" QUICK AS A FLASH THE THOUGHT RUSHED ACROSS HER MIND OF PEOPLE ATTEMPTING TO ROB THE BANK." THE POMFRET MYSTERY, A NOVEL OF INCIDENT, ARTHUR DUDLEY VINTON. "3- am a plain, blunt man 3 onlg speafc rigbt on." NEW YORK : J. S. OGILVIE & COMPANY, 31 ROSE STREET. Copyright, 1886, By J. S. OGILVEE & CO. DEDICA TION. TO THE f tlxs gitcravtj AND THOSE OTHER FRIENDS, WHOSE LITERARY ADVICE AND CRITICISM HAVE SO MATERIALLY AIDED ME IN MY ATTEMPTS AT AUTHOR SHIP, THIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED. ARTHUR DUDLEY VINTOX. NEW YORK, 1886. 2072892 As the busy bee, which sips Honey from each flower, In the honeysuckle dips, Tastes the clover for an hour, Hides among the roses' lips, Hums around my .lady's bower As the bee sips, so I've read Much that modern writers said; Many thoughts, of authors olden, fresh, original and golden. Some of these Time did efface, Some my memory cannot trace, But full many yet remain In the mazes of my brain, And from thence may sometimes flit As original with it. Erring memory oft has told Things as novel which were old. PREFACE. THE POMFEET MYSTEBY is only what it pretends to be a Novel of Incident in which the reader will find much that interests and amuses. The story was written to entertain, and instruction was a secondary desideratum ; but there may be some bits of wisdom on these pages which will cause the reader to think that the story is well worth a perusal. With this introduction the author commits the book to the world, trusting that it will meet with all the success which he wishes for it. ARTHUR DUDLEY VINTON. NEW YORK, JANUARY, 1886. CONTENTS. PAGE. Chapter I. ARCHIBALD MORROW, .... 9 " II A BIT OF HISTORY, .... 12 " III. MORE HISTORY, 22 " IV. A CHANGE OP IDENTITIES, . - . . 26 " V. A GAMBLER, 30 " VI. POMFRET, 37 " VII. AN ASSIGNATION, 43 " VTII. ARTHUR VANCE, 49 " IX. LALINE, 58 " X. WHAT ETHEL SAW, .... 80 " XI. A MYSTERIOUS MURDER, ... 87 XII. BENNY'S DREAM, 91 " XIII. NEWS OF THE ROBBERY, .... 99 " XIV. ANOTHER LETTER, .... 105 " XV. ONE MORE LETTER, . . . . 117 XVI. A CLUE 123 XVII. THE TRIAL, 131 " XVIIL ETHEL'S ILLNESS, . . .- . . 137 " XIX. DETECTIVE WORK, 145 " XX. FOUND AND LOST, .... 154 " XXI. A CONFESSION, 159 " XXII. THE RED FARM HOUSE, . ... 166 " XXIIL DYING, 174 " XXIV. HOME AGAIN, . . ... 180 " XXV. RESTLESSNESS, 185 " XXVI. AUNT MARTHA'S ROMANCE, ... 189 " XXVII. CHARLOTTE, 209 " XXVIIL A STRANGE DISEASE, .... 215 " XXIX. SKEINS UNTANGLED, .... 225 ' XXX. THE END, 231 CHAPTEE I. ARCHIBALD MORROW. THE time was many years ago; the place was a little red farmhouse on the slope of a Kentucky hillside. Farmer Morrow, his wife and his only sou, sat in the low- studded room of this farmhouse engaged in their several vocations. John Morrow, a fine, tall, strong-limbed man, sat reading the Bible, which rested on the table beneath the light of the candles which burned above it in the antique candlesticks. As he bent over the pages the massive arms and breadth of shoulder which he displayed betokened a frame of more than ordinary muscular strength, while the streaks of gray in his hair and beard, betokened that age was slowly creeping upon him. By his side sat his wife, a woman younger in years than he, whose form had rounded out as the years of her womanhood had slipped by, but from whose face Time had not been able to erase all the traces of girlish beauty. Her deft fingers rapidly plied the knitting needles and wove the colored yarn in and out as row after row of stitches were clicked away. From time to time her loving glances rested peacefully on husband and son, and then her eyes fell, to count her stitches or turn a corner. The boy, whose age might have been some fifteen years, bent over a drawing book, pencil in hand, giving the finish,- 10 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. ing touches to some sketch which he had made the day before, while ever and anon his left hand brushed away the long locks of his curly, brown hair, which fell in tangled masses from his head and shaded the paper from the candle- light. It was a wild night outside. The wind was racing down the hillside and across the valley, pausing for an instant to shriek and scream at the old farmhouse, to rattle its doors and windows and to bellow down the huge-throated old chimney. But the chimney had had many a previous tussle with the wind, and now it stood unmoved with its wide mouth gathering in all the sounds of the night, the sough- ing of the trees as the wind rushed through their sapless boughs, the rustling of the dead leaves as the breeze tossed them about or drove them like flocks of night birds before him. It was the first cold night of early winter, and a bright fire blazed and crackled on the hearth and sent up thin curls of smoke and clouds of warm air and jets of steam from the sappy wood. What matter if the night was inclement out- side when all was warm and bright within the room ? The man John Morrow spoke first, laying down his spectacles between the pages to mark the place, and looking at his wife and son, who glanced up at him as they heard his voice. " How the wind howls ! " he said. " It is the first wintry night that we have had. We will have a heavy frost before the morning." " I hate the winter ! " exclaimed the boy impulsively, putting down his pencil and brushing back his wavy locks of hair. "If we had snow and ice as they have in the North it would not be so bad, for then we could coast and skate. But here we have nothing but rain and frozen mud. I hate such winters as we have, I wish I was away." ARCHIBALD MOKROW. 11 " Archie ! Archie ! " said his mother, "you will never be content till you have roamed over the whole world." She smiled as she spoke, but there was a tone of sorrow in her voice sorrow such as a mother always feels when first her child shows a longing to leave her side, and to go out into the great world away from her. Such sorrow comes alike to the lower and the higher orders of creation. Does not the cow low when her calf runs away from her? Does not the mother bird twitter anxiously upon the branch when her young ones have flown too far away. But perhaps to man this sorrow comes more poignantly than to those other animals inferior to him. " If Archie wishes to fly the nest so soon," his father said, " his wishes are likely to be speedily gratified." The lad uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure. " My old friend Tom Vance," continued his father " my old friend Tom Vance has written to me that he and his son are going abroad and would like you to go with them." Archie leaped impulsively from his chair. " Oh I hope I can go ! when do they start ? Oh, please, please let me go." " Your mother and I," his father said, " have talked the matter over. "We are loath to part with you, but it is a rare chance. Arthur Vance is nearly your age, he will study music and painting abroad, and you can do the same; while his father will watch over you both. Would you like to go?" "Like to!" ejaculated the boy. "Like to! I would give worlds to ! You will let me go, won't you ? " "But it is so sudden," his mother said. "It is only a month, and that seems so short a time to equip you to go out into the great world." "A month! A whole month!" Archie answered ex* citedly. " It is a month too long. I wish it were a week a day to-morrow ! Just think of my studying abroad ! 12 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. I shall come home a great artist or a great musician and make a great name for myself; and how proud you will be of me then ! And I shall make money, and you will leave this house and go and live with me in a palace in a great house in one of the big cities. Oh, please let me go ! " " There is no use of our keeping you in suspense, my son," his father replied. "We have decided to let you go if nothing intervenes to change our determination between now and the time of your leaving. " When Archie's first excitement had died away, he begged his father to tell him something about theVances. " There is still half an hour before bedtime," his father answered; " I will tell you how I first met Tom Vance. To- morrow I will tell you something about his later history and about his son." CHAPTER II. THE EARLY HISTORY OF THOMAS VANCE. FARMER MORROW drew his chair round to the hearth, while Archie cast himself down upon the rug by his father's side. The older man filled his pipe, and lighted it with a coal from the fire; then in a thoughtful tone of voice, as if calling up the memories of the past, he spoke as follows: " When I was about sixteen years of age I had some trouble with my lungs and the doctor ordered me to go South to escape the rigors of our Northern winter. The Vances were cousins of my mother, not very near relations, third or fourth cousins only I believe. They lived upon a fertile plantation not far from the city of New Orleans and within sight of the muddy Mississippi. " The house was a large and aristocratic mansion, which, HISTORY 01? THOMAS VAtfCE. 13 in spite of its age for it had been built in colonial times was in thorough repair. " Houses, like persons, have their appearances and indi- vidualities. Some show clearly that their inmates are poverty stricken; others tell the tale of present wealth and comfort; and others, dilapidated and forsaken though they be, seem to cry aloud from open window and broken doorway, ' We have a history.' So you see, my boy, it was no misnomer for me to apply the term ' aristocratic ' to the house in question. " This plantation belonged at that time to Tom Vance, for his father, Laurence Vance, had died the year before and left Tom, an orphan, in the care of his Aunt Matilda. It was her invitation to become an inmate of this old mansion which I so gladly accepted. And when I reached there and became one of the guests of that hospitable household I was accorded the kindliest welcome as one of the family. " Tom was about my own age then, and a fine, manly young fellow. I took a liking to him right off, and I think that he liked me too, although I was still too weak from my illness to join in all his sports. " One evening when all, except Aunt Matilda and myself, had gone off on a night hunt, I begged her to tell me some- thing of Tom's parents, and sitting there in the moonlight she told me how Tom's mother had died when he was yet a youth, leaving him to be reared by her. Then passing on through the intervening years, she told me how his father had died, how he had been killed in Mexico. " I need not tell you about the Mexican war, for you will find that in your books, although its history has never been properly written. Its achievement was as dashing as any of Napoleon's campaigns; it witnessed individual acts of hero- ism as grand as any the earth ever knew, and it had the peculiarity of being a successful war waged against the wishes of the President and his cabinet. 14 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. " Well, I was going to tell you what Aunt Matilda told me. "Laurie, poor Tom's father, was my brother, as you know, she said, and we had lived upon this plantation with our grandparents ever since we were five years old, for we were orphans at that early age. " Like all Southern families of that day we owned slaves; but my grandfather was a kind, humane man and would never allow the whip to be used upon his place nor a slave to be harshly treated, so that the plantation was a happy one and house-servants seemed like members of the family. " I was just sixteen years old when Laurie, who was four years older than I, came from West Point on a furlough. He had grown so tall and handsome that I was very proud of him, and all the girls in the neighborhood were just wild about him. Now at that time a pretty mulatto girl, about my own age, was my maid. She was named Felice, and was engaged to be married to one of the house-servants. "Years before, my grandmother, traveling to New Orleans, had taken a fancy to a little baby, the child of a slave woman going to New Orleans to be sold. My grand- father had bought them both for her, and the child had been christened ( Sunbeam,' partly on account of his color, for he was nearly white, and partly because grandfather had bought him on a boat of that name. As he grew up he be- came a house-servant, and his engagement to Felice was ap- proved by us all. He would have been a happy fellow if Felice had not tormented him by flirting with her other admirers. " Laurie had been home about a month when I was awakened one night by a commotion outside in the shrub- bery. My windows were open and as I sat up I could plainly hear my brother swearing and a woman sobbing, and two or three other voices. I rushed to the window, but it was too dark for me to see anything, so hastily throwing on my HISTORY OP THOMAS VAKCE. 15 wrapper I went to my Grandmother's room. She was up and looking very pale and frightened, and we stayed there together until Grandfather came back and told us to go to bed. " The next day I learned what had happened; how Laurie had come across Sunbeam and Felice in the shrub- bery, and how Sunbeam had struck him; but I knew nothing of this when I went to bed, and I thought of all sorts of horrid things until I cried myself to sleep. " The next morning a sober old negro woman, my grand- mother's maid, came in answer to my ring, and when I asked for Felice I was told that she was locked up and was to be sent away, and that my grandfather would not let me see her. Later in the day I heard it whispered among the servants that Sunbeam had been whipped until he had fainted. It was the first whipping that any one remembered on the plantation, and the servants went about with a subdued frightened air. Laurie did not leave his room for several days, and when he did there were marks of a wound upon his forehead he carried the scar of it with him to his grave. " That night Sunbeam and Felice disappeared. As they were valuable slaves Grandfather made every effort to capture them, but they got away safely and never were brought back. " After a while Laurie went back to West Point, and graduating, became a lieutenant, and in a little time the whole thing was forgotten, save when the scar upon his fore- head served to recall it. Then Laurie was married and Tom was born, and after Grandfather's death Laurie left the Army and took charge of this plantation ; but when Mexico de- clared war against us Laurie was one of the first to volun- teer. " It is scarcely a year ago since we received letters from Laurie inclosed in others from a brother officer. It was 16 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. from these letters that I learned what I am about to tell you how and why he died. " The troops of which Laurie's command formed a part were camped among the mountain chains that guard the approach to the City of Mexico, and Laurie a Captain then was with his troop somewhat in advance of the main body, when a Mexican was brought in b/ the guard, desirous of talking to the commander. " At that time our forces had suffered greatly from the depredations of guerrilla bands, and especially from one led by the Chieftain Jurillo. They were not part of the regu- lar Mexican force, but rather roving bands, robbing alike either party, killing their unknown prisoners and holding the rich ones to ransom. " This Mexican, Laurie learned, had come to the camp offering, for a certain sum of money, to guide a party to the lurking place of Jurillo. Laurie knew how important the capture of this man was, and so, with a ( body guard, he set out, the Mexican guiding him and agreeing as a guarantee of good faith that he should not receive his reward until Jurillo was captured. They came at last to a ruined tower, and here the guide begged Laurie to dismount and ascend with him to the summit, from whence, he said, the hiding place of Jurillo, a ruined hacienda, could be seen. So, while his escort halted among the trees outside, Laurie ascended with his guide. Sure enough the dilapidated buildings could be seen through openings in the trees; but while Laurie was examining them through his field glass he was struck a violent blow upon the head and knocked senseless. " When he partially recovered his senses it was some time before he could realize where he was or what had hap- pened. He was lying upon the ground blindfolded, with a gag in his mouth and with his arms and legs securely bound. At last he heard voices approaching and he was lifted up 'HE WAS STRUCK A VIOLET BLOW ON THE HEAD." Page 16. 18 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. from the earth and placed upon the back of a mule, and then at the word of command the band started forward. At first two of his captors rode by his side lest he should fall off, for his arms were still bound though his legs had been unfastened, but finding that he needed no assistance they fell to the rear and Laurie could hear them every now and then conversing in low tones. He thought that there must be twenty or more in the band, judging from the hoof beats that he heard as they cautiously but rapidly moved on. There was, however, nothing for him to do but to exercise patience and resignation words easily pronounced, virtues difficult of practice. " Laurie's thoughts grew confused, so that he had no idea how long they traveled. His head still ached from the blow it had received, and finally he would have fallen to the ground had his guards not ridden to his side and steadied him. " At length the band stopped and Laurie heard the wel- come sound of horsemen dismounting, and a few minutes afterwards he was lifted down, carried away and brutally dropped upon the ground. Soon, however, he was again visited and placed in a sitting posture against a post, to which he was bound by ropes. The gag was taken from his mouth, the bandage from his eyes, and food and water were given to him. " He saw that he was in an adobe hut, that a Mexican, with a short carbine across his knees, sat in the open door- way, smoking a cigarette, and from the glimpses that he could catch of the scene outside he judged that the place was a little barranca among the hills. "In the evening he was again blindfolded, and the band traveled onward. Laurie thought that they must be a good distance from the army, for the banditti were more careless than they had been before and laughed and sang HISTORY OF THOMAS VANCE. 19 as if all necessity for caution had ceased. Toward day- break they reached a hacienda, which they called San Bene, and Laurie was locked up in a stone house which had, besides the door, but one small opening near the roof to let in light and air. His heart sank as he looked around, for he saw but little chance of his escaping from his prison. Ap- parently his captors were also satisfied with the security of the place where they had lodged him, for they unbound him and left him at liberty to move about, only they took the precaution to bar and bolt the door after them. " Laurie remained there for three days, seeing nothing of his captors except when they brought him his meals, and catching his only glimpses of the. outside world as the door of his prison opened. At last he was led forth and found himself before a group of some thirty or forty desperate- looking fellows who were collected beneath the spreading branches of a tree; while one, who seemed to be their leader, reclined rather than sat upon a rude couch made of a few logs with branches thrown over them. It was not a pleasant- looking company to be ushered into ; the men were small, rough-looking fellows, with complexions of every shade, from the black of the Negro and red of the Indian to the paleness of the Spaniard, and seemed ready for any mischief or cowardly deviltry which might come in their way. " There was a kind of uniform, or more properly speak- ing, a kind of similarity, in their costumes. The broad sombreros were gray and white, laden with pendants of Spanish and American gold coins (spoils of some camp or battlefield) intermixed with curious silver work of native manufacture, with bands of silver about the crowns, and long feathery plumes. The trousers were of leather with the seams opening from the knee downward, and ornamented with broad stripes of silver. The men wore also short riding jackets of colored cloth and a broad red sash was wound around their waists. 20 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. " Their leader gazed curiously at Laurie as he was led forward, and Laurie returned his gaze, wondering if he had not seen his face before. " ' Remove your hat/ said one roughly, and as Laurie hesi- tated his hat was snatched from his head. He turned to strike down the insulter, but a movement of the Chieftain caught his eye and arrested his arm. The Chief had half risen, his hands clutched the arms of his rustic seat, his head was thrown forward and his eyes were stretched to their utmost as if they would devour Laurie's face. At that moment Laurie would have sworn that he had seen the face before but where, he could not tell. It was but a moment, and then the leader of the outlaws sank back into his seat and pulled the broad brim of his sombrero over his eyes so that his face was in deep shadow. The band had either not noticed his action or had thought it merely a motion to prevent a fight, and the business of the hour proceeded. Laurie was examined as to who he was and where he came from, whether he was married, how much property he had, and many other questions were put to him as he supposed for the purpose of fixing a ransom. " The conversation o the band was carried on in a Mexi- can dialect which Laurie could not follow, although the fre- quent repetition of the word pesos, which he knew meant dollars, strengthened the supposition. At last, he was re- manded to his prison. " He was left there for some hours; then two men came in, and having bound his hands behind his back led him out into the air again. They left him standing in the open and went away, while their chief came from the shadow of the tree and stood before him. " ' Well, Seflor Laurie/ he said removing his sombrero and speaking in English, ' do you know me now ? ' " The face was strangely familiar, but Laurie could not place it and he said so. HISTOKY OF THOMAS VANCE. 21 "'So you have forgotten me?' said the leader, while a grim smile played over his features. ' I should have thought that the scar upon your forehead would have burned re- membrance into your brain.' " ' Sunbeam! ' Laurie exclaimed. " 'Yes, Sunbeam !' the Chief answered with a fiendish sneer upon his face, which as he spoke became distorted with anger. ' Sunbeam ! Whose back still bears the record of the day he dared to raise his hand to protect his honor. Sunbeam once a slave, now a free man a rich man and a strong one. Sunbeam, who has waited long for his revenge and sees it now before him. I have bought you from your captors and you are now my slave. You have bought slaves before. You know the rights Avhich purchase gives ! You are my slave now ! ' " A pang of mortal terror shot through Laurie's heart before the fiendish triumph and delight of Sunbeam. He knew that this opportunity for revenge would be cruelly, remorselessly used; but he struggled against it and strove i^ awaken in his heart a stern endurance, a resolute contempt of death. " In fierce exultation, with wolfish rage and ferocity, Sunbeam broke forth again. " ' Ha- ha-ha!' he shouted, striking Laurie on the face with his open palm, ' the whipping that follows this blow will not be on my back! Has the dainty flesh which a slave's hand might not touch in anger has it hardened with time so that the blow of the driver's whip will cause no pain ? You will find that others can plot as well as you dog, traitor, scoundrel ! How dismal you look ! Are you not grateful to me for remembering your former kindness ? But there is a reckoning between us that must be settled. Your pay- ment will be prompt and sure.' " He drew a pistol from the sash which was wound around 22 THE POMFEET MYSTERY. his waist and held the muzzle within a foot of Laurie's head; but Laurie had collected himself and stood facing him calmly awaiting the flash and the concussion. " ' You are not afraid ! ' Sunbeam shouted, with a roar like that of a wild beast; ' but to-morrow we will see how your courage holds out. Then and thereafter, until you die, you shall be whipped as I was whipped years ago. Now go and dream of the pleasure that awaits you ! ' " At his signal four men appeared, and seizing Laurie they thrust him again into prison." CHAPTEK III. MORE HISTORY " IT was an awful threat which Sunbeam had given, and Laurie realized its full horror as he was led back to his prison and the door shut upon him. There was no food and no water given to him and he suffered from an agonizing thirst. " At midnight there was a noise at the prison door. He listened and heard the bars of the door taken noiselessly down. He groped around for something to defend himself with, but his arms were still tied and he could find no weapon. He approached the door and stood ready to spring out, trusting to find a speedy death in his effort to escape. "The door swung slowly upon until a thin crack of starlight was visible and a low voice spoke cautiously in Spanish, Oiga, 'Senorf " Laurie drew a deep sigh of relief, for he recognized a woman's voice and guessed at once that it was a friendly errand that had brought her there. He answered in English, ' I am here.' " The door opened wider, and a woman closely muffled MORE HISTORY. 23 in a black roboso entered. She gazed at him for a moment, and then, speaking in English, said, as she dropped the roboso from her face, ' Seflor Laurie, do you know me ? ' " ' Felice ! ' he exclaimed. " * Yes, Seflor/ she answered, ' I am Felice. Will you trust me ? ' " e Trust you ? Indeed I will/ Laurie replied. " She drew a knife from the folds of her gown and cut the cords that bound him. ' Here/ she said, giving him a flask of wine, ' drink this, and then quickly and silently chafe you stiffened arms/ ' He did as he was bid, while she in low eager whispers questioned him about those he had left at home, until his circulation was restored and he prepared to follow her. She guided him along a path through the cactus growth and chapparal until they came to a deep arroyo, or bed of a dry water-course. Here were two horses saddled and bridled in charge of an athletic muchacho about fourteen years old. " ' Mount, Seflor Laurie/ she said. ' Mount and ride for your life. Stay not ! Linger not ! ' she added as he hesitated for a moment, ' the time is all too short. Remember what horrible torture Sunbeam has destined for you/ " Laurie vaulted into the saddle and his guide rode ahead leading the way. Sometimes their road led by the side of a scanty stream along the bottom of a barranco, or deep rocky valley, among the loose rocks and stones which the stream had gathered in its Autumnal violence. At other times they Avended their way over a rambla, or dry bed of a torrent cut deep into the mountains, filled with shattered fragments of rock and shagged by immense cliffs and precipices, which formed the lurking places of ambuscades in war times as afterwards they became the favorite haunts of robbers, from whence they sallied forth to waylay unfortunate travelers. Again their paths were steep, rocky and almost impassable, 24 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. where the horses had no room for action and were barely manageable, having to scramble from rock to rock and up and down declivities where there was scarcely footing for a goat. And over all hung the shadow of the beetling cliffs, making their way dark and gloomy. " Fatigued and wearied, when the day broke they shel- tered themselves in a natural grotto under an overhanging rock, while a bubbling fountain gave them the means of slaking their thirst and refreshing their exhausted steeds. The careful forethought of Felice had hung to each saddle- bow a small bag of pinole, parched corn and sugar, and this, mixed with water till it became like gruel, was food for man and beast. " When evening fell they mounted again and pursued their journey, until in the light of early dawn the Guide touched Laurie's shoulder and pointing to the white tents of an encampment a mile or two away said, ' Mira, Seflor mio; then turned and galloped away. " Laurie waited where he had been left until the light grew stronger and he could see the Stars and Stripes floating in the morning breeze, then he put spurs to his horse and galloped down. " Great was the surprise of officers and men when they saw a mounted officer riding into camp, and many were their exclamations of astonishment when his adventure was nar- rated. Laurie wrote a long letter to us at home telling us about it, and with that letter came another from a brother officer telling us that he was dead. ; ' Two days afterwards, this latter letter said, this troop of United States soldiers surprised the guerrillas and cap- tured many. Only two shots were fired one by Laurie as he led the charge one by Sunbeam as he stood at bay. And when the melee was over two dead bodies were carried from the field. One was the body of Sunbeam, shot through MORE HISTORY. 25 the heart ; the other was that of Laurie, with the old wound opened and a bullet in his brain.' }: When Farmer Morrow ended there was a long pause, as if his mind was silently dwelling upon the memory of those old days. He roused himself at last, however, and turning to Archie said: " Such was the way that Tom Vance's father died. To- morrow I will tell you more about Tom Vance himself. Now it is time for you to go to bed." Archie arose and kissed his mother and father good night. But when he slept it was to dream over the scenes of the story which his father had told to him. During the days which intervened between the time of Archie's departure from home his father told him the whole history of Thomas Vance's life told him how he had had a sister, many years younger than he, who had been stolen when she was an infant and who had never been found, al- though the family had ever made a search for her told him how old Mr. Vance had gone blind before he died. So that Archie knew the whole history of the Vance family and grew more and more anxious to meet his fellow travelers. One month afterwards Archibald Morrow left the home where he was born. He bore with him wise counsels and ad- monitions, and loving prayers and well-wishes followed him on his journey. But best of all he bore within his own soul high resolves and noble aspiration, and his mind, glanc- ing with youthful hopefulness far ahead, pictured to him his return, crowned with honors, reverenced by men, hon- ored by all. Soldiers, statesmen and poets may have ambitions, but the ambitions of a boy outstrip them all. But could Archibald Morrow have foreseen the tempests that would beset him, the hideous shadows that would darken his life, he would have paused have shrunk back affrighted. 26 THE POMFEET MYSTERY. CHAPTER IV. A CHANGE OF IDENTITIES. NINE years passed away, during which Archibald Morrow did not once revisit his home among the Kentucky hills. They had been busy years to Arthur Vance and Archibald Morrow, years in which spells of hard study alternated with times of rest and recreation, years checkered with joy and sorrow, with mirth and grief, years in which the two youths had grown out of boyhood into manhood. Together they had visited the countries of Europe, had studied art in Paris and music in the song-loving land of Italy. Time had but cemented their friendship for each other. They had grown to be like one another in personal appearance and each had the same manner of speech and bearing, and those who did not know them well could not tell them apart. Each had the same curling brown hair, each the same clear gray eyes, each wore a silken, drooping brown mustache. Yet there was a difference in their figures, for though they were both about the same height, Archibald Morrow was the stouter and more muscular of the two. They sat one day on a bench in a garden in a quaint, old- fashioned town in Southern Spain a large and pleasant garden where palms grew next to olive trees and innumera- ble flowers blossomed in their shade. Behind them was the house where they were sojourning, a low, stone building whose architecture bore unmistakable signs of Moorish handicraft and irresistibly carried the mind back to the times when the Moors dominated over Spain. Before them A CHAXGE OF IDENTITIES. stretched the blue waters of the Mediterranean, sparkling under the rays of the setting sun and broken into gentle ripples by the soft breathing of the evening zephyr which languidly blew over the sea and land. The two men were clothed in suits of mourning, for Thomas Vance had died the year before. Koman fever, caught in the Imperial City, had caused his death, and the young men still mourned for him. His large fortune had descended to his son, who had freely shared it with his friend, so that the two men had but one purse in common and were bound more closely by the ties of mutual friendship. The gay life of the European capitals had become dis- tasteful to them and they had sought out this little-known and unfrequented inn, where none knew them and where foreigners seldom came; had sought it out not only to get away from the whirl and glitter of the town but also be- cause Arthur had become enfeebled with long watching by the bedside of his father and hoped to find renewed strength in rest and quiet. His father's death had left him singularly alone in the world. He was an only child, without a known relative, and his heart clung with desperate tenacity to Archi- bald as his only friend. The two young men sat silent for some time smoking their cigarettes and watching the scene before them. At last Arthur Vance rose wearily and said: " Archie, I feel strangely tired, I think I will go in and sleep a little while." Archie rose also, and his quick energetic manner brought the languor of his companion into greater contrast. " You are not well," he said. " I have noticed that you have been growing more and more easily fatigued more and more listless. Had we not better return to Paris, where you can have medical attendance ? It would be sad if you. were ill in such a place as this ! " 28 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. " Oh, I shall be better after a nap," Arthur replied lightly, trying to laugh away the concern that he saw upon his friend's face. " To-morrow I shall be all right." But an earthly to-morrow never dawned for Arthur Vance. He grew weaker as the night deepened, and Archie, in hot haste, despatched messengers for the nearest physi- cians. Until they came he sat by the bedside of his friend, trying with his feeble energies to uphold him in his battle with the grim destroyer. Hours had worn away and medical aid had not arrived when Arthur awoke from a light and seemingly troubled slumber, and stretching out his arm he took Archie's hand in his own. " Archie, old friend," he said, " for many happy years we have been like brothers. What we have had we have had in common; what AVO have done we have done together. But there is a thing, dear fellow, that I have left undone, something that I know now will wrong you. But, oh Archie, I never thought that I should die so soon. You need not shake your head like that, dear friend, I know full well that typhoid has seized me. I have only a few hours of sensibility, only a few days of life remaining. Kiss me, dear friend, and say that you forgive me." Archie bent down and kissed him. "Whatever your offence may be," he said, " it is forgiven." "Dear Archie," said the sick man again, "believe me I would fain live for your sake. You are not fitted to bear the stings of poverty. I always meant that whether I lived or whether I died my fortune should be yours, but now that I feel the hand of Death upon me I know well that I have sinned against you. Archie, I have never made a will." That night Arthur Vance died died before any will could be made died in the arms of his friend, whom his death doomed to comparative poverty. A CttAXGE OF IDENTITIES. 29 Who can tell what a conflict of emotions raged in Archi- bald Morrow's heart then. He felt grief for his friend and a great sorrow that Death had shaken down the pleasant prospect of his own life. All the remainder of the night he paced, in sorrowful meditation, up and down the narrow corridor outside the dead man's room. His soul was filled with a vague despair and fierce rebellion at the future which he seemed to see before him. Tempestuous thoughts and wild ideas filled his brain. Why should he be doomed to poverty or a life-long struggle for daily bread ? His friend had left no kith nor kin to be wronged by what he wished to do. The fortune would es- cheat to the State or be eaten up by the greed of lawyers. The name was like an empty shell waiting for the first comer to seize upon it. He and Arthur had been strangers in a strange land no one knew them they were alike in face he knew all of his dead friend's affairs there was no one to be wronged. As the moments flew by the desire to personate the dead man grew greater upon him. He did not fear the chance of detection, for let him live for a few years in some remote corner of the earth and when he emerged again who would know that he was not Arthur Vance ? But something in- stinctively held him back. Conscience, that inward moni- tor, strove to restrain him, and he shuddered at the thought of being so untrue to the memory of his friend. The struggle continued until the daylight dawned, and when the sun arose in the heavens conscience was beaten down and defeated and Archibald had decided to take upon him the personality of the man who had died. So when the authorities came to record the death of the stranger he gave them his own name, and all the world except himself supposed that it was Archibald Morrow whose lifeless clay was laid at rest under the palm trees. 30 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. CHAPTER V. A GAMBLER. THE scene shifts to the City of New York and the time is two years after that solemn burial of the stranger in the foreign land of Spain. It was the night of the last day of the year New Year's Eve. A man closely muffled in a heavy fur-lined cloak, with warm fur gloves upon his hands, came down the steps of a house in one of the side streets between Madison Square and Central Park. The street door as it opened for his egress let out a flood of light, then closed after him and the house was dark again. The man reached the sidewalk and stood there for a moment, as if irresolute where to direct his steps. A cold blast of the west wind blew up the street against him and he shivered a trifle beneath his furs and pulled up the collar of his coat. Then with a muttered imprecation he turned and walked down Fifth Avenue. The street was nearly deserted and his footfalls rang out, clear and distinct, in the sharp air. The night was still and cold. The moon, nearly full, was in the zenith and shone with icy splendor on the bare streets and on the dull brown walls of the houses. In its pale light everything seemed to take a strangely unfamiliar look, but the man scarcely heeded the appearance of the night, for his mind was intent with its inward thoughts and cogitations, and was filled with that grim visitor Remorse. Woe to a man when he is haunted by Remorse ! foes he can hide or flee from death he can battle with and defeat misfortune, poverty and woe he can laugh at but A GAMBLER. 31 Remorse is stronger and more implacable than them all. He may seek the haunts of vice, the cell of the hermit, the laboratory of science, the classic shades of literature, he may mix with the gay world or flee to the desert but go where he will do what he may Remorse is ever with him. Let him wake, and Remorse will control his thoughts. Let him sleep, and Remorse will conjure dreams for him. It makes his soul its abiding place and will not be driven thence. Like a tyrant it will rule supreme. It will banish hope; it will wither love; it will scourge him as only it can scourge; it will curse him as only it can curse; it will rob the daylight of its brightness and make the dark night darker yet. And since the day when Archibald Morrow had laid his dead friend under the citrons and palms of Southern Spain, Remorse had dwelt with him. It had driven him to wander restlessly over the world. It had cursed the dead man's money. It had made the dead man's memory a sad, bitter and reproachful thing, which he sought in vain to forget. It drove him to deeds of reckless dissipation and soon the fortune which he had risked so much to gain, was gone. It drove him to acts of crime which made him rich again; and, then, it throve on deeds of its own making. And now, in one of those moods of reckless dissipation which remorse had brought upon him, he had once more gambled away his wealth, and reduced himself almost to poverty. Almost, not quite, for there were certain houses in New York which had belonged to the dead man, and these Archie had as yet refrained from selling. As he thought of them an evil frown darkened his face and he swore almost audibly. At this moment a strain of music broke upon his ear and aroused him; and looking around he saw that he stood before a church. The stained-glass windows threw gleams 32 THE POMFEET MYSTERY. of colored light out into the darkness, and the moonbeams brought out more distinctly the gothic lines of the building and the fretted stonework of the portal and threw parts of the solid masonry and fantastic carvings into black shadow. The music rose again, low and indeterminate, with a gentle and somber dignity, like the strain of a far-off choir reach- ing him through the weird night gulfs of the upper air. He stood upon the pavement half listening, half in reverie. The memories of his childhood's days, of his mother's prayers by his bedside when she had laid him to rest, of his father's wise words of admonition, came upon him like an avalanche. A cab rattled noisily by over the rough stones and broke the spell and he moved forward as if to enter. Up the steps into the courtyard he strode and then halted as his eye fell upon a strange sight. Within a corner formed by a projecting buttress, almost hidden in deep shadow, was a girl, six or seven years of age, clothed in a ragged gown and with a tattered shawl thrown over her head. By her side was a basket of matches, and he knew that she was waiting until the New Year should dawn and send forth the watchers from the church. But it was weary waiting and she had fallen asleep, and now lay in the bitter cold huddled in the angle of the stone-work. Impelled by an instinct of pity Archie stepped forward to arouse her, but halted abruptly, for he saw a shining object in her lap. He knew well what it was a golden double eagle which some charitable person seeing the little child asleep had dropped into her lap. A golden double eagle ! That was a fortune to the little girl. Ah, if he only had as much ! He started at the thought which entered his mind. A fortune for her ! Did not it mean a fortune for him too ? All that evening he had stood at the roulette-table and staked his money and lost, but now ! Midnight was a lucky time to bet he A GAMBLER. 33 could borrow yes, it was only borrowing this piece go back to the gambling house and return before the child awakened. He glanced around to see if he was unobserved, and then with trembling fingers he clutched the gold coin. In an instant it had dropped into his pocket. He stood erect and glanced again cautiously around. Then with quick steps, almost running, he sped up the avenue. He turned the corner and hurried up the steps of the house which he had left but a few minutes before. It was dark, and a stranger might have thought that it was de- serted, but he knew that all was light and glitter within. He paused for a moment to recall the signal which would gain him admittance, and then rang the bell once thrice twice a ad waited, listening, expecting that every moment the clocks would chime out the hour of midnight. The door swung ajar and a face peered cautiously out, then, as he was recognized, the door opened wider, and as it did so the clock on the neighboring church tower tolled one. He passed in and synchronously he heard the second chime of the bell and the clang of the closing door. He pushed hurriedly through the group of men smoking in the front room and entered the rear apartment, still in time, for he yet heard the sound of the chimes, though muffled and in- distinctly. He threw the golden coin on the table and won. He staked his winnings and won again, and again, and again until the money was piled in heaps before him. He did not stay for congratulations, but thrust the bank-bills and the rouleaux of gold into his pockets and hurried back to the church. Was he in time ? Yes ! The child still slept. He shook her gently by the shoulder and she opened her eyes and stared sleepily at him. " She is half frozen. If I had stayed longer she would 2 34 THE POMFBET MYSTERY. have died ! " he thought with a shudder. Aloud he said, " Come with, me child, you must have something to warm you!" She arose and stood tottering, as if her benumbed legs re- fused to support her; then he lifted her in his arms and carried her down to Sixth Avenue, where he knew that there was an oyster saloon that would be open. There the warm air and food revived her. He learned her history and where she lived, and when she left the pocket of her tattered dress was crammed with bank-notes how many he never knew, he put them in by handf uls until the pocket would hold no more. Not until she had gone did he realize that he had eaten nothing since noon of the previous day. He ate heartily and drank deeply more deeply than was his wont for when his hunger was appeased thoughts arose which he tried to drown in alcohol. In spite of all that he could do his mind would revert to the events of the evening to his ill-fortune to the golden coin of the match-girl to his childhood's days to his wonderful luck at the gam- ing table. He had won and returned a hundred fold but if he had lost ! He drank more deeply to hide the thoughts, but the ex- citement which had ruled and sustained him before had died out and the full meaning of his act was clear to him. He could no longer deceive himself with the delusion that he had merely borrowed the coin from the little girl. His act was worse than that ! He saw it now, with all its hid- eousness. The alcohol which he had imbibed was already making itself felt in stimulating the mind and rendering his powers of perception stronger and clearer. Later on it would dim and obscure his faculties. He tossed a coin to the waiter and passed out into the frosty air, but his thoughts still followed him. The very "THEN HE LIFTED HER IN HIS ARMS AND CARRIED HER DOWN." Page 34. 36 THE POMERET MYSTERY. echo of his footsteps as he strode along seemed to cry out to him, " Thief ! Thief ! " He felt a wild, reckless mood com- ing upon him a fierce impenitence that made him mutter curses as he strode along. " Theft I Well, what of that ? Whose business was it, since he had returned more than he took? Ah yes, but such a mean and petty theft ! from a little match-girl ! He felt a sickening disgust with himself for having stooped so low. His past crimes had been so vast, so ambitious, that their very magnitude had seemed to hide their full iniquity. But a single com- a match-girl ! The thought haunted him; and his soul, as he strode onward, seemed a hell to him. None but he who has been without friends can ever know how terrible a thing it is to be f riendless-and that was this man's condition. He had hosts of so-called friends-ac- quaintances who liked his bright and merry humor-ac- quaintances whom his money brought about him to enjoy its benefits or to bask in its golden glitter-but his last real true friend lay buried far away in Southern Spam, and there was no one, now that remorse claimed him, to whom he could go, no one to whom he could unburden his whole heart and in whose silent and unspoken friendship he could find strength and a refuge. Not that he would, had there been such, have told the whole tale of his mis- deeds, but he would have found relief in vague, mdefimt self-reproaches and self-incriminations in a sort of coi fession that would have relieved his conscience wit. disclosing aught of the truth. He reached his lodgings, staggered to his rooms, anc throwing himself upon his bed fell into a drunken sleep. But oh, what dreams came to him ! POMFEET. 37 CHAPTEE VI. POMFEET. POMFEET was a thriving manufacturing town in the North- eastern corner of Connecticut. A river ran through it, fur- nishing power for many mills, and there were two railroads; besides it was the market-town of the surrounding country. The farmers came to it from miles around to sell the produce of their farms, exchange the gossip of the neighborhood, purchase their necessary supplies, or to see the various theatrical troupes and circus shows that now and then stop there. The town itself was disfigured by the multitude of square, unattractive tenements in which the poorer of the factory hands slept and ate; but fortunately most of these structures were in the side streets, and a stranger, passing hastily through the town, would have called it pretty. Especially would he have pronounced this opinion after viewing the main street, which had once been the turnpike between Boston and Hartford, and was broad, well kept and shaded on either side by rows of overarching elms. On one side of this street stood the Pomf ret Bank : a red- brick, one-story structure with bars across the windows and a stone set in the front wall over the door giving the name of the institution and the date of the erection of the build- ing. Adjoining the bank, and almost forming part of it for a door wat> cut between the two buildings and you could pass from one to the other was the dwelling of Squire Leslie. At nine o'clock" one Spring evening Ethel Leslie, the 38 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. Squire's daughter, sat sewing in the parlor of her father's house. It was somewhat cold outside and a fire crackled on the hearth. She was alone, but she was not concerned about that, for Pomfret was a quiet place and its people had few visits from dangerous characters. But this night as Ethel sat there quietly sewing she was startled by a noise outside a noise which sounded like the moan of some fellow-creature in distress. She dropped her work and listened. Every one who has been alone at night in an empty house know hows distinctly all sounds fall upon the ear, and what tremors they are apt to occasion even in the mind of the most courageous person. A rat, nibbling behind the wain- scoting, may be magnified into burglars trying the lock of a door; the purring of the cat may seemed like the sup- pressed breathing of a hidden man; sounds like careful footsteps are heard overhead and the slamming of a door fills one with nervous tremors. Ethel was courageous, but the ghostly moaning which broke the stillness of the night filled her with trepidation. But as the sound was repeated it lost its terror and she realized that it was indeed no ghostly manifestation but the moan of a human being in pain. Although her fears were allayed she could not but wish, as she rose from her chair, that her father and Aunt Martha were at home. She had, however, one protector in the house, and that was a large Scotch collie, Rover by name, who had already heard the sounds and was now sitting up upon the rug watching his mistress with large, wistful eyes. Bidding him follow her, she went to the door and opened it. The light of the lamp in the hall shone out upon the porch and showed her the form of a woman, lying prone upon her face and every now and then uttering those moans which she had heard. Ethel stood for a moment lost in amazement, pondering POMFEET. 39 what to do. She looked up and down the street hoping to see some one whom she could call to her aid, but no one was in sight. It was evident that the poor creature must be brought into the house and that she alone would have to do it; so she bent down and clasped her hands about the slender form of the prostrate woman, and half-lifting half- dragging, managed to carry her into the parlor and place her on the lounge. But the motion had been more than the feeble strength of the poor creature could endure and Ethel saw that she had fainted. Fortunately the dog had been trained to fetch and carry and to bear messages from places in the village, and Ethel hastily writing upon a slip of paper the words, " Come as quickly as you can; a stranger is here ill/' signed her name to it, and gave it to Hover, saying " Good doggie, carry to Doctor Gamble's." The dog wagged his tail as if to say that he understood and bounded off, and Ethel was left alone with her charge. Do what she would she could not rouse her from unconscious- ness, and it was with joy that she heard a wagon roll into the yard and knew that her father and Aunt Martha had returned. A few hurried words told them what had happened, and Ethel had scarcely concluded her story when the Doctor entered. Aunt Martha, bustling about, soon had a bed prepared and the stranger was removed thither. Under the Doctor's skillful care the stranger quickly re- gained consciousness, and then the Doctor administered an opiate and she sank into slumber. " She needs rest more than medicines," the physician remarked as he seized his hat and cloak preparatory to going home. " I will stop in here in the morning, and then she can tell us who she is." " And I," said Ethel, " will sleep on a lounge in her room so as to be at hand if she wakes. " 40 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. " You had better let me do that/' Aunt Martha said. " No ! " Ethel rejoined. " I found her and so I will watch." The sun was high in the heavens and the day was partly spent when the sufferer awoke from a deep and refreshing slumber. As she moved restlessly and opened her eyes Ethel was by her side. " Where ami?" she murmured, as her eyes fell upon the unaccustomed surroundings "With friends/' Ethel answered. ."Yon have been very ill and fell fainting at our door, last night. You must not talk much." The girl, for she was scarcely more than sixteen years of age, sighed wearily as if Ethel's words had brought back to her the memory of her agony. " If you will lie still I will bring your breakfast and after you have eaten that perhaps you will be strong enough to tell us something about yourself," Ethel continued, and as the sick woman murmured a low assent she left the room. Strengthened and refreshed by the meal the invalid was able to rise and was seated in a comfortable arm-chair when the Doctor arrived. " Now, Ethel," he said, " go down to Aunt Martha. I wish to have a talk alone with my patient." Ethel did as she was bid, and more than half an hour passed before old Doctor Gamble called her back. " She needs no medicine," he said as Ethel approached, " but only rest. In a day or two she will be strong enough to move about. Go to her now and get her to tell you her story. I will come back again at night-fall." As Ethel entered the room the stranger glanced at her gratefully, exclaiming, " You are all so good to me ! " " We have done no more than our duty," Ethel answered with a smile. " But is there no one to whom you would like word to be sent as to where you are ? " POMFKET. 41 The stranger sighed as she answered, " There is not one who cares whether I live or die not one. But you have a right to know my story," she continued, "to know who it is that you have taken in and cared for. " My name is Adele Adele Hollenbeck. I married against my parents' wishes scarcely a year ago. They were am- bitious, and had other plans for me, but though Henry was only a carpenter I loved him. It is the old story they forbade him the house, but we found means to communicate, and one evening I stole out of my home and met him and we were married. When my parents heard that, they dis- owned me, and I have never neard from them since. " For the first few months after we were married every- thing went well with us, but then Henry fell into bad com- pany and things changed. You can know nothing of that sad story of the poor how bit by bit the husband slips into evil ways into idleness and drunkenness how the wages that he brings home become less and less until they are but a few small coins, and at last nothing. Then one after another the treasures of the household go to the pawnshop then the furniture follows, and step by step the family sinks lower and lower into poverty and distress. " I bore with it all for a while, for I knew that I would soon give birth to a child, and I thought that when the little angel came Henry would leave off his evil ways and reform. And I was right; for when the child was born Henry changed and was kind and loving as he had been before. But the babe died when it was but a few weeks old and Henry took to his evil ways again. Even then I would have tried to reform him, but he was worse than before, and some- times he came home drunk and then he would beat me. " I stood that life until I could stand it no longer. Then some one told me I could get work in Boston, and I pawned the last of my trinkets and with the money I bought my 42 THE POMFEET MYSTERY. railway ticket. I thought that if I could get work away, where Henry could not find me, I could perhaps save money and by and by redeem him from the life of infamy that he was leading. " I took the slowest train because that was the cheapest, and as we rolled farther and farther from New York I began to feel more and more safe. But you know how that train waits here until the fast express passes it, and as I was watch- ing out of the car window I saw the express come rolling in on the other side of the station. Judge my terror when I saw Henry alighting from it. Some one must have told him of my flight and he had followed me. " I had only a small bundle, and I seized that and hurry- ing to the platform of the car I jumped to the ground on the side of the train away from the depot. A freight train was on the next track and I crawled under that and stood panting behind it until the passenger train had rolled out of sight. I did not even know the name of the place where I was, but I was willing to work, and I thought that I might find something to do here as well as elsewhere. All the rest of the day I vainly sought employment, and when night came I found myself homeless and without money to pay for a night's lodging or for food. Then it was that I saw the light in your window and I determined to make one more effort. But at your door my strength deserted me and I fell helpless as you found me." The tears were coursing down Ethel's cheeks as this sad story was being told, and even the stranger's eyes were glis- tening with moisture as she spoke. "You must stay here until you get well and strong," Ethel said, " then perhaps we can find some work for you to do." And so it came to pass that Adele Hollenbeck, when she grew stronger, was installed as maid of all work in Squire Leslie's family. AN ASSIGNATION. 43 CHAPTER VII. AN ASSIGNATION. ALL New England knew Squire Leslie. Knew him be- cause as a boy he had fought with Perry on Lake Erie and that was fame in days of old; knew him, because he owned a little mill by the river that spun bales of cotton into twine with which New England's storekeepers tied up their bun- dles; knew him, because for forty years he had traveled over the country stump- speaking for his party; and lastly, he was well known in financial circles as the President and principal owner of the Pomfret Bank. But the young men of the town thought of him generally as the father of Ethel Leslie. Tall and stout, with a big head fringed with snowy locks of hair and with a smooth shaven face somewhat reddened by exposure to the elements, the Squire was a fine specimen of the country magnate. He had been a widower for many years, and since his wife's death Ethel had kept house for him, assisted by Aunt Martha, her mother's first cousin but Ethel's position was a sinecure, for it was really Aunt Martha upon whom the cares of the household fell. The Squire was the last of a class of country magnates now rapidly dying out of existence. Once the Squire of a country town was one of the most important aristocrats of New England. Being generally the only lawyer and Justice of the Peace in the neighborhood he was employed to draw the deeds and the wills and settle the quarrels of the neigh- 44 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. bors, but he also occupied the more lucrative position of the investor of the people's savings. They brought their hoards to him and he put them out at interest, charging both lender and borrower a commission. Sometimes too, the accumu- lations of some twenty or thirty people would be invested in one mortgage and one or two would want their share before it fell due and the Squire had a chance to buy them out at a discount. It was this conjunction of a law and a banking business that made the Squires wealthy and enabled them to live in the largest houses in the towns. But when Savings Banks were established the importance of the Squire waned, though the title did not become extinct, and one of those to whom it still clung was old Herman Leslie. Ethel Leslie, the Squire's daughter and the belle of Pomfret, was eighteen years old. Her mother had died when she was young and left her in Aunt Martha's charge. In personal appearance she was short and rather slight, though plump, and her eyes were dark blue, large and capa- ble of changing almost in an instant from sparkling mis- chief to tender love. Her complexion was clear and pure. A bright color was in her cheeks, and each cheek had a dimple which showed itself most bewitchingly when she smiled. Her hair was thick and long and brown, with a natural wave or ripple in it that enhanced its loveliness. She was a picture of perfect health and girlish loveliness, grace and innocence, but the careful observer, noting the low, broad forehead and short, straight nose and square chin, would have prophesied that there was in her nature a de- termination and energy, a capability of loving dearly and of suffering silently and bitterly. She had not often been away from Pomfret, but she had learned all that the teachers of the high school there could teach her, and the music master of the town had found her an apt pupil in both singing and playing. Atf ASSIGNATION. 45 By nature something of a coquette, she took pride in her dress, which she wore with a natural grace and dignity. She was fond of fun, and was the life of every frolic that took place in the neighborhood. But underneath the vivacity and high spirits natural to her youth and her good health there was a fond, loving woman's nature, only waiting for a pure deep love to develop it. Some distance from the Squire's house, on the Main Street, a little to the north of the bank, stood the Pomfret Meeting House, and on its steps a group of men were chat- ting, as country people do after " Meeting," a little more than a year after Adele Hollenbeck had been rescued by Ethel. Meeting was just over and the congregation had just emerged from the building. "Waal, Squire, you seem hearty," said Deacon Grosvenor as he joined the group and addressed the Squire. " Fine hayin' weather this." " We always do have good hayin* weather on the Sabbath," the Squire rejoined. "I have not been out your way for quite a spell, Deacon ; what sort of crop will you have ? " " Toler-ble, only toler-ble. It's been most too dry fur the grass to grow well." " I hear that widow Bixby's decided to sell her farm and move West; has she had any offers for it ? " " Waal, I thought suthin of buying myself, but that ere stranger-fellow who's been staying at Hillhouse's has been a sort o' nibblin' at it, an' I guess he kin pay more money fur it than I kin." " I have seen him about the town. Who is he ? " " Fellow from New York stayin' down at the tavern. Hillhouse says he's the best fellow I've seen fur a long while. Sort o' artist chap I reckon; I seed him pantin' round the country las' week." " He's a good looking young fellow." 46 THE POMFRET MYSTERY. " Yes, that he is; just the kind o' feller the girls like, hey Squire ! Them brown eyes and curly hair 'o his'n air difrent from most folks'. Hillhouse says that he got lots o' money and paints for fun only, and that he's going to stay all sum- mer." "Well/' said the Squire, " I guess that he'll be coming down to bank then, before long. Hullo ! There's Chester I'll walk down with him," and nodding good-by he went off with Ephraim Chester, the cashier of the bank. " Squire looks well," said one of the group that had been left behind. " He's gettin' old though, an' don't walk as light as he used." "He must be a pretty rich man," rejoined another. " Guess Ethel will have a plum when he dies." " They say Benny Moore's mighty far gone on her. Benny's a nice fellow, hope he gets her. He's 'bout got through studying' law with the Squire, ain't he ? They say he's going' to set up his shingle fur himself in the Fall." Gradually the groups broke up. Those who lived in the village walked away and those further from home backed out their horses from the unpainted wooden sheds and drove off, while some who came from a still greater distance and who stayed for the afternoon services sought out shady spots under the trees and ate the lunches that they had brought with them. Southward from the town, where the river widened out and became more shallow and ran through low lying meadow- lands and quiet groves of trees the people of Pomfret had laid out a park. Little had been done except to reserve the land and to place a few benches here and there and erect rough board seats and tables for picnic parties. Nature had done the rest, and it was well that it had been left for her to do, for she was the best landscape gardener for so beauti- ful a spot. The park was crowded during the Sunday AN ASSIGNATION. 47 afternoons with operatives from Pomf ret, but at night it was deserted and quiet. On this particular Sunday night, however, a solitary figure might be seen pacing with slow steps up and down a narrow streak of pebbly beach from which the river had shrunk away for the days were hot and it was the season of the Summer droughts. The moon, three quarters full, had risen in the east, but the trees, over arching above the solitary loiterer, shut off her rays from the path where he trod. It was the stranger. Every now and then he raised his head as some noise reached his ear, and looked anxiously about him as if expect- ing some one. The moon moved slowly into the zenith and the moonbeams began to stray through openings in the br mches of the trees and fall in patches of silver upon the beach and the margin of the river. Vance, as he paced upon and down, avoided these moonlit spots, keeping in the shadow, as if anxious to escape any prying eye that might be about. Suddenly a low whistle smote upon his ear and he stopped and listened. It was repeated and then he answered it. Almost at once a clump of bushes parted and a face peered out. It was a beautiful face beautiful always most beautiful as it peered through the curtain of green leaves, framed in the masses of dark golden hair of that hue that artists love to paint upon their canvases of saints and madonnas. The dark olive tint of its complexion the heri- tage of her ancestors who had lived so many centuries in sunny Italy, was brightened by the soft purity of the moonlight and the heavy eyebrows and long lashes that shaded her eyes made them seem blacker than the night shadows under the trees. She looked to Vance as she sprung from the bushes more like the apparition of an angel than like a flesh-and-blood maiden. THE POMFRET MYSTERY. " Carita mia," he said as he drew her close to him and imprinted a kiss upon her low broad brow, " how beautiful you are to-night I " " Do you think so," she said smiling up at him, "it is for joy of seeing you again." ^ "Little flatterer," he answered kissing her once more, you run no danger, I hope, in meeting me ? " "No, I stole away after they were all in bed. Aunt Martha, the Squire and Ethel were fast asleep when I came away. But oh that horrid dog-he will not make friends with me and he growled at me as I stole away till I feared that some one would awaken." " You should have smiled on him," he said, " for you are beautiful enough to-night to touch the heart of even a brute. But you have the powders which I gave you, have you not, and should he grow troublesome you must use them." " I have them still, and when the time comes he must take one. But you sent for me and I have come." ' You are in the Squire's house and you have made use of your opportunities ? " " I have. All that you bade me do I have done. What is there for me to do next ? " " You must return now to New York " "For good?" " I do not yet know. What tale did you tell to them ? " She told him and he pondered for a few minutes, then he answered : I leave it all to you, but leave the way open for your return in case that should be necessary." "^ Can you not tell me how long I shall stay away ? " ' Not longer than a week, by that time I shall have made my plans definitely." "It is well, I snail do as you bid me. And now be- ARTHUR VAtfCE. 49 fore we part let me hear you say once again that you love me." For answer he clasped her tightly in his arms. " I love you, little one/' he murmured, "I love you a thousand times I love you. I love you more than you love me." " That cannot be; every day since I have been here I have looked up and down the road hoping to see your face. Ah it was hard to wait through so many weary months." " Poor little Adele," he murmured as he watched her steal silently homeward. He stood for a moment in silent reverie and then he mut- tered to himself, "All has gone well so far. But the com- bination how can I get the combination." He started at the sound of his own mutterings and then rousing himself he walked swiftly homeward. % CHAPTEK VIII. ARTHUR VANCE. THE next morning while the squire was in the Bank, Jack Hillhouse, the tavern keeper, and the stranger walked into the room. " Morning Squire," said the tavern keeper; " this is Mr. Vance. He's abordin' with me an wants ter leave a little money with you for a while. I tole him I guessed you'd 'commodate him." "Certainly, sir, certainly. Pray take a seat," said the Squire; then raising his voice he called aloud, "Mr. Chester ! " " Well, seein' as I ain't no further use I guess I'll go. Mornin', gentlemen," and the tavern keeper left the room. " Mr. Chester," said the Squire raising his voice and ad- 50 THE'fOMFRET MYSTERY. dressing the cashier in the outer office, " this is Mr. Vance, he wishes to make a deposit." "How much, sir?" " Five hundred," said Archie, taking out a pocket book and extracting from it ten fifty-dollar bills. " Step this way, please, sir, and sign the book. Thank you, sir. Arthur Vance," continued the cashier reading what was written; " you write a good hand, Mr. Vance. Take a seat for a minute and I'll have the deposit book ready for you." "You come from New York, sir, I believe," said the Squire. " Yes, that is my home," said Vance ; "at least as much home as I have anywhere. But I have neither father nor mother, sister nor brother, wife nor child. I have been a wanderer all my days." " You paint, don't you ? " "Yes, I have studied many years abroad. I have not been much in my own country, Squire, and I have often felt ashamed of my own ignorance of it, so when I came over this time I thought I would take a trip through New England; and in my wanderings I heard of Pomfret and came here. I am delighted with what I have seen of your town. " The door opened and Ethel Leslie came in, cloaked and bonneted for a drive. "Good by, papa," she said. "Mrs. Moore sent for me to come to dinner and Benny's waiting at the gate to drive me out." " This is my daughter, Mr. Vance." " I saw Miss Leslie in church yesterday." "And we all noticed you too. We are still countrified enough to take note of strangers." " Will you be back to tea, daughter?" ARTHUR VAHCE. 1 "Yes, papa. Benny will drive me back." " Then I shall be glad if you will drop in to tea/' said the Squire to Vance; " seven o'clock, if you have nothing better to do." "I shall be delighted, I assure you. Permit me, Miss Leslie, to hand you into your carriage." In no wise reluctant to receive the polite attention of the good-looking stranger, Ethel Leslie smiled acquiescence, and he soon assisted her into the light buggy and tucked the lap robe snugly about her. Benny Moore was a connoisseur in horse flesh, and the gray gelding which he drove struck a four-minute gait as soon as the level road outside the town was reached. Then relaxing his attention to his horse Benny looked around at his companion. How pretty she looked. The wind had blown her jaunty hat a little back from her forehead, had freshened the bright color in her cheeks and had brought a merry sparkle into her eyes and a smile around her lips. " This is splendid, Benny," she said, noticing his glance of admiration; " Duke grows faster every day." " Who was he who helped you into the the buggy?" " Mr. Vance. Don't you think he is handsome ?" " Well, no; I don't like his looks." Poor Benny; he was just in that condition of mind that perceives in every unmarried man a possible rival. " Nonsense," was Ethel's rejoinder, " you haven't really seen him yet. He's to come to tea to-night, so you'll see him. Because you'll stay to tea, you know, after you've driven me back." " Well, I don't know, you haven't asked me before." " Nonsense; you know you are always to stay when you're in town." Did Ethel really know that Benny loved her ? Was she really willing to keep him near her as long as possible, or 52 THE fOMFKET MYSTERY. was she simply trying her power over the young fellow as all women like to do ? Benny would have given much to know. " Where have I seen that cashier before/' said Vance to himself as he wandered outside the town by the river's side that afternoon. " It is not like me to forget faces, and I have a notion that when I saw him 1 fixed him in my memory to be remembered again. Pshaw ! It will come back to me presently. Pretty little girl, the Squire's daughter. Wonder if she's engaged to that young fellow in the buggy. I've a great mind to make up to her myself. If she would marry me we could settle down here and live happily and I would gradually take the Squire's place. That would be a change indeed. Some of my friends would hardly recognize me as a bank-president." He seemed to be much amused at the idea and laughed out loud. All that afternoon he was unusually thoughtful, seem- ing to avoid the company of those village folk whom he met; but when evening came he remembered his engage- ment and having dressed himself carefully he walked up to the Squire's house at the appointed time. He stood for a moment by the Squire's fence with his hand upon the latch of the gate. There was a plan only half formed in his mind, and he was trying to develop it. He was roused from his reverie by a deep and savage growl, and starting he saw in the path before him a dog, with his hairs erect and bristling with anger. " That confounded dog ! " he exclaimed. " Here's a go." " Gr-rr-rr-rr ! " growled Eover, showing his teeth as if in anger. " Good doggie ! Poor fellow ! " Vance exclaimed as he stepped forward keeping a watchful eye upon the animal. " Gr-rr-rr-rr/' growled the dog again, backing away from him. AETHUB VANCE. 53 " The idea of keeping such a brute as that about the house. He must be got rid of somehow. He is too discerning a beast to live/' Vance thought as with a feeling of relief he saw the front door open. " Your dog is not hospitable to strangers," he said to the Squire, as they sat in the parlor later; " I was in doubt whether he would allow me to accept your invitation to tea." " He used to be very kind, but of late he seems to have changed. We have a servant in the house to whom he will not be civil. It is a pity, for he is a valuable dog," the Squire answered. " He has so many tricks too," Ethel said, " and will fetch and carry to any store in the village. He is better than a boy to run errands, for he never loiters." At the tea table Vance rendered himself very entertain- ing to the Squire and Ethel. He had a fund of anecdotes which he opened for their amusement, and having been a great traveler could talk well about foreign lands. He did not, however, get along so well with Benny, who was quite gruff and morose and evidently ill at ease. " If you don't like him, Benny," Ethel said to her lover as they stood., later in the evening, at the front gate, " that's no reason why you should be rude to him." " Indeed, Ethel, I could not help it." "Couldn't help it!" "Indeed I couldn't, Ethel" he pleaded. "Oh, Ethel, there's something I've been wanting to tell you this long time and now that that man has come I can't be silent any longer. Ethel, I love you ! that's why I was rude to-night. Forgive me." " If you show your love the way you did to-night you had better keep it to yourself," said Ethel crossly, for she was really very angry with the way Benny had behaved. " When you know how to act as a gentleman should, then perhaps it will be time enough to talk about loving me/' 54 THE POMFRET MYSTEBY. " Good night, Ethel." That was all he said; but there were tears in his eyes as he spoke, and then he leaped into his buggy. Ethel looked after him listening until the sound of his horse's hoof -beats died away in the distance. Perhaps there was in her heart as she turned back to the house some remorse for her cruelty to him. "He had no right to be rude," she thought to herself, perhaps in apology, as she entered the porch ; " still I am sorry he went away as he did; but, never mind, he will be back to-morrow all right." Oh woman ! woman ! Do you ever know the worth of a man's heart, till you have trampled upon it ! As if in defiance of her own heart Ethel was recklessly gay the rest of the evening. She played and sang and then it was discovered that Vance sang too. So he gave them a little Erench troubadour song set to English words, and afterwards he and Ethel sang duets. It was late after eleven o'clock very late for the country town, when Vance took his leave, but he had sketched a portrait of the Squire for Ethel and she had arranged to drive him six miles out of town to a cool quiet picturesque glen where Israel Putnam had shot the wolf. " Come at nine o'clock," she said, as Vance left the Squire and herself at the door. And so it happened that the next morning when Benny Moore came prepared to make his peace with his mistress he learnt that she and the stranger had gone off on a long ride together. " Won't you stay and wait, Benny," said Aunt Martha, who opened the door for him; " they'll be back at two o'clock." " No ! " he said, kicking the door mat viciously; " I didn't come to see her anyhow. I only came to get some books." There was something about this man, whom we must now call Arthur Vance, which Ethel's pure womanly instincts AKTHUR VANCE. 55 intuitively rebelled against, some strain in his soul that was antagonistic to her; yet she found it impossible to resist the charm and fascination of his manner. He had traveled apparently in most of the foreign countries. He had learned painting in France, singing in Italy; once he had even been in Turkey. He was not unacquainted with Mexico and the South American Republics. He had a fund of anecdotes, a store of knowledge, which seemed endless. It could hardly he expected that the inexperienced little country girl could resist the fascinations of the experienced and talented man of the world; nor that Benny, uncultured in the ways of the world, should be able to stand against his rivalry. Benny was handicapped also by the very strength and purity of his passion. Whatever may have been the intention of the stranger when first he came to Pomfret it soon became evident that now he stayed on in the hope of winning Ethel Leslie as his wife. She little knew the meshes that were twining about her; little knew that every act and word of hers were watched and noted by one whose eyes were sharpened by jealousy. To ordinary observers Adele would have seemed engrossed in her work, but those of sharper insight would have seen that she found time to linger near the room where Vance was and became restless while he was in Ethel's company. He himself noticed it at last and as a result the meeting in the Park followed. Adele made some excuse to go away. Her mother was ill and she wished again to implore pardon and be for- given. She did not expect to be gone more than a week or at the utmost a fortnight and a farmer's daughter from the country could do her work while she was away. Arthur Vance felt relieved when she had gone and pressed his suit with renewed vigor. So before the summer ended Ethel Leslie and Arthur 56 THE POMFKET MYSTEKY. Vance were engaged to be married, and before the the winter snows fell they were man and wife. But it must not be supposed that the Squire consented to the marriage before he knew something of Vance's ante- cedents. Not at all. Vance had taken him to New York; had introduced him to friends living there who vouched for his respectability and wealth. " I hardly know any one in this country/' Vance had said, " I have been so long a wanderer. And only a few of my father's old friends know me. But I will take you to them and you can hear what they have to say." And the Squire had gone to them and learned nothing but good about Vance. Benny had left Pomfret and was practicing law in New York, but he came to the wedding. His heart was sick and sore with wounded love, but he was determined that he would give no signs of his anguish that his demeanoi should be such as to give no cause of remark to any lookei on. He cared not if Ethel divined it. He loved her so well and was so sure of his own rectitude, that he always hoped she would realize what bands were binding down his love. But during the weeks that elapsed just before the marriage he was graver and more silent than usual, sterner perhaps, and at times when he was alone his face assumed a look of pathetic sadness his heart seemed heavy. He could take no pleasure in anything except in work, in that alone could he forget part but not all of his terrible sorrow. There are times in men's lives when sentiments and affections must be crushed out with a relentless sternness. There must be no temporizing nor delaying, no hesitation nor doubt. But if their sentiments and affections are true they are strong and deeply rooted and the tenderest susceptibilities are wrenched and sprained in the process. The struggle must be fought alone, A kind word, a sym- ARTHUR VANCE. 57 pathetic glance are all the aid that the truest, most deep- seeing friend can offer. Benny underwent this terrible struggle with his love. He could not drown it, nor hide it, nor burn it. To starve it to give it no food of word or glance or sigh or memories of bygone days, not even a crumb of vain regret, that was the way that the battle must be fought, that was the way in which the surging passion of his love must be brought into the calm current of friendship. And Benny set him- self resolutely to the task. Many a time he wished that he could die but death never comes when most desired, and suicide he looked upon as cowardice. He knew that the wedding cards were waiting for him at his room, but he dreaded to go and get them. They were in his eyes the warrant that doomed his love to death. It was not until a few days before the wedding-day that he took them and opened them, with no outward tremor but with many a heartsick feeling in his soul. And when after the wedding was over and he went back to his father's house to spend the night he sat for many hours with his hands covering his face and his frame trem- bling, the hot scalding tears dropping slowly through his fingers. It was the relaxation of the control which he had set upon himself during the day. When at last he rose and went to bed he felt that his love was not dead it could never die, but it had been molded and shaped into a fervent pure friendship. The wedding day was dark and murky, and the rain came down in showers from a dull leaden sky. The roads were muddy and drops of water dripped from the leaves and from every twig and leaf. But Benny's spirits seemed more buoyant than usual. In the struggle between his natural and his spiritual nature, it was the natural which craved aid .from and was affected by nature; and the gloom of the 58 THE POMFKET MYSTEKT. weather seemed to harmonize with and subdue into a dull lethargy his passionate regretful love, while his spirit, inde- pendent of such surroundings, increased in power. Great exertions must have their reactions, and Benny that night slept the sleep of the weary. CHAPTEE IX. LALINE. MOORE was a stranger in New York, and his prog- ress in his profession, though ultimately rapid, was slow at first. He had much leisure time upon his hands time that occasionally he was much perplexed how best to employ. He could not read dry law treatises and drier law reports all the while. The theater he had no fondness for and to read novels he considered a waste of time. So he turned to composition. His stories had a considerable circulation in manuscript none of them, however, saw the glory of print. He was unknown in literary circles, and until he had achieved a reputation no editor desired his contributions. One story, in particular, he was proud of, and in later years he would sometimes read it to a trusted friend. With all its faults and it may have many indeed the lurid style (a style known among some authors as the "slop-over" style) may be condemned it nevertheless gives an insight into the chaotic condition into which Benny's mind had been thrown by the incidents of his previous years an illustration of the manner in which his imagination ran riot after the severe repression and stern discipline of the law studies and a record of his life in these years would be incomplete were it- omitted,. LALLSTE. 59 And so the story which he wrote and called " Laline," is given here as a part of his history. PART I. Oh how I loved her. Madly, wildly, passionately ! I loved as man never loved before ! Even in the days of my childhood my whole heart, my whole soul, was given up to her. Her face rose before me as I lay wrapped in reverie among the woods in summer days, and she came to me in my dreams at night. I was sad when she seemed sad and joyous when she seemed to smile. I was but a child when the spell was first cast over me. Twelve quiet, uneventful years, checkered only with the joys and the sharp but fleeting sorrows of childhood years that lacked all appreciation of the charm of romance and the excitement of tragedy had passed, measuring the span of my life, when all my nature was convulsed and changed by the fascination of a fierce, blind love. Thenceforth sun- shine and shadow had a new meaning for me, and the future ceased to be a name and became a reality which I longed to explore. Yet the image, whose enchantment I was under then, was but a phantom from the land of shadows a picture the portrait of a fair woman, on darkened and time-stained canvas. My childish days had been barren of the friendships that usually gladden the springtime of life. I was an orphan, living alone in the country, with two maiden aunts, in an old homestead that had been in the family for generations. I was the last male of my race. The well -tilled fields- about the old mansion were the remnants of my ancestral fortune. But in our poverty we were very proud, for the Delameures had been a famous race in bygone years and from my earlj- 60 THE POMFEET MYSTEEY. est days I had heard legends of their former grandeur. In- stead of the usual nursery tales my mind had been nurtured with family traditions, and I learned the alphabet from a quaint parchment roll that set forth, with heraldic blazon- ings, the many generations of the Delameures. I was without the companionship of other children, for we were too poor to entertain visitors and I was not allowed to -associate with the children of the vicinage. It was a bad training for a lad who, sooner or later, must go forth into the wide world to earn his own living; but the pride and solicitude of my aunts could not bear that I should be reared as the neighboring children of coarser fiber were, and the charges of distant schools were far beyond our humble means. Living, thus, much alone, I made playmates of my thoughts and the familiar objects in and around the house. I peopled certain dark corners with terrors, and thought that the fairies had their home amid the embers of the fire that glowed on the hearth in winter nights. Our poverty had not reached that depth of degradation that the relics and heirlooms of the family had been sold or dispersed. The antique silver still reposed safely in the stone vault in the cellar, whence, twice a year, it was taken and cleaned; the ancient eggshell china and quaint willow pattern service yet stood on the shelves of the china closet, and the family portraits still hung upon the walls. We clung to these relics of former prosperity with a supersti- tious reverence, and I verily believe that my aunts would have died sooner than part with one article of this super- fluous luxury. As for me, in those childish days, I valued these things but little. Far more important, to my mind, than the heir- looms of silverware, was the dark vault where they were kept. All the hobgoblins and grim specters which my lALWE. 61 fancy conjured had their abiding place within those stone walls. Sometimes at night I dreamed that the thick oaken doors of the vault swung open mysteriously and that there rushed out a troop of grinning goblin faces and distorted forms, which swept, in ghostly procession, through the deserted corridors of the house and clustered, in the darkness, around my bed. The antique china was to me simply something which I should never handle, but the pictures were my friends. I knew the histories of all the dead and forgotten Delameures whose protraits scowled or simpered at me through the dark varnish that shrouded their canvases, and I wandered in imagination through the landscapes that stretched away for indefinite distances behind their frames of tarnished gilt. The old garret, with its cobwebs and its dust and its in- valided and discarded furniture, its chests full of ancient finery, its thousand and one odds and ends that accumulate in every old garret, was, for me, a mine of the richest treasures. It was in this dim, cobwebby, storehouse of the past that I first saw the face of the woman who was to be all the world to me ; who was to raise me to Heaven and plunge me into Hell ; who was to torment and delight me, to soothe and wound me, to give me life and then to lead me to a bitter unendurable death. It was an old portrait of the fairest woman that ever lived. I dragged it forth from the pile of lumber where it had lain for years, and bearing it, as best I could, to the small- paned gable window I carefully brushed the dust from its dim canvas. Out of the dusky, dark background a face of surpassing loveliness smiled up at me. Child as I was, I felt the wondrous power of its beauty. Over my soul swept a wave of irresistible passion, and I fell upon my knees before it in frenzied adoration. 62 THE POMFRET MYSTE&Y. I took no heed of the flight of time as I knelt there wrapped in ardent homage, of that wondrous face ; but it was dark when the voice of Aunt Margaret, calling my name, roused me from my trance, and, with a strange feel- ing of exaltation in my heart, I went down to every-day commonplace life. But no ! Life was never again to be commonplace to me. A sentiment had been awakened a spell had been woven that held my heart and soul subservient to their enchant- ment, and cast a glamour over every act and thought. " Aunt Margaret," said I, as I sat at the table eating the bread and milk that formed my evening repast; "Aunt Margaret, who is the lovely lady whose portrait is upstairs in the garret ? " Aunt Margaret glanced at Aunt Betsy with a strange, scared look, and hesitated before she answered: " What portrait do you mean, Percy?" " A portrait that I found in the garret a portrait of a lady oh so beautiful ! With long yellow hair streaming down her back, and beautiful, great, blue eyes." The fair face, in all its loveliness, rose before my imagina- tion as I spoke. " It is Laline 1 " said Aunt Betsy, in hushed, awestruck tones more to Aunt Margaret than to me. " He has seen Laline ! " " Who is Laline ? " I asked, glancing with a vague, intui- tive alarm in the ashen faces of the old aunts. Aunt Martha answered, with trembling lips and faltering voice : " Laline was an ancestress of ours, Percy, in the days when the Delameures were a noble family of France. It is her por- trait that you have found. There was another Laline, one hundred years ago, so like the first Laline in form and face that the same painting served as a likeness of them both. When you are twenty-one years old you will be told more about her. " LALIKE. 63 I dreamt of the face that night it was never absent from my mind from the time that my eyes closed until they opened again in the morning. But, when I went to the garret again, the portrait was gone. I rushed down stairs with a heart filled with anguish, and implored Aunt Margaret to tell me what had been done with it. She had not intended to disclose its hiding place to me, but my evident distress shook her resolution, and she in- formed me that it had been put for safe keeping in the vault where the silver was stored. They thought I cried because I could not see the picture that I was a child lamenting a lost plaything but my tears were not shed for these reasons. I wept because a wild, terrible despair came over me at the thought of that fair image locked up among the execrable horrors with which I had peopled the vault. I rushed from the house and sought the shelter of the warm, fragrant hay in the mow of the barn. It was my favorite refuge when childish misfortunes came, and many a tribulation had I sobbed over there, until the perfume of the odorous hay, the cooing of the pigeons on the rafters overhead, the "twit-twit/' of swallows flying in and out , through holes under the caves, had beguiled the current of my thoughts and I had grown gay again. But to-day a thick shadow of woe had settled over me which the cooing of the pigeons and the "twit-twit" of the swallows were powerless to dispel. The brightness had gone out of my life, and it seemed to me that I could never be happy again. I stole unseen into the cellar and lay down on the hard, damp floor before the doors of the vault. My tears ran fast, but my moans were hushed, for I feared to be discovered. I whispered words of love ^-of passionate sympathy with my lips close to the damp iron-bound doors as if my voice could penetrate the thick, oaken planks into the dark hollow beyond. 64 THE FOMFfcET It? STERY. I was delirious with passionate despair. I could not eat nor sleep, and at last they were forced to unlock the doors and bring forth the precious portrait. Then I was mad with joy, and I knelt before it and kissed its lips again and again in the frenzy of passion. I was bewitched I was not a simple child I was a creature mad with the spells of an overpowering, resistless enchantment. At last, when the ecstatic paroxysm of my joy was over, I let them bring the portrait upstairs into the hall. They placed it where the light fell full upon it and then, Aunt Margaret, taking me by the hand, said: " See, Percy, there is no picture here nothing but a dark expanse broken by shadows. There is no face." I stared up into Aunt Martha's face in amazement. " No face ! " when the soft eyes were beaming brighter than ever into mine and the rosy lips seemed to be breaking into a smile as the sunlight played over them. " Oh, Aunt Margaret, how can you say that/' I cried and I bent down over the portrait and with my finger reverently traced the outlines of the face "See!" I exclaimed, "here are the eyes, here is the yellow hair, here is the mouth ' ' and as I touched the red, smiling lips they seemed to press against my finger tips in a warm loving kiss " here is the curve of the cheek. How can you say that there is no face here ! " But my words were all in vain. No one but me could discern the wonderful face. It was mine mine alone and I loved it more earnestly, more passionately, more despair- ingly than ever. I look back on those days with a strange surprise. I wonder if I was not, in truth, mad ! In all things save one I was a child, but in that one in my love I was a man nay more than a man ! I was a god for humanity could not fathom the depths of the seething fires of passion that burned within me. LALINE.