 
 
 w^ere Btre^vn on the bottom of thrw„go„ and Z 
 th^ Langhetti was deposited carefX"' clt' 
 who by thw time had come to himself w^, I 
 at one end, where he satgrim^^ nnd^ulkZ T 
 th.^ ho,-ses were led behi^, anVl^rd "^^i^W 
 
 j4Sftfra!K%s!n?e;?^- 
 
 I was where the letter had described .rS 
 
 Sir '"" '*°''' ""'■ °" ">« oppositeiide of ti:: 
 
 ii^he windows iS,^ ^ fJ^^r'"', ^"""'"K 
 
 p.^ed her hand in silence andTid : " ^^° 
 loredXhett? '^'''' ""'"' ' """« ^^ °- »>«- 
 
 doctor in the ulace ? i«n i '"^"'^"'- " "wre a 
 " \Ve wi fl"f r?- """""^ «i'h "servant. 
 J'^^ y«*' .Bring him in!" cried Beatri™ 
 
 Leaving I^nghetti under the charge of Bea 
 *l|kh IWnlT^J™? -"i"''- u?^''" '"fonnation 
 
 CORD And CREEciE. 
 
 -.?*r 
 
 audible. Beatrice Du?hlr» 1 '""^ ^'^ ^^^^ 
 
 :: What is itra7eJYC^" '^ '" ""'^• 
 
 ««Vc smile pa^^e^^otfcj^"^''"''- '^ec 
 it M well," he murmured. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 THB WORM TURNS. 
 
 though some sutm^atSli^hir''""' »■« ^1' al 
 
 left of ever recQinW ,i "J*""' " n»^ of hope 
 One^h"'^ '•"'■n which he h^ cmr^'"''' '" 
 
 '•is vengS^^S hereT ^"""^ ?^«<J- would 
 for this ifeTu JL"" '>o"'J f ""^e hope 
 
 and he knew fflfte would"^^ \^' ''M'"' 
 search after vengeance. iCniv ^^^ '" ">« 
 fnllest and dire K^ in?h •"*"''•'"? "'•"^ «' 'he 
 
 death it«,,fruK-:fy^t^' '" "''='' '*°« «''■ 
 
 (fates the stn^e end^3 "''*" "'*'^ '^ ^^ ^'> 
 
 toZoi?"'-"^"'''""'"' "-"atare^ougoing . 
 ■' F don't know." 
 
 '* [?*^e yo" any money ?' 
 ,. *our thousand pounds in 
 
 jiZT-T^ tran sported .„. „„„„^ 
 
 "Wt lit him She Mill .hi? •' ''T*'"""' «""'W 
 
 wthTp.Sryt;",i^rdrX'.r.:! 
 
 »^, however, „d the two devoted S ^. 
 
 <« ktT' — ^-"""" pounds in tlie bank." 
 
 s;ta^j;:i.;s- -4-, ;:»,,. 
 *1:lk rs'r-' "''='=■• " 
 
 At any rate there's one comfort " said T«i.n 
 even about that." ""«n, saiu John, 
 
 "What comfort?" 
 
 T>^'^:x:iri,;x.S'«"^«''^" 
 
 " S"«n ?rr '"«'■' ""^ •^°'"» «' "--t. 
 ia;hS"sV;ti;rs/^"°^'^'»-'''''"«'''»o.«, 
 
 "Howi-anlhelpit?" 
 Y^ can t help it ; but you ran rtrikn n Mo„ 
 
 yourself.' 
 "How?" 
 
 " How ? You've struck blows hflfitn. .„ . 
 ' pntjiose, I think. " "'""' '» •"»»>• 
 
 ' ™.l!i'"' ' "***"■ y*" '"'•'«' «ny one with such »r«. 
 mendous power as this m«n i... * ■ncn tre- 
 
 did he get all his moZrVou «idl"f'' ''^*"' 
 he was the devU .ndV bJCxTi'^'whe'S 
 Clark ? Do you thj„k he luu .u««rfed r 
 
186 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 "No, "said John. 
 
 "No more do I* Tliis man lins every body 
 in his pay. Look at the servants! See how 
 easily he did what he wished!" 
 
 " You've got one servant left." 
 
 "Ah, yes — that's a fact." 
 
 "That servant will do something for you." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Urandon is a inan, after all — and can die" 
 said John, with deep emplinsis. "Vijal," he 
 con^nucd, in a whisper, "hates me, but lie would 
 lay down his life for yon. " 
 
 "I understand," said Potts, after a pause. 
 
 A long silence followed. 
 
 "You go on to the inn," siSid Potts, at last. 
 "Ill talk with Vijal." 
 
 " Shall I risk the policemen ?" 
 
 " Yes, you run no risk. I'll sleep in the 
 bank." 
 
 "All right," said John, and he walked away. 
 
 "Vijnl," said Potts, dropping back so as to 
 wait for the Malay. ," You are faithful to me." 
 
 " Yes," answered Vijal. 
 
 " All the others betrayed me, but you did not ?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Do you know when you first saw mo?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "1 saved your life." 
 
 "Yes," 
 
 " Yonr father was seized at Manilla and killed 
 for murder, but I protected you, and promised to 
 take care of you. Haven't I done so ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Vijal humbly, and in a reverent 
 tone. 
 
 " Haven't I been another father?" 
 
 "You have." 
 
 " Didn't I promise to tell you some day who 
 the man was that killed your father ?" * 
 
 " Ye.s," exclaimed Vijal, fiercely. 
 
 " Well, I'm going to tell you." 
 
 "Who?" cried Vijal, in excitement so strong 
 that he could scarce speak. 
 
 " Did you see that man who drove me out of 
 the Hall ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, that was the man. He killed your fa- 
 ther. He has ruined me — your other father. 
 \Vhat do you say to that ?" 
 
 " Heshalldie,"retumed Vijal, solemnly. "He 
 shall die." 
 
 "I am an old^nan," resumed Potts. "If I 
 were as strong as I used to be I would not talk 
 about this to you. I would do It all mvself." 
 
 "Ml do it!" cried Vijal. "ill doit!" 
 
 His eyes llkshed, his nostrils dilated — all the 
 savage within him was aroused. Ji'otts saw this, 
 and rejoiced. 
 
 " Do you know how to use this ?" he asked, 
 showing Vijal the cord which Brandon had given 
 him. 
 
 Vijal's eyes dilated, and a wilder fire shone in 
 them. lie seized the cord, tnmcd it round his 
 hand for a moment, and then hurled it at Potts. 
 It passed round and round his waist. 
 
 'Ah!" said I 'ntts, wit h deep gmtificn tion. 
 
 come back to me till you come to tell me that he 
 is dead." 
 
 Vijal nodded. 
 
 " Now I am going. I must fly and hide mv- 
 self from this man. As long as he lives I am "in 
 danger. But you will always find John at the 
 inn when you wish to see me." 
 
 "I will lay down my life for you,'' said Vijul. 
 
 " I don't want your life," retunied Potts, "i 
 want his." 
 
 " You shall have it," exclaimed Vijal. 
 
 Potts said no more. Ho handed' Vijal his 
 purse in silence. The latter took it wiltiout a 
 word. Potts then w»!ht toward the bank, and 
 Vijal stood alone in the road. 
 
 '^Tou Have not forgotten, then. Vou can throw 
 it skillfully." 
 
 Vijal nodded, and said nothing. 
 
 " Keep the cord. Follow up that man. 
 AvcngoHour father's death ami ray ruin." 
 
 " I will," said Vljnl, sternly. 
 
 " it may take long. Follow him up. Do nut | 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 ON THE ROAD. 
 
 Ox the following morning Brandon started 
 from the Hall at an early hour. He was on 
 horseback. He rode down through the gates. 
 Passing through the village he went by the inn 
 and took the road td Denton. 
 
 He had not gone far before another horseman 
 followed him. The latter rode at a rapid jiace. 
 Brandon did not pay any especial attention to 
 him, and at length the latter overtook him. It 
 was when they were nearly abreast that Brandon 
 recognized the other. It was Vijal. 
 
 " Good-morning," said Vijal. 
 
 " Good-morning," replied Brandon. 
 
 " Are vou going to Denton ?" 
 
 "Yes."' 
 
 "Soaml,"8oid Vijal. 
 
 Brandon was purposely courteous, although it 
 was not exactly the thing for a gentleman to lie 
 thus addressed by a scr%'ant. He saw that this 
 servant had overreached himself, and knew iji.at 
 he must have some motive for joining him and 
 addressing him in so familiar a manner. 
 
 He susi>ected what might be \'ijar8 aim, nnd 
 therefore kept a close watch on him. lie saw 
 that Vijal, while holding the reins in his left 
 hand, kept his right hand concealed in his Ivenst. 
 A stispicion darted across his mind. He strolled 
 his mustache with his own right hand, which he 
 kept constantly upraised, and ttdkcd ciieei fully 
 and patronizinglv with his companicm. After a 
 while he fell back a little and drew forth a knife, 
 which he concealed in his haittl, and then he rode 
 forward as l>efore abreast of the other, nsxunilng 
 the ap|)earance of perfect calm and inditl'ereiice. 
 
 "Have you left I'otts?" said Brandon, after a 
 short time. , 
 
 " No," replied Vijnl. 
 
 " Ah !/ Then you ar* on some business of hit 
 now?" ; 
 
 "Yei" 
 
 Brandon was silent. 
 Would you like to know what it is ?' asked 
 
 nl. 
 Not particularly," said Brandon, coldly. 
 
 V^n 
 
 ^'STinllTtcUyouT" 
 " If you choose." 
 
 Vijal raised his bond suddenly and gave a 
 quick, short jerk. A cord flow forth— there was 
 a weight nt the end. The cord was flung straight 
 at Brandon's neck. 
 
 But Brandon had been on his giurd. At th« 
 
CORIJ AND CREESE. 
 
 "v».. .ooKK.. ..«.Ksx.v .X ^r. «^s.^^, ,„,„,^ ,„^ ^^ 
 
 moven,.nt of Vijal'. ann he had raised his own • 
 Ae con! passed around him, but his arm wai 
 
 concealed I^n instant he slashed his knife 
 Jmugh the wiping, of the conl, seTerinJ them 
 Z' .u " «*"»PP'ns the knife ha phinRed hU hand 
 ^ the pocket of his coat, and tefor^ij^'ctld 
 Xin'^Til'lVh-ff'^'''''"'^^ '->>»-«>•- 
 Vijslgaya tim 
 
 ■ -J... ■!.„ n i i i n ce4hn t h« » nitfait . Tlji ..-L-^. I iV - !!"..'" '""°" ffl_«nre n nswerwl nnthin ir- 
 
 ^^^ h. s^Snis^lleSSfTSS^^™^ 
 0(1 off n!! , "" i° ««=«P«- As his horse bound- 
 •^off Hrandon fired. The animal gave a wild 
 n«gh, which sounded almost like a^riek and 
 
 riSLir;!' '"r'"« ^y"' over ard 
 
 "•pea fh)m hU horse befora Vijal had diaencnm- 1 
 
 If you move," he cried, stemlv "in l.in- 
 yourbniinsont!" "' ^ " "'o'' 
 
 Vijal lay motionless. 
 
 "«conndrelI" excWmed Brandon, as he held 
 hm with the revolve* pmssed againn^is hSi 
 
 who sent^you to do this ?" ' 
 
 Vijnl in sullen silenre 
 
 ^■/ 
 
 Fool that 
 
 Vijal made no replf. 
 
 ".Speak out," cried Brandon, 
 you are, I don't want your life." 
 1,.'',^*^" •"* 'he mnttlerer dlf mv fothsr " u»i 
 Vijal, fiercely, "and therefor. I^ST'to uj 
 
 Brandon gave a low langh. 
 
 H 
 
 i 
 
188 ^ 
 
 CbSD AND CREESE. 
 
 " The murderer of your father ?" he repeated. 
 /'Yes/' cried Vyai, wUdly; "and I sought 
 yoni' death." 
 Brandon langhed again. 
 " Do you linow how old I am ?" 
 Vijal looked np in amazement. He saw by 
 that one look what he had not ihonght of before 
 in his excitement, that Brandon waa a younger 
 man t)iaQ himself by several years. Ue was si- 
 lent. 
 ' ' How many ye^rs is it since y»i» fother died ?" 
 Vijal said nothing. ' 
 ?' Fool !" exclaimed Brandon, t " It ia twenty 
 years. You are fiilse to yova fattier. Yon pre- 
 tends to avenge his deafh, and you seek .out a 
 young man who had no connection with it 1 
 was in En^hind when he was kill^ I was a 
 child only seven years of age. Do you believe 
 now that I am his murderer?" , 
 
 Brandon, while speaking in this way, had re- 
 laxed his h<jld, though he still held his pistol 
 poured at the head of his prostrate enemy. Vi- 
 jarjave a lorigj low sigh. 
 
 "You were too yonng,"said he, at last "Yon 
 are younger than I am. I was oriiy twelve." 
 "I could not have been his murderer, then?" 
 "No." 
 
 " Yet I know who his murderer was, for I have 
 found out" 
 • "Who?" . 
 
 7*nie same man who killed my own ^ther." 
 wij^l looked at Brandon with awful eyes. 
 '•' Your father had a brother ?" said Brandon. 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do yon know his name?" 
 "Yes. Zangorri." 
 
 "Right Well, do you know what Zangorri 
 did to avenge his brother's death 7" 
 "No; what?" 
 
 "For many years he vowed death to all En- 
 
 ' • glishmen, since it was an Englishman who had 
 
 > caused the death of his brother. He had a ship; 
 
 ^,^"got a grew and sailed through the Eastern seas^ 
 
 -Capturing English ships and killing the ct«ws. 
 
 This was his vengeance." 
 
 f Vijal ^ve a groan. 
 
 "Yon see he has done more than yon. He 
 knew better than yon who it was that had killed 
 your father." 
 
 "Who was it?" cried Vijal, fiercely. 
 "I saw him twice," continued Brandon, with- 
 out noticing the question of the other. " I saw 
 him twice, .^nd twice he told me the name of the 
 man whoso death he sought For year after year 
 he had sought after that man, but had not found 
 him. Hundreds of Englishmen had fallen. He 
 told me the name of the man whom he sought, 
 and charged me to carry out his work of venge- 
 ance. I promised to do so, for I had a work of 
 rengeance of my own to perform, and on the 
 Mine man, too." 
 
 * ' Who Was ho ?" repeated Vijal, with increased 
 excitement 
 
 " When I Mw him last he gave me something 
 which he said he had worn around his neck for 
 I trtok it , a n d promised to wear-it^iiJl 
 
 a Maliiy creese, which was hung around his neck 
 and worn under his coat 
 
 " Do you know what this is ?" he asked, sol- 
 emnly. 
 
 Vijal took it and looked at it earnestly. Hi, 
 eyes dilated, his noatrils quivered. 
 
 " My &ther's I" he cried, in a tremulous voice 
 
 " Can you read English letters ?" 
 
 "Yeg.** 
 
 " CAn yon read the name that is cut upon it ?" 
 
 And Brandon pointed to a l)lace where loma 
 letters were carved. 
 
 Vijal looked earnestly at it He saw these 
 words: 
 
 JOHN POTTS. 
 
 "That," said Brandon, "is what yom: father's 
 brother gave to me. " 
 
 • ' It's a lie !" growled Vital, fieixjely. 
 
 "It's true," said Brandon, calmly, "and it 
 was carved there by yonr foyer's ovirn hand." 
 
 Vijal said nothing for a long time. Brandon 
 arose, and put his pistfil in his pocket. Vijal, 
 disencumbering himself ft;om his horje, arose 
 also. The two stood tec;«fther on the road. 
 
 For hours they remained there talking. At 
 last Brandon remonnted and rcfle on to Denton. 
 But Vijal went back to the village of Brandon. 
 He carried with him the creese which Brandon 
 had given him. . 
 
 CHAPTER LVL 
 
 VATHKR AMD SOlT. 
 
 J9m. 
 The ve 
 
 Ihe vengebnce which he sought sliould be accom- 
 plished. I did so, for I too had a debt of venge- 
 ance stronger than his, and on the same man." 
 
 "Who was he?" cried Vyal again, with rest- 
 less impetuosity. 
 
 Brandon unbuttoned hia vest and di«w forth 
 
 Vijal, on going back to Brandon village, 
 went first to the inn where he saw John. To 
 the inquiries which were eagerly addressed to 
 him ho answered nothing, but simply said that 
 he wished to see Potts. John, finding him im- 
 practicable, cursed him and led the way to the 
 bank. 
 
 A» Vyal entered Potb| locked the door care- 
 fully, and then anxiously-questioned him. Vijal 
 ga\-e a plain account of every thing exactly as it 
 had luqmened, but with some important alten- 
 tions and omissions. In the first place, he said 
 nothing whatever of the long interview which 
 had taken place and the startling information 
 which he had received. In the second place, 
 ho assured Potts that he must have attacked the 
 wrong mail. For when this man had spared his 
 life he looked at him closely and found out that 
 he waa not the one that he ought to have at- 
 tacked. 
 
 " You blasted fool," cried Potto, i' Haven't 
 yon got eyes ? D-— ^n you ; I wish the fellow, 
 whoever he is, had""Beized you, or blown your' 
 brains out." 
 
 Vijal cast down his eyes hnmbly. 
 
 " 1 can try again," said he. "I have made a 
 mistake this time ; the next time I will moke 
 sure." 
 
 There was something in the tone of jliis voice 
 so remorseless and so vengeful that Potts felt re- 
 a nur eo, - " -yr ■^^^^^^-^^^^^'^r =-— 
 
 " You are a good lad," said be, " » good kd. 
 And you'll tnr again ?" 
 
 " Yes," Mid Vijal, with flashing eyes. 
 
 " Youll wake sura this time?" 
 
 " I'll make sure this time. But I mast hart 
 some one with me," he continued. "You Mtd . 
 
 .Hr 
 
 "Sf^. -^ 
 
 w ■u.iUA.ii'ssbi ' 
 
 ^i . 
 
n 
 
 CfORD AND %] 
 
 BottPonbleyotOTelf. Send John with ma H« 
 wont^uitake. If he i, with I" ni ma?? 
 
 lEESE. 
 
 (lire.' 
 
 ..hS fch'^SM^-t' e^y Vi™""' 
 materolent mile, and his wh^ ;«.S^i^™ ? 
 
 You II kno,^ the fellow, won^tyou?" 
 ' " I rather think I should " ' 
 "Bat what wiU yoo do first ?" 
 "Go to Denton,'' j 
 
 189 
 
 u rn^ ;;: — •"■■» ' *"d John. 
 "To Denton?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because Brandon is there." • 
 How can be be ?" 
 
 l%e h-?t' "I? "^ •!"•* with^he^ retl^ 
 
 LfSoSnSJrtac^^^^^^ 
 
 Brandon, «,d no one eUe, and I'm going on U^ 
 
 bat take care of yourself, Johnnie. " ' 
 
 John gave • dry smile. 
 
 .o;s,;oTkanr.ftL^^^^ 
 
 heKrhKr^^lJi" "«-"■«> JoK and 
 John went back to the inn first, iffiaMer r 
 
 *V he amused himself with cwrse i^fa. «t vi 
 iT/rS^I- •"owing himSToCde^ iSi 
 by Brandon, taunted him with cowanH,^ J^ 
 
 £ r^r"^' ""i ""'"^ l.im tharonrwho 
 
 Toward evening they reached the Inn at n«n 
 u"- ^°^^ *« --^te" not to show hlnSy? ™" ' 
 k«r *L "^ ^ "•« '"». directing VUal to 
 keep a look-out for Bmndon andlet him know 
 "file saw any one who looked like him ThZ 
 
 leim smile passed over 
 
 John •'aronunder- 
 n you've gWto fix, do 
 
 i« SngTdo"^ •»"- r' "-« to se, *h.t he 
 
 yonhZr^"^ ^^^ *'" '""•'"°« "««. then, do 
 "Yes " - • ' I 
 
 you hear? Don't be a fool thi^ tim„® v 
 
 manage it to-niriit fhr i^!,!.". *' '"" ™™« 
 foreTOT I^vf ,•; , '^""t t" wait here 
 
 bed soon. Wh"; I w?k&oliTeS to 
 
 infernal S^;SiiL~" y""' ^^ '^"8 ^^-^ 
 jai'SlSJ."'' "^ *^""" ^' to-motrow," said Vi- 
 
 bed'^ww"'*^'""'*''*™'"*- I'mgohigto 
 ^^ What you ve got to do is to wateh t1.« 
 
 Vijal retired. 
 In J.'lf "'^^P***'- When the following morn- ^ 
 
 £ r„?"''K-'" ".".' "P « "«' ordina^^"^™ 
 sSiifc /"j ^'"* °*=''*^ "^me. Ten o'clock 
 Still he did not appear. •*• 
 
 ™ SXnJ 5?5 "f «, "'"J to .to inn .iS 
 i«he form of a man stiU lying there. ^ 
 
 '7 ..'S " "' " ™"" *"" ying there. 
 "Jlta^lvLvY"l'''*r'" ««'«*^e landlord. 
 
 ■About half nn hnni- .A£lkl& . . . 
 
 -- — - — •■™", iiui mint 
 
 waf teJ^^i^nr •"""■ "'^ »«"'« "f wheels 
 
 &LT. .i?"i "^V "'*• nX jumped out, gave 
 
 «,.i; . -"1 ,'"'"r^'"" "'"''od nnd flunied. Ilig 
 S^h^, '"^'"' '•'1«'"'-^' •""» 'ho-* was a sort" 
 
 ,iIi^!?iT l^'^K *''" «'"PPed here last 
 !?^ *""* ••"' 'hat I wish to see." . 
 
 o„.„; iT"f °",!^ °"* Pe™"" here last iiight." " 
 answered the landlord ; "a young 'man-" *^ 
 ^ Ajoung man, yes-thaf. right, I want to ' 
 
 1^!!'! ". *" "'"-*• ". »id the landlorti. "I 
 
 ni 
 
 d on't kn o w J bui ywj ^ure to Tndt.' 
 
 w^ 
 
 topping at the sa^e i^"? uJ^\„ Y'f '«» "I""''. he up yet ?" 
 
 who;.."™"' """.' "" "' ""fo "ummoiied Viial Inut ni^L ! *i"" J'"'""' "'eepeix He went to bed 
 !»"^"'"''*' «"1««»M ever. To John'. Impa.int iteten^nnf n^' ^T' •"' "«*"• '^e™ »« •>«f'"^ 
 
 d him aS ; Sp. " "' ' " • """'•^ »"«• •"«»■ he isn't 
 
 quesfioM as to^h^K k , ^» J»hn'. Impaiien elevc 
 Bt«.,i ?^ ^ *hy ho had not told him about im " 
 
 H«. 
 
 > 
 
 •♦• 
 
 
 "I 
 
loo 
 
 W: ~-i 
 
 COBD AND 
 
 ■U^J^ 
 
 h 
 
 
 " 
 
 HUBh^^^ 
 
 
 ^P^' 
 
 f- 
 
 ' %in.y and ni 
 
 
 Wbite lips, 
 
 
 horror. 
 
 
 "Heisde 
 
 " 
 
 ion— my Job 
 
 If* 
 
 < him." 
 
 
 'lie landk 
 
 
 ' horror from t 
 
 
 ery. . 
 
 
 It was for 
 
 
 He went bac 
 
 
 Tlien be can 
 
 
 balcony-niot 
 lips'iilrowinf 
 
 
 A crowd , 
 
 
 spread. Thi 
 
 
 who had stop 
 
 
 The crowd th 
 
 
 father as he s 
 
 
 The dwelle 
 
 
 oppo/^ite saw 1 
 
 
 news. 
 
 " Yes, and 
 The landlord 
 loudly. Thew 
 more loudly, 
 •u inpessant raj 
 
 ik, for I'm in h hurry." 
 to the d6or and knocked 
 .nswer. He knocked still 
 answer. He then kept np 
 ^Mibout ^n miftntes. Still 
 ther« was no answer. He had tried the door be- 
 fore, but it w^ locked on the inside. He went 
 around to the windows that opened on tHe bal- 
 cony ; those were open. 
 
 He then went down and told the old man that 
 ihe door waa fastenBd,J>iit that the windows were~ 
 unfastened. 1/ he cheee to go in there he mi^t 
 
 do so. 
 
 "I will do so," sold the other, "for I must 
 Me him. I haT0 businoM of importance." He 
 went dp. '* 
 
 The landlord and some of the serranta, whose 
 cnriodQr was by this Ume exdtei^ followed after. 
 
 '■mi!. 
 
 , ^iMji^. 
 
 "Johnnie!" 
 
 'flg ricrifi Qllfl 
 
 fixed. Arouncmi^eck was a faint, bluish line, 
 a mark like what mi^ht hare been mode by a 
 cord. 
 
 ' ' Johnnie, Johnnie I" cried the old man again, 
 in piercinK tones. He caught at the bands of 
 the figure before him ; ht triwl to pull it forward. 
 
 ThilttHl no retpcoap. ' The old nan txapi^ 
 
 V .> 
 
' V!^^ ""^ ™*«'' ♦» *e window, gasping, with 
 wbite lips, and bloodnhot eyea, nnd a face of 
 horror, 
 
 " He is dead ! " he shrieked. ' ' My boy— m v 
 son— my Johnnie! Mnrdererl You hove killed 
 ' mm. 
 
 the landlord and the servants started back in 
 horror from the presence of this father in his mis- 
 ery. . 
 
 It was for but a moment that he stood there 
 He went back and flung himself upon the bed 
 Tlien he came forth again and stood upon tlie 
 balconj^otionless, white-faced, speechless-his 
 lips fflvtWing inaudible words. 
 
 A crov^d gathered round, ITie story soon 
 
 T*i .4 \^'^ '^"*'"'* ^^^^^ of " ypung man 
 who liad stopped at the inn and died suddenly 
 pe crowd that gathered around the inn saw the 
 father as he stood on the balcony 
 
 The dwellers in the cottage that was almost 
 oppofiite saw lum, and Asgeelo brought them the 
 sews. 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 191 
 
 CHAPTER LVir. 
 
 MK8, COMPTOJi'a SECRET, 
 
 .. 9? *i'i|"'K'>t after the arrival^f John, Brandon 
 had left Denton. He did not return till the fol- 
 lowing day. On arriving at the inn he sflw an 
 unusual spectacle— the old man on the balponv 
 the crowd of viUagers around, the universS ex- 
 citement, i ' 
 
 On entering the inn he found some one who 
 for «oine time had been waiting to see him. It 
 was Philips. Philips had come early in tlie 
 morning, and had been over to the cottage He- 
 had Ifcarned all about the affair at the inn, and 
 iwrrated It to Brimdon,/Wl,o listened wjth his 
 
 S,*ii<^L'S"'^l-. u^^ "'•'" «ave him a letter 
 from Fratik, which Brtndon repd and'put in his 
 
 POCKCCa * 
 
 ITien Philips told him the news which he had 
 tomed at the cottage about Langhettl. Lan- 
 gfietti and Despard were both there yet, the for- 
 mer veiy ^ngerously ill, the Utter wailing for 
 jome fhends. He also told about the^air on 
 the road, the seizure of Clark, afvji i^delivery 
 
 into the •>«><•» 9fjlb«iffl|lboriti^,'fe«».c 
 «t wS!!J^Ww^««'^eep««t fflter- 
 .•■. ,'T[*fw excitement at thtf inn *^ltill 
 
 whMg&nds Clark had been committed. After 
 
 fhL^'"' '^'"* •?'" *" fetnmed. He found 
 the ftwitement unabated, tie then went to the 
 cottage close by the inn, whei« Beatrice had 
 
 ttith'hr"'''*''^'''^ "''"««• ^"W*!^ 
 On knocking at the door Asgeelo opened it. 
 ^.yr entered the parlor, and in a rfiort tiWUte 
 ^Tnffr^- Brandon's first immhyV 
 ton.'^° " •*«'««^Ao same," said Mrs. Comp- 
 
 'Does 
 
 recovery?'' 
 
 'Very 
 
 "WhoK..^,, 
 "M^ Potts «n^ 
 I'AteUijyboth 
 
 ^^ndoB WM 0aai 
 
 any hopes of his 
 t, anxiously, 
 Pompton. . 
 
 ««id Ssl -C^mSn!'" '"^ *"' y"" «- "-.' 
 
 Brandon made no reply, and Mrs. Compton 
 
 tabng sUcnce for assent, went to amionKi 
 
 terid flr^l'^'shi'** "''^ "PJ^"^ B«^ee ««>' 
 w„,^ , "■"' ^'■"''^' «"•* «=«»1^ and solemn : 
 Despai-d was gloomy and stern. They both shook 
 hands with Brandon in silenc Beatrice ra^o 
 her hand without a word, lifeless'lyl^d «,ld?y • 
 Despard took his hand abstractedly ' ' 
 
 8 ood there before him, calm, sad, passionless, 
 almost repellent inher demeanpr, and wonSe«d 
 what the cause might be of such a change 
 
 npor'liv'r "P'^'i V*^ !P"" "* » ""'e distance, 
 n™J- ''iP1'/"'^irH^ "" ^"» a ^'wnge ex- 
 pression, half wistful half timidi 
 
 There was a silence which at length became 
 
 embarrassing, i'rom the room where they we're 
 
 sitting the inn could plainly be seen, with ihe 
 
 crowd outside. Beatrice's eyes weti directed 
 
 tojvard this. Despard said not a wo2 mS- 
 
 other time he migfe^ve been strongly interested 
 
 in this nian, who on so many accounts was so 
 
 closely connected with him ; but now the power 
 
 ofsome dominant and all-engrossing ideTpos- 
 
 iL!3rIi- ' ?"" ''•' seemed to take no notice of 
 
 Irithin'"^ **'*"^ *''*'^'' '^^°^*' *^^ "'ouse or 
 
 After looking in silence at the inn for a lonir 
 
 time Beatrice withdrew her gaze. Brandon r^ 
 
 tholjgh he would read her inmost sod. bho 
 looked nt^him, and cast down her eyes. 
 
 /You ,i|)!ior met" said he; in a fond, thrilling 
 voice. * 
 
 She said nothing, but pointed toward the inn. 
 
 You know all about that?" 
 Beatrice bowed her head silently. 
 " AnJ yon look upon me as girilty ?" 
 She gazed at him, but said nothing. It was a 
 cold, austere gaze, without one touch of Bofhiess. , 
 
 After all," said she, "he was my fkther. 
 You had your vengeance to take, and yon have 
 
 Brandon started to his feet 
 thin 1" ^°^ ^"^'" *** *'"*^' "^ ^^ ""' ''" *•*"* 
 
 B^trice looked npmoumfuUy wid inquiringly. 
 If it had been his base life which I sought" 
 rd M.?"*'"?' ^■«I'«n»ently, "I might lon/a^o 
 haVe tWcen it He was surroundbd ofi allsidea 
 l|3niy power. He could not escape. Offlwrs 
 of the law 8tqod> reiidy to do my bidding. Yet I 
 allowed him to leave the HaU in safety. I mioht 
 have taken hij^hearts-blood. I might have hand- - 
 ed him over to. thta law, I did not " 
 
 "No,'?%id BAtrice, in icy tones, "wta did 
 not ; yon songht a ieejier Vengeance, Yon cared 
 noyte. take bis J fe, . It *«s sweeter to yon to 
 tal^^is son's liWknd give him iigony, D«ith 
 \A kk— i^p insuflteie ' " 
 
 
 Brandon lodked at her without a 
 Who nm I— a poUated one, of the a<!- 
 brood^who am I, to stand between yon 
 1, or lo blame you if yon seek for venge- 
 ^ I avi nothing. You have done kind- 
 
 nesses to ttjo which I now wish were undone. 
 
 I 
 
 J\^ 
 
IM 
 
 OOHD AND CHEESE. 
 
 - v ./'. t httt-I h yl i l i ed under the hand ef the pirates I 
 Oh that the ocean had swept me^ down to d^th 
 with all its waves : Then I should not have lived 
 to see this day !" 
 
 Roused by her vehemence Despard started 
 from h^ abstraction and looked >tr«und. 
 
 •'frseems to me," taid he, "as if you were 
 blamin{(j8ome one for inflicting saft'ering on a 
 man fo'r whom no sufforing can be too gr«at. 
 What! caB you think of youf friend as Ue lies 
 there in the next room in his agony, dyina torn 
 to pieces by this man's agency, and have ^y for 
 him ?'• 
 
 "Oh!" cried Beatrice, " is i)e not my father?" 
 
 •Mrs. Compton looked aroubufc^ w ith^ taring 
 
 eyes, and trembled from head to rape*''Herlips 
 
 moved— she began to speak, but the words died 
 
 away on her lips. 
 
 " Your father I" said Despard ; " his acts have 
 cut him off from a daughter's sympathy." , 
 
 " Yet he has a father's feelings, at least fbr 
 his dead son. Never shall 1 forget his look of 
 anguish as he stood on the balcony. Uis face 
 was turned this way. He seemed to reproach me. " 
 " Letmetellyou,"cri^ Despard, harshly. " He 
 has not yet made atcjnemen t for Ii is crimes. This 
 is but the beginning. I have a debt of vengeance 
 to extort from him. One scoundrel has been 
 handed over to the law, another lies dead, anoth- 
 er is in London in the hands of Ijinghetti's friends, 
 the Carbonari.' The worst one yet remains, and 
 my father's voice cries to me day and night from 
 that dreadful ship." 
 
 "Your fdthers voice!" cried Beatiico. She 
 looked at Despard. I'heir eyes met. Some- 
 thing passed between them in that glance which 
 brought back .the old, mysterions feeling which 
 she had knowii before. Despard rose hastily and 
 left the room. 
 
 " In God's name,"cried Bcandon, " I say that 
 
 this hum's life wfis not songl^ by me, nor the 
 life of »ny of his. I will tell ^bu all. „ When he 
 compassed the death of Uracao, of whom yo^i 
 kapw, he obtained possession of his son, thert a 
 meife boy, and carried him away. He kept this 
 lad with him and brought him up with the idea 
 that he Was his best friend, and that he would 
 one day show him his Other's murderer. After 
 I made myself known to him, he told Vijal that 
 I was this murderer. Vijal tried to assassinate 
 me. 1 fdllcd him, and could have killed him. 
 Bat I spared his lifa 1 th«n told him the trukh. 
 That is all that I have done. Of doiliw, I kniew 
 that Vijal would seek for vengeance. ■ That ifas 
 not my concern, hinoe Potts had.sent him! to 
 seek my life under a lie, I sent him away with a 
 knowledge of the truth. I do not repent thai I 
 told him ; nor is there any guilt chargeable ito 
 me. The, man that lies dead there is not Ay 
 victim. Yet if he were — oh, Beatrice! if he 
 were— what then ? Could that atone for whai I 
 have suffered ? My fether ruined and broke- 
 nhearted and dying in a pooi^house calls to me 
 alwAys for vengeance. My mother suffering in 
 Umi emigrant ship, and dying of the plague amidst 
 h Orrort wiflinnt a n n m e calU to roci Abeiie-i4lf 
 myT fweet sister, my pure Edith—" 
 
 " Edith r interrupted Beatrice—" Edith !" { 
 " Yes ; do you not know that ? She was biir- 
 \iea •live." 
 
 ';: What!* cried Beatrice ; ♦' is it possible thjit 
 oa do not know that she is olive ?" 
 
 • V 
 
 .yt 
 
 "Alivel" ' -' 
 
 . " Yes, alive ; for when I was at Holby I saw 
 her." 
 Brandon stood speechless with surprise. 
 "Vnghetti saved her," said Beatrice. " U^ 
 sister has charge of her now." 
 
 "Whore, where is shi?" asked Brandon, 
 wildly. ^ 
 
 " In a convent at Lond(in." 
 At this moment Despard entered. 
 " Is this true ? ' asked Brandon, with a deeijer 
 agitation than had ever yet been seen in liin»— 
 "my sister, is it true that she is not dead'i' " 
 
 "It is true. I should have told yon," said 
 Despard, "but other thoughts drove it from 
 my mind, and I forgot (hat you miglit be is- 
 nomnt." , * 
 
 "How is it possible? I was at Quebec mv- 
 self. T I have sought over the world after my rcla- 
 tives-T— " 
 
 ' ' I,jyill tell you, " said Despard. 
 He sat down and began to tell the story of 
 Edith's voyage and all that Langhetii had done 
 down to the time of his rescue of her from deutli! 
 The recital fdled Brandon with such deef) amaze- 
 ment that he had not a word to say. He listened 
 like one stupefied. 
 
 "Thanik God!" he cried at hist when it was 
 ended; "thank God, I am spared this last m- 
 guish ; I om freed from the thought wlii^h for 
 years has been most intolerable. The memories 
 that remain are bitter enough, but they are not 
 so terrible as this. But I must see her. I must 
 find her. Where is she?" 
 
 '' Make yourself easy «iuhat score," said Des- 
 pard, calmW. " She vi^lte here to-monow or 
 the day after. I have written to Xanghctti's 
 sister; she will come, and will bring your sis- 
 ter with her," 
 
 " I should have told you so before," said Bea- 
 trice, " but my own troubles drove every tWng 
 else from my mind." 
 
 "Forgive me," said Brandon, "for intruding 
 now. I came in to learn about Langhettl. You 
 look upon me with horror. I will withdraw." 
 
 Beatrice bowed her head, and tears streamed 
 from her eyes, Brandon took her hand. 
 
 "Farewell," he murmured; "farewell, Bea- 
 trice. You Will not coi^demn me when I say 
 that I am innocent?' 
 " I am accursed," she H^nrmured, 
 Despard looked at thesy^vo with deep anxietv. 
 "Stay," said he to I»andon. "There h 
 something which must be explained. . There is 
 a secret which Langhetti has had for years, nnU 
 , which he has s*viral times beenjin the point of 
 , telling, I hav« just spok^ to him nni told him " 
 j that you are here. He says he vill tell ilis secret 
 I now, whatever it is. He wishes us all to come 
 in— and yon too, especially, V said Despard, look- 
 ing at Mrs, Compton, 
 The poor old creature b^anto tremble. 
 " Don't be afraid, old woman," said riiilips. 
 "Take my arm and 111 protect you,'* 
 
 She mm, and, leanmg on his nntf; followed 
 the otheb into Lan^tti'B foom. He was far- 
 fully emaciate^. His material frame, worn down 
 by pain andv confinement, seemed about to dis- 
 solve and let fttee that soaring soul of his, whose 
 fiery impulses hud for years chafed against the 
 prison bars of ih mortal inclosuro. His eyes 
 ■hone darkly and {nminously from their deep, 
 
 ',i 1^ . 
 
 /tsteiiuJi^y^' 
 
^'■.>.^K.->. 
 
 I-*/^-)- 
 
 hoUow wckets, and npon hb thin, wan. white 
 
 Up. there wag a faint gmile of we co,ne-Tuh t 
 
 fcj-f ^- -k, yet .weet as'the S 
 
 It was with such a smile that he greeted Bran 
 
 P^lhe'sln"*"' i "'* thin^i^S 
 pressed the strong and muscular liaiid of the 
 
 •.i-'i'^H? you^ are Edith's brother," he said 
 "Edith's Uther," he repeated, rtsst „g lovi^i; 
 upon that name, Edith. ^She'alwa^f sLid S 
 
 tfi see you. Welcome, brother of my Edith ' I 
 
 t.T'^u rd"i ot?^^*^'"' •'^ "^^^ 
 
 .hnvl^ '^' *'°"?'" '"^'' Brandon, in a voice 
 choked with emotion, as he pressed the hand of 
 the dymg man " He will come, and at once " 
 
 I.iiteS.^""'""'^""''^^''''^"^««««'«"»J«-' 
 He paused. 
 "Bice!" said he at last. 
 
 daS^olMm.""/'"'"^ "y ''" "^^^ ''-' 
 
 "Bice," said Langhetti. "My pocket book 
 
 «m my coat, and if you open the^iSo tS 
 
 j^oaw^llfindsomethingwrapped in paper? ff„^ 
 
 «S^*'7„'* /h' !^.'',«-»"«'k and opened it 
 as auiected. In the inside pocket there was a 
 thin small parcel. She opened itanSwfmth 
 a very small baby's stocking 
 
 •Look at the mark," said Langhetti. 
 ^^«Ml.d so, and SAW t^vo letten, marked 
 
 ir^ P"er' *.'r" ™^ ••>' y°«"" """e at Hong 
 BMg. She said your things were all mar3 
 
 hen She d,d not know what it meant 'fl" 
 meant Beatrice ; but what did ' D' mean ?" 
 
 <^atl, mi^ *^Tfff" **» «no8t agitated. 
 „J^^**',"P' "''' T™*" ••" «u"<l h& " There's 
 
 me that your ^her never cared particularly 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 t' '■ 
 
 103. 
 I Mrs. Coftjpton wag gtajzed with ■• n.-i 
 
 'n.e'^Jf^V^^^'fi-V!''^'''^^ 
 
 "Mrs r,r ^"^ "P ^?,''«'«"'l '"Ok her hand 
 
 vpice!'"yo^uZri;yhTstt'i:,:^^^^^ 
 
 is no need for fear nn« Jf.' /o'"- cui-se. There 
 
 , man whom you bavefeair f*""^' >""• '^'^o 
 ruined, helpiZ, and S^/^J"*?" - "«- 
 
 ' him at this moment inXse v "°"^'' t'^.T 
 if you fear him. Your i>ni^ with you "V^^''^ 
 
 sry?uinVuJL"-^i:r^^ 
 
 youkLw. YKoXnd^^Snivi""^?^'"" 
 
 ^t you, and 
 J to be inarfed 
 « was a thing 
 made many in^i 
 ManilLi murdeK._ 
 Pected that ' DJ m^ 
 ," Oh, Heavens!' 
 
 strange for your cloth- 
 
 your name was Potts. 
 
 "■"'ly troubled her. I 
 
 .)und out' about the 
 
 - Jm that moment I sus- 
 
 Despard. 
 
 of.aspenseriwIf^Jd'S:^'^^^^ 
 •■T/^! "["^tins^-methinSlSn^ 
 
 «VI triad aim^^fL!l^'"'^.°g""?"L"'i 
 
 , S'KiyrwTjrtS'n,^^, 
 
 "W^"rri^ ??!?'' 2"* "H *•" 'he truth. "' 
 tofcbofl, Lil^ ^^P*"^' *™« ho and B»n- 
 "^ looked earnestly at Mrs. Compto^^ 
 
 !.' v"" .r"' P""**' "»8 ?" said she. 
 
 in a S::;sx™' '^^ '''" '" *'"' p«"# 
 
 ShJtvargbrSrh" 'v£U™,°' ".«'*«• 
 fa., as thoughiX coura^!Sd1.I '^^^ f 
 
 mmim 
 
 had at once given way to the, grief of The bl 
 reavement, and had liunied off. ^^ 
 
 anxious riot only to keep this secretl„.r oi f^ 
 
 aSKf tlVlt Suet a'^a^f .« 
 was ready for sea almost imm^iltelf nhd U 
 >vith Colonel Despand on thatTf«ediyC 
 
 chiS"' He?r ''•"^ ^1 ^''f' •■" InJhrwXhe" 
 Tnhn »K .u°" 1°'"^ ''«'•• in comimny^ with 
 John, who, though only a bov, had thT,vi«, 
 of a grown man. Mobths p«i^ befo- S"* 
 came back. He then took hTlnT w^th the 
 ci Id to China, and left the latter withVr«L/,! 
 able «^man at Hong K^ng, wto was the^w ' 
 ii:^?^^'"'''^'^- ^VcIitTdwastS: 
 Potts alwaj:. feaiied that A^rs. Compton tLisht 
 
 the 
 
 to«»iHuwaii}t 
 
 life „„ r?*iil&'"*^^^*9 donstem'^r'l^'lS 
 life, and as J||pq^ passed oiAlii. Co- ,„J7J: .-™ 
 
 «ned. Thennfferiigs 
 terror wereoMtecp^ 
 presence JMB>n, mlMMuAn^ 
 
 which-this viHiifa hJS dror^' 
 and timid naiti^ Hbtts 
 
 lis fear was n^t le^o^ 
 she felt fro'ip tills 
 
 meet 
 
 pf^l«yWeak^J 
 " It tbtam to 
 
 m 
 
 'K 
 
"•T." 
 
 194 
 
 COKD AND CREESE. 
 
 ^I 
 
 ^ i'V. 
 
 Englandii.llnd they had lived in diiTerent places, 
 until at last Brandon Hull hod fallen into his 
 hati'dK. Of the foimer bocnpants of Qrandun 
 Hull, Mrs. Compton knew almost nothing. Vei 
 
 ■" little hod ever been said about them 
 knew scarcely ahy thing about thi 
 
 ^ their names were Brandon, and 'iliat they had 
 Butfered misfortunes. 
 
 ^ Finally, tUis Beatrice was Beatrice Des})ard, 
 .'Ilie daughter of Colonel Despard and the sister 
 ] bf the clergyman then present. She herself, in- 
 stead of being the daughter of Potts, had l)een 
 "one of his victims, and had sufl'ered not the least 
 
 l^at his hands. . 
 
 -, This astounding revelation was checked by 
 frequent interruptions. The actual story of her 
 true parentage ovenvhelmed Beatrice, 'i'his was 
 the awful thought which had occurred to hei-self 
 frequently before. This was what had moved 
 her sgi/,deeply in reading the munuscript of her 
 father tin that African Isle. This also was the 
 thing which had always made her hate wjjth such 
 inteps^y the miscreant who pretended £> bo her 
 father. 
 
 Now she wag overwhelmed. She threw her- 
 self into the arms of her brother and wept upon 
 his brQ|8t. Courtenay Despard for a moment 
 rose abC^e., the gloom that oppressed him, and 
 prised to hk> heart this sister so strangely dis- 
 covered. Brdndon stood apart, looking on, 
 shaken to the soul and unnen-ed by the deep joy 
 of that un[mralleled dfscoveiy. Amidst all the 
 speiculations in which he had ii^dtdged the very 
 possibility of this had neverimgge^j^ itself. He 
 had believed most implicitly all alolig that Bea- 
 trice was in reality the :.4<kughtci' of his mortal 
 enemy. No>^^fej|^discor^1i of the tmdi came 
 upon him witraaHmvlieflcMl; force. 
 
 She raised heraW from her brother's embrace, 
 And turned an(i looked u))on the man whom she 
 adored— ^the oife who. ns she said, had over and 
 over again ^^ed^ri^M^ the one whoso life she, 
 too, in her turn HUsif^d, with whom |l^, had 
 passed so man^ a'dStenturous and momeft|ous 
 days — days of alternating peace and storm, 
 varying hope lind despair. To him shi 
 every thing ; to him sjie cfvved ev 
 of this moment. 
 
 Aa their eyes met they revi 
 most thoughts. Xhere wtis ni 
 -i;wecn them. V^pished was tli( 
 
 ^^tacle, vanished the inipossable ib^ 
 side by side. The enemy of this Jfian — his foe, 
 his victim — woi also hers. Whatever he might 
 suffier, whatever anguish might have been on the 
 face 0^ that old man who had looked at her from 
 the balcony, she had clearly no part nor lot now 
 in that suffering or that anguish. Ho 'was the 
 
 ' murderer of her father. She was not the daugh- 
 telr of this man. She was of no vulgar or sordid 
 
 . race. ^ Her blood was no longer polluted or ac- 
 cursed. She was of pure and noble lineage. 
 She was a Despard. 
 "Beatrice," said Bnnd(% withadeep, fervid 
 >B^4 n his VI ' , "~ 
 and you are mine. lieatrice, it was a lie that 
 kept us apart. My life is yours, and yours is 
 mine." 
 
 He thought of nothing but her. He spoke 
 with burning impetuosity. His words sank into 
 her soul. His eyes devoured hers in the passion 
 of their glance. . /, 
 
 ' Bcatric« 
 
 Her 
 
 he 
 
 in- 
 
 lans bo- 
 
 penifli ob- 
 
 They Btood 
 
 " Be^itrice — niy Beatrice !" he said, 
 Despard — " ' 
 
 Ho spoke low, bending his head to hers, 
 head sunk toward his breast. 
 
 Beatrice, do you now reproach ipe?" 
 
 She held out her hand, while tears stoiHl in 
 Iter eyes. Brandon seized it nnd covered it with 
 kisses. Despard saw this. In the midst of tlifm^ 
 anguish of his face a smile shone furtli, like t>iin- % 
 shine out of a clouded sky.^ He Iookd|i|| ilicse 
 two for a ihgmcnt. ^^ 
 
 I^nghetti's eyes were closed, Mre. Comptoft 
 and her son were talking apart. Despard louked 
 upon the lovers. ■ 
 
 "Let them love," he murmured to hiinscjf; 
 "let them love and bo happy. Heaven has its 
 favorites. . I do not- envy them ; I bless tliem, 
 though I love without hope.' Heaven has its fa- 
 vorites, but I am an outcast from that favor." 
 
 A shudder passed through' him. He drew 
 himself up. 
 
 "Since love is denied jne,' 
 can at least have venge 
 
 he thought, "I 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 »v THE MALAYS VENOEANCE. 
 
 ' SfiME hours afterward Despard called Bmn- 
 don outside the cottage, aiujl, walked along the 
 bank which overhung the begmi. Arriving nt a 
 point several hundred yards distant from thc,cot- 
 to^ he stopped. Brandon noticed, a dce|)cr 
 gloqin upon his face and a sterner purpose uii liiit 
 reso^te mouth. 
 
 "I liaA'-is called you aside," said Despard, "to 
 say that' I am going on a journey. I may be 
 back immediately. If I do not return, will yoii 
 say'te nliy ijne who tnay ask" — and here he lauaed 
 for a ramient — "say to any one who may ask, 
 iliat I W§e gone aiwy on important business, and 
 that the time of my comings is uncertain." 
 ■%%-^i'l suppose yfl|p8b,n be j»ard of -at Holbv, in 
 case'of ifeed." ' j*'*' 
 
 ^"♦' I am never going <Back again to Holby." 
 
 Brandon looked surprised. 
 &'*^ro one like you," said Despard, " I do not 
 object to tell my purpose. You know what it is 
 to seek forvvengeance. The only feeling that I 
 have is that. Love, tenderness, aftection, all 
 aro idle words 'with mb. 
 
 ' ' There ore three who pre-eminently were con- 
 cerned in my father's death," continued Despard. 
 "Qjie was Cigole. The Carbonari have him. 
 Langhetti tells mo that he must die, unless he 
 himself interposes to save him. And I think 
 Langhotti will never so interpose. Langhetti is 
 dying^ — another stimulus to vengeance. 
 
 "The one who has been the cause of tiiis is 
 Clark, another one of my father's murderers. He 
 is in the hands of the law. His punishment is 
 certain. 
 
 Bmama llift thinlj nnd the worst. 
 
 fe: 
 
 Your vengeance is satisiSeSon him. THino Is nof. 
 Not even the sight ot that miscreant in the atti- 
 tude of a bereaved father could for one moment 
 move mo to pity. I took note of the agony of 
 his ftice. I wotched his grief with joy. 1 wa 
 going to complete that joy. He must die, and 
 no mortal cau save him from my bonds." 
 
 -^ 
 
CORD AND Creese. 
 
 The deep, stem tones of Despard wore like the 
 k^ell of doom, and there wns in them sucli de- 
 terminate vindictiveness that Urandon saw all 
 ifemonstrance to be useless. 
 
 He marked the pale sad face of this man. Ho 
 saw ir| at the traces of sorrow of longer standing 
 than hnv which he might have felt about the 
 manu«cnpt that he had reSniJ- It was the face 
 of a man who had guttered so much that lite, hud 
 becoipe a burden. 
 
 "You are a clergj-man," said Brandon lit 
 length, with a faint Iiope that an appeal to his 
 profession might have some effect. ^ 
 
 Despard smiled cynically. 
 
 " I om a man," said he. 
 . "Can not the discoveiy of a sister," asked 
 Brandon, " atone in some degree for your crief 
 about your father?" ' 
 
 Despard shool^ lys head wearily. 
 
 "No," said he, "I must do something, and 
 only one purpose is before me now. I see your 
 motive. You wish to stop short of taking that 
 devd H life. It , is useless to remonstrate. My 
 mind 13 made jip»^ Perhaps I may come back 
 unsuccessful. Jf jb— I must be resigned, I sup- 
 pose. At any rate you know my puqtose, and 
 can let those who ask after me know, in a general 
 —y, what4 have said." 
 
 195 
 
 With A s/ight bow Despard walked awav, leav- 
 ing Brandon standing there filled with tllo.ights 
 which were half mournful, half remorseful. 
 
 Qn leaving Brandon Despard went nt once to 
 the )nn. The crowd without had dwindled nwnv 
 to halt a dozen people, who were still talkiii 
 about the one event of the day. Aloking his 
 way through thesje he entered the inn 
 
 Iho londlord stood there with a puzzled face 
 discussing with several friends the case of the 
 Uay. More particularly he was troubled- by the 
 sudden departure of the old maiAvhp about an 
 hour previously had started off iifa rfi:at liuirv 
 eaving no directions whatever q^ to whttf was to 
 be done with the body up kiJi-s. It was thw 
 which now pei-plexed the landlord. 
 
 Despard listened attentively to' the conversa- 
 tion. Ihe landlord mentioned that I'otts had 
 tuk^n the road to Brandon. The senant who 
 hud been with the young man had not been seen. 
 It Hie old man should not return what was to be 
 done? 
 
 This was enough for Despard, who had his 
 horse saddled without deby and started also en 
 the Brandon road. He rode on swiftly for some 
 time, hoping to overtake the man whom he pur- 
 sued. He rode, however, several miles with- 
 out coming in sight of him or of any one like 
 
 • ^ 
 
 
 i'i 
 
 ^iji.'SViit 
 
 # 
 
 •sSlfc- ■> .%.a.t 
 
 . .. .LJJa.J- J 
 
190 
 
 CORD AND CllEEiSE., 
 
 him. At last he reached that hollow which had 
 hccn the Hcone of hi»ei)uounter with Chirk. As 
 he descended into it ho miw a group of men by 
 the road-side suTounding some object. In the 
 middle of the road was a furmer's wngon, and a 
 horse was standing in the distance. 
 
 Despard rode up and saw the prostrate figure 
 of a man. He dismounted, 'jlio fanners stood 
 aside and d^'losed the face. 
 
 It WHS Potts. 
 
 DesjMird stooped down. It was nli-eady dusk ; 
 but even in that dim light he saw the coils of ii 
 thin cord wound tightly about the neck of this 
 victim, froin-one end uf which a leaden bullet 
 hung down. 
 
 liy that light also he saw the hilt of a weapon 
 wliich had l>cen |)lunged into his heart, from which 
 the blood had flowed in torrents. 
 
 It was n Malay crecse. Upon the handle was 
 cai'vcii a name : 
 
 JOHN FOTXS. 
 
 CHAITER MX. 
 Aiort Ti\wTatop uairaafiov SCtftiv. 
 
 TliK excitement which had prevailed through 
 the villuge of Denton was intepsiiied by the ar- 
 rival thei'e of the body uf the old man. For his 
 mysterious death no one could account except 
 one i)er8on. 
 
 That one was Brandon, whom Despard sur- 
 prised by his speedy return, and to whom he 
 narrated the circumstances of the discovery. 
 Brandon knew who it was that could wield that 
 cord, what arm it was that had held that weapon, 
 and what heart it was that was animated by suf- 
 ficient vengeance to strike these blows. 
 
 DcKpard, finding his purijose thus unexpected- 
 ly taken nwuy, remained in the village and walt- 
 zed. There was one whom he wished to see 
 again. ()n the following day Frank Brandon 
 arrived from London. lie met Langhetti with 
 deep emotion, and learned from his brother tlio 
 astonishing story of Kdith. 
 
 On the following day that long-lost sister her' 
 self appeared in company with Mrs. Thornton. 
 Her form, always fragile, now appeared frailer 
 than ever, her face had a deeper pallor, her eyes 
 an intenser lustre, her expression was more un- 
 earthly. The joy which the brothers felt at find- 
 ing their sister was subdued by an involuntary 
 Bwe which was inspired by her presence. She 
 seemed to them as she had seemed to others,, 
 like one who had arisen from the dead. 
 
 At the sight of her Langhetti's face grew ro- 
 diunt — all pain seemed to leave him. bhe bent 
 over him, and their wan lips met in the only kiss 
 which they had ever exchanged, with a|l that 
 deep love which they had felt for one another. 
 She sat by his bedside. She seemed to appro- 
 priate him to herself. The others acknowledged 
 tliis quiet claim and gave way to it. ,? ;, 
 
 ' t^she-Jiiaaed Langfaetttih4^ he nmna iaied 
 faintly s~ 
 
 " I knew you would come." '', 
 
 " Yes," said Edith. *' We will go together." 
 
 "Yes, sweetest ^nd dearest," said Ij»nghetti. 
 "And therefore we meet now never to ^>ait 
 agnin." 
 
 ^llo looked at liim fondly. 
 
 I " The time of our deliverance M near, oh mv 
 friend." ' 
 
 " Near," repeated Langlietti, with a smile of 
 
 I ecstasy — " near. Yes, you have already by your 
 
 presence brought me nearer to my immortllhtv.'' 
 
 Mrs. Thornton was pale and wan; nnd llic 
 shock which she felt at the sight of her brothci' 
 ' at first overcame her. 
 
 Despard said nothing to her through the dav, 
 but as evening came on he went up to lier and in 
 a low voice said, " Let us take a walk." 
 
 Mrs. Thornton looked at him eaniestly, and 
 then piit on her bonnet. It was quite durk.ns 
 they left the house. They walked idong the 
 rood. The sea was on their left. 
 
 "This is the hist ||mt we sliall see of one an- 
 other. Little PltiymalK," said Despard, after a long 
 silence. "I have left Holby forever." 
 
 " Left Ilolhy ! Where are you going ?" asked 
 Mrs. Thornton, anxiously. 
 
 "To join the army." 
 
 "The army!" 
 
 "Little I'ffijTiiate," said Despard, "even my ' 
 discovery of my father's death has not cliniigcil 
 me. Even my thirst for vengeance could not 
 take the place of my love. Listen — 1 Hunj; my- 
 self with all the ardor that I could command into 
 the pursuit of my father's murderers. I funeil 
 myself to an unnatural pitch Of pitile^iess nnd 
 viudictiveness. 1 set out to pursue one of the 
 worst of these men with the full dotermina'tiun 
 to kill him. God saved me from blood-gnilii- 
 ness. I (ound the man dead in the road. After 
 this all my passion for vengeance died oilt, and*I 
 was brought face to face with the old luve nnd 
 the old despair. But each of ps would die rather 
 than do wrong, or go on in a wrong courec. 'i'lie 
 only thing lefl for us is to separate forever." 
 
 "Yes, forever," murmured Mrs. Thoniton. 
 
 "Ah, Little I'liM'mate," he continued, taking ' 
 her hand, "you are the one who was not only 
 my sweet companion but the bright ideid of my 
 youth. You always stood transfigured in iny 
 eyes. You, Teresa, were in my mind somethii^ 
 lierfect — a bright, brilliant being unlike anv oth- 
 er. Whether you were really what I believed 
 you mattered not so for as the etfect n|ion me 
 was concerned. You were at once a real nnd an 
 ideal being. I believed in you^ and believe in 
 you yet. 
 
 "I was not a lover; I was a devotee. My 
 feelings toward you are such as Dante describe 
 his feelings toward his Beatrice. My love is teo- 
 der and reverential. I exalt you to a phme abbve 
 my own. What I say mav sound extravaganfto 
 vou, but it is actual fact with me. Why it should 
 be so Ijcan not telL I can only say — I am so 
 made.<;ii^ 
 
 ^ We' part, and I leave ^on; but I shall be 
 like D^te, I suppose, and as the years pass, in- 
 stead of weakening my love they will only refine 
 it and purify it . You will be to me a guardian 
 angel, a^patron saint — ^yonr name shall always 
 mingle vt-uh my prayers. Is it impious to name 
 your Bome 't^fc'ittiyrer? ~I~tttm away rfifsHt yet 
 because I would ntther suffer than do wrong. 
 Ma^ I not pray for my darting ?" 
 
 '• I don't know what to do," said Mrs. Thorn- 
 ton, wearily. "Your power over ree is fear- 
 ful. I4|^ I would do any thing for your sakB. 
 You talk about your memories ; it is not for 
 me to speak about mine. Whether you idealiu 
 

 COHD AND CREKS^ 
 
 197 
 
 -11 
 
 f 
 
 ! 
 
 •i ; ■ 
 
 1 1 
 
 SHB WAS WBK.-IX9.\|)MPABD FOLDED HER IK HIS ARMS." 
 
 me or not, after all, you must know what I reallv 
 am." "^ 
 
 " Would yon be glad never to 
 
 The hand which Despard held 
 
 " If you would be happier," Baii 
 
 "Would yon be glad if I could Wiiifcr this 
 love of mine, and moot you jtgain ascodly^os a 
 common friend f ; 
 
 " I want you to be happy. Lama," she replied. 
 
 I would suffer royselfto make you happv." 
 
 She WW weeping. Despard folded her in his 
 anna. • 
 
 "This once," said he, "the only time, Little 
 l*»ymate, in this life." • 
 
 8h& wept upon his breast. 
 
 "TAtwmW aairacriiov W/mv," said Despard 
 marmunng in a low voice the opening of the 
 •on? of the dead, so well known, so often sung, 
 
 »^ to the dead whe<» the friends bestow the " tast 
 
 II-?? J^*^^?'^'"'*''*^- Her head fell. Hii 
 lips toikched her forehead. 
 
 She felt the beating of his heart; 
 
 ™me tremble from head to foot;.Bn«nea 
 
 w«p-(tairo btoathing, every breath a sigh. 
 
 " It is onr last farewell," said he, in a voice of 
 agony. 
 
 in^I*"*" ^^ m" '">*«'f ""-a^ nnd, a few minutes 
 biter, was ndmg from the vilkge. 
 
 I 
 
 lead fell. Hu 
 
 t ; MlPt his 
 ■ shlmMrdrhis 
 
 CIIAITER LX.,' - 
 
 CO^CLU8ION.^ . --' 
 
 A MONTH passed. Despard gave no sinf. A 
 short note which ho wrote to Brandon announced 
 his nmval at London, and informed him tluit im- 
 portant affairs required his departure abroad. 
 
 The cottage was but a small place, and Bran-. ■ 
 uxr n^""'"*'' '" *'*^'^ I^nghetti conveyed to 
 the Hall. An ambulance was obtained from Exs» 
 eter, and on this LangBetti and Edith were tak^_^ 
 
 On arriving at Brandon Hall Beattice^found 
 her diary m its place of concealment, the mem- 
 ory of old sorrows which could never be forgot- 
 ten. But those old sorrows were passing away 
 How, in the presence of her new joy. 
 
 And yet that joy was darkened by the cloud 
 of a new sorrow. Langhetti was dying. His 
 
198 
 
 frail form became more and more attenuated 
 every day, liis eyes fnore lustroug, his face more 
 spiritual. Down every step of that way which 
 led to the grave Edith went wit4i him, seeming 
 in her own face and form to promise a speedier 
 advent in tliat spirit-world where she longed to 
 arrive.i ' Ueside these Beatrice watched, and Mrs. 
 Thomtoti added her tender care, 
 J Day by day Langhetti grew worse. At last one 
 day he culled for h^ violin. He had caused it to 
 be sent for on a previouii occasion, but had nov«r 
 used it. His love for music was satisfied by the 
 songs of lieatrice. Kow ' he wished to exert 
 his own skill with the last remnaflts of his 
 strength. 
 
 Langhetti was propped up by pillows, so that 
 he might hold the insti'ument. Near him Edith 
 reclined on a sofa. Her Itttgo, lustrous eyes were 
 fixed pn him. Her breathing, which came and 
 went rapidly, showed her utter weakness and 
 prostration.' 
 
 Langhetti drew his bow across tl^ strings. 
 
 It was a strange, sweet sound, weak, but sweet 
 beyond all words — a long, faint, lingering tone, 
 which rose and died and rose again, bearing 
 away the souls of those who heard it into a 
 realm of enchantment and delig>j|t. 
 
 That tone gave strength to LmTghettL - It was 
 
 /I 
 
 CQKD AND CREESE. 
 
 
 /!■ 
 
 as though some nnseen power bad been invoked 
 and had come to his aid. The tones canis^forth 
 more strongly, on firmer pinions, flying from the 
 strings and towering through the air. 
 
 The strength of these tones seemed to emjinate 
 from some unseen power ; so ajso did their mean- 
 ing. It was a meaning beyond wbat might he in- 
 telligible to those who listened — a meaning be- 
 yond mortal thought. 
 
 Yet Langhetti understood it, and so did Edith. 
 Her eyes grew brighter, a flush started to her ' 
 wan cheeks, her breathing grew more rapid. , 
 
 Tlie ipustc went on. More subtle, more pene- 
 trating, more thriMing in its mysterious meaning, 
 it rose and ^ell^ through the air, like the sung 
 of some unseen ones, who were westing for new- 
 comers to the Invisible land. ■ j 'k 
 ' Suddenly Beatrice gave a piercing cry. She » 
 rmlied to Edith's sofa. EslUh lay back, her mar- 
 ble face motionless, her white lips apart, her 
 eyes looking upWard. But the lips br^tlied no 
 more, and in the eyes there no longer beamed 
 the light of life. 
 
 At the cry of Bejitric^athe violin fell from ^ 
 Langhetti's hand, and he sank back. His face 
 was turned toward Edith. He saw her ^nd knew 
 it alL .; 
 
 He Sttid not a word, but lay with his face tuincd '^ ' 
 
 'i/. 
 
 . .7 
 
 <S^ 
 
 ' LAXaKKTTI. 0)iaW BH BOW ACKOU THB aVUlKua." 
 
 
 -, .y 
 
 J ■.■J 
 
vW"; - • 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. 
 
 toward jier. They wished to carrr her away, 
 bnt he gently reproved them. 
 
 "Wait!" he murmured. "In a short time 
 yon will carry away another also^ Wait." 
 
 They waited. ■* 
 
 An hour before midnight all was 6ver. They 
 had passed— .those pure spirits, frojft a world 
 which was uncongenial to a fairer \imr\d and a 
 purer clime. 
 
 They were buried side by side in the Bmndon 
 vaults. Frank then retnmed to London. Mrs. 
 Thornton went back to Holby. The new rector 
 was surprised^t the request Of the lady of Thorn- 
 ^ton Grange to be allowed to become organlj^ in 
 . Yrinity Chufth. She offered to pension off the 
 old man who now presided there. Her request 
 was gladly acceded to. Her zeal was remarka- 
 ble. Kvery day.^he visited the church to prac- 
 ^ce nt the organ. ITiis became the purpose of 
 li«r lif^ Yet of oU tlie piec^ two were per- 
 
 199 
 
 formed most frequently in Hfer daily practice, 
 the one being t(ie Agnus Jiei ; the other, ihk 
 rt\€VTa,qi' aama^ov of St. John Damaiicene. 
 Peace! Peace! Peace!, 
 
 Was tiifit cry of hers Unavailing? Of Despard 
 nothmg was known for some time. Mr.' Thorn-'' 
 ton once mentioned to his wife that the Hev 
 Courtenay Despard had joined the Eleventh HetA- 
 ment, and had gone to Soutli Africa, He men- 
 tioned this because he had seen a paragraph 
 stating that a -Captain Despard had been killed 
 in the Kaffir war, and wondered whether it could 
 by any possibility be their old friend or net. 
 
 At Brandon Hall, the one who had been so 
 long a prisoner and a slave soon l)ecame mistress 
 
 Ihe gloom which had rested over the house 
 was dispelled, and Brandon and his wife were 
 soon able to look back, even to the darkest period' 
 ot their lives, without fear of marring their perfect 
 happiness. " e 
 
 1 
 
 sfacetuincd * ' 
 
 e 
 
 
 4 
 
 %■■- 
 
 
 1.' 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 AUTHOR ( 
 
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 THE DODCE club- 
 
 
 ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 ■\ 
 
 By JAMES DE M|£lE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "CORD AND CREESE; OR, 
 
 THE BRANBON MYSTERV," ETC., 
 
 ETC 
 
 , •' 
 
 toiti) ®ne ^anbreb 3Hnsttatiom. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARJ " 
 
 fr.cc liKOTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 \ ''RANKLIN SQUARE. 
 
 "f» 
 
 makft I It I 
 
 J.. !,«- ' Ji 
 
 

 v 
 
 PABIg.'— THE 
 FBENQH. — H 
 
 liinBTIUTIOSB.— 
 
 - Club.— The Vim 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress,' in tJie year 1869, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the district Court of the United States for tl;e^Southem 
 
 District of New York. ' ■' ■ " 
 
 OBtEANS.— HOI 
 TO FIGHT OFJ 
 W4IHOCT BAl 
 
 IllUgTSATIOXg—n 
 
 V«i*». — Sk-i-t 
 
 THE BBONE IN . 
 , — SCICIDE A C 
 
 lU^nBATIOMg.— N 
 
 ■V',T 
 
 HABSEILLES..,..' 
 
 V 
 
 TUB HEflBED 01 
 
 . PHILOSotHUIEl 
 
 ; FA«SPORJ.°,.».. 
 
 ^BSWATION*, —Til 
 
 UZARONI AJfD M; 
 lUBgTEATIONB.'— Th 
 
 >q4 Hacarool. ■ 
 
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 • ' 
 
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 . *■ '- 
 
 
 
 
 r " — ; "^ •" 
 
 " ■ '\\ 
 
 , : „ » ■■■ :■•' 
 
 *OW)BEB.— an^a; 
 * ioMAirrio' a; 
 
 ASD WHAT QGFK 
 ISO DOMISQ.-^j 
 "^ttOUNDlHO DI» 
 
 |uwTi«|io»g._Yiin 
 -A 1 
 
 
<" 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 .^' 
 
 'hi 
 
 CUAl'TER L 
 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WJTHO^ «^^ HVMBCC8 ; AND HOW TO TBAVeT 
 W^THOnT BAGQAGE ^ ,-, 
 
 V«n*»._Sac-r.r-r-re I " Bl".-Clcoro against 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A DRIVE INTO THE CODNTHT — i »to.,~ 
 
 vKrr„H.N<l._T„E Kr^cT opVAmo ^nn 
 
 BOILED E0G8."_WHATTHEr SAW AT p^s^^,'' 
 
 -FIVE TEMPLES AND ONE « MILL " ^g 
 
 lL.r^x,o«^ ..DoYou 8eeTh.trrTheMm.i pj,. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 niE BHONE IM A RAIN.-THE MAD FRERCnsIAN 
 . -SUICIDE A CAPITAL CRIME IN FBANC^^" 13 
 
 " '*™''8— NamberT29.-IIorrorI D^paltl 
 
 T 
 
 KABSEILLES . 
 
 CHAPTER i;v. 
 
 U 
 
 CHAPTER Vwi 
 
 ■Xv 
 
 niE BEttBED OROAK-GRINDEB.— THE SENATOn 
 
 , CHAJPTER VI. 
 
 UZARONI AND MACARONI ..?....,.... J 7 
 
 ■• ' " CHAPTER VII. ^ 
 
 * • ■*"'T""«4j8e''Htor._Exl«8*iutor" 
 
 ' CHTpTEBItHl. - 
 
 ON THE WATER, WHERE BtTTONS BEES A LOST 
 
 IDEA AND GIVES CHASE TO IT, TOGETtffeR wi" 
 
 THE HEART-SICKENING BESuiTS t1e!![^opT 32 
 
 "■ZZ""""'-'""' SP«-'»^-"A Tb0M»nd Par. 
 
 SfAPTER XL 
 SnCH A FANCT FOB 8EEKIXO 
 USEFUL INFOBMATION .'-CUBIdtS TOSITION OF 
 , A WISE, AND WELL-KNOWN, ANI, PESM^LY 
 
 iLLUBiBATfOM—Tlie senator. •••••••• 
 
 CHAPTER xri. ' , 
 
 HEBCULANEUM and POMfeii, and all that THE 
 
 o» THE MINDS OP THE DODGE CLDB. 87 I 
 
 CHAPTER XIII, 
 
 VESBVinS—wOKDERFDL ASCENT OF THE COKfc 
 
 AND JtoST WONDERFUL Dl8APPEARA;«CE OF 
 MB riGGjT, AFTER WHOM ALL HIS f3d8 00 
 
 - -* CHAPTER XrV. -/ 
 
 HAONlFfcENT ATHTUDB OF THE SENATOR • BRtt." v- ' / 
 UANCT OF BrttONS , Am PLUC^ OF^/^T^ 7 
 BB MEMBERS OF THE CLUB! BT ALI,OF WHICH ' 
 THE GB^T EST EFFECTS ABB FBODPCED i" - 
 
 ««nmnw>5rK_T^e».,dlM'64,to™d._8old. 
 
 DOMBES ONC^^Ol 
 
 Tio».-»l»ntMfi 
 
 
 CHAJPtEBXV./ - ' \ 
 
 ^tr^PLBASAMTOOIIVEKiu-i „ 
 FB^END.-TfAFFECTINO FABBjTBLb.........^ fiQ 
 
 sV 
 
 *^"->vj.' 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 WCK BELATES A FAMILT LEOEKD. 53 
 
 IUSRBATI0M8.— Buying A While. — The Long-lost Sao. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 K^arr os tke hOiad. — the club asleep. — tiiky 
 
 £2ITER BBBIB. — THOUGHTS ON APPROAC IlINo"' 
 ASD EMTlMOia "THE ETEBMAL CITY.".. ... 5(5 
 iLLCSTBATioa.— To Rome. "' — —^ 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A LETTER BY DICK, .-«D CRITICISMS OF HIS 
 FBIENDS - 56 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 ST. Peter's ! — the tragic story o^ the fat 
 
 MAN IN the nALL. — HOW ANUTAEK\ TRAGEDY 
 
 NEARLY HAPPENED. THE VVCKS OF MEINHERR 
 
 8CUATT 67 
 
 lLLCgTB.iTiox.— "Gracioua Me:" 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE OLORT, GRANDEUR, BEAUTY, AXO INFISITB 
 VARIETY OF THE PIM^AN HILL; NARRATE^ 
 AND DETAILED NOT feOfcUMNARILY BUT" EX-j 
 IIAD8TIVELY, AND AFTER THE MANNER OF RA- 
 BELAIS CO 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 nARMONT ON THE PINCIAN HILL. — MUSIC HATH 
 CHARMS. — AMERICAN MELODIJBS. — THE GLORY, 
 THE POWER, AND THE BEAUTY OF YANKEE 
 DOODLE, AND THE MERCENAttY SOUL OF AN 
 ITALIAN ORGAN-ORINDER CO 
 
 lUCfTKATlOM.— Old Vlrglnn)'. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HOW A BARGAIN IS MADE. — THE WILES OF THE 
 
 ITALIAN TRADMHAN. THE NAKED SULKY 
 
 BEOOAR, AND TIIK JOVIAL, WELL-CLAD UEO- 
 OAB. — WHO IS THE KINO O* BEGGARS?... C2 
 
 iLLCSTIATIOlf.— The glirug. 
 
 \ CHAI-fER XXIII. 
 
 THE VAXirOL'D MFB OF THFf'OAFE NUOVO, ANt> 
 HOtfT SttSr^iniEIVED TliK MEWS AHOLT MAUEN- 
 TA.—BXCITEMBlrt'.—BHItllbSIASM.— TEAKS.— 
 
 bmbbXcbs...; .-. '. „ 64 
 
 Ii,Li7aTBATioii.~N'«iraof Magen^t . 
 
 >^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 CfelAPT^R XXIV. 
 
 CHECKMATE !.. 
 
 Ui-ciTBATtOH.— Dofon »^ After. 
 
 65 
 
 CHAPTER X ?vy. 
 
 CONSEQUENCES OF BEI.'^G GALLANT IN ITAI.V 
 
 WHERE THERE ARE LotER8,HU8llAN|>S,l)]i()Tll! 
 
 ER8, FATHERS, COUSINS, MD l.VNUMpitAIlI.r; 
 
 OTHER RELATIVES AND CONNECTIONS, Al.r! 
 
 READY WITH THE STILETTO .'. (jg 
 
 iLmsTEAT**)*.— An In^pmiptlon. ( 
 
 CHAPTER XXyil. 
 
 DICK O^THE SICK;0§T.— RAITURE OF lltlTTOXS 
 AT MAKING AN lS»5ijlTANT DISCOVERY. ... 71 
 
 Illcstbation.— P«i^r DicKl 
 
 , CHAPTER XXVYn. 
 
 WHAT KIND OF A LETTER THE 8EXAT0H WROTE 
 FOR THE "new ENGLAND PATRIOT," WIIICII 
 SHOWS A TRUE, LIBERAL, UNBIASED, PLAIN, VS- 
 VARNISHED VIEW OF ROME ' 73 
 
 Illustbation Sketches by a Friend. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE LONELY ONE AND HIS COJIFORTER.— THE 
 TRUE MEDICINE FOR A SICK MAN 7,-, 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 OCCUPATIONS AND PEREGRINATIONS OF 
 TONS ■__ 
 
 ItLCBTKATiON Buttona and Murray. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 BUTTONS ACTS THE GOOD SAMARITAN, AND 
 ERALLY UNEARTHS A MOST UNEXPECTED 
 TIM OF AN ATROCIOUS RQBBERY. — GR-R- 
 CIOU8 me! f\'l- 
 
 SR XXXI 
 
 BUT- 
 
 77 
 
 i.rr- 
 vic- 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 ANOTHER DISCOVERY MADE ^Y BLTTO^S... 
 
 CHAPTER XXXHI. 
 
 UplKlKlK Kouf K0«{ Kojf. 
 
 ILLUBTUATION.— nrckekokck Koax Koi^x! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIvi. 
 
 THE SENATOR PURSUES HIS INVESTIOAItOXS.— AV 
 INTELLIGENT ROMAN TOUCHES A CHUIII) IN TIIB 
 SENATOR'S HEART THAT VIBRATES.. — RESULTS 
 
 OF THE VIBRATION. A VISIT FROM ,TIIE ROMAS 
 
 POLICE ; AND THE GREAT RACE DOWN THE COR- 
 80 BETWEEN THE SENATOR AND A ROMAN gPK. 
 — OLEE OF THE POPULACE ' — III! Hi'.... 80 
 
 iLUtiTMnoxR.— Oot You There I— Walking g|)iniali. 
 CHAITER XXXV. 
 
 PICK MAKES ANOTHER EFFORT, AND BEOIKg TH 
 
 HUTTONB A MAN OF ONjS IDEA.— DICIC AND HIS 
 
 MBA8UR1N« XA1»E, — DARK KT BK. — SUSCRPTI- 
 
 BLE HE^RT.— TO0NO MAIDEN WHO LIVES OUT 
 
 ^OF TiyWN.— GBAlID COLLISION OF TWO AB- 
 
 ITBACneO L0V9BS IN THE PUBLIC STREETS. 66 
 
 IUDmasiuifc-^way|«.r«plUi 
 
 FEEL ENCOUBAO KD .7. 83 
 
 Il.LCBTIIATIO!«.-^ick llliokl it'Ovo'. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 SHOWIN& HOW DIFFICULT TT IS TO GET A tM!t- 
 PBESS, FOR THE SEMATOR WAKTKB 0X1, tSO 
 
 - • . .M. . * 
 
'(M*»J' - 
 
 FOUTEB. 
 S 
 
 — TflE 
 
 7j 
 
 OSS OF 
 
 DUT- 
 
 . 77 
 
 KP nEGISg TO 
 
 ROT Kxowujo niE laVguaoe got ikto a' 
 
 SCEAPE, NOT BV HIS OW* FAULT, FOR HE WAS 
 CAEEFDL ABOUT COMMITTING HIMSELF l¥ITH 
 TUB LADIK8; llliT PRAY, WAS IT IU8 FAULT 
 IF THE LADIES WOULD TAKE A FANCY TO 
 «•«? - 85 
 
 'rr« Wofe *'"'""' '^ • "^ •"^-TOe ^no. 
 
 'CIlJ^^'TEB xxxvjr. 
 
 \ 
 
 Rome. — Anaentllistoty. — the pbehiStoiiic 
 
 ERA.— CRITIC J* EXAMINATION OP NIBBUHR 
 AND HIS 8CIl6^..— Tlk EAItLY HISTORY OF 
 ROME PLACED ON A RIGHT BASIS.— EXI'LANA- 
 TION OF HISTORY OF HEPUllLIC— NAPQLEON'S 
 
 "CESAR." THE IMPERIAL REGIME. THE 
 
 NORTHERN BARBARIANS RISE OP THE PA- 
 PACY.— MEDI.eVAL ROMB. 
 TopO<jraphg.—IBVii ADJUSTMENT OP BOUNUh OF 
 ANCIENT CIT^— ITS PROBABLE POPULATION.— 
 OeOfoyjr.— EXAMINATION OF FORMATION — 
 TUFA TRAVERTINE.— ROMAN CEMENT.— TEREA- 
 
 cortx.—SjKcial consideration of Roman Cata- 
 
 C0m6«.—B0SIO.-l-ARHIN0in.—VAEDINAL WISE- 
 MAN. — RECENT EXPLOKATIOIWJSJNVESTIOA- 
 TIOSS, EXAMINATI0S8, E.XIIDMATIOMS, AND RE- 
 SUSCITATIONS. —EARLY CHRISTIAN HISTORY 
 SET ON A TRUE BASI8.—RELIC8.— MARTYRS 
 —HEAL ORIGIN OF CATACOMBS.— TRUE AND 
 RELIABLE EXTENT (wiTH MAPS). 
 
 Remarhon Art.— the renaissance.— the ear- 
 ly PAINTERS: CIMABUE, GIOTTO, PEHUOINO, 
 HAFAELLB SANZIO, MICHELANGELO BUONAROT- 
 TI.-THB TRAKSFIGUIJATION.- THE MOSE^ OF 
 MICHELANGELO. — BELLINI.- SAINT PETER's, 
 AND MORE PARTICULARLY THE COLONNADE — 
 THE LAST JUDGMENT.- DANTE.— THE MEDI.E- 
 VAL SPIRIT.— EFFECT OF GOTHIC ART ON ITAI Y 
 AND ITALIAN TASTE. —COMPARISON OF LOM- 
 BARD WITH SICILIAN CHURCHES.— TO WHAT 
 E.\TENT ROME INFLUENCED THIS DEVELOP- 
 ME.NT. — THE FOSTERING SPIRIT OF THE 
 CHURCH.- ALL MODERN ART CHRISTIAN.— 
 WHY THIS WAS A NECESSITY.— FOLLIES OF 
 MODERN CRITICS.- REYNOLDS AND RUSKIN.- 
 now FAR POPULAR TASTE IS MORTII ANY 
 THLNG.— CONCLUDING REMARKS OF A MISCEL- 
 LANEOUS DESCRIPTION.. ; 88 
 
 ., CHAPTER XLT. 
 
 FINAL J^ACK OP REINFOBCEMENTS OF BEIO- 
 ANDS.— THE DODGE CLDB D|;PIES THEM AND 
 KEPELS THEM.^HOW TO MAKE A BARRICADE 
 — FRATERNI2ATi6n op AMERICAN EAGLE AND 
 GALLIC COCK.— there's NOTHING LIKE LEATH- 
 ^^■■■■f-- : 06 
 
 lLLU8T^ATio»._An International Affidr. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 K. 
 
 I'lOEENCE.— DESPERATION OP BUTTONS, OF MR. 
 
 FI0G8, AND OF THE DOCTOR 99 
 
 lLLiraTKATiONa_Florenco,fram S«n Miniatn.-Plttl Pal- 
 EnTwy! ^""""""'^-A^zzJ Palace.- Uuttona 
 CHAPTER XLIII. , 
 
 THE SENATOR ENTRAPPED.— Tllli WILES AND 
 WITCHERY OF A QUEEN OF SOCIETY. — HIS 
 FATE DESTINED 1<» BE, AS HE THINKS, ITALIAN 
 COUNTESSES.— SEN-tlMENTAL CONVERSATION — 
 
 POETfeY.—BEAUTY^MOONLJGHT.— RAPTURE. 
 —DISTRACTION.— BLISS '.\.. y^. \Q^ 
 
 Ilh;str.\tion.— Lii Clca. 
 
 3!. .>., 
 
 ■ r 
 
 CHAPTER xxxviir. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 MORERE DIAGORA, NON ENIM IN^fcffiLUil' AD- 
 8CENSURU8 ES."— THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE 
 SENATOR (NOTHING LESS— IT WAS A MOMENT 
 IN WHICH A MAN MIGHT WISH TO DIE- 
 THOUGH, OF COURSE, THE SENATOR DIDN'T 
 
 ""'"^ 10« 
 
 Ii.UTSTE^TiON8.-Solfeiino!_Tho Senator Speaks. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE PRIVATE OPINION OF THE DOCTOR UIOUT 
 FOREIGN TRAVEL. — BUTTONS STILL MEETS 
 WITH AFFLICTIONS jgjj 
 
 Iu.u3Tn\iioHS.-A Grease Spot.-Farewell, FIgga! 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 A MEMORABLe DRIVE.- NIGHT.— THE BRIGANDS 
 ONCE MORE.— garibaldi's NAME;— THE FIRE. 
 —THE IRON BAR.— THE MAN FROM THE GRAN- 
 ITE STATE AND HIS TWO BOYS lH 
 
 A Free Fight— Dou't 
 
 "'li!»^"*?»'" ""''"*' ""■"«— ^CBA^-nnKEAK-! I,...r.TnAT.o.x8. -In the Coach. 
 
 nOWN. — AN AUMY OF BEGGARS. —SIX MKN i SlKak. 
 
 HUNTING IP A CARRIAGE WHEEL; AND PLANS 1 
 
 OF THE SENATOR FOB THE GOOD OP ITALY. 88 ' 
 lurmpOATioN^-Tra^ltog in lUly.'-The Senator's Es- 
 
 CHAPTER XLVH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 IttiniPHANT PROOEE88 OF DICK. -GENDARMES 
 lOILLII.— THE DODGE CLUB IS ATTACKED BY 
 
 ■ """-^WS, AND EVERY MAN OF IT COVERS IIIM- 
 BfcLF WITH 0LOBY.-8CREAM OF THE AMERI- 
 CAN eagle! 
 
 TMmATiosfc-DIck In hia'oiwjv 
 
 9Ui 
 
 -Pletro The Barrl- 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 PIKASANT MEDITATIONS ABODTtRe WONDERS OT 
 TOBACCO; AND THRkB PLriMANT ANHCDOTB8 
 ■r AN ITALIAM BHIO( 
 
 BAD imCrSES, BUT GOOD MUSES. — THE HON- 
 ORABLE SCABS OF DICK —A KNOWLEDGE Of 
 ""'"iS _; ,j5 
 
 CHAPtEll XLVIII. 
 
 SUrPKRINO AND SIlNTIMENT iT BOLOGNA MOON- 
 
 SHINE. — BEST BALM FOR Wi)UI(D8 117 
 
 UlUBTHATIO.V UtPfl ITp. > 
 
 I'*, 
 
 CHAPTER xr.ix. 
 
 CBOSgINO ISX»TIIE ENKMT'S CODNTHT.r-CON- 
 STBBMATION OF "the Cl'^TOX-HO0tB OPFI- 
 
 CKR9-... 118 
 
 Klcstbatio.v,— ButtoDi In BlUa. 
 
 ^\>-. 
 
 -^ 
 
 >t 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 VENICE AND ITS FECCI.U8 OLORT.-^THB DODOE 
 CLUB COMB ;^ORIEr AT LAST. — pP A THEE.— 
 a A NET, ETC L 119 
 
 iLLCsjraATiONg— Dlck'9 Luggsge.— Arretted.— Silence! 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE AMERICAN EAOLE AND THE A(^TRIAN DOlTll- 
 LE-HEADED Drrio ,....^ 122 
 
 /ixcBTBATioH.— "Don't Try it On WlthJMe!" 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 CHAPTER LH. 
 
 I 
 
 THE SENATOR STILL ENGAGED IN I FACING DOWN 
 THE AUSTBUN.— TUB AMEBIojlN fONKJL.— 
 UNEXPECTED RE-APPEARANCE OP FORdOTTEN 
 4HIN08. — COLLAPSE OP THE COtRT 124 
 
 ILU7BTBATI0N.— Watts Mis-ppelled. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII.j< 
 
 A MTSTEBKJD8 PLIGHT. — DE8FAI|k OP BUTTONS. 
 — PURBDIT.— HISTORIC GROUND, AND HISTORIC 
 CITIES .' J 126 
 
 ILLISTOAXIOH.— Formalities. '. i ^ 
 
 PICK MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. — THE EM0TI0*;ai 
 NATOItE OF THE ITALIAN. — THE SENATOR OVEH. 
 COME AND DUMBFOUNSED J^g 
 
 lu.usTiMTioii.— The Count Ugo. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 IN WHICH BUTTONS WRITES A LETTER ; AXD IS 
 WHIC^I THE CLUB LOSES AN IMPORTANT MEM- 
 BER. — SMALL BY DEGREES AND DBAUTIPULLY 
 LESS 129 
 
 ^ CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 THE FAITHFUL ONE I DARTS, DISTRACTION 
 
 love's VOWS, OVERPOWERING SCENE AT THE • 
 
 MEETING OP TWO FOND ONES. COMPLETE 
 
 BREAK-DOWN OF THE HISTORLiN ]30 
 
 Illubteation. — The Door. 
 
 CHAPTER LVH. 
 
 THE DODOE CLUB IN PARIS ONCE MORE.— BUT- 
 TONS'S "jolly GOOD HEALTH." 130 
 
 illustbatWn.— "He's a Jolly Good Fellow I" 
 
 o 
 
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 9 
 
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 \ 
 
 ■^\ 
 
 f ■■« 
 
SI!*'-: 
 
 \ 
 
 THE «)DGE aUB, OB, ITALY IN MDCflCLIX, 
 
 • lUCKl. 
 
 ClifAl^EKI. 
 
 ""^'in^r^" DODGE CLUB.-noW TO SPEAK 
 F^5fCn.-Hpw TO RAISE A C80WD. 
 
 _ It ».a. glorious dny in Itris, - The whole 
 
 ^ll f i°/''° P"''"'= P'""^""' watching the 
 departure of the army of Italy. Every imagi- 
 «.blo uniform, on foot and on horsd^ck, en- 
 "Tens the nrpno "' ~ 
 
 --T-X^ ."g'^IlL Z o uaYX j a are. c v eV >>vl w re; 
 
 ImliT r 5"7 '°""** *'°' '°°''*"ff <■«'""«"« 
 blXl! ^'I"* ''^'^ magnificent. 7nn„mora- 
 Wo 1 ttle. red-legged soldiers of tiio lino dance 
 aDOttt, gesticnlating veherhently. Griscttcs 
 jMg alont the neoks of departing braves. A 
 great many tears are ^ed, and a great deal-of 
 
 bombast uttered. For the 
 invincible soldiers of Franco 
 are off to fight for an idea ; 
 and doesn't every one of 
 them carry a marshal's ba. 
 ton in his knapsack ? 
 
 A troop of Cent Gardes 
 comes tha'iidering down in 
 a cloud of dul^ dashing the 
 people right and left. Loud • 
 cheers arise : " Vive TEm- 
 perenr!" The hoarse voices 
 of myriads prolong the yell. 
 It is Louis Napoledn. He 
 touches bis hat gracefully 
 to the crowd. 
 
 A chasseur leaps into a 
 cab. 
 
 "Wliere shall I take 
 you ?" . 
 
 "To Glory!" shouts the 
 ■soldier. * ' 
 
 . The crowd applaud. The 
 ca'bman drives off and don't 
 wan\ any further direction. 
 Here a big-bearded Zou- 
 ave kisses his big-bearded 
 brother In a blouse. 
 
 "Adieu, nion fr5re; 
 write me." , 
 
 ''^here shall I'Wiito ?" ■ 
 ' 'Direct to "Vienna-^>d«te 
 restante." 
 
 Every^ fcody laughs at 
 every thing, and the) crowd 
 are quite wild at this. 
 "A young man is perched 
 upon a pallar jjear the gar- 
 of the Tuilof ies. ' lie enjoys the scene , 
 ^ ily. After'a whil6 he takes a clay pipe 
 !S pocket and slowly fills it. Havingcom- 
 J^Ais- business he drft\»s a matplt along 
 Jfiii^ijd is just about lighting his pipe. 
 Haj!*!" ■ 
 
 '''&own)j9>»ps the lighted match on the neck 
 1° ^ °" ^?^n " 1^ ^V ^- The man scowls up; 
 ™»e««^ii^*i8c, BmlTei and waves his h&ni""' 
 forgivinCTt^i \ mit • * 
 
 At this nf-qpR m!an in the midst of the 
 crowd stops iRia 1<^oks around. He Is a shWt 
 young rtian, in whose Jace there is a strange 
 mixture of innocence and shrewdness. He i» 
 
 >... 
 
-^w 
 
 6 
 
 The dodge club j on, italy in mdccclix. 
 
 palling a bnby-carriago, containing a small 
 specimen of French nationality, and beliind 
 him walks a majestic female. 
 
 The young man Dick takes a quick survey 
 and recognizes the person who has called liim. 
 Down drops the pole of the carriage, and, to 
 the horror of the majestic fcm'ale, ho darts off, 
 and, springing up the pillar, gntspa first the foot 
 and then the hand of his friend. 
 
 "Buttons !" he cried ; " what, you ! vou hero 
 in Paris!" 
 
 " I believe I am." 
 
 " Why, when did yon come ?" 
 
 " About a month ago." 
 
 "I had no idea of it. I didn't know you 
 
 "And I didn't know that you were. I 
 thought by this time that you were in Italy. 
 What has kept you here so long ?" 
 
 Dick looked confused. ; 
 
 ,fact is, I am studying German." 
 
 in Paris I French, vou mean." 
 ^» * 
 
 izy; who with?" 
 his head toward his late corn- 
 
 woman ? How she is scowling 
 
 'Wl 
 
 nt us!" 
 
 "Is she ?" sail) Dick, with some trepidation. 
 
 "Yes. But doii't look. Have you been 
 with her all the time ?" 
 
 "Yes, seven montlis." 
 
 "Studying German!" cried Buttons, witli a 
 Uiugh. "Who is she?" 
 
 " Madame Bang. 
 
 "Bang? Well; Madame Banife must look 
 out for another lodger. You must come wiili 
 me, yoijng man. You need a guardian. It's 
 well that I came in time to rescue you. Let's 
 be off!" 
 
 And the two youths descended and were 
 soon lost in the crowd. 
 
 " Three flights of steps are bad enough ; but 
 great Heavens ! what do you mean by taking a 
 fellow up to the eighth story?" * 
 
 Such was the exclamation of Dick as he fell 
 exliausted into a seat ifl ft little room at the top 
 of one of the tallest houses in Paris. 
 " Economy', my dear bov." 
 "Ehem!" 
 
 "Paris is overflowing, and I could get no 
 otlior place without paying an enormous price. 
 Now I nm trj-ing to husband my mcjans." 
 " I should think so." 
 ' ' 1 sleep here — " 
 "And have plenty of bedfellows." 
 " I eat here—" 
 
 " The powers of the human stomach arc as- 
 tounding." 
 
 "And hero I invite my friends." 
 "Friends only, J should think. Nothing 
 but the truest friendship could make a mao 
 hold out in such an ascent." 
 
 "But come. Wh&t are j'our plons ?" 
 "I have none." 
 
 " Then you must leagne yourself with me." 
 "^I shall ho delighted." 
 " And I'm going to Italy." 
 '• Then I'm afraid onr league is already at an 
 end." 
 
 "Why?*' ■ 
 
 " I haven't money enough." 
 "How much have you?" 
 " Onlj^ five hundred dollars ; I've 
 spent all the rest of my allowrncc.'' 
 ,"Five hundred? Why, man, I 
 have only four hundred." " " ' 
 
 "WhatI and you're going to Italy?" 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Then I'll go too and run the risk. 
 Buti^this the style ?" and Dick looked 
 dolefully around. 
 
 " By no means— not always. But-' 
 you must practice economy." 
 " Have you any acquaintances?" 
 " Yes, two. We three have formed 
 ourselves into a society for the purpose 
 of going to Italy. We call oursclve* 
 the ^Jodgo Club." 
 " The Dodge Club ?'» 
 " Yes. Because our principle is to 
 dodge all humbugs and swindles, which 
 make travelling so expensive generally. 
 We iiftve gained mueh experiencfrak 
 ready, and hope to gain more. One 
 of my friends is a doctor from Phil- 
 adelphia, Doctor Snakeroot, and the 
 other is Senator Jones from Maasa* 
 cbuictts. Neither theJJoctor nor the 
 Senator andcntand » word of any lan> 
 
m' ■'■ ■"> 
 
 THE DODGfi CLUB J OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 gatge but tho American. That is th« renson 
 why I became acquainted with them. ' 
 
 "First as to tho Doctor, I picked him up at 
 Dunkirlc. It was in a caf<5. I was getting my 
 modest breakfast when I saw him come in. 
 He sat down and boldly asked for coffee. Aft- 
 9r tho usual delay tho gar^on brought him a 
 small cup filled with what looked like ink. 
 On the waiter was a cup of eau de vie, and a lit- 
 tle plate contaiping several enormous liim))g of 
 loaf-sugar. Never shall I forget the Doctor's face ' 
 of amazement. He looked at each jtrtii-lo in sue- ' 
 cession. What was tho ink for ? what the brnn- ' 
 dy ? what the jugar ? Ho did not know that tho 
 two first wlien mixed makes the best drink in tho 
 world, and tliat tho last is intended for the pock- 
 et of the guest by force of a custom dear to ev- 
 ery Frenchman. To make a long story short, 
 I e.\pluined to him the mysteries of French <!of- 
 fee, and we became sworn friends. 
 - "My meeting with the Senator was under 
 slightly different circumstnnees. It was early 
 in the-^orping. It was chilly. I was walk- 
 ing briskly out of town. Suddenly I turned 
 a cornor and came upon a crowd. Thcv sur- 
 rounded a tall man. IIo was an American, 
 and appeared to bo insane. First ho /iiade 
 gestures like a man hewing or chopping. Then 
 he drew his hand across his throat. Then ho 
 staggered forward and pretended to fall. Then 
 he groaned heavily. After which ho raised him- 
 splf np and looked at the crowd with an air of 
 mild inquirj-. They did not laugh, fhey did not 
 oven smile. They listened respcctfullv, for thev 
 knew that tho strange gentleifian wished to ex- 
 
 press something. On the whole, I think if I 
 hadn't come up that tho Senator would have 
 been arrested by a stiff gendarme who wog just 
 then coin^^long the street. As it was, I ar^ 
 nvod jog^ftitno to learn that ho was anxious 
 '° *<"» UPrench mode of killing cattio, and 
 was trying to find his way to the abattoirs. 
 Iho Senator is a fine man, but eminently prac- 
 tical. He used to think tho French language 
 an accomplishment only. Ho has changed his 
 mind since his arrival here. Ho has orje little 
 peculiarity, and that is", to bawl brofeca'Enj.lish 
 at the top of his voice when ho wants to cora'inu- 
 nicato with foreigners." 
 
 ^ot long afterward tho Dodge Club received 
 a new member in the person of Mr. Dick Whif- 
 fletree. Tho introdnctioii took place in a mod, 
 est cafe, where a dinner of six courses was sup. 
 plied for the ridiculous sum of one franc— soup, 
 a roast, a fry, a bake, a fish, n pie, bread at 
 discretion, and a glass of vinegar generously 
 thrown in. 
 
 At one end of the table sat the Senator, a 
 very large and muscular man, with iron-gray 
 hair, and features that wore very strongly 
 marked nnd very strongly American. He ap- 
 peared to bo about fifty years of age. At the 
 other sat tho Doctor, a slender young man in 
 Wack. On one side sat Buttons^ nnd opposite 
 te him was Dick. , 
 
 "Buttons," said the Senator, "were you out 
 yesterday ?" 
 "I was." 
 "It was a powjfrful crowd." 
 
 " Rather largo." 
 " It was Im-mense. I never 
 befure had any idea of the popu- 
 lation of Paris. New Tork 
 isn't to be compared to'li."" 
 
 " As to crowds, that is noth- 
 ing uncommon ip I'aris. Set 
 a rat loose in the Champs Ely- • 
 sees, and I bet ten thousand 
 people will be after it in flv* 
 minutes." 
 "Sho!" 
 
 "Anything will raise n crowd 
 in Paris." 
 
 "It will bo a small one, 
 then." 
 
 " My dear §enator, in an 
 hour from this I'll engage my- 
 selfjo^ise as largo a crowd aa ■ 
 llie Onejwu sow yestcrdav." 
 
 " My jlear Buttons, yoii look 
 like it." 
 
 i\ ^^ 
 
 incamestr" 
 
 TUK ui.ua. 
 
 : ,-A 
 
 r 
 
 SJcycV more so. 
 
 there is an immense 
 crowd outside already." 
 
 "Then let the scene of my 
 trial be in a less crowded place 
 —the Place Vendome, for in- 
 itance." 
 
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 Sciences . 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716)S73^S03 
 
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8 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX 
 
 • " Name the conditions." 
 
 "In an hour from this I engage to fill the 
 Place Vendome with people. Whoever fails 
 forfeits a dinner to the Club." 
 
 The eyes of Dick and the Doctor sparkled. 
 
 "Done !" said the Senator. 
 
 "All that you have to do," said Buttons, 
 " is to go to the top of the Colonno Vendome 
 and wave your hat three times when you «*nt 
 ^e to begin." 
 
 "I'll do that. But it's wrong," said the* 
 Senator. " It's taking money from you. You 
 must lose." 
 
 "Oh, don't bcakrmed," said Buttons, cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 The Dodge Club left for the Place Ven- 
 dome, and the Senator, separating himself 
 from his companions, began the ascent. But- 
 tons left his friends at a corner to see the 
 
 result, and walked quickly down a neighboring 
 street. 
 
 Dick noticed that every one whom' he met 
 stopped, stared, and then walked quickly for- 
 ward, looking up at the column. These peo- 
 ple accosted others, who did the same. In n 
 few minutes many hundreds of people were 
 looking up and exchanging gknccs with one an- 
 other. 
 
 In a short time Buttons had completed the 
 circuit of the block, and re-entered the Place 
 by another street. Ho was running at a quick 
 pace, and, at a moderate calculation, about two 
 thousand gamins de Paris ran before, beside, 
 and behind him. Geils d'armes caught the ex- 
 citement, and rushed frantically, about. Sol- 
 diers called to one another, and tore across the 
 square gesticulating and shouting. Caniagcs 
 stopped; the occupants stared up at the col. 
 umn ; horsemen drew up their rearing horses ; 
 dogs barked ; children screamed ; up flew a 
 thousand windows, out of which five thousand 
 h6ads were thrust. 
 
 At the end of twenty minutes, after a very 
 laborious journej^ the Senator reoched the top 
 of the column, 'lie looked down. i 
 
 A cry of amazement burst from luim. The 
 immense Place Vendome was crammed with 
 human beings. Innumerable upturned faces 
 were staring at the startled Senator. All 
 around, the lofty houses sent all their inmates 
 to the open windows, through which they look- 
 ed up. The very house-tops were crowded. 
 Away down all the streets wliich led to the 
 Place crowds of hum|in beings poured along. 
 
 " Well," muttered the Senator, " it's evident 
 that Buttons understands these Frenchmen. 
 However, I must perform my part, so hero 
 goes." 
 
 And the Senator, majestically removing his 
 hat, waved it slowly around his head seven 
 times. At the seventh whirl his fingers slipped, 
 and a great gust of wind caught the hat and 
 blew it far out into the air. 
 
 TUK IXAUI TkHMI.4K. 
 
 
 ..• M^^Mls''*''^ 
 
 ■^i^'.j^liJSiliih^M^ U^'.'^i^ 
 

 THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. - 
 
 r 
 
 I ItfelL 
 
 A deep groan of horror burst forth fiflm the 
 mnltttnde, so deep, so long, so terrible that the 
 Senator tpmed pale. 
 
 A hundred thousand heads upturned; two 
 hundred thousand arms wared furiously in the 
 air. The tide of new-comers flowing up the 
 other streets filled the Place to overflowing; 
 and the vast host of people swayed to and fro,' 
 agitated by a thousand passions' AH this was 
 the work of but a short time. 
 
 "Come," said the Senator, " tliis is getting 
 beyond a joke." 
 
 There was a sudden movement among- the 
 people at the foot of the column. The Senator 
 kaned over to see what it was. 
 
 At once a great cry came up, like the than- 
 der of a cataract, warningly, impcriousry, tor- 
 ribly. The Senator drew back confounded. 
 
 Suddenly he advanced again. He shook his 
 head deprecatingly, and waved his arms as if to 
 disclaim any evil motives Which they might im- 
 pute to him. But they did not comprehend 
 him. Scores of stiff gens d'ormes, hundreds of 
 little soldiers, stopped in their rush to the foot 
 of the columif to shako their fists and scream ot 
 him. 
 
 "Now if I only understood their doosid lin- 
 go," thought the Senator. "But"— after a 
 pause—" it wouldn't be of no account up here 
 And what an awkward fix," he added, " for tlic 
 father of a family tb stand hatless on the top 
 of a pillory like this I Sho !" 
 
 There came a deep rumble from the hollow 
 stairway beneath him, which grew nearer and 
 Ipudcr every moment. 
 
 , "Somebody's coming," said the Senator. 
 Wa'al, I'm glad. Misery loves company 
 Perliaps I can purchase a hat." 
 
 In five minutes more the heads of twenty 
 gens darmes shot up through the opening in 
 the top of the pillar, one after another, and re- 
 minded the Senator of the " Jump-up-John- 
 mes"in children's toys. Six of them seized 
 nim and made him prisoner. 
 
 The indignant Senator remonstrated, and in- 
 formed them that ho was an American citizen. 
 His remark made no impression. They did 
 not understand English. 
 
 The Senator's wrath made his hair fairly 
 bristle. He contented himself, however, with 
 drawing up the programtne of an immediate 
 war between France ajid th«^Great Republic. 
 
 «ed. It was choked with people rushing op. 
 t>«vcn gent emen fainted, and three escaped with 
 ^ly sprained limbs. During this /ime the 
 Senator remained in the custody of his capto«. 
 
 At last the column was cleaiwl. 
 
 T h e priaon cr »«, token down «n>hptewHnT 
 WD. Mo gaw the dense crowd and heard the 
 ffllRhty mnrmnra of the people. 
 
 It -! "'! ^'ir" '"^"^ *■•" "» immense distance. 
 u seemed miles. 
 
 iJUl^ "''.n!*'* '''"• Of •¥go edifice rose 
 "^fcwhim. The cab drove under a dark arch- 
 
 "di <■ - ■ V ' ' 
 
 way, Thrf Senator thought of the dungeons of 
 the Inquisition, and other Old World horrors of 
 which he bad heard in his boyhood. 
 
 So the Senator had to give the dinner. TW 
 Club enjoyed it amazingly. 
 
 Almost at the moment of his entrance But- 
 tons had arrived, arm in arm with the Amer- 
 lean minister, whoso representations and ex- 
 planations procured the Senator's release. 
 
 " I wouldn't have minded it so much," said 
 the Senator, from whose manly bosom the last 
 trace of vexation had fled, "if it hadn't been 
 for that darned policeman that collared me first 
 What a Prudence it was that I didn't knock 
 him down ! Who do you think he was ?" 
 "Who?" 
 
 "The very man that was going to arrest me 
 the other day wlicn I was trying to find my way 
 to the slaughter-house. That man is my evil 
 genius. I will leave Paris before another day." 
 " The loss of your hat completed my plans " 
 said Buttons. "Was that done on purpose'? 
 Did you throw it down for the sake of savine 
 'Take my hat?'" '' *" 
 
 " No. It was the wind," said the Senator, 
 innocently. "But how did you manage to 
 ■ raise the crowd ? You haven't told us that yet. " 
 "How? In the simplest way possible. I 
 told every soul I met that a crazy man was go- 
 ing up the Colonne Vendomo to throw himself 
 down." 
 
 A light burst in upon the Senator's soul. 
 He raised his new hat from a chair, and placing 
 it bcfor* Buttons, said fcnently and with unc- 
 tion : 
 
 Keep it, Buttons!" 
 
10 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 TUAT 8 A UOTFL lUU- 
 
 CIIAPTER II. 
 
 ORLEANS. — HOW TO QUELL A LANDLORD. — HOW 
 TO FIGHT OFF HUMDCOS ; AND HOW TO TRAVEL 
 WITHOUT BAOOAOB. ' 
 
 A TREMENDOUS uproaf in th(;Jiall of n hotel 
 at Orleans awaked every member of the Dodge 
 Club from the sound and refreshing slumber 
 into which (they had fallen after a fatiguing 
 journey from Paris. 
 
 Filing out into the hall one after another they 
 beheld a singular spectacle. 
 
 It was a fat man, bald-headed, middle-aged, 
 with a ncU-to-do look, that burst upon their 
 sight. , . > 
 
 He was standing in the hall with flushed face 
 and stocking feet, swearing most frightfully. A 
 crowd of waiters stood around shrugging their 
 shoulders, and trying to soothe him. As the 
 fat man spoke English, and the waiters French, 
 thcro was a little misapprehension. 
 
 "There, gentlemen," cried the fat man, as 
 he caught sight of our four friends, " look at 
 that ! What do yon call that ?" 
 
 " That ?" said Buttons, taking a paper which 
 the fat man thrust in his face, " why, that's a 
 hotel bill." 
 
 • " A hotel bill ? Why it's nn imposition !" 
 cried the other excitedly. 
 
 " I'erhaps it is," said Buttons, coolly. 
 
 "Of course it is ! Read it out load, and lot 
 these gentlemen see what they think of it." 
 
 " I'll read it in English," said Buttons, "for 
 the benefit of the Club:" 
 
 MiMter Dbmt, 
 
 -Jtt tte Ua bMnJMt^ 
 
 One bed S frnnrr. 
 
 Dneboota 1 '■ 
 
 One candle 1 '- 
 
 One candle 1 " 
 
 One candle 1 " 
 
 One candle 1 " 
 
 t>6 frauc*. I 
 
 One dinner B franca. 
 
 Plx pnrtera. '■ 
 
 One cab 1 " 
 
 Onetio S " 
 
 Oiiv Infonnntlon. 5 " 
 
 Wine " 
 
 Tubaoeo g " 
 
 "By Jove! Thirty-five francs! My dew 
 Sir, I quite agree with j»u. It's an imposi- 
 tion," . "t^^/i 
 
 A deep sigh cxpras||(J ^ho relief of the fat 
 ^man at this mar^ o/ sympathy^! ' 
 
 " There's no j|||^^' s^id Bnttons. " You'll 
 have to grin ^[^^HpV J'or you must know 
 thot hj thc^e'|HHKyns hotel-keepers nre in 
 league, oflfensi\'onfia defensive, with nil the 
 cab-drivers; Jomnibus-drivcrs, postillions, truck- 
 men, ho^tlQrsj porters, errand-boys, cafe-keep- 
 ers, ciecron^s, tradesmen, lawyers, chamber- 
 maids, doctors, priests, soldiers, gens d'armcs, 
 fliagistrates, etc., etc., etc. In short, the whole 
 commniiity is a joint-stock company organized 
 to plunder the unsuspecting traveller." 
 
 "And must I stand here and be swindled 
 without a word ?" cried the other. 
 
 "Bynomeifns. Row like fury. Call up 
 the whole household ope by one, and swear at 
 them in broad Saxon. That's the way to strike 
 terror into the soul of a Frenchman." ' 
 
 The fat man stared for a moment at Buttons, 
 and then plunging his hands deep into his 
 trowsers pockets ho walked up and down the hall. 
 
 At lost he turned to the others : 
 
 " Gontlomcn, is this endurable ?" 
 
 V Horrible !" cried Dick. 
 _,/*^AbominBble!" the Doctor. • 
 
 "t" Infamous I" the Senotor. 
 
 i" By jingo I I've a great mind to go horae. 
 If I've got to bo plundered, I'd a durned sight 
 rather have my money ^o'to support our own 
 grdti'lTiiS^ glorious institutions." '*., 
 
 There is no doubt thnt tlm nnfoftqiiats 1 
 would have had to pay up if it had not been for 
 the energetic action of Buttons. 
 
 lie summoned the hotel-keeper before him, 
 and, closing the door, asked hit fHends to sit 
 down. i/ 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN Mi)CCCLIX. 
 
 11 
 
 Then Battons, standing up, began to repeat to' 
 the hotel-keeper, smilingly, but with extroor- 
 dinary volobility, Daniel Webster's oration 
 against Hayne. The polite Frenchman would 
 not interrnpt him, but listened with a bland° 
 though somewhat dubious smile. 
 
 The Dodga Club did infinite credit to theta- 
 selres by listening without a smile to the words 
 of their leader. 
 
 Buttons then went through the proposition 
 about the hypothenuse of a right-angled tri- 
 angle, and appended the words of a few negro 
 songs. 
 
 Hero the worthy landlord interrupted him, 
 begging his pardon, and telling him that he did 
 not understand English very well, and could 
 his Excellency si>eak French ? 
 
 His Excellency, with equal politeness, regret- 
 ted his want^ complete familiarity with French. 
 He was forced when he felt deeply on any sub- 
 ject to express himself in English. ' 
 
 Then followed Cicero's oration against Verres, 
 and he was just beginning a speech of Chat- 
 ham's when the landlord surrendered at dis- 
 cretion. 
 
 When, after the lapse of three hours and 
 twenty-five minutes, the fat man held his bill 
 toward him, and Buttons offeiyl five fiftncs, 
 he did vqt even remonstrate, but took tJic money, 
 and hastily receipting the bill with his pencil] 
 darted from the room. 
 
 "Well," exclaimed the Senator, when he 
 had recovered from the cflFccts of the scene — " I 
 never before realized the truth of a story I once 
 heard." » . 
 
 " What was the storj- ?" 
 
 " Oh, it was about a bet be- 
 tween a Yankee and a French- 
 man, who could talk the long- 
 est. The two were shut up 
 in a room. They remained 
 there three days. At the end 
 of that time their friends broke 
 open the door and entered, 
 and what do you think they 
 found there?" * 
 
 "Nobody?" suggested the 
 fat man. 
 
 "No," said the Senator, 
 with a glow of patriotic pride 
 on his fine face. " But they 
 found tlie Frenchman lying 
 dead upon the floor, and the 
 Yankee whispering in his ear- 
 the beginnii\g of the second 
 part of the Higgins story." 
 
 " And what is the Higgins 
 •tory?" 
 
 "For Heaven's sake," 
 g**P<xl the Dnrtnr. -fttAriuu*^ 
 np, "don't ask him now— 
 wait till next week 1" 
 
 A» they passed over the 
 monntaini of Auvergne a new 
 member wag added to tho 
 Dodge Club. 
 
 It was the fut man. 
 
 He was President of a Western bank. 
 
 His name was Figgs. 
 
 It was a daiftp, dull, dreary, drenching night, 
 when the lumbering diligence bore tho Dodge 
 Club through the streets of Lyons and up to 
 the door of their hotel. Seventeen men and 
 five small boys stood bowing ready to receive 
 them. 
 
 Tlio Senator, Buttons, and Dick took the 
 small valises which contained their travelling 
 apparel, and dashed through the line of servitors 
 into the house. The Doctor walked after, se- 
 renely ond majestically. He hud no baggage. 
 Mr. Figgs descended Vrcuji the roof with con- 
 sidcrablc diflJculty. Slicing from the wlieel, 
 he fell into the outstretched arms of three wait- 
 ers. They put him on his feet. 
 His luggage was soon ready. 
 Mr. Fi^gs had two trunks and various ottier 
 articles. Of tliese trunks seven waiters took 
 one, and four the other. Then 
 Waiter No. 12 took hat-box ; 
 
 " 13 " travelling^lesk ; 
 " 14 " Scotch plaid; 
 " 15 " over-coat; 
 " IC <• umbrella; 
 " 17 " rubber coat; 
 Boy " 1 " cane; 
 " " 2 " miifllcr; 
 " " 3 " one of his mittens ; 
 " " 4 " the other; ; 
 " " 6 " cignr-oase. 
 After a long and laborious dinner they rose 
 ond smoked. 
 
 aoiM AOAiim vntM. 
 
 1^. 
 
 m„A' 
 
M 
 
 THE DODGE 6lUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 V-^ 
 
 HAC-B-B-B-BE I 
 
 The head waiter informed Mr. Figgs that 
 with his permi88ion a deputation would wait on 
 him. Mr. Figgs was surprised, but graciously 
 invited the deputation to walk in. They ac- 
 cordingljr walked in. Seventeen men and (ire 
 boys. 
 
 •'What did they wont?" 
 ■^■, •,' 0h, only a pourboire with which .to drink 
 wB^llency'a noble health." • 
 
 " Really they did his Excellency too much 
 honor. Were they not mistaken in their man ?" 
 
 " Oh no. They had xarried-his luggage into 
 the hotel" 
 
 Upon this Mr. Figgs gave strong proof of poor 
 moral training, by breaking out into a volley of 
 Western oaths, which shocked one half of the 
 depntation, and made the other half grin. 
 
 Still they continned respectful but firm, and 
 reiterated their demand. 
 
 Mr. Figgs called for the landlord. That gen- 
 tleman was in hed. For his wife. She did 
 not attend to the business. For the Ji«ad wait- 
 er. The spokesman of the depntation, with a 
 polite bow, informed him that the head waiter 
 stood before him and was quite at his service. 
 
 The scene was ended by the sudden entrance 
 of Buttons, who, motioning to Mr. Figgs, pro- 
 ceeded to giro each waiter a douceur. One 
 after another took the profiered coin, and with- 
 out looking at it, thanked the generous donor 
 with a proflisipn of bows. 
 
 Five minutes after the retreating form of 
 Bottoni had vanished through the door, twenty- 
 one persons, consisting of men and boys, stood 
 staring at one another in blank amazement. 
 
 Anger followed ; then 
 
 He had given each one a centime. 
 
 Bnt the customs of the hotel were not to be 
 changed by the shabby conduct of one mean- 
 minded person. When the Club prepared to 
 retire for the night they were taken to some 
 roooM opening into each other. Five waiters 
 
 le^ tho-wny ; one woiter to 
 ejsdh man, and each carried a 
 piiir of tall wax-candles. Mr. 
 Figgs's waiter took him to his 
 room, laid down the ligliti, 
 and departed. 
 
 The doors which connected 
 the rooms were nil opened 
 and Mr. Figgs walked throiiKh 
 to see about something. He 
 saw the Doctor, the Senator, 
 Buttons, and Dipk, each draw 
 the short, well-used stump of 
 a wax-candle from his coat 
 pocket ond gravely lipht it. 
 Then letting the melted wax ' 
 fall on the mantlc-pieccs thcr 
 stuck their candles there, and 
 in a short time the rooms 
 were brilliantly illuminated. 
 
 The waiters were thunder. 
 
 struck. Such a procedure 
 
 had never come within the 
 
 compass of their experience of the ways of 
 
 travellers. 
 
 " Bonsoir, " said Buttons. " Don't let us de- 
 tain you." 
 
 They went out stupefied. 
 " What's the idea now?" inquired Mr. Figgs. 
 "Oh, they charge a franc apiece for each 
 candle, and that is a swindle which we will not 
 submjitto." 
 
 "And will I have to be humbugged again?" 
 " Certainly." 
 "Botheration." 
 
 " My dear Sir, the swindle of bougies is the 
 curse of the Continental traveller. None of us 
 are particularly prudent, but we are all on the 
 watch against small swindles, and of them all 
 this is the most frequent and most insidious, the 
 most constantly and ever recurrent. Beware, 
 my dear President, of bougies— that's what we 
 call candles." 
 
 Mr. Figgs said nothing, but leaned agaiil|{ < 
 the wall for a moment in a meditative mood, tig 
 if debating what ho should do next. 
 
 He happened to be in the Doctor's room. He 
 had already noticed that this gentleman had no 
 perceptible baggage, and didn't understand it. 
 But now he saw it all. 
 
 The Doctor began gravely to make prepara- 
 tions for the night. 
 
 Before taking off his over^coat he drew vari- 
 ous articles from the pockets, among which 
 were: 
 
 A balr-bnub, 
 A tpoth-bnuh, 
 A thoe-bnuh, 
 A pot of blacking, 
 A niglit-ihirt, 
 
 A pipe. 
 
 A pouch of tobaceok 
 
 AnuEor, 
 
 A •liaTlnR-bruib. 
 
 A pleoe oc Hiap, f 
 
 A Dight^D, 
 
 AbatUeofhair.on. 
 A pbtol, 
 ^ Kuide-book, 
 jAjjIgar-caie, 
 
 ~~A^lNMls^kiiltk^ " 
 
 Apleoaofcord, 
 A handkerohior, 
 A caw of iiiigkal in* 
 
 ■tmmeota, 
 Borne Mil of eandlM. 
 
 Mr. Figgs mthed from the room. 
 
 . ii;W*ii^.t\kAikfij!.Vfe)^iA ■\i:^Tiii.i^hU^i'Jiij^i^'^'^(^'^J^ 
 
THE DODGE CLUB j OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 )n't let US de- 
 
 NUMIIKS TJ9. 
 
 ! 
 
 CHAITER III. 
 
 THE HHOlfB IN A BAIN.— THE MAD PBENCHMAN 
 —SUICIDE A CAPITA^- CBIMB IN FBANCB. 
 
 The steamboats that run Jon tbo Rhono are 
 very remarkable contrivances. Their builders 
 have only aimed nt combining a maximum of 
 length with a minimnra of otlier quolities, so 
 that each boat displays nn incredible extent of 
 deck with no particular breadth at all. Five 
 gentlemen took refuge in the cabin of tho 
 Eloik, from the drenching min which fell dun- 
 ing half of their voyage. This was an absurd 
 ressel, that made trips between Lyons and Avign- 
 on. Her accommodations resembled those "of 
 a canal boat, and she was propelled by a couple 
 of paddle-wheels Urivenl^ a Lilliputian dngino 
 It was easy enough for her to go dowii tho 
 nver, as tlio current took the responsibility of 
 moving her along ; but how she could over get 
 back it was difficult to tell. 
 
 They were borne onward through some of the 
 fairest scenes on earth. Ruined towers, ivy- 
 covered castles, thnnder-blusted heights, fertile 
 valleys, luxnriant orchards, terraced slopes, trel- 
 lised vineyards, broad plains, bounded by dis- 
 tant mountains, whoso summits were lost in tho 
 clouds; such were the successive charms of tho 
 region through which they were passing. Yet 
 though they were most eloquently described in 
 the letters which Buttons wrote home to his 
 fnends, it must ba confessed that they made 
 but little impression at the time, and indeed 
 were Marcely seen at all through the vapor- 
 covered cabin windows. 
 
 Avignon did not excite their enthusiasm. 
 In vam the gnide-book told them about Pe- 
 """L'Zii?!^ Tho usual raptures were 
 tethcomlDg, ^ vSm iSe dceione led 
 ftem through the old papal palace. Its sombre 
 *•«» awakened no emotion. The only effect 
 
 18 
 
 Aries was much more 
 satisfactory. Tlicre 
 are more pretty wom- 
 en in Aries than in 
 any other town of tlie 
 stime size on the Con. 
 tinent. Tho Club 
 created an unusual 
 excitement in this 
 peaceful town by walk- 
 ing slowly through it 
 in Indian file, nar- 
 rowly scrutinizing ev- 
 erything. They won- 
 dered much at the 
 numbers of people that 
 filled the cathedral, 
 all gnyly dressed. It 
 was not until after a 
 long calculation that 
 ;4hey found out thn'tit 
 was Sunday. Riittons 
 
 prodaced was on the Senator, who whiled away 
 TJ^^. "' ^''^ bed-time by pointing out the 
 wpenority of American institutions to those 
 wwch leuvd the prisons which ihey had visited. | 
 
 kept his memorandum-book in his hand all day, 
 and took account of all the pretty women whom 
 % saw. Tho number rose as high as 72<J. Ho 
 would have raised it higher, but unfortunately 
 an indignani citizen put a stop to it by chnrg- 
 ing him with impertinence to his wife. 
 
 On the railroad to Marseilles is a famous 
 tunnel. At the last station before entering 
 the tunnel a gentleman got in. As they passed 
 through tho long and gloomy place there sud- 
 denly arose a most outrageous noise in the 
 car. 
 
 It was tho new passenger. 
 Occasionally the" light shining in would dis- 
 close him, dancing, stamping, tearing his hair, 
 rolhng his eyes, gnashing his teeth, and curs- 
 ing. , 
 
 " Is he crazy ?" said Dick. \ 
 
 " Or drunk ?" said -Buttons. ^ 
 
 Lo and behold 1 just at the train emerged 
 from the tnnnel the passenger made a frantic 
 dash at tho window, fliAig it open, and befo^ 
 any body could speak or move he was half onft , 
 To spring over half * d6zen scats, to Ian* 
 behind him, to seize his ohtakretched leg, to jerk 
 him in again, was but the Work of a moment. 
 It was Buttons who did this, and who banged 
 down the windpw again. 
 
 " Sac-r-r-B-B-RcJ !" cried the Frenchman. 
 "Is it that you are mad ?" said Buttons. 
 " Sacrd Blen !" cried tho other. " Who am 
 yon that lays hands on me ?" 
 
 " I saved you from defp'nction." ■' 
 
 "Then, Sir, you have no thanks. Behold 
 me, I'm a desperate man !" 
 
 In truth he looked like one. His clothe* 
 were all disordered. Jlialipgjwere^ WeediBft 
 and moSt of his hair was torn out. By this 
 time the guard had come to the spot All 
 those in the car had gathered round. It was a 
 long ear, second-class, like the American. 
 
 "BTsieu, how is this? What is it that I 
 see ? Yon endeavor to kill yoarvelf ?" 
 "Leave me. 1 am desperate." 
 
 f.H ' -ft4^ 
 
14 
 
 " But no; 
 
 " Listen. 
 
 to Avi^on; 
 
 X'aia 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 M«ieu, what is it V 
 I enter the, train thinking to go 
 I have importaixt business there, 
 most important. Suddenly I am struck by, a 
 thought. I find I have mistaken. I nm car- 
 ried te Marseilles. It is the c?<prcss train, and 
 I must go nil the way. Ildrror ! Despair ! 
 Life is of no use ! It is time to resign it ! I 
 die ! Accorditigly I attempt to leap from tho 
 window, when- this gentleman seizes mo by tho 
 leg and pulls mo in. Behold all." 
 
 " M'sieu," said tho guard, slowly, and with 
 emphasis, " you have committed a grave of- 
 fense. Suicide is a capital crime." 
 
 "A capital erim*!" exclaimed tho French- 
 man, turning pale. " Great Heaven !" 
 
 beauty. Here the Mediterranean rolls its wa. 
 tors of deepest blue, through the clear air the 
 landscape appcar» with astonishing distinctness 
 opd tho sharply-defined lines of distinct objects 
 surprise tho Northern eye. Marseilles is al- 
 ways a pictHros(|ue city. No commercial town 
 in tlie world can compare with it in this respect. 
 On tho water float the Mediterranean craft, 
 rakish boats, with enormous latteen sails ; lopi;, 
 low, sharp, black vessels, with a suspicious air 
 redolent of smuggling and piracy,;* No tides 
 rise and fidl — ndvancd and retreat. The 
 waters are always tho same. 
 
 All tho Mediterranean nations are represent- 
 ed in Marseilles. Three-quarters of the world 
 send their people here. Europe, Asia, Afriiiu 
 
 " Yes, Sir. If you Icaj) from the car I shall In the streets tho Syrian jostles the Sptmiunl 
 
 put you in irons, and hand you over to tho j)o- 
 lico when we stop." 
 
 Tho Frenchman's pale face grew paler. Ho 
 became humble. He entreated the guard's 
 compassion. Ho begged Buttons to intercede. 
 Ho had a family. Moreover he had fought in 
 
 tho Italian tho Arab; tho Moor jokes with ilie 
 Jew; the Greek chaffers with the Algcrine ; the 
 Turk scowls nt the Corsican ; the liussinn from 
 Odessa pokes the Maltese in the ribs. There is 
 no want of variety here. Human nature is 
 seen under a thousand aspects. Marseilles ij 
 
 tho wars of his country. Ho had warred in ■ tho most cosmopolitan of cities, and represents 
 Africa. He appealed to the Senatir, tho Doc- ! not only many races but many ages, 
 tor, to Figgs, to Dick. Finally ho became ! Moreover it is a fast city. New York is not 
 calm, and the train shortly after arrived at | more ambitious; Chicago not more aspiring 
 
 Marseilles, 
 
 The last that was seen of him he was rushing 
 frantically about looking for the return train. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HAB8EIIXE8. 
 
 San Francisco not moro confident in its future. 
 Amazing sight ! Hero is a city which, at the 
 end of three thousand years, looks forward to a 
 longer and grander lifo in the future. 
 
 And why ? 
 
 Why, because she expects yet to be tho arbi- 
 ter of Eastern commerce. Through her tho 
 gold, tho spices, and the gems of India will yet 
 be conveyed over the European world. For tho 
 Suez Canal, which will onco more turn the 
 tide of this mighty traffic through its ancient 
 Mediterranean channel, will raise Marseilles to 
 the foremost rank among cities. ' ' 
 
 So,' at least, the Mancillaise believe. 
 
 When our travellers arrived there the city 
 was crammed with soldiers. The haibor was 
 packed with steamships. Gum were thunder- 
 ing, bands playing, fifes screaming, muskets rat- 
 tling, regiments tramping, cavalry galloping. 
 Confusion reigned supreme. Every thing was 
 out of order. No one spoke or thought of any 
 thing but tho coming war in Lombardy. 
 
 Excitable little red-legged French soldiers 
 danced about everywhere. Every one was be- 
 side himself. None could nso the plain Ian- 
 goage of every-day life. All were intoxicated 
 with fa^pe and enthusiasm. 
 
 Thglitrovellers admired immensely the excit- 
 ing sceve, but their admiration was changed to 
 disgust fyhen they found that on account of the 
 rush of Soldiers to Italy their own prospects of 
 getting there were extremely slight. 
 
 At Iqogth they fonnd that a steamer was go- 
 ing.^ It war « pFopelior. Its name was 
 
 rr-rrOtA Matsilia woanheryearrweH. To look 
 
 at her now as she appears, full of lifo and joy and Prince. Tho enterprising company that owned 
 gayety, no one would imagine that thirty cen- her had patriotically chartered every boot on 
 turies or more had passed over her head. theirline to theGovemment at an enornions prof- 
 Here is the first glimpse of the glorious South, it, and had placed the /Vmcc on tho lino for tlM 
 with all its snnsbine and luxar; and voluptuous use of travellers. 
 
 ,#. 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 IS 
 
 niOSE ITALIANa 
 
 CHAPTER V, 
 
 THB RETIBBD ORGAN - OBINDEB.— THE 8ENATOB 
 P^80PU,ZE8.-EV,L8 OF NOT HA^NoTpAss 
 
 tm The dark-blue waves ; the sicics of dark- 
 
 Z^lZ'J f""' '''"'"f P"*^!''*' ^"'h their 
 crowns of everlasting snow; and the beetlinit 
 precipico where the vexed waten, forever throw 
 up tbeir foammg spray; the frequent hamlets 
 
 h. T T"^ l^*"" ' *« *='«"«' »°'J towers 
 S 'TV' '"^ '"''S'**''! ""'l the road 
 bu winds tortnoasly along tlie shore-*lI these 
 
 tt.haro^^h'V.-'"''. ^""'y ""^ """""tic 
 rtan that of the Kh,ne b contrasted with all the 
 grandeur of th6 ocean. 
 
 Buttons, with his usual flexible and easy dis- 
 P«.t.on, rnade the acquaintance of a couple of 
 Italians who had been away from Italy and 
 ^^. now returning. They 4.. tn^velK ^c' 
 
 " gS '/"i^ST^ ."'"^ 'T^" "'"'^ '° e«' b^jk. 
 
 ^the« r ^'^*""' '■°"'^*"" °f "*«'■• ««""t7 than 
 TS'?'.''''"'"- «««> they not the beat 
 
 rv^ 
 
 2^tbSltVrh?taly'^™"-'"^-''-^" 
 
 B 
 
 How can you ask that ? If you know the 
 history of the country yon will see that it has 
 been impossible. No other was j^ so beset 
 It IS split up into diflerent StatMUt ig gur 
 rounded by powerful enemies wh^M|° advan" 
 tage of this. It would not be so bSl if therJ 
 wenj;only one foreign foe ; but there are manr. 
 and if one were driven out another would step 
 
 "There will be a chance for them now to 
 show what they can do." 
 
 " True ; and yon will see what they will do. 
 T^iey only want the French to open the way. 
 Wa Italians can do the rest ourselves. It is a 
 good time to go to Italy. You will see devo- 
 tion and patriotism such as you never saw be- 
 
 7<'t CrV^ '* "° ">"n»»y*> beloved as Italy." 
 
 I think other nations are as patriotic " 
 "OthernationsI What nations? Do von 
 know that tho Italians can not leave Italy ? ' It 
 IS this love that keeps them home. French 
 Germans, Spaniards, Portuguese, English-all 
 others leave their homes, and go all over the 
 world to live. Italians can not and do not." , 
 '',1 have seen Italians in America." / 
 
 "You have seen. Italian exiles, not eraf- 
 grants. Or you hare seen them staving thet« 
 for a few years so as to earn a little money to 
 +»> back with. -TlH^ ^w only tnirelfeirw— 
 business. They are always unhappy, and are 
 ft'" ^ ""' '"*''**" of getting home 
 
 These Italians were brothei», and ftom ex, 
 perieneo m the worid had grown very intelli, 
 gent One had been in the hoad-oisan boai. 
 
 ^^'1 
 
 :**.■ 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 MW 14 JfjBl-tiV 
 
16 
 
 THE DODQE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 ness, the other in tho imago-making line. Ital- 
 ians can do nothing else in tbo bustling com- 
 munities of foreign iialiobs. Buttons looked 
 ^witli respect upon those |ncn who thus had Car- 
 ried their lovo for their deor Art for years 
 through strange lands and uncongenial elitnes. 
 
 " If I were an Italian I t«)0 would bo an 
 organ-grinder !" he at length exclaimed. 
 
 The Italians did not rcpl/v but evidently 
 .thought that Button's could not be in a better 
 business. 
 
 "These /taliajis," said tho Senator, to whom 
 Buttons had told the conversation — " these /tal- 
 inns," said ,hc, after they had gone, " air a 
 singnlai' people. They're deficient. They're 
 wanting in the leading clement of tha age. 
 They haven't got any idee of tho principle 
 of pro-gress. They don't niid^rstand trad^. 
 There's where they miss it. ';>V?hat'8 the tise 
 of hand-organs ? What's tho use of dancers ? 
 What's the use of statoos, whether plaster im- 
 ages or marble sculptoor? Can they clear for- 
 ests or build up States? No, Sir;' and there- 
 ' fore I say thai this /talian nation will never bo 
 wuth a casR until they are inocuUtod with the 
 spirit of Seventy-six, the principles of the Pil- 
 grim Fathers, and the doctrines of the Revo- 
 lution. Boney knows it" — ho added, sentcn- 
 tioiisly — " bless you, Boney knows it." 
 
 After a sound sleep, which lasted until late 
 in the following day, they went out on deck. 
 
 There lay Genoa. 
 
 Glorious sight t As they stood looking at 
 tho superb city the sun poured down upon the 
 scene his brightest rays. The city rose in suc- 
 cessive terraces on the side of « semicircular 
 slope crowned with massive edifices; moles 
 projected into the harbor terminated by lofty 
 towers ; the inner basin was crowded with ship- 
 ping, prominent among which were conntleas 
 French ships of war and transports. Tho yells 
 of fifes, the throbbing of drums, the bang of 
 muskets, the thunder of cannon, and the strains 
 of martial music filled the air. Boats crowded 
 
 V. -S- 
 
 with soldiers Constantly passed IVom tho shipt 
 to the ston^ quays, where thousands more wait- 
 ed to recoivo' them — soldiers being mixed up 
 with guns, cannons, wheels, muskets, drums 
 baggage, sails, beams; timbers, camps, m«t- 
 tresses, casks, boxes, irons, in infinite confusion. 
 
 " Wo must go ashore here," said Uuttoni. 
 "Does any b6dy know how long the steamer 
 will remain here?-" 
 
 "A day." 
 
 " A day ! That will bo magnificent ! \Vc 
 will be able to see tho whole city in that time. 
 Let's go and order & boat oflf." 
 
 Tho Captain received them politely. 
 
 " What did Messieurs want? To go nsliorc? 
 With the ntmost pleasure. Had they their pass- 
 ports ? Of course they had them vised in JIar- 
 seilles for Genoa." 
 
 Buttons looked blank, and feeblv imiiiircJ : 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "It's the law. Monsieur. We ore prohibileil 
 from permitting |>asscngcrs to go asiiorc un- 
 -less 'their passports are all right. It's a mere 
 form." 
 
 "A more form!" cried Buttons. "Why, 
 ours ore visid for Naples." 
 
 "Naples!" cried the Captain, witlra shruR; 
 "you are unfortunate. Messieurs. Tliat will 
 not pass you to Genoa." 
 
 " My dear Sir, you don't mean to tell me 
 that, on nccounthof ^iS^ little informnlity, yoii 
 will keep its prisoners on board of this vessel 7 
 Consider — " 
 
 " Monsieur, ".said tho Captain, courteously, 
 "I did not make these laws. It is the law ; I 
 can not change it. I should be most happy to 
 oblige you, buf I ask yon, how is it possible ?'" 
 
 The Captain was right. ^ He could do noth- 
 ingf.v The tnivellprs would have to swallow 
 th^lt^Age. 
 
 Imagine them locking all day at the loveli- 
 est of Italian scenes — the glorious city of Genoa, 
 with nil its historic associations! — the city of 
 tho Dorias, the home of Columbus, even now 
 
 
\ 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 Imagine them looking „pon all this, and only 'ho^ ZCp;.8.DtfklVfh^ '"''*'? "'r -T' 
 looking, unable to go near ; «,eing all the pre^ i yes^\'rlcH^ZL ^ °" ^"''^ "^ "^ 
 
 .ration, for war. bnt unable to „.i„gle with' th': iaralo Z\or:lTo'ZyTlT:;.anZrs 
 
 alone Wt^m naiwwi T» .1 _ . J . 
 
 warrior.. To pace up and down all day ; to 
 ahake their fists at the scene ; to fret, and fume, 
 and chafe with irrepressible impatience • to 
 scold, to rave, to swear— this was the lot of the 
 unhappy tourists. 
 
 High in tho startled heavens rose the thun- 
 der of preparations for tho war in Loml>ardy. 
 They hoard the sounds, but could not watch 
 the scene near at hand. 
 
 The day was as long as an ordinary week, 
 but at length it came to an end. On the fol- 
 lowing morning steam was got up, and they 
 went to Leghorn. 
 
 "I suppose they will play tho same gome 
 on IIS ot Leghorn," said Dick, moamfullv. 
 
 "Without doubt," said Buttons. ""But I 
 dbn't mind ; tho bitterness of death is past. I 
 tan stand any thing now." ' 
 
 It was tho colraneM of de- 
 
 alone were calnl. 
 spair. 
 
 After watching Leghorn for hours they were 
 taken to Civita Vecchia. Here they rushc.I 
 down below, and during the short period of 
 their stay remained invisible. 
 
 ,1 A' '"h!! ^\t T"«° •'"'•'=''• »"'! "'t'y entered 
 he harbqr of Naples. Glorious Naples I Naples 
 the captivating I ^ 
 
 • ' VeJe Napoliy e poi mori .'" 
 
 There was the Bi^ of Naplcs-tho match-., 
 less, tho peeriess, the indescribable! There 
 the njck^of Iscliia, the Isle of Capri, there ihe 
 slopes oPSorrento, where never^inding sprin- 
 abides ; there the long sweep of Naples and 
 her sister cities ; there Vesuvius, with its thin 
 volume of smoke floating likcva pennon in tho 
 
 inriB KouLR 
 
 - CHAPTER VL "^ 
 
 LAZAKONI AND MACAUONl. 
 
 AnocT forty or fifty lazaroni surrounded the 
 Dodge Club when they landed, but to their in- 
 tense disgust tha tetter ignored them altogeth- 
 er, and carried their own umbrellas and carpet- 
 Me«. But tho lajMroni rovengea themselves. 
 
 ^- vl^?,' '*^^'^ '^ P*'^'' "P hi» cane, 
 Which had fallen, n number of articles dropped 
 flfom his b^east-pocke^ and among them was a 
 WTOIver, a thing which was tabooed in Naples. 
 A wgged rascal eagerly snatished it and handed 
 
 
 OEI.I.RNOIKS. 
 
 it to a gendarme, and it was onlv After' paving 
 a piastre that the Doctor was permitted to re- 
 tain it. 
 
 Even after the travellers had started off on 
 foot in search of lodgings the lazaroni did not 
 desert them. Ten of them followed ever y- j 
 
 where. Ar JnlerfSTs thqr respectfully oflfercd 
 to cafry their baggage, or show ^hem to a 
 hotel, whyhever was most agrSeable to their 
 Noblo'Exccllencies. 
 
 Their Noble Excellencies were in despair. 
 At length, stumbling upon the Cafe' dell' Eu- 
 ropa, they rushed in and passed three houn 
 
 ; 
 
 ../ 
 
Y? 
 
 18 
 
 THE t)ODGE CEUB 5 OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX, 
 
 over tRcIr breakikit. Tbit done, they congrat- 
 ulated themselves on having got rid of their 
 followers. ' 
 
 In vain ! 
 
 Scarcely had they emerged from the cafe 
 than Dick uttered a cry of horror. From be- 
 liirid a corner advanceu their, ten friends, with 
 tlio same calm demeanor, the same unrnffl&l 
 and even cheerful patience, and the same re,- 
 spectful offer of their hnmblo services. 
 , In despair tl^ey separated... Buttons and 
 Dick obtained lodgings in tiio Strada di San 
 . Bnrtollomeo. The Senator nqd the other tw6 
 engaged pleasant rooms on the Strada ^uova, 
 which overlook^ the Bay. 
 
 Certainly Naples is , r very cprious place. 
 There are mognificent edifices — palaces, mon- 
 uments, castles, furtrcsses, churches, and cathe- 
 drals. There are majestic rows of buildings ; 
 gov sliops, splendidly decorated ;' stately colon- 
 niiJcs, and gardens liko; Paradise. There aro 
 streets unrivAlled for gayety, forever filled to 
 overflowing with the busy, the laughing, the 
 jo)^ ; dashing- officers, noisy soldiers, ragged 
 Iiizaroni, proud nobles, sickly bcggarSj lovely 
 ladies ; troops of cnvnlry galloping uj) aild 
 do.wn ; ten thousand culcchetf dashing to and 
 fro. There is variety enough everywhere. 
 
 AH the trades arc divided, and arranged in 
 different parts of the city. Here are the lock- 
 smiths, there the cabinet-makers; here the 
 builders, there the Armorers ; in this place the 
 bo'sketrweavers, in that the cork-makers. 
 
 And. most amusing of all is the street most 
 favored of the lazaroni. Here they live, and 
 move, and have their being ; hero they are 
 Warn, they grow, they tved, they rear families, 
 tiicy eat, and drink, and die. A long array of 
 furnaces extends up the street ; over each is a 
 stew-pan, and behind each . a cook armed with 
 an enomlbaB ladle. At all hours of'theday the 
 c6f}k serves up macaroni to customers'. This is 
 the diet of the people. 
 
 In the cellars behind those linerftf stew-pans 
 
 aro,tbe e<4Ii)g^houses of the vulgar — low, grimy 
 places, floors incrusted with mad^'tabri-a u( 
 thick deal worn by * thousand homy'liands, 
 slipp«fty with ton thousand upset dishesof mnc- 
 aroni. ^Ilero the |>ewter plates, and the jruq 
 knives, forks, and spoons aro chained to iiia 
 ma-ssivo tables. "How utter must the destitu- 
 tion be when it is thought necessary to clinin 
 up siich worthless trash I ' 
 
 Into one of these placA .went Bu^ns and 
 Dick in their study of human nature.' They 
 sat at theiiiblo. A huge dish of macaroni Vni 
 served uj^- Fifty gnosis stopped to look at the 
 new-comefs. The waiters winked at tiio cus- 
 tomers of tify ''house, and thrust thett ^tongues 
 in their checks. ■ 
 
 Dick could not eafi but the more philokoph- 
 icnl Buttons made nn extremely hearty meal, 
 4ind ])r<>noimced the macaroni delicious. 
 
 On binding in a city tkbich swarmed with 
 beggars the first thonght of our tourists \rni. 
 How the mischief do they ttU live ? There are 
 si.Nty thousand lazaroni in this gay city. The 
 average amount of- clothing to cnch man ii 
 about qrnw^hird of a pair ef tro\Vsers and a 
 woolM^iop. But after spon(]ing a day or two ' 
 the qltiiStion changed its form, and bccauic. 
 How tflb onischief can they all help living? 
 Food ma^ be picked up in the streets. Iland- 
 fuls of oranges and other fruits sell for next to 
 nothing ; strings of figs cost abbqt a ceilt. 
 
 The consequence is that these sixty thousand 
 people, fellow-creatures of ours,, who are known 
 as the lazaroni of Naples, whom wo half pity 
 and altogether despise, and look upon as the 
 lowest mcmWers of the Caucasian race, aro not 
 altogetlicr very miserable. On the" contrary, 
 taken as a whole, they f«mn the raggedcst, 
 oiliest, fattest, dr&llest, noisiest, sleekest, dirti- 
 est, ignorantcst, prejudicedesjl, narrow-minded- 
 est, shirtlesseat, clotheslesE^st, idlest, carclcss- 
 est, jolliest, absnrdest, rascaliest.— but still, for 
 all that, perhaps — taken all in nil— the happi- 
 est community on the face of the earth. 
 
 ,. i 
 
 ■-■ 4i ' *_..■"»» ■W>^' 
 
THE DODGE CLUB,' OH, rf-ALTT IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 TANKEK DOODL& 
 
 10 
 
 ■1 sotiR? "Oh yei!'hop|>y 
 beyond expression to do so." 
 , The rciuli, after ton fessoni, 
 WHS some! liiiig liko this: 
 
 " Amy ndodntiinimii towna 
 Hy lili rwf « po-iMi 
 . Stntxn (nililik liinn mt •• , • 
 
 K»llii Uiccnroul." 
 
 She u8od to »ing th^ in'tl.n 
 most charming miiniicivesi.i - 
 <inlly 01C Ins't wonf in the hist 
 line. N'ot the least clmrrt in 
 her manner wns her evident 
 conviction tliat she had mas- 
 tered the English Innguopc. 
 
 "^yn9 it not an- astonish- 
 ing thing for so yoimg a Sign- , ' 
 orinn to ktibw English ?' 
 
 "Oh,, it was indeed!" so 
 nnttons, who knew Iiulil.. 
 very well, and had the lion's 
 shriro of tUo conversation al- 
 ways. " ■ 
 
 - " And they said Tier a^cnt 
 was fine ?" 
 
 "Oh, most beaiififiijj"" 
 " Bellisslma ! Bellissifha!"* 
 repeated little Dolores, and 
 she would laugh until licr eyes 
 overflowed with delighted van- 
 ity. 
 
 "Could any Signoriiia 
 Americana learn Italianin^so" 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. . short atimo?" 
 
 ■ Ah ! you say all the time that n, v accent is 
 
 most beautiful." „ 
 
 One day she picked up a likeness of a young 
 lady which was lying on the table. 
 
 "Who is this ?" she asked, abruptly, of But- 
 tons. . 
 
 " A Signorina." 
 
 " Oh yes ! I know ; bnt is she a relative ?" 
 
 '' No." 
 
 WHAT BEFELL THB^8ENAT0R.-A CIIAKMINO 
 DOMim— A MporfLlpHT WALK, AND AN A8- 
 tOUNDlNO DISCOVEKT. ^^ 
 
 The lodgings of Buttons andDiek were in a 
 remarkably central part of Naples. The land- 
 lord was a true Neapolitan; a handsome, gnv, 
 witty, iwwy lively, rascally, covetous, ungrate- 
 ful, deceitful, cunning, good-hearted old scoun- 
 drel, who took advantage of his guests in a 
 thoiisand ways, and never spoke totthcnviwith. 
 out tryiitg to humbug them. He fras the fa- 
 ther of a ptetty daughter who haralf <ier par- 
 ents nature somewhat toned down, a^d eiaiand- 
 ed m a feminine monld. 
 
 Buttons had a chivalrous souL and so had 
 Dick J the vivacity of this very fricntfly voung 
 «dy was. like an ^wsis in the wilderness of 
 travel. In the evening they loved t6 sit in the 
 sanshme f her nnile. She was singularly 
 naconventton^il, fti. landlor4's- dau^hter/nnd 
 made majiy mfofmal colls on her two-icilgerg 
 in their apartment. '• ., 
 
 An innocent, sprightly liMle maid-name Do^' 
 w«»p»ge seventeen— complexion olive— haif 
 jet black-eyes likes tars, largo, luminous, and 
 l««irTt '*""' twinkling-i^ anxious "to 
 .TJ:"* ■; •."tPf"'"'">' ^ "'"S English songs; 
 •niso ased tobring her guitar and singfor the 
 Amencsni. Would they teach hg their nation- 
 
 " Arc xpa married ?" '*' 
 
 "No." -< ■ ,- ■ 
 
 "Is this yonr affianced ?" 
 
 "Vp«" *^ , . •■ 
 
 What will you be? — a 
 
 Yes.' 
 
 "Ah, how strange! 
 soldier or nn ndvo'ciitc ?" 
 
 " Neither. I will be a prie«."> 
 
 i'A priest I Signer, what is it IJiat you tell' 
 "";: ^°^ *^''" "''•'^ yovet affianced lildy ?" 
 
 "Oh! in our. country the priests all marry, 
 «nd live iirWaulifuflittle-cottages, ^ith a gar- 
 den in front." 
 
 This Dolores treated Avith the most contempU 
 uotis dincrednlity. Who ever heard of such a 
 .thing^J Impossible! Moreover, it waswrt^ 
 surd. Buttons told her th^ he was affianced 
 five years ago. 
 
 " An etebity !" exclaimed Dolores. "How 
 can you wait ? But yoa must have been wn 
 young." , , .. ,! *^ ' 
 
 " Young ? yei,'only sixteen." 
 
 ^^ji.-i •.*t;.»u-'' . ^.jf Ji. 
 
 %-'Vf1 
 
20 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCOtfitf 
 
 " Blessed and most venerable Virgin ! Only 
 sixteen ! And is she the most beautiful girl 
 you know ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Where have you seen one more so?" 
 
 "In Naples." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 " An Italian." 
 
 " What is her n.imo ?" 
 
 " Dolores." 
 
 " That's mc." _ ^ 
 
 •' " I mean yon." X-',. 
 
 This was pretty direct ; but Dolores was frank, 
 and required frankness from others. Some younj? 
 ladies would have considered this too coarse and 
 open to be aeccpl^dc. But Dolores had so high 
 on opinion of hcrselnthat she t^ok it for sincei-e 
 homage. So she hjif closed her eyes, leaned 
 back in her clinirJwokcU languishitivtly at But- 
 tons, and then buret into a merry jicni uf music- 
 al laughter. .1:^' 
 
 <'I think I am the most beautiful g)rl you 
 ever saw/' ' ;; 
 
 It was Buttons's tjMn to laugh. Ho told Do- 
 lores that she was quite right, and repeated her 
 favorite word, " Bellissima !" i 
 
 One evening when Dick was alone in the 
 room a knock came to the door. 
 
 " Was ho disengaged ?" 
 
 " Oh, quite." 
 
 " The Signora in the rooih next—" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Would bo happy to see him." 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 " Yes, as soon as he liked." 
 
 The Signorn Idid not haVe "to wait long. In 
 less time than it takes to tell this Dick stood 
 with his best bow before her. How he con- 
 gratulated himself on having studied Italian ! 
 The lady recliiied on a softt. She was about 
 thirty, and undeniably pretty. A guitar lay at 
 her feet. Books were scattered around — Frcfcli 
 novels, and manuals of devotion. Intelligence 
 beamed from her large, expressive eyes. How 
 delightful ! Here was an adventure, perhspa a 
 fair conquest. 
 
 " Good-eveiiing, Signer !" 
 "I kiss the bands to your ladyship," snid 
 Dick, mustering a sentence from Ollcndorfi'. 
 " Pardoh lie for this liberty." 
 " I assure von it gives me the grei^tcst ]ia]>i.i. 
 ness, and I am wholly at your service." 
 
 " I have updetstood that you are an Ameri- 
 can." j 
 
 " I am, Signora." <» 
 " And this is your first visit to Naples ?" 
 " My first, Signora." 
 " How docs Naples please you ?" 
 "Exceedingly. The beautiful city, the crowd- 
 cd streets, the delightful views — above all, the 
 most charming ladies." 
 
 A bow — a slight flush patted over the ladji^J' 
 face, and l5ick whispered to^liimself — 
 
 " Well put, Dick, my b*y — deuced well put 
 for a beginner." 
 
 " To come to the point," said the lady, with 
 a sigh. — ("Ah, here we have it!" thought 
 Dick — the point — blessed moment <) — " I wouU 
 not have ventured to trouble you for any slight 
 cause. Signer, but this nearly concerns myself."— 
 (Keep down — our heart, murmured ' 
 Dick — cool, you dog — cool!)— "Jly 
 happiness and my tcndercst feel- 
 ings — " (Dick's suffused eyes ex- 
 pressed deep sympathy.) — " I thought 
 ofvou — " 
 
 "Ah, Signora!", 
 "And not being acquainted with 
 you — " (What a shame ! — aside)— 
 "I concluded to waive all formality" 
 — (Social forms are generally a nui- 
 sance to ardent souls — asiJt)—'* ani 
 to c^mmunicato at once with you." 
 
 "Signora, let mo assure yon that 
 this is the happiest moment in my 
 life." 
 
 The Signora looked surprised, but 
 went on in a sort of preoccupied way : 
 " I want to know if you can tell me 
 any thing about my brother." 
 "Brother!" 
 
 "Who is now in Amcrico." 
 Dick opened his eyei. 
 " I thought that perhaps you could 
 tell me how he is. I have net Iteutl 
 from him for two years, and feel very 
 anxious." 
 
 Dick sat for a moment surprised it 
 
 this unexpected turn. The tody's 
 
 anxiety about her brother ho conld 
 
 see WM not feigned. 60 ho coucoilecl 
 
 I 
 
THE DODGE ipLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX 
 
 ouccd well put 
 
 niK vooKO UDaSAK. 
 
 his disappointment, and in his most engaging 
 manner informed lier that he had not seen her 
 brother; but if she could toll him his nnmo, and 
 the place where he was living, ho might bo able 
 to tell something about him. 
 "His name," sighed the lady, "is Giulio 
 
 "And the place?" 
 
 "Rio Janeiro." 
 
 "Bio Janeiro?" .^ 
 
 "Yes," said tho lady, slowly. ', .' 
 
 Dick was in despair. Not to kfiixr tony thing 
 of her brother would make her tliink him stu- 
 ^ pid. So he attempted to explain : 
 
 " America," ho began, " is a very large conn- 
 try— larger, in fact, than the whole Kingdom 
 of Naples. It is principally inhabited by sav- 
 ages, who are very hostile to the whites. Tho 
 whites have a few cities, however. In tl*^orth 
 tho whites all speak English. In tho South they 
 nil speak Spanish. The South Americans are 
 good Catholics, and respect the Holy Father ; 
 hut tho English in the North are all heretics. 
 Consequently there is scarcely any communica- 
 tion between the two districu." 
 
 The lady had heard somewhere that in the 
 American wars ihey employed tho savages to 
 Msist them. Dick acknowledged the troth of 
 this with candor, but with pain. She would 
 <eo by this why he was upablffto tell her any 
 thing about her brother. His not knowing 
 ^=^1 brother ma now fh« chief sorrow of hw 
 l"o. The lady earnestly hoped that Rio Ja- 
 neuo was well protected from the savages. 
 
 " Oh, perfecdy so. The fortifications of that 
 o«y aw impregnable." 
 
 «A?'** "'"* *"''«*^*»'*«' to B»TO the lady an 
 >«• of America. Tho convorsation gradually 
 
 21 
 
 tapered down until the en- 
 trance of n gentleman brouglit 
 it to a blose. Dick bowed 
 himself out. 
 
 "At any rate," ho mur- 
 mured, " if the lady wanted to 
 inspect me she had a chance, 
 and if she wanted to pump 
 mo she ought to be satisfied." 
 
 One cvenit^g Buttons and 
 Dick came in and found a 
 stranger chatting familiarly 
 with the landlord and a young 
 hussar. The stranger was 
 dressed like a cavalry officer, 
 and was tho most astounding 
 fop that the two Americans 
 had ever seen. He paced up 
 and down, head erect, chest 
 thrown out, sabre clanking, 
 spurs jingling, eyes sparkling, 
 ineifablo smile. IIo strode up 
 to the two youths, spun round 
 on one heel, bojved to tho 
 ground, waved his hand pat- 
 ronizingly, and welcomed 
 them in. 
 " A charming night, gallant gentlemen. A 
 bewitching night. All Naples is alive. All tho 
 worl4^9ing. Arc you?" . 
 
 Thfll'Sfoiihg.nieu stared, and coldly asksd 
 where ? / 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" A merry peal of laughter / 
 rang out. "Absolutely — if the young Amer- / w 
 leans a«e not stupid. They don't know mo !" 
 "Dolores!" exclaimed Buttons. 
 " Yes," exclaimed the other. <'JIow do you 
 like mo ? Am I natural ?— eh ? military ? 'Do ' 
 Hook terrible?". 
 
 And Dolores skipped up and down with a 
 strut beyond description, breathing hard and 
 frowning. j 
 
 " If you look so ficjTo Vou will tiighUfn us 
 away," aaid'Buttons. _^* 
 ' ^'How do I look. noi/T! she said, standing 
 fuU^foro him with folded ann6, a la Napoleon 
 at St. Helena. * «. 
 
 "Bellissimal BolUpkui I" said Buttons, in 
 unfeigned admir8ti«jir js 
 
 "Ah!" ejaculated DoRh^b, backing her 
 lips, and puffing out her little dimpled checks. 
 "Oh 1" and her eyes sparkled more brightly 
 with perfect jdy and self-cotitcntment. 
 "Andwhatjis all this for?" , , 
 
 " Is it possible that yon.do not know?" 
 " I have no idea." . • 
 "Then Ust^. It If Jt the Royal Opera- 
 
 honie^Jt wi ll \ be the igg t t os t m M qnera dft balL 
 
 ever given." ' 
 
 " Oh— a masquerade Ml' I— and yon ?" 
 
 " I ? I go as a handsfdime young officer to 
 
 break the hearts of the ladies, and have such 
 
 rare sport. My fcrave cousin, yonder gallant 
 
 •oldicr, goes with me." 
 
 The brave cousin, who was a big, heavy-head* 
 
23 
 
 THE DObGE CLUB j OK, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 e<l fellow^ grinned in ncknowledgment, bat said 
 notiiing. 
 
 Tlio Royal Opera-houso at Naples is the 
 largest, tlio grandest, and the most cajNicious in 
 the world. An immense stage, an cnonuous 
 pit all thrown into one vast room, surrounded 
 by innnmorablo boxes, nil risinf:;, tier above 
 tier — myriads of ^anccrs, myriads of masks, 
 myriads of siKictntors — so the scene appeared. 
 Moreover, tlie Neapolitan is a born bnffoon. 
 Nowhere is ho so nnturnl as at a masquerade. 
 Tl(6 music, the erowd, the brilliant lights, the 
 incessant motion are all intoxication to this im- 
 pressible being. 
 
 The Senator lent the countenance of his 
 presence — not from curiosity, but from a bcnev- 
 ' olent desire to keep his young friends out of 
 trouble. Ho narrowly escaped being prohibited 
 from entering by making an outrageous fuss at 
 the door about some paltry change. IIo actual- 
 ly imagjtned that it was possible to get the riglit 
 change for a large coin in Naples. 
 The multitudes of moving forms made the 
 ^^OYf-csioiira dizzy. There were all kinds of 
 fantastic ffgores.- Lions polked with sylphs, 
 crocodiles chased serpents, giants wal|ccd arm 
 in arm with dwarfs, elephants on two legs ran 
 nimbly about, beating every body with huge 
 probosces of inflated India rubber. Pretty girls 
 in dominos abounded ; every body whose face 
 was visible was on the broad grin. All classes 
 were represented. The wealthiest nobles en- 
 tered into the spirit of th^ scene with as great 
 
 gusto as the humblest artisan who treated his 
 obscure sweet-heart with an entrance ticket 
 
 Our friends all wore black dominos, "jusf 
 for the fun 9f the thing." Every body know 
 that they were English or American, which is 
 just the same ; for Englishmen ohd Americans 
 are universally recognizable by the rigidity of 
 their muscles. - 
 
 A,bcvy of masked beautio's were attracted by 
 the colossol form of the Senator. To say that 
 ho was bewildered would express his sensations 
 but faintly. He was distracted. Ho looked 
 for Buttons. Buttons was chatting with a little 
 domino. Po turned to Dick. Dick was walk- 
 iiig off witii a rhinoceros. To Figgs and the 
 Doctor. Figgs and the Doctor were exeliang- 
 ing glances with a couple of lady codfishes imj 
 trying to look amiable. The Senator gave a 
 sickly smile. 
 
 " Whnt'n thunder'll I do?" ho muttered. 
 Two dominos took cither arm. A third stood 
 smilingly before him. A fourth tried to appro- 
 priate his left hand. 
 
 " Will your Excellency dance with one of us 
 at a time," said No. 4, with a Tuscan accent, 
 "or will you dan* with all of us nt once? ' 
 The Senator looked helplessly at her. 
 " He does not know how," said No 1. " IIo 
 has passed his life among the stars." 
 
 "Begone, irreverent ones I" said No. 3. 
 " This is an American prince. He said I f liould 
 be hh partner." 
 
 " Boh ! malidctta 1 " cried No. 2. " He told 
 mo the same ; but ho said he 
 was a Milor Inglese." 
 
 No. 4 thereupon gave a smart 
 pull at the Senator's hand to 
 draw him off. Whereupon No. 
 2 did the same. No. 3 began 
 singing "Come e bcllo!" and 
 'No. 1 stood coaxing him to 
 "Fly with her." A crowd 
 of idlers gathered grinningly 
 around. 
 
 "My goodness!" groaned 
 the Senat(»L "Mo! the— tlio 
 representative of a respectable 
 constituency ; the elder of a 
 Presbyterian church ; the pres- 
 ident of a/'temperance society; 
 the deliverer of that famous 
 Fourth of July oration; the 
 father of a family— me ! to be 
 treated thus! Who air these 
 females? Air they countesses? 
 Is this the way the foreign no- 
 bility treat an American cit- 
 izen ?" 
 
 But the ladies pulled and the 
 crowd grinned. The Senator 
 endeavored to remonstrate. 
 Then ho tried to pnll his arms 
 •way ; but finding that impos- 
 sible he looked in a piteoiu 
 
 At the other. 
 
 ' "pyi >" 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLDC. 
 
 to bo mine. I nnderstnnd the national dance 
 "MltTin"''''' *■'""""'' J-^S Irlandese." 
 The Senator shoated this one word in a stcn- 
 
 tonan^vcce. Tho ladic, dropped hi. arm, and 
 
 hZ^ "^' ^- ■" "J'"^ "«' Senator. " Look 
 mT«,™ • "* '^^^ /-talinn-jnc American 
 Me come jast see lee fnn, you kno«r-,ee spoart 
 -youund.,t«nd? Ha? Hnm!" ^ 
 
 "Bmvor ' '^^^ *^"'" ''""*''• «""1 "\^J 
 Quite crowd gathered around them. TUj 
 
 Sl'r'"^'**"* '';"' •''*' *•*"» "«'•. to make 
 ^^^TL^derBUnd. it was only noL^j^ 
 
 j*4owtmoiigh.l«wled «, loudly that ererT 
 
 awy dancer, .topped. Among thew Battoni 
 
 28 
 
 .came near with tho little 
 Domino. Little Dom- 
 ino stopped, laughed, 
 clapped her hands, and 
 peinted to the Senator. 
 
 The Senator was yells 
 ing vehemently in bro- 
 ken English to a large 
 crowd of masks. Ho 
 told them that he had a 
 largo family; tlmt he) 
 owned a factory ; tlmt he 
 was a man of Mcight, 
 character, influence, pop, 
 ularity, wealth ; that ho 
 came hero merely to 
 study their manners and 
 customs. He disclaimed 
 any intention to partici- 
 pate in their amuse, 
 menfs just then, or to 
 make acquaintances. — 
 Ho would be proud to . 
 visit them all at their " 
 houses, or see them at 
 his apartments, or— or— 
 in short, would bo hap. 
 py to do any thing if 
 they would only let him 
 go in peace. 
 
 Tho crowd laughed, ^ 
 chattered, and shout- 
 ed "Bravo!" at ev- 
 ery pause. The Senator 
 was covered with shame 
 and perspiration. What 
 would have become of 
 him finally it is impos- 
 sible to gncss ; but, for- 
 tunately, at this extrem- 
 ity he caught sight of 
 Buttons. To dash away 
 from tho charming la- 
 dies, to burst through the 
 crowd, and to seize the 
 .. , . arm of Buttons was but 
 
 tho work of a moment. 
 
 " Buttons ! Buttons 1 Buttons ! Help mo ! 
 Iheso confounded /.talian wimtain ! Take 
 them away. Tell them to leave mo be. Tell 
 them I don't know' thom-don't want to have 
 them lianging round mo. Tell them Tm your 
 Mher! cried tho Senator, his voice rising to 
 a shout in his distraction and alarm. 
 
 About 1)70 people were around him by this 
 time. 
 
 "Goodness!" said Button., "you are in a 
 n-x. Why did you make yourself so agreeable ? 
 and to 80 many? Why, it', too bad. One at 
 *tinvB!" 
 
 j^" Button.," Mid the Senator, wlcmnlv, "i. 
 
 i<^)Hiis a time for joking ? For Heaven', uka get 
 
 me away!" ««.o fcej 
 
 "Come, tli6n.} ym mart nm ftjr It* 
 
 , ...V.., jv„ luuso run lor u. " 
 
 Ho Mixed the Senator's right arm. The lit- 
 tie Domino clnng to hi. other. Away they 
 

 24 
 
 THE DOIIkJE CLUB; OR, ITALt IN MDCCCLDC 
 
 started. It was a full ran. A shout arose. So 
 arises the shout in Komo along the bellowing 
 Corso when the horses are starting for the Car- 
 nival races. It was a long, loud shout, gather- 
 ing and growing and deepening as it rose, till 
 it burst on high in one grand thunder-clap of 
 sound. 
 
 Away went the Senator like the wind. TJie 
 dense crowd parted on cither side with ^ rush. 
 The Ojjcra-house is several hundred feet in 
 length. Down this entire distance the Senator 
 ran, accompanied by Buttons and the little 
 Domino. Crowds cheered him as he passed. 
 Behind him the passage-way closed up, and a 
 long trail of screaming maskers pressed after 
 him. The louder they shouted the faster the 
 Senator ran. At length they reached the oth- 
 er end. 
 
 "lio yon see that box?" asked Buttons, 
 pointing to one on the topmost tier. 
 "Yes, yes." 
 
 " Fly I Run for your life I It's your only 
 hope. Get in there and hide till we go !" 
 
 The Senator vanished. Scarcely had his 
 coat-tails disappeared through the door when 
 the pursuing crowd arrived there. Six thou- 
 sand two hundred and twenty-seven hnman be- 
 ings, dressed in every variety of costume, on 
 finding that the runner had vanished, gave venC 
 to tlieir excited feelings by a loud cheer for the 
 interesting American who had contributed so 
 grofttly to the evening's enjoyment. 
 
 Unlucky Senator! Will it bo believed that 
 even in the topmost box his pursuers faJle^ved 
 him ? It was even so. About an hour after- 
 ward Buttons, on coming near the entrance, 
 encountered him. His face was pale but reso- 
 Inte, his dress disordered. He muttered a few 
 words about " durned /-talian countesses," and 
 hurried out. 
 
 Buttons kept company with the little Dom- 
 ino. Never in hii \ife had ho passed so agree- 
 able an evening. He took good care to let his 
 companion know this. At Icngtli the crowd 
 began to separate. The Domino would go. 
 Buttons would go, with her. Had she a car- 
 riage ? No, she walked. Then be would walk 
 with her. 
 
 Buttons tried hard lo get a carriage, but all 
 were engaged. But a walk would not be un- 
 pleasant in such company. The Domino did 
 not complain. She was vivacious, brilliant, de- 
 lightful, bewitching. Buttons had been trying 
 all the evening to find out who she was. In 
 vain. 
 
 " Who in the world is she ? I must find out, 
 so that I may see her again." This wa« his 
 one thought. 
 
 They approached the Strada Nuom. 
 
 " S h o i i n ot one of thenol>ili*yj ftt i«" y r^t^!," 
 h# thought, " or she would not live hero." 
 ^ They turned np a familiar street. 
 
 " How exceedingly jolly I She can't live far 
 away from my lodgings." 
 
 They entered the Strada di San Bartoloroeo. 
 
 " Hanged if she don't lire in the lamo street !" 
 
 A strange thought occurred. I^^ras soon 
 confirmed. They stopped in frOnt of Buttons's 
 own lodgings. A light gleamed over the door. 
 Another flashed into the soul of Buttons. The 
 Domino took off her mask and turned her faco 
 uptoButtons. That face, dimpled, smilini;, be- 
 witching ; flashing, sparkling eyes ; little montli 
 with its rosy lips I 
 
 " Dolores /" 
 
 ' ' Blessed saints, and Holy Virgin I , . Is it pos- 
 sible that yon never suspected ?" ,; ^, 
 
 " Never. How could I when I tbo«^it you 
 were dressed like a dragoon ?" / ,' 
 
 "And you never passed so happy an'*re;f! 
 ing; and you never had so fascinating am] 
 charming a partner ; and you never heard such 
 a voice of music as mine ; and yon can never 
 forget me through all life ; and you never can 
 hope to find any one equal to me !" said Do- 
 lores, in her usual laughing volubility. 
 „ "Never!" cried Buttons. 
 
 " Oh deor ! I think you must love me very 
 much." 
 
 And a merry peal of laughter rang up the 
 stairs as Dolores, evading Buttons's arm, wliich 
 that young roan had tried to pass about her 
 waist, dashed away into the darkness and out 
 of sight. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ADVKNTtTREB AND MISADVEMTURE^. — A ■»'ET CnOT- 
 TO AND A BOILING LAKE. — THE TWO FAIR 
 SPANIARDS, AND THE DONKEY RIDE. 
 
 The Grotto of Fosilippo is a most remarkable 
 place, and, in the opinion of every intelligent 
 traveller, is more astonishing than even tlic Hoo- 
 sac Tunnel, which nobody will deny except tlio 
 benighted Bostonian. 
 
 The city of Pozzuoli is celebrated for two 
 things; first, because St. Paul once landed 
 there, and no doubt hurried away as fast as ho 
 could ; and, secondly, on account of the im- 
 mense number of beggars that throng around 
 the unhappy one who enters its streets. 
 
 The Dodge Club contributed liber&Ily. The 
 Doctor gave a cork-screw ; the Senator, a blode- 
 less knife ; Dick, an old lottery ticket ; Buttons, 
 a candle-stump ; Mr. Figgs, a wild-cat bank- 
 note. After which they all hurried away on 
 donkeys as fast as possible. 
 
 The donkey is in his glory here. Nowhere 
 else does he develop such a variety of forms— 
 nowhere attain such an infinity of sizes — nowhere 
 omit so impressive a bray. It is the Bray of 
 Naples. "It is like the thunder of the night 
 when the cloud bursts o'er Cona, and a tlion- 
 sand ghosts shriek at once in the hollow wind." 
 
 There is a locality in this region which the 
 nTfffjpi^tii ni»n«d *ft«r jt nurtain warm repon 
 which no refined person ever permits himself to 
 mention in oi^ day. Whateror it may hsvo 
 been when some Roman Tityrus walked pipe in 
 mouth along its shore, it< preient condition 
 renders it« name lingnlarly appropriate and 
 felicitous. Here the party unused themsclrci 
 
 ,vJi|b&^i&«^^ 
 
^ 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB^ OB, ITALY IN^CCCLDT.' 
 
 with a'lunch of figs and oranges, which they 
 gathered indiscriminntely from orchards and 
 gardens on the road-side. 
 
 There was the Lake Lncrine. Avemo and 
 the Elysian Fields were there. The ruins of 
 Caligula's Bridge dotted the surface of the sea. 
 Yet thp charms of all these classic scenes were 
 eclipsed in the tourists' eyes by those of a num- 
 ber of pretty peasants giris who stood washing 
 clothes in the limpid waters of the lake. 
 
 It was in this neighborhood that they found 
 the Grotto of the Cumican Sibyl. They follow- 
 ed the intelligent cicerone, (irmed with torches 
 into a gloomy tunnel. The intelligent cicerone 
 walked before them, with the air of one who had 
 something to show. Seven stout peasants fol- 
 lowed after. The cavern was as dark as possi- 
 ble, and extended apparently for an endless dis- 
 tance. 
 
 After walking a distance of about two miles 
 according to the Senator's cakuLition, they camo 
 to the centre of interest. It was a hole in the 
 wall of the tunnel. The Americans were given 
 to understand that they must!«nter here 
 "But how?" 
 'How? Why, on the broad backs of the 
 
 Its. who nil stnnrl nnl:>.l- ./r.- :_^ 
 
 25 
 
 latter looked its anxious as his tiBmbling boar- 
 
 Do'n'f""'''^*"^' ''°*'"®*^' "^•■"''! Do"'tI 
 " Diavo-lol" muttered tlw Italian. 
 And in the next instant plump went the Sen- 
 
 that baffles (Inscription. The Senator, rising 
 from his unexpected bath, foaming and sputter- 
 ing, the Italian praying for forgiveness, the 
 
 The end of it was that they all left as soon as 
 possible, and thfS Senator indignantly waded 
 
 with tl^e unfortunate bearer, whom the Senator 
 refused*, pay, formed a beautifully appropriate 
 termination to their visit to this clS^? 
 The Senator was so disturbed by this niisad- 
 venture that his wrath did not subside until his 
 trowsers were thoroughly dried. This how 
 ever, was accoraplislied at last, under the' warm 
 sun, and then ho looked around him with his 
 usual complacency. 
 
 The next spot of interest which attracted 
 them was the Hall of the Subterranean Lake 
 
 In tnia nln<«A ftiAvw :„ - • 
 
 x.>,„. „uj, „n me oroaa backs of the them was the Hall of fi.» e V, -""-i^i^cu 
 
 stout peasants, who all stood politdy offering In t^irnU^ ,t,„^ ,• " S°bte„anean Lake, 
 
 their humble services." The guide went firs? « h 1 1 k" . • ** a cavern in the centre of 
 
 n.... ...:.L , fcumo went nrst. a hill, which is approached bv a nassam. nf =/.,«« 
 
 1o, got on the back of considerable length nnii^.K?*^!^ "/*"""» 
 
 ...-., .„ ■,„.,. 1.CB. i„e guiae went first. 
 
 Buttons, without more ado, got on the back of 
 
 the nearest Italian and followed. Dick came 
 
 next ; then the Doctor. Mr. FIggs and the 
 
 Senator followed in the same dignified manner 
 
 They descended for some distance, and finally 
 
 came to water about three feet deep. As the 
 
 roof was low, and only rose three feet above the 
 
 water, the party had some difficulty, not only in 
 
 keeping their feet out of the water, 
 
 but also in breathing. At length they 
 
 came to a chamber about twelve feet 
 
 square. From this they passed on to 
 
 another of the same size. Thence to 
 
 another. And so on.. 
 
 Arriving at the last. Bearer No. 1 
 qnictly deposited Buttons on a raised 
 stone platform, whiA fortnnditely 
 arose about half an inch above the 
 water. Three other bearers did the 
 same. Mr. Figgs looked foriornly 
 about him, and, being a fat man, 
 seemed to grow somewhat apoplectic. 
 Dick beguiled the time by lighting his 
 pipe. 
 
 " So this is the Grotto of tlio Cu- 
 
 maan Sibyl, is it?" gaid Buttons. 
 Then all I can say is that—" 
 What ho was going to say wag lost 
 
 by a loud cry which interrupted him 
 
 and startled all. It came from the 
 
 other chamber. 
 
 Swwtofr^ WidTJick. " — 
 
 It was indeed his well-known voice. 
 There was a plash and a gpoan. Im. 
 mediately afterward a man staggered 
 into the room. He was deathly pale, 
 and tottered feebly under the tromen- 
 doui weight of tho Senator. The 
 
 considerable length, and in" the subterranean 
 cavern a pool of water boils and bubbles. The 
 usual crowd of obliging peasantry surrounded 
 them as they entered the vestibule of this inter- 
 esting pince It was a dingy-looking chamber, 
 out of which two narrow subterranean passages 
 ran. A grimy, sooty, blackened figurtJ stWKl 
 before tliem with torches. . , 
 
 BABM nl— I>|fl|>r. 
 
 
THE DODdE CLUB; OB, ITALY EJ MDCCCLIX. 
 
 
 
 
 "Follow!" 
 
 This vraa all that ho condescended to 
 Bay, after lighting his torches and dis- 
 tributing them to his visitors. Ho 
 stalked off, and stooping down, darted 
 into the low passage-nay. The cicerone 
 followed, then Buttons, then Dick, then 
 the Senator, then the Doctor, then Mr. 
 Figgg. The air was intensely hot, and 
 the passage-way grew lower. More- 
 over, the smoke from the torches filled 
 the air, blinding and choking them. 
 
 Mr. Figgs faltered. Fat, and not by 
 any means nimble, he came to a pause 
 about twenty feet from the entrance, 
 and, making a sudden turn, darted out. 
 
 The Doctor was tall and unaccustom- 
 ed to bend his perpendicular form. 
 Half choked and panting heavily ho too 
 gave up, and turning about rushed out 
 after Mr. Figgs. 
 
 The other three went on bravely. 
 Buttons and Dick, because they had 
 long since made dp their minds to see 
 every thing that presented itself, and 
 tlio Senator, because when he started on 
 an enterprise he was incapable of turn- 
 ing back. 
 
 After a time the passage went sloping 
 steeply down. At the bottom of the 
 declivity was a pond of water bubbling 
 and steaming. Down this they ran. 
 Now the slope was extremely slippery, 
 and the subterranean ch»i|^bcr was but 
 faintly illuniinated by the torches. And 
 ;8p. it tmine to pass that, as the Senator 
 ran down after the others, they had 
 barely reached the bottom when 
 
 TTtunip ! 
 
 At once all turned round with a start. 
 Not too quickly ; for there lay the Senator, on his 
 back, sliding, in an oblique direction, straight 
 toward the pool. His booted feet were alreadv 
 in tho seething waves j his nails were dug into 
 the slippery soil ; he was shouting for help. 
 
 To grasp his hand, his collar, his leg— to jerk 
 him away and place him upright, was the work 
 of a shorter time than is taken to tell it. 
 
 The guide now wanted them to wait till he 
 boiled an egg. The Senator remonstrated, stat- 
 ing that he had already nearly boiled a leg. 
 The Senator's opposition overpowered the wishes 
 of the others, and the party proceeded to return. 
 Pale, grimy with soot, panting, covered with 
 huge drops of perspiration, they burst into the 
 chamber where the others were waiting— first 
 Buttons, then Dick, then the Senator covered 
 with mud and slime. 
 
 TJie latter gentleman did not answer much to 
 the eager inquiries of his friends, but maintained 
 JLsolenm silence, The-two forsaer loudly and 
 Tohibly descanted on the accumulated horrors 
 of the. subterranean way, the narrow passage, 
 tho sulphurous air, the lake of boiling floods. 
 
 In this outer chamber their attention was di- 
 nfeted to a number of ancient relics. These 
 
 TnUHI- 1 
 
 are offered for sale in such abnndanpcMliat they 
 may be considered staple articlcsWf commerce 
 in this country. < 
 
 So skillful are the manufacturers that they can 
 produce unlimited supplies of the followiiif; arti- 
 cles, and many others to(ynumcrous to mention: 
 
 Camican and Oscan culn« ; ; 
 r>ltto and ditto ntatiiottcg; | 
 Ditto and ditto rlngo ; 
 Ditto and ditto bracelets ; ' 
 Ditto and ditto imaf;e«! ; 
 Ditto and ditto toilet artioleii 
 Ditto and ditto raFcn : 
 Ditto and ditto liaslu; 
 Relica of Parthenope ; 
 Ditto of Bain ; 
 Ditto of Mlaenum ; 
 Ditto of Piratiim; 
 Ditto of Ilerculaneumt 
 Ditto of Pompeii; 
 Ditto of Capra-a ; ' 
 Ditto of Capua ; 
 Ditto of Ciimie — 
 
 And other places too numerous to mention ) 
 all supplied to inrder^ all of which are eaten 1^ - 
 rust, and warranted to be covered by the canker 
 and the mould of antiquity. 
 
 The good guide earnestly pressed some inter- 
 esting relics upon their attention, but withont 
 marked inccess. And now, as the honr of din- 
 
TH^ DODGE CLUB J OB, ITALY IN ^DCCCLIX. 
 
 ner approached, they mode 
 the best of their way to a 
 neighboring inn, which com- 
 manded a fine view of the 
 bay. Emerging from the 
 chamber the guide followed 
 them, offering his wares. 
 
 "Tell me," ho cried, inn 
 sonorous voice, " oh most no- 
 ble Americans ! how mpch 
 will yon give for thi6 most 
 ancient vaso ?" 
 
 " Un' mezzo carlino," said 
 Dick. 
 " Un' mezzo carlino I I .'" 
 The man's hand, which had 
 been nplifted to display the 
 vase, fell downward as he said 
 this. His tall figure grew less 
 and lcs» distinct ns they went 
 farther away ; but long after 
 he was out of sight the phan- 
 tom of his reproachful face 
 haunted their mi.tds. 
 
 After dinner they went out 
 on the piazza in front of the 
 hotel. Twp Spanish ladies 
 were there, whose dark eyes 
 produced an instantaneous efl"cct upon the im- 
 pressible heart of Buttons. 
 
 They sat side by side, leaning against the stone 
 balustrade. They were smoking cigarettes, 
 and the effect produced Ijy waving their pretty 
 hands as they took tho cigarettes from their 
 mouths was, to say the least, bewildering. 
 
 Buttons awaited his opportunity, and did not 
 have to wait long. Whether it was that they were 
 willing to give the young American a chance, or 
 whether it was really unavoidable, can not *o 
 Mid but certainly one of the feir Sjlaniards 
 found that her cigarette had gone out. A pret- 
 ty look of despair, and an equally pretty gesture 
 of vexation, showed at once tho state of things 
 Upon which Buttons stepped up, and with a bow 
 that would have done honor to Chesterfield, pro- 
 duccd a box of scented allumettes, and lighting 
 one gravely held it forward. The fair Spaniard 
 smiled bewilchingly, and bending forward with- 
 out hesitation to light her cigarette, brought her 
 rosy^lips into bewildering proximity to Buttons's 
 
 It was a trying moment. 
 
 Ae amiable expression of the ladies' faces, 
 combined with the softly-spoken thanks of tho 
 lady whom Buttons first addressed, encouraged 
 mm. The consequence was, that in about five 
 mmutes more he was occupying a seat opposite 
 hem chatting as familiarly as though he were 
 an old plUymate. Dick looked on with admira- 
 tion ; the others with envy. 
 
 Ari*"'". '" *••* '""""'^ ^°«* " happen," asked 
 
 Si^il", I. ""' ^"''»'» know, the lingo of 
 wery body he meets?" „ 
 
 C^'iS" .*'?1'' *"''' ''•'' w'd Dick. "These 
 Untinental languages nrq all alike; *now one, 
 Md you've got the key to tho others -tha 
 
 27 
 
 A TRTnca MOMENT, 
 
 ''uese'" ^''""'^' ^'°"""' ^'"'"''*'' ""'^ ^°""- 
 "And look at him now!" cried the Senator 
 
 his eye beaming with cordial admiration. 
 
 ., T, '^°" ""y «">» 'ook at him V sighed Dick. 
 Iwo such pretty girls as these won't turn no 
 
 again ma hurry. Spaniards too ; I always ad- 
 
 mired them," And ho walked down to the 
 
 shore humming to himself something about 
 
 "the girls of Cadiz." 
 
 The ladies informed Buttons that they\ero 
 .travelling with their brother, and hnd>^en 
 through Kussia, Germany, England, France, 
 and were now traversing Italy ; did not like the 
 threo hrsumcntioned countries, but were charm, 
 ed with Italy. 
 
 Their nahete was delightfuk Buttons found 
 out that the name of one was Lucia, and the 
 
 °', •",. u •. •^'"■"'° '"■° "f'"™ '"> Jid not know 
 which he admired most ; but, on the whole, mt"h. 
 er inclined to tho one to whom ho had offered " 
 tho light — Ida. 
 
 Ho was equally frank, and let tliem know 
 las name, his country, his creed. They wore 
 shocked at his creed, pleased with his country 
 and amused at his name, which they ptol 
 nounced, "SenorBo-to-ncs." 
 
 After about an hour their brother came. He 
 was a small man, very active, and fidbof vivac- 
 ity. Instead 6f looking fiercely at the stran- 
 ger, ho shook hands with him vei^ cordially 
 Before doing this, however, ho took ono short' 
 quick survey of his entire person, from his felt 
 hat down to his-Congress boots. Tho const, 
 
 --— Q.>-~ uuuiD. Alio c onse- 
 
 qnence wfB Ihaf Bnttonriileserteaiiis compan- 
 ions, and went off with the ladies. 
 
 Dick took the. lead of the party on the return 
 home. They viewed the conduct of Battens 
 
 A 
 
 
28 
 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 THE DODdE CLJJB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLDC 
 
 8ENAT0B AND DONKEY. 
 
 with displeasure. The Senator did not show 
 his nsual serenity. 
 
 The party were all ridinp; on donkeys, ^^o 
 do this on tne minute animals which the Nea- 
 politans furnish it is necessary to se/it one's self 
 on the stern of the animal, and draw the legs 
 well up, so that they may not trail on the ground. 
 The appearance of the rider from behind is that 
 of ft Satyr dressed in the fashion of the ..nine- 
 teenth century. Nothing can be more ridicu- 
 lous than the sight of a figure dressed in a frock- 
 coat and beaver hat, and terminated by tlie legs 
 and tail of a donkey. 
 
 As it was getting late the party hurried. The 
 donkeys were put on the full gallop. First rode 
 the guide, then the others, last of whom was the 
 Senator, whoso great weight was a sore trial' to 
 the little donkey. 
 
 ^They ncared Pozznoli, when suddenly the 
 Senator gave his little beast a smart whack to 
 hasten his steps. The donkey lost all patience. 
 With ft jump he leaped forward. Away he 
 went, far ahead of the others. The saddle, 
 w^iose girth was rather old, sli|>ped off. The 
 Senator held on tightly. In vain ! Just as ho 
 rounded a comer formed by a projecting sand- 
 bank tlio donkey slipped. Down went the rider ; 
 dow^ went the donkey also — rider and beast 
 flounilering in the dusty road. 
 
 A merry peal of ill-suppressed laughter came 
 from the road-side as he rolled into view. It 
 cftmo friijm a carriage. In the carriage were the 
 ^-rr^there, too, wa« Buttons. - . - 
 
 \ 
 
 CHAPTER IX. . 
 
 A^DRIV^ INTO THE COUNTRY.-^A FIGITt WITH A 
 VETTITRINO. — THE EFFECT OF EATING "HARD 
 BAILED EGOS."— VHAT THEY SAW AT P.«8TUM 
 —FIVE TEMPLES AND ONE " MILL." 
 
 To hire a carriage in Naples for any length 
 of time is by no means an easy tiling. It is 
 necessary to hold long commune with the pro- 
 prietor, to exert all the wiles of masterly diplo- 
 macy, to circumvent cunning by cunning, to ex- 
 crt patience, skill, and eloquence. After a de- 
 cision has been reached, there is but one way in 
 which you can hold your vettnrino to his "bar- 
 gain, and that is to bind him to it by securing 
 his name to a contract. Eveiy vettnrino has a 
 printed form all ready. If he can't write liis 
 name, he does something equally binding and 
 far simpler. He dips his thumb in the ihk-bot. 
 tie and stamps it on the paper. If that is not 
 his signature, what else is it ? 
 
 "Thus," said one, " Signer Adam signed the 
 marriage-contract with Signora Eva." 
 
 ^fter incredible difficulties a contract had 
 been drawn up and signed by the homy thumb 
 of a certain big vettnrino, who went by the 
 name of " II Piccolo." It was to the effect that, 
 for ft certain specified sum, II Piccolo should 
 take the party to Piestum and back, with a de- 
 tour to Sorrento. 
 
 It was a most delightful morning. All were 
 in the best of spirits. So they started. On 
 for miles through interminable streets of houses 
 that bordered the ciKularahoKi throughiiF 
 of sheep, droves of cattle, dense inasses of hu- 
 man beings, through which innumerable ca- 
 le<!he8 darted like meteors amid the stars of 
 heaven. Here came the oxen of Southern Italy, 
 stately, sftlemn, long-homed, cream-colored; 
 there marched grcat^rores of Sorrento hogi-' 
 
THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCCJX. 
 
 the hog of hogs— a strange but not ill-favored 
 animal, thick in hide, leaden in color, hairless 
 OS a hippopotamns. The flesh of the Sorrento 
 hog bears the same relation to common pork 
 that "Lubin's Extrait" bears to the coarse 
 icont of a country grocery. A pork-chop from 
 the Sorrento atiimal comes to the palate with 
 the force of a new rerclation ; it is the highest 
 possibility of pork — the apotheosis of the pig ! 
 Long lines of macaroni-cooks doing an enor- 
 mous business ; armies of dealers in anisette ; 
 crowds of water-carriers ; throngs of fishermen, 
 carrying nets and singing merry songs—" Ecco 
 mi!" "Ecco la!"— ppssible Massunicllos every 
 man of them, I assure you, Sir. And— envel- 
 oping all, mingling with all, jostling all, busy 
 with the busiest, idle with the idlest, noisy \r^hh 
 the noisest, jolly with the jolliest, the fat, oily, 
 swarthy, rosy— (etc., for further epithets see 
 preceding pages)— fMzarom ! 
 
 Every moment produces new effects in the 
 ever-shifting scenes of Naples. Here is the re- 
 verse of monotony ; if any thjng becomes weari- 
 some, it is the variety. Here is the monotony 
 of incessant change. The whole city, with all 
 its vast suburbs, lives on the streets. 
 
 The Senator wiped his fevered brow. Ho 
 thought that for crowds, noise, tumult, dash, 
 hurry -skurry, gayety, life, laughter, joyance, 
 and all thot incites to mirth, and all that stirs 
 the soul, even New York couldn't hold a candle 
 to Naples. 
 Rnbclais ought to have l)een a Neopolitan. 
 Then, as the city gradually faded into tlio 
 country, the winding road opened up before 
 them with avenues of majestic trees — overhang- 
 ing, arching midway- forming long aisles of 
 shade. Myrtles, that grew up into trees, scent- 
 ed the air. Interminable groves of figs and 
 oranges spread away Up the hill, intermingled 
 with the darker foliage of the olive or cypress. 
 
 The mountains come lovingly down fo bathe 
 their feet in the sea. The road winds among 
 them. There is a deep valley around which 
 rise lofty hills topped with white villages or 
 ancient towers, or dotted with villas which peep 
 forth from amid dense groves. As far as the 
 eye can reach the vineyards spread awav. i 
 Not as in France or Germany, miserable sandy ' 
 fields with naked poles or stunted bushes ; but 
 vast extents of trees, among which the vines 
 leap m wild luxuriance, hanging in long fes- 
 toons from branch to branch, or intertwininc 
 with the foliage. :^ _ 
 
 "I don't know how it is," said the Senator, 
 but I ra cussed if I feel as if this hero country 
 was ground into the dust. If it is, it is no bad 
 thmg to go through...the mill. I don't much 
 wonder that these /talians don't emigrftte. If 
 rowned a farm in this neighborhood I'd stand 
 a good deal of squeeain' before I'd sell out and 
 go anywheres else." 
 
 At evening they reached Salerno, a wntering- 
 
 placeon the sea-coast, and Naples in miniature. 
 
 There is no town ih Italy without its opera- 
 
 Hooie or theatre, and among the most \1vid and 
 
 most precious of scenic delights the pantomime 
 commends itself to the Italian bosom. Of 
 course there wns a pantomime at Salerno. It 
 was a mite of a house ; on a rough calculation 
 tlurty feet by twenty ; a double tier of boxes ; 
 a parquette about twelve feet square ; and a 
 stage of about two-thirds that size. 
 
 Yet behold what the ingenuity of man can 
 I accomplish! On that stage there were per- 
 ! formed all the usual exhibitions of human pas- 
 1 sion, and they even went into the production 
 I of great scenic displays, among which a great 
 storm in the forest was most "prominent. 
 
 Polichinello wns in his glory I On this occa- 
 sion the joke of the evening was an English 
 , traveller. The ideal Englishman on the Con- 
 tinent is a never-failing source of merriment. 
 The presence of five Americans gave addi- 
 tional piquancy to the show. The corpulcnti 
 I double-chinned, red-nosed Englishman, with 
 knee-breeches, shoe-buckles, and absurd coat, 
 stamped, swore, frowned, doubled up his fists', 
 knocked down waiters, scattered gold right and 
 left, wns arrested, was tried, was fined ; but 
 came forth unterrified from every persecution, 
 \ to rave, to storm,- to fight, to lavish money as 
 before. 
 
 How vivid were the flashes of lightning pro- 
 duced by toueliing oflT some cotton-wool soaked 
 in nkoliol ! How terrific the peals of thunder 
 ; -odnced by the vibrations of a piece of sheet- 
 iron : Whatever was deficient in mechanical 
 apparntus was readily supplied by the powerful 
 imagination of the Italians, who, though they 
 had often seen all this before, were not at all 
 weary of looking at it, but enjoyed the thou- , 
 sandth repetition as much as the first. 
 Those merry Italians ! 
 
 There is an old, old game played by every 
 vetturino. 
 
 When our travellers had returned to the ho- 
 tel, and were enjoying themselvei in general 
 conversation, the vetturino bowed himself in. 
 He was a good deal exercised^n his mind. 
 With a great preamble he came to the point : 
 As they intended to start early in the morning, 
 he supposed they would not object to settle their 
 j little bill now. : 
 
 I " W'A^.'" shouted Buttons, jumping np. 
 I " What «11? Settle a bill? We settle a bill P 
 Are you mad ?" 
 
 I " Your excellencies intend to settle the bill, 
 of conrse," sai4 the vetturino, with much 
 phlegm. 
 
 " " Our excellencies never dreamed of any 
 snob thing." 
 /'Not pay 9, Ha ! ha ! You jest. Signer." 
 •J " Do you see this?" said Buttons, solemnly ^- 
 ^'ing the oontractr^ 
 
 ilo. 
 
 pMdiKinj 
 
 j[H^lI ?" responded II \ 
 ^^miat is this ?" 
 " Our contract." 
 
 " Do yoB know what it is that yon have en- 
 gaged to do ?" 
 
 "To take you to Paistum." 
 
 " Yes J to Fcestum and back, with a detour 
 
 A 
 
80 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 to Sorrento. Moreover, yon engnge to supply 
 ns with three meals a day and lodgingii, for 
 lUl of which we engage to pay a certain sum. 
 What, then," cried Buttons, elevating his voice, 
 " in the name of all the blessed saints and apos- 
 tles, do you mean by coming to us about hotel 
 bills?" 
 
 " Signer," said the vetturino, meckhv " when 
 I made that contract I fear I ias too sanguine." 
 
 "Too sanguine 1" 
 
 '^And I have changed my mind since." 
 
 " Indeed ?" ► 
 
 " I find that I am a poor man." 
 
 ' ' Did you just find that out ?" 
 
 "And that if I carry out this it will ruin 
 me." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " So you'll have to pay for the hotel expenses 
 yourselves," said II Piccolo, with desperation. 
 
 "I will forgive this insufferable insolence,", 
 said Buttons, mnjestically, "on condition that 
 it never occurs again. Do you see that ?" he 
 cried, in louder tones. 
 
 And he unfolded tlje contract, which he had 
 been holding in his hand, and sternly pointed 
 to the big blotch of ink that was supposed to 
 be II Piccolo's signature. 
 
 " Bo you see that f" he cried, in a voice of 
 thunder. 
 
 The Italian did not speak. 
 
 " And that t" he cried, pointing to the sig- 
 nature of the witness. 
 
 The Italian opened his moolh to speak, but 
 w&s evidently nonplused. 
 
 "You are in my.power !" said Buttons, in n 
 
 rc-^T^rsT 
 
 DO TOi; ua TUAVr* 
 
 fine melodramatic <6ne, and with a vivacity of 
 gesture that was n6t without its effect on tlio 
 Italibn. I^e fielded the contract, replaced it in 
 his'breast-pidickot, and slapped it with fearful 
 emphasis. Every slap seemed to go to the 
 heart of II Piccolo. 
 
 " If you dare to try to back out of tliis agree- 
 ment I'll have you up before the police. I'll 
 enforeo the awful penalty that punishes the 
 non-performance of n solemn engagement. I'll 
 have you arrested by the. Royal Guards in tlie 
 name of Ilia Majesty the King, and cause yon 
 to be incarcerated in the lowest dungeons of 
 St. Elmo. Besides, I won't pay yftu for the. 
 ride thus far." 
 
 With this last remark Buttons walked to the 
 door, and without another word opened it, nnj 
 motioned to II Piccolo to leave. The vctturido 
 departed in silence. 
 
 On the following morning ho made hikap- 
 pearance as pleasant as though nothing hml 
 happened. 
 
 The carriage rolled away from Shlemo. 
 Broad fields stretched away on every side. 
 Troops of villagers marahcd forth to their In- 
 bor. As they went on they saw women work- 
 ing in the fields, and men lolling on the fences. 
 "Do you call that the staff for a free coun- 
 try ?" cried the Senator, whose whole soul rose 
 np in arms against such a sight. " Air these 
 things men ? or can such slaves ns these wom- 
 en seem to be give birth- to any thing but 
 slaves ?'' 
 
 " Bi-avo !" cried Buttons. 
 The Senator wos too indignant to say more, 
 and so fell into a fit of musing. 
 
 "Dick," said Buttons, after a long pnusc, 
 "you are as pale as a ghost. I believe you 
 must be- beginning to feel the miasma from 
 these plains." 
 
 " Oh no," said Dick, dolefully ; " something 
 worse." 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 "Do you remember the eggs -we had for din. 
 ner last evening ?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That's what's the matter," said Dick, with 
 a groan. " I can't explain ; but this, perhaps, 
 •will tell thee all r feel." ' ,» 
 
 He took from his pocket a paper and handed 
 it to Buttons. Around the margin were drawn 
 etchings of countless fantastic figures, illustrat* 
 ing the following Tines : 
 
 A NIGHTMAKK £l 
 
 " Qorgotu, and hydrat, and ehinurat dire." 
 
 BT ▲ VICTIM. 
 
 Egi];i! Egga!! t^ssUI 
 
 Hard boiled eggB for teat 
 And oti 1 tlie.koiTlble nightmare dream 
 
 They brotight to luckteaa me I 
 The hIppopotamuB came j " 
 
 He Mt upon my chest : 
 The hlppopotamna roared " Til apot klm I" oi 
 
 He trampled upon my breaat. 
 The big Iguanodon hnnchod 
 
 And rooted In under me: 
 The big Ignanodon raised by that pin o' done 
 
 Overdone rggi for tea. 
 
t to say more, 
 
 THEDODGE^CLUBiOB,ITALYINMDCCCLIX. ' 3^ 
 
 taken ap with a deep calculation, that the Sena- 
 tor wa, jitartlod by a .ndUcn noiie. 
 Turning hastily he saw .ometliing that made 
 
 pUce where the noiw arose. Buttons and Dick 
 were surrounded by a cmwd of. fierce-looking 
 Z:»n ^0" making very threatening dcm! 
 onstrations. There were at least fifteen A. 
 ho Senator ran up from one dinK:tion, so^iime 
 "Pf^^/IK?" fl "^ doctor from another 
 . What IS this ?'• cried the Senator, bursting 
 m upon the crowd. "urnwug 
 
 to„t'.''f^ '' «'"" '"^. "'"''''"K '"» fl" in But- 
 lemlj """"ping and gesjiculatiDg vio- > 
 
 "Those men sayvwe roust fay five nlantreii 
 each .0 them for stalling abortheir E„T 
 and Buttons has told this big fellow that h^ wi 
 give them five >icks each. There'll be some 
 kind of a fight They belong to the Camo^^ 
 Dick said all this in a hurried under-tone. 
 Camorry, what's that— brigands ?" 
 "AUthesai^." * 
 
 "They're not armed, anyhow." 
 Ju« at this moment Buttons said sotncthing 
 which seemed to sting theJtalians to the souL^ 
 ^With a wild shout they rushed forward! Th'e'^ 
 lid«or drew out his revolver. Instantly Dick 
 snatdl^ It from him, and rushing forward 
 1^0^" "'""''"'• Noneoflhcmwei 
 
 fi 11.^^1^ ""''" ^^ "'^^' 'n Italian. "The 
 fisht iB between this big fellow and my friend 
 
 thro""g\rm." '"" '"''''''^ ^'" "" -^ """« 
 
 ^ J!!^ ^i"*"'.'?" *"* «=""•"«• Buttons in- 
 cXn? Th'l^ 1-'""^'^ °^ ••'• «°«'' ^"^^ and 
 
 At;„7 "^'""""l''*"^'^ '^"'' » 8rim smile. 
 Atone end were the Senator, the Doctor, Mr. 
 
 F.RBs; nt the other the Italia^ ruffians. In the 
 
 t^?m n- J*" •".' u".""" •■'» •''« antagonist. Near 
 them Dick jnth his pistol! 
 
 ■rho scerie that followed had better be de- 
 
 scribed in Dick's own wonls, as he penci£ 
 
 them in h.s mtmorandum-book, from time to 
 
 To ' aT"^ ", •'u""T ''^''°"' ^i«» h" pistol 
 also. Afterward the description was retouched : 
 
 The ichtliTouimii tried 
 
 ■|'o roll 1110 up In a boll: '?*'"SS 
 
 While .11 il,« u,r«e were grinning at mi*" 
 
 And pounding me, bad and all. ^ 
 
 Bin I hip I hurrah I 
 
 It wax a Utile Uaek pig, ^ 
 
 Aii'J'h '>ull-fro(f, ^d a bobUiW dog- 
 
 All of tlioni danclnS • Jig. » 
 
 And oh, the makeat the inakea I 
 
 And the boa constrictor too' 
 And the cobra c.p.llo_a terrlbU. fellow- 
 
 Camo to^7 horrified view. 
 
 8nake> and horrible beaita. 
 Frog, pig, and dog 
 
 Rollod iffle about like a log. """"o me, 
 
 The little blno derlla camo on ; 
 
 Thev rode on a needle'a point ; 
 And the big glfaffe, with mathqiatlo laugh. 
 
 And legi all out of Joint. " ' 
 
 Bat« crawled Into my eara. 
 
 Hoiking about In my brain ; 
 And griazly beara rode up oo-HBuST^ 
 
 And then rode down again. 
 An antediluvian roared. 
 
 In the fdim of a Brahmlo bull : 
 And a Patajonlan aqueezod an onldn, 
 
 Ulllng my aching eye^ fulL 
 The three blue botllea that ut 
 
 Upon the htatorieal atonea 
 
 *^ 'M'*' "'"''"• diddle "-two on a fiddle. 
 The other one on the bouea. ^ 
 
 "W^ool whool whool 
 
 Get up, git up, you beauty I ' 
 Here Mme the ahaved' monkeya, a-rldlng on don- 
 Freah from Bobberty Shooty." 
 
 , Tliey ralaed me njcln the air. 
 
 Ited. »ody, and all, 
 Ahd carried me aoon to the man la the moon 
 
 At the alege of Scbaatopol. ' 
 
 Down, down, down, 
 
 Kound, round, round, -i 
 
 /nrf^'r"' '';!!'*' "* "J" o' the world; 
 And oh, no bottom I found. ' 
 
 Down, dowit, down, T 
 
 Whirl, whlri, whirl, 
 
 ^Hu^'t'Sitei't^ "^uV,:'" ■*■="■« '"o ■"""H 
 
 ; Hesmokedmy favorite pipe. 
 He blew k cloud of amoke, 
 
 Ani^ '!1* °",',"'"' h>* PorcLie inout; 
 And JiUgglng him, I awoke. * ' 
 
 . " Wliy, Dick," cried the Senator, " what pro- 
 cions nonsense!" . ""i pro- 
 
 « ^'Tf ^intended to be so," said Dick. 
 
 X It nljt ^'°" ""'^^ *" '^''" P" on an idee, 
 ^u most have some moaning." 
 
 . "Not a bit of it. It hos' no meaning • that 
 
 «, n6 more than a dream or a nightmarf.'" "* 
 
 of nl. ■'""'■ ""'^ '^*^'' *" ''i^'uss tlie nature 
 
 ioT^' ^'" ^"' '""''^•'"'y interrupted by^ 
 
 " The Temples !" 
 caltiT '^ "!^;' ^"^l""" " one of the most 
 
 moTt, and Italian party eaUed U?wa '^""^ 
 ^M^^i^l^'T ^f"t' "> •*"*"«« •« «"• But- 
 
 "M^on t«ch peeper, one oa the „^r, and Zl mZ 
 
 leMirar^nT^TK*^"''^'':, ^hey strolled care- '^"."n.nmuaed bStnot'excTtS: o-n^imSd^d™,^ 
 
 Cnt, W"' "™"»° chief attractions ?r''<^V.''%^'^«*"«»'^<^^^^^^^ 
 
 It^tllS' f'"" ""J^'V"' -hrino of Neptune \ >^iC^^t%\o'^^ "' *" 
 «v«. r^ !*''« standing with head thrown back. I H ^o^^^imb^^ 
 
 si 
 
 «-«, _ , "—"B "'"' "ouu inrown bnplc "^ nuuim. — nimoie to 
 
 Te. and month open^ wide, and thought^Si [ ^^^S& ^I^r^^^.^.^^^ 
 
 the Jugular, whloh agMa 
 
 the aerateh. Beppo bitdl* 
 one niuesthed and Unghlng. 
 • faint otteopt to get Into 
 
 

 
 ^*-- ' 
 
 THK DODGE £LUO| OR, ITALY IM MDCCCLIX. 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 r^ni 
 
 "N" M^ 
 
 
 ^i^"^ '^ 
 
 
 
 eilILL A.r 1-.B8TLM. 
 
 Dnttong. N» feo. '^ried a little npunlni;, wltf^ V-m mim- 
 miirily ended ' bj a cannonade frum Uuttonr directly in 
 bit coniHenaqce. 
 
 Uh ft)«nd.l— Forelfrncra. wild. Yelling to Ihdr man to 
 go in. (Doa'( nndentand a single oAo of thexules of the 
 I'. R. Very 1 benighted. Need lill»slonarlc».) Evinced 
 •trodg deterntlnatlon to go in themnelvm, bnt were clieck- 
 ed by attitnde of referve, who threntcned to blow out 
 brajne offit^^l^n that interfered. Ucppo'a fare ningnl- 
 fi«<| con«lder«Dty. Appearance not at aH prepoiveii'ing. 
 ^Itclt dintreaai^ bat furioui. Hade a bound at Biittonn, 
 *lio calmly, a(id without any apparent effort, met him 
 with a terrific iippor cut, which made the Italian's gigan- 
 tic frame tremble like a ship under the strake olf a big 
 , ware. He tottered, and swung his arms, tryiag to regain 
 his baUnee, *hen another annihlUtor most cleanly ad- 
 ibinlBlered b^ Dut^ns laid him low. A'great tomult rcee 
 amnAg the Jbreiguen. Beppo laypanting with uo df, 
 terminallon/to come to the scratch. At the ezplratieta 
 of Q<tual timp, opponent not appearing, Buttons wa4 
 proclaimed /victor. Beppo very much maalied. Foreign- 
 ers very ereatiy cowed. After waiting a MjKl "me 
 Buttons r^umed his garments and walked M^wili liis 
 MendsL. 
 
 •-. A(iet the victory tho travellers left Pastam 
 OB their return. 
 > The' r6ad that tumi off to Sorren^ is the 
 ■t beaatiflil in the world. It winds along 
 with innumerable tumiags, climbing 
 |diit|g,Jnto Talleys, twining around 
 ^ "" ' Ko'Kf of the prettiest 
 on, ivy-covered ruins, frown- 
 towers,ia^ elegant villaf<. 
 ento smileifffiW'IF&m a val]ey 
 fcrbial for beau^ where, within its 
 ^Uer of Kills, neithertheJiot blast ofmidsum- 
 mer nor the cold winds of winter can ever dis- 
 turb its repose. This is the. valley of perpetual 
 spring, wher^ fruits forevcr'now, and tho sea- 
 sons all blend together, so thn'-the same orchard 
 shows trees in blossom and bearing fruit. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OK THE WATSn, WHERE BUTTONS SEES A LOST 
 IDEA AND OIYBS CHASE TO IT, TOOETHER WITH 
 THE HEART-SICKENtNO RESULTS TUEREOF. 
 
 On the following morning Buttons .and Dick 
 went a little way oi^t of town, and down the 
 stQcp clifT toward tho shore. 
 
 It was a classic spot. Here was no lest a 
 plnco than the cave of Polyphemus, where llo- 
 ,mer, at least, may have stcrad, if Ulysses didn't. 
 And hero is the identical'stbue with which the 
 giant was wont to block up/the entrance to his 
 :P*avern. 
 
 Tho sea roJ'ed hgJM«j.uSaAway down to the 
 "m^t was Vesuv4!||^|Hn|Jl^in wlfich the 
 eye took? in the w1i3BMBM|M|||B of the shj)| 
 lined with whi^iw|^EBlWpBckgr9undf 
 mountains, till tni(WMHi™>^MKd in bold.prdm- 
 ontories. ^ 
 
 Opposite was the Isle of Capri. 
 
 Myriads of white sails flashed across the sea. 
 
 One of these arrested the attention of But- 
 tons, and so absorbed him thftt ho stA^od fixed- 
 ly at it for half an hour without moving. 
 
 At length an exclamation burst fro\ni hUp : 
 
 " By Jove 1 It is ! It is I" \ 
 
 "What IS? What is?" \ 
 
 •'The Spaniards!" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "In that boat." '_ : 
 
 " Ah 1" said Dick', coolly, looking at the oV 
 J«ct pointed out by Buttons. 
 
 It was an English sail-bofit„with a small cab- 
 in and an immense sail. In the stern wen)* 
 gentleman and two ladies. Buttons was Confi- 
 dent that theywere the Spaniards. . . » 
 
w 
 
 -rtlE DODGE CLUB; (Mt ITALY lN|bcCCUX. 
 
 TIIS ai-ANUUlS. 
 
 " Well," said Dick, " whafg the use of gct- 
 ting'so excited obout U ?" 
 "Why, I'm going buck to Naples by water I" 
 "Are you? Then I'll go too. Sholl we 
 leavo the others ?" 
 " Certainly not, if theywant to come with us. " 
 .Upon inquiry they found that tho others had 
 » strong objection to going by sea. Mr. Figgs 
 preferred tho ease of the carriage. The Doctor 
 thought tho sea„air injurious. The Senator had 
 the honesty to confess that ho was afraid of sea- 
 sickness. They would not listen to persuasion, 
 but were all resolutely bent on keeping to the 
 carriage. 
 
 ,^«lfons exhibited a foverisli haste in search- 
 ing after a boat. There was but little to choose 
 from among a crowd 6f odd-looking fishing-boats 
 that crowded the shore. However, they se- 
 lected the cleanest from among them, anfl soon 
 the bo.it, with her broad sail spread, wm dart, 
 ing over the sea. ' -t -s 
 
 The bo.it of which they went iq pnrsnit was 
 far away over pear the other shore, taking long 
 tack, acros. the bay. Buttons headed his toat so 
 M to mejft the other on its rBtnm tads. 
 
 It was a magnificent scene. After exhaiftt. 
 t'ng every shore view of Naplct, there is nothing 
 I'l^e taking to tho water. Every thing then aiv 
 IHiars .„ a new light. The f ar, winding cities 
 
 • purple Apennines, the ^ky JS tS^tt^'^'l^'fj l^''^^^^^ »?» ^'^,-' 
 
 .......1 • . »' ""' ">"«J viiiaKes, ine 
 
 Eno '' "*° '^^^ "'"^ ''"' '■"'^"'"B 
 
 ^ Th'''''^ ")!*"" ""*^'" ^"P'^" supreme In beanW. 
 fnnt/!? ' «"""'»Jn«twn8 Of scenery that are 
 fqiind there majte rivalry impossible. .For if 
 
 ^ 33 
 you will ^t have so liquid ati atmosphere • if 
 you have a shore with equal beauty of outline, 
 and equal pjice in it. lonrf sweep 6f towering 
 headland and- retreating slop,,, you will not have 
 so deep a purple on the distant hills. Above 
 all, nowhere else on earth has Nature placed in 
 the very centre of so divine a scene thd contnut- 
 cd terrors of thd black volcano. 
 
 Watching a chase is exciting; but taking 
 I part init IS much more so. Buttons had nmdo 
 th| most scientific arrangements. Ho had cal. 
 : culnted that at a certain point on the opp(»kito 
 shore the other boat would turn on a new faik 
 I and tllatif he steered to his boat to a poln| aboul 
 Thalf-way over, ho would me.« them, withouCp- 
 pearing to bo in pursuit. He accordinriy felt so 
 elated at the idea that ho burst forth into mnn 
 \ |l'he oiher bout at length had passed well over 
 ider tho shadow of the land. It did not turn 
 further and further over, and still it did noL 
 chaniio Its conrse. Bnttoos still kept the course ' 
 which ho had first chbsen; but finding that' he 
 was getting far out of tho way of tho other b«at 
 ho was forced to turn the head of his boat closer 
 to the wind, and sail jlowly, watching the 
 
 There was an island Immediately ahead of 
 the other boat. What was his dismay at see- ' 
 iiig It gracefully pass beyond the outer edge 
 of tho island, turn behind it, and vanish. Ho 
 struck the taffrail furiously with Ms clenched 
 hand. However, there was no help for it : so 
 changing his course, he steered in a straight lino . 
 after the other, to where it had disappeared 
 
 Now that the boat watf out of sight Dick did 
 not feel himself called^n to watch. So ho went 
 for,»-ard into tho bow, and made himself a snug 
 berth where he laid down ; and lighting his 
 pipe, looked dreamily out through a cloud of 
 smoke upon tho aiarmmg scene. Tho tossing 
 of the boat and tho laiy flapping of the sails 
 had a soothing infllience. His nerves owned 
 the lulling power. I^ia eyelids grow heavy and 
 gently descended. 
 
 Jhe wind and waves and islands and #ca ^nd 
 sky, all mingled together in a confused maks, • 
 came Jjgfore his mind. He was sailing >n 
 I *='''"*'*'?"^ chasing Spanish ladies through tha • -^^ 
 , sky. The drifting currents of the air bore them 
 [rosistlessly along in wide and never-ending 
 curves-upward in spiral movements toward tho / 
 senith ; and then oflf in ever-incrjasing speed, / 
 with, ever-widening gyrations, towig-d the su^ 
 set, whero the clouds grew red, and lazaibni ' 
 grinned from behind— // 
 
 A sudden bang of the huge sail stnjeft'by the 
 wind, a wild creaking of the boom, Airid a ^rnart » 
 dash of spray over the,boWs ajj^into his fAce 
 w^ed Mm^irom bis slnmhei^'f' pe^tarted 
 
 Hi 
 
 
 ■,>i% 
 
 von flnj -1.. u •:■"■■■' ""i'"«ioie. .i)or it boat was nowhere to bo » 
 you find el«,whero an equally beautifnl bay, [ready headed back agSn! 
 
 mg over the waters with an expression of bitte** 
 vexation. They had passed the out»rpoiht of 
 the island, and had caught "a swift current, « 
 chopping s^a, and a brisk freeze. The other , 
 boat was nowhere to be seen. Buttons had al- ' 
 
 *•>.,. 
 
 • V 
 
u 
 
 THfc.DOftGE Cl^UBj OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 " I don't see tho <)ther boat," Baid Djick. 
 
 Button* without a, word pointed to tlie left. 
 There Bho was.. She had i;ono quietly nround 
 the island, and had taken the channel between 
 it nnd tho shore. All tho time t)mt she had 
 been hidden she w^s steadily increasing tho 
 distance Iwtwocn them. 
 
 '■There's no help for it," said Dick, "but to 
 
 keep straight after them." 
 
 ^ Buttons did not reply, but leaned back with 
 
 . a sweet expression of patience. The two boats 
 
 kept on in this way for a long time ; but the 
 
 one in which our friends had embarked was no 
 
 match at all for tho one they were pui-suing. 
 
 • At every new tack this fact l)ccame more pain- 
 
 fiilly evident. Tho only lioixs for Buttons was 
 
 to regain by his superior nautical skill what he 
 
 «4%i(;ht lose. Tliose in the other boat had but 
 
 '.little skill in sailing, These at length became 
 
 ;,a^nre that they were followed, and regarded 
 
 ' their pursuers with earnest attention. It did 
 
 -- riot stem to halve any effect. 
 
 " They know we are after them at last !" 
 said iJick. 
 
 "I wohder if they can recognize us?" 
 
 "If they do they have sharp eyes. I'll l)e 
 hanged if I can recognize them I I don't sec' 
 how you can," 
 
 "Instinct, Dick — instinct!" said Buttons, 
 with animation. 
 
 " What's that flashing in their boat?" 
 
 "That?" said Buttons. "It's a spy-glass. 
 I didn't notictfil before." 
 
 " I've seen irfor the last Imlf-hour." * 
 
 ' ' Theii^iey must recognize us. How stranjje 
 
 that they don't slacken a little 1 Perhaps we 
 are not in full view. I will sit a^^ittlo more out 
 of the shade of tho sail, so that they can recog- 
 nize me." 
 
 Accordingly Buttons moved otit to a more 
 conspicuous place, and Dick allowed himself to 
 be mjffo visible. Again the flashing brass Wiis 
 seenr in the boat, and they could plainly jier. 
 ceive that it was passed from one to the otlier 
 while each took a long survey. 
 
 "They must be able to see ns if they have 
 any kind of a glass at all." < 
 
 "I should think so," said Buttons, dolefully. 
 
 " Are you sure they are th6 S))aniards ?" 
 
 "Oh! quite." 
 
 "Then I roust say they might be a little 
 more civil, and ^ot keep us racing ofter them 
 forever !" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know ; I suppose they wouldn't 
 like to sail close up to us." ^' 
 
 " They needn't sail up to us, but they might 
 give us a chance to hail them,." \ 
 
 " I don't think tho man they have with them 
 looks like Seiior Francia." 
 
 " Francia ? Is that his name ? He certain- 
 ly looks larger. He is larger." 
 
 "Look!" 
 
 As Buttons spoke the boat ahead fell rapidly 
 to leeward. The wind had fallen, and a cur- 
 rent which they had struck upon bore tlictn 
 away. In the eflTort to escape from the current 
 the boat headed toward Buttons, nnd when tlic 
 wind again arose she continued to sail toward 
 them. As they came nearer Button's face ex- 
 hibited a strnngc vnriety of expressions- 
 
 
 %:, 
 
 "a tuociuko r.-.uoxsl" 
 
ft*' 
 
 They met. 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 \ 
 
 85 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 In the other bont sat two English ladies and ' was fimLT,^'°"f'''« ^ ""° "^ ^^''^^'^ "»»«''« 
 . tall gen. eman. who eyed the two young men Z tSed \7'; »""?"" r'"^'^'"'}^ f"^'' '"" 
 fixedly, with a "stony British stare '• I n ' y''^""^- He turned. .1, was Dick. 
 
 « A thousand pardons !" said Buttons, risin. ' so Wscer'.J^T'f " ^" ""' '"'''«' "^ ""^ 
 and bowmp. -i mistook ^ ^ ae with !;.».. "'°.y°'»'»g ipan was convulsed 
 
 quainlances." ^ '°""' "•=- !'"' '«Mghter. Hw features wereworking his 
 
 Whereupon the other. Ibiled in a friendlv Xch'hST' "H"" '""^ '° "'"''P«^ something, 
 way, bowed, and said something. A few c" m nn 1 J« ^^ '' .P'"'""'""* ''™'''«>'» «"^ing. 
 monplaees were interchanged, and the bit h^s VfJ^? ?*r'? ^" "^'^^- A' »"" l"* «t"<^k 
 drifted away out of hearing ' ^T I "rv t„ "'r^i" ''" """"'» <""! bowed down 
 
 .eo^ low, while h.s whole frame shook. Some 
 
 otho« T'l'T" ?■"■ ^y '°*'''«d scandalised, 
 vitn^ «'>"<=k°d, others angry. Buttons fel 
 vexed. At bust Dick raised his face and rolled 
 
 OF UI3 EscAi-E. tore lis handkerclnef out of his pocket, while 
 
 It was not much after ten in the mnm.-n™ ,° ""^ ^''ook with the most painful 
 
 when Buttons and Dick returned oTZT '^°7"''""" <*f •""gl»ter. ^'""" 
 
 ing the hotel they found Mr. Figgs and tte solit^r V^^^^' is sucl, a convulsion in a 
 Doctor, who asked, them if they had seen le ^.Z^^ '• n" " '='>"'•«''. """W worBhipers ; 
 Senator. Jo which they replied by putTng tl c^L'T^JT'^^^ «•"••» «^o"hipers of another 
 same question to their questioners ' rf ' °1: """'" ""^ '" suspected of offering de- 
 
 He had not been seen since they had all been ' w7l^ /"'"''' ^° '' '"" '"=«'• ^'«>P'« n^^'" 
 toijother last. Where was he ? ■ ^^ j,^'j|^ '*''° J'°""S ""^n, and darted angry looks 
 
 him,b^st^lll!eya^wis^ed^ThL"^ '' 'hat had so excited two 
 
 •t hand, as it was about time for riiem ™ leave nff"^ ,"' ""'"* "*'"' ^^ "° """"» i-cJ'ned to 
 tne town The vetturino was aTrdy'^g rfiers? '" ""^ °''^' "'^'""^ '" "««»<>- 
 S;;i'l^E„Vir -- ~-Sr'^'- -they looked up to the o.a„. 
 
 .^'f MtKi-^st:; ! Sr ??r^^ - - - - 
 
 ho sofas Buttons and Dick strolled about the ' th« m 1 If "'^•' '""' ""> '"'»<*'« *<''''«1 by 
 town. Hearing strains of music as thev passed On Td:^.'' ''' "' "n*^ * "P"*^^ '•" ">e ehoir'^ 
 the cathedral, they turned in there to LCto til nl3.^ .J!"" V""" """•»'- «?'«=« not more 
 
 he serv ce. Why there should be serv ce and Sc«".S .;^"' ^'V^'"' ""•> " ""^ *" »»>» 
 full service too, they could not imagine. ' I sThV„ ^k.."^ "T "'•' "«""* **"*"» P'«»uced 
 
 "Can it be Sunday. Dick ?" iini,l n r ""**'' °" 'bem. 
 
 gmvely. ^' ""=" ^ •""» Buttons, I It ,vas the Senator. He stood there erect 
 
 Who can tell?- exclaimed Dick, lost in ' faT »n"f °f .course, with confusion in his 
 .ler. «-K, lost m face and ve.xation and bewilderment. The 
 
 wonder. , „,„„* 
 
 The cathedral was a small one, with nave ^Sn?fh''™ ""' *"""«''"''"" *"^'°"i«bing p^". 
 .nd transept as usual, and in the Italian Go, he ' But thn In?' '" """^^ V''"=*' »' """b « thne. 
 •^yle. At the end of the nave stood tl S ' Jnd he h^H T ^P°""« •^«""'y '»' belp. 
 a^tar, which was now illuminated with wax-cr i w«, in i • **" '.''*'" ""'*'■• »"'' *" bis soul 
 
 the opposite end of the tran'Tept waJ a smSS I ?ar for^S ' I «^"'"?^P'*J«eted his head as 
 door. The chureh was moderately fiUed pt IhJT "* !!■ ^r^' ''•""""*'• »°«l'l'"J. »" J 
 ably there were as manvpeoDle them n^ uL I .J ^f"!* *"''""« bi* «ip»,Tiolently as certain 
 had. They knelt on "Hr with thei C ' ^^''"'* <'»«'b people do, wlio eonve^rse by s^Tch 
 towarf the .Itar. FindingXTave .ome& ' ^d bv^H'" k""'' T ""'•""''"d what wo4 are 
 cmwded, Button, and Dick went at^und to " But tlJT °' "*" '""'"" '" "^""8 "'om. 
 *»«MUthe end of the tmnsept, Tnd onLMlllf' k''"'' '" ""*" ">* ^»''°' '«"' 
 f°»; A »fp space was emptV as far aS^«^t?f .T*"* "^ ,"•"""« Bifn.ac«ri5nr 
 j-nctipn with the nave. ImothisthetworounrSX'" a '"■*.' u ^'"°' «"«»'• "N"tre 
 men entered, very reverentlv nnT n-T ^ "^ ™*- ■*' '"''b 'be apparition was so over. 
 
 near to the ^laee'w^ere th^'othor loZTZ l^ff * ^' ""'"f ^"'^"^ "»' »'«"'»"«^ 
 M Of thonght. called up ^tl^-!^ [ ^ -' s^^tr tSt tj^^tf 
 
 6 
 
THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 36 
 
 organ-loft was watching them with his hungry 
 glance, ready the moment that they looked up 
 to be^in his grimaces once more. 
 
 "That poor Senator!" thought Buttons; 
 " how did he get there ? Oh, how did he get 
 there ?" 
 
 Yet how could he bo rescued ? Could he be ? 
 No. Ho must wait till the service should be 
 over. ** _ , 
 
 Meanwhile the young men mustered sufficient 
 courage to look up {igain, and after a mighty 
 struggle to gaze upon the Senator for a few 
 seconds at a time at least. There he stood, 
 projecting forward his anxious face, making 
 faces as each one looked up. 
 
 im MNATOIL 
 
 could not help doing often, the Senator would 
 repeat his mouthings, and nods, and becks, and 
 looks of entreaty. The consequence was, that 
 the people thought the stranger was making 
 fkices at them. Three hundred and forty-sercn 
 honest people of Sorrento thus found themselves 
 shamefully insulted in their own church by a 
 barbarous foreigner, probably an Englishman, 
 no doubt a heretic. The other four hundred 
 and thirty-six who knelt in the nave knewnoth. 
 ing bbout it. They could not sec the organ- 
 loft at all. The priests at the high altar could 
 not see it, so that they were uninterrupted in 
 their duties. The singers in the organ-loft siiw 
 nothing, for the Senator wos concealed from 
 their view. Those therefore who saw him were 
 the people in the transept, who now kept stnr- 
 ing fix«ily, and with angry eyes, at the man in 
 the loft. 
 
 There was no chance of getting him out of 
 that before the service was over, and Buttons 
 saw that there might be a serious tumult when 
 the Senator came down among that wrathful 
 crow^. Every moment made it worse. Those 
 ^ifiifthe nave saw the agitation of those in tlic 
 traVisept, and got some idea of the cause. 
 
 At last the service was ended ; the Eingcrs 
 departed, the priests retired, but the congrega- 
 tion remained. Seven hundred and eiglitv- 
 three human beings waiting to take venpcmicc 
 on' the miscreant who Iind thrown ridicule on 
 the Holy Father by making faces ot the fnilliful 
 as they knelt in prayer. Already a murmur 
 arose on every side. 
 
 "A heretic! A heretic! A blasj homer 1 
 He has insulted us!" 
 
 Buttons saw that a bold stroke alone could 
 'save them. He burst into the midst of the 
 throng followed bj' Dick. 
 
 " Fly !" he cried. '' Fly for your lives 1 It 
 is a madman! Fly! Fly!'' 
 
 A loud cry of terror arose. Instantaneous' 
 conviction flashed on the minds of all. A mad- 
 man ! Yes. Ho could be nothing else. 
 
 A panic arose. Tho people recoiled from 
 before that terrible madman. Buttons sprang 
 up to the loft. He seized the Senator's ami 
 and dragged him down. The people fled in 
 horror. As tho Senator emerged he saw seven 
 hundred and eighty-three good people of Sor- 
 rento scampering away like tho wind across the 
 square in front of tho cathedral. 
 
 On reaching tho hotel ho told his story. Ho 
 had been peering about in search of useful in- 
 fohnotion, and had entered tho cathedral. After 
 going through evSry port he went up into the 
 organ-loft. Just then the singer* came. In- 
 stead of going out like a man, he dodged them 
 from some absurd cause or other, with a half 
 
 Now the people in the immediate vicinity of 
 the two young men had noticed their agitation 
 
 as -„^ 
 
 liad looked tip to iefl the cinie of it. "Tfiey too i ing. _ , t^. , . 
 
 ."" the Senator. Othcri again, seeing their j him. At last ho saw Buttons and Dick enter, 
 
 has already been stated, and, moreover, they j idea that he would get mto trouble for intrnd- 
 
 . . ^ •_ . .' __ _ .-.. , r ty\ - 1 - — ■_-!-_ 1_.M . - . *.-.».jij1 till ^Mrtinrt »t Mfflfltflf 
 
 nuDivt~ 
 
 neighbors looking up, did tho same, until at last and tried to make signals, 
 all in the transept wore itaring up at the odd- " Woll " uid Bnttoi 
 looking itnngor. 
 As Buttons and Dick looked up, which they 
 
 Well," said Buttons, "wo had better 
 leave. Tlio Somntvliians will be around ben 
 soon to see the maniac. The; wUl find out all 
 
 iiJf. ^ ' 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OR, l^AtY IN MDCCCtlX. 
 
 ibont him, and mok? iia Ecqnainted with Lynch 
 low." . , 
 
 In a quarter of an hour/taioro they were on 
 their way back to Naples.,/ 
 
 -^ 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPl^EB XII. 
 
 EBBCULANEUM AND ^MPEII, AND ALL THAT TUE 
 BIGHT OP THOSE FAMOUS PLACES PItODUCED ON 
 THE MINDS OP TliE DODOE CLUB. 
 
 TiiEY had ali-Qttdy visited Herculaneam, but 
 
 the only feeling Avhich had been awakened by 
 
 the sight of that ill-fated city was one of un- 
 
 mitigated disgust. As honesty was the chief 
 
 characteristic ki the whole party, thev did not 
 
 hfesitate to express themselves with the utmost 
 
 fr^dom on yihis subject. They hoped for bet- 
 
 Jg^ngs f/om Pompeii. At any rote Pompeii 
 
 f^P^bovo/ground ; what might bo there would 
 
 be-psibla: No fuss with torches. No hum- 
 
 I . v'^''3k'"B A''** lanterns No wandering through 
 
 I hng bl«ck passages. No mountains bringing 
 
 forth mice. 
 
 Tliehr expectations were encouraged as they 
 walked up the street of Tombs leading to the 
 Herci/laneum Gate. Tombs were all around, 
 any Quantity, all sizes, little black vaults full of 
 pigeon-holes. These they narrowly examined, 
 and when the guide wasn't looking they filled 
 th^ir pockets with the ashes of the dead. 
 "Strange," quoth the Senator, musingly. 
 
 87 
 
 "tjiat these aiicient Pompey fellers should pick 
 on;t this kind of » way of getting buried. This 
 must bo the reason why people speak of urns 
 and ashes when they speak of dead peojile." 
 
 They walked through theVTiJla of Diomedes. 
 They were somewhat disappointed. From 
 guide-books, and especially from the remarka- 
 bly well-Rot-up Pompeian court at Sydenham 
 Palace, Buttons had been led to expect some- 
 thing far gi-ander. But in this, the largest 
 house in the city, what did he find ? Mites of 
 rooms, in fact closets, in which even o humble 
 modern would find himself rather crowded. 
 There was scarcely a decent-sized apartment iit 
 the whole establishment, as, they all indignant' 
 ly declared. The cellars wpre more striking. 
 A number of earthem vessels of enormous size 
 were in one comer. 
 
 " What arc these ?" asked the Senator. 
 "Wine jars."' \ 
 
 "What?" \ 
 
 " Wine jars. They didn't use wooden casks." 
 "The more fools they. Now do voii mean 
 to say that wooden casks are not infinitely more 
 convenient than these things that can't stand 
 up without they are leaned against the wall ? 
 Pho!" 
 
 At one comer the guide stopped, and point- 
 ing down, said something. 
 
 " What does ho say ?" asked the Senator. 
 
 " He says if you want to know how the Pom- 
 peians got choked, stoop down and smell that. 
 
 Tii.iiA nr pinimimt 
 
83 
 
 THE DODGE CLU6; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 m 
 m 
 
 rn£w I 
 
 Erery body who comes here is expected to smell 
 this particular spot, or he can't say that he has 
 seen Pompeii." 
 
 So down went the five on their knees, and 
 np again faster than they ^nt down. With one 
 universal shont of: " Phew-w-w-w-w-h-h-h ! 1 1" 
 
 It was a torrent of sulphuroas rapor that they 
 inhaled. 
 
 "Now, I sappose," said the Senator, as soon 
 as he could speak, " that that there comes di- 
 rect in § bee-line through a subterranean tun- 
 nel right strqight from old Vesuvius." 
 
 "Yes, and it was this that suggested the 
 famous scheme for extinguishing the volcano." 
 
 "How? What famous scheme ?" 
 
 "Why, an English stock-broker came hero 
 last year, and smclled this place, as every one 
 must do. An idea struck him. He started 
 up. Ho ran off without a word. He went 
 straight to London. There he organized a 
 company. They propose to dig a tunnel- from 
 the sea to the interior of the mouni^im Wheil 
 all is ready they will let in the water. There 
 will bo a tremendous hiss. The volcano will 
 belch out steam for about six weeks ; but the 
 Ksult will bo that the fires will be put out for- 
 ever." 
 
 ~ From the Villa of Diomedes ihtj -wmit, to the 
 gate where the guard-house is seen. Buttons 
 told the story of the 80i\tinel who died there on 
 duty, embellishing it with a few now features 
 of an original character. 
 
 "Now that may bo all very well," said the 
 Senator, "bat don't ask mo to admire that 
 
 chap, or tho Roman army, 
 or the system. It was all 
 hollow. Why, don't you sec 
 the man was a blockhead ? 
 He hadn't scn^e enough to 
 SCO thit when the whole 
 place was going to the dogs, 
 it was no good stopping to 
 guard it. He'd much better 
 have cleared out and saved 
 ious life for the good 
 country. Do you 
 suppose a Yankee would act 
 that way ?" 
 
 " I should suppose not." 
 "Thht man, Sir, was a 
 machine, and nothing more. 
 A soldier must know some- 
 thing else than merely obey- 
 ing orders." 
 
 By this time they Imd 
 passed through the gate nnd 
 stood inside. The strfct 
 opened before them for a 
 considerable dist.nnce with 
 houses on each side. In- 
 cluding the sidewalks it 
 mipht have been almost 
 twelve feet wide. As only 
 the lower part of the walla 
 of tho honses was standing, 
 the show that they made was 
 not imposing. There was no splendor in the ar- 
 chitecture or the material, for the style of the 
 buildings was extremely simple, and they were 
 mode with brick covered with stucco. 
 
 After wandering silently through the streets 
 the Senator at length burst forth : 
 " I say it's an enormous imposition !" 
 " What ?" inquired Buttons, faintly. 
 "Why, the whole system of Cyclopedias, 
 Panoramas, Books of Travel, Woodbridge's Ge- 
 ography, Sunday-school Books — " 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 "I mean tho descriptions they give of this 
 place. The fellows who write about it get into 
 the heroics, and what with their descriptions, 
 nnd pictures, and moralizing, you, believe it is 
 a second Babylon. It don't seem possible for 
 any of them to tell the truth. Why, there iia't 
 a single decent-sized house in the place. Ob, 
 it's small! it's small !" 
 
 " It certainly might 1)0 larger." 
 " I know," continued the Senator, with a 
 majestic wave of his hand — "I know that I'm 
 expected to find this hero scene very impressive ; 
 but I'll be hanged if I'm satisfied. Why, in tho 
 name of Heaven, when they give us pictures 
 of the place, can't they make things of the right 
 «t«ff? Whf, Vys seen « hmidred' picturts of. 
 that gate. They make it look like a triumph- 
 ant arch ; and now that I'm here, dum mo if I 
 can't touch the top of it when I stand on tip- 
 too." 
 
 In all his walk the Senator found only one 
 thing that pleased him. This was the cole- 
 
 . J.:,-k 
 
'.""iT^ 
 
 I 
 
 LuIb; 
 
 THE DODGt: CLub; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLK. 
 
 brnted Pompcian institution of a sikftp nn(]w the 
 dft'elling-liouso. 
 
 " Whenever I see any signs of any thing like 
 trade among these ancients," said lie, " I re- 
 spect them. And what is more satisfactorv 
 than to see a bake-shop or an eating-saloon in 
 the lower story of a palace ?" 
 
 Their walk was*terminafed by the theatre and 
 ampliitheatro. The sight of these were more 
 satisfactory to the Senator. 
 
 " Didn't these fellows coma it uncommon 
 strong thou;;h in the matter of shows ?" he ask- 
 ed, with considerable enthusiasm. "Hey? 
 Why, wo haven't got a single travelling circus, 
 menagerie and all, that could come anyway near 
 to this. After all, this town might have looked 
 well enough when it was all bran-new and 
 painted up. It might have looked so then; 
 but, by thunder! it looks any thing but that 
 now. What makes me mad is to see every 
 traveller pretend to get into raptures about it 
 now. Raptures be hanged ! I ask yon, as a 
 sensible man, is there any thing here equal to 
 any town of tbo same population in Massachu. 
 setts?" 
 
 89 
 
 Although the expectations which he had 
 formed were not quite realized, vet Buttons 
 fou^d much to excite interest after the first dis- 
 appointment had passed away. Dick excited 
 the Senator's disgust by exhibiting thoso rapt- 
 ures which the latter had condemned. 
 I The Doctor went by the Guide-book altogeth- 
 er, and regulated his emotions accordingly. 
 Having seen the various pkces enumerated 
 there, he wished nt> more. As Buttons and 
 Dick wished to stroll further among the houses 
 the other three waited for them in the amphi- 
 theatre, where,the Senator beguiled the time by 
 giving his " ideo" of an ancient show. 
 
 It was the close of day before the farty left. 
 At the outer barrier an official pofitely exam- 
 ined them. "The resulfof the examination was 
 that the party was compelled to disgorge a num- 
 ber of highly interesting souvenirs, consisting 
 of lava, mosaic stones, ashes, plaster, marble 
 chips, pebbles, bricks, a bronze hingC, a piece 
 of bone, a small rag, a stick, etc. 
 
 Tiio official apologized with touching polite- 
 ness: "It was only a form," he said. "Yet 
 ho must do it. For look yon, Signori," and 
 
 A man ih roarui. 
 
40 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB\ OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 hero lie sTirnggod «p hi»;i^hoal(lor«, rolled his ] 
 eyes, and puffed qnt his lips in a way that was 
 possible to none Wit iin Italian, "wens it not, 
 thus tho entire city would be carried away piece^ 
 meal!" 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 VBSUTirS.— WONDERFUL ASCENT OP THE CONK.— 
 WONDEHFUL DESCENT INTO TUB CRATER. — AND 
 MOST WONDERFUL DISAPPEARANCE OF MR. 
 FIOOS, AFTER WHOM ALL HIS FRIENDS QO, WITU 
 TUEIR LIVES IN THEIR HANDS.— GREAT SENSA- 
 TION AMONO SPECTATORS. •_ 
 
 To every visitor to Nnploi the most promi- ^ 
 ncnt object is Vesuvius. Tlio huge form of the | 
 volcano forever stands before him. The long 
 pennon of smoke from its crater forever floats , 
 out triumphantly in 'the air. Not in the land- | 
 scape only, but in nil tho picture-shops. In j 
 these estiiblishmcnti they really seem to deal in 
 nothing but prints and paintings of Vesuvius. 
 
 It was a lovely morning when a carriage, 
 filled with Americans, drew up at an inn near 
 the footof the mountain. Ttiero were guides 
 without number waiting, like Jxaats of prey,- to 
 fall on them ; and all the horses o^Re countrj- — 
 a wonderful lot — an amazing lot — alcan, cranky, 
 raw-boned, ill-fed, wnll-eycd, ill-natured, sneak- 
 ing, ungainly, half-foundered, half-stan-ed lot ; 
 afilicted witli all tho diseases that horse-flesh is 
 heir to. There were no others, so but little 
 time was wasted. All wore on an equal foot- 
 ing. To have a preference was out of tlio 
 question, so they amused 'themselves with pick- 
 ing out tho ugliest. 
 
 Whontho horses wore first brought out Mr. 
 Figgs looked uneasy, and made some mysteri- 
 ous remarks about walking. He thought sucli 
 nags were an imposition. Ho vowed they could 
 go faster on foot. On foot ! The others scout- 
 ed the idea. Absurd I Perhaps he wasn't used 
 to such beasts. Never mind. He mustn't bo 
 proud. Mr. Figgs, however, se^cd to have 
 reasons which were strictly private, and an- 
 nounced his intention of walking. But the 
 others Avould not hear of such a thing. They 
 insisted. They forced him to mount. This 
 Mr. Figgs at length accomplished,*thongh he 
 got up on the wrong side, and nearly pulled his 
 horse over backward by pulling at the curb- 
 rein, shouting all the time, in tones of agony, 
 "Who-a!" ° 
 
 At Ifength tlWy all set out, and, with few in- 
 torraptions, arrived at a place half-way up the 
 Mountain called Tho Hermitage. Here they 
 rested, and leaving their horses behind, walked 
 on over a barren region to the foot of the cone, 
 AH around was the abomination of desolation. 
 "Xhiggy rocks, huge, disjointed massea of shat- 
 tered lavn-blocks, cooled off into the most gro- 
 tesque shapes, mixed with ashes, scorin, and 
 pumice-stones. The cone towered frowningly 
 above their heads. Looking up, the aspe<!t was 
 not enticing. A steep slope ran up for an im- 
 menio distance till it touched the smoky canopy. 
 
 On one side it was covered with loose sand, but 
 in other places it was a\^ ovdrlaid with imsses 
 of lava fragments. The undertaking seemed 
 prMligions. 
 
 The Senator looked up with a weary smile, 
 but did not falter; the Doctor thought tlicy 
 would not be able to get up to tho top, and pro- 
 posed returning ; tho others declined ; where- 
 upon the Doctor slowly sauntered back to the 
 Ilermitagc. Mr. Figgs, whom the ride Imd 
 considerably shaken, expressed a desire to as- 
 cend, but felt doubtful about his wind. Diik 
 assured him ihai he would find plenty when ho 
 got to the top. The guides also came to hii 
 relief. Did ho want to go? Behold them. 
 They had chairs to carry him up or straps to 
 pull him. Their straps were so mode tliat they 
 could envelop tho traveller and allow him to bo 
 pulled comfortably up. So Mr. Figgff grace- 
 fully i-esigncd himself to the guides, who in a 
 short time had adjusted tlieir straps, and led 
 him to the foot of the cone. 
 
 Now for the ascent. 
 
 Buttons went first. Like a jrDung chamois 
 this youth bounded up, leapiijg' from rock to 
 rdck, and steering in b, straight line fsr tho 
 summit. Next the Senator, who mounted rIow- 
 ly and pcrsevcringly, as though he had a solemn 
 duly to iKjrfornji, and was determined to do it 
 thoroughly. Then came Dick. More fitful. 
 A few steps upward ; then a rest ; then a fresh 
 start ; followed by another rest. At lengtli he 
 sat down about one-third of the way up and 
 took a smoke. Behind him Mr. Figgs toiled 
 
 00^ 
 
 ■^ 4? 
 
 mi Asa«.NT or vuiuvius. 
 
 '^^\ 
 
 cone, a waste o 
 
 V- 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 41 
 
 up, palled by the panting guides. Throe stout 
 mon in front — two others boosting from behind. 
 A longr' description might be giyon of this rti- 
 markablo ascent. How Mr. Figgs aggravated 
 the guides almost beyond endurance by mere 
 force of inertia. Having committed himself to 
 them ho did it thoroughly, and not by one single 
 act of exertion did he lessen their labor. They 
 pulled, pushed, and shouted ; then they rested ; 
 then thoy rose again to pull, to push, to shout, 
 and to rest as before; then they implored 4iim 
 in the most moving 'terms to do something to 
 help them, to put one fi>ot before the other, to 
 brace himself firmly — in short, to do any thing. 
 
 In vain. Mr. Figgs didn't understand a 
 word. Ho was unmovublo. Then they threat- 
 ened to drop him and leave him half-way. The 
 throat was disregarded. Mr. Figgs sat on a 
 stone while they rested and smiled benignantly 
 at thorn. At last, maddened by his impassi- 
 bility, they screamed at him and at one an- 
 other with furious gesticulations, and then tear- 
 ing off the straps, they hurried up the slope, 
 leaving him on the middle of the mount to take 
 care of himself. 
 
 If might b3 told how the Senator toiled up 
 slowly but surely, never stopping till he had 
 gained the summit ; or how Buttons, who ar- 
 rived there first, spent the time in exploring 
 the mysteries of this elevated region; or how 
 Dick stopped every twenty paces to rest and 
 smoke ; how he consumed mhch time and 
 much tobacco; and how he did not gain the 
 summit until twenty minutes after the serene 
 "face of the Senator had confronted the terrors 
 of the crater. 
 
 Before these three there was a wonderful 
 scone. Below them lay the steep sides of the 
 cone, a waste of hideous ruin — 
 
 " Kock!<, crnR*. and moundii eonfunedly hurled, 
 Tho frngmeiifc) of a ruined world." 
 
 Boford them was the crater, a vast abyss, the 
 |(Ottom of which was hidden from sight by dense 
 clouds of sulphurous smoko which forever as- 
 cended. Far away on the other side rose the 
 opposite wall of the abyss— black, rocky cliifs 
 that rose precipitously upward. The side on 
 which thoy stQod sloped down at a steep angle 
 for a few hundred feet, and then went abruptly 
 downward. A mighty wind was blowing and 
 carried all the smoke away to the opposite side 
 of the crater, so that by getting down into tho 
 shelter of a reck they wore quite comfortable. 
 
 Tlio view of the country that lay beneath was 
 superb. There lay Naples with ite suburbs, 
 extending for miles along .the shore, with Per- 
 tici, Castellamaro, and the vale of Sorrento. 
 There rose tho hills of Baiae, the rock of Ischia, 
 and the Isje of C apri. T here la y gountleaa 
 
 ■nncyards, ffeldrTorever green, groves of o(«ngo 
 and flg-trees, clusters of palms and cypresses. 
 Mountains ascended all around, with many 
 heighu crowned with castles or villages. There 
 lay the gloriou Bay of Naples, the type of per- 
 fect beauty. Hundreds of white sails dotted 
 we mtense blue of its surface. Ships wore 
 
 there at anchor, and in full sail. Over all was 
 a sky such as is seen only in Italy, with a depth 
 of blue, which, when seen in paintings, seoms 
 to the inexperienced eye like an exaggeration. 
 
 The guides drew their attention from all this 
 beauty to a solid fact. This was the cooking 
 of an egg by merely burying it in tho hot sand 
 for a few minutes. 
 
 Buttons now proposed to go down into tho 
 crater. The guides looked aghast. 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Impossible, Signer. It's death." 
 " Death ? Nonsense ! come along and show 
 us the way." 
 
 5' The way? There is no way. No ono 
 ever dares to go do\vn. Where can wo go to ? 
 Do you not see that beyond that point where 
 the rock projects it is all a precipice ?" 
 
 " That point ? Well, that is the very spot I 
 wish to go to. Como along." 
 " Never, Signer." 
 "Then I'll go." 
 
 " Don't. For the sake of Heaven, and in tho 
 name of the most Holy Mother, of St. I'eter in 
 chains, of all the blessed Apostles and Martyrs, 
 the glorious Saints and—" 
 
 " Blessed Botheration, " cried Buttons, abrupt- 
 ly turning his back and preparing to descend. 
 
 " Are you in earnest, Buttons ?" asked Dick. 
 " Are you really going down ?" 
 " Certainly." 
 " Oh, then I'll go too." 
 Upon this the others warned, rebuked, threat- 
 ened, remonstrated, and begged. In vain. The 
 Senator interposed the authority of years and 
 wisdom. But to no purpose. With mucli. 
 anxiety he sat on tho edge of the crater, look- 
 ing for the result and expecting a tragedy. 
 
 The slope down which they veuturod was 
 covered with loose sand. At each step tho 
 treacherous soil slid beneath them. It wag a 
 mad and highly reprehensible undertaking. 
 Nevertheless down they went— further and fur- 
 ther. The kind heart of tho Senator felt a pang 
 at every step. His voice sounded mournfully 
 through tho rolling smoko that burst through a 
 million crevic9S, and at times hid the advent- 
 urers from view. But down they went. Some- 
 times they slid fearfully. Then they would 
 wait and cautiously look around. Sometimes tho 
 vapors covered them with such dense folds that 
 thoy had to cover their faces. 
 
 "If they ain't dashed to pieces they'll be suf- 
 focated— sure!" cried the Senator, starting up, 
 and unable to control his feelings. "I can't 
 stand this," he muttered, and he too stepped 
 down. 
 
 The guides looked ^n in horror. "Your 
 blood will bo^ivyow o*|i heads !" they criei 
 As the Senator descended the smoke entered 
 his eyes, mouth, and nostrils, making him cough 
 and sneexe fearfully. The sand slid ; the heat 
 under the surface pained his feet ; every step 
 made it worse. However, ho kept on bravely. 
 At length he reached the spot where the others 
 wore standing. 
 
 Ill 
 
 ill 
 

 43 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 IIIK nrSOKNT OK VEBDV1C8. 
 
 At the foot of the declivity was nn angular 
 rock which jutted out for about twelve feet. It 
 was about six feet wide. Its sides went down 
 precipitously. Tho Senator walked painfully 
 to where they were standing. It was a fearful 
 scene. All around arose tho sides of tho crater, 
 black and rocky, perpendicular on all sides, ex- 
 cept tho small slope down which they had just 
 descended — a vast and gloomy circumference. 
 But tho most terrific sight lay beneath. 
 
 The sides of tho crater went sheer down to a 
 great depth enclosing a black abyss which in the 
 first excitement of the scene tho startled fancy 
 might well imagine extending to the bowels of 
 the earth from which there camo roHuig up vast 
 clouds dense black sulphurous wnich>(it times 
 completely encircled them shutting out every 
 thing from view filling eyes nose mouth with 
 -fumos of brimstone forcing then| to hold the 
 ^ils of their coats or tho skirts it's all tho 
 same over their faces so as not to bo altogether 
 suffocated while again after a while a fierce 
 blast of wind driving downward would hurl the 
 smoke away and dashing it against the other 
 side of tho crater gathf r it up in dense volumes 
 
 of blackest smoke in thick clouds which rolled 
 up the flinty cliffs and reaching tho summit 
 bounded fiercely out into tho sky to pass on and 
 bo seen from afar as that dread pennant of Ve- 
 suvius whichis the sign and symbol of its mas- 
 tery over tho earth around it and the inhabit- 
 ants thereof ever changing and in all its changes 
 watched with awe by fearful men who read ia 
 those changes their own fate nqw taking heart 
 OS they see it more tenuous in its consistency 
 anon shuddering as they see it gathering in 
 denser folds and finally awe-stricken ond all 
 overcome as they see tho thick black cloud rise 
 proudly up to heaven in a long straight col- 
 umn at whose upper termination tho colossal 
 pillar gpitiads itself oufand shows to tlfo start- 
 led gaze the dread symbol of the cypress tree 
 
 the herald of earthquakes eruptions and 
 
 =—^T h e r c— I flatter mygglf thatiaJhaji 
 
 of description it would not be easy to beat the 
 above. I just throw it off as ray friend Tit- 
 marsh, poor fellow, once said, to show what I 
 could do if I tried. I have decided not to put 
 punctuation marks there, but rather to let each 
 reader supply them for himself. They are oft- 
 
 -<-, 
 
THE DODGE CLUB j OB, ITALY IN MDCCCI^IX. • 
 
 en in the way, particalarly to the writer, when 
 ho has to stop in the full flow of a description 
 and insert them — 
 
 But— 
 
 Wo left our friends down in the crater of Ve- 
 Biivius. Of course they hurried ont as soon as 
 they could, and mounting the treaclierous steep 
 they soon regained the summit, where the guides 
 had stood bawling piteously all the time. 
 
 Then came the descent. It was not over the 
 lava blocks, but in another place, which ww 
 covered with loose ' sliding sand. Away they 
 started. 
 
 Bijttons ahead, went with immense strides 
 down the slope. At every step the sliding sand 
 canied him about ten feet further, so that each 
 step was equal to about twenty feet. It was 
 lijje flying. But it was attended by so many 
 falls that the descent of Buttons and Dick was 
 8Ccomi)lishcd as much by sliding and rolling as 
 by walking. 
 
 The Senator was more cantious. Having 
 fallen once or twice, he tried to correct this 
 tendency by walking backward. Whenerer ho 
 found himself falling he would let himself go, 
 and thus, on his hands and knees, would let 
 himself slide for a considerable distance. This 
 plan gave him immense satisfaction. 
 
 " It's quite like coasting," said he, after he 
 had reached the bottom ; " only it does come a 
 little hard on the trowsers." 
 
 On their arrival at the Hermitage to their 
 surprise they saw nothing of Mr. Figgs. The 
 Doctor had been sleeping all the time, but the 
 landlord said he had not been that wav. As 
 
 48 
 
 they knew that the neighborhood of VesuTiiis 
 was not always the safest in the world, they all 
 went back at once to search after him. 
 
 Arriving at the foot of the cone they went 
 everywhere shouting his name. There was no 
 response. They skirted the base of the cone. 
 They walked up to where he had been. Th«y 
 saw nothing. The guides who had thus fur 
 been with them now said they had to go. So 
 they received their pay and departed. 
 
 " Of nil the mean, useless, chicken-hearted 
 dolts that ever I see," said tlie Senator, " tliey 
 are the wust!" 
 
 But meanwhile there was no Figgs, Thcv 
 began to feel anxious. At last Buttons, who 
 had been up to where Mr. Figgs was left, 
 thought he saw traces of footsteps in the sand 
 tliat was nearest. He followed these for gome 
 time, and at last shouted to the others. The 
 others went to where he was. They saw an 
 Italian with him — an ill-looking, low-browed 
 rascal, with villain stamped on every feature. 
 
 " This fellow says he saw a mon who an- 
 swers the description of Figgs go over in that 
 direction," said Buttons, pointing toward the p^t 
 of the mountain which is furthest from th« 
 
 ^■:;v." 
 
 / 
 
 wiiinui'6 riuus? 
 
 sea. 
 
 "There? What for?'' 
 «' I don't know." 
 " Is there .any danger?" 
 " I think so— Figgs may have had to go — 
 who knows?" 
 
 " Well," said the Senator, " we must go after 
 him." 
 
 "What arms have you?" said the Doctor. 
 " Don't show it before this rascal." 
 " I have a bowie-knife," said Buttons. 
 "So have I," said Dick. 
 " And I," said the S9nator, " nm sorrv to say 
 I that I have nothing at ^11." 
 I " Well, I suppose we must do," said the Doc- 
 tor. "My revolver is something. It is a dou- 
 ble revolver, of peculiar^ shape." 
 
 Without any other thout;ht they at once pre- 
 pared to venture into a district that for all tliev 
 knew might swarm with robbers. They hail 
 only one thought, and that was to save Figgs. 
 " Can this man lead us ?" asked Dick, 
 '^e says he can take us along where he saw 
 Figgs go, and perhaps we may see some people 
 who can tell us about him." 
 
 "Perhiips wo can," said the Senator, grimlv. 
 
 They then started off with the Italian at their 
 
 head. The sun was by this time within an 
 
 hour's distance from the horizon, and they had 
 
 no time to lose. So they walked rapidly. Soon 
 
 I they entered among hills anfd rocks *of lava, 
 
 i where the desolation of the suitounding, coun^' ' 
 
 I try began to be modified by Yegptatibri. It was 
 
 j quite difficult to keep their reAoning, so as to 
 
 j know in what direction they were going, bat 
 
 tliey kept on nevertheless. 
 
 I All of them knew that the errand was a dan- 
 
 ' gcrous one. AH of them knew that it would 
 
 , be better if they were armed. But no one said 
 
 any thing of the kind. In fact, they felt snch 
 
 ,/ 
 

 THE DODGE bLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 44 
 
 oonfldence in their own pluclc nnd resolution 
 that they hod no doubt of success. 
 
 At length they came to a place where trees 
 were on each side of the rough path. At an 
 opening here three men stood^ Buttons iat 
 once accosted them and told liiji errand. They 
 looked at the America*? wHh a sinister smile. 
 
 " Don't be afraid of BS,^Mnid Buttons, quiet- 
 ly. " We're armed with revolvers, but we won't 
 hurt you. Just show us where our friend is, 
 for we're, afraid ho has lost his way." 
 
 At this strange salutation the Italians looked 
 puzzled. They looked at tlicir guns, and then 
 at the Americans. Two or three other men 
 came out from the woods at the same time, nnd 
 stood in their rear. At length as ninny as ten 
 men stood around them. 
 
 "What arc you staring at?" snid Buttons 
 again. "Yon needn't look so frightened. 
 Americans only use their revolvers against 
 thieves." 
 
 The Doctor at this, apparently by accident, 
 took out his revoh-cr. Standing a little on one 
 side, he fired at n large crow on the top of a 
 tree. The bird fell dead. He then fired five 
 other shots just by way of amusement, loughing 
 nil the time with the Senator. 
 
 " You see," said he—" ha, ha— we're iw a fix 
 —ha, ha— and I want to show them what a re- 
 Tolver is ?" 
 
 "But you're wasting all your shot." 
 " Not a bit of it. See !" 
 And saying this ho drew a second chamber 
 from his pocket, and taking the first out of the 
 pistol inserted the other. Ho then fired anoth- 
 er shot. All this was the work of a few mo- 
 ments. He then took some cartridges and filled 
 *he spare chamber onc(j„more. > 
 
 The Italians looked on this display in great 
 astonishment, exchanging significnnt glances, 
 particularly when the Doctor changed the cham- 
 bers. The Americans^ on the contrary, took 
 good care to manifest complete indifference. 
 The Italians e^^dently thought they were all 
 armed like the Doctor. Naturally enough, too, 
 for if not, why should they venture here nnd 
 talk so loftily to them ? So they were puzzled, 
 and in doubt. After a time one who appeiired 
 to be their leader stepped aside with two or 
 three of the men, and talked in a low voice, aft- 
 er which he came to Buttons and said : 
 " Come, then, and we will show you." 
 «'Goon." 
 
 The Captain beckoned to his men. Six of 
 them went to the rear. Buttons saw the ma- 
 nreuvre, and burst into roars of laughter. Tiic 
 Italians looked more puzzled than ever. 
 
 " Is that to keep us from getting away ?" he 
 _i;ried— " ha, ha, hn, ha, ha ! Well, well !" 
 
 "He's putting a guard behind ns. Langli 
 
 like fury, boys," said.Buttons, in English 
 Whereupon they all roared, the tremendous 
 
 laughter of the Senator coming in with fearful 
 
 effect. 
 
 " There's nothing to laugh at," said the man 
 
 who appeared to be captain, very sulkily. 
 
 " It's evident that yon Italians don't under, 
 stand late improvements," said Buttons. " Buj 
 come, hurry on." 
 
 The Captain turned and walked ahead sullen- 
 ly- 
 
 " Ii'g all very well to laugh," said the Doctor, 
 
 in'a chcer$nl tone ; "but supjiose those devils 
 behind us shoot us." ' , 
 
 "I think if they intended to do that the Cnp- 
 tain would not walk in front. No, they want 
 to take us alive, and make 'us^ pay a heavy ran- 
 som." 
 
 After this the Club kept up an inccBsai)i^cliiff» 
 ter. They talked over tlieir situation, biit^oulj 
 as yet decide ujwn nothing. It gre\y tilaEls at 
 length. The sun went down. The usua^^ piil 
 twilight came on. ;,<„ vi - 
 
 " Dick," said the Doctor, " when il^<ft|ilHik 
 enough I'll give you my pistol, so that yo^ mny 
 show off with it as if it were yours." "» , 
 
 " All right, my son," soid Dick. 
 
 Shortly after, when it was quite dark, the 
 Doctor slipped the pistol into the sidc-pockct of 
 Dick's coat. At length a light appeared before 
 thcpi. It was an old ruin which stood upon an 
 eminence. Where they were not a soul of 
 them could tell. I«ck»declared that he smelt 
 salt water. ■■ ^n»' 
 
 The light which Oj|y saw came from. the 
 broken win(\pw8 of a dilapidated hall belonniiij; 
 to the building. They went up some crumbling 
 steps, nnd the Captain gave a peculiar knock at 
 Ithe door. A woman ojicned it. A bright 
 ! light streamed out.. Dick paused for a mo- 
 I ment, and hx)k the Doctor's pistol from Bis 
 ' })ocket. Ho held it up, and iiretcnded to ar- 
 range the chamber. Then he carelessly put it 
 i ill his poi'ket again. 
 
 ! "You haven't bound them?" snid the woman 
 ! who opened the door to the Cniitiiin. » 
 
 j " Meaning us, my joy ?" snid Buttons, in Ital- 
 ian. " Not just yet, I believe, and not for some 
 1 time. But how do you all do ?" 
 I The woman stared hard at Buttons, nnd then 
 ' at the Cnptain. There were eight or ten women 
 ; here. It was a large hall, the roof still entire, 
 i but with the plaster all gone. A bright firo 
 i burned at one end. Torches burned around. 
 On a stool near the fire was a familiar form— 
 ' a portly, well-fed form— with a merry face— a 
 I twinkle" in his eye— a pipe in his mouth— calm- 
 i ly smoking— apparently quite at home, though 
 ' his feet were tied- in short, Jlr. Figgs ! 
 " Figgs, my boy !" 
 
 One universal shout and the Club surrounded 
 their companion. In an instant Buttons cut his 
 bonds. 
 
 i " Bless yon— bless yon, my children '.' cried 
 
 Figgs. " But how the (rrincipal of Evil) did 
 
 • ysn get here? These are brigands. I've just^ 
 
 ' been calculating how heavy a bill I would haro 
 
 to foot." 
 
 j The brigands saw the release of Figgs, ana 
 I stood looking gloomily at their singular prison-i 
 ' crs, not quite knowing whether they were pris- 
 ! oners or not, not knowing what to do. Eachl 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLEL 
 
 d ahead sullcn- 
 
 mcmbcr of tlio Club took tho most comforta- 
 ble scat ho, could find near tho fire, and began 
 talking vehemently. a»*lcnly BIttons jump- 
 ed np. \ 
 
 "A thousand pardons — I really forgot that 
 tlmro were ladies present. Will you not sit 
 here and givoHs the honor ofjour obmpnny ?" 
 lie made a profound bow anZ^ looked at 
 ievcral of theni. They looked puzzled, then 
 pleased ; then they all began to Wtter. 
 
 " Signor makes himself very much at home " 
 said one, at length. , ' 
 
 "And where could there bo a pleasantcr 
 place ? This old hall, this jolly old fire, and 
 this delightful company!" 
 
 Anothe»<l)ow. The Captain looked very sul- 
 len siill. He was evidently in-deep perplexity. 
 "Come, cheer up there!" said Buttons. "We 
 won't do you any liikrm ; we won't even com- 
 plain to tho authorities that we found our friend 
 here. Cheer up-! Have you any thing to eat, 
 most noblo Captain?" ' 
 The Cajjtain turned awayV- 
 Mean^^iUo Figgs had told tho storv of' his ' 
 capture. After resting <br a while on the slope 
 he prepared to descend, but seeing sand further 
 away ho went over toward it and descended 
 there. Finding it very dangerous or difficult 
 to go down straight he made the descent ob- 
 liquely,'>flo that when he reached tho foot of tho 
 cone he was far away from the point ot which 
 he had started to make the ascent. Arriving 
 there, ho sat down to rest aftj-r his exertions. 
 Some men came toward him) but ho did not 
 
 45 
 
 I think much about it. Suddenly, bef((ro ho knew 
 what wos up, he found himself a priiner. He 
 j had a weary marFh,>and was just eelting com- 
 fortable as they canlo in. 
 \ As they sat round the fire they fbund it very 
 I comfortable. Like many evenings in Italv, it 
 j was damp and quite chilly. Thoy laughed and 
 I talked, and apj.earcd to bo any thing but c:i|>- 
 tivcs in a robber's holj. ,> The Captajn had been 
 I out for some time, and at length returned. Ho 
 was now very cheerful. Ho came laughingly 
 up to tho fire. 
 
 "Well, Siguori Americani, what do vou think 
 ; of your accommoilation?" 
 I " Delightful : cliarming •" cried Buttons and ' 
 Dick. 
 
 j " If the ladies would only deign to smile on 
 ' us — " 
 
 I "Aha! You are a great man for tho liilics!" 
 : said the Captain. 
 
 " Who is not ?" said Buttons, sentciitiinisrvn 
 I After u few pleasant words tho Cajitain left 
 [ again. 
 
 "Ho has some scheme in his villainous head," - 
 said Buttons. 
 
 "To drug us," said tho Doctor. 
 /,"Tosehd for others," said Dick. 
 
 " To wait till we sleep, and then fall on us," 
 said Mr. Figgs. «x 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," sold tho Senator, draw- 
 ing himself up, " we're more than n match for 
 them. Why, what are these brigands? Is 
 there a man of th^m who isn't n poor, misew- 
 ble, cowardly cuss ? Not one. If we are capt- 
 
 MB. I IMS, 
 
40 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; 6r, ITALY I^ MDCCCLIX. 
 
 Tni LADIES. 
 
 nrcd by such ns tlicso wc dcseno to be cap- 
 tives nil our lives." ," 
 
 '' If we don't got off soon we'll have a good 
 round sum to pay,"- said Mr. Figgs. 
 
 " And that I object to," siiid Buttons ; " for, 
 I promised my Governor solemnly that I wouldn't 
 spend more than a certain sum in Europe, and 
 I won't." 
 
 "For my part," said the Doctor, "I cant 
 afford it." 
 
 " And I would rather use the amount which 
 they would ask in somo other way," said Dick. 
 
 "That's it^ boys! You're plucky. Coin! 
 We'll li.x their flints. The American eagle is 
 soaring, gentlemen — let him ascend to the ze- 
 nith. Go it! But mind no^v— don't bo too 
 hasty^ Lot's wait for a time to see further de- 
 velopments." 
 
 ", Richard, my boy, will j-on occupy tj»c time 
 by singiijig a hymn?" continued the l^nator. 
 '* I see a guitar there. " 
 
 Dick quietly got up, took the guitar, and, 
 tuning it,\begi;in to sing. The brigands were 
 still in n state of" wonder. The women looked 
 shy. Most of the spectators, however, were' 
 grinning n\ the eccentric Americans. Dick, 
 played and ^ang a great quantity of songs, all 
 of a'comic charactjlt. 
 
 The Italians, were fond of music, of course. 
 Dick had a g^od voice. Most of his songs had 
 choruses, and the whole Club joined in. The 
 Italians admiricd most the nigger songs. " Oh, 
 Susannah!" wAs greeted with great applause. 
 So was " Doo-dah ;" and the Italians themselves 
 joined energetically iii the' chorus. But the 
 song that they loved best was •" Olo Virginny 
 Shore." This they called for over and oyer, 
 and as they had quick ears they readily caught 
 tlie tune ; sd that, finnlly^ wlicn Di^k^ at their 
 
 earnest request, sang it for the seventh time, 
 they whistled the air i|ll through, and joined in 
 with a thunderin;; chorus. The Captain came 
 in at the midst of it, and listened with great de- 
 light. After Dick had laid down his instro- 
 mcnt he approached the Americans. 
 
 " Well, olo boss," said the Senator, "won't 
 you take an arm-chiur ?" 
 
 "What is it?" said the Captain to Buttons. 
 
 " He wants. to know if your Excellency will 
 honor Wm by sitting near him." 
 
 The Captain's eye sparkled. Evidently it 
 met lils'^jies. 'The Americans sow his de- 
 light. 
 
 "I should feel Tionorcd by sitting beside tlic 
 illustrious stranger," said he. " It was what I 
 came to ask. And will you allow the rest ot 
 these noble gentlemen to sit here and partici- 
 pate in your amusement ?" 
 
 'J The very thing," said Buttons, "which we 
 have been trying to get them to do, but they 
 won't; Now we are as anxious as «ver, but 
 still more anxious for the Indies.'' 
 
 "Oh, the ladies! "said the Captain; "they 
 are timid." 
 
 Saying this he made a gesture, andnve of 
 life men came up. The whole six then sat with 
 the* five Americans. The Senator insisted that 
 tlie Captain should sit by his side. Yet it wns 
 singul&r. ^Each one of the men still kept his 
 gun. No notice was token of this, however. 
 The policy of the Americans was to go in for 
 utter jollitj'. Tlicy sat thus : 
 
 TlielCaptain. 
 
 ■* The Senator. 
 Bandit Number 1. i. 
 
 ' Mr. Figgs. 
 
 Bandit Number 2. 
 
 The Doctor. 
 Bandit Number 3. 
 
 Dick. 
 Bandit Number 4. 
 
 Buttons. 
 Bandit Number 6. ^1 
 
 Five members of the Club. Si* bandits. In 
 addition to these, four others stood armed at 
 the door. The women were at a distance. 
 
 But the sequel must bo left to another chap- 
 ter. 
 
 I 
 
 would not h 
 
THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLi;!, 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 4T 
 
 cnator, "won't 
 
 aptain; "tlicy 
 
 BAamriCBNT ATTITUDK OF TBB SEMATOR ; BRII^ 
 LIANCY 6r BUTTONS ; AND I'LUCK OF TUB OTII- 
 11} MEMBEK8 OF THB CLUII : BY ALL OF WUICU 
 TUB 0KBATE8T BFI?B0T8 AHE I'KOBUCED. 
 
 " Dots," laid tb» Senator, aisuming a gay 
 tono, " it's ovidont theso nucali have planned 
 thU arrangement ta attack us ; but I've got a 
 
 J plan by which we can turn thp tables. Now 
 laugh, all of you." A roar of laughter arose. 
 " I'll Icll it in a minnte. Whenever I stop', you 
 •II laugli, 80 that they may not think that we are 
 plotting." Anofher.roar of laughter. "But- 
 tons, talk Italian aa hard *as you can; pro- 
 tend to translate what I am s&ying ; ipako up 
 •omctliing funny, so as to get them Inugli- 
 
 / ing; but take good ciro to listen to what I 
 
 " All right," said Buttons. 
 
 "Ho! ha! ha! ha! ha!" said the others. 
 
 Now the Senator began to divulge his plan 
 and Buttons began to talk Italian, pretending to 
 translate what the Senator said. To do this 
 required much quickness, and^a vivid imagina- 
 tion, with a sense of the ndiculous, and many 
 other qualities too numerous to mention. For- 
 tunately Buttons had all these, or elaethe Club 
 would not have acted precisely as it did act ; 
 and perhaps it might not have been able to 
 move along in the capacity of a Club any longer, 
 in which case it would, of course, have had no 
 furtljuyc adventures ; and then this history would 
 not have been written; aiid whether the world 
 would have been better off or worse is more than 
 I can SUV, I'm sure. 
 
 [Wku UM Snutor Midi] 
 '• Uoya, look at th«M a«r. 
 ■h, one oo Quh alile o( ui. 
 They here arrnngml luine 
 ■Ignitl, (nd wheit It la giren 
 theywUliipriDRBtui. Ixmk 
 •h«rp for your llTe^ knit be 
 ready to do what I lay. 
 Huttoni, llaten, and when 
 you domt hear limk at me, 
 and I'll refloat It." 
 
 tC(u6._"Hal ha I ha! 
 ha I lia!"] 
 
 " My Idea la to turn the 
 tabic* on tliOM vanulota. 
 They put thenuelvM In our 
 powers What tlfey have 
 arranged for thenuolvea will 
 do for ua Jual aa well aa If 
 we planned It all In fact, ^ 
 If we hail tried we could not 
 have adjuftod the pCeMut 
 company Iwtter." 
 
 rC/u6._"UaI ha I ha I 
 ha! hal»] 
 
 "Lbteu now, Buttqna. 
 Wo will arrange a algnal, 
 nml at a certain word we 
 will fall on our neighbor* 
 nnd do with them ao they 
 propoae doing with u*. Uut 
 flrat let u* arrange carefully 
 aliout the algnal; for every 
 thing depend* on that" 
 
 rC/u»._"Ua! ha! hal 
 ha! hal"] 
 
 " FiMt, wo muat keep up 
 our uproar and merriment 
 to aa gri'at an extent as we 
 can, but not very long. Let 
 It be wild, mad, bolaterou*. 
 but abort It will diatnct 
 Iheae ragaboni<a, and throw 
 them off their guard. The 
 flrat tiling on the pro- 
 grammov then, i* merri- 
 ment Ijiugh aa Joud and 
 •long 0* you can." 
 
 [What Battoa* aald ha uld.] 
 "He lay*, moat nbble 
 Captain, aail, gentlemen, 
 that ho la deaperataly han- 
 py ; that he can't get what 
 he want* to oat. He 'gen- 
 erally eata drieil aiiake*, and 
 the aiipply he brought from 
 the Oreat Ainvriean decert 
 la ezhauateil ; he want* 
 morti, anil will have It" 
 [HenaatlOQ among ban- 
 
 " lie «aya he wouldn't 
 have come out here to-day, 
 but had a little difficulty 
 Juat before he Jolued our 
 party. Ha waa luodlug 
 from the Ameriean ahlp at 
 c war, and on atepplnig on 
 ahore a man trod on hia foot, 
 whereupon he put him into 
 the water, and held him 
 there till lie wa* dn>wned.'* 
 
 rilandit* looking more re- 
 spectfully.] 
 
 "It make* him feel 
 arouaed, he raya, when ha 
 think* how odd that guld* 
 looked at him when ha 
 made him go down into tha 
 crater of Veauvlua; gava 
 him Ave minute* to aay hli 
 prayer*, and then lifted him 
 up In the air and pitched 
 him down to the bottom. 
 He thlnka he ia falling atiU." 
 
 [ilandil* exchange KUn> 
 cea.] 
 
 "He doean't know bat 
 what he'll have a little 
 tmuble about a prleat ha 
 killed laat night He w*« 
 in a church, and waa^walk- 
 ing about whistling, when 
 a prieat came up and order- 
 ed lilm out; wheranpoa ha 
 drew hi* revolver, and pat 
 all alx of the bullet* In tlia 
 priest'* head.'* 
 
^ 
 
 M 
 
 *ȣ' 
 
 tm 
 
 ^* 
 
48 
 
 THE bODQE CLUB J Oft, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 [Whftt the Senator uU.] 
 [au».— "Hal hal h»l 
 ha I hal"] 
 
 "The next thing la, to 
 have tome Binging. They 
 BMm to like our glorloui 
 national songa. Give theqi 
 aoiae of themr- Let tlie firat 
 one be ' Old Virginny.' " 
 
 [What<Bii<toiu Mid ha laid.] 
 CBandita cross tlienuelves, 
 and look aeiioiis.] 
 
 '* Ue heard tlmt the prle«t 
 waa not dead. Aii lie always 
 makea Hure work, ho Intonda 
 to look in in the morning, 
 and if he'a alive, he'll cut 
 hia throat, and make all hla 
 attendnnta dance to the tune 
 of 'Old Virgiuny.'" 
 
 [C7«!>.-"Ha: hal ha J 
 hal ha!"] 
 
 Buttons had to work on that word " Old 
 Virginny;" for tlie quick ears of the Italians 
 had caught it. Bandits cross themselvci^ again. 
 
 Captain. — " I don't believea word of it. It's 
 impossible." 
 
 Bandit No. C. — " He looks like it, any way." 
 
 In fact, the Senator did look like it. His 
 hair tinged to an unnatural hue by the sulphur 
 of Vesuvius, his square, determined javr^ his 
 heavy, overhanging brow, marked him as one 
 who was capable oCany desperate enterprise. 
 
 [W)>a> »«> Senator laid.] 
 "Next and last, Dick, 
 yon are to sing 'Yankee 
 boodla.!. You knov the 
 worda about 'coming to 
 town riding on a pony.' 
 Yon know that ver^ ends 
 with an Italian word. , I am 
 particular about thb, for you 
 might sing the wrong verse. 
 Do you undeTBtand, all of 
 your If BO, wink your eyei 
 twice." 
 
 [The CInb all winked 
 twice. Then,>aa nenal : 
 
 "Ha! ha! hal hal 
 ha!"] 
 
 " Look at me. There are 
 alz. I will take two; each 
 of you take one — the man on 
 your right, remember. At 
 Dick, in singing, comes to 
 that word, each o(' you go 
 at your man. Iluttons, you 
 hear, of coune." 
 
 [CI116.— "Hal bat ha! 
 hal haf] 
 
 "Boys, arrange in yonr 
 mindi what to do. Grab 
 the gun, and put year man 
 down backward. I'm al- 
 moat aahamed of the game, 
 It'a so easy. Look at theae 
 boobiea by me. They are 
 like children. No inuacle. 
 The fellows at the end won't 
 dare to shoot for fear of 
 wounding their own men. 
 
 C/n».-'llal hal lial 
 hal hal"] 
 
 [What BultJ>iu laid he lald.] 
 
 "He aays there is no 
 danger for him, however, 
 for foreignen are in terror 
 of the tune of 'Yankee 
 Doodle.' If he were arrest- 
 ed by the Government, the 
 American Admiral would at 
 once tend ashore a file of 
 marines with an 'ultima- 
 tum,' a 'Colurablnd,' a 
 ' spanker boom,' a ' Wcb- 
 tter'a Unabridged,' and a 
 * brachycatalectic' to de- 
 mand Ilia aurrender at the 1 
 canuon'a mouth." { 
 
 [Great sensati'm among 
 the bandita at the formida- 
 ble arms of American ma- 
 rines.} 
 
 " Thi-ylhink in town that 
 he is the Devil, bcrause< ho 
 haa killed seven men in 
 duels since he came, and 
 haa never been wounded. 
 People don't know the great 
 American invention, worn 
 next the skin, which makea 
 the body impervious to bul- 
 lets." 
 
 ICaptaiti, aneering.— "I 
 don't believe iu" 
 
 Bandit No. 8.—" I don't 
 know. Tliey invented the 
 revolver, if I only luul 
 900!"] 
 
 " He'a made up his mind 
 to go and lake pan in tho 
 war in l/imbardy. He will 
 raiae a band of Americans, 
 all clothed in the great shot- 
 proof shirt, and armed Willi 
 revolvera JIke oura, that 
 shoot twelve timea, and have 
 bullets like bomb-shiellf, 
 that bunt inside of a man 
 and bjow him (0 pieces." 
 
 ^Captain, coldly. — "That crow didn't blow 
 
 — -fiBm)»i.#=*tJlr yei It dWr Irwn<Sj1c, and 
 yea didn't notice. Go get it to-morrow, exam- 
 ine it, and yon will find traces of the exploded ' 
 ■bell.'* I 
 
 . Bands* No. 4.— "Santa Maria! What lies 
 thif giant tell* his friends ! and they all laugh. 
 They don't believe him." 
 
 Bandit No. 1 .—"Well, that revolver is enough 
 for me ; and they all have them." 
 
 The above conversation was all carried on 
 very rapidly, and did not take up much time. 
 
 At once the Club proceeded to carry out the 
 Senator's plan. First they talked nonsense, 
 and roared and laughed, and perfected their 
 plan, and thus passed about ten minutes. Then 
 Buttons asked the Italians if they wished more 
 music. ' ■ ^ 
 
 "Answer, gallant Captain of these Kings 
 of the Road. Will you hear our foreign 
 songs ?" 
 
 "Most gladly," said the gallant Captain. 
 " There will yet be time before we get our sup- 
 per." 
 
 A sinister gleam in his eye as he said this 
 about .the supper did not escape the notice of 
 Buttons. Thereupon he handed the guitar to 
 Dick, and the latter began to sing once more 
 the strains of " Ole Virginny." Tlie Italians 
 showed the same delight, and joined in a roar- 
 ing chorus. Even the men by tho door stood 
 yelling or whistling as Dick sang. 
 
 Lastly, Dick struck np the iinal song. The 
 hour laid come ! 
 
 " Y'ankee Doodle came to town 
 
 To buy himself a pony, ^ 
 
 Stuck a feather in his jiat 
 And called It — llaeearoni /" 
 
 As the song began each man had quietly 
 braced himself for one grand effort. At tho 
 sound of the Bist word the effect was tremen- 
 dous. 
 
 The Senator threw his mighty arms round 
 the Captain and the other bandit. They were 
 both small men, as indeed Italians are general- 
 ly, and beside his colossal frame' they were like 
 bo^'s to a grown man. He held them as in a 
 vice, and grasping their hands, twisted tliem 
 back till their guns fell from their grasp. As 
 ho hurled the affrighted ruffians to the floor, 
 the guns crashed on the stone pavement, one of 
 them exploding in its fall. He then by sheer 
 strength jerked the Onptain over on his face, 
 and threw the other man on 'him face down- 
 ward. This done ho sat on them, and turned 
 to see what the others were doing. 
 
 Buttons had darted at No. 6 who wns on hit 
 right, seized his gun and thrown him backward. 
 He was holding him down now while the fellow 
 was roaring for help. 
 
 Dick had done abont tho same thing, but had 
 not yet obtained possession of tho gun. IIo 
 was holding the Doctor's pistol to the bandit's 
 head, and telling him in choice Italian to drop 
 his gun, or ho would send him out of the world 
 with twelve bullets. 
 
 "The Doctor was all right. He was calmly 
 seated orBiindIt No. 8, Willi one hand holdtnir' 
 the bandit's gun pointed toward the door, and 
 the other grasping the ruffian's throat in a death- 
 like clutch. The man's face was black, and lie 
 did not move. 
 
 Mr. Figgs had not been so sneccssfbl. Being 
 fat, he had not been quick enongb. He wu 
 
 ■fe'i 
 
 ^ji^u4i4i^> 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 Ill song. The 
 
 holding tho bandit's gun, and aiming blows at 
 his foce. 
 
 "Doctor," said the Senator, " jour maVs all 
 nght. Cjivo It to Figgs's man." 
 
 The Doctor sprang up, seized Figgs's man by 
 the throat, just as he staggered back, and 
 brought him down. 
 
 The whole thing had been done in an incred- 
 ibly short time. Tho robbers had been taken 
 by complete surprise. In strength they were 
 far inferior to their assailants. Attacked as they 
 were so unexpectedly the success of the Ameri- 
 cans was not very wonderful. The uproar was 
 tremendous. The women were most noisy 
 At first all were paralyzed. Then wild shrieks 
 rang through the hall. Tliey yelled, they shout- 
 ed, they wrung their hands. 
 
 Tho four bandits at the end of the hall stood 
 for a moment horroi«struck. Tlien they raised 
 their guns. -But they dared not fire. They 
 might shoot their own men.- Suddenly Dick 
 who had got tlie gun which he wished, looked 
 at the door, and seeing the guns levelled he 
 fired the revolver. A loud scream followed 
 One of the men fell. The women rushed to 
 take care of him. The other tiiree ran oflT. 
 
 "Doctor," said the Senator, "have you a 
 rope? Tie that man's hands behind him " 
 
 The Doctor took his handkerchief, twisted it 
 and tied tho man's hands asjueatly and as firm- 
 ly as thqugh they were in. hiadeuffs. He then 
 went to Buttons, got a hantflcerchief from him 
 and tied up his man in the same way. Then 
 Dick's man was bound. At that moment a 
 bullet fired tlirough one of the windows grazed 
 the head of Mr. Figgs. 
 
 gtia'rf"'''" *"''* "'" ^"'"°'"' "^° °"' """^ ''^''P 
 
 Dick at onco obeyed. The women screamed 
 and ran as he came along. 
 
 Then tho two men whom the Senator had 
 captured were bound. After a while some 
 pieces of rope and leather straps wore fouiitl by 
 Buttons. With fhese all the bandits were si 
 cured more firmly. Tho men whom the Sena- 
 tor had captured were almost lifeless from tho 
 ^mendous weight of his manly form. They 
 n^de their captives squat down in one corner. 
 White the others possessed themsclvos of their 
 guDs^nd watched them. Tlie wretches look- 
 ^ fri^enod out of their Wits. They were 
 Neapohtims and peasants, weak, feeble, nerve- 
 less, \ ' 
 
 .nn!^'* "°T* **• ^'* "'■'" •«'<' the Senator, 
 contemptuous>, as ho looked at the slight fig! 
 »««.. "TheyVapoor lot-,mall, no mu«:le. 
 no spirit, no nothing." * 
 
 The poor wretcb^t now began to whine and 
 
 49 
 
 ««„'.' °^o *'"'"'•" ""^ <"^«^' »PP«ftHng to But- 
 tons. "Spare our livesi" ' "^ « 
 
 At that the whole crowd of women came 
 moaning and •creaming. 
 " Back f'taid Buttons. 
 
 w«m- Spare our husbands 1" 
 
 "Back all of you ! Wo won't hnrt, any one 
 If you all keep quiet." gt ; 
 
 The women went sobbing back again. The 
 Uoctor then went to look at the wounded man 
 by the door. The fellow was trembling and 
 weeping. All Italians weep easily. - 
 
 The Doctor examined him and found it was 
 only a flesh wound. The women were full of 
 gratitude as the Doctor bound up his arm after 
 probing the wound, and lifted the man on a rude 
 couch. From time to time Dick would look in 
 at the door to see how things were going on. 
 1 ne held was won. 
 
 "Well," said the Senator, "the other thiee 
 have probably run for it. They may bring 
 otiiers back. At any rate we had better hurry 
 off. We are armed now, and can be safe. But 
 what ought we to do with these fellows ?" 
 
 " Nothing," said Buttons. 
 
 "Nothing?" ,. 
 
 I' No. They probably belong to the 'Camor- 
 ra, a sort of legalized brigandage, and if we 
 had them all put in prison they would be let out 
 the next day." 
 
 ' ' Well, I must say I'd rather not. They're a 
 mean lot, but I don't wish them any harm. 
 Suppose we make them take ns out to the road 
 within sight of the city, and then let them eo?' 
 
 "Well." ^ 
 
 The others all ogreed to this. 
 
 " Wo had better start at once then." 
 
 «' For my part," said Mr. Figgs, "I think we 
 had much better get something to eat before we 
 go." 
 
 Pooh ! We can get a good dinner in Na- 
 ples. Wo may have the whole country around 
 us if we wait, and though I don't care for my. 
 self, yet I wouldn't like to see one of you fall 
 boys." ' 
 
 So it was decided to go at once. One man 
 still was senseless. He was left to the caie of 
 the womenwafler being resuscitated by the Doq, 
 tor. The Captain and four bandits were taken 
 oway. 
 
 "Attend," said Buttons, sternly. "Yon 
 must show us the nearest way to Naples. If 
 you deceive us you die. If you show us our 
 way we may perhaps let you go." 
 
 The women all crowded around their hn». 
 bands screaming and-yelling. In vain Buttons 
 told them there was no danger. At lest he 
 said — 
 
 "You come along too, and make them show 
 us the way. You will then return here with 
 them. The sooner the better. Haste !" 
 
 The women gladly assented to this. 
 
 Accordingly they all started, each one of th« 
 ^moricana carry ing^a gas- ja^ one han d^ 
 holding the arm of a bandit with the other. 
 The women wont ahead of their own accord, 
 eager to put an end to their fears by getting rid 
 of such dangerous guests. After a, walk of 
 about half an hour they came to the public road 
 which ran near to the sea. 
 
 " I thought I smelt th^ sca-air," said Dick. 
 
 They had gone by the otheriide ofYMavini. 
 
 .iki.. 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OK, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX 
 
 60 
 
 " This is the road to Naples, Signori," said 
 the women. 
 
 " Ah ! And you won't feel safe till you get 
 the men away. Very well, you may go.^ We 
 can probably take care of ourselves now." 
 
 The wonlen poured forth a torrent of thanks 
 and blessings. The men were then allowed to 
 go, and instantly vanished into the darkness. 
 At first it was quite dark, but after a while the 
 moon arose and they walked merrily along, 
 though very hungry. '^ 
 
 Before they reached their hotel it was about 
 one o'clock. Buttons and Dick' stayed there. 
 As they were all sitting over the repast which 
 they forced the landlord to get for them, Dick 
 suddenly struck his hand on the table. 
 
 " Sold !" he cried. 
 
 ••What?" 
 
 " They've got our handkerchiefs." 
 
 " Handkerchiefs !" cried Mr. Figgs, ruefully, 
 «« why, I forgot to got back my purse." 
 
 BOLD. 
 
 "Your purse! Well, let's go out to-mor- 
 row— " 
 
 •'Pooh! it's no matter. There were only 
 three piastres in it. I keep my circular bill and 
 larger money elsewhere." 
 
 "Well, they've made something out of us 
 after all. Three piastres and five handker- 
 chiefs." 
 
 The Senator f lowned. ' ' I've n precious good 
 mind to go out there to-morrow and make them 
 disgorge," said he. "I'll think it over." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 DOLORSB OVOJt MORB.— A PLBAgAHl' toBVHuil- 
 TION.— BUTTONS LBAHN8 MOBB OF HIS TOUWa 
 FRIBNQ. — AFFECTINO FAREWBLL. 
 
 As the CInb intended to leave for Rome al- 
 most immediately, the two young men in the 
 Stndo di San Bartollo were prepared to settle 
 with their landlord. 
 
 When Buttons and Dick packed up their 
 
 modest valises there was a general excitement 
 in the house ; and when they called for their 
 little bill it appeared, and the whole family 
 along with it. The landlord presented it with 
 a neat bow. Behind him stood his wife. On 
 his left the big dragoon. And on his right 
 Dolores. 
 
 Such was the position which the enemy took 
 
 up. 
 
 Buttons took up the paper and glanced at it. 
 
 "What is this?" 
 
 "Your bill." 
 
 "My bill?" 
 
 " Yes, Signore." 
 
 " Yes," repeated Dolores, waving her little 
 hand at Buttons. 
 
 Something menacing appeared in the atti- 
 tude and tone of Dolores. Had she changed ? 
 Had she joined the enemy ? What did all this 
 mean ? 
 
 " What did yon say you would ask for this 
 room when I came here ?" Buttons at length 
 asked. 
 
 "I don't recollect naming any price," said 
 tlie Itindlord, evasively. 
 
 " I recollect," said Dolores, decidedly. " He 
 didn't name any price at all." 
 
 "Good Heavens !" cried Buttons, aghast, and 
 totally unprepared for this on the part of Do- 
 lores, though notliing on the part of the land- 
 lord could hare astonished him. In tlie brief 
 spoce of three weeks that worthy had been in 
 the habit of telling him on an average about 
 four hundred and sevonty-scven downright lies 
 per dny. 
 
 "You told me," said Buttons, witH admira- 
 ble calmness, "that it would be two piastres a 
 
 " Two piastres I Two for both of you 1 Im- 
 possible ! You might as well say I was in- ' 
 
 sane." ... 
 
 " Two piastres !" echoed Dolores, m mdifj* 
 nant tones— "only think! and for this mag- 
 nificent apartment! the best in, the house— ^c- 
 gantly furnished, and two gentlemen ! Why, 
 what is this that he means ?" / 
 
 " Et tu Brute !" sighed Buttons. j 
 
 "Signore!" said Dolores. / 
 
 "Didn't he, Dick?" / 
 
 "He did," said Dick; " of course he did. 
 "Oh, that vomicciuolo will sny any thing, 
 said Dolores, contemptuously snapping her fin- 
 gers in Dick's face. 
 
 " Why, Sinogre. Look yon. How is it pos- 
 sible? Think what accommodations I Gaxe 
 upon that bed! Gaxe upon that furniture! 
 Contemplate that prospect of the busy street!^ 
 " Why, it's the most wretched room in town, 
 xncd ButtOTrt. *'^I've been ashamed tor" "" 
 friends here." . 
 
 " Ah, wretch !" cried Dolores, with flashing 
 eyes. "You well know that you were nerei 
 so well lodged at home. This miserable ! Thu 
 a room to be ashamed of! Away, Amencw 
 savage! And your friends, who are they ? 1» 
 you lodge with the laxaroni ?" 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 iving her little 
 
 " You said that yoa wonW charge two pi- 
 aitrca. I will pay no more ; no, not half a 
 carlino. JJpw dare you send me a bill for 
 . eighteen piastres? I will pay you six piastres 
 for the th|fee weeks. Your bill for eighteen is 
 a cheat. I throw it away. Behold !" 
 
 And Buttons, tearing the paper into twenty 
 fragments, scattered them over the floor. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Dolores, standing before him, 
 with her arms folded, and her face all aglow 
 with beautiful anger; "you call it a cheat" do 
 you ? You would like, would you not, to run 
 off and pay nothing? That is the custom, I 
 •appose, in America.. But you can not do that 
 in this honest country." 
 
 " Signore, you may tear up fifty bills, but you 
 inu8t pay," said the landlord, polltelv. 
 
 "If you come to travel yon should bring 
 money enough to take you along," said Dolores. 
 \ "Then I would not have to take lodgings 
 It only for a Sorrento beggar," said Buttons, 
 imewhat rudely. 
 
 They are too good for an American beg- 
 _ |r," rejoined Dolores, taking a step nearer to 
 him, and slapping her little hands together by 
 way of emphasis. 
 
 "Is this the maid," thought Buttons, <'that 
 hung sotendcrl^on my arm at the masquerade ? 
 the sweet girl who has charmed so manv evcn- 
 '"n^ith her innocent mirth ? Is this "the fair 
 yo«(fe creature who — " 
 
 " Are you going to pay, or do you think you 
 CM keep us waiting forever?" cried the fair 
 young creature, impatiently and sharplv. 
 " No more than six piastres," replied Buttons. 
 " Be reasonable, Signore. Be reasonable," 
 laid the landlord, with a conciliatory smile • 
 "and above all, bo calm— be calm. Lof us 
 have no contention. I feel that these honor- 
 «ble American gentlemen have no wish but to 
 act justly," and he looked bcnignantly at his 
 family. •■ 
 
 " I wish I could feel the sarao about these 
 Italians," said Buttons. 
 
 " You will soon feel that these Italians are 
 determined to have their due," said Dolores. 
 
 "They shall have their due and no more." 
 
 "Come, Buttons," said Dick, in Italian, " let 
 ni leave this old rascal." 
 
 "Old rascal?" hissed Dolores, mshing np 
 toward Dick as though she would tear his eyes 
 out, and stamping her little foot. " Old ras- 
 cal ! Ah, piccolo Di-».vo-lo 1 " 
 
 "Come," said the landlord; "I have affec- 
 tion for yon. I wish to satisfy you. I have 
 •Iways tried to satisfy and please yon." 
 
 " The ungrateful ones !" said Dolores. " Have 
 we not all been as friendly to them as we never 
 were before ? And now th e y t ry likn vij M.rg to 
 
 SI 
 
 *S*^ 
 
 i 
 
 rrn 
 
 4\ 
 
 TWO l>IA8TBE«l 
 
 " Kniif ni.**- 
 
 "Peace, Dolores," said the landlord, majes- 
 ^'r. "Let US ain« very friendly. Come, 
 Rood American gentlem.n, let ni have peace. 
 
 What now will you pay ?" 
 
 " Stop r cried Dolorei. «' Do yon bargain ? 
 Why, they will try and make you take a htlf- 
 
 oarlinc for the whole three weeks. I am 
 ashamed of you. I will not consent." 
 
 "How much will yon give?" said the land- 
 lord, once more, without heeding his daughter. 
 
 " Six piastres," said Buttons. 
 
 " Impossible I" 
 
 " When I came here I took good care to 
 have it understood. You distinctly said two 
 piastres per week. You may find it very con- 
 venient to forget. I find it equally convenient 
 to remember." 
 
 " Try— try hard, and perhaps you will re- 
 member that we offered to take nothing. Oh 
 yes, nothing— absolutely nothing. Couldn't 
 think of it," said Dolores, with a multitude of 
 ridiculous but extremely pretty gestures, that 
 made the little witch charming even in her rag- 
 cality.— "Oh yesj nothing "—a shrug of the 
 shoulders— " we felt so honored "—spreading 
 out her hands and bowing.—" A great Ameri- 
 can !— a noble foreigner!"— folding her arms, 
 and strutting up and down.—" Too much hap- 
 piness !"— here her voice assumed a tone of most 
 absurd «a«asm.— " We wanted to entertain 
 them all the rest of our lives for nothing "—a 
 ridiculous grimace— "or perhaps your sweet 
 conversation has been sufficient pay— ba ?" and 
 »h« pointed her little ro»y tope r finger »rBs 
 tons «• though she would transfix him. 
 
 Buttons sighed. "Dolores!" said he, "I 
 always thought yon wore my fViend. I didn't 
 think that you wonld turn against me." 
 
 "Ah, infamous one! and foolish tool Did 
 yon think that I could erer help yon to cheat 
 my poor parenU ? Wu thii the rauon why 
 
THE DODGE ClfUB; OBi ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 62 
 
 yon souglit me ? Dishonest one I I am only 
 an innocent girl, but I can understand your vil- 
 lainy." 
 
 " I think you understand a great many 
 things," ^id Buttons, moarnfully. 
 
 "And to think that one would seek my 
 friendship to save his money !" 
 
 Buttons turned ftway. " Suppose I stayed 
 here three weeks longer, how much would you 
 charge ?" he asked the landlord. 
 
 That worthy opened his eyes. His face 
 brightened. 
 
 <^ Three weeks longer? Ah— I— Well— 
 Fertiaps— " 
 
 "Stop!" cried Dolores, placing her hand 
 
 oveir her father's mouth — " not a word. Don't 
 
 you understand ? He don't want to stay three 
 
 ' minutes longer. He wants to get you into a 
 
 new bargain, and cheat you." 
 
 " Ah !" said the landlord, with a knowing 
 winlf. "But, my child, you are really too 
 harsh. You must not mind her, gentlemen 
 
 sider the 'American the same flesh and blood. 
 They believe that " le bogues " is a necessary 
 part of the education of the whole Anglo-Saspn'' 
 race, careful parents among that people being 
 intent upon tlireo things for their children, to 
 wit: 
 
 (1.) To eat Bosbi/ani Bi/lek, but especially 
 the former. 
 
 (2.)' To use certain profane expressions, by 
 which the Continental can always tell the An- 
 glo-Saxon. I 
 
 (3.) To STRIKE FBOM THE SHOnLDEn 1 ! ! 
 
 Consequently, when Buttons, followed by 
 Dick, advanced to the door, the landlord and 
 the " brave soldier " slipped aside, and actually 
 allowed them to pass. 
 
 Not 80 Dolores. 
 
 Shq tried to hound her relatives on ; she 
 stormed ; she taunted them ; slio called them 
 cowards ; she even went so far as to run after 
 Buttons and seize his valise. Whereupon tliat 
 young gentleman patiently waited without a 
 She^s only a willful young girl— a spoiled cliild word till she let go her hold. He then went 
 
 — a spoiled child." 
 
 "Her language is a little strong," said But- 
 tons, " but I don't mind what she says." 
 
 "You may deceive my poor, kind, simple, 
 honest, unsuspecting father," said she, "but 
 you can't deceive me." 
 
 "Probably not." 
 
 " Buttons, hadn't wo better go ?" said Dick ; 
 " squabbling hero *on't benefit us." 
 
 " Well," said Buttons, slowly, and with a 
 lingering look at Dolores, 
 
 But as Dolores saw them stoop to take their 
 valises she sprang to the door-way. 
 
 " They're going ! They're going !" she cried. 
 " And they will rob us. Stop them." 
 
 ••Signore," said Buttons, "here are six pi- 
 astres. I leave them on the table. You will 
 get no more. If you give Ine any trouble I will 
 summon you before the police for conspiracy 
 against a traveller. You Qan't cheat me. You 
 need not try." 
 
 So saying, he quietly placed the six piastres 
 on the tablq,and advanced toward the door. 
 
 " Signore! Signore 1" cried the landlord, and 
 he put himself in his way. At a sign from 
 Dolores the big dragoon came also, and put 
 himself behind her. 
 
 " Yon shall not go," she cried. " You shall 
 never pass through this door till you pay." 
 
 " Who is going to stop us ?" said Buttons. ^ 
 
 " My father, and this brave soldier who is 
 arme.d," said Dolores, in a voice to which she 
 tried *te give a terrific emphasis. 
 
 " T^cn I beg leove to say this much," said ! 
 Buttons ; and he looked with blaiing eyes full 
 ,in the face of the " brave so^ier." '' Lam not j 
 ^i TnraTB ioTdier,'^ SwiT Snrn«*«rniod ; but my i 
 friend and I have paid our bills, and we are 
 going through that door. If you dare to lay 
 10 much as the weight of your flnger on me I'll 
 ■how yon how a roan can use liis lists." 
 ' Now the Continentals have a great ond a 
 wholesome droad of the English fist, and con< 
 
 on his way. 
 
 Arriving at the foot of the stairway he look- 
 ed badk. There was the slender "form of the 
 young girl quivering with rage. 
 
 " Addio, Dolores !" in the most mournful cf 
 voices. 
 
 "Scelerato!" was the response, hissed out 
 from the prettiest of lips. 
 
 The next morning the Dodge Club left Na- 
 ples. 
 
 TBI muva aouHia. 
 
 'h^\^ 
 
THE DODGE CLUBj OE, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 DICK BBLATB8 A PAMILT LEOENS. 
 
 " DiCK," said the Senator, is they rolled over 
 the road, " spin a yarn to beguile the time." 
 Dick looked modest. 
 The rest added their entreaties. 
 " Oil, well," said Dick, " since you're so very 
 urgent it would bo unbecoming to refuse. A 
 story ? Well, what ? I will tell you about my 
 maternal grandfather. 
 
 "My maternal grandfather, then, was once 
 out in Hong Kong, and had saved up a little 
 money. As the climate did not agree with 
 him his thought he would corae home ; and at 
 ■ length an American ship touched there, on board 
 of which he went, and he saw a man in the 
 galley; so my grandfather stepped up to him 
 and asked him : 
 •,"Ai-e you the mate ?' 
 "'No. I'm the man that boils the mate,' 
 said the other, who was also an Irishman. 
 ."So he had to go to the cabin, where ho 
 found the captain and mate writing ot(l, clear- 
 ance papers for the custom-house. 
 
 "'Say, captain, will you cross the sea to 
 plow the raging main ?' asked my grandfather. 
 
 " ' Oh, the ship it is ready and the wind is 
 fair to plow the raging main 1' said the captain. 
 Of course my grandfather at once paid hjs fare 
 without asking credit, and the amount was three 
 hundred and twenty-seven dollars tliirtv-nine 
 cents. 
 
 "Well, they set sail, and after going ever 
 •0 many thousjjnd miles, or hundred— I forget 
 which, but it don't matter— a great storm arose, 
 a typhoon or simoon, perhaps both ; and after 
 slowly gathering up its energies for the space 
 of twenty-nine days, seven hfturs, and twenty- 
 three minutes, without counting the seconds, it 
 burst upon them at exactly forty-ti^o minutes 
 past five, on the sixth day of the week. Need 
 . Tsay that day was Friday ? Now my grand- 
 father saw all the time how it was going to end ; 
 and while the rest were praying and shrieking 
 he had cut the Ushings of the ship's long-boat 
 and stayed there all the time, having put on 
 board the nautical instruments, two or three 
 fish-hooks, a gross of lucifer matches, and a 
 Muco-pan. At last the storm struck the ship, 
 M I have stated, and at the first crack away 
 went the vessel to the bottom, leaving my gtand- 
 faihcr floating alone on the surface of the 
 ocean. 
 
 "My grandfather navigated the long-boat 
 fifty-two days, three hours, and twenty minutes 
 by the ship'* chronometer ; caught |)Ienty of 
 finii with his fish-hooks; boiled sea-wate/in his 
 «Mc e-pan, and boiled all the wit away, making 
 T» nto in "the bottom of thelwet, which ii a 
 wry good place, for the fire can't bnm tBrough 
 without touching the water, wWch it can't bpm ; 
 •nd finding plenty of fuel in ifae boat, which he 
 gradually dismantled, taking first the thole-pids, 
 «hon the scaU, then the UflWl, and so on . This 
 •ort of thing, though, could not last forever, and 
 
 63 
 
 at last, just in thp nick of time, ho came across 
 a dead whale. 
 
 "It was floating bottom upward, covered 
 wi A barnacles of very large size indeed ; and 
 wh^re his fins projected there were two little 
 coves, one trt each side. Into the one on the 
 lee-side he ran his boat, of which there was 
 nothing left but the stem and stern and two 
 side planks. 4 
 
 "My grandfather looked upon the whale as 
 an island. It was a very nice country to one 
 who had been so long in a boat, though a little 
 monotonous. The first thing that he did was 
 to erect the banner of his country, of wliich he 
 happened to have a copy on his' pocket-hand- 
 kerchief; which he did by putting it at the end 
 of an oar and sticking it in the ground, or the ' 
 flesh, whichever you please to call it. He then 
 took an observation, and proceeded to make 
 himself a hou^e, which he did by whittling np 
 the remains of the loing-boat, an^^had enough 
 left to moke a table, a chair, and a" boot-jack. 
 So here he stayed, quite comfortable, for forty- 
 three days and a half, taking olaervations all 
 the time with great accuracy; and at the end 
 of that time all bis house waa gone, for he had 
 to cut it up for fuel to cook bis meals, and noth- 
 ing was left. but half of the boot-jack and the' 
 oar which served to uphold the banner of his 
 country. At the end of this time a ship came 
 up. 
 
 " The men of the ship did not know what on 
 earth to make of this appearance on the water 
 where the American tfag was flying. So they 
 |)ore straight down toward it. 
 
 " ' I see a sight across the sea, hi ho cheerly 
 men !' remarked the captain to the mate, in a 
 confidential manner. 
 
 '"Methinks it is my own conntrie, hi ho 
 cheerly men I' rejoined the other, quietly. 
 
 " ' It rises grandly o'er the brine, hi he cheer- 
 ly men !' said the captain. 
 
 " ' And bears aloft our own ensign, hi ho 
 cheerly men I' said the mate. 
 
 ''As the shipcame up my grandfather placed 
 both hands to his mouth in the shape of a speak- 
 ing-trumpet, and cried out: « Ship ahoy across 
 the wave, with a way-ay-ay-ay-av ! Storm 
 along r 
 
 "To which the captain of the ship respond- 
 ed through his trumpet : 'Tis I, my messmate 
 bold and brave, with a way-ay-ay-ay-ay I Storm 
 along." 
 
 "At this my grandfather inquired: 'What 
 vessel are you gliding on ? Pray tell to me its 
 natne.' 
 
 ' ' Ahd the captain replied : ' Our bark it is a 
 whaler bold, and Jones the captaiii's name.' 
 
 " Theroupea the detain oamo'oB boa idt i w "^ 
 
 wha^ or on shore, whichever you li^e— I don't 
 knof wliich, nor does it matter— he cttne, at 
 any.>rate. My grandfather shoqk hands with 
 1 him and asked him to sit down. But iW'cap- 
 tain declined, saying be prefbrred standing 
 
 " ' Well,' said my grandfather, ' I called on 
 yon to see if yon would like to buy a whaU.' 
 
 A|i|' 
 
S4 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 iinviNO A irnALx. 
 
 " Wa'al, yeg, I don't mind, 
 myself.' 
 
 «' ' What'll you give for if*' 
 « ' What'll .you take for it ?' 
 M' What'll you give?' 
 "'What'll you take?' 
 "« What'll yon giv6?' 
 •"What'll you take?' 
 fgive?' 
 
 rm in that line 
 
 'What'll yon 
 
 give ?' 
 take?' 
 give ?' 
 take?' 
 
 take ?' 
 give?' 
 take?' 
 
 " Twenty-five minutes were taken up in the 
 repetition of this question, for neither wished to 
 commit himself. / 
 
 ' " ' Have you had any offers for it yet ?' asked 
 Captain Jones at last. 
 
 " ' Wa'al, no ; can't say that I have.' . 
 
 " ' I'll give as mu«h as any body.' 
 
 •' 'How much ?• 
 
 '"What'll yon take?' 
 
 " « What'll you give ?' 
 
 "'What'll you take?' 
 
 "'What'll you give?' 
 
 " ' What'll you take ?' 
 
 (give?' 
 wk»f^ 
 
 give^' 
 take?' 
 give?' 
 
 " Then my grandfathvr, after a long delib- 
 eration, took the cAptain by the arm and led 
 him all around, showing him the country, as 
 one may say, enlarging upon th^ne points, 
 and doing as ail good traders are bound to do 
 when they finll themielves face to face with a 
 outomer. 
 
 give ? ' 
 take?' 
 give?' 
 take?' 
 
 " To which the end was : 
 " ' Wa'ar, what'll you take ?' 
 "'What'll yon give?' 
 fgive?' 
 
 '" What'll you rg^J*j: 
 
 \ta)teV 
 
 " ' Well,' said my grandfather, «I don't know 
 as I care about trading after all. I think I'll 
 wait till the whaling fleet comes along. I've 
 been waiting for them for some time, apd they 
 ought to be here soon.' 
 
 " ' You're not in the right track,' said Cap- 
 tain Jones. 
 
 " ' Yes, I am.* 
 
 " ' Excuse me.' 
 
 '"Excuse me,' said my grandfather. 'I 
 took an observation just before you came in 
 sight, and I am in lat. 47° 22' 20", long. Ifi0» 
 15' 55".'' 
 
 "Captain Jones's face fell. My grandfather 
 poked him in the ribs and smiled. 
 • "'I'll tell you what I'll do, as I don't care, 
 after all, about waiting here. It's a little damp, 
 and rm subject to rheumatics. I'll let yon have 
 the whole thing if you give-in^wenty-fivo per 
 cent, of tho»oil after it's barreled, barrels and all. 
 
 " The captain thought for a moment. 
 „ " ' -Yott drivo » dose bargain.*^ 
 
 " ' Of course.' 
 
 " ' Well, it'll Bare a voyage, and that's some- ^ 
 thing.' , 
 
 ' ' • Something ! Bless your heart 1 ain t that 
 every thing?' 
 
 "'Well, I'll agree. Come on board, ano 
 we'll make out the papen.' 
 
THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 ■ack,' said Cap- 
 
 20", long. 150° 
 
 '* So my grandfatber went on board, and they 
 made out tho papers ; and the ship hauled up 
 alongside of the whale, and they went to work 
 cutting, aod slashing, and hoisting, and burn- 
 ing, and boiling, and at last, after ever so long a 
 time-^1 don't remember exacjtly how long — 
 tha oil was all secured, and my grandfather, in 
 a few month's afterward, when he landed at 
 Nantucket and made inquiries, sold his share 
 of the oij for three thousand nine hundred and 
 ■ fifty-six dollars .fifty-six cents, which he at once 
 invested in business in New Bedford, and start- 
 ed off to Pennsylvania to visit his mother. The 
 old lady didn't know him at all, he was so 
 changed by sun, wind, storm, hardship, sickness, 
 fatigue, want, exposure,' and otheC things of 
 that kind. She loi^ked coldly on him. 
 
 " 'Who are yon?' 
 
 •"Don't you know?' 
 
 "'No.' "^ 
 
 "'Think.' ^ 
 
 " ' Have you a ttrawbtrrjon your arm V 
 "'No.' 
 
 " ' Then— you are— you are— tou abe— my 
 own — my long-lost son!' . 
 
 ^^-^^2^^ 
 
 TOa LOMO-U>ST lOX. 
 
 £6 
 
 " And she caught him in her arms. 
 
 "Hero endeth the first part of my grnndfa- 
 ttiers adventures, but he had many more, good 
 and bad ; for he was a remarkable man, though 
 1 say It; and if, any of you ever want to hear 
 more about him, which I doubt, all you've got 
 to do IS io say so. But perhaps it's just as well 
 to let tijo old gentleman drop, for his advent- 
 ures wyre rather strange; but the narration 
 of them IS not very profitable, not that I go in 
 for the utilitarian theory of conversation ; but I 
 think, on the whole, that, in storv-tclling fic- 
 tion Should be preferred to dull facts like these, 
 and so the next time I tell a story I will make 
 one up." 
 
 The Club had listened to the story with the 
 gravity which should bo manifested toward one 
 who is relating family matters. At its close the 
 Senatorprepared to speak. He cleared his throat: 
 " Ahem ! Gentlemen of the Club ! our ad- 
 ventures, thus far, have not been altogether 
 contemptible. We have a President and a Sec- 
 retary ; onj^t we not also to havo a Recording 
 Secretary— ft Historian ?" < 
 
 " Ay J" said all, vgry earnestly. 
 "Who, then, shall it be?" 
 All looked at Dick. . 
 
 "I see there ia but one feeling among ns 
 all, said tho Senator. " Yes, Richard, you 
 are the man. Your gift of language, your fancy, 
 your modesty, your fluency— But I spare you, 
 *rom ti^^ time forth yon know your duty." 
 
 Over^me by this honor, Dick was compelled 
 to bQw his thanks in silence and hide his blush- 
 ing face. 
 
 "Andnow.'-iaidMr.Figgs, eagerly, "I want . 
 to hear the Higgins Story !" 
 
 The Doctor turned frightfully pale, Dick 
 began to fill his pipe. The Senator looked 
 earnestly out of tho window. Buttons looked 
 at the ceiling. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Mr. Fines 
 
 "What?" asked Buttons. 
 
 ''The Higgins Story?" 
 
 The Doctor started to his feet. His excite- 
 ment was wonderful. He clenched his fist. 
 
 "I II quit ! I'm going back. I'll join yoa 
 at Rome by anotBer route. I'll " 
 
 "No, yon won't I "said Buttons; "for on a 
 journey likd this it would be absurd to begin 
 the Higgins Story." <» " 
 
 " Pooh I" spidDick, "it would require nihe- 
 teea days at least to get through tho introducto- 
 rypart." 
 
 "When, tfien, can I hear h?" asked Mr. 
 Figgs, in perplexity. 
 
 ■M 
 
\ 
 
 66 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LETTEB 
 
 DICK, AND CBITICISM8 
 FBIENDS. 
 
 TiiEY took lodgings near the Piazza di 8pag- 
 na. This is the best part of Rome to live in, 
 which every traveller will acknowledge. Among 
 other advantages, it is perhaps the only clean 
 spot in the Capital of Christendom. 
 
 Their lodgings were peculiar. Descrijjtion is 
 qnito unnecessary. They were not disAvercd 
 without toil, and not secured without warfare. 
 Once in possession they had no reason to com- 
 plain. True, the conveniences of civilized life 
 do not exist there — but who dreams of conven- 
 ience in Rome 7 
 
 On the evening of their arrival they jrere sit- 
 ting in the Senator's room, which was used as 
 the general rendezvous. Dick was diligently 
 writing. 
 
 "Pick," said Jhe Senator^ " w h at are jrou 
 
 about?" 
 
 " Well," said Dick, " the fact is, I just hap- 
 pened to remember that when I left home the 
 editor of the village paper wished me to write 
 occasionally. I promised, and he at once pub- 
 lished the fact in enormous capitals. I never 
 thought of it till this evening, when I happened 
 
 to find a scrap of the last issue of his paper in 
 my valise. I recollected my promise, and I 
 thought I <night as well drop a line." 
 
 " Read wEat you have written." 
 
 Dick blushed and hesitated. 
 
 " Nonsense 1 Go ahead, my boy !" said But- 
 tons. 
 
 Whereupon Dick cleared bis throat and be- 
 gan : > 
 
 • . " ROMB, M«y 30, 1S:9. 
 
 " Mb. Editob,— Rome la a eubjctt which Is neither un- 
 (nterenting nor alien to tlie pri'sent age." 
 
 " That's a fact, or you wouldn't be here writ- 
 ing il^' remarked Buttons. 
 
 " lu Ibokiiig over the pflst, our view Is too often hound. 
 ed by the Middle Age". We consider that period' u Iho 
 chaos of the modern world, when it lay covered wilh 
 darkneri!, until the Keform came and said, '1*1 there Iw 
 light I"" 
 
 " Hang it, Dick ! be original or be nothiin;." 
 "Yet, If the life of Jhe world begun anywliere, it win 
 In Rome. Assyria is nothing to me. Egjpl Is but a uptc- 
 ti(cle 1" 
 
 " If you only bod enough funds to carry yoa 
 there you'd change your tunc. But go on." 
 
 " But Rome arises before nie as the parent of the lolttr 
 time? By her tlie old battles between freedom aiid,l)t!. 
 potii-m were foufiht long ago, and the' forms and principlu 
 of Liberty came forth, lo pass, amid many vlcisaitucles, 
 down to tt new-horn day." 
 
 " There ! I'm coming to the point now !" 
 "About time, I imagine. The editor will 
 get into despair." 
 
 " Tliere Is but one fitting approach lo Rome. By any 
 other roud the mnje?ty of the Old Capital in lost In the le*f- 
 er grandeur of the Medieval City. Whoever goes tiierc let 
 Mm come up from Napica and enter by the JerusoUiu 
 Gate." 
 
 "Jerusalem fiddlesticks 1 Why, there's no 
 such gate!" 
 
 "There the very spirit of Antiquity alts enthroned lo 
 welcome ihe traveller, and all the aolemn Past sheds hti 
 influences over liia soul—*' 
 
 " Excuse me ; tliere is a Jerusalem Gate." 
 " Perhaps so— in Joppa." s,^^^^ 
 
 " There the Imperial City Ilea In the /iiHImlty of niin. 
 It Is tlio Rome of our dreamii— the ghoet of a dead ind 
 buried Empire hovering over ita own neglected grave I 
 
 " Dick, it's not fair to work off an old college 
 essay as Eur^an correspondence." 
 
 " Notliing may bo aeen but deaoUtion. The waste Csm- 
 pnima atretchea Ita aridaurface away to the Alban moiiot- 
 aina, uninhabited, and forsaken of man and beast Fr 
 the dust and the works and the monuments of milliom llj 
 here mingled In the common corruptton of the tomb, «nil 
 the life oAhe present age shrinks away In tenj)r. UsB 
 lln 8 of lofty aqueductli come alowly down from tlw Altaa 
 hllbi, but these crumbled aUmee and broken arcbis tell » 
 storv more elonuont than human voice. ,. . j 
 
 ''The walirarise before us. but there Is no city beyoni 
 The deaolatlon that relgna In the Campagna has enlawl 
 Lre The pSaS. of Ihlnoblei the haunts of pleuuitj, the 
 ^A« if thTnlumtnd., the garrlaon of the "oWler,!-" 
 crumbled to dust, and mingled topther In one «mm« 
 nVln. The aoll on which we treaf, which give" bWl "J 
 rreM,.hruba,and wild flowers without number, ta toUJ 
 asseiblage~f the dlslnlegraled atoms of stones and nwrtu 
 that onc?ait)ie on high In the form of paUce, pyTaBl^ot 
 ■fcmple.'^ 
 
 " Dick, I advise yon to write all your lettcn 
 before you see the places you speak of. You'w 
 no idea how eloquent you can be!" 
 
 " Now If we paaa on in thia dIrMUon, w« aoon <:oim|»J 
 spot which la the eentr, M the »»'"-«}« jfi*^!^ 
 most nf all we muat look when we leareb for the aouW « 
 much that Is valuable In oar age. 
 
al or be nothing." 
 
 Why, there's no 
 
 ferasalem Gate." 
 
 THE,,|J(>DGE CLUBs OB.li'ALT IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 JL ^-nUl'i,*?? • "^S"**** "Pofc At one end rUei . 
 
 ,. ^ZT\ '.'.K '"'"'*' = <"• <"^»'We "re « few mean edl. 
 
 f M^i Tn^i".'' » "■ T"™, "f '»"«"'« ■■"'■" : •>» H'e other 
 t hill formed altosether of erumblM atom, of bricks, mor- 
 Ur, and precloiu marblMi^ li themld.t are a few rooeli 
 column, blackened by time and expoeh,^ Thr JSll li 
 deep, and in placea there are4>its wfie^ excavation, have 
 been made. KubbUh lie. (round ; blt-of.traw,"nSgS^,'' 
 
 57 
 
 „.... .....»,.u.,c>aTuuuu; niMoiatra»,nuuKra8jj. 
 
 and hay, and -lecjyAi leatjter, and broken bott e«, au™lj 
 *"■"* A few dirty ahepherd. pk« along, drivlnRlean and 
 D. «rab le .heep. .Further up i. a cl.«ter of wlne^rte; 
 with 8tlll more curlona Ko«ie» and driven »-v.«., 
 
 "What la this placef.i-wh«t Hioao niin., tlie«e fallen 
 mmmmenta,«ieseJioaryarche., these Ivycivered w«|ls? 
 
 " ' The Held of freedom, fkcllon. fame, and blood . \ 
 
 fi!"".,? ^r"i'^. I*»P'"'" paMloin were exhaled. ^ 
 
 » rom the flni hour of Empire In the bud 
 
 To that when furlher world, to conquer failed i 
 rS ."i^ '^'!'" "^ "nmortal accent, glow, 
 And .tUl the eIoquH.1 air breathe., bum. with Clcel\> 
 "Yet If you BO up«(»«ne of those people and ask thh 
 
 " Is that all ?" inquired Buttons, as Dick laid 
 down Jiis paper. 
 
 " That's all I've written as yet." 
 
 Whereupon Buttons clapped his hands to ex- 
 press applause, and all the others laughincly fol- 
 lowed his example. • 
 
 "Dick," said the Senator, after a pause 
 " what you bave written sounds pretty. But 
 look at the facts. Here you are writing a de- 
 scription of Rome before you've seen any thine 
 of the place at all. All that you have put in 
 that letter IS what you have read in books of 
 travel. I mention this not from blame but 
 merely to show what a wrong principle travellers 
 Roon. They don't notice real live facts. Now 
 I've prqipised the editor of our paper a letter 
 As soon as I write it I'll read it for you The 
 style won't be equal to yours. But, if I write, 
 111 bo bound .to tell something new. Senti- 
 ment," pursued the Senator, thoughtfully "is 
 playingithe dickens wth the present age. What 
 we ought to look at is not old ruins or pittures 
 but men-men-ljve men. I'd rather visit the 
 cottage of an Italian peasant than any church in 
 the country. I'd rather see the working of the 
 pohiual constitution of this 'ere benighted land 
 than any painting you can show. Horsc^hoOs 
 before ancient stones, and macaroni before stat- 
 
 T,^^} [ ^"' ""^"^ "'"«' things show mo all 
 thehfeof the people. If I only underetood their 
 cursed ingo, 'said the Senator, with a tinge of 
 regret, I d rather stand and hear them talk by 
 the houi;, particularly the women, than listen to 
 tne pootiest music they can scare upl" 
 
 iv '.'/; 'v'^ I*"" «?"'*•" ""''^ ^'- F'KB'. '""ful- 
 V, m Naples. 1 went into a broker's shop to 
 change a Napoleon. I thought I'd like to see 
 their financial system. I saw enough of it ; for 
 the scoundrel gave me a lot of little bits of coin 
 Uiat only passed fora few cents apiece in Naples, 
 with difficulty at tha^ and won't pas. here at 
 
 The Senator lAUghed^ 
 
 fenongh for you as a traveller. But you don't 
 look at ell the points of the subject. The point 
 IS to write a letter for a new8pai)er. .Now what 
 IS the most successful kind of letter ? The read- 
 ers of a family paper are notoriously women and 
 young men, or lads. Older men only loqk at 
 the advertiscmohtg .or the news. What do 
 women and lads care for horse-sliocs and maca- 
 roBi? Of course, if one were to write about 
 these things in a humorous stylo they would 
 take i but, as a general thing, they prefer to read 
 about old ruins, and statues, ;ind cities, and pro- 
 cessions, But the best kind of a correspondence 
 18 that, which deals altogdflier in adventures. 
 ^ 'That 8 what takes thefaThg ! Incidents of trav, 
 el, fights with ruffians, quarrels with landlords, 
 *ipwreckg, robbery, odd scrapes, laughable 
 scenes; aijd Dick, my boy! wben you write 
 again be sure toUll your letter with events of 
 this sort." 
 
 "But suppose," suggested Dick, meekly, 
 ' that we meet with no ruffians, and there are no 
 adventures to relate ?" 
 
 " Then use a traveller's piivilege and invent 
 them. What was imagination given for if not 
 to use?" 
 
 " It will not do— it will not do, " said the Sen- 
 ntor, decidedly. " You must hold on to facts. 
 Information, not amusement, should be your 
 aim." •' 
 
 " But information is dull by itself. Amuse- 
 ment perhaps is useless. Now how much bet- 
 ter to combine the utility of solid infonnation 
 with the lighter graces of amusement, fun, and 
 fancy. Your pill, Doctor„is hard to take 
 though its effects are good. Coat it with sugar 
 and It 8 easy." " 
 
 What!" exclaimed the Doctor, suddenly 
 
 to'^mer"''' "^•™°°' ""'«'?' Did you speak 
 
 The Doctor blinked and rubbed his eyes, and 
 wondered what the company were laughing at. 
 In a few minutes, however, he concluded to re- 
 sunno his broken slumber in his bed. He accord- 
 ingly retired ; and the company followed his ex. 
 ample. 
 
 mm.,1 ■ \, "T" "'^ell, yon shouldn't 
 
 complain. Yon lost your Napoleon, but gained 
 Mpenence You have a new wrinkl^. I ™i„ed 
 . n«y wnnkle too when I g«yo a half.N.,,^leon, 
 by mistake, to a wretched looking beggarVblind 
 of one eye. I intended to give him a centime " 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BT. PETER'S! — THK TKAOIC 8TORT OP THE FAT 
 MAN IN THE BALL.— HOW ANOTHER TRAGEDY 
 NEARLY HAPPENED.— THE WOES OP MEINHERB 
 8CHATT. ^^ 
 
 Two stately, fountains, a colonnade which in 
 spite of faults possesses unequalled majesty, a 
 vast piazza, enclosing many acres, in whose im- 
 mense area puny man dwindles to a dwarf, and 
 in theMiilaitte the unapproachable glories of 
 
 the l?eate»tcf wnhly temple8--«rch is tfio ffraP 
 view of St. Peter's. 
 
 Our party of friends entered the lordly vesti- 
 
 bul(^ and lifting the heavy mat that hung over 
 
 the door.way„they passed thrtmgh. There came 
 
 a soft air laden with the odor of incense; and 
 
 strains of music from one of the side chapels 
 
 *' Your principle,'' Mid Bu«or»dr well T"" "^ '?"«"«/~"' ""o »' the side chapel, 
 p , saia uuitons, does well came echoing dreamily down one of the iTde 
 
 • 
 
 (1. 
 
68 THE ^ODGE CXUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 aisks A glare of iunlteht flashed in on poI» a neTor-cea»ing supply of water. Tt was diffl- 
 
 ishcd marbles of a thousand colors that covered cult to conceive that this was the foof of a huild- 
 
 pillars, walls, and pavement. The vaulted ceil- 
 
 inR blazed with gold. People strolled to and 
 
 fro without any ppparont object. They seemed 
 
 to be promenading. In different places some 
 
 peasant women were kneeling. 
 
 They walked up the nave. The size of the 
 immense lediflco increased with every step. 
 Arriving under the dome thejr stood looking up 
 with boundlc8» astonishment. 
 
 They walked round and round. They saw 
 statues which were masterpieces of genius; 
 sculptures that glowed with immortal beauty ; 
 pictures which had consumed a life-time as they 
 grew up beneath the patient toil of the mosaic 
 worker. There were altars contnininfl gems 
 •s" *fequal to a king's ransom ; curious pillars that 
 cartb down from immemorial ages ; lamps that 
 burn forever. 
 
 "This," said the Senator, "is about the first 
 place that has really come up to my idee of for- 
 eign parts. In fact it goes dead beyond it. I 
 O acknowledge its. superiority to any thing that 
 America can produce. But what's the good of 
 it all ? If this Government really cared for the 
 good of the people it would sell out the hull 
 concern, and devote the proceeds to railways 
 and factories. Then Italy would go ahead as 
 Trovidence intended." * 
 
 "My dear Sir, the people of this country 
 would rise and annihilate any Govenrment that 
 dated to touch it." 
 
 "Shows how debased they have grown. 
 TJ^erc's no utility in all this. There couldn't 
 be any really good Gospel preaching here. 
 
 " Different people require different modes of 
 worship," said Buttons, scntentiously. 
 
 " But it's immense," said the Senator, as they 
 stood at the furthest end and looked toward the 
 entrance. ' ' Ive been calc'latin' ^hat ypu could 
 range oJ()i»g,UiJ8 middle aisle about eighteen 
 good-sized Protestant churches, and eighteen 
 more along the side aisles. You could pile 
 them «VP three tiers high. Yon could stow away 
 twenty-four more in the cross aisle. After that 
 you could pile up twenty more in the dome. 
 That would make room here for one hundred 
 and flftj-.two good-sized Protestant churches, 
 and room enough would be left to stow away all 
 their spires." 
 
 And to show the truth of his calculation he 
 exhibited a piece of paper on which he had pen- 
 cilled it all. 
 
 If the interior is imposing the ascent to the 
 roof is equally so. There i? a winding path so 
 arranged that mules can go np carrying loads. 
 Up this they went and reached the roof. Six 
 Dr sevwi ac re s of territory snatched from the 
 air spread around ; statues rose from the edge ; 
 all around cupolas and pillars arose. In the 
 centre the huge dome Itself towered^ on high. 
 There was a long low building filled with peo- 
 ple who lived jip here. They were workmen 
 whose doty it was to attend to the repairs of 
 the vast structure. Two fountains poured forth 
 
 ing. 
 
 Entering the base of the central cupola a 
 stairway leads up. Tliere is a door which lends 
 to the interior, where one can walk around a 
 gallery on the inside of the dome and look down. 
 Further up where the arch springs there is an- 
 other. Finally, at the apex of the dome there 
 is a third opening. Looking down through tliis 
 the sensation is terrific. 
 
 UiHin the summit of the vast dome stands an 
 edifice of large size, which is called the lantern, 
 and appears insignificant in comparison with 
 the mighty structure beneath. Up this the 
 stairway goes until at length the opening into 
 the ball is reached. 
 
 The whole five climbed up into the ball. 
 They found to their surprise that fl^ould hold \ 
 twice as many more. The Senator reached up 
 his hand. He could not touch the top. They 
 looked through the slits in the side. The view 
 was boundless ; the wide Campagna, the pur- 
 ple Apennines, the blue Mediterranean, appear- 
 ed from difl'erent sides. 
 
 " I feel," pid the Senator, " that the conceit 
 is taken out of me. What is Boston State 
 House tq this ; or Bunker Hill monument 1 I 
 used to see pictures of this place in Woodbridgc's 
 Geography ; but I never had a realizing sense 
 of architecture until now." 
 
 "This ball," said Buttons, "has its historv, 
 its associations. It has been the scene of suf- 
 fering. Once a stoutish man came up here. 
 The guides warned him, but to no purpose. Ho 
 was a willful Englishman. You may see, gen- 
 tlemen, that the opening is narrow. How the 
 Englishman managed to get up does not appear; 
 but it is certain that when he tried to get down 
 he found it impossible. He tried for hours to 
 squeeze through. No use. Hundreds of peo- 
 ple came up to help him. They cot^i't. The 
 whole city got into a state of wild^Ritcment. 
 Some of the churches had prayers offered np 
 for him though he was a heretic. At the*cnd 
 of three days he tried again. Fasting rfhd 
 anxiety had come to his relief, and he slipped 
 through without difficulty." 
 
 "He must have been a London swell," said 
 
 Dick. 
 
 «'I don't believe a word of it," said Mr. 
 FiggB, looking with an expression of horror, 
 first at the opening and then at his own rqjund- 
 ity. Then springing forward he hurriedly be- 
 gan tp descend. 
 
 HoppyMr. FIggsI There was no danpier 
 for him. But in his eagerness to get down h« 
 did not think of looking below to see if the,w»^ 
 wa&xlear. And so it happened, that as he de^ 
 scended quickly and with excited haste, h« 
 stepped with all his weight upon the hand of » 
 man who was coming up. The stranger shouted. 
 Mr. Figgs jumped. His foot slipped. Hii 
 hand loosened, and down he fell plump tO the 
 bottom. Had he fallen on the floor there is no 
 doubt that he would have sustained severe in- 
 
THE DODGE CLUBj OBr ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 l«n swell," Eaid 
 
 jury. Fortunatel^r for himtelf he fell upon the 
 itrangor and nearly crushed hig life out. 
 
 The stranger writhed nnd rolled till ho had 
 got rid of his hea^ burden. The two men 
 simultaneously started to tlicir feet. Tlio stran- 
 ger was a short stout jnan with an unmistaka- 
 ble German facci He had bright tlue eyes, red 
 hair, and a forked red beard. Ho stared with 
 all his might, stroked his forked red beard pite- 
 ously, and then ejaculated most guttural! v, in 
 tones that seemed to come from his boots— ^ ' 
 
 " Gh-h-h-r-r-r-r-r-acions me I" 
 
 Mr. Figgs overwhelmed him with apologies, 
 assured him that it was quite unintentional] 
 hoped that he wasn't hurt, begged his pardon ; 
 but the stranger only panted, and still he stroked 
 his forked red beard, and still ejaculated— 
 
 \" Gh-h-h-r-r-r-r-r^cioua mel" 
 Four heads peered through the opening 
 above J but seeing no accident their owners, one 
 by one, descended; and all with much sympathy 
 asked the stranger if he wMkmuch hurt. But 
 the stranger, who seemed qu^^ bewildered, still 
 panted and stroked his beard, and ejaculated— 
 
 " Gh-h-h-r-r-r-r-r-acious me t" 
 
 At length ho seemed to recover his faculties, 
 and discovered that ho was not hurt. Upon 
 this he assured Mr. Figgs, in heavy guttural 
 English, that it was nothing. He had often 
 been knocked down before. If Mr. Figgs were 
 a Frenchman, he would feel angry. But as he 
 was an American he was proud to make his 
 acquaintance." He himself had once lived in 
 America, in Cincinnati, where he had edited 
 a German paper. His name was Meinherr 
 Schatt. ' V. 
 
 ^ Meinherr Schatt showed no further disposi- 
 tion to g9 up ; but descended with the others 
 down as far as the roof, when they went to the 
 front and stood looking down on the piazza. 
 In the course of conversation Meinherr Schatt 
 informed them that fte belonged to the Duchy 
 of'Saxo Meiningen, that he had been living in 
 Rome about two years, and liked it about as 
 well as any place that lie liad seen. He went 
 
 .59 
 
 every autumn to Paris to speculate on the 
 •^urse^ and generally made enough to keep 
 Ihm for a year. He was acquainted with nil 
 the artisu in Home. Would they like to bo in- 
 »troducod to some of thonj ? 
 
 Buttons would bo most charmed. Ho wguld 
 rather become acquainted with artisU than with 
 any class of people. 
 
 Meinherr Schatt lamented deeply the present 
 state of things arising from the war in Lom- 
 bardy. A peaceful German traveller was scane- 
 ly safe now. Little boys made faces at him in 
 the street, and shouted after him, "Maledetto 
 Tedescho ! " 
 
 Just at this moment the eye of Buttons was 
 attracted by a carriage that rolled away frottj 
 under the front of the cathedral down the piaz- 
 za. In it were two lac^ies and a gentleman. 
 Buttons stared eagerly for a few moments, and 
 then gave a jump. 
 
 " What's the matter?" cried Dick, 
 "It is! By Jove 1 It is!" 
 "What? Who?" 
 " I see her face ! I'm off!" 
 "Confound it ! Whoso face ?" 
 But Buttons gave no answer. He 5vas off 
 like the wind, and before the others could re- 
 cover from their surprise had vanished down 
 the descent. 
 
 "What upon airth has possessed Buttons 
 now ?" asked the Senator. 
 
 " It must be the Spanish girl," said Dick. 
 " Again ? Hasn't his mad chase at sea given 
 him a lesson? Spanish girl! What is he after ? 
 If he wants a girl, why can't he wait and pick 
 out a regular thorough-bred out and outer of 
 Yankee stock ? These Spaniards orelot the 
 right sort." 
 
 In an incredible short space of time the figure 
 of Buttons was seen dashing down the piazza,- 
 in the direction which the carriage had taken! 
 But the carriage' was far ahead, and even as he 
 left the chnrch it had already crossed the Ponte ' 
 di 8. Angelo. The others then descended. 
 Buttons was not seen till the end of the day^^ 
 
 "OUOtOUl MSt" 
 
 ISilrfll if 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 CO 
 
 Ho then made his appearance with a dejected 
 
 air. 
 
 " Whnt luck ?" asked Dick, as ho came in. 
 
 " None St all," said Buttong, gloomily. 
 
 " Wrong ones agnin ?" 
 
 " No, Indeed. I'm not mistaken this time. 
 But I couldn't catch them. Thoy got out of 
 sight, and kept out too. I've been to cvciy 
 hotel in the place, but couldn't find thqm, It's 
 too bad.'' 
 
 " Buttons," taid the Senator, Bravely, " I ra 
 sorry to see a young man like you so infatuated. 
 Beware — Buttons— beware of wiramin ! Take 
 
 Bewarc-Buttons-beware of wiramin! Take bioateu arisiocrai, u, ...«..u....c« .u. ..„ 
 the advice bf an older and more exjKirionced ; bio, yet perchance Worthy mendicant, 
 
 ... .... ' l^^^^A A.fAnW^nv mn4>a anil TTinrn tn hn 
 
 CHArTER xxr. 
 
 HARMONT ON THE PINCIAN HIIX. — MrSIO HATH 
 CUAKM8.— AMERICAN MELODIES.— THE OLOHY, 
 Tl|B POWER, AND THE BEAUTY OF YANKEE DOO- 
 DJ.B, AND TUB MEBCENABY BOf L OF AN ITAL- 
 IAN OBOAN-GBINDEH. 
 
 The Senator loved the Pincian Hill, for there 
 ha saw what he loved best; more than ruins, 
 more than churches, more than pictures and 
 statues, more than music. He saw man and 
 human nature. 1 
 
 He had a smile fori nil ; of superiority for the 
 bloated aristocrat ;' of friendliness for tlie luim- 
 
 IIo 
 
 man. Beware of wimmin. Whenever you see 
 one coming— dodge ! It's your only hjow^ If 
 it hadn't been for wimmin"— and th<J Senator 
 seemed to speak hiilf to himself, while his face 
 iissumed a pensive air- "if it hadn't been for 
 
 .ionged everjidday more and more to bo able to 
 talk the language of the people. 
 
 On one occasion the Club was walking on the 
 Pincian Hill, when suddenly they were arrested 
 by familiar sounds which came from some place 
 
 ^ssumeu a pcnsivo air — "ii ii imuu v "<-^" ■>" "j ■ 
 
 wimmin, I'd been haranguing the Lcgislatoor ^not very far away. It was a barrel-organ; a 
 
 npw, instead of wearying my bones in this be 
 nightcd and enslaved country." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE GLORY, ORANDECR, BEAUTY, ANIJ INFINITE 
 VARIETY OF THE PINCIAN HILL; NAUKATEU 
 AND DETAILED NOT COLIMNARILY BUT EX- 
 HAUSTIVELY, AND AFTER THE MANNER OF IIA- 
 BBLAIS. 
 
 loft and musical organ; but it was playing 
 '• Sweet Home." 
 
 " A Yankee tune," said the Senator. " L«t 
 us go and patronize domestic manufacture. 
 That 18 my idee of political economy." 
 
 licachingAlio spot they sow a pale, intellect- 
 ual-looking luilian working away at his instru- 
 ment. 
 
 " It's not bad, though that there may not be 
 the highest kind of musical instrument." 
 
 " No," said Buttons ; " but I wonder that 
 
 Oh, the Pincian Hill!- Does the memory of yon, an elder of o church, can stand here and 
 Wiat place affect nil alike? Whether it docs listen toil " 
 
 " Why, what has the church to do with a 
 barrel-organ ?" 
 
 " Don't you believe the Bible ?" 
 
 " Of bourse," said the Senator, looking mys- 
 tified. I, 
 
 " Don't you know what it says.on the sub- 
 ject?" 
 
 "What the Bible says ? Why no, of course 
 not. It says nothing." 
 \ "I beg your pardon. It says, ' The sound of 
 kha grinding is low." See Ecclesiastes, twelfth, 
 fourth." 
 
 The Senator looked mystified, but said noth- 
 ing. But suddenly the organ-grinder struck 
 up another tune. 
 
 " Well, I do declare," cried the Senator, de- 
 lighted, " if it isn't another domestic melody !" 
 
 It was " Independence Day." 
 
 " Why, it warms my heart," he said, os a 
 flmh spread over his fine countenitirce. 
 
 The organ-grinder received any quantity of 
 baiocdn, which so oncourBged him that he tried 
 ^. W«90rini4 The Liiurel another— "Old Virginny 
 ShS^M'nmy=rHMd-bo&\;iMronMl:n3i.hmm^ " That's better yet," lajd the Senator. Hut 
 
 W Youth, Hope, Bi.^y, V*^:*?)^"" f^„2: ^- 1 how on airth did this man ttianage to get hold 
 
 Kn^i fi p Fliftw . Gnatii, flMliynawK pKhiW, ntwiwif, \j<^va' | _ _ ^,, . • ^ ., 
 
 Say».0«frl»in|i«, I MIiatlfy^MfflW"'"'''', '*!"'•"''?;''» 
 StIUod., MoJI^ Ift«i»; JJtflf »<«M"m«" B°y», Uj- 
 fttda, Sn»ke», Golden fSatiiett, Tnrk», Purple H1U«, Ha- 
 curds, Shln-plMten, Uoahtyi, (M Booto, Coffee-ro«ilM», 
 P«le Ale, The Durt of AfteM, Tlie Qho«t of Rome, lea 
 Ct^, Uemorio), Sod»-W^teal|Mpe«'« a«*!«-B«>lf 
 
 or not matters little to the chronicler of this 
 veracious history. To him it is the crown and 
 glory of modem Rome ; the centre around which 
 all Rome clusters. Delightful walks! Views 
 without a parallel ! Place on earth to which 
 no place else can hold a candle ! 
 
 Pooh— what's tho uso of talkinjt? _Contem- 
 plate, O Reader, from the PincianHill the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 The Tiber, The Ciiinpagnn, The Aquednctf, Tr^jan'e 
 Column, Anlonine'B Pillar, Tim Plniia del Popoln, 1 he 
 Torre del Cspltogllo, The Uonr CapltoUne, The P»lmtlne, 
 The Quirlnal, The VlmiDal, The Kw)iiUine, The CicllMi, 
 The Aventlne, The Vatican, Tlie Janlculuin, St. Peter s, 
 The lateran. The Stands for KdMt Cheatnnts, Tlie New 
 York rimes, the lluriy-gurdy«j The London Timet, Iha 
 Raree-shows, The Obelisk of MAMtc Pharw>h, The Wlne- 
 carta, llarper'ii Weeklu, Roman Beggars, Cardinals, Mwiks, 
 Artiste. Nuns, The New York Tribune, French soldiers, 
 Swiss Guards, Dutchmen, Mosaic-workers, Planc-trcis, 
 Cyprees-treee, Irishmen, Propaganda StudenU, Goatf, 
 i Fleas, Men fmm Basting, Patent Medlcinee, Swells, Lager, 
 \ Meersciiaum-plpee, The New York tf«roJd,CroiScs,Ru8tta 
 Seats, Dark-eyed Ma^d^ BaVt, Terrapins, Marble Pave- 
 raents. Spiders, Dreamy Haie, Jews, tjosaaeta. Hens, All 
 the I'aat, Rags, Tho orlgtpal Barrel-organ, The original 
 Organ-grinder, Bonrbon WhUky. CIvlU Veeehia Olives 
 'Hadrian's Hausolenin, 
 
 -enHUllB, vnmak' ; — 
 
 ■ ■ .' I ^ ■■ ■ ■ ■ .. ■ yiT I'l'^ — 
 
 >, inper eouaiT;^ i^" iiioms iuiiub i '«■, 
 
 nail Rots. Uk- rm «•>.«•• F 1 
 
 "#i 
 
 Then came others.^ They were all Ameri- 
 can: "Old Folks at Home," "Nelly BIy,' 
 "Suwannee Ribber," "Jordan," "Dan Tuck- 
 er," " Jim Crow." 
 
 The Senator was certainly most demonstra- 
 tive, but all tho others were equally aifected. 
 
 Thoso native oirs ; the dashing, the reckless, 
 
THE DODGE CLUB, X)B, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 h to do with a 
 
 the roaringlv-Iiumoroiig, the 
 
 obstreperously jolly — they 
 
 show one part of the many- 
 sided American character. 
 Not yet has justice been 
 
 don? to the nigger song. It 
 
 ia not n nigger song. It 
 
 is an American melody. 
 
 Leaving eut thoso which 
 
 have iKicn' tn/nc^ from Ital. 
 
 Ian Operas, how many there 
 
 are which are truly Ameri- 
 can in thcff cxtrfivi|£nnce, 
 
 their broad huniql^ their 
 
 glorious and uproarrous jol- 
 lity ! The words are trash. 
 
 The melodies are every 
 
 tiling. 
 These melodies touched 
 
 the hearts of tlie listeners. 
 
 American life rose bcforo 
 
 them as they listened. — 
 
 American life — free, bound- 
 less, exuberant, broadly-de- 
 
 Tcloping, self- asserting, 
 
 training its characteristics 
 
 from the boundless extent 
 
 of its home— jii continental 
 
 life of limitless variety. As 
 
 mournful as the Scotch ; ns 
 
 recliless as the "Irish ; as -' 
 
 wlcmnly patriMic as tlie English. 
 
 " Listen !" cried tho Senator, in wild excite- 
 ment. 
 It was " Hail Columbia." 
 "The Pincian Hill," said tho Senator, with 
 deep solemnity, •• is glorified from this time 
 fortli and for evermore. It has gained a new 
 cliarm. The Voice of Freedom hath made it- 
 lelf heard!" 
 
 The others, thoagh less demonstrative, were 
 no less delighted. Then came another, better 
 yet. "Tho Star-Spangled Banner." 
 
 "There!" cried the Senator, «'ig onr true 
 national anthem — the commemoration of nation- 
 al triumph ; the grand upsoaring of the victori- 
 ons American Eagle as it wings its everlasting 
 flight through tho blue empyrean ftway np to 
 tho eternal stars!" 
 
 He burst into tears ; the others respected his 
 emotion. 
 
 Then he wiped his eyes and looked ashamed 
 of himself— quite uselessly— for it is a mistake 
 to suppose that tears are unmanly. Unmanly ! 
 The manliest of men may sometimes shed tear* 
 oat of his verj manhood. 
 
 At last there arose a magic strain that pro- 
 duced an effect to which the former was noth 
 ing . It wMJiJCanlwe Boo dteft— 
 
 61 
 
 The Senator did not speak. He could not 
 
 !? 1°^'' "* '""***• '•'• *y«« '""' np*"' one, 
 and then another of his companions ; eves beam- 
 
 wg with joy and triumph — eves that showed 
 
 emotion arising straight flrom a patriot's heart 
 
 -eyes which seemed to say : Is ther« any sound 
 
 on earth or above tho earth that can equal this ? 
 
 OIJ> VIROINIIT 
 
 I Yankee Doodle has never received justice. 
 It is A tune without words. What are the rec- 
 ognized words ? Nonsense unutterable — tho 
 sneer of a British ofiScer. But the tune !— ah, 
 that is quite 4in6thsr thing! 
 
 The tune was from the very Aht taken to the 
 national heart, and has never ceased to be cher> 
 ished there. The Republic has jrown to be a 
 very different thing from that weak beginninR, 
 but its national air is as popular ns ever. Tlw 
 people do not merely love it. They glory in it. 
 And yet apologies are sometimes made for it 
 By whom? By the soulless dilettante. Tho 
 people know better:— the farmers, the mechanir 
 ics, tho fishermen, the dry-goods clerks, the 
 newsboys, the railway stokers, tho butchers, 
 the bakers, the candlestick-makers, tho tij^ers, 
 tho tailors, the soldiers, the sailors. Why? 
 Because this music has a voice of its own, mora 
 c^pressivb than words; the language of the 
 soul, which speaks forth in certain melodies 
 witith form an utterance of unutterable passion. 
 
 Tho name was perhaps given In ridicule. It 
 was accepted with pride. The air is rash, reck- 
 less, gay, triumphant, noisy, boisterous, care- 
 less, heedless, rampant, raging, roaring, rattle- 
 b rainish, d evil . may - care- ish , plague - take ■ thft. 
 1>in(^mon-ish ; bm I solemn, stern, ITopeful, re*-"" 
 
 olute, fierce, menacing, strong, cantankctont 
 
 (cantankerous is entirely an American idea), 
 
 bold, daring — 
 Words fail. 
 
 Yankee Doodle has not yet received its Dool- 
 Tbe Senator had smiled, laughed, sighed, 
 
 wept, gone throuj;h many variationa of fbelini^ 
 
 5S*--33!n»s*.'."ir' 
 
 :— r- V 
 
 /Jf' 
 
# 
 
 m 
 
63 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLEC 
 
 
 He had thrown baiocihi till his pockets were ex- 
 hausted, and then handed forth silver. He had 
 shaken hands with all his companions ten times 
 over. They themselves went not qoite as far 
 in feeling as he, but yet to a certain extent they 
 went in. 
 
 And yet Americans are thought to be practi- 
 cal, and not ideal. Yet here was a true Amer- 
 ican who was intoxicated — drunk t By what ? 
 By sound, notes, harmony. By music ! 
 
 " Buttons," said he, as the music ceased and 
 the Italian prepared to make Jiis bow and quit 
 the scene,"! must make that gentleman's ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 Buttons walked np to the organ-grinder. 
 
 " Be my interpreter," said the Senator. *' In- 
 trodnce me." 
 
 "What's your name?'' asked Buttons. 
 
 "MaffeoClota" , ' - 
 
 •'From where?" 
 
 "Urbino." 
 
 •' Were yon ever in America?" 
 
 '• No, Signore." 
 
 " What does he say ?" asked the Senator, im- 
 patiently, j 
 
 '* He says his namq is Mr. Cloto, and ho was 
 'hcvei' in America." 
 
 " How did you get these tunes ?" 
 
 "Out of my organ," said the Italian, grin- 
 ning. 
 
 " Of eourse ; but hpw did you happen to get 
 an organ with such tunes ?" 
 
 " I bought it." 
 
 "Oh yes; but how did you happen to buy 
 one with these tuqes ?" 
 
 " For you illustrious American Signore, 
 all like to hear them." 
 
 " Do yon knov any thing about tlio tun^?" 
 
 "Signore?" 
 
 '.' Do you know what the words ara**^ 
 . *' Oh no. I am an Italian." 
 w " I suppose yon make money out of them." 
 ^Jl^^lBUiko more in a day with t|iese than I 
 '"•"*■ piliTrfli week with othqr tunes. '*^' 
 
 " You lay up moiiey, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh yes.' la two years I will retire and let 
 my younger brother play here." 
 
 "These tunes?" 
 
 " Yes, Signore." 
 
 "To Americans?" 
 
 "Yes, Signore." 
 
 " What is it all?" asked the Senator. 
 
 " Ho says that he finds he makes money by 
 playing American tunes to Americans." 
 
 " Hm," said the Senator, with some displeas- 
 ure ; "and he has no sonl then. to see the — the 
 beauty, the sentiment, the grandeur of his to- 
 eationl" 
 
 "Not a bit — he only goes in for money." 
 
 Yf 
 
 "She Senator turned away in disgust. " Yan- 
 kee Doodle," he murmured, " ought of itself to 
 have a refining attd converting influence on the 
 European mind ; but it is too debased— yes — 
 yet — too debased." 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 HOW A bABOAIN IS MADE. — THB WILES OF THE 
 ITALIAN TBADE8MAN.' — THE NAKED BULKT 
 BEOGAR, AND THE JOVIAL WELL-CLAD BEO- 
 OAR. — WHO IS THB KINO OF BEGOABS ? 
 
 " What am yon thinking abont, Buttons?" 
 
 "Well, D^, to tell the truth, I have been 
 thinking that if I do find the Spaniards they 
 won't have reason to be particularly proud of 
 me as a companion. Look at me." 
 
 " I look, and to be frank, my dear boy, I 
 must say that you look more shabby-genteel 
 than otherwise." 
 
 "That's the result of travelling on one suit 
 of clothes — without considering fighting. I 
 give up my theory." 
 
 " Give it up, then, and come out a^ a batter- 
 
 fly." 
 
 "Friend of my soul, the die is cas^ Come 
 forth with me and seek a clothing-store." 
 
 It was not difficult to find one. They en- 
 tered the first one that they saw. The polits 
 Roman overwhelmed them with attention. 
 
 " siiow me a coat, j Signore." 
 
 Signore sprang nimbly at the shelves and 
 brought down eveiy coat in his store. Buttoni 
 picked out on^ that suited his fancy, and tried 
 it on. , ^ 
 
 "What is Reprice?" 
 
 With apn^usion of explanation and descrip- 
 tion tU^ BStnan informed him: "Forty pias- 
 
 jpriT%ivo yon twelve," said Buttons, quietly. 
 > The Italian smiled, put his head on one side, 
 rew down the corners of his mouth, and threw 
 np his shoulders. This is the shruff. The 
 shrug requires special attention. The shrug ii 
 a gesture used by the Latin race for exprcssinf^ 
 a multitude of things, both objectively and sub- 
 jectively. It is a language of itself. It is, ai 
 circumstances require, a noun, adverb, prononn, 
 verb, adjective, preposition, interjection, con- 
 junction. Yet it does not supersede the spoken 
 language. It comes in rather when spoken 
 words are useless, to copvey intensity 6f mean- 
 ing or delicacy. It is not taught, but it ii 
 learned. 
 
 The coarser, or at least blunter, Teutonic 
 race have not cordially adopted this mode of 
 human intercommunication. The advantage 
 of the shrug is that in one slight gesture it con- 
 tains an amount of meaning which othenviae 
 would require many words. A good shrupger 
 in Italy is admired, just as a good conversotion- 
 iat is in England, or a good stump orator in 
 America. When the merchant shrugged, But- 
 tons understood him and said : 
 
 ' ' You refuse ? Then I go. Behold me 1" 
 
 " Ah , Signore, how can you thus endeavor to 
 
 lake advatiUgd of tfie neOMltles of the poor?"- 
 
 " Signore, I must buy according to my abil- 
 ity." 
 
 The Italian laughed long and quietly. The 
 idea of an Englishman or American not having 
 much money was an exquisite piece of humor. 
 
 " Go no^ Signore. Walt m little. I^ »• 
 
■' '■' ■ ♦. 
 
 ■:,.y.y 
 
 ■ *» 
 
 TTHE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 mfold more garments. Behold this, and this 
 You shall have many of my gopds for twelve 
 piastres. ' 
 
 "No, Signoro; I must have this, or I wi^ 
 have none." 
 
 " Yoa are very hard, Signoro. Think of m v 
 necessities. Think of the pressure of this prcs- 
 ent war, which wo poor miserable tradesmen 
 feel most of all." 
 "Then addio, Signore; I must depart." 
 They went out and walked six paces. 
 " P^s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-t !" (Another little idea 
 of the Latin race. It is a much more penetrat- 
 ing sonnd than a loud Hallo ! Ladies can use 
 It. Children too. This would be worth im- 
 porting to America.) 
 "P-s-s-s-s-s-s^g-s-t !" 
 
 Buttons and Dick tamed. Tho Italian stood 
 •mihng and bowing and beckoning. 
 "Take it for twentyt-foor piastres." 
 "No, Signore ; I can only pay twelve." 
 With a gesture of ruffled dignity the shop- 
 Itoeper withdrew. Again they turned away, 
 ilicy had fcarcftly gone ten paces before tho 
 Mop-kceper was after them : 
 
 "A thousand pardons. But I have concluded 
 to take twenty." 
 "No ; twelve, and no more. 
 
 Borifirnl, signore; only think." 
 I do think, my friend ; I do think." 
 bay eighteen." 
 
 "No, Signore." 
 
 "Seventeen." 
 
 "Twelve." 
 
 " Here. Como back with me." 
 E 
 
 They obeyed. The Italian folded the coat 
 neatly, tied it carefully, stroked the parcel ten- 
 derly, and with a meek yet sad smUe handed it 
 to Buttons. 
 
 •' There— only sixteen piastres." 
 Buttons had taken out his purse. ^ At this he 
 hurriedly replaced it, with an air of vexation. 
 I can only give twelve." =< 
 
 "Oh. Signore, be generous. Think of mv 
 struggles, my expenses, my family. You will 
 not force me to lose." 
 
 "I would scorn to force you to any thine, 
 and therefore I will depart." 
 
 "Stop, Signore," cried the Italian, detaining 
 them at the door. " I consent. You may take 
 It for fourteen." ' 
 
 "For Heaven's sake. Buttons, take it," said 
 Wick, whose patience was now completely ex- 
 hausted. "Take it." 
 "Twelve," said, Buttons. 
 "Let me pay the extra two dollars, for my 
 own peace of mind," said Dick. 
 
 "Nonsense, Dick. It's the principle of tho 
 thing. As a mtoibcr of the Dodge Club, too. 
 I could not give irtore." 
 
 "Thirteen, good Signore^ mine," said the 
 Italian piteonsly. 
 
 "My friend, I have given my word that I 
 would pay only twelve." 
 
 ' ' Your word ? Your pardon, but to whom ?" 
 "To you." 
 
 "Oh, thdn, how gladly I release you from 
 your word 1 " 
 
 " Twelve, Signore, or I go." 
 "lean not." 
 
 Buttons turned away. They walked aIon» 
 the street, and at length arrived at another 
 clothier s. Just as they Hepped in a hand was 
 laid on Buttons's shoulder, and a voice cried 
 out — 
 
 " Take it ! Take it, Signoro !" 
 
 "Ah I I thought so ! Twelve ?" 
 
 " Twelve." 
 
 Buttons paid the money and directed where 
 It should be sent. He found out afterward that 
 the price which an Italian gentleman would 
 pay was about ten piastres. 
 
 There is no greater wonder than tho patient 
 waiting of an Italian tradesman in pursuit of a 
 bargain, Tho flexibility of the Italian con- 
 science and imagination under such circum- 
 stances is truly astonishing. 
 
 Dress makes a difference. Tho very expres- 
 sion of the face changes when one has passed 
 from shabbiness into elegance. After Buttons 
 had dressed himself i^ his gay attire his next 
 thought was what to do with his old clothes, 
 " Como and lot us dispose of them," 
 " Dispose <rf th8» r*^ 
 
 Oh, I mean get rid of them. I saw a man / 
 crouching in a comer nearly naked as I came 
 
 up. Let us go and SCO if we can find him. I'd 
 like to try tho effect." 
 
 They went to the place where tho man had 
 been seen. He w^ there still. A young roan. 
 In excellent health, brown, muKuIar, litho. H« 
 
 v?l 
 
 fi(^i^i^^>ittk^(#tf^' ,; 
 
 V 
 
 • , M.. 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 G4 
 
 had an old coverlet around his loins — that was 
 all. lie looked up snlkily. 
 
 •' Are yon not cold ?" 
 
 " No," he blurted out, and turned away. 
 
 " A boor," said Dick. " Don't throw away 
 your charity on him." 
 
 •' Look here." , 
 
 The man looked up lazily. 
 • " Do you want some clothes ?" ! 
 
 No reply. 
 
 "I've got some hero, ond perhaps will give 
 them to you." ! 
 
 The liian scrambled to his feet. 
 
 " Confound the fellow !" said Dick. '^If he 
 don't want them let's find some one wiio does." 
 
 " Look here," said Buttons. 
 
 He unfolded his parcel. The fellow looked 
 indifferently at the things. 
 
 " Here, take tliis," and he offered the panta- 
 loons. 
 
 The Italian ■took them and slowly put them 
 on. This done, he stretched liimself and yawned. 
 , "Take this." 
 * It was his vest. . 
 
 The man took the vest and put it on with 
 equal sang froid. Again ho yawned and 
 stretched himself. 
 
 " Hei-e's a coat." 
 
 Buttons held it out to the Italian. The fel- 
 low took it, surveyed it closely, fult in the pock- 
 ets, and examined very critically the stiffening 
 of the collar. Finally he jmt it on. He but- 
 toned it closely around him, and passed his fin- 
 gers through his matted hair. Then he felt the 
 pockets once more. After which ho yawned 
 long and solemnly. This done, he looked ear- 
 nestly at Buttons'and Dick. He saw that they 
 had nothing more. Upon wliich he turned on 
 his heel, and without saying a word, good or 
 bad, walked off w ith immense strides, turjicd o 
 corner, ond was out of sight. Tlie two philan- 
 thropists were left staring at one another. At 
 last they laughed. 
 
 "That man is an original," said Dick. 
 
 "Yes, and there is another," said Buttons. 
 
 As ho spoke he pointed to the flight of stone 
 steps that goes up from the Piazza di Spagna. 
 Dick looked up. There sat The Beggar ! 
 
 Anionio! 
 
 Legless, hatless, but not by any means penni- 
 less, king of Roman beggars, with a European 
 reputation, unequalled in his own profession — 
 there sat the most scientific beggar that the 
 world has ever seen. 
 
 Ho had watched the recent proceedings, ond 
 caught the glance of the young men. 
 
 As they looked up his voice carao clear and 
 sonorous through the air : 
 
 ** O tnnat ircfirrnna ■ ■ O moflt nob le— O m ost 
 
 illustrious youths— Draw near — I^ook in .pity 
 
 upon the object— Behold legless, armless, help, 
 less, the l)eggar Antonin forsaken of Heaven^ — 
 For the love of the Virgin— For the sake of the 
 saints — In the name of humanity — Date mo 
 nno mezzo baioocho— Sono |)oooooooooovero— 
 Miieraaaaaaaoaabile— Detperrrraoaaaaaado !" 
 
 CHAl'TER XXIIL 
 
 THE MANIFOLD LIFE OF THE CAFE NCOVO, AND 
 HOW THEY RECEIVED THE NEWS ABOUT MAGEN- 
 TA. — EXCITEMENT. — ENTHDSIASM.- TEAKS.— 
 EMBRACES. 
 
 Ai-i- modem Rome lives in the Cafe' Nuovo. 
 It was once a palace. Lofty ceilings, glitter- 
 ing walls, marble pavements, countless tables, 
 luxurious conches, immense mirrors, nil dazzle 
 tho eye. The hubbub is immense, the confu- 
 sion overpowering. 
 
 The European mode of life is not bod. Lodg- 
 ings in roomy opartments, where one sleeps and 
 attends to one's private affairs ; meals oltogctli- 
 er at the cafe'. There one invites one's friends. 
 No delay with dinner ; no bodly-cooked dishes ; 
 no stole or sour bread; no timid, overworn 
 wife trembling for the result of new experiments 
 in housekeeping. On the contrarj-, one has: 
 prompt meals ; exquisite food ; delicious bread ; 
 polite waiters; ond happy wife, with plenty of 
 leisure at homo to improve mind and adorn 
 body. , 
 
 Tlie first visit which the Club paid to the 
 Cafe' Nuovo was an eventful one. News had 
 just been received of the great strife at Magenta. 
 Every omi was wild. The two GaUgnam's had 
 been' appropriated by two Italians, who were 
 surrounded by forty-seven frenzied Enplishmcn, 
 all eager to get hold of the papcre. The Ital- 
 ians obligingly tried to read the news. Tho 
 wretched mangle which they made of the lan- 
 guage, the impatience, the excitement, and tho 
 pcrj'lexity of the audience, combined witli the 
 splendid self-complacency of the readers, formed 
 a striking scene. 
 
 Tlie Italians gathered in a vast crowd in one 
 of the billiard-rooms, where one of their num- 
 ber, mounted on a table, was reading with ter- 
 rific volubility, and still more terrific gesticula- 
 tions, a private letter from a friend at Milan. 
 
 " Bravo I" cried all present. 
 
 In pronouncing which word the Italians rolled 
 the "r" so tumultuously that the only audible 
 
 sound was — 
 
 B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-nh! 
 
 Like tho letter B in a ruilwoy train. 
 
 The best of oil wos to see the French. Thcv 
 were pockil in o dense moss ot the furthest ex- 
 tremity of the Grond Saloon. Every c.ie was 
 talking. Every one was describing to his 
 neighbor tho minnte partieulors of tho tremen- 
 dous contest. Old soldiers, hoorso with ex- 
 citement, emulated the volubility of younger 
 ones. A thousand arms woved energetically in 
 tho air. Every one was too much interested in 
 his own description to heed his neighbor. They 
 were all talkers, no listeners. 
 
 A fe w Germans w ere there, but they sat for- 
 sakcn and neglected. Even the waiters ft^ 
 sook them. So they smoked the cignrs of sweet 
 and bitter fancy, occasionally conversing in thick 
 gutturals. It was evident that they considered 
 the present occasion oa a combined crow of the 
 whole Lotin roce over the German, 
 looked on with impastivo facett 
 
 So ther 
 
■■^'■ 
 
 NCOVO, AND 
 BOUT MAOEN- 
 M. — TEARS.— 
 
 ; crowd in one 
 of their num- 
 (ling with ter- 
 rific gcsticiilu- 
 id nt Milan. 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX 
 
 Ii5 
 
 HKW8 OP HAGENTA 1 
 
 Pcrliaps the most stolid of all was Meinhccr 
 Schatt, who smoked and sipped coffee nlternatc- 
 ly, stopping after each sip to look around with 
 mild surprise, to stroke liis forked beard, and 
 to ejaculate — 
 
 " Gr-r-r-r-r-r-acious me 1" 
 
 Him tlio Senator saw and accosted, who, 
 making room for the Senator, conversed with 
 much animation. After a time the others took 
 «eau near them, and formed a neutral party. 
 At this moment a small-sized Rentleraan with 
 black twinkling eyes came rushinu past, and 
 burst into the thick of the crowd of Frenchmen. 
 At the sight of him Buttons leaped up, and 
 cned : • i > 
 
 " There's Francia ! I'll catch him now !" 
 Francia slioutcd a few words which set the 
 -■frenchiii Bn wi M^ 
 
 "The Allies have ent'orod Milan 1 A dis- 
 patch has just arrived!" 
 
 Tlicro burst a shrill yell of triumph from the 
 insane Frenchmen. There was a wild rushing 
 to and fro, and the crowd swayed backward and 
 forward. The Italians came ponrinR in frpm 
 «he other room. One word was sufficient to 
 
 tell them all. It was a great sight t» see. On 
 ench individual the news produced a different 
 effect. Some stood still as though petrified j 
 others flung up their arms and yelled ; othert 
 cheered ; others upset tables, not knowing what 
 they were doing ; others threw themselves into 
 one another's arms, and embraced and kissed ; 
 otliej-s wept for joy:— these last were Milanese. 
 Buttons w'dg trying to find Francia. The 
 rnsh of the excited crowd bore him away, and 
 his efforts were fruitless. In fact, when he ar- 
 rived at the place where that gentleman had 
 been, he was gone. The Germans began to 
 look more uncomfortable than ever. At length 
 Meinheor Schatt proposed that they should all 
 Ko in a body to the Cafd Scacchi. So they all 
 loft. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 CIIBCKMATB 1 
 
 TiiK Cafe Scacchi, as its name implies, is do- 
 voted to chess. Germans imtronizo it to a great 
 extent. Politics do not enter into the precincts 
 sacred to Caissa. 
 
9" 
 
 THE iJHbGE OLtJB ;.0I^ ITALY IN MDCCCLIXi 
 
 6S . 
 
 After they had been seated about an hour 
 Buttons entered. 'Ho had not been able to find 
 Fiancia. To divert his melancholy he proposed 
 that Meinheer gchatt should play a game of 
 chess with the Senator. Now, chess was the 
 Senator's hobby. He claimed to be the best 
 player in his State. With a "patronizing smile 
 he consented to play with a tyro like Meinheer 
 Schatt. At the end of one game Meinheer 
 Schatt stroked his beard and meekly said — 
 " Gr-r-r-acious meT' 
 
 The Senator frowned and bit his lips. He 
 was checkmated. 
 
 AnJiher game. Meinheer Schatt played in 
 a calm, and some might say a stupid, jnanner. 
 " Gr-r-r-acious me!" 
 It was a drawn game. 
 
 Another : this was a very long gam,e. The 
 Senator played laboriously. It was no u^. 
 Slowly and steadily Meinheer Schatt won flie 
 game. 
 
 When he uttered his usual exclamation the 
 Senator felt strongly inclined to throw the board 
 at his head. However, he restrained himself, 
 and they commenced another game. . Much to 
 his delight the Senator beat. He ^|nr began 
 to explain to Buttons exactly why it Was that 
 ho had npt beaten before. 
 
 Another game follOTted. The Sifenator lost 
 woefully. His defeat was in fact disgraceful. 
 When Meinheer Schatt said the oipinous word 
 the Senator rose, and was so overcame with vex- 
 ation that hQ had not the courtesy to say^Good- 
 night. 
 
 As they passed out Meinheer/Schatt was seen 
 staring after them with his large blue eyes, 
 stroking his beard, and whispering to himself— 
 " Gr-r-r-aciouB me !" 
 
 CHAFER XXV. 
 
 BCTTONS A MAN OF ONE IDEA.— DICK AND HIS 
 MEASURING TAPE.— DARK EYES. — SUSCEPTIBLE 
 HEAltT.- TOUNO MAIDEN WHO LIVES OUT OF 
 TOWN. — GRAND COLLISION OF TWO ABSTRACTED 
 LOVERS IN THE BUBLIC STREETS. 
 
 Too much blame can not be given to Buttons 
 for his behavior at this period. He acted ns 
 though the whole motive of his existence w.is 
 to find the Francias. To this he devoted his 
 days, and of this he dreamed at night. He de- 
 serted his friends. Left to themseh'cs, without 
 his moral influence to keep them together and 
 give aim to their efforts, each one followed his 
 own inclination. 
 
 Mr. Figgs spent the whole of his. time in the 
 Cafe Nuovo, drawing got plans of din,ners for 
 each successive doy. The Doctor, after sleep- 
 ing till noon, lounged on the Fincian Hill till 
 evening, when he joined Mr. Figgs at dinner. 
 The Senator explored every nook and comer bf 
 Rome. At first Pick accompanied him, but 
 gradually they diverged from one another in 
 different pathsx The Senator visited every 
 place in the city, peered into dirty houses, exam- 
 ined pavements, investigated fountains, stared 
 hard at the beggars, and I(X>ked curiously at 
 the Swiss Guard in the Pope's Palace. He 
 soon became known to the lower classes, who 
 recognized with a grin the tall foreigner that 
 shouted queer foreign words and made funny 
 gestnres. 
 
 Dick lived among churches, palaces, and ru- 
 ins. Tired at length of wandering, he attached 
 himself to some artists, in whose studios lio 
 passed the greater part of his afternoons. He 
 became personally acquainted with nearly every 
 member of the fratemitj-, to whom ho endeored 
 himself by the excellence of his tobacco, nnd 
 his great capacity for listening. Your talkative 
 people bore artists more than any others. 
 
 "What a lovely girl! What a look slio 
 gave !" 
 
 Such was the thought that bprst upon ttie 
 soiil of Dick, after a little visit to a little church 
 
 BVrOBS AND 
 
 
THE DOTKSE CLUBS- OB, ITAlV IN MDCCCLK. 
 
 ' that Koes by the name of Saint Somebody qi 
 quattri fontani. He liad visited it simply be- 
 cause he had heard that its dimensions exactly 
 correspond with those of each of the chief piers 
 that support the dome of Saint Peter's. As ho 
 wished to bo accurate, he had taken a tape-line, 
 
 • and began stretching it from the altar to the 
 door. The astonished priests at first stood par- 
 alyzed by his sacrilegious ihipudence, but final- 
 ly, after a consultation, they came to him and 
 ordered him to be gone. Dick looked up with 
 mild wonder. They indignantly repeated the 
 order. 
 
 Dick was extremely sorry that ho had given 
 offense. Wouldn't they overlook it? He was \ suit that he had offered to "^prim and reen 
 e.'':!!!?f,r!._"°^^;l"°' ■'".""^ '^^' .they would i tleman. He concluded to leave Sme at of ^. 
 
 forth a gold piece of about twenty dollars valao, 
 He held it out. The priest stared at him with 
 a look that was appalling. 
 
 "If you know—" faltered "Di^k— " any one— 
 of course I don't mean yourself— for from it— 
 but — that is — " 
 
 ' ' Sir, " cried the priest, " who' are you ? Are 
 there no bounds to your impudence? Have 
 you come to insult me because I am a priest, 
 and th6refore can not re venge myself ? Away ! " 
 
 The priest choked with rage. Dick walked ' 
 out. Bitterly he cursed his wretched stupidity 
 that had led him to this. HiSlvery ears tingled 
 with shame as he saw the full extent of the in- 
 
 be unwilling. However, since he had' begun, 
 ho supposed they would kindly permit him fo 
 finish. ' , 
 
 —"They would kindly do no such thing," 
 remarked ono of the priests, brusquely. " Was 
 their church a common stable or a wine-shop 
 ' that he should presume to molest them at their 
 sbrvices? If ho had no religion, could ho not 
 have courtesy? or, if he had no faith himself, 
 could ho not respect the faith of others ?" 
 
 Difck felt abashed. The eyes 6f all the wor- • thought Dick 
 
 But at the Very moment when he had made 
 this desperate resolve he saw some ono coming. 
 A sharp thrill went tlirongh his heart. 
 
 It was She ! She looked at him and glanced 
 modestl^away. Dick at once walked up tb 
 her. 
 
 "Signorina," said hie, not thinbiag what a 
 serious thing it was to address an Italian maiden 
 in the streets. But this one did not resent it. 
 She looked up and smiled. • ' What a smile ! " 
 
 shipers were on him, and; it was while rolling 
 up his tape that his eyes met tho glance of a 
 beautiful Italian girl,. who was kneeling oppo- 
 site. Tho noise had disturbed, her devotions, 
 and she had turned to see what it was. It was 
 a thrilling glance from deep black lustrous orbs, 
 in which there was a soft and melting languor 
 which he could not resist. He went out daz- 
 zled, and so completely bewildered that he did : 
 not think of waiting. After ho had gone a few \ 
 l)Iocks ho hurried back. She had gone. How- i 
 ever, the impression of her face remained. j 
 
 He went so oftftn to the' little church that tho 
 
 , ■ J' ' ' 
 
 Signorina, '•he said again, and fh,en stopped, 
 not knoi»ring what to say. - His vdiice was very 
 tremulous, and the expression of-his face 'ten- 
 der and beseeching. His eyes told alj, 
 
 " ^ignore," said the girl, with,a%weet smile. 
 The ^mile encouraged Dick. - - 
 
 "Ehom— I have lost my way. I— l_cpi,](i 
 yon tell me how I could get. to tho Piazza del 
 Popolo ? I think I might find my way h6me 
 frpm there." 
 
 Tho giri^ eyes beamed with a mischievous 
 light. 
 
 " Oh yes, most easily. Yon go down that 
 
 KL, H^^'?'■ •"" ""'^"'8 'hat he was stn,et; when you pis four side-strfetry^ turn 
 qaiet knd order^ they were not offended. One to the left-the left-n,member, and then yo™ 
 
 awioT^thT ' y" •"'" •"' ■^'*"'"' H ' "*"=? "" "" y°» «""« to » '«8^ church ^th a 
 SrSnci' ^T*^ •^"^* to a sense J, fountain before it, then you turn round thaVanS 
 S ih ' ^rr' ^»y "'^P'tod hjra wi|| you see the obelisk of the Piazza del Popolo.'" 
 much POhtehess The pnost delicatel/brougBf Her voice was the sweetest that Dfck had 
 
 mZvw A. i"""!."^.'"'?"?- °''^'' •'«»«"«'» «ver heanl. ,He listened a. he wou d lisL to 
 meekly. At length he asked the pritst if he music, and did not hear a singjg word tha? he 
 
 recollected a certain young girl with beautiful 
 face, wonderful eyes, and marvelloiis appearance 
 that was worshiping there on tho d.iy that he 
 came to measure the church. 
 
 "Yes," Ibid tho priest, toldly. 
 
 Cotild he tell her name aind where she lived ? 
 
 "Sir," said the pries^ ''I had hoped that 
 you came here from a higher motive. It will 
 do you no good to know, and I therefore decline 
 telling you." I 
 
 Dick begged most humbly,^ but the priest Juu 1 
 
 rerthSlA" If 1...1. Tt:-L —J i rj t. , i 
 
 resohflite: At lust Dick reiticmberod having 
 heard that an Italian was constitntionnlly un- 
 able to resist a bribe. Ho thought he might 
 tr>-. True, the priest waa a gentleman ; but 
 perhaps an Italian gentleman Was differant from 
 •n English or American ; so ho put his hand 
 
 in 018 pocket, and blushing violently, brought Only a^ery little?!' 
 
 comprehended. 
 
 • ' Pardon me, " said he, « ' but «'oald you ple„ 
 to tell me again. . I pan not rememfier all! 
 Three streets?" 
 
 The girl laughed and repeated it 
 
 Dick sighed. 
 
 "I'm a stranger here, and am afraid that I 
 can not find my way. I left my map at home. 
 If I could find some one who would go with me • 
 and show me." 
 
 H e l ooko «l earnest ly at hcr^ butahe. n 
 made a movement to go. 
 
 " Are you in a groat harry ?" said he. 
 
 "No, Signore," replied the' girl, sofUf. 
 
 "Could you— a— a— would yon beJpling— 
 to— to— walk a little part of the iray with me, 
 and— show me s, very little part of the way— 
 
 
THE DODGE'CLUfi ; Q«, ITALY IN MbcCCLDL 
 
 AWAY ! 
 
 The girl geemed half to consent, but mod- 
 estly hesitated, and a faint flush stole over her 
 face. 
 
 "Ah do I" snid Dick. He was desperate. 
 
 "It's my* only- chance," thought he. 
 
 The girl softly assented and walked on with 
 him. 
 
 "I am very mnch obliged to you for jour 
 kindness," said Dick. "It's very hard for a 
 stranger to find his >vay in Rome." 
 
 "But, Signore, by this tirao you ought to 
 know the whole of our City." 
 
 "What? How?" 
 
 "Why, you have been hero three weeks at 
 least." 
 
 " How do you know i" and the young man 
 blushed to his eyes. He had been telUng lies, 
 and she knew it all the time. 
 
 *' Ohf I Mw^ yon ones in tiw uhurcfa^ and I 
 hare seen you with that tall man. Is ho your 
 fether?" 
 
 " No, only a Mend." 
 
 " I saw yoo," and she shook her little head 
 triumphantly, and her eyes beamed with fun 
 and laughter. 
 
 "Any way," thought Dick, "she ought to 
 ttiiderstandi" 
 
 "And did you see me when I was in tlmt 
 littje church with a measuring line ?" 
 > The young girl looked up at him, her Inrgo 
 eyes reading his very soul. 
 " " Did I look at you? Why, I was praying." 
 " You looked at me, and I have iicvcr for- 
 gotten it." 
 
 Another glance as though to assure herself 
 of Dick'8'*Tneauing.^ Tltft»'next moment her 
 eyes sank and her face flushed crimson. (Dick's 
 hbart beat so fast that he could not speak for 
 some time. - 
 
 " Signorc," mi tlyj yonng girl at last, " when 
 vou turn that corner you will see the Piazza del 
 Popolo." 
 
 1' Will you not walk as far as that corner ?" 
 suid Dick. 
 
 "Ah, Signorc, I am afraid I will not have 
 time." 
 
 "Will I never see you again?" asked he, 
 mournfully. 
 
 " I do not know, Signorc. You ought to 
 tnow." ' 
 
 A pause. Both had stopped, and Dick wns 
 looking earnestly at her, but she was looking ni 
 the ground. 
 
 " How can I know when I do not know even 
 your name ? Let me know that, so that I niny 
 think about it." 
 
 " Ah, how yon try to flatter ! My name is 
 Pepita Gianti." 
 
 "And do yotf live far from here?" 
 "Yes. I live close by the Basilica di San 
 Paolo fuori le mure." 
 
 " A long distance. I was out there once." 
 "I saw yon." 
 Dick exulted. 
 
 "How many times have you seen me? I 
 have only seen you onco before." 
 "Oh, seven or eight times." 
 "And will this be the last?" said Dick, be- 
 I secchingly. 
 
 I " Signore, if I wait any longer the gates will 
 , be shut." 
 
 " Oh, then, before you go, tell me where I 
 ' can find yon to-morrow. If I walk out on tlmt 
 road will I see you ? Will you come in to-mor- 
 row ? or will you stay out there and shall I go 
 I there ? Which of the houses do yon live in ? or 
 ' where can I find you ? If you lived over on the 
 Alban Hills I would walk every day to find yon^" 
 I Dick spoke with ardor and impetuosity. The 
 deep feeling which he showed, and the mingled 
 I eagerness and delicacy which he exhibited, 
 seemed not offensive to his companion. Slio 
 looked up timidly. 
 
 ! " When to-morrow comes you will be think- 
 I ing of iomethiag«l«e— orpoi4Mip»«way^m those— ^ 
 Alban mountains. You will forget all about 
 j me. What is the use of telling yon ? I ought 
 to go now." • ' 
 
 " I'll nevcrforgei !" burst forth Dick. " Ncv- 
 
 er— never. Believe mo. On my soul ; and oh, 
 
 I Bignorina, it is not much to askt" . \ 
 
 JL"^ i 
 
THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 " Confound U!" 
 
 Buttons hurriedly lefk, and ran all the way to 
 the corner, round which ho passed. 
 
 Bis ardor carried him away. In the broad. 
 
 • street he actually made a gesture as though ho 
 
 would take her hand. The young girl drew 
 
 back blushing deeply. She looked at him with 
 
 a reproachful glance. 
 
 " You forget — '' 
 
 Wheronpon Dick interrupted hor with innu- 
 merable apologies. 
 
 " You do not deserve forgiveness. But f will 
 forgive you if you leave me now. Did I not 
 tell you that I was in a hurry ?" 
 
 " Will you not tell tne where I can see rou 
 again ?" 
 
 "I suppose I will bo walking out about this 
 time to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, Signorina ! and I will be at the gate." 
 
 "If you don't forget." 
 
 "Would you bo angry if you saw me at the 
 gate this evening?" 
 
 "Yes; for friends are going out with me. 
 Addio, Sigijore," 
 
 The young girl departed, leaving Dick rooted 
 to the sjjot. After a while, he went on to the 
 Piazza del Popolo. A thousand feelings agi- 
 tated him. Joy, triumph, perfect bliss, were 
 mingled with countless tender recollections of 
 the glano^ the smile, the tone, and the blushes 
 of Pepitn. He walked on with now life. So 
 abstracted was his mind in all kinds of delicious 
 anticipations that he ran full against a man who 
 was hurrying atfuH speed and in equal abstrac- 
 tion in the opposite direction. There was n re- 
 coil. Both fell. Both began to mako apolo- 
 gies. But suddenly : 
 
 "Why, Buttons I" 
 
 "Why, Dick r 
 
 " Where in the world did you come from ?" 
 
 " Where in the world did you come from?" 
 
 ''^ What are yon after. B uttons ?" 
 
 "Did yon «ee s cafrii^ paasing^rbna t]iu 
 comer ?" 
 
 " Ko, none." 
 
 " You must have seen it." 
 
 "Well, I didn't." 
 
 " Why, it must haro jnst pasted you." 
 
 " I saw none." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 CON'SEQUEJJCES OF BEING GALLANT IN ITALT, 
 WHEBE THERE AUE LOVERS, HUSBANDS, DROTU- 
 EKS, FATHERS, COUSINS, AND INNUMERABLE 
 OTHER RELATIVES AND CONNECTIONS, ALL 
 READY WITH THE STILETTO. 
 
 After his meeting with Pepita, Dick found 
 it extremely difficult to restrain his impatience 
 until the following evening. Ho was at the 
 gate long before the time, waiting with trem- 
 bling eagerness. 
 
 It was nearly sundown before she came ; b"fiF 
 she did fx)me at last. Dick wotched her with 
 strange emotions, murmuring to himself aU> 
 tibse peculiar epithets which are commonly 
 used by people in his situation. The young 
 girl was unmistakably lovely, and her grace aqd 
 beauty might have affected a sterner heart than 
 Dick's. . 
 
 " Now I wonder if sho knows how perfectly 
 and radiantly lovely she is," thought he, as she 
 looked at him and smiled. 
 
 He joined hef a little way from the gate. 
 
 " So you do not forget." 
 
 "/forgot ! Before I spoke to yon I tliought 
 of you without eeasing, and now I can never 
 forget yon." 
 
 "Do your friends know where you are?" she 
 asked, timidly. 
 
 " Do you think I would tell them ?" 
 
 " Are you going to stay long in Rome ?" 
 
 " I will not go away for a long time." 
 
 " You ore an American." 
 
 "Yes." , 
 
 "America is very far awAy." 
 
 " But jt is easy to get? there." , . 
 
 " How long will you be in Borne ?" 
 
 "fdon'tknow. A very long time." . ' • 
 
 " Not in the summer?" - 
 
 " Yes, in the summer." 
 
 "But the malaria. Are you not afraid of 
 that ? Will your friends stay ?" 
 
 "I do not care whether my friends do or 
 not." 
 
 " fiut you T*ill ' be left alone. "„ 
 
 " I suppose so." i' 
 
 "But what will you do for company ? It will 
 be Very lonely." 
 
 "I will think of you all day, and at evening 
 come td the gate." ^ 
 
 "Oh, Signore ! You jest now ' "^ 
 
 "How can I jest with you?" " ■ 
 
 " You d on't me an what you laj."' 
 
 / 
 
 ^l 
 
 --"Poplla!" 
 
 Pepita blushed and looked eratwrraMed. 
 Dick hod called her by her Christian name ; 
 but sho did not appear to resent it. 
 
 "You don't know who I am," she Mid at 
 
 last. "Whydoyoupretendtobetofiriendly?" 
 " I know that yon are Pepita, and I don't 
 
 J vU>^f >^^*r '^ ^''^M^'W. 
 
70 
 
 :t 
 
 ia^ DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLDC, 
 
 
 want to know any thing more, except one thing, 
 which I am afraid to ask." 
 
 Pepita quickened her pace. 
 
 "Do not walk so fast, Pepita," said Dick, 
 beseechingly. "Let the walk be as long as 
 you can." 
 
 " But if I walked so slowly you would never 
 lei me get home." 
 
 *' I wish I could make the walk so slow that 
 we could spend a life-time on the road." 
 
 Pepita laughed. "That would be a long 
 time." , . 
 
 It was getting late. ThAun was half-way 
 below the horizon. The sky Was flaming with 
 golden light, which glanced dreamily through 
 the hazy atmosphere. Every thing was toned 
 down to soft beauty. Of course it was the sea- 
 son for l(W^r8 and lovers' vows. Pepita walked 
 a little more slowly to oblige Dick. She uttered 
 an occasional murmur at their slow progress, 
 but still did not seem eager to quicken her pace. 
 Every step was taken unwillingly by Dick, who 
 wanted to prolong the happy time. 
 
 Pepita's voice was the sweetest in the world, 
 and her soft Italian sounded more musically 
 than that language had ever sounded before. 
 She seemed happy, and by many little signs 
 sh<>wed that her companion was not indifferent 
 to her. At length Dick ventured to offer his 
 arm. She rested her hand on it very gently, 
 andjpick tremulously took it in his. The little 
 han4 fluttered for a few minutes, and then sank 
 *o rest. 
 
 Tjie sun had now set. Evening in Italy is 
 far different from what it. is in northern lati- 
 tudes. There it comes on gently and slowly, 
 sometimes prolonging its presence for hours, 
 and the light will bo visible until very late. In 
 Italiif, however, it is short and abrupt. Almost 
 as toon as the sun disappears the thick shad- 
 ow^ come swiftly on and cover every thing. It 
 wai so at this time. It seemed but a moment 
 aftdr sunset, and yet every thing was growing 
 indistinct. The clumps of trees grew black ; 
 the/houses and walls of the city behind nil faded 
 injlo a rtiass of gloom. The stars shone faintly. 
 There was no moon. , 
 
 ^ " I will be very late to-night," said Pepita, 
 timidly. 
 
 "But are you much later than usual?" 
 U;"Oh, very much!" 
 
 ' " There is no danger, is there ? But if there 
 is you are safe. I can protect you. Can you 
 trust me ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Pepita, in a low voice. 
 
 It was too dark to see the swiftly-changing 
 color of Pepita's face as Dick murmured some 
 words in her ear. But her hand trembled 
 lently oa Dick heldlt. She did not say a woi 
 ' Lrcsponso. Dick stood stilLfbr a moment 
 begged her to answer him. She made an 
 and whispered some indistinct syllables. WherS' 
 upon Dick called her by every endearing name 
 that ho could think of, and Hasty foot- 
 steps! Exclamations! Shouts! They were 
 
 fellows, magnified by the gloom. Pepita shriek- 
 ed. 
 
 "Who are you?" cried Dick. "Away, or 
 I'll shoot you all. i'ra armed." 
 
 "Boh !" said one of the men, contemptuously. 
 
 " Off!" cried Dick, as the fellow drew near. 
 
 Ho put himself before Pepita to, protect her, 
 and thrust his right hand in the breast-pocket 
 of his coat. 
 
 "Who is that with yon?" said a voice. 
 
 At the sound ofjfue voice Pepita uttered a 
 cry. Dartiq: from -behind Dick she rushed up 
 to him. 
 
 "It is Pepita, Lnigi !" 
 
 " Pepita ! Sister ! What do yon mean by " 
 tliis ?" said the man hoarsely. " Why arc you 
 so late? Who is this man ?" 
 
 "An AmeVican gentleman 'who walked out 
 as far as this to protect me," said Pepita, burst- 
 ing into tears. 
 
 "An American gentleman!" ^id Luigi, with 
 a bitter sneer. " He came to protect you, did 
 he ? Well ; we will show him in a few min- 
 utes how grateful wo are." 
 
 Dick stood with folded arms awaiting the re- 
 sult of all this. 
 
 "Luigi! dearest brother!" cried Pepita, with 
 a shudder, " on rily soul — in the name of tho 
 Holy Mother — he is an honorable American 
 gentleman, and he came to protect me." 
 
 " Oh ! we know, and we will reward him." 
 
 "Luigi! Luigi!" moaned Pepita, " if you 
 hurt him I will die !" 
 
 "Ah! .Has it come to that?" said Luigi, 
 •bitterly. " " A half-hour's acquaintance, and you 
 talk of dying. Here, Pepita; go home witli 
 Ricardo." 
 
 "I will not. ^■''l -will not go a step unless ydu 
 let him go." 
 
 " Oh, wo will let him go !" 
 
 " Promise mo you will not hurt him." 
 
 ♦'Pepita, go home!" cried her brother, 
 sternly. 
 
 "I will not unless you promise." 
 
 "Foolish girl! Do you suppose we are go- 
 ing to break the laws and get into trouble? 
 No, no. Come, go home with Ricord* I'm go- 
 ing to the city." 
 
 Ricardo came forward, and Pepita allowed 
 herself to be led away. 
 
 When sh^ was out of sight and hearing Lui- 
 gi approached Dick. Amid the gloom Dick did 
 not see tho wratli and hate that might have been 
 on his face, but the tone of his voice was pas- 
 sionate and menacing. He prepared for the 
 it. 
 
 " That is my sister. — Wretch ! what did you 
 can ?" 
 I swear — " 
 
 Pence-!— Wajvillg-ve you caus&to remen 
 her her." 
 
 Dick saw that words and exenges were useless. 
 He thought his hoar had come. He resolved to 
 die game. Ho hadn't a pistol. His manoeuvre 
 of putting his hand ih his pocket was merely in- 
 
 sorroanded! Twelve men or more>— stout, Strong < tended to deceive. I'he Italians thought that 
 
 y 
 
 ,& 
 
Pcpita shriek- 
 
 THE DODGE CLUBj OH, ITALY IN MDCCCLlf. 
 
 iwaitjng tlio re- 
 
 stcp unless ydu 
 
 Pepita allowed 
 
 if ho had one he would have 
 . done more than mention it. 
 He would at least have shown 
 It. He had stationed him- 
 self under a tree. The men 
 were before him. Luigi rush- 
 ed at him like a wild benst. 
 Dick gave him a tremendous 
 l)low between his eyes that 
 knocked hira headlong. 
 
 "You can kill me," ho 
 shouted, "but you'll find it 
 hard work!" 
 
 Up jumped Lnigi, full of 
 fury; half a dozen others 
 rushed simultaneously at 
 Dick, lie struck out two 
 vijjorous blows, which crash- 
 ed against the faces of two of 
 tbem. Tho next moment ho 
 wns on tho ground. On the 
 ground, but striking well- 
 aimed blows and kicking vig. 
 orously. IIo kicked one fel- 
 low completely over. Tho 
 brutal Italians struck and 
 kicked him in return. At 
 last a tremendous blow de- 
 scended on his head. lie 
 sank lenselcss. 
 
 When ho revived it was 
 intensely dark. IIo was 
 covered with painful bruises. 
 His head ached violently. 
 He could see nothing. Ho 
 arose and tried to walk, but 
 soon fell exhausted. So ho 
 crawled closer to tho trunk 
 of the tree, and groaned thcro 
 in his pain. At last ho fell 
 into a light sleep, that was 
 ranch interrupted by his suffering. 
 
 He awoke at early twilight. Ho was stiff and 
 lore, but very nruch refreshed. His head did 
 not pain so eScessively. He heard the trickling 
 of water near, and saw a brook. There he went 
 and washed himself. The water revived him 
 greatly. Fortunately his clothes were only 
 slightly torn. After washing the blood froin 
 iis face, and buttoning his coat over his blood- 
 stained shirt, and brushing tho dirt from his 
 clothes, he ventured to return to tho city. 
 
 He crawled rather than walked, often stop- 
 ping to rest, and onco almost fainting from ut- 
 ter weakness. But at last ho reached tho city 
 nnd managed to find a wine-cart, the only vehil 
 clo that he could see, which took him to his 
 'Mgings. He reached his room before any of 
 the othcrg were up, and went to bed. ' 
 
 AN DCTEBBUPnoif. 
 
 ' CHAPTER XXVII. f 
 
 ""^^Sl,™" ^'°^ UST.-BAPTUBE OF BCTT0N8 
 AT MAKING AN IMPORTANT DISCOVEBr. 
 
 Gbeat was the surprise of all on the follow- 
 ing morning at finding that Dick was confined 
 to his bed. All were very anxious, and even 
 Buttons showed considerable feeling. For as 
 much as a quarteMf an hour he ceased thitokinU 
 about tho Spaniards. Poor Dick! What on 
 earth was the matler? Had he fever? No 
 Perhaps it was tho damp night-air. He should 
 not have been out so late. Where wns he ? A 
 confounded pity! The Doctor felt his pulse. 
 There was no fever. The patient was very 
 pale, and evidently in great pain. His com- 
 plaint was a mystery. However, tho Doctor 
 ^commended perfect qaiet,~and hoped ttatr»= 
 fewMays would restore him. Dick said not a 
 word about the events of tho eveiiing. He 
 thought it would do no good to tell them. He 
 was m great pain. Hig body was black with 
 
 
 . ~ . • -— ""-J nos UIUUK Willi 
 
 frightful bruises, and the depression of his mind 
 was as deep as tho pain of his body. 
 Tho others w«nt ou^ at their usual hour. 
 
73 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITAiT IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 The kind-hearted Senator remained at home all 
 day, and sat by Dick'i bedside, sometimes talk- 
 ing, sometimes reading. Dick begged him no(t 
 to pnt himself to 8o\much inconvenience on liiii 
 account ; but such language was distasteful to 
 the Senator. '"* ;. 
 
 "My boy," he gai(]f, "I know that you would 
 do as' much for me. Besides, it is o far greater 
 pleasure to do ony thing for you than to walk 
 about merely to grotify myself. Don't apolo- 
 gize, or tell me that I am troubling myself. 
 Lenvo mo to do as I please." 
 
 Dick's grateful look expressed more than 
 words. 
 
 In a few days his pain had diminished-, and 
 it was evident that ho would be out in a fort- 
 night or so. The kind attentions of his friends 
 affected him greatly. They all spent more time 
 than ever in his room, and never cai|»e there 
 witliout bringing him some llttk trifle, such as 
 grapes, oranges, or other fruit. The Senator 
 hunted nil over Borne fof a book, and found 
 Victor Hugo's works, whicli he bought on a vent- 
 ure, and had the grtitiBcaiion of seeing that it 
 was acceptable, 
 
 All suspected something. The Doctqr had 
 concluded from tlie fir|| that Dick had met 
 with an accident. They liad too much driicacy 
 to question him, but made many conjectures 
 among themselves. The Doctor thought that 
 he liad been among some ruins, and met with a 
 fall. Mr. Figgs suggested that ho might have 
 been run over. Tljir Senator thought it was 
 soma Italian epidemic. Bdttons was incapable 
 of tliinking rationally abput any thing just then. 
 He was the victim of a monomania : the Span- 
 lards ! 
 
 About a week after Dick's adventure Bj 
 tons was strolling abont on his nsual otfcst, 
 when he was attracted by a largo crowj^-ftround 
 the Cliiesa di Gesu. Tlie splendiU^uipages 
 of the cardinals were crowded abointhe princi- 
 pal entrance, and from the interior sounds of 
 .''■fiiu'sic came floating magnificently down. But- 
 tons Avent in to see what was going on. A vast 
 
 crowd filled the clinrcb. Priests /n gorgeoni 
 vestmonta officiated at tho high/isltar, which 
 was alfablaze with the light of enormous wax- 
 candle*. The gloom of the interior was hciglii- 
 encd by the clouds of incense that rollc,d on 
 high far witliin the vaulted ceiling. 
 
 The Pop«L.waa (here. In one of the ail join- 
 ing chambers he was performing a ccrcnionr 
 which sometimes takes place in this church. 
 Guided by instinct, Buttons pressed his way 
 into the chamber. A number of people filled 
 it. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation. 
 
 Jait as His Holiness was rising to leave, But- 
 tons saw the group that had filled his thoughts 
 for weeks. 
 
 The Spaniards ! No mistake this time. Ami 
 he had been right all along. All his efforts 
 had, after all, been based on something tangi- 
 ble. Not in vain had he had so many w.ilks, 
 runnings, chasings, searchings, strolls, so many 
 hopes, fears, desires, discouragements. He was 
 right! Joy, rapture, bliss, ecstasy, delight! 
 There they were : the little Don — this Donna— 
 IDAl 
 
 Buttons, lost for a while in the crowd, and 
 pressed away, never lost sight of the Spaniards. 
 They did not see him, however, until, as thcy^ 
 slow'ly moved out, they were stopped and greoji' 
 ed with astonishing eagerness. The Don s))6ok 
 hands cordially. The Donna — that is, the eld- 
 er sister— smiled sweetly. Ida bliwMcd and 
 cost down her eyes. ,<' 
 
 Nothing could bo more gratifvifig than this 
 reception. Where had he be^ ? How long 
 in Homo? Why had they not met before? 
 Strange that they had not^iten him about the 
 city. And had he really been here three wcebj 
 Buttons informed them that ho had seen them 
 several times, but at a distance. He had been 
 at all the hotels, but liad not seen their names. 
 
 Hotels ! Oh, they lived in lodgings in the 
 Palazzo Concini, not far from *lie Piazza del 
 Popolo. And how much longer did he intend 
 to stay ?— Oh, no particular time. His friends 
 enjoyed themselves here very ^uch. He did 
 
 rooB piout 
 
 
w . 
 
 |THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLn£ 
 
 not know exaetljr^hcn they would leave. How 
 long would they ^'renmin ?— They intended to 
 leave for Florence iOn the fullowinR week.— Ah I 
 He was thinking;of leavinp tor the anrae place 
 at about the samfi timei> Whereupon the Don 
 expressed a polity hope that they might aee one 
 another on the Janm«^. 
 
 By this timcf' the crowd hod diminlghed. 
 They looked ori while the Popo entered his 
 •tatc-coach, nnrf with strains of mnsic, and 
 prancing of htorses, and array of dragi 
 drove magnlA^ontly away. 
 
 The Don Mimed to Buttons : WeiJfd ho not 
 
 accompany tHem to their lodgingiT? Thoy were 
 
 jart «bontrpturninK to diniwe: If he were dig-, 
 
 -engaged tljfey should bejxt&it happy to have the 
 
 honor of jiis compopyr 
 
 ButtcjliS tried very hard to look as though 
 be WMO not mad with eagerness to oteept the 
 inviurtion, but not very sncccssfully. Tho car- 
 mf^ drove off rapidly. The Don and Buttons 
 Cjrf one seat, the ladies on the other. 
 / Then tho face of Ida as she sat opposite ! 
 ' Such a face ! Such a smile ! Such witchery 
 in her expression! Such music in her laugh! 
 At any rhte so it seemed to Buttons, and that 
 ii all that> i« needed. 
 
 On through tho streets of Rome; past the 
 PMt^co, round tho.column of Antoninus, up 
 the Corso, until at last they stopped in front of 
 an jramonse edifice which had once been a pal- 
 ace. The descendants oi the family lived in a 
 remote comer, an4 their poverty compelled tliem 
 to let out all the remainder as lodgings. This 
 is no uncommon thing in Italy. Indeed, there 
 are so mony ruined nobles in tho country that 
 those aro fortunate who have n shelter over 
 their heads. Buttons remarked this to the 
 Don, who told some stories of theso fallen no- 
 bles. Ho informed him that in Naples their 
 laundress was said to be the last scion of one 
 of the most ancient families in tho kingdom. 
 She was a countess in her own right, but had 
 to work at menial labor. Moreover, many had 
 mnk down to the grade of peasantrv, and lived 
 maqnalor on lands which wore onco' the estates 
 of their ancestors. 
 
 Buttons spent the evening there. The rooms 
 were elegant. Books lay oround which showed 
 a cultivated taste. Tho young man felt him- 
 m m a realm of enchantment. The jov of 
 meeting was heightened by their unusual com- 
 paiwnce. During tho evening be found out 
 •11 about tliem. Thoy lived in Cadiz, where 
 the Don was a merchant. This was their first 
 ♦Hit to Italy. 
 
 They all had fine pciyeptions for tho bcauti- 
 ful m art or nature, and, besides, a keen sense 
 of the ludicrous. So, when Bu ttons, growing 
 - f"***u"*CftU vCfT toltt tnOTYr~iiboQt ^tf f. Kinrs's 
 •dveature in the ball of St. Peter's, they were 
 greatly amused. He told abont tho adventures 
 of all Ins friends. He told of him«j|f s all about 
 the chase in Naples Bay, and his pursuit of their 
 «rriago from St. Peter's. Ho did not tell them 
 that he had, done this more than onco. Ida 
 
 73 
 
 was amused; but Buttons felt gtatiffed at see- 
 ing a littlo confusion on her face, as though she 
 was consciona of tho real cause of such a per- 
 severtng pursuit. She modestly evaded his 
 glanco, and sat at a littlo distance from tho 
 others. Indeed, she said but little^during the 
 whole evening. W 
 
 When Buttons left ho felt like a spiritual be- 
 ing. Ho was not conscious of treading on any 
 materia] earth, but seemed to float along through 
 lanted nir over the streets into his lodgings, 
 and so on into the realm of dreams. 
 
 CHAPTi^i XXVIII. 
 
 WHAT KIND OF A MTTEB THE SENATOR- WROTE 
 FOB THE "NEW ENGLAND PAWtlOT," WIIICU 
 SHOWS A TRUE, LIBERAL, UNBIASED, PLAIN UN- 
 VARNISHED VIEW OF ROME. ' 
 
 •'Dick," said the Senator, as he sat with him 
 in bis room, "Pve been thinking over your tone 
 of taind, more liarticulariy as it oppeors in those 
 letters whiqh you write home, such as you read 
 the other day. It Is a surprising thing to mo 
 how a young man with your lisual good sense 
 keenness of perception, and fine education cnii 
 allow yonrself to bo so completely carried awny • 
 by n mawkish sentiment. Whot is the uso of 
 nil these memories and funcics and hysterical 
 emotions that you talk about? In one phico 
 you call yourself by tho absurd name of ' A 
 Pansivo Traveller.' Why not bo honest ? Bo 
 a sensible American, exhibiting in your thought 
 and in nil your actions the effect of democratic 
 principles and stiff republican institutions. Now 
 I'll read you what I have written. I think tho 
 matter is a littlo nearer the mark than vour 
 flights of fancy. But perhaps you don't care 
 just now about hearing it ?" 
 
 " Indeed I do ; so read on," said Dick. 
 " A« I have travelled consldenible In lulv," anld th« 
 
 S^^fil .*'i'' "/'■.fy*' *''•'' "P*"' I '""'« «""« W™ "f th' 
 crmntry and of the general oondition of tho farming 
 
 The Senator stopped. " I forgot to say that 
 this is for the New England Patriot, published 
 in our villngejVon know." 
 
 Dick noddgd. The Senator resumed : 
 
 n,™ISfi„"°'Ii'' "'""kably rich. Even where there are 
 SfiWM" '?*' "re well wooded. So if the field, hwk 
 v..i„; I "" "i"T"-,"-lnK. What b .iirpri-lng U .he ciiltl- 
 f„r™?V ?i* ^.'"'I'i'!" "■"'' " '*''•'" "'8'" have used when 
 1^^ J f'iS <•"*,""«> to turn up the ground o.italdo the 
 K.^^'.^^"" ' ''"™r *'"* "'^ P^-b^bly Invented 
 \^^S^ .' ""P"'''' •" "W R™»n that p,^ple talk about, 
 a nl JJ^i IS^tl" ,""''.!''*• "' dralnlnR clear. For here I. 
 a place called the Pontine Mareh, beaiieliul son, iiirroimd- 
 moirt ent^el ~'"'fyi •O'l yet they let It go to w.uite al- 
 
 i„ "iF''1 '^J!"" 5™ ',**''• *">« ■'<"'«' of their bad farm- 
 ta^He* In thin. For tho n.e n loll and .mok e on the fence*. 
 
 *W"*' A"i>«tl"S«poopl9»«nttobefree. 
 
 'They wear leatherTetjgfn*, abort breechon, and Jack. 
 
 fiU'ii. ..tT'' "'them w«r *ooden .hoen. The women of the 
 
 Zt ..^» i''"^f kind rfoiitlandhh headfdrew, which If 
 
 iw/iSMi "' "■"•■''' ■'^''8 It would be bOltm- for their 
 own worldly prHpcrity, 
 
 .nlUHu **!!'* "? J*"?' ^'^ '•"'^ 'n the eheit, with 
 .plendid action. I don't believe any other countiV can 
 •bow .udi cattle. The pig. am ceMaluly the berti em Mw 
 
 .V* 
 
(L'^'^S.'IW.^'.^if-'' ■ 
 
 w.».,l^- 
 
 THE bODOE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN BJDCCCLIX. 
 
 by a Ions chalk. Their chopi bciiit all crcatioi£ A ftrlend 
 of mine has ma^e 80108 nketchesl ^hlch I will give to the 
 Lyceum on my return. They ex\ilblt the SorrenN) pig la 
 various attitud^ 
 
 "The honoi, on the contrary, are poor iffarra. I have 
 yet to see the first decent horse. iTbe animals employed 
 by travellers gttnerally are the loveiiit of their spedee. The 
 ■hoes which the horeeg wear are of a singular shape. I 
 enn't describe them in-writing, but\they look more Ukaa 
 flat-iron than any thing el»e. 
 
 " I paid it visit to t'ompcU, and oQ coming back I i>aw 
 some of the carta of the country. They gave one a deplor. 
 able idea of the sUte of the useful arts in this place. 
 Scientific fanning is out of the question. If fine pbnta- 
 tlons are teen it's Nature does It \ 
 
 " Vlney(«rd8 abound everywhere. , Wine is a great sta- 
 pleof the country. Yet they don't tx'fon much after all. 
 In fact, the foretoi cominerce is comparatively trifling. 
 Chestnuts and oln'^ nrfe raised In iiifmense quantities. 
 The chestnut is otfea^entinl to the Italian as the potato is 
 to the Irii-hmaK^A failipro la the cmp is attended with 
 the same disaetaus ; oonseqrif nces. They dry the nuts, 
 grind them into « kind of flour, and make them intocakes. 
 I tasted one and found it abominable. iY« Iheso peopl^ 
 eat it with garlic, and grow fat on U. Chestnut b 
 oil instead of butter, wine Instead of .tea, i^d you ha; 
 Italian meat V j^ 
 
 " It's a fine country for flrnlt I found Oaeta anrroni 
 ed by orange groves. The figis an Important article in the 
 economy of an Italian liousenold. \ 
 
 "I have been in Kome three weeks Mai^y people take 
 raueh interest In this pUce, though quite unri^nessarlly. I 
 do not think it Is at all equal to Iloaton. Yet I tinve taken 
 great pains to examine the place. The streets are narrow 
 and crooked, like tiKMe of Boston. They ai^ extremely 
 dirty. There are no sidewalks. The gnttVr is in the 
 middle of the strrrt. The people empty theiif slops from 
 their windows. The pavements are bad and very slippery. 
 The accumulatioB of filth about the rtreeU i* Immense, 
 dptlniige Is.'not gooil. Xhcy actuslly use nnfrold drain 
 
 which, they t«ji me, was made tliive (IiouiiMid yeafs 
 
 " Gas has only been recently Intradoced. I n^erstahd 
 that a year or two ago the streets were lighted Dnr miser- 
 able contrivances, consisting of a mean oil lamp swung from 
 tlio middle of a rope stretched across the street. \ 
 
 " The shops are not worth mentloninR. Thera are no 
 magnificent Dry-gooit Storm, such a« I hars seen' by the 
 huudred in Boston; no Bardwar* ^tortt; no MUtial 
 
 (ijl>Ie> ^ef are lsrg<>, 
 
 Patmt Medteine E^floei; no signW ent^toc.ln itrt, 
 at all. " j",'"| 
 
 "The houses are very uncomipfl 
 and built-in the form of a sqiii^;;, 
 flats. If it is cold they havAJlaii 
 are no stoves. I have suffered^ 
 evenings since I have been hen 
 home. I hi^ye asked for a fire, bj|[ . 
 was a poisonous fire of charcoal In-'^ c 
 
 " Some of their public bnlldlngs are i 
 make, tlie population comfor^bljj Inf ..., 
 
 erally are ill-cared for. H^ are the wretched Jeir»,»»lio 
 live in a filthy quarter o( the'^ty crowded together like 
 pigs. , 
 
 " The people pass the most of their time in coflee-honies. 
 They are an idle set— have nothing in the world to do, <It 
 Is still a mystery to me bow they live. 
 
 " The fact is, there arc too many soldiers nnd priwtn 
 Now it Is evident that these gentry, being non-prodiicfn, 
 must be supported directly or indirectly by the prndiiccre.. 
 This Is the cause, I suppose, of tiro poverty of a great psit 
 of^lfe population. 
 
 rglDg Is rednced to a science. In this I confess tm 
 iMats the American all to pieces. The Amerino 
 not seeij, nor ear heard, the devices of an lullu 
 ,'ar to get aloni^ 
 
 I hare seen them In great crowds waiting outside oft 
 monastery for their dinner, which consists of huge bowb 
 of porridge given by the monks. Can any thing be more 
 Tulnoas to a peoplef . , ^ j 
 
 " The only trade that I could discover after a loUg and 
 patient search iTaa the trade in brooches and toys whlcU 
 are bought a« euricsltiea by travellers. ' 
 
 " There are nothing but churches and palaces whererer 
 yougow Borne of these palac«s are queer-louklnKcnnce™. 
 There Isift one in the whole lot equal to some of the Flra 
 Avenue houses in New York In point of real genuine styte 
 
 "Tlieie has been too much money spent In churches, tirt 
 too little on houses. If it amounted to any thing It would 
 
 holteio tiWIjIinrtlironly'tfllHlrliirtfien twimwwtsss 
 idle fondnets for mnsle and pictures and such like. If wqr 
 tore down nine-tenths of their churches, and tumMthem 
 into school-houses on the Now ICngland system. It woou 
 not be bad for the rising generation. 
 
 "The newnpapers which they have are miserable tbnp 
 —wretched little sheets, full of lies— no adfertbementi, w 
 news, no nothing. I got a friend to translate for me wM 
 pretended to be the lateet AmericMt newf Itwuatoi- 
 
 "That'gall,"gfl 
 
 ilfCiL 
 
THB DODOE CLUB ^ OB,' ITALY IN MDCCCLIX 
 
 ItcUon a murdon, diieb, nllwty McUaota, aoditMaliMt 
 entaioai. 
 
 f'l don't ace wlitt hope then h for IhU unfortunata 
 axintnr ; I don't retlljr. The peoiile have sone <n n long 
 la their preunt counc thiit they are now about iaoorrigl. 
 He. If the entiro population were to emlgrata to tha 
 Wettcrn HUtw, and mix up with the people tbeiv, It'Dlsht 
 |ie>>Mible for their doacandanli In the coutm of tube to 
 tmount to Komcthing, r^ 
 
 '• I don't we any hope exoept perhapa In one plan, which 
 vonld be no doubt impoAnlbla for tliaw lasy and dreamr 
 lUlhna to carry ouf. It U tliU: Let this poor, broken, 
 down, bankrupt Oovemment make an Inrentory of it* 
 Thole stock of Jewell, gold, genu, pictures, and sutuea. I 
 gndentand that the nobility throughout Kurope woiild be 
 willing to pay Iramoiwe auniH of monuy for these emamenta. 
 If Uioy are fooh onougli to do no, tlien In Jieaven's name 
 let them iMTu the chance. Clear out the whol^ stock of 
 nil)bUli, and lot thn hard cosh come In to Icplace It 
 That would be a good beginning,' with something tangible 
 lotUrtiWini. I am told that the ornaments ot 8t. Peter's 
 Csthedral coal ever so many nOmmt of dollars. In the 
 name of goodness why not sell oulthe etoek and realize lik 
 ilaad of laaulng thoae ntgged notes for.twenty-flve cehl*'' 
 which circniate among the people here at a diaoount of alAut 
 nrenty-nre per cent, t V ' 
 
 "Then let them run a Villmad north to Florence and 
 mth to Naplea, It wouhT oped pp a Bne tract df country 
 wilch Is cajiaUajifaEBWIng grain ; It Would Up the gnat 
 
 . . V jf «_ ■ ^ '"^ originate a waat trade lu-OO, 
 .Jdrledfhilta. ^ * ' ^ ^- ' 
 
 ^_^ country "aiDund Rome U uninhabited, but not 
 barren, It la sifkljf in summer-tlmp, but If tliere was 
 ^population on it who would oultlvatu It properly I calcu- 
 Uta thj malaria wouBl wanlah. Just as the fc-Vor and ague 
 lo ftom jHany Western dUtricta In our country by the 
 nine ageiielea. I calculate tliat rogion could be mad^ one 
 of Ibe ni«^t fortllo on tills round earth If occupied by kn 
 iDdiatrious claaa of cmlgrahta, 
 
 » But tlioro U a large space InaMe Uie wiata«f the city 
 wWcli could be turned to tiie best of purpae<%> • "' 
 
 n 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 TOT LONBLT OKI AND HIS OOMFORTIR — ^nv 
 ^ TRUB MIDIOINB »OB A BICK MAN. 
 
 Dick vrat alono fn hii ebamber. Confine- 
 ment to his room was bad cnonRh, but what 
 wai tbat in comparigon with the deaolation of 
 «onl that afflicted him? Pepita w*s always in 
 his thouKhts. The brfght moment was alone 
 remembered, and the block soquol could not ef- 
 face her image. Yet his misadronture showed 
 jhances of feeing Inf again were 
 But hew could he give licr 
 soon be leaving for Florence.- 
 hover to see her ajjatn— the 
 tender, the — A faint 
 
 "Tlie pinoo which uj»d to be the lt»mi^TO»ilm Is ex- 
 •ctly calculated to bo<ffie terminus of the rallr^ wiilol? 
 I have suggested. A eoniniodloua dupAt mild'^ mUdfi 
 ud the dour-way might bo worked up out of-thoWh of 
 Tittu, which now stands bloclcing up tlie way, and Is of no 
 ntthly use. 
 
 "The amount of cnimbllng stones and old mined walls 
 tliit they leave about tliU ipiarter of tlio city Is astonish- 
 log, It ought not to be so. 
 
 "What the GoTeniinent ought to do after being put In 
 fusils by the process mentioned aWe Is tills: 
 
 "Tlie Government ought to tear down all tho.'e uaDlght- 
 \j haapa of atone and erect factories and Industrial sciiooU 
 Tilers la plenty of materUI to do it with. For InsUncp 
 take tiie old ruin called the CiJllHouni. It U a fact, arrivod 
 •t by elaborate calculation, thot the entire contents of 
 IhU concern are amply aiifflcient to conatnict no leas 
 Mian one hundred aud fitly handsome faeu»i«s, each two 
 hundred feet by seventy-live. . 
 
 *Tho factories being buUt, they coiil^ be devote.1 to 
 
 Uie productloo of the finer tissues. Silks and velvets 
 
 tould be produced here. Olass-ware of all kinds could be 
 
 made. 'There la a fine Itallaa ebty that mokoa nice cupj 
 
 - and crocks. 
 
 "I could also snggeat the famons Boman cement as an 
 tddllionalartldeofMport The Catooomba under the dty 
 nmU be put to aome direct practical use. 
 
 "1 have hastUy put out these few Ideas to ahow What a 
 llDeral and enlightened policy might efliiet even Inauch 
 ta impromlalng place aa Rome. Jt ia not prebaUe, Itow- 
 ew.that my acheme wo-ld meet with favor hei* The 
 Madlng classes in this city are such an Incurable set of old 
 Bglffl that, I veiily believe, rather than do what I have 
 •nggesuid, theywould choose to have the earth open beneath 
 
 plc«ares,musenms, palaces, ruins and all ^ 
 
 <.'.a*°"„°"'.*''?*»''"°"'«»''''>loh will work some 
 %. Supposj Rossi* should sell us her part of America! 
 Mn .ell us Cuba,ltaly give us Rome, •turkey aTwanS 
 ortwo-themrhatf Butfll keep this for another Irtlen" 
 
 "Thags all.'^M id thn Sonntpr, 
 
 Dick's face was^rawn up into the sbrangest 
 expression. He did not say any thing, how- 
 wer. The Senator calmly folded up his paper, 
 •'!»!;«'»», thoughtful air took up his hat. 
 
 Tm going to that Coliseum agiiJn to meas- 
 ure a place I fqigot," said he. 
 
 Upon which he retired, Reaving Dick alone. 
 
 , __,«P.,^ . Dick, without rbing from 
 his choMfr/ 
 
 A ferorfio entered. She was dressed in black. 
 A thick veil hid her fe^ures, but her bent flfeure 
 denoted ago and weariness. Site slowly closed 
 the door. 
 
 "Is it here where a young American lives 
 with this name 7" 
 
 She held out a cjtfd. It was his name, his 
 card. lie had only given it to one peracin in 
 Rome, and that on^ was I'cpita. ( 
 
 " Ob I" cripd Dick, rising, his whole cxprcs-" 
 sion changing from sadness to eager and bo- 
 WMchiiy^-hopo, " oh, if you know where, she is 
 ^i?#»h*rel may fln4hor-rr"/''f .^ 
 
 The female raised her form, then with a band 
 that trembljcd excessively she slowly lifted her 
 veil. It Vas a fa«!o not old and Wrinkled but 
 young nnd lovely, with tearful eyes downcast, 
 and cheeks suffused with blushes. 
 
 With an eager cry 'Dick boui^a^^m his 
 '£Hoir nnd caught her in his nrmsflnflBa word 
 WHS spoken. He held her in a sTO^^mbrace 
 ns though he would not let her go. - At last iio 
 drew hor to a sent beside him, still holding her 
 in his arms. 
 
 " I could npt stay away. I led you into mis- 
 fortiujc. Oh, how you have sufl'orcd J You 
 are tliin and wan. ,, What a wretch am I ! 
 When you see ma jio mord will you foraive 
 
 TOO?" ' *^ 
 
 " Eorgrtj 1" and Dick replied in a more ert-\ 
 phatic way'-than words afiiird. ^\ 
 
 \ "They would not let mo leave the house fSr 
 t<n days. They told mo if I ever dared ttf see 
 you again^ they would kill you. . So I knew you 
 wero not dead. But I did' not know how they 
 had beaten you lil^o day Iticardo told me all. 
 To think of yonf(nta|pd fighting so gallantly. 
 Four of them were so bruised that they have 
 not yet recovered. To-day Luigi went to Civlto 
 Vecchia. He told me that if F dared to go tS 
 Rome hft^would^ send Tne to » eonvenf. Butt" — 
 disobeyed bira. I could not rest. I had to 
 
 come nnd see how you were, nnd to — bid 
 
 adieu — " 
 
 "Adieu! bid adieu ?— never. I will not let 
 yon-" ^ 
 
 ,"Ah, now you talk wildlj^P^iiL^epita, 
 moumfolly, " for yon know wo must pBr" 
 
 ' .it 1 
 
 ' t 
 
) 
 
 '■■\. ,«^ 
 
76 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLK. 
 
 "We shall not part." 
 
 "I will have to go i home, and you can not 
 follow me." 
 
 " Oh, Pepita, I can not gtvo you up. You 
 shall be mine — now — my wife — and come with 
 me home — to America. And we shall never 
 again have to part." 
 
 " Impossible," said I'epita, as big tear-drops 
 fell from her eyes. "Impossible!" 
 
 " Why impossible ?" 
 
 " Luigi would track us to the end of the 
 world." 
 
 " Track us ! I would like to see him try it !" 
 cried Dick in a fury. "I have an acconnt°to 
 settle with him which will not be pleasant for 
 Iiim to pay. Who is he to dare to stand be- 
 tween mo and you ? As to following me — 
 Well, I have already given him a 8|)ccimcn of 
 wliat I am. I would give a year of my life to 
 have him alone for about half an hour." 
 
 " You wrong him," cried Pepita, earnestly. 
 " Ygiu wrong him. You must not talk so. He 
 is not a bravo. He is my brother. He has 
 been like a father to me. Ho loves mo dearly, 
 and my good nAmo is dearer to him than life. 
 He is so good and so noble, dear Luigi'! It 
 was Ilia love for me that blinded him and made 
 him furious. He thought you were deceiving 
 us nil, and would not listen to yon." 
 
 " But if he were so noble would he have at- 
 tacked one unarmed man, and he at the head 
 of a dozen?" 
 
 "I tell you," cried Pepita, "you do not know 
 him. He was so blinded by passion that ho 
 had no mercy. Oh, I owe every thing to him ! 
 And I know how good and noble he is !" 
 
 " Pepita, for your sake I will forgive him 
 every thinftj' 
 
 " I can not stay longer," said Pepita, making 
 an effort to rise. 
 
 "Oh, Pepita! you can not leave mo foV- 
 evor." « 
 
 Pepita fell weeping into his arms, her slen" 
 dcr form convulsed with emotion. 
 
 "You shall nQt." 
 
 " I must — there is no help." 
 
 " Why must you ? Can vflii not fly<*itli me ? 
 What prevents you from bc^; mine? Let us 
 go and be united in the little church where I 
 saw you first." 
 
 " Impossible !" moaned Apita. 
 
 "Why?" ^^, 
 
 "Because I could not do you such injustice 
 You have your father far a>Vay in^raorica. 
 You mi;;;ht offend bin)." 
 
 " Bother my fath«i5>" cried Dick 
 
 Pepita looked shocked. 
 
 " I mean — ho would allow mo to do any tliVng 
 
 :ifccdv««t^glary- in it. b e cftu sa I did it, Hfl^ 
 
 I 
 
 lunc 
 
 P 
 
 " Is there no hope ?" 
 
 " No — not now." 
 
 "Not now? And when will there be ? Can 
 it be possible that you would give me up? 
 Then I would not give you ilp ! If you do iiot 
 love mo I must love you." 
 
 " Cruel !" murmured Pepita. 
 
 "Forgive," said Dick, penitently. "Per- 
 haps I am too sudden. If I come back again 
 in two or three months will you bo as hard- 
 hearted as you are now ?" 
 
 "Hard-hearted!" sighed Pepita, tearfully. 
 " You should not reproach me. My troubles 
 ore more than I can bear. It is no slight thing 
 that you ask." 
 
 "Will waiting soften yon? 'Will it make 
 any difference? If I came for you — " 
 
 "You must not leave mo so," said Pciiita, 
 reproachfully. " I will tell you all. You will un- 
 derstand me better. Listen. My family is noble." 
 
 " Noble !" cried Dick, thunderstruck. lie 
 had certainly always thought her astonishinply 
 lady-like fpr a peasant girl, but attributed this 
 to the superior refinement of the Italian race. 
 
 "Yes, noble," said Pepita, proudly. "We 
 seem now only poor peasants. Yet once we 
 were rich and powerful. 5Iy grandfather lost 
 all in the wars in the time of Napoleon, and 
 only left his descendants an honorable nnme. 
 Alas ! honor and titles are worth but little when 
 one is poor. My brother Luigi is the Count di 
 Gianti." 
 
 " And yon are the Countess di Gianti." 
 
 " Yes," said Pepita, smiling at last, and hap- 
 py at the change that showed itself in Dick. 
 " I am Abe Countess Pepita di Gianti. Can 
 you understand now my dcarLuigi'a high sense 
 of honor and the fury that ho felt when he 
 thought iS^t you intended an insul't^ Onr 
 pdlfcrty, \^Irich we can not escape, chafes liim 
 sorely. If I were to desert him thu* suddenly 
 it would kill him." 
 
 " Oh, Pepita! if wailing will win >ju I will 
 wait for years. Is there any hope ?" 
 
 " When will you leave llome ?" 
 
 " In a few days my frlemls leave." 
 
 "Then do not stoy behind. If yoirlHo yon 
 can not see ine." 
 
 " But if I come again in two or three months? 
 What then ? Can I see you ?" 
 
 " PerhajM," said Pepita, timidly. 
 
 " And you will not refuse ? No, no ! Yoa 
 can not ! How can I find you ?" 
 
 " Alos ! you will by that time forget all 
 about me." % 
 
 " Cruel Pqpito ! How cnn you 
 forget ? Would I not die for you ? 
 I find you ?" 
 
 1' The Padija-Lipiori." _ 
 
 sny I will 
 UowM» 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Padro Li luori, at the little church, the 
 
 would chuckle over it for a month 
 
 "Luigi—" "^^^ A r 
 
 " Pcpitn, do you love him iMJttcr than mo ?"^ll priest— thjs one who spoke to you." 
 
 "No, but if I leave him so it would bfcah' 
 his heart. Ho will think I am ruined. Ho 
 will declare a vendetta against you, and folloii; 
 you to the end of the world." 
 
 " But ho w 
 
 II refuse. 
 
 Ho hates mo# 
 ""Ho is a komX man. If he thinks yon »re 
 honorable he vill bo your fHcnd. He ii » true 
 friend^ me,' 
 
 1 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 3,,'.'.^ Will see hinv before I leave and tell him 
 
 There were voices below. 
 I'epita started. 
 
 "They come. I must go," said she, drop- 
 ping her veil. 
 
 " Confound them !" cried Dick 
 
 "^l(/(i(o.'" sighed Pcpita. 
 
 Dick caught her in hisi arms. She tore her- 
 self away with sobs. 
 
 She was gone. 
 
 Dick sank buck in his chair, witli his eyes 
 fi.\ed hungrily on the door. "'• 
 
 " Hallo!" burst the Doctor's voice on his 
 ears. " Who's that old girl ? Hey? Wliy 
 
 i^lli^^atTrelapse i^iiTnTiook^f ■ Zr'' rT Vi° '"^^ "^ «">-^ ^"^ »« 
 You must make a tofal cha^n "e In your Lt-^ Sl/''^ \u ^ '"^ " "'"' °' ""' ^''''^ B"^" 
 m^m .,i„,..i„.:„_ .,_:_,- ."'^ '" J^"""^ "1" ; B»ese. For the student, ruins whose very dust 
 
 77 
 larly the ladies. They were perfectly familiar 
 with all the Spanish painters and many of the 
 Italian. Buttons felt himself far inferior' to 
 them in real familiarity with Art, but he made 
 amends by brilliant criticisms of a transcendent- 
 al nature. 
 
 It was certainly a pleasant occupation 
 youth, sprightliness, and beautn To'wanW 
 all day long through that central world from 
 which forever emanate all that is fairest and 
 raMt enticing in Art, Antiquity, and Religion ; 
 to have a soul open to tlie reception of all these 
 influences, and to have all tilings glorified by 
 Almighty love ; in short, to be in love in Rome. 
 
 Rome IS an inexhaustiMo store-house of at- 
 tractions. For the lovers of gayety tlicre are 
 
 more stimulating drink and generous food 
 However, tlie drive to Florence will set you all 
 fright again." 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 OCCUPATIONS AND PEltEGRINATIOXS OF DUTTONS. 
 
 IS eloquent. For the artist, treasures bevond 
 price. For the devotee, religion. How fortu- 
 nate, tiiought Buttons, that in addition to nil 
 tins there is, for the lovers of the beautiful 
 beauty I ' 
 
 Day after day tliey visited new scenes. U|)on 
 the whole, perhaps, the best way to see the city 
 
 If Buttons had spent little time in his room ' 717 m " ''"" "?r T?*^ ''°^''' '''''' """■"• '^ »« 
 before he now spenVHhs. He wa ex, Ior2 h^f ^^r"^' Hand-book, and, armed with 
 the ruins of Rome, the churches he £ To i "^ "'"''"'^' '^"'^ energetically at the 
 Pilleries, and tlie palaces unSLw^^^^^^^^^^^ '.'""« »''"' '« mentioned; 
 
 Ho knew the name of every palLe" ,rc h 7^^?"'" '"^ °"''°^''>'' "•«"""; then throw 
 in the pl<,ce. Ho acquired fliis k„o«lo2r,w ' ^ -^ '^''''■\ ""'' ^° °''" "'« K"-"""*! "new, 
 means of superhuman Sp^licattn to " Murn '^ """'"'"« '"'''' """•'=^-^'- ^"^^ ''^^- 
 Hand-book "on. the evenings after le.iving his 
 wnpanions. They were enthusiastic, particu- 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 BUTTONS ACTS THE GOOD SAMARITAN, AND I IT- 
 EBALLY UNEAIiTUS A MOST UNEXPECTED VIC- 
 cIoUS^'meI" ^'^''"^^'^^'^ ROBBEKV.-OK-R-K-A- 
 
 To these, once wandering idly down the Ap- 
 pian Way, the ancient tower of Metella rose in- 
 vitingly. The carriage stopped, and ascend- 
 ing, they walked up to the entrance. They 
 iimrvelled at the enormous blocks of travertine 
 of which the edifice was built, the noble sim- 
 [ j.licity of the style, the venerable garment of 
 ivy which hid the rnf ages of time, 
 i The door was open, and they walked in 
 Buttons first; the ladies timidly following- 
 and the pon bringing up the rear. Suddenly 
 a low groan startled them. It seemed to come 
 from the very depths of the earth. The ladies 
 gave a shriek, and dashing past their brother, 
 ran out. The Don pnuscl. Buttons of cour'to 
 advanced. Ho never felt so extensive in his 
 life before. What a splendid opportunitv to 
 g"° "J* ex hibition of manly courage 1 So he 
 
 "'Hiked on, mid gliout^-; 
 
 " Who's there ?" 
 A groan ! 
 
 Further in yet, till ho carao to the inner 
 ^ chamber. It was dark there, the only light 
 , coming in through the passages. Through the 
 I gloom he saw the figure of a man lying on the 
 I floor 80 tied that he could not move. 
 
 mrro.'ie akh MDiWAr, 
 
 . .uffi.' 
 
V- 
 
 78 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 " Who are you ? What's the matter ?" 
 " Let me loose, for God's sake !'' said n voice, 
 in thick Italian, with a heavy German accent. 
 "Tm a traveller. I've been robbed by brig- 
 ands." 
 
 To snatch his knife from hi* pocket, to cut sanctity of their repose I 
 
 the cords that bound the man, to lift him to his 
 feet, and then to start back with a cry of aston- 
 ishment, were all the work of an instant. By 
 this time the others lt(td entered. 
 
 The man was a German, unmistakably. lie 
 stood blinking and staring. Then he stretched 
 his several limbs and i-ubbod himself. Then 
 ho took a long survey of the new-comers. 
 Then he stroked a long, red, forked beard, and, 
 in tones expressive of the most profound be- 
 wilderment, slowly ejaculated — 
 
 " Gr-r-r-r-acious me!" 
 
 Then Meinheer Schatt knew that they were 
 robbers. Still he indignantly protested that he 
 was an unoffending traveller. 
 
 "It's false ! You have been mntilating the 
 sacred sepulchre of the dead, and violating tlio 
 
 And the, fellow, thrusting his hands in the 
 prisoner's pockets, brought forth the stones and 
 ivy. The others looked into his other pockets, 
 examined his hat, made him strip, shook his 
 clothes, pried into his boots — in short, gave iiini 
 a thorough overhaul. 
 
 They found nothing, except, as Meinheer ac- 
 knowledged, with a faint smile, a piece of tlic 
 value of three half-cents American, which he 
 had brou^it as a fee to the guide throngh tlic 
 Catacombs. It was that bit of money that 
 caused his bonds. It maddened them. Thcv 
 
 " Meinheer Schatt !" cried Buttons, grasping : danced around him in perfect fury, and asked 
 his hand. " How in tlie name of woudcr did j what he meant by daring to come out and give 
 you get here ? What has happened: to you ? j them so much trouble with only tfiat bit of im- 
 Wlio tied you up ? Were you robbed ? Were ! pure silver about him. 
 
 vou beaten? Are you hurt? But come out i "Dog of a Tedescho I Your nation has 
 of this dark hole to the sunshins." | Irainpled upon our liberties ; but Italy shall be 
 
 Meinheer Schatt walked slowly out, saying avenged! Dog! scoundrel! villain I Tcdcs- 
 ' nothing to these rapid inquiries of Buttons, j cho ! Tedes-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-cho!" 
 The German intellect is profound, but slow ; ! The end of it was that Meinheer Schatt was 
 mid so Meinheer Schatt took a long time to col- 1 tied in a sin^rulnrly unconifortablo position and 
 fcct his scattered ideas. Buttons found that ; left there. Hot liought he had been there about 
 lie was quite faint ; so producing a flask from five hours. lie was faint and hungry, 
 his pocket he made him drink a little precious Tliey took him home, 
 cordial, which revived him greatly. After a -^ 
 
 long pull ho heaved a heavy sigh, and looked • 
 
 with a ])iteons expression at the new-comers. 
 The kind-hearted Spaniards insisted on taking 
 him to tiieir carriage. Ho Yak too we.ik to 
 walk. They would drive him. They would 
 listen to no refusal. So Meinheer Schatt was 
 safely deposited in the carriage, and told his 
 story. 
 
 He had come out very early in th» morning to 
 visit the Catacombs. . . 
 
 of the day so at to be back before it got hot. j tended over many parts of the world. 
 Arriving at the Church of St. Sebastian he i thought he might Iiave done something in Cndii. 
 found to his disappointjjoiit that it was not open j " Your father a ship-owner in Boston ! 1 
 ye(. So he thoughts would beguile the time j thought you belonged to Now York," said tiio 
 by vralking about. So he strolKd off to the | Don, in surprise. 
 
 tomb of Cmcelia Metella, which was the most | "Oh," said Buttons, "I sai^ I came frnin 
 st^Hing object in view. Ho walked around it, j there. ThQ fait is, I lived there four years nt 
 and broke off a few pieces (A stone. He took 
 also n few pieces of ivy. These ho intended to 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 ANOTDEB DISCOVEnT MADE BT BUTTONS. 
 
 Os the evening after this adventure the Don 
 turned the conversation into a new channel. 
 They all grew communicative. Buttons fold 
 them that his father was an extensive mcrchnnt 
 Ho clioso the earlv part ! and ship-owner in Boston. His business ex- 
 
 - ■ ■■He 
 
 carry away as relics. At last he ventiired to 
 enter and examine the interior. Scarce had 
 he got inside than he heard footsteps without. 
 The door was blocked up by a number of ill- 
 looking men, who came in and caught him. 
 
 Meinheer Schatt confessed that ho was com- 
 pletely overcome by terror. However, ho at 
 
 college, and will live there when I return. " 
 J, " And your father lives in Boston," said tlie 
 Don, with an interest that surprised Buttons. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Is his name Hiram Buttons?" 
 
 "Yes," cried Buttons, cagoriy. "How do 
 von know ?" 
 
 " My dear Sir," cried the Don, " Hiram But- 
 tons and I are not flnly old business correspond- 
 
 iBjit m ustgred sufflclcnt streiigth t o o sk wimt . ents. but J_ h<y) I can add pcrsoiial friends ." 
 
 The Don rose and grnsj^J Buttdiis c6fdtBflr"~ 
 by the hand. The young man was overcome 
 by surprise, deliglit, and triumph. 
 
 " I liked you from the first," said the Do». 
 " You boar your character in your face. I wm 
 
 they wanted. 
 
 " You arc our prisoner !" 
 
 "Why? Whoaroyou?" 
 
 " We are the secret bo<ly-gnard of His Holi- 
 ness, appointed by the*'Kacred Council of the 
 
 Befcctory," said one of the men, in a mocking , happy to receive you into our society. But now 
 tone. ; I feel a still higher pIcMuro, for I find yon ait 
 
THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY I§ MDc'cCLIX. 
 
 B BY BUTTONS. 
 
 the Bon of a man for whom I assure you I enter- 
 tain an infinite respect." 
 
 The Bisters were evidently delighted at the 
 scene. As to Buttons, he was overcome. 
 
 Thus far he often felt delicacy ijhout his po- 
 sition among them, and fears of intruding occa- 
 sionally interfered with his enjoyment. His 
 footing now was totally different; and the most 
 punctilious Spaniard could find no fault with 
 his continued intimacy. 
 
 "Hurrah fgr that abominahle old office, and ! 
 that horrible business to which the old gentle- 
 man tried to bring me ! It has turned out the 
 best thing for me. What a capital idea it was 
 for the governor to trade with Cadiz !" 
 
 Such were the thoughts of Buttons as he went 
 liome. 
 
 79 
 
 The waiter shrugged his shoulders tiU they 
 reached the upper part of his eara. The Sen- 
 ator looked for a moment at him, and saw that 
 he did not understand him. He looked at tW 
 floor involved iu deep thought. At last he 
 raised his eyes once more to me# those of the 
 waitoflk which stiU were fixed upon him, and 
 Nwung the palms of his hands on his hips 
 threw hack his head, and with his eyes still fix- 
 ed steadffistly upon the waiter he gave utterance 
 to a long shrill gurgle juch as he thought the 
 frogs might give: ■» 
 
 BpcKCKeic^K Koai icoAf^ 
 
 BpeKCK£KCK Kodf Kodf. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXHL 
 
 SptKtKiK KOlif Koa^ Kod^. 
 
 In his explorations of the nooks and comers 
 of Rome the Senator was compelled for some 
 time to make his journeys alone. He some- 
 times felt regret that he had not some inter- 
 preter with him On these occasions ; but on the 
 whole he thought he was well paid for his 
 trouble, and he stored up in his memory an in- 
 credible number of those items which are usual- 
 ly known as " useful facts." 
 
 On one of these occasions he entered a very 
 common cafe near one of tlie gates, and as he 
 felt hungry he determined to get his dinner. 
 Ho had long felt a desire to taste those " frogs " 
 of which he had heard so much, and which to 
 his great surprise he had never yet seen. On 
 coming to France he of course felt confident 
 that he would find frogs as common as potatoes 
 on every dinner-table. To his amazement he 
 bad not yet seen one. 
 
 He determined to have some now. But how 
 conld he get them ? How ask for them ? 
 
 "Poohl easy enough!" said the Senator to 
 himself, with a smile of superiority. " I wish 
 I could ask for every thing else as easily." 
 
 So he took his seat at one of the tobies, and 
 gave a thundering rap to summon the waiter. 
 All the cafe hud been startled by the advent of 
 the large foreigner. And evidently a rich man, 
 for he was an Eqglishman, as they thought. So 
 np came the waiter with a very low bow, and a 
 Terydiny jacket; and all the rest of the people 
 in the c^fcf looked at the Senator out of the eor- 
 ner of their eyes, and stopped talking. The 
 Nsnator gawd wUh a calm, sorane face and 
 •teady eye upon the waiter. 
 
 " Signoro r laid the waiter, interrogatively 
 ^.T. ^""g ' '" Mid the Senator, solemnly, 
 
 OBIKEKEKEX KOAX KOAX I 
 
 . The waiter Stared. 
 '■ C»« vuoltUa r" he repeated, in a faint voice. 
 
 "Non capisco." 
 
 " Gunk gmg I gvnkety gmk guug .'" 
 V 
 
 fc- 
 
 (Rccurrcnce must be made to Aristophanes, 
 who alone of articulate speaking nifen has writl 
 ten down the utterance of the common frog.) 
 
 The waiter started back. All the men in the 
 cafe' jumped to their feet, 
 
 " BpeKtKeKeK Kodf /mdf," continued the Sena- 
 tor, quite patiently. The waiter looked fright- 
 ened. 
 
 " Will you give me some or not?" cried the 
 Senator, indignantly. 
 
 " Signore," faltered the waiter. Then he ran 
 for the caff'-keejigr, 
 
 The cafu-koeper came. The Senator repeat, 
 ed the words mentioned above, though somewhat 
 angrily. The keeper brought forward every 
 customer in the house to see if any one cooM 
 understand the language. ^ 
 
 " It's German," said one. 
 
 " It's English, "said another. 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OR. ITALY'm MDCCCLIX. 
 
 T.T, n" I The Senator at once poured forth all that bid 
 
 .» Bah !" said a third. ' Y'-^TZ. ■ for ' been in h?s mind since his arrival. He gave h>, 
 
 ..No." said a fo""h» ''i'^»°•'-*'"'2^an I opinion about the site, the architcjcture, the 
 
 Carolo Quinto said that Bohemian was the Ian- °P'"'°° .^^ ^i^; „, government, the beggars, 
 
 J^age of the devil." And Nutpbcr Four who dmnMhe m^n cu^a g^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^_ 
 
 ^a, rather an intelliRent-look.ng man, eyed the ^^J The n^Wds, the priests, monks, and nuns, 
 
 Senator compassionately. . , »k„ c^„, ' "- '^ »....»» fo™ 
 
 >. Gunk gung, gnnkely^^ng .'" c"«d ^J^ J^-^^: 
 tot, frowning; for his patience had at last de- 
 
 " The'lThers looked at him helplpssW and 
 gome thinking of the devil, piously crossed them- 
 BeWes Whereupon the Senator rose in majes- 
 tie wrath, and shaking his purse in the face of 
 the cnfe-keeper, shouted : ' 
 
 "You're worse than a nigger! and staiKea 
 grandly out of the place. 
 
 wv 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 ^^ET^^^rTHB SEN.TOB AND A BOMA« BPY.^ 
 GLEE OF tilE POPULACE '.-HI ! UI . 
 
 He did not asyfor frogs again; but stiU he 
 did not falter in lis examination .nto the life of 
 the peojae. Still he sauntered through the re- 
 
 Bioter comers "f %"»«' ^^""'^''T. rPh.tto 
 other side of the "Tiber, or through the Ghetto 
 or amonc the crooked streets at the end of the 
 C6«™ Few have learned so much of Rome in 
 go short a time. . ,- 
 
 On one occasion he was "tt'"!? •" ^ ^f«' 
 If Vhcre he ha-d supplied his wants in the follow- 
 
 '"^•Hfliloff.^! coffebj" and again, "Hi! ci- 
 
 Then be criticised the Government, its form, . 
 its mode of administration, enlarged upon its tyr- 
 anny, condemned vehemently its poli9e system, 
 and indeed its whole administration of every 
 «iing, civil, political, and ecclesiastical. 
 1 ^ Waxin" warmer with tlie sound of I.is own e - 
 oouence, he found himself suddenly but natural- 
 ly reminded of a country where all this is re 
 ve»scd. So he went on to speak about Freedom 
 Kepublicnnism, the Rights of Man, and the Bal. 
 lot-Bffx. Unable to ralk with sufBcient fluen- 
 cy while in ft sitting posture he rose to his feet 
 and as he looked around, seeing that all piesem 
 were staring at him, he made up his m*pd to im- 
 prove the occasion, So he h-^rangued the erovrd 
 generally, not be^ouse he thought any of tl cm 
 ionld understand him, tut U was so long !nce 
 he had made a speech thatrthe P'««e"' °PP«[''™! 
 ty was irresistible. Besides, as he afteW 
 remarked, he felt that it^^as a crisis, and «l.o 
 Zm tell but that a word spoken in season 
 micM produce some beneficial effects. 
 
 He shook hands very warmly with h.s nc^r 
 friend after it all was over, and on leaving h.m 
 made him promise to come and see him at his 
 lodgings, where he would show him statistics, etc 
 The Senator then returned 
 
 That evening he received a visit Ihe Sen 
 ator heard a hip «t his door and called out 
 "Come in." Two men entered-iU- ookvng, or 
 rather malignant-looking, clothed m black. 
 
 Dick was in his room. Buttons out, lij^gs id 
 n.e Doctor had not -returned from niec»e^ 
 
 gar! 'Kr «hen his'eve was attracted ^y" If^, ^^^^^ /rsiJi^d 'oTshaking hands ,vi.h 
 ^an at the next tabhi wfio was reading a copj The ^^ ^.^.^^^_ _^ ^^^ ^^ ^,^^^ ^^„ ^j,^^, £„. 
 
 ^ArLrdor^:::v:;;;:h he had spread out , both his victors. . 
 V ,? o^'uitiously. After a brief snn.y the gl-sh. 
 Senator walked over ^ his table and, with a 
 beaming smile, said— . 
 
 TSet^man looked up and returned a very 
 
 friendly smile. ^ 
 
 •'And how do yoTl do. Sir f 
 
 .'Very well, I thank you," said the other, 
 with a strong Italian accent 
 
 " Do -vou keep your health i . , „,i„ 
 
 "Thank you, yes," said the other, evidently 
 quite pleased at th.*dv«ices f the Senator 
 ^ " Nothing gives me bo much P»e»»"«. »^ 
 the Senator, " as to come aeross an Itahan v^ 
 understands English. You, Sir, ye a Roman, 
 I presume." I y 
 
 " Sir, I am." ,„„i«v««»4mt 
 
 ^« ">«ri iawhn,,ihe_6*«M«i^kej«^ 
 
 The man to wnoinTnc ctc..«."- -i _ , _ 
 
 one who would hav^ »tt«='«V"V^"n/r 
 him if it had not been f"-^ h'" •'"°*""^»f .^n"- 
 dish He was a narrow-headed, mean-ftekmg 
 man," with very seedy clothes, and a senrile 
 
 "TKrytL Romer he asked of the 
 Senator. 
 
 ilig Excellency," said he, pointing to ilrf 
 other, " wishes to speak to you on offici.il Un- 
 
 "" "Happy to hear it," said the Senator. 
 
 "His Excellency is the_ Chief of the Police, 
 and I am the Interpreter." 
 
 Whereupon the Senator shook hands with 
 both of them again. , 
 
 '.proud to make your acquaintance, sa^ n^ 
 "I am personally acquainted ^"h the Chid 
 of the B^ton police, and also of the Ch erf 
 the New York ,K,lice, and my "r^"'""-" '"^ 
 they can stand more liquor than any men lever 
 met with. Will you liquor?" 
 "The interpreter did not ""derstaiid Jb. | 
 Senator made an "P'*»«'« •8"- Th« nu^ 
 prgjerLjncntioned tho request to th^ CJuet^'" 
 
 shook his head coldly. , ..™«.,..— " nul 
 
 "This is formal," said the Interpretei- »j 
 
 ■^The Senator's faee,fla.hed. «« f«^"*jvj, 
 
 ..Give him my cimpllmonU then, andtji 
 
 ,im the next time he n=f«se. « 8«"'»««^ 
 
 ir ho had better do it like a gentleman. «" i 
 
 I 
 
THE DOpqE CLUB; OB, ITAT^T IN MU^CLIX, 
 
 «1 
 
 tor iibook hands wiH 
 
 *• il 
 
 ^i 
 
 COT TOD TUIU! 
 
 my part, if I cliose to be uncivil, I might say 
 that I consider your Roman police very smail 
 potatoes." 
 
 The Interpreter translated this literally, and 
 thoiigli the fijial expression was not very jntelli- 
 gible, yet it seamed to imply contempt, -, 
 
 So the Chief of Police made his-commnnica- 
 tion as sternly as possil)le. Grave rei^rts -Jiad 
 been made about His American Excellency .\ 
 The Senator looked surjirised. 
 
 "What about ?'• 
 
 That he was haranguing the people, going 
 about secretly, plotting, and trying to instill rev- 
 olutionary sentimonu into the public mind. 
 
 " I'ooh !" said the Senator. 
 , The Chief of Police bade him ■be careful. 
 He would not be permitted to stir up an excita- 
 ble populace. This wai to give him warning. 
 
 " Pooh !" said the^Senator again. 
 
 And if he neglected this warning it would be 
 the wane for him. And the Chief of Police ' 
 looko.1 unutterable things. The Senator gazcil 
 at him sternly and somewhat contemptuously 
 for a few minutes. 
 
 " You're no greiit shakes anvhow," said he. 
 
 " Sigrwre ?" said the Inteq/retcr. 
 
 " Doesn't it strike yon that you are talking 
 Infernal no nsense?" asked the .Sonntor in a 
 
 ' "ngnlty argumentatliro tone of voice, throwing 
 we le« over another, tilting back his chair, and 
 '"luinn liis arms. 
 
 " Your language \9 disrospcctful," was the in- 
 uiRnant reply. 
 
 ""Yours strikes mo as something of tho same 
 kind, tooj^ but moro-t-it is absurd," 
 
 "What do yon mean?" ^ 
 
 - " You say I stir up the l>eople." *^ " " 
 
 " Yes'. Do y«u deny it ?" ' 
 
 "Pooh ! How can a man stir up tho people 
 when he can't speak a word of their language ?" 
 
 The Chief of Police did not reply for a mo- 
 ment, . 
 
 o 'd*!*"" """'' I*vagot yon there," said the 
 SenaWr, dryly. " Hoy ? old IIoss ?" 
 
 ("Old Hoss:' wan an epithet which he used 
 when he was \ft a good humor.) He felt that 
 ho had tho best ofk here, and his anger was 
 gone. He thcrefi^pcd his chair baqk further, 
 and plaAd his fechrpon the back of a chMtlhat 
 wiw in fFont of him.' J 
 
 " There are Italians in Rome who spei 
 glish," was at length thorejoinder. 
 
 "I wish I cduld find some then," said tho 
 Senator. " It's worse than looking for a needle 
 in a hay-stack, they're so precious few." 
 
 " You have met one." 
 
 "And I can't say I feel over-proud of theao. 
 quaintancc,"said the Senator, in his former dry 
 ,tono, looking hard at tho Interpreter. 
 
 "At the Cafe' Conacci, I mean." 
 
 "Tho What? Whole's that?" 
 
 " Where you were this morning." 
 r-- -' ' Qh hn 1 that's it»<=«h»^ And w as my ff left d 
 there one of your friends too ?" asked tho Scn- 
 atgr, as light burst in upon him. 
 
 " He was sufficiently patriotic to give warn- 
 ing." 
 
 " Oh— patriotic ?— ho was, was ho ?" said the 
 Senator, slowly, while Ims eyes showed a danger- 
 ous light. 
 
THE DODGE CLUB *|)B, ITALY IN MDCCCLI^, 
 
 id you fk 
 
 82 . 
 
 "Yes— patriotic. He has wa 
 Bomc time." ■ u 
 
 "Watched me J" aftd the Ijenator froww 
 wra^nfully. *■' 
 
 s" Ve». all ovpr Rome, wlverover yon went." 
 
 'i 
 
 The Senator inflamed l^*o frle 
 visit, iikn4,|teoughk very lipily aboi 
 recoUectiolrof <^« thiflglii^leil in hMmind 
 . That spy^l v|t*o fellow ijp humbtfSl* him. 
 Ji^^ had dot;«J**|f5u«, tratkeifl^, p^npS for 
 
 ^re», all overitome, wnerover you weni. »?^,."»" "^*^r7j(r"C' .'■ — 17? ' ■ ---r- ■- 
 Wftehed me/ dogge#»H«.' tracked in«/ <r«#8, had A|1*ipfm into pdnversatiop, asked 
 Al^*^ . ^ ■' leering questl^ttti'-snd then given infd»nfj}ion. 
 
 ^^ ' If there ,was any tikjng ^||f "ijh \|i>t thC Sena- ,| 
 
 '^ And contoiTii&emiWveJrjftils tlm« with giv- 
 ing yo« wfli-nlndi' -' 
 .\, " Very much obliged ; ttft tell your Govern- 
 *,ltnent not to liiUlanned. I won't hurt them." 
 " *" Upon this'fljsiljro visitors took 'eheir leave. 
 
 
 fcr Joshed it wasJW*. 'W , m ^ 
 
 B#how conliTsttchil iwrf-" be ).tiBjijb«J! 
 That wtis the thought, ^nisfti^ co^hl oiii/ 
 
 com© from one. ( 'Bhe wr ^^d do -'*^- 
 
 Btllttttbrc was one jjvhi) c^d *»^^nic 
 thftkono was himself. Lynch Inwl, 
 
 " My fHyther was from Roeting, ' 
 
 My uncle wns Jiidgo Lynch, 
 , ""Bo. dam yotir firo auilroitMijK, 
 ' You can not muke Mt'tU'XiB." 
 
 The 6enatof hummed the abonrq elcgdnt worda 
 all that evening. * l 
 
 He thought he' could find ttfellian yet. He 
 was sure he would know himX^jHo would dc 
 vote himself io this on the next <»». The next 
 day he went about thei city, and dp|enRth in the 
 afternoon he came to Pincian Hilt There was 
 
 * > .i.i.i-:-j 
 
THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITAl?^ MDCCCLIX. ' gS 
 
 jwa there as usual. The Senator j which oi^e is enabled to make any other So 
 iself ,n a favorable position, in which j what is dalled "Walking Spanish,- and pro! 
 only bB seen from one point, and then pelled biln mnirJIv t.^.J., .L „.:_„"./.? 
 
 watchcid with the eye of a- hawk. 
 He,w«*clied for about an hour; At the end 
 
 of thf^t^Ae he saw a face. It belonged to a 
 i* W'%?'"! ^^*^ leaning against a post with 
 Ibacfejftirned toward, the Senator all this time, 
 ^vas Me^ce.' The fellow happened to turn 
 
 „ , , .1 ,„ o -^f •"•••"•, uuu pro- 
 
 pelled bim rapidly toward the reservoir of tlia 
 fountain.' ' ' 
 
 The Senator raised the spy from the ground 
 *n(l pitched him into the pool. «. 
 
 The ajr was rent with acclamations and cries 
 of delight. 
 
 As th^ spy emerged, half-drowned, the crowd 
 
 i'MlmA l r , — ■■• ""»'i'^"=" '" i"«" -""'"« spy emergca, ha f-drowned the crowd 
 
 g^^ough round to let the Senator see him. came fo^ard and would have pSloneed the 
 |t»««8 evidently watching him yet. The Sen- delightful sensation. proiongea the 
 
 ; itW/jUked rapidly toward him. The man saw Not often did thcv have a spy in their hands 
 bim and began to movoTi»«i^dly away. The 
 Senator increased his pacp. So did the man. 
 The Senator walked still faster. So did'the man. 
 The Senator took long strides. The man took 
 short;, quick ones. It is said that the fastest pe- 
 destrians are those who take short, quick steps. 
 The Senator did not gain on the other. 
 
 By this time a vast number of idlers had been 
 attracted by the sight of th^so two men walking 
 a? if for a wagqr. At last the Senator began 
 to rnn. So did the man ! 
 
 The whole thing was plain. One man was 
 chasing the other. At once all the idlers of 
 the Pincian Hill stopped all their avocations 
 and turned to look. The road winds down tlie 
 Pincian Hill to the Piazza del Popolo, and those 
 oh the npper part can look down and see the 
 whole extent. What a place for a race ! The 
 qaick-eyed Itomans saw it all. . ', 
 
 " A spy ! yes, a Government spy !" 
 
 "Chased by an eccentric Englishman!" 
 
 A loud shout burst from the Roman crowd. 
 Bat ft number of English and Americans thought 
 differently. They saw a little mart, cha^d 
 by a big one. Some cried "Shame!" Others, 
 thinking it a case of pocket - picking, cried 
 "Stop thief!" Others cried "Go it, little fel- 
 low ! Two to one on the small chap ! " 
 
 Every body on the Pincian Hill rushed to the 
 ed^re of the winding read to look down, or to 
 the paved walk that overlooks the Piazza. Car- 
 riagcs stopped and the oecuparits looked d<)#n. 
 French soldiers, dragoons, guards, officers— all 
 
 And aw&y went the Senator J^hd&Hi^'nin 
 the terrified spy. Down thefotg wav, and at 
 lengtMhey came to the M^a del Popolo. . A 
 
 in''aTsi!'rfK'''''''\ft',''? '**'P'"- ^^! ' P-^^'V'" «">« vi*it' was beneficial to Dick 
 
 o2 ^ZZl i^-^T """'""I"'* v6cifer. Jiink of % as almost inielik; TZsS, 
 ^n^^<i<i^^^ZI!t^:'^^^i\r.'^'^''' «'«"'«'''<>'"^-«a'^»'-«"'d,whati,Wer,aheart 
 dorwe^fc^wS* fftlt'- AH .""IT"" 1 •'" «>^^"'2i'*«='> *<">« %d her to do her 
 nieswIeflKlSr^ AH the bale., shaj. towanl #«ing him agii! Would itnot 
 Down alon» thl P^? P » .u , . ^ '"'"*'' """^ *° •'""'P'^ *'"' ""O' evidont dp- 
 
 AnMne fnio f !^;> „^ .V^ff^'""'" °! *'_'*: J*"l '*''^" ^K°'"«#'". "'«'<' ««he? He 
 lenaibr was gaining ! ~ At la 
 •quaro. A grAit fountain of 
 forth there. The «py ran to t 
 'ho square, and juat as he i*hi. M.,r. 
 "de <lley the Senator's hahd clutched 
 tail) I * I 
 
 ,; JPAPTER XXXV. 
 
 TiilfoTHEB BrFOHT, AND BE0IN8 TO 
 FEEL ENCOURAGED. 
 
 . *i 
 
 Bui bow could ho 
 
 far bfi^r to 
 
 return agaiK, 
 
 himself away ? WonbF It _, 
 
 t^main and seek her?. Hb conlfi gd^ djicidc. 
 Ha thought of Padre Ligubri. He had g^fy 
 insulted that gentlemanyand tb« thought of 
 meeting him agjiin mad/ him feel blank, tet 
 
 The Senator t/>nir »».-.,. • .u . " ^ II® ''** *" *"""* ^"^ ^^ "'"""" * Prttector of 
 senator took th« spy m that ,^ay hy Pepita, a guardian, .flrhaps, ijnd a, auch had 
 
 ■ '^ ..,. >. Jjr K . , '. 
 
 «e^° 
 
 .^- 
 
84 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLlX. 
 
 inflacnco over her fortunes. If he could only 
 disarm hostility from I'adre Liguori it would 
 be undoubtedly for his benefit. Perhaps Padre 
 Liguori would become his friend, and try to in- 
 fluence Pepita's famU^wn his favor. So he de- 
 cided OB going to see Pa^ro Liguori. ' 
 
 The now turn which' had been given to his 
 feelings by Pepita's visit had benefited him in 
 mind and body. He was quite strong enough 
 for a long walk. Arriving ot the church ho 
 had no difficulty in finding Liguori. The priest 
 advanced with a look of surprise. 
 
 "Before mentioning tlie object of my visit," 
 said Diqk, bowing courteously, "I owe you artv^medn>vay ? 
 humble ^pology for a gross insult. I hope you wl^ali*^^'* 
 will forgive me." ^ i 
 
 ■ The priest bowed. 
 
 " After I left here I succeeded in my objcjct," 
 continued Dick. 
 
 "I heard so," said Liguori, coldly. 
 " And you have heard also that I met with a 
 tcrfible punishment for my presupipiion, or 
 whatever else you may choose to call it." 
 
 " I heard of that also," said th'e priest, stern- 
 ly. "And do ybu complain of it? Tell me. 
 Was it not deserved ?" 
 
 " If their suspicions and yours had been cor- 
 rect, then the punishment would have been well 
 desened. But you all wrong me. I entreat 
 you.to believe me. I am no adventurer. I am 
 honest and sincere." -• 
 
 "We have only your word for this," said 
 Liguori, coldly. 
 
 "What will make you bfclieve that I am sin- 
 cere, then?" said Dick. "What proof can I 
 give?" ■ , / 
 
 "You are safe in offering i> give probft in a 
 case where nono-can be giv^n." f 
 
 "I am frank with you. Will you not be so 
 with mo ? I come to you to try to convince you 
 of my honesty, Padre Liguorf. I love Pepita as 
 truly and as honorably ns it is possible f<5r man 
 to love. It was that feeling that so bewiWered 
 mo that I was led Xo insult you. I went out 
 in the midst of danger, and would have died for 
 her. With these feelings I can not give her up." 
 "I have heard sentiment like this pften bc- 
 ibrer W4>at-is your mcuning ?" 
 
 " I am rich and of good family in my oft'n 
 country ; and lam determined to liave Pepit» 
 for my wife." 
 "Your wife!" 
 
 "Yes," said Dick, resolutely. "I am hon- 
 orable and open about it. ^^y story is short. I 
 love her, and wish to make licr my wife." 
 The expression of Liguori changed entirely. 
 " Ah 1 Jhis makes the whole matter different 
 altogether. I did not know this before. Nor 
 
 dtdiheCountr Bu t l>e js-exeuaabtes A*tHl- 
 
 den passion blinded fiim, and he attacked you. 
 I will tell you "—and at each word the priest's 
 
 were their,ina(/(7iorJo»io«. Poverty at last strip. 
 ped them of every thing, and I, the last of the 
 family dependents, entered the Church. But! 
 still preserve my respect and love for them. 
 You can understand' how bitterly„ I would re- 
 sent and avenge any base act or any wrong done 
 to them. You can understand Luigi's vengeance 
 also." , 
 
 "I tnought as much," said Dick. "I 
 thoughtfyou were a kind of guardian, and 50 I 
 came Jiere to tell you frankly how it is. I lnvo 
 her. I can make her rich itnd happy. To do- 
 so is the desire of my heart. Why should I be 
 Or if there bo any objection, 
 
 manner grew more friendly— "I will tell yon 
 how it is, Signore. The Giantis were once a 
 powerful family, and still have their title. I 
 consider mysdlf as a kind of appanage to the 
 famil V, for my ancestors for several generations 
 
 ^' There is no objection— none whatever, if 
 Pepita is willing, and you sincerely love her. I 
 think thatLnij,^ would give his consent." 
 
 " Then what Avouljl prevent me f^bm marry- 
 ing her at once ?" 
 "At once!" 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "You show much ardor ; but still an imme- 
 diate marriage is impossible. There arc vari- 
 ons reasons for this, ki the first pliice, we love 
 Pepita too dearly to Idt her go so suddenly to 
 some one wlio merely feels a kind of imimlse. 
 We should like to know that tliere is some prot- 
 pect of her l)eing happy. We have cherished 
 her carefully thus far, and will not let her po 
 without having some security obout her happi- 
 ness." ,, ■ dj-,^ 
 
 "Then I will wait as long as j|H#likc, or 
 send for my friends^ to give you every informa- 
 tion you desire to have ; or if you want me to 
 give any proofs, in any way, about any thing, 
 I'm ready." 
 
 "There is another thing," said Liguori, 
 " which I hope you will take kindly. You are 
 young a'nd in a foreign country. This siiddcn 
 impulse may be a whim. If you were to mar- 
 ry pow you might bitterly repent it before three 
 months were over. Under such circumstances 
 it would be misery for you and her. If this 
 happened in your "native country yoo could be 
 betrothed and wait. There is also another rcii- 
 son why waiting is absolutely neccssai7. It nil! 
 take some time to gain her brotherV consent. 
 Now her brother is poor, but ho might have 
 been rich. He is a Liberal, and belqngs to the 
 National party. He hates the present systeia 
 liere myst bitteriy. He tpbk part in tlie Roirfn 
 Republican movement a few years ago, and was 
 imprisoned after the return of the Pppc, and 
 lost the last vestige of his iiroperty byt^jnfiscn. 
 tion. He now dresses coarsely, and declines 
 to associate with any Romans, except a few who 
 are members of a secret society with him. He 
 ia very clnyly watched by the G overnm en t, so 
 that lie has 'to bb, quiet. But he expectno 
 rise to eminence an<i power, and even wealth, 
 before very long. Stf>you see he does not look 
 upon his sister as a tilere common cvery.<l»y 
 match. He expects to eftynte her to the high- 
 est rank, where she can fitid the best in the 
 country around her. For iiiy own part I think 
 
 f 
 
■^< 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLK^.,^ 
 
 this IS doubtful ; and if you are in earnest I 
 should do what I could to further your inter- 
 est. But it will take some time to persuade 
 the Count." 
 
 "Then, situated as I am, what can I do to 
 gain her ?" nslied Dick. 
 
 "Are your friends thinking of leaving Rome 
 soon ?" 
 
 "Yes, pretty soon." > 
 
 " Do not leave them. Go with them. Pur- 
 sue the course you originally intended, just as 
 thoach mthikR liad happened. If "after your 
 tour is fthis^ed you find that your feelings are 
 as strong as ever, and that she is as dear to you 
 as you say, then you may return here." 
 " And yod-?" 
 
 " I think all objections may bo removed." 
 "It will take some weeks to finish our tour " 
 " Some weeks ! Oh, do not return under 
 three months at least." 
 "Three months ! that is very long!" 
 " Not too long. The time will soon pass 
 •way. If you do not really love her you will 
 be glad at having escaped; if you do vou will 
 rejoice at having proved your sinceritv." 
 
 Some further conversation passed, after which 
 . Mek, finding the priest inflexible, ceased to per- 
 sirnde, and acceded to his proposal. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 8H0WIN0 HQW DIFFICULT IT IS TO GET A LACN 
 DKES9, F9R THE SENATOR WANTED ONE, AND 
 NOT KNOWING THE LANODAOB GOT INTO A 
 8CBAPE, NOT BT HIS OWN FAULT, FOK HE WAS 
 CAREFUL ABOUT COMMITTING HIMSELF WITH 
 
 tTHE ladies; but PIIAT, WAS IT HIS FAULT IF 
 TUB LADIES WOULD TAKE A FANCY TO HIM ? 
 
 SlONOBA MiRANDOLINA BoCCA, who Was^thc 
 
 landlady of the house where the Club were lodg- 
 ing, was a widow, of about forty years of age, 
 still fresh and blooming, with a merry dark eye' \ 
 and much animation of features. Sitting usuaU 
 ly in the small room which tl^lBy passed on the 
 way to their apartments, they had to stop to 
 get their k^ys, or fo leave them when they went 
 out and Btittons and Dick frequently stopped 
 to have a liHlg'^nyeisation. The rest, not i 
 being able to iMik It^ian, co "" 
 selves with smith.; the Senato 
 who gave the most beaming oftfi 
 going and on returning. Some 
 
 t!li ^^,.^Z •""■ '" •>'» irtU«J.„„„^,„uo,. „, , 
 broken Eiiolish, spoken in loud tones to the I 
 benighted but fascinating foreigner. Her at- 
 tention to Dick during his sickness increased 
 the Senators admiration, andiib|thought her 
 one of the best, one of tbo^H^Ktind-heartodT 
 «na sympathetic of beings. ^^ 
 
 One day, toward the close of their stay in 
 Bomo, the S«,iator was in a fix. He had not 
 T ""L '!»»*''"« "JoP" Bineo he camo tMKo 
 «ty. He had run thW)ngh all his clean lin^n 
 andcametoniWU gtand. Before leaving for 
 Mother pl«:o 11^ Ebsolutely necewaiy t, at., 
 
 tend to this. But how? Buttons was off with 
 the Spaniards ; Dick had gone out w a drive. 
 No one could help hit?, so he tried it himself. 
 In fact, ho had never lost confidence in his pow- 
 ers of making himself understood. It was still 
 a fi.\ed conviction of his that in cases of neces- 
 sity any intelligejjt man could make Ills wants 
 known to intelligent foreigners. If not, there 
 IS stupidity somewhere. Had he not done so 
 in Paris and in other places ? 
 
 So he rang and managed to make the servant 
 understand that ho wished to see the landlady 
 The landlady had always shown a great admi- 
 ration for tjicr manly, not to say gigantic charms 
 of th^ Sertakor. Upon him she bestowed her 
 brigMtest smile, and the quick flush on her 
 face and heaving breast told that the Senator 
 haxl made wild work with her too susceptible 
 heart. 
 
 So now when she leai-netl that the Senator 
 wished to see her, she at once imagined the 
 cause to be any thing ond every thing except 
 the real one. Why take that particular time, 
 when all the rest were out ? she thought. Evi. 
 dently for some tender i)urp086. Why send for 
 her ? Why not come down to see her ? Evi- 
 dently because he did not like the publicity of 
 her room at the Conciergerie. 
 
 She arrayed herself, therefore, in her bright, 
 est and her best charms; gove an additional 
 flourish toiler dork hair that hung wavingly and 
 
 them 
 
 Icylarly, ■ 
 
 both on 
 
 iCs he even 
 
 tat ion of ^ 
 
 I'll 
 III 
 
 ■N" 
 
% 
 
 86. TimJ 
 
 Inxuriantly, and still witSout ■ trace of gray over 
 her forehead ; look»d at herself with her dark 
 eyes in the glass to see if she appeared to the 
 best advantage ; mA finally, in some agitation, 
 but with great ciBgomess, she Mjent to obey the 
 summons. ^' 
 
 Mcaniime the Senator hod been deliberating 
 h«w |o.'begiw. He felt that he could not show 
 his bundl<^0t*^thes to so fair and fine a creat- 
 ure as t^ra,fed8e manners wore so soft and 
 wlioso *inWi|p pleasant, lie would do any 
 thin" first. sfHe would try a roundabout way 
 
 
 j^rUB 5 OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLDC 
 
 "M'c-me— want— ha— hum — ah! You 
 
 know — me — gentleman — hum — me Gon- 
 
 found the luck," he added, in profound vexa- 
 
 j^thglB|tf||MIirandolina, "la di Lei gen- 
 
 The Senator tiymed his eyes all around, every- 
 where, i» a desperate half-conscious search for 
 escape from an embarrassing situation. 
 
 " Signore noi d aiamo to/e, neisiino ci senti," 
 remarked the Signora, encouragingly. •^■ 
 
 "Mo want to tell you this!" burst forth the 
 
 riSE;:h >^^hcV=n7tohi;^ ..Cothes-you know-wnshy- 
 
 ?„.!"!l^ ol!i .K« i„t.lli..nr« of the ladv for washy." Whereupon he elevated h.s eyebrows, 
 
 own pMP nn<l 'he intelligence of the lady for 
 a full apfcoipplete understanding. Just as he 
 hud conic to this conclusion there was a timid 
 knock fjt the door. 
 
 " Come in," said tto Senator, who began to 
 feel'' a' little awkward litready. 
 
 "Epermessot" said a soft sweet voice, " se 
 pvo entrare f" and S^nora Mirandolina Kocca 
 advanced into the room, giving one look at the 
 Senator, and. then casting down her eyes. 
 
 " Umiliasima serpa di Lei, Signore, mi com. 
 
 Butftie Senator wa#ina qithndary. What 
 could hejlo ? Ho* begin ? ?What gesture would 
 be the rirost fitting for a beginning ? 
 
 The pause began to be embarrassing. The 
 lady, however, as yet was calm— calmer, in fa^, 
 than when she entered. ' 
 
 So she spoke once mofe 
 ' " Di che ha Ella bisogna.JRlustris aijno T" 
 
 The Senator was dread^te ^"'^^flff^^* 
 The lady was so fair in his'^lfe Wn«»1ii9 a 
 woman who coijld contemplate^e fact of soiled 
 linen? Never. j 
 
 ".H]«Bn!"8aidhe. '' ^-^|^ 
 
 "Mrva devota," said Signoni^irandolina. 
 
 "Chec'e, Signore." " " 
 
 ...Then looking up, she saw. the face of the 
 •il«nator all rosy red, turned toward her{with a 
 
 strange confusion and embarrassment in his eyf 
 
 yet it was a kind eye— a soft, kind eye. 
 "Egli « fine imiamorato di ;««;" murtnu 
 
 the 4p*r, iw^ring new conrai|| aa^she saw 
 
 timidity «f the other. "Che grandezza! si 
 "lijitinaetl, loud cnongh for the Senator to heaTf 
 
 ^t speaking as if to herself. "Che bellezza ! 
 
 Ml galantuomo, cert^nente—e qtutt' e tnolto pia- 
 
 eevok." 
 
 She glanced at the manly figure of the Sen- 
 ator with a tender admiration ii|,her eye which 
 she could not repress, and which waa so intelli- 
 gible to th» Senator that he blushed more vio- 
 lently than ever, and looked helplessly aro»nd 
 him. -^ ' 
 
 washy." Whereupon ho elevated his eyebrows, 
 smiled, and brought the tips of his fingers to- 
 gcther. 
 
 " Iq no^sdchecosa vtiol dir mi. Jlluitrissimo, 
 said the Signora, in bewilderment. 
 
 "Yon— you— you know. Ah? Wnsliy? 
 Hey? No, no," shaking his head, " not washy, 
 but 6«< washy." 
 
 The landlady smiled. The Senatorj^onr- 
 aged by this, Chme a step nearer. ^^ 
 
 " Che cosat Jl cuor~me palpita. lo trcmo," 
 murmured La Kocca. 
 
 She retreated a step. Whereupon the Scnar 
 tor at once fell back again in great confusion. 
 
 "Washy, wa^iji?"ho repeated, mechanically, 
 as his mind was utterly vague and distrait. 
 Uassi-Uuassi f" repeated the other, %i^r- 
 W,."lrogatively. . * 
 
 **'■ h "Me-" f.:-. 
 
 "^ " Til," said 8hc,^with tender emphasis. ^ 
 
 - " Wee mounscaf," said he, with utter desper- 
 ation. ^ 
 
 The Signora shook her head. ' ' Non capisco. 
 Afa' quelle, balord^ggini itd intormentimenle, che 
 sono ainon segni manifestld'amor^f" 
 
 " Ldon't undcrstalAmann, a single word of 
 
 that.tf; ■ . ^: - , 
 
 . 'Th"4 SignoD^iled. The S^^^r bJoJ^com- ^ 
 
 ■anfro^ my clothes washed somewlere. Of 
 inrse you don% do it, but you can tell me,yoo 
 v.^m?" 
 
 lliff'cttp(*CO." -w» 
 
 Madame," said ho, feeling confident th«t 
 she would understand that* word at least, and 
 thinking, too, that it might perhaps ser.e as a 
 key to explain any other words which he might 
 append to it. " My clothes— I want to getthem 
 washed— laundress— washy— soap and water- 
 clean 'em all up— iron 'em— hang 'em out to dry. 
 
 Ha?" 
 
 While saying this he indulged in an expreo- 
 ive pantomine. When alluding to his clothei 
 he placed his hands against his chest, when men- 
 
 ,«.-,-., ;i he piaceanisnanunnKniiiD. ."•.."—., " - 
 
 ^'^ "^ -TxV j.^ i.. j: .u^^^m^ duMoJ' fluid the ti '>p i" g the drying of them he waved them in the 
 
 Sgrfbra, " vergogna non vvol die tisapease." 
 
 The Senator at length found voice. Ad- 
 vancing towtrd the lady ho looked at her very 
 earnestly nil as she thought very piteonsly— 
 held ont both his hands, then smiled, then 
 spread his hands apart, then nodded and smiled 
 nd said — 
 
 air. The landlady comprehended HBC" Hw 
 not? When a gentleman places his hind on bu 
 
 heart, what is his meaning ? 
 
 "0 MtigHtxta damorel" mnrmnred ihe. 
 " Ote cota cerea," she continued, lookmg np 
 Umidly but invitingly. , , *.^ 
 
 The Senator felt doubtful at this, and in act 
 
THE DODGE CLURj^OR, ITALY IN IkfDCCGLIX. 
 
 17 
 
 
 
 miE BKNATOB IN A WOUSE FIX 
 
 « httle frightened. Again he placed his hands 
 on his chest to indicate his clothes ; he struclt 
 tiiat manly chest forcibly several times, looking 
 at her all the time. Then he wrung his hands. 
 
 "■Ah, Siymre," said La Rocca, with a molt- 
 ing glance, " non i d'm^'WdesiHrazione." 
 
 " Washy, washy—" 
 
 "Eppurc, se Ella vuol sffiiuirmi, non ce diffi- 
 colia,' returned the other, with true Italian 
 frankness. 
 
 " Soap and water—" 
 
 " Non ho il coroffffio di dir di no." 
 
 The Senator had his arms outstretched to in- 
 diMte the hanging^ut process. Still, however, 
 feeling doubtful if ho were altogether nnderl 
 «tood, he thought ho would try another form of 
 pantomime. Suddenly ho fell down on his 
 knew, and began to imitate the action of 
 washer-w oman otot hpr 
 
 J-HlMa t ghiPft-gring i 
 
 3oj^ 
 
 jpoiinding, mbbing. 
 
 "0 yrmf delo !" cried the Signorn, her pity- 
 'JR heart filled with tenderness at the sight of 
 this noble being on his knees before her, and, as 
 •no thought, wringing his hands in despair. 
 
 gran' deh / Egli e innamorato di ma non 
 P»> parlor Italimo e coti nonpuo dirmelo.' 
 
 Her warm hcort prompted her, and she ol 
 ed its impulse. What else could she do ? csuo 
 flung htipelf into his outstretched arms, as ho 
 raised himself to hang out imaginary clothes on 
 an invisible Ifiie. 
 
 The Senator was thunderstruck, confounded, 
 bewildered, shattered, overcome, crushed, stupe- 
 fied, blasted, OTer;vhclmcd, horror-stricken, 
 wonder-smitten, annihilated, amazed, horrified, 
 shocked, frightened, terrified, nonplused, wilted, 
 ftwe-struck, shivered, astounded, dumbfounded. 
 Jle did not even struggle. He was paralyzed. 
 
 " AA, caritfimo," said a soft and tender voice 
 in his ear, a low, sweet voice, " «« veramenta me 
 aim, sarto Us tua caritnima tposa — " 
 
 At thot moment the door opened and But- 
 tons walked in. In an instant he darted out. 
 The Signora hurried away. 
 
 ^ed. 
 
 ' ■AddiofMhiiima,carimmap{6ja /" she sigh. 
 
 The Senator was still paralyzed. 
 
 After a time he went with a pale and anx- 
 ious face to s<ja. Buttons. That young man 
 promised secrecy) and when the Senator was 
 teJIing his stor^ tried hard to look serious and 
 ayrapathetic. Jfn vain. The thought pf that 
 
 ^' 
 
 
 .'«£.» 
 
88 
 
 THE DODGl CLtm-.OIl, ITALT IN MDCCClS. 
 
 glTT — FOLUK9 OF MODERN CHiTIfJB. — RETN- 
 0LD8 AND BCSKIN.— UOW FAK POPULAR TA8TE 
 18 WORTH ANY TUINO.— CONCLUDING 8BMAUK8 
 OF A MISCELLANEOUS DESCRIPTION. 
 
 fTherel u * bill of fare I fl»ller royfelf th»t Uio above 
 T1«J thing „„^|^ ,„ t»ko iha eye. Il wm my Intcntiou, on the dc 
 
 scene, and the couso of it, ond the blunder that 
 had been made overwhelmed him. Laughter 
 convulsed him. At last the Senator got up in- 
 dignantly and left tlio room. 
 
 But what WHS he to do now ? i uy: ""■■» onuia to t«i[o tne eye. i. w« »,, .-j>vmv.v„, .... .... .... 
 
 col not be explained, llow eould he get out {^-^/y'^'x^'il^Jivr^^^^^^^^ V^:^lX 
 
 of the house ? Ho would have to pass her OS , , ^ contont. above: but afUTwanl, flndlng that tlio 
 
 ' . , ,,,„ ,,,„, chapter had already j^aclied the dliiicnthmi of a goo.!. 
 
 she sat at the door. ^JiJd llook l)efore a quarter of il waa written, I thought 
 
 lie had to call on Buttons again anU impioro , ^^^^^ ^^ ^^ ^^^^ inwrt^d in this work II would be considered 
 
 his assistance. The difficulty was so rcpug- by .ome m t.K> long ; '» '«='.< 'V J'"» !S'"°'.''in'l .""in"? 
 Ills as9isiuiiv.i,. iuo u J J ^f ,^^ Dodge (lub; wlilch 
 
 nant, and the matter so very delicate, that But- | ;;'^j^„"' * »* p.,y, ^ the boa <rf their adventure* dM 
 
 tons declared lie could not take the reapon- | ^ j.^^ p,,je until after thl. peilod: and aa thin iMho 
 
 iriity of BCttlins it. It would have to be , real character of ^ihepr^^entwo^k, I b«je_fl^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 brouglit before the Club. 
 
 The Club had a meeting about it, and many 
 jdnns were proposed. The stricken Senator 
 had one plan, and that prevailed. It was to 
 lca\WUomo on the following day. 
 
 real character 01 me prwui -u.»,. ■■"■■■•,--■' ,i. T 
 to enlarge the chapter l^lo a book, which I "'''P" I'll''' 
 after I have given to the world hiy "lli-tory of the Mlc 
 nhw)." "TreStlM on Ihe Greek I'arttcle-," ' tJour'e p' 
 TweTvo Lectures on Modem lllHlory," new edlUon of iho 
 "AgnA™nonUnTriologv'' of .E«hy u.,wllh new r.ad- 
 ""» '" i lng£ "Harmony of Greek Recent and ITwody,' " 1 xcr- 
 lea^«1lome on the following day. For his ^ d.. in^n-crltJorBegln^^^^^^ 
 vart he had made up his mind to leave the house J„,«^- /.Di.MrUUon on thi Symbolical Nature of iho Mo- 
 L once. He woulS slip out as though he in- \ '^ ^r>o^r,-^^y.^n.^Mc^^^^^ 
 tenJcd to return, and the others could settle his , {m ,',^*,YJ*"' „f i.,t,„t MCfllcine*." "Tmn.action« of 
 bill nndbrinu with them the clothes that had j the 'Saco A..odatlon for the •'J»»°™"«°', "f J'T"" 
 "alS trouble. He would meet them '— XVi^b;':?/^^^^^^^^ 
 
 in tlie morning outside the gate of the city. „ „ „rt of the • Konnebunkport, Maine, InltedConKr^^ 
 
 '"'kis resolution was adopted by all, and the K.£»>j5-'™:.!^-.r;^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 Senator," leaving money to settle for himself, ! JJ'on.jknow exnctly When; but «fter they oome out ti.ls 
 
 Tent a;ay. lie passed hurriedly out of tUe Ui.pjr^.l. appea^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 door. He dared not look. He heard a soft ; ^"^^J^^f^^^t" M I can «.y i,, perhap. iheyM Vti.r 
 
 voice pronounce the word •' Giaja .'" He fled. | „„?, „'.f,er *a li ha. no necc.barjr connection wilh Hie 
 
 Now that ona who owned the soft voice after- ^ foriunee of the ixi^ge Club.] 
 ward changed her feelings so much toward her | 
 
 "gioja" that opposite his name in her house- 
 book she wrote the following epithets : /^r- 
 lone, Villano, Zolicaccio, liurberonc, Gaijhoffo, 
 Meacliino, Brkomccio, Anemalaccio. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ITALIAN TRAVEL, ROADS, INN9.— A GBAND BREAK- 
 DOWN.— AN ARMY OF BEGGARS.— SIX MEN 
 HUNTING UP A CARRIAGE WHEEL; AND PLANS 
 OP THE SENATOR FOR THE GOOD OF ITALY. 
 
 On the following morning the Senator was 
 
 , picked up at the gate, where ho had waited pa- 
 
 ome.-AHcicntmton/.-rnB ™^"'^I?.?.',? ^I^^^^ ' tiently ever since the dawn of day^ His sent 
 
 —CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF NIEBtlUl AND "l-" J , ,j. r-innds WerO a*0Und llini. 
 
 srr»r=/ts,us~^™"o: ;rr"„t ?iS on „„*.,,,.;. 
 
 — "' '""'- t day ' And their carriage was ahead of that of 
 
 the Spaniards. They stopped at the sl^me inns. 
 
 Home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 -Ancient mtory.—rn^ prehistohic era. 
 
 HISTORY (JP REPUBLIC. —NATOLEON a C.« 
 QA,, "—THE IMPERIAL REGIME.- THE NORTH- 
 ERN BARBARIANS.— RISE OF TUB PAPACY.— ME- 
 
 DIJSVAL ROME. ^ „ „„ 
 
 TbDOr/Cap/lW.— TRUE ADJUSTMENT OF BOtNDS OF 
 ANCIEVT CITY.— ITS PHOBABLE POPULATION.— 
 OcoJoff?/.— EXAMINATION OF FORMATION.— TUFA 
 TRAVERTINE.— ROMAN CEMENT. — TERRA-COT 
 
 TA —Special consideration of Roman Catacombs 
 
 *^' ' .....T^T^TiT -IVIQRMAN. — 
 
 Buttons was happy. . 
 
 The next day came. At nine o cl6ck A.n. 
 on the next day there was a singular scicne : 
 
 A vettura with the foro-wheel crushi^d into 
 
 ^^ENT EXPLORATIONS, INVESTIGATIONS, EX- ,„„d.bank J sn* f drivcr gaziBg upon the i(cene 
 
 ....„..r.r.v<. BvnrMATIONS; AND KESUSCITA- ! ^.^j^ ^^ f^j^j^jf ^. 
 
 The Senatottricd most encrgctically^to brush 
 the dust from his clothes with an enormous H 
 silk handkerchief; the Doctor and Mr. Figgs 
 
 AMINATIONS, EXHUMATIONS; AND HESUSCITA 
 TioNS —EARLY CHRISTIAN HISTORY SET ON A 
 TRUE BASIS.-RELIC8.— MARTYRS.— REAL ORI- 
 GIN OF CATACOMBS.- TRUE AND RELIABLE EX 
 TENT (WITH maps). 
 
 TENT (WITH MAPS). '^ silk hanUKercHiei , '"" *'"\'"' ." V., ™ 
 
 JUmarldon Art.-im renaissance.-the early ^^^^^ ^ j^^^ ^^ ^^^^ „„t8 in their nether ga^ 
 painters: cimabub, "'"tto /erugi>o Raf- ^„j Dick picked themselves ui, 
 
 tKI.I.B 8ANZI0, MICHELANGELO B'^Q^*^^""^^':. , I _j Tj .^u»«^ tj,« WMcIc J 
 
 THE TRASSPTOUBATidN— THIS MO»B» W^W 
 CHELAN0EL0.-BELHNI.-8AINT PETER 8, AND 
 MORE PARTICUtARLY THE COLONNADE.— THE 
 LAST JUDGMENT.- DANTE.— THE MEDI.BVAL 
 
 and hutricd^ttt the w r e ck. ^ — y^rr" 
 
 Tho emotions of the former may bo conceiTcd. \ 
 The wheel was an utter smash. No paUbing 
 
 MORE rAKTiuuLAiviJi ii»«" ^^^^ , „„., 1110 wneci wiw «•" uv.w - • 
 
 LAST JUDGMENT. -DANTE. -THE MEDIEVAL thorougli, no care howcvor tcndcr, couU 
 
 ^TTLfx^ T™- crpTR«0 J oVI^'^^^^ 
 
 "it, ^^ciuAN CBUR%^^^^^ WHAT EXTENT U'bofore them, behind which the Spam.rd^ 
 
 ROME INFLUENCED THIS DEVELOPMENT.-THB huhcrto their compinions, had disappeared dau 
 FOSTERING SPIRIT OF THE cn^RCH.-ALL MOD- previously, BUd wcfo now rolling on ovei 
 
 KRN ART CHRISTIAN.— WHY THI8 WAS A NECE3 »u u y " 
 
THE pot 
 
 IE CLUB; OR, ITALY II* MDCCCLIX. 
 
 the palin boj^ond that hill aljl ignorant of this 
 disaster. Eveiy/ moment separated them rooro 
 widely from tho/dospairing Buttons. Conld he 
 have ;netnmorphosed himself into a wheel most 
 gladly would (te have done it. lie had wild 
 thoughts of seating off on foot and catching up 
 to them bcfo^fe- (ho next dny. But, of, course, 
 further rcfleciibn showed him that walking was 
 out of tho question, 
 
 Dick looked on in silence., Tlicy were little 
 more tiian a day's journey ftom liome. Civila 
 Castellana/lay between ; vot perhaps a wheel 
 might not/ho got at Civita/Castollana. In that 
 case a return to Rome wiul inevitable. What a 
 momentous thought! mck to Home I Ever 
 since he left he had felt a profound melancholy. 
 Tho feeling of homesickness wns on liim. He 
 had amused himself with keeping his eyes shut 
 and fancying that ho was moving to Rome in- 
 stead of from it. He had repented leaving tho 
 city. Better, he thought, to have waited. He 
 might then have seen Pepita. The others grad- 
 ually came to survey the scene. 
 
 " Eh ? Well, what's to bo done now ?" said 
 Buttons, sharply, as the driver camn along. 
 •' How long are yon going to wait ?" 
 
 "Signore Makes no allowance ' for a poor 
 man's confusion. Behold that wheel ! What 
 is there for mo to do— unhappy ? May the bit- 
 ter curse of tho ruined fall upon that miserable 
 wheel!" 
 
 "The coach ha» already fallen on it," said 
 Dick. " Surety that is enough." 
 
 " It infuriates me to llnd myself overthrown 
 here." 
 
 "You could not wish for n better plocc, my 
 Pietro." * 
 
 " What will you do ?" said BuHons. " Wo 
 must not w<)3to time here.' Can we go 6n ?" 
 
 " How is that possible ?" 
 
 " Wo might get a wheei ui the next town." 
 
 *' Wo could not find one if we hunted all 
 through the three next towns." 
 
 " Curse your Italian towns!" cried Buttons, 
 in n rage. 
 
 "Certainly, Signore, curse themifyou desire." 
 
 "Where can we get tliiii orto repaired then?" 
 
 " At Civita Castellaria, I hope." 
 
 ' ' Back there ! What, go back ! " 
 
 " I nm not to blame," said Pigtro, with res- 
 ignation. 
 
 " Wo must not go back. We shall not." 
 
 " If we go forward every mile will make it 
 worse. And how can we move with this load 
 and this broken wheel up that hiH ?" . 
 
 That was indeed a difficulty. The time that 
 had elapsed since the lamentable break-down 
 had been sufficient to bring upon the scene an 
 inconceivable crowd. After satisfying Iheir 
 curiosity they betook themselves to business. 
 
 Ragged, 4''"'y> evil -faced, wicked- eyed, 
 slouching, whining, impudent — seventeen wom- 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 ■\./ f 
 
 '^1^ M 
 
 
 
 
 :Jh>^'Mti^ 
 
 
90 THE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 en, twenty-nine small boys, and thirty-one Throe hours irere consumed in the tedious 
 
 men, without counting curs and goats. , search. The ei lire body of the inhabitants be- 
 
 " Signo-o-o-o-o-o-oo-o-o-o ! in the name of came soon award of the object of tbcir desires, 
 
 tlio Ever Blessed, and for the. love of Heaven." and showed how truly sympathetic is the Ital- 
 
 " Go to thunder." " For the love of." "We ian nature, by iccompnnying them wherovijr 
 
 have nothing, noMiWNOTHiNO ! Do you hear?" they went, and making observatioji* that were 
 
 "Of the Virgin." flr Aw»y ! Be off." " Give more sprightly t lairi iigreeable. i(^ 
 
 me." "Go to blazes!" "Me miserable." At first the dab kept together, and made 
 
 "Will you be oflD"" "Infirm, blind, and." their search aectmpanicd by Pietro; but after 
 
 "I'll brMk your skull!" "Altogcfher des- a time the crowi became so immense that tliey 
 
 perate." "If you torment us any more, I'll." separated, and <ontinued tlieir search singly. 
 
 "Only the sm-iUest charltj-." "Smash your This produced ijut slight improvement. 
 
 abominable bottle-nose!" "Oh, generous no- 
 bles!" " Don't press me, you filthy." "Il- 
 lustrious cavaliers !" "Take that! and if you 
 say any more I'll kick you harder." " I kneel 
 before yorf, oppressed, wretched, starving. I^t 
 •these tears." "I'll make yon shed more of 
 tliem if you don't clear out." "N-n-n- Sig- 
 no-co-o-o!" "-Away!" " Behold a wretch- 
 ed villager from the far distant Ticino !" "You 
 bo lianged ! Keep off ! " "Oh, Signo-o-o-o-o ! 
 
 Oh per I'amor di Dio I Carita ! Caritu-n-a-a ct ; or as he stof pod at times to look ar6und in 
 
 "gno-o-o! despair, when ^' 
 
 — solnmcnte un mezzo baroccho — oh, Signo-o- 
 — datcmi.'' > 
 
 " rictro ! Pietro ! for Heaven's sake get us 
 out of this at once. Anywhere — anywhere, 
 so that we can escape from these infernal vaga- 
 bonds !" ^^ 
 
 Tlio result was, that Pietro turned his car- 
 riage round. I^y piling the baggage well behind, 
 and watching the fore-axle carefully, he con- 
 trived to move the vehicle along. Behind them 
 followed the pertinacious beggars, filling the air 
 with prayers, groans,' sigh% pries, teara, lamen- 
 tations, appeals, wailiygs, and entreaties. Thus 
 situated they made their entry into Civita Cas- 
 tcllana. ^ 
 
 Others might liitvc fdtflattcred at the recep- 
 tion that awaited thc'rtT They only felt an- 
 noyed. The entire city turned out. The main 
 street np which they passed was quite full. 
 The side-streets showed people hurrjing up to 
 the principal thoroughfare. They were tlie 
 centre of all eyes. Through the windows of 
 
 The 
 
 crowd followed Ihcir example. A largo num- 
 ber followed thii Senator: walking^ when he 
 walked; stopping when he slopped; turning 
 when ho turned ; strolling when he Strolled ; 
 peering when he pegred ; commenting when lie 
 spoke, and mak ng themselves generally very 
 agreeable and delightful. 
 ! At every corn !r the tall form of«the Senator 
 might be seen t a he walked swiftly with the 
 long procession "oUowing like a tail of a com- 
 
 , *' He alMve the rest 
 In slmpn and Rektulre proudly eminent 
 Stood like a toi er. Ills form had not yet lost 
 AU Its original 1 lightness ;" 
 
 although, to tell he truth, his clothes had, and 
 the traces of mul and du^t somewhat dimmed 
 the former lustre of his garments. 
 
 The appalling truth at last forced itself upon 
 them that Civita Castetia^ia could ff of furnish 
 them- either^th a. new wheel or a blacksmhh 
 who could repair the hMJIIPn one. Whether tlw 
 entire meehanicil force of the town had gone 
 off to the wars ( r not thtfy did not stop to in- 
 quire. They bilieved that the citizens had 
 combined to disuppoint them, jn hopes that 
 their detention night bring in a little ready 
 money and start 
 community. 
 
 It was at last jseon that the only way to do 
 was to send Piel ro back to Home. To delay 
 "any longer ^youll be only a waste of time. 
 
 it in circulation around the 
 
 the cafe the round eyes of the citizens were vis- i Slowly and sadly they took up their qiyiTtcrs at 
 iblo on ihe broad stare. Even the dogs and the hotel. Dick decided to go back so a^ t« 
 cats had a general turn, out^ [hasten Pietro, wto might otherwise loiter on 
 
 Nop could they seek relief in the seclusion the way. So thi i dilapidated carriage h^ to 
 of the hotel. The anxiety which all felt to re- «!t out on its joui ney backward, 
 some thefr journey did not allb**them to rest, r Forced to endure the horrors of detention in 
 Titty at once explored the entire city. one of the dullest of Italian tow«i, their situa- 
 
 Was thtro »i carriage-maker irf t^e place 'i" j tion was dbplbr»b;6. Mr. Figgs %ftis Ipast im- 
 A half-hour's search showed fliem that there happy, for he tool to his bed^ndislept ttr(}ui;li 
 was not one. The next thing then was to try ^ the entire period, with the exertion d.f'j^rtain 
 and find a wlieol. Alwut this thexifsll a little : intervals which h( devoted to mc(4)|5Thf> Doc- 
 hopcfnl. Strange, indeed, if so common a thing I tor sat quietly h r an upper wl|J»^aying 
 
 as tliiA could not be obtained 
 
 Yet strange as th is m igh t bo it was e ^cn so . 
 "T?o wliccl. was rorthconiinp. Tlioy cfotridTOt 
 find ft carringe.x)cn, 'J'hcro was nothing but ^ found much to ir^tcrest him. 
 
 the jovil's tattoo na tho^lcdgo wiJ_ 
 blepa tien cc. "*' 
 
 TRo^Scniwor m ulted-thnntgh tJipH 
 
 lustiV 
 
 ^ His, busy brn|n 
 
 two ancient "cai^hes, whoso wheels wero not ' woa filled with Mhcjinei for tbo irnprovfeiriant 
 only rickety b(it utterly disproportfcnod to the of the town. i 
 
 size of the vettnra, and any quantity of bulUx-k I Now to*B,loU ( onid Ui made TaloaWe 5 h6W 
 carts, Which movft on contrivances that conld strangers coiild bii attrnetod ; how manufact- 
 ■carcely bo colled wheels at all. ' " I nrca could bo promoted j how- hotel* stortedj 
 
 Mi 
 W 
 
 
 
 n 
 
TFIE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 how, sTiopa^dijIjnortdd ; how trade increased; 
 how the wtloMiiTOHnding population enriched, 
 cspeciall^i fi^^HHwrics. 
 
 , "Why, nraSflPyifeHc here hills," 8aM he, ..„_,.„^ ,„ , 
 
 confidentially, to Buttons— " amoBR these very advised him not to 
 
 liills there is water-power and excellent location 
 for, say,— Sillc'-Weaving mills, Fulling ditto. Grist 
 ditto. Carding ditto. Sawing ditto, Plastor- 
 crushlng ditto, I'lanirig ditto. —Now I would 
 locate a cottoB-inill^v^r t^ro." 
 
 " Wljere would you get your cotton?" mnm- 
 bleil niittons. 
 
 j" Where ?" repeated tfao Senator. " Grow it 
 on the Cumpog^a, of c$«>-se." . 
 
 Buttons passed tlj^' Uihe in a fever of im- 
 patience. ♦ . ■' * ■ 
 
 For for ahead ifife Spaniards were ^ing fur- 
 ther and furth«^ away, no doubt wondering ot 
 every stage why'#e did nowjoin them. 
 
 •^ '» . CIIAl'TER XX^IX. 
 
 THIUMraXin' PBOOnEBS OP DICK. — ofiniARM^S 
 
 4) FOILKD,— TUB npDOE ClitiA IS ATTilCKED BV 
 
 BRIOA>iDg,'ANDlPvEnV MAN OP IT Cdf KII8 HIM- 
 
 •El-r WITH OLORT. — 8CRBAM OF TUB AMEKI- 
 
 tiv Baolb! _ 
 
 -J?W IM* <>n the-tnrening of the fbHjjwtnr 
 
 91 
 
 ing of horses ; Pietro ^rove up to the hotel. 
 Most conspicuous in the turn-out was Dick, who 
 was seated in the coupe, waving bis hat triuinplj- 
 antly in the air. 
 
 The appearance of the carriage was the sig- 
 nSrfor three hearty cheers, which burst irivohm- 
 tarily from the three Americans oii the court- 
 yard, irbusing Mr. Figps from sleep and the 
 inn-keeper from his usual lethargy. One look 
 at the hordes was enough to show that thera 
 was no chance of proceeding further that dnv. 
 The poor beasts were covered with foam, niid 
 trembled excessively. However, they nil felt 
 infinite reli^ff at the prospect of getting awa'j', 
 even though they would have to wait till the 
 following morning. 
 
 Dick was dragged to the dining-room by his 
 eager friends and fiercely interrogated. He had 
 not much to tell. 
 
 ' The journey to Rome had been made with- 
 out any difliculty, the carriage having tumbled 
 forwai-d on its front axle not more than one 
 (hundred and fifty-seven times. True, when it 
 reached Kome it was a perfect wreck, the fmme- 
 «:^i'k being completely wrenched to pieces ; and 
 the proprietor was bitterly enraged with Pi«tro 
 for not leaving the carriage at Civita Castellana, 
 arid returning on hor*backr for a wheel; but 
 Dick interceded for the i)oor devil of a driver, 
 ani^tho projirietor kindly consented to deduct 
 the value of the coach f^pm his wages piece- 
 meal. " 
 
 Their journey bark was quick but uninterest- 
 ing. Dick acknovyledgod that he had a faint 
 idea of staying in Rome, but saw «i friend \vlm , 
 mivUo,! !■;.« „„, ,„ jie imj ,^,.g^ ^^^ reiiis^ 
 
 aiid driven for a great part of the way, while 
 Pietro had gpno inside and^umbcred the sleep 
 of the just. ^f 
 
 As it was a lonely couOtry, with few inhabit- 
 ants, he had beguiled tf» tedious hours of the 
 journey by blowing patriotic airs on an enor- 
 moiis trombqne, purclmfcd b^ him from a miii- 
 oellancous , dealer in Rome. The result had 
 been in flio highest degree pleasing to himself, 
 'thougfj,j)erha'p8 a liltle- surprising to others. 
 No one, however, intcrfcred with h'ln 'eyceptM 
 a party of gen»larmos who attempjcd to ,ptopW ' 
 him. They thought that ho was a Garibayi-^ 
 no trying to rouse gtlje ciinn|ry. The. ti/Qta- 
 bono might have been tholfcarufq of that sus^ii- 
 cioii. '1^. 
 
 Fortunately the gendarmes, thoUdi armed to ' 
 the teeth, were pot mounted, and «o ff w^s that, 
 when they attcmutcd to arrest Dick, th^ JitAifli 
 ■■lan lasbK) bis Noflies (o I'njy, and,« lobsening 
 the reins at the sam^lmoment, bur|r tlilDugh 
 the litie, and bctWo they knew what he wis 
 
 about h e irtsijgay. ^ ■ 
 
 ITriBd i^aicy. TK^^eclioos died «way, ^"^^ 
 
 day before Dick>tnado his appearance with nyii|ud with^ndarmcrian curses. The 6nlv 
 i iclro. AAnothcf vottnra had beeq obtained, l^rn ilone wa« a bole made by d bulkt^hrough 
 •nu wm cjiicks of 5 long whip that resbundcd the' coach. The only apparent effoft «s t 
 nirough the whole #o^n,g*mmonihg the ci.tH; waklnir of Pietit). That ,worthy,j3Sdc 
 wns to the streets,; wiUi thunder of wheels ' roused from slumberf jumped up«<x^. 
 OTorthe i)pvcmcntsj with prancing and snort- last sounds of tlie rifles, to see the i^o ' 
 
 * . 'I' . ' ' - ' . . - •" , . - , ^' 
 
 ,''»■'■■■■ • i ' ' 
 
92 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OB, litAXt^IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 'iiCK IN 1118 GLOBT. 
 
 by the bullet, the fading forms bf the fmntic 
 oiflcials, nnd the nimble figure of the gnilant 
 driver, who stood upright upon the scat ^vnving 
 his hat ovei^ his head, while the horses dashed 
 on at a furious eallop. 
 
 This was all; ^'Nothing more occurred, for 
 Pietro drove the remainder of tlie way, and 
 Dick's trombone was tabooed." 
 
 On the following morning the welcome de- 
 parture was made. To their inexpitesslWe joy 
 they found that the coaph was this time a Mrpng 
 one, and no ordinary event of travel could de- 
 lay them. They had lost two daVs, however, 
 oQd that was nb trifle. Tlicy now entered upon 
 the second stage, and passed on without diffi- 
 culty, 
 
 In fact, they didn't meet with a single inci- 
 dent worth mentioning till they came to I'eru- 
 giiU Perugia is one of the finest jdaccs in Ita- 
 ly, and really did not (jeserve to be overhauled 
 so ternifically by the Papal troops. Every body 
 rememberp that affair. At the time when, the 
 Dodge Club arrived at tliis city they found the 
 Papal party in tho middle of a reaction. They 
 actually began to fear th^t they had gone a lit- 
 tle too far. They wcr« making frjetfdly over^ 
 turtp to tlic outraged citutens. But the latter 
 were implacpble, stiff ! , 
 
 Whatfunklec^ most deeply «a» the maddcn- 
 . ing fact tlint tlicse.Swign, who were made the 
 ministers of vengeance, wdrei par| of that ac- 
 cursed, detested, hated, shunned, despised, ab- 
 horred, loaitied, gxecrated, eontemptible, jtu- 
 irfd, thick-hcadetf, brutal, gross, c«iol, beStial, 
 demoniacal, pcndisli, and utterly abominahia 
 race-'/ Terfp/ic/ii— whoso very natoe, when hi»- 
 ed from an Italian mouth, o%ptt»»e» uiiattora- 
 He scorn and undying hate. 
 
 
 on easily over th6 hills, they were <ralculating 
 
 v,the tttne'whcn they would reach Jf"tercncc. 
 
 In the disturbed Itato of Italy at this/time, 
 
 » 1,, resulting froirf war and "|H>lUicftl eitcitemont, 
 
 .;Rnd gencrnl expectation of universal change, 
 
 , ' tho ^iitry wai filled wiilvdisordcrj and scoun- 
 
 drels infested the roads, particularly in the Pa- 
 pal territories. Here the Gtivennnent, Ending 
 sufficient employment for all.itsenergios in tak- 
 ing care of itself, could st-arcoiy be expected to 
 take care either of its own subjecte or tlie tinv. 
 eller through its dominions. The Americans- 
 had heard several stories about brigands, l)ut 
 had given themselves no trouble whatever about 
 fl»om.- 
 
 Now it came to pass that about fire miles 
 from Perugia they wound round a very thickly- 
 wooded 'mountain, which ascended on "tlie left 
 far above, and on the right dosccnded <itiite ab- 
 ruptly into a gorge. Dick was outside; (lie 
 others inpidc. Suddenly a loud shout, and a 
 scream from Piciro. The cferriagfe stopped. 
 
 Thfe Inside jiasscngers could see the liorscs 
 
 \reanng and plunging, and Dick, snatching whip 
 
 and reins from Pietro, lashing them with kII 
 
 his might. In n moment all inside was in an 
 
 uproar. 
 
 " We are atttiiked !" cried Buttons. 
 
 "The devil!" cried the Senator, who, in his 
 sudden excitement," used the first and only pro- 
 fane expression which his friends ever heard 
 
 him utter. .^^ 
 
 1 revolver. 
 
 o rifles outside, and a 
 m to surrender. 
 
 .'" pealed out Dick's 
 voice as loud as (Strumpet. His blows /eU 
 fast and fiirlousiy. on the horses. Maddened 
 by pain, the animals boandc* forward for afeiv 
 rods, and then 8.wervlng frum the road-side, 
 da^ihod 'ftgainiit the precipitous hill, «1ierc tho 
 coach stuck, the horses rearing. . 
 ' Through the 4oor», which ificy Had flntiR. 
 ,opcn in order to jutnp out thii or cupflits of the 
 earriQj;e aaw the ieeli0i[.figj."'c ' ' "f "wncd men 
 
 Out came the 
 "Bang! bang! 
 loud voipo called 
 ' Andiite ai 
 
 which hi 
 
 "A ' 
 
 I (^Km 
 zMb/o .'' 
 
 overilirown and cursing. In a thorocnt tliey 
 
 nil were odi. 
 
 . Bang! and then — . ' 
 
 Ba-ba-ba-ba-bft-bang ! went half a doieiJ n- 
 Acs. 
 
 TluMik Heaven! pot one of the Chb «|» 
 
 S' 
 
 .<■> t 
 
 *..b. 
 
f 
 
 THE DODGE CtUBj OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 - g'.rnck. There were twenty scoundrels armed 
 to the teetli. 
 
 The Doctor was as stiff as a rock. Ho aimed 
 six times as calmly fts thougli ho were in a pistol, 
 gallery. Nerve told. Six explosions roared, 
 i Six yells fbllowed. Six men reeled. 
 
 " I'd give ten years of my lifofor such a pis- 
 tol !" cried Buttons. 
 
 The Italians were staggered. Dick had a 
 Ijowie-khife. The Senator grasped a ponder- 
 ous beam that lie had placed on tho coach jn 
 case of another break-down. Mr. Fi;;gs had a 
 razor whit-h lie had grabbed from tlio store- 
 house in the Doctor's pocket. Buttons had 
 nothing. But on tho rood lay three Italians 
 writhing. 
 
 "Hurrah!" cried Butto^ijs. "Eoad agnin, 
 Doctor. Come ; let's m'ako a rush and get the 
 guns of these devils on tho road." 
 
 He rushed forward. The others nil at his 
 side. Tho Italians stood paralyzed at the effect 
 of the revolver. As Buttons' led the charge 
 they fell back a few paces. 
 
 "Hurrah! hurrah! hurr.ah !" hurst from 
 Buttons, the Senator, and Dick, as each snatch- 
 ed a rifle from the prostrate bandits, and has- 
 tily tore the cartridge-boxoH from them. 
 
 "Loa(k.up! load up! Doctor!" cHed But- 
 tons. 
 
 "All rit;ht," said tho Doctor, who never 
 changed in his cool self-jmsscssion. 
 
 But now the Itolians with curses and screams 
 cime back to tlio attack. It is absolutely stu- 
 licfying to think how few shots hit the mark in 
 the excitement of a fight, jlcro Were a num- 
 ber of men firing from n" distance of hardly 
 more than fotty paces, and not one took effect. 
 The next moment the whole crowd were 
 upon them. Buttons snatched Mr. Figgs'g ra- 
 lor from his grasp and used it vigiifouslv. 
 Dick plied his bowie-knife. Tho Senator wielded 
 8 clubbed riflQ on high as though it were a 
 w.ind, and dealt the blows of n giant upon tho 
 heads of his assailants. All the Italians were 
 phy^cally thejr inferiors— small, puny men. 
 Mr. Figgs mad6 a wild dash at tho first man he 
 saw and seized his rifle. The figljt was spirited. 
 Tho rascally bri;;|Mtds were nearly thrtjo times 
 a" numerous, but the Americans surpassed them 
 in bodily strength and sjJlrit. ^ 
 
 CrMh— cmslji-^fell the Senator's rifle, ond 
 down wont, two liwn. Iliii gtrdngth wo« enor- 
 mous—absorbed as it had iKsen froih the gran- 
 ite cliffs of the old Granite State. Two bnMvny 
 feUows .cited him from behind. A thrust of his 
 elbow laid one low. Button, sloshed tho wrist 
 of tho otjier. A fellow threw himwlf on But- 
 ^"1 ^h^y* ''OT'e-kpifo l«i.r open his arm and 
 n!^. ; .v ., ""^ "W)ment Dick'wtnt dowtvjK!- 1 
 
 03 
 
 brace. Buttons's razor again drank blood. Two 
 , turned upon him. Bang 1 4rent the Doctor's 
 pi«toI, sending ono of tljeta. shrieking to tho 
 gioimd. Bang ! once more, and a f^llew who 
 had nearly overpowered the breathless Figgs 
 slaggei'ed back. Dick Was writhing on tho 
 ground beneath the wc'v^M of a dead man and 
 a follow who was trying to fuffocuto him. But- 
 tons was being throttled \iy three others who 
 held him })owert.!ss, his liiz^r being broken. 
 A crack on Mr. Figgs's hipad laid him low. 
 Tlie Doctor stood off at a lil|tlc distfinco hastily 
 reloading. 
 
 j The Senator alone was fiee; but six fierce 
 fellows assailed him. It waji now as in the old 
 I Homerie.Uuys, when the hor^c soul, sustained 
 ; by iroir. nerve and mighty mu$cle, came out par- 
 ticularly strong in the hour of conflict. 
 I Tlio Senator's form towerdd up like one of 
 iiis own griuiitc cliffs in the Bjtorm— as ruggo.l, 
 j as unconqu^ablo. His bloojd w.is up ! Tho 
 some hlood it was that coubed through the 
 veins of Ciomwell's grim old j" Ironsides," and 
 afterward animated those sturdy backwoods- 
 men who had planted thomsdlrtes in American 
 forests, and beaten back wild) beasts and howl- 
 ing savages. t^*' 
 
 Buttons, prostrate on thd gronn(^ looked up, 
 gasj)inR through the smoU and dust, as ho 
 struggled with his assailants. Ifb saw the Sen- 
 ator, his hair bristling out sthtiglft^vhis teeth «et, 
 his eye on fire, his.w[j^}e expression sublimed 
 by the ardor of battle. His clothps were torn 
 to shreds; his coat was gone, hijji^iat nowhere, 
 his hands and face were coveMAvith clots of 
 blood ond streaks fi-om mud, Oa^, smoke, and 
 powder. _ . v/ 
 
 Tho eyo of Bjittons took in all this in one 
 glance. Tho next instant, with a wjdo sweep : 
 of his clubbed rifle the. Senator [Mt forth all his 
 gigantic strength in ono ta-mlndous effort, 
 'i'lio shock was irresistible. Down wont tho 
 SIX bandits as though a cannon-ball had struck 
 thc'm. The Senator leojied away to relieve 
 Dick, and seizing his assailant by nji* and 
 Jiecl, flung him over" tho cliff. Then tearing 
 away anDthcH- from Mr. Figgs's prostrate and. 
 almost geiiselcHS form, hp rushed back upon 
 the six men whom ho llad just levelled to the 
 earth. 
 
 Dick sprang to the relief of ButtoniLwho was * 
 at his last oxtremity. But tho Doctor was lie- 
 foro him, as cool as e.ver. He grasped ono fel- 
 low by the throat— a fitvorito tri'ck of. the Doc- 
 tor's, in which his niuUDmical knowledge came 
 very finely into play f* A 
 
 'Off!" rang the Doctor^ voice, 
 
 amh the li ^ 
 
 uws ul ' DBTOM t m i iitrts.. gut But. 
 mns rushed with his 'razor to lescnc Dick, 
 tnwe men glured at him with uplifted wea|>: 
 ons. Down came tho Senator's alubbed rifle 
 A '^_*^'''J«"*'»<»." •^Pping their Weapons ovur 
 «• cliff. They turned simiritaneooAx o" the 
 senator, and 8».p«l hiin ia a threefold em- 
 
 , ., , " ' I, 
 
 The fellqw gftspcd • curse, 
 stant n roar burst throii 
 
 m. 
 
 Tha next in- * 
 
 j^m 
 
 iShJhsjjJtt and tlip 
 
 ^ wretch fell heovlly forward, shot thr<wgh tte^ 
 j Jjead, yvhile hit brajjat were .pattered orer tlio 
 I fa&o of Buttons. The i)ocior witli a (^ of 
 . his fist sent the otlier fallow reeling oVtar. •. '. ' ', 
 , Buitonp sprang up gasping. T^« ItaliM*. r" 
 were falling bapk. Ho called to the Senator. 
 
 That man -of n^ight cm* up. 
 
 Think Cto^ 
 
THB DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 94 
 
 they were all alive! Braised, and wounded, 
 and panting— but alive. 
 
 The gcowIioR bandits (kew off, leaving se*en 
 of their number on thafroad hort <k coifibaf. 
 Some of the retreating* ones had been badly 
 treatcd, and limped and staggered. The ClHb 
 ji^ceded to load their rifles. 
 
 The Doctor stepped forward. Deliberately 
 aiming lie fireo iiis revolver five times in rapid 
 succession. Before he. had time to load again 
 the bandits had darted.into the woodd. 
 
 "Every one of tliose bullets hit," said tliu 
 Doctor with unusual emphasis, l 
 
 "We must get under cover at oncCj!! said 
 Dick. ' ' They'll bo back shortly with -Aers ! " 
 
 " Then we xnust fortify our position," said 
 the Senator, " and wait for relief. As we were, 
 though, it was lucky they tried a hand-to-hnnd 
 fight fust. This hilksheltei-s us on one sidc.^ 
 There arc so many trees that they can't roll* 
 stones down, nor can they slioot us. We'll fix 
 a barricade in front with onr baggage. We'll 
 have to fight behind a'barriQndo this time; 
 though, by the Eternal ! I wish it were hand- 
 to-hand again, for I don't remember of ever 
 having had such a glorious time in all my born 
 days!". 
 
 The Senator 'passed his hand over his gory 
 brow, and walked to the coach. 
 
 " Wlitro's I'ictro ?" . - 
 - "I'ititro! Pietro!" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "ri-K-TKo!" ' . 
 
 Still no answer. , , ^ 
 
 "riftro!" cried Dick, "if you don't c**fno 
 hero I'll blow your — " 
 
 "Oh! is it you, Signori ?" cxcliiimed IHci^ 
 tro's voice ; and that worthy appeared amottg 
 the trees a little way up the hill. lie wnsdciul- 
 ly pale, and trembled so much that he could 
 scarcely spcnk. 
 
 " Look lipre !" cried Buttons ; " we are go- 
 ing to barricade ourselves." 
 
 "Barricade!" 
 
 "We can not carry our baggage away, and 
 vwc are not going to leave it behind. We ex- 
 }iect to hav(f another battle.." , 
 'IMitro's face grew livid. 
 
 " You can stay and help us if you wish." 
 ) Pictro's teeth chattered. 
 
 " Or you can help ns far ipore by running to 
 the nearest town and letting the authorities 
 know." 
 
 " Oh, Signore, trust me 1 I gq." 
 
 "Make- haste, then, or you may find us all 
 murdered, and then liow will you get >X)ur fai-es 
 •^eh?" ■'■ ' . 
 
 " I go— I go i I will run all the way !" 
 
 "Won't you ^ako a gun to defend yourself 
 
 riKT<U>. 
 
 ^n rifles, with cartridges, wficl some other useful 
 articles. Four of these men were 8ton6-dcad. 
 They pulled their bodies in front oj their place 
 of shelter. The wounded men tlicy drew in- 
 side, and the Doctor at. once attended to thcmj 
 while the others were strengthening thft barri- 
 <cadc. 
 
 "I don't like pntting these here," said ilio 
 Senator ; " but it'll likely frighten the brij.'and.s 
 or make them delicate about firing at us. 'Ilist'a 
 my idee." 
 
 The horses were secured fast. Then the bog- 
 gage was piled all around, and made iiin ex- 
 cellent barricade. With this and the 'cajiturcd 
 rifles they felt themselves able to cncountcra ' 
 small regiment. 
 
 "Now let tiiem come on," cried the Senator, 
 "just as soon as' they damn please ! We'll trv- 
 first the European system of barricades ; and 
 if that don't work, then we can-fall back on the 
 real originol, national, patriotic, indei)cndcnt, 
 manly, native American, triie-blue, and alto- 
 getherheniic style!" 
 
 "Whut id thJft?" . 
 
 ' ThcSenatpr looked at the coiij^nny, and 
 tfeld oiit his clcnclwd fipt : • '•»: ' 
 
 "Why, from behind a tj-oe, in the woods, 
 like yoiftgloj^tw ibi-cfathers 1* 
 
 " Oh no 1" rfi1*l Pietro, with horrori " Nrf, 
 no!" ,, • ( ' ■ - 
 
 In a-fow minutes hp had vanislicd dmqng, the 
 Itlck woods. ' • 
 
 After stripping the prQpK«tp iWlian* tho 
 
 - travollow found thomgclvos itv poMeMion'of lo*- 
 
 ■ /« O .., ■ ■ ■ „ .' .. :., 
 
 ■.•/■ 
 t 
 
 ^•^ 
 
 -I'J 
 
-■-:■» 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 A' 
 
 BOUT THE WONDERS OP 
 I'ljEASANT ANBCDOTES^ 
 
 CIIAPTpR XL. 
 
 VUASAJiT MEDITATION 
 
 ' TOBACCO; AND THRB 
 
 BY AN ITALIAN DRIGA 
 
 A PULL apiece at 'tli|^ brandj-flask restored 
 strength and freshness tjo tho beleaguered trav- 
 ellers, who now, introncilied behind their fortifi- 
 cations, awaited any attack which the Italians 
 tnight choose to make. , 
 
 "The /-taUans," sail! tho §cnjitor, "are not 
 a powerful race'. .• By i>d means. Feeble in 
 My-Tio muscle^-iio l^rawn.. Above all, no 
 rekl plUcL Buttons, is j there a word in their 
 language that cxi.resBds t|ie exact idee otiiluckr" 
 , "No." '. j ■ . . , . 
 
 " Or fjame t" 1 * 
 
 "}io." . I - , 
 
 "Orevcnsyitmir" 
 
 ",No." ■ 'i' . ^ -'■ ' 
 
 "I thought not," said! tte Senator, calmly. 
 They haven't the idee, and can't Have the 
 word. Now, it-would require a lather consid- 
 erably crowd to deraolisli, us »t tho present 
 time.' 1 , • 
 
 .l"?^ '""'' V^" ^° %vk>«o 8t»y hercr 
 '"My deaif Sir," sai.d Unttons, ^tfi mofo 
 yghthncssth ail ho had sh own for many ditys. 
 —boUwHkful llmt yon an) hero W ilp miT 
 
 — yon an) 
 get off »ot^tim<y. UhA»j(. These ffl«lowg are 
 I'Btrtiflg us, aiM the monlcnt w« starr thev'U 
 
 1 i^^" "''■ u^^" """•'^ b6 a'good marklfw Ihein 
 'n the coaoh. Ko. we.must wait awhile." . ' 
 
 «P to th^ plc|uing lnfluonco!ih«t,flowii from »ha. 
 
 ■ ^ ■ . ^ ^ . 
 
 pipe- Is there any thing equal to it? How 
 did the ancients qontrive to while awa^ the 
 time without it ? Had they known its effects 
 how they would have cherished it ! Wo should 
 now be gazing upon the ruins of venerable tem- 
 ples, reared by adoring votaries to the goddess 
 Tabaca. Bftjrs at school would have construed 
 l^sages about her. Lempriere, Smith, An- 
 then, Dnssler, and others would have done 
 honor to her. Classic mythology would hare 
 been full of her . presence. Olympian Jove 
 would haVo been presented to us with this di- 
 vinitjas hjg- constant attendant, and a nimbui 
 around his Immortal brows of h^r making. Bac 
 ^hus would have had a rival, a sppcrior } 
 
 Po<Jts would have told" how' Tabaca went, 
 over the woi:Id ftirt in cl&ud».thal but set otf 
 the mote her splendid Vadianco. We should 
 have known. how much Bacchus had to d^jvith 
 ra Bgjcxela; n chapter whicji will probably be a 
 lost one in the Histery'of Civilizatbn. Biit 
 that ho who smojkes should drink beer is quite 
 indisputable. Whether \he Weer is to to %, 
 XX, XX^ ; or whether the brewer's name 
 should hcgin with an A, as in Al«opp, and run 
 ihrough^the whole alphabet, ending with V, as 
 in Vassar, may be' fairly left to individual con- ' 
 gi derati(fli.' ' ' A^a 
 
 Wljat noble Roetry, njJiat spirited od«;, what 
 eloquent wonds, Ims noRtho \torld loatbf the 
 ignorance of Gitek and- Itomah touching this 
 
 The «bove' remarks Were made^^lck on 
 this opcasion. "But Biitton* Vas talking wj|fe' 
 the iroundcd'Italians. * %^ 
 
 I 
 
THE DCaiGE CXUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCi;JX. 
 
 96 
 
 The Doctor had beond up sbeir wonnds and 
 BoBotts bod foT«*«d diem with a drop from his 
 flaK. Diek cot np «me tobacco and filled a 
 for each. After ail, the Italians were not 
 They mid aoacked than not from 
 imlice, bnt pnrelv froK nrofesaoaal motives. 
 Yet, had their eoBinies beo: Tedeschi, no 
 nt of anenuon vould hose overcome their 
 hate. Bat being Americans, gay, easy, 
 at malice, in fact kind and rather agreea- | 
 e. diey loftcBed, yielded altogether, and final- 
 ly cnatted fioniliarly with Battons and 3ick. j 
 They were young, not worse in appeaimoce 
 >nhim the majaJty of men ; perhaps not baa fel- 
 ionn in their social relations-; at any rate, 
 rattier inclined to be jolly in their present cir- 
 cnmstances. They were qnite free in their ex- 
 pressions of admiration for the bravery of their 
 captors, and looKed with awe upon the Doctor's 
 revolver, which was the first they had ever seen. 
 In fact, the younger prisoner became quite 
 communicative. Thus : 
 
 " I was bom in Velletri. My age is twenty- 
 four years. I have never shed blood except 
 three times. The first time was in Nami — odd 
 place, Nami. My employer was a vinedresser. 
 The season was dry ; the brush caught fire, I 
 don't know how, and in five minutes a third of 
 the vineyard was coi^umed to ashes. My em- 
 ployer came cursing and raving at me, and 
 swore he'd make me work for him till I made 
 good the loss. Enraged, I struck him. He 
 seized an axe. I drew my stiletto, and — of 
 coarse I had to run away. 
 
 ' ' The second rime was in Naples. The affair 
 was brought about by a woman. Signore, 
 women are at the bottom of most crimes that 
 ipen commit. I was in love with her. A friend 
 of mine fell in love with her too. I informed 
 him that if he interfered with me I would kill 
 him. I told her that if she encouraged him I 
 would kill him and her too. T suppose she was 
 piqued. Women will get piqued sometimes. 
 At any rate she gave him marked encourage- 
 ment. I scolded and threatened. No use. 
 She told mo she wm tired of mo ; that I was 
 too tyrannieal. In fact, she dared to turn me 
 off and take tlie other fellow. Maffco was a 
 good fellow. I was sony for him, but I had to 
 keep my word. 
 V "The third time was only a month ago. I 
 "'tabbed a Avnchman, out of pare patriotism — 
 itbe French, yon know, are our oppressors — pnd 
 kept what I found about him to reward ni# for 
 my gallant act. The Govemmcni, however, 
 did not look npon it in a proper light. They 
 seiit out a detachment to arrest me. I was 
 caught, and by good fortlunc brought to an inn. 
 At night Tjyas bound tiphtly and shut up in 
 
 " I have no idea." 
 
 ' ' You would never guess. You^ never would 
 hav« thought of it yourself." 
 •' Where did you leave it ?" 
 "In the heart of the Captain." 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 FINAL ATTACK OV BEINPORCjMENTS OF ^lOANDS. 
 — THE DODGE CLUB DEFIES THEM AKS'JSEI'ELS 
 jTHEIf. — HOW TO UAKE A BARRICADE. — FKA- 
 TBRNIZAVION OF AMERICAN EAOLH AMD GALLIC 
 
 COCK. — there's nothing like leather. 
 
 "It is certainly a si^t|J!uliir position for an 
 American citizen to be placed in," said the 
 Senator. »"To come from a cotton-mill to 
 such a regular out-and-out j)iece of fighting as 
 this. Yet it seems to me that fighting comes 
 natural to the American blood." 
 
 "They've been very quiet for ever so long," 
 said Mr, Figgs ; "perhaps they've gone away." 
 " 1 don't believe they have, for two reasons. 
 The first is, they are robbers, and want onr 
 money; the second, they are Italians, and 
 want rievenge. They won't let us off so easily 
 after the drubbing we gave them." 
 
 Thus Buttons, and the others rather coin- 
 cided in his opinion. For several miles further 
 on the road ran through a dangerous place, 
 where men might lurk in ambush, and pick 
 them off like so many snip*. They rather en- 
 joyed a g9od fight, but did not care about be- 
 ing regularly shot down. So they waited. 
 
 It was three in the afternoon. Fcarfnlly 
 hot, too, but not so bad as it might have been. 
 High trees sheltered them. They couldjfumi- 
 nate under the shade. The only diflRculty was 
 the want of food. W^hat can a garrison do th«t 
 is ill provided with eatables? The Doctor's 
 little store of crackers and cheese was divided 
 and eaten. A basket of figs and oranges fol- 
 lowed. Still they were hupgry. 
 
 " Well," said Dick, " there's one thing we 
 can do if the worst comes to the worst." 
 "What's that?' 
 
 "Go through the forest in Indian file bsok 
 to Perugia." - 
 
 "Tliat's all very well," said the Senstor, 
 stubbornly, "but we're not going back. Ko, 
 Sir, not a step 1" 
 
 ' ' I'm tired of this," said Battons, impatiently. 
 "Til go out 88 scout." 
 "I'll go too," said Dick. 
 " Don't go far, boys," said the Senator, in 
 the tone of an ansions father. 
 
 >* No, not very. That hill yonder will be » 
 good lookout place." 
 
 Yes, if you are not seen yourselves.' 
 
 tho same room with the soHiers. "The inn 
 keeper's daughter, a friend of mine, came in 
 for something, ami by mere chance dropped a 
 knife behind mo. I got it, cut my cords, and 
 when tbey were all asleep I departed. Before 
 going I leh tho knife behind ; ivnd where now,- 
 iigilore, do you think I left it ?" 
 
 th«s« scoundrels, and find thsj they see us, wc 
 will fire to let you know. If we remain undis- 
 covered we will come back quietly." 
 
 " Very well. But I don't like to let you go 
 off alone, my boys ; It's too much of an exposals. 
 
 "Nonsense." 
 

 You ncTer woal4 
 
 n Indian file back 
 
 uttons, impatiently. 
 
 lid tho Senator, ia 
 
 r. 
 
 ill jornler will be » 
 
 THE DODGft CLUB/;>OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 " I haro a great mind to go4oo. , 
 
 . " No, no, you had better gfav to ho/d onr 
 
 place of retreat. We'll come back, you ino w " 
 
 "Very well, then." '^ 
 
 The Senator gat himself doffo agiin, and 
 ■ Buttons and Dick vanished among t^e trees 
 An hour passed ; the three in tho barricade be- 
 gnn to feel uneasy; the prisoners wfre asleep 
 niid snoring. p 
 
 ■ " Hang It, " VrieJthe Senator, " L^-ish I had 
 gone with tlien» !" , 
 
 "N^ver fear," said the Doctd«il!" th^ are 
 
 too niUle to be caught ust yet If heV Z holdin„T> "'" .T''' '" "^'^ ^ 
 been Janght you'd have LJlml^^?. •'l'^ I ^l^^^'"^' to the _gronnd ; andtiJ 
 
 been (janght you'd have heard ajittle firing." 
 
 At ithat very moment the loud report of a 
 rifle btirst through the air, followed- bv a scd 
 end ; ttpon which a whole volley poured out 
 j The thiiee started to their feet. ^ i 
 
 " Th«y are found !" cried the Senator. "It's 
 pbout a inile away. Be ready!", f 
 ' Mr. F%rg8 had'two rifles bv'hii side, and sat. 
 looking ,it the distance with knitted brows, 
 ?Ie had received some terrific bruifeos in the 
 tete mfilc'e, but wag prepared to fight till he 
 d^ed. He had said but little through the day 
 Ha was not talkative. His courage was of'a 
 <iniet order. Ho felt the solemnity of tlie oc- 
 c^ion. It was a little different'from aitting at 
 the head of a Board of bank dfreitors, or shav- 
 ing jiotes in a private ofBcc. At tho end of 
 about ten minutes there was a crackling an»<*ne 
 the busies. Buttons and Diok:>ame tumblin.' 
 down ftito the road. ° 
 
 " Qet ready ! Quick ! TheVro here '" 
 
 "A%eadv." 
 
 "l\i»loadcd?" 
 
 "Yes 
 
 97 
 
 For two hpurs an incessant fire wag kept up 
 between tho , bandits in tho >voods and the 
 Americans in their retreat. Nd damage was 
 done on either side. ' 
 
 "Those fellows try so hard th^ almost de^ 
 serve to lick us;" said the Senator dryly. 
 
 " Hark ."• cried Buttons.- \ ... " 
 Again. •• , 'h \ " 
 
 -A cavalry trumpet ! " .\ V' 
 
 "They are horsemch !" cried JSic\ 
 
 " We saw them away down the road, behind ' it^cT to° ^:^ kJ/'h TT'^T'^''' 
 a grove of trees. We couldn't r<.,Ut »n,l .Mf i • , ^* ''"* declined sending any 
 
 ,M at them. The whole ImnTlckrd Z V' '" """" •" ' '' "''''"'""' "^ "■« "-"'^I'er. 
 
 "HowmaVvai^fheZthrmr • uZZr^'T "'fffi The gallant fellow ^ 
 
 " Fourteen^" ' T ' °"'' ""''' '"'' ^^ ^''«'™. "^rived at tke 
 
 " ThBv m..^ Ko » ' P'"'^" "'°*' Opportunely. 
 
 ^ere\%^^\rin..r- J^^^^ i Jf^^ fo long to get the coach ready 
 
 when they left "\ ' ""''°"""«^ ■"««» «««'"• "no hoi-se was found to be so badly 
 
 i wounded that it had to,^ killed. The otheii 
 
 !. i'*!'"',".'"''* thfe Doctor ; " my pistol—" 
 
 At this moment tliW heard the noisli of foot- 
 Meps A hand of arWd men came in sight 
 
 ,"'"» cautioMly, they examined tho barri- 
 «.le. Bang! It was ^,e Doctor's revolver. 
 fZ^ '^"^ »"° fc'.'"*' y«T«- The rest were 
 bSe ""''• ""'^ ^'"*° " '■"'•'' "' "'« 
 
 Bang! a second shot, anothV wounded, 
 volley was the an swer. -J^feg-j 
 
 I were slightly hurt. Tffe baggage and t'runks 
 
 were riddled with bullets. These wore once 
 
 mtoro piled up, the wounded prisoners plac«l 
 
 inside, and the travellers, not being able to get 
 
 in all together, took turns in walking. ■>■• 
 
 I At the next town the prisoners were defiv- 
 
 , ered up to tho authorities. The travcllors eel, 
 
 • ebmtcd their victory by a grand banquet, to 
 
 which they invited the French officer and the 
 
 goldiers, who came on with them to this town 
 
 who was 
 ,r " ,-. --■■•,"'"""" 1 »"" m«Ml added: 
 
 Hey ?" cried the Senator ; " water ttrfev ?" 
 Again the sound. A dead silence. ^1 "list- 
 onuig. . r 
 
 And now the tramp of horie* wnsi'^ainly 
 heard. The firing had ceased altogetfttr since 
 the hrst blast of the trumpet. The banAts dis- 
 apneared. The horsemew drew nea^ and 
 weiK^idently quite numerous. At last they 
 burst il^n the scene, and the little gliriAja 
 greeted them with a wild hurrah. They were 
 French dragoons, about thirty in number 
 Prominent among them was I'ietro, who at 
 first stared wildly around, and then, seeing the 
 Amenc*ns, gave a cry of joy. 
 
 Tlie travellers now came out into the road 
 and quick and hurried greetings were iiitdr- 
 chiinged. The commander of the troop, learn- 
 ing that the bandits had just left, sent off two- 
 turds of his men in pursuit, and remained with 
 the rest beiiind. 
 
 Pietro had a long story to tell of his own do. 
 ings. He had wandered through the forest till 
 
 
 m 
 
 ....- 1. It. ,. . - ■■>.■■■ m H UB lo wn.- 
 
 ignnus jLiproar prmiltcd. TTio TjwficJiriien were^ST 
 
 e was ', nhi^nint in nr.,nni:».A»*„ *_ .i.- »-, .. . . 
 
 "I'Wir against tho barrimHn "ijlJv i *"""°! ^f"""^ prevnuca. ino j<',-onchmen were px- 
 
 donc^The birricanL too sS""""'' "" ' ''IZ''' '" '^"'"P""'''"'' '» "■« K^'l-ntty of iZ, 
 The answer to thisTa.'^ 'I'^ti,, volley ^ *'""-'"""'• '"""" ''*'""""'• 
 
 i f if rT?"- Th« bandits ret\d,.stflg. 
 Wrcd, foil back, glifieking, groaning, anXc.Ht 
 
 «LTl2T'"y '''«"• °" the road. -^ 
 «lier» took inifugo in the woods. / -"^ >| 
 
 LTiainers, 1 oasts tollowed. 
 'The Kmpetttr and President!^ . , 
 '" America and Fmncc!" . ' 
 
 " Tricolor and stnis I" 
 "The two ooiinlrios intertwined !" 
 ••A song, Dick !"cried tho Senator, who »k-. 
 
.«8 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OR,. ITAI.Y IN' MDCCCtffi. ' 
 
 n^T., 
 
 kcu to 
 
 AS INTFJUIATIOMAL ArFAlB. 
 
 hear Dick sing. Dick looked 
 
 ways lik( 
 modest. 
 
 "Strike up!" 
 
 "What?" > 
 
 " The ' Sc<wdoo abscook !' " cried Mr Figgs. 
 
 " No ; ' The Old Gow ! ' " cried Buttons. 
 
 "'The Pig by t^e Banks of the JtiverV" 
 sitid the Doctor. 
 
 " Dick, don't," said the Senator. " III tell 
 yon an appropriate song. These Frenchmen 
 believe in France. We believe in America. 
 Each one thinks there is nothing like Leather. 
 Sing ' Leather,' then." 
 
 Figgs. •\ 
 
 Blttons. C " 
 
 The Doctor. ) 
 
 " Then let it be ' Leather,' " said Dick ; and 
 lie struck up the following (which may not be 
 obtained of any of the mosic publishers), to a 
 very peculiar tnne : 
 
 I. ' ', ■ . 
 
 H' .\rercuty I Pnlrnn of mclodjr, 
 * ^ Father of Music nn*l I.urd, 
 Thine wan the vkUl that invented 
 
 Itfnalc'a harmonlouit chord. '<* 
 
 8veet were the aounda that aroap, 
 
 Sweetly they blended together ; ^ 
 Thiia, la the agea nf old, 
 Hiulcuroao out of— LBATintt 
 
 {fvll Clutruti bil al l the Company.] 
 
 > 
 
 n. 
 
 'Yes, 'Leather!'" 
 
 " War is a wonderful Science, 
 
 Mors was it« patron, I'm told , 
 How did lie i»8eil to accoutre 
 
 Armies in battles of old f ,,,..• , , 
 
 Vith casque, and With Bllnp, and with shield, 
 
 With bow-string and.breiistpluto together ; 
 Thui", in the ages of old, ; 
 
 War waa begun out of— I<eatiieb ! * 
 
 t Then Ijaithcrl elng Leather, my bids! 
 Mars and bis weapona of I.etitlicr 1 
 Of all the things under tlie mm, «. 
 Hurrah I there is nothing like Leather I 
 
 [Extra ChorvK.l 
 
 >' Kub a dub, dub! 
 Itiib adiib, dubil 
 Rub a dub, dub 1 1 ! eay we I 
 
 in. 
 
 " Lovo isWl^lfisslne <niotIhn, 
 
 All of us know it by lieart ; 
 Whenye, can you tell nw, anaei 
 
 IvSve's overpowering smart t 
 Tipped with nn kdamant barb, 
 
 Qfacefully tAfted with feather, 
 LoVe's irr^Histible dart 
 
 Come* Otofii a quiver of— Leatiikb I 
 
 -•mien LwiBoiTsIng laiittier; my.lmtel ■ 
 Mercury I Music ! ! and I>ealhcr'. ! ! 
 Of all the things under tho sun, 
 ^ Hurrah I tliere is nothing like Leather ! 
 
 It'xtin CAortM, desertptive of a Cobbler hammiring oii 
 hit Lapitta^e.'S 
 
 " Tlien Rub a dub, dub! 
 ' Rub n du)s dub 1 1 
 
 Kub a dub, dub! 1 1 say wel 
 
 "Then I^wther ! sing Ualher, my lads I 
 Dartal and Distmetlbn 1 1 and Leatlici<l!l 
 Of all^he things under the sun, - 
 
 Hurrah! tliere is notliiog like Leather I 
 
 {Extra thonl^■^ 
 
 "Rub «dnh, dub! 
 Buli >. dub, dub 1 
 
 -n 
 
 Bub a dub, dyb! ! ! aay we! 
 
 nr. 
 
 Oratora wrote out their apeethca, 
 Poets their versq recileil, 
 
 atatcsmen promulgated edict", _ 
 Sagt'S tbair<Viu>uis Indited. 
 
^ THE DODGECLUB; OR, ITA^Y IN MDCCCLIX, 
 
 Pnrchmen^ my ladi, vrai the <ftide 
 
 All ined to write on together ; * - 
 
 Thu« the Itepublic of Letters 
 Sprang into life out of— Lkatueb . 
 [CAorti*.] 
 
 "Then Leather! sing Leather, my lads I 
 Poetry 1 Science ! I and Leather I : ! 
 Of nil the things under the i-rin, r 
 lliirrati I there hi nothing like £ 
 [Extra CAortt?.] 
 
 " Uub a dub, dub ! 
 Kubadub,duli!T 
 Rub a dub, dub 1 1 ! 8i\y we !" 
 
 'Iter 1 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 FLOBKNCE.— DESPERATION OF DCTTOXS, OP MR. 
 F10Q8,ANU OF TUB BOCTOlli , 
 
 Florence, the Fair !— Certainly it is the 
 fairest of wties. Beautiful for situation ; the 
 joy of the wholo earth ! It has n beauty that 
 ^rows upon the heart. The Arno is the swbct- 
 est of rivers, its valley the loveliest of vnloi • 
 
 luxuriant .eaUcvs; r eh vineyards ;' Jovef ^f 1^^;;^::^^^::^^ T^T:^l 
 ohve, of orange, and of chestnut; forests of cv- 1 the shabbx^ irentepi ThJZ 7,1 . • ' \ 
 
 ofthe distant Apennines; innumemblc white | ed brotherhood of artists a^d ^""h^rs; herV 
 
 99 
 
 cnco alone can win enduring love. It is onr 
 of the very few which » man can select as a pdi-.' 
 manent home, and never repent of his decision 
 In fact. It is probably the only city on earth - 
 which ^ stranger can live in and mak«| for him- 
 self a true home, so pleasant as to'makc desuo 
 for any other simply impossible. 
 ■ In Florence there is a large English popula- 
 tion, drawn there by two powerful attractions. 
 The first IS the beauty of the place, with its 
 Healthy climate, its unrivalled collections of art 
 and Its connection witli the world at Inrge' 
 The second is the astonishing cheapness of livl 
 ing, though, alas! this is greatly changed from 
 former times, since Florence has become the 
 capital of Italy. Formerly a palace co(,ld be 
 rented for a trifle, troops of servants for aiipthcr 
 trifle, and the table could bo furnished from 
 day to dflyiwhhirarities and delicacies innuiJier- 
 able for another trifle. It is, therefore, a paW ■ 
 disc for the respectable poor, the needy men W 
 
 villas peeping through the surrounding groves ; 
 the mysterious ha*^f the sunset, which tlirows 
 .1 softer chjpm over the scene ; the miignifieent 
 cattle; the fine horses; tlio bewitching girls, 
 with thoir broad hats of Tuscan straw ; the 
 city itself, with its gloomy old palaces, iron- 
 Crnted and massive jvallcd, from the, ancient 
 
 gather political philosophers of every grade. 
 It was all tliis even under, the Grand ,Diiko of 
 refreshing memory; IVMa/tcr it will ba the 
 same, only, perhaps; a J^Tmorc so, under the 
 new influences which ilshalfe acquire and e.xert 
 as tjie metrojiolis of a great kingdom. 
 
 The Flprentines are the most pelished people 
 
 Mds .^treet-fighting noble, long sin^^-^^ed .^ ^Z:"rZ;:^ S^^^^ 
 
 pTI 'Pnlj. f^rn p,'"''"" •""•"'''•' °' ''"' ' I'>«-«"»nen'-e. but it can n^t be mah^ a'ined 
 I. .1 "''«='' !'«'«'l''^>o™"=° ' Amid the brilliancies of Parisian life theroTc 
 
 It. s the abode of peace, gentleness, and kind- fearful memories of bloodyVevdlp onrbm^" 
 
 S„h?"'?h^°«^"' r^ "''" " ^'"' ^'''""'=" ""^ "e'"^' "n1 blood-thirsty erueltife ]L such 
 Club was there) Lve^- stone in its p.avement., events as these mar the fair pa.^es of lateXor 
 has a charm. Other cities mayplcase; Flor- ' entine histon-. In fact, tirf^ea mncf Inci 
 
 moMBCi, mm «a» ntkuro. 
 
100 * ' THE DODGE CLUB ; <JR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 
 
 
 riTTI PALACE. 
 
 gontlene^ff of the people have bcien perhaps to i 
 their disadvantage. Life in Florence i* joy. j 
 The sensation of living is of itself a pleasure. | 
 Life in that delicious atmospliere becomes a | 
 higher state of being. It is the proper homo | 
 for poets and artists. Those who pretend that j 
 ' there is any thilig in America equal to Flor- 
 ence, cither in climate, landscape, or atmos- ; 
 phere, are simply humbugs. _ Florence is uniqnc. 
 It is tlie only Athens of the' modern world. ; 
 The street? are cool .anA deliglitful. Thtf" 
 great liigh liouscs keep oiT the ntyn of the sun. 
 
 The people love to stroll awnv'thc greater part 
 of tlieir hnppy days. TheVloiter around the 
 comers or under the porticoes gatl^ering news 
 and retailing the same. /Hand-organs are gen- 
 ernlly discountenancedy/ Happy city! 
 
 When it is too liot/n tjie streets there is the 
 vast cathedral^Il Il/omo— dim, shadowy, mas;- 
 niflcent, its giganlfic dome . surpassed only \>\ 
 that of St.'l'eter'/ And yet in the twilight of 
 this sacred iniei4or, where tlicre dwells so mucli 
 of the ftiystcriotis gloom only found in the Gotliic 
 c.ithcdials of the north, many find greater de- 
 
 
 , uaaj £'A 
 
 B 5 ■ i i 
 
 rOCNTAIM or MKTTONK, PALAZIO V£DCU10. 
 
A ■ 
 
 .-#: / 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDC0CLI3t 
 
 101 
 
 , light than inyil the dazzling 
 splendor, the pofcjip, and glory, 
 and majesty of the lioman tem- 
 ple. Beside jt rise^ the Cam- 
 panile, as fair as a dream, and 
 in appearance almost as un- 
 substantial. Not far off is the 
 Baptistery, with its gates of 
 bronze — an assemblage of glory 
 which might well suffice '(ot 
 one city. 
 
 Around the piazza that in- 
 closes these sacred buildings 
 they sell the best roasted chest- 
 niits in the world. Is it any 
 Wonder that Florence is so at- 
 ^itctivo ? 
 
 The Dodge, Club obtained 
 furnished npartmenU in a fine 
 large hotel that looked out on 
 th6 l>onte della Trinita and on 
 the Arno. Beneath was the 
 principal promenade in the 
 city. It was a highly agree- 
 able residence. 
 
 No sooner had they arrived 
 than Buttons set out in search 
 of the Spaniards. Throe days 
 had been lost on the road. He 
 was half afraid that those three 
 d*ys had lost him the Span- 
 iards altogether. Three days 1 
 it was possible that they had 
 jeen Florence in that time and 
 had already left. ' The thought 
 of this made Buttons feel ex- 
 *«meTy nervous. Hd spent the' 
 fint day in looking orer all the 
 
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TH|; ;pODOE CLUB 5 OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 afternoon fly like lightning. The American "Ea- 
 gle waa never more convivial. 
 
 The Minister wonld not let him go. Ho 
 made him put np at his hotel. He hod tlie 
 «i(irf« into the highest Florentine society. lie 
 wonld introdace the Senator everywhere. The 
 Senator wonld have an opportunity of secinf; 
 Italian manners and customs such as wna very 
 nMj enjoyed. The Senator was delighted at 
 the idea. 
 
 But Mr. Fitrgs and the Doctor began to show 
 signs of wearincsii. The former walked with 
 Dick through the Boboli gardens and confided 
 all his soul to his young friend. What was t^ic 
 use of an elderly man like him putting himself 
 to so much trouble ? He had seen enough nf 
 Italy. Ho didn't want to see any more. He 
 would much rather be safe at hcAnc. Besides, 
 the members of the Club were all going down 
 the broad road that leadeth to ruin. Buttons 
 was infatuated about those Spaniards. The 
 DocMr thought that he (Dick) was involved in 
 si^me ' mysterions affair of a similar nature. 
 Lastly, the Senatof was making a plunge into 
 society. It was too much. The ride over the 
 Apennines to Bologna might be iptercsting for 
 two young IT fellows like bim and Button?, hnt 
 was unfit for an elderly ^rson. Moreover, ho 
 didn't care about going to the seat of war. He 
 had seen enough of fighting. In short, ho nnd 
 the Doctor had made up their minds to go bacl[ 
 to Paris via Leghorn and Marseiltes. 
 
 Dick remonstrated, expostulated, coaxed. 
 But Mr. Figgs was inflexible. 
 
 hotels in the city. The Mcond in aeaTching 
 through as many of the lodging-homes as were 
 likely to be chosen by the Spaniards. The third 
 he spent in meandering diaconsolately through 
 the caf^s. Still there were no signs of them. 
 Upon this Buttons fell into a profound melan- 
 choly. In fact it was a very hard case. There 
 seemed nothing left for him to do. How could 
 he find them out? 
 
 Dick noticed the disqaietnde of his friend, 
 and sympathixed with him deeply. So he lent 
 his aid and searched through the city as indns- 
 trionsly as possible. Yet in »pite of every ef- 
 fort their arduous labors were defeated. So 
 Buttons became hopeless. 
 
 The Senator, however, had met with friends. 
 The American MinistetaiKXiirin happened at 
 that time to be ijdMW^ ^I'"> ^■^^ Senator 
 reooUeeted a*«iJ^firacquaintance, and also •§ 
 ~B tried coiniwiBl oir iir fm» ti>rough many * pfc? 
 litical campaign. The Minister received him 
 with the most exnberant delight. Dinner, wine, ' 
 feast of reason, flow of soul, interchange of latest 
 news, stories of recent adventures on both sides, I 
 laughter, compliments, speculations on future j 
 futtj prospects, made the bonrt of an entire 1 
 
 113,J.|.K=S8r - . 
 
 MTfinM lllLA>aH)l,T. 
 
American 'Ea« 
 
 THE DODGE CLUBf OB, ITALY IN WcCLDL 
 
 103 
 
 CHAPTER XLin. 
 
 WITCHBBT OF'. A QUEEN OP SOCIETr -Hl« 
 FATE DESTINED TO BE, AS HE TO "kI Tt^I 
 IAN COUNTESSES. - 8ENTIMBNTA " CONVERsi" 
 TION. - POETRY. - BEAUTY. - M^NUMT - 
 BAPTUBB.-DI8THACTION.-BLI88! 
 
 I^T'"?;-, P-L^-f \"'«7*-''' ^-"♦^''t .U.C.. 
 
 m Jh h """''!''''"'«?»» Of Florentine society 
 miKht have led captive a sterner soul than that 
 of the Senator. Whether he wished it or not! 
 he jvns overcome. His friend, the Minister, 
 took hira to the houses of the leaders of society 
 and introduced him as an eminent American 
 statesman and moihber of the Senate. 
 ' fould any recommendation bo equal to that? 
 For, be It remembered, it was the Revolutionary 
 time. Itepublicanism ran high. America was 
 synonymous with the Promised Land To be a 
 statesman in America was as groat a dignity as 
 to be prince in any empire on earth. Besides. 
 It was infinitely more honored, for it was popu- 
 
 S™.7^'r?' "' ""' "'"•KSling people were 
 turned to that country which showed them an 
 example of republican freedom. 
 
 ' -.^'•5 "l? *"'<"*nti'«» received the Senator 
 with boundless hospitality, it was because they 
 admired his country, and reverenced his dignity 
 They liked to consider the presence of the 
 American Mmister and Senator as an expres- 
 sion of the good-will of the American GoCn- 
 
 Tll .h .1 ^ -f ""^ "f^" '•'"' diplomatically. 
 Ail that he said was listened to with the deep- 
 est respect, which was none the less when they 
 <lia not compreiiend a word. His pithv sen 
 toncc, when translated into Italian, bicaie the' 
 neatest epigrams in the world. His suggos- 
 tions a. to the host mode of elevating and eT 
 nching »ho country were considered by one sot 
 « the prefoandest philo«.phy, and b/anothc1 
 •« the keenest satire. They were determined 
 Mioni«, him It was . new «,n«ttion to the 
 senator Ho desired to prolong it. He recall 
 ed the lines of the gpod Watts : 
 
 "My willing iKxil would atiiT 
 In auoh • frame u thb.'* 
 
 He thought of Dr. Fiinklin in Paris, of his «, 
 rere republicanism amid the aristoLtic fit 
 
 wu to that of the august philosopher ! 
 
 Dtidtot^."i!f'* '**"?> '"''*''> th" Minister 
 ptW to the Senator added greatly to the impor- 
 
 STaKT""-, The Florentines rea«.^ed 
 d thi 'Jl"""*'" *» » 8»*» man. As a gen- 
 
 rjil'"'r'"^.P*y'"«*'' WhatwouW 
 "^tion of an Englishman need to bo in 
 
 ■Slorf^V nl**^"j?°°^"'' '^« British Em- 
 6hlr n_« 1^: ie«it» BeiKe iKoie ii 
 o«y one conclasion. An American SemUor 
 
 rS.*'* "" ®"8«*'» Duke- 
 fo^lT ^'"'"^ """ **•* 'he masrive 
 
 »Wtht Arri'cr • "^^^ "^'^'-^ 
 
 80 , and that accounts for the attention paid by 
 the American Embassador. Ho, of course 
 
 Zt^A^-^ «'?'""e«l in hi« office under th^ 
 next administration. After all, the Florentines 
 
 mrr?/"L°'"'''""'*»y- Amuchwor^ 
 man than the Senator might be made President. 
 
 ™ «r '''^:l *"{.«="«'««"» his name, or the 
 name of ono like him, might carry the votes of 
 some roaring convention. . 
 
 «I^V7 °' '^^ ^"y' •''« So""'"' ^<^» the 
 subject of an eager contest among all the lead- 
 ers of society. At length there appeared upon 
 «.e scene the great Victrix in a thousand cot- 
 
 ^.^fifil, V^u"^- '*'''« ""'«" f«'l back dis- 
 comfited^ and the Senator became her prey. 
 
 The Countess di Nottinero was not exactly a 
 
 Recamier, bat she was a remarkably brilliant 
 
 woman, and the acknowledged leader of the 
 
 iberal part of Florentine society. Of coun«. 
 
 i^n^r^V^,*""'?""*'*' P»"J' ''«'•' themselveL 
 grandly aloof, and knew nothing cither of her 
 or the society to which she belonged 
 
 She was generally known as La Oca, a nick- 
 name given by herenemies, though what " Cica " 
 meant no one could tell exactly. It was a sort 
 of contraction made np from her Christian name. 
 Cecilia^ as some thought ; others thought it wai 
 the Italian word cica given on account of some 
 unknown incident. At any rate, as soon as 
 she made her appearance driving down the 
 1-ungh Amo, with the massive form of the 
 Senator ^ her side, his fame rose , up to its 
 zenith. He became more remarked t(^an ever, 
 and known among nil classes as ^ illustrious 
 American to whom belonged the. ceftkjnty of' 
 being next President of the United States.' 
 
 Rumor strengthened at it grew. Reports 
 were cireulated which would certainly have 
 amazed the worthy Senator if he had heard 
 them all. It was said that he was the special 
 
 Plenipotentiary Extraordinary sent by the Ame^ 
 loan Government as a mark of their deep syni- 
 pathy with the Italfln movement, and that hb 
 was empowered, at the first appearance of a new 
 Government in Italy, to recognize it officially 
 as a first-class Power, and thus give it the 
 mighty sanction of the United States 
 
 What wonder that all eyes wore turned ad- 
 miringly toward him wherever he went. Bat 
 he was too modest to notice It. Ho little know 
 that he was the chief object of interest to every • 
 
 Yet it waa 
 
 His companions lost sight of him for some 
 time. They heard the conversation going on 
 ntout the sayings of the great Amcricaife 4k^ 
 ula not Knnw at 4\mt ...i.. :> > . . r 
 
 «"»«d to mle. 
 
 m not Know at first who it was ; bat at length 
 
 Turil """"'^ '** ""' "'"'■»«' '*«™ 
 
 La^^ did her part marvellonsly well. All 
 
 The air nf'..:^ ~ I . " T®'*""'' ** ■"'«•. «Mh<»r8, political Phi- 
 
 Listen to hi. Zt,» ""^.•^'""- 'osopners, and beaux uprit, of c 
 Listen to hu philo«,phio con-! lowed the example of ix. Cica. 
 
104 THE DODGE CHJB ;* OB, ITALY IN MDCtCSCLIX. 
 
 fact that by the mere force of character, apart ] glance, her manner. Who can catch the eva- 
 
 " ' ncscen^ bcanty of her expression or the deep 
 tenderness of her well-modulated voice ? Who 
 indeed? 
 
 "Does za scene please you, my Senator?" 
 
 •' Very lAach indeed." 
 
 * ' Youar conntrymcn haf tol me zey would like 
 to stay here alloway." 
 
 " It is a beautiful place." 
 
 "Didyonaiver see any thin moairo loafely?" 
 And the Countess looked full in his face. 
 
 "Never," said the Senator, earnestly. The 
 next instant heblnshed. Ho bad been betrnycil 
 into a compliment. 
 
 The Countess sighed. 
 
 " Helas I my Senator, that it is not pnirmittcd 
 to moartals to sociate as zey would Inikc." 
 
 '%^ Your Senator,' " thought the gcntlcm.in 
 thti(j addressed ; " how fond, how tcndej— poor 
 thing|?poor thing 1" 
 
 " I wish that Italy was nearer to the States," 
 said he. 
 
 " How I adamiar yonar style of mind, so dif- 
 fcrente from ze Italiana. You are so 'stronR— 
 so nobilc. Yet would I laike to see moar of zo 
 poetic in you." 
 
 "I always loved poetry, marm,", said t)ie 
 Senator, desperately," » 
 
 "Ah — good — nais — eccelente. \S^ P'ee' 
 
 at zat," cried the Conntcss, with mtt«i'fy)iina- 
 
 You wojJUJhpfe it moar cef youNincv? 
 
 !S not sufficicntcjnusl' 
 
 from any adventitious aids of refinement, the 
 Senator held his ofcn remarkably. Yet it mu^t 
 bo confessed: that he was at times extremely 
 puzzled; 
 
 >La Cica did not speak the best English in 
 the world ; yet that could not account for all 
 the singular remarks which she made. Still 
 less could it account for the tender interest of 
 her manner. She had remarkably bright eyes. 
 Why wandered those eyes so often to his, and 
 why did they beam with such devotion — beam- 
 ing for a moment only to fainn sweet innocent 
 confusion ? La Cica had the most fascinating 
 manners, yet they were often perplexing to the 
 Senator's soul. The little offices which she re- 
 quired of him did not appear in his matter-of- 
 fact eyes as strictly prudent. The innate gal- 
 lantry which ho possessed carried him bravely 
 along through much that was bewildering to his 
 nerves. Yet ho was often in danger of running 
 away in terror. 
 
 "The Countess," he tbonglit, "is a most re- 
 markat)lo fine woman ; but she does use her eyes 
 uncommon, and I do wish she wouldn't be quite 
 so demonstrative." 
 
 The good Senator had never before encounter- 
 ed a thorough woman of the world, and was as 
 ignorant as a child of the inonmerable little 
 harmless arts by which thtf powerj>f such a one 
 is extended and secured. A.t last the Senator 
 came to this conclusion. La Cica was desper- 
 ately in iQvcwitb him. 
 
 Sho appeared to be a widow. At least she 
 had no husband that he had ever seen ; and 
 therefore, to' the Senator's mind she must be a 
 spinster or a widow. From the general style in 
 which she was addressed he concluded that she 
 was the latter. Now if the poor Oca was hope- 
 lessly in love, it must be stopped at once. For 
 iio was a niarried man, and his good lady still 
 lived, with a very large family, most of the mem- 
 bers of which had grown up. 
 
 Im Cica ought to know this. She onght in- 
 deed. But let the knowledge be given delicate- 
 ly, not abruptly. He confided his little difficulty 
 to his friend the Minister. The Minister only 
 laughed heartily. ] 
 
 " But give me your opinion." 
 
 The Minister held his sides, and laughed more 
 immoderately than ever. 
 - " It's no laughing matter," said the Senator. 
 " It's serious. I think you might give an opin- 
 ion." 
 
 But the Minister declined.' A broad grin 
 wreathed his face during all the remainder of 
 his stay at Florence. In fact, it is said that it 
 has remained there ever since. 
 
 The Senator felt indignant, but his coarse 
 was taken. On the following evening they 
 =T»alked on the bateony of foefco'riiobte resi- 
 dence. She was sontiiQental, devoted, charm- 
 ing. 
 
 The conversation of a fascinating woman 
 docs not look so well when reported as it is 
 when uttered. Her power is in her tone, her 
 
 ur«^^Hfec! 
 oSannanc< 
 
 Italiano. Your 
 cale for poatrjW ^ 
 
 " It is not sq MTCIangnagc as the /-talion." 
 
 "Ah — no4-not so soft. Very well. And 
 what thecnka ^n of ze Italiano 7" 
 
 " The si^test language I ever heard in all 
 my bom days." 
 
 ^ "Ah, now — you her not heard much of te 
 italiano, my Senator." 
 
 "I have heard yon speak often," said tbo 
 Senator, noively. 
 
 ' ' Ah, you compliment I I sot you was aboore 
 fiattera." 
 
 And the Countess playfully tapped his arm 
 with her little fan. 
 
 " What Ingelis poet do yon loafe best ?" 
 
 " Poet ? English poet ?" said the Senator, 
 with some surprise. • ' Oh— why, marm, I think 
 Watts is about the best of the lot !" 
 
 " Watt ? Was he a poet? I did not know 
 zat He who invented zo stim-injaino ? And 
 yet if he was a poet it is naturale zat you loafo 
 him best." , 
 
 "Steam-engine? Oh no! This one wan 
 minister." <• . 
 
 .l^tfAmeeneestaire? Ah 1 Ml abbe'? I know 
 him not. Yet I haf read m(s of all youar poets." 
 
 "He made op liymna^ inarm, and psalmi- 
 for instance: 'Watto'i 0iyino Hymns and 
 Sjttritual Song«i^" — -- | ..- 
 
 " Songs ? Spiritnelle ? i Ah, I mus at once 
 procnaire «e works of Wat^ which was fsrorit 
 poet of mv Senator." 
 
 "A lady of soph intelligence as yon wooW 
 like the poet Watts," sidd the Senator, fl^Dl^ 
 
 .*4,.?a 
 
HE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 sr to the States," 
 
 aann,", said t)ie 
 
 106 
 
 I 
 
 LA CIOA. 
 
 ^' He is the best known by far of all our pc 
 
 e Senator, &nij- 
 
 ets 
 
 "What ? better xan Sakespeare, Milton, Bai 
 ron f You much »urpnis» me." 
 "Better known and better loved than the 
 
 ,t " i"',, ^^V' •"* P^'^y •" known by hea 
 throush all England and America " 
 
 Jn!!!Mf"\"^'*"J ^hatyou tell mo! ees 
 cet possbll An yet he is not known here efen 
 by name It would plees me mooch, my Sen 
 
 mWattTTn .«"''"' """ I""'''*""''- Know 
 you Watt ? 1 ell to mo some words of his which 
 I may rcmembaire." 
 'I I have a shockinR bad memoir." 
 
 thin rtrri^'.>'?''""y°" "'"'•»»'«"'""«- 
 til n, IIS mos bcaUtful charm nait-you hafa 
 
 noL, e jonl-you mu^bo affocta bv lianty-br 
 
 .e .deji. Make for a mo one quototione." ^ 
 
 11ll!^'".*^uL** ""'" '>""'' «"*'*he Sena. 
 *^ and looked np imploringly in his face. 
 
 moiJl^T' ''«''«'\f°°'»»'- Ho felt even 
 •M look ghowing a tender interest in him 
 
 You whi not let me refuse you any thing." 
 
 Aha f yo, ara vera willln to refuse. It is 
 
 difficulty for 9,e to excitare youar reirards 
 
 ^ou are fill with the grands ideL. nllZte 
 
 Wa« ?^°" «pik for>e some f.x,m your tZZ 
 
 "Well if yon wish it so much," said the 
 Senator, kindly, and he htesitatcd. 
 " Ah — I do wis it so mudi '" 
 "Eheml" 
 
 LreTforava r ''"'^""' ""' ^''' '^^'^ 
 
 The only thing that the Senator conW think 
 
 Of was ,1.0 verse which bad been running i„ |^ 
 
 head for ho last few days, iu measured rhythm 
 
 keepinR time with every occupation : ' 
 
 ' ' My willing soul would stay—' " / 
 
 'iStop one^Bonwat," Mid timXkm ntvmt. *^^ 
 
 woesh to earn it from you j" and she looked 
 
 £ eyes. ''"'^ "P" *"" '"""""y «'"'PP«^ 
 
 '"Ma williha sol woodft ata— ^ " 
 
 Senator.'""" ' '"'■'""' " •^"' P'°'»P'''«» "'° 
 
 / 
 
•\i: 
 
 loe 
 
 '* ' £en gocha frtiinas zees 
 inn sol wooda sta in socha fi 
 npproprint ! but could I hope 
 to rose lines, my Senator? \ 
 
 <' ' And sit and sing liersc 
 Senator, in a faltering voio 
 into a cold perapiration f< 
 
 THE DOIKftE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLtX. 
 
 '^ait— • Ma will- 
 lees.' Ah, 
 (at yon were true 
 ell ?" 
 
 away,' " said the 
 and breaking out 
 fear of commit' 
 
 ting himself by such uncommonly strong lan- 
 
 gnngc- f 
 
 " ' Ansit ansin hassaf awai,' " repeated the 
 Conntess, her face lighting np with a sweetly 
 conscious expression. 
 The Senator paused. 
 "WeJl?" 
 
 ««I— ehemt I forget." 
 "Forget? Impossible!'' 
 " I do really." 
 
 "Ah now! Forget? I see by youar face— 
 you dcsnve. Say on." 
 
 The Conntess again gently touched bis arm 
 with both of her little hands, and held it as 
 though she would clasp it. 
 
 " Have 30U fear ? Ah, cruel !" 1 
 
 The Senator turned pale, but finding refusal 
 impossible, boldly finished: 
 
 " ' To everlasting bliss ' — there !" 
 "'To affarlastin blees thar.' Stop. I re- 
 peat it all : ' My williua sol wooda sta in socha 
 framas tees, ansit ansin hassaf awai to affitrlastin 
 blees thar.' Am I right?" 
 
 "Yes," said the %snator, meekly. • 
 "I knew you war a poetic sole," said th* 
 Countess, confidingly. "You air honesto— 
 true— you can not desave. When you spik I 
 can beliv you. Ah, my Senator I an you can 
 spik lis poetry!— at soch a toimo 1 I nefare 
 knew befoare zat you was so impassione !— an 
 you air so artaful ! You breeng te confersa- 
 zione to beauty— to poatrj- — to ze poet Watt— 
 so you may spik verses mos impassione I Ah ! 
 what do you mean? Santissima madro! how 
 I wish yon spik Italiano." 
 
 The Countess drew nearer to him, but her 
 approach only deepened his perplexity. 
 
 " How that poor thing does love n^p !" sighed 
 the Senator. "Law bless it! she can't help 
 it — can't help it nohow. She is a goner; 
 and what can I do? I'll have to leave Flor- 
 ence. Oh, why did I quit Buttons! Oh, 
 why—" 
 
 ■The Countess was standing close beside him 
 in a tender mood waiting for him to break tlio 
 silence. How could ho? Ho had been utter- 
 ing words wliich sounded to hor like love ; nn4 
 phe — " a widow ! a widow ! wretched man that 
 lam!" 
 
 There was a pause. The longer it lasted 
 the more awkward the Senator felt. What 
 upon earth was he to do or say? What busi- 
 Tioss had he to go and qaote poet0 ta widows? 
 What an old fool he must bo I But the Count- 
 ess was very far from feeling awkward. As- 
 suming an elegant attitude she looked up, her 
 face expressing the tenderest solicitude. 
 " What ails my Senator ?" 
 "Why the fact is, marm— I feel sad— at 
 
 leaving Florence. 1 must go shortly. My wife 
 has written snmmoning me home. The chil- 
 drtJiJ iire down with the measles." 
 
 Oh, base fabrication I Oh, falsQ Senator '. 
 Thoi« wasn't a word of truth in that remark. 
 Yoa spoke so-tjecai^ yon wished La Cir.a to 
 know .^hat you had a wife and family. Yet it 
 was very ba^y done. 
 
 La Clca changed neither her attitude nor hor 
 expiessioit Evidently the existence of his 
 wife, and the melancholy situation of his un\ 
 fortunate children, awaked no sympathy. 
 
 ""But, my Senator — did you not sny you 
 wooda seeng yousollef away to .ttffarlnstctn 
 bclccs ?'• 
 
 " Oh, marm, it was a quotation-H)nly a quo- 
 tation." 
 
 But at this critical juncture the conversation 
 was broken up by the arrival of a number of 
 ladies and gentlemen. 
 
 But could the Senator have known ! 
 Could he but have known how and where 
 thoss words would confront him again ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 " MOBERB niAOORA, HON ENIM IN CIKLUM AD- 
 8CEN8UBU8 E8."— THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE SEN- 
 ATOR (NOTHING LE8»— IT WAS A MOMENT IN 
 WHICH A MAN MIGHT WISH TO DIB— THOIOU, 
 or C0CB8E, THE 8ENATOB DIDM'T DIE). 
 
 Strollino through the streets day by dnr 
 Buttons and Dick beheld the triumph of tlio 
 Senator. They gazed on it from afar, and in 
 amazement saw their old companion suddenly 
 lifted up to a position which they could rot 
 hope to gain. The companion of nobles— the 
 associate of btayx et/triu — the friend of the 
 wealthy, the great, and the proud ; what in the 
 worid was the causd of this sudden, this unpsr- 
 alleled leap forward to the very highest point 
 of honor ? Who, in the name of goodness, wni 
 that dashing woman with whom he was alwsjj 
 driving about? Who wore those fair ladies 
 with whom he was forever promenading ? I'lain- 
 ly the chief people of the land ; but how the m\t- 
 chief did he get among them"^? They were be- 
 wildered even though the half of the truth Iwd 
 not begun to dawn upon their minds. Ther 
 never saw him to ask h{n% about it, and for 
 some time only looked upon him from a di^ 
 tanoe. 
 
 " Do yon give it up ?" asked Buttons. 
 
 "Igiv«itnp." 
 
 " And I too." 
 
 "At any rate the United States might hsre 
 many a worse representative." 
 
 "Bat I wonder how he can get alo ng. Ho» 
 can he manage to hold his own among tfiairw 
 fined, over-cultivated, fastidious Florentines; 
 
 " Qoodnes* knows !" . ^„ 
 
 " A common school Now England edncsttra 
 can acarcely fit a man for interconrso with pol- 
 ished ItalUns. the fhiiilto hills of New Ilaiup- 
 
 
THE DODGE CLUB , OH, ITALY IN MDCCCLDC 
 
 »tu iniglit ban 
 
 •hire- hare never been famoos for prodacinR 
 men ofTilgh breeding. That ia not their tv^ 
 cialty.'i *^ 
 
 107 
 
 n",™^' rifr! '"^"1'=''?.°°' "P^k a France^il 
 
 Bingle word of any language but hi« own." 
 
 '• And frequently fails in that." • 
 
 "He hasn't the remotest glimmering of an 
 idea about Art." 
 
 " Not of the Fine Arts, but in the useful arts 
 Le IS immense." 
 
 "lie looks upon Italy as he would upon a 
 
 ing together into one deafening roar, and risine 
 on high like tWp thunder of n cataract : 
 
 "Vittoria!"-<'Vittoriftl" "Cavrianal" "li 
 
 . "Viva I'ltalia!" "Viva Vittorrt 
 i!.mmannelol ilnostroBc!" " Viva!"" Viva! 'r 
 "Viva ! I !" * '/ 
 
 Words like these rose all around, mingl^ 
 with thousands of similar exclamations. -At 
 length there was distinguished one liiord. I It 
 was passed from man to man, more frequently 
 uttered, gathering as it passed, adding nc\i vol- 
 
 field of stuftips^a place to be cleared ZLn ""*'«"'' B^l'Tne ^ " P^sed, addin 
 
 np, bK.ughTSnder 'c.ltLl^ aKde pi^ i ITm^Z^. ""J" "-r"""^ ^'""^•'' ''» 
 ductive." ' ""^ I "' '"*' *" <'»'>or words were drowned in tljat one 
 
 grand word, which to this rejoicing mijltitude 
 
 was the lyre of glorious victory, the promise of 
 endless triumphs for regenerated Italy t 
 
 "SoLFEBtNOl" . ' 
 
 ductive." 
 
 "Yes, productivB in cotton factories and Yan- 
 kee notions." 
 
 " What in the world can keep up his reputa- 
 tion among the most poetic and least utiUtari- 
 an people in the world?" 
 
 "There's the mystery I" 
 
 "The beauty of it is he goes as much witli 
 the English as with the Italians. Can he keep 
 nphis vernacular among them and siill preser>e 
 the charm?"- 
 
 " Well, whatever is the secret, I glory in it I 
 believe in him. He is a man.' A more nol I 
 i^e-hearted, sincere, upright, guileless soul nov- 
 cit lived. Besides, ho knows thoroughly what 
 ha has gone over." 
 
 He is as generoM a soul as ever lived " I 
 Yes, a stiff utilitarian in theory, but in ' 
 prad^ice an impulsive sentimentalist." i 
 
 To would legislate according to the most ' 
 narroV and selfish principles, but would lav 
 down bis life for his friend." 
 " TMnk of him at Perugia !" 
 " Yc^i (he man himself with his brave soul 
 «nd invincible courage. Didn't he fight ? Me- 
 thinks he did 1" / „ ,, ... . ,„ _. 
 
 toward the pSazio Vecchio Tl^ev nnH^S T^ Tedeschx had summoned all their ener- 
 
 that the busy .trreMhX^h "hicf tVpS ' SLrhtS"' '''T'^ '""^'-^ ' '"''^ "'« 
 WM filled with an nnnsnal mukitiHl« wh^^ I • ^ "*"'^. *''""'' '^~™ "^y"""! 'he niount- 
 
 dl agitated with one gjrerSJidprofo^^^^^^^ •"'""r^ ho- »he allied ar- 
 
 cltement, and were .11 hur^i^K 1^0^ di«o ^ TnTiiL. "f*^ ."P? **"'''' ""»*''^« '=°'«^'« 
 
 Uon. The sight .wakenedTelKreT They ! th"e\Sfrr.^r.i^lVlirth''°r"'r """'' 
 went on with the stroam. At overv .t.n ih„ \ . il ^^ ' '" "' '*" *•"* P'""> f*" ""any 
 
 cwwd incit«.ed. At evw stwet nX th^n ' ^ ^l ^^ t"""'''^ """^ *'"' ^""""^"^ "nd 'he 
 poarcd in to join the v^mu t^Jo ^ I f^X ^7 V'"' T""** "^ "S"' '^«'« "^'^ded 
 
 Confa«Hl mumnr. S»"n to the kir H«t. T? •"*' I" the glorious vengeance of that dny 
 w<mb p...*! IW«n mTth S mouh K 1?''' ''°* 7i"»"7 hovered over the invineT 
 ^ -ni^elligiWe. TheJ S^mlX Zal »-.-?""!"- "f ''"> ' '""' ""^ ^edeschi fled, 
 
 SOLTKniMOl 
 
 «(.k 1. 1. — " ' wuiu ouiy oisui 
 
 mh broken sentencet-words unknown— Cav. 
 rtana - Mlncio - TedMchi-Napolcone-8pi* 
 dlttlia. What wa. It .11 about? They could 
 l-fu "I" ^'^''"''y wme mighty national 
 moi had occnrred, wWeb w«i of ovm-whelra. 
 iV imporunce. For the entire city had turned 
 «Mnd now, as they enter«d the great square 
 itrH'^ *' ^"""^ ^'~''**»' •» "'on««hinB 
 
 routed, over the river, no man to cross it as 
 masters ; how the hopes of Italy arose immortal 
 from that one day's terrific slanghtcrt.how Lib- 
 erty was now forever sccnred, and 3 Kingdom 
 of Italy under an Italian King. 
 
 ^varrtalla!'- .rvi,.a E^Igl NaiwieoWr 
 
 n* ^.r^'** ' " Viva JUtore Emmann. 
 ele, Bed'Italia!" ^'^^ 
 
 •l«ht bnnt n'p;; "SSTriir" A ^rZllS ' i '" 8^1 moment, of popular 4citement pec 
 «W the -q^rero^kwit S'S i^lt "a?d?he V' '""""'';. '^'^ '^ 
 "^ 8ho«u of . tbo«.„d kind. 11 1.1«d" ^l: 'WtJl'lre.'""" '"'" '"^ "*'". 
 
 
V- ^ 
 
 THE d6DGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 TDK SKNATOIt SI'E.VKB, 
 
 Buttons and Dick clambered np to the recess 
 of a window and contemplated the scene. 
 There was the innumerable crowd; swaying, 
 embracing, laughing, weeping, ^houting, cheer- 
 ing. High in the air waved hundreds of ban- 
 ners ; and the tri-color flaunted in ribbons from 
 thousands of breasts, or shone in rosettes, or 
 gleamed in flowers. Ever and anon loud tram- 
 pet blasts arose triumphantly on high ; in the 
 distance Tictorioni strains came swelling np 
 from bands hurried there to express in thrilling 
 music what words could never utter ; while nil 
 around the whole air rang with the thunder of 
 cannon that saluted the triumph of Solferino. 
 
 " Look there ! Look ! Look ! " cried Dick. 
 
 He pointed to the large ptfrtico which is on 
 the right of the Palazzo Vecchio. Buttons look- 
 ed as he was directed. 
 
 He saw a great assentblage of ladies and gen- 
 tlemen, the chief people of the Tuscan state. 
 From this place those announcements had been 
 made which had ?et the people wild ^yith joy. 
 There were beantiful ladies whose flaiHied faces 
 and suffused eyes bore witrtess to their deep 
 t^re were noble gentlemen whose 
 arms still wated in the air as they cheered for 
 Italy. And there, high above all others, rose 
 a familiar fignre— the massive shoulders, the 
 calm, shriswd, sqiMre face, the benighnnt glance 
 ind smile, which could belong only to one per- 
 •on. 
 
 " The Senator .'" cried Buttons. 
 
 Every body was looking in that direction. 
 The impulsive crowd having celebrated abstract 
 ideas, were now absolutely hungering for some 
 tangible object upon which to expend some- 
 thing of the warmth of their feelings. A few 
 who stood near the Senator and were impressed 
 by his aspect, as soon as all the news had been 
 made known, gave expression and direction to 
 the feeling by shouting his name. As they 
 shouted others took np the cry, louder, louder, 
 and louder still, till hu nam^ burst forth in one 
 sublime sound from thirty thdnsand lips. 
 
 No wonder that he started at such an appesl. 
 He tamed and looked upon the crowd. An 
 ordinary man would have exhibited either con- 
 fusion or wT)nder. The Senator, being an ex- 
 tniordinary man, exhibited neither. As he turn- 
 ed A vast roar burst from the multitude. 
 
 " Good Heavens !" cried Buttons ; " what's in 
 the wind now? Will this be a repetition of 
 the scene in the Place Vendome ?" 
 
 "Hush I" 
 
 The crowd saw before them the man whoso 
 name and fame hod been the subject of conjoct^ 
 ure, wonder, applause, and hope for many dayi 
 They beheld in him the Representative of » 
 mighty nation, sent to give them the right bind 
 of fellowship, and welcome their country among 
 the great powers of the earth. In him they 
 ■aw the embodiment of AmariMl 
 
 \ 
 
THE PODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX 
 
 " Viva r bum through the air. "TheAmer- 
 fca.|EmtaMador !" " Hurrah ^the Araeri<wi 
 Embj,Mad<ir •• « The PlenipotiSh^ry Extn^L 
 :,'??^ i iV ^ "P™*" '^ cro*^ ourViamph i" 
 
 *' Hl|>rrnUrX«ii Mi,^.:^ in i, », "^^ 
 
 anej 
 
 ' ■ 'f'™**" •■ • "^hirfs the time 1 " '^o 
 I" "Silencer "ke 
 
 loo 
 
 aly 
 
 will 
 rises 
 lenco 
 
 'Lor 
 'Listen 
 
 Jooks at usl" 
 
 le Most Illastrioo* Pien- 
 
 ipotentiarjr Extrao 
 
 ICASPBAKSl" 1/ 
 
 Such shouts ana 'Exclamations as 4e»e burst 
 Wrth, with many others to the same effect The 
 trowd in front of the portico when* the Senator 
 stood were almost uncontfiillabl^ in their ex- 
 dtement. The Senator rose to the greatness 
 of the occasion.. Here was a eHance to speak- 
 to utter forth the deep sympathy of his country- 
 Ben with every down-trodd^n people strivinR 
 for freedom. He turned to/ace them and held 
 out his hand At once the immense assem- 
 bkfce was hushed toeilen^e. 
 
 j;7il'° ,^*"'''°'" took off hi» hat. Never before 
 didJie look as he looked bow. The gnmdour 
 of the occasion had sublimed his usually nicced I 
 features into majesty. Ho looked like tho'in- ' 
 . carnation of a strong, vigorous, invincible peo- 
 ple. I 
 The Senator spok* : 
 " Men of Italj- f » 
 "In the name of ther Great Republic!— I 
 congratulate yon on^ this glorious victory ' It 
 a a triumph of Liberty l-^f the principles of 
 76!-of the immortal idees!— for which our 
 forefathers fought and died I— at Lexington • 
 -at Bunker Hill!-«nd at a thousand other 
 places m the great and glorious Revolution I" 
 
 The Senator pansed. This was enough. It 
 iMd been spoken in English. The Italians did 
 not of course understand a word, yet they com- 
 prehended all his meaning. As he paused there 
 bant forth a shont of joy such as is heanl only 
 once in ahfa-time ; shout upon shont. The long 
 peals of sound rose up and spread far away over 
 the city. The vast crowd vibrated like one man 
 to the impulse of the common enthnsiasm. 
 
 It was too great to Ust They rushed to the 
 carnage of Za Cica, They unharnessed the 
 horses. They led thtf Senator to it and made 
 him enter. They flung their tri-colors in. Thevl 
 ftrew flowen on his lap. They wound the flag ' 
 ofltdyaroundthecarriage. A thonsand marched 
 ^r* J^*"""*"*^' """* '~'"'«l '«'We and 
 nmnfc ■ 7^"^.''""' '»''" "P *o hi. kotel in tri- 
 
 oT'Cke:''?£Sir'*'''*''''*'''""«'''^" 
 e^'^^st •* "'^'^.""' ^ "ndw J-'tice to Tax 
 Ei W ILi^L**"'' ""l^'wWy. Her 
 ^^ng lace, ud^loatront -eyes, and heaving 
 h«om^ and majestic air, showed that .h« J. 
 P^ted to her«,If all the honor thus lavished 
 2« est **"■• '' "" ■ P""** moortnt for 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " How do you feel now ?" 
 "Obliterated. I do not exist I was once 
 
 " Who could have imagined this ?" 
 "And how he bore it! The Senator is a 
 great mam But come. Don't let us speak 
 
 herenll °"' *" '"* '^^ "°""° ^ '""' '^ 
 From patriotic motives the two young men 
 walked behind the Senator's carriage and cheer- 
 ed all the way. 
 
 Upon arriving at their lodgings in the even- 
 ing they stationed themselves at the window 
 and looked out upon the illuminated scene, 
 i^ick, finding his emotions too strong to-be re- 
 strained, took his trombone and entertained a 
 great crowd for boars with all the naUonal airs 
 that be knew. 
 
 CHAPTER isCLV. 
 
 THE PRIVATE OPINION OP THE DOCTOH ABOUT 
 
 I is?i™r''-"""°''«""-''»'««'«°™ 
 
 ! " The ItaliMis, or at any rate the people of 
 iJlorence have just about as mach cuteness as 
 .vou Will find anywhere." 
 
 Such was the dictum of the Senator in a con- 
 yersation with his companions after rejoinine 
 them at the hotel. They had much,4 ask • 
 he, much to tell. Never had he Jfe mor^ 
 critical, more approbative. He feinS^.that 
 he thoroughly understood the ItalianTiSfetion 
 and expressed himself in accoitlance with tliis 
 consciousness. 
 
 "Nothing does a feller so much good," said 
 he, as mixing in all grades of society. It 
 won t ever do to confine our observation to th« 
 lower classes. We mast mingle with the upper- 
 crust, who are the leaders of the people " 
 
 '•Unfortunately," said Buttons, "we are not 
 all Senators, so we have to do the best wo can 
 with our limited opportunities." 
 
 They had been in Florence long enough, and 
 now the general desire was to go on. Mr.Fi«ni 
 and the Doctor had greatly surprised the Senator 
 by informing him that they did not intend to go 
 any farther. 
 I And why not? 
 
 .. l^f' '^l^ "^ "^ ^^" »•»<» Mr. Figgs, 
 "the discomforts of travel are altogether^ 
 great It would not bo so bad in the *inter, 
 bat think how horribly hot it is. What is m» 
 
 S't"' /'•;' "^" *"" ''""'J' 'uffocaling. 
 Think how fet I am. Even if I had the en- 
 thnsiasm of Dick, or the fun of Buttons, my fat 
 would force me to leave. Can you rretgnd tn, 
 Jw a Mend of mine and stiU urge me to go for. 
 ther ? And suppose we passed over into the Aaa. 
 
 f^V^T^A i'";"!*!* "0 »i8««t be nnmolest. 
 ed. but it IS doubtful. Suppo«j, for the sako 
 of alignment, that we were arrested and d»> 
 tained. Imagine as— imagine me— shut np in 
 a room- or wono, a coll-in the month of Julyj 
 
 .(i^ •:^^. 
 
 
up ' 
 
 THE DOIJGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLDC. 
 
 X QUASI aroT. 
 
 In midsummer, in tlie hottest part of this bnrn- 
 ing fiery furnoce of a country ! What would 
 be left of me at the end of a week, or at the 
 end of even one day? What? A grease 
 spot! A grease spot! Not a bit more, by 
 
 JinRo!" 
 
 After this speech, which was for him one of 
 
 extraordinary length and vigor, Mr. Figgs fell 
 exhausted into his chair. 
 
 " But you. Doctor," said the Senator, seeing 
 that Mr. Figgs iwas beyond the reach of persua- 
 sion— "you — what reason is there for you to 
 leave? Yon are young, strong, and certainly 
 not fat." 
 
 " No, thank heaven 1 it is not the heat, or 
 the fear of being suffocated in an Austrian dun- 
 geon, that influences me." 
 " What, then, is the reason ?" 
 "These confounded disturbances,^' said the 
 Doctor languidly. 
 , "Disturbances?" 
 
 "Yes. I hear that the road between this 
 and Bologna swarms with vagabonds. Several 
 diligences have been robbed. I heard a story 
 which shows this state of things. A band of 
 men entered the theatre of a small town along 
 the road while the inhabitants were witnessing 
 the play. At first the spectators thought it was 
 lleff of the performance. They wore soon un- 
 deceived. The men drew up in line in front of 
 the stage and levelled their pieces. Then fasten- 
 ing the doors, they sent a number of men around 
 through the house to plunder the whole audience. 
 Not content with this they made the authorities 
 of the town pay a heavy ranioi|)." 
 
 V 
 
 J* 
 
 " Some one has been humbugging you. Doc- 
 tor," said Buttons. 
 
 "I had it from good authority," said the 
 Doctor, calmly. " These fellows call them- 
 selves Itevolutionists, and the peasantry sympa- 
 thize with them," 
 
 " Well, if we meet with them there will bo a 
 little additional excitement." 
 
 " Yes, and the loss of our watches and mon- 
 ey." 
 
 " We can carry our money where they won't 
 find it, and our bills of exchange are all right, 
 you know." ^ ^ 
 
 '« I think none of you will accuse me of wa^t 
 of courage. If I met these fellows you know 
 v4i(y well that I would go in for fighting them. 
 .BtiWhat I do object to is the infernal bother of 
 l)cing stopped, detained, or perhaps sent back. 
 Then if ony of us got wounded we would be laid 
 up for a. month or so. That's what I object to. 
 If I had to do it it would be diflTcrent, but I sett 
 no necessity." ', ' 
 
 " Yon surely want to see Lombardy ?" 
 " No, I don't." 
 "Not Bologna?" 
 "No." '. ■■>'■■ 
 
 "Fen»ra?" "^ - 
 "No." ' / 
 
 " Do yon mean to sny that you don't want to 
 see Venice and Milan ?" 
 
 " Haven't the repiotest desire to see either 
 of the places. I merely wish to get back again 
 to Paris. It's about the best place I've seen yet, 
 except, of course, my native city, Philadelphia. 
 That I think is without an equal. However, 
 our minds are made up. Wo don't wish to 
 change your plans — in fact, we never thought it 
 possible. We are going to take the steamer at 
 Leghorn for Marseilles, and go on to Paris." 
 
 "Well, Doctor," said Dick, " will you ^o me 
 one favor before you go ?" 
 
 "With pleasure. What is it ?" 
 " Sell me your pistol." 
 " I can't $ea it," said the Doctor. " It w«j 
 a present to me. But I will be happy to lend 
 it to you till wo meet again in Paris. We will 
 be suw to meet there in a couple of months at 
 the furthest." 
 
 The Doctol' took out his pistol and handed 
 it to Dick, who thankfully received it 
 
 " Oh, Buttons," said the Senator, suddenly, 
 " I have good news for you. I ought to have 
 told you before." 
 
 "Good news? what?" 
 " I saw the Spaniards." 
 "The Spaniards r cried Buttons, eagerly, 
 Btartiiig up. "Where did you see themJ 
 When ? Where are they ? I lia« scoured the 
 whole town." 
 
 "I saw them lit » very crowded aijcm^y at 
 
 the Countess's. There was such a scronj^ng 
 
 that I could not get near them. Thethr«ewe« 
 
 there. The liule Don and his two sisteri." 
 
 "And don't you know arty thing abont 
 
 them?" . ,^ 
 
 " Not a hooter, except something that t^ , 
 
ng you, Docv. 
 
 bes and tnon- 
 
 don't want to 
 
 THE DODO#C1011, OB, ITilT IN BDCCCUX 
 
 Conntcss told me. ^.^ ,,,„^ 
 
 were staying nt the villa of a "friend of hers " 
 
 . 'n^ ^"^»^^ Oh, confound it all! What 
 snail I do? 
 
 "Tho villa is out of town." 
 
 "That's tho reason why I never could see 
 them. Confound it all, what shall I do?" 
 
 '• Buttons," said the Senator, Rravely, " I am 
 truly sorry to *co a young nran like you sQ.in. 
 
 m disguise; who knows? And why wiiryou 
 put yourself to grief about a little black-eyed 
 gal that don t know a word of English? Be- 
 lovo me Now England is wide, and has ten 
 thousand better gals than ever she began to bo 
 
 In/f".M i*^" r. ''"^'"'" •"' y°» ««=' homo 
 «d amn!"" " ^'"■""""' " ^^P"''"««". 
 But the Senator's words had no cflfect. But- 
 tons sat for a few moments lost in thought At 
 length he rose and quietly left the room It 
 was about nine in the morning when ho left 
 It was about nine in tho evening when he re- 
 turned IIo looked^ dusty, fatigued, fagged 
 and dejected. He had a long stoPy to tellfand 
 was qu.to communicative. Tho substance of 
 It was this: On leavingotho hotel ho had gone ' 
 at once to Z« Cica's itisidence, and had re- 
 quested permission to see her. He could not 
 till twelve. Ho wandered about and ftillcd 
 again at that hour. She was very amiable, 
 especially on learning that he was a friend of 
 tho bcnator, after whom she asked with deep i,,- 
 tcrcst. Nothing could exceed her affivbility | 
 
 iards They wero stopping; at the villa of « 
 certain friend of hefs wbomihe named. It w„! 
 ten miles from the city. The friend had 
 brought them t« tho assembly. It was but for 
 a moment that she had seen them. She wished 
 
 them "^h /'"' '^''J"^ ^'^""^ '»°™ "bo-t 
 them. She trusted that ho would succeed in 
 
 his earnest search. She should think that they 
 might sun bo in Fl*ence,and if ho w'nt o„^- 
 V sU°L^ VI «"8l't J-eo them. Was this his fimt 
 visit to Florence? How perfectly ho had tho 
 Tuscan accent; and wlftr'hnd ho not aceom^ 
 CI '"'',/"«»'^ ">« *nator to her salon? 
 But It would bo impSssible to repeat all that La 
 Cica said. . 
 
 Buttons Weflt out to the villa at onco; but 
 o Ins extreme disgust found that tho Spaniards 
 iiad left on the preceding day for Bologna. He 
 drove about the country for some llistance, rest- 
 cd his horses, and took » long walk, afier which 
 ho returned. 
 
 Their departure for Bologna on the following 
 mcming was a settled thing. The diligence 
 Started early. They had pity on the flesh of 
 ^iggs and tho spirit of the Doctor. So they 
 bade them good-bye on the evening before retire 
 ing. ^ 
 
 :^i 
 
 FABiwnx, rifos t 
 
 ,1 
 
 CHAFER XLVI. 
 
 * O^PR^^m^i:" »«I^«— »roHT.-THB BBI0AND8 
 ONCE MOnB.-<lABIBAl.Dl'8 NAMK.-TnB FIKB. 
 —TUB IKON BAR.-TnE MAN FBOM THE GKANITE 
 STATE AND UI8 TWO B0V8. "Am it. 
 
 "Thk great beauty of this 
 pistol is a little improvement 
 thht I have not seen before." 
 
 And Dick proceeded to ox- 
 plain. 
 
 "Here is the chamber with 
 the six cavities loaded. Now, 
 yon see, when you wish, you 
 touch tills spring and out pops 
 the butt." 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Very well. Here I have 
 another chambci< ^jth six car-, 
 tiidgeg. It's loaded, the car- 
 tridges are covered wit)k copper 
 and have detonating powdec at 
 one end. As quick as light- 
 nin|^ I put this on, and there you 
 have the pistol ready to bo fired 
 again six times." 
 
 " So yon have twelve shots ?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Aifd cartrrdges to spare?" 
 "The Doctor gave mojill that^^ 
 
 ne had, about sixty, I should 
 
 think," 
 
 "Yon have enongh to face a 
 
 whole army—" 
 
 "Precisely— and in my coat- 
 pocket* 
 This conTtsrsBtion took nlaee 
 
 ^, 
 
 Pi 
 
 %< ,1 
 
.^^ 
 
 119 raE DODGB CLUB-; 0R,| ITALY IN/ MD^CCLIX. ' , 
 
 in the banqnetto of the diligence that conveyed [ rtS&d, *vSl tiftj will try to makcTliay wliile the 
 
 X>ick, iButtops, and the Senator from Florence 
 to Bologna. A long }>art of the journey had 
 been pasted over. They were among the 
 moontatns. 
 
 "Do you expect to use that f " asked the Sen. 
 •tor, carclcsily. ~ J 
 
 MI do." . . • 
 
 " Yoa believe theie stories then f 
 
 "Ye«; don't yon?" 
 
 '.'Certainly." ,4 
 
 " So do I," said Buttons. "I could not got 
 a pistol ; but I got this from an acquaintance." 
 
 And bo drew fh>m bis pocket an enormous 
 bowie-knifo. 
 
 "Bowie-knives are no good," said the Sena- 
 tor. /'I'crhaps they may do-if you waSit to os- 
 ■sassipatc; but for nothing else. Yoji can't 
 defend yourself. I never liked it. It's not 
 American. It's not the direct result of our frcTo 
 institations." 
 
 "What have yon then? You are not going 
 nnarmed," 
 
 "Thls;^ said the Senator. 
 
 And he lifted up a crow-bar from the front 
 of the coach. Brandishing it in the air as eas- 
 ily OS an ordinary man would s^in'g a walk- 
 ing-stick, he looked calmly at his astonislicd 
 companions. 
 
 "You see," said he, "there are several 
 reasons why this sort of tiling is the best weapon 
 for me. A short knife is no use. A sword is 
 ■ no good, for I don't know the sword e.xer- 
 cise. A gun is worthless; I would fire it 
 off once and then have to use it as a club. It 
 would then be apt to break. That would be dis- 
 agreeable — especially in the middle p( a fight. 
 
 sun sbineJ'. I have no doubt we will be s(op))ed 
 half a dozen timet ^fora wo get to Bologna," 
 
 "I should think," said the Senator, indiR- 
 "nantly, " that if those chaps undertake to gov- 
 jeni the cbantry — these republican thaps— they 
 had oqght to govern it. What kind o^ wuy 
 is this to leave helpless travellers at the lAcrry 
 of cut-throata. and assassins ? " '' 
 
 "They think," said Buttons, " that thcirfirsc- 
 duty is to secura independence, and af^er that 
 they wiirproni6t«or<idr." " . 
 
 " The Florentines are n iInep9opIe — a people 
 of remarkable 'cuteneH/tknd penetration ; but it 
 seems to mo that they aro tning thinf^s easy as 
 far as fighting is concerned, ^hey don't send 
 their soldiers to the war, d0<tb«y ?" 
 
 " Well, no ; I suppose they think thcii; army 
 may be needed nearer home. ' The Grafid\ptike 
 has long arms yet; and knows how to bribe." 
 
 By this time they were among the mountain 
 forests wherv the scenery was -grander, the air 
 cooler, tho sky darker, than before. It wag 
 late in tho -day, and <overy taiile -increased tho 
 wildness of tho landscape and tho thickness of 
 the gloom. Further and further, on they went 
 till at last they camo to a winding-place where 
 the road ended at a gully over which there vm 
 a bridge. On the bridge was & barricade. 
 Jhey did not see it until they had made li turn 
 where the road wound, where at once the scene 
 burst on their view. 
 
 The leaders srearcd, ther iMstilllpns swore, the 
 drivei' snapped his whip furiously. Tlie pas- 
 sengers in " coupfe," "rotonoe," ond "inter!- 
 enre " popped out their heads, the passengers on 
 th«^" banquette" stared, until at last, just as the 
 
 A stick or club of any kind would be open to postillions wcro dismounting^ to reconnoitre, 
 — " ■ • ' twelve figures rose up from behmd Uie barricade, 
 
 indistinct in the gloom, and bringing their 
 rifles to their shonldors took aim. 
 
 The drivel yelled, tho postillions ^honied, 
 the passengers, shrieke^. The three men in tho 
 bafiquette prepared for a fight. 'Suddenly a 
 loud voica was heard from behind. They 
 looked., A number of men stood there, and 
 several' more were leaping out from the thick 
 woods oil the right.- They, were surrounded. 
 A^Iength one of the men came forward from be- 
 hind. 
 
 "You aro at oar mercy," said he. "Who- 
 ever gives np his money may go free. Who- 
 ever resists dies. Do you hear ?" 
 
 Meanwhile the three men in the banquette. 
 had piled some trunks around, nfid prepared to 
 resist till the last cxtrcroityt Dick was to fire ; 
 Buttons to keep each^spartf' butt loaded ; the 
 Senator to n*o his crow-bar on the heads of any 
 assailantsk They waited iii silence. They 
 heard the brigands rummaging through, the 
 coach below, the prayers of the passengtw, 
 their appealp for pity, their groans at being com- 
 pelled to give up every thing. 
 
 "The cowards don't deserve pity!" cried the 
 Senator. " Thei« are enough to get np a good 
 rraUtance. We'll show fight, anyhow 1" ^ 
 
 the same objection. What, then, is the weapon 
 for me ? Look at me. I am big, strong, apd 
 active. I hav^ no skill. I am brute^'strength. 
 So a cl^^) is my only weapon — a club that 
 won't break. Say iron, then.' There yon have 
 it." 
 
 And the Senator swnng the ponderous bar 
 around in a way that showed the wisdom of his 
 chcnce. 
 
 "Yon are abont right," said Buttons. "I 
 venture to say you'll do as much mischief with 
 that as Dick will with his pistol. Perhaps 
 more, As for me, I don't escpect to do much. 
 Still, if the worst eomes, I'll try to do what I 
 can." " » , 
 
 "We nu^ not have to \ise them," said the 
 "S^aior. 'T^AVho are below?" 
 
 "Below?" 
 
 "In tho coach?" ^ '- ■ " 
 
 " Italians." 
 
 "Women?" 
 
 "No, all men. Two p^osts, throe shop-keep- 
 ; eAooking persons, and;« soldttjj" ; ^ 
 
 " Ah 1 Why, we ought to be comparatively 
 safe." 
 
 " Oh, our number is not any thing. The 
 country is in a state of anarchy. Miserable 
 deviht of half-starved Italian^ swarm along the 
 
 ■^ 
 
 ~ -t«S^tt ^ iJM 
 
L '■. 
 
 THE D0d6e club ; OR^ ITALY IN MDCi^CLIX. 
 
 I'liK-ll'r'yyi/. 
 
 118 
 
 IN TIU OOACU. 
 
 Scarcely had ho gpoko when tliroe or ibur 
 heads appeared above the edRo of the coaeh. f 
 
 ' Haste I— your money I" said one. 
 • 1 ^T^ !". Mid Buttons. " TfiTs gentleman 
 « the Amenfcan Plenipotentiary Extrnordinarv 
 who has just come from f*Iorence, and is on his 
 way to communicate with Garibaldi." - 
 Jajaribaldil" cried the man, in a tone of 
 deep respect. 4 
 
 . ."/?■" i?'** ^""""I, who had not miscalcn. 
 ated the^ect of that mighty name, "if yon 
 liarm ns or plunder us you vtill have to settle 
 your account with GariUaldi— that's all •" 
 
 The man was silen/ Th»„ i . J , T """"'"'' f!^"°r>- The rumble o 
 
 nd in anothr_, ;LM" 'llT.l'^""-' -"eels shut out all other Sounds, 
 
 and in another moment another nwn came 
 
 "Which is the American Plenipotentiary 
 ExtAordmary ?" 
 
 .'! I^rrf '•* Buttons, pointing to the Senator. 
 'Ah4 I know him. It is the same. I saw 
 h.m at his reception in Florence, and helped to 
 poll his carriage." 
 
 The Senator calmly eyed the brigand, who 
 had respectfully taken off his hat. , > 
 
 "So yon are going to communicate with 
 Ganbaldiattfnce. Go in peace ! Gentlemen; 
 every one of us fought under Garibaldtat Ko'me. 
 i-en years ago he disbanded a large number of 
 M among these mountains. I have the honor to 
 inform you that ever since that time I ikave cot 
 my living out of the^ public, especially4hose in 
 the «..Tice of the Government. You are differ- 
 ent. I like you because you are ArocSricans. I 
 hie you still better because ymi are friends of 
 banbaldi.^ Go in peace ! When yon see the 
 General tell him Giuglio Malvi sends his re- 
 
 And the tnan left them. In about a quarter 
 of nn hour the barricade was removed, apd the 
 passengers resumed their .e.t.%-ith lighter 
 Parses btttheafler hearts. Thodfflgenco start- 
 
 ^" r don't helieva weVe seen the last of these 
 •<»nn.|relsyet^"«»id Buttons. 
 •' Nor I,»gifid Dick 
 
 A gcneraj_ conversation followed. It was 
 late, and but few things wefo visible along^jilio 
 road. About two hours passed away without 
 any occurrence. ~ 
 
 "Look ! " cried Dick, suddenly. 
 Tlley looked. About a quarter of a mile 
 ahead a deep red glow arose above the forest 
 Illumining the sky. The windings of the r«ad 
 prevented them from seeing the cause of i^ 
 lUe driver was started, but evidently thought 
 H,was no more dangerous to go on than to step 
 So he lashed up his horses and set them off at 
 a furious gallop. The rumble of the ponderous 
 
 other sounds. As they ad- ' 
 vanced the light grew more vivid. 
 
 "J shouldn't wondery" said the Senator, "if 
 wo have another barricade hero. Be ready 
 boys ! We won't get off so easily this time." ' 
 The other two said not a word. On, alid on. 
 The report of n gun suddenly roused all. The 
 driver lashed his horses. The poMllliins took 
 the butts of their-riding-whips and peltpd flio 
 anwnals. The road took a torn, and, passing 
 this, a strange scene borst upon their sight. *" 
 A wi4e, open space on the load-sido, a col- 
 Tection ^ beams across the road, the shadowy 
 forms 9f5^bont thirty men, and the whole scene 
 dimly lighted by a smouldering fire. As it ■ 
 blazed up a little the smoke rolled off and they 
 saw ftn overturned carriage, two horses tied to 
 a. tree, and^wo %ici^ with their hands bound 
 behind them lying qiil the ground. 
 
 A voice rang out through the stillness which 
 for a njomeht followe^, the sudden stoppage of 
 the coaeh at the har^it. There came a wail 
 from the frightened p^issengers within — cries 
 for merty— pitooijs entreaties," 
 
 "Sflence,, fobh!" roared tho same voice, 
 
 shich seemed Jaiie that of the leader. „^ ;. >._ 
 
 " Wait I wait ! " said the Senator to his coiB*' ^ 
 panions. " Let me ^[ivo the word.** 
 
 A crowd of men advanced to the diHigence, 
 
 and as they left the fir^ Buttons saw tht«e flg- 
 
 nres left behind— two women and a man. They 
 
 • did not move. But suddenly a, lend shriek 
 
 '<^*^ 
 
 >„. . ■ (* ' 
 
114- THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN 
 
 burst frona one of the women. At the «l>r|^k I ■ 
 Buttons trembled. T 
 
 " The Spaniards I It is ! I know the voice ! 
 My God!" 
 
 In an instant Buttons was down on the 
 ground and in the midst of the crowd of brig- 
 ' an^ who surrounded the coach. . . 
 
 Bang ! bang 1 bang I It was not the guns of 
 the brigands, but Dick's pistol that now spoke, 
 and its report was the signal of death to three 
 men who rolled upon the ground in their last 
 agonic^. As the third rep^r* hurst forth the 
 Senator hurled himself down upon the heads 
 of those below. The action of Buttons had 
 broken up all their plans, rendered parley im- 
 possible, and left nothing for them to do but to 
 follow him and save him. The brigands rushed 
 at them with a yell of fury. ' 
 
 " Death to them ! Death to them all I No 
 quarter!" 
 
 " Help 1" cried Buttons. " Passengers, we 
 are armed I We can save ourselves !*' 
 
 But the passengers, having already lost their 
 money, now feared to los«>heir lives. Not one 
 responded. All about thd coach the scene be- 
 came one of terrible confusion. Guns were 
 fired, blows fell in every "direction. The dark- 
 ness, but faintly illuminated by the fitful fire- 
 light, prevented the brigands from distinguish- 
 ing their enemies very clearly — a circumstance 
 which favored the little band of Americans. 
 
 The brigands fired at the coach, and tried to 
 break open the doors. Inside the coach the 
 passengers, frantic with fear, sought to make 
 their voices heard amid the uproar. They beg- 
 ged for mercy; they declared they had no 
 money; they had already been robbed; they 
 would give all that was left ; they would sur- 
 render if only their lives wore spared. 
 
 "And, oh! good Americans, yield, yield, or 
 wo all die!" 
 
 " Americans ?" screamed several passionate 
 voices. "Death to the Americans ! Death to 
 all foreigners !" 
 
 These bandits were unlike the last. 
 
 Seated in the banquette Dick surveyed th^ 
 scene, while himself concealed from view" 
 Calmly he picked out man after man and fired. 
 As they tried to climb up the diligence, or to 
 force open the door, they fell back howling. 
 Om^man had the door partly broken open by 
 furious blows with the butt of his gun. Dick 
 fired. The ball entered his arm. He shrieked 
 jvlth rage. With his other arm he seized his 
 'gun, and again his blows foil -crashing. In an- 
 other instant a ball passed into his brain. 
 
 "Two shbts wasted on fine man! Too 
 much I" muttered Dick; and taking aim again 
 he fired at • fellow who was just leaping up the 
 other side: The wretch fell cursing. 
 
 Again! again! again! Swiftly Dick's shots 
 flashed a^and. He had now but one left in 
 _.—. ..-i™^ Hnrriedly he filled the spare cham- 
 ber with six cartridges, and taking oat the oth- 
 er be filled it and placed it in again. He looked 
 down. 
 
 There was the Senator. More than twenty 
 men surrounded him, firing, swearing, striking, 
 shrieking, rushing forward, trying to tear him 
 from his post. For ho had planted himself 
 against the fore-part of the diligence, and the 
 mighty arm whose strength had been so proved 
 at rervgia was now descenfling again with ir. 
 resistible force upon the heads of his assailants. 
 All this was the work of but a few minutes. 
 Buttons could not be seen. Dick's prepani- 
 tions were made. For a moment he waited for 
 a favorable chance to get down. Ho could not 
 stay up there any longer. Ho must stand by 
 the Senator. 
 
 There stood the Senator, his giant form tower- 
 ing np amidst the m£lde, his muscular arms 
 wielding the enormous iron bar, his astonishing 
 strength increased tenfold by the excitement of 
 the fight He never spoke a word. 
 
 One after another the brigands went down 
 before the awful descent of that iron bar. They 
 clung together; they yelled in fury; they threw 
 themselves en matie against the Senator. Ho 
 met them as a rock meeU a hundred wares. 
 The remorseless iron bar fell only with redoubled 
 fury. They raised their clubbed muskoU in 
 the air and struck at him. One sweep of the 
 iron bar and the mnsketa were dashed out of 
 their hands, broken or bent, to the ground. 
 They fired, but flrom their wild excitement their 
 aim was useless. In the darkness they stmcii 
 at one another . One by one the number of 
 hfa assiaianH lessened'-lfeiyil'wr "'''' lUi.iosr 
 but less bold. They fell back a little ; but the 
 Senator advanced u they retired, guarding bit 
 
, THE DODGE CLUB} OK, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 115 
 
 WKfr sritAK. 
 
 ^^r^ 
 
 OTO retreat, but atill swinpng his iron bar with 
 nndiminished strength. The prostrate forms 
 of a dozen men lay around. Again they rushed 
 at him. The toic6 of their leader, encouraged 
 them and shamed their fears. He/was a stout, 
 powerful man, armed with alcnife and a gun 
 ' Cowards ! kill this one ! This is the one ! 
 
 ward'!*" ^^ "'" ^'*''^ - ^^ '''" •*'"• *■*»'- 
 That moment Dick leaped to the ground. 
 The next instant the brigands leaped upon 
 tiicm. The two were lost in the crowd. 
 
 Twelve reports, one after the other, rang into 
 the air. Dick did not fire tiil the muzzle of 
 hu pistol was against his enemy's brekst. The 
 tarkness, now deeper than ever, prevented him 
 . from being distinctly seen by the furious crowd 
 who thonglit only of the Senator. But now the 
 Hre shooting up brightly at the sudden breath 
 of a strong wind threw a lurid light upon the 
 •cene. 
 
 There stood tick, his clothes torn, his face 
 covered vyith blood, his last charge gone. There 
 «tood the Senator, his (ace blackened with smoke 
 «nd dost, and red with blood, his colossal form 
 erect and still the ponderous bar swung on high 
 to fall as terribly as ever. Before him were 
 eight men. Dick saw it all in an instant. He 
 , wrcamed to the passengers in the diligence : 
 There are only eight left! Come! Help 
 M take f hem prisoners ! Haste!" 
 
 The cowards in the diligence saw how things 
 Z&\f X 7.P'"«4d nP conrage, and at the 
 Mil of Dick jumped ont The leader of the 
 ^gands was befohj Dick with uplifted rifle. 
 Oick flung his pistol at his head. The brigand 
 5L ^u"*" '""'*'* °''='' «'"«1<'" 'o the 
 Ei Z^"."",* •"**"""" "•« Semitor's arm 
 ««cendod, and. with his head broken by the 
 Wow, the robber fell dead. 
 
 fJh /'""'•^l! *o'' *■'" "^ ^'"'^ »"^ Ri^on hi™ 
 Bin. 7* i," *•""*** •P'""8 »"<» 'he otheM. 
 hll*?" '''":''"• They were struck down 
 »«Pte""y " they ran. At this moment the 
 •"^engen, nutoUng ap the arms of the pro«- 1 
 
 Trvt^ %nf''*^ """^ whoyot remained. 
 They fled. The Senator pursucd-long enough 
 to give each one a parting blow hard enough to 
 make him remember it for a month. When he 
 returned the passengers were gathering around 
 the coach with the driver anfl postillions, who 
 had thus far hidden themselves, and were eager. . / 
 ly looking at the dead. "gory 
 
 . < A'i^^'" *'"?'^ "*^ ^"^'o''' '" "n »'^u» voice-/ 
 
 Off! you white-livered sneaks! Let me find 
 my two boys!'' 
 
 CHAPTER XLVn. 
 
 BAD BRUISES, BUT GOOD MUSES. -THE HOtfOtfA- 
 BLE SCABS OF DICK.-A KNOWLEtooE OFTON^ 
 
 The Senator searehed long and anxioukly 
 among the fallen bandits.for those whom he af- 
 fectionately called his " boys." Dick was first 
 tound. He was senseless. 
 
 The Senator carried him to the fire. He saw 
 two ladies and a gentleman standing there. 
 Hurriedly ho called on them and pointed to 
 uick. The gentleman raised his arms.' They 
 were bound tightly. The ladies also were se- 
 cured in a similar manner. The Senator quick- 
 ly cut the cords from the gentleman, *ho in hit 
 tutii snatched the knife and freed die ladies, 
 and then went to care for Dick. ' 
 
 The Senator then ran back to seek for But- 
 tons. 
 
 The gentleman flung a qnantity of diT bfiidl''' 
 on the fire, which at once blazed up and threw 
 a bright light over the scene. Meanwhile the 
 IWssengers were looking anxiously around as 
 though they dreaded a new attack. Some of 
 them had been wounded inside the coach and 
 were groaning and cursing. 
 
 The Senator searehed for a long time in vain. 
 At last at the bottom of a heap of fallen brig- 
 ands, whom the Senator had knocked over, ha 
 fonnd Buttons. His face and clothes were 
 covered with blood, his forehead was blaelcened 
 
 -A 
 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 A 
 
 116 - 
 
 as though by an explosion, his arm was broken 
 and hung loosely as the Senator lifted him op. 
 For a moment he thought that it was all over 
 with him. 
 
 He carried him toward the fire. The ap- 
 pearance of the young man was terrible. Ho 
 l)cckoned to one of the ladies. The lady ap- 
 proached. One look at the young man and 
 the next instant, with a heart-rending moan, 
 she flung herself on her knees by his side. 
 
 "The Spaniard 1" said the Senator, recog- 
 nizing her for the first time. " Ah 1 he'll be 
 taken care of then." 
 
 There was a brook near by, and he hurried 
 there for water. TheNfe was nothing to carry it 
 in, so he t»ok his beaver hat and filled it. Re- 
 turning, ho dashed^it vigorously in Buttons's 
 face. A faint sigh, a feasp, and the young man 
 feebly opened his eyes. Intense pain forced a 
 '"^imn- fipom l»im. In the hasty glance that he 
 threw around ho saw the face of Ida Francia as 
 she bent over him bathing his brow, her face 
 pale as death, her hand trembling, and her 
 eyes filled with tears. The sight seemed to 
 alleviate his pain. A faint smile crossed his 
 lips. He half raised himself toward her. 
 
 " I've found you at last," ho said, and that 
 was all. 
 
 At this abrupt address a burning flush passed 
 
 oyer the face and neck of the young girl, ^he 
 
 bent down her head. Her iears flowed faiiter 
 
 than ever. 
 
 •«' Don't spitk," she saidf ^"you arc in too 
 
 ' jQUch pain." 
 
 \ T She was right, for the no<t mpmcntUuttons 
 nU back exhausted. ,.' ■• 
 
 The Senator drey a flasl: fl-om Ms pocket and 
 motioned to the young girl'to give some to But- 
 tons ; and then, thinking that the attention of 
 the SdioriU would be far better than his, he 
 hurried away to Dick. 
 
 Spwell had he been treated by the Don 
 (whom the reader has of course already recog- 
 nized) that he was iiow sitting up, leaning 
 against the driver of the diligence, who was mak- 
 ing amends for his cowardice during the fight 
 by kind attention to Dick after it was over. 
 
 "My dear boy, I saw you had no bones 
 broken," said the Senator, " and knew you wore 
 all right; so I devoted my first attention to 
 Buttons. How do you feel ?" 
 
 "Better," said Dick, pressing the honest 
 hand which the Senator held out. "Better; 
 but how is Buttons ?" 
 
 "Recovering. But he is terribly bruised, 
 and his arm is broken." 
 
 "His arm broken! Poor Buttons, whai'U 
 be do?" ^ 
 
 " W ell, my boy, I'l l try what / can do. I W 
 
 sot an arm befoire n6w. ~Tn out roifton a Tiecos- 
 sary part of a good education was settin' bones.'' 
 Dick was wounded in several places. LcavV 
 ing the Don to attend to him the Senator took 
 his kniM and hurriedly made soma splints. 
 Then getting his valise, ho tofe up two or three 
 of hti thtfU. Armed with these be returned to 
 .) 
 
 Buttons. The Senorita saw the preparations, 
 and, weeping bitterly, she retired. 
 
 " Your arm is broken, my poor lad," said the 
 Senator. " Will you let mo fix it for you ? I 
 cAn do it." 
 
 "'Can you? Oh, then, I am all rifihtl I 
 was ofrnid I would have to wait till I got to 
 Bologna." 
 
 "It would be a pretty bad aim by the time 
 you gofcthere, I guess, " said the Senator. "But 
 come — no time must be lost." 
 
 His simple preparations were soon made. 
 Buttons saw that he knew what he wns olioiit. 
 A few moments of excessive pain, which forced 
 ill-suppressed moans from the sufferer, ond the 
 work was done. 
 
 After taking a sip from the flosk both But- 
 tons and Dick felt very much stronger. On 
 questioning the driver they found that Bologna 
 was not more than twenty miles away. Tlie 
 passengers were busily engaged in removing 
 the barricade.* It was decided that an imme- 
 diate departure was absolutely necessary. At 
 the suggestion of Dick, the driver, postillions, 
 and passengers armed themselves with guns of 
 the fallen brigands. 
 
 The 8evei«8t wpund which Dick had wos on 
 his head, wpch Hod been almost laid open by 
 a terrific blow from the gun of the robber chief. 
 lie had also wounds on different parts of his 
 body. Buttons had more. These the Senator 
 bound up with such skill that he declared him- 
 self ready to resume his journey. Upon this 
 the Don insisted on taking him into his own 
 carriage. Buttons did not refuse. 
 
 At length they all started, the diligence 
 ahead, the Don following. On the way tlie 
 Don told Buttons how ho had fared on the 
 road. He had left Florence in a hired carringo 
 the day before the diligence had loft. He had 
 heard nothing of the dangers of t)ie road, and 
 suspected nothing. Shortly after entering the 
 mountain district they had been stopped and 
 robbed of all their money. Still he kept on, 
 thinking that there was no further danger. To 
 his horror th<iy were stopped again at the bridge, 
 where the brigands, vexed at not getting anji 
 money, took all their baggage and let them go. 
 They went on fearfully, every moment dread- 
 ing some new misadventure. At length their 
 worst fears were realized. At the place where 
 the fight had occurred they were stopped and 
 dragged from their carriage. The brigands 
 weroi savage at not getting any plunder, and 
 sworts they would hold them prisoners till thcv 
 procured a ransom, which they fixed at three 
 thousand piastres. This was about four in the 
 afternoon. They overturned the coach, kin- 
 dled a fire, and waited for the diligence. Thejr 
 
 Imww th« rwir — ^ —.- 
 
 Buttons, seated next to Ida Francia, forgot 
 kis sufiTerings. Meanwhile Dick and the SdH 
 iltor resumed their old seaU on the banquette, 
 .^fter A while the Senator relapsed into a fit of 
 musing, and Dick fell asleep. 
 Morning dawned and found them on Uw 
 
THE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX 
 
 plain once more, only a few miles from Bo- 
 logna. Far ahead they saw the lefty Leaning 
 Tower that forms so conspicuous an object in 
 the fine old city. Dick awaked, and on look- 
 ing at the Senator was shocked to see him very 
 pale, with an expression of pain. He hurried- 
 ly asked the canse. 
 
 " Why, the fact is, after the excitement of 
 fightia' and slaughterin' and seein' to you chaps 
 was over I found that I was covered with 
 wounds. One of my fingers is broken. I have 
 three bullet wounds in my left grm, one in ray 
 riglit, a stab of a dirk in my right thigh, and a 
 terrible bruise on my left knee. I think that 
 some fellow must have passed a dagger through 
 my left foot, for there is a cn» in the leather, 
 my shoo is full of blood, and it hurts dreadful. 
 It's my opinion that the Dodge Club will bo 
 laid up in Bojiogny for a fortnight.— Hallo!" 
 
 The Senator had heard a cry behind, and 
 looked out. Something startled him. Dick 
 looked also. 
 
 The Don's carriage was in confusion. The 
 two Seuoritas wore standing up in the carriage 
 wringing their hands. The Don was supporU 
 ing Buttons in his arms. He had fainted a 
 second time. 
 
 and them on tbe 
 
 CHAPTER XLVUI. 
 
 BUrrEBINO AND SENTIMENT AT BOLOGNA.— MOON- 
 8UINE.— BEST BALM FOKTVOUNDS. 
 
 , TuET all put up at the same hotel. Buttons 
 was carried in senseless, and it was long before 
 ho revived. The Senator and Dick were quite 
 exhausted— stiff with fatigue, stiff with wounds. 
 
 There was one thing, however, which made 
 their present situation more endurable. The 
 war in Lombardy made further progress Im- 
 possible. They could not Ue permitted to pass 
 the borders in'.o Vanctia. ' Even if they had 
 been perfectly well thtoy would ha*« been com- 
 pelled to wait there for a time. 
 
 The city:<inu in a ferment. The deliglit 
 ■ which the^ citizens felt at their new-found free- 
 dom was mingled with a dash of anxiety about 
 the result of the war. For, in spite of Solferino, 
 it was probable that the tide of victory would 
 be hurled back from the Quadrilateral. Still 
 they kept up their spiriU; and the joy of their 
 hearts fcnnd rent in songs, music, processions, 
 Roman can.dl<s, Te Deuntf, sky-rockets, volleys 
 of cannon, masses, pnblic meetings, patriotic 
 •ongs, speeches, tri-colors, and Italian veraions 
 of'TheMarselUaise." 
 
 In a short time the Senator was a 
 
 r".". ?^J' ^''* ■** ^^"^^ ^^^^ strllgfling 
 ^heroically ferffioflw day against his pain he 
 •nccumbed, and on the morning of the second 
 was nnable to leave his bed. , 
 
 The Senfttor would not leave him. The 
 kind attention which ho had once before shown 
 in Rome was now repeated. Ho spent nearly 
 *u bis time Jn Dick's room, talking- to him 
 
 when he was awake, and looking at him when 
 asleep. Dick was touched to the heart. 
 
 The Senator thought that, without exception, 
 Bologna was the best Italian city that he had 
 seen. It had a solid look. The people were 
 not such everlasting fools as the Nea|)olitans, 
 the Romans, and the Florentines, wlio thought 
 that the highest end of life was to make pict- 
 ures and listen to music. They devoted their 
 energies to an article of nonrisbmont which was 
 calculated to benefit the world. He alluded to 
 the famous Bologna Scuuage, and bo put it to 
 Dick seriously, whether the manufacture of a 
 sausogo which was so eminently adapted to 
 sustain life was not a fhr nobler thing than the 
 production of useless pictures for the pampered 
 tastes of a bloated aristocracy. 
 
 Meanwhile Buttons fared differently. If he 
 had been more afflicted he was now more blessed. 
 The Don seemed to think that the sufferings of 
 Buttons were caused by himself, or, at any rate, 
 by the eagerness of the young man to come to 
 the assistance of his sisters. He felt grateful 
 accordingly, and spared no pains to give him 
 assistance and relief. Ho procured the best 
 'medical advice in the city. For several days 
 the poor fellow lay in a very dangerous con- 
 dition, hovering betweeD life and death. Hl« 
 wounds were numerous and severe, and the ex- 
 citement afterward, with the fatigue of the ride, 
 had made his situation worse. But a strong 
 constitution was on his side, and he at length 
 was able to leave his bed and liis room. 
 
 He was as pale as death, and woefully ema- 
 ciated. Bat the society of tho ladies acted like 
 
 I A.' 'it^ ^.^t^ 
 
■V 
 
 X: 
 
 118 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCGCLEL 
 
 a charm upon him ; and from the moment when 
 he left hi8 room his strenj^ came back rap- 
 idly. 
 
 He woold have likod it still better if he had 
 been able to see the yoanger sister alone ; but 
 tluit was impossible, for the sisters were insep- 
 arable. One evening, however, the Don of- 
 '^fered to take them to the cathedral to see some 
 ceremony. Ida declined, but the other eager- 
 ly accepted. 
 
 So Buttons for the first time in his life found 
 himself alone with the maid of his heart. It 
 was a solemn season. 
 
 Both were much embarrassed. Buttons 
 looked as though he had something dreadful 
 to tell; the Seiiorita as though she had some- 
 thing dreadful to hear. At length Btittons 
 began to tell the story of his many setirches, 
 pursuits, wanderings, etc., in search of her, apd 
 particularly his last search at Florence, in which 
 he had grown disheartened, and had made up 
 his mind to follow her to Spain. At last ho 
 came to the time when he caught up to them 
 on the road. Ho had seen them first. His 
 heart told him that one of the ladies was Ida. 
 Then he had lost all control of himself, a^d 
 had leaped down to rescue her. 
 
 The Spanish nature is an impetnons, a de- 
 monstrative, a fiery nature. The Seiiorita was 
 a Spifiniard. As Buttons told all this in pas- 
 sionate words, to which his ardent love gave 
 resistless eloquence, her whole manner showed 
 that her heart responded. An uncontrollable 
 excitement filled her being ; her large, lustrous 
 eye*, bright with the glow of the South, now 
 beamed more luminously through her tears, 
 and — in short: Buttons felt encouraged — and 
 ventured nearer — and, almost before he know 
 it himself, somehow or other, his arm had got 
 round a slender waist I 
 
 While the Seiiorita trembled— timidly drew 
 back — and then air was still! — except, of course, 
 whisperings — and broken sentences — and soft, 
 
 sweet Well, all those wore brought 
 
 abrupt close by the return of the Don and 
 sister. 
 
 As they entered the room they saw Buttons 
 at one end, and the Seiiorita at the other. The 
 moonbeams stole in softly through the win- 
 dow. 
 
 " Why did you not call for a light ?" 
 
 " Oh, it is so pleasant in the moonshine 1" 
 
 At the end of a few weeks, there came the 
 great, the unlooked-for, the nnbopod-for news 
 — the Peace of Villafrenca I So war was over. 
 Moreover, the foad was open. They conid go 
 wherever they wished. 
 
 Buttons wiu now strong enough to tnTd. 
 Dick and ttte Senator wore as well as ever. 
 The newt df the Feacti wo* dell{(tn|Ul totfie 
 travellers. .■■',«•" 
 
 Not so, however, t6 tile JB6tognMo. They 
 railed at Napoleon, li^ forgot all that he 
 had dona, an\l ifkUMJiim with what he had 
 «neglectedtod9^ TJ^insoltedhim. Thfy 
 
 made caricatures of him. 
 dalous reports about him. 
 the world. 
 
 They spread scan- 
 Such is the way ol 
 
 to ai^ 
 nd l^is 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 CROSSING rSTO THK EMBMT'S COUNTRT.— -COK- 
 «TERNATION OF TUB CUSTOM-HOUSE OFFICERS. 
 
 Thk journey was a pleasant one. Tlie Span- 
 iards were an agreeable addition to the party 
 in the estimation of others than Buttons. The 
 Senator devoted himself particularly to the eld- 
 er sister. Indeed, his acquaintance with La 
 Cica, as he afterward confessed, had given him 
 a taste for foreign ladies. He carried on little 
 conversations with the Senorita in broken En- 
 glish. The Seiiorita's English was pretty, but 
 not very idiomatic. The Senator imitated her 
 English remarkably well, and no doubt did A 
 out of compliment. Ho also astonished the 
 company by speaking at the very top of a voice 
 whose ordinary tone was far stronger than com- 
 mon., 
 
 The journey from Bologna to Ferrara was 
 not diversified by any incident. Buttons was 
 rapidly regaining his gayety and his strength. 
 He wore his arm in a sling, it is true, but 
 tboxight it better to have a broken arm with the 
 $en^rita than a sound one without her. It 
 ihusi be confessed, however, that his happiness 
 was visible not so much in lively conversation 
 as in Jiis flushsd cheek, glistening eye, and gen- 
 eral Air of eeataty. Moreover, Ida could not 
 speak English mqch — a conversation in that 
 language Was diflScult, and they would not be 
 
 
 i-sSu a1 
 

 THE DODGE CLUB , OB, ITALY IN ipCCCLlX. 
 
 H» 
 
 to rndo to tho Senator as to ta]k Spanish in liis 
 presence. The consequence was that the con- 
 TOfsation flagged, and tho Senator was by far 
 the most tallcative member of the company, and 
 laid out all his strength in broken English. 
 
 Ferrara was reached at last, and they put up 
 nt a hotel which boasted of havinir nntnrtninoH .~ . ^ .. — 
 
 in its day any quantity of tinreV^^Xnl I '^^''^"rJ^S^ ITZ^^S 
 nobles of every European nation. It is an as- | SX«**I?^''if hV"° "? *"""*" 
 tonishmg town Vast squanis, «W desolate ; sf^T" ^".^..^ "f .^^e ?„--^^^^^ 
 great cathedrals, empty; proud pkU^e. nee- H^^'fixyign rule ii.u, .mtwef " - " • <•»>■"««• 
 
 ia«*«ri ««ri -«.i \. « . * ' o I ntonet of the I^>] 
 
 There was more thrift, neatness," and apparent 
 prosperity. His sentiments on this subject were 
 embodied in a letter home, *hich ho wrote from 
 Padna on a dreary evening which they spent 
 there before starting for Venice: 
 
 1 can My to, that the pnewure bos iqueezed an ImmenM 
 amount erf Tegejatlon out of the .oU. PawiSg Zn^ll 
 Roman territoriet Into the Amtrian 1. l*e Lnrfrom 
 darknee. Into Ught or from Canada Into Zl^Z 
 
 lected and ruinous; broad streets, grass-grown 
 and empty; long rows of houses, without in- 
 habitants ; it presents tho spectacle of a city 
 dying without hope of recovery. The Senator 
 walked through every street in Ferrara, looked 
 
 ZtSZS^Z-^'Z^S^ -•-" «T£rS!«?^^':2.rI' 
 
 - In my opinion, the ter- 
 lt.1* A a;..»ri;."/l."' '^°'? *'"" "'"»« of other rulers la 
 Italy. A 8panl.li friind of mine tella me that it 1. hlC 
 
 £l!.w'S?..''''^^''°"''"''°P«'""''J«'»»™wtnot«ntM 
 below, but on thlnga on high, ud" tell, mo that we'Ve3 
 
 ?.nH°rH «'*"" ""• •""'e^CI'ri.ttanltj^ on ?he OM 
 hand, and MBmmon on the other. Whoever chowM th« 
 
 fri^.thoth*^^"! •;!• i^l^^^J^ .\"'^h «.un- 
 
 ^oreiy, ralae doctrine, and all manner of nlmllar evul 
 
 S^„t°:"3!5J •'"."' P"^" ■*"«*'"' «» "orldl^p^^ly 
 pnaent a different Rene; and he polnte to Spaliand 
 
 nSUX'Siti^i" ""-- •»"■« «"> -<6"borhoodSf 
 
 feel relieved when they left the city. 
 
 On arriving at the Po, which forms the 
 boundary between this district and Venetia 
 they underwent some examination from tho au! 
 thorities, but crossed without accident. But on 
 tiwbther side they found the Austrian officials 
 
 far more particular. They asked a mnltiplicity . 
 
 of questions, opened every tmnk, scanned the 
 
 pawports, and detained them long. The ladies CHAPTER L 
 
 hsd passed the Italian <%aaa» were now taken " a net, etc. dp a tkbe.- 
 
 from them, „ 
 
 Dick had a valise, both comnartmpnu .r Lk . T'"""""."'* *"""»"'"" '•>«"»»■!<:»> 
 which were strapped dorncaSvUnlr I v' "^^^''^^^P^.^ences on his first approach to 
 calm exterior he^onc^Ied a tfihiny h«l '"• ^'l" "'"'"^ ?»'»«' '"^ •»"«» through 
 
 for in that valise Ts^e D^tor's pSl n^n ' ti."T' ^^'l^^^^' ""^ broken mud banks, 
 which he relied in ant^cfpation of fS Z I "* f^* u' •"!.^''"« """^^ alt^ther from tlT^ • 
 gers. The officials o2d the valil It ^I ^ """jh' ''"''?'* ^T""'^^ *"" •'"«^''« *«"• ^way - 
 .pparently a purzle tTther They fo„„H Z ^a ,^\ '"".1 °^ "«" """ *« '""S viaduct 
 Uttle clothing On tWc^^ary aL" "«.„ i fh >' "■r«»"J*"'in can scarcely understand 
 
 , „, ' At length the city is reached. The train 
 
 ^ PMcr'^o'^^-Vl^i', V^P ?' ""« l*- P«»">ie« ; '.'"''*; ""^ *'"' passenger steps out into the sta- 
 l«,'i;!^r^il^r;ii.LSr:.L':?".°o'''!:''?>i^««hip| tion-honse. But what . station-hon«, ! and 
 
 what a city ! There is the nsoal shontinc from 
 
 «, nwre puiter; li, mrre^.;.hS T 12 «"l™k L^tt'e'?' 1' 
 
 > tS; wll'ii^'. W'''~li *^'"'" '9.«o"egnS; 
 w,oone, VI, rag; IS, alone; 23, another itoiu • e^anml 
 
 W«k'»g: 28,.llpp«,i 49, more .tone.; 80,ii4e'rtSn^ 
 
 The official, started np with an oath apiece, 
 fheir heavy Gorman faces confronted Dick with 
 mth and indignation, and every separate hair 
 or the r wariike mustaches stood out, How- 
 
 «ie others Dick drew a long-breath of relief. 
 The sistol was «tfe. It had been taken apar 
 Md «U!h piece wrapped in paper and labelled, 
 
 b«n tak^"" "^"' *'"' •'•"' *' **»"" ""»»« 
 
 -ffi^l » ■"*! !!! [ * '^ o °«ht i^ »M better to have 
 TOee battles with brigand, than one encounter 
 Wtti custom-house officials. He had a little 
 wh^h l"'**^!!"""' "' '"»•*•" «n«nnfactnn!s, 
 S M '*,'"..*"'"'" ***"> W°>- One thing 
 STHiil-il^^^^/- "^ »•"' -the gene«1 
 
 it had been taken apart live-stock gonerallvf 
 
 id in Daimr nnri lnl.«IU.1 vr....i ,-. ' , 
 
 carriers and cabmen, but none of that deep roar 
 of a lai^ city which in every other place drone, 
 heavily into the traveller's ear. 
 
 Going out to what he thinks is a street, the 
 traveller finds merely a canal. Where are tho 
 carnages, cabs, caliches, hand-carts, barouches, 
 pony -carriages, carryalls, wagons, hansoms, 
 hackneys, wheelbarrows, broughams, dog-cart^ 
 buggies? Where are the horses, mares, dogs, 
 pigs, ponie^ oxen, cows, cats, colt., calves and 
 
 Nowhere. There's not a wheeled carriage 
 in the place. It may be doubted if there i. 
 « dog. There certai nly is not a cow. Thn 
 people MO goaW milk. The horse i. a. un- 
 
 - - r uwiov IB SB un- 
 
 known as the pterodactyl, icthyowiams, dodo, 
 ignanodon, muUAon, great awk. How do they 
 go about? Where are the conrenienoe. for 
 moving to and fro? 
 
 ■\^iii:*-"'^ii*LViii-ial.'\'i.Bk:i','."^fr^'rf«,\ 
 
 Vk 
 
120 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 dick's LCOaAOE. 
 
 dolier is the cabmait Ho waits for yon, with 
 his hand toward yoa, and the true "Kcb, Sir!" 
 tone and smile. A double-sized gondola is here 
 called an " omnibus," and the name Is painted 
 on the side in huge letters. And these are the 
 substitutes for wheeled vehicles. 
 
 Now after entering one of these yoa go along 
 Binoothly and noiselessly. The first thing one 
 notices in Venice is the absence of noise. As 
 the boat goes along the only sound that is heard 
 is the sharp cry from the boatman as he ap- 
 proaches a comer. At first the novelty inter- 
 ests the mind, afterward, it affects the spirits. 
 In three days most people leave the city in a 
 kind of panic. The stillness is awfol. A long- 
 er stay would reduce one to a state of mel- 
 ancholy madness. A few poets, however, have 
 been able to endure, and even to love, the sepul- 
 chral stillness of the city. But to appreciate 
 Venice one must be strongly poetical. 
 
 There are many things to be seen. First of 
 all, there is the city itself, ope grand curiosity, 
 unique, with nothing on earth that bears a dis- 
 tant approach to it. Its canals, gondolas, 
 antique monuments, Byzantine architecture, 
 bridges, mystery: its pretty women with black 
 lace veils,' the true glory of Venice— though 
 Murray says nothing about them. 
 - HsFMniray, iirwhat w«» meant to be a^^ex- 
 haustive description of Venice, hw omitted all 
 mention of that which makes if what it is. 
 Whereas if it had been Homer instead of Murray 
 he would have rolled out the following epithets : 
 ifimUnaitM, airakai, xopotiOe'i{, v6iu>ftot, {loiomi- 
 XU{, iparetval, Ka?AtitUKaftoi^ ehuxiTuvti, kv. 
 
 av&mdci, iaAt&Tridt{, lfup6eaaai, j3aO'vKo>.mi, 
 }^yvfto^itot : K, r. A. 
 
 The travellers visited the whole round of siBhis. 
 They remained in company and went about in s 
 tho same gondola. The Senator admired what 
 he saw as much as any of them, thcugh it ap- 
 peared to be out of his particular line. It was 
 not the Cathedral of St. Mark's, however, nor 
 the Doge's Palace, nor tho Court of the Inciuisi- 
 tion, nor the Bridge of Sighs,.nor tho Kinlto, 
 that interested him, but rather the spcc-tncle of 
 all these magnificent edifices aro<ind him, wiili 
 all the massive masonry of a vast city, built up 
 laboriously on the uncertain sand. Ho adniii^ 
 tho Venetians who had done this. To such men, 
 he thought, the commerce of the world nii(!lit 
 well have belonged. In discussing the causes 
 of the decline of Venice he summed up the sub- 
 ject in a few words, and in the clearest po8sj))lc 
 manner. 
 
 " These Venetians, when they sot up shop, 
 were in the principal street of tho world— the 
 Mediterranean. They had tho best stand in the 
 street. They did work up their business uncom- 
 mon well now, and no mistake. They made 
 money hand over fist, and whatever advantage 
 conld be given by enerjjy, capital,and a good loca- 
 tion, they got. But the currents of traffic chsnRO 
 in lb© world just as they do in » citj;. After a 
 while it passed in another direction. Venice 
 was thrown out altogether. She had no more 
 diance than a Now York shop would have after 
 the business that it lived on had gone into sn- 
 other street. Hence," said the Senator— he si- 
 waya said " hence" when he wai coming to a 
 
 t , • i^Av^.\a 
 
THE DODGE CLUB, 01^ ITALY IN MDCCOLIX. 
 
 ro<, Pa6'vKo).TTni, 
 
 trinmphant conclusion— " henco the downfall 
 of Venice." 
 
 On arriving at their hotel a little ctronmstance 
 occurred which made them look at Venice from 
 a new and startling point of view. On going 
 to their rooms after dinner they were followed 
 by a file 6f Austrian soldiers. They wanted to 
 see the passports. They requested tliis in a 
 thick guttural tone.Avhich made the Americana 
 feel quite ner\-ous. They showed the passports 
 nevertlieless. 
 
 On looking over them the Austrian soldiers ar- 
 rested them. They were informed that if they 
 went peaceably they would be well treated, but 
 if they made any resistance they would all be 
 bound. 
 
 The Americans remonstrated. No use A 
 thousand conjectures were made as to the cause 
 ?f ****'f '"Test, but they were completely baffled 
 Before they could arrive at any conclusion they 
 had arrived at the place of their destination, to 
 which they had, of course, been taken in a gon- 
 dola. It was top dark to distinguish the place, 
 but It looked like a largo and gloomy edifice. 
 The soldiers took them to a room, where they 
 
 locked them all in together. It was a comforta- 
 ble apartment, witl». another larger one opening 
 from it, III which were twp beds and two couches. 
 Evidently they were not neglected. 
 
 After waiting for half the night in a kind of 
 fcver they retired to rest. They slept but little. 
 They rose early, and at about seven o'clock 
 breakfast was brought in to them, with a guard 
 of soldiers following the waiters. 
 
 After breakfast they were visited again. This 
 time it was a legal gentleman. They did not 
 know who he was, but he gave tlicm to under- 
 stand that he was a person high in authontv. 
 He questioned them very closely as to their bus- 
 mess in Venice, but did his questioning in a 
 courteous manner. After about an hour ho 
 left. 
 
 Lunch WAS brought in at oiffi o'clock. Their 
 feelings at being treated in this mysterious man- 
 ner can be imagined. Such-tncglect of tho 
 rights of man— such trifling-with his time and 
 patience— such utter disregard of habeas corpus, 
 awaked indignation which words could not exl 
 press. ~ ' ^,- 
 
 Positively tfce*pre treated like dumb cattle; 
 
 
123 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OR, ITALY IN MDCCCLDL 
 
 locked op, fed, deprired of liberty and fresh air ; 
 no commnnication with friendf ootside; and, 
 wont of all, no idea in the world of tho canse 
 of their impriionmenti They came to the con- 
 cliuion that they were mistaken for some other 
 parties — for some Oaecialori degli Alpi; and 
 Buttons insisted that the Senator was supposed 
 to be Garibaldi himself. In these troublous 
 times any idea, howorer absurd, might be acted 
 upon. 
 
 At about three in the afternoon the door was 
 thrown open, and a file of soldiers appeofrcd. 
 An officer approached and requested tho prison- 
 ers to follow. They did so. They passed along 
 many halls, and at length came to a large room. 
 A long table extended nearly from one end to 
 another. Soldiprs were arranged down tho sides 
 of the apartment. ^ 
 
 At tho head of fffe table sat an elderly man, 
 with a stem face, ferfibious mustache, sharp eye, 
 bushy gray eyebrows, and universal air of Mars. 
 His uniform showed him to be a Gieneral. By 
 his side was their visitor of tho morning. Offi- 
 cials sat at the table. 
 
 "Silence!" 
 
 CHAPTER LL 
 
 TRX AMSBIOAN KAOLB AKD THB AUSTBIAK DOITB- 
 LB-HBADXD DITTa 
 
 At the command of the Aiutrian General 
 every body became still. Therenpon he motiolV- 
 ed to the prisoner* to stand at the bottom of the 
 Uble. They did so. The General took a long 
 
 stare at the prisoners, particularly at the Senator. 
 They bore it steadily. As for the Senator, lie 
 regairded the other with an expression which 
 would have done honor to the Austrian General's 
 own father. 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 The General spoko in Gorman. The legal 
 gentleman at his side instantly interpreted it 
 into English. 
 
 "Americans." 
 
 " Ah ! dangerous characters — dangerous char- 
 acters I What is your business ?" 
 
 •'TravpUers." 
 
 "Tra^llers? Ah! But what ore your oc- 
 cupations in America?" 
 
 ' ' Ottc passports tell. " 
 
 " Your passports say — ' Gentlemen.' " 
 
 " Well, we are genUemen." 
 
 The Austrian looked blank. After a while 
 he resumed ; and as be directed his glance to 
 the Senator the latter made-all the replies, while 
 the' Interpreter served as a medium of commu- 
 nication. 
 
 " How long have yon been in Italy ?" 
 
 "Two or three months." 
 
 "Ton came here just about the commence- 
 ment of these difficulties ?" 
 
 "Yes — the beginning of the war." 
 •" Where did you land ?" 
 
 ^ At Naples."' 
 
 "Naples? Ha! hmj Where did you go 
 next?" 
 
 " ^o Rome. We stayed there a few weeks 
 and then went to Florence; from Florence to 
 Bologmt; and thence through Ferrora and Pa- 
 dua to Venice." 
 
 " Yon went to Florence ! How long ago did 
 didyoa leave?" 
 
 "About a month ago." 
 
 "A month! Ah, hm!" 
 
 And the General exchanged glances with the 
 legal gentleman at his side. 
 
 "What were yon doing in Florence ?" 
 
 "Seeing the city." 
 
 "Did you place yourselves in connection with 
 the Bfivolntionists ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Did yon have any thing to do with tho em- 
 issaries of Garibaldi?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Take care how yon deny. " 
 
 " We say we know nothing at all cither of 
 the Revolutionists or ImperialisU or Garibaldi- 
 ans or any other party. We are merely travel- 
 lers." 
 
 " Hm — a strong disavowment," said the Gen- 
 eral to himself. " You have never in any way 
 countenanced the rebels." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Think before yo n apettk." 
 
 V "WenrefteeAmeHaaii. Iferimpi you know- 
 that the citisens of that country say what thqr 
 think and do what they like. We have gone on 
 that mlo in Italy. What I say is, that we do 
 not know any thing about lebeli or any political 
 parties in the coontiy." 
 
THE DODGE CI^, OB, ITALY mMDCCCLlX. 
 
 " Do yoa know La dcat" asked the Gen- 
 eral, with the air of a man who was putting a 
 homo -thrust, and speaking with uncommon 
 fierceness. 
 
 "I do," said the Senator, mildly. 
 
 " You know her well? You are one of her 
 intimate friends ?" 
 
 "Ami?' 
 
 " Are yoo not ?" 
 
 " I am friendly with her. She u an estima- 
 ble woman, with much feeling and penetration *' 
 —and a fond regret exhibited itself in the face 
 of the speaker. 
 
 "Well, Sir, you may as well confess. Wo 
 know you. Sir. We know you. You are one 
 of the chosen associates of that infumous -Gari- 
 baldian plotter and assassin, whose hotel is the 
 hot -bod of conspiracy and revolution. We 
 know you. Do you dare to come here and deny 
 it?" ' 
 
 " I did not come here ; I was brought. I do 
 not deny that you know me, though I haven't 
 the pleasure of knowing you. But I do deny 
 that I am the associate of conspirators." 
 
 "Are you not the American whom la Cica 
 «o particularly distinguished with her favor ?" 
 
 "I have reason to believe that she was par- 
 tial to nie^4omewhat." 
 
 "He confesses!" said the General. "You 
 came from her to this place, communicating on 
 the way with her emissaries." 
 
 " I communicated on the way with none but 
 brigands among the mountains. If they were 
 her emissaries I wish her joy Of them. My 
 mwns of communication," said the Senator, 
 while a grim smile passed over his face, "was 
 an iron crow-bar, and my remarks left some deep 
 impression on them, I do believe." | 
 
 "Tell me now— and tell me truly," said the ' 
 General after a pause, in which ho seemed try- 
 ing to make out whether the Senator was joking 
 or not. " To whom are you sent in this citv ?" 
 
 "To no one." - 
 
 "Sir! I warn you that I will not' be trifled 
 with." 
 
 "I tell you," said the Senator, with no appar- 
 ent excitement, "I tell you that I have come 
 here to no one. What more can I say ?" 
 "You must confess." 
 "I have nothing to confess." 
 "Sir! you have much to confess," cried the 
 General, angrily, "and I swear to you I will 
 wring it out of yon. Beware how you trifle 
 with my patience. If yon wish to regain your 
 liberty confess at once, and you may escape your 
 jost punishment. But if you refuse, then, by 
 the immortal gods, I'll shut yon up in a dungeon 
 for ten years I" 
 " You will do no such thing." 
 ,^,M*tJ" r o a r ed t h e Genend. «'Won'tiy 
 You will not. On the contmrv, you will 
 nave to make apologies for those idsnlts." 
 " I !— Apologies 1 Insults ! " 
 The General gnawed bis mnstoehe, and his 
 •yet Uased in fuiy. 
 "Yon have aireited iu on a false chaige, 
 
 128 
 
 based on some slanderous or stupid information 
 of some of your infernal spies," said the Scnatpr. 
 What right have yon to pry into the private - 
 affairs of an American traveller? We have 
 nothing to do with you." 
 
 " You aro associated with conspirators. You 
 are charged with treasonable correspondence 
 with rebels. You countenanced revolution in 
 Florence. You openly took part with Republic- 
 ans. You are a notorious friend of La Cica. 
 And you came here with the intention of fo- 
 menting treason in Venice!" 
 
 "Whoever told you that,"replied the Sena- 
 . tor, " told infernal lies— most infernal lies. I 
 am no emissary of any party. I am a private 
 traveller." 
 
 " Sir, we have correspondents in Florence on 
 whom we con rely better than on you. They 
 watched yon." 
 
 " Then the best thing you can do is to dismiss 
 ^ose correspondents and got rogues who have 
 half an idea." 
 
 " Sir, I tell you that they watched you well 
 Yon had better confess all. Your antecedents 
 in Florence are known. You are in a position 
 of imminent danger. I tell yon— beware t" 
 
 The General said this in on awful voice, 
 
 which Vas meant to strike terror into the soul 
 
 of his captive. The Senator looked back into 
 
 j his eyes with an expression of calm scorn. His 
 
 I form seemed to grow larger, and his eyes dikted 
 
 , as he spoke : 
 
 I "Then you. General, I tell yon— beware! 
 
 i Do you know who you've got hold of ?— No con- 
 
 spirator; no infernal /talian bandit, or Dutch. 
 
 man either; but an American citizen. Yonr 
 
 Government has already tried the temper of 
 
 I Americans on one or two remarkable occasions. 
 Don t try it on a third time, and don't try it on 
 with me. Since you want to kpow who I am 
 I'll tell you. I, Sir, am an American Senator. 
 
 I I take an active and prominent part in the gov- 
 ernment of that great and glorias country. I 
 represent a constituency of several hundred 
 thousand. You tell me to beware. I tell you 
 — BbwabbI for, by the Etemall if you dont 
 let me go, I swear to you that you'll have to give 
 mo up at the cannon's mouth. I swear to you 
 if yon don't let me off by evening I won't go at 
 all till I am dali#6Nd up with humble and am- 
 ple apologies, \Ah. to^;*nd to our country, 
 whom yon haro i^pMS^ in our persons." 
 
 "Sir, you nr| bold I" 
 
 "Bold! S^d for the -American Consnl of 
 
 this city and seo if he fcn't corroborate this. 
 
 But you had better make hl«ste,^orifyou subject 
 
 me^to further disgrace it will be the worse for 
 
 Government, and i^cnlarly for you, my 
 
 You'll have th^pyn battered do wn 
 
 »ntyonre«ri» Dotfrgffanother nation down 
 on you, and, above all, don't let that nation be 
 the American. What I tell yon is the solemn 
 truth, and if you don't mind it you will kno v it 
 some day to your sorrow." 
 
 Whatever the canse may have been the om. 
 pany present, including even the General, \i era 
 
 { 
 
 
 rfH^. 
 
124 
 
 THE DODOE CtUB ; OB, iTALT IN MDCGGLDC 
 
 impressed by the Senatoi's words. The an- 
 noancement of bi^ dignity ; the Tencrablo title 
 of Senator ; the mention of his " constituency," 
 a word the more formidable from not being at 
 n\\ understood — all combined to fill them with 
 respect and even awe. 
 
 So at his proposal to send for the American 
 Consul the General gave orders to a r^esscngcr 
 who went off at once in search of that nijiction- 
 ary. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 THE SENATOR STILL EKOAOED IN FACTNO I>OWN 
 THE AUSTRIAN. —THE AMERICAN CONSUL. — 
 UNEXPECTED RE-APPEARANCE OF FORGOTTEN 
 THINGS. — COLLAPSE OF THE COURT. 
 
 The American>Consul soon made his appear- 
 ance. • Not having had any thing to do for 
 months, the prospect of business gave #ing8 to 
 his feet. Moreover, he felt a very natural de- 
 sire to help a countryman in trouble. Upon 
 entering the hall he cast a rapid look around, 
 and seemed surprised at so august a triHnal. 
 ^or in the Gkineral's martial form he saw no 
 less a person than the Austrian Commandant. 
 
 Tho> Consul bowed and then loolied at the 
 prisoners.' As his eye fell &pon tho Senator it 
 lighted up, and his faop assumed an expression 
 of tho moR fHendly interest. Evidently a rec- 
 ognition. The Aiistrian Commandant address- 
 e<) the Consnl directly in German. 
 
 " Do you know the prisoners ?" 
 
 *' I know one of them." 
 
 " He Is here nnder a %-ery heavy accusation. 
 
 I have well-snbstantiated chargcsi by which he is 
 implicated in treason and conspiracy. Ho hot 
 been conaected with Revolutionists of the worst 
 stamp in Florence, and there is strong proof 
 that ho has come here to commnijicate with Rev- 
 olutionists in this city." 
 
 ".Who accuses him of this? Are they here ?" 
 
 "No, but they have written i from Florence 
 warning me of his journey hcre.r 
 
 " Does tho prisoner confess ?'| 
 
 "Of course not He denies.! Ho requested 
 me to send for yon. I don't wntit to bo unjust, 
 so if you have any thing to say, say on." 
 
 "These clia^ges are impossible." 
 
 "Impossible?" 
 
 " He is altogether a different man from what 
 you suppose. He is an'eiflinent member of the 
 American Senate. Any charges made against 
 one like him will have to be well substantiated; 
 and any injury done to him will be dangeions 
 in the highest degree. Unless lyon have unde- 
 niable proofs of his guilt it wilfbc b^ to free 
 him at once— or else — " I flw- 
 
 " Or else what?" j * 
 
 " Or else there will bo very jgrave complica- 
 tions." j 
 
 The Cpmmandant looked | doubtful. The 
 others impassive. Bjiittons and Dick interested. 
 The Senator calm. Again the Commandnnt^ 
 tamed to the SeSiitof, Bis renpHlw being lBt«f^ 
 preted as before. 
 
 " How does it happen thall yon were so par- 
 ticularly intimate with all the Revolutionists in 
 Florence, and an habitu^ oC La Gta'i salon? 
 that your mission was well /known throagboiit 
 
 - A%«?, 
 
 'a,^}. 
 
 
I 
 
 THE 
 
 V 
 
 IE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX, 125 
 
 the city ? that you pnblicly a^i^^SttMced the "rL,! "..ij .1, n , 
 
 Florentine rebellion fa a. peech?th1WDeoole tor-w^^i "^'V • *?°'""'*'"'""*- The Sena- 
 
 carried yo„ home injtri.S. ? anS ttat He! I r "ri"'!l°"""'- '^'•' '"'*'^"""" '""'' = 
 
 "To-your que.tjon«,"eaid the Senator with ' .h« ?J'^f''' ""^ """/v' '^"''' ♦««" '"««'«d ''» 
 unabated dignity, ''Iw^lllZlvinbrief i-T , ^ ^'!^^^\ ''°'*=° "^ '•>« """Jer than the Scn- 
 I a.n n freeLd i^dependeStizen of the^r Tj "^ ?'i''°".«'' ' """ •"><» .truck hi«.. , 
 and Blori^n, AnWri^n Repub c ? I aS Self Ter h? "*"• .^^'"'"^ " '"^'^ «"> "P^'^l -^ 
 ated with^tevolutionists in Florence I ^^i. 1^ 1 k^ ' ??""'«"«•'<=«. ""J down his neck. 
 
 U^cause I an. accustomed to chooTm'y own^T ^' ZlmTCfr\'''^ 'T' '"'^ '"'^ 
 
 rL^1a^rbiT^rSnTL^i7 r-^ '"^rr^^-^ - «^'^^-^« ^^^^' '"""^ 
 
 .... .. '"'. "-y ''°'"8 ««>• 1 deny, how- The Commandant stared and S<,ked uneasy, 
 
 All looked at tho Scnat(*r-nn with ai^zel 
 mcnt-tho General, the jITerprctcr, the Offl- 
 cials the Guar*, Button8,S)ick, and tho Amcri- 
 can Consul. 
 
 "Oh dear! Oh ck-ar! Oh dkee-ab!" 
 cried tho ^nator, in tho inter^•nl3 of his out- 
 rageous peals of laughter. «' Oil i" and a new 
 peal followed. 
 
 What did all this mean ? Was he crazy", 
 ilaa misfortunes tamed his brain ? 
 
 But at Inst the Senator, who was always re- 
 
 had an interview witi the Countess^ had I? ' fJJ^ In^rproter politely carried it to him as 
 
 Weil, is it wrong for *man to Wd ^^bt. tl "'"P™'"''"^"'" ««lded. The Senator l«ck- 
 
 a friend r I ask you what ubon L^,'! ^ ^V° '^° ^°"'"'- ^''•'7 'hen walked np to 
 
 mean by such a c& i. hat? Do ycl S ^ "'".^r""""'""'- ^" '""''•""'^ «t'h«P"V 
 mo for a puling infamy. "oyqptnko, "You see, gentlemen,- said the Senator, 
 
 ^;to be ^.0, „.4 r=^ -i ^2:"^jiSts o^^''5.r 
 
 'iNever did any thing of tho kind. That's Lt"'' ^"°'' ""^ ***"' '''^"* ^'""""^ """ * 
 a complete fuU-b.own fiction." , ™ w»ii »" 
 
 "I have the very words." ..tir!ii 1 • ■ . 
 
 •; That's impossible. You've got hold of tho tion T L,?*, '"'•■'*• *"* -H^/ '""'''''^ » «»"<'*•- 
 wrftng man I see." '' J °"-, J '""^ '° 8"^e in. The .nly one I could 
 
 "I will have them read," «»ld the General, "11^ "am Ta'^Vu'^ ^T?'"v" , 
 solemnly. "viicrui, >Ka«*f Ah ! I don't know him,'^ said tlie 
 
 ■ - Interpreter, 
 
 ever, that I was m any way connected with 
 plots, robellj^ns, or conspiracies. Secondlu, I 
 was friendly with the Countess because I con- 
 sidered her a most remarkably fine woman, 
 and becansc she showed-a-tlBposition to be 
 friend y with,me-a stranger in a Strang land. 
 lhmU>^,\l have no mission of any kind what- 
 ever. I *n a traveller for selfrimprovement. I 
 have no business political or commereial. So 
 that my mission could not have been known 
 If people talked about mo they talked nonsense! 
 '^'My I confess I mode a speech, but what of 
 
 \. 
 
 And he-beckoned to the Interpreter. Where- 
 upon the Interpreter gravely took out 'a formi- 
 dable roll of papers from hU breast, and opened 
 It. livery gesture tvos made as though his 
 
 " Ho was a minister^a parson." 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "So I said it to her,^,nd she repeated U. 
 These friends of yours, General, have taken it 
 
 hand was h^avy with the weight of3hin^ i hcso friends of yours, G^neml, have taken it 
 
 proof. At last^ pap(ir was J^ucJ'^S J-"; ^ut their spellin' is a little unusual, "said 
 
 Interpreter took one l^k at tKwner then l„.f„ ' *' k " '"""«"«1»«"' 8^" that threat- 
 
 g anced trinmnhnntl. .» .kTn Pf"""*'^' •"«" ?ned a new outburst. 
 
 ■'Itisaryt&i ';„a^"::|C^^ ''I-ook- Here is the true key which this 
 
 mmeaning/aprjiavelC^o^t^ll^^^ 8e"''e'nan tned so hard to find." _ 
 
 % to ft In any way. It U^otv .Kit i .k ^ "'^ *"• '*""'" *'"' ^"''«<'' ^'^^ ^^ 
 
 made, for all th J „,„!, tesu of dJL iriS '" """'^^ ''" *™'' ""^"'"«^ 
 
 ft- in thu. The per*)nWho procnred it did 
 not get near enough till the latter part of the 
 
 ItHrV^ *^* ^^ «"'"«*' "0 explanation 
 Whatever from tho conrorsation." 
 
 "^JH> xeiUing «oui wnOd tUm 
 Inmeh afnoht at tMt. 
 ^fidtU and tkng htrmifamw 
 To tvtrltuting Mist." 
 
 Tho Intcipreter^ipw it all. Ho looked p 
 
 iitlp 
 
 mi$i&-& 
 
' 'W.'IWH 
 
 Vk 
 
 im 
 
 THE iX)DOE CLUftj OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLEL 
 
 WATTS MU^raLUtDi 
 
 fonndly foolish: The whole thing was dear. 
 Th^ Senator's innocence was plain. He turned 
 to explain to the Commandant. The Consul's 
 face exhibited a variety Of expressions, lOvor 
 which a broad grimace Anally prodpminatcd, 
 like sunshine over an April sky. In a few words 
 tl)e whole was made plain to the Commandant. 
 He looked annoyed, glared angrily at the Inter- 
 preter, teMed the papers on the floor, and rose 
 to his feet r- 
 
 " Give these gentlemen our apologies," said he 
 to the Interpreter, .'* In times <j^|roublo, when 
 States have to bo held subject t^Fniartial law, 
 proceedings are abrupt. Their own good sense 
 will, I trust, enable them to appreciate the diffl- 
 cnity of our position. They are at liberty." 
 
 At liberty ! No sooner were the words spok- 
 en than the prisoners bowed aAd left, in com- 
 pany with the Consul, who eagerly shook hands 
 |i|ith all^thrce, particularly the Senator, who, as 
 " ping, was heard to whisper somc- 
 
 r these v(ibTd» were audible : 
 told hossl The American eagle 
 ; "claws, an' 
 
 (.;»*>■>. 
 
 CHAPTER Lin. 
 
 A KISTEBIQUS FLIGHT^— PKBPAIB OF DnTro/9L-T 
 PUHIBtnT.— HUTdBIO OBOm^S, AND mBTOIBld 
 
 It was abont seven o'clock in the evening 
 when they reached their hotel. Every thing 
 was OS they bad left it. Some trifles had oc- 
 curred, such as a general ovei'haul of the bag- 
 
 gage, in which the Doctor's pistol had again 
 miraculously escaped seizure. Buttons h'ent 
 immediately to call on the Spaniards, but their 
 apartmiknt was closed. Supposing that they 
 were out about the town, ho returned to his 
 friends. 
 
 . During their memorable captivity they had 
 eaten but little, and now nothing was more wel- 
 come than a dinner. So they oryiortd the very 
 best that the hotel could supply;; and made die 
 Amoricafi Consul- stay. Bnttob* did 
 himself up so. completely as tlto |^i 
 larity of the occasion. Somethilg 
 
 mind. So he took advantage of a < 
 in which the Senator was giving the i 
 animailed description of the flght with the brig: 
 ands, and the pluck of his two "bo)8,"nnd 
 stole out of the room. WJiereupon the Sena- 
 tor stopped and' remarked — 
 
 " Hang these felloes that are in love !" 
 
 " CorUinly," said Dick. ' ' They often hang 
 themselves, or feel like it." 
 
 " Of course Buttons is on his usual errand." 
 . V Of course." 
 
 "It seems to mo tliat his foreign travel has 
 become nothing but one long chase after that 
 gal. He is certainly most uncommon devoted." 
 
 Soiree had these words been spoken when, 
 the door was flung open, and Buttons made hi« 
 oppearance, much agitated. 
 
 "What's the matter ?" cried Dick. "The 
 Spaniards!" "Well?" "They're oflFI" "Off?" 
 "Gone!" "Where?" "Away from Venice." 
 "When?" " I don't know." "Why?" "I 
 don't know." 
 
 " What sent them ? It looks as though the; 
 were running away ftttqi you on purpose." 
 
 " They're off, a^ x^ny rtte," cried Buttons. 
 " I went to their .Kfoni. It was open. The 
 servants were fixing it up. I asked why. Tliey 
 said the Spi^iiards had left Venice early this 
 momiitg. ,^tjbj^P^*' lu>ow any thing more." 
 
 " Stmni^MiSBJ^^I's so sudde^ 
 
 plans 1 1 ffl]WMw^lBfi"'' '" ^'^^ 
 
 i'rcrlR^Pw^wer^Vightencd at our odvcnt- 
 
 ure» , 
 
 Buttons sprung to the bell and pulled it vIr- 
 orously. Then he rushed to the door and flnni; 
 it op<^.. Five or six waiters came tumbling in. 
 They had all been listening at the key-hole. 
 
 "Where's tho chief waiter ?" 
 
 " Here," said that functionary, approaching. 
 
 "Come here. You may retire," said But- 
 tons to the others. They went out rela(^ntlT. 
 
 "Now, my friend," said he, putting some pi- 
 astres in the hand of the chief waiter. " Think, 
 and answer me right. Where are the Spsn- 
 iards-^a gentleman and two ladies — frho cane 
 here with us ?" " 
 
 « They htT8 left <he city." . — -— r- 
 
 "When?'.' 
 
 " At six this morning, by the first train." 
 , " W"hy did they leove?" 
 »^ " A hint came fh>m the Commandant." 
 
 "From him. Ahl Whtt abont?" 
 
 ■ 1 .-^fC^ ■ . 
 
tfcl5' 
 
 Qsnal errand." 
 
 >rHE DODGE CLUB^ 0?, ITALY IN MDCCCLK 
 
 '•Why-you know-yonr ExcoUenciM xmo 
 waited on by a deputation.". 
 We were arrested 
 
 WeH?" 
 
 'Well, those Spaniards were friend^^f 
 
 h»t (Jbnnection made them suspected. " 
 
 ich is the melancholy- fact. The»o wos 
 no cause strong enough to lead to their arrest 
 It would have been inconveni^. go the Cora- 
 rahndant sent a messogo, immediatelsafterycW 
 Lxcelloncy's lamentable arrest, to warifthem— " 
 "What of?" 
 
 "That they had better leave the country at 
 once.'; I ' . 
 
 " Yes, but that di'dn't forfco them to go." 
 
 "Ah, Signoriol Do you not know what 
 such a warning is ? There iajio refusal " ' ' 
 
 "And so thoy left." < >• 
 
 "At six by the train." 
 
 "Whereto?" 
 -: "Sign'oro, they had their passports made 
 out for Milan." 
 
 " Milan 1" 
 
 " Certainly. It was necessary for them not 
 only to leave Venice, but Venetia." 
 
 "Very well. When does the next train 
 leave? 
 
 " Not til) to-morrow morning at six." 
 
 "You must call us then' at five, for we are 
 
 going. Here, Uke our passports and get them 
 
 visb'd ;" and having explained matters to the 
 
 Senator, Buttdns found no need of persuasion 
 
 •VUlAMTIKlt. 
 
 to induce themip* quit th« city, lo the pMnorU 
 were handed ore* to the waiter. 
 
 So at six the next morning they went flvinff 
 over the sea, ovortha l^uo^n, over the manhel 
 over the plains, away toward LomboKly 
 
 They had to stdp for a while at Verona, 
 waiting to comply with "some formalities?' 
 Th.y had time to walk about the town and see 
 the Koman ruins ond the fortifications. Of all 
 these much might be said, if it were n6t to bo 
 found olrea«fy in Guide-books, Letters of Corre- 
 spondents. Books of Travel, Gazetteeni, and 11- 
 lustrated Newspapers. Our travel Ici*. saw 
 enough of the mighty military works, in Tbrief " 
 survey, to make them thoroughly comprehend 
 the Peace of Vilhifmnca. In th<. neighborhood 
 of Solfenno they left the tnun ta inspect Z 
 scene of battle. Only a month had passed since 
 the tcrrifle conttest, and the traces remained vis- 
 ible on every «ide. The peasants had made 
 two trenches of enormous size, la one of these 
 the bodies of the Austrians had been buried in 
 the other th(^f the F|;ench and Itrfians. In 
 one place theWwas a vast heap of amw, wMch 
 had been gathered from off the field. There 
 WHS no piece among theni-Hfhich was not bent ' 
 or brpken. All were of the best construction 
 and latest pattern, but^ad B*en their day. 
 Shattered trees, battered walls," crnmbling 
 houses, deep ruts in the earth, appeared on 
 every side to sho^, whore the battle had r»8ed • 
 yet already the grass, in its swift growth, Aaj" 
 obliterated the chief marks of the trem^^dons 
 conflict. 
 
 At length they arrived at Milan: The dtv 
 presented a most imposing appearance, its 
 natural situation, its magiflBcent works of arjfti- ' - 
 tecturc. Its statfly arjljes and majostK^ avennn 
 presented nn appearance whichVas now heijAj. 
 ened by the presencojof victory. It was^ 
 though the entire popufation had given then- 
 selves «p to rejoicing. The evil spirit had been 
 cast out, and the house thoraughly sWbpt and 
 gnniished. The streets were filled With gar 
 multitudes; the avenues resounded wift tlii 
 thrilling strains of the Marseillaise, repeated cv- 
 e^whcro; every window displayed the portrait 
 of Napoleon, Victor Emanuel, or Garibaldi, and 
 from every house-top flaunted the tri-color The 
 heavy weight imposed hjr the military mie-the 
 iron hand, the cruelty, the bands of flpiea; the 
 innnnierable soldiers sent forth by Austria- 
 had been lifted off, and in the first rcacUon of 
 perfect liberty the whole population nished into 
 the wildest demonstrations of joy ahd'^yety 
 The chnrehcs were all marked by the wifpettfai 
 presence of the emblems of Holy PeacCand 
 Heavenly Faitji, and Immort^ Hope. The 
 ssiblime Cathed^ from all ita Biathlepopali^m^ 
 of scolptflred siting* and fr»m allits thousands of 
 pinnacles, sent up ond cohstant sohg. Throngh 
 the struts marched soldiers-regular, imgnlar, 
 Jiorse, fc^t, asd dragoons ; cannon thnn^red at 
 interval* throngh every day; volunteer riiiUtU 
 cotnpaniea sprang ap lik6 bnjttorfliei to flaab 
 j their gay nnifomu in the son. 
 
 \" 
 
 ^"J^^lL* 
 
 ^^ if* ^ 
 
 i 
 
 .;>'-: 
 
il8 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 If was not the season for theatres. La Scala 
 had opened for a few nights when Napoleon 
 and Victor Emanuel where here, but had closed 
 again. Not so the smaller theatres. Less dig- 
 nified, thoy could burst forth unrestrained. Es- 
 pecially the Day Theatres, places formed some- 
 what on the ancient model, with open roofs. 
 In't^ese the spectators can smoke, Here the 
 performance begins at five or six and ends at 
 dark. All the theatres on this season, day or 
 night alike, burst fortli into joy. The war was 
 the universal subject. Cannon, fighting, sol- 
 diers, gunpowder, saltpetre, sulphur, fury, ex- 
 plosions, wounds, bombardments, grenadiers, ar- 
 tillery, drum, gun, trumpet, blunderbuss, and 
 thunder I Just at that time the piece wliicli 
 was having the greatest run was The Victory 
 
 of SOLFEKINO ! 
 
 Tw3 theatres exhibited this piece with all 
 the pomp and circumstance of glorious war. 
 Another put out in a pantomime "The Battle 
 of Maleguano!" 
 
 Another, " The Fightat Magenta!" Butpcr- 
 haps the most popular of all was "Garibaldi 
 IS Vaeese, od I Cacciatori deoli Alpi !" 
 
 ' CHAPTER Liy. 
 
 DICK MEETS AN OLD P|jIEND..— THE EMOTIONAL 
 NATURE or THE ITALIAN. — THEfiENATOB OVZH- I 
 -'^ COME AND UUMBI^t'kDED. 
 
 The day of their arrival at Milan was dis- 
 tinguished by a pleasing circumstance. Buttons 
 fourtd the Spaniards, and was ha|)py'. And by 
 another circumstance, scarcely less pleasing, ^ 
 Dick.fonnd an old acquaintance. 
 
 On this wise: I 
 
 Finding himself in Milan he suddenly called 
 to mind an old friend with whom he had been \ 
 intimate in Boston. He had been exiled from 
 Italy on account of his connection with the ' 
 movements 6t T848. He had fled to America, | 
 and had taken with him barely enough to live | 
 on. For five years he had lived in Boston un- , 
 der the plain name of IIii</h Airey. Then Dick 
 met with him, and had been attracted by the ! 
 polished manners, melancholy air, and high 
 «pirit of the unfortunate exile. In the course \ 
 of time their acquaintance ripened into intimate 
 friendship. Dick introduced him to all his 
 friends, and did all in his power to make his \ 
 life i^easant From him he had learned Ital- 
 ian, and under his guidance formed a wide and . 
 4ecp acqnaintance with Italian literature.y In ' 
 I8S8 Mr. Airey decided to return to Italy and ' 
 live in Turin till the return of better days. Be- 
 fbre leaving ho confided to Dick, the fact that 
 h ii h^^lf>nlrfM ^ t o oma— of iha oldflRt fiimiiiiHi in- 
 Lombardy, nnd that he was th«. Coant Ugo ^ 
 Gtonfaloniere. The exile bade Dick and all 
 hi* fnenda good-bye and departed. 81 nee then 
 Dick had heard from him bnt 6nco«' The Count 
 wai happy, and hopeful of a speedy return of 
 better day* for his country. His hopes bad 
 been realised, as the world knowi. 
 
 /;■ 
 
 TlIK COUNT I'UO. 
 
 Dick had no difficulty in finding ont whcVc 
 he lived, and went to call on him. It was a 
 magnificent palace. Throngs of servants were 
 around the entrance. Dick sent up his name, 
 and was conducted by a scr^'ant to an ante- 
 chamber. Scarcely had ho finished a hasty 
 survey of the apartment when hurried footsteps 
 were hoard. He turned. The Count camo 
 rushing into the room, flushed and tremblini;, 
 and without a word threw himself into Dick's 
 arms, embraced him, and kissed him. It was a 
 trying moment for Dick. Nothing is so fright- 
 ful to a man of the Anglo-Saxon race as to bo 
 hugged and kissed by a man. However, Dick 
 felt deeply touched at the emotion of his friend 
 and his grateful remembrance of himself. 
 
 " This is a circumstance most unexpected!" 
 cried the Count. " Why did you not write and 
 tell me that yon were coming, my dearest friend? 
 I did not know that you were in Italy. But 
 perhaps yon wished to give me a surprise?" 
 Ai;d then the Count asked after all the friends 
 in America, for whom he still evinced the tcn- 
 derest attachment. 
 
 On being questioned ho related his owrt sub- 
 sequent adventures. After leaving America ho 
 went at once to Turin. Though proscribed ia 
 Lombardy he was free in Piedmont. He msn-^ 
 ftgcd to communicate weTOt]jFwUh44« rclativcj 
 in Milan, and lived comfortably. At length he 
 became aware of the great movement on fuot 
 which ended in the Italian war. He had thrown 
 himself altogether in the good cause, and, witb- 
 oitt being at all disheartened by his former mis- 
 fortunes, he embarked energetically in the car- 
 rent of events. ' He waf,at once recognised by 
 
k DODGE CLUB 5 OB, ITALY IN MDc/ci^ 
 
 ous part i,j^ho events of tl^war? h^S bee„" ' Te'ver T'^'t^ 't''"'' """ ">« formo/S 
 present at every battle, and had been promo eS ' what t^nsivJ Mf"'"'^'"''"'' ^^»«"' """l """e- 
 
 " i^rtrs- ^"«""- ' ^« ^- 1 r^ ^z^Sb^c rs^^r^sr ■ 
 
 hay-ei'lrdThlrri^Lf Ss'V'^/'"'^^ ''""''' '"' "' "" "^ " '""^ 
 
 estates^ He .„, a^ ,?„" ;'rr' r r^e^ar ' thetra^d' "" 'T^ ^''''^'^ "•" ««"<» C. 
 of exile had Riven him a higher capacity for en ' n„ ^ ' ^? "■''^''"'^'^ '° ^''« «»""«"• Arriv- 
 joyment. He looked for^vard to a^tfo of honor" n*^ "" IT ""'"8'"^ ^'•<'^« »«' taken ap by the 
 and usefulness. IJo had found lofha^er to ' h™^'** "'"'""='' "'^ ^""^-white marble or 
 endure than grief ;The reunion J^faKs old Lt 'eToSVr'''^'''^ of exquisite sculpt'ure 
 fnends and relations, the presence of all the fa £„-^^^^^^^ """"'^ '""> « ««=««! forest 
 m.h«r scene, ofhis native rand had nil welS^ and angels, but rather to tho 
 
 overcome h.m. ,Yct he assured Dick t at S^ i t^ ^ ^-'"""'• 
 
 fr.end w.th whom ho had met was more i,^ i „el'';[! ^'""^ "''"^ " '"^^P''^' '^'''oh '-»» sn- 
 to h.s sight than he, and the joy that he^Ht Iln T V " ^^'''\ '" ""^ """« '•'«' he had ever 
 seemg h „. had only been exc'ee'ded onee* M ' ToncoWr'T.''''' '' ^ ' "''"''''' '»* •"'"" » 
 l.fe-tha one time having been on the occasion ' ,lT„«n?r k ^""""''less «;ene. The, wide 
 of the entrance of the AHies into Milan? I "11 ^"1^' «™''"' «'""'"»«• ^oWen ,yith 
 
 And now^that he was here, where was his ' ti^/^« "f "°'' inexhaustible fertility, 
 luRgngc? Did he come without it? 'Aere i S ^"'^ °^ ^T " V^ ""^ ^'"' »'«nd« o 
 was certainly only one place in tho citv whnr^ ' „ '''■«^'l '/«es that bore untold wealth of all 
 h, could stop. He must«.mai„„owhe™Ml° T""" °7^"'': ^^ite rilbs, little hamLu 
 but here. Dick Modestly excus<SSse,7 He wirr^** "">*''' ^"''^'^ ""» '^'''» <>mS, 
 was scarcely prepared. IIo y^^ tSLillul^^^ ^?T' !°^^^ 
 
 company with friends, and would CZuL Z 1 Lii^n™ \° "" ""/"■ ""'^ "^ *'>«''«'»• Tho 
 leave them. The Count looked reproachful^ i n !!« n '^ »"*"^ '*" "'"'^ * '«««»«. «" the 
 a h.m. Did ho hesitate about tbaV^ vvZ fiS' 7"""'«';« «'«'o «" «» barrier, rising up 
 his friends also must come. lie wL.l h.J. ! ^ "* '""'^'""^ ""o everlasting ice. He looked 
 refusal. They «1, must come"^S;S?o:^ "h^l fd ';rrh' r'' :rhen,?heplainTsSh1 
 as welcome as himself. He would go with Dick I " VvL. ""'°" *" """•''able extent, 
 
 to Ins hotel in person and bring his friends here rrv ZT VTt"^ ' ^" '='«»«'<J '"<> •' Ev- 
 In a short time the Count and S^had tllZ,; • A""* '^'' "^^^^^ Why, there are 
 driven to the hotel, where the former pressed ^Zr i .''""' I." """^ ' °<«'' ''o*" dear I 
 upon the Senator and Buttons an SCHo I ^nln 1 ^ n"''' ""' ''*^« '° ''''"' "bout New 
 MS house. They *ere not allowed to SsiSS Batons, 
 
 but were takes away, and before they fairj nnl ' folb. „?h„ "'''*^.''^ '"" ''^"' «" '^is to thi 
 derstood the unexpected occurrence tS^ were ' Sn ? B°r "l^ "T "'"'' *'^'''"'""S brag- 
 a 1 installed ■„ magnificent apartments in tl^ ' f^ j„ ,-, \r "■ " °"« Pa««^"ril do ifl 
 n."° ^.•'"^"•o"ic«5. ° ,„ „;;° " |;7,','|," '■<"■>' n'8ht. I'll write about it 
 
 "...x.*« lit iiia^i 
 
 Palazzo Gonfaloniere. 
 
 Buttons's acquaintance with the langnage, 
 .terature, manners, and customs of Italy mnd^ 
 
 01 the Count prevented Dick from feelinc otli- 
 envise than perfectly at home; and a Tor the 
 Senator, ,f it had been possible for him to £ 
 otherwise, his experience of high life at For 
 
 .ercnely here. Hi. complete self-possession, 
 
 to our pa|>cr!'* 
 
 bisunfalteringga^'^rXlScTrre 
 never for a moment disturbed. ' 
 
 . The Count had been long enonDh in Am^r 
 
 ^J&rwrh^K/^^^^^^^^^ . , - -" ^^.^..^....mo.,ve. 
 
 »«• quite diflferent ft«m that which the Scn.tL ''" ''■° ''*" «"'"« '" l""^'*- S« 
 
 "»•! found in Flownco Tho ««„ni. IJ5""'''"R'«P"''*'«»n.»n<« all that A hi. toom 
 
 ^.Ily cultWated. ba. ^ore Jr onsr^hevTa" ''""rn ^H'T'^ ""»"'' '<> "'• ^-^-^ 
 
 >e«oxclt.biIliy,but moredoep feeling/ a !Jh"Sr 
 
 ^ r 8 MimD, ingbiiremorki mora particularly to tl;e Senator. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 Bm-SMALL HV PE0UKE8 AND^kXf^LLt" 
 
 n„^!f. "" 'l^'re^. ''owevor pleasant, mn.t have 
 ft^ Sirs ^"^^ '"*'"''" '--«'''--'''«' 
 Buttons and the Senator wew both quite will- 
 ing to leave. The departure of the SpaniSs 
 had taken away the charm of Mil4„. They had 
 already jreturnedtfrSpaiai^adhw^wgedBn^ 
 tons very strongly to accompany them. It cost 
 him a great struggle to decline, but he did w 
 from certain conscientious motive., andpromiwHl 
 to do so after going to Pari., si tht^ yJTn 
 
 jlAh^\ 
 
 kkA££kttM,iiA^, • rtiL 
 
 '''"sS2S, . , 
 
130 
 
 THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 " My father is a rich man, thongh yoa may 
 not think I lire very much like a rich man's 
 son. The fact is, he is dreadfully afraid that I 
 will turn out a spendthrift. So he gave me only 
 a moderate sum on which to travel on through 
 Europe. So far I have suc^odcd very well. 
 Excuse my blushes while I mne the sweet con- 
 fession. The Seiiorita whom we all admire will, 
 some of these days, I trust, exchange the music- 
 al name of Francia for the plainer one of But- 
 tons." 
 
 The Senator smiled with mild and paternal 
 approbation, and shook Buttons by the hand. 
 
 "It's all arranged," continued Buttons, with 
 sweet confusion. "Now, vauMr the circum- 
 stances, yon might think it natural that I should 
 go back with them to Spain." 
 
 V I should certoinly. Why don't you ?" 
 
 '^ For two reasons. The first is, I have bare- 
 ly enough tin left to take me to Paris." 
 
 At once both the Senator and Dick offered 
 to make unlimited advances. Button^HiiJi^de a 
 deprecatory gesture. \ 
 
 "I know well that I could look to you for 
 any help in any way. Bat that is not the rea- 
 son why I don't go to Spain. I have money 
 enough for my wants if I don't go there." 
 
 " Whot is the real reason, then ?" 
 
 "Well, I thought that in an affair of this 
 kind it would bo just as well to get the 'Gov- 
 ernor's concurrence, and so I thought I'd drop a 
 line to him. I've just got the letter written, 
 and I'll put it in the mail this evening." 
 
 "Yon have done right, my boy," said the 
 Senator, paternally. "There are many excel- 
 lent reasons for getting your father's consent in 
 an affair like this." 
 
 " I don't mind reading you what I have writ- 
 ten," said Buttons, "if you care about hearing 
 it." 
 
 " Oh, if yon have no objection, we should like 
 to hear very much," said Dick. 
 
 Whereupon Buttons, taking a letter from his 
 pocket, read as follows : 
 
 " Dkai Fatueb,— 1 have endeavored to follow out your 
 ingtructloiu and be aa economical as poeslble. 
 
 " During my tour tlirough Italy I have made the ac- 
 'quaintanoe o( the senior member of the house of Francia, 
 in Cadia, a gentleman with whom you are acquainted. 
 He waa traTelling with his two Bisters. Tjfo younger one 
 ia very amiable. As I know you would mni to see me set- 
 tled I have requested her hanil In marriiiKe. 
 
 •' As I wish to be married before my return I thought 
 I would lot you know. Of course In allying myself to a 
 member of so wealthy a family I will need to do It in good 
 style. Whatever you oan send me will therefore be quite 
 acceptable. 
 
 '•I>leas« reply immediately on rec«lpt of this, address- 
 ing me at Paris aa before. 
 
 " And very much oblige E. Bottons." 
 
 " Well," safd the Senator, "that's a sensible 
 letter. It's to the point. I'm glad to see that 
 yon are no t so foolish as most Jads in your sit- 
 nation. Why should not a man talk as wisely 
 about a partnenhip of this kind as of any other ? 
 I do declare that these rhapsodies, this high- 
 blown, high-flown, sentimental twaddle is nau- 
 seating." 
 
 " You see, Dick," said Buttons, " I must write 
 » letter which will have weight with the old 
 
 gentleman. He likes the terse business style. 
 I think that little hint about her fortune is well 
 managed too. That's a great deal better than 
 boring him with the state of my affections. Isn't 
 it?" 
 
 " There's nothing like adapting your style to 
 the disposition of the person you address," said 
 Dick. 
 
 " Well, said the Senator, " you propose to 
 start to-morrow, do you ?" 
 
 "Yes, "said Buttons. 
 
 " I'm agreed then. I was just beginning to 
 get used up myself. I'm an active man, and 
 when^'va squeezed all the juice out of a place I 
 want to throw it away and go to another. What 
 do you say, Dick ? You are silent." 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth," said Dick, " I do^ 
 care about leaving just yet. Gonfaloniere' ex 
 pects mo to stay longer, and he would feel hurt 
 if I hurried off. I am very sorry that J;on art 
 both going. It would be capital if yon conliT 
 only wait here a month or so." 
 
 "A month!" cried Buttons. "I couldn't 
 stand it another day. Will nothing induce you 
 to come ? What can wo do without you ?" 
 
 "What can I do«withpti4 you?" said Dick, 
 with some emotion. < 
 
 "Well, Dick," said the Senator, "I'm really 
 pained. I feel something like a sense of be- 
 reavement at the very idea. I thought, of 
 course, we would keep together till our feet 
 touched the sacred soil once more. But Heav- 
 en seems to have ordained it otherwise. I felt 
 bad when Figgs r.pd the Doctor left us at Flor- 
 ence, but now I feel worse by a long chalk. 
 Can't you manage to come along nohow?" 
 
 "No," said Dick. "I really can not. I 
 really must Stay." 
 
 "What! mustl" 
 
 "Yes, must!" 
 
 The Senator sighed. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 XnE FAITHFUI, one! — DAHT8, DISTRACTION, 
 
 love's vows, oveupowebino scene at the 
 meeting of two fond ones. — complete 
 bueak-down of the uistobian. 
 
 Anoirr a month after the departure of the 
 Senator and Buttons from Milan, Dick re-np- 
 peared upon the scene at Rome, in fr«nt of tho <i 
 little church which had borne so prominent a 
 part in his fortunes; true to his love, to liis 
 hopes, to his promises, with undiminished ardor 
 and unabated resolution. Ho found the I'adrc 
 Liguori there, who at once took him to his room 
 in a building adjoining the church. 
 
 " Welc ome I" said he, i n a tone of the deep- 
 est pleasure. "Welcoinel It hi» been more 
 than a passing fancy, then." 
 
 " It is tho only real purpose of my life, I at- 
 sure you." 
 
 " I must beliere :^on," said Liguori, preislng 
 his hand once more. 
 
 " And now, when is Fepita V 
 
 ■JJk\f\ :ri^USl<;:iL'^^'jM 
 
THE DODGE CtlvB; OR. ITALY IN MDCCCLIX. 
 
 1 propose to 
 
 y^^day!"' ^° '""'" *'°""' *""* «» ^^P''* 'hat 
 
 see^^'him"*' '^.''"f"'°°««re with the promise of 
 see ng h m oga.n, Luigi walked with Dick out 
 to he place where ho lived. The reason whJ 
 he had not wanted him to see PepiKat £ 
 
 "She is in Rome." 
 " May I see her at once ?" 
 " How at once ?" 
 "Well, to-day." 
 
 ho could see the Count Aftnr „»•.■ ' 
 impatiently Dick came UaSLfn''"« ">»''' 
 On entering he found LuLi "ZV^}""'' 
 ea as a gentleman this^'time."" ^ waTa' 
 wrongly knit^ well-made man of about Thirty 
 n_Uh str.k.ngly handsome and aristocratip S 
 
 co.'i'^"" me make my peace wit), you at once " 
 sa.d he, with the utmost courtesy.^'^^'X ';• 
 a brave man, and must bo generous T i 
 
 " Say nothing ab^ut it, I beg," said Dick • 
 
 "you were justified in what you dTthou^i; 
 
 you may have been a little hasiy." ' ^'' 
 
 Had I not been blinded by passion I woul.l 
 
 ice. Hut I have had much to endure and I 
 was ahvays afraid about her." ' ^ 
 
 With tlie utmost frankness the two men «. 
 e,vcd each other's explanations. anXSeTt: 
 est cordia ity arose at on«. t^- i • B^^'" 
 Luigi's takfng ^nntr^wUh Z"" ^^^^1 
 ^"gh.ngly declaring that it wouW bo a sjn of ' 
 
 STfLufgi^^'^'' '-««-• He«-.ed"a?th2 
 fee't.^"^ in Heaven I" he cried, bounding to his 
 
 ''Ugo!" exclaimed the other. 
 "Luigi!" 
 
 And the two men, in true Italian fashion 
 sprang into one another's arms ' 
 
 thJ'h'^"*'!; '" T ^'^ '"*"''' '"'•I "West friend 
 ■onie'r;'':? Diet'"' '''"''''''" "^"^ ««°"- 
 
 vl. J^^ i "• "^^ explanation, however 
 Sit.!"":""'.?': '«"«"»'"• Luigi asked 
 
 131 
 
 TUK nooa. 
 
 Rick knocked. — 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 "Pepital" 
 
 the'';esrn'''"^'"*'^''"«'--P<S«of 
 
 ^f«Ionie^"^'^fcuSrL±!'w.''"' 
 upon the oth«, -i„...n^!?^*"*".''™»5 ^'^ 
 
 
 "I knew you would come," said she aftnr 
 
 tciligible word was uttered. 
 " ^°^^j '7°" ' lih^ £^itft4^ 
 
 yon do not think now that I was cruel?" 
 
 "I conld not do otherwise." 
 
 "I love you too well to doubt it " 
 
 " My brother hated you so. It would hare 
 

 THE DODGE CLUB ; OB, ITALY IN MDCCCLEC. 
 
 182 
 
 been impossible. And I could not wound his 
 feelings." . 
 
 ' ' He's a splendid fellow, and you were right. 
 
 «' Padre Liguori showed him what yon were, 
 and I tried to explain a little," added Pepita, 
 shvly. 
 
 '" Heaven bless Padre Liguori ! As for yoti 
 —you—" 
 
 " Don't." 
 
 " Well, your brother understands me at last. 
 He knows that I love you so well that I would 
 die for you." 
 
 Tears came into Pepita's eyes as the sudde 
 recollection arose of Dick's misadventure on th 
 road. 
 
 "Do you remember," "hsked Dick, softly, nft- 
 erabout three hours and twenty minutes — " do 
 you remember how I once wished tliat I was 
 walking with you on a road that would go on 
 forever?" ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, we're on that track now." 
 
 [The HMorian of HieM ndventures feeU most keenly 
 hU utter iniuleqiiscy to the reqiilremenu of this scene. 
 Need he say tlist the above description i» a complete 
 jtdfco f Reader, your Imagination, If you please.] 
 
 fParis at the " Hotel do Lille et d' Albion." On 
 the arrival of the Senator and Buttons at Paris 
 they had found Mr. Figgs and the Doctor with- 
 out any trouble. The meeting was a rapturous 
 one. The Dodge Club was again an entity, 
 although an important member was not there. 
 On this occasion the one who gave the dinner 
 was BuTTOsa^ 
 
 All iJi^'Jlelicacies of the season. In fact, n 
 baiuf^etT Mr. Figgs shone resplendently. If 
 „ iactory was the sphere of the Senator, a snpper- 
 toblo was the place for Mr. Figgs. The others 
 felt that they had never before known fully all 
 the depth of feeling, of fancy, and of sentiment 
 that lurked under that placid, smooth, and rosy 
 exterior. The Doctor was epigrammatic ; the 
 Senator sententious ; Buttons uproarious. 
 
 Dick's health was drunk in bumpersi^ith all 
 the honors : '/. 
 
 CHAPTER LVM. 
 
 THE UODOE CLUB IN PARIS ONCB MORE.— BUT- 
 TONS'8 "JOLLT GOOD HEALTH." 
 
 Not very long aflor the evenu alluded to in 
 the lost chapter a l^lliant dinner was given in 
 
 " For he'* a jolly good fe.e-e-e-e.e-llon^ 
 For he's a jolly good ft-e-t-c-t-t-lXomA I 
 For he's a jolly good ra-»-K-K-K.i!-L#|w 1 ; I 
 
 I Which nobody can deny!" 
 
 All this time Bdttons was more joyous, more 
 mdiant, and altogether more extravagant tluin 
 usual. The others asked themsel v^ ' Why ?" 
 In the course of the evening it beo^e known. 
 Taking advantage of a short pause in the con- 
 versation he communicated the startling fnct 
 that he had that day received a letter from his 
 father. 
 
 "Shall I read it?" 
 
 "Aye! 1 1" unanimously, in tones of thun- 
 der. 
 
 "n^t A WU.T aoo» nuow t* 
 
 ,.*>!'... 
 
 
!*•«• 
 
 ^IsAf 
 
 THE DODGE CLUHi OR, ITALY m MDCCCLIX. 
 
 Buttons opened it and read . 
 ^'^Deab 80!«,_Yoar esteemed favor, 15th ulf., I hav\ 
 
 ytsu/d^fgi""" ^"'^^ ^ "P"*" tty concurrenco with 
 tfil'^Lf Ti'"? '''«?."'«> hoiiM of Francis ha. been of 
 
 wm re^u';:,';;^ "^ ^^'- ' ""* ■«' <"""" """ rour. 
 
 i-aru, for $50 Kt-say five Ihoinand doIlar»_rec' of which 
 
 liberty to draw for what may be re^julred. 
 
 "I remain, Hiram Buttons." 
 
 Thunders of applause arogo as Buttons folded 
 the letter. 
 
 133 
 
 A speech from the Senator proposed the 
 health of Buttons Senior. 
 \ Another from the Doctor. 
 
 Another from Mr. Figjjs. 
 
 Acknowledgment by Buttons. 
 
 Announcement by Buttons of immediate de- 
 parture for Cadiz. 
 
 Wild cheers. Buttons's jolly good hcnlih I 
 
 " 1.°' I'^'* * J»"y eood fe-e^e-e-c-IIow 1 
 *or Ilea ajolly good /e-e^^., .i-.llow .' I 
 lor he's ajolly good fe-e-e-e-k-e-lloa- 1 1 1 
 >) hich nobody can deny;" 
 
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 ones of thun- 
 
 T H E END. 
 
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 ^s. 
 
 ' ■.' -"ir-'f^iJlS^^ 
 
 THE 
 
 AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 a N0OCI. 
 
 PAOB 182.J 
 
 By JAMES DE MILLE, 
 
 CORD AND CREESE," See 
 
 AUTHOR OF' 
 
 ••THE DODGE CLUB." "THE CRYPTOGRAM" " 
 
 v 
 
 ^/m ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 JJEW Y eRRr 
 
 Carper ^ brothers, publ,s h e rs,; 
 
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 .i^i.'ks 
 
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.i 
 
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 "S}: 
 
 By Prof. JAMES DE MILLE, 
 
 strated.. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents ; 
 
 THE DODGE CLCTB ; or, Italy in 1859. 
 
 Cloth, $1 25. . ; * ■ ^ - 
 
 CORD AND CREESE. A Novel. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 75 '^^■"s; 
 
 Cloth, $1 25. 
 THE CRYPTOGRAM. A Novel. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, $\ 50; Cloth, 
 
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 THE AMERICAN 'BARON. A Novel. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper. ^ 
 
 
 '' PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 .,,„/ ly Mhil, postage prepaid, to iiny part of A*. United States, oh receipt of the prue. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
• > 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 yean 
 
 PAUION, IIEI8. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THB Ar4X,AH0HB 
 
 SomrwHAT lew than i^ hundred Vean niro 
 a party of travelers rai&ht have been seen 
 crossing over the Simplon Road, a, route forlt- 
 aly. They had been detained at Brieg byre- 
 ports that the road wa? impassable; and; ai it 
 was the month of March, the prospect of snow 
 and storms and avalanches was sufficient to 
 make them hesitate. At length the road had 
 been reopened, and they were informed that 
 the journey might be made on sleds. 
 
 Unwilling to wait at Brieg, and equally nn- 
 ^ng to make a detoor so as to take the raiU 
 TOad, the party decided to go on. Thev we™ 
 mformed that they could go on Wheels as far 
 as the line of snow, but that afterward their ac- 
 commodBtions would not be so comfortable as 
 
 for only a few feet; the snow was deep; the 
 .Ie<U were rude; and progress would be low. 
 
 These statements, however, did not shake the 
 
 that they detertnined to go on, a^d cro«, the 
 mountain if it were possible. > "» »ne 
 
 On leaving Brieg the road began to-ascend 
 with a very slight incline, winding around in " 
 
 Z.TT "*"* f *"^' "ometimes cSn^ 
 deep gulhes at-other times piercing the hill- 
 side in long dark tunnels; but amidrt all these 
 windings ever ascending, so that every step 
 took them higher and higher above-, the little 
 vaJfey where Brieg lay. The party sa* »lso 
 tJ 1 r "^ T '"■""«'" "'«'» «"">^"^ ne^er 
 
 hem»r- T'^V""'* *' '""«"» they found 
 the road covered with a thin white layer. Over' ■ 
 
 iJli ^^T""^' '"*' 'hough Jhe snow became 
 deej^r with every fnriong oHheir progress, yet 
 
 hey encountered but little actual difficulty un- 
 til they approached the first station where the 
 hors^ were to be changed. Here th.ty came ' 
 ^deep drift. ThA„igh this a pathway had ^ 
 >^en cleared, so that there was no difficulty 4 
 about going through ; but the sight of this 
 
 ^nlr "^ '^*'" '"''" ""■«''* i-e expect- • 
 ed further on, and to fill them allVjth gVave 
 doubts as to the practicability of a journey ' 
 which was thus interrupted so early 
 
 On reaching the station these doubts were 
 confinned. They were informed that the road 
 had been cleared for sleds on the preceding 
 day, but that on the previous night fresh snow 
 naa »Hen, and in such quantities tWt the road 
 would have to be cleared afresh. > The worbt 
 of It was that there was every proWbility of 
 new snow-storms, which woiJld covei the road 
 still deeper, and once more obliterate ihe track 
 This led to a fresh debate about tbeTonmef • 
 but they were all unwilling to turn back Only 
 a few miles separated them from Domo dO^ 
 sola, and they were assured that, if no fresh 
 snow should fall, they woul^ be able to start 
 on the following morning. This last assar- ^ 
 ance once more confirmed their wikvering reso- 
 lution, and theyroncluded to wait at the sta- 
 tion". 
 
 For the remainder of that day they waited at 
 the Jittle way-side inn, amusing themselves with 
 looking out upon their surroundings. They 
 were environed by a scene of universal white. 
 Above them towered vast Albine snmmits. 
 where the wild wind blew, sweejiing the snowl 
 wreaths into the air. In front, was a deep ra- 
 
 ^jU^l^'.l-k.! 
 
 i,. .'..'. ,VasX, 
 
'T'r 
 
 8 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 vine, at the bottom of which there ran a tor- 
 rent thar foamed and tossed over rocka and 
 boulders. It was not possible <t9|ilitke 4 walk 
 to any distance. Their "boots were "made for 
 lighter purposes than plUn£in|f through snow- 
 drifts ; and so they were forced to remain in- 
 
 ' doors, and pass the time as ^st they could. 
 On tljo following morning they found every 
 thing in readiness for a start. In front_pf the 
 inn they saw five sle'ds of. that kind which is 
 universally used in the northern part of Amer- 
 ica. Each sled was of the rudest possible con- 
 struction, and war drawn by one horse; straw 
 was spread over the sled, upon which fVir 
 
 erobes and blankets were flung.. The party 
 was distributed among . these sleds, . so that 
 each one should have as light a load as possi- 
 ble, while one of the rude veiiicles carried the 
 
 luggage. . !, « » . 
 
 Thus arranged, they all started off. And 
 now, sinde they are all fairly under way, I pro- 
 pose to introduce them„ individually and col- 
 » lectively, to my very good friend the reader. 
 First of all I must mention the^^^fact that |he 
 party consisted chiefly of ladies and their at- 
 tendants. . "^ 
 Of tkese the taost prominent was a slim, tall, 
 elderly lady, with large, dark, soft eyes, that 
 spoke of a vanished youth and beauty from her 
 heavily wrinkled face. She was the Dowager 
 Lady Dalrynlple^ and acted toward the rest of 
 the party in the muUi£firiou8 capacity of chape- 
 ron, general, courier, guide, philosopher, friend, 
 and Mentor. 
 
 Next came Mrs. Willonghby, a widow of 
 great beauty and fascination, a brunette, good- 
 natured, clever, and shrewd. I might here 
 pause, and go into no end of raptures on the 
 various qualities of this lady's character ;, but, 
 on the whole, I think I'd better not, as they 
 " will be sufficiently apparent before the end of 
 jhis story is reached. 
 
 Then there was Miss Minnie Fay, sister io 
 Mrs. Willoughby, and utterly unHke her in ev- 
 ery respect. Minnie was a blonde, with blue 
 eyes, golden hair cut short and clustering about 
 lier nttle head, little bit of a month, With Very 
 red, plump lips, and very white teeth. Minnie 
 was very small, and very elegvit in shape, in 
 gesture, in dregs, in every attitude and every 
 movement. The most striking thing about 
 her, however, was the expression of her eyes 
 and her face. There was about her brow the 
 glory of perfect innocence^ Her eyes had a 
 glance of unfathomable melancholy, mingled 
 with childlike trust in the particular person 
 upon whom her gaze was fastened. Minnie 
 was considered by all her friends as a child — 
 was treated as a child— liumored, petted, coax- 
 - — edptadsiged^^sad t^ked to aarft^hUd. Min- 
 nie, on her part, thought, spoke, lived, moved, 
 and acted as a child. She fretted, sh^ teased, 
 she pouted, she cried, she did every thing as a 
 ' child does ; and thus canned up to the age of 
 eighteen the bloom and chanh of eight. 
 
 The two sisters were nieces of the Dpwager 
 
 z 
 
 Jiady Dairy mple. Another niece also accom- 
 panied them, who was a cousin of the two sis- 
 ters. This was Miss Ethel Ome, a young lady 
 who had flourished through a London season, 
 and had refused any number of brilliant offers. 
 She was a brunette, with mosj wonderful dark 
 eyes, figure of perfect grace, and an expression 
 of gravo,jwlf-pQi8e that hwed the buttevflics of 
 fashion, bfil offered an irresistible attractionjk) 
 people of sense; intellect, intelligence, esprit, 
 jnd all that sort of thing— like you and me, my 
 
 >y. 
 
 I am taking up too much time and antici- 
 pating somewhat, I fenr, by these descriptions ; 
 sb let us drop Miss Ethel. 
 
 These ladies being thus all related formed a 
 family party, and had made the journey tWis 
 far on'^e best of terms, without any other es- 
 cort than that which was afforded by their 
 chaperon, general, courier, guide, philosopher, 
 friend, and Mentorr— the Dowager Lady Dal- 
 rymple. ' 
 
 The party wos enlarged by the presence of 
 four maids and a foreign gentleman. This last- 
 mentioned personage was small in etature, with 
 a very handsome face and very brilliant eyes. 
 His frame, though slight was sinewy and well , 
 knit,^nd he looked like an Italian. He had 
 come on alone, and had passed the night at 
 the station-house. 
 
 A track about six feet wide had been cut out 
 through the snow, and over this they passed. 
 The snow was soft, and the horses sank deep, 
 so that progress was slow. Nor was the jour- 
 ney without the excitement of apparent dan- 
 ger. At times before fhcm and behind them 
 there would come a low, rumbling sound, and 
 they would see a mass of snow and ice rushing 
 down some neighboring slape. Some of these 
 fell on the roacl, and more than once they had 
 to quit their sleds and wait for the drivers to 
 get them over the heaps that had been formed 
 across their path. Fortunately, however, ^ne 
 of these came near them ; and Minnie Foyj who 
 at first had screatned at intervals of about five, 
 minutes, gradually gained confidence, a*iii at 
 length changed her mood so completely that she 
 laughed and clapped her little hands whenever 
 she saw the rush of snow and ice. Thu^ slow- 
 ly, yet in safety, they pushed onward, lind at 
 length reached the little village of Siii^lon. 
 Here they waited an hour to warm themsoVes, 
 Innch, and change horses. At the end of that 
 time they set out afresh, and once more they 
 were on their winding- way. 
 
 They had now the grotificatiojtjjf finding that 
 they were descenwig the slope, and of knowing 
 that this descent Aok them every minute fur- 
 ther from the regnnA of snow, and nearer to 
 the smnny plains ofitaly. Minnie in ptgticfllg 
 
 gave utterance to her delight ; and now, having 
 lost every particle of fear, she begged to be al- 
 lowed to drive in the foremost sled. Ethel had 
 been in it thus far, but she willingly changed 
 places with Minnie, and thus the descent was 
 made. 
 
 I ^i -ft 
 
 ,f »^ 
 
 <L<:.«<&£^-1 
 
ff 
 
 THE AMERICA^ BARON. 
 
 -»«^niv,A« UARON. 
 
 J-rst, Mmnie Fay «lo„o with the driver i^tl ^ T'"^ ^» M*^o «b^vo hiS. „, 
 
 into the 8„ow, andied a^";""" P'?^" 
 made a ruah onward ^ floundered and . 
 
 and cri d ,„ ,,„ pa«enge„'tot ;S K 
 A?^ ^•/'""' *""="P'"' *■'«" any one of the .fl.!-!. 
 
 - r1 """"10 nay alono with the dri 
 Third Ih^n^'"""*''''^'""' Ethel. 
 ^ F„ wK ^ "?"■««' """^ her moid. 
 
 i* I itb, the luggage. 
 
 J 'it °' 'nese sleds had a driver to itself 
 
 great height. At the bottom flows a JuriouB T 7T' '"""=''•"« ^»' *« avaknche 
 
 it forces t, i^«., """ ""*"" a"'' '"ars as 
 
 n,:rr.47aTdTee?LTaderan's^ 
 
 time gathering into still pools at ^V 
 roaring into cataracts. Th^ r road J„rf k""" 
 cot out on the side of .ht T ■ ""* ^^^ 
 path haJ been leared aLTw"^""\'^^ 
 
 with a foro„ ,!.»'.. """'"'y' "-cmendo 
 e^es Ithl -r """''"« ««nl<l withstand. Ali 
 
 the sleds in the rear es^ated bu! M " •. ^" 
 lay in the course ofTe'^fe'lling mrs'^Jh' 
 dnver had madly rushed into the v"ry mWs 
 
 ^&:ra;rc?y2i;c 
 
 f:rthr;«5LiSgtb^^^^^^^ 
 
 clump oft^es to Break it, surface ' '"'' 
 
 1 he road was far beneath thpm ti.-. j • 
 
 had talked till all were tired out Pvl„ itr- 
 e Fay. who at fi„t had "vinced grt ejfhu' 
 «iasm on findine hersAlf ia.,ii„»-.?: ^^''": 
 
 CHAPTER ir. , , 
 
 THE PEBILOU8 DESCENT 
 
 fors. and heaped the straw higher abU"ht 
 
 as if «n .? ' '"*•""« «>"''d, which seemed ers ■•iTMi^ L T .""*'' "'^ i«aming break 
 
 w»n „---.""- "J^ "«» ume Decome suiBcientIv 
 .^^cqunmted with the peculiar sound of £ 
 ^iTOHig snow-masses to know that thi« v^«/lu 
 
 WW Heard it; but no one could Tell wherTw 
 w«s moving, or whether it was near or fnr 
 
 :^^i:i r ""'""' °' »-hTnd"."Vhe?o'n?; 
 S?s:;e-rr„r'--«'''-iop^ 
 
 ^ A waramg cry came from the foremost driver. 
 
 
 it mln?" Whit ri' 'r ""»* ""y^ "a-j 
 
 whinh V I. ju '"y beneath that point over 
 which It had been thrown? Wa» if Vi," « 
 torrent that^rolkd ih^ir we^al ff^ 
 roclts and sham cra«l!r„^.T!'^*r ?«^ 
 
 
 
THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 10 '^ : 
 
 to her feet, and looking back, called in a loud 
 
 """"Go down after her! A thousand poinds 
 to the man who saves her ! Quick I" 
 
 At this the drivers caffle forward. None of 
 them could understand English, and so had not 
 comprehended her offer; but they saw by her 
 gestures what she wanted. They, however, did 
 not seem inclined to act. They pointed down, 
 «nd pointed up, and shook their heads, and jab- 
 bered some strange, unintelligible patois. 
 
 "Cowards!" cried Ethel, "to leave a young 
 •airi to die. I will go down myself." 
 
 And then, just m she was, she stepped from 
 the sled, and panted for a moment, looking 
 down the slope as though selecting a place. 
 Lady Dalrymple and Mrs. Willoughby scream- 
 ed-to her to come back, and the drivers sur- 
 rounded her with wild gesticulations. To all 
 this she paid no attention whatever, and would 
 certainly have gone down in artother moment 
 had not a hand been laid on her arm, and a 
 voice close by her sai^, with a strong foreign 
 accent, / • 
 
 "Mccs!" ;.; ■ 
 
 She turned nt once. A^i^ri 
 
 It was the foreign gentleman wh6 had^^n 
 driving behind the party. lie had comd up 
 and had just reached the place. Ho now stood 
 befpri her with his hat in one hand and tlip 
 other hand on his heart. „„ 
 
 " Pardon, mees," he Said, with a bow. Ect 
 is too periloss. , I sail go down eef you low me 
 to mak ze attemp. .. -r 
 
 " Oh, monsieur," cried Ethel, " save her if 
 
 v^""!)" not fear. Becalm. I sail go down. 
 
 Nevare mine." . , , _j 
 
 ■The stranger now turned to the drivers, and 
 spoke to them in their own language. They all 
 obeyed at once. He was giving them explicit 
 directions in a way that showed a perfect com- 
 mand of the situation. It now appeared that 
 each sled had a coil of rope, which was evident- 
 ly supplied from an apprehension of some such 
 accident as this. Hastily yet dextrously the 
 foreign gentleman took one of these coils, and 
 then binding a blanket around his viraist, he 
 passed the rope around this, so that it would 
 press against t^e blanket without cutting him. 
 Having secured this tightly, he gave some fur- 
 ther directions to the driven, and then prepared ] 
 
 to sso diSwn. > 
 
 Hitherto the drivers had acted in sullen suD- 
 mlssion rather than with ready acquiescence. 
 They were evidently afraid of another ava- 
 lanche : and the frequent glances which they 
 thr«w at the slope'abovethemjilainly showed 
 that they expected this snow to ToHow The^ex- 
 ample of the other. In spite of themselves an 
 exweMiion of this fear escaped them, and came 
 to the ei« of the foreign gentleman. Me 
 tamed at once on the brink of the descent, and 
 bunt itito a torrent of invective against them 
 The ladles could not understand him, but they 
 cotald perceive thai he wa. uttering threats, 
 
 and that the men quailed before him. He did 
 not waste any time, however. After reducing 
 the men to a state of sulky submission, he 
 turned once more and began the descent. 
 
 As he went down the rope was held by the 
 men, who allowed it to pass through their hands 
 so ai to steady his descent. The taskbefore 
 the adventurer was one of no common difficulty 
 The snow was soft, and at every rtep he sank 
 in at least to hfs knees. Fi-equ«in«y he came 
 to treacherous places, where he sank down above 
 his waist, and was only able to scramble out 
 with difficulty. But the rope sustained him ; 
 and as his progress was downward, he succeed- 
 ed in moving with,s<ane rapidity toward h,s 
 destination. The ladies on the height abov,, 
 sat in perfect silence, watching the Fogress ot 
 the man who was thus descending with his life 
 in his hand to seek and to save their lost com- . 
 panion, and in the. intensity of their anxiety 
 forgot utterly about any danger to themselves, 
 though from time to rime there arose the well- 
 known sound of sliding masses, not so far away 
 but that under other circumstances of less anx- 
 iety it might have filled them with alarm. But 
 now there was no alarm for themselves. 
 
 And now the stranger was far down, and the 
 coil of rope was well-nigh exhausted. But this 
 had been prepared for, and the drivers fastened 
 this rope to another coil, and after a time be- 
 gan to let out that one also. 
 
 Farther and farther down the descent went 
 on They saw the stranger pursuing his way 
 still with unfaltering resolution ; and they sent 
 after him aU their hearts and all their prayers 
 At last he plunged down almost out of sight, 
 but the next moment he emerged, and then, aft- 
 er a few leaps, they saw that he had gamed the 
 place where lay the ruins of the shattered ava- 
 lanche, over this he walked, sometimes sink- 
 iuK. at other times running and leaping, niitil 
 attength he came to the precipice over which 
 the sled hiid been flung. 
 
 An^ now the suspense of the ladies became 
 terrible. This was the critical moment. Al- 
 ready his eyes could look down upon the mys- 
 terv that lay beneath that precipice. And 
 whkt lay revealed there? Bid hi* eyes en- 
 counter a spectacle of horror? Did they gaze 
 down into the inaccessible depths of some hul- 
 eous abyss? Did they see those jagged rock^ 
 1 those sharp crags, fhose giant boulders, how 
 ' roaring billows, )vhlch, In their imagination., 
 had drawn down their lost compamon to de- 
 struction? Such conjectures were too tern- 
 ble Their breath failed them, and their heart 
 for a time almost ceased to beat as thoy mt 
 there, overcome by such dread thoughts «> 
 
 Suddenly a cry of delight ^c^P^TW^ 
 She was kneeling down beside Lady Dalryin 
 pie and Mrs. Willoughby, with her eyes stanng 
 from her pallid face, when she »* 'h^."^;^- 
 ger turn and look up. He took off his h«, 
 Snd waved It two or three times. Then li« 
 ^^cJed to the driver.. Then he «a down 
 
 i^ojtuMsi&i 
 
THE AMERICAN BARON.. 
 
 iT 
 
 cave ft mnm.n.'. „„_i!j-J_ ^luwmore. it m one another's arms by turns ■''»""»'«?« 
 
 itv An A>— _>- .i_ . y 
 
 »«„<•» "-r""" "upe. « am more. It 
 
 ZtTZ""": ^°"fi''«"'=«. «nJ the certainty 
 that all was not lost. They looked at each 
 other, and wept tears of joy.' Bat soon Tat 
 
 t^rn?H^Tn T7"'*''*''' ""^ uncertainty re- 
 tutned. After all, what did the stranger's ees- 
 tnremean? He might have seen her-b„thow^ 
 
 iT' ^''t •""• •"" ^°"'d "he be ^fe 
 from iarm? Could such a thing»be hoM 
 
 for? Would she not, mher, be ^ LJdS wo^lT' ^"-^^^ ">e blanket t at he had 
 m„t.lated^^_D«red they hipe for an7Jl.1ng | de ™ '^' "'^' *'"^'' "' °^«' ^er shonl- 
 
 —•••>• uj i,uriiB. 
 
 .K 7*j. ** ""^^ <'°"^<* see through the tears 
 tha dimmed their eyes, Minnie c^ould nof b^ 
 much injured. She moved quite lightly over 
 led "on";;"- '^^ ^"•""«" '«^ ''«' »'-"d the 
 
 rpSri;rrshrreihTdiL-& 
 
 better? They dared not. And now they siT 
 once more, as sad as before, and their sho^ 
 lived gleam of hope feded away 
 ^_ They saw the stranger go over the preci- 
 
 Then he disappeared. 
 
 nnJ!*.? ""^^ "*'"? '" °'" *■""■ " "ttle distance, 
 and then stopped. Then more went out. Then 
 It stopped again. 
 
 noTetiT "" '"' '^"•'^ ''^''- "^"^^ -- 
 
 What was the meaning of this ? Was he I sled Tn^Vhr".""*"" '" P"" •""=* """''e «t th, 
 
 »».» k" '"^"'**' '° ""e men above and 
 they began to pull up the sled. The strknS 
 chmbed op after it through the deer'now 
 walking behind it for some distance! VtTJ; 
 
 lk""d'o;:.'^^'^'""« «-'"- - '"« 4 f" 
 puSg.*"'" '°"''' '^"''"'^'^^ »»d stopped 
 The stranger started up, and waved his 
 hands impatiently, pointing to Minnie. 
 
 lanS'^hr!.'!?"" '° P"» ""<=« -"-e at the 
 
 ble. I looked rathe7 Jlh^o^ghZVadrcrd 
 some place whert, he was free to movrand 
 hadnofurtherneedof descent. And it seemed 
 as though the precipice might not be so d"ep 
 or so fearful as they had supposed ^ 
 
 In a short time their eyes were greeted bv 
 the appearance of the stranger above the pL? 
 P.ce. He waved his hat again, ^'henhemde 
 
 ;:z'^"TheV"' '""r** *'"' '°p« '~- •"" 
 
 person. The drivers understood him as if this 
 had been preconcerted. Two of them in tan ! 
 ly unharnessed the horse frqm one of the skSl 
 
 s1™„™i V!?*"' *•"!!.*•* "P ""' ^^ *htch th^ 
 stranger had cast off. - Then the latter disap- 
 •peared once more behind the precinice. The 
 lad.es watched now in deep suspense; inclin! 
 >ng to hope, yet dreading the worst. Thev 
 saw the drivers fasten the n,pe to the sled, .„d 
 let It down the slope. It was light, and the 
 runners were wide. '• -•' ■ - • • ^ - "^ 
 
 At this Ethel started np. 
 
 "That noble soul I" she cried; "that Mn 
 erons heart! Seel he is saving MiS ITnd 
 sitting down to die in the snow !'• ' 
 
 She sprang toward the men, and endeavor- 
 ed to make them do something. By her Z 
 
 Tslf/ '"f r «^' '""^ "f '»■« men^to pulf . 
 the sled, and the third man to let the fourth 
 
 Zi: ^T T'V '"P* '" ">« "tranger. The 
 men refused; but at the offer of her purse 
 
 So rfif **".""'"' ^''^ «»''»' 'hey consemed 
 Tm>vt them then pulled at the sled, and niml 
 
 Sowl \'^r°'^ "L" '"^ "»«>•« »>'"' and went 
 down, while number three held the t«De h« 
 went down without difficulty, and reSd Se 
 S'thT/- V' "■"« **'""'« had been diiwn 
 Sends ''' """ ''''"'"" '" *« •"-" of he" 
 
 d L"n It 'S!'! »"^ "-.^ •?"»« which 
 
 -.. ...™ It did not sink much, but had hee"nTowonrfT '"^ ""^ •*>"»« '''•'«'' 
 slid down quite rapidly. Once or twice it ...tlw *° wonderfully maintained gave way 
 
 stuck, but by jerking it back it was det^d ' ''' ""^ "" """""""'' "*- "" ' ' ^ 
 
 and went on as before. At last it reached the 
 
 feTrlT^"' t*^'"' "« »«« than a hundred 
 feet^from wher* the stranger had last ap- 
 
 mot"^ T •" •'"^ •"* 'here, reduced once 
 more to the uttermost extrx,mity of suspense! 
 they saw a sight which «int a thrill of ripture 
 through their aching hearts. They wTw th^ 
 
 t'R™*""'/'""'^ •'^^« *« pn.4I^Tand 
 then stop, and stoop, .„d look back! Then 
 
 nntVh'TT^.^'f fV*'" ' ^ho wa. that f Was 
 ^not that Jhw red hood-^f ,|rarffg„ro-¥o 
 
 .h„ ^^ 1 nuTO— ana mat flguro who 
 
 thus slowly emerged fi^p, behind the edge of 
 
 Shffi^rt" "."* "^ •»"« concealef her 
 no » '^^J u^" " P*^'hle ? Not dead- 
 wond^f '^•.'"•' "^"«' ""'^'"«' ""d, yes- 
 iTl^tnK7"1'"~*<'*""K*P">e'pieeI Could 
 
 "••pair I Tho ladies trembled and tUVerad, 
 
 utterly; and no sooner did she find he«elf «fe 
 than she fell down unconscious. "*' 
 
 They drew her to a sled, and tenderly laid 
 her on the straw, and lovingly and gently they 
 tried to restore her, and call her back to con 
 
 She lay there a picture of perfect loveliness 
 wheautiful a. a dream-like Vome child-an« ' 
 Her hair, frosted with snow dost, clustered i,; 
 fie hTHH"'" °'V!'r ^'^' *hite brow, h?r,|^ 
 
 pearly ^tiTthTS^^^r I^S^ 
 li"'"" 'I'f P""""' •xpre.sion'^of muS 
 appeal; and W hearing was deaf to thi 
 word, of love and pity th., were laviSei ^^'^ 
 
 *.»{ViS ^ ?/V\ 
 
 ■■ t&P ':e^' 
 
13 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 7 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CHILD-ANOEL AND HER WOES. 
 
 Mk8 , VViLLOCOHBT was iti her room at the 
 hotel in Milan, when the door opened, and Min- 
 nie caine in. She looked around the room, 
 drew a long breath, then locked the door, omd 
 flinging herself upon a sofa, she reclined there 
 in silence for 80i)n|e time, looking hard at the 
 ceiling. Mrs. WiUoughby looked a little sur 
 prised at first j but after waiting flfew moment 
 for Minnie to say something, resumed her rea(^ 
 ing, which had been interrupted. 
 " Kitty," said Minnie at last. 
 " What?" said her sister, looking up. 
 « ' I think you're horrid. " 
 "Why, what's the matter?" 
 " Why, because when you see and know that 
 I'm dying to speak to you, you go on reading 
 that wretched book." 
 
 "Why, Minnie darling," said Mrs. WiUough- 
 by, " how in the world was I to know that you 
 wanted to speak to me ?" 
 
 " You migkt have known," said Minnie, with 
 a pout—" you saw me look all round, and lock 
 the door ; and you saw hpw worried I looked, 
 and I think it a shame, and I've a great mind 
 not to tell you any thing about it." 
 
 "About it— what itr" and Mrs. WiUough- 
 by put down her book, and regarded her sister 
 with some curiosity. 
 
 " I've a great mind not to tell yon, but I 
 can't help it. Besides, I'm dying to ask your 
 advice. I don't know what to do ; and I vish 
 I was dead- there!" 
 
 "My poor Minnie I what is the matter? 
 You're so incoherent." 
 
 "Well, Kitty, it's all my accident." 
 
 "Your accident!" 
 
 " Yes ; on the Alps, you know." 
 
 " What ! You haven't received any serious 
 injury, have you?" asked Mrs. WiUoughby, 
 with some alarm. 
 
 "Oh! I don't mean that; but 111 tell you 
 what I mean ;" and here Minnie got up from 
 her reclining position, and allowed her little feet 
 to touch the cavpet, while she fastened her great, 
 fond, pleading, piteous eyes upon her sister. 
 
 "It's the Count, you know," said she. 
 
 "The Count I" repeated Mfc. WiUoughby, 
 somewhat dryly. "Well?" 
 
 I < Well— don't you know what I mean ? Oh, 
 how stupid you are!" 
 
 " I really can not imagine." ' - 
 
 "Well — he— he — he pro— proposed, you 
 know." 
 
 "Proposed!" criot the other, in a voice of 
 
 dismiiy. 
 
 «Now7TCiRy, If ysff speKk in itart horrid 
 
 way I won't say another word. I'm worried 
 too much already, and I don't want you to 
 scold me. And I won't have it." 
 
 " Minnie darting, I wish you would tell me 
 something. I'm not scolding. I merely wish 
 to know what yon mean. Do you really mean 
 tbat the Count hai proposed to you ?" 
 
 "Of course that's what I mean." 
 " Whot puzzles roe is, bow ha could have 
 got the chance. It's more than a week since 
 he saved you, and wo all felt deeply grateful 
 to him. But saving a giri's life doesn't give a 
 man any claim over her; and we don't alto- 
 gether like him ; and so we all have tried, in n 
 quiet way, without hurting his feelings, you 
 know, to prevent him from having any uc- 
 /^uaintance with you." 
 
 " Oh, I know, I know," said Minnie, brisk- 
 ly. " He told me all that. He understands 
 that ; but he doesn't care, he says, if / only 
 consent. He will forgive you, he says." 
 
 Minnie's volubility was suddenly checked by ^ 
 catching her sister's eye fixed on her in new 
 amazement. 
 
 "Now you're beginning to be horrid," she 
 cried. " Don't, don't— " 
 
 Will you have the kindness to tell me," 
 said Mrs. WiUoughby, very quietly, "how in 
 the world the Count contrived to tell you all 
 thi8?"i 
 
 " Why — why— several times." 
 "Several times!" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Tell me where?" 
 
 " Why, once at the amphitheatre. You we^ 
 walking ahead, and I sat down to rest, and iSr 
 cnme and joined me. He left before you caroo 
 back." 
 
 " He must have been following us, then." 
 "Yes. And another time in the picture- 
 gallery ; and yesterday in a shop ; and this 
 morning at the Cathedral." 
 "The Cathedral I" 
 
 " Yes, Kitty. You know we all went, and 
 Lady Dairy mple would not go up. So Etlicl 
 and I went up. And when we got up to the 
 top I walked about, and Ethel sat down to ad- 
 mire the view. And, you know, I found my- 
 self off at a little (listancc, when suddenly I saw 
 Count Girasole. And then, you know, he— he 
 — proposed." • 
 
 Mrs. WiUoughby sat silent for some time. 
 "And what did you say to him?" she asked 
 at length. 
 
 "Why, what else could I say ?" 
 "What else than wAatr" 
 " I don't see why yon should act so like a 
 grand inquisitor, Kitty. You really make mo 
 feel quite nervous," said Minnie, who put her 
 littjorosy-tipped fingers to one of her eyes, and 
 attemi^fid a sob, which turned out a failure. 
 
 " Olv^only wJied you what you told him, 
 yon know." 
 
 " Well," laid Minnie, gravely, " I tbld him, 
 you know, that I was awfully grateful to him, 
 and tbii I'd^give^ftBy thing if 1 €0h14 to ex - 
 press my gratitude. And then, you know— oh, 
 he speaks inch darling broken English— he 
 called me his ' mees,' and tried to make a pret- 
 ty speech, which was lo mixed with Italian that 
 I didn't understand one single word. By-the- 
 way, Kitty, isn't it odd how every body hew 
 speaks luliau, even the children 7" 
 
 ,:'.Jl&j 
 
"Yes, very odd; but, Minnie dear. I want 
 «p know what you told him " " 
 
 knrw^''^' ' *"''* '^'" '•"" I '«'J°'' know, yoa 
 " And then ?" 
 '; And then he took my hand. Now KUt^ 
 
 iCeB, but I oniy ask so as to advise von T 
 w&nt to know how the casefttands." ^ ' ' 
 " Yes?"^"" '"*"''' '"" *"* "" "'8ent-{» 
 
 "And so handsome—" 
 "Well?" 
 
 "And then, you know, he saved mv life- 
 didn^ he, now? You must acknowS tL 
 much, mustn't yoH?" ""ukb mat 
 
 "Oh yes." 
 
 ♦•Well—" 
 
 "WeU?" 
 
 Minnie sighed. 
 
 " So what could I say ?" 
 
 Minnie paused. 
 
 Mm Willoughby looked troubled. 
 .K . ^'"yj/,«'"A you wouldn't look at me with 
 rXSS=r-- Voureal.ym'-ar^S 
 
 b„t"/'^r ;i- ''' "l" • "^^ "°' »«« P»nieularly ; 
 but I i*e him ; that is, I think I do, or rather 
 I thought I did; but reaUy I'm so w^fed 
 about all my troubles that I 'wish he had neTer 
 come down after me. I don't see why he dW 
 either I didn't ask him to. Iremeraber' 
 
 now. I really felt quite embarrassed whenTsa^ 
 h.m . I knew there would be trouble about it 
 And I wish you would take me back home i 
 hate Italy. Do Kitty darling. But then-" 
 
 Minnie paused again. 
 
 "Well, Minnie de^, we certainly most con- 
 
 ing his feelings. It can't be thought of There 
 Z: '""iT"' •"'J*"'"""- If thf worst corned 
 gt„d." °"* "" ''" ^ ""^"^ •" y°" -y. 'o En 
 
 th."^ ''T' '':" ""'"•" "'"l Minnie, "that's 
 the very thing that I can't do-" 
 
 "Can't do what?" 
 
 "Go back to England." 
 
 knl?'f /°^''«'*''**-' Why not? I don't 
 know what you mean." 
 
 «1^!"' ^**" '**' ^^*^' """'« the very thing I 
 the Count, you know-has some wonderful wav 
 
 commonest dvUity u enconmgement. And 
 
 ''What do yen mean by that?" 
 «u wi^ . •"* •-»— a dreadful Mrwn then< 
 -J1 Minni,, wid. « awful look i Jl« efes. ' 
 
 THE AMEIilCAN BARON. 
 
 13 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 " A-person," said Minnie. 
 
 "A man?" 
 
 Minnie nodded. " Oh yes-of course Real 
 
 »irh-Kw^ernU^^^^^^ 
 
 sol^'"'"'' """"" "-'d Mrs. WilJghTy in 
 «ome suTinse. • "Well, Minnie, youfeSii- 
 
 "Now don't, don't-not a word; I know all 
 you re gomg to say, and I won't sUnd i". " and 
 o^rTer^urh: " '^^^^--^^^^^ ^^ ha-nl 
 
 "I won't say a word, " said Mrs. WiUouchbv « 
 S:^i:r* «">« ^d removed Minnie'sTandf'.fo 
 
 Minnie resumed her place on the sofa «„j 
 gave a long sigh. j ^ °^ *''"'' ^'^^ 
 
 at bS ^? ''S"'^' ^'"y '**'■""«. i' happened 
 r»nH^f T*" ^P'^robe'- You were in Scot 
 
 who i twind """ :"" ""* ^""^^ Shrewsbu^, 
 Who IS as blind as a bat-and where's the use of 
 
 birnd f Z""" '" T" ■««' y°" when th % 
 blind ! You see, my horse ran away, and I think 
 
 he must have go»e ever so many ^fel „ "r 
 
 railroad bridges and hedges and^st^ne ^walls 
 
 I m certain he jumped over a smaU cottage 
 
 Well you know, when all seemed lost, suddl: 
 
 ly there was a strong hand laid on the reins. 
 
 some^Ltr "1? ''•""'*''• ' ^•'"'Wedlt^o 
 some strange gentleman's arms, and was car 
 
 retSrlil" h """"^^ ^''^"••' ' "" '^^'"'Citrd. I 
 returned home in the gentleman's carriage. 
 
 horse called to inquire after me the ne« dly 
 
 ly civil tp him ; and so there I was J His namp 
 IS Captain Kirby, and I *ish there were no caT 
 tains in the world. Thb Ufe he led me I X 
 used to call, and I had^to go out ri^^i with 
 ^m and old Lady Shrewsbu"^ utteriy n^fg^ 
 ed me; and so, you know; Kitty darling he at 
 last, yon know, of course, proposed That's 
 
 your life. Always! It's awful!" 
 
 Minnie heaved a sigh, and sat apnarentlv 
 meditating on the enorm'ous basenesro7 "Se 
 
 rsLT"*"^ * '"•^y'" '"■« »°d »hen pre! 
 posed; and it Was not until Mrs. Willoughby 
 ^ad spoken twice that .he was recalled to her- 
 
 ' Why, what cbold T tell him P" 
 
 . x^i^BSdLJditAJCti K. 
 
 don't-?' "■'"'^ **"• WiUonghby; «yo« 
 " Now, Kitty, I think it's rerv unkind in yon 
 
 Minn i' '*"i'y°"''.<"»n way, Minnie dearest." 
 
 a ^fL ..H a' t """ »>i'^^Am vacancy with 
 
 • soft, .ad, and piteous expre«iion in her larw 
 
 I bine eye. J with her he«l d« . little on^ 
 
 ;i;:.i.Ji.ai.^\Xita 
 
 ^j.ii'U:-^^-.; 
 
THE AMERICAN BARON, 
 
 "aHOTHBB MAJfl" 
 
 side, and her delicate hands gently clasped In 
 front of iier. 
 
 "You see, Kitty darling, he took me out 
 riding, and— he took me to the place where I 
 had met him, and then he proposed. WeU, yon 
 know, I didn't know what to say. He was to 
 earnest, and so despairing. And then, you know, 
 Kitty dearest, he had saved my Ufe, and so— 
 "And so?" ,^ 
 
 " Well, I told him I didn't know, and Was 
 shockingly confused, and then we got up quite 
 «Kene.- He swore tha| he would go to Mex- 
 ico, though why I can't imagine ; and I really 
 Wish he had ; but I wa* frightened at the ume 
 and I cried ; and then he got worse, and I told 
 him not to ; whereupon he went into raptures, 
 and began to call me no end of names— spooney 
 names, you know ; and I— oh, I did mo want him 
 to stop !— I think I must have promised him all 
 that he wanted; and when I got home I was 
 frightened out of my poor litUe wite, and cried 
 
 "Poor dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Wil- 
 longhby, with tender sympathy. "What • 
 
 wretch!"^ , „ . 
 
 "No, he wasn't a wretch at «11 ; he wa^. aw- 
 fnlly hands ome, only, yon know, he— was-^o 
 — fliofully persevering, and kept to at my hwh ; 
 but I hurried home from Brighton, and thought 
 I had got rid of him." , 
 
 "And hadn't yon?" , 
 
 "Oh dear, no," uM Minnie, monmftuly. 
 "On the day after my arrival there came a 
 letter ; and, ygn know, I had to answer it ; and 
 then another } and so it went on—" 
 
 "Oh, Minnie! why didn't you tell mc be- 
 fore?" ■ „. , 
 
 "How could I when yon were off in that 
 horrid Scotland ? I alwayi hated Scotland. " 
 
 " Yon might have told papa." 
 
 " I couldn't. I think papa's cruel too. He 
 doesn't care for me at alL Why didn't he find 
 out our correspondence and intercept it, the 
 way papas always do in novels ? Jf I vere to 
 papa I'd not Jet ton be so worried," 
 
 " And did he never call on you ?" 
 
 "Yes; he got leave of absence once, and I 
 had a dreadful time with him. He was in a 
 desperate state of mind. He was ordered off 
 to Gibraltar. But I managed to comfort him ; 
 and, oh dear, Kitty dear, did you ever try to 
 comfort a man; and the man a total stranger? 
 
 At this innocent question Mrs. WUloughby s 
 gravity gave way a little. 
 
 Minnie frowned, and then sighed. 
 
 "Well, you needn't be so unkind," said she: 
 and then her little hand tried to wipe away » 
 tear, but failed. • 
 
 "Did he go to Gibraltar ?" asked Mm. Wil- 
 longhby at length. ■; 
 
 "Yes, he did," said Minnie, with a httle as- 
 perity. 
 
 "DWh»writ>y 
 
 Of course he wrote," in the same tone. 
 
 " Well, how did it end ?" 
 
 " ^d 1 It didn't end at all. And it never 
 wUl end. It 11 go on getting worse and won* 
 evenfday. Yon aee he wrote, and said a lot oi 
 rnbMsh about hU getting leave of absence and 
 coming to see me. And then I determined to 
 
 ^4.-\ .M 
 
>a tell mc be- 
 
 uked Mu. Wil- 
 with 'a little u- 
 
 e Mme tone. 
 
 me trSlV^r'aT'""".' begged jon to take 
 . yoVtleS^el'n''^ '' '•'^*^^ timeJEVe told 
 r,yj'!,*'.'^»« '''e real reason ?•■ 
 
 Wi'l'ln^^KK **'?**' ""y P°<"" child," said Mrs 
 your officer, at any rate ; and as to Count Gira- 
 «ole,_we must sire you f^n, him. Don't g.Ve 
 
 and the American, too, of course." °'^' 
 
 starti^" *""" ? J''"" ^" •='^«<» Mrs. Willonghby 
 
 ha^^wLrdi,"""'^'"'''*""'"'- "Who's 
 
 Arn^cZ'\Zl^J^^,^^^^^^ The 
 
 and'^r;i's"fr''°'°^"'^-«^'«-'"--'-. 
 
 mo,^"" "'"''' P^'^i"^ ">«» that the« a« any 
 
 -:2:;::ii:xi^^ 
 
 and looking a little frightened. *'' 
 
 said SiJ, Sg' "?„d I'H L"* h 7^'''" 
 that von'H Koi„ ' , " ^°- ^i" I hoped 
 
 ■nkinT ff ""'' '""^ I «hiiik you're very 
 unkind J and I wouldn't treat you ^." ^ 
 
 No no,Mmnie,"gaidMr8.Willoughby ris- 
 
 :.f'w^^.\';rCf".^^dt?^'?^^ 
 r:^:£rf:;iiji-gX^KeaT 
 
 What about the American ? I won't e«n«.. 
 more asto„h.hment. no mattel Tat SaTf^e?" 
 insisSMrnie"""""''-^-'-"^-'-''-Lnt- 
 
 S^ViTsigh:'"''"'''"^''^-^^'-- 
 
 b^Syr^mryrre^-b:;.^--'-" 
 
 pr^Lrjrotr^Jrir*'^''"''*"'^- 
 
 wJckJ?;-'"" "^•^^'■' t"" •'*'«»" -a. 
 "Yes." 
 ;;But I never told you how my life was wired '" 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 tint? AniL . LI"i^ '"'''~* *' * ^**°""°'^ t 
 
 •one. ^S.'^J,,^'"?''- \* de^ndent 
 "Whatl" ' 
 
 'ri«h»f«.Tnd''LT"w'* «"'"« •" h«ve .scene 
 •» papa, and so ho Iwpt out of hi. way. Oh 
 
 15 
 
 [ dear, how I wish he'd been as considerate with 
 
 ™;r„«^;~'' -""»"■'»"•» "Sp! 
 
 biss"""""""""""*-". 
 
 "And then, you know, he traveled with n. 
 and papa thought he was ^ne of the pasrenL™ 
 and wa. civil^ and so he used ^o ,T to^"' 
 
 " wS "•• **"''^'' •»" "^^'^ '^ -" - '»^- " 
 
 "At your house, dearest." 
 " Why, how was that ?" 
 
 I u.?." goir -■"" ^°" "°'"' *^""»«> - 
 
 *' Oh, Minnie!" 
 
 ." ^u ^^ P'^Posed to roe there." 
 
 Where ? ip my parlor ?" 
 ''Yes; in your parlor, dearest." 
 
 what yrS^S*,!''" ""' "«"«--^ f- •»« to ask 
 
 vlic/ ""f^V"*'" "'^Minnie, in a sweet 
 voice. He was so grand and so stronir and 
 
 it^e^tbe-tbe-veryjirst time that any bodv 
 cveiv-proposedj and so, yo^ know I dWn'I 
 
 JriS- * *" "^•^ ''• ""* I -I'd"'' want to hurt 
 his feebngs, and I couldn't deny that h« uJ\ 
 '«ve4 my life; .„d I don't know whe„ r ill 
 was so confused. It^| awful, Ki«yl?„i. 
 
 And then, you know, darUng," continued 
 Minnie, .'he went away, and used o write ,^1 
 
 and I was frightened to death almost. He is 
 goingtomanymonextyear. Heusei.f.w 
 ful expression, dearest. He told me he wa. a 
 «rugfelingm«n. Isn't that horrid ? wL7hit 
 
 "OhIJiryS'"''"'"""'" 
 
 Mr. Wllmighby was silent for some timt; 
 Oh, Minnie," said she at last, "what a 
 trouble «1 this is ! How I wish you had ^* 
 with me all this time !" ^" 
 
 JSiiT"'"'"" '"''"' '^'^•^"^^■' 
 
 mind''"?'Cm.?«"'^"'""«!''?''«^^ 
 l"";u...?t'".'^*' "P ""y "n'nd to o ne thing. 
 ^tiaHajSwifrTOvef teste wp Mo tte wltl a 
 
 gentleman, ubIms— " ™ "° " 
 
 "Well, I'm sure I don't mnt t^'e hnrrirf 
 
 be wnnkind. I'm sure I dqn't »m> why people 
 w^U come dway. «„d s»ye my life whi^ve? I 
 
 have npr hfe „ved any more, f think it'a 
 dreadflU to hav« men cha^g „, .u o^^ £,' 
 
 ' M^iikf 
 
 i*^' 
 
r 
 
 16 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 " ni BBiri ins. hbad dowm, 
 
 AUK BAK HIS UAKD TBTOOOn HIB HVBIIT HAIB. 
 
 world. I'm afraid to stop in Italy, and I'm 
 afraid to go back to England. Then I'm al- 
 ways afraid of that dreadful American. I sup- 
 pose it's no use for me to go to the Holy Land, 
 or Egypt, or Anstralia; for then my life ^ffould 
 be saved by an Arab, or a New Zealander. 
 And oh, Kitty, wouldn't it be dreadful to have 
 someArabpro^8ingtome,oraIlinduI Oh, 
 what am I to do?" 
 
 <^' Trust to me, darling. I'll get rid of Gira- 
 sole. We will go to Naples. He has to stop 
 at Rome; I know that. Wo will thns pass 
 quietly away from him, without giving hiA any 
 . pain, and hell soon forget all about it. As for 
 the others, I'll »top this correspondence first, 
 npd th%n deal with them as they come." 
 -M-Y«m'U never do itr iwverl"-cried,Minnie[i 
 
 " I know you won't. You don't know them.' 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 m THB CBATEB OF VMUVIHS. 
 
 LoKD Habbt Hawbcbt hf d been wandering 
 for three months on the Continent, and bad 
 
 finally found himself 
 in Naples. It wo8 al- 
 ways a favorite place ■ 
 '"of his, and he had es- ■ 
 tablished himself in 
 comfortable i^arters . 
 ' on the Strada Nuovn, 
 from the windows of 
 , which there was a 
 magnificent view of 
 the whole bay, with 
 Vesuvius, Capri, 
 Baiie, and all the re- ' 
 gions round - about. 
 Here an old friend 
 .. had unexpectedly 
 ' turned up in the per- 
 son' of Scone Dacres. 
 Their friendship had 
 been formed some 
 five or six years be- 
 fore in South Ameri- 
 ca, where they had 
 made a hazardous 
 ' journey in company 
 across the continent, 
 and had thns ac- 
 quired a familiarity 
 with one another 
 which years of or- 
 dinary association 
 would have failed to 
 give. Scone Dacres 
 was several years old. 
 er than Lord Haw- 
 bury. 
 
 One evening Lord 
 Hawbury had just 
 finished his dinner, 
 and was dawdling 
 about in a listless 
 way, when Dacres entered, quite unceremoni- 
 ously, and flung himself into a chair by one of 
 the windows. 
 
 "Any Bass, Hawbury?" was his only greet- 
 ing, as he bent his head down, and ran his hand 
 through his bushy hair. 
 
 " Lachryma Christi ?" asked Hawbury, in an 
 interrogative tone. 
 
 " No, thanks. That wine Is a humbug. I'm 
 beastly thirsty, and as dry as a cinder." 
 
 < Hawbury tigered the Bass, and Dacres seen 
 was refreshill himself with copious draughj^. 
 The two friends presented a singular con- 
 trast. Lord Hawbury was tall and slim, with 
 straight flaxen h«}r and flaxen whiskers, whose 
 long, pendent points hung dowA to his shonl- 
 
 ders. His thin face, somew hat pale, had an 
 
 air of High fefifleineht > BnrBn rneradiaia5=~ 
 habit of lounging, together with a drawling in- 
 tonation, gave him the appearance of being the 
 laziest mortal alive, Dacres, on^he other hand, 
 was the very opposite of all this. HewasastaU 
 as Lord Hawbury, but was broad-shouldered and 
 massive. He had a big head, a big mnitach^ 
 and a thick bewd. Hii hiir WM dark,'«iid 
 
 . ,^ifc* 
 
 ■l^^<lJ^^^&flt^^^^^ 
 
!€■ 
 
 ba^'^"ft„*'""* "P' ^"""y ="' ""ked Lord Haw- 
 
 «p vSuviur- "°'''"^' ""'^p' **^' i'^^ i-^"" 
 
 " aL^H?''".^. «"^' " '""K thistle. 
 askedr-lXr '" "" "^ '"°'""«'" ?" he 
 
 Msn«btbf.d'':et«^rbt'badtiuS 
 out of a box at his elbow. His evM w«™ fl ^ I 
 «pon 4 point i„ the sky exa iJTaS"^' 
 
 "Well, old man?" 
 
 " I've had an adventure " 
 
 ion see, said Dacres. "I utartpH ««•.!.• 
 
 renoirjj„':rhveLi:s^-r;rhir 
 
 J«ledCotopaxi.and.U.h.tso„'5;hTng'p tt 
 
 Dacres pntthecigarthonghtfullyinhismonth 
 T^?.:iS?!;'V'* '.'*^'' '" "«'" itf but couldn't 
 10 ao DMore. i hen he gave three long, solemn 
 
 Zf P^T '«•" P"*^'- Then he took thVc.S 
 l>etween his first and second flngere. and .t« f^ 
 ed hi, hand out toward HawbS 
 
 bnlLunTruZy'^r ''•"""'' ^''5° I KO'ib-t 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I had a shot to-day" 
 Anv^/'lh" ^•'V'"'" y»» bad. ^ Cool, too 
 
 ttt^wi^^SS^ •'•"«•*- •''--^i 
 
 THE AMERICAN 5ARt)N. 
 
 // 
 
 lX,fk^ ,''='' ""^ •""* '"'cn«5d for him- 
 
 '*^^iUri?rTyE^' ^^«"- 
 
 >« T«nly trying ,o g„pp,, with'the'XSghi! 
 
 ventifre." ^''*' "''* •""" »»'' ""^ ^^ tbe -d- 
 for'lTfde**' Zr' • ^"'"' y"" «'*'• I "tartea 
 f-Bo or so at Tortici, when I overtook a ro, 
 
 111 be hanged if J can find- word, to exoL. 
 what I want to say The PnMi.i. i P 
 doesn't contain them" *'"'' '""«»'8" 
 
 aoont It or deraonstrstive." 
 
 nothing ,°''^"TV No demonstration. Ifs 
 nothing to nde behind a carriage for sevenil 
 
 uni. ^"K" on. old man." »'""''«""• 
 
 ion see, there was such a beastly lot of nl»/ • 
 
 tr,Slt\Tr' "? ''!'"*'"'"' b^~nUn?S . 
 that sort of thing, that it was simply imDo«iiM- 
 o go any faster;' so you «» I ^^ SSS 
 to nde behind. SomeUmeMndetiriSI 
 good distance back." ' * 
 
 " And^ then caught up .giUn to ni,a m« y.. 
 
 "We 
 
 
 'eU— yes.'' 
 
 "But I don't see what this has to do with 
 yoar going to Vesuvius." "* 
 
 " It has every thing to do. Ton sen I .».m 
 ed without 4 flxedVn.!. «d a^r iX" 
 
 •• a\ l'*~y<»- By Jove I" 
 And tAey drove Up aa fcr m they coulk." » 
 
■'Vi 
 
 ^'■ 
 
 18 
 
 toff^a 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON 
 
 "Yes? ^^ 
 
 "And I foHoweajj^rou Bee, I had nothing 
 else to do— and that little girl ! Besides, it was 
 the most natural thing in the world for me to 
 be going up ; and the fact that I was bent on 
 the same errand as themselves was sufficient to 
 account for my being near the carriage, and 
 would prevent them from supposing that I was 
 following them. So, you see, I followed, and 
 at length they stopped at the Hermitage. I 
 left my horse there, and strolled forwar,d, with- 
 out going very far away ; my only idea was to 
 ke6p the girl in sight. I had no idea that they 
 ifould go any further. To ascend the cone 
 seemed quite out of the question. I thought 
 they would rest at the Hermitage, drink some 
 Lachryma Christi, and go back. But to my 
 surprise, as I.was walking about, J saw the two 
 young ladies come out and go toward the cone. 
 
 " 1 kept out of the way, as yon may suppose, 
 and^Jvatched them, wondering what idea they 
 had. \ As they passed I heard the younger one 
 —the' child-angel, yon know, my girl— teasing 
 the other to make the ascent of the cone, aiad 
 the other seemed to be quite ready to agree to 
 the propo sal. jt V _ '' 
 
 " Now, as 'fiBr as the mere ascent is con- 
 cerned, of counb yow know that is not much. 
 The guides weij there jWith straps and chairs. 
 
 and that sort of thing, all i-eady, so that there 
 was no difficulty about that. The - real diffi- 
 culty, was in these giris going off unaUended ; 
 and i could only account for it by supposing 
 that the chaperon knew nothing whatever about 
 their proposal. No doubt the old lady was 
 tired, and the young ones went out, as tht sup- 
 posed, for a stroll ; [and now, as they proposed, 
 this strt)ll meant npthing less than an ascent of 
 the cone. After all, there is nothing surprising 
 in the fact that a couple of active and spirited 
 girls should attempt this. From the Hermitage 
 it does not seem to be at all difficult, and they 
 had no idea of the actual nature of the task. 
 
 " What made it wor8e,-*0wever, was the state 
 of the mountain at this particular time. I don't 
 know whether you have taken the fronble to 
 raise your eyes so high as the top.of Vfesuvius — " 
 
 Hawbnry languidly shook his head. 
 
 " Well, I supposed not ; but if yon had taken 
 the trouble, you would have noticed an ugly 
 cloud which is generally regarded here as omin- 
 ous. This morning, jrou know, there was an 
 nnnsoally large canopy of very dirty smoke over- 
 head. I knew by the look of thing* that it was 
 not a very pleasant place to go to. But of 
 course they could not be supposed to know any 
 thing of the kind, and their very ignorance made 
 them rash. 
 
 "Well, I walked alonf irtteMhwD/Horknow- 
 
 that prevented me from giving them warning. 
 They were rushing straight on into danger, and 
 I had to keep silent. 
 
 "On reaching the foot of the cone a lot of 
 fellows came up to them, with chairs and straps, 
 and that sort of thing. Tfhey employed some 
 of 'them, and, mounting the chairs, they were 
 carried up, while I walked up by myself at a 
 distance from which I cduld observe all that was 
 going on. The girls were quite merry, appeared 
 to be enchanted with their ride up the cone, en- 
 joyed the novelty of the sensation, and I heard 
 their lively chatter and their loud peals of ring- 
 ing laughter, and longed more than ever to be 
 able to speak to them. ' 
 
 "Now the little girl-that I had first seen— 
 the child-angel, you know — seemed, to my* 
 amazement, to be more adventurous than the 
 other. By her face you would suppose her ta. 
 be as timid as a dove, and yet on this occasion 
 she was the one who proposed the ascent, urged 
 oi< her companion, and answered all her objec- 
 tions. Of course she could not have really been 
 so plucky as she seemed. For my part, I be- 
 lieve the other one had more real pluck of the 
 two, but it was the child-angel's ignorance thnt 
 made her so bold. She went up the cone as 
 she would have gone up stairs, and looked at 
 the smoke as she would have looked at a roll- 
 ing cloud. I 
 
 "At length the bearers stopped, and signi- 
 fied to the girls that they could not go any far- 
 ther. The girls could not speak Italian, or an.v 
 other language apparently than English, and 
 therefore could not very well make out what the, 
 bearers Were trying to say, but by their gestures 
 they might have known that they were warn- 
 ing them againsi^ing any further. One might 
 have supposed thamo warning would have been 
 needed, and that one look upward would have 
 been enough. The top of the cone rose for 
 upward of a hundred feet above tli*m, its soil 
 composed of lava blocks and ashes intermingled 
 with sulphur. Jn this soil there were a million 
 cracks and crevices, from which sulphurous 
 smoke was issuing ; and the smoke, which was 
 but faint and thin near where they stood, grew 
 denser farther up, till it interiningled with the 
 larger volumes that rolled up froin the crater. 
 "Now, as I stood there, I suddenly heard a 
 wild proposal from the child-angeL \ 
 
 " 'Oh, Ethel,' she saidj'l've a great m^i 
 to go up — ' " ■ 
 
 Here Hjtwbury interrupted his friend : 
 " What's that? Was that her friend's name?" 
 he asked, with some animation. " Ethel ?- 
 odd, too. Ethel? H'm. Ethel? Bmnette, 
 was she ?" 
 - "Yei. "^ 
 
 ing what might turn up, but determined to keep 
 them in sight. Those beggars with chairs were 
 not to be trusted, and the ladies had gold enough 
 about them to tempt violence. What a reck- 
 less old devil of a chaperon she was, to let those 
 young girls go ! So I walked on, cnrsing all 
 thtf tune the conTentionalities of civiysation 
 
 >i- 
 
 "Odd, too; inffernally odd. But, pwh! 
 what rot! Just «8 though there weren't* 
 thousand Ethels!" 
 
 "What's that you're saying about Bthelr 
 asked Dacres. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, old man. Excuse my inl* 
 rupting you. Go ahead. How did it end?" 
 
 ^-ijiA-i* 
 
gelst 
 
 / We^; the child-^n- 
 _ / said, ^ Ethel, I've a 
 Ifrw mind to go up." 
 /"This proposal ^thel 
 0uted in horror and 
 ostemation. 
 / ♦"'You must not — 
 tou shall riot!' she 
 ried. ^ 
 
 '"Oh, it's nothing, 
 (t's nothing,' said the 
 child-angel. 'I'm jy. 
 Ing to take a peep into 
 the crater. It must 
 be awfully funny. Do 
 icome; do, do come, 
 lEthel darling.' 
 
 Oh, Minnie, 
 doh't,' cried the other, 
 in great alarm. And 
 I now learned that the 
 cbild-angel's name was 
 Minnie. 'Minnie,' she 
 I cried, clinging to the 
 childrangel, 'you must 
 not go. I would not 
 have come np if I had 
 thought you would be 
 so unreasonable. ' 
 
 "'Ethel,' said the 
 other, ' you are really 
 getting to be quite a 
 scold. How ridiculous 
 it is in you to set your- 
 self up in this place an 
 » duenna I How can I 
 ' lielp going up? and only 
 )nepeep. And I never 
 «w 4 crater in my life, 
 ind I'm dying to know 
 'fhat it looks like. I 
 
 » be to nnk.nd aboat it. And I really m^ust 
 l^r^ZlllZ^V Do.do,dea_Lrest 
 
 Jade the other, but to no purpose; for at length, 
 
 XZI-t "•* '?"W-"8«J burst away, Ind 
 •Wd Lghtly up the slope toward the cr;ter 
 
 linsL T «."n ^^'' '•"* "•''^- 'Co«e. Ethel, 
 
 J bhe turned for an imitant as she toid this, 
 
 mediated by a .mUe of exquisite 8*cetneBs. 
 Jhelplay of feature, the light of her WTd 
 ^ixpression of innocence and ignoS^n- 
 
 Mflness And there was I, standing alone, see- 
 iK? **^ *"" *»«*"8 "•"^If to ruin, 
 I w Jl"°:i''l'' *^ '"«''«« •""■' "™P»t becan*; 
 «ricl^."!;r "'"^ ""-^ *■***" ^' "•« «"H»J re- 
 
 T2oZf * ^'T'"" •"'^ • «'»+'"' cpn- 
 wntionahty. Dash it, I gay!" T 
 
 t«d hiP""!' ^"^"^ """ »'"■'' HawbJiy eleva- 
 
 ,1 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 19 
 
 "I SAW „K. Tin™ ^ ^^^, nw BANl, „ TBipn-H." 
 
 wiA hi" right he drummed on the table near 
 "Well," resumed Dacres, "the child-angel 
 
 EthJo « T: "^'f '""' '«»"»« Ethel beS 
 Ethel called after her for some time, and then 
 
 ^^l *° '?""'' •"" "P- Meanwhile he gud« 
 who had thus far stood apart, suddenly f«„X 
 sight of the child-angel's fiU, anlj W^th ^ ' 
 loud warning c.y, they ran Vder her Ther 
 seemed to me, howerer, to be a lazy lot, Z 
 they scarce got np as far as the place where 
 
 I stroUed carelessly along, pretending not to 
 see any thing in particular, 'and so, tiking ud 
 an e«y attitude, I waited for the d^nouem^ent^ 
 UwMAlernhle position too. Th.t child-an- ^ 
 Pi T J^?*"" '"'^'' ''^'^ '^o*'" rar life for her 
 fling her hfe away. And all becan«, I had not 
 ?X"i*" ''"'•'• ^«"'-"-''»'^«>^«"- 
 
 h| "Wnouement. Now it happened thit ai 
 the chUd -angel went un. a hri^ i "\-^ 
 
 m whi«k«« I •'■ . l'™"*** "'• 'o»«' pend- thi 
 
 "^>^ 
 
 '^•fe * >t '-^ '^Cti^^H..^Srt» 4.'L^>i<S-Jl 't^Vfi. 
 
20 
 
 THE AMEMCAN BARON. 
 
 started, which blew away all the smoke, to that 
 she went bIoiik fur some distance without any 
 apparent inconvenience. I saw her reach the 
 top ; I saw her turn and wave her hand in tri- 
 umph. Then I saw her rush forward quickly 
 and nimbly straight toward the crater. She 
 seemed to go down into It. And then the wind 
 changed or died away, or both, for there came 
 .a vast cloud of rolling smoke, black, cruel, suf- 
 focating ; and the mountain crest and the child- 
 angel were snatched from my !<ight. 
 
 "I was roused by a shriek from Ethel. I 
 saw her rush up the slope, and struggle in a 
 vain endeavor to save her friend. But before 
 she had taken a dozlb steps down came the 
 rolling smoke, black, wrathful, and sulphurous; 
 and I saw her crouch down and stagger back, 
 and finally emerge pale as death, and gasping 
 for breath. She saw me as I stood there ; in 
 fact, I had moved a little nearer. 
 
 "'Oh, Sir,' she cried, 'save her I Oh, my 
 God, she's lost!' 
 
 " This was very informal, you know, and all 
 that sort of thing ; but she had broken the ice, 
 and had accQ3ted me; so I waived all cere- 
 mony, and considered the introductioj» suffi- 
 cient. I took off my hat, and told he\; to calm, 
 herself. 
 
 " But she only wrung her hands, and im- 
 plored me to save her friend. 
 
 " And now, my boy, lucky was it for me that 
 my experience at Cotopaxi and Popocatepetl 
 had been so thorough and so peculiar. My 
 knowledge came into play at this time. I took 
 my felt hat and put it over my mouth, and then 
 tied it around my neck so that the felt rim came 
 over my cheeks and throat. Thus I secured a 
 plentiful supply of air, and the felt acted as a 
 ■iind of ventilator to prevent the access to my 
 lungs of too much of the sulphurous vapor. Of 
 course such a contrivance would not be good 
 for more than five minutes; but then, you know, 
 five minutes were all that I wanted. 
 
 " So up I rushed, and, as the slope was only 
 about a hundred feet, I soon reached the top. 
 Here I could see nothing whatever. The tre- 
 mendous smoke-clouds polled all about on ev- 
 -ery side, enveloping me in their dense folds, and 
 shutting every thing from view. I heard the 
 cry of the asses of guides, who were howling 
 where I left them below, and were crying to me 
 to come back — the infernal idiots ! The smoke 
 was impenetrable ; so I got 'down on my hands 
 and knee* and groped aboat. I was on her 
 track, and knew she could not be far away. I 
 could not spend more than five minutes there, 
 for my felt, bat would not assist me any longer: 
 About two minutes had already passed. An- 
 -other ffiiante w««4#ken up^in creeping about on 
 
 my hands and knees.' A half minute more fol 
 lowed. I was in despair. The child-angel I 
 '«aw must have run in much further than I had 
 supposed, and perhaps I could not find her at 
 alL A sickening fear came to me that she had 
 grown dizzy, or had slid down over the loose 
 faiiil into tbe terrific abyss of the crater itself. 
 
 So another half minute passed ; and now only 
 one minute was left." 
 
 " I don't see how you managed to be so con. 
 foundedly accurate in your reckoning. How 
 WHS it? You didn't carry your watch in onu 
 hand, and feel about with the other, I sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 " No J but I looked at my watch at intervals. 
 But never mind that. Four minutes, as I said, 
 were up, and only one minute remained, and 
 that was not enough to take me back. I wnii 
 at the last gasp already, and on the verge of 
 despair, when suddenly, as I crawled on, there 
 lay the child-angel full before mo, within my 
 reach. 
 
 "Yes," continued Dacres, after a pause, 
 "there she lay, jS»t in my gi^sp, just atSmy 
 own last gasp. One second more and it must 
 have been all up. She was senseless, of course. 
 I caught her up ; I rose and ran back as quick 
 as I could, bearijig my precious burden. She 
 w* as light as B feather— no weight at nil. I 
 carried her as tenderly as if she was a little 
 biiby. As 1 emerged from the smoke Ethel 
 rushed up to me and set up a cry, but I told her 
 to keep quiet and it would be nil right. Then 
 I directed the guides to cany her down, and I 
 myself then caipried down the child-angel. 
 
 " You see I wasn't going to give her up. I 
 had bad hard work enough getting her. Besides, 
 the atmosphere up there was horrible. It was 
 necessary, first of all, to get her down to the 
 foot of the cone, where she could have pure air, 
 and then resuscitate her. Therefore I directed 
 the guides to take down Ethel in a chair, while 
 I carried down the child-angel. They had to 
 corry her down over the lova blocks, but I went 
 to a part of the cone where it was all loose 
 sand, and went down flying. I was at the bot- 
 tom a full half houfl^fore the others. 
 
 " Then 1 laid heKpon the loose sand ; and 
 I swear to you, Hawbury, nerer in all my life 
 have I seen such a sight. iShe lay there be- 
 fore my eyes a picture of loveliness beyond im- 
 agination — as beautifiTTas"' a dream — more like 
 a child-angel than ever. Her hair clustered in 
 golden curls over her white brow, her little 
 hands were folded meekly over her breast, her 
 lips were parted into a sweet smile, the gentle 
 eyes no longer looked at me with the piteons, 
 pleading, trustful, innocent expression which I 
 had noticed in them before, and her hearing 
 was deaf to the words of love and tenderness 
 that I lavished upon her." 
 
 " Good ! " m altered Hawbnry ; " yon talk like 
 a novel. Drive on, -old man. I'm really begin- 
 ning to feel excited." 
 
 "The fact is," said DaVres, " I have a cer- 
 tain se t of expressions about the child- angtl 
 that will come whenever I bepn to descHW ] 
 her." 
 
 " It strikes me, though, that you are getting 
 on pretty well. You were speaking of 'love 
 and tenderness.' Well?" 
 
 "Well, she lay there senseless, you know, 
 and I gently unclasped her bands and began to 
 
 Stji^ l-^llbii 
 
 ; A.W 
 
 ii-^iff-^id..'/ ' j-^WKiE 
 
and now onlv 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 V-^ 
 
 I UINT VOWK OLOSK. 
 
 "^ '1''"^ ^ "»^n'' the motion of carryinir hor 
 
 We effect ; for I li^ not rubbed her hands ten 
 mmates when sh^ gave a low sigh. Then 1 
 rubbed on, and he^ lips moved. I benf down 
 
 "'Am I at home?' 
 
 " ' Yes,' said I, gently, for I thoaght it wan 
 tHM to humor her delirious fancy. 
 ' Then she spoke again : 
 " 'Is that yon, papa dear?' 
 
 Itil'/r I"'""*'' «"<> I. to a low voice ; and I 
 kistgd her in a kind of patetnal way 8<^ as to 
 
 '^rZ^V' """ •'"'"f''" "«'• -dT;>rhe her 
 and all that sort of thing, youiknow. " ' 
 
 Auhu, Hawbuiy burst int» ti shout of f.1.'gH- 
 
 . "What the-mischlef are'yon makinir that 
 l^wtly row about?" growled Dae,*, * "' 
 
 ing, piteous way. By Jove ! -Resides, how did 
 she.know any thing about i, ? It wa n'tl ? 
 she was .n^her. senses. She really thought I^ 
 "as h^r father, you know. And I'm sure I al 
 most felt 88 if I w^s, too. '? ^">sarei al- 
 
 „„ "^"^'«''*' °'«1 taan,- don't get huffy. Drive , 
 
 » r ^^IIlT" '"'°''' *•>« ''^P' l"*' eve. closed 
 and d,d,^ay anofherword till sheheard The 
 vo.ce of Ethel at a distance. Then she opened 
 her eyes, and go^ip on her feet. Then there 
 was „o end of»t„w-kis8ing, eying, congSt^ 
 latmg repr9«d;inft and all thai sort of S 
 I ^.thdrp^ ,0 a respectful distance and waited" 
 Afterytime thejf both came to me, and the 
 ch.Id-^gel gave me a look that made me long 
 
 ZLJ^t""^ ' '"*" •' ""-^ J"*""""! *'. with ' 
 W.i^e'?.^''"*''''""^- l^^homblyem- 
 
 sn,^ '^}"/^""y««»«f"» toyou,'she8ald, «Pm 
 sure 1 d do any thuig in the.world to repay yon. 
 I m sure I don't know what would have becom; 
 ofme.f,thadn',beenforyon. And I ho^ 
 yon'U excuse me for pntfing yon to «> maoh 
 
•^E AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 trouble. And, oh V ihe concluded, half to her- 
 self, ' what will Kitty say now ?' " 
 
 "Kitty! Wbo'g Kitty?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "All right. Never mind. Drivo 'on, old 
 chnp." 
 
 "Well, I rnqmbled something or other, and 
 then offered to go andf get their carnage. But 
 they wonld not hear of it. The chdd-angel 
 said she could walk. This I strongly dissuaded 
 her from doing, and Ethel insisted that the men 
 should carry her. This was done, and in a 
 short time we got back to the Hermitage, where 
 the old lady was in no end of a worry. In the 
 midst of the row I slipped away, and waited 
 till the carriage drove off. Then I followed at 
 a sufficient distance not to be observed, and 
 saw where their house was." 
 
 
 AFTER V. 
 
 TBB BBGINHIHO OV BLimSBBS. 
 
 Djlobks paused now, and lighting a (iresh ci- 
 gar, smoked away at it in silence, with long and 
 solemn and regular puffs. Uawbnry watched 
 him fbr lomo time, with a, look of dreamy cu- 
 riosity and laiy interest. Then he rose, and 
 dawdled about the room fbr a few minotes. 
 Then he lighted a cigar, and finally, reauming 
 his seat, he said : 
 •By Jove!" 
 acres puflbd on. ^ 
 
 said Hwwhnry^ 
 
 *' that yoar first statement is correct. Yon arer 
 shot, my boy— hit hard — and all that ; and now 
 I should like to ask you one queation." ~ 
 ^' Ask away." 
 
 ^^* What are yon going to do about it ? Do 
 yon intend to pursue the acquaintance V 
 "Ofconrw. Why not r. 
 
 "What do you intend to do next?" 
 
 "Next? Why, call on her, and inquire 
 after her health." 
 
 "Very good." ■ ^ , 
 
 "Well, have yon any thing to say ogainst 
 that?" 
 
 "Certainly not. Only it snif rises me a 
 little." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I never thought of Scone .Dacres 
 iis a marrying man, and can't altogether grap- 
 ple with the idea. " 
 
 " I don't see why a fellow shouldn't marry 
 if he wants to," said Dacres. " What's tlie 
 matter with me that I shouldn't get married as 
 well as lots of fellows?" 
 
 "No reason in the world, my dear boy. 
 Marry as many wives as yon choose. My re- 
 mark referred merely to my own idea of yon, 
 and not to any thing actually innate in your 
 character. So don't get huffy at a fellow." 
 
 Some further converwtion followed, and Da- 
 cres finally took his departure, full of thoughts 
 about his new^ acquaintance, and racking his 
 braint to devise some way of securing access 
 to her. 
 
 On the following evening he made his ap- 
 pearance once more at Hawbury's rooms. 
 
 "Well, old man, what's up? Any thing 
 more about the child-angel ?" 
 
 " Well, a little. I've found out her name." 
 
 "Ah! Whatisit?" 
 
 "Fay. Her name is Minnie Fay." 
 
 " Minnie Fay. I'4iever heard of the name 
 before. Who are her people ?" 
 
 "She is' traveling with Lady Dalrymple." 
 
 "The Dowager, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes." 'a 
 
 "Who are the other ladies?" ^ ', 
 
 " Well, I don't exactly remember." 
 
 "Didn't you flnctflut?" 
 
 " Yes ; I heard all their names, but I've for- 
 gotten. I know tiniB of them is the child- 
 angel's sister, and the other is her cousin. The 
 one I saw with hef iras probably the sister." 
 
 "What, the one named Ethel?" 
 
 "Yes.* 
 
 " Ethel— Ethel Fay. H'm,'' said Hawbnrr, 
 in a tone of disappointment. ' ' I knew it would 
 be so. There are so many Ethels about." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing. I once knew a girl namea 
 Ethel, ai|id— Well, I had a faint idea that it 
 would be odd if this should be the one. But 
 there's no such chance." 
 
 " Oh, the name Ethel is common enough." 
 
 " Well, and didn't yon find out any thing 
 about her people?" 
 
 " W hose — E thel's?" 
 
 " Your child-angel's peopto." 
 
 "No. What do I care abont her people? 
 They might be Jews or Patagonians for all I 
 care." 
 
 "Still I should think your interai in her 
 would make you ask." 
 
 <> Oh noi my interest ivfera to herself, not 
 
int ber name." 
 
 to her relative.. Her .i«ter Ethel i. certainJy 
 
 • deuced pretty girl, though." ^ 
 
 "Sconejr my boy, I'm afraid you're getting 
 
 vnf •. .^'■^'^ remember the timf when 
 youtsgarded the whole female race with a loftj 
 .corn and a profound indifference that wa. a 
 pen^tnal rebuke to more inflammable natur^. 
 But now what a change! Here you are. wTth 
 « finely developed eye for female beaur'ac u 
 ally reveling in dreams of child-ange s a„d 
 their gi.ter.. By Jove!" ""Kow ana 
 
 "Nonsense," uid Dacreg. 
 
 " Well, drive on, and tell all about it. YoaVe 
 seen her, of course ?" 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 "Did you call?" 
 
 "Yes, she was not at home. I went awav 
 
 . with a .nabbed and subdued feeling, and ro2e 
 
 •long near the Villa Reale, when'^^uddenTy I 
 
 tniia angel. She knew me at once, and Mve 
 1^? " tL ''h*'? '""'i'"''^'^ awfu'liremfar! 
 •nd by the time I had got up the carriZJ had 
 Mwea. I went up, and they both held out 
 
 ^mLlrtnil^ Dal-ymple^Aen™ Jlr 
 remark, expressive of gmtltnde, while the 
 
 toKd"s'.!d'^''*"^"""»'"«''p«'''«''«"'™«<j 
 
 nf I'nl^v °'l'.J»»?'y <>"«nK. did you ever hear 
 of any thing hke it? It was «, brave Wasn't 
 U an awfully ^ucky thing to do, now ? A^i 
 was really .nside the crater ! I'm sate / never 
 could have done such a thing-no, not even for 
 my cm, papa/ Oh. how I do wishj could do 
 «.meth.ng to .how how a,pji.tfy g^tefuU Jm? 
 
 wStoT? '"""*' '•'''"^^^''•«>*«'» - 
 "AU tWi qnlt« turned my head, and I 
 couldnt wy any thing; but «at on m^ .addle 
 deTonnng the little thing with my eyr«nd 
 
 «t nie. At lart the carriage started, and the 
 
 I.to«d .tlU there for .bout flvXnnte.. umil 
 I wa. nearly run down by one of thow beast y 
 
 SfnySate.^I*^"- ''^'^^ ^^ --"- 
 
 ;ony makel^" " '"'*''•' "'"''P*^''' "P»««' 
 j^^^^'X^ words, yoaJHwife She 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 98 
 
 ^™ my memoiy. «,d miikes . different 
 
 "By Jove!" " ■■ ■ 
 
 »a!!%°'^ «>»•?. »diflfiBrent man altogether." 
 dirto^ f^* ^ '^''^*' ^*^ ^•'"'H eyes 
 Drought np to fever point, peace of mind gone, 
 
 and a general mania in the place of the old 
 self-reliance and content " '^ 
 
 of 2" '°""""' *"•* ""y' ^ ""«' »'*d mnch 
 
 .1. " J^,*."' "' """'' "•■«"«. w>" we ? Bntas to 
 
 "tftr:'-^'-"'^ ^-'"-"ii-!" 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "To-morrow." 
 
 "Strike while the iron i. hot. hey? WpH 
 old man. m .tand by you Still tL.k' 
 could find out who her'propie a^e u^t J^ 
 fy « legitimate curiosity " "' ♦**""•- 
 
 "Well, I don't know the Fay^ but T..J. 
 Dalrymple i. her aunt; and I kno^ ti^lv 
 Bhe .. a niece of Sir Gilbert Bigg. -^ ' ""' " 
 
 SirXt'? •• """"^ ^''"""■^' ""'^'•«- " Who? 
 "Sir Gilbert Big^." 
 "Sir Gilbert Biggs?" 
 "Yes." '^ 
 
 "Sir Gilbert Biggs I By Jove I Are you 
 sure you are right? Come, now. I.^t th«e 
 some mistake?" . "u i mere 
 
 Sir'GnL'rf''" f* "!"•'•»! -he'- » niece of 
 bir G Ibert I remember that, because the 
 name is a familiar oni" ""^"uso toe 
 
 "Familiar!" repeatM Hawbnrv- "T .i.™ij 
 
 think .0. By Jove I" "''''""7' -^ •'"•"W 
 
 Hawbury here relapsed into silence, and sat 
 
 sion. At time, he would mutter such wonls 
 f.'W^"^'"* *^'^'" "Confounded quir I '• 
 looked at him in some surprise, 
 ..il^^'' ?*■*• *'•** fellow!" said he at last 
 " W.1 you have the kindness to inform me whai 
 here ,. m the little fact I ju.t mentioned to „1 
 
 s-gerrcirLWd?^*^'^*-'^'^^^ 
 ab:;.r;M'hatrau""* '^^^ '^^ •>»'->«'•»- 
 
 " Coincidence with what ?" 
 
 nbje«, old fellow. Another time, nfy S? 
 1 11 only mention now tlHit if. the ^ZJZ 
 present absence from England. ITiere'saboS 
 er that I don't care to encounter, and Sir ChT 
 bert Biggs, nieces are at the bottom of it" 
 
 You don t mean thU one, I hope?" cried 
 Dacres, in some alarm. ' 
 
 I'Heayenforbidl ByJoyel No. IhopeMI.'^ 
 ^^, I hope not, by Jove!" echoed thTcrthw' 
 "Well, old man," said Hawbury, after .fit 
 
 JtiiiiiS""^""''''"""^'" "'^ "''"*'■'«- 
 "You s„ppou so. Of course yon will 
 Dont I know yon. old chap? Impetrtlu 
 tenacious of purpose, iron will, one idea" and 
 all hat sort of thing. Of coun4 yon wi^f: ^nd 
 you'll be mwTied in • month. " ' 
 
 " Wfell." Mid Dacre., in the Mme hesiUtinx 
 w.y, " not w soon .s that, I'm «fhdd. .. ""* 
 
 
 if-iU h,wi^ "-^ .J ^ 
 
 
M 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Why, I have to get the lady first." 
 
 "The lady; oh, she seems to be willing 
 enough, judging from your description. Her 
 pleading look at you. Why, man, there'was 
 love at first sight. Then tumbling down the 
 crater of a volcano, and getting fished out. 
 Why, man, what woman could resist a claim 
 like that, especially when it is enforced by a 
 man like Scone Dacres ? And, by Jove ! Sco- 
 ney, allow'me to inform you that I've always 
 considered you a most infernally handsome 
 man ; and what's more, my opinion is worth 
 something, by Jove !" 
 
 Hereupon Hawbury stretched his head and 
 shoulders back, and pulled away with each 
 hand at his long yellow pendent whiskers. Then 
 he yawned. And then he slowly ejaculated, 
 
 " By Jove !" 
 
 "Well," said Dacres, thonghtfullj-, "there 
 is something in what you say ; and, to tell the 
 truth, I think there's not a bad chance for me, 
 80 far as the lady herself is concerned ; but the 
 difficulty is not in that quarter." i. 
 
 " Not in that quarter I Why, where the mis- 
 chief else conld there be any diflSculty, man^" 
 
 Dacres was silent. ' ^ 
 
 "You're eager enough?" 
 
 Dacres nodded his head sadly. 
 
 " Eager ! why, eager isnlt the ,Wj 
 mad, man — mad as a Marcl^ hi 
 and win." , %■( 
 
 Dacreft said nothing. ^% 
 
 " You're rich, not over op, handsome, well 
 born, well bred, and hav^'*?aved the lady's life 
 by extricating her from t«e crater of a volcano. 
 She seentB too young and childlike to have had 
 any other affairs. ^.Sho's probably just out of 
 school ; not been into society ; not come out ; 
 just the girl. Cpnfound these girls, I say, that 
 have gone throararengagements with other fel- 
 lows I" F 
 
 »'"OH, as to that," said Dacr«s, "this little 
 thing is jaSt like a child, and in her very sim- 
 plicity does not know what love is. Engage- 
 ment I By Jove, I don't believe she knows the 
 meaning of ^e word! She's perfectly fresh, 
 artless, simple, and guileless. I don't believe 
 she ever heard a word of sentiment or tender- 
 ness from any man in her life." 
 
 " Very likely ; so where'i the difficulty ?" 
 
 " Well, to tell the troth, the difficulty is in 
 my own affairs." 
 
 "Tour affairs I Odd, too. What's up? T 
 didn't know any thing had happened. That's 
 too infernal bad, loo." 
 
 "Ob, it's nothing of that sort; money's all 
 right; no swindle. It's an affair of another 
 character altogether." _ 
 
 "OJif" 
 
 " And one, too, that makes me think that—" 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "That what?" 
 
 "T^M I'd better start for Australia." 
 
 "Anstralial" 
 
 "Y«fc;' 
 
 ".What's the meaning of that ?" 
 
 "Why," said Dacres, gloomily, "it means 
 giving up the child-angel, and trying to forget 
 her — if I ever can." 
 
 " Forget her I What's the meaning 6{ all 
 this ? Why, man, five minutes ago you were 
 all on fireiibout her, and now you talk quietly 
 about giving her up ! I'm all adrift." 
 
 " Well, it's a mixed up matter." 
 
 '•What is?" 
 
 "My affair." 
 
 "Your affair; something that has happen- 
 ed?" 
 
 " Yes. It's a sore matter, and I don't care 
 to speak about it just now." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "And it's the real cause why 1 don't go bock 
 to England." 
 
 " The mischief it is ! Why, Dacres, I'll be 
 hanged if you're not using the very words I 
 myself used a few minutes ago." 
 
 J* Am I?" said Dacres, gloomily. 
 
 " Yon certainly are ; and that makes mc 
 think'ihat our affairs are in a similar complica- 
 tion." 
 
 " Oh no ; mine is very peculiar." 
 
 " Well, there's one thing I should like to ask, 
 and you needn't answer unless you like." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Doesn't your difficulty arise from some con- 
 founded woman pr other?" 
 
 "Well— yes." 
 
 " By Jove, I knew it ! And, old fellow, I'm 
 in the same situation," 
 
 ■T iovi, I naw it I" 
 
 " Oh ho I So you're driven away from En- 
 gland by a woman ?" 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 Dacres sighed heavily. 
 
 " Yonni can't be as had M mine," said he, 
 with • dismal look. " Mine is the worst scrape 
 that ever you heard of. And look at me now, 
 
 with the child-angel all ready to take me, and 
 me not able to be taken. Coflfbund the abom- 
 inable complications of an •ccntved oiviUxation, 
 I say I" 
 "And I My, Amenl" laid Hawbniy. 
 
 u. 
 
■ova some con- 
 
 ;' CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THB FIEBT THIAt. 
 
 "See here, old chap," said Hawbnir. "I'm 
 going to make a clean breast of it " 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 •'Of my affair." 
 
 " That-8 right," said Dacres, dolefully. "I 
 should like of all things to hear it" ' 
 
 ,.f^?^:!!l:^r'}^^".«>-^yyo„you^ 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 I 
 
 self turn out to be in a !«»« sSnV"'"; ^ "" f ^ 'u"' . ' ''""^d "P ^ her, and jus 
 
 o,^ „,!,». T 1. "Ulnar nHuaiion, am 
 
 so what I have to say may proye of use to you 
 At any rate, you may give me some useful sug- 
 gestion. * 
 
 '; Veiy well, then, " continued Hawbnry-" to 
 ftegin. You may remember that I told vou 
 when we met here wher« I had been passing 
 tde time since I saw you last." 
 
 Dacres noddM assent. 
 
 " WeU, about two years ago I was in Cana- 
 da. I went there for sport, and plunged at 
 once into the wilderness. And let me tell 
 you Its a very pretty country for hunting. 
 Lots of game-flsh, flesh, and fowl-from the 
 cariboo down to the smallest trout that yon 
 would caj-e to hook. Glorious country ; mae- 
 nificent forests waiting for the lumberman: air 
 that acts on you like wine, or even better- riv 
 ers and lakes in all directions; no end of sport 
 and all that sort of thing, yon know. HaVe you 
 ever been in Canada ?" 
 "Only traveled throogh." 
 "Well, the next time yon feel inclined for 
 high art sport we'll go together, and have no 
 
 done for,*hich, of conrse,you will be. No mat- 
 ter. I was saying that I was in a fine country 
 
 85 
 
 fwei^^„°^'l?*"^ "T"*"'- «'•«»«" of «j'«'t 
 
 were m the air; the atmosphere was worse 
 than ever, and I never had such difficulty in 
 my hfe ,n walking along. I had to throw 
 away my rifle and fishing -rody and was S 
 thinking of pitching my clothfes after them 
 when suddenly I turned a bend in ti path! 
 and met a young girl fall inthe face 
 
 "By Joyel I swear I never w^as so astound- 
 ed in my life. J h^rfed up t6 her, andTuB. 
 
 ...I ™,„ -.1. ' "'"'" *"e intei 
 
 ed me with a question of the same kind. By- 
 
 the-way I forgot to say thai she was /n 
 
 to have had i deuced hard time of it too for he 
 was trembling from head to foot, though wheth! 
 
 erthatarose from fatigue or frlglitldonVknow 
 Perhaps it was both. " '^uow. 
 
 "Well, the girt was evidently very much 
 alarmed. She was awfully pale; sh7wa^ a 
 monstrous pretty girt too-the prettiest by aU 
 odds I ever saw, and that's saying a good deal 
 By Jove Well, it turned out that shf had been 
 stopping in the back country for a month, at a 
 house somewhere up the river, with her father. 
 Her father had gone down to Ottawa a week be- 
 fore, and was expected back on this day. She 
 had come out to meet him, and had lost her 
 way. She had been out for hours, and was 
 completely bewildered. She was also frigh" 
 ened at the fires, which now seemed to be all 
 
 "T /.'••, T^u'* "'"' ^''^^ >»« *° a few words, 
 and asked if I knew where the river was. 
 
 Of course I knew no more than she did. 
 
 and It needed only a few wonls from me to sho^ 
 
 r^ "" ** "'"''' "» ""' dark as she was 
 I beghn to question her, however, as to this riv- 
 
 I spent a couVle'of monthrthere wTth two «; erRVT"''' ^' ''""''^«'' «" '» ""» ">- 
 
 three Indians, and at length stoi^d for n7.^ ^ • "^"""^ "' "'*' '" '••« P-^sent state of 
 
 on my way ho'm*. ihe Siirp^'t me^Jn .i: Sfrone^'/nr" ""I "^ ' '"' """« «° ^'^- 
 
 right path, after which I dismisJ^d them and fh«Y ZV a ""' ^ "^^ '»'"'«''"" "^e «'«» 
 
 set out alone with my gun and Snl ^h' a ''"? '"'""' "P*" '""is road from the 
 
 « enough the'first night7bro; the m r '%'tll^TA i»J-«t <Ji-tion. 
 
 -.11 t . '- ""•' """i """ * wept 
 
 weU enough the first night; but on the morn- 
 ing of the second day I found the air full of 
 
 ?!r.°i. ; i?T'"i ^ *"'* "«" K*"* »"«•» thought 
 to that, for there had been a smoky look about 
 the sky for a week, and the woods are always 
 burning there, I beUeve, in one place or an- 
 
 „/ Ik u*'" ""• •""* »•«" enough for food, 
 •nd thos the second day passed. That evening 
 
 the air was quite suff^SitTg .„d ft wL 3 a7ar%Tseel::!:r ' "T'""' ""' «>""»«« 
 « an oven. _ I struggled through the ni^ht 1 ^0?^; 2' TJ^'^ " T' "«"• '."« "he had got 
 
 L'f r*"- u ^ •»"•»«['«<» through the night, I 
 dont know how; and then on the third day 
 i»^e another start. This third day wa. abom- 
 inable. The atmosphere was beasdy hot ; the 
 *y was a dull yellow, and the birds seemed to 
 J*^' <''«PPeareiAeIwent on it grew 
 1^„ / SwHiU it wu itot^hecmie the fires 
 
 IZ ^i.-'!,"' •*' ""• ®" *• oontnrj, they 
 were behind me, and were driving on so that 
 «!m'?'* K«dually approaching nearer. I 
 MOW do my thirty miles a day eren in that 
 n>u«Ji country, but the fires could do more. At 
 
 thin .^T '"'" • "•*'' '•'"» *■• • "ttle wider 
 than the flnt one. As I went on I met mttle 
 
 I assured her that I would do whatever lav 
 in my power; and with that I walked on in the 
 direction in which I had been going, while she 
 rode by my side. Some further questions » to 
 the situation of the house where she had bean 
 staying showed me that it was on the banks of 
 the nver about fifty miles above Ottowa. Br'^ 
 my own calculations I was abont that distance 
 
 I ^'. .. -— — — "» """"i ni« sne naa got 
 
 lost m the woods, and had wandered thus over 
 some trmil to the path where she had met me 
 Every thing served to show me that the rive^ 
 lay to the left, and so I resolved to tnm in at 
 the first path which I reached. 
 
 "At length, •fker abont^wo fflileSf- 
 to a path which went into the woods. My com- 
 panion was sure that this was the very one by 
 which she had come ont, and this confirmed the 
 impression which the sight of it had given mo. 
 I thought it certainly must lead toward the Hr- 
 
 VnA .^. Tn'"™!^ '"'f "•'• P'*- I ''ent fl«t, 
 and she followed, and so we went for about a 
 couple of miles further. ""«» • 
 
THE ^ERICAX BARON. 
 
 "All this time the heat had^b^en getting 
 worse and worse. The sir^wtts more smoky 
 than ever ; my mouth was^rched and dry. I 
 breathed with difiScalty, kad conld scarcely drag 
 one leg after another. The lady was almost as 
 mnch exhausted as I was, and suffered acutely, 
 as I could easily see, though she ottered not a 
 word of complaint. Her horse also suffered ter- 
 ribly, and did not seem able to bear her weight 
 much longer. The poor brute trembled and 
 staggered, and once or twice stopped, so that it 
 was difiScolt to start him again. The road ^ad 
 gone in a winding way, but was not so crooked 
 as I expected. I afterward found that she had 
 gone by other paths ujitil she had found herself 
 in thick woods, and then on trying to retrace 
 her way she had strayed into this path. If she 
 had turned to the left on Arst reaching it, in- 
 stead of to the right, the fate of each of us would 
 have been different. Our meeting was no doubt 
 the salvation of both. 
 
 "There was a wooded eininence in front, 
 which we had been steadily approaching for 
 some time. At last we reached the top, and 
 here a scene bprst upon as which was rather 
 startling. The hill was high enough to com- 
 mand an extensive view, and the first thing 
 that we saw was a vast extent of woods and 
 water and smoke. By-and-by we were able to 
 distinguish each. The water was the river,.which 
 could be seen for miles. Up the river toward 
 the left the smoke arose in great volumes, cov- 
 ering every thing ; while in front of us, and im- 
 mediately between us and the river, there was a 
 line of smoke which showed that the fires had 
 penetrated there and had intercepted us. 
 
 " We stood still in bewilderment. I looked 
 all around. To go back was as bad as to go 
 forward, for there, also, a line of smoke arose 
 which showed the progress of the flames. To 
 the right there was less smoke ; but in that 
 direction there was only a wilderness, through 
 which we eould not hope to pass for any dis- 
 tance. The only hope was the river. If we 
 oonld traverse the flames in (hat direction, so 
 as to reach the water, we would be safe. In a 
 few words I communicated my decision to my 
 companion. She said nothing, but bowed her 
 head in acquiescence. 
 
 " Without delaying any longer we resumed 
 our walk. After about a mile we found our- 
 selves compelled once more to halt. The view 
 here was worse than ever. The path was now 
 OS wide as an ordinary road, and grew wider 
 ■till as it went on. It was evidently used to 
 haul logs down to the river, and as it approach- 
 ed the bank .it grew steadily wider ; but be- 
 tween as and the river the woods were all burn- 
 ing. The first rash of the fire was over, and 
 «ow Mt* ioohed fbnrCfiiHid saw r vut amy^of 
 columns — the trunks ef burned trees — some 
 bl^kened and charred, others glowing red. 
 Tl^ ground below was also glowing red, with 
 blackened spaces here and there. 
 
 " Still the burned tract was but a strip, and 
 there lay our hope. The fire, by sojne strange 
 
 means, bad passed on a track not wider than a 
 hundred yards, and this was what had to be 
 traversed by us. The question was, whether 
 we could pass through that or not. The same 
 question came to both of us, and neither of us 
 said a word. But before I could aric the lady 
 «bout it, her horse became frightened at the 
 flames. I advised her to dismount, for I knew 
 that the poor brute conld never be forced 
 through those fires. She did so, and the horse, 
 with a horrible snort, turned and galloped wild- 
 ly away. 
 
 " I now looked around once more, and saw 
 that there was no escape except in front. I'be 
 flames were encircling us, and a vast cloud of 
 smoke surrounded us every where, rising far up 
 and rolling overhead. Cinders fell in immense 
 showers, and the fine ashes, with which the air 
 was filled, choked us and got into our eyes. 
 
 " ' There is only one chance,' said I ; ' and 
 that is to make a dash for the river. Can you 
 do it ?' 
 
 " ' I'll try,' she said. 
 
 f ' ' We'll have to go through the fires.' 
 
 " She nodded. 
 
 " ' Well, then,' I said, ' do as I say. Take 
 off your sacque and wrap it around your head 
 and shoulders.' 
 
 " She took off her sacqae at this. It was a 
 loose robe of merino or alpaca, or something 
 of that sort, and very well suited for what I 
 wanted. I wrapped it round her so as to pro- 
 tect her face, head, and shoulders ; and taking 
 off my coat I did the same. 
 
 " * Now,' said I, ' hold your breath as well as 
 yon can. You may keep your eyes shut. Give 
 me your hand — I'll lead you.' 
 
 " Taking her hand I led her forward at a 
 rapid pace. Once she fell, but she quickly re- 
 covered herself, and soon we reached the edge 
 of the flames. , 
 
 " I tell you what it is, my boy, the heat wai 
 terrific, and the sight was more so. The river 
 was not more than a hundred yards away, but 
 between us and it there lay what seemed as bad 
 as the burning fiery furnace of Messrs. Sba- 
 drach, Meshach, and Abednego. If I were now 
 standing there, I don't think I could face it. 
 But then I was with the girl ; I had to save her. 
 Fire was behind us, racing after ns ; water jlsy 
 in front. Once there and we were safe. It 
 was not a time to dawdle or hesitate, I can as- 
 sure yon. 
 
 " • Now,' said I, « ran for your life !' I 
 
 " Gmsping her hand more firmly, I started 
 off with her at the fall ran. The place was ter- 
 rible, and grew worse at every step. The ro»d 
 here was about fifty feet wide. On each side 
 was the burning forest, with • row of burned 
 tnei >ik« fieiy w^mmH, 
 underbrush still glowing beneath. To pan 
 through that was a thing that it don't do to 
 look back upon. The air was intolerable. I 
 wrapped my coat tighter over my head ; my 
 arms were thus exposed, and I felt the heat oo 
 my hands. But that wu nothing to the t«^ 
 
^ 
 
 THE AMERICASr BARON. 
 
 
 THI niBT THAI. 
 
 n •!. * WWi *«d from trying to breathe. 
 iJesidesjpp^-fenormong effort of keeping up 
 a ran made bre^hing all the more difficult. A 
 feeling of despair came over me. Already we 
 had gone half the distance, bnt at that moment 
 the space seemed lengthened out interminably 
 and I looked in horro^ at the rest of the way 
 with a feeling of the utter impossibility of trav- 
 «rsing it. I 
 
 "Suddenly the lady fell headlong. I stopped 
 and raised her up. My coat fell off; I felt the 
 fiery air all round my ftce and head. I called 
 and screamed to the lady as I tried to raise her 
 up; bnt she said nothing. She waa as lifeless 
 as a stone. 
 
 " Well, my boy, I thpnght it was all up with 
 me ; but I, at least, could stand, though I did 
 not think that I could take Another breath As 
 for the lady, there was no help forit ; so I grasped 
 her with all my strength, still keeping her head 
 covered as well as I could, and slung her over 
 my shouldom. Then away I ran. I don't re- 
 member much after that. I must have lost my 
 senses then, and, what is more, I must have ac- 
 complished th J rest of the journey in that semi- 
 nnconsciona state. 
 
 " What I do remember is this— a wild plunge 
 into the water; and the delicious coolness that I 
 felt all around restored me, and I at once com- 
 prehended all. The lady was by my side ; the 
 ihock and the teool water had restared her also 
 bhe was stahding up to her shoulders just where 
 •he had fallpn, and was panting and sobbing. I 
 •poke a few words of good cheer, and then look- 
 ed around for wme place of refuge. Just where 
 we itood there was nothing bnt Are and deso- 
 totion, and it waa necessary to go further away, 
 theri **""* '*"*»»'^ »".». «bont half-way across 
 
 Md trees on the top. It looked safe and cool 
 Md inviting. - 1 determined to try to get there. 
 Some deals were in the water by the bank, 
 which had probably floated down fnim some 
 ••w-mill. I took half a dozen of these, flung 
 wo or three more on top of them, and then told 
 
 ^ -, ., p^ I. .--i;; « „zii"^"r" ;rjj r. rx.ra 
 
 island by means of this raft. I offered to pnt 
 her on it and let her float; but she refused 
 grefemng to be in the water. ■ 
 
 "The river was pretty wide henj, and' the 
 water was shaUow, so that we were able to wade 
 for a long distance, pushing the raft before ns. 
 At length It became deep, and then the lady 
 held on while I floated and tried to direct the 
 raft toward the island. I had managed while 
 wading to guide the raft np the stream, so that 
 when we got into deep water the current ear- 
 ned ns toward the island. At length we 
 reached it without much difficulty, and then 
 utterly worn out, I fell down on the grass, and 
 either fainted away or fell asleep. 
 
 "When I revived I had several very queer 
 sensations. The first thing that I noticed was 
 tnat I hadn't any whiskers." 
 " What ! no whiskers ?" - 
 " No-all gone ; and my eyebrows and mns- 
 toche, and eveiy wisp of hair from my head " 
 
 See here, old fellow, do you mean to say 
 that yon ve oniytaken one year to grow those 
 infernally long whiskers that you have now?" 
 "It's a fact, my boy!" 
 " I wouldn't have believed it ; but some fel- 
 lows can do such extraordinary things. But 
 dnve on." .- o u. 
 
 " Well, the next thing I noticed was that it 
 was as smoky as ever. Then I jumped np and 
 looked around. I felt quite dry, thongh it 
 seemed as if I had just com« from the river. 
 As I jumped np and turned I saw my friend 
 bhe looked much better than she had. Her 
 clothes also were quite dry. She greeted me 
 with a mournful smile, and rose up from Aa 
 trunk of a tree where she had been sitting and 
 made inquiries after my heakh with the m ost 
 earnest and tender tytnpatliy. 
 
 "I told her I was all right, laughed about 
 my hair, and inquired very anxiously how she 
 was. She assured me that she was as weU at 
 ever. Some conversation foUowed ; and then 
 to my amazement, I found that I had slept for 
 an immenw time, or had been nncon^ions, 
 
 .j^ 
 
'all qohi; mt xtibsowb, aud mrsTAOHi, aHd itsbt wup or uaib nou mt ubau." 
 
 
 taken place on the preceding dar. It was now 
 abont the niidllle of the next day. You may 
 imagine how confoonded I was at that. 
 
 "The air was still abominably close and 
 smoky ; so I looked abont the island, and found 
 a huge crevice in the rocks, which was almost 
 a cave. It was close by the water, and was far 
 cooler than ontside. la fttct, it was rather com- 
 fortable than otherwise. Here we took refuge, 
 and talked oyer oor sitnation. As far as we 
 could see, the whole country was bnm^ up. 
 A vast cloud of smoke hung over all. One 
 comfort was that the glow had ceased on the 
 river-bank, and only a blackened forest now 
 remained, with giant trees arising, all blasted. 
 We found that our stay would be a protracted 
 one. 
 
 " The first thing that I thought of was food. 
 Fortunately I had my hooks and lines ; so I cut 
 a pole, and fastening my line to it, I succeeded 
 in catching a few fish. 
 
 "We lived there for two days on flah in that 
 manner. The lady was sad and anxious, I 
 tried to cheer her up. Her chief trouble was 
 the fett that her fitther was lost. In the cootm 
 % 
 
 of our conversations I found oat that her name 
 was Ethel Ome." 
 
 " Ethel Ome?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Don't think I ever heard the name be- 
 fore. Ome ? No, I'm sure I haven't. It isn't 
 Homr ' 
 
 "No; Ome— OBNE. Oh, tliere's no tron- 
 ble about that. > 
 
 " Well, I rather enjoyed this island life, bat 
 the was awfully melancholy ; so I hit upon a 
 plan for getting away. I went to the shore and 
 collected a lot of the deals that I mentioned, 
 and made a very deceftt sort of raft. I fonnd 
 a pole to gnide it with, cnt a lot of bmsh for 
 Ethel, and then we started, and floated down 
 the river. We didn't have any accidents. I'he 
 only botherjKaa that jhe was too confoundedly 
 anxious abont me, and wouldn't let mo work. 
 Wo went ashore eveiy evening. We csn^t 
 flsh enough to eat. We were afloat three ds^s, 
 and, naturally enough, ^came very well ae- 
 qnainted." 
 
 Hawbnry stopped, and sighed. 
 
 "I t«ll yon what it is, Daores," said ke, 
 
that her name 
 
 Here's no tron- 
 
 In?!? ».""'" ^"^^ * "*"''«'• """« Ken*™-", 
 and at the same time a braver soul than Ethel 
 
 an'Jt'ii .! !- f ^"^ '«>'l «i '^ord about gratitude 
 and aU that, but th^re was a certain quiet look 
 of devotion about her that gives me a deuced 
 , ^off' feeling now when I think of it all " 
 ^ And I^dare say- But no matter." 
 
 " ^e"» I ^^ only going to remark that, un- 
 der the circumstances, there might have been a 
 good deal of quiet devotion about.you " 
 
 Hawbury made -no reply, but sat silent for a 
 time. 
 
 "WeU, go on,. man; don't keep me in sus-^ 
 
 ,i,l'Jtrf'°Z^^^T'"'^^^ Oh I floating on 
 for three days^ and at the end of that time we 
 reached a 8ettlem.ent. Here we found a steam- 
 
 nlf^^t "T °" ^"•"'> '"''* «"»"y ^«««hed 
 ni^H T *,?."'•*' *^* '» ""' house of a 
 friend. I called on her as soon asTowible, 
 and found her m fearful anxiety. She had 
 iMrned that her father had gone up with a Mr 
 WiHonghby and neither had been heard from 
 Startle4 at this intelligence, I instituted a 
 seareh myself. I could not find out anything? 
 
 .. ^''^V'"'/ '.''"* ""^ 1^ "»'«'» to belief 
 that both of the unhappy gentlemen had per- 
 ished On returning to the house to call on 
 Ethel, aboBta week after, I fou^d that she had 
 received futt confirmation of this dreadful Intel- 
 ligence, and had gone to Montrfeal. It sppm. 
 
 that WiUoughby-s wife was a relays; of eS 
 and she had gone to stay with her. I longed 
 to see her, but of course I could not intrude 
 upon her in her grief J and so I wrote to her 
 expressing all the condolence I could. I told 
 
 tnm 1^ the following year, I couldn't say Ly 
 more than that, you know. It wasn't a tilne 
 for sentiment, of course. 
 
 ." ^ell, I received a short note in reply. She 
 «.d she would look forward to seeing me- again 
 with p^as,|»,,«nd all that; and thafsHe could 
 
 ■ "^"„TJ "" ^"^'r •'"'* "P*"' together. 
 
 So off I went, an^ in the following year I 
 returned. But on reaching Montreal, what'was 
 my disgust^ on calling at Mm. Willoughby's to 
 find hat she had given up her house, sold liel 
 Jnjiture, a«d left the city. No one knew any 
 ^l S?h' '"'•'■' ""''/'"'^ """^ 'hat she had on"f 
 W^vement, and after that had never made any 
 •eqnaintanees. Some said she had gone to the 
 U„..ed States; othen. thought she had gone?" 
 
 ^frni:'^'."^"'^'""'^' '•"'---''-- 
 
 THE;^ AMERICAN fiARON.* 
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A BTABTUMO RKVBLATIOK. 
 
 "It seems to me, Hawbury," said Dacres 
 !?^?r:'°f "f "'»"«''tful silJice-" iS 
 •0 me that when yon tiilk of people having th«ir 
 
 heads turned, yon yonrsdf comprehend the full 
 meaning of that sensation r ^ »" "" 
 
 "'Somewhat." 
 
 your Ethef r''** ""'" "' °'"'«' "' •=«""«'' »« 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 uym"^^^ 'he same way toward her yet ?" 
 "Hit hard?" . . 
 
 "Yes; and that's what I'm coming to. The 
 fact .8, my whole business in life for thl last year 
 has been to find her out." ' ' 
 
 "You haven;t dawdled so much, then, as 
 people suppose?" ' » »» 
 
 ''^" '/hat's all very weU to throw people 
 off a fellow's scent; but you know mo well 
 enough Dacres; and we didn't dawdle mud, 
 m South America, did we ?" 
 
 " That's true, my boy; but as to this lady 
 what 13 It that makes it so hard for you to find 
 
 .;^u "If *"' ?*"**' "••"he an American ?'• 
 "Oh no." 
 
 "Why not ?" 
 
 "Oh, accent, 'fnanner, tone, idiohi, and^V 
 hundred other things. Why, of course, yon 
 know as w^l as I that an American'^lady is as 
 different from an English as a French or a Ger- 
 man lady is. They may be all equally ladies 
 bnt each nation has its own peculiarities " ' 
 
 "Is she Canadian? ' , 
 
 ' "Ppssibly. % is not alwaysiasy to lell a 
 Canadian lady ^^A an English. They imitate 
 us out theje k good deal. I could tell in the * 
 majority of cases, but there are many who can 
 not be distinguished froto us very easily. And 
 Ethel may be one." 
 
 " Why mayn't she be English ?"; 
 an;ifferre."" ''" '"""^^'^hle |p perceive 
 
 •^riXar' "''''' "^ '"''"'"•"' "»''"" 
 
 " No ; I've not bpen in England much, ^pd 
 trom the way she talked to me I concluded that 
 her home was in Canada." 
 
 " Was her father an Englishmnn ?" 
 "I really don't know." . ' , 
 
 "Couldn't you find out?", / 
 
 "No. You see he had but repentl^ moved 
 to Montreal, Itke Willoughby ; and I could not ' 
 find any peopte who were acquainted with him " 
 " He may have be«n Enfclish all the time." 
 ■ "Tes." r 
 
 "And she too."' \ " ,t 
 
 "By Jove!" ^ .' 
 
 " And she may be in England now." 
 Hawbury started to his feet, and stared in 
 silence at his friend fer several minutes 
 ll?li!l''"j!° '*'''"'' "if I thought that, ^ 
 
 7-; ~ "" ^'s^-i yjL'nougni tn at, i 
 
 swear WffiTrfffir home this Evening, and hunt 
 aJ.out every where ftir the representative of 
 the Orne family, flut no-surely it ca Jt be 
 possible." f J 
 
 " Were yon i^ LMLon jasfteason ?" ' 
 "No." . ■ mw 
 
 \ t. " ^?"' ''°* ** y • '"•"' Jwt that sh* was 
 'there?" 
 
 t >, 
 
 . ./ ..?* 
 
 •» 
 
 >•«., 
 
30 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 "By Jove!" - 
 
 " And the belle of tWMcason, too ?" 
 
 " She would be if she were thefe, by Jove !" 
 
 " Ifeg, if there wasn't another*t)re8ent that I 
 wot of." 
 
 " Well, w<f won't argue about that ; besides, 
 I haven'H^orao to the point j^t." 
 
 "The point?" 
 
 " Yes, the real reason why I'm here, when 
 I'm wanted home." 
 
 " The real reason ? Why, haven't you been 
 telling it to me all along ?" 
 y "Well, no ; I haven't got to the ppint yet." 
 
 " Drive OB, then, old man. " 
 
 " Well, you kjfiow," continued Hawbury, "aft- 
 er hunting all through Canada I gave up in de- 
 spair, and concluded that Ethel was lost to me, 
 at least for the present. That was only about 
 six or seven months ago. So I went home,'and 
 ttpent a month in a shooting-box on the High- 
 lands ; then I went to Ireland to visit a friend ; 
 and then to London. While there I got a long 
 letter from my mother. The good soul was con- 
 vinced that I was wasting my life ; she urged 
 me to settle down, and finally informed me that 
 she had selected a wife for me. Now I want 
 rou to understand, old boy, that I fully appre- 
 ciated my mother's motives. She was quite 
 right, I dare say, about my wasting my life ; 
 quite right, too, about the benefit of settling 
 down ; and she was also very kind to take all 
 the trouble of selecting a wife off my hands. 
 Under other circumstances I dare say I should 
 have thought the matter over, and perhaps I 
 should have been induced even to go so far as 
 to survey the lady from a distance, and argue 
 the point with my mother pro and con. But the 
 fact is, the thing was distasteful, and wouldn't 
 bear thinking about, much less arguing. I was 
 too lazy to go and explain the matter, and writ- 
 ing was not my forte. Besides, I didn't want 
 to thwart my mothef in her plans^ or hurt her 
 feelings ; and so the long and the short of it is, 
 I solved the difficulty and cut the knot by cross- 
 ing quietly over to Norway. I wrote a short 
 note to my mother, making no allusion to her, 
 project, and since then I've been gradually work- 
 ing my way down to the bottom of the map of 
 Europe, and here I am." 
 
 " You didn't see the lady, then ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 '?Whowa8she?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " Don't know the lady ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Odd, tool Haven't yon any idea? Surely 
 her name was mentioned ?" 
 
 " No ; my mother wrote in a roundabout style, 
 so as to feel her way. She knew me, and fear- 
 ed thai I might take a prejudice against the 
 lady. No doubt I should have done so. She 
 01^ alluded to her in a general way." 
 
 " A general way ?" 
 
 " Yes ; that is, yon know, she mentioned the 
 fact that the lad^ was a niece of Sir Gilbert 
 Biggs." 
 
 *' What I" cried Dacres, with a start. 
 
 "A niece of Sir Gilbert Biggs," repeated 
 Hawbury. 
 
 " A niece— of— Sir Gilbert Biggs ?" said Da- 
 cres, slowly. " Good Lord !" 
 
 "Yes; and what of that ?" 
 
 "Very much. Don't you know that Minnie 
 Fay is a niece of Sir Gilbert Bigga ?" 
 
 " By Jove ! So she is. I remember being*, 
 startledi^^hen ypu told me that, and for a mo- 
 ment an odd fancy cwne to me. I wondered 
 whether* >your child-angel might not be the 
 identical being about whom my poor dear mo- 
 ther went into such raptures. Good Lord! 
 wTiat a joke ! By Jove 1" 
 
 " A joke !" growled Dacres. "I don't see any 
 joke in it. I remember when you said that 
 Biggs's nieces were at the bottom of your trou- 
 bles, I asked whether it might be this one." 
 
 " So you did, old chap ; and I replied that I 
 hoped not. So you need not shake your gory 
 locks at me, my boy." 
 ' " But I don't like the looks of hJ' 
 
 "iNeither do L" 1 
 
 "Yes, but you see it looks as though she had 
 been already set apart for you especially." 
 
 "And pray, old nian, what difference can 
 that make, when I ^on't set myself apart for 
 any thing of the kind ?" 
 
 Dacres sat in silence with a gloomy frown 
 over his brow. <* 
 
 " Besides, are yon awAre, my boy, of the sol- 
 emn fact that Biggs's nieces are legion ?" said 
 Hawbury. "The man himself is an infernal 
 old bloke ; and as to his nieces — heavens and 
 earth ! — old ! old as Methuselah ; and as to 
 this one, she must be a grandniece — a second 
 generation. She's not a true, full-blooded 
 niece. Now the lady I refer to was one of the 
 original Biggs's nieces. There's no mistake 
 whatever about that, for I have it in black and 
 white, under my mother's own hand." 
 
 "Oh, she would select the best of them for 
 yon." 
 
 " No, she wouldn't. How do you know that ?" 
 
 "There's no doubt about that." 
 
 "'It depends upon what you mean by the 
 best. The one you call the best might not 
 seem so to her, and so on. Now I dare say 
 she's picked out for me a great, raw-boned, red- 
 headed niece, with a nose like a horse. And 
 she expects me to many a woman like that ! 
 with a pace like a horse ! Good Lord !" 
 
 And Hawbury leaned back, lost in the im- 
 meitsity of that one overwhelming idea. 
 
 "Besides," said he, standing up, "I don't 
 care if she was the angel Gabriel. I don't 
 want any of Biggs's nieces. I won't have them. 
 By Jove 1- And m m I to be entrapped into * 
 plan Ifke ihatl I wiint Ithel. And WhiiT^ 
 more, I will have her, or go without. The 
 child-angel may be Htfi very identical one that 
 my mother selected, and if you assert that she 
 is, III be hanged if 111 argue the point. I only 
 ■ay this, that it doesn't alter my position in the 
 ■lightest degree. I don't want her. I woa't 
 
 7. 
 
 i:.'- \ 
 
 
 Mil* 
 
m'-'^' 
 
 gs?" 8aidD»- 
 
 )u know that?" 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 7" 
 
 htfve her., J don't want to eee her. I don't 
 r.^ 1^ ^- ^ °'"^ ^'»8« »' thei"- head, had 
 
 line ron/T""","""""^ *'•*' '"'« "••"'"d be 
 "owhis? Wh?,'';^^^ do„.tyoa understand 
 
 ./'. 
 
 81 
 
 K Vord "' « H '""'"^' "•" """"^^ H»- 
 "ury s words. How a man will sometimes 
 
 forget realities, and give himself up to Cms 
 It was my dream of the child^ngel that !„ 
 ^^- „. -....,„„ understand "veSCu'oid 1^""^^ ''^ ^ ^^^^^^^^^ 
 What the mischief do I care about speak'^SS' ' itK^tS^Ti, "^ 
 h that I stand von nnlr^ .- — " I ^H ^b jov "" ""' 
 
 fiery furnace for nothing? And whatlo 'vo"u' I " a^a .C V"T -"• * "'". "Y Jovo !" 
 suppose that life on the island mean" Ig^aU ripnirl ''*•' *?■■ ' ''''"°'' """•" had an oxpe- 
 
 with the chUd^angel? Did you ever make « ^"'='**' «'"'. "PeAkmg in the tone of one who 
 .aj for her and fly ? pij y„i ^yeTLTdown even for aT* if'""'*-" '» -"«>- -«" an ideH 
 anver current between banks burned black Z What a„ mZ*"' *" •*^""' "'"'P*' '" '"" ''"''" •' 
 "«i.ng fires, feeding her, soothing her com- and^„" «tte^ unmitigated, unmanageable 
 forting her. and all th« »..ii. ,„.,=?_"*'' <=»"»- | and unimprpvaWe idiot, ass, dolt, and blobk 
 
 lead ! Confonhr) akoIi n •««» i r ^_ 
 
 J3rtin^her.;ni;„th:^^— ^-;-; 
 
 nt'r/^"" •y""'' ^°» hauled her oufof 
 Lt" Whv r/. ^^ •^"'•^ ^"^ ^^at of 
 oat i ™ {: ' .""'*'='' *'"" I P-Ued Ethel 
 oat of was worse than a hnndr«rf of your era 
 ters/ And yet, after all that,' ^u think thaU 
 
 ot of Biggs s nieces 1 And you scowl at a M- 
 low, and get huffy and jealous. - By Jove'" 
 After this speech, which was delivered with 
 TT^ ""'^a'!?". HawbuW lighted .ciSr 
 which he puffed at most ene^geti^Uy ^"' , 
 
 'Allnght,oldboy,"siKdDacres. "A fel ' 
 bw s apt to judge dthers by himself, yon know 
 Don t make any moreset speeches, though i 
 after alll""'''""*"' '"'"' P°^''-"' B-ides! 
 
 nn^u k" •"'"'*"'' """^ "•« ^"'^ f'own that was 
 on his brow grew still darker. 
 
 "After all what?" asked Hawbury, who now 
 
 began to perceive that another feehng besWeT 
 
 "Give her up?" 
 ^'Yes." 
 
 head • rnnV„„*. J 1 ' '• **""' and block- 
 head.^ ConfouttdsuchamanJ Isayj confound 
 
 "ooNFotmu sron a mar I i 8»y.» 
 
 . "That's what yon said before and Vo„ n.„n "•»'°" *'"' "*"« "«»' him wit* such a, 
 
 tioned Aastralia,'and .hat rot.^' *"" ^"^ •"""- ^7^ TV"""' " "^''»* ^^ "«"" U 
 
 The more I think of it." said Dacres dis- " " ' 
 
 m^ly, and regarding the opposite waKith a 
 .teady yet mournful sure-'.'the more I thrnk 
 
 And 1^ Dacres said this- he brought his fist 
 down upon the table near him wii* such an 
 energetic crash that a wine-flask wa" 
 mng on th, floor, where its ruby contents 
 
 2*;'nrf x's" ' "-' ^"'--i-^'edU f«;' 
 
 at It for a while in silence. Then he raised hU 
 head and looked at his friend. Hawbury en 
 countered his gUnce without any erp^iat 
 He merely sat and smoked and- pissed his flnl 
 gers through his pendent whiskere 
 "Excuse me." 8aid Dacres, abruptly. 
 
 nnw T**!'""'^' "^ ?*" '•°y> " ^''""^and time. ; 
 only I hope you will allow me to remark tha 
 your style is altogether a new one, and dnrinK 
 the whole course ef our acquaintance I do not 
 remember seeing it before. Ym^h»yi^,^-ma^^ 
 
 "jtfadL^e,.j:;a;-;;;;:r:;;^ , ■.... 
 
 ^^« myself be overpoww^d brfhis^iSfT^^ry *" '" overpowering. Stm I 
 
 dream H«r« hi ";"»"'"'"'«» "7 mis bright 
 anhTntn™ "" ^ '^*" 8*^'"8 mys6lf up to 
 aphantom-an empty illusion-and now it's all 
 ow My eyes aw open." 
 
 h hangedTf'r «r" °'^" "'^ ^^" '^ ' f"' "> 
 "&«„«. . " '"1 "y ''"y ""rough this!" 
 Strang... „r«,gef .tiangeJ" continued Da- 
 
 H ' ** 
 
 a place like N4i;,wbr«Th;.^ 
 
 other things to swear at. It's a waste of hu^ 
 
 man energy, «nd I don't nAderstand it We 
 
 i«i wel'"'*" •" "•"'•^""" '" «*""' A-r- 
 " IJo, by Jove I And look hew, old chap, 
 
 
■ nr- 
 
 :.*lTr 
 
 83 
 
 THE AMERipAN BARON. 
 
 nAWBUBT BAim BlAOI DC HIS SIAT, OT«BW im . M«a ' 
 
 i^' 
 
 yon*il overlook this litUe outburst, won't you ? 
 in South A«erica I was always cool, and you 
 did the hard swearing, my boy. I'll be cool 
 again ; and what's more, I'll get back to South 
 America again as soon as I can. Once on the 
 liampas, and I'll be a man again. I tell j^n 
 what it is, I'll start to-morrow. What do you 
 say? Come." 
 
 •' Oh no," said Hawbury, coolly ; " I can't 
 do that. I have business, you know." 
 
 "Business?" 
 
 "Oh yes, you know — Ethel, you know." 
 
 "By Jove! so you have. That alters the 
 matter." 
 
 " But in any case I wouldn't go, nor would 
 yott. I still am quite unable to understand 
 you. Why yoa should grow desperate, and 
 swear at yourself, and then propose South 
 America, is quite beyond me. Above all, I 
 don't yet see any reason why yon should give 
 up your child-angel. Yon were all raptures 
 but a short time since. Why are yon so cold 
 now?" 
 
 " ni tell you," said Dacres, 
 
 " So yoa said ever so lonjr ago, 
 f " It's a Boie subject, a^ difficult to speak 
 
 about. 
 
 and 
 
 don't speak about it i«/all if it gives you pain 
 
 " Oh, I'll make a clean breast of it. You've 
 told your affair, and I'll tell mine. I dare say 
 
 I'U feel all the better for it 
 
 " Drive on, then, old man." 
 
 Dacres rose, took aconple of glasses of beer in 
 quick snccession, then resumed his seat, then 
 
 picked out a cigar from the box with unusual fas- 
 tidiousness, then drew a match, then lighted the 
 cigar, then sent out a dozen heavy volumes of 
 smoke, which encircled him so completely that 
 ho became quite concealed from Hawbnry's 
 view. But even this dotid did not seem suffi- 
 cient to correspond with the gloom of his soul. 
 Other clouds rolled forth, and still others, until 
 all their congregated folds encircled him, and 
 in the midst there was a dim vision of a big 
 head, whose stitt', high, curling, crisp hair, and 
 massive brow, and dense beard, seemed like 
 some living manifestation of cloud-compelting 
 Jove. 
 
 For some time there was silence, and Haw- 
 bury saia nothing, but waited for his friend to 
 speak. 
 
 At last a voice was heard — deep, solemn, 
 awful, portentous, ominous, sorrow - laden, 
 weird, mysterious, prophetic, obscure, gloomy, 
 doleful, dismal, and apocalyptic. 
 
 "Hawhuryl" | 
 
 "Well, old man?" ; 
 
 "Hawbcbt!" 
 
 "All right." 
 
 "Are you listening?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 uWdl—l'm—marrx«i4^ -==«_ 
 
 Hawbury sprang to his feet as though heW^ 
 been shot. 
 
 "What!" he cried. ^ 
 
 "Vmvuirriedr 
 
 "Yon'rewhat? Mavried? You I wamdi 
 Scone Dacres ! not yout— not marrkdt" 
 
 "r>*mamedt" 
 
 / 
 
"Good Lord!" 
 " I'm married.'" 
 
 bvfhrforcL"?':K-^"'^i" '•'''''«"'' »'«"^'>«i'"ed 
 
 ehtion 1/ '" '"'^''*" ""'' t'e-'endons rev- 
 elation. For some t me there was a deeo si 
 
 ed forth from the hpg of each, and onrled over 
 Ind .ir'''''/"'' **'"«'' *» volaminodrfold, 
 
 mas^ Even"'" '"«" '\^«''^. ■"'P«netraWe 
 magse* Even so rested the clondg of doubt 
 
 Lt T^ «•"! of 8loom over the sonTof 
 each, and ^hose which were visibte to the eve 
 
 ^vtnV" T'7' y '"'"'"^«' 'hamcterize! «nd 
 
 S^^^nr'^'^'^'""''' ''•»'»--''«'•- 
 
 "/'bi married/" repeated DAcres who nn» 
 
 aU hw words one melancholy burden bore. 
 
 -hnw.. Hawbury at last, in the tone of one 
 
 «"t" ^""^^I?"* f'"™ » fainting At. 
 
 " Not in Sonth America ?" 
 
 "Yes, in South America." ^ " 
 
 " Married ?" 
 "Ves, married." 
 "By Jovo!" 
 
 for"te''n''X" ••"""' '""^' ^•^■'' »'-™ied 
 "Ton years! Good Lord I 
 "It's true." 
 
 ,^ *Why, how old could you have been when 
 yon got married ?" "^" 
 
 "A miserable, ignorant, inexperienced dolf 
 idiot, and brat of a boy " l"="encca Uolt, 
 
 "By Jove!" 
 
 "Well, the secret's out; and now if von 
 care to hear, I will tell you 'all about 1/ ^ 
 I m dying to hear, dear boy ; so go on. " 
 And at this Scone Dacres began his sto;y. 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 3S 
 
 CHAPTER VHL 
 
 A MAD WIFK. 
 
 c«l'^'«Vf Z°° 1" "•""" '■'•" ""i'l Scone Da- 
 cres; "but ddn't laugh, for matters like these 
 
 Jio^ii ''rv ? '",•"«''" >«»Kl' « anything 
 «Mr.|,."°' ''*''*'"''• Y'>"«'on-tknowme! 
 J'All right, then. Well, to begin This 
 2 that I speak of happened to me^very S- 
 
 IdL It *'",'^ " '"'y' J"" °»» of Oxford, 
 Md just into mv fortune. I was on my way to 
 
 .nT .. *"Joy™ent. I went fromJ)Dver 
 -«*wth,^ReS^^Prtmwa.tiie^fsM 
 ""',P'^"y,8irJ- Black, mischievouTeyes wkh 
 *• devir. light in them; hair curlCfcrirDT 
 
 SLrT'' "" »'"«'""« -«' her head a^d 
 SI o?i llV" '"'""y «"*■■'=«"« nianner. A 
 P«My old bloke wa« with ^er-her father I 
 
 £T. k!^"™?''- ^""how my hat blew off 
 »»>«oghed. I langhed.* Our eye. tael i 
 
 made a merry remark. She laughed amin- 
 
 X eirh^f i'"""^"^^s ^^ «- - 
 
 7 .'*" '*" "at of her own. I fastened it nn 
 
 :rro^\rwar'""^"^'-^"'?^-» 
 j.^/:^rrSa^?L^-^ 
 
 heels in love, and so was she for that matte/ 
 
 man I Zirr ** 'f^ ""^ "^ohn BuTof a 
 man. I don t believe he had the slightest an^x 
 proach to any designs on me. He d dn'fknow 
 anything about me, so hpw could he ? He 
 was jolly, and when we got to clfsi w« 
 convivial. I attached piyself to the two* Tn" 
 had a glonous time. Before three days I S 
 exchanged vows of eternal fidelity ilth t^ 
 ady, and all that, and ha'd gained LcoSsJnt 
 
 old man there was no trouble at all. He made 
 nq inquiries about my means, but wTunrm; 
 hand heartily, and said God blpss me. Besides 
 M^ere were no friends of my oW to con dej* 
 My parents were dead, and I had' no re"a ions 
 nearer than coasins, for whom I didn'r«,re ,1 
 
 mtX ''""'' "'*"^ "' ^'"'"''' «""* belonged to 
 care for that. Her own manners and stVle 
 were refined enough. She had been sent bj 
 her father to a very fashionable boarding-school 
 where she had been run through the same 
 mould as that i, which her superiors had been 
 fofraed and so she might have passed muster 
 anywhere. Her father was awfullv fonHf 
 her, and proud of her. She tyrannized over 
 h.m comp etely. I soon fobnd out that she had 
 been utterly spoiled by his excessive indulgence 
 and that she was the mdst whimsical, noS 
 ica headstrong, little spoiled beaut; that e^e^ 
 
 LrrL f ' f ^°"""' "" 'hat, instead of de- 
 ternng me, only increased the fascination which 
 
 ttanTv^ •"''"''''*''"«"°':«"''''>'^'"»^- ' ■ 
 
 onl' "but"ww "^^ "**' " P^'i-'nlarly attmctive 
 one, but what are names! It was Arethusa 
 
 Arry, which sounded like the vulgar pronnn- 
 
 h'e"r r."' "i^r^-: ^' ''°""« ^ c^md^-t^i ^ 
 
 ^er that, and Arethusa Was too infernally long, 
 Jr a fellow doesn't want to be all day in pr^ 
 npnncmg his wife's name. Besides, it isn't li - 
 bad name m itself, of course; it's poetic, clas- 
 sic and does to name a ship of war, but isn't 
 quita the thing for one's home and hearth. 
 
 After our marriage we spent the honev- 
 moon in Switzerland, and then came home I . 
 had a very nice estate, and have it yet. You're 
 
 there's where we began life, and a devil of i 
 life she began to lead me. It was aU very Well 
 at first During the honey-moon there wera 
 only a few outbursts, and after we came to fte 
 t^range she repressed herself for about a fort-ntflft 
 night ; but finally she broke out in the most ft^^i^ 
 ^ogs fashion ; and I began to find that she had 
 »fityd of a temper, aid in her fits she was 
 
*rs; 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON, 
 
 84 
 
 bnt a »m«ll remov«J;froni a mad woman. Yon 
 gee Bhe had been humored and indulged ^nd 
 petted and coddlea»Vy her old fool of a father, 
 until at lait she had grown to be the most 
 whimsical, conceited, tetchy, suspiciouB, impe- 
 riouB, domineering, selfish, cruel, hard-hearted, 
 ond malignant young vixen that ever lived; 
 vet this evil nature dwelt in a form as beautiful 
 as ever lived. Shp was a beautiful demon, and 
 I soon found it out. ' « t i. j 
 
 "It began out of nothing at all. I naa 
 been her adoring slave for three weeks, until I 
 began to be jjonscioils of the most aboniinHble 
 tyranny On her part. I began to resist this, 
 and we were on the verge of an outbreak when 
 we arrived at the Grange. The sight of the 
 old hall rfppcased her for a time, but finally the 
 novelty wore off, and her evil passions burst 
 out. Naturally enough, my first blind adora- 
 tion passed awav, and I began to take my proper 
 position toward" her; that is to say, I undertook 
 to ^ve her some advice, which she very sorely 
 needed. This was the signal for a most furious 
 outbreak. What was worse, her outbreak took 
 place before the servants. Of course I could 
 do nothing under such circumstances, so I left 
 the room. When I saw her again slie was sul- 
 len and vicious. I attempted a reconciliation, 
 and kneeling down I passed my arms caressing- 
 ly amund her. ' Look here,' said I, ' my own 
 pqeHittlc darling, if I've done wrong, I'm sorry, 
 
 " Well, what do you think my lady did ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 "She lacked me.' that's all ; she kicked me, 
 just as I was apologizinR/b her— just as I was 
 trying to make it up. y«he kicked me ! when 
 1 had done nothinjy^d sIio alone bad been to 
 blame. What'syore, her boots were rather 
 heavy, and thai kick made itself felt nnmis- 
 takahlv. 
 
 " I 'at once arose, and left her without a 
 word. I did not Sppak to her then for some 
 time. I used to pass her in the house without 
 looking at her. This galled her terribly. She 
 made the house too hot for the servants, and I 
 nsed to hear her all day long scolding them in 
 a loud shrill voice, till the sound of that voice 
 " became horrible to me. 
 
 " Yon must not suppose, however, that I be- 
 came alienated all at once. That was impossi- 
 ble. I loved her very dearly. After she had 
 kicked me away my love itill lasted. It was a 
 galling thought to a man like me that she, a 
 common girl, the daughter of a small trades- 
 man, should have kicked me; me, the descend- 
 ant of Crusaders, by Jove ! and of the best^lood 
 in England ; but after a while pride gave way 
 
 To 16ve, and I tHecTto open the ^»yf«r a reeun- 
 ciliation once or twice. I attempted to address 
 her in her calmer moods, but it was without any 
 aucceas. She would not answer me at all. If 
 servants were in the room she would at once 
 proceed to give orders to them, just as though I 
 had not spoken. She showed a horrible malig- 
 nancy in trying to dismiss the older servants. 
 
 whom she knew to be favorites of mine. Of 
 course I would not let her do it. 
 
 " Well, one day I found that thiu sort of life 
 was intolerable, and I riiade an effort to put nn 
 end to it all. My love was not all gone yet, and 
 I began td think that I had been to blame. She 
 had always been indulged, and I ought to have 
 kept up the system a little longer, and let her 
 down more gradually. I thought of her as 1 
 first saw her in the glory of her youthful beauty 
 on the Calais boat, and softened my heart till I 
 began to long for a reconciliation. Really I 
 could not see whore I had done any thing out o^ 
 the way. I was awfully fond of her at first, and 
 would have remained so if she had let me ; but, 
 you perceive, her style was not exactly the kind . 
 which is best adapted to keep a man at a wo- 
 man's feet. If she had shown the slightest 
 particle of tenderness, I would hfive gladly for- 
 given her all— yes, even the kick, by Jove ! 
 
 " We had been married about six months or 
 s«, and had not spoken for over four months ; 
 so on the day I refer to I went to her room. She 
 received me with a sulky expression, and ft hard 
 stare full of insult. ^ 
 
 '"My dear,' said I, 'I have come to talk 
 seriously with you.' 
 
 " ' Kate,' said she, ' sjiow this gentleh\^n out.' 
 ' " It was her mnid to whom she spoke. ^ The 
 maid colored. I turned to her and pglnted to 
 the door, and she went out herself. My wife 
 stood trembling with rage— a beautiful fury. 
 
 ♦"I have determined,' said I, quietly, 'to 
 make one Jast effort for reconciliation, and I 
 want to be heard. Hear me now, dear, dear 
 wife. I want your love again ; I can not live 
 this way. Can nothing bo done? Must I, roust 
 you, always live this way ? Have I done any 
 wrong ? If I have, I repent. But come, let us 
 forget onr quarrel ; let ns remember the first 
 days of our acquaintance. We loved one an- 
 other, darting. And how beautiful yon were! 
 You are still as beautiful ; won't you be as lov- 
 ing? Don't be hard on a fellow, dear. If I've 
 done any wrong, tell me, and I'll make it right. 
 See, we are joined together for life. Can't wc 
 make life sweeter for one another than it is now? 
 Come, my wife, be mine again.' 
 
 " I went on in this strain for some time, ana 
 my own words actually softened me more as I 
 spoke. I felt sorrv, too, for my wife, she seem- 
 ed so wretched. Besides, it was a last chance, 
 and I determined to humble myself. Any thing 
 was better than perpetual hate and misery. S<> / 
 at last I got so affected by my own eloquenc^^^ 
 that I became quite spooney. Her back w* 
 turned to me; I conld nbt see her face. 1 
 thought by her silence that she was affected^nd, 
 iiMk^aah of tenderness, 1 put my Brro Af^ 
 
 "In an instant she flung it off, nnd/steiyed 
 back, confronting me with a face as hrfd and M 
 eye as malevolent as a demon. / 
 
 " She reached out her hand toward the bell 
 
 " « What are you going to do ?' I asked. 
 
 " ' Ring for my maid,' said sW 
 
 .^: 
 
 .-■ ■■ ^ 
 
 'h 
 
 ■-'^l 
 
/ 
 
 of mine. Of 
 
 S' come to talk 
 
 "'Don't,' said I, 
 getting between lier 
 nijdthobell. 'Think; 
 stop, I implore you.' 
 This isourlast chance 
 Tor a reconciliation.' 
 "She stepped back 
 with a crqel gmile. 
 
 She had a sWlI pen- 
 knife in her hand. 
 Her eye* glittered 
 venomously. 
 Jl^conciliation,' 
 
 Ve said, with a sneer. 
 
 fl don't want it ; / 
 
 don't want ^OB. You 
 
 came and forced ydur- 
 
 self here. Ring lir 
 
 my maid, and I will 
 
 let her show you the 
 
 door. ' 
 
 " ' You can't qlean 
 it ?' I said. 
 
 "'I do meiui it,' 
 she replied. /Ring 
 the bell,' she lidded, 
 imperiously. 
 
 "I stood looking 
 at her. 
 
 ■ "' Leave fte room, 
 then, ' she sAid. 
 
 '"I must have n 
 satisfactoi* answer' 
 said r. / ' 
 
 "'Vejfy well,' said 
 •he. 'Uere it is.' 
 
 "And saying this 
 she took the penknife 
 by the blade, between 
 
 her thumb and finger, 
 
 «nd 'slung it at me. 
 
 .ion I'n ?h ^^"'^ ^^•"7 'Wnginto confu- 
 
 Xin^^iT^ T^l '^"'"' "o ^Jth "trange 
 
 TU."J^ to ™^" '" P'''""" »"«^ «»'<» 'hem- 
 .»t tha" tfSL'"" '"'^' '^'- ^ ?ft5"^ "d fo"»d 
 Jt^that a v n nc fl w »i o i m ^ rf he r strongest ^ 
 
 THI! AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 Sfi 
 
 VKBT WKLL. iinut rr is. 
 
 /m 
 
 tices, 
 
 al'once"" '"""'"""*' '" ""^ '^'"■•^•' "'•"• her „p 
 " One day I came home and found her on 
 the portico, in her riding-habit. She was whin 
 ping one of the maids with the butt end c^te 
 nd.„g.wh.p I rushed up and released thfpoor 
 creature, whose cries were really heart «nH^ 
 when my wife turned on Me! 4e a ^ «"^ 
 struck two blows over my hUd oSf tSj 
 scam is on my forehead still See " 
 
 M.1."^^?'''^' P"' '""■*'* •"» ''«"• on the top of 
 
 long red mark, which seemed like the scar of a 
 dftngerou» wound. * 
 
 «t ™ ' T '"u "«'^ "'"'•" ''« wntinued. " I 
 hLi? V^^u*"* ^''^P '■^°'" her, and, grasping 
 
 oflemntl L • """^ I""'**' °"* »''« '^''ole lot 
 
 I wa« «,h.. . ' ""'""^K "^"^ "gut. I dare sar 
 r„rr i ''"'""■ "'Kht, for the blood was 
 
 rush^g down over my face, and dripping'frZ. 
 
 ;«rnwrTT''lr:^ '•.'.«!» ^- know 
 
 &ii 
 
 ^ 
 
8« 
 
 THE AlfERICAN BARON. 
 
 " She shrank down, pale and trembling. She 
 was a coward, evidently, and accessible to phys- 
 ical terror. 
 
 '"If I belonged to your clais,' said I, 'J. 
 would do it. But I am of a different order. I 
 am a gentleman. Go. After all, I'm not sorry 
 that yon gave me this blow.' 
 
 " I stalked oat of tho room, had a doctor, who 
 bound up the wound, and then mediUted over 
 my situation. I made up my mind at once to 
 a separation. Thus far she had done nothing 
 to warrant a divorce, and separation was the 
 only thing. I was loid np and feverish for 
 about n month, but at the end of that time I 
 bad an interview with my wife. I proposed a 
 separation, and suggested that she should go 
 home to her father. This she refused. She 
 declared herself quite willing to have a separa- 
 tion, but inabted on living at Dacres Grange. 
 " 'And what am I to do ?' I asked. 
 " ' WbAteTer yon please,' she replied, calmly. 
 '"Do y«n really propose,' said I, 'to drive 
 mi out of the home of my ancestors, and live 
 here yourself? Do you think I will allow this 
 place to be under your control after the fright- 
 ful havoc that you have made ?' 
 
 " 'I shall remain here,' said she, flrmly. 
 " I said nothing more. I saw that she was 
 immovable. At the same time I could not 
 consent. I could not live with her, and I conld 
 not go away leaving her there. I conld not 
 give up the ancestral home to her, to mar and 
 mangle and destroy. Well, I waited for about 
 two months, and then — " 
 
 "Well ?" asked Hawbury, as Dacres hesitated. 
 " Dacres Grange was burned down," said 
 the other, in a low voice. 
 " Burned down !" 
 \ "Yes.'.' 
 
 "Good Lord!" 
 ^ ',' It caught (ire jn the daytime. There were 
 but fevT servants.; No fire-engines were near, 
 • for tne Gra'ngei ^as in a remote place, and so 
 the nre soonugiilraed headway and swept over 
 all. My yrim^^ frantic. She came to n>e as 
 I stool looiffiig V the spectacle, and cfiarged 
 me w^i settitig ^e to it. I smiled at her, but 
 made no reply. / 
 
 " So you/sejB she vrat bnmed out, and that 
 question wis>ettled. It was a terrible thing, 
 but despesue diseases require desperate reme- 
 dies ; and'I felt it more tolerable to have ''^e 
 house i^ ruins than to have her living there 
 while yhad to be a wanderer. 
 
 She was now at my mercy. , We went to 
 E^ten She went to her fkther, and I finally 
 succeeded in effecting an arrangement which 
 ^as satisfactory on all sides. 
 - X, «i F irgt of all, the separation ahoold^ 
 /late, and neither of us should ever hold com 
 mimication with the other in any riiape or way 
 " Secondly, she should take another naine, 
 so as to conceal the fact that she was my wife, 
 and not do any further dis)ionor to the name. 
 
 "In return for this, I "waa to give her out- 
 right twenty thqnsand ^HUidi M her own ab- 
 
 solutely, to invest or spend just as she chose. 
 She insisted on this, so that she need not be de- 
 pendent on any annual allowance. In consid- 
 eration of this she forfeited every other claim, 
 «ll dower right in the event of my death, and 
 every thing else. This was all drawn up in a 
 formal document, and worded as (jarcfully as 
 possible. I d<m'-t believe that the document 
 would be of much use 'in a court of law in cane 
 she wished ttTllaim any of her rights, but it 
 served to satisfy her, and she thought it was 
 legally- sound and actually inviolable. 
 
 " Here we separated. I left England, and 
 1iav6 never been there since." 
 
 Dacres stopped^ and sat silent for a longtime. 
 
 " Could she have been mad ?" asked Hawbury. 
 
 " I used to think so, but I believe not. She 
 showed .ijoo much sense in every thing relating 
 to herself. She sold pictures and timber, and 
 kept every penny. She waa acute enougjjrin 
 grasping all she conld. During our lasKi^tcr 
 views while making these arrangcmeuts^lio 
 was perfectly cool and lady-like. 
 
 " Have you ever heard about her since ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Is she alive yet ?" -, 
 
 "That's thq,BoAer." fc 
 
 " What I vilont you knowF* 
 
 "No." '^ -":>■' --,. 
 
 " Havfii'|j:pjl ev^^ltied to find out?" ■ 
 
 " Yes. , ;T*rc!^ yftai/ngp I went and had in- 
 quiries &i»a«»5ife:^iteri Nothing could '^ 
 found ouilf >^ttflp^d her father had left tho 
 place imnw^t^, lifter my departure, and 
 nothing wa»lnowA°|^^|i;^m." 
 • " I wonder that yd^^H^t go yourself?" 
 
 "What for? I didJi*|^ about seeing her 
 or finding her." '' 
 
 " Do you think she's alive yet?" 
 
 " I'm afraid she is. You see she always had 
 excellent health, and there's no reason why she 
 should not live to be an octogenarian." 
 
 " Yet she may be dead." 
 
 ' ' May be ! And what sort of comfort is that 
 to me in my present position, I should like to 
 know? May be? Is that a sufficient foun- 
 dation for me to build on ? JIo. In a moment 
 of thoughtlessness I have allowed myself to for- 
 get the horrible position in which I am. But 
 now I recall it. I'll crush down my feelings, 
 and be a man again. I'll see the child-angel 
 once more ; once more feast my soul over her 
 sweet and exquisite loveliness ; once more get 
 a glanc* from her tender, innocent, and guile- 
 less eyes^'and then away to South America." 
 
 " You said.yonr wife took another name." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What was It ? Do yon know it ?" 
 
 " Willoughbyr cried Hawbury, with a start; 
 " why, that's the name of my Ethel's friend, 
 at MpntreaL Conld it have been the same ?" 
 
 "Pooh, man I How ia that possible? Wil- 
 loaghby la not an uncommon name. It'a no' 
 more likely that your Willoughby and mine are 
 the lame than it ia that your Ethel is the oat I 
 
 / 
 
THB AMERICAN BARdN. 
 
 Jove!" ^"^ '*"'*'• ^">PO»terousl By 
 
 And Hawburr stroked nwav »i,» ...»^ . 
 iJea thn,ugh h.?lo„°, ;e„de„' '£^^"'""'"" 
 
 — big-aawful— 'man. '• 
 
 "»u« OATOHT Wihhh ni an Aiu,g. 
 
 "An..tulr'2 '"T""'^' ^'"J' Nearest?" 
 
 I think te St bav'e" Lrr 'f" ';"^ "^^ 
 see w/y they .11 act I^ i "* l^T' ^ ^°°'' 
 
 people W/go and save mv life I^w/ I. i • 
 
 '%if T'^.-r'^ hoSotther-' '•'"^"?^ 
 
 'Ohdearl ohdearI"«iD-ho,i !,» •. 
 "Now, Kitty, stop'" "^.'"'dher sister^. 
 
 '•NoT'Kitrif ' ''"'"'' ^"- ^"'°"X 
 
 ti'ing to comfort me.* Tou JZ ?""' '*" '">' 
 
 life Aa* to be saved ro nfVi>n t- I ^ 
 
 Minnie ended all this with « i:..i i. - , 
 her sister, as usual dinV! 1^ '^ ^°^' """J 
 quiet her. SL " '" '""^''^ "'"' 
 
 j'Sfii^T"' """"^ ''•* '' "" "wen?" 
 •^"^"' you mi^ht tell »««.» 
 
 horrible." """'' ''''' *° "'••"' "^ '»• I''" too 
 
 ''Poor darling-the crater?" 
 
 JNo, the great, big man 1 dirlnv .-w. 
 afo. » ' " "•"". i man t see any 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I»BW BMBAHHASSaflSNTS 
 
 *M not present during the r«riS' A?'^ "^ 
 
 hearing it, Mrs. WiIl,^S.by went to L""! "'""" "''*«^' 
 
 kitted her ,D a very effusive manner. 7 ' 7 "^^' ^ ^''^'t- " . ( 
 
 ... T' "'""'«■ ^.V poor darlinir whL .-. Ji ^"^^ *"'*' yu were." > 1 
 
 tbw about Vesuvits? Is h ST- T "^ wasn't. I was on Wk v , 
 
 / 
 
 r.Vi,a*' 
 
 K^-'. l«. 
 
 f i." 
 
 .># 
 
88 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 " I don't want them to save me any more." 
 •'Well, they sha'n't do it, then," said Mrs. 
 Willoughby, affectionately, in a somewhat maud- 
 lin tone. . ^ 
 " And the next time I lose my life, I don t 
 want to be saved. I want them to let me alone, 
 ani I'll come home myself." 
 
 " And so you shall, darling ; you shall do 
 just as you please. So, now, cheer up ; don't 
 cry ;" and Mrs. Willoughby tried to wipe Min- 
 nie's eyes. 
 
 •'But you're treating me just like a baby, 
 and I don't want to be talked to so," said Min- 
 nie, fretfully. 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby retreated with a look of 
 despair. 
 
 "Well, then, dear, I'll do just whatever you 
 want me to do." 
 
 " Well, then, I want yoo to tell me what I 
 am to do." 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 ••Why, about this great, big, horrid man." 
 " I thought you didn't want me to talk about 
 this any more." 
 
 " But I Jo want you to talk about it. You're 
 the only person that I've got to talk to about it ; 
 nobody else knows how peculiarly I'm situated ; 
 and I didn't think that you'd give me up because 
 I had fresh troubles." 
 
 "Give you up, darling!" echoed her sister, 
 in surprise. 
 
 "You said you wouldn't talk about it any 
 
 more." 
 
 " But I thought you didn't want me to talk 
 
 about it." 
 
 " But I do want you to." 
 «• Very well, then ; and now I want you first 
 of all, darling, to tell me how you happaned to 
 get into such danger." ^ " 
 
 " Well, you know," began Minnie, who now 
 seemed calmer— "you ^jpw we all went out 
 for a drive. And we drove along for miles. 
 Such a drive ! There were lazaroni, and donk-" 
 eys, and calfeches with as many as twenty in 
 each, all pulled by one poor horse, and it's a 
 great j|^nie ; and pigs — oh, tucA pigs 1 Not 
 a partis of hair on them, you know, and look- 
 ing like young elephants, you know; and we 
 saw great droves of oxen, and long lines of 
 bootMhno end ; and people selling macaroni, 
 and otnw people eating it right in the open 
 street, you know — such fun! — and fishermen 
 and fish-wive».|:^h, how they were screaming, 
 ^nd oh, tuch aniiubbub as there was! and we 
 Wouldn't go on fast, amI Dowdy seemed really 
 frightened." W 
 
 »* Dowdy ?" repeated Mrs. Willoughby, in an 
 interrogative tone. 
 
 ' tO h^ th i it'4 ;a n ama I've j us t i nv en ted fiar 
 
 Lady Dalryi^Re. It'a4||tter than Rymple. 
 She said so. It's DuwagCT shortened. She's 
 a dowager, you kno^. And so, you know, I 
 
 waa on the front seat all the tfrne, when all at 
 once I saw a gentlemwi on horseback. He 
 was a great big man— oh, *o handsome!- and 
 he was looking at poor little me m though bo 
 
 would eat me up. And the moment I saw him 
 I was frightened out of my poor little wits, for 
 I knew he was coming to save my life." 
 
 " You poor little puss ! what put such an 
 idea as that into your ridiculous little head ?" 
 "Olj, I knew it— second-sight, you know. 
 We've got Scotch blood, Kitty darling, you 
 know. So, you |inow, I sat, and I saw that he 
 was pretending not to see me, and not to be 
 following us ; but all the time he was takiii); 
 good care to keep behind us, when ho could 
 easily have passed us, and all to get a good 
 look at poor me, you know. 
 
 " Well," coptinued Minnie, drawing a long 
 breath, "you*know I was awfully frightened; 
 and so I snt looking at him, and I whispered 
 all the time to myself: 'Oh, please don't!— 
 ple-e-e-e-e-ease don't ! Don't come and save 
 my life ! Ple-e-e-e-e-ease let me alone ! I 
 don't want to be saved at all.' I said this, you 
 know, all to myself, and the more I said it the 
 more he seemed to fix his eyes on me." 
 
 "It was very, very rude in him, /think," 
 said Mrs. Willoughby, with some indignation. 
 " No, it wasn't," said Minnie, sharply. " He 
 wasn't rude at all. He tried not to look at me. 
 He pretended to be looking at the sea, and nt 
 the pigs, and all that sort of thing, you know ; 
 but all the time, you know, I knew very well 
 that he saw me out of the corner of his eye— ■ 
 this way." 
 
 And Minnie half turned her head, and threw 
 upon her sister, out of the corner of her eyes, a 
 glance so languishing that the other laughed. 
 " He didn't look at you that way, I hope?" 
 " There was nothing to laugh at in it ut all," 
 said Minnie. " He had an awfully solemn look 
 — it was so eami^t, so sad, and so dreadful, 
 that I really began to feel quite frightened. 
 And so would you ,- wouldn't yon, now, Kiiiy 
 darling ; now wouldn't you ? Please say so." 
 "Oh yes!" ,. 
 
 " Of course you would. Well, this person 
 followed us. I could see him'^ety easily, 
 though he tried to avoid notice ; and so at last 
 we got to the Hti^mitage, and he came too. 
 Well, you know, I think I was very inuch ex- 
 cited, and I asked Dowdy to let us go and see 
 the cone ; so she let ui go. She gave no end 
 of warnings, and we promised to do all that 
 she said. So Ethel and I went out, and there 
 was the strhnger. Well, I felt more excited 
 than ever, *nd a little bit frightened— just t 
 very, verj^iny, little bit, yoff know, »«d I 
 teased Ethel to go to the cone. Well, the 
 stranger kept in sight Ml the time, you know, 
 and 1 felt his eyes on me— I really felt them. 
 So, you know, when we got at the foot of the 
 mne, I was SO ex citad that I was really qui" 
 beside myself, and Ileaaed and teased, till « 
 last Ethel consented to go up. Soothe men 
 took us up on chA-a, and all the time the •trin- 
 ger was in fight. He walked up by hiftielf 
 with great, big, long, strong strides. So we 
 went on till we got at the top, and then I wm 
 wilder than ever. I didn't know that thert 
 
^ was a particle of danger. I wag dying with 
 cunoBity to loolc down, and see where the 
 «n,oke came from. The stranger was standing 
 there too, and that's what made me so excited 
 I wanted to show him-I don't know what I 
 think my Idea was to show him that I could 
 take care of myself. So then I teased and 
 teased, and tthel begged and prayed, and she= 
 pned, and I laughed; and there stood the 
 stranger, seeing it all, until at last I started 
 olt, and ran up to the top, vou know " 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby 8huda;ied, and took her 
 sister's hand. 1 
 
 ''There was no end of smoke, vou know 
 
 and It was awfully uni.lea.sant, and I got to the 
 
 top 1 don t know how, when suddenly I fainted " 
 
 Minnie j.aused tor a moment, and looked at 
 
 V her stater with a rueful face. 
 
 " Well, now, dear, darling, the very-next- 
 thing-that I remember is this, and it's hor- 
 rid: I felt awful jolts, and found myself in the 
 arms of a great, big, horrid man, who was run- 
 ning down the side of the mountain with dread- 
 fully long jumps, and I felt as though he was 
 some horrid ogre carrying poor me away to his 
 <lcn t9 eat me up. But I didn't say one word. 
 * I wasn t much fnghtened. I felt provoked I 
 knew It was that horrid man. And then I 
 wondered what you'd say; and I thought, oh 
 how you uouid scold ! And then | know tha 
 tins horrid man would chase me*away from 
 Italy ; and then I would have to go to '/urkev 
 and have my life saved by a Mohammedan! 
 And that was horrid. 
 
 " Well, at last he stopped and laid me down I 
 He was very gentle, though he was so big T 
 kept my eyes shut, and lay as still as a mouse 
 hoping that Ethel would come. Hut Kthel 
 uiun t. bhe was coming down with the chair 
 you know and her men couldn't run like mine' 
 And oh, Kitty dariing, you have no idea what 
 1 »uffor«d. Ihis horrid man wps rubbing and 
 l-ounding at my hands, and sighing and groan- 
 ing. I stole a little bit of a look at him-just 
 a little bit of a bit-and saw tears in his eyes, 
 and a wild look of fear in his face. Then l 
 knew that he was going to propose to me o* 
 the spot, and kept my eyes shut tighter than 
 cv6r, 
 
 Minnie paused. 
 " Well ?"„ked her sister. 
 "Well," said Minnie, in a doleful rone, "I 
 then asked, ' I« that yon, papa dear ?' " 
 Minnie stopped again 
 
 THE AMERICAN BAmSlJ!' 
 
 r 
 
 "Well, goon." 
 ,nd-^*"' "" •"''•-'"' »**'*. Ye*, dailing'- 
 " And what r 
 
 89 
 
 ''Kissed you!" exclaimed her sister, with ^ 
 flashing eyes. ' " 
 
 and I think it s a shame ; and none of then 
 ever did so before ; and I don't want you eve 
 to go away again. KMy dariing. " ' 
 
 Ihe miserable lR«tch!" cried Mrs Wll 
 loughby, inUigiiunily. ■ "" 
 
 "He^s;.'Jlt"'''~M '■""'' ''""'" "«''« Minnie. ' 
 «e isn t a miserable wretch at all " 
 
 .»„-! . T"'** ""^ °"« ''« »» base who nreV 
 Wtu^hly^ ""'"•' °^«-'--'"-^''Mr 
 
 yor Khtr"H«'"r""'^ '''" ^'"^ ^"•=''«'i of 
 
 '''PreSdeJ.""'^''""'"''^'^'^-'---" 
 "Yes.". 
 
 "Pretended what?" 
 kno'w^^' *'"" •>« ^"^ «y-n.y father, you 
 
 1 "H'^^ ?"'^' ^""'^ *•'''*?" «8ked Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby, after a curious look at Minnie 
 
 No, of course not, nor Dowdy either; and 
 you mustn't go and make any disturbanc;.'' 
 I'll ,^"'?'"'"|"«=«? "o; but if I ever see him, 
 
 JL w r ^^'r '"'"" ' 'Wnk of him," saTd 
 Mrs. Willoughby, severely. ^ 
 
 Jn'^T *"' "T^ y '"■*' ""•* «° y°» know you 
 can t be ven, harsh with him. Pleiuse donW 
 ple-e-e-easc now, Kitty dariing." 
 
 havl^'l*^"" ""'* '^°'""'' '"''" whimsical idea 
 have y6u got now ?" 
 
 Minn^!"** '*°"''' P'^-«-«-«'"« ^<"^V' repeated 
 
 "Oh, never mind ; go on now, darling, and 
 tell me about the rest of it." 
 
 " Well, there isn't any more. I lay still vou 
 know and at last Ethel came; and'^S-wo 
 
 yTkSrw'''" '""'''""'' "'«^° - -- »'-e' 
 ''Well, I hope you've lost him." 
 Lost him ? Oh no ; I never do. They al- 
 ''""Why~ ^""••''"^"'isonewaUknow." 
 
 "Because he said so." 
 "Said so? when?" 
 "Yesterday." 
 "Yesterday?" 
 "Yes; wb met him." 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Dowdy and I. We were out driving. Wo 
 stopped and spoke to him. He was dreadfuUy 
 earnest and awfully embarrassed; and I knew 
 he was going to propose j so 1 kept whispering to 
 Zv . f/^« ''""». 'Oh. please don't-ple^ase 
 «lon t; but I know he will; and he'll be her« 
 soon too. ' 
 
 He sha'nt. I won't let him. I'U ntver 
 
 give him tha < i hi>Befr.fe 
 
 " I think you needn't b« so crnel." 
 "Cruel I" 
 
 "Yes; to the poor man." 
 
 .'! « ''^' ^?'* ''""'• *■"' ""Other man, I hope?" 
 N-no, but then I Jon't want to hurt hi. 
 feelings. I, was awfully good of him, yo. 
 know, and owfiUly plucky." ' 
 
 
 i 
 
40 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 " Yes, but lie i 
 
 "Oh, he may 
 me." 
 
 "But he may 
 what can I do ?" 
 
 "Really now, fitinnie, yon must remember 
 that you are in aj serious position. There is 
 that wretched (kAhXn Kirby." 
 
 " I know," saiflf Minnie, with a sigh- 
 
 " And that dreadful American. By-tlie-way, 
 darling, you have never told me his name. It 
 isn't of any consequence, but I should like to 
 know the American's name." 
 
 "It's— RufusK. Gunn." 
 
 " Rufus K. Gunn ; what a funny name I and 
 what in ,^0 world is ' K' for?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing. He aays it is the fashion in 
 his country to have some letter of the alphabet 
 between one'j names, and ho chose 'K,' be- 
 cause it was so awfully imcommon. Isn't it 
 funny, Kitty darling ?" 
 
 "Uh dear!" sighed her sister; "and then 
 there is that pertinacious Count Girasole. Think 
 what trouble we had in getting quietly rid of 
 him. I'm afraid all the time that he will not 
 stay at Florence, as ho said, for he leoms to 
 Imva^ no Axod Hb<Ml«, First ij« w«» -Moing t*» 
 
 Rome, and then Venice, and at last he com- 
 mitted himself lo a statement that he had to 
 req$in at Florence, and so enabled us to get 
 rid of him. But I know he'll come upon us 
 •gain somewhere, and then we'll have all the 
 trouble over again. Oh dear! Well, Minnie 
 
 darling, do you know the name of this Isst 
 one ?" 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " It's a funny name," said Minnie ; "a very 
 funny name." 
 
 " Tell it to me." 
 
 " It's Scone Dacres ; and isn't that a funny 
 name?" 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby started at the mention of 
 that name. Then she turned away lier liead, 
 and did not say a word for a long time. 
 
 "Kitty!" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Kitty darling, what's the matter?" 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby turned her head once more. 
 Her face was quite calm, and her voice had its 
 usual tone, as she asked, 
 
 "Bay that name again." 
 
 "Scone Dacres," said Minnie. 
 
 "Scone Dacres!" repeated Mrs. Willoiigh- 
 by ; " and what sort of a man is he ?" 
 
 "Big — very big-^-awfully big!" said Min- 
 nie. "Great, big head and broad shuulden*. 
 Gi-eat, big arms, that carried me as if I were h 
 feather ; big beard too ; and it tickled in« to 
 when he— he pretended that he was my father; 
 and very sad. And, oh 1 I know I should be k 
 
 .wilfully fond oUuin. Andr okt-Kitty i 
 what do you think ?" 
 
 "What, dearest?" 
 
 "Why, I'm— I'm afraid— I'm really begin- 
 ning to— to— like him— just a little tiny W. 
 you know." 
 
 "Scoue Dacres!" repeated Mr*. Willoagh- 
 
 .■ X.-.^. '/kii.'- . 
 
)ns^n 1 1 r n '" '"'"^ ''"''^ *"!« last ef-" 
 
 trouble vour«H/ u^T' ^''"' ''""'"«. ^o"'' 
 trm We yourself ; he sha'n't trouble you 
 
 , But Ij^a«/ him to," said Minnie 
 Uli, ucmsettse, child 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 41 
 
 "UALLO, OLD MAIC, whaT'b Dp MOW ?" 
 
 <*. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A FBABV0L DI8COVBHT. 
 
 A FEW days after this Hawburv was in h; 
 room, when Pacres entered. ^ i»" 
 
 " Hallo, old man, what's up noit ? How goes 
 he war ?" sa.d Hawbury. " But what th^ mis 
 Mef s the matter ? You look cut up. y" r 
 brow ,. sad ; your eyes beneath flash like a f° - 
 chion from Its sheath. What'« h«n.^„Jj « J 
 look half snubbed, and haS:sire"' ' ' '^"" 
 Dacres said not » w„rd, but flung himself 
 mto a cba.r with « look that suited Hawburv'l 
 de,cnp.,on of him quite accurately. HUbrow 
 
 preMcd, and his breafli camn n„Lv j i. , 
 UTough his inflated nlri.r TL "hu. S 
 r; T T''"' '"•""« «"y noL" whatevt 
 
 .rhirfSr„*'/"-^--/-t:fquic^^^^^^^^ 
 
 .t^hw friend, rang . bell and ordered some 
 "Here,oM 
 
 Kntion of Dacre. to the refreshing draught 
 
 JSr '"•"r^"'^' •"■• "jo-ff this kiL „«: 
 
 P««he, and forget thy lost Lenore. ' " 
 
 j;:!rck'Ss£. *'^'""'^**'-^-' •-'•''- 
 
 |itifl';?::;'ee"'^'"'"''^ "«.«"-«'>'. in a half. 
 " Well, oid man ?"f 
 
 that Llrl^,** " '''°7 ""'''^" <■"" <»» 'he breast 
 mat tairl^taggeredme." 
 
 "By Jove!" 
 
 his^cU'rf ' ""' P"''^'^ "''^y -^-P-ately at 
 
 "tifra'n^-"'"'- "W''"'««P? Oit 
 
 ZSv'nodlt'''^**^''*^ ' •='^°'^ '•>--" 
 " She was not at home " 
 "So you said." 
 
 that'?met°^r ■''* '"""^ ^''»"''' '■"r I told yon 
 
 .h:;:r«rthTrtdynhrr^t'' 
 
 I had not seen before Sh« ^ i ,""*' """ 
 
 passed me for some time." . 
 
 Wh ^t" i*'** """'*"« »hont that, old Chan 
 ''No'* '"r "'k"?'* '"'« »"•"« heen ?" '""• 
 nff T K^ill^"^ "°'h.ng about it. As I canteri-H 
 off I beijn to think that it was only a faneTof 
 m.ne, and finally I was sure of it, a'nd la" /hel 
 
 Dacres paused here, rubbed his hand violent 
 Ind ?he„ ?"■■ " """ P*'"^ -''«»* the sc« wL 
 
 was just begmnmg to feel the full sense of m„ 
 
 J/Sed'^Ha V"°^ ""•""•' •"" "-"^ 
 
 a4:"rto.an^l7Le-;'i!^?^^^^^^^^ 
 ■t was t he Imlv th at T k.,w in ■/„ ""'^''"'y' 
 
 vasBnouirh i ».. 
 
 terday One look at her ZTnoT^ J ,.. 
 assured then that my impressions yestertav 
 rTnUr"u"h1:^'"^'-''"''''^''--'^-nSr^ 
 yo.'.'k'Iiw r"™""'"""-^"" '•.ven-ttold meyet. 
 "Wait a minute. I ro«, .. .he entered, and 
 
THE AMERICAN BAllON, 
 
 t STOOD TBANsruxn." 
 
 confronted her. She looked at me calmly, and 
 then stood as though expecting to be intro- 
 duced. There was no emotion visible what- 
 ever. She was prepared for it : I was not : 
 and so she was as cool as when I saw her last, 
 and, what is more, just as young and beautiful." 
 
 "The devil!" cried Hawbury. 
 
 Dacres poured out another glass of ale and 
 drank it. His hand trembled slightly as he put 
 down the glass, and he sat for some time in 
 thought before he went on. 
 
 " Well, Lady Dalrymple introdue^ us. It 
 wasMni.Willoughby!" 
 
 "By Jove!" cried Hawbuiy. "I saw you 
 were eoming to that." 
 
 " Well, you know, the whole thing was so 
 Hudden, so unexpected, and so perfectly over- 
 whelming, that I stood transfixed. I laid no- 
 
 tliing' T hftlinvfl I bowe d- and tbftw Rnmahnw 
 
 or other, I really don't know how, I got away, 
 und, mounting my horse, rode off like a mad- 
 man. Then I came «0Biy, and here you see 
 me." 
 
 There was a sltence now for some time. 
 
 " Are you sure that it was your wife ?" 
 
 "Of course I am. How. could I be mis- 
 taken?" 
 
 "Are you sure the name was Willou^hby?' 
 " Perfectly sure." 
 
 " And that is the name your wife took ?" 
 " Yes J I told you so before, diduU I ?" 
 " Yes. But think now. Mightn't there be 
 sonte mistake ?" 
 
 "Pooh ! how could there be any mistake?" 
 " Didn't you see any change in her ?" 
 "No, only that she looked much more<i(iiet 
 than she used to. Not so active, yon know. 
 In her best days she was'always excitable, and 
 a little demonstrative ; but now she seemn to 
 have sobered down, und is as quiet and well- 
 bred as any of the others." 
 
 " Was there not any change In her «t all?" 
 
 "Not so much as I would have siippoied; 
 
 certainly no t so much M there Is in me. But 
 
 then I've been" knowing itonf' alTovw ih*^ 
 world, and she's been living a life of peace snd 
 calm, with the sweet cmsciousness of having 
 triumphed over a hated husband, and pois««- 
 ing a handsome competency. Now she mln- 
 glM iri the best society. She associates witk 
 
 'a-.A^!^'-'^^ 
 
grds and ladieH. She enjoys life in England, 
 xvlwle I am an exile. No doubt she pasfes foJ 
 
 ^^A"%^T'^- *"*""'■ ^° '^""''f. '"o. "ho has 
 0*8 of adnxren,. They aspire to her hand. 
 , rhey wnte poetry to her. They make love to 
 • her. Confound her!" 
 
 Dacres> voice grew more and more agitated 
 and excted as he spoke, and at length his ti- 
 rade against his wife ended in something that 
 was almost a roar. , - 
 
 face fuU fef sympathy. At last his pent-up 
 
 ^ehng found expression in his favorite excla- ' 
 
 raation, "By Jove!" 
 
 "Wouldn't I be justified in wringing her 
 
 ne^?" asked Oacrts, after a pausc.^ " A,^ 
 whats worse," he continued, without waiUng 
 •for an answer to his question-" what's worse 
 
 her presence herein this unexpected way hai 
 pven me, me, mind you, a sense of guilt, whUe 
 she .«, of course immacnlate. /, mindyou- 
 /, the injured husband, with the scar on my 
 head frota a wound made by /,er hand, and 
 all the ghosts of my ancestors howling curses 
 over me at n.ght for my desolated and rni"^ 
 home-/ am to be conscience-stricken in her 
 presence, as .f Iwere a felon, while sAe, the re- 
 aly guilty one-the blight and bitter destruction 
 of my hfe-^e is to appear before me now a" 
 injured, and must make her appearance here 
 .tanding by the side of that sweet child-ange!' 
 and warning me away. Confound it all, man ! 
 Do youmean to ^ay that such a thing is to. be 
 
 Dacres was now quite frantic; so Hawburv 
 with a sigl, of perplexity, lighted a fresh cigar' 
 jnd thus took rjfuge from the helplessness of 
 
 in which *dvice was uttenjy U8ei(^"and conso- 
 lation impossible. What^ could hi advise, ^r 
 what consolation could he ofter? The clrild 
 angel was now out of his friend's.reach, anJthe' 
 worst fea«of the lover were more than re 
 
 D.ilres'"''.^?hi"'" "■""" °'::""'^'^«>»t.nued 
 .yt\ . f " " *"*P'"on 'hat she was alive 
 .nd I. firmly b«lleV« she'll outlive me S 
 ears j bjTt I must sajr I nevter expected to i^e 
 her ,„ this way, u^der such cireumstancis 
 And then to find her so infernally beaSp 
 Confound her! she don't look over twenty-five 
 How the mischief doe. fhe manage it?^ Oh' 
 .he . a deep one I But ^rhap. she's changed.' 
 
 • MntlTTnT* ""i'h ■"** "V"" '°"» 'he room so 
 gently, and looked at me\) steadily. Not a 
 t«mor, not . .hake, a. I live. Ca m, 8 r! 
 cool a. .teel, and hard too. She looked away 
 «nd then looked back. They were .SrS 
 
 that Sh- uT^ ! *"* *^ "° occasion for 
 
 .non,h r '•" '^^""'^ *>»"« "«"«" well 
 !.r«N ?.•*«•■•• C«K>I! And there stood I 
 
 TWE AME^AN BAKOir. 
 
 48 
 
 ancestral house, that drove me to' exile and 
 that now drives me back from my love 'b "t 
 and iTT' ' K " ""'« "'°'« """"her t^ df t ! 
 before that S " T"' " ' "^o-eJ-her onc^ 
 oelore, that Scone Dacres is her master And 
 
 herself to keep me away from Minnie Fay." 
 See here old boy," said Hawbury, "you 
 
 may as well thi^w up the sponge." ^ ^ 
 I won't," said Dacres, gruW 
 you sec it isn't your wife S&t you have to 
 
 «ror'L"f' "^. ""'■' •""" «^° yo"°hi„nhe 
 
 giri or her friends would have a married man 
 paying his attention* in that quarter? wS 
 
 ;"e%'TjaJir''"^' ""'•'' ^---^^' 
 
 fel^'Ivn"*'*"'""" ^r^'^ °^^^^ assertion was 
 S ,C-r" ^'*" '" ••" "«"• B"t the verv 
 fact that It was unanswerable, and that he was ' 
 
 h ! fT' -T^t he said nothing; it was only in 
 Jested H """'"«'•''>« his rage was ma.^- 
 dTL ^l "fT"""^ '^""'«' '«> ''"«°'=»te u„- 
 £.„^ 7"^ °^^'''^' «'<"'t«nd«K passions, bL 
 dis ended veins swelled out in his forehead 
 which was also drawn far down in a gloomy 
 frown ; his hreaih came thick and fast, and Ws 
 
 watchea him m silence as before, feeling all 
 
 (the time the impossibility of saying any thing 
 
 tha could be of any use whatever. ^ ^ 
 
 in. alt'' K '' ^i^°^'" ""•'' »""«" «' »'"*t, giv- 
 
 off some^nf r '"• '"•*'"•='' '"' '^«'"«'» »» »hSw 
 otf some of his excitement. jy.ou're right of 
 
 forTe' " P ' "■" ""'P'-^-s nXnc 
 «Pr me. Paying attentions^Blgt of the oum 
 W and the only thing for^ro do ilo'^^e' 
 "P the whole thing. But that isn't tobo d^ne 
 at once. It's been long since I've seen any 
 
 litt e thin.""? i "" '!^«^™«-. and th"^ , 
 little thing, I know, is foil5?of me." I can'ti^ 
 
 at least, and have <W«|fuonal glimpses at her 
 it gives me a freslMe of dm^t heave.dy 
 sweetness to look atWfair young face Be 
 side^ I feel .hat I am far more to her thin fny 
 other man. No other man ha. stood to her"^ 
 the relation in which I have stood. RecoUe^t 
 
 ihiL' ""Z" •""■ 'T ''•"'"'• Th« i. no iS 
 thing, .fche must feel toward me a. she ha. 
 never felt to any other. She i. not one who 
 
 d'th'fnd'r \'T'""' "- '"«- •"•?"« 
 
 .me she look, at me she seems to Convey \h 
 that to me in her glance." ' 
 
 "Oh, well, my dear fellow, really now "«iid 
 Hawbury. "just think. Y^u can't di,^ 
 
 ^1 
 
 4hjflg=: 
 
 V, 
 
 ,-'«. 
 
 with ifcl 1.1 J a . . ■ ■""" "'*"' Stood I, 
 
 btajflre underneath the .car of her wound- 
 Mw-her own property, for she made it! 
 .Tl»t WM the *om.n that kicked me, ,th.t 
 
 •jButldon't^Wanttodoanyt^ng." 
 It never eta end in. any thing, you know." 
 
 lint I ilnn't want I< •.! J I 
 
 «u... T I 7; -"-"J uiiiig, you itno^ 
 
 But I don't want it t6 end in any thing." 
 
 airecS"""'^ '"""'' ""' "^ "tan'gling'^her 
 tionfc^" ^ '''"''' ***"' *" *"'•"«'" '>«' •«■«' 
 
 

 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 isr 
 
 "Then whl^he misdtjieC do you want (ift 
 
 do?". ^ A> ■ ^ :. 
 
 '> Why, ♦ery little. I'ltjtkrt off soo^opjijwl 
 '/^HUttermost ends of the eartll|Jb»t I wish t(i ' 
 a little longer and see her ftW^^fjice. Jt'i 
 much, A it? It woa,'t compfpmise her,?-* 
 it? She need not run a^ tiii', need sH,ef| 
 And I'm a man of m)«)r, ttpi I n0|t ? Ywu 
 don't su^^se me to. be capaible.<rf. any ba8e-«| 
 new, do ybtl'?" r-.., ' '■#» 
 
 how absjird! Of coarse 
 
 raid by giving way totiiig^ 
 
 fito a wors^'^tfltfc of mind. 
 
 iiiid^'d as she is by 
 
 t_tt)at j.'m anxious 
 
 old chap,' about' me. 
 can face my situation 
 . . ,-„ . ,,„-.,,, the worst., • While* I 
 ^eii'.sfttmg heh; t'have thought out the 
 4>fuj.u& I 'yf\\\ stay here four or five weeks. I 
 -^ 'tvlli>orilyj(fjiek solace for myself by riding about 
 ^ , ' wjiere I-i»ay mest her. I do not intend to' go 
 to tlie hoiitse at' all 
 
 thing,' ev^<iH it comes to letting myself, ij^ 
 
 ''^ 
 
 My demon of a wife may 
 jiave the w'hotc litouse to herself. I won't even 
 |"(Mve her the pleasure of slipposing that she has 
 !ipivarted me. She »hall never oven suspect 
 we state of my heart.' That would be bliss 
 indeed to one like her, for then she would find 
 herself able to put mh oii the rack. No, my 
 boy; I've thought it nil oVer. Scone Dacres 
 is himself again. No ihote nonsense now. D« 
 yon understand now what I mean?" 
 
 "Yes," said Hawbui-y, ^owly, an4 in his 
 worst drawl; 'M)ut ah, reJlUy, don't" you think 
 it's all nonsense ?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 ',' Wiiy, this ducking and diving about to get 
 a glimpse of her face." ■ 
 ' " 1 don't intend to dCick and dive about. I 
 ' merely intend to ride like any' other gentle- 
 man. Whot put tjiat into your head, man ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; I gathered it from 
 the way you expressed yourself." 
 
 " Well, I don't intend any thing of the kind. 
 I simply wish' to have occasional looks at her 
 — to get, a bow and a smile of recognition 
 when I meet hes, and have a few addition- 
 al recollections to turn over in (hy thoughts 
 after I have left her forever. ];'erh&p8 lliis 
 seetns odd." ^^s^ 
 
 " Oh no, it jSB^. I quite understand it. 
 A passing g tJJMHW parting sigh is sometimes 
 more precioMmm^ny other meinctry. I know 
 all ibont it, yon kno^ — lool^^ glances, smiles, 
 signs, and all that sort of thing, you know." 
 
 "Well, now, old-^chap, there's one thing I 
 want you to. do for me." 
 
 "VVell, what is it?" 
 
 " It is n't much, old fellow . It isn't mifch. 
 
 Trfm'pTy wisli you t* visit there!" 
 
 " Afe r — visit there t What ! me— and visit ? 
 Why, my dear fellow, don't you know how I 
 hate such bother?" 
 
 " I know all about that ; but, old boy, it's 
 only for a few weeks I ask it, and for my 
 
 ell, reai 
 you k^i 
 
 .5. 
 ^dear boy, if you [ 
 df course, that I'll do anv 
 
 Sored to death. 
 
 ust a visit a 4^ It Ro." 
 jsifca^j}"* Hiftvbui 
 'l^tMa ^Jftsk, ypij kaBw.i^ 
 
 Su se^ t^^WWtlifcthw 
 
 j4 btlh^si to 
 L'klB-tWJSar f'wjlilhe 
 s," and whether she 
 
 . SJ as 
 hear ^piutBsi'. „I s: 
 looks, it't^d whgt f^^' 
 thinks of me." 
 
 " OJ), come now ! look iiere, my dear fel- 
 low, /ou're putting it a little too strong. You 
 don't exp^cj. nSe4o go there and talk fo her 
 about you, JnHj know. , Why, man alive, that's 
 quite out of |by way. I'm not much of a talk- 
 er at any tii^j- and besides, you know, there's 
 something d«tasteful in acting as— as— By 
 Jove ! I doii!||||novv what to call it." 
 
 ' " My dear Jto', you don't understand me. 
 Do you think j^lft a sneak? Do you suppose 
 I'd ask you to a6tj|« a go-between ? Nonsense I 
 I merely ask you^^ go as a cursory visitor. J 
 don't want you to^reathe my name, or even 
 think of me while j-ou are there," 
 
 " But suppose 1" make myself too agreeable 
 f Ov the young lady. By Jove 1 she might think 
 I was paying her attohtions, you know." 
 
 " Oh no, no ! believe nle, you don't know 
 her. She's too earnest ; she has too nmch soul 
 to shift and change. Oh no ! I feel that slio 
 is iHine, and that the image of my own misera- 
 ble self is indelibly impressed upon her heart. 
 Oh no ! -you don't know her. If you had heard 
 herthrilling expressions of gratitude, if you had 
 seeh the beseeching and pleading looks which 
 she gave me, you would know that she is one 
 of those natures who love once, and once only." 
 
 " Oh, by Jov^, now ! Come ! If that's the 
 state of the case, why, I'll go." 
 
 "Thanks, old boy." 
 
 "As a simple visitor." -' 
 
 "Yes— that's ^.'1 ' v^ 
 
 " To talk aJttAfbe weather, "and that rot." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And n 
 
 'No.. 
 
 It yoti." 
 
 thini 
 
 there 
 " That'i 
 " Very 
 
 quegtiopg, and (hat sort of 
 
 "Well, jusi 
 every evening, 
 
 the kind.-" 
 
 itching, but just as if I went 
 rd." 
 thing." 
 '-■■■MiMK^hatgood is all 
 my bo y 'i*" 
 
 I can talk to you about her 
 and 'you can toll me how she 
 looks, and what she aayg, and all that sort of 
 thing, yoH know." 
 " By Jove !" 
 
 ou'U cheer my .heart, old fellow." 
 
 "Heavens 
 seem to think 
 a bore." 
 
 " I know it 
 I'm despei;ate 
 
 "By Jove I 
 
 And Hawbu 
 lapsed into si 
 friend's infatur 
 
 On the folio 
 he found that 1 
 
 dinp The o 
 you know. I'f 
 Didn't see any 
 But it's no end 
 
 'n-Bi 
 
 ''' PAL8E A 
 
 Tub day when 
 , Hdjr Dalrymple wai 
 I'fe.wdhaditnotl 
 Of hi», the immediat 
 have been of a highly 
 •light pecnliaritf^ 
 
 '«loccailoa_, 
 
 •"•TO been^h^ 
 
 •wfofB hig gijjg , 
 
 " tappened in tb 
 Qp the day when E 
 Psyid to be sittyig 
 
THE AMERICAN SARON. 
 
 45 
 
 ueaveng and '«Brth I «i,i i. 
 
 )Mn'. .e. .„ rr V,""' •»■"■»"»"■ win 
 
 l>»ve been of a hiahlv i J^T I u ' """" ''''"''' 
 
 ""l«llVimn«^B„tc|,g^„pjg|. This 
 
 fact that JiQ 
 »ro, onaverycrit- 
 that which would 
 ilthough it wa8 full 
 
 'light peculiarity 
 
 Lninaof 
 
 t 
 
 .■?'ss>:-£s-:"?" 
 
 along, and with his ch'^nTn the air t a f T" 
 peculiar to him, which bv thrw^l' ''"°" 
 
 glance that he had civcn wn« tL i? ?' ^''° 
 
 Ligr^er^,:;^„Te^e' ^af; "^^ "-r 
 
 heart. Yes, she wo-ddTdS '%t 
 must prepare herself to encounter hi; « 
 «a.e Q„iekl,she stepped rth'^.-.^ hX 
 
 verely she scrutinized the face and fiJ^ "" 
 ^oe^Krd^tVTtrto'o'-^^^ 
 
 and «4eption-rooms belQW.""TrtL",S h""^ 
 
 bu-y^as, now, within hearing of Ettl We";; 
 
 ^l^new that voice. She listened ^dLZd! 
 
 —^ He talked like a 
 
 'Mloccasioi 
 Jure been^h.^^ 
 wor^hisgite.' 
 It Happened in ^i^fi^mmi I . i- -• """. "^"nin neai 
 
 ^^''^ vii;^^ [^ "*"'"•''* •*'*™-«k«»bnttflrfly of society 
 
46 
 
 THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 — and that was a class which sho Bcdrned. 
 Here he was, keeping her waiting. Here he 
 wnii, Iceeping up a hateful clatter of small-talk, 
 while her heart was aching with suspense. 
 
 "Elhel ctood there listening. Minute succeed- 
 ed to minute. There was no request for her. 
 Ho\* strong was the contrast between the cool 
 indiflFerence of the man below, and th^ fever- 
 ish impatience of that listener above ! j A wild 
 impulse came to her to go down, under |he pre- 
 tense of looking for something ; theh another 
 to go down and out for a walk, so that he might 
 see her. But in either case pride held her back. 
 How could sho ? Had he not already seen her ? 
 Must he not know perfectly weWk^hat sho was 
 there ? No ; if he dM not call for m^^j^tfuld 
 not go. She could not make advancST 
 
 Minute succeeded to minute, and Ethel Stood 
 burning with impatience, racked with snspense, 
 n prey to the bitterest feelings. Still no mes- 
 sage. Why did he delay ? Her heart ached 
 now worse than eVer, the choking feeling in 
 her throat retnimed, and her eyes grew moist, 
 .^he steadied herself by holding to the door. 
 Her fingers grew white at the tightness of her 
 grasp ; eyes and ears were strained in their in- 
 tent watchfulness over the room below. 
 
 Of course the caller below was in a perfect 
 state of ignorance about all this. He had not 
 the remotest idea of that one who now sto«d 
 so near. He came as a martyr. He came t6 
 make a call. It was a thing he detested. It 
 bored hin». To a man like him the one thing 
 to be avoided on earth was a bore. To be 
 bored was to his mind the uttermost depth of 
 misfortune. .This he Uad voluntarily accepted. 
 He was being bored, ancUbored to death. 
 
 Certainly no man ever accepfed a calamity 
 more gracefully than Hawbury. He was charm- 
 ing, aflFable,. easy, chatty. Of course he was 
 known to Lady DalrympU. The Dowager could 
 make herself as agreeable^ any laify living, ex- 
 cept young and beautiful ones. The conversa- 
 tion, therefore,, was easy and flowing. Haw- 
 bury«xcellcd in this. ' 
 
 Now there are several variations in the great 
 art of expression, anrf each of these is a miijor 
 art by itself. Among these may be enumerated : 
 
 First, of course, the art of novel-writing. 
 
 Second, the art oF writing editorials. 
 
 Third, the art of writing paragraphs. 
 
 After these come all the arts of oratory, let- 
 ter-writing, essay-writing, and all that Sort of 
 thing, among which there is one to which I wish 
 particularly to call attention, and this is : 
 
 The art of'snfall-talk. 
 
 Now this art Hawbury had to an extraor- 
 dinary degree of perfection. He knew how to 
 beatwit the faintest shred 6f an idea, into an 
 ^Mmitabte snifacs of smalr^tftlf7 Mb iferer 
 took refuge in the weather. He left that to 
 bunglers and beginners. His resources were of 
 a different character, and were so skillfully man- 
 aged that he never failed to leave a very agree- 
 able impression. Small-talk! Why, I've been 
 in sitnatiom^sometime's where I would have giv- 
 
 en the power of writing like Dickens (if I had 
 it) for perfection in this last alt. 
 
 But tl^is careless, easy, lim))id, smooth, nat- 
 ural, plejisant, and agreeable flow of chat was 
 nothing |mt gaH'and wormwood to the listener 
 above. I She ought to be theife. Why was slie 
 so slighted ? Could it be pos{;ible that he would 
 go away without seeing her? 
 
 Sho wWs soon to know. 
 
 She heard him rise. She heard him saunter 
 to the dobr. 
 
 • "Thaiiks, yes. Ha, ha,; you're tbo kind — 
 really — yes — very happy, you know. "•'To-mor- 
 row, is it? Good-morning.*' 
 
 And vvith these words he|\fent out. 
 
 With pale face and staritlg eyes Ethel darted 
 back to the window. He did not see her. His 
 bdck was turned. ' He mounted his horse aiid 
 gayly cantered away. For full five minutes 
 Ethel stood, crouched in the shadow of the 
 window, staring after him, with her dark eyes 
 bnming and glowing in the intensity of their 
 gaze. Then she turned away with a bewildered 
 look. ^ Then she locked the door. Then she 
 flung herself upon the sofa, buried her head in 
 her hands, and burst into k convulsive,pi|pBion 
 of tears. Miserable, indee^, were the-thouglits 
 that came now to that poor stricken girl as she 
 lay there prostrate. Slie had waited long, and 
 hoped fondly, and all her waiting and all her 
 hope had been for thbi. Iti was for this that she 
 had been praying — S^^is that she had so fond- 
 ly cherished his menirory. He had come at last, 
 and he had gone ; but for her he had certainly 
 shown nothing save an in4itference as profounil 
 as it was inexplicable. 
 
 Ethel's ei^cuse for not appearing at thetiinner- 
 table was a severe headache. Her friends in- 
 sisted on seeing her and ministering to her suf- 
 ferings. Among other things, they tried to cheer 
 her by telling her of Hawbury. Lady Dnlrym- 
 ple was full of him. She told all about his fam- 
 ily, his incotn^, his habits, and his mode of life. 
 She mentioned, with much satisfaction, tliat he 
 had made inqairies lifter Minnie, and that she 
 had promised to introduce him to her the next 
 time he called. Up<^(| which he had laughing- 
 ly insisted on calling the next day. All of 
 which- led Lady Daliymple to conclude that he 
 had seen Minnie somewhere, and had fallen in 
 love with,her. ' ^ t^. 
 
 This was the pleasing strain tSl^conversation 
 into which the ladies were led ofl" by Lady Dnl- 
 rymple. When I say the ladies, I mean Ladv 
 Dalrymple and Minnie. Mrs. Willoughliy said 
 nothing, except once or. twice when she en- 
 deavored to give a turn to the conversation, in 
 which she was signally unsi^ccessful. Lady Dal- 
 ryipple and Minnie engageid in itti animated ar- 
 pnfiefif over the JntercltirigTiubjecf of H»w-^^ 
 bnrylk intentions, Minnie faking her stand on 
 the grohnd of his indifilerence, the other main- 
 taining th^ position that he was iil love. Minnie 
 declared tlii^tshe had never ^leen him. Lsdy Dal- 
 rymple asserted her belief that he had seen her. 
 'The latter also asserted thi^t Hawbury would iiQ 
 
 ♦""wa, and liiurno 
 
 r 
 
 f 
 
iloiibt be a constant 
 visitor, and gave Min- 
 nie very sound advioe 
 as to the best mode of 
 treating him. 
 
 On the following 
 day Hawbiiry called, 
 and was introduced to 
 Minnie. He chatted 
 with her in his nsual 
 style, and Xady Dal- 
 rymple was more than 
 ever confirmed in her 
 first belief. Ho sug- 
 gested a ride, and the 
 suggestion was taken 
 np. 
 
 If any thing had 
 been needed to com- 
 plete Ethel's despair 
 it was this second visit 
 and the project of a 
 ride. Mrs. Willongh- 
 by was introduced to 
 him ; but he took lit- 
 tle notice of her, tr^t- 
 ing her with a kind of 
 reseifve that was a lit-* 
 tie unusual with him. 
 The reason of this was 
 his strong sympathy 
 with his friend, and 
 his detestation of Mrs. 
 Willoughby's former 
 history. Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby, however, 
 had to ride with 
 them when they went 
 out, and thus she was 
 thrown a little more, 
 into Hawbnry's way. V 
 Ethel never made -lier 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON, 
 
 "TUKN 8..K n,CNO ,«'b8»LF UPON lUK fiOKA." 
 
 appearance. 
 
 2^"£?^^^S--.J^^^^ 
 
 withheart7ch.th;r;::;'rre7S 
 
 Hawbnryr never saw her, nor did he ever hear 
 
 I ^Z ""'""""«f J" general he himself kept the 
 
 L'^Zrr. .K •" "1^"°" ' •""* "" »-« never asked 
 ft/'quest.ons, thejy^our.e, had no opportunity 
 
 •1 ^'^- ^» °"'«r hand, there was no 
 
 nnmber or tG^mettfr of their partv. When 
 he talked n w^J^nsually with Lady faalrymple 
 .nd Mmme; <;,d with these the convention 
 urned always upon glittering generalities, and 
 
 Hawbury, tho»| visitmg there constantly, nev 
 er once saw eIJ, nevej^^heard iiijr mmZ^ 
 
 ^^- """ "!»■>. "evexneard her name ntcg. 
 
 nXl«rh .K^'"'' "" "'•' *'"'" hand, feeling 
 
 hr7o»»7r ^ '"' T ""^^fi^J"* «^d complete 
 
 . imS^"'"""^ "n«nWmly he^ld alpof, and 
 
 ChU, "f V"'"'^/"'' ""' '"<'« jealous care, 
 
 9ml at last she staid indoors altogether, for fear 
 
 •f .he wen, out. thj|&ht .^eet him slm^: 
 
 ficiently strong. 
 
 as^n.ngecomfortinbeinrtir:;r1i.:ts^^^^^^^^^ 
 In's face ThUI^ ^" voice every day. and saw 
 nis lace. That was 8oA)cthing. And it wn« 
 better than absence. -"na it was 
 
 forth long accounts of Lord Hawbnry-howhe 
 looked, what hd said, what he did, aM wha^ he 
 proposed to d^. Certainly there *as ^ tho 
 
 SnTirHaTb' "^^ '---»%/. or evrsln! 
 timent, in Hawbury's attitude foWftrd Minnie 
 H.8 words were of the world of s,iiall-7«lk-a 
 world where sentiment and love-makinlLv^ 
 ;; ff i'^PH- St ill there was the evide^nt f" 
 ^fel filit« .., fA,, W hich wcn,m ffequSo'S-- 
 
 over'f( 
 Haw 
 
 (ooMHk» 
 
 awn%>apidly 
 subject oyfinni^', 
 
 P'«<MA<-^oK'ft>o„t:}.i 
 
 admn?anpo h&W wh 
 thern'MS^y.-^glTsai' 
 nifle." ShrtoSiMrs, 
 
 ime the most, prominent 
 
 Hrsation, iSlie used to 
 
 ihe alluded^ 
 
 "he thought 
 
 "ftwfttllv 
 
 fy that "he 
 
48 
 
 THE AMERICAN BABOl^ 
 
 <i\ 
 
 wag nicer than any of them ; and then, Kitty 
 dfirlinj?," »he added, "it's so awfully good of 
 him not to be coming and saving my life, finj 
 carrying me ^n his back down a | 
 . nn ogre, and then pretending 1^jlltr^'s,idy 
 
 ther, you know. 
 J? " For you know, Kitty pet, I've always longe^ 
 it so aurfuUy to see some really nice per80ii,^u 
 -• know, who wouldn't go and save my liCe'and 
 bother me. Now he doesn't seem a^.-^it like 
 proposing. I do hope he won't, pbn't yOn, 
 Kitty dearest? It's so much nic^r not to pro- 
 pose. It's so horrid when they ad and propose. 
 And thein, yon khow, I've ha;)' so much of that 
 sort of tbing. So, Kitty, I think he's really the 
 nicest person that I ever^wv, and I really think 
 I'm ^egiikiing to like pirn." 
 
 ]^ diintr^nt froix'thege were the conversa- 
 tions which Mr^'Willoughby had with Ethel. 
 She])was perf^tly familiar with Et^'s story. 
 It hkd beort' contided to her long ago. She 
 alone ^xdvr why it was that Ethel had walked 
 untouched through crowds of admirers. The 
 terri)^ story of her rescue was memorable to 
 her {(^ other reasons ; and the one who had 
 taken the^Jitominent part in that rescae could 
 not be without interest for her. 
 
 " There is no use, ICitty'— no use in talking 
 about it any more, '"said Bt^l one day, after 
 Mrs. Willoughby hnd been^ur^g her to show 
 heis^lf. "I can not. *I will not. /He has 
 forg>(tten me utterly."^, , "''. ! 
 
 " f^rha^^te.has not^a that yea lire here.. 
 He h8s'i^evliM|^ yott^^pF 
 
 "Has ho fflrbeeri in Naples as long as we 
 have ? Ife must have seen me in the streets. 
 He saw Miiroio.'Vfc_^ 
 
 " Do you tl^^i^l^ely that he wo^ come; 
 to this house <a?i4iA''g^" J'O"? If he%»id for- 
 gotten you he woula not comS hera 
 
 "Oil yes, he would. He comes to sei 
 He knows I Xm'-here, of cou 
 
 mentioned'me? has he ever asked you about 
 me? has he ever made the remotest allusion to 
 me?" 
 
 Ethel spoke rapidly and impetuously, and as 
 lB« spdtoehe raised herself from the sofa where 
 (fihe-was reclining, and turned her large, enmcst 
 eyes full upon her friend with anxious and ea- 
 ger watchfulness. Mrs. Willoughby looked btfll^ 
 
 '*Et 
 and tr 
 
 "I 
 I lose 
 
 doesn't care one 
 pearance or not, 
 thought. It' 
 has forgotten 
 all over 
 hundred ad' 
 ly, cherisl 
 thins." 
 
 m.,.wheth 
 He doesi 
 Jong sine 
 n piy existi 
 since the 
 
 laSeTB/ap- 
 
 give m°e a 
 
 riejhat he 
 
 He 41 bee A 
 
 ind has had a 
 
 intures. I have wgiSn living quiet- 
 
 tho remembrance of that one 
 
 is it not worth trying ?\ Go down 
 
 not bear it. I can not look at him. 
 1 self-command when he is near. I 
 «hoald ijafce a fool of myself. He would look 
 at me with a smile -of pity. Could I endure 
 that? No, Kitty; niy weakness must never be 
 known to him." 
 ^'Oh, Ethel, how T wish you could try it !" 
 
 'Kitty, just think how utterly I am forgot- 
 ten. Mark this now. He knows I was at yoiir 
 house. He must remember your name. He 
 wrote to mp there, and I answered him from 
 there. He sees yon now, and your name must 
 be associated with mine in his memory of me, 
 if hQ.has any. Tell me now, Kitty.ihas he ever 
 
 of sadness, MritaDi 
 
 loum- 
 
 at her with a face full 
 fully shook her head. 
 
 "You see," said Ethel, as she sank doWn 
 again — "you see how true my impression is." 
 
 "I must say," said Mrs. Willoughby, "that 
 I thought of this before. I fully expected fthat 
 he would make some inquiry after you. I was 
 so confident in the noble character of the man, 
 both from your story and the description of oth- 
 ers, that I could not believe you were right. 
 But you arp right, my poor Ethel. ,1, wish I 
 could comfort you, but I can not. Indeed, my^ 
 d«ar, not only has hejM^uestioned me aboufi' 
 you, but he evidently^l^s me. It is not- that* 
 he is eUgrossed with Minnie, for he is not so ; 
 but he certainly has some reason of his own for - 
 avoiding me. Whenever he speaks to me there 
 is an evident effort on his part, and though per- 
 fectly courteous, his manner leaves a certain 
 disagreeable impression. Yes, he certainly has 
 some reason for avoiding ''(^" 
 
 "The reason is plain em)ugh," murmured 
 ^bhel. " He wishes to prevent yon from speaJ!- 
 ilig about a painful 8nbje.et,'or at least a dis- 
 toifcfnl one. He keeps you off at a distance bv 
 an excess of formality. He will give yon no 
 opportunity whatever to introduce any mention 
 j}f me. 'And now let me also ask you this— 
 does he ever take any notice of any allusion 
 that^lfl^ be made to me ?" 
 
 ."i^ally doriit remember hearing any alln- 
 .^^lon to you." ^^ ^ . />_ 
 
 V OI»i that's Scarcely pi^sible ! You and Min- 
 aie must sometimes j^e alluded to * Ethel.' " 
 
 "Well, /low th^t yon put it in that light, I 
 Sloreinember hearing Minnie allude to you on 
 several occasions. Once she wondered why 
 ' EtheV dM not ride. Again she remarked how 
 'Ethel' would enjoy a particular view." 
 
 "And he heard it?" 
 
 '» Oh, of course." 
 
 " Then there is not a shadow of a doubt left. 
 He knows I am here. He has forgotten me «o 
 totally, and is so completely indifferent, that ho 
 comes here and pays attention to another who 
 is in the very same house with me. It is hard. 
 Oh, Kitty, is it not? Is it libt bitter? ^How 
 could I have thought this of him f" ■ 
 
 A high-hearted girl was Ethel, and a prond 
 one ; but at this final confirmation of her wont 
 fe ars there b urst fr o m her a sharp cry, and she 
 
 rp I 
 
 buriedTer face in herTTandg, andmoafiid' and" 
 wept. 
 
 A«L.- 
 
CHAPTER Xir. 
 
 0IRA80LB AOAIN 
 
 nage on the sSe „e,T MiL7 "^k^^ ""' ^•"^- 
 ly their attention waB'ar^r.' '"""" ''"'''^•'°- 
 on horseback who was a^r^ " Ken,lema„ 
 easy pace, anrsta^gTa Ta 'Th' ''"" tt "" 
 nie's hand .uddeniriasned hL '™- . ^'''■ 
 verjr tightir while h^i ^"^ *""*■■* «'•'" 
 rapidly ^' '''' '=•"*"• ^^i^^^nd went 
 
 .'.'^|»'><'"'""KhedM«.WiHoughby 
 "Oh, what tha/ll do?" said M n„- • 
 hasty whisDer "P»nv *""" *"nnie, in a 
 him?" ^ - ^"""'^ P'««n«» not to see 
 
 asgiandathonsan''d:rtit"cr:^^^^^ 
 
 ^ imSnTera~rs^;r:r 4 
 
 speak he poured forth a tor^nt of » , ' '""''' 
 
 faces of the Ldtes and finn'n /"^;'°^^'^ "'« 
 ™gative',k,ancf;;ontaw X. ™:^^^^^^ 
 horse regarding the flew-comTr wUh a cer/'" 
 mild surprise not nnmineled wLh^i T"'" 
 
 ness. Hawbury'g chTn was in fh« T!:^'"*'"'*- 
 rested languidly nnon.h! V ® "''' •"'« ^yes 
 
 Mintroduc^a. AsitWM fh„.« T ^'"'^ ""^ 
 Girasole thi^w at the R"'' f" ' "^ ^ '""''' 
 
 with the bittrrost hate wSk"* 'T'''"^ ''''" 
 
 K^Jcitrrra^drrtV^^^ 
 r^-ed^d^t^rrs-^ 
 
 erebrowa .„^ ."? "T, H'»»'b\.ry ele vated his 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 Gir«olo WM „rAl"i!.?''*'* »' «"« id«« that 
 was qear tha«^he was afrai4-to fo6k 
 
 - <9 
 
 b' y ""V!"" '""'v'*'* "" '•«"• •"Pnfon to Haw- 
 he felt it h'".''^"*''- • ""•* ^'^"''''^ 'bowed rhi 
 
 •atiSoitrrd-tist^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ^;^t":^=^Sir3 
 
 excuement at Minnie's slight mlde hf^T ' 
 what incoherent his .Vim™. r . " *"'"«- 
 
 than English and h!«n '''"' ^'^ '"" '•"''er 
 bad; he a so had »r P™"58"''t">n was yery 
 
 wordw;„t'dtdV:trfire^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 quarter of his remarks " **"®" 
 
 Bta^"ofTSst,Ja''^re1°««'''^'"'"J"^ '••''' 
 an end to ifl, . ^® determined to put 
 
 theri^Ji^h/dtri"^ ''".'"^«- S'.e 
 so as notl^o make k L'''""'"'"''^ '" •»'» »•"« 
 finally reached a plac:Thior ""'"='' ""'» 
 Hero the tarriage was tu^^i .""" '"'"'"•'• 
 was half-wav roLT., '■ "'''^"' J"" «« «» 
 
 approachi^; It wt ScL"°n ''' " ''°"«'»«° 
 been followfng them^II .h t-^"'^"' ''^'^ •-<• 
 not expected hat thl . ""' ""'' '^''° '"»*1 
 
 them was impossible, and so he fode^ri "f 
 h« approached, the ladies saw hUfS it w«- 
 a face that one would remember afterwaT 
 
 S,^hn: ^rtt'sittretf"^^^ -^ S: 
 
 look at Minnie. His cnzeSiJ!. "".r* 
 Willoughby. Herv ifva^MCr**"- 
 od trying ,o read her felMf, ''^ ^^ 
 
 r ;r r^noVa-'i' ^^- - Gii- '• 
 
 means, and was fllfof :'•".' l'"""^ ''>• ""^^ ' 
 
 Ment'scruti^y-I"" WhotS'^r '"'^ '»- 
 glance. It was for /V''°-*''?-'levil-are^you ?" 
 
 and then h'e Zct^^t MrWiS^"'''^*'' 
 and then he had passed ^'^^''"^^^y «««'", 
 
 The ladies soon reached their home and Af * 
 once retired to Mrs. Willoughby's room Th„ 
 
 she. ' """""^ "'■« *« ♦» do?" said 
 
 W iTwr ^ •""'' ''"°'''" ^-d Minnie. "J 
 wo^d"finTmf3„:" '^ - ' -'«» '^« »•« 
 "He is «o annoying." 
 
 '•Yes, but, Kitty dear, we can't be rude to 
 ?L_you kn ow ^ for !». ., - , .. , . ™°1 '° 
 
 him 
 
 von knn,„ / 1 ' ^ "" ™ae to 
 
 /„„ A •' '"'"' ''« «"''be coming and call 
 fng, and tease, tease teasing nl j ■ l !' 
 bonder what 1^,^ h tT*'" O"* dearl I do 
 
 :p^ 
 
T. 
 
 
 50 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 it wag so awfully funny I — did you notice that 
 other man ?" 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby nodded her head. 
 
 " Did you notice how awfully black he look- 
 ed? He wouldn't look ut me at all. /know 
 why." 
 .Mrs. Willoughby said nothing. 
 
 " lie's awfully jealous. Oh, / know it. I 
 saw it in his face. Ho was as black as a thun- 
 der-cloud. Oh dear ! And it's all about me. 
 Oh, Kitty darling, what shall I do ? There will 
 be something dreadful, I know. And how 
 shocking to have it about me. And then the 
 newspopers. They'll all have it. And tire re- 
 porters. Oh dear ! Kitty, why don't you say 
 something ?" 
 
 "Why, Minnie dearest, I really don't know 
 what to sny." 
 
 " But, darling, you must 3»y something. And 
 then that Scone Dacres. , I'm more afraid of 
 him than any body. Oh, I know he's going tor 
 kill iome one. He is so big. Oh, if you h^d. 
 only been on his back, Kitty darling, and h^tf 
 him run down a steep mountain-side, you'd be 
 as awfully afraid of him as I am. Oh,how I 
 wish Lord Ilawbury would drive them off, or 
 somebody do something to save me." 
 
 ' ' Would you rather that Lord Hawbury would 
 stay, or would you like him to go too ?" 
 
 "Oh dear! I don't care. If he would only 
 go quietly and nicely, I should like to have him 
 go too, and never, never see a man again ex- 
 cept dear papa. And I think it's a shame. 
 And I don't see why I should be so jiersecuted. '■ 
 And I'm tired of staying here. And I don't 
 want to stay here any more. And, Kitty dar- 
 ling, why shouldn't we uU go to Rome ?" 
 
 "To Uomo?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Would you prefer Rome?'' asked Mrs. 
 Willoughby, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Well, yes — for several reasont;. In the 
 first place, I must go somewhere, and I'd rather 
 go there than any where else. Then, you know, 
 Ihot dear, delightful holy-week will soon be 
 here, and I'm dying to be in Rome." 
 
 " I think it would be better for all of us," 
 said Mrs. Willoughby, thoughtfully— " for all 
 of us, if we were in Rome." 
 
 " Of course it would, Kitty sweetest, and es- 
 pecially me. Now if I am, in Rome, I can pop 
 into a convent whenever I choose." 
 
 "A (invent 1" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, 
 in surprise. 
 
 " Oh yes — it's going to come to that. They're 
 all so horrid, you know. Besides, it's getting 
 worse. I got a letter yesterday from Captain 
 Kirby, written to me in England. He didn't 
 I hare. H e has just arrived at Lon - 
 don, and was leaving- for our place on what he 
 called the wings of the wind. I expect him 
 here at almost any time. Isn't it dreadful, 
 Kitty dearest, to have bo many ? A» fast as 
 one goes another comes, and then they all come 
 together ; and do you know, darling, it really 
 makes one feel quit^i|piy. I'm snre / don't 
 
 know what to do. And that's why I'mthiuk- 
 ing of a converit, you know. " 
 
 " But you're not a ,€atholic. " ^ 
 
 " Oh yes, I am, you know. Papa's an Anglo- 
 Cathollc, and f^on't see the ditt'erence. Be- 
 sides, they're all the time going over to Rome ; 
 and w6y shouldn't I ? I'll be a novice — that 
 is, you know, I'll only go for a time, and not 
 take the vows. The more I think of it, the 
 more I see that it's the only thing there is for 
 me to do," 
 
 " well, Minnie, I really think so too, and 
 not only for you, but for all of us. There's 
 Etiiel, too ; poor dear girl, her health is very 
 miserable, you know. I think a change would 
 do her good." 
 
 " Of course it would ; I've been talking to 
 her about it. But she won't hear<of leaving 
 Naples, i wish she wouldn't bo so awfidly sad." 
 
 "Oh yes; it will certainly be the best thing 
 for dear Ethel, and for you and me and all 
 of us. Then we must be in Rome in holy- 
 week. I wouldn't miss that for any thing." 
 
 "And then, too, you know, Kitty darling, 
 there's another thing," said Minnie, very con- 
 fidentially, " and it's very important. In Rome, 
 you know, all the gentlemen are clergymen—, 
 only, you know, the clergymen of the'Romaii 
 Church can't marry; and so, you know, of 
 course, they can never propose, no' matter if 
 they were to save one's life over and over again. 
 And oh I what a relief that would bd to find 
 one's self among those dear, darling, delightful 
 priests, and no chance of having one's life saved 
 and having an instant proposal following ! It 
 would be so charming." 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby smiled. 
 
 "Well, Minnie dearest," said she, "I really 
 think that wo had better decide to go to Boin<e, 
 and I don't see any difficulty in the way.'' 
 
 "The only difficulty that I can see," said 
 Minnie, "is that I shouldn't like to, hurt their 
 feelings, you know." 
 
 "Their feelings!" repeatisd her sister, in a 
 doleful voice. 
 
 " Yes ; but then, yon see, some one's feelings 
 must be hurt eventually, so that lessens one's 
 responsibility, you know ; doesn't it, Kitty dar- 
 ling?" 
 
 While saying this Minnie had risen and gone 
 to the window, with the intention of taking her 
 scat by it. No sooner had she reached the 
 place, however, thaiy she started back, with a 
 low exclamation, and, standing on one aide, 
 looked cautiously forth. 
 
 "Come here," shesaid, in a whisper. 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby went over, and Minnie di- 
 rected her attention to some one outside. It 
 wHs a gentleman on horseb ack, who was paw- 
 ing at a slow pace. His lead was bent oU hte 
 breast. Suddenly, as he passed, he raised his 
 head and threw over the house a quick, search- 
 ing ^nce. They could see without being seen. 
 The^narked the profound sadness that was 
 over hit face, and saw the deep disappointment 
 with which his head fell. > 
 
 " Scone Da< 
 
 on. " How «i 
 
 Mrs. Willou] 
 
 ^'But, after 
 
 "Why not?' 
 
 ' V " Because he 
 
 passed to-day. 
 
 "Nonsense!' 
 
 " Yes, and h 
 
 look. I know 1 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " He'«|, in love 
 
 Mrs. WiUougl 
 
 meftt. Then a 
 
 "Child!" she 
 
 Of any thing in 
 
 Yon will find out 
 
 feelings than tha 
 
 "But, Kitty d( 
 
 notice something 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I noticed it. 
 
 I saw that he fix« 
 
 tHch a queer lool 
 
 too. He looked 
 
 yoa and lift yon o 
 
 just like young L 
 
 "Me!" said Mr 
 
 intonation. ^ 
 
 "Yes, you— oh 
 
 "Oh, you little 
 
 people rushing aftt 
 
 "Well, I'm sui 
 
 many people have 
 
 me, and snatching 
 
 «nd carrying me c 
 
 plwjes. And I thi 
 
 wish they'd stop it. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "About this Scot 
 
 think there's some 
 
 and very deligntfull 
 
 and all that sort of 
 
 face?" 
 
 "I think Scone 1 
 deal," said Mrs. W 
 tone. "But come i 
 She's lonely." 
 
 Soon after they jc 
 ••Iked over the projci 
 Dalrymple offered n< 
 M she had any choic 
 *M quite willing at 
 •he rest projHMed, a 
 wme curioiity as to 
 koly-week. Ethel o< 
 She had fallen into a 
 Moly, from which not 
 
 .«MsQH he.li»tenedi» 
 "ont the subject. M 
 nie had the most to i 
 ftred the chief reaso* 
 "M finally decided to 
 '«"art as soon As pos 
 
 Meanwhile Girasole 
 Mperiences, He had a 
 
«gf' 
 
 ^^ 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby said nothing. 
 "wStp'^' ''•°"'' «>«•-« i'V..- 
 ; . " Because ho didn't Ibok at me a bit when h« 
 
 "Yes and hi, face had «„ awMiy hungry 
 
 "What?"'* "' """'*"' ^"™ ■"'«'• 
 *'He'^,in love with you " 
 
 just lilce young Lochinvar." ■ ^ ' 
 
 in.:nX"''''."-'^"'°"«''''->'''^'''-«t-nge 
 
 ''Ye8» you-oh yes; really now." 
 Oil, y»u little goose, yon alwavs thint «<• 
 
 peop^rushing after one ;fcar^.S 
 
 Well, I m sure I've had reason to Sin 
 
 many people have always b«« running »,£ 
 
 liwqes. And I think it's too bad, and I renllu 
 
 " whS'""' ''• ^'"' ^"^ '"'"- 
 
 "About this Scone Dacres. Don't you reallv 
 h.nk there's something ve,y peculfarrsj 
 •nd very deligntfully interesting^nd paLtic 
 and aU that sort of thing, in hifps^**:,:! 
 
 Soon after they joined the other ladies and 
 tolked over the project of going to Kome Lad J 
 
 M .he had any choice, she 'preferred it She 
 WM quite willing at all time, to do whatever 
 
 tf :L?rt' t"o1h:'" ^'^-r' ^^ 
 
 ioly-week P,hM I "'^ P-^^eedings during 
 Shi ZTf'n -^ °*'''*^ no objections either 
 
 Wat the .nbie^t m ^^■■"'^'' ^''•^ssJon 
 
 W'tart as soon as possibfe. ^W^' r** 
 
 4S:«'HeS:t|'''^'''?°^»''oughts«nd 
 l^nences. ,Hp had already, some time befgie, 
 
 THE Aa<ERICAir BAKON. 
 
 ed lover .„ the person of Lord Hawbu^ The 
 lofty superciliousness of the Brkioh il^Ki 
 seemed to Girasole to be Se „", t retS?' 
 h« position, and it seemed the attkude of ,hl 
 successful lover toward the re e'cSd su t'or.' ''' 
 waJ^mor« r T'? r ">*' Minnie herself 
 
 But Girasole was not easilv daunted -In th. 
 
 ■wS;5;""°«'i"r"''"'™'«™»"*«''E . 
 
 beside Winoie. The ladies bowed and fiirl: 
 
 by .b. e.m.80, i.ikl„j „i,|, „^ wiUoZbS 
 
 ea to be impassioned elancea B... m- • 
 would not look at him Of : u**'""'" 
 
 frightened as usual, and grew eXd /" 
 
 before, talked with-unusuHiSnAw"! 
 Dury. A^hus she overdid it Alrn<r«.j,o- ""w 
 
 I sn^j^nd Httwbury were affianced 
 
 ^.^•ji. 
 
 ^;..- „„„„u.j, were amanced. 
 pvo days after this Girasole called again 
 ^.A buter disappointment was in stor^ fo. 
 
 They were not there-they had goii,. 
 Eagerly he ihquired where T 
 
 To Rome," was the reply 
 
 'To Rome!" he muttered, between his <«t 
 
62 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
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 '"to BOUXl' UE linTTKRKD, BKTWKEN IIIB BET TEETH." 
 
 teeth ; and mounting his horse hurriedly, he 
 rode away. 
 
 He was not one to be dannted. He had set 
 a certain task before himself, and coiild not easi- 
 ly be turned aside. He thought bitM|dy of the 
 
 . ipgratitude with which he had been treated. 
 He brought before his mind the " stony British 
 
 ' stare," the supercilious smile, and the imperti- 
 nent and insulting expression of Hawbury's face 
 I he sat on his saddle, with his chin up, strok- 
 bg his whiskers, and surveyed him for the first 
 time. All these things combined to stimulate 
 the hate as well as the love of Girasole. He 
 felt that he himself was not one who could bo 
 lightly dismissed, and determined that they 
 should learn this. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 U «• TAIN REMOMJtrRANCES. 
 
 ■ HA^Brny had imn^ofated hin^self. for as 
 ' much ks h'alf a dozen times to gratify Decree. 
 He had sacrificed himself over and over upon 
 the altar of friendship,' and had allowed hip- 
 self to be^lor^ to death becauM- Dacres so 
 wished it. The whole number of hi? calls *ag 
 in reality only about five or six ; but that num- 
 - bcr, to oinetrf his^stA and {«ih^min«nt , 8««ni?* 
 positively enormous, and represented an im- 
 mense amount of human suffering. 
 
 One day, upon reaching his quarters,, after 
 one of these^icalls, he found Dacrea there, itfak- 
 ing himLelf, as usual,, very much at borne 
 
 cheerfully, "how waves the flag now? Are 
 y%u hauling it down, or are you standing tu 
 your guns ? Toss over the cigars, and give an 
 account of yourself." ;'-..' 
 
 "Do you know any thing about law. Haw- 
 bury ?" was DacresV answer. 
 
 "Law?" \ 
 
 "Yes." , , ^ ^\ ■ 
 
 "No, not much. But what in the world 
 makes you ask such a question as that ? Law '. 
 No— not I." 
 
 "Well, there's a point that I should like" to 
 ask somebody about." 
 
 "Why not get a lawyer?" 
 
 " An Ifali^ lawyer's no use. " ■ 
 
 " Wdl, English lawyers ore to t)e found. I 
 dare soy there are twenty within five minutes' 
 distance of this place." 
 
 " Oh, I don't want to bother. I only want- 
 ed to ask some one's 6)>inion in a general w&)\" 
 
 "'WelXwhafa the point t' ^ ,. 
 
 "Why this," said Dncres, after a little hesi- 
 tation. "You've heord of outlawry ?" 
 
 "Should think I hul — Robiii Hood and \»^ 
 merry men, Lincoln green, Sherwood Forest, 
 and all that sort of thing, you know. But 
 what the mischief sets you thinking about Ilol^ 
 Hood ?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean that rot.' I mean jial 
 outlawry — when a fellow's in debt, you know"." 
 
 /'Well?" *^ 
 
 "Well; if he goes out of the countryjjpil,^. 
 stoys oway a certain number of years, the dew's"! 
 oujlawed, you know." . "'• 
 
 ** The deuce it is 1 ■ Is it, though ? I've been'*" 
 jl, debt, but I. always ^nanagcd to p;ill fhhovglk 
 'without getting so far. But that's convenient 
 for some fellows too. " 
 
 " I'm a little muddy aboiit it, but I've heard 
 something to this effect. I think the time in 
 seven years. If the dobt^is not acknowledged ' 
 during the interval, it's outlawed. And how, 
 'pon my life, my dear fellow, Ircally dou.'t know 
 but that I've jumbled up irnna fragments of 
 English low with American. I felt Ijiat I was 
 muddy, and so I thought I'd ask you." 
 
 "Don't know. any more about it than about 
 the antediluvians." _ t 
 
 "It's an important 'point, and I should like 
 to have it looked i^. " 
 
 "Well, get a lawyer here; half London is 
 on the Continent. But still, my dear fellow, 1 
 don't 8ee,yhat you're driving at.' You're not 
 in debt?" * , % 
 
 »' ^o— ibis i«B,'« Hcbt; but it struck iwe that 
 this miglit pQsl\k0< apply to other kinds of cow 
 
 "Oh!''JBkv ^ 
 
 » "Yes.'f^ \ ^' 
 M Ho wi JWfcih jW what, for initancft?" - 
 
 'Wei, my dearjellow," B&id Hawbnry, | you know." , 
 
 Welly'ifou see, I thought, you know, roai 
 all cciitract«,might be^ncluded under it ; and so 
 1 thought {hat if seven ^enrs or so annulM 
 all contracts, it miglit have some effect,*'yon, 
 ktiow, upon— the— the^he marriage contwct, 
 
 o 
 
 'imi 
 
At this Hawbnry started im stnrp<l «t n„ 
 
 Marriage? GooSd ! doS^'vorkn' ""''• 
 thing can ^brogate that? Of In ^ ""^ 
 
 of crime, one ca^n get a dilor^e u'tTh '" ""'' 
 othprwnir e " ""^""^ce ; JHjt there IS no 
 other way. Seven years ? By Jove ! A good 
 
 THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 S8 
 
 charge against you andYhe^h^fd-aL tVVT 
 
 Xrd%o''°'"v?"'^'f ""'' "ej-t'VolII; 
 
 idea that. Whv man""'if th T"' ""''^' ."^ K""'* but the mosi 
 don, would ri^J;jLed'«'H'ff''"«-^''« '"""'^y-" 
 
 the subiRpf ' eu to 
 
 one, my boy. No, no; there's no heVfor k 
 
 You gave your word, old chan ' f.lV i VJ , 
 
 . ns part.' and you're in ?or it '"'^' '^'""' '^° 
 
 i^l''^r^"!:!;rfe^'^p-d.o 
 
 dispel his project f^omhrS "EZted "^^ "^""'^ «'^^™ '-«„;! trar^'nyde': 
 
 change the subject. 
 
 "Ob, by-the-way," said he, "yon needn't 
 have any further trouble about any of them 
 You don't seem inclined to take any definU^ 
 action, so the action »,n ».„ .„i.._ 1' "enpite 
 
 ;-oasmWso;r;r;^;™I,^-^i;-^ 
 
 -'irX^yV.^''*'^'''«r''^-- 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 ./^-^fcSowr'''"^''''^"^^"-'^^- 
 
 ^jnS;^^::;;;.!r^-''--esprowi- 
 
 .^JOh ye< I heard something or other to- 
 
 " What was lit ?" ' , . 
 
 "Well, it seems that he sived hnr it ^''."■•^"•ation of S( 
 
 Bomeihing of that sort." ''*"^ ''f«. o-" ""ng, you know. ' 
 
 iV"Sav(!d her life!" Dacres sturtprl "ri J ^'^'■** '"^'"I'^ed into sombre silence P«, 
 V»"e? Com.. 00!"-*^ ''''"""*'''• "°* ^1 r-'V''"" ''" V" hour bo did not say a wo!d 
 ; Oh, on th» Alps somewhere." " ^^^^ ^^r*^""! '»*< «oo/^pd watched h m 
 
 ''On the Alps I saved her life ! Come now '"' '/."'"f'ing approaching to 'anxiety. 
 
 ;rsheXitr« D'oh\'.-r" 
 weir, I didn t hei(r any thinj? very definite 
 
 What do you mean ?" 
 pies." '""'° """' '^^y '"■^ '^' K"'"* t» le-'ve Na- 
 
 "To leave Naples!" 
 
 Dacres uttered this in d voice of grief and 
 surpr.. Which astonished Hawbu>y a^d"!" - 
 
 "Yes," he said. "You know they've been 
 
 here long enough. They want to seVLme 
 
 >^week, you know. .No end of excitement' 
 
 ';rrii«^-^-''«-'^«i''''at:oTo^ 
 
 H^bury," said he at last, 
 "^^^oldmiin?" 
 
 was knork«<i ,;,.„ . . "°- ' " ^^*>^ she 
 
 Md her wayl!" . > ' " ' ^ ■"""* her 
 
 «io„ wa.troJif„^„l",?r- -^<i f-t flir. 
 
 I ■ "^,"'"» »nu all her vices havg t aken >h i 
 
 Ha*bu 
 
 W' -■ 
 
 "^goingtoUome." 
 ^'Wui^toKome!" 
 
 "Yes, me, rfo Rome." ' ^ife' ' 
 
 "Oh, nonsense! See here, oM boy Yob'* 
 
 :r„'.'/.'^"^'- "?^ y°" ^^o^- ireak it^np. yJ^. 
 
 I mgoing-to Rome, "repeated Dacitis, stol- 
 Jdly " I ve made up my mini" . ' 
 
 . ««'.«-eally,"/emonst^at<^awbnry "See 
 hdVo now my dear fellow > J^enj, ^^^ i„„7 
 
 U^ Jove I .you don't co.u<ii4Wr^Jfy," ' W • 
 
 Oh jies^T; do". I know -every thinir • I ohn ▼^ 
 
 aider ^Wa-y thing." "•^Z Ming , i con- :^y 
 
 ''But jrhat goodwill it do?" ? 
 
 v^'Nothf„^b„tevAV?rcon,e<irit,'V , . 
 Ob, n/ev,l ne# n#BM«rily oome of it." 
 ' By Jove r" Pxi>'i»!m«-i i^«._i: . . •. 
 
 1^ 
 
 t 
 
 m 
 
 „ iTTa*i"°'7h:t'".r":^^i^- *^"^- 
 
 «i(MhSr " '""'"'^'' ' ""• •'«.■'•«•• I 
 
 > » n \ ^- 7, ' '"=3» n<»8M«nly oome of i 
 
 i^^^-]::«^^di«^„ry^M^^^ 
 
 ^^*«!i«sd. ~»Bpry, my dear feUoWlPK 
 
 
 She 8 Burwunded by friends, yon know Sh* 
 never can be ydu,»,^au kno^.^ There's a if«lt 
 gulfj.e,wcen you, .& .^a^^ ^^^^P^^ 
 
 f:V 
 
 1 
 
■St 
 
 54 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 tomless abyss, never to ds traversed, where she 
 stands on one side, and I on the other, and be- 
 tween us hate, deep and pitiless hate, undying, 
 eternal!" 
 
 " Then, by Jove ! my dear fellow, what's the 
 use of trying to fight against it ? You can't do 
 any thing. If this were Indiana, now, or even 
 New York, I wouldn't say any thing, you know ; 
 but you know an Indiana divorce wouldn't do 
 t/ou any good. Her friends wouldn't take you 
 on those terms — and she wouldn't. Not she, 
 by Jove!" 
 
 "I must go. I mnst follow her," continued 
 Dacres. " The sight of her has roused a devil 
 within me that I thought was laid. I'm a 
 chattged man, Hawbury." 
 ." I should think so, by Jove !" 
 
 " A changed man," continued Dacres. "Oh, 
 Heavens, what power there is in a face ! What 
 terrific influence it hp over a man ! Here am 
 I ; a few days ago I was a free man ; now I am 
 a slave. But, by Heaven ! I'll follow her to 
 the world's end. She shall not shake me off. 
 She thinks to be happy without me. She shall 
 pot. I will silcittfy follow as an avenging fate. 
 I can not have her, and<no one else shall. The 
 same cursed fate that severs her from me shall 
 keep her away from others. If I am lonely 
 and an exile, she shall not be as happy as she 
 expects. I shall not be the onlv Oil^to suf- 
 fer." 
 
 "See here, by Jove ! " cried Hawbury. " Real- 
 ly. You're going too far, my deapboy, you know. 
 You ai'e, really. Come now. This is just like 
 a Surrey theatre, you know. You're really rav- 
 ing. Wijy, my po*r old boy, you mxitt give her 
 up. Yon can't do Iny thing. You daren't call 
 on her. You're tied hand and foot. You may 
 worship her here, and rave about your child- 
 angel till you're black in the face, but you nev- 
 er can see her ; and as to all this aboiit stopping 
 her from marrying any other person, that's all 
 rot and bosh. What do you suppose any other 
 nuui would care for your nonsensical raving ? 
 Lonely and an exile I Why, man, she'll be 
 married and done For in three months." 
 
 " You don't understand me," said Dacres, 
 dryly. ' 
 
 "I'm glad that I don't; but it's no wonden, 
 old man, for really you were quite incoher- 
 ent." 
 
 "And so they're going to Rome," said Da 
 cres. "Well, they'll find |{iat I'm not to 
 shi^en off so easily. 
 
 " (;ome DOW, old roan, vou must give 
 that." 
 
 " And I suppose," continued Dacres, with a 
 sneer, "our handaomo, dark-eyed little Italian 
 cavalier is going with ns. Ha, hn, ha I He's 
 
 1*1 tliu lluMW nil lliu flniti, »i» dui tStr 
 
 " WeU, x^j he WMlKure once. 
 
 " Ah I of couiiie— quite devoted. " 
 
 "Oh yes J but dont bo afmid; It was not 
 
 to the child-nng«l. She appears to avoid him. 
 
 That's really quite evident. It's an apparent 
 
 aversion on her put." 
 
 Dacres drew a long breath. 
 
 "Oh," said he; "and so I suppose it's not 
 her that he goes after. I did not suppose that 
 it was. Oh no. There*^ another one— more 
 piquant, you know— ha, ha!— a devoted lover 
 — saved her life— quite devoted— and she sits 
 and accepts his attentions. Yet she's seen me 
 and knows that I'm watching her. Don't she 
 know met Does she Xvant any further proof 
 of what I am ready to do i^ The ruins of 
 Dacres Grange should serve her for life. Slie 
 tempts fate when she carries on her gallantries 
 and her Italian cicisboism under the eyes of 
 Scone Dacres. It '11 end bud. By Heaven, it 
 will!" ! 
 
 Scone Dacres breathed hard, and, raising his 
 head, turned upon Hawbury a pair of eyes 
 whose glow seemed of fire. 
 
 " Bad !" he repeated, crashing his fist on the 
 table. " Bad, by Heaven ! " 
 
 Hawbury looked at him earnestly. 
 
 "My dear boy," said he, "you're getting too 
 excited. Be coni. Really, I don't believe yoii 
 know what you're saying. I don't understnmi 
 what you mean. Haven't the faintest idea what 
 you're driving at. You're making ferocious 
 threats aitainst some people, but, for my life, 
 I don't know wAo they are. Hadn't you bet- 
 ter try to sneak so that a fellow can under- 
 stand the general drift, at least, of what vou 
 say?" 
 
 "Well, then, yon understand this much— 
 I'm going to Rome." v 
 
 "I'm sorry for it, old boy.'-' 
 
 "And see hefe, Hawbury, I want you to 
 come with me." 
 
 "Me? What for?" 
 
 " Well, I want .you. I may have need of 
 you." 
 
 As Dacres said this his face assumed so dark 
 and gloomy an expression that Hawbury l)cgaii 
 to think that there was something serious in all 
 this menace. 
 
 "Ton niy life," said he, "my dear boy, I 
 really don't think you're in a fit state to be al 
 lowed to go by ymirsclf. You look (piitc di-.< 
 perate. I wish I could make you give up thii' 
 infernal Roman notion." 
 
 " I'm going to Rome !" repeated Dacres, res- 
 olutely. 
 
 Hawbury looked at him. 
 ' Youll come, Hawbury, won't you ?" 
 ' Why, confound it all, of course. I'm afraid 
 
 u'll do something rash, old man, and you'll 
 e to have me to stand between you and 
 harm." 
 
 Oh, don't be concSVned about me," said 
 Dacres. " I only want to watch her, and sec 
 what her little game is. I want to look at her 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 ^Boii 
 
 i^Hmv 
 
 Whar: 
 
 fcrnnlly beautiful, too ; hasn't added a year or 
 a day to hef face ; more lorely than ?ver; morr 
 beautiful than she was even when J flnt sav 
 l|pr. And ther(i,'t a loftnesii about her that %\\t 
 n«ver had before. Where the deuce did ibe get 
 that ? Oood idea of hern, too, to cultifate the 
 » ' ' . 
 
 Koft Style. A 
 Can it be ret 
 could be rea 
 It's her art. 
 She cultivate 
 tract lovers — 
 her life—who 
 yes ; and I — 
 gether and li 
 snicker — " 
 
 "Confound 
 on at that ra 
 " Are you tak 
 er ? By Jove 
 this Roman joi 
 "No, I'll ke 
 "What for! 
 object. '*^ 
 
 "My object 
 
 I can't give he 
 
 , "follow her. Sh 
 
 follo^her. SI 
 
 seeing me on hi 
 
 is mfnc. She i 
 
 fer. She shall I 
 
 terfly life which 
 
 fate, and she sh 
 
 "Ry Jove!" 
 
 deuce is all this i 
 
 Look here, old i 
 
 you know. Wf 
 
 Whom lire you g 
 
 you going to be' 
 
 about ?" 
 
 "Who?"crie, 
 As hf nHiil thi 
 the table. 
 
 "The deuce !' 
 at him ; after w 
 "by Jove!" 
 
 Not much mor 
 
 lence.for a long t: 
 
 in« violently at J 
 
 thing to interruf; 
 
 hour or so Dacn 
 
 Hawbury was lef 
 
 lion. 
 
 And this was tl 
 
 He saw (hat Di 
 
 had changed com] 
 
 stateof mind seem( 
 
 , was an evil gleam 
 
 madness. What : 
 
 was the new revul 
 
 mMjifest. It was r 
 
 angel as Wttcr and 
 
 The gender feelinjf 
 
 er one. It might t 
 
 nn argument ngnin 
 
THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 She cultivates the soft, sad style so as to ^1 ".,^'^"2°" °^^"'^'-''«'« «o"l-you„g, beau- 
 tract lovers-Iovers-,vho adore her-who sa"^ i co„ rtl 1 , l"^' '''«""^' '•e«"«'J. Hch, honored, 
 her life-who become her obedient sla'e ° Oh ' ZZLu "^^Y' ^^""' '"'^ •" >'<="'« »' '« 
 ves; and I-,vh«t am I? Why they get to is tult "?'''''''" '''■•''''*•'"''''''•'' '*"«> 
 gether and laugh at me; they giggle thev W.,,;? "*, '"''""'' '° «^« «« ^e g^zed. 
 snicker—" ''^ K'ggie , tney Was it any wonder ? ' 
 
 "Confound it all, man, what are you going Latlll f!!!\-''^"'V!;""«'''' ""'^'^^'^ f-l'^ym- " 
 on at tl^t .te .rP- ^^-pted LX;f 'C^t^id S.J^^^^^ ' 
 
 « * . . 'iiicrrupieu Mawbury 
 
 Are you taking leave of your senses altogeth- 
 
 1- J^y ^'^r^' 0>d man, you'd better give up 
 
 this Roman journey " ' 
 
 "No, I'll keep at it." 
 objec^^""' ,C°"f°'"'<li'' Idon'tseeyour 
 
 r can t give her up. I won't give her u... n 
 'follow her. She shall see me every where T 
 ^lojy her. She sha'n't go any Where withou 
 B«..ng me on her track. She shall see that sTe 
 .8 mfne She shall know that she's got a mas- 
 ter She shall find herself cut off from thati - 
 terfly hfo wh,ch she hopes to enter. I'll be her 
 fate, and she shall know it." 
 
 "By Jove!" cried Hawbury. "^Vlmt tbp 
 
 i:ik';:~ old f ""=' .^->o»-'^. ori";^ 
 
 iMok here, old boy, you're utterly beyond m, 
 you know. What the mischief do yL ^Z ? 
 Whom are you going to follow ? Wh<«.. fate aro 
 illfP '" ••«■'' Whose track are y ,ki„g 
 
 " Who r cried Bbcres. " Why, mv wife !" 
 the table*"' ' ""^ """''' '"" "" '''''"""'■ "" 
 "The deuce!" exclaimed Hawbury, ..„,,„^ 
 
 " bj'jo've?""" ""'='' ""' "''"'' "-"«'"f"iiy 
 
 Not much more was said. Dacres sat in si 
 
 - — "^ "u^tcu uy nimse 
 catastrophe would be sure to occur. He de- 
 termmed therefore, to accompany his fnend 
 so as tq do what he could to a.' rt'^^he calami?; 
 which he dreaded. """"y 
 
 DatcMo W''" "*"" '^"■'^ ''^ ^^-' -'■> 
 As for Dacres, he seemed to be animated by , 
 
 over aTai-r""' "'"' "^ ^''P''^'^^'* ^^ "^ 
 
 "She stood between me and mv child-an- 
 
 halZr'' ''"'"* ^''"■'^^" "" ''"'i her 
 
 ..„.„„.., ,„ur« was said. Dacres sat in si^ 
 
 lence/or a long time, breathing h/rd and nuff m^Z^'" I'-'^^u'"' ""^t" '" "*" »''« coramonesl 
 
 nifi- vlol^n.w „, ..!„ „:.._. J S™' """ l'««-. q«'eshon about her. All this, of course. Only con 
 
 IV nrmed her nrovinno ^»:„.- -_j.. . 'j .'»-"" 
 
 ing vtolcntly at his cigar. HawBury «aw' m 
 hu,g to interrupt his meditation. After an 
 our or 80 DacreMramped off in silence, and 
 Hawbury was left .,/ meditate over the situ" 
 
 And this wai the result of his meditations 
 He saw that Dacres was greatly excited, and 
 had changed completely from his old self His 
 state of mjnd seemed actually dangerous. There 
 was an evil gleam in bis eye? that looked like 
 madness. What made it more perplexing S 
 was the new revulsion of feeling that nj wa. 
 manifest. It wo. not so much love for th« child 
 jngel OS bitter and venomous hato for his >vif.. 
 1 he geueler feeling had given place t" the H 
 er onn ti mi'.^< i ■ ..." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 thk zouave officer. 
 Whatever trouble Ethel had experienced at 
 Naples from her conviction that Hawbury was 
 bi'!,?7rT^u ""'^' '^ P°«''"''«. intensified 
 Rom T"r """ '"' ''"'' '■""°*«'l 'hem to 
 «ilTh 1,^' «">« motives for this could not pos- 
 ed t^at it"tS t '"VT '■"' °'*^°"""'' «°"«'"d- 
 ed that It *|» his infaluatiop for Minnie, and 
 h.s determination to j,in her for himself She 
 Itl •''"•"'^^"ehnt he knew that she belongecUo 
 the party^ » '^a^ st* utteriy indifferent To her 
 that ho cyrolotcly ignored her, and Jiad not 
 sufficient !;,|frest in her to a^k the commonest 
 •Jiieshon about her A 1 .1.;. „r " "ouesi 
 
 er one. It might Uve been possible to attempt 
 an argiiment against the indulgence of flio fnr- 
 mcri bull ■» m^ ■ i. i ,. .«. ■■ , '" ■ 
 
 . ° ' ""^ ■"■jm^KiHjc ur ine for- 
 "hat cuiUU \M.m avaH ogalnst re- 
 'enge? And now there was rising in the soul 
 
 ult of those injuries which had been carried in 
 iiU heart and brooded oyer for yeart. The sight 
 of his wife ha<l .evidently kindled all this If 
 tho'had not come across f>h p,th he might linvo 
 
 b™. lu . "" '^""'- or course, Only con- 
 
 firmed herprev,ousopinion,and it also deepened 
 her melancholy. One additional offe^ it also 
 
 ,,r.:r, '.^ T" *° '^"P"'" her of any pleas- 
 ure that migTit be had from driv,* about Rome. 
 She felt a morbid dread of meeting him some- 
 where; she did nol^yet feel a% to encounter 
 him she could not' trust herseT, she f«jt sure 
 that If she saw l^m she .would I^s.i all self- 
 <ftntrol, and make ah exhibition of humiliating 
 d«?>r \he dread of this was miffleiin,",^ 
 dotttffi her at home; and so she remained In- 
 I doo« a prisoftar, refrnng her iil>erty, broMIng 
 over her tronW^iL and striving to ac^ufethat • 
 ndifference to * .vhich she believed he had 
 
 S m'k *,7: ^""^ "hou. was , the very 
 tb;ng which would have alleVihted her woes, but 
 
 thiswmtbov o rviliini. t i . 1 ui — , , ' 
 
 Uhc veryiliing tlint Hh, - . was unwilling to 
 
 40i nor could any persuasion --hnko her rtJsolve 
 Oi«d«y Mrs. \frilloughby and Minnie ktte 
 out driving, and in passing through a street they 
 Mcountered a crowd in hMt ef onTt^ ol 
 churches. Another crowd was inside, i^rf „ 
 something *a. g„ii« on, ^.cy stopped ih» c.r 
 ringe and .sat looking. ,The Sitiss Qutidfj^e^ 
 
 -A .i.;4>, ', 
 
 t 
 
 % 
 
5U 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 
 there in their picturesque costume, and the 
 cardinals in their scarlet robes and scarlet 
 coaches, and military otficers of high ritnk, and 
 carriages of the Roman aristocracy filled with 
 beautiful ladies.. "Soinething'of importance was 
 going on, the nature of which they did not know. 
 Alittle knotof Englishmen stood near; and from 
 their rdmarks the ladies gathered tliat this was 
 the Church of the Jesuits, and that the Pope in 
 person was going to ]perform high-mass, and 
 afterward hold a reception. 
 
 Soon there arose a murmur and a bustle 
 among- the crowd, which was succeeded by a 
 deep stillness. The Swiss Guards drove the 
 throng to either side, and a pass;jige-way was 
 thus formed through, tHb people to the church. 
 A cdrriago drove up in great stale. In this was 
 seated an-elderly gentleman in rich pontifical 
 robes. He' had a mikL and gentle face, upon 
 wliich was aswcetjintA'inning sniile. No face 
 is more attractive than that of I'io Nouo. 
 
 "Oh, look!" cried Minnie; "that must bo 
 the Pope. Oh, what a darling ! " 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby, however, was looking else- 
 where. • 
 
 " Minnie," said she. , 
 
 "What, Kitty dear?" ., " , * 
 
 " Are yon acquainted with any Zouave of- 
 ficer ?" 
 
 " Zouave officer ! Why, no ; wh^it put sqch 
 a thing as that into your head, you old silly?" 
 
 "Because there's a Zouave officer ove^ there 
 in the crowd who has been stauing fixedly at 
 us ever since wo ci'inie up, an(i trying to make 
 
 slim, thin, cadaverous man, in his suit ofrnsty 
 black, edging his way through the crowd, so as 
 to get nearer, until at length he stood immedi- 
 ately behind the line of Swiss Guards, who were 
 keeping the crowd back, and forming a passage- 
 way for the Pope. Meanwhile his Holiness was 
 advancing through the crowd. He reached out 
 his hand, and smiled and bowed and murmur- 
 ed a blessing over them. At last bis carriage 
 stopped. The door was opened, and several at- 
 tendants prepared to receive the Pope and as- 
 sist him out. 
 
 At that instant the tall, slim stranger pushed 
 forward his sallow head, with its long, lanky, 
 and rusty I)kck hair, between two Swiss Guards, 
 and tried tto squeeze between them. The Swiss 
 at first s^tood motionless, and the stranger had 
 actually succeeded in getting about half-w^}- 
 through. He was immediately inVront of his 
 Holiness, and'^taring at him with all bis might. 
 His Holiness saw this i'ery peculiar face, and 
 was so surprised that ho uttered an involuntarv 'i 
 cxclaiqatit^n', and stopped short in his descent." 
 
 The straYiger stopped. short too, and quite in- 
 voUmtaf n5-alsoi> For the Swiss Guards, irritated 
 by bis jiertinacity, ani seeing the Pope's ges- 
 ture, turi]i(^ suddenly, and two of them grasped 
 the stranger iJy liis coat collar. 
 
 It was, of course, an extremely (indignilied ' 
 attitude for the Swiss Guards, whose position'is • 
 simply an ornamental one. • Nothing bjit the 
 most unparalleled outrage to their dignitfcould 
 hljvo movSd them to this. So unusual' a dis- 
 play of energy, however, did not last long. A 
 
 signals, and it's my opinion he's idgualing to ! few persons in citizens' clothes darted forward 
 you. I>ookiit him; he's oven there on the top j fromamongthecrowd,andgecuredthestrnnger; 
 
 wliile .the" Swiss, seeing who they were, resumed 
 their erect, -rigid, and ornamental attitude. The 
 Pope found no long«;r any obstacle, and resumeJ 
 his descent. For a moment the strdhgerhiul cre- 
 ated a widQ-spread coBsteriTiition in (lie breasts 
 of all the diffcrent and. very numerotis classes 
 of men who*composed t'hat crowd. The arrest 
 iVas 'the signal for a murmur of voices, among 
 whicli the ladies heard those of the knot of En- 
 glishmen, wIm stopd near. 
 
 " It's some Garibaldian," said they. 
 And this was the general sentiment. ■ ^ 
 
 Several hours after tfcis they were at home, 
 and a caller was announced. It waK^he Baron 
 Atramonte. 
 
 "Atramonte!"iaidLadyll!flryraplo. "Who 
 is that ? We're not at honie, of couwe. Ajra- 
 monte ! Some of thesb italia'n nobles. Keal- 
 ly, I think we have seen enough of them. Who 
 ^8 he, Kitty ?" • 
 
 "I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea. 1 
 neven hoard of him in my life." 
 
 " We're not tfl hoipe, of couitse. It's a sln- 
 hular way. ai)d surely can not ha Roman fnah- 
 
 of the^teps.' 
 
 "i won't Took, "said Minnie, pettishly. "How 
 do I know who he is ? I declare I'm afraid to 
 look ot any body. He'll ttd-coming and saving 
 my life." » 
 
 "I'm sure this man is an old acquaintandc." 
 
 " Nonsense ! how can hiefbb J" 
 
 "It may be Captain Kirby." 
 
 " How sHly ! Why, Captain Kirby is in the 
 Rifles." 
 
 "Perhaps he is dressed this way. just for 
 amusement. Look at him." 
 
 "Now, Kitty, I think you're unkind. You 
 know I don't want to Wok at'him ; I don't want 
 to see him. I don't care who he is — the great, 
 big, ugly, old horrid ! And if you say any thing 
 more, I'll go ISome." 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby was about to say something" 
 but her attention and Minnie's, and thot of every 
 one else, waa suddenly diverted to another quar- 
 ter. 
 
 Among the crowd they bad noticed a tall man, 
 very thin, with alean, cadaverous face, and long, 
 lanky, rusty black- hair. He wore a White neck 
 
 ""f^^nmtrs^BnirSrnmf^lHe^^ But iheToT 
 
 held a large, umbrella in his hand, *hich1ie kept: tinental nobility ar<} j»%dd. " ' .. 
 
 carefully up out of thq way of the crowd. ThU 4n a few fliiBufts tjie ser\ant, wh6 hiid been 
 figure was a conspicoougwio.oVen ih thaloi^wdf J digpatched towjf, "N«i at bqme,," (^turned witji 
 «ud the ladies had noticod it jitjhe very first; ' the ■(atoment that the Baron wishdd particular- 
 
 i ■•:,'"> 
 
 , . As t^ Pbpedrov*. tip thtv mVr'^tldt long, \v to *ee Miai Far < 
 
 a! 
 
 
 At this extra 
 
 fymple and Mr§. 
 
 another, and the 
 
 "I'm sure /do 
 
 said Minnie. " [ 
 
 doigo and see wh 
 
 pleYse ! Oh, doj 
 
 '^Well, J supp 
 
 son/ said ' Lady 
 
 '"I here must be 
 
 dressed ?" she asl 
 
 •.military gentlema 
 
 belong to the arm' 
 
 "Yes, my lady." 
 
 , ' At this Mfg, Wi 
 
 ■fvit one another. ] 
 
 «Bd as no other y 
 
 uwal, in her room, 
 
 "I thought that 
 "Well, Ikti sur. 
 
 Minnie. "I neve 
 
 mylifeV 
 . " It may be Capti 
 
 name and a disgnisi 
 "Oh no, it Isn't. 
 
 he such a perfectr- 
 
 i.omebody, " 
 
 nse. "OH, what^Ani 
 "Jfonseniol. Yd 
 
 'W'iimy.nndsend.Ki 
 "Oh, I do MjhoB 
 
 iewon^t." 
 
 .^^^'""hortiime 
 
 
"^. 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARQN. 
 
 :.»r' 
 
 dressed?-' she asked theTe^"te ^'ZV" 
 ■'• «t one another. Ladf nnlrvmnf "'""' 
 
 my lifeV - " ^."""^^ officer- in 
 
 ■na:eS^a:^:^«'^''>^-'ler,,nassu.ed 
 
 ,„m..l . " ?J'y^^*^'"°"'''e''. Ohd(5«rI, It's 
 
 IWO OF TUKM OBA8PED Tim 1™ ■*^^^!^ 
 
 BA8PED TUK fllyB*N8EE BT U,8 OOAt OOH^" 
 
 yiwebod V, thniigh 
 
 
 like an EnRlisJU, r ,. -f [ '' *"" """" "" 
 to be a foreigner. I'm piS" '"" ' "•"" 
 
 and that yo„ were not at home Ai.H Jw i ' 
 yo« think he said?" And what do 
 
 ;^•on,:^L^1nl.^ntrhar'"is;:^"1 
 voj^£'^s^:;rrKu:A£:^---^o. 
 
 Italian?" ''°->"" '^'""^ ''«/■«'» an 
 
 'At .1*"" ''^ "^-^ -' ''° anl.; erierr 
 
 ,, On dear!" she s^id. 
 
 , '• WhatV the 'rtiatte^;, darling ?' 
 
 ion,^o"f«e7-"""' «'?,''-■•■': -"at „W ba- 
 
 ,,^;o,rdo.,hor.-h^^,,,,,^,,,J^^^er. ^^ -' .-"«' ^^ ^- 
 
 -(^-.hortt,„e.ady..dU.^r.t„r.d:^"^^^^ ^ ■^ 
 
 .^^ , ..♦,.-.> 1 ., - •'I] Y^-td"' '<^''f'-*»«'»«»|«^^ know him 1 ••' , 
 
 -^■>^1. 
 
 /«v 
 
 ,^-»> 
 
58 ♦ 
 
 THE AMEKICAN BARON. 
 
 •^ IWio in it, dear?" / 
 
 ' • IMi, Dowdr ! Oh, Kitty ! " 
 
 "What'* the matter ?" 
 
 " It nHK be ihat man. Oh, was there ever 
 nrh a tmuole — " 
 * " Reallv, Minnie dearest, you are allowing 
 yonrself to get too agitated. Who is this per- 
 
 "•« He — he's — an — American." 
 
 •' An Amoncan ? Why, I jnst said that I 
 tkaniiht he might he one. I didn't know that 
 rma. were aaaoainted with any." 
 
 -'Oh yea; I did, get acquainted with some in 
 — inCanaoH." 
 
 *' Oh : and is this man a. Canadian ?"' 
 
 "No, Dowdy durlint;; only an American." 
 
 "Well, if he's a fmniJ of jours, I suppose 
 you know something atwnt him. But how sin- 
 gular it is that you have so completely forgot- 
 ten his name. Atramonte? Why, I'm sure 
 it's a vert/ singular name for an American gen- 
 tleman — at least it seems so to nie — but J don't 
 •know much about them, you know. Tell me, 
 darling, who is he ?" 
 
 ''He — he saved my life." 
 
 "What! saved your life ? Why, my precious 
 child', what are you taking about ? It was the 
 Italian that saved yoor life, you know, not 
 this ontt." 
 
 "Oh, but he did too," said Minnie, despair- 
 ingly. " I couldn't help it. He would do it. 
 I'apu was vvashed away. I wish they all wouldn't 
 be so ■horrid.'" 
 
 Lady DftJrymple looked in an equally despair- 
 ing manner at Mrs. Willoughby. 
 
 "What is it, Kitty dear? Is the child in- 
 sane,'or what does she mean ? How could this 
 ])er8on have saved her life?" 
 
 ''That's just what distracts me," said Min- 
 nie. "They all d« it. Every single person 
 comes and saves my Kfe. And now I suppose ; 
 I must go down and see this person." 
 
 " Well, really, since you say he saved your '• 
 life, perhaps it would b^ as well not to be un- 
 civil,'" said Lady Dalryjnple ; "but, at the same 
 time, he »eenis to me. to act in a very cxtraor- | 
 dinary manner. And he calls himself a Baron. | 
 Do they have nobles in America?" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know, Dowdy dear. I 
 ' never- knew that he was a Baron. Ho may 
 have been the son of some American Baron ; 
 and — and-' I'm sure I don't know." 
 
 "'Nonsense, Minnie dear," said Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby, "This man's title is a foreign one. 
 He prdbtfbiy obtained it in Italy or Spain, or | 
 |)erhap8 Mexico. 1 think they have titles in ' 
 Mexico, though! really don't kno^^.'' 
 
 "Why, of course, one isn't expecfced to know 
 any thing about America,"said Lady Dalrvm 
 =fite 
 
 " How can I help it ? What am I to do ? I 
 must go, Kitty darling. He is so very positive, 
 and — and he insists so. I doiji^vant tp hurt 
 his feelings, you know ; and 1 reSlly think there 
 is nothing for me to do but to go. What do 
 you think aboti't it, Dowdy dear?',,' and she up-* 
 pealed to her aunt. 
 
 "Well, Minnie, my child, I think it would 
 be best not to bo unkind ok, uncivil, since lia 
 saved your life." 
 
 Upon this Minnie accompanied her sister to 
 see the vJBilor. 
 
 Mrs. Wtlldughby entered the room first, niul 
 JImnio was close behihd hej, as though slie 
 soughXprotection from some unknowg peril. 
 On entering the r<!jp«» they saw a man dressed 
 io Zouave uniform- , His hair was cropped 
 short; he wore a mustache and no beard ; his 
 feature^ were regular and handsome ; while a 
 pair 0^ ^ne dark eyes were looking eurnesilv 
 at thfif door, and the face and the eyes had the 
 expression of one who is trinmphantly await- 
 ing the result of some agreeable surprise. Mrs. 
 Willoughby at once recognized the stranger as 
 the Zouave officer who had stared at them near 
 the Church of the Jesuits. She advanced with 
 lady-like grace toward him, when suddonlv lie 
 stepped hastily past her, without taking aiiv ' 
 notice of her, and catching Minnie in his arms 
 he kissed her several times. 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby started back in horror. 
 
 Minnie did not resist, nor did she stronni, or 
 faint, or do any thing. She only looked a lillle 
 confused, and managed to extricate herHt!lf, aft- 
 er which she took a seat as far away as she 
 could, putting he«; sister between her and the 
 Zouave. But the Zouave's joy was full, and 
 he didn't appear to notice it. He settled him- 
 self in a chair, and laughed loud in his hap|ii- 
 ness. 
 
 "Only to think of it," said he. "Why, I 
 had no more idea of your being here, Minnie, 
 than Victor!/. Well, here you see me. Only 
 been here a couple of months or so. You got my 
 last favor, of course? And ain't you regular 
 knocked up to see mc a Baron ? Yc^, a Baron 
 — a real, live Baron ! I'll tell you all about it. 
 You see I was here two or (hree years ago— the 
 tiraoof Mentana — and fought on the Pope's side. 
 Odd thing, too, wasn't it, for an American? Bu; 
 so it was. Well, they promoted me, and want- 
 ed mc to stay. But I couldn't fix it. I hail 
 business off home, and was on my way there 
 the time of the shipwreck. Well, I've been 
 diHlgin' all. round every where since then, but 
 never forgettin' little Min, mind you, and at 
 last I found myself here, all right. I'd been 
 specalatin' in wines and raisins, and just dnipiied 
 in here to take pet-luck with some old Zona'\'C 
 
 I rnn m-ntinn ,]ii)fr» a niimbnr of V.n I frion.l«, wbon, ilnm una' if fhny d i dn't m alt 
 
 glish statcspen, members of the cabinet, and 
 others, who don't know any mora JtbcNit Ameri- 
 ca than I d"o." 
 
 ■ "Do you really intend to go down yourself 
 , and see him, Minnie dear?" asked , Mrs. Wil- 
 Imtghby. 
 
 mb stay. It scoifig there's squally times aliead. 
 They wanted a live man. They knew I *«« 
 that live man. They offered me any thing I 
 wanteds They offered me the, title of Baron 
 Atramonte. That knocked me, i tell yon. 
 S«y» I, I'm /our man. So now you see me 
 
THE AMEKltAN BARON. 
 
 
 Baron Atramonte, captnin in the Papal Zo,.- 
 av«, ready to go where glory wai,« Ve-Zt 
 fonder than ever of litrie Min. Oh, 1 tell vo 
 Th ' T^ \«"' of "bras, but rm'.o„L he're 
 The meh thmK I'm a little the tallest lot Tn 
 
 Wh T "^ V'""'".""''^^ "'oy ever dilVe 
 When Im .„ Rome 1 do as.tho Romans d„ 
 •nd so I let fly at tl„m a speech every now 
 and them Why, I've gone through neaHy the 
 whole mtional Speaker' by U-is time ^' e 
 
 Yo.U*>w«,ofcolir.e. (^«««,^ ,„„<^, ;;;; 
 '"ThKnifJ"' ''T f*" *'?" h« continned 
 
 «,.'..i . — »6 Tlf^nT! Tknew you'd bo 
 ofS J: n "' "Pk"'."' » '""'P ""en yo'„ hea^ 
 ^ ^ u^*""""' ''"' ' '■'"'"y '"dn't think you'd 
 come all the way he«, to see me. And you do 
 
 Lt? Yo".T' You do boat all! A^tlS 
 %L I ^*"'" * infoduced me, you know." 
 I he Baron rose, and looked expectantly at 
 
 J *■ t 
 
 al good L ! ■ jgpr 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby, and then at Minnie Thn 
 atter faltered forth some words, among wh^eh 
 the Baron caught the names Mrs Willoll hv 
 
 Sh " M !?"""' '"^ ""- "-e pSS u' 
 « .th the m,ddle initial and all, i„ a queer, prli 
 
 sume Well, I m pleased to see you, ma'am 
 
 member your name ? Ifs associated with the 
 brightest bouy of my lifo. u was in yoir p„r! 
 
 ot ner tiand. Your hand, madam " 
 
 And, sfoo0ng down, he grasped Mn, Wil 
 longhby's Jund, which was „ot extenTd and 
 >-nng U ..hard that^she actually gave a' hS 
 
 - -- ™r pmt, imilnnrTre cohtmued, '^m ^^ 
 not ashamed of my name^ot u mite. I,t a 
 Rood, honest name.; but being as the Holy 
 Jather's gone and made me a nobto, I pre£ 
 bemg addressed by my title. AH AraeK. 
 
 Z tZTl- "'"'^ '"'^"^ them • Tt r-. 
 mg in Homo you see, we must do as the Ro- 
 man, do ; and s^o yon needn't know-me a. R„f,^ 
 
 4 . 
 
 i 
 
60 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 Kf. Gunn, but as the Baron Atramonte. As for 
 you, Min — ^you and I won't stand oh cferemony 
 — you may call me 'Roof,' or any pther name 
 you fancy. I would suggest some pet name — 
 . something n little loving, you know." 
 
 In the midst of.afl this, which was poured 
 forth with extreme volubility, the servant came 
 a^d handed a card. 
 
 '^ Count Girasole." 
 
 'UAWUDBY, AD I'm A LIVIMO SU<1IEU !" 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 At any other tfrao Mr* Willoughby would 
 perhaps have manoeuvred Minnie out of the 
 rogm ; but on the pitesent occasion the ad- 
 vent of the Italian was an indxpressibleM^lief. 
 Mrs. Willoughby was not prepai^d for a scene 
 like this. The manners, the language, and the 
 acts of Rufus K. Gnnn had filled her with sim- 
 ple horror. She was actually bewildered, and 
 her presence of mind was utterly gone. As for 
 Minnie, she was quite helpt,e8s, and sat, looking 
 frightened. The Baron Atramonts might Rave 
 been one of the excellent of th"e earth — he might 
 have been brave and loyal and just and true a;id 
 tender, but his maimer was one to which Ihey 
 were unaccustomed, and consequently Mrs. 
 Willoughby was quite ovorcplhe. 
 
 The arrival of Girasole, therefore, was greet- 
 ed by her with joy. She at once rose lo meet 
 . him, and could jnot h e lp infusing iato-her. greet s to ilunk wKether she wo^iL ttet 
 
 ing a warmth which she had never shown hiis 
 before. Girasole's handsome eyes sparkled 
 with delight, and when Mrs. Willoughby point- 
 edly.made way for bim to seat himself next to 
 Minnie his cup of joy was fulK Mrs. Wil- 
 ionghby's only idea at that momeql was to 
 
 throw 8ome.,ob8taclo between Minnie and that 
 " dreadful person" who cUimed her as his own, 
 and had taken) such shocking liberties. She 
 did not know that Girasole was in Rome, and 
 now accepted his arrival at that opportune mo- 
 ment as something little less than providential. 
 
 And now, actuated still by the idea of throw- 
 ing further obstacles btipveen Minnie and the 
 Baron, she herself went over to the latter, 
 and began a series of polite remarks about the 
 weather and about Rome ; while Girasole, eager 
 to avail himself of his unexpected privilege, 
 conversed with Minnie in a low voice in his 
 brokenTCnglish. 
 
 This arrangement was certainly not very 
 agreeable to the Baron. His flow of spirits 
 seemed to be checked at once, and his volu- 
 bility ceased. He made only monosyllabic an- 
 swers to Mrs. Willoughby's %marks, and his 
 eyes kept wandering over beyond her to Min- 
 nie, and scrutinizing the Italian who was thus 
 monopolizing her at the veiy moment when he 
 was beginning to have a ' ' realizing sense" of her 
 presence. He looked puzzled. " He could not 
 understand it at all..^ He felt that some wrong 
 was done by somebody. He fell into an un- 
 gracious mood. Ho hated the Italian who had 
 _t^m eome between him and bis happiness, and 
 who chatted with Minnie, in his abominable 
 broken English, just like an old Acquaintance. 
 He cbnldn't understand it. He felt m unpleas- 
 ant restraint thrown over him, and^^egan to 
 meditate, a departure, and a call at some more 
 favorable time lat^r in (he evening. But b« 
 wanted to have a few more words with " Min," 
 and so he tried to " sit out" the Italian. 
 
 But" the Italian was as determined as (he 
 American. It was the first chased th^t he h^d 
 had to get a word with Minnie sin^e h^ was in 
 Milan, and he wm eager to avail himsnf of it. 
 Mrs. Wiltoughby, on her part, having thus dis- 
 comfited the Barun, was iKt unmindful of the 
 other danger ; so she moved her seat to a posi- 
 tion near enough to overlook and check Gira- 
 sole, and then resumed those formal, chilling, 
 heartless, but perfectly polite remarks which 
 she had been administering to the Baton since 
 Girasole's arrivfll. 
 
 At length Mrs. Willoaghby began to be dread- 
 fully bored, and groaned in spirit over the sit- 
 oation in which Minnie ^ad placeii herself, and 
 racked her. brains to find some way of retreat 
 from these two determined lovers, who thus set 
 at naught the usages of society fSr^t their own 
 convenience. She grew indignant. She won- 
 dered'if they would ever go. She Wondered if 
 it were not possible to engage the Count sod 
 the Baron 4n a conversation by themirives, and, 
 under cover of it, withdraw.' f ifia|ly she b«(i»ii 
 
 ■ / 
 
 being rude to them, sinti they were so incon- 
 siderate. She thought over t^istisnd was rap- 
 idly coming to the decision that some act of 
 rodenesB was her only bope^ whsn, to ,ber im- 
 mense relief, the servant entered and announe^ 
 Lord Hawbaiy. j. . 
 
 'I^d 
 
-:^ 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 was to Mr8.WilIoughl,y like light^i^a dark f ^'.^'^lo to the other, and had led to the 
 &"■ J'' .'^i""« "'•*°^' brought „^e*se re 1^^^ ^U " ''^'"'^'''''^^ '"" "^ •»"'-' «PP t! 
 
 net in her difficult imition. the ladies msn I ;. ► " •, '. '"' " """ qualities. Now if i» 
 
 am wereahouttlffefetthenew-come^^X^^^ if they had not knowVone 
 
 to the.r «mazem/nt, the Baron spronK forward' nn t ' """''""•^ '"'«»" have thought the Bar 
 caught Lord Hawbury's Imnd/an^wrunH; Hawh °'"' ""V'''' ""'■°" "'iK'-t have called 
 
 vehemence. r> 
 
 "Hawbury, aMm a living sinner' Th.,n 
 
 atr:- "w^fe''°" '^'•"^^■•°"=' Good 
 A^H j; ' ,, ' ""• «'*'»b<"-y, this is real good ' 
 tf""". «'«" yo" look J I/ou, are yo„ ? All 
 n|ht,Ud right side up? Who'd haie iLugl 
 
 f I ev^ was so astonished in my life ! YouYe 
 the lastUan I'd have expect J. Yes 1^ 
 You mayVbet high on that." ' ' 
 
 1ow'''^'kiX"^'I 't"'*^ Hawbury, "my dear fel- 
 low ilai^erod, I'm sure. And how «roes it 
 with you ? >euced odd place to find youVd 
 
 "But you're not a Roman Catholic "said 
 
 ;^S;zo:!:r"-'""'-"'^p-'^' 
 
 theirT^''To7ef '' «^"'^ "^^ ""*» '^'""«««o 
 
 .;«nic..lari„thearm;:'"l''t;krth::th"°;,° 
 oH7ler„;^?.- «-"^-'I'-eBo.nan'ca?h' 
 
 I'Koman Catholic leanings?" 
 .JfliJJ^^' "'« I'^Po- He's a fine man. 
 
 boy. And Ifm deuced RTaa"to"soe7or'J'''^ «"^''' ^ "''' 
 
 know, and all^iat sort of .hing ■- ^°"' ^°" '^--'^ «"« «-• I regard that ma"n m^relike 
 
 Thl'^ M?l' ■" """ "P°" ""^ '■"«« Of thb orl e r not am .^7 "'71^° *" <^°"'"e«sion, and you're 
 Then Hawbury greeted the ladies, a/d apolo' > "° " '"'^'"''«'- «f 'be Church. "' ^ 
 
 ^f ,^^ f 'f "K 'bat the Baron was a very oU ' and > >,' ", ""'° ^'™ ^ '"^'"''er of the armv 
 and tried friend, wh*>p. he had not seen ?, Sh 2^ "^•''■'"'^ ""^«''"><' "f 'be Sn: 
 'ears;; wh.ch iotelligeice surprised Mrs!"^ fite fiM,'"^ ^""'f '^''^''^ •"'' •<"■»« fir«t- 
 oughby greatly, antl brought a faint ray of I -llR'""°"^ '.'"""' '°°- Yes, Sir." 
 son^ething like peace to poor MiHnie. ^ ,"S^^T Zf' "^ » ^'"""■"K i" «" that." 
 
 The ladies, were not imprisone.l much W 'wtT *r ^''•>' "« "" leaning. Whv 
 Ker., Girasoie thre^ a Mack look rLord" a ^rim 7^^ '/^'"^'^ber the time when K 
 Hawbury, and retreaied Afternfo,v.r!l . * gnm, true-blue Puritan. Well I «;„* ihT, 
 
 chat Hawbury also ^tired.^lnd mat\r Z; o"f The 'Jw ^ """^ ""^ ^^'^ -' ''■" ^ 1^ 
 go with h.m. And the Baron went wi.S fiLst J^ ^.^''- ■^"'' ""^^ I 'hink he's the 
 any urging. He infisted, however on BhJkZl , "l^ gentleman F, ever saw. I didn't u4e 
 hands heartily with both of tiieladi'es e Sectf nfte^ ° Ca'holic^h„pel ^ell, now I m there 
 ly Minnie, whose poor little hanTieTe:,; ! rtdv t^^ '"*'^ Besides Pm 
 
 and what mnr<>. nnn >!,„,. _.. ^. . "'t."'i 
 
 ♦ 
 
 .. u J . ' "' '"■'■"' nanrt lie nearli 
 
 « into a p Ip; and to the latter he "hi •- 
 pered the consoling assurance Jhat he would 
 como to see hter on the following day After 
 which he followed his friend out ^ 
 
 teJ*d'Hrwt.!l":!::;:^j^:-i?''--'i"- 
 
 -;^whatn;;.reea„t^-;-r=;S;;:a 
 " You see, after our war J got my hand in and 
 
 T too' '^^nT:'"'- ■^'''« Ind'an" woSdn? 
 o— too ffijidhithroat-"'"'; ■ ,.•«"»' 
 
 
 , _. „,„uo iiiinseit very mucl 
 
 fiome in a rocking-chnir, which the Baron re- ! cnlifltPrVT"". T''' '°°'' " """^^ '» »bo Pope; 
 (farded as the „ri,i. .„^ :_.. __ . . "'I [« cnliated, was at Mentana, fit there, got tiromot- 
 
 am' Z",! ''°""'' T""^' «'anVit 'a n/he™ I 
 am, back as-n n ■ th...,«i. i.„... i_- ■ v. . *• 
 
 m.,^ 1 1. ." -■""■> """:" me iiaron 
 
 P>rdeda« the pride and joy and glory of 
 
 '"""'>' I - --- -1 ^-"uiuii t sianu It, and here I 
 
 "By Jove!" cried Hawbury "This . """; '"«='f "«»!" i 'hough how long Pm going to 
 
 , ' ,■' """"i"«ucnap;and 
 
 imagine how. the mischief you got hero !' 
 
 Ihis led to- long explanations, and a Ions 
 
 nversation, whicK was pK,tra.ted far into th* 
 
 friend's! ""™*""" ^njoynent of both of th' 
 
 ^S^ - ^'?:"F^'^ H . w hi ny ^toi^^ 
 ironrmeHa. He had become acquainted wiU 
 
 imericr ^'^\''''T "P°" 'he*^prairies of 
 America, near the Rocky Monntahi,. The 
 
 tZl^ '"*'"**' •'•'" f^*"" Indians, ty whom 
 
 ik «»!...•» . "'""« regions, enduring per wharevpr tUlBf • . "^ 
 
 «.«.h..5«,„em.eMndn.ughi„git1„geL^ral. thethXe^^ 
 
 ''••/■-...■ ■■ ' " . " 
 
 ;;why8o?" 
 
 " jMi, it's an agpavltin^ place, flUhe.bestr" 
 fere's such ah everlasting waste' eTre- 
 r^WWnf Oiat itV ilwavs the case 
 Tlffiy'r«^*fii^?.*™V ""'""""^ '« do business, 
 lofslf 1!^ WK*" I """' "^ "• I'v« known 
 
 wnwever tbeSPt a ministerial committee, 
 
 Ihfaw thiyt.- 
 
02 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARUN. 
 
 ."^:. 
 
 -■ ^'lO 
 
 Yes, Sir. Now tliat's the case here. Here'it a 
 fine country. Why, round this hero city there's 
 a country, Sir, that, if properly managed, might 
 beat any of pur prairies — and look at it. 
 
 "Then, again, they complaiu of poverty. 
 Why, 1 can tell you, from my own observation, 
 that they've got enough capital locked up, lying 
 useless, in this hero city, to rcge;p^rate it all, 
 and put it on its feet. This capital wants to bo 
 ntilized. It's been lying too long without pay- 
 ing interest. It's time that it stopped. Why, 
 I tell you what it is, if they wore to sell out 
 what they have here lying idle, and realize, 
 they'd get enough money to form an ehdowr 
 ment fund for the Pope and his court so big 
 that his Holiness and everyofflcial in the place 
 might get salaries all round out of the interest 
 that would enable them to live like— well, I was 
 going to say like prinegs, but there's a lot of 
 princes in Konie that live so shabby that the 
 comparison ain't worth frothing. 
 
 "Why, see here, now, ""continued the Baron, 
 warming with his thcilSte, wl}ict) si|^|med to be a 
 conge^yjjyjvne ; "just Iook here ; see the posi- 
 toman court. They can actnally 
 |the whole world. Voluntary dbn- 
 f; arc a wonderful power. Think 
 hiiry societies — our Sabbath-school 
 i in the States. Think of the wealth, 
 f Olid the action of all our great char- 
 itable, plnfflnthropic, and religious bodie* What 
 supports them all? Voluntary contj-ibutions. 
 Now what I mean to sayi^ this — I mean to say 
 that if a proper organization was arranged here, 
 they could get annual receipts from the whole 
 round globe that \Vould make the Pope the 
 richest man on it. Why, in that case Roths- 
 child wouldn't he a circumstance. The Pope 
 might go into banking himself, and control^the 
 inarkcts of fhe world.' But no. There's a lot 
 of ministers here, and they hayen't any head 
 for iK I wish they'd give me ft chance. I'd 
 make things spin. 
 
 "Then, again, they've got other things here 
 that's ruining them. Therft's too much repres- 
 sion, and that don't do for the immortal mind. 
 My idea Is that every man was created free and 
 equal, and has a right -to do just as he darn 
 pleases ; but you can't beat that into the heads 
 of the governing class here. No, Sir. The 
 fact is, what Rome wants is a republic. It 'II 
 come, too, sonie day. 'The great mistake of 
 , his Holiness's life is that he didn't put himself 
 at the head of the movement in '48. He had 
 the chance, but he got frightened, and backed 
 down. Whereas if lie had been a rpal, live 
 Yonkee, now — if he had been like some of our 
 Western parsons— he'd have put himself on the 
 tiptop of the highest/'ave, and gone in. Why, 
 -T-ifrcetjld-iayeiuuMCfHlaly at hi« right hiwid^y 
 this tiilie,TnstMd of .having it all against htm. 
 There's where he made his little mistake. If 
 1 were Popp I'd figlit the enemy with their own 
 we^Jions. 'I'd accept the situation. I'd go in 
 h^ad oter heels for a republic. I'd have Rome 
 the capital, myself president, Garibaldi com- 
 
 mander^JKchiei', Mazzii)i secretary of sjjnte— 
 a man. Sir, that can lick even Bill Seward liiin- 
 self in a regular, old-fn^hioned, tonguey, sub- 
 tile, diplomatic note;" And in that case, with 
 a few live men at' the head of aD'airs, where 
 would Victor Emanuel be ? Emphatically, no- 
 where ! 
 
 "Why, Sir,"continued the Baron, "I'd en- 
 gage to take this city as it is, and the office of 
 Pope, and run the whole Roman Catholic 
 Church, till it knocked out all opposition by 
 the simple and natural process of absorbing ail 
 opponents. We want a republic here in Rome. 
 We want freedom, Sir. Whera is the Church 
 making its greatest triumphs to-day? In the 
 States, Sir. If the Catholic Church made it- 
 self free and liberal and go-nhead ; if it kept 
 up with the ^imes; if it was imbued with the 
 spirit of progress, and pitched aside all old- 
 fashioned traditions — :why, I tell you. Sir, it 
 would be a little the tallest organization on this 
 green globe of ours. Yea, Sir!" 
 
 While Hawbury and the Baron. were thus 
 engaged in higli discourse, ^rsiWilloughby and 
 Minnie were engaged in discourses of a less 
 elevated but more engrossing character. 
 
 After the ladies had escaped they wcn^ up 
 stairs. Lady Duhymple had retired some time 
 before toj her own room, and they had the 
 apartment to themselves. Minnie flung herself 
 into a chnir and looked bewildered ; Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby took another choir opposite, and- said 
 nothing for a long time. 
 
 "Well," said Miliiiie at last, " you ^icedn't ' 
 be so cross, Kitty ; I didn't bring him here." 
 
 " Cros^ !" said her sister ; "I'm not cross." 
 
 " Weill you're showing temper, at any rate ; 
 and you know you are, and I think" it very 
 unkind ini you, when I have so much to trouble 
 me," 
 
 " Why, really, Minnie darling, I don't know 
 what to say." I 
 
 " Well, why don't you tell me what you 
 think of him, and all that sort of thing? Y9U 
 viiyht, you know." 
 
 " Think of him !" repeated Mrs. Willoughly-, 
 tlevating her eyebrows. 
 
 " Yes, think of him ; and ycu needn't go 
 and mijke fucefi about him, at any rate." 
 
 " Did I inalj^ faces ? Well, dear," suid Mrs. 
 Willoughby, )f)atiently, "I'll tell you what I 
 think of him. / I'm afraid of hiifii.V 
 
 "\Vell, tl^en," said Minnie, in a tone of 
 triumph, " ilbw you know how I feel. Sup- 
 pose ho saved your life, and then came in his 
 awfully bofsterous way to see you ; and got 
 you alone, and began that way, and really 
 quite overwhelmed yon, you know ; and then, 
 when you were really ftlmost stunned, 8U]>posc 
 hff wwjt Rnd propoBed^ttryoti f Now, then{"~~ 
 
 And Minnie ended this question with the air 
 of one who could not be answered, and knew it. 
 
 "He's awful— perfectly awful!" said Mrs. 
 Willoughby. " And th« way he treated you! 
 It was so shocking." 
 
 " I know ; and that's just the horrid way he 
 
THE AftfERICAN BARON, 
 
 alira,,, does," gaid Minnie, in a plaintive tone 
 
 ■Im sure /doi^'t know^what to do. with him 
 
 And then he's "Xord Hawbury's friend. So 
 
 Wjhat are we to do ?" \ 
 
 "I don't kiiow, unless we ha^ Rome at 
 onQc. 
 
 " But I don't want to leave Rome," said Mih- 
 me. "I hate being chased a«ay from places 
 by people-and they'd be sure to follow -me 
 you know-an.i I don't know what to do. And 
 Oh, Kitty darling, I've just thought of some- 
 
 i'llk'of U?''°"" '^ '" '"'^''- '^"'' '»» 3- 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " Why, this. ■ You know the Pone ?" 
 "Xo, I don't." 
 
 ''Oh, well, you've seen him, you llnow." 
 "^ w^ '■ ^^ "'^' ''**'»« ,get, to da witlHt ?" 
 Why, I H get, you to take me, arid I'll go 
 
 these horful men ; and I'll ask him if he ci.„'t 
 up somethmg or other to help me. Thev have 
 Jispensations and things, you know, that the 
 
 «ith these awfid people." 
 
 ea 
 
 "Nonsense!" said 
 Mrs. Willoughby. 
 
 "I don't sfee any 
 nonsense in it at alh 
 I'm in earnest," siiid 
 Minnie; "and I think 
 it's a great shame." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said 
 her sister again ; "the 
 only thing is for you to 
 stay in your room." 
 
 " But I don't want 
 to stay in my room, 
 and I can't." 
 
 " Oh dear>' what 
 .can, I do with this 
 child ?" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Willoughby, 
 whose patience was 
 giving way. 
 
 Upon this Minnie 
 ' went over and kissed 
 her, and begged to be 
 forgiven; and offered 
 to do any thing that 
 darling Kitty wanted 
 her to do. 
 
 Afterthis they talk- 
 ed a good deal ovep« 
 their difficulty, but 
 without being able to 
 see their way out of it 
 more clearly. 
 
 That evenir|g thev 
 were walking up pnd 
 down the balcony of 
 the house. It was a 
 quadrangular edifice, 
 and they had a suit 
 of rooms on the sec- 
 q,,„ . o"d and third st(uie^7„x 
 
 which looked down irito the court-yard l«I6w ' 
 A fountam w.ts in the middle of this, and th6 
 moon, was shining brightly. " ■ 
 
 .^-Thelndies were standing looking down, when , 
 M.nnie gently touched her sister's arm, a«d 
 whispered, ' - 
 
 "Look at the man!" ' / 
 
 "Where?" - / 
 
 "By the fountain." 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby looked, and saw the face 
 of a man w},o was standing on the other side 
 of the fountain. His head rosembove it, and 
 his face was turned toward them. He evidently 
 d,d not know that he was seeri, but was watch- . 
 "g the ladies, lihinking that he himself was un- 
 ob^rved. ;Th<i moment jhjUMraJWillougbhy— " 
 looked at tTia ?ac6 she recognized it. ' "^'"^ ■ 
 
 "Come in," said she to Minnie. And draw- 
 mg her sister after her, she wenTinto /he house 
 
 w 
 
 (Sit. 
 
 I knew the face; didn't ydvi, KiL dear?'' 
 saidMinnio. "It's so ea^Tyi ,ell ^ Jt was 
 Scone Dacres. But wh«Kin Ahe Lrld does 
 he want?- Oh dc^I^ho^> >^.t bother 
 

 
 
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64 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Till; INTRUDER. 
 
 JuDCiKO from the Baron's own words, it will 
 bo perceived that his comprehension of the sit- 
 uation was a little ditterent from the actual fact. 
 His idea was that his last letter had been re- 
 ceived by Minnie in England, whereupon she 
 had been seized with such an ungovernable 
 longing to sec him that she at once set out for 
 Rpme. Khe had not sent him any message, for 
 shie wished to surprise him. She had done so 
 effectually. He was not merely surprised ; he 
 was overwhelmed, overjoyed, intoxicated with 
 joy. This wos indeed kind, he thought — the 
 true part of a fond girl, who thus cast aside all 
 silly scruples, and followed the dictates of jicr 
 own noble and loving heart. / 
 
 Now the fact that ho had made a partiarfail- 
 ure of his first visit to his charmer did iiot in 
 the slightest degree disconcert him. He was 
 naturally joyous, hilarious, and sanguine. His 
 courage never faltered, nor could the bi-ightness 
 of his soul be easily dimmed. A disappoint- 
 ment on one day gave him but liltlo trouble. 
 It was quickly tlirown off, and the)* his buoyant 
 spirit looked forward for better fibrtune on the 
 next day. The little disappoiimnent which he 
 had did not, therefore, prevent /him from letting 
 his reason feast and his soul flow with Lord 
 Hawbury ; nor, when that Ibstivo season was 
 over, did it prevent him froin indulging in the 
 brightest anticipations forine following day. 
 
 On the afternoon of that day, then, the Baron 
 directed his stops towara the hotel where his 
 charmer resided, his heart beating high, and the 
 generous blood mantling his check, and all that 
 sort of thing. But^ho Baron' was not alone. 
 He had a companion, and this companion was 
 an acquaintance wliom ho had made that morn- 
 ing. This companion was very tnll, very thin,/ 
 very sallow, witlvlong, straggling locks of rusty 
 black hair, whin neck-tic, and a suit of rather 
 seedy black clothes. In fact, it was the ve»y 
 stranger who/had been arrested almost under 
 his eyes as a/Garibaldian. His case had come 
 under the ^otice of tho Baron, who had viiit- 
 ed him, and found him not to bo a Garibaldinn 
 at all, but a fellow-countryman in distressJ-in 
 short, no less a person than the Reverend ^ul 
 Tozer,/an esteemed clergyman^ who had bfeen 
 traveUiig through Europe for the benefit of I his 
 health and the enlargement of his knowledge. 
 ThW fellow-countryman in distress had at oinco 
 be^n released by tho Baron's influonco ; aind, 
 n0t content with giving him, his liberty, he ^e- 
 t^rroined to take him under his protection, iind 
 bffered to introduce him to society ; all of wlfich 
 generous offices wero fully appreciated by (he 
 grateful clergyman. \ 
 
 .;; 
 
 L 
 
 the place above mentioned, and LbMl^WFobd 
 Saul accompanied him. ' .On-.^rnBytthg it lie 
 knocked, and asked for Miss £*Hy. 
 
 " Not at home,", was the reply. 
 
 *■ Oh, well," said he, " I'll go in and wait till 
 
 she comes home. Come along*, parson, and 
 make yourself quite at home. Oh, never mind, 
 young man," he continued to the ser\'ant ; " I 
 know the way. Come along, parson." And 
 witli these words he led the way into the re- 
 ception-Zoom, in which he had been before. 
 
 An elderly lody was seated there whom the 
 Baroiv recognized as having seen before. It was 
 Lady Dalryinple, whose name was, of course, 
 unktiown to him, since he had only exchanged 
 a few words oAf %is former visit. But as he was 
 naturally chivalrous, and as he was bent on mak-' ' 
 'ng friends with all in the house, and as he was 
 also in a glorious state of good-will to the en- 
 tire human race, he at once advanced to the 
 lady and made a low bow. 
 
 " How do you do, ma'am ?" 
 
 Ludy Dulrymple bowed good-naturedly, for 
 she was good-natured to a fault. 
 
 " I suppose you remember me, ma'am," snid 
 the Baron, in rather a loud voice ; for, as the 
 lady was elderly, he had a vague idea that she 
 was deaf — which impression, I may mentiuii, 
 was altogether unfounded — *'I suppose you re- 
 member me, ma'am ? But I haven't had tlie 
 pleasure of a regular introduction to you ; so 
 we'll waive ceremony, if you choose, and I'll in- 
 troduce myself. I'm the Baron Atramonte, and 
 this is my very^,particular friend, tho Reverend 
 Saul Toz'er." 
 
 "I'm happy to make your acquaintance," 
 said Lady Dulrymple, with a smile, and not 
 taking the Baron''s offered hand— not, however, 
 from pride, but simply from laziness — for she 
 hated the bother, and didn't consider it good 
 taste. 
 
 "I called here, ma'am," said the Baron, with- 
 out noticing that Lady Dalrvmpio had not in- 
 troduced herself—'^ I called here, ma'am, to see 
 my young friend, Miss Minnie Fay. I'm very 
 sorry that she ain't at home; but since I am 
 here, \ rather think I'll just set down and wait 
 for heil I s'pose you couldn't tell me, ma'am, 
 about fcow long it '11 be before she comes in?" 
 
 Lady Dalrym))lo hadn't any idea. 
 
 "All\ right," said tho Baron; "the longer 
 she kec/i«,jnc Availing, the more welcome she'll 
 be when sh^hd^^s come. That's all I've got to 
 
 So the Bafon hanSml a chair to the Rever- 
 end Saul, and then selec'Vhjg another for him- 
 self in a convenient position, n«^ns<;onccdiilm- 
 self in it as snugly as possible, ana<|(it in silVn^ 
 for a few minutes. Lady DalrymfSI*, took no 
 notice of him whatever, but »f>poared toi»g en^ 
 grossed with some tjiflfl of needle-work, ^v . 
 
 After about ^ijrBT'ininutes the Baron rcsumea'^^^J 
 the task of making himself agreeable. 
 
 H^ cleared his throat. 
 
 " Long in these parts, ma'am ?" ho asked. 
 
 "Nof very long," sald^ LndyTJalryifiptefWWr" 
 her usual bland good-nature. -, ' j. 
 
 '* A nice place this," continued the BarQ^ 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And do yon keep your health, ma'am?" in- 
 quired the Baro^^with some anxiety. • 
 
' • „ THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 «T!L '^'^ ''^ ""' «°'"«l of footsteps on hP .. i ? "'* '""^ '" 'ndisposed. " ^ 
 stairs ; so he sat bolt unricht hml .. ^ u , Indisposed ?" 
 
 at the door. There wrfe'nirf.r Jh^^^'" . 
 
 w'^The'r-apSar^d' '^T^ «— '^ ^ 'ou^;; ^d dtiitr'"" ''^'-^ ^^ ^"- 
 It was Mr^wfiCrilT'- '' -« -' Minnie, nie'ha J supulSlharhU ftS "^T"", **- 
 
 be hurt: and this sll. /fi"«^. «''<?"'d "ot 
 
 It was Mrs. Willonghby 
 
 conversation with their aunt VVh ^ "" ^'''y 
 eamestdebate arose lZfelt7hat?7°" "" 
 fair to leave their aunt alone i J . r"' '"" 
 
 anxS 'to l^To th*'"T"'"'' ^'""■^ -- 
 "• ' Stlt^.""'"!>:°"jected 
 
 be hurt; and thrs s^'eS to h:irbftf ' ""^ 
 est mode of dealing with him ° ' ""* "'"'- 
 I^ndisposed!" cried the Baron. 
 
 serious— or what ?" ^^s it any thing 
 
 th4^°f. ''-^ ««"ous ; she has to keep her room, 
 
 '' She ain't sick abed, I hope ?" 
 Ohno-notsobadasthat!" 
 
 blame." SrLdethL"'*'''"''"^- ^'""« 
 
 edheroftheVoli'sruLi" on«fir"''"'-h" P'"^ «"« 'ookei v^irLv- 'oh":,"*"r 
 easion. Minnie simply rSd^d I'^Zl ZbT^S'l'^}' ^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 tZt' tZ ^..._^' ■'.- Mrs. Wil! n'iS-r; i !"!: ^-did.he pass a Z 
 
 ■a , ~ "" """I'l.v ri 
 
 night ?-does she suffer' am'Z^r''" ^'^ 
 any thing for her ?-w 1, "^ take I mM" ' '" 
 sage from me to her ?" "'^ '"**- 
 
 wi;;oX*!"iiTrr '^^" ^'^'^ m™- « 
 -.|^;th^iSt;^-i-p^.^ 
 
 around for some uitabirmean, off»w'° '°°'' 
 ■n the conversation, /s rrJntdfnC 
 
 Hro»jf "'""ugnny Had already known thn "ti.- 
 
 "No." 
 
 'E 
 
 ^' "' •■ ">« graw. or like the Lm- 
 
 
66 
 
 THE AMERICAN. BARON. 
 
 ing flower ; when bkstingl winds sweep o'er the 
 Tale, they wither in an h<>ur.' Yes, ma'am, I 
 have thig^^|wek stood in i the Roman Forum. 
 The Coli^@n, also, m^jam,* is a wonderful 
 place. It was built by the Flavian empwors, 
 and when completed couldjhold eighty thousand 
 spectators seated, with about twenty thousand 
 standing. In hot weatlier these spectators 
 were protected from thd rays of the sun by 
 means of awnings. It is a mighty fabric, 
 ma'am !" I 
 
 " I should think so," sAid Lady Dalrymple. 
 
 "The arch of Titus, liia'am, is a fine ruin. 
 It was originally built by the emperor of that 
 name to commemorate the conquest of Jerusa- 
 lem. The arch of Septimius Sevems was built 
 by the Emperor of that ikame, and the arch of 
 Constantine was built by the emperor of that 
 name. They are all very remarkable struc- 
 tures." ' 
 
 "I'm charmed to hear you say so." 
 
 " It's true, ma'am ; but let me add, ma'am, 
 that the ruins of this aijcient city dp. not o<!^^ 
 to my eyes a spectacle! half so melancholy aS 
 the great moral ruin which is presentee) by the 
 modem city. For, ma*am, when I look around, 
 what do I see ? I behold the Babylon of the 
 Apocalypse ! Pray, ma'am, have you ever re- 
 flected much on that ?" 
 
 "Not to any great extent," said Lady Dal- 
 rymple, who now began to feel bored, and 
 so arose to her feet. The Reverend Saul 'f ozor 
 was just getting on a full head of conversational 
 steam, and was just fairly under way, when this 
 gad and chilling occurrence' took place. She 
 rose and bowed to the gentlemen, and began to 
 retreat. 
 
 All this time the Baron had been ponring 
 forth to Mrs. Willoughby his excited interroga- 
 tories about Minnie's health, and had asked her 
 to take a message. This Mrs. Willoughby re- 
 fused at first. 
 
 "Oh no I" said she; "it will really disturb 
 her too much. What she wants most is per- 
 fect quiet. Her health is really very delicate, 
 and I am excessively anxious about her." 
 
 " But does she-Hloes she — is she — can she 
 walk aboat her o^ra room?" stammered the 
 Baron. 
 
 "A little," said; Mrs. Willoughby. " Oh, I 
 hope in a few we4ks she may be able to come 
 down. But the yery greatest care and quiet are 
 needed, for she is in such a very delicat6 state 
 that we watch h«r night and day." 
 
 "A few weeks!" echoed the Baron, in dis- 
 may. " Watch her night and day !" 
 
 " Oh, you know, it is the only chance for her 
 recovery. She is so delicate." 
 
 , The Baron looked at Mrs. Willoughby with 
 :T»^fais(»mt apon which there was real sufiSer- 
 
 ing and real miseiy. 
 
 "Can't 1 dasomething?" he gasped. "Won't 
 yon take a mesMtge ,tp her ? It ought to do her 
 good. Perhaps she t1iink« I'm neglecting her. 
 Perhaps she thinks I ain't lierp enough. Tell 
 her I'm ready to give up my office, and even 
 
 my title of nobility, and come and live here, if 
 it 'II be apy.comfort to her." 
 
 " Olf, nSally, Sir, you quite mistake her," said 
 Mrs. Willoughby. " It has no reference to you 
 whatever. It's a nervous affection, accompa- 
 nied with general debility and neuralgia." 
 
 "Oh no, you don't know jier," said the Bar- 
 oil, incredulously. " I know her. I know what 
 tne. But she walks, don't she ?" 
 
 "Yes, a little — just across the room; still, 
 even that is too much. She is very, very weak, 
 and must be guile kept free from excitement. 
 Even the excitement of your visits is bad for 
 her. Her pulse is — is — always— accelerated — 
 and — shei-rl — Oh, dear me !*' 
 
 While Mrs. Willoughby had been making up 
 this last sentence she was startled by a rustling 
 on the stairs. It was the rustle of a female's 
 dress. An awful thought occurred to her, whio 
 distracted her, and confused her in the rniddll^ 
 of her sentence, and made her scarce able to 
 articulate her words. And as she spoke them 
 the rustle drew nearer, and she heard the sound 
 of feet descending the stairs, until at last the 
 footsteps approached the door, and Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby, to her utter horror, saw,Minnie hei-self. 
 
 Now as to the Baron, in the coarse of bis 
 animated conversation with Mrs. Willoughby, 
 and in his excited entreaties to her to carry a 
 message up to the invalid, he had turned round 
 with his back to the door. It was about the 
 time that Lady Dalrymple had be gun t o beat a 
 retreat. As she advanced the ^M^^^w her, 
 and, with his usual politeness. ^^^^Iver so 
 far to one side, bowing low as hnPH^ Lady 
 Dalrymple passed, the !Baron raisea himself, 
 and as Mrs. Willoughby was' yf |; speaking, and 
 had just reached the excta^^ion which con- 
 cluded her last remark, he was astounded by 
 the sudden appearance of Minnie herself at the 
 door. ' ' *• 
 
 The effiect of this sudden appearance was 
 overwhelming. Btrs. Willoughby stood thun- 
 der-struck, and (he Baron utterly bewildered. 
 The latter recovered his faculties first. It was 
 just as Lady Dalrymple was passing out. With 
 a bound he sprang toward Minnie, and caught 
 her ill his arms, uttering a series of inarticalate 
 cries. 
 
 " Oh, Min ! and yon did come down, did 
 you ? And you couldn't stay up there, conld 
 you? I wanted to send a message to yon. 
 Poor little Min ! you're so weak. Is it any 
 thing serious? Oh, my darling little Min! 
 But sit down on this here seat. Don't stand ; 
 you're too weak. Why didn't you send, and 
 I'd have cari-ied yon down ? But tell me now, 
 honest, wasn't it me that brought this on? 
 Never mind, ni never leave you again." '^ f 
 
 This ia t}ie atyla which the, gallant faron 
 adopted to express his sentiments coBeemlng 
 Minnie ; and the result was that he slfikeeiled 
 in ^ing utterance to words that were quite m 
 incoherent a* any that Minnie herself, in her 
 most rambling moods, had ever uttered. 
 
 The Baron now gave himself ap te joy. Ha 
 
■■/. 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON, 
 took no notice of any body. He gat hv iw- , ^ . ^ 
 
 And Minnie obeyed at oncn *^° *''* foHowing day the Tiamr, ..oii j 
 
 The Ba,.ninsistLon?t"ender adieu M« oXih '^^'"'''- '-hVL^Zetd tXd 
 
 heaving breaat. 
 Minnie followed her np stairs in silence 
 "Yon silly child I" she cried "Ar!"' 
 --d? What „,ade you coTe'downl" C 
 broke your promise ! " 
 
 tt 1TP It 
 
 
 
 week for the world. 
 
 ■'Now, Kitty, you're horrid." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THB BABON's ASSAOLT8. 
 
 !,.?!»'" r*""'"' »'*«™°«n when the Baron 
 ha* effected an entrance into the heart of ^e 
 «nemy , connt^r, mother caller had come there 
 
 b";;? n„»''""^ •"""* '"•' ^""^^y determineT 
 buf not quite «, aggressive. This wm ,h« 
 
 Count Girasole. The same -Miswer w«?^ve„ 
 Sthrdi' "' ^''" «ivenr^«.be B^„'f rut 
 kil K h T*!!' ""^^ The Ban>n had care- 
 =:^y brushed tl»aHgbrob.tacle aside. To"he 
 Count It was an impenetrable Wrier It was 
 
 Vey bad ohAn«»i ,u^t, ,. . ° "**/• 
 
 «k;d''Mr:'a:X""'''"'^^ 
 
 said.Mlrni'e."""'- ^'"'-'•""^''orry for bim." 
 
 next^nV -!'""'• ^"P"'" '^''•'^ '^i" ^ here 
 next Of course yon will see him?" 
 
 I suppose so," said Minnie, resignedlv. 
 ' And how long do you think this ^n of 
 thing can go on? They'll meet anrf m^ 
 will he shed." ^ ' "'"' '''<^ 
 
 •'Oh dear 1 ly afraid so." 
 " Then I'm not going to allow it. IVe tele- 
 graphed to papa. Hell see whether you to" 
 iCOingto ha»« ,o« own way ^Hof,^^^^^^^ 
 
 d„ ./'" '"" ^ "l""'' «»« What dear papa can 
 Ueve th« tjiey h«i changed their wntimenu | JTorriT"^- " """" """"• ^'"'i''" »>I 
 
 :.^- 
 
TfiE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 "This last one^this Gann — is to^ most ter- 
 rible man I ever saw." 
 
 " Oh, Kitty dearest ! How can yon ?ay so ? 
 Why, his rudeness and violence are peJ^ctly 
 irresistible. He's charming. He bullies pne 
 so deliciously." 
 
 Mrs. Willonghby at this turned away in de* 
 spair. > 
 
 Minnie's very peculiar situation was certainly 
 t.^ one which required a speedy change. The 
 forced entrance of the Baron had thrown eon- 
 atemation into the family. Ethel herself had 
 been roused, and took a part in the debate. 
 She began to see Minnie in a new light, and 
 Hawbury's attention to her. began tb assume 
 the appearance of a very monmful joke. To 
 her mind Minnie was now the snbject of despe- 
 rate attention from five men. 
 
 Thus: 
 
 " i; Xor J Hawhnry. ' ~ 
 
 2. Count Girasole. 
 8. Scone Dacres. 
 4. Bnron Atramonte. 
 
 6. Cnptain Kirby, of whom Mrs. WillougHby 
 had just told her. 
 
 i ■ **.. . ' '■ 
 
 And of these, four 
 had saved her Jlfe, 
 and consequently had 
 th« strongest possible 
 claims on her. 
 
 And the only sat- 
 isfaction which Ethel 
 could gain out of this 
 was the thought that 
 Hawbury, at least, 
 had not saved Min- 
 nie's lli^. 
 
 And now to pro- 
 ceed. 
 
 The Baron called, 
 as has been said, on 
 the following day. 
 This time he did not 
 bring the Reverend 
 Saul with him. He 
 wished to see Minnie 
 "alone, and felt the 
 presence of third per- 
 sons to be rather un- 
 pleasant. 
 
 On ijeaching the 
 place he was told, as 
 before, that the ladies 
 were not at home. 
 
 Now the Baron re- 
 membered that on the 
 preceding day the 
 servant bad said the 
 same, while all the 
 time the ladies were 
 "home. He was char- 
 itably inclined to sup- 
 pose that it was a mis- 
 take, and not a delib- 
 erate lie ; and, as he 
 was in a frame of 
 good-will to mankind, he adopted this* first 
 theory. 
 
 " All right, yonng man,^ said he ; " bnt as 
 you lied yesterday — under a mistake — I prefer 
 seeing for myself to-day." 
 
 S9 the Baron brushed by the servant, and 
 weift !■. He entered the room. No one was 
 there. He waited a little while, and thought. 
 He was too impatient to wait long. He could 
 not trust these lying servants. So he determ- 
 ined to try for himself. Her room was up 
 stairs, somewhere in the story above. 
 
 So he went out of the room, and up the 8tair% 
 until his head was on a level with t{)e floor ot 
 the story above. Then he called : ' ■ 
 
 "Ml/" / 
 
 No answer. / 
 
 " MiN 1" in a londer roice. 
 No answer. 
 
 •'MINI it's 5ffi!» itiirfonder7 
 No answer. \ 
 
 "MINr a perfect yell. 
 
 At this last shout there was a response. One 
 of the doors opened, and a lady made her ap- 
 pearance, while at two other doors appeared 
 
 "Really? ] 
 The lady reti 
 "Well, dam 
 pery," muttered 
 thing. lonlyai 
 Well, she must 
 she'd have made 
 go out and hum 
 me altogether e 
 them. They're 
 With these ol 
 on descended th 
 the door. Here 
 upon the servant 
 the other on the 
 of the day. Aft 
 parture. 
 
 The Baron thi 
 
 and reappeared I 
 
 a gallant steed, a 
 
 In due time he re 
 
 and then he ascei 
 
 he rode about fa 
 
 pereeverance was 
 
 dowb from the sni 
 
 ««M betow, when 1 
 
 in which were thre 
 
 the front seai, and : 
 
 en halt- seemed tc 
 
 soaght. 
 
 In an instant he 
 
 rode down the hill 
 
 groat alarm of the 
 
 Mdd#W^^ iRas 
 
 with the Arriage. 
 
 right one, and Mini 
 
 I*dy Dalrymple a 
 
 (•dies, on learning 
 
 emotion. They we 
 
 signed. They hai 
 
 ilioaM haw ^TO me 
 
 floors; and since tl 
 
 •Itogether, they wot 
 
 present to his advam 
 
 '••"oming desperate, 
 
 _ Iiord Hawbury wi 
 
 ne Baron came up. 
 
THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 \ 
 
 ful and her face was stern, and her dark eyes 
 looked indignantly toward the Baron ^ 
 
 what do you want ?" ^' 
 
 V "Me? I'm the Baron Atramonte- and I 
 "•^^::'^., ^-''yo- know where sh;i:?"' 
 "Min." 
 
 ^Y«,. MyMin-Minnie,youknow. Min- 
 
 utter Co?' '"'^^ '""•'''* ■" *^" ^»~" ^i'h 
 "I washer." ■ 
 
 «w n" H." '"""'''"«'•'' the lady. 
 
 ""Yes." 
 
 " Really ? Ho\or bright now ?" 
 The lady retired^^nd shut the door. 
 Well, dam it i 
 pery, " muttered the ^ 
 
 wL"if J ""'^ . ^ *°l^ qaestion. OutThev ? I Mmnr»"L°'' ""•"*. '" "'""«" «rtie«s replies. 
 Well she must be this\ime. If she'd been in hJ^l "I "'"'"K °" ""e front seat of the 
 she'd haye made her applrance. WeH VdCl j!^,""''*'' ""* '""' *1°»« « that seat As he 
 go out and hunt her upTThe^ dWt seet to W t"'" ""*" '"'"■'^^ ""^^ «f '"« c-^.^ 
 
 «r.r ?""" '" "'•* '"' *° *« fonner. « fiow do ? 
 and Aoio are vou all ? ixn.- ti V . ' ■ 
 
 w.».t;..r„"rs'xi:'' -"•• "•• «■". 
 
 WHS at ail remarkable. Now hnwnvo. i,« 
 Uced the yeiy great family of hTt^nea"^^ 
 
 -rrnerLitcTbirnrr^r 
 
 Mou neednTbe so ^r^G^^S^r^'--^^'^^^^^ 
 Wn. "I didn't say any on's irnLuLr'^ r^'^L^'""'"'""*'" '» '^e Bar. 
 ^••-- -estion. Out,'hey^ ^nnfe T.' ZH Mmnie's artless ..plies. 
 
 - -"vo»* vuscrruiions t 
 
 on descended the stairs, ank made his wa^To 
 the door. Here he threw An engaging sLe 
 
 r" .V ' "'"?'' '''"* '"«"^« AremariTwhich ^t 
 the other on the broad grin ^r the remaindw 
 of^he^day. After this the B^ron took his t 
 
 The Baron this time went to some stables 
 nd reaDoeaiwrl )« » ,u . .- °"""?"i 
 
 aapossible TheBaYnTasl^redi^gly hT 
 
 of hU^ -P'"?*'" *'""'«^ i'^'lf in the flush 
 of his face, ,n the glow of his eyes, and in i^e 
 
 Knn'e^'T"*' *"' •"-»>»'-c-« -weVof 
 ms manner Hip voice was loud, his irestnreii 
 
 by^umrto'^:' "f "" •i^"""-'" -"> addrS 
 oCToon r.'' .rJ:.'^«_-P-y-.. The 
 
 „„ „u„ i,„jB ^g„j (^ stablfis hv ».,..«. . ' . roinariM werq addressed 
 
 and reappeared In a short time mounted n£ ofh«T "'"'' ™*' *" '^e company. %^ 
 agaUanlsteed, and careering dbwn the 00^ left hairto Tn"'' ""' ""«'"'" »' '"'k. «nd 
 «^H,if "1?' ''" '""'^'^ '^^ P'«« del Pop^o Mn. wllu^ kk ^"T" ''"'*>' Dalrymple and 
 and then he ascended the Pincian Hill. K S^hT rf, .''^ «'=»"'"K«d glances of despair 
 he rode about for some time, and finalirh « S -^^•- '' "^ ° '" '^ 
 pej^yerance was rewarded. He was Jking selTanH r"""''}^ ''*''"' P^^^^W «««f-lH^ 
 do*-h from the summit of the hiU upon Zpi-iA.lh *='»"'!"«<1 ^'h her usual simplidT 
 a«a betew, when he caught sight of fbaCcS L«t u fl?"^ *•"" "^^ "^ *ey met a hor^ 
 mwhichwerethreeladies. One of these s^f^ iT"'^S«T''^Pj'* «'""«=«»''«'''» »f»he^ 
 the front «,«;.nj I... _...•.-, .. »«K» I It^was Girasole. The ladies bowed, and Mre. 
 
 Will Xi! t ', ^"' '■"•** bowed, and Mrs. 
 WiUoughby wkbed that he had coie . S 
 
 beside the carna,^ where the Baron now wm! 
 But the place w«?now appwpriatedT anH th^t 
 w« no chance for the CoT'll^:^^^, 
 
 utJ;rrv„t"''L^!i-'««^--p««i- 
 
 .^frout.a,«,dherwW;efrerdro«":,^ 
 
 I^ugh? *^ '"'*'"'"' '° ^''^ '•>« »»« he 
 
 In an insUnt he put spurs to hu horse and 
 
 ^a't r" ""? "i!^' " *»"••='' « possiS; the 
 
 greatatorm of the crowds who were goinir nn h»a i^^V" "." ""' "'"""'• ^iirasoie threw a 
 
 wtth the ^mage. He was right. It was the U fh- J^^ '"^- H»whury nodded Mghtly 
 
 right one, and Minnie w«, the^, toge her wifh ?urttr nT ' '?!'""*»'* •PP'" »» ^ke 4 
 Ljdy Dal^rmple and M«. WiUoughby The few mo^nt "?'!"• o^ "•^» '""k up but i 
 ladies, on learning of his approach exhibited n^ kk T 1' '""' *" <^<""" Pw«ed on. 
 emotion. They were pre^Mfo; S^^^" L^i^T^^ '"*'/'"'y ""«' -^her hS^emiS. 
 
 ^Wh.«Bomore fnieryiews with himT wm turned triT^'' •^- ^®*«°^«'' h«^k 
 -^ ^mce they could not imprison her M^hisTact W m ""' ^ *** "''« """^ •»«>» 
 ley would h». . I,-:. !.-_ ; !r°."" '"ee, but his eyes were <l«wi .,.^„ »#_ 
 
 donr.- .r^A • ^ ■"wmews with him in- 
 
 nl^t^'vf"^. ''*'"''* "**'• «« '"hmit for the 
 Knt^dt^'.^tS'^- ^-''-'y-^-Pi^ 
 
 1 
 
 ■»« 1.1 f ■-•—■" """. w Miat She could not 
 
 Will vu"' •'"i"' 'y*" '^«"' «*ed upon M« 
 WiUooghby She looked back at him wd 
 
 bowed, a. did also Lady Dalvwple. He tS^k 
 off hi. hi,t, and the carri^ roUed put. S 
 
 Minnie caught right of him, ud .mUed wi.. 
 
 '.-^■l 
 
 
 w 
 
 ^,?- 
 
 Ik 
 
 Tj*-- 
 
 "If 
 
70 
 
 r \ 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 bowed. And then in a few mon^nu more the 
 crowd swallowed up Scone Dacrea. 
 
 The Baron thna enjoyed himself iq a large, 
 ^nbrnrant fashion, and monopolized the qpn- 
 ▼etsation in a large, exuberant way. He out- 
 did, himself. He confided to the ladies his, 
 pbns for the regeneration of the Roman Church 
 and the Roman State. He told stories of his 
 adventures in the Rocky Mount^ns. He men- 
 tioned the state of his finances, and his pros- 
 pects for thQ -future. He wa^ as open, as free, 
 and as communicative as if be had been at home, 
 with (pud sisters and admiring brothers around 
 him. The ladies were disgusted at it all ; and 
 by the ladies I mean only Mrs. WiUoughby and 
 Lady Dalrymple, For Minnie was not — she 
 actually listened in delight. It was not con- 
 ventional. Very welL Neither was the Bar- 
 on. And for that matter, neither was she. 
 He was a child of nature. So was she. Hit 
 rudeness, his aggressiveness, his noise, his talk- 
 ativeness, his egotism, his confidences about 
 himself— all these did not make him so very 
 disagreeable to her as to her sister and aunt. 
 
 So Minnie treated the Baron with the utmost 
 eomplaisance, and Hawbury was surprised, and 
 Mrs. WiUoughby and Lady Dalrymple were dis- 
 gusted ; but the Baron was deUghted, and his 
 soul was filled with perfect joy. Too soon for 
 liim was this drive over. But the end came, and 
 they reached A« hotel. Hawbnry left them, bnt 
 ,the Baron lingered. The spot was too sweet, the 
 -charm too dear — he could not tear himself away. 
 
 In fact, he' actually follbwed the ladies into 
 -tbe house. 
 
 " I'think ni just make myself comfortable 
 in here, Min, till you come down," said the 
 Baron. And with these words he walked into 
 the reception-room, where he selected a place 
 (HI a sofa, and composed himself to wait pa- 
 tientiy for Minnie to come down. 
 
 So he waited, and waited, and waited — but 
 Minnie did not come. At last he grew impa- 
 tient He walked out, and up the stairs, and 
 listened. 
 
 He beard ladies' voices. 
 
 He spoke. 
 
 "Afin/" 
 ' No answer. 
 
 " Mm !" louder- 
 No answer. 
 
 "MIN! HALLO-0-(M)!" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " iffiV/" a perfect shout. 
 
 At this a door was opened violently, and 
 Mrs. WiUoughby walked but. Hqr cheeks 
 were fiushed, and her eyes glanced fire. 
 
 "Sir," she said, "this is intolerable! Yon 
 must be intoxicated. Cro away at onoe, or I 
 liftll certainly have you turned out of the honsei- 
 
 And saying this she went back, sbnt the 
 door, and locked it. ' 
 
 The ^aron was thunder-stmck. ^e had 
 never bein treated so in his life. Be was 
 ont to the heart. His feelings wei^ deeply 
 vounded. 
 
 S , 
 
 " Dam it !" he muttered. " What's all this 
 for? I ain't been doing any thing." 
 
 He walked out very thoughtfully. He couldn't 
 understand it at all. He was troubled for some 
 time. But at la^ his buoyant spirit rose su- 
 perior to this temporary depression. To-mor- 
 row would explain «U, he thought. Yes, to- 
 morrow would make it all right. To-morrow 
 he wotuld see Min, and get her to tell him what 
 in thti^der the row was. She'd havu to teU, 
 for he \ could never find out So he made up 
 his mind to keep his soul in patience. 
 
 That evening Hawbnry was over at the Bar- 
 on's qna^rs, by special invitation, and the 
 Baron decided to ask his advice. So in the 
 course of the evening, while in the full, easy, 
 and confidential mood that arises out of social 
 intercourse, he told Hawbnry his whole story- 
 beginning with the account of his first meeting 
 with Minnie, and his rescue of her, and her ac- 
 ceptance of him, down to this vi^ry day, when 
 he had been so terribly snubbed by Mrs. Wi}- 
 loughby. To all this Hawbury listened in amaze- 
 ment. It was completely new to him. ' He won- 
 dered particularly to find another man who had 
 saved the life of this quiet, timid little girl. 
 
 The Baron asked his advice, but Hanbnry 
 declined giving any. He said he couldn't ad- 
 vise any man in a love-afiair. Every man must 
 trust to himself. Na one's advice could be of 
 any avail. Hawbnry, in fact, was puzzled, bnt 
 he said the best be could. The Baron himself. 
 was fiilly of Hawbury's opinion. He swore that 
 it was trul^ and deslared the man that followed 
 another's advice in a love-afikir was a " darned 
 fool that didn't deserve to win his gal." 
 
 There foUowed a general conversation on 
 things of a difi'erent kind. The Baron again 
 discoursed on church aAd state. He then ex- 
 hibited some cnriositie^. Among other things 
 a skull. He nsed it |o hold his tobacco. He 
 declared that it was/ the skull of an ancient 
 Roman. On the inside was a paper pasted 
 there, on which he l^d written the following : 
 
 "Ob, I'm the skoU/of a Roman bold 
 That fit in the/ancient war; 
 From East to VV'est I bore the flog 
 Of a P. Q. «9a B. 
 
 "In East and ^est, and North and South, 
 We made the nations (ear ns— 
 Both Nebnc^nesEor and Hannibal, 
 And Phar^h too, and Fjrirhns. 
 
 "We took their statntes from the Qreeks, 
 And \ot$ of manuscripts too; 
 We set adrift on his %orld-wlde tramp 
 The oilginal wandering Jew. 
 
 "Bnt at Itft the beggarlj. Dutchman came, 
 With bis U«er and ■aUerkrant; 
 And wherever that beggaiiy Dntclunan went 
 He nrade a terrible rout 
 
 "Wo^MrdK SeatscbwV) V a tari aa dt 
 
 Is it near the ocean wildf 
 Is it where the featheiy palm-trees grow? , 
 Not there, not there, mj child. 
 
 "Bnt it's somewhere down aronnd the Bhine; 
 And now that Bismarck's come, 
 Down goea Napoleon to the grooiid, 
 And away goes the Pope from Borne r 
 
 ^ .y- J'^}^„dh^^ 
 
CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 "Hfc SAVEb MT LIPB." 
 
 Mrl'^w^n' '^'" *^^ ""y '°"««"-'" exclaimed 
 Mrs WiUoughby. " Here yon are getdng 
 into all sort* of difflcultiei^ 'each one wo.^ 
 
 Sm' v""":- '•'*'"«* I don't «>ewhry^ 
 
 should. You're ytty quiet, Minnie deir^st, 
 
 but you have more unpleasant adventures than 
 
 any person I ever heard of. You're run away 
 
 with on horseback, you're shipwrecftd, you're 
 
 swept down a precipice by an avahinche and 
 
 yon fa^ into the crater of a burning vokana 
 
 Everr time there is some horrid man who mvm 
 
 you and then proposes. As for you, yoH" 
 
 cep them all with equal readineL.l^e after 
 
 another, and what is won.e, you won't give any 
 
 of It "^, ^"^ "'"''' J^" explicitly which 
 of them you-U give up, and you actuaDy refuse 
 to say My dear child, what are you thinking 
 
 «nyoTtLr'v''*r.'"- You can't havf 
 any of them. None of them are agreeable to 
 your family; They're horrid. Wh^re yo^ 
 going to do? Oh, how I wish yon hsdlZ 
 mamma to take cftre of yon ! But she is i^a 
 better world. And here Is poor dear paVk who 
 can t come. How shocked he would be if he 
 
 ?.S'll • ^'"" '" "''"'' ""^ •" 'h«t dread! 
 ful American savage, who is gradually killing 
 me. He certainly wUl be my death. Whaf 
 ami to do. dear? Can't yon possibly show a 
 little sense yonrsefr-only a little, dL-Jad 
 
 Si«. nf I. "^^ *•*"' y°"' '^""e^ "he has 
 troubles of her own, poor darling ; and aunty is 
 really quite ill with anxiety, ^^hat arelTg^ 
 mg to do ? I know on,^.thing. /'„ not go£ 
 to put up w,* it. My miW is made up. rn 
 leave Rome at once, and go home and tell 
 
 "Itw',L°°Kr''l°'' r'"^ **»'" "'d Minnie. 
 It 8 my trouble. I can't help it. They would 
 come I'm sure /don't know what to do '• 
 .1. . ' ^^ "**^"'' ^ «o awfully kind to 
 
 uTnn • J""'" '""'* «"«<•»«««. them s^ 
 It 8 no use for me to tiy to keep them a^ay if 
 you make them aU so welcome" Now EI 
 thatdreadfnlltal&n. I'm posifive heVSg 
 to get op some unpleasant plot. These Italian! 
 rf'^/^.l*"'"*"^"'- And he thinks you-re 
 ngnt, too. You always act as -if you're fond 
 of him, and all the rest. As To that terrible 
 f;^Sy"^^'-'^<»'<>*^^-^ofhim; 
 
 «:.''& a^tfe'?.~ "^"''^ -"^'"^ *» 
 nf lKl?l?^° ^^^ •»« *0'»ld deprive me 
 
 TilE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 «M^M? *•""* '"^' ^'^ "de to him, Kitty," 
 «id_Mi„n.e, severely. «.nd ver,. ^.y ?h- 
 
 . "I intended to be 10. " 
 
 ^JaIJ^^. ^\^^^ «»7'nK. and ninning out 
 ud explaining thingi." 
 
 »K 
 
 dolr^ ' n^ ^''° ^'^' '"i^ "" ^^ »°d' locked the 
 amle„2^JT ''^'<=''«d '*"'« «Uy goose, what 
 am 1 ever to do with such a child as yon are I 
 You're really not a bit better than a bTby '^ 
 
 wwing he Baron's last eventful call. Poor 
 J^TawaW^r '"'"" '» desperetion. and 
 
 and sn «h . • 5" """""y' •"" "»» nnsuccessfnl; 
 P^l ^i"*** *""=« "«»* 'o have some inflJi^ 
 
 rhe^.^sr''^ """•"--"- -'•>-^^ 
 
 an Indian/' '^'"*""'"' '^^'^^ \^^''^^ ^e's 
 
 hi™ '\*I"* ^ '^°"'' *«« any thing savage in 
 him He's as gentle and as kind af he caf bi 
 And he's so awfully fond of me " 
 
 InH !k' '^"'8 possession of the house 
 
 And then poor dear aunty I Oh, how she «,„ 
 shocked and horrified I" 
 
 wal'so irr *"' " "^ "^""y ''""'^ "f '»«. and 
 was so perfectly oKtty to see me." 
 
 'And then, just as I was beginning to per- 
 
 scrnT ""^''^ ^"^"'^' '-^ '"-' »'?- 
 
 wi.1'^*"' 'f°°>dn't bear to have him so sad. 
 whe^ he safed my life, and so I just though 
 I <f show myself, so as to put him at ease " 
 
 <n».»V'*'i^ '''^ '° *•"' yourself-to let a 
 great, homd man treat you so." 
 
 *' Well, that's what they aU do," said Minnie, 
 pbintively. "I'm sure /can't help if' ^ 
 
 Whv MiJn!^!, T """* '''"' ""*''' » ohild! 
 M^t ^ *^''°* y"" """" know that su. 
 things are very, very iU-bred, and very ve 
 indelicate and unrefined. And then, S how 
 he came forcing himself upon us when we were 
 
 edTNo ?"''"'' "• '^''"'' "« wasnW^ 
 tlL • ?: **'* "''"««• And then, how he 
 kept givihg ns all a histoiy of his life EverJ 
 body could hear him, and people stared «, th2 
 It was really quite shocking. " 
 
 "Oh, that's because he is so very, very frank 
 
 On'll^r'l °/ '^i*''^' ' •''«>n»d think not 
 Only think how he acted yesterday-foreing 
 his way in and rushmg up stair.. Why i?i 
 actually quite frightful.' H^e's «S . 3il' 
 We will have to keep all the door. lockeTwd 
 send for the police. Why, do yon knol^EtTd 
 says th«t he was here before; running abont 
 and shouting in the same way: 'Mini' «Minr 
 
 . '" V^*' " *•"** *''® """"^d wretch eaUs yon 
 —'Mm I It's me.', ' Come, Min I' " ^ 
 
 A,t this Minnie burst into a peal of menr 
 musical la^, and laughed orSll th^SS 
 SedllSe?:^ 2«r.tt*er1ooke*lnoiilB^ 
 
 " He's such a boy," said ffflmie ; « he's jott 
 
 child, he s a big boy, and the«»fi,Ue.t, fannlett 
 boy I ever «iw And then he's «, ft,nd of mT 
 .i^l^^''^*?' "»•• O*"' •''• *''ft«Ily nice." 
 Aooyl A beast, yon mean— * horrid i»T- 
 
 III 
 
 
79 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 age. What eon I do ? I mast send for a po- 
 liceman, TU certainly have the doors all locked. 
 And then we'll'all be prisonem," 
 
 "Well, then, A '11 all be your own fault, for,; 
 /don't want to ht^ve any doors locked." 
 
 "Oh deatJIi sighed her sister. 
 
 •'Well, I ion't. And I think you're very 
 unkind." 
 
 " Why, yon silly child, he'd come here some 
 day, carry yon off, and make you marry him." 
 
 " Well, I do wish he would," said Minnie, 
 gravely. " I wish somebody would, for then it 
 wonld put a stop to all thi& wop7, and I really 
 don't know what else ever- will. Do you, now, 
 Kitty darling?" 
 
 Mrs. WiDoughby turned a^way with a gesture 
 of despair. 
 
 An hour or two after some letters were brought 
 in, one of which- was addressed to 
 
 M188 FaTj 
 
 Potte Restmte, 
 
 Roma. 
 
 Minnie opened this, and looked over it with 
 a troubled air. Then she spoke to her sister, 
 and they both wedt off to Minnie's room. 
 
 " Who do you think this is from 7" she asked. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ! Of course it's some 
 more trouble." 
 
 " It's from Coptain Kirby." 
 
 "Oh, of course!' And of course he's here 
 in Borne ?" 
 
 "No, he isn't." . 
 
 "What! Not yet?" 
 
 " No ; but he wro^o this from London. He 
 has been to the hous^t and learned that we had 
 gone to Italy. He says ho has sent off letters 
 to me, directed to evei^ city in Italy, so that I 
 may be sure to get it. Isn't that good of him ?" 
 
 "Well?" asked Mrs. Willoughby, repressing 
 an exclamation of vexation. 
 
 " Well, be says that in three days he will 
 leave, and go first to Rome, as he thinks we 
 will be most likely to be there this season. 
 And so, yon see, he's coming on ; and he will 
 be here in three days, yoo know." 
 . "Minnie," said her sister, after some mo- 
 ments' solemn thought. 
 
 "WeU, Kitty darling?" 
 
 "Do yon ever think?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 ' * Would yon like one of these gentlemen of 
 yours to blow one of the others' brains out, or 
 stab him, or any thing of that sort ?" 
 
 ' ' How shocking you are, fotty dear ! What 
 a dreadful question !" 
 
 " Well, understand me now. One of them 
 wUl do that, "i^ere will be trouble, and your 
 name will be associated with it." 
 
 ySell, " said MiB&ie, ' ' I^bow who icoii't be 
 
 shot." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Why, Bnfns K. Gnnn," said she, in the fun- 
 ny, prim way in which she always pronounced 
 that name. " If he finds it out, he'll drive all 
 the others away." 
 
 " And would you like that 7" 
 
 " Well, you know, he's awfully fond of me, 
 and he's so like a boy : and if I'm such a child, 
 I could do better with a man, you know, that's 
 like a boy, you know, than — than — " 
 
 " Nonsense ! He's a madman, and you're a 
 simpleton, you little goOse." 
 
 " Well, then, we must be well suited to one 
 another," said Minnie. 
 
 "Now, child, listen," said Mrs. Willoughby, 
 firmly. "I intend to put a stop to this. I 
 have made up my mind positively to leave 
 Rome, and take yon home to papa. I'll tell 
 him all about it, put yon under his care, and 
 have no more responsibility with yon. I think 
 he'd better send you back to school. I've been 
 too gentle. You need a firm hand. I'll be 
 firm for a few days, till you can go to papa. 
 You need not begin to cry. It's for yonr own 
 good. If you're indulged any more, you'll sim- 
 ply go to ruin." 
 
 - Mrs. Willoughby's tpne was different jfrom 
 nsual, a^nd Minnie was impressed by it. She 
 sai^ that her sister was resolved. So she stole 
 up to her and twined her arms about her and 
 kissed her. 
 
 "There, there," said her sister, kissing her 
 again, " don't look so sad, Minnie darling. It's 
 for your own good. We must go away, or else 
 you'll have another of those dreadful people. 
 You must trust to me now, dearest, and not in- 
 terfere with me in any way." 
 
 " Well, well, you mustn't be unkind to poor 
 Rufus K. Gunn," said Minnie. 
 
 " Unkind ? Why, we won't be any thing to 
 him at all." 
 
 "And am I never to — to — see liim again?" 
 
 "No!" said her sister, firmly. 
 
 Minnie started, and looked at Mrs. Willough- 
 by, and saw in her facQ a fixed resolution. 
 
 "No, never!" repeated Mrs. Willoughby. 
 " I am going to take you back to England. I'm 
 afraid to take any railroad or steamboat. I'll 
 hire a carriage, and we'll all go in a quiet way 
 to Florence. Then we can take the railroad 
 to Leghorn, and go home by the way of Mar- 
 seilles. No one will know that we've gone 
 away. They'll think we have gone on an ex- 
 cursion. Now we'll go out driving this morn- 
 ing, and this afternoon we must keep the outer 
 door locked, and not let any one in. I suppose 
 there is no danger of meeting him in the morn- 
 ing. He must be on duty then." 
 
 " But mayn't I see him at all before we go 7" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Just once — only once ?" 
 
 "No, not once.' You've seen that horrid 
 man for the last time," 
 
 Minnie again looked at her sister, and again 
 read her rtpolutioB in her face. She turned^- 
 away, her head dropped, a sob escaped from 
 her, and then she burst into tears. 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby left the room. 
 
 :tl^. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 JEALOUST. - 
 
 Lord Hawbuhv had come to Rome for .h. 
 A/«creg. Bttt he had not found it so easv tn 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON 
 
 ";^ 
 
 78 
 
 "Miss Fay?" 
 
 " Ye« ; your child-angel, yon know Hnt It'. 
 an older affair than yo«„; u\ reX sodol' 
 are'^TaYC'"'- ^««"'-' h-cliX'he 
 
 "Miss Fay J Oh,i8,h„t\„r3„i,,D„,^^ 
 
 he used to, and for sevU dayTl^lX^td "^l- ^"^^ Oh, is that\ll?" said Dactx,. 
 ard\t';irJV^: ?_l-''-'» the sadness m^^^^^^ excaement. >„d became cool once 
 
 I HawWy noted this very thoughtfully. 
 
 i.ur.,' ""^ *'"" nnfe gned ioy L/ ? ^ ""'" ' ''""^ but that this was anm^ 
 
 " That— oh, an old friend of minn w«'. 
 American named Gunn. --He'S^^d the P^^ 
 
 thing It IS for them to get hold, of such a man 
 I^happened to call one day, and found hi^S , 
 
 - np"J?h itt^% Z^^'^l' "^"^ "^^"^ 
 
 .notherofthos'e precious a.valii,^"''!;?'^ ''"' 
 of all lands_n,»f j " «»^«IWs— the scum 
 
 2isMo.isaf„^;d7:Can'S^:: fX 
 
 oX Kur/ouT ^-'^ •*«"'-. oW 
 
 bitilr^^ ""' '"" ""^ ^^ •«"«'. " «^d Dacres, 
 
 co^Siro'urHriSia''''" ^y> y--- 
 
 «1L It's tl,« -,1k '''"''' your wife at 
 
 "Jealous 1" ^ 
 
 b«Iu is aVoTa^r "S"TW»'>"'"'' 
 
 hJJr '^'w '" -r '1^ '"«"<' andibreathed 
 "B^; .?! ,^."f ^'"^^nHy "nuch exlited, 
 
 onn„ r/?..^''^' "'"-"" »'d affair. Vt's the 
 
 ■ . V B"o um mat ten< 
 
 love that now lurks in her face. Good Hea7 
 
 'Canri"Sl '^ ''"f "/^ ^-'t I knfw he 
 dream ? r™^"" ^^'.^ '" "V^^mory all « 
 
 .. obliterated can that woma^lXnt """ "" 
 now hl^f tl H ^'?? 'P*'."'^°«' «" "« often did 
 
 I froml^r f '"flammation that arose 
 
 '^1.1n °f angry blood to his head, 
 my hrrt fhT ^"^^ '"" ""'X "ay I wish from 
 
 aistant way; but I must say I think her f«o« 
 
 yo" mel- "^'J"^ °f 'hat'gent,e„esB';S 
 you mention. Miss Pay treats her quite Uke 
 an elder sister, and is deuced fond of^Ser too 
 
 that ^e'^^::si:zz!s^ctrz: 
 
 of;«n angel Iferself, oughtn't she?" 
 
 ;Dacreswa« silent for a long time. 
 "H ™ a, that confounded Italian," said he. * 
 
 .aSt?li r H?* '",^r'^*''« '^^^ tJS 
 Ta know He!L """" '^.''''' •''''"Pted lo^er, 
 riage " "^ •""' "'^'"« »««''J« the carl 
 
 ner feelings? Never. Slimy, Sir, and cold , 
 
 r 
 
 hit her pff ? 
 
 >nn»~ ' —"", •■, B an oia ati 
 
 jwng one, jrou know— Miss Fav H«V..i, T""" ° — " """ * 
 
 •«^tshe;,youk«ow. Tha;'.^:Lt^^''"^iKf'Jjt^"'- ^"ia' ytth.7;i;r;:rt: 
 
 Jtes, a beautiful, mali^ant, tod- 
 
 Lix?^*-!, »-fe»!t » n 'jd'i^l- A. . ij 
 
 .il* 
 
74 
 
 ^' 
 
 THE AMEMCAN BARON. 
 
 1^.- 
 
 oiftoaa aerp^nt, with nucjnatioii in h«r tyn, and 
 death and anguiih in her bite. But ihe ihall 
 And out yet that others are not without power. 
 Confound Jier I" 
 
 "Well, now, l^ Jove! old boy, I thiqk the 
 very best thing you can do is to go away lonm- 
 where, and get rid of these troubles." ' 
 
 "Go away 1 Can I go away froia my own 
 thoughts ? Hawbury, the trouble is in my own 
 heart. I must keep near her; There's that 
 Italian deril. He shall not have her. I'll 
 watch them, as I have watched them, till I find 
 a chance' for reVengb." 
 
 "You have watched thelri, then?" asked 
 Hawbury, in great surprise. 
 
 "Y.eg, both of them. I've feen the Ital- 
 ian prowling about where she IWjSs. I've seen 
 her 00 her balcony, evidently I watching for 
 him." '^ \J. 
 
 " But haVe you seen any, thing morri ? This 
 is only your fancy." 
 
 " Fancy 1 Didn't I see her herself stand- 
 ing on the balcohy looking down. I was con- 
 cealed by the shadow of a fountain, and she 
 couldn't see me. She turned her face, and I 
 saw it in that soft, sweet, gentle beauty which 
 she has cultivated so wonderfully. I swear it 
 seemed like the face of an angel, and I could 
 have worshiped it. If she could have seen 
 my face in that thick shadow she would have 
 thought I was an adorer of hers, like the Ital- 
 ian—ha, ha 1— instead of a pkirsner, and an 
 enemy." 
 
 "Woll,-ni be hanged if I can tell myself 
 which you are^ old boy ; but, aft amf rate, I'm 
 glad to be able to state that y|>nr ftrouble will 
 soon be over." I 
 
 "How's that?" 
 "She's going away, 
 ''Going away!" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "She! going away I whe^e?" 
 " Back to England 
 
 " Back to Engljind ! wl^y, she's just come 
 here. What's ^lat for ?" / 
 
 "I don't know. I only know they're lall 
 going home. Well, yoii know, holy week's 
 over, and there is- no object for them to stay 
 • longer." 
 
 "Going away! (joing away!" replied Da- 
 cres, slowly. " Whb told you ?" 
 "Miss Fay." 
 
 "Oh, IdonVb^Iieveit." , 
 "There's no doubt abont it, my dear boy. 
 Miss Fay told me explicitly. She" said they 
 were going in a(,carrii|e by this way of Civita 
 Castellana." ' ' 
 
 ."What are they going that iifay for?, What 
 nonsense ! I don't believe it." . 
 ^QbrW*^*^tuAr B es i d e s, ; they evidently 
 
 "Tried'tostopherl Ah! Who were there ? 
 Wire you calling?" ^ 
 
 " Oh no — it was yesterday tnoming. I was 
 riding, and, to my surprise, met them. They ' 
 were driving — Mrs. Willoughby,^nd Miss Fay, 
 you know-yso I 'chatted with them « few mo- 
 ihents, or riTther w.ith Miss Fay, and hoped I ^ 
 would see them again soon, at some /^te or ' 
 0{her, when she told me this." 
 " And my wife tried to stop her ?" 
 "Yes." r • 
 
 "And looked vexed ?" 
 "»»." „ ^i 
 
 " Then it was some secret of hen. Ske has' 
 "some reason for keeping dark. The other has 
 none. Aha! don't I understai^^ylher ? She 
 wants to keep it from me. She knows you're my 
 friend, and was vexed that you should know. 
 Aha! she dreads my presence, She krfows 
 J'n on her track. She wants to get-away 
 with ber Italian— away flrom my sight. Aha ! 
 the tables are turned at last Aha I my lady. 
 Now well see. Now take your Italian and fly, 
 And see how far you cSn get away from ine. 
 Take him, and see if you can hold him. Aha '. 
 my angel face, my mild, soft eye* of love, but 
 devil's heart— can not I understand it nil ? I 
 see through it. I've watched you. .Wait till 
 you see Scone Dacres on your track !" 
 
 " What's that ? You don't really mean it ?" - 
 cried Hawbury. 
 "Yes, I do." 
 "Will you follow her?" 
 "Yes, I will." 
 
 " What for ? For a vagtte fancy of your jeal- 
 ous^mind?" _J 
 
 " It isn't a fancy ; it's a certainty. I'vft,«een 
 the Italian dogging her, dodging about her 
 house, ind tiding with her. I've seen her 
 looking very much as if she were expecting him 
 at her balcony. Is all that nothing? She's seen- 
 jne, and feels conscience-stricken, and longs to . 
 get away where she may Ije free fWim the te^ 
 ror of my presence. But I'll track hor. I'll 
 strike at her— #t her heart, too ; for I Will strike 
 through the Italian." 
 "By Jove!" 
 
 *' I will, I Bweaii!" cried Dacres, gloomily. 
 "You're mad, Dacres. You imagine «ll 
 thif. You're like a madman in a dream." 
 
 " It's no d«Bam. Ill follow her. I'll track . 
 her." 
 
 "Then, by Jove, yonH have to take me with 
 yon, old boy ! I see you're not fit to take caie 
 of yourself. Ill have to go and keep you flrom 
 harm." ^, 
 
 " You won't keep me from harm, old chap, ' 
 said Dacres, more gently ; " but I'd be glad if 
 yon would go. So come along." 
 "I will, by Jove 1^'- 
 
 don't want it to be known." 
 
 "What's ifia.ti" asked Dacres, OiagerlY; 
 
 "I say they don't seem to want it Ki be 
 known. Mi« Fay told m'e in her childish way, 
 and I saw tftat Mrs. WiUoughby looked vexed, 
 and tried to stop her." 
 
 VK. 
 
 :»sf 
 
,THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 : WAnmiD bul 
 
 CHAPTER X3L - 
 
 THH BAHON's WOK8. 
 
 Dacbes w»i-i,ot the only excited visitor 
 that Hawbnor had that day. Before Ictose 
 «.no.W n.ade hi. appearance in ti. per«.S 
 
 - my Baron bold-how goes/Zv But, bT 
 Jove I whaf. the matter, my boy? -Yonr brow ni..ht 
 deep .car. of thunder have intrenched, Tn^ ^'^'• 
 care s.U on your faded cheek. Pour forth the 
 mournful tale. ril„..ympathize." 
 B. J. "*"^ **'' *** "^iKhty bad J" cried the 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "The way I'm getting humbugged." 
 yon?" ****" Who's been humbugging 
 
 of ii hvT.K" !f '•'•"'?'' ■"'^ """'• *l«o »«>"t 
 or It by a thundering .ight." 
 
 r^X. "r ''""" *■*"'"'' *f I «"> help you. 
 
 .nofwTK- °"'°' thaf.therow. There ain't 
 anodier thing on this green earth that would 
 tronbleme for five .ecpndi" . ""^Z 
 
 "Minnie? Oh I An<J what has happon^^ 
 » lover's qnarrel ?» Ft^"^ 
 
 »SS?'?°*"^- -SV.all^ght." -) 
 'Vl*atisit,then?'f 
 "my, she', disappeared," 
 /•Disappeared t W^at io yon mean by 
 
 that 
 
 that they keep their place bolted and barred* 
 
 mU U'^""®*"* "•' ^^ "•<» *«"'•'' no 
 Mrvant to be iMn sn/i t u i._j . 
 
 ^ . 75 
 
 " If. deuced odd, too-qneer, by Jove I I 
 
 SeV:;^'-'^ ^^« -^ ''^^ .u 
 
 "CourMlam." ^ " 
 
 "AnH no servants?" 
 . "Not a darned servant." 
 I^Did yon ask the concierge?" .' ' 
 
 n... K ^T.' ^'*'' *"'' "'«"'ed W« pallii too. 
 
 ifcht H H^'" "••' ""^ «tisfactio?' ' '"*' 
 jmrlM, did he say ?" - ' * 
 
 had^&Jt il^'tV""^ ''?"' "»,homvfor they 
 
 'hrkn™,t«^1k T^ '*!!" ' went-back and near- 
 
 r.re7mr f •'^ «''«?-i5n'trs 
 
 they all mean by it." t * "''" 
 
 « "ByJovel odd,too.> V 
 
 *£«^^^^ni;a5;:s^^^. 
 
 result, fl .poke to the conciergTaJain^and 
 he swore aga n that they were til in Thev 
 
 "By Jove 1" a _^ 
 
 "Well, I was pretty tard up, I tell von 
 But I wasn'f going to give up. So I «aM 
 felS'^'^V-Ke I c';os.ed thVc?n- 
 
 cba r. He thought it was some government 
 
 ?nfetri^^iiTerir\r«'''''^-^i.- 
 
 the first day I w^tfiJe^Vd 1^/1^ 
 
 about there, w^th anoiher f^w, and sta^f " 
 ^/t me. I watched him, Ind said no^ 
 
 Hes np to something, I .wear. When he 
 ^l^ on the gn,„nd, though. hTttt'! 
 
 ««1^*'"' ' u'*'*'' •" °'8ht, and the next 
 mehiing watched again. I didn't knock. I . 
 
 Well, about nine o'clock.thedoor opened. 
 ^ iH "^^^ "»« '"oESg out very cJS • 
 IL 1. M """"** ' *•• ""•"ding before her 
 and held out my hand to shake hem. I, wm 
 
 Sht rVf^- ^"*^''« <J»<^°'t -hSe hind" " 
 She looked at me quite cooUy. 
 
 ft *inmnRvo.ce. ' Good^moming, ma'am/ 
 
 Good-mominfe,' she said. 
 " '.I "°"® '*» "«»*' Minnie, • wid L 
 idm?.hTwS.^5'^'''''"'"<»«>»«he^ 
 
 Mrvant to be seen, and I c^n't flnd"on't".n^U„ij *" T" "'"We'' «aid .he; 
 
 ewlyl Why,|rl|at'.gother? Wen,yonjn.t 
 
*♦ 
 
 76 
 
 f^ THE AMERICAN PARON. 
 
 gf) and tell her I'm hjSre, Jttd T\\ just step iai^ 
 side 4nd wait till she'coBrie»'<<lo^,' said I. ' 
 
 " But the old lady didn't budge. 
 
 "'I'm not a ^irvant,' she said, very stiff; 
 'I'm her aunt, and. her guardian, ajpd I allow 
 no messages to .jm« between her ao^trange 
 gentlemen.' ' ■, ' i* 
 
 "'Strange |5.ei|tliinen1' I cfied. 'Why, 
 ain't I enga^4 ^- .. . .. 
 
 "'Idon'tJciy 
 
 »'' Wasn't,! in¥ 
 
 "'No,'say)5 
 
 Let me inform you, Sir, that tf yon repeat it, 
 yon will be handed over to the police. »The 
 police would certainly have been called yester- 
 day had we not wished to avoid hurting your 
 feelings. We now find that you have no feel- 
 ings to hurt.' 
 
 " ' Very well, ma'am,' says I ; ' these are 
 your views ; but as you are not Minnie, I don't 
 Mcept them. I won't retire from the field till 
 I hear a command to that effect from Minnie 
 herself. I allow no relatives to stand between 
 me and my love. Show me Minnie^ and let me 
 
 
 
 **-*Bnt I'm engaged to Minnie,' says I. 
 
 " 'I don't recogniM yon,' says she. 'The 
 family know nothing abont you ; and my niece 
 is a silly girl, who is going back to her father, 
 who will probably send her to school.' 
 ' ' Bnt I savtd her llfq,' sa ys I, 
 
 "Vrfiars Tefy possible,' says she? 'many 
 persons have done so; yet that gives you no 
 right to annoy her ; and you shall not annoy 
 her. Tour engagement is an absurdity. The 
 child herself is an absurdity. I'bii are an ab- 
 surdity. Was it not jou who was creating 
 such a fHghtfal distnrbftnce here yesterday? 
 
 hear what she has to say. That's all 
 and that's fair and square.' 
 
 " ' Yon shall not see her at all,' says the old 
 lady, quite mild ; ' not at all. You must not 
 come again, for you will not be admitted. Po- 
 lice will be here to put jou out if y on attempt 
 to force an entrance as you did before.' ^ 
 
 " ' Force an entrance I' I cried. 
 
 " 'Yes,' she said, 'force an entrance. Yon 
 did so, and yon filled the whole house with 
 your shouts. Is that to be borne ? Not by at, 
 Sir. And now go, and don't disturb us any 
 more.' 
 
 ■'S 
 
 ,.V-i:.'.-;>^K''J>--i^iiX-.t^'Sa^56A^^^a( 
 
in my lite. The old lady was perfectly calm 
 and cool; wasn't a bit scared-thonrh there 
 was no reason why she should be She jus? 
 
 cSLln '''"' "''^- B"' when she'ac 
 Zy i '^"'■'='"8 "" entrance and kickine 
 
 up •* row, I was struck alL of « 7 "^ ''"'f 
 couldn't say a word Lt^ ^*P """^ 
 
 iW« kiVIr nr: . . . '^'■'=* a" entrance! 
 
 Whv Senu "°"'' /"•* ■'» *«"°i«'« house! 
 w ny, the old woman's mad ! 
 
 fi.ol'^''",'T''^ "'"^ '■"^y-*''"' the door in mv 
 face, and I walked off; and I've been e^r 
 
 ifTcLTm^aiTer r "'' "' •"" ^ " '^^« 
 !!..•: T -^ ^^^^ •"■ *«'• of it- The onlv 
 
 Sd noli" T '"^^''^ »" keepini MinS 
 locKed up away from me. Thev don't lifcp m» 
 
 though why they don't I can't s^^erf'l'm as 
 
 f^^tK ""^ ^ody, and I've beei particular 
 
 «^H Jk . '.""'' *'"'y ««« that Minnie docs 
 But b7 r. "^"? '° "'■*"*'' "P 'he engagemen ' 
 Srnoht^ ' ''!i'"? J'"«°'" *°d the Baron 
 clinched a good-sized and very sinewv fiT 
 which he brought down hard on the 1,^11" bv 
 rr/t^,''^:;;r"«-'' they can't comet 
 
 •'Is she fond of you-Miss Fay, I mean ?" 
 Fond I Course-she is. She dotes on me 
 
 " Are you sure ?" "ume. 
 
 • /'^"®L.^* ?*"■* as I am of my own ex 
 
 enoZh-1 rA'"" ri''"^ looks Vr^rt 
 enough! She has a look of helpless trust an 
 innocent confidence, a tender, child Ik™ fki'h 
 
 Zugh." " '""'" through and 
 
 h«?f J^IT*' " ""'" ""T^ed. He thought I 
 
 you tn^r^V ^'•''^'"''""•sthochiefthing, ' 
 you know. If you're sure of the girl's affeo 
 tions, the battle's half won. " 
 
 «w''!('"'"' -^in'titallwon?" 
 
 glish there"*™*!'"'"'^- ^•"' ^'"'' '^'"' '" En- 
 
 "But wi r T "^ ?"""y considerations." 
 ,nn.M r "" Americans there is only one 
 c^sideiation, and that is. Do you love^mef 
 
 SS^™»„ ?/"*' "P " '"""J' thousands as her 
 ^rwT;y:S?m"'a^;o'n",^.''"--^''"«^-^o; 
 
 B.|fu. K. Gum. Baron de Atramonte." ' 
 
 Ihe Baron's face flushed 
 W^w^^tr-" •"'• ?«' "thaf. good in you. 
 
 Jon thint ;^f ' ''"„"' """"'y~ to tell w, what 
 
 s cU°s;'"ii''"'.r'""''' ■»" "^ '•"" i^ 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 77 
 dol^^/"^*' "J^ ''*'•' ''""°^' !'«• he.glad to 
 
 all go.„g to leave Rome to-morrow morning" 
 " Wha7'"h?"' H"r''°"«'' ''^ ''«<' ''«-«hot. 
 
 "Yes." 
 'And to-morrow morning?" 
 
 .'.' L^^ ' ^^''' ^">' t°''l "ne herself-" 
 Miss Fay told you herself! By Heaven ' 
 What do they inean bv that ?" a .,/.ir^ " 
 «at trembli„g\ith eSement. ' ""^ ^""" 
 
 ^ ' Well, the holy week's over " 
 
 It's meT T^Jtt'' ?°' """"'"K '° <^° with it ! ^ 
 How „ri , J^'^PfJ^'ng to get her from me ! 
 How are they ^g? Do you know?" 
 
 . Ihey are going in a carriage by the wav nf 
 Civita Castellana." "/me way of 
 
 "In a carriage by the way of Civita Cant,.! 
 ana 1 Darn that old idiot of a woman ! wTll" 
 she tip to now? If she's running awav Ton! 
 me she'll wish herself back be?.^re'shrg'ets ?a 
 on that road Why. there's an infe^Mnes 
 of brigands there that call themseK'cs GariL 
 
 The"v'ilT''' '^ !!'""*^«'-' "•« woman's "^'?: 
 They 11 be seized and held to ransom-DTr 
 haps worse. Heavens! I'll go mad I T'll f^l 
 
 w atiifr?- A^";^°' .'"'^ ""•' - - 
 
 wnatllldo? And Minnie! I can't mve hm- 
 up. She can't give me up. She's a pooT ^e^ 
 bhng httle creature, her whole lifeTan^Tn 
 mme. Separation flPom me would kill^h^ 
 Poor ht,.Ie girl! Separation! By thuuder" 
 they shall never separate us! What devil 
 «akes the old woman g, by that infema road? 
 Bngands all the way I^-flut I'll go after , hem • 
 1 11 follow them. They'U find it almighty h^d 
 work to keep her from me! I1l3h«r h„ 
 thunder! and I'll get her out of the ir clutche^^ 
 I swear I will! m bring her back E J 
 
 t^m^' "I'h '1' ''' '"^ I-ope himself o Wn7he^ 
 to me with a knot that all the old women MdM 
 heaven can never loosen !" 
 
 oddTri'n. ^°''''-«' K^K? By Jove! that's 
 roaii." * '^ ''"'' ' '■"'"'* "^ '""^ »«»* 
 
 see",?ri/*^'"-' Three ^ers! And yon^U 
 ^ee_the old woman, and speak a good wo^ fo" 
 
 wUl^byVo".- ' '"' «•" * '='""'''•'' ' «^% 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 AN ETXHTFDL JODHHBT. 
 
 Ok Uie day following two carriaaa. 
 
 I of Khtna An^ ^ I. .1 . ■"" 
 
 I 
 
 out of Borne, and took the road tov^ BW 
 ence by the way of Civita CasteS.^ ^oZ 
 carnage held four ladies; the ither one w« 
 occupiedjy four lady'^maid. and ther„:^ 
 
 £;zr.'^u7&rir;^s ret- 
 
 dlMipated g«d.aUy M thelun aroU A.Thv 
 
78 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 went on the day advanced, and with the de- 
 parting mists there^ opened up a wide view. 
 On either side extended the desolate Cam- 
 pagna, over which passed lines of rained aque- 
 ducts on their way from the hills to the city. 
 Here and there crumbling ruins arose above 
 the plain — some ancient, others medieval, none 
 modem. Before them, in the distance, arose 
 the Apennines, among which were, here and 
 there, visible the white outlines of some villa or 
 hamlet. 
 
 For mile after mile they drove on ; and the 
 drive soon proved very monotonous. It was 
 nothing but one long and unvarying plain, with 
 this only change, that every mile brought them 
 nearer to the mountains. As the mountains 
 were their only hope, they all looked forward 
 eagerly to the time when they would arrive 
 there and wind along the road among them. 
 Formerly Mrs. Willoughby alone had been 
 . the confid^lte of Minnie's secret, but the events 
 of the paiJPlevjilays had disclosed most of her 
 
 for this imaginary neglect. So she sought to 
 make the journey as pleasant as possible by 
 cheerful remarks and lively observations. None 
 of these things, however, produced any eflFect 
 upon the attitude of Minnie. She sat there, with 
 unalterable sweetness and unvarying patience, 
 just like a holy martyr, who freely forgave all 
 her enemies, and was praying for those who 
 had despitefuUy used her. 
 
 The exciting events consequent upon the Bar- 
 on's appearance, and his sudden revelation in the 
 role of Minnie's lover^ had exercised a strong 
 and varied effect upoti all; but upon one its 
 result was wholly beneficial, and this was Ethel. 
 It was BO startling and so unexpected that it 
 had roused her from her gloom, and given her 
 something to think of. The Baron's d^ut in 
 their parlor had been narrated to her over and 
 over by each of the three who had witnessed it, 
 and each gave the narrative her own coloring. 
 Lady Dalrymple's account was humorous ; Mrs. 
 Willoughby's indignant ; Minnie's sentimental. 
 
 <B> rBooMnoii jLtmom *h> oaxpaoiia. 
 
 titiiibloa to the other ladies alio, at least as far as 
 the general outlinea'l'ere concerned. The con- 
 sequence was, that they all knew perfectly well 
 the reason why they were traveling in this way, 
 and Minnie knew that they all knew it. Yet 
 this nnpleasant conscioniness did not in the 
 leait interfere with the sweetness of her temper 
 and the gentleness of her manner. She sat there, 
 with a meek smile and a resigned air, oa though 
 the only part now left her in life was the pa- 
 tient endurance of her unmerited wrongs. She 
 blamed no one ; she made no complaint ; yet 
 there was in her attitude something so touch- 
 ing, so clinging, so pathetic, to forlorn, and in 
 her foce something so sweet, so sad, so re- 
 proachful, and so piteous, that she enforced 
 ■y l upath yinmcf each bne^pBl<rS«Te a half- 
 guilty fear that Minnie had been wronged by 
 her. Especially did Mrs. WilMUghby feel this. 
 She feared that she had neglected the artless 
 and simple-minded child ; she feared that she 
 had not been suiBclently thoughtful about her ; 
 •nd now longed to do something to make amends 
 
 Out of all these Ethel gained a fonrth idea, 
 compounded of these three, which again blend- 
 ed with another, and an original one of her own, 
 gained from a personal observation of the Bar- 
 on, whose appearance on the stairs^nd imps- 
 tient summons for "Min" were very vividly 
 impressed on her memory. In addition to this 
 there was the memory of that day on whicli 
 they endeavored to fight off the enemy. 
 
 That was, indeed, a memorable day, and was 
 now alluded to by them all as the day of the 
 siege. It was not without difiicDlty that thev 
 had withstood Minnie's earnest protestation*, 
 and intrenched themselves. But Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby was obdurate, and Minnie's tears, which 
 flowed freely, were unavailing. 
 
 Then there came the first knock of^he^» — 
 patient and aggressive visitor, followed by oth- 
 ers in swift succession, and in ever-incretsing 
 power. Every knock went to Minnie's heart. 
 It excited an unlimited amonnt of sympathy for 
 the one who had saved her life, and was new 
 excluded from her door. But as the knocki 
 
 'K»i t: : tfii.'asioi'-sij,:.'!! 
 
p«w Violent 4nd Operative, and Minnie «t5w 
 «»d and pitiful, the otherladies grew ind L^t 
 
 Sl?h "^°ll! ""^ «" '''« St orsendTng 
 off for the polite and only Minnie's frantic en? 
 treat es prevented this. At last the door seemed 
 
 ^"ha « "• The"; ""' **" ^""«' "°<^«"'"»' 
 a cnange They were convinced that he was 
 
 mad, or else intoxicated. Of the madness o7 
 
 love they did not think. Once convinced hat 
 
 n u^ T^' "'•'y '"'«»"'« terrified. The ma^^s 
 «U hid themselves. None of them now wo"fd 
 venture out even to call the police. They ex 
 Kn '••"'Jr "-■•«« wo^ intei's? bu 
 in vain. The concierge was bribed. 
 
 h.tiJ * ^""^ '"'*""^°' •^*y "'Kht came. Thev 
 
 thaT it ra^fh ?"?« ""^ •""• '•°'^"> -""d knZ 
 that It was their tormentor. Minnie's heart 
 
 Xs"e witrt" r/^' "''^ ^- »"« "- 1 
 :?eti^'^'Xi^^ '"-««». J"" ."-d, and 
 
 79 
 
 this was not permitted. So" she we'nTio bed 
 and fell asleep. So, in process of time did the 
 others and the night pissed withouH'ny Ji^j! 
 ble. Then morning came, and there was a 
 ^IW: "'? ""r^'' *'°°^"'" '^^eTemy 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 t^ncZ «!"«™'*^> And so at last the 
 7^ Ca«np8gna was traversed, and the two 
 carnages began to ascend among the monnta,^ 
 Several other travelers were passing over tha 
 Campagna road, and in the same dirm on 
 They were not near enough for their fwM to 
 be discerned, but the ladies codd KbaTk-nd 
 Beethesignsoftheirpresence. FSthei^t^ 
 
 beSToT^* '"° •""*"' ■""* about two mu" 
 whilst h" J""!: *^*"^"8« '^"' '^0 other men. 
 
 otrr'eili? "" ^•''"'^'^ «-'""°« - '^^ 
 I ^^r* '^ '.' ^^ •*«" possible for Mrs Wil- 
 the travelem who were moving along the road 
 behind her, what a sudden overturn the^wS 
 
 S.. r 'J!.'L«L"P?- "- "P-ts 1 But wt' 
 
 .!,„ k 7 . "^ "aa tnmea h s head and wonW !,.„«* .P ""'""«»> ""a wnat a b igh 
 sbif begged to be allowed <o speak to him ' B„t Wn„ kk *^"''° "P"" •>«"■ "P'ri'" ? But M« 
 this was not permitted. So she wenTln f "H W»"°"K''«>y remained in the most blissful i^ 
 and fell asleeo. So. in „JZ.. ., J*"' ?. ^f^ °°™nw of the pei«,ns of thp.„ l„.,l_ * 
 
 -o ., -wmuaiucu lU lUC mOSt DUSSflll il» 
 
 norance of the per«,ns of these travS 'i 
 so^was aWe to maintain the sunshine of her 
 
 the'flm "cf"" "^•' °^«' '"«» "-y 00^ 
 
 h^Jd "^l?"^ horseman, who had been riding 
 nind, bad overtaken thn Hi<ro.^„» ._. * 
 
 *ere At Ust iTdy Dal.;^pTeT„Zonedr behlVb;?'^ '.T" \"' '''■° ""^ »-- ^dii 
 her energies, and went forth to do battle The Thf 'fl f """"^^^ 'he different carriages. 
 
 7^1 tl^^^y ^'"^ 'J'"'«ihed in the words an Jtfn"! n"™*" ?"'«'''•"* I-"'-! Hawba^ 
 
 of the bold Baron himself. """' """* ^°« ^^acres. As the horseman passed 
 
 of the bold Baron himself. 
 
 the^kS" nl^' "''^"""■^ ^^ "<" «ass„,« 
 tne ladies. Dreading another visit, they hur- 
 
 "fi "n t« a hotel, leaving the maid, to foEw 
 r*. Lf^ '°«Kage as soon a. possible. Onfhe 
 following morning they had 1^ the city 
 Events so very exciting as these had nro 
 
 Ethd "TbT TTH '''''" "P«" the mind'of' 
 fctheJ. They had thrown her thoughts out of 
 ^eir old groove, and fixed them ini Tew Jne 
 Beside., the fact that she was actu.Uy llaZ 
 
 w« Tl^S" "^ .r "*«' ""^ "^ '»"«>h so^l 
 ™«h! K^^ * P*"*'^ "'hef. She had dreaded 
 
 Heeo hell? """• '•"'* "'"' '"'^ heen ^.^el 
 to keep herself a prisoner. A deep mief still 
 
 wHowsl" «".'""' h„t.atanyTe ehe« 
 
 As for Mrs. WiUonghby, in spite of her self 
 reproach about her purely ima^arynegLrJf 
 Minnie, she felt such an extSordfuarfre ief 
 that It affected aU her nature -Thl Ti, 
 
 =T* "* * mother conTrfioT She was lavish in 
 her promise, of what she wouldTo t het 
 She chatted gayly with Ethel about a thouMnd 
 
 hHuaS. / "'""^ ^''^ Ddiymple on 
 
 — --.»o. «B ine norseroan passed 
 h^_ recogmzed them with a careless noTTnd 
 
 Scone Dacres grasped Lord Hawbuiy's arm. 
 . Did you see him?" he cried. "Theltall 
 
 "By Jove !" cried Lord Hawbnnr. 
 
 The horseman rode on further, and overtook 
 the next carriage. I„ this th'ere wero^J 
 ZVi!"' '" ""' ""'^°™ "^ 'he Papal Zouave^ 
 ttL H '" ""?' ''''"'''• =« '"™ed tow,^ 
 these, and greeted them with the same nod ^ 
 
 Ba™?**./^ "•* ""*. """' Paraon?" said th. 
 B«on to his companion. "Do you rocogni« 
 
 "No." 
 caileTn."' ^" "" ''''" "t Minnie', house. He 
 
 "No, he didn't." 
 
 "Didn't he? No. By thunder it ».»>» 
 that time. ^Well, at any L!^X7mL7S^ 
 
 he » goi a Wd row to hoe before he .ncewwto 
 
 .<d".t^^""* *?"*• 'he Baron Mt gUrins 
 after theMfan, with wmething in hi. eye thai 
 
 -, ~.u cougratuiated her over and -.rrKf .'"'" !!?" **°' ^ ''«'' ">"«• ^rther 
 
 --. u *„ ., „.^, ^^ .."s r:|r 'X°»"ft„fi2;:'i'"j*£ 
 
 v-^ 
 
 ll^i,A.*/"?4!iu>4lteL»i2 
 
Ur 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 ij: 
 
 stranger as he advanced. He soon came near 
 enough to be distinguished, and Mrs. Willough- 
 by recognized Girasole. 
 
 Her surprise was'eo great that she uttered 
 an exclamation of teirror, which startled the 
 other ladies, and madib them all look in that 
 direction. 
 
 "How very odd!" said Ethel, thoughtfully. 
 "And now I suppose you'll all go and say 
 that I brought hint too," said Minnie. " That's 
 always the way you do. You never seem to 
 think that I may be innocent. You alwayt 
 blame me for every little Viite of a thing that 
 may happen." 
 
 No one made any remark, and there was si- 
 lence in the carriage as the stranger approached. 
 The ladies bowed somewhat coolly, except Min- 
 nie, who threw upon him the most imploring 
 look that could possibly be sent from human 
 eyes, and the Italian's impressible nature thrill- 
 ed before those beseeching, pleading, earnest, 
 unfathomable, tender, helpless, innocent orbs. 
 Removing his bat, he bowed low. 
 
 "I haf not been awara," he said, politely, 
 in his broken Enghsh, "thatyouar ladysippa's 
 bm intend to travalla. Ees eet not subito in- 
 tenzion ?" 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby made a polite response of 
 a general character, the Italian paused a mo- 
 ment to drink in deep draughts from Minnie's 
 great beseeching eyes that were fixed upon his, 
 and then, with a low bow, he passed on. 
 
 "I believe I'm losing my senses," said Mrs. 
 Willoughby. 
 
 I' Why, Kitty darling?" asked Minnie. 
 " I don't know how it is, but I actually trem- 
 bled when that man came up, and I haven't got 
 over it yet." 
 
 "I'm sore I don't see why," said Minnie. 
 " You're always imagining things, though. Now 
 im't she, Ethel dearest?" 
 
 "Well, really, I don't see much in the Count 
 to make one tremble. I suppose poor dear 
 Kitty has been too much agitated lately, and 
 it's her poor nerves." 
 
 " I have my lavender, Kitty dear," said Lady 
 Dalrymple. "Won't you take it? Or would 
 yon prefer valerian ?" 
 
 "Thanks, much, but I do not need it," said 
 Mrs. Willtfughby. ' ' I suppose it will pass off. " 
 "I'm sure the poor Count never did any 
 body any harm," said Minnie, plaintively ; " so 
 you needn't all abuse him so— unless you're 
 all angry at him for saving my life. I remem- 
 ber a time when you all thought very different- 
 ly, and all praised him up, no end." 
 
 " Really, Minnie darling, I have nothing 
 
 •gainst the Count, only once he was a little too 
 
 intrusive ; but he seems to have ff)t over that ; 
 
 ^muHf hcTl onlylw nice and quiet and proper, 
 
 I'm sure I've nothing to say against him." 
 
 They drove on for some time, and at length 
 reached Civita Castellana. Here they drove 
 up to the hotel, and the ladies got out and went 
 up to their apartments. They had three rooms 
 up stairs, (^0 of which looked out into the street, 
 
 while the third was in the rear. At the front 
 windows was a balcony. 
 
 The ladies now disrobed themselves, and 
 their maids assisted them to perform the duties 
 of a very simple toilet. Mrs. Willoughby 's was 
 first finished. So she walked over M, the win- 
 dow, and looked out into the street. 
 
 It was not a very interesting place/ nor was 
 there much to be seen ; but she toot a lazy, 
 languid interest in the sight which mether eyes. 
 There were tWe two carriages. The horses 
 were being led to water. Around the carriages 
 was a motley crowd, composed of the poor, the 
 maimed, the halt, the blind, forming that realm 
 of beggars which from immemorial ages has 
 flourished in Italy. With these was intermin- 
 gled a crowd of ducks, geese, goats, pigs, and 
 ill-looking, mangy, snarling cuA. 
 
 Upon these Mrs. Willoughby looked for some 
 time, when at length her ears were arrested by 
 the roll of wheels down the street. A carriage 
 was approaching, in which there were two trav- 
 elers. One hasty glance sufficed, and she turned 
 her attention once more to the ducks, geese, 
 goats, dogs, and beggars. In a few minutes the 
 crowd vras scattered by the newly-arrived car- 
 riage. It stopped. A man jumped out. For 
 a moment he looked up, staring hard at the 
 windows. That moment was enough. Mrs 
 Willoughby had recognized him. 
 
 She rushed away from the windows. Lady 
 Dalrymple and Ethel were in this room, and 
 Minnie in the one beyond. All were startled 
 by Mrs. Willoughby's exclamation, and still 
 more by her looks. 
 "Oh!" she cried. 
 
 " What ?" cried they. " What is it ?" 
 " He's there ! He's there 1 " 
 "Who? who?" they cried, in alarm. - 
 "That horrid man!" 
 
 Lady Dalrymple and Ethel looked at one an- 
 other in utter horror. 
 
 As for Minnie, she burst into the room, 
 peeped out of the windows, saw "that horrid 
 man," then ran back, then sat down, then 
 jumped up, and then burst into a peal of 
 the merriest laughter that ever was beard from 
 her. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad! I'm «o glad!" she ex- 
 claimed. " Oh, it's so auifully funny.' Oh, I'm 
 so glad I Oh, Kitty darting, don't, please don't, 
 look so cross. Oh, ple-e-e-e^e-e-e-ase don't, 
 Kitty darling. You make me laugh worse. It'» 
 so auffully funny !" 
 
 But while Minnie laughed thus, the others 
 looked at each other in still greater constems- 
 tion, and for some time there was not one of 
 them who knew what to say. 
 
 But Lady Dalrymple agaiti thre.w herself in 
 ihe gap. 
 
 " You need not feel at all nervous, my dear^" 
 said she, gravely. "I do not think that thU 
 pehwn can give us any trouble. He certainly 
 can not intrude upon us in these apartments, 
 and on the highway, you know, it will be quite 
 as difflcolt for him to hol4 any communicatkw 
 
 4H^ if^ 
 
 « . K Mi. ^*' 
 
 Ai 
 
'W 
 
 wJtli n«. So I reafly don't .ee anv cauM f„, 
 alarm on your part, nor do I "^^^hv / 
 Minnie should exhibk .uch iLu" ^ '''*' 
 
 M™ ^i."'"'?. *"*"«'" '=°'nf°rt to Ethel and 
 M« WiUoughby They«to„ceperceivedthe"r 
 
 Minni^"*^^. ^"'•^•"P'"'" '«'■''«»'<=« to' herself 
 Minnie looked up with a bright smile. ' 
 
 . . ';. . . ™" > ^™' I forgive you. ■ Only I 
 
 THE AMEKICiK BABON. 
 
 
 
 81 
 
 10 speak to the ladies on business of th« m!«7 
 urgent importance At th.-. c """ 
 
 itrxBr^"^'-"^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 Lady Da, ' oTe .r'"''''' "'''' ^«««°". "»* 
 
 couiL'^ofss.rhir'"^""^ ''•« '''^^ 
 
 .^momtf/r .!5f.-' *° "-J P"t off. I„ 
 
 b«>«ght ano.h;;.;^srra^S?' ^^^^^ ""* 
 
 lent "Im #'?'",! '° ^ "«>'« «'"> mortj vio- 
 !rAl:? ^^flR^^^y-P'*- "Well,d7a«" 
 
 Of the ladie; we;;^rt™iUo;^„T.tvtr'';r^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 loVoX".;^;.".,..''"''""?-""™'" 
 
 Upon this she sent down an invitation to tl,« 
 
 srrrr"^'-'^'''«''«^'e-^K 
 
 Bhalt'har" ""'^'l''' ""''• •" °"'»'' offered to 
 
 ean«s,ly all ^und the roL, and gave ^^ 
 
 w.Vh"""'^.'"^ expected ti see Kie S 
 
 Tgterthe ^"'^^D'-'y-Pie tarkS 
 ..^T- ""^ '•■« ""PreMion which followed. 
 Well, ma'am," said he, as he seated him 
 
 SnTl'lan^'^H''''''^''"' "^ "^^ ''at'^e 
 ousiness I wanted to speak about wa. t.^^1 
 
 r-CtJ vo" iir ' ™»"*" •^^e'rnd rt 
 
 1 assure yon that it is. But before I tell iti 
 want to say something about theS^ f„ ^1 
 I have reason to understand that I d^usld^^t 
 fie annoyance to vou all if i j-j t. * 
 
 this journey. I want to know, ma'am tf Vo^ 
 made any inquiries about this n;.d bZ^lt^ \ 
 
 "This road? No, certainly not." 
 Lr"!^L!^L "'1 '.•?" B*.""*- "Well, 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 k« would -doptXt^'to S . '^''^* '■'•" 
 wnong them ^, - "'"" '" entrance 
 
 •Bch attemn; JP^,/^'"* Convinced that some 
 
 "•WW, 1^ ituur wu not Intermoted Md 
 
 •naata, I ve reason to believe t 
 w htwMwifa. ^ 
 
 <( VTh ^- nit 
 
 
 f,?J 
 
 Unsafe ?" 
 " Tea i particularly fi^ kdiei." 
 "And why?" \ 
 
 stail^.'liH ■""'"•»• "'V*"^t,7 »• in a disordered 
 Sh hri« a" '^u '^"'^-7 «»e it swarm. 
 dhSJ^Kr ^'••7 "•" them«,lve. QaribS- 
 «««•, but betw««, yon «d \n.e, m.'am^yi 
 
 :Mii., 
 
89 
 
 THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 neither more nor lesi than robbers. Ton lee, 
 klong the boandory it ia convenient for them 
 to dodge to one side or the other, and where 
 the road rant there are often crowds of them. 
 Now our papal government means weU, bat it 
 ain't got power to keep down these brigands. It 
 would like to, bat it can't. Yon see, the scum 
 of all Italy gather along the borders, because 
 they know we cure weak ; and so there it is." 
 
 "And you think there is danger on this 
 road?" said Lady Daliymple, looking keenly at 
 him. 
 
 "Ido,ma'An." 
 
 " Pray have you h'eard of any recent acts of 
 violence along the road ?" 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 "Then what reason have you for supposing 
 that there is knj particular danger now ?" 
 
 "A friendlof mine. told me so, ma'am." 
 
 " But do not people use the road ? Are not 
 carriages constantly passing and repassing ? Is 
 it likely that/ if it were unsafe there would be no 
 acts of violence ? Yet you say there have been 
 none." / 
 
 " Not 0f late, ma'am." 
 
 " Bu( it is of late, and of the present time, 
 diat we are speaking." 
 
 " I can only fay, ma'am, that the road is con- 
 sidered very dangerous." 
 
 " Who considers it so ?" 
 
 " If you had made inquiries at Rome, ma'am, 
 yon would have found this oat, anA never would 
 have thought of this road." 
 
 " And yoif advise us not to travel it ?" 
 
 "I do, ma'am." 
 
 " What would you advise ns to do 7" 
 
 "I would advise you, ma'am, most earnestly, 
 to torn and go back to Rome, and leave by an- 
 other route."- 
 
 Lady Dairy mple looked at hira, and a slight 
 smile quivered on her lips. 
 
 "I see, ma'am, that for some reason or other 
 yon doubt my word. Would you put confi- 
 dence in it if another person were t9 confirm 
 what I have said?" 
 
 " That depends entirely upon who the other 
 person may be." 
 
 "The person I mean is Lord Hawbury." 
 
 "Lord Hawbnry ? Indeed !" said Lady Dal- 
 rymple, in some surprise. " But he's in Rome." 
 
 "No, ma'am, he's not. He's here — in this 
 hotel." 
 
 ", In this hotel? Hei«r 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "I'm sure I should like to see him very 
 mnch, and hear what he sayt about it." 
 
 " I'll go and get him, then,*' said the Baron, 
 and, rising briskly, he left the room. 
 
 In a short time he returned with Hawbnry. 
 _,L > d y Dalryrople expressed stirprise to Me him, 
 and Hawbury explained that he was travel- 
 ing with a fiiend. Lady Dalryrople, of course, 
 thought this a fresh proof of his infatuation 
 about Minnie, and wondered how he could be 
 a friend to a man whom she considered aa Min- 
 nie's persecutor and tormentor. 
 
 The Bar«n at once proceeded to explain how 
 the matter stood, and to ask Hawbury's opin- 
 ion. 1 ' 
 
 "Yes," said Lady Dalrymple, "I should re- 
 ally like to know what you think about it." 
 
 "Well, really," said Hawbnry, "I have no 
 acquaintance with the thing,' you know. Never 
 been on this road in my life. But, at the tome 
 time, I can assure you that this geiftleman is a 
 particular friend of mine, and one of the best 
 fellows I know. I'd stake my life on his per- 
 fect truth and honor. If he says any thing, you 
 may believe it because he says it. If he says 
 there are brigands on the road, they most bo 
 there." 
 
 . "Oh, of course," said Lady Dsflry mple. 'fYou 
 are right to believe your friend, and I sl^ould 
 trust his word also. But do y()u not see that 
 perhaps he may believe what he says, and yet 
 be mistaken ?" 
 
 At this the Baron's face fell. Lord Haw- 
 bury's warm commendation of him had excited 
 liis hopes, but now Lady Dalrymple's answer 
 had destrtwed them. 
 
 " For my part," she added, "I don't really 
 think any of us know much about it. I wish 
 we could find some citizen of the town, or some 
 reliable person, and ask him. I wonder wheth- 
 er the inn- keeper is a trust-worthy man." 
 The Baron shook his head. 
 " I wouldn't trust one of them. They're the 
 greatest rascals in the country. Every man of 
 them is in league with the Garibaldians and 
 brigands. This man would advise you to take 
 whatever course would benefit himself and his 
 friends most." 
 
 " But surely we might find some one whose 
 opinion would be reliable. What do you say 
 to one of my drivers ? The one that drove onr 
 carriage looks like a good, honest man." 
 
 " Well, perhaps so ; but I wouldn't trust one 
 of them. I don't believe there's an honest vet- 
 tnrino in alTItaly." 
 
 Lady Dalrymple elevated her eyebrows, and 
 threw at Hawbnry a glance of despair. 
 
 He speaka 'English, too," said Lady Dal- 
 rymple. 
 
 " So do some of the worst rascals in the conn- 
 try," said the BarQp. 
 
 " Oh, I don't think he can be a very bad ras- 
 cal. We had better question him, at any rate. 
 Don't yon think so. Lord Hawbury?" 
 
 "Well, yes ; I suppose it won't do any hwrm 
 to have a look at the beggar." 
 
 The driver alluded to was summoned, and 
 soon made his appearance. He was a square- 
 headed fellow, with a gricKlcfd beard, and one 
 of those non-cbmmittal faces which may be worn 
 by either a« honest man or a knave. Lady Dal- 
 rymple thought him the foriner^ th e B a ron the 
 latter. The result will show which of these 
 was in the right. 
 
 The driver spoke very Mr English. He hsd 
 been two or thre« times over the road. He had 
 not been over it later than two years before. 
 He didn't know it was dangerous. He had 
 
 )^^iiiikjiUim,,,ijj^AJ$MiA^ik^iJiAi^Ji'-A,i^ 
 
never heard of brigands being here B.^m . 
 
 know. There was a signore «t f^l w f "*? ' 
 
 .^ might know. HewMt^," ^'"'-^'«'*''» 
 
 alone. H™ o^ hZS'*"* »» ^'— 
 
 termined to have his advice abTati; s " ^t 
 -t a private reqnest to th:* fC"' "" "'^ 
 
 tionGi^eViS^fSi^^^^^ 
 
 dargll^^alnl':'""'''^--^^- No 
 Another smile from Lady Dalrymple 
 
 eiy in his face **' n>o«k- 
 
 . . A uttle farther conversation foIlownH n ■ 
 «ole evidently was nerf JI „ f ,° * ®"*- 
 
 -•/The Count withdrew. Th« "«.«.» * n 
 
 S«l, b?t%hy™"uM hT«''',~°''«'^- • 
 And yet he believej that t w^h.""''!!"!' 
 
 THE AMERICAN BAROlT. 
 
 88 
 
 »Ce7 .r i°oL°hl°'t*? " *» *"« »«->'• 
 atMinnie7a„d3t;"J'.«l«'°'"''«K«tapeep 
 
 Rome by'sSly sfoL H^"""" """" "'«='' «» 
 forded herTeat &ph""ff ^'^'"- ^f" 
 sympathized with ». T k . *?"""«. "« "snal, 
 
 for Ithel. ebe"su*dd£"^?aro?r!tL"«- . ^ 
 was overwhplm!n„ ^rr <?' ^^nl Hawbarv 
 
 i>er forr'-e^S -^ TTetn^ fT "' ^ 
 again vibrated thm„»k /^ "** "^ *»* ^oice 
 began toTrise no end of^ird'^ '"' '"'"^ 
 
 however. we« as qui?kt dsSfed'^r''"''' 
 tion arose. What h«,„„k» ^P^ ."• ^^e ques- 
 
 seemed to hrb'toXLtr^'^H'''!^ ^"^^ 
 infatuation for M nnTe S'' "'k """ ""^ '"' 
 to Lady DalrvmDla itL. i ''"' " ''ell as 
 he should K wa'™ ar''*;"''^,""»"''"i4h« 
 "nentor. iVw^ a T^^ '^".'^ *" ^'""i«'^or- 
 
 did not knowTat th« R '"^ ""'"«• ^«h«P« Jie 
 Perhaps hnht:KrKr,!f.^^^^^ 
 
 Perhaps hrthZht »h /k- T ^""'e'" '«'«'• 
 
 her up*; anVh^To'u dtSater™ A T'^P" 
 thoughts there came «J^^^^ k • /^'""^'" these 
 did not love Mi^es^!''i''°P\*''" perhaps he 
 this hope soon WM dtlZJ""""^ '^""•""- »" 
 events if th^ oT^aT « "^ "'"' '^•'•"ed the 
 
 easy indffferXCemhW ""'"•'' '=°°' '"«» 
 her. '"y 'hing connected with 
 
 aunt once mo^^nS de^uSf ^^^ «» '"•'■' 
 no part in th« h«k.. u "" ^'nmetpok 
 Hke'an iSrld,e n*^**'^" «" apart, looktg 
 all the same opinoj and tt!. "u°°« '''«°» 
 aU a clumsy deviw of S« « "^ """ '' ^'^ 
 them back ,^o Rome Such S^.'^h/'' '">"'•"• 
 they did not occudv „„.T"8 'heir opinion, 
 about their co^e" ^^„ Zi^l '" ^t^?* 
 ffiv't"''' "« enter thTLd?"""* 
 ing to Cte ' hT'''' T'' '^^•""e feel- 
 thfn thTy haT ki^^"'' ^.'^ ^"'''^"•P'e 
 aware that the S„ T*!? '^^^ '""» been 
 They felt that tLf^^ had followed them. 
 
 cult;. The? h^"^„^et tlfr'''''^ *'"' '''« *««- 
 him. BesideiL^««L '*'°'''"^'°'*''efe«ted 
 
 of iUelfX^a'^lnt l?;:Z "'i?r " V;!! 
 no further danirer of -n^ , *"* "^^ •»• 
 while HawbuiTs with hL ""Pl«««"« -cene. 
 ence, also, wa7fdt t^^ h.m. Ginwole's pH^. 
 tee of safet^ '° '^*"?°*' f"""- 
 
 .ticeTr'^'L^LVmS rr"^'"" «•-- ■ 
 
 them on ithev Za '•'""''1 '"'^« '«"o*ed 
 
 secret jonmey Thei I'h''"'^'"^ 1* '»""* * 
 «^.k.i_ "'•. ^"ese gentlemen who follow- . 
 I vervoDAa ...J .1 . .^ 
 
 Wt think much o^^rLole' T^' '"'' '"'M^"' '^homThly Sd^' """^ ^-.""'^ o"*., 
 
 M the party t 
 
 MHwWtJ ^. Jk" ""'^■^"^"Ofa Uisonetrou 
 
 Th doot. .m uii,. ,»dl» 1,.?; "S^"- 
 
 • , / pMwa inem a few miles along 
 
 now. «,d defy hVCn .'?' '"'"' '^ ««»»• 
 ">«ti. BnffhLde?a^wr'"'''*^"''^""»"'er 
 
 they looked forward to^hlt^ '^^^ «''*" "P' "««« 
 
 ""'slTthrur^-^i^^joTmi^^^^^^ 
 
 »• ^i(.jt^ '-l < '■^v.t .*.S^j-» *>i*4. 
 

 84 - / 
 
 the road. The /Baron and the Reverend Saul 
 left next ; and last of all cf me Hawbnry and 
 Dacres. The /latter was, if possible, more 
 gloomy and vengefifl than ever. ' The visit of 
 the Italian ou the preceding evening was fully 
 believed by mm to be a scheme of his wife's. 
 Nor could apy amount lof persuasion or vehe- 
 meot Btaten^nt on Hawbury's part in any way 
 shake his b|6lief. 
 
 "No,"^le woold say, "you, don't nnder- 
 standC pepend upon it, she got him np there 
 to feast tier eyes on him. Depend upon it, she 
 mariagea to get some note from him, and pass 
 one to Uim in return. He had only to run it 
 under |1ie leaf of a table, or stick it inside of 
 «o^e ^k : no doubt they have it all arranged, 
 -aiid ^ass their infehhal love-letters backward 
 ' and forward. But I'll soon have a chance. 
 My time is coming. It's4|;ear, too. I'll have 
 my Vengeance; and then for all the wrongs 
 of ^ my life that demon of a woman shall 
 pay M^'dear!" 
 
 To all of which Hawbury had nothing to say. 
 He coald say nothing ; he could do nothing. 
 He ««uld only stand by his friend, go with him, 
 and;:watch over him, hoping to avert the crisis 
 which he dreaded, or, if it did come, to lessen 
 the danger of his friend. 
 
 The morning was clear and beantifnl. The 
 road wound among the hills. The party went 
 in the order above mentioned. , ^ 
 
 First, Girasole, on horseback. ''*'<. 
 
 Next, and^two miles at least behini^, came 
 the two carriages with the ladies and their 
 maids. 
 
 Third, and half a mile behind these, came 
 the Baron and the Reverend Saul. 
 
 Last of all, and half a mile behind the Baron, 
 came Hawbnry and Scone Dacres. 
 
 These last drove along at about this distance. 
 The scenery around grew grander, and the 
 mountains higher. The road was smooth and 
 well constructed, and the carriage rolled along 
 with an easy, comfortable rumble. 
 
 They were driving up a slope which wound 
 •long the side of a hiU.^ At the top of the hill 
 trees appeared on ea«i side, and the road made 
 a sharp turn here. 
 
 Suddenly the report of a shot sounded ahead. 
 
 Then a scream. 
 
 " Good Lord ! Dacres, did yon hear that ?" 
 cried Ha wbuiy. " The Baron was right, after 
 all." 
 
 The driver here tried to stop his horses, but 
 Hawbury would not let him. 
 
 " Have you a pistol, Dacres?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Get onti" he shouted to the driver; and, 
 
 kicking him out of the seat, he seized the reins 
 
 Htimielf, and drov» the faoraea straight forward 
 
 to where the noise arose. 
 
 ^ "It's the brigands, Dacres. The ladies are 
 
 there." 
 
 "My wife! O O04I my wifel" gnoaned 
 Dacres. Bat a minute before be had bclpn 
 cursing her. 
 
 THE AMERICAN BAB0J!7. ' 
 
 ve 
 
 "Get a knife I Get something, man I Ha 
 a fight for it!" 
 
 Dacres murmured something. 
 
 Hawbury lashed the horses, and drove them 
 straight toward the wood. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 CAUOHT IM AMBUS R. 
 
 Thb ladies had been driving on, quite uncon- 
 scious of the neighborhood of any danger, ad- 
 mi^ng the beauty of the scenery, and calling 
 one another's attention to the various objects of 
 interest which from time to time became visible. 
 Thus engaged, they slowly ascended the incline 
 already spoken of, and began to enter the for- 
 est. They had not gone far when the road 
 took.a sudden turn, and here a startling spec- 
 tacle burst upon their view. 
 
 The road on turning descended slightly into 
 a hollow. .On the right arose a steep acclivity, 
 covered with the dense forest. On the other 
 side 'the ground rose more gradually, and was 
 covered over by a forest much less dense. Some 
 distance in ftant the road took another turn, 
 and was lost to view among the trees. About 
 a hundred yards in front of them a tree had 
 ^en filled, and lay across the way, barring 
 their progress. 
 
 About twenty armed men stood before them 
 close by the place where the turn was. Among 
 them was a man on horseback. To their 
 amazement, it was Girasole. 
 
 Before the ladies could recover from their 
 astonishment two of the armed men advanced, 
 and the driver at once stopped the carriage. 
 
 Girasole then came forward. 
 
 " Miladi," «aid he, " I haf de honore of to 
 invitar you to descend." 
 
 "Pray what is the meaning of thi8?".iii- 
 qnrred Lady Dalrymple, with much agitatioit 
 
 "It means dat I war wrong. Dere are brig- 
 and on dis road." 
 
 Lady Dalrymple said not another word. 
 
 The Count approached, and politely offered 
 his hand to assist the ladies out, but they re- 
 jected it, and got out themselves. First Mrs. 
 Willoughby, then Ethel, then Lady Dalrymple, 
 then Minnie. Three of the ladies were white 
 with utter horror, and looked around in sick- 
 ening fear upon the armed men; bnt Minnie 
 showed not even the slightest particle of fear. 
 
 " How horrid 1" she exclaimed. "And now 
 some one will come and save my life again. 
 It's always the way. I'm sure M$ isn't mjr 
 fault, Kitty darling." 
 
 Before her sister conld say any thing Gira- 
 sole approached. 
 
 " Faixlon, niea^''^h6 said f 
 dis reception for yon. Yon sail be well tnat 
 Do not -fear. I lay down my life. " 
 
 " Villain ! " cried Lady Dalrymple. " Anwt 
 her at your periL Remember who she is. She 
 has ilHends powerful enough to avenge bar if 
 yon dare to ii^jura her." 
 
 "Touarra 
 
 "8e is mine, 
 
 8e is fiance t 
 
 niy love — mak 
 
 8e is my flanc^ 
 
 else sail I do i 
 
 I am an Italia 
 
 i« no harm for 
 
 ^ right. But 
 
 Lady Dalryi 
 
 bnt now her y 
 
 eyes flashed wi 
 
 red; she gaspi 
 
 ground. Ethel 
 
 of the maids c 
 
 With Mrs. W 
 ent. She burst 
 " Count Giras 
 If you love her, 1 
 If we opposed y 
 tion to you; ii 
 child." 
 
 " Yon mistaki 
 his shoulders. 
 Se love me. It 
 come too. You 
 Be my sistaire. 
 
 Mrs. Willoughl 
 this, and flung h 
 moaned and wept 
 ."Well, now, « 
 rid. You're nev, 
 finding fault. I't 
 
 K. Gunn, you " 
 
 But Minnie's v 
 
 •ound of approach 
 
 riage of the Baron 
 
 had feared brigan 
 
 expecting to come 1 
 
 brigands had been 
 
 tnrned it was suddi 
 
 ri«ges in front, and 
 
 The Baron gave 
 
 •nrveyed the who 
 
 move, bnt hij form 
 
 was braced, and hig 
 
 «w it alj— the crov 
 
 of Minnie, and the 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby. 
 
 "Well, by thund« 
 
 Girasole rode np 1 
 
 " Surrender t Y) 
 
 "What I iir's yon 
 
 "d he^Ured for « 
 
 look a^ Girasole. 
 
 "Descend," said 
 bound." 
 
 "Bound? All r 
 ^ down, aaiteri 
 •The Baron stood 
 ••ood up too. The 
 •«2 down very carefi 
 ««d wound, most of I 
 WH* the two were 
 WMend Saul had ju 
 
I. To their 
 
 honore of to 
 
 " al^^° '•"* ""'"'■''^ " ■"'' Girasole, politely 
 He 18 mine, not voimi T o™ i. 'r"""j- 
 
 8e is flancA, to me 7"«.v„ h ^'J "^^ '^^•'• 
 
 n.y love-m.k^ r;;op„ ".L„ fi''^'*" '■''' 
 8e is my fiance t ». . ^ "'=*'«?' «ne. 
 
 jSu'nd Sff f°' k™.,!,, „d fell r^ 
 JfSl ■_ 5 ^ ""'»* ■" ""i" li«r, .Id t>a 
 
 child." ' " »>ecau8e-8he i« s„ch a 
 
 luy. I ou sail see se is haoov P/^m,. 
 Be my s.staire. It is love-" ^^^' """'• 
 
 rid'^You""'^' ^'"^ ''.'"■""^> I 'hink it's hor- 
 n«J. You re n«,«. satisfied. You're always 
 
 / 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 
 8ff 
 
 
 I The Jiaron was just preparing to follow Th. 
 
 was rushing up the^L-n k-.'i l" '""^ '^•""J». 
 One sho? wL fi«n. V-"** "" °'"««h»- 
 
 the 8hot thrHawbuX'^l'dV"' '"!!'*- 
 Two men sprang after^ir •.?*!.'** ^'^"^^ 
 catching him ' "° '""' ">« ''°P« «*' 
 
 the "w^JdT ■"""^"'^ '' '"'••^ ''•y -« "eard from 
 "MINI" 
 
 from Weyrl s.;." '^if"'" "' "«»" «««'«<1 
 her lips ^ "' * ""•'*' "'^ '""""Ph «•»« over, 
 
 .'.' w!!"-"-"-"-' '" "h* called in reply. 
 
 bacJrdThrwrLxi;:,rr ^'""•' 
 
 Dacres had heard. ^ Hawbury and 
 
 .ellingVeThal^''^ ,''SS:„;''''' ^h""'"^ "? 
 wait if this ho.;id Italics w'n-t let mTp^'rJ^ 
 "ure he might be moife considerate " ""' ^ ^ ™ 
 
 Poor Mrs. Willonghbv who h.'^ «• 
 ment been roused to^ b^ the IJ^ * X 
 
 of Etherrnd ^rmaidT' Thr "' '"'' ''"■°«' 
 been mo,* to hlZt. J?-! ^_'="'^'«=« had 
 
 had feared bn^andrbnt he 1 ^''•^"'" '''« tho«Bht o^he b"^' n?*'' '?*» *'""»•'. 
 expecting to come n^„?h '"^ ^""'"'^ not solemn entreatL 1^^"' '"*"""« «"<» h'"" 
 
 
 been rnor* to her than « nT *^'='"^"«e had 
 brigands, n wL the »h„ t™ «»«""««' with 
 lessness hat oXheimed h "^ t'' "''" '^""^ 
 the thought of IL S'n^'- '? »» •"'"*« 
 -lemn eLeals%\strjJ!!r« «"<» "is 
 
 «« hr.„„-i ^ u. ''"* "«'"' "nd every 
 
 «w it an 'r " 7'^ «''^°"'d fiercely. He' t"he W » """^"^ fdvancing more swiftly Aan 
 
 
 the last, accompanied bvth« 1..1. „/:".X '""n 
 
 •What I If 8 you, |g itr 
 
 mstant ixssolved to m.h .k"' :-"! ^e had ,„ an 
 
 "Descend," said Oimmio uv 
 bound." wrasole, ••Yon mns be 
 
 "Bound? AH riirht. n«~ *^*"' bis 
 
 -»a I ■ .. ■ """f parson, 
 
 "2^^^"S^- Th« K«ve«,nd Sam 
 ««« up too. The Reverend Saul benn tn 
 
 2H1hV.!?u'!!'? -hout ,o_ descend. The 
 
 
 »weap8Kron 
 
 ^ ttiovght he tnlgliiallteli 
 rom some one of the enemy. 
 
 Tn !^-.- *~J' '""" **•"•« "no Of the ewmT 
 In addition to this, he wished to strike a bMw 
 to save the ladies from capUvitr 2l„ sr u^ 
 blow should be nnavailij;^ EvenThi h^ 
 
 S»T«;?fir?H"r •hout^o-d;;c;';rd.""Th: h\""LS "''•*•" ."''^'■•^--w^^^^^^ 
 
 8.»e«nd S.U, had just stepped to th, gt.„«C I feS W;':?et^^^^ 
 
 s.*iSsi>e^*MtSL^ 
 
THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 WS8 some trick Concocted by bis wife and ^e 
 Italian, 'tlioagh why they should do 30 he did 
 not stop, in his mad mood, to inquire. A vague 
 idea that a communication had passed between 
 them oil the preceding evening with reference 
 to this was now in his mind, and his vengeful 
 feeling was stimulated by this thought to the 
 utmost pitch of intensity. I 
 
 Ilawbury thus lashed his horses, and they 
 flew along, the road. After the first cry..and 
 the shot that they had beard there was no fur- 
 ther noise. The stillness was mysterious. It 
 showed Hawbury that the struggle, if there had 
 been any, was over. Bat the first idea still rc- 
 '^inained both in his own mind and in that of 
 Dacres. On they went, and n^w they came to 
 the tarn in the road. Round this they whirled, 
 and in an instant the scene revealed itself. 
 
 Three carriages stopped ; some drivers stand- 
 ing and staring indiiierently ; a group of wo- 
 men crowding around a prostrate form that lay 
 in the road ; a pale, beautiful girl, to whom a 
 beautiful woman was clinging passionately ; a 
 crowd of armed brigands w'ith leveled pieces ; 
 and immediately before them a horseman — the 
 Italian, Girasole. 
 
 One glance showed all this. Hawbury could 
 not distinguish any face among the crowd of 
 women that bent over Lady Dalrymple, and 
 Ethel's face was thus still unrevealed ; but he 
 saw Minnie and Mrs. Willoughby and Girasole. 
 
 "Wh^pt the devil's all this about?" asked 
 Hawbury, haughtily, as his horses stopped at 
 the Baron's carriage. ' 
 
 "You are pMsoners — began Girasole. 
 
 But before he could say another word he waj. 
 interrupted by a cry of fury from Dacres, wl>6, 
 "the moment that he had recognized him, sp/^ng 
 to his feet, and with a long, keen knifu/ln his 
 hand, lc;^ped from the carriage into tb^ midst 
 of the brigands, striking right and 1^, and en- 
 - deavoring to force his way toward Girasole. 
 In an instant Hawbury was by Ms side. Two 
 men fell beneath the fierce thrusts of Dacres's 
 knife, and Hawbury tore the rifle f^om a third. 
 With the clubbed end of this he began dealing 
 blows right and left. The men fell back and 
 leveled their pieces. /Dacres sprang forward, 
 and was within thr^e steps of Girasole — his 
 face full of ferocity, hi* eyes'flashing, and look- 
 ing not so mucli'like an English gentleman as 
 one of the old vikings in a Berserker rage. 
 One more spring brought him closer to Girasole. 
 The Italian retreated. One of his men flung 
 himself before Dacres and tried to grapple with 
 him. The next instant he fell with a groan, 
 Btabhed to^ the heart. With a yell of rage the 
 ot|ier8 rushed upon Dacres ; but the latter was 
 p6w suddenly seized with a new idea; , Turning 
 an instaat he held bis assailants at bay ;^ and 
 then, selling the opportunity, sprang into the 
 wood^ and ran. One or two shots were fired, 
 and then half a dozen men gave chase. 
 -^Meanwhile one or two shots had been fired' 
 arHawbary, but, in the confusion, they had not 
 taken effect. Suddenly, as he stood with up- 
 
 lifted rifle ready to ytrike, his enemies made a 
 simultaneous rush ;dpon him. He wiw seized 
 by a dozen.strong Arms. He struggled fierce- 
 ly, but his effoFt% were unavailing. The odds 
 were too great. Before long he was thrown to 
 the ground on his face, and his arms bound be- 
 hind him. After this he was gagged. 
 
 The uproar of this fierce struggle had roused 
 all the ladies, and they turned their eyes in 
 horror to where the two were fighting against 
 such odds. Ethel raised herself on her knees 
 from beside Lady Dalrymple, and caught sight 
 of Hawbury. For a moment she remained mo- 
 tionless ; and then she sa'w the escape of Dncre^ 
 and Hawbury going down in the grasp of/his 
 assailants. She gave a loud shriek and piished 
 forward. But Girasole intercepted her 
 
 " Go back," he said. " De milor i« my pris- 
 oner. Back, or you will be bounds*' 
 
 And, at a gesture from him t^o of the men 
 advanced to seize Ethel. / , 
 
 "Back!" he said, oneeAnore, in a stem 
 voice. " You mus be' tci^f to miladi." 
 ' Ethel shrank back. 
 
 The sound^ of that^ scream had stmck on 
 Hawbury's ears, but he did -not recognize it. 
 If he thought of/it at all, he supposed it was 
 the scream of ^mmon terror from one of the 
 women. He/Was sore and bruised and fast 
 bound. He was held down also in such a way 
 that he ceroid not see the party of ladies. The 
 Baron 's^carriage intercepted the 'view, for he 
 had Allien behind this during the final struggle. 
 After a little time he was allowed to sit up, but 
 sdll he could not see beyond. 
 
 There was now some delay, and Girasole 
 gave some orders to his men. The ladies wait- 
 ed with fearful apprehensions. They listened 
 lagerly to hear if there might pot be some 
 
 unds of approaching help. But no such 
 sotuids came to gladden their hearts. Lady 
 Dalrymple, also, still lay senseless ; and Ethel, 
 fuK of the direst anxiety about Hawbury, had 
 
 return to renew her efforts toward reriving 
 her aunt* ^ 
 
 Before long the brigands who had been in 
 pursuit of the fugitives returned to the road. 
 They, did not bring back either of them. A 
 dreadful question arose in the minds of thi la- 
 dies as to the meaning of this. Did it mean 
 that the fugitives had escaped, or had been 
 shot down in the woods by their wrathful pur- 
 suers ? It was impossible for them to find ont. 
 Girasole went over to them and conversed with 
 thop apart. The men all looked sullen ; bat 
 whether that arose from disappointed venge- 
 ance or gratified .ferocity it was impossible for 
 them to discern. 
 
 The brigands now^nmed their attention to 
 their own men. Two of thes« had receired 
 bad but not dangerous wounds from the dag- 
 ger of Dacres, and the scowls of pain and rage 
 which they threw upon Hawbary and the other 
 captives boded nbtbing but the most cruel fata 
 to all of them. Another, however, still Isj 
 there. It was the one who had intercepted 
 
THE^^ERICAN BARON, 
 
 Dacres fn his rn,h apon GiraSole. He lav mo- 
 
 ove" hIwC'"''?!.'^''- T^tarnedTta 
 ^1h , " *••««. f>8>d face, as it became ex- 
 po^d o view, «ixhibited the Onmistakable marie 
 
 W8 rM§ had met him, » ■ 
 
 The brigands uttered loud cries, and ad- 
 21"^ .;?*"^Hawbn,7. H^ sat\gardf„g 
 them with perfect indifference- They raised 
 Je.r rifles some cluBbing them, othe«'S 
 
 Hawbniy, however, did not move a mnsde 
 of*., face, nor did he show the slighLTfee 
 
 and h,g clothes were torn and splashed with 
 
 TJ'Z^ '."" k'*'^.""'^ •'«"'"«>' ««» his month 
 =^^*'lV*'"* J" I^"wrved « coohies. tS2 
 =«wrt«teed hT. enemies. Had it not been for 
 
 ?n ^ V'u" '"^"'' "'^''' »"'^«' been Wo^ 
 J» look which made the Italians pause, g;ve 
 
 TUX utiia. 
 
 .fs^^T^^ then came up and made his men 
 stand back, they obeyed sullenly. 
 
 Uirasole removed the gag. 
 
 Then he s.pod and looked at Hawbnir 
 Hawbuiy sat «,d returned his look with hC 
 nsual nonch^, regarding the Italian 4" 
 a cold steady sfSre, which produced upon the- 
 latter Its usual maddening effect. 
 
 "Milor will be ver glad to hear," said he. 
 ^th a mocking smUe, "dat de mees will 1^ 
 
 an soltakediioccajaonetomakhermine. f ' 
 sail love her, an' se sail love me. I haf save 
 her hfe. an' «, haf been fiancee to me sS 
 
 ^. NowGirasole had chosen to say this to Haw- 
 bury ftom the conviction that Hawbnry wS== 
 
 would inflict a pang upon the heart of his sup. 
 
 CT'^I*'""'' r"'"^ '•""toy his coolneJ£ 
 Thus he d»«e rather to strike at Hawba^ 
 jealousy Aan at.his fear or at his prid J ^^ 
 
 But he was disappointed. Hawbiuy baud 
 bit statement with otter indifference, i^ 
 
 ja^fV* 
 

 
 THE AMEKICAK BAROX. 
 
 "Well," Mid he, "all I c»n tmj U th» tt 
 I a« to 1m • deviUih odd way of %vm0 
 to wvrii J^>ut it." 
 
 "Aha I »aid Ginaole, fiercely. "You sail 
 ■ee. 8e sail be mine. Ahul" « 
 
 Hawbury made no reply, and Oinuole, after 
 a i^featufe of impatience, walked oflT, baifled. 
 
 In * few minutes two^ men came up to Hnw- 
 bury, and led him away to the woods on 4be left. 
 
 #3- 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AIIO.HO THB BBIOANDS. 
 
 GnusoLB noW returned to the ladies. They 
 
 were' in the same position in which ha had left 
 
 them. Mrs. Willoughby with Minnie, and Ethel, 
 
 witOfllie inaid's, attending; to Lady Dalrymple.' 
 
 "said Girasole, "I beg your atten- 
 
 ' '^de bonore to inform yoo dat dis 
 
 ~ give me her heart 
 
 I love Wr. I was 
 
 haf to take her in 
 
 atdeprtyrha^vjS- 
 
 it was ine^pmS. Yoa 
 
 more. Yon are freel 
 
 llees,"^ continned, taking Minnie's hand, 
 
 ^-you haf promis me dis fair ban', an' you are 
 
 J^f^XtrnxnM UyvM who loves you betteire 
 
 Mn life, an' who yon love. You owe youair life 
 
 to me. I sail make it so happy as nevair wa^." 
 
 "I'm sure / don't want to be happy," said 
 
 Minnie. "I don't leant to leave darling Kitty 
 
 —and it's a shame— and you'll maka me hate 
 
 tjronifyondoio." 
 
 "MiUdi,"said Oirasole to Mr|. Willoughby, 
 " de roees says se not want to leaf you. Eel' 
 yoh want to come, you may come an' be our 
 sistaire." 
 
 "Oh, Kitty darling, yon won't leave me, will 
 yooi all alone with this horrid man f" said Min- 
 nie. 
 
 "My daffing," moaned Mrs. Willoughby, 
 "how can I? I'll go. Oh, ipy sweet sister, 
 what misery!" ' 
 
 "Oh, now that will b« rbally'^vita delightful 
 if yon' will come, Kitty darling. Only, I'm « 
 afraid you'll find it aiofiilly uncomfortable." 
 Girasdle turned once more to the other ladies. 
 "I beg you will assura de miladi when g!ie 
 recovaire of ray considenuion de mos distingue, 
 an' convey to her d6 regrettas dat I haf. Mi- 
 ladi," ho continued, addressing Ethel, "you are 
 Ave, an' can go. You will hot be molest by 
 me. You sail go safe. You haf not v«r far. 
 You sail fin' houses dere-^forward — before— 
 not far." ' 
 ,|With these words he turned away. 
 ■"You muB come wit me," he said to Mrs. 
 Willoughby and Minnie. "Come. Eet ^s 
 opt ver far." ; 
 
 r» ,)ji^'He walked slowly into tho woods on the left, ' 
 and the two sisters followed him. Of the two 
 Minnie was* far tlie more cool and collected. 
 She was as composed as.nsualj-and, as there 
 was no help for it, she walked on. Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby, however, was .terribly agitated, and 
 wept and shuddered and moaned incessantly.' 
 "Kitty darling," said Mihnie, "I iri«A you 
 wouldn't go on so. Yon really make me feel 
 (|uite nervous. I never saw you so bad in my 
 life." 
 
 "FoOr Minnie! Poor chifal ( •'^oor sweet 
 child!" / 
 
 "Well, if I am a child, you needn't go and 
 tell me about it all the tinae;(^It'S,Teally quite 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby said "plil|BHiMW''<>P»- 
 \f tried to repress her adji||MiBjHBfc.not 
 to give distress to her ■■|E8|^MP^na^^. 
 
 After the Count had en^rernie wood with 
 the two sisters thfl drivers removed the horses 
 from the carriages and went away, led off by 
 the man who had driven the ladies. This was 
 the man whose stolfd face had seemed likely 
 to belong to^an honest man, but who now wad 
 shown to beI6ng to Uie opposite class. Thene 
 men went down the road over which they had 
 conte, iMVing the carriages there with the ladies 
 and th«i>oaaid8. ^ 
 
 Oirasc^e' naw led the way, and Minnie and 
 her sister followed him. The wood was Viery 
 thick, and grew more to as they advanced, but 
 there was not jDjich nnderbmsb, and progress 
 was noc^cuiiivux& oorvnu^Xi _ 
 
 of flight carob to Mrs. Willoughby', bht was at 
 once dispelled by a helpless sense of its utier 
 impossibility. How could she persuade the 
 impracticable Minnie, who seemed so free fix>m 
 all concern ? or, if she conld persuade her, bow 
 coold she accoilipUtl^ her deairef She would 
 
 i4il-ii..j 
 
 ;«?;& 
 
 -.&M 
 
^1 
 
 •tonce be panned and •arronnded whil. .«- 
 J^Je did n..„.^ to escape, how «'„Td t eve" 
 ftnd her way to any pUce of refnge? EvI' 
 
 iSyftr^'^"" '*" »""'/ gone 
 i ffiSk!r„PBiP e«^«ping ceased to ,ug- 
 H ""flfttpnff TH|re remained only a diUJ de 
 
 inse of utter helplessne., and hope- 
 
 doo-n,.^" r" '"" *''° " «"'"« '^o 
 
 '^-.^'!**!lf '***' """''"K whatever; but led the 
 way inftlence, Walking slowly enough to ac! 
 . ~mp«^ate the ladies and BoJnetimef hlbg 
 
 inVlTw •"'^l"? '',"•"''' '" P"^""' *' from spring* 
 ng back .n their faces. Minnie walked od liKhl 
 >y, and with an elastic step, looking around with 
 f;;"*^'"'^""?^" the forest. OnceaZl 
 ing .«rd grew from her a pretty little Cc 
 
 .^jrs •^^-^y-tth^m^iuts^ 
 
 Object that affected her fancr. Mrs WH?o^^h 
 
 smiled at the brigands, .truck her as a problem 
 quite beyond her power to solve 
 
 tJ. ^r"^' ""* '^«'"' '" ««>'» "-inner. The 
 iround^ r' '"•* ^*"'"'«' "P««. •»«» rose •" 
 
 At length there appeared before them, through 
 ^e,™„yofthe trees, the gleam ofwat;r.MT 
 mSA'A^f"^ thiynd wondered whatli 
 might be. At first she thought it was a harbor 
 
 er-ttTnlV. *"«" '"•«/''-«''t itwassjm'e^nt 
 ii£i f-^j'j'.^fmJns nearer, she saw that 
 " WM a lake. In a few minutes after the v first 
 oanght sight of it they had reached its baYk! 
 All Zln'n'"'^' '^.^f "' »"'' •equestered spot, 
 vond S ^"^^^«^ *««»«<1 eminences,^: 
 ilrintf ^ nnduhting summits arose thelow- 
 ^h.i iTf ""^ *?." ^P*""*"« '■eight.. AmoL 
 and breadth, whose surface was as smooth as 
 
 i^^S£:tJ:i-K^ 
 5^ti;:itis""c^Si:';^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 wJn'f *'.?!!'"' "°°f "" *• *"'^' "f '»"• '•k«. It 
 
 Tht l.r "^ ""n "" **« «'«"" '■» height. 
 
 LTf » Jk^ T "" '''^' •*"' •'•'f * dozen or 
 •oof the brigands stood there, and formed a 
 .uffiqent gnard to prevent the escape oflnv 
 prisofler. These men bad dark, w^^ed -v^i^ 
 
 ■VH"^::.^^^^^^ "fforded a tetjto 
 — mt t9 t WmQ Utt lm g . . ^r&K^ t_j *» -mr .. 
 
 THE AlfEBICAN BARON. 
 
 
 et . "cni i terror ro 
 
 "d«n»«Zr"!r'' L. ""^ thought, In her 
 SKk • *»'^"'?'''"« «>•»>« ofTort to eicape by 
 E&i^" ""'"l'"'* *" thorough-bred nU«d! 
 
 «wis .hewed her that tSiey were the reiy fel- 
 "wwMd. If ii^ had been able to speak It«l- 
 
 the prospect of some future reward after e.c.2^ 
 ing : bat. a. i, was, she could not ,p«ik . w'r^ 
 of the language, and thus cod1«| notour Tiln 
 even the preliminaries of an e.^.^! *^ 
 
 aside, staring hard at them. Mrs. Willoughbv 
 
 £^::e^s:;:rsj::'^r^S 
 
 Zc&aZit ' ''!" !•"""• *"•" "« «" ee- 
 S:ndT.o; "" *"^ •"• '"^^ "^ • "«'- o" 'he 
 
 ac^*fc "'*"""".* •'^ '■"•«« ""o. extending 
 across tNe liouse, with a window at each «n7 
 
 ."helror,'"* •''°- "" "•" «-' thfre wi. 
 thrown ^fc' •*'""■ *'"'=!? •«""« -'"'"' '-e" 
 inyTaWe. T ^'^ "^ ' ""'^ "" """^ 
 
 "Scusa nie," .aid Girasole, " miladi for m.% 
 
 bridt mLsl' T '" "" '" ^'P"^ 
 
 " But i don't want to stay here at alLin such 
 *hc.r„dpUce,"saiaMi„^;j^^^ 
 
 . ". Only dis day an' dis night," .aid Girasole 
 nnplonngly. "Aflaire yoUlI havf aCii 
 
 . " Well, at any rete, Ithink if. very horrid / 
 
 Girasole ajniled faintly. 
 
 hut^'^ '"' ^""-J*" '""''' P'*"".^ of de wood- >* 
 butto-morra. You w4it here now. Allsafe- 
 oh yes-secure-all aright-oh yes-slip 1^ 
 night, an' m de momin' early yo,/s«l| be mine 
 Dere 9j« come a priest, an' we U have de"^ 
 
 /' WelM-think it wa. very ijtfkind'lyou to 
 
 I^tl""'^T*""'"'^''P'»«'- Andhowca^ 
 Wk». ' ^"T^^'h'vehadachair. AnS 
 K.f« ^'L •*"""« '^'"J^- Yon may be nn- 
 kmd- to me, bat you needn't make her sit on the 
 floor. ^ You never saved her life, and -you hare 
 no right to be unkind to her." , 
 
 " Unkind 1 Oh, mees !— mv heart, my life all 
 .r«youai«, an'I lay my life at y^a?ffi.^ 
 
 w„„M „ "u*""" ^ '■•'• -"o™ hind if yon 
 wodd put a chair at poor Kittj's feet," retort, 
 ed Minnie, with some show of temper 
 
 But, oh, carissima, tink-de wild wood- 
 noting here-no, noting-not a chair-only de 
 
 m' 
 
 K 
 
 u 
 
 itcaw.^ 
 
 
 .i 
 
 , "thenyon ^dno bdsinesAtoJbring me her^ 
 You might have known that there weriiio c^a^ 
 here. I can't sit down on notbirfg. Butlsun! 
 pose you expect me to stand up. And if thai 
 isn't hOhId, I don't know what U. Tm llare { 
 don t know what poor dear pap. would say,lf 
 I he were to see me BowA «■"/« 
 
 ■■■. . -, .: • r- '■■:'■ ■ » ■- ■ 
 

 «f 
 
 -it- 
 
 ':--t~- 
 
 THA AMBBtCAN BABON. 
 
 "wuAi IS TUis rost". 
 
 
 "Do not grieve, carimima inia — do not, 
 oharmiAg mees, decompose yourself. To-mor- 
 ra you sail go to a bettaire place, an' I will 
 cam you to my castello. You sail haf every 
 ynlbt, yon sail enjoy every wis, you sail be 
 happy." 
 
 "But I don't see how I can be happy without 
 a. chair," reiterated Minnie, in whose mind this 
 one grievance now became pre-eminent. " Ton 
 talk as though you think I am made of stone or 
 iron, and you think I can stand here all day or 
 all night, and you want me to sleep on that 
 horrid straw and those horrid furry things. I 
 suppose this is the castle that you speak of; and 
 I'm sure I wonder why yon ctwr thought of 
 bringing me here. I suppose it doesn't make 
 so much difference abont a earpt ; but you will 
 not even let me have a dudr ; and I think you're 
 
 ole was in despair. He stood in 
 I for some tiilitf. He felt that Minnie's 
 was deserved. If she had reproached 
 I waylaying her and oarrying her off, he 
 (Muld have borne it, and could have found a re- 
 ply. But such a charge •« this was nimnswei^ 
 
 able. It certainly was very hard that she 
 should not be able to sit down. But then how 
 was it possible for him to find a chair in the 
 woods ? It was an insoluble problem. How 
 in the world could he satisfy her ? 
 
 Minnie's expression also was most tonching. 
 The fact that she had no chair to sit on seemed 
 to absolutely overwhelm her. The look that 
 she gave Girasole was so piteous, so reproach- 
 ful, so heart-rending, that his sool actually 
 quaked, and a thrill of remorse passed all through 
 his frame. He felt a cold chill running to the 
 very marrow of his bones. 
 
 " I think you're very, very unkind," said tfin- 
 nie, " and I really don't see how I can ever speak 
 to yon again." 
 
 This was too mnCh. ' Girasole turned away. 
 He rushed down stairs. He Wandered fVantie- 
 alty abotir^^ He looked tn all direetionf I 
 chair. There was plenty of wood certainly— 
 for all around he saw the vast forest— but of 
 what use was it? He could not transform a 
 tree into a chair. He communicated his diffi- 
 culty to some of the men. They shook their 
 heads helplessly. At last he Aw the stump of 
 
 \- 
 
a tiw which was of snch a shape that it looked 
 as though It might beQised as a seat. It was 
 his only resource, and he seized it. Calling 
 two or three of the men, l^ad the stump ear- 
 ned to the old house. He rushed up stairs to 
 acquaint Minnie with his success, and to try to 
 console her. She listened in coldness to his 
 hasty words. The men who were carrying the 
 stump canaenp with s clump and a clatter, 
 breathing hard, for the stump was very heavy 
 and finally placed it on the landing in front of 
 Minnie^door. On reaching that spot it was 
 found Okt it would not go in. 
 
 Minnie heard the noise and carfo out. She 
 looked at the stump, then at the mer and then 
 at Girasole. 
 
 " What is this for ?" she asked. 
 
 "Eet— eet ees for a chair." " 
 
 "A chair!" exclaimed Minnie. "Whv it's 
 nojnng but a great big, horrid, ugly old stump, 
 
 .n^l' T"w''' *"!*'' ?" » '""^'"»- She turned 
 and ran back into the room. 
 
 "What- what is de mattaire?" cried the 
 Count, l«K)king into the room with a face pale 
 with anxiety. . ^ 
 
 "Oh, take it away! take, it j^wayl" cried 
 Minnie, m terror. ./r / vwon 
 
 "What? what?" 
 
 pealed'!'"' "' **'^' *"^^ '' *'^"y'" «'»«"- 
 "But eet ees for yon— eet ees a seat." 
 I dont want it. I won't have it!" cried 
 
 And It's dre«dful-«nd ver;,, very cruel in you 
 to bnng them up here just to teas, me, when 
 you know I hate them w. Take it away I take 
 It away ! oh, do please take it away ! And oh 
 do please go aWay yourself, and leave mo with 
 dear, darling Kitty. ^Ae never teases me. She 
 18 a/toayi kind." 
 
 then he wandered away. He was quite at a 
 loss what to do. He was desperately in love 
 and It was a very small request for Minnie to 
 ui^!'^J"'u'^ i" '^"^ ""<^°f •»i'"l ''hen 
 WiSh ; but here he found himself in a difficulty 
 from which he could find no possible means of 
 
 Gii^?.^ TT' ^'"^ "l«'«n«."''«id Minnie, after 
 birasole had gone-" now yon see how very 
 
 <Jear good, kind, nice Rufus K. Gunn. Be 
 would never have treated mo so. ffe wonld 
 
 SmI "'"'".'"•' ^ • P'"«« ''k« this -a 
 horria old house by a horrid damp pond, with- 
 
 ^-doota^^ wiBde#i^ >j ui H ih4 .. ft beggart 
 hopse-and then put me in a room withoT^a 
 Chair to sit on when I'm so a«;fully tired. He 
 
 Ton'&M'"'* *«/»'''*"«» 'hat was the reason 
 yon hated him so, because you couldn't bear to 
 haveprople kind to me. And I'm to tired." 
 
 ConMi, then, poqr dariing. I'll make a nice 
 •••t Sprjrou 9ut of theae skini." 
 
 THE AMERICAN BAKON. 
 
 ' 91 
 
 t),<i"'^ Mrs Willoughby began to fold some of 
 them up and lay them one upon the other. 
 What IS thatfor, Kittydear?"asked Minnie. 
 .< n .Ti! ^''" ■ "^"^ «'*■' "e"'. dearest. " 
 .1, iT" I 1^" ' ^'"' *hem, and I won't sit on 
 the homd things," said Minnie. ° 
 
 lon. bee . And her sister pressed her hand 
 on hem, so as to show how soft they were, 
 nie. -»n^' think they're soft at ali," said Min- 
 nie; 'and I wish you wouldn't tease me so 
 when I'm »o tifed." \ ' 
 
 J' ^v.''^r *:''°"^ •*"""« ! 1 will sit on them, and 
 yon shall sit on my knees."! 
 
 "But I don't want to go near those horrid 
 furrythings. They belong to cows and thS 
 I think everif body, unkind to me to-day " 
 
 v„„ ^»r''' "l?"""' y°" "«"y "onnd me when 
 you taijf m that way. fib reasonable now 
 ^e what pains I take. I do aU I can for 
 
 " But I'm a/irqjff reasonable, and it's uou that 
 are unreasonable, when you want me to sit on 
 
 X iSuy dtr."''"" "'^' ""^ *"^'«"'--'« - 
 Mrs. Willoughby said nothing, but went on 
 Xolding some more skins. Thesejihe placed on 
 the^straw so that a pile was form^«bout as 
 *igh as an ordinary chair. This pile was placed 
 against the wall so that the wall served as a 
 support. =« w » 
 
 Then she seated herself upon this. 
 
 "Minnie, dearest," said she. 
 
 I'Well, Kitty darling." 
 
 " It's really quite soft and comfortable. Do 
 
 only for five minutes. See! I'll spread my 
 dress over ,t so that you need not touch it 
 ^°f«' dearest, only for five minutes." 
 
 *VelI, I II sit on it just for a little mito of 
 a time, if you promise not to tease me." 
 
 Com?'"'^ ^°"' **"*" ^'■y* °' «•""* "ot- 
 
 side" ***""'* ^*"' "^* *°*^ """y •""■ *"**''• 
 In about an hour Girasole came back. The 
 two sisters were seated there. Minnie's head 
 was resting on her sister's shoulder, and she 
 was fast asleep while Mrs. WillougKbv sat mo- 
 tionless, with her face turned toward him, and 
 such an expression in her dark eyes that Gira- 
 sole felt awed. He turned in silence and went 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 8EEKi;«0 FOB HBLP. 
 
 !.„../',"'• ^^^ *•'*'•" *lth their 
 horses had increased the difflcnlties of the 
 party, and had added to their danger. Of that 
 
 r«« i^ .' r" """ "" '"""'• •"•» her effort, 
 were directed more lealously than ever to brine 
 back Lady Dalrymple to her senses. At laM 
 these efforta were crowned with success, and. 
 •fter being Mnseless for nearly an hour, she 
 
 ^l3^ti}J^,,&^^A-fi^.i4.S^^I!S^V-^'A^%&6hAiL>.v ^ufi^^j^^' 
 
 LV. 
 
THE AMEKICAN BARON. 
 
 "iTHiL outauhd a paib or soibbobs." 
 
 came to herself. The restoration of her senses, 
 however, brought with it the discovery of all 
 that had occurred, and thus caused a new rush 
 of emotion, which threatened painful conse- 
 qnences. But the consequences were averted, 
 liiid at length she was able to rise. She was 
 •then helped into her carriage, after which the 
 question arose as to their next proceeding. 
 
 The loss of the horses and drivers was a very 
 embarrassing thing to them, and for a time they 
 were utterly at a loss what course to adopt. 
 Lady Dolrymple was too weak to wallt, and they 
 hod no means of conveying her. The maids had 
 rimply lost their wiu from fright; and Ethel 
 could not see her way elearly out of the diffl- 
 cnlty. At tliis juncture they were roused by the 
 approach of the Rev. Saul Tozer. 
 
 This reverend man had been bound as he de- 
 scended fVom his carriage, and had remained 
 bound ever since. In that state he had been a 
 spectator of the struggle and its consequences, 
 and he now came forward to offer his serv- 
 ices. 
 
 " I don't know whether you remember me, 
 ma'am," said he to Lady Dalrymple, " but I 
 looked in at your place at Rpme ; and in any 
 case I an) bound to oflTor you my assistance, 
 since yoo are companions with me in my bonds, 
 whioli I'd be much obliged if one of you ladies 
 woul4 um i a o r < i u t > Perhaps ^woaU to best 
 to uAtis it, as rope's valuable." 
 
 i|M^, request Ethel obtained a pair of scis- 
 ■owlBB one of the maids, and after vigorous 
 offor »| |jj B eeded in freeing the reverend gentle- 
 man. ^ 
 
 " Beollji Sir, I aip very much obliged for this 
 * ■ i ,W .' • 
 
 kind offer," said Lady Dalrymple, "and I avail 
 myself of it gratefully. Can you advise us what 
 is best to do ?" 
 
 " Well, ma'am, I've been taming it over in 
 my mind, and have made it a subject of prayer; 
 and it seems to me that it wouldn't be bad to go 
 out and see the country." 
 
 "There are no houses for miles," said Ethel. 
 " Have you ever been this road before ?" said 
 Tozer. 
 "No." 
 
 " Tlien how do you know ?" 
 " Oh, I was thinking of the part we had pass- 
 ed over." 
 
 " True ; but the country in front may be dif- 
 ferent. Didn't that brigand captain say some- 
 thing about getting help ahead ?" 
 
 "Yes, so he did; I remember now," said 
 Ethel. 
 
 "Well, I wouldn't take his advice generally, 
 but in^his matter I don't see any harm in fol- 
 Igflfig it ; so I move that I be a committee of 
 o4e to go ahead and investigate the country and 
 bring help." 
 
 "Oh, thanks, thanks, very mijch. Really, 
 Sir, this is very kind,"*' said Lady Dalrymple. 
 
 "And I'll go too," said Ethel, as a sudden 
 thought occurred to her. "Would you be 
 afraid, aunty dear, to stay here alone ?" 
 
 "Certainly not, dear. I have no more fear 
 for myself, but I'm afraid to trust you out of int 
 sight." ' 
 
 " Oh, yon need not fear for me," said Ethel. 
 " I shall certainly be as safe farther on as I am 
 here. Besides, if we can find help I will know 
 best what i» wanted."' 
 
 " Well, dear, I suppose you may go." 
 Without further delay Ethel started off, and 
 Tozer walked by her side. 'They went under 
 the fallen tree, and then walked quickly along 
 the road. 
 
 " Do you speak /talian, miss ?" asked Tozer. 
 " N<J." 
 
 "I'm sorry for that. I don't either. I'm 
 told it's a fine language." 
 
 " So I believe ; but how very awkward it will 
 be not to bo able to speak to any person 1" 
 « " Well, the /talian is a kind of offshoot of the 
 Catin, and I can scrape together a few Latin 
 words — enough to make myself understood, I 
 do believe." 
 
 " Cin you, really ? How very fortunate !" 
 "It is somewhat providential, miss, and I 
 hope I may succeed." 
 
 They walked on in silence now 1^ some 
 time. Ethel was too sad to talk, and Tozer 
 was busily engaged in recalling all the Latin at 
 his command. After a while he began to grow 
 sociable. 
 
 are?" 
 
 " Persuasion ?" said Ethel, in sarprise. 
 
 "Yes, 'ra; de-nomination— religions body, 
 you know." 
 
 "Oh! why, I belong to the Church." 
 
 "Oh I and what cburoh did you say, 'ra t" 
 
don't 
 Are 
 
 1*^?. * 
 
 '' The Church of England." 
 " H'm; The Tiscopalian body, wjell it's 
 a high-toned body." "P", its 
 
 Ethel gave a faint smile at this whimsical ap- 
 plication of a name to her church, and then 
 Tozer returned to the charge. 
 "Are Jou a professor?" 
 "A what?" 
 "A professor." 
 
 " A professor ?" repeated Ethel. " I 
 think I quite understand you." 
 
 "Well, do yon belong to the church? 
 you a member?" 
 "Oh yes." 
 *- " I'm glad to hear it. It's a high and a holy 
 1 a happy perrivelege to belong to the church 
 Id enjoy the means of grace. I trust you live 
 iptoyonrperriveleges?" ' 
 
 ^ '' Live what ?" asked EtheL 
 
 "Live ap to your perriveleges," repeated 
 Tozer--" attend on all the means of grat^be 
 often at the assembling of yourself together " 
 . /^f assembling of myself together? T 
 don t thinki j«te get yourmeaning," snid Ethel 
 Meeting, you know-church-meeting." 
 Oh yes; I didn't understand. Oh yes I 
 always go to church." " yes, i 
 
 hef , and I suppose, now, you feel an interest in 
 the cause of missions ?" 
 
 "Missions ? Oh I don't know. The Roman 
 Catholics pmct.ce that to some exten^ and sev- 
 eral of my fnends say they feel benefit from a 
 miMion once ay«ir; but for my part I have not 
 idsm"^ '"■y ^'^'^^ l««">in«» to Roman Cathol- 
 
 ".L?.*"' ''""u",' ''*""■ '""'" cried Tozer, 
 "tha 8 not what I mean at all; I mean Prot: 
 esiant missions to the heathen, you know. " 
 
 I beg your pardon," said Ethel. "I 
 thojight you were referring to something else.' 
 
 then asked her, abruptly, 
 
 !!^*'"J* ^''"'" ^'P'"'"" »''«>"» the Jews ?" 
 The Jews?" exclaimed Ethel, looking at 
 him m some surprise, and thinking that her 
 conjpanion must be a little insane to carry on 
 such an extraordinary conversation with such 
 very abrupt changes—" the Jews ?» 
 
 "Yes, the Jews." 
 
 "'Oh, I don't'like them at all," 
 
 "But they're the chosen people " 
 
 .h.'I^**"V*''P"V"- "on't like them. But 
 then, you know. I never reaUy ww much of 
 
 "I refer to their fhtnre prospects," said 
 Tozer-" to prophecy. I should like to ask 
 you how you regard them in that light. Do 
 
 THE AMEMCAN BARON. 
 
 ' "— - •■■"■■• 111 i.iini llgni. iJo 
 
 I beliewin ft spiritual or » Jemporal^ignf" 
 • 8plrit«al Zion ? Temporal Zion ?" 
 
 "Yes, 'm." 
 
 " Well, really, I don't know. I don't think Ii 
 MlleTo any thing at all about It." i " ( 
 
 "But you nutt believe in either one or the 
 
 u'^lTTr' '"'" •*'•' T"*"-. Po-ltlvely, 
 Bat I don't, yon know j and bow can I V 
 
 Tozer threw at her a look of commiseration 
 
 much h'^tr '\*''''"' ""•' '••'' ""npanirjL'^"; 
 much better than a heathen. In his own home 
 
 o Tin who'""''' '"'•' P" *"* »""«» - «""« S 
 kan agai" ?"" "'^"^ ^"^ * '^"'«> »"d then be- 
 "ve^much.'-" "''' ^"^ •*"«'•''"«•" -'d he, 
 
 ''What is it?" asked Ethel. "* 
 
 '.,hi;° yp" ,^.»«ve,» asked Tozer. solemnly 
 
 » V T/*^'''* '" »'"' S^^"""" Vial?'' ^' 
 amazImiL. ''"'"'' '^"'^"'^'''^'''^'.-fr-'' 
 
 sep^h^Iltict""* ''"''""••* ^''"^' -- 
 
 "Living in the Seventh Vial? I really don't 
 know how one can live in a vial " ^ 
 
 «r """f^*".' Tribulation, you know.'- ' 
 "Great Tribulation?" 
 
 ■• I'J^a' ^°\ '"^t^nfce. now, don't you believe 
 in the Apocalyptic Beast ?" 
 
 .'.'4/?."' ''"°"'''* '»••' ^'hel, faintly. 
 Well, at any rate, you believe in his num- 
 ber— yon must." ■' "um- 
 "His number?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What do you m^n ?" 
 ''Why, the number six, six, six-six hnn- 
 dred and sixty-six." ' ^ * "ix nnn- 
 
 '''doS^v^''"k ""''"""/""J ""is," said Ethel, 
 done ?■• A'5 "'^ "^' "•*' S^"" Vial is 
 "Sixth Vial? What, another vial?" 
 
 .. nZ V""u *" *'I''"« "*■ "'« Euphrates." 
 «n « , .^^."Phwtes ? drying ?" repeated Ethel 
 in « trembling voice. She began to'^be alarmed 
 She felt sure that this man was insane. She hiul 
 I never heard such incoherency in her life. aS 
 she was alone with him. She stole a timid loo^ 
 and saw his long, sallow face, on which there 
 was now a preoccupied expression, and the look 
 did not reassure her. 
 
 But Tozer himself #88 a little puzzled, and 
 felt sure that his companion must have her own 
 opinions on the subject, so he began again : 
 
 Papacy r '"^'^ ^°"''^ ^'"' *^'"'"'''8 *>" »»« "" 
 ' ' No, I haven't. I never heard of it. " 
 Strange, too. You've heard of Elliot's 
 Hone Apocalyptic^,' I suppose?" 
 "No," said Ethel, timidly. 
 "Well, it's all in Cumming-«nd you've read 
 hiro, of course ?" . .? »« 
 
 is her """'"* ^ I never heard of him. Who 
 
 "What, never heard of CnmminK?" 
 "Never." *' 
 
 t ' .' ' ' I i 
 
 " 5*^. "•''" "^ "•• ' O"*-' Tribnlatlon V " 
 
 " Nor his ' Great Expectation V " 
 "No,"' 
 
 ^ J' What I not even bis 'ApocalypUo Sketeh^ 
 
 "I nerer heard of them." 
 
 Toier looked at her in astonUhmenti bat M 
 
 ^ 1^^ -^'i*!^^ h^ e. 
 
 lite' td 
 
M 
 
 m- 
 
 TBfE AMiBBICAN BABOK. ' 
 
 this moment they came tb a tarn in the road, 
 when a sight appeared wifch drew from Ethel 
 an expression of joy. j 
 
 It was a little valley ojn the right, in which 
 was a small hamlet with it church. The houses 
 were but small, and could not give them much ac- 
 commodation, but they hoped to find help then. 
 
 "I wouldn't trust the people," said Ethel. 
 "I dare say they're alt brigands; J>ift there 
 ought to be a p^st there, aplf we can ap- 
 peal to him." ! , t 
 
 This proposal please^ Toze*, who resumed 
 hla work of collecting ajmong the stores of his 
 memory scraps of Latipi which he had once 
 stored away there. 
 
 The village was at jno very great distance 
 away fW >m the road, and they il eached It in a 
 ■taorttinie. They wem mmiee to the church. 
 The door was open, and a priest, who seemed 
 the village priest, was standing there. He was 
 stout, with a good-natured expreMion on his 
 hearty, rosy face, and a fine twinkle in his 
 eye, vhich lighted np pleaaantly aa he saw the 
 ■tTKngers enter. [V. 
 
 '*, ^m^^ '% 
 
 Toier at once held out his hand and shook 
 that of the priest. 
 
 "Boon giomo," said the priest. 
 
 Ethel shook her head. 
 
 " Farlate Italiano ?" said he.' 
 
 Ethel shook her head. 
 
 "Salve, domine," said Toier, who at once 
 nlungod headlong into Latin. 
 
 " Salve bene," said the priest, in some sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Quomodo vales?" asked Toier. 
 
 "Optime valet), Dei gratia. Spero vos va- 
 lere." 
 
 Tozer found the priest's pronunciation a lit- 
 tle difficult, but managed to understand him. 
 
 "Domine," said he, "snmns viatorcs in- 
 felices et innocente s, in qnoa ftires nnper i 
 petum fecemnt. Omnia bona nosMra arripue- 
 nint— " 
 
 " Fieri non potest 1" said the priest 
 
 "Et omnes amicos nostros in captivitatem 
 laehrymabilem tractavemnt — " 
 
 "Cor dolet," Mid the priest; "miMret ma 
 veatnuB." 
 
v^ 
 
 "Cujasmodi term est hec in qaa sastenen- 
 dum est tot labores ?" - ""leiien- 
 
 The priest sighed. 
 
 "Tonitrnendum est malnml" exclaimed To- 
 «r exceed b/ the recollection of hirw«„g«" 
 
 liie priest stared. 
 
 "In hostium manibus fuimus, et, bonum toiii- 
 in. I omnia impedimenta amissimus. ^ „i 
 mw omnipotens malum I" 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 .; /■■■ 
 
 I; 
 
 95 
 
 -^ttriHoS: ^""^"-^ ''^ »"""- 
 
 »h.^*"'^ l* T*" **''''"« "■e'-e came a man to 
 
 indw°:s':;„?f '""•'""?-'• Hewento„t 
 ana was gone for some time. He came back 
 at last, looking veiy serious. 
 ;; I've just got a missage from thim, " said he 
 
 fid!' "qS^v-S^ *« P-^'' •-''^"« Whatrm ^^^TJr''^'''*''' "'^-•"-P 
 
 poMled. " Quid tibi vir?" 
 
 "Est nimis sempiternnm durum!" 
 
 one " rri«!?l"if *"""'•"" "anctorum apostoloram- 
 qne cned the pnest, "quid vis dicere?" 
 
 h~. I»T' ""J"^*""" "O"." continued Tozer. "in 
 h«M: lachrymabile tempore? Volo unum v;n,m 
 Tivnm virum qui possit— " 
 
 Terbnm intelUgere!" cried the priest. " Be ia 
 Ofhi.Jsitorswereperi'ectly^totl?"* "^'N i'"!"'.*':7 *'«'* "-e ^r. 
 
 They want a praste, and,theyVe «nt 
 
 rfKi. .i 17 ^* """ '" "•» race, t 
 
 " «ri " '^*"""' P*'^«'«'J' astomid^d. 
 G*od gracious!" cried Tozpr. i.„-i • • 
 
 « ott. Why, what a providehcet Whv 
 'S^^n A' ^"^ "'"» »n IrishmarSl 
 " sZ and w?f "•'5'' ^"" "P*"' English r 
 «rl«H »!. " ^"' """*'« you spake Latin?" 
 cried he pnest. " And u hat^as it you were 
 
 InT-'^.'*^ "id ycr •«,mpitemum'dur^m • 
 'll^l'. i.?,"'-""'".'^''"' "'"I"-?' Sure a™"'e 
 
 Yis. 
 for me. ' 
 
 "A priest?" , 
 
 n„ 1^"^ ' °°' '.''*y ''"'* " maid-servant to wait 
 
 *^r*I f?'"; "' ''^^ "''"' ">^"'^- 
 
 a ^l ^ J ^ ' ''*''* '*' *'*" off soon. There's 
 a ^^n dead among thim that wante to l«Tnt 
 undherground to-night, for the rist ay thim 
 aregoin «ff in the morning an' accordin' tJln 
 ! ^' J """''•nt wondher but what I'd be 
 wanted for somethin' else afore momin'." ^ 
 
 toki?hiSen!"'''*'^'''''''"*"'^'-«-« 
 
 "Kill him! Kill who? Sure an' it's not 
 
 It's the other— it's 
 
 made me fairly prof;;; wTd '^talk TyeV^' J*""^'" .*-»"«• f"' all orus. Tn'- 1^ 
 „xT«»! '."^^ -y.-'-id'w'l'didt'- ^;.,.?;"??'".-°?---»be.r. 
 
 « Woii T J '■•■'.»«.. wm yer taifc, so ye did " 
 "Well I dare s«y,"«,id Tozer candidly- 
 Tnl oTtS i"'"'' °"«kely that I iifintrS^^ce 
 one or two Americanisms in the Latin; but 
 then you know. I ain't been in pmctice."' 
 
 The pnest now brought chairs for his vis- 
 h^Lh"**; T^" *"• '" »»'« «hurch. they told 
 tdaT ^u" •^/«'«»«'^ "d ent^ated him 
 to do something for then. To all thi. Ih- 
 
 £ tr"' "!!*• '•'-S'f-l atteitiS and 
 
 -Xt^fprr:h5:;.-rdrwtS^^^ 
 
 to find some accorirtnodations 
 
 He then left them, and in «bont half an 
 hour he returned with two or three D«l„t? 
 each of whom had a horse. Peasants, 
 
 nrl«f ''»^''!,'lf "^'l'° **""«"«» '«edie»." «id the 
 
 '"?h?nkmi«.''Tyr'«""'*«^«"ht^^^ 
 1 think, miss," said Toiter, "that vou'd 
 
 •^Su«Cr .I'"' »«>'»'' fo; you SwX " 
 
 ^iT f?v^ '^'" back," «id the priest Z 
 
 SiL t l^r "•" ' "^° "J' «"d. an' you'd be^ 
 
 Et2 « fl'rr'- ^•"'""d •" be enough." 
 
 i-.l . 1. ""' .""'"«''» *" ''•'king back, bit 
 
 ■"fy 'J' "'' that it would be quite nwle,. 
 
 i" t ^""^ Vr'» -"'-it f'rCr 
 "wi. Bo Toier went off witi) the men ud 
 
 marryin'. 
 
 M^^^rof" ""'^ ^""''- "P°°'' darting 
 Mmn« ! Oh, you can not-you wiU not man? 
 
 T n'»?T ""' '.^°"'* ''"'"' •»"' it'* the best thing 
 I «;^n d,^a8 things a«," said the priest. " 
 
 moan^dEthS.*'^ ' '"' "'•-* """^ I do!" 
 "Well ye've«got to bear npj so ye have 
 
 ■ — - .. ^.^^ a, UB can Dear." 
 for s„™i!? '" *'"' •''"■''"''* '»d bitterest grief 
 
 were Trfl^'^ ' ""^^ **" *'"»'«'"« «°d feamTat 
 were perfect agony to her. 
 
 her'Vti^'^J^''"f' *"""" '» '"' ''Weh m-de 
 l«,k1S[l 'nf "f- "P" •"'' *"»« •' the priest a 
 look full of wonder and entreaty. The orieM 
 watched ^er,,, ,,e deepest sy^pa^h^S 
 
 !', r^* ""V *»''« them I" she «ied. 
 
 that L°l"" '•!? r """ •"•d*' °P ""» »o5nd to 
 Srre^:;:^.^''''^'"''"-'^' 'didn't want 
 
 .tro'n^Lphl"" *'*"»•" "*'» ^'»«"' -^h 
 "Wer What can yon dor- 
 Ethel got np, walked to ti^e cKnreh do^r 
 
 r.r^.r*'"'''^"'-?''^''"^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVtI ' 
 
 THB AVBKOKB OH THB TH|ICK. 
 
 When Dacres had sprung aside ii {to the woods 
 
 fn the moment of his fieree msh „, on g1.^„ 
 
 he had been animated by . ,„d! len th^fi 
 
 i escane for himuir —_. .v ""««» 
 
 
 jf--7«'<" himj;z'poL7b;.Vndt; ^. 
 
 it would be mow ^.rriceaUe to>i. frfeSl 
 
 ill! < 
 
 
 ;^Nj 
 
96 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 Thns, ^en, he had bonnded into the woods, and 
 with sWift steps he forced his' way ^mong the 
 trees deeper and deeper into the fofest. Some 
 of the brigands had given chase, but withoat 
 effect. iDacres's superior strength and agility 
 gave hipa the advantage, and Ms love of life 
 was a ^eater stiranlus than their thirst for 
 vengtance. In addition to this the trees gave 
 every assistance tpward the escape of a fugi- 
 tive, while they threw every impediment in the 
 way of a pursuer. The- consequence was, 
 therefore, that Dacres soon ^nt a great distance 
 between himself and his pursuers, and, what is 
 more, he ran' in, such a circuitous route that 
 they soon lost all idea of their.own locality, and 
 had not the faintelt idea where he had gone. 
 -In. this respeci, however, Dacres himself was 
 riot one whit wiser than they, for he sooo found 
 himself completely bewildered in the mazes of 
 the forest; and when at length the deep si- 
 lence around gave no further sound of pursuers, 
 he sank down^to take breath, with no idea what- 
 ever in what direction the ro»d lay. 
 
 After a brief rest he appse.and plunged deep- 
 , er still into the forest, set as to pk an addition- 
 al distance between himself and any possible 
 pursuit. He at leilgth found himself at the 
 foot of a precipice about fifty feet in height, 
 which was deep in the recesses of the forest. 
 Up this he climbed, and found a mossy place 
 among the trees at its tpp, where he could find 
 rest, and at the same time be in a more favor- 
 able position either for hearing or seeing any 
 signs of .approaching pursuers. 
 
 Here, then, he flung himself down to rest, 
 and soon buried himself among thoughts of the 
 most exciting kind. The scene which he had 
 just left was fresh in his mind, and amidst all 
 the fury of that strife there rose most promi- 
 nent in his memory the form Of the two ladies, 
 Minnie standing calm and unmoved, while Mrs. 
 Willoughby was convulsed with agitated feel- 
 ing. What was the cause of that ? Could it be 
 possible that his wife had indeed contrived such a 
 plot with the Italian ? Was it possible that she 
 had chosen this way of striking tv4 blows, by 
 one of which she conld win her Italian, and by 
 the other of which she conld get rid of himself, 
 her husband ? Such had been his conjecture 
 during the fury of the fight, and the thought 
 had roused him up to his Berserker madness; 
 but now, as it recurred again, he saw other 
 things to shake iiis full belief. Her agitation 
 seemed too natural 
 
 Yet, on the other hand, he asked himself^ 
 why should she not show agitation ? She was 
 a consummate ncfress. She could show on her 
 beautiful f|ce the softness and the tenderness 
 of an angel of light while a demon reigned in 
 her malignant h eart. W h y should she not 
 
 choose this way of keeping np appearai](bes? 
 She had betrayed her friends, and sought her 
 husband's death ; but would she wish to have 
 her crime made manifest ? Not she. It was 
 fi>r this, then, that she wept and clong to the 
 ohUd-angcJtyt 
 
 * Such thoughts as these were not at all adapt- 
 ed to give comfort to his mind, or make his 
 rest refreshing. Soon, by such fancies, he kin- 
 dled anew his old rage, and his blood rose to 
 fever heat, so that inaction became no longer 
 tolerable. He had rest enough. He started 
 up, and looked all-around, and listened attent- 
 ively. No sound arose an^ no sight appeared 
 which at all ex^cited suspicion. Hejdetermined 
 to set forth once more, he scarcely kaew where. 
 He had a vague idea of finding his way back 
 to the road, so as to be able to assist the ladies, 
 together with another idea, equally ill defincd| 
 of coming upon the brigands, finding the Itall 
 ian, and watching for an opportunity lo wreak 
 vengeance upon this assassin and his guilty 
 partner, 
 
 • He drew his knife once more from a leathern 
 sheath on the inside of the breast of his coat, 
 into which he had thrust it some time before 
 and holding this he set forth, watchfully and 
 warily. On the left side of the precipice the 
 ground sloped down, and at the bottom of this 
 there W^w a narrow valley. It seemed to him 
 that this might bef the course of some spring 
 foirent, and that By following its descent- be 
 might c8Jsp out up|bn some stream. With this • 
 intention he descetjded to the valley, and then 
 walked along, following the descent of the 
 ground, and keeping himself as much as pos- 
 sible among the thickest growths of the trees. 
 
 The ground descended very gr»dually,^and 
 the narrow valley wound along among rolling 
 hill} that were covered with trees and brush. As 
 he confined himself to the thicker parts of this, 
 hij progress was necessarily slow ; but at the 
 end of that turn he saw before him unmistak- 
 able signs of the neighborhood of some open 
 place. Before him he saw the sky in such a 
 way that it showed the absence of forest trees. 
 He now moved on more cautio()«ly,' and, qsit- 
 ting the valley, he crept up the hjll-slepe among 
 the brush as carefully as^osMJjle, until he was 
 at a sufficient height, aq^ Jhed, turning toward 
 the open, he crept forward (rpm cover to cover. 
 At length ffs stopped. A slight eminence was 
 before hin^teyond which all was open, yet 
 concealed from his view. Descending tlie slope 
 a little, he once more advanced, and finally 
 emerged at the edge of the forest. 
 
 He found himself upon a gentle declivity. 
 Immediately in front of him lay a lake, circu- 
 lar in shape, and about a mile in diameter, em- 
 bosomed among wooded hills. At first he saw 
 no signs of any habitation ; but ag his eyes wan- 
 dered round he saw upon his right, about a 
 quarter of a mile away, an old stone house, and 
 beyond this smoke curling up from among the 
 forest trees on the borders of the lake. 
 
 The scene StartlAd him Tt vmm a n n ntnf ■ 
 
 lonely, and so desertbd that it seemed a fit 
 place for a robber's haunt. Conld this be in- 
 deed the home of his enemies, and had he 
 thna M wonderfully come open them in th« 
 very midst of their retreat ? He believed that 
 it waq lo. A little further observation showed 
 
■h 
 
 other placerwhchth '/"■"""' °' '"»°''« '•» 
 
 the fugitive, but «th7the":iu rT! "t" 
 ed down upon this aa tJ.« .: , , "° '•'°''- 
 Jungle npi: si" '^i"^;i;;''^ 2°™/" 
 were numerous but ho „, - '"»®- ""« foes 
 
 presence un^^^eetLf "^ ''^^ *^"«''^e V"*' "■'• 
 
 ger with a firmer cLoh 5 J""^ ''" «'"K- 
 
 i for « feW nUnTt^ o"'2.»""*' '^" P°"dered 
 
 \ next. "° *•"»' J'o had better do 
 
 discovejr. A^L"^,''! P"'«''''J' «=<»'ld without 
 
 ahowedlm ttt ftig^nl'u ' m "'r'"" 
 err and his eye ran aIon». thl ilT """='• "«»••- 
 jvhich lay bet;erhi'raVd:K«;°''''«'ake 
 he saw that it was all ^„„1 i ° '""'*«• «nd 
 
 fringe of treLTnd'bS'^^'S-''-'' 
 valley along which he Ca ^ ^^ ""'"row 
 
 •hore of the lake inst f.M T' *"''««' "' ""e 
 
 •nd beyond ZZ^Z^J^^ "" ••" "^^t, 
 
 h««ht equal to^he^t'orwl'^t '"." 
 
 that opposite height was.now 172^ tik *"'" 
 
 be^^'rtrKrrr b"" -™""''-'- - 
 
 went back.for som" Z«°„"^'.'*- ^^en he 
 
 - descended into hrvat o""' ''^' ^^'''^ »•« 
 
 crawling stealthii; amon. Z i"* [""'' ""'^ 
 
 Moyingthns.heatIenr«i, * . brush- wood. 
 
 the opf ite;l;:w£Vs:itr'''"« 
 
 , tracted any attention fr«L '^'^ ^^ "* ''*''« "'" 
 
 'this slope Lntw IS J^LLT'"- ^P 
 not relaxing his yKM^jT '=."*'^""J' «» ever, 
 
 We, callinXo pffevL""',-""' •""• ^^P"""' 
 
 he found himSf dr^wLn ' '"'«'''■ "'""''"' "" 
 
 'bebeganto.„,gl'^rhifp"rr '»'''"''•' '*'>°'» 
 
 .tSKll';^fc'^"V/ 
 here «iK,n,r the fo«« ?'^' ""•* '^""'^ himself 
 They w^Lre ev^n dL " k'"'' ""«l«rbru,h. 
 the place whl" hThadTuTl ft " T\ ^'"^ "" 
 •long he saw no !nHi„ .• f * ^^ he moved 
 trave^'wed "; hnmat flT, """ '""l^ ^^'^ heen 
 gave indication of an .^h I*"- ^""^ 'hing 
 ed solitude After LLlt-" """^ '^«"""^h* 
 with all the cautfon *lTch h« "'"^ ."'°"« '«'^« I 
 he finally ventu J t^waidfhe!h"„'''''''.r"="«' 
 wd found himself aWeii: ^T^ ""> '»!«'. 
 
 2;h.t.mi„.eoanyoperpro;:^^^^^ 
 
 ^sShfaj^ors^p'^ 
 
 to the old house Uth«ri^ ^'T? '""^'' ""'"'r | 
 line of shor^" H'e nSitw*^^^^^^^^ "'"' "■" *'""«' 
 J»en by thedoOTof^T'^n 't"™ '^ere some 
 PWit that rtKaf ^thS"*"; ""!**'«'"' '» "n"- 
 qnarteraandci^eloJtrA'""' '.^'" "•« ''««'J- 
 of the shore n^w. bowed htT^ ^'"' *'«''' 
 
 G 
 
 THE AMERICAN BAKON. 
 
 difficu,t;r„'pLlsr''' ^ r ^ '"""•» "» -ore 
 
 ing wha^'l"„;3j';^-«'' iV"- •" '— 
 heexerci«,d here was aT^.i'"' '»"'"•" *hich 
 progress was as Z^ Zf^ ^'"''l ""'^ •"« 
 he found him^^lfur^n^l"^ ••?"■«• At length 
 crawling cautio .»lw ""^jl^^'red point, and, 
 looked down uDo'^hI""'"^f° """ "''"^o. he 
 had desired to^reach '"^ "" '"""* *'"'='' he 
 
 to be more than fifty^yJrds^wa; '^^IT'^ 
 and windows were gowB pfl ^' .^hf doors 
 ing fellows were nea?^h!'dn "' ""' '""'''ok- 
 ing on the gre^d othe„ "^"r^- ^T "P"'*'- 
 about. One gS^e at 7hl * ""'' '°'"'«'"8 
 to assure him that they wereT iT^ 'f "^"* 
 also" to show him th« ,h„? i! . "^""'^'^ """^ 
 "coufr or outpo rof anv klL " T «""^'^ °' 
 direction. ^ '"'"^' "' '««" in this 
 
 couU^rSforrbetSs't' ""''='"'•'• ^e 
 l^nifp in his Lnd readv to h". °5\.With his 
 
 case of need, and ^is U° u f "^^ ''*«"^'f '" 
 perfectly by the thiol J !^"" concealed 
 midst of^wWch he had. ""''rhmsh, into the 
 through "he overbid ■T'"'' •"* P^^^d forth 
 in breTth ess in eJt^' V:""!? """ "«<""'«» ' 
 he now was he S' T" .*'"' P°'°' '^here 
 
 house, wrre^rstkrwl';''rfir '^r'^ '"* 
 
 now see that tbp« „ *«» riBing. He could 
 
 ferent coluls o7 s^l "" ""^ """> <""" "if- 
 
 many fiSs "L saTa,' mlf" '"« ''"» "" 
 thirty fi-ture. m„J: "* """J' »« twenty or 
 
 consJicuorbyThe bVXr^ ""' '"«'' ^- 
 tumes. They seelrt f 1'°^*'"' °^ "'*''' <=««- 
 
 thing whichlrdt^rre^'^''^"--- 
 
 itwii^tSkTsorr^^'^' '''--«. 
 
 open windl'o'/throVCr ^^d' '"^ 
 noticed this befon. h1 . "® had not 
 
 tentively fiSore I'on. b """' 'r''^** "* '' »*" 
 
 window'and rern!" Ywra^r r r* "« 
 
 calmed dunnj th« L "' i"' *'"''='' had been 
 been putting fori The'^;''''"' *'"'='' »•« had 
 
 of "SSI' I^^'l!-- ''''•'^''' '^'-> 
 
 fiercer thirst for some fiST, T""*' ""*^ * 
 might disclose what he S^teT H Kr 'l^b' 
 «ng came thick and h.-^ ^^ t- . "^ breath- 
 
 gi-mV ov:;'l,rg'.S'ng'"4e''s" """^ '»''"'^ 
 
 
 flgiS p^agaln. ' "'"'' "-"'"'eir.Sd Ih^ 
 He still watched. 
 
 It wL'tlnV^irr.'Err"* •' •'« -'"^ow. 
 
 en carr..>^ The ;i« °"*l*' *'"' "''«« «SoW. 
 him Conld h "««7" familiar indeed to 
 
98 
 
 THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 was aware of his presence, and was thns turn- 
 ing toward him this, mute appeal. Her face 
 was near enough for its expression to be visi- 
 ble. He could distinguish the childish face, 
 with its soft, sweet innocence, and he knew 
 that npon it there was now that piteous, plead- 
 ing, beseeching look. which formerly had so 
 thrilled his heart. And it was thus that Da- 
 cres saw liis child-angel. 
 
 A prisQner, turning toward him this appeal ! 
 What was the cause, and what did the Italian 
 want of this innocent child? 8iich was his 
 thought. What could his fiend of a wife gain 
 by the betrayal of that angelic being ? Was it 
 possible that even her demon soul could com- 
 pass iniquity like this ? He had thought that 
 he had fathomed her capacity for malignant 
 wickedness ; but the presence here of the child- 
 angel in the power of these/miscreants showed 
 him that this capacity waf^ indeed unfathoma- 
 ble. At this sudden rev«>lation of sin so enor- 
 mous bif very soul tamed sick with horror. 
 
 He watched, and still looked with an anxiety 
 that was increasing to positive pain. 
 
 And now, after one brief glance, Minnie drew 
 back into the room. There was nothing more 
 to be keen for some time, but at last another 
 figure iHipeared. 
 
 He expected this ; he was waiting for it ; he 
 was sure of it ; yet deep down in the bottom 
 of his h^rt there was a hope that it might not 
 be so, thl^t his suspicions, in this case at least, 
 might belunfoanded. But now the proof came ; 
 it was m^de manifest here before his eyes, and 
 in the light of day. 
 
 In spite of himself a low groan escaped him. 
 He buried his face in his hands and shut out 
 the sight. Then suddenly he raised his head 
 again and stared, as though in this face there 
 was an irresistible fascination by which a spell 
 was thrown over him. 
 
 It was the face of Mrs. Willoughby— youth- 
 ful, beautiful, and touching in its tender grace. 
 Tears were now in those dark, luminous eyes, 
 but they were unseen by him. Yet ha could 
 mark the despondency of her attitude ; he could 
 see. a certain wild way of looking up and down 
 and in all directions ; he noted how her hands 
 grasped the window-ledge as if for support. 
 
 And oh, beautiful demon angel, he thought, 
 if yon could but know how near you are to the 
 avenger I Why are you po anxious, my demon 
 wife ? Are you impatient b^u^vour Italian 
 is delaying? Can yon not live fornve seconds 
 longer without him? Are you looking in all 
 directions to see where he is T Don't ft«t ; he'll 
 soon be here. 
 
 And now there came a confirmation of his 
 thonghts. He was not surprised ; he knew it ; 
 he iOTpecteitit. ^t^was all as it should be. 
 Was it not in the coiiQd^nt expectation of this 
 that he had con^ here vlltk his daggeiv-on 
 their trail? < 
 
 It was Giraiole. I - 
 
 He came from the place, ftirther along the 
 ■hot«, when the brigands were around their 
 
 fires. He was walking quickly. He had a 
 purpose. It was with a renewed agony that 
 Dacres watched his enemy — coming to visit his 
 wife. The intensity of that thirst for venge- 
 ance, which had now to be checked until a bit- 
 ter opportunity, made his whole frame tremble. 
 A i^'ild desire came to him then and there to 
 bound down npon his enemy, and kill afld be 
 killed in 1W presence of his wife. But the oth- 
 er brigands deterred him. These men might, 
 interpose and save the Italian, and make him a 
 prisoner. No ; he must wait till he could meet 
 his enemy on something like equal terms — when 
 he could strike a blow that would not be in vain. 
 Thus he overmastered himself. 
 
 He saw Girasole enter the house. He watch- 
 ed breathlessly. The time seemed long in- 
 deed. He could not hear any thing ; the con- 
 versation, if there was any, was carried on in n 
 low tone. He could not see any thing ; those 
 who coilversed kept quiet; no one passed in 
 front of tlje window. It was all a mystery, and 
 this made the time seem longer. At length 
 Dacres began to think ):hat Girasole would 
 not go at alL A ^ong time passed. Hours 
 
 went away, and stilt. Girasole did not quit the 
 house. 
 
 It was now sundown. Dacres had eaten 
 nothing since morning, but the conflict of pas- 
 sion drove ftway all hunger or thirst. The ap- 
 proach of darkness was in accordance with bis 
 own gloomy wishes. Twilight in Italy is short. 
 Night would soon be over all. 
 
 The house was on the slope of ^he bank. At 
 the comer nearest nim the house was sunk into 
 the ground in such a way that it looked as 
 though one might climb into the upper story 
 window. As Dacres looked he made up his 
 mind to attempt it. By standing here on tip- 
 toe he could catch the upper window-ledge 
 with his hands. He was strong. He was tall. 
 His enemy was in the house. The hour was 
 at hand. He was the man. 
 
 Another hour passed. 
 
 All was still. 
 
 There was a fiickering lamp in the hall, but 
 the men seemed to be asleep. 
 
 Another hour passed. 
 ' There was no noise. 
 
 Then Dacres venttired down. He moved 
 slowly and cautiously, crouching low, and thus 
 traversing the intervening space. 
 
 He neared the house and touched it. Be- 
 fore him was the window of the lower stoQ-. 
 Above him was the window of the upper story. 
 Ho lifted up his hands. They could reach the 
 window-ledge. 
 
 He put his long, keen knife between his teeth, 
 and caught at the upper window-ledge. Ex- 
 erting all his strength, ha raised himself SR 
 high that he could fling one elbow over. For 
 a moment he hung thus, and waited to take 
 breath and listen. 
 
 There was a rush below. Half a dozen shs* 
 owy forms surrounded him. He had b^n «««ii' 
 He had been trapped. 
 
 ''"-^"f*:' 
 
 -%*i 
 
THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn, 
 
 FACE TO FACE. 
 
 Hawbitby, on hia capture, had been at once 
 taken into the woods, and led and pushed on 
 
 tilheYrf'^r^'- H^hadthusgoCnun- 
 t.l he had found himself by that same lake which 
 
 onut. The door was in the middle of it «nH 
 rooms were on each side of the haH rLTn 
 
 fronT?!, ^''^ """ '^hich a door opened 
 
 I^° SftdT^v!^^ "'"^^ ''^ '•'^ head of tS; 
 
 stairs, Ad a third, which was oDDositH thl 
 
 room first mentioned. '^^ opposite the 
 
 Hawbnry was taken to thi, house and l-^ 
 
 heap of straw with a few Ai^„ . . * 
 
 In the waH a beamWltt^Jh-^K °P°° ''• 
 
 ring was fastened. CwlMkl.'^ "", T 
 hpH on J 1, V- . V ™ taken toward this 
 bed, and here his legsVer* bound together and 
 he rope that secured tfcm was runfround the 
 
 ltw"fr"Hr„ •'•:"'"" '"°''' -°^-'ht 
 
 .he^tf.hirxr„Te2t;i:„r- 
 Si:'; '" 'T ^ '■'--^^-VetLX:: 
 
 position easier than any other. In this wavhe 
 
 7£rnV5r' r"" '""«*•» "e w^^Sl 
 &w.tl r . '*^""'P'' ""cending the stairs 
 ae«nU people were passing his room. H^ 
 
 worn.™. ■**.'«"«*'' 'here was the soond of a 
 «. It was a fretful voice of complaint. Gl- 
 
 «»rmSi;d ^^TK '" T" '""• Then Gi- 
 ••iwe returned. Then there wm . clattering 
 
 noise on the stairs, and the bumping of «>me 
 heavy weight, and the heavy breatbinrof meT 
 
 Sich .IZ^ ^'""•"•' W .omething,Xr 
 which arose Alinnie'g voice, close bv as thonLh 
 
 utT J" "'^''^"'•""'' ''^ woKe" ':°a' 
 
 take U away, take it away I" followed bv Ion„ 
 reproaches, which Hawbui^ did nSy'^de"- 
 
 This showed him that Minnie, at least, was 
 a prisoner, and i,^ this house, and in S Id 
 jcmng room, along with some one whom he' 
 nghtly supposed was Mrs. WiUoughby 
 
 After thU there w«« . r-.^t,.. f,\ 
 
 thing which presented itself. The cUtter and 
 the noise approached nearer, wLnd bl S 
 stairs, untn at last he «.* th^t^y lefe ^ 
 tenng his room. Two of the brigands came ' 
 first, canying something carefully In a f^w 
 moments the burden which they'^re w« ^ 
 
 esjastened together. Upon this lay the dead 
 body of, a man, his white face upturned and 
 
 :»e^Srd:rbX^ii^^^^^ 
 
 pri«.d to see that' the., hrb^^'l-;,"- 
 
 aS°d rthl^r'n" "r ""'• '^'"' brigands who 
 cS with" If *!?'»P«°'on looked at the 
 captive with a sullen ferocity and a scowling 
 
 more turned his face to the waU. so as to A^ 
 out the sight. Once mor« he »^ve h"mSl? „n 
 o his own thoughts, and so the time S-^ 
 
 room where Miss Fay was confined. mhJZ ' 
 
 wheThe" tt: *'" ""•'"^ "''' •"'^ could notiS 
 Whether they were still guarding the door or 
 
 had gone away. Various projects <Ze* to 
 him, foremMt among which wm the idea of 
 
 way. There was about this howAVAr thT.. 
 difficulty which Mm. WiSo^X baVJo«"d- 
 his Ignorance of the langu^e. He Z^t 
 that this would be an effectual bar to anTiS 
 
 to wait Girasole s pleasure. It seemed to him 
 that a ransom would be asked, and he felt .nS^ 
 
 fTit. Ha &!,"*•• ®".* *'"'™ *" "o help 
 for fij ? (*" '"°"» "°°"ed about Mis. Par. 
 for Ginuole'. remark, idwut her wemed to 
 
 
 
100 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 point to views of his own which were incompat- 
 ible with her liberation. 
 
 In the midst of these reflections another noise 
 arose, below. It was a steady tramp of tw<< or 
 three men walking. The noise ascended the 
 stairway, and drew nearer and bearer. Haw- 
 bury turned once more, and saw two men enter- 
 ingthe room, carryingbetween them a box about 
 six fee.t long and eighteen inches or two feet 
 wide. It was coarsely but strongly made, and 
 was nndoubt^ly intended as a coffin for the 
 corpse of the brigand. The men put the coffin 
 down against the wall and retired. After a 
 few minutes they returned again with the coffin 
 lid. They then lifted the dead body into the 
 coffin, and one of them put the lid in its place 
 and secured it with half n dozen screws. Aft- 
 er this Hawbury was once more left alone. He 
 found this far more tolerable, for now he had 
 no longer before his very eyes the abhorrent 
 sight of the dead body. Hidden in its coffin, 
 it no longer gave offense to his sensibilities. 
 Once more, therefore, Hawbury turned his 
 thoughts toward projects of escape, and dis- 
 cussed in his mind the probabilities for and 
 against. 
 
 The day had been long, and longer still did 
 it seem to the captive as hour after hour passed 
 slowly by. He could not look at his watch, 
 which his captors had spared ; but from the 
 shadows as they fell through the windows, and 
 from the general appearance of the sky, he 
 knew that the close of the day was not far off. 
 He began to wonder that he was left so long 
 alone and in suspense, and to feel impatient to 
 know the worst as to ^is fate. Why did not 
 some of them come to tell him ? Where was 
 Girosole ? Was he the chief? Were the brig- 
 ands debating about his fate, or were they thus 
 leaving him in suspense' so as to make him de- 
 spondent and submissive to their terms ? Iffrom 
 all that he had ever heard of brigands and their 
 ways, the latter seemed not unlikelyj and this 
 thought made him see the necessity of guard- 
 ing himself against being too impatient for free- 
 dom, and too compliant with any demand^ of 
 theirs. 
 
 From these thoughts he was at last roused 
 by footsteps which ascended the stairs. He 
 turned and looked toward the door. A man 
 entered. 
 
 It was Girasole. 
 
 He entered slowly, with folded arms, and 
 coming about half-way, he stood and surveyed 
 the prisoner in silence. Hawbury, with a sud- 
 den effort, brought himself up to a sitting po8>- 
 ture, and calmly surveyed the Italian. 
 
 "Well," asked Hawbury, "I should like to 
 know how long you intend to keep up this sort 
 T)f thlMgT~ WharBreyWjjofng to (To abdift TFf 
 Name your price, man, and we'll discuss it, and 
 settle upon something reasonable." ' 
 
 "My price?" repeated Girasole, with pecul- 
 iar emphasis. 
 
 " Yes. Of course I understand you fellows. 
 It's your ^ade, you know. You've caught me, 
 
 and, of course, yoall try to make the best of 
 me, and all that sort of thing. So don't keep 
 me waiting." 
 
 " Inglis milor," said Girasole, with a .sharp, 
 quick ac^nt, his face flushing up as he spoke 
 — " Inglis milor, dere is Ao pric6 as you mean, 
 an' no ransom. De price is one dat you will 
 not wis to pay." ^ " 
 
 "Oh, come, now, my goojl fellow, really yon 
 must remember that I'm tied up, and not in n 
 position to be chaffed. Bother youiKltalran 
 humbug! Don't speak in these confounded 
 figures of speech, you know, but sayijAB- and 
 down — how much ?" SJ> 
 
 " De brigands haf talk you ovair, aqj^i^.will 
 haf no price." />" ^ . 
 
 "What the devil is all that rot about?" 
 
 "Dey will haf youair blood." « 
 
 "My blood?" 
 
 ".Yes." 
 
 "And pray, my good fellow, what good is 
 that going to do them ?" 
 ' " It is vengeance," said Girasole. 
 
 "Vei'lgeance'? Ppdh! Nonsense I What 
 rot ! What have I o^esr.^one ?" 
 
 " Dat — dere — his mid,"8aid Girasole, point- 
 ing to the coffin. '..„'■' 
 
 " What ! .thAt scoundrel?" Why, man alive, 
 are you crazy ? That was a fair stand-up fight. 
 That is, it was two English against twenty Ital- 
 ians, if you call that fair; but perhaps, it is. 
 His blood! By Jeve! Cool^ that! Con)c, 
 I like it." • 
 
 "An' more," said Girasole, who now grew 
 more excited. " It is not de brigand who con- 
 demn you ; it is also me. I condemn you." 
 
 "You?" said Hawbury, elevating his eye- 
 brows in some surprise, and fixing a cool Haro 
 upon Girasole. "And what the devil's this 
 row about, I should like to know? I don't 
 know you. What have you against mef" 
 
 "Inglis milor," cried Girasole, who wns 
 stung to the quick by a certain indescribable 
 yet most irritating superciliousness in Haw- 
 bury's tone— r" Inglis milor, you sail «ee what 
 you sail soffair. Yoii sail die! Dere ig no 
 hope. You are condemn by de brigand. Itou 
 also are condemn by me, for you insult me." 
 
 "Well, of all the beastly rot I ever heard, 
 this is about the worst ! What do you mean 
 by all this infernal nonsetise? Insult you! 
 What would I insult you for? Why, man 
 alive, you're as mad as a March hare! If I 
 thought yon were a gentleman, I'd— iby Jove, 
 I will, too! See here, yon fellow: jl'll fight 
 you for it — pistols, or any thing. Co^e, now. 
 I'll drop all considerations of rank. I'll treat 
 you as if you were a real count, and not a sham 
 one. Come, now. Wbai do you say ? Shall 
 we BiifeTl out f PiftoB^in the ■w^oAn there. - 
 You've got all your infernal crew around yon, 
 you know. Well? What? You won't I By 
 Jove!" ■ 
 
 Girasole's gesture showed that he declined 
 the proposition. 
 
 " IdkHs milor," said he, with a venomoDa 
 
 r 
 
■^ 
 
 THE AMERICAN BAROli 
 
 «/ 1 
 
 
 
 101 
 
 ■4 
 
 g'V',. 
 
 . S I ; ' ' 
 
 "INQMS MILOB, I BALL UA».,yoirAni Lira." 
 
 glitter in hig ies .'Isall hnf youair life-wis 
 de pistol bnt M k de duello. I sail blow your 
 brain out myseW'." 
 ^^"BIow and jbe 'ganged, then!" said Haw- 
 
 ; And with th^se words he fell back pn" his 
 straw, and took «o further notice of the Italian. 
 
 ^ 
 
 CHA^^R XXVIII, 
 
 TOB^, ASUNDER^ , ^ 
 
 , Wheh Dncres in)(de his attkipt npbtf'the 
 hrr.!ir /".l"'"^'! ^nobservpJa, he sj^^posed 
 Imnself to be. ^,„i,ie Kn^'jirs. Willo.ighby 
 -happened afrthsTtrmwiBh/sfttlng 6n the floor 
 by the window, one on ^ side, and they were 
 Taking out. They \M chosen the seat as 
 affording sonio prosp^t of the outer world. 
 There wag ,n Mrs. W jloughby a certain in- 
 «inct,ve feeHng that # any resJme came, it 
 
 .r!? i.T\'""" *" '"r "'•*« ' "nd^herefore, 
 though the hope w^.«idt indeed, it netorthe^ 
 
 less was sufflc.enily well defined to inspire her 
 with an uneasy and incessant vigilance. Thus 
 
 ?;/'"' '""' *"'"'='l »'«"e'f by the window 
 and Minnie had taken her place' on thTopp:! 
 site side and the two sisters, with claTK 
 hands sat listening to the voices of the iMght 
 At ength they became aware of a movement 
 npon the bank jnst above them and Iving op- 
 posite. The sisters clasped one anotheP's hand, 
 more closely, and peered earnestly through the 
 gloom. It was pretty dark, and the forest ' 
 threw down a heavy shadow, bnt still their 
 eyes were by this time accustomed to the dark 
 and they could distinguish most of the objects 
 there. Among these they soon distinguished 
 a mavmg figure; but what itwag, wl w iA trmro 
 or beast, they could not make out. 
 
 This moving figure was crawling down the 
 I'ank. There was no cover to afford conceal, 
 ment, and it was eivident that he was tmstinR 
 altogether to the concealment of the darknes^ 
 It was a hazardous experiment, and Mre. Wi|. 
 longhby trembled in suspense. "™ " " 
 
 Minnie, howerW, did not tremble «t all, nor 
 
 *Atli ^Vni- a."V|i 
 
 .>i>l'j/'„» ",,1 
 
 i.. 
 
 :^ 
 
102 
 
 THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 \ 
 
 was the inapenie kt all p«infal. Wlien \(f |«: 
 Willonghby first caattously directe4 her attftn- 
 tion to it in a whisper, Minnie thouj^bf ^t was 
 ■ some animal. ' ;^ 
 
 "Why, Kitty dear," she s^iid, speaKi^K back 
 in a whisper, "why, it's an aaim&l; I wonder 
 if thecreatjire iaa'wild beast. I'm sure I think 
 it's very dangeipus, and no dodrs or .windows. 
 But it'sa/uMjr* the way. He wouldn't give me 
 a chair ; and so I dare say I shall be eaten np 
 by a bear before morning." "^ 
 
 Minnie ^ave utterance to this expectation 
 without tj^ slightest excitement, just as though 
 tfce prospect of becoming food for a bear was 
 one of the veiy coniimonest incidents of her 
 life. 
 
 " Oh, I don't think it's a bear.* 
 " Well, then, it's a tiger or a lion, or perhaiis 
 a wolf. I'm 'sure / don't see what difference 
 it makes w{iat one is eaten by, wheti one has to 
 be eaten." 
 
 "It's a mani"8aid.Mrs. Willongbby, tremi;- 
 
 lously. ^ ' ■' . 
 
 " A man .'—nonsense, Kitty darling. A man 
 
 walks ; he doesij'f go on all-fours, except when 
 
 he is very, very small. " 
 
 "Hash I it's some one coming to help ns. 
 Watch him, Minnie dear. Oh, how danger- 
 ous 1" 
 
 " Do you really think so ?" said Minnie, with 
 Evident pleasure. "Now that is really kind. 
 But I wonder who it con be ?" 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby squeezed, her hand, and 
 made no reply. She was watching the slow 
 and cautious movement of the shadowy figure. 
 " He's coming nearer! "said she, tremulously. 
 Minnie felt her sister's hand thr<& at the 
 quick movement of her heart, and heard her 
 short, quick breathing. 
 
 "Who can it be, I wonder?" said Minnie, 
 full of cnrioiity, but without any excitement at 
 alt 
 
 "Oh, Minnie!" 
 
 "What's Ae matter, darling?" 
 "It's so terrible." 
 "What?" 
 
 "This suspense. Oh, I'm so afraid !" 
 " Afraid I Why, I'm not afraid at all." 
 "Oh! he'll be caught." ; 
 
 "No, he won't," said Minnie, confidently. 
 "I knew he'd come. They always do. Don't 
 be afraid that he'll be caifght^ or that he'll fail. 
 They never fail. They always wiU save roe. 
 Wait till your life has bpen saved as often as 
 mine has, Kitty darling. Oh, I expected ft all ! 
 I was thinking a little while ago he ought to be 
 here soon." ' 
 
 "He! Who?" 
 
 " Why, any person ; the person who is going 
 rsave me this {tffle. I don't know, of course, 
 who he is ; some horrid man, of course. And 
 then— oh dear!— I'll have it all over again. 
 Hell carry me away on his back, and through 
 those wretched woods, and hump me against 
 the trees and things. Then he'll get me to the 
 road, and pat me on » horrid old hone, and 
 
 ga^ilop away. And by that time it will be morn- 
 ing. And then he'll propose. And so there'll 
 be another. And I don't know whlit I ihail 
 do^bontlt. Oh dear!" 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby had not h^ard half of this. 
 All her soul was intQnt upon the figure outside. 
 She only pressed her sister's hand, and gave a 
 warning "Hus-s-ft-h I" 
 
 "I knoijr. one thing I do wish," said Minnie. 
 Her sistbr made no reply. 
 " I do wish it would turn out to be that nice, 
 dear, good, kind Rnfus K. Gunn. I don't want 
 any more of them. And I'm sure he's nicer 
 than this horrid Count, who wouldn't take the 
 trouble to get me even « chair. And yet he 
 pretends to be fond of me." 
 " Hn»-s-».b I" said her sister. 
 But Minnie was irrepressible. 
 "I don't want any horrid stranger. But, 
 oh, Kitty darling, it would be so aii;fully funny 
 if jjie were to, be caught I and then he couldn't 
 propo^ yoD know." 
 
 By this time the figure had reached the 
 hous6. "^^Minnie peeped over and looked dowd. 
 Then she drew back her head and sighed. 
 " Oh dear!" slie said, in a plaintfve tone 
 "What, darling?" 
 
 " Why, Kitty darling, do you know he really 
 looks a little like ^a|%reat, big, horrid man 
 that ran with me down the volcano, and then 
 pretended he was my dea^. papa. And here he 
 comes to save me again. Oh, what shall I do ? 
 Won'-t you pretend you're toe, Kitty darling, 
 and please go yourseslf ? Ob, ple-e<ease do ! " 
 But now Minnie was interrupted by. two 
 strong hands grasping the wind<»w-sill. A mo- 
 ment, after a shadowy head arose ^ove it. 
 Mrs. Willoughby started back, but through the 
 gloom she was able to recognize the strongly 
 marked face of Scone Dacres. 
 
 For a-jnoment he stared through the dark- 
 ness. Then he flung his elbow over. 
 
 -There arose a noise below. There was a 
 rush. The figure disappeared from the win- 
 dow. A furious struggle followed, in the midst 
 of which arose fierce oaths and deep breathing*, 
 and the sound of blows. Then the struggle 
 subsided, ' and they beard footsteps tramping 
 heavily. They followed the sdund into the 
 house. They Leard men coming up the sudt» 
 and into the hiOl outside. Then they all moved 
 into the front-room opposite theirt. After a 
 few minutes they heard the steps descending.' 
 the stairs. By this <hey judgfld that the prW*^ 
 oner had been taken to that r|om which was 
 on the other side of the hall anUin ^he firont of 
 the house. \ 
 
 "There dies onr last hope I" Mid Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby, and burst into tears. 
 
 ■"I'm sure I don't see what you're crying 
 about," said Minnie. " You certainly oughtn't 
 
 to want me to be carried off again by that per- 
 son. If he had me, he'd never give me np— es- 
 pecially after saving me twi<;e." 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby made no reply, and the lis- 
 ten sa^ in aUence for noar]^. an hoar. They 
 
THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 /■> 
 
 108 
 
 It 
 
 Dere haf ben an attemp to a rescue. I m^; 
 
 l)is man was almo. up here. It wm onlv 
 chance dat I saw hi&, in time." ^ 
 
 ..„"^'l' ^''■'" ""^'^ **■■»• WiUonghby, "von 
 can not-you will not separate ns Yon o«n 
 
 rth'ar::'"?r '"■ ip^-Seis^iir 
 
 t^gether " "" ""' ""'"'" '' y°" ""^^ "^ve us 
 Girasole shook his head. 
 _ "I can no^" said he, firmly; ''de mees is 
 too precious. I dare not. If you an, pri!^,^ 
 mre se will not try to fly, ««' sTl se^u^r^^"; 
 de more; but if you are togeder yoa^H find 
 8ome help. You will bribe de men. I can 
 not trust dem." "° 
 
 "Oh, do not separate US, Tie us. Bind us 
 Fasten us with chains. Fasten me with chain ' 
 but leave me with her. " ' 
 
 TL ^"i"' °°5 °°''° »"" affection-tiU 
 
 S^TT": uK '^'"' **" "'*""' ""J" ^ "ny wife 
 De pnest haf come, an' it sail be allarlght t^ 
 monj, an- you sail be wit her again. An' now 
 yon hat to come away; for if you do not bl 
 
 to^morra w.t de mees when se become my Con- 
 
 ri.t?r"aS^*^*'{ ^'^"^ •«"• "-T"" "»»<"" her 
 P« „ ^ K>«y darhng," said Minnie, "don't 
 
 we might have expected, yon know. He's been 
 as unkind as he could be about the chair and 
 ofcou«»*^oaUhecan to tease me Ct 
 
 hZliH ^°"""'"8».I«nPP08e,8in^that 
 
 horrid man talks and scolds so about it ; oVlr be 
 «re to be back early, but how I am ffl t^ 
 C«„« ",f .'•r •" •»»"« "d BtandiK 
 
 I m sore / Hnn't knn~ n ° " 
 
 What, my own maid ?— Dowlas ?" 
 I am ver sorry, but it is not dat one 
 li^anoder— anitalian." «-» one, 
 
 -'Well, I think that is ven, unkind, when yon 
 W I can't speak . word of the lanBuaw, 
 
 1 ioi»A ijiad never seen yon." 
 Girasole looked hurt 
 
 were then oronsed by the approach of footsten. 
 It was Girasole. 
 
 signed;!'' '•""'^^ "«•"." -'I Minnie, r- 
 
 "Miladl," said Girasole, turning to Mr. 
 WiUonghby, « I .n, ver son^ fo^dif leetle^ 
 
 "Do not mourn. You sail be able to talk to 
 wIT:^"' """ ?!' '=°"'«>'««on. But coSe " 
 With these words Girasole led tBe wav out 
 >nto the hall, and into the frent-,<«m on °he 
 opposite side He carried the lam^ i" m! 
 hand. Mrs. Willoughby saw a figure ly X 
 the other end of the room on the 8^^ His 
 
 ne?» r '"""^f '"""'^ """°' hut in the daS- 
 ness she could not see it plainly. Some strew 
 was heaped up in the comer next hw 
 
 sorra. Do not be trouble. " 
 With this he went away. 
 Mrs. Willoughby flung herself on her knees 
 
 She heard the heavy step of Giresole as he 
 
 Sh w T"-. ^^ «"' impulse was t^ 
 tin^^ack to her sister. But she dreaded dis- 
 cove^, aild felt that disobedience wTuld only 
 make her fate harder. ^ 
 
 ['m sure /don't know. ■ 
 "Aldne^? 
 
 «„» .;:^ ^^ no," said GirBTOle. » cawrm- 
 
 ing mees yon sail not be alone; Ihaf guard for 
 aat. I haf sent for a maid. " 
 
 miidi"* T i!°!* '"*' '^^"^ y"" horrid old 
 «ftL ^.^^^y own maid, or none at all." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 FODND AT LAST. 
 
 Ih a few moments Girasole came back anH 
 
 wor'^X^'T"™- Hewasfollow^Jb;^ 
 womapwh^as dressed in the garb of an Ital- 
 jan i>easant girl Over her bZ she wore . 
 
 foT y^^^i" ^' '^"' *•"> "'«ht nir, the limp 
 lltf ''''l'=\h'»"8 o^'er her face. Minnli 
 
 dhsnnii^ 
 
 nrew^^-sair CBSSli), 
 maid fnr Aia m:n>i.* it 
 
 •I haf 
 
 brought you a maid for dis night. Whtowe 
 leaf dis you sail haf what maid yon wU." ' 
 
 'That hor^a old ftightl" said/Minnlfc "I 
 don't want her." ' ™"* = * 
 
 "Yon saU only haf her for dia nightl" Mdd 
 Girejole. "Yon will be taken c«, to-." 
 i suppose ncAody ctues for what / warn," ' 
 
 1^^^<'»ui**ll&*' ^kiisSffc^d., 
 
f? 
 
 o^ 
 
 ^m 
 
 ( 
 
i^. 
 
 l'l>f 
 
 J04 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARCHwT 
 
 «on ABU wmn iaatnm un mws," 
 
 said Minnie, "mi I may as well speak to the 
 wall, for all the good it does." 
 
 Girasole smiled and bowed,, and put his hand 
 on his heart, and then called down the stairs : 
 "Padre Patricio!" 
 
 A solid, Ann step now sonnded on the stairs, 
 and in a fe^ moments the priest came up. Gi- 
 rasole led the way into Hawbury's room. The 
 prisoner lay on his side. He was in a deep 
 sleep. Girasole loolced in wonder at the sleep- 
 er who was spending in this way the last hours 
 of his life, and then pointed to the coffin. 
 
 "Here," said he, in Italian, "is the body. 
 When the grare is dag; they will tell yon. You 
 most stay here. You will not be afraid to be 
 with the dead." 
 The priest smiled. * 
 
 Girasole now retreated and went down stairs. 
 ' Soon all was still. 
 ^ The Italian woman had been standing where 
 \she had stopped ever since she first came into 
 \the room. Minnie had npt paid any attention 
 i|o her, but at last she noftced thin. 
 • "I wuh yon wouldn't stand there in that 
 Way* You really make me feel quite nervous. 
 And what with the dark, and not having any 
 light, and losing poor dear Kitty, and not hav- 
 ing any chair to sit upon, really one's life is 
 sc aice worth havfag. But all this la thrown 
 nway^nvytra cm^npuk BngllilF^nd how hor- 
 rid It is to have no one to talk to." 
 
 The woman made no reply, but with a quiet, 
 stealthy step she drew near to Minnie. 
 
 " What do you want t You horrid creature, 
 keep ftway," said Minnie, drawing back in some 
 alarm. ,v 
 
 "Minnie dear .'"said the woman. "H-s-s-s-h!" 
 she added, in a low whisper. 
 
 Minnie started. 
 
 " Who are you ?" she whispered. 
 , One arm went around her neck, and another 
 hand went over her mouth, and the woman 
 drew nearer to her. 
 
 "Not a word. H-s-s-s-h! I've risked my 
 life. The priest brought me." 
 
 " Why, my darling, darling love of an Ethel V 
 said Minnie, who was overwhelmed with sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "H-s-s-s-h!" 
 
 " But how can I h-s-s-s-h wh«A'm so per- 
 fectly frantic with delight? Oh, you darling 
 
 p6t * 
 
 "H-s-s-s-h! Not another word. I'll be 
 discovered and lost." 
 
 " Well, dear, I'll speak very, very low. But 
 how did yon come here?" 
 
 "The priest brought me." 
 
 V The priest?" - ,,;< 
 
 "Yes. He was sent for, yon know;.-lmd I 
 thought I could help you, and he is going ^o 
 save you." ' . 
 
 "He! Who?" 
 
 " The priest, you know." 
 
 " The priest ! Is he a Roman Catholic priest, • 
 Ethel darling?" 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 " And he is going to save me this time, is 
 he?" 
 
 "I hope so, dear." * 
 
 " Oh, how perfectly lovely that is ! and it was 
 *o kind and thoughtful in you I Now this is 
 really quite nlSe, for you know I've longed so to 
 be saved by a priest. These horrid men, yon 
 know, all ^o and propose the moment they save 
 one's life ; but a priest can't, yon know— no, not 
 if he saved one a thousand times over. Can 
 he now, Ethel darling?" 
 
 "Oh no!" said^thel, in a little surprise. 
 "But stop, darling. You really must, not say 
 another word— rno, not so much as a whisper — 
 for we certainly will he heard ; and don't notice 
 what I do, or the priest either, for it's very, 
 very important, dear. But yon keep as still 
 as a little mouse, and wait till we ara all 
 ready," 
 
 "Well, Ethel dear, I will; but it's mpfully 
 funny to see you here — and oh, racA a funny 
 figure as yon are!" 
 - " H-s-s-s-hV 
 
 Minnie relapsed into' silence now, and Ethel 
 withdrew near to the door, where she stood and 
 listened. All was still. Down stairs there 
 was no light and no sound. In the hall above 
 she could see nothing, and could not tell wheth* 
 er any guards were there or not . 
 
 Wi. 
 
 HawBn'rjTs room wai at the back of the honse, 
 as has been said, and the door was just at the 
 top of the stairs. The door where Ethel was 
 standing was there too, and was close by the 
 other, so that she could listen and hear the 
 deep "breathing of the. sleeper.'. One or two 
 indistinct Muiitla Mcafad Uin']tk«a time to 
 
 time, and % 
 ness. 
 
 She wai| 
 
 which all 4 
 
 Then a sh^ 
 
 Hawbury's j 
 
 der. ! 
 
 Not a wo 
 
 Ethel stql 
 
 bnry's roort, 
 
 see the two \ 
 
 her the posii 
 
 Slowly ai) 
 
 him. I 
 
 She reach( 
 
 She knelt* 
 
 Her lips tous 
 
 TS5 sleep* 
 
 some'words. 
 
 "Allfire.f 
 
 It is a fumaj; 
 
 Then he si, 
 
 Ethel's h^f 
 
 he spoke (old 
 
 dering. She 
 
 eyes and tipon 
 
 "Mydarlii 
 
 will land her^. 
 
 • Don't cry, defa 
 
 The house n 
 
 Ethel still beti 
 
 these words vfl 
 
 "Ethel!" ^ 
 
 jon ? Lost ! ! : 
 
 A heavy gig 
 
 echo in the hei 
 
 liis forehead 
 
 I Pered, 
 
 I "My lord!*' 
 
 Hawbury stts 
 
 I "What's tl^i 
 
 I "A friend," 
 
 At this IlaWl 
 
 " Who are [j 
 
 Wing voice, f' 
 
 sake, speak ag^ 
 
 "Harry," gai 
 
 Hawbury ref ( 
 
 A slight cry^ 
 
 ly suppressed, |i 
 
 I words followed 
 
 I "Oh,mydaJl 
 
 I What is this? I 
 
 ! Oh, amiawakf 
 
 my darling I Q 
 
 Ethel bent >i 
 
 I around him till 
 
 I liim. She had] i 
 
 j. this alw ewtli^ 
 
 self, without wii 
 
 ' «nd caught Ethja 
 
 ' embntce, and pi 
 
 ; to Us heart. 
 
 ! Ethel with diu 
 
 . i "There's noil 
 
 j ouae to tare yi 
 
THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 timo, and (biii was all that broke the deep still- 
 She waited thus for nearly an hour, during 
 
 Sin h""? """•/■"* ^*""'« •""<» not'aword 
 Then a shiidowy figure appeared near her at 
 Ha^vbury's door, and a hand touched hershoul- 
 
 - Not a w(^rd was said. ^ 
 
 i Ethel stqle softly and noiselessly^fii^ Haw- 
 
 bury s roon^, where the priest was. She could 
 see the two Windows and thefriest indicated to 
 her the position of the sleeper. 
 ^Slowly ai|d cautiously she stole over toward 
 
 She readied the place. 
 She kneltfby his side, and bent low over him 
 Her lips tonfched his forehead 
 
 Wword^f ""'"' '"''''''' "-^ "'—•l 
 
 '^Trrther"'- «"—<»-" 
 Ethel's hJart b^at wildly. The words that 
 he spoke folj her where his^houghts were wan 
 
 "My darljng," mnrmnred the sleeper, "we 
 
 D™r""."t I''.l»«o°''thefi«h. Howpalll 
 • iJon t cry, deftrest. " *^ 
 
 Ethel st.ll bent down and listened for more of 
 these words ^hich were so sweet to her 
 
 vor^'tsu'^olu""''"'*'"''^'^"'^^-''- 
 A heavy sigh escaped him, which found an 
 
 Insjorehoad |jently with one hand, a^d whis- 
 
 " My lord .'f 
 Hawbnry stjarted. 
 
 "What's tlijis?" he murmured. 
 "A friend," said Ethel. 
 At this Ha^f bury became wide awake. 
 Who are ,you?" he whispered, in a trehi- ' 
 bling vo.ce. f'For God's sake-oh, for God's 
 »«ke, speak ag^in 1 tell me I" 
 "Harry," said Ethel. 
 Hawbniy recognized the voice at once. 
 A slight cry escaped him, which was instant- 
 
 IvVrfrwe'dl "' "•'"• * '*"™'" '»'''••»•-"«' 
 
 m.?'!:1l^.'*f^"S?' "y^lingJ my darling I 
 
 Oh,«mIaw.k*? I. it you? Oh, mv darling ! 
 
 %f •*»« ' ^'•' '' "y •"»• '^«" but free I " 
 
 .i*hfr;iir.h;tt\rcoT'2'^^^^ ...E™-'-pl.nwa.h..ti,yreve.,ed. Th. po- 
 
 ^k«^wr th» «mh."»iw6Biy^T^ him- It w^T-t^T^^.!"? f *»"P«-— — 
 
 waTtrir'^^i*^'!!^-^'''""-'' Oh. 
 wait I she added^s^wbury made another 
 effort to clasp beflThi. arms. ^ " Oh' do wha[ 
 I say, for mf sake !" ' '* 
 
 iJt '"' *""■■ '"'' '■*'*'• ""^ *="' *« «>«' »f w, 
 
 "What am I to do ?" asked Hawburv clasD 
 
 "Escape." 
 wirdr."^"""^' I'»'-P-'h you from the 
 
 swZs°wkh\-'^''! ^"""^ ""-J «" """"d 
 closeT" *^ • ^"'^ '"'"*='' "" *" 
 
 ' !<'™ ^«'" "^.f J^"y *«>ugh them.",. 
 
 Then you'll be killed, and I'll die.'^'- " 
 well, i II do whatever you say " 
 
 " What" I "''?•. ^°" "■"'' •"««?« '"''°«-" 
 < < rV ' *"" '«*^« you ? Never ! " 
 Im-wft. I'm disguised, and a priest is 
 w.th me as my protector" "^ 
 
 thi's r'"' "'" ^'°" '" ""'■"' '" '"'"^ » P'«« M 
 
 "I am safe. Do not argue. There i> nn 
 Mme to lose. The priest bright I^^L'Z 
 wiji take me away."- 
 
 "But there are others here. I can't leave 
 
 :rrdy?^''**'^'^-^»p"-"-?-'i-or 
 
 hnl'/f" ;.!"" "•* P"^*' ""^ I ''!" be able, I 
 hope to liberate them. We have a plan." 
 
 _^ But can 1 1 go with you and help you ?" 
 Oh no! itj, impossible. Yon could not. 
 We are go.ng to take thein away in disguise 
 We have a dress. You coufdn't be disgufsed/' 
 
 " And wtiitl go alone?" 
 
 "You must." 
 
 „h"^'"f° ,•''*•**"• Tell me what it is. But 
 oh, my dari.ng.' how can I leave you, and in 
 such a place as this ?" ^ ' "* 
 
 "I assure you I am not in the slightest dun- 
 ger, 
 
 '' I shall feel terribly anxious." 
 
 .. We'll r"' "** """^ "' """• ^'''*'«' "o"-" 
 
 Ethel bent lower, and whispered in his ear 
 
 .n even lower tones than ever, the plan wh'ch 
 
 she had contrived. 
 
 CHAPTER Xxk. 
 
 A DBBPBBATB PLAH. 
 
 ^i« ' ii™*^ *» cordt. nawDury raised him- 
 ••''• without waiting for hi. feet to^ be freed, 
 i •»<» caught Ethfel in hi. freed arm. in . .ilen 
 
 ■ STL" "t^ "" ^'" '"•' "''' •«•'» 
 
 : Ethel with diiflculty extricated herself. 
 
 ' Tham'a nn tin. t^ i it . >■ 
 
 time to low," said she. "I 
 
 I ""• •• ••« 7^- Don't WMte ".'noVhw mo^ 
 
 h. K '[•f ''•"' P"«"" ''ho had cdncocted it, and 
 
 Hawboiy . re«!ae conid be effected. ThI. In- 
 Ken on. XrishSai, had .!«, formed anothVp pta„ 
 tor the rescue of Minnie and her sister, wh oh 
 WM to be attempted in due conrw of tiie. 
 
 huZ M "f"*"^ ""^•' "f «»«P« was poMi- 
 bta for Hawbnry. A .trict watch wu l»pt. 
 
 ■J. 
 
106 
 
 THE AMERIC-^f BARON. 
 
 The prie8t had noticed on his approach that 
 guards were posted in different, directions in 
 such a way that no fugitive from the house 
 could elude them. He had also seen that the 
 guard inside the house was equally vigilant. 
 To leap from the window and run for it'would 
 be certain death, for that was the very thing 
 which the brigands anticipated. To make a 
 sudden rush down the stair^was not possible, 
 for at tke door below there were guards ; and 
 there, most vigilant of all, was Girasole himself. 
 
 The decision of the Irish priest was correct, 
 as has been proved in the case of Dacres, who, 
 in spite of all his caution, was observed and 
 captured. Of this the priest knew nothing, but 
 judged from what he himself had seen on his 
 approach to the house. 
 
 The plan of the priest had been hastily com- 
 municated to Ethel, who shared his convictions 
 and adopted his conclusions. She also had 
 noticed the vigilance with which the. guard had 
 been kept up, and only the fact that a woman 
 had been sent for and was expected with the 
 priest had preserved her from discovery and its 
 consequences. As it was, however, no notice 
 was taken of her, and her pretended ""character 
 was assumed to be her real one. Even Girasole 
 had scarcely glanced at her. A village peasant 
 was of no interest in his eyes. His only thought 
 was of Minnife, and the woman that the priest 
 brought was, only used as a desperate effort to 
 show a desire for her comfort. After he had 
 decided to separate the sisters the woman was 
 of more importance; but he had nothing to 
 say tq her, and thus Ethel had effected her en- 
 trance to Minnie's presence in safety^ wkl»«b« 
 result that has been described. 
 
 The priest had been tnrQitfg over many proj- 
 ects in his brain, but al^fast one suggested it- 
 self which had originat^<l in connection with the 
 very nature of his errand. 
 
 One part of that errand was that a man should 
 be conveyed out of the house and carried away 
 and left in a certain place. Now the man who 
 was thus to be carried out was a dead man, and 
 the certain place to which he was to be borne 
 and where he was to be left was the grave ; but 
 these stem facts did not at all deter the Irish 
 priest from trying to make use of this task that 
 lay before him for the benefit of Hawbury. 
 
 Here was a problem. A prisoner anxious 
 for escape, and a dead nan awaiting burial'; 
 how were these two things to be exchanged so 
 that the living man might pass otat without go- 
 ing to the grave 7 
 
 The Irish priest puzxled and mtdered and 
 grew black in the face with his e^t« to get to 
 the solution of this problem, and at length 
 a nccefid e d - ^to his own sa t is f a ct i on^ at a ny ratg. 
 What is more, when he explained his plan to 
 Bthel, she adopted it. She started, it is true ; 
 ■he shuddered, she recoiled from it at first, but 
 Anally sh^ adopted it Farthermore, she took 
 it upon herself to perauade Hawbnry to fall in 
 with it. 
 
 80 much with regard to Hawbtiry. For 
 
 iy!>B4 \ 
 
 Minnie and her sister the indefatigjable priegt 
 had already concocted a plan before leaviiig 
 home. This was the very commouplace plan 
 of a disguise. It was to be an old woman's ap- 
 parel, and he trusted to the chapter of accidents 
 to make the plan a success. He noticed With 
 pleasure that some women were at the place, 
 and thought that the prisoners might be con- 
 founded with them. 
 
 When at length Ethel had explained the plan 
 to Hawbury he made a few further objections, 
 but finally declared himself ready to carry it 
 out. 
 
 The priest now began to put his project into 
 execution. He had brought a screw -driver 
 with him, and with this he took out the screws 
 from the cofiBn one by one, os quietly as possi- 
 ble. 
 
 Then the lid was lifted off", and Hawbury 
 arose and helped the priest to transfer th§ 
 corpse from the coffin to the straw. They then 
 put the corpse on its side, with the face to the 
 wall, and bound the hands behind it, and the 
 feet also. The priest then took Hawbury's 
 handkerchief and bound it around the head of 
 the corpse. One or two rugs that lay near were 
 thrown over the figure, so that it at length look- 
 ed like a sleeping man. 
 
 Hawbury now got into the coffin and lay 
 down on his back at full length. The priest 
 had brought s<^io bits of wood with him, and 
 these he put on the edge of the coffin in such a 
 way that the lid would be kept oif at a distance 
 of about a quarter of an inch. Through this 
 opening Hawbury could have all the air that 
 was requisite for breathing. 
 
 Then Ethel aaaisted the priest to lift the lid 
 on. 
 
 Thus far all had been quiet ; bnt now a slight 
 noise was heard below. Some men were mov- 
 ing. Ethel was distracted with anxiety, bnt 
 the priest was as cool as a clock. He whis- 
 pered to her to go back to the room where she 
 belonged. 
 
 " Will you be able to finish it 7" she asked. 
 
 "Sure an' I will — only don't yon be afUier 
 stayin' here any longer." 
 
 At this Ethel stole back to Minnie's room, 
 and stood listening with a quick-beating heart. 
 
 Bnt the priest worked coolly and dextrous- 
 ly. He felt for the holes fimkUlniie screws be- 
 longed, and succeeded in putting in two of 
 them. 
 
 Then there was a noise in the hall below. 
 
 The priest began to put in the third screw. 
 
 There were footsteps on the stain. 
 
 He screwed on. 
 
 Nearer and nearei^came the itepi. 
 
 The priest still kent to his 1 
 
 At last a man entered th^ room. Ethel, 
 who had heard all, waa faint with anxiety. She 
 was-afVaid that the priest had not finished hit 
 task. 
 
 Her fean were gronndless. 
 
 Just as the foremost of the men entered tin 
 room die priest finished icrewing, and stood If , 
 
 •J • 
 
 ^ ,^i. 
 
THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 the coffin, having dipped the Bcrew-drive!' Into 
 his pockety as calm as though nothing had hap- 
 pened. Three of the screws were in, and that 
 was as many as were needed. 
 
 The men brought no light with them, and 
 thw^ circumstance was in the priest's favor . 
 You ve been keeping me waiting lonaJ- 
 said the priest, in Italian. ^^ 
 
 "Yott may be glad it wasn't longer," mU 
 one of them, in a sullen tone. "Where is ifp' 
 " Here, " said the priest. 
 The n^en gathered around the coffin, and 
 stooped down over it, one at each corner. 
 Then they raised it up. Then they carried it 
 out i and soon the heavy steps of the men were 
 
 burden"* ''^"' **""'" "*" *'**" '*'"' "'^'' 
 
 Ethel stiU stood watching and listening. 
 As she listened she heard some one ascend 
 mg the stairs. New terror arose. Something 
 was wrong, and all would be discovered. But 
 the man who came up had no light, and that 
 was one comfort. She could not see who it was 
 The man stopped for a moment in front of 
 Minnies door, and stood so close to her that 
 she heard his breathing. It was quick and 
 
 '' u T. "•" .""^"""MK- It was quick 
 '>e»ry'J'''«'*'«*"-eat»'ingofaverytiredoraverv 
 I r.ir.r.^P^"''^''"-'^ away and w:'^ 
 
 - • "" •uiiicu away ai 
 
 to the door of the front-room opposite. Here 
 he also stood for a few moments. 
 
 All was still. 
 
 Then he came back, and entered Hawbury's 
 
 .ll^™ril?\!"j!' •"*•* come-the moment when 
 all might be discovered. And if so. thev all 
 
 rZrl- ^^',1 ^T '■'^ '■""^'^''l a»d tried 
 to peer through the gloom. She saw the dark 
 figure o? the new-comer pass by one of the win- 
 dows, end by the outline she knew that it was 
 Girasole He passed on into the shadow, and 
 toward the place where the straw was. She 
 could not see him any more. 
 
 Girasole stepped noiselessly and cantionslv 
 a. though fearful of waking the sleeper. aI 
 every step he paused and listened. The si 
 lence reassured him. 
 
 He drew nearer and nearer, his left hand 
 groping fonvard, and his right hand holding 
 apwtol. His movements were perfectly noise- 
 
 Hii own excitement was now intense, his 
 
 irait'^'H^"''"-^'^ ""«» •'•'»»« SA 
 
 he approached his victim. 
 
 kn« '"h *"?• T'^fr "" '^^ """l knelton one 
 knee. He listened for a moment. Thew was 
 no noise and no movement on the part of the 
 figure before him. 
 
 the most comfortable attitude which could bo 
 •Mumed, where arms and legs were bound. 
 
 How soundly he sleeps 1" thought Girasole. 
 luS ^'".'^ ■■■ moment, and seemed to hes- 
 itate j but it was only for a moment. Then, 
 •ninming up hi. resolution, he held his pi,to 
 doM to the h«Ml of the figure, and fired. 
 
 The loud report echoed through the house. 
 A shnek came from Minnie's room, and a crv 
 T-f i'T .M"- Willoughby, who sprang to- 
 ward the hall. But Girasole came out and Z 
 tercepted her. 
 
 "Eet ees notin," said he, in a tremulous 
 
 Mrs. Willonghby retreated to her room, and 
 Mmnie said nothing. As for Ethel, the sus- 
 pense with her had passed away as the report 
 of the pistol came to her eare 
 
 Meanwhile the coffin was carried out of the 
 house and the men, together with the priest, 
 walked on toward a place further up the shore 
 and on the outskirts of the woods. They reach- 
 ea a place where a grave was dug. 
 
 At this moment a pistol-shot sounded. The 
 pnest stopped, and the men stopped also. Thev 
 did not understand it. The priest did n«i , 
 
 f!^ A T " J"* ?"deavored to excite their 
 teani.^ One of the men went back, and was 
 cursed by Gii'asolo for his pains. So ho re! 
 
 rUf^ '"I''® «™^«. '""ing every body. 
 
 The coffin was now lowered into the grave, 
 and the pnest urged the men to go aw.r«.d 
 let him flnmh the work, but they refused. 
 The fellow seemed to have some affection for 
 their dead comrade, and wished to show it by 
 Pottiag laar ttndwgnmiid, «n^ doing the iS«^ 
 honors So the efforts of the Irish priert 
 
 .u . — ' —•"•"■ vt we xnsn pnest. 
 though very weU me«,^ and very nrgent, and 
 very persevering, did not meet ^th Uiat suc- 
 cess which he anticipated. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped in the midst of the 
 Stmit.'"^"^' '""'* ''^ *" P™'»»«tag to tb. 
 
 " Hark I" he cried, in Italian. 
 
 ■\fh 
 
 & 
 
 
f 
 
 108 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON, 
 
 ^ 
 
 "What?" they asked. 
 
 "It's a gun! It's an alarm!" 
 
 "There's no gun, and no alarm," said they. 
 
 AH listened, but there was no repetition of 
 the s(>und, and the priest went on. 
 
 He had to finish it. 
 
 He stood tremhling and at his wit's end. 
 Already the men began to throw in the earth. 
 
 But now there came ,a real alarm. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 DI8COVEBBD."\\, 
 
 , The report (Jf^he pistol had startlol Minnie, 
 and for a moment had greatly agitated her. 
 The cry of Mrs. Willoughby elicited a response 
 from her to the effect that all Was right, and 
 would, no doubt, have resulted in a: conversa- 
 tion, had it not been prevented by Girasole. 
 
 Minnie then relapsed into silence for a time, 
 and Ethel took a seat by her side oa the floor, 
 for Minnie would not go near t)ie straw, and 
 then the two interlocked their ahra in an, af- 
 fectionate embrace. 
 
 "Ethel darling," whispered" Minnie, "do 
 you know I'mbeginning to get awfully tired of 
 this?" 
 
 " I should think so, poor darling !" 
 "If I only had some place to sit on," said 
 Minnie, still reverting to her original griev- 
 ance, "it wouldn't be so very bad, you know. 
 I could put np with not having a bed, or a sofa, 
 or that sort of thing, you know ; but really I 
 must say not to have any kind of a seat seems 
 to me to be very, very inconsiderate, to say the 
 least of it." 
 
 "Poor darling!" said Ethel again. 
 "And now do you know, Ethel dear, I'm be- 
 ginning to feel as though I should really like 
 to rup away from this ^ place, if I thought that 
 horrid man wouldn't see me ?" ,?' 
 
 "Minnie darling," said Ethel, '« that's ;the 
 very thing I came for, you know." 
 
 "Oh yes, I know! And that dear, nice, 
 good, kind, delightful priest! Oh, it was so 
 nice of yon to think of a priest, Ethatodear ! 
 I'm «o grateful ! But when is he comiH ?" 
 "Soon, I hope. But do try not to talk so." 
 "But I'm only whispering." 
 'WTes, but your whispers are too loud, and 
 I'm afraid they'll hear." 
 
 " Well, I'll try to keep still ; but it's so aw- 
 fully hard, yon know, when one has to much to 
 say, Ethel dear." * 
 
 Minnie now remained silent for abont five 
 minutes. 
 
 "Ho w jid yon say _yoa were going to take 
 
 ma away ?" she asked at length. 
 
 " In disguise," said EtheL 
 
 " But loAat disguise?" 
 
 " In an old woiiian's divss— but hu-s-s-s-sht" 
 
 " But I don't want to be dressed up in an old 
 woman's clothes; they make me luch n figure. 
 Why, I'd be a perfect fright." 
 
 " Hu-s-s-s-sh ! Dear, dear Minnie, yon're 
 talking too lond. They'll certainly hear us," 
 said Ethel, in a low, frightened whisper. 
 
 " But do — do promise you won't take me in 
 an old woman's clothes !" 
 
 "Oh, there— there it is again!" said Ethel. 
 "Dear, dear Minnie, there's' some one listen- 
 ing." 
 
 " Well, I don't see what harm there is in 
 what I'm saying. I only wanted—" 
 
 Here there was a movement on the stairs 
 just outside. Ethel had heard a sound of that 
 kind two or three times, and it had given her 
 alarm; but now Minnie herself heard it, and 
 stopped speaking. 
 
 And now a voice sounded from the stairs. 
 Some Italian words were spoken, and seemed 
 to be addressed to them. Of course they could 
 make no reply. The words were repeated, 
 with others, and the speaker seemed to be iml 
 patient. Suddenly it flashed across Ethel's 
 Aiind that the speaker was Girasole, and that 
 the words were addressed to her. 
 
 Hep. impression was correct, and the speaker 
 was Girasole. He had heard the sibilant sounds 
 of the whispering, and, knowing that Minftie 
 could not speak Italian, it had struck him as 
 being a very singular thing that she should be 
 whispering. Had her sister joined her ? Ho 
 thought ^e would go up and see. So he went 
 up softly, and the whispering still went on. He 
 therefore concluded that' the "Italian womnn" 
 was not doing her duty, and that Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby had joined her sister. This he would 
 not allow; but as he had already been sufll- 
 ciently harsh he did not wish to be more so, 
 and therefore he called to the " Italian woman." 
 "Hallo, you woman there! didn't I tell you 
 not to let iho ladies speak to one another?" 
 
 Of coulee no answer waS given, so Girasole 
 grew more angry still, and cried out again, 
 more imperatively : > 
 
 " Why do you not answer me ? Where are 
 you ? Is this the way you watch ?" 
 
 Still there was no answer. Ethel heard, and 
 by this time knew what his suspicion was ; but 
 she could neither do nor say any thing. 
 " Come down here at once, you hag !" 
 But the " hag' did not come down, nor did 
 she give any answer. The " hag" was trem- 
 bling violently, and saw that all was lost. If 
 the priest were only here ! If she could only 
 have gone and returned with him ! What kept 
 him? 
 
 Girasole now came to the top of the stairs, 
 and spake to Minnie. 
 
 " Charming mees, are yon awake ?" 
 " Yes," said Minnie. 
 'E c fl yo u r sistaire wit yoay 
 
 "No. How can $he be wiMi me, I should 
 lik^ to know, when you've gone and put her in 
 some tionid old room?" 
 
 "Ah! not wit you f Who are vou whisper, 
 in' to, Hen?" ^- ' 
 
 Minnie hesitated. 
 
 "To my maid," said sho. ' \ , 
 
 imSJ; 
 
 '%, J- ^ -''•n' 
 
109 
 
 "what DIT TO0 OOIOI VOBT"— "lOX 
 
 " Does de maid gpik IpglU ?" asked Ginwole, 
 
 "Yes," said Minnie. 
 
 "Ah! I did not knQw eet. I mns have a 
 look at de contadina who spiks Inglis. Come 
 hare, Italiana. You d0n't spik Italiano, I tink. 
 vwe here. ' 
 ^Ethel^ose to her feet. 
 ^Irasole ran down, and came back after a 
 Ifcw minutes with a lamp. Concealment was 
 
 "^rt ?•* f" ^""'' ''''* "<" ^^er her face 
 wi h the hood. It had faUen off when she was 
 sittmg by Mmnie, and hung lobsejly down her 
 shoulders from the iftrings which were around 
 her neck, Glrasoje r«eogniied her at one 
 glance. 
 
 "Ahr said he; %nd then he stood thinking. 
 „!i^L • "°* 'hatjlie suspense wai oYet 
 T* .7?^ realhe^lier agitation ceased. 
 She stood looking at him with perfect calm. 
 What dit you come for?" jie asked. 
 
 ^S^, .'" ••''* ^""''' '"•'^"K » gesture to- 
 ward Minnie. * 
 
 " What could you do wit her ?" 
 
 1^1 could see hv and comfort her." 
 
 ' Ah I an' you ho|)« to make hbr escape. Ha, 
 
 I 
 
 \d 
 
 hli »?'.!*"• 7°" "•"* "°* •'O'npJoin eef von 
 nat to soffnir de consequence. Aha! an' so 
 ae pnest bring you here— ha ?" 
 Ethel was silent. 
 
 4e prie'liha" i^'" '" "^-^"" ''"' ^°" '"'"»» 
 Minnie had thus far said nothing, but now 
 
 Ethel s waist, and turned her large, soft, child- 
 ish eyes upon Girasole. 
 
 "What do you mean," shfsaid, "by alwavt 
 coming hew and teasing, atid worrying, and 
 firing off pistols, and frightening people? I'm 
 sure It was horrid enough for you to make n<e 
 
 dZ'Il^lf '!^!i!^ PlBCCj^when y on know I 
 aojtt^iMifr jtj withont annoyin]} me so. Why " 
 did yon go and take away poor darling Kitty? 
 
 here? I never was treated so unkindly in^my 
 life. I did not think that my ow could bo to 
 very, very rude." 
 
 " Charming meej," said Girasole, with a dm. 
 
 4^ 
 
 b-»* 
 
110 
 
 THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 " It don't pain yon," jaid Itid^ei— " ft don't 
 pain you at all Ybu'r^ o/icayf teasing' me. 
 You weeer do what I waioii-jrc a to. Yon wouldn't 
 even give me 'a chaif." , . , 
 
 'Alas, carisaima mia, to-morra you sail haf 
 all! But displace is ao re note." 
 
 ' It is Mt remote," said liinnie. " It's close 
 by roads and villages and iliingg. Why, here 
 is Ethel ; she has been in ^'village where there 
 are houses, and people, and as many chairs as 
 she wants." ' ■ 
 
 "Oh, meet,, eef you will but wait an' lie 
 - patient— eef you will but wait an' see how ten- 
 der I wiD be, an' how I lof you." ^ 
 
 "You don't love me," said Minnie, "one 
 bit. Is this loTe — not to give me a chair? I 
 have been standing np till I am nearly ready to 
 . drop. And yon have nothing better than some 
 wretched promises. I don't care for to-mor- 
 ^ row ; I want to be comfortable to-day. Yon 
 won't let me have a single thing. And now 
 you come to tease me again, and frigh^n poor, 
 dear, darling EtheL" 
 
 "Eet ees because she deceif me — she come 
 wit a plot — she steai in here. Eef she'^had 
 wait, all would be well." 
 
 "You mustn't dors to touch her," said Min- 
 nie, vehemently. "You tha/l leave her here. 
 She shaU stay with me." - 
 
 "I am ver pain->^b, very; hut oh, my an- 
 gel—sweet—charming mees — eet ees dangaire 
 to my lof. She plot to take you away. An' 
 all my life ia in yon. Tink what I haf to do 
 to gain yon I" ' 
 
 Minnie looked upon Girasole, with her large 
 eyes dilated with excitement and resentment. 
 
 "Y9U ar« a horrid, horrid man," she ex- 
 claimed. "lAoteyou." 
 
 " Oh, my angel," pleaded Oirwole, with deep 
 agitation, " take back dat word." 
 
 "I'm sorry you ever saved my life," said 
 Minnie, very calmly ; " and I'm sorry I ever 
 saw you. Ihatayoa," 
 
 "Ah, yon gif me torment. You do not mean, 
 dis. Yon say once you lof me," - 
 
 " / did not say I loved you. It was yott who 
 said you loved me. /never liked gou. And 
 I don't really »pe how I could bd engaged to 
 you when I was enj^ged to another man be- 
 fore. He is the only one whom I recognize 
 now^J don't know yon at all. For I couldn't 
 be bind to two men ; could I, Ethel dear?" 
 
 Ethel did not reply to |his strange ques- 
 tion. 
 
 But npoo Gimsole its efflsct was very great. 
 The manner of Minnie h«d been excessively 
 perplexing to him' all through this eventful 
 day. If she had stormed and gone into a fine 
 frenxjr he could have borne it. It would have 
 -tHNHi^Miiral. But the wav^^erfectiy nncon- 
 cemed, and her only complaint was about tri- 
 fles. Sncb trifle* tool He felt ashamed to 
 think that he could have (ubjacted tb such an- 
 iloyanoes a woman whom he so dearly lored. 
 And now he was once more puxiled. Minnie 
 confronted him, lookioftat him fixedly, without 
 
 one particte of fear, with her large, earnest, in- 
 nocent eyes fastcined upon his— with the calm, 
 cool gaze of some liigh-mlnded Aild rebuking, 
 a yoanger child-companion. This was s pro- 
 ceeding which he was not prepared for. Be- 
 sides, the child-innocence of her face and of 
 her words actui^y daunted hinn She seemed 
 so fearless, because she was so innocent. She 
 became a greater puzzliT than ever. He had 
 never seen much of her before, and this, day's 
 experience of her had' actually daunted him 
 and confounded him. And what was the worst 
 to him of all her words was her calm and shn- 
 ple deckration, "I hate you!" 
 
 "Yes," said Mifinie, thoughtfully, "it must 
 be so; and dear Kitty would have said. the 
 same; only she was so awfully prejudices. And 
 I always thought he was so nice. Yes, I think 
 I really must be engaged to him. But as for 
 yon," she said, turning full upon Girasole, "I 
 iiate you ! " 
 
 Gii:psole'8 face grew white with rage and 
 jealousy. 
 
 "Ahal" iaid he. "You lof him.' Aha! 
 ^' you w^re engage to ^m. Aha I" 
 "Yes, iVeally think so." 
 "Ahal Well, listen'," cried Girasole, in a 
 hoarse voice — "•listen. He— he — de rival— de 
 one you say you are engage-<-he is dead ! " 
 
 And with this he fastened upon Minnie his 
 eyes that now .gleamed with rage, and had an 
 expression in them that might have made Ethel 
 quiver with horror, but she did not, for she knew 
 that Girasole was mistaken on that point. 
 
 As foe Minnie, she was not at All impressed 
 by his fierce looks. 
 
 "I don't thinl you really know, what you're 
 talking about," said she; "and you're very, 
 Tery_ unpleasant. At any rate, you are alto- 
 gether in the wrong when you say he is dead." 
 "Dead! He is dead! I swear it !" cried 
 Girasole, whose manner was a little toned down 
 by Minnie's coolness. 
 
 "This is getting to be awfully funny, yon 
 know," said Minnie. " l' really think we don't 
 know what one another is talking about. I'm 
 sure / don't,^and I'm sure ke don't, either; 
 does he, Ethel dariing?" 
 
 "De Inglis milor," said Girasole. "He is 
 dead." 
 
 " Well, but, I don't inyn him at all," said 
 Minnie. ■ V 
 
 "\Yho— who?" gasped Girasole. "Who- 
 who— who ?" 
 
 "Why, the person I mean," said Minnie, 
 very placidly, "is Bufns K. Gnnn." 
 
 Girasole uttered something like a howl, ud 
 retreated. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXn. 
 
 CNDBB. ARBIMT. 
 
 GiRABOLB retreated half-way down the stain, 
 and then he stopped for some time and thought. 
 Then he came back and motioned to EtheL 
 
 |pBJ^<« ^- fi" Jl-^Sti 
 
 it 
 
 ■(A&(* • >!i 
 
 
* ' Yon mtet come, " be said, ffrufflr 
 ;;Yoa.hkU„ot,»'«idMin„ir ^' 
 
 And I U be bacK as (oon as I can " 
 
 soie. . ine latter said nothine. Ethel i\«u,A 
 
 h.l A' ^'?f' *"" Standing over, the g«ve 
 bathed m a dold perspiration, hi, hekrt tC 
 bing violently erery new thud of the ZrTT. 
 
 fi coW^chill if horror thn,ngh eve.^ nerve'^ 
 4^ enongt earth had been thrown to c^vl 
 oWbreM-arter. df the lid, and at the foot it 
 was heaped np some distance. He tried to 
 frapie some excuse to get the men away. His 
 br«n whirkd; his mind was confosTi- hs 
 thoughts refused to be collected ' 
 
 Apd now, in the midst o>this, the attention 
 
 ^j.L"" ^"^^^ •'y * '»'«* «^ voice, wUch 
 wmided from some one near The nri^t 
 teoked around. Jhe men s^ped shoveZ? 
 mud tirned to see the cause of thenoise. * 
 
 Girdle was seen approaching, and was al- 
 
 ffi^ fiSr"*^ *^}^ distinguished. Be- 
 hind him followed a female form. At this 
 right the priest's mind misgave him 
 
 th.tt'JTi" "r" "P- ""^ ""'' the 'priest saw 
 that the female was no other than Ethel. 
 
 .„11*^ !L1!^*^,P'*-"" '«'k«d Girasole, 
 angrily, speaking, of conrse, in Italian. 
 
 The pnest advanced. • 
 
 At this change in the state of affaire the 
 pnest regained his presence of mind The 
 ^iZ •" •^Ti«-« I"™ -««0 -d ena 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 Wed him to recall his%c;tto«d and' S^d" beeii^t'^f^?'"'' * ^A"" « '*^^' ^''° »«« "-« 
 
 thoughts The men stoodlooklng "aTthe s"S* 
 ers and bstening, leaning on their shovels: 
 You were sent for ?" * 
 ^Yes." 
 
 "And a maid?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You brought this ladv?" 
 "Yes." ' 
 
 off^^lSianV"*"''^""' ^"^ ^'^^^^ 
 "Yes." 
 
 The priest made no attempt at denial 'or 
 equnrocation. He knew that' this would hi 
 nMle« He waited for an opportunity to ex- 
 cuse himself, and to explain rather than to 
 deny. But ereiy answer of his only served to 
 tocre.se the fury .of Gin«ole, who seemed de- 
 
 I^pThli^..''"'* "'^." ""' ^"^ °f 'he priest 
 
 ^«if!il $,'■'*? "'** ''•' f"" •' »>» '"t in- 
 terview with Minnie. 
 
 . tnck us? Don't you know the punishmeht 
 we give to spies and traitors ?" 
 tore " *"'' •••***"« to do with spies and trai- 
 
 "Yonareoneyonrsel£" 
 "I am not" 
 ^YottHel" 
 
 111 
 
 "I do not," said the priest, mildly. « Hear 
 
 U^„ r ""' ■ '^'°' '• °'' ''y*"* don't wish to 
 Jisten, then question me." 
 
 "S*™ .** *"" ''°* question. What made ^ 
 yon bring this lady ?" 
 
 .*5.'i!^'l' *™P>y "Mwered," said the priest 
 •With unfaltering calmness. "This ladv «nd 
 
 htpSty 'ir " ""^ ^f »«" »«' ^^-^ 
 
 SaT-^J They were in distress. Some of 
 
 message came from you requesting mrnret 
 ence and also a lady's-maid. Thf re waS^ 
 Bt^ulation about the kind of one ThruSJ 
 was the intimate friend of the captive, and m- 
 jreated me to Uike her. so that l, sLZ Le ' 
 her fnend, and comfort her, and share her 
 captmty. I Mw no harm in the wish Sh" 
 
 ''Why did she disguise hereelf?" 
 So as to pass without trouble. She didn't 
 7n-."„d ° '" *""^'"'- «''«' ''«'"«d to see heJ 
 tS ^ '"^'' "^ P*^'""- If y°° h«d ques- 
 tioned her, you would no doubt have let her 
 
 the' kinT""' "" *'°"''*' '^^^ *''"•« "««""8 of 
 
 "'oK'^/V^J^''*"''" "'•d the priest " 
 'Objection? She is a spy!" *^ ^ . 
 
 "A spy? Of what, pray?" 
 •^ She came to help her friend to escape." 
 To escape? How could she possibW help 
 herto escape? Do you think it so easy to Z 
 cape from this place ?" />««»- 
 
 Girasole was silent • 
 Do you think a young lady, who has never 
 
 tout ofthnran> Aft... iU.'L.v - .! 
 
 ^ . . — " "■ ^"" 'tieuus oeiore, coi 
 
 do much to assut a friend like hereelf in in , 
 cftpo r 
 
 "She might" 
 
 Th»t^hn ^°^ ^ "^'^ " "*" *« ""•««' of a city. 
 That house is watched, I think. There seem to 
 
 tak«n r'"''M"\.''""'^ ""^'^ >* I ""^ "ot mis- 
 taken Could this young lady help her friend 
 to elude all these guards ? Why, you know very 
 well that she could not." ^ 
 
 " Yes ; but then there is " 
 
 '.'Who?" 
 
 ".Youreelf." 
 
 "Myself?" ' ' . 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What of me?" 
 
 « wi?*.' Ii" '. ''°'"' ''^'" yo"' designs ?» 
 
 think /could plan an escaoe?" 
 "Whynot?'> * *^ . 
 
 "Why not ? What t living hero dwa^ 
 
 > lii^dNi^'i^iavik' 
 
 rtde yoirr /be»t«|'tirf /, wUh my lifeTT 
 i^n suoT^T " »" ""•'-with my throit with- 
 in such easy reach of wy assassin who might 
 choose to revenge my treachery ?" ^^ 
 
 ^^We are not assaisint," said Girwolo, m- 
 
 mlldi""*"' »»»»4»o'.""J0ii«ed thepritit, 
 
 ■ i fti 
 
IM 
 
 TBA AMEBICAK' BABON. 
 
 
 mom 4VABIX 
 
 Girasole was ailent, and stood in thonght 
 The men at the grave had heard every word of 
 this convertation. -Once they langhed in. scorn 
 when the priest ailaded to the absurdity of a 
 young girl escapiV It was too ridiculous. 
 Their sympathies w^dvidently with the priest. 
 The chai^ against him could not be main- 
 tained. 
 
 "Well," said Girasole at length, ««I don't 
 tinst you. Yon may be traitors, after all. I 
 will have yon guarded, and" if I And out any 
 thing that looks like treasAn, by Heaven I will 
 have your life, old man, even if yon should be 
 the Holy Father himself; and as to the lady- 
 well, I will find plenty of ways," he added, 
 with a sneer, "of inflicting on her a punish- 
 ment commensurable with her crime. Here, 
 yon men, come a long with me," he added. Ipok- 
 
 -«ir«the men by the g»v«;~ 
 
 "But wo want to finish poor Antonio's 
 g»ve," remonstrated one of the men. 
 
 " Bah ! be'Ukeep,"said Girasole, with a sneer. 
 
 " Can't one of ns stay ?" asked the man. 
 
 "No, not one ; I want yon all. If they are 
 »»ltors, they an deep oap. Theji must be 
 
 guarded ; afid, mind yon, if they escape, you 
 shall suffer." 
 
 With these words he led the way, and the 
 priest and Ethel followed him. After these 
 came the men, who had thrown down their 
 shovels beside the grave. They all walked on 
 in silence, following Girasole, who led the way 
 to a place beyond the grave, and within view of 
 one of the fires formerly alluded to. The place 
 was about half-way between the grave and the 
 fire. It was a little knoll bare of trees, and 
 fW)m iMhey could be seen by those at the near- 
 est fire. Here Girasole paused, and, with some 
 final words of warning to the gturds, he turned 
 and took his departure. 
 
 The priest sat down upon the grass, and urged 
 Ethel to do the same. She followed his advice, 
 and sat down by his side. The guards i 
 around them so as to encircle them, and, mind^^ 
 ful of Girasole's charge, they kept their faces 
 turned toward them, so as to prevent even the 
 very thought of flight The priest addressed a 
 few mild parental words to the men, who gave, 
 him very civil responses, bnt relaxed not a pw^ 
 dele of their vigilanoe. . 
 
 •.•. \ r . VSaS 
 
.v" 
 
 W' 
 
 -^> 
 
 o^;™V^ • ^"*'"" ^"^ "»•" he h-d dared 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXriI. 
 
 118 
 
 XHB DBMOir WIFK. 
 
 Whbic Dacres was overpowered bv his «». 
 
 f .. .u . — ■" '"'B"'' "o "Oie to breathe Ts. ..:■ • " "'erpowered bv his mu 
 
 fact thatihB Wi>rk had been so une^Mcledlv^^' "'^ "° "^"^ '^'«' "ho^Vhim. His han^ 
 
 terrnpted was one which fined hrwHyV^iM'™ '^""V''^''' '^''""' ""m, and £cks a„d 
 
 ail this was h,s own captivity, but that was aTer^ .teh^ '"""^t ''*' **« P^-^ed and dragged inYo 
 xenons one. Besides, he knew that his iTfehm^ mp !^^ "i '"^ "P «'*'" «° «he room already 
 "pon a thread. Before the next da^ gL^ ! ZJTf' ^''«"' ''« ''»« «'" f-rthw secTred 
 
 «.„»»*.!. . wrrow trouoie, and so ih« 
 
 *L ™„i • '"""'"""•' "fi^y ofHawbury wXf 
 far more importance, and attracted far more of 
 
 ost^„''x[efv''"An'' "" "!?" " P^y^" •'"' deeP- 
 " anxiety. All was discovered excent th« 
 
 rhrwonM^rL?""""'^'' "'""'-'' andlTlon'g 
 FV«I J^ ^T"''''='«'««**ecould notknow 
 
 thoJwT""" V''! *'*P"^'«'» «° hear the cry of 
 Jose who might discover the exchange And 
 Hawbujy, so long lost, so lately fonnd-nlw- 
 bnry, whom she had «n.m.„»oj _*/... ."* 
 
 Jruiscs, and thongh -Tbo'll^^^^ZTeJ '';:; 
 his pain was great. I„ addUion to this Ihl 
 
 it was SJbJm. !'""**"*''*• •""'"'"' tobnwtin? 
 
 £te«:^rt--£H 
 
 ^rr::s^r'^^!:«^^"«ov:t^ 
 
 '.nrr, whom she had suslctZrfelshvT;^""'" P" """ """"^^'"^ «ve, 
 
 and so long avoided, whHow had^2e" S ^Z:?T' "T""""-- ^"'"'his she had" ^ 
 
 nelfso constant and so trne-whatwaThlsfatr? IT K*"""' ""^ her friends, and the innoce^^ 
 
 Shp had gazed with eyes of horror at tW„. *"' 'T'"' '"""' her companion. AH the m«H» 
 
 Xrein he lay, and hLi seen Zmen shtS ""'"/eP'-IP' which had filled his^uf th^ /h 
 
 in the earth as she came ud tZI » -^ •"* ^"^ ""w swelled within him till ^1^^ 
 ofthisflUedherwithiri'l; S'l". r!".°".««l'"! I -«» " ni«h mad. MostileS; of ill ^^^ 
 
 Mm 1." Yo'^ "," '^* ""«""•'• H«<J they bn^riel 
 h m?_how deep was the earth that lay over 
 h.m?-couId there, indeed, be any hope?^ 
 
 All depended on the priest. She'h^d that 
 ShA'*'/""'*'?'"'* •'•'"«» f«"» going K far 
 nwuess. What did that inactivity mp^n ? Was 
 
 ; b^"?.Shl''"M'"^ r ^"^«'°"'- ''•»"" 
 ly bMaose he conld not do any thing ? 
 
 «i tfir""« **T'*'^ •'^ •'"='» ««rfn» thoaghts 
 M these Her heart once more throbbed with 
 tho«, pamfnl pulsations which she had feU when 
 
 Srrttn*'"''"^- ^°' «""« «"•« "he .at 
 Mpportmg her agony as best she could, and not 
 danng to ask the priest, for fear theirTaris 
 
 S f ' ''^'i''! ~"''' '^ «' "° longer. 
 She touched the priest's arm as he ut beside 
 hejv without looking ai him. "^*' 
 
 The priest returned the touch. 
 
 "He Is," said the priest 
 
 .drf.f- *'"'"'.''**'''"'« " 'he man before him he 
 «dded immediately, in an nnconcerned 1™' 
 _ 'She wants to^ know what time it i. md I 
 
 "itT?,"?***'- That's right, w'iS" 
 
 About right," Mid the man 
 JNow that was a lie, but whether it was insti- 
 
 Hfted S hi, • ?"/""»«■"« «o«d of anxietr was 
 Bftjd offher mind, .„d .he begw u, briathe 
 
 I,!. T — ""^ inioieraoie of al 
 
 his position now -the baffled enemy He 
 had come as the avenger, he lad come a. the 
 
 f« rr' ''!J' ""^ '"'1 *««•* entrapM before 
 he had struck hi, |,low, and here he VaTnow 
 
 followed the fa;;.':'lvSt?a;,Sr^^^^^^ 
 2' """'•'l""'''' "«"'«'" «" ""dne™. Lad fhey 
 
 Bnt^air;;.'"'"' r^ '.*""« *« •^'«"h tSm 
 
 But all these thoughts and ravinw were d^ 
 tmed to come to a full and sudden S^I'Tnfto 
 U, changed .» othem of . far different^ W 
 ter. This change took place when Girwote 
 
 loZl'Ti^'' ''^'*»' *»"'<'. with mAwk 
 
 SA-Vi*'."^"- ^ »»«"« lay on the 
 ?-SiS *"«/»',?'*' 'he It.lian.'^.^S 2e 
 
 ro^SlT^^V^"^^"^ *»"•» «f» woman's 
 voice and, finally, he s^w the flash of a light. 
 ¥»d knew that the Italf^ was coming to hU 
 r^*". and perhaps this wbmanalM. He held 
 
 n 
 
 other lighter, the step of awomal ». wkiSS 
 almost breathless. «6 waited 
 
 At last she Rpfemd. Theresbe wm before 
 ?im'^rf ""'•^•"" '»-*oh,ho!I^„S 
 from that demon woman of bis fanci«,,Jho 
 
 
 
114 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 n 
 
 v) 
 
 was to appear before him with his ene^y a%d 
 gloat over his sufferings ! Was there a trace 
 of a fiend in that beautiful and gentle face ? 
 Was there thought of joy or exultation over 
 him in that noble and mournful iady, whose 
 melancholy grace and tearful eyes n<iw riveted 
 his gaze ? Where was the foul traitd- who had 
 done to death her husband and her friend? 
 Where was the miscreant who had sacrificed 
 all to a guilty passion ? Not there ; not with 
 . that face ; not with those tears : to think that 
 was impossible — it was unholy. He mi 
 rave when he did not see her, but now that 
 eyes beheld her those mad fanues were all 
 sipated. * 
 
 (There was only one thing there — a woma: 
 fall of loveliness and grace, in the very blooi 
 of her life, overwhjl||ied with suffering which 
 this Italian was mflicting on her. Why? 
 Could he indulge tie nnlioly thought that the 
 Italian had cast herwff, and supplied her place 
 with the younger be|uty ? Away with such a 
 thought ! It was noi^ealousy of that younger 
 lady that Dacres percWved ; it was the cty of 
 a loving, yearning hear«,that clung to that other 
 one, from whom the Italian had violently sev- 
 ered her. There was no mistake as to the 
 source of this sorrow. Nothing was left to the 
 imagination. Her own woMs told all. 
 
 Then the light was taken »way, and the lady 
 crouched upon the floor. Dteres could no lon- 
 ger see her amidst that gloofei ; but he could 
 hear her ; and every sob, and^very sigh, and 
 every moan went straight to\his heart and 
 thrilled through every fibre of hk being. He 
 lay there listening, and quiverink thus as he 
 listened with a very intensity of slmpathy that 
 shat ont from his mind every othei thoaght ex 
 cept that of the monming,'^ stricken one before 
 him>-^ 
 
 Thus a long time passed, and the^dy wept 
 stiU, and other sounds arose, and thVre were 
 -footsteps in the hoose, and whisperinVs, and 
 people passing to and fro; but to alf^thpse 
 Dacres was deaf, and they caused no mora im- 
 pression on his senses than if they were\ot. 
 His ears and his sense of hearing existed obly 
 for these sobs and these sighs. 
 At last a pistol-shot roused him. The lady 
 
 In the midst of this prayer Girasole's voice 
 sounded, and then Minnie's tones came clearly 
 audible. The lady rose and listened, and a 
 great sigh of relief escaped her. Then Gira- 
 Bole descended the stairs, and the lady again 
 sank upon her knees. 
 
 Thus far there seemed a spell upon Dacres ■ 
 bat this last incident and the clear child-voice 
 of Minnie seemed to break it. He could no 
 longer keep silence. ' His emotion was as in- 
 tense as ever,: but the bonds which had bound 
 his lips seemed now to be loosened. 
 
 * ' Oh, Arethusa I " he moaned. 
 
 At the sound of his voice Mrs. Willoaghby 
 started, and rose to her feet. So great had 
 been her anxiety and ag{||tion that fo^ some 
 time she had not thought or another being in 
 the room, and there had been no found from 
 .him to suggest his existence. But now his 
 Voice startled her. She gave no answer, how- 
 ■ aver. 
 \ "Arethusa!" repeated Dacres, gently and 
 longingly and' tenderly. 
 
 V?oor fellow 1" thought Mrs. Willoughby; 
 'Vhe's dreaming." 
 
 ■"^ "ArAthnsnl nti 
 
 sprang up and called in despair. A cry „ 
 back, and the lady was about to venture to 
 other room, when she was driven back by 
 stem voice of Girasole. Then she stood f( 
 moment, after which she knelt, and Di 
 heard her voice in prayer. The prayer was f.^. 
 audible, but now and then words struck u^on 
 his ears which gave the key to her other wolds, 
 and he knew that it was no prayei' of rem<, 
 for guilt, but a cry for help in sqre afllictioni 
 Had any thing more been needed~t» 
 
 the last vestige of Dacres's former suspicioni, 
 was famished by the words which he now heai™. 
 " Oh, Heaven !" he thought ; " can this woman 
 be what I have thought her ? 'Snt if not, what 
 a villain am 1 1. Yet now I mast rather believe 
 myself to b« a viUain than her I " 
 
 "J^rethusa! oh, Arethusa!" said Dacres once 
 ■more.\ "Do not keep away. Come to me. 
 I am c^lm now." 
 
 "Pobr fellow!" thought Mrs. WiUoughby. 
 
 He di:>esn't seem to be asleep. He's talking 
 to me. I really think he is." 
 
 Arethasa," said Dacres again, "will you 
 answer meWe question ?" 
 
 Mrs. WillVghby hesitated for a moment, but 
 now perceived that Dacres was really speaking 
 to her. "He's 11^ delirium," she thought. "Poor 
 fellow, I must hi^mor him, I suppose. Bat what 
 a funny name tomve me!" 
 
 So, after a little preparalBj cough, Mrs. 
 Willoughby said, irt^a low voMi; 
 
 " What question ?'' 
 
 Dacres was silent fo^r a few moments. He 
 was overcome by his emotions. He wished to 
 ask her one question— th^ question tit all ques- 
 tions in his mind. Already her acts had an- 
 swered it sufficiently ; but h^ longed to have 
 the answer in her own words. 'Yet he hesitated 
 to ask it. It was dishonor to %er to ask It. 
 And thus, between longing and hesitation, be 
 delayed so long that Mrs. Willoughby imagined 
 that he had fallen back into his dream; or into 
 Ij^s delirium, and woal(^ 8ay no more. 
 
 Bat at last Dacres staked every thing ob the 
 issue, and asked it: 
 
 "Aretligsa! oh, Arethusa! doyon— doyok 
 love— the-r-the Italian?" ^ 
 
 "The Italian!" said Mrs. WiUoughby - 
 "love the Italian! me!" and then in a mo- 
 ment she thoiight that this was his delirinm, 
 
 sighed again ; " how he foaght them ! and no 
 doubt he has had fearfdl blows on his head." 
 
 ' ■ Do fou ? do you ? Oh, answer, I implore 
 yoa!" cried Dacres. 
 
 " No !" said Mrs. WUIonghby, solemnly. "I 
 hate him at I never hated man before." She 
 
 spoke hw ir 
 
 the other w 
 
 A sigh ,d1 
 
 Dacres, so c 
 
 "And ol 
 
 have 3'ou ov 
 
 "I alwaj 
 
 Mrs. Willoui 
 
 tone, "is 
 
 — in his face 
 
 "Oh,ma3 
 
 word!" excl 
 
 of fervor tha 
 
 She now bel 
 
 dreams with 
 
 sense by rem 
 
 "It was 
 fond of." 
 "Vhat! 
 "Yes; oh 
 him." 
 
 "Oh,Heav 
 
 ens, what a fc 
 
 have been! 
 
 And can gou i 
 
 no— you can i 
 
 At this app< 
 
 and did ndt ki 
 
 much of this i 
 
 she could >not i 
 
 to her, and thi 
 
 not, he took h 
 
 was so full of 1 
 
 hearted, that 1 
 
 him. 
 
 "Oh," he or 
 
 and have all mj 
 
 last? Andyoti- 
 
 beautiful yon a 
 
 in your glance- 
 
 touching grace 
 
 swear to- you, bj 
 
 at yon in placet 
 
 And thought I sa 
 
 ■biped you in m 
 
 son why I have 
 
 I saw yon when 
 
 pies till this nig 
 
 image. I fough 
 
 not overcome it. 
 
 •0 dear as you ai 
 
 Now, of contB 
 
 aidered as the h 
 
 •^nd seeking a 
 
 (ranged wife ; bn 
 
 as the language < 
 
 to * yonpg and e 
 
 win perceive that 
 
 t under ordina 
 
 •*« a sensation. 
 
 Upon Mrs. W 
 «Biply tremendou 
 •Boring" the deliri 
 kfa delirium takim 
 "•Jy embanyssinc 
 "w truth enough 
 
in, "will yoo 
 
 r'^l^*'"*"'!.""'' ''""^ "I'hoogh, he 'thought 
 the other was deliriou* """ugni 
 
 Datr«i*tf H "'"!u '"? "' '•'PP'"*"" <"»■»« from 
 
 And oh, he continued, "teU itie this- 
 have you over loved him at all?" 
 
 Mrs. W. Ipughby, in the same' low'^nd'^olemn 
 -?n his fi:*" "'""'"^« bad-altogether baS 
 "Oh, may Heoven forever bless yon for that 
 word!" exclaimed Dacres, with such a depth 
 She now tv ^"^^ Wyioughby was surpSL'J 
 She now believed that he was intermingling 
 dreams with realities, and tried to lead hR 
 sense by reminding him of the truth 
 
 fond of.^" **'°°'*^ ^*'" ^°°*' *^» ^^ ^a" 
 
 "Viiat! Minnie ||pr?» 
 ^•Jes; oh yes. /never saw anyi thing of 
 
 "Oh, Heavens!" crfed Dacres; "oh Heav 
 
 AnH ^ , '• •"•" ' •'*'*' misjudged «o« .< 
 And can yo« forgive me ? Oh, can you ? But 
 no— you can not, " . "« /uu r jjut 
 
 «.d did ndt know what to say or to d^. How 
 mnch of this was delirium and how much r^^ 
 
 to hrlnHf ' ^^ "■'»« «««-««» «^d^ 
 llf:? 1,^' !:" *"*» *••«"«* delirious or 
 
 r«JL^ ii f r^ *"■ ""• •"** «« '•'y tender- 
 hearted, that her only idea was to "humor" 
 
 and'S™ ilf **'*"' '^°' "«*" this all be true, 
 Md have aU my suspicions been as mad as thes^ 
 tast? And jr<w-how^ have changed I How 
 beautiful yon arel What tenderness the« h 
 m your glanee-what a pure and genUe wd 
 touching grace then, is in your expression f T 
 ^ear taynu, by Heaven! \ haveS gX 
 •t yon m places where you have not seen ml 
 and thought I saw heaven in your f J. rd\"^ 
 »^hrr°,,"' ""y 'r""* ■"'"'• Thi8 i^ the reiL 
 
 i^Tr J'"'" r" *"»« •"»« fte rtK.m at Na- 
 pteBUU this Bight I could not get rid of your 
 
 115 
 
 HE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 -. — — u.ui mce oi inis mi 
 before her in different places H«, .t*^™.."" 
 
 him? Jt was terrible for this man to lirth^ 
 
 Would you like to be loosed ?" she asked 
 
 coming nearer. " Shall I cut yo« £nd"r ' 
 
 She spoke in a low whisper. - 
 
 Oh, tell me .first, I implore youl P.n 
 
 , „. yon forgive me?" F^reyoui Can 
 
 not overeome it. Never, neve;";;'^^ "yoaV^f' I ^t'Safirst' v"''?>'' *° *'^"- S''^ ~»W 
 «o dear as you are now!" ' ^ 1°\a \^ """" 'y*"* ">ug in pain, which 
 
 Mered as the language of «n estranged hus- 
 
 ^^^7" r '?«"«^«tion ^ith an el 
 
 ranged wife; but when one regards it simply 
 
 M the language of a pa«,ionate lover directed 
 
 to a young and exceedingly pretty wido^ one h 
 ir„r'U'"'* " r«3 m>/aUve.yweH.'n , 
 ^nnd« ordinary dreni wtencwitmlgficrr^' 
 
 •»e a sensation. - *^ ^ 
 
 amply tremendous. (She had begun by "hn- 
 
 K£umd?'*°'"""'"' butno'^sh/found 
 hrdv^^il *^.'"« • •"'»"•' *bich was excess- 
 "«ly embanjwsing. The worn of it waa Zre 
 "•truth enough in hi. language" to "™ 
 
 "Forgive yon?" she said, in a voice fill of 
 sympathy and nitv "Thl~ " '^oice fuu of 
 we to for^ve." " " '"**'°« '«' 
 
 thll^"" """^ °**''*" '■°«^er bless yon for 
 that sweet and gentle word 1" saidJ)«,res who 
 altogether misinterpreted her wwSr.nJ^K 
 emphasis she placeTon them andt'us vo le' 
 there was such peace, and such a gent£ eS 
 ant^happiness. that Mrs. WiUough1>y ^^Z 
 
 ha;;i;s'?.'^'"«^«'^o-«'>''"bowhe«.. 
 
 "Where are you festened ?" she whisnered 
 
 forever thu.^ with ker bending over him! 
 
 My hands are fastened behind me, " said he 
 fihlJ-,*"! * knife," said Mrs. WiUouJhS" 
 She did not stop to think of danger, if wTi 
 chiefly pity that incitener to tfisr^^he Sould 
 
 for her ""fc '"•'""' ^"PP^-^' ~^ 
 thomrh;„f K- ^"^ ^Pnl*^, and though she 
 Sff i"^ assistauMM^^ard the escipe of 
 Minnie and hen«lf.^pity and compilion 
 « '"'LSbief inspirfng motivep. ""P^"" 
 Mr*.Willoughb/had told Girasole that sh« 
 
 slS""'"'^' but this was npt^SSS fir 
 ^ now produced^ne, ««dnc»r*,,^sS^ 
 
 writhT": AgainathrillflashedSrt 
 him at the touch of her litUe fingere ; shethan 
 cut the co*rds that bound his ankteL" 
 Dalcres sat up. His ankle, and wrist, were 
 
 of .w I *'* 7" ™P'"" « Ws sooL and 
 of that alone waa he conscion.. ^ 
 
 "Be careful J» .he whi.pe«d, WOTfagiyj 
 
 if>i 
 
116 
 
 AME 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 'i 
 
 '*>gi(ardi are all aroon-", and listeners. Be 
 careful I Ifyon can think of a way of escape. 
 ^ do 80." "^ 
 
 Dacres rubbed his hand over his forehead. 
 "Am I dreaming?" said he; "or is it all 
 true ? A while ago I was suffering from some 
 hideoiu vision ; yet now you say yon forgive 
 me I " 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby saw in this a sign of re- 
 turning delirium. "But the poor fellow must 
 be humored, I suppose," she thought. 
 , " Oh, there is nothing for tne to forgive," 
 said she. 
 
 "But if there wei;e any thing, would yon ?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Freely ?" he c^ed, with a strong emphasis. 
 "Ye% freely." \ 
 
 " Oh,< could ypii answer me one more qaes- 
 „ tion ? Oh, could you ?" ^ 
 
 " No, no ; not now — not now, I eiitraat yon,'* 
 said Mrs. Willoughby, in ner>ous di^d. Ske 
 was afraid that his delirium wOnld bring him 
 upon delicate ground, and she-^ried to hold 
 him back. 
 
 "But I must ask you," said Dncres, trem- 
 bling fearfully—" I must— now or never. TBll 
 me my doom ; I have suffered so mach. Oh, 
 Heavens I Ajiswer me. Can yon ? Can you 
 feel toward me as yon once did ?" 
 
 "He's utterly mad," thought Mrs. Willough- 
 by; " but he'll get worse if I don't soothe him. 
 Poor fellow ! I ought to answer him." - 
 "Yes," she said, in a low voice. 
 "Oh, my darling!" murmured Dacr$s, in 
 rapture inexpressible; "my darling!" he re- 
 peated ; and grasping Mrs. Willoughby's hand, 
 he pressed it to his lips. " And yon will love 
 ) me again— yon will love rae?" 
 . ' Mrs. Willoughby patMed. The man was 
 mad, but the ground was so dangerous ! Yes, 
 she must humor him. She felt his hot kisses 
 on her hand. 
 
 " Yon w»tf— yon will \on me, will joa not ?" 
 he repeated. " Oh, answer me ! Answer me, 
 or I shall die!" 
 
 " Yes," whispered Mrs. Willbnghby, faintly. 
 As she said this a cQ]d chill passed throngh 
 her. Bat it was ioo late. Dacrea's arma were 
 around her. He had drawn her to him, and 
 pressed her against his breast, and she felt hot 
 tears upon her head. 
 "Oh, Arethnsa!" cried Dacres. 
 "WeU," said Mrs. Willonghby, aa soon aa 
 she could extricate herself, " there's a mistake, 
 
 you know." 
 
 "A mistake, darling r 
 "Oh ^w, what *«ci/7I do?" thoaght Mrs. 
 Willough^; "Ae's beginning again. I must 
 4top this, and bring him to his senses. How 
 JSniM s itJI-to hnmnr ■ rtnlirinns m s nl" 
 
 " I'm not Arethusa at all ; that isn't my name. ' 
 
 " Not your name ?" 
 
 " No ; my name's Kilty." 
 
 "Kitty!" cried Dacres, starting, to his feet.> 
 
 At that instant the report of a gun burst 
 upon their ears, followed by another and an- 
 other ; then there were wild calU and loud 
 shouts. Other guns were heard. . 
 
 Yet amidst all this wild alarm there was no- 
 thing which had so tremendous an effect upon 
 Dacresas this but remark of Mrs. Willoughby's. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 'Oh, Arethusa t" sighed Dacres once more, 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby arose. 
 
 **I'm not Arethnsa at all," said she ; "ti^kt 
 isn't my mami It you can shake off your ^ 
 lirium, I wish yon would. I really do." / 
 
 ." Wlmt I" cried Dacres^ in amaiemeBt. / 
 
 TRB OBiaiS or LIFB. 
 
 Wrbr the Irish priest conjectured that ii 
 was about -two o'clock in the morning he wsi 
 not very far astray In bis calculation. The 
 short remarks that were exchanged between 
 him and Ethel, and afterward between hfm 
 and the men, were followed by a profbond li- 
 knee. Ethel snt by the side of the priest, 
 fwith herliead bent forward and her eyes closed 
 as though she were asleep ; yet sleep was fiulher 
 tram her than ever it had been, and the thriO- 
 ing OTento of the night aflTorded snfflcient nu- 
 4»dal to keey her nw ake fef man y ■ h w g Bea r 
 yet to come. Her mind w^s now filled with » 
 thousand conflicting and most exciting fandei, 
 in the midst of which she might again hsn 
 sunk into despair had she not been snstainsi^ 
 the assurance of the priest. ' 
 
 Sitting near Edial, the print fofomtlm 
 4 
 
 looked flxe< 
 
 conteinplati 
 
 meditating 
 
 truth, the sc 
 
 serving evci 
 
 priest appea 
 
 liim lay the 
 
 ulmgit at the 
 
 ed hiJIs, wh. 
 
 gloom of nil 
 
 the opposite 
 
 tended on o 
 
 were flres, n 
 
 sending forth 
 
 distance, niig 
 
 the old stoni 
 
 forest, vast, j 
 
 shade, in whi 
 
 yet where ev« 
 
 guards of the 
 
 them. Once 
 
 gain freedom 
 
 an impassable 
 
 also lay a still 
 
 grave where 
 
 they <^nld fly 
 
 death; yet to 
 
 ivonld be to d< 
 
 atad themselvei 
 
 Seated there 
 
 the water, the 
 
 ' before him 5 hi 
 
 v^irtso^ghts w« 
 
 4he situation a 
 
 cated was that 
 
 dilemma in whic 
 
 ' where death p* 
 
 the good priest 
 
 gradnally more 
 
 the difficulty, ai 
 
 sinking down de 
 
 of despair from 
 
 trieated himself. 
 
 And still the 
 
 moments, laden 
 
 bni7,bntofallt] 
 
 Bight daring whi 
 
 tbonght of— moT 
 
 Now in this 
 priest bethought 
 ^»d been proved 
 a life— a friend ^ 
 htd found in his i 
 «)>ich a/ond and 
 h«artofamoref( 
 Mend, a fragrant 
 CifflyfHend; itv 
 .it was of day;, in 
 • 4Bdeen. 
 
 liFttelr 
 
 lived in this rami 
 •mblem of his gre 
 had brought it wit 
 wken he first tum« 
 or perhaps he had 
 9D«rter which had 
 
J-^fi-. 
 
 l'' ' 
 
 'iZ-Pr. 
 
 tUn'tmjnMine.' 
 
 looked flxedjy ahead of him .. though he were 
 contemplating ,he .olomn midnigKe„ro^ 
 meduating upon the beautiea^of^.t^r' !„ 
 
 :!rfe'^1.-^^-/- . A-unditaro^eTe":;:? 
 
 THE AMERICAN BABON. 
 
 cutting up the^Xcco^d" uhbr;K" "' 
 
 -J v-ii' •-•—•■vol.. ."ruuna It arose the wnhH .:«„ e 
 
 ,h! M ' ^"^ ^® "*«" ">« dusky outline of 
 the old .tone houw. Behind thum wm the 
 foreae, mt gloomy, clothed in iZereTrable 
 Bh.de .n which lay their only hope'^f slfetT 
 
 fh«m n ^«"''«- It was close behind 
 them Once iq iu shelter, and they St 
 gain freedom; yet between 'them and ir*.^ 
 
 ^ve'-^herHrurr'To'^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 aeatd; yet to remain, as thev miiRt r^nili 
 *ouW be to doom him' to death Zm SS' 
 aiK] themselves too " 
 
 thf^lS fh?' '''*'* ''" "y*" ''^«d toward 
 
 ittfTn. T.' ' •'^*" **"' «»ed on Yacancy 
 )^#ought8 were endeavoring to g«pple wkh 
 ^Mituation and master it. Yef Tcompt 
 cated was that situation, and so perplexing Se 
 
 ih:rdeath t' t^^"'* w-«ES™': 
 
 wnere death perched upon either horn-that 
 ^«ood priest fonnd his facukies becomZ 
 
 the difficulty, and he felt himself once mo,« 
 dnking down deeper «,d deeper into that 2Z 
 
 SiffiiV'''^'' ''»'''''' '^"'---'^ " 
 
 mnt!,''/"."]''- **"" ^"^ ••"! the precious 
 moments, laden with the fate not only of Haw 
 
 ^l 5"?^'".'^. othe«-,he mom/nts o^thJ 
 S-J?."l"« which alone any escape was to K 
 thOBght of-mored aU too swifUy iway 
 
 nriS'L'.^ "•!? *°"'" "f P«T>«exity the good 
 prie«bethought him of a friend whose fldS 
 hijb^n proved thropgh the varied evenu i>? 
 •H«^-.fnend which, it, hi. life of celiluLJ 
 tad found ID hi. hem wmething of thTE 
 
 & of f ™ "^ '""'^' *'* "'y how iS 
 Mart of « more fortunate man. It wa. a l!tt>« 
 
 ^tmtT^ «<'!"'.rw„7andrm*e!:La 
 Vmy fHend ; u was in th« pocket of hi. coat • 
 
 «.M.^ V' """•"" *'°™^' «f Italy got that 
 •nWem of hk green native i.le ? Perbap. h" 
 
 iSw'hichli?"'"^-"j\!' '""» »•••' "^^ 
 4B«ner which had supplied him with tbu vary 
 
 The'^»n ' ""fe enough here." 
 
 .boTt'LTwi^ rrr„r%rn"""™*''' '-■• 
 
 h« blessing, and'^etd'^i^bSl'^tt?'" 
 Saying this, he ligjited hi. pipe. Thi. one,^ 
 
 confusion departed, «,d g«dnS «. fl^ 
 o?«"r hi"""'",''*'* «o th, skies,Tre w« diffuSi 
 
 his^S.'''''^:Sw'l^«'«''» difficulty of 
 
 sibirand death inTvTtaJTe He'lL": ™T 
 mind to die Ti,« ■,."'"®- "« ""ade up hi. 
 made in ih!"n, ? ''"'covery would .nrely be 
 
 Sitirforr ".\r. rwtfd^f ^ 
 
 himaelfaaiafiwl fo>.y:L Y -T^ Mongnt^-for 
 ^J~f^^^^y^rEiHerBnxroa«-andtuniinijr 
 over m Jiu mind all the various mode, bv whii.h 
 
 rt 
 
i 
 
 —■-- ^- 
 
^■m 
 
 118 
 
 ■.^- 
 
 TBB AHl^IttCAN BARON. 
 
 \ 
 
 
 diatipated and scattered to the winds by a 
 moat startling cry. 
 
 Ethel started to her fset. 
 "Oh Hearens!" she oried, "what was 
 that?" I y 
 
 " Down ! down 1" cri^the men, wrathfully ; 
 bnt before Ethel coul^^obey the sonnd was re- 
 peated, and the meA ^themselves were arrested 
 by it. ■ / I 
 
 The sonnd ^t thas interrupted the medita- 
 tions of the^^riest wala the explosion of a rifle. 
 As Ethel^tarted ap another followed. This 
 excited the men themselves, who now listened 
 iutejotly to learn the caase. 
 /They did not have^to wait long. 
 / Another rifle explosion followed, which was 
 succeeded by a l«ad, long shriek. 
 
 "An attack!" cried one of the men, with a 
 deep cur8«i. They Ibtened still, yet did not 
 move away A-om thej place, for the duty to 
 which they had been fssigned was still prom- 
 inent in their minds, j The priest had already 
 risen to his feet, still smoking his pipe, as 
 ,1 . though in this new turn of affairs its assistance 
 >N might be more than ever needed to enable him 
 to preserve his, presence of mind, and keep his 
 soul serene in the midst of confusion. 
 
 And now they saw all around tham the signs 
 of agitation, figures in swift motion flitted to ^, 
 and fro amidst, the shade, and others darted, t:'.. 
 past the smouldering fires. In the midst ^ [fk'^'Diavolol" 
 this another shot sounded, and anothc^ j^ These wordi 
 still another. At the third there was ^Wild 
 yell of rage.and pain, followed by the shdR cry 
 of a woman's voice. The fact was evidmt that 
 some one of the brigands had falle^ and the 
 women vfeye lamenting. ^' 
 
 The confusion grew greater. Loud cries 
 arose ; calls of encouragement,'ofentreaty, of 
 '* command, and of defiance. Qver by the old 
 house there wav the uproan-oT rushing men, 
 ^ijf;^ in the midst of it a l^dT stem voice of 
 ttJmmafid. The vpices ancTthe rushing foot- 
 steps moved from the^ house to the woods. 
 Then All ws still for a time. 
 • It was but for a short time, however. Then 
 came shot after shot in r^pid succession. The 
 flashes could be seen among the trees. All 
 around them there seemed to be a struggle 
 going on. There was some unseen assail- 
 ant striking terrific blows from the impenetra- 
 ble shadow of the woods. The brigands were 
 firing back, but they fired' only into thick dark- 
 ness. Shrieks and yells of pain arose fW>m 
 time to time, the direction of which showed 
 that the brigands were sofiering. Among the 
 assailants there was neither voice nor cry. 
 But, In spite of thair Iossm and the disadvan- 
 toge^ under wh ich they labored, the brigands 
 
 moment, and were impatient at their enforced 
 inaction. 
 
 "They must be soldiers,'^ said one. f- 
 
 "Of course," said another. 
 
 "■Diey fight weU." 
 
 " Ay ; better than the last time. " 
 
 "How did they learn to fight so well under 
 cover?" 
 
 " They've improved. The last time weimet 
 them we shot them like sheep^ and drove them 
 back in five minutes." 
 
 "They've got a leader who understands 
 fighting in the woods. He keeps them under 
 cover." 
 
 "Who is he?" ,- 
 
 "Diavolo.' who knows? They get new 
 captains .every day." " >• 
 
 "Was there not a famous American Indi- 
 an—" 
 
 " True. I heard of him. An Indian war- 
 rior from the American forests. Gniseppe saw 
 him when he was' at Rome."^ 
 
 " Bah ! — yon all saw him." 
 
 "Where?" .. 
 
 "Onthe(road." 
 
 "W* didn't." 
 
 " Yo)^ did. He was the Zonave who fled to 
 the woods first." 
 
 "pS?" ■ ' 
 
 •^Yes." 
 
 -ttragtir WBil, and nMl^'itHtnMriflf .' Trom 
 time to time a lond, stem voice arose, whose 
 commands resounded for and wide, and sus- 
 tained the courage of the men and directed 
 their movements. 
 
 , The men who gitarded the priest and Ethel 
 were growing mora hnd more excited every 
 
 words were exchanged between them 
 as they looked at the fighting. But suddenly 
 there came rapid flashes and rolling volleys be- 
 yond the fires that lay before them, and the 
 movement of the flashes showed that a- rush 
 had been made toward the lake. Wild yells 
 arose, then fierce returning fires, and these 
 showed that the brigands were being driven 
 back. 
 
 The guards could endure this no longer. 
 " They are beating us," cried one of the men, 
 with a curse. " We must go and fight. " 
 " What shall we do with these prisoners ?" 
 " Tie them and leave them.'' 
 " Have you a rope ?'' 
 " No. There is one by the grave." 
 "Let's take the prisoners there and bind 
 them." 
 
 This proposition was accepted ; and, seising 
 the priest and Ethel, the four men hurried 
 them back to the grave. The square hole Uy 
 there just beside them, with the earth by its . 
 side. Ethel tried to see into it, but was not 
 near enough to do so. One of the men found 
 the rope, and began in great haste to bin^ili^V 
 arms of the priest behind him. Another be- 
 gan to bind Ethel in the same way. 
 But now t here came loud cries, i 
 of men near them. A loud, stem voice wss 
 
 'Follow me I We'U 
 
 t. .« 
 
 
 encouraging the men. 
 
 "Onion I "he cried, 
 drive them back I" 
 
 Saying this, a man hurried on, followed by 
 a score of brigands. 
 
 It was Qirasole. 
 
 ('^)>j t.* • j^ k 
 
 1^ 
 
 He hAd 
 
 sidowhe^ 
 
 made far^hi 
 
 in, and v^i 
 
 retrieve t|ie 
 
 came up io 
 
 He Btopp 
 
 "What's 
 
 "Thepri 
 
 It was in 
 
 dawn was i 
 
 sole were ^ 
 
 convulsed w 
 
 was not caUi 
 
 as by the sS| 
 
 pected treaic 
 
 them for a i 
 
 suspicions v 
 
 sudden assac 
 
 and by such 
 
 to treachery, 
 
 him seemed 
 
 priest and £i 
 
 His suspic 
 
 the circnmst 
 
 he regarded i 
 
 ands identifi 
 
 and Garibald 
 
 poses to do si 
 
 were under tl 
 
 any priest mi 
 
 good service 
 
 enemjes. Ai 
 
 against him. 
 
 of the countr 
 
 he had come i 
 
 ciroumstancec 
 
 disguise. H< 
 
 the cross-qoe 
 
 were eibpty v 
 
 the presence « 
 
 before him in 
 
 These thouj 
 
 and the sight 
 
 rage to madi 
 
 pose of venge 
 
 as he looked 
 
 He gave one 
 
 men. 
 
 "Onion!" 
 instant; and 
 " wait a momc 
 The briganc 
 sist tlAir comn 
 four waited. 
 
 All this time 
 airwaa filled w 
 shouU of men, 
 
 ■s though the 
 brigands. But 
 fluting was ci 
 the brigands 
 tftm cJDver to 
 ment t^ make i 
 nts 4i«d gaint 
 
BO well nader 
 
 re who fled to 
 
 He hid been gnaraing the woods at this 
 side whei. he had eeen the rush that had been 
 made farther up. He had seen his men driven 
 in, and #as now hurrying np to the place to 
 retrieve the battle. As he was running on he 
 came up to the party at the grave. 
 He stopped. 
 
 "What's this?" he cried. 
 "The prisoners— we were securing them." 
 It was now ligh^r than it had been, HtS 
 dawn was not far off. The features of Gira- 
 sole were plainly distinguishable. They were 
 convuhied with the most furious passion, which 
 WM not caused so much by the mge of conflict 
 as by the sSght of the prisoners. He had sus- 
 pected^ treachery on their part, and had spared 
 then^ for a time only so as to see whether his 
 suspicions were true or not. But now this 
 sudden assainlt by night, conducted so skillfully 
 and by «„ch a powerful force, pointed clearl; 
 to twacheiy, as he saw it, find the ones who to 
 him seemed most prominent in guilt were the 
 pnest and EtheL 
 
 His suspicions were quite re^onable under 
 the circumstances. Here was a priest whom 
 
 Anr^fn 5« 'J"'u"^""' ^'""y- These brig- 
 ands .dent.fied themselves with republicans 
 and Ganbaldians whenever it suited their pur- 
 poses to do so, and consequently, a^ such, they 
 were under the condemnation of the Pope: and 
 any pnest might think he was doing the Pope 
 good service by betraying those vdio were his 
 enemies. As to this priest, eve^thing was 
 against h.m. He lived close by; every step 
 of the country was no doubt familiar to him; 
 he had come to the camp under very suspicioui 
 clroumstances, bringing with him a stranger in 
 •^guise. He had given plausible answers to 
 the cross-questioning of Girasole; but those 
 were empty words, which went for nothing in 
 the presence of the living facts that now stood 
 before him in the presence of the enemy. 
 
 These thoughts had all occurred to Gimsole. 
 and the sight of the two prisoners kindled his 
 rage to madness. It was the deadliest pur- 
 pose of vengeance that gleamed in his eyes 
 M be looked upon them, and they knew it 
 He gave one glance, and then turned to his 
 men. 
 
 «• On t on !." he cried ; '< I will join yon in an 
 instant; and yon," be said to the guards, 
 "wait a moment." ^ 
 
 The brigands rushed on with ihonts to as- 
 sist thiir comrades in the flght, while the other 
 four waited. 
 
 AH this time the flght had not ceased. The 
 airwa. filled with the reports of rifle-shots, the 
 a 1 ^ ^1^^ ^^Z'"* °|^he wounded. The 
 -flaaU* wNHBedto^gnnnntlyilniwniii nearer, 
 ■s though the assaihmu were still driving the 
 brands. But their progress was slow, for the 
 «W«ing was carried on among the trees, and 
 •he brigands resisted stubbornly, retreating 
 ft«m cover to cover, and stopping every mo- 
 ment t^ make a Atish stand. But the assail- 
 Uts 4i4d gained much ground, and were al- 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 119 
 
 ready dose by the Urders of the lake, and ad- 
 ▼ancing along towafd the old stone house. 
 
 Ihe robbers had not succeeded in bindine 
 their pnwners The priest and Ethel both 
 stood where they bad encountered Ginwle 
 and the ropes fell from the robbers' hands aJ 
 
 ml„T """T^Ption- The giHve with its 
 mound was only a few feet away 
 
 sword ,n his right. He sheathed his sword and 
 drew another pistol, keeping his eyes fixed 
 steadily all the while upon his victims. 
 
 You needn't bind these prisoners," said 
 c^urhlT"'' """'"'••«'"- -5 to se- 
 
 . "In the name of God," cried the priest. " I 
 implore you not to shed innocent blood!" 
 "Pooh!" said Girasole. 
 
 spaJSrr^' '^ *°"°'''"*' y°" ''•" •' '*"«" 
 "She shall die first!" said <5ira8ole, in n 
 fory, «nd reached out his hand to grasp Ethel 
 The pnest flung himself forward between the 
 two. Girasole dashed him aside. 
 
 "Give us time to pray, for Gods sake- 
 one moment to pray!" 
 
 at ESel." '"°""'""" "'^•'•^ G''""!*. grasping 
 Ethel gave a loud shriek and started away in 
 hortor. Girasole sprang after her. The four 
 men turned to seize her. With a wild and 
 frantic energy, inspired by the deadly terror 
 that was in her heart, she bounded away to- 
 ward the grave. 
 
 SHAPTE 
 
 R XXXV, 
 
 BURIBD ALIVK. 
 
 Hawbuht last vanished from the scene to a 
 pUce which is bnt seldom resorted to by a liv- 
 ing man. Once inside of his tenible retreat he 
 became a prey to feelings of the most varied 
 and harrowing chanwter, in the midst of which 
 there was a suspense, twofold, agonizing, and 
 
 fS h\k^"^"1'"' »"• suspense mS. for 
 fcthel, and then for himself. In that narrow 
 and restricted retreat his senses soon became 
 sliarpened to an unusual degree of acutenbss 
 Every touch against it communicated itself to 
 his fVame, as though the wood of his inclosare 
 had become part of himself; and every sound 
 intensifled itself to an extraordinary degree of 
 distinctness, as though the temponuy loss of 
 vision had been compensated for by an exan- k 
 geration of the sense of hearing. This waai 
 particularly the case as the priest drove in the 
 *<"***» — He he a rd tha ahnffl f ^n th f n^jn-i^ 
 
 whisper to Ethel, her retreat, and the aMending 
 foottteps ; while at the same time he wm aware 
 of the unalterable coolness of the priest, who 
 kept calmly at his work until the very last mo- 
 ment. The screws seemed to enter bU own 
 nr»me, and the slight noise which was made, 
 nandibie as it was to others, to him seemed 
 loud enough to rouse all in the houM. 
 
 
 ■ I 
 
 gfc^i. 4^^*,^ 
 
120 
 
 THE AMERICAN BARON, 
 
 Then he felt hitnself raised and carried down 
 stairs. Fortunately he had got in with hia 
 feet toward the door, and as that end was car- 
 ried out first, his descent of the stairs was not 
 attended with the inconvenience which he 
 might have felt had it been talccn down in an 
 opposite direction. 
 
 One fact gave him very great relief, for he 
 had feared that his breathing would be diffi- 
 cult. Thanks, however, to the precautions of 
 the priest, he felt no difficulty at all in that re- 
 spect. The little bits of wood which prevented 
 the lid from resting, close to the coffin formed 
 apertures which freely admitted Ol the air that 
 was necessary. 
 
 He was borne on thus from the house toward 
 the grave, and heard the voice of the priest 
 from time to time, and rightly supposed that 
 the remarks of the priest were addresse'd' not 
 so much to the brigands as to 'himself, so as to 
 let him know that he was not deserted. The 
 journey to the grave was accomplished without 
 any inconvenience, and the coffin was at length 
 put upon the ground. 
 Then it was lowered into the grave. 
 There was something in this which was so 
 horrible to Hawbury that an involuntary shud- 
 der passed through every nerve, and all the 
 terror of the grave and the bitterness of death 
 ill that one moment seemed to descend upon 
 him. He had not thought of this, and conse- 
 quently was not prepared for it. Ho had ex- 
 jiected that he would be put down somewhere 
 on the ground, and that the priest would be 
 able to get rid of the men, and eflect his liber- 
 ation before it had gone so fur. 
 
 It required an effort to prevent himself from 
 crying out ; und longer efforts were needed and 
 more time before he could regain any portion 
 of his self-control. He now heard the priest 
 performing the burial rites; these seemed to 
 him to be protracted to an amazing length; 
 and so, indeed, they were ; but to the inmate 
 of that grave the time seemed longer far than 
 it did to those who were outside. A thousand 
 thoughts swept through his mind, and a thou- 
 sand fears swelled within his heart. At last 
 the snspicion came to him that the priest him- 
 self was unable to do any better, and this sus- 
 picion was confirmed as he detected the efforts 
 which he made to get the men to leave the 
 grave. This was particularly evident when he 
 pretended to hear an alarm, by which he hoped 
 10 get rid of the brigands. It failed, however, 
 iind with this failure the hopes of Hawbury 
 sank lower than ever. 
 
 But the climax of his horror was attained 
 as the first clod fell upon his narrow abode. 
 It seemed like a death-blow. He felt It as if 
 
 it had nmck Ii!iM»ir, and for a moment it was 
 ix» though he ha\ been stunned. The dull, 
 heavy sound which those heard who stood 
 above, to hia ears became transformed and en- 
 larged, and extended to something like a thun- 
 der-peal, with long reverberations through his 
 now fevered and distempered bruin. Olhor 
 
 clods fell, and still others, and the work went 
 on till his brain reeled, and jinder the mighty 
 emotions of the hour his reason began to give 
 way. Then all his fortitude and courage sank. 
 All thought left him save the consciousness of 
 the one horror that had now fixed itself upon 
 his soul. It was intolerable. In another mo- 
 ment his despair would have overmastered him, 
 and uhder its impulse he -would have burst 
 through all restraint, and turned all his ener- 
 gies toward forcing himself from his awful pris- 
 on house. 
 
 He turned himself over. He gathered him- 
 self up as well as he could. Already he was 
 bracing himself for a mighty effort to burst up 
 the lid, when suddenly the voice of Girasole 
 struck upon his ear, and a wild fear for EtheJ 
 came to his heart, and the anguish of that fear 
 checked at once all further thought of himself. 
 He lay still and listened. He did this the 
 I more patiently as the men also stopped from 
 their work, and as tte hideous earth-clods no 
 longer fell down. He listened. From the 
 conversation he gathered pretty accurately the 
 state of affairs. He knew that Ethel was 
 there; that she had been discovered and 
 dragged forth ; that she was in danger. He 
 listened in the anguish of a new suspense. 
 Ho heard the words of the priest, his calm de- 
 nial of treachery, his quiet appeal to Girasole's 
 good sense. Then he heard the decision of 
 Girasole, and the party walked away with their 
 prisoners, and he was left alone. 
 Alone ! 
 
 At any other time it would have been a ter- 
 rible thing thus to be left alone in such a place, 
 but now to him who was thus imprisoned it af- 
 forded a great relief. The work of burial, 
 with all its hideous accompaniments, was stayed. 
 He could collect his senses and make up his 
 mind as to what he should do. 
 
 Now, first ofall, he determined to gain more aii- 
 if possible. The earth that had fallen had cov- 
 ered up many of the chinks, so that his breath- 
 ing had become sensibly more difficult. His 
 confinement, with this oppression of his breath- 
 iiig, was intolerable. He therefore braced 
 himself once more to make an effort. The 
 coffin was large and rudely constructed, being 
 merely an oblong box. He had more play to 
 his limbs than he could have had in one of a 
 more regular construction, and thug he was 
 able to bring a great effort to bear upon the 
 lid. He pressed. The screws gave way. lie 
 lifted it up to some distance. He drew in a 
 long draught of fresh nir, and felt in that one 
 draught that he received new life an4 strength 
 and hope. 
 
 He now lay still and thought abggt.whftt lut 
 
 should do next. If it had only been himself, 
 he would, of course, have escaped in that first 
 instant, and fled to the woods. But the 
 thought of Ethel detained him. 
 
 What was her position ; and what could he 
 do to save her? This was his thought. , 
 
 He knew that she, together with the pnest, 
 
 was in the h 
 were comma 
 at the peril 
 he did not kr 
 was near or 
 them away. 
 
 Ho determ 
 perceived tha 
 brigands' can 
 in which he c 
 ■ng. Giraso 
 the work of I 
 night, and if , 
 would avoid a 
 he could stay 
 unobserved. 
 
 ;l IgllH fTlia 
 
 ■T ntts ^w* 
 
 thing to distra 
 and afford her 
 He now an 
 he raised the 1 
 fell down insi 
 holding it up 
 bud carefully 
 
>■ . ) 
 
 THE AMERICAN MRON, 
 
 was m the hands of four of the brigands, who 
 were commanded to keep their prisoners safe 
 at the pen of their lives. Where they were 
 he did not know, nor could he tell whether she 
 was near or at a distance. Girasole had led 
 them away. 
 
 Ho determined to look out and watch. He 
 perceived that this grave, in the heart of the 
 brigands camp, aflorded the very safest place 
 m which he could be for the purpose of watch- 
 ing. Girasole's words had indicated that 
 the work of burial would not be resumed that 
 night, and If any passers-by should come they 
 would avoid such a place as this. Here, then 
 he could stay until dawn at least, and watch 
 unobserved. Perhaps he could find wheru 
 
 ■1 ill — . »."uiu iinu wnen 
 
 .I.' ^^''**«"*™edf perhaps h« could do nnne- 
 fhing to distract the attention of the brigands, 
 ana afford her an opportunity for flight 
 
 h. «.^'!i."'?,f • '"''• •'"*"""« '" "'« coffin, 
 he «i«„l the lid. The earth that Was upon il 
 
 fel down inside. He tilted the lid up, and 
 
 holding It up thus with one hand, he put his 
 
 head crefully out of the grave, and looked out 
 
 / 
 
 in tU direction where Girasole had gone with "-^ 
 his prisoners. The knoll to which h! had M ^f" 
 lr^„>T''l'' ""T •=°"«PJ«»°'«' place, and had*? 
 
 could be under his own observation, f/om time 
 to time, even at a distance, It was about half- 
 way between the grave and the nea Jt Are 
 
 ■ght, and the light was in a line with tlhe knOll 
 
 o Hawbunr's eyes The party on the knoll, 
 
 therefore, appeared thrown out into relief bv 
 
 the faint flre-Iight behind them, especially the 
 
 pnest and Ethel. i j~ u/ me 
 
 And now Hawbury kep« hi. watch, and 
 looked and l.gtened and waited, ever mindful 
 ofhiB ownjmmed intfi neighborhood, aad ga«n|^ 
 tntf carefully against any approach. But his 
 own place was in gloom, and no one would 
 have thought of looking there, so that he was 
 unobserved. 
 
 oward finding out any way of rescuing Ethel 
 He saw the vigilant guard around the pri«)n- 
 ers. Once or twice he saw a movement among 
 
 '■ii 
 
 I 
 
 > i 
 
tlieiii,,bnt it warioon over, and resulted in 
 nothing.^ Kov be began to despond, and to 
 specolatQ in hu mind as to whether Ethel was 
 in anj danger or npt. He' began to ofdcalate 
 the time tbAt night be required to go for he\p 
 with which to attack the brigands. He won> 
 deied what reason Qirasol^ might hare to in- 
 jure EtheL Bni wWever h^pe he had that 
 mercy might be shown her was counterbal- 
 anced by his own experience of Girasole's 
 cmeltj, and his knowledge of his merciless 
 character. • i 
 
 Suddenly he was roused by the rifle-shot and, 
 ' the confusion that followed. H« saw the party 
 ■^ on the msmnd start to dieir feet. He heard 
 the shots that succeeded the flat one. He 
 saw shadows darting to and fro. llieti the 
 confusion grew worse, and all the sounds of 
 battle aA>8e — the cries, the shrieks, and die 
 stem woiMs of command. 
 All this filled him with hope. An attack 
 . was being made. They might all be saved. 
 He conid see tbht the brigands were being 
 driven back, and that the asaaHante were press- 
 ing on. 
 
 Then he saw the party feMring from the 
 knolL It wa4 already mn4 littbter. They 
 .advanced toward' him. He sank '<l^wn md 
 W|rited. He had no fear now that this party 
 would compete' hishnriaL He thongbt they 
 w«re flying with the pri8<mers. If so, the as- 
 sailants Would soon be here; he could join 
 them, and lead them on to' the rescue of 
 EtheL 
 
 He lay low with die lid over him< He heard 
 them dose beside him.' Then dierewas the 
 ' noise 6f nuhing men, and Girasole's voice 
 arose. 
 He heard all that followed. 
 Then Elthel's shriek sounded out, as she 
 sprang toward the grave. 
 
 In an instant the occupant of the grave, 
 seizing the lid, raised it up, and with a wild 
 yell sprang forth. 
 
 The effect was tremendous. 
 The brigands, thought the dead Antonio hhd 
 come to life. They did not stop to look, but 
 with a howl of awful terror, and in an anguish 
 of fright, they turned and ran for their lives I 
 
 GirasoliB saw him too, with equal horror, if 
 not j^ater. He saw Hawbury. It was the 
 man whom he had kiUed stone-dead with his 
 own hand. He was there .before him — or was 
 it his ghost ? For an instant horror paralysed 
 him ; and then, with a yell like a madman's, he 
 leaped back and fled after the others. 
 
 THE AJMERICAN BABQIf. 
 
 *' 
 
 CHAFTKRi 
 
 wildered. ' While she was listening to the 
 sounds, he was listening to the echo of her 
 words ; while she was wondering at the cause 
 of such a tumult, he was wondering at this dis- 
 closure. In « moment a thousand little things 
 suggested themselves as he stood there in his 
 confusion, which little things all went to throw 
 a flood of light upon her statement, and prove 
 that she vraa another person than that " demon 
 wife" who had been die cause of all his woes. 
 Her soft glance, her gentle manner, her sweet 
 and tender expression — above all, the tone of 
 her voice ; all these at once opened his eyes. 
 In the course of tbeir conversation she had 
 spoken in a low tone, often in a whisper, so 
 that this fiust with regard to the difierence of 
 voice had not been perceptible ; but her last 
 words were spoken louder, and he observed the 
 difference. 
 
 Now the tumult grew greater, and Ae re- 
 ports of the rifles more frequent. The noise 
 ipas commnnicated to the house, and in the 
 rooms and Ithe hall below there were tramplings 
 of feet, and hnnyings to and fro, apd the rat- 
 de of aims, and die voices of men, in the midst 
 of which rose the stem command of Girasde. 
 "Forward I Foll«wmet" 
 Then the distant reports grew nearer and 
 yet nearer, and all the men rasbed from the 
 house, and their tramp was heard outside as 
 they hurried away to the scene of conflict. 
 
 "It's an attack! Tbe brigands are at- 
 tacked !" cried Mrs. Willoughby. 
 
 Dacres said nothing. He was collecting his 
 scattered thoughts. 
 
 'K)h, may Heavrai grant -that we may be 
 saved 1 Oh, it is the troops— it must be I Oh, 
 Sir, come, come ; help us to escape i My dar- 
 ling sister is here. Save her !" 
 
 " Your sister ?" cried Dacres. ». 
 
 "T)h yes; come, save her I My sister— my 
 darling Minnie I" , 
 
 With these words Mrs. Willoughby rushed 
 from the room. 
 
 " Her sister ! her sister !*' repeated Dacres— 
 "Minnie Fayl Her sister I Good Lord! 
 What a most infernal ass J've been making of 
 myself this last month I " 
 
 Hestood still for a fewmoments, overwhelmed 
 by this thought, and apparently endeavoring to 
 realize the full extent and enormous j^e and 
 immensfe proportions, together with tbe infinite 
 extent of ear, appertaining to the ass to which 
 he had transformed himself; but finally he 
 shook his head despondini^y, as though he 
 gave it up altogedier. Then he hurried after 
 MW. WiUongh^. 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby rashed Into Minnie's room, 
 and clasped her sister in her yma with frantic 
 
 tears and kisses. 
 
 " Oh, my precious dariing I" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Oh dear!" said Minnie, "Un't this reaUy 
 too bad ? ' I was so dred, you know, and I wu 
 just beginning to go to sleep, when those horrid 
 men began firing their guns. I really do diink 
 that every body is banded together -to tease me. 
 
 fltI n.T! 
 
 In the midst of that wild uproar which had 
 roused Dacres and Mrs. Willoughby there was 
 nothing that sUrtled him so much as her decla- 
 ration diat she was not Arethusa. Hrstoodbe- 
 
 
 
I do wish they'd dl go-aw^y amLlet me hare • 
 ''"'«P«*ce. I*mwtireaiuidileepyl" 
 
 WhUe Minnie ttm saying, this her «gt«r wm 
 embracing her and kitting fcer and ciying oyer 
 
 «r?\ "*"""♦ Minnie, come I" she cried- 
 "make haste. We must fly!" ' 
 
 I* Where to f said Minnie, wonderingly. 
 Any where-^any where out of this awfiil 
 place : mto the woods." " 
 
 woods It s aU wet, you knowv Can't we get 
 a carnage?" ' * 
 
 "Ohno,no; wemnstnotirait, They'Uidl 
 be back soon and kill na," \ 
 
 "mat"d„'"'L^'"*.^'J «^*^ Minnie. 
 
 At this moment Dacrai ottered. The im- 
 age of the immeasarable ass was stiU Tens, 
 prominent in his mind, and fie had lost aU ^ 
 fever and deUrinm. One thought onW Z 
 mained (besides that Of theaw, of <jonnKJ>^ and 
 that was— escape. - 
 
 « Are you Mady W he asked, hurriedly. 
 
 win?uX'"" ""^"^'"•^'^^ 
 
 " I think no one is below," said he • " bnt T 
 «JU go first. There i. a g^od^a^ ,bse by 
 we W.11 mn there. If I f«ii, you must run o^n 
 and try to get there.^ It is the bank just oppo- 
 site. Once there, yon ate in the woods. So 
 you understand?" 
 
 "Oh yes, yes!" cried Mrt WiUooghbv 
 " Haste 1 Oh, haste !" -""gnDy. 
 
 . Dacres turned, and Mr^ WiUonghby had 
 just grasped Minnie's hand to feuW, when 
 suddenly they heard footsteps below. 
 
 They stopped, appalled. 
 
 The robbers had not all gone, then. Some 
 Of them must have remained on guard. But 
 how many ? " '^' 
 
 Dacres listened and the ladiei listened, and, 
 in tbflir suspense the beating of each heart was 
 
 ' THE AMERICAN' BARON. 
 
 »* 
 
 I He begaa to think that then was only one 
 enemy to encounter. 
 ^^ "»« ''•low jput his foot on the lowest 
 
 Then holhesitated. 
 
 Dacres stBod in the shadow of the other door- 
 way, which was nearer to the head of the 
 
 «t«!il^ K^^fr^'*** •P'^°« " '«'»' « the 
 stranger should come ^thin reach. Bnt the 
 stranger delayed stiU. ^^ "« me 
 
 At length he spoke: 
 
 "Hallo, npther^I" 
 
 -The sound of those simple words produced 
 
 ZfnTT*'"^**."'""' "•« •'«*^«"- Dacres 
 sprang down with a cry of joy "Comp 
 
 St* JiL.'""''" "' ^^'"^^ ''»-'"-'^' 
 Inthe dim Ught he could detect a taU, sUm, 
 
 SESrtie'"' ""■* '""'* •^'^ ^"'"""i 
 
 » J «^"?j'^ J^ «** ""* «>f »'>^ and 4nick, 
 too," safd the Rev.,Saul To«v. "TheyVe.l 
 
 ^f w i J** *^°«»'t Id look In to see if any 
 of yi4u folks wa»arftuijd." ^ 
 
 tof^r*^ **?? *•'* l«ii*i«§re bothat the bot- 
 tom of thp stairs. .,. -sv . 
 
 "Come!" said Toaer- "hnwfr no '%Ik. 
 I-U take one kdy and y.u' take Se?^' * 
 
 " Do you know the woods ?" 
 
 ''Likeabook." 
 
 "SodoV'MidDaorefc 
 g^»**^ Mii- ^lUpoghby's hand and 
 
 , ;;B^t Mnnfel" wifl Mr*. WiUoughhy. \ 
 
 r n*"^*"^,**'**" 1« •>'"» t*ke her; it's safer 
 forallofius,"saidDact^8. » wrer 
 
 ■ Mh. Willoughby looked back as she was 
 dragged on after Dacres, and saw Tozer fol- 
 lowing them, holding Minnie's hand Thl« 
 reassured her. 
 
 Dacres dragged her on to the foot'of the 
 
 ink. Hnrn oho t^^A ._ i . . ". . » 
 
 
 AVilAmtinnn 1'^aA»»» ^». _> 
 
 each. I 'W*. ''* ""** ""^ ^-wuiu noi. 
 
 "There seems to be only >,ne man " said .«^ ^'Tk 1^?"««L»«0PP«<1, and, wiUwut * 
 icrM. in . -i,i "^/.°™ ."*"'. **"! word, raised her in his arms as though stie were 
 
 Dacres, in a whisper. "Jf there u only one, 
 ni engage to manage him. While I grapple 
 yon run for your lives. Remember the bank " 
 
 ■ lA ?, ^*^ ^^* **••' '^''■' ^lio" ^7 be more." 
 Mid Mrs. WiUonghby. ' 
 
 "l-U see," taid Dacres, sofUy. 
 I r°7?* cabtionsly to the froiit window and 
 «^ J*1.°**^ . ?^ *'"' ^^»^'*^ light he could 
 see quite plainly. No men were visible. From 
 •ftr the noise of the strife cariie to his ears 
 iraViSw "•"' •^ ••* *^"" •* th»itariiw 
 
 Dacre* stole back again from the window 
 and went to the door. He stood and listened. 
 ..W^^t^r^l footsteps came across the hall 
 to the foot of the stairs. Dacres could see the 
 figure of a solitaiy man, but it was dark in the 
 nau, and he could not make him out. l- 
 
 1 
 
 A little child, and i«n up the Tbaak. He 
 plunged into the woods, ifen U ran on far- 
 ther. Then he turned and doubled, 
 do^' ^*"**"*'*''*^ '^«K«*1 hHiaXi put her 
 
 "No," said he^ "they are behind nfc Ton 
 can not go fast enough. I shqn(d have to wait 
 and defend you, and then we would both be 
 lost. .^' * ^ 
 
 "But, oh ! We are losing Iflmite." 
 
 "Ho,woareBoi,-'cried Dacres; "thctiE^ 
 is ten times stronger than I am. He is a pers 
 feet elephant in str4ngth. Je dashe4 jiast^ 
 
 
 up the hill. 
 
 "I didn't se^ him. 
 
 "Your face was turned the other wny. 
 Is ahead of us now somewhere. " 
 
 "Oh, I wish we could catch up to him." 
 
 Hi 
 
Tint AMEIUCAN I^^UtON. 
 
 i, iiil 
 
 7 "^iv- 
 
 
 "AT TmS.DAa 
 
 At this Dacres nnhed on faster. The effort 
 was tremendous. He leaped over fallen tim- 
 bers, be burst throngh the underbrash. 
 
 " Ob, I'm sure you'll kiH yoarself if yon go 
 so fast," said Mrs. Willoagbby. " We can't 
 catdinp tothem." 
 
 At this Dacres slackened his pace, and went 
 on more carefully. She again begged him to 
 pnt her down. He again refused. Upon this 
 she felt perfectly helpless, and recalled, in a 
 vagne way, Minnie's ridiculous question of 
 " How would you like to be rdn away with by 
 a great, big, horrid man, Kitty darling?" 
 
 Then she began to think he was insane, and 
 felt very anxious. 
 
 At Ust Dacres stopped. He was utterly ex- 
 hausted. He was panting terribly. It had 
 been a fearful journey. He had run along the 
 bank up to that narrow valley which he had 
 tntversed the day before, and when he stopped 
 it was on the top of that precipice where he bad 
 formerly rested, and where he had nurtured 
 -fO£h dark purposes against Mrs. WilloughbjT. 
 
 J^Irs. Willoughby looked at him, full of pity. 
 B6 waa utterly broken down by this last effort.- 
 
 > avsaaD ok VASraa." 
 
 "Oh dear!" she thought, "Is he sane or 
 insane? What am I to do ? It is dreadful to 
 have to go on and humor his queer fancies." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 mmnE'g last lifb-pbbsebveb. 
 
 When Tozer started after Dacres he led 
 Minnie by the hand for only a little distance. 
 On reaching the acclivity he seised her in his 
 arms, thus imitating Dacres's example, and 
 rushed up, reaching the top befqre the other. 
 Then he plunged into the woods, and soon be- 
 came separated from his companion. 
 
 Once in the woods, he went along quite leis- 
 urely, carrying Minnie without any difficulty, 
 and occasionally addressing to her a soothing 
 remark, assuring her that she was sufe.' Min- 
 nie, however, made no remark of any kind, good 
 or bad, but remained quite silent, occupied with 
 her owa^ thaoghtftr- At~lengtfa To ie r t O H >ad^ 
 and put her down. It was a place upon the 
 edge of a cliff on the shore of the lake, and as 
 
s he 8ane or 
 8 dreadful to 
 r fancies." 
 
 tVEB. 
 
 icres he led 
 tie distance, 
 d her in his 
 cample, and 
 e the other, 
 ind soon be- 
 n. 
 
 ig quite leis- 
 ly difficulty, 
 r a soothing 
 Bufe,' Min- 
 y kind, good 
 Msnpied with 
 «er stopped 
 pe npon the 
 lake, and as 
 
 THE AMEBICAN B^RON. 
 
 ^ t\ 
 
 I 
 
 ' WOMC AHD WOISI,' SAID V»U|." 
 
 much as a mile from the hoose. The cliff was 
 almost fifty feet high, and was perpendicular. 
 All around was-the thick forest, and it was un- 
 likely that such a place cOnld be discovered 
 
 "Here," said he; "w^ve got to stop here, 
 and Its about the right place. We couldn't 
 get any where nigh to the soldiers without the 
 brigands seeing us j so we'll wait here till the 
 fight's over, and the brigands all chased off." 
 
 "The soldiers I what soldiers?" asked Min- 
 nie. 
 
 "Why, they're having a fight over there— 
 tne soldiers are attacking the brigands." 
 
 "Well, I didn't know. Nobody told me. 
 And did you come with the soldiers ?" 
 " Well, not exactly. I catee with the priest 
 - and 'he young lady." 
 
 "But you were not at the house?" 
 "No. They wouldn't take me all the way. 
 The pnest said I couldn't be disguised— but I 
 don't see why not-so he left me in the woods 
 tiU he came back. And then the soldiers cam^ 
 and we crept on till we came nigh the lake. 
 Well, then I stole away ; and when they made 
 an attAck the brigands all ran there to fight, and 
 I watched tiU I saw the coast clear j and so I 
 came, and here we are." 
 
 Minnie now was quite silent and preoccu- 
 pied, apd occasionally she glanced sadly at 
 Toser with her large, pathetic, child-like eyes. 
 It was a very piteous look, full of the most ten- 
 der entreaty. Toxer occasionally glanced at 
 her and then, like her, he sat silent, involved 
 m his own thoughts. 
 
 "And so," said Minnie at last, "you're not 
 the priest himself?" 
 "The priest ?f;. 
 "Yes." •] - 
 
 " Well, po } I don't call myself a priest. I'm 
 
 be had 
 
 ie had 
 caught 
 ns soul 
 
 13.1 
 
 •' Well, you're not a real priest, tlieii.'' 
 
 " All men of my calling are real prre$ts-^yes 
 
 priests and kings. I yield to no nian in the 
 
 c^lhl""* *^'' I ««' upon my high and holy 
 
 "Oh, but I mean a Roman Catholic priest." 
 said Minnie. 
 
 " A Roman Cal;holic 'priest I Me ! Why 
 what a question! Me! a Roman Catholic! 
 Why, in our parts folks call me the Protestant 
 ChampiiDn." 
 
 ^'P^"^^ "" y""'** °"'y * Protestant, after 
 Wl, said Minnie, in a disappointed tojie 
 "Only a Protestant!" repeated Tbzer, se- 
 
 "Oh yes J bnti hoped you were the other 
 pnest, you know. I did $o want to 1 have a 
 Roman Catholic priest this time." j / 
 
 Ttpier was silent. It strnck him that ^is 
 young lady was in danger. Hbr wish fo^- a Ro- 
 man Catholic priest boded no good, 
 just come from Rome. No doubt si 
 been tamplered with. Some Jesuits had] 
 her, and had tried to proselytize her. Hii 
 swelled with ^ndignatiom at the thought. 
 "Oh dear!" said Minnie again. 
 "What's the matter?" asked To«er, in a sym- 
 pathizing voice. 
 "I'm so sorry." 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Why, that yon saveittiy life, yon know." 
 . ^ ? ■o'^y ? that I saved your life ? ' n- 
 peated Tozer, in amazement. 
 
 "Oh, well, yon know, I di.d to want to be 
 saved by a Roman Catholic priest, you know " 
 , " To be saved by a Roman Catholic priest i" 
 repeated Tozer. pandering these words in hhi 
 mind as he slo>dy pronounced them. He could 
 make nothing of them at first, but finally con- 
 cluded that they concealed some half-suggested 
 tendency to Rome 
 
 "I don't like this-I don't lik6 this," he said, 
 solemnly. ' 
 
 "What don't yon like?" 
 
 • ' It's dangerous. It looks bad, " said Tozer, 
 with increased solemnity. 
 
 " What's dangerous ? You look so solemn 
 that yon really make me feel quite nervous. 
 What's dangerous ?" 
 
 " Why, your words. I see in yon, I think, 
 a kind of leaning toward Rome." 
 
 "It isn't Rome," said Minnie. " I don't lean 
 to Rome. I only lean a little toward a Roman 
 Catholic priest." 
 
 " Worse and worse," said Tozer. " Dear ! 
 dear ! dear! worse amt worse. This beato alL 
 Young woman, beware I But perhaps I don't 
 understand you. Yon snrely don't mean that 
 your affecUons are engaged to any Roman 
 Catholic priest. Yon can't mean Uat. Why 
 they can't many." 
 
 "But that's just what I like them «> tor," 
 iaidMinni«^ "I like people that don't many; 
 Lhate people that want tfrma n y ."- 
 
 !r^^ 
 
 M. 
 
 1 ozer turned this over in Ui mind, bnt conld 
 
 f»- ^^te\;^ft- ^-r-a*^ tfJlfC*'^^^-^-^ l«r Sii^^r-t^^P^^ 
 
% 
 
 126 
 
 THE Al^BICAN BARON. 
 
 make nothing of it. At length he thought he 
 Mw in this an additional proof that <khe had 
 been tampered with by j'esnita at Bjdine. He 
 thought he saw in this a 8taten[Ant of her 
 belief in the Roman Catholic disctrine ,of ce- 
 libacy. / 
 
 He shook his head more soj^mnly than ever. 
 " It's not Gospel," said he. " It's mere hu- 
 man tradition. Why, for/canturies there was 
 a married priesthood evenjj^ the Latin Church. 
 Dnnstan's chief measi^reBconsisted in a fierce 
 war on the married, clergy. So did Hilde- 
 brand's— Gregoiy the Seventh, you know. The 
 Church at Milan, Sustained by the doctrines of 
 the g^t Ambptse, always preferred a married 
 deisy. . The "worst measures of Hildebrand 
 were against these good pastors and their wives. 
 And in the Eastern Church they have always 
 had it.". , 
 
 Of course all this was quite beyond Minnie ; 
 so she gave a little sigh, and said nothing. 
 
 " Now as to Rome," resumed Tozer. " Have 
 yon ever given a careful stu4y to the Apoca- 
 lypse—not a hasty reading, as people generally 
 do, but a serious, earnest, and careful examina- 
 tion?" 
 
 "I'm sure I haven't any idea *rhat in the 
 world you're talking about," said Minnie. " I 
 wA* you wouldn't talk so. I don't understand 
 one single word of what you say." 
 
 Tozer-started and stared at this. It was a 
 deplh^eCigporance that transcended that of the 
 other yoniHg lady with whom he had conversed. 
 But heiRtributed it all' to " Roman" influences. 
 They ireaded the Apocalypse, and had not al- 
 'ow^F either of these young ladies to become 
 acqaatnted with its tremendous pages. More- 
 OT^r, there was something else. There was a 
 , irtain light and trifling tone which she nsed in 
 referring to these things, and it pained him. He 
 sat involved in a long and very serious consid- 
 eration of her case, and once or twice looked 
 at her with so very peculiar an expression that 
 Minnie began to feel very nneasy indeed. 
 
 Tozer at length cleared his throat, and fixed 
 npori Minnie a very afliectionate and tender 
 look. 
 
 " My dear young friend, " said he, " have you 
 |jpver roSected upon the way yon are living ?" 
 At this Minnie gave him a frightened little 
 look, and her bead fell. 
 
 " Yon are young now, but you can't be young 
 always ; youth and beauty and ioveliness all are 
 yours, but they can't last ; and now is the time 
 for you to make your choice — now in life's ga 
 mom. It ain't. ^y when yon get old, 
 member that, iny dear. Make your choice Jom 
 — now." ' 
 
 " Oh dear !" said Minnie ; " I knewii^ Bnt 
 
 " Oh, I entreat yon— I implore yon, my dear, 
 
 " I do with you wouldn't talk to me that way, 
 and call me your dear. I don't like it ; no, not 
 even if you dU save my life, l9ioDgh really I 
 didn't know there was any danger. Bnt I'm 
 not yo«>- dear." 
 
 And Minnie tqmed her head witK a little air 
 of detenignationnM though she had quite made 
 up her mind on that point. 
 
 "Oh, well now, really now, " said Toze^ " it 
 was only a natural expression. I do take a 
 deep interest in yon, my— that is— miaa ; I feel 
 a sincere regard and afi«ction and—" 
 
 "But it's no use," said Minnie. "Ton really 
 caiCt, yon know; and so, why, yon nnuMt, you 
 know." 
 
 Tozer did not clearly understand this, so aft- 
 er a brief pause he resumed : 
 
 "Bnt what I was saying is of far more im- 
 portance. I referred to your life. Now you're 
 not happy as yon are." 
 
 " Oh yes, bnt I am," said Minnie, briskly. 
 
 Tozer sighed. 
 
 " I'm "eT bappy," continued Minnie, " very, 
 very happy— that is, when I'm with dear, dar- 
 ling Kitty, and dear, dear Ethel, and my dar- 
 ling old Dowdy, and dear, kind papa." 
 
 Tozer sighed again. 
 
 "Yon can't be trvly happy thus," he said, 
 mournfully. " Yon may think yon are, but 
 yon ain't. My heart fairly yearns over yon 
 when I see you, so young, so lovely, and so in- 
 nocent ; and I know you can't be happy as yon 
 are. You i^st live otherwise. And oh, I 
 pray you— I entreat yon to set your affections 
 elsewhere 1" 
 
 " Well, then, I think it's very, very horrid in 
 you to press me so," said, Minnie, with some- 
 thing actually like asperity in her tone ; " but 
 it's qiate impossible." 
 
 "Bnt oh, why?" 
 
 " Why, because I don't want to have things 
 any different. But if I have to be worried and 
 teased so, and if people insist on it so, why, 
 there's only one that I'll ewr consent to." 
 
 "And what is that?" asked Tozer, looking 
 at her with the most affectionate solicitude. 
 
 " Why, it's — it's—" Minnie paused, and 
 looked a little confused. 
 
 "It's what ?" asked Tozer, with still deeper 
 and more anxious interest. 
 . " Why, it's— it's— Rnfus K. Gunn." 
 
 ~-i-o«i't^and I don't want to— and rtlTnt it's 
 wry unkind in you. I don't want to make cmy 
 choice. I doB't want any of yon. It's to hor- 
 rid." 
 
 This was a dreadful shock to Tozer; bnt he 
 could hot turn aside fix>m this beautifnl yet 
 9ning creature. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIIL 
 
 TH» IMFATIBMT BABON. 
 
 Thb brigands' had resisted stubbornly, bnt 
 finally found themselves without a leader. Gi- 
 rasole had disappeared ; and as his voice no 
 longer directed their movements, they began to 
 fall into confusion. The attacking party, on the 
 other hand, was well led, and made a steady 
 advance, driving t|A enemy before them. At 
 
 * .. 
 
 # 
 
THE AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 "TUB BISOOVIBY OF A BODY OM TUB BlIOM OF 
 TUB LAJLM,^ 
 
 length the brigands lost heart, and took to 
 flight. With a wild cheer the assaUants fol- 
 lowed iji jJBrsnit. But the fugitives took to 
 the forest, and were soon beyond the reach of 
 their pursuers in its familiar intricacies, and the 
 victors were summoned back by the sound of the 
 trumpet. 
 
 It was now daylight, and as the conquering 
 party emerged from the forest they showed the 
 unifonn of the Papal Zouaves ; while their lead- 
 er, who had shown himself so skillful in forest 
 warfare, proved to be no less a personage than 
 our friend the Baron. Led by hjm, the party ad- 
 vanced to the old stone house, and here, draw- 
 ing up his men in fhmt, their leader rushed in, 
 and searched every room. To his amazement 
 he found the house deserted, its only inmate 
 being that dead brigand whom Girasole had 
 mist^en for Hawbury. This discovery fiUed 
 the Baron whh consternation. He had ex- 
 pected to find the prisoners here, and his dis- 
 may and gnef were excessive. At first he could 
 not beheve in his ill luck; but another search 
 convinced him of it, and reduced him to a state 
 of perfect bewilderment. 
 
 But he was not one who could long remain 
 inactive. Fueling confident that the brigands 
 were scattered every where in headlong flight, 
 he sent his men out in difl-erent directions, into 
 the w«)d8 and along the shore, to see 16 they 
 could find any traces of theiostones^ H« W- 
 self remained near the house, so as to diJect 
 the search most efficiently. After about an 
 hour they came back, one by one, without being 
 able to find many traces. .One had found an 
 empty coffin in a grave, another a woman's 
 hood, a third had found a scarf. All of these 
 h»d endeavored to foUow up these traces, but 
 
 127 
 
 without result. Finally a man approached who 
 announced the discovery of a body on the shore 
 of the lake. After hini came a party who was 
 carrying the corpse for the inspection of their 
 captain. 
 
 The Baron went to look at it. The body 
 showed a great gap in the sknU. On ques- 
 tioning the men, he learned that they had found 
 It on ihe shore, at the bottom of a steep rock, 
 about half-way between the house and the place 
 where they had first emerged from the woods. 
 His head was lying pressed against a sharp 
 rock m such a way that it was evident that he 
 had faUen over the clifl; and had been instantly 
 killed. The Baron looked at the face, and refr-' 
 <lgnized the features of Girasole. ' He ordered 
 It to be taken away and laid in the empty grave 
 for future burial. 
 
 The Baron now became impatient. This 
 was not what he had bargained for at all. At 
 length he thought that they might h^axp fled, 
 and might now be concealed in the' v^oods 
 around ; and together with this thought there 
 came to his mind an idea of an effective way to 
 reach them. The trumpeter could send forth 
 a blast which could be heard far and wide. 
 Bat what might, conld, would, or should the 
 trumpeter sound forth which should give the 
 concealed listeners a certainty that the sum- 
 mons came from friends and not from foes? 
 This the Baron puzzled over for some, time. 
 ■At length he solved this problem also, and tri- 
 umphantly. . 
 
 - There was one strain which the trumpeter 
 might sound that could not be mistaken. It 
 would at once convey to the concealed hearers 
 all the truth, and gently woo them home. It 
 would be at once a note of victory, a song of 
 joy, a call of love, a sound of peace, and an in- 
 vitation— "Wanderer, come home!" 
 
 Of course there was only one tune that, to 
 the mind of the Baron, was capable of doing 
 
 And of course that tune was " Yankee Doo- 
 dle." 
 
 Did the trumpeter know it? 
 
 Of course he did. ' > 
 
 Who does not know it ? - 
 
 All i^n know that tune. Man is bom with 
 an innate knowledge of the strain of " Yankee 
 Doodle." No one can remember when he first 
 earned it. The reason is because he never 
 learned it at all. It was bom in him." 
 
 So the trumpeter sounded it forth, and wild 
 and high and clear and far the sounds arose • 
 and it was "Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild 
 echoes flying; and answer, echoes, answer . 
 Yankee Doodle dyifig." , 
 
 And while-the irumpWBoiradBdthrBlfra^ 
 listened and listened, and walked up and down 
 and fretted and fumed and chafed, and I'm 
 afraid he swore a little too ; and at last he was 
 going to teU the trompeter to stop his infernal 
 noise, virhen, just at that moment, what should 
 he see ^1 of a sudden emerging from the woods 
 but three fif^nresl 
 
 ^i2^ otA^&f'j^ » . 
 
■m- 
 
 128 
 
 THE AMERICAN 
 
 And I'll leave yon to imagine, if yon can, the 
 joy and delight which agitated the bosom of onr 
 good Baron as he recogniied among these three 
 figures the well-known face and form of his 
 friend Hawbury. With Hawbury was a lady 
 wTiom the Baron remembered having seen once 
 in the upper hall of a ceHain house in Romi 
 on a memorable occasion, when ho stood on the 
 stairs calling A/in. The lady was very austere 
 then, hot she was very gracious now, and/very 
 wonderfully sweet in the expression of hat face. 
 And with them was a stranger in the iian> of a 
 priest. 
 
 Now as 8<Jon as the party met theAwrcin, who 
 rushed to meet them, Hawbury wri»ig hijhan4, 
 and stared at him in unbounded^stonishment. 
 
 " You ;•' he cried ; "^oursejf, old boy ! By 
 JoveH- . J »r' ^ ' 
 
 " Yes," said the Baron. /' You see, the mo- 
 ment we get into that anrtrash I kept my eye 
 open, and got a chance t6 spring into the woods, 
 'rhere I was all rigW and ran for it. I got 
 into the road againy^couple of miles back^ got 
 a horse, rode to Cfvita Castellana, and there I 
 was lucky enougj/to find a company of Zonaves. 
 Well, Sir, we aftae here flying, mind, I tell you, 
 and got hold/6f a chap that we made guide us 
 to the lal«: Then we opened on them ; and 
 her^ we ate, by thunder I But where's Min ?" 
 "W^r asked Ifawbury. 
 
 ilin," said th^^aron, in the most natural 
 tone in the world. 
 
 ' Oh I Why, isn't-she here ?" 
 ' No. We've hujited every where. No one's 
 here at all." And the Baron went on to Jell 
 about their search and its results. Havbury 
 was chiefly struck by the news of Gir 
 
 " He must have gone mad with terfor," said 
 Hawbury, as he told the Baron aboiA his adven- 
 tnre at the grave. ' ' If that's so, "he added, ' ' I 
 ^^on't see how the ladies.could be harmed. I 
 ^^duTe. say they've run off. Why, we started 
 to run, and got so far off that we couldn't find 
 our way back, even after the trumpet began to 
 sound. You must keep blowing at it, you 
 know. Play all the national tunes yon canr^no 
 end. They'll find their way back if you give 
 them time." 
 
 And now they all went back to the house, 
 ^' and the Baron in his anxiety could not talk 
 any more, but began his former occupation 
 of walking np and down, and fuming and 
 fretting and chafing, > and, I'm again afraid, 
 swearing— when all of a sudden, on the bank 
 in front of him, on the very top, just emerging 
 from the thick underbrush which had concealed 
 thetn till that moment, to their utter amaze- 
 ment and indescribable delight, they beheld 
 Scone Dacrea and Mrs. Willoughby. Scone 
 DMre§ftppMfed to Hawbnij to be iirs totnliy 
 
 lABON. 
 
 different frame of mind from that in which he 
 had been when he last saw him ; and what per- 
 plexed him most, yea, and absolutely confound- 
 ed him, was the sight of Scone Dacres with his 
 demon wife, whom ho had been pursuing for the 
 sake of vengeance, and whose frenzy had been 
 
 80 viblent that he himself had been drawn with 
 hinv'on purpose to try «nd restrain hinj. And 
 what, was the injured husband doing with 
 demon wjfe ? Doing! why, doing the 
 , ipassioned lover most? vigorously ; sustaining 
 her steps most tenderly ; grasping her hand ; 
 pushing aside the bushes ; assisting her down 
 the slope ; overwhelming her, in short ; hov- 
 ering round her, apparently nnconscionsMhat 
 there was in all the wjde worid any other be- 
 ing than Mrs. Willoughby. And as Hawbury 
 looked upon all Jt^iis his eyes dilated and his 
 lips paned involuntarily in utter wonder; and 
 finally, as Daiires reached the spW, the oulj; 
 grming which he could give his friend was, 
 " By Jove !" 
 
 And now, while Mrs. Willoughby and Ethel 
 were embracing with tears of joy, and over- v 
 whelming one another with questions, the Bar- 
 on sought information from Dacres. 
 
 Dacres then informed him all about Tozer's 
 advent and departure. 
 
 ' ' Tozer 1 " cried the Baron, in intense delight. 
 " Good on his darned old head ! Hurrah fbr 
 the parson ! He shall marry us for this — he, 
 and no other, by thunder!" 
 
 Upon which Mrs. Willoughby and Ethel ex- 
 changed glances, but said not a word. Not 
 ^they. 
 
 But in about five minutes, when Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby had Ethel apart a little by herself, she 
 said, 
 
 " Oh, Ethel dear, isn't it dreadful ?"' 
 "What?" asked Ethel." 
 "Why, poor Mitlnie." 
 "Poor Minnie?" 
 
 "Yes. Another horrid man. And he'll he 
 claiming her too. And, oh dear I what shall 
 I do?" 
 
 " Why, you'll have to let her decide for her- 
 self. I think it will be — this person." 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby clasped her hands, and 
 looked up with a pretty little expression of hor- 
 ror. 
 
 " And do you know, dear," added Ethel, 
 " I'm beginning to think that it wouldn't be so 
 »«ry bad. He's Lord Hawbnry's friend, yon 
 know, and then he's very, very brave ; and, 
 above all, think what we all owe him." 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby gave a resigned sigh. .' 
 
 And now the Baron was wilder with impa- 
 tience than ever. He had questioned Dacres, 
 and found that he conld give him no informa- 
 tion whatever as to Tozer's route, and conse- 
 quently had no idea where to search. But he 
 still had boundless confidence in " Yankee Doo- 
 dle." / 
 
 " That's the way," said Dacres ; " we heard 
 it ever so far, an d it was the first thing t hat 
 told us it was safe t« return. We didn't dare ~~ 
 to venturebefore." 
 
 Meanwhile Hawbnry had got Dacres by him- 
 self, and poured a torrent of questions over biro. 
 Dacres told him in general terms how be was 
 captured. Then he informed him how Mrs. 
 Willoughby was put in the same room, and bis 
 
 V 
 
 t'. j'i .. 
 
 *a ,r! 
 
 • ft %', 
 

 \, 
 
 .liwoTerjr that It was Minnie that the Italian 
 wanted, j^ »«~«au 
 
 iJ'^*'hr'^° yon know, old dwp," continued 
 Ilacre^^ 'I couldn't .tand it; w i offered to 
 make it aU np with her." 
 
 " Oh, I aee you've done that, old boy. Con- 
 
 grat— " ' 
 
 "P^ohl wait a minute," said Dacreg, inter- 
 
 !;"?o'«t«i;."- "'^''"' ^"" '■"'"• •"" "'^»'' ^y 
 
 At this Hawbury stood utterly aghast 
 
 THE AMERICAN BAROK 
 
 129 
 
 V7hat>4Kat?'' 
 
 "SheyWasn't % wife a^ M. ' She looks 
 
 confou„4ed^ likeTwhat:% wife was at her 
 
 best, but she's another person. It'g a most 
 
 extraordinary likeness; ^d yet she's isn't any 
 
 relation, but a great deal prettier woman. What 
 
 made me so sure, you kiiow, was the infernally 
 
 odd comcidence of the name; and then I only 
 
 [.aw her off and on, yot. kno,^, and I never 
 
 heard her voice. Then, yon knowu I was 
 
 mad with jealousy ; and so I made myseSf worse 
 
 - and worse, till I was ripe for miii^e?, arson, 
 
 kJZ*"*"""' """^ °" ^'^ '^ of thing,, yoJ 
 
 To all this Hawbury listened in amoieraent. 
 
 nnd could not utter a word, until at last, as 
 
 Dacres paused, he said, 
 
 "By Jove!" 
 
 " WeU, old man, I was the most infernal ass 
 that^ever lived. And how I must have bored 
 
 ♦'By Jove I" exclaimed Hawbnry again. 
 "But drive on, old boy." " 
 
 "Well, you know, the row occurred just 
 then, and away went the scoundrels to the 
 fight, and in came that parson fellow, and awav 
 we went I took Mrs. Willoughby to a safe 
 place, where I kept her till I heard the trum- 
 pet, you know. And I've got another thing to 
 tell you. It's deuced odd, but she knew all 
 about me." 
 "The deuce she did!" 
 "Yosi the whole story. Lived somewhere in 
 the county. But I don't remember the Fays 
 At any rate, she lived there ; and do von know! 
 om fellow, the county people used to think I 
 beatmywifft!" 
 "By Jove!" 
 
 "Yes; and afterward they raised a report 
 that my cruelty had driven her mad. But I 
 had a few friends that stood up for me: and 
 among other* these Fays, you know, had heard 
 
 "Ki J V*' "*'' *' " ''"J'P*"''*^ ^"y-" 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Willoughby, I mean-her nlme's 
 Kitty-has always known the truth about it; 
 and when she saw me at Naples she felt inter- 
 csted in me." 
 
 " Not a bit She died eight years'ago, and 
 in an insane asylum." -e • »uu 
 
 tim'L^^ ■^°'"" Thcn^she was mad all the 
 
 " Yes; that accounts for it, and turns all mv 
 curses into pity." ' 
 
 A^\l^,, ''" "ilent now for a few motne^ts.^ 
 At length he looked at Hawbury with a verv 
 ! singular expresaiou. ' . 
 
 "Hawbury, old boy." 
 "WeU,Sconey?" ^' 
 
 "I think we'll keep it np." V 
 
 "WhoJ" *^ ^ \ 
 
 hv '[ ^'7' ?"^ *"'' ^~*'« '»♦ **"• Willough- * 
 by and I-her name's Kitty, yon know." 
 Keep what np ?" 
 
 that sort Of thing. You see I've got into such ' 
 an inferna habit of «,garding her as my wife : 
 Mat I cant look on her in any other light I 
 clain,ed heis ypn know, and igi that sort of 
 tnmg, and she thought I was delirious, and felt- 
 wrry, and hnipored me, and gave me a veir/ I 
 fevorable answer." V / 
 
 «wn •»*Hawbniyopeney his eyes. ' 
 
 „,h.. .K ' * u"*" *" ■•••'"* *'•• "nd. among 
 other things, she gave me one piece of intelli- 
 geace that has easedirtiy mind." 
 
 "Ah I what's that 7" 
 
 "Why, my wife i» dead," 
 
 " Pb> then there's no doubt about It?" 
 
 . -' I • - 
 
 fevorable answer. 
 
 " Humored yon ?" , 
 
 But I m holding her to it, apd I'vjb ^^'err rea- 
 son to believe, you know— in facv I mar as 
 well say that it is an nnder^toodf thing, you 
 know, that she'll let it go, you^i^ow, a^i/a" 
 some early day, yo|f know, we'U^ave it all 
 formally settled, anfl'U that sort of thiiie 
 you know." , '^' 
 
 Hawbury wrung his friend's hand. 
 
 " See here, old boy ; Xyou see Ethel there ?" 
 Yes.' 
 
 " Who do yon think she is ?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "EtM Orm!" 
 
 trll^'^'i ?""(." """"^ »'«""'.«'' the whole 
 truth flashed on his mind. " What a devil of a 
 jumble every thing has been getting into ! By 
 Heaven, dear boy, I congratulate yon from the 
 bottom of my soul!" ' , " 
 
 And he wrung Hawbury's hand as thongh all 
 Ms soul was in that grasp. 
 
 But all this could not satisfy the impatience 
 of the Baron. This was all very weU in iu 
 way, merely as ah episode; but he was wait- 
 ing for the chief incident of the piece, and the 
 chief mddbnt was delaying very nnaccotmta- 
 bly. 
 
 So he strode np and down, abd be f^tt^ 
 and he fumed and he chafed, and the trumpet^ 
 kept blowing away. 
 Until at last- 
 Just before his eyes — •, 
 Up t here on the top of the ba nk, not fa r 
 
 
 
 vx 
 
 ^ "P '"^ ° »n me lop ot the banfc, not far 
 ♦ronrwhere Dacres and Mrs. Willoughby hid" 
 made their appearance, the Baron caught sight 
 of a tall, lank, slim figure, clothed in ras^ 
 black, whose thin and leathery fece, rising 
 above a white neck-tie, peered solemnly yet 
 hiterros^tively through the bushes; while just 
 behind him the Baron caught a glimpM of the 
 I flutter of a woman's dreu. 
 
 ,A.»^ ly 
 
 •s .5v' J<^* 
 
tM 
 
 ■#, 
 
 THB AMKRICAN BABON. 
 
 H^y| 
 
 
 
 1* ■** ' ■' *^ 
 
 r-v- • l-sfi/ ,. 
 
 .^V;^>s;\ .,V 
 
 "Toa ihall many 
 ui, parson— and thi* 
 very day, by thun- 
 der I" 
 
 Thaa« worda came 
 to Mrs. WUIoiighby'it 
 eara in the roidit of 
 her flnt joy at meet- 
 ing her sister, and 
 shocked .her inex- 
 pressibly. 
 
 "IVJiiit's that, 
 Minnie darling ?"sho 
 aslced, anxiously. 
 "What bit? Did 
 yOtt hear what that 
 |dful — what the 
 — thelBawmsaid?" 
 
 Minnie Idoiced 
 sweetly conscious, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 "Wiiat doe» he 
 mean?" asked her 
 sister again. 
 
 " I suppose he 
 means what he says," 
 replied Minnie, with 
 a ti^i4 air, stealing 
 • '[tby look at the 
 
 'ua UAVS A LOOU UBX OF JUY, AMD TIIDI SrBAMO ;UP TUI BANK." 
 
 He gave a loud cry of joy, and then sprang 
 up the bank. 
 
 • * • • • • 
 
 Bntdorer that meeting I think we had better 
 draw a veil. 
 
 ^ / CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 ASTONIBHINO WAT OF CONCLDDINO AN 
 ADVENTintB. 
 
 Th^ meeting between theJBaron and Minnie 
 gave i new shock to poor Mrs. Willoughby, who 
 looked, with a helpless expression, and walked 
 away ibr a little distance. Dacres and HaW- 
 bnry were still eagerly conversing and question- 
 ing oilB another about their adventures. Tozer 
 also Dad descended and joined himself to the, 
 priest; and each of these groups had leisure 
 
 rbr a prolonged conversation before they were 
 interrupted. At length Minnie made her ap- 
 pearance, and flung herself into her sister'sarms, 
 while at the same time the Baron grasped To- 
 urhy both hands, and called oot, in a voice loud 
 enough to be heard by aU, 
 
 V "('Ol^^ar!" said 
 
 ijlrt, , Willoughby ; 
 
 f/^j^beii^Vj another 
 
 ' trbnble, I 
 
 ^ It's very, 
 
 "WeH^'Mfo," 
 said Minnl£^,',|<;an't 
 help it. fK^lflilo 
 so. That clergyman 
 came and saved me, 
 and he wasn't a Roman Catholic clergyman at 
 all, and he proposed"^" 
 
 " Proposed!'' cried Mrs. Willoughby, aghast. 
 " Oh yes," said Minnie, solemnly ; " and I 
 had hard work preventing him. But, really, it 
 wa* too absurd, and I would not let him be too 
 explicit. But I didn't hurt his feelings. Well, 
 you know, then all of a sudden, as we were fit- 
 ting there, the bugle sounded, and we came 
 back. Well, then, Rnfus K. Gunn came— and 
 yon know how very violent he is in his way — 
 add he sud.he saved my life again, and so he 
 proposed. 
 
 " He proposed I Why, he ha4 proposed 
 before." 
 
 " Oh yet ; i hut that was for an engagement, 
 and this was for onr marriage." 
 "Marriage!" 
 " Oh yes ; and , ypn see, he h ad actnally saved 
 
 my life twice, and N.was very urgent, and^he" 
 'i$ so (itofully aifectionate, and so — " 
 
 "Well, what?" cried Mrs. WUloughby, tee- 
 ing Minnie hetitato. ' 
 
 "Why,he— " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 if-I-f 
 
 sure- 
 « 
 
 nte 
 
 snrd.^ 
 
 child. 
 
 *#^ 
 
 s^r 
 
ME AMERICAN B 
 
 "ImMD,!— •* 
 ^ ght teil me .nd not keep m« in .nch dread- 
 
 " Why, what could I say ?" 
 J "But what (/u/ you lay?" 
 
 JZJ'I'^ '?'"'' ^-'"»»''-y«»." -aid Minnie, 
 cMtingdown her eyes with inde«cribable sweeH 
 new, .hynew, meekness, and resignatioo. 
 Mrs. Willoughby actually shuddere. 
 "Now, Kitty," exclaimed Minni " 
 once noticed it, "yon needn't be 
 I m sure yon can't say any thing 
 notp. You needn't look 80. You o- 
 him. You never would treat him k» 
 
 "But this— this marriase. It's 
 »ng- 
 
 ell, he saved my life. " 
 
 'sha"ietn'^' «-"«-JrP«'Wous. 
 
 " Well, I'm sure I can't help it." 
 
 
 •'A 
 
 "It's too horrid !" contin^S^rs. Willongh- 
 
 by, in an excited tone, 
 papa's heart, 
 aunty's heart 
 
 will .break pooi- 
 
 wonidn't you have given her to me with all 
 yonrJieart, and yonr prayers too ? Yon wonld 
 
 iMt night, ahd then answer me," 
 ^.^Zll^lt'f'^^* involuntarily thonghi of 
 nothing "'' """^ "huddered, wd Mid 
 
 n„l'''*'T' "•'?"•' ^"'* "•*«" *o this. 1 4„d on 
 coming here that this /ulian had a prfen h«re 
 ready to marry him and Minnie. If Td* 
 m delayed or defeated, Minnie would have 
 Mhat rascal's wife by this time. The priest 
 „here. They would have been married a* 
 as you re bom. You, ma'am, would have 
 to see this poor, trembling, broken-hearted 
 [pairing g.d torn froni your arms, and bonna 
 whl "?'^"«? *'« to a ruffian and a scoondiel 
 heS- from^lns. I have my priest too, ma'am 
 PeuunTlf Koman Catholic, it is trne-he'.^n 
 orthwiox pUon-but, at the «»me time, I ai" 
 particujar. Now I propose to avail mywlf tl 
 
 Andit-wiUblLik-^o^rTarZg'lhal^Llrtf ! '^"^ "' '"« "^^- 
 And it will break n^T heart '"DrrfLnfi"!' . Jt.'* *'*'' '•""' *™«« **" Min 
 " Now, Kitty dearest, this is t«,Tmv i^^,. ' ^t- a J I *''"" °''J«"'* ^ "* Priest, for I have 
 If It hadn't been for wj' fwou rno^be C' i " N ^'"•" ^'"'"*"' ''•"^"« my«lf. 
 rled to that wretche^f onnjS had A %"«" 1 ptl^^r/r^"",^ *• 
 
 cientAnectihn fnr mA><^ _> ^_^. ^^ . 
 
 cieqjffffection form6>%|et rtiep«aair4o sit 
 on, and who was vavyi *#| rQde;ftf&*fe.? YoJ 
 didn t care, though, whetfier I was ?narried to 
 him or not ; and now when I am saved from him 
 you fiOTCnothing but very unpleasant things to 
 •ayaSoutRufusK.Gnnn." 
 
 *«^h dear, whU wotUd I give if you were 
 only ^fe home!" ' ™ 
 
 " Well, I'm sure I don't see what / can do 
 I cop|o nre tthvayg saving my life. And there 
 H Cabtain K.rby hu„,i„g „i, over Italy for me. trust 
 And th,ow I will be saved by somebody-it^ keep 
 j-I_if_I_if_yo„ know -^ that is-I'm itwo 
 
 if-rI4 
 
 „r„ hfcr.?'''' '" ?**•* **™- Willoughby, nftMin- 
 nle W-oke down in confusion. "It jg too ab- 
 
 Zf^ \Tu' '"''S«»'°'" !'• Yxm are a silly 
 child. Oh, how I do wish you were home!" 
 
 At this juncture the conversation wasjnter- 
 rnpted by the Baron. 
 
 "It is not my fashion, ma'am, "saiAiej'grave- 
 ly, to remind another of any obligation under 
 which he may be to me ; but my claims on Min- 
 
 !!J'h« « f •? •»PP?«'«l ^y you and the rest 
 •^ her friends that I have to ask you to think 
 of them. Your father knows what my first 
 clateu are. Yon yonrself, ma'am^ know por- 
 frfctly well what the laat claims are which I 
 have won to-day." 
 
 , '""' J?'^»^''« O'lnily, firmly, and with dig- 
 
 Baron, a8 Mrs. Willoughby continued dlent- 
 yon may a,| why I'm. > such a thundering 
 hurry My answer is, because yon fit me off 
 ao. Yon tried to keep me (him Min. Yon 
 ocked_«,9 out of yonr house. Yon threatened 
 to hand me over to the po-lice (and I'd like to 
 see one of them try it on with me). Yon said 
 I was mad or drunk ; and finally yon tried to 
 runaway Jhen Jgl^cted my'^adviceTLS 
 plunged head-foreiraRo this fix. Cw, in 
 view of all this, my iMsHfin is this-that I cin't 
 trust you. I've got Min now, and I mean to 
 Sep her. If you got hold of her again, I feel 
 would be the last of her. Consequentlv J-' 
 
 Not me. Not-by • 
 
 nitr Mm Wiii^nJiTK •" 'J "" °'«- '"'o Knows my 
 
 Mr r ^"' ^^^^^^ answered n ot a wprd_ ^o„tm«t Jierwlf 
 =T*7wr tttarWjOTr^Mti&ia last night,^ -^^ 
 
 «i„m'"r*' ,™/"'^'' '^°*«<» the Baron 
 yon-U acknowledge, I expect, that it was pret^ 
 Jjr hard lines. What would yon have given a 
 few hour, ago tor A sight of my uniform in that 
 old house yonder ? If I },«i come then to save 
 Minnie from, the eiutchai pf that /talian, 
 
 ain't going to let hfer go, 
 long chalk. 
 
 "Finally, ma'am, if yorilVallow me, I'll tonch 
 upon another point. I've thought OMr yonr ob- 
 jections to me. It ain't my rank,-fm a noble • 
 It am t money-I'm worth a hundred thonsand 
 dollars; u ain't my name-forylSAu myself 
 Atramonte. It must be something in me. I've 
 come to the conclusion that it's my general 
 style- my manners and customs. Very well 
 Peiiaps they don't come up to yonr standaid. 
 n^gjjyn't square with your ideas. Yet, let 
 me SKfflbyou, ma'am, there are other stand- 
 ards of action and manner and speech than 
 those to which you are accustomed, and mine 
 " ""0 of them. Mnnie doesn't object tp that 
 bhe knows my heart is all right, and is wilUne 
 
 her, and I mean to make her-mine this day " 
 _ As the Baron pansed Mrs. Willoughby begMi, 
 first of all, to express her gratitude, and then to 
 beg him to postpoMrithe marriage. She de- 
 
 dared that it was iT nrfArd-of thing, that 
 inlft shocking, that it 
 
 it was shameful, that it _ _ 
 
 wa. dreadfnl. She grew veiy mnch°ixdted7 
 
 
 j.t5r. t.t 
 
 
'A .V 
 
 «# 
 
 
m'^ I 
 
 189 
 
 she proteited, she ent^ted. Finnlly she bunt 
 into tears, and appealed to Lord Hawbury in 
 the most moving tehns. Hawbury listened 
 very gravely, with his eyes wandering over to 
 where Ethel was ; and Ethel caught the ex- 
 pression of his face, and looked quite confused. 
 
 " Oh, think, only think," said Mrs. Willough- 
 t>y, after an eloquent and pathetic appeal— 
 "think how ih3 poor child will be talked 
 about!" 
 
 "Well, really — ah — 'pon my life," said 
 Hawbury, with his eyes still wandering over 
 toward Ethel, "I'm sure I don't— ah— share 
 your views altogether, Mrs. Willoughby ; for — 
 ah — there art times, you know, when a fellow 
 finds it very uncommonly desirable — runaway 
 matches, you know, and all that sort of thing. 
 And, by Jove ! to tell the truth, I really admire 
 the idea, by Jove! And really — ah — I'm 
 sure — I wish most confoundedly it was the 
 universal fashion, by Jove !" 
 
 ,." But she'll be to talked about. She'll make 
 herself so shockingly cons;»'cuou5." 
 
 "Conspicuous? By Jove!" said Hawbury, 
 who seemed struck by the idea. At that mo- 
 ment Minnie began talking to her sister, and 
 Hawbury went off to Ethel, to whom he began 
 talking in the most earnest manner. The two 
 wandered off for some distance, and did not re- 
 turn for a full half hour. When they did re- 
 turn Ethel looked somewhat embarrassed, and 
 Hawbury was radiant. With this radiance on 
 his &ce he went up to Mrs. Willoughby, leav- 
 ing Ethel in the background. 
 
 " Oh, by-the-way," said he, " you were re- 
 marking that your sister would be too con- 
 spicuous by such a haaty marriage." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Willoughby, anxiously. 
 
 "Wel^I thought I would toll you that she 
 needn't be so vtry conspicuous ; for, in fact — 
 that is, you know, Ethel and I — she told 3NBU, 
 I suppose, about our mistake ?" .^ 
 
 "Oh yes." • 
 
 "And I think I've persuaded her to save 
 Minnie frpm being too conspicuous." 
 ' Mrs. Willoughby gave Hawbury a look of 
 astonishment and reproach. 
 
 " Tou !" she cried ; "aW Ethel !" 
 
 "Why, I'm sure, we're the very ones you 
 might expect it from. Think how infernally 
 we've been humbugged h^ate." 
 
 "Fate!" said Mrs. A/Wfoughby. "It was 
 all your own fault. She wai chosen for you." 
 
 " Chosen for me ? What clo ya|^ean V 
 
 " By your mother." IF 
 
 "My mother ?"to . 
 
 "Ym." • ^ f 
 
 " She said one of Biggs's nieces." ' 
 
 'Ethel is that niece^! 
 
 T^E AMERICAN BARON. 
 
 " The devil ! " cried Hawbury. •' I beg par- 
 don. By Jove!" 'fi, ' ^ 
 
 Hawbury, overwhelmed by this, went backW 
 Ethel, and they wandered off once more. • The 
 Baron had already wandered off with Minnie 
 
 in another direction. Tozer and the priest bad 
 gone to survey the house. 
 
 Seeing Mi-s. Willoughby thus left alone, Da- 
 cres drifted up to her. He came up silently. 
 
 " Kitty,!' said he, in a Idw voice, " you sceui 
 sad." 
 
 By which familiar address it ,wiH be seen 
 that Dacres had made some progi-css toward 
 intimacy with her. 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby did not seem at all offend- 
 ed at this, but looked up with one of her frank- 
 est smiles, and the clouds of perplexity passed 
 ^ay. She was an exceedingly pretty woman, 
 and she was certainly not over twenty-four. 
 
 "I'm io worried," she said, plaintively. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Dacres, in a 
 tone of the deepest and tenderest sympathy. 
 
 " Why, these horrid men ; and, what's worse. 
 Lord Hawbury. is actually encouraging Mr. — 
 the — the Baron ; and I'm «o worried. Oh 
 dear!" 
 
 " But why should you be womed ?" 
 
 '•It's no horrid. .It's shocking. It's not to 
 be thought of." 
 . "But why not?" asked Dacres. 
 
 "Why, it's — it's so horrid," said Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby. 
 
 Dacres stood looking at her for a long time. 
 
 " Kitty," sai<l he at last. 
 
 Mi-8. Willoughby looked up. 
 
 Dacres looked all around. He then took 
 her hand. 
 
 "Isn't it too bad," he said, "V> let Miii- 
 
 " What ?*' 
 
 L, 
 
 " To let her go throngh this ordeal alone ?" 
 
 " Alone!" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, look- 
 ing ill wonder at him. 
 
 "Yes."^, ^ 
 
 |§" What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Couldn't io« accompany her?"*'' 
 
 Mrs. Willonghby snatched away her hand. 
 
 "Are you mad?" she cried. "I do believe 
 the whole world's-mad to-day." 
 
 " Mad ! " cried Dacres. " Yes, I'm mad — in- 
 sane — raving ! Won't you be merciful again ? 
 Won't you, Kitty? Won't you 'habior' my 
 ravings? Oh, do. Oh, Kitty! dear fctty—!" 
 
 " It's positive insanity !" 
 
 "Oh, Kitty!" 
 
 " You're raving!" 
 
 "Won't you 'humor' me — just this once! 
 only this once." 
 
 "Hush! there they come," said Mrs. Wil-j 
 loughby, suddenly snatching way her hand, 
 which Dacres had somehow got hold of again, 
 and moving a little further away from him.. 
 
 It was the Baron and Minnie who were taia- 
 ing Jtack AguUf while Ha wbury and Ethel were 
 
 seen a little further away. 
 
 There they all stood — there, on the spot adhere 
 they had found the crisis of their fortunes ; and 
 as they stood there the two clergymeif^atholio 
 ami Protestant, slowly came out of th« house. 
 
 
 TBI 
 
 END^ 
 
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