W A WOMAN INTERVENI
 
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 REVENGE !
 
 BOOKS BY ROBERT BARR 
 
 In the Midst of Alarms 
 The Face and the Mask 
 A Woman -Intervenes 
 One Day's Courtship 
 Revenge !
 
 " I HAD THE SAFK BLOWN OPEN." Page l6j.
 
 REVENGE! 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT BARR 
 
 AUTHOR OF "IN'THR MIDST OF ALARMS," "THE FACB AND THH MASK, 
 " A WOMAN INTERVENES," " FROM WHOSE BOURNK," ETC. 
 
 WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 BY LANCELOT SPEED, STANLEY WOOD, & G. G. MANTON 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1894, 1895 AND 1896 
 
 By ROBERT BARR 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896 
 
 BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
 
 TO 
 JAMES SAMSON, M.D.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 AN ALPINE DIVORCE i 
 
 WHICH WAS THE MURDERER? ... 9 
 A DYNAMITE EXPLOSION . . . .17 
 
 AN ELECTRICAL SLIP 31 
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD . . .44 
 
 OVER THE STELVIO PASS . . . .61 
 
 THE HOUR AND THE MAN . . . .77 
 
 "AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME" . . 90 
 
 THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY . . . in 
 
 NOT ACCORDING TO THE CODE . . .128 
 
 A MODERN SAMSON 140 
 
 A DEAL ON 'CHANGE . . . . .149 
 
 TRANSFORMATION 166 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. . . 182 
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY 205 
 
 "OUT OF THUN" . .' . . .227 
 
 A DRAMATIC POINT . . . . .252 
 
 TWO FLORENTINE BALCONIES . . .268 
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD . . 278 
 
 PURIFICATION ';. .297
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " I HAD THE SAFE BLOWN OPEN "... Frontispiece 
 
 THE CORD DANGLED ABOUT A FOOT 
 
 ABOVE THE POLICEMAN'S HEAD ... 25 
 
 DUPRfi LAUNCHED HIS BOMB OUT 
 
 INTO THE NIGHT 28 
 
 "DO NOT PROCEED FURTHER WITH 
 
 EXECUTION" 38 
 
 HIS FIRST ACT WAS TO DISCHARGE 
 
 EVERY SERVANT 45 
 
 "WHEN YOU PRESS THE IVORY BUT- 
 TON, I FIRE" 57 
 
 WIPING ITS BLADE ON THE CLOTHES 
 
 OF THE PROSTRATE MAN .... 69 
 
 "I WILL DRAW A PLAN" .... 82 
 
 HE THREW ASIDE BUSHES, BRAM- 
 BLES AND LOGS ..... 87 
 
 "WHAT HAS HAPPENED?" . . . .162 
 
 SAM LOOKED SAVAGELY AROUND HIM . . 191 
 
 " MY GOD, YOU WERE RIGHT AFTER 
 
 ALL!" 267
 
 REVENGE! 
 
 AN ALPINE DIVORCE. 
 
 IN some natures there are no half-tones ; nothing 
 but raw primary colours. John Bodman was a man 
 who was always at one extreme or the other. This 
 probably would have mattered little had he not mar- 
 ried a wife whose nature was an exact duplicate of 
 his own. 
 
 Doubtless there exists in this world precisely the 
 right woman for any given man to marry> and vice 
 versd ; but when you consider that a human being 
 has the opportunity of being acquainted with only a 
 few hundred people, and out of the few hundred that 
 there are but a dozen or less whom he knows inti- 
 mately, and out of the dozen, one or two friends at 
 most, it will easily be seen, when we remember the 
 number of millions who inhabit this world, that prob- 
 ably, since the earth was created, the right man has 
 never yet met the right woman. The mathematical 
 chances are all against such a meeting, and this is the 
 reason that divorce courts exist. Marriage at best is 
 but a compromise, and if two people happen to be 
 united who are of an uncompromising nature there is 
 trouble.
 
 2 REVENGE! 
 
 In the lives of these two young people there was 
 no middle distance. The result was bound to be 
 either love or hate, and in the case of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Bodman it was hate of the most bitter and arrogant 
 kind. 
 
 In some parts of the world incompatibility of tem- 
 per is considered a just cause for obtaining a divorce, 
 but in England no such subtle distinction is made, 
 and so until the wife became criminal, or the man be- 
 came both criminal and cruel, these two were linked 
 together by a bond that only death could sever. 
 Nothing can be worse than this state of things, and 
 the matter was only made the more hopeless by the 
 fact that Mrs. Bodman lived a blameless life, and her 
 husband was no worse, but rather better, than the 
 majority of men. Perhaps, however, that statement 
 held only up to a certain point, for John Bodman had 
 reached a state of mind in which he resolved to 
 get rid of his wife at all hazards. If he had been a 
 poor man he would probably have deserted her, but 
 he was rich, and a man cannot freely leave a prosper- 
 ing business because his domestic life happens not to 
 be happy. 
 
 When a man's mind dwells too much on any one 
 subject, no one can tell just how far he will go. The 
 mind is a delicate instrument, and even the law rec- 
 ognises that it is easily thrown from its balance. 
 Bodman's friends for he had friends claim that 
 his mind was unhinged ; but neither his friends nor 
 his enemies suspected the truth of the episode, which 
 turned out to be the most important, as it was the 
 most ominous, event in his life.
 
 AN ALPINE DIVORCE. 3 
 
 Whether John Bodman was sane or insane at the 
 time he made up his mind to murder his wife, will 
 never be known, but there was certainly craftiness in 
 the method he devised to make the crime appear the 
 result of an accident. Nevertheless, cunning is often 
 a quality in a mind that has gone wrong. 
 
 Mrs. Bodman well knew how much her presence 
 afflicted her husband, but her nature was as relentless 
 as his, and her hatred of him was, if possible, more 
 bitter than his hatred of her. Wherever he went she 
 accompanied him, and perhaps the idea of murder 
 would never have occurred to him if she had not been 
 so persistent in forcing her presence upon him at all 
 times and on all occasions. So, when he announced to 
 her that he intended to spend the month of July in 
 Switzerland, she said nothing, but made her prepara- 
 tions for the journey. On this occasion he did not 
 protest, as was usual with him, and so to Switzerland 
 this silent couple departed. 
 
 There is an hotel near the mountain-tops which 
 stands on a ledge over one of the great glaciers. It 
 is a mile and a half above the level of the sea, and it 
 stands alone, reached by a toilsome road that zigzags 
 up the mountain for six miles. There is a wonderful 
 view of snow-peaks and glaciers from the verandahs of 
 this hotel, and in the neighbourhood are many pic- 
 turesque walks to points more or less dangerous. 
 
 John Bodman knew the hotel well, and in happier 
 days he had been intimately acquainted with the 
 vicinity. Now that the thought of murder arose in 
 his mind, a certain spot two miles distant from this 
 inn continually haunted him. It was a point of view
 
 4 REVENGE! 
 
 overlooking everything, and its extremity was pro- 
 tected by a low and crumbling wall. He arose one 
 morning at four o'clock, slipped unnoticed out of the 
 hotel, and went to this point, which was locally 
 named the Hanging Outlook. His memory had 
 served him well. It was exactly the spot, he said to 
 himself. The mountain which rose up behind it was 
 wild and precipitous. There were no inhabitants near 
 to overlook the place. The distant hotel was hidden 
 by a shoulder of rock. The mountains on the other 
 side of the valley were too far away to make it possible 
 for any casual tourist or native to see what was going 
 on on the Hanging Outlook. Far down in the val- 
 ley the only town in view seemed like a collection of 
 little toy houses. 
 
 One glance over the crumbling wall at the edge 
 was generally sufficient for a visitor of even the 
 strongest nerves. There was a sheer drop of more 
 than a mile straight down, and at the distant bottom 
 were jagged rocks and stunted trees that looked, in 
 the blue haze, like shrubbery. 
 
 " This is the spot," said the man to himself, " and 
 to-morrow morning is the time." 
 
 John Bodman had planned his crime as grimly and 
 relentlessly, and as coolly, as ever he had concocted 
 a deal on the Stock Exchange. There was no 
 thought in his mind of mercy for his unconscious 
 victim. His hatred had carried him far. 
 
 The next morning after breakfast, he said to his 
 wife : " I intend to take a walk in the mountains. Do 
 you wish to come with me ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered briefly.
 
 AN ALPINE DIVORCE. 5 
 
 " Very well, then," he said ; " I shall be ready at 
 nine o'clock." 
 
 " I shall be ready at nine o'clock," she repeated 
 after him. 
 
 At that hour they left the hotel together, to which 
 he was shortly to return alone. They spoke no word 
 to each other on their way to the Hanging Outlook. 
 The path was practically level, skirting the mountains, 
 for the Hanging Outlook was not much higher above 
 the sea than the hotel. 
 
 John Bodman had formed no fixed plan for his 
 procedure when the place was reached. He resolved 
 to be guided by circumstances. Now and then a 
 strange fear arose in his mind that she might cling 
 to him and possibly drag him over the precipice with 
 her. He found himself wondering whether she had 
 any premonition of her fate, and one of his reasons 
 for not speaking was the fear that a tremor in his 
 voice might possibly arouse her suspicions. He re- 
 solved that his action should be sharp and sudden, 
 that she might have no chance either to help herself, 
 or to drag him with her. Of her screams in that 
 desolate region he had no fear. No one could reach 
 the spot except from the hotel, and no one that 
 morning had left the house, even for an expedition to 
 the glacier one of the easiest and most popular trips 
 from the place. 
 
 Curiously enough, when they came within sight of 
 the Hanging Outlook, Mrs. Bodman stopped and 
 shuddered. Bodman looked at her through the 
 narrow slits of his veiled eyes, and wondered again 
 if she had any suspicion. No one can tell, when
 
 6 REVENGE! 
 
 two people walk closely together, what unconscious 
 communication one mind may have with another. 
 
 " What is the matter? " he asked gruffly. " Are you 
 tired?" 
 
 "John," she cried, with a gasp in her voice, calling 
 him by his Christian name for the first time in years, 
 " don't you think*that if you had been kinder to me at 
 first, things might have been different?" 
 
 " It seems to me," he answered, not looking at her, 
 " that it is rather late in the day for discussing that 
 question." 
 
 " I have much to regret," she said quaveringly. 
 " Have you nothing? " 
 
 " No," he answered. 
 
 " Very well," replied his wife, with the usual hard- 
 ness returning to her voice. " I was merely giving 
 you a chance. Remember that." 
 
 Her husband looked at her suspiciously. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked, " giving me 
 a chance ? I want no chance nor anything else 
 from you. A man accepts nothing from one he 
 hates. My feeling towards you is, I imagine, no 
 secret to you. We are tied together, and you have 
 done your best to make the bondage insupport- 
 able." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, with her eyes on the ground, 
 " we are tied together we are tied together ! " 
 
 She repeated these words under her breath as they 
 walked the few remaining steps to the Outlook. 
 Bodman sat down upon the crumbling wall. The 
 woman dropped her alpenstock on the rock, and 
 walked nervously to and fro, clasping and unclasping
 
 AN ALPINE DIVORCE. 7 
 
 her hands. Her husband caught his breath as the 
 terrible moment drew near. 
 
 "Why do you walk about like a wild animal?" he 
 cried. " Come here and sit down beside me, and be 
 still." 
 
 She faced him with a light he had never before 
 seen in her eyes a light of insanity and of hatred. 
 
 " I walk like a wild animal," she said, " because I am 
 one. You spoke a moment ago of your hatred of me; 
 but you are a man, and your hatred is nothing to 
 mine. Bad as you are, much as you wish to break 
 the bond which ties us together, there are still things 
 which I know you would not stoop to. I know there 
 is no thought of murder in your heart, but there is in 
 mine. I will show you, John Bodman, how much I 
 hate you." 
 
 The man nervously clutched the stone beside him, 
 and gave a guilty start as she mentioned murder. 
 
 " Yes," she continued, " I have told all my friends 
 in England that I believed you intended to murder 
 me in Switzerland." 
 
 " Good God ! " he cried. " How could you say such 
 a thing?" 
 
 " I say it to show how much I hate you how much 
 I am prepared to give for revenge. I have warned the 
 people at the hotel, and when we left two men followed 
 us. The proprietor tried to persuade me not to accom- 
 pany you. In a few moments those two men will 
 come in sight of the Outlook. Tell them, if you think 
 they will believe you, that it was an accident." 
 
 The mad woman tore from the front of her dress 
 shreds of lace and scattered them around.
 
 8 REVENGE! 
 
 Bodman started up to his feet, crying, " What are 
 you about ? " But before he could move toward her 
 she precipitated herself over the wall, and went shriek- 
 ing and whirling down the awful abyss. 
 
 The next moment two men came hurriedly round 
 the edge of the rock, and found the man standing 
 alone. Even in his bewilderment he realised that if 
 he told the truth he would not be believed.
 
 WHICH WAS THE MURDERER? 
 
 MRS. JOHN FORDER had no premonition of evil. 
 When she heard the hall clock strike nine she was 
 blithely singing about the house as she attended to her 
 morning duties, and she little imagined that she was 
 entering the darkest hour of her life, and that before 
 the clock struck again overwhelming disaster would 
 have fallen upon her. Her young husband was work- 
 ing in the garden, as was his habit each morning before 
 going to his office. She expected him in every mo- 
 ment to make ready for his departure down town. 
 She heard the click of the front gate, and a moment 
 later some angry words. Alarmed, she was about to 
 look through the parted curtains of the bay-window 
 in front when the sharp crack of a revolver rang out, 
 and she hastened to the door with a vague sinking 
 fear at her heart. As she flung open the door she 
 saw two things first, her husband lying face down- 
 wards on the grass motionless, his right arm doubled 
 under him ; second, a man trying frantically to undo 
 the fastening of the front gate, with a smoking pistol 
 still in his hand. 
 
 Human lives often hang on trivialities. The mur- 
 derer in his anxiety to be undisturbed had closed the 
 front gate tightly. The wall was so high as to shut
 
 io REVENGE! 
 
 out observation from the street, but the height that 
 made it difficult for an outsider to see over it also 
 rendered escape impossible. If the man had left the 
 gate open he might have got away unnoticed, but, as 
 it was, Mrs. Forder's screams aroused the neighbour- 
 hood, and before the murderer succeeded in undoing 
 the fastening, a crowd had collected with a policeman 
 in its centre, and escape was out of the question. 
 Only one shot had been fired, but at such close quar- 
 ters that the bullet went through the body. John 
 Forder was not dead, but lay on the grass insensible. 
 He was carried into the house and the family physician 
 summoned. The doctor sent for a specialist to as- 
 sist him, and the two men consulted together. To 
 the distracted woman they were able to give small 
 comfort. The case at best was a doubtful one. 
 There was some hope of ultimate recovery, but very 
 little. 
 
 Meanwhile the murderer lay in custody, his own 
 fate depending much on the fate of his victim. If 
 Forder died, bail would be refused ; if he showed 
 signs of recovering, his assailant had a chance for, at 
 least, temporary liberty. No one in the city, unless it 
 were the wife herself, was more anxious for Forder's 
 recovery than the man who had shot him. 
 
 The crime had its origin in a miserable political 
 quarrel a mere wrangle about offices. Walter Rad- 
 nor, the assassin, had ' claims ' upon an office, and, 
 rightly or wrongly, he attributed his defeat to the 
 secret machinations of John Forder. He doubtless 
 did not intend to murder his enemy that morning 
 when he left home, but heated words had speedily
 
 WHICH WAS THE MURDERER? 11 
 
 followed the meeting, and the revolver was handy in 
 his hip pocket. 
 
 Radnor had a strong political backing, and, even 
 after he stretched his victim on the grass, he had not 
 expected to be so completely deserted when the news 
 spread through the city. Life was not then so well 
 protected as it has since become, and many a man 
 who walked the streets free had, before that time, shot 
 his victim. But in this case the code of assassination 
 had been violated. Radnor had shot down an un- 
 armed man in his own front garden and almost in 
 sight of his wife. He gave his victim no chance. If 
 Forder had had even an unloaded revolver in any of 
 his pockets, things would not have looked so black 
 for Radnor, because his friends could have held that 
 he had fired in self-defence, as they would doubtless 
 claim that the dying man had been the first to show a 
 weapon. So Radnor, in the city prison, found that 
 even the papers of his own political party were against 
 him, and that the town was horrified at what it con- 
 sidered a cold-blooded crime. 
 
 As time went on Radnor and his few friends began 
 once more to hope. Forder still lingered between 
 life and death. That he would ultimately die from 
 his wound was regarded as certain, but the law re- 
 quired that a man should die within a stated time 
 after the assault had been committed upon him, 
 otherwise the assailant could not be tried for murder. 
 The limit provided by the law was almost reached 
 and Forder still lived. Time also worked in Radnor's 
 favour in another direction. The sharp indignation 
 that had followed the crime had become dulled.
 
 12 REVENGE! 
 
 Other startling events occurred which usurped the 
 place held by the Forder tragedy, and Radnor's 
 friends received more and more encouragement. 
 
 Mrs. Forder nursed her husband assiduously, hoping 
 against hope. They had been married less than a 
 year, and theif love for each other had increased as 
 time went on. Her devotion to her husband had now 
 become almost fanatical, and the physicians were afraid 
 to tell her how utterly hopeless the case was, fearing 
 that if the truth became known to her, she would 
 break down both mentally and physically. Her 
 hatred of the man who had wrought this misery was 
 so deep and intense that once when she spoke of him 
 to her brother, who was a leading lawyer in the place, 
 he saw, with grave apprehension, the light of insanity 
 in her eyes. Fearful for a breakdown in health, the 
 physicians insisted that she should walk for a certain 
 time each day, and as she refused to go outside of 
 the gate, she took, her lonely promenade up and 
 down a long path in the deserted garden. One day 
 she heard a conversation on the other side of the wall 
 that startled her. 
 
 " That is the house," said a voice, " where Forder 
 lives, who w,as shot by Walter Radnor. The murder 
 took place just behind this wall." 
 
 " Did it really ? " queried a second voice. " I sup- 
 pose Radnor is rather an anxious man this week." 
 
 "Oh," said the first, "he has doubtless been anx- 
 ious enough all along." 
 
 " True. But still if Forder lives the week out, 
 Radnor will escape the gallows. If Forder were to 
 die this week it would be rather rough on his mur-
 
 WHICH WAS THE MURDERER? 13 
 
 derer, for his case would come up before Judge Brent, 
 who is known all over the State as a hanging judge. 
 He has no patience with crimes growing out of poli- 
 tics, and he is certain to charge dead against Radnor, 
 and carry the jury with him. I tell you that the man 
 in jail will be the most joyous person in this city on 
 Sunday morning if Forder is still alive, and I under- 
 stand his friends have bail ready, and that he will be 
 out of jail first thing Monday morning." 
 
 The two unseen persons, having now satisfied their 
 curiosity by their scrutiny of the house, passed on 
 and left Mrs. Forder standing looking into space, with 
 her nervous hands clasped tightly together. 
 
 Coming to herself she walked quickly to the house 
 and sent a messenger for her brother. He found her 
 pacing up and down the room. 
 
 " How is John to-day? " he said. 
 
 " Still the same, still the same," was the answer. 
 "It seems to me he is getting weaker and weaker. 
 He does not recognise me any more." 
 
 " What do the doctors say ? " 
 
 " Oh, how can I tell you ? I don't suppose they 
 speak the truth to me, but when they come again I 
 shall insist upon knowing just what they think. But 
 tell me this : is it true that if John lives through the 
 week his^murderer will escape ? " 
 
 " How do you mean, escape?" 
 
 "Is it the law of the State that if my husband lives 
 till the end of this week, the man who shot him will 
 not be tried for murder?" 
 
 " He will not be tried for murder," said the lawyer, 
 " but he may not be tried for murder even if John
 
 14 REVENGE! 
 
 were to die now. His friends will doubtless try to 
 make it out a case of manslaughter as it is ; or per- 
 haps they will try to get him off on the ground of 
 self-defence. Still, I don't think they would have much 
 of a chance, especially as his case will come before 
 Judge Brent; but if John lives past twelve o'clock on 
 Saturday night, it is the law of the State that Radnor 
 cannot be tried for murder. Then, at most, he will 
 get a term of years in a state prison, but that will not 
 bother him to any great extent. He has a strong 
 political backing, and if his party wins the next state 
 election, which seems likely, the governor will doubt- 
 less pardon him out before a year is over." 
 
 " Is it possible," cried the wife, " that such an 
 enormous miscarriage of justice can take place in a 
 State that pretends to be civilised ? " 
 
 The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. " I don't bank 
 much on our civilisation," he said. " Such things 
 occur every year, and many times a year," 
 
 The wife walked up and down the room, while her 
 brother tried to calm and soothe her. 
 
 " It is terrible it is awful ! " she cried, " that such 
 a dastardly crime may go unavenged ! " 
 
 " My dear sister," said the lawyer, " do not let 
 your mind dwell so much on vengeance. Remember 
 that whatever happens to the villain who caused all 
 this misery, it can neither help nor injure your hus- 
 band." 
 
 " Revenge ! " cried the woman, suddenly turning 
 upon her brother ; " I swear before God that if that 
 man escapes, I will kill him with my own hand ! " 
 
 The lawyer was too wise to say anything to his
 
 WHICH WAS THE MURDERER? 15 
 
 sister in her present frame of mind, and after doing 
 what he could to comfort her he departed. 
 
 On Saturday morning Mrs. Forder confronted the 
 physicians. 
 
 " I want to know," she said, " and I want to know 
 definitely, whether there is the slightest chance of my 
 husband's recovery or not. This suspense is slowly 
 killing me, and I must know the truth, and I mu-st 
 know it now." 
 
 The physicians looked one at the other. " I 
 think," said the elder, " that it is useless to keep you 
 longer in suspense. There is not the slightest hope 
 of your husband's recovery. He may live for a week 
 or for a month perhaps, or he may die at any 
 moment." 
 
 " I thank you, gentlemen," said Mrs. Forder, with 
 a calmness that astonished the two men, who knew 
 the state of excitement she had laboured under for a 
 long time past. " I thank you. I think it is better 
 that I should know." 
 
 All the afternoon she sat by the bedside of her 
 insensible and scarcely breathing husband. His face 
 was wasted to a shadow from his long contest with 
 death. The nurse begged permission to leave the 
 room for a few minutes, and the wife, who had been 
 waiting for this, silently assented. When the woman 
 had gone, Mrs. Forder, with tears streaming from her 
 eyes, kissed her husband. 
 
 " John," she whispered, " you know and you will 
 understand." She pressed his face to her bosom, and 
 when his head fell back on the pillow her husband 
 was smothered.
 
 16 REVENGE! 
 
 Mrs. Forder called for the nurse and sent for the 
 doctors, but that which had happened was only what 
 
 they had all expected. 
 
 ****** 
 
 To a man in the city jail the news of Forder's 
 death brought a wild thrill of fear. The terrible and 
 deadly charge of Judge Brent against the murderer 
 doomed the victim, as every listener in the court- 
 house realised as soon as it was finished. The jury 
 were absent but ten minutes, and the hanging of 
 Walter Radnor did ' more perhaps than anything that 
 ever happened in the State to make life within that 
 commonwealth more secure than it had been before.
 
 A DYNAMITE EXPLOSION. 
 
 DlJPRfe sat at one of the round tables in the Cafe 
 Vernon, with a glass of absinthe before him, which he 
 sipped every now and again. He looked through the 
 open door, out to the Boulevard, and saw passing 
 back and forth with the regularity of a pendulum, a 
 uniformed policeman. Dupre laughed silently as he 
 noticed this evidence of law and order. The Cafe 
 Vernon was under the protection of the Government. 
 The class to which Dupre belonged had sworn that it 
 would blow the caf into the next world, therefore 
 the military-looking policeman walked to and fro on 
 the pavement to prevent this being done, so that all 
 honest citizens might see that the Government pro- 
 tects its own. People were arrested now and then for 
 lingering around the cafe : they were innocent, of 
 course, and by-and-by the Government found that out 
 and let them go. The real criminal seldom acts 
 suspiciously. Most of the arrested persons were 
 merely attracted by curiosity. " There," said one to 
 another, " the notorious Hertzog was arrested." 
 
 The real criminal goes quietly into the cafe, and 
 orders his absinthe, as Dupre had done. And the 
 policeman marches up and down keeping an eye on 
 the guiltless. So runs the world.
 
 i8 REVENGE! 
 
 There were few customers in the cafe, for people 
 feared the vengeance of Hertzog's friends. They 
 expected some fine day that the caf6 would be blown 
 to atoms, and they preferred to be taking their coffee 
 and cognac somewhere else when that time came. 
 It was evident that M. Sonne, the proprietor of the 
 cafe\ had done a poor stroke of business for himself 
 when he gave information to the police regarding the 
 whereabouts of Hertzog, notwithstanding the fact that 
 his caf became suddenly the most noted one in the 
 city, and that it now enjoyed the protection of the 
 Government. 
 
 Dupr6 seldom looked at the proprietor, who sat 
 at the desk, nor at the waiter, who had helped the 
 week before to overpower Hertzog. He seemed 
 more intent on watching the minion of the law who 
 paced back and forth in front of the door, although 
 he once glanced at the other minion who sat almost 
 out of sight at the back of the caf6, scrutinising all 
 who came in, especially those who had parcels of any 
 kind. The caf was well guarded, and M. Sonne, at 
 the desk, appeared to be satisfied with the protection 
 he was receiving. 
 
 When customers did come in they seldom sat at 
 the round metal tables, but went direct to the zinc- 
 CQvered bar, ordered their fluid and drank it standing, 
 seeming in a hurry to get away. They nodded to M. 
 Sonne and were evidently old frequenters of the caf6 
 who did not wish him to think they had deserted him 
 in this crisis, nevertheless they all had engagements 
 that made prompt departure necessary. Dupre smiled 
 grimly when he noticed this. He was the only man
 
 A DYNAMITE EXPLOSION. 19 
 
 sitting at a table. He had no fears of being blown up. 
 He knew that his comrades were more given to big 
 talk than to action. He had not attended the last 
 meeting, for he more than suspected the police had 
 agents among them; besides, his friend and leader, 
 Hertzog, had never attended meetings. That was 
 why the police had had such difficulty in finding him. 
 Hertzog had been a man of deeds not words. He 
 had said to Dupre once, that a single determined man 
 who kept his mouth shut, could do more against so- 
 ciety than all the secret associations ever formed, and 
 his own lurid career had proved the truth of this. But 
 now he was in prison, and it was the treachery of M. 
 Sonne that had sent him there. As he thought of 
 this, Dupre cast a glance at the proprietor and gritted 
 his teeth. 
 
 The policeman at the back of the hall, feeling lonely 
 perhaps, walked to the door and nodded to his parad- 
 ing comrade. The other paused for a moment on his 
 beat, and they spoke to each other. As the policeman 
 returned to his place, Dupre said to him 
 
 " Have a sip with me." 
 
 " Not while on duty," replied the officer with a 
 wink. 
 
 " Gar$on," said Dupr quietly, " bring me a caraffe 
 of brandy. Fin champagne" 
 
 The garqon placed the little marked decanter on the 
 table with two glasses. Dupre filled them both. 
 The policeman, with a rapid glance over his shoulder, 
 tossed one off, and smacked his lips. Dupre slowly 
 sipped the other while he asked 
 
 " Do you anticipate any trouble here? "
 
 20 REVENGE! 
 
 " Not in the least," answered the officer confidently. 
 "Talk, that's all." 
 
 " I thought so," said Dupre\ 
 
 " They had a meeting the other night a secret 
 meeting ; " the policeman smiled a little as he said 
 this. " They talked a good deal. They are going to 
 do wonderful things. A man was detailed to carry 
 out this job." 
 
 " And have you arrested him ? " questioned Dupre\ 
 
 " Oh dear, no. We watch him merely. He is the 
 most frightened man in the city to-night. We expect 
 him to come and tell us all about it, but we hope he 
 won't. We know more about it than he does." 
 
 "I dare say; still it must have hurt M. Sonne's 
 business a good deal." 
 
 " It has killed it for the present. People are such 
 cowards. But the Government will make it all right 
 with him out of the secret fund. He won't lose any- 
 thing." 
 
 " Does he own the whole house, or only the caf? " 
 
 "The whole house. He lets the upper rooms, but 
 nearly all the tenants have left. Yet I call it the 
 safest place in the city. They are all poltroons, the 
 dynamiters, and they are certain to strike at some 
 place not so well guarded. They are all well known 
 to us, and the moment one is caught prowling about 
 here he will be arrested. They are too cowardly to 
 risk their liberty by coming near this place. It's a 
 different thing from leaving a tin can and fuse in 
 some dark corner when nobody is looking. Any fool 
 can do that." 
 
 " Then you think this would be a good time to take
 
 A DYNAMITE EXPLOSION. 21 
 
 a room here ? I am looking for one in this neighbour- 
 hood," said Dupre". 
 
 " You couldn't do better than arrange with M. 
 Sonne. You could make a good bargain with him 
 now, and you would be perfectly safe." 
 
 " I am glad that you mentioned it ; I will speak to 
 M. Sonne to-night, and see the rooms to-morrow. 
 Have another sip of brandy ? " 
 
 " No, thank you, I must be getting back to my 
 place. Just tell M. Sonne, if you take a room, that I 
 spoke to you about it." 
 
 " I will. Good-night." 
 
 Dupre paid his bill and tipped the gargon liberally. 
 The proprietor was glad to hear of any one wanting 
 rooms. It showed the tide was turning, and an ap- 
 pointment was made for next day. 
 
 Dupre kept his appointment, and the concierge 
 showed him over the house. The back rooms were 
 too dark, the windows being but a few feet from the 
 opposite wall. The lower front rooms were too noisy. 
 Dupre said that he liked quiet, being a student. A 
 front room on the third floor, however, pleased him, 
 and he took it. He well knew the necessity of being 
 on good terms with the concierge, who would spy on 
 him anyhow, so he paid just a trifle more than requi- 
 site to that functionary, but not enough to arouse 
 suspicion. Too much is as bad as too little, a fact 
 that Dupre was well aware of. 
 
 He had taken pains to see that his window was 
 directly over the front door of the cafe, but now that 
 he was alone and the door locked, he scrutinised the 
 position more closely. There was an awning over the
 
 22 REVENGE! 
 
 front of the cafe" that shut off his view of the pave- 
 ment and the policeman marching below. That com- 
 plicated matters. Still he remembered that when the 
 sun went down the awning was rolled up. His first 
 idea when he took the room was to drop the dyna- 
 mite from the third story window to the pavement 
 below, but the more he thought of that plan the less 
 he liked it. It was the sort of thing any fool could 
 do, as the policeman had said. It would take some 
 thinking over. Besides, dynamite dropped on the 
 pavement would, at most, but blow in the front of the 
 shop, kill the perambulating policeman perhaps, or 
 some innocent passer-by, but it would not hurt old 
 Sonne nor yet the gargon who had made himself so 
 active in arresting Hertzog. 
 
 Dupre was a methodical man. He spoke quite 
 truly when he said he was a student. He now turned 
 his student training on the case as if it were a problem 
 in mathematics. 
 
 First, the dynamite must be exploded inside the 
 cafe. Second, the thing must be done so deftly that 
 no suspicion could fall on the perpetrator. Third, 
 revenge was no revenge when it (A) killed the man 
 who fired the mine, or (B) left a trail that would lead 
 to his arrest. 
 
 Dupr sat down at his table, thrust his hands in 
 his pockets, stretched out his legs, knit his brows, and 
 set himself to solve the conundrum. He could easily 
 take a handbag filled with explosive material into the 
 cafe. He was known there, but not as a friend of 
 Hertzog's. He was a customer and a tenant, there- 
 fore doubly safe. But he could not leave the bag
 
 A DYNAMITE EXPLOSION. 23 
 
 there, and if he stayed with it his revenge would 
 rebound on himself. He could hand the bag to the 
 waiter saying he would call for it again, but the 
 waiter would naturally wonder why he did not give 
 it to the concierge, and have it sent to his rooms ; 
 besides, the garc^on was wildly suspicious. The waiter 
 felt his unfortunate position. He dare not leave the 
 Cafe Vernon, for he now knew that he was a marked 
 man. At the Vernon he had police protection, while if 
 he went anywhere else he would have no more safeguard 
 than any other citizen ; so he stayed on at the Vernon, 
 such a course being, he thought, the least of two 
 evils. But he watched every incomer much more 
 sharply than did the policeman. 
 
 Dupre also realised that there was another difficulty 
 about the handbag scheme. The dynamite must be 
 set off either by a fuse or by clockwork machinery. 
 A fuse caused smoke, and the moment a man touched 
 a bag containing clockwork his hand felt the thrill of 
 moving machinery. A man who hears for the first 
 time the buzz of the rattlesnake's signal, like the 
 shaking of dry peas in a pod, springs instinctively 
 aside, even though he knows nothing of snakes. 
 How much more, therefore, would a suspicious waiter, 
 whose nerves were all alert for the soft, deadly purr 
 of dynamite mechanism, spoil everything the moment 
 his hand touched the bag? Yes, Dupre reluctantly 
 admitted to himself, the handbag theory was not 
 practical. It led to either self-destruction or prison. 
 
 What then was the next thing, as fuse or mechanism 
 were unavailable? There was the bomb that ex- 
 ploded when it struck, and Dupre had himself made
 
 24 REVENGE! 
 
 several. A man might stand in the middle of the 
 street and shy it in through the open door. But 
 then he might miss the doorway. Also until the hour 
 the caf6 closed the street was as light as day. Then 
 the policeman was all alert for people in the middle of 
 the street. His own safety depended upon it too. 
 How was the man in the street to be dispensed with, 
 yet the result attained ? If the Boulevard was not so 
 wide, a person on the opposite side in a front room 
 might fire a dynamite bomb across, as they do from 
 dynamite guns, but then there was 
 
 " By God ! " cried Dupre, " I have it ! " 
 
 He drew in his outstretched legs, went to the win- 
 dow and threw it open, gazing down for a moment at 
 the pavement below. He must measure the distance 
 at night and late at night too he said to himself. 
 He bought a ball of cord, as nearly the colour of the 
 front of the building as possible. He left his window 
 open, and after midnight ran the cord out till he 
 estimated that it about reached the top of the cafe 
 door. He stole quietly down and let himself out, 
 leaving the door unlatched. The door to the apart- 
 ments was at the extreme edge of the building, while 
 the cafe doors were in the middle, with large windows 
 on each side. As he came round to the front, his 
 heart almost ceased to beat when a voice from the 
 cafe door said 
 
 " What do you want ? What are you doing here 
 at this hour? " 
 
 The policeman had become so much a part of the 
 pavement in Dupr6's mind that he had actually for- 
 gotten the officer was there night and day. Dupre
 
 THE CORD DANGLED ABOUT A FOOT ABOVE THE POLICEMAN'S HEAD. Page
 
 A DYNAMITE EXPLOSION. 25 
 
 allowed himself the luxury of one silent gasp, then 
 his heart took up its work again. 
 
 " I was looking for you," he said quietly. By strain- 
 ing his eyes he noticed at the same moment that the 
 cord dangled about a foot above the policeman's head, 
 as he stood in the dark doorway. 
 
 " I was looking for you. I suppose you don't know 
 of any any chemist's shop open so late as this ? I 
 have a raging toothache and can't sleep, and I want 
 to get something for it." 
 
 " Oh, the chemist's at the corner is open all night. 
 Ring the bell at the right hand." 
 
 " I hate to disturb them for such a trifle." 
 
 " That's what they're there for," said the officer 
 philosophically. 
 
 " Would you mind standing at the other door till 
 I get back? I'll be as quick as I can. I don't wish 
 to leave it open unprotected, and I don't want to 
 close it, for the concierge knows I'm in and he is afraid 
 to open it when any one rings late. You know me, 
 of course ; I'm in No. 16." 
 
 " Yes, I recognise you now, though I didn't at first. 
 I will stand by the door until you return." 
 
 Dupre went to the corner shop and bought a bottle 
 of toothache drops from the sleepy youth behind the 
 counter. He roused him up however, and made him 
 explain how the remedy was to be applied. He 
 thanked the policeman, closed the door, and went up 
 to his room. A second later the cord was cut at the 
 window and quietly pulled in. 
 
 Dupre sat down and breathed hard for a few mo- 
 ments.
 
 26 REVENGE! 
 
 " You fool ! " he said to himself ; " a mistake or two 
 like that and you are doomed. That's what comes of 
 thinking too much on one branch of your subject. 
 Another two feet and the string would have been 
 down on his nose. I am certain he did not see it ; I 
 could hardly see it myself, looking for it. The guard- 
 ing of the side door was an inspiration. But I must 
 think well over every phase of the subject before act- 
 ing again. This is a lesson." 
 
 As he went on with his preparations it astonished 
 him to find how many various things had to be 
 thought of in connexion with an apparently simple 
 scheme, the neglect of any one of which would en- 
 danger the whole enterprise. His plan was a most 
 uncomplicated one. All he had to do was to tie 
 a canister of dynamite at the end of a string of suit- 
 able length, and at night, before the cafe doors were 
 closed, fling it from his window so that the package 
 would sweep in by the open door, strike against the 
 ceiling of the cafe, and explode. First he thought of 
 holding the end of the cord in his hand at the open 
 window, but reflection showed him that if, in the nat- 
 ural excitement of the moment, he drew back or 
 leant too far forward the package might strike the 
 front of the house above the door, or perhaps hit the 
 pavement. He therefore drove a stout nail in the 
 window-sill and attached the end of the cord to that. 
 Again, he had to render his canister of explosive so 
 sensitive to any shock that he realised if he tied the 
 cord around it and flung it out into the night, the can 
 might go off when the string was jerked tight and the 
 explosion take place in mid-air above the street. So
 
 A DYNAMITE EXPLOSION. 27 
 
 he arranged a spiral spring between can and cord to 
 take up harmlessly the shock caused by the momen- 
 tum of the package when the string became suddenly 
 taut. He saw that the weak part of his project was 
 the fact that everything would depend on his own 
 nerve and accuracy of aim at the critical moment, and 
 that a slight miscalculation to the right or to the left 
 would cause the bomb, when falling down and in, to 
 miss the door altogether. He would have but one 
 chance, and there was no opportunity of practising. 
 However, Dupre, who was a philosophical man, said 
 to himself that if people allowed small technical diffi- 
 culties to trouble them too much, nothing really 
 worth doing would be accomplished in this world. 
 He felt sure he was going to make some little mistake 
 that would ruin all his plans, but he resolved to do 
 the best he could and accept the consequences with 
 all the composure at his command. 
 
 As he stood by the window on the fatal night with 
 the canister in his hand he tried to recollect if there 
 was anything left undone or any tracks remaining 
 uncovered. There was no light in his room, but a 
 fire burned in the grate, throwing flickering reflections 
 on the opposite wall. 
 
 " There are four things I must do," he murmured : 
 " first, pull up the string ; second, throw it in the fire ; 
 third, draw out the nail ; fourth, close the window." 
 
 He was pleased to notice that his heart was not 
 beating faster than usual. " I think I have myself 
 well in hand, yet I must not be too cool when I get 
 downstairs. There are so many things to think of 
 all at one time," he said to himself with a sigh. He
 
 28 REVENGE! 
 
 looked up and down the street. The pavement was 
 clear. He waited until the policeman had passed the 
 door. He would take ten steps before he turned on 
 his beat. When his back was towards the cafe door 
 Dupre launched his bomb out into the night. 
 
 He drew back instantly and watched the nail. It 
 held when the jerk came. A moment later the whole 
 building lurched like a drunken man, heaving its shoul- 
 ders as it were. Dupre was startled by a great square 
 of plaster coming down on his table with a crash. 
 Below, there was a roar of muffled thunder. The 
 floor trembled under him after the heave. The glass 
 in the window clattered down, and he felt the air 
 smite him on the breast as if some one had struck him 
 a blow. 
 
 He looked out for a moment. The concussion had 
 extinguished the street lamps opposite. All was dark 
 in front of the cafe where a moment before the Boul- 
 evard was flooded with light. A cloud of smoke was 
 rolling out from the lower part of the house. 
 
 " Four things," said Dupr, as he rapidly pulled in 
 the cord. It was shrivelled at the end. Dupre did 
 the other three things quickly. 
 
 Everything was strangely silent, although the dead- 
 ened roar of the explosion still sounded dully in his 
 ears. His boots crunched on the plaster as he walked 
 across the room and groped for the door. He had 
 some trouble in pulling it open. It stuck so fast that 
 he thought it was locked ; then he remembered with a 
 cold shiver of fear that the door had been unlocked all 
 the time he had stood at the window with the canister 
 in his hand.
 
 DUPRK LAUNCHED HIS BOMB OUT INTO THE NIGHT. Page 28.
 
 A DYNAMITE EXPLOSION. 29 
 
 " I have certainly done some careless thing like that 
 which will betray me yet ; I wonder what it is?" 
 
 He wrenched the door open at last. The lights in 
 the hall were out ; he struck a match, and made his way 
 down. He thought he heard groans. As he went 
 down, he found it was the concierge huddled in a cor- 
 ner. 
 
 " What is the matter? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, my God, my God ! " cried the concierge, " I 
 knew they would do it. We are all blown to atoms ! " 
 
 " Get up," said Dupr, "you're not hurt ; come with 
 me and see if we can be of any use." 
 
 " I'm afraid of another explosion," groaned the 
 concierge. 
 
 "Nonsense! There's never a second. Come along." 
 
 They found some difficulty in getting outside, and 
 then it was through a hole in the wall and not through 
 the door. The lower hall was wrecked. 
 
 Dupre expected to find a crowd, but there was no 
 one there. He did not realise how short a time had 
 elapsed since the disaster. The policeman was on his 
 hands and knees in the street, slowly getting up, like 
 a man in a dream. Dupre ran to him, and helped him 
 on his feet. 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't know," said the policeman, rubbing his 
 head in his bewilderment. 
 
 " How was it done ? " 
 
 " Oh, don't ask me. All at once there was a clap 
 of thumder, and the next thing I was on my face in 
 the street." 
 
 " Is your comrade inside? "
 
 3 o REVENGE! 
 
 " Yes ; he and M. Sonne and two customers." 
 
 "And the garden, wasn't he there?" cried Dupre, 
 with a note of disappointment in his voice. 
 
 The policeman didn't notice the disappointed tone, 
 but answered 
 
 " Oh, the gar^on, of course." 
 
 "Ah," said Dupre, in a satisfied voice, " let us go 
 in, and help them." Now the people had begun to 
 gather in crowds, but kept at some distance from the 
 caf. " Dynamite ! dynamite ! " they said, in awed 
 voices among themselves. 
 
 A detachment of police came mysteriously from 
 somewhere. They drove the crowd still further back. 
 
 " What is this man doing here? " asked the Chief. 
 
 The policeman answered, " He's a friend of ours ; 
 he lives in the house." 
 
 " Oh," said the Chief. 
 
 "I was going in," said Dupr, "to find my friend, 
 the officer, on duty in the cafeV' 
 
 "Very well, come with us." 
 
 They found the>| policeman insensible under the 
 ctibris, with a leg and both arms broken. Dupre 
 helped to carry him out to the ambulance. M. Sonne 
 was breathing when they found him, but died on the 
 way to the hospital. The garden had been blown to 
 pieces. 
 
 The Chief thanked Dupre for his assistance. 
 
 They arrested many persons, but never discovered 
 who blew up the Caf Vernon, although it was sur- 
 mised that some miscreant had left a bag containing 
 an infernal machine, with either the waiter or the pro- 
 prietor.
 
 AN ELECTRICAL SLIP. 
 
 PUBLIC opinion had been triumphantly vindicated. 
 The insanity plea had broken down, and Albert Prior 
 was sentenced to be hanged by the neck until he was 
 dead, and might the Lord have mercy on his soul. 
 Everybody agreed that it was a righteous verdict, but 
 now that he was sentenced they added, " Poor 
 fellow! " 
 
 Albert Prior was a young man who had had more 
 of his own way than was good for him. His own 
 family father, mother, brother, and sisters had 
 given way to him so much, that he appeared to think 
 the world at large should do the same. The world 
 differed with him. Unfortunately, the first to oppose 
 his violent will was a woman a girl almost. She 
 would have nothing to do with him, and told him so. 
 He stormed, of course, but did not look upon her op- 
 position as serious. No girl in her senses could con- 
 tinue to refuse a young man with his prospects in life. 
 But when he heard that she had become engaged 
 to young Bowen, the telegraph operator, Prior's rage 
 passed all bounds. He determined to frighten Bowen 
 out of the place, and called at the telegraph office 
 for that laudable purpose ; but Bowen was the night 
 operator, and was absent. The day man, with a smile,
 
 32 REVENGE! 
 
 not knowing what he did, said Bowen would likely 
 be found at the Parker Place, where Miss Johnson 
 lived with her aunt, her parents being dead. 
 
 Prior ground his teeth and departed. He found 
 Miss Johnson at home, but alone. There was a 
 stormy scene, ending with the tragedy. He fired four 
 times at her, keeping the other two bullets for him- 
 self. But he was a coward and a cur at heart, and 
 when it came to the point of putting the two bullets 
 in himself he quailed, and thought it best to escape. 
 Then electricity did him its first dis-service. It sent 
 his description far and wide, capturing him twenty-five 
 miles from his home. He was taken back to the 
 county town where he lived, and lodged in gaol. 
 
 Public opinion, ever right and all-powerful, now as- 
 serted itself. The outward and visible sign of its 
 action was an ominous gathering of dark-browed citi- 
 zens outside the gaol. There were determined mut- 
 terings among the crowd rather than outspoken anger, 
 but the mob was the more dangerous on that account. 
 One man in its midst thrust his closed hand towards 
 the sky, and from his fist dangled a rope. A cry like 
 the growling of a pack of wolves went up as the mob 
 saw the rope, and they clamoured at the gates of the 
 gaol. " Lynch him ! Gaoler, give up the keys ! " was 
 the cry. 
 
 The agitated sheriff knew his duty, but he hesitated 
 to perform it. Technically, this was a mob a mob 
 of outlaws ; but in reality it was composed of his 
 fellow-townsmen, his neighbours, his friends justly 
 indignant at the commission of an atrocious crime. 
 He might order them to be fired upon, and the order
 
 AN ELECTRICAL SLIP. 33 
 
 perhaps would be obeyed. One, two, a dozen might 
 be killed, and technically again they would have de- 
 served their fate ; yet all that perfectly legal slaughter 
 would be for what ? To save, for a time only, the 
 worthless life of a wretch who rightly merited any 
 doom the future might have in store for him. So 
 the sheriff wrung his hands, bewailed the fact that 
 such a crisis should have arisen during his term of 
 office, and did nothing ; while the clamours of the 
 mob grew so loud that the trembling prisoner in his 
 cell heard it, and broke out into a cold sweat when he 
 quickly realised what it meant. He was to have a 
 dose of justice in the raw. 
 
 " What shall I do ? " asked the gaoler. " Give up 
 the keys ? " 
 
 "I don't know what to do," cried the sheriff, de- 
 spairingly. " Would there be any use in speaking to 
 them, do you think? " 
 
 " Not the slightest." 
 
 " I ought to call on them to disperse, and if they 
 refused I suppose I should have them fired on.' ' 
 
 " That is the law," answered the gaoler, grimly. 
 
 " What would you do if you were in my place ? " 
 appealed the sheriff. It was evident the stern Roman 
 Father was not elected by popular vote in that 
 county. 
 
 " Me ? " said the gaoler. " Oh, I'd give 'em the 
 keys, and let 'em hang him. It'll save you the trouble. 
 If you have 'em fired on, you're sure to kill the very 
 men who are at this moment urging 'em to go home. 
 There's always an innocent man in a mob, and he's 
 the one to get hurt every time."
 
 34 REVENGE! 
 
 " Well then, Perkins, you give them the keys ; but 
 for Heaven's sake don't say I told you. They'll be 
 sorry for this to-morrow. You know I'm elected, but 
 you're appointed, so you don't need to mind what 
 people say." 
 
 " That's all right," said the gaoler, " I'll stand the 
 brunt." 
 
 But the keys were not given up. The clamour had 
 ceased. A young man with pale face and red eyes 
 stood on the top of the stone wall that surrounded 
 the gaol. He held up his hand and there was instant 
 silence. They all recognised him as Bowen, the 
 night operator, to whom she had been engaged. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he cried and his clear voice reached 
 the outskirts of the crowd " don't do it. Don't put 
 an everlasting stain on the fair name of our town. 
 No one has ever been lynched in this county and 
 none in this State, so far as I know. Don't let us 
 begin it. If I thought the miserable scoundrel inside 
 would escape if I thought his money would buy him 
 off I'd be the man to lead you to batter down those 
 doors and hang him on the nearest tree and you 
 know it." There were cheers at this. " But he won't 
 escape. His money can't buy him off. He will be 
 hanged by the law. Don't think it's mercy I'm 
 preaching ; it's vengeance ! " Bowen shook his 
 clenched fist at the gaol. " That wretch there has 
 been in hell ever since he heard your shouts. He'll 
 be in hell, for he's a dastard, until the time his trem- 
 bling legs carry him to the scaffold. I want him to 
 stay in this hell till he drops through into the other, 
 if there is one. I want him to suffer some of the
 
 AN ELECTRICAL SLIP. 35 
 
 misery he has caused. Lynching is over in a mo- 
 ment. I want that murderer to die by the slow mer- 
 ciless cruelty of the law." 
 
 Even the worst in the crowd shuddered as they 
 heard these words and realised as they looked at 
 Bcnven's face, almost inhuman in its rage, that his 
 thirst for revenge made their own seem almost inno- 
 cent. The speech broke up the crowd. The man 
 with the rope threw it over into the gaol-yard, shout- 
 ing to the sheriff, " Take care of it, old man, you'll 
 need it." 
 
 The crowd dispersed, and the sheriff, overtaking 
 Bowen, brought his hand down affectionately on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Bowen, my boy," he said, "you're a brick. I'm 
 everlastingly obliged to you. You got me out of an 
 awful hole. If you ever get into a tight place, Bowen, 
 come to me, and if money or influence will help you, 
 you can have all I've got of either." 
 
 "Thanks," said Bowen, shortly. He was not in a 
 mood for congratulations. 
 
 And so it came about, just as Bowen knew it would, 
 that all the money and influence of the Prior family 
 could not help the murderer, and he was sentenced to 
 be hanged on September 21, at 6 A. M. And thus 
 public opinion was satisfied. 
 
 But the moment the sentence was announced, and 
 the fate of the young man settled, a curious change 
 began to be noticed in public opinion. It seemed to 
 have veered round. There was much sympathy for 
 the family of course. Then there came to be much 
 sympathy for the criminal himself, People quoted
 
 36 REVENGE! 
 
 the phrase about the worst use a man can be put to. 
 Ladies sent flowers to the condemned man's cell. 
 After all, hanging him, poor fellow, would not bring 
 Miss Johnson back to life. However, few spoke of 
 Miss Johnson, she was forgotten by all but one man, 
 who ground his teeth when he realised the instability 
 of public opinion. 
 
 Petitions were got up, headed by the local clergy. 
 Women begged for signatures, and got them. Every 
 man and woman signed them. All except one ; and 
 even he was urged to sign by a tearful lady, who 
 asked him to remember that vengeance was the Lord's. 
 
 " But the Lord has his instruments," said Bowen, 
 grimly ; " and I swear to you, madam, that if you suc- 
 ceed in getting that murderer reprieved, I will be 
 the instrument of the Lord's vengeance." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that," pleaded the lady. " Your 
 signature would have suck an effect. You were noble 
 once and saved him from lynching ; be noble again 
 and save him from the gallows." 
 
 " I shall certainly not sign. It is, if you will pardon 
 me, an insult to ask me. If you reprieve him you 
 will make a murderer of me, for I will kill him when 
 he comes out, if it is twenty years from now. You 
 talk of lynching ; it is such work as you are doing 
 that makes lynching possible. The people seem all 
 with you now, more shame to them, but the next 
 murder that is committed will be followed by a lynch- 
 ing just because you are successful to-day." 
 
 The lady left Bowen with a sigh, depressed because 
 of the depravity of human nature, as indeed she had 
 every right to be.
 
 AN ELECTRICAL SLIP. 37 
 
 The Prior family was a rich and influential one. 
 The person who is alive has many to help ; the one in 
 the grave has few to cry for justice. Petitions calling 
 for mercy poured in on the governor from all parts of 
 the State. The good man, whose eye was entirely on 
 his own re-election, did not know what to do. If 
 any one could have shown him mathematically that 
 this action or the other would gain or lose him 
 exactly so many votes, his course would have been 
 clear, but his own advisers were uncertain about the 
 matter. A mistake in a little thing like this might 
 easily lose him the election. Sometimes it was 
 rumoured that the governor was going to commute 
 the sentence to imprisonment for life ; then the rumour 
 was contradicted. 
 
 People claimed, apparently with justice, that surely 
 imprisonment for life was a sufficient punishment for 
 a young man ; but every one knew in his own heart 
 that the commutation was only the beginning of the 
 fight, and that a future governor would have sufficient 
 pressure brought to bear upon him to let the young 
 man go. 
 
 Up to September 20 the governor made no sign. 
 When Bowen went to his duties on the night of the 
 2oth he met the sheriff. 
 
 " Has any reprieve arrived yet ? " asked Bowen. 
 The sheriff shook his head sadly. He had never yet 
 hanged a man, and did not wish to begin. 
 
 " No," said the sheriff. " And from what I heard this 
 afternoon none is likely to arrive. The governor has 
 made up his mind at last that the law must take its 
 course."
 
 38 REVENGE! 
 
 " I'm glad of that," said Bowen. 
 
 " Well, I'm not" 
 
 After nine o'clock messages almost ceased coming 
 in, and Bowen sat reading the evening paper. Sud- 
 denly there came a call for the office, and the opera- 
 tor answered. As the message came over the wire, 
 Bowen wrote it down mechanically from the clicking 
 instrument, not understanding its purport ; but when 
 he read it, he jumped to his feet, with an oath. He 
 looked wildly around the room, then realised with a 
 sigh of relief that he was alone, except for the messen- 
 ger boy who sat dozing in a corner, with his cap over 
 his eyes. He took up the telegram again, and read 
 it with set teeth. 
 
 " ' Sheriff of Brenting County, Brentingville. 
 " Do not proceed further with execution of Prior. 
 Sentence commuted. Documents sent off by to- 
 night's mail registered. Answer that you understand 
 this message. 
 
 " JOHN DAY, Governor" 
 
 Bowen walked up and down the room with knitted 
 brow. He was in no doubt as to what he would do, 
 but he wanted to think over it. The telegraph in- 
 strument called to him and he turned to it, giving the 
 answering click. The message was to himself from 
 the operator at the capital, and it told him he was to 
 forward the sheriff's telegram without delay, and re- 
 port to the office at the capital a man's life depended 
 on it, the message concluded. Bowen answered that 
 the telegram to the sheriff would be immediately 
 sent.
 
 ' DO NOT PROCKKI) KURTHKR WITH EXECUTION.'' Page
 
 AN ELECTRICAL SLIP. 39 
 
 Taking another telegraph blank, he wrote : 
 
 " Sheriff of Brenting County, Brentingville. 
 " Proceed with execution of Prior. No reprieve will 
 be sent. Reply if you understand this message. 
 
 " JOHN DAY, Governor" 
 
 It is a pity it cannot be written that Bowen felt 
 some compunction at what he was doing. We like to 
 think that, when a man deliberately commits a crime, 
 he should hesitate and pay enough deference to the 
 proprieties as to feel at least a temporary regret, even 
 if he goes on with his crime afterward. Bowen's 
 thoughts were upon the dead girl, not on the living 
 man. He roused the dozing telegraph messenger. 
 
 " Here," he said, " take this to the gaol and find the 
 sheriff. If he is not there, go to his residence. If he 
 is asleep, wake him up. Tell him this wants an 
 answer. Give him a blank, and when he has filled 
 it up, bring it to me; give the message to no one 
 else, mind." 
 
 The boy said " Yes, sir," and departed into the 
 night. He returned so quickly that Bowen knew with- 
 out asking that he had found the sleepless sheriff at 
 the gaol. The message to the governor, written in a 
 trembling hand by the sheriff, was: "I understand 
 that the execution is to take place. If you should 
 change your mind, for God's sake telegraph as soon as 
 possible. I shall delay execution until last moment 
 allowed by law." 
 
 Bowen did not send that message, but another. 
 He laughed and then checked himself in alarm, for 
 his laugh sounded strange. " I wonder if I am quite 
 sane," he said to himself. " I doubt it."
 
 40 REVENGE! 
 
 The night wore slowly on. A man representing a 
 Press association came in after twelve and sent a long 
 dispatch. Bowen telegraphed it, taking the chances 
 that the receiver would not communicate with the 
 sender of the reprieve at the capital. He knew how 
 mechanically news of the greatest importance was 
 taken off the wire by men who have automatically 
 been doing that for years. Anyhow all the copper and 
 zinc in the world could not get a message into Brent- 
 ingville, except through him, until the day operator 
 came on, and then it would be too late. 
 
 The newspaper man, lingering, asked if there would 
 be only one telegrapher on hand after the execution. 
 
 " I shall have a lot of stuff to send over and I want 
 it rushed. Some of the papers may get out specials. 
 I would have brought an operator with me but we 
 thought there was going to be a reprieve although 
 the sheriff didn't seem to think so," he added. 
 
 " The day operator will be here at six, I will return 
 as soon as I have had a cup of coffee, and we'll handle 
 all you can write," answered Bowen, without looking 
 up from his instrument. 
 
 " Thanks. Grim business, isn't it ? " 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " I thought the governor would cave ; didn't you ? " 
 
 " I didn't know." 
 
 " He's a shrewd old villain. He'd have lost next 
 election if he'd reprieved this man. People don't 
 want to see lynching introduced, and a weak-kneed 
 governor is Judge Lynch's friend. Well, good-night, 
 see you in the morning." 
 
 " Good-night/' said Bowen.
 
 AN ELECTRICAL SLIP. 41 
 
 Daylight gradually dimmed the lamps in the tele- 
 graph room, and Bowen started and caught his breath 
 as the church bell began to toll. 
 
 It was ten minutes after six when Bowen's partner, 
 the day man, came in. 
 
 " Well, they've hanged him," he said. 
 
 Bowen was fumbling among some papers on his 
 table. He folded two of them and put them in his 
 inside pocket. Then he spoke : 
 
 " There will be a newspaper man here in a few mo- 
 ments with a good deal of copy to telegraph. Rush it 
 off as fast as you can and I'll be back to help before 
 you are tired." 
 
 As Bowen walked towards the gaol he met the 
 scattered group of those who had been privileged to 
 see the execution. They were discussing capital pun- 
 ishment, and some were yawningly complaining about 
 the unearthly hour chosen for the function they had 
 just beheld. Between the outside gate and ( the gaol 
 door Bowen met the sheriff, who was looking ghastly 
 and sallow in the fresh morning 'light. 
 
 " I have come to give myself up," said Bowen, 
 before the official could greet him. 
 
 "To give yourself up? What for?" 
 
 " For murder, I suppose." 
 
 " This is no time for joking, young man," said the 
 sheriff, severely. 
 
 " Do I look like a humourist ? Read that." 
 
 First incredulity, then horror, overspread the hag- 
 gard face of the sheriff as he read and re-read the dis- 
 patch. He staggered back against the wall, putting 
 up his arm to keep himself from falling.
 
 42 REVENGE! 
 
 " Bowen," he gasped. " Do you do you mean to 
 to tell me that this message came for me last 
 night?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " And you you suppressed it ? " 
 
 " I did and sent you a false one." 
 
 " And I have hanged a reprieved man ? " 
 
 " You have hanged a murderer yes." 
 
 " My God ! My God ! " cried the sheriff. He turned 
 his face on his arm against the wall and wept. His 
 nerves were gone. He had been up all night and had 
 never hanged a man before. 
 
 Bowen stood there until the spasm was over. The 
 sheriff turned indignantly to him, trying to hide the 
 feeling of shame he felt at giving way, in anger at the 
 witness of it. 
 
 " And you come to me, you villain, because I said 
 I would help you if you ever got into a tight place ? " 
 
 " Damn your tight place," cried the young man, 
 " I come to you to give myself up. I stand by what I 
 do. I don't squeal. There will be no petitions got 
 up for me. What are you going to do with me? " 
 
 " I don't know, Bowen, I don't know," faltered the 
 official, on the point of breaking down again. He 
 did not wish to have to hang another man, and a 
 friend at that. "I'll have to see the governor. I'll 
 leave by the first train. I don't suppose you'll try to 
 escape." 
 
 " I'll be here when you want me." 
 
 So Bowen went back to help the day operator, and 
 the sheriff left by the first train for the capital. 
 
 Now a strange thing happened. For the first time
 
 AN ELECTRICAL SLIP. 43 
 
 within human recollection the newspapers were unani- 
 mous in commending the conduct of the head of the 
 State, the organs of the governor's own party lavishly 
 praising him ; the opposition sheets grudgingly ad- 
 mitting that he had more backbone than they had 
 given him credit for. Public opinion, like the cat of 
 the simile, had jumped, and that unmistakably. 
 
 " In the name of all that's wonderful, sheriff," said 
 the bewildered governor, " who signed all those peti- 
 tions? If the papers wanted the man hanged, why, in 
 the fiend's name, did they not say so before, and save 
 me all this worry ? Now how many know of this 
 suppressed dispatch ? " 
 
 "Well, there's you and your subordinates here 
 and " 
 
 " We II say nothing about it." 
 
 " And then there is me and Bowen in Brentingville. 
 That's all." 
 
 " Well, Bowen will keep quiet for his own sake, and 
 you won't mention it." 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " Then let's all keep quiet. The thing's safe if 
 some of those newspaper fellows don't get after it. 
 It's not on record in the books, and I'll burn all the 
 documents." 
 
 And thus it was. Public opinion was once more 
 vindicated. The governor was triumphantly re- 
 elected as a man with some stamina about him.
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD. 
 
 IT is a bad thing for a man to die with an unsatis- 
 fied thirst for revenge parching his soul. David Allen 
 died, cursing Bernard Heaton and lawyer Grey ; hat- 
 ing the lawyer who had won the case even more than 
 the man who was to gain by the winning. Yet if 
 cursing were to be done, David should rather have 
 cursed his own stubbornness and stupidity. 
 
 To go back for some years, this is what had hap. 
 pened. Squire Heaton's only son went wrong. The 
 Squire raged, as was natural. He was one of a long line 
 of hard-drinking, hard-riding, hard-swearing squires, 
 and it was maddening to think that his only son 
 should deliberately take to books and cold water, 
 when there was manly sport on the country side and 
 old wine in the cellar. Yet before now such blows 
 have descended upon deserving men, and they have to 
 be borne as best they may. Squire Heaton bore it 
 badly, and when his son went off on a government 
 scientific expedition around the world the Squire 
 drank harder, and swore harder than ever, but never 
 mentioned the boy's name. 
 
 Two years after, young Heaton returned, but the 
 doors of the Hall were closed against him. He had 
 no mother to plead for him, although it was not likely 
 that would have made any difference, for the Squire
 
 HIS FIRST ACT WAS TO DISCHARGK EVERY SERVANT. Page 45.
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD. 45 
 
 was not a man to be appealed to and swayed this way 
 or that. He took his hedges, his drinks, and his 
 course in life straight. The young man went to 
 India, where he was drowned. As there is no mystery 
 in this matter, it may as well be stated here that 
 young Heaton ultimately returned to England, as 
 drowned men have ever been in the habit of doing, 
 when their return will mightily inconvenience inno- 
 cent persons who have taken their places. It is a 
 disputed question whether the sudden disappearance 
 of a man, or his reappearance after a lapse of years, is 
 the more annoying. 
 
 If the old Squire felt remorse at the supposed death 
 of his only son he did not show it. The hatred which 
 had been directed against his unnatural offspring re- 
 doubled itself and was bestowed on his nephew David 
 Allen, who was now the legal heir to the estate and 
 its income. Allen was the impecunious son of the 
 Squire's sister who had married badly. It is hard to 
 starve when one is heir to a fine property, but that is 
 what David did, and it soured him. The Jews would 
 not lend on the security the son might return so 
 David Allen waited for a dead man's shoes, impov- 
 erished and embittered. 
 
 At last the shoes were ready for him to step into. 
 The old Squire died as a gentleman should, of ap- 
 oplexy, in his armchair, with a decanter at his elbow ; 
 David Allen entered into his belated inheritance, and 
 his first act was to discharge every servant, male and 
 female, about the place and engage others who owed 
 their situations to him alone. Then were the Jews 
 sorry they had not trusted him.
 
 46 REVENGE! 
 
 He was now rich but broken in health, with bent 
 shoulders, without a friend on the earth. He was a 
 man suspicious of all the world, and he had a furtive 
 look over his shoulder as if he expected Fate to deal 
 him a sudden blow as indeed it did. 
 
 It was a beautiful June day, when there passed the 
 porter's lodge and walked up the avenue to the main 
 entrance of the Hall a man whose face was bronzed by 
 a torrid sun. He requested speech with the master 
 and was asked into a room to wait. 
 
 At length David Allen shuffled in, with his bent 
 shoulders, glaring at the intruder from under his 
 bushy eyebrows. The stranger rose as he entered 
 and extended his hand. 
 
 " You don't know me, of course. I believe we have 
 never met before. I am your cousin." 
 
 Allen ignored the outstretched hand. 
 
 " I have no cousin," he said. 
 
 " I am Bernard Heaton, the son of your uncle." 
 
 " Bernard Heaton is dead." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, he is not. I ought to know, 
 for I tell you I am he." 
 
 "You lie!" 
 
 Heaton, who had been standing since his cousin's 
 entrance, now sat down again, Allen remaining on his 
 feet. 
 
 " Look here," said the new-comer. " Civility costs 
 nothing and ' 
 
 " I cannot be civil to an impostor." 
 
 " Quite so. It is difficult. Still, if I am an im- 
 postor, civility can do no harm, while if it should turn 
 out that I am not an impostor, then your present tone
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD. 47 
 
 may make after arrangements all the harder upon you. 
 Now will you oblige me by sitting down ? I dislike, 
 while sitting myself, talking to a standing man." 
 
 " Will you oblige me by stating what you want be- 
 fore I order my servants to turn you out? " 
 
 " I see you are going to be hard on yourself. I will 
 endeavour to keep my temper, and if I succeed it will 
 be a triumph for a member of our family. I am to 
 state what I want ? I will. I want as my own the 
 three rooms on the first floor of the south wing the 
 rooms communicating with each other. You perceive 
 I at least know the house. I want my meals served 
 there, and I wish to be undisturbed at all hours. 
 Next I desire that you settle upon me say five hun- 
 dred a year or six hundred out of the revenues of 
 the estate. I am engaged in scientific research of a 
 peculiar kind. I can make money, of course, but I 
 wish my mind left entirely free from financial worry. 
 I shall not interfere with your enjoyment of the estate 
 in the least." 
 
 " I'll wager you will not. So you think I am fool 
 enough to harbour and feed the first idle vagabond 
 that comes along and claims to be my dead cousin. 
 Go to the courts with your story and be imprisoned 
 as similar perjurers have been." 
 
 " Of course I don't expect you to take my word for 
 it. If you were any judge of human nature you 
 would see I am not a vagabond. Still that's neither 
 here nor there. Choose three of your own friends. I 
 will lay my proofs before them and abide by their de- 
 cision. Come, nothing could be fairer than that, now 
 could it ?"
 
 48 REVENGE! 
 
 " Go to the courts, I tell you." 
 
 " Oh, certainly. But only as a last resort. No wise 
 man goes to law if there is another course open. But 
 \vhat is the use of taking such an absurd position ? 
 You know I'm your cousin. I'll take you blindfold 
 into every room in the place." 
 
 " Any discharged servant could do that. I have 
 had enough of you. I am not a man to be black- 
 mailed. Will you leave the house yourself, or shall I 
 call the servants to put you out ? " 
 
 " I should be sorry to trouble you," said Heaton, 
 rising. " That is your last word, I take it ? " 
 
 " Absolutely." 
 
 ''Then good-bye. We shall meet at Philippi." 
 
 Allen watched him disappear down the avenue, and 
 it dimly occurred to him that he had not acted dip- 
 lomatically. 
 
 Heaton went directly to lawyer Grey, and laid the 
 case before him. He told the lawyer what his modest 
 demands were, and gave instructions that if, at any 
 time before the suit came off, his cousin would com- 
 promise, an arrangement avoiding publicity should be 
 arrived at. 
 
 " Excuse me for saying that looks like weakness,' 
 remarked the lawyer. 
 
 " I know it does," answered Heaton. " But my case 
 is so strong that I can afford to have it appear weak." 
 
 The lawyer shook his head. He knew how uncer- 
 tain the law was. But he soon discovered that no 
 compromise was possible. 
 
 The case came to trial, and the verdict was entirely 
 in favour of Bernard Heaton.
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD. 49 
 
 The pallor of death spread over the sallow face of 
 David Allen as he realised that he was once again a 
 man without a penny or a foot of land. He left the 
 court with bowed head, speaking no word to those 
 who had defended him. Heaton hurried after him, 
 overtaking him on the pavement. 
 
 " I knew this had to be the result," he said to the 
 defeated man. " No other outcome was possible. I 
 have no desire to cast you penniless into the street. 
 What you refused to me I shall be glad to offer you. 
 I will make the annuity a thousand pounds." 
 
 Allen, trembling, darted one look of malignant hate 
 at his cousin. 
 
 " You successful scoundrel ! " he cried. " You and 
 your villainous confederate Grey. I tell you " 
 
 The blood rushed to his mouth ; he fell upon the 
 pavement and died. One and the same day had 
 robbed him of his land and his life. 
 
 Bernard Heaton deeply regretted the tragic issue, 
 but went on with his researches at the Hall, keeping 
 much to himself. Lawyer Grey, who had won renown 
 by his conduct of the celebrated case, was almost his 
 only friend. To him Heaton partially disclosed his 
 hopes, told what he had learned during those years he 
 had been lost to the world in India, and claimed that 
 if he succeeded in combining the occultism of the East 
 with the science of the West, he would make for him- 
 self a name of imperishable renown. 
 
 The lawyer, a practical man of the world, tried to 
 persuade Heaton to abandon his particular line of re- 
 search, but without success. 
 
 "No good can come of it," said Grey. " India has
 
 50 REVENGE! 
 
 spoiled you. Men who dabble too much in that sort 
 of thing go mad. The brain is a delicate instrument. 
 Do not trifle with it." 
 
 "Nevertheless," persisted Heaton, "the great dis- 
 coveries of the twentieth century are going to be in 
 that line, just as the great discoveries of the nineteenth 
 century have been in the direction of electricity." 
 
 " The cases are not parallel. Electricity is a tangi- 
 ble substance." 
 
 " Is it ? Then tell me what it is composed of? We 
 all know how it is generated, and we know partly 
 what it will do, but what is it. 
 
 " I shall have to charge you six-and-eightpence for 
 answering that question," the lawyer had said with a 
 laugh. " At any rate there is a good deal to be dis- 
 covered about electricity yet. Turn your attention 
 to that and leave this Indian nonsense alone." 
 
 Yet, astonishing as it may seem, Bernard Heaton, 
 to his undoing, succeeded, after many futile attempts, 
 several times narrowly escaping death. Inventors 
 and discoverers have to risk their lives as often as 
 soldiers, with less chance of worldly glory. 
 
 First his invisible excursions were confined to the 
 house and his own grounds, then he went further 
 afield, and to his intense astonishment one day he met 
 the spirit of the man who hated him. 
 
 "Ah," said David Allen, "you did not live long to 
 enjoy your ill-gotten gains." 
 
 " You are as wrong in this sphere of existence as 
 you were in the other. I am not dead." 
 
 " Then why are you here and in this shape ?" 
 
 " I suppose there is no harm in telling you. What
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD. 51 
 
 I wanted to discover, at the time you would not give 
 me a hearing, was how to separate the spirit from its 
 servant, the body that is, temporarily and not finally. 
 My body is at this moment lying apparently asleep 
 in a locked room in my house one of the rooms I 
 begged from you. In an hour or two I shall return 
 and take possession of it." 
 
 "And how do you take possession of it and quit 
 it?" 
 
 Heaton, pleased to notice the absence of that ran- 
 cour which had formerly been Allen's most promi- 
 nent characteristic, and feeling that any information 
 given to a disembodied spirit was safe as far as the 
 world was concerned, launched out on the subject that 
 possessed his whole mind. 
 
 " It is very interesting," said Allen, when he had 
 finished. 
 
 And so they parted. 
 
 David Allen at once proceeded to the Hall, which 
 he had not seen since the day he left it to attend the 
 trial. He passed quickly through the familiar apart- 
 ments until he entered the locked room on the first 
 floor of the south wing. There on the bed lay the 
 body of Heaton, most of the colour gone from the 
 face, but breathing regularly, if almost imperceptibly, 
 like a mechanical wax-figure. 
 
 If a watcher had been in the room, he would have 
 seen the colour slowly return to the face and the 
 sleeper gradually awaken, at last rising from the bed. 
 
 Allen, in the body of Heaton, at first felt very un- 
 comfortable, as a man does who puts on an ill-fitting 
 suit of clothes. The limitations caused by the wear-
 
 52 REVENGE! 
 
 ing of a body also discommoded him. He looked 
 carefully around the room. It was plainly furnished. 
 A desk in the corner he found contained the MS. of 
 a book prepared for the printer, all executed with 
 the neat accuracy of a scientific man. Above the 
 desk, pasted against the wall, was a sheet of paper 
 headed : 
 
 " What to do if I am found here apparently dead." 
 Underneath were plainly written instructions. It was 
 evident that Heaton had taken no one into his con- 
 fidence. 
 
 It is well if you go in for revenge to make it as 
 complete as possible. Allen gathered up the MS., 
 placed it in the grate, and set a match to it. Thus he 
 at once destroyed his enemy's chances of posthumous 
 renown, and also removed evidence that might, in 
 certain contingencies, prove Heaton's insanity. 
 
 Unlocking the door, he proceeded down the stairs, 
 where he met a servant who told him luncheon was 
 ready. He noticed that the servant was one whom he 
 had discharged, so he came to the conclusion that 
 Heaton had taken back all the old retainers who had 
 applied to him when the result of the trial became 
 public. Before lunch was over he saw that some of 
 his own servants were also there still. 
 
 " Send the gamekeeper to me," said Allen to the 
 servant. 
 
 Brown came in, who had been on the estate for 
 twenty years continuously, with the exception of the 
 few months after Allen had packed him off. 
 
 " What pistols have I, Brown ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, there's the old Squire's duelling pistols,
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD. 53 
 
 rather out of date, sir ; then your own pair and that 
 American revolver." 
 
 " Is the revolver in working order ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, sir." 
 
 " Then bring it to me and some cartridges." 
 
 When Brown returned with the revolver his master 
 took it and examined it. 
 
 " Be careful, sir," said Brown, anxiously. " You 
 know it's a self-cocker, sir." 
 
 " A what ? " 
 
 " A self-cocking revolver, sir " trying to repress 
 his astonishment at the question his master asked 
 about a weapon with which he should have been 
 familiar. 
 
 " Show me what you mean," said Allen, handing 
 back the revolver. 
 
 Brown explained that the mere pulling of the 
 trigger fired the weapon. 
 
 " Now shoot at the end window never mind the 
 glass. Don't stand gaping at me, do as I tell you." 
 
 Brown fired the revolver, and a diamond pane 
 snapped out of the window. 
 
 "How many times will that shoot without reloading?" 
 
 " Seven times, sir." 
 
 " Very good. Put in a cartridge for the one you 
 fired and leave the revolver with me. Find out when 
 there is a train to town, and let me know." 
 
 It will be remembered that the dining-room incident 
 was used at the trial, but without effect, as going to 
 show that Bernard Heaton was insane. Brown also 
 testified that there was something queer about his 
 master that day.
 
 54 REVENGE! 
 
 David Allen found all the money he needed in the 
 pockets of Bernard Heaton. He caught his train, and 
 took a cab from the station directly to the law offices 
 of Messrs. Grey, Leason and Grey, anxious to catch 
 the lawyer before he left for the day. 
 
 The clerk sent up word that Mr. Heaton wished to 
 see the senior Mr. Grey for a few moments. Allen 
 was asked to walk up. 
 
 " You know the way, sir," said the clerk. 
 
 Allen hesitated. 
 
 "Announce me, if you please." 
 
 The clerk, being well trained, showed no surprise, 
 but led the visitor to Mr. Grey's door. 
 
 " How are you, Heaton ? " said the lawyer, cordially. 
 " Take a chair. Where have you been keeping your- 
 self this long time? How are the Indian experiments 
 coming on? " 
 
 " Admirably, admirably," answered Allen. 
 
 At the sound of his voice the lawyer looked up 
 quickly, then apparently, reassured he said 
 
 "You're not looking quite the same. Been keeping 
 yourself too much indoors, I imagine. You ought to 
 quit research aud do some shooting this autumn." 
 
 " I, intend to, and I hope then to have your com- 
 pany." 
 
 " I shall be pleased to run down, although I am no 
 great hand at a gun." 
 
 " I want to speak with you a few moments in pri- 
 vate. Would you mind locking the door so that we 
 may not be interrupted ? " 
 
 "We are quite safe from interruption here," said 
 the lawyer, as he turned the key in the lock ; then
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD. 55 
 
 resuming his seat he added, " Nothing serious, I 
 hope ?" 
 
 " It is rather serious. Do you mind my sitting 
 here ? " asked Allen, as he drew up his chair so that 
 he was between Grey and the door, with the table 
 separating them. The lawyer was watching him with 
 anxious face, but without, as yet, serious apprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 "Now," said Allen, " will you answer me a simple 
 question? To whom are you talking?" 
 
 " To whom ?" The lawyer in his amazement 
 
 could get no .further. 
 
 " Yes. To whom are you talking ? Name him." 
 
 " Heaton, what is the matter with you? Are you 
 ill?" 
 
 " Well, you have mentioned a name, but, being a 
 villain and a lawyer, you cannot give a direct answer 
 to a very simple question. You think you are talking 
 to that poor fool Bernard Heaton. It is true that the 
 body you are staring at is Heaton's body, but the 
 man you are talking to is David Alleft the man you 
 swindled and then murdered. Sit down. If you 
 move you are a dead man. Don't try to edge to the 
 door. There are seven deaths in this revolver and 
 the whole seven can be let loose in less than that 
 many seconds, for this is a self-cocking instrument. 
 Now it will take you at least ten seconds to get to the 
 door, so remain exactly where you are. That advice 
 will strike you as wise, even if, as you think, you have 
 to do with a madman. You asked me a minute ago 
 how the Indian experiments were coming on, and I 
 answered admirably. Bernard Heaton left his body
 
 56 REVENGE! 
 
 this morning, and I, David Allen, am now in posses- 
 sion of it. Do you understand? I admit it is a little 
 difficult for the legal mind to grasp such a situation." 
 
 " Ah, not at all," said Grey, airily. " I comprehend 
 it perfectly. The man I see before me is the spirit, 
 life, soul, whatever you like to call it of David Allen 
 in the body of my friend Bernard Heaton. The ah 
 essence of my friend is at this moment fruitlessly 
 searching for his missing body. Perhaps he is in this 
 room now, not knowing how to get out a spiritual 
 writ of ejectment against you." 
 
 " You show more quickness than I expected of you," 
 said Allen. 
 
 " Thanks," rejoined Grey, although he said to him- 
 self, " Heaton has gone mad ! stark staring mad, as I 
 expected he would. He is armed. The situation is 
 becoming dangerous. I must humour him." 
 
 " Thanks. And now may I ask what you propose 
 to do ? You have not come here for legal advice. 
 You never, unluckily for me, were a client of mine." 
 
 " No. I did* not come either to give or take ad- 
 vice. I am here, alone with you you gave orders 
 that we were not to be disturbed, remember for the 
 sole purpose of revenging myself on you and on 
 Heaton. Now listen, for the scheme will commend 
 itself to your ingenious mind. I shall murder you in 
 this room. I shall then give myself up. I shall va- 
 cate this body in Newgate prison and your friend 
 may then resume his tenancy or not as he chooses. 
 He may allow the unoccupied body to die in the 
 cell or he may take possession of it and be hanged 
 for murder. Do you appreciate the completeness of
 
 'WHEN YOU PRESS THE IVORY BUITON, i KIRE." Page $j.
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD. 57 
 
 my vengeance on you both ? Do you think your 
 friend will care to put on his body again ? " 
 
 " It is a nice question," said the lawyer, as he edged 
 his chair imperceptibly along and tried to grope be- 
 hind himself, unperceived by his visitor, for the elec- 
 tric button placed against the wall. " It is a nice 
 question, and I would like to have time to consider 
 it in all its bearings before I gave an answer." 
 
 " You shall have all the time you care to allow 
 yourself. I am in no hurry, and I wish you to realise 
 your situation as completely as possible. Allow me 
 to say that the electric button is a little to the left and 
 slightly above where you are feeling for it. I merely 
 mention this because I must add, in fairness to you, 
 that the moment you touch it, time ends as far as you 
 are concerned. When you press the ivory button, I 
 fire." 
 
 The lawyer rested his arms on the table before him, 
 and for the first time a hunted look of alarm came 
 into his eyes, which died out of them when, after a 
 moment or two of intense fear, he regained possession 
 of himself. 
 
 " I would like to ask you a question or two," he 
 said at last. 
 
 " As many as you choose. I am in no hurry, as I 
 said before." 
 
 " I am thankful for your reiteration of that. The 
 first question is then : has a temporary residence in 
 another sphere interfered in any way with your rea- 
 soning powers?" 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 "Ah, I had hoped that your appreciation of logic
 
 58 REVENGE! 
 
 might have improved during your well, let us sav 
 absence ; you were not very logical not very amen- 
 able to reason, formerly." 
 
 " I know you thought so." 
 
 " I did ; so did your own legal adviser, by the way. 
 Well, now let me ask why you are so bitter against 
 me? Why not murder the judge who charged against 
 you, or the jury that unanimously gave a verdict in 
 our favour? I was merely an instrument, as were 
 they." 
 
 " It was your devilish trickiness that won the case." 
 
 " That statement is flattering but untrue. The case 
 was its own best advocate. But you haven't answered 
 the question. Why not murder judge and jury ? " 
 
 " I would gladly do so if I had them in my power. 
 You see, I am perfectly logical. 
 
 " Quite, quite," said the lawyer. " I am encouraged 
 to proceed. Now of what did my devilish trickiness 
 rob you ? " 
 
 " Of my property, and then of my life." 
 
 " I' deny both allegations, but will for the sake of 
 the argument admit them for the moment. First, as 
 to your property. It was a possession that might at 
 any moment be jeopardised by the return of Bernard 
 Heaton." 
 
 " By the real Bernard Heaton yes." 
 
 " Very well then. As you are now repossessed of 
 the property, and as you have the outward semblance 
 of Heaton, your rights cannot be questioned. As far 
 as property is concerned you are now in an unassail- 
 able position where formerly you were in an assailable 
 one. Do you follow me ? "
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD. 59 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " We come (second) to the question of life. You 
 then occupied a body frail, bent, and diseased, a body 
 which, as events showed, gave way under exceptional 
 excitement. You are now in a body strong and 
 healthy, with apparently a long life before it. You 
 admit the truth of all I have said on these two 
 points? " 
 
 " I quite admit it." 
 
 " Then to sum up, you are now in a better position 
 infinitely both as regards life and property, than 
 the one from which my malignity ingenuity I think 
 was your word ah, yes trickiness thanks removed 
 you. Now why cut your career short ? Why murder 
 me ? Why not live out your life, under better con- 
 ditions, in luxury and health, and thus be completely 
 revenged on Bernard Heaton ? If you are logical, 
 now is the time to show it." 
 
 Allen rose slowly, holding the pistol in his right 
 hand. 
 
 " You miserable scoundrel ! " he cried. " You petti- 
 fogging lawyer tricky to the last ! How gladly you 
 would throw over your friend to prolong your own 
 wretched existence ! Do you think you are now 
 talking to a biased judge and a susceptible, brainless 
 jury? Revenged on Heaton? I am revenged on 
 him already. But part of my vengeance involves 
 your death. Are you ready for it ? " 
 
 Allen pointed the revolver at Grey, who had now 
 also risen, his face ashen. He kept his eyes fastened 
 on the man he believed to be mad. His hand crept 
 along the wall. There was intense silence between
 
 60 REVENGE! 
 
 them. Allen did not fire. Slowly the lawyer's hand 
 moved towards the electric button. At last he felt 
 the ebony rim and his fingers quickly covered it. In 
 the stillness, the vibrating ring of an electric bell 
 somewhere below was audible. Then the sharp crack 
 of the revolver suddenly split the silence. The lawyer 
 dropped on one knee, holding his arm in the air as if 
 to ward off attack. Again the revolver rang out, and 
 Grey plunged forward on his face. The other five 
 shots struck a lifeless body. 
 
 A stratum of blue smoke hung breast high in the 
 room as if it were the departing soul of the man who 
 lay motionless on the floor. Outside were excited 
 voices, and some one flung himself ineffectually against 
 the stout locked door. 
 
 Allen crossed the room and, turning the key, flung 
 open the door. " I have murdered your master," he 
 said, handing the revolver butt forward to the nearest 
 man. " I give myself up. Go and get an officer."
 
 OVER THE STELVIO PASS. 
 
 THERE is no question about it, Tina Lenz was a 
 flirt, as she had a perfect right to be, living as she did 
 on the romantic shores of Como, celebrated in song, 
 story, and drama as the lover's blue lake. Tina had 
 many admirers, and it was just like her perversity to 
 favour the one to whom her father most objected. 
 Pietro, as the father truly said, was a beggarly Italian 
 driver, glad of the few francs he got from the travel- 
 lers he took over the humble Maloga to the Engadine, 
 or over the elevated Stelvio to the Tyrol, the lowest 
 and the highest passes in Europe. It was a sad blow 
 to the hopes as well as the family pride of old Lenz 
 when Tina defiantly announced her preference for the 
 driver of the Zweispanner. Old Lenz came of a long 
 and distinguished line of Swiss hotel-keepers, noted 
 for the success with which they squeezed the last at- 
 tainable centime from the reluctant traveller. It was 
 bad enough that he had no son to inherit his justly 
 celebrated hotel (pension rates for a stay of not less 
 than eight days), but he hoped for a son-in-law, pref- 
 erably of Swiss extraction, to whom he might, in his 
 old age, hand over the lucrative profession of deferen- 
 tially skinning the wealthy Englishman. And now 
 Tina had deliberately chosen a reckless, unstable Ital-
 
 62 REVENGE! 
 
 ian who would, in a short time, scatter to the winds 
 the careful accumulation of years. 
 
 " Pietro, the scoundrel, will not have one piastra of 
 my money," cried the old man wrathfully, dropping 
 into Italian as he was speaking about a native of 
 Italy. 
 
 " No, I shall see that he doesn't," said the girl. " I 
 shall hold the purse, and he must earn what he 
 spends." 
 
 " But if you marry him, you will not have any of 
 it." 
 
 " Oh yes, I shall, papa,'' said Tina confidently ; 
 " you have no one else to leave it to. Besides, you 
 are not old, and you will be reconciled to our mar- 
 riage long before there is any question of leaving 
 money." 
 
 " Don't be so sure of that," returned the hotel- 
 keeper, much mollified, because he was old and cor- 
 pulent, and red in the face. 
 
 He felt that he was no match for his daughter, and 
 that she would likely have her own way in the long 
 run, but he groaned when he thought of Pietro as 
 proprietor of the prosperous pension. Tina insisted 
 that she would manage the hotel on the strictest 
 principles of her ancestors, and that she would keep 
 Pietro lounging about the place as a picturesque or- 
 nament to attract sentimental visitors, who seemed 
 to see some unaccountable beauty about the lake and 
 its surroundings. 
 
 Meanwhile Landlord Lenz promptly discharged 
 Pietro, and cursed the day and hour he had first en- 
 gaged him. He informed the picturesque young man
 
 OVER THE STELVIO PASS. 63 
 
 that if he caught him talking to his daughter he 
 would promptly have him arrested for some little 
 thefts from travellers of which he had been guilty, al- 
 though the landlord had condoned them at the time 
 of discovery, probably because he had a fellow-feeling 
 in the matter, and saw the making of a successful 
 hotel proprietor in the Zweispanner driver. Pietro, 
 on his part, to make things pleasant all round, swore 
 that on the first favourable opportunity he would run 
 six inches of knife into the extensive corporation of 
 the landlord, hoping in that length of steel to reach a 
 vital spot. The ruddy face of old Lenz paled at this 
 threat, for the Swiss are a peace-loving people, and he 
 told his daughter sadly that she was going to bring 
 her father's grey hairs in sorrow to the grave through 
 the medium of her lover's stiletto. This feat, how- 
 ever, would have been difficult to perform, as the girl 
 flippantly pointed out to him, for the old man was as 
 bald as the smooth round top of the Ortler ; neverthe- 
 less, she spoke to her lover about it, and told him 
 frankly that if there was any knife practice in that 
 vicinity he need never come to see her again. So the 
 young man with the curly black hair and the face of 
 an angel, swallowed his resentment against his desired 
 father-in-law, and promised to behave himself. He 
 secured a position as driver at another hotel, for the 
 season was brisk, and he met Tina when he could, at 
 the bottom of the garden overlooking the placid lake, 
 he on one side of the stone wall, she on the other. 
 
 If Landlord Lenz knew of these meetings he did 
 not interfere ; perhaps he was frightened of Pietro's 
 stiletto, or perhaps he feared his daughter's tongue ;
 
 64 REVENGE ! 
 
 nevertheless, the stars in their courses were fighting 
 for the old man. Tina was naturally of a changeable 
 disposition, and now that all opposition had vanished, 
 she began to lose interest in Pietro. He could talk 
 of little else than horses, and interesting as such con- 
 versation undoubtedly is, it palls upon a girl of eigh- 
 teen leaning over a stone wall in the golden evening 
 light that hovers above Como. There are other sub- 
 jects, but that is neither here nor there, as Pietro did 
 not recognise the fact, and, unfortunately for him, 
 there happened to cpme along a member of the great 
 army of the unemployed who did. 
 
 He came that way just in the nick of time, and 
 proud as old Lenz was of \^ pension and its situation, 
 it was not the unrivalled prospect (as stated in the 
 hotel advertisements) that stopped him. It was the 
 sight of a most lovely girl leaning over the stone wall 
 at the foot of the garden, gazing down at the lake 
 and singing softly to herself. 
 
 " By Jove ! " said young Standish, " she looks as if 
 she were waiting for her lover." Which, indeed, was 
 exactly what Tina was doing, and it augured ill for the 
 missing man that she was not the least impatient at 
 his delay. 
 
 " The missing lover is a defect in the landscape 
 which ought to be supplied," murmured young Stand- 
 ish as he unslung his knapsack, which, like that of 
 the late John Brown, was strapped upon his back. 
 He entered the pension and inquired the rates. Old 
 Lenz took one glance at the knickerbockers, and at 
 once asked twice as much as he would have charged a 
 native. Standish agreed to the terms with that finan-
 
 OVER THE STELVIO PASS. 65 
 
 cial recklessness characteristic of his island, and the 
 old man regretted he had not asked a third more. 
 
 " But never mind," he said to himself as the newly 
 arrived guest disappeared to his room, " I shall make 
 it up on the extras." 
 
 With deep regret it must be here admitted that 
 young Standish was an artist. Artists are met with 
 so often in fiction that it is a matter of genuine grief 
 to have to deal with one in a narrative of fact, but it 
 must be remembered that artists flock as naturally to 
 the lake of Como as stock-brokers to the Exchange, 
 and in setting down an actual statement of occurrences 
 in that locality the unfortunate writer finds himself 
 confronted with artists at every turn. Standish' was 
 an artist in water-colours, but whether that is a miti- 
 gation or an aggravation of the original offense the 
 relater knoweth not. He speedily took to painting 
 Tina amidst various combinations of lake and moun- 
 tain scenery. Tina over the garden wall as he first 
 saw her ; Tina under an arch of roses ; Tina in one of 
 the clumsy but picturesque lake boats. He did his 
 work very well, too. Old Landlord Lenz had the ut- 
 most contempt for this occupation, as a practical man 
 should, but he was astonished one day when a passing 
 traveller offered an incredible sum for one of the pic- 
 tures that stood on the hall table. Standish was not 
 to be found, but the old man, quite willing to do his 
 guest a good turn, sold the picture. The young man, 
 instead of being overjoyed at his luck, told the land- 
 lord, with the calm cheek of an artist, that he would 
 overlook the matter this time, but it must not occur 
 again. He had sold the picture, added Standish, for
 
 66 REVENGE! 
 
 about one-third its real value. There was something 
 in the quiet assurance of the youth that more than his 
 words convinced old Lenz of the truth of his state- 
 ment. Manner has much to do with getting a well- 
 told lie believed. The inn-keeper's respect for the 
 young man went up to the highest attainable point, 
 and he had seen so many artists, too. But if such 
 prices were obtained for a picture dashed off in a few 
 hours, the hotel business wasn't in it as a money-mak- 
 ing venture. 
 
 It must be confessed that it was a great shock to 
 young Standish when he found that the fairy-like 
 Tina was the daughter of the gross old stupid keeper 
 of the inn. It would have been so nice if she had 
 happened to be a princess, and the fact would have 
 worked in well with the marble terrace overlooking 
 the lake. It seemed out of keeping entirely that she 
 should be any relation to old money-making Lenz. 
 Of course he had no more idea of marrying the girl 
 than he had of buying the lake of Como and draining 
 it ; still, it was such a pity that she was not a coun- 
 tess at least; there were so many of them in Italy 
 too, surely one might have been spared for \hak pen- 
 sion when a man had to stay eight days to get the 
 lowest rates. Nevertheless, Tina did make a pretty 
 water-colour sketch. But a man who begins sliding 
 down a hill such as there is around Como, never can 
 tell exactly where he is going to bring up. He may 
 stop halfway, or he may go head first into the lake. 
 If it were to be set down here that within a certain 
 space of time Standish did not care one continental 
 objurgation whether Tina was a princess or a char-
 
 OVER THE STELVIO PASS. 67 
 
 woman, the statement would simply not be believed, 
 because we all know that Englishmen are a cold, cal- 
 culating race of men, with long side whiskers and a 
 veil round their hats when they travel. 
 
 It is serious when a young fellow sketches in water- 
 colours a charming sylph-like girl in various entranc- 
 ing attitudes ; it is disastrous when she teaches him a 
 soft flowing language like the Italian ; but it is abso- 
 lute destruction when he teaches her the English 
 tongue and watches her pretty lips strive to surround 
 words never intended for the vocal resources of a for- 
 eigner. As all these influences were brought to bear 
 on Walter Standish, what chance did the young fel- 
 low have ? Absolutely as little as has the un-roped 
 man who misses his footing on the Matterhorn. 
 
 And Tina? Poor little girl, she was getting paid 
 back with a vengeance for all the heart-aches she had 
 caused Italian, German, or Swiss variety. She fell 
 helplessly in love with the stalwart Englishman, and 
 realised that she had never known before what the 
 word meant. Bitterly did she regret the sham battles 
 of the heart that she had hitherto engaged in. Stand- 
 ish took it so entirely for granted that he was the 
 first to touch her lips (in fact she admitted as much 
 herself) that she was in daily, hourly terror lest he 
 should learn the truth. Meanwhile Pietro unburdened 
 his neglected soul of strange oily imprecations that 
 might have sounded to the uneducated ear of Stand- 
 ish like mellifluous benedictions, notwithstanding the 
 progress he was making in Italian under Tina's tuition. 
 However, Pietro had one panacea for all his woes, 
 and that he proceeded to sharpen carefully.
 
 68 REVENGE! 
 
 One evening Standish was floating dreamily through 
 the purple haze, thinking about Tina of course, and 
 wondering how her piquant archness and Southern 
 beauty would strike his sober people at home. Tina 
 was very quick and adaptable, and he had no doubt 
 she could act to perfection any part he assigned to 
 her, so he was in doubt whether to introduce her as a 
 remote connexion of the reigning family of Italy, or 
 merely as a countess in her own right. It would be 
 quite easy to ennoble the long line of hotel-keepers 
 by the addition of " di " or " de " or some such syllable 
 to the family name. He must look up the right com- 
 bination of letters; he knew it began with " d." Then 
 the pension could become dimly "A castle on the 
 Italian lakes, you know " ; in fact, he would close up 
 the pension as soon as he had the power, or change it 
 to a palace. He knew that most of the castles in the 
 Tyrol and many of the palaces of Italy had become 
 boarding-houses, so why not reverse the process? He 
 was sure that certain furnishing houses in London 
 could do it, probably on the hire system. He knew 
 a fashionable morning paper that was in the habit of 
 publishing personal items at so much a line, and he 
 thought the following would read well and be worth 
 its cost : 
 
 " Mr. Walter Standish, of St. John's Wood, and his 
 wife, the Comtessa di Lenza, are spending the sum- 
 mer in the lady's ancestral home, the Palazzio di 
 Lenza, on the lake of Como." 
 
 This bright vision pleased him for a moment, until 
 he thought it would be just his luck for some ac- 
 quaintance to happen along who remembered the
 
 MAN. Page 69.
 
 OVER THE STELVIO PASS. 69 
 
 Palazzio Lenza when it was the Pension Lenz rates 
 on application. He wished a landslide would carry 
 buildings, grounds, and everything else away to some 
 unrecognisable spot a few hundred feet down the 
 mountain. 
 
 Thus it was that young Standish floated along with 
 his head in the clouds, swinging his cane in the air, 
 when suddenly he was brought sharply down to earth 
 again. A figure darted out from behind a tree, an in- 
 stinct rather than reason caused the artist to guard 
 himself by throwing up his left arm. He caught the 
 knife thrust in the fleshy part of it, and the pain was 
 like the red-hot sting of a gigantic wasp. It flashed 
 through his brain then that the term cold steel was a 
 misnomer. The next moment his right hand had 
 brought down the heavy knob of his stout stick on 
 the curly head of the Italian, and Pietro fell like a 
 log at his feet. Standish set his teeth, and as gently 
 as possible drew the stiletto from his arm, wiping its 
 blade on the clothes of the prostrate man. He 
 thought it better to soil Pietro's suit than his own, 
 which was newer and cleaner ; besides, he held, per- 
 haps with justice, that the Italian being the aggressor 
 should bear any disadvantages arising from the attack. 
 Finally, feeling wet at the elbow, he put the stiletto 
 in his pocket and hurried off to the hotel. 
 
 Tina fell back against the wall with a cry at the 
 sight of the blood. She would have fainted, but 
 something told her that she would be well advised to 
 keep her senses about her at that moment. 
 
 " I can't imagine why he should attack me," said 
 Standish, as he bared his arm to be bandaged. " I
 
 70 REVENGE! 
 
 never saw him before, and I have had no quarrel with 
 any one. It could not have been robbery, for I was 
 too near the hotel. I cannot understand it." 
 
 " Oh," began old Lenz, " it's easy enough to ac- 
 count for it. He 
 
 Tina darted one look at her father that went through 
 him as the blade had gone through the outstretched 
 arm. His mouth closed like a steel trap. 
 
 " Please go for Doctor Zandorf, papa," she said 
 sweetly, and the old man went. " These Italians," she 
 continued to Standish, " are always quarrelling. The 
 villain mistook you for some one else in the dusk." 
 
 "Ah, that's it, very likely. If the rascal has re- 
 turned to his senses, he probably regrets having waked 
 up the wrong passenger." 
 
 When the authorities searched for Pietro they found 
 that he had disappeared as absolutely as though 
 Standish had knocked him through into China. 
 When he came to himself and rubbed his head, he saw 
 the blood on the road, and he knew his stroke -had 
 gone home somewhere. The missing knife would be 
 evidence against him, so he thought it safer to get on 
 the Austrian side of the fence. Thus he vanished 
 over the Stelvio pass, and found horses to drive on 
 the other side. 
 
 The period during which Standish loafed around 
 that lovely garden with his arm in a sling, waited 
 upon assiduously and tenderly by Tina, will always be 
 one of the golden remembrances of the Englishman's 
 life. It was too good to last for ever, and so the}' 
 were married when it came to an end. The old man 
 would still have preferred a Swiss innkeeper for a son-
 
 OVER THE STELVIO PASS. 71 
 
 in-la\v, yet the Englishman was better than the beg- 
 garly Italian, and possibly better than the German who 
 had occupied a place in Tina's regards before the son 
 of sunny Italy appeared on the scene. That is one 
 trouble in the continental hotel business ; there is 
 such a bewildering mixture of nationalities. 
 
 Standish thought it best not to go back to England 
 at once, as he had not quite settled to his own satis- 
 faction how the pension was to be eliminated from 
 the affair and transformed into a palace. He knew a 
 lovely and elevated castle in the Tyrol near Meran 
 where they accepted passers-by in an unobtrusive sort 
 of way, and there, he resolved, they would make their 
 plans. So the old man gave them a great set-out with 
 which to go over the pass, privately charging the 
 driver to endeavour to get a return fare from Meran 
 so as to, partly at least, cover the outlay. The car- 
 riage was drawn by five horses, one on each side of 
 the pole and three in front. They rested the first 
 night at Bormeo, and started early next day for over 
 the pass, expecting to dine at Franzenshohe within 
 sight of the snowy Ortler. 
 
 It was late in the season and the weather was 
 slightly uncertain, but they had a lovely Italian fore- 
 noon for going up the wonderful zigzag road on the 
 western side of the pass. At the top there was a 
 slight sprinkling of snow, and clouds hung over the 
 lofty Ortler group of peaks. As they got lower down 
 a steady persistent rain set in, and they were glad to 
 get to the shelter and warmth of the oblong stone 
 inn at Franzenshohe, where a good dinner awaited 
 them. After dinner the weather cleared somewhat,
 
 72 REVENGE! 
 
 but the clouds still obscured the tops of the mountains, 
 and the roads were slippery. Standish regretted this, 
 for he wanted to show his bride the splendid scenery 
 of the next five miles where the road zigzags down 
 to Trefoi, each elbow of the dizzy thoroughfare over- 
 hanging the most awful precipices. It was a danger- 
 ous bit of road, and even with only two horses, re- 
 quires a cool and courageous driver with a steady 
 head. They were the sole guests at the inn, and it 
 needed no practised eye to see that they were a newly 
 married couple. The news spread abroad, and every 
 lounger about the place watched them get into their 
 carriage and drive away, one hind wheel of the carriage 
 sliding on its skid, and all breaks on. 
 
 At the first turning Standish started, for the car- 
 riage went around it with dangerous speed. The whip 
 cracked, too, like a succession of pistol shots, which 
 was unusual going down the mountain. He said 
 nothing to alarm his bride, but thought that the driver 
 had taken on more wine than was good for him at 
 the inn. At the second turn the wheel actually slid 
 against and bumped the stone post that was the sole 
 guard from the fearful precipice below. The sound 
 and shock sent a cold chill up the back of Standish, 
 for he knew the road well and there were worse places 
 to come. His arm was around his wife, and he with- 
 drew it gently so as not to alarm her. As he did so 
 she looked up and shrieked. Following her glance to 
 the front window of their closed carriage, where the 
 back of the driver is usually to be seen, he saw pressed 
 against the glass the distorted face of a demon. The 
 driver was kneeling on his seat instead of sitting on it,
 
 OVER THE STELVIO PASS. 73 
 
 and was peering in at them, the reins drawn over his 
 shoulder, and his back to the horses. It seemed to 
 Standish that the light of insanity gleamed from his 
 eyes, but Tina saw in them the revengeful glare of 
 the vendctti ; the rage of the disappointed lover. 
 
 " My God ! that's not our driver," cried Standish, 
 who did not recognise the man who had once en- 
 deavoured to kill him. He sprang up and tried to 
 open the front window, but the driver yelled out 
 
 " Open that window if you dare, and I'll drive you 
 over here before you get halfway down. Sit still, 
 and I take you as far as the Weisse Knott. That's 
 where you are going over. There you'll have a drop 
 of a mile (tin miglio)" 
 
 "Turn to your horses, you scoundrel," shouted 
 Standish, " or I'll break every bone in your body! " 
 
 " The horses know the way, Signer Inglese, and all 
 our bones are going to be broken, yours and your 
 sweet bride's as well as mine." 
 
 The driver took the whip and fired off a fusilade of 
 cracks overhead, beside them, and under them. The 
 horses dashed madly down the slope, almost sending 
 the carriage over at the next turn. Standish looked 
 at his wife. She had apparently fainted, but in reality 
 had merely closed her eyes to shut out the horrible 
 sight of Pietro's face. Standish thrust his arm out of 
 the open window, unfastened the door, and at the risk 
 of his neck jumped out. Tina shrieked when she 
 opened her eyes and found herself alone. Pietro now 
 pushed in the frame of the front window and it 
 dropped out of sight, leaving him face to face with 
 her, with no glass between them.
 
 74 REVENGE! 
 
 " Now that your fine Inglese is gone, Tina, we are 
 going to be married ; you promised it, you know." 
 
 "You coward," she hissed ; " I'd rather die his wife 
 than live yours." 
 
 " You're plucky, little Tina, you always were. But 
 he left you. I wouldn't have left you. I won't leave 
 you. We'll be married at the chapel of the Three 
 Holy Springs, a mile below the Weisse Knott ; we'll 
 fly through the air to it, Tina, and our bed will be at 
 the foot of the Madatseh Glacier. We will go over to- 
 gether near where the man threw his wife down. They 
 have marked the spot with a marble slab, but they will 
 put a bigger one for us, Tina, for there's two of us." 
 
 Tina crouched in the corner of the carriage and 
 watched the face of the Italian as if she were fascinated. 
 She wanted to jump out as her husband had done, 
 but she was afraid to move, feeling certain that if she 
 attempted to escape Pietro would pounce down upon 
 her. He looked like some wild beast crouching for 
 a spring. All at once she saw something drop from 
 the sky on the footboard of the carriage. Then she 
 heard her husband's voice ring out 
 
 " Here, you young fool, we've had enough of this 
 nonsense." 
 
 The next moment Pietro fell to the road, propelled 
 by a vigorous kick. His position lent itself to treat- 
 ment of that kind. The carriage gave a bump as it 
 passed over Pietro's leg, and then Tina thinks that 
 she fainted in earnest, for the next thing she knew 
 the carriage was standing still, and Standish was rub- 
 bing her hands and calling her pleasant names. She 
 smiled wanly at him.
 
 OVER THE STELVIO PASS. 75 
 
 " How in the world did you catch up to the carriage 
 and it going so fast ? " she asked, a woman's curiosity 
 prompting her first words. 
 
 " Oh, the villain forgot about the short cuts. As I 
 warned him, he ought to have paid more attention to 
 what was going on outside. I'm going back now to 
 have a talk with him. He's lying on the road at the 
 upper end of this slope." 
 
 Tina was instantly herself again. 
 
 "No, dearest," she said caressingly ; "you mustn't 
 go back. He probably has a knife." 
 
 " I'm not afraid." 
 
 " No, but I am, and you mustn't leave me." 
 
 " I would like to tie him up in a hard knot and take 
 him down to civilisation bumping behind the carriage 
 as luggage. I think he's the fellow who knifed me, 
 and I want to find out what his game is." 
 
 Here Tina unfortunately began to faint again. She 
 asked for wine in a far-off voice, and Standish at once 
 forgot all about the demon driver. He mounted the 
 box and took the reins himself. He got wine at the 
 little cabin of the Weisse Knott, a mile or two farther 
 down. Tina, who had revived amazingly, probably 
 on account of the motion of the carriage, shuddered as 
 she looked into the awful gulf and saw five tiny toy 
 houses in the gloom nearly a mile below. 
 
 " That," said Standish, " is the chapel of the Three 
 Holy Springs. We will go there to-night, if you like, 
 from Trefoi." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Tina, shivering. " Let us get out 
 of the mountains at once." 
 
 At Trefoi they found their own driver awaiting them.
 
 76 REVENGE! 
 
 " What the devil are you doing here, and how did 
 you get here?" hotly inquired Standish. 
 
 " By the short cuts," replied the bewildered man. 
 " Pietro, one of master's old drivers, wanted I don't 
 know why to drive you as far as Trefoi. Where is 
 he, sir?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Standish. "We saw nothing 
 of him. He must have been pushed off the box by 
 the madman. Here, jump up and let us get on." 
 
 Tina breathed again. That crisis was over. 
 
 They live very happily together, for Tina is a very 
 tactful little woman.
 
 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 PRINCE LOTARNO rose slowly to his feet, casting 
 one malignant glance at the prisoner before him. 
 
 " You have heard," he said, " what is alleged against 
 you. Have you anything to say in your defence?" 
 
 The captured brigand laughed. 
 
 " The time for talk is past," he cried. " This has 
 been a fine farce of a fair trial. You need not have 
 wasted so much time over what you call evidence. 
 I knew my doom when I fell into your hands. I killed 
 your brother; you will kill me. You have proven 
 that I am a murderer and a robber ; I could prove 
 the same of you if you were bound hand and foot in 
 my camp as I am bound in your castle. It is useless 
 for me to tell you that I did not know he was your 
 brother, else it would not have happened, for the 
 small robber always respects the larger and more 
 powerful thief. When a wolf is down, the other 
 wolves devour him. I am down, and you will have 
 my head cut off, or my body drawn asunder in your 
 courtyard, whichever pleases your'Excellency best. 
 It is the fortune of war, and I do not complain. 
 When I say that I am sorry I killed your brother, I 
 merely mean I am sorry you were not the man who 
 stood in his shoes when the shot was fired. You,
 
 78 REVENGE! 
 
 having more men than I had, have scattered my 
 followers and captured me. You may do with me 
 what you please. My consolation is that the killing 
 me will not bring to life the man who is shot, there- 
 fore conclude the farce that has dragged through so 
 many weary hours. Pronounce my sentence. I am 
 ready." 
 
 There was a moment's silence after the brigand had 
 ceased speaking. Then the Prince said, in low tones, 
 but in a voice that made itself heard in every part of 
 the judgment-hall 
 
 " Your sentence is that on the fifteenth of January 
 you shall be taken from your cell at four o'clock, con- 
 ducted to the room of execution, and there beheaded." 
 
 The Prince hesitated for a moment as he concluded 
 the sentence, and seemed about to add something 
 more, but apparently he remembered that a report of 
 the trial was to go before the King, whose representa- 
 tive was present, and he was particularly desirous that 
 nothing should go on the records which savoured of 
 old-time malignity ; for it was well known that his 
 Majesty had a particular aversion to the ancient forms 
 of torture that had obtained heretofore in his kingdom. 
 Recollecting this, the Prince sat down. 
 
 The brigand laughed again. His sentence was 
 evidently not so gruesome as he had e-xpected. He 
 was a man who had lived all his life in the mountains, 
 and he had had no means of knowing that more merci- 
 ful measures had been introduced into the policy of 
 the Government. 
 
 " I will keep the appointment," he said jauntily, 
 " unless I have a more pressing engagement."
 
 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 79 
 
 The brigand was led away to his cell. " I hope," 
 said the Prince, " that you noted the defiant attitude 
 of the prisoner." 
 
 " I have not failed to do so, your Excellency," re- 
 plied the ambassador. 
 
 "I think," said the Prince, "that under the circum- 
 stances, his treatment has been most merciful." 
 
 " I am certain, your Excellency," said the ambassa- 
 dor, " that his Majesty will be of the same opinion. 
 For such a miscreant, beheading is too easy a death." 
 
 The Prince was pleased to know that the opinion of 
 the ambassador coincided so entirely with his own. 
 
 The brigand Toza was taken to a cell in the north- 
 ern tower, where, by climbing on a bench, he could 
 get a view of the profound valley at the mouth of 
 which the castle was situated. He well knew its im- 
 pregnable position, commanding as it did, the entrance 
 to the valley. He knew also that if he succeeded in 
 escaping from the castle he was hemmed in by moun- 
 tains practically unscalable, while the mouth of the 
 gorge was so well guarded by the castle that it was 
 impossible to get to the outer world through that 
 gateway. Although he knew the mountains well, he 
 realised that, with his band scattered, many killed, 
 and the others fugitives, he would have a better chance 
 of starving to death in the valley than of escaping out 
 of it. He sat on the bench and thought over the 
 situation. Why had the Prince been so merciful ? 
 He had expected torture, whereas he was to meet the 
 easiest death that a man could die. He felt satisfied 
 there was something in this that he could not under- 
 stand. Perhaps they intended to starve him to death,
 
 8o REVENGE! 
 
 now that the appearance of a fair trial was over. 
 Things could be done in the dungeon of a castle that 
 the outside world knew nothing of. His fears of 
 starvation were speedily put to an end by the appear- 
 ance of his gaoler with a better meal than he had had 
 for some time ; for during the last week he had wan- 
 dered a fugitive in the mountains until captured by 
 the Prince's men, who evidently had orders to bring 
 him in alive. Why then were they so anxious not to 
 kill him in a fair fight if he were now to be merely 
 beheaded ? 
 
 " What is your name ? " asked Toza of his gaoler. 
 
 " I am called Paulo," was the answer. 
 
 " Do you know that I am to be beheaded on the 
 fifteenth of the month?" 
 
 " I have heard so," answered the man. 
 
 " And do you attend me until that time ? " 
 
 " I attend you while I am ordered to do so. If you 
 talk much I may be replaced." 
 
 " That, then, is a tip for silence, good Paulo," said 
 the brigand. " I always treat well those who serve me 
 well ; 1 regret, therefore, that I have no money with 
 me, and so cannot recompense you for good service." 
 
 " That is not necessary," answered Paulo. " I 
 receive my recompense from the steward." 
 
 " Ah, but the recompense of the steward and the 
 recompense of a brigand chief are two very different 
 things. Are there so many pickings in your position 
 that you are rich, Paulo? " 
 
 " No ; I am a poor man." 
 
 "Well, under certain circumstances, I could make 
 you rich."
 
 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 81 
 
 Paulo's eyes glistened, but he made no direct reply. 
 Finally he said, in a frightened whisper, " I have 
 tarried too long, I am watched. By-and-by the vigi- 
 lance will be relaxed, and then we may perhaps talk of 
 riches." 
 
 With that the gaoler took his departure. The 
 brigand laughed softly to himself. " Evidently," he 
 said, " Paulo is not above the reach of a bribe. We 
 will have further talk on the subject when the watch- 
 fulness is relaxed." 
 
 And so it grew to be a question of which should 
 trust the other. The brigand asserted that hidden in 
 the mountains he had gold and jewels, and these he 
 would give to Paulo if he could contrive his escape 
 from the castle. 
 
 " Once free of the castle, I can soon make my way 
 out of the valley," said the brigand. 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," answered Paulo. " The 
 castle is well guarded, and when it is discovered that 
 you have escaped, the alarm-bell will be rung, and 
 after that not a mouse can leave the valley without 
 the soldiers knowing it." 
 
 The brigand pondered on the situation for some 
 time, and at last said, " I know the mountains well." 
 
 "Yes ; " said Paulo, "but you are one man, and the 
 soldiers of the Prince are many. Perhaps," he added, 
 " if it were made worth my while, I could show you 
 that I know the mountains even better than you do." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked the brigand, in an 
 excited whisper. 
 
 " Do you know the tunnel ? " inquired Paulo, with 
 an anxious glance towards the door.
 
 82 REVENGE ! 
 
 " What tunnel ? I never heard of any." 
 
 " But it exists, nevertheless ; a tunnel through the 
 mountains to the world outside." 
 
 "A tunnel through the mountains? Nonsense!" 
 cried the brigand. " I should have known of it if one 
 existed. The work would be too great to accom- 
 plish." 
 
 "It was made long before your day, or mine either. 
 If the castle had fallen, then those who were inside 
 could escape through the tunnel. Few know of the 
 entrance ; it is near the waterfall up the valley, and is 
 covered with brushwood. What will you give me to 
 place you at the entrance of that tunnel ? " 
 
 The brigand looked at Paulo sternly for a few 
 moments, then he answered slowly, " Everything I 
 possess." 
 
 "And how much is that ? " asked Paulo. 
 
 " It is more than you will ever earn by serving the 
 Prince." 
 
 " Will you tell me where it is before I help you to 
 escape from the castle and lead you to the tunnel? " 
 
 "Yes," said Toza. 
 
 " Will you tell me now ? " 
 
 " No ; bring me a paper to-morrow, and I will draw 
 a plan showing you how to get it." 
 
 When his gaoler appeared, the day after Toza had 
 given the plan, the brigand asked eagerly, " Did you 
 find the treasure?" 
 
 " I did," said Paulo quietly. 
 
 " And will you keep your word ? will you get me 
 out of the castle?" 
 
 " I will get you out of the castle and lead you to the
 
 ' I WILL DRAW A PLAN." Page 82.
 
 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 83 
 
 entrance of the tunnel, but after that you must look 
 to yourself." 
 
 " Certainly," said Toza, " that was the bargain. 
 Once out of this accursed valley, I can defy all the 
 princes in Christendom. Have you a rope?" 
 
 " We shall need none," said the gaoler. " I will 
 come for you at midnight, and take you out of the 
 castle by the secret passage ; then your escape will 
 not be noticed until morning." 
 
 At midnight his gaoler came and led Toza through 
 many a tortuous passage, the two men pausing now 
 and then, holding their breaths anxiously as they 
 came to an open court through which a guard paced. 
 At last they were outside of the castle at one hour 
 past midnight. 
 
 The brigand drew a long breath of relief when he 
 was once again out in the free air. 
 
 " Where is your tunnel?" he asked, in a somewhat 
 distrustful whisper of his guide. 
 
 " Hush ! " was the low answer. " It is only a short 
 distance from the castle, but every inch is guarded, 
 and we cannot go direct ; we must make for the other 
 side of the valley and come to it from the north." 
 
 " What ! " cried Toza in amazement, " traverse the 
 whole valley for a tunnel a few yards away?" 
 
 " It is the only safe plan," said Paulo. " If you wish 
 to go by the direct way, I must leave you to your 
 own devices." 
 
 " I am in your hands," said the brigand with a sigh. 
 "Take me where you will, so long as you lead me to 
 the entrance of the tunnel." 
 
 They passed down and down around the heights
 
 84 REVENGE! 
 
 on which the castle stood, and crossed the purling 
 little river by means of stepping-stones. Once Toza 
 fell into the water, but was rescued by his guide. 
 There was still no alarm from the castle as daylight 
 began to break. As it grew more light they both 
 crawled into a cave which had a low opening difficult 
 to find, and there Paulo gave the brigand his break- 
 fast, which he took from a little bag slung by a strap 
 across his shoulder. 
 
 " What are we going to do for food if we are to be 
 days between here and the tunnel ? " asked Toza. 
 
 " Oh, I have arranged for that, and a quantity of 
 food has been placed where we are most likely to 
 want it. I will get it while you sleep." 
 
 " But if you are captured, what am I to do ? " asked 
 Toza. " Can you not tell me now how to find the 
 tunnel, as I told you how to find the treasure ?" 
 
 Paulo pondered over this for a moment, and then 
 said, "Yes; I think it would be the safer way. You 
 must follow the stream until you reach the place 
 where the torrent from the east joins it. Among the 
 hills there is a waterfall, and halfway up the precipice 
 on a shelf of rock there are sticks and bushes. Clear 
 them away, and you will find the entrance to the 
 tunnel. Go through the tunnel until you come to 
 a door, which is bolted on this side. When you 
 have passed through, you will see the end of your 
 journey." 
 
 Shortly after daybreak the big bell of the castle 
 began to toll, and before noon the soldiers were 
 beating the bushes all around them. They were so 
 close that the two men could hear their voices from
 
 THE HOUR AND THE MAX. 85 
 
 their hiding-place, where they lay in their wet clothes, 
 breathlessly expecting every moment to be discov- 
 ered. 
 
 The conversation of two soldiers, who were nearest 
 them, nearly caused the hearts of the hiding listeners 
 to stop beating. 
 
 " Is there not a cave near here ? " asked one. " Let 
 us search for it ! " 
 
 " Nonsense," said the other. " I tell you that they 
 could not have come this far already." 
 
 11 Why could they not have escaped when the guard 
 changed at midnight?" insisted the first speaker. 
 
 " Because Paulo was seen crossing the courtyard at 
 midnight, and they could have had no other chance 
 of getting away until just before daybreak." 
 
 This answer seemed to satisfy his comrade, and the 
 search was given up just as they were about to come 
 upon the fugitives. It was a narrow escape, and, 
 brave as the robber was, he looked pale, while Paulo 
 was in a state of collapse. 
 
 Many times during the nights and days that fol- 
 lowed, the brigand and his guide almost fell into the 
 hands of the minions of the Prince. Exposure, priva- 
 tion, semi-starvation, and, worse than all, the alternate 
 wrenchings of hope and fear, began to tell upon the 
 stalwart frame of the brigand. Some days and nights 
 of cold winter rain added to their misery. They dare 
 not seek shelter, for every habitable place was watched. 
 
 When daylight overtook them on their last night's 
 crawl through the valley, they were within a short 
 distance of the waterfall, whose low roar now came 
 soothingly down to them.
 
 86 REVENGE! 
 
 "Never mind the daylight," said Toza; "let us 
 push on and reach the tunnel." 
 
 " I can go no farther," moaned Paulo ; " I am 
 exhausted." 
 
 " Nonsense," cried Toza ; " it is but a short dis. 
 tance." 
 
 " The distance is greater than you think ; besides, 
 we are in full view of the castle. Would you risk 
 everything now that the game is nearly won ? You 
 must not forget that the stake is your head ; and 
 remember what day this is." 
 
 " What day is it ? " asked the brigand, turning on 
 his guide. 
 
 " It is the fifteenth of January, the day on which 
 you were to be executed." 
 
 Toza caught his breath sharply. Danger and want 
 had made a coward of him, and he shuddered now, 
 which he had not done when he was on his trial and 
 condemned to death. 
 
 " How do you know it is the fifteenth? " he asked 
 at last. 
 
 Paulo held up his stick, notched after the method 
 of Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 " I am not so strong as you are, and if you will let 
 me rest here until the afternoon, I am willing to make 
 a last effort, and try to reach the entrance of the 
 tunnel." 
 
 " Very well," said Toza shortly. 
 
 As they lay there that forenoon neither could 
 sleep. The noise of the waterfall wa music to the 
 ears of both ; their long toilsome journey was almost 
 over.
 
 HE THREW ASIDK BUSHKS ; BRAMBLKS AND LOGS. Page 8j.
 
 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 87 
 
 " What did you do with the gold that you found in 
 the mountains?" asked Toza suddenly. 
 
 Paulo was taken unawares, and answered, without 
 thinking, " I left it where it was. I will get it after." 
 
 The brigand said nothing, but that remark con- 
 demned Paulo to death. Toza resolved to murder 
 him as soon as they were well out of the tunnel, and 
 get the gold himself. 
 
 They left their hiding-place shortly before twelve 
 o'clock, but their progress was so slow, crawling, as 
 they had to do, up the steep side of the mountain, 
 under cover of bushes and trees, that it was well after 
 three when they came to the waterfall, which they 
 crossed, as best they could, on stones and logs. 
 
 " There," said Toza, shaking himself, " that is our 
 last wetting. Now for the tunnel ! " 
 
 The rocky sides of the waterfall hid them from view 
 of the castle, but Paulo called the brigand's attention 
 to the fact that they could be easily seen from the 
 other side of the valley. 
 
 " It doesn't matter now," said Toza ; " lead the way 
 as quickly as you can to the mouth of the cavern." 
 
 Paulo scrambled on until he reached a shelf about 
 halfway up the cataract ; he threw aside bushes, 
 brambles, and logs, speedily disclosing a hole large 
 enough to admit a man. 
 
 " You go first," said Paulo, standing aside. 
 
 " No," answered Toza ; " you know the way, and 
 must go first. You cannot think that I wish to harm 
 you I am completely unarmed. 
 
 " Nevertheless," said Paulo, " I shall not go first. 
 I did not like the way you looked at me when I told
 
 88 . REVENGE! 
 
 you the gold was still in the hills. I admit that I 
 distrust you." 
 
 " Oh, very well," laughed Toza, " it doesn't really 
 matter." And he crawled into the hole in the rock, 
 Paulo following him. 
 
 Before long the tunnel enlarged so that a man 
 could stand upright. 
 
 " Stop ! " said Paulo ; " there is the door near here." 
 
 " Yes," said the robber, " I remember that you 
 spoke of a door," adding, however, "What is it for, 
 and why is it locked? " 
 
 " It is bolted on this side," answered Paulo, " and 
 we shall have no difficulty in opening it." 
 
 "What is it for?" repeated the brigand. 
 
 " It is to prevent the current of air running through 
 the tunnel and blowing away the obstruction at this 
 end," said the guide. 
 
 " Here it is," said Toza, as he felt down its edge for 
 the bolt. 
 
 The bolt drew back easily, and the door opened. 
 The next instant the brigand was pushed rudely into 
 a room, and he heard the bolt thrust back into its 
 place almost simultaneously with the noise of the 
 closing door. For a moment his eyes were dazzled 
 by the light. He was in an apartment blazing with 
 torches held by a dozen men standing about. 
 
 In the centre of the room was a block covered with 
 black cloth, and beside it stood a masked executioner 
 resting the corner of a gleaming axe on the black 
 draped block, with his hands crossed over the end of 
 the axe's handle. 
 
 The Prince stood there surrounded by his ministers.
 
 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 89 
 
 Above his head was a clock, with the minute hand 
 pointed to the hour of four. 
 
 " You are just in time ! " said the Prince grimly ; 
 " we are waiting for you ! "
 
 "AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 
 
 OLD Mr. Saunders went home with bowed head 
 and angry brow. He had not known that Dick was 
 in the habit of coming in late, but he had now no. 
 doubt of the fact. He himself went to bed early and 
 slept soundly, as a man with a good conscience is 
 entitled to do. But the boy's mother must have 
 known the hours he kept, yet she had said nothing ; 
 this made the matter all the blacker. The father felt 
 that mother and son were leagued against him. He 
 had been too lenient ; now he would go to the root of 
 things. The young man would speedily change his 
 ways or take the consequences. There would be no 
 half measures^ 
 
 Poor old Mrs. Saunders saw, the moment her hus- 
 band came in, that there was a storm brewing, and a 
 wild fear arose in her heart that her boy was the 
 cause. The first words of the old man settled the 
 question. 
 
 " What time did Richard come in last night ? " 
 "I I don't know," she hesitated. " Shuffling" 
 her husband always called it. She had been a buffer 
 between father and son since Dick was a child. 
 " Why don't you know ? Who let him in ? " 
 She sighed. The secret had long weighed upon
 
 "AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 91 
 
 her, and she felt it would come out at some hapless 
 moment. 
 
 " He has a key," she said at last. 
 
 The old man glared in speechless amazement. In 
 his angriest mood he had never suspected anything 
 so bad as this. 
 
 " A key ! How long has he had a key ? " 
 
 " About six months. He did not want to disturb 
 us." 
 
 " He is very thoughtful ! Where does he spend his 
 nights ? " 
 
 " I don't know. He told me he belongs to a club, 
 where he takes some kind of exercise." 
 
 " Did he tell you he exercised with cards? Did he 
 say it was a gambling club?" 
 
 " I don't believe it is ; I am sure Dick doesn't gam- 
 ble. Dick is a good boy, father." 
 
 " A precious lot you know about it, evidently Do 
 you think his employer, banker Hammond, has any 
 idea his clerk belongs to a gambling club? " 
 
 " I am sure I don't know. Is there anything wrong? 
 Has any one been speaking to you about Dick?" 
 
 " Yes ; and not to his credit." 
 
 " Oh dear! " cried the mother in anguish. " Was it 
 Mr. Hammond ?" 
 
 " I have never spoken to Hammond in my life," 
 said the old man, relenting a little when he saw how 
 troubled his wife was. " No, I propose to stop this 
 club business before it gets to the banker's ears that 
 one of his clerks is a nightly attendant there. You 
 will see Richard when he comes home this evening; 
 tell him I wish to have a word or two with him to-
 
 92 REVENGE! 
 
 night. He is to wait for me here. I will be in shortly 
 after he has had his supper." 
 
 " You will not be harsh with him, father. Remem- 
 ber, he is a young man now, so please advise and do 
 not threaten. Angry words can do no good." 
 
 " I will do my duty," said the old man, uncom- 
 promisingly. 
 
 Gentle Mrs. Saunders sighed for she well knew 
 the phrase about duty. It was a sure prelude to 
 domestic trouble. When the old gentleman under- 
 took to do his duty, he nailed his flag to the mast. 
 
 " See that he waits for me to-night," was the part- 
 ing shot as the old man closed the door behind him. 
 
 Mrs. Saunders had had her share of trouble in this 
 world, as every woman must who lives with a can- 
 tankerous man. When she could save her son a harsh 
 word, or even a blow, she was content to take either 
 uncomplainingly. The old man's severity had put 
 him out of touch with his son. Dick sullenly resented 
 his boyhood of continual fear. During recent years, 
 when fear had gradually diminished and finally dis- 
 appeared, he was somewhat troubled to find that the 
 natural affection, which a son should have for his 
 father, had vanished with it. He had, on several 
 occasions, made half-hearted attempts at a better un- 
 derstanding, but these attempts had unfortunately 
 fallen on inopportune moments, when the old man 
 was not particularly gracious toward the world in 
 general, and latterly there had been silence between 
 the two. The young man avoided his father as much 
 as possible ; he would not have remained at home, 
 had it not been for his mother. Her steady, un-
 
 "AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 93 
 
 wavering affection for him, her belief in him, and the 
 remembrance of how she had stood up for him, 
 especially when he was in the wrong, had bound her 
 to him with bonds soft as silk and strong as steel. 
 He often felt it would be a pleasure to go wrong, 
 merely to refute his father's ideas regarding the way 
 a child should be brought up. Yet Dick had a sort of 
 admiration for the old man, whose many good qualities 
 were somewhat overshadowed by his brutal temper. 
 
 When Richard came home that evening he had his 
 supper alone, as was usual with him. Mrs. Saunders 
 drew her chair near the table, and while the meal went 
 on she talked of many things, but avoided the subject 
 uppermost in her mind, which she postponed until 
 the last moment. Perhaps after all she would not 
 need to ask him to stay ; he might remain of his own 
 accord. She watched him narrowly as she talked, and 
 saw with alarm that there was anxiety in his face. 
 Some care was worrying him, and she yearned to 
 have him confide his trouble to her. And yet she 
 talked and talked of other things. She noticed that 
 he made but a poor pretence of eating, and that he 
 allowed her to talk while he made few replies, and 
 those absent-mindedly. At last he pushed back his 
 chair with a laugh that sounded forced. 
 
 "Well, mother," he said, "what is it? Is there a 
 row on, or is it merely looming in the horizon ? Has 
 the Lord of Creation " 
 
 " Hush, Dick, you mustn't talk in that way. There 
 is nothing much the matter, I hope ? I want to speak 
 with you about your club." 
 
 Dick looked sharply at his mother for a moment,
 
 94 REVENGE! 
 
 then he said : " Well, what does father want to 
 know about the club ? Does he wish to join ? " 
 
 " I didn't say your father " 
 
 " No, you didn't say it ; but, my dear mother, you 
 are as transparent as glass. I can see right through 
 you and away beyond. Now, somebody has been 
 talking to father about the club, and he is on the war- 
 path. Well, what does he want to know ? " 
 
 " He said it was a gambling club." 
 
 " Right for once." 
 
 " Oh, Dick, is it ? " 
 
 " Certainly it is. Most clubs are gambling clubs 
 and drinking clubs. I don't suppose the True Blues 
 gamble more than others, but I'll bet they don't 
 gamble any less." 
 
 "Oh, Dick, Dick, I'm sorry to hear that. And, 
 Dick, my darling boy do you 
 
 " Do I gamble, mother ? No, I don't. I know 
 you'll believe me, though the old man won't. But 
 it's true, nevertheless. I can't afford it, for it takes 
 money to gamble, and I'm not as rich as old Hammond 
 yet." 
 
 " Oh yes, Dick dear, and that reminds me. Another 
 thing your father feared was that Mr. Hammond 
 might come to know you were a member of the club. 
 It might hurt your prospects in the bank," she added, 
 not wishing to frighten the boy with the threat of 
 the dismissal she felt sure would follow the revelation. 
 
 Dick threw back his head and roared. For the 
 first time that evening the lines of care left his brow. 
 Then seeing his mother's look of incomprehension, he 
 sobered down, repressing his mirth with some difficulty.
 
 "AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 95 
 
 " Mother," he said at last, " things have changed 
 since father was a boy ; I'm afraid he hardly appre- 
 ciates how much. The old terrifying relations be- 
 tween employer and employee do not exist now at 
 least, that is my experience." 
 
 " Still if Mr. Hammond came to know that you 
 spent your evenings at " 
 
 " Mother, listen to me a moment. Mr. Julius 
 Hammond proposed me for membership in the club 
 my employer ! I should never have thought of 
 joining if it hadn't been for him. You remember 
 my last raise in salary ? You thought it was for 
 merit, of course, and father thought ft was luck. 
 Well, it was neither or both, perhaps. Now, this is 
 confidential and to yourself only. I wouldn't tell it 
 to any one else. Hammond called me into his pri- 
 vate office one afternoon when the bank was closed, 
 and said, ' Saunders, I want you to join the Athletic 
 Club ; I'll propose you.' I was amazed and told him 
 I couldn't afford it. 'Yes, you can,' he answered. 
 ' I'm going to raise your salary double the amount of 
 entrance fee and annual. If you don't join I'll cut it 
 down.' So I joined. I think I should have been a 
 fool if I hadn't." 
 
 '* Dick, I never heard of such a thing ! What in the 
 world did he want you to join for ? " 
 
 "Well, mother," said Dick, looking at his watch, 
 " that's a long story. I'll tell it to you some other 
 evening. I haven't time to-night. I must be off." 
 
 " Oh, Dick,'don't go to-night. Please stay at home, 
 for my sake." 
 
 Dick smoothed his mother's grey hair and kissed her
 
 96 REVENGE! 
 
 on the forehead. Then he said : " Won't to-morrow 
 night do as well, mother ? I can't stay to-night. I 
 have an appointment at the club. 
 
 " Telegraph to them and. put it off. Stay for my 
 sake to-night, Dick. I never asked you before." 
 
 The look of anxiety came into his face again. 
 
 " Mother, it is impossible, really it is. Please don't 
 ask me again. Anyhow, I know it is father who wants 
 me to stay, not you. I presume he's on the duty 
 tack. I think what he has to say will keep till to-mor- 
 row night. If he must work off some of his senti- 
 ments on gambling, let him place his efforts where 
 they are needed let him tackle Jule Hammond, but 
 not during business hours." 
 
 " You surely don't mean to say that a respected 
 business man a banker like Mr. Hammond gam- 
 bles?" 
 
 " Don't I ? Why, Hammond's a plunger from Plun- 
 gerville, if you know what that means. From nine to 
 three he is the strictest and best business man in the 
 city. If you spoke to him then of the True Blue Ath- 
 letic Club he wouldn't know what you were talking 
 about. But after three o'clock he'll take any odds 
 you like to offer, from matching pennies to backing an 
 unknown horse." 
 
 Mrs. Saunders sighed. It was a wicked world into 
 which her boy had to go to earn his living, evi- 
 dently. 
 
 "And now, mother, I really must be off. I'll stay 
 at home to-morrow night and take my scolding like a 
 man. Good-night." 
 
 He kissed her and hurried away before she could
 
 AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 97 
 
 say anything more, leaving her sitting there with 
 folded hands to await, with her customary patience 
 and just a trifle of apprehension, the coming of her 
 husband. There was no mistaking the heavy footfall. 
 Mrs. Saunders smiled sadly as she heard it, remember- 
 ing that Dick had said once that, even if he were safe 
 within the gates of Paradise, the sound of his father's 
 footsteps would make the chills run up his backbone. 
 She had reproved the levity of the remark at the 
 time, but she often thought of it, especially when she 
 knew there was trouble ahead as there usually 
 was. 
 
 " Where's Richard ? Isn't he home yet ? " were the 
 old man's first words. 
 
 " He has been home, but he had to go out again. 
 He had an appointment. 
 
 " Did you tell him I wanted to speak with him ? " 
 
 " Yes, and he said he would stay home to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 " Did he know what I said to-night ? " 
 
 " I'm not sure that I told him you " 
 
 " Don't shuffle now. He either knew or he did note 
 Which is it?' 
 
 " Yes, he knew, but he thought it might not be ur- 
 gent, and he " 
 
 " That will do. Where is his appointment? " 
 
 "At the club, I think." 
 
 " Ah-h-h ! " The old man dwelt on the exclamation 
 as if he had at last dra\vn out the reluctant worst. 
 " Did he say when he would be home?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Very well. I will wait half-an-hour for him, and
 
 98 REVENGE! 
 
 if he is not in by that time I will go to his club and 
 have my talk with him there." 
 
 Old Mr. Saunders sat grimly down with his hat still 
 on, and crossed his hands over the knob of his stout 
 walking-stick, watching the clock that ticked slowly 
 against the wall. Under these distressing circum- 
 stances the old woman lost her presence of mind and did 
 the very thing she should not have done. She should 
 have agreed with him, but instead of that she op- 
 posed the plan and so made it inevitable. It would 
 be a cruel thing, she said, to shame their son before 
 his friends, to make him a laughing-stock among his 
 acquaintances. Whatever was to be said could be 
 said as well to-morrow night as to-night, and that in 
 their own home, where, at least, no stranger would 
 overhear. As the old man made no answer but silently 
 watched the clock, she became almost indignant with 
 him. She felt she was culpable in entertaining even 
 the suspicion of such a feeling against her lawful hus- 
 band, but it did seem to her that he was not acting 
 judiciously towards Dick. She hoped to turn his re- 
 sentment from their son to herself, and would have 
 welcomed any outburst directed against her alone. In 
 this excited state, being brought, as it were, to bay, 
 she had the temerity to say 
 
 " You are wrong about one thing, and you may also 
 be wrong in thinking Dick in in what you think- 
 about Dick." 
 
 The old man darted one lowering look at her, and 
 though she trembled, she welcomed the glance as in- 
 dicating the success of her red herring. 
 
 " What was I wrong about ? "
 
 "AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 99 
 
 " You were wrong Mr. Hammond knows Dick is a 
 member of the club. He is a member himself and he 
 insisted Dick should join. That's why he raised his 
 salary." 
 
 " A likely story ! Who told you that ? " 
 
 " Dick told me himself." 
 
 "And you believed it, of course!" Saunders 
 laughed in a sneering, cynical sort of way and resumed 
 his scrutiny of the clock. The old woman gave up the 
 fight and began to weep silently, hoping, but in vain, 
 to hear the light step of her son approaching the door. 
 The clock struck the hour ; the old man rose without 
 a word, drew his hat further over his brow, and left 
 the house. 
 
 j. 
 
 Up to the last moment Mrs. Saunders hardly be- 
 lieved her husband would carry out his threat. Now, 
 when she realised he was determined, she had one 
 wild thought of flying to the club and warning her 
 son. A moment's consideration put that idea out of 
 the question. She called the serving-maid, who came, 
 as it seemed to the anxious woman, with exasperating 
 deliberation. 
 
 " Jane," she cried, " do you know where the Athletic 
 Club is? Do you know where Centre Street is ?" 
 
 Jane knew neither club nor locality. 
 
 " I want a message taken there to Dick, and it 
 must go quickly. Don't you think you could run 
 there " 
 
 " It would be quicker to telegraph, ma'am," said 
 Jane, who was not anxious to run anywhere. " There's 
 telegraph paper in Mr. Richard's room, and the office 
 is just round the corner."
 
 ioo REVENGE! 
 
 "That's it, Jane ; I'm glad you thought of it. Get 
 me a telegraph form. Do make haste." 
 
 She wrote with a trembling hand, as plainly as she 
 could, so that her son might have no difficulty in 
 reading : 
 
 " Richard Saunders, Athletic Club, Centre Street. 
 "Your father is coming to see you. He will be at 
 the club before half-an-hour." 
 
 " There is no need to sign it ; he will know his 
 mother's writing," said Mrs. Saunders, as she handed 
 the message and the money to Jane ; and Jane made 
 no comment, for she knew as little of telegraphing as 
 did her mistress. Then the old woman, having done 
 her best, prayed that the telegram might arrive before 
 her husband ; and her prayer was answered, for elec- 
 tricity is more speedy than an old man's legs. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Saunders strode along from the 
 suburb to the city. His stout stick struck the stone 
 pavement with a sharp click that sounded in the still, 
 frosty, night air almost like a pistol shot. He would 
 show both his wife and his son that he was not too 
 old to be master in his own house. He talked angrily 
 to himself as he went along, and was wroth to find his 
 anger lessening as he neared his destination. Anger 
 must be very just to hold its own during a brisk walk 
 in evening air that is cool and sweet. 
 
 Mr. Saunders was somewhat abashed to find the 
 club building a much more imposing edifice than he 
 had expected. There was no low, groggy appearance 
 about the True Blue Athletic Club. It was brilliantly 
 lit from basement to attic. A group of men, with
 
 "AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 101 
 
 hands in pockets, stood on the kerb as if waiting for 
 something. There was an air of occasion about the 
 place. The old man inquired of one of the loafers if 
 that was the Athletic Club. 
 
 " Yes, it is," was the answer ; " are you going in ? " 
 
 " I intend to." 
 
 " Are you a member ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Got an invitation ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then I suspect you won't go in. We've tried 
 every dodge ourselves." 
 
 The possibility of not getting in had never occurred 
 to the old gentleman, and the thought that his son, 
 safe within the sacred precincts of a club, might defy 
 him, flogged his flagging anger and aroused his dogged 
 determination. 
 
 " I'll try, at least," he said, going up the stone steps. 
 
 The men watched him with a smile on their lips. 
 They saw him push the electric button, whereupon 
 the door opened slightly. There was a brief, unheard 
 parley ; then the door swung wide open, and, when 
 Mr. Saunders entered, it shut again. 
 
 " Well, I'm blest ! " said the man on the kerb ; " I 
 wonder how the old duffer worked it. I wish I had 
 asked him." None of the rest made any comment ; 
 they were struck dumb with amazement at the success 
 of the old gentleman, who had even to ask if that 
 were the club. 
 
 When the porter opened the door he repeated one 
 of the questions asked a moment before by the man 
 on the kerb.
 
 102 REVENGE! 
 
 " Have you an invitation, sir?" 
 
 " No," answered the old man, deftly placing his 
 stick so that the barely opened door could not be 
 closed until it was withdrawn. " No ! I want to see 
 my son, Richard Saunders. Is he inside ? " 
 
 The porter instantly threw open the door. 
 
 " Yes, sir," he said. " They're expecting you, sir. 
 Kindly come this way, sir." 
 
 The old man followed, wondering at the cordiality 
 of his reception. There must be some mistake. 
 Expecting him ? How could that be ! He was led 
 into a most sumptuous parlour where a cluster of 
 electric lamps in the ceiling threw a soft radiance 
 around the room. 
 
 " Be seated, sir. I will tell Mr. Hammond that you 
 are here." 
 
 " But stop a moment I don't want to see Mr. 
 Hammond. I have nothing to do with Mr. Hammond. 
 I want to see my son. Is it Mr. Hammond the 
 banker?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. He told me to bring you in here when 
 you came and to let him know at once." 
 
 The old man drew his hand across his brow, and 
 ere he could reply the porter had disappeared. He 
 sat down in one of the exceedingly easy leather chairs 
 and gazed in bewilderment around the room. The 
 fine pictures on the wall related exclusively to sport- 
 ing subjects. A trim yacht, with its tall, slim masts 
 and towering cloud of canvas at an apparently danger- 
 ous angle, seemed sailing directly at the spectator. 
 Pugilists, naked to the waists, held their clinched fists 
 in menacing attitudes. Race-horses, in states of activ-
 
 "AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 103 
 
 ity and at rest, were interspersed here and there. In 
 the centre of the room stood a pedestal of black marble, 
 and upon it rested a huge silver vase encrusted with 
 ornamentation. The old man did not know that this 
 elaborate specimen of the silversmith's art was referred 
 to as the " Cup." Some one had hung a placard on it, 
 bearing, in crudely scrawled letters the words : 
 
 " Fare thee well, and if for ever 
 Still for ever Fare thee well." 
 
 While the old man was wondering what all this 
 meant, the curtain suddenly parted and there entered 
 an elderly gentleman somewhat jauntily attired in 
 evening dress with a rose at his buttonhole. Saunders 
 instantly recognised him as the banker, and he felt a 
 resentment at what he considered his foppish appear- 
 ance, realising almost at the same moment the rusti- 
 ness of his own clothes, an everyday suit, not too 
 expensive even when new. 
 
 "How are you, Mr. Saunders?" cried the banker, 
 cordially extending his hand. " I am very pleased 
 indeed to meet you. We got your telegram, but 
 thought it best not to give it to Dick. I took the 
 liberty of opening it myself. You see we can't be too 
 careful about these little details. I told the porter to 
 look after you and let me know the moment you came. 
 Of course you are very anxious about your boy." 
 
 " I am," said the old man firmly. " That's why I'm 
 here." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly. So are we all, and I presume 
 I'm the most anxious man of the lot. Now what you 
 want to know is how he is getting along?"
 
 104 REVENGE! 
 
 " Yes ; I want to know the truth." 
 
 " Well, unfortunately, the truth is about as gloomy 
 as it can be. He's been going from bad to worse, and 
 no man is more sorry than I am." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me so ? " 
 
 "Yes. There is no use deluding ourselves. Frankly, 
 I have no hope for him. There is not one chance in 
 ten thousand of his recovering his lost ground." 
 
 The old man caught his breath, and leaned on his 
 cane for support. He realised now the hollowness of 
 his previous anger. He had never for a moment be- 
 lieved the boy was going to the bad. Down under- 
 neath his crustiness was a deep love for his son and a 
 strong faith in him. He had allowed his old habit of 
 domineering to get the better of him, and now in 
 searching after a phantom he had suddenly come upon 
 a ghastly reality. 
 
 " Look here," said the banker, noticing his agitation, 
 " have a drink of our Special Scotch with me. It is 
 the best there is to be had for money. We always 
 take off our hats when we speak of the Special in 
 this club. Then we'll go and see how things are 
 moving." 
 
 As he turned to order the liquor he noticed for the 
 first time the placard on the cup. 
 
 "Now, who the dickens put that there?" he cried 
 angrily. " There's no use in giving up before you're 
 thrashed." Saying which, he took off the placard, 
 tore it up, and threw it into the waste basket. 
 
 "Does Richard drink?" asked the old man huskily, 
 remembering the eulogy on the Special. 
 
 " Bless you, no. Nor smoke either. No, nor ^am-
 
 "AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 105 
 
 ble, which is more extraordinary. No, it's all right 
 for old fellows like you and me to indulge in the 
 Special bless it but a young man who needs to keep 
 his nerves in order, has to live like a monk. I imag- 
 ine it's a love affair. Of course, there's no use asking 
 you : you would be the last one to know. When he 
 came in to-night I saw he was worried over something. 
 I asked him what it was, but he declared there was 
 nothing wrong. Here's the liquor. You'll find that 
 it reaches the spot." 
 
 The old man gulped down some of the celebrated 
 " Special," then he said 
 
 " Is it true that you induced my son to join this 
 club?" 
 
 " Certainly. I heard what he could do from a man 
 I had confidence in, and I said to myself, We must 
 have young Saunders for a member." 
 
 " Then don't you think you are largely to blame ? " 
 
 " Oh, if you like to put it that way ; yes. Still I'm 
 the chief loser. I lose ten thousand by him." 
 
 " Good God ! " cried the stricken father. 
 
 The banker looked at the old man a little nervously, 
 as if he feared his head was not exactly right. Then 
 he said : " Of course you will be anxious to see how 
 the thing ends. Come in with me, but be careful the 
 boy doesn't catch sight of you. It might rattle him. 
 I'll get you a place at the back, where you can see 
 without being seen." 
 
 They rose, and the banker led the way on tiptoe 
 between the curtains into a large room filled with 
 silent men earnestly watching a player at a billiard 
 table in the centre of the apartment. Temporary
 
 io6 . REVENGE! 
 
 seats had been built around the walls, tier above tier, 
 and every place was taken. Saunders noticed his 
 son standing near the table in his shirt-sleeves, with 
 his cue butt downward on the ground. His face was 
 pale and his lips compressed as he watched his oppo- 
 nent's play like a man fascinated. Evidently his 
 back was against the wall, and he was fighting a hope- 
 less fight, but was grit to the last. 
 
 Old Saunders only faintly understood the situation, 
 but his whole sympathy went out to his boy, and he 
 felt an instinctive hatred of the confident opponent 
 who was knocking the balls about with a reckless 
 accuracy which was evidently bringing dismay to the 
 hearts of at least half the onlookers. 
 
 All at once there was a burst of applause, and the 
 player stood up straight with a laugh. 
 
 " By Jove ! " cried the banker, " he's missed. Didn't 
 put enough stick behind it. That comes of being too 
 blamed sure. Shouldn't wonder but there is going 
 to be a turn of luck. Perhaps you'll prove a mascot, 
 Mr. Saunders." 
 
 He placed the old man on an elevated seat at the 
 back. There was a buzz of talk as young Saunders 
 stood there chalking his cue, apparently loth to begin. 
 
 Hammond mixed among the crowd, and spoke 
 eagerly now to one, now to another. Old Saunders 
 said to the man next him 
 
 " What is it all about ? Is this an important match ? " 
 
 " Important ! You bet it is. I suppose there's 
 more money on this game than was ever put on a 
 billiard match before. Why, Jule Hammond alone 
 has ten thousand on Saunders."
 
 'AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 107 
 
 The old man gave a quivering sigh of relief. He 
 was beginning to understand. The ten thousand, 
 then, was not the figures of a defalcation. 
 
 " Yes," continued the other, " it's the great match 
 for the cup. There's been a series of games, and this 
 is the culminating one. Prognor has won one, and 
 Saunders one ; now this game settles it. Prognor is 
 the man of the High Fliers' Club. He's a good one. 
 Saunders won the cup for this club last year, so they 
 can't kick much if they lose it now. They've never 
 had a man to touch Saunders in this club since it 
 began. I doubt if there's another amateur like him 
 in this country. He's a man to be proud of, although 
 he seemed to go to pieces to-night. They'll all be 
 down on him to-morrow if they lose their money, 
 although he don't make anything one way or another. 
 I believe it's the high betting that's made him so 
 anxious and spoiled his play." 
 
 "Hush, hush!" was whispered around the room. 
 Young Saunders had begun to play. Prognor stood 
 by with a superior smile on his lips. He was certain 
 to go out when his turn came again. 
 
 Saunders played very carefully, taking no risks, and 
 his father watched him with absorbed, breathless inter- 
 est. Though he knew nothing of the game he soon 
 began to see how points were made. The boy never 
 looked up from the green cloth and the balls. He 
 stepped around the table to his different positions 
 without hurry, and yet without undue tardiness. All 
 eyes were fastened on his play, and there was not a 
 sound in the large room but the ever-recurring click- 
 click of the balls. The father marvelled at the almost
 
 io8 REVENGE! 
 
 magical command the player had over the ivory 
 spheres. They came and went, rebounded and struck, 
 seemingly because he willed this result or that. 
 There was a dexterity of touch, and accurate measure- 
 ment of force, a correct estimate of angles, a truth of 
 the eye, and a muscular control that left the old man 
 amazed that the combination of all these delicate nice- 
 ties were concentrated in one person, and that person 
 his own son. 
 
 At last two of the balls lay close together, and the 
 young man, playing very deftly, appeared to be able 
 to keep them in that position as if he might go on 
 scoring indefinitely. He went on in this way for 
 some time, when suddenly the silence was broken by 
 Prognor crying out 
 
 " I don't call that billiards. It's baby play." 
 
 Instantly there was an uproar. Saunders grounded 
 his cue on the floor and stood calmly amidst the 
 storm, his eyes fixed on the green cloth. There were 
 shouts of " You were not interrupted," " That's for the 
 umpire to decide," " Play your game, Saunders," 
 " Don't be bluffed." The old man stood up with the 
 rest, and his natural combativeness urged him to take 
 part in the fray and call for fair play. The umpire 
 rose and demanded order. When the tumult had sub- 
 sided, he sat down. Some of the High Fliers, how- 
 ever, cried, " Decision ! Decision ! " 
 
 " There is nothing to decide," said the umpire, 
 severely. " Go on with your play, Mr. Saunders." 
 
 Then young Saunders did a thing that took away 
 the breath of his friends. He deliberately struck the 
 balls with his cue ball and scattered them far and
 
 "AND THE RIGOUR OF THE GAME." 109 
 
 wide. A simultaneous sigh seemed to rise from the 
 breasts of the True Blues. 
 
 " That is magnificent, but it is not war," said the 
 man beside old Saunders. " He has no right to 
 throw away a single chance when he is so far behind." 
 
 " Oh, he's not so far behind. Look at the score," 
 put in a man on the right. 
 
 Saunders carefully nursed the balls up together 
 once more, scored off them for a while, and again he 
 struck them far apart. This he did three times. He 
 apparently seemed bent on showing how completely he 
 had the table under his control. Suddenly a great 
 cheer broke out, and young Saunders rested as before 
 without taking his eyes from the cloth. 
 
 " What does that mean ? " cried the old man ex- 
 citedly, with dry lips. 
 
 "Why, don't you see? He's tied the score. I 
 imagine this is almost an unprecedented run. I be- 
 lieve he's got Prognor on toast, if you ask me." 
 
 Hammond came up with flushed face, and grasped the 
 old man by the arm with a vigour that made him wince. 
 
 " Did you ever see anything grander than that ? " 
 he said, under cover of the momentary applause. 
 " I'm willing to lose my ten thousand now without a 
 murmur. You see, you are a mascot after all." 
 
 The old man was too much excited to speak, but 
 he hoped the boy would take no more chances. Again 
 came the click-click of the balls. The father was 
 pleased to see that Dick played now with all the care 
 and caution he had observed at first. The silence 
 became intense, almost painful. Every man leaned 
 forward and scarcely breathed.
 
 no REVENGE! 
 
 All at once Prognor strode down to the billiard- 
 table and stretched his hand across it. A cheer shook 
 the ceiling. The cup would remain on its black 
 marble pedestal. Saunders had won. He took the 
 outstretched hand of his defeated opponent, and the 
 building rang again. 
 
 Banker Hammond pushed his way through the con- 
 gratulating crowd and smote the winner cordially on 
 the shoulder. 
 
 " That was a great run, Dick, my boy. The old 
 man was your mascot. Your luck changed the mo- 
 ment he came in. Your father had his eye on you all 
 the time." 
 
 " What ! " cried Dick, with a jump. 
 
 A flush came over his pale face as he caught his 
 father's eye, although the old man's glance was kindly 
 enough. 
 
 " I'm very proud of you, my son," said his father, 
 when at last he reached him. " It takes skill and 
 pluck and nerve to win a contest like that. I'm off 
 now ; I want to tell your mother about it." 
 
 " Wait a moment, father, and we'll walk home 
 together," said Dick.
 
 THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY. 
 
 THE room in which John Shorely edited the 
 Weekly Sponge was not luxuriously furnished, but it 
 was comfortable. A few pictures decorated the walls, 
 mostly black and white drawings by artists who were 
 so unfortunate as to be compelled to work for the 
 Sponge on the cheap. Magazines and papers were 
 littered all about, chiefly American in their origin, for 
 Shorely had been brought up in the editorial school 
 which teaches that it is cheaper to steal from a foreign 
 publication than waste good money on original contri- 
 butions. You clipped out the story ; changed New 
 York to London; Boston or Philadelphia to Man- 
 chester or Liverpool, and there you were. 
 
 Shorely 's theory was that the public was a fool, and 
 didn't know the difference. Some of the greatest 
 journalistic successes in London proved the fact, he 
 claimed, yet the Sponge frequently bought stories 
 from well-known authors, and bragged greatly about 
 it. 
 
 Shorely's table was littered with manuscripts, but 
 the attention of the great editor was not upon them. 
 He sat in his wooden armchair, with his gaze on the 
 fire and a frown on his brow. The Sponge was not 
 going well, and he feared he would have to adopt
 
 H2 REVENGE! 
 
 some of the many prize schemes that were such a help 
 to pure literature elsewhere, or offer a thousand pounds 
 insurance, tied up in such a way that it would look 
 lavishly generous to the constant reader, and yet be 
 impossible to collect if a disaster really occurred. 
 
 In the midst of his meditations a clerk entered and 
 announced " Mr. Bromley Gibberts." 
 
 "Tell him I'm busy just now tell him I'm en- 
 gaged," said the editor, while the perplexed frown 
 deepened on his brow. 
 
 The clerk's conscience, however, was never burdened 
 with that message, for Gibberts entered, with a long 
 ulster coat flapping about his heels. 
 
 " That's all right," said Gibberts, waving his hand at 
 the boy, who stood with open mouth, appalled at the 
 intrusion. "You heard what Mr. Shorely said. He's 
 engaged. Therefore let no one enter. Get out." 
 
 The boy departed, closing the door after him. 
 Gibberts turned the key in the lock, and then sat 
 down. 
 
 "There," he said; " now we can talk unmolested, 
 Shorely. I should think you would be pestered to 
 death by all manner of idiots who come in and inter- 
 rupt you." 
 
 " I am," said the editor, shortly. 
 
 " Then take my plan, and lock your door. Com- 
 municate with the outer office through a speaking- 
 tube. I see you are down-hearted, so I have come to 
 cheer you up. I've brought you a story, my boy." 
 
 Shorely groaned. 
 
 " My dear Gibberts," he said, " we have now " 
 
 " Oh yes, I know all about that. You have matter
 
 THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY. 113 
 
 enough on hand to run the paper for the next fifteen 
 years. If this is a comic story, you are buying only 
 serious stuff. If this be tragic, humour is what you 
 need. Of course, the up-and-down truth is that you 
 are short of money, and can't pay my price. The 
 Sponge is failing everybody knows that. Why can't 
 you speak the truth, Shorely, to me, at least ? If you 
 practised an hour a day, and took lessons from me, 
 for instance you would be able in a month to speak 
 several truthful sentences one after the other." 
 
 The editor laughed bitterly. 
 
 " You are complimentary," he said. 
 
 " I'm not Try again, Shorely. Say I'm a boorish 
 ass." 
 
 " Well, you are." 
 
 "There, you see how easy it is! Practice is every- 
 thing. Now, about this story, will you 
 
 " I will not. As you are not an advertiser, I don't 
 mind admitting to you that the paper is going down. 
 You see it comes to the same thing. We haven't the 
 money, as you say, so what's the use of talking?" 
 
 Gibberts hitched his chair closer to the editor, and 
 placed his hand on the other's knee. He went on 
 earnestly 
 
 " Now is the time to talk, Shorely. In a little 
 while it will be too late. You will have thrown up the 
 Sponge. Your great mistake is trying to ride two horses, 
 each facing a different direction. It can't be done, my 
 boy. Make up your mind whether you are going to 
 be a thief or an honest man. That's the first step." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " You know what I mean. Go in for a paper that
 
 114 REVENGE! 
 
 will be entirely stolen property, or for one made up 
 of purely original matter." 
 
 " We have a great deal of original matter in the 
 Sponge" 
 
 "Yes, and that's what I object to. Have it all 
 original, or have it all stolen. Be fish or fowl. At 
 least one hundred men a week see a stolen article in 
 the Sponge which they have read elsewhere. They 
 then believe it is all stolen, and you lose them. 
 That isn't business, so I want to sell you one original 
 tale, which will prove to be the most remarkable story 
 written in England this year." 
 
 " Oh, they all are," said Shorely, wearily. " Every 
 story sent to me is a most remarkable story, in the 
 author's opinion." 
 
 " Look here, Shorely," cried Gibberts, angrily, " you 
 mustn't talk to me like that. I'm no unknown author, 
 a fact of which you are very well aware. I don't need 
 to peddle my goods." 
 
 " Then why do you come here lecturing me ? " 
 
 " For your own good, Shorely, my boy," said Gib- 
 berts, calming down as rapidly as he had flared up. 
 He was a most uncertain man. "For your own good, 
 and if you don't take this story, some one else will. 
 It will make the fortune of the paper that secures it. 
 Now, you read it while I wait. Here it is, typewrit- 
 ten, at one-and-three a thousand words, all to save 
 your blessed eyesight." 
 
 Shorely took the manuscript and lit the gas, for it 
 was getting dark. Gibberts sat down awhile, but soon 
 began to pace the room, much to Shorely's manifest 
 annoyance. Not content with this, he picked up the 
 poker and noisily stirred the fire.
 
 THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY. 115 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, sit down, Gibberts, and be 
 quiet ! " cried Shorely, at last. 
 
 Gibberts seized the poker as if it had been a weapon, 
 and glared at the editor. 
 
 " I won't sit down, and I will make just as much 
 noise as I want to," he roared. As he stood there 
 defiantly, Shorely saw a gleam of insanity in his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, very well, then," said Shorely, continuing to 
 read the story. 
 
 For a moment Gibberts stood grasping the poker 
 by the middle, then he flung it with a clatter on the 
 fender, and, sitting down, gazed moodily into the fire, 
 without moving, until Shorely had turned the last 
 page. 
 
 "Well," said Gibberts, rousing from his reverie, 
 " what do you think of it ? " 
 
 " It's a good story, Gibberts. All your stories are 
 good," said the editor, carelessly. 
 
 Gibberts started to his feet, and swore. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," he thundered, " that you 
 see nothing in that story different from any I or any 
 one else ever wrote? Hang it, Shorely, you wouldn't 
 know a good story if you met it coming up Fleet 
 Street ! Can't you see that story is written with a 
 man's heart's blood ? " 
 
 Shorely stretched out his legs and thrust his hands 
 far down in his trousers' pockets. 
 
 " It may have been written as you say, although I 
 thought you called my attention a moment ago to its 
 type-written character." 
 
 " Don't be flippant, Shorely," said Gibberts, relaps- 
 ing again into melancholy. "You don't like the story,
 
 ii6 REVENGE! 
 
 then ? You didn't see anything unusual in it pur- 
 pose, force, passion, life, death, nothing?" 
 
 " There is death enough at the end. My objection 
 is that there is too much blood and thunder in it. 
 Such a tragedy could never happen. No man could 
 go to a country house and slaughter every one in it. 
 It's absurd." 
 
 Gibberts sprang from his seat and began to pace 
 the room excitedly. Suddenly he stopped before his 
 friend, towering over him, his long ulster making him 
 look taller than he really was. 
 
 " Did I ever tell you the tragedy of my life ? How 
 the property that would have kept me from want 
 has " 
 
 " Of course you have, Gibberts. Sit down. You've 
 told it to everybody. To me several times." 
 
 " How my cousin cheated me out of 
 
 " Certainly. Out of land and the woman you 
 loved." 
 
 " Oh ! I told you that, did I ? " said Gibberts, appar- 
 ently abashed at the other's familiarity with the cir- 
 cumstances. He sat down, and rested his head in his 
 hands. There was a long silence between the two, 
 which was finally broken by Gibberts saying 
 
 " So you don't care about the story?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't say that. I can see it is the story of 
 your own life, with an imaginary and sanguinary 
 ending." 
 
 " Oh, you saw that, did you ? " 
 
 " Yes. How much do you want for it ? " 
 
 "50" 
 
 "What?"
 
 THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY. 117 
 
 -x 
 
 ".50, 1 tell you. Are you deaf? And I want the 
 money now." 
 
 " Bless your innocent heart, I can buy a longer story 
 than that from the greatest author living for less than 
 50. Gibberts, you're crazy." 
 
 Gibberts looked up suddenly and inquiringly, as if 
 that thought had never occurred to him before. He 
 seemed rather taken with the idea. It would explain 
 many things which had puzzled both himself .and his 
 friends. He meditated upon the matter for a few 
 moments, but at last shook his head. 
 
 " No, Shorely," he said, with a sigh. " I'm not in- 
 sane, though, goodness knows, I've had enough to 
 drive me mad. I don't seem to have the luck of 
 some people. I haven't the talent for going crazy. 
 But to return to the story. You think 50 too much 
 for it. It will make the fortune of the paper that pub- 
 lishes it. Let me see. I had it a moment ago, but 
 the point has escaped my memory. What was it you 
 objected to as unnatural ?" 
 
 " The tragedy. There is too much wholesale mur- 
 der at the end." 
 
 " Ah ! now I have it ! Now I recollect ! " 
 
 Gibberts began energetically to pace the room 
 again, smiting his hands together. His face was in 
 a glow of excitement. 
 
 "Yes, I have it now. The tragedy. Granting a 
 murder like that, one man a dead shot, killing all the 
 people in a country house ; imagine it actually taking 
 place. Wouldn't all England ring with it?" 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
 " Of course it would. Now, you listen to me.
 
 1 18 REVENGE! 
 
 I'm going to commit that so-called crime. One week 
 after you publish the story, I'm going down to that 
 country house, Channor Chase. It is my house, if 
 there was justice and right in England, and I'm going 
 to slaughter every one in it. I will leave a letter, say- 
 ing the story in the Sponge is the true story of what 
 led to the tragedy. Your paper in a week will be the 
 most-talked-of journal in England in the world. It 
 will leap instantaneously into a circulation such as no 
 weekly on earth ever before attained. Look here, 
 Shorely, that story is worth .50,000 rather than 50, 
 and if you don't buy it at once, some one else will. 
 Now, what do you say ? " 
 
 " I say you are joking, or qlse, as I said just now, 
 you are as mad as a hatter." 
 
 "Admitting I am mad, will you take the story ?" 
 
 "No, but I'll prevent you committing the crime." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " By giving you in charge. By informing on you." 
 
 " You can'l do it. Until such a crime is committed, 
 no one would believe it could be committed. You 
 have no witnesses to our conversation here, and I will 
 deny every assertion you make. My word, at present, 
 is as good as yours. All you can do is to ruin your 
 chance of fortune, which knocks at every man's door. 
 When I came in, you were wondering what you could 
 do to put the Sponge on its feet. I saw it in your 
 attitude. Now, what do you say ?" 
 
 " I'll give you 25 for the story on its own merits, 
 although it is a big price, and you need not commit 
 the crime." 
 
 " Done ! That is the sum I wanted, but I knew if
 
 THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY. 119 
 
 I asked it, you would offer me 12 los. Will you 
 publish it within the month?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Very well. Write out the cheque. Don't cross it. 
 I've no bank account." 
 
 When the cheque was handed to him, Gibberts 
 thrust it into the ticket-pocket of his ulster, turned 
 abruptly, and unlocked the door. " Good-bye," he said. 
 
 As he disappeared, Shorely noticed how long his 
 ulster was, and how it flapped about his heels. The 
 next time he saw the novelist was under circumstances 
 that could never be effaced from his memory. 
 
 The Sponge was a sixteen-page paper, with a blue 
 cover, and the week Gibberts' story appeared, it oc- 
 cupied the first seven pages. As Shorely ran it over 
 in the paper, it impressed him more than it had done 
 in manuscript. A story always seems more convinc- 
 ing in type. 
 
 Shorely met' several men at the Club, who spoke 
 highly of the story, and at last he began to believe it 
 was a good one himself. Johnson was particularly 
 enthusiastic, and every one in the Club knew Johnson's 
 opinion was infallible. 
 
 " How did you come to get hold of it ? " he said to 
 Shorely, with unnecessary emphasis on the personal 
 pronoun. 
 
 " Don't you think I know a good story when I see 
 it?" asked the editor, indignantly. 
 
 " It isn't the general belief of the Club," replied 
 Johnson, airily; "but then, all the members have 
 sent you contributions, so perhaps that accounts for 
 it. By the way, have you seen Gibberts lately?"
 
 120 REVENGE! 
 
 " No ; why do you ask ? " 
 
 "Well, it strikes me he is acting rather queerly. If 
 you asked me, I don't think he is quite sane. He has 
 something on his mind." 
 
 " He told me," said the new member, with some 
 hesitation " but really I don't think I'm justified in 
 mentioning it, although he did not tell it in confidence 
 that he was the rightful heir to a property in 
 
 "Oh, we all know that story!" cried the Club, 
 unanimously. 
 
 "I think it's the Club whiskey," said one of the 
 oldest members. " I say, it's the worst in London." 
 
 " Verbal complaints not received. Write to the 
 Committee," put in Johnson. " If Gibberts has a 
 friend in the Club, which I doubt, that friend should 
 look after him. I believe he will commit suicide 
 yet." 
 
 These sayings troubled Shorely as he walked back 
 to his office. He sat down to write a note, asking 
 Gibberts to call. As he was writing, McCabe, the 
 business manager of the Sponge, came in. 
 
 " What's the matter with the old sheet this week?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Matter ? I don't understand you." 
 
 " Well, I have just sent an order to the printer to 
 run off an extra ten thousand, and here comes a de- 
 mand from Smith's for the whole lot. The extra ten 
 thousand were to go to different newsagents, all over 
 the country who have sent repeat orders, so I have 
 told the printer now to run off at least twenty-five 
 thousand, and to keep the plates on the press. I 
 never read the Sponge myself, so I thought I would
 
 THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY. 121 
 
 drop in and ask you what the attraction was. This 
 rush is unnatural. 
 
 " Better read the paper and find out," said Shorely. 
 
 " I would, if there wasn't so much of your stuff in 
 it," retorted McCabe. 
 
 Next day McCabe reported an almost bewildering 
 increase in orders. He had a jubilant " we've-done- 
 it-at-last " air that exasperated Shorely, who felt that 
 he alone should have the credit. There had come no 
 answer to the note he had sent Gibberts, so he went 
 to the Club, in the hope of meeting him. He found 
 Johnson, whom he asked if Gibberts were there. 
 
 " He's not been here to-day," said Johnson; "but I 
 saw him yesterday, and what do you think he was 
 doing ? He was in a gun-shop in the Strand, buying 
 cartridges for that villainous-looking seven-shooter of 
 his. I asked him what he was going to do with a 
 revolver in London, and he told me, shortly, that it 
 was none of my business, which struck me as so accu- 
 rate a summing-up of the situation, that I came away 
 without making further remark. If you want any 
 more stories by Gibberts, you should look after him." 
 
 Shorely found himself rapidly verging into a state 
 of nervousness regarding Gibberts. He was actually 
 beginning to believe the novelist meditated some wild 
 action, which might involve others in a disagreeable 
 complication. Shorely had no desire to be accessory 
 either before or after the fact. He hurried back to 
 the office, and there found Gibberts' belated reply to 
 his note. He hastily tore it open, and the reading of 
 it completely banished what little self-control he had 
 left.
 
 122 REVENGE! 
 
 " DEAR SHORELY, I know why you want to see 
 me, but I have so many affairs to settle, that it is 
 impossible for me to call upon you. However, have 
 no fears ; I shall stand to my bargain, without any 
 goading from you. Only a few days have elapsed 
 since the publication of the story, and I did not prom- 
 ise the tragedy before the week was out. I leave for 
 Channor Chase this afternoon. You shall have your 
 pound of flesh, and more. Yours, 
 
 " BROMLEY GIBBERTS." 
 
 Shorely was somewhat pale about the lips when he 
 had finished this scrawl. He flung on his coat, and 
 rushed into the street. Calling a hansom, he said 
 
 " Drive to Kidner's Inn as quickly as you can. 
 No. 15." 
 
 Once there, he sprang up the steps two at a time, 
 and knocked at Gibberts' door. The novelist allowed 
 himself the luxury of a " man," and it was the " man " 
 who answered Shorely 's imperious knock. 
 
 "Where's Gibberts?" 
 
 " He's just gone, sir." 
 
 " Gone where ? " 
 
 "To Euston Station, I believe, sir; and he took a 
 hansom. He's going into the country for a week, sir, 
 and I wasn't to forward his letters, so I haven't his 
 address." 
 
 " Have you an 'ABC'?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; step inside, sir. Mr. Gibberts was just 
 looking up trains in it, sir, before he left." 
 
 Shorely saw it was open at C, and, looking down the 
 column to Channor, he found that a train left in about 
 twenty minutes. Without a word, he dashed down
 
 THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY. 123 
 
 the stairs again. The " man " did not seem aston- 
 ished. Queer fish sometimes came to see his master. 
 
 " Can you get me to Euston Station in twenty min- 
 utes?" 
 
 The cabman shook his head, as he said 
 
 " I'll do my best, sir, but we ought to have a good 
 half-hour." 
 
 The driver did his best, and landed Shorely on the 
 departure platform two minutes after the train had 
 gone. 
 
 " When is the next train to Channor*? " demanded 
 Shorely of a porter. 
 
 "Just left, sir." 
 
 " The next train hasn't just left, you fool. Answer 
 my question." 
 
 " Two hours and twenty minutes, sir," replied the 
 porter, in a huff. 
 
 Shorely thought of engaging a special, but realised 
 he hadn't money enough. Perhaps he could telegraph 
 and warn the people of Channor Chase, but he did 
 not know to whom to telegraph. Or, again, he thought 
 he might have Gibberts arrested on some charge or 
 other at Channor Station. That, he concluded, was 
 the way out dangerous, but feasible. 
 
 By this time, however, the porter had recovered his 
 equanimity. Porters cannot afford to cherish resent- 
 ment, and this particular porter [saw half a crown in 
 the air. 
 
 " Did you wish to reach Channor before the train 
 that's just gone, sir? " 
 
 "Yes. Can it be done?" 
 
 " It might be done, sir," said the porter, hesitat-
 
 124 REVENGE! 
 
 ingly, as if [he were on the verge of divulging a State 
 secret which would cost him his situation. He wanted 
 the half-crown to become visible before he committed 
 himself further. 
 
 " Here's half a sovereign, if you tell me how it can 
 be done, short of hiring a special." 
 
 " Well, sir, you could take the express that leaves 
 at the half-hour. It will carry you fifteen miles be- 
 yond Channor, to Buley Junction, then in seventeen 
 minutes you can get a local back to Channor, which is 
 due three minutes before the down train reaches there 
 if the local is in time," he added, when the gold 
 piece was safe stowed in his pocket. 
 
 While waiting for the express, Shorely bought a 
 copy of the Sponge, and once more he read Gibberts' 
 story on the way down. The third reading appalled 
 him. He was amazed he had not noticed before the 
 deadly earnestness of its tone. We are apt to under- 
 rate or overrate the work of a man with whom we are 
 personally familiar. 
 
 Now, for the first time, Shorely seemed to get the 
 proper perspective. The reading left him in a state 
 of nervous collapse. He tried to remember whether 
 or not he had burned Gibberts' letter. If he had left 
 it on his table, anything might happen. It was 
 incriminating evidence. 
 
 The local was five minutes late at the Junction, and 
 
 it crawled over the fifteen miles back to Channor in 
 
 the most exasperating way, losing time with every 
 
 .mile. At Channor he found the London train had 
 
 come and gone. 
 
 " Did a man in a long ulster get off, and
 
 THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY. 125 
 
 " For Channor Chase, sir? " 
 
 " Yes. Has he gone ? " 
 
 "Oh yes, sir! The dog-cart from the Chase was 
 here to meet him, sir." 
 
 " How far is it ? " 
 
 "About five miles by road, if you mean the Chase, 
 sir." 
 
 " Can I get a conveyance ? " 
 
 " I don't think so, sir. They didn't know you were 
 coming, I suppose, or they would have waited ; but if 
 you take the road down by the church, you can get 
 there before the cart, si?. It isn't more than two 
 miles from the church. You'll find the path a bit dirty, 
 I'm afraid, sir, but not worse than the road. You can't 
 miss the way, and you can send for your luggage." 
 
 It had been raining, and was still drizzling. A 
 strange path is sometimes difficult to follow, even in 
 broad daylight, but a wet, dark evening adds tremen- 
 dously to the problem. Shorely was a city man, and 
 quite unused to the eccentricities of country lanes 
 and paths. 
 
 He first mistook the gleaming surface of a ditch for 
 the footpath, and only found his mistake when he was 
 up to his waist in water. The rain came on heavily 
 again, and added to his troubles. After wandering 
 through muddy fields for some time, he came to a 
 cottage, where he succeeded in securing a guide to 
 Channor Chase. 
 
 The time he had lost wandering in the fields would, 
 Shorely thought, allow the dog-cart to arrive before 
 him, and such he found to be the case. The man who 
 answered Shorely's imperious summons to the door
 
 126 REVENGE! 
 
 was surprised to find a wild-eyed, unkempt, bedraggled 
 individual, who looked like a lunatic or a tramp. 
 
 " Has Mr. Bromley Gibberts arrived yet ? " he 
 asked, without preliminary talk. 
 
 fYes, sir," answered the man. 
 
 " Is he in his room ? " 
 
 "No, sir. He has just come down, after dressing, 
 and is in the drawing-room. 
 
 " I must see him at once," gasped Shorely. " It is 
 a matter of life and death. Take me to the drawing- 
 room." 
 
 The man, in some bewilderment, led him to the 
 door of the drawing-room, and Shorely heard the 
 sound of laughter from within. Thus ever are comedy 
 and tragedy mingled. The man threw the door open, 
 and Shorely entered. The sight he beheld at first 
 dazzled him, for the room was brilliantly lighted. He 
 saw a number of people, ladies and gentlemen, all in 
 evening dress, and all looking towards the door, with 
 astonishment in their eyes. Several of them, he 
 noticed, had copies of the Sponge in their hands. 
 Bromley Gibberts stood before the fire, and was very 
 evidently interrupted in the middle of a narration. 
 
 " I assure you," he was saying, " that is the only 
 way by which a story of the highest class can be sold 
 to a London editor." 
 
 He stopped as he said this, and turned to look at 
 the intruder. It was a moment or two before he 
 recognised the dapper editor in the bedraggled indi- 
 vidual who stood, abashed, at the door. 
 
 " By the gods ! " he exclaimed, waving his hands. 
 " Speak of the editor, and he appears. In the name
 
 THE BROMLEY GIBBERTS STORY. 12; 
 
 of all that's wonderful, Shorely, how did you come 
 here? Have your deeds at last found you out? 
 Have they ducked you in a horse-pond? I have just 
 been telling my friends here how I sold you that story, 
 which is making the fortume of the Sponge. Come 
 forward, and show yourself, Shorely, my boy." 
 
 " I would like a word with you," stammered 
 Shorely. 
 
 " Then, have it here," said the novelist. " They all 
 understand the circumstances. Come and tell them 
 your side of the story." 
 
 " I warn you," said Shorely, pulling himself to- 
 gether, and addressing the company, " that this man 
 contemplates a dreadful crime, and I have come here 
 to prevent it." 
 
 Gibberts threw back his head, and laughed loudly. 
 
 " Search me," he cried. " I am entirely unarmed, 
 and, as every one here knows, among my best friends." 
 
 " Goodness! " said one old lady. "You don't mean 
 to say that Channor Chase is the scene of your story, 
 and where the tragedy was to take place ? " 
 
 " Of course it is," cried Gibberts, gleefully. " Didn't 
 you recognise the local colour? I thought I described 
 Channor Chase down to the ground, and did I not tell 
 you you were all my victims ? I always forget some 
 important detail when telling a story. Don't go yet," 
 he said, as Shorely turned away ; "but tell your story, 
 then we will have each man's narrative, after the style 
 of Wilkie Collins." 
 
 But Shorely had had enough, and, in spite of press- 
 ing invitations to remain, he departed out into the 
 night, cursing the eccentricities of literary men.
 
 NOT ACCORDING TO THE CODE. 
 
 EVEN a stranger to the big town walking for the 
 first time through London, sees on the sides of the 
 houses many names with which he has long been famil- 
 iar. His precognition has cost the firms those names 
 represent much money in advertising. The stranger 
 has had the names before him for years in newspapers 
 and magazines, on the hoardings and boards by the 
 railway side, paying little heed to them at the time ; 
 yet they have been indelibly impressed on his brain, 
 and when he wishes soap or pills his lips almost auto- 
 matically frame the words most familiar to them. Thus 
 are the lavish sums spent in advertising justified, and 
 thus are many excellent publications made possible. 
 
 When you come to ponder over the matter, it seems 
 strange that there should ever be any real man behind 
 the names so lavishly advertised ; that there should be 
 a genuine Smith or Jones whose justly celebrated 
 medicines work such wonders, or whose soap will clean 
 even a guilty conscience. Granting the actual existence 
 of these persons and probing still further into the 
 mystery, can any one imagine that the excellent Smith 
 to whom thousands of former sufferers send entirely 
 unsolicited testimonials, or the admirable Jones whom 
 prima donnas love because his soap preserves their
 
 NOT ACCORDING TO THE CODE. 129 
 
 dainty complexions can any one credit the fact that 
 Smith and Jones have passions like other men, have 
 hatreds, likes and dislikes ? 
 
 Such a condition of things, incredible as it may 
 appear, exists in London. There are men in the 
 metropolis, utterly unknown personally, whose names 
 are more widely spread over the earth than the names 
 of the greatest novelists, living or dead, and these men 
 have feeling and form like unto ourselves. 
 
 There was the firm of Danby and Strong for in- 
 stance. The name may mean nothing to any reader 
 of these pages, but there was a time when it was well- 
 known and widely advertised, not only in England but 
 over the greater part of the world as well. They did 
 a great business, as every firm that spends a fortune 
 every year in advertising is bound to do. It was in 
 the old paper-collar days. There actually was a time 
 when the majority of men wore paper collars, and, 
 when you come to think of it, the wonder is that the 
 paper-collar trade ever fell away as it did, when you 
 consider with what vile laundries London is and 
 always has been cursed. Take the Danby and Strong 
 collars for instance, advertised as being so similiar to- 
 linen that only an expert could tell the difference. 
 That was was Strong's invention. Before he invented 
 the Piccadilly collar so-called, paper collars had a brill- 
 iant glaze that would not have deceived the most 
 recent arrival from the most remote shire in the coun- 
 try. Strong devised some method by which a slight 
 linen film was put on the paper, adding strength to 
 the collar and giving it the appearance of the genuine 
 ;.i tide. You bought a pasteboard box containing a
 
 130 REVENGE! 
 
 dozen of these collars for something like the price you 
 paid for the washing of half a dozen linen ones. The 
 Danby and Strong Piccadilly collar jumped at once 
 into great popularity, and the wonder is that the 
 linen collar ever recovered from the blow dealt it by 
 this ingenious invention. 
 
 Curiously enough, during the time the firm was 
 struggling to establish itself, the two members of it 
 were the best of friends, but when prosperity came to 
 them, causes of difference arose, and their relations, 
 as the papers say of warlike nations, became strained. 
 Whether the fault lay with John Danby or with 
 William Strong no one has ever been able to find out. 
 They had mutual friends who claimed that each one 
 of them was a good fellow, but those friends always 
 added that Strong and Danby did not " hit it 
 off." 
 
 Strong was a bitter man when aroused, and could 
 generally be counted upon to use harsh language. 
 Danby was quieter, but there was a sullen streak of 
 stubbornness in him that did not tend to the making 
 up of a quarrel. They had been past the speaking 
 point for more than a year, when there came a crisis 
 in their relations with each other, that ended in di- 
 saster to the business carried on under the title of 
 Danby and Strong. Neither man would budge, and 
 between them the business sunk to ruin. Where com- 
 petition is fierce no firm can stand against it if there 
 is internal dissension. Danby held his ground quietly 
 but firmly, Strong raged and cursed, but was equally 
 steadfast in not yielding a point. Each hated the 
 other so bitterly that each was willing to lose his own
 
 NOT ACCORDING TO THE CODE. 151 
 
 share in a profitable business, if by doing so he could 
 bring ruin on his partner. 
 
 "We are all rather prone to be misled by appearances. 
 As one walks down Piccadilly, or the Strand, or Fleet 
 Street and meets numerous irreproachably dressed 
 men with glossy tall hats and polished boots, with 
 affable manners and a courteous way of deporting 
 themselves toward their fellows, we are apt to fall into 
 the fallacy of believing that these gentlemen are 
 civilised. We fail to realise that if you probe in the 
 right direction you will come upon possibilities of 
 savagery that would draw forth the warmest commen- 
 dation from a Pawnee Indian. There are reputable 
 business men in London who would, if they dared, tie 
 an enemy to a stake and roast him over a slow fire, and 
 these men have succeeded so well, not only in deceiv- 
 ing their neighbours, but also themselves, that they 
 would actually be offended if you told them so. If law 
 were suspended in London for one day, during which 
 time none of us would be held answerable for any 
 deed then done, how many of us would be alive next 
 morning ? Most of us would go out to pot some 
 favourite enemy, and would doubtless be potted our- 
 selves before we got safely home again. 
 
 The law, however, is a great restrainer, and helps to 
 keep the death-rate from reaching excessive propor- 
 tions. One department of the law crushed out the 
 remnant of the business of Messrs. Danby and Strong, 
 leaving the firm bankrupt, while another department 
 of the law prevented either of the partners taking the 
 life of the other. 
 
 When Strong found himself penniless, he cursed,
 
 i 3 2 REVENGE! 
 
 as was his habit, and wrote to a friend in Texas asking 
 if he could get anything to do over there. He was 
 tired of a country of law and order, he said, which 
 was not as complimentary to Texas as it might have 
 been. But his remark only goes to show what ex- 
 traordinary ideas Englishmen have of foreign parts. 
 The friend's answer was not very encouraging, but, 
 nevertheless, Strong got himself out there somehow, 
 aud in course of time became a cowboy. He grew 
 reasonably expert with his revolver and rode a 
 mustang as well as could be expected, considering 
 that he had never seen such an animal in London, 
 even at the Zoo. The life of a cowboy on a Texas 
 ranch leads to the forgetting of such things as linen 
 shirts and paper collars. 
 
 Strong's hatred of Danby never ceased, but he be- 
 gan to think of him less often. 
 
 One day, when he least expected it, the subject was 
 brought to his mind in a manner that startled him. 
 He was in Galveston ordering supplies for the ranch, 
 when in passing a shop which he would have called a 
 draper's, but which was there designated as dealing in 
 in dry goods, he was amazed to see the name " Danby 
 and Strong " in big letters at the bottom of a huge 
 pile of small cardboard boxes that filled the whole 
 window. At first the name merely struck him as 
 familiar, and he came near asking himself " Where 
 have I seen that before ? " It was some moments 
 before he realised that the Strong stood for the man 
 gazing stupidly in at the plate-glass window. Then 
 he noticed that the boxes were all guaranteed to con- 
 tain the famous Piccadilly collar. He read in a dazed
 
 NOT ACCORDING TO THE CODE. 133 
 
 manner a large printed bill which stood beside the 
 pile of boxes. These collars, it seemed, were war- 
 ranted to be the genuine Danby and Strong collar, 
 and the public was warned against imitations. They 
 were asserted to be London made and linen faced, and 
 the gratifying information was added that once a 
 person wore the D. and S. collar he never afterwards 
 relapsed into wearing any inferior brand. The price 
 of each box was fifteen cents, or two boxes for a 
 quarter. Strong found himself making a mental cal- 
 culation which resulted in turning this notation into 
 English money. 
 
 As he stood there a new interest began to fill his 
 mind. Was the firm being carried on under the old 
 name by some one else, or did this lot of collars rep- 
 resent part of the old stock ? He had had no news 
 from home since he left, and the bitter thought oc- 
 curred to him that perhaps Danby had got somebody 
 with capital to aid him in resuscitating the business. 
 He resolved to go inside and get some informa- 
 tion. 
 
 " You seem to have a very large stock of those col- 
 lars on hand," he said to the man who was evidently 
 the proprietor. 
 
 "Yes," was the answer. "You see, we are the 
 State agents for this make. We supply the country 
 dealers." 
 
 ' Oh, do you ? Is the firm of Danby and Strong 
 still in existence ? I understood it had suspended." 
 
 " I guess not," said the man. "They supply us all 
 right enough. Still, I really know nothing about the 
 firm, except that they turn out a first-class article.
 
 I 3 4 REVENGE! 
 
 We're not in any way responsible for Danby and 
 Strong ; we're merely agents for the State of Texas, 
 you know," the man added, with sudden caution. 
 
 " I have nothing against the firm," said Strong. 
 " I asked because I once knew some members of it, 
 and was wondering how it was getting along." 
 
 " Well, in that case you ought to see the American 
 representative. He was here this week .. . . that's 
 why we make such a display in the window, it always 
 pleases the agent . . . he's now working up the State 
 and will be back in Galveston before the month is 
 out." 
 
 " \Vhat's his name? Do you remember?" 
 
 " Danby. George Danby, I think. Here's his card. 
 No, John Danby is the name. I thought it was 
 George. Most Englishmen are George, you know." 
 
 Strong looked at the card, but the lettering seemed 
 to waver before his eyes. He made out, however, 
 that Mr. John Danby had an address in New York, 
 and that he was the American representative of the 
 firm of Danby and Strong, London. Strong placed 
 the card on the counter before him. 
 
 " I used to know Mr. Danby, and I would like to 
 meet him. Where do you think I could find him ?" 
 
 " Well, as I said before, you could see him right 
 here in Galveston if you wait a month, but if you are 
 in a hurry you might catch him at Broncho Junction 
 on Thursday night." 
 
 " He is travelling by rail then ? " 
 
 " No, he is not. He went by rail as far as Felix- 
 opolis. There he takes a horse, and goes across the 
 prairies to Broncho Junction ; a three days' journey.
 
 NOT ACCORDING TO THE CODE. 135 
 
 I told him he wouldn't do much business on that 
 route, but he said he was going partly for his health, 
 and partly to see the country. He expected to reach 
 Broncho Thursday night." The dry goods merchant 
 laughed as one who suddenly remembers a pleasant 
 circumstance. " You're an Englishman, I take it." 
 
 Strong nodded. 
 
 " Well, I must say you folks have queer notions 
 about this country. Danby, who was going for a 
 three days' journey across the plains, bought himself 
 two Colts revolvers, and a knife half as long as my 
 arm. Now I've travelled all over this State, and 
 never carried a gun, but I couldn't get Danby to be- 
 lieve his route was as safe as a church. Of course, 
 now and then in Texas a cowboy shoots off his gun, 
 but it's more often his mouth, and I don't "believe 
 there's more killing done in Texas than in any other 
 bit of land the same size. But you can't get an Eng- 
 lishman to believe that. You folks are an awful law- 
 abiding crowd. For my part I would sooner stand 
 my chance with a revolver than a lawsuit any day." 
 Then the good-natured Texan told the story of the 
 pistol in Texas ; of the general lack of demand for it, 
 but the great necessity of having it handy when it was 
 called for. 
 
 A man with murder in his heart should not hold a 
 conversation like this, but William Strong was too 
 full of one idea to think of prudence. Such a talk 
 sets the hounds of justice on the right trail, with un- 
 pleasant results for the criminal. 
 
 On Thursday morning Strong set out on horse-back 
 from Broncho Junction with his face towards Felixop-
 
 136 REVENGE! 
 
 oils. By noon he said to himself he ought to meet 
 his former partner with nothing but the horizon 
 around them. Besides the revolvers in his belt, Strong 
 had a Winche'ster rifle in front of him. He did not 
 know but he might have to shoot at long range, and it 
 was always well to prepare for eventualities. Twelve 
 o'clock came, but he met no one, and there was noth- 
 ing in sight around the empty circle of the horizon. 
 It was nearly two before he saw a moving dot ahead 
 of him. Danby was evidently unused to riding and 
 had come leisurely. Some time before they met, 
 Strong recognised his former partner and he got his 
 rifle ready. 
 
 "Throw up your hands! " he shouted, bringing his 
 rifle butt to his shoulder. 
 
 Danby instantly raised his hands above his head. 
 " I have no money on me," he cried, evidently not 
 recognising his opponent. " You may search me 
 if. you like." 
 
 " Get down off your horse ; don't lower your hands, 
 or I fire." 
 
 Danby got down, as well as he could, with his hands 
 above his head. Strong had thrown his right leg 
 over to the left side of the horse, and, as his enemy 
 got down, he also slid to the ground, keeping Danby 
 covered with the rifle. 
 
 " I assure you I have only a few dollars with me, 
 which you are quite welcome to," said Danby. 
 
 Strong did not answer. Seeing that the firing was 
 to be at short range, he took a six-shooter from his 
 belt, and, cocking it, covered his man, throwing the 
 rifle on the grass. He walked up to his enemy,
 
 NOT ACCORDING TO THE CODE. 137 
 
 placed the muzzle of the revolver against his rapidly 
 beating heart, and leisurely disarmed him, throwing 
 Danby's weapons on the ground out of reach. Then 
 he stood back a few paces and looked at the trembling 
 man. His face seemed to have already taken on the 
 hue of death and his lips were bloodless. 
 
 " I see you recognise me at last, Mr. Danby. This 
 is an unexpected meeting, is it not ? You realise, I 
 hope, that there are here no judges, juries, nor law- 
 yers, no mandamuses and no appeals. Nothing but a 
 writ of ejectment from the barrel of a pistol and no 
 legal way of staying the proceedings. In other words, 
 no cursed quibbles and no damned law." 
 
 Danby, after several times moistening his pallid lips, 
 found his voice. 
 
 " Do you mean to give me a chance, or are you 
 going to murder me ? " 
 
 " I am going to murder you." 
 
 Danby closed his eyes, let his hands drop to his 
 sides, and swayed gently from side to side as a man 
 does on the scaffold just before the bolt is drawn. 
 Strong lowered his revolver and fired, shattering one 
 knee of the doomed man. Danby dropped with a 
 cry that was drowned by the second report. The 
 second bullet put out his left eye, and the murdered 
 man lay with his mutilated face turned up to the 
 blue sky. 
 
 A revolver report on the prairies is short, sharp, 
 and echoless. The silence that followed seemed in- 
 tense and boundless, as if nowhere on earth there was 
 such a thing as sound. The man on his back gave 
 an awesome touch of the eternal to the stillness.
 
 13* REVENGE! 
 
 Strong, now that it was all over, began to realise 
 his position. Texas, perhaps, paid too little heed to 
 life lost in fair fight, but she had an uncomfortable 
 habit of putting a rope round the neck of a cowardly 
 murderer. Strong was an inventor by nature. He 
 proceeded to invent his justification. He took one 
 of Danby's revolvers and fired two shots out of it into 
 the empty air. This would show that the dead man 
 had defended himself at least, and it would be difficult 
 to prove that he had not been the first to fire. He 
 placed the other pistol and the knife in their places 
 in Danby's belt. He took Danby's right hand while 
 it was still warm and closed the fingers around the 
 butt of the revolver from which he had fired, placing 
 the forefinger on the trigger of the cocked six-shooter. 
 To give effect and naturalness to the tableau he was 
 arranging for the benefit of the next traveller by that 
 trail, he drew up the right knee and put revolver and 
 closed hand on it as if Danby had been killed while 
 just about to fire his third shot. 
 
 Strong, with the pride of a true artist in his work, 
 stepped back a pace or two for the purpose of seeing 
 the effect of his work as a whole. As Danby fell, the 
 back of his head had struck a lump of soil or a tuft of 
 grass which threw the chin forward on the breast. 
 As Strong looked at his victim his heart jumped, and 
 a sort of hypnotic fear took possession of him and 
 paralysed action at its source. Danby was not yet 
 dead. His right eye was open, and it glared at 
 Strong with a malice and hatred that mesmerised the 
 murderer and held him there, although he felt rather 
 than knew he was covered by the cocked revolver he
 
 NOT ACCORDING TO THE CODE. -139 
 
 had placed in what he thought was a dead hand. 
 Danby's lips moved but no sound came from them. 
 Strong could not take his fascinated gaze fr"om the 
 open eye. He knew he was a dead man if Danby 
 had strength to crook his finger, yet he could not 
 take the leap that would bring him out of range. 
 The fifth pistol-shot rang out and Strong pitched for- 
 ward on his face. 
 
 The firm of Danby and Strong was dissolved.
 
 A MODERN SAMSON. 
 
 A LITTLE more and Jean Rasteaux would have 
 been a giant. Brittany men are small as a rule, but 
 Jean was an exception. He was a powerful young 
 fellow who, up to the time he was compelled to enter 
 the army, had spent his life in dragging heavy nets 
 over the sides of a boat. He knew the Brittany coast, 
 rugged and indented as it is, as well as he knew the 
 road from the little cafe on the square to the dwelling 
 of his father on the' hillside overlooking the sea. 
 Never before had he been out of sound of the waves. 
 He was a man who, like Herv Riel,fmight have saved 
 the fleet, but France, with , the usual good sense of 
 officialism, sent this man of the coast into the moun- 
 tains, and Jean Rasteaux became a soldier in the 
 Alpine Corps. If he stood on the highest mountain 
 peak, Jean might look over illimitable wastes of snow, 
 but he could catch neither sound nor sight of the 
 sea. 
 
 Men who mix with mountains become as rough and 
 rugged as the rocks, and the Alpine Corps was a wild 
 body, harsh and brutal. Punishment in the ranks was 
 swift and terrible, for the corps was situated far from 
 any of the civilising things of modern life, and deeds 
 were done which the world knew not of ; deeds which
 
 A MODERN SAMSON. 141 
 
 would not have been approved if reported at head- 
 quarters. 
 
 The regiment of which Jean became a unit was 
 stationed in a high valley that had but one outlet, a 
 wild pass down which a mountain river roared and 
 foamed and tossed. The narrow path by the side of 
 this stream was the only way out of or into the valley, 
 for all around, the little plateau was walled in by im- 
 mense peaks of everlasting snow, dazzling in the sun- 
 light, and luminous even in the still, dark nights. 
 From the poaks to the south, Italy might have been 
 seen, but no man had ever dared to climb any of them. 
 The angry little river was fed from a glacier whose 
 blue breast lay sparkling in the sunshine to the 
 south, and the stream circumnavigated the enclosed 
 plateau, as if trying to find an outlet for its' tossing 
 waters. 
 
 Jean was terribly lonely in these dreary and unac- 
 customed solitudes. The white mountains awed him, 
 and the mad roar of the river seemed but poor com- 
 pensation for the dignified measured thunder of the 
 waves on the broad sands of the Brittany coast. 
 
 But Jean was a good-natured giant, and he strove 
 to do whatever was required of him. He was not 
 quick at repartee, and the men mocked his Breton dia- 
 lect. He became the butt for all their small and often 
 mean jokes, and from the first he was very miserable, 
 for, added to his yearning for the sea, whose steady 
 roar he heard in his dreams at night, he felt the utter 
 lack of all human sympathy. 
 
 At first he endeavoured, by unfailing good nature 
 and prompt obedience, to win the regard of his fel-
 
 142 REVENGE! 
 
 lows, and he became in a measure the slave of the 
 regiment ; but the more he tried to please the more 
 his burden increased, and the greater were the insults 
 he was compelled to bear from both officers and men. 
 It was so easy to bully this giant, whom they nick- 
 named Samson, that even the smallest men in the 
 regiment felt at liberty to swear at him or cuff him if 
 necessary. 
 
 But at last Samson's good nature seemed to be 
 wearing out. His stock was becoming exhausted, and 
 his comrades forgot that the Bretons for hundreds of 
 years have been successful fighters, and that the blood 
 of contention flows in their veins. 
 
 Although the Alpine Corps, as a general thing, 
 contain the largest and strongest men in the French 
 Army, yet the average French soldier may be termed 
 undersized when compared with the military of either 
 England or Germany. There were several physically 
 small men in the regiment, and one of these, like a 
 diminutive gnat, was Samson's worst persecutor. As 
 there was no other man in the regiment whom the gnat 
 could bully, Samson received more than even he could 
 be expected to bear. One day the gnat ordered Sam- 
 son to bring him a pail of water from the stream, and 
 the big man unhesitatingly obeyed. He spilled some 
 of it coming up the bank, and when he delivered it to 
 the little man, the latter abused him for not bringing 
 the pail full, and as several of the larger soldiers, who 
 had all in their turn made Samson miserable, were 
 standing about, the little man picked up the pail of 
 water and dashed it into Samson's face. It was such 
 a good opportunity for showing off before the big
 
 A MODERN SAMSON. 143 
 
 men, who removed their pipes from their mouths and 
 laughed loudly as Samson with his knuckles tried to 
 take the water out of his eyes. Then Samson did an 
 astonishing thing. 
 
 "You miserable, little insignificant rat," he cried. 
 " I could crush you, but you are not worth it. But to 
 show you that I am not afraid of any of you, there, 
 and there ! " 
 
 As he said these two words with emphasis, he struck 
 out from the shoulder, not at the little man, but at 
 the two biggest men in the regiment, and felled them 
 like logs to the ground. 
 
 A cry of rage went up from their comrades, but 
 bullies are cowards at heart, and while Samson glared 
 around at them, no one made a move. 
 
 The matter was reported to the officer, and Samson 
 was placed under arrest. When the inquiry was held 
 the officer expressed his astonishment at the fact that 
 Samson hit two men who had nothing to do with the 
 insult he had received, while the real culprit had been 
 allowed to go unpunished. 
 
 " They deserved it," said Samson, sullenly, " for 
 what they had done before. I could not strike the 
 little man. I should have killed him." 
 
 " Silence ! " cried the officer. " You must not an- 
 swer me like that." 
 
 " I shall answer you as I like," said Samson, dog- 
 gedly. 
 
 The officer sprang to his feet, with a lithe rattan 
 cane in his hand, and struck the insubordinate soldier 
 twice across the face, each time raising an angry red 
 mark.
 
 i 4 4 REVENGE! 
 
 Before the guards had time to interfere, Samson 
 sprang upon the officer, lifted him like a child above 
 his head, and dashed him with a sickening crash to 
 the ground, where he lay motionless. 
 
 A cry of horror went up from every one present. 
 
 " I have had enough," cried Samson, turning to go, 
 but he was met by a bristling hedge of steel. He was 
 like a rat in a trap. He stood defiantly there, a man 
 maddened by oppression, and glared around help- 
 lessly. 
 
 Whatever might have been his punishment for 
 striking his comrades, there was no doubt now about 
 his fate. The guard-house was a rude hut of logs 
 situated on the banks of the roaring stream. Into 
 this room Samson was flung, bound hand and foot, to 
 await the court-martial next day. The shattered 
 officer, whose sword had broken in pieces under him, 
 slowly revived and was carried to his quarters. A 
 sentry marched up and down all night before the 
 guard-house. 
 
 In the morning, when Samson was sent for, the 
 guard-house was found to be empty. The huge Breton 
 had broken his bonds as did Samson of old. He had 
 pushed out a log of wood from the wall, and had 
 squeezed himself through to the bank of the stream. 
 There all trace of him was lost. If he had fallen in, 
 then of course he had sentenced and executed him- 
 self, but in the mud near the water were great foot- 
 prints which no boot but that of Samson could have 
 made ; so if he were in the stream it must have been 
 because he threw himself there. The trend of the 
 footprints, however, indicated that he had climbed on
 
 A MODERN SAMSON. 145 
 
 the rocks, and there, of course, it was impossible to 
 trace him. The sentries who guarded the pass main- 
 tained that no one had gone through during the night, 
 but to make sure several men were sent down the path 
 to overtake the runaway. Even if he reached a town 
 or a village far below, so huge a man could not escape 
 notice. The searchers were instructed to telegraph 
 his description and his crime as soon as they reached 
 a telegraph wire. It was impossible to hide in the 
 valley, and a rapid search speedily convinced the offi- 
 cers that the delinquent was not there. 
 
 As the sun rose higher and higher, until it began 
 to shine even on the northward-facing snow fields, a 
 sharp-eyed private reported that he saw a black speck 
 moving high up on the great white slope south of the 
 valley. The officer called for a field-glass, and placing 
 it to his eyes, examined the snow carefully. 
 
 " Call out a detachment," he said, " that is Samson 
 on the mountain." 
 
 There was a great stir in the camp when the truth 
 became known. Emissaries were sent after the search- 
 ers down the pass, calling them to return. 
 
 " He thinks to get to Italy," said the officer. " I 
 did not imagine the fool knew so much of geography. 
 We have him now secure enough." 
 
 The officer who had been flung over Samson's head 
 was now able to hobble about, and he was exceed- 
 ingly bitter. Shading his eyes and gazing at the snow, 
 he said 
 
 " A good marksman ought to be able to bring him 
 down." 
 
 "There is no need of that," replied his superior.
 
 146 REVENGE! 
 
 " He cannot escape. We have nothing to do but to 
 wait for him. He will have to come down." 
 
 All of which was perfectly true. 
 
 A detachment crossed the stream and stacked its 
 arms at the foot of the mountain which Samson was 
 trying to climb. There was a small level place a few 
 yards wide between the bottom of the hill and the 
 bank of the raging stream. On this bit of level 
 ground the soldiers lay in the sun and smoked, while 
 the officers stood in a group and watched the climbing 
 man going steadily upward. 
 
 For a short distance up from the plateau there was 
 stunted grass and moss, with dark points of rock pro- 
 truding from the scant soil. Above that again was a 
 breadth of dirty snow which, now that the sun was 
 strong, sent little trickling streams down to the river. 
 From there to the long ridge of the mountain extended 
 upwards the vast smooth slope of virgin snow, pure 
 and white, sparkling in the strong sunlight as if it had 
 been sprinkled with diamond dust. A black speck 
 against this tremendous field of white, the giant strug- 
 gled on, and they could see by the glass that he sunk 
 to the knee in the softening snow. 
 
 " Now," said the officer, " he is beginning to under- 
 stand his situation." 
 
 Through the glass they saw Samson pause. From 
 below it seemed as if the snow were as smooth as a 
 sloping roof, but even to the naked eye a shadow 
 crossed it near the top. That shadow was a tremen- 
 dous ridge of overhanging snow more than a hundred 
 feet deep ; and Samson now paused as he realised 
 that it was insurmountable. He looked down and un-
 
 A MODERN SAMSOX. 147 
 
 doubtedly saw a part of the regiment waiting for him 
 below. He turned and plodded slowly under the 
 overhanging ridge until he came to the precipice at 
 his left. It was a thousand feet sheer down. He re- 
 traced his steps and walked to the similar precipice at 
 the right. Then he came again to the middle of the 
 great T which his footmarks had made on that virgin 
 slope. He sat down in the snow. 
 
 No one will ever know what a moment of despair 
 the Breton must have passed through when he realised 
 the hopelessness of his toil. 
 
 The officer who was gazing through the glass at 
 him dropped his hand to his side and laughed. 
 
 " The nature of the situation," he said, " has at 
 last dawned upon him. It took a long time to get 
 an appreciation of it through his thick Breton 
 skull." 
 
 " Let me have the glass a moment," said another. 
 " He has made up his mind about something." 
 
 The officer did not realise the full significance of 
 what he saw through the glass. In spite of their con- 
 ceit, their skulls were thicker than that of the perse- 
 cuted Breton fisherman. 
 
 Samson for a moment turned his face to the north 
 and raised his face towards heaven. Whether it was 
 an appeal to the saints he believed in, or an invocation 
 to the distant ocean he was never more to look upon, 
 who can tell ? 
 
 After a moment's pause he flung himself headlong 
 down the slope towards the section of the regiment 
 which lounged on the bank of the river. Over and 
 over he rolled, and then in place of the black figure
 
 148 REVENGE! 
 
 there came downwards a white ball, gathering bulk at 
 every bound. 
 
 It was several seconds before the significance of 
 what they were gazing at burst upon officers and men. 
 It came upon them simultaneously, and with it a wild 
 panic of fear. In the still air a low sullen roar arose. 
 
 " An avalanche ! An avalanche ! ! " they cried. 
 
 The men and officers were hemmed in by the boil- 
 ing torrent. Some of them plunged in to get to the 
 other side, but the moment the water laid hold of 
 them their heels were whirled into the air, and they 
 disappeared helplessly down the rapids. 
 
 Samson was hours going up the mountain, but only 
 seconds coming down. Like an overwhelming wave 
 came the white crest of the avalanche, sweeping offi- 
 cers and men into and over the stream and far across 
 the plateau. 
 
 There was one mingled shriek which made itself 
 heard through the sullen roar of the snow, then all 
 was silence. The hemmed-in waters rose high and 
 soon forced its way through the white barrier. 
 
 When the remainder of the regiment dug out from 
 the debris the bodies of their comrades they found a 
 fixed look of the wildest terror on every face except 
 one. Samson himself, without an unbroken bone in 
 his body, slept as calmly as if he rested under the 
 blue waters on the coast of Brittany.
 
 A DEAL ON 'CHANGE. 
 
 IT was in the days when drawing-rooms were dark, 
 and filled with bric-a-brac. The darkness enabled the 
 half-blinded visitor, coming in out of the bright light, 
 to knock over gracefully a $200 vase that had come 
 from Japan to meet disaster in New York. 
 
 In a corner of the room was seated, in a deep and 
 luxurious armchair, a most beautiful woman. She 
 was the wife of the son of the richest man in America ; 
 she was young ; her husband was devotedly fond of 
 her ; she was mistress of a palace ; anything that 
 money could buy was hers did she but express the 
 wish; but she was weeping softly, and had just made 
 up her mind that she was the most miserable creature 
 in all the land. 
 
 If a stranger had entered the room he would first 
 have been impressed by the fact that he was looking 
 at the prettiest woman he had ever seen ; then he 
 would have been haunted by the idea that he had 
 met her somewhere before. If he were a man moving 
 in artistic circles he might perhaps remember that he 
 had seen her face looking down at him from various 
 canvases in picture exhibitions, and unless he were a 
 stranger to the gossip of the country he could hardly 
 help recollecting the dreadful fuss the papers made,
 
 I 5 o REVENGE! 
 
 as if it were any business of theirs, when young Ed. 
 Druce married the artists' model, celebrated for her 
 loveliness. 
 
 Every one has read the story of that marriage ; 
 goodness knows, the papers made the most of it, as 
 is their custom. Young Ed., who knew much more 
 of the world than did his father, expected stern oppo- 
 sition, and, knowing the unlimited power unlimited 
 wealth gave to the old man, he did not risk an inter- 
 view with his parent, but eloped with the girl. The 
 first inkling old man Druce had of the affair was from 
 a vivid sensational account of the runaway in an 
 evening paper. He was pictured in the paper as an 
 implacable father who was at that moment searching 
 for the elopers with a shot gun. Old Druce had been 
 too often the central figure of a journalistic sensation 
 to mind what the sheet said. He promptly tele- 
 graphed all over the country, and, getting into com- 
 munication with his son, asked him (electrically) as a 
 favour to bring his young wife home, and not make a 
 fool of himself. So the errant pair, much relieved, 
 came back to New York. 
 
 Old Druce was a taciturn man, even with his only 
 son. He wondered at first that the boy should have 
 so misjudged him as to suppose he would raise ob- 
 jections, no matter whom the lad wished to marry. 
 He was bewildered rather than enlightened when Ed. 
 told him he feared opposition because the girl was 
 poor. What difference on earth did that make ? Had 
 he not money enough for all of them? If not, was 
 there any trouble in adding to their store ? Were 
 there not railroads to be wrecked ; stockholders to be
 
 A DEAL ON 'CHANGE. 151 
 
 fleeced ; Wall Street lambs to be shorn ? Surely a 
 man married to please himself and not to make 
 money. Ed. assured the old man that cases had been 
 known where a suspicion of mercenary motives had 
 hovered round a matrimonial alliance, but Druce 
 expressed the utmost contempt for such a state of 
 things. 
 
 At first Ella had been rather afraid of her silent 
 father-in-law, whose very name made hundreds tremble 
 and thousands curse, but she soon discovered that the 
 old man actually stood in awe of her, and that his 
 apparent brusqueness was the mere awkwardness he 
 felt when in her presence. He was anxious to please 
 her, and worried himself wondering whether there was 
 anything she wanted. 
 
 One day he fumblingly dropped a cheque for a 
 million dollars in her lap, and, with some nervous 
 confusion, asked her to run out, like a good girl, and 
 buy herself something; if that wasn't enough, she 
 was to call on him for more. The girl sprang from 
 her chair and threw her arms around his neck, much 
 to the old man's embarrassment, who was not accus- 
 tomed to such a situation. She kissed him in spite of 
 himself, allowing the cheque to flutter to the floor, 
 the most valuable bit of paper floating around loose 
 in America that day. 
 
 When he reached his office he surprised his son. 
 He shook his fist in the young fellow's face, and said 
 sternly 
 
 " If you ever say a cross word to that little girl, I'll 
 do what I've never done yet I'll thrash you! " 
 
 The young man laughed.
 
 152 REVENGE! 
 
 " All right, father. I'll deserve a thrashing in that 
 case." 
 
 The old man became almost genial whenever he 
 thought of his pretty daughter-in-law. " My little 
 girl," he always called her. At first, Wall Street men 
 said old Druce was getting into his dotage, but when 
 a nip came in the market and they found that, as 
 usual, the old man was on the right side of the fence, 
 they were compelled reluctantly to admit, with emptier 
 pockets, that the dotage had not yet interfered with 
 the financial corner of old Druce's mind. 
 
 As young Mrs. Druce sat disconsolately in her 
 drawing-room, the curtains parted gently, and her 
 father-in-law entered stealthily, as if he were a thief, 
 which indeed he was, and the very greatest of them. 
 Druce had small, shifty piercing eyes that peered out 
 from under his grey bushy eyebrows like two steel 
 sparks. He never seemed to be looking directly at 
 any one, and his eyes somehow gave you the idea 
 that they were trying to glance back over his shoulder, 
 as if he feared pursuit. Some said that old Druce 
 was in constant terror of assassination, while others 
 held that he knew the devil was on his track and 
 would ultimately nab him. 
 
 " I pity the devil when that day comes," young 
 Sneed said once when some one had made the usual 
 remark about Druce. This echoed the general feeling 
 prevalent in Wall Street regarding the encounter that 
 was admitted by all to be inevitable. 
 
 The old man stopped in the middle of the room 
 when he noticed that his daughter-in-law was cry- 
 ing.
 
 A DEAL ON 'CHANGE. 153 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " he said ; " what is the matter? Has 
 Edward been saying anything cross to you? " 
 
 " No, papa," answered the girl. " Nobody could be 
 kinder to me than Ed. is. There is nothing really 
 the matter." Then, to put the truth of her statement 
 beyond all question, she began to cry afresh. 
 
 The old man sat down beside her, taking one hand 
 in his own. " Money? " he asked in an eager whisper 
 that seemed to say he saw a solution of the difficulty 
 if it were financial. 
 
 " Oh dear no. I have all the money, and more, 
 that any one can wish." 
 
 The old man's countenance fell. If money would 
 not remedy the state of things, then he was out of 
 his depth. 
 
 " Won't you tell me the trouble ? Perhaps I can 
 suggest " 
 
 " It's nothing you can help in, papa. It is nothing 
 much, any way. The Misses Sneed won't call on me, 
 that's all." 
 
 The old man knit his brows and thoughtfully 
 scratched his chin. 
 
 " Won't call ? " he echoed helplessly: 
 
 " No. They think I'm not good enough to associate 
 with them, I suppose." 
 
 The bushy eyebrows came down until they almost 
 obscured the eyes, and a dangerous light seemed to 
 scintillate out from under them. 
 
 "You must be mistaken. Good gracious, I am 
 worth ten times what old Sneed is. Not good 
 enough ? Why, my name on a cheque is 
 
 " It isn't a question of cheques, papa," wailed the
 
 154 REVENGE! 
 
 girl ; " it's a question of society. I was a painter's 
 model before I married Ed., and, no matter how rich 
 I am, society won't have anything to do with me." 
 
 The old man absent-mindedly rubbed his chin, 
 which was a habit he had when 'perplexed. He was 
 face to face with a problem entirely outside his 
 province. Suddenly a happy thought struck him. 
 
 " Those Sneed women ! " he said in tones of great 
 contempt, " what do they amount to, anyhow ? 
 They're nothing but sour old maids. They never were 
 half so pretty as you. Why should you care whether 
 they called on you or not." 
 
 " They represent society. If they came, others 
 would." 
 
 " But society can't have anything against you. 
 Nobody has ever said a word against your character, 
 model or no model." 
 
 The girl shook her head hopelessly. 
 
 " Character does not count in society." 
 
 In this statement she was of course absurdly wrong, 
 but she felt bitter at all the world. Those who know 
 society are well aware that character counts for every- 
 thing within its sacred precincts. So the unjust 
 remark should not be set down to the discredit of an 
 inexperienced girl. 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'll do," cried the old man, 
 brightening up. " I'll speak to Gen. Sneed to-morrow. 
 I'll arrange the whole business in five minutes." 
 
 "Do you think that would do any good ?" asked 
 young Mrs. Druce, dubiously. 
 
 " Good ? You bet it'll do good ! It will settle the 
 whole thing. I've helped Sneed out of a pinch before
 
 A DEAL ON 'CHANGE. 155 
 
 now, and he'll fix up a little matter like that for me 
 in no time. I'll just have a quiet talk with the General 
 to-morrow, and you'll see the Sneed carriage at the 
 door next day at the very latest." He patted her 
 smooth white hand affectionately. " So don't you 
 trouble, little girl, about trifles ; and whenever you 
 want help, you just tell the old man. He knows a 
 thing or two yet, whether it is on Wall Street or 
 Fifth Avenue." 
 
 Sneed was known in New York as the General, 
 probably because he had absolutely no military ex- 
 perience whatever. Next to Druce he had the most 
 power in the financial world of America, but there 
 was a great distance between the first and the second. 
 If it came to a deal in which the General and all the 
 world stood against Druce, the average Wall Street 
 man would have bet on Druce against the whole 
 combination. Besides this, the General had the repu- 
 tation of being a " square " man, and that naturally 
 told against him, for every one knew that Druce was 
 utterly unscrupulous. But if Druce and Sneed were 
 known to be together in a deal, then the financial 
 world of New York ran for shelter. Therefore when 
 New York saw old Druce come in with the stealthy 
 tread of a two-legged leopard and glance furtively 
 around the great room, singling out Sneed with an 
 almost imperceptible side nod, retiring with him into 
 a remote corner where more ruin had been concocted 
 than on any other spot on earth, and talking there 
 eagerly with him, a hush fell on the vast assemblage 
 of men, and for the moment the financial heart of the 
 nation ceased to beat. When they saw Sneed take
 
 156 REVENGE! 
 
 out his note-book, nodding assent to whatever prop- 
 osition Druce was making, a cold shiver ran up the 
 financial backbone of New York ; the shiver com- 
 municated itself to the electric nerve-web of the world, 
 and storm signals began to fly in the monetary centres 
 of London, Paris, Berlin, and Vienna. 
 
 Uncertainty paralysed the markets of the earth 
 because two old gamblers were holding a whispered 
 conversation with a multitude of men watching them 
 out of the corners of their eyes. 
 
 " I'd give half a million to know what those two old 
 fiends are concocting," said John P. Buller, the great 
 wheat operator ; and he meant it ; which goes to 
 show that a man does not really know what he wants, 
 and would be very dissatisfied if he got it. 
 
 " Look here, General," said Druce, " I want you to 
 do me a favour." 
 
 " All right," replied the General. "I'm with you." 
 
 "It's about my little girl," continued Druce, rubbing 
 his chin, not knowing just how to explain matters in 
 the cold ^financial atmosphere of the place in which 
 they found themselves. 
 
 " Oh ! About Ed.'s wife," said Sneed, looking 
 puzzled. 
 
 " Yes. She's fretting her heart out because your 
 two girls won't call upon her. I found her crying 
 about it yesterday afternoon." 
 
 " Won't call? " cried the General, a bewildered look 
 coming over his face. " Haven t they called yet? 
 You see, I don't bother much about that sort of thing." 
 
 " Neither do I. No, they haven't called. I don't 
 suppose they mean anything by it, but my little girl
 
 A DEAL ON 'CHANGE. 157 
 
 thinks they do, so I said I would speak to you about 
 it." 
 
 " Well, I'm glad you did. I'll see to that the mo- 
 ment I get home. What time shall I tell them to 
 call ? " The innocent old man, little comprehending 
 what he was promising, pulled out his note-book and 
 pencil, looking inquiringly at Druce. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Any time that is convenient 
 for them. I suppose women know all about that. 
 My little girl is at home most all afternoon, I guess." 
 
 The two men cordially shook hands, and the market 
 instantly collapsed. 
 
 It took three days for the financial situation to re- 
 cover its tone. Druce had not been visible, and that 
 was all the more ominous. The older operators did 
 not relax their caution, because the blow had not yet 
 fallen. They shook their heads, and said the cyclone 
 would be all the worse when it came. 
 
 Old Druce came among them the third day, and 
 there was a set look about his lips which students of 
 his countenance did not like. The situation was 
 complicated by the evident fact that the General was 
 trying to avoid him. At last, however, this was no 
 longer possible, the two men met, and after a word or 
 two they walked up and down together. Druce ap- 
 peared to be saying little, and the firm set of his lips 
 did not relax, while the General talked rapidly and 
 was seemingly making some appeal that was not re- 
 sponded to. Stocks instantly went up a few points. 
 
 "You see, Druce, it's like this," the General was 
 saying, " the women have their world, and we have 
 ours. They are, in a measure "
 
 158 REVENGE! 
 
 " Are they going to call ? " asked Druce curtly. 
 
 " Just let me finish what I was about to say. Wo- 
 men have their rules of conduct, and we have 
 
 "Are they going to call?" repeated Druce, in the 
 same hard tone of voice. 
 
 The General removed his hat and drew his hand- 
 kerchief across his brow and over the bald spot on his 
 head. He wished himself in any place but where 
 he was, inwardly cursing woman-kind and all their 
 silly doings. Bracing up after removing the moisture 
 from his forehead, he took on an expostulatory 
 tone. 
 
 " See here, Druce, hang it all, don't shove a man 
 into a corner. Suppose I asked you to go to Mrs. Ed. 
 and tell her not to fret about trifles, do you suppose 
 she wouldn't, just because you wanted her not to ? 
 Come now ! " 
 
 Druce's silence encouraged the General to take it 
 for assent. 
 
 "Very well, then. You're a bigger man than I am, 
 and if you Could do nothing with one young woman 
 anxious to please you, what do you expect me to do 
 with two old maids as set in their ways as the Pali- 
 sades. It's all dumb nonsense, anyhow." 
 
 Druce remained silent. After an irksome pause the 
 hapless General floundered on 
 
 " As I said at first, women have their world, and we 
 have ours. Now, Druce, you're a man of solid common 
 sense. What would you think if Mrs. Ed. were to 
 come here and insist on your buying Wabash stock 
 when you wanted to load up with Lake Shore? Look 
 how absurd that would be. Very well, then ; we have
 
 A DEAL ON 'CHANGE. 159 
 
 no more right to interfere with the women than they 
 have to interfere with us." 
 
 " If my little girl wanted the whole Wabash System 
 I'd buy it for her to-morrow," said Druce, with rising 
 anger. 
 
 "Lord! what a slump that would make in the 
 market ! " cried the General, his feeling of discomfort 
 being momentarily overcome by the magnificence of 
 Druce's suggestion. " However, all this doesn't need 
 to make any difference in our friendship. If I can be 
 of any assistance financially I shall only be too " 
 
 " Oh, I need your financial assistance ! " sneered 
 Druce. He took his defeat badly. However, in a 
 minute or two, he pulled himself together and seemed 
 to shake off his trouble. 
 
 " What nonsense I am talking," he said when he 
 had obtained control of himself. " We all need assist- 
 ance now and then, and none of us know when we 
 may need it badly. In fact, there is a little deal I in- 
 tended to speak to you about to-day, but this con- 
 founded business drove it out of my mind. How 
 much Gilt Edged security have you in your safe?" . 
 
 " About three millions' worth," replied the General, 
 brightening up, now that they were off the thin ice. 
 
 " That will be enough for me if we can make a 
 dicker. Suppose we adjourn to your office. This 
 is too public a place for a talk." 
 
 They went out together. 
 
 "So there is no ill-feeling?" said the General, as 
 Druce arose to go with the securities in his handbag. 
 
 " No. But we'll stick strictly to business after this, 
 and leave social questions alone. By the way, to
 
 160 REVENGE! 
 
 show that there is no ill-feeling, will you come with 
 me for a blow on the sea ? Suppose we say Friday. 
 I have just telegraphed for my yacht, and she will 
 leave Newport to-night. I'll have some good cham- 
 pagne on board." 
 
 " I thought sailors imagined Friday was an unlucky 
 day ! " 
 
 " My sailors don't. Will eight o'clock be too early 
 for you ? Twenty -third Street wharf." 
 
 The General hesitated. Druce was wonderfully 
 friendly all of a sudden, and he knew enough of him 
 to be just a trifle suspicious. But when he recollected 
 that Druce himself was going, he said, " Where could 
 a telegram reach us, if it were necessary to telegraph ? 
 The market is a trifle shaky, and I don't like being 
 out of town all day." 
 
 " The fact that we are both on the yacht will steady 
 the market. But we can drop in at Long Branch and 
 receive despatches if you think it necessary." 
 
 " All right," said the General, much relieved. " I'll 
 meet you at Twenty-third Street at eight o'clock 
 Friday morning, then." 
 
 Druce's yacht, the Seahound, was a magnificent 
 steamer, almost as large as an Atlantic liner. It was 
 currently believed in New York that Druce kept her 
 for the sole purpose of being able to escape in her, 
 should an exasperated country ever rise in its might 
 and demand his blood. It was rumoured that the Sea- 
 hound was ballasted with bars of solid gold and provi- 
 sioned for a two years' cruise. Mr. Buller, however, 
 claimed that the tendency of nature was to revert to 
 original conditions, and that some fine morning Druce
 
 A DEAL ON 'CHANGE. 161 
 
 would hoist the black flag, sail away, and become a 
 real pirate. 
 
 The great speculator, in a very nautical suit, was 
 waiting for the General when he drove up, and, the 
 moment he came aboard, lines were cast off and the 
 Seahound steamed slowly down the bay. The morn- 
 ing was rather thick, so they were obliged to move 
 cautiously, and before they reached the bar the fog 
 came down so densely that they had to stop, while 
 bell rang and whistle blew. They were held there 
 until it was nearly eleven o'clock, but time passed 
 quickly, for there were all the morning papers to 
 read, neither of the men having had an opportunity 
 to look at them before leaving the city. 
 
 As the fog cleared away and the engines began to 
 move, the captain sent down and asked Mr. Druce if 
 he would come on deck for a moment. The captain 
 was a shrewd man, and understood his employer. 
 
 " There's a tug making for us, sir, signalling us to 
 stop. Shall we stop ? " 
 
 Old Druce rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and looked 
 over the stern of the yacht. He saw a tug, with a 
 banner of black smoke, tearing after them, heaping 
 up a ridge of white foam ahead of her. Some flags 
 fluttered from the single mast in front, and she shat- 
 tered the air with short hoarse shrieks of the whistle. 
 
 "Can she overtake us?" 
 
 The captain smiled. " Nothing in the harbour can 
 overtake us, sir." 
 
 " Very well. Full steam ahead. Don't answer the 
 signals. You did not happen to see them, you 
 know ! "
 
 162 REVENGE! 
 
 " Quite so, sir," replied the captain, going for- 
 ward. 
 
 Although the motion of the Seahound"s engines 
 could hardly be felt, the tug, in spite of all her efforts, 
 did not seem to be gaining. When the yacht put on 
 her speed the little steamer gradually fell farther and 
 farther behind, and at last gave up the hopeless chase. 
 When well out at sea something went wrong with the 
 engines, and there was a second delay of some hours. 
 A stop at Long Branch was therefore out of the 
 question. 
 
 " I told you Friday was an unlucky day," said the 
 General. 
 
 It was eight o'clock that evening before the Sea- 
 hound stood off from the Twenty-third Street wharf. 
 
 " I'll have to put you ashore in a small boat," said 
 Druce ; "you won't mind that, I hope. The captain 
 is so uncertain about the engines that he doesn't want 
 to go nearer land." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind in the least. Good-night. I've 
 had a lovely day." 
 
 " I'm glad you enjoyed it. We will take another 
 trip together some time, when I hope so many things 
 won't happen as happened to-day." 
 
 The General saw that his carriage was waiting for 
 him, but the waning light did not permit him to 
 recognise his son until he was up on dry land once 
 more. The look on his son's face appalled the old 
 man. 
 
 " My God ! John, .what has happened ? " 
 
 " Everything's happened. Where are the securities 
 that were in the safe ? "
 
 ''WHAT HAS HAPPENED?" Page
 
 A DEAL ON 'CHANGE. 163 
 
 " Oh, they're all right," said his father, a feeling of 
 relief coming over him. Then the thought flashed 
 through his mind : How did John know they were 
 not in the safe ? Sneed kept a tight rein on his affairs, 
 and no one but himself knew the combination that 
 would open the safe. 
 
 " How did you know that the securities were not 
 there?" 
 
 " Because I had the safe blown open at one o'clock 
 to-day." 
 
 " Blown open ! For Heaven's sake, why?" 
 
 " Step into the carriage, and I'll tell you on the way 
 home. The bottom dropped out of everything. All 
 the Sneed stocks went down with a run. We sent a 
 tug after you, but that old devil had you tight. If 
 I could have got at the bonds, I think I could have 
 stopped the run. The situation might have been 
 saved up to one o'clock, but after that, when the 
 Street saw we were doing nothing, all creation 
 couldn't have stopped it. Where are the bonds? " 
 
 " I sold them to Druce." 
 
 " What did you get ? Cash ? " 
 
 " I took his cheque on the Trust National Bank." 
 
 " Did you cash it ? Did you cash it ? " cried the 
 young man. " And if you did, where is the money ? " 
 
 " Druce asked me as a favour not to present the 
 cheque until to-morrow." 
 
 The young man made a gesture of despair. 
 
 " The Trust National went to smash to-day at two. 
 We are paupers, father; we haven't a cent left out 
 of the wreck. That cheque business is so evidently 
 a fraud that but what's the use of talking. Old
 
 164 REVENGE! 
 
 Druce has the money, and he can buy all the law he 
 wants in New York. God ! I'd like to have a seven 
 seconds' interview with him with a loaded seven- 
 shooter in my hand ! We'd see how much the law 
 would do for him then." 
 
 General Sneed despondently shook his head. 
 
 " It's no use, John," he said. " We're in the same 
 business ourselves, only this time we got the hot end 
 of the poker. But he played it low down on me, 
 pretending to be friendly and all that." The two men 
 did not speak again until the carriage drew up at the 
 brown stone mansion, which earlier in the day Sneed 
 would have called his own. Sixteen reporters were 
 waiting for them, but the old man succeeded in 
 escaping to his room, leaving John to battle with the 
 newspaper men. 
 
 Next morning the papers were full of the news of 
 the panic. They said that old Druce had gone in his 
 yacht for a trip up the New England coast. They 
 deduced from this fact, that> after all, Druce might 
 not have had a hand in the disaster ; everything was 
 always blamed on Druce. Still it was admitted that, 
 whoever suffered, the Druce stocks were all right. 
 They were quite unanimously frank in saying that the 
 Sneeds were wiped out. whatever that might mean. 
 The General had refused himself to all the reporters, 
 while young Sneed seemed to be able to do nothing 
 but swear. 
 
 Shortly before noon General Sneed, who had not 
 left the house, received a letter brought by a mes- 
 senger. 
 
 He feverishly tore it open, for he recognised on
 
 A DEAL ON 'CHANGE. 165 
 
 the envelope the well-known scrawl of the great spec- 
 ulator. 
 
 DEAR SNEED (it ran), 
 
 You will see by the papers that I am off on 
 a cruise, but they are as wrong as they usually are 
 when they speak of me. I learn there was a bit of 
 a flutter in the market while we were away yesterday, 
 and I am glad to say that my brokers, who are sharp 
 men, did me a good turn or two. I often wonder why 
 these flurries come, but I suppose it is to let a man 
 pick up some sound stocks at a reasonable rate, if he 
 has the money by him. Perhaps they are also sent 
 to teach humility to those who might else become 
 purse-proud. We are but finite creatures, Sneed, here 
 to-day and gone to-morrow. How foolish a thing is 
 pride ! And that reminds me that if your two daughters 
 should happen to think as I do on the uncertainty of 
 riches, I wish you would ask them to call. I have 
 done up those securities in a sealed package and 
 given the parcel to my daughter-in-law. She has no 
 idea what the value of it is, but thinks it a little pres- 
 ent from me to your girls. If, then, they should hap- 
 pen to call, she will hand it to them ; if not, I shall 
 use the contents to found a college for the purpose of 
 teaching manners to young women whose grandfather 
 used to feed pigs for a living, as indeed my own grand- 
 father did. Should the ladies happen to like each 
 other, I think I can put you on to a deal next week 
 that will make up for Friday. I like you, Sneed, but 
 you have no head for business. Seek my advice 
 oftener. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 DRUCE. 
 
 The Sneed girls called on Mrs. Edward Druce.
 
 TRANSFORMATION. 
 
 IF you grind castor sugar with an equal quantity 
 of chlorate of potash, the result is an innocent-look- 
 ing white compound, sweet to the taste, and some- 
 times beneficial in the case of a sore throat. But if 
 you dip a glass rod into a small quantity of sulphuric 
 acid, and merely touch the harmless-appearing mixture 
 with the wet end of the rod, the dish which contains it 
 becomes instantly a roaring furnace of fire, vomiting 
 forth a fountain of burning balls, and filling the room 
 with a dense, black, suffocating cloud of smoke. 
 
 So strange a combination is that mystery which we 
 term Human Nature, that a touch of adverse circum- 
 stance may transform a quiet, peaceable, law-abiding 
 citizen into a malefactor whose heart is filled with a 
 desire for vengeance, stopping at nothing to accom- 
 plish it. 
 
 In a little narrow street off the broad Rue de Rennes, 
 near the great terminus of Mont-Parnasse, stood the 
 clock-making shop of the brothers Delore. The win- 
 dow was filled with cheap clocks, and depending from 
 a steel spring attached to the top of the door was a 
 bell, which rang when any one entered, for the brothers 
 were working clockmakers, continually busy in the 
 room at the back of the shop, and trade in the neigh-
 
 TRANSFORMATION. 167 
 
 bourhood was not brisk enough to allow them to keep 
 an assistant. The brothers had worked amicably in 
 this small "room for twenty years, and were reported 
 by the denizens of that quarter of Paris to be enor- 
 mously rich. They were certainly contented enough, 
 and had plenty of money for their frugal wants, as 
 well as for their occasional exceedingly mild dissipa- 
 tions at the neighbouring cafe. They had always a 
 little money for the church, and a little money for 
 charity, and no one had ever heard either of them 
 speak a harsh word to any living soul, and least of all 
 to each other. When the sensitively adjusted bell at 
 the door announced the arrival of a possible customer, 
 Adolph left his work and attended to the shop, while 
 Alphonse continued his task without interruption. 
 The former was supposed to be the better business 
 man of the two, while the latter was admittedly the 
 better workman. They had a room over the shop, 
 and a small kitchen over the workroom at the back ; 
 but only one occupied the bedroom above, the other 
 sleeping in the shop, as it was supposed that the wares 
 there displayed must have formed an almost irresisti- 
 ble temptation to any thief desirous of accumulating 
 a quantity of time-pieces. The brothers took week- 
 about at guarding the treasures below, but in all 
 the twenty years no thief had yet disturbed their 
 slumbers. 
 
 One evening, just as they were about to close the 
 shop and adjourn together to the cafe, the bell rang, 
 and Adolph went forward to learn what was wanted. 
 He found waiting for him an unkempt individual of 
 appearance so disreputable, that he at once made up
 
 168 REVENGE! 
 
 his mind that here at last was the thief for whom they 
 had waited so long in vain. The man's wild, roving 
 eye, that seemed to search out every corner and 
 cranny in the place and rest nowhere for longer than 
 a second at a time, added to Delore's suspicions. 
 The unsavoury visitor was evidently spying out the 
 land, and Adolph felt certain he would do no business 
 with him at that particular hour, whatever might hap- 
 pen later. 
 
 The customer took from under his coat, after a 
 furtive glance at the door of the back room, a small 
 paper-covered parcel, and, untying the string somewhat 
 hurriedly, displayed a crude piece of clockwork made 
 of brass. Handing it to Adolph, he said, " How much 
 would it cost to make a dozen like that ? " 
 
 Adolph took the piece of machinery in his hand 
 and examined it. It was slightly concave in shape, 
 and among the wheels was a strong spring. Adolph 
 wound up this spring, but so loosely was the machinery 
 put together that when he let go the key, the spring 
 quickly uncoiled itself with a whirring noise of the 
 wheels. 
 
 " This is very bad workmanship," said Adolph. 
 
 " It is," replied the man, who, notwithstanding his 
 poverty-stricken appearance, spoke like a person of 
 education. " That is why I come to you for better 
 workmanship." 
 
 "What is it used for?" 
 
 The man hesitated for a moment. " It is part of a 
 clock," he said at last. 
 
 " I don't understand it. I never saw a clock made 
 like this."
 
 TRANSFORMATION. 169 
 
 " It is an alarm attachment," replied the visitor, 
 with some impatience. " It is not necessary that you 
 should understand it. All I ask is, can you duplicate 
 it and at what price ? " 
 
 " But why not make the alarm machinery part of 
 the clock ? It would be much cheaper than to make 
 this and then attach it to a clock." 
 
 The man made a gesture of annoyance. 
 
 " Will you answer my question ? " he said gruffly. 
 
 " I don't believe you want this as part of a clock. 
 In fact, I think I can guess why you came in here," 
 replied Adolph, as innocent as a child of any correct 
 suspicion of what the man was, thinking him merely 
 a thief, and hoping to frighten him by this hint of his 
 own shrewdness. 
 
 His visitor looked loweringly at him, and then, with 
 a quick eye, seemed to measure the distance from 
 where he stood to the pavement, evidently meditating 
 flight. 
 
 " I will see what my brother says about this," said 
 Adolph. But before Adolph could call his brother, 
 the man bolted and was gone in an instant, leaving 
 the mechanism in the hands of the bewildered clock- 
 maker. 
 
 Alphonse, when he heard the story of their belated 
 customer, was even more convinced than his brother 
 of the danger of the situation. The man was un- 
 doubtedly a thief, and the bit of clockwork merely an 
 excuse for getting inside the fortress. The brothers, 
 with much perturbation, locked up the establishment, 
 and instead of going to their usual caf, they betook 
 themselves as speedily as possible to the office of the
 
 1 70 REVENGE! 
 
 police, where they told their suspicions and gave a 
 description of the supposed culprit. The officer 
 seemed much impressed by their story. 
 
 " Have you brought with you the machine he showed 
 you ? " 
 
 " No. It is at the shop," said Adolph. " It was 
 merely an excuse to get inside, I am sure of that, for 
 no clockmaker ever made it." 
 
 " Perhaps," replied the officer. " Will you go and 
 bring it ? Say nothing of this to any one you meet, 
 but wrap the machine in paper and bring it as quickly 
 and as quietly as you can. I would send a man with 
 you, only I do not wish to attract attention." 
 
 Before morning the man, who gave his name as 
 Jacques Picard, was arrested, but the authorities made 
 little by their zeal. Adolph Delore swore positively 
 that Picard and his visitor were the same person, but 
 the prisoner had no difficulty in proving that he was 
 in a caf two miles away at the time the visitor was in 
 Delore's shop, while Adolph had to admit that the 
 shop was rather dark when the conversation about 
 the clockwork took place. Picard was ably defended, 
 and his advocate submitted that, even if he had been 
 in the shop as stated by Delore, and had bargained as 
 alleged for the mechanism, there was nothing criminal 
 in that, unless the prosecution could show that he 
 intended to put what he bought to improper uses. 
 As well arrest a man who entered to buy a key for his 
 watch. So Picard was released, although the police, 
 certain he was one of the men they wanted, resolved 
 to keep a close watch on his future movements. But 
 the suspected man, as if to save them unnecessary
 
 TRANSFORMATION. 171 
 
 trouble, left two days later for London, and there re- 
 mained. 
 
 For a week Adolph slept badly in the shop, for 
 although he hoped the thief had been frightened away 
 by the proceedings taken against him, still, whenever 
 he fell asleep, he dreamt of burglars, and so awoke 
 himself many times during the long nights. 
 
 When it came the turn of Alphonse to sleep in the 
 shop, Adolph hoped for an undisturbed night's rest in 
 the room above, but the Fates were against him. 
 Shortly after midnight he was flung from his bed to 
 the floor, and he felt the house rocking as if an earth- 
 quake had passed under Paris. He got on his hands 
 and knees in a dazed condition, with a roar as of thun- 
 der in his ears, mingled with the sharp crackle of 
 breaking glass. He made his way to the window, 
 wondering whether he was asleep or awake, and found 
 the window shattered. The moonlight poured into 
 the deserted street, and he noticed a cloud of dust 
 and smoke rising from the front of the shop. He 
 groped his way through the darkness towards the 
 stairway and went down, calling his brother's name ; 
 but the lower part of the stair had been blown away, 
 and he fell upon the debris below, lying there half- 
 stunned, enveloped in suffocating smoke. 
 
 When Adolph partially recovered consciousness, he 
 became aware that two men were helping him out 
 over the ruins of the shattered shop. He was still 
 murmuring the name of his brother, and they were 
 telling him, in a reassuring tone, that everything was 
 all right, although he vaguely felt that what they said 
 was not true. They had their arms linked in his, and
 
 1 72 REVENGE! . 
 
 he stumbled helplessly among the wreckage, seeming 
 to have lost control over his limbs. He saw that the 
 whole front of the shop was gone, and noticed 
 through the wide opening that a crowd stood in the 
 street, kept back by the police. He wondered why- 
 he had not seen all these people when he looked 
 out of the shattered window. When they brought 
 him to the ambulance, he resisted slightly, saying he 
 wanted to go to his brother's assistance, who was 
 sleeping in the shop, but with gentle force they placed 
 him in the vehicle, and he was driven away to the 
 hospital. 
 
 For several days Adolph fancied that he was dream- 
 ing, that he would soon awake and take up again the 
 old pleasant, industrious life. It was the nurse who 
 told him he would never see his brother again, adding 
 by way of consolation that death had been painless 
 and instant, that the funeral had been one of the 
 grandest that quarter of Paris had ever seen, naming 
 many high and important officials who had attended 
 it. Adolph turned his face to the wall and groaned. 
 His frightful dream was to last him his life. 
 
 When he trod the streets of Paris a week later, he 
 was but the shadow of his former portly self. He was 
 gaunt and haggard, his clothes hanging on him as if 
 they had been made for some other man, a fortnight's 
 stubby beard on the face which had always heretofore 
 been smoothly shaven. He sat silently at the caf6, 
 and few of his friends recognised him at first. They 
 heard he had received ample compensation from the 
 Government, and now would have money enough to 
 suffice him all his life, without the necessity of work-
 
 TRANSFORMATION. 173 
 
 ing for it, and they looked on him as a fortunate man. 
 But he sat there listlessly, receiving their congratula- 
 tions or condolences with equal apathy. Once he 
 walked past the shop. The front was boarded up, 
 and glass had been put in the upper windows. 
 
 He wandered aimlessly through the streets of Paris, 
 some saying he was insane, and that he was looking 
 for his brother ; others, that he was searching for the 
 murderer. One day he entered the police-office where 
 he had first made his unlucky complaint. 
 
 " Have you arrested him yet ? " he asked of the 
 officer in charge. 
 
 " Whom ? " inquired the officer, not recognising his 
 visitor. 
 
 " Picard. I am Adolph Delore." 
 
 " It was not Picard who committed the crime. He 
 was in London at the time, and is there still." 
 
 " Ah ! He said he was in the north of Paris when 
 he was with me in the south. He is a liar. He blew 
 up the shop." 
 
 " I quite believe he planned it, but the deed was 
 done by another. It was done by Lamoine, who left 
 for Brussels next morning and went to London by 
 way of Antwerp. He is living with Picard in London 
 at this moment." 
 
 " If you know that, why has neither of them been 
 taken ? " 
 
 " To know is one thing ; to be able to prove quite 
 another. We cannot get these rascals from England 
 merely on suspicion, and they will take good care not 
 to set foot in France for some time to come." 
 
 " You are waiting for evidence, then ? "
 
 174 REVENGE! 
 
 " We are waiting for evidence." 
 
 " How do you expect to get it ? " 
 
 " We are having them watched. They are very 
 quiet just now, but it won't be for long. Picard is 
 too restless. Then we may arrest some one soon who 
 will confess." 
 
 " Perhaps I could help. I am going to London. 
 Will you give me Picard's address? " 
 
 " Here is his address, but I think you had better 
 leave the case alone. You do not know the language, 
 and you may merely arouse his suspicions if you in- 
 terfere. Still, if you learn anything, communicate 
 with me." 
 
 The former frank, honest expression in Adolph's 
 eyes had given place to a look of cunning, that ap- 
 pealed to the instincts of a French police-officer. He 
 thought something might come of this, and his in- 
 stincts did not mislead him. 
 
 Delore with great craftiness watched the door of 
 the house in London, taking care that no one should 
 suspect his purpose. He saw Picard come out alone 
 on several occasions, and once with another of his 
 own stripe, whom he took to be Lamoine. 
 
 One evening, when crossing Leicester Square, 
 Picard was accosted by a stranger in his own lan- 
 guage. Looking round with a start, he saw at his 
 side a cringing tramp, worse than shabbily dressed. 
 
 " What did you say ? " asked Picard, with a tremor 
 in his voice. 
 
 " Could you assist a poor countryman ? " whined 
 Delore. 
 
 " I have no money."
 
 TRANSFORMATION. 175 
 
 " Perhaps you could help me to get work. I don't 
 know the language, but I am a good workman." 
 
 " How can I help you to work ? I have no work 
 myself." 
 
 " I would be willing to work for nothing, if I could 
 get a place to sleep in and something to eat." 
 
 " Why don't you steal ? I would if I were hungry. 
 What are you afraid of ? Prison ? It is no worse 
 than tramping the streets hungry ; I know, for I have 
 tried both. What is your trade ? " 
 
 " I am a watchmaker and a first-class workman, 
 but I have pawned all my tools. I have tramped 
 from Lyons, but there is nothing doing in my trade." 
 
 Picard looked at him suspiciously for a few mo- 
 ments. 
 
 " Why did you accost me ? " he asked at last. 
 
 " I saw you were a fellow-countryman ; Frenchmen 
 have helped me from time to time." 
 
 " Let us sit down on this bench. What is your 
 name, and how long have you been in England ? " 
 
 " My name is Adolph Carrier, and I have been in 
 London three months." 
 
 " So long as that ? How have you lived all that 
 time?" 
 
 " Very poorly, as you may see. I sometimes get 
 scraps from the French restaurants, and I sleep where 
 I can." 
 
 " Well, I think I can do better than that for you. 
 Come with me." 
 
 Picard took Delore to his house, letting himself 
 in with a latchkey. Nobody seemed to occupy the 
 place but himself and Lamoine. He led the way to
 
 176 REVENGE! 
 
 the top story, and opened a door that communicated 
 with a room entirely bare of furniture. Leaving 
 Adolph there, Picard went downstairs again and came 
 up shortly after with a lighted candle in his hand, 
 followed by Lamoine, who carried a mattress. 
 
 "This will do for you for to-night," said Picard, 
 " and to-morrow we will see if we can get you any 
 work. Can you make clocks ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, and good ones." 
 
 " Very well. Give me a list of the tools and ma- 
 terials you need, and I will get them for you." 
 
 Picard wrote in a note-book the items Adolph 
 recited to him, Lamoine watching their new employe 
 closely, but saying nothing. Next day a table and a 
 chair were put into the room, and in the afternoon 
 Picard brought in the tools and some sheets of brass. 
 
 Picard and Lamoine were somewhat suspicious of 
 their recruit at first, but he went on industriously 
 with his task, and made no attempt to communicate 
 with anybody. They soon saw that he was an expert 
 workman, and a quiet, innocent, half-daft, harmless 
 creature, so he was given other things to do, such as 
 cleaning up their rooms and going errands for beer 
 and other necessities of life. 
 
 When Adolph finished his first machine, he took 
 it down to them and exhibited it with pardonable 
 pride. There was a dial on it exactly like a clock, 
 although it had but one hand. 
 
 " Let us see it work," said Picard ; " set it so that 
 the bell will ring in three minutes." 
 
 Adolph did as requested, and stood back when the 
 machine began to work with a scarcely audible tick-
 
 TRANSFORMATION. 177 
 
 tick. Picard pulled out his watch, and exactly at the 
 third minute the hammer fell on the bell. " That is 
 very satisfactory," said Picard ; " now, can you make 
 the next one slightly concave, so that a man may 
 strap it under his coat without attracting attention? 
 Such a shape is useful when passing the Customs." 
 
 " I can make it any shape you like, and thinner 
 than this one if you wish it." 
 
 " Very well. Go out and get us a quart of beer, and 
 we will drink to your success. Here is the money." 
 
 Adolph obeyed with his usual docility, staying out, 
 however, somewhat longer than usual. Picard, im- 
 patient at the delay, spoke roughly to him when he 
 returned, and ordered him to go upstairs to his work. 
 Adolph departed meekly, leaving them to their beer. 
 
 " See that you understand that machine, Lamoine," 
 said Picard. " Set it at half an hour." 
 
 Lamoine, turning the hand to the figure VI on the 
 dial, set the works in motion, and to the accompani- 
 ment of its quiet tick-tick they drank their beer. 
 
 " He seems to understand his business," said La- 
 moine. 
 
 "Yes," answered Picard. "What heady stuff this 
 English beer is. I wish we had some good French 
 bock ; this makes me drowsy." 
 
 Lamoine did not answer; he was nodding in his 
 chair. Picard threw himself down on his mattress in 
 one corner of the room ; Lamoine, when he slipped 
 from his chair, muttered an oath, and lay where he fell. 
 
 Twenty minutes later the door stealthily opened, 
 and Adolph's head cautiously reconnoitred the situa- 
 tion, coming into the silent apartment inch by inch,
 
 1 78 REVENGE! 
 
 his crafty eyes rapidly searching the room and filling 
 with malicious glee when he saw that everything was 
 as he had planned. He entered quietly and closed 
 the door softly behind him. He had a great coil of 
 thin strong cord in his hand. Approaching the sleep- 
 ing men on tiptoe, he looked down on them for a 
 moment, wondering whether the drug had done its 
 work sufficiently well for him to proceed. The ques- 
 tion was settled for him with a suddenness that nearly 
 unnerved him. An appalling clang of the bell, a start- 
 ling sound that seemed loud enough to wake the dead, 
 made him spring nearly to the ceiling. He dropped 
 his rope and clung to the door in a panic of dread, his 
 palpitating heart nearly suffocating him with its wild 
 beating, staring with affrighted eyes at the machine 
 which had given such an unexpected alarm. Slowly 
 recovering command over himself, he turned his gaze 
 on the sleepers: neither had moved; both were 
 breathing as heavily as ever. 
 
 Pulling himself together, he turned his attention 
 first to Picard, as the more dangerous man of the 
 two, should an awakening come before he was ready 
 for it. He bound Picard's wrists tightly together ; 
 then his ankles, his knees, and his elbows. He next 
 did the same for Lamoine. With great effort he got 
 Picard in a seated position on his chair, tying him 
 there with coil after coil of the cord. So anxious was 
 he, to make everything secure, that he somewhat 
 overdid the business, making the two seem like seated 
 mummies swathed in cord. The chairs he fastened 
 immovably to the floor, then he stood back and gazed 
 with a sigh at the two grim seated figures, with their
 
 TRANSFORMATION. 179 
 
 heads drooping helplessly forward on their corded 
 breasts, looking like silent effigies of the dead. 
 
 Mopping his perspiring brow, Adolph now turned 
 his attention to the machine that had startled him so 
 when he first came in. He examined minutely its 
 mechanism to see that everything was right. Going 
 to the cupboard, he took up a false bottom and lifted 
 carefully out a number of dynamite cartridges that the 
 two sleepers had stolen from a French mine. These 
 he arranged in a battery, tying them together. He 
 raised the hammer of the machine, and set the hand 
 so that the blow would fall in sixty minutes after the 
 machinery was set in motion. The whole deadly 
 combination he placed on a small table, which he 
 shoved close in front of the two sleeping men. This 
 done, he sat down on a chair patiently to await the 
 awakening. The room was situated at the back of 
 the house, and was almost painfully still, not a sound 
 from the street penetrating to it. The candle burnt 
 low, guttered and went out, but Adolph sat there and 
 did not light another. The room was still only half 
 in darkness, for the moon shone brightly in at the 
 window, reminding Adolph that it was just a month 
 since he had looked out on a moonlit street in Paris, 
 while his brother lay murdered in the room below. 
 The hours dragged along, and Adolph sat as immov- 
 able as the two figures before him. The square of 
 moonlight, slowly moving, at last illuminated the 
 seated form of Picard, imperceptibly climbing up, as 
 the moon sank, until it touched his face. He threw 
 his head first to one side, then back, yawned, drew a 
 deep breath, and tried to struggle.
 
 i8o REVENGE! 
 
 " Lamoine," he cried, " Adolph. What the devil is 
 this? I say, here. Help! I am betrayed." 
 
 " Hush," said Adolph, quietly. " Do not cry so loud. 
 You will wake Lamoine, who is beside you. I am 
 here ; wait till I light a candle, the moonlight is 
 waning." 
 
 " Adolph, you fiend, you are in league with the 
 police." 
 
 " No, I am not. I will explain everything in a 
 moment. Have patience." Adolph lit a candle, and 
 Picard, rolling his eyes, saw that the slowly awakening 
 Lamoine was bound like himself. 
 
 Lamoine, glaring at his partner and not under- 
 standing what had happened, hissed 
 
 " You have turned traitor, Picard ; you have in- 
 formed, curse you ! " 
 
 " Keep quiet, you fool. Don't you see I am bound 
 as tightly as you ? " 
 
 " There has been no traitor and no informing, nor 
 need of any. A month ago to-night, Picard, there 
 was blown into eternity a good and honest man, who 
 never harmed you or any one. I am his brother. I 
 am Adolph Delore, who refused to make your infernal 
 machine for you. I am much changed since then ; 
 but perhaps now you recognise me ? " 
 
 " I swear to God," cried Picard, " that I did not do 
 it. I was in London at the time. I can prove it. 
 There is no use in handing me over to the police, even 
 though, perhaps, you think you can terrorise this poor 
 wretch into lying against me." 
 
 " Pray to the God, whose name you so lightly use, 
 that the police you fear may get you before I have
 
 TRANSFORMATION. 181 
 
 done with you. In the police, strange as it may sound 
 to you, is your only hope ; but they will have to come 
 quickly if they are to save you. Picard, you have 
 lived, perhaps, thirty-five years on this earth. The 
 next hour of your life will be longer to you than all 
 these years." 
 
 Adolph put the percussion cap in its place and 
 started the mechanism. For a few moments its quiet 
 tick-tick was the only sound heard in the room, the 
 two bound men staring with wide-open eyes at the 
 dial of the clock, while the whole horror of their 
 position slowly broke upon them. 
 
 Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick, 
 tick-tick. Each man's face paled, and rivulets of sweat 
 ran down from their brows. Suddenly Picard raised 
 his voice in an unearthly shriek. 
 
 " I expected that," said Adolph, quietly. " I don't 
 think anyone can hear, but I will gag you both, so 
 that no risks may be run." When this was done, he 
 said : " I have set the clockwork at sixty minutes ; 
 seven of those are already spent. There is still time 
 enough left for meditation and repentance. I place 
 the candle here so that its rays will shine upon the 
 dial. When you have made your own peace, pray for 
 the souls of any you have sent into eternity without 
 time for preparation." 
 
 Delore left the room as softly as he had entered it, 
 and the doomed men tried ineffectually to cry out as 
 they heard the key turning in the door. 
 
 The authorities knew that someone had perished in 
 that explosion, but whether it was one man or two 
 thev could not tell.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 
 
 HICKORY SAM needed but one quality to be per- 
 fect. He should have been an arrant coward. He 
 was a blustering braggart, always boasting of the men 
 he had slain, and the odds he had contended against ; 
 filled with stories of his own valour, but alas ! he shot 
 straight, and rarely missed his mark, unless he was 
 drunker than usual. It would have been delightful to 
 tell how this unmitigated ruffian had been " held up " 
 by some innocent tenderfoot from the East, and made 
 to dance at the muzzle of a quite new and daintily or- 
 namented revolver, for the loud-mouthed blowhard 
 seemed just the man to flinch when real danger con- 
 fronted him ; but, sad to say, there was nothing of the 
 white feather about Hickory Sam, for he feared neither 
 man, nor gun, nor .any combination of them. He was 
 as ready to fight a dozen as one, and once had actually 
 " held^up " the United States army at Fort Concho, 
 beating a masterly retreat backwards with his face to 
 the foe, holding a troop in check with his two seven- 
 shooters that seemed to point in every direction at 
 once, making every man in the company feel, with a 
 shiver up his back, that he individually was "covered," 
 and would be the first to drop if firing actually began. 
 
 Hickory Sam appeared suddenly in Salt Lick, and
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 183 
 
 speedily made good his claim to be the bad man of 
 the district. Some old-timers disputed Sam's arrogant 
 contention, but they did not live long enough to 
 maintain their own well-earned reputations as objec- 
 tionable citizens. Thus Hickory Sam reigned supreme 
 in Salt Lick, and every one in the place was willing 
 and eager to stand treat to Sam, or to drink with him 
 when invited. 
 
 Sam's chief place of resort in Salt Lick was the 
 Hades Saloon, kept by Mike Davlin. Mike had not 
 originally intended this to be the title of his bar, hav- 
 ing at first named it after a little liquor cellar he kept 
 in his early days in Philadelphia, called "The 
 Shades," but some cowboy humourist, particular about 
 the external fitness of things, had scraped out the 
 letter " S," and so the sign over the door had been 
 allowed to remain. Mike did not grumble. He had 
 taken a keen interest in politics in Philadelphia, but 
 an unexpected spasm of civic virtue having overtaken 
 the city some years before, Davlin had been made a 
 victim, and he was forced to leave suddenly for the 
 West, where there was no politics, and where a man 
 handy at mixing drinks was looked upon as a boon 
 by the rest of the community. Mike did not grumble 
 when even the name " Hades " failed to satisfy the 
 boys in their thirst for appropriate nomenclature, and 
 when they took to calling the place by a shorter and 
 terser synonym beginning with the same letter, he 
 made no objections. 
 
 Mike was an adaptive man, who mixed drinks, but 
 did not mix in rows. He protected himself by not 
 keeping a revolver, and by admitting that he could
 
 1 84 REVENGE! 
 
 not hit his own saloon at twenty yards distance. 
 A residence in the quiet city of Philadelphia is not 
 conducive to the nimbling of the trigger finger. 
 When the boys in the exuberance of their spirits be- 
 gan to shoot, Mike promptly ducked under his counter 
 and waited till the clouds of smoke rolled by. He 
 sent in a bill for broken glass, bottles, and the damage 
 generally, when his guests were sober again, and his 
 accounts were always paid. Mike was a deservedly 
 popular citizen in Salt Lick, and might easily have 
 been elected to the United States Congress, if he had 
 dared to go east again. But, as he himself said, he 
 was out of politics. 
 
 It was the pleasant custom of the cowboys at Bul- 
 ler's ranch to come into Salt Lick on pay-days and 
 close up the town. These periodical visits did little 
 harm to any one, and seemed to be productive of 
 much amusement for the boys. They rode at full 
 gallop through the one street of the place like a troop 
 of cavalry, yelling at the top of their voices and bran- 
 dishing their weapons. 
 
 The first raid through Salt Lick was merely a warn- 
 ing, and all peaceably inclined inhabitants took it as 
 such, retiring forthwith to the seclusion of their houses. 
 On their return trip the boys winged or lamed, with 
 unerring aim, any one found in the street. They 
 seldom killed a wayfarer ; if a fatality ensued it was 
 usually the result of accident, and much to the regret 
 of the boys, who always apologised handsomely to the 
 surviving relatives, which expression of regret was 
 generally received in the amicable spirit with which 
 it was tendered. There was none of the rancour of
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 185 
 
 the vendetta in these little encounters ; if a man hap- 
 pened to be blotted out, it was his ill luck, that was 
 all, and there was rarely any thought of reprisal. 
 
 This perhaps was largely due to the fact that the 
 community was a shifting one, and few had any near 
 relatives about them, for, although the victim might 
 have friends, they seldom held him in such esteem as 
 to be willing to take up his quarrel when there was 
 a bullet hole through him. Relatives, however, are 
 often more difficult to deal with than are friends, in 
 cases of sudden death, and this fact was recognised'by 
 Hickory Sam, who, when he was compelled to shoot 
 the younger Holt brother in Mike's saloon, promptly 
 went, at some personal inconvenience, and assassinated 
 the elder, before John Holt heard the news. As Sam 
 explained to Mike when he returned, he had no quar- 
 rel with John Holt, but merely killed him in the inter- 
 ests of peace, for he would have been certain to draw 
 and probably shoot several citizens when he heard of 
 his brother's death, because, for some unexplained 
 reason, the brothers were fond of each other. 
 
 When Hickory Sam was comparatively new to Salt 
 Lick he allowed the Buller's ranch gang to close up 
 the town without opposition. It was their custom, 
 when the capital of Coyote county had been closed 
 up to their satisfaction, to adjourn to Hades and 
 there " blow in " their hard-earned gains on the liquor 
 Mike furnished. They also added to the decorations 
 of the saloon ceiling. Several cowboys had a gift of 
 twirling their Winchester repeating rifles around the 
 fore finger and firing it as the flying muzzle momenta^ 
 rily pointed upwards. The man who could put the
 
 186 REVENGE! 
 
 most bullets within the smallest space in the root 
 was the expert of the occasion, and didn't have to pay 
 for his drinks. 
 
 This exhibition might have made many a man quail, 
 but it had no effect on Hickory Sam, who leant against 
 the bar and sneered at the show as child's play. 
 
 " Perhaps you think you can do it," cried the 
 champion. " I bet you the drinks you can't." 
 
 " I don't have to," said Hickory Sam, with the calm 
 dignity of a dead shot. " I don't have to, but I'll tell 
 you what I can do. I can nip the heart of a man 
 with this here gun," showing his seven-shooter, " me 
 a-standing in Hades here and he a-coming out of the 
 bank." For Salt Lick, being a progressive town, had 
 the Coyote County Bank some distance down the 
 street on the opposite side from the saloon. 
 
 "You're a liar," roared the champion, whereupon 
 all the boys grasped their guns and were on the look 
 out for trouble. 
 
 Hickory Sam merely laughed, strode to the door, 
 threw it open, and walked out to the middle of the 
 deserted thoroughfare. 
 
 " I'm a bad man from Way Back," he yelled at the 
 top of his voice. " I'm the toughest cuss in Coyote 
 county, and no darned greasers from Buller's can close 
 up this town when I'm in it. You hear me ! Salt 
 Lick's wide open, and I'm standing in the street to 
 prove it." 
 
 It was bad enough to have the town declared open 
 when fifteen of them in a body had proclaimed it 
 closed, but in addition to this to be called " greasers " 
 was an insult not to be borne. A cowboy despises a
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 187 
 
 Mexican almost as much as he does an Indian. With 
 a soul-terrifying yell the fifteen were out of the saloon 
 and on their horses like a cyclone. They went down 
 the street with tornado speed, wheeling about, some 
 distance below the temporarily closed bank, and, 
 charging up again at full gallop, fired repeatedly in 
 the direction of Hickory Sam, who was crouching be- 
 hind an empty whiskey barrel in front of the saloon 
 with a " gun " in either hand. 
 
 Sam made good his contention by nipping the 
 heart of the champion when opposite the bank, who 
 plunged forward on his face and threw the cavalcade 
 into confusion. Then Sam stood up, and regardless 
 of the scattering shots, fired with both revolvers, kill- 
 ing the foremost man of the troop and slaughtering 
 three horses, which instantly changed the charge into 
 a rout. He then retired to Hades and barricaded the 
 door. Mike was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 But the boys knew when they had enough. They 
 made no attack on the saloon, but picked up their 
 dead, and, thoroughly sobered, made their way, much 
 more slowly than they came, back to Buller's ranch. 
 
 When it was evident that they had gone, Mike 
 cautiously emerged from his place of retirement, as 
 Sam was vigorously pounding on the bar, threatening 
 that if a drink were not forthcoming he would go 
 round behind the bar and help himself. 
 
 " I'm a law and order man," he explained to Davlin, 
 " and I won't have no toughs from Buller's ranch close 
 up this town and interfere with commerce. Every 
 man has got to respect the Constitution of the United 
 States as long as my gun can bark, you bet your life ! "
 
 1 88 REVENGE! 
 
 Mike hurriedly admitted that he was perfectly right, 
 and asked him what he would have, forgetting in his 
 agitation that Sam took one thing only, and that one 
 thing straight. 
 
 Next day old Buller himself came in from his ranch 
 to see if anything could be done about this latest af- 
 fray. It was bad enough to lose two of his best herds- 
 men in a foolish contest of this kind, but to have 
 three trained horses killed as well, was disgusting. 
 Buller had been one of the boys himself in his young 
 days, but now, having grown wealthy in the cattle 
 business, he was anxious to see civilisation move 
 westward with strides a little more rapid than it was 
 taking. He [made the mistake of appealing to the 
 Sheriff, as if that worthy man could be expected, for 
 the small salary he received, to attempt the arrest of 
 so dead a shot as Hickory Sam. 
 
 Besides, as the Sheriff quite correctly pointed out, 
 the boys themselves had been the aggressors in the 
 first place, and if fifteen of them could not take care 
 of one man behind an empty whiskey barrel, they had 
 better remain peaceably at home in the future, and do 
 their pistol practice in the quiet, innocuous retirement 
 of a shooting gallery. They surely could not expect 
 the strong arm of the law, in the person of a peaceably- 
 minded Sheriff, to reach out and pull their chestnuts 
 from the fire when several of them had already burned 
 their fingers, and when the chestnuts shot and drank 
 as straight as Hickory Sam. 
 
 Buller, finding the executive portion of the law 
 slow and reluctant to move, sought advice from his 
 own lawyer, the one disciple of Coke-upon-Littleton
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 189 
 
 in the place. The lawyer doubted if there was any 
 legal remedy in the then condition of society around 
 Salt Lick. The safest plan perhaps would be mind, 
 he did not advise, but merely suggested to surround 
 Hickory Sam and wipe him off the face of the earth. 
 This might not be strictly according to law, but it 
 would be effective, if carried out without an error. 
 
 The particulars of Buller's interview with the Sheriff 
 spread rapidly in Salt Lick, and caused great indigna- 
 tion among the residents thereof, especially those who 
 frequented Hades. It was a reproach to the place 
 that the law should be invoked, all on account of 
 a trivial incident like that of the day before. Sam, 
 who had been celebrating his victory at Mike's, heard 
 the news with bitter, if somewhat silent resentment, 
 for he had advanced so far in his cups that he was 
 all but speechless. Being a magnanimous man, he 
 would have been quite content to let bygones be 
 bygones, but this unjustifiable action of Buller's 
 required prompt and effectual chastisement. He 
 would send the wealthy ranchman to keep company 
 with his slaughtered herdsmen. 
 
 Thus it was that when Buller mounted his horse 
 after his futile visit to the lawyer, he found Hickory 
 Sam holding the street with his guns. The fusillade 
 that followed was without result, which disappointing 
 termination is accounted for by the fact that Sam 
 was exceedingly drunk at the time, and the ranchman 
 was out of practice. Seldom had Salt Lick seen so 
 much powder burnt with no damage except to the 
 window-glass in the vicinity. Buller went back to the 
 lawyer's office, and afterwards had an interview with
 
 190 REVENGE! 
 
 the bank manager. Then he got quietly out of 
 town unmolested, for Sam, weeping on Mike's shoulder 
 over the inaccuracy of his aim, gradually sank to 
 sleep in a corner of the saloon. 
 
 Next morning, when Sam woke to temporary 
 sobriety, he sent word to the ranch that he would 
 shoot old Buller on sight, and, at the same time, he 
 apologised for the previous eccentricities of his fire, 
 promising that such an annoying exhibition should 
 not occur again. He signed himself " The Terror of 
 Salt Lick, and the Champion of Law and Order." 
 
 It was rumoured that old Buller, when he returned 
 to the lawyer's office, had made his will, and that the 
 bank manager had witnessed it. This supposed action 
 of Buller was taken as a most delicate compliment to 
 Hickory Sam's determination and -marksmanship, and 
 he was justly proud of the work he had thrown into 
 the lawyer's hands. 
 
 A week passed before old Buller came to Salt Lick, 
 but when he came, Hickory Sam was waiting for him, 
 and this time the desperado was not drunk, that is to 
 say, he had not had more than half a dozen glasses of 
 forty rod that morning. 
 
 When the rumour came to Hades that old Buller 
 was approaching the town on horseback and alone, 
 Sam at once bet the drinks that he would fire but one 
 shot, and so, in a measure, atone for the ineffectual 
 racket he had made on the occasion of the previous 
 encounter. The crowd stood by, in safe places, to 
 see the result of the duel. 
 
 Sam, a cocked revolver in his right hand, stood 
 squarely in the centre of the street, with the sturdy
 
 / /> 
 
 SAM LOOKED SAVAGELY AROUND HUM. Jr'agt lt)l.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 191 
 
 bearing of one who has his quarrel just, and who be- 
 sides can pierce the ace spot on a card ten yards fur- 
 ther away than any other man in the county. 
 
 Old Buller came riding up the street as calmly as 
 if he were on his own ranch. When almost within 
 range of Sam's pistol, the old man raised both hands 
 above his head, letting the reins fall on the horse's 
 neck. In this extraordinary attitude he rode forward, 
 to the amazement of the crowd and the evident em- 
 barrassment of Sam. 
 
 " I am not armed," the old man shouted. " I have 
 come to talk this thing over and settle it." 
 
 " It's too late for talk," yelled Sam, infuriated at 
 the prospect of missing his victim after all ; " pull 
 your gun, old man, and shoot." 
 
 " I haven't got a gun on me," said Buller, still ad- 
 vancing, and still holding up his hands. 
 
 " That trick's played out," shouted Sam, flinging up 
 his right hand and firing. 
 
 The old man, with hands above his head, leant 
 slowly forward like a falling tower, then pitched head 
 foremost from his horse to the ground, where he lay 
 without a struggle, face down and arms spread out. 
 
 Great as was the fear of the desperado, an involun- 
 tary cry of horror went up from the crowd. Killing 
 is all right and proper in its way, but the shooting of 
 an unarmed man who voluntarily held up his hands 
 and kept them up, was murder, even on the plains. 
 
 Sam looked savagely round him, glaring at the 
 crowd that shrank away from him, the smoking pistol 
 hanging muzzle downward from his hand. 
 
 " It's all a trick. He had a shooting-iron in his
 
 192 REVENGE! 
 
 boot. I see the butt of it sticking out. That's why I 
 fired." 
 
 " I'm not saying nothin'," said Mike, as the fierce 
 glance of Hickory rested on him, " 'tain't any affair of 
 mine." 
 
 " Yes, it is," cried Hickory. 
 
 " Why, I didn't have nothin' to do with it," pro- 
 tested the saloon keeper. 
 
 " No. But you've got somethin' to do with it now. 
 What did we elect you coroner fur, I'd like to know ? 
 You've got to hustle around and panel your jury an' 
 bring in a verdict of accidental death or something of 
 that sort. Bring any sort or kind of verdict that'll 
 save trouble in future. I believe in law and order, I 
 do, an' I like to see things done regular." 
 
 " But we didn't have no jury for them cowboys," said 
 Mike. 
 
 " Well, cowboys is different. It didn't so much 
 matter about them. Still, it oughter been done, even 
 with cowboys, if we were more'n half civilised. 
 Nothin' like havin' things down on the record straight 
 and shipshape. Now some o' you fellows help me in 
 with the body, and Mike'll panel his jury in three 
 shakes." 
 
 There is nothing like an energetic public-spirited 
 man for reducing chaos to order. Things began to 
 assume their normal attitude, and the crowd began to 
 look to Sam for instruction. He seemed to Bunder- 
 stand the etiquette of these occasions, and those pres- 
 ent felt that they were ignorant and inexperienced 
 compared with him. 
 
 The body was laid out on a bench in the room at
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 193 
 
 the back of the saloon, while the jury and the specta- 
 tors were accommodated with such seats as the place 
 afforded, Hickory Sam himself taking an elevated 
 position on the top of a barrel, where he could, as it 
 were, preside over the arrangements. It was vaguely 
 felt by those present that Sam bore no malice towards 
 the deceased, and this was put down rather to his 
 credit. 
 
 " I think," said the coroner, looking hesitatingly up 
 at Sam, with an expression which showed he was 
 quite prepared to withdraw his proposal if it should 
 prove inappropriate, " I think we might have the 
 lawyer over here. He knows how these things should 
 be done, and he's the only man in Salt Lick that's got 
 a Bible to swear the jury on. I think they ought to 
 be sworn." 
 
 " That's a good idea," concurred Sam. " One of you 
 run across for him, and tell him to bring the book. 
 Nothing Jike havin' these things regular and proper 
 and accordin' to law." 
 
 The lawyer had heard of the catastrophe, and he 
 came promptly over to the saloon, bringing the book 
 with him and some papers in his hand. There was 
 now no doubt about Sam's knowledge of the proper 
 thing to do, when it was found that the lawyer quite 
 agreed with him that an inquest, under the circum- 
 stances, was justifiable and according to precedent. 
 The jury found that the late Mr. Buller had "died 
 through misadventure," which phrase, sarcastically 
 suggested by the lawyer when he found that the 
 verdict was going to be " accidental death," pleased 
 the jury, who at once adopted it.
 
 I 9 4 REVENGE! 
 
 When the proceedings were so pleasantly termi- 
 nated by a verdict acceptable to all parties, the lawyer 
 cleared his throat and said that his late client, having 
 perhaps a premonition of his fate, had recently made 
 his will, and he had desired the lawyer to make the 
 will public as soon as possible after his death. As the 
 occasion seemed in every way suitable, the lawyer 
 proposed, with the permission of the coroner, to read 
 that portion which Mr. Buller hoped would receive 
 the widest possible publicity. 
 
 Mike glanced with indecision at the lawyer and at 
 Sam sitting high above the crowd on the barrel. 
 
 " Certainly," said Hickory. "We'd all like to hear 
 the will, although I suppose it's none of our busi- 
 ness." 
 
 The lawyer made no comment on this remark, but 
 bowing to the assemblage, unfolded a paper and read 
 it. 
 
 Mr. Buller left all his property to his nephew in the 
 East with the exception of fifty thousand dollars in 
 greenbacks, then deposited in- the Coyote County 
 Bank at Salt Lick. The testator had reason to sus- 
 pect that a desperado named Hickory Sam (real name 
 or designation unknown) had designs on the testator's 
 life. In case these designs were successful, the whole 
 of this money was to go to the person or persons who 
 succeeded in removing this scoundrel from the face of 
 the earth. In case the Sheriff arrested the said 
 Hickory Sam and he was tried and executed, the 
 money was to be divided between the Sheriff and 
 those who assisted in the capture. If any man on his 
 own responsibility shot and killed the said Hickory
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 195 
 
 Sam, the fifty thousand dollars became his sole prop- 
 erty, and would be handed over to him by the bank 
 manager, in whom Mr. Buller expressed every confi- 
 dence, as soon as the slayer of Hickory Sam proved 
 the deed to the satisfaction of the manager. In every 
 case the bank manager had full control of the disposal 
 of the fund, and could pay it in bulk, or divide it 
 among those who had succeeded in eliminating from 
 a contentious world one of its most contentious 
 members. 
 
 The amazed silence which followed the reading of 
 this document was broken by a loud jeering and 
 defiant laugh from the man on the barrel. He 
 laughed long, but no one joined him, and, as he 
 noticed this, his hilarity died down, being in a meas- 
 ure forced and mechanical. The lawyer methodically 
 folded up his papers. As some of the jury glanced 
 down at the face of the dead man who had originated 
 this financial scheme of post mortem vengeance, they 
 almost fancied they saw a malicious leer about the half- 
 open eyes and lips. An awed whisper ran round the 
 assemblage. Each man said to the other under his 
 breath : " Fif ty thous and dollars," as if the 
 dwelling on each syllable made the total seem larger. 
 The same thought was in every man's mind ; a clean, 
 cool little fortune merely for the crooking of a fore- 
 finger and the correct levelling of a pistol barrel. 
 
 The lawyer had silently taken his departure. Sam, 
 soberer than he had been for many days, slid down 
 from the barrel, and, with his hand on the butt of his 
 gun, sidled, his back against the wall, towards the 
 door. No one raised a finger to stop him ; all sat
 
 196 REVENGE! 
 
 there watching him as if they were hypnotised. He 
 was no longer a man in their eyes, but the embodi- 
 ment of a sum to be earned in a moment, for which 
 thousands worked hard all their lives, often in vain, to 
 accumulate. 
 
 Sam's brain on a problem was not so quick as his 
 finger on a trigger, but it began to filter slowly into 
 his mind that he was now face to face with a danger 
 against which his pistol was powerless. Heretofore, 
 roughly speaking, nearly everybody had been his 
 friend ; now the hand of the world was against him, 
 with a most powerful motive for being against him ; 
 a motive which he himself could understand. For a 
 mere fraction of fifty thousand dollars he would kill 
 anybody, so long as the deed could be done with 
 reasonable safety to himself. Why then should any 
 man stay his hand against him with such a reward hang- 
 ing over his head ? As Sam retreated backwards from 
 among his former friends they saw in his eyes what 
 they had never seen there before, something that was 
 not exactly fear, but a look of furtive suspicion against 
 the whole human race. 
 
 Out in the open air once again Sam breathed more 
 freely. He must get away from Salt Lick, and that 
 quickly. Once on the prairie he could make up his 
 mind what the next move was to be. He kept his 
 revolver in his hand, not daring to put it into its 
 holster. Every sound made him jump, and he was 
 afraid to stand in the open, yet he could not remain 
 constantly with his back to the wall. Poor Buller's 
 horse, fully accoutred, cropped the grass by the side 
 of the road. To be a horse-thief was, of course, worse
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 197 
 
 than to be a murderer, but there was no help for it ; 
 without the horse escape was impossible. He secured 
 the animal with but little trouble, and sprang upon its 
 back. 
 
 As he mounted, a shot rang out from the saloon. 
 Sam whirled around in the saddle, but no one was to 
 be seen ; nothing but a thin film of pistol smoke 
 melting in the air above the open door. The rider 
 fired twice into the empty doorway, then, with a threat, 
 turned towards the open country and galloped away, 
 and Salt Lick was far behind him when night fell. 
 He tethered his horse and threw himself down on the 
 grass, but dared not sleep. For all he knew, his 
 pursuers might be within a few rods of where he lay, 
 for he was certain they would be on his trail as soon 
 as they knew he had left Salt Lick. The prize was 
 too great for no effort to be made to secure it. 
 
 There is an enemy before whom the strongest and 
 bravest man must succumb ; that enemy is sleepless- 
 ness. When daylight found the desperado, he had 
 not closed an eye all night. His nerve was gone, 
 and, perhaps for the first time in his life, he felt a 
 thrill of fear. The emptiness of the prairie, which 
 should have encouraged him, struck a chill of loneli- 
 ness into him, and he longed for the sight of a man, 
 even though he might have to fight him when he 
 approached. He must have a comrade, he said to 
 himself, if he could find any human being in straits 
 as terrible as his own, some one who would keep 
 watch and watch with him through the night ; but 
 the comrade must either be ignorant of the weight of 
 money that hung over the desperado's head, or there
 
 i 9 8 REVENGE ! 
 
 must be a price on his own. An innocent man would 
 not see the use of keeping such strict watch ; a guilty 
 man, on learning the circumstances of the case, would 
 sell Sam's life to purchase his own freedom. Fifty 
 thousand dollars, in the desperado's mind, would do 
 anything, and yet he himself, of all the sixty million 
 people in the land, was the only one who could not 
 earn it ! A comrade, then, innocent or guilty, was 
 impossible, and yet was absolutely necessary if the 
 wanderer was to have sleep. 
 
 The horse was in distress through lack of water, 
 and Sam himself was both hungry and thirsty. His 
 next halting-place must be near a stream, yet perhaps 
 his safety during the first night was due to the fact 
 that his pursuers would naturally have looked for him 
 near some watercourse, and not on the open prairie. 
 
 Ten days later, Mike Davlin was awakened at three 
 in the morning, to find standing by his bed a gaunt, 
 haggard living skeleton, holding a candle in one 
 hand, and pointing a cocked revolver at Mike's head 
 with the other. 
 
 " Get up," said the apparition hoarsely, " and get 
 me something to eat and drink. Drink first, and be 
 quick about it. Make no noise. Is there anybody 
 else in the house? " 
 
 " No," said Mike, shivering. ''You wait here, Sam, 
 and I'll bring you something. I thought you were 
 among the Indians, or in Mexico, or in the Bad Lands 
 long ago." 
 
 " I'm in bad lands enough here. I'll go with you. 
 I'm not going to let you out of my sight, and no 
 tricks, mind, or you know what will happen."
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 199 
 
 " Surely you trust me, Sam," whined Mike, getting 
 up. 
 
 " I don't trust any living man. Who fired that 
 shot at me when I was leaving? " 
 
 " So help me," protested Mike, " I dunno. I 
 wasn't in the bar at the time. I can prove I wasn't. 
 Yer not looking well, Sam." 
 
 " Blister you for a slow dawdler, you'd not look 
 well either, if you had no sleep for a week and was 
 starved into the bargain. Get a move on you." 
 
 Sam ate like a wild beast what was set before him, 
 and although he took a stiff glass of whiskey and 
 water at the beginning, he now drank sparingly. He 
 laid the revolver on the table at his elbow, and made 
 Mike sit opposite him. When the ravenous meal was 
 finished, he pushed the plate from him and looked 
 across at Davlin. 
 
 " When I said I didn't trust you, Mike, I was a liar. 
 I do, an' I'll prove it. When it's your interest to be- 
 friend a man, you'll do it every time." 
 
 " I will that," said Mike, not quite comprehending 
 what the other had said. 
 
 " Now listen to me, Mike, and be sure you do ex- 
 actly as I tell you. Go to where the bank manager 
 lives and rouse him up as I roused you. He'll not 
 be afraid when he sees it's you. Tell him you've got 
 me over in the saloon, and that I've come to rob the 
 bank of that fifty thousand dollars. Say that I'm 
 desperate and can't be taken short of a dozen lives, 
 and there is no lie in that, as you know. Tell him 
 you've fallen in with my plans, and that we'll go over 
 there and hold him up. Tell him the only chance of
 
 200 REVENGE ! 
 
 catching me is by a trick. He's to open the door of 
 the place where the money is, and you're to shove me 
 in and lock me up. But when he opens the door I'll 
 send a bullet through him, and you and me will divide 
 the money. Nobody will suspect you, for nobody'll 
 know you were there but the bank man, and he'll be 
 dead. But if you make one move except as I tell you 
 the first bullet goes through you. See ? " 
 
 Mike's eyes opened wider and wider as the scheme 
 was disclosed. " Lord, what a head you have, Sam ! " 
 he said. " Why didn't you think of that before ? The 
 bank manager is in Austin." 
 
 " What the blazes is he doing there ? " 
 
 " He took the money with him to put it in the 
 Austin Bank. He left the day after you did, for he 
 said the only chance you had, was to get that money. 
 You might have done this the night you left, but not 
 since." 
 
 "That's straight, is it?" said Sam suspiciously. 
 
 "It's God's truth I'm speaking," asserted Mike 
 earnestly. " You can find that out for yourself in the 
 morning. Nobody'll molest ye. Yer jus' dead beat 
 for want o' sleep, I can see that. Go upstairs and go 
 to bed. I'll keep watch, and not a soul'll know you're 
 here." 
 
 Hickory Sam's shoulders sank when he heard the 
 money was gone, and a look of despair came into his 
 half closed eyes. He sat thus for a few moments un- 
 heeding the other's advice, then with an effort shook 
 off his lethargy. 
 
 " No," he said at last, " I won't go to bed. I'd like 
 to enrich you, Mike, but that would be too easy.
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 201 
 
 Cut me off some slices of this cold meat and put them 
 between chunks of bread. I want a three days' sup- 
 ply, and a bottle of whiskey." 
 
 Mike did as requested, and at Sam's orders attended 
 to his horse. It was still dark, but there was a sug- 
 gestion of the coming day in the eastern sky. Buller's 
 horse was as jaded and as fagged out as its rider. 
 As Sam, stooping like an old man, rode away, Mike 
 hurried to his bedroom, noiselessly opened the win- 
 dow, and pointed at the back of the dim retreating 
 man a shot-gun, loaded with slugs. He could hardly 
 have missed killing both horse and man if he had had 
 the courage to fire, but his hand trembled, and the 
 drops of perspiration stood on his brow. He knew 
 that if he missed this time, there would be no ques- 
 tion in Sam's mind about who fired the shot. Rest- 
 ing the gun on the ledge and keeping [his eye along 
 the barrel, he had not the nerve to pull the trigger. 
 At last the retreating figure disappeared, and with 
 it Mike's chance of a fortune. He drew in the gun, 
 and softly closed the window, with a long quivering 
 sigh of regret. 
 
 Sidney Buller went west from Detroit when he 
 received the telegram that announced his uncle's 
 death and told him he was heir to the ranch. He 
 was thirty years younger than his uncle had been at 
 the time of his tragic death, and he bore a remarkable 
 likeness to the old man ; that is, a likeness more than 
 striking, when it was remembered that one had lived 
 all his life in a city, while the other had spent most 
 of his days on the plains. The young man had 
 seen the Sheriff on his arrival, expecting to find that
 
 202 REVENGE! 
 
 active steps had been taken towards the arrest of the 
 murderer. The Sheriff assured him that nothing 
 more effective could be done than what had been 
 done by the dead man himself in leaving fifty thousand 
 dollars to the killer of Hickory Sam. The Sheriff 
 had made no move himself, for he had been confi- 
 dently expecting every day to hear that Sam was 
 shot. 
 
 Meanwhile, nothing had been heard or seen of the 
 desperado since he left Salt Lick on the back of the 
 murdered man's horse. Sidney thought this was 
 rather, a slipshod way of administering justice, but he 
 said nothing, and went back to his ranch. But if the 
 Sheriff had been indifferent, his own cowboys had 
 been embarrassingly active. They had deserted the 
 ranch in a body, and were scouring the plains 
 searching for the murderer, making the mistake of 
 going too far afield. They, like Mike, had expected 
 Sam would strike for the Bad Lands, and they rode 
 far and fast to intercept him. Whether they were 
 actuated by a desire to share the money, a liking for 
 their old "boss," or hatred of Hickory Sam himself, 
 they themselves would have found it difficult to tell. 
 Anyhow, it was a man-chase, and their hunting in- 
 stincts were keen. 
 
 In the early morning Sidney Buller walked forth 
 from the buildings of the ranch and struck for the 
 open prairie. The sun was up, but the morning was 
 still cool. Before he had gone far he saw, approach- 
 ing the ranch, a single riderless horse. As the animal 
 came nearer and nearer it whinnied on seeing him, 
 and finally changed its course and came directly
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GREENBACK. 203 
 
 toward him. Then he saw that there was a man on 
 its back ; a man either dead or asleep. His hand 
 hung down nerveless by the horse's shoulder, and 
 swung helplessly to and fro as the animal walked on ; 
 the man's head rested on the horse's mane. The 
 horse came up to Sidney, thrusting its nose out to 
 him, whinnying gently, as if it knew him. 
 
 "Hello?" cried Sidney, shaking the man by the 
 shoulder, "what's the matter? Are you hurt ? " 
 
 Instantly the desperado was wide awake, sitting 
 bolt upright, and staring at Sidney with terrified 
 recognition in his eyes. He raised his right hand, 
 but the pistol had evidently dropped from it when 
 he, overcome by fatigue, and drowsy after his enor- 
 mous meal, had fallen asleep. He flung himself off, 
 keeping the animal between himself and his supposed 
 enemy, pulled the other revolver and fired at Sidney 
 across the plunging horse. Before he could fire again, 
 Sidney, who was an athlete, brought down the loaded 
 head of his cane on the pistol wrist of the ruffian, 
 crying 
 
 " Don't fire, you fool, I'm not going to hurt you ! " 
 
 As the revolver fell to the ground Sam sprang 
 savagely at the throat of the young man, who, step- 
 ping back, struck his assailant a much heavier blow 
 than he intended. The leaden knob of the stick fell 
 on Sam's temple, and he dropped as if shot. Alarmed 
 at the effect of his blow, Sidney tore open the uncon- 
 scious man's shirt, and tried to get him to swallow 
 some whiskey from the bottle he found in his pocket. 
 Appalled to find all his efforts unavailing, he sprang 
 on the horse and rode to the stables for help.
 
 204 REVENGE ! 
 
 The foreman coming out, cried : " Good heavens, 
 Mr. Buller, that's the old man's horse. Where did 
 you get him ? Well, Jerry, old fellow," he continued, 
 patting the horse, who whinnied affectionately, "they've 
 been using you badly, and you've come home to be 
 taken care of. Where did you find him, Mr. Buller?" 
 
 " Out on the prairie, and I'm afraid I've killed the 
 man who was riding him. God knows, I didn't intend 
 to ; but he fired at me, and I hit harder than I 
 thought." 
 
 Sidney and the foreman ran out together to where 
 Jerry's late rider lay on the grass. 
 
 " He's done for," said the foreman, bending over 
 the prostrate figure, but taking the precaution to have 
 a revolver in his hand. " He's got his dose, thank 
 God. This is the man who murdered your uncle. 
 Think of him being knocked over with a city cane, 
 and think of the old man's revenge money coming 
 back to the family again ! "
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 
 
 THE Monarch in the Arabian story had an ointment 
 which, put upon the right eye, enabled him to see 
 through the walls of houses. If the Arabian despot 
 had passed along a narrow street leading into a main 
 thoroughfare of London, one night just before the 
 clock struck twelve, he would have beheld, in a dingy 
 back room of a large building, a very strange sight. 
 He would have seen King Charles the First seated in 
 friendly converse with none other than Oliver Crom- 
 well. 
 
 The room in which these two noted people sat had 
 no carpet and but few chairs. A shelf extended along 
 one side of the apartment, and it was covered with 
 mugs containing paint and grease. Brushes were 
 littered about, and a wig lay in a corner. A mirror 
 stood at either end of the shelf, and beside these, 
 flared two gas-jets protected by wire baskets. Hang- 
 ing from nails driven in the walls were coats, waist- 
 coats, and trousers of more modern cut than the cos- 
 tumes worn by the two men. 
 
 King Charles, with his pointed beard and his ruffles 
 of lace, leaned picturesquely back in his chair, which 
 rested against the wall. He was smoking a very black 
 brier-root pipe, and perhaps his Majesty enjoyed the
 
 206 REVENGE ! 
 
 weed all the more that there was just above his head, 
 tacked to the wall, a large placard, containing the 
 words, " No smoking allowed in this room, or in any 
 other part of the theatre." 
 
 Cromwell, in more sober garments, had an even 
 jauntier attitude than the King, for he sat astride the 
 chair, with his chin resting on the back of it, smoking 
 a cigarette in a meerschaum holder. 
 
 " I'm too old, my boy," said the King, " and too fond 
 of my comfort ; besides, I have no longer any am- 
 bition. When an actor once realises that he will 
 never be a Charles Kean or a Macready, then come 
 peace and the enjoyment of life. Now, with you it is 
 different : you are, if I may say so in deep affection, 
 young and foolish. Your project is a most hare- 
 brained scheme. You are throwing away all you have 
 already won." 
 
 " Good gracious ! " cried Cromwell, impatiently, 
 " what have I won ? " 
 
 " You have certainly won something," resumed the 
 elder, calmly, " when a person of your excitable nature 
 can play so well the sombre, taciturn character of 
 Cromwell. You have mounted several rungs, and the 
 whole ladder lifts itself up before you. You have 
 mastered two or three languages, while I know but 
 one, and that imperfectly. You have studied the 
 foreign drama, while I have not even read all the 
 plays of Shakespeare. I can do a hundred parts con- 
 ventionally well. You will, some day, do a great part 
 as no other man on earth can act it, and then fame 
 will come to you. Now you propose recklessly to 
 throw all this away and go into the wilds of Africa."
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 207 
 
 " The particular ladder you offer me," said Cromwell, 
 " I have no desire to climb ; I am sick of the smell of 
 the footlights and the whole atmosphere of the theatre. 
 I am tired of the unreality of the life we lead. Why 
 not be a hero instead of mimicking one? " 
 
 " But, my dear boy," said the King, filling his pipe 
 again, " look at the practical side of things. It costs 
 a fortune to fit out an African expedition. Where 
 are you to get the money ? " 
 
 This question sounded more natural from the lips 
 of the King than did the answer from the lips of 
 Cromwell. 
 
 " There has been too much force and too much 
 expenditure about African travel. I do not intend to 
 cross the Continent with arms and the munitions of 
 war. As you remarked a while ago, I know several 
 European languages, and if you will forgive what 
 sounds like boasting, I may say that I have a gift for 
 picking up tongues. I have money enough to fit my- 
 self out with some necessary scientific instruments, 
 and to pay my passage to the coast. Once there, I 
 shall win my way across the Continent through love 
 and not through fear." 
 
 "You will lose your head," said King Charles; 
 " they don't understand that sort of thing out there, 
 and, besides, the idea is not original. Didn't Living- 
 stone try that tack?" 
 
 " Yes, but people have forgotten Livingstone and 
 his methods. It is now the explosive bullet and the 
 elephant gun. I intend to learn the language of the 
 different native tribes I meet, and if a chief opposes 
 me and will not allow me to pass through his terri-
 
 2o8 REVENGE! 
 
 tory, and if I find I cannot win him over to my side 
 by persuasive talk, then I shall go round." 
 
 "And what is to be the outcome of it all?" cried 
 Charles. " What is your object ? " 
 
 " Fame, my boy, fame," cried Cromwell, enthusias- 
 tically, flinging the chair from under him and pacing 
 the narrow room. " If I can get from coast to coast 
 without taking the life of a single native, won't that 
 be something greater than all the play-acting from 
 now till Doomsday ? " 
 
 " I suppose it will," said the King, gloomily ; " but 
 you must remember you are the only friend I have, 
 and I have reached an age when a man does not pick 
 up friends readily." 
 
 Cromwell stopped in his walk and grasped the 
 King by the hand. " Are you not the only friend I 
 have," he said; "and why can you not abandon this 
 ghastly sham and come with me, as I asked you to at 
 first? How can you hesitate when you think of the 
 glorious freedom of the African forest, and compare it 
 with this cribbed and cabined and confined business 
 we are now at ?' 
 
 The King shook his head slowly, and knocked the 
 ashes from his pipe. He seemed to have some trouble 
 in keeping it alight, probably because of the prohibi- 
 tion on the wall. 
 
 " As I said before," replied the King, " I am too 
 old. There are no pubs in the African forest where a 
 man can get a glass of beer when he wants it. No, 
 Ormond, African travel is not for me. If you are 
 resolved to go, go and God bless you ; I will stay at 
 home and carefully nurse your fame. I shall from
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 209 
 
 time to time drop appetising little paragraphs into 
 the papers about your wanderings, and when you are 
 ready to come back to England, all England will be 
 ready to listen to you. You know how interest is 
 worked up in the theatrical business by judicious 
 puffing in the papers, and I imagine African explora- 
 tion requires much the same treatment. If it were 
 not for the Press, my boy, you could explore Africa 
 till you were blind and nobody would hear a word 
 about it, so I will be your advance agent and make 
 ready for your home-coming." 
 
 At this point in the conversation between these two 
 historic characters, the janitor of the theatre put his 
 head into the room and reminded the celebrities that 
 it was very late, whereupon both King and Com- 
 moner rose, with some reluctance, and washed them- 
 selves ; the King becoming, when he put on the 
 ordinary dress of an Englishman, Mr. James Spence, 
 while Cromwell, after a similar transformation, be- 
 came Mr. Sidney Ormond ; and thus, with nothing of 
 Royalty or Dictatorship about them, the two strolled 
 up the narrow street into the main thoroughfare and 
 entered their favourite midnight restaurant, where, 
 over a belated meal, they continued the discussion of 
 the African project, which Spence persisted in looking 
 upon as one of the maddest expeditions that had ever 
 come to his knowledge ; but 'the talk was futile, as 
 most talk is, and within a month from that time 
 Ormond was on the ocean, his face set towards Africa. 
 
 Another man took Ormond's place at the theatre, 
 and Spence continued to play his part, as the papers 
 said, in his usual acceptable manner. He heard from
 
 210 REVENGE! 
 
 his friend, in due course, when he landed. Then at 
 intervals came one or two letters showing how he had 
 surmounted the numerous difficulties with which he 
 had to contend. After a long interval came a letter 
 from the interior of Africa, sent to the coast by mes- 
 senger. Although at the beginning of this letter 
 Ormond said he had but faint hope of reaching his 
 destination, he, nevertheless, gave a very complete 
 account of his wanderings and dealings with the na- 
 tives, and up to that point his journey seemed to be 
 most satisfactory. He inclosed several photographs, 
 mostly very bad ones, which he had managed to 
 develop and print in the wilderness. One, however, 
 of himself was easily recognisable, and Spence had it 
 copied and enlarged, hanging the framed enlargement 
 in whatever dressing-room fate assigned to him ; for 
 Spence never had a long engagement at any one theatre. 
 He was a useful man who could take any part, but 
 had no specialty, and London was full of such. 
 
 For a long time he heard nothing from his friend, 
 and the newspaper men to whom Spence indefatigably 
 furnished interesting items about the lone explorer, 
 began to look upon Ormond as an African Mrs. 
 Harris, and the paragraphs, to Spence's deep regret, 
 failed to appear. The journalists, who were a flippant 
 lot, used to accost Spence with " Well, Jimmy, how's 
 your African friend ? " and the more he tried to con- 
 vince them, the less they believed in the peace-loving 
 traveller. 
 
 At last there came a final letter from Africa, a 
 letter that filled the tender, middle-aged heart of 
 Spence with the deepest grief he had ever known.
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 211 
 
 It was written in a shaky hand, and the writer began 
 by saying that he knew neither the date nor his 
 locality. He had been ill and delirious with fever, 
 and was now, at last, in his right mind, but felt the 
 grip of death upon him. The natives had told him 
 that no one ever recovered from the malady he had 
 caught in the swamp, and his own feelings led him to 
 believe that his case was hopeless. The natives had 
 been very kind to him throughout, and his followers 
 had promised to bring his boxes to the coast. The 
 boxes contained the collections he had made, and 
 also his complete journal, which he had written up 
 to the day he became ill. 
 
 Ormond begged his friend to hand over his belong- 
 ings to the Geographical Society, and to arrange for 
 the publication of his journal, if possible. It might 
 secure for him the fame he had died to achieve, or it 
 might not ; but, he added, he left the whole conduct 
 of the affair unreservedly to his friend, in whom he 
 had that love and confidence which a man gives to 
 another man but once in his life when he is young. 
 The tears were in Jimmy's eyes long before he had 
 finished the letter. 
 
 He turned to another letter he had received by the 
 same mail, and which also bore the South African 
 stamp upon it. Hoping to find some news of his 
 friend he broke the seal, but it was merely an inti- 
 mation from the steamship company that half-a-dozen 
 boxes remained at the southern terminus of the line 
 addressed to him ; but, they said, until they were 
 assured the freight upon them to Southampton would 
 be paid, they would not be forwarded.
 
 212 REVENGE! 
 
 A week later, the London papers announced in 
 large type, " Mysterious disappearance of an actor." 
 The well-known actor, Mr. James Spence, had left the 
 theatre in which he had been playing the part of 
 Joseph to a great actor's Richelieu, and had not been 
 heard of since. The janitor remembered him leaving 
 that night, for he had not returned his salutation, 
 which was most unusual. His friends had noticed 
 that for a few days previous to his disappearance he 
 had been apparently in deep dejection, and fears were 
 entertained. One journalist said jestingly that prob- 
 ably Jimmy had gone to see what had become of his 
 African friend ; but the joke, such as it was, was not 
 favourably received, for when a man is called Jimmy 
 until late in life, it shows that people have an affection 
 for him, and every one who knew Spence was sorry 
 he had disappeared, and hoped that no evil had over- 
 taken him. 
 
 It was a year after the disappearance that a wan, 
 living skeleton staggered out of the wilderness in 
 Africa, and blindly groped his way to the coast as 
 a man might who had lived long in darkness and 
 found the light too strong for his eyes. He managed 
 to reach a port, and there took steamer homeward 
 bound for Southampton. The sea-breezes revived 
 him somewhat, but it was evident to all the passengers 
 that he had passed through a desperate illness. It 
 was just a toss-up whether he could live until he saw 
 England again. It was impossible to guess at his age, 
 so heavy a hand had disease laid upon him, and he 
 did not seem to care to make acquaintances, but kept 
 much to himself, sitting wrapped up in his chair, gaz- 
 ing with a tired-out look at the green ocean.
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 213 
 
 A young girl frequently sat in a chair near him, 
 ostensibly reading, but more often glancing sym- 
 pathetically at the wan figure beside her. Many times 
 she seemed about to speak to him, but apparently 
 hesitated to do so, for the man took no notice of his 
 fellow-passengers. At length, however, she mustered 
 up courage to address him, and said : " There is a 
 good story in this magazine : perhaps you would like 
 to read it?" 
 
 He turned his eyes from the sea and rested them 
 vacantly upon her face for a moment. His dark 
 moustache added to the pallor of his face, but did not 
 conceal the faint smile that came to his lips ; he had 
 heard her, but had not understood. 
 
 " What did you say ? " he asked, gently. 
 
 " I said there was a good story here, entitled 
 'Author! Author!' and I thought you might like to 
 read it," and the girl blushed very prettily as she said 
 this, for the man looked younger than he had done 
 before he smiled. 
 
 " I am afraid," said the man, slowly, " that I have for- 
 gotten how to read. It is a long time since I have 
 seen a book or a magazine. Won't you tell me the 
 story ? I would much rather hear it from you than 
 make an attempt to read it myself in the magazine." 
 
 "Oh," she cried, breathlessly, " I'm not sure that I 
 could tell it ; at any rate, not as well as the author 
 does ; but I will read it to you if you like." 
 
 The story was about a man who had written a play, 
 and who thought, as every playwright thinks, that 
 it was a great addition to the drama, and would bring 
 him fame and fortune. He took this play to a London
 
 214 REVENGE! 
 
 manager, but heard nothing of it for a long time, and 
 at last it was returned to him. Then, on going to a 
 first night at the theatre to see a new tragedy, which 
 this manager called his own, he was amazed to see his 
 rejected play, with certain changes, produced upon 
 the stage, and when the cry " Author! Author!" 
 arose, he stood up in his place ; but illness and priva- 
 tion had done their work, and he died proclaiming 
 himself the author of the play. 
 
 " Ah," said the man, when the reading was finished, 
 " I cannot tell you how much the story has interested 
 me. I once was an actor myself, and anything per- 
 taining to the stage appeals to me, although it is 
 years since I saw a theatre. It must be hard luck to 
 work for fame and then be cheated out of it, as was 
 the man in the tale ; but I suppose it sometimes 
 happens, although, for the honesty of human nature, 
 I hope not very often." 
 
 " Did you act under your own name, or did you 
 follow the fashion so many of the profession adopt ? " 
 asked the girl, evidently interested when he spoke of 
 the theatre. 
 
 The young man laughed for, perhaps, the first time 
 on the voyage. " Oh," he answered, " I was not at all 
 noted. I acted only in minor parts, and always under 
 my own name, which, doubtless, you have never 
 heard it is Sidney Ormond." 
 
 " What ! " cried the girl in amazement ; " not Sid- 
 ney Ormond the African traveller ? " 
 
 The young man turned his wan face and large, 
 melancholy eyes upon his questioner. 
 
 " I am certainly Sidney Ormond, an African travel-
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 215 
 
 ler, but I don't think I deserve the ' the,' you know. 
 I don't imagine anyone has heard of me through my 
 travelling any more than through my acting." 
 
 " The Sidney Ormond I mean," she said, " went 
 through Africa without firing a shot ; whose book, 
 A Mission of Peace, has been such a success, both 
 in England and America. But, of course, you cannot 
 be he ; for I remember that Sidney Ormond is now 
 lecturing in England to tremendous audiences all over 
 the country. The Royal Geographical Society has 
 given him medals or degrees, or something of that 
 sort perhaps it was Oxford that gave the degree. I am 
 sorry I haven't his book with me, it would be sure to 
 interest you ; but some one on board is almost certain 
 to have it, and I will try to get it for you. 1 gave 
 mine to a friend in Cape Town. What a funny thing 
 it is that the two names should be exactly the same." 
 
 " It is very strange," said Ormond gloomily, and his 
 eyes again sought the horizon and he seemed to 
 relapse into his usual melancholy. 
 
 The girl arose from her seat, saying she would try 
 to find the book, and left him there meditating. When 
 she came back, after the lapse of half an hour or so, 
 she found him sitting just as she had left him, with his 
 sad eyes on the sad sea. The girl had a volume in 
 her hand. " There," she said, " I knew there would be 
 a copy on board, but I am more bewildered than ever ; 
 the frontispiece is an exact portrait of you, only you 
 are dressed differently and do not look " the girl 
 hesitated, " so ill as when you came on board." 
 
 Ormond looked up at the girl with a smile, and 
 said
 
 216 REVENGE ! 
 
 " You might say with truth, so ill as I look now." 
 
 " Oh, the voyage has done you good. YOU seem 
 ever so much better than when you came on board." 
 
 "Yes, I think that is so," said Ormond, reaching for 
 the volume she held in her hand. He opened it at 
 the frontispiece and gazed long at the picture. 
 
 The girl sat down beside him and watched his face, 
 glancing from it to the book. 
 
 " It seems to me," she said at last, " that the coin- 
 cidence is becoming more and more striking. Have 
 you ever seen that portrait before?" 
 
 "Yes," said Ormond slowly. "I recognise it as a 
 portrait I took of myself in the interior of Africa 
 which I sent to a dear friend of mine ; in fact, the only 
 friend I had in England. I think I wrote him about 
 getting together a book out of the materials I sent 
 him, but I am not sure. I was very ill at the time 
 I wrote him my last letter. I thought I was going to 
 die, and told him so. I feel somewhat bewildered, 
 and don't quite understand it all." 
 
 " I understand it," cried the girl, her face blazing 
 with indignation. " Your friend is a traitor. He is 
 reaping the reward that should have been yours, and 
 so poses as the African traveller, the real Ormond. 
 You must put a stop to it when you reach England, 
 and expose his treachery to the whole country." 
 
 Ormond shook his head slowly and said 
 
 " I cannot imagine Jimmy Spence a traitor. If it 
 were only the book, that could be, I think, easily 
 explained, for I sent him all my notes of travel and 
 materials ; but I cannot understand him taking the 
 medals or degrees."
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 217 
 
 The girl made a quick gesture of impatience. 
 
 "Such things," she said, "cannot be explained. 
 You must confront him and expose him." 
 
 " No," said Ormond, " I shall not confront him. I 
 must think over the matter for a time. I am not 
 quick at thinking, at least just now, in the face of this 
 difficulty. Everything seemed plain and simple before, 
 but if Jimmy Spence has stepped into my shoes, he 
 is welcome to them. Ever since I'came out of Africa 
 I seem to have lost all ambition. Nothing appears to 
 be worth while now." 
 
 " Oh I " cried the girl, " that is because you are in 
 ill-health. You will be yourself again when you reach 
 England. Don't let this trouble you now there is 
 plenty of time to think it all out before we arrive. 
 I am sorry I spoke about it ; but, you see, I was taken 
 by surprise when you mentioned your name." 
 
 " I am very glad you spoke to me," said Ormond, 
 in a more cheerful voice. " The mere fact that you 
 have talked with me has encouraged me wonderfully. 
 I cannot tell how much this conversation has been to 
 me. I am a lone man, with only one friend in the 
 world I am afraid I must add now, without even one 
 friend in the world. I am grateful for your interest 
 in me, even though it was only compassion for a 
 wreck for a derelict, floating about on the sea of 
 life." 
 
 There were tears in the girl's eyes, and she did not 
 speak for a moment, then she laid her hand softly 
 on Ormond's arm, and said, " You are not a wreck, 
 far from it. You sit alone too much, and I am afraid 
 that what I have thoughtlessly said has added to
 
 218 REVENGE! 
 
 your troubles." The girl paused in her talk, but after 
 a moment added 
 
 " Don't you think you could walk the deck for a 
 little?" 
 
 " I don't know about walking," said Ormond, with 
 a little laugh, "but I'll come with you if you don't 
 mind an encumbrance." 
 
 He rose somewhat unsteadily, and she took his arm. 
 
 " You must look upon me as your physician," she 
 said cheerfully, " and I shall insist that my orders are 
 obeyed." 
 
 " I shall be delighted to be under your charge," said 
 Ormond, " but may I not know my physician's 
 name?" 
 
 The girl blushed deeply when she realised that she 
 had had such a long conversation with one to whom 
 she had never been introduced. She had regarded 
 him as an invalid, who needed a few words of cheerful 
 encouragement, but as he stood up she saw that he 
 was much younger than his face and appearance had 
 led her to suppose. 
 
 " My name is Mary Radford," she said. 
 
 " Miss Mary Radford ? " inquired Ormond. 
 
 " Miss Mary Radford." 
 
 That walk on the deck was the first of many, and it 
 soon became evident to Ormond that he was rapidly 
 becoming his old self again. If he had lost a friend 
 in England, he had certainly found another on board 
 ship to whom he was getting more and more attached 
 as time went on. The only point of disagreement 
 between them was in regard to the confronting of 
 Jimmy Spence. Ormond was determined in his
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 219 
 
 resolve not to interfere with Jimmy and his ill-gotten 
 fame. 
 
 As the voyage was nearing its end, Ormond and 
 Miss Radford stood together leaning over the rail 
 conversing quietly. They had become very great 
 friends indeed. 
 
 " But if you will not expose this man," said Miss 
 Radford, <l what then is your purpose when you land ? 
 Are you going back to the stage again?" 
 
 " I don't think so," replied Ormond. " I shall try 
 to get something to do and live quietly for awhile." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the girl, " I have no patience with 
 you." 
 
 " I am sorry for that, Mary," said Ormond, " for, if 
 I can make a living, I intend asking you to be my 
 wife." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the girl breathlessly, turning her head 
 away. 
 
 " Do you think I would have any chance ? " asked 
 Ormond. 
 
 "Of making a living?" inquired the girl, after a 
 moment's silence. 
 
 " No. I am sure of making a living, for I have 
 always done so ; therefore answer my question. 
 Mary, do you think I would have any chance?" 
 and he placed his hand softly over hers, which lay on 
 the ship's rail. The girl did not answer, but she did 
 not withdraw her hand ; she gazed down at the bright 
 green water with its tinge of foam. 
 
 " I suppose you know," she said at length, " that 
 you have every chance, and you are merely pretend- 
 ing ignorance to make it easier for me, because I have
 
 220 REVENGE! 
 
 simply flung myself at your head ever since we began 
 the voyage." 
 
 " I am not pretending, Mary," he said. " What I 
 feared was that your interest was only that of a nurse 
 in a somewhat backward patient. I was afraid I had 
 your sympathy, but not your love. Perhaps such was 
 the case at first." 
 
 " Perhaps such was the case at first, but it is far 
 from being the truth now Sidney." 
 
 The young man made a motion to approach nearer 
 to her, but the girl drew away, whispering 
 
 " There are other people besides ourselves on deck, 
 remember." 
 
 " I don't believe it," said Ormond, gazing fondly at 
 her. " I can see no one but you. I believe we are 
 floating alone on the ocean together, and that there is 
 no one else in the wide world but our two selves. I 
 thought I went to Africa for fame, but I see I really 
 went to find you. What I sought seems poor com- 
 pared to what I have found." 
 
 " Perhaps," said the girl, looking shyly at him, 
 " Fame is waiting as anxiously for you to woo her as 
 as another person waited. Fame is a shameless 
 hussy, you know." 
 
 The young man shook his head. 
 
 " No. Fame has jilted me once. I won't give her 
 another chance." 
 
 So those who were twain sailed gently into South- 
 ampton Docks, resolved to be one when the gods were 
 willing. 
 
 Mary Radford's people were there to meet her, and 
 Ormond went up to London alone, beginning his short
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 221 
 
 railway journey with a return of the melancholy that 
 had oppressed him during the first part of his long 
 voyage. He felt once more alone in the world, now 
 that the bright presence of his sweetheart was with- 
 drawn, and he was saddened by the thought that the 
 telegram he had hoped to send to Jimmy Spence, ex- 
 ultingly announcing his arrival, would never be sent. 
 In a newspaper he bought at the station, he saw that 
 the African traveller, Sidney Ormond, was to be 
 received by the Mayor and Corporation of a Midland 
 town, and presented with the freedom of the city. 
 The traveller was to lecture on his exploits in the 
 town so honouring him, that day week. Ormond put 
 down the paper with a sigh, and turned his thoughts 
 to the girl from whom he had so lately parted. A 
 true sweetheart is a pleasanter subject for meditation 
 than a false friend. 
 
 Mary also saw the announcement in the paper, 
 and anger tightened her lips and brought additional 
 colour to her cheeks. Seeing how averse her lover was 
 to taking any action against his former friend, she had 
 ceased to urge him, but she had quietly made up her 
 own mind to be herself the goddess of the machine. 
 
 On the night the bogus African traveller was to 
 lecture in the Midland town, Mary Radford was a 
 unit in the very large audience that greeted him. 
 When he came on the platform she was so amazed at 
 his personal appearance that she cried out, but for- 
 tunately her exclamation was lost in the applause that 
 greeted the lecturer. The man was the exact dupli- 
 cate of her betrothed. 
 
 She listened to the lecture in a daze ; it seemed to
 
 222 REVENGE! 
 
 her that even the tones of the lecturer's voice were 
 those of her lover. She paid little heed to the matter 
 of his discourse, but allowed her mind to dwell more 
 on the coming interview, wondering what excuses the 
 fraudulent traveller would make for his perfidy. 
 When the lecture was over, and the usual vote of 
 thanks had been tendered and accepted, Mary Rad- 
 ford still sat there while the rest of the audience 
 slowly filtered out of the large hall. She rose at last, 
 nerving herself for the coming meeting, and went to 
 the side door, where she told the man on duty that 
 she wished to see the lecturer. The man said that it 
 was impossible for Mr. Ormond to see any one at that 
 moment ; there was to be a big supper ; he was to 
 meet the Mayor and Corporation ; and so the lecturer 
 had said he could see no one. 
 
 " Will you take a note to him if I write it? " asked 
 the girl. 
 
 " I will send it in to him ; but it's no use, he won't 
 see you. He refused to see even the reporters," said 
 the door-keeper, as if that were final, and a man who 
 would deny himself to the reporters would not admit 
 Royalty itself. 
 
 Mary wrote on a slip of paper the words, " The 
 affianced wife of the real Sidney Ormond would like 
 to see you for a few moments," and this brief note was 
 taken in to the lecturer. 
 
 The door-keeper's faith in the constancy of public 
 men was rudely shaken a few minutes later, when the 
 messenger returned with orders that the lady was to 
 be admitted at once. 
 
 When Mary entered the green-room of the lecture
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 223 
 
 hall she saw the double of her lover standing near the 
 fire, her note in his hand and a look of incredulity on 
 his face. 
 
 The girl barely entered the room, and, closing the 
 door, stood with her back against it. He was the first 
 to speak. 
 
 "I thought Sidney had told me everything; I never 
 knew he was acquainted with a young lady, much less 
 engaged to her." 
 
 <l You admit, then, that you are not the true Sidney 
 Ormond ? " 
 
 " I admit it to you, of course, if you were to have 
 been his wife." 
 
 " I am to be his wife, I hope." 
 
 " But Sidney, poor fellow, is dead ; dead in the 
 wilds of Africa." 
 
 " You will be shocked to learn that such is not the 
 case, and that your imposture must come to an end. 
 Perhaps you counted on his friendship for you, and 
 thought that even if he did return he would not 
 expose you. In that you were quite right, but you 
 did not count on me. Sidney Ormond is at this 
 moment in London, Mr. Spence." 
 
 Jimmy Spence, paying no attention to the accusa- 
 tions of the girl, gave a war-whoop which had formerly 
 been so effective in the second act of " Pocahontas," 
 in which Jimmy had enacted the noble savage, and 
 then he danced a jig that had done service in Colleen 
 Bawn. While the amazed girl watched these antics, 
 Jimmy suddenly swooped down upon her, caught her 
 around the waist, and whirled her wildly around the 
 room. Setting her down in a corner, Jimmy became
 
 224 REVENGE! 
 
 himself again, and dabbed his heated brow with his 
 handkerchief carefully, so as not to disturb the makeup. 
 
 " Sidney in England again? That's too good news 
 to be true. Say it again, my girl, I can hardly be- 
 lieve it. Why didn't he come with you ? Is he ill ? " 
 
 " He has been very ill." 
 
 "Ah, that's it, poor fellow. I knew nothing else 
 would have kept him. And then when he tele- 
 graphed to me at the old address, on landing, of course, 
 there was no reply, because, you see, I had disap- 
 peared. But Sid wouldn't know anything about that, 
 and so he must be wondering what has become of me. 
 I'll have a great story to tell him when we meet ; al- 
 most as good as his own African experiences. We'll go 
 right up to London to-night, as soon as this confounded 
 supper is over. And what is your name, my girl ? " 
 
 " Mary Radford." 
 
 " And you're engaged to old Sid, eh? Well ! well ! 
 well ! well ! This is great news. You mustn't mind 
 my capers, Mary, my dear; you see, I'm the only 
 friend Sid has, and I'm old enough to be your father. 
 I look young now, but you wait till the paint comes 
 off. Have you any money ? I mean, to live on when 
 you're married ; because I know Sidney never had 
 much." 
 
 " I haven't very much either," said Mary, with a sigh. 
 
 Jimmy jumped up and paced the room in great glee, 
 laughing and slapping his thigh. 
 
 " That's first rate," he cried. " Why, Mary, I've 
 got over 20,000 in the bank saved up for you two. 
 The book and lectures, you know. I don't believe 
 Sid himself could have done as well, for he always
 
 THE UNDERSTUDY. 225 
 
 was careless with money he's often lent me the last 
 penny he had, and never kept any account of it ; and 
 I never thought of paying it back, either, until he was 
 gone, and then it worried me." 
 
 The messenger put his head into the room, and 
 said the Mayor and the Corporation were waiting. 
 
 " Oh, hang the Mayor and the Corporation ! " cried 
 Jimmy ; then, suddenly recollecting himself, he added, 
 hastily, " No, don't do that. Just give them Jimmy 
 I mean Sidney Ormond's compliments, and tell his 
 Worship that I have just had some very important 
 news from Africa, but will be with him directly." 
 
 When the messenger was gone Jimmy continued in 
 high feather. " What a time we shall have in London. 
 We'll all three go to the old familiar theatre, yes, and 
 by Jove, we'll pay for our seats ; that will be a novelty. 
 Then we will have supper where Sid and I used to 
 eat. Sidney shall talk, and you and I will listen ; 
 then I shall talk, and you and Sid will listen. You 
 see, my dear, I've been to Africa too. When I got 
 Sidney's letter saying he was dying I just moped 
 about and was of no use to anybody. Then I made 
 up my mind what to do. Sid had died for fame, and 
 it wasn't just he shouldn't get what he paid so dearly 
 for. I gathered together what money I could and 
 went to Africa, steerage. I found I couldn't do any- 
 thing there about searching for Sid, so I resolved, to 
 be his understudy and bring fame to him, if it were 
 possible. I sank my own identity and made up as 
 Sidney Ormond, took his boxes and sailed for South- 
 ampton. I have been his understudy ever since, 
 for, after all, I always had a hope he would come back
 
 226 REVENGE! 
 
 some day, and then everything would be ready for 
 him to take the principal role, and let the old under- 
 study go back to the boards again and resume com- 
 peting with the reputation of Macready. If Sid 
 hadn't come back in another year, I was going to take 
 a lecturing trip in America, and when that was done, 
 I intended to set out in great state for Africa, disap- 
 pear into the forest as Sidney Ormond, wash the paint 
 off and come out as Jimmy Spence. Then Sidney 
 Ormond's fame would -have been secure, for they 
 would be always sending out relief expeditions after 
 him and not finding him, while I would be growing 
 old on the boards and bragging what a great man my 
 friend, Sidney Ormond, was." 
 
 There were tears in the girl's eyes as she rose and 
 took Jimmy's hand. 
 
 " No man has ever been so true a friend to his friend 
 as you have been," she said. 
 
 " Oh, bless you, yes," cried Jimmy, jauntily. " Sid 
 would have done the same for me. But he is luckier 
 in having you than in having his friend, although I 
 don't deny I've been a good friend to him. Yes, my 
 dear, he is lucky in having a plucky girl like you. I 
 missed that somehow when I was young, having my 
 head full of Macready nonsense, and I missed being a 
 Macready too. I've always been a sort of understudy, 
 so you see the part comes easy to me. Now I must 
 be off to that confounded Mayor and Corporation, 
 I had almost forgotten them, but I must keep up the 
 character for Sidney's sake. But this is the last act, 
 my dear. To-morrow I'll turn over the part of ex- 
 plorer to the real actor ... to the star."
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 
 
 I. BESSIE'S BEHAVIOUR. 
 
 ON one point Miss Bessie Durand agreed with 
 Alexander von Humboldt in fact, she even went 
 further than that celebrated man, for while he as- 
 serted that Thun was one of the three most beautiful 
 spots on earth, Bessie held that this Swiss town was ab- 
 solutely the most perfectly lovely place she had ever 
 visited. Her reason for this conclusion differed from 
 that of Humboldt. The latter, being a mere man, 
 had been influenced by the situation of the town, the 
 rapid, foaming river, the placid green lake, the high 
 mountains all around, the snow-peaks to the east, the 
 ancient castle overlooking everything, and the quaint 
 streets with the pavements up at the first floors. 
 
 Bessie had an eye for these things, of course, but 
 while waterfalls and profound ravines were all very 
 well in their way, her hotel had to be filled with the 
 right sort of company before any spot on earth was 
 entirely satisfactory to Bessie. She did not care to 
 be out of humanity's reach, nor to take her small 
 journeys alone ; she liked to hear the sweet music of 
 speech, and if she started at the sound of her own, 
 Bessie would have been on the jump all day, for she 
 was a brilliant and effusive talker.
 
 228 REVENGE! 
 
 So it happened that, in touring through Switzer- 
 land, Bessie and her mother (somehow people always 
 placed Bessie's name before that of her mother, who 
 was a quiet little unobtrusive woman) stopped at Thun, 
 intending to stay for a day, as most people do, but 
 when Bessie found the big hotel simply swarming 
 with nice young men, she told her mother that the 
 local guide-book asserted that Humboldt had once 
 said Thun was one of the three most lovely places on 
 earth, and, therefore, they ought to stay there and 
 enjoy its beauties, which they at once proceeded to 
 do. It must not be imagined from this that Bessie 
 was particularly fond of young jnen. Such was far 
 from being the case. She merely liked to have them 
 propose to her, which was certainly a laudable ambi- 
 tion, but she invariably refused them, which went to 
 show that she was not, as her enemies stated, always 
 in love with somebody. The fact was that Miss 
 Bessie Durand's motives were entirely misunderstood 
 by an unappreciative world. Was she to be blamed 
 because young men wanted her to marry them ? Cer- 
 tainly not. It was not her fault that she was pretty 
 and sweet, and that young men, as a rule, liked to 
 talk with her rather than with any one else in the 
 neighbourhood. Many of her detractors would very 
 likely have given much to have had Bessie's various 
 charms of face, figure, and manner. This is a jealous 
 world, and people delight in saying spiteful little things 
 about those more favoured by Providence than them- 
 selves. It must, however, be admitted that Bessie 
 had a certain cooing, confidential way with people 
 that may have misled some of the young men who
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 229 
 
 ultimately proposed to her into imagining that they 
 were special favourites with the young lady. She 
 took a kindly interest in their affairs, and very shortly 
 after making her acquaintance, most young men found 
 themselves pouring into her sympathetic ear all their 
 hopes and aspirations. Bessie's ear was very shell- 
 like and beautiful as well as sympathetic, so that 
 one can hardly say the young men were to blame any 
 more than Bessie was. Nearly everybody in this 
 world wants to talk of himself or herself, as the case 
 may be, and so it is no wonder that a person like 
 Bessie, who is willing to listen while other people talk 
 of themselves, is popular. Among the many billions 
 who inhabit this planet, there are too many talkers 
 and too few listeners ; and although Bessie was un- 
 doubtedly a brilliant talker on occasion, there is no 
 doubt that her many victories resulted more from her 
 appreciative qualities as a talented listener than from 
 the entertaining charms of her conversation. Those 
 women who have had so much to say about Bessie's 
 behaviour might well take a leaf from her book in this 
 respect. They would find, if they had even passably 
 good looks, that proposals would be more frequent. 
 Of course there is no use in denying that Bessie's 
 eyes had much to do with bringing young men to the 
 point. Her eyes were large and dark, and they had 
 an entrancing habit of softening just at the right mo- 
 ment, when there came into them a sweet, trustful, 
 yearning look that was simply impossible to resist. 
 They gazed thus at a young man when he was telling 
 in low whispers how he hoped to make the world 
 wiser and better by his presence in it, or when he
 
 230 REVENGE! 
 
 narrated some incident of great danger in which he 
 took part, where (unconsciously, perhaps, on the 
 teller's part) his own heroism was shown forth to the 
 best possible advantage. Then Bessie's eyes would 
 grow large and humid and tender, and a subdued 
 light would come into them as she hung breathlessly 
 on his words. Did not Desdemona capture Othello 
 merely by listening to a recital of his own daring 
 deeds, which were, doubtless, very greatly exagger- 
 ated? 
 
 The young men at the big hotel in Thun were 
 clad mostly in knickerbockers, and many of them had 
 alpenstocks of their own. It soon became their de- 
 light to sit on the terrace in front of the hotel during 
 the pleasant summer evenings and relate to Bessie 
 their hairbreath escapes, the continuous murmur of the 
 River Aare forming a soothing chorus to their dramatic 
 narrations. At least a dozen young men hovered 
 round the girl, willing and eager to confide in her ; 
 but while Bessie was smiling and kind to them all, it 
 was soon evident that some special one was her 
 favourite, and then the rest hung hopelessly back. 
 Things would go wonderfully well for this lucky young 
 fellow for a day or two, and he usually became so of- 
 fensively conceited in his bearing towards the rest, 
 that the wonder is he escaped without personal ven- 
 geance being wreaked upon him ; then all at once he 
 would pack up his belongings and gloomily depart for 
 Berne or Interlaken, depending on whether his ulti- 
 mate destination was west or east. The young men 
 remaining invariably tried not to look jubilant at the 
 sudden departure, while the ladies staying at the hotel
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 231 
 
 began to say hard things of Bessie, going even so far 
 as to assert that she was a heartless flirt. How little 
 do we know the motives of our fellow-creatures ! How 
 prone we are to misjudge the actions of others ! 
 Bessie was no flirt, but a high-minded, conscientious 
 girl, with an ambition an ambition which she did not 
 babble about to the world, and therefore the world 
 failed to appreciate her, as it nearly always fails to 
 appreciate those who do not take it into their confi- 
 dence. 
 
 It came to be currently reported in the hotel that 
 Bessie had refused no less than seven of the young 
 men who had been staying there, and as these young 
 men had, one after another, packed up and departed, 
 either by the last train at night or the earliest in the 
 morning, the proprietor began to wonder what the 
 matter was, especially as each of the departing guests 
 had but a short time before expressed renewed delight 
 with the hotel and its surroundings. Several of them 
 had stated to the proprietor that they had abandoned 
 their intention of proceeding further with their Swiss 
 tour, so satisfied were they with Thun and all its be- 
 longings. Thus did the flattering opinion of Alexan- 
 der von Humboldt seem about to become general, to 
 the great delight of the hotel proprietor, when, with- 
 out warning, these young men had gloomily deserted 
 Thun, while its beauty undoubtedly remained un- 
 changed. Naturally the good man who owned the hotel 
 was bewildered, and began to think that, after all, the 
 English were an uncertain, mind-changing race. 
 
 Among the guests there was one young fellew who 
 was quite as much perplexed as the proprietor.
 
 232 REVENGE! 
 
 Archie Severance was one of the last to fall under the 
 spell of Bessie if, indeed, it is correct to speak of 
 Archie falling at all. He was a very deliberate young 
 man, not given to doing anything precipitately, but 
 there is no doubt that the charming personality of 
 Bessie fascinated him, although he seemed to content 
 himself with admiring her from a distance. Bessie 
 somehow did not appear to care about being admired 
 from a distance, and once, when Archie was prom- 
 enading to and fro on the terrace above the river, she 
 smiled sweetly at him from her book, and he sat down 
 beside her. Jimmy Wellman had gone that morning, 
 and the rest had not yet found it out. Jimmy had so 
 completely monopolised Miss Durand for the last few 
 days that no one else had had a chance, but now that 
 he had departed, Bessie sat alone on the terrace, which 
 was a most unusual state of things. 
 
 "They tell me," said Bessie, in her most flattering 
 manner, " that you are a famous climber, and that 
 you have been to the top of the Matterhorn." 
 
 " Oh, not famous ; far from it," said Archie modestly. 
 " I have been up the Matterhorn three or four times ; 
 but then women and children make the ascent nowa- 
 days, so that is nothing unusual." 
 
 " I am sure you must have had some thrilling 
 escapes," continued Bessie, looking with admiration 
 at Archie's stalwart frame. " Mr. Wellman had an 
 awful experience " 
 
 " Yesterday ?" interrupted Archie. "I hear he left 
 early this morning." 
 
 " No, not yesterday," said Miss Durand coldly, 
 drawing herself up with some indignation ; but as she
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 233 
 
 glanced sideways at Mr. Severance, that young man 
 seemed so innocent that she thought perhaps he 
 meant nothing in particular by his remark. So, after 
 a slight pause, Bessie went on again. " It was a week 
 ago. He was climbing the Stockhorn and all at once 
 the clouds surrounded him." 
 
 " And what did Jimmy do? Waited till the clouds 
 rolled by, I suppose." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Severance, if you are going to laugh at 
 me, I shall not talk to you any more." 
 
 " I assure you, Miss Durand, I was not laughing at 
 you. I was laughing at Jimmy. I never regarded 
 the Stockhorn as a formidable peak. It is something 
 like 7,195 feet high, I believe, not to mention the 
 inches." 
 
 " But surely, Mr. Severance, you know very well 
 that the danger of a mountain does not necessarily 
 bear any proportion to its altitude above the sea." 
 
 " That is very true. I am sure that Jimmy him- 
 self, with his head in the clouds, has braved greater 
 dangers at much lower levels than the top of the 
 Stockhorn." 
 
 Again Miss Durand looked searchingly at the young 
 man beside her, but again Archie was gazing dreamily 
 at the curious bell-shaped summit of the mountain 
 under discussion. The Stockhorn stands out nobly, 
 head and shoulders above its fellows, when viewed 
 from the hotel terrace at Thun. 
 
 There was silence for a few moments between the 
 two, and Bessie said to herself that she did not at all 
 like this exceedingly self-possessed young man, who 
 seemed to look at the mountains in preference to gaz-
 
 234 REVENGE! 
 
 ing at her which was against the natural order of 
 things. It was evident that Mr. Severance needed to 
 be taught a lesson, and Bessie, who had a good deal 
 of justifiable confidence in her own powers as a 
 teacher, resolved to give him the necessary instruction. 
 Perhaps, when he had acquired a little more experi- 
 ence, he would not speak so contemptuously of 
 " Jimmy," or any of the rest. Besides, it is always a 
 generous action towards the rest of humanity to re- 
 duce the inordinate self-esteem of any one young man 
 to something like reasonable proportions. So Bessie, 
 instead of showing that she was offended by his flippant 
 conversation and his lack of devotion to her, put on 
 her most bewitching manner, and smiled the smile 
 that so many before her latest victim had found im- 
 possible to resist. She would make him talk of him- 
 self and his exploits. They all succumbed to this 
 treatment. 
 
 " I do so love to hear of narrow escapes," said 
 Bessie confidingly. " I think it is so inspiring to hear 
 of human courage and endurance being pitted against 
 the dangers of the Alps, and coming out victorious." 
 
 "Yes, they usually come out victorious, according 
 to the accounts that reach us ; but then, you know, 
 we never get the mountain's side of the story." 
 
 " But surely, Mr. Severance," appealed Bessie, " you 
 do not imagine that a real climber would exaggerate 
 when telling of what he had done." 
 
 " No ; oh no. I would not go so far as to say that 
 he would exaggerate exactly, but I have known cases 
 where well a sort of Alpine glow came over a story 
 that, I must confess, improved it very much. Then,
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 235 
 
 again, curious mental transformations take place which 
 have the effect of making a man, what the vulgar 
 term, a liar. Some years ago a friend of mine came 
 over here to do a few ascents, but he found sitting on 
 the hotel piazza so much more to his taste that he sat 
 there. I think myself the verandah climber is the 
 most sensible man of the lot of us ; and, if he has 
 a good imagination, there is no reason why he should 
 be distanced by those you call real climbers, when it 
 comes to telling stories of adventures. Well, this 
 man, who is a most truthful person, took one false 
 step. You know, some amateurs have a vile habit of 
 getting the names of various peaks branded on their 
 alpenstocks just as if any real climber ever used an 
 alpenstock." 
 
 " Why, what do they use ? " asked Bessie, much 
 interested. 
 
 " Ice-axes, of course. Now, there is a useful indi- 
 vidual in Interlaken, who is what you might call a 
 wholesale brander. He has the names of all the peaks 
 done in iron at his shop, and if you take your alpen- 
 stock to him, he will, for a few francs, brand on it all 
 the names it will hold, from the Ortler to Mont Blanc. 
 My friend was weak enough to have all the ascents he 
 had intended to make, branded on the alpenstock he 
 bought the moment he entered Switzerland. They 
 always buy an alpenstock the first thing. He never 
 had the time to return to the mountains, but gradually 
 he came to believe that he had made all the ascents 
 recorded by fire and iron on his pole. He is a truth- 
 ful man on every other topic than Switzerland." 
 
 " But you must have had some very dangerous
 
 236 REVENGE! 
 
 experiences among the Alps, Mr. Severance. Please 
 tell me of the time you were in the greatest peril." 
 
 " I am sure it would not interest you." 
 
 " Oh, it would, it would. Please go on, and don't 
 require so much persuasion. I am just longing to 
 hear the story." 
 
 " It isn't much of a story, because, you see, there is 
 no Alpine glow about it." 
 
 Archie glanced at the girl, and it flashed across his 
 mind that he was probably then in the greatest dan- 
 ger he had ever been in, in his life. She bent for- 
 ward toward him, her elbows on her knees, and her 
 chin such a pretty chin ! in her hands. Her eyes 
 were full upon him, and Archie had sense enough to 
 realise that there was danger in their clear pellucid 
 depths, so he turned his own from them, and sought 
 refuge in his old friend, the Stockhorn. 
 
 " I think the narrowest escape I ever had was about 
 two weeks ago. I went up " 
 
 "With how many guides?" interrupted Bessie 
 breathlessly. 
 
 " With none at all," answered Archie, with a laugh. 
 
 " Isn't that very unsafe ? I thought one always 
 should have a guide." 
 
 " Sometimes guides are unnecessary. I took none 
 on this occasion, because I only ascended as far as 
 the Chateau in Thun, some three hundred feet above 
 where we are sitting, and as I went by the main street of 
 the town, the climb was perfectly safe in all weathers. 
 Besides, there is generally a policeman about." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the girl, sitting up suddenly very 
 straight.
 
 "OUT OF TIIUN." 237 
 
 Archie was looking at the mountains, and did not 
 see the hot anger surge up into her face. 
 
 "You know the steps leading down from the castle. 
 They are covered in, and are very dark when one 
 comes out of the bright sunlight. Some fool had 
 been eating an orange there, and had carelessly 
 thrown the peel on the steps. I did not notice it, 
 and so trod on a bit. The next thing I knew I was 
 in a heap at the foot of that long stairway, thinking 
 every bone in my body was broken. I had many 
 bruises, but no hurt that was serious ; nevertheless, I 
 never had such a fright in my life, and I hope never 
 to have such another." 
 
 Bessie rose up with much dignity. " I am obliged 
 to you for your recital, Mr. Severance," she said 
 freezingly. " If I do not seem to appreciate your 
 story as much as I should, it is perhaps because I am 
 not accustomed to being laughed at." 
 
 " I assure you, Miss Durand, that I am not laughing 
 at you, and that this pathetic incident was anything 
 but a laughing matter to me. The Stockhorn has no 
 such danger lying in wait for a man as a bit of orange- 
 peel on a dark and steep stairway. Please do not be 
 offended with me. I told you my stories have no 
 Alpine glow about them, but the danger was un- 
 doubtedly there." 
 
 Archie had risen to his feet, but there was no for- 
 giveness in Miss Durand's eyes as she bade him 
 " Good-morning," and went into the hotel, leaving 
 him standing there. 
 
 During the week that followed, Archie had little 
 chance of making his peace with Miss Durand, for in
 
 238 REVENGE ! 
 
 that week the Sanderson episode had its beginning, 
 its rise, and its culmination. Charley Sanderson, em- 
 boldened by the sudden departure of Wellman, be- 
 came the constant attendant of Bessie, and everything 
 appeared to be in his favour until the evening he left. 
 That evening the two strolled along the walk that 
 borders the north side of the river, leading to the 
 lake. They said they were going to see the Alpine 
 glow on the snow mountains, but nobody believed 
 that, for the glow can be seen quite as well from the 
 terrace in front of the hotel. Be that as it may, they 
 came back together, shortly before eight o'clock, 
 Bessie looking her prettiest, and Sanderson with a 
 black frown on his face, evidently in the worst of 
 tempers. He flung his belongings into a bag, and de- 
 parted by the 8:40 train for Berne. As Archie met 
 the pair, Bessie actually smiled very sweetly upon 
 him, while Sanderson glared as if he had never met 
 Severance before. 
 
 " That episode is evidently ended," said Archie to 
 himself, as he continued his walk toward Lake Thun. 
 " I wonder if it is pure devilment that induces her to 
 lead people on to a proposal, and then drop them. I 
 suppose Charley will leave now, and we'll have no 
 more games of billiards together. I wonder why 
 they all seem to think it the proper thing to go away. 
 I wouldn't. A woman is like a difficult peak if you 
 don't succeed the first time, you should try again. I 
 believe I shall try half a dozen proposals with Bessie 
 myself. If I ever come to the point, she won't find 
 it so easy to get rid of me as she does of all the 
 rest."
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 239 
 
 Meditating thus, he sat down on a bench under the 
 trees facing the lake. Archie wondered if the momen- 
 tous question had been asked at this spot. It seemed 
 just the place for it, and he noticed that the gravel on 
 the path was much disturbed, as if by the iron-shod 
 point of an agitated man's cane. Then he remem- 
 bered that Sanderson was carrying an iron-pointed 
 cane. As Archie smiled and looked about him, he 
 saw on the seat beside him a neat little morocco- 
 bound book with a silver clasp. It had evidently 
 slipped from t the insecure dress-pocket of a lady who 
 had been sitting there. Archie picked it up and 
 turned it over and over in his hands. It is a painful 
 thing to be compelled to make excuse for one of 
 whom we would fain speak well, but it must be ad- 
 mitted that at this point in his life Severance did what 
 he should not have done he actually read the con- 
 tents of the book, although he must have been aware, 
 before he turned the second leaf, that what was there 
 set down was meant for no eye save the writer's own. 
 Archie excuses himself by maintaining that he had to 
 read the book before he could be sure it belonged to 
 anybody in particular, and that he opened it at first 
 merely to see if there were a name or a card inside ; 
 but there is little doubt that the young man knew 
 from the very first whose book it was, and he might 
 at least have asked Miss Durand if it were hers before 
 he opened it. However, there is little purpose in 
 speculating on what might have been, and as the 
 reading of the note-book led directly to the utterly 
 unjustifiable action of Severance afterwards, as one 
 wrong step invariably leads to another, the contents
 
 240 REVENGE ! 
 
 of the little volume are here given, so that the reader 
 of this tragedy may the more fully understand the 
 situation. 
 
 II. BESSIE'S CONFESSION. 
 
 "Aug. 1st. The keeping of a diary is a silly 
 fashion, and I am sure I would not bother with one, 
 if my memory were good, and if I had not a great 
 object in view. However, I do not intend this book 
 to be more than a collection of notes that will be use- 
 ful to me when I begin my novel. The novel is to 
 be the work of my life, and I mean to use every talent 
 I may have to make it unique and true to life. I 
 think the New Woman novel is a thing of the past, 
 and that the time has now come for a story of the old 
 sort, yet written with a fidelity to life such as has 
 never been attempted by the old novelists. A painter 
 or a sculptor uses a model while producing a great 
 picture or a statue. Why should not a writer use a 
 model also ? The motive of all great novels must be 
 love, and the culminating point of a love-story is the 
 proposal. In no novel that I have ever read is the 
 proposal well done. Men evidently do not talk to 
 each other about the proposals they make, therefore a 
 man-writer has merely his own experience to go upon, 
 so his proposals have a sameness his hero proposes 
 just as he himself has done or would do. Women- 
 writers seem to have more imagination in this matter, 
 but they describe a proposal as they would like it to 
 be, and not as it actually is. I find that it is quite an 
 easy thing to get a man to propose. I suppose I have 
 a gift that way, and, besides, there is no denying the
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 241 
 
 fact that I am handsome, and perhaps that is some- 
 thing of an aid. I therefore intend to write down in 
 this book all my proposals, using the exact language 
 the man employed, and thus I shall have the proposals 
 in my novel precisely as they occurred. I shall also 
 set down here any thoughts that may be of use to me 
 when I write my book. 
 
 "Aug. 2nd. I shall hereafter not date the notes 
 in this book ; that will make it look less like a diary, 
 which I detest. We are in Thun, which is a lovely 
 place. Humboldt, whoever he is or was, said it is 
 one of the three prettiest spots on earth. I wonder 
 what the names are of the other two. We intended to 
 stay but one night at this hotel, but I see it is full 
 of young men, and as all the women seem to be 
 rather ugly and given to gossip, I think this is just 
 the place for the carrying out of my plans. The 
 average young man is always ready to fall in love 
 while on his vacation it makes time pass so 
 pleasantly; and as I read somewhere that man, as 
 a general rule, proposes fourteen times during his 
 life, I may as well, in the interests of literature, be 
 the recipient of some of these offers. I have hit on 
 what I think is a marvellous idea. I shall arrange 
 the offers with some regard to the scenery, just as 
 I suppose a stage-manager does. One shall propose 
 by the river there are lovely shady walks on both 
 sides ; another, up in the mountains ; another, in the 
 moonlight on the lake, in one of the pretty foreign- 
 looking rowing boats they have here, with striped 
 awnings. I don't believe any novelist has ever 
 thought of such a thing. Then I can write down
 
 242 REVENGE ! 
 
 a vivid description of the scenery in conjunction 
 with the language the young man uses. If my book 
 is not a success, it will be because there are no dis- 
 criminating critics in England. 
 
 " First proposal This came on rather unexpectedly. 
 His name is Samuel Caldwell, and he is a curate here 
 for his health. He is not in the least in love with 
 me, but he thinks he is, and so, I suppose, it comes 
 to the same thing. He began by saying that I was 
 the only one who ever understood his real aspirations, 
 and that if I would join my lot with his he was sure 
 we should not only bring happiness to ourselves, but 
 to others as well. I told him gently that my own 
 highest aspiration was to write a successful novel, 
 and this horrified him, for he thinks novels are 
 wicked. He has gone to Grindelwald, where he 
 thinks the air is more suitable for his lungs. I hardly 
 count this as a proposal, and it took me so much by 
 surprise that it was half over before I realised it was 
 actually an offer of his heart and hand. Besides, 
 it took place in the hotel garden, of all unlikely 
 spots, where we were in constant danger of interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 "Second proposal Richard King is a very nice 
 fellow, and was tremendously in earnest. He says 
 his life is blighted, but he will soon come to a 
 different opinion at Interlaken, where Margaret Dunn 
 writes me it is very gay, and where Richard has 
 gone. Last evening we strolled down by the lake, 
 and he suggested that we should go out on the water. 
 He engaged a boat with two women to row, one 
 sitting at the stern, and the other standing at the
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 243 
 
 prow, working great oars that looked like cricket- 
 bats. The women did not understand English, and 
 we floated on the lake until the moon came up over 
 the snow mountains. Richard leaned over, and tried 
 to take my hand, whispering, in a low voice, ' Bessie.' 
 I confess I was rather in a flutter, and could think 
 of nothing better to say than ' Sir ! ' in a tone of 
 surprise and indignation. He went on hurriedly 
 
 "' Bessie,' he said, 'we have known each other only 
 a few days, but in those few days I have lived in Par- 
 adise.' 
 
 "'Yes,' I answered, gathering my wits about me ; 
 ' Humboldt says Thun is one of the three ' 
 
 " Richard interrupted me with something that 
 sounded remarkably like ' Hang Thun ! ' Then he 
 went on, and said that I was all the world to him ; 
 that he could not live without me. I shook my 
 head slowly, and did not reply. He spoke with 
 a fluency that seemed to suggest practice, but I told 
 him it could never be. Then he folded his arms, 
 sitting moodily back in the boat, saying I had 
 blighted his life. He did look handsome as he sat 
 there in the moonlight, with a deep frown on his 
 brow ; but I could not help thinking he sat back 
 purposely, so that the moonlight might strike his 
 face. I wish I could write down the exact language 
 he used, for he was very eloquent ; but somehow 
 I cannot bring myself to do it, even in this book. 
 I am sure, however, that when I come to write my 
 novel, and turn up these notes, I shall recall the 
 words. Still, I intended to put down the exact 
 phrases. I wish I could take notes at the time, but
 
 244 REVENGE! 
 
 when a man is proposing he seems to want all your 
 attention. 
 
 " A fine, stalwart young man came to the hotel 
 to-day, bronzed by mountain climbing, He looks 
 as if he would propose in a manner not so much like 
 all the rest. I have found that his name is Archibald 
 Severance, and they say he is a great mountaineer. 
 What a splendid thing a proposal on the high Alps 
 would be from such a man, with the gleaming snow 
 all around ! I think I shall use that idea in the book. 
 
 " Third, fourth, fifth, and sixth proposals. I must 
 confess that I am amazed and disappointed with the 
 men. Is there no such thing as originality among 
 mankind ? You would think they had all taken lessons 
 from some proposing master ; they all have the same 
 formula. The last four began by calling me ' Bessie,' 
 with the air of taking a great and important step in 
 life. Mr. Wellman varied it a little by asking me to 
 call him Jimmy, but the principle is just the same. 
 I suppose this sameness is the result of our modern 
 system of education. I am sure Archie would act 
 differently. I am not certain that I like him, but he 
 interests me more than any of the others. I was very 
 angry with him a week ago. He knows it, but he 
 doesn't seem to care. As soon as Charley Sanderson 
 proposes, I will see what can be done with Mr. Archie 
 Severance. 
 
 " I like the name Archie. It seems to suit the 
 young man exactly. I have been wondering what 
 sort of scenery would accord best with Mr. Severance's 
 proposal. I suppose a glacier would be about the 
 correct thing, for I imagine Archie is rather cold and
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 245 
 
 sneering when he is not in very good humour. The 
 lake would be too placid for his proposal ; and when 
 one is near the rapids, one cannot hear what the man 
 is saying. I think the Kohleren Gorge would be just 
 the spot ; it is so wild and romantic, with a hundred 
 waterfalls dashing down the precipices. I must ask 
 Archie if he has ever seen the Kohleren Falls. I sup- 
 pose he will despise them because they are not up 
 among the snow-peaks." 
 
 in. BESSIE'S PROPOSAL. 
 
 After reading the book which he had no business to 
 read, Archie closed the volume, fastened the clasp, and 
 slipped it into his inside pocket. There was a medita- 
 tive look in his eyes as he gazed over the blue lake. 
 
 " I can't return it to her now," Archie said to him- 
 self. " Perhaps I should not have read it. So she is 
 not a flirt, after all, but merely uses us poor mortals 
 as models." Archie sighed. " I think that's better 
 than being a flirt but I'm not quite sure. I suppose 
 an author is justified in going to great lengths to en- 
 sure the success of so important a thing as a book. It 
 may be that I can assist her with this tremendous 
 work of fiction. I shall think about it. But what am 
 I to do about this little diary ? I must think about 
 that as well. I can't give it to her and say I did not 
 read it, for I am such a poor hand at lying. Good 
 heavens ! I believe that is Bessie coming alone along 
 the river-bank. I'll wager she has missed the book 
 and knows pretty accurately where she lost it. I'll 
 place it where I found it, and hide," 
 
 The line of trees along the path made it easy for
 
 246 REVENGE ! 
 
 Archie to carry out successfully his hastily formed 
 resolution. He felt like a sneak, a feeling he thor- 
 oughly merited, as he dodged behind the trees and so 
 worked his way to the main road. He saw Bessie 
 march straight for the bench, pick up the book, and 
 walk back towards the hotel, without ever glancing 
 round, and her definite action convinced Archie that 
 she had no suspicion any one had seen her book. 
 This made the young man easier in his mind, and he 
 swung along the Interlaken road towards Thun, flatter- 
 ing himself that no harm had been done. Neverthe- 
 less, he had resolved to revenge Miss Bessie's innocent 
 victims, and as he walked, he turned plan after plan 
 over in his mind. Vengeance would be all the more 
 complete, as the girl had no idea that her literary 
 methods were known to any one but herself. 
 
 For the next week Archie was very attentive to 
 Bessie, and it must be recorded that the pretty young 
 woman seemed to appreciate his devotion thoroughly 
 and to like it. One morning, beautifully arrayed in 
 walking costume, Bessie stood on the terrace, appar- 
 ently scanning the sky as if anxious about the weather, 
 but in reality looking out for an escort, the gossips 
 said to each other as they sat under the awnings busy 
 at needlework and slander, for of course no such 
 thought was in the young lady's mind. She smiled 
 sweetly when Archie happened to come out of the 
 billiard-room ; but then she always greeted her friends 
 in a kindly manner. 
 
 "Are you off for a walk this morning?" asked 
 Archie, in the innocent tone of one who didn't know, 
 and really desired the information.
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 247 
 
 He spoke for the benefit of the gossips ; but they 
 were not to be taken in by any such transparent de- 
 vice. They sniffed with contempt, and said it was 
 brazen of the two to pretend that they were not 
 meeting there by appointment. 
 
 "Yes," said Bessie, with a saucy air of defiance, as 
 if she did not care who knew it ; "I am going by the 
 upper road to the Kohleren Falls. Have you ever 
 seen them ? " 
 
 " No. Are they pretty ? " 
 
 " Pretty ! They are grand at least, the gorge is, 
 although, perhaps, you would not think either the 
 gorge or the falls worth visiting." 
 
 " How can I tell until I have visited them? Won't 
 you be my guide there? " 
 
 " I shall be most happy to have you come, only 
 you must promise to speak respectfully of both ravine 
 and falls." 
 
 " I was not the man who spoke disrespectfully of 
 the equator, you know," said Archie, as they walked 
 off together, amidst the scorn of the gossips, who 
 declared they had never seen such a bold-faced action 
 in their lives. As their lives already had been some- 
 what lengthy, an idea may be formed of the heinous- 
 ness of Bessie's conduct. 
 
 It took the pair rather more than an hour by the 
 upper road, overlooking the town of Thun and the lake 
 beyond, to reach the finger-board that pointed down 
 into the Kohleren valley. They zigzagged along a 
 rapidly falling path until they reached the first of a 
 series of falls, roaring into a deep gorge surrounded by 
 a dense forest. Bessie leaned against the frail hand-
 
 248 REVENGE! 
 
 rail and gazed into the depths, Severance standing by 
 her side. 
 
 The young man was the first to speak, and when he 
 spoke it was not on the subject of the cataract. 
 
 " Miss Durand," he said, " I love you. I ask you to 
 be my wife." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Severance," replied Bessie, without lifting 
 her eyes from the foaming chasm, " I hope that noth- 
 ing in my actions has led you to " 
 
 " Am I to understand that you are about to refuse 
 me?" cried Archie, in a menacing voice that sounded 
 above the roar of the falling waters. 
 
 Bessie looked quickly up at him, and, seeing a dark 
 frown on his brow, drew slightly away from him. 
 
 " Certainly I am going to refuse you. I have known 
 you scarcely more than a week ! " 
 
 " That has nothing to do with it. I tell you, girl, 
 that I love you. Don't you understand what I say? " 
 
 " I understand what you say well enough ; but I 
 don't love you. Is not that answer sufficient ? " 
 
 " It would be sufficient if it were true. It is not 
 true. You do love me. I have seen that for days; 
 although you may have striven to conceal your affection 
 for me, it has been evident to every one, and more 
 especially to the man who loves you. Why, then, 
 deny what has been patent to all on-lookers ? Have I 
 not seen your face brighten when I approached you ? 
 Have I not seen a welcoming smile on your lips, that 
 could have had but one meaning? " 
 
 " Mr. Severance," cried Bessie, in unfeigned alarm, 
 " have you gone suddenly mad ? How dare you speak 
 to me in this fashion ? "
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 249 
 
 " Girl," shouted Archie, grasping her by the wrist, 
 " is it possible that I am wrong in supposing you care 
 for me, and that the only other inference to be drawn 
 from your actions is the true one?" 
 
 " What other inference ? " asked Bessie, in a trem- 
 bling voice, trying unsuccessfully to withdraw her wrist 
 from his iron grasp. 
 
 " That you have been trifling with me," hissed 
 Severance ; " that you have led me on and on, mean- 
 ing nothing ; that you have been pretending to care 
 for me when in reality you merely wanted to add one 
 more to the many proposals you have received. That 
 is the alternative. Now, which is the fact? Are you 
 in love with me, or have you been fooling me?" 
 
 " I told you I was not in love with you ; but I did 
 think you were a gentleman. Now that I see you 
 are a ruffian, I hate you. Let go my wrist ; you are 
 hurting me." 
 
 " Very good, very good. Now we have the truth 
 at last, and I will teach you the danger of making a 
 plaything of a human heart." 
 
 Severance released her wrist and seized her around 
 the waist. Bessie screamed and called for help, while 
 the mfn who held her a helpless prisoner laughed 
 sardonically. With his free hand he thrust aside the 
 frail pine pole that formed a hand-rail to guard the 
 edge of the cliff. It fell into the torrent and disap- 
 peared down the cataract. 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " cried the girl, her 
 eyes wide with terror. 
 
 " I intend to leap with you into this abyss ; then we 
 shall be united for ever."
 
 250 REVENGE! 
 
 " Oh, Archie, Archie, I love you ! " sobbed Bessie, 
 throwing her arms around the neck of the astonished 
 young man, who was so amazed at the sudden turn 
 events had taken, that, in stepping back, he nearly 
 accomplished the disaster he had a moment before 
 threatened. 
 
 "Then why why," he stammered, "did you why 
 did you deny it ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I suppose because I am con- 
 trary, or because, as you said, it was so self-evident. 
 Still, I don't believe I would ever have accepted you 
 if you hadn't forced me to. I have become so wearied 
 with the conventional form of proposal." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it does get rather tiresome," said 
 Archie, mopping his brow. " I see a bench a little 
 further down ; suppose we sit there and talk the matter 
 over." 
 
 He gave her his hand, and she tripped daintily down 
 to the bench, where they sat down together. 
 
 " You don't really believe I was such a ruffian as I 
 pretended to be?" said Archie at last. 
 
 " Why, yes ; aren't you ? " she asked simply, glanc- 
 ing sideways at him with her most winning smile. 
 
 "You surely didn't actually think I was going to 
 throw you over the cliff ? " 
 
 " Oh, I have often heard or read of it being done. 
 Were you only pretending ? " 
 
 " That's all. It was really a little matter of revenge. 
 I thought you ought to be punished for the way 
 you had used those other fellows. And Sanderson 
 was such a good hand at billiards. I could just beat 
 him."
 
 "OUT OF THUN." 251 
 
 " You you said you cared for me. Was that 
 pretence too?" asked Bessie, with a catch in her 
 voice. 
 
 "No. That was all true, Bessie, and there is where 
 my scheme of vengeance goes lame. You see, my 
 dear girl, I never thought you would look at me ; 
 some of the other fellows are ever so much better 
 than I am, and of course I did not imagine I had any 
 chance. I hope you will forgive me, and that you 
 won't insist on having a real revenge by withdrawing 
 what you have said." 
 
 " I shall have revenge enough on you, Archie, you 
 poor, deluded young man, all your life. But never 
 say anything about 'the other fellows,' as you call 
 them. There never was any other fellow but you. 
 Perhaps I will show you a little book some day that 
 will explain everything, although I am afraid, if you 
 saw it, you might think worse of me than ever. I 
 think, perhaps, it is my duty to show it to you before 
 it is too late to draw back. Shall I ? " 
 
 " I absolutely refuse to look at it now or any other 
 time," said Archie magnanimously, drawing her to- 
 wards him and kissing her. 
 
 And Bessie, with a sigh of relief, wondered why it 
 was that men have so much less curiosity than women. 
 She was sure that if he had hinted at any such secret 
 she would never have rested until she knew what it 
 was.
 
 A DRAMATIC POINT. 
 
 IN the bad days of Balmeceda, when Chili was rent 
 in twain, and its capital was practically a besieged 
 city, two actors walked together along the chief street 
 of the place towards the one theatre that was then 
 open. They belonged to a French dramatic company 
 that would gladly have left Chili if it could, but, being 
 compelled by stress of war to remain, the company 
 did the next best thing, and gave performances at the 
 principal theatre on such nights as a paying audience 
 came. 
 
 A stranger would hardly have suspected, by the 
 look of the streets, that a deadly war was going on, 
 and that the rebels so called were almost at the 
 city gates. Although business was ruined, credit 
 dead, and no man's life or liberty safe, the streets were 
 filled with a crowd that seemed bent on enjoyment 
 and making the best of things. 
 
 As Jacques Dupr6 and Carlos Lemoine walked to- 
 gether they conversed earnestly, not of the real war 
 so close to their doors, but of the mimic conflicts of 
 the stage. M. Dupre was the leading man of the 
 company, and he listened with the amused tolerance 
 of an elder man to the energetic vehemence of the 
 younger.
 
 A DRAMATIC POINT. 253 
 
 "You are all wrong, Dupr," cried Lemoine, "all 
 wrong. I have studied the subject. Remember, I 
 am saying nothing against your acting in general. 
 You know you have no greater admirer than I am, 
 and that is something to say when the members of a 
 dramatic company are usually at loggerheads through 
 jealousy." 
 
 " Speak for yourself, Lemoine. You know I am 
 green with jealousy of you. You are the rising star 
 and I am setting. You can't teach an old dog new 
 tricks, Carl, my boy." 
 
 " That's nonsense, Dupre. I wish you would con- 
 sider this seriously. It is because you are so good on 
 the stage that I can't bear to see you false to your 
 art just to please the gallery. You should be above 
 all that." 
 
 " How can a man be above his gallery the highest 
 spot in the house? Talk sense, Carlos, and then I'll 
 listen." 
 
 "Yes, you're flippant, simply because you know 
 you're wrong, and dare not argue this matter soberly. 
 Now she stabs you through the heart " 
 
 " No. False premises entirely. She says something 
 about my wicked heart, and evidently intends to 
 pierce that depraved organ, but a woman never hits 
 what she aims at, and I deny that I'm ever stabbed 
 through the heart. Say in the region or the neigh- 
 bourhood of the heart, and go on with your talk." 
 
 " Very well. She stabs you in a spot so vital that 
 you die in a few minutes. You throw up your hands, 
 you stagger against the mantel-shelf, you tear open 
 your collar and then grope at nothing, you press your
 
 254 REVENGE! 
 
 hands on your wound and take two reeling steps for- 
 ward, you call feebly for help and stumble against the 
 sofa, which you fall upon, and, finally, still groping 
 wildly, you roll off on the floor, where you kick out 
 once or twice, your clinched hand comes with a thud 
 on the boards, and all is over." 
 
 " Admirably described, Carlos. Lord ! I wish my 
 audience paid such attention to my efforts as you do. 
 Now you claim this is all wrong, do you ? " 
 
 " All wrong." 
 
 " Suppose she stabbed you, what would you do ? " 
 
 " I would plunge forward on my face dead." 
 
 " Great heavens ! What would become of your cur- 
 tain ? " 
 
 " Oh, hang the curtain ! " 
 
 " It's all very well for you to maledict the curtain, 
 Carl, but you must work up to it. Your curtain 
 would come down, and your friends in the gallery 
 wouldn't know what had happened. Now I go 
 through the evolutions you so graphically describe, 
 and the audience gets time to take in the situation. 
 They say, chuckling to themselves, ' that villain's got 
 his dose at last, and serve him right too.' They want 
 to enjoy his struggles, while the heroine stands grimly 
 at the door taking care that he doesn't get away. 
 Then when my fist comes down flop on the stage and 
 they realise that I am indeed done for, the yell of 
 triumph that goes up is something delicious to hear." 
 
 " That's just the point, Dupre". I claim the actor 
 has no right to hear applause that he should not 
 know there is such a thing as an audience. His busi- 
 ness is to portray life exactly as it is."
 
 A DRAMATIC POINT. 255 
 
 " You can't portray life in a death scene, Carl." 
 
 " Dupre, I lose all patience with you, or rather I 
 would did I not know that you are much deeper than 
 you would have us suppose. You apparently won't 
 see that I am very much in earnest about this." 
 
 " Of course you are, my boy ; and that is one reason 
 why you will become a very great actor. I was am- 
 bitious myself once, but as we grow older " Dupre 
 shrugged his shoulders" well, we begin to have an 
 eye on box-office receipts. I think you sometimes 
 forget that I am a good deal older than you are." 
 
 " You mean I am a fool, and that I may learn wis- 
 dom with age. I quite admit you are a better actor 
 than I am ; in fact I said so only a moment ago, 
 but " 
 
 " ' You wrong me, Brutus ; I said an elder soldier, not 
 a better.' But I will take you on your own ground. 
 Have you ever seen a man stabbed or shot through 
 the heart ? " 
 
 " I never have, but I know mighty well he wouldn't 
 undo his necktie afterwards." 
 
 Dupre threw back his head and laughed. 
 
 " Who is flippant now? " he asked. "I don't undo 
 my necktie, I merely tear off my collar, which a dying 
 man may surely be permitted to do. But until you 
 have seen a man die from such a stab as I receive 
 every night, I don't understand how you can justly 
 find fault with my rendition of the tragedy. I imagine, 
 you know, that the truth lies between the two extremes. 
 The man done to death would likely not make such 
 a fuss as I make, nor would he depart so quickly as 
 you say he would, without giving the gallery gods
 
 256 REVENGE! 
 
 a show for their money. But here we are at the 
 theatre, Carlos, and this acrimonious debate is closed 
 until we take our next walk together." 
 
 In front of the theatre, soldiers were on duty, march- 
 ing up and down with muskets on their shoulders, 
 to show that the state was mighty and could take 
 charge of a theatre as well as conduct a war. There 
 were many loungers about, which might have indi- 
 cated to a person who did not know, that there 
 would be a good house when the play began. The 
 two actors met the manager in the throng near the 
 door. 
 
 " How are prospects to-night ? " asked Dupre". 
 
 " Very poor," replied the manager. " Not half a 
 dozen seats have been sold." 
 
 " Then it isn't worth while beginning? " 
 
 " We must begin," said the manager, lowering his 
 voice, " the President has ordered me not to close 
 the theatre." 
 
 " Oh, hang the President ! " cried Lemoine im- 
 patiently. " Why doesn't he put a stop to the war, 
 and then the theatre would remain open of its own 
 accord." 
 
 " He is doing his best to put a stop to the war, 
 only his army does not carry out his orders as im- 
 plicitly as our manager does," said Dupr6, smiling at 
 the other's vehemence. 
 
 " Balmeceda is a fool," retorted the younger actor. 
 " If he were out of the way, the war would not last 
 another day. I believe he is playing a losing game, 
 anyhow. It's a pity he hasn't to go to the front 
 himself, and then a stray bullet might find him and
 
 A DRAMATIC POINT. 257 
 
 put an end to the war, which would save the lives 
 of many better men." 
 
 " I say, Lemoine, I wish you wouldn't talk like that," 
 expostulated the manager gently, " especially when 
 there are so many listeners." 
 
 " Oh ! the larger my audience, the better I like it," 
 rejoined Lemoine. " I have all an actor's vanity in 
 that respect. I say what I think, and I don't care 
 who hears me." 
 
 " Yes, but you forget that we are, in a measure, 
 guests of this country, and we should not abuse our 
 hosts, or the man who represents them." 
 
 " Ah, does he represent them ? It seems to me you 
 beg the whole question ; that's just what the war is 
 about. The general opinion is that Balmeceda mis- 
 represents them, and that the country would be glad 
 to be rid of him." 
 
 "That may all be," said the manager almost in a 
 whisper, for he was a man evidently inclined towards 
 peace ; " but it does not rest with us to say so. We 
 are French, and I think, therefore, it is better not 
 to express an opinion. 
 
 " I'm not French," cried Lemoine. " I'm a native 
 Chilian, and I have a right to abuse my own country 
 if I choose to do so." 
 
 " All the more reason, then," said the manager, 
 looking timorously over his shoulder " all the more 
 reason that you should be careful what you say." 
 
 " I suppose," said Dupre, by way of putting an end 
 to the discussion, "it is time for us to get our war- 
 paint on. Come along, Lemoine, and lecture me on 
 our common art, and stop talking politics, if the
 
 258 REVENGE! 
 
 nonsense you utter about Chili and its president is 
 politics." 
 
 The two actors entered the theatre ; they occupied 
 the same dressing-room, and the volatile Lemoine 
 talked incessantly. 
 
 Although there were but few people in the stalls 
 the gallery was well filled, as was usually the case. 
 
 When going on for the last act in the final scene, 
 Dupr whispered a word to the man who controlled 
 the falling of the curtain, and when the actor, as the 
 villain of the piece, received the fatal knife-thrust 
 from the ill-used heroine, he plunged forward on his 
 face and .died without a struggle, to the amazement of 
 the manager, who was watching the play from the 
 front of the house, and to the evident bewilderment 
 of the gallery, who had counted on an exciting struggle 
 with death. 
 
 Much as they desired the cutting off of the villain, 
 they were not pleased to see him so suddenly shift 
 his worlds without an agonising realisation of the 
 fact that he was quitting an existence in which he 
 had done nothing but evil. The curtain came down 
 upon the climax, but there was no applause, and the 
 audience silently filtered out into the street. 
 
 " There," said Dupre, when he returned to his 
 dressing-room ; " I hope you are satisfied now, Le- 
 moine, and if you are, you are the only satisfied person 
 in the house. I fell perfectly flat, as you suggested, 
 and you must have seen that the climax of the 
 pi-ay fell flat also." 
 
 " Nevertheless," persisted Lemoine, stoutly, " it was 
 the true rendering of the part."
 
 A DRAMATIC POINT. 259 
 
 As they were talking the manager came into their 
 dressing-room. " Good heavens, Dupre ! " he said, 
 " why did you end the piece in that idiotic way ? What 
 on earth got into you ? " 
 
 " The knife," said Dupre, flippantly. " It went 
 directly through the heart, and Lemoine here insists 
 that when that happens a man should fall dead in- 
 stantly. I did it to please Lemoine." 
 
 " But you- spoiled your curtain," protested the 
 manager. 
 
 " Yes, I knew that would happen, and I told Lemoine 
 so ; but he insists on art for art's sake. You must 
 expostulate with Lemoine, although I don't mind 
 telling you both frankly that I don't intend to die in 
 that way again." 
 
 " Well, I hope not," replied the manager. " I don't 
 want you to kill the play as well as yourself, you 
 know, Dupre." 
 
 Lemoine, whose face had by this time become 
 restored to its normal appearance, retorted hotly 
 
 " It all goes to show how we are surrounded and 
 hampered by the traditions of the stage. The gallery 
 wants to see a man die all over the place, and so the 
 victim has to scatter the furniture about and make a 
 fool of himself generally, when he should quietly suc- 
 cumb to a well-deserved blow. You ask any physician 
 and he will tell you that a man stabbed or shot through 
 the heart collapses at once. There is no jumping- 
 jack business in such a case. He doesn't play at leap- 
 frog with the chairs and sofas, but sinks instantly to 
 the floor and is done for." 
 
 " Come along, Lemoine," cried Dupr, putting on
 
 2<5o REVENGE! 
 
 his coat, " and stop talking nonsense. True art con- 
 sists in a judicious blending of the preconceived ideas 
 of the gallery with the usual facts of the case. An 
 instantaneous photograph of a trotting-horse is doubt- 
 less technically and absolutely correct, yet it is not a 
 true picture of the animal in motion." 
 
 " Then you admit," said Lemoine, quickly, " that I 
 am technically correct in what I state about the result 
 of such a wound." 
 
 " I admit nothing," said Dupre. " I don't believe 
 you are correct in anything you say about the matter. 
 I suppose the truth is that no two men die alike under 
 the same circumstances." 
 
 " They do when the heart is touched." 
 
 "What absurd nonsense you talk! No two men 
 act alike when the heart is touched in love, why then 
 should they when it is touched in death ? Come 
 along to the hotel, and let us stop this idiotic dis- 
 cussion." 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed Lemoine, "you will throw your 
 chances away. You are too careless, Dupre" ; you do 
 not study enough. This kind of thing is all very well 
 in Chili, but it will wreck your chances when you go 
 to Paris. If you studied more deeply, Dupre, you 
 would take Paris by storm." 
 
 " Thanks," said Dupre", lightly ; " but unless the 
 rebels take this city by storm, and that shortly, we 
 may never see Paris again. To tell the truth, I have 
 no heart for anything but the heroine's knife. I am 
 sick and tired of the situation here." 
 
 As Dupr6 spoke they met a small squad of soldiers 
 coming briskly towards the theatre. The man in
 
 A DRAMATIC POINT. 261 
 
 charge evidently recognised them, for, saying a word 
 to his men, they instantly surrounded the two actors. 
 The sergeant touched Lemoine on the shoulder, and 
 said 
 
 " It is my duty to arrest you, sir." 
 
 "In Heaven's name, why ?" asked Lemoine. 
 
 The man did not answer, but a soldier stepped to 
 either side of Lemoine. 
 
 "Am I under arrest also ?" asked Dupre. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " By what authority do you arrest my friend ? " in- 
 quired Dupre. 
 
 " By the President's order." 
 
 " But where is your authority ? Where are your 
 papers ? Why is this arrest made ? " 
 
 The sergeant shook his head and said 
 
 " We have the orders of the President, and that is 
 sufficient for us. Stand back, please ! " 
 
 The next instant Dupre found himself alone, with 
 the squad and their prisoner disappearing down a 
 back street. For a moment he stood there as if 
 dazed, then he turned and ran as fast as he could, 
 back to the theatre again, hoping to meet a carriage 
 for hire on the way. Arriving at the theatre, he 
 found the lights out, and the manager on the point of 
 leaving. 
 
 "Lemoine has been arrested," he cried; "arrested 
 by a squad of soldiers whom we met, and they said 
 they acted by order of the President." 
 
 The manager seemed thunderstruck by the intelli- 
 gence, and gazed helplessly at Dupre. 
 
 " What is the charge ? " he said at last.
 
 262 REVENGE ! 
 
 "That I do not know," answered the actor. " They 
 simply said they were acting under the President's 
 orders." 
 
 " This is bad ; as bad as can be," said the manager, 
 looking over his shoulder, and speaking as if in fear. 
 " Lemoine has been talking recklessly. I never could 
 get him to realise that he was in Chili, and that he 
 must not be so free in his speech. He always insisted 
 that this was the nineteenth century, and a man could 
 say what he liked ; as if the nineteenth century had 
 anything to do with a South American Republic." 
 
 " You don't imagine," said Dupr, with a touch of 
 pallor coming into his cheeks, " that this is anything 
 serious. It will mean nothing more than a day or two 
 in prison at the worst ? " 
 
 The manager shook his head and said 
 
 " We had better get a carriage and see the Presi- 
 dent as soon as possible. I'll undertake to send 
 Lemoine back to Paris, or to put him on board one of 
 the French ironclads. But there is no time to be lost. 
 We can probably get a carriage in the square." 
 
 They found a carriage and drove as quickly as they 
 could to the residence of the President. At first they 
 were refused admittance, but finally they were allowed 
 to wait in a small room while their message was taken 
 to Balmeceda. An hour passed, but still no invita- 
 tion came to them from the President. The manager 
 sat silent in a corner, while Dupre" paced up and down 
 the small room, torn with anxiety about his friend. 
 At last an officer entered, and presented them with 
 the compliments of the President, who regretted that 
 it was impossible for him to see them that night.
 
 A DRAMATIC POINT. 263 
 
 The officer added, for their information, by ordef of 
 the President, that Lemoine was to be shot at day- 
 break. He had been tried by court-martial and con- 
 demned to death for sedition. The President re- 
 gretted having kept them waiting so long, but the 
 court-martial had been sitting when they arrived, and 
 the President thought that perhaps they would be 
 interested in knowing the verdict. With that the 
 officer escorted the two dumb-founded men to the door, 
 where they got into their carriage without a word. 
 The moment they were out of earshot the manager 
 said to the coachman 
 
 " Drive as quickly as you can to the residence of the 
 French Minister." 
 
 Every one at the French Legation had retired 
 when these two panic-stricken men reached there, but 
 after a time the secretary consented to see them, and, 
 on learning the seriousness of the case, he undertook 
 to arouse his Excellency, and learn if anything could 
 be done. 
 
 The Minister entered the room shortly after, and 
 listened with interest to what they had to say. 
 
 "You have your carriage at the door? " he asked, 
 when they had finished their recital. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then I will take it and see the President at once. 
 Perhaps you will wait here until I return." 
 
 Another hour dragged its slow length along, and 
 they were well into the second hour before the rattle 
 of wheels was heard in the silent street. The Minis- 
 ter came in, and the two anxious men saw by his face 
 that he had failed in his mission.
 
 264 REVENGE ! 
 
 " I am sorry to say," said his Excellency, " that I 
 have been unable even to get the execution postponed. 
 I did not understand, when I undertook the mission, 
 that M. Lemoine was a citizen of Chili. You see 
 that fact puts the matter entirely out of my hands. I 
 am powerless. I could only advise the President not 
 to carry out his intentions ; but he is to-night in a 
 most unreasonable and excited mood, and I fear noth- 
 ing can be done to save your friend. If he had been 
 a citizen of France, of course this execution would 
 not have been permitted to take place ; but, as it is, 
 it is not our affair. M. Lemoine seems to have been 
 talking with some indiscretion. He does not deny it 
 himself, nor does he deny his citizenship. If he had 
 taken a conciliatory attitude at the court-martial, the 
 result might not have been so disastrous ; but it 
 seems that he insulted the President to his face, and 
 predicted that he would, within two weeks, meet him 
 in Hades. The utmost I could do, was to get the 
 President to sign a permit for you to see your friend, 
 if you present it at the prison before the execution 
 takes place. I fear you have no time to lose. Here 
 is the paper." 
 
 Dupre took the document, and thanked his Ex- 
 cellency for his exertions on their behalf. He realised 
 that Lemoine had sealed his own fate by his inde- 
 pendence and lack of tact. 
 
 The two dejected men drove from the Legation 
 and through the deserted streets to the prison. They 
 were shown through several stone-paved rooms to a 
 stone-paved courtyard, and there they waited for 
 some time until the prisoner was brought in between
 
 A DRAMATIC POINT. 265 
 
 two soldiers. Lemoine had thrown off his coat, and 
 appeared in his shirt sleeves. He was not manacled 
 or bound in any way, there being too many prisoners 
 for each one to be allowed the luxury of fetters. 
 
 "Ah," cried Lemoine when he saw them, "I knew 
 you would come if that old scoundrel of a President 
 would allow you in, of which I had my doubts. How 
 did you manage it ? " 
 
 " The French Minister got us a permit," said Dupre. 
 
 " Oh, you went to him, did you ? Of course he 
 could do nothing, for, as I told you, I have the mis- 
 fortune to be a citizen of this country. How comically 
 life is made up of trivialities. I remember once, in 
 Paris, going with a friend to take the oath of allegiance 
 to the French Republic." 
 
 " And did you take it ? " cried Dupre" eagerly. 
 
 " Alas, no ! We met two other friends, and we all 
 adjourned to a cafe and had something to drink. I 
 little thought that bottle of champagne was going to 
 cost me my life, for, of course, if I had taken the oath 
 of allegiance, my friend, the French Minister, would 
 have bombarded the city before he would have al- 
 lowed the execution to go on." 
 
 " Then you know to what you are condemned," said 
 the manager, with tears in his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, I know that Balmeceda thinks he is going to 
 have me shot ; but then he always was a fool, and 
 never knew what he was talking about. I told him 
 if he would allow you two in at the execution, and 
 instead of having a whole squad to fire at me, order 
 one expert marksman, if he had such a thing in his 
 whole army, to shoot me through the heart, that I
 
 266 REVENGE! 
 
 would show you, Dupre", how a man dies under such 
 circumstances, but the villain refused. The usurper 
 has no soul for art, or anything else, for that matter. 
 I hope you won't mind my death. I assure you I 
 don't mind it myself. I would much rather be shot 
 than live in this confounded country any longer. 
 But I have made up my mind to cheat old Balmeceda 
 if I can, and I want you, Dupre, to pay particular at- 
 tention, and not to interfere." 
 
 As Lemoine said this he quickly snatched from the 
 sheath at the soldier's side the bayonet which hung 
 at his hip. The soldiers were standing one to the 
 right, and one to the left of him, with their hands 
 interlaced over the muzzles of their guns, whose butts 
 rested on the stone floor. They apparently paid no 
 attention to the conversation that was going on, if 
 they understood it, which was unlikely. Lemoine had 
 the bayonet in his hands before either of the four 
 men present knew what he was doing. 
 
 Grasping both hands over the butt of the bayonet, 
 with the point towards his breast, he thrust the blade 
 with desperate energy nearly through his body. The 
 whole action was done so quickly that no one realised 
 what had happened until Lemoine threw his hands up 
 and they saw the bayonet sticking in his breast. A 
 look of agony came in the wounded man's eyes, and 
 his lips whitened. He staggered against the soldier 
 at his right, who gave way with the impact, and then 
 he tottered against the whitewashed stone wall, his 
 right arm sweeping automatically up and down the 
 wall as if he were brushing something from the 
 stones. A groan escaped him, and he dropped on
 
 
 " MY GOD, YOU WKRli RHiH T AFTKR ALL " fttfff
 
 A DRAMATIC POINT. 267 
 
 one knee. His eyes turned helplessly towards Dupr6, 
 
 and he gasped out the words 
 
 " My God ! You were right after all." 
 Then he fell forward on his face and the tragedy 
 'ended.
 
 TWO FLORENTINE BALCONIES. 
 
 PRINCE PADEMA sat desolately on his lofty balcony 
 at Florence, and cursed things generally. Fate had 
 indeed dealt hardly with the young man. 
 
 The Prince had been misled by the apparent reason- 
 ableness of the adage, that if you want a thing well 
 done you should do it yourself. In committing a 
 murder it is always advisable to have some one else to 
 do it for you, but the Prince's plans had been several 
 times interfered with by the cowardice or inefficiency 
 of his emissaries, so on one unfortunate occasion he 
 had determined to remove an objectionable man with 
 his own hand, and realised then how easily mistakes 
 may occur. 
 
 He had met the man face to face under a corner 
 lamp in Venice. The recognition was mutual, and 
 the man, fearing his noble enemy, had fled. The 
 Prince pursued, and the man apparently tried to 
 double upon him, and, with his cloak over his face, 
 endeavoured to sneak past along the dark wall. When 
 the Prince deftly ran the dagger into his vitals, he 
 was surprised that the man made no resistance or 
 outcry, made no effort to ward off the blow, but sunk 
 lifeless at the Prince's feet with a groan. 
 
 Alarmed at this, the Prince bade his servant drag
 
 TWO FLORENTINE BALCONIES. 269 
 
 the body to a spot where a votive lamp set in the 
 wall threw dim yellow rays to the pavement. Then 
 his Highness was appalled to see that he had assassi- 
 nated a scion of one of the noblest families of Venice, 
 which was a very different thing from murdering 
 a man of low degree whose life the law took little 
 note of. 
 
 So the Prince had to flee from Venice, and he took 
 up his residence in a narrow steet in an obscure part 
 of Florence. 
 
 Seldom had fate played a man so scurvy a trick, 
 and the Prince was fully justified in his cursing, for 
 the unfortunate episode had interrupted a most ab- 
 sorbing amour which, at that moment, was rapidly 
 approaching an interesting climax. 
 
 Prince Padema had been several weeks in Florence, 
 and those weeks had been deadly dull. " The women 
 of Florence," he said to himself bitterly, " are not 
 to be compared with those of Venice." But even 
 if they had been, the necessity of keeping quiet, for 
 a time at least, would have prevented the Prince from 
 taking advantage of his enforced sojourn in the fair 
 city. 
 
 On this particular evening, the Prince's sombre 
 meditations were interrupted by a song. The song 
 apparently came from the same building in which his 
 suite of rooms were situated, and from an open 
 window some distance below him. What caught his 
 attention was the fact that the song was Venetian, 
 and the voice that sang it was the rich mellow voice 
 of Venice. 
 
 There were other exiles, then, beside himself. He
 
 2;o REVENGE! 
 
 peered over the edge of the balcony perched like an 
 eagle's nest high above the narrow stone street, and 
 endeavoured to locate the open window from which 
 the song came, or, better still, to catch a glimpse of 
 the singer. 
 
 For a time he was unsuccessful, but at last his 
 patience was rewarded. On a balcony to the right, 
 and some distance below his own, there appeared the 
 most beautiful girl even he had ever seen. The dark, 
 oval face was so distinctly Venetian that he almost 
 persuaded himself he had met her in his native town. 
 
 She stood with her hands on the top rail of the 
 balcony, her dark hair tumbled in rich confusion over 
 her shapely shoulders. The golden light in the 
 evening sky touched her face with glory, as she 
 looked towards it, or that part of it that could be seen 
 at the end of the narrow street. 
 
 The Prince's heart beat high as he gazed upon the 
 face that was unconscious of his scrutiny. Instantly 
 the thought flashed over him that exile in Florence 
 might, after all, have its compensations. 
 
 " Pietro," he whispered softly through his own open 
 windows to the servant who was moving silently 
 about the room, " come here for a moment, quietly." 
 
 The servant came stealthily to the edge of the 
 window. 
 
 "You see that girl on the lower balcony," said the 
 Prince in a whisper. 
 
 Pietro nodded. 
 
 " Find out for me who she is why she is here 
 whether she has any friends. Do it silently, so as to 
 arouse no suspicion."
 
 TWO FLORENTINE BALCONIES. 271 
 
 Again his faithful servant nodded, and disappeared 
 into the gloom of the room. 
 
 Next day Pietro brought to his eager master what 
 information he had been able to glean. He had suc- 
 ceeded in forming the acquaintance of the Signorina's 
 maid. 
 
 For some reason, which the maid either did not 
 know or would not disclose, the Signor.ina was ex- 
 iled for a time -from Venice. She belonged to a 
 good family there, but the name of the family the 
 maid also refused to divulge. She dared not tell it, 
 she said. They had been in Florence for several 
 weeks, but had only taken the rooms below within 
 the last two days. The Signorina received absolutely 
 no one, and the maid had been cautioned to say 
 nothing whatever about her to any person ; but she 
 had apparently succumbed in a measure to the bland- 
 ishments of gallant Pietro. 
 
 The rooms had been taken because of their quiet 
 and obscure position. 
 
 That evening the Prince was again upon his balcony, 
 but his thoughts were not so bitter as they had been 
 the day before. He had a bouquet of beautiful flowers 
 beside him. He listened for the Venetian song, but 
 was disappointed at not hearing it : and he hoped 
 that Pietro had not been so injudicious as to arouse 
 the suspicions of the maid, who might communicate 
 them to her mistress. He held his breath eagerly as 
 he heard the windows below open. The maid came 
 out on the balcony and placed an easy-chair in 
 the corner of it. She deftly arranged the cushions 
 and the drapery of it, and presently the Signorina
 
 272 REVENGE ! 
 
 herself appeared, and with languid grace seated her- 
 self. 
 
 The Prince had now a full view of her lovely face, 
 as the girl rested her elbow on the railing of the 
 balcony, and her cheek upon her hand. 
 
 " You may go now, Pepita," said the girl. 
 
 The maid threw a lace shawl over the shoulders of 
 her mistress, and departed. 
 
 The Prince leaned over the balcony and whispered, 
 " Signorina." 
 
 The startled girl looked up and down the street, 
 and then at the balcony which stood out against the 
 opalescent sky, the tracery of ironwork showing like 
 delicate etching on the luminous background. 
 
 She flushed and dropped her eyes, making no reply. 
 
 " Signorina," repeated the Prince, " I, too, am an 
 exile. Pardon me. It is in remembrance of our lovely 
 city ; " and with that he lightly flung the bouquet, 
 which fell at her feet on the floor of the balcony. 
 
 For a few moments the girl did not move nor raise 
 her eyes ; then she cast a quick glance through the 
 open window into her room. After some slight 
 hesitation she stooped gracefully and picked up the 
 bouquet. 
 
 "Ah, beautiful Venice ! " she murmured with a sigh, 
 still not looking upwards. 
 
 The Prince was delighted with the success of his 
 first advance, which is always the difficult step. 
 
 Evening after evening they sat there later and 
 later. The acquaintance ripened to its inevitable con- 
 clusion the conclusion the Prince had counted on 
 from the first.
 
 TWO FLORENTINE BALCONIES. 273 
 
 One evening she stood in the darkness with her 
 cheek pressed against the wall at the corner of her 
 balcony nearest to him ; he looked over and dow^i- 
 ward at her. 
 
 " It cannot be. It cannot be," she said, with a 
 frightened quaver in her voice, but a quaver which the 
 Prince recognised, with his large experience, as the 
 tone of yielding. 
 
 " It must be," he whispered down to her. " It was 
 ordained from the first. It has to be." 
 
 The girl was weeping silently. 
 
 " It is impossible," she said at last. " My servant 
 sleeps outside my door. Even if she did not know, 
 your servant would, and there would be gossip and 
 scandal. It is impossible." 
 
 " Nothing is impossible," cried the Prince eagerly, 
 " where true love exists. I shall lock my door, and 
 Pietro shall know nothing about it. He never comes 
 unless I call him. I will get a rope and throw it to 
 your balcony. Lock you your door as I do mine. 
 In the darkness nothing is seen." 
 
 " No, no/' she murmured. " That would not do. 
 You could not climb back again, and all would be 
 lost." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! " cried the young man eagerly. 
 " It is nothing to climb back." He was about to 
 add that he had done it frequently before, but he 
 checked himself in time. 
 
 For a moment she was silent. Then she said : " I 
 cannot risk your not getting back. It must be cer- 
 tain. If you get a rope a strong rope and put a 
 loop in it for your foot, and pass the other end of the
 
 274 REVENGE! 
 
 rope to me around the staunchest railing of your 
 balcony, I will let you down to the level of my own. 
 Then you can easily swing yourself within reach. If 
 you find you cannot climb back, I can help you, by 
 pulling on the rope and you will ascend as you came 
 down." 
 
 The Prince laughed lightly. 
 
 " Do you think," he said, " that your frail hands are 
 stronger than mine ? " 
 
 " Four hands," she replied, " are stronger than two. 
 Besides, I am not so weak as, perhaps, you think." 
 
 " Very well," he replied, not in a mood to cavil 
 about trivialities. " When shall it be to-night ? " 
 
 " No ; to-morrow night. You must get your rope 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Again the Prince laughed quietly. 
 
 " I have the rope in my room now," he answered. 
 
 " You were very sure," she said softly. 
 
 " No, not sure. I was strong in hope. Is your 
 door locked ? " 
 
 " Yes," she replied in an agitated whisper. " But it 
 is still early. Wait an hour or two." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the Prince, " it will never be darker 
 than at this moment, and think, my darling, how long 
 I have waited ! " 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " Stand inside the window," whispered the Prince. 
 As she did so a coil of rope fell on the balcony. 
 
 " Have you got it ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," was the scarcely audible reply. 
 
 " Then don't trust to your own strength. Give it a 
 turn around the balcony rail."
 
 TWO FLORENTINE BALCONIES. 275 
 
 " I have done so," she whispered. 
 
 Although he could not see her because of the dark- 
 ness, she saw him silhouetted against the night sky. 
 
 He tested the loop, putting his foot in it and pulling 
 at the rope with both hands. Then he put the rope 
 round the corner support of the balcony. 
 
 " Are you sure the rope is strong enough ? " she 
 asked. " Who bought it ?" 
 
 " Pietro got it for me. It is strong enough to hold 
 ten men." 
 
 His foot was in the loop, and he slung himself from 
 his balcony, holding the rope with both hands. 
 
 " Let it go very gently," he said. " I will tell you 
 when you have lowered enough." 
 
 Holding the end of the rope firmly, the girl let it 
 out inch by inch. 
 
 " That is enough," the Prince said at last ; and she 
 held him where he was, leaning over the balcony 
 towards him. 
 
 " Prince Padema," she said to him. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the man with a start. " How did you 
 learn my name ? " 
 
 " I have long known it. It is a name of sorrow to 
 our family. 
 
 " Prince," she continued, " have you never seen 
 anything in my face that brought recollection to you? 
 Or is your memory so short that the grief you bring 
 to others leaves no trace on your own mind ? " 
 
 " God ! " cried the Prince in alarm, seizing the rope 
 above him as if to climb back. " What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 The girl loosened the rope for an inch or two, and
 
 276 REVENGE! 
 
 the Prince was lowered with a sickening feeling in his 
 heart as he realised his position a hundred feet above 
 the stone street. 
 
 " I can see you plainly," said the girl in hard and 
 husky tones. " If you make an attempt to climb to 
 your balcony, I will at once loosen the rope. Is it 
 possible you have not suspected who I am, and why I 
 am here?" 
 
 The Prince was dizzy. He had whirled gently 
 around in one direction for some time, but now the 
 motion ceased, and he began to revolve with equal 
 gentleness in the other direction, like the body of a 
 man who is hanged. 
 
 A sharp memory pierced his brain. 
 
 " Meela is dead," he cried, with a gasp in his breath. 
 " She was drowned. You are flesh and blood. Tell 
 me you are not her spirit ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you that," answered the girl. " My 
 own spirit seemed to leave me when the body of my 
 sister was brought from the canal at the foot of our 
 garden. You know the place well ; you know the 
 gate and the steps. I think her spirit then took the 
 place of my own. Ever since that day I have lived 
 only for revenge, and now, Prince Padema, the hour I 
 have waited for is come." 
 
 An agonising cry for help rang through the silent 
 street, but there was no answer to the call. 
 
 " It is useless," said the girl calmly. " It will be 
 accounted an accident. Your servant bought the 
 j-ope that will be found with you. Any one who 
 knows you will have an explanation ready for what 
 has happened. No one will suspect me, and I want
 
 TWO FLORENTINE BALCONIES. 277 
 
 you to know that your death will be unavenged, 
 prince though you are." 
 
 " You are a demon," he cried. 
 
 She watched him silently as he stealthily climbed 
 up the rope. He did not appear sufficiently to real- 
 ise how visible his body was against the still luminous 
 sky. When he was within a foot of his balcony she 
 loosened the rope, and again he sunk to where he had 
 been before, and hung there exhausted by his futile 
 effort. 
 
 " I will marry you," he said, " if you will let me 
 reach my balcony again. I will, upon my honour. 
 You shall be a princess." 
 
 She laughed lightly. 
 
 " We Venetians never forget nor forgive. Prince 
 Padema, good-bye ! " 
 
 She sunk fainting in her chair as she let go the rope, 
 and clapped her hands to her ears, so that no sound 
 came up from the stone street below. When she 
 staggered into her room, all was silence.
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD. 
 
 THE large mansion of Louis Heckle, millionaire 
 and dealer in gold mines, was illuminated from top to 
 bottom. Carriages were arriving and departing, and 
 guests were hurrying up the carpeted stair after pass- 
 ing under the canopy that stretched from the door- 
 way to the edge of the street. A crowd of on-lookers 
 stood on the pavement watching the arrival of ladies 
 so charmingly attired. Lord Stansford came alone in 
 a hansom, and he walked quickly across the bit of 
 carpet stretched to the roadway, and then more 
 leisurely up the broad stair. He was an athletic 
 young fellow of twenty-six, or thereabout. The mo- 
 ment he entered the large reception-room his eyes 
 wandered, searchingly, over the gallant company, ap- 
 parently looking for some one whom he could not 
 find. He passed into a further room, and through 
 that into a third, and there, his searching gaze met 
 the stare of Billy Heckle. Heckle was a young man 
 of about the same age as Lord Stansford, and he also 
 was seemingly on the look-out for some one among 
 the arriving guests. The moment he saw Lord Stans- 
 ford a slight frown gathered upon his brow, and he 
 moved among the throng toward the spot where the 
 other stood. Stansford saw him coming, and did not 
 seem to be so pleased as might have been expected,
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD. 279 
 
 but he made no motion to avoid the young man, who 
 accosted him without salutation. 
 
 " Look here," said Heckle gruffly, " I want a word 
 with you." 
 
 " Very well," answered Stansford, in a low voice ; 
 " so long as you speak in tones no one else can hear, 
 I am willing to listen/' 
 
 " You will listen, whether or no," replied the other, 
 who, nevertheless, took the hint and subdued his 
 voice. " I have met you on various occasions lately, 
 and I want to give you a word of warning. You 
 seem to be very devoted to Miss Linderham, so per- 
 haps you do not know she is engaged to me." 
 
 " I have heard it so stated," said Lord Stansford, 
 " but I have found some difficulty in believing the 
 statement." 
 
 " Now, see here," cried the horsey young man, " I 
 want none of your cheek, and I give you fair warning 
 that, if you pay any more attention to the young 
 lady, I shall expose you in public. I mean what I say, 
 and I am not going to stand any of your nonsense." 
 
 Lord Stansford's face grew pale, and he glanced 
 about him to see if by chance any one had overheard 
 the remark. He seemed about to resent it, but finally 
 gained control over himself and said 
 
 " We are in your father's house, Mr. Heckle, and I 
 suppose it is quite safe to address a remark like that 
 to me ! " 
 
 " I know it's quite safe anywhere," replied Heckle. 
 " You've got the straight tip from me ; now see you 
 pay attention to it." 
 
 Heckle turned away, and Lord Stansford, after
 
 28o REVENGE! 
 
 standing there for a moment, wandered back to the 
 middle room. The conversation had taken place 
 somewhat near a heavily-curtained window, and the 
 two men stood slightly apart from the other guests. 
 When they left the spot the curtains were drawn 
 gently apart, and a tall, very handsome young lady 
 stepped from between them. She watched Lord 
 Stansford's retreat for a moment, and then made as 
 though she would follow him, but one of her admirers 
 came forward to claim her hand for the first dance. 
 " Music has just begun in the ball-room," he said. 
 She placed her hand on the arm of her partner and 
 went out with him. 
 
 When the dance was over, she was amazed to see 
 Lord Stansford still in the room. She had expected 
 him to leave, when the son of his host spoke so 
 insultingly to him, but the young man had not de- 
 parted. He appeared to be enjoying himself im- 
 mensely, and danced through every dance with the 
 utmost devotion, which rather put to shame many of 
 the young men who lounged against the walls; never 
 once, however, did he come near Miss Linderham 
 until the evening was well on, and then he passed her 
 by accident. She touched him on the arm with her 
 fan, and he looked round quickly. 
 
 " Oh, how do you do, Miss Linderham ? " he said. 
 
 " Why have you ignored me all the evening ? " she 
 asked, looking at him with sparkling eyes. 
 
 " I haven't ignored you," he replied, with some 
 embarrassment ; " I did not know you were here." 
 
 " Oh, that is worse than ignoring," replied Miss 
 Linderham, with a laugh ; " but now that you do know
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD 281 
 
 I am here, I wish you to take me into the garden. It 
 is becoming insufferably hot in here." 
 
 " Yes," said the young man, getting red in the face, 
 " it is warm." 
 
 The girl could not help noticing his reluctance, but 
 nevertheless she took his arm, and they passed through 
 several rooms to the terrace which faced the garden. 
 Lord Stansford's anxious eyes again seemed to 
 search the rooms through which they passed, and 
 again, on encountering those of Billy Heckle, Miss 
 Linderham's escort shivered slightly as he passed on. 
 The girl wondered what mystery was at the bottom 
 of all this, and with feminine curiosity resolved to 
 find out, even if she had to ask Lord Stansford him- 
 self. They sauntered along one of the walks until 
 they reached a seat far from the house. The music 
 floated out to them through the open windows, faint 
 in the distance. Miss Linderham sat down and mo- 
 tioned Lord Stansford to sit beside her. "Now," 
 she said, turning her handsome face full upon him, 
 " why have you avoided me all the evening ? " 
 
 "I haven't avoided you," he said. 
 
 " Tut, tut, you mustn't contradict a lady, you 
 know. I want the reason, the real reason, and no 
 excuses." 
 
 Before the young man could reply, Billy Heckle, 
 his face flushed with wine or anger, or perhaps both, 
 strode down the path and confronted them. 
 
 " I gave you your warning," he cried. 
 
 Lord Stansford sprang to his feet ; Miss Linderham 
 arose also, and looked in some alarm from one young 
 man to the other.
 
 282 REVENGE! 
 
 " Stop a moment, Heckle ; don't say a word, and I 
 will meet you where you like afterwards," hurriedly 
 put in his lordship. 
 
 " Afterwards is no good to me," answered Heckle. 
 " I gave you the tip, and you haven't followed it." 
 
 " I beg you to remember," said Stansford, in a low 
 voice with a tremor in it, " there is a lady preseQt." 
 
 Miss Linderham turned to go. 
 
 " Stop a moment," cried Heckle ; " do you know 
 who this man is ? " 
 
 Miss Linderham stopped, but did not answer. 
 
 " I'll tell you who he is : he is a hired guest. My 
 father pays five guineas for his presence here to-night, 
 and every place you have met him, he has been there 
 on hire. That's the kind of man Lord Stansford is. 
 I told you I should expose you. Now I am going to 
 tell the others." 
 
 Lord Stansford's face was as white as paper. His 
 teeth were clinched, and taking one quick step for- 
 ward, he smote Heckle fair between the two eyes and 
 felled him to the ground. 
 
 " You cur ! " he cried. " Get up, or I shall kick you, 
 and hate myself ever after for doing it." 
 
 Young Heckle picked himself up, cursing under his 
 breath. 
 
 "I'll settle with you, my man," he cried ; " I'll get 
 a policeman. You'll spend the remainder of this night 
 in the cells." 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the sort," answered Lord 
 Stansford, catching him by both wrists with an iron 
 grasp. " Now pay attention to me, Billy Heckle : 
 you feel my grip on your wrist ; you felt my blow in
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD. 283 
 
 your face, didn't you ? Now you go into the house 
 by whatever back entrance there is, go to your room, 
 wash the blood off your face, and stay there, other- 
 wise, by God, I'll break both of your wrists as you 
 stand here," and he gave the wrists a wrench that made 
 the other wince, big and bulky as he was. 
 
 " I promise," said Heckle. 
 
 " Very well, see that you keep your promise." 
 
 Young Heckle slunk away, and Lord Stansford 
 turned to Miss Linderham, who stood looking on, 
 speechless with horror and surprise. 
 
 " What a brute you are ! " she cried, her under lip 
 quivering. 
 
 " Yes," he replied quietly. " Most of us men are 
 brutes when you take a little of the varnish off. 
 Won't you sit down, Miss Linderham ? There is no 
 need now to reply to the question you asked me : the 
 incident you have witnessed, and what you have 
 heard, has been its answer." 
 
 The young lady did not sit down ; she stood look- 
 ing at him, her eyes softening a trifle. 
 
 " Is it true, then? " she cried. 
 
 " Is what true ? " 
 
 " That you are here as a hired guest ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is true." 
 
 " Then why did you knock him down, if it was the 
 truth?" 
 
 " Because he spoke the truth before you." 
 
 " I hope, Lord Stansford, you don't mean to imply 
 that I am in any way responsible for your ruffian- 
 ism? " 
 
 " You are, and in more than one sense of the word.
 
 284 REVENGE! 
 
 That young fellow threatened me when I came here 
 to-night, knowing that I was his father's hired guest ; 
 I did not wish exposure, and so I avoided you. You 
 spoke to me, and asked me to bring you out here. 
 I came, knowing that if Heckle saw me he would 
 carry out his threat. He has carried it out, and I 
 have had the pleasure of knocking him down." 
 
 Miss Linderham sank upon the seat, and once more 
 motioned with her fan for him to take the place beside 
 her. 
 
 " Then you receive five guineas a night for appear- 
 ing at the different places where I have met you ? " 
 
 "As a matter of fact," said Stansford, " I get only 
 two guineas. I suppose the other three, if such is the 
 price paid, goes to my employers." 
 
 " I thought Mr. Heckle was your employer to- 
 night ? " 
 
 " I mean to the company who let me out, if I make 
 myself clear ; Spink and Company. Telephone 100,- 
 803. If you should ever want an eligible guest for 
 any entertainment you give, and men are scarce, you 
 have only to telephone them, and they will send me to 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Miss Linderham, tapping her knee 
 with the fan. 
 
 " It is only justice to my fellow employe's," contin- 
 ued Lord Stansford, " to say that I believe they are 
 all eligible young men, but many of them may be had 
 for a guinea. The charge in my case is higher as I 
 have a title. I have tried to flatter myself that it was 
 my polished, dignified manner that won me the extra 
 remuneration ; but after your exclamation on my
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD. 285 
 
 brutality to-night, I am afraid I must fall back on my 
 title. We members of the aristocracy come high, you 
 know." 
 
 There was silence between them for a few moments, 
 and then the girl looked up at him and said 
 
 "Aren't you ashamed of your profession, Lord 
 Stansford?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Lord Stansford, " I am." 
 
 " Then why do you follow it ? " 
 
 " Why does a man sweep a street-crossing ? Lack 
 of money. One must have money, you know, to get 
 along in this world ; and I, alas, have none. I had a 
 little once ; I wanted to make it more, so gambled 
 and lost. I laid low for a couple of years, and saw 
 none of my old acquaintances ; but it was no use, 
 there was nothing I could turn my hand to. This 
 profession, as you call it, led me back into my old set 
 again. It is true that many of the houses I fre- 
 quented before my disaster overtook me, do not hire 
 guests. I am more in demand by the new-rich, like 
 Heckle here, who, with his precious son, does not 
 know how to treat a guest, even when that guest is 
 hired." 
 
 "But I should think," said Miss Linderham, "that 
 a man like you would go to South Africa or Australia, 
 where there are great things to be done. I imagine, 
 from the insight I have had into your character, you 
 would make a good fighter. Why don't you go where 
 fighting is appreciated, and where they do not call a 
 policeman ? " 
 
 " I have often thought of it, Miss Linderham, but 
 you see, to secure an appointment, one needs to have
 
 286 REVENGE! 
 
 a certain amount of influence, and be able to pass ex- 
 aminations. I can't pass an examination in anything. 
 I have quarrelled with all my people, and have no in- 
 fluence. To tell you the truth, I am saving up money 
 now in the hope of being able to buy an outfit to go 
 to the Cape." 
 
 "You would much rather be in London, though, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, if I had a reasonably good income." 
 
 " Are you open to a fair offer? " 
 
 " What do you mean by a fair offer ? " 
 
 " I mean, would you entertain a proposal in your 
 present line of business with increased remuneration ? " 
 
 The young man sat silent for a few moments and 
 did not look at his companion. When he spoke there 
 was a shade of resentment in his voice. 
 
 " I thought you saw, Miss Linderham, that I was 
 not very proud of my present occupation." 
 
 " No, but, as you said, a man will do anything for 
 money." 
 
 " I beg your pardon for again contradicting you, 
 but I never said anything of the sort." 
 
 " I thought you did, when you were speaking of 
 the crossing-sweeping ; but never mind, I know a lady 
 who has plenty of money ; she is an artist ; at least, 
 she thinks she is one, and wishes to devote her life to 
 art. She is continually pestered by offers of mar- 
 riage, and she knows these offers come to her largely 
 because of her money. Now, this lady wishes to 
 marry a man, and will settle upon him two thousand 
 pounds a year. Would you be willing to accept that 
 offer if I got you an introduction ? "
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD. 287 
 
 " It would depend very much on the lady," said 
 Stansford. 
 
 " Oh no, it wouldn't ; for you would have nothing 
 whatever to do with her, except that you would be 
 her hired husband. She wants to devote herself to 
 painting, not to you don't you understand? and so 
 long as you did not trouble her, you could enjoy your 
 two thousand pounds a year. Yo'u, perhaps, might 
 have to appear at some of the receptions she would 
 give, and I have no doubt she would add five guineas 
 an evening for your presence. That would be an ex- 
 tra, you know." 
 
 There was a long silence between them after Mag- 
 gie Linderham ceased speaking. The young man 
 kicked the gravel with his toes, and his eyes were bent 
 upon the path before him. " He is thinking it over," 
 said Miss Linderham to herself. At last Lord Stans- 
 ford looked up, with a sigh. 
 
 " Did you see the late scuffle between the unfortu- 
 nate Heckle and myself?" 
 
 " Did I see it ? " she asked. " How could I help 
 seeing it ?" 
 
 " Ah, then, did you notice that when he was down 
 I helped him up?" 
 
 " Yes ; and threatened to break his wrists when you 
 got him up." 
 
 " Quite so. I should have done it, too, if he had 
 not promised. But what I wanted to call your atten- 
 tion to, was the fact that he was standing up when I 
 struck him, and I want also to impress upon you the 
 other fact, that I did not hit him when he was down. 
 Did you notice that? "
 
 288 REVENGE! 
 
 " Of course, I noticed it. No man would hit 
 another when he was down." 
 
 "I am very glad, Miss Linderham, that you recog- 
 nise it as a code of honour with us men, brutes as we 
 are. Don't you think a woman should be equally 
 generous?" 
 
 "Certainly; but I don't see what you mean." 
 
 " I mean this, Miss Linderham, that your offer is 
 hitting me when I'm down." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Miss Linderham, in dismay. 
 " I'm sure I beg your pardon ; I did not look at it in 
 that light." 
 
 " Oh, it doesn't matter very much," said Stansford, 
 rising ; " it's all included in the two guineas, but I'm 
 pleased to think I have some self-respect left, and 
 that I can refuse your lady, and will not become a hired 
 husband at two thousand pounds a year. May I see 
 you back to the house, Miss Linderham? As you are 
 well aware, I have duties towards other guests who 
 are not hired, and it is a point of honour with me to 
 earn my money. I wouldn't like a complaint to reach 
 the ears of Spink and Company." 
 
 Miss Linderham rose and placed her hand within 
 his arm. 
 
 "Telephone, what number?" she asked. 
 
 " Telephone 100,803," he answered. " I am sorry 
 the firm did not provide me with some of their cards 
 when I was at the office this afternoon." 
 
 " It doesn't matter," said Miss Linderham ; " I will 
 remember," and they entered the house together. 
 
 Next day, at a large studio in Kensington, none of 
 the friends who had met Miss Linderham at the ball
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD. 289 
 
 the evening before would have recognised the girl ; 
 not but what she was as pretty as ever, perhaps a 
 little prettier, with her long white pinafore and her 
 pretty fingers discoloured by the crayons she was 
 using. She was trying to sketch upon the canvas 
 before her the figure of a man, striking out from the 
 shoulder, and she did not seem to have much success 
 with her drawing, perhaps because she had no model, 
 and perhaps because her mind was pre-occupied. She 
 would sit for a long time staring at the canvas, then 
 jump up and put in lines which did not appear to 
 bring the rough sketch any nearer perfection. 
 
 The room was large, with a good north window, 
 and scattered about were the numberless objects that 
 go to the confusing make-up of an artist's workshop. 
 At last Miss Linderham threw down her crayon, went 
 to the end of the room where a telephone hung, and 
 rang the bell. 
 
 "Give me," she said, " 100,803." 
 
 After a few moments of waiting, a voice came. 
 
 " Is that Spink and Company? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, madam," was the reply. 
 
 "You have in your employ Lord Stansford, I 
 think?" 
 
 " Yes, madam." 
 
 " Is he engaged for this afternoon ? " 
 
 " No, madam." 
 
 " Well, send him to Miss Linderham, No. 2,044, 
 Cromwell Road, South Kensington." 
 
 The man at the other end wrote the address, and 
 then asked 
 
 " At what hour, madam ? "
 
 290 REVENGE! 
 
 " I want him from four till six o'clock." 
 " Very well, madam, we shall send him." 
 " Now," said Miss Linderham, with a sigh of relief, 
 " I can have a model who will strike the right attitude. 
 It is so difficult to draw from memory." 
 
 The reason why so many women fail as artists, as 
 well as in many other professions, may be because 
 they pay so much attention to their own dress. It is 
 an astonishing fact to record that Miss Linderham 
 sent out for a French hairdresser, who was a most ex- 
 pensive man, and whom she generally called in only 
 when some very important function was about to take 
 place. 
 
 " I want you," she said, " to dress my hair in an ar- 
 tistic way, and yet in a manner that it will seem as if 
 no particular trouble had been taken. Do you under- 
 stand me? " 
 
 " Ah, perfectly, mademoiselle," said the polite 
 Frenchman. " You shall be so fascinating, mademoi- 
 selle, that 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Linderham, " that is what I want.' 
 At three o'clock she had on a dainty gown. The 
 sleeves were turned up, as if she were ready for the 
 most serious work. The spotless pinafore which 
 covered this dress had the most fetching little frill 
 around it ; all in all, it was doubtful if any studio in 
 London, even one belonging to the most celebrated 
 painter, had in it as pretty a picture as Miss Maggie 
 Linderham was that afternoon. At three o'clock 
 there came a ring at the telephone, and when Miss 
 Linderham answered the call, the voice which she had 
 heard before said
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD. 291 
 
 "I am very sorry to disappoint you, madam, but 
 Lord Stansford resigned this afternoon. We could 
 send you another man if you liked to have him." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Miss Linderham ; and the man at 
 the other end of the telephone actually thought she 
 was weeping. 
 
 " No, I don't want any one else. It doesn't really 
 matter." 
 
 " The other man," replied the voice, "would be 
 only two guineas, and it was five for Lord Stansford. 
 We could send you a man for a guinea, although we 
 don't recommend him." 
 
 "No," said Miss Linderham, "I don't want any- 
 body. I am glad Lord Stansford is not coming, as the 
 little party I proposed to give, has been postponed." 
 
 " Ah, then, when it does come off, madam, I 
 hope " 
 
 But Miss Linderham hung up the receiver, and did 
 not listen to the recommendations the man was send- 
 ing over the wire about his hired guests. The chances 
 are that Maggie Linderham would have cried had 
 it not been that her hair was so nicely, yet carelessly, 
 done ; but before she had time to make up her mind 
 what to do, the trim little maid came along the gallery 
 and down the steps into the studio, with a silver salver 
 in her hand, and on it a card, which she handed to 
 Miss Linderham, who picked up the card and read, 
 " Richard Stansford." 
 
 " Oh," she cried joyfully, " ask him to come here," 
 
 "Won't you see him in the drawing-room, miss ? " 
 
 " No, no ; tell him I am very busy, and bring him 
 to the studio."
 
 292 REVENGE! 
 
 The maid went up the stair again. Miss Linderham, 
 taking one long, careful glance at herself, looking 
 over her shoulder in the tall mirror, and not caring to 
 touch her wealth of hair, picked up her crayon and 
 began making the sketch of the striking man even 
 worse than it was before. She did not look round 
 until she heard Lord Stansford's step on the stair, 
 then she gave an exclamation of surprise on seeing 
 him. The young man was dressed in a wide-awake 
 hat, and the costume which we see in the illustrated 
 papers as picturing our friends in South Africa. All 
 he needed was a belt of cartridges and a rifle to make 
 the picture complete. 
 
 "This is hardly the dress a man is supposed to 
 wear in London when he makes an afternoon call on 
 a lady, Miss Linderham," said the young man, with a 
 laugh, " but I had either to come this way or not at 
 all, for my time is very limited. I thought it was too 
 bad to leave the country without giving you an 
 opportunity to apologise for your conduct last night, 
 and for the. additional insult of hiring me for two 
 hours this afternoon. And so, you see, I came." 
 
 " I am very glad you did," replied Miss Linderham. 
 " I was much disappointed when they telephoned me 
 this afternoon that you had resigned. I must say 
 that you look exceedingly well in that outfit, Lord 
 Stansford." 
 
 " Yes,*' said the young man, casting a glance over 
 himself ; " I am compelled to admit that it is rather 
 becoming. I have had the pleasure of attracting a 
 good deal of attention as I came along the street.'' 
 
 " They took you for a cowboy, I suppose ? "
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD. 293 
 
 " Well, something of that sort. The small boy, I 
 regret to say, was so unfeeling as to sing ' He's got 
 'em on,' and other ribald ditties of that kind, which 
 they seemed to think suited the occasion. But others 
 looked at me with great respect, which compensated 
 for the disadvantages. Will you pardon the rudeness 
 of [a pioneer, Miss Linderham, when I say that you 
 look even more charming in the studio dress than you 
 did in ball costume, and I never thought that could be 
 possible ? " 
 
 " Oh," cried the girl, flushing, perhaps, because the 
 crimson paint on the palette she had picked up re- 
 flected on her cheek. "You must excuse this work- 
 ing' garb, as I did not expect visitors. You see, they 
 telephoned me that you were not coming." 
 
 The deluded young man actually thought this state- 
 ment was correct, which in part it was, and he believed 
 also that the luxuriant hair tossed up here and there 
 with seeming carelessness was not the result of an art 
 far superior to any the girl herself had ever put upon 
 canvas. 
 
 " So you are off to South Africa ? " she said. 
 
 "Yes, the Cape." 
 
 " Oh, is the Cape in South Africa? " 
 
 " Well, I think so," replied the young man, some- 
 what dubiously, " but I wouldn't be certain about it, 
 though the steamship company guarantee to land me 
 at the Cape, wherever it is." 
 
 The girl laughed. 
 
 " You must have given it a great deal of thought," 
 she said, " when you don't really know where you are 
 going."
 
 294 REVENGE! 
 
 " Oh, I have a better idea of direction than you 
 give me credit for. I am not such a fool as I looked 
 last night, you know ; then I belonged to Spink and 
 Company, and was sublet by them to old Heckle ; 
 now I belong to myself and South Africa. That 
 makes a world of difference, you know." 
 
 " I see it does," replied Miss Linderham. "Won't 
 you sit down ? " 
 
 The girl herself sank into an armchair, while Stans- 
 ford sat on a low table, swinging one foot to and fro, 
 his wide-brimmed hat thrown back, and gazed at the 
 girl until she reddened more than ever. Neither 
 spoke for some moments. 
 
 " Do you know," said Stansford at last, " that when 
 I look at you South Africa seems a long distance 
 away ! " 
 
 " I thought it was a long distance away," said the 
 girl, without looking up. 
 
 " Yes ; but it's longer and more lonely when one 
 looks at you. By Jove, if I thought I couldn't do 
 better, I would be tempted to take that two thousand 
 a year offer of yours and " 
 
 " It wasn't an offer of mine," cried the girl hastily. 
 " Perhaps the lady I was thinking of wouldn't have 
 agreed to it, even if I had spoken to her about it." 
 
 " That is quite true ; still, I think if she had seen 
 me in this outfit she would have thought me worth 
 the money." 
 
 " You think you can make more than two thousand 
 a year out in South Africa? You have become very 
 hopeful all in a moment. It seems to me that a man 
 who thinks he can make two thousand a year is very
 
 THE EXPOSURE OF LORD STANSFORD. 295 
 
 foolish to let himself out at two guineas an even- 
 ing." 
 
 " Do you know, Miss Linderham, that was just 
 what I thought myself, and I told the respectable 
 Spink so, too. I told him I had had an offer of two 
 thousand a year in his own line of business. He said 
 that no firm in London could afford the money. 
 ' Why/ he cried, waxing angry, ' I could get a Duke 
 for that.' " 
 
 " ' Well,' I replied, ' it is purely a matter of business 
 with me. I was offered two thousand pounds a year 
 as ornamental man by a most charming young lady, 
 who has a studio in South Kensington, and who is 
 herself, when dressed up as an artist, prettier than any 
 picture that ever entered the Royal Academy ' ; that's 
 what I told Spink." 
 
 The girl looked up at him, first with indignation in 
 her eyes, and then with a smile hovering about her 
 pretty lips. 
 
 " You said nothing of the sort," she answered, " for 
 you knew nothing about this studio at that time, so 
 you see I am not going to emulate your dishonesty 
 by pretending not to know you are referring to me." 
 
 " My dishonesty ! " exclaimed the young man, with 
 protest in his voice. " I am the most honest, straight- 
 forward person alive, and I believe I would take your 
 two thousand a year offer if I didn't think I could do 
 better." 
 
 " Where, in South Africa ? " 
 
 " No, in Soutrf Kensington. I think that'when the 
 lady learns how useful I could be around a studio 
 oh, I could learn to wash brushes, sweep out the
 
 296 REVENGE ! 
 
 room, prepare canvases, light the fire ; and how nicely 
 I could hand around cups of tea when she had her 
 ' At Homes,' and exhibited her pictures ! When she 
 realises this, and sees what a bargain she is getting, 
 I feel almost certain she will not make any terms at 
 all." 
 
 The young man sprang from the table, and the girl 
 rose from her chair, a look almost of alarm in her face. 
 He caught her by the arms. 
 
 " What do you think, Miss Linderham ? You know 
 the lady. Don't you think she would refuse to have 
 anything to do with a cad like Billy Heckle, rich as 
 he is, and would prefer a humble, hard-working farmer 
 from the Cape?" 
 
 The girl did not answer his question. 
 
 " Are you going to break my arms as you threat- 
 ened to do his wrists last night ? " 
 
 " Maggie," he whispered, in a low voice, with an- 
 intense ring in it, "I am going to break nothing but 
 my own heart if you refuse me." 
 
 The girl looked up at him with a smile. 
 
 " I knew when you came in you weren't going to 
 South Africa, Dick," was all she said ; and he, taking 
 advantage of her helplessness, kissed her.
 
 PURIFICATION. 
 
 EUGENE CASPILIER sat at one of the metal tables 
 of the Cafe Egalite, allowing the water from the carafe 
 to filter slowly through a lump of sugar and a perfor- 
 ated spoon into his glass of absinthe. It was not an ex- 
 pression of discontent that was to. be seen on the face 
 of Caspilier, but rather a fleeting shade of unhappiness 
 which showed he was a man to whom the world was 
 being unkind. On the opposite side of the little 
 round table sat his friend and sympathising compan- 
 ion, Henri Lacour. He sipped his absinthe slowly, as 
 absinthe should be sipped, and it was evident that he 
 was deeply concerned with the problem that con- 
 fronted his comrade. 
 
 "Why, in Heaven's name, did you marry her? 
 That, surely, was not necessary." 
 
 Eugene shrugged his shoulders. The shrug said 
 plainly, " Why, indeed ? Ask me an easier one." 
 
 For some moments there was silence between the 
 two. Absinthe is not a liquor to be drunk hastily, or 
 even to be talked over too much in the drinking. 
 Henri did not seem to expect any other reply than 
 the expressive shrug, and each man consumed his 
 beverage dreamily, while the absinthe, in return for 
 this thoughtful consideration, spread over them its
 
 298 REVENGE ! 
 
 benign influence, gradually lifting from their minds all 
 care and worry, dispersing the mental clouds that 
 hover over all men at times, thinning the fog until it 
 disappeared, rather than rolling the vapour away, as 
 the warm sun dissipates into invisibility the opaque 
 morning mists, leaving nothing but clear air all round, 
 and a blue sky overhead. 
 
 " A man must live," said Caspilier at last ; " and the 
 profession of decadent poet is not a lucrative one. 
 Of course there is undying fame in the future, but 
 then we must have our absinthe in the present. Why 
 did I marry her, you ask ? I was the victim of my en- 
 vironment. I must write poetry ; to write poetry, I 
 must live ; to live, I must have money ; to get money, 
 I was forced to marry. Valdoreme is one of the best 
 pastry-cooks in Paris ; is it my fault, then, that the 
 Parisians have a greater love for pastry than for 
 poetry ? Am I to blame that her wares are more 
 sought for at her shop than are mine at the book- 
 sellers' ? I would willingly have shared the income 
 of the shop with her without the folly of marriage, 
 but Valdoreme has strange, barbaric notions which 
 were not overturnable by civilised reason. Still my 
 action was not wholly mercenary, nor indeed mainly 
 so. There was a rhythm about her name that pleased 
 me. Then she is a Russian, and my country and hers 
 were at that moment in each other's arms, so I pro- 
 posed to Valdoreme that we follow the national ex- 
 ample. But, alas ! Henri, my friend, I find that 
 even ten years' residence in Paris will not eliminate 
 the savage from the nature of a Russian. In spite of 
 the name that sounds like the soft flow of a rich mel-
 
 PURIFICATION. 299 
 
 low wine, my wife is little better than a barbarian. 
 When I told her about Tenise, she acted like a mad 
 woman drove me into the streets." 
 
 " But why did you tell her about Tenise ? " 
 
 " Pourquoi ? How I hate that word ! Why ! Why ! ! 
 Why ! ! ! It dogs one's actions like a bloodhound, 
 eternally yelping for a reason. It seems to me that 
 all my life I have had to account to an inquiring why. 
 I don't know why I told her ; it did not appear to be 
 a matter requiring any thought or consideration. I 
 spoke merely because Tenise came into my mind at 
 the moment. But after that, the deluge ; I shudder 
 when I think of it." 
 
 " Again the why ? " said the poet's friend. " Why 
 not cease to think of conciliating your wife ? Rus- 
 sians are unreasoning aborigines. Why not take up 
 life in a simple poetic way with Tenise, and avoid the 
 Rue de Russie altogether ? " 
 
 Caspilier sighed gently. Here fate struck him hard. 
 " Alas ! my friend, it is impossible. Tenise is an 
 artist's model, and those brutes of painters who get 
 such prices for their daubs, pay her so little each 
 week that her wages would hardly keep me in food 
 and drink. My paper, pens, and ink I can get at the 
 cafe's, but how am I to clothe myself ? If Valdoreme 
 would but make us a small allowance, we could be so 
 happy. Valdoreme is madame, as I have so often 
 told her, and she owes me something for that; but she 
 actually thinks that because a man is married he 
 should come dutifully home like a bourgeois grocer. 
 She has no poetry, no sense of the needs of a lit- 
 erary man, in her nature."
 
 300 REVENGE! 
 
 Lacour sorrowfully admitted that the situation had 
 its embarrassments. The first glass of absinthe did 
 not show clearly how they were to be met, but the 
 second brought bravery with it, and he nobly offered 
 to beard the Russian lioness in her den, explain the 
 view Paris took of her unjustifiable conduct, and, if 
 possible, bring her to reason. 
 
 Caspilier's emotion overcame him, and he wept 
 silently, while his friend, in eloquent language, told 
 how famous authors, whose names were France's 
 proudest possession, had been forgiven by their wives 
 for slight lapses from strict domesticity, and these 
 instances, he said, he would recount to Madame Val- 
 doreme, and so induce her to follow such illustrious 
 examples. 
 
 The two comrades embraced and separated ; the 
 friend to use his influence and powers of persuasion 
 with Valdoreme ; the husband to tell Tenise how 
 blessed they were in having such a friend to intercede 
 for them ; for Tenise, bright little Parisienne that she 
 was, bore no malice against the unreasonable wife of 
 her lover. 
 
 Henri Lacour paused opposite the pastry-shop on 
 the Rue de Russie that bore the name of " Valdoreme " 
 over the temptingly filled windows. Madame Cas- 
 pilier had not changed the title of her well-known 
 shop when she gave up her own name. Lacour 
 caught sight of her serving her customers, and he 
 thought she looked more like a Russian princess than 
 a shopkeeper. He wondered now at the preference 
 of his friend for the petite black-haired model. 
 Valdoreme did not seem more than twenty ; she was
 
 PURIFICATION. 301 
 
 large, and strikingly handsome, with abundant auburn 
 hair that was ^almost red. Her Beautifully moulded 
 chin denoted perhaps too much firmness, and was in 
 striking contrast to the weakness of her husband's 
 lower face. Lacour almost trembled as she seemed to 
 flash one look directly at him, and,[for a moment, he 
 feared she had seen him loitering before the window. 
 Her eyes were large, of a limpid amber colour, but 
 deep within them smouldered a fire that Lacour felt 
 he would not care to see blaze up. His task now 
 wore a different aspect from what it had worn in front 
 of the Cafe Egalite. Hesitating a moment, he passed 
 the shop, and, stopping at a neighbouring cafe, ordered 
 another glass of absinthe. .It is astonishing how 
 rapidly the genial influence of this stimulant departs ! 
 
 Fortified once again, he resolved to act before his 
 courage had time to evaporate, and so, goading him- 
 self on with the thought that no man should be afraid 
 to meet any woman, be she Russian or civilised, he 
 entered the shop, making his most polite bow to 
 Madame Caspilier. 
 
 " I have come, madame," he began, " as the friend 
 of your husband, to talk with you regarding his 
 affairs." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Valdoreme ; and Henri saw with dis- 
 may the fires deep down in her eyes rekindle. But 
 she merely gave some instructions to an assistant, and, 
 turning to Lacour, asked him to be so good as to 
 follow her. 
 
 She led him through the shop and up a stair at the 
 back, throwing open a door on the first floor. Lacour 
 entered a neat drawing-room, with windows opening
 
 302 REVENGE! 
 
 out upon the street. Madame Caspilier seated herself 
 at a table, resting her elbow upon it, shading her eyes 
 with her hand, and yet Lacour felt them searching his 
 very soul. 
 
 " Sit down," she said. " You are my husband's 
 friend. What have you to say ? " 
 
 Now, it is a difficult thing for a man to tell a beau- 
 tiful woman that her husband for the moment pre- 
 fers some one else, so Lacour began on generalities. 
 He said a poet might be likened to a butterfly, or per- 
 haps to the more industrious bee, who sipped honey 
 from every flower, and so enriched the world. A poet 
 was a law unto himself, and should not be judged 
 harshly from what might be termed a shopkeeping 
 point of view. Then Lacour, warming to his work, 
 gave many instances where the wives of great men 
 had condoned and even encouraged their husbands' 
 little idiosyncrasies, to the great augmenting of our 
 most valued literature. 
 
 Now and then, as this eloquent man talked, Valdo- 
 reme's eyes seemed to flame dangerously in the 
 shadow, but the woman neither moved nor interrupted 
 him while he spoke. When he had finished, her voice 
 sounded cold and unimpassioned, and he felt with 
 relief that the outbreak he had feared was at least 
 postponed. 
 
 " You would advise me then," she began, " to do as 
 the wife of that great novelist did, and invite my hus- 
 band and the woman he admires to my table?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't say I could ask you to go so far as 
 that," said Lacour ; " but " 
 
 " I'm no halfway woman. It is all or nothing with
 
 PURIFICATION. 303 
 
 me. If I invited my husband to dine with me, I 
 
 would also invite this creature What is her name ? 
 
 Tenise, you say. Well, I would invite her too. Does 
 she know he is a married man ? " 
 
 "Yes," cried Lacour eagerly ; "but I assure you, 
 madame, she has nothing but the kindliest feelings 
 towards you. There is no jealousy about Tenise." 
 
 " How good of her ! How very good of her ! " said 
 the Russian woman, with such bitterness that Lacour 
 fancied uneasily that he had somehow made an inju- ' 
 dicious remark, whereas all his efforts were concen- 
 trated in a desire to conciliate and please. 
 
 "Very well," said Valdoreme, rising. "You may 
 tell my husband that you have been successful in 
 your mission. Tell him that I will provide for them 
 both. Ask them to honour me with their presence at 
 breakfast to-morrow morning at twelve o'clock. If 
 he wants money, as you say, here are two hundred 
 francs, which will perhaps be sufficient for his wants 
 until midday to-morrow." 
 
 Lacour thanked her with a profuse graciousness 
 that would have delighted any ordinary giver, but 
 Valdoreme stood impassive like a tragedy queen, and 
 seemed only anxious that he should speedily take his 
 departure, now that his errand was done. 
 
 The heart of the poet was filled with joy when he 
 heard from his friend that at last Valdoreme had come 
 to regard his union with Tenise in the light of reason. 
 Caspilier, as he embraced Lacour, admitted that 
 perhaps there was something to be said for his wife 
 after all. 
 
 The poet dressed himself with more than usual care
 
 304 REVENGE ! 
 
 on the day of the feast, and Tenise, who accompanied 
 him, put on some of the finery that had been bought 
 with Valdoreme's donation. She confessed that she 
 thought Eugene's wife had acted with consideration 
 towards them, but maintained that she did not wish to 
 meet her, for, judging from Caspilier's account, his 
 wife must be a somewhat formidable and terrifiying 
 person ; still she went with him, she said, solely 
 through good nature, and a desire to heal family 
 differences. Tenise would do anything in the cause 
 of domestic peace. 
 
 The shop assistant told the pair, when they had 
 dismissed the cab, that madame was waiting for them 
 upstairs. In the drawing-room Valdoreme was stand- 
 ing with her back to the window like a low-browed 
 goddess, her tawny hair loose over her shoulders, and 
 the pallor of her face made more conspicuous by her 
 costume of unrelieved black. Caspilier, with the 
 grace characteristic of him, swept off his hat, and made 
 a low, deferential bow ; but when he straightened 
 himself up, and began to say the complimentary things 
 and poetical phrases he had put together for the 
 occasion at the cafe the night before, the lurid look of 
 the Russian made his tongue falter ; and Tenise, who 
 had never seen a woman of this sort before, laughed 
 a nervous, half-frightened little laugh, and clung 
 closer to her lover than before. The wife was even 
 more forbidding than she had imagined. Valdoreme 
 shuddered slightly when she saw this intimate move- 
 ment on the part of her rival, and her hand clenched 
 and unclenched convulsively. 
 
 " Come," she said, cutting short her husband's halt-
 
 PURIFICATION. 305 
 
 ing harangue, and sweeping past them, drawing her 
 skirts aside on nearing Tenise, she led the way up to 
 the dining-room a floor higher. 
 
 "I'm afraid of her," whimpered Tenise, holding 
 back. " She will poison us." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Caspilier, in a whisper. " Come 
 along. She is too fond of me to attempt anything 
 of that kind, and you are safe when I am here." 
 
 Valdoreme sat at the head of the table, with her 
 husband at her right hand and Tenise on her left. 
 The breakfast was the best either of them had ever 
 tasted. The hostess sat silent, but no second talker 
 was needed when the poet was present. Tenise 
 laughed merrily now and then at his bright sayings, 
 for the excellence of the meal had banished her fears 
 of poison. 
 
 " What penetrating smell is this that fills the 
 room ? Better open the window," said Caspilier. 
 
 " It is nothing," replied Valdoreme, speaking for 
 the first time since they had sat down. " It is only 
 naphtha. I have had this room cleaned with it. The 
 window won't open, and if it would, we could not 
 hear you talk with the noise from the street." 
 
 The poet would suffer anything rather than have 
 his eloquence interfered with, so he said no more 
 about the fumes of naphtha. When the coffee was 
 brought in, Valdoreme dismissed the trim little maid 
 who had waited on them. 
 
 " I have some of your favourite cigarettes here. I 
 will get them." 
 
 She arose, and, as she went to the table on which 
 the boxes lay, she quietly and deftly locked the
 
 306 REVENGE! 
 
 door, and, pulling out the key, slipped it into her 
 pocket. 
 
 " Do you smoke, mademoiselle ? " she asked, speak- 
 ing to Tenise. She had not recognised her presence 
 before. 
 
 "Sometimes, madame," answered the girl, with a 
 titter. 
 
 "You will find these cigarettes excellent. My hus- 
 band's taste in cigarettes is better than in many 
 things. He prefers the Russian to the French." 
 
 Caspilier laughed loudly. 
 
 " That's a slap at you, Tenise," he said. 
 
 " At me ? Not so ; she speaks of cigarettes, and I 
 myself prefer the Russian, only they are so expen- 
 sive." 
 
 A look of strange eagerness came into Valdoreme's 
 expressive face, softened by a touch of supplication. 
 Her eyes were on her husband, but she said rapidly to 
 the girl 
 
 " Stop a moment, mademoiselle. Do not light 
 your cigarette until I give the word." 
 
 Then to her husband she spoke beseechingly in 
 Russian, a language she had taught him in the early 
 months of their marriage. 
 
 " Eugenio, Eugenio ! Don't you see the girl's a 
 fool? How can you care for her? She would be as 
 happy with the first man she met in the street. I I 
 think only of you. Come back to me, Eugenio." 
 
 She leaned over the table towards him, and in her 
 vehemence clasped his wrist. The girl watched them 
 both with a smile. It reminded her of a scene in 
 an opera she had heard once in a strange language.
 
 PURIFICATION. 307 
 
 The prima donna had looked and pleaded like Valdo- 
 reme. 
 
 Caspilier shrugged his shoulders, but did not with- 
 draw his wrist from her firm grasp. 
 
 " Why go over the whole weary ground again ? " he 
 said. "If it were not Tenise, it would be somebody 
 else. I was never meant for a constant husband, Val. 
 I understood from Lacour that we were to have no 
 more of this nonsense." 
 
 She slowly relaxed her hold on his unresisting 
 wrist. The old, hard, tragic look came 'into her face 
 as she drew a deep breath. The fire in the depths of 
 her amber eyes rekindled,-as the softness went out of 
 them. 
 
 " You may light your cigarette now, mademoiselle," 
 she said almost in a whisper to Tenise. 
 
 " I swear I could light mine in your eyes, Val.," 
 cried her husband. "You would make a name for 
 yourself on the stage. I will write a tragedy for you, 
 and we will " 
 
 Tenise struck the match. A simultaneous flash of 
 lightning and clap of thunder filled the room. The 
 glass in the window felii clattering into the street. 
 Valdoreme was standing with her back against the 
 door. Tenise, fluttering her helpless little hands be- 
 fore her, tottered shrieking to the broken window. 
 Caspilier, staggering panting" 4 to his feet, gasped 
 
 " You Russian devil ! The key, the key ! " 
 
 He tried to clutch her throat, but she pushed him 
 back. 
 
 " Go to your Frenchwoman. She's calling for help." 
 
 Tenise sank by the window, one burning arm over
 
 308 REVENGE! 
 
 the sill, and was silent. Caspilier, mechanically beat- 
 ing back the fire from his shaking head, whimpering 
 and sobbing, fell against the table, and then went 
 headlong on the floor. 
 
 Valdoreme, a pillar of fire, swaying gently to and 
 fro before the door, whispered in a voice of agony 
 
 "Oh, Eugene, Eugene!" and flung herself like a 
 flaming angel or fiend on the prostrate form of the 
 man.
 
 IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS. 
 
 By ROBERT BARR. 
 
 A delightful story of the trip of a New York correspondent and a 
 college professor into Canada at the time of the Fenian invasion. They 
 are captured, and have numerous amusing adventures, both finally 
 falling victims to Cupid. J& J& < < < < 
 
 From several hundred press notices, here and in England, where this 
 book has met with great success, the following are taken : Jl < 
 
 " The author is a born story-teller, and his thorough-going Americanism 
 is engaging to the last degree." PORTLAND OREGONIAN. 
 
 " A rattling comedy." BOSTON HOME JOURNAL. 
 
 " We cannot be too grateful to Mr. Barr, in these days of decadence, 
 of word twisting, and of microscopic raking in the mind, for a straight- 
 forward narrative, fresh in its locality and incident, quaint in its 
 humor, and dealing with real men and women, -who express themselves 
 in speech and action with unmistakable individuality." LONDON 
 ATHEN/ENUM. 
 
 " There is not a dull page in the whole volume." UTICA PRESS. 
 
 " // is a gem of the story-teller s art." DAVENPORT DEMOCRAT. 
 
 " The spirit and sparkling wit that pervades this tale makes it 
 deservedly popular. The character-sketching is delightful." HARTFORD 
 
 POST. 
 
 
 
 " Out of the avalanche of trash cast on the reviewer's table during the 
 present period of the super-emotional, would-be-advanced, and ' new 
 woman ' novel, it is a pleasure to pick up a book like ' In the Midst of 
 Alarms? by Robert Barr. One quality gives Mr. Burr's stories a prime 
 flavor his observation of the minute details, and the environments of 
 the life and the people he depicts, as where the frolicsome reporter helps the 
 pretty Canadian country girl make soft soap." CHICAGO EVENING POST. 
 
 " A very readable and clever story." NEW YORK SUN. 
 
 fi Everyone must read 'In the Midst of Alarms? by Robert Barr. It 
 is a pity that more of such books do not exist. It is but just to say that 
 this little novel is one of the choicest of the season." CHICAGO HERALD. 
 
 For Sale by All Booksellers, or Sent Postpaid* 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY, Publishers, 
 
 27 and 29, West 23d Street, New York.
 
 ONE ESTIMATE OF MR. BARR. 
 
 Mr. Julian Ralph, the well-known v magazine 
 writer and newspaper correspondent, writes of 
 MR. BARR as follows : j* ' <& & 
 
 " You have read his short stories, of course, now gathered together 
 in a book called ' The Face and the Mask.' If so, you remember 'The 
 Bruiser's Courtship' and ' The Typewritten Letter.' Everybody talks 
 of them, and they are good, 'but the story that made me stand right itp 
 and bow to the man is that one in which he depicts the conditions on board 
 a transatlantic liner tJiat has a hold full of burning cotton. It is so 
 clever that you scarcely believe it can be done, even after you have read it. 
 You are made to share the interest of the passengers in a silly case of petty 
 rivalry between two women, while, at the same time, you obtain a secret 
 and startling knowledge that all the passengers are bfing carried along on 
 top of a volcano that may belch at any instant. You draw an easy breath 
 when a sister ship is hailed and stops her engines, as you think, to rescue 
 your ship full of acquaintances. 
 
 "Hut, Heavens! She is in even a worse plight, and Death is astride 
 her prow, also t Nobody knows all this but you and the officers of the 
 two ships, and when both are rescued it all comes out as nobody else 
 ever would have thought of bringing it out in the 'Ah, really ; do tell ! ' 
 sort of chatter of two frivolous persons who meet on the shore. Did you 
 read the story? 1 really think there is more skill, more imagination, 
 and more genius in that little trifle than in many a fat novel that has 
 made a sensation in the last two years. * * * 
 
 " ' In the Midst of Alarms ' is nothing but the story of a story-teller, 
 a born story-teller, who comes swinging into your library with a head 
 full of fun and lively spirits and good nature, blended with a very cun- 
 ning knack at repartee and bright dialogue. You are never for an in- 
 stant bored or sorry or ashamed that he came. You can introduce him 
 to anyone, and he will roll up the curtain before his stage and set his 
 characters moving through his charming comedy before the children are 
 sent to bed, quite as fittingly as when the old man is alone in the library, 
 cigar in hand, and feet upon a second chair."

 
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