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 MABY L SALTEK.
 
 UCSB LIBRARY
 
 THE LOST RECEIPT; 
 
 OB, 
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS 
 
 BY MARY J. SALTER. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 WRIGHT & POTTER PRINTING COMPANY, 
 
 18 POST OFFICK SQUARE. 
 
 1881.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In presenting this book to the public, it may not be amiss 
 to assure the reader that it is founded on facts. 
 
 The heroine of this story still exists ; and we find 
 such instances take place every day among our own circle 
 of acquaintance. In the ensuing pages, the reader will find 
 that it requires a pure mind and a true and noble heart to 
 avoid the iniquities and temptations that are spread before 
 us ; and here we find one who rejected the counsel of the ser- 
 pent, which made every effort to tempt her. At the hour of 
 trial she was not crushed by the overwhelming grief and 
 difficulties which surrounded her ; but took her place, with 
 firm zeal, in the field of industry ; and, after many impedi- 
 ments, joy crowned her labor. 
 
 I hope the reader will excuse any mistakes, as the author 
 is deprived of the most useful of all faculties, that of eyesight. 
 
 MARY J. SALTER.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, 7 
 
 II. FIRST IMPRESSIONS, 15 
 
 III. A CLOSE RESEMBLANCE, 22 
 
 IV. THE HAUNTED GLEN VISITED, 29 
 
 V. A BACKWARD GLANCE, 36 
 
 VI. DOUBTS AND PERPLEXITIES, 43 
 
 VII. WHAT TOM BEATLY SAW, . . . ' . . .50 
 
 VIII. PLANS FOR THE FUTURE, 58 
 
 IX. THE RESCUE, 62 
 
 X. HAMILTON'S ENGAGEMENT, . . . . . .69 
 
 XI. WEDDING BELLS, 79 
 
 XII. RETRIBUTION, ..) 
 
 XIII. CONCLUSION, ... 93
 
 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, FRUSTRATED DESIGNS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING* 
 
 IN the village of Rockwell two gentlemen stood waiting 
 for the family coach of Major Sargeant ; but there was 
 no trace of it. Making inquiries at the station, they 
 were informed that there was no public conveyance by 
 which they might reach their destination. At the sugges- 
 tion of his friend, one of the gentlemen took a letter from 
 his pocket, to learn from its contents, if they had mistaken 
 the, time at which they were told the coach would arrive. 
 Upon reading it, he discovered that they were three hours 
 ahead of the time stated. Learning that Rosebank the 
 part of the country to which they were going was only 
 two miles from the station, they concluded that, rather than 
 endure three hours weariness in waiting, they would walk to 
 Rosebank ; and while the}' are leisurely enjoying the walk, 
 the beautiful scenery, and the fresh, bracing air of the 
 countr}', we will take the privilege of following them. 
 
 One is tall and graceful, with an aristocratic bearing and 
 dignified manner. His appearance was that of one who 
 knew the value and enjoyed the pleasures this world's goods 
 afforded him. Fortune seemed to smile as favorably on his 
 companion ; but there was a great difference in their looks 
 and manners. He was low-sized, rather fleshy, easy-going, 
 almost indolent ; he was witty and good-natured, and deter-
 
 8 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 mined to trouble himself as little as possible about anything. 
 He was Walter Seymour, and the former was Hamilton 
 Blayre. 
 
 It was June ; and during this month the country is beauti- 
 ful with a peaceful serenity that reminds one of the first da} T s 
 man spent in the terrestrial Paradise, ere Satan, with his 
 wiles, had driven him forth to be a partner of sorrow and 
 shame. 
 
 The hills, with their heath and purple blossoms, rose in 
 the distance, like guardians of the valleys below ; cornfields 
 and green meadows stretched far away on either side ; and 
 the breeze, laden with the odor of the flowers, was refresh- 
 ingty sweet to the weary, city-sick travellers. 
 
 Walter Seymour, who was something of an artist, was 
 delighted with the pictures which Nature presented ; he was 
 so wrapt in contemplating the beauty around, that he ex- 
 changed but few words with his companion. Coming in 
 sight of the house, Walter declared that he must rest 
 before entering. He directed his steps towards an old oak, 
 which was quite familiar to him ; for in earlier years, when 
 he visited Rosebank with his mother, it was his favorite 
 haunt ; he passed many pleasant hours under its shade dur- 
 ing the long summer afternoons ; on this account, with feel- 
 ings of the highest veneration and deepest love, he had 
 named it " King Charles." " By Jove, Hamilton," he ex- 
 claimed, " there's ' King Charles' ; it is over a hundred years 
 old." 
 
 Both approached it, but found the rude bench under it 
 occupied by a young lady, deeply interested in the book she 
 was reading. Dreaming of no interruption, so absorbed 
 was she in the work before her, that she did not hear the 
 footsteps near her. Not until Walter addressed her, was 
 she aware of the presence of strangers. Upon seeing them, 
 she looked surprised, but recovering herself immediatel}", 
 she returned his salutation with a quiet assurance and
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS- S 
 
 native ease which captivated the heart of Walter and held 
 it completely under their sway. 
 
 " We are on our way to Major Sargeant's, and before 
 going further would like to rest for a few minutes," said 
 Walter. 
 
 She replied that they might remain, and immediately made 
 room for them on the seat. 
 
 " We are visiting Rosebank for the summer ; are yon 
 acquainted with the Sargeant family?" Walter inquired. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " For the last few months I have 
 been living in Rockwell." 
 
 " Well, if you have been pent up in the city as I have, it 
 must have been a great relief of both mind and body to have 
 left it, with all its confusion, behind." 
 
 She made no replv, but kept her eyes steadily fixed in a 
 far-off gaze on the lovely scene before her ; and her whole 
 soul seemed intent on some hidden thought which memory 
 awakened. Hamilton Bla}'re, all this time, stood quietly 
 by, much amused b}' Walter's air and manner toward the 
 stranger. Thinking that perhaps they were intruding upon 
 the time and attention of the young lady, Hamilton inti- 
 mated that the}* had better renew their walk, in order to 
 arrive at the Major's at the time they were expected. Walter 
 rose to his feet, and bowing respectfully, said he hoped he 
 might have the pleasure of meeting her again. Both gen- 
 tlemen bid her a pleasant " good afternoon," to which she 
 responded by a bright smile and low inclination of her 
 graceful head. 
 
 "By Jove, Hamilton, a pretty girl, isn't she? I wonder 
 who she is." 
 
 " Well, I expect to see a portrait of her in your room in 
 a few days ; you can paint it from memory, I am sure." 
 
 " Now, Hamilton, don't let the fiend jealousy take pos- 
 session of your manly heart. I can see it already gleaming 
 in the corner of your left eye ; listen to my warning voice,
 
 10 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 and curb it in time, for you are harboring a dangerous 
 enemy, that if not cast out will prove j'our ruin ; and, my 
 boon companion, that misfortune would bring these gray 
 hairs down in sorrow to the tomb." 
 
 Hamilton Blayre laughed heartily at this speech, and 
 advised Walter to turn his brilliant talents and overpower- 
 ing ambition towards the lecture-stand. " You will be sure 
 to succeed, Walter, with a pretty lad} 7 for your theme, and 
 jealous}*, like a demon, waiting for his prey in the back- 
 ground." 
 
 They had now reached the Major's house, and upon being 
 announced, they found that they were not expected upon the 
 early train ; and this caused the delay in the carriage. 
 
 " We preferred to walk, said Walter ; "a great many 
 natural curiosities awakened our interest, and we gave full 
 scope to the natural enthusiasm of our dispositions ; the 
 only difficulty I met with was, that I was obliged to stem 
 the ardor of Hamilton's temperament and prevent him from 
 falling completely in love with a female form we met on our 
 way. I conclude, from the despair of his countenance, and 
 the slow, solemn tone in which he sighed, 
 
 ' Oh, ever thus from childhood's hour 
 I've seen my fondest hopes decay,' 
 
 
 that he thought she would approach and bless him by a few 
 
 words from her beautiful lips." 
 
 " Vain, indeed, Walter, would such a hope be while you 
 were my companion, for if the young lady were inclined to be 
 communicative, you would manage the responses without 
 my friendly help. You know, Walter, I am acquainted* 
 with the brilliancy of your conversational powers when 
 addressing young ladies. I acknowledge that I fail in that 
 respect ; but your weak point is an innocent, impressionable 
 heart."
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. H 
 
 " Leave the discussion now until another time, and come 
 to my studio, I have some beautiful paintings to show you," 
 said Millie Sargeant, Walter's cousin. 
 
 They followed her into a large room, the walls of which 
 were covered with beautiful paintings. Over the tables were 
 scattered a number of landscape views. Examining some 
 of these with a critical eye, Walter was struck with the 
 delicacy and truthfulness of the coloring, the clearness of 
 the outline, and the exquisiteness of the finish. 
 
 "Who is the artist?" he asked, looking quizzically at his 
 cousin. 
 
 "A young person, whose acquaintance you shall make in 
 a short time ; her name is Nettie Hazelton ; she is teaching 
 me drawing, painting, and music." 
 
 " And during leisure hours she preaches etiquette, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " During leisure hours she is much better engaged. For- 
 tunately we are a pretty well-behaved family, and give her 
 no occasion to preach etiquette. She is very obliging, 
 though, and no doubt would be willing to take you for a 
 pupil, Walter." 
 
 Hamilton Blayre suggested that he had better try the force 
 of woman's sway, and put himself under the guidance of the 
 fair directress. 
 
 " I must see her first, and judge of her amiable qualities, 
 if she has any. I have a horror of women in authority, 
 since an old nurse of mine used to cun my cars, until she 
 completely spoiled their shape, and compelled me to learn, 
 very early in life, that ' Man was made to mourn.' " 
 
 Here Mrs. Sargeant joined them, inquiring if they were 
 not coming to the parlor. 
 
 They descended, and saw that at one of the windows was 
 seated a person whom Walter concluded must be Millie's 
 governess. His surmise proved correct, when Mrs. Sargeant 
 introduced them to Miss Nettie Hazelton. Mr. Blayre
 
 12 TEE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 received her smile of recognition with his usual coldness 
 and dignity, betraying by no shade of surprise or pleasure, 
 that they had met before. But upon Walter being presented 
 to her a smile of rarest enjoyment overspread his counte- 
 nance as he said, after her greeting, 
 
 " We have met befoi'e, so it is only a renewal of acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 " You have met Miss Hazelton before, Walter ! " Mrs. 
 Sargeant exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Sarah, I have had the pleasure of addressing 
 a few words to Miss Hazelton, whom I found under the 
 dear old shade of ' King Charles.' " 
 
 Miss Hazelton explained their meeting to Mrs. Sargeant 
 and Millie, while Walter and Hamilton kept their e3'es riveted 
 upon the beautiful face of the speaker. While they were 
 talking, dinner was announced. Mr. Seymour offered his 
 arm to Miss Hazelton, and Mr. Blayre and Miss Sargeant 
 followed. 
 
 Miss Hazelton was about twent}'-three j'ears old, tall and 
 slight, with a graceful figure ; she had an abundance of rich 
 brown hair, combed back from the broad, white forhead, 
 and coiled so that it showed the small, well-shaped head to 
 advantage. A pair of large gray eyes, brilliant with a rare 
 tenderness, gave the calm, pale countenance a sweet, 
 angelic look. 
 
 Miss Sargeant was about seventeen years old, and was 
 what many would term pretty, with her flaxen hair and 
 clear complexion ; but the light blue eyes were dull and 
 sleepy-looking, and seemed to lack intellect and character. 
 She had never been a bright scholar, but under the teaching 
 of Miss Hazelton had improved wonderfully. Millie Sar- 
 geant was the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Sargeant, and all 
 the advantages that wealth could afford were at her disposal. 
 They had never succeeded in procuring a teacher so well 
 calculated to urge Millie to exertion as Miss Hazelton.
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 13 
 
 The dinner passed off pleasantly ; conversation flowed 
 freely, and all seemed desirous of making themselves agree- 
 able and entertaining. 
 
 Major Sargeant, as you already know by his title, was a 
 military officer, jovial, good-humored, and fond of displaying 
 his hospitality ; not ostentatious, but firmly believing that 
 wealth and honor meant ease and comfort. 
 
 Mrs. Sargeant was a tall, well-shaped woman, whom her 
 daughter greatly resembled, only that the dullness of the 
 mother's eyes seemed softened by a gentle persuasiveness 
 that had come with years. 
 
 Walter had alwa3's been devotedly attached to his Aunt 
 Sarah, and there was scarcely a single instance in which her 
 advice and counsels had been unheeded by him. 
 
 Hamilton Blayre concluded that if he intended to enjoy 
 his visit, he must reserve his dignity and stateliness for 
 Hamilton Lodge. Walter declared that Hamilton should leave 
 the city airs behind, and " when in Rome do as Rome does." 
 
 The day being warm and sultiy, the party, after dinner, 
 repaired to the veranda, the Major taking with him the 
 papers he had brought from the city. He always made it a 
 point to read after dinner, but generally found that the land 
 of dreams opened for him a larger field of action than the 
 columns of a newspaper, and, like all sensible people, of 
 course, accepted the most advantageous offer. 
 
 Mrs. Sargeant remained behind to give some instructions 
 to the servants ; the four young people were therefore left to 
 themselves. 
 
 The view from the veranda was beautiful ; the sun was 
 still bright upon the hills ; the sky was a clear, deep blue ; 
 and the whole country lay green beneath it, quiet and calm 
 under the holy peace of heaven. 
 
 " The solemnity of the scene has had its influence upon 
 uncle," said Walter ; " it has brought him ' nature's sweet 
 restorer.' "
 
 14 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 They remained out of doors until twilight ; they saw the 
 sun set in beauty and glory ; saw him sink away down 
 behind the far-off hills, which were tinged with his last, 
 fading beams. The sky grew overshadowed ; the meadows 
 seemed a darker green, the flowers less bright ; it was earth 
 putting on her mourning robes for the death of the " King 
 of Day." So the sun melted away, and the first day of the 
 Bummer's pleasure buried itself with him. 
 
 " The end of a bright, glad day 
 
 Closed with its sunset sky, 
 
 Lolled to sleep by the wind's 
 
 Soft, murmured sigh ; 
 Let the hearts now beating there 
 Ask strength in lowly prayer, 
 For tho Future's a ' sealed book,' 
 Into which they may not look."
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 15 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 THE next day was as beautiful as the preceding one had 
 been. The morning broke clear and bright; higher and 
 higher the sun rose in the heavens ; wider and wider 
 stretched the calm blue sky under its kindly sway, and 
 above the lonely hills and over the quiet meadows its beams 
 glowed with intense and vivid brightness. 
 
 "Just the morning for a walk," thought Hamilton, as he was 
 about replacing the curtain he had withdrawn. He stopped 
 suddenly, as he saw a form pass over the green lawn beneath 
 him. He knew it was Miss Hazelton ; he saw her pluck a 
 rose and twine it in the silken waves of her rich brown hair. 
 He watched her pass through the gate and turn in the direc- 
 tion of the hills. When she was out of sight, he took a book 
 from the table, and was soon engrossed in its contents. 
 Dickens was a favorite author of his, and he was agreeably 
 surprised to meet him here. Upon opening it he read, in 
 large characters on the title-page, " Great Expectations." 
 He had just begun the fifth chapter, when "Walter positively 
 screamed, 
 
 " Look here, 3*011 book-worm ; how long has a fellow got 
 to sit in your august presence before }'ou condescend to 
 notice him? Here I have been sitting, in the most stately 
 decorum, and with all the marks of good breeding have 
 refrained from interrupting you, until my patience has been 
 exhausted and my spirits crushed." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mr. Seymour; I had not the least 
 suspicion that a congenial spirit was hovering near. May I
 
 Jg THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 ask how long you have been feasting your eyes upon my 
 noble physiognomy ? " 
 
 "Well," said Walter, without replying to his question, 
 " you often puzzle me, Hamilton ; you are so distant towards 
 strangers, so very reserved towards ladies ; and yet, with 
 those with whom you are well acquainted, you are the most 
 frank and sociable fellow in existence ; and to say the least, 
 you are ' a man after my own heart.' " 
 
 " M} T dear fellow, you and I shall never disagree as 
 regards the difference in our characters ; perhaps it is well 
 that we are not alike. There's the breakfast-bell ; you had 
 better prepare to behold 3'our fair enchantress." 
 
 When they entered the dining-room the family were 
 assembled. During the meal, they discussed the various 
 pleasures and amusements of which the}' intended to avail 
 themselves, and they all agreed that a drive through the 
 country should be the first. 
 
 The horses were ordered, and the party separated to pre- 
 pare for the drive. Mr. Sargeant, having business to attend 
 to, declined to make one of the number, and Mrs. Sargeant 
 not being accustomed to early drives concluded to remain 
 at home. 
 
 The gentlemen were, of course, the first ready, and being 
 obliged to wait for some time for the ladies, they expatiated 
 upon the qualities of mind and person of teacher and pupil. 
 
 " Well, Hamilton, what do you think of the ladies in 
 whose society you find yourself ? " 
 
 They were standing under the porch, Hamilton, hat in 
 hand, leaning against the railing which surrounded the 
 balconj*, and Walter, swinging the whip as if he intended to 
 use it upon Hamilton if his opinion of the ladies derogated 
 at all from his own. 
 
 " Let me first ask, what you mean to do with that whip ; 
 you flourish it too demonstratively for my peace of mind." 
 
 " I see that my intentions, though they be honorable, are
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGXS. 17 
 
 In danger of being misconstrued. Give your opinion, my 
 boy; nothing shall befall you. I was exercising myself; 
 ' merely this, and nothing more.' " 
 
 " All right, then. To begin with your cousin, I think she 
 is pretty, amiable, and lovable, one that will always be 
 happy, and one that is capable of making others so ; but I 
 think she needs character and energ}-. She would be easily- 
 led by one for whom she entertained feelings of affection and 
 love. Of course, my judgment is not infallible ; you have 
 known her longer than I, and can tell whether that opinion ia 
 correct or not. Miss Hazelton is just the one to be a com- 
 panion to Miss Sargeant ; firm and steadfast to whatever 
 purpose she may undertake, she would be strict to the prin- 
 ciples of truth and justice at the cost of her dearest inter- 
 ests ; delicate, educated, and refined as she is, her influence, 
 when exerted, must be very great. Her personal beauty, 
 you yourself can appreciate much more than I." 
 
 " A capital description, my dear fellow, and I assure you 
 it finds echo in my own heart. What a delicious sensation 
 it is to feel that 
 
 ' There are two hearts whose movements thrill 
 
 In unison so closely sweet, 
 That, pulse to pulse, responsive still 
 They both must heave, or cease to beat.' 
 
 How is that for a quotation, Hamilton? It refers to } r our 
 heart and mine. I was afraid you might mistake my part 
 for Miss Hazelton's." 
 
 " Be serious for once in your life, if it is a possible thing, 
 and add whatever you may think has escaped my notice, in 
 judging of their dispositions." 
 
 u You have said enough, Hamilton ; all that remains is, to 
 obtain Miss Hazelton's consent, infoi'm your parents of the 
 event, and fix the day. You are a doomed man, Hamilton, 
 a doomed man ; for love has taken possession of your heart,
 
 18 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 and for you there is no hope ; " and Walter, with mock 
 solemnity, shook his head. 
 
 Hamilton was prevented from replying to this speech by 
 the appearance of the young ladies. Walter stepped for- 
 ward and assisted his cousin into the carriage, leaving 
 Hamilton to perform the same office for Miss Hazelton. 
 The horses trotted off gayly, and soon left the house far 
 behind them. 
 
 " Millie, where shall we go ? Some sweet, romantic spot, 
 now ; some place like Moore's bright little isle." 
 
 " I am not a frequenter of such places, and would not 
 know one if I saw it. I refer the choice to Mr. Bla3Te." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Blayre will be sure to transfer it to Miss 
 Hazelton, and she, I am certain, will confide in my judg- 
 ment ; so I think I will be obliged to select our resting-place 
 myself." 
 
 " I declare, you must have an exalted opinion of your 
 judgment ; perhaps Mr. Blayre has something to remark on 
 his ; you might have given him time to reply ; you arc very 
 fond of supposing what arc others' intentions, Walter." 
 
 " ^.11 right, Hamilton. If you don't intend to let Miss 
 Hazelton choose, keep a sharp lookout on both sides of the 
 road, and when you see a sequestered spot, 'from all intru- 
 ders free,' just state your desires and they shall be promptly 
 attended to." 
 
 " We can both make the selection, if Miss Hazelton has 
 no objection," said Hamilton, turning towards her. 
 
 " Not the least," she replied, " onl}' my knowledge of the 
 country must not be relied upon ; I have never been as far 
 as this, in my rambles." 
 
 "If 3-011 want aid, call Millie and mo to your assistance; 
 you will find me a great acquisition." 
 
 The}' rode steadily on for miles, and then stopped at a 
 prett}-, shady spot. The}- left the horses in a place of safety, 
 and then, being tired of sitting so long, the party walked
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 19 
 
 towards the beach, where the water shone and sparkled 
 under the golden rays of the sun. The beach was dry and 
 sandy ; huge rocks hung threateningly over it, and their 
 gaunt shadows, reflected in the waters beneath, made one 
 look up involuntarily and shudder at the thought of their 
 falling and crushing all beneath. The water was smooth 
 and quiet ; its calm blue surface seemed the embodiment of 
 peaceful tranquillity. 
 
 " One would imagine, from the appearance of the sea to- 
 day, that its bosom had never been ruffled by angry storms," 
 Hamilton remarked. 
 
 "You should have said the ' warring elements '; it pro- 
 duces a stronger effect upon the mind, and the use of pecul- 
 iar phrases makes one appear an eccentric character, which 
 is highly favorable to the possessor." 
 
 " Thank you, Walter," said Hamilton, " you are always 
 read}* with your gentle and useful counsels ; I shall endeavor 
 to profit by your suggestion, in future." 
 
 " Too bad you did not bring j-our portfolio with you, Miss 
 Hazelton ; you might have had some beautiful sketches." 
 
 " We can come again, Millie, and then Miss Hazelton shall 
 bring her portfolio," was her cousin's reply. 
 
 The)' strolled along the beach for an hour or more, and 
 returned the same way, finding the horses, as Walter ex- 
 plained, as comfortable as could be expected under the 
 circumstances. 
 
 " Now, let us start for home. I feel the pangs of hunger, 
 and am afraid of fainting by the wayside." 
 
 " Well, if 3'ou are going to faint, you had better do so at 
 once, and have it over ; you will feel better, I am sure, after 
 it. A carriage is an awkward place for such an occurrence." 
 
 " I fear very much for you, Millie ; you are growing heart- 
 less. Have 3'ou lost all natural affection for your cousin?" 
 
 " Keep the task for another time, Walter ; there will be 
 many idle moments, when time will hang heavy on your
 
 20 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 hands ; that will fill the gap nicely, besides being a change 
 from the daily routine of life." 
 
 " I don't know but that }*ou are right, cousin mine ; I 
 guess I '11 lay it up for a rainy day." 
 
 They were talking this nonsense while preparing to enter 
 the carriage, and Walter did not notice the intensity of 
 Hamilton's gaze, as, for a few moments, he steadily looked 
 at Miss Hazelton. He seemed endeavoring to connect Miss 
 Hazelton with some remarkable incident, circumstance, or 
 resemblance, which he was unable to recall to mind. 
 Through the drive home he occasionally fixed his eyes upon 
 her, and after removing them, became buried in thought ; 
 his countenance bore a most perplexed and distressed look. 
 He was suddenly made aware of his condition by Walter's 
 exclaiming, 
 
 " What's the matter, Hamilton? Is the roar of ocean still 
 sounding through the caverns of your heart, or do you 
 
 ' Hear in yonr soul the music 
 Of wonderful melodies t ' " 
 
 Hamilton roused himself, forcing indifference into his tone 
 and manner, as he replied, 
 
 " Thousand- voiced Nature always breathes music to my 
 soul." 
 
 The}' arrived home a short time before dinner ; they sep- 
 arated to meet at the table. 
 
 Hamilton went to his room, to read the book in which he 
 was so interested in the morning ; Miss Hazelton repaired to 
 the studio, and Millie left her cousin standing under the 
 porch, while she went to get a piece of fancy-work, which she 
 wished to have finished at the close of the summer, intend- 
 ing to return and sit with him. Walter finding himself 
 alone, and knowing nothing of his cousin's intention, thought 
 he would employ the time profitably ; so he got his sketching
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 21 
 
 materials and placed himself in a position to take a view of 
 the house and surroundings. He resolved, at some future 
 da} T , to have it riehly embellished, and preserve it as a 
 memorial of Hamilton's first and early love. He confided 
 this resolution to him whom it most concerned, and was 
 rewarded for his pains, as he subsequently related, by a 
 smile the most childlike and bland he had ever witnessed. 
 
 During the evening, Miss Hazelton delighted the company 
 with her beautiful playing, and rich, melodious voice. She 
 sang sweetly the touching ballad, " I cannot sing the old 
 songs " ; and in clear, full tones, with a gentle tenderness 
 and soothing pathos, the thrilling words of that dear old 
 song, ''Waiting." 
 
 Walter and Hamilton, at the request of those present, 
 agreed to entrance them, as Walter said, with a few selec- 
 tions from favorite but unknown authors. They both had 
 good voices, and sung with pleasing effect, several of the 
 humorous songs of the day. Then Longfellow's beautiful 
 poem, " I stood on the bridge at midnight," was finely ren- 
 dered by Mr. Blayre, whose deep bass voice corresponded 
 well with its solemn and impressive words. 
 
 So the evening passed, and all retired to rest with firm 
 convictions of each other's good and noble qualities.
 
 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 A CLOSE RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 DRIVES, in one of which they visited the spot mentioned 
 in the preceding chapter, Miss Hazelton taking many beau- 
 tiful sketches during their stay ; excursions, boat-sailing, 
 picnic-parties, in the enjoj'ment of which they made many 
 new acquaintances, and full}' realized the truth of the old 
 adage, "The more the merrier," occupied the whole time 
 and attention of the four pleasure-seekers at Rosebank. 
 
 One evening Hamilton and Walter, finding themselves 
 alone, began to make arrangements for the next day's amuse- 
 ment. Hamilton decided that Walter's proposition of visit- 
 ing a small island, which was a favorite resort of both 
 tourists and pleasure-seekers, should be carried into effect 
 the following day. But they were sadly disappointed ; for 
 the first sound which greeted them upon awakening, was the 
 pattering of rain upon the roof. They were obliged to post- 
 pone their trip, and seek amusement in-doors. It greatly 
 puzzled Hamilton, and vexed Walter not a little, to see the 
 real satisfaction in Miss Hazelton's countenance, as she 
 watched the heavy drops of rain fall faster and faster upon 
 the windows, moistening the dry, parched earth, and making 
 the whole country look dreary and blank, by depriving it of 
 the genial rays of the sun. What astonished them still 
 more was, that from breakfast till dinner she had not ap- 
 peared once ; and when they inquired for her, the only 
 explanation Millie seemed able to give was, that " she was 
 busy." In the evening, she remained in the parlor, at Mrs.
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 23 
 
 Sargeant's earnest solicitations. She did her best to be 
 agreeable, and succeeded, as she always did ; but the quick 
 eye of Hamilton detected a restlessness and anxiety not 
 discerned by Walter, whose flow of spirits seemed on the 
 increase. When the clock announced the hour for bidding 
 good-night, a weight seemed lifted from her mind, and she 
 said the words almost fervently and joyfully. Hamilton 
 and Walter ascended to their rooms, and in passing Miss 
 Hazelton's saw that a bright light was burning there. They 
 walked on without uttering a word until they reached their 
 own rooms, when each gave vent to his thoughts. 
 
 " What do you suppose Miss Hazelton has been doing all 
 day ? " was Walter's first question. 
 
 "I am sure I cannot tell, Walter; there may have been 
 many duties to attend to, which, owing to the loss of time 
 during the last three weeks, she has been obliged to neglect." 
 
 " Well, the duties, if they be such, cannot in any way refer 
 to Millie's studies, for the whole family is desirous that she 
 should take the full benefit of her vacation ; and I have 
 even heard my Aunt Sarah almost commanding her to cease 
 work and join us." 
 
 " But, Walter, there may be many claims upon her besides 
 Millie's ; perhaps personal ones, which delicacy would forbid 
 her making known." 
 
 " Well, I find myself at a loss to understand her conduct ; 
 she looked so elated this morning, while watching the rain, 
 that once I was ungenerous enough to think she was enjoy- 
 ing our discomfiture and praying that the rain might continue 
 for her special benefit ; and then, this evening, I noticed 
 that she complied with Aunt Sarah's request, that she would 
 remain in the drawing-room, with a dissatisfied expression 
 and unconcerned manner that disturbed my impression of 
 her amiable qualities." 
 
 Hamilton gazed at Walter some time before replying; 
 then said, in rather a low voice,
 
 24 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 " Walter, I am certain you are mistaken. Did she not 
 try, during the whole of the evening, to be as pleasant as 
 possible? She may have been inclined to return to her 
 room, and, upon being asked to stay, might unconsciously 
 have betrayed her disappointment at not being able to do 
 so, by the expression you noticed. I would almost swear 
 that she has the best of reasons for her conduct." 
 
 " Please don't swear, Hamilton ; it is a very undignified 
 and ungentlemanly proceeding, and one in which, if you trace 
 your genealogy, you will find 3*our honored forefathers never 
 indulged. Besides, it would shock my sensitive nature to 
 hear language unbefitting one of the house of Blayre." 
 
 This closed the conversation for the night ; and having no 
 more remarks to make concerning Miss Hazelton, they 
 retired to rest. 
 
 The first exclamation Walter made in the morning had 
 reference to the contemplated trip to the island. With a 
 few words upon the weather, which was again fine, he 
 dressed himself hurriedly and went in search of Hamilton. 
 He was not in his own room, nor in the drawing-room ; so 
 he concluded he must have gone for a walk. Walter seated 
 himself at the parlor window, where he could see him, while 
 yet a long way off. He sat there long enough to grow 
 impatient at Hamilton's absence, before he saw him emerg- 
 ing from the shadow of the hills. Hamilton did not seem 
 at all anxious to appease Walter's impatience, for he walked 
 leisurely along, apparently buried in thought. Walter feel- 
 ing himself growing warm, and to prevent any further exces- 
 sive heat than the day would bring, started to meet him. 
 Coming close upon him, his first salute was, 
 
 " You're a nice fellow ! What hour of the night found 
 you rambling through this wilderness? One would imagine 
 that your head could not rest easy upon its pillow. I sup- 
 pose it can't be very easy when the heart is concerned also." 
 
 " Why, old fellow, I 've had a most delightful walk this
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 25 
 
 morning ; I was going to ask you to come, but you were 
 sleeping soundly, and I had not the heart to wake you." 
 
 " The next time j'ou arc going to parade, just give me 
 timely warning, and I '11 be ready to review you. I never 
 find the charms of solitude, no matter how I seek them. 
 Who is that at the studio window Millie?" 
 
 Hamilton raised his eyes to the spot indicated, and replied 
 that it was Miss Ilazclton. She appeared intent upon her 
 work, whatever it was ; accidentally lifting her 03*03 she saw 
 them, bowed, smiled, and immediately resumed her work. 
 
 " I have a dim foreboding that the young lady we have 
 just seen is going to refuse to come with us to-day ; if that 
 should happen, be assured, Hamilton, that you have my 
 heartfelt sympathies." 
 
 " I think that if such a disaster should occur, Walter, the 
 gloom it will occasion will fall heaviest upon you, for you 
 seem to be always looking out for the young lady's wishes, 
 and seem very anxious that they should be gratified." 
 
 "Yes ; but you know true love is silent, timid, and watch- 
 ful of itself, and yon possess all these qualities." 
 
 " Truly, Walter, you can read the human heart well." 
 
 Here Walter's laugh almost drowned the sound of the 
 breakfast-bell. Miss Hazelton was the last to enter the 
 dining-room. Upon being informed of their plans, she colored 
 slightly and excused herself from attending the excursion. 
 Mrs. Sargeant looked surprised, and the Major, in his 
 bluff way, told her she would kill herself working. She 
 laughed, saying there was little probability of either her 
 health or spirits failing. Millie asked if she could not pos- 
 sibly go, and she quietly shook her head. Walter, several 
 times during the meal, was on the point of coming out in 
 rather strong terms, but controlled himself, merely remark- 
 ing that her work must be very important if it could not be 
 put off for one day. She made no reply, and no further 
 reference was made to her refusal during the meal. She was
 
 26 fHE LOST RECEIPT; OH, 
 
 going up stairs, when Mr. Blayre called her. She stood 
 still, waiting for him. When he reached her, he asked, 
 
 " Must you positively remain at home ? Cannot you 
 arrange it in some way that your work can be finished after- 
 wards ? " 
 
 "No," she replied, firmly, "I cannot ; it has been post- 
 poned for three weeks ; I must do it now ; " and with a slight 
 bow, and a hope that they would enjoy the visit, she passed 
 him and took her way to the studio. 
 
 During the day a letter arrived from Walter's parents, in 
 which they announced their acceptance of Mrs. Sargeant'a 
 invitation to visit them ; they would be at Rosebank in 
 three days. Walter received this intelligence, upon return- 
 ing home in the evening, with unbounded delight. 
 
 During the three days before Mr. and Mrs. Seymour's 
 arrival very little was seen of Miss Hazelton, only at 
 meal-times ; and she never came to the parlor in the even- 
 ing, as was her custom. 
 
 At last the expected visitors arrived, and great was eveiy 
 one's pleasure at seeing them. Ten y^ars had passed since 
 they had spent a summer with the Sargeants, who had been 
 travelling most of the time. The re-union of the two fami- 
 lies proved a joyous and happy event. Millie went to seek 
 Miss Hazelton, and finding her where she expected, in the 
 studio, told her that Walter's parents had come, and she 
 would like to present her to them. She rose, arranged her 
 hair, and descended with Millie to the parlor. Mrs. Sey- 
 mour, with a slight start, rose as Millie presented her, and 
 for a few moments kept her eyes fixed upon Miss Hazelton's 
 face ; then recollecting herself, she shook hands with her 
 warmly, saying that she reminded her of a person who was 
 once very dear to her. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour was a tall, stately woman. Though forty 
 summers had passed over her, they left no trace upon the 
 smooth, fair brow. Time had made no furrows there ; a few
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 27 
 
 silver threads among the rich, dark tresses were the only 
 memorials which he had loft to tell of years that had come 
 and gone unheeded. The large gray eyes still retained 
 their original brightness. As she stood beside Miss Hazel- 
 ton, all present seemed struck by the similarity between 
 them. 
 
 " Well," thought Mr. Blayre, " they look enough alike to be 
 mother and daughter. There, at last, is the resemblance I 
 have been trying to recall and could never succeed. I knew 
 she looked like some one I had seen. Can it be that they 
 are in any way related ? But no, that cannot be ; one is in 
 the possession of wealth and station, while the other is 
 obliged to earn her bread." 
 
 Nettie, by her conversation and friendly manner, won the 
 admiration and esteem of Walter's father. 
 
 Rosebauk was alive with mirth during the remainder of 
 the summer, and Miss Hazelton's wishes to be alone were 
 seldom gratified ; and her refusals to join their pleasure- 
 parties were received with so much disappointment and 
 regret that she often wavered between what she considered 
 her duty and her desire to please others. Learning from 
 Walter that he thought it was Miss Hazelton's painting that 
 obliged her to excuse herself from their company so fre- 
 quenth', Mr. Seymour became greatly interested in her, and 
 was very anxious to see what so occupied her time and 
 attention. Oue morning Miss Hazelton was later than 
 usual for breakfast ; she did not hear the breakfast-bell, and 
 after waiting a while, Mrs. Sargeant sent a servant to tell 
 her that the}' were breakfasting. 
 
 " Have you accomplished much this morning, Miss Hazel- 
 ton?" inquired Mr. Seymour, when she had seated herself 
 at the table. 
 
 "Miss Ilazelton is always accomplishing something, 
 father, even if it is the ruin of some one else," said Walter, 
 looking straight across the table to where Hamilton sat.
 
 Jg THE LOST RECEIPT; Oft, 
 
 The latter pretended he had not heard the remark, and 
 Miss Hazelton turned to answer the question put to her. 
 
 " I have not done much this morning, though it is as 
 much as I expected to do." 
 
 They talked for some time upon the subject of painting, 
 and then Miss Hazelton inquired if the Captain, Walter's 
 father, would like to look at her morning's work. It was just 
 the question he wanted to be asked, and he readily replied 
 that nothing would give him greater pleasure. An invita- 
 tion followed, in which Hamilton so managed it that he was 
 included. They followed her to the studio, while Walter 
 and Millie went to have a game of chess. The Captain and 
 Hamilton spent an hour or more examining the paintings 
 she showed them. The Captain felt inclined to ask a few 
 questions, but delicacy forbade him. Hamilton Blayre left 
 her, with stronger convictions than ever, that she was assist- 
 ing some one by her labor. 
 
 When she found herself alone, the tears so long sup- 
 pressed flowed freely, as she thought of her childhood home 
 and the loved ones who made it dear ; of the toil and strug- 
 gle which the last few years had brought her, and the vain 
 waiting and hopeless yearning for the future to end it. Yet, 
 she meditated, what had she to mourn for, since it was the will 
 of her Heavenly Father that these calamities should come. It 
 is true, she had suffered, but she had often realized, 
 
 " That sorrow, touched by Him, grows bright 
 
 With more than rapture's ray ; 
 As darkness shows us worlds of light 
 Wo never saw by day."
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 9 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 \ 
 
 THE HAUNTED GLEN VISITED. 
 
 Miss HAZELTON was continually in the mind of Hamilton 
 Blayre. He loved her ; it was useless denying it. He 
 thought of her whole hours together, and was often roused 
 from his reveries by Walter's laughingly informing him that 
 he was a doomed man. Though Walter frequently rallied 
 him upon his affair of the heart, as he termed it, he knew 
 that Hamilton truly and sincerely loved Miss Hazelton; 
 and he knew, too, that when Hamilton Blayre loved it was 
 a love earnest and deep ; he knew his heart would be 
 crushed and utterty broken if he could not achieve happi- 
 ness by gaining the object of his affections. 
 
 The thought of the difference of their stations in life, the 
 anger of his parents and sister, if such an event as their mar- 
 riage took place, prompted Hamilton to make the resolution 
 of thinking of her no more. But he found this determination 
 impossible ; so he let his thoughts have their swa}*, and 
 regretted more and more the sclQsh spirit which character- 
 ized the societ}* in which he moved. 
 
 It was towards the close of a warm, bright day in August ; 
 the horses stood waiting at the door to convey the party tu 
 a place at a considerable distance, which was known as the 
 " Haunted Glen." Walter and Miss Hazelton were going 
 to sketch, and the others were to accompan3 r them. All 
 were soon seated, and the horses, eager to be off, trotted 
 away in the direction of their destination. 
 
 " Now, Hamilton, don't you think I am a good fellow, 
 to plan this drive for your special benefit? My sketch*
 
 80 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 ing was only a secondary motive ; I knew that in future 
 years you would look back through the maze of antiquity 
 and remember this as a 4 golden hour,' in which memor}' I 
 hope to be recalled. Gently and kindly you will then say, 
 
 ' None knew him but to love him, 
 None named him bat to praise.' " 
 
 " We'll have to see a greater display of your good quali- 
 ties before we can bestow that eulogium upon you, for ' self- 
 praise goes little ways,' " Hamilton replied. 
 
 The\' chatted all the way, Walter's spirits never tiring. 
 Sometimes the occupants of the other carriage, who were Mr. 
 and Mrs. Seymour, and Mr. and Mrs. Sargeant, pleasantly 
 joined in the conversation. Reaching the glen, the whole 
 party entered. It was a gloomy place ; gloomy enough, 
 indeed, to be haunted. In the middle of it was a dark, 
 dreary-looking lake, whose sluggish waters never moved, 
 never produced any sound, never gave any sign of life ; all 
 beneath and around it seemed dead years and }'ears ago ; in 
 fact, seemed to have been placed there when dead, and to 
 have been growing deader and deader, if it were possible, 
 year by year. A few straggling sunbeams, that seemed to 
 have lost their way, struggled through the withered branches 
 of the stunted trees that tried hard to grow around it. 
 This glen had a great echo ; the boys of the neighborhood 
 used to congregate there in the evenings and talk and sing, 
 while the echo would answer back loud and distinct ; it was 
 avoided by the rustics, who named it the " Haunted 
 Glen." They examined it, and Walter and Hamilton went 
 far into the cave, which was the principal curiosit}* of the 
 glen. Miss Hazelton took a most perfect sketch, and 
 Walter was so pleased with it that he asked her to give him 
 a copy of it ; she promised, and Mr. Blayre making the 
 same request, she was obliged to comply with it. Hamilton
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 81 
 
 murmured his thanks and bent his eyes tenderly and long- 
 ingly on the beautiful face smilingly raised to his. 
 
 The time of falling leaves came ; the " melanchoty days." 
 The trees, stripped of all they possessed, bowed and bent in 
 the blast. The country looked wild and cheerless now, and 
 the family were going to leave it, because there was no 
 more pleasure there. Sad, dreamy autumn, with its whis- 
 pering music of rustling leaves, and its soft, low moaning 
 of sighing winds, had taken the place of bright, glowing 
 summer. 
 
 Hamilton Blayre received a letter from his sister, announc- 
 ing the illness of his father, and requesting his immediate 
 return. He went to his room to make preparations for his 
 departure. His mind was troubled, not alone by the news 
 he had heard from home ; he was disappointed because he 
 could not return to the city with the family, and he was 
 still more disappointed because he was deprived of the 
 society of Miss Hazelton. sooner than he had expected. He 
 slept but little that night, and was up early next morning. 
 He went for his usual walk, which 4his morning he took in 
 the direction of " King Charles." Arriving there, he seated 
 himself upon the bench where he had first seen 7ier, the sub- 
 ject of his ever}' thought. He loved her so intensely ; but 
 society would not tolerate their union, and his own dignity 
 and pride revolted at the thought of marrying a governess. 
 As he was communing thus with his own thoughts, he saw 
 Miss Hazelton walk across the lawn, and he had a faint hope 
 that she would come towards the spot where he sat ; but she 
 took another road. As he watched her fast disappearing 
 form, he could not help repeating Whittier's lines, 
 
 '"Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
 Like her, a harvester of hay : 
 No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
 Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 
 But low of cattle and song of birds,
 
 82 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 And health and quiet and loving words.' 
 But he thought of his sisters proud and cold, 
 And his mother vain of her rank and gold. 
 So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 
 And Maud was left in the field alone." 
 
 A firm determination was formed in his mind that he would 
 not follow the Judge's example, but would woo and win her, 
 even if he lost all he possessed by doing so. His happiness 
 depended upon her, and if he wished to secure it he must 
 overcome pride and dignity ; overstep the narrow bounds of 
 society and gain her as his bride. After musing a while 
 longer he decided to walk over the same path she had gone. 
 He could guess where she ended her journey ; so be went 
 steadily along until he found himself standing before the old 
 ruined castle he had heard her speak of; it was a favorite 
 resort of hers. His surmise was correct ; for there she was, 
 leaning upon one of the stone pillars in the west wing of 
 the tower. He ascended the old winding staircase, that in 
 width would admit but one person, and stood beside her. 
 She was gazing out upon the water, from which the sun 
 seemed to rise ; the tide was low, the beach was dry and 
 sandy ; the shells glittered like silver, as the golden beams 
 of the rising sun fell upon them ; dulce and seaweed floated 
 upon the surface of the water. The blue smoke from the 
 few white cottages along the shore curled gracefully to the 
 sky. Her whole soul seemed wrapt in contemplating the 
 scene before her. She started suddenly upon hearing the 
 sound of a footstep near her, and seeing him, looked anno}-ed 
 and displeased. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Hazelton ; I did not mean to 
 intrude ; but seeing you out for the same purpose as myself 
 I endeavored to overtake 3*011, but } - ou have shown yourself 
 a great pedestrian, and have completely outstripped my 
 fleetness."
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 33 
 
 " I have come to sketch," she replied ; " was that your 
 purpose ? " 
 
 " You have come to walk, as usual, too, have you not?" 
 
 "I have come to pay a last visit to my favorite spot, 
 early in the morning, that I might be alone." 
 
 It was a pointed reply ; but he was resolved that nothing 
 should daunt him. 
 
 " I am sorry for having interrupted your work, Miss 
 rlazelton ; if you resume it I will visit the other parts of tha 
 castle, and wait until you have finished. I have something 
 I wish to say to you before going home." 
 
 He descended the stairs, leaving her sketching alone. 
 Hearing her coming down, lie met her at the foot of the 
 stairs and led her into what once might have been a room, 
 now so decayed that it bore no trace of its ever having bees 
 a human habitation. 
 
 " This is not the way out," she remarked, when she dis- 
 covered his intentions. 
 
 " No," he replied ; " if 3 T ou have no objections, we'll 
 remain a little longer. Have you forgotten that I have 
 something to tell you? a question to ask, and only upon 
 3 r ou depends the answer." 
 
 She looked at him, astonished. 
 
 "Perhaps you have learned before now, Nettie" (it was 
 the first time he had addressed her thus) , " that I love you. I 
 "mow that by marrying you I forfeit all claim to my father's 
 wealth, all claims to a mother's love and a sister's devoted- 
 ness ; but I would lose even more than that for j-ou. And, 
 Nettie, I would wish you to keep our engagement secret, for 
 a year, at least." 
 
 She heard him through before speaking, and then indig- 
 nantly replied, 
 
 " You talk, sir, as though the promise of marriage had 
 ilready been given. I have given you no reason to wish for
 
 34 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 secrecy. You had better keep your mother's love and sis- 
 ter's devotedness, and don't by any means lose your inherit- 
 ance," she sarcastically rejoined. 
 
 The words and tone incensed him ; his pride was wounded, 
 and he angrily asked, 
 
 " Do you know what }*our position in life is?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " I do know my position in life ; it is 
 such that I would not change it now for even the one you 
 could offer me, could you retain your fortune and the love 
 and devotedness of j'our mother and sister." 
 
 The tone and manner were calm, the countenance grew 
 sad, and in her e}'es was a look soft and deep, which he 
 could not understand. He gazed long and earnestly at her, 
 and his heart was wrung with anguish. He stifled the bitter 
 and resentful feelings that were gathering there, and in a 
 softened voice said, 
 
 " Well, Nettie, ma}* I ask one more question?" 
 
 She bowed her head, and he proceeded, 
 
 " Are you betrothed to another?" 
 
 " No," she replied, " I am not." 
 
 "Then may I hope that at some future day you will 
 change your determination ? " 
 
 " I know not what the future may bring forth ; do not 
 build your hopes upon so weak a foundation, for the future 
 may crush them, as it often has done." 
 
 There was no shade of passion now in the sweet counte- 
 nance, and she smiled pleasantly, as she told him she was 
 ready to return. 
 
 " Come, then," he said, offering her his arm, " we will 
 surely be late for breakfast this morning." 
 
 On their way back, he said to her, 
 
 " I am going home this evening, Miss Hazelton ; do you 
 intend to remain with the Sargeants during the winter?" 
 
 "Yes, I shall accompany them to the city; they will be 
 leaving here in a few weeks. I heard Mr. Seymour say
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 85 
 
 that he would go to his home when they left the country. 
 Are j^ou not going to start together?" 
 
 " No ; I received a letter this morning, peremptorily 
 ordering me to return at once. My father has been attacked 
 by a sudden illness, so I am obliged to obey the summons. 
 Perhaps I may sec you sometime in the city. You won't 
 exclude me from the circle of your friends, I hope." 
 
 " Oh, no ; I am not so despotic. We will be very good 
 friends." 
 
 " Very well, since it must be so ; we will be very amicable 
 and agreeable, I hope." 
 
 They had reached the house by this time, and after break- 
 fast he saw her no more until the time of parting arrived, 
 when she came to bid him good-by. He clasped her hand 
 convulsively, and with an attempt at cheerfulness, parted 
 from those who had become dear to him, and whose memory 
 4e would cherish through life.
 
 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A BACKWARD GLANCE. 
 
 ROSEBANK was deserted ; its visitors had returned to their 
 homes, and the Sargeant family had bid it farewell and goue 
 to the city, where they lived during the winter. We will be 
 polite enough to give them a chance of settling themselves 
 in their city home before calling upon them, and in the mean- 
 time will turn our attention in another direction. We will 
 look back through the past and see what portion of our story 
 it contains. 
 
 One afternoon, in the warmest part of the summer, a tall, 
 fine-looking man was seen to come out of a small office, 
 over which glittered, in large letters, the name of Lawyer 
 Fuller. He seemed downcast, as he walked slowly away. 
 The song of birds, the fragrance of flowers, and the beauty 
 of nature were unheeded by him. At last he stopped at 
 the foot of a high hill, on the summit of which stood a 
 beautiful stone mansion. It was well known in the town of 
 
 B , and was called " Hazel Hill." It commanded a 
 
 grand view of the coast on the right. Neither labor nor 
 expense was spared in its improvements. The choicest 
 and rarest exotics were brought to beautify the spot ; marble 
 fountains of curious workmanship, whose waters sparkled 
 in the sun ; arbors, summer-houses, statues, and all the vari- 
 ous ornaments that wealth can purchase, were used to deco- 
 rate the grounds of " Hazel Hill." And he was their 
 master ; there he stood, at its base, dejected and melancholy 
 looking. Mr. John Hazelton was much beloved by his 
 tenants, highly esteemed by his acquaintances, and honored
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 37 
 
 and respected throughout the town. He was rich, and his 
 riches wrought his ruin. He never visited the gambling- 
 table, but he was not free from habits connected with it ; he 
 was a great lover of fast horses, and had a mania for races ; 
 he used to bet immense sums of money, seldom ever winning, 
 and now he found his estate mortgaged for the sum of ten 
 thousand pounds, with no chance of meeting it. His family 
 consisted of a wife and three children. It weighed heavily 
 upon him to be obliged to break the painful news to his lov- 
 ing and patient wife. She knew before now the bad habit 
 to which he was addicted, and had reasoned with him and 
 besought him to change his company ; she had warned him 
 of this event, but in his blindness he had never dreamed of 
 its realization. He entered the house and went into the 
 library ; ponder as he would, he could find no means of 
 escape from the impending doom. For three da}'S he was 
 almost bereft of his senses ; he ate nothing, and the hours 
 of night found him pacing his room in a wild and restless 
 manner. Mrs. Huzelton knew that some heavy misfortune 
 had fallen upon her husband ; she knew that he must un- 
 burden his heart of its weight before he could take any steps 
 towards repairing his loss ; she suspected that his trouble 
 had reference to his inability to pay the debts contracted by 
 his gambling propensity. Her questioning brought forth 
 the confession of his guilt. She bent her large dark eyes 
 upon him, and seeing the change which the last few days 
 had made in her husband she had no reproof for him. 
 Assuming an air of cheerfulness, she asked with whom he 
 had contracted the debt. He replied that Mr. Fuller was 
 his creditor for the amount of six thousand pounds, which 
 must be paid at once ; he positively refused to wait. Mr. 
 Long had been kind enough to offer to wait for a few months. 
 At this moment, their eldest child, Nettie, with whom the 
 reader is already acquainted, rode up the lawn, dis- 
 mounted, gave her horse to a servant, and bounding up
 
 88 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 the stone steps, entered the room in which her parents were 
 seated. She went over to her mother, to show her morn- 
 ing's work, a sketch of the Haunted Lake. Mrs. Hazelton 
 was a lady of education and culture, and greatly contributed, 
 by her care and talents, in forming her children's minds ; 
 she always took the greatest interest in Nettie's studies, and 
 aided and encouraged her in the pursuit of knowledge. 
 Nettie was at that time nineteen years old, and very accom- 
 plished for one of her age. The careless manner in which 
 her mother looked at the sketch made Nettie fear that some- 
 thing had happened to annoy her. Looking at her father, 
 she was alarmed by his pale and haggard countenance, and 
 his look of utter desolation. His e}*es were heavy and dull 
 for the want of rest. It was with a strong effort he re- 
 strained his feelings when his eyes rested upon her. He 
 looked a bowed and broken-hearted man, filled with sorrow 
 and remorse for the evil he had done but could not repair. 
 That was the picture Nettie saw before her that bright sum- 
 mer day, and throwing aside her sketch-book, with all a 
 child's affection she went to where her father was seated, 
 put her arms around his neck, kissed him lovingly, and 
 asked if he were ill, or what was the cause of his grief- 
 stricken appearance. He pressed her closely in his arms 
 and asked her if she was able to bear a heavy blow, dealt by 
 the hand of her father. 
 
 " I have done it at last, Nettie ; I have blighted your 
 most promising hopes ; I have blasted your future pros- 
 pects, ruined my family, and brought sorrow and miser}' to 
 your mother ; " and the strong man groaned aloud in his 
 anguish. 
 
 Nettie soothed him with her gentle words, and calmed his 
 worn and agitated mind by the true, heroic manner in which 
 she heard the fate that was hanging over them. When he 
 had finished speaking, she said gayly, 
 
 " Why, father ; there is the five thousand pounds left me
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 89 
 
 by grandfather, and there is the cottage at Onkdale ; use that 
 money ; I would rather it would be used than lying in the 
 bank, under the present circumstances." 
 
 " I know, Nettie ; but I cannot bear to take the sum left 
 you by your grandfather." 
 
 " Oh, but I know you will pay me back, with interest, 
 papa." 
 
 " It would be very difficult for me to procure it ; and be- 
 sides, the amount to bo paid is ten thousand pounds." 
 
 " Then we can sell the cottage ; that will bring the 
 remainder." 
 
 " No, never, never, Nettie ; you must keep the cottage. 
 I would rather see the mansion go than see you deprived of 
 your grandfather's gift, my noble, true-hearted girl," said 
 he, tenderly caressing her. 
 
 During this time, Mrs. Hazelton had never uttered a 
 word. She was pleased and proud of her daughter's gen- 
 erosity. She had known well her husband's extravagance, 
 and for years had lived in the fear of hearing some day 
 the story of his ruin. He had always allowed her a gener- 
 ous sum for the household expenses, and she, with the pru- 
 dence of a true woman, had economized so for the last few 
 years, that she had saved the sum of four thousand pounds. 
 She gave him the money, and he went to pay Fuller. This 
 was the second time Mrs. Hazelton had paid a large debt 
 contracted by her husband. Her prayer day and night was, 
 that God would lead him from his evil ways into the true 
 path ; she never murmured, or upbraided him with neglect of 
 herself or her children, but had endeavored to wean him 
 from the bad company he was so fond of. All her efforts had 
 proved fruitless. He loved his home, his children, and his wife, 
 but he never made a real determination to overcome his pas- 
 sion for gambling ; and so he had gone on and on, without 
 heeding her warning voice, till defeat after defeat had over- 
 taken him, and he found himself, as he thought, a ruined man.
 
 40 THE LOS T RECEIPT,- OR, 
 
 Mr. Hazelton, upon leaving the house, walked along nntil 
 he came to the low, dingy-looking building from which he 
 was seen coming a few da}-s before. As he entered the 
 office, Mr. Fuller, who was seated at his desk, apparently 
 engaged in writing, rose to meet him. Fuller was of IOT* 
 birth, and what he termed himself, a " self-made man." He 
 had little education, and no refinement ; the sentiments of 
 honor never troubled him, and his conscience was a most 
 convenient one ; it was always sleeping. His religious 
 principles, if he ever had any, were all turned to the honor- 
 ing and worshipping of mammon. He had a coarse, ugly 
 visage, grim and ghastly from the blackness within. A 
 sinister smile forever haunted the vicious-looking mouth. 
 This smile became absolutely wicked when he wished to 
 appear pleased at anything he saw or heard. He had 
 small, cunning, sharp eyes, that seemed made for the 
 express purpose of ferreting out other people's money, and 
 when safe in his hands, gloating over it with the horrible 
 joy of a miser. He had been Mr. Hazelton's agent some 
 years before, and now was the richest broker in the 
 country. This was the man who rose to greet the master 
 of Hazel Hill. With an ugly smile playing upon his uglier 
 visage, he exclaimed, in a pretended burst of good feeling, 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Hazelton ; I am more than pleased 
 with 3'our appearance ; j*ou arc looking well this evening." 
 
 His visitor took no notice of these remarks, but transact- 
 ing his business, left the office in haste. Fuller looked after 
 him, a little surprised at his abrupt departure. He turned 
 towards the desk, saying to himself, " Never mind his man- 
 ner ; I'll have a visit from him when the next race takes 
 place." 
 
 Some weeks previous to this occurrence, a dispute arose 
 between the two men. " Old Fuller," as he was generally 
 called, had the audacity to ask of Mr. Hazelton his lovely 
 daughter in marriage. Mr. Hazelton, indignant at his pre-
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIOXS. 41 
 
 sumption, decidedly refused. Fuller thinking he had him 
 firmly in his clutches, threatened, if he did not comply with 
 his request, to ruin him. Knowing Mr. Hazelton's circun> 
 stances, he was greatly disappointed at receiving the six 
 thousand pounds he had lent him. Mr. Hazelton replied 
 that he preferred to be ruined, rather than live to see his 
 daughter the wife of such a man. Fuller was exasperated, 
 and after Mr. Ilazelton had left him, said with a low 
 chuckle, " She will be mine yet, or I will lose all I am worth 
 in the attempt to gain her." 
 
 Mr. Hazelton never after entered the office of Fuller. A 
 blight fell upon Hazel Hill ; a blight that we all know, or 
 must know some time. When it falls it stuns the heart, 
 unnerves the brain, weakens the mind, and we know, by the 
 tumult in our souls, that death has come. No matter 
 whether the sun shines brightl}*, or the gloom of night pre- 
 vails ; no matter whether the trees are green in their sum- 
 mer dress, or whether the leaves lie dead and withered in 
 heaps upon the ground ; no matter whether the air is jo^yous 
 with songs of birds, or whether the wild winds of winter 
 sweep the plain, we know it when it comes, for " Thou hast 
 all seasons for thine own, O Death." So the mansion on 
 the hill was draped in mourning, and a form, cold and white, 
 with the seal of death upon its brow, slept " the sleep that 
 knows no waking." Hazel Hill had no master now, for the 
 trouble and remorse for the deeds he had done had weighed 
 down and crushed the strength and energy of the man ; and 
 one evening, as the sun was sinking, just as the last faint 
 streak of red melted into gray, Mr. Hazelton's spirit left its 
 earthly tenement and passed beyond the boundary of human 
 vision, whither nothing human might follow. 
 
 Mrs. Hazelton's grief and anxiety were so intense that 
 she was attacked by a fever, and for many weeks her life 
 was despaired of. Nettie had many difficulties to contend 
 with now ; besides the care of her brother, a wild, careless
 
 42 THB LOST RECEIPT i OR, 
 
 boy of fifteen, and a little sister of ten, she was obliged to 
 do much of the household work, for some of the servants, 
 fearing that the fever was contagious, left the house, and no 
 inducement could make them return. She was, with all this 
 labor, sometimes compelled to attend in the sick-chamber. 
 One morning, after performing the usual offices for her 
 mother, she was about leaving her to the care of the nurse 
 while she went to take a little rest, that she might be able to 
 remain up during the night, when one of the servants, who 
 had stayed in the house, entered, bearing a card. Nettie 
 glanced at it, and seeing Fuller's name upon it, wondered 
 what his business could be. " Ho must have heard of mam- 
 ma's illness," thought she ; " I wish I was not obliged to go 
 down to see him. I hope his good manners will not allow 
 him to remain long." And without making any alteration 
 in her toilet, she descended to the drawing-room, where she 
 found her visitor impatiently awaiting her appearance. 
 Upon her entrance, he rose to greet her, extending his hand, 
 which she accepted. A cold shudder ran through her body 
 while she held it, he expressing, in the meantime, great 
 sympathy with the bereaved family, and offering any assist- 
 ance in his power. Nettie thanked him, sa3'ing there was 
 nothing at present he could do that would render them any 
 assistance. After conversing a few moments longer, Mr. 
 Fuller concluded his visit of condolence, and the drawing, 
 room again was free from his unwelcome presence.
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 43 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DOUBTS AND PERPLEXITIES. 
 
 MATTERS were unchanged at Hazel Hill. Mrs. Hazel- 
 ton still remained in a dangerous condition. Nettie was 
 weary with anxiety for her mother and incessant worry over 
 the affairs of the house. It was the afternoon of a cold, 
 rainy day ; she had just opened the outer door to admit the 
 doctor, when she saw Mr. Fuller riding up the hill. She 
 knew at once that he was coming to the house ; so she waited 
 until he also had entered. Showing him into the drawing- 
 worn, she excused herself for a few moments, while she 
 accompanied the doctor to her mother's room. When she 
 returned, he inquired after her mother, and. then said he was 
 sorry to encroach upon the privacy of grief by speaking so 
 soon of a business matter. 
 
 " Believe me, Miss Hazelton," said he, with a most dia- 
 bolical grin, " that I would never do so, but an urgent and 
 pressing occasion has positively obliged me to." 
 
 He waited for her to make some remark ; but she kept 
 silence. After a little further hesitation he proceeded. 
 
 "Your lamented father, Miss Hazelton, had contracted 
 some very extravagant habits ; he had frequently borrowed 
 money from me to pa}' the bills which had accumulated 
 through his imprudence. The last sum he borrowed is still 
 unpaid." 
 
 " What is the amount of this sum, Mr. Fuller?" 
 
 " Six thousand pounds." 
 
 " That bill, Mr. Fuller, has been paid." 
 
 Her calmness awed him.
 
 44 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 " Well, Miss Hazelton, if the bill has been paid, there 
 mast be a receipt to prove it." 
 
 " Yes, there is a receipt somewhere, I am sure. I think 
 you will find your mistake, Mr. Fuller, by looking over your 
 books. You keep an account of your business, do you 
 not?" 
 
 " Certainly ; if it were not for my books, the fact might 
 have escaped my memory." 
 
 Here the grin spread over his whole countenance, giving 
 it a most savage expression. 
 
 " Oh, indeed, you would not allow the lending of six 
 thousand pounds to escape your memory, Mr. Fuller. Any 
 way, we can come to no agreement until mamma is better. 
 I will look among the papers in the library to-morrow. I 
 am sure the receipt will be found." 
 
 " Very well, Miss Hazelton ; you will find that I am too 
 old a lawyer now, to be mistaken ; your father had often 
 apologized for not being able to meet the bill, and being 
 such an old friend, I did not hurry him." 
 
 " I repeat that the bill is paid, for it was I who advanced 
 part of the money for its payment." 
 
 She said this, looking at him keenly, and the expression 
 of real jo}' that lit up his ferret eyes did not escape her 
 notice. They were walking through the hall, and the last 
 words he said to her were, 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear Miss Hazelton, for speaking upon 
 an unpleasant subject ; but you are aware that your father's 
 mental faculties were considerably weakened before his 
 death, and probably, in his deranged condition, he left you 
 under the false impression that he was not indebted to me. 
 If, as you sa} T , it was part of your money that went towards 
 paying me, I never, never received it." 
 
 " M}' father never took the money from me without giving 
 it to you. I have that much faith in his honor, and how- 
 ever my confidence in others may waver, it shall remain
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 45 
 
 firmly established in my mind that my father paid you what 
 he had borrowed." 
 
 He did not like the words, nor the tone in which they 
 were uttered ; but least of all did he relish the look of 
 loathing which accompanied them. She held the door open, 
 giving him no chance of replying. She bowed, in answer to 
 his good-b}*, and immediately closed the door behind him. 
 
 " Well," thought Fuller, on his homeward journey, " I 
 am in luck ; if she has given the money left her by the old 
 Major, they will be in poor circumstances before the winter 
 is over, and there will be an opening for me to bring 
 forward my proposition concerning herself ; though I don't 
 see how I can carry it through ; she has too much spirit for 
 me to master. Never mind, I'll bring her spirit down to the 
 level of mine yet ; ' might is right ' in my line of business, 
 as she will learn when that receipt is not found." 
 
 That night, the gas was lighted in the libran r , for the first 
 time since Mr. Hazelton's death. Nettie was there, searching 
 for the receipt. Upon entering the library, she noticed that 
 one of the windows was open ; she remembered that she 
 herself had gone in there the day after her father's funeral 
 and opened the window to admit the air ; no one of the 
 household had been there since, for she kept the keys in her 
 own possession, and no one had called for them. She 
 reproached herself for her thoughtlessness and closed it, that 
 she might not forget it when leaving the room. She set 
 about her search at once, examining papers and packages, 
 removing every article in the desk, looking into corners and 
 books, till the gray dawn peeped in at the windows, and 
 finding her wear}- with her fruitless task, lingered to throw 
 his friendly light on the vain and useless search. The 
 receipt was nowhere to be found. 
 
 Poor Nettie's trouble now began. She sat for some 
 moments, indulging in the most gloomy misgivings. First, 
 she thought that her mother must have put the receipt in a
 
 46 THE LOST RECEIPT; OS, 
 
 place of safety ; but then she knew her mother had not 
 entered the library since her father's illness. Again, she 
 thought perhaps her father, feeling his strength giving way, 
 and fearing to rcty upon himself, in case the malady by 
 which he was attacked should affect his mind, had intrusted 
 his important papers and documents to the care of Lawyer 
 Warren, his last agent. Here she was again disheartened, 
 by the remembrance of Mr. Warren's visit a few daj's ago, 
 during which he had never referred to any such transaction 
 between himself and her father. She was certain that if 
 they had entered into any arrangement concerning her 
 father's affairs, the lawyer would have mentioned it. How- 
 ever, she concluded to call upon Mr. Warren, tell him of the 
 occurrence, and follow his directions. This decision arrived 
 at, she locked the library door, and went to see how 
 her mother had fared during the night. When she entered 
 her mother's room and saw her pale, patient face, emaciated 
 by sickness and suffering, the thought of what life would be 
 were she laid with her father, brought the tears in a flood to 
 her eyes, and she knelt beside the bed and poured forth her 
 soul in prayer to God. She asked Him, the Author of life, 
 to spare her mother, whatever else He might deprive her of; 
 an} r sacrifice He might impose upon her, she would willingly 
 bear, for His dear sake, if He would only restore her raolhcr 
 to her former health. She arose from her prayer strength- 
 ened and relieved, feeling that God had heard and answered 
 the outpouring of her overburdened heart. She bathed her 
 eyes, and sat beside the bed to watch the unconscious 
 sleeper. Her mother slept, but it was a restless, troubled 
 sleep ; somet 1 ' mcs she started, and in delirious murmurs 
 breathed her nusband's name ; then, as if knowing that he 
 would never again answer her call, she broke into wild and 
 incoherent muttcrings, in which " dead" and "grave" and 
 " never more," were the only words that Nettie could under- 
 etancl. Poor Nettie 1 her life for the last few weeks had
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 47 
 
 .been one continual heartache, and God alone knew how 
 bitter and hard it was to bear, and only He, too, could tell 
 how long it was to last, for His arm alone had power to 
 cure the weariness and loneliness of her soul. She needed 
 strength, indeed ; such strength as flows in a rapid and 
 stead} 7 stream from the Source of all good ; such strength 
 as makes those who ask for it, as Nettie experienced, 
 able to carry the cross to the top of the mount. Poor Net- 
 tie ! she had struggled and suffered, and yet bore up nobly 
 against the increasing darkness. She remained by her moth- 
 er's bedside, bathing her aching brow and cooling the parched 
 and feverish lips, until the nurse whom Nettie had relieved 
 returned. She then went to refresh herself, after leaving the 
 instructions concerning her mother with the nurse, before 
 preparing for her call on Lawyer Warren. When she was 
 ready, she rang the bell, and upon its being answered by 
 good, faithful James, who had declared that he would see 
 Nettie safe through her trouble, she told him to harness the 
 horses and drive her to Lawyer Warren's office. Nettie 
 having remained up all night, instead of seeking the few 
 hours' rest that she allowed herself every night since her 
 mother's illness, looked unusually pale and tired; there 
 seemed to be a weariness in her air and manner that told ol 
 long continued dread and anxiety, and the eyes that were 
 always bright and sparkling, were heavy and dull, for want 
 of rest and quiet ; in their depths gleamed a fearful forebod- 
 ing of coming evil. On reaching the lawyer's office, she was 
 obliged to wait for some time, Mr. Warren being engaged 
 with a gentleman in the other room. As soon as he saw her, 
 his kind, genial nature opened to her at once. The distress- 
 ing condition of mind in which he knew she must be, made 
 him gracious and considerate to her, and after learning her 
 business he cheered her by saying that he was of the same 
 opinion as herself, though he had no positive knowledge 
 that Mr. Hazelton had paid the bill.
 
 48 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 " Your father never consulted me upon the business, Misa 
 Hazelton ; he knew I would never sanction those proceed- 
 ings, and therefore, he never mentioned such subjects to 
 me ; but if you lent money to him, you may rest assured 
 he never used it for an}-thing but what you intended it 
 should be used for. He may, perhaps, have been some- 
 what extravagant, but he had the honesty and principle of 
 a true man. That villain," said he, his indignation rising, 
 " has some infamous scheme in contemplation. I am sorry 
 that it is not in my power to aid you ; but I advise you to 
 keep quiet and calm, and to search again ; for the receipt 
 is among some of your father's papers, which in your 
 excitement you have overlooked." 
 
 Nettie returned home more annoyed than ever ; for the 
 lawyer's words, " That villain has some infamous scheme in 
 contemplation," sounded strangely in her ears. She had 
 often heard her father speak of Mr. Warren's judgment and 
 knowledge of human nature, and she feared his words bore 
 some significance to the dread in her own heart. She 
 spent that night in the same manner as the preceding one, 
 and the gray dawn peeped in again at the window, and again 
 found her weary with her useless task. Her search for the 
 receipt was a vain one. She discovered that night, what 
 in her excitement the previous one had escaped her 
 notice, that the v/ill was also missing. Now she was 
 certain that they were both together, and do what she 
 would to stifle the uncharitable thoughts in her mind, she 
 could taot but feel that Fuller was endeavoring, for some 
 reasoi of his own, to work her mischief. At last the morn- 
 ing came ; the morning, sunny and bright and warm with 
 hope and jo}' ; the morning, that was the one ray of light in 
 1he night of Nettie's darkness; the morning, that brought 
 tho auower to her prayer, when with grateful tears and 
 uplifted heart she heard Dr. Moss pronounce her mother out 
 of danger. And Nettie's heart sung its own " Te Deum,"
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 49 
 
 silent, soft, and slow, and Heaven alone heard it, as God 
 had heard its dirge of sorrow in the " midnight of its woe." 
 
 Mrs. Hazelton was convalescent before Fuller presented 
 himself again in the drawing-room of Hazel Hill. There 
 Nettie found him one afternoon, just as she was going to 
 the city on business. She came down prepared for her 
 journej', and without seeming to notice his apologies for 
 detaining her, asked him rather abruptly, if he had found 
 the evidence of her father's honesty. He was stunned by 
 the question, and tried hard to regain his self-possession, 
 which her words for a moment robbed him of. 
 
 " Do you think I doubt j*our father's honesty, Miss Hazel- 
 ton?" 
 
 " There is no need of entering into any further discussion 
 upon the subject, Mr. Fuller ; I have failed to find the 
 receipt, though I know one exists, or has existed. I cannot 
 remain for any argument to-day. You will oblige me by 
 not calling upon mamma ; she is yet in a weak state, and 
 an}- annoyance or uneasiness may prove dangerous." 
 
 " It is with you I have business, Miss Hazelton, that 
 bears no reference to any one but yourself." 
 
 " Well, my time is limited to-day ; you must call at 
 another time." 
 
 There was no alternative ; so he was compelled to take 
 his departure.
 
 50 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHAT TOM BEATLT SAW. 
 
 THERE came, during the week after Mr. Hazelton's death, 
 a cloudy, gloomy day ; the sky looked threatening and 
 heav} r with rain ; it made several attempts, during the day, 
 to deposit its burden on our unoffending planet, but was 
 prevented by some invisible agenc}". But as evening drew 
 near, the rain seemed to have rebelled against the highef 
 power and burst its confines, and fell in torrents, drenching 
 unfortunate pedestrians, who hurried through the streets 
 with remai'kable rapidity. "When night, in the blackest of 
 robes, descended, the heavens still showed angry signs of the 
 storm. On this night, Fuller closed his office earlier than 
 was his custom, and probably through the inclemency of the 
 weather, walked briskly towards the grand mansion that 
 claimed him as its master. He did not regale himself this 
 night with its luxury, but soon emerged again from its 
 shadow, well prepared to battle with the storm. He wore a 
 a long coat, almost to his heels, and a heavj* rubber hat, 
 drawn tightly down over his eyes. The streets were deserted, 
 and the only sounds that broke the stillness of the hour 
 were the faint murmurs of the storm, whicn was dying 
 away, and the echo of his own footsteps, which seemed to 
 haunt him with a nameless fear. He kept within the shadow 
 of the houses, as far as they extended, but his direction 
 leading to Hazel Hill, he was obliged to come out on the 
 road, unfrequented, except by those who were going to or 
 coming from the same place to which his own steps were 
 tending. When he arrived at the foot of the hill he drew a
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS, 51 
 
 mask from his pocket, and when he reached the spot directly 
 under the library window, he pulled it over his face and tied 
 it at the back of his head. He remained for a few moments 
 attentively listening, and once, thinking that he heard foot- 
 steps, he hastily tore the mask from his face and walked 
 towards the hall door, as though he were going to call upon 
 the inmates of the house. He had not gone far when he 
 reassured himself that it was only the wind sighing among 
 the trees, and once again covered his face with the mask. 
 Near the spot where he stood was a large marble statue of 
 Flora, resting upon a high pedestal ; upon this pedestal he 
 placed his foot and gazed in through the window which Nettie 
 had left open. Seeing the prospect good, he rested his knee 
 upon the shoulder of the statue, which was on a level with 
 the window, and looking around once more, sprang lightly 
 into the room. He was well acquainted with the library, 
 and went directly to the desk, drew a bunch of keys from 
 his pocket, and unlocked it. Every package he took to the 
 window, and tried, by the reflection of the lamp which hung 
 in the hall, to read its superscription. He had gone through 
 this ceremony with all but one, and hearing, or fearing that 
 he heard a sound outside the door, he quickly plunged it 
 into his pocket and escaped as he had entered, through the 
 window. He did not allow himself to walk now, but act- 
 ually ran across the lawn, and never slackened his speed until 
 he had reached the foot of the hill. Here he saw directly 
 in front of him the form of a man, slowly taking his way 
 along the road. His first impulse was to stand still and 
 wait till the man had disappeared, and then go the longest, 
 though safest way home. His design, however, was frus- 
 trated, and seeing that the man was about to turn around, 
 he speedily put the mask under his coat and assumed his 
 wonted air of self-possession. The man waited for his 
 approach, and, when near enough, addressed him familiarly, 
 saying in a rough voice,
 
 52 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 ." You here, Fuller ; you can't be very busy, or else there 
 must be great attraction for you at the Hill." 
 
 Mr. Fuller, answering him in a low voice, said, 
 
 " I have been up to inquire about Mrs. Hazelton ; she 
 has been sick since her husband's death, and I am very 
 anxious about her." 
 
 " You look not only anxious, but very much frightened ; 
 I hope the trouble is not serious enough to alarm you," said 
 Tom Beatly, chuckling, and coming closer to Fuller. 
 
 Fuller made no rep]}', but appeared buried in thought. 
 The silence was unbroken between them until they reached 
 the populated part of the town, where Fuller, anxious to rid 
 himself of his companion, told him he was obliged to bid 
 him good-night, as he intended calling upon .one of his 
 clients, who had business of importance to transact. 
 
 " I hope it does not require the dark to transact it in ; it 
 can't be very good business that needs that ; besides, when 
 done, it can't be relied upon, as da}-light will show," was 
 Tom's response to Fuller's farewell. He said this backing 
 away from Fuller, as if he were afraid of being challenged 
 to a duel. 
 
 Fuller, without noticing his remarks, disdainfully turned 
 his back upon him, and instead of going to his pretended 
 client, started on a rapid walk to his own home. As soon 
 as he found himself safe within its walls, he settled himself 
 to enjoy his triumph ; but when he sought in his pockets for 
 the package it was not there. For some time he was almost 
 stupefied with fear. Thinking he had lost it on the road, 
 be decided to go and look for it ; but "second thoughts are 
 best," as Fuller's proved, when he concluded that if he 
 dropped the package it was picked up by Tom Beatly, 
 whose strange words about business in the dark he called to 
 mind. Had he gone to look for it his search would have 
 been as useless as Nettie's, for Tom Beatly had been an 
 observer of Fuller's movements from the moment he luyj
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 53 
 
 commenced the ascent of the hill until he encountered him 
 face to face at its foot. 
 
 Tom Beatly was a dissipated, idle fellow, whose con- 
 science never reproached him ; he would be honest or dis- 
 honest, whichever paid him best in money. He had been 
 up at the Hill all da}', helping James, who, since the ser- 
 vants left, found more to do than he could attend to. When 
 he saw Fuller coming towards the house in such a storm, 
 and disguised as he was, he was sure that he had some evil 
 intentions in his heart. 
 
 " By Jupiter, I'll follow you, old fellow, and see how you'll 
 play your game," said Tom to himself. His resolution 
 formed, he slipped behind a tree until Fuller passed him, 
 when he emerged from his hiding-place and crept along^ 
 behind the bushes until Fuller halted under the library 
 window. He watched him narrowly, saw all his proceed- 
 ings, and when he had satisfied himself that Fuller had 
 committed a theft of some kind, he determined to cheat him 
 of his booty, and enrich himself by it. " It takes a rogue 
 to catch a rogue," thougi>t Tom, as he quickened his steps, 
 that he might meet Fuller, as related, at the foot of the hill. 
 Tom, who was an adept in the art of pocket-picking, suc- 
 ceeded in extracting the package from Fuller's pocket and 
 secreted it in his own, intending to confront him with it 
 when he required money. 
 
 Fuller took no steps to recover what he had lost, but 
 decided that if Tom Beatly ever mentioned the subject to 
 him he would instantly accuse him of perpetrating the theft. 
 
 A few clays after the adventure related, Tom, true to his 
 design, presented himself at Fuller's office. Fuller pre- 
 tended to be very much surprised at seeing him, and told him 
 to state his business quick!}', as he was in a great hurry. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " you need not be so very much sur- 
 prised at seeing me ; I'm thinking you'll be delighted, 
 you hear what I have to tell you."
 
 54 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 " Sit down," said the lawyer, suddenly becoming sociable. 
 
 Tom accepted the invitation at once. When he was 
 seated, he began, 
 
 " You know the night you were up to the Hill to inquire 
 after Mrs. Hazclton? Well, after we parted, I saw, about 
 half-way up the road, something white ; I went and picked 
 it up, and found it was a package, upon which was written 
 Mr. Hazelton's name. I took it home with me, and being 
 curious to know what it contained, I opened it, and found 
 that it held a great many papers signed by you. I thought 
 you might know something about it, so I came to tell }'ou." 
 
 The keen gray eyes of Fuller closed for a moment, and 
 then opened full upon Tom with a searching look. 
 
 " It is, indeed, a very creditable story, Tom, and coming 
 from such a character as 3 - ourself, is greatly to be relied 
 upon ; you had better deliver the package to me at once, if 
 you wish to escape punishment." 
 
 " Take it easy now, old fellow," said Tom ; " you stand in 
 greater danger of the gallows than I do ; 3'ou might as well 
 not waste breath, Fuller, for you can't frighten me with your 
 threats." 
 
 Fuller was boiling with passion, as he exclaimed, 
 
 "How dare you connect my name with the gallows? If 
 you do not let me see those papers immediate!}-, I shall have 
 a sheriff after you sooner than you dream of." 
 
 Tom, nothing daunted, replied in a calm, sarcastic voice : 
 
 "You speak mighty independent, for a fellow who was 
 seen only a few nights ago going in and coming out of the 
 library window at Hazel Hill ; well masked, too, for your 
 purpose. I'll let you see the papers when you let me see a ten- 
 pound note. I would tell on you, Fuller, but you know ' there 
 is honor among thieves ' ; perhaps it is better for me to give 
 the package to Miss Hazelton, and tell her how I got it." 
 
 " You had better try that, and see how soon you will find 
 yourself in jail."
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 55 
 
 " Oh, if that happened, I could easily point to where the 
 reji-1 blame lies. You had better give me that ten-pound 
 note, and be sure of your own safety, for this is no good to 
 me, and I'll have to give it to the owner, if you don't buy it." 
 
 " Do you think your word will be taken an}*where, Tom ? " 
 
 " If my word will not be taken, I have proof enough to 
 convict you anyway, for a note in your handwriting, signed 
 with your name, fell out of your pocket, with the package ; 
 that you will never get, though, for love or money, for I 
 would not trust you, Fuller, but that you would tell on me, 
 if you had the chance ; so I shall keep it to defend myself." 
 
 Fuller battled long with himself before he would give the 
 mone.y. At last he said, 
 
 " Hand over the package, and j'ou'll get the ten pounds." 
 
 " By Jupiter ! j^ou'll have to hand over the money first." 
 
 Fuller gave him the moneys received the package, and was 
 very glad when Tom left him. 
 
 " Safe once more," he muttered, as he saw the package in 
 his possession. 
 
 Days wore into weeks, and Mrs. Hazelton was recovering 
 her strength. She had not left her room, and Nettie used to 
 sit with her there, reading or sewing. One morning she 
 was engaged in preparing her brother's wardrobe, he was 
 going to school in the city, and her mother was giving her a 
 few instructions concerning it, when a servant announced that 
 Mr. Fuller was in the drawing-room and desired to see Miss 
 Hazelton upon a very important matter, not at all connected 
 with business. Mrs. Hazelton was surprised, and asked 
 Nettie if Fuller had been in the habit of calling. 
 
 " He called several times to inquire about you during your 
 illness ; I suppose it is for the same reason he has come 
 now," was her reply. 
 
 Nettie found him in the drawing-room, looking abstract- 
 edly out of the window. Hearing her step near him he rose, 
 saying,
 
 56 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 " Since my last visit you have grown paler ; I hope you 
 are not annoying yourself about that troublesome receipt. 
 .Tf we come to terms, perhaps we will be able to manage it 
 without further trouble on either side." 
 
 " How do you propose to settle it, Mr. Fuller? " 
 
 " Well, Miss Hazelton, this plan which I propose, was as 
 much your father's wish as mine ; in fact, it was he who first 
 spoke of it, and made me agree to ask you to be my wife. 
 I love no one but you, and you have been, for a long time, 
 the most sacred treasure of my heart ; I offer this heart for 
 your acceptance ; if you agree, all debts of your father shall 
 be forgotten." 
 
 She gazed at him with compressed lips and dilated eyes ; 
 when she spoke, it was with mocking emphasis. 
 
 "Did my father make such an agreement with 3'ou, sir? 
 If he did, then indeed his mind must have been not only 
 weakened, but diseased ; and even in his greatest insanity, 
 I doubt if he would enter into such a compact with you. I 
 tell you, Mr. Fuller, I shall never be your wife ; so the most 
 sacred treasure of your heart, you must cast awa}-." 
 
 There was silence for some moments, which was broken 
 by Nettie, who continued, 
 
 "To be candid with you, Mr. Fuller, I do not like you ; 
 and the more I see of you, the stronger my dislike grows." 
 
 " My dear Miss Hazelton, I do not ask 3 r ou to like me, I 
 ask 3'ou to marry me ; you will then love me in spite of your- 
 self. Give me hope and I will be patient ; } T OU know your 
 happiness depends upon me. I am rich, and all I possess is 
 at 3'our disposal. If you refuse, the mansion and all its sur- 
 roundings are at my disposal, and you ma}' imagine what 
 shall become of them." 
 
 His eyes fell as she turned hers upon him ; he felt that 
 she read him through, as she replied, in scornful tones, 
 
 " No, Mr. Fuller, thank Heaven, m}* happiness does not 
 depend upon you. You have, day by day, unfolded the
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. [tf 
 
 meanness of your character; you took advantage of the 
 time of trouble to harass and annoy me ; you need not hope 
 that I shall ever change my determination, for I could never, 
 never, learn to love 3"ou." 
 
 Assuming an air of gentleness that seemed to Nettie 
 bordering on the ludicrous, he said, 
 
 " Perhaps, Miss Hazelton, I have been a little too hasty, 
 but my meaning was good, better than my words expressed : 
 you may need my friendship yet, though }-ou reject it now. 
 You seem a little nervous, this afternoon ; I advise you to 
 think over the matter and its consequences. Good-after- 
 noon." 
 
 Nettie thought that the very atmosphere of the drawing- 
 room partook of his hateful presence ; she felt as if it were 
 choking her, and his departure gave her the greatest relief.
 
 58 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER Vin. 
 
 PLANS FOR THE FUTUBE. 
 
 THE cold, bleak winter was at an end ; the warm, sunny 
 days of spring brought strength and health to Mrs. Hazel- 
 ton. All this time Nettie had been happy, because Fuller's 
 shadow had not once darkened her pathway. She had 
 been expecting a visit from him, and could not understand 
 why he deferred it ; she knew, however, that he would not 
 remain away much longer, and thought it best to prepare 
 her mother for his visit. So she told her, one evening when 
 they were alone, all the circumstances which had transpired 
 during her illness. Mrs. Hazelton was much surprised by 
 what her daughter told her ; but decided to make no in- 
 quiries until Fuller should call, and then see what an inter- 
 view would bring forth. 
 
 The ensuing week proved Nettie's surmises correct, for 
 during it Fuller presented himself for Mrs. Hazelton's 
 inspection. After the usual greeting, the lawyer made 
 known the object of his visit, using, when persuasion failed, 
 the same threats that he had to her daughter. She very 
 quietl} T informed him that what he unjustly claimed had 
 already been paid. 
 
 " Then, madam, you refuse to comply with my request in 
 regard to }-our daughter ? " 
 
 " Certainly I do, sir ; with my consent, my daughter shall 
 never be your wife." 
 
 " Perhaps you. will be sorry, when it is too late." 
 
 The haughty blood of Major Goff was flowing in her 
 veins ; and drawing herself proudly up, she answered,
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 59 
 
 " Do j'our worst ; I seek no mercy at the hands of one 
 who knows not even the principles of justice. You have 
 adopted this diabolical scheme to gain my daughter ; for in 
 your heart, if you have any, you know you are unjustly 
 claiming what does not belong to you." 
 
 " Very well, madam ; the bill shall be paid to me at once." 
 
 " You have your answer, sir ; so I hope this interview has 
 closed." 
 
 He parted from her with an angry flush upon his face, 
 resolving in his heart to make the inmates of Hazel Hill feel 
 the effects of his power. 
 
 A few days after the above occurrence, Mrs. Hazelton 
 called upon Lawyer Warren, who told her to let Fuller take 
 possession of the mansion, and to go with her family to live 
 at Oakdale Cottage ; it was her daughter's, and Fuller could 
 not claim it. " I will look after him, and I assure you it 
 will cost him more than he thinks, before I get through with 
 him," was the lawyer's concluding remark. 
 
 Fuller, in a few weeks, executed his threat, and Mrs. 
 Hazelton, with her two children, Leonard being at school, 
 was obliged to leave their luxurious home and dwell in 
 the " Cottage." Margaret and James, two faithful old ser- 
 vants, who volunteered their services while they lived, 
 accompanied them. They took with them several* pieces of 
 the drawing-room furniture and three or four old paintings, 
 the property of Mrs. Hazelton. Nettie thought she never 
 could get accustomed to the change. During the first few 
 weeks after their removal, she was very bus} T , arranging the 
 furniture of the "Cottage " to the best advantage. It soon 
 bore a cheerful aspect ; in front was a small but beautiful 
 garden, carefully weeded by Nettie's own hands ; creeping 
 vines trailed gracefully over the door and windows ; and a 
 stand filled with some of the rarest plants which had beauti- 
 fied Nettie's own room at the Hill, now stood in the parlor 
 window of the " Cottage." Nettie tried hard to forget the
 
 60 THE LOST RECEIPT i OR, 
 
 dear old home she had left, and the injustice of him who 
 had deprived her of it. She cared for nothing now, but to 
 see her mother happy and cheerful. Mrs Hazelton, though 
 her heart was breaking, endeavored to satisfy her daughter's 
 only wish. 
 
 The} r had lived two months at the " Cottage," when one 
 evening, Nettie being alone with her mother, said, 
 
 " Mamma, I have thought of a plan by which I will be 
 able to assist 3 - ou in paying for Leonard's education. You 
 know he will soon be fit to enter college, and his expenses 
 then will be double what they are now. You know I have a 
 remarkable taste for painting, and three months' study under 
 the careful teaching of Professor Mason would enable me to 
 earn my living by it. If you agree, mamma, I would consult 
 with Professor Mason, who, I am sure would encourage my 
 plan." 
 
 Mrs. Hazelton was silent for some moments, and then 
 said, 
 
 " My darling Nettie, I am well aware of your talents ; 
 but how can I bear the separation ? " 
 
 " It will not be much of a separation, mamma ; I will be 
 home every Saturday, and remain until Monday ; it will be 
 much better for us all, in the end." 
 
 " Yes, Nettie, it will be much better, and I, too, can earn 
 a little. There is much need of a school in this neighbor- 
 hood ; I intend to open one, for I am sure I shall succeed. 
 We will fit the front room up stairs for a school-room, before 
 you leave me. It is not right to live in idleness, because we 
 have much to do now with our small income." 
 
 " But, mamma, will you not find it hard work?" 
 
 " No, my darling ; it will wean my thoughts from the 
 p as, which will be a great, great rest to me." 
 
 So the school at Oakdale was opened, and Mrs. Hazelton 
 had more pupils than she expected. Nettie entered Pro- 
 fessor Mason's academy ; he was delighted to receive the
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 01 
 
 pupil whose genius he had prized so highly while under his 
 previous teaching. When the three months had expired, 
 Professor Mason provided a situation for Nettie at Major 
 Sargeant's, where we first became acquainted with her. 
 
 Hazel Hill was sold ; Fuller engaged one of his friends 
 to purchase it ; he did not wish to have it known that he 
 bought it himself. Whenever Tom Beatly needed money he 
 applied to Fuller, and if he refused, he threatened him with 
 exposure. Angry words often passed between them ; but 
 Fuller was always obliged to satisfy Tom's demands. At 
 last he hired him to take care of his horses, for which he 
 paid him well. But he was in the greatest trouble whenever 
 Tom was under the influence of liquor, and was compelled 
 to keep a sharp eye upon him, for Tom's tongue was very 
 free on such occasions.
 
 62 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER EX. 
 
 THE RESCUE. 
 
 NETTIE remained with the Sargeants until the middle of 
 December, when she went to spend Christmas and New 
 Year's with her mother. As the cars stopped at the station, 
 her heart bounded with delight when she saw the familiar 
 face of James, looking eagerly for her in the crowd. In a 
 moment she was on the platform, with both her hands in his. 
 He looked affectionately upon her, and thought he had never 
 seen her look so beautiful. Fuller, who had learned from 
 Tom Beatly that Nettie was to arrive that afternoon, wit- 
 nessed the meeting. As James released her hands, Fuller 
 stepped forward, extending his hand. She gazed at him in 
 amazement, and without even noticing the proffered hand, 
 turned to James, telling him that she was ready. James, 
 highly enjoying Fuller's disappointment and vexation, opened 
 the carriage-door, assisted her in, and drove rapidly away, 
 leaving Fuller to indulge his own thoughts. 
 
 Mrs. Hazelton was standing at the window, with her little 
 daughter Bertha, who was the first to see the carriage ; she 
 bounded away from her mother's side, and ran to the gate 
 to meet it. When Nettie alighted, she overwhelmed her 
 with caresses. At the front door, her mother was waiting 
 for her ; so she released her sister, and went to receive her 
 mother's warm embrace. They were very happy together 
 that evening, and talked mostly of Leonard, who was to 
 arrive in a few daj-s. While they were conversing, the bell 
 rang, and James's voice was heard telling some one that he 
 would not allow him to enter ; that Miss Hazelton was 
 tired from her journej-, and did not wish to be intruded
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS, 63 
 
 upon. After a few more words, James knocked at the par- 
 lor door, and being told to enter, announced that "Old 
 Fuller," as he disdainfully called him, wished to see Miss 
 Hazelton. 
 
 "I do not wish to see any one to-night, James, and I 
 never wish him to call upon me at any time," said Nettie. 
 
 " And James," added Mrs. Hazelton, " whenever he ap- 
 plies for admission, you need never answer his call." 
 
 James delivered his message with remarkable accuracy, 
 and Fuller ungraciously submitted, for that time, to the 
 sentence. 
 
 Leonard came to spend his vacation with his mother and 
 sisters. He was a merry young fellow of eighteen, and his 
 presence greatly increased their joy. They were having 
 what Leonard termed a " superb " time, when the evil pres- 
 ence that forever haunted Nettie's brightest hours once 
 again marred the pleasure of her home. She and her 
 mother were seated one afternoon in the pleasant little par- 
 lor whose windows faced the lawn. They were discussing 
 various matters, when the gate opened, and Fuller walked 
 ap to the door and rang for admittance. But James, true 
 to his instructions, did not answer his summons. He was 
 about ringing the second time, when Leonard, who had just 
 returned from fishing, appeared, and demanded in stern 
 tones what his business was. 
 
 " I wish to see Miss Hazelton," he replied. 
 
 " You cannot sec her." 
 
 " I must see her." 
 
 Leonard did not wait for another word, but caught up the 
 fishing-rod and dealt him a heavy blow across the face. 
 The blow was so unexpected that he did not have time to 
 ward off a second one. He retreated a step or two, his 
 face livid with rage. 
 
 u Sir," said Fuller, " this outrage shall not go unpunished. 
 We shall meet again."
 
 64 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 " Yes, when I am better prepared, ywi miserable coward. 
 If 3'ou dare to enter that gate again, or give us any more 
 annoyance by your presence, you will do it at your peril." 
 
 Fuller left him without replying, but vowed in his heart 
 to wreak vengeance upon Leonard Hazelton. " He is the 
 image of his father," he mused, as he sauntered along, " and 
 I dislike him all the more for it. Whatever the conse- 
 quences may be, Nettie Hazelton shall yet be my wife." 
 
 Mrs. Hazelton did not approve of her son's hasty conduct. 
 
 "Leonard, my son, you. are too impulsive. This was 
 real rudeness on your part. You must endeavor to control 
 your temper," said she. 
 
 "Well, mother, if it were anybody else but Fuller, I 
 could easily control my temper. I am certain he will pa} r 
 no more visits to the cottage while I am in town. I'll settle 
 him some time." 
 
 Nettie, thinking the Sargeants intended travelling again in 
 the spring, wrote to inform them that her mother needed her 
 assistance at home, and, if convenient for them, she would 
 consider their engagement at an end. They were very sorry 
 to part with her, for they had hoped she would accompany 
 them. Nettie, of course, would never accept such a pro- 
 posal, involving, as it did, a long separation from her 
 mother. So they acceded to her wishes, and closed the 
 engagement. Leonard returned to college, and Nettie found 
 plenty to occupy her time in helping her mother in the 
 school-room. During the winter, she received a letter from 
 Mrs. Graham, Judge Graham's wife. They were intimate 
 friends of the Sargeants, and Nettie had often seen them 
 there. The letter read thus : 
 
 " Miss HAZELTON, If you are not already engaged, and if agree- 
 able to you, I wish you would give us at least oue year of your ser- 
 vice. Any sum you desire shall bo paid. If this meets your ap- 
 proval, please let me know when we may expect you. 
 
 " Yours, respectfully, MRS G. W. GKAHAM."
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 65 
 
 Nettie urged her mother to give up the school, and let 
 her salary pay their expenses ; but Mrs. Ilazelton was de- 
 termined to work, so Nettie's entreaties and persuasions 
 were of no avail. The arrangement suiting her, she accepted 
 Mrs. Graham's invitation. Belvidere Hall, or "Belvidere," 
 as it was usually called, was a beautiful residence, and no 
 pains had been spared in adding to its magnificence. The 
 judge and his wife were most agreeable people, and Nettie 
 felt sure she would be happy with them. Her pupil was a 
 young lady of eighteen, named Helena Graham : tall and 
 rather slight, like her mother, with an agreeable manner 
 and a prepossessing appearance, she was also intelligent, 
 and was of superior judgment. She had a remarkable tal- 
 ent for music, and an excellent taste in drawing. When 
 Nettie's year had expired, the Grahams had become so 
 attached to her, they requested her to remain another j-ear. 
 
 During the winter season, she had often heard of the 
 Blayres, through the press, in which their names were con- 
 spicuous among those who moved in fashionable society. 
 The} r had spent the winter in London, and, in the spring, 
 were going to Paris. Rumors were afloat that Mr. Blayre, 
 now master of Hamilton Lodge, was engaged to the great 
 London belle, Aclele Bouford, the granddaughter of Sir 
 Thomas Bouford. 
 
 Judge Graham was obliged to go to London, on business 
 matters. He met the Blayres, and had dined with them. 
 When he returned home, they were on their way to Paris. 
 He was obliged to relate all that he had seen and heard 
 during his six weeks' sojourn in London. Lena, who was 
 very impatient to hear everything of the great cit}', asked 
 him a dozen questions before he had time to answer one. 
 
 " Is it true, papa, that Miss Bouford is engaged to Mr. 
 Blayre?" she asked. 
 
 " That is what I understood from those most interested in 
 them."
 
 66 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 Nettie listened to all that was said, without the least 
 trace of emotion ; but when she reached her own room, a 
 flood of memories rushed through her mind, and almost 
 overwhelmed her with its bitterness. So, she mused, the 
 rumors are true ; the judge's statement confirms them. I 
 kuew he would soon forget me. In the midst of pleasure 
 and fashion, however, I am glad that I pledged nyself to no 
 engagement. I must forget him, though, I confess, I love 
 him. The next morning, she appeared at the breakfast- 
 table as charming as ever. 
 
 The winter rolled on pleasantly at Belvidere Hall. Spring 
 and summer brought a change to Mrs. Hazelton. Nettie 
 received a letter from her mother, stating that she was not 
 feeling well, and urging her to return home, as Leonard was 
 spending his vacation at home, and her presence would 
 make it more agreeable for him. Lena Graham had become 
 so attached to Nettie that she coaxed her to stay with her a 
 month longer. So it was at the close of the summer that 
 Nettie found herself ready to say farewell. 
 
 The cars stopped at the station ; she alighted, but saw no 
 trace of James or Leonard. She followed her first impulse, 
 and went into the post-office to learn if her letter had been 
 called for. There she was told that her letter had been 
 delivered two days before. A thousand fears took pos- 
 session of her ; she thought of her mother's illness, and 
 accused herself of great neglect in not coming home sooner. 
 She did not wait long at the station, but at a quick pace 
 hastened on her way. She did not think of the lateness of 
 the hour, or the distance she had to go ; her only thoughts 
 were of " home, and mother." She had dark forebodings, 
 strange feelings, that she could not account for. The sun 
 had sunk low in the west, and the shades of night were 
 gathering fast, as she entered the woods, which darkened 
 the road on either side. She was hurrying on, when a man 
 sprang from the thicket, caught her in his arms, and pushed
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 67 
 
 her into a close carriage. The man was masked. This was 
 done so suddenly that Nettie had no time to offer any re- 
 sistance ; but when she had recovered from her fright, 
 scream after scream rent the air. A handkerchief, saturated 
 with chloroform, was held to her mouth, to prevent her 
 screams from being heard. The horses were about to start, 
 when the driver received a blow that knocked him senseless ; 
 the next instant, the carriage-door was thrown open, and 
 she was about to be rescued, when her deliverer received a 
 shot from a pistol, which prevented him from rendering fur- 
 ther assistance. "With an exclamation of pain, he fell to 
 the ground. The masked villain was about to fire the 
 second time, so as to complete his work, when Nettie, whom 
 the fresh air had revived, caught him by the wrist, and his 
 arm swerved from its aim. She renewed her screams, hop- 
 ing they might reach some one in the cottage. Her hopes 
 were not groundless, for she recognized Leonard's shrill 
 whistle, and the barking of Sailor, the old dog, gave her 
 double strength. She fought hard with her antagonist, tried 
 to tear off his mask, but failed in the attempt. He got out 
 of the carriage, and, seeing that his driver was unable to be 
 of much service to him, did his best to fasten Nettie in ; but 
 he knew, by the barking of the dog, which sounded nearer 
 and nearer, that assistance was at hand. He had no desire 
 to meet with Leonard Hazelton, so he deemed it prudent to 
 relinquish his prize, and secure his own safety. He helped 
 the driver into the carnage, mounted the box, and drove 
 away with great speed, just as Leonard and his dog arrived 
 upon the scene. 
 
 " Oh, Leonard, thank Heaven that you have come ; I am 
 afraid he is dead." 
 
 "By Jupiter! Nettie, my sister, is this you? How 
 came }-ou here?" 
 
 " Do not ask me any questions, Leonard ; you will hear 
 all in due time. Run for a doctor, or for some one who will 
 be of use."
 
 68 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 " And leave 3-011 here alone ! Who is he?" 
 " I do not know, but he has rendered me good service." 
 Leonard tore a leaf from his diary, scribbled a few words 
 upon it, for it was so dark that he could scarcely see, and, 
 after pinning it upon the ribbon which Nettie had taken 
 from her bonnet, tied it around Sailor's neck. Leonard 
 patted him on the head, saying, " Now, Sailor, make good 
 haste ; take this note to James." The dog was faithful and 
 intelligent, and, after licking his master's hand, bounded off. 
 When he reached the cottage, he barked loudly at the 
 kitchen door. It was opened by James, who had come in 
 a few minutes previous. When the dog was admitted, he 
 growled and jumped upon James, who, noticing the note, 
 took it off and read it. He saw that it was signed, " Leon- 
 ard." My poor young master, thought he, has met with 
 some accident. Faithful Sailor led the way, and, with the 
 assistance of James, the}* brought the insensible man, as 
 gently as the}' possibly could, to the cottage. 
 
 Mrs. Hazelton was unprepared for the scene that met her 
 eyes. The sight of her daughter, whom she did not expect 
 home, with her hands and dress stained with blood, was 
 more than she could bear, in her weakened state ; it was 
 quite a shock to her nervous system, and it was some time 
 before she recovered herself. James was immediately de- 
 spatched for Dr. Moss, the family physician. The doc- 
 tor extracted the ball, dressed the wound, and pronounced 
 the patient in a critical condition, from the loss of so much 
 blood, but thought that, by great care, he had a fair chance 
 of recovery. He administered a powder, and, before he left, 
 the patient was resting quietly. During the night, Nettie 
 related what had happened. After her long journey, she 
 was very tirad, yet she could not be persuaded to retire. 
 Both she and Leonard watched the patient unwearyingly ; 
 she bathed his forehead and moistened his lips occasionally, 
 as the doctor had ordered.
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HAMILTON'S ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 EVER since Miss Hazelton went to "Belvidere Hall," 
 Fuller kept track of her letters ; he knew every word they 
 contained. For this privilege he had paid the postmaster a 
 handsome sum. He intercepted the one she wrote to Leon- 
 ard, telling him to meet her at the station ; he destroyed 
 the letter, and sent Tom Beatly and his chum, a villain like 
 himself, to capture Miss Hazelton. They were to bring her 
 to a certain house, where he would meet them ; he would 
 pretend that he had rescued her from their hands, and would 
 offer to take her to his mansion ; he assured himself that 
 she would gladly accept his hospitality. Within the walla 
 of his own house he would have a clergyman on hand to 
 perform the marriage ceremon}', in the presence of wit- 
 nesses. His wealth and study would then be entirely de- 
 voted to the welfare of her whom he so madly loved, and 
 his evil face lit up with a smile as he contemplated his future 
 happiness. In his villanous scheme he was disappointed, 
 as we have already learned. When the carriage returned 
 without its occupant, he accused the men of neglect, and 
 declared that, if they had performed their work well, they 
 would not have let her escape, once she was inside the car- 
 riage. He would accept no apology the}' might offer. 
 
 By the morning, Nettie was much exhausted, and gladly 
 sought repose, the moment she was relieved by her mother. 
 The patient had rested well during the night. Once or twice 
 he muttered something they did not understand.
 
 70 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 Mrs. Hazelton was very anxious to learn his name. By 
 his appearance and dress, he was evidently a gentleman. 
 Upon his little finger he wore an expensive diamond, and 
 carried on his person an elegant hunting-case watch ; but the}' 
 found nothing that gave them any information regarding his 
 name. When Mrs. Hazelton was alone with him she drew 
 back the curtains to admit a little more light ; he was very 
 pale ; his eyes were closed ; but his breathing was regular. 
 As she gazed at him, her soul was thrilled with a sad, far-off 
 memory that struggled from the shadow of by-gone years 
 into the light of the present. He reminded her of her 
 father, as she had known him before years and sorrow and 
 care had made him old and gray. In her heart she felt 
 something more than the gratitude which she owed the 
 stranger ; it was a feeling that she had no power to repress ; 
 a feeling stronger than gratitude, nearer than common 
 friendship. 
 
 While Leonard was eating his breakfast the next morn- 
 ing, James came rushing into the dining-room, almost shout- 
 ing, 
 
 " Master Leonard, that young gentleman was a visitor at 
 the Hill ; I met one of the servants, who told me that they 
 were out all night searching for him." 
 
 u Did you tell him that he was here, James?" 
 
 "Not a word did I tell him, Master Leonard," James 
 replied. 
 
 " Well, James, I thought you would know enough for 
 that." 
 
 He did not wait to finish his breakfast, but took his hat 
 and hastened the nearest way to Hazel Hill. It was a dis- 
 tance of two miles, and since Leonard had left it, four years 
 previous, he had never crossed the lawn. Without looking 
 on cither side, he bounded up the steps and knocked at the 
 hall door, so familiar to him. His knock was answered by 
 a servant, who politely asked him to step into the drawing-
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 71 
 
 room. Leonard was not naturally sentimental, yet he saw 
 enough to bring back sad recollections of the past. 
 
 " My business is of the utmost importance ; please lose 
 no time in delivering my card," said he to the servant. 
 
 The servant obeyed, and Mr. Lawrence, a portly-looking 
 gentleman, with a good-natured face, greeted Leonard, who 
 delivered his message promptly and took his leave. 
 
 " A fine-looking fellow," thought Mr. Lawrence ; " strange 
 that he lives so near and I have never met him. I have 
 often wondered what kind of people there were at the cot- 
 tage ; they live so secluded." He was not aware that Leon- 
 ard was born in the very house which he now occupied. 
 Mr. Lawrence ordered William to saddle Black Bess, as she 
 could go the fastest, and before Leonard reached home a 
 gentleman presented himself at the cottage door. He 
 handed his card to Margaret, who took it to Mrs. Hazel ton ; 
 she read the name, Hamilton Blayrc, and went to receive him. 
 
 " Madam," said he, bowing respectfully, " I have come 
 from Mr. Lawrence's, to inquire about my friend, Mr. Sey- 
 mour." 
 
 " Mr. Seymour," she repeated, " I am glad to hear his 
 name : you would like to see him, I suppose." 
 
 He replied in the affirmative, and she led the way to the 
 chamber. 
 
 For some time Hamilton gazed upon the suffering face of 
 his friend, Walter Seymour. Since they were boys, they had 
 been bosom friends ; no brothers could be more affectionate. 
 While Hamilton was present Dr. Moss called to learn the 
 patient's condition. After he had examined the wound, he 
 did not look upon the case as seriously as he had the previ- 
 ous night ; he assured his friends that by good care he would 
 recover. 
 
 " It is the influence of the powder which I administered 
 that has so stupefied him ; he had a very narrow escape 
 from death," said the doctor
 
 72 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 " I am glad that he will recover, for his parents' sake ; he 
 is their only child. I beg you to pa} r him every attention ; 
 if he is restored to us, you will be amply rewarded," Hamil- 
 ton rejoined. 
 
 " I assure you he will not be neglected ; he will find kind 
 and faithful friends in Mrs. Hazelton and her daughter." 
 
 Mr. Blayre was very curious to see the young lady in 
 whose behalf Walter had acted so nobly. The name of 
 Hazelton was dear to him, in fact, the name nearest his 
 heart ; but the object of his curiosity was not present, and, 
 in company with Dr. Moss, he left the cottage. Hamilton 
 made some inquiries concerning Mrs. Hazelton's daughter, 
 and Dr. Moss, who had known her from childhood, related 
 the circtrmstances by which the family had been deprived of 
 their former splendor and magnificence. Hamilton felt sure 
 that it was the same Nettie whom he would give all he 
 possessed to see. He called again at noon, but saw no 
 glimpse of Miss Hazelton. This visit was short, but before 
 going he asked permission of Mrs. Hazelton to remain that 
 night to watch by his friend. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Blayre, for offering yourself; you will 
 be of great service to us ; you look as if you would make a 
 good nurse, and I am sure }*ou would be an attentive one," 
 she answered with a smile. The more she saw of Hamilton, 
 the more she grew to like him. So it was arranged that 
 he was to remain all night to watch over his friend ; yet to 
 serve his friend was not his only object. He could not rest 
 until he had seen Nettie ; he was almost positive that she 
 was the same Nettie he had parted from at Rosebank more 
 than two years before. 
 
 Noon came, and Nettie still slept ; the clock struck three, 
 and yet she slumbered. Five o'clock was their dinner hour, 
 and Mrs. Ilazelton could not dine comfortably without her 
 daughter ; :t was so long since Nettie had dined with them, 
 that she thought it would be pleasant for all to see her at
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 73 
 
 the table. She stole softly to her room, stooped and kissed 
 the slumberer, who opened her eyes and looked up greatly 
 surprised. Then recollecting herself she asked, hurriedly, 
 
 " How is the gentleman, mamma?" 
 
 " Dr. Moss said this morning, my dear, that he was out 
 of danger, and that by care he would soon be well." 
 
 Nettie made a hasty toilet, and was soon ready for dinner, 
 which was served a little earlier on her account. When 
 the meal was over, she went to the chamber to relieve her 
 sister, who had acted as nurse for the previous half-hour, 
 for they did not wish to leave him alone a moment. As she 
 entered the room, her e}-e rested on Hamilton Blayre's card, 
 and she asked how it came there. 
 
 "One of Mr. Seymour's friends called to see him this 
 morning ; I suppose that is his card," said her sister. 
 
 " Mr. Seymour ! " exclaimed Nettie in astonishment. 
 
 She drew back the curtain, and the light fell full upon 
 him. She had not seen him till now by daylight ; she did 
 not recognize him as the Walter she had once known. 
 He was greatly changed ; much thinner, and his face was 
 covered with a beard ; the deadly whiteness of his counte- 
 nance left no trace of recognition. Her heart grew sad as 
 she thought of the merry, light-hearted fellow he was ; and 
 now he lay still and motionless, all for her. A vision of 
 the untold misery his death would cause to those who loved 
 him, rose before her, and she earnestly implored Heaven to 
 restore him to the arms of his loving parents. Her own 
 life, she knew, would be greatly embittered, if such a melan- 
 choly event as his death should occur. 
 
 The little clock on the mantel-piece was striking eight 
 when the hall door opened to admit Hamilton BlajTe. In a 
 few moments after, Nettie stood before the man whom she 
 had tried in vain to forget. She greeted the visitor politely, 
 saying, 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, Mr. Blayre ; and if it were
 
 74 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 not for the sad circumstances concerning Mr. Seymour, 
 nothing would give me greater pleasure than this meeting.'' 
 
 ' Well, Miss Hazelton," he replied, " under an}' circum- 
 stances, there is not a person on earth whom I desired so 
 much to see as yourself." 
 
 After an hour or more's conversation, they both went to 
 Walter's room and remained there a long time. He was 
 still unconsious ; but Dr. Moss had told them in the morn- 
 ing that he would soon recover his senses. The next time 
 Hamilton called, Walter was able to talk to him. When they 
 returned to the parlor, after leaving Walter, Hamilton said 
 to her, 
 
 " Nettie, do you remember the morning we met at Rooney 
 Castle?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied. 
 
 ' " Then, my darling, is there still an obstacle between us ? 
 Is not this hand free to be mine ? " 
 
 She looked at him in surprise, and then asked, 
 
 " Mr. Blayre, have you broken your engagement with 
 MissBouford?" 
 
 He smiled at the question, as he answered, 
 
 " So this rumor reached your ears, too?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " I learned it through the press ; and 
 Judge Graham confirmed the statement after meeting with 
 you in London." 
 
 " This rumor was false ; it was local gossip. My mother 
 and sister tried every means to persuade me to it ; once my 
 mother was sure that we were betrothed. I was told, re- 
 peatedl}*, that whenever Miss Bouford was asked, her answer 
 would be yes. I never had any engagement with the young 
 lad} 1 , unless to dance or to dine. I could never marry a wife 
 who is the toast of every man from the ball-room to the 
 gambling-table ; a wife who never has a moment to spare 
 for the society of home or husband. You, my gentle Nettie, 
 shall be the only one who shall ever own my heart ; and if
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGXS. 75 
 
 you refuse to take possession of it, then it shall remain with 
 only your image impressed upon it, and the echo of your 
 memory haunting it." 
 
 Nettie accepted the gift he offered, and through the re- 
 mainder of her life found it a noble, geneious one, worthy 
 of all the love and devotion she might lavish upon it. The 
 bright anticipations of the happy future waiting her well 
 repaid her for her years of toil and suffering. 
 
 Hamilton communicated Walter's mishap to his parents ; 
 but it was three days before the letter which he dispatched 
 reached Oakland Manor. Mr. and Mrs. Sej'mour lost no 
 time in preparing for their journey, but owing to unfore- 
 seen circumstances, they were obliged to remain over night 
 in the city, and thus were longer travelling than they had 
 expected. 
 
 After the third day, Walter gained rapidly, but he was 
 cautioned by the doctor not to depend too much upon his 
 strength. Nettie used to sit by his bedside and read aloud ; 
 she endeavored by every means within her power to 
 induce him to abide by the doctor's directions, but the day 
 before his parents arrived he insisted upon getting up, heed- 
 less of all their entreaties. Nettie was obliged to leave him 
 alone the greater part of the day ; she was busy helping 
 Margaret and her mother, to have everything as comfortable 
 as possible when Mr. and Mrs. Se} r mour should arrive. She 
 was in the little parlor, sweeping and dusting. Most of the 
 drawing-room furniture of Hazel Hill occupied this room ; 
 the oil-paintings which they had brought with them from the 
 old home ornamented the walls ; heavy damask curtains 
 draped from the ceiling to the floor. All that was in the 
 room was of superior quality and workmanship, and showed 
 that the family was not always in the position of life which 
 it now occupied. While Nettie was engaged in her work 
 her mother entered the room ; for some moments her eyes 
 rested upon the portrait of a gentleman dressed in military
 
 76 THE LOST RECEIPT , OR, 
 
 uniform. It was the portrait of her father, Major Goff. 
 Directly opposite hung a large oil-painting of his twin 
 daughters ; they seemed about seventeen years old, and 
 resembled each other greatly. Mrs. Hazelton's mind wan- 
 dered over the twenty-eight years that had passed since 
 those two sisters stood side by side, the idols of their father ; 
 for he had loved them better than his own life. She looked 
 from one to the other, and her eyes were filled with tears ; 
 for she saw, in the depths of the mild, calm c} T es, the 
 broken heart of her father. She had often gazed upon those 
 same pictures, but never before had she experienced such 
 sad and bitter feelings. Nettie's question roused her from 
 her reverie. 
 
 " Mother," said she, " what became of Aunt Jeannette? 
 You never told me whether she is living or dead." 
 
 " I know not what became of her, my child. Before my 
 marriage, we were living at Mount Miller, and an officer in 
 the English army came to Colonel Wright's to spend the 
 summer. My sister Jeannette and the Colonel's daughter 
 were very intimate ; a strong attachment was formed be- 
 tween herself and the visitor, who accompanied her wherever 
 she went. They were engaged before my father ever sus- 
 pected the intimacy. Her ardent lover came to him to ask 
 his consent to their marriage ; but my father, learning that 
 his only income was his salary from the army, refused to 
 sanction their union. Although father knew he had rich 
 connections, he would not listen to his pleadings, but ordered 
 him to leave, and kept Jeannette in confinement until he had 
 left the neighborhood. He came the following summer; 
 father knew what brought him, and deemed it advisable to 
 send Jeannette to his sister, who lived in Scotland ; she was 
 married to General Gage. But this separation did not 
 weaken the attachment or cool their devotion. Though 
 aunt kept a close watch upon her, Jeannette contrived to 
 write and acquaint him with her whereabouts. In a few
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 77 
 
 weeks he disappeared, and the next we heard of them was 
 that they were married. She wrote to father, asking his 
 forgiveness, a request he did not grant till a few months 
 before his death. My father's last days were greatly embit- 
 tered by the remembrance of Jcannette's conduct ; he sel- 
 dom spoke of her ; but a few days before he died, he asked 
 us if we thought we could find her, and said he longed to see 
 her once more before he closed his eyes forever ; when 
 delirious, he talked incessantly of her. His last words 
 were to me : ' Nellie,' he said, ' if you ever see her, tell her 
 that I loved her to the end ; that her father's heart followed 
 her in its 3'earning and love, even till it was cold and dead 
 within him ; ' and he died breathing a prayer, in which I 
 heard Jeannettc's narao and mine murmured together. Jean- 
 nettc was a sweet, gentle girl, and a great favorite with all 
 who knew her. She wrote to me twice. The last time I 
 heard from her was after my marriage ; they were then in 
 Scotland. She told me, in the letter, that she was very 
 happy, and that her continual prayer was, that father would 
 forgive her ; she also stated that her husband had been pro- 
 moted to a higher rank. I know no more of Jeanne tte's 
 history. After my marriage we left Mount Miller, and 
 father, who would never consent to live with us, altogether, 
 bought this place, that he might not be separated from me 
 entirely." 
 
 " The face," said Nettie, " seems very familiar to me, 
 and I cannot persuade myself but that I have met her." 
 
 She could not help thinking that Walter was her cousin ; 
 but did not mention it to her mother, lest he should prove 
 not to be, and the disappointment would be harder to bear. 
 She knew that the following day would unravel all the mys- 
 tery. Having finished her work, she hastened to dress herself, 
 tbat she might entertain Walter, who was growing impatient 
 at her long absence. He heard her humming a tune as she 
 was coming down stairs, and the next instant she was seated
 
 78 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 before the piano playing a piece he used to like when 
 they were at Rosebank. "Walter, being very fond of music, 
 listened attentively, and throwing down the book he was 
 trying to read, determined, at any cost, to join her in the 
 parlor. It took him a long time to get down the flight of 
 stairs between the room he occupied and the parlor. His 
 entrance caused Nettie to start, as she asked, 
 
 " Did you come down stairs without any assistance?" 
 
 "No," he replied, "it was j-our music brought me down ; 
 so you can give an account of j^ourself to Dr. Moss ; no 
 blame attaches to me." 
 
 Nettie played a full hour, and then he was not satisfied ; 
 she was obliged to sing for him till dinner was announced. 
 In the evening, when Hamilton was coming up the lawn, he 
 heard a soft strain of music, that sounded sweet in the 
 calm, still ah* ; a rich, clear voice, which he knew and loved, 
 sung from Moore's Melodies, "The Time we Lost in Woo- 
 ing." He waited until the first verse was sung, and then 
 rang for admittance. When he entered the parlor he stood 
 quietly beside her until the song was finished, and then went 
 to where Walter sat, greeted him affectionately, and con- 
 gratulated him upon his recovery. 
 
 The evening passed pleasantly. Leonard and the j'oung 
 men had become warm friends, and they joked and chatted 
 the evening away so quickly, that the time for Hamilton to 
 leave came sooner than he wished.
 
 *AUi>TRATED DESIGNS. 79 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 ABOUT noon the next daj r , the luxurious carriage of the 
 Lawrences stopped before the cottage, and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Seymour alighted. Nettie met them at the door. Mrs. 
 Seymour held her breath in amazement when she saw her. 
 
 " Are you Miss Nettie Hazelton?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes," Nettie replied, " and the person for whom your 
 son risked his life." 
 
 A friendly greeting followed, and Nettie led the way to 
 the parlor, where they found Walter much better than they 
 expected. Walter embraced his mother as if he had not 
 seen her for years. They were overjoyed to find him so 
 well, for Hamilton's letter gave them little encouragement. 
 Mrs. Hazelton did not know of their arrival ; so Nettie 
 sent her sister Bertha to tell her. Mrs. Seymour was 
 sitting directly opposite the picture of Major Goff; when 
 she saw it she crossed the room to come nearer to it, and 
 gazed at it, her lips tightly compressed and her hands 
 clasped ; the eyes seemed looking at her with a gentle, 
 reproachful expression. As she was turning to Nettie, she 
 caught sight of the picture of his two daughters. 
 
 "Miss Hazelton," said she, "may I ask you who that 
 gentleman is, and where you got the picture of those two 
 girls?" 
 
 Nettie detected the agitation with which she asked the 
 question.
 
 80 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 " That, Mrs. Seymour, is the picture of my grandfather, 
 Major Goff, and this is my mother and her sister Jeannette.' 
 
 Mrs. Seymour went back to the sofa from which she had 
 risen, and, with her eyes riveted upon the picture of Major 
 Goff, let memory awaken the sweet, holy peace of her child- 
 hood, and bring back the dear, loving ones who had bright- 
 ened the pathway of her youth. She was sitting before the 
 picture of her father, to whom she had brought so much 
 grief ; her heart was weighed down with sorrow and remorse 
 as she thought of the wrong she had done him, the love she 
 had slighted, and the affection that had been wasted upon 
 her. She struggled hard to control the emotions that surged 
 like waves through her soul ; now she beheld her conduct in 
 the past, and the bitter knowledge that there was no oppor- 
 tunity of repairing it crushed her with its weight. 
 
 Mrs. Hazelton at last made her appearance ; she went to 
 where the company were seated, and there came face to face 
 with her sister. Mrs. Seymour recognized her at once, and 
 they were soon clasped in each other's arms. "Jeannette, 
 my long-lost sister," cried Mrs. Hazelton ; and they both 
 wept -tears of joy over the unexpected meeting. The others 
 looked on bewildered, and Walter became almost wild with 
 delight when he discovered the real state of affairs. He asked 
 no questions, but introduced himself as Nettie's cousin, kissed 
 her a half dozen times or more, with the explanation that 
 one had a perfect right to kiss his cousin, especially when 
 he had just discovered that he had such a relative. 
 
 " By Jove, Nettie," said he, "I am glad you are a rela- 
 tion of mine, for now I can love you as a cousin." 
 
 Mrs. Seymour did not partake of the grand dinner that 
 was preparing for her at the Lawrences, who expected her 
 to dine with them ; they thought that Walter would be well 
 enough to ride over with them, but the only occupant the 
 carriage brought back was Mr. Se^Tnour, who went through 
 courtesy. Walter's and his mother's absence was regretted
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 81 
 
 by the family ; but when the cause was made known, all con- 
 sidered it a remarkable, as well as a fortunate occurrence. 
 
 Hamilton accepted Mrs. Hazelton's invitation to dine 
 with them. Mrs. Seymour had never in her life been hap- 
 pier, than when seated beside her sister, listening to all 
 that had happened during their separation. They were not 
 all joys she had to relate, and Mrs. Seymour's eyes were 
 often moist with tears as she learned what her sister had felt 
 and suffered. She asked if her father had ever mentioned her, 
 and Mrs. Hazelton repeated his d}*ing words, which greatly 
 consoled her, for she feared that he had died without leav- 
 ing her his forgiveness. 
 
 While they were thus employed, Hamilton was imparting 
 to Walter the news of his engagement with Nettie. They 
 mutually agreed that Walter's encounter was a most fortu- 
 nate one, bringing, as it did, joy and blessing to himself 
 and all whom he loved. 
 
 At the time Hazel Hill was taken by the Lawrences, 
 it had been vacant for more than a 3 r ear. Mrs. Law- 
 rence's health was failing fast, and her ph}'sician advised 
 her to leave the city and live in the country, where she 
 would have the benefit of the pure air. Hazel Hill was a 
 most desirable residence, and the family had now been there 
 about two years. Mrs. Lawrence was a cousin of Mrs. 
 Blayre. Mr. Lawrence invited Hamilton and Walter to 
 spend a month at Hazel Hill ; he knew it would be pleasant 
 for them, as that part of the country was noted for game 
 and fish. They gladly accepted the invitation so warml} r 
 extended to them, little dreaming of their visit resulting as 
 it did. They had been at the Hill but a few days when Mr. 
 Lawrence was called to the city on business. He was 
 accompanied by Hamilton, Walter declining to go. Late in 
 the afternoon he took his fishing-rod, crossed the Hill, till 
 he came to the trout-pond, which was about half a mile 
 from the cottage of Oakdale. To fish here was trespassing,
 
 84 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 be obeyed. She superintended the arrangement of the 
 apartments he mentioned, and then sat down and wrote to 
 "Walter, asking full particulars of Hamilton's marriage, with 
 a description of his bride. Walter's answer read thus : 
 
 " OAKDALK COTTAGE, Nov. 15, 18. 
 
 "Mr DEAK JUUA (and the ring sparkling upon her first finger 
 shows that he has the right to address her thus), I see by yonr 
 letter, that curiosity has reduced you to a state of complete despera- 
 tion. You have written to me for which favor I am very grateful 
 requesting full particulars of the marriage of Mr. Hamilton Blayre, 
 of Hamilton Lodge, with the beautiful and accomplished daughter 
 of the late John Hazelton. 
 
 " I hope you will appreciate the energy and zeal which I throw 
 into the arduous work before me ; and let me tell you, my dear, that 
 I consider it no joke to describe a marriage ceremony in which 
 Hamilton Blayro was one of the principal characters. However, it 
 is my earnest and undivided wish that your desires should be grati- 
 fied ; so here are the details : 
 
 " The marriage, like all country marriages, was performed quietly j 
 it took place in the little church at Oakdale. The following were 
 the invited guests : Mr. and Mrs. Graham, with their daughter 
 Lena ; Mr. and Mrs. Seymour, with their son Walter ; and Mr. and 
 Mrs. Lawrence. These, with the bride's mother, sister, and brother 
 witnessed the ceremony. 
 
 " The bride looked neat ; she was dressed in her travelling suit. 
 The bridegroom stood linn and erect, never flinching during the 
 trying ordeal. After the benediction had been pronounced, they 
 received the congratulations of their friends, and Hamilton led his 
 bride to the carriage, got in, and drove off. 
 
 " It is like a dream to me, that I heard some one say they were 
 going on a '"wedding tour.' Now for a description of the bride; 
 follow me closely : 
 
 " Mrs. Hamilton Blayre, Jr., is a person below the medium height ; 
 she would be graceful, if she were not quite so stout ; she has a 
 short, round face, small gray eyes, and an abundance of luxuriant, 
 dark-red hair. She is a shade darker than a brunette, because of 
 an innumerable quantity of freckles, which add greatly to her 
 charms. She is exceedingly high-spirited, and apt to take offence 
 where none is meant. She is a capital housekeeper, and an excel- 
 lent nurse, as I have reason to know.
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. % 85 
 
 " I expect to be at Hamilton Lodge before the party .arrives. Till 
 then, my dear Julia, I will leave you peacefully contemplating thia 
 graphic description of your sister-in-law. 
 
 " I remain, yours forever, 
 
 " WALTER SEYMOUR." 
 
 When Miss Blayre had finished reading the letter, she said 
 to herself, 
 
 " If that description be correct, then Hamilton's bride 
 will be quite an ornament to the Lodge ; of course, it is not 
 all true. I might have known that Walter would joke over 
 it, as he does over everything." 
 
 Hearing her mother's footsteps in the hall, she thrust the 
 letter into her pocket, that she might not see Walter's 
 description of her son's wife. 
 
 Hamilton and his bride made a short tour, and then began 
 their journey to their future home. The carriage from the 
 Lodge met them at the station. It was almost dark when 
 they drove up the grand avenue. As soon as the carriage 
 was in sight, the servants ran to the windows, eager to get 
 a peep at their new mistress ; but the gathering twilight 
 prevented them from distinguishing more than her form. 
 Hamilton handed her out of the carriage and assisted her 
 up the marble steps. A servant was holding the hall door 
 open for their admission. Hamilton asked him where his 
 mistress was. He replied, " In the drawing-room." Hamil- 
 ton said no more, but led his wife to the apartments just 
 fitted up for them. They were richly and tastefully fur- 
 nished ; a cheerful fire burned in the grate ; a large bouquet 
 of choice flowers was placed on the centre-table. 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton Blayre changed her travelling apparel, and 
 after resting for half an hour, arranged her toilet for the 
 evening. She was waiting for her husband, who was not yet 
 ready. The troubled expression which his countenance had 
 worn during the last half hour, was changing into one of
 
 86 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 anger. Nettie knew that he felt hurt and disappointed by 
 his mother's conduct ; not so much for himself, as for her, 
 and going to him, she said, 
 
 " Hamilton, do not be displeased with your mother ; per- 
 haps she does not know of our arrival, or she may be busy 
 preparing for us. Promise me that you will not show any 
 signs of displeasure towards her." 
 
 " Yes, Nettie," he replied, " I am both hurt and grieved 
 by my mother's and sister's conduct ; but it may be as you 
 say, that they are preparing for us. Come, darling, we 
 will go to the drawing-room ourselves." 
 
 " Yes, and greet her with a son's and daughter's affection. 
 I shall endeavor to prove myself worthy of her love." 
 
 Leaning upon her husband's arm, she entered the draw- 
 ing-room, richly attired in lavender silk artistically trimmed 
 with point-lace. The ornaments she wore were a set of 
 pearls, the gift of Mrs. Seymour. They found only his 
 sister Julia there ; she was busily employed in arranging a 
 number of bouquets. The drawing-room was elaborately 
 decorated with natural flowers. Between the folding-doors 
 was a beautiful bridal arch, with the inscription, "Happi- 
 ness, joy, and love be thine evermore." From the centre 
 of it hung a large basket, filled with the rarest and costliest 
 of flowers, upon the top of which stood an angel, holding in 
 his hands two vials, labelled "Peace" and "Concord." 
 Over the angel's head was formed, by gas-jets, the words, 
 " Love, the angel of our home." The ceiling was exqui- 
 sitely ornamented in the form of stars, and all around the 
 room were scattered bouquets, baskets, and vases of the most 
 delicate flowers. Upon the table stood two elegant hearts, 
 made of forget-me-nots ; in the centre of one was traced, in 
 lilies of the valley, " Brother," and upon the other, " Sister." 
 All was arranged according to Julia's taste, who, notwith- 
 standing her mother's protest, had determined that for her 
 brother's sake his wife should not be received as a stranger.
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 87 
 
 When they entered, she was just finishing it, preparatory to 
 going to meet them. Her work was interrupted by Nettie's 
 exclamation, " How beautiful ! " Upon seeing them, Julia 
 rose, greeted her affectionately, and turned to congratulate 
 her brother. Hamilton inquiring for his mother, Julia asked 
 in some surprise, if he had not seen her ; and being answered 
 in the negative, she told him that her mother had left the 
 drawing-room, she thought, with the intention of going to 
 welcome them. Saying this, she left the room to search for 
 her. She found her mother in her own room, leisurely sur- 
 veying herself in the mirror. She gave her a glowing 
 description of Hamilton's bride, telling her of her beauty 
 and elegance, and ending by an appeal to hurry down, lest 
 she might be offended by the delay. 
 
 Mrs. Bla}'re made no effort to hurry ; she resolved to 
 receive her son's wife as coldly as she could. It had been 
 her fondest wish to see him the husband of Adele Bouford, 
 and it was a terrible blow to her pride to feel herself bound 
 to receive the bride for whom he had sacrificed wealth and 
 station ; for whom he had spurned her plans and schemes 
 for his welfare. She slowly descended the stairs, and with 
 a proud, disdainful look, entered the drawing-room. Ham- 
 ilton presented his bride, upon whom for a few moments she 
 haughtily gazed, and then coldly said, 
 
 " The new mistress of Hamilton Lodge." 
 
 Poor Nettie felt that she was looked upon as an intruder, 
 but summoning courage, she replied, 
 
 " And I hope to prove a worthy one." 
 
 After supper the guests flocked in, and the Lodge re- 
 sounded with their mirth. Julia Bla} 7 re was delighted with 
 her sister-in-law, and gave Walter a sound rating for what 
 she called his " ruling passion," joking, even at the expense 
 of truth. As Mrs. Blayre grew to understand Nettie, she 
 also grew to love her, as no one who knew her could help 
 doing. Her beauty, rare accomplishments, gentle, engaging
 
 A* THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 manners, and, above all, the sweet, helpful spirit with which 
 she endeavored to make others happy, won the proud, cold 
 heart of the woman whom scarcely any one could please. 
 There never reigned at Hamilton Lodge a mistress worthier 
 of the title than Mrs. Hamilton Blayre.
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 RETRIBUTION. 
 
 TOM BEATLY and George Fuller disagreed in their busi- 
 ness transactions. The scheme for Nettie's capture had 
 failed ; he had lost her, and he felt the world lost to him. 
 Tom would extract no more " hush-money." Fuller dis- 
 charged him, with only his month's pay, thinking that Tom 
 would not endanger his own safety by exposing him. He 
 comforted himself with the assurance that if Tom did divulge 
 the secret, his money and influence would procure him favor. 
 
 When Lawyer Warren learned that Tom had been dis- 
 charged, he took him into his service, hoping to gain some 
 knowledge of Fuller's cunning. He knew Tom's favorite 
 drink was a good glass of old Irish whiskey, and whenever 
 he came into his office, the lawyer invited him to a seat, 
 placed the bottle and glass before him, and was soon in 
 possession of all that Tom knew. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Hazelton placed the receipt in the hands 
 of her solicitor, he lost no time in bringing Fuller to justice. 
 A writ of attachment was served upon him, and a warrant 
 issued for his arrest. He was accompanied to prison by 
 Henry Brown, who had made the attack upon Walter ; Tom 
 Beatly was held as a witness. Fuller had his lawyer, whom 
 he paid well to defend him. His trial was postponed until 
 Leonard should reach his majority. Henry Brown, who had 
 no one to speak a word in his favor, received a sentence of 
 ten 3'ears' hard labor. Mrs. Hazelton's ill-health prevented 
 her from taking any interest in the case ; so the future 
 looked dark and gloomy to Fuller, who expected no mercy
 
 90 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 at the hands of the severe old lawyer, or the hasty, impul- 
 sive Leonard. 
 
 Fuller had gone to the library of Hazel Hill, as has been 
 related, with the intention of securing the papers which had 
 caused so much trouble to the Hazeltons. He was sure that 
 the sealed package, which so marvellously fell into the hands 
 of Tom Beatly, contained the object of his search ; subse- 
 quently he discovered that it was only a copy of the old 
 will, which was of no use to him. 
 
 During the two or three times he had called at the Hill, 
 while Mrs. Hazelton was sick, he learned from Nettie that 
 the receipt was missing, and concluded that Mr. Hazelton 
 had lost it, while his attention was occupied in the races, or 
 that he had destroyed it in one of his fits of insanity. With 
 this conviction firmly established in his mind, he was em- 
 boldened to make the advances he had made to Miss Hazel- 
 ton. The wretched prisoner had spent more than a year in 
 close confinement. He had offered any terms to Lawyer 
 "Warren ; but the solicitor could do nothing without consult- 
 ing Leonard, who rejected all his proposals, and declared he 
 would offer nothing to him but the severest punishment the 
 law could inflict. This was the news his counsellor brought 
 him when he made his morning call. 
 
 "Is there no way," he asked, "I can get out of this 
 prison, or escape meeting with j'oung Hazelton's wrath ? 
 The law would show him no mercy either, if he once got 
 into its clutches." 
 
 He walked his narrow cell in utter dejection ; the frenzy 
 of despair was in his eyes, and it gave them a wild and 
 fierce expression. He thought of Nettie, so gentle, good, 
 and forgiving ; she had a powerful influence over her brother, 
 that, if exercised in his behalf, would effect a great deal. 
 But how could he dare ask her, whom he had wronged most, 
 to intercede for him. He determined to try her, feeling con- 
 fident that she would show him mercy. He wrote to her,
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 91 
 
 confessing his guilt, imploring her forgiveness, and begging 
 her intercession with her brother ; telling her that he trusted 
 in her woman's heart to deal kindly with him in his misery. 
 It was a heart-rending letter, and showed the cowardliness 
 and meanness of him who penned it. 
 
 When Nettie read the letter, she went immediately to 
 consult her husband. 
 
 "My darling," said he, " if it were not for Fuller's 
 treachery, I should have never met my precious Nettie ; the 
 sad circumstances which compelled you to go to the Sargeants 
 brought me blessings and untold joys. Certainty we will 
 forgive him, and do our best to have him liberated." 
 
 " You are so noble and generous, Hamilton, may I always 
 be worthy of your love. We will go at once to see what 
 our influence will do with Leonard. Mamma will be very 
 glad if we can turn him from his revengeful feelings." 
 
 The next week she was travelling towards her old home, 
 for Mrs. Hazelton had removed to it some months before. 
 She found her mother sinking fast. Leonard intended 
 writing her the very morning she came, to tell her of her 
 mother's danger. Mrs. Hazelton knew it was her last ill- 
 ness, and she was quietly waiting the end. 
 
 Nettie gently broached the object of their visit to Leonard, 
 urging him to accept the prisoner's terms, and grant him, 
 pardon. The hot blood rushed to Leonard's brow, and the 
 blue 63*68 blazed with anger. 
 
 " For five years," he said, " I have been harboring feel- 
 ings of revenge, and now must I forgive such a villain?" 
 
 " My son," said his mother, " who has done you so much 
 injustice that you cannot pardon him? Forgive, that you 
 may be forgiven." 
 
 After some further remonstrance, Leonard said, 
 
 "Well, it is to you, my mother and sister, that I grant 
 this favor, though much against my will, for it would do the 
 wretch no harm to have him well punished."
 
 92 THE LOST RECEIPT; OR, 
 
 Nettie put her arms around her brother's neck and kissed 
 him, saying, 
 
 " Thank j'ou, Leonard; j*ou could confer no favor upon 
 me that would give me greater pleasure than this." 
 
 A few days after, Nettie paid Fuller a visit. She found 
 him very much changed. He looked twenty years older 
 than when she saw him last ; his hair and beard were almost 
 white, and deep wrinkles lined his forehead. He was the 
 most subdued man she had ever seen. It seemed almost 
 impossible that one could change so much in such a short 
 period. He thought her presence made his cell brighter. 
 He could find no words to express his thanks and gratitude 
 for her visit ; his heart was full, and the words he tried to 
 utter died on his lips. Witnessing his agony and remorse, 
 she spoke to him kindly and hopefully, telling him that he 
 was forgiven, that no thought of hers would ever wrong 
 him.
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 93 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 COXCLUSION. 
 
 NETTIE remained at Hazel Hill, for her mother needed 
 her kind, gentle ministrations. One evening, as Nettie was 
 seated beside the bed, her mother repeated the lines, 
 
 " It has come to me, o'er and o'er 
 I am nearer home, to-day, 
 Than I've ever been before. 
 
 Nearer my Father's home, 
 Where the many mansions be ; 
 
 Nearer the great, white Throne ; 
 Nearer the jasper sea. 
 
 Nearer the bounds of life, 
 
 Where we lay our burdens down ; 
 Nearer leaving the cross ; 
 
 Nearer gaining the crown. 
 
 But lying darkly between, 
 
 Winding down through the night, 
 Is the dim and unknown stream 
 
 That leads me, at last, to light. 
 
 Closer, closer, my steps 
 Come to the dark abysm ; 
 
 Closer, Death, to my lips 
 Presses the awful chrism.
 
 94 THE LOST RBCEIPT; OR, 
 
 Father, perfect my trust, 
 Strengthen the night of my faith ; 
 
 Let me feel, as I would, -when I stand 
 On the rock of the shore of death. 
 
 Feel as I "would when my feet 
 Are slipping on the brink ; 
 
 For it may be, I am near home 
 Nearer now than I think." 
 
 And early the next morning she passed 
 
 " O'er the dim and unknown stream 
 That led her, at last, to light." 
 
 Nettie saw her carried over the hill, far away from the 
 dear old home, and laid in the little graveyard, and then, 
 with her sister Bertha, she returned to Hamilton Lodge. 
 
 Fuller was obliged to pay all the expenses connected with 
 the Hazelton estate ; worse than that, he was compelled to 
 quit the country, leaving his wealth in the hands of a lawyer, 
 until such time as he could arrange his business. Without 
 the least reluctance, Fuller agreed to the terms. He was 
 accompanied by Tom Beatly, for whom Lawj'er Warren 
 had no further use. 
 
 A year after Mrs. Hazelton's death, Leonard married the 
 beautiful and accomplished Lena Graham. Walter Seymour 
 and Julia Bla}Te were spending their honeymoon in Paris 
 when Mr. Hazelton and hit* bride joined them. 
 
 Millie Sargent, whom we have almost forgotten, married 
 abroad. Upon their return to England, she and Nettie 
 renewed their former friendship, and spent many pleasant 
 hours together. 
 
 The happiness of Nettie's married life was for a while 
 clouded by the loss of the wee little stranger whom God had 
 sent her for a few months and then called home again. As
 
 FRUSTRATED DESIGNS. 95 
 
 she gazed on the sweet little angel-face, upon which Death 
 had placed his seal, she thought of Adelaide Procter's verse, 
 
 " One by one, bright gifts from Heaven, 
 
 Joys are- sent us here below, 
 
 Take them readily \vhen given, 
 
 Ready too, to let them go." 
 
 Some years after, Hamilton Lodge echoed with the joy 
 and merriment of childhood, and Hamilton and Nettie were 
 blessed in the gladness of their children.
 
 "ALL THAT GLITTERS 
 
 IS NOT GOLD." 
 
 By MARY J. SALTER. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 WRIGHT & POTTER PRINTING COMPANY, 
 
 No. 18 POST OFFICE SQUARE. 
 
 1881.
 
 Copyright, 
 
 MARY J. SALTfcR. 
 1880.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THIS work of perseverance consists of twelve complete stories, 
 by MAHY J. SALTER, the author of " The Lost Receipt." 
 
 At the age of twenty-two, the writer lost her sight ; and she 
 afterwards spent a term at the Perkins Institution for the Blind- 
 Here we learn that we possess nothing on earth but what Heaven 
 pleases to send us; and we are always ready to accept God's 
 good gifts, and must be ready, too, to let them go. When the 
 cup of happiness is full and ready to touch the lips, it may be 
 upset through loss of fortune, death, or affliction, and all the 
 sweetness of life be .turned to bitter sorrow, so blighting the 
 bright anticipation of our future. The writer earnestly desires 
 the patronage of the public, as this is her only means of supply- 
 ing her necessities She is now engaged in the preparation of a 
 larger and more expensive work, which, when completed, will 
 make a book of some three hundred pages, entitled " The Day 
 before the Battle ; or, True to the Charge." 
 
 MARY J. SALTER.
 
 THE METHOD BY WHICH THE BLIND WRITE. 
 
 THE slate is composed of wood, lined with a soft material 
 on which the note-paper is placed. It consists of a slide 
 containing a group of holes. Through these the dots to form 
 the letters are made, by the use of a sharp stiletto. This 
 instrument leaves an impression on the paper which enables 
 the blind to read what they write, and thus complete their 
 work of science.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 THE UNKNOWN LEGACY, 1 
 
 THE DOUBLE TRAGEDY, 15 
 
 SAVED FROM THE TOMB, 22 
 
 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE, . .' . . .26 
 
 CLARA KINGSLEY'S DISAPPOINTMENT, . . . . .88 
 
 DR PHILLY'S VISITOR, -';', . .46 
 
 CHARLES KENT'S FIRST IMPRESSION, 54 
 
 LORD CLIFTON, 67 
 
 BRUNO'S FIDELITY, ... 89 
 
 LOTTIE ELLIS'S PERIL, 93 
 
 THE BEGGAR AND THE BANKER, 100
 
 THE UNKNOWN LEGACY. 
 
 IN a two-story lodging-house in Chatman Street, in a 
 scantily-furnished apartment, sat Lotta Hooper, busily en- 
 gaged at sewing, this being almost her only means for gaining 
 a livelihood. The note which lay on the table reminded her 
 that she must go and see Miss Barker. She changed her work- 
 ing-dress for a plain black cashmere : she was in mourning 
 for her mother, who had died recently. Miss Barker's house 
 was fully half an hour's walk ; and Lotta thought the exer- 
 cise would be a great benefit to her, and so it proved to be ; 
 for tho cool, refreshing breeze of the morning, and her quick 
 walk, brought the color to her cheeks. She stopped before 
 tho grand mansion of Mr. John Barker ; her summons was 
 soon answered by the servant, who announced her presence ; 
 while passing through the hall, she met Mr. Barker, who 
 greeted her warmly, saj'ing, in his brusque manner, "Hard 
 work seems to agree with you, Lotta." 
 
 Upon reaching tha lady's apartment, Lotta found Miss 
 Barker preparing for her morning's drive. After the usual 
 greeting, Lotta said, " I received your note, Miss Barker ; and 
 from its contents I judge that you wish to make some different 
 arrangements concerning your sewing." 
 
 " Yes," replied Miss Barker, "Miss Allen has offered to 
 do it much cheaper ; but, as I have already spoken to you 
 upon the matter, I will give you the preference, with the 
 understanding that 3-011 will work as reasonably as others." 
 
 " I cannot comply with your wishes, Miss Barker. What
 
 2 THE UNKNOWN LEGACY. 
 
 I receive for my labor is already small enough to supply my 
 wants ; if Miss Allen can do it for less money, you are of 
 course at liberty to engage her ; but I really cannot reduce 
 my price." 
 
 " Well," replied the lady, " Miss Hooper, I have obtained 
 for you a number of customers ; and, if I change, they will 
 all follow my example." 
 
 " True," said Lotta ; " but, if my work did not suit them, 
 they would have dispensed with my services before now ; and, 
 since they seem satisfied with me, perhaps your conduct will 
 have no effect upon them. However, they might as well 
 leave me as expect me to work for less : I could not do it 
 and live." 
 
 " Very well," Miss Barker replied, " we will consider your 
 engagement cancelled." 
 
 Lotta bowed and departed. 
 
 Lotta Hooper was an orphan ; she could scarcely remember 
 the caress of a father, being left at the age of five years to 
 the care of a gentle mother, who loved her devotedly. At 
 the age of sixteen Lotta was placed at a boarding-school, 
 where she completed her education. The parting from her 
 mother on this occasion was the first sorrow Lotta had ex- 
 perienced. Lotta much preferred to remain at home, that 
 she might assist her mother in some manner ; but, being a 
 child, she offered no resistance to her mother's wishes. At 
 school Lotta won the esteem of her teachers and the love of 
 her companions. She progressed wonderfully in her studies, 
 embracing every opportunity to improve herself. At the end 
 of the term, each year, she received numerous invitations to 
 visit the homes of her schoolmates ; but they were never ac- 
 cepted : she returned home each vacation to work unselfishly 
 for her mother. Many a sacrifice, perhaps as hard as Mrs. 
 Hooper was making daily for Lotta, did Lotta make in return 
 for her : she was young and lively, and would have enjoyed 
 those visits very much.
 
 THE UNKNOWN LEGACY. 8 
 
 At last Lotta graduated with the highest honors. She re- 
 ceived from Judge Meredith the necklace of pearls presented 
 to the pupil most deserving of it. Lotta was very happy as 
 she returned home, and displayed her prize before her mother's 
 proud and joyful eyes. 
 
 After her graduation, Lotta began to work with her mother. 
 Earnest by nature, and grateful at heart, she resolved to repay 
 her mother for all the love and kindness she had bestowed 
 upon her during so many, many j-ears. Lotta felt the work 
 she was to do distasteful to her ; but her mother's uncom- 
 plaining patience and unweaving self-sacrifice silenced every 
 dissatisfied sentiment in her heart. The mother and daughter 
 toiled together for two years. Lotta was a true, noble, un- 
 selfish girl, and often did Mrs. Hooper sigh over the fate 
 that made her only child a slave ; she saw the young spirit 
 of girlhood crushed within a heart capable of the brightest 
 and noblest aspirations ; she saw the glad beauty of a life 
 fading out before the unquenchable fire of poverty and the 
 hopeless weariness of incessant toil ; yet, this was the dark- 
 est and most unbearable trial, she saw herself unable to 
 relieve her child of the burden of toil for a single instant. 
 There seemed nothing before her but a lifetime of labor. 
 
 Two j'ears had passed since Lotta had left school ; her 
 mother had been growing more delicate ; and, being unable 
 to work, Lotta was obliged to increase their means by extra 
 labor. Reading over the advertisements in the paper one 
 evening, she came upon one which she thought would be of 
 vast service to her. 
 
 The advertisement was inquiring for a copyist, a legible 
 writer, to copy old documents, wills, etc. The work could 
 be done at home, if desired. Lawyer Barker's name was 
 signed to it. 
 
 Lotta proceeded at once to his office, applied for the writ- 
 ing, and received it without the least hesitation. This work 
 Lotta used to do in the long winter evenings. Not having
 
 4 THE UNKNOWN LEGACY. 
 
 sewing enough to keep herself as busy as she could wish, and 
 her mother needing the little delicacies of an invalid, Lotta was 
 very grateful for being able to supply them by this means. 
 
 One evening Lotta left her home to go for more work. 
 She never liked to leave her mother alone longer than she 
 could possibly help ; so she walked as fast as she could, 
 completed her business in haste, and returned home. Upon 
 reaching her mother's door, she heard strange voices within ; 
 entering, she saw Dr. Chevaux leaning over the bed, and 
 Mrs. Brown, the landlady, standing near him. Lotta saw at 
 a glance that her mother had become ill ; and, summoning up 
 her courage and self-possession, she walked quietty to the 
 bedside, and inquired the cause of the doctor's presence. 
 
 Her mother had received a paralytic shock, she was told, 
 and the doctor entertained no hope of her recover}*. Over- 
 whelmed with grief, Lotta sank into a chair, covered her face 
 with her hands, and for some time remained as if possessing 
 neither life nor motion ; at last, by a powerful effort, she 
 mastered the sudden grief at her heart, and was able to attend 
 to the doctor, who was making every effort to restore the 
 prostrate woman to consciousness. His efforts were useless, 
 however ; and for six long days and nights Lotta sat by her 
 mother's bedside, watching and listening for the least sign 
 that could give her hope. During all that time her mother 
 spoke but once ; and, when Lotta stooped to catch the words, 
 they were unintelligible. She made several attempts to speak 
 after that, and made many motions and signs, which Lotta 
 could not understand. She would have moments of sudden 
 consciousness ; and, while Lotta would be listening atten- 
 tively, she would become delirious again, as suddenly as she 
 recovered consciousness. Lotta knew that her mother's last 
 moments were troubled by some secret that she wished to 
 communicate ; but all her efforts to relieve her mind were un- 
 availing, and Mrs. Hooper died without making known what 
 she had tried so hard to reveal.
 
 For weeks after her mother's death Lotta was unable to 
 work : she had suffered so severely, both in mind and body, 
 during her mother's illness, that her constitution failed her 
 in any further efforts against nature ; and, prostrated with 
 fatigue and sorrow, she was attacked with a brain-fever that 
 threatened her life or reason. Under the skilful hands of 
 the physician, the care of Mrs. Brown, and the kindness of 
 Lawyer Barker, she rallied, and was able once more to re- 
 sume her labors. She had been working about three mouths 
 after her illness, when we introduced her to the reader. TVc 
 will continue our narrative now from Lotta's return home 
 after her visit to Miss Barker. 
 
 "\Vhen she reached her lodgings, Lotta was tired and out 
 of spirits ; she needed all the work she could get, and here 
 was her first drawback ; she dreaded to think upon Miss 
 Barker's threat, knowing how proud and vindictive she was, 
 and feeling sure that her example would be followed by those 
 who generally looked upon her as a leader well worth fol- 
 lowing. Sho was brooding over her present prospects when 
 Mrs. Brown, alwa} - s cheerful and kind-hearted, entered the 
 room with a tray, upon which were a cup of coffee, hot rolls, 
 and a piece of broiled steak, which she had prepared as 
 temptingly as possible, to see if she could coax Lotta to cat. 
 Lotta told her what had happened during her visit to Miss 
 Barker's, and told her alsd of the fears she had of the gloomy 
 future before her. 
 
 Mrs. Brown mildly expostulated with her for grieving about 
 it ; telling her she need have no fears : she must keep Lotta 
 with her always, and would reduce the rent so low that she 
 would have no trouble paj'ing it. She urged her to be brave 
 and cheerful, and all would come right in time. Coaxing her, 
 as she would a child, to eat something, she left her to herself. 
 
 Lotta tried hard to follow Mrs. Brown's advice ; but she 
 found it difficult work in her present state of mind. Some 
 heavv weight seemed to be on her spirit, and she could not
 
 6 THE UXKNOWrf LEGACY. 
 
 shake it off ; she attributed it to her recent disappointment, 
 and, making one more attempt to overcome the feeling, she 
 sat down before the tray Mrs. Brown had brought, and en- 
 deavored to eat what she had so kindly prepared for her. It 
 occurred to Lotta that perhaps Miss Barker's conduct towards 
 her might influence her brother, who at his sister's injunction 
 would probably withdraw the work he had supplied her with, 
 and upon which she chiefly depended now. 
 
 But Lotta little knew the man she so judged, or the feelings 
 with which he regarded her ; she little knew with what disgust 
 he viewed his sister's selfish, despotic conduct, or how he 
 hated the cold, unfeeling disregard of another's wants which 
 showed itself in her every word and action. 
 
 About two hours after Lotta reached home, Mrs. Brown 
 answered a summons at the door. Upon opening it, she was 
 confronted by a tall, dark man, who asked to see Miss 
 Hooper ; she showed him into the parlor, and went to inform 
 Lotta of her visitor. Lotta was a little startled by the an- 
 nouncement, as she knew no one who would be likely to call 
 upon her at that hour ; smoothing her disordered hair a little, 
 she descended to the parlor to her visitor. As she entered, 
 a stranger rose to meet her, saying, ' ' Miss Hooper, I have a 
 very unpleasant duty to perform. I am very sorry that the 
 task has devolved upon me ; but I have received orders 
 which I am obliged to execute at the expense of my feelings. 
 
 Lotta was at a loss to understand him, and motioned him 
 to proceed. 
 
 Taking a piece of paper from his pocket, he informed her 
 that it was a warrant giving him the power to search the 
 premises, and to arrest her if he did not obtain the object of 
 his search. 
 
 " Miss Hooper," he continued, " Miss Adeline Barker, for 
 whom }-ou work, has missed a gold chain since your visit to 
 her this morning. She has had the house searched, and it 
 cannot be found. She affirms that you were the only person,
 
 THE UNKNOWN LEGACY. 7 
 
 besides herself, in the room during the whole forenoon ; that 
 the chain was upon the table near which you were standing ; 
 and she feels certain that you are guilty of the larceny. If 
 you give up the stolen property, she promises }'ou pardon ; 
 but, if you refuse to do this, she is determined to prosecute 
 you." 
 
 The detective said this without being interrupted once ; for 
 the terrible charge brought against her completely overpow- 
 ered Lotta, and almost deprived her of speech. When she 
 realized her situation sufficiently to reply, she told him that 
 she knew nothing of the missing article ; that she had never 
 seen it, and was perfectly innocent of the theft. She gave 
 him her keys, telling him that he might search her rooms ; 
 and, if it was found with her, she was willing to suffer the 
 consequences. Calling Mrs. Brown, Lotta told her, in a few 
 hurried words, the nature of her visitor's errand ; and the 
 three ascended to Lotta's rooms. 
 
 Detective Peck began his search, looking into every corner 
 and crevice, and at last was on the point of giving up, when 
 his eye rested upon an old trunk in an out-of-the-way place 
 in one of the large closets. Lotta produced the key of it ; 
 he opened it, removed some of the articles of clothing on the 
 top, and came upon a beautiful work-box. When he brought 
 it forth, Lotta looked at it with mingled surprise and curiosity. 
 The detective could not open it, and requested Lotta to do 
 so. She replied that she had never known of the existence 
 of such a box, and could no more open it than he himself 
 could. 
 
 " Well, Miss Hooper," said the officer, " I will be obliged 
 to break the box." 
 
 " Sir," she answered, " the object of your search is not in 
 that box. I will not allow it to be broken open ; you may 
 take possession of it for the present ; and, if you can open 
 it without breaking it, you are at liberty to do so ; but, if it 
 is injured, it will cost Miss Barker more than it is worth."
 
 8 THE UXKNOWN LEGACY. 
 
 Failing in his search to discover the chain, he turned to 
 Lotta, sa}*ing, 
 
 " I am sorry, Miss Hooper, that my duty compels me to 
 arrest 3"ou. I believe you to be innocent of the charge against 
 you, and it will take but little to prove that you are wrongly 
 suspected. But I must obey my orders ; therefore you must 
 accompany me." 
 
 "Mr. Peck," said Mrs. Brown, "she must go in a car- 
 riage : that will not interfere with your duty ; she cannot go 
 through the streets like a criminal." 
 
 The detective agreed to Mrs. Brown's proposal ; and poor 
 Lotta, with heavy heart and aching head, entered the carriage 
 with tho officer, who carried the nysterious box, and Mrs. 
 Brown, whose belief in her innocence, and kind, motherly 
 ministrations touched Lotta deeply. 
 
 Poor Lotta had a hard fight against poverty, sickness, and 
 sorrow ; but never until now did she have to array her strength 
 against disgrace. Punishment she had no fear of; but, oh! 
 the mortification of bearing disgrace, and hearing her name 
 reproached ; that was the trial, the hardest she had ever 
 known. 
 
 When they arrived at the police-station, the officer in at- 
 tendance was very kind and considerate. He took down her 
 name and residence, and, it being her first offence, he offered 
 to allow her to go home until the next week, if she could 
 procure bail to the amount of one hundred dollars. Mrs. 
 Brown produced it in a short time, and was delighted when 
 she and Lotta were once more at home. 
 
 " Never mind, dear," she said ; "all these trials will lead 
 to something good. Rest assured that they have not been 
 laid upon you by an all-wise Providence without some reward 
 following them, even in this life ; we must bear them pa- 
 tiently for a while, and in His own good time He will clear 
 away all the clouds that now darken your life, and the future 
 will be brighter because of the darkness of the past."
 
 THE UNKNOWN LEGACY. 9 
 
 Good-hearted, faithful Mrs. Brown ! it were well for us if 
 we could always find a face and voice and heart like thine, 
 in our need ; it were well, if, bending beneath our burden 
 of care, we could find as kindly a hand as thine to lift and 
 bsar it with us ; and, oh ! it were well, indeed, if, in our 
 darkest night of bitterness and misery, we could find one 
 little glimmer of the light of faith emanating from a heart 
 poor in spirit, like thine. 
 
 Lotta was patient and gentle in her suffering, and did not 
 breathe the slightest word of reproach against the cause of 
 it. Biding her time, she felt, with Mrs. Brown, that the 
 clouds would soon roll away, and leave her in a flood of sun- 
 shine that would pour into and fill up the wounds of her 
 soul, and they would be healed forever. 
 
 After Lotta had left Miss Barker, that lady continued her 
 toilet. It could never be complete unless she wore the gold 
 chain, her father's gift before his death. She could find it 
 nowhere ; and Miss Barker, alwaj's suspicious, at once ac- 
 cused Miss Hooper of the theft. She having firmly estab- 
 lished Lotta's guilt, according to her own judgment, sent 
 immediately for an officer, acquainted him with the circum- 
 stances, and ordered him to arrest Lotta, if she did not 
 deliver up the chain. He proceeded to execute his com- 
 mands, while Miss Barker took her drive in her usual mood. 
 Returning home, Miss Barker found a note from her brother 
 awaiting her ; she learned from its contents that an unusual 
 amount of business would prevent him from joining herself 
 and Judge Meredith at dinner, but said he would meet them 
 at Mrs. Long's reception in the evening. 
 
 By the dissatisfaction pictured in Miss Barker's counten- 
 ance, she evidently did not like the intelligence it conveyed. 
 "Business, alwaj's business!" she said, petulantly; "and 
 Judge Meredith coming, with no one to entertain him while 
 I am dressing for the ball. I declare, he is growing more
 
 10 THK UNKNOWN LEG ACT. 
 
 and more selfish every day ; he never yet gave up a business 
 call to gratify me ; he knows I need him more to-day than 
 ever, and that 's just the reason he has disappointed me." 
 
 Thus selfish people are always looking for the same spirit 
 in others. 
 
 Miss Barker's annoyance, however, did not prevent her 
 from enjoying the lunch before her ; and, after having finished 
 it, she enjoyed to a greater degree the two hours' rest she 
 took before beginning her preparations for the evening. She 
 was standing before the large mirror, taking a last look at 
 herself before joining Judge Meredith in the hall, when Katie 
 entered the room, holding in her hand the chain which caused 
 Lotta such trouble and anxiety as Miss Barker could never 
 know, nor her hard nature ever imagine. 
 
 Miss Barker examined it, asked where it had come from, 
 and how it had been taken from the room. Katie replied 
 that Daisy, a three-year-old niece of Miss Barker's, who, 
 with her nurse Katie, had been staying there during her 
 mother's illness, must have got into the room and taken the 
 chain from the table. Katie had found it around Daisy's 
 doll. Kate received a harsh reprimand for not taking better 
 care of her charge than to leave her out of her sight ; and 
 then Miss Barker coolly placed the article in her drawer, 
 saying she would send word to Miss Hooper in the morning, 
 telling her that her innocence was established. 
 
 She descended to the parlor, where she had left Judge 
 Meredith. His glance, as it rested upon her, was mingled 
 with pride and admiration. Miss Barker noticed it, and she 
 was satisfied : she was anxious to please the Judge for par- 
 ticular reasons of her own ; and, when she succeeded, she 
 felt at ease. We will leave them on their way to Mrs. 
 Long's, and will wait for Lawyer Barker's return from the 
 city. 
 
 When the lawyer reached home, he went directly to his 
 own room to dress for the ball. As he was coming down-
 
 THE UNKNOWN LEGACY. 11 
 
 stairs, he overheard the following conversation between the 
 housekeeper and Katie : 
 
 "Do you tell me that Miss Barker did not send word to 
 Miss Hooper yet ? " 
 
 "No, she did not ; and I am afraid that the poor girl will 
 feel miserable and unhappy to-night. If I knew where she 
 lived, I would go myself and tell her that the chain has been 
 found." 
 
 " It is a shame," the housekeeper spoke again, " to accuse 
 a poor girl of stealing, and, when the article of which she 
 has been accused has been found, to leave her so long a 
 tune without telling her of her innocence." 
 
 Mr. Barker here came upon them, inquired what had hap- 
 pened, and, when he had heard the full account, started at 
 once for Miss Hooper's lodgings. 
 
 Mrs. Brown was glad when she saw the lawyer's frank, 
 open face ; for she knew that he believed in Lotta's innocence, 
 and would console her by telling her of his implicit confidence 
 in her integrity. Reaching Lotta's room, he found her, as 
 he had expected, dejected and spiritless. She was very pale, 
 and was suffering from a severe headache, the effect of the 
 day's excitement. He shook hands with her warmly, and 
 hastened to relieve her mind of its awful burden. 
 
 "Miss Hooper," he began, " I am exceedingly sorry that 
 you should suffer so much from an unjust accusation, and it 
 grieves me very much that my own sister should be the cause 
 of it. I hope you will forgive her. She has been hasty and 
 unjust in her suspicions of you : we have found the chain 
 which has caused you so much trouble." 
 
 Lotta's joy was more like gratitude upon hearing him say 
 she was free from all imputation ; and she expressed herself 
 truly grateful to him for his kindness in coming to relieve 
 her distress. Mr. Barker promised to deliver her casket into 
 , her own hands in the morning. 
 
 He would like to have remained longer ; but the lateness
 
 12 THE UNKNOWN LEG ACT. 
 
 of the hour, and the engagement he was under, obliged him 
 to depart ; so, bidding her good-night, and hoping that she 
 would soon recover from the shock she had received, he left 
 her, and proceeded to Mrs. Long's grand drawing-rooms. 
 
 Standing in the midst of a group of young people, chat- 
 ting and laughing, he saw his sister; gazing at her for a 
 moment, he turned away, saying to himself, "Is it possible 
 that she is so incapable of all womanly delicacy or feeling, 
 that no thought of the wrong she has done another ever 
 enters her mind ? or can it be that pleasure and her own 
 interests have completely blotted out the honor and nobility 
 of soul of a true woman? Selfish to the last," he muttered, 
 as he approached her. Judge Meredith was to be their 
 guest for the night ; so, the next morning, the two men started 
 for the city together. When near the police-station, Mr. 
 Barker said, " I have business in here this morning ; will j*ou 
 come in and wait ? " 
 
 " Certainty," was the reply ; and they both entered. 
 
 Judge Meredith sat down upon one of the benches, while 
 Mr. Barker explained, to the full satisfaction of the officers, 
 that Miss Hooper was innocent of the charge brought against 
 her. The casket was placed in his hands to bo returned to 
 the owner. At the sight of the casket, Judge Meredith ap- 
 proached the lawyer, and asked him to let him see it for a 
 moment. Mr. Barker handed it to him. "It is a curious 
 box," said the officer : " no one here can open it." 
 
 The Judge placed his thumb upon the stem of one of the 
 flowers carved on the top of the casket, and it sprang open. 
 Upon the inside of the cover was the name " Geraldine," 
 in large letters. " This casket," said the Judge, " has been 
 in my possession before. To whom does it belong?" 
 
 "To a Miss Hooper," said the lawyer. 
 
 " I must see her," said Judge Meredith. 
 
 They both went directly to Lotta's, and found her busy 
 sewing. She rose to meet them, and Mr. Barker introduced
 
 THE UNKNOWN LEGACY. 13 
 
 Judge Meredith. The instant Lotta looked at him she re- 
 membered the face as being that of the gentleman who had 
 presented her with the pearl necklace on the day of her 
 graduation. Mr. Barker told her that the Judge had opened 
 the casket, and had asked to be brought to her immediately. 
 
 Miss Hooper," said the Judge, " I am very much inclined 
 to the belief that we are related : you are the image of my 
 dear sister. Was your mother's name Geraldine Meredith?" 
 
 " Yes," was the reply. 
 
 'Well, I feel sure that you are my niece; your mother 
 was obliged to leave her home, when only seventeen 3'ears 
 old, in consequence of a marriage with Charles Hooper, who 
 was then a clerk in my father's establishment. My father 
 was so exasperated at the event that j'our mother was obliged 
 to either leave her home or her husband. She chose the 
 former. I was away at school when the affair took place. 
 She came to the college to bid me good-by, and said she was 
 going to Belgium ; she was very happy, she told me, and 
 loved her husband devotedly. When I had finished at school, 
 I went to Belgium to seek her ; but she had left there ; no 
 one could tell me where she had gone. While I was away, 
 she had written to me, telling me she had returned to Eng- 
 land, that her husband's health was failing. The letters fell 
 into my father's hands, and it was only after his death that 
 I found them." 
 
 " My mother often spoke of a young brother, of whom 
 she was very fond ; she had written to him frequently, but 
 never received an answer ; so, after many years of disap- 
 pointment, she ceased writing to him altogether, supposing 
 that he had imbibed his father's hatred. My mother and 
 father were very happy together ; and my mother never fully 
 recovered from the shock occasioned by my father's death, 
 which occurred seven years after their marriage." 
 
 Examining the casket, they found many costly jewels ; a 
 handsome gold watch and chain, the last gift that Mrs.
 
 14 THE UNKNOWN LEGACY. 
 
 Hooper's father ever gave his daughter ; the casket itself was 
 the Judge's present to his sister on her sixteenth birthday. 
 Lotta gave her uncle an entire account of her mother's life 
 and death, her unselfish spirit, and the love and kindness she 
 had lavished upon her only child. 
 
 Judge Meredith took his niece home with him, where she 
 was placed upon an equal footing with Miss Barker, who 
 tried her utmost to gain Lotta's friendship, that she might 
 succeed in securing the Judge for a husband worthy of be- 
 stowing her graces upon. Lotta, however, remembering the 
 great injury done her, never favored her designs in the least ; 
 and, fearing more than all that her uncle's happiness would 
 be forever destroyed if he chose Miss Barker for a wife, she 
 kept herself at such a distance that that 3'oung lad} r was fain 
 to give up her attempts to conciliate her, and retreated each 
 tune more crestfallen than before. 
 
 Lotta went with her uncle to Europe, where they remained 
 for three years. There she was more than once solicited in 
 marriage ; but her heart was already given. 
 
 At last, one morning, there was a quiet wedding in the 
 little church of St. John's. Judge Meredith gave away the 
 bride, and Lawyer Barker was made a happy man. 
 
 The Judge never married ; but always lived with his niece. 
 He could not part with her so readUy just after he had found 
 her. Lotta always loved and cared for him, and he was a 
 source of the greatest delight to little Charles and Lotta, who 
 used to shout and clap their hands for joy at the sight of him. 
 
 Miss Barker married, but was not happy ; nor her husband, 
 who, a short time after marriage, met with heavy losses in 
 business, and thus, being unable to yield to his wife's wishes, 
 was at continual warfare with her. She never changed ; but 
 was alwa}'s the same cold, selfish, hard-hearted woman as 
 she had been when Adeline Barker.
 
 THE DOUBLE TRAGEDY. 
 
 THE town of Kilerafton was draped in mourning, and a 
 dark gloom hung over the whole countoy ; for its wealthy and 
 respected Baronet had been found dead in his bed. He had 
 been stabbed through the heart, and no one could tell by 
 whom the deed had been committed. 
 
 The theory of suicide could not for a moment be enter- 
 tained, as there was no instrument near him to prove that 
 he had taken his own life. If he had been murdered, rob- 
 bery was not the perpetrator's design ; for his desk and safe, 
 which were always kept in this apartment, were untouched, 
 and not even an article of furniture had been removed from 
 its accustomed place. Who was the assassin? The doors 
 were locked, the windows barred, and all means of entrance 
 had been closed. Some one must have got in during the 
 day, and, secreting himself in some unfrequented part of the 
 house, had come forth in the darkness and silence of night 
 and done his bloody work. This was what the bereaved 
 family of the murdered Baronet supposed, when the morning 
 light showed them the cold, white face, that, peaceful and 
 happy, had kissed and blessed them only the night before. 
 It was maddening to think of it ; and the wife, prostrate 
 with grief, offered a large reward for the capture of the 
 guilty party or parties. But, when the authorities searched 
 the premises, they discovered that a small window, barely 
 large enough for a very slight man to get through, in one of 
 the attics, had been opened. It was supposed then that the
 
 16 THE DOUBLE TRAGEDY. 
 
 perpetrator had entered this window, and, quietly descending 
 the stairs, found the remainder of his work easy to accom- 
 plish. 
 
 The young master of the house, who would now succeed 
 his father, had been away for more than two weeks, on busi- 
 ness for the Baronet. He had been made aware of his 
 father's death, and was hourly expected. The officials, in 
 the mean time, had rigidly interrogated the servants ; but 
 no light was thrown upon the subject. None of them had 
 seen their young master since he had left the castle ; they 
 neither saw nor heard anything to alarm them during tli3 
 night ; they bore witness to the goodness and generosity of 
 their late master, and were loud and earnest in their mani- 
 festations of grief for him. Several arrests were made during 
 the ensuing week ; but the suspected parties proved their 
 innocence beyond a doubt, so they were all liberated after a 
 short time. 
 
 The young Baronet attended his father's funeral, with cveiy 
 mark of the deepest and bitterest sorrow. Affairs resumed 
 their wonted quiet, though each inhabitant of the quaint little 
 town harbored within his breast a secret dread that an un- 
 known assassin walked in their midst. Detectives worked 
 untiringly upon the case ; but the mystery surrounding it 
 baffled all their endeavors. 
 
 A year rolled by, and the anniversary of the murder was 
 approaching. The Baronet's death had made a great change 
 in his family. His two daughters, who idolized their father, 
 had never ceased to weep over his memory. His wife, who 
 had been one of the gayest and most fashionable ladies of 
 her time, had grown a quiet, reserved woman, who seemed 
 to have continually before her the image of a, dark and ghastly 
 picture of which she could not rid herself. But a greater 
 difference was noticed in the conduct and character of tho 
 young Baronet. He had been a wild, reckless lad, although 
 a gay and cheerful one ; he had grown to manhood profligate
 
 THE DOUBLE TRAGEDY. 17 
 
 and sensual, a disgrace to himself and his family. He cared 
 neither for his father's threats nor his mother's counsels, and 
 his sisters' entreaties he had spurned. Now, a year after the 
 event related above, he was a care-worn, restless, melancholy 
 man, who was miserable and spiritless among strangers, and 
 terrified beyond endurance when at his own fireside. Ever 
 on the alert, he would undertake a journey, and, before it 
 was half accomplished, would return home, more weaiy and 
 anxious than ever. He would range the house at night, to 
 the bewilderment of his sisters and the dread of his mother, 
 the latter always watching and following him when she could 
 do so without being noticed. He could not or would not 
 give any reason for his conduct upon such occasions, and 
 did not want to be questioned about it, as he imperiously told 
 his sisters one morning at the breakfast-table. 
 
 The nearer the approach of the anniversary , the more rest- 
 less and careworn the Baronet grew, until even the servants 
 themselves noticed a strange, wild fire in his eyes, an unsteady 
 quivering of his thin lips when he addressed them ; and, 
 altogether, he seemed to possess a fierceness in his manner, 
 mingled with fear and despair, which made them dread and 
 avoid him. It was useless trying to quiet him : he grew 
 worse as they proceeded, until at last his mother began to 
 fear that he would certainly injure himself. 
 
 A few weeks before the anniversary of that fatal night, the 
 young Baronet had left his home to attend to some business 
 matters. His return had been expected sooner ; but he 
 wrote, saying that his absence would be unavoidably pro- 
 longed. 
 
 The morning following the anniversary, the whole town 
 was startled by the horrible revelation that the wife of the 
 deceased Baronet had met with the same fate as her husband. 
 The authorities were once more summoned, and the same in- 
 quiries and investigations gone through with ; the work was 
 done quietly ; contrary to the last murder, no arrests were
 
 18 THE DOUBLE TUAGEDY 
 
 made, and no one seemed to be the suspected party. Some 
 weeks after the funeral, the young Baronet was arrested. 
 
 The detectives had worked upon the case day and night ; 
 and the conclusion they arrived at was, that both murders 
 had been committed by the same person, with the same or 
 like instrument, in the same manner, and for the same pur- 
 pose, unknown to the officers. They reasoned, further, that 
 only some one who knew and understood the family and the 
 means of entering the house could have committed the deed. 
 Putting their various surmises together, they all agreed that 
 suspicion strongly pointed to the 3*ouug master of the house. 
 Soon after his arrest, the young Baronet confessed Ms guilt. 
 The story, briefly told, is as follows : 
 
 The first wife of the murdered Baronet died when quite 
 young. She had borne him two girls, the youngest being 
 but an infant when her mother died. About three years after 
 his wife's death, the Baronet, while travelling, fell in with a 
 gypsy company. Among the females of the band was a 
 beautiful girl, whose dark eyes, expressive countenance, and 
 bewitching voice had completely captivated the Baronet. He 
 travelled with them until he reached one of the large cities, 
 where they were married. They both left their companions, 
 and continued their journey together. 
 
 Being young, handsome, intelligent, and witty, she was 
 admired and flattered wherever they went. The Baronet was 
 proud of her : but her haughty, petulant disposition made 
 him fear that his household would no longer be a peaceful 
 one when she would become its mistress. More than all, 
 he trembled for his little girls, who had inherited their 
 mother's gentle, sensitive disposition. He regretted the step 
 he had taken, in less than a month ; but it could not be 
 helped : so he determined to make the best of it, by hiding 
 his feelings and complying with the wishes of his wife. 
 
 Soon after the Baronet brought his gypsy bride home, he 
 was continually harassed with complaints about the servants,
 
 THE DOUBLE TKAGEOi. 19 
 
 with new plans and arrangements, and numerous other griev- 
 ances, that made him bitterly regret the mistake which he 
 could never rectify. She domineered over the servants, dis- 
 charged them at a moment's provocation, and gave no satis- 
 faction to her husband for her conduct. His two little girls 
 had a terrible fear of her. Although the Baronet never saw 
 her violent with them, he knew well that in his absence she 
 was anything but a mother to them ; he could elicit noth- 
 ing from the children, as they were never for a moment 
 alone. 
 
 Affairs went on in this way for two years, when an heir 
 was born to the Baronet. As this child grew up, he showed 
 himself more and more like his mother, both in features and 
 disposition ; treacherous and capricious like her, his two 
 sisters often suffered from his ill-humor ; desiring, if possible, 
 to preserve the peace of the household, as well as not to 
 annoy their father, they refrained from ever complaining be- 
 fore him. 
 
 Growing up to youth, he displa}'ed his gypsy nature to 
 such an extent as to be away whole days together ; his com- 
 panions would be the most riotous and unprincipled youths 
 of the town ; gambling and betting were his principal amuse- 
 ments ; and in this shameful conduct he was upheld by his 
 mother. All his father's threats were of no avail, while his 
 mother supplied him with all that was necessary for his dis- 
 sipated life. 
 
 At length the Baronet became so enraged at the disgrace 
 brought upon his name that he determined to disinherit him, 
 telling his mother so in plain terms. After this the whole 
 house was in continual disturbance. The wife broke out into 
 incontrollable fits of anger, abusing and insulting her hus- 
 band ; fiercely declaring to him, in her gyps} r fashion, that 
 she would have revenge upon him if he dared to disinherit 
 her son. Notwithstanding her fiery speeches and threatening 
 Language, the Baronet remained firm ; and, seeing that all
 
 20 THE DOUBLE TRAGEDY. 
 
 her efforts to change him were fruitless, she vowed within her 
 heart that he would never execute his design. 
 
 One night, when the whole household had gone to rest, she 
 stole noiselessly to her son's room, awoke him, and bade him 
 listen to her and obey her commands. The young Baronet, 
 for the first time, heard of his father's intention ; and he 
 drank in, with every word that his mother uttered, the spirit 
 of her fierce and terrible revenge. 
 
 She unfolded her plan ; and to his hard and unrelenting 
 nature the deed he was to commit seemed nothing more than 
 a frolic. 
 
 She told him to leave home upon the morrow ; to remain at 
 a certain hotel in the city, under the pretence of business ; 
 he was not to return until midnight Thursday, it was Satur- 
 day then, she would watch for him, and let him in; he 
 must proceed to his father's room, and, with a dagger which 
 she would furnish him, take his father's life. In the mean 
 tune she would unbar the window in one of the attics, break 
 the glass, and it would be supposed that the assassin had 
 gained an entrance and escaped by this means. He would 
 then return to the city, and she would see that all traces of 
 his visit would be covered up. 
 
 She warned him that a longer delay might prove fatal to 
 their hopes ; as the Baronet was determined to make a will, 
 cutting him off from all claims to his estate, as soon as pos- 
 sible. His covetous nature was aroused ; and, agreeing with 
 his mother, he prepared at once to follow her directions. He 
 left home in the morning, and returned at midnight Thurs- 
 day, accomplished his design, and escaped conviction, as 
 above related. But, during the year that followed, his re- 
 morse was unbearable, and the sight of his mother worked 
 him into a frenzy of horror and despair. Upon the approach 
 of the anniversary of his terrible work, he became so enraged 
 against his mother for having brought so much misery upon 
 him, and he was so tormented at the sight of her, that he
 
 THE DOUBLE TRAGEDY. 21 
 
 was goaded into murdering her ; and, having escaped all de- 
 tection in his father's murder, he adopted the same method of 
 ridding himself of his mother. This was the ver3 r reason that 
 he was suspected ; because he had placed himself in the same 
 circumstances in both cases, and the murders were committed 
 in a similar manner. 
 
 It was not difficult to frighten him into making a confession. 
 His nerves were shattered, his constitution broken, and his 
 mind was growing weak and feeble. 
 
 Before his sentence was passed, and when he had been only 
 a few weeks in confinement, he became insane, and had to be 
 placed in an asylum, where he died in less than a year.
 
 22 SAVED FROM THE TOMB. 
 
 SAVED FROM THE TOMB. 
 
 MB. BELL, a well-to-do linen merchant, had married the 
 beautiful and accomplished daughter of Lawyer Carson. They 
 had been married only a few months, when Mrs. Bell, with- 
 out any apparent cause, was taken sick, and died rather 
 suddenly. The doctor's efforts to discover the disease of 
 which she died were useless. The mystery surrounding her 
 sickness and death baffled all their endeavors to unravel it. 
 The third night after her burial, Mr. Bell was walking rest- 
 lessly to and fro in the room in which she had died ; sorrow 
 was heavy upon him, and he could not sleep. It had struck 
 twelve o'clock, and yet he continued his weary pacing up and 
 down. Every thing in the room spoke to him of the young 
 and beautiful wife he had laid away in the tomb ; memory 
 was busy within him, and awakened a thousand sweet and 
 gentle recollections of her whom in his youthful passion he 
 idolized, and whose dear presence for the last few months 
 had gladdened his home. 
 
 As he was musing upon all this, he heard the gate open, 
 and a light step came up the lawn. He did not pay much 
 attention to it : he was too utterly cast down to notice the 
 lateness of the hour, or the unusual circumstance of a visitor 
 at that time of the night. The person stopped before the 
 front door, when a loud knocking ensued. 
 
 The footman, James, who slept upon the ground-floor, 
 thinking that the person must have important business with 
 his master, immediately answered the summons. Upon open-
 
 SAVED FROM THE TOMB. 23 
 
 ing the door he shrieked wildly, and fell fainting to the floor. 
 The door, in the mean time, had been closed again with the 
 wind, leaving the strange cause of fright without. The 
 household was soon aroused b} r the loud, continued knocking 
 outside. One of the servants unlocked the door a second 
 time, and, trembling with fear, stood gazing upon the form 
 and face of his late mistress. Almost unconscious with terror, 
 he allowed her to pass him and enter the house. Here the 
 wildest confusion ensued : the timid and superstitious servants 
 fled in all directions, heedless of their mistress's persuasions 
 and assurances that she was alive, and, leaving her questions 
 as to the whereabouts of Mr. Bell unanswered, she was ob- 
 liged to seek him herself. 
 
 Upon reaching the first landing, she met her husband, who 
 was going down to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. 
 He was for a moment startled by the sudden apparition ; but, 
 hearing the sweet voice, he was assured of her living pres- 
 ence, and in a transport of joy clasped her to his heart, and 
 showered kisses and benedictions upon her. 
 
 Collecting the servants, he relieved their fears by declaring 
 that it was indeed their late mistress, who, by some un- 
 accountable intervention, had been saved from a living 
 grave. 
 
 Mrs. Bell related what she knew of her deliverance from 
 the tomb. She said that the first sensation she felt was a 
 heavy weight around her heart ; in a moment this feeling left 
 her, and she felt the blood flowing freely through her veins. 
 Raising herself in her coffin, she beheld a dull light at its foot ; 
 then she knew that some one had been in the tomb, and by 
 some means had awakened her from her trance. Gathering 
 her shroud around her, she prepared to leave the coffin, 
 when for the first tune she experienced a terrible pain in her 
 left hand. Upon examining it, she discovered that the third 
 finger had been almost severed, for the purpose, she supposed, 
 of obtaining the valuable ring upon it.
 
 24 SAVED FROM THE TOMB. 
 
 It was years afterward, when Mrs. Bell had become the 
 mother of three girls as beautiful as herself, and as many 
 boys as good and noble as their father, that the real cause 
 of her timely deliverance was made known. At the time of 
 her illness a young and ambitious physician had come to 
 practise in the town. When all remedies and doctors had 
 failed, Mr. Bell had called in, as a last resource, the new 
 doctor. His efforts to control the disease proved, like the 
 rest, useless. 
 
 Mrs. Bell died, or was supposed to have died, and was 
 buried. The }*oung physician was determined, if possible, 
 to ascertain the cause of her death, and for this purpose 
 hired a notorious grave-robber to obtain the body for him. 
 The man, who had been promised quite a sum of mone}* for 
 his work, proceeded at once to accomplish it. Carefully re- 
 moving the coffin lid, he was in the act of lifting the body 
 when his eye fell upon the sparkling diamond upon her finger. 
 Laying the body back in the coffin, he tried to force the ring 
 off; but, failing to do so, he had recourse to the knife, as 
 he was determined to obtain his prize. 
 
 He had cut the finger directly below the ring, and was 
 still occupied in his work, when he noticed a slight quiver 
 run through the body ; the next moment the lips moved, the 
 eyes unclosed, and the body gave every sign of returning life. 
 Leaving his lantern behind, he fled terrified from the spot. 
 The next morning he left the city, and never returned. He 
 wrote to Mrs. Bell, upon his death-bed, relating the story as 
 above, and asking her forgiveness. 
 
 The doctor who hired him to steal the body left the country 
 about a year after Mrs. Bell's escape. Although he had 
 never been suspected, the fear of it always troubled him ; 
 and, to escape it completely, he had fled, leaving behind him 
 no knowledge of his whereabouts. 
 
 During Mrs. Bell's lifetime, and she lived to see grand-
 
 SAVED FROM THE TOMB. 25 
 
 children playing around her knee, he had never bwn heard 
 of; and, even if he had ventured to return, Mrs. uell would 
 have nothing to offer to himself and his accomplice but her 
 heartfelt thanks for her timely and remarkable deliverance 
 from the tomb. 
 
 t
 
 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 
 
 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 
 
 IT was the month of August : the day had been hot and 
 sultry ; since noon the atmosphere had become almost un- 
 bearable ; the dead, heavy calm that weighed upon it portended 
 a thunder-storm. Low, distant growlings were already heard ; 
 and many who preferred to wait an hour or more, rather than 
 get a wetting, had taken shelter in some of the numerous 
 hotels of the city. A young man had just entered St. James 
 Hotel, at the west end of London. He stood for a while at 
 one of the windows, watching the large drops slowly falling 
 to the earth ; a blinding flash of lightning, followed by a loud 
 peal of thunder, made him leave his position ; he seated him- 
 self at one of the tables, and, taking a paper from his 
 pocket, glanced carelessly over its columns. His attention 
 was suddenly arrested by the sound of voices near him ; 
 turning in the direction of the sound, he saw at a table, a 
 short distance from where he sat, two men, who, like himself, 
 had probably taken refuge from the storm. Their backs 
 were turned to him ; but he did not fail to recognize the 
 voices. As he looked at them, his face became clouded, and 
 a fierce, angry expression flashed into his eyes ; he drew his 
 lips tightly together, and muttered beneath his breath, keep- 
 ing his eyes riveted upon them. The two men continued 
 their conversation in the same loud tone. 
 
 "So I will receive the money to-morrow," said one. 
 
 ' ' Undoubtedly : meet me here at this hour, and I shall 
 put it into 3'our hands," was the reply.
 
 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 27 
 
 The first speaker here rose, shook hands with his com- 
 panion, and left the hotel. 
 
 Silas Porter watched him with keen, angry eyes till he had 
 closed the door behind him ; then, leaving his table, crossed 
 over to where the other young man sat, and said, "If I do 
 not make a mistake, you are Mr. Albert Raymond." 
 
 The young man looked up quickly, replying ' ' That is my 
 name ; but you really have the advantage of me, as I do not 
 remember ever having seen you before." 
 
 " So you do not remember Silas Porter, the American whom 
 you met in Paris ? " 
 
 At the mention of the name the young man was on his feet 
 in an instant, and, seizing his friend by the hand, shook it 
 heartily, expressing himself as fortunate in coming into the 
 hotel to meet his old friend. 
 
 ' ' You must be my guest while you remain in England," 
 said Mr. Raymond. 
 
 His friend thanked him, but declined his invitation, saying 
 that he was in England on business connected with the firm, 
 and so could not partake of his hospitality, much as he would 
 like to. 
 
 " How you have changed, Silas, in these few years ! you 
 look tired and ill," said Raymond. 
 
 " Yes," was the answer, " work, trouble, and care make a 
 fellow look old and tired ; I will tell you the cause of my 
 careworn appearance to-night, if you will listen to me, and 
 if you will call upon me at number 6 L Street." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear fellow ; " and Mr. Raymond took a 
 note-book from his pocket, marking the number and street in 
 it. Silas Porter, having business to attend to, left his friend, 
 and hurried down the street. 
 
 That night Mr. Raymond called upon his friend, as he had 
 promised, and heard from his lips the following story : 
 
 "Raymond," Silas began, "when I first saw you to-day, 
 you were engaged in conversation with a man whom I cau-
 
 28 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 
 
 tion you to beware of. He is an idler, forger, and deceiver, 
 which you will find out before you have much dealing 
 with him." 
 
 "That man," said Raymond, " is Sir Frederick Rockdale, 
 a fine fellow, and my dearest friend ; so I will caution you to 
 beware of how you speak of him to me." 
 
 " Well," said Silas, " I know him, and can speak of him 
 only with loathing and contempt ; he is the vilest man that 
 walks the earth ; let me tell you something of him, which will 
 convince you that I at least have reason to hate him ; at the 
 same tune, it will be a warning for you to keep your eye upon 
 him. I will tell you now what has happened to me since we 
 saw each other last." 
 
 They settled themselves at each side of the table ; one 
 eagerly listening, while the other, in a low voice, spoke as 
 follows : 
 
 " When I met you in Paris, five years ago, we were wealthy 
 and influential Americans. My father's business was at its 
 highest standard. I was then on a business errand for his 
 firm. That was the first time I was introduced to your 
 ' dearest friend,' whom I disliked the instant I saw him. My 
 errand completed, I returned home, and did not see him for 
 three years after. My sister was receiving her education at 
 a French convent ; she was about to graduate ; and my 
 mother, wishing to be present at the graduating exercises, 
 urged me to accompany her across the water. We went, and 
 remained there some months after my sister had graduated. 
 We one day had the misfortune of meeting Sir Frederick on 
 the street ; he renewed the acquaintance between him and 
 myself, much to my dislike ; my mother, easily impressed, 
 asked him to call upon us, which invitation he very readily 
 accepted ; he kept his word, called upon us frequently during 
 our stay, and before we left France had completely won my 
 sister's affections and my mother's admiration. 
 
 ' ' We parted from him ; and I hoped that the change of
 
 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 29 
 
 occupation and the distance between them would wean my 
 sister's affection from him ; but he had imposed too much 
 upon her simple, loving heart, and my mother's foolish per- 
 sistency to have a title in the family baffled all my efforts to 
 save her from him. They corresponded regularly ; and, at 
 the end of six months, he came to America, and then I was 
 forced to see my sister becoming more infatuated with him 
 every day, until she learned what she had been cherishing, 
 a vile, unprincipled spirit. 
 
 " They were engaged, and were to be married in a few 
 months ; but the heavy losses of father suddenly changed the 
 current of his affections. Owing to the failure of the bank- 
 ing house in England in which most of my father's money was 
 invested, his business became paralyzed, so that he was un- 
 able to continue it. Of course, we were favored no more 
 than others who had met with the same reverses ; and from 
 the prosperous, wealth}* Americans that we were, we became 
 poor working people, and were considered no better than 
 those who had never known the influence of riches. Now we 
 found who were our real friends ; and, indeed, they were very 
 few. 
 
 ' ' Of course our titled friend could not brook a marriage now 
 with the American heiress. He wrote to my sister, asking to 
 be released from the engagement ; he was released, thank 
 God ! and my sister was saved from becoming the wife of a 
 titled vagabond. I discovered that, before our downfall, he 
 had forged my name for five hundred dollars. My poor 
 sister was suffering from the humiliation he had brought upon 
 her ; and, through respect for her, I refrained from punishing 
 the rascal. Her name would be connected with his before 
 the public ; and, to spare her this ignomin}*, I smothered my 
 wrath, and left him to go his way. It was happiness enough 
 to know that she was freed from the wretch, who never 
 deserved the love of her warm, generous heart. I compelled 
 him, however, to leave America ; and threatened, if he ever
 
 30 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 
 
 returned, to prosecute him upon the charge. I don't think 
 he will venture to return. That now is my experience of Sir 
 Frederick Rochdale." 
 
 , Raymond had listened attentively throughout his friend's 
 recital ; and asked him if they had recovered, even in part, 
 their former prosperity. 
 
 " Yes," his friend replied: "we are progressing rapidly 
 towards it. My father, whose health at the time of the 
 failure was not very rugged, did not long survive the shock : 
 he died a few months after. I was obliged to look after the 
 wants of my mother and sister ; and, to do this properly, I 
 forgot my pride, overcame my repugnance to work, and my 
 efforts have been crowned with success. I received a situa- 
 tion as book-keeper in a large wholesale house, and have 
 since become junior partner. My sister was successful in 
 obtaining a position as teacher, which she still occupies. 
 We are happy and contented, and have no desire to change 
 our condition for our former one ; we have found that adver- 
 sity is the time to try friendship, and our friends (that is, the 
 most of them) have proved false and hollow-hearted. I 
 advise you to give up the company of Sir Frederick before 
 you have more reason for giving him up. He has nothing 
 but his dishonesty to rely upon ; his uncle has disinherited 
 him, and since then he has lived by fraud." 
 
 Albert Raymond yawned lazily ; and, looking at his com- 
 panion, said he would watch him closely and not let him gain 
 too much upon him. But he could not think of depriving 
 himself of his society altogether : he was a jolly fellow, and 
 just suited his lazy,, indolent life. The two friends sepa- 
 rated, after a promise on Silas's part to visit him at an early 
 day. 
 
 Albert Raymond was a young man, good-looking, and 
 of a cheerful disposition ; his character was weak and unde- 
 cided ; his training had helped to increase the weakness ; 
 and, having no fixed purpose in life but to seek pleasure,
 
 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 31 
 
 !t was easy to lead him, especially easy for a stronger char- 
 acter than his own to impose upon him. All that he could 
 desire was at his command, and Sir Frederick marked him for 
 his prey. He had the greatest contempt for Raymond's weak- 
 nesses ; but they served his purpose, and so he flattered and 
 admired them. Raymond thought him a pleasant, self-satis- 
 fied fellow ; while Rockdale entertained a very low opinion of 
 the wisdom of his patron, for so Raymond had often proved. 
 He had lent Sir Frederick large sums of money, without 
 requiring the least security from him, which Sir Frederick 
 had never returned. 
 
 ' ' A consummate fool " was the general appellation Rock- 
 dale applied to his young friend, after receiving the desired 
 sums of money. They had become acquainted about a year 
 before, when Rockdale had so impressed Raymond that they 
 had become fast friends, and the bond of union seemed 
 to be strengthened with time. 
 
 About a week after, Silas Porter called upon his friend. 
 He found him in a rather nervous, excited mood, caused by a 
 visit from Lawyer Derby, who told him a story about his 
 early life which he did not know whether to believe or not. 
 After Silas had seated himself and they were both puffing 
 volumes of smoke from their cigars, Raymond said, 
 
 " My lawyer called upon me to-day, and, strange to say, 
 found me at home ; he has been coming here for the last week 
 without finding me. He came to tell me that I am not 
 the son of my father's last wife, but the son of a former one, 
 Florence Kirk ; he informs me that my father married 
 Florence Kirk in Ireland ; two years after their marriage his 
 wife died, leaving him an infant sou. After the death of his 
 wife he travelled for a year or more ; and then returning to 
 England, his native place, he married his second wife, Miss 
 Mentstone. The child by his first wife inherited all his grand- 
 father's property, on condition that he would retain his moth- 
 er's family name, Kirk. His grandfather died soon after his
 
 32 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 
 
 daughter Florence, when the child's father claimed his son, 
 and brought him home with him. The boj 7 , then three years 
 old, knew no other mother than his father's second wife, who 
 never corrected the impression ; she was left a widow soon 
 after her marriage, and upon her own death intrusted this 
 story to her lawyer, to disclose it when he thought proper. 
 
 "You see," said he, now referring to himself, "I was 
 away during my mother's last illness, and she felt very 
 anxious, so Lawyer Derby said, that I should know the 
 truth. She was a real mother to me, and I am not sorry that 
 she deceived me in regard to my own mother. But don't 
 you think it a singular story ; and how am I to know 
 whether the lawyer is telling me the truth or not ? " 
 
 " It is singular," his friend replied ; " but the truth can 
 easily be found out by going to your mother's birthplace. 
 You have a capital way now to try your friends, by a little 
 misrepresentation." 
 
 " How? " asked his companion, eagerly. 
 
 " You are supposed to be the son of the late Mrs. Ray- 
 mond. Represent to the public, in some manner, that the 
 son of your father's first wife has turned up, and that 3 r ou 
 are therefore deprived of your property ; that you will be 
 obliged to depend in future upon j-our brother's bounty ; and 
 your friends, knowing that you can no longer entertain them 
 as you have done, will soon desert you. If you will follow 
 my instructions, you will find who are your real friends." 
 
 "It is a bright idea," Ra\'mond replied. " Let us go to 
 my lawyer to-morrow, and ask his help. I would just like 
 to test Sir Frederick Rockdale, who pretends to think so 
 highly of me." 
 
 The next day they visited Lawyer Derby, and unfolded 
 their plans. He agreed to help them to spread the news, 
 and suggested that a short paragraph be sent to several 
 of the daily papers that by this means the story might gain
 
 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 33 
 
 credence. Accordingly they wrote the following, and posted 
 it that evening : 
 
 "A story that, if true, will prove rather unfortunate to 
 the young heir of Raymond Lodge has recently come to 
 light. It appears that Mr. Raymond, the young man's late- 
 lamented father, had been married twice, and a son was born 
 of each marriage, the present heir being the son of his last 
 wife. The son of his former marriage has lived principally 
 a broad, but is now returning home to establish his right to 
 the property ; it is alleged that he has in his possession 
 documents that defy all dispute, and that he can prove his 
 identity beyond a doubt. If the above is correct, the future 
 prospects of the young, dashing Albert Kirk Raymond are 
 gloomy in the extreme." 
 
 This appeared in the evening papers, and was copied 
 extensively from paper to paper. All Raymond's friends 
 were furnished with a subject for gossip, and they made 
 good use of it while the surprise which it occasioned lasted. 
 He was the chief topic of conversation among his particular 
 associates ; and his reasons for having kept the fact, that he 
 had a brother living, a secret from his most intimate friends, 
 were discussed over and over. 
 
 Raymond had been very quiet, and had remained away 
 from his usual haunts during the few weeks that intervened 
 bejtween the appearance of the first article and the following, 
 which appeared in the same papers : 
 
 " The rumor concerning Mr. Albert Raymond has been 
 confirmed. His brother arrived home last Thursday ; it is 
 understood that, for the present, 3'oung Raymond will remain 
 at the Lodge. At the end of November, it is supposed, he 
 will visit Wales, where his mother's relatives live. He has 
 a cousin there, who has a large interest in a brewery ; and 
 young Ra3 r mond will probably purchase some shares in it, 
 and thus open for himself a path to prosperity. The reverses 
 of fortune render the young man, who was looked upon as a 
 brainless spendthrift, spirited, energetic, and determined. He
 
 84 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 
 
 positively refuses to live upon his brother's proffered hospi- 
 tality longer than he can possibly help. We sympathize with 
 him in his downfall ; and sincerely hope that, by his own in- 
 dustry and perseverance, he will establish his reputation in 
 the new field of action to wuich he is about to direct his 
 energies." 
 
 Sir Frederick Rockdale was utterly cast down, upon read- 
 ing the above : all his plans had failed ; he had nothing more 
 to expect from his generous friend, who had, by a sudden 
 stroke of fortune, become as poor as himself; so he resolved 
 to keep out of Raymond's way, that he might not be com- 
 pelled to refuse the payment of his debt. 
 
 ""Well," he thought, "how very fortunate for me that 
 there is no note or bill of any kind to prove that I owe him 
 the money ! I am safe, and need have no fear of him ; how- 
 ever, I will not harass him with my company during this dis- 
 tressing tune." He smiled sardonically at his own thoughts, 
 and continued his reading. 
 
 Albert Raymond and Silas Porter were seated in the tat- 
 ter's room. They had been discussing the success of their 
 plot, and Raymond was talking of his intended trip to Wales. 
 His mother's people used to receive him cordially when he 
 was known to be the possessor of a princely fortune ; he 
 would try them now, as he had his other friends, and prove 
 to himself if all he loved were actuated with the same sordid 
 motives. 
 
 "I will start to-morrow," he was saying, " and will be 
 away long enough to sound their feelings. They used to 
 treat me with the greatest honor, when I was a little fellow, 
 very rich, and able to show my appreciation of their kind- 
 ness. Now I am poor, and can offer them nothing, save my 
 gratitude, for whatever favors they may confer upon me ; 
 and, indeed, I am very much inclined to think that my grati- 
 tude will not be much taxed." 
 
 " Well," said Silas, "you will find out your true friends,
 
 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 85 
 
 those who will not change with the change of your prospects ; 
 and I am sure they are few who are not more or less in- 
 fluenced by the circumstances of their friends." 
 
 The following evening Raymond left England ; he had not 
 received a single word of sympathy from one of his former 
 friends ; he had not seen Sir Frederick ; and, when he had 
 called upon him a few days ago, he was told that Sir Fred- 
 erick had a severe headache, and did not wish to be disturbed. 
 He had satisfied himself in regard to Sir Frederick's manly 
 principles, and was secretly glad that he had found him out 
 so easily. 
 
 There was one person whose change towards him had 
 deeply wounded him ; the one whom, of all the world, he 
 loved the best, and in whose love and affection he had 
 hoped and trusted. It had been nothing but a wild freak 
 of his to comply with Porter's suggestion ; for he really be- 
 lieved, either in his simplicity or want of knowledge of 
 human nature, that the whole plot would only bind his 
 friends closer to him ; but he did not think that what he 
 had undertaken to do as a good joke would so try his 
 spirit and wound his affections. 
 
 He had gone early in the morning to tell Miss Caroline 
 Hastings of his intended visit to Wales. Although they had 
 been engaged for over six months, and were to be married 
 within a year, she received him coldly, was very reticent in 
 her conversation, and extremely short in her answers. He 
 knew at once that she, too, had risen against him, and the 
 truth of it only made it harder to bear ; he had never ex- 
 pected a repulsion from her, who loved him, he thought, for 
 what he was, not for what he had. The blow was a severe 
 one, and he was afraid that he would never recover from it. 
 Their interview had ended with anger and scorn on her side ; 
 disappointment and regret on his ; their engagement was 
 broken off, and he left her, hopeless and sorrowful, almost 
 cursing her for her falseness.
 
 36 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 
 
 He was thinking, or rather brooding, upon all this as the 
 train whirled him from England ; he was beginning to dread 
 the effect of the lesson he was learning ; he feared it would 
 make him distrustful of everybody, good and bad alike. He 
 was fast losing all the faith he had in woman's love and 
 gentleness ; it was a farce, and he was sorry that he ever 
 believed in it. However, he would follow out his intention, 
 and there let his deception end. His experience of human 
 nature had been dearly purchased by the loss of his own 
 truth, and trustfulness of his friends, and what was worse 
 than all of his love. 
 
 He had somewhat recovered his spirits when he arrived in 
 Wales. Looking ver} r demure and steady, like one who had 
 been tried severely, he proceeded to his relatives' house. 
 The news of his misfortune had preceded him ; and, as he 
 expected, his reception was not as cordial as it was wont to 
 be. The family consisted of Mr. Walbridge, his wife, and 
 two daughters, who were always especially glad to see him, 
 but whose interest in him was now transferred to his brother, 
 about whom they inquired particularly, and asked quite a 
 number of questions in regard to his right to the property. 
 There was neither feeling nor delicacy in their talk ; and poor 
 Raymond, disgusted more and more with himself, left them 
 after a week's visit. Before he started, he told them that he 
 was still the heir of Raymond Lodge, that his brother existed 
 only in the imagination of his friends, and that the fraud he hud 
 practised upon them had assured him that his wealth and 
 position were the only qualifications necessary to secure their 
 respect and esteem. He never saw nor heard from them 
 afterward. 
 
 He returned home, and remained in England long enough 
 to prove that the rumor concerning his fortune was false, and 
 that he himself was the son by his father's first marriage ; 
 relating the circumstances of his birth, which cleared all 
 doubts.
 
 THE HEIR OF RAYMOND LODGE. 87 
 
 When Silas Porter returned to America, he was accom- 
 panied by Albert Raymond, who had left his estates under the 
 management of Lawyer Derby. About two years after, he 
 was married to Lilian Porter. He took his bride to England, 
 where they lived happily and peacefully together, in spite of 
 the sorrows and troubles each had known. 
 
 Caroline Hastings has not yet found a partner, and it has 
 often been whispered around that she regrets the hasty words 
 that deprived her of a wealthy husband. 
 
 Sir Frederick Rockdale continued his evil course until he 
 met with one as wicked as himself, who would bear no trifling 
 with : he engaged in a quarrel with a companion, and was 
 shot through the lung ; he never recovered from the wound, 
 and died of consumption a few years after. 
 
 Silas Porter is also married, and with his charming little 
 wife visits England occasionally. He is senior partner in the 
 firm in which he held the position of book-keeper ; his won- 
 derful business abilities have brought him wealth and pros- 
 perity ; while his honest, upright principles command the 
 respect and esteem of his countrymen. 
 
 So now we will leave our friends in England and America 
 enjoying their good fortune, hoping it will long continue.
 
 38 CLARA. KINGSLEY'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 CLARA KINGSLEY'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 IT was evening, one of those soft, golden evenings that 
 corne at the close of autumn. Upon the veranda of a fash- 
 ionable hotel sat a party of ladies and gentlemen, apparently 
 enjoying the beauty around. The elder ones, engaged in 
 quiet conversation, sat at some distance from the younger 
 portion of the group ; who, intent upon their own pleasure, 
 chatted, laughed, and flirted, to the utter forgetfulness of 
 paternal eyes and ears. 
 
 Foremost amongst these is Clara Kingsley, elder daughter 
 of the renowned Judge Kingsley, a young lady of twenty- 
 two years, who flattered herself highly upon being the reign- 
 ing belle. Tall, dark, and handsome, Clara Kingsley was 
 sure to surpass all competitors. 
 
 She is at present endeavoring, by every art in her power, 
 to engage the attention of young Mr. "Walton, who stands 
 listlessly beside her, anxious to leave without seeming rude. 
 Clara watches him keenly, however, and, when she notices 
 any change in his position, strives by some new art to detain 
 him. One can see at a glance that her attractions have 
 little or no power over him : he listens to her with an air of 
 disregard for her remarks ; seldom looking at her, and an- 
 swering in a few short words. 
 
 Clara sees, with secret anger and mortification, the con- 
 tempt in which he holds her ; but seems determined, not- 
 withstanding her own chagrin, to try his patience still further : 
 for she has begun a new subject, and compels him, in spite 
 of his aversion, to linger near her.
 
 CLARA KINGSLEY'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 39 
 
 Ned Walton, as he was familiarly called, was about twenty- 
 five j'ears old, wealth}- and handsome. His wit and brilliant 
 conversation made him a universal favorite. As soon as he 
 had made his appearance in our little circle of pleasure-seek- 
 ers, he was looked upon and talked of as one who would 
 surety be added to the long list of Miss Kingsley's admirers. 
 Yet, strange to say, he was never for one moment ' ' mag- 
 netized," as it had been foretold he would be, by the brilliancy 
 of her eyes. He never felt the thrill that others had ex- 
 perienced at the sound of her matchless voice ; in fact, all 
 her natural endowments, together with the many little arts 
 she could so well assume, failed to excite in the breast of Ned 
 Walton one single throb of admiration for her. 
 
 Clara Kingsley knew that for once she had failed ; she 
 could not account for it. She even felt that she had more 
 than failed : she had made herself odious to at least one man. 
 This was the state of affairs ; and upon this evening Clara 
 Kingsley, not having profited by past experiences, was still 
 trying to win the affections of him upon whom she had set 
 her heart, though she knew that every trial was a fresh failure. 
 She had almost exhausted her resources, and had never been 
 so severely vexed. He had listened to her conversation 
 with so negligent an air that all around could easily guess in 
 what esteem he held her. When, at last, he had freed him- 
 self from her, he sauntered leisurely along, leaving her to 
 her own reflections. 
 
 The Kingsley s had been at the seashore about five months. 
 During that time Clara had enjoyed herself well, as well as 
 any young lady could with a score of beaus living upon her 
 smiles, ready to do the most extraordinary and unnatural 
 things to testify their love for her, and willing to bear any 
 trial, any mortification, rather than be deprived of the favor 
 of the beautiful belle. But now she was beginning to feel 
 dissatisfied with herself; her charms were not so powerful, 
 after all ; she could not conquer where she would have given
 
 40 CLARA KINU*LEi'd DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 worlds to conquer ; she was losing confidence in herself, 
 what she had never lost before. 
 
 Miss Kingsley was reclining indolently upon her couch one 
 morning, reading the latest novel. While she was thus 
 engaged, a young girl entered the room, and, seating herself 
 at the window, began to knit industriously. Miss Kingsley, 
 with an air of impatience, threw down the book she held in 
 her hand, exclaiming, "Alice Kingsley, when are you going 
 to help Katie on my dress ? Miss Bailey's reception will be 
 given in three days, and my dress is not yet finished, you 
 are everlastingly knitting, wasting your tune on some worth- 
 less beggar." 
 
 " Your dress will be ready, Clara. I want to finish these 
 stockings to-day ; then I will help Katie." 
 
 Alice Kingsley was a contrast to her sister, in disposition 
 as well as appearance. She could not boast of beauty ; but 
 the quiet thoughtfulness of her nature showed itself in her 
 calm, deep blue eyes. Alice Kingsley was the friend of the 
 poor ; she never grew weary of working for them, and she 
 was loved and blessed wherever she went. Her assistance 
 was not needed upon her sister's dress ; but both Clara and 
 her mother were forced to consult her upon their toilet. 
 Alice had excellent taste and judgment, and so was often 
 obliged to forget her own inclinations and yield to her sister's 
 authority. 
 
 " While they were talking, a servant brought a letter to 
 Clara. Her first exclamation upon reading it was, 
 
 " What audacity that fellow has to send me such a letter ! 
 It is from that John Howard," she continued, handing it to 
 her sister. 
 
 Alice read it with eager eyes. 
 
 "Poor John!" she said, "after so many years we have 
 heard from him at last ; I am so glad he is going to call 
 upon us." 
 
 " What an ornament he will be to our circle, with his red
 
 CLAKA KINGSLEY' S DISAPPOINTMENT. 41 
 
 hair and freckled face ! " Clara retorted. " He is coming the 
 very night of the ball, too ; and I suppose will be here when 
 Mr. Farlow calls," she continued, in a disdainful, angry 
 voice. 
 
 " Well," Alice replied, "his coming need not interrupt 
 your plans for the evening. I will remain at home to receive 
 John. "We have not seen him for years ; and it is right that 
 we should be friendly to him upon his return home." 
 
 John Howard's parents died when he was twelve years 
 old, leaving him almost a penniless orphan. His mother, 
 being a distant relative of Judge Kingsley, left him under 
 his charge. John was large, and somewhat awkward in his 
 manners. Clara disliked him without the slightest cause, 
 and often got him into trouble ; for, like ah 1 boys, he was full 
 of mischief. Little Alice was his only playmate : she often 
 saved him from punishment, and obtained numberless favors 
 for him. 
 
 John had an uncle in California, who, learning that Mr. 
 Howard, through a mismanagement of business, had become 
 reduced in circumstances, sent for his nephew. Upon receiv- 
 ing the invitation, John had immediately departed for his 
 new home, since which time nothing had been heard of 
 him. 
 
 Judge Kingsley had gone to the city on business ; Clara 
 and her mother were preparing for the ball ; so Alice was the 
 only one present to receive the visitor. Both Alice and John 
 were delighted to see each other. They had many things to 
 talk about, old times and new plans ; the evening was 
 slipping away quickly, yet Alice had made no apology for her 
 mother's and sister's absence. At last, fearing that he might 
 ask for them, she excused then- conduct by sa} 7 ing that it was 
 positively unavoidable, that to disappoint Miss Bailey would 
 be to offend her. He made no pretence of being sorry at 
 their absence, merely remarking that perhaps he would have
 
 42 CLARA KINGSLEY'S 
 
 the pleasure of seeing them at his next call. At half-past 
 ten he arose to go, promising to return in a few da} - s. 
 
 Alice sat musing for some time after ho had gone. How 
 the John Howard of her childhood had changed ! The ugly 
 red hair had darkened into beautiful auburn, the face as 
 smooth and clear as a woman's, and the deep brown e}-es had 
 the strength and tenderness of true manhood. 
 
 It was after eleven o'clock that night when Mr. Farlow 
 made his appearance in Miss Bailey's drawing-room ; more 
 than one young lady had grown impatient at his absence. 
 Clara Kingsley being his favorite, however, he engaged her 
 for his first dance. When it was over, Miss Kingsley feigned 
 a slight headache ; Mr. Farlow led her to the conservatory. 
 
 " I understood your sister was to favor us with her com- 
 panj 7 this evening," he said, when she had seated herself. 
 
 " We all thought she would, too," was the reply ; " but 
 Alice has singular notions, and is too obstinate to give them 
 up at the good advice of another. She has remained at 
 home to-night for the purpose of receiving an old friend 
 of hers ; he has been away for years, and, though it was to 
 me he sent word that he was going to call, I did not 
 think enough of him to absent myself from the ball on his 
 account." 
 
 Mr. Farlow let his beautiful eyes rest upon her for a few 
 moments, while a strange smile played around the corners of 
 his mouth. Clara noticed it ; but vanity prompted her to 
 believe that his looks were those of admiration. 
 
 Ned Walton was also at the ball, as gay and fascinating as 
 ever. Clara had endeavored to render herself as charming 
 as possible, and tried earnestly enough to attract his notice. 
 She accepted Mr. Far-low's attentions; but would have 
 preferred the slightest recognition from Ned Walton. Her 
 efforts, as usual, were in vain : he was lavish in his attentions 
 to her rival, Miss Lawson.
 
 CLARA KINOSLEY'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 43 
 
 Clara was losing the enjoyment of the evening. She was 
 jealous. She felt the truth at last : she could never hope to 
 will Ned Walton's heart. 
 
 She resolved afterwards, in the bitterness of her disap- 
 pointment, to be satisfied with John Farlow. He was rich, 
 handsome, and agreeable, and she would accept him the 
 moment he proposed. She did not care for the man she was 
 so sure of marrying ; but, to her selfish, ambitious nature, he 
 was the only one among her admirers able to support her 
 extravagant and ostentatious st} T le of living. From that 
 time a marvellous change was noticed in her conduct towards 
 Mr. Farlow. She affected to be his most attentive listener, 
 smiled affectionately upon him, and was most interested 
 in all his undertakings. 
 
 John Howard called again upon Alice, but did not see her 
 sister ; he even visited their city home, whither they had gone 
 at the coming of winter, without meeting her. At length, 
 one day, as Alice for the twentieth time was remarking the 
 wonderful change time had worked in the appearance of their 
 old friend, the latter determined she would see him the next 
 time he called. 
 
 Accordingly, upon being informed of his coming during 
 the ensuing week, she dressed herself with scrupulous care, 
 and haughtily descended to the parlor, to meet, as she 
 supposed, one who would be immediately captivated by her 
 charms. Entering the room, to her astonishment she beheld 
 Alice eagerly conversing, not with John Howard, but with 
 Mr. Farlow. 
 
 She stood for a few moments in the middle of the room, and 
 then, as if a new idea had suddenly struck her, she advanced 
 with extended hand, greeting and welcoming him most cor- 
 dially. She was both surprised and delighted, as she repeat- 
 edly told him, to find that her old friend John Howard should 
 also prove to be her new friend Mr. Farlow. She asked him
 
 44 CLARA KINGSLEY'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 a multitude of questions, and talked incessantly of his travels 
 and successes. 
 
 Alice was completely cast aside ; her sister Clara was kind 
 enough to relieve her of the necessity of entertaining John 
 further. When he had ended his visit, Clara pressed him to 
 call again at an early day, saying that they must renew their 
 old friendship. She discovered, however, after he had 
 repeated his visits a few times, that they were intended 
 more for Alice than for herself. For a time this discovery 
 only served to make her more gracious and condescending 
 towards him ; but, seeing that John remained perfectly 
 indifferent to her, she became enraged against her sister, and, 
 full of envy and jealousy, accused her of being a base 
 intriguer. 
 
 John Howard had become sole heir to his uncle's property 
 upon the latter's death. John had always been known as 
 his uncle's adopted son ; and soon after his arrival in Califor- 
 nia assumed his uncle's name, Farlow. He had never 
 thought of giving any other ; and, observing that Clara did 
 not recognize him when introduced, he decided to let his 
 identity remain a secret. He had been in Clara's company a 
 great deal, and had many opportunities of observing her : she 
 was the same Clara he had known as a child ; the same 
 severe, handsome face, with its cold, haughty eyes and 
 scornful, bitter mouth ; he did not like her, and past memo- 
 ries did not modif}' his aversion. 
 
 John had never met Alice in society ; and, longing to 
 behold once more the sweet girlish face and tender blue 
 eyes which all his dreams had pictured, he had recourse to a 
 little subterfuge, by which he might prove their sincerity : 
 he wrote, telling them that, in virtue of their old friendship, 
 he would take the liberty of calling upon them. We have 
 seen the result. 
 
 Alice and John Howard were married ; and Clara, foiled in
 
 CLARA KINGSLEY'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 46 
 
 all her efforts to ingratiate herself into the favor of Mr. "Wal- 
 ton, of whose marriage with her rival she subsequently heard, 
 dwells with her mother in the stately mansion of the late 
 Judge Kingsley. She has not forgiven Alice, and continues 
 to look upon her as a contemptible little schemer, whose 
 prize is a stolen one. Alice, however, in spite of her sister's 
 opinion, is living happily in the peace and contentment of a 
 loving heart.
 
 DB. PHILLY'S VISITOB. 
 
 DR. PHILLTS VISITOR. 
 
 IT was a dull, heavy evening ; the air was oppressive, the 
 sky threatening, and the streets dirty and muddy from the 
 day's travelling. Dr. Philly, a distinguished physician in 
 the west end of London, had had a very bus}' day. Ho had just 
 returned from what he hoped would be his last call for the 
 night, and was comfortably seated in his well-furnished office, 
 enjoying the luxury of a cigar, and indulging, as was his 
 wont, in the various reflections which the incidents of the day 
 produced. 
 
 While he was thus occupied, a page entered, bearing a 
 card upon which was written the name of Lady Sampson 
 Sprague. Now, the doctor had never seen Lady Sprague, 
 though well acquainted with her husband : but he had heard 
 of her to such an extent as to be exceedingly anxious to have 
 the pleasure of conversing with her ; therefore he told the 
 page to admit her immediately. 
 
 The page, complying with his master's orders, opened the 
 door soon after, and a beautiful woman, richly attired, 
 presented herself before the doctor, who instantly rose to 
 receive her. He placed a chair for her directly in front 
 of himself, that he might satisfy his curiosity in regard to her 
 beaut}*, which had been admitted generally to be of the 
 highest t}*pe. The doctor improved his opportunity well ; 
 for he gazed on his visitor long and earnestly, and, seem- 
 ingly unconscious, agreed within himself that she was indeed 
 a royal beauty. His idea formed at that time of her beauty
 
 PR. PHILLY'S VISITOR. 47 
 
 was of a tall, dignified woman, with a royal bearing, grace- 
 fill carriage, and firm, impressive voice ; nothing soft or 
 sweet about it, and yet a magic in it which was indicative of 
 a commanding self-control, united to a wonderful power 
 of emphasis that asserted itself in every word she uttered. 
 
 Her features were strong and regular. Radiant black 
 eyes, shaded by long, heavy lashes, danced and sparkled 
 beneath a pair of narrow, delicately arched brows, which she 
 knitted often into a frown, or elevated in surprise, during 
 their conversation ; her mouth and chin, like her voice, were 
 firm and determined, and showed plainly that energy and 
 decision were predominant characteristics of their possessor ; 
 the nose was straight and handsome, and, like all the 
 features, bore the stamp of an extraordinary strength of char- 
 acter ; the black, gloss}* hair was coiled loosely around her 
 magnificent head ; her forehead was the index to the wonder- 
 ful talents and powerful mind which Lady Sprague was 
 known to possess. 
 
 After inquiries concerning Sir Sampson's health, the an- 
 swers to which fully satisfied the doctor that his attendance 
 in that direction was not needed, Lad}' Sprague made known 
 the object of her visit. She began by saying, 
 
 "Dr. Philly, I have not until now had the pleasure of 
 knowing yon personally ; I have often heard Sir Sampson 
 speak of 3*ou as an old college chum, and as standing very 
 high in your profession." 
 
 The doctor bowed very gravely, not a little flattered by Sir 
 Sampson's opinion. 
 
 " I have called upon 3*011," she proceeded, " by his advice. 
 Perhaps 3*011 have heard of a 3*oung nephew of ours, to whom 
 Sir Sampson has become guardian ? " 
 
 Upon the doctor's replying that he had heard of him, her 
 Iad3*ship said, 
 
 " Well, Dr. PhiUy, it is concerning this nephew that I have 
 come to see you. He is very eccentric ; and the customs and
 
 48 DR. PHILLY'S VISITOR. 
 
 climate of India, where he has been since a child, have noi 
 helped his character any ; his is a very weak one, and the 
 thought of pain or suffering is more than he can bear ; his 
 health, we are very much afraid, is declining, and j*et all oar 
 efforts will not induce him to see a physician, he holds them 
 in such an abhorrence. So, all our efforts failing, Sir Samp- 
 son and myself have agreed upon a plan which, with your 
 kind co-operation, we expect and hope will succeed ; this is it : 
 We are stopping at the Brunswick Hotel, my nephew, 
 whose name is Charles Melville, and myself; Sir Sampson 
 will join us to-morrow at two o'clock ; if you will promise to 
 meet us at the same hour, I am sure we will succeed in the 
 scheme." 
 
 The doctor readily complying with her request, she un- 
 folded the plot. 
 
 ' ' Hearing that we are in the city, you will call upon us as 
 a visitor. I shall receive you alone ; after you have been in 
 ft short time, I will leave you to send my nephew to 3*ou ; you 
 must keep him in conversation, about anything but the object 
 for which you have come, until the arrival of Sir Sampson, 
 who will then give you instructions upon how you are to pro- 
 ceed. You are a clever doctor, and Sir Sampson has the 
 most implicit confidence in you. As for myself, I can only 
 depend upon the reports I have heard of your skill and talents 
 as a physician ; and, those being of the most flattering de- 
 scription, I place my nephew wholly under your care, certain 
 that you will exert yourself to the utmost in his behalf. 
 Once you have gained upon him, his prejudice is easily over- 
 come, and he will be very tractable in your hands." 
 
 After this tribute to the doctor's talents, Lady Sprague re- 
 quested him to state his price, and she would give it to him 
 then ; but the doctor politely declined accepting it until he 
 ascertained the condition of the young man, and to what ex- 
 tent his attendance would be required. 
 
 Lady Sprague rising to depart, the doctor accompanied
 
 DR. PHILIPS VISITOR. 49 
 
 her to her carriage, assisted her in, and then betook himself 
 to meditating on his strange visitor and her incomparable 
 beauty. 
 
 The next morning Lady Sprague was rolling in her luxuri- 
 ous carriage through the streets of London. Stopping before 
 a jeweller's large establishment, she alighted, gave the coach- 
 man instructions to wait for her, and entered the store. She 
 waited until a particular clerk was at leisure to attend to her, 
 then requested him to show her a set of diamonds ; she ex- 
 amined a number of them without being satisfied ; at length, 
 after the clerk had shown her every set in the store, she 
 selected the most expensive set, and ordered it to be sent to 
 the Brunswick Hotel, where Sir Sampson Sprague would pay 
 the bill. She further requested that no other clerk than the 
 one to whom she addressed herself would deliver them, and 
 said that he must be there precisely at two o'clock, or lose 
 the opportunity of seeing Sir Sampson. 
 
 The proprietor promised that her orders would be strictly 
 obeyed ; and, in respect to her ladyship, he accompanied her 
 to the carriage, and with the greatest ceremony assisted her 
 in, waiting at the door to see her driven off, mentally calcu- 
 lating the immense progress of his business if a few more 
 customers of her station would favor him with a visit. Lady 
 Sprague, in the mean time, was reclining indolently in her car- 
 riage, viewing with a complacent air all who, attracted by the 
 brilliancy of the equipage, raised their eyes in admiration to 
 its occupant, and took a long earnest gaze at her handsome 
 face. 
 
 It wanted ten minutes of two by Dr. Philly's watch ; at a 
 brisk walk, he would easily reach the Brunswick Hotel in 
 about seven minutes. Leaving word that he would probably 
 return in an hour and a half, he started on his journey. The 
 hotel clock was striking two as he ascended the wide stair- 
 case leading to Lady Sprague's apartments. Upon being 
 announced, Lady Sprague received him courteously, and for
 
 50 DR. PHILLT*S VISITOR. 
 
 the space of a quarter of an hour, interested him with her 
 vivacious talk and ready wit ; at the end of that time ^he 
 arose, saying, with a smile, that she would send her nephew 
 to him, and that she would be very anxious to know the re- 
 sult of his visit. 
 
 She immediately left the doctor, and, entering the same 
 room she had quitted when the doctor was announced, spoke 
 to the pale, delicate-looking clerk, who held in his hands the 
 diamonds she had purchased the day before. 
 
 " You will find Sir Sampson Sprague in the third room on 
 the right of the passage ; he is waiting to pay you," said she 
 to him, taking the box from him. 
 
 The young man went to Sir Sampson, and, as he supposed, 
 found him as she had stated. The doctor began at once a 
 friendly conversation, addressing the young man as Mr. Mel- 
 ville, which was really his name. 
 
 It was three o'clock, and Dr. Philly had seen nothing of 
 Sir Sampson ; nor did his lady come to excuse his absence. 
 He was growing restless, and so was Mr. Melville, who had 
 work to do. The doctor at last, almost goaded to despera- 
 tion, after waiting twenty minutes longer, asked Mr. Melville 
 if he thought Sir Sampson was ever coming. The young 
 man stared at htm, and asked him as abruptly if he was not 
 Sir Sampson himself. 
 
 " Sir Sampson!" exclaimed the doctor, "and you his 
 nephew." 
 
 It began to dawn upon the young clerk's mind that he had 
 been tricked ; and, relating what had taken place, the doctor 
 was soon of the same opinion, and was further impressed with 
 the belief that he was the principal dupe in the deception. A 
 search was made ; but her ladyship had departed, with the 
 diamonds, and no tidings of her could they obtain. She left 
 her bill at the hotel unpaid, and several of the large places 
 of business had suffered from her. 
 
 When the case was given into the hands of detectives, it
 
 DR. PHTLLY'S VISITOK. 51 
 
 was then learned that she was not the real Lady Sprague. It 
 was a mystery how she had learned of the friendship existing 
 between Sir Sampson and Dr. Philly, or how she had found 
 out the young clerk's name. It was further ascertained that 
 she had frequently, in different cities, played the same trick, 
 and had always escaped detection. She defied the efforts of 
 the police, as effectually in this case as in others. She eluded 
 their grasp, notwithstanding all their precautions, and escaped 
 to America, where she married a United States Senator, and 
 moved in the highest circles in Washington. No one ever 
 knew her past history ; she was universally admired and 
 respected, and she loved her husband with all a woman's 
 devotion ; she preceded him to the grave, but, before that 
 event, told him of her life in England. 
 
 Her father was a Spaniard. From him she inherited her 
 dark, massive beauty, for which she was remarkable. Her 
 mother was an English lady of rank and wealth ; she was the 
 reigning belle at the time of her father's appearance in Eng- 
 land. The Spanish adventurer for so her father was after- 
 wards termed in London was determined to capture the 
 English beauty, not for herself, but for her money. He laid 
 himself out well for his plan, and succeeded even better than 
 he had expected. Lady Agnes Clyde's parents looked with 
 favor upon the Spanish gentleman, and seemed as blind to 
 his faults as their daughter was. 
 
 They were married, and after a short tour went to reside at 
 Naples. Here the wife was forced to supply her husband 
 with all the money he required ; he squandered her fortune, 
 and left her a broken-hearted, helpless woman, with a babe a 
 year old. Pride sealed her lips, and her English friends 
 never knew her sufferings. She worked and toiled from day 
 to day, struggling through poverty, shame, and despair, till 
 disease came upon her, and the mother love, strong within 
 her, compelled her, for the sake of her child, to make known 
 her circumstances.
 
 52 DR. PHILLY'S VISITOR. 
 
 The letter brought her father to her bedside. He longed 
 to take her home with him ; but she was sinking fast, and 
 he feared she never would reach England alive. He re- 
 mained with her until she had been laid beneath the ground, 
 when he turned his face towards his home, bringing his little 
 granddaughter, five years old, with him. 
 
 She was educated, like her mother, in all the branches of a 
 lady's education. She lived with her grandparents till she 
 was sixteen years old. One day she received a note, signed 
 by her father, asking her to meet him in a house which she 
 was accustomed to visit ; she was a fearless girl, and had a 
 great deal of her father's love of adventure ; she met him, and 
 he proved his identity beyond a doubt ; the consequence of 
 their interview was that she left England with him that night ; 
 she travelled with him through the various countries ; his 
 treatment of her was very different from that which her 
 mother had received. She had all she could desire, was flat- 
 tered, admired, sought after ; and the rambling kind of life 
 they led suited her well. 
 
 But the same hand that was laid heavily upon her young 
 mother fell, too, upon her father. Wild, daring, and reck- 
 less as she was, she showed, however, during her father's ill- 
 ness, the self-sacrifice and patience that must surely have 
 been her poor, dead mother's gift to her. She tended him 
 constantly, and, even when she heard from his own lips that 
 he had deceived her, as he had her mother, she did not for- 
 sake him : she did not even reproach him, but bore her burden 
 well, if not nobly. 
 
 When her father died, and she was alone in the world, she 
 began the practice of personating people, and duping the 
 public, as we have above related. 
 
 She did not dare to return to England until she was certain 
 of her grandparents' death, when she began her practice there, 
 which ended with Dr. Philly. 
 
 She said that her motive for acting in this manner was to
 
 DR. PHILIPS VISITOB. 53 
 
 gratify her passion for display ; she worked honestly to sup- 
 port herself, but found herself unable to dress according to her 
 desire, and so obtained it by fraud. She said that whatever she 
 wished for, if it was a possible thing, she procured it by some 
 dishonest means ; she supposed that her father's disposition 
 was stronger in her than her mother's, and so, notwithstand- 
 ing her education and the care lavished upon her by her 
 grandparents, she leaned towards the grosser qualities of her 
 nature, and thus became unworthy of the name of woman. 
 
 She repented earnestly upon her death-bed, and her hus- 
 band sincerely cherished her memory.
 
 54 CHARLES KENT'S FIRST IMTOESSION. 
 
 CHARLES KENT'S FIRST IMPRESSION. 
 
 A LADY and gentleman are walking through the long rows 
 of children, arranged on cither side of the yard of St. Joseph's 
 Home. They are placed there by the lady's request ; she is 
 going to adopt one of the little girls ; and the fortunate one 
 is promised a luxurious home, the advantages of an excellent 
 education, and, better than all, the love and care of one who 
 says she will be a mother to her in every respect. The lady's 
 face, voice, and manner indicate that she really and con- 
 scientiously means to do all that she has promised. The 
 poor, forlorn little wanderers, who have found a haven here, 
 look from one to the other, and then at the lady and gentle- 
 man, who are examining them minutely, and giving their 
 opinions as they walk among them. The choice seems to 
 entirely depend upon the lady, who does not seem satisfied 
 with her scrutiny, and refers to the gentleman's opinion, 
 whether they had better call upon the Home for Little "Wan- 
 derers, and see if they will meet with better success. 
 
 He, in answer, calls her attention to a diminutive figure at 
 the head of the line ; and they both proceed to examine it. 
 
 " What is your name, little one?" the gentleman asks, 
 placing his hand gently upon her head. " Bertha Clafland" 
 is the reply, in a sweet, childish voice. 
 
 Bertha Clafland is looked at closely ; the gentleman and 
 lady hold a consultation ; and at last the matron is asked a 
 few questions, which are answered in such a satisfactory man- 
 ner that Bertha is arrayed in her gingham sun-bonnet, and,
 
 CHARLES KENT'S FIRST IMPRESSION. 55 
 
 under the escort of the lady and gentleman, is placed in a 
 carriage, and driven away. 
 
 " A strange child," the matron had called her; "quiet, 
 thoughtful, and very intelligent." It was character enough 
 for Bertha ; and, " strange child" as she was, she knew what 
 it all meant, and was wondering what kind of a home her 
 new one would be, and if she would love the great, tall gen- 
 tleman opposite her in the carriage, and the kind-looking lady 
 with the sweet voice and large bright ej-es, that always filled 
 with tears when she looked at her. 
 
 Their destination seemed to be a long way off ; for it was 
 growing dark, and they were still whirling along through the 
 streets. The lady told her that she was going to be her little 
 girl now, and that the gentleman was going to be her father ; 
 her name was to be Gertie Sexton ; she was to be a good 
 little girl, and they would love her very much and be very 
 kind to her. 
 
 Bertha, or, as we must call her hereafter, Gertie, agreed in 
 her childish way to all they said ; answering, with a look of 
 confidence and a smile of gladness, that she would try to 
 please them in every thing. .Gertie was now about eight 
 years old. She remembered her mother well, remembered 
 her so well that all that future years would bring to her, all 
 the changes that would happen to her in her new life, and all 
 the affection and love that new friends would lavish upon her, 
 would never obliterate from her mind the memory of her dear, 
 dead mother's love and devotion in the midst of privation and 
 suffering. 
 
 Miss Curtis had married the stalwart, strong John Claf- 
 land. She was a dress-maker, pretty and delicate. He was 
 a carpenter, and was termed the handsomest man in the vil- 
 lage. Well, they were married, and were blessed with two 
 children, Benjamin Curtis, and our little Bertha. They 
 were happy and contented, though little trifles sometimes 
 vexed them, as they often do the struggling poor ; but thej'
 
 56 CHARLES KENT'S FIRST IMPRESSIOW. 
 
 were easily overcome by the brave, courageous spirit of the 
 husband, and the sweet, helpful disposition of the wife. 
 
 One morning John Clafland kissed his wife and babies 
 good-b}*, and went out cheerfully to work. That was the last 
 kiss they ever received from him ; it was his farewell kiss, 
 although he nor they knew it not. The wife never saw him 
 after, until he was brought to her door, bruised, shattered, and 
 dead. He had fallen from a high building on which he was 
 at work, and his fellow- workmen had picked him up a corpse. 
 
 The story was a brief one ; but for her, poor woman ! it 
 contained a weary, lonely, sorrow-laden life of struggle, 
 misery, and despair. The mother bore up under her burden 
 for about two years, when sorrow had completed its work, 
 and she was laid beside her husband. The two children were 
 sent to the Orphan Asylum. Benjamin had been taken from 
 there, a few months before Bertha, by one of the professors of 
 a college, who said he had a fine, intellectual head, and would 
 advance rapidly if he had opportunities. He was ten years 
 old, a healthy, handsome boy, very much like his father. So 
 he and Bertha were parted, and the matron had said that the 
 little girl had grown quieter and more melancholy after her 
 brother's departure. 
 
 \Ve will return now to the occupants of the carriage. 
 After a great many windings through long, narrow streets, 
 the carriage came into the open country road, and wheeled 
 along, leaving fences, fields, and farms far behind it, until at 
 last it drew up before a large, handsome house. The 
 grounds were covered with the most beautiful flowers Bertha 
 had ever seen. Before she had time to give way to her 
 surprise, however, the gentleman, taking her lightly in his 
 arms, lifted her up the wide steps leading to the house ; the 
 door was opened by a servant; and Bertha, holding her 
 father's hand, entered her future home. They proceeded to 
 the drawing-room, where a youth of about eighteen 
 was seated at a piano, thrumming it most furiously. He
 
 CHARLES KENT'S FIRST IMPRESSION. 57 
 
 turned around upon their entrance, and faced them. He 
 had laughing brown eyes, and a saucy, mischievous face. 
 
 "Our little girl, Charles," said Mr. Sexton; "Miss 
 Gertie Sexton," he continued. 
 
 ' ' Charles " bowed most obsequiously, shook hands with her, 
 and called her " Sis," greatly to Gertie's discomflture ; who, 
 to his infinite amusement, informed him several times during 
 ths evening that her name was Gertie. Charles, however, 
 insisted on calling her " Sis ; " and Gertie, in wonderment at 
 his poor memory, acknowledged the appellation. 
 
 Charles Kent, like Gertie, had been left an orphan at 
 an early age ; but, unlike Gertie, his parents left him an 
 immense fortune. His mother and Mrs. Sexton were 
 cousins ; and, upon the death of the former, Mrs. Sexton 
 had brought Charles, then a boy of seven years, home with 
 her. He was at present home for the vacation, which had 
 commenced at the college he attended some weeks before. 
 He did not at all admire the little one whom his cousin, or 
 his aunt, as he called her, had adopted ; and was much 
 disappointed in his aunt's judgment, as ha termed it. 
 
 The little girl before him had small, delicate features ; 
 but they possessed neither beauty nor regularity. The eyes 
 were dark and brilliant ; but they were much too large for 
 the small face, which was covered with large freckles, that 
 produced upon the beholder anything but a pleasing effect. 
 Gertie watched him curiously during the evening ; seeming to 
 know that he did not like her ; and, being a proud-spirited 
 little thing, kept herself out of his way : because, too, 
 sometimes, in his boy fashion, he would tell her that she was 
 not pretty ; and, delighting in the air of defiance that she 
 would assume at such times, would tell her, further, that she 
 never would be pretty. So Gertie, in her small way, began 
 to hate Charles Kent ; and, when the time came for him 
 to return to college, she ran into the barn and hid, so that she 
 would not say good-by when he was going. 
 a?
 
 58 CHAKLES KENT'S FIRST IMPRESSION. 
 
 After Charles's departure, Gertie was at peace. She 
 roamed tho fields all day, plucked flowers from tho garden, 
 aud had a multitude of toys of every description to play 
 with ; oho went out driving with Mr. and Mrs. Sexton, went 
 with her mother when she called upon her neighbors, and was 
 loved and petted by all in the house. Gertie had come to 
 her new home in the month of July ; and all the time till 
 Christmas they had been buying and making her the most 
 beautiful dresses and bonnets. At the beginning of the New 
 Year, Gertie was sent to a neighboring school, where she 
 remained until her twelfth year. During these } - ears she 
 had seen Charles Kent frequently ; for he often came home, 
 on various pretexts, remaining a few days, and then hurrying 
 back to make up for lost time. 
 
 He and Gertie were on no friendlier terms after these 
 visits than before. He had noticed a remarkable change in 
 her appearance. During onc> of these visits he told her that 
 he revoked his former opinion of her, and said that she 
 certainly would be pretty, as her growing indicated. This 
 opinion, flattering as it was, was no more favorably received 
 than his former one had been. Gertie, in a saucy way, 
 informed him that his opinion was nothing to her whatever, 
 and that, any way, it was not worth much to any one. 
 
 When Gertie was thirteen years old, she was placed at 
 a boarding-school ; where she studied diligently, and at the 
 end of five years graduated, a well-educated, accomplished, 
 handsome .young lady. During these five years she had never 
 seen Charles Kent ; for he had been abroad since the year 
 after she left home, and had not yet returned. 
 
 The end of Gertie's school-days had come. Clarine Law- 
 rence, her bosom friend, begged her to spend a few weeks 
 of the summer with her ; she had written home for permis- 
 sion ; and, it being granted, the two girls were delighted 
 when they found themselves under tho care of Mr. Lawrence, 
 who had come to take them to his summer residence at
 
 CHAKLES KENT'S FIRST IMPKESSION. 59 
 
 Nantucket. While there, Mr. Lawrence's clerk called one 
 evening upon business. Clarine and Gertie were walking 
 through the garden when ho passed theia and entered the 
 house. Something in his appearance struck Gertie, and the 
 face seemed strangely familiar. While she was wondering 
 where she could have met the j'oung man, whose face she was 
 positive she had seen before, they were joined by four or Qve 
 of Mr. Lawrence's guests, on their way to the croquet 
 ground, and the game completely chased all thoughts of the 
 young man from her mind. 
 
 A few weeks after, Mr. Lawrence told Clarine that he had 
 taken his clerk, James Wentworth, into partnership, and 
 that he would bring him home to dinner next day. Gertie 
 was the next one to hear the news about the new partner ; 
 and she and Clarine decided to receive him first, and then 
 introduce him to the others. 
 
 The next day brought Mr. Lawrence home earlier than 
 usual. He was accompanied by the new partner, a tall, 
 finely proportioned young man, with a strongly -marked, 
 handsome, intelligent face ; he did not appear to be more 
 than twenty years old. Mr. Lawrence presented him to the 
 two young ladies. He was sociable, self-possessed, and evi- 
 dently enjoyed their company very much. 
 
 At dinner he made himself so agreeable that all the guests 
 were delighted with him ; and some among them predicted a 
 brilliant future for him. He had received and accepted a 
 multitude of invitations to picnics and excursion parties. 
 
 He came frequently to the house after his first introduc- 
 tion there, and was always a welcome visitor. He kept very 
 secret about his family, and never spoke about his past life. 
 Whenever the subject was touched upon he seemed to be very 
 impatient until it was changed. Clarine Lawrence favored 
 him ; and it could easily be seen that she was falling in love 
 with him more and more every day. He, however, seemed 
 to enjoy Gertie's company more than Clarine's, although he
 
 60 CHARLES KENT'S FIRST IMPRESSIOW. 
 
 strove to keep his feelings in subjection, that he might give 
 no offence to any person. 
 
 Again and again Gertie Sexton endeavored to remember 
 where and under what circumstances she had seen James 
 "Wentworth before. The name she had never heard until she 
 was introduced to him ; but the face, that alone seemed 
 veiy familiar to her. It seemed to be associated with 
 something she had lost and had not yet recovered. 
 
 Gertrude Sexton had been, since her adoption, a gay and 
 merry child. She had grown, with her kind, indulgent 
 parents' aid and refined surroundings, a sweet-tempered, 
 light-hearted girl, that no one thought bore underneath her 
 happy exterior a heart that pined for something more, 
 something beyond what she possessed, something her present 
 life could never bestow, infinitely dearer, brighter, and 
 purer than any joy she had ever known. 
 
 The one effort of Gertrude's life, she determined, would 
 be a return of gratitude and love for the kind, liberal manner 
 in which her benefactors had treated her; she would be 
 grateful to them in every look, word, and action ; with this 
 determination she parted from Clarine Lawrence, and returned 
 to her own dear home. 
 
 A year rolled swiftly by, a year which was full of happi- 
 ness for Gertrude. She had received frequent visits from 
 James Wentworth ; their friendship ripened into affection ; 
 and now they were soon to receive their crowning joy, to be 
 all and all to each other, husband and wife. One morning 
 Gertrude was seated at the window sewing ; she was thinking 
 of many things, pleasant and unpleasant ; the subject upper- 
 most in her mind was the one upon which, in spite of her 
 happiness, she could not think upon without a shade of sorrow 
 ov; rspreading her countenance, her approaching nuptials. 
 She \vas interrupted in her musing by her father, who was 
 reading the letters which the morning mail had brought.
 
 CHARLES KENT'S FIRST IMPRESSION. SI 
 
 " Gertrude," said he, "we will have a visitor next month ; 
 some one whom } r ou have not seen for some time." 
 
 Gertrude looked up from her work without replying. 
 
 " Charles Kent is coming home," her father continued. 
 " Here is his letter ; read it." 
 
 The letter, which Gertrude took from her father's hand, 
 was dated September, and came from Paris. In it the writer 
 stated that he was tired of roving, and would be very 
 glad when he would be safe at home. He gave quite a 
 lengthy description of his travels, and the various sights he 
 had seen, and closed with a description of the quiet and rest 
 he was going to enjoy at home, where he always found 
 his dearest and truest friends. The letter bore no reference 
 to Gertrude : it was of no interest to her what the writer 
 intended to do ; and yet there was a blush upon her cheeks, 
 a brightness in her eyes, and a painful throb at her heart, 
 as she returned the letter to her father, saying, 
 
 ' ' Mother will be so pleased when she hears it ! she has 
 spoken of Charles so often lately, always expressing the wish 
 that he would soon return home." 
 
 Mrs. Sexton began to prepare for Charles's coming the 
 following week. Charles Kent was Mrs. Sexton's only living 
 relative ; and she was very fond of him, partly because it 
 was easy to grow to love him, and partly because he showed 
 himself grateful for her kindness to him, and always consulted 
 her pleasure before his own ; but she loved him principally 
 for his mother's sake. Mrs. Sexton had promised her cousin, 
 upon her dying bed, that she would be kind to Charles ; and 
 she had been faithful to the promise. Gertrude assisted her 
 mother in her preparations, and unselfishly put her own 
 feelings out of sight, in her endeavors to please her mother. 
 But every day that brought his approach nearer brought 
 happiness to the one and anguish to the other ; the mention 
 of his name sent a thrill of gladness through Mrs. Sexton's 
 heart, but filled Gertie's with a pain that none could guess.
 
 62 CHARLES KENT'S FIKST IMPKESSION. 
 
 How could she, proud and sensitive as she was, bear his 
 taunts and jests as she did when a child ? how could she bear 
 to have him use her birth and position in his aunt's house as 
 a sneer against any privilege she might assume before him. 
 These thoughts annoyed her ; for if the boy had grown up to 
 manhood with the tendencies she had known him to display, 
 then, indeed, her life henceforth under the same roof with 
 him would be unendurable. The bitterness of her heart was 
 somewhat lessened by the thought that she would not be long 
 under his taunts, only a few months at the most ; then 
 James "Wentworth would claim her as his bride. 
 
 It was the day that Charles Kent was expected to arrive ; 
 the dinner had been put back an hour, and Mr. Sexton had 
 gone to meet his nephew. Gertrude was arranging some 
 flowers in Charles's old room, when she heard the sound 
 of carriage wheels ; she descended quickly to the parlor, 
 where her mother was eagerly waiting for her nephew's 
 arrival. The carriage drove up to the door, and the two men 
 alighted. Gertrude saw a tall, manly -looking fellow clasp 
 her mother in his arms, almost smothering her with kisses. 
 Without waiting for an introduction, although it had been years 
 since they met, Gertrude stepped forward, offering her hand ; 
 welcoming him home in a few short words. He took her 
 hand, thanking her in a full, deep voice, and looked earnestly 
 into the dark, wistful eyes raised to his. Whatever he 
 might be, the manly, noble face, with its bright, candid eyes 
 and laughing mouth, spoke loudly in favor of their possessor. 
 
 Gertrude found, much to her relief, that she would have no 
 cause for complaint upon the subject which had given her so 
 much annoyance. The boy had grown up true to every 
 instinct of delicacy in his nature, true to ever}* noble prin- 
 ciple of life, and earnest and straightforward in his dealings 
 with all. 
 
 One morning he stood at his open window, looking out 
 upon the beautiful prospect before him. It was a lovely
 
 CHAKLES KENT'S FIKST IMPRESSION. 63 
 
 scene, and, as he gazed upon it, he thought of the skies of 
 Italy he had so lately seen ; while thinking, a shade of sad- 
 ness clouded his face for a moment, and his eyes rested 
 upon an object in a distant corner of the garden. Gertrude 
 was out there, watering her plants. She was not the homely, 
 little orphan in his eyes any longer ; she was a charming, 
 beautiful girl, and he was already in love with her. But she 
 wore a ring upon one of her fingers that made Charles Kent 
 unhappy : he could never win her, he said to himself ; she was 
 already another's. During the day a young man called upon 
 Gertrude ; he was made very much of by Mrs. Sexton, and 
 Gertrude introduced him to Charles Kent as Mr. James 
 Wentworth. 
 
 Charles looked at him steadily a moment, and then ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " "Why Curtis, old fellow ! how are you? " 
 
 At the name of Curtis both Mrs. Sexton and Gertrude 
 started, and looked at each other. The }*oung man did not 
 notice their agitation, but continued the conversation he and 
 Charles had commenced. 
 
 Mr. Curtis, at the urgent request of Mrs. Sexton, remained 
 for dinner ; after which he and Gertrude went out to walk ; 
 he came home with her, bid Mrs. Sexton good-by, and 
 started for the city, promising to come again the next week, 
 and stay longer if possible. 
 
 During the evening Gertrude was very thoughtful ; saying 
 but little, and that in a low, quivering voice, that she tried to 
 steady in spite of the pain which caused its trembling. She 
 was very pale the next morning, as she came over to where 
 Charles was reading ; and, seating herself at a table near by, 
 asked in a quiet voice if he could tell her anything concern- 
 ing James Wentworth's history. 
 
 He noticed her agitation this time, and asked her if she 
 were ill. She replied in the negative, repeating her former 
 question. He told her : " All I know of him is, that he had
 
 64 CHARLES KENT'S FIRST IMPRESSION. 
 
 been adopted by Professor Spalding, of the college I 
 attended; he was a little boy when the professor first 
 brought him to the school ; he said his name was James 
 Curtis Spalding, which we fellows shortened, by calling him 
 Curtis ; he was a bright, intelligent lad, and learned quickly ; 
 we all liked him for his open-heartedness and generous, 
 obliging disposition. His benefactor died when he was only 
 thirteen, and he was compelled to work around the college 
 for his board and education. We made it easy for him; 
 because we all liked him. This was the manner in which he 
 received the education that enables him to fill the position he 
 now occupies. When he left the college, I suppose he 
 changed his name to prevent his origin being known. Cur- 
 tis is a good, honest, manly fellow," was Charles's con- 
 cluding remark. But Gertrude did not heed it: she had 
 risen from her seat with a mingled sense of pain and pleasure, 
 and left the room. 
 
 Reaching her own room, Gertrude wrote a hasty note to 
 James, telling him to come immediately to her. 
 
 The afternoon train of the next day brought him. She 
 was in the garden when he came up to her. Mrs. Sexton 
 sent him there, and, finding Gertrude, he inquired the cause 
 of her strange, hurried note. She told him that she had 
 every reason to believe that he was her brother ; giving him 
 the details she had learned from Charles Kent, together with 
 an account of her own adoption. He had always supposed 
 that she was the real daughter of Mrs. Sexton. He had 
 sought for his sister, knowing he had one. He had gone to 
 the asylum, where they were both placed after their parents' 
 death ; but the matron had died, and the books were badly 
 kept some adoptions being inserted, and others not, con- 
 sequently he could get no account of her. He was even at 
 that time searching for her, learning that a little girl had been 
 taken from the asylum some ten years ago, by a Mrs. Stetson 
 of New York ; but there, too, he had failed in his search ; an
 
 CHARLES KEXT'S FIRST IMPRESSION. 65 
 
 old man who had worked at the asylum, and whom he had 
 hunted up, gave him this piece of information. His memory 
 failing, probably he had got the name of Stetson, instead of 
 Sexton. 
 
 Thus the brother and sister met, after years of separation, 
 and what Gertrude had prayed for long and earnestly was 
 granted to her, a brother's love and protection. 
 
 Charles Kent was slowly recovering from a severe attack 
 of pleurisy. He had been dangerously sick the whole win- 
 ter ; his life had been despaired of : but with great care he 
 had battled through it ; and now he would get better, the 
 physician told him. Oh the long weeks of sickness, when 
 he lay quietly unheedful of what might happen to him ! oh 
 the still longer weeks, when he lay conscious of his own 
 inability to help himself, and had to wait until kind hands 
 ministered to him ! 
 
 In his moments of delirium the quiet, gentle voice of 
 Gertrude haunted him ; her dark eyes beamed upon him in 
 his uneasy dreams ; and her dear presence was ever with him 
 in his wildest, as well as calmest, moments. He was better 
 now, and Gertrude's presence was really with him. 
 
 He had something to ask her this morning, and he was 
 anxious to have it over. Gertrude had been very kind to 
 him during his illness, so his aunt had told him ; and, if he 
 loved her before, his love had increased tenfold during his 
 sickness. 
 
 The answer to his all-important question was very satis- 
 factory to him : he and Bertha Clafland, who had so much 
 dreaded his coming home, found that they loved each other 
 tenderly and passionately, and so, in the flush of the early 
 spring-time, and in the calm and quiet of evening, they 
 promised to be faithful to each other till death. Somewhat 
 later in the }*ear, Benjamin Curtis Clafland and Clarine 
 Lawrence made the same pi'omise to each other.
 
 66 
 
 Bertha and Charles remained with Mr. and Airs. Sexton ; 
 Mrs. Sexton had begged them not to leave her now ; and, 
 through the love and gratitude they both owed their kind 
 benefactors, they lived with them, and were always kind, 
 grateful, and generous towards them.
 
 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 EGLESTON HALL was crowded ; people were going in and 
 out in a perpetual stream all day ; crowds were at the doors, 
 waiting for admission, long before they were opened. The 
 cause of this unusual gathering was announced by large 
 placards upon the walls outside of the building. Read- 
 ing it, we learn that Mr. Mosure, the distinguished artist, 
 whose extraordinary genius has been acknowledged through- 
 out America, has hired Egleston Hah 1 , where his works will 
 be on exhibition for one week ; so that every one may have 
 an opportunity of seeing and judging the merits of the 
 numerous paintings and statues there displayed. 
 
 Among the crowd which has entered the hall is a young 
 lady, apparently about twenty two or three years old ; she 
 has a quiet, thoughtful face, with an habitual expression of 
 sadness overshadowing it. It was a small, pale, delicate 
 face, with tender, expressive eyes, and a very firm, decided, 
 little chin. She was unattended, and walked from picture to 
 picture without recognizing any one in the crowd. She had 
 finished one side of the long hall, and was turning to cross 
 to the other, when a look of surprise and pain passed quickly 
 over her countenance ; completely unnerved, she stood for an 
 instant perfectly motionless, then hurried to a door in the 
 real- of the hall, and ran hastily down the stairs. Emerging 
 into the street, she drew her veil over her face, and walked 
 rapidly to the next corner, where she entered a street car, 
 and was borne quickly away. The cause of her sudden
 
 68 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 departure and strange alarm seemed to have been the approach 
 of a young man, who was directing his quick, uneven steps 
 towards her. He was in the centre of the hall when she 
 turned to cross it. The recognition between them was 
 instantaneous, and did not appear to be an agreeable one 
 upon the part of the young lady, who, as soon as she could, 
 fled from the building. 
 
 The young man, who was very dark and reserved-looking, 
 started to follow her ; but was met, before he had gone many 
 steps, by an old friend seemingly, who grasped him by the 
 hand, shook it with great heartiness, and then let it go, only 
 to take his arm familiarly, and drag him through the crowd, 
 from place to place, without appearing to have any intention 
 of ever letting him go again." 
 
 The dark, secret-looking man glanced occasionally towards 
 the door through which the young lady had passed, as if he 
 fully made up his mind to break away from his companion, 
 and escape by the same means the j y oung stranger had. 
 Both men talked in a rather loud tone, and the newcomer 
 was urging his companion to do something which the other 
 seemed averse to do. 
 
 " Well, that is the only way I can help you ; if you do as 
 I say, you may obtain some valuable information. Mr. 
 Mosure is not supposed to know your profession, and there- 
 fore a few questions put to him will not elicit any surprise 
 from him. Are you agreed? " 
 
 This much was said to the dark man by his friend, who 
 now stood before one of the doors leading from the hall, 
 waiting for an answer. 
 
 His companion turned, and, looking at him steadily for a 
 few moments, said, " You promise not to betray me?" 
 
 They both passed through the door near which they were 
 standing, and entered a small room hung with paintings. A 
 man in the prime of life was seated at a table, reading. He 
 looked up from his book as they entered, with a smile of
 
 LOUD CLIFTON. 69 
 
 welcome. Advancing to meet them, he shook hands with 
 him who had first proposed entering ; he was then introduced 
 to Mr. Faulkner, our dark friend, as Mr. Mosure. 
 
 This room the artist reserved for himself; those desirous 
 of purchasing pictures, or of seeing him upon business, 
 could always find him here during his exhibitions. He placed 
 two chairs for his visitors, and, resuming his own seat, 
 said, 
 
 ''So you are home again, Tremple, for how long?" 
 
 " Oh ! for a few weeks, I suppose, when I'll be hard at it 
 again." 
 
 After a half-an-hour's talk, they rose to go. "When near 
 the door, the one addressed as Tremple stopped suddenly, 
 turned round, saying, as if he just thought of it, 
 
 "By the way, Mr. Mosure, who is the young lady I saw 
 coming out of here this morning ? " 
 
 ' The young lady," Mr. Mosure repeated with a smile, 
 ' ' your question is not a definite one ; there has been quite a 
 number of 3'oung ladies in here this morning ; so, whom you 
 mean by ' the 3~oung lady,' I am sure I do not know." 
 
 " Well, this one was not like any of the others. She left 
 here about an hour and a half ago. I have seen her here at 
 the last three or four of your exhibitions ; she is very pretty ; 
 and I thought, when she visited you so often, that you might 
 know her." 
 
 " I know the one you refer to. I think she has bought a 
 few small paintings from me, and came in this morning to 
 inquire the price of one in the hall out there. I don't know 
 her name. An old man, probably a servant, calls for the 
 pictures that she purchases, and therefore I never had occa- 
 sion to learn her address." 
 
 Mr. Fanikner's face looked darker than ever ; he had been 
 disappointed, and could not help showing it. 
 
 " I guess % you are falling in love with that pretty face," 
 rejoined Mr. Mosure. turning to Tremple.
 
 70 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 " No," he replied ; " I saw her coming in here, and I 
 thought I'd ask you if you knew her." 
 
 They parted then, and, when the}' were again on the street, 
 Faulkner said, 
 
 " I will be foiled again by that woman ; I am sure she will 
 escape me now, as she did before." 
 
 " She must be a vigilant little lady to outdo you, Faulk- 
 ner ; I am sorry that I prevented you from carrying out your 
 designs, and }*ou so near completing them. Now, that you 
 have met her once, you may again, perhaps by mere chance, 
 as 3'ou did this tune." 
 
 ' ' My chance in that way is lost ; for she will keep herself 
 out of my reach, when she knows I am on her track." 
 
 " I will communicate with you, if I see or hear any tiling of 
 her or her whereabouts ; I will endeavor to learn something 
 that will help you. and, if I succeed, you shall hear from 
 me." 
 
 " Very well ; be very secret about it, and do not mention 
 my name to any one of your friends ; for they have probably 
 heard of me, and all my plans will be useless if I am known. 
 My name in company, and when not alone with you, is to be 
 Joseph Longwood, remember ; and now good-by until }'ou 
 visit me at 32 Putnam Street. 
 
 Charles Tremple walked rapidly up the street, while his 
 friend entered a horse-car (for you must know it was Amer- 
 ica), his face moody and stern, and his bushy, overhanging 
 eyebrows contracted into a sullen, dogged frown. He was so 
 absorbed in his thoughts and they must have been dark 
 indeed, if the face is the index of the mind that he did not 
 hear the conductor call out " Putnam Street," until he had 
 repeated it for the third time, when, with a start, he jumped 
 to his feet, and left the car. 
 
 A calm, peaceful day in the mellow month of October; 
 the trees are being stripped of their beautiful robes, and the
 
 LORD CLIFTON. 71 
 
 leafless branches are bending and swaying, as if in grief over 
 their faded beauty. The leaves strew the ground, making a 
 sad, trembling music, as if in protest against the cruel feet 
 that tread them down. "Whispering leaves, that hung high 
 above our heads in the gay fulness of summer, are clustering 
 now around our very feet, whirling before us, following our 
 footsteps, and flying we know not whither. 
 
 Nowhere does Nature bestow her gifts more lavishly than 
 in the beautiful valley to which our story leads us, one of 
 the sweetest and most secluded spots upon which the sun 
 shines ; not a cloud in the clear azure of the sky ; the high 
 hills, that bound it on either side, stretch far up as if they 
 would reach the heavens ; the ground is covered with brown 
 and russet leaves, whose rustling is the only sound that can 
 be heard. On one side of this valley the hills sloped down 
 gently so that a horse could easily walk up to a certain height, 
 but must stop when there ; for there was no room to face him 
 down again, and a step further on would dash him into the 
 precipice on one side, or into the valley on the other. 
 
 Upon this side of the valley, high up on one of the hills, a 
 young man is sitting, idly gazing into the valley below. He 
 has been reading, but has thrown his book aside in apparent 
 weariness. He is a handsome man, with the listless manner 
 that betokens no occupation or business. This spot is one 
 of his favorite haunts ; for he visits it very often. While he is 
 thus musing, his attention is attracted by the sound of a 
 horse's hoofs. 
 
 The horse seems to have taken fright, and is galloping at a 
 furious speed up the hill. A young lady is clinging to the 
 saddle, and keeping herself upon his back by firmly holding 
 on to his flowing mane ; she does not appear to realize any 
 further danger than being thrown from her position. The 
 horse, with his burden, comes bounding along, and, when 
 almost at the top of the hill, his rider for the first time sees 
 her perilous position. She tries to check the horse's speed,
 
 72 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 but in vain ; however gentle he may be at other times in her 
 hands, he is beyond her control now. With a shudder she 
 sees on one side of her the j'awning precipice, and on the 
 other the steep, rocky side of the hill leading to the valley. 
 Before she has time to choose between them, her horse is sud- 
 denly caught by the bridle, and stopped with a shock that lias 
 almost thrown her from her seat. 
 
 Her deliverer, however, has not been so fortunate as to 
 escape unhurt ; the suddenness with which he grasped the 
 bridle caused him to stagger, lose his footing, and fall down 
 the rocky side of the hill. The young lady, the same one 
 whom we have seen in Egleston Hall, dismounts, and, patting 
 the horse gently, tells him to remain there until she comes 
 back ; the animal being quieted, pricks up his ears, stretches 
 his neck, and neighs in answer to her kindness. Running 
 down the hill, she sees her preserver tying almost dead ; with 
 a terrible fear upon her, she goes to the nearest cottage for 
 help ; two men at work in the field come at her solicitation, 
 and take him between them into the house. 
 
 One of the men has gone for the nearest doctor, and the 
 other for water at the neighboring spring. They bathe his 
 face, and the cooling water revives him ; he opens his eyes, 
 gazes around, and seems to recall what has happened ; he 
 smiles faintly at the }*oung lady^ who has told him how he 
 hurt himself in saving her, and he says, in reply to her ques- 
 tion, that he thinks he has met with no further injury than a 
 broken arm. 
 
 By this time the doctor arrives, examines him, and confirms 
 his own opinion about the arm. The doctor must set the 
 arm, and he cannot be removed for three hours after ; so, at 
 the young lady's request, he accepts her invitation to go 
 to her home, his own being too far off. 
 
 She starts off immediately, and soon returns in an elegant 
 carriage. She is accompanied by an old man, whom she 
 addresses as James. The injured man, and the doctor and
 
 LORD CLIFTON. 78 
 
 lady, enter it, and are driven away by James. They stop 
 before a modest, unpretentious-looking house, between which 
 and the carriage there is a great contrast. Going in, they 
 find it neatly but not extravagantly furnished. There he had 
 his arm set, and he remained during the evening, and was 
 taken home in the carriage by James, who had in the mean 
 time brought Miss Houston's pony down from the hill, where 
 lie was becoming restless at his mistress's absence. 
 
 Miss Emma Houston's deliverer was Oscar Falvey, the 
 only child of a widowed mother. His father had died only a 
 few months before the adventure above related ; he had left 
 his family in affluent circumstances ; and his son carried on 
 the father's business, or, rather, employed others to conduct 
 it for him. 
 
 James went every morning to inquire about Mr. Falvey's 
 health, until he had so far recovered that he was able to pay 
 a visit to Miss Houston herself. Although, strange to say, 
 he had not been asked to call upon the family when able to 
 do so, he ventured one morning to present himself in the 
 quiet little room, where *hey had taken him when first he was 
 brought there with his broken arm. 
 
 He did not have long to wait for her coming ; he heard a 
 light step in the hall, and the next instant Miss Houston 
 stood before him. 
 
 ' ' I am glad to see you looking so well after your veiy 
 narrow escape, Mr. Falvey ; and I am sure I have reason to 
 be very grateful that you have recovered so rapidly, since 
 I have been the cause of your mishap," she said quietly, 
 almost gravely. 
 
 "Yes, the innocent cause," Ije replied, taking her hand ; 
 " but I have come, not to hear any expressions of gratitude 
 from you, but to inquire how you have sustained the shock 
 upon your own system. That must be a pretty wild horse 
 you ride, Miss Houston, is it not?"
 
 74 LORD CLIFTON, 
 
 "No," she said, coloring slightly; " he is generally very 
 quiet. I can do almost what I please with him ; but that 
 day I turned towards the valley, and when near there he took 
 fright at something, and bounded up the hill with such speed 
 that I was obliged to hold him around the neck, or be 
 thrown off. As for the shock, I soon recovered from it ; but 
 I was greatly alarmed for your safety." 
 
 They talked for some time ; he with a constraint he had 
 never experienced before when talking to ladies, and she 
 glancing uneasily from time to time at the door, as if she 
 expected an unpleasant intrusion. 
 
 Mr. Falvey did not remain long ; he cut his visit shorter 
 than he intended, owing to the nervonsness he had noticed 
 Miss Houston display. When leaving her, she did not ask 
 him to renew his call at another time, and he parted from her 
 with the unpleasant feeling that he had intruded. 
 
 "Weeks passed, and he saw nothing of Miss Houston. He 
 met James frequently, who, when asked about his mistress, 
 replied that she was well, and here his reference to her 
 ceased ; so the questioner soon learned that to begin a 
 conversation concerning her was treading on dangerous 
 ground. 
 
 One day, returning from the city, he met her riding on the 
 same horse which had nearly cost her her life ; she bowed 
 pleasantly to him, and, when he approached, offered him her 
 hand. She was so gracious this time that he ventured to call 
 again within the ensuing week. After this he went there 
 frequently ; after each visit he returned home utterly bewil- 
 dered by the singular manners of the young beauty, who had 
 captivated him. He never saw any one during these visits 
 but Miss Houston herself and James, who alwa}"s admitted 
 him. Whether the family was larger he did not know, and 
 had no means of finding out ; for those of whom he inquired 
 said they were strangers in the neighborhood, and were very 
 reserved, never waiting to say more than a hastj* good-
 
 LORD CLIFTON. 7? 
 
 morning or good-evening. No one was ever seen to go in or 
 go out, save the old man James and his young mistress. 
 
 Notwithstanding their strange habits and peculiar mode 
 of living, Oscar Falvey continued to go there regularly ; he 
 knew, the first time Miss Houston had ever spoken to him, 
 that she was a lady well educated and refined, able to 
 converse upon almost any subject with intelligence and 
 propriety. He liked to be in her company, and was begin- 
 ning to be more at ease in her presence, though there was 
 still an undefinable reserve in her words and actions, as 
 though she was in the habit of weighing every syllable before 
 speaking. 
 
 It is a year since Oscar Falvey first saw the beautiful face 
 of Emma Houston ; he has grown to love it, and to-night 
 has told his love in all the tender words that lovers use. 
 Miss Houston raised her large, mournful eyes to his, after 
 his first appeal, and said, with a trembling voice, 
 
 " Mr. Falvey, this can never be ; we can never be any 
 more to each other than we arc at present." 
 
 He asked for her reason in refusing him ; but she answered 
 vaguely, and not in a satisfactory manner. He urged his 
 suit, saying that he required nothing from her, no secret, no 
 knowledge of her former life ; that he loved her passion- 
 ately, and would sacrfice his life for her. She turned her 
 face away at his pleading, and for some moments remained 
 silent ; turning to him she said, sadly, 
 
 ' Mr. Falvey, if you knew what you were asking, you 
 would thank me sincerely for refusing to grant your request ; 
 I cam" a burden with me that you could never share." 
 
 " I could never share it with you, Emma ! I could endure 
 anything with you at my side ; only say that you will be 
 mine, and all will be well ; you need never tell me what your 
 burden is. dear, unless you wish to see how well I can share 
 it with you."
 
 76 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 She accepted him, for she ardently loved him who had 
 risked his life for her. They were married very quietly, in 
 the same room he had first entered a year ago. 
 
 Emma Houston went with her husband to his beautiful 
 home, a few miles distant from the one she was leaving ; her 
 husband advised her to sell the house she had occupied, and 
 take James with her and the other servants, whom he knew, 
 though he had never seen them, must be in the house some- 
 where. But she refused to do so ; and he, thinking it one of 
 the peculiarities of her disposition, said no more about it. 
 So Mrs. Falve} r supported her old servants here, out of the 
 fortune she possessed as Miss Houston. 
 
 They were married about four months when Mr. Falvey's 
 mother was taken suddenly ill ; it was towards evening, and 
 Mr. Falvey, who was returning from the city, was met by a 
 messenger, who hurriedly informed him of his mother's dan- 
 ger ; he quickened his speed, and arrived just in time to hear 
 her last words ; she died soon after of heart disease. 
 
 His wife was not at home ; and when he inquired for her he 
 was told that she had gone out about two hours ago, and that 
 she did so every week on that particular day. She returned 
 home soon, and was deeply grieved upon learning what had 
 happened during her absence. After the funeral, Mr. Falvey 
 had his house remodelled, and had a great many of his 
 mother's old-fashioned notions done away with. While the 
 workmen were thus engaged, Mr. and Mrs. Falvey removed 
 to the latter's old home until their house would be fit for 
 occupation. While there, one morning, as he was leaving his 
 room at the sound of the breakfast bell, he saw the figure of 
 a man at the end of the corridor ; at the sound of his foot- 
 steps the figure, without turning his face, moved quickly 
 away ; he knew it was some one whom he had never seen be- 
 fore, and the thought suddenly presented itself to him that it 
 was in some way connected with the burden to which his wife 
 had referred upon the night of their betrothal ; and, remember-
 
 LORD CLIFTON. 77 
 
 ing his promise riot to question her concerning it, he never 
 mentioned the circumstance to her. 
 
 Emma Houston and Oscar Falvey had been married nine 
 months, nine short months to him, filled with all the joy and 
 peace of a perfect home ; how he loved, on returning home 
 after a busy day, for he had grown very attentive to busi- 
 ness since his marriage, to find a dear, gentle, little 
 presence anxiously watching for him ! to see two dark, sadty 
 wistful eyes brighten at his approach ! and to feel that a 
 strong, faithful young heart loved him with all the devotion of 
 her youthful nature. 
 
 But what have we to say of the young wife Oscar Falvey 
 so delighted in? was she happy? Well, she certainly ap- 
 peared to be happy when her husband was near; but it 
 seemed a forced pleasure ; perhaps she was sacrificing herself 
 nobly, to pretend it ; but really and truly happy she could not 
 be, or else why was she so often gloomy and melancholy when 
 he was away? Why did she so often come from her own 
 room with heavy eyes, that told of a tearful struggle? why 
 did she so often start and turn deadly pale at the sound of 
 her husband's voice ? and why did she so often leave her home 
 and remain awa} r all day, returning barely in time to meet her 
 husband in her accustomed place ? The sequel will tell us ah 1 : 
 but, for the present, we must only follow at a distance ; fully 
 satisfied that, whatever the future will disclose, Emma was 
 not happy. 
 
 So they had been married nine months, when one day, in 
 the early part of August, Oscar was walking through the city, 
 and he saw his wife on the opposite side of the street, and 
 walking very quickly. He was going in the same direction 
 himself, so he quickened his steps to keep up with her. She 
 stopped at the post-office, and, having completed her busi- 
 ness, came out with two letters in her hand, which she care- 
 fully put away in her pocket. Now, what puzzled Oscar most 
 was, that, if his wife had business in the city, even though it
 
 78 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 was unknown to him, why had she not come in the carriage, 
 or even upon her pony, which she managed so dexterously ; 
 but her motive in walking such a distance, on so oppressive a 
 day, he could not fathom. 
 
 That evening Mrs. Falvey was standing at the window, 
 watching for her husband's return ; she was unusually pale ; 
 ner face wore an expression of the greatest anxiety ; weary 
 and ill at ease, she watched and waited till she saw him in the 
 distance ; then, leaving her place, she descended to the gar- 
 den, and met him at the gate. He looked at her sternly a 
 moment, for he was beginning to suspect her ; but the sight 
 of her pale, mournful face, and the effort it cost her to meet 
 him so cheerfully, stifled his resentment ; and, stooping, he 
 kissed the upturned face, asking the cause of its weary look. 
 Her eyes drooped beneath his keen glance, and his question 
 remained unanswered. 
 
 The evening was too warm and close to remain in-doors, 
 so Oscar Falvey went out to stroll in the garden ; he was 
 walking up and down, smoking a cigar, when his attention 
 was attracted by footsteps on the gravel walk ; he came 
 hastily to the front of the house just in time to see his wife, 
 who had opened the door herself and now stood upon the 
 step, take a letter from a beggar, who withdrew as soon as 
 he had delivered it. The husband, though unobserved, saw 
 it all, and, with rage depicted in his countenance, entered the 
 house, and proceeded to his wife's apartment. Knocking at 
 the door, and receiving no answer, he turned the handle, but 
 found it locked. He descended slowly to await her appear- 
 ance ; nursing his rage, and determining to ascertain the 
 cause of her strange conduct. 
 
 She entered the room in which her husband sat, about 
 two hours after what he had witnessed. Rising, upon her 
 appearance, he approached his wife, and in stern tones 
 demanded an explanation of her conduct. 
 
 " Oscar," she said, in a pleading voice, " did you not
 
 LOilD CLIFTON. 79 
 
 promise me that you would ask me no questions concerning 
 my past life ? " 
 
 " I did," he replied, in the same angry voice ; " but this 
 question has no reference to your past life. I want to know 
 why you walked to the city post-office to-day, and why do 
 you have beggars coming to you with letters ? I shall learn 
 the cause of it, if not from yourself, by somo other means." 
 
 He was enraged almost beyond control at the silence she 
 maintained after this burst of anger on his part. There she 
 sat, unheedful of his presence, with a dull, heavy cloud upon 
 her, which her husband, as he stood in his wounded pride 
 gazing at her, attributed to an indifference to his feelings, 
 and a determined persistency to deny him the information he 
 demanded. 
 
 At last she spoke, in the same quiet, pleading voice. 
 
 " Oscar, I have been true to you, as true as I have been 
 to him for whom I suffer ; and I will be as true to you forever 
 as I have been during the few short months of our marriage. 
 I cannot tell you the cause of my sorrow yet ; but some day, 
 perhaps not far distant, I shall be able to vindicate myself 
 before you. But, oh ! my husband, whatever you hear 
 of me, trust in my love for you, and believe in the heart that 
 would endure anything rather than bring shame and disgrace 
 upon } T our name and honor." 
 
 She had risen during the latter part of her speech, and, 
 before he could detain her, she passed through the door, and 
 had gone to her own apartment. 
 
 He remained all night pacing the room in a fretful, angiy 
 mood. He believed one time that she was false to him ; and 
 again his better nature revolted against the thought, and he 
 felt he could trust her to the very end of his life. 
 
 In the morning she did not appear at the breakfast-table ; 
 and her husband, not having fully recovered from the effects 
 of his passion, started for the city without disturbing her. 
 Coming home as usual in the evening, he inquired for his
 
 80 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 wife ; and, to his alarm, was told that she had not been seen 
 all day. The servants had gone to her room, and, receiving 
 no answer to their summons, had opened the door by force, 
 and found that it had been unoccupied during the night. 
 The house and grounds were searched at his bidding ; but no 
 tidings of her were found. Her own pony had been taken 
 from the stable ; and the servants, when they had learned 
 this, declared to one another that she had fled ; that the} r 
 knew she was not happy, and was always determined to rid 
 herself of the husband she had chosen in some ill-advised 
 moment. 
 
 Oscar Falvey waited to hear nothing more than that his 
 wife was missing, and that no clew to her whereabouts could 
 be ascertained. Mounting his horse, he turned in the direc- 
 tion of Magnolia Cottage, and was soon at the gate. Every- 
 thing was orderly and quiet, as usual. James admitted 
 him ; and, in breathless haste, Oscar asked him if he had 
 seen Mrs. Falvey that day. James replied that he had not 
 seen her, knew nothing of her, and was struck with aston- 
 ishment when told of her disappearance. That house and 
 grounds underwent the same search, but to no purpose. 
 Oscar returned home to consider what course to pursue ; sad 
 and broken-hearted, he wandered from room to room of his 
 cheerless home ; every method he thought of to recover her 
 was cast aside in despair. For a whole week he was so dis- 
 tracted with grief that he never left the house once, but 
 remained locked up in his own room, allowing no one to see 
 him but his valet. 
 
 At the end of that time, his dormant energies were called 
 into action. A tall, dark man asked to see Mr. Falvey, who 
 positively refused to speak with him ; but, upon his visitor's 
 determined resolution not to leave the house until he had 
 accomplished his object, Mr. Falvey descended to the parlor, 
 where he was confronted by the man, who stated that his 
 business was of an official nature.
 
 LORD CLIFTON. 81 
 
 "I am," said he, " an English detective ; I have authority 
 to search for an English prisoner, whom I have reasoii to 
 believe you are harboring in }*our house." 
 
 ' ' An English prisoner in my house ! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Falvey, in an excited voice ; ' ' there is no such person 
 here: 3'ou may search for j-ourself; but will you answer a 
 few questions ? " 
 
 " As far as my position will allow me I am willing to 
 answer you." 
 
 " Is the prisoner whom you seek a man or a woman? and 
 why do you suspect that my house is the place of conceal- 
 ment?" 
 
 " My dear sir," said the detective, coming closer to him, 
 " I have traced him here. There is a house a few miles dis- 
 tant from here which I have already searched ; the person I 
 am looking for is not there, and I am disposed to think that 
 he is hidden somewhere here." 
 
 ' ' But you have not told me who the person is." 
 
 " It is Lord Clifton. His daughter, I understand, is your 
 wife. Now, sir, will you please permit me to proceed to do 
 my duty ? " 
 
 " You may search my house," said Mr. Falvey, " since 
 the law commands it ; but such a man was never under my 
 roof;" and, stepping aside, he motioned the detective to 
 begin his work. 
 
 Oscar walked restlessly up and down the parlor during the 
 search. 
 
 What fearful crime had his wife's father been guilty 
 of? and how, during the years he had known her, had she 
 been able to keep the secret from him? Where was she 
 now? and did she know of her clanger, his faithful, brave- 
 hearted little wife? These were his thoughts, and her last 
 words to him, "Oh! my husband, whatever you hear of 
 me, trust in my love for you, and believe in the heart that 
 would endure anything rather than bring shame and disgrace 
 
 4*
 
 82 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 on your name and honor," were wringing his heart in 
 misery. 
 
 The detective came back, after as useless a search as his 
 last had been. He would have asked a few questions ; but 
 Mr. Falvey told him that he never heard anything of the 
 case ; that his wife had gone, he knew not whither ; and that 
 he positively declined to answer questions concerning his own 
 family. Much vexed and disappointed, the detective left 
 him, and Oscar Falvey heard, a few weeks after, that he had 
 gone to England. 
 
 Two weeks after his wife's disappearance, Mr. Falvey 
 received a letter from James, who said it had been left in 
 his possession, to be delivered to him when his wife was in a 
 place of safety. The letter ran thus : 
 
 "Mr DEAR OSCAR, Forgive me for the pain I have 
 caused you ; I am very sorry to give you so much trouble ; 
 if I could at present tell you the reasons for my strange 
 conduct, I would gladly do so ; but my lips are sealed, and 
 must remain so until Heaven in its mercy will have pity 
 upon me. 
 
 " My heart is breaking at this moment for the misery I 
 am bringing upon you. Yet I have no power to prevent it ; 
 for a life as dear to me as yours, my husband, depends upon 
 the course I must pursue. 
 
 "Do not try to learn my whereabouts, dear Oscar; and, 
 above all, do not undertake any means of finding me ; it 
 would only cause greater sorrow and disappointment. But 
 wait patiently as. Heaven knows, I am waiting and praying 
 until time reveals it all. When that happy day comes, God 
 grant it may bo soon ! perhaps you will regain your old 
 faith in me, and we will be as happy as we have been in each 
 other's love and confidence once more. 
 
 1 ' I bag 3'our forgiveness again, dear husband ; and again 
 my heart pleads for one kind, indulgent remembrance from 
 3'our true, noble, and generous heart. Trust me, my own 
 dear Oscar, and believe me to be ever, 
 
 " Your loving, affectionate wife, 
 
 " EMMA FALVEY."
 
 LORD CLIFTON. 83 
 
 When he had finished reading it, he folded it, and, with a 
 tender memory struggling in his breast, pressed it passion- 
 ately to his lips. He made a promise within himself that he 
 would never for one moment question the motives of his 
 wife ; but he would cherish her memory until, as she had said 
 herself, they would be happy in each other's love and confi- 
 dence once more. 
 
 "We will leave Oscar Falvey now, still residing in his beau- 
 tiful home, still hoping and praying for the return of the 
 dear presence that was life and joy to him ; and we will 
 cross over to Scotland, where we will learn something of 
 Emma Falvey's flight. 
 
 It is a wild night: the wind howls a ghostly sonnet 
 through the huge trees surrounding Clifton Castle ; the driv- 
 ing rain beats loudly against the window-panes. In one 
 of the elegantly furnished apartments of the castle, a sick 
 man turns uneasily on his bed ; as the wind rises, and the 
 naked branches of the trees rattle against the windows, 
 he starts, raises himself upon his elbow, and gazes fiercely 
 around. The shadows which the large, heavy furniture casts 
 upon the walls seem to terrify him to such an extent that he 
 covers his eyes with his disengaged arm, and, remaining thus 
 until exhausted, he falls back heavily upon the bed. Pres- 
 ently the door opens, and a woman enters the room. At the 
 sound of the step, the man turns, and looks fixedly at her 
 for a few moments. Speaking to him in a gentle voice, she 
 says, 
 
 "You have rested well during the last hour, I think, and 
 must feel a little better after it." 
 
 " Rest ! " he replied, in a hard, bitter tone. " Upon such 
 a night as this ! there is no rest or hope of rest for me. 
 O God ! " he exclaimed wilcll}*, ' ' the agony of the last hour ; 
 my whole life lived over again ; my crime forever before me, 
 and the punishment of it awaiting me ! " 
 
 His nurse, for such she was, waited until his excitement
 
 84 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 had somewhat ceased ; then offered him some brand}* and 
 water, which he drank with a great deal of pain. Going 
 into the adjoining room, the nurse threw herself upon her 
 knees, and, raising her hands in suppli cation, cried, 
 
 "O Father of mercy! have pity upon him; convert him 
 ere it be too late ; turn off thy anger from him, and blot out 
 his sins. Show us all the beauty of thy mercy, O God 
 of love ! and give us all thy strengthening help, that we 
 may bear all things for the love of thee, and as a reward be 
 united to thee throughout an eternity of joy and peace." 
 
 Approaching the bed once more, she stooped over the 
 prostrate man, and asked him if the storm had disturbed 
 him. The question brought him back again to the same 
 excitement, as he answered, 
 
 " Yes : it reminds me of a night, years ago, when I com- 
 mitted a deed that Heaven will never forgive." 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " said his gentle nurse ; "there are no sins 
 that Heaven will not forgive, even if they are as red as 
 blood, or as numerous as the sands on the seashore." 
 
 "Never, never; my portion is an endless eternity of 
 misery ; it is just, and I expect nothing but justice." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! " was the answer ; ' ' did not Jesus pardon the peni- 
 tent thief on the cross, even at the last moment ? Your sins 
 are nothing to his ; and if you repent, as he did, even at the 
 eleventh hour, you too will be with Him in paradise. His 
 mercy is above all his works." 
 
 The wind rose more and more, and moaned so dismally 
 that the man, in an agony of terror, clutched the bedclothes 
 and screamed. 
 
 ' ' I will confess ; I will make restitution. Only have 
 mere} 7 on me, thou God of sinners." 
 
 The nurse, who had grown very pale, soothed him, and in 
 a few moments he was calm again. 
 
 ' ' I want you to stay with me always. Do not leave me 
 when you think I am sleeping ; for I need you to console me
 
 LORD CLIFTON. 85 
 
 now, more than ever. I know you, though you think I do 
 not, ' Cousin Ethel.' You have come to try to free }*our 
 father from the foul suspicion that rests upon him, and to- 
 night, in the presence of witnesses, it shall be done." 
 
 Kneeling beside the bed, she buried her face in her hands, 
 and burst into tears. Then, thanking him upon her knees, 
 she told him that she would remain near him until the end, 
 and that all his former life would be forgotten in the grateful 
 remembrance she would always preserve of his last, good act 
 upon earth. 
 
 That same night there stood a doctor, a clergyman, and 
 the nurse around the bed of the dying man, while a fourth 
 wrote at a small table the following : 
 
 " I, Royal Clifton, am the instigator of the murder of Lord 
 John Clifton, of Clifton Castle, Scotland. Five years ago, 
 on the twelfth of February, 18 , I paid an Italian to take 
 the life of my uncle ; this man, who has since died, was 
 Julian Moriana : he committed the deed with a pistol, 
 escaped, and fled to his native county. No suspicion was 
 attached to me ; for I had joined my regiment the day before, 
 after giving my servant instructions how to commit the mur- 
 der. The suspicion has since rested upon the son of the 
 murdered man ; and here I swear, in the presence of wit- 
 nesses, that he never did the deed, that I alone am guilty of 
 the death of Lord John Clifton." 
 
 Lord John Clifton, on the night he was murdered, sat in 
 his study ; he was thinking over the interview between him- 
 self and his son the night before. They had had angry 
 words, as they usually did when they met. Lord John's son 
 had married a lady of his own choosing, instead of the one 
 his father had chosen for him, and the old man's very irasci- 
 ble temper never allowed him to meet his son without allud- 
 ing to his disobedience. Although the affair happened 
 twenty years before, yet the father remembered it as though 
 it had been but a few days ago. The conversation between
 
 86 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 them ended angrily ; and Royal Clifton, who was to leave his 
 uncle's house that night, conceived the design of murdering 
 the old lord, having the son suspected, and himself become the 
 lord of Clifton Castle when the son should pay the penalty 
 of his supposed crime. 
 
 The son was believed to be guilty of the atrocious crime, 
 was arrested, and, in spite of his former blameless life and 
 the able counsel enlisted in his behalf, he was sentenced to 
 be hanged a year after the trial. 
 
 His wife died within the year, and his only daughter, then 
 eighteen years old, was allowed to remain almost constantly 
 beside her father ; she was admitted to the prison at any 
 hour, and she made good use of the privileges granted to her. 
 
 It was the night before her father was to be executed ; she 
 had gone to the prison early in the afternoon, and left it late 
 at night ; she passed the keeper quickly, with her veil drawn 
 closely over her face, and her head bent low. He did not, 
 as was his usual custom, address her ; her grief bade him be 
 silent ; and, opening the gate quietly, he let her pass out in 
 peace. 
 
 The next morning the warden entered the cell to help the 
 doomed man to prepare for execution. What was his sur- 
 prise to see standing before him Lady Ethel Clifton, disguised 
 as her father. The news of Lord Clifton's escape soon 
 spread. Officers were sent in search of him immediately ; 
 but they never found him. He had escaped to America with 
 his faithful servant James, and there he was joined by his 
 daughter a year after, who had been released from prison by 
 the influence of friends. She was at liberty, but was so well 
 watched that she was unable to leave Scotland without detec- 
 tion, until about a 3*ear had elapsed. 
 
 Her hand was solicited in marriage by her cousin, Roj'al 
 Clifton, who had possession of his uncle's estates. But she 
 declined his offer, always feeling confident that he had a hand 
 in her grandfather's death ; she knew him to be a dissipated,
 
 LORD CLIFTON. 87 
 
 rapacious worldling, who owed every privilege he possessed 
 to the goodness and generosity of his relatives ; having no 
 positive proof of her suspicion, she never dared to make it 
 known. 
 
 When she joined her father in America, they lived, as we 
 have seen, very privately, with their two faithful servants 
 (James and his wife) , who volunteered their services. Here 
 she lived in perpetual fear, but still in safety, until the morn- 
 ing we first made her acquaintance at Mr. Mosure's exhibi- 
 tion. Then she saw Henry Faulkner, and she knew at once 
 that he was in search of her father. Now she was again in 
 peril ; but she vowed in her heart that her father would never 
 fall into his hands. Living more secluded than ever, and 
 keeping a careful watch around her, she managed to avoid a 
 second meeting by the strange adventure which introduced us 
 to Mr. Oscar Falvey. 
 
 Emma Houston, as she was known in her new home, had 
 not left the house for weeks. She was tired of struggling 
 against the fear that was ever upon her, and the new dread 
 now at her heart made her ill and gloomy. She thought 
 to drive it off by a ride in the open air upon her favorite 
 pony ; as she was coming slowly home, after a long ride, 
 she saw upon a side street that she passed the same dark 
 face that she had encountered at Mr. Mosure's. The man was 
 looking earnestly at something in his hand, and did not see her. 
 Quickening her speed, she turned her horse's head toward 
 the valley we have spoken of before ; but the animal, fright- 
 ened by her sudden haste, stumbled, and wildly galloped up 
 the hill, where he was stopped in his perilous course. 
 
 Emma told nothing of this to her father ; but put James 
 upon his guard lest he might meet him too, and not be able to 
 avoid his notice. They were enabled to live comfortably by 
 the fortune her father had accumulated in Scotland. They 
 were also kept acquainted with all that happened to their 
 kinsman and his affairs ; and the letters that Mr. Falvey had
 
 88 LORD CLIFTON. 
 
 seen his wife receive from the post-office contained the intel- 
 ligence that a detective had been sent in search of her, and 
 that she must leave her present home immediately. She 
 knew all this before, and had arranged for a flight that very 
 evening. 
 
 She did not know how near she had been to the very thing 
 she was endeavoring to escape. She was standing next to 
 the friend that Faulkner had met in Egleston Hall, Tremple. 
 He knew her, saw her receive her letters, and followed her to 
 her own door. He had learned the facts of the case from 
 Faulkner ; and the daring spirit she had shown in aiding her 
 father to escape from prison so touched the young man's bet- 
 ter nature that he resolved never to let Faulkner know what 
 he had seen ; but, if possible, to prevent him from discover- 
 ing her. 
 
 After the flight, Emma and her father travelled from coun- 
 try to country ; from America to Europe, then back again to 
 America, where in St. Louis she was apprised of Royal Clif- 
 ton's illness. He had been thrown from his horse, and re- 
 ceived injuries which would prove fatal. Immediately she 
 set out for Scotland, going as nurse to her cousin, and gain- 
 ing the object to which her whole life was devoted. 
 
 Royal Clifton died a week after his final act of justice, and 
 Lady Ethel Houston Clifton saw her father master of Clifton 
 Castle. She returned to America a few months after, with 
 her husband, who had been informed of the change of affairs, 
 and had gone to Scotland to join his wife after two years of 
 painful separation.
 
 BRUNO'S FIDELITY. 
 
 ABOUT two miles from the pleasant village of A stands 
 
 an old-fashioned house, attached to which is a well-cultivated 
 farm. This is the property of George Bond, a well-to-do 
 blacksmith. Fronting the house is a pleasant little garden, 
 in the centre of which stands a granite monument, surrounded 
 by an iron railing. This was erected in memory of a faithful 
 dog, and placed there by the hands of his master. Upon it 
 is written the following : 
 
 " Here lies Bruno, a faithful friend, that saved his master's 
 life." 
 
 The stor}- runs thus : At the period of which we write, 
 this part of the country was thinly populated, the houses 
 being at least a mile apart. Mr. Bond was the only black- 
 smith within miles of his surroundings. He was very pros- 
 perous in business, and had the reputation of having con- 
 siderable money. One night he was called to his brother's 
 bedside to attend his last moments ; promising his wife to 
 return at an early hour, he started for the house, which was 
 two hours' walk from .his own. His wife sat up to wait for 
 him, and, after the clock had struck eleven, became seriously 
 alarmed at her husband's absence. 
 
 A little later she heard loud knocking at the door, and 
 some one demanded admittance. 
 
 "Is it you, George?" she inquired from within. 
 
 " Yes," was the answer.
 
 90 BRUNO'S 
 
 When she unbolted the door, it was pushed rudely open, 
 and she was confronted by a stranger. Her terror can better 
 be imagined than described. 
 
 "I see," said he, "that 3*011 are a little annoyed at my 
 presence ; if convenient, I would have been here sooner ; I 
 will not long intrude upon you, if you comply with my re- 
 quest." 
 
 Mrs. Bond guessed at once that his intention was robbery. 
 Mustering courage, she asked, 
 
 " Sir, what is your business with me? " 
 
 " My business is easily told," he replied: " I want your 
 money." 
 
 " I have none to give you." 
 
 "Then your husband has, and you know where it is; 
 you had better deliver it to me at once, for I will have 
 it." 
 
 " If it is only money you want, you shall have it," said 
 she, stepping into the adjoining room ; before he had time to 
 follow her, she had closed and bolted the door behind her. 
 He made an attempt to break open the door, but failed. The 
 noise awoke her two-year-old baby, who was sleeping in the 
 room she had left. 
 
 " I shall murder your child, or set the house on fire, if you 
 do not open that door and give me money," said he, in an 
 augrj' voice. 
 
 Her terror was increasing. What would she do? By 
 opening the door she might lose her own life ; and yet she 
 must save her child. 
 
 The burglar had in the mean time walked to the cradle, 
 and was stooping to lift the child, when Bruno, the watch- 
 dog, seized him b} - the throat, and held him firmly. In a 
 much shorter time than it takes to tell it, Mrs. Bond had 
 resolved, even at the risk of her own life, to save that of 
 her child ; and, hastily taking her husband's pistol from the
 
 BKO'O'S FIDELITY. 91 
 
 drawer wher^' it was usually kept, she quietly unbolted the 
 door, and, slipping into the room, took deliberate aim and 
 ehot h'.m. He attempted to come nearer to her, staggered, 
 and fell almost at her feet. She was somewhat alarmed, 
 fearing that she had killed him ; but, upon closer exr$nina- 
 tion, she ascertained that he was only wounded. Leaving 
 him as he fell, she called Bruno ; and, pushing him into the 
 road, told him to bring his master. 
 
 Bruno, knowing the neighborhood as well as his master, 
 went directly to the house of Mr. Bond's brother. Upon 
 reaching it, he barked loudly at the door, and, when it was 
 opsned, rushed to his master. When Mr. Bond saw Bruno 
 spattered with mud and panting for breath, he knew that 
 something had happened. He followed Bruno immediately. 
 Almost crazed with fear, he arrived at his home in an in- 
 credibly short space of tune. 
 
 Entering the house, the first sight that met his gaze was 
 the body of the burglar. He did not wait to examine it, but 
 called wildly on his wife ; who answered at once, assuring 
 him that they were safe. She related what had happened, 
 and together they went to see how seriously the man had 
 been wounded. What was Mr. Bond's surprise, on turning 
 over the body, to discover that the face was that of one of 
 his former workmen ! The wound was dangerous, but not 
 fatal. The authorities being notified, the man was removed. 
 When he had sufficiently recovered, he was tried, and con- 
 victed of robbery, with intent to kill, and was sentenced to 
 twenty years' imprisonment ; but he died before the term 
 expired. 
 
 Bruno attached himself to the child ; and as the boy grew 
 older, and learned the story of Bruno's fidelity, he became a 
 faithful friend to his preserver. 
 
 Bruno lived to a good old age, and died loved and regret- 
 ted by the whole neighborhood. He was buried in the garden,
 
 92 BRUNO'S FIDELITY. 
 
 and Mr. Bond had the tablet above mentioned erected in his 
 memory. 
 
 " When some proud son of man returns to earth. 
 Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, 
 The sculptor's art exalts the pomp of woe, 
 The storied urn records who rests below ; 
 When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, 
 Not what he was, but what he should bave been ; 
 But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, 
 The first to welcome, foremost to defend, 
 Whose honest heart is still his master's own, 
 Who labors, fights, lives, breathes, lor him alone, 
 Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth, 
 Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth. 
 While man, vain insect ! hopes to be forgiven, 
 And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. 
 
 man ! thou leeble tenant of an hour, 
 Debased by slavery, corrupt by power, 
 
 Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust. 
 
 Degraded mass of animated dust ! 
 
 Thy love is lust ; thy friendship, all a heat ; 
 
 Thy smile, hypocrisy ; thy words, deceit ! 
 
 By nature vile, ennobled but, by name ; 
 
 Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. 
 
 Ye who perchance behold this simple urn, 
 
 Pass on : it honors none you wish to mourn. 
 
 To mark a friend's remains these stones arise: 
 
 1 never knew but one, and here he lies "
 
 LOTTIE ELLIS'S PERIL. 
 
 THE sun sank low behind the hills, ornamenting the west- 
 ern sky with its gorgeous colors of purple and gold. Under 
 an old elm-tree sat two young girls, Lottie Ellis, and her 
 friend, Julia Ivory. The former was a blonde, with golden 
 tresses and dark blue eyes. She was j'oung and fair: no 
 earth!}' sorrow had yet dimmed the lustre of the bright, spark- 
 ling eyes, or furrowed the smoothness of the pure, white brow. 
 She had a merry laugh, and a sweet, gentle voice, which was 
 often heard, as she glided from room to room of the old farm- 
 house. Lottie Ellis was the only daughter of a rich farmer, 
 the idol of her parents and brothers, and a universal favorite 
 with all who knew her. Her parents had bright anticipations 
 for their only daughter, and deemed none of their neighbors 
 or acquaintances worthy of possessing her as a wife : a wealthy 
 gentleman, of superior education and of high social standing, 
 must be the one who could woo and win their treasure. 
 
 On this evening, Lottie was unusually serious ; her face 
 wore an expression of anxiety, as she watched the huge clouds 
 break into various shapes. The two girls had come out 
 to see the sun set. It was one of those lovely evenings in 
 June, calm and peaceful, when the earth seems rejoicing at 
 the first glad month of summer. The musicians of the forest 
 had already sought their repose ; and the gentle zephyr, 
 rustling among the leaves, was the only sound that could be 
 heard^ 
 
 The shades of night were gathering, and the young girls
 
 94 LOTTIE ELLIS'S PERIL. 
 
 were about to retrace their steps, though Lottie was in no 
 hurry to leave the spot ; but her friend remarked that the dew 
 was heavy, and, if they lingered out-doors, they might take 
 cold. The approach of a horse and rider attracted their 
 attention. The horse appeared stubborn and wild. 
 
 "See, Julia!" said Lottie; " the horse will surely throw 
 him off." 
 
 The next instant she heard her father crying out to one of 
 the men to come at once ; then she saw the horse, his bridle 
 hanging loose, gallop off without his rider. Mr. Ellis beheld 
 the accident, and immediately hastened to his assistance. 
 The stranger lay upon the ground, where he had been thrown 
 by his horse, in an unconscious condition. He appeared to 
 be much hurt, and was carried into Farmer Ellis's house. 
 The girls followed, offering every assistance in their power. 
 They were much alarmed, and feared he would not recover. 
 
 Tom was despatched at once for the village doctor, who 
 came with the greatest speed. The man soon recovered con- 
 sciousness ; the doctor gave it as his opinion that he suffered 
 no injuries, with the exception of a slight sprain in the ankle ; 
 yet he gave strict orders that he was to be kept perfectly 
 quiet, and not moved, if possible. He appeared by his dress 
 and manner to be a gentleman of wealth. The hospitable 
 farmer and his family showed him great attention ; and Dr. 
 Jones called every day, for a week. MA Jackson (for such 
 was the stranger's name) paid the doctor liberally for his ser- 
 vices, and offered to do the same by Mrs. Ellis ; but she 
 would not accept it : she told him that she was only too 
 happy to be of service to him, and was very glad that he had 
 recovered from his injury so soon. 
 
 His flattering speech and insinuating manners made the 
 simple-hearted farmer and his wife imagine that he was a 
 parson of distinction, and just the one fitted to be the com- 
 panion of their Lottie. So, when Mr. Jackson was bidding 
 the family farewell, they did not forget to tell him to call upon
 
 LOTTIE ELLIS'S PERIL. 95. 
 
 them, whenever he was in the neighborhood ; and neither did 
 he forget to respond to the invitation. 
 
 For the following six months he was a frequent visitor at 
 the farm, always playing the gentleman. He represented to 
 the family that he often travelled around, to break che monot- 
 ony of his life ; that he was an only child, upon whom his 
 parents lavished wealth untold ; and that, having nothing to 
 take up his time or attention, he frequently went on long ex- 
 cursions, to visit places he had heard about. All but Lottie 
 believed that he spoke the truth. She felt him to be a de- 
 ceiver ; and, whilst he was gaining day by day in the good 
 opinions of her parents and brothers, the sight of him was 
 growing odious to her. 
 
 She spoke slightingly and disrespectfully of him to her 
 parents ; but her words were unheeded. They told her she- 
 must look favorably upon him, and, whenever he visited them, 
 treat him with the honor becoming his station. It was obedi- 
 ence to their commands that made her barely able to tolerate 
 him. 
 
 It was Lottie's eighteenth birthday : and, in honor of the 
 event, Mr. Ellis gave a grand part}* : she received a number 
 of costty presents from her father and friends. Among the, 
 guests was Mr. Jackson, whose eyes followed Lottie wher- 
 ever she went : when she thought him far off, he would be 
 standing beside her. She avoided him as much as she possi- 
 bly could ; whenever she met him. a cold shudder ran through 
 her frame, and she could detect by his change of counte- 
 nance that he noticed her repugnance to him. 
 
 Lottie Ellis had always been admired for her beautiful face 
 and graceful form ; but this evening she appeared more charm- 
 ing than ever. The golden curls were drawn back from the 
 f.iir forehead, and hung like a veil over the graceful shoulders. 
 She was surrounded by her gay young friends ; yet she did 
 not seem as happy as usual. She endeavored to overcome 
 the unpleasant feelings which haunted her during the evening
 
 96 LOTTIE ELUS'S PERIL. 
 
 but all her efforts were in vain. An ordinary observer could 
 easily detect a restlessness and anxiety in her manner, alto- 
 gether foreign to the buoyant spirits which had made her an 
 especial favorite in every company. Many envied her her 
 rich suitor, and alread}' began to accuse her of being proud 
 and dignified of late. 
 
 The party broke up at three o'clock in the morning. All 
 the guests had spent a delightful evening ; but Lottie, for 
 whom the party had been given, often wished during it that 
 the hour of separation had come. Some of those who lived 
 at a great distance from the farm remained until morning. 
 
 The festivity was over ; all was quiet ; slumber had suc- 
 ceeded the noise and gayety. Lottie tried hard to sleep, but 
 could not ; she tossed restlessly upon her pillow, unable to 
 compose her thoughts, or to keep her imagination from pict- 
 uring wild and terrible scenes. She was upon the point of 
 getting up to lock her door, all the doors in the house were 
 usually left open, when shs haard a footstep upon the stairs ; 
 she could tell by the sound that the person was endeavoring 
 to ascend the stairs without making an}' noise. One of the 
 boards creaked, and a muttered curse followed. Lottie's 
 heart beat fast, as she laid her throbbing head back upon her 
 pillow to wait for what might succeed. The steps approached ; 
 her bedroom door was opened noiselessly ; and she saw the 
 tall form of a man, his face concealed under a mask, enter ; 
 he carried in his hand a dark lantern. Her only hope was to 
 be quiet ; so, feigning sleep, she lay with her eyes closed, 
 and breathed heavily. Now and then she uttered some un- 
 intelligible words, which made him suppose she was dream- 
 ing. He drew near the bed, lifted the lantern close to her 
 face, and, seeming satisfied that she was unconscious of all 
 around her, took a bottle from his pocket, and sprinkled its 
 contents over the bed-clothes. 
 
 " Now," he hissed between his teeth, as he stood gazing 
 upon her, ;t when I have finished down-stairs, Twill comeback
 
 LOTTIE ELLIS'S PERIL. 97 
 
 for you. I love you, though I know you hate me ; but that 
 will make no difference when we are one. The sun will be 
 shining brightly before the rest will awaken ; and then you 
 and I will have left Franklin far behind us." 
 
 Lottie's terror was increasing. She almost forgot herself, 
 and would have screamed ; but she had no power to do so. 
 She felt herself losing consciousness, and feared that he 
 would discover her deception ; if he did, she knew he would 
 render her incapable of helping herself further. He did not 
 linger long over her, however, as he had other business to 
 attend to. Picking up all the valuables he found in her 
 room, he left her, closing the door softty behind him. 
 
 When he had left her, Lottie roused herself, staggered to 
 the window, which she opened with great precaution, and, 
 after inhaling the fresh air, felt greatly revived. She sat 
 down for a few minutes to consider what she would do. 
 While she was thinking, she heard him packing the silver. 
 Going to the head of the stairs, she listened attentively, 
 but could detect no other sound. She dared not venture 
 further, for fear of being discovered ; so she stole back to 
 her room, in a frenzy of terror. She sat down once more to 
 collect her thoughts. She could think of no means of escap- 
 ing the terrible fate awaiting her, only by alarming the house- 
 hold. There was no way of doing this without being 
 detected before she could reach even one of the rooms sepa- 
 rated from her own. Suddenly she remembered that there 
 was a narrow passage leading from her apartment to that of 
 the servants, who slept right over the kitchen. She reached 
 them without being heard ; but could not awaken them. She 
 stole to the head of the backstairs, and, leaning over the 
 banisters, saw that the burglar was in the dining-room. 
 There was no opportunity of getting around to the front of 
 the house, unless by passing the very room in which the rob- 
 ber was at work. 
 
 As she was about to return, determined to alarm her par- 
 I
 
 98 LOTTIE ELLIS'S PERIL. 
 
 ents some way, the door opened wider, and the same form 
 that had stood at her bod side appeared in the entry. Lottie 
 would have fallen, had she not held to the banisters for sup- 
 port. In her fright, she thought he was coming to the spot 
 where she was concealed. She soon discovered, however, 
 that he had no such intention : he walked to the front door, 
 opened it carefully, passed through, and closed it behind him. 
 In a few moments Lottie heard a " cuckoo," which she well 
 knew was a signal for help. In an instant she was down the 
 stairs, and had the door bolted upon him. Rushing to her 
 father's room, she threw open the window to admit the air ; 
 then, going through the house, wildlj* screamed, "Fire, fire, 
 fire!" 
 
 Guests, servants, and all were soon aroused, seeking means 
 of escape. Meeting Lottie in the hall she quieted their fears 
 by relating the real cause of alarm. They all freelj* forgave 
 Lottie the fright she had given them, and complimented her 
 upon her wonderful presence of mind. Mr. Ellis insisted 
 that Lottie was mistaken in supposing the burglar to be Mr. 
 Jackson ; not until his room had been searched, and no trace 
 of him found, would he believe in his guilt. 
 
 Mr. Jackson, who had so duped Farmer Ellis, was a pro- 
 fessional robber. He found his way to many a wealthy family 
 through the same plan he had adopted to become acquainted 
 with the farmer and his family. He had so trained his horse 
 that he could bo thrown from him whenever he wished ; then 
 he would be taken into the nearest house, with some injury 
 that would detain him a few days. He would always repay 
 the family for their kindness and hospitality, by walking off 
 with some of their valuables. 
 
 He had been anxiously waiting for this occasion, knowing 
 there would bo a grand display of silver, and it would give 
 him an opportunity to enrich himself. He had it all packed, 
 together with the jewelry he had stolen, and had gone out- 
 side to give the signal to his three companions, who were
 
 LOTTIE ELLIS'S 1'KKIL. 99 
 
 waiting for it. They were to take the plunder away, while 
 he got the horse and carriage ready to take off Lottie. He 
 had a strong conviction that, if he proposed to Lottie, she 
 would positively refuse him. As he had very good reasons 
 to know that she disliked him, he was determined to take her 
 by force. He had drugged every one in the house, that he 
 might execute his plans in safety ; but they were thwarted, 
 as he found when he turned to enter the house, and saw the 
 door barred against him. Cursing his ill-luck, and feeling 
 that some one must have been watching him, he and his 
 accomplices made good their escape. 
 
 The police were notified of the attempted robbery, and de- 
 tectives were sent to search the country. Their place of con- 
 cealment was discovered, and a number of the gang arrested ; 
 but Jackson, their leader, could not be found. 
 
 Thus Lottie Ellis escaped the dreadful fate of becoming the 
 wife of such a man.
 
 THE !(,(. Alt ANI> 1HL 
 
 THE BEGGAR AND THE BANKER. 
 
 " STAND out of my way ! " said a rough, surly voice under 
 my window, one day, as I sat musing over the bustling scenes 
 below me, at my lodgings in Chestnut Street. 
 
 " Your honor will please to recollect," replied a sharp and 
 somewhat indignant voice, "your honor will please to 
 recollect that I am a beggar, and have as much right to the 
 road as yourself." 
 
 " And I am a banker," was retorted, still more gruffly and 
 angrily. 
 
 Amused at this strange dialogue, I leaned over the case- 
 ment, and beheld a couple of citizens in the position which 
 a pugilist would probably denominate "squared;" their 
 countenances somewhat menacing, and their persons present- 
 ing a contrast at once ludicrous and instructive. The one 
 was a purse-proud, lordly-mannered man, apparelled in silk, 
 and protecting a carcass of nearly the circumference of a hogs- 
 head ; and the other, a ragged and dirty, but equally im- 
 pudent and self-important, personage ; and, from a compari- 
 son of their countenances, it would have puzzled the most 
 profound M. D. to determine which of their rotundities wu.s 
 best stored, habitually, with good victuals and drink. 
 
 Upon a close observation, however, of the banker's coun- 
 tenance, I discovered, as soon almost as my eye fell upon it, 
 a line bespeaking humor and awakened curiosity, as he stood 
 fixed and eying his antagonist ; and this became more clear
 
 THE 1JEGGAH AND T1IE BANKER. 101 
 
 and conspicuous, when he lowered his tone, and asked, 
 ' ' How will you make the ' right ' appear ? " 
 
 "How?" said the beggar; "why, listen a moment, and 
 I'll teach you. In the first place, do you take notice that God 
 has given me a soul and body, just as good for all the pur- 
 poses of thinking, eating, drinking, and taking my pleasures, 
 as he has you, and then you may remember Dives and 
 Lazarus, just as we pass. Then, again, it is a free country, 
 and here, too, we are on equal footing ; for you must know 
 that here even a beggar's dog may look a gentleman in the 
 face with as much indifference as he would a brother. I and 
 you have the same common Master, are equally free, live 
 equally easy, and are both travelling the same journey, bound 
 to the same place, and both have to die and be buried in the 
 end." 
 
 " But," interrupted the banker, "do you pretend there is 
 no difference between a beggar and a banker ? " 
 
 " Not the least," rejoined the other, with the utmost readi- 
 ness ; "not the least as to essentials. You swagger and 
 drink wine, in company of your own choosing ; I swagger 
 and drink beer, which I like better than your wine, in com- 
 pany that I like better than your company. You make 
 thousands a daj', perhaps ; I make a shilling, perhaps ; if 
 you are contented, I am ; we are equally happy at night. 
 You dress in new clothes ; I am just as comfortable in old 
 ones, and have no trouble in keeping them from soiling ; 
 if fewer friends, I have less friendship to lose ; and, if I 
 do not make a great figure in the world, I make as great a 
 shadow on the pavement ; I am as great as you. Besides, 
 my word for it, I have fewer enemies, meet with fewer losses, 
 carry as light a heart, and can sing as many songs as the 
 best of you." 
 
 " And, then," said the banker, who had tried all along to 
 slip in a word edgeways, " is the contempt of the world 
 nothing?"
 
 102 THE BEGGAK AND THE BANKER. 
 
 "The envy of the world is as bad as its contempt ; you 
 have perhaps the one, and I a share of the other. We are 
 matched there, too. And, besides, the world deals in this 
 matter equally unjust with us both. You and I live by our 
 wits, instead of living by our industry ; and the only differ- 
 ence between us in this particular worth mentioning is, that 
 it costs society more to maintain j-ou than it does me : I am 
 content with a little ; you want a great deal. Neither of us 
 raises grain or potatoes, weaves cloth or manufactures any- 
 thing useful : we therefore add nothing to the common stock ; 
 we are only consumers, and, if the world judged with strict 
 impartialit}', it seems to me I would be pronounced the 
 cleverest fellow." 
 
 Some passers-by here interrupted the conversation. The 
 disputants separated, apparently good friends ; and I drew in 
 my head, ejaculating, somewhat after the manner of Alexan- 
 der in the play, "Is there no difference between a beggar 
 and a banker ? " 
 
 But several years have since passed away, and now these 
 individuals have paid the last debt of nature. They died as 
 they had lived, the one a banker, and the other a beggar. I 
 examined both their graves when I next visited the city. 
 They were of similar length and breadth ; the grass grew 
 equally green above each ; and the sun looked down as pleas- 
 antly on the one as on the other. No honors, pleasures, nor 
 delights clustered around the grave of the rich man. No 
 linger of scorn pointed to that of the poor man. They were 
 both equally deserted, lonely, and forgotten. I thought, too, 
 of the destinies to which they had passed, and of that 
 state in which temporal distinctions exist not ; where pride, 
 and all the circumstances which surround this life, never find 
 admittance. Then the distinctions of the world appeared, 
 indeed, as atoms compared with those that are made in that 
 changeless state to which both had passed.
 
 PROPOSAL. 
 
 A GENTLEMAN proposes to a lady, and expatiates his love 
 in the following words : 
 
 " Thou art most worthy of observation, after a long con- 
 3ideration, and much meditation on the great reputation you 
 possess in the nation. So I have a strong inclination to 
 become your relation. On your approbation of this declara- 
 tion I will make preparation to remove my situation to a 
 more agreeable station. If this oblation be worthy of ob- 
 servation, it will be aggrandization, beyond all calculation 
 of the joy and exultation. 
 
 " I am yours, 
 
 " SANS DISSIMULATION." 
 
 THE LADY'S ANSWER TO THE PROPOSAL. 
 " SIR, I perused your ovation with much deliberation, 
 and a little consternation at the great infatuation of your 
 weak imagination on so slight a foundation ; but, after con- 
 templation and serious meditation, I suppose your animation 
 is the fruit of recreation that sprung from ostentation to 
 show your education, or rather multiplication, by an odd 
 enumeration of words of the same termination. Now, your 
 laborious occupation deserves commendation. 
 
 " I am yours, without hesitation, 
 
 "MARY MODERATION."
 
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