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HARRIS, l^uthor of " Mr. Perkins, of Noya Scotia," ** A Romantic Romance/' etc., etc. WOLFVILLE, N. S. rjrrijm X{m 'r1 ;1- •^m. 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. / ^/' '■' \' ( ' '^1 ^^ '•"V. Enxered according to Act of the Parliainent of Canada^ in the year IHUH, hy Carrfe J. Harris, at the Department of AijricuUure. J -.... I O M # '^r ■ ». n r: *- TO.. >■ t I { ff '( ■:, % r ^ 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-^ ith( nov idl( A MODERN EVANGELINE. 5 ur or antic ■".i-^ •'1# ■,f treated to cohiinn after column of nonsense gleaned during your visit here, and all served up in your most romantic style, and illustrated with sketches from your illustrious pencil. But seriously speak- ing, you have heen over-doing yourself for the past year, and you have no right to waste those hours which wei'e given you for rest, in working for your emplcjyers. You must not rob yourself for the benefit of the public. You will spend your time far more profitably if you occupy it in boating, bathing, riding, walking, fishing, and so forth. A couple of miles away across that dyke land ^'ou will tind Evangeline Beach. The road which leads to it is a perfect bicycle track, and once there, 'tis an ideal lounging place on a sultry afternoon. A dip into its briny watei', or a row on its rippling surface, is more invigorating than all the tonics ever con- cocted. But if you really wish to treat j^our readers to a dish of Acadian romances, hunt out some of the old residents and olttain the tales they have to tell, which you can repeat for the most part, without alteration. Those stories handed down from gener- ation to generation will bear the stamp of trut!i upon their face, and will be far more acceptable to i^tlie public than anything invented b}* the modern [novelist." "Many thanks for your kind advice, but a life of Kdleness, even for a few weeks, would serve to drive 1 6 A MODERN EVANGELRYE. me nearly frantic. Those old tales may be valuable readinjj^, but I should prefer to have them served up in a lespectable dress before presenting them to the public." "As you please. But do not lose sight of the fact that they lose the greater part of their charm when stripped of the simple language in which they ai*e clothed by the native. That is, admitting they possess a charm at the beginning. Foi* my own part. I consider them simply rubbish from start to finish. Of course it is an acknowledged fact that a lot of Frenchmen were cruelly' banished from their homes in this valley during the last century, but those heartrending stories upon which we have been regaled from time to time regarding the separation of devoted lovers an<l their lasses, is utter nonsense. Constancy was probably as rare an article at that date as at the present time, and how many residents of this country to-day, do you imagine, W(Kild elect t ) pass their lives in single blessedness if separated by force from the objects of their hearts' desire ? I would give the average female about three months to heal her wounded heart, and seek another lover to become the object of her devotion. This falling in love is as nmch a fable as the conversation of the wolf with Little Re«l Riding Hood. Women, I admit, are sometimes pleasant company, but were I about to choose my life companion I would prefer a goodly number from whom to select my mate. 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 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I ■-IIIIIM IIM I" 1^ lAo II 2.0 1.25 mm 1-4 IIIIII.6 V /. {/ / Jig, 1^*% ^ /J;^, f/. v] <? /^ e. ^1 'c*l .%\^' %^ "^C J*/ o /,. 7 ^ ^e. Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ,%'^'' \ \ ^9) V ^ c^ % n.^ f^*^ ^ i 90 A MODERN EVANGELINE. of her life that, wlien Clare had grown to woman- hood, her son Harold should marry the young heiress, and the boy, wdio felt a sort of brotherly fondness for his cousin, promised to comply w^ith his mother's wishes, which she was rash enough to express before him in his early youth. With this end in view, she carefull}?^ trained her niece to be one day the nomi- nal mistress of her present home, always with the intention of wielding the sceptre during her life. She used frequently to point out to the child the improvements she could make in the place did she possess the means to carry out her designs, always ending with the remark : "When you have become Harold's wife, Clare, and I am lying beneath the green turf on yonder hill, you must remember how I planned all this, and have my ideas properl}'^ car- ried out." And the young girl, blushing rosily, would shyly answer : " You will be mistress here for many, many years, my darling auntie ; but when I am twenty- one, and can do as I please with my money^ I will supply you with the means to improve your home, as you long to see it done." "No, my dear daughter, it would not be right for me to take your money and spend it on my own pleasure. When you become Harold's wife you will be mistress here. Perhaps, if I am then alive, you will let me occupy a tiny corner of the dear old 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." vir ■, X •lie, are in nee pen i ■•.-•■•■,« -1^;,^ \ The " Hants Joui Newspaper & Job Printing Esta WINdJoR, nova SCOTIi . . Is one of the best equipped o^ces in the Pi BOOK. LEGAL and COMMERCIAL '»«" i-'^'-i «^* ■ *&-; PRIN A trial of the work will suffice to show that th to send abroad for any kind of printing, bo quality and price. Legal, Note and Lett< Weddifig Invitations and Announcements, Cards, printed in a new type which is an imitation of the engraver's art. WRITE FOR PRICES. The "Hants Journal" is published ever $1.00 per annum In advance. Send for frc Ht* - . ^ Advertisers find It an excellent medium. J AS. J. AN B^tor a