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MODERN
EVANGELINE.

■ ■ ■• t.

• ••JjX •••

CARRIE J. HARRIS,

l^uthor of " Mr. Perkins, of Noya Scotia," ** A Romantic
Romance/' etc., etc.

WOLFVILLE, N. S.

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J. J. AN8L0W, PRrNTER, WINDSbR, N. 8.

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A MODERN EVANGELINE.

BY -:

-:- AUTHOR OF -:-

"Mr. Perkins, of Noua Scotia," "A Romantic Romance, " "Cyril Whynian's
Mistahe," "Faith and Friends," etc.

WOLFVILLE, N. S. '

WINDSOR, N. S. :
J. J. Anslow, Book, Nkwspap'.r and Genekal Job Printer.

189G.

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Enxered according to Act of the Parliainent of Canada^
in the year IHUH, hy Carrfe J. Harris, at the
Department of AijricuUure.

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^ lyiodet^r) Evai^^eliQe,

CHAPTER I

In the Land of Evancjeline.

"(jT-u-A-N-i) P-R-fc!" shouted the brakeman on
the Dominion Atlantic Railway's evonincr express.
Quickly closing the book I was reading, I gazed
with misty ej'es through the car window. Was one
of my childhood's dreams at last a reality, and was I
actually in the "Land of Evangeline," the land made
known to fame by the pen of our beloved Longfellow
— the battle ground of one of the most cruel strug:£:les
ever recorded in history? Can it be possible that
those lovely, verdant fields through which we are
passing have once been stained red with human
gore ?

But my reverie was brought to a close by the
train coming to a standstill, and gathering up my
travelling paraphernalia, I landed upon the platform
of a little country station. The train rolled away
eastward a few moments after I left it, and I looked

s'ColOo

./ AfODERX EVAXGELINE.

aiLxi<.>usly arouu«l in tlie hope of disco vering soaie
iiu'rtus of coMVOVrtiico to the villatje perched U|j<jn
the hillside, tipparently aV'OUt a •luarter of a mile
awfvv. No noisy hackuien were here heard making
the air hideous with their yell>. this sultry suniuier
e\ oiiiuiT An indescriKible peace was rei^jnin^ over
tl;e v(uiot <pot.

In answer to uiy iuiuiriui; l<joks. I waa acc<,«f»te*I
bv a youth of irentleuianly appearance, who aj>-
pn vwlud n\e. and touching his cap with the air of >%
marine in the pivsence of one of his superior otfict^r*.
askt\l nie it I wishe^l to W driven to the hotel.

i.>u tuy answering in the arfinnative. he relieve».l mi^
or niy irripsack. and with a polite ""follow uie," he
le-.l che w^ty to an >:'peu e-arry all. which the l^ailding
bad •'■efore coriC^^ale»i f rv>m my view. He eatertaiD^trt i
ttie. as we dr\n-e over the willow-bon.lere^i r-avL bv
poiticiiii: out the various places '..tf interest in chv-
vicinity likely to be vtsicet.i by strangers. an«l ;mcr
elitubia;^ ;.iu excremely steep hiil. ilep^jsiteti me it
the i'.vr ot a rather preteacioct* -c^stablishment. wher^
I wa,s mec bv k plet«*satit-t'aceii L-iii«.iia.«iv, wh»j :mve me
*<uch a :;reecini: oc^ she uii^^ht have exten<-Ieii fio soiii»r
frivnred reiACive wh?.' was ;ib«.">an to eome tmder her
rt.K^t-cree tor a short soj<.>(irn. This ct:cicLudeii. sli»:-
couducced me go a eoajt''irtab[y fnrniii-iiei >JLpiLi:t;m«r£ii:
and lett nie. wick che iiii'-^cmfici":!! chiit: sup'per w<jiil.i
be served ac six.

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

■■:i

Before atteiuptin^ to divest myself of my travel-
ling^ suit, I drew u chair before the open window,
and seating myself I proceeded to study the beauties
of the landscape, of which I had heard so much.

What a picture was presented to my eni'aptured
gaze! The evening sun, still high in the western
heavens, was pouring a Hood of golden light upon
the beautiful valley below. Away to the westward,
as far as the eye C(juld reach, stretched mile upon
mile of fertile meadows — those very lands once re-
deemed from Fundy's restless waters by the untiring
zeal of the patient Acadian farmers ! A broad river
wandered through all this verdure, the tiny wave-
lets upon the surface of its sparkling waters enjoying
a merry romp with the sunnner breeze. The hill-
sides were decked with smiling orchards, among
which nestled cosy cottages, evidently the happy
homes of many a prosperous farmer. The noisy
click of several mowers <lrifted to my ears as I
drank in the delightful salt sea air, and retlecjed
that I was to spend the next few weeks of my life
in this lovely, rural spot.

Tired with my journey, for I was far from strong,
I felt no inclination to begin my preparations for
the evening meal, but leaning back in my comfort-
able chair I allowed my truant thoughts to wander
whither they would. I gradually <lrifted away
from my peaceful surroundings and back to the

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

happy past, — those blissful hours which would never
again be my portion here in this vale of tears. Once
more my beloved Alicia, my angel bride, was stand-
ing before me, but when I attempted to reach her
side the beautiful spectre of Evangeline would pass
between us, while a voice of heavenly sweetness
would softly whisper: "Mortal, touch her not, she
now belongs to us."

Maddened by my ineffectual attempts again to
clasp my darling, I endeavored to push the phantom
from my path, when a deep toned bell burst forth :
"Come to the chapel. It is time for Vespers," com-
manded the shadow, and grasping my dear one by
the arm, they Hoated from my presence.

I made a violent effort to follow, as I realized she
was leaving me forever, and managed to get upon
my feet as the clang of the supper bell resounded
through the house. I hurriedly threw aside my
dusty garments, with the superstitious feeling that
the spirits of departed Frenchmen were hovering
around me, and that it was my struggle with the
dream maiden which had made me so furiously
hungry, but I could not hurry over my toilet. At
last, feeling deliciously clean and cool, I descended
to the supper room, to find it deserted by everyone
except a lively little brunette, who scarcely allowed
me to seat myself at the table before she began to
ply me with cjuestions.

A MODERN EVANGEIJNE.

"Was I not a friond ut* llayiiion<l Abbott '. Ami
was not my name Salter { And what did I think
of errand Pre? And was it my intention to go on
any sketching expeditions < It* so, slie wouM he
happy to guide me to the most picturesi|Ue phices.'*

J hurried through my meal as <|uickly as possible,
feeling anxious to escape from my tormentor, but I
soon found she was not to be so easily disposed of.
As I rose from the table she volunteered to show me
the places from whence I could obtain tlie best view
of Blomidon, and feeling it would be churlisli to
refuse what was evidently intended as courtesy to
a stranger, I followed her to the window of the
upper hall, where the noble old giant lay crouching
before us, bathed in the rosy light of the setting sun.

• What would I not have forfeited to have been
permitted to gaze in enraptured silence at the en-
chanting picture, l>ut my frivolous companion had
no intention of allowing me to mope in solitude.
Foremost among the attractions he liad for her was
the possible wealth h<^ might have concealed within
his rocky bosom. In arldition to the uncounted gold
stored there by the famous Captain Kidd,the hoarded
wealth of nund^ers of Acadians was supposed. to
have been hidden upon the mountain side.

"And there are also millions of beautiful amethysts
lying around loose, which anyone can find who wnll
take the trouble to search a little. We are planning

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

\ I

a picnic some day next week, and will pay \\\n\ a
visit. There is the cutest little steamer up in Wolf-
ville ! I think she is called the 'Ev^angeline.' By
the way, 'most everything is named Evangeline
around here. The place might well be called the
'Land of Evangeline,' There is Evangeline Hall,
Evangeline Beach, Evangeline Hotel, and hundreds
of other Evangelines too numerous to mention.
However, we are talking of engaging this little craft
I spoke of to take us to Blomidon. Would you care
to become one of our party ?"

"I should be delighted to accompany you," I
answered, gallantly.

An opportunity to visit Blomidon was not to
be despised, even though I should be forced to
endure the companionship of this loquacious female
en route.

"That's right ; I am glad you will come. The
more the merrier, you know." And she nodded her
head sagely.

"But I must show you all the other places marked
<lown in history," she went on. " Blomidon does
not enjoy a monopoly, you know. There is the old
Fr^ench graveyard down there. Someone told me
the other day they were actually digging up the
coffins and selling the pieces to tourists. Did you
ever hear of such sacrilege ? I bought a lovely little
box the other day from a bo}' who said he made it

"I"

>ja>»"

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

.'■V-:'

from a piece of one. It is too sweet for anything!
I shall use it for a jewel case."

The look of disgust I gave lier was (juite lost, as
she rattled on : "The owner of the place (for, will
you believe it, the government actually parceled it
out to the new-comers like any common Vjit of land),
says lie is going to plough it all up next year and
plant it with potatoes. He complains that the
visitors are always leaving the gates open and
letting his cows wander all over the country. He
thinks people won't want to go tramping around
over a potato field, like they do at present. I should
not want to eat the potatoes, would you ? I am
afraid they would have a nuisty taste. Everj'thing
around here has a history. Even the little children
you meet will volunteer to give you lots of infor-
mation. I do not suppose a great deal of it is very
authentic, but sonie of your informers believe all
they tell you, and the rest are not particular, pro-
viding you believe what you are told. I have been
shown five different places, each one the exact spot,
where Evangeline dwelt, and yesterday I received
definite information that the story of Evangeline
was a fiction. The maiden was an invention of
Longfellow — a child of his brain, .so to speak. Was
there ever anything so di.sgusting f To think of
the bushels of tears which have been wasted over
the sufferings of a person who nev(a' had any exist-

\/^

lo A MODERN EVANGELINE.

ence ! But the burial ground is an established fact,
and so is the pit where the Encrlish soldj^rs are
buried. That is the place down there, where those
gnarled old apple trees are keeping guard over their
sepulchre. I will pilot you down there to-morrow
if you wish to sketch the spot. I ain sorry I cannot
give you any further information this evening, for
I promised to ride with a friend of cousin Ray's.
Come to think of it, I did not introduce myself, and
of course you do not know who I am. I am Maude
Abbott, a cousin of your friend, Raymond. There
is nothing in my estimation to compare with horse-
back exercise. To enjoy a jolly canter by the side
of a pleasant companion beats bicycle riding all to
pieces. You must try it some day, Mr. Salter, while
you are here. But I see the horses are ready and I
am not. (iood-night," and she di.sappeared, leaving
me wnth the uncomfortable sensation that some
person had suddenly poured a pail of ice-water over
my back.

"That chatter-box a cousin of Ray's," I thought;
"and I shall be compelled to treat her politely, no
matter what I am forced to endure ! I fear I would
commit suicide were I compelled to pass a month in
her society."

Five minutes after she left me I saw her ride past
the open casement, from which I was leaning, ac-
companied by a young man, w^ho smiled contentedly

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

as he listened to her merry chatter. "I do not
envy you your companion, my young gentleman,"
I muttered, cynically, as I watched them gallop
out of sight, with a feeling of thankfulness that
I was, at last, alone to feast my eyes upon the
grandeur before me. I turned my eyes to\\ards
the northeast, where the evening mists were slowly
gathering around the hoary head of old Blomidon,
and for a short time forgot the existence of Maude
Abbott.

A MODERN EVANGELINE,

CHAPTER II.

A Maiden all Foulorn.

"Oh, Blomidon," I involuntarily murmured, as I
watched the t'og'gy curtain dropped before the lovely
picture ; "what a tale thou couldst tell, couldstthou
be endowed with the g'it't of speech ! What pages
thou couldst till with the doings of the red-skinned
maidens and their savage lovers in the days before
the ships of France had passed thy portals, bearing
th^ brave pioneers, who were seeking home and
fortune in the wilderness thou hast guarded for
ages. Thou hast watched the struggles of those
nixma brave men as they patiently hewed the rougli
logs and raised the huml)le cabins, which furnished
shelter for the beloved companions who so nol>ly
followed them into exile. And thou hast also
watched the beautiful, smiling fields into which
those same brave men have transformed that wilder-
ness, and still thou art mute."

"And will ever remain so, till the end Of tinio,"
exclaimed a mocking voice at my side, and turning

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

as I

•vely
thou
>ages
1 lined
fore
larinpj
and
for
hose
ouf!;h
shed
lobly
also
hicli
Ider-

DUiie,
Irning

■5

impatiently towanls the intruder I was amazed to
see before m»- Raymond Abbott, my trusted friend,
and a fellow-worker in the great publishini^ house
where I was employed.

"You do not appear <n-er joyed to see me," he re-
niarkcKl, with a careless lau<];h, as I placed my hand
in the one outstretcheil before me. •

I felt rebuked at his words. "I am surprised," I
stammered. "I never dreamed of seeing you here.
Grand Pre is one of the last places in which I should
expect to meet su unroniantic an individual as
yourself. What happy chance lias directed your
footsteps in this direction at the present time \ I
thought you planned to spenrl your vacation in the
vicinity of Niagara."

"Duty, my <lear lx)y," he answered, serenely, as .
he drew a chair to \wy side ; "you see, I have to
keep a fatherly eye over \\\y aunt Edith and cousin,
Maude. You know it is the fashion now for Ameri-
cans of note to make a tour of Nova Scotia, and
more especially the garden of Nova Scotia — the
Annapolis Valley. Aunt Edith and ^huide are noth-
ing if not fashionable. They must float with the
tide. So h«re we are, all guests at the 'Bay View
House,' and what do you think of it all ? The
scenery, I mean. '

"Charming," I answere<l, with enthusiasm. "One
might seaich the entire American continent and not

A MODERN' EVANGELINE.

find such an ideal spot in which to spend the heated
summer months, not to speok of the historical in-
terest which must ever make tlie village of Grand
Pre a favored retreat of all true lovers of Lonorfellow."

"Bother the historical interest! It is a good
enough place to while away a few idle hours. But
I muse introduce you to my cousin Maude. You
will no doubt enjoy hearing her rave over the ancient
history of the \illage." And had I not already met
that young lady, an<l listened to some of her ravings,
I might not have understood the comical expression
which for an instant crossed his face.

"You may spare yourself the trouble of an intro-
duction," I answered, sarcastically ; "I have alrf^ady
had the pleasure of meeting Miss Abbott and listen-
ing to some of her ravings, but I cannot truthfully
say I feel very much enlightened by her information."

He laughed good-naturedly as he noted the con-
tempt I cherished for his cousin.

"Poor Maude is good as gold at heart," he said,
apologetically. "She will no doubt develope into a
most charming woman."

"Say rather a most tiresome woman. An hour or
two of her society would spoil the mc^t romantic
place in the country."

Again that peculiar smile curled his lips. "I must
take you in hand myself," he remarked, as if he
wished to change the subject, "or our readers will bo

■f-^

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A MODERN EVANGELINE.

ur or
antic

■".i-^
•'1#

■,f

treated to cohiinn after column of nonsense gleaned
during your visit here, and all served up in your
most romantic style, and illustrated with sketches
from your illustrious pencil. But seriously speak-
ing, you have heen over-doing yourself for the past
year, and you have no right to waste those hours
which wei'e given you for rest, in working for
your emplcjyers. You must not rob yourself for the
benefit of the public. You will spend your time
far more profitably if you occupy it in boating,
bathing, riding, walking, fishing, and so forth. A
couple of miles away across that dyke land ^'ou will
tind Evangeline Beach. The road which leads to it
is a perfect bicycle track, and once there, 'tis an
ideal lounging place on a sultry afternoon. A dip
into its briny watei', or a row on its rippling surface,
is more invigorating than all the tonics ever con-
cocted. But if you really wish to treat j^our readers
to a dish of Acadian romances, hunt out some of the
old residents and olttain the tales they have to tell,
which you can repeat for the most part, without
alteration. Those stories handed down from gener-
ation to generation will bear the stamp of trut!i
upon their face, and will be far more acceptable to
i^tlie public than anything invented b}* the modern
[novelist."

"Many thanks for your kind advice, but a life of
Kdleness, even for a few weeks, would serve to drive

1 6

A MODERN EVANGELRYE.

me nearly frantic. Those old tales may be valuable
readinjj^, but I should prefer to have them served up
in a lespectable dress before presenting them to the
public."

"As you please. But do not lose sight of the fact
that they lose the greater part of their charm when
stripped of the simple language in which they ai*e
clothed by the native. That is, admitting they
possess a charm at the beginning. Foi* my own
part. I consider them simply rubbish from start to
finish. Of course it is an acknowledged fact that a
lot of Frenchmen were cruelly' banished from their
homes in this valley during the last century, but
those heartrending stories upon which we have been
regaled from time to time regarding the separation
of devoted lovers an<l their lasses, is utter nonsense.
Constancy was probably as rare an article at that
date as at the present time, and how many residents
of this country to-day, do you imagine, W(Kild elect
t ) pass their lives in single blessedness if separated
by force from the objects of their hearts' desire ? I
would give the average female about three months
to heal her wounded heart, and seek another lover
to become the object of her devotion. This falling
in love is as nmch a fable as the conversation of the
wolf with Little Re«l Riding Hood. Women, I
admit, are sometimes pleasant company, but were I
about to choose my life companion I would prefer a
goodly number from whom to select my mate.

A AfODEJ^N EVANGELINE.

le fact
1 when
ey >ii*e
y they
V own
tart to
tliat a
n their
ly, but
^e been
iiration
nsense.
at that
sidents
(1 elect
avated
hre? I
months
lover
I falling
of the
nen, I
Iw'ere I
refer a

"Much trash has been written about tlie death of
broken-hearted (Uxnisels, and sometimes we come
across a chronicle recording the destruction of a
member of the sterner sex, but even the most ro-
mantic among us will be forced to admit that he or
she has never yet met a case in real life where death
was caused by <lisappointment of the heart. Until
I have proof, conclusive proof, I will always remain
a skeptic regardin*^ true love as it is detined by
books.'

I remained silent for some time, thinkino- sadly.
Had I not furnished him proof, undisputed proof, of
a lover's constancy ;' True, I had not died of a
broke)! heart when I lost my beloved Alicia. I still
hve<l, and to a certain extent enjoyed my life, but
the world would never be the same to me a^ain.
The death of my bright, beautiful dai'linfr had cast
a shadow over my life which time could never
remove. /

The home upon which I had expen<led so nmch
care, in order that it might be made a fitting
nest for my daint}' bird, was empty as my heart.
Though there was a possibility I might one day
bring another bride within those walls, yet .she
could never, even partially, take the loved one's
place !

A strange voice at length disturbed my sad reverie,
and looking across the room I noticed, for the first

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

time, u swet't-t'acedold lady, composedly placing her
spectacles in the book she had huen reading.

"You wish to ha\*e woman's con.stancy proved
from a case in real life," she was saying to Kay-
tnon<l. "Permit me to relate you a story I heard
to-day — a genuine love story of olr] Acadia. It was
told to me hy a de.scendant of one of the actors, and
a jjcrson upon whose veracity y(ju can rely. You
know that when the French were banished from
this Province, all who were willing to take the oath
<jf allegiance to the British crown were allowed to
remain in peaceal>le possession of their homes.
Among the ftnv who preferred British rule to more
Jiostile measures was one Jules Dulac, a wealthy
farmer of (Jrand Pie. He had but one child, a
lovely, graceful girl, of about eighteen sunnners, at
the time the Acadians were expelled, and among the
exiles was her betrothed. The almost heai't-broken
girl parted from her lover on the beach, and before
the boat bore him away from her side he vowed to
return and claim her, as he would prepare a com-
fortable home for her in the strange land to which
he was forced to journey.

"The vow those fond lovers made at parting was
faithfully kept by the maiden, in spite of her father's
opposition, for over five years. The land surround-
ing her lover's old home had l)een bestowed upon an
officer in the British army, who wished to found a

■^jssssammm

*«*-

A MODE A' AT EVANGELINE.

cing her

proved
to Ray-
I lioard

It was
ors, and
\'. You
jd from
;he oath
3 wed to

homes,
to more
wealthy
child, a
ners, at
ongf the

broken

before
)wed to

a com-

which

tig was
at hers
round-
pon an
jund a

■Sf-.

!)omo in the valley. He raised a hand.«^ome structure
over the ashes of the hundde cottage where she had
one day thought to reign as mistress, and invited
her to sliare liis home.

"It was the chief ambition of her father's life that
his daughter should wed tlie Englishman, an<l he
gave the young man every assistance in his power.
Persistent refusals of his suit only served to make
the worthy l»ritisher more ardent in his wooing,
and he laughed to scorn the idea of a woman being
pledged to one from whom she had had no sign for
over five years. He argued that the lover who
would keep silence for so long a time must be dead
or false, and in either case she was free.

"At length evil times came upon the old French-
man. His crops failed, and debts accunmlated, till
he was no longer to be owner of his homestead.
This was the opportunity for which the E^nglishman
had been waitinj^j. He came forward, otierinfr to
provide for the old couple during their lifetime if
Marie would become his wife. To save her parents
from <lestitution in their old age, the noble girl
sacrificed her heart, broke her vows, and bestowed
her hand upon the foreigner.

"For nearly twenty years she remaineil true to
her mari'iage vows, and faithfully reared the little
ones entrusted to her care.

"One evening as she rested in the doorway of lier

,. I '

N h

y1 MODERN EVANGELINE.

t'athor's cottji^o she saw a stmn^'or wearily climbing
the hill. W'l it was there ahoiit the apjieurnnce of
the man that caused her heait to heat s(» stran<(ely '(

"Neaier he canie, ami in the weary traveller she
rec(><^ni/.e(l lier loiif^-lost lover. For years the faith-
ful fellow had stj'U,i,^jjjle«l to procure the home in
which he wished to enshrine his idol, nevei" doubt-
in<r that when he returned to claim her he would
still Hnd her watching' for his coming. That death
mii,dit have l>een before him he had souietimes feared,
but that she would be false, his beautiful Marie, oh
never \

'Mechfinically she listened to his simple tale, and
watched how his eyes feasted on the beauty of her
still ct)mely face, and at the end she broke his heart
by tellint;^ him that fia- lon^ years she had been th(>
wile of another.

"With a heartrendiui;- cry he stajroered fron» liei
side, and a week aftir, straufj^e tluai^h kindly hand>
placed him beneath the sod in the old burial i^rouml
over which the cattle ha<l been permitted to roani
uimudested for over a ijuarter of a century. Ht
was the last of his race ever laid in that consecrated
spot ;

"Another year passed, and a long procession fol-
lowed the mortal remains of his unhappy love, as
she was borne over the hills to the English cenu-
tery. Even in death they were divided, for hr^r

t*-

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

y climbing

• 'aruiict' ot"
■^tninj^^L'ly ?

ivcller she
i the t'rtith-
' h(>)ne ii»
^or <loubt-

• he would
'hat (lentli
lies t'eared,

Marie, oh

e tale, and
ity of her
i his jieart
I been tlie

t'runi hei
ll}'' hand-
id ground
to roaiii
:iny. Ht
>nsecrat('(l

^ssion t'ol-
: love, a-
ish ceuif-
, for Ikt

stern husband had refused lier dyin<jf re(|Uest that
she niiii^ht l>e laid by her lover's side. His wife and
tile mother of his childi-en shouM not rest in aji ob-
scure ^rave. He raised a costly marble monum«.'nt
above her tomb, n!id in )i short time he had tilled
her place b}' out- of his own race.

"On hei* death-bed she warned* her dauiifhters to
beware how they bestowed their hands, unb'ss their
hearts accom]>aiiie*l the ^dft, and also expressed a
fear that her own faith le.ssne.ss would cause a curse
to ever follow her cliildren and their descendants.

"There is a tradition still existin^^ in the family
that no daufi^hter of the house has ever ma«le a
happy marriaije.

'The old la<ly who toM me the story never learned
what l)ecanie of her iiusband, who deserted her
nearly forty years aijfo.

"An(jther cousin was jilt(d b}' her lover in her
youth, and afterwards married an old widower vvith
several grown up (jaughters, who have always lived
at home and made her life a burden. They, with a
niece, are the only .survivors of the family.

"The niece has also passed through a bitter love
experience. Still single, she is probably destined at
no distant date to occupy a prominent position in
the artistic world, but her eartldy hopes of dcane.stic
happiness lie trampled in the dust l)y a family ot*
considerable pretension, living here in Grand Pre,

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

who parted her from a young scion of their house.
The false lover is at present, I am told, wandering
in South Africa, while she is devoting all her youth
and energies to her advancement along tlie road to
fame and wealth. She has had several fortunes
laid at her feet, but she has remained true to her
early love, even though the object of her devotion
has proved himself so unworthy of her regard. She
may still fondly believe he will one day return and
make good his youthful vows, or perhaps, who knows,
but that it may l)e her intention to devote her life
to some good work, and thus expatiate the sin com-
initted by her maternal ancestors, or she may one
day sell herself for wealt*li and position, ami thus
hand the curse down to future generations."

The old la<ly arose as she finished her story, and
left our presence.

The tale to which I had been listeninii had
deepened the impression that I was surrounded b}*
the spirits of the past.

A MODERN E VANGELINE.

■■■t

CHAPTER III.

and

had
d by

A Lost Idoi..

"Tt was the man who was C(->nstant in this case,"
exclaiiiie"! Raymond, triumplumtly, at hist breaking
the silence, wliich histed for some time after our new
friend had taken her departure,

'■'How do you make that out C I asked, surprised
at his assertion.

"Did not tlie poor Frenchman return for Ids lie-
*^rothed after an aV)sence of twenty-tive years, only
to find her faithless ?"

"Yes, but it is a woman who proves her constancy
at the present time."

"I suppose so, I wonder if the devoted fair one
is now a resident of Grand Pre, I confess I would
like to have the pleasure of knowinj^^ such a piece of
constancy as she is represented, A woman true to
a lover who is false must be either a fool or a saint,"

"Then you adnnt there may be a few saints to be
found in the sex," I replied, with a laugh ; "I begin

'0- m

1 1 }

'A.

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

to have hopes of you after all. Your faith in woman-
kind cannot be ((uite dead."

" Yes, I suppose there may V)e a few saints among
them, but, nevertheless, they are of a very eartlily
kind. And our worthy French descendant luis not
yet proved to the world that she possesses the right
to be enrolled among them. However, I am so
charmed with the account of lier goodness, that if
she is as beautiful as she lias been painted, and were
she willinf; to forswear her allegfiance to the other
fellow, I might be tempted to make her Madame
Abbott. I suppose it is about time I was thinking
of taking to myself a wife."

It was too dark for him to see tlie look of con-
tempt with V. Inch I favored him, but the darkness
could not conceal the scorn in my voice, as I warn-
ingly reminded him that the bitei" might be bitten.

For years he had recklessly roved from Hower to
flower, content to hihale their fragrance as he passed
along. Handsome of per.son, with charming man-
ners, coupled with a fair amount of wealth, he had
been for years a favorite wherevei" he appeared.
And although regarding him as one of my best
friends, I could not help wishing he miglit soon meet
with one who would be mclined to teach him tliat
women were not all so easily won as he had hitherto
imagined.

And then my heart reproached me for my want

A MODERN F.VANGELINE,

arecl.

incot

that

thcrto

want

•

of ti<U'lity t(j my friend. Wiiy should I wish to see
liini suffer as I hud suffered ?

"Talve care, my dear Kaymond," I said, at last ;
"some day you niay carry _y(jur heart's best affections
to one wlu) will not appreciate the ^it't."

"In that case I will he conipellel to carry them
away apiin," he answered, liohtl}-, and ^jaily sin^in«jf

"If she be not fi'.ir for me
What care I how fair she Ixi?"

he saunt<'red leisurely away.

I felt extremely an<;r\^ with him for a few mo-
ments. Heaven's clioicest earthly gifts to man
seemed to be regarded by him as the idle playthinos
of an hour, but as I reflected on his expei'iences
during the last few years, my anger died away.

Scores of i'enniles had literally thi'own themselves
in his arms, till in fact lie was. compelle<l to expend
much thought upon the best way to frustrate the
plans ■oi the wil}' schemers.

No wonder he had small faith in woman, but he
should learn to distinguish between the ti-ue and
false. I had yet to learn it would be about as easy
to master the great problem of life as to (li.scover
the real nature of a wily woman.

"I trust he will not have an opportunity of meet-
ing her," I muttered, little thinking that before
twenty-four hours should pass I should unwittingly
make them known to each other.

A MODERN E VANGELINE.

The next morning, as I entered the breakfast
room, I encountered my cousin, Re<rinnld Smith, a
young artist of New York.

"A pleasant surprise," he exclaimed, as our hands
met in a close clasp. "What are your plans for the
day ?"

I confessed to having no detinite plans in view.

"Then suppose you accept my programme, which
is : A spin across the dyke on our wheels to P]van-
geline Beach ; a dip in the brin3^ then V)ack to Grand
Pre, and finish the morning by a call upon Miss
Mortimer."

"And who is Miss Mortimer?" I encjuired ; "a
friend of yours C

"She is a rising young artist from the 'Hub,'"
was his reply; "I fancy you will like to meet her,
she is a most charming woman. But keep a firm
guard over y(jur heart, for rumor says hers is already
disp(-)sed of."

I should, in all probability have refused to ac-
company him to the home of Miss Mortimer, for 1
was not accustomed to cultivate the acijuaintance of
young ladies of late, had not the merry voice of
Maude Abbott come floating to my ears, an<l re-
membering her promise to become my cicerone that
morning, I accepted his Invitation, and hastened
away to prepare for our expedition, in order that

■m^"'

ir-f^

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

reakt'ast
Jniith, a

ir hands
\ for the

view.
i, winch
Evan-
D Grand
:)n Miss

red; "a

'Hub,'"
et her,
a firm

ih'eady

to ac-
, for I
ance of
oice of
nd re-
le that
stened
r that

we would be enabled to make our escape while that
younf( lady was occupied with her breakfast.

About eleven o'clock we were ushered into the
presence of Miss Mortimer, and when my cousin in-
troduced me she expressed herself delighted t<^ meet
with a relative of so kind a friend as Mr. Suiith
had proved himself.

When we arose to leave, after a })leasant half hour
spent in her society, she invited us to join a party
compose<i of herself and a couple of yountij lady
friends, on an excursion up the valley of the (Jas-
pereaux that afternoon. We 1 )oth cordially accepted
her invitation, an<l promising to join her party
promptly at two o'clock, we wb.eeled back to the
hotel, feeling prepared to do ample justice to the
midday meal.

I was taken to task by my ac(iuaintance of the
previous evening for mj' morning's neglect, but was
told I might redeem my character in her eyes and
expatiate my sins by becoming her escort that after-
noon.

1 pleaded a previous engagement, which would
prevent my availing myself of her kind otier, and
with a pretty little pout she turned her back upon
me and l)egan a tlirtation with Smith, who, to my
surprise, appeared to appreciate her society im-
mensely.

As we were about to depart on our afternoon ex-

*':■<''

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

L
I

^ii.

cursion, Abbott appeared with his vvlieel,aivl think-
ing he might he an acquisition to our party, I invited
him to accompany us.

As Miss Mortimer was the most important person,
Kay, with his customniy assui'ance, monopolized her
society, leaving two bread and butter Misses, who
srave most of their attention to the care of the-ir
wheels, to the companionship of Reginald and my-
self. Botli Miss Mortimer and her companion being
expert cyclists, they soon left the rest of us far be-
liind,hnt nevertheless we managed to spend a fairly
pleasant afternoon, and returned to our hotel, I to
listen for the rest of the evening to a recital of the
.'superior attractions of Miss Evangeline Mortimer,
as compared with the average female.

Not till I heard the name of Evangeline applied
to Miss Mortimer did it occur t6» me that the young-
lady I had met that morning, and the one whose
liistor}' I had heard related the previous evening,
were the same individual, and I had brought the
two together, after wishing they should not meet !

However, it was quite evident Raymond was in a
fair way of at last becoming a victim, and I could
only hope the course of true love might run smoothly
for both.

Day after day the two were constant companions.
Did they join any e.xcursion party, they soon non-
aged to distance the rest of us, and spend the hours

A MODERN EVANGELINE. 29

I think- l>y thenjselves. Siiiitli departed a few days after

invited J"y arrival, leaving me to the tender mercies of

Maude Abhott, who seemed determined to claim me

person ^^ ''^'^' ♦-'^^cort in spite of my constant ettbi'ts to avoid

zed her ^^'^- ^^^'^^ appeared to take no n(;tice of \\\y want of

es who gallantry, but would always welcome me with a

)f thoir charniinijf smile at our next meetin<:^, no matter liow

nd mv- churlish I had been with her at the preceding one.

n being At length I made the acquaintance of several

far be- resident families, and in the enjoyment which I

a fairly found in their society I lost sight of the drama

tel, I to which was being enacted betoj'e my eyes.

of the Among my new friends was a charming young

)rtijuer, l^i^ly- who, I sometimes fancied, might in the far

away future, could I be fortunate enough to win

pplied \\*sc, almost reconcile me to the loss of my darling

younf»- Alicia. Clare Ennnerson was an imposing young

vvliose woman, apparently about thirty years of age, al-

^'enino- though she might have passed for a much younger

ht the person. Our tastes were snmlar ni many respects,

meet ' ^^^*^ ^^^ ^^^'^ ^ plea.sant \\i\y of deferring to me when

• we did differ, which completely won my heart. She

11 was a lively companion generally, but at times a

look of sadness w(nild shadow her fair face, which

told me she was not altogether unac(iuainted with

sorrow, and wdiich went far towards making me her

devoted admirer.

, One sultry evening, returning to the hotel earlier

hours J tr>'> ^

00th ly

mions.
man

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

than usual, and t'eelino^ tlie air in the liouso would
bo stiriinf(, I threw myself under some bushes on the
grounds and htjjhted a cif^ar, but even the exertion
of smokinfif was too much of an eft'ort. The ciofar
was allowed to ^o out, and I },'ave myself up to the
pleasant contemplation of my darling Clare, as I
called her in my thoughts, I heard voices in the
distance, l)ut I paid no attention to what they were
siiying till I discovered that Clare and myself formed
the subject of the conversation.

"Yes," said a voice, which I recognized as that of
iny landlady : "there is no doubt about Clare being
a schemer, but you must remember her plans do not
always work. You know how she scliemed for over
ten years to capture her cousin, and at last to avoid
her he has left his native land. True, she has suc-
ceeded in parting liim from Evangeline Mortimer,
and for that I could never forgive her," went on the
old lady, with considerable vehemence. "Evangeline
is well rid of him. He would have been a closf to
her through life."

"Mr. Abbott appears to be regarded with much
favor. Do you suppose she will marry him ?" said
another voice.

"She will never marry anyone except Harry
Emmei-son," was the answer; "but Clare appears
in a fair way to capture his friend. But who
knows, perhaps both gentlemen are only amusing

\ ^

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

se would
les on the
exertion
'he eiofar
Lip to the
are, as I
?s in the
hey were
If formed

us that of

ire heinq-

ns do not

for over

to avoid

has suc-

lortimei",

it on the

angeHne

clog to

:h much
?" said

: Harry

appeal's
lut who
ira using

themselves hy a summer Hirtation ? Flow dark it
is gnnving ! I believe we are going to have, a
storm."

The two ladies turned towards the house, actu-
ally hrushing me with their garments as they passed,
hut the twilight had deepened so rapidly that I es-
caped their observation. Wlien they had passed
beyond earshot, I arose, shook myself free from the
leaves which were clinging to my garments, and
f(jllowe<l th.im.

■'So th«.' charming Miss Emmerson proves to be
the fiend wlio has wrecked Miss Mortiujer's life," I
thought, as I sought the privacy of my own room ;
"and I have flattered myself I could never be taken
in by a false woman. I shall see you once more,
my dear young lady, and let you see a Yankee
stranger is not so easily captured as you have
imagined."

The next day I surprised Miss Al>bott by invit-
ing her to join ws in a picnic excursion to the "Look-
off Mountain."

I fancied a look of anojer for an instant darkened
Miss Ennnerson's face, as the carriage which was to
convey us di'ew up before the hotel, and I carefully
assisted my companion to a seat in the vehicle and
placed myself by her side.

For some unaccountable reason Miss Maude ap-
peared less repulsive to me than formerly, and I

A MODERN EVANGELhWE.

It i)

really i.'njoy*.-'! her lively chatter. It* Miss Eiiiiner-
Rou felt orieved at my desertion, she showed no
sign, and tlie day [)assed |)leasantly for all.

For the next tew days I liecanie the devoted
attendant of my feilow-hoai'der ; then, suddenly'
realizing' I might he only extricatinui; myself from
one maze to fall into another, 1 tied fi'om (Jrand
Pre. Smile not, dear lady readers, at my egotism.
I now know that Miss Maude Al.)lK)tt wouM have
laughed me to scorn had I committed such a hlun-
dor as to oti'ei' her my heart and hand, while Miss
Clare — hut I have no right to heti'ay her secrets.

I had not wasted the precious hours of my vaca-
tion in mere pleasure-seeking. A well-tilled sketch
and note book accompanied me on my departure
from the "Land of Evangeline."

I spent the few days of my liberty yet remaining,
in visiting other localities of intei'est t(» tourists, and
returned to my duties, after fin absence of ten weeks,
in pei'fect health, but still sad at htart. Ti-ue, my
thoughts did not turn so frequently to ni}' lost bride,
lying in her far-off grave, but at times a sad, sweet
face would rise before my mental vision, and I
would have an uncond'ortable feeling that Clare
Emmers(jn had not been fairly treated. I had con-
denuied her on the verdict of a couple of gossiping
women, w ho, for all I knew to the contrary, might
have been bitter enemies of the poor girl.

A MODERN F.VANGELINE. ^

Slimier- A tV w weeks after my return I was iiccoste'l one

ved no eveniiiLj, as I left the uftice, Ity Kayinond. He
looked tliinner and more careworn than when I

levoted had last seen him.

iddeni}' Had Kv«^ Mortimer refused him, and was this the

If from cause of his downcast looks ? A feeling of anger

Orand stirred my heart. She had appeared to enjoy his

^otism. society immensely. If she did not intend to accept

d have him, why had she lure<l him on in the way she had

a hlun- done '. No true woman wouM have shown herself

le Miss such a heartless coquette. What if she had been

3rets. the false one after all, and my swecit Clare the one

y^ vaca- maligned ?

sl<etch "How did ycni leave Miss Mortimer?" I asked,

Darturc after our greeting was over. "And am I to con-
gratulate you ?"

.^iuiiifr, I felt cruelly mean, as I asked the <iuestion, but I

;ts and wished to know the truth, which I feared would not

weeks ^^ io\i\ me unless I rjuestioned him.

\x^^^^ 1,1 y He turned on me a look of reproach as he

bride, ansvvered :

s\veet 'Don't, Charlie! I know I deserve it all, but it

•yid I is too hard from you. She refused me, my l>eauti-

{^X'^xx- ful Evangeline. You were right, old boy, my time

1(1 cQjj. has come, but I would not surrender the memory of

isipinf"^ those past happy weeks for the privilege of becom-

inio-ht ^'"S ^'^^ ^^ '^^^ greatest philosophers on earth. From
the first moment my eyes beheld her I knew she

.-/ MODERN El'AXGELINE.

was a (jUL'cii anioiifj women. Slu' is nut t'm* im» ;
but her friemlsliip is to me more precious than the
love of another couh.1 ever he."

"Persevere, and you will one day gain her heart,"
I said, prophetically. I was a hrm believer in a
true woman's constancy, but even to me it .seemed
impossible tlw>t a woman could be so constant to a
false lovei' as not to be at length wc^i by a true one.

"No, Charlie," lie replied, "3'ou mean kindly, but
you do not know her as I do. Had you heard hef
answiT the night I asked her to become ni}- witV,
you would know there was no hope for me. And
to think," he l»urst out savagely," she has wasted
i\\\ her affections on a worthless scoundrel who does
not know how to appreciate the treasure he has
won, but has ruthlessly tossed aside and trampletl
upon her love at the bidding of his lady mother;
and who, even at her death, when he is free to re-
deem his vows without opposition, cowardly slinks
off to the other side of the world, and leaves her to
pass her life alone. What enigmas women air !
They waste all their hearts' affection upon some
clay idol, then when an honest man appears, who
would appreciate the prize, they have nothing left
to bestow.

"Does she expect her old lover to one day return
and claim her?" I asked, more from the hope ttf
rousing him, than from any interest I felt in tlie
wanderer.

\ 'VS.

R ■;' ":

./ MODERX EVANGELINE.

; for \\\\} ;
that) the

t'l" heart,"
;ver in u
t seemed
^tnnt to a
true one.

lully, hut

leanl he)'

my wife,

lie. And

IS wasted

who does

} he lias

tran)pled

n)other ;

ie to re-

V slinks

s her to

en arc !

)n some

U's, who

inof left

"Heaven only knows what she expects! She
once promised to n)arry hin), and she still considers
herself bound by that |)i"on)is(.', notwithstandinj^ the
fact that he has deserted her so shamefully. If she
knew for a certainty that he was either dead or
married, she might consider herself a free woman ;
otherwise, there is no hope for me. If he ivturns
twenty, aye, even fifty j'ears hence, he will still Hnd
her waitin<^ for his cominjx, pi'oviding death has not
forestalle<l hin). Ha)'d work, it is said, is the best
panacea for the heartache, so I will <;o back to my
desk and endeavor to fori^et mv brief dream of
happiness."

return
hope of
in the

3^'

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

CHAPTER IV.

W''

ifi

I 'j

The Rival Maidens.

Ten Years before my story opens, Evanj^eline
Mortimer had watched the casket containing her
father's clay carried from her sight, and realized she
was left to tight the battle of life alone.

She was told that the cosy home which had shel-
tered her from infancy would have to be dismantled
and handed over to strangers, while the household
goods would have to be sold and the proceeds de-
voted to the payment of her father's debts.

"There will be nothing left for you," remarked
the grim old aunt, when she had broken the appal-
ling news to the desolate orphan; "your father lived
far beyond his means, and you will be compelled to
leap the consetjuences of his folly. I always told
David the course he was taking would end where it
has, but he trusted you would be provided for by
making a brilliant marriage, long before he would
be called awaj^ by the grim reaper. His death will
put an end to your fine prospects, I am thinking.

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

anji^eline
ling her
ized she

ad sliel-
nantled
usehold
eds de-
narked
appal-
!r lived
lied to
s told
lere it
or by
would
h will
iking.

Your tine lover's family will ne \'er consent to their
young hopeful wedding a pauper, and he is* too
dutiful a son, whatever else he niaj- he, to disobey
his mother's wishes. For the present you can have
a home with us. You can help with the house-
work an*^ sewing, while you look around and find
some employment which will support you, but I am
sure I do not know what you are fit for."

The poor girl l)itterly resented entering her aunt's
home under those conditions, l)ut for the present no
other asylum was open to her, and she was obliged
to take advantage of her relative's otter. She re-
luctantly packed the few articles she could claim as
tier own and had them removed to her new abode;
but one thought alone sustained her in her hoar of
bitter trial. Harold, her lover, would not long allow
her to remain among such uncongenial suri'oundings-
For in spite of her aunt's pi-edictions, she fondly be-
lieved her lover to be the very soul of truth anil
honor. Had he not told tier, in her tiour of darkest
sorrow, that she was all the worM to him ?

It was a bitter l)low to the proud spirit to know
that stie, who had always been looked upon as a
considerable heiress, would be compelled to go to
her new home a dovverless bride, but she believed
that her welcome would lie none the less warm on
that account.

For nearly a year she struggled bivively in the

J MODERN EVANGELINE.

alinust menial position she occupied in her aunt's
honit', with only an occasional visit fi'oni Harold to
brifjjhton her desolate life.

As her aunt had predicted, the young man showed
no inclination to provide her with another home.
His visits became fewer and shorter, till ^t last he
yielded to his mother's pleadings, and deserted the
t^Mi-1 who would have preferred death rather than
that she should have been compelled to doubt him.

Then it was the wily woman sought to perfect a
long cherished plan. By her etibrts, her wealthy
niece, Clare Enunerson, was constantly thrown into
the young man's society, and the delighted mother
looked forward to their early wed<ling day. She
<lid not know of the stolen visits the faithless lover
still paid to his betrothed, or she would not have
been so confitlent of the success of her stratajjem.

Pool* Eve, tliinking poverty to be the barrier
which prevented their union, and also wishing to
escape the torture of witnessing her lover's devoted
attentions to his cousin when they appeared in
public, resolved to wrest from fate a recognition of
the talents with which she felt herself b}'' nature to
be endowed, disposed of her scanty possessions and
left her native land.

For over a year she toiled daily in a Boston fac-
tory, devoting her evenings to stud}-. When she
had accumulatetl sufficient funds to complete her

A .\fODERN EVANGELIXE.

er aunt's
4ar()ld to

11 sllOWC'li

er Iiome.
t last lie
srted the
ler than
ubt him.

)erfect a

wealthy

)wn into

mother

y. She

ss lover

)t liave

ligem.

barrier

ling to

levoted

red in

ion of

lire to

IS and

n t'ae-
11 she
e her

education she entered an art school, from whicii, in
due time, she p-aduated with hi^'h honors.

(Several years passed before she found herself on
the hifrh road to success, when she returne<l to her
native land, to find Harold still unmarried, and as
tlevoted, a])parently, as ever. His mother still re-
fused to accept her as a daughter, declaring her son
to have compromised Clare by his attentions for so
man}' years, and that he was in duty bound to
marry his cousin.

Eve. seeing her hopes were vain, returned to
Boston, after a short visit to her old home, and con-
tinued her work, which was rapidly winning for her
both wealth and fame.

Another year passed, and she was informed by
her aunt of Mrs. Emmerson's death.

"You will, no doubt, soon return to live among us
once more," her aunt had written. And Eve, feel-
ing the obstacle which had parted her from Harold
for so long a time, was now removed, patiently
waited for tidings from her old lover.

A few months more, and she again heard from
her aunt that he had disposed of his property in
Grand Pre, and imme<liately sailed for South Africa,
in search of a fortune.

"You know," her aunt informed hei", "that they
were ruined. The estate did not bring enough to
pay the deljts. That, I suppose, is one reason his

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

>.,n

!:;";l

li'-'SS

mother was so anxious for him to marry Clare. She
thought the girl's money would be such a help to
them. No one here has any sympathy for him.
He has treated hoth you girls most shamefully. Hi;
has paid Clare the most devoted attention for years,
and kept her from marrying any other man. As
for yourself, it should have been enough for you
when he left you at the time of your father's death.
That was when you should have broken your en-
gngement."

Wlu'n Eve learned of her lover's misfoi'tunes, she
bitterly repi'oached her.self for concealing her hoard-
ed wealth, which would havebeen n)ore than sufficient
for him to redeem his old home. But regrets were
useless ; he had gone. She could only pray that a
inerciful Providence would watch over and protect
her wanderei-, and one day bring him srfely back
to her.

WIk'U summer again came around, slie went to
<^rand Pre to spend her well-earned vacation with a
distant cousin. People watched her closel}' after
her arrival among them, but if she grieved for hei-
absent lover she kept her secret well.

It soon began to be noticed that if people wished
to enjoy the society of the distinguished ^liss Mor-
timer, they must omit the name of Clare Ennnerson
from the list of their guests. She evidently con-
sidered her in a manner responsible for lier misfor-

■ '."»■

vished
Mor-

lerson

COll-

.^^■

.•/ MODERN EVANGELIXE.

are. Sho
a help to
for him.
ully. He
or years,
Jan. As
for you
r's death,
►^our en-

ines, she

r hoard-

uffieient

;ts weiv

that {i

protect

\' back

tunes, and despised lier too thoroufjhl}- for her
treachery, to mingle in the society- of which she was
a member.

When Raymond Aljbott bef^an paying her such
xlevoted attention the delight of her friends was un-
bounded; but when, a few weeks after, she dismissed
him, tiiey ventured to openly remonstrate with her
for her folly, which so annoyed the liigli-spirited
girl that she innnediately returned to the home of
her adoption, an<l for long years she did not again
visit Nova Scotia.

ent to

with a

after

For hei-

'Hi

A MODERy E VANGELINE.

CHAPTER V.

A WoHDV Wau.

Thk loiif( winter months wore slowly away. Ray-
mond worked at his desk unweariedly, and many
choice f,^ems were given to the pulilie, the pro<]uct of
Ids gifted pen.

Kut he was no longer the Raymond of yore. The
sneering cynic had departed ; but this sad and care-
worn man who had taken his place was no improve-
ment on my old friend — I sometimes feared mj-
friend no longer. The compact of friendship be-
tween liim and Eve Mortimer hatrbeen firmly a<l-
hered to through the winter, and I sometimes
wondere<.l, when I saw them together, how he, with
Ins heart overflowing with love for her, could be
content with the friendship she gave him in return
for his love and devotion.

For some I'eason, to me unaccountable, she seemed
to dislike, and do all in her power to avoid me. Xor
was any efioi't made on my part to induce her t"
alter her opinion regarding myself. I never met

A MODERN El'AXGELIXE.

'. Ray-
l many
^<luct of

-e. The
id care-
iprove-
'ed 1113-
lip be-
nly ad-
letimes
e, with
uld l)c
return

ieemed
'. Xoj-
her i(<
)v met

her without, my thonfjflits recurrini]^ to my dream
the first evenini^ I spent in (inind Pre, and an un-
detinaljle presentiment that she would one day exert
an evil influence over my happiness was ever witli
me.

One day I accidentally met Clare Emmerson in
the street, and seeing the libul look oi' welcome in
her eyes, I accompanied her to her destination.

We liad not proceeded far before we came face to
face with Miss Mf)rtimer, and the look of scorn with
which she favored us explained the cau.se of her dis-
like for me. Slu; hated her rival, Clare, with all a
woman's unreasonable bitterness, lookin<.j upon her
as the cause oi her ruined happiness ; and, as I now
discovered, even the girl's friends were not to be
exempt from her contempt.

1 glanced uneasily at my companion, as the
haughty woman swept by us, and the pallor which
for an instant overspread her face almost frightened
me.

She made an eflbrt to compose herself, when she
found I was observing her, l)ut the ti'embling of lier
lips told me how she was suffering.

"You have not yet answered my (juestions," I re-
marked, as I smiled upon her. I would show her
Miss Mortimer's conduct had not the power to in-
fluence me in the least.

"Let me see, what was it vou asked ? I am

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

almost fit'mid I have foi-ootten," and the pitiful
effort Aw made to smile, made my heai't ache foi-
her. Her enemies might tell me wliat they pleased,
I conld not helieve she was the traitor she had been
represented to me.

"I asked yon how long you had been in Boston,
where you were visiting, and if I might liave the
pleasure of calling upon you ?"

"I have been here all winter. I am training for
a nurse at the General Hospital ; I see but few
visitors, and 1 — panlon me, Mr. Salter, my conduct
may appear inexplicable to you — but I tliink I would
rathei- you did not call."

I was deeply offended at hei- refusal. What pos-
sible reason could she have for lier objection to
receive me among her ac({uaintances ? Was it be-
cause I occasionally called upon Eve Moi'timer, in
company with Raymond ':

She nmst be as unreasonable as Eve. I walked
by her side in silence for some minutes, then abruptly
bidding her good evening, I raised my hat with ex-
aggerated politeness and left her. The trembling
of her lips as she simply said good-night, gave me
an uncomfortable sensation as I stalked awaj', but I
was inwardly fuming at the rebuff I had received.

Was I to be carelessly flropped by each of the
girls simply because I wished to treat the other
politely ? Truly, there was no accounting ,for a

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

w<jinan's whims. I inuttenHl an angry iuipivcation
as I barely escapes I a collision, and looking up, I saw
Kayui<m<l Abb<>tt standing before nie.

"What's the row, old fellow:'" he in(jinred, in a
cheery voice, which belied his looks, for his face re-
minded me of a thunder-cloud about to pour its
vials of wrath upon the earth. Then, without wait-
ing for an answer, lie turned, linked his arm in mine,
and as we moved away, burst out impetuously^ :
"Oh, Charlie ! she is going to Europe."
"Who ?" I asked ; "your cousin Maude V'
"My cousin Maude I" he repeated, inrlignantly ;
"as if I care<l where she went ! Evangeline Mortimer,
of course. Charlie, how shall I ever exist in Boston,
after she has left?"

I felt like shaking him.

"Raymond Abbott !" I said, throwing all the scorn
of which I w^as master into my words; "it is time
she was going, if it is as bad as this with you. Why
waste a sinfjle thoui»ht on a woman who will have
none of you ? You have bestowed the greatest
honor it is in a man's power to give upon a woman
who, after seltishly accepting yt)ur heart, gives you
in return a cold regard she is pleased to call friend-
ship. The best thing you can do is to forget her as
speedily as possible. She is not worth a single heart
throb. There are scores of true women in the world
who W'ould scorn to lead a man on, for the mere

' ,.''■

■1

W-

. '^m

>.,.

/; MODE AW EVAXGELIXE.

])lL'asun-' of iiKikinfj a cuii(|Ut'st, as she has duin\
Bestow your afii-ctions upon one of these, and Kt
her f(o. No doubt it is veiy gratify inpj to her vanity
to have you always at her beck and call, but allow
yourself no longer to be looked upon as her slave. "

"Charlie!" and the look he gave me as he spctkc
my name should have crushed me to the earth.

"I seem to be losing my friends at a rapid rate,"
I mutteivd, as I watched him disappear, an<l won-
dering wdiat wouM be the outcome of his infatuation,
I slowly wended my own way homeward.

That evening I carefully dressed mj'self in tlio
regulation costume, and attended a reception given
by a coterie of Boston talent.

Scarcely had I entered the handsomel}' decorated
rooms when I came face to face with Evanorelini'
Mortimer, leaning on Raymond's arm, and smiling
sweetly into his face as they promenaded.

My anger again.st the woman was rising to a white
heat. She glanced disdainfully at me as I passed,
while Raymond scarcely deigned to acknowdedge
my salutation. Instead of being utterly crushed I'}'
their treatment, it only served to furnish me con-
siderable amusement, and I resolved to seek an op-
portunity, before the evening ended, of giving Mis.s
Mortimer a piece of my mind regarding her wicked
flirtation with my friend.

A MODERN EVANGEI.IXE.

IS (lunt\

;in<l let

I' vanity

it allow

• shlVf."

spf»k('
th.

<1 ratr,"

1<1 WOll-

tuatiun,
in tlio

n given

Curatt'l
ngeliiu'
suiiliny;

a vvliiti'
passed,
wlerliio
hed Itj'
ne con-

an op-
g Miss

i\'ickeil

Fur some time I endeavored to reach her side,
without avail. She would swiftly glide Mway from
any group whenever I drew near, hut oppositio!i
only made me the more deterujined to secure tlie
coveted interview. I'owards the close of the even-
ing, as I was almost in dispair of attaining n»y
(jhject, she came su<ldeidy upon me, and in the nutst
charming manner possible hcgan a conversation.

Quickly recovering from the astoni.shment I felt
at her sud<len change of tactics, I entere<l the con-
test, for such I felt it to he, with a zeal almost
equalling that of my o})})onent. For some time our
warfare was carried on with the skill of experienced
veterans, ohlivious to the crowd of listeners which
had gathered around us, many of whom, no douht,
consi(lere<l we were dis])laying more wit than polite-
ness. Shaft after shaft was sent at each other. I
recklessly launched what I considered a telling
stroke at my enemy, who visilily paled beneath the
torrent of sarcasm hurleil at her. Her agitation re-
minded nie of my want of courtesy, and apologizing
for my rud«mess to a lady, I hund)ly offered my arm,
which she graciously accepted, and together we
([uitted the crowded room.

"Pray do not let me keep you from your friends,"
she said, with considerable asperit}*, when I had
seated her in a secluded corner of the balcony. 'I
permitted yow to accompany me here for the sake

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

>.,-,

of appearances. We both forgfot ourselves. Tliere

was no occasion tor our sliowing the public what u

I'eeliniT of hatred we have for each other. It was
not good form, to put it mildly."

"I cannot understand why you sliould cherish a
feeling of animosity towards nie," I burst out, im-
petuously : "I am sure I have done nothing deserv-
ing your hatred."

' Can you not?" was her smiling reply. "Then
you are more dense than I have given you the credit
of being. A friend of Clare Emmerson's can never
be regarded by myself in any other light than that
of an enemy. '

"You are unjust. You must not expect the world
to look at Miss Emmerson with your eyes. Besides,
I can hardly claim the right to call myself her
frien<l. '

"Nevertheless, I presume my unworthy self has
formed the .subject of many a delightful conver-
sation between you. Clare never allows her ac-
(|uaintances to remain long in ignorance regarding
my past life."

The very way she pronounced Clare's name Ixj-
trayed a deadly hatred of the girl, which was almost
appalling, but her accusing eyes were upon me, and
I felt my silence would only increase her unjust
suspicion.?.

A MODERN EVANGELINE,

here

"Miss Eimuerson has never yet mentioned your
name in my presence," I said, with some emphasis.

"Do you expect me to believe your statement?"

"You can act your pleasure ahout it," I answered,
imiift'erently. " I am not accustomed to have my
word doubted."

"It is impossible for me to Vjelieve any person
would be long in Clare's society witliout being
treated to a Jiistory of my shortcomings."

"Perhaps not: but, in the first place, I have seen
very little of Miss Emmerson's society. The few
times I met her in Grand Pre, and to-rlay in Boston,
are about the extent of ni}'' acquaintance with the
young lady you evidently dislike so bitterly."

"Didike is a weajc word when speaking of the
feeling I entertain for that female fiend," she
almost shrieked, half rising from her chair. "She
has wronged me so foully, that I sometimes feel
forgiveness would be impossible even in heaven."

"And you are looked upon by the world as a
Christian woman," I said, reproachfully. "Do you
imagine you are following the footsteps of your
Saviour, when you allow yourself to cherish such
wrongful feelings towards a fellow-creature ?"

"You are no judge of a woman's feelings," she
said, savagely; "there are some things a woman
has been called upon to endure more bitter than
death itself."
4

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

I was dumbfounded as I listened to her vindictive
remarks.

"What a vicious woman," I thoufjht, "she must
be at heart. How useless for me to plead for
Clare's forf^iveness to such as she. Besides, what
right had I to plead for justice for one who had
only a few short hours before denied me the right
to enroll myself among her acquaintances. It was
for my friend Raymond's sake I had sought this
interview, and here I was recklessly wasting the
precious moments in discussing one who was nothing,
who never would be anything, to me."

"Miss Mortimer," I began, standing before her
with a strong determination to do what I could for
my friend, no matter what the ettbrt might cost me;
"I brought you here for the purpose of beseeching
you to spare my friend, not to discuss Miss Emmer-
son and her shortcomings. Do you not see how you
are recklessly ruining his life ? Surely, a woman
who has done such noble w^ork as yourself can find
no pleasure in such a doubtful triumph ! I cannot
believe you are deliberately flirting with him for
the sake of conquest."

"Mr. Salter," and the way she spoke my name
told me her bitter, revengeful feelings had departed ;
"you know not, you will never know, how I prize
the friendship of Raymond Abbott, but I am going
to surrender it all. It is because I can never be

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

more than a friend to him, tliat I am gjoin^ to leave
America for a time. Perhaps he will forget me
during my absence, and transfer his affections to
some good woman who will make him happy. That
is what I pray for, and men can easily forget."

Language would fail to describe the bitterness of
her last words.

"But why, Miss Mortimer, can you not give him
the boon he craves ? He would be content with
such a small corner of your heart. To have you by
his side would make him the happiest of men. Why
should you leave America at all ?"

"You know not what you are saying," she an-
swered, rising. "Somewhere, a wanderer on the
face of this earth, is the man to whom I pledged
my heart, with my beloved father's consent, in my
early womanhood, and, for better or for worse, I
must keep my vows till he shall set me free. Did
you know a fraction of the misery which has been
the result in our family from the breaking of one
woman's vows, you could never counsel me to follow
in her footsteps. Come weal or woe, I shall remain
true to my own heart, true to my lover and my
friend. Please take me back toihe drawing-room, ^
and she placed her hand upon my arm, and we again
mingled with the gay throng.

I looked upon her with different eyes. I could
no longer doubt her. A woman who was so true to

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

a doubtful lover, so true to her own heart, must be
the very essence of truth itself.

What a traitor Clare Emmerson must have been !
"A very fiend in human form," as Eve had called
her, when she assisted her aunt in parting Harold
from his betrothed. How grateful I felt towards
her for refusing me permission to call, for well I
knew were I frequently permitted to gaze into the
misty depths of those glorious eyes, I should soon
become her slave, even though I knew her to be
as false as Satan himself.

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

CHAPTER VI.

A Young Philosopher.

The following week Evangeline joined a party of
friends who were planning to spend the summer in
Europe. Raymond accompanied them as far as New
York, and saw them comfortably installed in the
German steamship which was to convey them to
Rome.

He returned to his desk and made a pretense of
working, but I feared most of his manuscript found
its way eventually into the waste basket.

"I know how you felt when you lost Alicia," he
said one evening, as we walked homeward.

"When the steamer left the dock with Eve on
board, I felt I was looking my last upon the face of
my love. And oh, Charlie, how am I to pass the
long years which are to come without her ?"

" Nonsense, man ! Brace up, and bear your trouble
bravely. When Alicia died, I felt life was at an end
for me ; but, you see, I have lived down my trouble,

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

and still manage to extract considerable sunshine as
I journey along life's road."

"Yes; but yoxxY case is different. When this life
is ended for you, there is a prospect of j^our reunion
in the other world, but there is no such hope for
me. Even beyond the sky, Eve's thoughts and
smiles will all be given to another."

"We know not what awaits us beyond the sky,
but Eve may yet be yours during your sojourn in
this mundane S| :ere."

He shook his head, with a pitiful smile, and I
longed i'^ tell him my angel bride no longer wholly
occupied iny heart. That a pair of earthly orbs
were continually haunting me ; eyes of heavenly
blue, from which, when I had looked upon them
last, shone pity almost divine, as their owner bent
above the tiny cot where lay the crushed form of a
little street arab. Those eyes had completely won
my heart, in spite of the proof I had received of
their owner's treachery to Evangeline Mortimer, the
cherished idol of my friend. Yes, I had witnessed
Clare's tenderness to the poor little fellow I had
seen almost crushed out of all semblance to a human
form beneath the wheels of a passing car, while at-
tempting to reach nje with my morning paper. I
had daily visited this atom of suffering humanity
with the intention of bringing some comfort to the
darkened life, now so swiftly ebbing away, and there

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

I had been brought into contact with Clare, as she
attended to her hospital duties. The interest I had
ever taken in her swiftly ripened into love, and in
her sweet companionship I spent many a delightful
hour.

On one of my visits to the hospital I met Maude
Abbott, who immediately took possession of me in
her old imperious manner, and walked me from ward
to ward, finally informing me that it was my duty
to escort her home. I submitted with as good a
c^race as possible, under the circumstances, and we
had scarcely reached the street before she began :

"Really, Mr. Salter, I think you are i^^.proving
rapidly. I used to think you the most unbearable
bear in existence. Now I find you are almost nice."

"And pray, may I ask, what has induced you to
change your opinions regarding my unworth}^ self ?"
I inquired, highly amused at her rather doubtful
compliment.

"Oh, lots of things," she replied, saucily shaking
her dainty little head ; "but chief among them is,
that you are so good to Clare."

"Then you like Clare ? I was not aware you could
be such a devoted friend as to extend 3'our favor to
one you despised, because they happened to admire
someone you fancied."

''Like Clare ? Of course I do. Could anyone help
loving such an angel of goodness ? Or, at least, any

'is I

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

person wlio possessed the slightest discrimination.
Evangeline Mortimer hates her, and, of course, Ray-
mond is bound to hate her also, on that account, but
they don't know her as I do. I despise such un-
reasonable people. When I meet a person I liiie,
catch me changing any opinions because someone
else thinks they are not nice I Ray is an idiot.
Clare is worth a dozen of Eve. But that is always
the way with you men. None of you are capable
of seeing below the surface. I should like to know
the truth of that story about Harold Emmerson, but
Clare won't talk. I asked her about him once. She
did not say anything, but the look in her eyes warned
me never to return to the subject. At any rate, no
one will ever make me believe she behaved treach-
erously to Eve."

"And yet we cannot doubt Miss Mortimer. She
could not feel so bitterly towards Clare had she not
cause for her hatred."

"No, you cannnot doubt her when you are in her
presence, but when she is not there, the very men-
tion of her name gives you a creepy feeling ; or, at
least, that is the way it affects me. I feel, I know,
Clare is innocent. I may not possess the wisdom of
a man, but I have the instinct of a woman, and
when a woman follows her instincts, she never gets
very far astray in her judgments."

Theyoung lady's reasoningcoincided so completely

^ .ill

-r

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

with rii}'' own opinions, that my respect for her rose
immeasurably, and we got along famously after this,
till she one day accidentally addressed me as Mr.
Bear. Instead of being covered with confusion
when I asked her for her reason for addressin<r me
by such a name, she burst into a merry laugh, and
explained, that was the sobriquet she had bestowed
upon me the previous summer, while we were at
Grand Pre.

"And for what purpose was it bestowed ?" I asked,
ruefully. "Was I so extremely bearish as to merit
such a name ?"

"To me, yes. We rarely met that you did not
emit a growl. Then, you see, I had another cause
to detestyou. You caused me quite a loss financially."

"Are you crazy ? How in the name of wonder
could I cause you financial loss ?"

"You stare at me as if you thought I had taken
leave of my senses. I am telling you the exact
truth. You see, it w^as in this way : I made a
wager with cousin Ray that I would bring you to
my feet, literally, of course, before the season ended.
And when you failed to fall a captive before my
bow and sphere, I was compelled to pay up, conse-
quently you perceive I have not much reason to love
you," and the saucy minx gave me such an artful
look that my fingers itched to bo.x her ears,

"I trust your loss did not render you a bankrupt,"

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

I remarked, stiffly. Had Raymond Abbott been a
true friend he would never have exposed me to the
ridicule of his childish relative."

"Only a box of cigars," she answered, ignoring
the last half of my remark ; "and don't I hope he
enjoyed smoking them ! They cost me just fifty
cents," and she indulged in a peal of rippling laugh-
ter which told me she enjoyed her joke, hugely.

"Say, did he offer to share his treat with you?"
she at last inquired, with tears of merriment still
dancing in her eyes.

I smiled grimly, as I remarked Ray handing me
a cigar one evening, soon after his return from Nova
Scotia, which, after an ineffectual attempt to smoke,
I had lain down with considerable contempt. Upon
this he had produced a box of the same kind, a
monument, he called them, of the average woman's
honesty. They had been won, he told me, in a bet
with his cousin, but I had not dreamed I was the
subject of that bet.

"I wonder what he did with them — the cigars, I
mean ? I will bet an}?^ money he did not smoke
them ; Ray is too fastidious for that," she mused.

" Presented them to the aspiring literati who con-
tinually haunt our offices in search of employment.
Probably your cousin is a firm believer in the pro-
verb which says, 'waste not, want not' He would
manage to utilize even your box of cigars."

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

"I pity the poor literati who were compelled to
smoke them, but, Mr. Salter, would you mind accept-
ing an invitation on such short notice ? I have a
progressive whist party this evening, and Ray has
disappointed me at the last moment, and upset all
my arrangements. Clare will be there, and I will
have no one to escort her home."

This, I could see, was intended as a bribe, but I
could not resist the temptation of accepting under
those circumstances. To be permitted to see Miss
Clare home was a prospect I could not relinquish,
even though my invitation came at the eleventh
hour.

"I knew you would come when I told you she was
to be there," she said, demurely. " Clare comes down
to see us every Wednesday evening. It is her night
off duty, you know. We would be pleased to have
you drop in often, my mother and I."

I felt like hugging the witch. How in the world
did she discover my sentiments regarding Clare ?
Her next remark was still a greater puzzle.

" Clare will not permit you to call upon her, but
she enjoys your society all tlio same."

"Has Miss Emmerson been making you her con-
fident?"

"Not she. Clare is not that kind of an individual.
But no matter how I made my discovery, that is my
secret. But come and see us occasionally. It will

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

be really charitrtble in you. We do not see much
of Ray lately, and when he does honor us with a
visit he generally mopes behind a paper the greater
part of the time. To tell you the truth, he is not tit
for much of anything since Eve Mortimer went
to Europe. I wish she would start out to hunt up
Hal Ennnerson, and get lost in the bottom of the
Red Sea."
"Miss Abbott!" I exclaimed, sternly.

" Well, I do, so there, now ! Ray used to be a
splendid fellow before he knew her. Now he is a
perfect njuibskull."

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

CHiVPTER VII.

A Search for the Wanderer.

"Where do you intend to spend your vacation,
old man ?" Raymond asked me one evening towards
the close of June.

"I have not thought much about the matter as
yet," I replied. "Where do you propose to go ?"

"I am thinking of starting for Africa, soon."

"To Africa!" I repeated. "What in the world is
sending you there ? Got a mania for shooting lion.s,
or are you thinking of trying to outdo Haggard in
writing up African fiction, and consider it necessary
to first learn something about the country where
you propose to lay your plot ?"

"Neither. I am going to search for Harold Em-
merson. I know that until the mystery regarding
his fate is solved, I can never hope for happiness in
this world. Nothing has ever been heard of him
since he sailed from Halifax, nearly two years ago."

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

"Then you luive not yet given up the liope of one
day marrying Eve Mortimer?"

"I .shall never entirely yield to despair while I
live and she is free. I feel certain were he removed
from my path I should have a fair chance of success
in winning her heart, and why should our youth he
sacriticed in this way ? I am going to find out where
he is and what he is doing, if possible, and I trust,
for Eve's sake, as well as my own, I shall find him,
either dead or married."

"You have no easy task before you."

"But one I shall accomplish. Wish me success in
my undertaking, Charlie, old friend. I ask no
greater gift from fate than to return to Boston with
Eve Mortimer my wife. I shall start on my journey
next week, and go direct to Johannesberg."

His words set me thinking, on my way home-
ward. Where should I go to spend my vacation ? I
had no oliject in visiting South Africa, but I should
much like to spend the next few months in travel.
If Clare, my sweet, beautiful Clare, would consent,
I would take a year's rest, and accompany my friend
to Johannesberg. I was fairly rich, and could well
afford the journey. My heart beat high with hope
as I wended my way down town, to call upon the
beautiful woman I almost worshipped. Last night
I had asked her to be my wife, and she had promised
my answer this evening. Occasionally a doubt wouM

A MODERN EVANGELINE,

steal into my heart that she might refuse nie, but I
woukl quickly banish the thought. Clare was no
wicked co(|uette, who would put forth her best efforts
to win my att'ections for the sake of conciuest. If
ever truth was to be read in a woman's eyes, hers
had said she loved me when we parted last evening.

But a bitter disappointment was awaiting me.
On incjuiring for Miss Ennnerson, I was told she
liad left the institution.

" Where has she gone ? Di<l she leave no address ?"
I asked of the porter.

"I do not know, but will inquire," he answered,
as he gave me a seat in the hall and left me. He
soon returned and informed me she had that morn-
ing sailed for England. 1 was speechless, and stared
at the man helplessly, and ho, probably thinking I
had not heard, repeated his information in a louder
key.

I mechanically thanked him and turned disconso-
lately away. What had taken Clare Emmerson to
England ? And why had she left me without a
word of explanation ? In answer to my unspoken
({uestion a door of the building which I was passing
swung open, and Maude Abbott pronounced my
name.

"You look as if you were about to assist at your
own funeral," she exclaimed, carelessly, and then, in
a more serious manner, asked : —

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

"Charlie, what does this mean ? Why has Clare
gone to Africa ? "

I was startled. If Clare had gone to Africa, she
could have Init one object in view, which was to
seek for tidings of her cousin. If such were the
case, she could never be anything to me. She must
be as cruel as Eve had pictured her, for had she not
almost confessed her love for me the previous even-
ing. But I would not condemn her without further
proof. Perhaps Maude had been misinformed about
her destination,

"Are you sure she has gone to Africa? They
told me at the hospital she had gone to England."

"I received a few lines from her this morning,
telling me she would sail before I read them, and en-
closing this for you," and she handed me a tiny note,
which I clutched eagerly. She had not forgotten
me after all, in her hurried departure.

"I hope your letter will be more satisfactory than
mine has been," she said, seeing the eagerness with
which I pock(^ted the epistle. "She only wrote a
few words explaining where she was going, and
asking me to deliver the enclosed to you."

"Does Raymond know she has gone," I asked the
girl, as I watched her impatiently beating a tattoo
upon the pavement with her daint}?- foot.

"How should I knrw ; but I should say not.
What has he to do with Clare ? You know he

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

^>5

hates her because Eve does. What is taking him
there ?

"To shoot lions, probably. But Clare cannot
have gone for such a purpose."

"No, of course not. Nor do I believe Ray has,
either. They must both be searching for Harold
Emmerson, and I thought Clare liked you. Oh,
what a tangle it is. Shall we try to unravel it ? I
wonder if Eve has gone also ? Clare will probably
find her cousin and marry him. And I believed in
him so. Tlien Eve will marry poor Ray, and you,
what will you do ? You will just have to stay at
home and put up with poor me."

"All right," I answered, gravely; "when we hear
of the double wedding in the far East, I will appear
with priest and ring and hold you to your compact."

"You know I did not mean that. How could
you misunderstand me so ? I am always making
such dreadful blunders. Ray always said my
tongue v/ould get me into trouble some day, but
I never thought I could be misunderstood like
that."

I looked at her as she stood there, the picture of
consternation, and something in her appearance
soothed my aching heart. Clare was probably lost
to me, forever. Why should I not marry the wo-
man before me ? I cared for lier as much as I
would over care for any woman now ; and if she
4

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

would consent to become my wife, I would do all in
my power to make her happy."

"You will tell me what Clare said about J^oino-
away, it' it is not a secret, will you not ?" she asked,
as she turned to leave me.

"If Clare has not asked me not to reveal what
she has written, you shall see the letter," I told her.
as I drew her hand through my arm and walked
towards home with her.

I left her at her mother's door with a feeling of
contentment which surprised me. My love for
Clare Emmerson had died a violent death when I
learned of her journey to Africa. Maude, now that
I knew what a true little darling she was, I felt as-
sured, would make me a suitable wife, an i I was
almost happy. Not till some time during tie next
day did I remember Clare's letter, which I had re-
ceived. Remembering my promise to Maude to
acquaint her with t' > contents, I attempted to
remove it from the pocket where I had plu. d it.
To my surprise and consternation, it was missing,
nor did the most minute search bring it to light.

That evening I started for the home of Maude to
acquaint her with my loss, when whom should I
meet on the way but my cousin Reginald."

"Thought you were in Europe for the summer," I
ejaculated, giving his hand a hearty scfueeze. " What
sent you back so early ?"

(-■

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

"Business," he answered, laconically. "How have
you been since I left ?"

"Stunning! How did you leave your friends?
Has Miss Mortimer turned the heads of royalty
with her pictures yet ?"

"Miss Mortimer developed a streak of idleness
when she struck the other continent. She has
taken a vacation and gone on an expedition to
Africa."

"W-h-e-w! What next will we hear? Another
African picnic organized ! There will be joyous
greetings whien they all meet at Johannesburg!"
and I told him of Ray's contemplated journey, as
well as Clare's departure.

"Well, I hope they will at last get their love
affairs straightened out in a satisfactory manner,"
was his charitable comment. " You had better not
say anything to Ray about Eve's trip. It will only
upset him. Who would ever im}v;^ine old Ray
wt)uld take the fever so badly?"

"I agreed to this proposition, and after a few
more words, I hastened to the home of my little
betrothed, as I now considered her.

She was much disappointed when I told her of
the loss of my letter. Unlike me, she still had
faith in her old friend, and she fancied the letter
would have explained tlie mystery surrounding
Clare's sudden journey.

A MODERN EVANGELINE,

When I asked her to become my wife, slie de-
murred at first, then consented, conditionally. I
must tirst prove Clare false before she would agree
to usurp her place in my affections,

I respected her more for Jier decision, but I had
not her faith in Clare, and felt positive I would
not have to wait long for my bride. She begged
me to say nothing of our conditional engagement
to Raymond befoi-e he sailed.

"Let them shape their own destinies, regardless
of us," she had said. "But is it not just too good
for anything that Eve is going too ? If they should
happen to marry out therie, what a surprise it will
be to those devotees of Cupid, when they arrive in
America, to receive cards of invitation to the wed-
ding reception of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Salter I" and
she enthusiastically clapped her hands as she fancied
the astonishment of her friends. •

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

CHAPTER VIII.

Africa Ho !

When Eve Mortimer watchetl the docks fadinef
from her sight, as the great Athintic liner steamed
rapidly out to sea, she felt that she had committed
a foolish act in refusing to become the wife of Ray-
mond Abbott. She saw the shores of America
growing smaller, and realized she was going forth
into an unknown world, where she would probably
pass many a lonely hour. By her own exertions
she had made a place for herself in the world of art,
but would art always prove sufficient to satisfy the
cravings of her woman's heart ? She saw the long
years stretching away into the future, and shuddered
at the thought that she must pass them in the com-
panionship of those who cared naught for her. The
adulation she had received in the past few years
had been like sweet incense to the desolate orphan,
but the time she new must shortly come when she
would no Ioniser be the acknowledged heroine of
the hour. She liad already passed the first mile-

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

stone of her youth. In a few more years her
beauty would begin to fade, her admirers would
seek other and freslier charms, and she would find
herself deserted ; or, worse still, only courted for
the sake of the gold of which she was the possessor.
Raymond, she knew, loved her truly. She would
ever occupy the chief place in his great, noble heart.
Another might seek the hand which should have
been the reward of his fide^'ty, 1but no other would
ever care for her as he had done. She had seen his
sorrowful face, as he stood upon the pier and
watched her as she was borne from his side, and
her heart ached for the grief she would have given
years of her life to assuage, and she had placed an
unsurmountable barrier between them, for what ?
Because of her infatuation for a heartless villain,
who had cruelly trampled upon her heart's best
gift, and held her up to the scorn of an unsympa-
thizing world. She had been a fool ; she could see
it now, when it was too late for her to undo her
foily, and with streaming eyes she sought her room,
as thoroughly homesick and heartsick as any exile
who ever sailed from the shores of America.

Could Raymond, as he sadly journeyed back to
Boston, only have known of- the unavailing tears
which bedewed the sleepless pillow of the woman
he loved with such devotion, how it would have
cheered the lonely hours which followed their sepa-

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

ration ! How he would have flown to her side as
fast as steam could take him, and brought her back
in triumph to his home, the happiest man of whom
the American continent could boast. It was so lit-
tle he liad asked of her in return for his overwhelm-
ing love, and that little had been denied him !

But he could not know, and the weary months
dragged themselves slowly away, the man eating
his heart out in America for the companionship of
his darling, the w^oman, restless and unhappy in
Europe because so many weary miles separated her
from her dearly-prized friend.

The party of friends who had crossed the ocean
in her company, remained a few weeks in Rome,
sight seeing, and then passed along to visit other
scenes, leaving her behind to spend some months in
study. Such had been the programme mapped out
before they left Boston, and Eve, sorely against her
inclinations, adhered to her original plans.

But she could neither settle herself to study nor
become interested in her brush or pencil. Day after
day, she wandered around the ancient ruins with
her sketch book, but the hours were pas.sed in idle-
nes.s. Then, when she made an effort to copy some
of the old pictures, the trea.sures in which Rome
abounded, she became disgusted with the daubs
which disfigured her canvas, and invariably drew
her brush across the surface as the completion of

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

her daily work. An urK.lc'fined fear that lier hand
liad lost its cunning* was continually haunting her,
and she hailed with joy a connuunication from her
friends who had niaile their way into England and
invited her to join them there.

Hastily packing her effects, she turned her back
upon Rome and its picturescjue ruins, and followed
them to the home<lominionsof her .sovereign, to find
on her arrival they luid again changed their plans
and were on the eve of sailing for Cape Town.

"I will go with you," she said, when they in-
formed her of their destination, and seeinf»: the looks
of surprise exchanged between the ladies, added —

"I find I have been working entirely too hard of
late and recjuire a long rest, and complete change of
scene. Africa is out of the beaten track of tourists.
I fancy I shall enjoy the voyage very much."

And the girl honestly tried to deceive herself that
this was the reason she wished to visit Africa. Al-
though, deep down in her lieart she knew her diief
object in going was the faint hope that w'" ,ie a resi-
dent of the dark continent, she might learn some
tidings of her lost lover, Harold Emmer.son.

Slie had no intention of seeking him with the
hope that he would redeem his youthful vow. She
would scorn to follow him over the world for such
a purpose, but apart from her desire to look once
more upon the love of her early youth, there would

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

be a melancholy sweetness in visiting the lands his
feet had trod e'en though they might not meet.

The steamer for Cape Town bore them away
from the coast of "Merrie Old England," and down
througli the tropics on the surface of a glassy sea.
The dreary UKjnotony of the voyage was only
broken by the occasional glimpse of a passing sail,
till at last Table Mountain appeared in the distance,
to their longing eyes, and a few hours afterwards
they were landed upon the shores of Africa.

A few days' rest in Cape Town, after their tire-
some journey, and the migratory spirit again seized
them, and active preparations were pressed forward
for their departure from Johannesburg. Then it
dawned upon Eve that the voyage south had not
been undertaken solely for pleasure. The real ob-
ject was to do H little speculating in the gold fields
of the Transvaal.

The tables of i^heir private sitting room were cov-
eretl with maps of the mining disti'icts, and the
names of Cecil Rhodes, Barney Barnato, and others,
aristocrats of the mining town, were repeated so
frequently as almost to disgust Eve with the expe-
dition. But Harold was probably a resident of
Johannesburg or the vicinity, and the prospect of a
possible meeting with him was a loadstone sufficient-
ly powerful to keep her from turning her back upon
her friends and returning to Europe.

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

It was with a light heart she watched the city of
Cape Town fade in tlie distance, and folding herself
in her travelling cloak, (for although the month of
July, it was midwinter in that southern latitude)
she indulged in a day dream, regarding her success
in her search. That any results might follow their
meeting, were she fortunate enough to find him, she
would not acknowledge to herself, but to look once
more into those dear eyes, and see the tender glan-
ces which had held her heart so completely in thrall
in days gone by, would be a happiness for which she
would be willing to barter a large amount of her
worldly possessions.

A thoroughly wearied party at length arrived in
Johannesburg, and attempted to make their way to
the hotel which had been engafjed in advance for
them, in the teeth of a raging winter's wind, which
had been tearing over the country for several hours.
"A regular Johannesburg blow," t.'ie official had re-
marked when he collected their passes at the end of
the journey, and our friends, peering through the
dust-begrimed car windows at the wild showei'S of
dust and gravel stones without, ardently wished
themselves safely back to the Cape once more.
Everything in the car which they occupied was
covered with a fine white dust, that appeared to
their excited eyes to be drifting through the wooden
sides of the carriage, and which affected the atmos-

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

phere to such an extent as to render breathing
difficult.

But their journey over, and finding theinsclvea
conifortaV)ly housed in an elegant hotel, built with
the object of excluding those periodical sand stonna,
they doffed their dust-laden garments, picked the
gravel stones from their anatomy, and settled down
in their new abode to await future developments.

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

CHAPTER IX.

A Wild Goose Chase.

Raym<»xi) AnnoTr, having l)UHiness to transact i'<»r
his Hrni in Enoland, crossed to London before mak-
injT the voya^^e to Africa. All New York was
arrayed in lioliday attire on that sunny, July day,
when the ship sailed out of her dock with our worthy
Bostonian on hoard. Thebooniingof cannon, niin^knl
with strains of patriotic music, followed the good
ship as she steamed rapidly towards the open sea.
She was decorated from stem to stern with buntincf,
in honor of the great national festival. The golden
ball suspended in the sky above their heads was
pouring her brightest beams upon the citizens of
the American Republic, in a manner which seemed
to proclaim to the world that even Old Sol rejoiced
to see her children occupying a foremost place among
the nations of the earth.

But the city is soon dropped far astern ; no longer
the joyous strains of music are borne to the listening
ears of the voyagers ; the distant roaring of the guns

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

liave ceased. Old Sol, ns it* weaned with the extra
exertion he has l>een compelled to make in order to
sufficiently illuminate the joyous scene, has dipped
his head helow the hori/on for the ])urpose of tak-
'm\f ^ well-earned repose; the pilot, liailinfj a hoat
near tlie entrance of the harbor, has dejmrted shore-
ward, and darkness has settled over the water, broken
only by the glinnnerinf; of the light-ship. The
.steamer, bravely breastin<( the Atlantic billows,
heads eastward, and the search of llayniond Abbott
for Eve's tickle lover has begun. Will he be success-
ful in his (juest, is a (juestion the future alone can
solve.

Reginald Smith, who had returned from England
the week preceding Raymond's departure from Bos-
ton, having transacted the trivial business which
served as an excuse to bring him back to America
on a foi'hn'u hope, set out with Raymond for the
shores of Africa. When I learned of his intention
to accompany my friend, I expressed my surj^riso in
such a foi'cible maimer that the poor fellow had at
.once made a clean breast of his troubles. It was
the remembrance of Maude Abbott's bright eyes
which had served as a loadstone to draw him across
the Atlantic, but finding her beyond his reach on
his arrival, he had manfully swallowed his disap-
pointment, and resolved to spend a year or two in
travel, as a cure for his heartache. He volunteered

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

to assist Ray in his search for the missing Nova
Scotian, an oHer eagerly accepted by my friend, and
I inarvolled at the high spirits displayed by the two
as they set out upon their arduous undertaking.

As most of my leisure time was spent in Maude's
society about this date, we frequently amused our-
selves in speculating upon the future of our four
friends, always deciding that Eve must eventual I}'
marry Raymond, but would Smith or her cousin be
the one who would one day be rewarded by the
hand of Clare, was a problem we at last concluded
must be left for the future to unravel. Having de-
cided it would take months to learn anything re-
garding their matrimonial prospects, I spent tlu-
interval in falling desperately'' in love with the
charming little woman, who had done me such an
lionor in consenting to become my bride.

The travellers (juickly transacte;! their business
in England, .did began their voyage South, impati-
ently counting the <lays as they sailed over the same
course which, unknown to them, Eve had journeye<l
a fi'vv short weeks before.

Arriving at Cape Town, their first act after estab-
lishing themselves on shore was to search the regis-
ters of the numerous hotels, of which the city boasted-

"An endless job," groans Smith, as they wander
fn)m house to house; "unless we are lucky enougli
to light on the fellow at the start, heems to me

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

every other place is a nouse of entertaiiuiient. Then
when we have found his name, if we do, wliat j^^ood
is it going to dd*us? He may be in India before
this."

"We may be able to trace him if we can once got
on his track," answers Raymond, hopefully, as they
turn their back upon the b(!tter parts of the city.

At last a clue was gained. In a low, drinking
den, a man bearing the name of Harold Euuncrson
had stopped for a few days — about the time Harold
would have landed in Afjica.

•'Does this resemble him ?" asked Raymond, hand-
ing a picture to the proprietor.

"That's the chap," answered the man, holding it
closely before his bleared eyes. I remembers him
well."

" Where did he go when he left here ? Do you
think he is still in the city ?"

"Hard to tell. He talked of going to the gohl
fields. If he is living, he i^ likely up north .some-
where. Waren't the chap to turn sailor, and wouMn't
be likely to raise the wind to leave this country in
any other way. Seemed all broke up when he left.
LiK< i, ship at .sea without a compass. Going to be
pretty hard to tind him, though. What's he done,
forgery or murder ?"

"Neither," answers Raymond, haughtily. "As
lar as we know, w^e are not seeking to strike the
trail of a criminal."

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

"Then, perhaps, it's a fortune tluit's come to him ?
Come to think of it, he looked like that sort of a

lap. •

"Nor is there a fortune in the case. Here is
something for your trouble," and Raynjond laid a
bank-note upon the dirty counter, as he politely
bade his informant good day.

"I hopes you will find him, but I has my doubts
about it," croaked tlie man, as his visitors left his
presence.

"I am afraid he is about right," remarks Smith,
as they leave the house. "Our chances of finding
him are about one in a hundred, if we do go north.
Don't you think we had bettci* give it up ?"

"You may, I shall not," returns Raymond, deci-
deilly. "I have not come so many thousan<l miles
to seek him and then turn back at the very door,
simply because 1 did not meet him in the street the
first time I walked abroad after landing. If he is
living, I shall find liinT before I leave this country.
Tlie gold fields were the goal he had in view when
he left home. I shall -follow him into the interior,
after spending a <lay or two more around here.
That the fellow still bore liis right name after he
came here, is one thing in our favor."

"You will find it won't help us much wdien we
reach the mining camps. The gentry among which
her has probably fraternized are usually known by

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

some such cognomen as Dandy Jack, Plucky Joe,
Fiery Dick, and so on. However, you have his
photo. He cannot have chanf^ed so very much in
his appearance in two or three years, that he cannot
be recognized by that. You may possibly discover
him by means of the picture. And it' you are for-
tunate enough to find him, what do you propose to
do with him ?"

"Compel him to release Eve Mortimer from her
engagement to him. A man who would take up his
abode in the den where we found he had been resid-
ing while in this city, is a pretty object, is he not, to
be the betrothed of such a woman as she."

"Oh, as to that, the young man's money maj^ have
given out. He might have been compelled by pov-
erty to seek a shelter in such a place. I would not
act too hastily were I in your place. If he was
really sincere in his efforts to redeem his past, he
may have in a measure succeeded. His mother, it
is said, exerted an evil influence over his life ; her
example removed, he may have l)ecome a different
person. Under those circumstances Eve would in
all probability refuse to accept the freedom which
you would bring her, but would still cling to her old
lover. That he has refused to marry his cousin, and
save himself from ruin by gaining possession of her
fortune, is proof in my eyes that he is not wholly
bad. Weak he must have been, and to a certain

\ ,

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

extent wicked also, but lie must have possessed some
redeeming qualities. What do you propose to do
next ?"

"I shall spend a few days longer in searching this
city, and then go north, probably to Johannesberg.
That, I believe, is the principal place in the interior,
and I have hopes of getting tidings of him there. I
have letters of introiluction to several Americans
who occupy prominent positions in the ndnes near
there, some of whom, no doubt, will be able to lend
me assistance in my search."

"Possibly they may ; but if you will be guided by
my advice, you will relinquish your object. Think-
ing over the matter calmly, I fail to see what good
you can possibly hope to accomplish by unearthing
the fellow."

"I have already told you I would willingly spend
years of my life could I add one iota to the happi-
ness of my poor darling Eve. She has, as you arc
already aware, been tied to this felloW for years, and
in all probability, if someone does not intervene, she-
will consider herself bound to him the rest of hei"
life. She has no relatives to interest themselves in
her welfare. I have promised to be her friend, and
act a brother's part towards her. If I find Harold
Emmerson, either dead or married, she is free. It'
unworthy of her, he shall release her from her
promise. If, as you assert, he may have become an

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

honorable iimii, and still wishes to cl<iiin Eve as his
wife, I shall do all in my power to aid him in his
object, and find my reward in knowin<r I have been
instrumental in promotinf^ her happiness."

vSmith was ett'ectually silenced. Raymond Abbott
had alwaj's been considered a prince of ^ood fellows,
but who amon^ even his most intimate friends had
dreamed he possessed such a (^reat, noble, unselfish
h.eart ? His companion <l»cided, whatever came of
it, to follow him to the end, anil for the next few
days they had explored every foot of Cape Town, in
their (|uest for the missiuf^ man.

At last, convinced that further search in that city
was useless, they made their arrant^enients for de- .
parting to Johannesberg, and calle<l upon the chief
of the detective force, whose aid they had sought
when they first arrived in Afi-ica, for the purpo.se of
acquainting him with their intended departure.

"I have at last obtained a clue, Mr. Abbott," that
functionary remarked, when the two young men
were ushered into his presence. "Of course, I care-
fully kept my eye on every possil)le channel of in-
formation, but this morning, by n^erest chance, one
of my men spotted an individual who had just ar-
rived from the interior, ar 1 when I learned of the
circumstance, I ordero dm sent up to my room.
He had been engaged in mining operations near
Johannesberg, and professed to know most of the

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

miners in tlie vicinity by sight. He had recently
made a small stake, upon which he had struck camp,
and is now about to depart for his native land."

Raymond gave a gesture of iuipatience as he lis-
tened to this prologue. He wondered what possible
interest this fussy official thought he would have in
the success of the unknown miner or his final des-
tination. It was the clue as to Ennnerson's where-
abouts of which he wished to hear.

"I produced the photograph which you left with
me," the chief went on, leisurely, nowise disconcerted
by Ray's impatient manner. "And as soon as the
fellow set eyes on it, he declared it be the likeness
of a man known by the sobriquet of 'Dirty Dick'
among the miners. According to his description, he
is a disreputable fellow, who hangs around Johannes-
berg, bumming his existence from those compelled
to work for their daily bread.* Of course, there is
the possibility of his being mistaken in the man's
identity, b.ut he seemed very positive this Dick was
the man we were looking for. For your sake, I
trust there is a mistake, especially if this Harold
Emmerson is a relative of yours."

"He is no relative of mine," was the haughty

answer

Then there's probably a fortune in the case ?" —
this in an interrogative tone not to be mistaken.
"Your curiosity is evidently getting the better of

A MODERN F.VANGELINE,

your prudence," answered Raymond, coldly. "I am
seeking Emmerson for private reasons, which I do
not consider it necessary to explain. Thanks for
the clue you have given me, and now to settle my
indebtedne.ss to you." •

"Shall I give you a letter of introduction to the
staff' up there?" asked the chief, waving his hand
towards the north.

"No, thanks, I do not rccjuire it, having friends in
Johannesberg who will probably be able to aid me
much better than the police can do."

"Then I wish you a pleasant journey, and success
in your undertaking," and the polite official bowed
his visitors out, feeling excessively annoyed that
they had not taken him into their confidence regard-
ing their search.

"Thank iroodness, we will now be able to shake
the dust of Cape Town from our feet," said Ray-
mond, as they proceeded to their hotc;!, for the pur-
pose of ordering their luggage sent to the depot.

"According to all*accounts, the dust of Johannes-
burg will be a much more serious matter," remarked
his friend.

"Perhaps ; but if we discover what we have come
so far to seek, we will be recompensed for all the
annoyances we may be conipelled to face."

An hour afterwards, nnd the two, firmly clutching
their grips, boarded the northern express, and were

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

soon flyini? over the same road upon wliich Evan^je-
line Mortimer and hur friends luid encountered sucli
a disagreeable journey.

Arrivinf^ in Johannesburg, Raymond's fii'st act
after gettinpf liimself and his friend installed in a
comfortable hotel, was to sally out in search of those
Americans for whom ho possessed letters of intro-
duction, but in every case he found the gentlemen
and their families absent from the city. It was the
time of year when the wealthy citizens sought a
more congenial place of abode.

He was returning to his hotel in rather a discon-
solate frame of mind, when he perceived a familiar
figure standing in the roadway, confronting a dirty
tramp. Ha<l he taken leave of liis senses, or was it
really Eve Mortimer in the flesh whom ho saw be-
fore him ? Ho called her name, first .softly, then in
a louder key, but she heeded him not, her whole at-
tention being given to the disreputable -looking
object before her, and upon whom she w'as gazing
with a, look which reminded her friend of the fasci-
nation a cat exercises over a mou.so it has managed
to secure.

While he was debating with himself whether he
had better go to her aid, he heard a suppressed shriek
from the pavement behind him, and looking down
the street, he was almost paralyzed to behold a pair
of runaway horses, attached to a lieavy carriage

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

(lashinf( towards the woman Ijo adored, and wlio
was perfectly unconscious of the fearful peril to
which she was expose^. With a wild cry of aj^ony
he rushed frantically forward, and hy almost super-
human exertions rescued her, just as she would
have been thrown among the rapidly revolving
wheels.

M
\

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

CHAPTER X.

For Better or for Worse.

Clare Emmerson's youtli had been principally
spent in the home of her aunt, the motljer of Harold.
The child had been left an orplian at an early age,
and this astute woman, hoping to obtain control of
the fortune belonging to the little heiress, had
volunteered to become her guardian. The child's
maternal relatives were shrewd enough to perceive
the wily woman's object, and promptly foiled her l)y
persuading Mr. Emmerson, before his death, to so
tie up his daughter's wealth that his sister-in-law
would be unable to squander any portion of it. As
the greater part of his fortune had come to him
through his wife, he could not refuse to listen to
their advice. A handsome allowance was set apart
for the child's maintenance and education, a sum her
aunt could by no means despise, although bitterly
disappointed v/hen she learned the contents of her
brother-in-law's will.

Clare became an inmate of her aunt's home, and

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

the worldly woman spent much of her time in en-
deavoring to train her ward in a manner which she
considered would do credit to her teaching. The
little lady had not been long a resident beneath her
aunt's roof before she learned that everything must
give way to appearances. What her world would
think, was the ruling principle of Mrs. Enunerson's
life. To wear more fashionable clothes, to drive in
a better carriage, to possess more handsome furni-
ture, and in all things to be consi<lered in a better
position than her neighbors, was, to the shallow
woman, bliss unspeakable. It mattered not how
meagre the fare upon her breakfast table, providing
she could display a sumptuous dinner, if any of her
fashionable friends were seated at her board. Young
as she was, Clare had frequently to exercise con-
siderable control over herself, to prevent the disgust
.she felt from becoming apparent to her relatives,
when she saw the numerous make-shifts so carefully
concealed from the public eye. The noble principles
which had been so carefully instilled into her youth-
ful mind by her parents were soon completely routed
by the teachings of her aunt. The woman possessed
the power of fa.scinating all with whom she came into
cont>?ct, whenever she considered it worth while to
exercise her charms, a (juestion which must be de-
cided in every case by the number of figures which
represented their bank account. It was the dream

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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A MODERN EVANGELINE.

of her life that, wlien Clare had grown to woman-
hood, her son Harold should marry the young heiress,
and the boy, wdio felt a sort of brotherly fondness
for his cousin, promised to comply w^ith his mother's
wishes, which she was rash enough to express before
him in his early youth. With this end in view, she
carefull}?^ trained her niece to be one day the nomi-
nal mistress of her present home, always with the
intention of wielding the sceptre during her life.
She used frequently to point out to the child the
improvements she could make in the place did she
possess the means to carry out her designs, always
ending with the remark : "When you have become
Harold's wife, Clare, and I am lying beneath the
green turf on yonder hill, you must remember how
I planned all this, and have my ideas properl}'^ car-
ried out."

And the young girl, blushing rosily, would shyly
answer : " You will be mistress here for many, many
years, my darling auntie ; but when I am twenty-
one, and can do as I please with my money^ I will
supply you with the means to improve your home,
as you long to see it done."

"No, my dear daughter, it would not be right for
me to take your money and spend it on my own
pleasure. When you become Harold's wife you will
be mistress here. Perhaps, if I am then alive, you
will let me occupy a tiny corner of the dear old

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

home. I know ifc would break my heart to leave it
and my darling son and daughter," — and with misty
eyes, she would draw the girl lovingly into her arms
and imprint a fervent kiss upon the rosy lips, then
dismiss her.

In this way the years glided away. At eighteen
Clare was dul}'^ presented to society, and soon be-
came a reigning belle. Then it was that Mrs. Em-
merson's trials were fairly begun. Suitors gathered
around, attracted by the girl's fresh, young beautj-,
as well as her ample fortune, but her aunt's watch-
ful eye was always upon her, and she was prompt
to nip any flirtation in the bud.

It was evident to all no one would be permitted
to snatch the golden prize from her adored son, if
the devoted mother could prevent it. The young
gentleman was, himself, extremely indifferent to the
treasure his parent was guarding so carefully. Per-
haps had he foreseen more difficulty in winning his
cousin, he might have been more eager to possess
her, but he knew full well that, thanks to the care-
ful preparations of his mother, he had only to ask
the girl to become his wife to find himself accepted
as her future husband.

In spite of all her eftbrts, the and^itious woman
could not induce her son to make a formal proposal
for the hand of her ward. Whenever she mentioned
the matter to him, which was pretty often, he al-

■Vi

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

ways put her off with the remark, that there was
time enough. In this way she spent an anxious
year, and then he electrified her by the announce-
ment that he was the accepted lover of Evangeline
Mortimer. In vain his angry parent stormed. Her
son, who had always been so yielding in most mat-
ters, was hard as adamant. He would marry Eve,
and no other woman. Clare was a nice girl enough,
but she wasn't Eve. And the woman, at last find-
m<z remonstrance and threats alike useless, reluct-
antly gave her consent to the engagement.

After all, she told herself, it might have been
much worse. The Mortimers w^ere a fine old family,
and Eve would, in all probability, inherit a fortune
which would equal, if not exceed, Clare's. True,
Doctor Mortimer was a hale old man, who might
live many years, but Eve was his only child, and he
would, no doubt, bestow upon her a handsome dower
when she became the bride of Harold. Yes, matters
might have been worse. He might have insisted
upon bringing home a penniless wife. That Clare
was bitterl}'^ disappointed was something which
troubled her but little. If she was so foolish as to
bestow her affections upon one who cared nothing
for her, she had no one to blame except herself, and
she must reap the consequences of such an un-
maidenly act. She had done what she could for her
niece's happiness, when she saw the girl's fondness

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

for Harold, but he had not been guided by his
mother's advice, and she exonerated herself from all
blame in the matter.

She issued her invitations for a larfje ball, draiifrinir
the woman who so bravely tried to hide her aching
heart under a mask of indifference, into the festivi-
ties, and drawing on her purse for the greater part
of the expense incurred.

"The engagement must be announced to our
friends," she declared ; "and as Eve has no near
relatives except her father, and he won't take the
trouble to let people know about it, we must show
some interest in the dear girl."

Harold was delighted at this proof of his mother's
kindness of heart. At the best, he had expected
only a reluctant consent to his espousal of Eve, and
she was endeavoring to do all in her power to honor
the choice of her idolized son.

The preparations for their nuptials were rapidly
hurried forward, but before the eventful day arrived,
Doctor Mortimer was stricken down with a mortal
illness. For weeks he lingered, faithfully watclied
over by his devoted daughter, who was sustained in
her hour of bitter trial by the affections of her be-
trothed, and then the end came. At his death, it
was found that his financial affairs were in a fear-
fully involved state, and that Evangeline, instead of
being a wealthy heiress, would come to her new
home a penniless bride.

A MODERN E VANGELINE.

Mrs. Emnierson's opposition to the match was now
renewed. She was not going to give up her position
in the Ennnerson liousehold to the pauper daugliter
of the defunct bankrupt. Harohl must marry his
cousin Clare without dehiy.

The young man, after vaccillatiug between Eve
and Clare for several months, finally consented to
yield to his mother's wishes. In public lie became
Clare's shadow, while privately he still paid the
most devoted attention to Eve.

He borrowed large sums of money from his cousin,
which he stjuandered in reckless speculations, hoping
by this means to repair his shattered fortunes, thus
rendering him independent of his mother, so that he
would still be able to wed the woman he professed
to love.

In this way a year passed, and Clare's patience
becoming exhausted, she refused to advance more
money, unless he made her his wife. Creditors were
becoming clamorous, and ruin was staring him in the
face. Unless he consented to her wishes, he must
give up the beautiful home his mother prized so
highly, and where he had hoped to one day bring
his darling Eve. If he married Clare she would be
lost to him forever. How could he give her up ?
The only way out of his dilemma was a secret mar-
riage. He could still enjoy the companionship of
Eve occasionally, and he would also obtain complete
control of his cousin's fortune.

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

The infatuated girl readily clutched at any straw
which would bind her to her cousin, ajrreed to his
proposal, and not even her aunt was perinitted to
share their secret.

A few weeks after her marriage, Clare was much
relieved to learn that Eve had left her native land.
She felt Harold could present her to the world as
his wife, now tliat the girl could no longer exert
what she considered an evil influence over her hus-
band's life.

But year after year passed, and he still insisted
upon their marriage being kept a secret, till at last
her love was turned to the most bitter contempt.
She wrote a long letter to Eve, explaining all, on
the girl's lir4Bt visit to Nova Scotia, but Eve, recog-
nizing the writing, returned the epistle unopened,
accompanied by a curt note, declining any further
communication from Miss Emmerson.

A year or two sped swiftly by, and one morning
as Clare was about to enter the private sitting-room
of her aunt, she heard the lady's voice raised ;n
angry expostulation, causing her to pause before the
door.

"Your conduct is reprehensible," Mrs. Enmierson
was saying to her son. "For years you hr o danced
attendance upon Clare. You have received large
sums of money from her from time to time, on the
strength of your engagement. Eve Mortimer, no

I, I I, I (

» 1 1

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

doubt, has benefited by her generosity, but this state
of affairs shall exist no lonf^er — you shall marry
your cousin at once,"

"Not so fast, wet mere" exclaimed the young man,
with provoking coolness. "You are unjust to poor
Eve. She is not the sort of a girl who would accept
presents from a lover. But I cannot now marry
your paragon, because I married her years ago, much
against my will, and if the bonds of matrimony have
been one-half as galling to her as to her husband,
she has not enjoyed very much happiness in the
conjugal state."

"Are you crazy ? What do you mean ?" exclaimed
his mother, sharply. "Do you expect me to believe
such nonsense ? That you have been married to
Clare for years. Preposterous !"

"True as gospel ; worse luck. For years I have
been anxiously watching for some symptoms of de-
cline in my beloved wife, but she remains provok-
ingly healthy. There is not the least sign of her
opcupjang an untimely grave. I have begun to fear
of late that it is poor Eve's fate to live a life of
single blessedness."

"Wretched boy, can this be true," groaned the
unhappy woman, and a smothered shriek broke
from her as the door flew open, and, like a tornado,
her niece burst into the apartment.

"You have heard all, Clare ?" she asked, piteously,

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

as slio saw the wronrjed wife standing above her
with the look of a demon.

"I have heard all," was the scornful reply; "and
I sincerely trust — "

But the sentence was never finished, a white foam
riecked the livid lips of her aunt, and she fell faint-
ing upon the floor.

An hour after, and her spirit had fled from its
mortal shell.

They laid her to rest with her kindred dust, and
her son, still scorned by his wift., surrendered his
ancestral home to his creditors, and innnediately de-
parted for South Africa.

The angry woman, as she listened to the scream
of the locomotive which bore him from his native
village, dropped her wedding ring among the glow-
ing coals in the grate, and smilingly faced the world,
vowing that none should ever learn her secret.

Soon after, she met Charlie Salter, and his atten-
tions aroused her dormant affections, and caused her
to bitterly deplore the galling bonds by which she
was bound.

Grand Pre became intolerable to her after his de-
parture, and feeling that work was the only panacea
for her wretchedness, she entered a training school
for nurses in the city of Boston, where, after a few
months, she again met the man she loved.

When he asked her to become his wife she deter-

1 t

■•-?---»■

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

mined to break liei* fetters, and writing an explan-
atory letter to her lover, she immediately started
for Africa in search of her truant husband, resolving,
if she found him still living, to lose no time in ap-
plying for a divorce.

The letter, which would have unraveled the dread-
ful tangle, we have already seen was not destined to
fulfil its mission, but remained for months hidden
in her lover's desk, not to be unearthed until the
writer's hand had long mingled with the dust of her
erring husband in a foreign grave, and Eve Mortimer
had long since learned to bless the name of the noble
woman, towards whom for years she had cherished
such a bitter hatred.

. I

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

CHAPTER XI.

Glare's Kede.mi'tion.

When Raymond Abbott rescuod Eve from her
perilous position, he bore her apparently inanimate
form to his hotel, which was fortunately only a
short distance away. He laid her down, and hun^
almost distracted above her couch, in spite of the
assurance of the attendant physician that she had
received no injuries except a slit,dit shock to her
nerves, and that she would soon recover her consci-
ousness. In spite of his prediction, her fainting fit
was a long one, and it was only after using the most
powerful restoratives that she at last opened her
eyes, and called in piteous accents for Harold.

She became so excited in her anxiety to learn the
fate of her old lover, that at last Raymond reluct-
antly quitted hei*side to seek tidings of the drunken
reprobate, wiio had, by stopping her path, so nearly
sent her to her death.

A weary search at last revealed the once debonnair

i^%

100

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

I!„xOl(l Euirnerson, a crushed and bleeding mass,
from whicli the spark of life had fled.

Several torn letters bearinf^ his name had been
discovered among his filthy garments, and also a
tiny locket, containing the pictured face of Eve in
her early womanhood, thus establishing his identity
bej'ond the shadow of a doubt. The golden trinket
had been preserved by him in all his wanderings,
thus proving that Eve had been loved by him in his
selfish way, in spite of the shameful manner in which
she had been treated.

"Let it be placed in his grave," said Abbott, hand-
ing it back to the official ; and knowing that Eve
would never forgive him if he allowed the man she
had loved to occupy the grave of a pauper, lie gave
orders that the mangled remains were to be placed
in an elegant casket, and promising to have arrange-
ments made later in the day regarding the funeral,
and also to bear all the expenses incurred, he re-
traced his steps to the hotel, to bear the news of
Harold's death to Eve.

On the following day, leaning on Raymond's arm,
she followed her false lover to the tomb, and after
giving orders to have the grave enclosed and a
suitable monument raised above him, she returned
home, and prepared for her immediate return to
America,

On the evening before her departure from Johan-

A MODERN EVAN'JELINE.

lor

nesburg, she waiKlered to the cemetery to place a
last Horal oftering above Harold's lowly V»e(l. As
she drew near, she was surprised to see a woman
bendinfr over the grave, and the hot, indignant blood
coursed angrily through her veins as she recognize<l
her old rival, Clare Ernmerson, kneeling before her.

"What brings yoxi here?" she almost hissed,
stepping back a pace to avoid touching the bowed
form before her. "Have you not worked sufficient
evil to Harold during his lifetime, but you must
needs come here to disturb the slumbers of the
dead ?"

"It should not disturb the dead man's rest to know,
if it is possible for him to knovv,'that his wife drops
a few tears upon his clay," answered Clare, humbly.

"His wife! Do you expect me to believe such
rubbish as that ? " retorted Eve, scornfully. " In spite
of your wicked scheming, Harold Emmersoii never
could be induced to do you such an honor. Even
your gold was powerless to bribe him."

"Nevertheless, he did do me the honor to make
me his wife. Most people, however, would call it a
rather doubtful honor," answered Clare, angrily.
"If you require proof of my assertion, liere it is,"
and she extended a sheet of paper towards her com-
panion.

Reluctantly, Eve took the document in the extreme

102

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

tips of her dainty fingers, and rapidly ran her eyes
over what was written thereon.

"Deceived! Betrayed!" she shrieked. "To think
that all those years the husband of another woman,
the villain who lies there, has dared to insult me
with his protestations of affection ! Clare Emmer-
son, enjoy your doubtful triumph ! Your dastardly
husband has richly merited the fearful punishment
he has received. Beware, that retribution does not
follow as swiftly after your footsteps. There is the
proof of your treachery," and she contemptuously
hurled the certificate she had been holding, at the
other's feet, as she swept niajestically from the spot.

Raymond had secretly followed her when he saw
her quit the hotel alone. Instinct told him she was
about to 4)ay a farewell visit to the grave of her
early love, and not caring to have her wandering
around the city alone at that hour, he had followed,
for the purpose of escorting her back to the hotel
when she left the cemetery. While he waited anxi-
ously for her appearance near the entrance, she
suddenly passed him like a whirlwind, the look of
scorn with which she favored him as she swept by
almost annihilating the young man. "What," he
asked himself, "can be the meaning of her strange
conduct V

He thrust his hands deeply into his [pockets and

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

103

began to whistle a melancholy air, as he sauntered
leisurely along in the direction she had taken.

Her conduct was inexplicable to him. She had
received his attentions so gratefully during the past
few days, that he had fondly cherished the hope of
one day, after the keen edge of her grief had been
worn oft',* being rewarded for his faithfulness by the
gift of her priceless love.

"Truly, tliere is no accounting for the whims of a
woman," he muttered, then suddenly started, as a
light seemed to be thrown on the mystery.

" By Jove ! I don't believe those fellows I employed
to fix up that grave have been doing their duty. I
must see about this at once," and turning, he retraced
his steps. He had not taken a dozen steps before
he came face to face with Clare Enimerson. A
smothered imprecation burst from him. Was there
no spot on this earth to which he could carry his
darling Eve, that her evil genius would not follow ?
To this wretched woman he was indebted for the
contemptuous manner witli which Eve liad just
treated him. He would learn what had passed be-
tween them.

"Good evening, Miss Emmerson," he began, as ho
courteously raised his hat. "What happy chance
has brought you to this part of the world ? Have
you seen Miss Mortimer since your arrival ?"

I04

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

"I have just parted with Miss Mortimer," she an-
swered, sadly, "at the grave of my husband."

Raymond started violently.

"Your husband!" he repeated,incredulously. "Your
husband was — "

"Harold Emmerson."

"Does Eve know this ?"

"She learned to-night for the first time that the
man who lies yonder, and who has deceived us both
so shamefully, was my husVjand for ten long years."

"Does it not strike you, Mrs. Emmerson, that you
are equally guilty with your husband to have per-
mitted such a deception ?"

"Perhaps! A woman in love is not always ac-
countable for her actions. I was forbidden by
Harold to make our marriage public, and he had
sufficient influence over me to ensure my obedience.
But I am not wholly to blame. I did endeavor to
warn Miss Mortimer, but she returned my letter un-
opened. I felt certain Harold loved her, but had I
not come between them, he would never have married
her while she remained in poverty. He was too
selfish for that, and his mother possessed too much
influence over him. Had he been free when she
accumulated her wealth, things probably would have
been different, for I believe Eve cared enough for
him to forgive him everything."

"And you did not ?"

A MODERN F.VANGELINE.

^05

"No, when I learned how the man had deceived
nie tor the purpose of obtaining my fortune to
squander on his own selfish pleasures, my love died
a violent death."

"Then why have you come so far to seek him ?"

"I wished to know his fate, I wished to be free,
in order that I might wed the man I loved."

"And that man is — "

"Charlie Salter."

A cold shiver crept over Raymond.

"Your freedom has come too late," he said, slowly.
"Charlie is probably, by this time, the husband of
my cousin Maude."

A wild scream broke from her, and she fell sense-
less at his feet.

"Confound a woman !" he muttered. "Tell them
something disagreeable, and oti they go into a dead
faint. The farther away from a habitation, the
better they are pleased. What in the world am I
to do with her ?"

He looked helplessly around. There was no one
within call, the nearest house was some distance oti",
and not a drop of water to be had. He leant over
the prostrate girl, impatiently chafing her nerveless
hands, but her eyes remained obstinately closed.

"There is no help for it, I suppose I must carry
her into the city," and he raised her into his strong
arms, and staggered along under his burden, wonder-

l-f'

io6

A MODERN' EVANGELINE.

ing what he was to do with her when he reached
the end of his journey. He could not take her to
the hotel, for Eve hated her so bitterly, she would
not remain under the same roof which sheltered her
for an hour. Nor did he feel heartless enough to
leave the stricken girl among strangers in this
strange land.

A sound of wheels broke the stillness, coming in
his direction, and laying his burden gently down by
the roadside, he hailed a passing cab as she languid-
ly opened her eyes and faintly asked for water.

With the assistance of the cabman she was lifted
into the vehicle, and, giving the n^^'iie of her hotel,
she was whirled rapidly towards it. '

Raymond sank back among the cushions with a
sigh of relief. He would place her in the care of
the proprietor and send Smith to look after her.

The following morning while Raymond waited
impatiently for Eve's appearance, word was brought
that she wns too ill to leave her room. A doctor
was sent for, and, to the consternation of her friends,
informed them the young lady was attacked with
the small pox.

The landlord raged like a madman, vowing she
should not remain in his house an hour. She must
go to the hospital at once.

"What kind of attention will she receive there ?"
asked her lover anxiously.

fit

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

107

Doctor Morton shrugged his shoulders by way of
answer.

"She shall not be sent there," said the young
man, decidedly.

"Can you suggest anything better ? She will not
be permitted to remain here."

"Can we not rent a small cottage somewhere and
remove her ? The cost will not be considered, pro-
vided we can make her comfortable."

"Who is to nurse her? Will any of her friends
undertake the task ?"

But when appealed to, those who had ticconlpanied
Eve to Africa, drew back, affrighted at such a pro-
posal.

"I will care for her myself," said Raymond, when
he informed the medical man of his failure.

"You can hardly undertake such a task alone.
She would be as well off in the hospital."

"Is there no professional nurse you could engage
to assist me ?"

"I know of no one I should care to recommend in
this case," said the physician thoughtfully.

"Then Heaven help the poor girl," moaned the
young man,

"I will assist you in your task," said a voice l)e-
hind them, and the two, turning, beheld Clare
Emmerson.

:C-'

io8

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

"Have you had any experience in nursing ?" asked
the doctor of the new coiner.

"I spent a year in the General Hospital in Boston,"
was her reply.

"Ever attended small pox patients?"

"No."

'Ever had the disease ?"

"No."

"Been vaccinated ?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Last.^ winter."

'•Are you aware of the risk you run in volunteer-
ing for this case ?"

"Perfectly. But what is my life as compared
to hers?" „ ' '

"I suppose you are aware you will both be quar-
antined ?"

Both expressed iheir willingness to submit to this,
and after considerable search a small cottage was
secured at an exorbitant rent, and hastily fitted up,
regardless of expense. Eve was promptly removed
to this asylum, and the two began a bitter fight
with the grim monster who struggled so hard for
his prey.

Day after day of ceaseless watching and at last
the good doctor held out a faint hope of the sick
woman's recovery.

A MODERDT EVANGELINE.

109

But her faithful nurse, whose untiring care had
saved Eve's life, was stricken with tlie fearful
disease, and before a week passed, Raymond stood
above the grave of Harold Eninierson, and saw his
wronged wife laid by his side.

"She has given her life to save that of her once
bitter rival," thought the solitary mourner ; "and if
ever woman has atoned for a wrong done to an-
other, Clare Ernmerson is certainly that woman,"

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

CHAPTER XII.

Eve's Flight.

As SOON as possible after Clare's death, the good
doctor obtained permission from the authorities for
Eve to leave her prison.

He advised the destruction of all furniture which
the sick rooms contained, and ordered the entire
house to be fumigated.

The girl had frequently wondered during her con-
valescence why Raymond and the doctor regarded
her with such looks of pity. Her room had been
fitted up so hastily that a mirror had not been in-
cluded among the furnishings. The nurse who had
taken Clare's place had carefully attended to her
toilet, and she had not noticed the omission, till one
afternoon, being left alone, it suddenly occurred to'
her that smallpox patients were disfigured for life.
She looked anxiously around for some means of
examining her face, but there was no mirror to be
found. She feverishly examined the contents of

A MODERN R VANGELINE. 1 1 1

her hand-bacr, and a tiny plioto frame, quicksilvereil
at the bottom, was brouglit to li^ht. Over tliis in»-
promptu mirror she bent, and cried aloud in her
agony as a portion of her poor, scarred face was re-
vealed to her. She now understood why Raymond
spent so little of his time at lier side. It was the
beaidifal Evani^eline Mortimer he had loved, not
this frightful apparition who had usurped her place.
His eyes never should be offended by a sight of her
again. She would leave Johannesburg at once, to-
night, and bury herself in some place wliere he could
never find her, even should he endeavor to do ^o.
She wrote him a long letter of farewell, and lying
down upon her couch, turned her face towards the
wall, and remained in that position till darkness fell
upon the city. She sent her attendant away upon
a pretended errand, and quickly arraying herself in
her travelling dress, and filling a travelling bag with
a few necessary articles, she crept softly away from
the house. She walked quickly to the depot, and
procuring a ticket, booked her luggage, which hail
been waiting there since the first day of her illness,
entered the train, which was on the point of start-
inof, and when morning dawned she was far awav
from the city where she had Vjuried her love, youth
and happiness.

When the nurse retui-ned, after performing the

L. ■■'

112

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

trivial orrand she was sent out to do, slie was dis-
mayed to find the house empty and her patient ^one.
An anxious seai-ch revealed the letter which had
been left for Raymond, and hearing; his footsteps,
she hastened to deliver it to him.

Full of anxiety, he broke the seal, and a pfroan
escaped hitn as he mastered the contents. Forget-
ting the disfigured woman he had been compelled to
look upon for the past few days, he only remembered
the beautiful Eve he had learned to love was wan-
dering unprotected in this strange land. He followed
her to the depot, tp find, as he expected, the train
gone, and that she had gone also was plainly evident.
She had booked her luggage direct to Cape Town.
Trusting he might reach the coast before siie could
sail, he followed on the next train, only to find he
had entered the city twelve hours too late. The
steamer had sailed that morning, and Eve had sailed
in her for England.

There was nothing to be done except wait for the
next boat, and then followed one of the most trying
jnonths Raymond Abbott had ever experienced.

But the weary waiting at last ended, and the
young man reached England, to find all trace of Eve
was lost after she landed from the steamer.

"She has probably crossed at once to America,"

said Reginald Smith, who still accompanied his

> friend, and Raymond, considering this probable, did

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

not waste time in useless search in Kngland, but
sailed directly for home.

Arriving in Boston, his first act was to visit Eve's
hankers, who were fortunately known to the young
man, to find Eve had indeed returned to America
and withdrawn all her deposits from the bank. The
manager either could not, or would not, give liis
visitor any information regarding her present where-
abouts, and Raymond at last left his presence, feel-
ing completely baffled. He next visited Grand Pre,
with no better success, and returned to Boston, where
he spent the next few months.

But the d^mon of unrest had assumed complete
control of him, and after a few months, he turned
his face towards the west.

For some time I heard from him regularly, after
his departure, then his letters suddenly ceased. I
had not, however, nmch time to wori'y about my
friend. My dear wife, who had contracted a severe
cold soon after the birth of our son, had for some
time been almot^t a helpless cripple. She was ordered
by her medical attendant to spend the winter in a
warm climate, so accordingly we decamped for
Southern California.

She did not derive as much benefit from the change
as we had anticipated, and as the spring drew near,
I began to fear she wouM never recover complete
use of her limV>s.
8

i
I

114 A MODERN E VANGELINE.

"Why do you not try the Bantt' Hot Springs?"
one (lay asked an acijuaintance, to whom I was re-
tailing my woes. "Tiiey are considered a sure cure
for rheumatic patients."

"Where are they ?" I eagerly asked.

He looked at me as it' he could not comprehend
such ignorance. Then with a half contemptuous
shrug of his shoulders, replied : "Somewhere among
the Rocky mountains on the Canadian Pacific."

"How do you reach there ?"

Again a look of surprise, as he advised me to take
the steamer to Vancouver, then inland for a few
hundred miles. •

I would have gone to the moon had there been
the faintest hope of the trip being of benefit to
Maude. I returned to our lodgings full of my plan,
and the dear little woman, seeing my heart set upon
it, readily consented, and ordered the nurse to pack.

I pass over the delightful journey northward.
We settled ourselves in delightful apartments at the
magnificent C. P. K. hotel, and before a week had
passed I had the joy of seeing my wife glide around
her room without the aid of the cane which had
been her inseparable companion for the past year.
A few weeks spent among the hot sulphur baths
completely restored my darling, and with a feeling
of thankfulness we prepared for our departure east-
w^ard.

A MODERN FA'ANGEI.INE.

»'5

Going out to take a Hnal stroll ftround the lovely
mountain resort, for we were to leave on the follow-
ini( morning, I encountered Raymond AblH)tt, ac-
companied by a stranger, a short disUvnce from tiie
hotel.

"What brings you here V was the sinniltaneous
exclamation of both, as our hands met in a hearty
clasp.

1 explained that my wife had been ordered here
for her health.

"And I," said Ray, "have been looking after some
mining property over there," (pointing to the west);
"I caught cold, got a severe dose of rheumatism, and
came down here for a swim in these medicinal
waters. How long do you stay ?"

I expbiined that it was our intention to leave the
following morning, but now that I had met him, if
Maude did not object, we would postpone our de-
parture for a ti'iy or two.

"Great place, this?" said Ray enthusiastically.
What a man Van Home must be to have developed
so much in so short a time ! By the way, he is here
now. His private car was side tracked down there
this afternoon. Let us have a look at her," and ac-
companied by the stranger whom Raymond intro-
duced as Mr. Madison, we sauntered leisurely down
the track. A warning cry startled us and we
sprang to one side, as a hand-car, propelled by a

!(<

^tf

ii6

A MODERN EVANGELINE,

white man and a couple of Chinamen, rolled by.
Seated on the front of the car were a couple of
women, clad in the black vestments of the Sisters of
Charity.

"A motley crowd!" I remarked, with a lij^ht
laugh. "Are the Chinamen trying to abduct the
good sisters, do you think ?"

"They are probably out on a collecting tour for
some of their institutions," said Madison. "The
foreman is a Roman Catholic, and he has invited
them houie to dinner. Ke has nice bachelor quar-
ters over there," (and he pointed in the direction
the car was going), "and he is not a little proud of
his home."

"A queer place for a couple of nuns, at a bachelor's
board," I exclaimed. "I am surprised at them going
to such a place."

"You shall be fined for that," laughed Madison ;
"march right in here and hand over a V without
demur." And he stepped from the track, passed up
a rude flight of steps, and knocked briskly at the
door of a comfortable looking shanty. The clatter
of dishes was heard within as we waited. The
door was thrown open and an appetizing odor greet-
ed us.

"Good evening, Fred," said our companion. "We
wish to give the good sisters a trifle towards their
hospital."

■;'*■■

A MODERN EVANGELINE,

117

The elder woman came forward to receive the do-
nation, while the younger scarcely raised her eyes
from the book she held in her hand.

"Eve!" cried Raymond, pushing me aside as I
was in the act of placing a bank note in tiie out-
stretched hand of the sister. Quickly grasping the
money, she stepped before the younger woman as if
to shield her from harm, but she was not quick
enough to prevent me from recognizing, in the pale,
frightened face, the once beautiful features of
Evangeline Mortimer.

To Ray's agonized entreaties that she would speak
to him once more, she paid not the slightest atten-
tion, and I, seeing how they both were suffering,
grasped him by the arm, and led him from the
building.

"Oh, Charlie, I must see her once more," he
moaned, when we reached the open air; "I must
learn her reason for hiding from me as she has
done."

"Nonsense, man," I answered sternly. "Another
meeting can give you no pleasure. She is as effectu-
ally lost to you now as if the grave had closed over
her, and perhaps it is better so. Did you not ob-
serve how terribly plain she is. She looked almost
hideous in the garb she was wearing.

"Charlie, don't. Did my darling think I should
love her less because she lost her beauty ? Is that

1 1 8 A MODERN E VANGELINE.

the reason, do you suppose, that she has hidden her-
self so far from lioine and friends ?"

"I have no doubt that is the explanation. But
whatever her reason, you will probably never learn
it now. Do not torture the poor girl, by trying to
obtain an interview, for, rest assured, you will not
succeed."

"I shall wait here till she leaves that place, and
then I will confront her, though she were guarded
by Hfty demons," he answered doggedly ; and I,
seeing how useless was further argument, impatient-
ly waited by his side.

In about an hour the door slowly opened, and the
two came forth, accompanied by the young foreman.

"Eve, my darling, speak to me once more," moaned
Raymond, rushing to her side. But if she heard,
she did not betray herself, and the only reward he
received for his weary waiting was a withering
glance from her companion.

Raymond stood with his arms folded across his
breast and his eyes fixed upon the retreating forms,
till they vanished in the distance, then drawing a
long sigh, he slipped his arm through mine, and we
returned to the hotel.

Not a word was spoken about Eve by either of
us, during our stay at Banff, and it was not till we
were well on our way eastward that I informed
Maude of our encounter.

r 1 1

i \

1 1 f

A MODERN E VANGEUNE. 119

A few weeks after our return to Boston, while
looking over some old letters, I came across one un-
opened, and wondering how it oiime there, I hastily
broke the seal.

I started, as my eye rested upon the signature,
and turning it over, I read the confession of Clare
Emmerson, written the night before she left Boston.

Sadly thinking how much misery might have
been saved had I only known its contents before, I
tore up the epistle and tossed the scraps in my waste
basket. My little wife should never know how her
friend had loved my unworthy self.

Of Raymond Abbott I heard nothing more till the
following spring. One afternoon I was seated in
my office, working at some knotty problem, when I
heard a well known step upon the stairs, a joyous
burst of song in the passage, then the door flew
open, and a hearty slap upon the back caused me to
raise my head impatiently, and Ray grasped me by
both hands, exclaiming :

"Just arrived in the city an hour ago, my wife
and I. Came at once to look 3'^ou up."

"Did you manage to rescue Eve, after all ?" I in-
quired.

For an infant a look of sadness flitted 'vcross his
face, then the brightness returned.

"Eve is buried in a Western convent, you know,
while Reg and I have married two lovely twin

rTTi^^Tiiwwrr-nrijriiii|«i|iniwi<iMiMiiiiii»iu. ,«.^<ip»,

120

A MODERN EVANGELINE.

sisters we met in the golden State. Oh, Charlie,
they are just the sweetest — "

"Yes, I know," I interrupted, hastily. "They are
just the sweetest angels who were ever attired in
earthly draperies, and you want me to come at once
and be introduced, and I (flinging down my pen
and rising from my seat) am at your service."

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