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THE HEARTHSTONE SERIES 
 
 A series of GOOD STORIES in an attractive 
 form at a low price 
 
 50 cents each 
 
 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES J. T. Trowbridge 
 
 THE CAMPION DIAMONDS Sophie May 
 
 THE MAN WHO STOLE A MEETING HOUSE 
 
 J. T. Trowbridge 
 
 GETTING AN INDORSER By Oliver Optic 
 
 (William T. Adams) 
 
 THE STORY OF A BOOM TOWN Ellen J. Cooley 
 EXILED FROM TWO LANDS Everett T. Tomlinson 
 
 Our Complete Catalogue sent on application 
 
 LEE and SHEPARD Publishers Boston 
 
Question of Damages 
 
 BY 
 
 J. T. TROWBRIDGE 
 
 Author of " Cudjo's Cave" " Neighbor Jackwood " "Three 
 Scouts" " Tinkham Brothers' Tide-Mill" etc. 
 
 BOSTON 
 LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 
 
 10 MILK STREET 
 1897 
 
Copyright, 1897, by J. T. Trowbridge 
 
 All rights reserved 
 A Question of Damages 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 BOSTON, U.S.A. 
 
A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 I 
 
 THE ACCIDENT AT CAMP CREEK 
 On the last day of August, 1857, the afternoon 
 express train met with an accident at Camp Creek 
 crossing. Two cars went down the embankment, 
 the forward one making a headlong plunge to the 
 river-bed, and the other crashing into it. The 
 water was shallow and there were no burning brands 
 scattered to fire the wreck; it was found that no- 
 body had been killed, although five or six passen- 
 gers were more or less seriously injured. 
 
 The worst case was that of a man about thirty 
 years old, with black hair and side whiskers, broad 
 forehead, round chin sub-tinted by the roots of a 
 closely shaven beard, and eyebrows pencilled in 
 strikingly black lines across his pallid face. In 
 dress and appearance he was a man of the world, 
 probably a prosperous man of business; but no- 
 body on the train was able to identify him. He 
 was taken from the ruins insensible, with a bad 
 gash in the back of his head, and a broken or dis- 
 located shoulder. 
 
 Among the Camp Creek people who came 
 quickly to the spot was Miss Lucy Tilbury, whose 
 
2 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 home was in sight on the outskirts of the village. 
 She was a fresh-complexioned blonde of about 
 five-and-twenty, delicate and nervous, with sympa- 
 thies so sensitive that often at the sight of suffer- 
 ing in others she would be overcome by distressing 
 faintness. But at this time she showed extraor- 
 dinary resolution, proving herself one of those 
 timid and shrinking persons who unconsciously 
 reserve great courage for great emergencies. She 
 gave help where help was most needed, and find- 
 inor that the crushed traveller was still alive, she 
 directed that he should be carried to her father's 
 house, toward which she led the way in haste to 
 get things in readiness for his reception. 
 
 Mr. George Tilbury was a cabinet-maker, who 
 had been compelled to leave his shop by some 
 disease affecting the heart. His wife was dead; 
 Lucy was the youngest of his children, and the 
 only one remaining at home. He had a little 
 property, but not enough for their support; and 
 since his disablement Lucy had put her accomplish- 
 ments to practical use by giving lessons in music. 
 They kept no servant, the father himself doing the 
 most of the simple housework while the daughter 
 was engaged with her pupils. He was a mild-man- 
 nered, sweet-tempered person, with a low, pleasant 
 voice, and a complexion of almost as delicate a 
 pink as her own. He was exceedingly fond and 
 proud of her ; and so entire was her devotion to 
 
THE ACCIDENT AT CAMP CREEK 3 
 
 him that she had never yet found a niche in her 
 heart for the image of any one of her many 
 admirers. 
 
 It was into this home that the bleeding stranger 
 was borne on that memorable last day of August; 
 an occasion of fright and horror to the gentle- 
 souled George Tilbury, who returned from his after- 
 noon walk in time to see the astonishing procession 
 enter his door. But in his eyes Lucy could not do 
 anything very wrong, and on learning what had 
 happened, he said, ** Of course ! of course ! You 
 couldn't have done less, although" — 
 
 The sight of the tragic object on the dining- 
 table, where the village doctors had ordered the 
 body placed, and the prospect of turning his quiet 
 home into a hospital for he knew not how long, 
 appalled the poor man, but he repressed the ob- 
 jections that trembled on his lips, and repeated 
 meekly and fervently, " Of course, darling ! of 
 course ! " 
 
 He saw his house become a hospital indeed, 
 with himself and Lucy the chief attendants. For 
 a month it would have been dangerous for the 
 patient to be moved, and after that they did not 
 wish him to be moved. They hired a servant, 
 and employed night watchers as long as night 
 watchers were needed. The piano had to be 
 silenced for a while, and Lucy dismissed those 
 pupils who came to the house for lessons. She 
 
4 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 still kept her engagements with others out of the 
 house, but always hastened home after lessons to 
 relieve her father, and administer with her own 
 hands to the wants of the stranger. 
 
 He proved to be Mortimer Frenk, a broker of 
 Albany. As the term broker has a wide signifi- 
 cance, and may comprehend in its range persons 
 as far apart as a pawnbroker and a shipbroker, 
 let us specify that his line of business was " buying 
 and selling commercial paper; " in vulgar phrase, 
 note-shaving. That may be an honorable voca- 
 tion, and I have never heard question as to his hav- 
 ing pursued it honorably. He had commenced 
 shaving notes in a small way while yet a clerk in 
 the office which he had entered as errand boy, 
 without a dollar, hardly a dozen years ago. He 
 was now a partner in the business, in which, if the 
 risks were considerable, the profits were propor- 
 tionally large. Unmarried, social, elegant, with 
 engaging manners and warm impulses, — such was 
 Mortimer Frenk. 
 
 That enterprising spirit and handsome person 
 of his had met with a narrow escape at Camp 
 Creek; but surgical skill and good nursing 
 brought him through. His partner, Furbush, ran 
 up from Albany to see him, and in due time his 
 lawyer paid him a visit. 
 
THE LAWYER AND THE LADY 
 
 II 
 
 THE LAWYER AND THE LADY 
 
 Only the shades of hovering death could dim 
 Mortimer Frenk's keen eye for business ; and no 
 sooner had they cleared away a little than he 
 began to look very steadily at the question of 
 damages. Maimed for life, probably; weeks of 
 mental and physical agony; enormous pecuniary 
 losses, in consequence of his absence from busi- 
 ness at an important crisis (for it was in the panic 
 times of '57), — this was the side which he wished 
 his lawyer to present strongly to the railroad cor- 
 poration responsible for the accident, fixing his 
 claim at the moderate sum, as he termed it, of 
 twenty-five thousand dollars. 
 
 " I'm afraid the company will not consider it 
 moderate," observed the lawyer, with a smile. 
 " However, it is well enough to start with a good 
 stiff claim." 
 
 '' You don't think it too much? " 
 
 Frenk was lying, propped with pillows, in the 
 bedroom which had been George Tilbury's before 
 he gave it up to his guest; and as he put the 
 question he levelled at his visitor a sharp glance 
 from under his fine black eyebrows. 
 
 It was a plain, sensible, gray-shaven, quiet face 
 
6 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 that answered him, with a shrewdly humorous ex- 
 pression : 
 
 "No; not if you can get it. But I trust you 
 can't." 
 
 ** How so? " said Mortimer Frenk. 
 
 '* Because to scoop in that amount of damages, 
 your case must be about as bad as you make it 
 out, which I trust it isn't. I don't beHeve you are 
 going to be maimed for Hfe, Mortimer. And 
 maybe the bad times will turn out to be better 
 for your business than good times." 
 
 *' You talk like a lawyer on the other side," 
 said Frenk, with a shade of dissatisfaction. 
 
 *' Very likely — to you. But to opposing coun- 
 sel I don't suppose I should talk in just that way. 
 It's well enough for you and me to be frank with 
 each other, and see what we really have to build a 
 case on." 
 
 *' That's just what I want. But taking even 
 your hopeful view of my condition, would you, 
 Mr. Bradwaite, or would any other sane man, be 
 willing to go through what I have gone through, 
 the risk and suffering, to say nothing of money 
 losses, for a paltry twenty-five thousand ? No, you 
 wouldn't." 
 
 ** No, I wouldn't," replied the lawyer, with a 
 business-like quietness of tone contrasting with the 
 other's vehemence. ** That is true ; and we will do 
 our level best to get that trifling compensation of 
 
THE LAWYER AND THE LADY *J 
 
 twenty-five thousand, or as much of it as we can. 
 It will not be a farthing too much — for us. But 
 the company may think it a vast deal too much - — 
 for them. We put out our hand and say, per- 
 suasively, ' Gentlemen, twenty-five thousand, if 
 you please.' They will make a motion of putting 
 hand to pocket and reply, ' One thousand, if you 
 please.' " 
 
 " One thousand ! " ejaculated the maimed-for- 
 life Mortimer, with scowling scorn. 
 
 " It is contemptible," said Mr. Bradwaite, keep- 
 ing his quiet tone and pleasantly humorous 
 manner. " But that is their side. As it is our 
 policy to sing large, it is theirs to sing small. We 
 will induce them to raise their notes by and by. 
 Now, this is what we are coming at. What is the 
 figure we must screw them up to, or fight? " 
 
 ''Twenty thousand," said the broker. 
 
 The lawyer shook his head. 
 
 *' Fifteen thousand," said Frenk. 
 
 Bradwaite shrugged and smiled. 
 
 *' Twelve thousand, and not a cent less." 
 
 ** We will try for that," replied Bradwaite. '' But 
 we shall be lucky if we get half of it. A jury 
 might give us more, if we could go to a jury now. 
 But before we can proceed so far, you will be 
 about your business, a well man." 
 
 " Possibly," said Frenk, admiring his counsel's 
 good sense, while irritated by his lack of enthusi- 
 
8 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 asm. " For that reason I think we ought to press 
 for a settlement now." 
 
 ** Precisely. Make the most of the romance 
 and pathos of our side, while they are in full 
 bloom. But we mustn't put up our wall too high 
 for the other side to see over. Twelve thousand ! 
 I'm afraid they won't even try to straddle that." 
 
 Mortimer's eyes sparkled, his lips (they were 
 rather handsome lips) quivered with impatience. 
 
 " I suppose I don't know anything about busi- 
 ness, lying here on a sick-bed. I've been dream- 
 ing. You wake me from my dream with a dash 
 of cold water. But no doubt you are right. Do 
 the best you can. I leave everything to you." 
 
 " Perhaps that will be as well," said the im- 
 passive lawyer. 
 
 He waited to see the attending physician, and 
 in the meantime talked freely with Lucy and her 
 father, curious perhaps to know what sort of wit- 
 nesses they would be if called in court. Mr. Til- 
 bury thought him one of the fairest and most 
 honorable men he had ever met. But to Lucy, 
 her sympathies all excited in behalf of him whom 
 she had helped to save from death, whose suffer- 
 ings and sweet patience, and still sweeter grateful- 
 ness, made him almost an object of worship in her 
 eyes, a hero of romance, — to her the lawyer, in 
 speaking of his terrible hurts and their probable 
 consequences, betrayed a deplorable want of heart. 
 
THE LADY AND THE LETTER 
 
 III 
 
 THE LADY AND THE LETTER 
 
 Mortimer Frexk could not be Insensible to the 
 devotion with which he had Inspired so guileless 
 and charming a girl. It troubled him a little, 
 perhaps, when he thought of another girl whom 
 he had lately deemed hardly less charming, If not 
 quite so guileless, — the beautiful and bewitching 
 Helen Wilde, of Troy. He was not always worry- 
 ing about business matters when Lucy detected a 
 certain absent and disturbed look in his expressive 
 hazel eyes; he was sometimes wondering just how 
 far he had committed himself with Helen, and 
 whether he could honorably sever that connection. 
 
 He did not mean to wrong anybody; but he 
 began to fear he had wronged himself In giving 
 Miss Wilde so strong a hold upon him. Daily her 
 image faded and grew faint, while that of Lucy 
 burned itself into his soul, or what he would have 
 called his soul, the sphere at all events of fancy and 
 vanity and passion. In his convalescence the new 
 love was an elixir of new life to him ; and the time 
 came when the old love and the old life, with all 
 their obligations, were to be forgotten in the de- 
 lirium of his present intoxication. 
 
 They had got to be on familiar and even affec- 
 
lO A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 tionate terms, when one morning she brought him 
 his letters. There was one from his partner, and 
 one from his lawyer, and one superscribed in a 
 pretty feminine hand, which he quickly slipped out 
 of sight. It was not the first time her curiosity had 
 been piqued by that handwriting. 
 
 *'If I were not in the room," she said, with a 
 laugh on her lips, but with a pang at her heart, 
 " you would read her letter first." 
 
 The serious tenderness in her glistening eyes, 
 veiled by sweet pleasantry, became her exceed- 
 ingly. He devoured her with his ardent gaze. 
 
 " I could never wish to read any woman's letter 
 with you in the room, Lucy ! " 
 
 The significance which his tone and manner im- 
 parted to these words gave her a delicious thrill. 
 But she pretended not to understand him. 
 
 *' Oh, then, if I am in your way, I'll leave you." 
 
 As she was turning to go he put out his hand 
 to her from the lounge where he reclined. 
 
 " Don't, don't go ! " Somehow their hands met ; 
 he clasped hers. *' You can never be in my way, 
 Lucy. No other woman — all the women in the 
 world can never be to me what you are." 
 
 He drew her gently down to him ; she resisting, 
 and trying to speak as if his words had not flooded 
 her with happiness. 
 
 " How can you talk so to me while you are re- 
 ceiving letters from her? " 
 
THE LADY AND THE LETTER II 
 
 "Jealous?" said Mortimer Frenk with a fond 
 laugh. ** That's delightful; that shows that you 
 care for me a little." 
 
 " I care for you a great deal ! " Having vainly 
 endeavored to free her hands, she dropped on her 
 knees beside the lounge, and talked with her rosy 
 face almost too dangerously near to his. " Haven't 
 I shown that I do? But I have no right to be 
 jealous. If I had I should ask you all about her. 
 First her name " — 
 " Her name is Helen." 
 ** And where does she live ? " 
 ** She lives in Troy." 
 
 '* Helen of Troy ! " laughed Lucy. " That is 
 interesting. Now, if I had the right I should want 
 to know just how much you love her. Oh, all 
 about it, if it killed me." 
 
 " It won't kill you," said he, '' if I tell you that I 
 don't love her a hundredth part as well as I thought 
 I did before I saw you." 
 
 " But you have loved her? " 
 -AHttle." 
 ''Engaged?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! it never got so far as that," said 
 Mortimer Frenk, trying to believe at the moment 
 that he was speaking the truth. " A little flirtation. 
 But you have cured me of that ! " 
 
 *' Which means that you are now having a little 
 flirtation with me; that you find me amusing just 
 now." 
 
12 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 She strove to free herself again, but he held her 
 fast. Helen of Troy was as much a phantom of the 
 past as her classical namesake at that moment. In 
 her place was this thrilled and palpitating creature, 
 all love and lovehness, kneeling beside him, her 
 dewy lips close to his, her breath on his cheek. 
 He drew her nearer still, she no longer resisting. 
 
*'IT WAS MY fate! " 1 3 
 
 IV 
 
 " IT WAS MY FATE ! " 
 
 From the rapture to which he had yielded in 
 this interview, Mortimer Frenk was awakened to 
 a consciousness of unpleasant complications when 
 he came to read Helen's letter. Pricks of con- 
 science, along with half-sweet, half-painful stirrings 
 of the old love, disturbed his present content, and 
 made him curse his impulsiveness and indiscretion. 
 
 " What in the name of the Father of Lies shall 
 I write to her?" was the question he put to his 
 vexed soul, which his vexed soul could not answer. 
 ** Luckily, I've a good excuse just now for not 
 WTiting. I'll take time and think it over." 
 
 The more time he took the more easy grew his 
 conscience, and the less necessity he felt of writ- 
 ing at all. 
 
 '' It never was exactly an engagement," he ex- 
 plained to himself. " Even if it had been, I should 
 have felt obliged to break it, after seeing one who 
 is so much more to me than s/ie could ever be — 
 who has done so much more for me than a girl 
 like Helen Wilde would ever do ! Why didn't she 
 fly to me as soon as she heard of my accident? 
 That's what Lucy would have done ; the wings of 
 the wind would have been too slow for her ! She 
 
14 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 has her own pride and selfishness to blame for the 
 result. It's something / couldn't help. It was my 
 fate." 
 
 So he destroyed the letter, as he had already 
 destroyed the previous ones from the same writer, 
 and tried to forget it. And when Lucy, who could 
 not forget it, asked him about it afterward, less 
 from jealousy than tender concern for one who had 
 perhaps loved the man she loved, he answered 
 lightly : 
 
 "No, I haven't replied to it yet; there really 
 wasn't much to reply to. Expressions of sympa- 
 thy, hope for my recovery, and that sort of thing. 
 I shall write and thank her sometime." 
 
 *' I don't see how she could help thinking a 
 great deal more of you than you are willing to 
 admit," said the admiring Lucy. 
 
 " You judge her by yourself," said the flattered 
 Mortimer. " But she belongs to a different order 
 of the Lord's creatures. It isn't in her to think 
 more than one-tenth part as much of any man as 
 she thinks of her own precious self. It was but a 
 stingy little bit of her heart she gave me ; she had 
 given as much to a dozen men before, and she will 
 make a transfer of the same to the next who comes 
 along. In fact, she has probably done it before 
 this." 
 
 '' Have you her picture?" Lucy inquired, not 
 quite satisfied. 
 
"IT WAS MY fate! " 1 5 
 
 " I don't know — I think so. I really haven't 
 looked since my accident." He opened his pocket- 
 book. *' Ah ! here's the lady!" drawing out a 
 card photograph with his well hand. '* There's 
 your Helen of Troy." 
 
 Lucy's eyes grew intensely earnest as she stud- 
 ied it. 
 
 *' She is beautiful ! " she said in a tone scarcely 
 above a whisper. " Mortimer," turning a troubled 
 look on him, '* you must have loved her ! " 
 
 " She's a girl to be admired, not loved," he an- 
 swered carelessly. " There never was much be- 
 tween us, and that is all over now that I have 
 you. 
 
 " But you will return her picture? " 
 
 *' No, indeed ! That w^ould be making too 
 serious a thing of it." 
 
 " She has yours? " 
 
 "Yes, just as twenty other of my lady friends 
 have. That's nothing. Everybody exchanges 
 photographs nowadays." 
 
 A smile stole into Lucy's troubled face. " I 
 want you all to myself! " she said, avariciously. 
 " But you mustn't make anybody else unhappy." 
 
 " No danger of that ! " he replied, and lightly 
 turned the conversation to his question of damages. 
 " Do you know why I am so anxious to get a large 
 sum, and to get it now? It is to make you a wed- 
 ding present of it ; to show my gratitude ; to pay 
 
l6 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 the most sacred debt of my life. If I could get a 
 hundred thousand instead of the ten or twelve I 
 expect, it should all be yours, in your own right." 
 
 '' Oh, how good you are ! But you know, Mor- 
 timer, I do not want anything, except for your 
 sake and my father's." 
 
 It had already been agreed between them that 
 her father's home should be with them. Mr. 
 Tilbury had taken a great liking to Mortimer, and 
 rejoicing in his daughter's happiness, he approved 
 of all their plans. She had given up the last of 
 her pupils, and it was arranged that the wedding 
 should take place early in the spring. Then Mor- 
 timer left her to prepare for it, and with his arm 
 in a shng set off one December morning to return 
 to his long-neglected business. 
 
 And now for the pain of separation Lucy found 
 exquisite solace in his letters. It was joy to antic- 
 ipate them, and even livelier joy to receive and 
 read and reread them, and still return to them 
 long after she knew every word in each by heart. 
 Parts of them she read to her father, whom she 
 made her confidant in all except the precious 
 postscripts, meant only for her eye ; and many a 
 long winter evening they sat talking over these 
 delightful matters and the graces and virtues of 
 the writer. 
 
 They retained their servant, and now dress- 
 maker and seamstress were busy in the house. 
 
''IT WAS MY fate! " 17 
 
 Although Mortimer had not yet made Lucy the 
 promised wedding present, for the reason that the 
 raihoad people couldn't be brought to a satisfac- 
 tory settlement, she spared no expense out of her 
 father's savings and her own small earnings in pre- 
 paring for the happy change. 
 
 So things went on till March. Mortimer had 
 written every day at first ; then two or three times 
 a week; then only on Sunday; and at last even his 
 Sunday letter failed to come. Still, in reading 
 over those of the last month, Lucy would not 
 admit to herself that they betrayed any falling off 
 in affectionateness, and she excused his silence on 
 the ground of overwork and want of time, of which 
 he often complained. 
 
 She feared he might be ill, and, continuing to 
 write with unabated faith and devotion, inquired 
 anxiously for his health, telling him at length 
 that she would certainly go to him if she did not 
 hear from him soon. Then — it was the third 
 week of that dreadful silence — he wrote briefly, 
 saying that he had been ill, but was better; that 
 he had been sadly harassed in his affairs, and that 
 he feared the wedding could not take place so soon 
 as they had planned. 
 
 Then silence again on the part of Mortimer 
 Frenk. 
 
1 8 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 V 
 
 "SICK, OR DEAD, OR A DEVIL?" 
 
 One day in June a man of delicate complexion 
 and diffident manners entered the office of Jay 
 Bradwaite, in Albany. 
 
 " I see you don't remember me," he said with 
 a feeble and anxious smile, as the lawyer looked 
 up from his desk. 
 
 '' I ought to; your face is familiar," Bradwaite 
 replied, dividing his attention between his papers 
 and his visitor. 
 
 " I am from Camp Creek," said the man in a 
 soft, almost tremulous voice. 
 
 Thereupon the lawyer turned from his papers 
 abruptly and gave George Tilbury a friendly 
 
 hand. 
 
 " I remember you very well indeed ! Sit down. 
 How are you? and how is Miss Tilbury? She has 
 been in my mind lately." 
 
 Perceiving the man's embarrassment, which 
 arose partly from diffidence, but still more from 
 some strong emotion he was endeavoring to con- 
 trol, Bradwaite talked and reassured him. 
 
 '' My daughter — is not well," faltered the visi- 
 tor, settling himself in a chair and holding the 
 arms nervously with his restless hands. 
 
•'SICK, OR DEAD, OR A DEVIL?" I9 
 
 The lawyer's gray-shaven face expressed sym- 
 pathy. ** Nothing serious, I hope? " 
 
 '* I hope not. She may — recover her health 
 and spirits." Occasionally something came up in 
 the speaker's throat and interrupted his sentences. 
 But he went on manfully: "It is on her account 
 I — have come to see you, Mr. Bradwaite." 
 
 " It will give me great satisfaction to do any- 
 thing for you or your daughter. From what I 
 have seen and known of you," the lawyer added, 
 his fine, metallic tone of voice striking a key below 
 that of mere compliment, " I have great respect for 
 you both." 
 
 '' Thank you," said Tilbury, taking a long breath. 
 " It is your personal, not your professional, advice 
 I want. From what I saw of you at our house, I 
 made up my mind that you were a fair and honor- 
 able man, although a lawyer." 
 
 ** 'Although a lawyer' is good," said Bradwaite 
 with a smile. 
 
 •' Beg pardon ; I meant no offence. What struck 
 me was that you were not like many lawyers ; that 
 you were a man before you were a lawyer, and a 
 man all the time." 
 
 " I trust you will never have cause to think your- 
 self mistaken," was the other's dry comment. 
 
 *' I trust so. I have been mistaken — some- 
 times." (The catch in the throat again.) " Per- 
 haps you can guess what brings me to you." 
 
20 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 '* I suspect." 
 
 " I come for information. May I ask if you are 
 aware that Mr. Frenk engaged himself to — marry 
 my daughter? " 
 
 " I was not aware of it," said the lawyer, without 
 betraying the least surprise. *' Yet I judged from 
 what I saw at Camp Creek that an attachment was 
 likely to spring up between them." 
 
 ** They were to be married in April. She never 
 cared for any man before. She had given up some 
 of her pupils in music to assist me in taking care 
 of him ; and then she gave up the rest to get ready 
 for the wedding. But all at once his letters stopped 
 coming. He said in his last he feared the day 
 would have to be put off, and not a line has she 
 had from him since." 
 
 ** How long ago? " 
 
 " Something more than five weeks. Lucy has 
 written letter after letter and got no reply. And 
 I " — after a sort of double or triple catch in the 
 throat George Tilbury continued : '' I was begin- 
 ning to think he might be a villain." 
 
 *' I think you are mistaken there," said the 
 lawyer impassively. " Mortimer Frenk is not 
 what one might call a villain." 
 
 " I shall be glad to know it. His treatment of 
 my poor Lucy, if it is not villany, is something 
 very strange, to say the least. It has nearly killed 
 her and me too. I couldn't endure to see her in 
 
"SICK, OR DEAD, OR A DEVIL?" 21 
 
 such distress, and I said at last I would run down 
 to Albany and learn if he was sick, or dead, or a 
 devil. But I find — I inquired at his office before 
 coming here — that he is off on a journey." 
 
 The lawyer gave a nod of assent. 
 
 '' I couldn't hear when he would come back, nor 
 much about him. There seemed to be some mys- 
 tery, something covered up. And so I — I came 
 to you for information, as I said. Being his lawyer^ 
 I thought you might be able to tell me some- 
 thing." 
 
 " You have come to the right man," Bradwaite 
 replied quickly, " though I am not his counsel." 
 
 " You were — in the railroad case? " 
 
 " But I ami not now." 
 
 "Then that is settled?" 
 
 George Tilbury remembered what had been 
 promised Lucy when the damages should be paid, 
 and he put the question anxiously. 
 
 " Not at all," replied the lawyer. " Frenk gave 
 me once full powers to settle, but afterwards re- 
 voked them when I had almost committed our side 
 to a compromise. The company offered $5,000, 
 which I thought liberal ; but after I had got them 
 up to that notch he backed out and insisted on 
 $7,000, and so I threw up the case. He has since 
 found somebody to give him advice which I would 
 not give, much as it might have been for my 
 interest, and he has sued for $25,000." 
 
22 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 " I think it was a mistake," said George Tilbury. 
 " He should have settled it, if he could get five, 
 and keep it out of the courts." 
 
 *' Perhaps he will think so himself some day. But 
 he has colossal ideas of damages," said Bradwaite 
 with a smile. ** May I ask you a question or two? " 
 
 *' I shall be pleased to have you." 
 
 ** It was a positive engagement? " 
 
 " Decidedly ; fully understood and talked over 
 by him and Lucy in my presence." 
 
 " Anything about it in those letters? " 
 
 "The first few were full of it. Even the last, 
 as I said, alluded to it, in saying that the wedding 
 might have to be postponed." 
 
 " Do you remember the exact words used, in 
 any case where the engagement is spoken of 
 directly, or implied?" 
 
 " Perhaps not the precise w^ords ; but " — 
 George Tilbury hesitated, putting his hand to his 
 heart. " I have the letters here." 
 
 ** That's lucky ! " said Jay Bradwaite. 
 
 '' They were taking her life out of her. She 
 couldn't let them alone, and she couldn't read 
 them over again without suffering terribly, since 
 he " — George Tilbury swallowed hard at some- 
 thing, and resumed huskily : " At last I got her 
 consent to let me take the letters and return them 
 to Mr. Frenk, and get back hers, in case I — in 
 case I could get no better satisfaction." 
 
** SICK, OR DEAD, OR A DEVIL?" 23 
 
 " And you brought them with you for that 
 purpose ? " For the first time the cool attorney 
 showed surprise. 
 
 *' I thought it the best thing I could do." 
 
 ** It's the most foolish thing you could do. 
 Lucky you didn't find Mr. Mortimer Frenk ! " 
 
 " I don't understand you, sir." 
 
 '* I'll explain myself. Mr. Mortimer Frenk has, 
 as I said, titanic notions of damages. Now, it 
 would be a satisfaction to see him live up to them. 
 There are in life other injuries than those a person 
 may receive from a railroad accident." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! neither Lucy nor I would ever con- 
 sent to " — 
 
 '* Never mind about that. Did he pay you for 
 the trouble and expense you incurred in taking 
 care of him? " 
 
 *' Never. He sometimes spoke of it and said 
 that Lucy should have what he got from the rail- 
 road company." 
 
 " Oh ! did he ! " There was sarcasm in the 
 lawyer's tones. " That was liberal. But I'm afraid 
 he'll find another use for the money now. He's 
 married." 
 
24 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 VI 
 
 *' JUSTICE FOR MY POOR LUCY ! " 
 
 ^'Marr" — gasped George Tilbury, settling 
 back in his chair with a stunned look. 
 
 '* Yes, my dear sir," said Bradwaite relentlessly. 
 "Miss Helen Wilde, of Troy; an old flame of his ; 
 she's the fortunate — or unfortunate — woman. 
 Two weeks ago. That's the reason why you 
 couldn't find him ; he's off on a little wedding 
 tour." 
 
 " My poor Lucy ! " murmured the stricken father. 
 
 " I'm glad you came to me," Bradwaite went on, 
 with a steady, quiet glitter in his gray eyes. " And 
 I'm glad I'm not his counsel. I'm not anxious to 
 be yours, either; but let me give you a piece of 
 advice." 
 
 George Tilbury answered only with a hopeless, 
 helpless, appealing look. 
 
 '* Those letters," added the lawyer, throwing out 
 his fingers at the other's breast pocket, *' they are 
 worth $15,000; possibly more, certainly not less. 
 And I," with a sarcastic laugh, " I have ridicu- 
 lously small ideas of damages ! " 
 
 *' I didn't think he was such a damned scoun- 
 drel ! " said George Tilbury, not profanely, nor 
 revengefully, but in a desolate, broken-hearted way 
 
''JUSTICE FOR MY POOR LUCY ! " 25 
 
 pitiful to witness. '' I wish Lucy was with her 
 mother in heaven." 
 
 " Oh, no, you don't," said the lawyer cheeringly. 
 
 ** No, I don't. It was a wicked wish to wish her 
 dead. But now, how shall I tell her? I never 
 can. Oh ! if she and I could both be carried to 
 our quiet graves to-morrow ! " 
 
 Mr. Jay Bradwaite winked the moisture from his 
 own eyes at sight of the man's emotion, cleared his 
 throat, and resumed : 
 
 *' It's bad enough, no doubt; but it isn't so bad 
 as that. You are tolerably well off ?" 
 
 ** No," said George Tilbury, " I am a poor man. 
 A cabinet-maker by trade. I could always get a 
 good living when I was able to work. But I've had 
 a heart trouble for three or four years. Since then 
 Lucy has supported the house by teaching the 
 piano." 
 
 '' And she has given up all her pupils, you say. 
 And now," proceeded the lawyer, watching his 
 visitor carefully, " it will be hard for you to see 
 her go back to those lessons." 
 
 A look of abject misery was the only response. 
 
 '* For her sake — I am not talking now as a 
 lawyer, but as a friend — for her sake take care 
 how you put those letters into the hands of Mor- 
 timer Frenk. Put them rather into the hands of 
 some good lawyer you know. It is one of the 
 most flagrant cases that ever came under my ob- 
 
26 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 servation. I should like to see the wrong righted 
 as much as the law can right it, simply as a man. 
 If I were her father I hardly know how I should 
 feel. Certainly, putting all notions of false delicacy 
 aside, I should want to see her recompensed in 
 some way for what she has suffered — relieved from 
 the necessity of the daily lessons, and from the 
 prospect of poverty in the future." 
 
 '' I doubt if she will ever be able to resume her 
 lessons." 
 
 '' Then see where you will be. I know it must 
 be repugnant to your feelings to think of making 
 a profit out of her blighted affections. But it is 
 not a matter of profit. It is a matter of justice, of 
 daily bread, health, and life of which this man of 
 double engagements has deprived her. Why, sir, 
 I have positive knowledge that he was engaged to 
 this Helen Wilde, whom he has married, all the 
 while he was making love to your daughter." 
 
 George Tilbury sat silent a moment, fumblingly 
 buttoning and unbuttoning his coat over the letters 
 in his pocket. Bradwaite waited for the effect of 
 his words. 
 
 *' What you say is just," the cabinet-maker said 
 at length. *' I am satisfied that Lucy will never 
 marry, after this. I can't bear to think of her 
 wearing her life out trying to support herself and 
 me. Perhaps — I don't know — maybe I ought 
 to do something. If I could put the case into 
 
''JUSTICE FOR MY POOR LUCY ! " 2/ 
 
 your hands " — . He paused, regarding the lawyer 
 anxiously. 
 
 *' After advising you as I have done, I should 
 prefer to have you employ other counsel," said 
 Bradwaite. 
 
 " I couldn't tell her story and make my com- 
 plaint to anybody else," Tilbury replied, shrinking 
 with pain at the thought. 
 
 "Very well; I undertake it. Give me those 
 letters." 
 
 "Can I? Must I?" 
 
 " It will be best. Of course I shall make no 
 unjustifiable use of them." 
 
 " Engaged to that other all the while he was 
 winning my girl's affections ! Promising to make 
 her a present of what he got from the company, 
 perhaps to avoid meeting his obligations ! I 
 wouldn't have believed it ! " 
 
 The miserable man mused a moment, then took 
 a package from his pocket. 
 
 "I don't know what my girl will say, but I trust 
 you, Mr. Bradwaite. Get justice for my poor 
 Lucy if you can — but — excuse me — I am not 
 well. Oh, my poor, dear girl ! " 
 
 He attempted to rise, but gasped and reeled 
 and slid dowm in his chair. Bradwaite caught the 
 package of letters as it was falling from the re- 
 laxed hand. He saw that it was no ordinary faint- 
 ness that had come over the unhappy man and, 
 
28 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 remembered with alarm what he had just said of 
 the trouble with his heart. Lifting him to the 
 ofhce lounge, he stretched him upon it, limp and 
 quivering with a faint convulsion, then sprang to 
 the door and summoned help. 
 
BRADWAITE HAS THOSE LETTERS" 29 
 
 VII 
 
 ''BRADWAITE HAS THOSE LETTERS" 
 
 No, Mortimer Frenk was not precisely a villain, 
 whatever his conduct may have made him appear. 
 He would not have answered at all to sit for that 
 character in a highly-wrought drama or novel. If 
 lacking in moral principle, he was likewise void of 
 malice. If selfish, he was not without traits of 
 generosity — at once calculating and impulsive. 
 
 As he had put off writing to Helen of Troy 
 when under Lucy's influence, so he had shrunk 
 from the still more humiliating task of confess- 
 ing the truth to Lucy after he had fallen once 
 more under the dominion of the old love. He 
 may have perceived in a general way that in this, 
 as in other affairs of life, honesty was the best 
 policy; but he couldn't resolve to practise it, so 
 much easier it seemed to let things drift. He 
 would have said that he dreaded giving Lucy pain, 
 which was, no doubt, true; but it was equally true 
 that he dreaded giving himself pain. In shirking 
 heroic duties, it is vastly convenient sometimes to 
 flatter ourselves that we are benevolently sparing 
 the feehngs of others, while the odds are that it is 
 simply our own weakness we are indulging- 
 
 So things drifted until, returning with his bride 
 
30 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 from their wedding trip, he heard of the death of 
 Lucy's father in Mr. Jay Bradwaite's office. That 
 tragic circumstance caused some talk in Albany 
 circles, and gave a wholesome shock to his pro- 
 crastinating conscience. Perhaps a suspicion of 
 what might have been her father's business with 
 the lawyer had something to do with quickening 
 Mortimer Frenk's resolution. He longed to have a 
 few words with his former counsel on the delicate 
 subject, but couldn't make up his mind to seek an 
 interview that might prove more embarrassing 
 than satisfactory. After spoiling a good many 
 sheets of note-paper, he managed to evolve from a 
 chaos of doubts and qualms and confused motives 
 a tolerably straightforward letter : 
 
 '* Lucy, I am a weak mortal, but not quite the 
 heartless ingrate circumstances must have made 
 me seem in your eyes. If I could explain all, 
 then you would surely forgive what you must 
 otherwise consider my unpardonable conduct. I 
 never meant to deceive you, Lucy, or wrong you 
 in any way ; I would rather, far rather, have per- 
 ished in that accident from which you helped to 
 save me than harm so much as a hair of your 
 head. In all my vows and promises to you I was 
 the soul of sincerity, believing myself at the time 
 free from a certain other claim of which you knew 
 something. But too late I found myself mistaken, 
 
" BRADWAITE HAS THOSE LETTERS " 3 I 
 
 and then, when I ought to have told you every- 
 thing, and flung myself for mercy at your feet, I 
 delayed, because I could not bear to grieve you, 
 and hoped time would help you to forget, though 
 / can never forget, what I owe to you and your 
 noble father, whom I hardly dare mention, for fear 
 of opening fresh wounds in your heart. Can you 
 ever forgive me? No, I cannot hope it. I do not 
 deserve that you should. I would gladly give my 
 life at this moment to atone for the past, but that 
 cannot be. If money would atone, how willingly 
 would I give all I possess ! But that would not be 
 much. I have met with heavy losses in my busi- 
 ness, and I have not yet been able to bring the 
 railroad company to a settlement, and don't know 
 now that I ever shall. It may seem a mockery to 
 you, but it is a relief to me, to send you a trifle 
 towards the discharge of pecuniary obligations. 
 Enclosed please find my check for five hundred 
 dollars ($500). And if you will write me one 
 kind word and return my letters, I will send you 
 yours, or destroy them if you wish, and remain 
 " Your grateful, unhappy 
 
 '* Mortimer." 
 
 Frenk was well satisfied with this composition, 
 on reading it over carefully and dotting the i's. 
 He was, however, a little afraid that he hadn't 
 touched in the unhappy strokes and the poverty 
 
32 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 business quite strongly enough ; and perhaps a 
 check for four hundred would have answered 
 every purpose. But he was getting tired of dotting 
 and copying ; and he concluded it was better to 
 err on the safe side, both as to the money he 
 proffered and the misery he professed. For a man 
 in his honeymoon to lay himself out in too melan- 
 choly a fashion at the feet of a girl he had jilted 
 might seem a trifle ridiculous. He hoped that the 
 note and its contents would serve to soothe Lucy's 
 sorrow. If he could have read his own heart he 
 would have found himself hoping still more ear- 
 nestly that it would restore him to her esteem ; 
 while under all lurked his chief motive in writing 
 — the wish that it might move her to send 
 back his letters. As for her letters — well, 
 he would trust to luck that she would reply, 
 *' Destroy them," since he had already taken a 
 married man's precaution in committing them to 
 the flames. 
 
 It was now his turn to wait anxiously for an 
 answer. Weeks passed and none came. There 
 was no news of the check at his bank either, and 
 this was an added cause of solicitude. He met Jay 
 Bradwaite occasionally on the street, but as that 
 gentleman did not seem inclined to have any talk 
 with him, he merely returned his salutation and 
 passed on, with polite smiles concealing his tortures 
 of suspense. Meanwhile Albany society regarded 
 
''BRADWAITE HAS THOSE LETTERS" 33 
 
 the handsome husband of the fair Helen as the 
 most enviable of men. 
 
 At last, when he had almost ceased to look for 
 it, he spied in the morning's mail on his desk an 
 envelope superscribed in the remembered grace- 
 ful hand, though somewhat feeble and wavering, 
 and opened it eagerly. The first thing that caught 
 his eye was his own neatly folded $500 check. 
 With this was a brief note, as follows : 
 
 " It was a long while before I learned that a letter 
 from you had come for me, and even then I was 
 not able to acknowledge it. I have been very ill; 
 let that be my excuse for not returning before this 
 the money which you must have known I could 
 not accept. I beg your will not write to me again, 
 for I am very sick; I cannot bear much. I do 
 not send your letters because I haven't them ; my 
 father took them to return them to you when he 
 made that last journey which cost him his life. 
 Do what you please with mine. 
 
 '' Lucy." 
 
 Mortimer Frenk compressed his lips and held 
 his breath while he read this letter, and broke 
 into a cold sw^eat when he had finished it. What 
 it refrained from saying was more eloquent than 
 any reproaches could have been. How different 
 .in that respect from the letters written by his 
 
34 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 Helen of Troy, when she had him to arraign for 
 cruelly deserting her ! Between the lines traced 
 by the sick girl's hand he read things more potent 
 in their suggestiveness of wrong and sorrow than 
 if they had been weighed in words and bounded 
 by expression. Accusations put into forms of 
 phrase that may be answered are half answered 
 already. It is the unuttered complaint, left to our 
 own tardy sense of justice and the imaginations of 
 remorse, that speaks with infinite meanings and 
 makes the day of judgment in the soul. 
 
 From a long and painful revery Frenk awoke 
 to the business considerations of the letter. Why 
 could she not accept his offer of money? Wasn't 
 it enough, or did she regard it as the price of 
 blood, an attempted paltry payment for wrongs 
 against which all the wealth of the world could 
 not turn the scales? And why did she say he 
 must have known she could not accept it? There 
 were stings in that, for a proud fellow like 
 Frenk. 
 
 But his troubled thoughts finally centred in the 
 question of those unreturned letters. She did not 
 say she would have sent them back if she had had 
 them ; yet it seemed that she had once intended 
 to do so ; and though he was glad to have escaped 
 an interview with her father, which could hardly 
 have been otherwise than embarrassing, to say the 
 least, he bemoaned the ill-luck which had pre- 
 
''BRADWAITE HAS THOSE LETTERS" 35 
 
 vented him from receiving the desired package. 
 Now, what could have become of it? 
 
 *' After inquiring for me here," the broker re- 
 flected, " he seems to have gone straight to Brad- 
 waite's office, where he died. I'm thankful he 
 didn't die in my office chair ! " (He shuddered at 
 the thought.) '* But, confound it, Bradwaite has 
 those letters ! " 
 
» 
 
 36 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 VIII 
 
 THE DEAD MAN'S CHAIR 
 
 After taking three days to think the matter 
 over and brace up his resolution, Frenk one morn- 
 ing mounted the stairway of Baldwin's Block, and 
 halted at a door on the ground-glass of which, 
 lettered in blue, were the words, "Jay Bradwaite, 
 Counsellor-at-Law." He had been there many 
 times before on a more hopeful errand than that 
 which he had now at his fluttering heart. He 
 couldn't help the untimely recollection that George 
 Tilbury had been there since ; and on entering he 
 would have been grateful for some sign that would 
 enable him to avoid the dead man's chair. 
 
 But he was fresh and cheerful as to countenance, 
 trim and well brushed as to dress and whiskers, 
 likewise tall and gracefully bending as to form, 
 when the lawyer looked over at him from a book 
 balanced on his knee by an open window. Doves 
 were fluttering and cooing behind him on the outer 
 sill, where he had just been feeding them. 
 
 '' You make an interesting picture with that 
 window for a background," said the former client. 
 *' It seems an odd recreation for a lawyer — caring 
 for doves ! " 
 
 •* We are not all hawks and owls," Bradwaite 
 
THE DEAD MAN'S CPIAIR 37 
 
 replied, laying a mark between the open leaves of 
 his law-book. *' Once in a while we battle to 
 rescue a dove from such birds of prey; I do. 
 What can I do for you to-day?" 
 
 That is the sort of question to put when you 
 wish politely to intimate to your visitor that he is 
 expected to come at once to business and depart 
 when business is done. 
 
 *' It's a long while since I have seen you," Frenk 
 replied with affected carelessness, helping himself 
 to a chair (he hoped it wasn't tJiat chair). 
 
 " Yes, and things have happened," said the 
 lawyer, " which I suppose I ought to congratulate 
 you on. You've quite recovered from your hurts, 
 I see ; looking wonderfully trig for a ' mashed fire- 
 man with breast-bone broken ' ! " (Bradwaite was 
 a reader of Walt Whitman, whom he did not take 
 seriously.) " Pretty well, in short, for a man 
 maimed for life ! " 
 
 "Oh, I'm not so fully recovered as you think," 
 said Mortimer, irritated by the man's sarcasm. 
 " My doctor" — 
 
 *' Well, then, I'll congratulate you on something 
 else," interrupted the lawyer. " How is Mrs. 
 Frenk?" 
 
 *' She is delightful," Frenk replied, rallying and 
 assuming to be very much at ease as he dangled 
 one leg over the other. "Why don't you ever call 
 and see us?" 
 
38 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 *' The truth is, I have no time except for busi- 
 ness and my intimate friends." 
 
 Frenk dangled his leg (it was a rather long one, 
 handsomely pantalooned and booted), and played 
 with a paper-cutter he took up from the desk, 
 and grimaced blandly, wondering whether he had 
 better take offence at these remarks or appear not 
 to mind them. 
 
 " I have called partly on business," he said, 
 with a smile which could hardly be called spon- 
 taneous. *' Miss — Tilbury — has written me 
 about some letters — old letters of mine — which 
 were to have been delivered to me by her father. 
 I understand they are awaiting me here." 
 
 *' You don't understand any such thing," the 
 lawyer answered curtly. '' Nobody knows I have 
 any such letters. You surmise that I may have 
 them; and I will do you the justice to add that 
 your surmise is correct." 
 
 *' The same thing," murmured Frenk, wishing 
 he could afford to get angry with this cool, pro- 
 voking attorney. 
 
 '' Not at all. You wished to imply that Miss 
 Tilbury had told you I had them, and had given 
 you authority to call for them." 
 
 ** She certainly tells me the letters were sent to 
 me ; and I construe that as sufficient authority." 
 
 " By no means, my good fellow. Her father, 
 after certain things had happened which I need 
 
THE DEAD MAX'S CHAIR 39 
 
 not mar the harmony of this interview by enu- 
 merating, took those letters to return them to you. 
 When he found that you had not only discarded 
 and deserted his daughter, but that while she 
 was waiting in such agonies of mind as coarsely 
 organized mortals like vou and me, Frenk, can- 
 not even comprehend, — that while she was thus 
 waiting for one honest word you did not write, 
 you were already a married man enjoying your 
 honeymoon, — why, then he naturally changed 
 his mind." 
 
 Mortimer had turned pale. 
 
 u How — changed his mind?" he inquired in a 
 forced voice. 
 
 '' He put the letters into my hands." 
 ''With what object?" 
 
 Bradwaite laughed quietly. '' That's an odd 
 question for a man with your notions of damages. 
 What could have been his object? " 
 
 War having been thus declared, Frenk rallied 
 again, and said with an air of defiance : 
 
 " Why haven't you commenced a suit, then? " 
 '' There was no need to hurry about that. I 
 wished to consult Miss Tilbury; she has not been 
 in a fit condition, and it wouldn't be safe to agi- 
 tate her. Perhaps you are not aware that you 
 were much nearer killing her than the railroad peo- 
 ple were to kilhng you. You did kill her father, 
 let me tell you. He died in that very chair." 
 
40 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 IX 
 
 THE LAWYER WHO CARED FOR DOVES 
 
 With keen eyes and alert, but tranquil, gray- 
 shaven face, the imperturbable Bradwaite watched 
 the effect of these slow, even, determined words. 
 Frenk sat dumb for some seconds ; his handsome 
 black eyebrows pencilled once more on a counte- 
 nance almost as white as that we saw taken from 
 the crushed car. Then he began to mumble forth 
 his wretched apologies. 
 
 The lawyer merely nodded. To deign no 
 further answer was more effective than any argu- 
 ment could have been. The sagacious man of 
 the world used from policy the same reticence 
 that weakness and the weight of woe had imposed 
 on Lucy. Thus met, Frenk's explanations became 
 an incoherent mumble and died on his lips. Then 
 Bradwaite said sharply : 
 
 *' Well ! what do you propose to do? " 
 
 " I don't know what to do. I sent her some 
 money a month or more ago, and she has sent it 
 back." 
 
 '' How much? " 
 
 '* Five hundred dollars." 
 
 *' Five — hundred — dollars. Well, Mortimer 
 Frenk, suppose, after you had lain several v/eeks 
 
THE LAWYER WHO CARED FOR DOVES 4 1 
 
 on your bed of suffering, as you called it, and tried 
 in vain to get a word of satisfaction from the rail- 
 road folks, — suppose they had at last sent you a 
 check for f-i-v-e h-u-n-d-r-e-d" (Bradwaite seemed 
 to be counting the money as he slowly repeated 
 the words), " what would you have done? " 
 
 " If intended as a settlement of my claim I — 
 no doubt I should have sent it back." 
 
 A significant nod from Bradwaite. " You 
 would have sent it back. How much money had 
 you given her before that?" 
 
 " I — before that? I can't say I ever gave her 
 any." 
 
 '* I mean when you were sick in her father's 
 house; when they took care of you, and hired a 
 servant and engaged night watchers, and she 
 dismissed her pupils, and he gave his time and 
 strength, and nothing was spared which first your 
 life and afterward your comfort required. How 
 large a part of all that expense incurred on }-our 
 account did you meet at the time?" 
 
 Frenk colored with confusion, and endeavored 
 still further to explain. 
 
 " I am aware how I — how my apparent neg- 
 lect in that matter — must strike a person who 
 does not take into consideration all the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 '* Oh, yes, the circumstances — how you, as soon 
 as you were able, applied yourself assiduously to 
 
42 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 making love to the daughter, thinking perhaps to 
 pay in that way for the trouble you were giving, 
 like the young man who advertised for board in a 
 family where his Christian example would be con- 
 sidered a sufficient compensation. I don't over- 
 look your noble efforts in that direction. But 
 what I ask is, how much cash did you fork out?" 
 
 "It was panic times, you remember; money 
 was very tight with us, and expecting you would 
 bring the railroad folks to a settlement" — 
 
 *' Expecting I would do what you persistently 
 prevented me from doing. Very well ; what has 
 that to do with it?" 
 
 " Whatever I should get from them I promised 
 to Miss Tilbury." 
 
 *' You promised to marry her, too. But we are 
 not talking about unsubstantialities. I ask, how 
 much actual cash did you hand over for the trouble 
 and expense you caused them? " 
 
 " Not any, until that five hundred " — 
 
 " Not a cent, until after you were married and 
 honeymooned, and she was heart-broken and her 
 father dead, and you knew he had died in my 
 office ; then, surmising what he had come to me 
 for, you sent her a check which you hoped would 
 settle all claims, pecuniary and other. That from 
 a man with your mountainous ideas of damages ! 
 Come now, Frenk ! " and the lawyer laughed. 
 
 ** We may as well come to the point at once," 
 
THE LAWYER WHO CARED FOR DOVES 43 
 
 said Mortimer, smarting under these thrusts. 
 ** How much do you want?" 
 
 "I'd rather leave the amount for you to fix. 
 Then we shall have something handsome. You 
 have views on such subjects that are worth the 
 while. Mine are too narrow." 
 
 " What's the use of joking about so serious a 
 matter? I'll give you $1,000, Bradwaite, for those 
 letters and a receipt in full for all claims." 
 
 " It is you that are joking, Mortimer Frenk ! A 
 thousand? Why, you wanted $25,000 for merely 
 physical injuries. You were laid up for nearly three 
 months; and consider how agreeably entertained 
 you were in your convalescence. Moreover, there 
 was no villanous intent on the part of the railroad 
 company. They were not personally to blame 
 for the breaking of the axle that threw the cars 
 from the track. But you, as there is a Ruler in 
 heaven," Bradwaite went on, with subdued yet 
 terrible emphasis, " you have a heavier account to 
 settle for what you have made Lucy Tilbury suffer. 
 Your bodily injuries alone have been nothing to 
 hers. You are about your business again ; you 
 have had your nice little wedding journey; you 
 are still an ornament to society ; you have a 
 charming wife, a bright future. But she? I 
 doubt that she ever recovers her health. She may 
 possibly get back the pupils she dismissed, but 
 she will no longer have heart or strength for the 
 
44 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 lessons. Her father is in his grave. It isn't prob- 
 able she will ever give another the heart you won 
 and flung away. I see before her only desolate 
 years and poverty and hard work, while you, 
 Frenk, are aiming to be ranked a millionaire. A 
 thousand dollars? Oh, fie ! " 
 
 " I see no possibility of our coming to terms," 
 muttered Frenk, with the coldness of despair. 
 
 Bradwaite leaned back in his chair, and replied 
 in a tone of easy indifference : 
 
 " That depends on you. If you should change 
 your mind before twelve o'clock," looking at his 
 watch, *' let me know and save trouble. Good 
 morning." 
 
 Frenk remained fixed in his seat. Although, as 
 we have intimated, there was but little of the malig- 
 nant fiend about him, he could have found it in 
 his heart to murder the agent of human and per- 
 haps divine justice who was thus putting him to 
 the rack. 
 
 ''What do you mean by saving trouble?" he 
 demanded. "We may as well speak plainly." 
 
 " My dear sir," said Bradwaite, with a dry laugh, 
 " I fancied I was speaking rather plainly. But I 
 don't mind adding that I meant the trouble to my- 
 self of attaching your various bits of property to 
 the tune of $30,000, and the trouble on your part 
 of defending a suit regarding which there can be 
 but one question — the amount of damages." 
 
THE LAWYER WHO CARED FOR DOVES 45 
 
 ** Thirty thousand ! " said the appalled broker. 
 
 ** I say thirty because I have inadequate notions 
 of such things, as you know. If you could make 
 up a mouth to say twenty-five to the corporation, 
 I am aware that I ought to say fifty or sixty to you. 
 But I am a modest man; and I try to be a just 
 man. I ask for my client only what is right and 
 what I see to be within the range of possibilities. 
 If you oblige me to bring suit it shall be for $30,- 
 000 — not a cent less; and I sha'n't wait for you 
 to put your property out of your hands, either." 
 
 " I don't want a suit of this sort," said Frenk 
 through his closed teeth. 
 
 '* Once in a while you make a remark character- 
 ized by good sense and veracity," commented the 
 lawyer. 
 
 '* But I am not going to be frightened." 
 
 " Nobody thinks of frightening you." 
 
 " I should like to know, however, what you pro- 
 pose to settle for." 
 
 ** When Mr. Tilbury sat in that chair where you 
 are sitting now and told me his heart-rending 
 story, and gave me those letters, I said they should 
 net her $15,000. I stickto that. I shall make no 
 charge for my services, unless I have to sue you. 
 In that case we go for the larger figures, so that 
 everybody may have a plum." 
 
 ''You know very well," said Mortimer, " $15,- 
 000 would clean me out." 
 
46 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 '' I know very well it wouldn't. While you were 
 laid up with broken bones, and suffering those 
 imaginary losses the corporation was to pay for, 
 your business, conducted by your partner, who 
 knows a great deal more about it than you do, was 
 more profitable than ever before. You are worth 
 to-day $40,000 or $50,000. Spare the girl, whose 
 happiness and prospects you have blighted, $15,- 
 000, as you well can, — that at 6 per cent, will give 
 her $900 a year to relieve her from drudgery and 
 want." 
 
 " You said you were waiting to consult her." 
 
 '' I sha'n't wait any longer. If she was well 
 enough to return your little check in so business- 
 like a manner, she will be well enough to give this 
 affair the trifling attention it may need. It won't 
 need any at present. I shall act at once under the 
 old instructions." 
 
 " You ought to give me a little time to think 
 
 of it." 
 
 '* True. I forgot you were a married man. Per- 
 haps you would like to talk it over with your 
 wife?" Mortimer winced ; evidently she was the 
 last person he" would wish to have know of this 
 new question of damages. '' I'll give you till to- 
 morrow at tv\&elve o'clock. But none of your tricks 
 meanwhile. If I hear of a move toward one on 
 your part — clap! I have everything ready, and 
 the papers will be served at once." 
 
THE LAWYER WHO CARED FOR DOVES 47 
 
 " You will say something less than $15,000 if I 
 bring you cash in hand. You will say $5,000. 
 
 Frenk made this suggestion doubtfully as he rose 
 to go. Bradwaite answered without stirring from 
 
 his chair : 
 
 '' Not five, nor ten, nor fourteen, nor anything 
 less than the exact sum I have named. Fifteen 
 thousand in fist, or a scramble for thirty ! I am 
 doing business in my own way now, not in yours. 
 I begin at the exact figure where I mean to leave 
 off, unless you compel me to go up a step." 
 
 '' I am sure Miss Tilbury would not approve of 
 this grab," said Frenk, moving toward the door. 
 '' She will approve of whatever I do." 
 " You have seen her? " 
 
 '< I have. It was on me the duty fell of carrying 
 to her the news of her father's death — and its 
 cause. I am a busy man, but I couldn't do less 
 than run up to Camp Creek to break as softly as 
 possible that double stroke to her — her lover's 
 marriage, her father's death. May my good angel 
 save me from the necessity of ever carrying another 
 such message to man or woman ! " 
 
 The lawyer's voice, usually so level and firm, 
 had a tremor in it as he uttered this fervent truth. 
 Frenk made no reply, but with a mightily per- 
 turbed countenance left the room. 
 
48 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 X 
 
 MORTIMER FRENK REVISITS CAMP CREEK 
 
 If by some Asmodean magic his mental roof 
 could have been lifted and his thoughts made visi- 
 ble, the newly married Mortimer would hardly 
 have been so much envied for the next bad hour 
 or two. It was like sweating his heart's blood to 
 think of paying the price fixed by Bradwaite for 
 his inordinate folly. Burning regret for what had 
 brought his punishment upon him, and fear of yet 
 more distressing consequences, took the place of 
 remorse in this man's nature; and he forgot 
 Lucy's misfortunes in agonizing over his own. 
 
 He looked wildly in many directions for some 
 way out of his entanglement; but difficulties met 
 him on every side. Impossible to put his prop- 
 erty out of the reach of one who knew as much 
 about it as his former counsel did. Any attempt 
 of the kind would be sure to precipitate a crisis ; 
 and even if successful, what public scandal and 
 domestic storm would Bradwaite make it cost him. 
 His Helen was of a jealous and exacting disposi- 
 tion, and already knew too much of the cause of 
 his temporary alienation from her. What if she 
 should know all? 
 
 If the case should get into court and those let- 
 
MORTIMER FRENK REVISITS CAMP CREEK 49 
 
 ters of his go in as evidence, to appear afterward 
 with flippant head-lines and ironic comment in the 
 Troy and Albany newspapers, — oh, Mortimer 
 Frenk ! It was the horror of that vividly imagined 
 result which cowed his spirit whenever in desper- 
 ate moments he thought of turning at bay and 
 making a fight of it. He could not believe a jury 
 would give the plaintiff $15,000. How stupen- 
 dous the damages loomed, now that he was on 
 the other side of the question ! After looking 
 awhile at the avalanche of woe a lawsuit would 
 bring down, the sum did not seem to him so ap- 
 palling, and he found comfort in the thought that 
 money would cover his escape. But when he 
 turned again to consider the amount from the 
 point of view of business, it expanded to frightful 
 proportions, like the evil genii of the Arabian tale 
 rising out of the bottle. 
 
 Once, as he walked the streets, he started to go 
 back to Bradwaite's office, and there end his 
 agony by making the best terms he could. Then 
 he resolved to consult his own lawyer first — a 
 step, however, which he shrank from taking; and 
 there was one black moment when he was half- 
 minded to go home and confess all to his wife, 
 bow his head to the hurricane, and abide by her 
 advice. 
 
 As a last resort he caught at a cobweb which 
 had been hovering all the while before his eyes. 
 
50 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 now a vanishing gossamer and again as some- 
 thing substantial to the grasp : he would appeal to 
 Lucy. 
 
 He hastened to his office with the intention of 
 writing her another letter, and began two or three. 
 Having torn them all, he suddenly started up, 
 looking at his watch. There was just time to 
 get the train for Camp Creek. 
 
 Despatching a message to his wife and leaving 
 word in the office that he would not be there in 
 the afternoon, he walked out with a nonchalant 
 air, and had ample time to regret the dubious en- 
 terprise when he found himself speeding away on 
 the train toward scenes he dreaded to revisit. 
 
 He lived his trouble all over again in that jour- 
 ney of near two hours, and prepared in his mind 
 a vast deal of pathetic and persuasive language to 
 be used in the interview he was going to seek. 
 Arrived at Camp Creek, he walked directly to the 
 Tilbury house, so eager to secure an advantage 
 for himself that he thought little of the shock 
 his coming might be to Lucy. 
 
 He was not pleased to see the servant he knew 
 receive him at the door. Evidently the pleasure 
 on her part was as moderate. To his first humble 
 question she answered coldly : 
 
 '* She is always in ; she is not able to go out." 
 
 " Do you think — will she see me ? " 
 
 " I don't know any reason why she should." 
 
MORTIMER FRENK REVISITS CAMP CREEK $1 
 
 " There are reasons," said Mortimer, regretting 
 that he had not been a little more open-handed 
 with this spirited Yankee girl in the past. " Will 
 you tell her I wish it very much?" 
 
 *' I'd rather not. She knows you are here, and 
 if she had wanted to see you she would have told 
 me so." 
 
 ''What did she say?" 
 
 ** She said she couldn't meet you. The sight 
 of you from the window was enough." 
 
 The tall Mortimer stood pale and agitated at 
 the door which had once been opened to him with 
 boundless hospitality. He had once felt himself 
 almost the master of that house ; and now a pert 
 village girl could outface him there and bar his 
 entrance. Was he to be thus baffled? Was his 
 journey in vain? 
 
 " Please say to her that it is a matter of very 
 great importance — that I wish to speak with her 
 only a moment." 
 
 " Of great importance to her, or to you? " 
 
 '' To both." 
 
 *' If you insist, I suppose I must tell her." 
 And, leaving him on the doorstep, the girl went 
 reluctantly to do her errand. 
 
 She was gone several minutes, Frenk gnawing 
 his lip the while with doubt, remorse, chagrin, and 
 a strong swelling up of the old passion which Lucy 
 had inspired, and which the thought of his near- 
 
52 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 ness to her now revived. How could he ever 
 desert her as he did, and go back to his Helen of 
 Troy? How she must have loved him to take the 
 disappointment so much to heart, and what happi- 
 ness might still be theirs but for the obstacle which 
 he felt that his weakness, not his will, had set be- 
 tween them ! If she would only consent to receive 
 him, he was sure he could work upon her sym- 
 pathies, gain her forgiveness and perhaps retain her 
 love, and head off Bradwaite. 
 
 He met the returning servant with looks of anx- 
 ious questioning. 
 
 *'She doesn't feel able to see you." 
 
 His countenance fell. Still he could not give up 
 all hope. 
 
 '' May I ask what more she said? " 
 
 '* She said you had not always shown so great 
 an interest in matters of importance to her." 
 
 '* That is true. I have not always shown all I 
 have felt. That is my misfortune, as I wish to ex- 
 plain to her. Do you think she will be able to 
 see me later in the afternoon, or perhaps to- 
 morrow morning?" 
 
 " I can't tell you, sir. All I can say is, you 
 show very little consideration for her when you 
 insist in this way. Excuse me," as he put out his 
 hand, " I don't want your money. Nobody in this 
 house wants it, you "may be sure ! " 
 
 Frenk was not sure, else he might have been 
 
MORTIMER FRENK REVISITS CAMP CREEK 53 
 
 more willing to go away. Finding that she scorned 
 his bribe, he drew back, hesitated, and finally- 
 said : 
 
 " I shall remain in town till to-morrow, in hopes 
 she will conclude to grant me an interview. I shall 
 be at the hotel." 
 
 " Nobody objects to your being at the hotel, 
 the girl replied, and seized the opportunity to 
 close the door. 
 
54 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 XI 
 
 *' I COME TO TERMS " * 
 
 A FEW minutes before noon the next day, Brad- 
 waite sat writing at his desk, when a young man 
 entered whom he was evidently expecting. 
 
 "Well, Dick? " said the lawyer. 
 
 " He didn't come home last night, and he hasn't 
 been seen at the ofifice this morning. He must 
 have gone out of town." 
 
 '* Without leaving any word where he was going, 
 or when he would be back? Then he has gone to 
 only one place," Bradwaite muttered as he looked 
 up at the clock and said in a lower tone, " His time 
 is about up, but I will give him fifteen minutes' 
 grace. Come around again in about twenty minutes, 
 Richard ; I shall probably have an errand for you.'' 
 
 Richard retired. The bells sounded twelve 
 o'clock. Then Bradwaite took from a pigeon-hole 
 a paper which he looked over carefully, filling in 
 certain blank spaces with a pen. He was thus 
 occupied when, hearing a step, he looked up and 
 beheld an apparition. It was Mortimer Frenk. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Bradwaite, with a steady glitter in 
 his eyes. " I had given you up." 
 
 The broker's face showed signs of hurry and 
 worry and weariness and despair. 
 
"I COME TO TERMS" 55 
 
 " I don't suppose I am too late," he said, wiping 
 his forehead. 
 
 ''Well, no; but in ten minutes this paper would 
 have gone around to the clerk of the court. Your 
 delay is excusable. You've been out of town, I 
 hear." 
 
 " I'd like to know how you heard," replied 
 Mortimer. 
 
 " Oh," the lawyer laughed quietly, " a promi- 
 nent man like you can't go and come without hav- 
 ing his movements noted. That's one of the 
 penalties of popularity. How did you enjoy your 
 stay at Camp Creek?" 
 
 Not knowing hew much to admit or how much to 
 deny, the disconcerted Mortimer remained dumb. 
 
 " I'm afraid you didn't enjoy it," said the exas- 
 perating Bradwaite. " You didn't find the old-time 
 entertainment. Did you see her?" 
 
 " I've come to talk business," said Frenk. 
 
 " So I supposed. And I am talking business. 
 If you saw my client and got any important 
 concessions from her, they should be talked over 
 first." 
 
 " I didn't see her, and you know I didn't." 
 Mortimer sat down, not in the dead man's chair, 
 and without crossing his legs in the easy manner 
 of the day before. " I believe she was acting by 
 your advice when she sent back my check, when 
 she refused to see me yesterday and this morning, 
 
56 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 and returned unopened the note I despatched from 
 the hotel." 
 
 "Whether she was or not," said the lawyer with 
 satisfaction, " I must say I think she acted very 
 wisely. She knows you do not seek her for her 
 good, and she does right to snub you. Now I trust 
 you will stay snubbed. What can I do for you 
 to-day?" 
 
 " If I can settle this matter on any terms that 
 will not ruin me," faltered the crestfallen Frenk, 
 '' I suppose I'd better do it. But you mustn't stick 
 to the figure you named yesterday. It is prepos- 
 terous." 
 
 " If that is your opinion," Bradwaite responded 
 in the curtest manner, '* it is useless to spend any 
 more breath in talk." And he turned to his 
 document. 
 
 '* Are you a man without mercy?" said the de- 
 spairing Mortimer. 
 
 '' Without mercy for men who are without prin- 
 ciple ; but I have a great deal of mercy for their 
 victims." 
 
 Frenk chewed on this hard saying for a moment, 
 then asked : 
 
 ** How much time will you give me? " 
 
 "To shuffle and postpone settlement? Not an 
 hour ! Not a minute ! " 
 
 " I mean — to raise the money." 
 
 " As much as is necessary ; but that will not 
 
*'I COME TO terms" 5/ 
 
 be a great deal. If you would like to glance at a 
 list of your bits of property, real and personal, on 
 which money can be raised with little trouble, here 
 it is. Perhaps Forbush & Frenk can shave a little 
 note for you," the lawyer added with a smile. 
 
 " I suppose my partner will have to know about 
 it," murmured Mortimer with growing discontent. 
 *' But for heaven's sake don't let" — he was going 
 to say ". my wife," but he checked himself and 
 added, "don't let anybody else know!" 
 
 *' Certainly not," smiled Bradwaite. " Do I 
 clearly understand that you come to terms? My 
 messenger is waiting at the door." 
 
 " I come to terms," was the answer, in something 
 between a whisper and a groan. 
 
58 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 XII 
 
 '' FURS AND DIAMONDS FOR THAT WOMAN ! " 
 
 The $15,000 was duly paid over to Bradwaite 
 for the benefit of his client. She had already 
 learned from him that he was acting under her 
 father's instructions in trying to obtain some sort 
 of justice from the man who had wronged her. 
 But in her feeble condition she gave the matter 
 not much thought, and realized not at all what 
 that justice was to be until one day — it chanced 
 to be on the anniversary of that fatal last of 
 August — he paid her a visit, and, having carefully 
 led the conversation up to the point, announced 
 to her the fact that he had in his bank deposit 
 $15,000 awaiting her order. 
 
 Lucy was dazed. " Oh, Mr. Bradwaite," she 
 exclaimed, "I can never accept it! I can never 
 take money as compensation for such wrongs ! " 
 And still weak in body and mind, overcome with 
 recollections of the past suffering, she gave way 
 to convulsive tears. 
 
 In vain he used his powers of persuasion to 
 overcome the natural repugnance of a delicate 
 soul to receive any material benefit from such a 
 source. At last he said : 
 
 ** Well, I have followed your father's instruc- 
 
** FURS AND DIAMONDS FOR THAT WOMAN ! " 59 
 
 tions and done what I thought was best. Now 
 all that I can say is that the money is yours, and 
 you can do what you like with it. If you decline 
 to take it for your own advantage, no doubt \'ou 
 can find worthy charities to devote it to." His 
 tone of voice took on a peculiar significance. *' I 
 can recommend an object. j\Iake a present of it 
 to Frenk's wife." 
 
 " Do you mean it?" said Luc}-, in surprise and 
 doubt. 
 
 ''If you should see the silks and furs and jewels 
 she requires to set off her beauty, you would be 
 convinced that she at least can find a use for it 
 if you cannot. Frenk is very proud of her; dia- 
 monds become her immensely." 
 
 Lucy's eyes sparkled. 
 
 " I can't say now what I will do. Keep the 
 money for me till I can think it over. Pay your- 
 self out of it, at all events ; and accept my sincere 
 thanks for all your kindness." 
 
 Seeing that his last shaft had hit the mark, 
 Bradwaite withdrew, saying to himself: 
 
 " Furs and diamonds for that woman? Not 
 much ! A pretty good stroke," he chuckled, " for 
 an old bachelor supposed to know nothing of the 
 feminine mind ! " 
 
 Even after the money was invested in her name 
 Lucy could not bring herself to use any part of it. 
 She lived frugally, dressed plainly, and as soon as 
 
60 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 her health would allow, resumed the old and 
 much-loved task of teaching music. She did not 
 love it so well now, but went to it often in a sort 
 of dream, from the need she felt of earning her 
 living and keeping her mind from preying upon 
 itself. The house, which was almost the only 
 property her father left her, she let to a small 
 family with whom she boarded, retaining her old 
 room and the use of the parlor for her piano and 
 pupils. 
 
 Meanwhile unalloyed prosperity was not the 
 portion in life of Mr. Mortimer Frenk. The pay- 
 ment of the $15,000 proved a turning point in his 
 fortunes. It was the cause of some misunder- 
 standing with his partner, who afterwards, to set 
 himself right in the eyes of Mrs. Frenk, when that 
 high-spirited lady attacked him mistakenly in her 
 husband's behalf, told the whole story of the 
 breach of promise and the heavy damages. We 
 shall not bring our readers within the sweep of 
 the domestic cyclone which ensued. Enough to 
 say a dissolution of partnership was the result, 
 Frenk setting up by himself, and speedily demon- 
 strating the truth of what Bradwaite had said of 
 the comparative abilities of the two men. Fur- 
 bush's stock went up, while Frenk's as steadily 
 went down. 
 
 His suit with the railroad corporation came to 
 trial and the jury awarded him $3,000. He ap- 
 
*' FURS AND DIAMONDS FOR THAT WOMAN ! " 6l 
 
 pealed it, and on a second trial the jury failed to 
 agree. A third jury gave him $2,500, with which 
 he was forced to content himself, although the 
 amount barely sufficed to pay the expenses of 
 the suit. How much more he might have got if 
 he could have had Lucy and her father as wit- 
 nesses he couldn't surmise. But George Tilbury 
 was in his grave, and any reminiscence of his 
 breach of promise brought into court would not 
 have furthered his cause. 
 
 His Trojan Helen had married his money quite 
 as much as she had married him, and her extrav- 
 agance in using it for luxury and display had 
 done its share in bringing him to his downfall. In 
 three years we find him suspending payment and 
 settling with his creditors for fifteen cents on a 
 dollar. It was currently reported that their life 
 was not a perfect model of domestic harmony 
 during these troubled times. 
 
 But happy or not, their union was brief. While 
 he was settling with his creditors his wife died 
 suddenly, leaving a child two years old and an 
 infant that did not long survive her. 
 
 Mortimer Frenk was once more free from the 
 marriage yoke. And now his lonely heart went 
 back with sorrowful yearnings to the love which 
 his life with a haughty and selfish woman had 
 taught him how to prize. What hindered him 
 from hastening to Lucy (after a decent period of 
 
62 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 mourning) and atoning for past wrongs by giving 
 her the once promised hand and the heart he 
 could truly say had all along been more hers than 
 ever any other's? How much he may have been 
 influenced by the fact that his $15,000 had pre- 
 ceded him in that direction, a conscientious his- 
 torian can but vaguely surmise. 
 
*' O MORTIMER ! " 6^ 
 
 XIII 
 
 *' O MORTIMER ! WHY DIDN'T YOU COME TO 
 ME SO? " 
 
 Thus it happened that on a pleasant June day 
 of 1862 Mortimer Frenk once more stepped from 
 the train at Camp Creek and walked with nervous 
 steps to the house he knew so well. He was a much 
 changed man. His black hair and side whiskers 
 were sprinkled with gray. His face had a worn 
 and haggard, weary-worldly expression. Manifestly 
 the bloom had been rudely rubbed off his life. He 
 looked fully a dozen years older than when he rode 
 away from that door with his arm in a sling, cast- 
 ing back smiles of ardent affection at Lucy, left 
 behind to prepare for the wedding that was never 
 to take place. The pert servant who had shut the 
 door against him at the last visit was no longer 
 there, but an unknown woman admitted him to the 
 little parlor, where a girl of twelve was practising 
 an exercise at the piano. He begged her not to 
 stop, and the instrument rattled on. 
 
 He sat down to wait for Lucy, who was out, but 
 expected in presently to give this girl a lesson ; 
 and he glanced around to note the changes in the 
 room. The most conspicuous addition was a por- 
 trait of Lucy's father, evidently painted from a 
 
64 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 phot6graph, looking down at him from the wall, 
 with eyes so mildly sad that they gave him a most 
 uncomfortable thrill. He was not an unfeeling 
 wretch, this Mortimer Frenk. 
 
 In a few minutes a young woman came in from 
 the street, and speaking cheerfully to the girl at 
 the keys, began to take off her things. Her face 
 was partly turned from the visitor when he started 
 from his seat. 
 
 "A gentleman to see you, Miss Tilbury," said 
 the girl. 
 
 Lucy turned and saw rise up before her the ghost 
 of her old life and love and happiness and long de- 
 spair. She became very pale, and reached out her 
 hand to the piano to steady her faltering step. 
 
 "I hope you will forgive me this surprise," he 
 said, in a tone of humble entreaty. " I did not 
 intend it." 
 
 She took some seconds to recover herself, and 
 slipped into a chair beside the piano, her hat care- 
 lessly falling back from her looped-up light auburn 
 hair. Then she said in a low voice, with bright 
 eyes fixed upon him, and a look too sad to be 
 called a smile : 
 
 ** It is a surprise, Mr. Frenk. I saw no reason 
 why we should ever meet again." 
 
 ** There are reasons, as I hope to convince 
 you," said Mortimer, " if you will grant me a few 
 words." 
 
" O MORTIMER ! '* 65 
 
 Lucy hesitated. She had nearly recovered her 
 self-possession, and her color — the same exquis- 
 itely fresh and delicate pink that he remembered 
 — was coming back into her cheeks. She, too, 
 had grown older, but in an indescribably different 
 way from him. The woman was somehow lovelier 
 than the girl. Her brow seemed fuller, her nostrils 
 finer, the lines of her face were emphasized by 
 experience, the curve of her mouth was full of 
 sweetness and strength. She turned to the girl on 
 the piano-stool. 
 
 '* Will you excuse me to-day. Bertha? " 
 Then, holding her hat by the ribbons, after the 
 pupil was gone she turned her steady luminous 
 blue eyes on Frenk. 
 
 '' I have come," he said, bending earnestly tow- 
 ard her from the chair where he sat, " because 
 I am not happy ; because I never could be and 
 never can be happy until I am allowed the privi- 
 lege of making some explanations." 
 
 Lucy remained silent for a moment, seeing far 
 more than he dreamed, with that clear, spiritual 
 gaze. She saw the worldly lines in his face grown 
 permanent and hard, with little lairs of craft and 
 greed about the corners of the eyes and mouth. 
 She could see now that they had always been there, 
 and wondered what blindness had prevented her 
 from discerning them, even amid the charms those 
 fine features had for her in their fresher manhood. 
 
66 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 *' I can believe that you have not been very 
 happy," she said at length. " But I don't see that 
 explanations can be useful to either of us. The 
 past is past ; it is irrevocable. I would prefer to 
 let it be." 
 
 '' I can't let it be ! " exclaimed Frenk. '* I did 
 a terrible thing. It has followed me, it has 
 gnawed my heart, it has been a shadow on my 
 life, and it will pursue me to the grave unless I 
 can hear you say you forgive me." 
 
 *' Let me say at once, then, that I forgive you, 
 and be spared the rest," Lucy replied, with a coun- 
 tenance full of pain and pity. 
 
 Still Frenk was not satisfied. *' You are not 
 
 prepared to believe in me. I cannot bear that ! " 
 
 " It is not enough, then, to say that I forgive you, 
 
 but I must believe in you, too?" Lucy smiled. 
 
 ** You ask too much, Mr. Frenk ! " 
 
 *' I don't wonder you say so. It is because you 
 did not understand why I acted as I did," he con- 
 tinued, edging again towards his explanations. 
 
 " I think I understand. I didn't at the time, for 
 I did not know you. It took me a long while to 
 learn that you were not the being I imagined you. 
 If you had been that, you never could have done 
 what you did — oh, never, Mr. Frenk! " 
 
 She gave a little shudder, as of horror at her 
 recollections. Her eyes drooped pensively; he 
 would have given much to know what thoughts of 
 
*' O MORTIMER ! " 6/ 
 
 him were veiled by those pure Hds. He was glad 
 she did not see the flush he felt tingling in his 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Allow me to protest," he said, " that I zaas 
 what you imagined. Perhaps not all; no doubt 
 you idealized me. Yet I was sincere — I was the 
 soul of sincerity, as I wrote you once, and I never 
 wrote truer words. I loved you devotedly " — 
 
 '* Oh, Mr. Frenk ! " She interrupted him with a 
 gesture of entreaty, flinging aside her hat and 
 turning away her face. 
 
 " Please to hear me," he insisted, " for we may 
 never meet again. I loved you then, I loved you 
 always, I have loved you ever since." 
 
 She started to her feet, indignation flashing from 
 her eyes. 
 
 '' Mr. Frenk ! " she exclaimed, as he too rose 
 and stood before her, " you make me think worse 
 of you than I have ever wished to do. I pitied 
 your weakness, for I believed your heart had gone 
 back to the woman who had it before you saw me. 
 But when you say your love for me continued, even 
 when you deserted me in that cruel way and mar- 
 ried her, what can I think? " 
 
 " Despise me if you must," said Mortimer, *' for 
 in one sense it is true. You had a place in my 
 heart which no other woman had, or ever can have. 
 But I won't deny that she had great power over 
 me. She claimed me, she wouldn't give me up ; 
 
68 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 there were weeks when I was nearly insane think- 
 ing of you, longing for you, and trying to break 
 the spell she held me by — begging her to release 
 me from my engagement." 
 
 Frenk thought he had put that strongly and 
 effectively. 
 
 " And you told me you were not engaged ! " 
 
 ** If I told you what wasn't quite true, it was 
 because I hoped it zvas true, and meant to have it 
 true. But, Lucy, \{ yon ever loved, you need not 
 be told how a powerful and passionate woman can 
 cling." 
 
 " Perhaps I never loved ; perhaps I am not 
 powerful and passionate," said Lucy, with strong 
 agitation, sinking again into her chair. '* For I do 
 not understand how she could hold you. If you 
 had come to me and told me you had found 
 another you preferred, would I have held you ? I 
 know I am capable of some feeling, and it would 
 have been hard for me, but I should have tried to 
 be strong, and I know I would have set you free. 
 And I would have respected you, loved you, and 
 blessed you through it all. O Mortimer! why 
 didn't you come to me so ? " 
 
** THERE CAN BE NO ATONEMENT ! " 69 
 
 XIV 
 
 " THERE CAN BE NO ATONEMENT ! " 
 
 The tears that followed these words thrilled him 
 to the depths of his not very deep heart. And she 
 had called him Mortimer, as in the old happy 
 days ! He built much hope on that. 
 
 " I couldn't come to you. I couldn't bear, I 
 didn't dare to see you. But I wish I had come. 
 Once more in your presence I could never have 
 given you up. You would have set me free 
 indeed, but free from her. You would have helped 
 me to be true and strong. You would have saved 
 me from a most wretched marriage, and I should 
 have made you happy." 
 
 He was rather pleased with his own eloquence, 
 and paused to observe its effect on her. She was 
 weeping still. 
 
 " Oh, Mortimer ! " she said, *' why do you talk 
 to me so now? " And for a moment it seemed as 
 if the old love had reasserted its mastery over her. 
 
 He deemed it time to leave the line of his ex- 
 planations and make a bold advance. 
 
 ** Because I am once more free ; and oh, Lucy ! 
 because we may yet be happy together." 
 
 He was leaning earnestly toward her again from 
 his chair. He reached to take her hand. She drew 
 it back with a sudden change of manner. 
 
JO A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 " Happy together ! " she exclaimed, all signs of 
 her transient weakness vanishing with her tears. 
 *' You and I ? Never ! " 
 
 '' Don't speak that terrible word, Lucy ! Our 
 love will be stronger than ever, and we shall be all 
 the more tenderly united for this long separation." 
 
 *' Never ! " He was still leaning towards her, 
 with a most persuasive, pleading grimace, but she 
 did not see him. Her eyes were fixed on the por- 
 trait above his head with a strange expression, as 
 if she saw the spirit of her father ; while her lips 
 repeated with tremulous emphasis, " Never ! " 
 
 ''But, Lucy!" he said, awed by that intense, 
 sorrowful, far-away look, *' you will not deny me 
 the satisfaction of making this one atonement for 
 the wrong I did you? " 
 
 ** Atonement?" She lowered her eyes to his 
 with a sparkle that would have seemed like scorn 
 in eyes less deep and sad. " I forgive you, as I 
 said ; but there can be no atonement ! The grave 
 of my dear dead father is between us. A horrible 
 gulf of suffering and despair is between us. My 
 renewed life, my clear sense of what is eternally 
 right and just, — all that is between us, and will be 
 between us forever." 
 
 Her words were full of tender resoluteness, and 
 Frenk felt his soul pierced by them as by a 
 sword. 
 
 " You pronounce my sentence when you say 
 
"THERE CAN BE NO ATONEMENT!" /I 
 
 that," he replied after a pause. '' Must I give 
 up my own happiness, and the hope of making 
 good my broken promises?" 
 
 "The man you are to-day cannot make good 
 to me anything in the past. The idol you were 
 to me — that is broken, along with your broken 
 faith. I am not sorry that you have come, for 
 if any illusions of the old time still clung to my 
 remembrance of you, this interview has swept 
 them all away. You have explained yourself in 
 a way you did not intend. Seeing you as you 
 are has interpreted to me what you were and 
 what you did." 
 
 Frenk sank back in his chair and silently re- 
 garded her, so full of sweet, womanly dignity, 
 speaking to him as from a height ; so lovely, yet 
 so inexorable. He even forgot his forfeited 
 $15,000 in his longing to possess again the rich 
 gift of that great love he had once cast away. 
 But he felt that to be impossible. Disappointed, 
 humiliated, convicted of some fatal want within 
 himself, he sat studying her, while she turned 
 her rapt eyes upward once more to the picture. 
 Then, after a minute's bitter reflection, he said in 
 a much changed voice : 
 
 " I wish you would tell me what is the matter 
 with me, for as I live I don't know. I try to do 
 right, to be right ; and yet you make me feel what 
 a failure I am." 
 
72 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 "You are indeed a failure, Mr. Frenk; and it 
 is because you have not built your life on any 
 foundation of character. You are not a man of 
 conscience. You have a weak sense of obliga- 
 tion. You love your pleasure and your ease and 
 your profit more than you love what is right and 
 true. You have generous feelings, but you waste 
 them. Such a man cannot be truly happy in him- 
 self, nor give happiness to others. Living a life 
 of expedients, you know nothing of the life of 
 the spirit. I see you do not even understand 
 what I mean by it. How then can we ever be 
 united? If that was ever possible, it is no longer 
 possible now." 
 
 " You might have made me better," said Frenk, 
 with glistening eyes. 
 
 ** We should very likely have grown together," 
 she replied. *' I might not have made you bet- 
 ter, and you might have made me worse." 
 
 All which went heavily to the man's heart, 
 for he felt her judgments true and her decision, 
 final. 
 
 "No doubt you are right," he said, after an in- 
 ward struggle. " I never was worthy of you, 
 Lucy. But can't we still be friends?" 
 
 She smiled faintly over her arms folded placidly 
 below her heart. 
 
 " I am glad to find you have recovered your 
 health," he went on. " But I am pained to see 
 
" THERE CAN BE NO ATONEMENT ! " 73 
 
 you a slave to those music lessons again. I 
 hoped you would be relieved of that drudgery." 
 
 " It is not drudgery," she replied tranquilly. 
 " I have my living to get, and it is well for all of 
 us to be employed. Oh," she suddenly ex- 
 claimed, *' I know what you allude to ! Strange 
 I had not thought of it since you came." 
 
 " It should have made you independent," said 
 Mortimer Frenk. 
 
 " You mistake. It was a great trial to me at 
 first. I couldn't take advantage of what every- 
 body thought my good fortune. Some of the in- 
 come from it I have used to assist others ; never 
 a dollar for myself. For a while I even thought 
 of giving it back to you." 
 
 Something leaped in the man's heart. She had 
 risen as if to end the interview. He rose also, 
 closely eying her, a wistful gleam breaking through 
 his cloud of trouble. 
 
 " But seeing you again has shown me how 
 Httle real benefit that would ever have been to 
 you." 
 
 The gleam disappeared. 
 
 " Have you children? " 
 
 " I have one little boy not yet three years 
 old." 
 
 He did not suspect the motive of her question 
 and he answered it mechanically. She was about 
 to speak again, but something in his eyes caused 
 
74 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 her to forbear, and she remained thoughtful, 
 while he moved to the door with bent head. 
 Then he turned and lifted his eyes to her, standing 
 a little way back from him in the entry, still so 
 lovely, still so inexorable. She smiled a sad good- 
 by, and he went away. 
 
A QUESTION OF HAPPINESS 75 
 
 XV 
 
 A QUESTION OF HAPPINESS 
 
 The next day Lucy wrote to Bradwaite : 
 " Please do not accuse me of ingratitude for all 
 your intended kindness, if I tell you once more 
 that that money continues to be a burden to me, 
 and nothing but a burden. The only thing that 
 could ever have reconciled my conscience to it 
 would have been an opportunity to use it in some 
 work of noble charity. But in our simple village 
 life such opportunities are rare. We have no poor 
 class, such as is said to exist in other countries, 
 but everybody who is industrious enjoys some 
 share of prosperity, while the half-dozen aged and 
 infirm persons who cannot provide for themselves 
 are comfortably provided for by the community 
 they live in. 
 
 '' Since it has transpired that 1 have money I do 
 not seem to know what to do with, I have been 
 besieged by respectable beggars whom I never 
 heard of before ; but I have fears of doing more 
 harm than good by acceding to their impudent 
 demands. Nor am I one of those fortunate char- 
 acters so common in fiction, if not in real life, who 
 find it delightfully easy to do good, and are always 
 sure to meet with some fine occasion for their 
 
^6 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 benevolence and self-sacrifice. No doubt the 
 world is full of objects to which my undesired 
 wealth might be worthily devoted. But how shall 
 I obtain personal knowledge of them, and learn 
 to give wisely? I have no heart for such work. 
 And yet I might have, even I, but for the depress- 
 ing consciousness that that money does not in any 
 way belong to me, even to do good with. 
 
 " No, dear Mr. Bradwaite. That is the secret 
 of my indecision, which I know has annoyed you 
 so much ; I could not really accept it, although I 
 allowed your friendly persuasion to prevent me 
 from promptly declining it. Having seen Mr. 
 Frenk yesterday, I am not sorry that I hesitated 
 about returning it to him ; a better solution of the 
 difficulty has presented itself. I shall need your 
 help in the matter ; and if you will kindly tell me 
 how I can settle that money on his motherless 
 boy, and will yourself consent to act as trustee in 
 the case, you will enable me to dispose at last of 
 this troublous question of damages, and make me, 
 dear Mr. Bradwaite, very happy." 
 
 Believing the lawyer already weary enough of 
 what he deemed her foolish scruples, Lucy feared 
 this proposal would only add to his vexation. For 
 two or three reasons, however, it gave him great 
 satisfaction. He had come to have the highest 
 respect for those scruples, while his early regard 
 for her, beginning in sympathy for her distress 
 
A QUESTION OF HAPPINESS ^^ 
 
 and indignation at her wrongs, had grown to an 
 ardent admiration for her character. He at once 
 wrote her a letter, over which she shed tears of 
 
 joy: 
 
 "You have been right in this matter all along, 
 and have shown me how a woman's heart may 
 sometimes be wiser than the most learned mascu- 
 line head — which mine is not. Your present 
 plan is the best that could possibly be conceived, 
 for not only is Frenk poor, but on the mother's 
 side there are no near relatives, either poor or 
 rich ; so that properly managed, this money may 
 be made of very great use to the almost friendless 
 boy." Such words, from the man she had once 
 distrusted, but since learned to regard as the noblest 
 heart and soundest head she had ever known, 
 might well make Lucy glad. 
 
 But his chief cause of satisfaction at the final 
 disposition she made of the money, Bradwaite did 
 not put into a letter. She had inspired him with 
 something more than admiration, but how could 
 he tell her so and ask for her hand, while it held 
 the money which he had forced into it? For, after 
 all, he was as delicately scrupulous as she was 
 about deriving personal profit from those damages 
 which he had yet deemed it righteous to exact. 
 That question settled at last, he one morning 
 closed his office door and hastened to Camp Creek 
 to crive his most earnest attention to that far more 
 
78 A QUESTION OF DAMAGES 
 
 important question of happiness which concerned 
 them both. 
 
 Frenk did not stay in Albany to congratulate his 
 successful rival, but sought about that time a new 
 field for his activity, from which he never returned. 
 Going to the war on a sutler's wagon, he was 
 picked off by a fever as fatal as a guerilla shot. 
 The son still lives and gives promise of becoming 
 a better man than his father, thanks to the wise 
 guardianship and ennobling influence of his friends, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jay Bradwaite. 
 
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 "This is an interesting^ story of home life, not wanting' in incident, and 
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 This volume is larger than most ^vritten by Miss Douglas, and contains 
 many interesting scenes and characters. It would be impossible to give a 
 condensed synopsis of the story; but it is enough to say, that it is a fresh, pure, 
 and bright story, full of the "touches which reveal intense feeling, and go 
 straight to the heart; but without the overstrained sentiment which was once 
 the bane of novels. 
 
 Stephen Dane. Bj Amanda M. Douglas. Price $1.50. 
 
 This is the storv of a mechanic who worked his way up from poverty to 
 afBuence. It is complicated by a murder, committed by the hero's drunken 
 father; the victim being the proprietor of the works where both were employed. 
 The hero fell in love with the young daughter of the murdered man, and she 
 became the lode-star which drew him on. Not that she had a fortune; on the 
 contrary, she inherited nothing, and she owed her happiness solely to the 
 exertions and energy of her lover. It is beautifully written, and much 
 admired. 
 
 IjOSt in a Great City. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price, 
 cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 " This is the strongest story which has ever come from the peii of Miss 
 Douglas, and starts off with a dramatic touch which chains the reader's 
 attention at once, and holds it closely till the last page is read. It is the story 
 of a little girl, Nora, who, becoming separated from her nurse in the busy and 
 crowded streets of New York, is lost beyond discoverj'^ for many a year. . . 
 The denouement is entirely satisfactory, and the plot of the story is finely 
 conceived and carried out, with not a page's loss of interest on the part of the 
 reader." — St. Albans Messenger. 
 
 Floyd Grandon's Honor. Bj Amanda M. Douglas. Price 
 $1.50. 
 
 " The writings of Miss Douglas have found acceptance with the public, 
 because they are characterized by good sense, a keen insight, and an apprecia- 
 tion of all that is good and noble in human life. Her stories are always pure, 
 always pleasing, always elevating. Floyd Grandon is the central figure, 
 around whom are grouped near relatives and friends, together with his own 
 family. The pursuits, pleasures, and lives of this charming circle at Grandon 
 Park make a sunny story whose brightness is not altogether unclouded, for it 
 is shadowed by the villany of Floyd's partner in bu=;iness, Mr. Wilmarth, 
 whose fate it is not necessary to anticipate." — Home jFournal. 
 
 Hope Mills, By Amanda M. Douglas. Price $1.50. 
 
 This is an entertaining novel. The many characters of the story are drawn 
 with skill, and impress their individuality upon the reader, and the interest is 
 well sustained. But the book is something more than a novel. It was written 
 to exhibit the workin-j^s of co-operation in a manufacturing town. Hope Mills, 
 having been closed oy a panic and the dishonesty of the manager, are re- 
 opened as a joint stock concern by the operatives. The difficulties and final 
 success of the enterprise are portrayed in a lively narrative. 
 
 Out of the Wreck; or, was it worth the Victory .!* By 
 Amanda M. Douglas. Price, cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " This is a strong and fascinating history of a noble woman, fighting her way 
 out of the horrors of a drunkard's home on to the heights of prosperity and 
 peace. Against the mean prejudices of her husband's aristocratic relatives she 
 engages in business, and makes it a success, and this gives her the means of 
 savino- and educatins' her children. It is written with delightful freshness, 
 graced and streniith, and reveals a mind of remarkable refinement and power." 
 — North Adams Transcript. 
 
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 Nelly Kinnard's Kingdom. By Amanda M. Douglas. 
 
 frice, cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 •'Nelly Endicott, a bright, lively girl, marries Dr. Kinnard, a widower with 
 two children. On going to her' husband's home, she finds installed there 
 a sister of his first wife (Aunt Adelaide, as she is called by the children), 
 who is a vixen, a maker of trouble, and a nuisance of the worst kind. Most 
 young wives would have had such a pest put out of the house, but Nelly 
 endures the petty vexations to which she is subjected, in a manner which 
 shows the beauty and strength of her character. How she surmounted the 
 difficulty, it would not be fair to state." — A'ezu York Evening' Mail. 
 
 From Hand to Mouth. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price $1.50. 
 
 " This is a thoroughly good, true, pure, sweet, and touching story. It covers 
 precisely those phases of domestic life which are of the most common expe- 
 rience, and will take many and many of its readers just where they have been 
 themselves. There is trouble in it, and sorrow, and pain, and parting, but the 
 sunset glorifies the clouds of the varied day, and the peace which passes 
 understanding pervades all. For young women whose lives are just opening 
 into wifehood and maternity, we have read nothing better for many a day." — 
 Literary World. 
 
 A Modern Adam and Eve in a Garden, By Amanda M. 
 
 Douglas. Price $1.50. 
 
 Bright, amusing, and sensible. A story of two people ■who set out to win 
 thtir share of the world's wealth, and how they did it; which, as a critic says, 
 •' is rather jolly and out-of-door-y, and ends in a greenhouse," — with some love 
 and pathos, ol course, and much practical knowledge. 
 
 Tlie Old Woman wlio lived in a Shoe. By Amanda M. 
 Douglas. Price $1.50. 
 
 This is not a child's storj', nor a comic view of household life, — as some 
 might think from its title — but a domestic novel, full of the delights of home, 
 of pure thoughts, and gentle virtues. It has also sufficient complications to 
 keep the thread of interest dravjn, and to lead the reader on. Among Miss 
 Douglas' many successful books, there is none more beautiful or attractive, or 
 which leaves a more permanent impression. 
 
 Claudia, By Amanda M. Douglas. Price $1.50. 
 
 This is a romantic story, -with abundant incidents and strong situations. 
 The interest is intense. It concerns two half sisters, whose contrasted charac- 
 ter and complicated fortunes are the charm of the book. 
 
 Seven I>aug"hters, By Amanda M.Douglas. Price $1.50. 
 
 The " Seven " are daughters of a country clergyman who is not greatly blessed 
 with the good things of the world. The story is related by the eldest, who 
 considers herself lar from brilliant or witty, but who makes charming pictures 
 of all who figure in the book. The good minister consents to receive a number 
 of bright boys as pupil-boarders, and the two families make a suggestive 
 counterpoise, with mutual advantage. Destiny came with the coming of the 
 boys, and the story has naturally a happy end. 
 
 The Foes of her Household, By Amanda M. Douglas. 
 Price $1.50. 
 "This is an exceedingly entertaining book. A simple girl, of beautiful 
 character, marries a young man in poor health out of pure love, and ignorant 
 of the fact that he is rich. His death occurs not very long after the marriage, 
 and the voung widow becomes the object of practical persecution by his rela- 
 tives, who misunderstand her motives entirely. With a nobility of character, 
 as rare as beautiful, she destroys their prejudice, and at last teaches them to 
 love her." — Central Baptist, St. Louis, Mo. 
 
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 Tbe Fortunes of the Faradays. Bj Amanda M. Douglas. 
 Price $1.50. 
 
 •' Miss Amanda M. Douglas is a prolific writer of novels, and her circle of 
 teaders is flatteringly large. Her works are full of spirited action, and are, 
 vjioreover, wholesome in tone and purpose. 'The F"ortunes of the Faradays' 
 is ihe latest product of her pen, and is of equal merit with her other books. It 
 is a story of family life, full of sweet, home pictures, and fair, lovable, and 
 ver} human personages." — Commomvealth. 
 
 In Trust. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price, cloth, $1.50; paper, 
 50 cents. 
 
 A young doctor, tAvo weeks before his intended marriage, has, through his 
 father's sudden death, a family of half brothers and sisters thrown upon his 
 charge. He sets himself to the task of rearing these children, — a task in which 
 he is opposed by his affianced bride. A separation ensues : not to his loss. 
 
 " Miss Douglas has a rare gift for portraying domestic life, and she has never 
 used it to better purpose than in the story now issued. It is full of incident 
 and variety, holds up a high ideal, and carries it out in the action of the story, 
 so that one cannot read the narrative without an impulse to live for a purpose, 
 and to cultivate the highest and best qualities that make true men and women." 
 — Providence yournal. 
 
 iJarry: The $2,000 Prize Story. By Amanda M. Douglas. 
 
 Price, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 There is always a certain fascination in witnessing the development of a 
 noble nature; and 'Larry" becomes a rare specimen of an ingenuous, modest, 
 and high-spirited young man. The scenery of his Western home is vividly 
 depicted, and the people with whom his lot is cast become real men and women 
 under the author's creative touches. Its incidents are wholly within probable 
 limits, yet they afford an unusual opportunity for dramatic eSects, and for the 
 contrasts which are the life of a novel. 
 
 Bethia Wray's New Name. By Amanda M. Douglas. 
 Price, cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The story is full of movement, and o" natural, lively incident; and the fortunes 
 of the heroine and her friends will be followed with absorbing interest. Bethia's 
 "New Name" results frcm her inteliectual and moral development. Miss 
 Douglas is a born story teller; and in this volume she has given a charm to 
 the narration which will be felt by every reader, and will greatly advance her 
 already high reputation. 
 
 In the King's Country. By Amanda M. Douglas. A 
 Christian Endeavor story. Cloth, $1.50. 
 There is the touch of the born story-teller in this latest book of Miss Douglas's, 
 which has made her the friend of young and old wherever her we!l-known novels 
 have circulated. The strong, earne-st purpose and lofty moral tone of the book 
 make it a most excellent companion for a young girl. Character-building is its key- 
 note, and no one could fail to be benefited by studying the development of the life 
 of Sabrina Ea-twood and its effect on the lives of those around her. 
 
 In Wild Rose Time. By Amanda M. Douglas. Cloth ^1.50. 
 
 Aliss Douglas has given us a story as strong and true in its pictures of life 
 acO' ug the poor, and the trials and temptations which surround them, and also of the 
 nob.e lives which spring up and blossom amid such scenes, as anything which has 
 previously emanated from her pen. 
 
 Faith, Love, Hope and Charity shine out on every page of this book like beacoc 
 lights, and so vivid are the pen-pictures that one seems to be a participant in them. 
 
 Had Miss Douglas written but this one book, it would alone have placed hei 
 name among our best authors. 
 
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 Osborne of Arrocliar, By Amanda M. Douglas. Price, 
 cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cents. 
 "In this novel, the author introduces us to an interesting- family of girls, 
 who, in default of the appearance of the rightful heir, occupy an old, aristocratic 
 place at Arrochar. Just as it has reached the lowest point of dilapidation, 
 through lack of business capacity on the part of the family, Osborne appears 
 to claim his inheritance, and the interesting problem presents itself of marry- 
 ing one of the daughters or turning the family out. The author thus gives 
 herself a fair field to display her skill in the painting of character , the manage- 
 ment of incident, and the construction of the dialogue. She has been in a 
 large degree successful. We feel that we are dealing with real persons; and, 
 as to the management of the story, it is sufficient praise to say that the 
 interest is cumulative. The book will add to the author's reputation." — School 
 journal, N. Y. 
 
 The Heirs of Bradley House. By Amanda M. Douglas. 
 Price $1.50. 
 '' The author has won a most honorable place in the literary world by the 
 character as well as cleverness of her work. Her books are as clean and 
 fresh and invigorating as a morning in May. If she is not deep or profound, 
 she stirs in the heart of her reader the noblest impulses; and whosoever 
 accomplishes this has not written in vain." — Chicago Saturday Evening 
 Herald. 
 
 "Whom Kathie married. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price 
 $1.50. 
 
 Miss Douglas wrote a series of juvenile stories in which Kathie figured ; 
 and in this volume the young ladv finds her destiny. The sweetness and 
 purity of her life is reflected in the lives of all about her, and she is admired 
 and beloved by all. The delicacy and grace with which Miss Douglas weaves 
 her story, the nobility of her characters, the absence of everything sensational, 
 all tend to make this book one specially adapted to young girls. 
 
 A Woman's Inlieritance. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price 
 
 $1.50. 
 
 *' Miss Douglas is widely known as a writer of excellent stories, all of them 
 having a marked family likeness, but all ot them bright, fascinating, and 
 thoroughly entertaining. This romance has to do with the fortunes of a young 
 woman whose father, dying, left her with what was supposed to be a large 
 
 Eroperty, but which, under the management of a rascally trustee, was very neaj 
 eing wrecked, and was only saved by the self-denying devotion of one wha 
 was strictly under no obligation to exert himself in its behalf. The interest of 
 the story is well sustained to the very close, and the reader will follow the 
 fortunes of the various characters with an absorbed fascination." — iV^xi' Bed- 
 ford Mercury. 
 
 Sydnie Adriance. By Amanda M. Douglas. Price $1.50. 
 
 In this book, the heroine, being suddenly reduced to poverty, refuses an 
 off"er of marriage, because she thinks it comes from the condescension of pity 
 rather than frd^m the inspiration of love. She determines to earn her living, 
 becomes a governess, then writes a book, which is successful, and inhents a 
 fortune from a distant relative. Then she marries the man— But let i^is not 
 tell th£ story. The author has told it in a charming way. 
 
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 Xeiglibor Jackwood. By J. T. Trowbridge. New Revised 
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 " It sparkles with wit, it is liquid with humor, it has the unmistakable touch 
 of nature, and it has a procession of characters like a novel of Scott; indeed, 
 in many ways it recalls that great master. There is less description and more 
 action in it than is habitual with Scott, and the conception of some of its sec- 
 ondary characters, such as the crazy-brained Edward Longman, would not be 
 unworthy of him."— yo//« Burroughs. 
 
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 " A new edition of one of the most successful of this favorite author's books. It 
 will be read with fresh interest bv many who have welcomed it in eariier editions, 
 and to those who now give it their first reading it will yield delightful entertainment, 
 and unfold lessons that will Uve long in tlie memory." — Gospel Banner. 
 
 Coupon Bonds. Bj J. T. Trowbridge. Price, cloth, $1.50; 
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 " ' Coupon Bonds ' is undoubtedly one of the best short stories ever published 
 in this countrv. It is a most happy and felicitous stroke. It is brimful of the 
 very best quality of humor, — the humor that gro\vs naturally out of the char- 
 acter and the s'ituation, and it moves along briskly, without any uraring or 
 pushing by the author. It is full of incident, full of character, full of novel 
 and ludicrous surprises and situations; and, if it could be composed into a 
 three-act comedy, would be as irresistible in its way as Sheridan's ' School for 
 Scandal.' " — Scrtbner's Monthly. 
 
 Cudjo's Cave. By J. T. Trowbridge. Price, cloth, $1.50; 
 paper, 50 cents. 
 Mr. Trowbridge's readers are accustomed to plenty of lively incidents and 
 exciting adventures, and in this volume the supply is surely abundant. The 
 story opens with the adventures of a Quaker schoolmaster in Tennessee pre- 
 vious to the opening of the late war, and the exciting scenes attendant upon 
 the opening of the great struggle betvveen North and South are portrayed in a 
 graphic manner. Many of the chapters recall the stories of thrilling adven- 
 ture that were current in war times. 
 
 Three Scouts. By J. T. Trowbridge. Price, cloth, $1.50; 
 paper, 50 cents. 
 
 This story is a companion to "Cudjo's Cave" and " The Drummer Boy," in 
 being a narrative of stormy events in the Civil War, when the army of the 
 Cumberland, under Rosecrans, and the Confederate forces, under Bragg, were 
 battling with each other in 1S62. Yet it is complete in itself as a story. 
 
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 The author of this book is so famous as a story-writer, that another excellent 
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 who went into the army as a drummer, and who, from the good instructions of 
 a fond and noble mother, sought to impart to his rude and reckless companions 
 some of the good of his own character. 
 
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 All the sterling qualities which have placed Mr. Trowbridge among the 
 foremost of American novelists are to be found in this new romance. It is not 
 a short story or series of sketches that may be " devoured " in an hour, but, 
 as the number of its pages testify, a full-blooded romance, alive with incident, 
 and overflowing with interest. 
 
 Martin Merrivale: His X Mark. By J. T. Trowbridge. 
 Price $1.50. 
 
 This story of New England life abounds in passages of rare humor and 
 pathos. Not even in "Coupon Bonds," nor in "Neighbor Jackwood " has 
 Trowbridge created characters better fitted to give him enduring fame. No 
 one can read the story without seeing that the author has put his whole soul in 
 it. On his last page, he says, and evidently in all sincerity, that he has 
 written it, " not for mme, still less for fortune, but all tor love." 
 
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 The book furnishes a most romantic, and, withal, a most instructive illustra- 
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 startling situations, temptations, and all the elements of a thrilling story. 
 
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 Price $1.50. 
 
 This volume contains about thirty bright and interesting stories of domestic 
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 mib'Sd-sPh 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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A. question of (i^ni- 
 
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 M511974