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 * . ' : -' ♦•'^■^ssx. 
 
 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. 
 
•St 
 
 
 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 
 
 m 
 
8 
 
 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 
 
 il 
 
A MODERN EVANGELINE. 
 
 II 
 
 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. 
 
13 
 
 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. 
 
 13 
 
 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 
 
14 
 
 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. 
 
 5 
 
 ur or 
 antic 
 
 ■".i-^ 
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 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. 
 
 I 
 
A AfODEJ^N EVANGELINE. 
 
 n 
 
 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 
 
 2 
 
i8 
 
 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. 
 
 '9 
 
 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 
 
 20 
 
 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. 
 
 21 
 
 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, 
 
22 
 
 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. 
 
 23 
 
 ■■■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 
 
 I 
 
 r 
 
 1 1 } 
 
 'A. 
 
 24 
 
 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 
 
 41 
 
 % 
 

 A MODERN F.VANGELINE, 
 
 25 
 
 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. 
 
26 
 
 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 
 
 J 
 
 ■m^"' 
 
w 
 
 ir-f^ 
 
 A MODERN EVANGELINE. 
 
 i7 
 
 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- 
 
 *':■<'' 
 
28 
 
 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 
 
n 
 
 30 
 
 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 
 
 \ ^ 
 
w 
 
 A MODERN EVANGELINE. 
 
 31 
 
 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 
 
r^ 
 
 s 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 32 
 
 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. 
 
 |i 
 
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 
 
 3 
 
54 
 
 .-/ 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. 
 
 II 
 
\ 'VS. 
 
 R ■;' ": 
 
 ./ MODERX EVANGELINE. 
 
 35 
 
 ; 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'' 
 
 U 
 
 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. 
 
 37 
 
 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 
 

 38 
 
 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 
 
im 
 
 A .\fODERN EVANGELIXE. 
 
 39 
 
 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 
 
40 
 
 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- 
 
 vy 
 
 .^^■ 
 
 .•/ MODERN EVANGELIXE. 
 
 41 
 
 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- 
 
I 
 
 it 
 
 1 
 
 y 
 
 f 
 
 
 y 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 'Hi 
 
 1^ 
 
 42 
 
 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 
 
 j^ 
 
A MODERN El'AXGELIXE. 
 
 43 
 
 '. 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 
 
44 
 
 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. 
 
 45 
 
 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 
 
5 
 
 ' ,.''■ 
 
 ! 
 
 1 
 
 
 ■1 
 
 
 W- 
 
 
 . '^m 
 
 >.,. 
 
 46 
 
 /; 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. 
 
 f- 
 
 RW 
 
A MODERN EVANGEI.IXE. 
 
 47 
 
 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 
 
48 
 
 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, 
 
 49 
 
 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 
 
so 
 
 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. 
 
 SI 
 
 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 
 
52 
 
 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. 
 
 53 
 
 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, 
 
54 
 
 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. 
 
 55 
 
 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 
 
 56 
 
 A MODERN EVANGELINE. 
 
 r 
 
 % 
 
 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. 
 
 57 
 
 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," 
 
58 
 
 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. 
 
 59 
 
 "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 
 
6o 
 
 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. 
 
 6i 
 
 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." 
 
69 
 
 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, 
 
 ^l 
 
 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 : — 
 
64 
 
 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 
 
66 
 
 A MODERN EVANGELINE. 
 
 i 
 
 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. 
 
 67 
 
 "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. 
 
68 
 
 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. 
 
 69 
 
 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- 
 
70 
 
 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. 
 
 71 
 
 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 
 
72 
 
 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. 
 
 73 
 
 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. 
 
74 
 
 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. 
 
 75 
 
 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. 
 
76 
 
 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. 
 
 77 
 
 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 
 
78 
 
 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. 
 
 79 
 
 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." 
 
8o 
 
 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 
 
y 
 
 A MODERN EVANGELINE. 
 
 8i 
 
 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 
 
 \ , 
 
82 
 
 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. 
 
 83 
 
 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 
 
84 
 
 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, 
 
 85 
 
 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 
 
 '\ 
 
 t 
 
86 
 
 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. 
 
 87 
 
 (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 
 \ 
 
 f 
 
 ^ 
 
 % 
 
 I 
 
88 
 
 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. 
 
 89 
 
 
 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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 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 
 
u 
 
 A MODERN EVANGELINE. 
 
 91 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 0^ 
 
92 
 
 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. 
 
 93 
 
 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. 
 
94 
 
 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. 
 
 95 
 
 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 
 
 96 
 
 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, 
 
1^ 
 
 r 
 
 A MODERN EVANGELINE. 
 
 97 
 
 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- 
 
 7 
 
 1 t 
 
■•-?---»■ 
 
 98 
 
 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. 
 
 99 
 
 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 
 
 d 
 
 i^% 
 
 g 
 
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- 
 
u 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 
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 ?" 
 
i 
 
 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- 
 
 m 
 
 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," 
 
no 
 
 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 
 
 Ti 
 

 A MODERN EVANGELINE. 
 
 "3 
 
 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 
 
 ^4 
 
 
 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 
 
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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