THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 OF 
 
 LOS 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 CALIFORNIA 
 ANGELES
 
 THE NIEMANS, 
 
 REV. MILTON H. STINE, PH. D., 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "STUDIES ON THE RELIGIOUS PROBLEM OF OUR COUNTRY," 
 
 "A WINTER JAUNT THROUGH HISTORIC LANDS." 
 
 YORK, PA.: 
 
 P. ANSTADT & SONS, 
 185)7.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1897, by 
 
 M. H. STINE, Ph. D., 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
 
 PS 
 
 3537 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The Niemans presents the vicissitudes of which 
 an American family in these closing years of the nine 
 teenth century, with its chances for travel, develop 
 ment, and changes in fortune, is capable. 
 
 The story, whilst not a true history, contains 
 narratives of actual occurrences. For instance, the 
 terrible ordeal through which Carrie and her Hero are 
 made to pass is an account of an actual occurrence. 
 
 The descriptions of natural sceneries are the result 
 of personal observation by the Author, and give a true 
 idea of the places visited. 
 
 The story, whilst not a religious novel, preserves 
 throughout the highest moral tone, and proves con 
 clusively that 
 
 " Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul, 
 Is the best gift of heaven." 
 
 It emphasizes always that wealth is not exempt 
 from disappointment and suffering, and that the moral, 
 though poor, have as much real enjoyment as those 
 who roll in wealth. 
 
 16343 
 
 .^J-.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 A shocking accident and a sad disappointment, .... 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 A history and a mystery, . ." 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A murder threatened and a precipitate flight, 29 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 A camping party and some strange discoveries, .... 37 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A fortune; but how to get it? 47 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 A narrow escape 54 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Convalescent, . . 66 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Sad memories and blessed comforts, 72 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Dissolved partnership, 79 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Bravery begets confidence, 86 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 She loved well but not wisely, . 93 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Burros and Pueblos 102 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 A divorce and how it was obtained Hi 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Dr. Burns pops the question, E ~, 122
 
 VI. CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 More about Sharp and Odlavia, 133 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Carrie and "the hero" have an evening together, . . . 143 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Sharp, 150 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 OSlavia secures her agent, 157 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 Peter Gray's visit to the encampment and the city of iron 
 
 vigor, 164 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 A cure for leprosy, 173 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Some of Sharp's plans 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 Very sick, 194 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 Afflictions, 201 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 The business, 208 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 The plunder divided, 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A strange experience 223 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Sharp's bad day 230 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 From jest to earnest 237 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 Felix quits the Dives 245 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 Felix and Sharp in the home of the Dives, 254 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 Odlavia is rich at last, 262
 
 CONTENTS. Vll. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Odlavia is engaged 270 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 On the wing, . . 279 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Lost in the mountains, 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Sundries, 296 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 A trip by moonlight . 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Back from the mountains and off to the sea, 311 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 A terrible experience, 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Sad experiences, 333 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Somebody in the house is dead, 341 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 "Carrie, you have not answered me that question," . . 350 
 CHAPTER XLH. 
 
 A great crime, 357 
 
 CHAPTER XLHI. 
 
 More developments, 362 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 Some very happy and some very unhappy people, . . . 372
 
 THE NIEMANS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A SHOCKING ACCIDENT AND A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 
 
 ' ' No living man can send me to the shades 
 Before my time, no man or woman born, 
 Coward or brave, can shun his destiny." Bryant. 
 
 L,ate one afternoon, June, 188-, a lady sat in the 
 waiting-room of the Illinois Central, in the city of 
 Freeport. She was dressed in deep mourning. Her 
 long, crape veil was thrown over her right shoulder 
 displaying the left side of her face and sunken eyes in 
 which there still lingered the light of youth. Phys 
 ical suffering had given her shoulders a slight stoop. 
 A journey of nearly thirteen hundred miles accom 
 plished in less than two days, had wearied her, so that 
 now as she arose and walked to the door and to the 
 window, as she frequently did, she showed the weari 
 ness she felt by soon again sitting in her place near 
 the ticket office. 
 
 A stranger looking at her dress, her thin, white 
 hands, and her pale, marble-like face, would have been 
 puzzled to know whether she were rich or poor. 
 Neither did the quiet way in which she asked her 
 questions speak much of her intelligence. When she 
 walked to the ticket office and asked the agent when 
 No. 10 freight would be along, she spoke in a low,
 
 10 A SHOCKING ACCIDENT 
 
 musical voice which betrayed little of the anxiety she 
 felt. 
 
 There are times in life when the most stolid are 
 lashed into emotion by the force of circumstances; but 
 for a woman, and that woman a mother in search of a 
 banished boy, to be calm in all her demeanor is 
 scarcely probable or possible. The woman had long 
 been a pupil in trie school of sorrow, and had learned 
 the bitterest lessons. 
 
 Mrs. Nieman, for that was the lady's name, knew 
 that her son Nicholas, more commonly called Nick, 
 was employed on freight train No. 10, on the Illinois 
 Central Railroad. So she had been told by the super 
 intendent who kept the time of the men on that part 
 of the road. The conductor of the train which had 
 brought Mrs. Nieman from Chicago, had told her that 
 Freeport was the best place for her to see her boy. 
 The train on which he was employed always stopped 
 From one to two hours in that city. She had already 
 been in the depot an hour, and the time for freight 
 No. 10 had arrived. Just then the station-agent told 
 her that No. 10 had been delayed an hour at Polo, 
 and would consequently not be along for about that 
 length of time. 
 
 In less than ten minutes after this time the rum 
 bling of an express train was heard. As the train 
 drew up to the station, Mrs. Nieman went to the win 
 dow and pulling her veil over her face looked through 
 its dark meshes at what could be seen in the train. 
 
 Some women when young and handsome, like to
 
 AND A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT. II 
 
 be stared at, and are never happier than when they 
 are conscious that they are attracting attention. This 
 fondness for being observed continues when crow- feet 
 are more evident than blushes, and the lips have lost 
 their roses, and the eyes their sparkle. 
 
 Mrs. Nieman was not a beauty, nor did she at any 
 time in her life love to be stared at, or to stare at 
 others. Now that sorrow filled her heart, and the 
 evidences of her journey detracted from her personal 
 appearance, she drew her veil over her face. If she 
 had not done so she might have materially changed 
 her future; but so it is, very often a mere trifle deter 
 mines a destiny. 
 
 Soon the train rolled cut of the station on its way to 
 Dubuque. Mrs. Nieman turned listlessly from the 
 window, and seated herself in her chosen place by the 
 ticket window. She did not know how long she sat, 
 but she felt that she had slept, when the station-mas 
 ter tapped her on the shoulder, and informed her that 
 the train she was waiting for had arrived. He said he 
 would call her sou into the depot to meet her. 
 
 The station-master had not seen any of the crew as 
 yet, and did not know what had caused the delay in 
 the train's arrival. His surprise may therefore be im 
 agined when he learned from the conductor that the 
 front brakeman had been run over by the engine and 
 had been crushed out of all human semblance. At 
 Polo the engine had been detached and had taken the 
 usual supply of water. The signal had been_given, 
 and the engineer thought he saw Nick Niemau, the
 
 12 .A SHOCKING ACCIDENT 
 
 front brakeman, standing against the front car await 
 ing the engine. The engineer had backed, and had 
 awaited the signal that the coupling had been made; 
 but when the signal was not given and the engineer 
 could not see the front brakeman, the fireman had dis 
 mounted, and on going back, was shocked to find a 
 human body literally crushed into a mass of bleeding 
 flesh. The head, trunk, and one limb did not contain 
 a whole bone. 
 
 A jury had been hastily summoned, and their ver- 
 dicl: was that the front brakeman, known as Nick Nie- 
 man, had come to his death by accidentally falling on 
 the track as the engine was being backed to couple to 
 the train. It was this that caused the delay of the 
 train No. 10, on the day that Mrs. Nieman sat in the 
 depot at Freeport waiting for her son. 
 
 Every human soul, unless totally dead to the higher 
 sensibilities which distinguish man from the brute, 
 suffers when it witnesses that which causes distress in 
 the bosom of a fellow being. It was this which caused 
 the station-master to open his mouth and look strangely 
 at the engineer who told him of the accident to the 
 front brakeman. Finally he managed" to say, " That 
 young man's mother is now in the station waiting for 
 him." This enlisted the sympathy of the engineer 
 and the crew. After discussing the situation a mo 
 ment they agreed that- the station-master, who alone 
 knew Mrs. Nieman, had best inform her of the death 
 of her supposed son. 
 
 The station-master was a man of fine sensibilities.
 
 AND A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT. 13 
 
 For this reason communicating the sad intelligence just 
 received was for him a difficult task. He could readily 
 tell the people which of the two trains daily leaving 
 the station, would bring them quickest to the city of 
 Chicago. He never hesitated to give such informa 
 tion in language polite and easily understood. Then, 
 too, he knew which road ran through the richest lands 
 beyond the Mississippi, and he was willing to answer 
 the most trying and trivial questions for all the people 
 who were dissatisfied with their lot and thought to 
 better it by going farther west; but this duty of com 
 municating the sad news to the waiting mother of the 
 death of her son, when she hoped to see him that very 
 moment, alive and well, was new and exceedingly un 
 pleasant. 
 
 He had arrived at the depot before he had really 
 thought of just how he would begin to deliver his 
 strange, sad message to the woman who, he had no 
 ticed, was already dressed in the habiliments of 
 mourning. But a woman as thoroughly educated in 
 the school of sorrow as was Mrs. Nieman, a woman 
 who by a strange presentiment knows when anything 
 awful is about to occur, is seldom overcome when at 
 last she stands face to face with that which tries men's 
 nerves, and wrings a woman's heart. Mrs. Nieman 
 was such a woman, and the first to say anything co 
 herent. "Tell me," she said, " is Nicholas dead ?" 
 
 By this time some of the crew of the train had come 
 into the station, and slowly but surely, Mrs. Nieman 
 became acquainted with the facts. She learned too,
 
 14 A SHOCKING ACCIDENT 
 
 that the front brakeman had taken his place on the 
 train at Bloomington that morning, without speaking 
 to anyone except from a distance; but he had faithfully 
 attended to his duty until the catastrophy at Polo. 
 
 It seemed to the engineer that Nick looked stouter 
 than a few days before, when he had temporarily left 
 the road on account of a severe illness which unhap 
 pily soon terminated and enabled him to return to his 
 job in time to lose his life. The engineer confessed 
 that he had spoken to Nick only at a distance that 
 morning. A new fireman having come to him that 
 day, he was busy watching him. 
 
 Mrs. Nieman listened to the account of her son's 
 death without asking any questions, or in any way 
 interrupting the engineer who narrated the sad occur 
 rence. When he had finished, all was silence for a few 
 moments. The men looked at each other without 
 knowing what was the best thing to say or do. Mrs. 
 Nieman was the first to find her voice. She quietly 
 asked what had been done with her son's remains. 
 The conductor told her that after the jury had viewed 
 the body, and had learned that Nicholas had no rela 
 tives in the state, they had recommended that the 
 body should be taken charge of by the company in 
 whose employment he had been, but that he, knowing 
 that Nicholas Nieman had relatives in Pennsylvania, 
 had concluded to bring the body to Freeport. On ar 
 riving there he had intended to consult the railroad
 
 AND A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT. 1 5 
 
 authorities as to telegraphing to his friends in the east, 
 asking for instruction as to what disposition should be 
 made of the remains. The body, he added, was very 
 much mutilated and would with difficulty be shipped 
 to the old home. 
 
 Mrs. Nieman at once asked to see the body. The 
 men again looked at each other. They tacitly agreed 
 that it was not best for the mother to see the mangled 
 form of her boy, so the conductor said : " Mrs. Nieman, 
 your son is very much mangled, and on the whole we 
 think it best that you be spared the pain which a view 
 of the corpse, in its present condition would necessar 
 ily give you. 'We will ask the company to have your 
 son's remains taken to the undertaker, and to-morrow, 
 when we have done the best we can for it, we will 
 show you the body." Mrs. Nieman was put into a 
 hack and taken to the hotel where her son had 
 boarded. 
 
 The undertaker had vainly endeavored to so arrange 
 the remains that the mother could view and recognize 
 them and he had done the best under the circum 
 stances, to make the body presentable. A napkin was 
 laid over the crushed head. (The train having been 
 uncoupled at the crossing, the head of the unfortunate 
 had been caught between the iron rail and the heavy 
 plank of the crossing, and literally crushed out of 
 shape. ) Mrs. Nieman did not lift the napkin from the 
 mass of crushed bone and torn flesh. The mangled
 
 1 6 A SHOCKING ACCIDENT 
 
 arm and side were neatly encased in a shroud, so that 
 Mrs. N. really saw very little of the effect of the en 
 gine's work; nor did she recognize anything in the 
 coffined remains that made her either certain or un 
 certain that she saw the body of her boy. 
 
 The watch-pocket on the corpse's pantaloons bore 
 the inscription, " Nicholas Nieman. 30, 7-16, 188-" 
 and the tailor's name. This inscription made the un 
 dertaker feel sure that there could be no mistake in 
 the identity. "It was Nicholas Nieman," he said, 
 " the pantaloons proved that."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 
 
 "Mystery such as is given of God, is beyond the power of 
 human penetration, yet not in opposition to it." 
 
 Madame de Stael. 
 
 The time for a fuller introduction into Nick Nie- 
 man's family has come. Inasmuch as the writer of 
 every biography devotes some time to the describing 
 of the birth-place and early surroundings of the per 
 sons whose life-history he is writing, we feel it a duty 
 to lead our readers, in imagination, to the pleasant 
 village where Nicholas Nieman and all the Nieman 
 children first saw the light of day. This village is lo 
 cated in eastern Pennsylvania. It is not a famous 
 town, and would have been little known, but for the 
 fact that it was the birth-place of the Niemans. To 
 prove to the average reader that it was not a famous 
 town before this story brought it notoriety, we need 
 only remind him that it never sent any of its sons to 
 the state legislature or to the halls of congress. It has, 
 however, always furnished its own justice of the peace, 
 who has, as a rule, discarded " party, friendship, 
 kind," and never received "boodle" or gave it, in 
 the discharge of his official duties. The fact that such 
 
 officers sat on the official bench in the town of 
 
 is in itself sufficient to distinguish it; for it is a- well
 
 1 8 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 
 
 known truth that greater towns and cities than this 
 
 same can seldom boast of such official capacity 
 
 among their rulers. 
 
 It may be that the location of the town itself, in a 
 part of the country where some of the voters still cast 
 their vote for Andrew Jackson at every election, has 
 something to do with the honesty of its public officers. 
 The town is beautifully situated on a gentle declivity. 
 At the base of the hill upon which the town is located 
 there flows a creek, upon the banks of which Nicholas 
 and his sister Eliza used to fish; but they seldom 
 caught anything before they got home and unwil 
 lingly exhibited their torn and soiled clothing. The 
 truth of the matter is, the creek contained few fish, 
 and these were difficult to catch; but it holds a secret 
 which this story of the Nieman family will gradually 
 unfold, and which alone makes this little stream 
 worthy of mention in this biography. 
 
 Another characteristic of the town of is one 
 
 common to towns, but we must mention it. The 
 town contained a n-eat brick church, surrounded by a 
 grave- yard, as the people call the cemetery in that 
 locality. Quite close to this church and on the very 
 edge of the grave-yard, stood the neat white house 
 which was the home of the Niemans. In the day 
 time when there were no funerals, the Nieman chil 
 dren would play in the grave-yard. Among the many 
 graves there was one of a murdered man. Some years 
 before the Nieman children were born, a man whom 
 no one in the neighborhood knew, was found in the
 
 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 19 
 
 ravine of the creek we have already mentioned. His 
 head was lying in the water. He had been stabbed in 
 the heart, apparently by some one who had come upon 
 him from behind, and unexpectedly, as he had evi 
 dently died without a struggle. So far no clue to the 
 perpetrator of the deed had been found. Over this 
 grave the children would scam per whilst the sun shone; 
 but when twilight came, not all the sweet-meats in the 
 village store would have been sufficient to tempt them 
 to go near it. When the moon shone brightly, they 
 always imagined the dark shadows of the cypress 
 tree which at certain hours fell on the grave, to be a 
 mantled and hooded figure, solemnly standing on that 
 grave. 
 
 The Nieman children went to church before they 
 remembered. They were .accustomed to sit in the 
 high-backed pews with their feet dangling in mid-air, 
 and when they went to sleep without being well 
 toward the back of the pew, which was seldom the 
 case, they would occasionally fall into consciousness 
 with a thud on the floor. Of course the domine 
 who preached in that church only once in four weeks, 
 and who therefore had much to say when he did 
 preach, was entirely oblivious to all such slight noises 
 as those occasioned by the fall of a youngster or two. 
 
 But the home-life itself is the most important in the 
 formation of character. It is to the home of the Nie- 
 mans, therefore, that we must not forget to introduce 
 our readers. Nick was the youngest of three children 
 born to George Nieman and his wife Hanna. Nick's
 
 20 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 
 
 father was the best physician in the neighborhood in 
 which the Nieinans lived. As long as he kept sober 
 he was eagerly sought after. I/ater in his life he had 
 taken to drinking, and gradually but surely he went 
 the downward road, until three years before Nick was 
 born the doctor had become a perfect sot. 
 
 When Nick was ten years old the doctor was called 
 out one evening to attend a case of extreme illness. 
 He did not return home that night; but Mrs. Nieman 
 was unconcerned, because he frequently remained 
 away from home under similar circumstances. A 
 rule to which Dr. Nieman strictly adhered, was 
 never to attend a patient or to prescribe for one, when 
 he himself was under the influence of liquor. He 
 would spend days at a time drinking, but never at 
 such times was he "at home " to any one. When he 
 would come out of a spree he would attend to his busi 
 ness and remain perfectly sober for days. His friends 
 noticed that each drinking-bout left him weaker, more 
 irritable, and more unreliable. 
 
 But to return to the night in question, though Mrs. 
 N. gave herself no concern when her husband did not 
 come home, on this particular evening she was filled 
 with strange presentiments that something was not 
 right with the doctor, and that a great sorrow was in 
 store for her. 
 
 The first evidence she had that something had 
 happened was next morning, when the horse 
 and buggy with which her husband had gone 
 away, stood at the front gate of the Nieman home.
 
 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 21 
 
 Whilst she was trying to determine whether the horse 
 had broken loose and come home, or whether the doctor 
 had brought him, a messenger came running toward 
 her, apparently greatly excited. As soon as he 
 could get his breath, he said, "I am Jake Smith's 
 hired man. Jake found your husband in the road 
 opposite our barn, with a hole in his head, and cold 
 and stiff as a poker. So he sent me to kind o' gently 
 tell you, that perhaps the doctor was dead, or very 
 sick. I most forgit what he did tell me to say; but 
 these are the facts, and facts is stranger than fiction." 
 
 Soon the doctor was brought home. He had two 
 holes in his head. The one looked as if it might have 
 been made by the edge of a horse shoe. Whether he 
 had been thrown out of his buggy, and struck his 
 head on the sharp stone which was found near him, 
 full of blood and hair, and which exactly fitted the 
 one hole in his head, could not be satisfactorily deter 
 mined by the farmer jury. If he fell on the stone the 
 horse evidently kicked him afterward, for he had two 
 holes, and there was only one blood-stained stone. 
 One thing seemed strange. His watch and purse 
 were both gone; and as they could not be found in his 
 home, the conclusion arrived at was that some one had 
 stolen them from him that night. But they saw no 
 one wearing the watch, nor spending the doctor's 
 money, so the} 7 gave their loss up as a mystery. 
 
 Mrs. Nieman felt the loss of her husband all the 
 more keenly, because he died so unexpectedly and 
 mysteriously. She was now left a widow with three
 
 22 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 
 
 children. The oldest child was a son, Lee by 
 name; the second was a daughter, eleven years of age; 
 the third was Nick, to whom we have already been 
 introduced. 
 
 After the doctor's estate was settled it was found 
 that only about fifteen hundred dollars remained for 
 the widow and her children. Mrs. Nieman's father, 
 who was in comfortable circumstances, therefore in 
 vited her to his home. Here she still resided at the 
 opening of this story. 
 
 Lee Nieman, the oldest of the family, soon became 
 quite a help to his grandfather. He assisted with the 
 work on the farm in the summer and attended public 
 school in winter. When he was seventeen years of 
 age he obtained a teacher's certificate and was selected 
 by the directors of his district to teach the same school 
 in which he had been a pupil. He continued teaching 
 during the winter and going to school during the sum 
 mer, until he was twenty years old. Having made up 
 his mind to become a physician, he entered the medi 
 cal department of the University of Pennsylvania. He 
 graduated with credit, and in a few years he moved 
 into the very home in which he was born. Here he 
 soon won the confidence of the people, and gained a 
 large practice. 
 
 Octavia, the only daughter of the family, as we have 
 already seen, was a haughty child. Her name 
 received at her baptism was Eliza. Her mother called 
 her, "Liza, " for short; but the child did not like Eliza. 
 Liza she abominated. When she was twelve years old,
 
 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 23 
 
 she read about Odlavia, the devoted and loving wife of 
 Mark Anthony. She resolved that just as soon as 
 possible she would adopt the name, Odlavia. When 
 she introduced herself to strangers she said her name 
 was Octavia; but her mother and schoolmates continued 
 to call her Liza. So long as she stayed at her grand 
 father's she was plain Liza. When she was fifteen 
 years old she learned dress making. At eighteen she 
 had saved enough to enable her to enter the nurses' 
 training-school in connection 'with the hospital on 
 Blackwells Island, New York. Being a physician's 
 daughter, she had no tuition to pay. Here we will 
 leave her for the present. Among her classmates she 
 is known as Odlavia Newman. This, therefore, is her 
 name for the future, but it costs her more annoyance 
 as we shall presently see, than if she had remained 
 plain Eliza Nietnan, 
 
 Nick Nieman, having been born when his father 
 was near the end of his career, did not inherit as strong 
 a constitution as the other children. The Niemans 
 were noted for their strength of character. This they 
 inherited largely from their mother. Before the 
 father fell into the drink-habit, we must confess, there 
 was no more reliable man to be found in all that neigh 
 borhood. Nicholas felt in more ways than one the 
 effect of his father's evil habit. The facl that others 
 as well as we ourselves will bear the consequences of 
 our evil lives ought to deter us from sin, even if we 
 do not care for our own future. The great law of he 
 redity, so plainly stated in the first commandment.
 
 24 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 
 
 brings curses to many, where if the parents had lived 
 virtuously, it would have brought blessings. 
 
 When Nick was seventeen he was not as strong as 
 his brother had been at the same age; but he was by 
 no means an invalid. His grandfather never seemed 
 to like him as well as he did the other children of the 
 Nieman family. He seemed to regard him as a sort 
 of a scape-goat of his father's sins. We are not sur 
 prised, therefore, to know that the old gentleman said 
 to him, soon after he had passed his eighteenth birth 
 day, " Nicholas, you have eaten my bread for more 
 than six years, without earning it. You are not likely 
 to be of much use to me or anybody else. You had 
 better put on your Sunday clothes and go West or 
 somewhere. Here is a twenty-dollar gold piece to 
 start you." 
 
 Nick took the money and the next day started West. 
 He rode on a freight train and kept the double eagle 
 in his pocket, a nest-egg for his future fortune. At 
 Pittsburg he saw a breakman lose his life between two 
 cars. He immediately offered himself to take the 
 place made vacant. His wish was made known to the 
 proper authorities and Nick became rear brakeman on 
 a train bound for Chicago. He continued a brakeman 
 on the Fort Wayne and Chicago railroad for more than 
 a year. He learned to know the city thoroughly; but 
 always avoided the temptation which had robbed his 
 father of his strength and usefulness. After some 
 hesitation he was persuaded to accept a more lucrative,
 
 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 25 
 
 but more irksome position on the road mentioned in 
 the former chapter. 
 
 Mrs. Nieman had learned through a neighbor, who 
 had been on a visit to Freeport, that he had frequently 
 seen her son in the city, and believed him to be indus 
 trious and sober. Nick, whilst on the road between 
 Pittsburgh and Chicago, had frequently written to his : 
 mother. When he left Chicago he had told her that he 
 would not write any more until he had made his for 
 tune. This had caused his mother to leave her home 
 in quest of her boy, and if possible, persuade him to 
 return home with her. 
 
 The day following the events narrated in the former, 
 chapter, the remains were buried by the railroad com 
 pany. The funeral services were held at the parlors 
 of the hotel at which Nick had boarded. Strange to 
 say, nothing belonging to him could be found in the 
 room which he had left only two days before, with the 
 evident expectation of again returning. On the day 
 before his death he had paid his bill, and had told the 
 clerk that he thought some of going farther west. It 
 seemed so strange that not over two dollars in money 
 could be found in the pockets of the dead man. The 
 hotel clerk said that when he paid his bill he had quite 
 a roll of bank-bills remaining. He had jokingly said 
 he would keep them toward his fortune. 
 
 The fact that so little money was found on the body 
 of the dead man threw a mystery about the sad 
 occurrence which no one could satisfactorily explain. 
 What became of the roll of bills ? If Nick had been
 
 26 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 
 
 robbed, he had certainly not said a word to any one. 
 From the time he had left his room at the hotel until 
 his body was brought back, two days intervened. The 
 last twenty-four hours of his life he had been seen by 
 different persons on the road. First he had gone on a 
 passenger train from Freeport to Bloomington, and a 
 few hours after his arrival and reporting for duty, he 
 had been on the train. What Nicholas had done the 
 day previous no one knew. One of his acquaintances 
 on the very day that Nicholas was killed, had gone to 
 a second-hand store to purchase a satchel, and to his 
 surprise, the satchel he had purchased had the address 
 of Nicholas Nieman partly erased, it is true, but 
 still legible written on the inside of it. Mrs. Nieman 
 had identified this satchel as the very one her son had 
 purchased when he left his grandfather's home. She 
 herself had suggested that he should write his name 
 into it. When the second-hand man was asked with 
 regard to it, he seemed to know very little as to how 
 he had gotten possession of it. First he said he pur 
 chased it with a lot of household goods; but when it 
 was shown that this statement could not be correct, 
 he said a young man, to whose personal appearance he 
 had paid no attention, had brought it. He did know, 
 however, he said, that the man did not look like a rail 
 roader, but more like a student. Finally he refused 
 to answer any more questions. He said he remem 
 bered too little of the man who brought it, to say any 
 thing definite.
 
 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 2? 
 
 The clerk in the Hotel remembered that Nicholas 
 had a satchel iu his hand when he paid his bill. He 
 had asked Mr. Nienian whether he were leaving, and 
 he had replied that he expected to return, but just 
 how long he would remain when he did come back he 
 could not say. He told the clerk not to hold his room 
 for him. He could get that or another, when he did 
 return. 
 
 Some of Nicholas' friends held to the theory that he 
 himself had sold the satchel and bought a trunk, 
 because it was known that he had accumulated too 
 many books and clothing whilst at the hotel, to put 
 them into a satchel. Nicholas had been accustomed 
 to shut himself into his room during his spare hours, 
 and when asked by his companion what he was doing, 
 he would reply that he was trying to finish his educa 
 tion. But no books were left in his room and none of 
 them could be found in the second-hand stores, so it 
 was concluded that some one must have stolen his per 
 sonal effects. 
 
 Others of his friends were suspicious that if the 
 dead man was not Nicholas Nieman, a young man 
 whom Nicholas had introduced as a cousin from the 
 West, and who had disappeared just about the time of 
 the accident, knew something of Nicholas' where 
 abouts. But no one seemed to know who this young 
 man was or whence he had gone. Mrs. Nieman her 
 self knew of none of her relatives who had recently 
 gone West. Of course all these strange incidents 
 with regard to Nicholas caused considerable gossip.
 
 28 A HISTORY AND A MYSTERY. 
 
 Some even suggested that he might have given his 
 things away and then committed suicide. If any one 
 had his possessions, it was not at all likely that they 
 would speak of it, now that there were so many 
 strange rumors. 
 
 Mrs. Nieman had little hope that her son was not 
 dead. She did not know what to make of all the 
 strange things in connection with his selling his 
 satchel and the absence of all his personal effects, and 
 the unknown companion ; but she felt sure that if he 
 were alive and read the papers, which contained the 
 account of the accident and his mother's visit, he 
 would think too much of her to let her endure the 
 sorrow he knew his supposed death would be sure to 
 cause his mother.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A MURDER THREATENED AND A PRECIPITATE 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 ' ' My death and life, 
 My bane and antidote are both before me." Addison. 
 
 For triumph of the engineer's skill and for grandeur 
 and sublimity of scenery, the Denver and Rio Grande 
 railroad is unsurpassed by any road on the American 
 continent. It is justly called the " Scenic line of the 
 World." Many are the stories of hairbreadth escapes, 
 sudden and thrilling death, and sublime heroism, said 
 to have occurred in the construction of this road. In 
 addition to these, there are others of laborers who 
 were robbed and murdered for their wages, or who, 
 after weeks of hard toil, lost their all in a single night 
 of debauchery. Why must dens of infamy of every 
 kind be planted wherever the civilizing hand of man 
 opens a harbor, builds a railroad, or lays the founda 
 tion of a city ? Why should these persons who labor 
 hardest for their money, be almost always the readiest 
 to spend it? 
 
 We are not particularly interested in the construc 
 tion of the Denver and Rio Grande railroad; but we 
 are interested in one of the young men who for a time 
 helped to lay track. This young man is rather more 
 intelligent than the majority of his fellow-workers, is 
 
 29
 
 30 A MURDER THREATENED 
 
 about five feet nine inches in height and rather slight 
 and weak-looking. His name was the eighth on the 
 pay-roll, and for that reason he was familiarly known 
 among his fellows as No. 8. So we shall call him for 
 the present. 
 
 Number 8 was at work on that part of the road 
 which extends from Salida to Pueblo, over which the 
 train now takes the traveler in three hours. This 
 young man was sober and reliable, and soon gained 
 the confidence of the boss. At first he assisted in the 
 grading of the road; but the foreman of the gang, 
 whose work consisted in placing the rails in position, 
 being short a hand, transferred our friend tp this 
 pleasanter and more lucrative work. He could readily 
 learn to do almost any kind of work that did not 
 require extraordinary mechanical skill, and therefore 
 soon became proficient in his new place. 
 
 Cards formed the chief amusement of the men after 
 their day's work was done. There seemed nothing 
 f else to do. There were no books for them, and if 
 there had been, few would have been inclined to use 
 them. Although they worked only ten hours per day, 
 their work was hard, and they were usually very tired 
 when evening came. 
 
 We may say what we please with regard to the 
 establishment of reading rooms for the working classes. 
 They are a necessity; but where men and women must 
 labor twelve to fifteen hours daily, there is little 
 inclination, because little mental vigor, for reading 
 when at last the burden of the day's toil is laid by.
 
 AND A PRECIPITATE KIJGHT. . 3 
 
 Every healthy human being ought to be willing to 
 labor. Working eight to ten hours per day is strength 
 ening to body and mind and prolongs life. It is only 
 when the hours of toil are unduly prolonged that labor 
 becomes a burden. 
 
 Notwithstanding the fact that the men were usually 
 tired in this camp when the day's work was done, 
 there were some who would have gladly spent a few 
 hours in reading, had the opportunity been offered. 
 There being nothing to read, the men played cards 
 instead. Sometimes they played for the fun of it; 
 more frequently they played for the drinks or for each 
 other's hard-earned wages. 
 
 Number 8 had been asked again and again to accom 
 pany his chums to the saloon, until not to do so any 
 longer seemed to make him the object of abuse. He 
 finally concluded that he would go with them the very 
 next time they would ask him. That time soon came, 
 and that to his sorrow. 
 
 One Saturday evening, after he had worked more 
 than a month, he was persuaded to join the rest of the 
 men in a visit to Salida. Number 8 knew that the 
 proposed visit meant cards and bad whiskey. He had 
 learned to play cards as well as anybody on the section. 
 He knew, too, what bad whiskey could do, and 
 because he knew it so well, he had left it alone. The 
 gang knew his sentiments; because he had always 
 ,passed the bottle untouched. " This time," they said 
 among themselves, " we will take him where there is 
 enough to make him drunk, and drunk he shall be."
 
 32 A MURDER THREATENED 
 
 After their arrival at the few shanties which then 
 composed Salida, they had entered a saloon and played 
 for the drinks. Number 8 cheerfully paid when his 
 side lost, but he would barely taste his glass. There 
 seemed but one way to get him drunk, and that was 
 to force the stuff down his throat. One of the party, 
 a great, stalwart fellow, seized him from behind and 
 pinioned his arms, whilst another pulled back his head 
 and tried to pour some of the vile whiskey down his 
 throat. 
 
 In less time than it takes to tell it, Number 8 had 
 thrown himself from the box upon which he had been 
 sitting and had upset the table upon which the cards 
 had been dealt. One fellow, who had tried to hold his 
 limbs, had been kicked and sent half way across the 
 room. Meanwhile Number 8's coat, vest, and shirt 
 had received the greater part of the contents of half a 
 bottle of whiskey. Enough had gone down his, throat 
 to almost strangle him in his efforts to avoid it. His 
 tormentors relaxed their hold for a moment. Number 
 8 sprang to his feet and made for the door. Before he 
 could reach it, six revolvers were leveled at him; and 
 such expressions as, "you can't go, sonny," and "not 
 yet, if you please," greeted him. Quick as thought 
 Number 8 pointed with his ringer at the bar-keeper, 
 and of course everybody looked. At the same time he 
 fired into the crowd and ran out of the door. The 
 half dozen shots that were fired into the darkness after 
 him did no more harm than his own had done.
 
 AND A PRECIPITATE FLIGHT. 33 
 
 The reason Number 8 had drawn his revolver was 
 because he for once had thoroughly lost his head. He 
 was angry in the highest sense of the word. He felt 
 that these men had tried to take away his liberty. 
 He felt that they had no more right to compel him to 
 drink than they had to take his money. He excused 
 himself for shooting on the ground that he had acted 
 in self-defense. 
 
 When he returned to camp that night, he did not 
 go to the shanty where he was in the habit of sleep 
 ing, with some of the very men who had abused him 
 most. He did, however, go to the boss of the section, 
 who himself was a clever man, and did all 'in his 
 power to have the men behave decently at all times. 
 Number 8 told him frankly what had occurred. 
 "Young man," said the boss, "you have acted 
 rashly in shooting, but we will see what we can do for 
 you when the men are sober. To-night you must stay 
 with me." 
 
 Number 8 was only too glad to share the boss' quar 
 ters. The next morning, before breakfast, the boss 
 and Number 8 went to the shanty where the men were 
 gathered. They scowled at the new-comers, but said 
 nothing. The boss was the first to break the silence. 
 He said, " Men, I understand you had some trouble 
 down at the saloon last night." 
 
 One man, the fellow who had been kicked, said, 
 "Yes, that coward there (alluding to Number 8) 
 kicked and abused some of us, and when he could do 
 nothing else but fight, he drew his revolver instead,
 
 34 A MURDER THREATENED 
 
 and shot. We would have killed the cow 
 ard," he added, " if we could have caught him." 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said the boss, " I do not ordi 
 narily interfere in the quarrels of men, but I do say, 
 that because you wished to get tlrunk was no reason 
 why you should try to compel anyone else to do as you 
 do. Now that you are sober you will admit that what I 
 say is -true. All I wish you to do is to let by-gones be 
 by-gones. This young man says he has nothing 
 against any of you. Are you satisfied to go on in 
 your work together, or shall I discharge the whole of 
 you ? I can telegraph to Denver to-da^, and to-morrow 
 have all the men I need." 
 
 " No necessity for doen that, boss," said the fellow 
 who had been kicked, and who was really the leader 
 among them. " I guess the men here are willens to 
 let the matter drop for the present, since that coward 
 asks 5 7 ou to protect him." 
 
 " Well," said the boss, " I do not wish to discuss 
 this matter any further. If you will allow Number 8 
 to work without molesting him, all right. I must see 
 that he, or any man that works for me, has justice 
 done him." 
 
 So the matter ended that da}'. Number 8 went to 
 the shanty; but his companions were sullen all that 
 day, and whenever the opportunity offered they made 
 sarcastic remarks, and tried to wound his feelings. 
 But he was too wise to be drawn into a quarrel. He 
 paid as little attention to them and their taunts as pos 
 sible. That night he slept in his old place. The next
 
 AND A PRECIPITATE FLIGHT. 35 
 
 morning he went to his work as usual. So did the 
 others. It happened that Number 8 worked at rivet 
 ing the plates which hold the different pieces of rail 
 together, and was consequently separated from the 
 rest. 
 
 When the section-boss came around, he told Num 
 ber 8 that he had just overheard the rest of the gang 
 quietly discussing how they might get even with him. 
 He said, "You know these men. You had better 
 leave, and thus avoid serious trouble." 
 
 Inasmuch as this was the first day after pay, there 
 was not much to lose. Early the next morning found 
 Number 8 on his way toward Colorado Springs. It 
 was a beautiful morning. The snow-covered cliffs 
 sparkled in the morning sunlight long before our trav 
 eler felt the warmth of the first rays in the valley. 
 Pike's Peak looked like burnished silver. 
 
 " Round its breast the rolling clouds were spread, 
 Eternal sunshine settled on his head. ' ' 
 
 Number 8 thought he would go to Colorado Springs 
 and from thence to Chicago, and, if possible, get 
 lighter work there. Two or three miles from camp he 
 met the construction train. On this he rode as far as 
 Canon City. From thence he hoped to follow the trail 
 of the miners, and in two or three days get to Colorado 
 Springs. He preferred this to going direct on the 
 train; he would spend some time in the mines if 
 opportunity offered. 
 
 He walked all day. Toward evening he left the 
 trail in the Canon and followed an indistinct path over
 
 36 A MURDER THREATENED 
 
 one of the foot-hills, hoping to shorten the distance 
 around the spur. It proved farther than he had cal 
 culated. Just as the sun sank to his burning bed, 
 Number 8, from the summit of the hill, looked over 
 the weary miles he had come. Far in the distance he 
 saw the smoke arise from the camp-fires of the men on 
 the road. How he longed for a piece of the salt pork 
 and slap-jacks he knew were preparing over those 
 camp-fires! He turned and trudged wearily on. He 
 crossed the ridge and saw rather a wide canon below 
 him; but he was too tired to enter it that night. He 
 sank wearily beneath the boughs of a big pine. He 
 thought of his home, far away, and scarcely knew 
 whether to blame or congratulate himself on his escape 
 from the contractor's men. Would he on the morrow 
 rise from his lowly bed? The prospect was not, to 
 say the least, very cheering. Number 8 was too tired 
 to think much. Tired nature asserted herself, and 
 her sweet restorer, sleep, stole on him ere he was 
 aware.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A CAMPING-PARTY AND SOME STRANGE DISCOVERIES. 
 
 " Earth has built the great watch-towers of the mountains, 
 and they lift their heads far up into the sky, and gaze ever up 
 ward and around to see if the Judge of the world comes not. ' ' 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 In the course of the events of this narrative the time 
 has come to introduce our readers to a party of camp 
 ers in the " Golden State." The camp is located in 
 the mountains, twenty miles from the city of Los 
 Angeles. It is July, and the moon is at her full. 
 The crags cast long, dark shadows into the cafions, so 
 that they look like openings into a bottomless pit. 
 Far off to the west there is a broad expanse which 
 glistens like silver. It is where the rays of the full- 
 moon are reflected from the waters of the Pacific. 
 
 Around the camp all is serenity. The burros are 
 corralled, and four of the campers are asleep beneath 
 the white folds of one tent, and four others, the ladies 
 of the party, are in another, and in a similar state of 
 forgetfulness. 
 
 Whilst they are asleep, let us quietly introduce the 
 campers: Three of the ladies are from New York City. 
 Two of them are mere girls. Their name is Dives. 
 They are the only surviving members of their family. 
 When at home they live in a fine house on Fifth 
 Avenue. They have a good income. Weak dungs 
 
 37
 
 38 A CAMPING PARTY AND 
 
 have driven them from the city, first to Colorado, and 
 later to the Pacific Coast, where they have spent the 
 winter. Charmed with the climate, they have tarried 
 far into the summer, and 'with their medical nurse, 
 whom they have brought with them from the Metrop 
 olis, and a cousin, they have left the city for a week in 
 the mountains. The men are, one of them, a lawyer, 
 about thirty-five years of age; his name is James 
 Sharp. The other is Mr. Swivel, who, with his sister, 
 whom we have already mentioned, is a cousin of the 
 Dives. The other two men are the cook and the mule 
 teer of the party. The former is a red-haired, greasy- 
 faced fellow, very fat, but a very good cook. The 
 latter is a young man, thin, fair and not too strong- 
 looking. He was sent by the owner of the mules, at 
 the foot of the mountain, to act in the double capacity 
 of guide and muleteer. He was introduced to the 
 party four days ago as Felix. 
 
 Only one person in the party is at all impressed with 
 the last mentioned men. This is the nurse from New 
 York. There is nothing very striking in either their 
 personal appearance, or in the men themselves. A 
 mere circumstance, so she persuades herself, has aroused 
 her interest in the cook, and then in the muleteer. 
 Having left her watch in the tent one day, she had 
 gone out alone to admire the scenery, which she pro 
 fessed keenly to appreciate. She sat for some time 
 listlessly looking down into the lovely San Gabriel 
 Valley. A little to the left and almost beneath the 
 place she sat, lay the town of Monrovia with its cluster
 
 SOME STRANGE DISCOVERIES. 39 
 
 .of buildings at the centre of the town, and with here 
 and there a white or brown house in an orange grove, 
 looking like a piece of plaster or bronze in a frame of 
 emerald mosaics. In the distance a low cloud indi 
 cated the place where " the Angel City" of Southern 
 California lay encircled by a veil of mist, as if to pro 
 tect her from the rude gaze of the genii of the moun 
 tains. For miles the valley, with here and there a 
 Eucalyptus grove, reminded the beholder of Pope's 
 lines, 
 
 " Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed with thorn, 
 The spiry fir and shapely box adorn; 
 To leafless shrubs the flowery palm succeeds, 
 And od'rous myrtle, to the noisome weeds." 
 
 She had been startled in her revery by a noise among 
 the sage. On looking up she had seen the cook, who 
 came to call her to the tent to luncheon. She asked 
 him the time of day. Without saying anything he 
 drew a gold hunting-case watch from his vest-pocket 
 and opened it before her face. She noticed the name 
 " Nieman " on the lid. The lady asked no questions 
 about the watch; but the name Nieman was on it, 
 that' was sure. What impressed her more than the 
 name, were three nicks made deeply into the ring of 
 the upper lid. She had often seen the same or similar 
 nicks on her father's watch. He had told her he put 
 a new nick in the case every time a new baby came to 
 their home. The second nick was there for her. How 
 did the cook get this watch ? she asked herself again 
 and again.
 
 40 A CAMPING PARTY AND 
 
 After luncheon that day she walked out to the side 
 of the tent, and there saw a large pocket-knife, stick 
 ing, back upward, in a tree, with the muleteer's coat 
 hanging upon it. For some reason she stepped up to 
 the tree, and saw on the bone handle of the knife the 
 initials, N. N., It now seemed to her that fate, or 
 something, had first shown her the watch, so as to 
 deepen the impression of thus unexpectedly showing 
 her her brother's knife. She stood a few moments, 
 gazing at the knife, when the muleteer came and 
 pulled it out of the tree and put it into his pocket. As 
 the muleteer walked away, she felt the resemblance of 
 this man to her brother Nicholas very forcibly. 
 
 By this time my reader is convinced that the nurse 
 of the New York girls is none other than Octavia 
 Newman, Mrs. Nieman's "L,iza." Perhaps he is 
 also asking himself whether the muleteer is not L,iza's 
 brother. The reader's conviction with regard to 
 Odlavia is correct, but she herself is far from sure that 
 the muleteer is her brother. It is true, she knew that 
 his funeral had been held in Freeport, years before; 
 but her mother had never persuaded herself to think 
 that he was really dead. She herself had worn mourn 
 ing to tell her neighbors that she sorrowed for her 
 dead brother, a fact which they otherwise would not 
 have known. Her brother when he died was much 
 fairer than this man; but perhaps this man was only 
 tanned. Her brother's hair was light, the muleteer's 
 was yellowish; but his nose, mouth, and color of the 
 eyes certainly were very much like Nick Nieman's.
 
 SOME STRANGE DISCOVERIES. 41 
 
 She had once mentioned to the Dives the fact that 
 her brother Nicholas had been driven from home by 
 his grandfather. She did not know of any great 
 wrong that her brother had done; but she mentioned 
 it at a time when she was dilating on the extensive 
 wealth of her grandfather, and the position she held 
 in his affections Her grandfather would in all proba 
 bility give her the greater part of his wealth. Then 
 she would build a hospital of her own, and admit only 
 the refined and intelligent. The Dives had then 
 shown more interest in the brother that was 
 driven from home than in her grandfather's great 
 wealth, or Miss Octavia's plans. They asked 
 her so many questions about her brother's going 
 away, how it affected his poor mother, (and what be 
 came of her brother afterward, and whether her grand 
 father did not feel remorseful when he learned that 
 Nicholas was killed, ) that she detailed so much of her 
 family life, that she felt her face redden with needless 
 shame, and she now recalled how angry she had been 
 at herself because of the unfortunate turn she per 
 mitted her conversation to take. She remembered, 
 too, how she had resolved then and there 
 that she would never even intimate that she 
 had the slightest suspicion that her brother was still 
 alive. In fact up to this time she had not given her 
 self much concern as to whether he was alive or not. 
 Now she resolved that she would not even intimate to 
 the Dives or to anybody that she had the slightest -sus 
 picion that Felix the muleteer, was her brother, come
 
 42 A CAMPING PARTY AND 
 
 to life, or that he had not been killed at all. She 
 admitted that Felix was by no means bad look 
 ing. She could have seen, too, had she been able to 
 look farther than her nose, that the young man was 
 brave and possessed of character; but Octavia on this 
 occasion, as she had often done before, allowed noth 
 ing to come between her and her false pride. Octavia, 
 therefore, said nothing of her suspicions, and treated 
 Felix with the same condescension after she had seen 
 the knife as before. Why should not anybody else 
 than her brother have a knife with " N. N." 
 engraved upon it? Beside, everybody thought 
 her brother dead. Her mother's wish that her 
 son might be living had been father to the thought 
 that he really was alive. It is true, a separ 
 ation of five years in a growing boy, might even 
 cause his relatives not to recognize him. Pshaw! She 
 would not bother her head about it. Whether Felix 
 was her brother or not, he was a muleteer, and that 
 was enough for Miss Octavia Newman, M. D. 
 
 That same afternoon the party broke up camp and 
 started for L/os Angeles. Octavia rode on a burro be 
 lieved to be the tamest, because the oldest, in the out 
 fit. It so happened that he for a time lagged far in 
 the rear; but of a sudden he seemed possessed of all 
 the perversity and animation of the days of his youth. 
 He crowded by the others where the trail was narrow 
 est. He whisked his tail in the air, and kicked until 
 poor Octavia begged Felix to stop him. The attempt 
 nearly cost him his life. Planting himself at the out-
 
 SOME STRANGE DISCOVERIES. 43 
 
 side of the trail, he grabbed the bridle. He succeeded 
 in turning the mule, but he himself went over the 
 side of the trail where it was steepest, and had it not 
 been for the strength of the bridle and the mule's 
 backing propensities Felix would have had a fatal fall. 
 When the mule stopped, Oclavia went on. In her 
 fall she scratched her face in the sage, and bruised her 
 knees, and tore her gloves which saved her delicate 
 palms. 
 
 There were several things that were firmly impressed 
 upon the minds of the Dives girls during this trip. 
 One of these was the grandeur of the scenery. They, 
 no less than Octavia, feasted their eyes on the magnif 
 icent view that stretched before them during the few 
 days that they sojourned in cloud-land. Another 
 thing which impressed them as much as the 
 scenery, was that they had never enjoyed such ap 
 petites in all their lives before, as they enjoyed during 
 their encampment. What was more, ' ' good diges 
 tion had waited on their appetites, and health on 
 both." They knew that exercise and atmosphere con 
 tributed to these results, but they also attributed not 
 a little to the skill of the cook. 
 
 Whatever may be said of Byron's lines, 
 
 " Heaven sends us good meats, but the devil sends us cooks," 
 
 the Dives were convinced that this cook under 
 stood his art. He was not at all a fine specimen 
 of humanity. His stomach was unduly extended by 
 constant tasting and feasting on the viands he himself
 
 44 A CAMPING PARTY AND 
 
 prepared, so that it would have been a convenience to 
 carry It in a sling, or better still, to let some one else 
 carry it on his back after its possessor, had that been 
 possible; his face was round as a full-moon; his eyes 
 were little, deep-set and cunning; his hair was red as 
 glowing coals. When his face remained unshaven 
 for a week it looked like a pudding sticking full of the 
 beards of red wheat. His manners were excessively 
 polite. His character well, we do not know him 
 sufficiently to say much of his character. Character 
 cannot be read at a glance. It requires study, associ 
 ation, to tell a man's character, especially if he tries to 
 dissemble. 
 
 But the Dives thought they could tolerate even so 
 homely a man as this cook, if they could enjoy the 
 results of his art. Of course they lost the edge to 
 their appetites when they got to New York, although 
 they had this same cook. We have thus far simply 
 called him the cook, without giving him a name. 
 The girls asked him his name, and he gave them a 
 name wherewith they should call him; but in all prob 
 ability it was only assumed, so we will continue to 
 know him as " the cook." There is not much in a 
 name, anyhow, until it stands for character, or the 
 lack of it. 
 
 The Dives girls themselves asked this cook on the 
 way home from the encampment to call at their place 
 of sojourn in L,os Angeles. He came the same even 
 ing of their arrival in the city. When the elder of 
 the girls told him why he had been asked to call, it
 
 SOME STRANGE DISCOVERIES. 45 
 
 did not require much skill to read the feeling of satis 
 faction which made itself manifest in the fat face and 
 twinkling eyes. This satisfaction was increased when 
 an offer of such wages as the fat man had not received 
 for many days was made him. Of course he tried to 
 conceal his pleasure. He said, he did not know 
 whether he really wished to return to New York. He 
 had been there years ago, but he had found the win 
 ters excessively cold and the summers fearfully hot, 
 and the atmosphere of all New York kitchens close 
 and stuffy, but the change even to a worse climate 
 might do him good. So the fat cook accepted the 
 proposition of the New Yorkers, and the girls them 
 selves, had they just then been endowed with the power 
 to see spirits, would have seen their guardian angel 
 tremble. Perhaps if they would have known what 
 Octavia thought she knew about the watch this same 
 fat cook carried, they would have had him arrested on 
 suspicion of having been the murderer of Octavia's 
 father; but to convict him would have been quite 
 another matter. The watch alone would not have 
 been sufficient to prove that the cook had stolen it 
 from Mr. Nieman, or anybody, much less that he had 
 killed the aforesaid gentleman. Odtavia herself soon 
 stopped thinking about the watch, for a time, at least. 
 The Dives had now finished their visit to the 
 ' ' Golden State ' ' and within about a week afterward 
 they were ready to return to their home. Of course 
 Miss Newman was to return with them. Octavia 
 scarcely knew whether to be pleased or otherwise
 
 46 A CAMPING PARTY. 
 
 when she heard that the cook, who had given such 
 satisfaction on the camping trip, would accompany 
 them to New York, there to be installed in the 
 kitchen of the Dives. What surprised her still more 
 was the fact that Mr. Sharp was now on his way to 
 hire Felix to become the coachman for the Dives. 
 The cook had suggested it, saying that he knew Felix 
 wished to go farther east, and that as a coachman he 
 was "A, i." The Dives themselves saw enough of 
 Felix to believe that he would make them a good 
 coachman. 
 
 The fact that these two men were to go with them 
 to New York seemed like a cruel fate sent to haunt 
 and torment Octavia. Had it not been for a letter 
 which Octavia at about this time received, and which 
 threw her into a fever of happy anticipations, she 
 would have felt the workings of the seemingly cruel 
 fate all the more keenly.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A FORTUNE; BUT HOW TO GET IT? 
 
 ' ' Pride ( of all others the most dangerous fault ) 
 Proceeds from want of sense or want of thought. ' ' 
 
 Dillon. 
 
 The day after the arrival of the camping-party and 
 several days before the Dives were to start for New 
 York, Octavia received a letter from the hospital on 
 Black wells Island. On breaking the seal she found 
 another sealed envelope inside, addressed to " Miss 
 Liza Nieman." As she listlessly broke the second 
 seal, she wondered how anybody at the hospital could 
 know that she was L,iza Nieman. She had never told 
 anyone. This flitted through her mind as she broke 
 the seal; but imagine her surprise when she read: 
 
 "OMAHA, NEB.,/WW^ , 188 . 
 Miss LIZA NIEMAN, 
 
 I beg leave to inform you that by 
 
 the death of Peter True, formerly of , Pa. , you 
 
 have come heir to a large cattle ranch, twenty-five 
 miles from this city, together with a two-story house, 
 etc. , in this city. The estimated value of this prop 
 erty is $25,000. 
 
 Please prove yourself the Miss L,iza Nieman in 
 tended by the will, and relieve your servant, the 
 administrator, 
 
 JOHN BAER, ESQ." - 
 
 47
 
 48 A FORTUNE; 
 
 So soon as Octavia read this letter she knew who 
 Peter True was, although she had not heard from him 
 for years. She promptly burst into tears. Had any 
 one seen her weep, he would have been convinced 
 that there was no real grief in the spinster's tears. 
 
 Peter True and Eliza had known each other in 
 their childhood. He had lived on a farm joining the 
 village. His parents had died when he was quiet 
 young, and there being no relative to care for him, a 
 Mr. True had adopted him and given him his own 
 name. All this occurred before Peter was able to real 
 ize that Mr. True was not his father, and Mrs. True 
 not his mother. From his earliest recollection the 
 Trues had treated him as if he were their own child, 
 and so Peter never grieved when he was told by the 
 neighbors that he was an adopted child. Octavia, or 
 rather Liza, as little Peter knew her, had always when 
 she was displeased with him, promptly reminded him 
 that he was only a " 'dopted child." 
 
 As she grew older the spirit within her began to 
 assert itself. She began to lord it over Peter com 
 pletely, so that he scarcely dared to call his soul his 
 own in her presence. Of course he could no longer 
 play with her the live-long day, as he had done in his 
 early childhood; but, whenever they met, she showed 
 her regal spirit, and in all her conduct toward him 
 tried to impress him with her superiority. She fre 
 quently told him of the books she was reading, and 
 times without number informed him that it would not
 
 BUT HOW TO GET IT ? 49 
 
 be long before she would leave him for good. In the 
 end Peter left the village before she was ready to go. 
 
 Peter's childish love for Liza did not die as he grew 
 into manhood. One debt he owed to this same love 
 for the proud girl. It had inspired him to do some 
 thing in the world; to be somebody. With him this 
 resolution was guided by good common sense, which 
 he showed on all occasions of his short life, except 
 when he insisted on loving this same haughty girl. 
 
 When he was eighteen years old, Mr. True gave 
 him permission to go or to remain in the home that 
 had so long sheltered him. He had at once asked 
 Odtavia's advice, and she had promptly told him to go 
 away. He thought over the matter for some time 
 after she had given him her advice, and finally made 
 up his mind to go west. When he told her his decis 
 ion she grasped him warmly by the hand, and showed 
 more affection than she had ever done before. 
 
 A few weeks after this Peter True was ready to 
 start. Of course he came to say good-by to Odlavia, 
 as he had for the last few years been in the habit of 
 calling Eliza, because she insisted on it, and because 
 he knew it pleased her. We cannot dwell upon the 
 way the girl spurned his heart as he laid it at her 
 feet in the ardor of his love. The utmost she would 
 promise him was that she would answer his letters. 
 This promise she kept for a little while, but soon 
 she broke it. Meanwhile Peter True was finding 
 friends and lucrative employment. It was not long 
 until he had a quarter section of land, and was farm-
 
 5O A FORTUNE; 
 
 ing it and pasturing cattle on other acres adjacent. 
 Soon he bought more. He then grew rich rapidly. 
 He still hoped to make the proud girl now in the city, 
 his own; but death, like an untimely frost, had come 
 and blasted all the tenderest hopes of life. He died of 
 a fever just two weeks after he had made his will, and 
 four weeks before Octavia received the letter to which 
 we have already alluded, and which was destined to 
 affect her life so seriously. 
 
 She distinctly remembered how poor Peter, the 
 night he had begged her, with quivering lip, to become 
 his wife, had given her the unsolicited promise that he 
 would never forget her to his dying day, and that if 
 he ever got rich in " the West," she would hear from 
 him. Octavia had thought Peter True too dumb and 
 too Dutch to have a place in her heart. She had 
 turned from him in disdain, scarcely flattered by his 
 attentions. It must be remarked, that truer heart 
 never beat than this same Peter True's; honester soul 
 never crossed the ' ' Father of Waters ' ' than he. 
 
 Octavia never thought of this. What engrossed her 
 was the question how to prove that she, the refined, 
 the learned Octavia Newman was the one intended by 
 the will. Her friends, the Dives, must not know it; 
 even though their medical adviser, who always felt 
 herself patronized by the Dives, was now an heiress. 
 Could Mr. Sharp, whom Octavia thought exceedingly 
 clever, not help her ? Should she interview the mule 
 teer and find out whether he was her brother Nick, 
 and then take him with her, to identify her ? Hor-
 
 BUT HOW TO GET IT ? 51 
 
 rors! No! The Dives dare not know, and Mr. Sharp 
 dare not know, that she for a moment thought Felix 
 her brother . Wh y not telegraph to Lee Nieman , M . D . , 
 asking him to meet her at Omaha, on important bus 
 iness? The plain, blunt, country doctor had, the last 
 time he saw her, said: " Octavia, pride is the never- 
 failing vice of fools. Beware of it, or it will make you 
 a laughing-stock with all sensible people." She had 
 cut him then and there. For seven years she had not 
 written to him. The more she thought the more she 
 realized that she could not prove her identity by the 
 people she had met since she had entered the hospital. 
 
 She had not even registered as " Eliza Nieman, , 
 
 Pa." She had given her address as Reading, Pa. 
 
 All the next day when she and the Dives were get 
 ting ready to start on the return journey, Octavia's 
 pride and love of wealth fought long and hard in her 
 soul. She felt that her brother, the doctor, would 
 help her if she would ask him. He could take with 
 him, she knew, the testimony of a thousand persons as 
 to his standing in the community. But why not pun 
 ish her brother by getting her fortune herself, and 
 then when she was richer than he, write him a patron 
 izing letter, asking him to come and visit her in her 
 chateau on the banks of the Hudson ? What a con 
 quest that would be! The thought delighted her. 
 
 Could she not show the letter to Mr. Sharp, the 
 attorney, and tell him that Peter True had nicknamed 
 her Liza Nieman. The name in the will, she would 
 tell him, was simply to remind her of the good times
 
 52 A FORTUNE; 
 
 they used to have together. She would adopt this 
 plan and Mr. sharp would see that she received her 
 money. 
 
 Soon the day for the journey arrived, but strange to 
 say she had not yet consulted Mr. Sharp. An invisi 
 ble power seemed to hold her back. The party con 
 sisted of Odlavia Newman, the fat cook, and what was 
 a surprise to all, Mr. Sharp, and of course, the Dives. 
 They took the ' ' No. 2 Daily ' ' over the Santa Fe, 
 en route for New York. At Pasadena they were 
 joined by Felix, the muleteer. Felix had been only 
 too glad to quit his old job, which had meant so much 
 hard work and such little pay. 
 
 It is needless to add that the ladies and Sharp traveled 
 in a palace car, and that Felix and the cook did not. 
 If moral worth would have determined the accommo 
 dation, the party would have been differently divided. 
 The mighty dollar gives standing and artificial value. 
 Sometimes the silver-plating comes off this artificiality 
 in the fridlion with other lives. Then we are willing 
 to acknowledge the fraud; but not so long as any of 
 the plating remains, will we confess that we have been 
 deceived. We do not mean to intimate that because a 
 man can afford to travel in a palace car, he is there-' 
 fore a rascal; but we do say that this age forgets, that 
 " Wealth is a weak anchor, and that glory cannot 
 support a man; this is the law of God, that virtue only 
 is firm, and cannot be shaken by a tempest." 
 
 She did not see Felix after he boarded the train, 
 until they arrived at Barstow, where they had dinner.
 
 BUT HOW TO GET IT ? 53 
 
 She had not seen him at the table. He had probably 
 eaten at the lunch-counter, which, in its way, gives a 
 man with little money an excuse for thinking that he 
 has eaten something. The coffee and dough-nuts of 
 the lunch-counter do the rest, so that after such a meal 
 or two the traveler can scarcely excuse himself for 
 having eaten at . all. Whatever may be said with 
 regard to the lunch-counter, we must admit that even 
 it is far in advance of what those enjoyed who crossed 
 the plains in the " prairie-schooner." 
 
 It would be useless to note every detail in this 
 journey of Miss Newman and her friends. We might 
 speak of a railroad wreck, but there was none; of a 
 hold-up, in which the engineer was compelled to detach 
 the express car, and in which the express messenger 
 was wounded in his fidelity to defend the company's 
 property; but whilst it may seem almost incredible to 
 you, kind reader, there really was no ' ' hold-up ' ' on 
 this trip.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A NARROW ESCAPE. 
 
 " Chance will not do the work, chance sends the breeze; 
 But if the pilot slumber at the helm, 
 The very wind that wafts us toward the port 
 May dash us on the shelves. The steersman's part 
 Is vigilance, blow it rough or smooth." Scott. 
 
 The sun was high next morning when Number 
 8 awoke. He felt very hungry and stiff; but he arose, 
 rubbed his eyes, and looked about him. There was 
 not much to see. He went forward some distance and 
 mounted a rock. From this eminence he had a good 
 view of the valley he was entering. He could at first 
 see no signs of life in the valley. He saw in the dis 
 tance a hut, and on looking closer, he spied a horse 
 feeding not far from the hut. 
 
 Having eaten his last bite the previous noon he was 
 very hungry and weak; but the hope of getting some 
 thing to eat urged him forward. When he reached 
 the cabin he found everything closed. The door was 
 locked, but near by he found an ax which together 
 with a few sticks of wood, were the only evidence that 
 somebody expected to return. He did not wait for 
 that somebody to return, but took the ax and knocked 
 in the door. On entering and opening the rude closet 
 he found two loaves of bread and a can of something 
 which he did not take time to examine. 
 
 54
 
 A NARROW ESCAPE: 55 
 
 For the first time in his life number 8 was a thief, 
 but not from choice. Byron has well said : 
 
 ' ' Man is a carnivorous production 
 
 And must have meals, at least one meal a day; 
 He cannot live like wood-cocks upon sudlion, 
 But like the shark and tiger, must have prey." 
 
 Number 8 greedily devoured a loaf of bread before 
 he quit the cabin. After he was a mile away and saw 
 no one, he thought of his stolen can, expecting to find 
 fruit of some kind; but imagine his surprise when he 
 read " Royal Baking Powder," in large letters on the 
 box. He threw the box into the grass in disgust. 
 
 As he went on toward the trail he had left the day 
 previous, he became convinced that a drove of cattle 
 had recently been pastured in the canon, which here 
 was a mile in width and several miles in length. The 
 hut which he had visited an hour before belonged to 
 the herders, and not to miners, as he had supposed. 
 
 For a time number 8 had forgotten about the horse, 
 but a neigh attracted his attention. Looking up he 
 saw the animal approaching. Number eight made up 
 his mind to have a ride on the horse at least as far as the 
 trail. A rope around the animal's neck trailed behind 
 him. Number 8 soon caught the horse, and making 
 a bridle out of the rope, mounted him, and not long 
 afterward he was riding toward the trail he had left 
 the previous day. He rode several miles toward the 
 creek along which the main path lay. Having arrived 
 at the creek he drank again and again. Then he tied 
 the rope around a limb, and having fastened the horse,
 
 56 A NARROW ESCAPE. 
 
 he sat down in the shade to rest and think. He had 
 not rested long before the horse showed signs of un 
 easiness, and almost immediately afterward he felt 
 strong arms clutch him around the elbows, and saw a 
 face at the side of his own. At the same time he 
 heard someone say, " Ah, my brave cavalier, you are 
 caught at last. Where did you purchase your horse ? 
 Where are the other gentlemen ? ' ' These and other 
 questions were asked Number 8 as one of two men 
 rapidly bound him. He was then placed on the horse 
 he had found near the shanty. The rope rein was 
 fastened to the saddle of one of the two horses upon 
 which his captors had come, and which they had left 
 at a little distance. They then started for the cabin 
 which Number 8 had left a few hours berfore. 
 
 As soon as Number 8 recovered from his surprise 
 he tried to explain; but the spokesman of the party 
 only laughed, and said he never knew a horse thief 
 who could in so short a time manufacture so good a 
 story. The fellow who did the hugging whilst Num 
 ber 8's hands were being tied was a big, dark-faced 
 man with straight, black hair and a vicious looking 
 mustache. He said nothing to Number 8, and very 
 little to his companion and that in a tongue unknown 
 to our friend. 
 
 When the party reached the cabin and found the 
 door broken, the spokesman fairly jumped from the 
 ground with wrath. He vowed he would hang and 
 then shoot the wretch, if ever in his life he would be 
 able to find him. After the spokes-man came out of
 
 A NARROW ESCAPE. 57 
 
 the cabin and found that two loaves of bread 
 and a can of baking-powder were the only things miss 
 ing, he became more calm. Unfortunately, he had 
 found a handkerchief in the cabin which bore the in 
 itials, " N. N." He closely and suspiciously looked 
 at Number 8 when he came out of the cabin. An idea 
 seemed to strike him. He pulled Number 8's coat 
 off, but found no name. The figure 8 was all he 
 found on the front of his shirt. He next examined 
 Number S ' s cap and found the initials N. N . " Well , ' ' 
 said he, " you are a bold thief. You steal or help to 
 steal a dozen horses one night. You ride back the 
 next day and plunder the cabin where you stole the 
 horses and then rest at the creek not a mile away. I 
 have a great mind to hang you before the boys come 
 back just for the satisfaction of doing it myself." 
 
 Number 8 was now unceremoniously pulled off his 
 horse, and his pistol and knife taken from him, and he 
 himself told to keep quiet. One man sat near him 
 with his revolver in his hand, whilst the other lead 
 the horses away. In a few hours half a dozen more 
 men came, reporting that they had seen nothing of the 
 missing horses, nor of those who had stolen them. Our 
 spokesman said, " The cook and I have been more suc 
 cessful." He then briefly narrated the events of the 
 afternoon, when they all joined in a derisive laugh. 
 
 The cook who had been relieved from his watching 
 by Number 8's side, had gotten supper. The whole 
 party supped on fried bacon and hoe-cake, the c0ok 
 explaining that because there was no baking-powder,
 
 58 A NARROW ESCAPE. 
 
 there could be no biscuit. Poor Number 8 was offered 
 some bacon, but his appetite had deserted him. 
 
 After supper Number 8 was again interviewed as to 
 the way he had taken the horse found in his possession, 
 and why he had entered the cabin. But however 
 much he tried to make the matter plain, he was simply 
 jeered. The whole party agreed to hang him both 
 because of what he had, and of what he had not con 
 fessed. They were divided as to the time when the 
 sentence should be executed. Some thought that it 
 ought to be done that night, others that they ought to 
 wait until next morning. The facl that the party was 
 very tired more than anything else, delayed the 
 hanging. 
 
 Number 8 was now securely bound, hands and feet. 
 A thin rope was passed around his waist and then 
 around the waist of the man who was to remain with 
 him during the night. This man and Number 8 re 
 mained outside on some hay; the rest of the party 
 slept in the cabin. 
 
 Soon everybody except Number 8 slept. All sleep 
 had deserted him. He thought of his childhood-home, 
 of his friends' tear-stained faces as he saw them on the 
 day he left home. He thought of the opportunities 
 he had neglected, and of the death which awaited him. 
 No wonder that he prayed. Nearly everybody prays 
 when death stares him in the face. Death imminent, 
 is a wonderful cure for skepticism. Number S felt 
 certain that his death was only a question of a few 
 hours. In all probability, when the sun would again
 
 A NARROW ESCAPE. 59 
 
 illuminate the eastern skies he would make the change 
 which never changes. 
 
 Number 8's thoughts were interrupted by a slight 
 noise near him. Almost immediately after the noise, 
 the moon which had been shrouded in a bank of clouds, 
 burst forth in all her effulgence. Its light revealed a 
 woman stealthily aproaching. He thought she might 
 be a spectre from the little noise and the quickness of 
 her movements. She put her fingers to her lips when 
 she was near him, as a token of silence. Drawing a 
 long knife from the folds of her dress, she cut the 
 cords which bound his hands and feet, and which at 
 tached him to the waist of his sleeping guard. Num 
 ber 8 arose without being told to do so. With a nod 
 of her head she beckoned him to follow her, and then 
 she walked rapidly away. Poor Number 8 crept pain 
 fully after her, scarcely able to conceal both his pain 
 and his pleasure at being free. 
 
 After they had walked several hundred yards they 
 suddenly came upon three ponies, in the care of a 
 negro boy, fifteen or sixteen years of age. The slight, 
 girlish form, of medium height, which had thus far 
 silently led our friend, now found a voice. She said, 
 '" Mount this mustang. Do not try to guide your 
 steed, but urge him. After riding awhile, you will 
 come to a stone house. Dismount there and go along 
 the road which leads in the direction of that star 
 (pointing to Venus, which had just risen over the top 
 of the mountain in front of them) and by and by.you 
 will come to the railroad. If you hurry you will be in
 
 60 A NARROW ESCAPE. 
 
 time for the freight which passes the crossing of the 
 road at about 4:30 A. M. Take the train and get out 
 of this. If those fellows catch you again they may 
 hang you before anybody can interfere." 
 
 Poor Number 8 wanted to fall on his knees in 
 thanks to his deliverer; but she told him there was no 
 time for it. She urged him to go. She did not even 
 give her name. Our friend then mounted, and the 
 mustang started at a lively pace. In about half an 
 hour he came to a commodious stone house. Here he 
 dismounted as directed, and started on foot. As he 
 kept on his way he could not help wondering how it 
 happened that this woman should have come to rescue 
 him. Why was she out at this time of the night ? 
 Who could she be ? It was evident to him that she 
 lived in the house to which the mustang had brought 
 him; but why did not she and the colored youth 
 accompany him ? 
 
 After Number 8 realized that no one was following 
 him, he also became conscious of the fact that he was 
 very tired; but he kept up a brisk walk, which he 
 occasionally quickened into a run. When he had thus 
 hurried along for fully an hour, he heard the quick, 
 short, but distant shriek of an engine. He now ran 
 at the top of his speed, and some minutes before the 
 train came up to the crossing of the road, Number 8 
 was already there. He drew out his watch and saw 
 that it lacked five minutes to 4:30 A. M. As the train 
 drew up, it stopped at the tank to take water, and as 
 Number 8 knew enough of how men went about steal-
 
 A NARROW ESCAPE. 6 1 
 
 ing a ride on a freight, he was soon quietly nestled in 
 an empty box car. 
 
 When the sun had risen, the train arrived at Color 
 ado Springs. He now resolved to go on to Denver. 
 His breakfast at Colorado Springs was enjoyed as he 
 had enjoyed few in his life. It so happened that a 
 large shipment of cattle was being made from that 
 place that day, and a man being needed, Number 8 
 was duly installed as king over cattle, if not as a cattle 
 king. It did not matter to him that he was going to 
 Chicago, instead of remaining at Denver, so long as he 
 was going beyond the reach of ' ' Judge Lynch ' ' and 
 his jury, which had so recently condemned him, 
 though innocent, to such an ignominious death. 
 
 Much has been said with regard to the necessity of 
 summarily dealing out death to criminals in the newer 
 countries of our great land. What may have been 
 said of the justice of the process years ago, when these 
 countries in the west were isolated and a law unto 
 themselves, the time when such a process can be 
 defended in any section, has passed. Often the guilty 
 parties helped to punish the innocent. Oftener still 
 the guilty were miles away when the innocent suffered. 
 Then, too, the punishment was usually out of all pro 
 portion to the crime. For instance, the punishment 
 for horse stealing was always death, whilst frequently 
 the man who killed his fellow for a supposed insult, 
 was looked upon as a hero instead of a murderer, as 
 he really was. With all this we admit that in the 
 early days of frontier life, ' ' Judge Lynch ' ' and his
 
 62 A NARROW ESCAPE. 
 
 jury often did valuable service, and inspired a whole 
 some respecl and awe in the worst criminals. 
 
 It would be useless to follow every detail of Num 
 ber 8's movements and duties in this journey to Chi 
 cago. Let us add that, to make the journey in charge 
 of several cattle cars is not near as easy or as safe as 
 in a first-class Pullman. As he had never ridden in 
 the latter way, he did not appreciate the difference. 
 In addition to stirring the cattle when they became 
 restless, Number 8 had time for thought. For more 
 than one reason, he came to the conclusion that he 
 must return to the stone house at which a few days 
 before he had so hastily dismounted. He must learn 
 more about the inmates of that home, and particularly 
 about the young woman who had almost miraculously 
 saved his life. He also made up his mind that when 
 he did return, he would remain away from the shanty 
 in the valley. 
 
 Exactly two weeks after Number 8 had left Color 
 ado Springs, he was there again. His journey to 
 Chicago had cost him nothing. It had netted him 
 something, so that instead of having less bills sewed 
 up between the lining of his coat, which was his bank, 
 he had more. Whatever may be said of the security 
 of Number 8's bank, so far neither its cashier or pres 
 ident had gone away and taken the funds from him, 
 because he was both president and cashier, as 
 well as board of directors. This kind of banking 
 would soon paralyze the commerce of the world, but 
 for a time it did first rate in Number 8's case. Once
 
 A NARROW ESCAPE. 63 
 
 whilst at Chicago, he came near losing bank, capital 
 and all. He had hung his coat on a post at the stock 
 yard, whilst warm and busy, meaning to keep an eye 
 upon it; but when he looked for it, it was gone. His 
 heart sank within him when he thought of the $500.00 
 in bills, his all in the world, and the proceeds of seven 
 years' saving. Fortunately the tramp who stole it did 
 not get away with it. Number 8 saw him less than 
 an hour afterwards lying in the shadow of some cars, 
 with the coat on his back. In true western style, 
 Number 8 drew his revolver and made the tramp take 
 it off. Had the tramp known the true value of his 
 booty, he would not have lingered, but would have 
 put Number 8's money into circulation. 
 
 Before Number 8 left Colorado Springs he was 
 cleanly shaven and well dressed. When the train left 
 him that afternoon at the little station near the water- 
 tank, no one would have recognized him as Number 8. 
 It was easy for him to find the road toward the stone 
 house; but he realized that he had made a mistake in 
 landing there in the evening instead of the morning. 
 Where would he spend the night, or get something to 
 eat ? Certainly not at the shanty in the valley. Of all 
 these things he first seriously thought as he trudged 
 along the road which was to take him to the stone 
 house. 
 
 Whilst he was in the midst of his meditation, and 
 beginning to be convinced that he had come on a 
 fool's errand, he heard the rapid approach of a wagon. 
 Turning around he had barely time to see that a pair
 
 64 A NARROW ESCAPE. 
 
 of mustangs were violently galloping in front of a 
 spring- wagon, upon which sat a young girl holding 
 one line in her hand, whilst the other was whirling 
 on the ground. In an instant he took in the situation, 
 and placed himself between the narrow mountain 
 road and the opposite steep slope of the hill. Behind 
 him the bank terminated in a sheer precipice a hun 
 dred feet or more high. L,ess than a hundred feet 
 ahead of him the road made a sudden turn around the 
 shoulder of the mountain. The team must be stopped 
 before it reaches this point, or destruction of horses 
 and driver will be sure. With a loud "whoa!" he 
 has made a clutch at the bridle, but he can not stop 
 the run-a-way so easily. The fair driver now, with 
 great presence of mind, pulls with all her might on 
 the line still remaining in her hand, whilst Number 8 
 is dragged along, almost a dead weight on the bridle. 
 The trailing line unfortunately wraps around his limbs, 
 and he falls. The wheel passes over the back of his 
 head, but the line, securely wrapped around him, has 
 stopped the team. The girl, now carefully holding 
 her line firmly stretched, dismounts on the side on 
 which her rescuer lies. The blood is flowing freely 
 from his mouth and nose. All this the girl notices in 
 an instant. She ties her team securely to a pine by 
 the roadside. Then she takes Number 8's hat and 
 brings it full of water from the stream nearly directly 
 beneath the place where her rescuer fell. When she 
 returns with the water he still lies in a dead faint. 
 After she has washed the blood from his face he
 
 A NARROW ESCAPE. 65 
 
 begins to breathe, but does not open his eyes. What 
 is she to do ? To lift him into the wagon is impos 
 sible for her alone. She cannot let him lie there 
 and go three miles for help, nor can she be sure that 
 some one will come that way that night. In the 
 midst of her dilemma she fortunately hears the 
 approach of a horseman. When he comes around the 
 bend in the road, she is rejoiced to see that it is one of 
 her father's cowboys. Soon they have number 8 in 
 the wagon, and the cow-boy, hitching his own horse 
 to the rear of the wagon, takes the lines. The young 
 lady supporting the head of Number 8 sits on the 
 floor of the wagon, and thus they reach her home.
 
 CHAPTER VII ." 
 
 CONVALESCENT. 
 
 "Youth, hope, and love : 
 To build a new life on a ruined life, 
 To make the future fairer than the past, 
 And to make the past a troubled dream." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 For three long weeks Number 8 lay in the stone 
 house in front of which he had dismounted the night 
 he escaped death. The day after the accident a doc 
 tor had been summoned from Colorado Springs. He 
 made two visits without giving much hope for Number 
 8's recovery. When he called the third time, he 
 found him in a raging fever. The doctor told the 
 nurse that when the fever ceased the sufferer would 
 either show signs of dissolution or he would recover. 
 There could be no doubt of the doctor's predictions; 
 but when the cow-boy who had helped to load Number 
 8 on the day of the accident, and who, together with 
 the young lady whose life Number 8 had probably 
 saved, was nursing him, inquired which of the doctor's 
 predictions was likely to come true, he had shrugged 
 his shoulders, and said something about membrane 
 and nervous ganglia, which the cow-boy did not under 
 stand. 
 
 66
 
 CONVALESCENT. 67 
 
 On his first visit Dr. Burns had not met Carrie 
 Dives, for such was the girl's name. The second 
 time she too had managed to see him, and had anx 
 iously asked him about Number 8's condition. After 
 that interview with Carrie, the doctor came every 
 other day, explaining that the critical point in Number 
 8's case had come. He must attend the unknown 
 young man, whether he could pay him or not. At 
 each visit the doctor managed to see Carrie and to 
 explain the case in detail to her. 
 
 The doctor scarcely knew why he made it a point to 
 see-Carrie every time he came to see the patient. When 
 she was not in the room he would say to Jim, the cow 
 boy, ' ' Now if you will call the young lady I will give 
 her my directions before I leave." On several occas 
 ions the nurse had told the doctor that inasmuch as 
 he would be right in the room until the doctor would 
 come again, he would carry out any directions 
 he might wish to give. But no matter what Jim 
 said, the doctor always found an excuse to see Carrie. 
 Nor was this all, he would during Number 8's fever, 
 make an excuse for prolonging his calls by saying he 
 was trying a different medicine on the patient and must 
 see how it acts. Then he would miss the morning 
 train. This w r ould give him an excuse to remain until 
 late in the afternoon. Sometimes the doctor's patients 
 in the city suffered because he stayed so long in the 
 country. It must be confessed that this frequent and 
 close attention on the part of Dr. Burns saved Number 
 8's life.
 
 68 CONVALESCENT. 
 
 One day the doctor said to Carrie, " Miss Dives, I 
 think you are paying rather dearly for your rescue. 
 It must be a great trial to have one as sick as that 
 young man, to think about and to look after." 
 
 ' ' But doctor, do you not know that the great his 
 torian has said, 'gratitude is expensive ?' Besides, I do 
 not know but that if that young man had not risked 
 his life I should have been sick much longer than he. 
 If he will ever get so far as to speak coherently; I shall 
 be more than paid for my anxiety." This had been 
 said so sincerely by the young girl, that the doctor 
 almost wished he were in the fever-ridden, unconscious 
 and unknown young man's place. He had once asked 
 Carrie whether she had ever seen the young man 
 before he caught her run-away team. Truth to Carrie 
 had always been a virtue so highly prized that, so far, 
 she had never sacrificed it at any price. Nervously 
 glancing at the doctor, then at Sambo, who stood by, 
 and who she feared might know as much about the 
 identity of their patient as she herself, she replied that 
 she felt almost certain that at one time she had seen 
 this same young man on the ranch. She might be 
 mistaken, but she felt almost sure that she had seen 
 him. She did not know where he was going or 
 whence he had come the day of the accident. 
 
 Whenever the doctor thought of the noble self-sac 
 rifice of the young man, hovering between life and 
 death in the stone house, he would ask himself 
 whether he would have been noble and brave enough 
 to have done as this young man had done. He would
 
 CONVALESCENT. 69 
 
 reply to his own question, by-saying, a man will do a 
 great deal on the spur of the moment, especially for so 
 sweet a girl as Carrie Dives. But the man did not 
 know Carrie, had not even time to see her face, before 
 he lay almost lifeless beneath the wagon. Oh well, if 
 this young man had risked his life, it was characteris 
 tic of fools to " rush in where angels fear to tread." 
 
 He was impressed with the fadl that this young 
 man's strength held out well. It was a proof that he 
 had not led a life of dissipation. Only a good consti 
 tution could bear such a strain. Would the change 
 never come? Would not the weakness, which was 
 sure to be terrible, not be beyond all that medical skill 
 could do to aid nature ? 
 
 At last Number 8's fever left him. The first con 
 scious sentence he spoke was to ask whether the young 
 lady was safe. This greatly pleased Carrie, and caused 
 the big tears to trickle down her cheeks. Carrie Dives 
 was a pretty girl, of medium height. She was a bru 
 nette. Her hair was black. Her plump cheeks 
 always had a delicate little blush nestled amid the 
 brown. Her eyes were not black nor brown, as one 
 would expect from her complexion, but blue as the 
 fields of space far above the mountain peaks of her 
 Colorado home, and bright as the stars which gemmed 
 those fields at night. Her whole soul seemed to crowd 
 into her eyes in order to study and learn the world 
 around her. They seemed to look straight into every 
 soul they met. No wonder that the girl insisted that 
 Number 8 should be placed into her own room, where
 
 70 CONVALESCENT. 
 
 the morning sunlight kissed the walls and floors. No 
 wonder Dr. Burns, after meeting Carrie, felt that 
 Number 8 needed a visit every other day. 
 
 When Number 8 had sufficiently convalesced to sit 
 on the veranda, he knew that Carrie Dives was the 
 identical girl who had revoked the sentence of death 
 passed upon him by the cow-boys. He wondered 
 whether she knew it. One day he said to her: " Did 
 you, several months ago, late at night, help a man to 
 escape from the clutches of some herders not far from 
 here?" 
 
 The girl said: " I did, and you are the man. I 
 remembered the color of your hair, and that hand with 
 the little finger gone." 
 
 Number 8 asked: " How in the world did you get 
 there at that hour and just when I needed you? " 
 
 She replied: "You need not tell me how you got 
 there. Sambo and I were out hunting flowers. I 
 watched you from the glen wdth my glass. I saw you 
 steal that bread, and afterward throw away the baking 
 powder. I knew you were hungry, and I pitied you. 
 When you met Jim's horse (Jim is the cow-boy to 
 whom we are already introduced as nurse of Number 
 8) I did not blame you, for I knew you were very 
 tired. When you lay down at the creek I knew you 
 did not mean to steal the horse. I had ridden only 
 a few hundred yards away from you into the brush, 
 when Pete and the Spaniard so rudely roused you. 
 You must not blame them for deciding to hang you. 
 They had that very morning reported six of the very
 
 CONVALESCENT. 71 
 
 best horses stolen, among them Jim's ' old reliable.' 
 I knew you were not one of the thieves. Sambo and 
 I did not go home that evening until I could see that 
 they did not intend to hurt you. When I came home 
 I told papa what I had seen and heard, and told him 
 he must let me rescue you. He gave his consent, but 
 insisted on going along and remaining close enough 
 to help me in case I needed him. You know the 
 rest." 
 
 " Well," said Number 8, " you are a heroine. You 
 saved my life." 
 
 " And you mine," she replied, "only it cost you 
 more to do it, so we are not quite even. If you need 
 a job, my father says he can give you one. He 
 needs true, brave men. " 
 
 During the remaining few weeks of Number 8's 
 convalescence, Carrie and he became better acquainted. 
 One day she said: " Father, I know what that young 
 man can do. He can take the place of your drunken 
 and thieving old book-keeper. He writes a good 
 hand, and he says he understands single and double 
 entry. He needs out-door exercise, and with you he 
 can have it; because book-keeping with you involves 
 outdoor life." (Number 8 had studied book-keeping 
 in a night school in Chicago a few years before, and he 
 now felt glad that he had.) 
 
 At the last visit Dr. Burns had strongly advised 
 Number 8 to leave, because in his weakened condition 
 the air was too rare at that high altitude. Number 8 
 knew why the advice was given, and did not follow it.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SAD MEMORIES AND BLESSED COMFORTS. 
 
 ' ' There is none, 
 
 In all this cold and hollow world, no fount 
 Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within 
 
 A mother's heart." Mrs. Plenums. 
 
 Eight years have passed since Nick Nieman left his 
 grand- father's home in the "Keystone State." Six 
 years ago his mother attended his supposed funeral, 
 and returned to her home with the lines of care a little 
 deeper, and her heart heavier than when she went in 
 quest of her boy. Mrs. Nieman had not forgotten her 
 boy, although as time wore on she felt more and more 
 that she had been to his funeral. Washington Irving 
 has well said: "The sorrow for the dead is the only 
 sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every 
 other wound we seek to heal, every other affliction to 
 forget; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep 
 open, this affliction we cherish and brood over in soli 
 tude." As time passes, it brings solace even to the 
 heart that sorrows for the dead. Comfort had come 
 to Mrs. Nieman 's heart through the blessed family- 
 life into which she had entered. L,ee Nieman, the 
 village doctor, had married the intelligent and warm 
 hearted daughter of a farmer, and had long since 
 taken his mother to his own home. Mrs. Nieman had 
 72
 
 BLESSED COMFORTS. 73 
 
 found in Tree's wife more than she had ever lost in her 
 own daughter, Liza. This new daughter having lost 
 her own mother in early childhood, knew very little of 
 a mother's love before she met Mrs. Niernan, in Lee's 
 home. She therefore loved Mrs. Nieman tenderly. 
 Nothing was too good for " Mother Nieman," as Lee's 
 wife fondly called her. The, sunniest bed-room, the 
 cosiest corner by the fire in winter, the coolest bower 
 in summer, the best of everything in the Nieman 
 home was always reserved for " Mother Nieman." 
 
 What made this life more blessed to the elder Mrs. 
 Nieman was the fact that she was permitted to spend 
 her declining years in the very home in which she had 
 given birth to all of her children, and where, during 
 the first five years of her married life, she had had a 
 veritable Eden. 
 
 It is true, the latter part of her married life had 
 brought her much sorrow. She recalled very vividly 
 how the doctor in this home had gradually but surely 
 become the slave of his habit. She remembered how 
 his face had become more drawn and his eyes more 
 bloodshot, as he came out of one debauch only to enter 
 helplessly and hopelessly into a deeper one. She 
 remembered how at such times he would be harsh, 
 even cruel to her, when she tried to warn him against 
 his fate. Perhaps, after all, it had been a kindness to 
 him, that Providence, in so mysterious and unexpected 
 a way, had permitted him to be taken away out of the 
 power of temptation. One blessed comfort she had, 
 and that was that the doctor, a few weeks before he
 
 74 SAD MEMORIES 
 
 died, had made one more effort to reform, and had 
 asked her to do all in her power to help him. 
 
 No sorrow that Mrs. Nieman knew or had known, 
 was keener in her heart than the one caused by the 
 consciousness of the fact that her own daughter was 
 too proud to love her. What though her tongue were 
 too heavy to lisp and mince as her daughter had 
 learned to do! What though her hands were not as 
 soft, and her fingers as long and tapering as her 
 daughter's! Had not those hands supported her 
 child ? Had not those fingers made many weary 
 stitches when others slept, in order that her little girl 
 might look as neat and sweet as any ? When little 
 Bliza had been sick, had she not watched with her in 
 earnest solicitude ? It made her heart bleed to think 
 that in all these years since her daughter had left her 
 home, she had heard from her only twice. Once when 
 she graduated, she had sent an invitation and program 
 after the exercises were over, lest she, the mother, and 
 her son, the doctor, should come. 
 
 As she nursed the little girl which had come to 
 Lee's home, the thought of her own daughter's ingrat 
 itude would come to her again and again. When she 
 looked at the little face sweetly nestled on her bosom, 
 she wondered whether that child-heart could ever be 
 come so hard and cold. Then she would pray to die 
 ere it would come to pass. "No wonder," said she 
 when speaking to Lee's wife on the subject, "that 
 God has said, ' Honor thy father and thy mother that 
 thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy
 
 AND BLESSED COMFORTS. 75 
 
 God giveth thee.' " Mrs. Nieman had in Lee a con 
 tinual comfort and solace. When his professional 
 calls were over he would join her and his wife and dis 
 cuss the work and the little plans for their comfort 
 and happiness. When the weakness resulting from 
 the weight of years, began to manifest itself in his 
 mother, the tender solicitude, more than the medicine 
 prescribed, helped her to regain health and vigor. 
 Often the hard, drawn face would relax in smiles, and 
 tears would course down the cheeks after one of the 
 tender embraces of her son. 
 
 Lee Nieman was a born physican. When he was a 
 child he loved to play doctor with his companions. 
 When he became a teacher in the public school, he 
 had a remedy for every sickness that manifested itself 
 among his pupils, so that the mothers of the children 
 consulted him more frequently than their family phy 
 sicians. It was therefore natural for him to study 
 medicine and become a physician at his earliest oppor 
 tunity. Though he was contented to live in his 
 paternal village, his reputation had extended beyond 
 his home. Often he stood in counsel with the ablest 
 physicians of neighboring cities. 
 
 Of course the doctor prospered. The paternal home 
 was his own. The farm adjacent had been purchased 
 and paid for several years before. His bank account 
 was always on the sunny side; yet Lee Nieman for the 
 last few years, had given in charity more than he saved. 
 A mortgage of several hundred dollars resting on the 
 home of a poor widow, had been lifted with his money
 
 76 SAD MEMORIES 
 
 and the fact made known to no one save the widow 
 and the Nieman family. 
 
 Once the world called him a hero. There was a 
 fire. The flames were licking up the home of a neigh 
 bor, and strongest men were afraid to enter the build 
 ing in order to rescue the invalid father. When L,ee Nie 
 man arrived and realized that there was a man in the 
 burning building he had pushed aside the crowd, and 
 had run up the burning stairs. He had lowered the 
 invalid by means of a rope, but before he could de 
 scend by the same rope, he had burned his hands 
 severely, and singed his hair. He had not inhaled the 
 flames. Thus it was that in a few days he was able to 
 attend to his business as before. That was not the 
 only time Lee Nieman was a hero. He had been de 
 clared the hero again and again by Him whose judg 
 ment never erreth, when he had stood by the bed-side 
 of those afflicted with contagious diseases, and when 
 he knew they had no reward to give him. Where 
 duty called, Dr. Nieman always went by night and 
 by day, in sunshine and in storm. No wonder his 
 mother's eyes brightened whenever he appeared; no 
 wonder his wife loved him with all the tenderness and 
 strength of a true woman's heart. Yes, Lee Nieman 
 was happy. We do not mean that he had no cares, 
 no worries. 
 
 " In every life some rain must fall, 
 Some days be dark and dreary, ' ' 
 
 and so doctor Nieman 's life had its dark days; but he
 
 AND BLESSED COMFORTS. 77 
 
 was happy as the lot of a mortal freest from care, is 
 happy. 
 
 One day just before Odlavia Nieman had received a 
 letter from Mr. Baer, the administrator of the True 
 estate, Lee Nieman had also gotten a letter from the 
 same man, in which the administrator inquired as to 
 the whereabout of Miss Eliza Nieman. In this letter 
 he told the doctor that a fortune was awaiting his sis 
 ter. L,ee had frankly told him of his sister's fondness 
 of being called ' ' Odlavia Newman ' ' instead of by 
 her real name. He assured Mr. Baer that he would 
 be able to prove that what he said was the exact 
 truth. When on writing to Miss Nieman, he would 
 receive a reply from one signing herself, "Miss Oc- 
 tavia Newman, M. D., " he was to feel assured that 
 he was writing to the person intended by the will. 
 He also told him that by writing to New York city, 
 in care of the hospital on Blackwells Island, he would 
 reach her soonest. Then Lee also wrote to the hos 
 pital, instructing them there to forward any letter ad 
 dressed to Miss Eliza Nieman, to Miss Octavia. The 
 real truth is therefore, that doctor Nieman knew of 
 his sister's good fortune, some weeks before she her 
 self found it out. Furthermore, he had already pre 
 pared the way for her to receive it when she was de 
 bating whether to take him into her confidence or not. 
 Lee had told his own mother all about it, but no one 
 else. " I fear," he had said to his mother, " sister's 
 fortune will do her but little good. As the clown 
 shakes his head to hear his bells jingle and attract at-
 
 7 SAD MEMORIES 
 
 tention only to be laughed at, so a few added guineas 
 will cause sister's head to toss still more. I fear it 
 will make her lose her balance." 
 
 Lee Nieman might liave offered his sister his ser 
 vices, but he thought it best not to interfere. He 
 knew his sister would measure him by her own short 
 and warped little rule, and not only not give him 
 credit for noble and unselfish motives, but would ac 
 tually be suspicious of him. Suspicion always haunts 
 the guilty. He knew how selfish and proud she was, 
 so he left her to her own resources.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ' ' DISSOLVED PARTNERSHIP. ' ' 
 
 " Oh heaven, that such companions thou'ldst unfold 
 And put in every honest hand a whip, 
 To lash the rascals naked through the world 
 Even from east to west." Shakespeare. 
 
 The day after Mr. Sharp left Los Angeles two of 
 the daily papers contained the following notice: " Dis 
 solved Partnership. The Law and Real Estate firm 
 of Sharp and Ketchem has dissolved partnership. All 
 persons indebted to the firm will hereafter make pay 
 ments to Mr. W. W. Ketchem, Number S. 
 
 Broadway." 
 
 Messrs Sharp and Ketchem had done a thriving 
 business for several years as real estate agents. Dur 
 ing the boom they had made money by investing the 
 ipital of eastern purchasers, and then -after the boom 
 the law firm had made big money in foreclosing 
 the mortgages held against these same eastern pur 
 chasers. In every case Sharp and Ketchem had made 
 money, and in nearly every case their patrons lost. 
 Widows allured by the flashing advertisements of 
 what had been done and was then being done by per 
 sons of small means, ' ' in this Eldorado, ' ' had invested 
 in lots, and after the boom they offered these same 
 lots for just one tenth of what they had paid for them 
 ' ' spot cash. ' ' 
 
 79
 
 8o " DISSOLVED PARTNERSHIP. " 
 
 This same Sharp and Ketchem had bought out-of- 
 town tracts and laid out towns on paper and had 
 sent their advertisements all over the land. Thus 
 they succeeded in laying out their customers as well 
 as their land. To-day the unfinished foundations of 
 hotels stand like traps in and out of the city, showing 
 how the ' ' gullible ' ' were caught. Some hotels in 
 these towns and cities to be, were finished, and to day 
 they stand with windows mashed, doors nailed up, 
 and chimneys fallen, fit emblems of the air castles the 
 investors had built in and around "this valuable 
 property." 
 
 Because Sharp and Ketchem had been ' ' successful 
 in business, ' ' the latter had a fine suburban home, and 
 drove to his place of business every rnoruir.g in a 
 splendid turn-out. Mr. Sharp, after leaving his wife 
 and child, had boarded at the best hotel in the 
 city, and had played poker until much of his gain 
 had "gang a glee." He had met the Dives in 
 "fashionable society," but they, along with their 
 money, had inherited good common sense. They had 
 weighed Mr. sharp in their balances, and he had gone 
 up like a feather in a breeze. He realized this very 
 soon. During the encampment in the Sierras, which 
 he had been able to join by his strategy with the 
 cousin of the Dives, he had utterly failed to ' ' make 
 an impression " upon any one of the party except 
 " Miss Octavia Newman, M. D.," as she always signed 
 herself on the hotel registers. The Dives could not 
 understand why Mr. Sharp boarded the train that
 
 " DISSOLVED PARTNERSHIP." 8l 
 
 morning. One of them had made herself bold enough 
 to ask his destination. He had told her that an 
 unforeseen circumstance had brought him the good 
 fortune of a journey of at least a part of the way with 
 them . 
 
 During the journey Mr. Sharp had courted Octavia 
 assiduously, although he was still the lawful husband 
 of another woman. Of course Octavia did not look 
 upon Mr. Sharp's attentions as anything more than an 
 effort to be agreeable to her. He took pains to tell 
 her how in his giddy youth he had become entrapped 
 in the meshes of matrimony with a woman, heartless 
 and brainless, and how, finally, he having proof of her 
 infidelity, was about to apply for a divorce. His 
 entire being, he added, rebelled against the thought of 
 a divorce, but he could do nothing else. This family 
 history of Mr. Sharp's will be exactly true, as we shall 
 presently see, if the reader substitutes the feminine 
 for the masculine personal pronoun. He told Octavia 
 how he could still love a true woman. In fact the sad 
 experiences of the past years had made him j'earn for 
 the love of a true woman. In short Mr. Sharp talked 
 like a philosopher, and assumed the role of a perfect 
 saint. There was but one thing which kept Octavia 
 from casting herself at the feet of this truly bad man. 
 It was not her good sense, for she had little of that. 
 It was her pride. She was willing to wed a rich man, 
 a smart man, a lawyer; but she was not yet ready to 
 wed a man already married.
 
 82 " DISSOLVED PARTNERSHIP." 
 
 The business which had so recently been thrust 
 upon Octavia, she flattered herself, did not require a 
 husband, or a lover even; a smart lawyer like Mr. 
 Sharp could attend to that for her, and she could then 
 be mistress of her own possessions. But why not let 
 the man woo her ? It was so delightful to have a man 
 at her feet, as she imagined Mr. Sharp really was. 
 She would tell him all after he would declare his 
 inmost soul as a lover. That would prepare him all 
 the more to attend faithfully to her business. In 
 short, Octavia wished to hear the words so sweet to 
 every woman's ears, that the man loved her. She 
 little dreamt that when she let the letter lie on the 
 table in the parlor, the day she received it, and had 
 gone out for a few moments, when Mr. Sharp was an 
 nounced, he had actually picked up the letter and 
 hastily read it before her return. That was the reason 
 he unburdened his soul so frankly to Miss Octavia, on 
 the way to New York City. That was not the reason, 
 however, that he left the city of I^os Angeles that 
 morning. 
 
 At Kansas City a telegram had been handed him, 
 and Odlavia, who stood at his side, noticed the change 
 which came over his face as he read it, and wondered 
 what made him so nervous. He explained by saying 
 that a friend of his needed his legal advice in New 
 York and that he must now accompany them on their 
 journey to that city. Miss Octavia noticed that Mr. 
 Sharp from the time he received the telegram was en 
 tirely different from what he had been before. He
 
 ' ' DISSOLVED PARTNERSHIP. ' ' 83 
 
 would try to appear pleasant and cheerful; but 
 every time their train stopped he nervously 
 glided from one end of the car to the other, 
 and avoided every new comer, when that new 
 comer happened to be a man. Octavia remem 
 bered all this very distinctly afterward, although at 
 the time it made no decided impression on her. She 
 had been too supremely happy at her good fortune m 
 receiving the letter from Omaha, and in having the 
 company of so estimable a gentleman as Mr. Sharp. 
 When Mr. Sharp left her for the smoking-room or to 
 examine his telegram, which he of course did not 
 show Miss Octavia, she thought with pleasure on the 
 fact that " her ship had at length come in," and j^as 
 so well laden. 
 
 The Dives knew that Mr. Sharp was a married man. 
 They knew too that their cousin, who had given them 
 the information, rather palliated his baseness, as 
 women are so apt to do when they are judging a man's 
 conduct towards a woman. They were sorry he was 
 accompanying them in this journey. They had a 
 strange foreboding that all was not right before he 
 received the telegram. They noticed the strange 
 demeanor of the man after he had received the dis 
 patch, and asked him whether he had received bad 
 news, or whether he were sick. To each and all of 
 their questions he had simply replied: " Ladies, I do 
 not know why you should think so." Absolutely 
 nothing had happened, but to the Dives it was evident 
 that something very serious had happened, if they
 
 84 " DISSOLVED PARTNERSHIP. " 
 
 could judge from his demeanor. Finally they plainly 
 and bluntly told Octavia that they believed Mr. Sharp 
 entirely unworthy of her society, and counseled her to 
 ' ' cut ' ' him at her earliest opportunity. 
 
 Miss Newman replied to this advice with a curl on 
 her lip, that the Dives knew that she had not only 
 taken care of herself, but of others as well, and that it 
 required a strong and well-balanced mind to read and 
 appreciate Mr. Sharp. After this the Dives said noth 
 ing, but they thought a great deal. Miss Newman 
 had been a faithful medical nurse during their illness, 
 and on this trip she had chaperoned them, and they 
 would now, as they had frequently done before, excuse 
 her independence, and even impudence. It was 
 evident to them, and they could not see why 
 it should not be just as plain to her, that if Mr. Sharp 
 were on business of an ordinary character, he would 
 not act as he did, and show such restlessness and sus 
 picion. If it were true, as he had told Miss Newman, 
 that the L,os Angeles court had adjourned for the sum 
 mer, it was evident that Mr. Sharp's conscience had 
 recently received so much business that it could not 
 adjourn. Fear had evidently constrained it to open a 
 very busy session. Of course Miss Newman was her 
 own mistress, and could do as she pleased; but it seemed 
 so strange to them that she should be so willing to 
 " lower her dignity," upon which she always prided 
 herself heretofore, to such a degree as actually to fall 
 in love with a grass- widower; for it was evident to 
 them that that was the exact state of Miss Newman
 
 ' ' DISSOLVED PARTNERSHIP. ' ' 85 
 
 at that very moment. It was another example of 
 how ' ' the chemist of love ' ' had transmuted the per 
 ishable and very coarse clay into gold. Perhaps after 
 all she would cast the man from her as a viper. They 
 hoped it might be so ere he had infused beyond rem 
 edy, his poison into her being. Of course a woman 
 always feels herself complimented by being loved, even 
 when love is offered by a man beneath her in every 
 respect, and consequently unfit to merit her love in 
 return. !Let Miss Newman enjoy the compliment 
 Sharp was trying to bestow upon her; but it was a 
 question whether he was actually in love, or whether 
 he was not actuated by other motives than those of 
 the holy passion, to gain the nurse's affection. 
 
 Perhaps Miss Octavia was so blind to Mr. Sharp's 
 faults because she felt that her chances were diminish 
 ing. She had often said that she never intended to be 
 an old maid. She would rather marry a man and sup 
 port him than to have no one to love her. Octavia 
 had a heart, but her pride and vanity had turned it 
 into something akin to stone. Perhaps if this unfor 
 tunate softening of her soul into an unrighteous love 
 would bring her bitterness, this very bitterness would 
 spin the golden threads of a more comely and more 
 becoming robe than the nurse usually wore in their 
 daily experience with her. They believed that a bit 
 ter sorrow would crush her pride, and melt her being 
 into its true womanly tenderness, which they felt must 
 lie buried in her soul somewhere.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 BRAVERY BEGETS CONFIDENCE. 
 
 " Every mission constitutes a pledge of duty. Every man 
 is bound to consecrate his every faculty to its fulfillment. He 
 will derive his rule of action from the profound conviction of 
 that duty. ' ' Mazzini. 
 
 With Mr. Dives a book-keeper had many and varied 
 duties. Not only was he expected to keep a correct 
 account of the receipts and expenditures of Mr. Dives' 
 cattle business; but he was often compelled to look 
 after the details of the business. Mr. Dives made it a 
 point to see that his men were supplied with good, 
 wholesome fare, and consequently delivered it to them 
 at actual cost. He paid them a fixed salary; but 
 insisted on supplying them with the necessaries of life. 
 There were no periodical sprees among his men, inau 
 gurated apparently when they went to buy food. All 
 goods delivered them was always accompanied with an 
 itemized bill. The herders in turn were responsible 
 for the cattle in their charge. The stock was inspected 
 once every month. This required a few days; but it 
 was time well spent. If any of the stock were mis 
 sing, the herders were compelled to account for it. If 
 they could show that the loss was due to disease, or 
 was lost in any way for which they could not be held 
 responsible, the loss was not charged to them. 
 86
 
 BRAVERY BEGETS CONFIDENCE. 87 
 
 Just before the time the book-keeper then known as 
 Number 8 had visited the shanty and helped himself 
 to bread, a number of horses had been stolen, and Mr. 
 Dives suspected that the cow-boys had themselves 
 something to do with the theft. In view of this sus 
 picion he had said that for every horse stolen he 
 expected an adequate return. This was the reason 
 the herders were so anxious to make an example of 
 the thief, provided they caught him. Number 8 had 
 been the first one upon whom they had riveted their 
 suspicion. He had been unable to clear himself, and 
 would doubtless have been hung, had it not been for 
 Carrie's timely interposition. 
 
 Of course Carrie Dives never gave away the secret 
 of Number 8's deliverance. The cow-boys themselves 
 considered the escape little short of miraculous, and 
 felt sure that the fellow had had accomplices. They 
 did not suspect that the well-dressed, smoothly- 
 shaven young man, who, in company with Mr. Dives, 
 visited them once every month, who helped to look 
 the cattle over, and who noted their orders for the 
 month's supplies, was the same heavy-bearded, rough- 
 looking Number 8, whom they had once condemned to 
 be hung. They felt sure they had made no mistake. 
 Since the suspect had escaped, they had had rest. He 
 had evidently told his companions that they meant 
 business. 
 
 Every sixteenth of the month the book-keeper 
 would write receipts for the men of the amounts due 
 them, then they would step to the desk and sign these
 
 88 BRAVERY BEGETS CONFIDENCE. 
 
 receipts, in the office in the home of the Dives. After 
 they were signed Mr. Dives would cash them. Mr. 
 Dives kept a safe in his office. This little office was a 
 room by itself, communicating with the book-keeper's 
 room, to which all had access through an opening 
 about a foot square. The only means of ingress into 
 this private office was through a door which communi 
 cated with Mr. Dives' bed-room, and a window heavily 
 grated. 
 
 Mr. Dives would draw his money in the bank at 
 Denver and have it sent by express to the little station 
 with which our readers are already familiar. Here he 
 and the book-keeper would be in waiting with the 
 mustangs and the spring-wagon, with which our friend 
 became so intimately associated on his first return to 
 the little station. The money would soon be trans 
 ported from the train to the safe in the private office. 
 
 This had been done ever since Mr. Dives had gone 
 into the cattle business. He had never been molested, 
 partly because few knew of his business methods, and 
 partly because no one suspected that these money 
 shipments amounted to over a few hundred dollars. 
 When he sold cattle the money was always deposited 
 directly in the Denver bank. The cow-boys them 
 selves did not know when, or how he received his 
 money. For all they knew, it might have grown in 
 Mr. Dives' cellar under the stone house. In some 
 way, somebody found out that Mr. Dives brought con 
 siderable sums of money to his safe by means of his 
 mustang team. Carrie always said that it was
 
 BRAVERY BEGETS CONFIDENCE. 89 
 
 only to the thievish and drunken predecessor in the 
 office now so well filled by Number 8. She scarcely 
 knew why she called the former book-keeper a thief. 
 She had missed a gold ring, it is true, whilst he was 
 in their employ; but someone else might have taken it. 
 
 One evening in November Mr. Dives, the book 
 keeper and Sambo had been to the station and had 
 received some groceries and general produce, and 
 $1,500 in coin. The coin was placed into little sacks 
 in Denver. The silver was in a sack much larger than 
 the rest. These sacks had been placed in a basket at 
 the station, and some powder and shot and other things 
 piled on top of them. 
 
 As the three were driving along the narrow road 
 where Number 8 had stopped Carrie's run-a-way, Mr. 
 Dives began talking about the narrow escape the 
 book-keeper and his daughter had had several months 
 before. Among other things he had just said, " hope 
 nothing of the kind will ever occur again." It was 
 already dusk. On the one side of the road, the 
 reader will remember, the hill rose almost perpendicu 
 larly; on the other there was a bank several feet high, 
 which, in turn, terminated in an almost precipitous 
 declivity over a hundred feet high. 
 
 Mr. Dives had hardly expressed his hope for the 
 safety of travelers in general and his own in particu 
 lar, when the mustangs reared and sprang to a side. 
 At the same instant, two men rising apparently out of 
 the ground, had clutched the reins of the ponies. For 
 a moment Mr. Dives, who was driving, thought that
 
 9O BRAVERY BEGETS CONFIDENCE. 
 
 the men, having been sitting on the bank, had unex 
 pectedly frightened the team, and realizing that they 
 were endangering the lives of the persons in the 
 wagon, had tried to undo the mischief by clutching 
 the reins and holding the horses until they could be 
 quieted. His mind was, however, soon disabused when 
 he saw another with a revolver in his hand, jumping 
 into the wagon back of them. At the same time the 
 man holding the horse on the right, shouted, "Do 
 not turn your heads or in any way move yourselves, 
 or we will put daylight through you. ' ' The man on 
 the wagon said to Sambo, who was squatted on the 
 floor of the wagon, "You nigger, hand me that 
 money." Sambo handed the robber the little bag on 
 top of the basket. The robber clutched it eagerly, 
 but the moment he touched it he felt the shot; hurl 
 ing it into the road with an oath, he said: " No more 
 fooling. Hand the money, I say." " I's got no 
 money, ' ' said Sambo. Then there was a dull thud. Mr. 
 Dives and the book-keeper knew what had happened, 
 although Sambo gave no sound. Quick as thought 
 Number 8 had turned and struck the robber, who for 
 the moment was off his guard, a stinging blow on the 
 arm with which he had dealt Sambo the blow, with 
 the butt of the pistol. The revolver fell and was dis 
 charged into the opposite bank, just about the same 
 time that a shot whistled past Number 8's ear. The 
 mustangs, being frightened by the shot, reared, 
 plunged forward, and threw the men who had held 
 them to the ground. Mr. Dives shouted to the horses,
 
 BRAVERY BEGETS CONFIDENCE. 9! 
 
 and in a moment the wheels had gone over the fellows 
 on the road in front of the wagon, whilst the ruffian 
 who had gone head over heels into the road from the 
 rear of the wagon, was running on behind and dis 
 charging his revolver wildly into the air. 
 
 Firm strength guided the team on the mountain 
 road, and in a moment the wagon had borne coin, oc 
 cupants and all, far away from the high- way-men. In 
 an hour afterward the coin was in the safe in the pri 
 vate office, and Miss Carrie was washing the blood off 
 poor Sambo's head. The wound was merely a gash 
 on his hard head, and soon healed. 
 
 Of course I need not tell you that this second dis 
 play of valor on the part of Number 8 had its effe<5l 
 upon Mr. Dives as well as Carrie. A few days after 
 the affair just mentioned, Mr. Dives had said to Car 
 rie, referring to the agility of the book-keeper's move 
 ment, and his indifference to the fellows who held pis 
 tols in front of the wagon, "To tell you the truth, 
 Carrie, I consider the book-keeper one of the most re 
 liable and cool-headed men I ever saw. He is always 
 the same, no matter in what position he is placed." 
 (Had Mr. Dives seen our friend when he was arrested 
 for a horse-thief he would have known of one time 
 when Number 8 had lost his presence of mind.) "I 
 have a big job on hand for .him now. I am going 
 to send him to Santa Fe in a few weeks, to buy some 
 burros from the Pueblo Indians. I think he kupws a 
 good beast when he sees it just about as well as any 
 herder on the place. A car load or two will readily sell
 
 92 BRAVERY BEGETS CONFIDENCE. 
 
 among the miners here, and net a good profit. 
 He says the trip will suit him exactly. He has an 
 uncle in Santa Fe and several cousins. He met one 
 of them in Denver a few years ago. This will enable 
 him to make good his promise to call and see them." 
 
 " When are you going to send him? " said Carrie. 
 
 ' ' I thought I could spare him at the begining of next 
 week as well as any time. The heaviest work for the 
 month is all done." 
 
 " I am sorry for that," said Carrie, " because I re 
 ceived a letter from Denver to-day, from Dr. Burns, 
 in which he says he will come and spend a few days 
 with us if it is agreeable. I so much wish that my 
 hero, as I call him, could be here then." 
 
 " Whatever you may wish," said Mr. Dives, " Dr. 
 Burns will wish your hero, as you call him, anywhere 
 but here, when he comes. Besides, the arrangements 
 for our friend to go are all made. I guess you will be 
 able to take care of the doctor yourself, will you not ? " 
 
 ' ' I can certainly take care of the doctor, and fortu 
 nately for me and my hero, it is none of the doctor's 
 business who is here when he comes. But it is nearly 
 eleven o'clock and time to retire. Papa, do recon 
 sider sending my hero away next week. I shall be 
 really disappointed if he goes. ' ' 
 
 " Never mind, little one," said the old gentleman, 
 ' ' the doctor will be so glad to find you all alone. It 
 will give him a chance to practice target shooting. 
 The last time his aim was so bad that even Sambo 
 said, ' this fool nigger can shoot better than Massa 
 Doctor.' But as you say, it is time to retire. Good 
 night, my dear girl."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SHE LOVED WELL, BUT NOT WISELY. 
 
 ' ' Of the book of books most wonderous, 
 Is the tender one of love, 
 With attention may I read; 
 Few of pages joyful 
 Of the sections one is parting, 
 Meet again : a little chapter, 
 Fragmentary. Of Afflictions 
 Volumes lengthened by interpellations, 
 Endless without goal." Goethe. 
 
 We have already said too much of Mr. Sharp's 
 family matters, not to give a detailed account of how 
 he wooed and lost pretty Minnie G. of L,os Angeles. 
 Minnie was a mere girl in appearance as well as age, 
 when Sharp led her to the marriage altar. She had 
 come from a poor family, but she had been brought up 
 in the paths of virtue, and had been taught many of 
 those little arts so peculiar to her sex the arts that 
 embellish the humblest home, and give it an air of 
 comfort and repose which often the gayest palace 
 lacks. She had learned to sew and help her mother in 
 her dress-making several years before Sharp had en 
 tered their home, and had poisoned the fountains of 
 their domestic happiness. Sharp was then already in 
 the real-estate business. He had begun life as a 
 clerk in a dry-goods store, which he had entered soon 
 after graduating from the high school. It was whilst 
 
 93
 
 94 SHE I,OVED WEI,!,, 
 
 he was behind the counter selling dress-goods, that he 
 first met pretty Minnie G. in company with her 
 mother. Minnie was a perfect blonde, keeping a com 
 plexion as fair as a pictured mermaid's, although she 
 was out in the hot California sun every day. Her 
 eyes were clear and pretty as the azure of the skies. 
 " Her sunny locks hung on her temples like a golden 
 fleece." 
 
 Sharp was not the only person in that store that was 
 ensnared by the quiet, unassuming beauty of this girl; 
 but being a little bolder than the rest, he made it his 
 business to become acquainted after the first call of 
 the young girl at the store. The permission to call at 
 her home was asked of her mother. She was at first 
 favorably impressed with the young man, partly be 
 cause he seemed so frank in all his demeanor toward 
 her. But Sharp was one of those cunning men, who, 
 like serpents slowly coiling around the limb upon 
 which is situated the nest of the bird, do not strike 
 until their heads tower over the little creatures' home, 
 and see all that it contains. He, unlike the serpent, 
 had the ability to conceal his snaky nature until he 
 had his prey in his power. 
 
 Minnie's mother was a widow. Her father had 
 died several years before Mr. Sharp met the widow 
 and her daughter. He had been an honest and indus 
 trious mechanic, and had left Minnie and her mother 
 
 a neat, comfortable home on Avenue. The 
 
 mother and her daughter had not only kept out of 
 debt, but had been able to lay a little by from the pro-
 
 BUT NOT WISELY. 95 
 
 ceeds of their work as seamstresses. Minnie had 
 bought a piano, and had become a proficient performer, 
 before she sang love ditties for Sharp. 
 
 Sharp at first called only once a week at Minnie's 
 home, because he knew that he was not welcome to 
 call oftener, at least with the young lady's mother. 
 He took Minnie out to the theatre and other places of 
 amusement as often as his means permitted him. 
 He always tried to make the impression that he had 
 plenty of money; but those who knew him best also 
 knew that his funds were limited. Before Minnie's 
 mother was aware of it the young people were engaged. 
 To most mothers the news that a daughter is engaged 
 is unwelcome. Especially is this the case when the 
 daughter is an only daughter, an only child, as in this 
 instance. When Minnie communicated this news to 
 her mother, the elder lady laid by her work and for 
 several moments simply stared at her daughter. 
 Finally she said, " Minnie, I can scarcely believe that 
 you, only eighteen, should engage yourself to a man 
 who is not only five or six years older, but concerning 
 whom you know as little as we know of Mr. Sharp. 
 Seven months ago he was an utter stranger. To-day 
 he is little more. Why did you at least not honor 
 your mother enough to consult her on so important a 
 subject? You know that Mr. Sharp comes from San 
 
 Diego. You know that he is a clerk in store. 
 
 What else do you know? Nothing; yes, you do know 
 that he does not get wages enough to support a wife. 
 Minnie, I thought that you would have better sense."
 
 96 SHE LOVED WEU,, 
 
 " Mamma," said the girl, " I love Mr. Sharp. He 
 has always treated me well. He asked me to marry 
 him, and I promised, because I love him. If you did 
 not wish me to fall in love with Mr. Sharp, why did 
 you permit him to come to see me for half a year, 
 without telling him so? " 
 
 Minnie was right. Her mother had made a mistake 
 in allowing Sharp to make regular and frequent calls 
 on her daughter, when she knew that her daughter 
 was too young to marry, and Mr. Sharp had not suffi 
 cient salary to support a wife respectably. Minnie's 
 mother made the same mistake that thousands of 
 mothers have made and are making. 
 
 When Sharp called that evening, Minnie's mother 
 made it a point to come to the door. She ushered him 
 into the parlor; then, without further ado, she said, 
 "Minnie has told me of your engagement. Mr. 
 Sharp, why did you not ask me for my daughter's 
 hand? Am I not her mother, her dearest and best 
 friend she has on earth ? ' ' 
 
 Sharp was taken by surprise. If he would have 
 told her the truth, he would have said, "The very 
 reason I did not ask you for your daughter is because 
 I know you to be her best friend. I have asked your 
 daughter to be my wife largely for convenience sake. 
 I think I love her, at least enough to live with her for 
 awhile." But Mr. Sharp was too wise to speak the 
 very thoughts he had had on that subject, so he said: 
 " Minnie has consented to be my wife, and I have 
 promised to make her a good husband. We really did
 
 BUT NOT WISELY. 97 
 
 not think of asking your consent. We thought you 
 would not object; because you never objected to my 
 coming here." 
 
 ' ' And how do you expect to support your wife ? 
 You know, Mr. Sharp, you are getting a small salary." 
 
 " Minnie said she would stay with you a year or two 
 after our marriage. I am leaving the store and am 
 going into the real-estate business with Mr. Ketchem. 
 I will read law with him, and do most of his real-estate 
 business, and get a salary from the start. In a few 
 years I will enter the bar, and my living will be 
 assured." 
 
 "Those plans are all very good," said Minnie's 
 mother, ' ' but are you sure you can carry them out ? 
 Would it not be better to marry after your business is 
 well established ? ' ' 
 
 Mr. Sharp consented to any and all propositions that 
 Minnie's mother made that evening. He thought 
 that he was master of the situation, and he could mod- 
 ifv the mother's plans to suit himself. He did modify 
 them afterwards, but not exactly to suit himself. As 
 soon as he found that even an engagement did not 
 make him master of the pretty Minnie, he proposed 
 that they get married at once. This was two weeks 
 after their engagement. Minnie said she would con 
 sult her mother. Sharp told her he knew her moth 
 er's answer in advance. " Then," said she, " we_will 
 wait. Mother knows best." 
 
 " We will not wait," was his hasty reply. " Did
 
 98 SHE I.OVED 
 
 you not promise to marry me ? Do you not love me 
 better than any one in all the world ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, Harry, I love you, and I will marry you; but 
 you know you promised mother to wait. ' ' 
 
 For more than a month Sharp argued, plead with 
 Minnie to marry him at once. Finally the girl told 
 him she had consulted her mother, and she positively 
 forbade it, for a year to come. By that time he would 
 be better established in his business, and they would 
 be happier when there was no danger of the wolf 
 entering the door, so that love would fly out of the 
 window. Sharp that evening had come prepared to 
 gain Minnie's consent to an immediate marriage. 
 Reaching into his pocket he drew forth a roll of bills, 
 and counted them before Minnie's astonished gaze. 
 There were two-hundred dollars, which to the girl 
 seemed a big sum, especially when she learned that 
 Mr. Sharp had made all that money that very day. 
 He said he had prospedls of making twice that sum 
 to-morrow. He knew that no later .than ten and a 
 half o'clock the shrill treble of his prospective mother- 
 in-law would ring out the words, "Minnie, come to 
 your room." At nine o'clock that evening Sharp 
 asked Minnie to take a walk. He wished to walk, 
 because he was going to insist on an elopement, pro 
 vided Minnie would not assure him that her mother 
 would swerve from her resolution of making the young 
 people wait. Minnie assured him in that walk that 
 her mother would not change her mind. "Then," 
 said Sharp, " we marry next week."
 
 BUT NOT WISELY. 99 
 
 " How can we," said the startled girl. 
 
 "By going to San Diego. We can get a license 
 there, and be married before your mother knows it. 
 We will come home and surprise her." 
 
 "Say rather we will come home and she will sur 
 prise us by not letting us into her house. I know my 
 mother. She is a good, dear mother, but she has a 
 mind of her own." 
 
 " In that respect you are like her, Minnie. You 
 must choose between your mother and me this very 
 evening. Next week or never. If you love me you 
 will consent to my wishes. I will take care of you." 
 
 Finally Minnie begged for a day's consideration. 
 Sharp hesitated. He asked himself whether he had 
 not come to settle the matter of their marriage at once. 
 Coldly and heartlessly he asked himself whether he 
 would cast her off then and there, but unfortunately 
 for Minnie, he decided he would not. L/ooking at his 
 watch, he found that it lacked only a quarter to ten, 
 and knowing that Minnie's mother had not been told 
 of their going away, he said, " All right, dear, I will 
 see you to-morrow evening." He kissed her good 
 night and was gone. 
 
 That night and all next day Minnie had a sad heart. 
 More than once her mother had asked her whether 
 she was ill. If the girl would candidly and frankly 
 have told her mother the cause of her disquietude, she 
 might have been saved. Before the sun had set, Min 
 nie had made up her mind to elope with her lover. 
 When he came, she would tell him so.
 
 100 SHE I<OVED WEU,, 
 
 Mr. Sharp came earlier than usual that evening, and 
 together the two laid their plans. We will not dwell 
 on their conversation, but we will simply add that 
 they planned away their happiness. They resolved to 
 enter upon a course of deception and wrong-doing 
 which for both of them was simply fearful in its 
 results. ' ' Never yet were the feelings and instincts 
 of our nature violated with impunity; never yet was 
 the voice of conscience silenced without retribution." 
 
 The day before the time Minnie was to take the 
 train for Sau Diego, her mother said to her, " Minnie, 
 you are no longer the girl you used to be. You are 
 so quiet, so sad. You are getting thinner every day. 
 You are only a shadow of your former self. I don't 
 hear you sing any more. Your piano has not been 
 touched for a week. When your lover comes you 
 either go out walking, or you sit together, whispering. 
 I believe it would be much better for you, child, if 
 you would tell that man to go about his business. I 
 like him less the longer I know him. I was told by 
 Mrs. B. only the other day that she saw him in a 
 buggy with another young lady, and that she heard it 
 said that he frequented questionable places. Minnie, 
 it would be a thousand times better for you and me 
 both if you would break your engagement." 
 
 As Pilate was warned by his wife before he passed 
 the sentence of death upon the innocent Christ, as was 
 the great Caesar warned before he went to his death, 
 so the mother of Minnie warned her, before she took 
 the step which in the end proved as fatal to her
 
 BUT NOT WISELY. IOI 
 
 earthly happiness as death itself could have been. In 
 answer to her mother's warning, Minnie burst into a 
 flood of tears and left the room. 
 
 When alone she argued that she knew Mr. Sharp 
 better than either her neighbor or her mother. A 
 real-estate agent would be likely to have ladies riding 
 with him occasionally. He himself had told her that 
 he had only a few days before taken some ladies to see 
 some lots and had made ' ' a good deal . ' ' She did not 
 exactly know what that was, but she knew it could 
 not mean anything very dreadful. When people got 
 married everybody spoke badly of them. That was 
 the reason she was compelled to hear all this of her 
 lover. She would be true to him. Poor girl, had she 
 only known it, her being true to him made her untrue 
 to herself and him as well. The next day she put on 
 her best and went " down-town," as she said to her 
 mother.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 BURROS AND PUEBLOS. 
 
 " L,o: the poor Indian, whose untutored mind 
 Sees God in clouds or hears him in the wind, 
 His soul proud science never taught to stray 
 Far as the solar walk or milky-way. ' ' Pope. 
 
 Will the reader kindly accompany us with Carrie's 
 hero to the quaint old town of Santa Fe ? We will 
 visit with him at his cousin's, in the place where two 
 civilizations have met, a place where the low adobe 
 buildings look up to the high walls of the more 
 modern dwellings, like weazen -visaged old Mexican 
 mothers sit and look up to their stalwart, sombreroed 
 sons. Everybody in the old city knows the pretty 
 park in which the military band discourses sweet 
 music to the virtuous and the vicious, to the lover and 
 his lady, who lounge on the seats, or stroll along the 
 walks. 
 
 About three squares from this park, just on the 
 other side of the bridge, there stands a frame house 
 with a big porch fronting on the stream that at the 
 wet season flows beneath the bridge. In this house, 
 for a number of years already, a stout, good-natured 
 woman and a weak, sickly-looking man have been 
 keeping a boarding-house. They came from the East 
 ern States because of the man's health. They had
 
 BURROS AND PUEBLOS. 103 
 
 lived first in the " Empire State; " then they had gone 
 to the "Keystone," and afterward to the "Old 
 Dominion; " but all to no purpose. Each winter the 
 man became a little weaker, or rather he did not gain 
 as much when the next summer came as he had lost 
 the previous winter. As a last resort they had come 
 to New Mexico. Here the man had so far succeeded 
 in keeping death at bay by the combined help of the 
 dry climate, lotions and blisters, and tonics. 
 
 But it is neither in the man or woman that we are 
 interested. These parents have three children, a son 
 and two daughters. The children so far have never 
 needed medicine to keep them well. For years 
 already they have done more than the boarders to give 
 their parents a good living. The son, now more than 
 twenty-three years of age, has been working in the 
 mines or on the railroad ever since he was fifteen years 
 of age. He has come home frequently during this 
 period. Sometimes he has come with his pockets well 
 filled with the product of his toil. Other times he has 
 come with little; but he has always received a good 
 welcome, and has always brought a clear conscience 
 with him, as well as a rousing good appetite. 
 
 Once this young man had been away for a whole 
 year. He had spent his time during this year at work 
 on the Denver and Rio Grande railway. He had met 
 a friend in a hotel where they both were stopping. 
 The meeting had been by the merest accident. Before 
 the two friends had parted, they had promised to meet 
 again in- a year, and in the home of the invalid man
 
 IO4 BURROS AND PUEBLOS. 
 
 and his wife who keep the boarding-house. When 
 the year was up the friend came. He found the house 
 by the Arroyo, as the Spanish called the dry river- 
 course in front of the house in Santa Fe; but the 
 young man was away from home. The sisters and 
 parents did not know where he was. He had started 
 to Denver and had written to them from that city 
 several times; but for six months already they had not 
 heard a word. They said this, betraying not a little 
 anxiety at the long continued silence of the boy who 
 was dear to parents and sisters alike. 
 
 Of course the visitor had no trouble in making him 
 self known. He was received with open hands and 
 hearts. He was in fact the first that had come to the 
 home in the ten years of their residence in the terri 
 tory, who claimed to have the same blood in his veins 
 with them. It was the first time the visitor had been 
 in the territory. Everything was new to him. The 
 Pueblo girls with their straight black hair and short 
 skirts, and the queer brown black cloths which they 
 had w r rapped around their limbs to their knees was a 
 source of endless amusement to the visitor. He had 
 visited their villages in company with the two ladies, 
 and being accompanied by females, he had been shown 
 more favors than if he had come without them. He 
 had learned much of the habits and ancient customs 
 still prevalent among this queer and interesting people. 
 But in all of Carrie Dives' hero's trips, for this is he 
 who the visitor to the friends in Santa Fe is, nothing 
 compares in interest with his visit, to the Acoma
 
 BURROS AND PUEBI.OS. 105 
 
 Pueblo. Inasmuch as this trip required two days and 
 some "roughing it" the girls stayed at home, and 
 their father accompanied him. 
 
 Not everybody knows that Acoma is on the top of a 
 rock three hundred feet high. A brief description 
 will be necessary in order that our readers may more 
 fully enter into the experiences of the two men in this 
 interesting trip. There are two ways of getting to the 
 top of the rock. On the one side of this rock is a 
 narrow fissure. Into it the Indians cut steps, first one 
 on the one side, then one on the other, thus to the top. 
 For at least two hundred years already they have 
 walked these steps to and from their homes perched 
 on the top of the rock. Once on the top of this 
 mighty monumental rock, one brave could defend the 
 village, or, rather, community against a host of foes, 
 were it not for the facl that for the last one-hundred 
 years nature has provided another means of ascent. 
 This is in the shape of another fissure as it originally 
 was, or canon as it "now is. This canon is on the west 
 ern side of the rock. During many decades already 
 the wind has been drifting clean white sand into it, so 
 that now there is a path-way white as pearl from the 
 bottom to the very top. This path-way ascends at an 
 angle of about sixty or seventy degrees. The path is 
 widest at the base, being upward of fifty feet wide 
 there. Over this path the burros are now led. The 
 fathers of the present Acomas had no possible approach 
 to their nest-like home with their faithful little mules. 
 It may be that they hoisted them to the top in time of
 
 106 BURROS AND PUEBLOS. 
 
 war by some contrivance of which the present inhab 
 itants know nothing. 
 
 These Indians have a tradition that before the white 
 man visited America their fathers lived on another 
 rock close by, and much higher than the one the peo 
 ple now occupy. In confirmation of their assertion 
 they point to a great pile of rock at the base of this 
 vast monumental pillar; and explain to the visitor that 
 this is the remains of the colossal stair-way which 
 once led to the top, and over which their great, great, 
 great grand- fathers ascended to their home. 
 
 They explain that once when all the women and 
 children, except three feeble old women, were at work 
 in the fields, near the base of the rock, the Great 
 Spirit sent a mighty earthquake, and rent the rocks 
 and scattered the adamantine stair-way over the plain. 
 
 It was many months before a new ascent could be 
 provided by the people at the base of the rock. When 
 they finally did get up they found that the old women 
 had perished for want of water or food or both. To 
 this day on certain occasions, such as when a calamity 
 is about to befall the tribe, they still hear the wail of 
 the old ladies. However true or untrue this may be, 
 the place as it now exists is well worthy of a visit. 
 
 Our friends spent the night on top of the rock in the 
 home of the chief. They found him hospitable to a 
 degree which they could not have credited before they 
 actually experienced it. No doubt the gold pieces 
 which Mr. Dives' book-keeper had paid the old chief 
 tain the day before for thirty of the finest burros had
 
 BURROS AND PUEBLOS. IO7 
 
 opened his heart. Whatever may be said with regard 
 to the influence which the gold of the visitors had had 
 in prompting to deeds of hospitality, these people are 
 very much unlike their savage neighbors, the inhu 
 man Apaches. The Pueblos seem to be the last 
 remains of a people of a higher civilization than that 
 which characterized the great bulk of American Indi 
 ans at the time of the discovery of this Western World. 
 The invalid from Santa Fe said to his companion, " I 
 tell you, my young friend, I had no idea that I have 
 been so near one of the oldest and most curious pages 
 of ancient history as this which we have found writ 
 ten on the top of this rock. I am sorry that I did not 
 bring the girls with us. The fatigue is nothing, 
 whilst the comforts which these people offer their 
 guests compare favorably with those which men who 
 boast of a higher degree of civilization furnish their vis 
 itors. ' ' The book-keeper agreed with him. Not only was 
 the visit unattended with the discomforts which they 
 had imagined they would be sure to experience; but it 
 had been delightfully instructive. 
 
 There was one person of whom our friend thought 
 oftener and more intently than of the girls he had left 
 in Santa Fe. That person was Miss Carrie Dives. 
 He knew that she would have enjoyed the trip as 
 much as any girl on the American continent. She 
 was not afraid of a few hardships. The same out-door 
 life which gave these Acoma girls their elasticity of 
 movement and well rounded and developed forms, 
 had also given Carrie wonderful strength for a girl
 
 IdS BURROS AND PUEBI.OS. 
 
 who had been so delicately reared until almost the 
 period when girlhood is lost in fully developed woman 
 hood. He could easily see how centuries of ancestral 
 life similar to this the Pueblo girls were leading, 
 should produce the long, straight, black locks, the 
 round, chubby cheek, and the lithe limb. But, after 
 all, there was something in ancestral stock, which pre 
 served a form so distinct from that of the Apaches, 
 who shared very much the same conditions of out-door 
 life, and precisely the same conditions of climate. 
 
 The enjoyment of the scenes which his eyes were 
 beholding, would have been keener had Carrie been 
 with him, he admitted; but then, what was Carrie to 
 him ? What could she ever be to the man who was 
 under obligations to her for saving his life twice. He 
 had said to himself again and again, that if it had not 
 been for her good nursing with which she had supple 
 mented the doctor's oversight, and Jim's attention, 
 he would never have gotten out of the bed in the 
 sunny room in the stone house. What could she ever 
 be to the him, but the daughter of his employer ? She 
 was pretty; he was not handsome. She was rich; he 
 was poor. She had had the advantages of a liberal 
 education in New York before she ever dreamt of 
 coming to this western country; he had not thought 
 of the advantages of learning until it was too late to 
 lay thoroughly even the rudiments of a liberal educa 
 tion. No, he was not suited to Carrie Dives even if 
 she could love him, and thus far he had not asked her; 
 had not presumed so to do. He had no right to think
 
 BURROS AND PUEBI.OS. log 
 
 that she would ever love him. Why should she ? No 
 man in Colorado Springs would be. able to resist her 
 bewitching blue eyes and those rosy lips when they 
 smiled their sweetest. He did admit that he enjoyed 
 life in the new -employment as he had never done 
 before? Why was it ? Not because it was easier; for 
 it was not. The days were longer and often hands 
 and brain were busy at one and the same time; yet, 
 notwithstanding the fact that the hours of toil were 
 longer, this new life wore a charm which no work or 
 play had ever worn before. Sometimes the sun in the 
 morning will illuminate the mountain peak with a sil 
 very light which seems unearthly in its brightness to 
 the traveler, who has set out to reach the top of that 
 peak before the sun sinks into her burning bed in the 
 west. He fancies that the rock, which glitters like 
 burnished silver, cannot be the same material over 
 which his feet stumble now, as he looks at the bright 
 beauty and dazzling splendor far above him. When 
 at last the traveler reaches the summit, foot-sore and 
 weary, and now looks beneath him to the valley, 
 clothed in the mellow twilight, and realizes that the 
 rock, which was so beautiful when beheld in the 
 charming light of a newly risen sun, is only common, 
 cold, gray rock, he almost wishes that he had 
 remained in the valley and had not made the toilsome 
 journey to this, his goal. So Carrie's hero, when he 
 had seen others engaged in the very work in which 
 he was now engaged, whilst he then was snatching a 
 few hours of instruction in the evening, had looked
 
 110 BURROS AND PUEBLOS. 
 
 upon their positions in life as something far superior 
 to what he could attain; but now that he had obtained 
 a position which those whom he once considered for 
 tunate would have envied, he feared that he would in 
 the end feel like the traveler who has gained the goal. 
 He feared that this semi-conscious life which he was 
 living must in the end awake in bitter disappointments 
 and poignant sorrow. Then he would look back over 
 his past life, which, though not so broad, so rich in 
 opportunities, would be fertile in pidlures which mem 
 ory would bathe in glories unseen whilst the pidlures 
 had been a reality.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A DIVORCE AND HOW IT WAS OBTAINED. 
 
 " He counsels a divorce: a loss of her, 
 That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years 
 About his neck, yet never lost her lustre; 
 And she a fair divided 
 Of her that loves him with that excellence 
 That angels love good men with; even of her 
 That when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, 
 Will bless the king." Shakespeare. 
 
 When evening came and Minnie did not return, the 
 
 mother in the little home on Avenue, was so 
 
 anxious about her daughter's absence, that she went 
 to the neighbor who had brought her the message con 
 cerning Sharp's baseness, wringing her hands and 
 weeping as if her heart would break. After the 
 neighbor had carefully listened to the mother's recital 
 of how her daughter had put on her best dress, and 
 said she was going down town, an idea struck her at 
 once. "Are you sure she did not go to get married ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Oh my daughter would not be so base as that; it 
 was only last week that we spoke on that subject, and 
 I told her then that she must wait at least another 
 year. ' ' 
 
 "But that is all the more reason that she should take 
 a direct cut to matrimony and be married to-day. 
 Are you sure that she did not leave a note for you?" 
 
 in
 
 112 A DIVORCE AND 
 
 "I had not even thought of looking. She could 
 not be so unkind to her mother as that." 
 
 The two women went to Minnie's home and with 
 out spending much time in searching, they found a 
 note in Minnie's jewel case. It contained a brief 
 statement of the fa<5t that she had gone with Mr. 
 Sharp to San Diego, there to become his lawful wife. 
 Her mother knew that they were engaged, and that 
 the sooner they were married, the better for them and 
 her. 
 
 When Mrs. G. read this note she at once changed 
 her expressions of anxiety and grief into indignation. 
 She said her daughter should never enter her house 
 again. But her neighbor at once showed her the folly 
 of her wrath by telling her that if Mr. Sharp really 
 were what she herself took hjm to be, her daughter 
 would now need her love and consolation more than 
 she ever did before. If, on the other hand, he were 
 what her daughter thought him to be, she would by 
 and by overlook this unkind treatment, in the con 
 sciousness that she had done the young folks wrong in 
 allowing them to associate until their friendship rip 
 ened into love, and they were engaged. 
 
 Mrs. G. thought the matter over, and saw the wis 
 dom of her neighbor's reasoning. She slept little that 
 night, and was all anxiety next day until a hack 
 stopped at her front door and her daughter and Mr. 
 Sharp stepped on the pavement. She did not go to 
 the front door to meet her son-in-law. When they 
 entered, her daughter came as she had often done
 
 HOW IT WAS OBTAINED. 113 
 
 before. She threw her arms about her mother's neck; 
 then she did what she had seldom done before, she 
 burst into a passionate fit of weeping. Sharp stood 
 by, but said not a word. When Minnie said, "Mother, 
 oh mother ! can you ever forgive me and take me to 
 your heart again ?" he knit his brows and a cloud of 
 displeasure spread over his face. Then he sat down, 
 and wore the air oi an impudent boy who beholds the 
 chastisement of his fellow in disobedience, knowing 
 that his turn is sure to come next. 
 
 Her mother was calm, though her eyes were red 
 with weeping. She said, "Minnie, you are my 
 daughter still. That man must prove himself worthy 
 of my love and my home before he can stay in the 
 latter, or have the former. I forgive you; but you 
 have done me a cruel wrong. I do not blame you as 
 much as I do the man who led you astray." Sharp 
 always feared Minnie's mother. For the last two 
 months he had dreaded meeting her, because he 
 thought he could read in her face that he sought her 
 daughter's ruin more than he did her heart. His lips 
 moved nervously as he tried to look the elder of the 
 women he had wronged in the face. Hesitating a 
 moment, he turned on his heel, and simply saying to 
 his wife that he would call later, he turned to the 
 door and was gone. 
 
 In less than twenty-four hours of her married life, 
 Minnie learned that she had broken the heart that had 
 always been her refuge in all her little trials. She 
 realized, too, that notwithstanding she had broken her
 
 114 A DIVORCE AND 
 
 mother's heart, her mother was her " mother still, the 
 holiest thing on earth." Mr. Sharp had changed his 
 entire demeanor toward her. Twenty-four hours 
 before, she believed that he would lay down his life for 
 her; now she doubted whether he really and truly 
 loved her. His first cross word had startled her, as 
 does the crack of the rifle startle the unsuspecting deer. 
 When subsequently she remonstrated with him for his 
 petulance, he had told her that she was his wife now 
 and she could expect him to talk to her in just that 
 way. She did not tell her mother this. She was 
 ashamed to say a word of how soon the suppliant had 
 changed into a dictator. She simply said, " Mother, 
 if you will not allow Mr. Sharp to live with me here, 
 I must go to him. I promised to love him until death 
 does us part." There was a sadness in the young 
 wife's tone which a mother's heart alone could fully 
 interpret. She said, "My daughter you have made 
 your couch and must lie upon it. I fear it will not 
 give you much rest or peace. Oh! you might have 
 been saved from it all, if you had not been so hasty, 
 so unadvised, so rash. Go to him until he tires of 
 you. If he comes to us, every unpleasantness between 
 you will be thrown upon my shoulders. God knows 
 I have all that I can bear now. ' ' 
 
 That evening Sharp came and received his wife at 
 the door. She told him to take her away, as her 
 mother had commanded. In half an hour afterward, 
 Sharp and his wife left the house in which they had 
 had many pleasant hours, the house which Mr. Sharp
 
 HOV IT WAS OBTAINED. 115 
 
 never after that entered with pleasure. They went to 
 " furnished rooms," that greatest enemy of home-life, 
 that breeder of jealousies, adulteries, divorces, and 
 moral death. 
 
 We cannot follow the weary days of Minnie's first 
 year of her married life. Sharp never drank. He did 
 almost everything else calculated to cause his wife 
 sorrow, but drink he did not. When their little baby 
 came, Minnie realized that there were now two lives 
 to love'her, that of her baby and her own dear mother, 
 who in all Minnie's sorrow never for a moment ceased 
 to sympathize with her and to comfort her. 
 
 Her husband made money, but she had little benefit 
 of it. He was miserly toward both his wife and his 
 baby. His insolence, his abuse of his wife continued 
 until her blue eyes were faded and their light extin 
 guished with their constant weeping. When she 
 could endure it no longer, she packed her satchel, and 
 when her husband came from the office she said, " Mr. 
 Sharp, I am going home to mother for a few days. 
 Baby needs a change, and a few days absence may 
 cause you to appreciate us both a little more." Before 
 he said a word he struck his wife a cruel slap on the 
 mouth. Her lips were cut, two teeth were loosened, 
 and with the blood oozing from her mouth she sank 
 into a chair. He then began a long and loud tirade 
 of how she was never satisfied and always wanted to 
 be with her mother. Minnie did not go to her mother 
 that day, nor for several days afterward. She was 
 ashamed to go so long as her face bore the evidence of
 
 Il6 A DIVORCE AND 
 
 her husband's brutality; but when she did go, she 
 went with the resolve that she would never return. 
 She told her mother so, but did not tell her half of 
 Sharp's unkindness to her. Her mother said, "Min 
 nie, we lived before we knew Sharp. I guess we can 
 live now. This baby in our home shall be to us both 
 a fountain from which to fill anew the cup of our joy. 
 It is too young to know the floods of sorrow which 
 have rolled over our hearts before its young life was 
 given. God grant that it may never lose itself m like 
 experiences." 
 
 Three weeks passed before Sharp visited his wife or 
 sent her a message. To say that those were happy 
 weeks to Mrs. Sharp would be an untruth. As the 
 waters will continue to stand for months after the flood 
 that brought them has disappeared, and the waters 
 receding into the river, flow on, as the vegetation in 
 those bogs becomes pale and slimy, and finally dies, so 
 often when the tide of sorrow has spent its strongest 
 flood the results of that sorrow will continue their 
 choking and killing influences until every blush of 
 health fades, and every throb of joy dies in the soul. 
 So day by day Minnie became a little weaker, a little 
 sadder. If her mother had not seen these signs of 
 waning life in her daughter, she would have been 
 happy; because she had found two lives to cherish. 
 
 At the end of the third week after Minnie had taken 
 her baby to her mother's home, both of the ladies 
 were out in the yard. They had left the little one in 
 its cradle. When they came in they beheld the form
 
 HOW IT WAS OBTAINED. 117 
 
 of its father kneeling beside the cradle and literally 
 smothering the little one with kisses. Then raising 
 himself to his knees, he cast a supplicating look at his 
 wife, and said, " Minnie, I can stand this separation 
 no longer. If your mother will receive me into her 
 home, she shall see that I can be to you a husband, 
 and to her a son. I realize that life is too short to 
 spend in such cruel separation." 
 
 Mrs. Sharp still loved her husband. With her what 
 she loved had not determined how she loved. In all 
 her doubting and her anguish she had not been 
 able to tear this, her first and only love, out of her 
 being. She looked mutely at her mother, while great 
 tears fell from her eyes. These tears seemed the over 
 flowings of the gladness of her heart. The old light 
 was coming back to her blue eyes, as the old love 
 received the food for which it pined. 
 
 Her mother had never seen the man in tears before. 
 She questioned their sincerity; but finally her heart 
 got the better of her judgment. She received him 
 into her home, and treated him as she would have 
 treated her own son. With his coming came new life 
 to her daughter. The old blush came back to the 
 cheek, and like the halo to the Madonna, it hid the 
 crow-feet that her sorrow had left. When the baby 
 cooed in its father's arms, as he sat in the easy chair 
 which had once been the favorite seat of Minnie's 
 father, a nobler and truer man by far than Sharp ever 
 was, Minnie was happy. She would often turn to her 
 piano and sing in tones not as round and full as when
 
 Il8 A DIVORCE AND 
 
 Sharp first visited her home, but in tones that were 
 more pathetic, tones that brought with them the feel 
 ings of the heart which prompted them, as the zephyr 
 brings the perfume of the flowers which it has kissed. 
 
 Oh, that those days could have continued. But they 
 were short lived. By and by the old irritability 
 returned as the sirens of the dens of infamy gained 
 their old hold on the life that had vowed to change. 
 Mrs. G. noticed the change. Minnie realized it in all 
 its hideousness. Her nature was extremely sensitive. 
 If her heart would have been joined with a true life it 
 would have enhanced and embellished it as the jewel 
 beautifies and increases the value of the ring in which 
 it sparkles. Strange that the God of nature should 
 allow so much of the sweetness of heaven to dissipate 
 in this world so hideous with the effects of sin. 
 
 When the impudence and the manifest impurity of 
 Sharp's life threatened the peace and safety of her 
 home, Mrs. G. promptly told him that he must go. 
 He had not realized that this w r oman knew him better 
 than he knew himself. He apologized for his angry 
 fits and abusive language, and flatly denied his impure 
 life. She gave him one more trial. That was his 
 last. It might have terminated fatally to all of them. 
 One evening he brought home a cake, with some other 
 edibles which he was in the habit of furnishing, when 
 he was rid of the evil spirit that seemed to have pos 
 sessed him for years already. The cake was eaten 
 that evening. Sharp himself cut it. He and all 
 except the baby ate of it. He wished the baby to
 
 HOW IT. WAS OBTAINED. 1 19 
 
 have some of it; but the mother protested, and so it 
 was spared. The ladies both thought that the cake 
 tasted bitter. Mr. Sharp said, it was only the usual 
 fault-finding spirit with what he did, that made them 
 think the cake was bitter. His piece did not taste 
 bitter. He was right in his assertion. His piece did 
 not taste bitter. 
 
 In an hour after the cake was eaten the ladies were 
 both in great pain. Sharp had gone away imme 
 diately after his dinner. The neighbor to whom we 
 have already alluded in these two chapters of Sharp's 
 biography, heard their moans, and came to see what 
 was wrong. She saw in an instant that something 
 unusual had occurred. In ten or fifteen minutes more 
 a doctor was there, and administered the usual antidote 
 for strychnine poisoning. He said a delay of fifteen 
 minutes more would have put the ladies beyond all 
 reach of human help or the need of it. Sharp came 
 home at ten o'clock, nervous and excited. When he 
 was told of what had occurred, he said that accounted 
 for his own feelings, and so it did; but not in the way 
 he tried to make those believe who had saved the life 
 of the woman he had sworn to love, and her mother, 
 whom he had promised to treat as a dutiful son would 
 treat her. 
 
 Many days intervened before his wife, who received 
 the biggest dose of the poison, as he had meant she 
 should, was able to leave her bed. Her mother recov 
 ered more rapidly. Nothing was said by the two 
 w r omen to each other of their suspicions, until the
 
 120 A DIVORCE AND 
 
 younger had sufficiently recovered to attend to her 
 child. Sharp still lived in the house, but he seemed 
 more sinister and morose than ever. There were 
 whole nights that he did not come home. He said 
 business kept him away. So it did, but it was the 
 business to which human passions, and superhuman 
 fiends lead men that are willing to be led. 
 
 When the mother told her suspicions to her daugh 
 ter, she answered in a paroxysm of grief that was 
 heart-rending to behold. She confessed, after she 
 could compose herself sufficiently, that she believed her 
 mother's suspicions correct. They agreed that for the 
 sake of their child they would let the fiend go 
 unpunished. At the same time they felt that hence 
 forth Sharp must be banished from their home and 
 their life. 
 
 The elder of the women begged to have the respon 
 sibility of dealing with the fiend in human form. 
 When he came home she confronted him with the 
 charge of trying to poison his family with strychnine. 
 She used the strategy that a man as sinful as Sharp 
 should have perceived, and outwitted. She told him 
 she knew that one of his sirens down town had baked 
 that cake, and that he knew all about the deadly dose 
 it contained. She could prove all she said. She had 
 thought of the advisability of having him arrrested; 
 but on one condition she would leave him to God, who 
 in due time would make instruments to scourge him 
 out of the very vices which were now so pleasant to 
 him. The condition upon which she promised to keep
 
 HOW If W AS OBTAINED. 121 
 
 his crime a secret, seemed very easy to Sharp to be 
 complied with. It was that he not only leave them all 
 forever; but that he at once apply for a divorce. She 
 said they would be willing to grant him the glory of 
 seeming, in the eye of the world, the offended party. 
 
 During this speech of Mrs. G's, Sharp's color 
 changed from its natural tan to livid white, then to 
 scarlet. When she finished it had come back to its 
 normal brown and tan. He admitted that some women 
 had a way of finding out things that ' ' got ahead of 
 him." He could easily leave, if that would please her 
 and her daughter, and the question of a divorce could 
 easily be disposed of. 
 
 So kind reader, we will leave Minnie with her 
 mother to comfort and strengthen her with her baby 
 to heal her broken heart with its innocent and pure af 
 fection. We will hear of them again; but for the 
 present we drop the curtain over a scene sp full of 
 blasted hopes, so dark with sinister crime.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 
 
 ' ' Where we love really, we often dread more than we desire 
 the solemn moment that exchanges hope for certainty. ' ' 
 
 Madame de Stael. 
 
 The same day that Carrie's hero started for Santa 
 Fe, Dr. Burns left Colorado Springs for "a few days 
 outing " as he had told the young man who was to 
 look after his practice during the doctor's absence. In 
 fact the same train which took Carrie's hero on his 
 way to Santa Fe also brought Dr. Burns to the little 
 station with which we have become familiar. The 
 book-keeper did not see him step out of the palace-car 
 as he himself went into the smoker; but Sambo who 
 had . brought the book-keeper also saw the doctor 
 alight from the train. He had been expecting the 
 doctor, because Carrie had told him that he was com 
 ing, and would wish to ride home with him. 
 
 When the doctor saw who was to take him to the 
 stone house he felt glad; because he preferred to ride 
 with the little colored boy rather than with Jim who, 
 we will remember, had been the book-keeper's nurse. 
 In fact the doctor was glad that Sambo had come 
 rather than Carrie herself. He flattered himself that 
 he would learn more concerning Carrie than if he 
 would be riding beside her. He would ask the little
 
 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 133 
 
 darkie questions about the young lady, that he would 
 not dare to ask her. As soon as they had left the lit 
 tle station, the doctor slipped a bright new fifty-cent 
 piece into Sambo's hand, at the same time saying: 
 " Sambo, I would rather ride with you this morning, 
 than with a millionaire. You have not told me how 
 the folks at the house are getting along. Are they all 
 well ? Is Miss Carrie expecting me ? ' ' 
 
 All these questions were asked in one breath with 
 out giving Sambo a chance to reply. As soon as he 
 could he said, "Yes sa, Miss Carrie am expecting 
 you, and the folks am all well. Carrie, she say to me, 
 says she, when I left with her hero " " Who is the 
 hero ? ' ' interrupted the doctor. ' ' De hero ? Don 
 you know who am de hero, Massa Doctor ? De hero 
 am de man what was so pow'ful sick after holden dem 
 mustangs. Well, Miss Carrie, she say to me, says 
 she, ' Sambo if Doctor Burns am at de station, you 
 bring him up wid you. I's expecten him.' ' 
 
 The doctor smiled a little smile of satisfaction. He 
 next asked, "The clerk has not gone away to stay, 
 has he ? " 
 
 " Now who am de clerk, Massa Doctor? " 
 
 " Why the man who was so powerful sick, as you 
 just now said." 
 
 " Oh, you mean de Miss's hero. He am no clerk. 
 No he's a comen back in a foo days. Because I hear 
 Massa Dives say to de man, ' Now young man, buy 
 good ones,' Carrie she say, ' One good ting the Doc-
 
 124 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 
 
 tor come whilst my hero am away, he can oc'py de 
 hero's room.' " 
 
 The doctor bit his lip at this remark, and a cloud 
 passed over his face; but he made no reply. After a 
 moment's silence, he began again. " I guess Miss 
 Carrie thinks a great deal of her clerk. Do they go 
 out riding together, and has he time to play tennis 
 with her, now that spring has come? " 
 
 "You mean Carrie's hero? Yes, they go out a 
 heap. Carrie and de hero shoot mark. Miss Carrie 
 can shoot most as good as de hero. Dey learn las win 
 ter when it was too cold to go off in de team. Now 
 since de warm am come de hero am powerful busy for 
 Mr. Dives. He rides out with Mr. Dives to see the 
 cattle, and he pays the men and he goes with us to 
 the station," continued Sambo in his darkie dialect, 
 which we will not attempt to imitate. " In fac he am 
 de busiest man around de diggins, I heerd Mr. Dives 
 say to Miss Carrie, ' It seems I couldn't get along 
 any more on dis here ranch ef I hadn't dat young 
 man. ' " 
 
 It soon became evident to the doctor that the clerk 
 or whatever Carrie might choose to call her father's 
 help, had in Sambo a staunch friend. He lapsed into 
 quiet which was seldom interrupted until the stone 
 house came in sight. Then Sambo said, " There am 
 Misses on de piazza, a looken for you, Massa doctor." 
 
 Sure enough there stood the neat, prim little form 
 of Carrie Dives on the porch, shading her eyes with 
 her hand to catch a glimpse of the doctor and Sambo
 
 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 125 
 
 as they approached the house. When they came 
 nearer, Carrie disappeared. As they drew up to the 
 porch, Mr. Dives stepped out of the house, and 
 grasped the doctor warmly by the hand and invited 
 him into the spacious parlor. Soon Miss Carrie came 
 in. She expressed her pleasure at seeing the doctor, 
 and when he extended his hand she gave it a hearty 
 shake, even as her father had done before. At the 
 same time that she extended her soft brown little 
 hand, she fixed her bright blue eyes fully upon his 
 face as if to read the inmost feelings of his soul. 
 Sambo's mother announced that lunch was ready, and 
 they went to the dining-room; Carrie herself waited on 
 the table. The Dives had only one domestic in the 
 kitchen. This as we have already intimated, was 
 Sambo's own mother. She and her child had come to 
 Kansas in the Exodus of which our reader knows. 
 They were poor as most of the negroes were who 
 thought to find in Kansas, " de promised land." 
 After much suffering she, like many others, decided 
 to return to the sunny South. She had no money to 
 buy a rail- road ticket, so she resolved to walk. She 
 had gotten as far as Kansas City where Mr. Dives who 
 was then on his way to the West from New York City, 
 met her on the street begging a morsel of bread for 
 herself and starving child. Mr. Dives pitied her, and 
 on consulting his wife, he took her with him to the 
 home in Colorado. The poor creature was only too 
 glad to go. She had no friend in the world, so this 
 meeting with the Dives seemed a hand sent from
 
 126 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 
 
 Heaven to guide her to a place of rest. She had been 
 a nurse in her girl-hood to the daughter of a rich 
 planter, and she had taught her to read and study her 
 Bible. Hannah as she was called, was a faithful ser 
 vant, both during Mrs. Dives' life in the West, and 
 since. 
 
 Sambo had been a poor, thin, sickly boy when he 
 first came to Colorado; but good, wholesome food had 
 brought him out. He was now a strong, healthy lad 
 about fifteen years of age. He became more useful as 
 a man of all work each day. 
 
 Carrie's mother had died when her only child was 
 but thirteen years of age, and ever since her death 
 (which occurred six years before Dr. Burns learned to 
 know her) Carrie had been her father's chief comfort 
 and joy. It was now seven years since the Dives had 
 moved to Colorado. They had come because of Mr. 
 Dives' health. He had suffered from acute bronchitis 
 for several years and as a last attempt to save his life, 
 the dodlor told him to go to Colorado. He recovered 
 his health. His wife on the other hand, died quite 
 unexpectedly the first year they were in the West. 
 
 With Mr. Dives' return of health, fortune began to 
 smile upon him again. He added a little to his earthly 
 goods every year. He was not a millionaire; but he 
 was rich enough to cease all work and live on his in 
 vestments, had he chosen so to do. Carrie was never 
 sent away to school. She had laid the foundations of 
 an education before she left New York. A year after 
 her mother's death Mr. Dives had engaged the ser-
 
 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 127 
 
 vices of a young Vassar graduate, whom lung trouble 
 drove to Colorado, and who was only too glad to have 
 a place in the genial family which dwelt in the stone 
 house. Carrie had the instruction of this accomplished 
 girl for more than two years, and was a well educated 
 young woman. Carrie was her father's only heir. He 
 used to say that Sambo and Carrie were his heirs. He 
 thought much of the young colored lad and would no 
 doubt have remembered him in his will had not events 
 come to pass, to which we will refer in due time. 
 
 After luncheon Miss Carrie pertly told the doctor 
 that her father had some business on the ranch, and 
 that inasmuch as he had no doubt come for an outing, 
 he would probably consider it a pleasure to accompany 
 him. There was nothing else for the doctor to do but to 
 accompany him. The doctor was a good horse- back 
 rider. He had come to the West six years before, 
 from a city in Pennsylvania, on account of lung trou 
 ble. He soon became better, read medicine for a year 
 with a friend of his father who lived in Colorado 
 Springs, and then went to the University of Pennsyl 
 vania to finish his medical education. The afternoon 
 was pleasant and the two men had a good time together. 
 
 The next day the doctor and Sambo went hunting, 
 but they met with poor success, and Carrie teasingly 
 told them that it was because they could not shoot 
 well enough. They had better try to shoot mark. 
 This they did, and the girl hit the target quite as often 
 as either of them. We relate this to show how the 
 doctor spent most of his visit. Sambo went with him
 
 128 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 
 
 and Carrie wherever they went. He was now fifteen 
 years old, strong and full of life. He was Carrie's 
 servant. He seemed to bear the same relation to the 
 girl, that a great St. Bernard bears to his master. It 
 mattered nothing to him who accompanied Carrie, or 
 upon whom she smiled; but it did matter to him to 
 know that she was happy. Carrie on the other hand 
 knew that Sambo was a true friend of hers. She did 
 toward him as she would like to have been done by 
 him had she been the woolly headed son of Ham in 
 stead of the heiress of Mr. Dives. Of couse the par 
 lor was a place Sambo never entered except to help his 
 mother to sweep it. He was not prohibited from go 
 ing there. Neither Carrie nor her father had ever 
 told him not to enter; but his mother had. She had 
 told himnever to enter that room unless he was asked. 
 
 It was in the parlor therefore, that the doctor had 
 Carrie to himself when her father was not there. Car 
 rie was a good performer on the piano and sang 
 sweetly. For this reason her father loved to sit in the 
 parlor where he could hear and see her. Every even 
 ing promptly at nine whether the doctor was there or 
 not, Mr. Dives would leave the room. Carrie herself 
 knew that it would displease her father if she would 
 not retire at ten; promptly at that hour therefore, she 
 would call Sambo and he would show the doctor to his 
 or rather, " the hero's room." 
 
 Dr. Burns had been a student with the very physi 
 cian who attended Mrs. Dives in her last illness.
 
 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 129 
 
 When Dr. Burns graduated at the University he was 
 ready to take a place in the east; but he had been 
 summoned by his old preceptor to relieve him. He 
 did so, and that for all time; for the old doctor, soon 
 after Burns came, shuffled off this mortal coil. It 
 was natural that Mr. Dives should have sent for the 
 successor of their old family physician, when the 
 " hero " was brought unconcious to his home. 
 
 Dr. Burns had been to the Dives' home since " the 
 clerk," as he called our friend, had not taken his 
 advice and sought another climate. The few times 
 that the doctor had visited the Dives since the " clerk " 
 was well, he had treated the latter with courtesy. He 
 felt that this was policy. So long as he knew, or 
 thought he knew that Carrie did not love " the clerk," 
 so long it was all right, but if he were convinced that 
 this charming girl would marry " the clerk," he felt 
 that he could never forgive him. There was no girl 
 east or west that could ever take Carrie's place in this 
 doctor's heart, so at least he tried to persuade himself. 
 
 Dr. Burns, let it be added, was not a bad man. He 
 had a good heart, and led a pure life. He had never 
 done anything that made him ashamed to look his fel 
 low-man in the face; but we must confess that he 
 was jealous of the "clerk." Of all passions, it has 
 been well said, "jealousy is that which exacts the 
 hardest service." The doctor had found it so already. 
 Would he also learn that ' ' it pays the bitterest 
 wages ? ' '
 
 130 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 
 
 The third and last evening of Dr. Burns' visit had 
 come. He had told Carrie and her father at the dinner 
 table that evening, that he would be compelled to 
 return early the next norning. His practice would 
 not allow him to remain away another day, however 
 agreeable it might be to go with Mr. Dives to the far 
 thermost part of the ranch, to which that gentleman in 
 vited him. That evening, as usual, Mr. Dives promptly at 
 nine left the parlor. Dr. Burns, soon after the old gen 
 tleman left the room, drew his chair closer to the piano 
 stool upon which Carrie was still sitting. The music 
 had ceased, and Dr. Burns in low tones was telling her 
 of some improvements he had made in his office, and 
 how he intended to buy the house of his now deceased 
 preceptor's wife. The youngest son would be of age 
 in a few months, and then, according to the pro 
 visions of the will, the house would be sold. He told 
 the girl that with a few changes the house would 
 make a home as he wished. He noticed that she was 
 interested in what he was saying. As he continued 
 in the description of the proposed changes, Carrie 
 thoughtlessly put her hand upon the keys of the 
 piano. The Doctor gently took the little brown hand 
 in his, and she did not withdraw it. He continued 
 his conversation descriptive of the house as it would 
 appear after the changes. Finally he said: "Then, 
 when it is all finished, I would be supremely happy, if 
 the little queen I have loved ever since I have known 
 her, would consent to be enthroned there. ' '
 
 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 131 
 
 Carrie said, but not with her usual animation: 
 " And who, Doctor, is this little queen, as you call 
 her?" 
 
 The doctor was about to reply, when there was a 
 noise of someone in the room adjoining, and in a 
 moment afterwards, Carrie's father's voice was heard. 
 He said, " Child, dear, had you not better retire, or 
 the doctor will miss the train in the morning." 
 
 The charm was broken. . Carrie instantly said, 
 " Yes, papa." The doctor looked at the hands of the 
 clock, and saw that it was exactly half past ten. In a 
 moment the queen he had hoped to enthrone, had 
 quietly said, " good night," and had not returned the 
 pressure of the hand as she gently withdrew hers from 
 the doctor's grasp and was gone. 
 
 The doctor that night debated long and anxiously 
 whether he should think that the girl so dear to him, 
 loved him or not. If she did she certainly was wise 
 enough to conceal her feelings until she had more 
 thoroughly studied him. What else meant her keen 
 eyes, which to her must be a very search-light, with 
 which she read the deepest ocean of his affection ? 
 Once he thought he would insist on deciding his fate 
 in the morning before he left the house. Then again 
 he thought he would write to her immediately on his 
 arrival at home. Finally he concluded that the girl 
 knew the inmost feelings of his heart. He would give 
 her time to know her own. 
 
 The next morning at six, Sambo took the doctor to 
 the train. The last he saw of Carrie on that visit, was
 
 132 DR. BURNS POPS THE QUESTION. 
 
 when she appeared on the piazza, when Sambo was 
 already whirling him toward the station. She was clad 
 in a pink wrapper and looked very sweet. She waved 
 the doctor good-by and smiled one of her sweet smiles. 
 She had evidently over-slept herself. Perhaps she had 
 lain awake half the night thinking of what the doctor 
 had told her. So the doctor reasoned. Perhaps he was 
 right, who knows?
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MORE ABOUT SHARP AND OCTAVIA. 
 
 " Women with a mischief to their kind, 
 Pervert, with bad advice, our better mind. 
 A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, 
 And made her man his paradise forego 
 Where at heart's ease he lived; and might have been 
 As free from sorrow as he was from sin." Dryden. 
 
 The time has come when a fuller introduction of 
 Miss Octavia Newman to our readers is necessary. We 
 have visited her childhood home. We have learned 
 something of her parentage, and in so doing we have 
 become acquainted with two of the most potent forces 
 that enter a human life. The childhood home well 
 described, gives us an infallible knowledge of the time 
 and country in which a man lives. It is the window 
 through which comes the most light upon the char 
 acter we are studying, and out of which we look to see 
 the world around. The scope of this story will not 
 allow us to study minutely the family history of 
 Octavia' s father. He alone is the character in this 
 little knot of lives which for a time clustered around 
 the Nieman home, concerning whom we must be con 
 tent to know least. Some of those forces which exhib 
 ited themselves in the actions and speech of Octavia 
 must have had their origin in the ancestry of her
 
 134 MORE ABOUT SHARP AND OCTAVIA. 
 
 father; because we do not find the evidence of their 
 existence in her mother. 
 
 The world has made wonderful progress in scientific 
 development; but after all we know very little about 
 ourselves. There never was an age in which it was 
 truer that "The proper study of mankind is man," 
 than in the age in which we are now living. It seems 
 strange that after learning so much about everything 
 else, we should know so little about ourselves. Per 
 haps it is because we have left to us all eternity 
 to know ourselves, that we pay so little attention to 
 the subject in this life. The palmist says, he can 
 prognosticate the destiny of a man through all his 
 earthly lift, and consequently how he will begin eter 
 nity, by simply studying the lines in his hands. He 
 professes to be able to do this before the experience of 
 years has left the record of a life in those mysterious 
 tablets. It is true, he says, the character is best read 
 after the palm is well written over with the experience 
 of years. Then, too, the phrenologist claims to tell the 
 strength of the body, and the characteristics of the 
 soul, from the little prominences on the skull. His 
 science, too, to say the least, is wonderful. All of this 
 does not take away the mystery that surrounds every 
 earthly life. It rather deepens it. How came those 
 lines in the hand ? How happens it that the lines in 
 my hand are not precisely the same as in yours or my 
 father's? Why are there characteristics in my life 
 which were never seen in the life of my parents ? 
 Why must the student of your biography go back two,
 
 MORE ABOUT SHARP AND OCTAVIA. 135 
 
 three generations, to find that in your ancestry which 
 is so prominent in you ? Why must the physician 
 assign the cause of certain physical weaknesses in you 
 to the life habits of your ancestry in the third and 
 fourth generation? If you will answer me these ques 
 tions, kind reader, then I will tell you why there were 
 at work in the child-life of ' 'Octavia Newman, M. D.," 
 those forces which distinguished her ffom the rest of 
 her family. We will admit that if she would have 
 tried to curb those disreputable qualities in her being, 
 she might have, by and by, regulated them and eaten 
 some of life's most luscious fruits from them. We 
 admit that s>he might have regulated those wild im 
 pulses and head-strong desires by j udiciously watching 
 herself, even as, the rider regulates the untamed steed 
 by the bit, and by properly watching it. This she 
 might have done, and right here her moral responsi 
 bility came in, and right here it comes into every life. 
 One of the distinguishing traits of Octavia' s charac 
 ter was her ambition. Ambition is a noble faculty of 
 the soul, when properly accompanied. Its Latin 
 derivation gives it its true meaning. It is " the act of 
 going about" in life, or if not the act, at least the 
 motive power. Take it out of our being and you 
 take the wheels from the vehicle, and the force which 
 draws them. The evil in Octavia's nature, therefore, 
 did not lie in the fact that she had ambition, but that 
 she had an enormous, a real Napoleonic ambition, with 
 out the other qualities of head and heart which are so
 
 136 MORE ABOUT SHARP AND OCTAVIA. 
 
 essential to the true man or woman. She had one of 
 those unholy ambitions, which, like Milton's Satan, 
 caused her to adl as if she thought that it was 
 
 " Better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven." 
 
 Another characteristic of Octavia was her pride. 
 Pride is always the companion of ambition. It is not 
 the born companion of the latter; but it is the compan 
 ion who seeks and wins and weds an ambition when it 
 once becomes a monstrosity among the faculties of the 
 soul, and a monstrosity in Odlavia's soul her ambition 
 had become when we first saw her in her matured, her 
 professional life. The man or woman without a law 
 ful pride is in danger of the same follies which threaten 
 the one who has left this monster , to swallow all his 
 other qualities. In Octavia pride was as manifest as 
 the peacock's tail is manifest in that fowl's make-up. 
 You could not be in her society a day without seeing 
 that ambition and pride were the two ruling powers in 
 her soul. Her pride and her ambition should have 
 borne her above some sins and follies which thwarted 
 the attainment of the objects that pride and ambition 
 when firmly wedded generally attain. 
 
 We have said that pride and the lack of it, bring the 
 soul to commit one and the same follies. In 
 Octavia's experience we have seen this illustrated 
 already. Had she not been so intensely proud, she 
 would have married Peter True, and so far as human 
 judgment can see, she would have been a happy wife,
 
 MORE ABOUT SHARP AND OCTAVIA. 137 
 
 and, although left in an early widowhood, she would 
 have been able to live a useful and comfortable life. 
 On the other hand, if she would not have had some 
 pride, Peter True would not have cared for her any 
 more than he cared for the score of girls in the neigh 
 borhood. It was Odlavia's haughty spirit that drew 
 Peter True, as the light draws the ignorant moths, 
 and it was that same pride which seared his heart and 
 made it incapable of seeking the love of another 
 woman. A reasonable amount of pride will keep the 
 hands clean and the face sweet, but the excess of 
 pride will always thirst after the unattainable, and 
 when once convinced that it is unattainable, it will 
 cause the vidlim to descend into an apathy that shows 
 its physical as well as moral effedl. We do not say 
 that we will find it so in Odlavia's case; but who can 
 tell? 
 
 That which made ambition and pride such dangerous 
 companions in Odlavia's soul, was the fadl that they 
 had at least nursed, if not begotten offspring even 
 more hurtful. She had shown her selfish disposition 
 in her childhood. It grew with her years. Her 
 mother, her teachers had endeavored to curb it, but in 
 vain. Her education at the hospital had brought her 
 face to face with human suffering, and should have 
 developed that sympathy which distinguishes man 
 from the brute, and which does so much to sweeten the 
 bitter potions which life presses to every pair of human 
 lips. But it did not. She might well have summed
 
 138 MORE ABOUT SHARP AND OCTAVIA. 
 
 up the condition of her own disposition in the lines of 
 the poet Sheridan, when he says: 
 
 " I never could any lustre see 
 In eyes that would not look on me; 
 I never saw nedtar on a lip 
 But where my own did hope to sip. ' ' 
 
 Another dangerous offspring these two, ambition 
 and pride, nursed in Octavia's soul, was her heartless- 
 ness. We have seen in her relations with her own 
 mother, as well as in her conduct toward poor Peter 
 True, that the girl had no heart. We have seen it 
 again on the mountain-side, when she so unexpectedly 
 sees the knife with the initials " N. N." upon it, and 
 reads in the countenance of the man who possesses it 
 her own family lineage. The pride which keeps her 
 from allowing herself to associate with a muleteer, even 
 sufficiently to know whether her suspicions are cor 
 rect or not, the pride which keeps her from finding 
 out whether this man is not her supposed dead 
 brother, for fear the Dives would find it out, should 
 he be her brother, that pride causes her to exhibit a 
 heartlessness which must bring every one who learns 
 to know her, to despise her. What could be more 
 cruel than for a daughter to refuse to staunch the 
 bleeding heart of a fond, true mother, simply because 
 her own selfish ends might be thwarted thereby? 
 After this insight into Octavia's character we need not 
 remind our readers that she was not well balanced. 
 All the nobler qualities of her soul had thrown the 
 reins to these dangerous powers, which like unre-
 
 MORE ABOUT SHARP AND OCTAVIA. 139 
 
 strained steeds were bearing her on a journey which 
 might well cause us to close our eyes, so as not to see 
 the fearful destination. Good common sense would 
 have redeemed her nobler soul powers and would have 
 sanctified her ambition and curbed her pride; but good 
 common sense was something in which Octavia was 
 lacking. If that judge had ever sat on the throne of 
 her soul, he had forsaken his seat long before we met 
 her in the Sierras. We shall see whether the future 
 reveals anything that will cause us to reverse our 
 judgment of " Octavia Newman, M. D." We have 
 spent all this time in analyzing the character of 
 Octavia, in order that we may be prepared to under 
 stand her in her action during that part of her life- 
 history to which we now invite your attention.' 
 
 We have intimated in a former chapter that Mr. 
 Sharp had at last turned up at the home of the Dives, 
 after considerable time had elapsed between our 
 friends' arrival in the Metropolis and the actual fulfil 
 ment of his promise to call on Octavia. The day after 
 the party had arrived, the nurse had already expected 
 him; but he had not come. The days had lengthened 
 into several weeks and he had not come. Octavia had 
 at the end of the first week received a note which was 
 written in Kansas City. It simply stated that the 
 pressure of his business had caused him to neglect 
 calling on his friends whilst in the city, and ere he^had 
 been aware of it he had been hurried off to Kansas 
 City by the pressure of that same business. Octavia 
 kept this note, and said nothing to anyone about it.
 
 140 MORE ABOUT SHARP AND OCTAVIA. 
 
 She was glad when she was summoned to leave the 
 home of the Dives for a week ' ' to discharge her pro 
 fessional duties," as she had been in the habit of 
 announcing such a summons to her friends. 
 
 The Dives themselves were wondering why Mr. 
 Sharp had not called on Octavia since they had left 
 him at the depot. They had thought that Octavia had 
 made quite an impression on him. They felt sure that 
 he had made one on her. Perhaps he was calling on 
 her where she was now employed. Before she had 
 left the Dives' home they had teased her about Sharp's 
 not calling. They had reminded her, jokingly, it is 
 true, that those alone are best in love who love but 
 once, and that for years. 
 
 Octavia said she did not tell them all she knew, (and 
 a smile of satisfaction passed over her face as she said 
 it) nor did she expect them to tell her everything they 
 knew. She would keep her own counsel. Then she 
 added, " Girls, I will surprise you one day most won 
 derfully." 
 
 " You have done that a number of times already," 
 said Jennie. ' ' For instance, when you allowed your 
 self to giggle and whisper and ogle with a man whom 
 you had met only a few days before." 
 
 This was too much for Octavia. She blushed crim 
 son, not with shame, but with anger. She opened her 
 mouth, but she did not speak. Odtavia sometimes 
 thought twice before she spoke once, but the occasions 
 were rare when that was the case. It was good that
 
 MORE ABOUT SHARP AND OCTAVIA. 14! 
 
 this was one of them. She swept from the room in 
 majestic silence. 
 
 When she was gone the elder Miss Dives said, 
 " Jennie, we must stop teasing that girl. She gets so 
 mad. She will leave the house if we don't." 
 
 ' ' I am sure that would not be a misfortune. I for 
 one would not be sorry." 
 
 "You forget that she nursed you through a danger 
 ous spell of pneumonia last fall. When the doctor 
 said to me, ' Your sister, I fear, is beyond human 
 help,' and I told Octavia what he had said, she replied, 
 ' Doctors do not know everything. I am glad he and 
 all of them give up the case. I will show you what a 
 good nurse can do. ' ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Jennie, " she took as much pride in 
 ' pulling me through,' as she called it, as a carver takes 
 in the image he has carved. It was not sympathy for 
 you nor love for me that did it. It was all done in 
 order that she might say, ' there, now, am I not 
 smart?'" 
 
 "Your life was saved, dear, and that is enough. 
 I^et us not speak about the workman so unkindly, 
 when we so plainly see the proof of his skill." 
 
 " Do not forget God, Susie, or he will judge us," 
 was Jennie's reply. " Do you not wonder, sister, 
 what became of Mr. Sharp ? There must be some very 
 grave and very important business absorbing him, 
 or he would have turned up ere this. Depend upon 
 it, if Octavia knew where he is, she would not be so 
 anxious to keep her own counsel."
 
 142 MORE ABOUT SHARP AND OCTAVIA. 
 
 " ' Two may keep counsel when the third's away,' 
 do not forget that, my little sister," replied Susan 
 Dives. 
 
 Here the conversation ended. One of the girls 
 was called from the room, and the other resumed her 
 crocheting. You, kind reader, no doubt, wonder what 
 has become of Mr. Sharp. Some very important 
 events were occurring, and it depended all on how 
 Mr. Sharp would be able to manage these events, as 
 to whether the Dives or Octavia would ever see his 
 shadow across the Dives' door-way. We shall pres 
 ently see how he managed.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CARRIE AND ' ' THE HERO ' ' HAVE AN EVENING TO 
 GETHER. 
 
 " Love, Love, my Love. 
 
 The best things are the truest: 
 When the earth lies shadowy dark below 
 
 Oh then the heavens are the bluest." Gilder. 
 
 One evening just as the sun was sinking in majestic 
 splendor behind the great rocks of the mighty moun 
 tains, Sambo and Carrie's hero drove up to the stone 
 house. Mr. Dives had received a letter from the hero 
 stating the day and train he expected to arrive at the 
 little station where he in the last year had gotten on 
 and off the cars so often. Sambo had been sent to the 
 station at the proper time, and he had shown his great 
 white teeth like a great St. Bernard when he saw his 
 friend step off the train. The hero had given him a 
 hearty hand-shake and inquired after everybody, be 
 fore they actually started from the station. He had 
 heard only once from the stone house. He had re 
 ceived a letter pertaining to the errand upon which he 
 had gone to Santa Fe. Carrie had not written to him 
 nor had he asked her to write. Nothing would have 
 delighted him more than to have received a letter 
 which he knew to have been penned by her little 
 hand; but he felt that he had no right to ask it of her. 
 
 143
 
 144 CARRIK AND "THE HERO" 
 
 Carrie would have written if she had been 
 asked; but she was the kind of fruit that did not fall 
 by simply looking at the tree. 
 
 But here they were in front of the stone house. 
 When Carrie heard the rumbling of the cart-wheels on 
 the hard road she came to the piazza. She had on 
 the same pink wrapper which she wore the morning 
 Dr. Burns saw her waving her hand after him, and 
 heard her shouting her cheery good-by. Her hair 
 was placed in a Psyche knot, and her brown forehead 
 adorned with her own black locks. Her bewitching 
 blue eyes sparkled and danced as he had seen them 
 again and again when she was happy. To him she 
 never looked more beautiful than that evening as she 
 stretched out her hand in friendly greeting. She said, 
 " I am glad to see you. Hope you had a nice trip and 
 a good time. ' ' Of coiirse the hero responded in the 
 affirmative, and told her he would tell her of all he 
 saw, at his earliest opportunity. 
 
 That evening after dinner Mr. Dives and the hero 
 went to the office and when Carrie came in an hour 
 afterwards the old gentleman told her to leave them 
 alone as they had important work to attend to. It 
 was ten o'clock when they went to their rooms that 
 evening, and Carrie had not had a chance to talk over 
 the trip. Mr. Dives told his daughter the next morn 
 ing that the trip had been a financial success. The 
 mules had been shipped a week before our friend left 
 Santa Fe, and when he himself arrived most of them 
 were already sold. The car-load had netted the neat
 
 HAVE AN EVENING TOGETHER. 145 
 
 sum of one thousand dollars. The old gentleman was 
 delighted with our friend's work. He said he had 
 never had anybody working for him East or West, 
 that was more reliable and showed better business tact 
 than this young man did. 
 
 There was a great deal to do that week, and Carrie 
 did not get her talk with her friend until Saturday of 
 the week following his arrival. Then she and he 
 were in the parlor together. He had asked her to 
 sing and play for him; but she insisted on being told 
 all that he had seen on his visit to the indian villages. 
 He forgot that he was tired when he was once fully 
 started in telling her all he had seen. She was intensely 
 interested. She said that if he ever went again, she 
 would insist on inviting her teacher who was still in 
 Colorado Springs, and who she knew, would enjoy the 
 trip wonderfully. Would he be willing to be burdened 
 with the care of two ladies? 
 
 When' he had told Carrie all he knew, and answered 
 all the questions she asked, he said: "Now tell 
 me what kind of a time Dr. Burns and you had whilst 
 I was away." Carrie had already told him that the 
 doctor had spent several days with them at the ranch, 
 whilst her hero was away. Sambo, the sly coon, had 
 not hinted at the doctor's visit, either because he did 
 not wish to say anything that Carrie might not wish 
 him to tell, or because he did not think himself capa 
 ble of answering all the questions Carrie's hero might 
 see fit to ask. He was diplomatic enough to know 
 that silence on that subject was the best.
 
 146 CARRIE AND "THE HERO " 
 
 Carrie said in answer to the request her hero had 
 made: " We had a real good time whilst the doctor 
 was here, but I would have enjoyed it better if you 
 had been here also." Carrie's hero looked pleased 
 when she said this; but when after pausing a little, 
 she added, " We could have played tennis then. As 
 it was, we did not have enough to enjoy the game," 
 the smile of satisfaction which had come on his lips, 
 faded away. 
 
 After Carrie had told all that she and the doctor and 
 Sambo, and her father had done to make the time 
 pleasant for Dr. Burns, without at all alluding to what 
 they did in the evening, our friend said: " I guess in 
 the evening you sang and played for the doctor. Can 
 he sing ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' No, the doctor cannot sing as well as you can. 
 He does not play at all; but he seems to enjoy when 
 others play and sing. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I am sorry I was not here to hear you ' sing and 
 play; because I never tire of your music," added our 
 friend. 
 
 Carrie did not allude to the conversation which she 
 and the doctor had the last evening of his visit; but we 
 will confess, that she wondered in her own mind how 
 a knowledge of that conversation would affect the 
 young man who was sitting on the very chair that Dr. 
 Burns sat on when he wished to have her promise to 
 become the queen of his home. 
 
 Whilst these thoughts were passing through the 
 brain of pretty Carrie Dives, her hero was thinking of
 
 HAVE AN EVENING TOGETHER. 147 
 
 the dcxflor, and asking himself how long the interludes 
 between Carrie's songs had been, and whether Doctor 
 Burns sat like a dull overgrown boy during those in 
 terludes as he was doing, without knowing what to 
 say. Carrie broke the silence by saying: "Do you 
 know that I am getting a distinguished visitor for the 
 summer ? " The hero replied that he did not. Who 
 could he be, he asked. Carrie replied that it was not a 
 he at all; but that it was just the sweetest and cutest 
 young lady in New York City. It was none other 
 than her own charming little cousin. She told him 
 that her cousin was twenty years old and that she re 
 sembled Carrie, people had said, enough to be a twin 
 sister when they were still together in the city. No- 
 doubt her cousin had changed since she saw her last. She 
 at least knew that Jennie Dives was not as black as 
 she was. She had black eyes whilst she herself had 
 blue eyes, as he could tell if he ever took the pains to 
 look at them. 
 
 " As if anybody could see you a minute without 
 seeing your eyes," interrupted our friend. "If 
 she looks like you, Carrie," he added, without 
 the slightest sign that he was saying anything that 
 could be interpreted as flattery by the girl before him, 
 " she is pretty, and no doubt agreeable. I will be 
 pleased to meet her; that is, if she cares to have a 
 clerk enter her society." 
 
 Carrie interrupted him by saying, "As if a clerk, 
 as you see fit to style yourself, were not as good as 
 anybody else. Besides, that is just the way her
 
 I4 CARRIE AND " THE HERO " 
 
 father and mine began life. I shall introduce you as 
 'my hero,' and not as my father's book-keeper. 
 Who knows " Here the girl hesitated, then left 
 her sentence unfinished. The young man gave her a 
 searching look, which she returned. The two pairs of 
 eyes asked questions which their souls did not dare 
 to answer. Had our friend not felt his position 
 as he did, and thought the girl so far above him 
 it might have been different. As it was, the clock 
 struck eleven, and Carrie with a start arose and said, 
 " good night," and was gone. Our young man 
 closed the parlor, outened the light, and went to his 
 room. Cicero says: " Modesty is that feeling by 
 which honorable shame acquires a valuable and lasting 
 authority." It was no shame that was acquiring the 
 " lasting authority " over our friend's affections, and 
 perhaps was forever restraining them from asserting 
 themselves boldly in the presence of Carrie Dives. 
 
 He decided that next morning, in the presence of 
 her father, and on the way to church (in the little vil 
 lage which had recently grown up around the rail 
 road station) he would declare his love, and receive 
 his fate as the condemned prisoner received the keen 
 edge of the executioner's axe. It would be a relief to 
 have the worst over. He laughed at how very silly 
 his attitude would appear if he would thus " make a 
 fool of himself," as he termed it, on the way to 
 church. The laugh relieved the tension of his heart, 
 and with it his nerves. He finally fell asleep and did 
 not awake until Hannah rang the bell for breakfast.
 
 HAVE AN EVENING TOGETHER. 149 
 
 It would be interesting to know how Carrie spent 
 the time intervening between the hour when she left 
 our friend in the parlor, and one o'clock, when she 
 fell asleep. Carrie Dives was a modest girl, and did 
 not wear her heart on her sleeve, so I do not know 
 that it would be at all edifying if we would enter her 
 room and try to read her thoughts. We do know 
 what our friend did not know as he was tossing on his 
 bed, and that is that she has not as yet promised to 
 marry Dr. Burns. We can infer, too, that a girl with 
 such searching eyes could look upon the heart of her 
 hero and know that he loved her. Woman generally 
 reads a man's heart by instinct, unless pride or vanity 
 have deadened her sensibilities.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 ' ' O, what authority and show of truth 
 Can cunning sin cover itself withal." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 When Mr. Sharp left the party which he had accom 
 panied from the Pacific Coast, he said that he would 
 establish himself in a good, comfortable hotel, proba 
 bly the Astor, then he would call and see MissOclavia. 
 He had told Odlavia this because he was thoroughly 
 convinced that she was the only one in the party who 
 cared in the least where he went, or whether he would 
 call on them. We have already seen that Sharp did 
 not call near as soon as he had promised the nurse he 
 would. There were good reasons for his not calling, 
 but none of those who had traveled with him knew 
 those reasons. 
 
 When the days passed into weeks and Sharp 
 did not call, Oclavia became anxious about him. He 
 might have met with some accident. She scanned the 
 papers daily for the first week, hoping that she might 
 gain some tidings from him. She herself had many 
 thoughts concerning him. She confessed to herself 
 that she had been very favorably impressed with him. 
 He was married, it was true. He himself had 
 acknowledged it. She was sorry that it was so; but 
 150
 
 SHARP. 151 
 
 might not a married man, lawfully divorced, love 
 just as ardently as any other man ? But the rumor 
 that Mr. Sharp was to blame for the separation of 
 himself and wife was by no means confined to the 
 friends of his wife. She had to confess that the only 
 person who took Mr. Sharp's part in the matter was 
 the cousin of the Dives. Perhaps she knew his affairs 
 best. Mr. Sharp himself had told her that he had a 
 bright, interesting little girl of five summers. How 
 could he leave that bright little girl to the training of 
 its mother, when he knew that that mother was not a 
 fit person to take care of the child ? How could a true 
 father leave his child for any reason ? Thus for a 
 moment, that just, that true judge, good old common 
 sense, came back to the judgment seat he so seldom 
 occupied in the nurse's soul, to warn her against her 
 impending danger. He came, so it seemed to Octavia's 
 friends afterwards, to deliver his last sentence. He 
 told her the truth; but her love yes, Octavia con 
 fessed that she loved Mr. Sharp her love, that master 
 of all arts, that judge which is so easily bribed, that 
 passion which runs away with every sober faculty, 
 caused her to silence her conscience. Mr. Sharp was 
 a good man or he could not have succeeded in life as 
 he had. She had heard from his own lips how, from 
 a boy, he had to rely upon himself for an education, a 
 home, a business, in fadl for everything which men 
 prize in this life. But then suppose he did not love 
 her? She did not care, she would reply to that 
 thought. She had some business she must transact ere
 
 152 SHARP. 
 
 long; if Mr. Sharp would not soon come she would be 
 compelled to call upon someone else. Odlavia admitted 
 but one reason why she would have nothing to do with 
 the attorney of the Dives they would know all about 
 her business. But would they have known all about 
 her business ? Did he make a habit of telling the 
 Dives, or anybody, his clients' business? The real 
 reason why Miss Odlavia would have nothing to do 
 with the old friend of the Dives, was purely and sim 
 ply because he was not Mr. Sharp. 
 
 If Odlavia had known the real reason Mr. Sharp 
 delayed his call, she would have been very much 
 shocked. The truth of the matter was that even 
 then Mr. Sharp, the man of the splendid business 
 capacity, the man who had made his way in the world 
 without the help of anybody, was languishing because 
 of his business propensities. Even then a dark cloud 
 was obscuring the horizon of James Sharp, Esq. Even 
 then a dark blot was threatening to settle on his fair 
 name, as Odlavia pidlured that name to be. These 
 are the particulars, nothing serious as Mr. Sharp tried 
 to persuade himself, and as a man who has attained 
 the stage in wrong-doing he had attained, will try to 
 persuade himself. He had foreclosed a mortgage for 
 a New York firm, on some L,os Angeles property a few 
 weeks before he left that town. He had forgotten to 
 forward the draft for the money, even when he knew 
 that the New Yorkers knew that the transaction was 
 complete. They had wired him before he thought of 
 leaving L,os Angeles, that if the money were not paid
 
 SHARP. 153 
 
 at once he would be arrested; but he had paid no 
 attention to the matter. At Kansas City he had been 
 wired by Mr. Ketchem that the police were on his 
 track. He in turn telegraphed for a draft to pay the 
 two thousand dollars he owed the New York party. 
 Mr. Ketchem had forwarded the same at once, and he 
 had gone to the office of the people in New York, as if 
 nothing were wrong. The draft had not yet arrived; 
 but he wished them to understand that he was honest. 
 Had it not been for Octavia's letter from the adminis 
 trator of the True estate, it is doubtful whether Mr. 
 Sharp would have paid the obligation, which took 
 nearly half of all he had left in the world, so rapid had 
 been the decrease in his pile, since he had become an 
 inveterate poker player. That letter had decided him 
 to be as honest as necessary to keep in the good graces 
 of a lady whom he knew to be honest, to say the very 
 least about her. 
 
 When he arrived in the office of his clients in New 
 York he had introduced himself; whereupon they in 
 vited him into their private office, and whilst one was 
 talking to him another had gone for a policeman and the 
 necessary papers. After he was arrested he was sim 
 ply detained until they knew whether the money was 
 really coming or not coming. It did come in a few 
 days, and he was released only to be summoned to 
 Kansas City to keep some property which the firm of 
 Sharp and Ketchem had acquired there in exchange 
 for some stock in an Irrigation company, from going 
 into the hands of their creditors. This had required
 
 154 SHARP. 
 
 some time; but at last Mr. Sharp was himself again, 
 and quietly seated in the smoking parlor of a Pullman 
 on his way back to New York. He was congratulat 
 ing himself that no one could outwit him. Even the 
 people in New York who had had him arrested ad 
 mitted that they had been too much in a hurry; and 
 that perhaps all would have come out right had they 
 not been so hasty. Mr. Sharp had taken the part of 
 injured innocence. He had simply delayed the remit 
 tance, he said, because he knew he would come to the 
 Metropolis anyhow. They had not allowed the arrest 
 to be published, and consequently Octavia was kept 
 in ignorance of the affair for a long time, in fact for so 
 long a time, that the knowledge, when she did gain it, 
 did her no good. 
 
 There was one thought that perplexed Mr. Sharp that 
 day on his way from Kansas City to the Metropolis, 
 and that thought was how he should go about offering 
 himself to Miss Dr. Newman as he had called her, 
 much to her delight. If he were quite sure that he 
 had made an impression on her heart he would try to 
 deepen that impression and then at the earliest mo 
 ment he would propose marriage to her. But he had 
 thus far neglected to get a divorce from his lawful wife. 
 Would it not be risky to propose to another woman 
 whilst he had a wife ? When she found out that he 
 had been still married when he made love and pro 
 posed to her, it might spoil all. He did not condemn 
 himself for not having gotten his divorce before. He 
 did not wish any property which belonged to his wife
 
 SHARP. 155 
 
 and child to go into other hands. He had lately 
 heard that his mother-in-law was sick and he knew 
 that when he left his wife she had looked like a 
 shadow. Would a sane man under such circumstances 
 get a divorce ? He asked this question and answered 
 it very decidedly in the negative. He was perfectly 
 excusable for having put off that business. But this 
 fact that he was not divorced might impede his free 
 dom of action in this the second matter relating to 
 matrimony. If Octavia did not love him, then it 
 would be indeed a delicate question to ask her to be 
 employed in settling the True estate. Besides his 
 fooling with a paltry two thousand dollars, might by 
 this time have lost him much more. Perhaps Octavia 
 was by this time already engaged in transferring the 
 money into her own name. In that case he still had 
 one chance left him, he would court her for all he was 
 worth, and win her hand in spite of herself, by foul 
 means or fair. Had he not succeeded once before, 
 when he had had more difficulties to encounter than 
 this time ? The idea of his failing ! He knew no such 
 word as fail. The way to fortune and to fame was 
 still open to him, he chuckled to himself. The por 
 ter who had watched him from a mirror which reflected 
 his base image, said to himself, " Dat am a bad man. 
 He am no good. Dis nigger see de debil laughen in 
 his face. Wonder who he am, and what plans he am 
 concocten? " Just then Sharp called, " Here porter, 
 go to the news agent and get me two cigars. ' ' He 
 gave the porter fifty cents, and he brought him two
 
 156 SHARP. 
 
 ten cent cigars; he let him keep the change, but the 
 porter murmured as he went away, ' ' He am a bad 
 egg, that am plain as the nose on my face." The 
 darkie's nose was plain, that was sure. 
 
 On his arrival in New York he went to a cheap 
 lodging house. He took his dinner on West street. 
 It consisted of a piece of steak, bread and butter, 
 a potato or two, boiled in salt water, and coarse black 
 bread with coffee. As he sat down and scanned this 
 fare, a voice said within him; " Old man, you are down 
 to what you were seven years ago. You have less 
 than you then had. You have lost your clear con 
 science. In fact you have no conscience at all. You 
 have lost your good name. Sharp, you are poor! 
 What is worse, you have made others poor. You have 
 robbed men and women, not only of their money, but 
 of their happiness, their character. Sharp, you are a 
 bad man." He gave the table-leg a vicious little 
 kick, and then he began to eat.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 OCTAVIA SECURES HER AGENT. 
 "A business with an income at its heels." Cowptr. 
 
 Several weeks have elapsed since Mr. Sharp called 
 on Octavia, and it is time that our readers know their 
 plans. We have already seen that when Sharp finally 
 called on Miss Octavia she was at home. Call it des 
 tiny or call it fate, which so arranged that she was home 
 that evening when Sharp called ; but Providence it was 
 not, unless it is true what our old Presbyterian divines 
 believed, that the man that is born to be hung can't be 
 drowned. The nurse was home, and when the servant 
 who answered the bell heard the man who stood 
 before her ask whether Miss Odtavia Newman, M. D., 
 was home, that personage also heard the question from 
 the top of the stairs where she had been standing, in 
 her eagerness to know whether Mr. Sharp had not at 
 last come. Octavia had not waited for the summons. 
 She had come to the door before the servant could 
 receive Mr. Sharp's card. Octavia stretched her thin, 
 soft hand toward the Los Angeles attorney, and he 
 had taken it into his larger palm, not eagerly, nor 
 clutchingly; but in the same way in which the cat 
 takes a mouse which she knows to be fully in her 
 power. Sharp smiled, and showed his teeth as he 
 smiled. Whenever Sharp smiled his thin lips would
 
 158 OCTAVIA SECURES HER AGENT. 
 
 stretch until they became thin as pasteboard. Then 
 his teeth would show like those of a dog when he is 
 ready to bite. Octavia, who professed to be able to 
 read human nature, for some reason or other never 
 thought of the disposition that must govern a man or 
 woman that smiles the way Sharp smiled. His cold, 
 steel gray eyes looked searchingly into hers, as much 
 as if he intended to ask, "have you made arrange 
 ments to transfer the property willed you, into your 
 name?" Sharp would look people squarely into the 
 eyes on occasions when like the serpent, he wished to 
 sting them. At other times he studiously avoided 
 seeing the contenance of the person addressing him. 
 A thief can, when he wishes it, stare an honest man 
 out of countenance; but he cannot keep his lips from 
 twitching. Of late Sharp's lips twitched, when not 
 too tightly stretched into one of his dog like smiles. 
 Any one who could read character and was acquainted 
 with Sharp, would have realized that he had come for 
 plunder, and that he had made his plans to get it. 
 The unconscious Octavia did not suspect, much less 
 realize just then that that was the object of Sharp's 
 visit. Had she been asked the reason Sharp came to 
 see her rather than the Dives girls, or Felix, she 
 would have blushed, until her white cheeks would 
 have been as crimson as they were when Jennie Dives 
 had made her angry on account of this same Mr. 
 Sharp. 
 
 Mr. Sharp easily drifted into conversation with re 
 gard to the business that had taken him to Kansas
 
 OCTAVIA SECURES HER AGENT. 159 
 
 City. He had explained that when he and Mr. 
 Ketchem had been in the real-estate business they had 
 become favorably known all over the Uuited States, 
 and had invested thousands of dollars for persons they 
 had never seen. So large a business he said, could 
 not t>e closed up in a day or two, now that they had 
 dissolved partnership. There were collections to be 
 made, which he with his superior legal knowledge 
 alone could make. He knew the laws pertaining to 
 such matters, in all the different states of the Union, 
 and could make collections and transfer property any 
 where, and without cost or worry to his clients. There 
 was such a thing as learning a business thoroughly, 
 and that is just what he had done. 
 
 Miss Octavia listened with interest as Mr. Sharp 
 dilated on his superior knowledge of the very subjedl 
 with which she was then specially concerned. When 
 he ceased, her eyes sparkled, and the observer might 
 have seen her form straighten as she said, " I, too, am 
 interested in the real-estate business just now. It is 
 all in my own property however that I am interested. 
 An old friend of mine, one with whom I went to 
 school, has recently left this mundane sphere, and as 
 a token that he had not forgotten me, has left me the 
 greater part of his estate." 
 
 " Indeed," replied Sharp, his eyes sparkling, and 
 his lips wearing not the dog-smile, but a smile which 
 puckered them, and for the time softened the hard 
 lines which his vicious disposition had fixed and was 
 fixing more firmly every day. " I suppose the gentle-
 
 160 OCTAVIA SECURES HER AGENT. 
 
 man who has left you this property is an old lover, or 
 rather one who first desired to gain a fortune, or as we 
 used to say, ' buy a nice cage,' before he claimed his 
 bird ? It is sad that he should be called away when 
 his fortune was about to be consummated. It must 
 have been very sad for you thus to lose the matt who 
 did so much for you." 
 
 " Perhaps it would have been," replied Octavia, 
 " but I can not talk from experience on that subject. 
 Good friends we were, it is true; but Mr. True's posi 
 tion in life was not such that our union would have 
 been at all possible. He did not move in the same 
 sphere in which it has been my lot to move. We 
 never had the slightest idea of a matrimonial alliance." 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Octavia. I did not know 
 the social sphere in which your friend moved. I know 
 that persons of your social standing in life, would not 
 be happy with a man who could not enter into your 
 aspirations, and sympathies. ' We pine for kindred 
 natures to enter our own,' you know," said Snarp 
 with a big sigh. Odtavia read in that sigh, a sad ex 
 perience in the life of the man who sat before her. 
 Sharp meant that she should; but outside of the 
 hypocrisy which it concealed and the meaning it was 
 intended to convey, it was as empty as a vacuum itself. 
 
 Sharp was not in a hurry to have Odlavia commit 
 her business into his hands. He knew she would. 
 He wished to toy with her, so as to disarm her of any 
 suspicion that she might be running a risk in commit 
 ting the getting of her estate into his care. She would
 
 OCTAVIA SECURES HER AGENT. l6l 
 
 infer that he was disinterested personally. At last 
 however, he allowed her to come to the point. She 
 asked him plainly whether he would undertake the 
 business, or whether he was already over-burdened. 
 He replied he had a good-deal to do, but his brain was 
 like a stage-coach, there was always room for more. 
 At this stale joke Octavia laughed immoderately. A 
 drunken man, good humored, will laugh at nothing. 
 A sober man who congratulates himself that a matter 
 which has weighed upon him has at last been success 
 fully disposed of, will give vent to his joyous feelings 
 at the merest shadow of a joke. Octavia was intoxi 
 cated with joy. She sent the pleasure her soul felt 
 out into the room where Sharp could view it, covered, 
 it is true, in the scanty attire of his thread-bare joke. 
 Sharp saw that her soul had given vent to its feelings, 
 and he too laughed, as Octavia thought, at his own 
 joke but not so, he too laughed, under cover of his 
 joke. The laugh was prompted by the consciousness 
 that his conquest was complete, complete so far as^he 
 wished completion; so far as his plans were laid. The 
 future might precipitate emergencies, which would 
 compel him to change his plans; but the victory 
 already gained assured him that there were other tri 
 umphs in store. The way to fortune, if not to fame, 
 was paved once more for him. 
 
 Miss Octavia asked her attorney what she must do 
 herself in order to expedite her business. Thus far 
 she said, she had simply written Mr. Bear, the admin 
 istrator, that she would either come personally or send
 
 1 62 OCTAVIA SECURES HER AGENT. 
 
 her agent, to look after her interests. Would it be 
 necessary for her to get a habeas corpus, in order to 
 hurry up the matter ? She had heard people talk 
 about habeas corpus, and read about it, but did not 
 know exactly what it was. Sharp replied, that 
 when an attorney understood his business as thor 
 oughly as he did, a habeas corpus was entirely unnec 
 essary. They were necessary where agents were bung 
 lers. He said this without a smile but he did long for 
 the merest shadow of an excuse to laugh, so that 
 Octavia might not suspect that he was laughing at 
 the density of her ignorance. 
 
 There were many questions which Octavia wished to 
 ask with regard to the disposal of her property after 
 she had it. She felt sure that she herself did not care 
 to live in Omaha. She knew it would be best to sell 
 out as soon as she could. What did she know about 
 cattle-raising ? She had asked herself these questions 
 many times during the last few weeks. 
 
 ^A-fter they were through discussing their bus 
 iness, Miss Octavia asked Mr. Sharp where he 
 intended to reside for the present. He said that 
 after he had fully closed his business affairs in Los 
 Angeles he expected to be on the wing for a little 
 while. His business would require it, he thought. 
 He would be compelled to seek a friend in New York 
 City with whom, or rather in whose care he could 
 receive his mail. He had not asked any of his 
 acquaintances in the city whether they would be will 
 ing to do that for him. Octavia replied that she could
 
 OCTAVIA SECURES HER AGENT. 163 
 
 do it, if he did not object to having his mail go through 
 her hands. Sharp lied when he said that that would 
 be all right. He knew it would be all wrong. 
 
 It was after ten that evening when Sharp left the 
 Dives home. He said on leaving that he would first write 
 a letter to Mr. Bear before he would go West; perhaps 
 it would not be necessary for him to go. He might 
 have added that he had no money to go even if it were 
 necessary. In fact, how to get money was the impor 
 tant subject to which Mr. Sharp must turn his atten 
 tion; but how to get it he did not know that evening, 
 as he sat in the Dives parlor. How he managed it we 
 will presently see. For this time we must bid him 
 adieu, and good night.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "PETER GRAY'S" VISIT TO THE ENCAMPMENT, 
 AND CITY OF IRON VIGOR. 
 
 " What's open made 
 
 To justice, that justice seizes. What know the laws, 
 That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very pregnant, 
 The jewel that we find we stoop and take it, 
 Because we see it; what we do not see 
 We tread upon and never think of it." Shakespeare. 
 
 Not two hundred miles from New York city is a 
 little city situated in the midst of a long, fertile valley. 
 For many years this was a small town, the site of 
 which was not unknown in the days of the Revolution. 
 For many years it slumbered in that valley uncon 
 scious of its strength; but by and by the immense 
 mountain of iron not many miles away began to be 
 utilized. As iron in the blood gives vigor to the body, 
 so iron gave this little village strength. The fresh 
 young life which iron from the mountain not far away 
 brought it, caused it to awake out of its long sleep 
 and look around upon the grand possibilities which it 
 might grasp. With its activity, came growth, as 
 comes growth to the body when properly nourished. 
 As iron in the blood causes the blush of health to 
 come to the cheek that before was pale and thin, so 
 iron in the city and out of it, brought the town beauty. 
 164
 
 " PETER GRAY'S " VISIT TO THE ENCAMPMENT. 165 
 
 One fine home after another was erected, one improve 
 ment after another was made. 
 
 At the time of this story, a beautiful park in the 
 mountains, where the water bubbled high in the air 
 from natural fountains, and where the giants of the 
 forest were stirred by the invigorating breezes that 
 seldom visited the valley during the hot summer 
 months, had become the centre of attraction. Art 
 had joined hands with nature and had embellished the 
 place. Cottages had been erected, roads, over which 
 during many years before the mountaineer drove his 
 slow and over-burdened team, were straightened and 
 graded. On the very top of the highest point of the 
 mountain an observatory had been erected, from the top 
 of which there is one of the grandest views in all that 
 section of country. The city to which we have already 
 referred can be seen, " like a child in dreamless slum 
 ber bound," nestling in the valley at the point farthest 
 removed from the surrounding hills. Close to the city 
 the smoke arises from half a dozen furnaces, which 
 have been the means of infusing the results of the 
 iron, if not the strength of it, into the life of that city. 
 In the summer season, when the observatory is used, 
 the landscape is beautifully variegated with ripening 
 harvests, green pastures and grazing cattle, whilst 
 everywhere stately farm-houses are nestled among 
 clumps of green trees. 
 
 This pretty park has attracted hosts of visitors from 
 everywhere, for many miles around, and its charms 
 have been extensively advertised. Assemblies and
 
 i66 " PETER GRAY'S " VISIT TO THE ENCAMPMENT, 
 
 encampments of all kinds find their way to this spot 
 in the mountains. At the time to which this story 
 refers, the militia of the state had pitched its tents just 
 outside of the forest, on a plain which nature and man 
 had cleared of trees many years before. 
 
 I^ate one evening, during this encampment, a man 
 came to one of the principal streets in the city of iron 
 vigor. He wrote his name on the hotel register. The 
 clerk of the hotel opened his eyes wide when he read, 
 " Peter Gray, L. A., Cal." It was not often that he 
 could see names upon that register from places as far 
 away as California. " You have had a long journey, 
 Mr. Gray," said the clerk. " Have you recently come 
 from that city ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, almost directly, I have made stops of a few 
 days in pretty towns, like yours, along the road." 
 
 That was all that was said to the stranger that 
 night. He was assigned his room, and immediately 
 retired. The next morning he was up bright and 
 early. He asked the clerk why he saw so many sol 
 diers, and was told, what he already knew that 
 there was an encampment of the state's militia in the 
 park. The stranger asked the question because he 
 wished to find out all he could with regard to the 
 encampment. Then he asked the clerk about some of 
 the finest houses, and who owned them. He said he 
 belonged to a real estate agency which made it a busi 
 ness not only to sell lots in the city of I/. A., but also 
 to erect homes for purchasers. Having a large busi 
 ness they could compete with all firms in the cheap-
 
 AND CITY OF IRON VIGOR. 167 
 
 ness of building, material, etc. The company to 
 which he belonged, also colonized government lands, 
 and bought large ranches which they subdivided and 
 sold to settlers. They were doing great good to the 
 state as well as to poor people in search of homes. 
 He was out advertising the business. He made it a 
 point to visit the finest homes and take pictures of 
 them, and sometimes he was invited into the interior, 
 and actually had made sketches of the floor plans of 
 some of the finest homes of the land. Many of these 
 had already been utilized by their architect in the city 
 from which he came. Their architect never took a 
 plan as he, the agent, gave it to him; but he always 
 improved it. Many persons, who afterwards visited 
 his city, were surprised to find homes almost like their 
 own, all of which was the result of his work. 
 
 The clerk was interested. He gave him the names 
 and places of residence of some of the wealthiest of the 
 citizens, in whose possessions the strength of the iron- 
 mountain was making itself most manifest. The 
 stranger was careful to note just how long the encamp 
 ment would last. He said he intended to visit it 
 before he left for the west. 
 
 That day our friend called at some of the places 
 designated by the clerk. He was well dressed, gener 
 ally rang the front door-bell when he saw a home that 
 specially impressed him, and politely told the person 
 who came to the door that he was about to take a pic 
 ture of the house. Sometimes he made only a pencil 
 sketch. Sometimes he told the persons whose houses
 
 i68 " PETER GRAY'S " VISIT TO THE ENCAMPMENT, 
 
 he sketched very much of what he told the hotel- 
 clerk. Sometimes he pointed out the chances for 
 making money, by buying some of the stock which his 
 firm would soon place on the market. He explained 
 that thus far they had not done it because it had all 
 been taken by private subscriptions. He had posi 
 tively none for sale. He showed some of the pictures 
 he carried with him, of houses which had already been 
 erected by the firm. In this way he begat confidence 
 in the people. This man wished none of their money, 
 he simply wished to see their fine homes, that was all. 
 Often they would throw their entire house open for 
 his inspection without his asking the favor. Some 
 times when he was specially anxious to know the 
 interior he asked in a quiet way to see some of the 
 rooms, or if he thought this would not do, he would 
 attain his object by flattery. " A house with as pretty 
 proportions as yours, no doubt is planned just as care 
 fully on the interior. I trust the pretty external plan 
 is not marred by the interior arrangement. Did you 
 build the house ? I would infer that a person of good 
 taste built it." In this way he had little trouble in 
 gaining access to any home he wished to enter. ' ' He 
 had been told of their home," he would explain, "by 
 
 the clerk at the hotel where he was stopping. ' ' 
 
 The fact that he was stopping at hotel gave him 
 
 a standing with those whom he addressed, although 
 he was a stranger. It was simply another illustration 
 of what has been said before, concerning the obeisance 
 which this age is rendering the golden calf.
 
 AND CITY OF IRON VIGOR. 169 
 
 By the afternoon following the day upon which the 
 stranger had arrived in the city, he had all the 
 sketches he wished. The business upon which he 
 had recently entered was comparatively new to him; 
 but he did not think that he could utilize more than 
 one of the plans he had made; at the outside, two 
 would be all he could manage. It was necessary, 
 however, that if anything should occur in a home, that 
 he would be able to disarm suspicion by having visited 
 a number of homes in which positively nothing 
 occurred that could be at all traced to his art. 
 
 When he came to the hotel that evening he entered 
 freely into conversation with the clerk on the merits 
 of the different homes. He found out how many ser 
 vants their owners kept, when he did not already 
 know it. He also knew, after his conversation with 
 the clerk, the homes in which there were grown sons. 
 He learned their habits, and what not ? He explained 
 that it always interested him to know how people in 
 different places lived. There was such a diversity in 
 the manner of life in this great land of ours. It was 
 no doubt owing to its every variety of climate, soil, 
 and produces. 
 
 The next morning our friend took the train to the 
 encampment. He had settled his bill and told the 
 clerk that it was not at all likely that he would return 
 to the city in the evening. He had given the place 
 about all the time he could afford. So that was all 
 that the clerk ever saw of ' ' Peter Gray. ' ' 
 
 On his way to the soldiers' encampment^ the
 
 170 " PETER GRAY'S " VISIT TO THE ENCAMPMENT, 
 
 stranger, who had registered as ' ' Peter Gray ' ' at the 
 
 hotel in the city already described, was busy 
 
 debating whether, during his stay at the encampment, 
 it was best for him to be Peter Gray or Gray Peter, 
 or some person else. Something unpleasant might 
 occur in camp, which would make it necessary to 
 revisit the little city in the valley. (The city in the 
 valley was in the same county as the park to which 
 our stranger was even then going. The county jail 
 was there. Peter Gray knew this; for this reason he 
 was debating whether it was best for him to be 
 " Peter Gray " on his arrival at the park.) 
 
 On his arrival at the park he at once made his way 
 to the encampment. Before he left the city he had 
 gone to a wholesale liquor store in the place and had 
 given the proprietor a little bottle of California wine 
 and had handed him a card therewith, showing him 
 where he could get more of the wine direct, without a 
 "middle man," and consequently cheaper. In turn 
 he had purchased a quart bottle of good old rye 
 whiskey. He had added a little concoction from a vial 
 he carried in his pocket. On his arrival at camp he 
 soon got in among the boys. He became thoroughly 
 acquainted with them in a surprisingly short time. 
 They had each of them gotten a little pull out of his 
 bottle to cool themselves after the morning drill, which 
 had just closed before our friend arrived. He inter 
 ested them with some of his exploits, all of which 
 showed him brave and not overly boastful. They in a 
 short time believed that he was just what he repre-
 
 AND CITY OF IRON VIGOR. IJl 
 
 sented himself to be, a United States detective, after 
 some soldiers of the regular army who had deserted, 
 and who, he had good reasons for supposing, were at 
 the encampment. "I just tell you how it is, boys," he 
 said, " when a man has been a soldier once, he can 
 scarcely keep away from camp life. In my long ex 
 perience as a detective, I have always succeeded best 
 by frequenting camps." 
 
 He showed them some innocent tricks with cards, 
 which, to some of his newly made friends, were 
 entirely new. They had gotten to betting, and had 
 lost in every instance. From cards he went to some 
 thing else, ostensibly to amuse them and to cause the 
 hours of camp-life to lose their ennui. He had not 
 asked anyone to bet. They had done so nevertheless. 
 Some of them had even borrowed money from less haz 
 ardous companions, and had of course lost it. Finally 
 he said, " Oh, boys, I must go." He had gotten up 
 and gone before any of them had time to realize that 
 they were in the hands of a sharper. He repeated 
 this experiment at three or four different places in that 
 encampment of ten thousand soldiers. He had met 
 with no reverses, and all went ' ' merry as a marriage 
 bell." 
 
 After he became as well acquainted as he dared 
 in camp, he went down into the grove. He tried to 
 get acquainted with some of the farmers and town- 
 people who had turned out to see the citizen soldiery; 
 but these people he found distant. His quart bottle 
 was empty and he had thrown it away. Per-
 
 172 " PETER GRAY'S " VISIT TO THE ENCAMPMENT. 
 
 haps if he still had had some of its contents, 
 it might have helped him in his work. When 
 the last train pulled out of the station at the grove, 
 the stranger, who had made himself so sociable in 
 the camp, and who had gained not a few friends in 
 the town that showed the strength of iron in every 
 fiber of its make up, was on board. As the train rolled 
 away he had gone to the toilet room and quietly 
 counted his money. He found that he had exactly 
 $79.56 cents. He felt that he had had a " good day." 
 " All that will come out of it," he added, " cannot be 
 told as yet. I certainly ought to be able to realize 
 something on these drawings. ' ' 
 
 When he returned to his seat he busied himself look 
 ing over the drawings of the interior of some of the 
 houses, the negatives of whose photographs he had in 
 his kodak. He had all of his plans carefully num 
 bered, with the names of the owners, the street where 
 they were located, and everything of interest " in his 
 work." 
 
 When the train that bore him from the grove 
 stopped at the junction, the stranger took a train on 
 the other road bound for Philadelphia. From thence 
 he was going to New York, where we shall meet him 
 again.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A CURE FOR LEPROSY. 
 
 " Fame, we may understand, is no sure test of merit, but 
 only a probability of such : it is an accident, not a property of 
 man. ' ' Carlyle. 
 
 The pilgrim to the town of Bethlehem, if he goes 
 from Jerusalem to the latter place, as nearly every one 
 does, has been impressed with the sight of the large 
 stone building which stands a little to the right of the 
 road which leads to Bethlehem. This large stone 
 building is the Leper Hospital, which was founded by 
 the Moravians some years ago. It has been manned 
 by Moravian nurses, and its running expenses pro 
 vided for by that denomination. For years the super 
 intendent of that institution has given the poor leper 
 who has been willing to submit to the regulations of 
 the institution, a hearty welcome. Its large, airy halls, 
 its clean, white walls, its good, pure waters, and above 
 all, the kind care of the nurses make this building a 
 haven of refuge to the creature afflidled by this dread 
 ful disease. The conditions which the trustees have 
 found it necessary to impose are simple, few, and abso 
 lutely necessary for the highest good of the highest 
 number. The patient who enters the walls of the 
 hospital is not allowed to return to his home again. 
 
 173
 
 174 A CURE FOR LEPROSY. 
 
 If he does he will not be readmitted. This is done 
 'for the simple reason that the nurses are glad when 
 they have once cleansed these filthy people. They do 
 not care to repeat the process oftener than they abso 
 lutely must. This condition is so easy that one is 
 surprised that anybody afflicted with leprosy should 
 consider it too much to comply with the demand. 
 
 Another condition is that all the inmates, when well 
 enough, attend religious worship in the neat little 
 chapel which is fitted up on the first floor of the hos 
 pital. The Mohammedans, who compose most of the 
 lepers, are very bigoted, and consider the necessity of 
 attending Christian worship a severe burden. 
 
 The lepers in the hospital and outside of it are in 
 every stage of the disease; and of course the duty of 
 attending to their wounds is not a very agreeable one. 
 When once they are in the hospital and thoroughly 
 purified from the filth which their unclean habits have 
 brought upon them, the disease, though never cured, 
 is mitigated in the severity of its painfulness and 
 diminished in the rapidity with which it hurries its 
 victims to the grave. The rapidity with which death 
 usually comes, seems to us to be the only relief of the 
 one afflicted, who is at all conscious of the awful- 
 ness of his condition. In short, the sight of a num 
 ber of lepers huddled together near a city gate, 
 as is the case near the gate on the West side of the 
 walls of Jerusalem, known as the Joppa Gate, or along 
 a public highway, as is the case with the road which 
 leads along the northern side of Jerusalem and from
 
 A CURE FOR LEPROSY. 175 
 
 thence across the Kedron and along the Garden of 
 Gethsemane, is one never to be forgotten. 
 
 Octavia Newman had a sweet Christian friend in the 
 aforesaid hospital, a number of months already prior 
 to the time we met the camping party in the Sierras. 
 The two had kept up their correspondence, and 
 Octavia had learned not a little with regard to the 
 self-denying work of her friend in that far-away and 
 historic land. Her friend had been actuated by but 
 one impulse when she went to the Leper Hospital. 
 That impulse was to do the unfortunate creatures 
 good, and study the nature of the disease. She in her 
 enthusiam had said to her friend Octavia, ' ' Why cannot 
 some one find out a cure to heal this most loathsome 
 of all diseases, and why in the Providence of God can 
 I not be that person ? If I do not succeed in discover 
 ing a remedy, I will succeed in allaying the pain of 
 those patients who come under my care. Leprosy is 
 not contagious. In all the years that Europeans have 
 worked among them not many have become diseased. 
 Of all the Moravians who lived among them , bound 
 up their wounds, washed their garments, and minis 
 tered to all their wants, none of them have taken the 
 malady." This sweet-hearted girl had in her last letter 
 told Octavia that one of the nurses for other reasons 
 than those incident to her work was about to return to 
 Europe. She would perhaps never return. Why 
 could not Octavia come and take her place ? She had 
 found the work on the whole just about as agreeable 
 as hospital work generally was. The gratitude of
 
 176 A CURE FOR I.EPROSY. 
 
 those whom she was instrumental in relieving of their 
 sufferings, though it was but for a time, made up for 
 the lack of wages. Then, too, the fact that she was 
 permitted to reside so near the Holy City which has 
 been the centre from which the most glorious civiliza 
 tion of which the world has ever known, eminated; 
 that she was actually permitted to walk where the Son 
 of God had walked, were privileges which compensated 
 her for all the self-denial her work involved. " Do not 
 think, my dear Octavia," she added, "that we pine 
 for lack of society in Jerusalem. All the year some of 
 the most learned and wealthiest men and women dwell 
 in or near the city of Jerusalem. For three months al 
 most, the city is thronged with pilgrims, who have 
 literally come from the uttermost parts of the earth. 
 Many of these are men and women of culture, who 
 deem a visit to the hospital a privilege, and who al 
 ways leave their cards. I have in the short time I am 
 out here made friends with some of the best and most 
 refined people I have ever met anywhere. Then too, 
 the climate is delightful. Since I received your letter 
 written in the very shadows of the Sierras, written in 
 February, when the streams in the east are frozen and 
 the winds howl and sting, I notice that you have 
 learned to appreciate a winter not quite so rigorous as 
 the two we spent on Blackwell's Island together. I 
 could appreciate all you said about the snow-capped 
 mountains in the distance whilst you were writing with 
 the perfume of the richest flowers scenting the air
 
 A CURE FOR LEPROSY. 177 
 
 around you. All this is so like our own experience 
 here, that you would highly appreciate the change. 
 
 " Then, too, you must remember that the dells of 
 Sonora never produced love-songs as sweet as those of 
 the vale of Solomon. The breezes of California have 
 never played with the dark locks of Heaven's inspired 
 prophets. Say what you will, Jerusalem is already 
 dear to me; dear because of its history; dear because of 
 its promises for the future; dear because I am here en 
 gaged in the very work which the Master himself did 
 when on earth aye, when on these very hill-sides, and in 
 these very vales. Come to me, Octavia. If you still thirst 
 for fame, here is ample opportunity to gain a deathless 
 reputation. Should you discover a remedy infallible 
 and sure for this awful disease, your r.ame will go 
 down to posterity, and children's children will call you 
 blessed. Since I am face to face with all the hideous- 
 ness of thib disease, the more I feel that God has 
 ordained that the nineteenth century, which has done 
 so much to lift the burden of sorrow from the shoulders 
 of humanity, will also permit one of her sons or 
 daughters to discover a cure, yes, a cure, my Odlavia, 
 for this most loathsome disease. ' ' 
 
 In this strain the girl went on until Octavia finally 
 came to the last line. Then she dropped the letter 
 into her lap, and said to herself, "Well, the adlual 
 experience has not cooled her zeal. She seems all on 
 fire with her mission. What care I for the nonsense 
 she writes about the ' Holy City ' and ' the footsteps 
 of the Son of God.' I would go in a minute, if I
 
 178 A CURE FOR LEPROSY. 
 
 knew that I could be that ' daughter of the nineteenth 
 century ' who will discover a cure for ' the most 
 loathsome of diseases.' ' Miss Octavia Newman, 
 M. D., discovered a remedy for the actual cure of that 
 disease which has hitherto baffled the highest skill of 
 medical science.' Assure me of that, my little friend, 
 and I am off for Jerusalem by the next steamer. I 
 wish no higher glory than that." 
 
 Then she asked herself about her fortune. The cup 
 of happiness from which she had so eagerly slaked her 
 thirst for the last few weeks since she had received 
 the letter of Mr. Baer, would, she replied to herself, 
 be bitter dregs beside the glory, the fame, that would 
 be sure to become the lot of any person who would 
 discover a cure for leprosy, consumption, or any of the 
 incurable diseases which now hurry off their victims 
 from the stage of action. But how about Mr. Sharp 
 himself? Would he be honest enough to be entrusted 
 with her wealth ? Would he send her faithfully the 
 income from her investments ? How would it do to 
 establish a hospital with her fortune on the plains of 
 Bethlehem, instead of in New York ? It took her only 
 a moment to decide that that was all stuff and non 
 sense for her. Where would her wealthy patients come 
 from, to pay her for her staff of physicians, which she 
 would employ wherever she would establish a hospi 
 tal ? Could she not take Mr. Sharp along ? If any 
 where a free and independent woman needed a hus 
 band to take care of her, it would be among the wild 
 Arabs of the desert, as she called the people dwelling
 
 A CURE FOR IvEPROSY. 179 
 
 round about Jerusalem. Mr. Sharp could find enough 
 to do in his profession in Jerusalem. He no doubt 
 knew the laws of the Turkish empire as well as he 
 knew the laws of Nebraska. Perhaps he could buy a 
 tradl of land near the Holy City, as her friend called 
 Jerusalem, and lay it out in building lots, and boom 
 the old town. It had a splendid climate, and good 
 fruits could no doubt be raised there as well as any 
 where. The same posters which he had used to sell 
 Los Angeles propert} 7 would also do to sell the lots at 
 Jerusalem. Those posters made climate one of the 
 strong incentives for buying. They really sold climate 
 in LOS Angeles, Sharp had told her, and threw the 
 land in to clinch the bargain. She did not know that 
 all her plans would work, but she would consider them 
 and discuss them with Mr. Sharp. Should she tell the 
 Dives what she thought of doing ? Would they be 
 able to enter into her lofty thoughts and sublime 
 aspirations ? She would try them as soon as she had 
 time to discuss the matter thoroughly. 
 
 In the midst of her plans she was called to dinner. 
 The three had hardly been seated before Octavia 
 began, " I have had such a delightful letter this 
 morning." She said, "You remember the friend I 
 told you of who has gone to Jerusalem ? " (The girls 
 remembered her. ) ' ' Well, this friend tells me that 
 there will soon be a vacancy in the hospital. She says 
 a skillful nurse will be required, and that I would just 
 be the person. She talks about the splendid possibil 
 ities of the country and the historical associations ' '
 
 180 A CURE FOR LEPROSY. 
 
 "And the dirty, greasy Arabs, and the muezzin 
 sounded from the minaret, and the robbers, and the 
 lepers," interrupted Jennie. 
 
 "You please allow me to say that she assures me 
 that those people, though they have not had the same 
 advantages you and I have had, Jennie, have better 
 manners than some people in New York." 
 
 "Jennie Dives, for instance," said Susan Dives. 
 " It serves you right, sister, you ought to let people 
 finish before you give your comments." Then, turn 
 ing to Octavia, " And what else did she say ? " 
 
 " Oh, she spoke of the climate, the society " 
 
 " The society! " again interrupted Jennie. 
 
 " Yes, the society," said Octavia, " for you must 
 know that the people are not all ignorant, just as in 
 this country the people are not all refined and polite, 
 even where we would most expect to find them such." 
 Octavia always did hate this Jennie Dives' sarcasm and 
 contradictions. She had once told her that if she had 
 known for whom she was spending her strength and 
 losing her rest, she would have let her die. Of course 
 Jennie had taken this retort from the nurse as a good- 
 humored joke, even though she was not quite sure but 
 that the nurse meant it. 
 
 Then Octavia told her scheme as far as she had 
 thought it over, more to get the opinion of the elder 
 sister than to boast of what she hoped to do. If she 
 really had made up her mind she would not have said 
 a word to the girls until the last moment. She had as
 
 A CURE FOR LEPROSY. l8l 
 
 yet not told them about the estate which had been 
 willed her. 
 
 When she had finished, Jennie Dives looked at her 
 sister, and shutting the eye opposite to Octavia, said, 
 " That is a scheme worthy of the gods! Won't you 
 take me along? I might be able to make an impres 
 sion on an Arab sheik. I would make a nice queen of 
 the desert. By and by I would travel with Barnum 
 and be his gipsy fortune-teller, and my husband would 
 lead the parade. ' ' 
 
 Neither Susan nor Octavia paid any attention to 
 this harangue. Susan said, "Your friend went to 
 Palestine from a sense of duty, and from what you 
 have told me now, and on former occasions, I believe 
 her to be a devoted Christian. You would go for 
 fame. Even then, if you were sure that you could dis 
 cover a cure for leprosy, you would deserve commend 
 ation; but if you failed, as all heretofore have failed, 
 how would you bear your disappointment ? ' ' 
 
 Ah, if she should fail. Odlavia had not thought 
 about that. She said: " I usually make up my mind 
 not to fail when I undertake a thing. ' ' 
 
 Octavia was right in that. She generally did not 
 fail when she once made up her mind to succeed. 
 That was the one redeeming faculty in her make-up. 
 Thus far it had kept her from falling into the hands of 
 her folly, which has already been made so prominent 
 in this narrative. It remains to be seen whether this 
 faculty will be able to hold the field and gain the day 
 for which her ambition is trying to prepare her. Will
 
 182 A CURE FOR LEPROSY. 
 
 not this only strong point, too, succumb to the enemy 
 and fly when all will depend upon it ? 
 
 Odlavia said no more about her scheme just then, 
 for she had not even considered it in earnest. She 
 had only looked upon it as a possibility. As the girls 
 were going from the table Odlavia was called for. A 
 woman, very much excited, had called for the nurse 
 to attend her child lying dangerously ill with scarlet 
 fever. In a few moments she was ready, having left 
 her address for any who might call, with the elder of 
 the Dives. Octavia, when asked by Jennie whether 
 she was not afraid to nurse a case of scarletena, 
 replied, " I am afraid of nothing." We have already 
 seen that she was not afraid where fear was most neces 
 sary, and a real coward where it required no moral 
 heroism to be courageous.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 SOME OF SHARP'S PLANS. 
 
 Do evil deeds thus quickly come to end ? 
 O, that the vain remorse which must chastise 
 Crimes done, had but as loud a voice to warn 
 As its keen sting is mortal to avenge. Shelley. 
 
 About one month after Mr. Sharp had been ap 
 pointed her attorney by Miss Octavia, he called again 
 at the home of the Dives. Octavia had not returned 
 from the sick-room to which she had been summoned 
 the day she was discussing her plans with regard to 
 the feasibility of becoming a nurse in the I/eper Hos 
 pital at Jerusalem. We should remark that Mr. 
 Sharp had called upon her once in the meantime, but 
 had not found her at home. He had then promptly 
 written to her, telling her that he had written to Mr. 
 Bear at Omaha, and that he had perfected his plans 
 for transferring her inheritance to her. 
 
 When Mr. Sharp found that Miss Odlavia was not 
 in, he inquired whether he could see the cook. The 
 chamber-maid, who was also the waiter at the table, 
 and who went to the door whenever one of the Dives 
 girls did not go themselves, went to the servant's 
 room back of the kitchen, and quietly knocking at the 
 door, the cook opened it. When he saw the girl. a 
 frown swept over his face, which was as quickly 
 changed into a smile when Mr. Sharp's card was 
 
 183
 
 184 SOME OF SHARP'S PLANS. 
 
 handed him. He at once told the girl to bring him to 
 the door which led into his room directly from the 
 outside, the girl did not bring Mr. Sharp, but in a 
 very dignified manner directed him where he could 
 find the door leading to the cook's apartment. Sharp 
 received His directions with a smiling face, not because 
 he was amused at the dignity the girl assumed, but 
 because he wished to see the cook in his den, where 
 there would be none to molest or to make them afraid. 
 He wished to have a long chat with the cook. 
 
 The Dives did not know that the cook and Sharp 
 had been acquainted prior to the journey to the 
 Sierras. Such, however, was the case. Mr. Sharp 
 had met the cook for the first time in the L,. A. 
 jail. When Sharp practiced law he made it a point 
 " to help the unfortunate;" he would go to prison and 
 to judgment with the accused, not, however, for the 
 sake of the accused near so much as for what was ' ' in 
 it" for him. 
 
 The cook had been in the toils charged with the 
 crime of having entered a house when the owner was 
 not at home, and taking therefrom a number of " use 
 ful and ornamental articles," as he confessed to Sharp 
 after he was acquitted. He had succeeded in proving 
 an alabi, by means of some of his friends, whose oath 
 was about as good as their credit. By the same per 
 sons he had proven that the watch and ring belonging 
 to the persons whose house had been robbed, had been 
 purchased by him from a man who was more than sus 
 pected, because he had been hanging around the
 
 SOME OF SHARP'S PI^ANS. 185 
 
 premises for a number of days before the robbery oc 
 curred. This person could not be found after the rob 
 bery. Mr. Sharp had visited the cook and had 
 planned his defense after he had heard his statement. 
 He would not have succeeded in having him acquitted 
 had it not been that he claimed to have bought a 
 ticket at the Santa Fe depot for a certain place in 
 company with the ladies who had sworn that they 
 were, on the night of the robbery, in an adjoining 
 town with people who confirmed their evidence, be 
 cause they were paid to do it, and were no better than 
 they. The ticket agent thought that he had sold the 
 cook a ticket, or at least a man who looked very much 
 like him. With the agent it had been a case of mis 
 taken identity, with the others a deliberate lie. Sharp 
 had boasted to the fat cook that no body else in all the 
 city would have been able to save him from going to 
 penitentiary. We have thought it important to dwell 
 on the manner of the formation of the acquaintance 
 which the two men had. 
 
 The cook had come out of his room on the evening 
 of Sharp's visit and had welcomed him heartily. To 
 gether the two entered, still holding each other by the 
 hand. When inside of the room and the door closed, 
 the cook said to the attorney: " I have not seen you 
 for ja long time. Why did you not come to see me 
 when you called at the house the other time you were 
 here, and that girl that you are after was not' at 
 home? I could have entertained you in her ab 
 sence."
 
 1 86 SOME OF SHARP'S PLANS. 
 
 Sharp replied that he had once thought of calling on 
 him to see whether he could loan him some money; 
 but he thought that it would be no use. ' ' To tell 
 you the truth I was hard up just then. I had only 
 two and one-half dollars to my name in cash that 
 night. I have had better times since then, and now I 
 am flush again." He told the cook how he had played 
 with ten dollars until he had lost five, and was afraid 
 to risk the other five, how he had found "fifty dollars 
 in the hall of that same place in which he had lost his 
 five. 
 
 " I guess you found it ? " said the cook half ques- 
 tioningly. 
 
 " Yes, I found it near a fellow on the sofa outside 
 of the crowd. He was very tired and sleepy; because 
 he had worked hard, as I myself had seen, so I did 
 not disturb him to ask him whether it was really his 
 or whether he cared that I had it." 
 
 ' ' Where have you been since then ? You certainly 
 have not gone to the coast in this time and back 
 again, have you?" inquired the cook. 
 
 " No, I did not go to the coast, nor is it probable 
 that I ever will go again. My property is about all 
 gone. I have had the worst luck for the last half year 
 I have ever heard of any one having; everything has 
 gone against me. I have some paper yet, but I would 
 give that for half of its face value. It does not 
 amount to over two thousand dollars all told." 
 
 " Easy comes, easy goes," said the cook. 
 
 " It does not come so easy now," replied the attor-
 
 SOME OF SHARP'S PI^ANS. 187 
 
 ney. " I have just taken a trip to Pennsylvania, 
 which, for short, quick work, promises to pay about 
 as well as anything. The fadl is, I have already 
 reaped from that little sowing expedition, and if I am 
 a judge, it has just begun to pay." 
 
 " Yes ? A little real estate scheme ? " 
 
 " Rather personal property, I think," replied Sharp. 
 
 The cook was nonplused. He knew that Sharp was 
 a gambler, a libertine, and would scarely scruple to do 
 anything mean and unlawful that promised him an 
 income, but he did not degrade him to the level 
 upon which he himself had stood when Sharp 
 found him and helped him out of his trouble. The 
 very horror at his own situation just then was still in 
 his mind, and because he had felt how a criminal feels 
 when at last Nemesis is on his heels, he had made up 
 his mind that he would never again do anything for 
 which he could be apprehended. Could it be that the 
 man who had once defended him against the law had 
 now sunk to the level of the criminal ? After these 
 thoughts had gone through his head, he again said, 
 "Yes?" 
 
 Sharp paid no attention to this assent which was 
 really an interrogation on the part of the cook. He 
 new fixed his snake-eyes fully upon the cook and 
 whilst the other was being charmed by the glare, he 
 asked him, " Have you met any of the boys since you 
 are in the city ? " Then Sharp smiled one of his dog- 
 smiles. His thin lips stretched until he showed a row
 
 i88 SOME OF SHARP'S PI.ANS. 
 
 of white, grinning teeth. The cook did not under 
 stand his question, so he said, "The boys ? " 
 
 " Yes. The folks who helped you out of the scrape 
 l n the West by getting the girls to say that you were 
 with them when you really were going through the 
 house on Street." 
 
 "GreatG are they here? Then I am lost;" 
 
 and a visible tremor stole through the frame of the 
 man whose eyes were still staring into the eyes of the 
 serpent whose charm he could not resist. 
 
 " You are lost? I should rather say you are found. 
 Man, they are engaged in the best business I ever saw 
 fellows of your stripe engaged in." "Of my stripe? 
 
 Yes I am still a thief, and a ! Oh horrors! Why 
 
 can I not be what I once was ? How is it that where- 
 ever I go, there someone who knows something of my 
 evil deeds must find me ? What business are they in 
 now, pray? They had better watch. There is no 
 desert here in which to hide. What new evil can they 
 be perpetrating ? ' ' 
 
 " You speak like a saint" was Sharp's sneering 
 reply, "you have turned, have you ? I have always 
 heard, that when the devil gets old he becomes a monk. 
 You wait until you are not so goody good as I find you 
 to-night. Perhaps I will take you to see them. I 
 wanted to talk business to you." 
 
 The cook thought a while before he made a reply. 
 Could he do anything to withstand the evil impulses 
 which for more than ten years had been upon him? 
 Here in this quiet home of the pure girls he had found
 
 SOME OF SHARP'S PLANS. 189 
 
 rest from everything but his own conscience. He had 
 hoped that by and by this accuser which seemed more 
 vehement than his enemies, would give him rest. 
 Was there really no use for him to try to build a new 
 life out of the shattered remains of the old ? Sharp 
 watched him as this battle went on in his soul. A 
 smile of satisfaction puckered his lips out of the dog 
 gish grin they had worn, when he saw a look of sullen 
 despair settle upon the features of the poor fellow 
 before him. When he noticed this, he went on: "I 
 had a little job right in your old line. It is out of the 
 city. You can take a leave of absence of two days, 
 and be home in your place without the shadow of a 
 suspicion resting upon you. Who would think of any 
 body in that business behind the neat red walls of 
 this house? Why it looks like a regular convent. If 
 you do not wish to enter the business, your friends 
 will. But do not become too saintly, or you will lose 
 your place anyhow. ' ' 
 
 (Had only the poor cook defied him as Sharp sat and 
 once more riveted his snake eyes upon him. The 
 cook alas! had gone far from the path of virtue. A 
 cry similar to the one the thief upon the cross made, 
 would have helped him, rescued him, but this he did 
 not make.) He finally said, " L,et us hear your busi 
 ness, and if it is not too mean for a white man to un 
 dertake, why I am your man." 
 
 Thereupon the attorney pulled out a little roll of 
 papers. He took two from the roll and returned the 
 remainder to his pocket. Then, still holding the two,
 
 190 SOME OF SHARP'S PLANS. 
 
 he reached into his other pocket and drew out a little 
 bunch of photographs. "You did not know that I 
 entered a new sphere architecture and mechanical 
 drawing" he said, as he laid the pictures and the 
 papers on the little stand before the cook. 
 
 First he took the photographs and holding them in 
 front of the cook he said, " There, what do you think 
 of that for the work of an amateur ? ' ' The pictures 
 were good, it is true. One represented a stone house 
 surrounded by a beautiful yard. The house was ele 
 vated above the street. Everything about the place 
 wore an air of elegance. The other was also the pic 
 ture of a house built of stone. It was larger than the 
 former. It stood on a level with the street and had 
 large porches on the two sides which fronted on the 
 streets. Both houses were on corners." 
 
 ' ' These two homes are only four squares from each 
 
 other, in the town of about two-hundred miles 
 
 from this city. I was in both of them. I saw enough 
 silver- ware in them to load a two-horse dray. I met 
 the daughter of the codger that lives in this one, point 
 ing to the house standing on a level with the street. 
 She had a thousand dollars worth of diamonds on her 
 hand." 
 
 " Why did you not bring them with you, chuckled 
 the cook?" 
 
 Sharp paid no attention to the remark. He went on, 
 " Here is the plan of the rooms of this same house. 
 Here are the doors. This is the library. There is a 
 small safe in the room standing here (he pointed
 
 SOME OF SHARP'S PI,ANS. 191 
 
 where he had made the I,etter S) ; but it would not 
 pay you to fool any time on the bit of a rat's nest. The 
 man is a lumber merchant and takes his money to 
 bank late every evening. The other house is the one 
 you had better try first. It will be the easier. There 
 is only one man in the house here. The other has 
 several. They are bothersome in your business, are 
 they not? " 
 
 The cook replied by asking whether he (Sharp) 
 would like to risk his life for an uncertainty. What 
 assurance had he that after taking the long journey 
 there would be any outcome, with perhaps the excep 
 tion of the loss of blood, and two or three years in 
 in some quiet out of the way place where there is no 
 amusement and nothing but "work! work!" and 
 curses for the pay ? ' ' Why did you not try it when 
 you were there? It would have saved you the rail 
 road fare to go a second time, and no one would have 
 suspected you." 
 
 Sharp felt the justice of the sarcasm and made no 
 reply; but took up the papers as if examining them. 
 He really felt that he was a coward and had the soul 
 of a goose in everything but innocence, though he 
 tried to impress the poor tool before him with his 
 bravery, wit and cunning. He found that this man 
 whom he considered an easy dope had really done as 
 his mother-in-law had done some years before, whilst 
 he was masking in the skin of a lion she had discov 
 ered the bray of the ass. Without saying anything 
 more he took out the other potographs and putting
 
 192 SOME OF SHARP'S PI,ANS. 
 
 these two with them, he put all of them into his 
 pocket. He did the same with the papers. Then he 
 turned his eyes on the cook once more. He gave him 
 a steady, snaky look which finally convinced him that 
 as a serpent he would better flee from the presence of 
 a man who though vile as he, was more cunning. At 
 last he said " You will not go ? " 
 
 " Not for an uncertainty. By to-morrow evening I 
 can find one-thousand places that promise more than 
 either of those, and I need not go ten miles. Yes, I 
 need not go outside of this house to find at least one." 
 
 An idea struck Sharp as this last sentence of the 
 cook left his dry, hot mouth. "In this house!" 
 What a grand possibility ! What all it might mean to 
 the man who was smart enough! He said nothing in 
 reference to what he thought; but again putting on 
 his snaky look, he said to the cook, " Will you go for 
 fifty dollars ? There is no uncertainty in fifty dollars? 
 If you promise me to do your best to make a good job 
 of the one, and if time permits will try the other also, 
 I will give you fifty dollars. I will take the plunder, 
 and see that I make money out of it. What do you 
 say ? Will you do it ? Here is the money (pulling 
 out the remains of tire $79.56 he had "made " in that 
 very neighborhood, he counted out fifty dollars.) I 
 mean business." 
 
 The cook looked at him a little, then said, " Who 
 will help? One man cannot do it." 
 
 " I will furnish you a man. Do not worry. That
 
 SOME OF SHARP'S PLANS. 193 
 
 will be all right. Will you go? If you don't, there 
 are some who will." 
 
 " Will you go with me? " 
 
 There was the old sarcasm he had heard from those 
 lips before. Certainly this fellow whom he had once 
 saved from the penitentiary did not take his attorney 
 to be a house-breaker, a sneak-thief, perhaps a mur 
 derer. "Yet what else are you, Sharp?" a voice asked 
 him. It spoke out of the depth of his depraved na 
 ture. It startled him. He heard it as he used to hear 
 the gentle reproving voice of his now sainted mother. 
 " What else are you, Sharp?" the voice persisted. 
 Yes, "his false pretexts and varnished colors were 
 failing." He began to see that he was on the edge of 
 the last precipice. He realized that he had already 
 fallen; but like some Alpine climber who knows 
 that the rope which held him to his companions has 
 broken and the slip he made was really a fall which 
 landed him at the last precipice that separates him 
 from the last judgment, makes one more effort to save 
 himself from the final plunge and fails in that effort; 
 so Sharp realized that he had fallen, fallen far, and that 
 this voice in his soul was admonishing him against the 
 last fatal plunge. 
 
 He gathered his hat and coat into his arms and said, 
 ' ' So you will not undertake it without me ? ' ' and 
 opened the dour of the little room, and was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 VERY SICK. 
 " Night brings out stars as sorrow shows us truth." Bailey. 
 
 The day the nurse left the Dives with the lady who 
 had the sick child, she went directly to the little suf 
 ferer's bedside and remained there until she had the 
 satisfaction of seeing it convalescent. The excite 
 ment of the last few months had completely unnerved 
 the poor woman, so that she was not as strong as she 
 should have been when she went. We need not be 
 surprised, therefore, to learn that she herself began to 
 show the symptoms of the same disease. There are 
 some physicians who can never attend a virulent case 
 of scarlet fever without feeling some of the symptoms 
 of the disease. When Octavia first noticed that she 
 was getting a sore throat she took a good dose of bella 
 donna in the evening on retiring; but she had a rest 
 less night, in which she dreamt that Sharp had come 
 to her with his usual smile, expressive of satisfaction, 
 telling her that he had transferred the property to her, 
 and that everything was now satisfactorily adjusted. 
 When she had thanked him and asked to know his fee, 
 he had told her that she herself, given to him soul and 
 body, was the only fee he could accept. He had fixed 
 his old snaky-look upon her as he had said this. She 
 194
 
 VERY SICK. 195 
 
 had turned her eyes from him to avoid his piercing 
 gaze. When she looked again he had turned into a 
 deadly serpent coiled beside her on the bench upon 
 which she fancied they were sitting. The serpent's 
 head towered high above her own, with tongue ex 
 tended ready to strike her. She awoke with a shud 
 der. She found herself feverish, and her throat even 
 sorer than it had been in the evening. From that 
 time until morning she slept only little, restless cat 
 naps. 
 
 That day Octavia's fever grew worse. She realized 
 that her own case had passed beyond her control, and 
 at once had her friend telephone for the ambulance to 
 convey her to the hospital. The superintendent lost 
 no time in sending for Octavia. She was examined 
 and it was found that she had a virulent type of scar 
 let-fever. She was put into the ward for patients at 
 tacked with contagious diseases, and the best medical 
 skill was employed on the case. For nearly two weeks 
 she was delirious, and when at last the fever was 
 broken she was extremely weak. Even the physician 
 who attended her had his doubts whether she would 
 pull through. She herself seemed to realize her con 
 dition. She had thought of Sharp, and would have 
 summoned him, but she did not know his address. 
 She felt that if she must die, she would like to leave a 
 message for Sharp, and for her mother and her brother 
 I^ee. 
 
 " Affliction, like the iron-smith, shapes as it smites." 
 It affects the soul as well as the intellect, the affections
 
 196 VERY SICK. 
 
 as well as the body. Conscience had, during the first 
 hours of Octavia's consciousness, dethroned the false 
 pride which had so long reigned with an iron sceptre 
 in her soul, and had taken the throne of judgment. It 
 had convinced her judgment that it had erred in allow 
 ing her cowardly pride to rob her of some of the 
 noblest impulses of her soul. 
 
 Finally the physician said, " Odlavia, you are not 
 gaining a particle of strength. You are worrying 
 about something. Unless you dismiss it, you will die. 
 Where is the iron will you used to have when you 
 were a student ?" Odlavia realized that the dodlor 
 was right and at last she made up her mind that it 
 might be too late to send for her brother; she would 
 send for the Dives, who she felt were next to her 
 mother, the, best friends she had. 
 
 The day after the girls received the telegram they 
 left their home soon after breakfast, and in two hours 
 afterwards they arrived on the Island. The man in 
 the office told them that Odlavia had had a dangerous 
 type of fever, and that they usually forbade even the 
 friends of such persons to enter the room where the 
 sick were; but because Odlavia was well known, and 
 had made a special request through her physician and 
 he had granted it, they would be at liberty to enter. 
 The girls felt not the slightest fear, and were soon at 
 the bedside of the haughty Odlavia. They found her 
 very much changed. Her hair had been shaven and 
 her features were weazened and pinched. The girls
 
 VERY SICK. 197 
 
 would not have known her, had they not been directed 
 to her bedside. 
 
 She smiled a faint smile as the sisters approached, 
 and extended her thin, pale hand in friendly greeting. 
 The girls had taken it in turn, and warmly pressed it. 
 When at last they did try to speak, their voices be 
 trayed the pity they felt. Tears came to their eyes; 
 for when those who have helped us, whether prompted 
 by the kindness of their hearts or because it was in 
 the line of duty, are themselves in distress, their for 
 mer deeds will come vividly before us. 
 
 The nurse was the first to speak. She said: ' ' Girls, 
 I have been very sick. I am still very weak. There 
 is a possibility of my never becoming strong again. I 
 have a few things to say to you, if my strength will 
 allow. Write to my brother and mother, telling them 
 that I realize now that I did not treat them right. I 
 thought myself better than they, which I now see was 
 Oh, so wrong. I cannot tell you how much I feel the 
 sin I did. And Oh, girls, I have reason to 
 believe that your coachman is none other 
 than my brother, whom my mother mourns as dead. 
 There is a possibility that I am mistaken; but he re 
 sembles my brother, and when we were on the moun 
 tain I saw a knife in his possession, which I am almost 
 certain was once the property of my brother. I would 
 have told you this before; but I did not want you to 
 think that a coachman is my brother. Do not ask him 
 now, girls. If I get well again I will ask him, and if 
 he is what I suppose, I will prevail on him to accom-
 
 190 VERY SICK. 
 
 pany me to our old home in Pennsylvania. I know 
 my mother, dear old soul, would be so glad to see us. 
 Here Octavia herself wept like a child. The Doctor 
 coming through the ward just then, kindly reminded 
 her that she was very weak and that she would better 
 have her friends call upon her in a day or so, when he 
 had no doubt she would be stronger. 
 
 If anybody particularly noticed the Dives girls as 
 they sat in the cars on the elevated road that noon, as 
 they were on their way home, they would have recog 
 nized that they were anxious. They spoke in low but 
 earnest tones. They were asking themselves whether 
 it would not be best for them to summon the brother 
 and mother to the bedside of the girl they feared 
 would never rise from her couch again. Had they 
 known the real truth of the matter, they would have 
 known that a dispatch sent just then to the Niemans, 
 
 at , would have added an additional pang to 
 
 those which they were even then enduring. Affliction 
 had already laid his horny hand upon the very heart 
 strings of I^ee and his mother, and as we shall subse 
 quently see, was threatening to tear them, at the very 
 time that Odlavia was wishing that she might confess 
 her folly to them. 
 
 But how about Felix ? If he were really Octavia's 
 brother, why not let him know the dangerous condi 
 tion in which they had found his sister at the hospi 
 tal ? 
 
 That day when they arrived at home the first 
 question Felix asked, when he and they met, was
 
 VERY SICK. 199 
 
 concerning Miss Newman. The girls cast a sharp 
 glance, first at each other, then at him ; but his 
 face showed nothing beyond a kindly curiosity to 
 know how the sick woman was doing. He 
 had learned to realize that she felt that they two 
 were not made of kindred clay. She had always 
 treated him with such dignity and reserve. When she 
 did condescend to notice him at all, she did so with 
 the utmost show of her conscious superiority. 
 
 It occurred to them that evening, when Felix 
 had gone to his room, that they had never 
 asked Sharp what their coachman's name really 
 was. He had been introduced to them by the name of 
 Felix, and Felix they had called him ever since. 
 They thought that they would ask him the very next 
 morning what his full name was. They asked the 
 cook that evening whether he could tell them where 
 Mr. Sharp was. That worthy told them that he did 
 not know. He might have gone west again. The 
 last time he had seen him he had told the cook that it 
 was likely that he would go west as far as Omaha ere 
 long, as he had some business to attend to which con 
 cerned the folks in the house. He did not ask him 
 the particulars. This remark seemed very strange to 
 the girls; but inasmuch as the cook said he did not ask 
 Sharp the particulars, they did not say anything fur 
 ther just then. 
 
 To the surprise of everybody, Sharp came that very 
 evening. He did not ring the bell as he had done 
 the last time he had called, but walked along the side
 
 2OO VERY SICK. 
 
 of the house until he arrived at the door leading to 
 the cook's room. When the girls knew that he was 
 with the cook, they summoned him to the dining 
 room. They told him of Odlavia's condition, which 
 information surprised him very much. He said that 
 the young lady had made a favorable impression on 
 him, and that he would cheerfully serve her if he knew 
 of anything that he could do. He said, that he felt 
 sure that the people at the hospital would not allow 
 anyone to see her, if she had scarlet fever. Susan 
 Dives told him that they had been to see her that very 
 day. Then Sharp said, he supposed Octavia would 
 not like if any of her gentlemen friends would call on 
 her. The girls, who had purposely withheld Octavia's 
 request in order that they might draw him out, now 
 told him that quite the contrary was the truth. She 
 had sent a special request to see him next day. Sharp 
 scarcely knew what to say in reply to this information. 
 He left the girls under the impression that he would 
 go the very next morning.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AFFLICTIONS. 
 
 " Men die, but sorrow never dies; 
 The crowding years divide in vain, 
 And the wide world is knit with ties 
 Of common brotherhood in pain." Susan Coolige. 
 
 One evening Dr. Nieman was called to see a child 
 near his home, supposed to be suffering with a severe 
 cold, but he found symptoms of scarlet fever. The 
 doctor made his first call of the morning the next day 
 on the little fellow, and found that what he supposed 
 was the matter with him had now actually shown 
 itself, so that even his mother was right when she 
 said, " Doctor, the boy has scarlet fever." 
 
 For nine long days the doctor was a frequent visitor 
 at the home of his little charge, only to see that his 
 skill was unavailing. The tenth day he saw the ' ' brief 
 candle " extinguished, whose flame he had so carefully 
 nursed for so many days. The doctor mourned with 
 the bereaved parents as the little form was carried out 
 into the cemetery, to which we have so often referred 
 in several chapters of this story. 
 
 But L^ee's greatest sorrow was yet to come. The 
 same fell destroyer, who had so ruthlessly defied the 
 doctor's skill in the case of his neighbor, stealthily 
 crept into his own home and made it desolate. Per-
 
 202 AFFLICTIONS. 
 
 haps if he had not been so deeply interested in the life 
 of others, he would have earlier noticed the symptoms 
 of disease in his own child. Mr. and Mrs. Nieman 
 had two children. One of them was a girl, six years 
 of age, the other was a boy just half as old to the very 
 day, as his sister. What was queerer still, the birth 
 day of the two children occurred on the same day that 
 their mother's birthday came. Dodler Nieman used 
 to say, that whilst there were five in his family, 
 including grand-mother, there were only three birth 
 days for them all. 
 
 The younger Mrs. Nieman first noticed the symp 
 toms of disease in their little girl. She called the doc 
 tor's attention to the child. He promptly took the 
 most diligent care to thwart the disease; but the child 
 became steadily worse. Then a physician from the 
 city was summoned, but he said he could not recom 
 mend one thing to be done that had not already been 
 done; perhaps the child's good constitution would save 
 it. The very next day after his visit the little sufferer 
 was released. The ' ' sweet new blossom of human 
 ity," which had so recently fallen from " God's own 
 home to flower on the earth," was early nipped by the 
 cruel frost, and now lay cold and stiff amidst the white 
 autumn flowers, which had been gathered by loving 
 hands to adorn the little bier of the dead child. As 
 she lay there amid the white flowers, she looked like 
 a fresh handiwork of her Creator, and not as having 
 already known human suffering. All of the hearts in 
 that family circle were deeply stricken. The blow
 
 AFFLICTIONS. 203 
 
 had fallen on all alike. It is true that no heart loves 
 as a mother's heart; but it is doubtful whether Mrs. 
 Nieman's heart bled more freely than her husband's. 
 When the child was dead, the doctor at once sent a 
 dispatch to Odlavia, in care of the hospital, informing 
 her of the sad fa<5l, and when the funeral would take 
 place. Much to the sorrow of the three who com 
 posed the little family circle -at , they received a 
 
 reply the same day, that Octavia was herself indis 
 posed, and would in consequence not be at the funeral 
 of her niece. The physician had received the dis 
 patch, and because Octavia was just then hovering be 
 tween life and death, he did not let the news of her 
 niece's death go into her hands at all. He answered 
 the dispatch, and did not tell Octavia anything about 
 
 it for several months. Had the Niemans at 
 
 known this fact they would have borne their sorrow 
 with greater ease. There is nothing which brings 
 more bitterness in the hour of affliction than the 
 thought that those from whom we ought to receive 
 sympathy have sealed their hearts against us. 
 
 The body of the little girl was laid where, in the 
 spring time, the violets bloomed in their richest pro 
 fusion, and where the birds sang their sweetest the 
 live-long day. They laid her where she so often, in 
 company with the little boy who had preceded her 
 by only a few days, had gathered the wild strawberry 
 from among the graves in the early spring. 
 
 After the funeral I^ee took up the old burden of 
 other people's suffering. He could now enter into the
 
 204 AFFLICTIONS. 
 
 trials of others more fully, since death had come to his 
 home and defied his skill in the very midst of his own 
 family circle. We will not dwell upon the fact that 
 everybody in that home from which the little girl had 
 gone felt that death had made ' ' his darkness beauti 
 ful," because he had simply plucked a flower from 
 the shores of time and set it to bloom forever in a 
 fairer clime. 
 
 We must not for a moment think that this great 
 scourge of childhood, scarlet fever, was satisfied with 
 the victims he selected that winter from among the 
 young. Not only did he take the child from the 
 mother's arms, but he in more than one instance took 
 the mother also, as if he thought that the guardian 
 angels of the little ones needed the help of those 
 mothers in that better world. Mrs. Nieman was one 
 of the first in the neighborhood upon whose vitals the 
 same disease which took her little one fastened his 
 fangs. Perhaps it was because the mother wished to 
 follow her little girl rather than stay with her husband 
 and little son, that the disease held out against the 
 combined medical skill of her husband and his friends 
 whom he called to his aid. Whatever they might do, 
 it seemed to the doctor from the beginning that his 
 wife was doomed. She had fought the symptoms of 
 the disease for more than a month after her little 
 daughter had left them, more because the doctor 
 insisted that she should, than because she dreaded the 
 result. When finally the doctor realized that she 
 could withstand the unequal contest no longer, the
 
 AFFLICTIONS. 205 
 
 battle was soon over. Mrs. Nieman died as quietly as 
 her daughter had died before her. The last words she 
 spoke were those concerning the future of her little 
 son. " If God leaves him with you, Lee, bring him 
 up as your mother brought you up. So long as your 
 mother remains with you, our little Frank will have a 
 mother. When she comes to me and our Lizzie, you 
 must be a mother and a father both." 
 
 Death is always cruel when he enters a family circle. 
 He is scarcely ever satisfied with one victim; but like 
 the tiger of the jungle which, when it has taken one 
 kid from the fold, comes again and again in quick 
 succession, so death will come twice, perhaps thrice, 
 or until but one or two of the family are left. 
 
 There are two graves in the little cemetery back of 
 the Nieman home that are visited more frequently 
 than any others. The mother and her daughter sleep 
 side by side. All the long summer day the bees come 
 and go among the roses that grow above those graves. 
 Fit emblems are those roses on the graves there, of the 
 sweetness of the life that still lingers in the hearts and 
 minds of the dear ones that Mrs. Nieman left. Hers 
 was one of those quiet lives which, though little 
 known outside of a narrow circle, fills all that circle 
 with its blessed influences. Though least has been 
 said of it in this account, it is by no means the least of 
 those lives here portrayed. 
 
 When Lee's wife died he sent no dispatch convey 
 ing the sad news to Odlavia. He said to his mother: 
 " She will not think of us. When we lived in peace,
 
 206 AFFLICTIONS. 
 
 and the cup of our joy was full, we tried to have her 
 share that joy. Now that deep and heavy floods of 
 sorrow have swallowed us up, we will not stretch 
 appealing hands to her. God means that it should be 
 so." 
 
 All this time Odtavia was still confined to the hos 
 pital. She had begun to grow stronger; but the way 
 between her and perfect health was long and full of 
 hard climbs for one so weak as she to make. The 
 Dives girls visited her frequently, and brought with 
 them many little tokens of their regard for her. They 
 assured her again and again that they had written to 
 her friends. They could not understand why they 
 did not hear. Octavia said, " I have been so forgetful 
 of them. They have made so many advances toward 
 me, and have tried so long to have our interests one 
 and our hearts knit together, that they have concluded 
 that this mellowness in my cold nature is owing to my 
 illness. They think it will pass away with coming 
 vigor. It may be so. I hope it will not." 
 
 The hair began to grow on Octavia's head; but it 
 was no longer the shower of gold which in her earlier 
 years had hovered around her otherwise plain face. 
 It curled as it came out of her shaven skull, as if in 
 bitter mockery of the custom she had had of taking a 
 hot iron and twisting it out of its natural shape into 
 writhing little ringlets on her head. These little 
 curls, as they came hugging tight her scalp, were soft 
 as down and white as snow. They were the first her 
 alds of the burden of the years that Odlavia now began
 
 AFFLICTIONS. 207 
 
 to feel were, slowly but surely, rolling upon her. 
 Odlavia was one of those girls who have no birthdays 
 after their twentieth year is passed. She had always 
 been a "little past twenty " to her friends who did 
 not know her as well as her mother; but now, since 
 her sickness, it seemed that all her accumulated birth 
 days had rolled away at one and the same time and 
 had left her weary and old all at once. There was but 
 one comfort that sustained her soul. It was that she 
 was no longer poor. What if she would not be able 
 to minister to others, one had ministered to her. She 
 then felt that she had not treated Peter True as he 
 had deserved. The man into whose care she had 
 given the collecting or rather transferring of her 
 estate, had written her but once whilst she was in the 
 hospital. It was when the Dives had told him that 
 O<5lavia wished to see him. He had told her that be 
 cause of her situation it would be very difficult to gain 
 access to her ward; and that he was very busy just 
 then. He would by the time she became convalescent 
 be ready to hand her the deeds to her property. Hop 
 ing to hear favorably and frequently through her 
 friends, he remained her servant. It did seem to her 
 that he was not a very faithful servant, and she re 
 solved that she would live without him, if she lived at 
 all.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 "THE BUSINESS." 
 
 " You do the deeds." Shakespeare. 
 
 One evening about four weeks after our stranger, 
 Mr. Gray, had registered at the hotel in the town of 
 iron vigor, a man and woman and boy about fifteen 
 years of age stepped off the evening train from the 
 city of Philadelphia, at the station in the suburbs of 
 the city already referred to. From this station to the 
 centre of the town it is said to be one mile and a half. 
 There is a street-railway to the station and beyond it, 
 to the next town six miles distant. The people to 
 whom we refer took the street-railway from this sta 
 tion in the suburbs, where they left the cars which had 
 brought them from the Quaker City. On the corner 
 
 of Sixth and Streets they left the car and walked 
 
 north two blocks. Then the woman cautiously took a 
 picture from beneath the folds of her shawl, and stole 
 a hasty glance at it. She said in a low tone to the 
 man who accompanied her: " Yes, this is the place." 
 The two gave several scrutinizing looks at the prem 
 ises as they walked by. None of them made any 
 remarks. The boy as well as the rest seemed to know 
 all about the reasons that led them to this particular 
 street and house. The party walked up to the next 
 corner, then turned south and sauntered leisurely four 
 208
 
 ' ' THE BUSINESS. ' ' 209 
 
 blocks in that direction; then they turned eastward 
 and walked three blocks. The woman again reached 
 beneath the folds of her shawl and drew forth a pic 
 ture. She looked at it, then handed it to her husband; 
 because there was no one near them and there was no 
 occasion for caution. They agreed that both of the 
 pictures were true to their originals. 
 
 When they had satisfied themselves that they knew 
 their bearings, they again sauntered toward the centre 
 of the city. They were soon in a restaurant and had 
 ordered ham and eggs for three. After they had 
 eaten their supper, it was after nine o'clock. It was 
 too late to go to any place of amusement. The 
 evening was cold, for it was the beginning of January. 
 A gutter merchant was selling soaps for the removal 
 of grease from all kinds of woolen, cotton or silk goods, 
 and lotions for burns, chilblains and all other sores. 
 He had with him an accordion, and when interest 
 lagged, he played and sang. This he kept up until 
 ten o'clock. When he ceased, our visitors walked on. 
 The man said to the woman: " I do not see why he 
 gave us special instructions to visit the smaller house 
 first. I would prefer the other." 
 
 The woman replied: " You know Sharp has visited 
 the places in day-time. He has been in both houses 
 and knows what he is talking about. Do as he has 
 directed, then in case of failure he cannot blame you." 
 
 Our readers are convinced by this time that the 
 mysterious strangers, who had gotten off the cars in 
 the suburbs of the little city, were sent to finish the
 
 2io "THE BUSINESS." 
 
 business which ' ' Peter Gray ' ' had so auspiciously 
 begun several weeks before. He had gone to 
 his lodging the night he had been to see the 
 cook, and had succeeded in quieting his con 
 science without much more ado. In fact of late 
 his conscience did not speak to him as loudly nor as 
 often as it did when he first entered upon a course of 
 wrong-doing. The truth of the matter was he had 
 killed his conscience, or if he had not put it to death, 
 it had become so weak and cowardly that the faults it 
 could no longer prevent in the man's life, it seldom 
 had sense of justice enough to accuse. 
 
 The very next day he went to see the friends who 
 had come to the city and to whom he referred 
 when he was speaking to the cook. They were 
 keeing a second-hand clothing store. He had suc 
 ceeded in persuading these people that the business 
 he outlined would pay, and in order to convince them 
 that he felt confident, he paid for the tickets to Phila 
 delphia and return, and told them that if after an 
 " honest effort " they did not succeed, he would reim 
 burse them. If they succeeded they were to give him 
 the one-half of the net proceeds. His bargain with 
 them and his sending them alone was not so much a 
 proof of the old saying that there is honor among 
 thieves, as it was that Sharp was a coward in every 
 sense of the word. So long as a mean trick did not 
 involve his personal .safety he was in the lead, a veri 
 table peer among those of his kind. 
 
 The people who were in his employ on this particu-
 
 " THE BUSINESS. " 211 
 
 lar evening had once lived an honest life. The woman 
 had kept a lodging house in her better days; but she 
 had fallen into such bad company and gone so low in 
 the scale of morality, that she had come to New York 
 with her only boy to escape all surveillance of her 
 friends. The man who accompanied her had known 
 her in the west and had followed her to the Metropolis. 
 There they were married, and were now "doing busi 
 ness " as one firm. They kept a small second-hand 
 clothing store to disarm suspicion. Their real inten 
 tion was to steal in whatever way they could. It had 
 become a pleasure to them to be dishonest. It was 
 easier now to be dishonest than to be honest. They 
 blamed their " hard luck," as they called their im 
 providence, their shiftlessness and their unwillingness 
 to work. All of the wrong-doers in these chapters 
 were once respectable. All of them had a compara 
 tively good education. They are a proof that educa 
 tion alone will not solve the moral question of a 
 people. Their wrong-doing is just as odious as that 
 of the more ignorant, and is even more culpable. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock when the trio again walked by 
 the house they had first visited. The street was 
 quiet save here and there was heard the footfall of 
 some belated man or youth hurrying to his home. 
 They themselves felt like breaking the monotony of 
 the silence by giving a little scream or singing at the 
 top of their voices. If they could have acted it would 
 have been different; but all they could do was to stand 
 in the shadow of the stable and watch the house, so as
 
 212 " THE BUSINESS. ' ' 
 
 to be sure that there were none of the inmates astir, or 
 any late comers who might be still awake, when they 
 " began their work." At last all they could think of 
 was arranged. The town-clock slowly and solemnly 
 struck twelve. It seemed to them that the clock had 
 consumed a whole half hour in tolling the twelve 
 strokes. At last it was done, and they thought it 
 time to begin. They approached the house. There 
 was no moon. There were a few stars; but the heavy 
 January sky shrouded the greater part of the heavens. 
 The night was admirably adapted " for their work." 
 They did not try to unlock any of the doors; for Sharp 
 had distinctly told them that every one of the outside 
 doors had a bar. To unlock them therefore was use 
 less, or to open them in any way without making a 
 great deal of noise, from the outside, was a fruitless 
 attempt. Each of the trio had felt shoes on. When 
 they arrived with noiseless tread at the foot of the 
 porch, the boy was helped to his father's shoulder. 
 From thence he could just reach the hole in the orna 
 ment at the top of the post which supported the porch 
 roof. Then, having grasped this ornamentation, he 
 threw his limbs around the post, and in a trice he 
 had reached the top of the roof and was walking noise- 1 
 lessly toward the window. It was down from the top 
 three or four inches. He pulled it down until the top 
 of the upper sash was even with the top of the lower . 
 He knew that the young lady of the house slept in 
 that room, if matters still existed as they did when 
 Sharp had taken the picture. He saw by the gas,
 
 "THE BUSINESS." 213 
 
 which was burning so low that it made semi-darkness 
 in the room, that she was in bed, and asleep. One 
 white arm, bare to the elbow, lay on top of the 
 cover. He saw that there were no rings on the hand. 
 He noticed that the cover over her bosom heaved 
 and fell regularly and gently. She was in a deep, 
 quiet sleep. But the rings, where were they? He 
 looked about and saw a jewel case on the dressing- 
 bureau. He picked it up. It was locked. He put it 
 under his arm. Just then the girl sighed deeply, and 
 turned in her sleep. That moment the young thief 
 had extinguished the gas and all was quiet. As he 
 stood in the darkness a nameless terror stole over him, 
 that caused his knees to smite together; but in a mo 
 ment he was himself again, and on his way to the 
 stairs, which he knew were located right outside of 
 the closed door before which he had stood looking at 
 the sleeping form of the young woman. He opened 
 the door. It creaked slightly. He swore an oath 
 which no one heard save He who said: "Thou shalt 
 not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain." In 
 another moment he was at the front door. He un 
 barred it noiselessly, and turned the key. The door 
 opened. He handed his mother the jewel case. No 
 one spoke a word. In a moment the boy and the man 
 disappeared. The woman for a moment staid outside. 
 The two went directly to the bed-chamber of the 
 owner of the house. It was as dark as night could 
 make it. Then the man opened his coat and it was 
 light in the room. They saw the husband-and wife in
 
 214 "THE BUSINESS. ' ' 
 
 bed, and asleep. The man buttoned his coat, and it 
 was dark as before. Then the elder robber stepped up 
 to the bed, reached under the man's pillow and drew 
 gently from beneath it a revolver and a pocket-book. 
 The man's watch had meanwhile been taken out of a 
 little case on the wall, upon the outside of which was 
 printed an owl and beneath it the words: " You sleep, 
 I'll watch." After the room had been cleared of all 
 the valuables they could lay their hands on, they went 
 into another room in which they heard some one snor 
 ing. When they were inside the man opened his coat 
 once more, and they saw two young ladies in bed. 
 One was wide awake, though she pretended to be 
 asleep. She had taken her diamond ring off her finger 
 and had slipped it into her mouth just as the two wor 
 thies entered. They did not know this. She shut 
 her eyes when the light fell upon her face, and stopped 
 breathing. The boy looked at the man. The man 
 nodded, and the boy moved beside her with his pistol 
 close to her face. He whispered, " Not a word from 
 you." By that time they were ready to go down 
 stairs. The girl had not moved. Great beads of per 
 spiration rolled down her cheeks; but her eyes were 
 closed. 
 
 The woman had stayed outside the door only until 
 she was sure the two were upstairs, then she went to 
 the dining room. She opened the folds ot her shawl, 
 and the room was light about her. She saw the silver 
 arranged on the chiffonier. She gathered what she 
 supposed was solid and was at the front door just in
 
 " THE BUSINESS. " 215 
 
 time to meet her worthy husband and son as they 
 came hurriedly from up-stairs. They went out without 
 a word and closed the door noiselessly. Then the boy 
 said: " The one girl is awake." 
 
 They went to the barn where they had left a 
 satchel, and where they agreed to meet some time be 
 fore morning, no matter what might happen. In a 
 moment the silver which the woman had stolen was 
 put into the satchel. It consisted of spoons, forks, 
 a butter-dish, a nut-dish, a handsome cake-dish, and 
 a gravy bowl. The watches, of which there were 
 three, two pretty gold hunting cases which had be 
 longed to the young ladies, a heavy gold hunting case 
 set in diamonds, some rings and the jewel case 
 which was still locked, together with a purse, the 
 woman took and adjusted about her loins beneath her 
 dress on little hooks, which hung there ready to fasten 
 plunder. Next the little dark-lanterns which the 
 mother and her husband carried beneath their outer 
 garments, and to which we have already referred, 
 were extinguished. All of this was done in less time 
 than it takes to talk about it. The party were ready 
 to start. The felt shoes they still kept on their feet. 
 They took a glance at the house. In the man's bed 
 chamber just then a bright light appeared. The house 
 was aroused! As the three worthies hurried away 
 they heard a voice call loudly, "Major! Major! Sick 
 'em Major! " The three knew that " Major " would 
 not sick them. They had given Major, in a quiet, 
 unostentatious manner, a piece of meat which they
 
 2l6 " THE BUSINESS. " 
 
 had prepared before they left the city of New York 
 as a special gift for any and all faithful watch-dogs 
 which might chance to interfere in " their business." 
 When they had first walked by the house the mastiff 
 of the place had given them a savage greeting. When 
 they were sure that no one saw them the woman had 
 fearlessly approached him, and in a coaxing way held 
 out the meat, which he refused to take from her hand; 
 when she finally dropped it on the cement pavement, 
 the temptation was too much. He swallowed it, and 
 in ten minutes he was a dead dog. He slept in the 
 stable. The horse had already been attended to by 
 the same man who was now calling, " Major! Major!" 
 therefore the dog was not missed. The three had 
 seen the dog eat the meat, and they now laughed a 
 quiet, fiendish laugh, the first audible sound they had 
 made since they had come to the porch just fifteen 
 minutes before. 
 
 "We will now go to the other house," said the 
 man, whom the success which had attended them in 
 their first effort had made bold and eager. " It is not 
 yet one o'clock, and all the noise they will make" 
 (nodding to the house from which they had come,) 
 " will not interfere with the next job. What we now 
 have is not worth the trouble. Two hundred dollars 
 will buy the whole outfit. Make hay while the sun 
 shines, or rather before it begins to shine." 
 
 " Ought we not to be satisfied? " asked the woman. 
 
 The man with an oath replied, that he was incur 
 ring the risk, not she. He would do just as he
 
 " THE BUSINESS. " 217 
 
 pleased about it. Meanwhile they, had already gone 
 more than a square from the house which they had 
 just robbed. When they arrived at the second place, 
 they found all dark and quiet. They opened the gate. 
 Immediately a large dog sprang out from the porch 
 and barked one or two quick, short barks, then 
 growled savagely. They had seen no sign of this dog 
 early in the evening, though they had looked care 
 fully. The woman was ready for the emergency. 
 She again offered a piece of meat as she stepped in 
 advance of the other two. The dog growled all the 
 more savagely. She could see in the darkness that 
 his hair was bristling. She advanced a step, threw 
 down her meat, went back a few steps, still facing the 
 dog who she knew would spring at her if she would 
 turn. His eyes seemed like balls of fire! As she 
 retreated, the man advanced and thrust her back with 
 a muttered imprecation. He had not gone half the 
 distance between him and the dog before the latter 
 sprang sprang straight for his neck. The robber 
 was ready for him. He caught his great head between 
 his powerful hands, and at the same time that he 
 clutched the dog's head in his vice-like grip he kicked 
 him in the abdomen. The dog gave a dismal howl 
 and fell from the grip of the thief. That howl 
 had wakened one of the young men in the house, but 
 before he had gotten to the window to speak to 
 the dog the trio were outside of the gate, and when 
 the window opened they dropped as if shot, on the 
 sidewalk. For a moment they lay flat; then when
 
 2 18 " THE BUSINESS. ' ' 
 
 the yotmg man at the window ceased to speak to the 
 dog which had answered with a low whine, they heard 
 him address someone inside, and shut the window. 
 They did not wait to see whether his inspection had 
 satisfied him or not. They scrambled up from the 
 walk and were gone. Three squares away from the 
 house they paused. The man cursed his luck as he 
 emptied the purse he had taken from under the pillow 
 of the owner of the house where they had been ' 'suc 
 cessful." He handed some of the notes to the woman 
 and boy how much he did not know then put the 
 rest with the pocket-book into his own pocket. When 
 this was done they took their felt shoes from their 
 feet and put them into the satchel. Then they separ 
 ated. The boy and his mother went together; the 
 man went alone and in an opposite direction. Not a 
 word was spoken. We have had our introduction to 
 these characters at their true business. We must 
 leave them now. From their actions we are assured 
 that William Sharp, Esq. , made no mistake when he 
 delivered ' ' the business ' ' into their hands.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE PLUNDER DIVIDED. 
 
 " Mammon led them on 
 
 Mammon the least eredl spirit that fell 
 From heaven; for even in heaven his looks and thoughts 
 Were always downward bent, admiring more 
 The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, 
 Then aught divine or holy else enjoyed 
 In vision beatific." Milton. 
 
 On the third morning after the passer-by might 
 
 first have noticed that the little room fronting on 
 
 Street, New York City, was closed, the door again 
 stood open, and the woman who kept the place was in 
 the apartment. She and her son had gone westward, 
 after they parted from the man three squares away 
 from the place where they had thought of making their 
 second attempt at robbery, on the night of which we 
 have already spoken. They had struck the railroad 
 about a mile west of the little city, long before any 
 body was astir in the homes they had passed. They 
 knew just what they were doing. Sharp had drawn a 
 map of the street upon which the second house stood 
 in which he had hoped they might operate. They 
 were to go straight along this road until they got to 
 a railroad. They were then to turn to the right and 
 keep along this railroad until they came to another 
 intersecting this one. Then they were to pass along 
 this railroad until they came to the first station on the 
 
 219
 
 220 THE PLUNDER DIVIDED. 
 
 time table, a copy of which he had furnished them be 
 fore they left the city. 
 
 When they came to the station, a flag station near 
 a ware house, they washed themselves from a pump 
 close by, and then sat down in the station. They 
 soon fell asleep and with the satchel which contained 
 their booty, as a pillow and the bench as a bed, the 
 woman slept soundly. The boy lay on another bench 
 with his arm for a pillow. At six o'clock the first 
 train since their arrival awakened them, but that went 
 eastward and they, according to instructions, were to 
 go wes~. Half an hour afterwards the boy had flagged 
 the westbound train and the two worthies went on 
 board. In an hour after this they were in the capital 
 of the Keystone State. A good breakfast refreshed 
 them. They were decently dressed and attracted lit 
 tle attention. By evening of the same day, they were 
 where they had started from the morning of the day 
 previous. The silver was emptied into a box, and 
 ashes put on top. Then it was carried into the little 
 out-house back of the room in which the people had 
 their second-hand store. They had one room besides 
 in the rear of this one, but the ash-box was kept in 
 the place mentioned. 
 
 That same day Mr. Sharp came to see them. ' ' How 
 is business? " he asked, riveting his snake-eyes on the 
 woman and smiling one of the smiles which for all the 
 world resembled the one the dog had smiled at the 
 woman the night before, when he refused her meat. 
 The woman replied that business was fair; but that
 
 THE PLUNDER DIVIDED. 221 
 
 her husband had not yet returned, and she could say 
 nothing until he canie. She knew he would be dis 
 pleased if she did. Sharp knew it too. He did 
 not wish to lose the man's " influence " in the future 
 work upon which he had now entered. So he went 
 away, saying that he would call again. 
 
 It is now time that we turn our attention to the man 
 who had left his worthy wife and her son on the street, 
 to look out for themselves. We saw that they suc 
 ceeded in doing this. He was not as expeditious in 
 getting out of the town as they had been. He walked 
 through the principal street and looked for plunder in 
 the shop windows. He saw absolutely nothing ' ' that 
 made it worth while." He had transferred all the 
 notes out of the pocket-book into his little pocket 
 which he had glued to his arm pit. There no one 
 who did not know of its existence would suspect it. 
 The pocket-book itself he had thrown into a pool of 
 water which had accumulated in an abandoned cellar. 
 He knew that he was safe. No one would suspect 
 him. There was no evidence of guilt about him. 
 
 When morning dawned he was in the little town 
 where he and the rest had gotten on the street-car the 
 previous evening. When the car came along he step 
 ped on, determined to go back and learn more about 
 the town. He had a good breakfast in a restaurant; 
 not the same in which he had been the evening before 
 in company with his wife. He spent the day about 
 town, saw the sights and walked by the house that he 
 had explored the night before. Two policeman just
 
 222 THE PLUNDER DIVIDED. 
 
 then cmae out. They passed out of the gate and ap 
 proached him. A fear, groundless he felt, possessed 
 him. For a moment he could scarcely resist the im 
 pulse to turn and flee. He knew that of all things, 
 that was the most hazardous to do. They met, and 
 looked him sharply over as they slowly passed; but he 
 paid no attention to them. The police saw his sinister 
 expression, and knew that he was a stranger. After 
 they were past he heard them stop and when he 
 turned they were looking after him. He stopped like 
 wise, turned and walked toward them a few steps, at the 
 same time saying: " Gentlemen, do you wish to speak 
 to me ? " The officers looked at each other, and then 
 one of them said, " No." His coolness had saved him. 
 After he turned the corner he resolved that it would 
 not be safe for him to risk another night in town. A 
 square farther on he met a boy selling papers. He 
 bought one and read an accout of the robbery.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 ' ' Towered cities please us then 
 And the busy hum of men." Milton. 
 
 The day's life in a great city is divided in periods 
 which are well defined and distindl from each other. 
 The first period extends from midnight to an hour or 
 two before dawn. It is the period when all decent 
 people in their normal condition, are asleep. During 
 this period Felix never went out except on extraordi 
 nary occasions. From mid-night to dawn the streets 
 are not deserted. Here and there a policeman walks 
 with measured tread. The gaudily attired who once 
 were pure and had careful plans for life's work, 
 but who long since have fallen from their pure 
 estate, are now abroad to barter their souls and their 
 bodies to whomsoever they may be able. Yonder 
 comes the drunkard reeling along the street with just 
 sense enough left to avoid the policeman. He has 
 come out of the den across the street which, like the 
 mouth of hell, never closes. If you enter where he 
 came out you will find the air thick with the smoke 
 from vilest of pipes and worst of cigars. You will 
 smell there the odors so filthy, that they ought offer 
 an apology to the nose before they attempt to enter. 
 Men and women are there in every state of intoxica- 
 
 223 '
 
 224 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 tion. Faces are seen which reflect whole volumes of 
 brutality. 
 
 An hour before the dawn, the wheels begin to turn 
 on the streets, as the milk-man, the butcher, and 
 the baker get ready to supply the great throng of 
 hungry humanity. First comes the milk-man with 
 his mixture of milk and water. With the butcher 
 and the baker comes the odor of steaming breakfasts. 
 The day is begun. The clerk hastens to the shop or 
 store to take his place behind the counter for another 
 day. The streets that two hours ago were almost 
 deserted, begin to be filled with the tide of life. Two 
 streams flow on, the live-long day. One close to the 
 walls of houses, the other on the side nearest the curb. 
 As the day advances the complexion of the stream 
 materially changes. First it was composed of pale- 
 faced men and women, the clerks, and then the 
 mechanics. Now the shoppers and tradesmen from 
 the country and surrounding towns make up the great 
 part of the throng. They for the most part press 
 eagerly along the street. Later in the day come the 
 oglers and the shoppers who go with little purpose and 
 often with less money. When the sun fills all the 
 streets that cross its path with shadows, then the 
 stream of mechanics begins to surge homeward. 
 After them come the clerks. In the evening the 
 stream is more distinct, better defined, than in the 
 morning; because the clerk and the mechanic seldom 
 return homeward together. 
 
 When the stars are out, though their light is seldom
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 225 
 
 noticed in the streets of our modern cities, upon which 
 the brilliancy of electric lights converts night into 
 day, then begins the last period. With the blaze of the 
 electric light comes the pleasure seeker on his way to 
 the theatre, the lodge, and what not ? Then too is 
 heard the wierd music of the gutter musician, the sad 
 tones of whose instrument are often in perfect accord 
 with the sadness of the heart. The thin shawl or coat 
 closely drawn about the shivering form in winter, sel 
 dom ever is worn for any other reason than for the fact 
 that no warmer one can be procured. Men may sigh 
 to attract attention, and to make an impression on the 
 credulous, but they seldom expose their bodies to bit 
 ing cold for any other reason than that they have not 
 sufficient covering. 
 
 When the brilliancy of the electric light begins to 
 take the place of the sun, the noise and the roar of 
 the city has largely died away. The lumbering dray 
 that bore the merchandise from ship to store and car, 
 is emptied of its freight, and the weary horses quietly 
 feed in their stalls. Their drivers, often less weary 
 than they, spend half the night in carousing, and on 
 the coming day beat their horses, instead of them 
 selves, for their folly. 
 
 It was at this last period of the night that Felix 
 loved most to be upon the street. This is not the best 
 time to study character; but it is the best time to view 
 the giant buildings as they stand side by side, the em 
 bodiment of enterprise and commerce. The poet 
 Shirley long since has said, "All buildings are but
 
 226 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 monuments of death." They are rather the marks 
 of intense throbbing life. There was nothing that so 
 impressed our friend with the greatness of the Metrop 
 olis as the mighty buildings, which contained within 
 their walls more wealth than some of the greatest 
 nations possessed two or three hundred years ago. 
 
 The cook had told Felix one day when he was 
 speaking of the great surging crowd of humanity on 
 Broadway, that a man could create, any hour of the 
 day, a perfect jam by simply standing on the corner of 
 the street, and looking upward for a few moments. 
 Felix loved a little fun now and then. The more he 
 thought of the cook's remark, the queerer it seemed. 
 Finally he resolved to try it. One day when at leis 
 ure, he sauntered down Broadway. The cook's 
 remark occurred to him when he saw how people 
 elbowed each other in their hurry. Why not try the 
 experiment now ? But would not the people have 
 him arrested for a lunatic ? How would he be able to 
 rivet the attention of those who would stop, on the 
 space above him, or the building opposite him, suffi 
 ciently to escape their notice, or rather their wrath, 
 when once they realized that they were duped? 
 Whatever it might cost him, he felt resolved to try. 
 
 He had walked along meditating upon this scheme 
 until he arrived at the corner of a street intersecting 
 the one already mentioned. Suddenly he stopped 
 and gazed intently at an open window on the fifth 
 story of the house opposite him. With his eyes 
 riveted on one spot he was noticed in a moment. The
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 227 
 
 persons in greatest haste looked sidewise, and slack 
 ened their pace. Those not in so big a hurry, 
 stopped, and riveted their attention with him on the 
 opposite side of the street, and on the open win 
 dow. Some said, "What is it?" Others in their 
 eagerness crowded off the side- walk and stared. Per 
 sons at a distance saw them and hurried up to catch a 
 glimpse at whatever it was that attracted so much 
 attention. Felix was beginning to feel uncomfortable, 
 and wished he were out of the crowd. What added to 
 his unpleasantness was the fact that a policeman was 
 making his way from the opposite side of the street to 
 have a look. Felix knew that if the joke would be 
 fixed on him he would be arrested for creating a nui 
 sance. Just as the crowd was becoming impatient, 
 Felix, with his eyes still riveted on the open window, 
 was horrified to see a child suddenly rushing out of the 
 open window. The crowd gave a great cry of an 
 guish. The very intensity of Felix's thought as to 
 how he would get out of his unpleasant position had 
 prepared him for action. He sprang forward and 
 caught the little one as it struck him. He with the 
 child still clasped in his arms was knocked on the 
 ground by the force of the concussion. He had saved 
 a life, when he thought he was perpetrating a huge 
 joke. 
 
 The policeman was soon at his side and assisted him 
 in rising from the dirt, and guided him from between 
 the wagons to the opposite side. Everybody was 
 eager to know how it happened that this man should
 
 228 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 have known that a child would spring from a window 
 of an eight story building, and just when the event 
 would occur. The policeman, too, was anxious to 
 ascertain the particulars, and asked Felix to tarry. 
 Now that the strain was off his mind, and he was de 
 livered from the crowd whose wrath* he feared, the 
 man was happy. He willingly entered the building 
 with the policeman who now had taken charge of the 
 child. 
 
 The crowd surged to and fro in front of the big 
 house until not only the side-walk was jammed, but 
 the streets as well. The police, standing on the 
 window-sill of the first story, told the crowd that it 
 would be a long time before the particulars would be 
 known, and ordered the people to disperse. The peo 
 ple readily saw the reasonableness of the request, and 
 followed his advice. 
 
 Felix had realized that it was time to retrace his 
 steps, just before he undertook his experiment. The 
 Dives had told him in the morning when he asked for 
 his orders, as he did every morning when he took his 
 breakfast, that he would not be needed before noon. 
 It was a pleasant January day, and unless the weather 
 suddenly changed for the worse, the girls had decided 
 to drive out into the Park, and possibly make some 
 calls after a drive of an hour or so. 
 
 Promptly at twelve o'clock the cook was ready with 
 the luncheon. The Dives usually lunched at half- past 
 twelve; but they had given orders for an early lunch 
 eon that day. After they were through, the bell was
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 22CJ 
 
 rung for Felix. There was no response. The cook 
 waited a while, then at the suggestion of the elder of 
 the Dives he went to the stable, ascended the stairs, 
 and tried the door of Felix's room. It was locked. 
 When he came down he saw that the carriage had 
 been gotten ready; but the horses had evidently not 
 been fed, for they whinnied eagerly as the cook 
 passed. 
 
 He returned to the kitchen, and reported what he 
 had seen. It seemed very strange to the girls. They 
 had been anxiously waiting several days for this drive. 
 The weather had been so unfavorable all the week, 
 that they were eager to get out when at last the sun 
 shone and the wind ceased to blow. They felt not a 
 little disappointed when the clock struck one and 
 Felix had not appeared. They felt quite sure that 
 something had occurred to prevent his return.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 SHARP'S BAD DAY. 
 
 " Unnatural deeds 
 Do breed unnatural troubles: Infedled minds 
 
 To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. ' ' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Whilst Octavia was at the hospital, Sharp was having 
 a real good time. He had nothing particularly to do, 
 but think and make plans. He had gotten himself a 
 small office in the upper part of the city, and had put 
 out " his shingle. " In this office he slept and lived 
 when he was not out on the streets or with ' ' his 
 friends," as he saw fit to call some very respectable 
 and some very disreputable people. He had gotten 
 Odtavia's affidavit entitling and authorizing him to 
 receive her papers, before she became ill. This busi 
 ness of Odlavia's was the only business which had 
 come to him in his new office. He had plenty of time 
 for scheming, and he did not a little of that kind of 
 business. 
 
 About this time Sharp's funds were getting low. 
 He still had the watch set with diamonds, which had 
 been brought from the town of iron vigor. He re 
 solved to pawn or sell it. He had not heard anything 
 about the theft since it had been committed, and he 
 felt that it was safe to " get an advance on it, by put 
 ting it in soak." 
 230
 
 SHARP'S BAD DAY. 231 
 
 He went to the pawnbrokers and said to the clerk: 
 " Here is a good time piece which was left me for a 
 fee in helping a man out of a scrape." At the same 
 time he drew out a card with his California address 
 and handed it to the clerk." I have a watch, and I 
 do not care to take that with me to the ' Golden 
 State,' so I thought perhaps I could sell it. What 
 will you give me for it ? " The clerk looked at it with 
 a glass for some time. Then he took it to the propri 
 etor, and they two looked it over. Sharp became 
 anxious. It was a question with him whether he had 
 not better go without his watch. They might be see 
 ing something in the watch he had never seen, and be 
 knowing more about where he got it than he at first 
 thought. At last the clerk returned, and to his infin 
 ite relief, said they would give him one-hundred dol 
 lars for it. Sharp was glad to get that, but he tried 
 hard to secure more. The money was finally accepted 
 and he was gone. He called on his friends and 
 after some conversation asked them how the funds 
 from their last business were. They told him, that 
 whilst there was still some left, they were not by any 
 means ready to start into the Loan and Safe Deposit 
 business. Sharp said: " Well, how would you like to 
 begin operations in a nice, quiet part of the town ? I 
 think I know a place not ten miles from the spot where 
 we are now sitting, which will pay for the effort re 
 quired, about as well as anything outside of cleaning the 
 cobwebs out of a bank vault, and that you all know, is 
 a risky business."
 
 232 SHARP'S BAD DAY. 
 
 " We never tried that," replied the elder of the men. 
 
 " I do not think you would like it, if you were to 
 try it; but this is private, stridlly private, and unless 
 I am greatly mistaken, will be unattended by any ser 
 ious risks. If you think you are ready to go into it in 
 the course of a week or two, I will tell you the place." 
 
 " The cops in this town are all eyes," said the 
 younger of the men. 
 
 " Yes, the police are awake here, but you need not 
 tell them anything of your work. Leave the re 
 sults in some out house, or if necessary, bury 
 them for a while on the premises, and then take 
 them home by day. That is much safer anyway than 
 lugging the goods home at night, when they are of 
 considerable bulk, as these would necessarily be." 
 
 Sharp went on to tell to what the pile which he 
 wished them to put into some safe place, in his judg 
 ment, would in all probability amount. He said some 
 little charity might be necessary for the door-keeper; 
 but a little would satisfy him. He himself would not 
 wish much of the net proceeds. When he finished 
 he found them very eager to enter upon the ' ' little 
 business" at once; but he told them that he had not 
 mapped out the plans sufficiently. They must wait a 
 day or two. 
 
 It was after ten o'clock when Sharp quit the place 
 
 on W street on his way to the elevated road. He 
 
 had the one-hundred dollars in his vest pocket. In 
 addition to this he had the diamond stud , and his own 
 watch, which his wife had bought him with the money
 
 SHARP'S BAD DAY. 233 
 
 she had earned with her needle. She had given it a 
 Christmas gift to him the Christmas before he eloped 
 with her. We have a number of times already said 
 that Sharp was a coward, and we have proven it on 
 different occasions. We need therefore only remind 
 our readers, that Sharp was a coward, and although 
 himself a thief, he was afraid of thieves. 
 
 He was walking along briskly, for he was afraid, 
 and it was cold. When he got to the corner of Chris 
 topher and Bleeker streets a man stepped out of the 
 shadow of a door-step behind which he had been con 
 cealed, and rushing in front of him he leveled a revol 
 ver at him, and said, " Throw up your hands, and be 
 quick about it." 
 
 Sharp had had his hands in his pockets to keep 
 them warm; but his thin, tapering fingers and blood 
 less palms soon were stretched high above his head, 
 whilst his teeth began to chatter. The highway-man 
 realized that the victim before him was game, so he 
 took his revolver in his left hand and went through 
 Sharp's pockets with his right. First he took the 
 watch, the Christmas gift of poor Minnie. Her pale 
 face and beseeching eyes came before Sharp for an 
 instant as he stood there on the street with uplifted 
 hands. For a moment he saw that face; but it was 
 forgotten when the thief reached into Sharp's pocket 
 and hauled out the wad of bills, the proceeds of the 
 sale of the watch set in diamonds. Sharp groaned as 
 the man stuck them into his pocket. Then came the 
 stud, which also changed ownership. In spite of his
 
 234 SHARP'S BAD DAY. t 
 
 fear Sharp was getting angry. He swore a dreadful 
 oath which made the highway-man start. It was not 
 because he was unaccustomed to hear men swear, but 
 because there was a familiarity in the tone of voice 
 which the man recognized. Perhaps it was because 
 he recognized the voice, or because he felt that he had 
 all that was worth having, that caused him to 
 straighten himself and look at his vidlim. Sharp also 
 scrutinized the robber. He was a short, chunky fel 
 low. His fat face was surmounted with a big black 
 beard which Sharp could not tell from a natural growth, 
 which it was not. The fellow wore a cap fitting his 
 head closely. It came down over his ears and almost 
 to his eyes, so that one who would not have been 
 as badly scared as Sharp was, could have told the 
 color of the hair on the man's head. 
 
 After looking Sharp full into the face a moment, he 
 said: "Be gone, you knave." Stepping aside he 
 let Sharp pass on. " Don't look around,'" he called 
 after him, " or it will be your last look." 
 
 When Sharp did look around, which was as soon as 
 his fear permitted him, the thief was gone. Sharp 
 met a policeman about a square away from the spot 
 where he had been robbed, and in a loud and angry 
 tone of voice began berating the officer because he had 
 permitted a man to be robbed under his very nose. 
 The policeman tried to get the particulars; but Sharp 
 was almost hysterical in his conduct, and the officer 
 finally left him in disgust, resolved to try to do the
 
 SHARP'S BAD DAY. 235 
 
 best he could to find the thief. It is needless to add 
 that he did not find him. 
 
 When Sharp paid his car fare he found that he had 
 fifty- five cents less than he had had that forenoon. 
 Fifty*cents of this had gone for two much needed 
 meals. What should he do ? He thought of the ad 
 visability of borrowing from the cook, or he hesitated 
 to think the thought fully in his own soul perhaps 
 he could hold up some lady on the Avenue, for he 
 felt that he must go up that way in a day or two. 
 Sharp would have held up any man or woman 
 his cowardice would have permitted; but that sin he 
 never committed, simply because he was afraid to try. 
 
 That night Sharp crept to his room like a whipped 
 dog. He felt miserably ashamed of his condudt in the 
 hands of a thief, and then at the manner in which he 
 ranted at the policeman. He tried to sleep, but he 
 could not. Finally he had composed himself and was 
 about to doze away when he saw standing, as he im 
 agined, just outside the window toward which his bed 
 faced, the form of a woman. She had the face of 
 Minnie, the wife whom he had as yet not divorced. She 
 gazed upon him with a sad, solemn look. The lines 
 of care which had impressed themselves on his mem 
 ory the last time he had looked upon her, when he 
 was driven from her and her mother's presence, had 
 faded from her face, and instead of them one of inde 
 scribable peace had taken their place. Her golden curl* 
 were parted from her pure, white face and hung in 
 wavy lines upon the snowy white garment which en-
 
 236 SHARP'S BAD DAY. 
 
 tirely concealed her form. Yes, he was awake. He 
 was not dreaming. He saw the outlines of the win 
 dow behind her, through her, it seemed on the oppo 
 site side of the street. He shut his eyes to hide the 
 vision of beauty from his guilty soul. In a moment he 
 opened them again, and the form was still there. It 
 was Minnie! He could not be mistaken. Cold drops 
 of sweat oozed from the pores of his clammy skin and 
 stood in great beads on his face. His teeth again 
 chattered as they had done a few hours before when 
 he had seen that face on the street, not as distinctly, 
 as terribly real, as now. From the very first day he 
 had met her until he had tried to poison her and her 
 mother, and his own sweet baby, every scene of their 
 life came before him; and still the pretty, sweet, 
 though awfully solemn form stood there in mid-air 
 before his window. He felt the marrow in his bones 
 chill as one scene after another of his awful duplicity, 
 viciousness and guilt came before him. He could 
 stand it no longer. ' ' Great God ! " he fairly screamed, 
 as he jumped from his bed and rushed toward the win 
 dow. 
 
 When he became conscious he found himself lying 
 on the floor in front of the window. His limbs were 
 stiff with cold, and his fingers numb. The vision in 
 front of the window was gone. He crawled to the 
 table and with difficulty struck a match and lit his 
 lamp. In sheer desperation he lit a cigar and 
 smoked, sitting on the edge of his couch with his 
 'blankets wrapped about him. Before he lay down, 
 the cold gray dawn had crept into his room and 
 dimmed the light of his lamp.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 FROM JEST TO EARNEST. 
 
 ' ' There is a divinity which shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will." 
 
 Several of the evening papers that night contained a 
 notice of the events described in a former chap 
 ter. Our readers can best learn the particulars 
 by perusing one of the accounts which we have seen 
 fit to transcribe. It is as follows: 
 
 "A MODERN MIRACLE. 
 
 A CHILD SAVED FROM BEING DASHED TO PIECES : 
 A YOUNG MAN is KEPT GAZING ON AN OPEN 
 
 WINDOW IN THE FIFTH STORY OF THE 
 
 BLOCK, CORNER OF BROADWAY AND 
 
 STREET, UNTIL HE SEES LEAPING 
 THEREFROM THE FOUR- YEAR 
 OLD CHILD OF MR. ABRA 
 HAM, WHICH 
 
 He Saves from Instant Death by Catching It 
 In His Arms. 
 
 "This morning when Mr. Abraham went to his store 
 to attend to his daily tasks, his little four-year old boy, 
 Benny, who is a great favorite of the entire family, 
 and especially of his father, begged to be taken to the 
 store. The father finally consented with the under- 
 
 237
 
 238 FROM JEST TO EARNEST. 
 
 standing that the nurse should come before luncheon, 
 and take the little fellow home. The father, after 
 giving some directions to the shipping clerks, was 
 called to the fifth story of the building. The little 
 boy ran with him wherever he went. He had insisted 
 on taking his little dog, Jib, with him. This fact 
 nearly cost the child his life would have cost it, we 
 may add had not a higher Power intervened. 
 
 ' ' Whilst Mr. Abraham was busily engaged on the 
 fifth story, as already indicated, a young man was 
 standing on the corner opposite the wholesale house, 
 staring at the open window in the room of which the 
 child, the father, and several clerks were engaged. 
 The passers-by on the street below noticed the young 
 man standing as if riveted to the spot, staring at the 
 window. This strange circumstance attracted atten 
 tion. Every son and daughter of pur common mother, 
 Eve, has a vein of curiosity in their make up. This 
 vein of curiosity sometimes overspreads and entirely 
 paralyzes the other faculties of the soul. It seemed 
 to have done so in the case of most of the passers-by 
 at the corner of Broadway and Street this morn 
 ing. It was not long before a large crowd had gath 
 ered around the young man who stood gazing spell 
 bound at the open window mentioned. To all the 
 questions which the crowd asked of him and each 
 other the young man answered never a word. 
 
 "A policeman, who from a few rods away, on the 
 opposite side of the street, had first noticed the young 
 man looking up and down the street, as if in search of 
 something, and then saw him finally rivet his gaze on 
 the window mentioned, wondered what it all meant, 
 and kept his eye on the stranger, who wore a white, 
 broad-brimmed hat and black suit. Finally the 
 crowd became so large that it threatened to create a
 
 FROM JEST TO EARNEST. 239 
 
 jam. The carriage containing the nurse of the child 
 which was so miraculously preserved from death, had 
 just driven up to the store for its charge, when the 
 policeman, who was crossing the street, intent on dis 
 persing the crowd, and finding out the cause of the 
 queer conduct of the man who had first attracted his 
 attention, heard a loud cry from the crowd that was 
 staring upwards. At the same time the young 
 man rushed into the middle of the street, which 
 happened to be clear in front of him, and caught 
 the little boy, who flew straight into his arms, 
 as if that had been his objective point from the 
 start. The force with which the little one struck 
 the breast of the young man caused him to stag 
 ger backwards and trip and fall. By this time the 
 policeman was at his side. He helped him up out of 
 the dirt, and relieving him of his little charge, asked 
 him to accompany him into the building. 
 
 " When the father, five stories above, realized that 
 his child, in wildly chasing its dog about the room had 
 run toward the open window and had been unable 
 to change its course, had actually leaped into the 
 street forty-five or fifty feet below, he was with diffi 
 culty restrained from leaping after it. He could 
 scarcely believe that it had been caught by some one 
 below. It is needless to say, that the elevator went 
 too slowly for Mr. Abraham as it bore him down to his 
 little son, whom he found seated on a bale of goods, 
 with the policeman, the rescuer, and all the clerks and 
 book-keepers of that floor around him. What seemed 
 almost incredible to all was the fact that outside of a 
 little nervousness, the child was practically unhurt. 
 When the little fellow saw his father he, half crying 
 and half laughing, said, ' Papa, me and Jib flied out of
 
 240 FROM JEST TO EARNEST. 
 
 the window.' It is needless to add that the dog had 
 not ' flied.' 
 
 ' ' Mr. Abraham embraced his child as if it had come 
 back to him from death, as it virtually had done. Not 
 being overly strong himself, he fainted. For a time it 
 was thought that the father would sustain more injury 
 from his child's fall than the child itself; but he was 
 soon restored to consciousness without having exper 
 ienced any serious effects. 
 
 " The young man, who is the real hero of the occa 
 sion, when asked the cause of his strange conduct, in 
 standing for fully five minutes staring at the window, 
 could give no satisfactory explanation. It seemed to 
 all who had witnessed the strange proceedings, that 
 the whole was little short of a miracle. The young 
 man was evidently directed to the spot at the proper 
 time to save the child from being crushed by the 
 impetuosity of its own fall on the street below. 
 
 " Our reporter has been unable to learn much of 
 the instrument of this strange deliverance. He gave 
 his name as Felix. (We have not learned whether 
 this is his Christian or family name.) The young man 
 was in haste to get away. He said he had an engage 
 ment at twelve, and as it was then already one o'clock, 
 it was high time that he be gone. 
 
 "Soon after the young man had left, the father real 
 ized that he had not obtained his address. He hereby 
 earnestly requests that the young gentleman make 
 known his full name and address, inasmuch as he is 
 unwilling to lose sight of the rescuer of his child." 
 
 Felix lost no time in getting home and rehearsing 
 his story. When he had ended, Susie Dives asked: 
 " But, Felix, how came you to stand on the corner of 
 the street, and gaze at that particular window, and
 
 FROM JEST TO EARNEST. 241 
 
 how came a crowd to collect around you ? What was 
 the attraction ? I cannot understand why you should 
 stop and gaze with nothing more to look at than you 
 had; nor do I see why a crowd should imitate your 
 silly example. Explain yourself, if you please." 
 
 Felix blushed scarlet as he said: " Silly is the proper 
 word to use in the explanation of what I did." Then 
 looking at the cook, who had come into the parlor 
 where they all had gathered, when Jennie first an 
 nounced Felix's arrival, he told the ladies how the 
 cook had once told him that notwithstanding the 
 eagerness to go which everybody manifested on Broad 
 way, anybody could get a crowd around him in a few 
 moments by simply stopping and staring staring at 
 nothing. He said he had resolved to try the experi 
 ment. 
 
 The girls looked at each other a moment as if trying 
 to decide what to think of anything so silly; but as 
 the whole affair had terminated so fortunately, they 
 concluded to join in the hearty laugh which the cook 
 had begun at Felix's expense. The cook's face, when 
 he laughed, was in itself sufficient to provoke mirth. 
 If it is true, as Carlyle says, that "Laughter is the 
 cipher key wherewith we decipher the whole man," 
 then the cook, as he stood that day in the parlor of the 
 Dives, holding his fat sides, convulsed at the joke 
 which he himself had planned and Felix had so admira 
 bly perpetrated, in his laugh held out the key which 
 any student of character would have taken and un 
 locked therewith the soul of the man; but there was
 
 242 FROM JEST TO EARNEST. 
 
 no person there just then, bent on such a study. 
 When the cook laughed, his mouth, which, when his 
 face was sober was nearly entirely hidden by the great 
 bunch of fat that formed his chin, and by his fluffy 
 cheeks, came into prominence. His eyes, because of 
 the effort to distend his mouth, were then entirely con 
 cealed by the fat which pushed over them. At the 
 same time there came into his face the shadow of an 
 emotion that was hot born of mirth, but rather the 
 result of some hidden sorrow, some awful memory. 
 
 " But whose child did you catch from the jaws of 
 death?" asked Jennie. 
 
 Felix gave the man's name, when the girls at one 
 and the same time shouted: " Well, I declare! Mr. 
 Abraham's little Bennie! " Susie added: " Felix, 
 they are our neighbors. They are just the nicest peo 
 ple on the Avenue. We know them. The mother 
 and daughter sometimes call here. There are only 
 four of them, Benny, Louisa, and the father and 
 mother. I guess we won't continue to have you for 
 our coachman very long any more. Mr. Abraham 
 will surely give you a better position in his store. He 
 does a large wholesale business, and employs quite an 
 army of men. We will be sorry to lose you; but call 
 on us for a recommendation if you need one." 
 
 Just then the clock on the mantle struck three. " I 
 guess we must give up our drive to-day," said Jennie. 
 Felix insisted that the girls should not think* of it. 
 He had not had lunch, it was true; but he did not feel 
 at all hungry. He could easily wait until dinner at
 
 FROM JEST TO EARNEST. 243 
 
 six. With this he started for the stable, and exactly 
 ten minutes afterward by the clock, the coach stood in 
 front of the house. The girls were ready, and in a 
 moment more they were gone; but not to the park. 
 They paused in front of the home to which the little 
 boy and Jib had been brought an hour before, and 
 both of the girls had quit the carriage and gone to the 
 door of the pretty home before Felix had realized that 
 he was in front of the house of Mr. Abraham, whose 
 child he had been instrumental in saving from death. 
 
 The girls found everybody happy. The mother and 
 daughter were not a little surprised to learn that the 
 rescuer of their little Benny was in the employ of the 
 Dives. Susie told them, that Felix, whilst he was 
 acting as coachman, was well educated, had traveled 
 much in his time, and was not an Irishman, but a 
 Pennsylvania Dutchman, as he himself declared, 
 although he had not resided in that state for a long 
 time. Nothing would do, but the mother and daugh 
 ter must have an introduction to "the noble young 
 man," as they saw fit to call our friend. Felix with 
 not a little reluctance came down from his seat, fast 
 ened his horses, and was ushered into the parlor. He 
 answered all the questions modestly, but intelligently, 
 until he was asked the old embarrassing one, of how 
 he happened to be standing at the corner and watch 
 ing the fifth story window ? He had two women with 
 him to help him answer that question. When Susie 
 saw the blushes mantling on his cheeks, and caught 
 his eyes helplessly wandering to hers, in appealing
 
 244 FROM JEST TO EARNEST. 
 
 looks, as much as to say, "This is too bad," she at 
 once came to his rescue. She said- ' ' Felix scarcely 
 knows how he did come to stand there. It is all so 
 strange, is it not?" The ladies admitted that it was 
 strange, to say the least, and so you, kind reader, will 
 admit. 
 
 It was four o'clock when the little company left the 
 house with pressing invitations to call again, and to be 
 sure to have their " friend" come with them. They 
 made a few more calls on the Avenue^ then they re 
 turned to their own home.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 FELIX QUITS THE DIVES. 
 
 " There is an hour in each man's life appointed 
 To make his happiness, if then he seize it." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 After the call which Felix so unexpectedly made on 
 Mrs. Abraham and her daughter the day the girls 
 called to extend their congratulations at what seemed 
 to them an almost miraculous deliverance, a friend 
 ship seemed to spring up between them and the Abra 
 hams. Only a few days passed before Mrs. Abraham 
 and her daughter returned the call. Of course Felix 
 was a fruitful topic of conversation not only on this 
 occasion, but ever afterwards when the ladies met. 
 In fact there were not very many stupendous events in 
 the lives of the women, and when a great event did oc 
 cur they made the most of it. If they would have 
 had a family of children to look after, it would have 
 been different. Other people's children and cares did 
 not enter their lives very materially, so they had 
 plenty of time on their hands. To say that the Dives 
 did not think of anybody but themselves, would be 
 doing them a gross injustice. They were kind hearted 
 and all they lacked was some one to show them how 
 they might be more useful in the world than they 
 were. They did support with their means the chari- 
 
 245
 
 246 FEUX QUITS THE DIVES. 
 
 ties of the church of which they were members; but 
 they gave of their affluence, and did not feel that 
 they were doing much. To all invitations to attend 
 guilds and society meetings they had but one answer. 
 
 But to return to the subject of conversation with 
 these ladies whenever they met, for more than a 
 year after Felix had saved Benny from an early death, 
 the young man, as already said was a topic of conver 
 sation of which they never wearied. Where was his 
 home ? How came they to bring him with them to 
 the city ? These and similar questions they asked the 
 Dives again and again. Only ten days had passed 
 since Benny ' ' flied ' ' through the air, and the girls 
 had seen each other oftener than during ten years be 
 fore; but Mr. Abraham had not called as yet. He as 
 a usual thing thought well before he acted. Mrs. 
 Abraham asked him several times why he did not call 
 on Felix and engage him in his business. To be a 
 coachman was not the thing for so promising a young 
 man as he seemed. At last he made up his mind to 
 have an interview with the young man. Before eight 
 o'clock one morning, the door-bell at the Dives' home 
 rang. The girls were surprised to see when the card 
 was handed them, that their early caller was Mr. 
 Abraham. Holding the card up before Felix who was 
 sitting at the table eating an early break fast, because 
 he had some special duties that morning, Susie Dives 
 said to him, "Felix, that means you are going to 
 leave our employ." 
 
 When Susie came into the parlor Mr. Abraham rose
 
 FEUX QUITS THE DIVES. 247 
 
 and afteif bidding her good-morning in a most cordial 
 manner, he told her, that he had really not called to 
 see her. Felix was the person whom he wished to 
 see; but as he never did business in an underhanded 
 manner, he thought he would first make known his 
 errand to the girls. He had come with a view of call 
 ing the young man into his employ, as a means of ex 
 pressing his gratitude for what he had done for his 
 son, Benny. Miss Susie said, that however loath they 
 might be to see Felix quit their home they felt that he 
 was fitted for more responsible positions than that of 
 coachman, and that for his sake they would be glad 
 to have Mr. Abraham offer Felix the opportunity to 
 rise. When Mr. Abraham asked where he would be able 
 to find the young man, Susie told him that she would 
 call him into the parlor. 
 
 When Felix was ushered into the parlor, Mr. Abra 
 ham looked him over from head to foot carefully, al 
 most calculatingly. That was the habit which he had 
 practiced many years already when anybody came to 
 him for a job, and now that he went after some one to 
 give him a job he did not think of what he was doing. 
 He had returned Felix's greeting meanwhile. After 
 the inspection, he said to Felix: "Young man, you 
 know that I owe you a debt of gratitude, to say the 
 least, and since I am not a man to leave my debts un 
 paid longer that I can help, I came to see you this 
 morning. I know that I cannot pay you what I owe 
 you as I pay for a case of silk handkerchiefs; but I can 
 at least show you that I am grateful. What can you
 
 248 FEUX QUITS THE DIVES. 
 
 do besides driving horses and washing carriage wheels ? 
 I could give you that work in my employ, but if I can 
 give you nothing better, you might as well stay where 
 you are. I think that you will acknowledge that you 
 cannot get better masters than you now have." With 
 out waiting for a reply, he continued, " Do you know 
 anything about business ? You saw, no doubt, that I am 
 in the wholesale Gent's furnishing business ? lam. 
 about to lose my best book-keeper; but I guess you 
 don't know anything about that business. Do you ? " 
 Here Abraham stopped to get his breath, and to give 
 Felix a chance to reply. It really was the first time 
 that a reply would be of any weight to either Abraham 
 or Felix. Perhaps that was the reason that he had 
 not granted him the opportunity before. 
 
 Felix candidly replied that he had no practical 
 knowledge of book-keeping. He had a good, common 
 school education which he had gotten before he went 
 out into the world, and that he had supplemented this 
 by attending night-school in Chicago, and in Denver, 
 during the greater part of two winters. 
 
 Mr. Abraham replied: " Well, we will see what your 
 theoretical knowledge is worth. Come to my place of 
 business next Monday morning at eight. I will give 
 you the place which will then be vacant in my office. 
 If you suit you will get $100 per month, with the pos 
 sibility of rising in wages, if not in position. The men 
 who hold positions below you will perhaps not like 
 that an ' outsider ' comes into the place which might 
 have been filled by a promotion, but that is my busi-
 
 FEUX QUITS THE DIVES. 249 
 
 ness. ' ' When Mr. Abraham had said this, he repeated, 
 "On Monday at eight," took Felix's hand, shook it 
 warmly, and was gone. 
 
 When Felix came into the dining room, Susie 
 Dives said: " Felix, we are nearly consumed with 
 curiosity. What is it ? " 
 
 Felix frankly told the girl who, he felt, had an in 
 terest in him. 
 
 She replied: " We knew that he would offer you a 
 position; but we did not dream that it would be quite 
 so good as that." 
 
 Felix continued the coachman of the Dives until 
 Saturday evening. He had engaged a room in a pri 
 vate boarding house on the Avenue, a few squares 
 from the Dives. The family had failed in fortune, 
 and the husband had died. The widow and her son 
 were taking care of themselves. 
 
 When Monday morning came, Felix was up bright 
 and early. By eight o'clock he stood in front of the 
 office-door of Mr. Abraham, patiently waiting until the 
 book-keepers came and opened. The first man who 
 came, Felix asked whether Mr. Abraham had come. 
 " That gentleman," said the man spoken to, somewhat 
 condescendingly, "has not arrived yet. We gener 
 ally attend to the business here. What can I do for 
 you?" 
 
 " I will see Mr. Abraham, if you please," replied 
 Felix. 
 
 ' ' All right, my boy. He will probably send you to 
 me or to the fellow just coming there," (pointing to
 
 250 FEUX QUITS THE DIVES. 
 
 the other book-keeper who was just entering the door) 
 "or perhaps to one of the clerks," he added signifi 
 cantly. 
 
 Just then Abraham entered the establishment, and 
 walking up to Felix, he took him warmly by the 
 hand and said, " Glad to see you on time, young man. 
 Walk in, ' ' leading the way into the office. ' ' That 
 will be your place," he said, pointing to a stool at the 
 desk next to his own. Then he introduced Felix to 
 the two gentlemen who had preceded Abraham and 
 Felix into the office. " Mr. Slogan and Mr. Jones," 
 indicating with a look who was Mr. Jones and who 
 
 Slogan, "this is Felix , who takes the place of 
 
 Mr. Black, who left us on Saturday." 
 
 The two men acknowledged the introduction, then 
 made faces at each other, which grimaces Abraham 
 did not see, but Felix did. 
 
 Soon Felix was busy at work crediting drafts 
 which had come in abundance that morning, in pay 
 ment of goods. He asked no questions, but kept on 
 hunting the names of the customers and entering the 
 amounts to their credit, as if he had had those books 
 in his care for a score of years. Finally one of the 
 two men had occasion to go to Felix's desk. He 
 looked at the entry the latter was just making, and 
 then turning to the other he nodded his head very ap 
 provingly. Abraham saw it and smiled a smile of sat 
 isfaction which lit up his large, round, German face 
 like a full moon.
 
 FELIX QUITS THE DIVES. 251 
 
 Things went on very satisfactorily in the office. He 
 treated the men who had been in Abraham's employ 
 ment with respect, and they in turn could not help but 
 do the same; but the shipping clerk on the first floor, 
 who had confidently expected to go into Abraham's 
 office when a change would occur, was green with 
 envy. This man made up his mind that he would 
 play a little trick on the " cowboy," as he delighted 
 to call Felix. One morning before the book-keeper 
 came, he took a piece of shoe-maker's wax, large as a 
 hickory-nut, and flattened it out on the three-legged 
 stool on which Felix sat when at work. He knew 
 that in all probability Felix would pull his chair out 
 from under the desk to which he always shoved it 
 when he left his work, and never looking, would sit 
 down upon It. After a while the wax would get warm 
 and then it would stick him to his business close as 
 wax can. To his horror, when the book-keepers came 
 in next morning after he had fixed the wax, whilst 
 Felix was hanging up his ulster and the clerk was 
 already beginning to grin in anticipation of the fun 
 in store, Abraham himself pulled out the chair, and 
 fixing his eyes on the ledger on the desk, sat on the 
 stool in perfect composure. He leafed over the en 
 tries Felix had been making, admiring the penman 
 ship which seemed to improve with each day's 
 writing, as well it might, for Felix practiced assidu 
 ously each evening in his room. Finally shutting the 
 book approvingly, he said to Felix, at the same time 
 keeping his feet on the rung of the stool and attempting
 
 252 FEUX QUITS THE DIVES. 
 
 to rise, " Here, young man, is your place." But there 
 was the report of goods tearing, and when Abraham 
 finally got away from the chair there remained a piece 
 of the seat of his pantaloons, the size of two hands 
 spread to their utmost extent, on the stool, and Mr. 
 Abraham, reaching back to where that cloth had been, 
 felt the smooth texture of his silk underwear. To say 
 that he was mad, would be stating it mildly. In a 
 moment the truth flashed upon him, and then his 
 anger changed, and he too laughed with the three in 
 the office. He read the faces before him, and saw 
 that they were innocent. He looked through the 
 glass with which the office was enclosed and saw that 
 all the clerks on that floor were convulsed with laugh 
 ter. He knew that they were in the joke. The ship 
 ping clerk alone, with a face as red as a beet, was 
 walking toward the back part of the store. Then 
 turning to Felix, he said: "The wax was evidently 
 
 intended for you. Well, Mr. ," mentioning the 
 
 shipper's name, "will be relieved from the new 
 responsibility he has taken upon himself, in trying to 
 have people in this office stick to their business like 
 that." Then he stepped to the telephone and ordered 
 his carriage. Next he called the shipping-clerk and 
 said to him: " Get your pay this evening. I will not 
 need you after to-day. You are over- worked and need 
 rest. ' ' That evening the clerk was paid and given five 
 dollars extra, as Abraham said, for the special work he 
 had done that day. The young man did not deny 
 that he had put the wax on the chair, because he
 
 FELIX QUITS THE DIVES. 253 
 
 knew that it was useless. From that time Felix was 
 never annoyed by anybody in the establishment. 
 
 We cannot close this chapter without commenting 
 on the good fortune that had attended Felix ever since 
 he had come from California. Not only had he won 
 the friendship of the estimable ladies in whose em 
 ployment he had been brought from the Pacific coast, 
 but he had won the best position that Mr. Abraham 
 had in his power to give just then. It was luck, mere 
 foolishness, which had opened the latter place to him; 
 but; if he had spent his evenings as thousands of 
 young men do who have opportunities such as Felix 
 never had, he would not have been able to fill the 
 place which luck, or whatever we may choose 
 to call it, opened for him. It has been well said, 
 opportunity has hair on the front of her head, behind 
 she is bald. If you do not catch her in front (that is 
 before she passes,) you will not be able to hold her.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 FELIX AND SHARP IN THE HOME OF THE DIVES. 
 
 ' ' When change itself can give no more 
 'Tis easy to be true." Sir Chas. Sedley. 
 
 Three months after Miss Octavia Newman, M. D., 
 last crossed the threshold of the dear old home on 
 Fifth Avenue, she entered it again. She would 
 scarcely have been recognized by those who had only 
 a casual acquaintance with her. She was completely 
 changed. Her hair, as we have already said, was thin 
 and white. Her face was still pale and what was 
 more, deep lines which coming vigor and growth in 
 flesh would be unable to remove, had planted the 
 evidences of care and suffering beneath her eyes and 
 round her mouth. Her form was still erect and dig 
 nified. The ambition which had held her head erect 
 for years had not completely deserted her. It seemed 
 to grow to its old dimensions with the strength of her 
 body. With it grew her former pride. In less than 
 three months after she had left the hospital, she 
 seemed her former self. She had not heard from 
 home, and she did not care. She now rather played 
 the role of the inj ured party. They did not care for her, 
 why should she worry about them. They had been 
 so long apart and she had experienced so much since 
 254
 
 IN THE HOME OF THE DIVES. 255 
 
 last they had things in common, she feared that it would 
 be impossible for them to enjoy each other's society. 
 
 When the attending physician told her one day, as 
 she visited the Island, that during her worst illness he 
 had received a telegram from her brother, inform 
 ing her of the death of his little daughter, she felt 
 that she should write and make a full explanation of 
 why she did not attend the funeral. She would write 
 to him, and that soon. But she put it off for several 
 days for want of time, and then when she felt that she 
 ha,d time, she asked herself, even when she had 
 taken her pen in hand, why she should write now, 
 when several months had already passed since the 
 child's death. It would only open the wounds afresh 
 in their hearts, now that time had begun to heal them. 
 
 One evening toward the close of winter she sat in 
 her room by the radiator from which the soft rays of 
 warmth were coming, she thought of the kindness of 
 the Dives in thus giving her a home when she was in 
 reality giving them nothing in return except a little 
 medical advice now and then. She made up her 
 mind then and there, that however agreeable the life 
 she was now living (the Dives had insisted that she 
 should not go out to care for the sick all that winter) 
 so soon as she received her property she would insist 
 on compensating them for their kindness. She felt 
 that whatever she might do after she received her 
 inheritance, until then this home was the very best 
 place for her. The book on hygiene which she had 
 been reading fell from her hand into her lap, and be-
 
 256 FEUX AND SHARP 
 
 fore she knew it she was dreaming. She again dreamt 
 that Sharp came to her. He smiled the smile which 
 he always had when he felt that things had gone well. 
 He had in his hand several envelopes. These, after 
 giving her a cordial greeting, he handed to her, saying, 
 ' ' Here are the documents at last. It took a long time to 
 secure them; but the will had to be probated. You will 
 find the deeds to the ranch and to the property in the 
 city both." She dreamt, she took them both out of his 
 hand, opened them, and read them hastily. Then she had 
 asked him the same question with regard to compensa 
 tion that she had asked him in her dream before she went 
 to the hospital. His reply was the same that he had 
 then given. He told her that she herself, given to him 
 soul and body, was the only fee he would accept. 
 Again she saw herself turn her head away to avoid his 
 piercing gaze. When she looked around he had as on 
 the former occasion, turned into a deadly serpent with 
 his head towering over her ready to strike his poison 
 ous fangs deep into her head and heart. When she 
 awoke from this dreadful dream it was to answer the 
 summons of Jennie Dives. She had come to tell her 
 that Mr. Sharp was in the parlor inquiring for her. 
 
 Felix, who we have seen, left the Dives soon after 
 the holidays to enter the store of Mr. Abraham, had 
 come over to see the girls that evening. Ever since 
 he left the employ of the Dives he looked upon them 
 as his best friends. Miss Abraham too, looked upon 
 him as a friend of their family. She one time said to 
 the Dives girls: " No matter whether Felix is rich or
 
 IN THE HOME OF THE DIVES. 257 
 
 poor, whether he belongs to an old Pennsylvania 
 Dutch family whose ancestors came over here many 
 years ago, as you intimate that he does, we do know 
 that he saved the life of our Benny, and that is enough. 
 Papa says he intends to make him his head book 
 keeper, if not his private secretary. Papa says that he 
 ought to have a private secretary. He gets so many 
 letters which contain questions and information which 
 ought to be confidential with him alone, and not 
 known to everybody in his office, as is the case now." 
 
 So Fannie Abraham's little saucy looking mouth ran 
 on, speaking the praises of Felix and prophesying his 
 future greatness, until the Dives themselves fell in 
 love with Felix. They felt sure that that was what 
 Fannie was doing, or had already done, whether she 
 knew it or not. It might be that this little lady did 
 not know that she was yielding her heart to a man 
 who had never sued for it, nor had even ever dreamt of 
 so doing. 
 
 Miss Fannie, as we have already seen, was the only 
 daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Abraham. She was now 
 eighteen, had graduated from the New York City 
 high school and had had the best music and art teach 
 ers which the money of Mr. Abraham could procure. 
 Both parents thought of going to Europe so soon as 
 they would be able to feel that the husband's large 
 business was in safe hands. Then they expedled their 
 daughter to complete her education, as they fondly 
 said to her.
 
 258 FEUX AND SHARP 
 
 The girls had, soon after they came from the hospi 
 tal, (when Odlavia confessed that she thought that 
 Felix might be the supposedly dead brother,) frankly 
 asked Felix all about his family history; but he had 
 at the same time told the girls that he had his own 
 private reasons for not talking much about his parents. 
 By and by he would go home and all would be well. 
 Where that home is and who his parents are, or were, 
 we too will find out at the proper time; but for the 
 present it is a secret with the Dives. They are a good 
 illustration of the fadl that there are some women in 
 the world who can keep a secret. They even made up 
 their minds that they would not say anything to Odta- 
 via, unless she would have sufficient interest in Felix 
 to ask them, now that she was well, what they had 
 learned concerning him. Octavia on the other hand, 
 thought that because they said nothing further, they 
 had not learned anything. Now that Felix was gone 
 and had a more honorable position she wished that 
 he might be her brother. 
 
 When Octavia was told that Sharp was in the parlor 
 and wished to see her, she arose quickly and walked 
 to the glass to smooth her hair and see that she looked 
 as prepossessing as possible. This time as she looked 
 into the glass she saw the grey hair that gave her 
 large forehead the whiteness and smoothness of mar 
 ble. Then she recalled that she was no longer what 
 she had been when she last saw Mr. Sharp her 
 " agent," as she had been in the habit of calling him 
 during her illness and since. How would he take the
 
 IN THE HOME OF THE DIVES. 259 
 
 change which her illness had wrought? But then 
 what did she care, how he took the change ? What 
 was he to her beside her agent ? Then she recalled 
 the dream which she had had, when she first became ill, 
 and which she had repeated that very evening. How 
 vividly it all came back to her now. Was she re- 
 dreaming the same old dream now that she was awake? 
 She had about made up her mind that she would not 
 go down that evening. She was beginning to 
 feel so nervous. If she would go down now, 
 Mr. Sharp would consider her an old, broken- 
 down woman. But what matter, she again 
 asked herself, what Mr. Sharp thought of her ? She 
 had taken a seat by the glass, in front of which she 
 had stood a moment before, and again she asked her 
 self the question which she had asked her Heavenly 
 Father, when she first saw herself dressed in the hos 
 pital, for her first walk into the bright winter sun 
 shine, reflected to her from ten thousand crystals of 
 snow. Why had she not died ? We may ask this 
 question with her by and by. Let us remember that 
 He who holds our lives in the hollow of his hands can 
 not err. He knows when it is best to enter that 
 1 ' Undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler 
 returns. ' ' 
 
 Odlavia did not know how long she sat before Jennie 
 Dives again rapped. When she received permission to 
 come in she said innocently, sweetly, as her vigorous 
 young life before which the world seemed an Eden 
 taught her to say "Sister, that old man down there
 
 260 FEUX AND SHARP 
 
 is dying to see you." Then she looked at Odlavia and 
 saw that the tears were running down her pale cheeks. 
 She ran up to her and putting her arms around the 
 waist of the nurse she knelt beside the low stool upon 
 which Odlavia sat and kissed her on the forehead. 
 Odlavia said, " Pardon me, angel, I was dreaming." 
 Jennie thought that she meant that she had had a day 
 dream of herself before her sickness, and in her warm, 
 big heart she pitied her. Odlavia meant what she 
 said. Her dream, more than her altered appearance, 
 had brought the tears to her eyes. It was only when 
 Susie came and asked whether they had both gone to 
 sleep and whether they were living in ' ' The Haunted 
 Castle ' ' that nobody returned that went into the 
 room upstairs? that the ladies realized that their delay 
 was becoming inexcusable to those who were waiting 
 for them. The three went down stairs together. 
 
 When Odlavia entered between the two girls, Sharp 
 looked at Odlavia and at once his expression changed 
 from the pleasant air he had worn to the snaky, vil 
 lainous look to which we have so often alluded. He 
 stole a sharp glance at Susie Dives as much as to say, 
 ' ' You are certainly fooling me. This is not Odlavia 
 Newman, M. D." Then he fixed the inquisitive stare 
 upon the poor nurse until she began to tremble. In a 
 moment Sharp recolledled himself. He realized that 
 the girls recognized his doubt, his embarrassment. 
 He realized, too, that Odlavia stood before him, so he 
 arose and greeted her warmly. He said : ' ' The 
 girls told me what a siege you have had. I am glad
 
 HOME; OF THE DIVES. 261 
 
 you are so well again." Sharp was glad she was well, 
 but for his and not the girl's sake. 
 
 Felix said he must go; but the Dives insisted that 
 it was still early. Octavia took the hint. She said to 
 the company: " Because Mr. Sharp has come to see 
 me on a little business, I will invite him to the dining 
 room and not break up your pleasant society. ' '
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 OCTAVIA IS RICH AT LAST. 
 
 ' ' When fortune means to men most good, 
 She looks upon them with a threatening eye." 
 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 As soon as Sharp and Odlavia entered the dining- 
 room he at once became interested in the silver- ware 
 on the chiffonier. The Dives had solid table cutlery. 
 Tea and coffee services were also solid. There was in 
 the collection a crystal cake-basket which had once be 
 longed to the Medici, so it had been told them by 
 their mother who was of Italian stock and related to 
 that once famous Italian house. Much of this ware 
 was highly prized. It had come down to the girls 
 from former generations. When Sharp saw this 
 tempting array of ware he went to the chiffonier and 
 examined everything within reach of his covetous 
 eyes. He told Octavia that he had a love for the 
 beautiful which, owing to the unhappy turn his 
 domestic relations had taken, he was unable to gratify. 
 By and by he hoped to have a home in which peace 
 and plenty should rule, then he would indulge his love 
 for art and costly wares. He loved to look at the 
 beautiful whenever and wherever he had an oppor 
 tunity. He was in the habit of taking notes, so that 
 he would have many suggestions for the furnishing of 
 262
 
 OCTAVIA IS RICH AT LAST. 263 
 
 his own home when the proper time came. And she, 
 the silly woman, believed him. 
 
 It did seem strange to her that Sharp was so long in 
 coming to the point in regard to the business. She 
 wished to approach the subject a number of times; but 
 he had kept her from it. In some inexplicable way 
 he seemed able to read her thoughts, and lead them 
 into any channel he wished. As the conversation con 
 tinued, the old and strange admiration she had had for 
 the man before her illness began to revive. She said 
 within herself, ' ' This man is interesting. He is more 
 to me than I allowed myself to think whilst I was sep 
 arated from him." 
 
 Finally he walked away from the chiffonier, and 
 seated himself at the table. Then, after he had drawn 
 the chair nearest him as close as he wished it, he 
 beckoned Octavia to sit beside him. Next he drew 
 out of his coat-pocket a bundle of large envelopes. 
 Taking one of these he opened it with a self-satisfied 
 air, and began to read the description of the property 
 outside of the city of Omaha. Octavia, who had never 
 had occasion to read a deed, recognized that what 
 Sharp was reading was really a deed to the property 
 which the administrator had designated as a valuable 
 cattle-ranch. As Sharp read, Octavia listened in 
 silence. When he had finished this, he took the envel 
 ope next in order, which was a description of the city 
 property. After this, he read an itemized account of 
 a sale of cattle which had taken place on what was now 
 Octavia's cattle ranch. It had amounted to five hun-
 
 264 OCTAVIA IS RICH AT LAST. 
 
 dred dollars. After reading this he drew out his purse 
 and laid on the table a draft payable to Eliza Nieman. 
 The draft was good for three hundred dollars. Next 
 he read an itemized account of the expenses incurred 
 by the administrator in legally transferring the prop 
 erty into Eliza Nieman 's name. The administrator 
 had been well paid for his trouble, but he had not by 
 any means robbed Octavia. 
 
 Next Sharp drew out the last paper from the bundle 
 which he had laid on the table. It contained a lease, 
 which gave to a certain Augustus Bear the right to 
 farm in such a way as he should see fit the land de 
 scribed in the first deed. Sharp explained that he 
 knew that that was the very best that Octavia could 
 do with the cattle-ranch, so he had taken time by the 
 fore-lock and had found a renter. The truth of the 
 matter was that the lease was sent by the administra 
 tor in the hope that his son, Augustus, would be able 
 to make terms for the use of the property for a term 
 of years. Sharp had thought the matter over, and 
 knew just what he would advise the girl to do with 
 the property both in and out of the town. He said 
 that he expected Odlavia to sign both copies of the 
 lease, and then he would return the one to Bear. She 
 would also be compelled to make an affidavit that she 
 had received the deeds, etc., from her agent, William 
 Sharp, Esq., svhich he would send back to Omaha. 
 After he was through reading all the documents, he 
 handed them to Octavia, then he gathered the remain 
 der of the envelopes which , he said to Oclavia, con-
 
 OCTAVIA IS RICH AT I,AST. 265 
 
 cerned some other business; but which, in reality, 
 were envelopes filled with news-paper, cut to suit, 
 and to make an impression of Sharp's volume of busi 
 ness upon the unsophisticated girl. 
 
 Sharp knew that this lengthy display of the docu 
 ments which concerned Odlavia's inheritance, would 
 augment her agent's business tadl in her estimation. 
 So it had. Gradually the prejudice which she had 
 conceived against her agent, wore away. She confessed 
 that she did not know that he had been so intensely 
 busy, and that for her sake, as these papers proved. 
 And then there was that big packet, which no doubt 
 contained matters representing thousands of dollars. 
 Even if he would have called at the hospital, he would 
 not have been able to help her, and she could certainly 
 not have helped him in the work which he had done 
 so well for her. As she thought of all this, she felt 
 that he must literally have hovered between New 
 York and Omaha for several months. What would he 
 charge her for all this valuable service ? He certainly 
 had had more care than Bear, the administrator, and 
 he had charged her two-hundred dollars for his work 
 and some other items which she did not understand . 
 She thought that she would give Sharp the draft for 
 the three hundred dollars; but this might be too little. 
 At last, when Sharp had again looked over his pack 
 age, she ventured to ask him whether he had been 
 compelled to do much hovering between the two cities 
 mentioned. He replied with a smile, (he always 
 smiled when pleased,) that he had been back and forth
 
 266 OCTAVIA IS RICH AT I,AST. 
 
 considerable; but that it had profited him in many 
 ways. 
 
 When Octavia asked him whether the draft of 
 three hundred dollars would be sufficient remunera 
 tion for his service, he raised himself in his chair, and 
 said he could only take one remuneration from her. 
 When she asked him, with eyes cast on the table be 
 fore her, half in dread and half in pleasant anticipa 
 tion of what he would say to her, he replied he 
 wished her to repay him by always being willing to 
 come to his assistance whenever and in whatever way 
 he might wish her so to do. When she said in reply, 
 that she did not see how she, a woman, could be much 
 help to a man, a lawyer like himself, Sharp felt that he 
 had not said just what he meant. The experiences of 
 of the past few weeks had in some way stripped him 
 of the self-assurance which he had had when he was 
 not quite as bad as now. It was not that his con 
 science was making a coward of him, for conscience 
 was a faculty of his soul that he tried to stunt and 
 stifle. There was a feeling which all cowards have, 
 that something dreadful would sooner or later come to 
 his life. This was the reason that Sharp had not told 
 Octavia just what he meant nor in the way he meant 
 it. He did wish her money, and he did wish any 
 influence she might have in helping him in his bad 
 life. Sharp did wish to use the woman before him 
 whenever and in whatever way he pleased. 
 
 Odlavia knew that what he had said to her did not 
 express or even hint at the old admiration which he
 
 OCTAVIA IS RICH AT I.AST. 267 
 
 had had for her, or at least had said he had for her. 
 She knew that she was changed in appearance since 
 they had last met. She felt that she had grown at 
 least five years older in the few weeks she had spent 
 in suffering at the hospital. For Sharp's sake, more 
 than her own, (at least so she tried to persuade her 
 self,) she wished that she had not changed so much 
 for the worse. She did not, for the time being, think 
 that a true man would have pitied her misfortune, that 
 a man capable of sincere affection would have been 
 drawn closer to her because of her misfortune and 
 need of sympathy. Because of all this, she sighed 
 and said, " I am sadly changed since last we met. 
 The strength I lost in that awful illness will never 
 fully return to me. Yes, I am changed, changed 
 for the worse." She burst into tears, and turned her 
 head in a vain attempt to hide her feelings from the 
 man who sat before her. When she turned, Sharp 
 smiled a mocking smile, instead of shedding a tear of 
 sympathy with the girl in her deep affliction. But 
 those tears had their effect upon him. He felt that 
 he must say something which would cause Octavia to 
 think that whatever admiration he had had for her 
 face and form before her illness, was not destroyed 
 by the fact that she was not now as handsome as he 
 had tried to make her believe he thought her then to 
 be. He said : ' ' You have changed some, but you 
 will recover all you lost. Your illness will, by and by, 
 prove a benefit to you even in your personal appear 
 ance. I never admired a woman for the beauty that
 
 268 OCTAVIA IS RICH AT I,AST. 
 
 is only skin-deep. Your heart has not changed toward 
 me because of your illness. I am sure that mine has 
 not toward you. I never asked you if you loved me. 
 Our acquaintance has been comparatively short, and I 
 was still the husband of another woman when we last 
 met." (He even then, so far as he knew, was the 
 husband of another woman; but to Octavia he tried to 
 imply that such was no longer the case.) " I thought 
 I would let you learn my worth, and prove to you that 
 I could still love a true woman before I would intimate 
 to you that " He left his sentence unfinished. 
 Octavia, who had been averting her eyes, partly be 
 cause she wished to appear modest and coy, and partly 
 because she really still was physically weak, and could 
 not have studied Sharp's face during the time he was 
 delivering himself of his sentimental lies which, to any 
 one studying his face just then, would have been re 
 minded of the slime with which the serpent covers his 
 victim previous to deglutition, raised her eyes and 
 beheld the old, snaky look in his face that we have so 
 often spoken of. It was then that she, for the first 
 time during all the evening, thought of her dream. 
 It came back to her upon the wings of thought, sug 
 gested by the look in Sharp's face, in terrible distinct 
 ness. She simply looked at him without saying a 
 word, and he, mistaking the look for the cool, calcu 
 lating stare, in which he himself used to indulge be 
 fore he was as wicked as now, cowered before her. 
 She mistook his uneasiness for inborn modesty, of 
 which Sharp had not a single grain, and thought to
 
 OCTAVIA IS RICH AT I,AST. 269 
 
 relieve him by saying something, just what she 
 scarcely knew. She did finally manage to say, ' ' We 
 can speak of this again. The hour is late." Then 
 Sharp made a polite bow and stepped out into 
 the night by the dining room door, which, in the pre 
 occupied state of his mind, he thought led into the 
 hall where were his coat and hat. The cold, raw 
 atmosphere soon convinced him that he had made a 
 mistake. His absent-mindedness made Octavia laugh 
 until the tears again rolled over her face. Sharp was 
 glad he had made the mistake. It relieved him of 
 the awkwardness of the situation, into which the 
 later conversation of the evening had led him. 
 
 When Sharp was gone Octavia retired to her room, 
 and without again looking at the papers, threw them 
 into her trunk. She immediately retired; but it was 
 a long time before she could sleep. She reviewed the 
 conversation of the evening in all its details. She 
 asked herself again and again whether Sharp had 
 really asked her to be his wife. She did not feel sure 
 that he had, so she would not try to decide what an 
 swer she would give him. She felt that that question 
 would come to her from the " smart lawyer," as she 
 loved to call him in her own mind; but until it did 
 come she would not answer it. She felt that Sharp 
 had some influence over her. She did not know 
 whether it was really love that caused her to think kindly 
 of Sharp, or what it was; but she did acknowledge 
 that he was more to her than any man she had ever 
 met before.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 OCTAVIA IS ENGAGED. 
 
 " It is not money, but the love of money, which is the root 
 of all evil. It is the relation between wealth and the mind, 
 and the character of its possessor which is the essential thing. ' ' 
 
 Hillard. 
 
 When Sharp got to his lodgings the night he had 
 brought the deeds to Odlavia he felt that that woman 
 had not gone beyond his power. She still remained 
 to him the means for retrieving his lost fortunes. He 
 felt glad that she had come into his life at a time he 
 most needed her. It was Odtavia's money Sharp was 
 after. He cared very little for her personally, even be 
 fore her sickness; now that she had changed into a reg 
 ular old woman, thin and weazen-faced, with her thin, 
 gray curls clinging to her scalp, like " the wool on the 
 head of an old nigger," as he said aloud to himself in 
 his room, when he that night thought on the plans 
 which he would adopt to get Odtavia's wealth, he 
 made up his mind that it would be very difficult to get 
 her money without taking her also. He admitted that 
 it might cost him a great deal of inconvenience to be 
 encumbered with the woman; but he was willing to 
 do that in order that he might again hold up his head 
 as he once did. He would ask her to be his wife. 
 270
 
 OCTAVIA IS ENGAGED. 271 
 
 There was no other way. Perhaps a kind fate would 
 deliver him of her soon. He would trust to luck; but 
 the money he must have at all hazards. That part of 
 the transaction was therefore settled in Sharp's mind. 
 The poor man forgot that even wealth is to some peo 
 ple what ingots are to an ass' back, the means of gall 
 ing and wearying it. Upon the sea on whose mighty 
 billows Sharp had cast himself, gold would drag him 
 to destruction so much the sooner. Wealth seldom 
 gives happiness; to men of Sharp's kind, it never does. 
 Like poison to the suicide, it may seem before it is 
 taken, the panacea to all ills; but it soon reveals the 
 fraud. 
 
 But suppose Octavia should not accept his hand in 
 marriage? Pshaw, there could be no doubt about 
 that. Had she not said: "We can speak of this 
 again. The hour is late." "But, Sharp," said he 
 to himself, ' ' you must not bungle as you did to-night, 
 or the bird may escape you in the end. I will say 
 to her that my life is being wasted on the desert air 
 without her companionship. I can no longer live 
 without her, and that is exactly true," he added. 
 Slapping his hands behind his back in glee, he got 
 into his bed and was soon snoring like a funnel. 
 
 One week after that, Sharp stood on the front door 
 step ot the Dives' home just as the clock in the Trin 
 ity steeple struck eight. He had on his best clothing; 
 but they were nothing to brag of. The truth of the 
 matter was, that the one hundred dollars which he had 
 thought to use in part for the replenishing of his ward-
 
 272 OCTAVIA IS ENGAGED. 
 
 robe, were in a good many different hands in a very 
 few evenings after they had been filched out of his 
 vest pocket as he stood with uplifted hands on the 
 corner of Bleeker and Christopher streets. He remem 
 bered that night with all the horrid details of the differ 
 ent scenes upon which he had looked. In fact, he 
 had not been able to steady his nerves since that 
 night, and like Octavia's illness, it had left its mark 
 upon him. The hard lines about his mouth were 
 deepened, and what was strangest, his hair had turned 
 to a shade of gray, which resembled an icicle, frozen 
 out of dirty water. It seemed to him that the horror 
 which had frozen his soul into insensibility also had 
 whitened his hair. It was even so. Perhaps it was a 
 cruel irony, because of his lack of sympathy for poor 
 Octavia. How would he account for the change in 
 the color of his hair to Octavia ? He would say that 
 two lives which were intended to flow on together 
 would take on a similarity which was often as striking 
 as it was difficult to be accounted for; but Octavia was 
 a nurse, a physician, as he thought, and would scarcely 
 be satisfied with such an answer. 
 
 Octavia came to the door. She extended her hand 
 in cordial greeting. They entered the parlor. She 
 said the Dives and Felix were out spending the even 
 ing together, and they would consequently be undis 
 turbed. 
 
 "Felix and the Dives?" Sharp fairly screamed in 
 his surprise.
 
 OCTAVIA IS ENGAGED. 273 
 
 "Yes, Felix and the Dives," Odlavia added. 
 1 ' Felix is no longer a coachman. He is head book 
 keeper in Abraham's wholesale establishment, for 
 more than two months already." Then she told Mr. 
 Sharp of the good fortune that had come to Felix by 
 the merest accident. Sharp listened with open- 
 mouthed wonder, then said with an air of intense dis 
 gust, that " fortune, like love, sometimes smiled on a 
 jackass." But that is just what fortune had not done 
 this time. We have already seen that Felix's fortune 
 would have plunged him into a whole sea of trouble if 
 he had not had the moral and mental qualifications to 
 adapt himself to the fortunate circumstances which had 
 come upon him. 
 
 After he had finished his tirade against the 
 blindness of luck and the assurance some people pos 
 sess, he put on a different look entirely. He said: 
 ' ' Do you remember what you said one week ago to 
 night ? ' ' As he said this he left the chair upon which 
 he had been sitting and seated himself upon the sofa 
 beside Octavia. He took the hand of the woman in 
 his, and repeated, " Do you remember ? " 
 
 ' ' Remember what ? ' ' said Octavia, her voice trem 
 bling with suppressed emotion. 
 
 "You said," replied Sharp, "just as I was going 
 out, 'we can speak of this again.' Now I wish to 
 speak of this again. I will tell you that I love you. 
 I have loved you ever since I first became thor 
 oughly acquainted with you, on the mountain side 
 during our pleasant outing last summer. In fact it
 
 274 OCTAVIA IS ENGAGED. 
 
 seems to me that I never saw a woman whom nature 
 and education had so well fitted for me, for any man, 
 in fact, that can appreciate a true woman, like you, 
 Octavia. I was disappointed in my first love. I mis 
 took passion for love, as giddy youth so often does. 
 It is different now. My heart seeks companionship, 
 seeks a haven from the vexations and disappointments 
 which come to all of us in life. Will you, dear girl, 
 be mine until death do us part ? ' ' He bent down and 
 kissed the woman's forehead, and she did not resist. 
 Her eyes were fixed on the floor. Her hand was 
 moist and twitched nervously in his. Sharp noticed 
 this, and a smile of triumphant satisfaction overspread 
 his cunning face, and the old snaky look was in his 
 eyes, as he added, " And must silence be the only an 
 swer you will give me ? ' ' 
 
 Octavia' s lips quivered, and as they quivered, 
 parted; but the answer which she had tried to frame 
 died upon them. Again the man broke the silence. 
 " Octavia, dear, tell me that I have not sought your 
 heart in vain." Any man with a refined nature would 
 have pitied the girl as she sat there beside the coarse, 
 brutal hypocrite, who, like the serpent that gloated 
 over the mother of us all as she took the forbidden 
 fruit, felt that his victory was complete, and with the 
 feeling of victory coupled that of exultation at his easy 
 conquest. 
 
 Finally Octavia found her voice. " Mr. Sharp, 
 this is all so soon, so hurried. We have not met a 
 dozen times in our lives. I need time for considera-
 
 OCTAVIA IS ENGAGED. 275 
 
 tion. Leave me to think over this, the most solemn 
 step we can take in all our lives." 
 
 Sharp urged that she did know him. Had he not 
 always been square in his dealings, and had he not 
 shown his efficiency in the management of her affairs ? 
 He was no longer at that period in his life when he 
 did things without thinking. He loved her. Why 
 should she keep him in suspense ? Had Sharp known 
 it, his chances for a favorable answer were just then 
 waning. The dream came to her in all its vividness. 
 In facl it seemed to her that the angel of her destiny 
 had unrolled before her a scroll upon which he had 
 distinctly drawn in vivid outline all the terrible fea 
 tures of the vision that had again repeated itself the 
 night preceding, with this change, or addition rather, 
 that the serpent last night buried his fangs deeply,, 
 first into her heart, and then as if not satisfied with 
 the result, had also infused his poison into her brain 
 by a second stroke. 
 
 After she had said what she did", about the reasons, 
 for considering the proposed alliance, she lifted her 
 eyes, and read the snaky, cunning look of which her 
 dream had been a premonition. She felt a little shud 
 der come over her, and gently withdrew her hand. 
 Within himself Sharp swore a short, quick little 
 oath, and then, with the devil in his soul and a des 
 perate effort to assume the appearance of an angel of 
 light he again sought her hand. Taking it once more, 
 he said: " Odlavia, can you crush a man's heart be 
 neath the wheels of procrastination ? Can you spurn
 
 276 OCTAVIA IS ENGAGED. 
 
 my offers of love ? I will do my best to give you a 
 happy home. I know that we will live like two 
 angels. I do not need your wealth. Use your money 
 as you see fit. I must have your heart." 
 
 Octavia again thought of the dream. Would she 
 allow a dream to ruin her prospects in life? She 
 dreamt because she was nervous. 
 
 Again Sharp began in language more plaintive than 
 before to sue for the woman's heart. The smile of 
 triumph had faded from his lips, but the old look con 
 tinued in his eye. Octavia noticed his earnestness, 
 and with an effort that was perceived by Sharp, she 
 said: " Mr. Sharp, I will be your wife, if you will 
 prove yourself worthy of a woman's love. You know 
 you are divorced, and I have known you only a short 
 time." 
 
 Sharp embraced the woman at his side and gave 
 her a kiss. It was the first token of affection shown 
 her .on the part of a man for years, and the kiss, 
 though it was a kiss such as Judas gave his Master, 
 fell (like a welcome shower upon dry and thirsty 
 ground) with refreshing upon her lips. 
 
 Then they discussed the best time for their marriage. 
 It was February now. They finally decided that until 
 Christmas would give them ample time to perfect their 
 arrangements. He said, that being he was not a 
 church-man, as he was inclined to term his lack of 
 religious conviction, his downright devilish way of 
 living, he would prefer to be married by a judge or 
 alderman. He did this as much to find out what
 
 OCTAVIA IS ENGAGED. 277 
 
 really were Odtavia's religious convi<5lions as anything. 
 She told him that she was not a very faithful church 
 member, but she had a religious mother and would 
 prefer to be married by a minister of the gospel. 
 There was time to arrange that they both agreed. 
 There were many little plans that Odlavia had made 
 years ago, with regard to her marriage, should she 
 ever have the pleasure of being led to the marriage- 
 altar. Some of these came back to her now like the 
 memory of sweet dreams, and she told them to Sharp. 
 He seemed bent on pleasing her, and gave a ready 
 approval of them all. The girl was happy. Even the 
 roses which had faded from her cheeks came back to 
 her as she and Sharp discussed the plans. It was 
 eleven o'clock when Felix brought the Dives to the 
 house. Sharp realized that it was time to go. As 
 soon as the girls had said their good-night in their 
 bright, cheery voices to their escort, Sharp again 
 kissed the woman, who that evening had given her 
 self " soul and body to him." Then he went to his 
 rooms. He was pleased. He said, " I had to buy the 
 old hulk in order to get at the cargo. I think the 
 whole transaction will pay." 
 
 Ten minutes after Sharp had left, Odlavia knocked 
 at the door of the Dives' bed-room, and when she was 
 admitted, she said, " Girls, I am engaged to be mar 
 ried." . 
 
 The girls looked at each other, then at Odlavia, 
 when Susie said, " To Mr. Sharp ? " 
 
 " Even to him," was Odlavia 's reply.
 
 ^78 OCTAVIA IS ENGAGED. 
 
 Then the Dives pitied her from the depths of their 
 souls. They said nothing to Odlavia, for fear of hurt 
 ing her feelings, but they were very sorry for her. 
 -Sitting on the edge of the girls' bed. she told them all 
 about the good fortune that had come to her, and 
 when she had finished they pitied her still more. Of 
 course they kissed her, kissed her even with tender 
 ness, such as a mother would bestow upon her inno 
 cent child which has fallen and broken its back; be 
 cause the mother would know what the child did not, 
 namely, that the little one would be helpless and hope 
 less the rest of its sad life.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ON THE WING. 
 
 " To him who in the love of nature holds 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language." Bryant. 
 
 Just one week after the conversation in the parlor, 
 Dr. Burns left Colorado Springs for a three weeks 
 trip in New Mexico and Southern California. Susie 
 and Jennie Dives who the day before had come to Col 
 orado to spend the summer, had easily persuaded Mr. 
 Dives to allow them to go to the Golden State. It had 
 been a busy week with the girls, and everybody was 
 happy. A few hours after Dr. Burns left Colorado 
 Springs he was met at the little station by the other 
 three of the party. 
 
 As they intended to visit Acoma and other points of 
 interest, they took the Santa Fe route. We will not 
 dwell upon the points of interest they visited in and 
 around Santa Fe where they spent several days, be 
 cause Mr. Dives' business required it. We have 
 already spoken of the visit to the Pueblos, so we 
 will not weary the reader by dwelling upon old scenes. 
 
 Our party stopped at Flagstaff, and there took the 
 stage which now runs three times a week to the 
 Canons of the Colorado. The journey to the Grand 
 Canon is in itself of sufficient interest to repay the 
 
 279
 
 280 ON THE WING. 
 
 tourist for his time and money. For many miles the 
 road passes through primeval parks of pine, perfectly 
 free from undergrowth , and carpeted for the most part 
 with nature's most lovely green. Then there are 
 open stretches of road from which the traveler sees the 
 great San Francisco peaks like giant sentinels follow 
 ing his path. Then he goes over broad ranges 
 where cattle pasture and where the white tent of the 
 herders gleams in the sunshine like a huge white 
 feathered bird. When at last our travelers quit the 
 stage there is nothing to assure them except the re 
 ports of previous visitors that, they are not to be dis 
 appointed. A small crag which scarcely reaches to 
 the northern slope of the glen is the only object which 
 hints at the presence of anything beside the peaceful 
 woodland, where the flowers bloom and the birds 
 twitter among the branches of the pines. The visitor 
 at the direction of his guide strides quickly forward to 
 see whether he has not been disappointed by giving 
 too much credence to the reports of others. He halts 
 suddenly, and with feelings indescribable he gazes at 
 the great chasm which has opened at his feet and 
 which stretches away to the far horizon. When he 
 becomes master of his own thoughts again, he realizes 
 that words cannot exaggerate the sublime spectacle that 
 stretches before him. It is at once intensely real and 
 superhumanly weird and spectral. It is as if the 
 creative energy that brought order out of chaos every 
 where else, had been exhausted by the effort, and had 
 paused here to take the much needed rest before com-
 
 ON THE WING. 281 
 
 pleting the gigantic task. It has been well said that 
 the ' ' labyrinth of architectural forms of every known 
 order and design are here." It flashes instant commu 
 nications of all that architecture and painting and 
 music for a thousand years have gropingly striven to 
 express. Our friends tarried here a day and then 
 went on their journey. At the usual time, that is 
 about thirty-six hours after they left Flagstaff, they ar 
 rived in the city of L,os Angeles. The girls went to 
 the cousin who had married since Jennie and Susie had 
 been to see her the year before and lived in a neat 
 home on Washington street. The girls as a matter of 
 course made the most of their short visit. There were 
 several trips that they must take with Carrie. One 
 must be to the mountains; another must be a sail on 
 the Pacific. 
 
 The trip to the mountains was the one they first ar 
 ranged for. In the Sierras not far from the ' ' City of 
 the Angels, ' ' there are many pleasant canons. These 
 are frequented by visitors especially during the sum 
 mer months. It was to one of these, which the Los 
 Angeles cousin had visited before, and which she in 
 consequence well knew, that she planned to take her 
 friends. The party was to consist of herself and the 
 visitors. Her own husband was away, being a com 
 mercial traveler. It was doubtful whether he would 
 return in time to meet the Dives. They were to re 
 turn the same evening. At the last moment the Los 
 Angeles cousin became ill. The doctor advised her to 
 stay at home, much to her own and the entire party's
 
 282 ON THE WING. ' 
 
 regret. The driver who took them out in a carriage, 
 was well acquainted with the road and the canon, the 
 lyOS Angeles cousin urged, and they would get along 
 quite as well without her as if she went along. Inas 
 much as the time was short and the trip could not be 
 put off, they went alone. 
 
 After a drive of nearly three hours during the last 
 half hour of which they threaded along a narrow 
 mountain road which every moment became rougher, 
 the driver halted and told them that he would go no 
 further. He would unhitch his horses and they might 
 take their lunch baskets and go up the cafion, where 
 they would find many pleasant places to spread their 
 lunch and have a good time. As soon as he had un 
 hitched and fed his horses he would follow them. 
 
 The two lunch baskets were accordingly taken out 
 of the carriage, and the two men took the lead up the 
 road. The girls chatted pleasantly together behind 
 them. After walking more than half a mile up the 
 canon, during which the little stream that flowed along 
 the road became wider, they finally concluded to 
 spread their lunch on a big, flat rock beside the stream. 
 The cloth was accordingly spread and the luncheon 
 tastily arranged upon it. Even the spreading of a 
 lunch in the woods upon the ground will tell the ob 
 servant student of human nature something of the 
 habits and character of those who spread the lunch. 
 An observer on this occasion might have been im 
 pressed with the neatness and taste with which the 
 lunch was arranged on the clean, white cloth.
 
 ON THE WING. 283 
 
 The book-keeper had made a fire and the girls were 
 not without that which is usually so acceptable to a 
 woman, both at home and when she is where water is 
 purest and freshest the indispensable cup of coffee. 
 When all was ready the party of four gathered around 
 the repast and did ample justice to their meal. The 
 driver who came when they were half through , would 
 have fared ill, had they not brought enough for two 
 meals. Hunger is good sauce. It gives the most or 
 dinary viands an ambrosial sweetness. It is almost 
 sure to come to him who delves into the forest's depth 
 or pierces the mountain's glen. 
 
 Whilst the driver was eating his luncheon he told 
 our little party of a pretty water- fall farther up the 
 canon, where three great mountains put an abrupt term 
 ination to the little water course, and where the stream 
 leaped into being as it were, over a giant wall of rock 
 Of course they could not miss this. They had seen 
 finest evidences that nature loved to show the sublime; 
 but it would not do to go home and say that they had 
 not seen this water-fall. 
 
 So they left the man in the best of spirits. He said 
 he would take both of the baskets with him to the 
 wagon, where they would find everything safe when 
 they returned. Our friends delighted themselves in 
 studying the different formations of rock which the 
 water, during the past centuries, had laid bare. 
 Sometimes they would see among the old granite for 
 mations a rock which had been taken out of its place 
 in the side of the mountain far above them and hurled
 
 284 ON THE WING. 
 
 among the smoothly worn granite as if it had come 
 from another world. By and by they heard the 
 splashing of the water, and turning a bend in the 
 canon they saw it leap from the mouth of another 
 canon far above them. The moss-grown sides of the 
 rock had in them here and there little hollows, which 
 were lined over, roof and side, with short, thick, green 
 moss, as if prepared by a fairy groom for his fairy 
 bride. They looked at the pure stream of water, 
 shining wherever the sun struck it like a sheet of 
 liquid silver, shifting its myriad rainbows to every 
 side. 
 
 It was Dr. Burns who first proposed that they climb 
 the mountain to their right, which seemed to have a 
 tolerably well defined trail as far as the eye could 
 see. It was still early in the afternoon, and they 
 could be back in ample time to reach the city before it 
 got very late. Jennie was the weakest in the com 
 pany. She hesitated. She said she had had some 
 experience in climbing mountains in California only a 
 year before. Then she had had the service of one 
 good donkey. Whilst it seemed to her that they were 
 all donkeys in this crowd, she doubted whether there 
 was one who would give her the aid she had received 
 from the creature which had borne her to the top of a 
 mountain near this one. They all took her sally at 
 wit goodnaturedly. Dr. Burns said it did not depend 
 on the size of a donkey's ears as to how loudly he 
 could bray. Jennie was an illustration of that. 
 Finally they all agreed that it did not look at all far
 
 ON THE WING. 285 
 
 up to the top of that mountain, and they all had some 
 curiosity to see what was beyond it. They retraced 
 their steps down the canon to a place where they could 
 cross the creek, and then took the trail toward the 
 top. We will leave them in their ascent and go back 
 to the carriage. 
 
 The driver was having a very nice time all to himself 
 that afternoon. He had brought a seaside library with 
 him, and was wading through the story which finally 
 brought its hero to wed a hateful shrew, who made 
 his life miserable, and caused him to take poison which 
 ended his unhappy career. Shutting his book he said 
 aloud to himself, " There, that ends it. Anybody 
 could have known that that woman would be the death 
 of any man. But that makes me think of my party." 
 He then helped himself to what he wished from the 
 baskets. " No use starving when there's a plenty 
 right around you. I once heard of a man dying of 
 thirst when he was tied on his back to a plank and 
 was floating on the water; but I am not that kind of a 
 chicken." Hereupon he pulled out his old watch 
 and shook it. It had stopped with the little hand 
 pointing to four, and the hour-hand at twelve. He 
 shook it again and the hour hand went to six. Whilst 
 it did not tell him the time of day, it did tell him 
 what he had learned many days before, that his watch 
 could not be relied upon. He said, "The sun is all 
 right. She don't go bumbling around in the sky. 
 She will set at the right time." Then shading his 
 hand, and looking toward the big luminary, he said,
 
 286 ON THE WING. 
 
 "That event will occur in just about two hours, or 
 this old huckleberry has lost his bearings." 
 
 The old gentleman lit his pipe and smoked content 
 edly for about half an hour, then he arose, rubbed his 
 hands, and looked at the sun. Nodding his head he 
 walked towards the horses. He harnessed them, took 
 them to the creek flowing close by, and watered them. 
 Then he hitched them to the carriage, and got ready 
 to start. He looked toward the sun, then up the trail, 
 but there was no one in sight. By and by the sun set, 
 but his party did not come. One by one the stars 
 came out and still there was no one to be seen. He 
 could stand it no longer. He unhitched his horses, 
 fastened them as he had done ten hours before, and 
 started up the trail to see whether he could not find 
 his party.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 ' ' A faint, cold fear thrills through thy veins 
 That almost freezes up the heart of life." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Our friends found the climbing along the side of the 
 mountain not near as easy as they supposed that it 
 would be. They had all been to the mountains before 
 and had ascended their rugged sides, but always along 
 well defined trails, and with donkeys, not such as 
 those which Jennie had described, but with the sure 
 footed long-eared little animal that can walk to the 
 top of a house-roof as well as on the even ground, pro 
 vided it is permitted to have its own way about it. 
 
 The trail the young people were following led them 
 along the side of the hill, then it turned at a sharp 
 angle and went almost straight up the side for fifty feet 
 or so, when it again ascended a little more gradually. 
 After they had made the straight climb, which seemed 
 like holding on to the side of a wall, so precipitous it 
 was, they all felt that they must rest. The reader 
 who has ascended the side of a mountain knows that 
 so long as one climbs there is little that makes one 
 feel different from pursuing a difficult path on an ordi 
 nary hill. It is only when the traveler turns and 
 looks down the steep sides he has ascended, or perhaps 
 
 287
 
 288 I,OST IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 to a peak opposite to the one on which he is standing, 
 that a feeling of awe and dizziness creeps upon him. 
 One involuntarily hugs the side of the mountain, be 
 cause he feels that he sticks straight into space like 
 a flag staff on a building. When our friends stopped, 
 this feeling just described, made them all involuntarily 
 sit down. It was a pretty view even half way up the 
 side of the mountain toward the summit of which they 
 were slowly toiling. They could see the little stream 
 winding in the canon more than a thousand feet 
 beneath them. They could not hear its splashing 
 now. It looked as if it were petrified into a solid 
 mass, lying in the deepest hollow in the canon, as sil 
 ver that had suddenly and unexpectedly hardened as 
 it flowed from the smelter, without the workman to 
 guide it into its proper channel. It was a pretty sight 
 and relieved the feeling of dizziness which at first 
 steals over one on looking down from any elevated 
 position. 
 
 The girls now advised the gentlemen to descend; but 
 they were determined to reach the top, now that they 
 were half way up. They argued that it would be easy 
 for them to reach the summit, look about them, and 
 then return before it would be dark. It was now only 
 three o'clock in the afternoon. They had come to 
 this point from the water-fall in less than an hour. 
 They would reach the the top in another hour. Then 
 they would rest for an hour if they so wished, and they 
 could easily descend in half the time it had taken them 
 to ascend. Carrie's hero jokingly added, that if they
 
 I,OST IN THE MOUNTAINS. 289 
 
 were pressed for time they could fall down. It was 
 sufficiently steep some places so that one could get to 
 the bottom by striking once or twice. 
 
 After a rest of ten minutes or more they again 
 started. Dr. Burns led the way. He had a stout cord 
 about his loins which Jennie, who walked immediately 
 behind him, had passed around her and then the cord 
 was tied to Carrie's left arm. The hero, as everybody 
 in the party had learned to call him, walked unsecured. 
 He jokingly said that he would keep the rest from 
 falling. The doctor who happened to have the cord 
 in his pocket had used it in the manner indicated more 
 in jest than earnest. 
 
 Finally they came to an almost perpendicular ascent. 
 For more than fifty yards along this wall of rock the 
 path was several feet wide and very solid, then it 
 terminated in a ditch which the waters from the top of 
 the mountain had worn in their precipitous descent. 
 The ditch was steep and could not be ascended. 
 Those who had gone up the mountain before them, 
 had picked places for their feet in the wall of rock 
 which was not over a dozen feet high. The girls said 
 they could not possibly ascend this rock. The doctor 
 showed them how easy it was by going up first, hav 
 ing detached the cord that bound him to the others. 
 When he was up he lay upon the flat surface of the 
 rock and stretched his^hand to Jennie. She was half 
 dragged and half pushed up. When Carrie tried to 
 follow Jennie her hand slipped from the doctor's im-
 
 290 I.OST IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 perfect grasp and she fell backwards into her hero's 
 arms. 
 
 The next attempt was more successful. She too 
 was landed on top of the rock. When she was up she 
 said, " Jennie Dives do you ever expect to get down 
 to the bottom of this hill alive ?" Again she counseled 
 retracing their footsteps; but the goal was near and 
 they went on. In half an hour more they were on the 
 summit. There was only a narrow canon at the bot 
 tom of the hill, and then another mountain just as 
 high and precipitous as the one upon whose summit 
 they were standing. They felt disappointed; but they 
 were so tired that they all sat down. When they 
 finally arose to go the sun was low, and the do<5lor 
 said he wished to see the sun set. Toward the west 
 they had by far the best view. The mountain chain 
 deflected toward the north-west. They argued that it 
 could not take long to see the sun set, so they staid. 
 When its red disk was disappearing into a veil of fog 
 which hung low on the ocean, they turned to go. 
 They did not even then realize how short is a Califor 
 nia twilight. When they got well started they began 
 to appreciate the fact that it would be dark before 
 they reached the foot of the mountain. 
 
 At the top of the mountain there were a number of 
 paths, and the sage was higher than it was on the side 
 over which the trail had led them. They walked 
 about ten minutes before they realized that they were 
 going in an opposite direction from that in 
 which they had intended to go. They reascended
 
 I,OST IN THE MOUNTAINS. 291 
 
 to the summit and set out afresh. They 
 walked fully half an hour and at last came to a 
 wall of rock. It seemed a little steeper than when 
 they ascended it; for they felt sure that it must be the 
 very same over which they had climbed an hour or so 
 before. It was now quite dark, but they managed to 
 get down in safety. As they went on, the path be 
 came more and more indistinct. Finally they con 
 cluded that they would better wait for the rising of 
 the moon. It had been full-moon only the even 
 ing previous. It would then be light as day. After 
 they sat a little while they first realized how cold and 
 hungry they were. It might be dangerous to start a 
 fire. It would attract wild animals, and besides they 
 might set fire to the dry grass, and have a bigger fire 
 than they wished. But they were getting so cold. 
 Finally the men found a flat rock in the trail. They 
 cleaned all the dry grass away, and tried to find some 
 wood. This was by no means an easy task. There 
 was enough thin, brushy material, but nothing thick 
 enough to make a lasting fire. Finally they succeeded 
 in finding some roots, and the fire was started. Its 
 cheering warmth made them feel better, but it did not 
 relieve their hunger. They told all the stories they 
 knew, but there was not much entertainment in the 
 stories or the narrators. 
 
 Just as the clouds in the eastern horizon became 
 silvered with the rising moon, and their old spirit of 
 cheerfulness was beginning to assert itself, there was 
 a noise in the bushes close by, as of some large animal.
 
 292 I,OST IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 The thought of mountain lions, wild cats and even 
 huge rattle-snakes, in an instant filled the souls of the 
 girls with terror. Almost as soon as the noise began 
 two revolvers flashed their bright steel in the fire-light. 
 The whole party felt better when they realized that 
 they were not wholly defenceless. The noise had 
 ceased almost as soon as it had begun. The beating 
 of the girls' hearts might have been heard if the party 
 would have been listening for heart throbs just then. 
 Usually fear springs from ignorance, but it terrifies 
 more than when a knowledge of the real danger fills 
 the mind. Imaginary dangers, like imagined causes 
 for trouble, are the most trying. Dangers seen beget 
 courage, but unseen they are magnified by the imag 
 ination until they are large and awful enough to drive 
 every bit of courage from the heart of the bravest 
 man, and fill it with the most abject terror. It was so 
 with every taan and woman in that little party. 
 
 Carrie's hero thought that he could do nothing bet 
 ter than to discharge the revolver, which he did 
 accordingly, and which added to the terror of the rest, 
 until they learned that he had discharged it to frighten 
 not them, but the supposed lurking foe. When he 
 shot, a large, red animal bounded into the air, and ran 
 in an opposite direction. Both of the men shouted, 
 "A deer!" What a nice supper they might have 
 had, had they known that the animal which had terri 
 fied them so was really nothing but a deer, which had 
 been attracted to the fire.
 
 I.OST IN THE MOUNTAINS. 293 
 
 The moon had now dispelled the darkness, and they 
 felt that they had better go, or it would be morning 
 before they would reach the city, if indeed they would 
 reach it then. Their driver might have left them in 
 his anxiety to get back. They now descended rapidly, 
 although they at times lost the trail, and scratched 
 themselves in the bushes. In less than an hour after 
 the discharge of the pistol they were at the foot of the 
 mountain. They were tired, it was true, but the walk 
 of half a mile or so that must be taken before they 
 would get to their lunch baskets was nothing at all, 
 now that they were safely at the foot- of the trail. It 
 seemed strange they did not hear the water-fall. The 
 stream, too, seemed larger than it had been when 
 they walked on its banks in the afternoon. All of the 
 party were impressed with the strange appearance of 
 the canon. It did not seem as wide as before. At 
 last Carrie's hero said: " I will leave you and go up 
 the canon until I get to the fall." 
 
 Dr. Burns said he could not see what that would be 
 for. 
 
 Carrie said: " I know why he wishes to go to the 
 falls. He thinks that he will not be able to find them 
 on this side of the mountain. In other words, we are 
 lost. We are farther from the carriage now than we 
 have been all this day." 
 
 It was even so. Our friends had taken the wrong 
 road from the start. They had gone in an opposite 
 direction from what they had intended. The great 
 shelf of rock over which they had come, and which
 
 294 I,OST IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 made them feel sure that they were on the right road, 
 had simply repeated itself on the side of the mountain 
 along which they had come. The truth had been 
 forced upon all of them about the same time; but no 
 one had been brave enough to confess it. One thing 
 was sure: they were too tired, and it was too unsafe 
 even to try to climb the mountain before daylight. 
 Jennie sobbed aloud, and said, " Oh, why did we come 
 to this dreadful place ? We will never get home 
 again. Oh, my poor sister." 
 
 "Come now, Cousin, be brave," said Carrie. "Don't 
 give up to death until you are sure you must. I ex 
 pect to eat my luncheon in L,os Angeles. I wish I 
 could have some of it now. I would be willing to 
 forego the pleasure of eating it later. ' ' 
 
 Carrie's hero proposed that Dr. Burns stay with the 
 ladies, and that he return to the carriage and get them 
 some food. He said he felt sure he would be able to 
 return by daylight. Dr. Burns favored the plan; but 
 Carrie said if he could return she felt that she, at least, 
 could accompany him. Of course our friend knew 
 that it would be impossible for the girl to do it. He 
 said he would rest a little while and then he would 
 start. There could be nothing to eat until he brought 
 it. Anything they might be able to shoot could not 
 be prepared so as to make it at all palatable. 
 
 After our friend had rested about half an hour, and 
 Dr. Burns had kindled a fire for the comfort of the 
 ladies, he arose and said: "Well, folks, I am going. 
 Keep up your spirits, and by two o'clock you will see
 
 I.OST IN THE MOUNTAINS. 295 
 
 me coming over the hill, and we will have coffee, and 
 the best breakfast we have had since we left Col 
 orado. ' ' 
 
 The girls saw that the hero's plan was their only 
 hope, so they finally consented that he should go. 
 Carrie rose and went with him a few steps, then 
 stretching out her hand she said: " Good-by, you dear, 
 brave fellow. God bless you." The hero turned and 
 was gone. Half an hour afterwards they heard a pis 
 tol-shot. It sounded far away and above them.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 SUNDRIES. 
 
 " Dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
 But man cannot cover what God would reveal: 
 
 ******* 
 
 And coming events cast their shadows before." 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 The summer that Jennie Dives spent in Colorado 
 and in traveling, the Dives' home on Fifth Avenue was 
 closed The horses were given in charge of the at 
 torney of the Dives. He used them during the greater 
 part of the time; one of his own having died shortly 
 before, he sold the remaining one. It was thus quite 
 an accomodation to both him and his neighbors to take 
 charge of their team. Susie said she was glad that 
 they were not compelled to sell the team, because they 
 were both good and reliable horses. 
 
 The cook was given a place in his old profession, in 
 a restaurant on Coney Island. He gave Susie Dives 
 his promise to return to the Dives' kitchen no later 
 than the first of September. The fact that he had a 
 good place kept him away from Sharp and defended 
 him against his old companions with whom he had be 
 come tolerably intimate during the fall and winter of 
 his stay in the city. 
 
 Susie Dives went with a lady friend first to Coney 
 Island and then to the more quiet place known as 
 296
 
 SUNDRIES. 297 
 
 Ocean Grove. She was spending the season very 
 pleasantly. She knew that her sister was in good 
 hands although she for a part of the summer did not 
 hear from her every week. The reader of this narra 
 tive will learn wh} r this apparent neglect on the part of 
 Jennie. He will see that at times it was better to keep 
 silent than to write. We cannot say that Susie felt 
 herself neglected on the part of her sister; but we do 
 know that she would have been glad to hear from her 
 more frequently than she did. She had a loving heart 
 and for no one was her affection stronger than for her 
 sister. 
 
 Felix kept his place behind the desk of Mr. Abra 
 ham. He did not even ask for a vacation; although 
 he did feel somewhat lonesome, because he knew that 
 all his friends were out of the city. The Abrahams 
 had a summer home on the banks of the Hudson. 
 Mr. Abraham spent much of his time there with his 
 wife and daughter. They staid there from the begin 
 ning of June until the last of September. Much of 
 the work that Mr. Abraham did devolved in his ab 
 sence upon the book-keepers. In the few months that 
 Felix had been in the business he had learned most of 
 what was required to keep things going during the 
 quieter months of the summer. If it would have been 
 the busy season it would have been different. One 
 Saturday afternoon, he was called to the telephone. 
 Mr. Abraham was there. He said, " Felix, is that 
 you?" The reply being in the affirmative he said, 
 " Felix, the ladies invite you to come up to the cha-
 
 298 SUNDRIES. 
 
 teau to spend Sunday with us. You can tell the rest 
 in the office that you will not be back before Monday 
 afternoon, or Tuesday morning. It is likely that this 
 will be all the vacation that you will get this summer. ' ' 
 Felix thanked the old gentleman for his kindness and 
 communicated the instructions to the rest in the office. 
 
 The head book-keeper said, " Felix, I can't under 
 stand why you are so popular with the old man. We 
 have been in this office five years. In all that time 
 we never had an invitation to the chateau, nor to his 
 home on the Avenue. How do you work it anyhow? 
 How came that girl of his to fall in love with you at 
 sight ? There are plenty of men in New York City 
 that are just as good looking as you are." 
 
 Felix replied that he did not know why the old 
 gentleman should take a fancy to him more than to 
 the rest. He himself considered them his superiors in 
 every way. And as to the young lady's being in love 
 with him, he had not even thought of such a thing. 
 He considered his informants visionary enough to be 
 poets. 
 
 When the proper time came our hero stepped on the 
 train en route for the Abraham chateau. 
 
 The daughter of Mr. Abraham and her little brother 
 Bennie were at the station to meet Felix. He was in 
 vited to step into the phaeton, of which Miss Abraham 
 was herself the driver, and in good and fashionable 
 style she brought him to the chateau. We cannot 
 dwell on a description of this, one of the many beauti 
 ful homes that are situated on the Hudson. That
 
 SUNDRIES. 299 
 
 same evening the young lady and he took a boat ride. 
 It was a beautiful moon-light evening. Felix could 
 row and so could his companion. Those of my read 
 ers who have taken boat rides with but one companion 
 and that one of their opposite sex, and at their time in 
 life when their hearts were their own, know all the 
 fascination, the charm, the sentiment, the poetry, there 
 is in a moonlight boat ride. There was one thing 
 about Miss Abraham that Felix did not like. We 
 will listen to some of their conversation, perhaps the 
 reader can detect what it is for himself. 
 
 " Mr. Felix," (So Miss Abraham insisted on calling 
 her father's book-keeper, even though she knew his 
 full name,) " do you know that you are the only 
 young man that my father ever allowed to come to see 
 me?" 
 
 Felix admitted that he did not know that such an 
 honor was conferred upon him. He said he felt flat 
 tered. 
 
 " Yes, rny mother asked him the other day why he 
 did not invite you up to the chateau. He said there 
 was time enough for that yet. My father says he 
 don't believe in rushing things." 
 
 Felix said he was aware of that fact; but Felix 
 also admitted that there were some things which Abra 
 ham delighted in rushing. Everything about his busi 
 ness he liked to rush. Felix had learned that. ' ' My 
 mother and father were married when she was as old 
 as you are; but I am not nearly as old as papa was 
 when he got married."
 
 300 SUNDRIES. 
 
 We have given the reader the idea. We need not 
 say anything more. This girl had been brought up in 
 luxury. She had all her heart could wish, except the 
 society of young people of the opposite sex. I sup 
 pose that if she wpuld have had society like other 
 young people she would have been odd. Some people 
 are. One thing was sure, there was not an employee in 
 the Abraham store who would not have tried very 
 hard to love the girl, if he would have had only the 
 fraction of a chance. She was pretty. By the side 
 of Carrie or Jennie Dives she was homely; but she 
 passed for a pretty girl notwithstanding. 
 
 There are two others of whom we must speak. 
 They are Octavia and Mr. Sharp. Octavia was fated 
 to remain in the city the greater part of the summer. 
 She was real strong again. She was summoned to 
 nurse the wife of an English gentleman, who was on 
 his way to the West, but who, on account of his wife's 
 health, got no farther than New York City. Octavia 
 found her charge a very kind woman, patient and 
 appreciative of her nurse's care. She did not see Mr. 
 Sharp very much because of her work. At least that 
 was his excuse for not calling, and she believed him. 
 She had given him the right to sell her property, and 
 he in turn committed the business to a real estate man 
 in Omaha. He instructed him to sell at a sacrifice 
 rather than miss a sale. Mr. Sharp was anxious to 
 convert Octavia's possessions into money. 
 
 Sharp himself stayed in the Metropolis during a 
 part of the summer. He made some plans for little
 
 SUNDRIES. 
 
 odd jobs in the city as he called them, when he spoke 
 to his friends. The fa<5t of the matter is Sharp was 
 cunning. He could make plans for others to carry out, 
 but he was too cowardly to execute them himself. 
 His three companions were exactly the opposite. 
 They could make no plans, but they were to Sharp's 
 schemes what the army is to the general. They were 
 not afraid to undertake what he planned. They had 
 the utmost confidence in his wisdom. Only once did 
 Sharp undertake a " little work " on his own account. 
 He watched for Felix one evening as he approached 
 his lodgings, which were still in the room to which 
 he had moved for the safety of the Dives the latter 
 part of the winter. When Sharp saw the young man 
 approaching the home of the Dives, he stepped up to 
 him and stretching out his hand towards him, he said, 
 whilst at the same time a smile that fairly puckered 
 his thin lips, illuminated his countenance, "Mr, F., 
 I have been wishing to see you for some time already. 
 I suppose you have entirely forgotten that little mat 
 ter between you and me. I knew when you first came 
 here that you were not overly flush, so I did not wish 
 to press you; but I understand you are as good as a 
 partner in a large wholesale house in this city now, 
 and booked to marry the girl whose father took you 
 out of the street. Being you are so favorably situated 
 I thought I would remind you of the little account." 
 
 Felix looked him straight into the face, and in a 
 short, gruff way, said, " What account? I know of 
 no account between you and me."
 
 302 SUNDRIES. 
 
 ' ' You remember, I guess, that I secured you the 
 place of coachman ? Because you have risen above it 
 is no reason that you should forget your debts. I 
 always charge a commission when I procure a place 
 for anyone." 
 
 " Mr. Sharp, you know that you were not running 
 an employment bureau at the time you hired me as 
 coachman for the Dives. You know, too, that they 
 insisted on your taking five dollars for your trouble. ' ' 
 
 Sharp's smile had changed into a frown. The fadl 
 that the girls had even deigned to tell Felix that they 
 had insisted on his taking five dollars for his after 
 noon's visit to Felix made him mad. Before he real 
 ized what he was saying, and saying to one of the 
 warmest friends of the young ladies in New York, he 
 blurted out, " They lie, if they say " He had not 
 finished his sentence before he lay in the gutter, in 
 front of the Dives' home. He arose more scared than 
 hurt and walked away swearing the most horrid oaths 
 that Felix ever had heard. 
 
 That same evening Sharp entered the second-hand 
 clothing room on West street, and asked the woman, 
 who seemed to be alone in the establishment, " Are 
 the boys not in ? " 
 
 She pointed to the back room. He walked to the 
 door, when some one, whom Sharp recognized as the 
 husband, very angrily swore, and asked whether he 
 had not told her to stay out and keep the door shut. 
 Sharp replied, " It is I. L,et me in." Instantly the 
 door was opened. Sharp saw a silver brick cooling in
 
 SUNDRIES. 303 
 
 the sand. His eyes twinkled as he said, "Oh, ho! 
 That looks like business. That is a nice little fellow. 
 He is worth more than two night's loss of sleep. And 
 the work itself had not sufficient excitement about it 
 to keep you fully awake. I came to see you on a little 
 tough business, I admit, but I will reward you for it 
 if you will make a good job of it. I was grossly 
 insulted by that puppy who is getting more impudent 
 
 every day. I refer to the coachman of the 
 
 Dives. He waylaid me this evening simply because 
 he owes me a bill, contracted when he was yet in Cali 
 fornia. He knocked me down on the street. Young 
 ster, if you will thrash him within an inch of his life, 
 you will do me a big favor. I will give you ten dol 
 lars, if you will make a good job of it. I'll teach him 
 that I take no trifling. ' ' 
 
 " All right," said the man. "I'll make a good job 
 of it. I'll knock him down and waltz on his face 
 when he lies on his back." 
 
 The fellow asked how he could get a hold of Felix. 
 He was told to go to his room any evening after six 
 o'clock and he would be likely to find him. He could 
 call him out and give him a note, and when he was off 
 his guard he could knock him down and ' ' then finish 
 the business." 
 
 One more event in Sharp's career needs to be 
 noticed. The next day after he had instructed the 
 young villain to at$ack this innocent and upright 
 man, Sharp received a letter from the real estate agent 
 in Omaha, stating that the house in the city was sold
 
 304 SUNDRIES. 
 
 and the ranch was as good as sold. The letter con 
 tained a draft for $5,000, which had been paid as a 
 guarantee by the purchaser. He asked Sharp to have 
 deeds made and have them properly acknowledged, and 
 the rest of the money would be sent in due time. The 
 sale was to be for cash. That same day Sharp bore 
 the draft in triumph to Octavia, and got the deeds, 
 and went to work on them at once. Octavia now had 
 $5,300 of her fortune in her possession. Mr. Sharp 
 told her he would probably go to Omaha as soon as 
 she would acknowledge the deeds, and clean up the 
 whole real estate business, and bring her the cash.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 A TRIP BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 " So if I live or die to serve my friend, 
 'Tis for my love 'tis for my friend alone, 
 And not for any rate that friendship bears 
 In heaven or on earth." George Eliot. 
 
 The driver went up the canon to the water- fall. He 
 felt sure that he would find them there fast asleep. 
 It would not be the first party he had aroused from 
 sleep in that very place. When he arrived there he 
 could scarcely credit his eyes when they informed his 
 intellect that the people were really not there. , 
 Against the side of the perpendicular wall of rock 
 there leaned an old, slimy, delapidated ladder. He 
 had seen this on former journeys to the canon. It 
 had no doubt been made years ago by some miners, 
 who felt sure that if there were ' ' a pocket ' ' in the 
 rock above, over which the water poured, they would 
 find gold in "the pocket." He wondered how they 
 had succeeded, even whilst he approached the old lad 
 der to see whether anybody had disturbed the slime 
 and moss upon it. He turned away in disgust, saying, 
 ' ' Might know no ladies could climb that old nor men 
 either," he added, without finishing his sentence. 
 He thought long and deeply, then he rose, looked 
 for the sun, and toward the top of the huge 
 gray mountain. He could not imagine what had 
 
 35
 
 306 A TRIP BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 become of his party. He concluded that there 
 was only one thing to do, that was to go back to his 
 team and wait. He had no revolver, he thought to 
 himself, and whilst there might be no mountain-lions 
 or anything else to disturb him, he would rather have 
 been armed, because he did not know how long it 
 might be before he could leave the place. He did not 
 even then dream that he had an all-night job on hand. 
 
 A while after the moon had risen, the old man care 
 fully secured his horses, lit his pipe and proceeded up 
 the canon. "Pears tome this is sorter taken one's 
 life in hes hans. Cats is awful bold sometimes. 
 Wonder whether them fellows has arms. Gess they 
 has, likely as not." Thus our friend soliloquized as 
 he proceeded up the canon. When he was near the 
 falls he heard the pistol shot to which we alluded in a 
 former chapter. It had been fired by Carrie's hero as 
 a signal that he had reached the top of the mountain. 
 Those who were huddled around the fire at the bottom 
 did not know what it meant. It might mean that 
 some wild animal had been encountered, or that he 
 who went to seek for them food was lost both to them 
 and to the man at the carriage half a dozen miles 
 away. There was but one thing they could do. It 
 was to wait and see. 
 
 When the old man heard the shot, he said, " Just as 
 I expected. They are lost." He concluded that the 
 very best thing for him to do was to shout. He did 
 so, and that like a Comanche. If it had been daylight, 
 he could have seen Carrie's hero picking his way along
 
 A TRIP BY MOONLIGHT. 307 
 
 the trail. As it was he did not see him, nor did our 
 friend hear his whoops. He, however, felt encouraged, 
 and wondered whether it would be possible for him to 
 drive along the narrow mountain road by moonlight. 
 We have already seen that there was no occasion for 
 worrying on that score. The old man sat down on a 
 stone and waited a while, listening for some more 
 noise. When the mind is intently fixed on any par 
 ticular subject for a time, drowsiness may ensue. 
 Especially is this the case when he who tries so to fix 
 his mind, is fatigued. The old man had not listened 
 very long before he was asleep. 
 
 Our friend was still coming nearer. In the quiet 
 night he heard first a murmur. It became louder every 
 moment, until his soul was filled with joy as he real 
 ized that it was the water-fall. Yes, he was on the 
 right road. He would soon be at the little stream 
 which they had crossed more than eight hours ago. 
 Sure enough, there was the stream. Its water spar 
 kled in the moonlight. He ran to the little stream. 
 He leaped it, and as he did so he gave a yell that could 
 have been heard a mile away. He had jumped right 
 against the old man who was sitting on the trail upon 
 a big stone, fast asleep. The shadow of the overhang 
 ing branches of the tree beneath which he sat, had 
 concealed him from the young man, who, with a heart 
 leaping for joy that he had so nearly accomplished 
 half of his journey, had jumped upon the prostrate 
 form. The old man, who did not know what had 
 occurred in addition to his being knocked over,
 
 308 A TRIP BY MOONUGHT. 
 
 scrambled up and began to beat the air, whilst at the 
 same time he gave short, hoarse cries, which betrayed 
 how thoroughly frightened he was. Our friend kept 
 out of the reach of his fistic fusillade. 
 
 He soon recovered from his own fright and made 
 himself known to the old man. He told him briefly 
 how they had lost their way that evening, and that 
 the others were awaiting his return on the other side of 
 the hill. The old man proposed that he take the 
 lunch basket to them. ' Our friend said: " You could 
 not find them if you did. Have you ever crossed the 
 mountain?" The old gentleman confessed that this 
 was one of the few mountains in the state that he had 
 not crossed. " It is a very tiresome journey. It took 
 me three hours to make it empty-handed. It will 
 take fully as long to return. If it were not for the 
 moon it would be impossible to do it to-night." 
 
 The old man suggested that he would go to the car 
 riage for the baskets, and that the younger should 
 rest until he returned. Our friend saw the wisdom of 
 his suggestion, but charged him to bring both baskets. 
 In a minute more the old man was gone. In a few 
 moments the sound of his footsteps was lost in the dis 
 tance. 
 
 The driver soon returned. When he came up 
 they opened the two baskets and took out of them the 
 best of the food that still remained. They sorted the 
 dishes into one, then packed the food, together with 
 the coffee-pot, into the other. In had not required 
 many moments before the preparations were complete.
 
 A TRIP BY MOONUGHT. 309 
 
 The old man had brought a strap with him. He 
 slipped the handle of the basket on our friend's arm. 
 Then he passed the strap between the handle and the 
 basket and around our friend's neck. " There, now 
 you will find that much easier. You can use both 
 hands, ef you need them, and still hold the vittals," he 
 said. 
 
 Once more Carrie's hero started up the trail. The 
 old man watched him as far as he could see, which was 
 not very far in the uncertain light of the moon. When 
 he could no longer hear him as he started the loose 
 stones down the trail, he turned and walked slowly 
 down the canon toward the carriage, for he, too, was 
 beginning to feel tired. When he reached the car 
 riage he shoved the seats together, and lying down 
 flat upon the cushions he had placed at the bottom of 
 the carriage, and using the robes for covering, he fell 
 asleep and heard nothing more of the world. When 
 he awoke the sun was already up, and the horses were 
 neighing for something to eat. He crawled up from 
 beneath his cover, rubbed his eyes and looked about 
 him. He could see no traces of his party. He con 
 cluded that they would come ere long, so he watered 
 his horses, and began getting ready for a start which 
 he was anxious to make at the earliest moment pos 
 sible. 
 
 Out on the mountain there were three people who 
 were more anxious than the guide. It is needless to 
 say that they did not sleep. They were too anxious 
 about themselves and their friend's return to care to
 
 310 A TRIP BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 sleep, tired as they were. They kept up the fire all 
 the night, because it was too cold to do otherwise, and 
 because they felt safer. They sat in the uncertain 
 light of the moon and the fire like the three fates. 
 Carrie once jokingly remarked that there was posi 
 tively nothing on that mountain or in the canons that 
 would not be afraid of them. She had scarcely finished 
 her sentence when there was a loud screech in the tree 
 a few rods away from them. Jennie clasped Dr. 
 Burns' arm. He remembered what the hero had done 
 under similar circumstances a few hours ago. He 
 promptly pulled out his revolver, and bidding the girls 
 to keep quiet he stepped in the direction from which 
 the cry had come. He thought he saw a dark object, 
 and fired; but with the shot the branch of an adjacent 
 tree shook, a big object leaped from it across the strip 
 of moonlight upon another tree fully twenty feet 
 away. They all knew it was a wild-cat. By and by 
 the dawn began to appear, and they hoped that Car 
 rie's hero would soon be there.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 BACK FROM THE MOUNTAINS, AND OFF TO THE SEA. 
 
 " See the mountains kiss high heaven, 
 And the waves clasp one another." Shelley. 
 
 Our friend was soon well on the way to the trio who 
 were anxiously awaiting his return. He found the 
 ascent much more difficult with his basket on his arm, 
 (although it was partly supported by the strap around 
 his neck) than when he went up before with the rest. 
 There were several reasons for this. Then it was day 
 light. Much has been said about the beauty and the 
 poetry of the moonlight walk; but after all the sun 
 furnishes the best light for mountain climbing. Then 
 too, the first time he made the ascent he was not in 
 the least fatigued. He then felt as if he could walk 
 all the rest of the afternoon and not weary. Now he 
 had not only walked all of the afternoon but also the 
 greater part of the night, and that with great anxiety 
 for himself and those who were entrusted to his care. 
 Reason as he might with regard to his share of the 
 responsibility for their losing the way on the moun 
 tain, he felt that if anything should happen to Carrie 
 or to Jennie, he would not be able again to look into 
 the face of Mr. Dives. It was thus that the power of 
 thought, the " magic of the mind," made the road
 
 312 BACK FROM THE MOUNTAINS, 
 
 less wearisome as the hero slowly dragged himself to 
 wards the top of the mountain. 
 
 At last he came to the wall of rock. He had 
 dreaded this every time he thought of it. He looked 
 at the wall as it stood between him and his path be 
 yond. His eye looked in vain to find a place less 
 abrupt. He reasoned that if there would have been a 
 way to avoid it in the ascent, the first person whose 
 footsteps trod that path would have found that way. 
 The next would have followed it, and so on. In this 
 world most people are like geese, they follow a well 
 trodden path. Now and then there is a gander bold 
 enough to leave the flock and try a path of his own. 
 Sometimes such a gander comes back to tell his exper 
 ience. More frequently he doesn't. It is difficult to 
 tell to which of the geese the world owes the more, to 
 those who leave the beaten path or to those who re 
 main in it. We like to speak of what those have done 
 who left the path; but we forget to speak of what 
 those have done who remained in it. 
 
 He managed to climb the rock and having accomplish 
 ed this, he felt that the hardest part of his journey was 
 over. He soon reached the summit of the mountain. 
 Going along the top a few hundred yards, he realized 
 that the moon had lost herself behind a bank of clouds, 
 and that he was really walking by the light of the 
 new-born day. The peaks to the east of him were al 
 ready being touched by the quivering fire of the com 
 ing sun. He drew his pistol from his pocket and fired 
 straight up toward the stars that had as yet not all
 
 AND OFF TO THE SEA. 313 
 
 *t 
 
 faded in the light of the oncoming morn. In a few 
 moments there was the echo of a shot from the canon 
 below. His heart leaped for joy because he felt all 
 were safe. He hastened forward. His haste might 
 have cost him dearly. He almost tumbled over the 
 corresponding wall of rock of which we have 
 spoken. Having stopped in time to save himself, he 
 found this wall was not so difficult as the one he ascend 
 ed. It is nearly always easier to descend than to asctnd. 
 The stopping may be attended with worse conse 
 quences. This is true in the moral world as well as in 
 the physical. About twenty minutes after the 
 wall of rock was left behind, our hero stepped up to 
 the fire around which the three sat. 
 
 The girls made their toilet at the creek, whilst the 
 doctor put water into the little coffee-pot and set it on 
 the fire. He also spread the cloth and arranged the 
 food upon it. When the girls returned, the} 7 looked 
 pleased. The coffee was soon made and the four sat 
 down to their breakfast. It is true they suffered from 
 exposure and had taken some cold, yet they were com 
 paratively comfortable. The warm coffee invigorated 
 them. The table was soon cleared and the remainder 
 of the food carefully put away. Carrie mockingly 
 said, it might be a week before they got back to the 
 city, and the strictest economy must be practiced . 
 
 They all agreed that the very earliest moment, was 
 the best to make the climb up the mountain. After 
 the three had walked a while they felt less weary than 
 when they started. In four hours after they began
 
 314 BACK FROM THE MOUNTAINS, 
 
 n 
 
 their climb they stood safe and sound around the car 
 riage, waiting for the last strap to be adjusted, before 
 they began the drive back to the city. It was one 
 o'clock when they stepped out of the carriage in front 
 of the cousin's home. The men went to their hotel 
 to rest the remainder of the day and the ladies went 
 to bed. The dodtor had recommended that, and it 
 was a direction which they were heartily glad to com 
 ply with. So ended the journey which had cost them 
 much anxiety and considerable exposure and incon 
 venience. 
 
 Two weeks had now passed away since they left 
 their Colorado home. Mr. Dives expected them back 
 in another week. Only one of the little party had 
 seen the Pacific, and she had seen it on a former visit. 
 They must see the great ocean, and bathe in it before 
 they returned. The day after their return from the 
 mountain was the Sabbath. The party went to church 
 in the evening, and before they parted, they agreed to 
 go to Catalina on the following Tuesday. 
 
 A word with regard to ' ' Santa Catalina Island ' ' to 
 which our friends were going, will be necessary for 
 some of our readers. Fifty years after Columbus 
 made his first voyage to America, Cabrillo, a Spanish 
 navigator, discovered what is now the chief sea-side 
 resort off the Pacific Coast. When it was first discov 
 ered it was densely populated with the aboriginees. 
 These were gradually driven from their island homes 
 by adventurers, freebooters and pirates. The full, true 
 history of the islands never has and never will be writ-
 
 AND OFF TO THE SKA. 315 
 
 ten. Truth is always stranger than fiction. It is 
 especially so with the events that have occurred on and 
 around these islands for the last four hundred years. 
 
 The largest of the group of these islands off the 
 coast is the one already referred to, namely, "Santa 
 Catalina," as the old Spaniards named it. It num 
 bers about 55,000 acres of mountain land, with here 
 and there a little valley among the hills. The hunt 
 ing is excellent. Quail abound. The wild goat, 
 almost as sure footed and daring as the chamois, lives 
 in the mountain fastnesses. He loves to poise upon 
 the highest cliffs that overlook the deep, blue sea. 
 Whatever may be said of the hunting, it is excelled 
 by the fishing. It has been well said, that the bay at 
 Avalon is the fisherman's paradise. This is the home 
 of the black sea-bass, or Jew-fish, as it is sometimes 
 called. It attains a weight of five hundred pounds 
 and is one of the gamiest fishes of the Pacific. Here 
 also the ordinary fisherman can take with hook and 
 line the yellow-tail, the salmon of Southern California. 
 
 The sail-boat that rides the usually calm sea off the 
 shores of Avalon, (the town in the pretty pocket of 
 the mighty hills, ) carries its occupants over a perfect 
 fairy land, from fifty to three hundred feet below the 
 surface of the waters. The mosses and other plants 
 wave in graceful bends above the rocks and earth to. 
 which they cling. Among them glide the fishes of 
 every hue and size. On a calm day, and the days are 
 nearly always calm here in summer and winter, the 
 boatman can see this fairy land without any effort
 
 316 BACK FROM THE MOUNTAINS, 
 
 whatever. The sight once seen is never forgotten. 
 We cannot speak of all the attractions of Santa 
 Catalina. The famous ancient quarry, the Indian 
 town-sites, Clear Water Canon, the Indian Cavern, 
 and many other places on the island are every year 
 visited by hundreds. The bathing in the bay is all 
 that can be wished in summer ' and in winter. It is 
 therefore no surprise that our friends desired to make a 
 trip to this wonder-land. 
 
 On Tuesday morning, as planned, they took the 
 train in the city of Los Angeles and in about five 
 hours they disembarked on the wharf at Avalon. The 
 actual voyage by steamer occupied them only three 
 hours. The waters, like those of the British Channel, 
 have a peculiar tendency to make one feel as though 
 he were spinning with the rapidity of a top, when he 
 is in reality sitting quietly on deck, wishing that he 
 would have stayed at home. Of course the entire party 
 was sick. Even the grave and dignified doctor, who 
 knew so much about the different medicines good for 
 sea-sickness, paid his first compliments to the great 
 deep. He attributed their sickness to their exposure 
 and irregular meals when on their mountain trip. No 
 doubt that was one cause, but whatever was the cause, 
 the remedy which never fails, was stepping on the 
 shore. When the passengers are sick this is always 
 the most pleasant part of the voyage. It was so in 
 this case. What cared they for the flying fish that 
 rose and fell out of and into the blue seas over which 
 they were being borne ! What cared they for the fact
 
 AND OFF TO THE SEA. 317 
 
 that every now and then a little fountain rose out of 
 the bosom of the waters and showed where a whale 
 was sporting in briny deep ! They were glad when the 
 voyage was ended, as sea-sick people are always glad. 
 We cannot dwell upon the experiences of the little 
 party during their brief stay on the island. We can 
 not tell of all the fun they had in pulling out from 
 their native elements the " strange, astonished- look 
 ing, angle-faced, dreary-mouthed, gaping wretches of 
 the sea," that had " gulped salt-water everlastingly." 
 In the case of our party, as is generally the fact, 
 though they had been very sick, they had gotten over 
 their illness soonest, and became passionately fond of 
 the water. The doctor had learned to row some years 
 before on the Schuylkill, when he was attending the 
 university. He was out of practice, but soon became 
 familiar with the oars again. Carrie's hero knew how 
 to swim and row and sail. He had learned on lake 
 Michigan. The girls enjoyed the trips they made in 
 the small boats quite as well as those they made by 
 land. They had heard of Pebbly Beach, and the day 
 after their arrival they visited ft. The water was 
 calm, and they found no trouble in landing. They 
 spent the greater part of the forenoon there, and 
 resolved to visit it again before they would return to 
 the city. Considering the brevity of their intended 
 stay on the coast, they felt that they would better 
 come that very evening. The afternoon was spent 
 pleasantly enough in climbing the hill which over 
 looked the beach which they intended to visit that
 
 318 BACK FROM THE MOUNTAINS, 
 
 evening. They realized that it would be next to im 
 possible to climb the rock which, when the tide was 
 high, was buried at its base in the sea. There are a 
 number of paths, which by daylight lead the pedes 
 trian, or rather climber, from the hill to the town 
 which nestles at its base. At night, however, it is 
 difficult to find these paths, and to keep in them when 
 they are found. We mention these facts, because 
 they will enable the reader to understand subsequent 
 events. 
 
 As luck would have it, (as we sometimes say, 
 but there is really no such thing as luck, we solemnly 
 believe,) Jennie Dives became ill towards evening, and 
 could not go on the proposed voyage, a thing she 
 very much regretted. Carrie was very anxious to 
 revisit the place. The hero was willing to accompany 
 her because he wished to declare once and forever his 
 love for the girl who had already come to form a part 
 of his very life. Dr. Burns knew that some one must 
 remain with Jennie, who was just ill enough to be too 
 sick to try a boat ride. He knew, too, that he, being 
 a physician, was tifce very person who should remain 
 near enough to the girl to attend her should she need 
 his services. But he wished to go with Carrie. He 
 wanted to tell her that the position as queen of his 
 home and heart was still open. He, too, wished to 
 decide his fate with the girl, who, since he had met 
 her black- eyed cousin, was not as pretty as she had 
 seemed a few weeks before. We do not say that he 
 had lost his love for her; but we do say that he con-
 
 AND OFF TO THE SEA. 319 
 
 fessed in his heart that Jennie was almost as sweet a 
 girl, and even prettier than Carrie. Carrie's nature 
 was more decided. She was stronger in every way. 
 A man who once really loves a woman, will love her 
 forever, provided he has the slightest hope of winning 
 the object of his affections. Though when he finds 
 his affections have been misplaced, he reluctantly 
 transfers them to another and more worthy object. It 
 was so with Dr. Burns, although he did confess to 
 himself that Jennie might be to him equally dear; he 
 was at that point where, should Carrie refuse to accept 
 his hand and heart, he would see new beauty and 
 loveliness in Jennie. 
 
 Because Dr. Burns wished to decide his fate he was 
 anxious to accompany Carrie. He was cruel enough 
 to her hero to whom Carrie was all and in all, and who 
 felt that if he would be spurned in his offer of heart 
 and hand to Carrie, he would never love another 
 woman, he was cruel enough to this man to propose 
 that they pull sticks as to who was to stay with Jennie. 
 He made this proposition in the presence of the girls. 
 Jennie, without a murmur, thought it a happy idea. 
 She cut the sticks and held them in her hand. Carrie 
 shook her head in disapproval toward her hero, who 
 gave her an appealing look. But even whilst they 
 were deciding not to submit to the Doctor's proposition 
 that the man who drew the longer stick should remain, 
 he himself had already drawn that very stick. He 
 threw it aside with a feeling of disgust which he illy 
 concealed. Of course Carrie's hero was pleased. He
 
 32O BACK FROM THE MOUNTAINS, 
 
 did not make much attempt to conceal his pleasure. 
 Doctor Burns saw this and felt provoked at himself 
 that he had made the proposition. 
 
 They were standing on the beach when the doctor 
 pulled his stick. Carrie and her hero immediately 
 stepped into the row-boat and pushed off, promising to 
 be back in two hours. It was not quite six yet, and 
 they would have ample time to return before dark. 
 
 Jennie and the doctor stood on the beach watching 
 them as they went first directly toward the L,os An 
 geles coast. They went so far in this direction that 
 Jennie and the Doctor thought that they were either 
 fooling them or had changed their minds. The hero 
 rowed out so far in order that he might entirely clear 
 the rocky head-land, and then row south until he got 
 opposite the beach they intended to visit. This was 
 wise, because the tide was coming in, and the sea was 
 rather rough. When at last the boat turned, Carrie 
 waved her handkerchief in a final adieu, and they were 
 soon lost to view. The Doctor and Jennie turned and 
 walked to the hotel. They ascended the stairs and sat 
 on the balcony on the second floor, upon which the 
 girls' rooms were located. Jennie soon excused her 
 self and the Doctor went to the reading-room. 
 
 The Doctor took from his pocket a little book and 
 began to read. He read quite a while and then he 
 strolled down to the beach. A number of boats came 
 in whilst he was standing there; but his friends were 
 not in the number. It was now eight o'clock, and 
 time for them to come. He almost envied the hero
 
 AND OFF TO THE SEA. 321 
 
 when he thought that he might even then be pouring 
 out his heart at Carrie's feet. The sea, he noticed, 
 was rougher than it had been the previous evening. 
 Turning to the man who had the boats in charge, he 
 asked him whether the water was not a bit rough ? 
 He replied that it was decidedly so. Then he told 
 him that two of his friends had gone to Pebbly Beach, 
 whether it were possible for him to walk along the 
 shore until he got there ? The man told him that it 
 was not possible in day time and at low tide. It cer 
 tainly was not possible at night and when the tide was 
 running as high as it was that night. He added: " If 
 your people are not good rowers they will be capsized. 
 If they were on the beach an hour ago already, they 
 will not be able to get their boat out on account of the 
 breakers. If they are on the beach now they will stay 
 until morning. It is almost impossible to climb the 
 head-land and walk back to Avalon for persons that 
 are not better acquainted than your people evidently 
 are. If they do not arrive before eleven o'clock, then 
 come to me and report." 
 
 The doctor returned to the reading-room in deep 
 study. What would he do to help them in case they need 
 ed his help ? If they were on the beach it would be next 
 to impossible to get away. Another night of exposure 
 might mean much even for Carrie's hearty constitu 
 tion. If they were in the boat He shuddered at the 
 thought. He tried to read, but he took very little in 
 terest in what his eyes saw on the printed page. 
 When it was nine o'clock he went down to the wharf
 
 322 BACK FROM THE MOUNTAINS, 
 
 once more. "My friends have not returned," he 
 said to the man with whom he had had the dialogue 
 an hour before. 
 
 "You cannot do anything for them. They are 
 either at the bottom of the sea, or on Pebbly Beach try 
 ing to climb the bluff. You can take a two hours walk 
 and swing a lantern from the rock and tell them to be 
 brave and hunt a dry spot until the tide goes out," 
 said the man. 
 
 He again returned to the hotel. Would he waken 
 Jennie ? Her exposure in the mountain and her loss 
 of sleep had made her nervous and to tell her that her 
 cousin was exposed to a new and worse danger than 
 the one they had shared, would be more than she 
 could bear. Might they not even now be locked in 
 each others arms and be down where he had seen the 
 big fish swim ? But the hero could swim. He had 
 floated like a log that very day half way between the 
 shore and the Sugar I/saf (a high rock at the entrance 
 to the harbor at Catalina) without any effort. It 
 might be different now, in the big waves, with a help 
 less girl in his arms. This trip had brought them some 
 pleasure. It had brought him little else than disap 
 pointment and anxiety. He wished he had staid at 
 home. He would go down to the beach and see what 
 could be done. 
 
 The man told him he might organize a party of 
 searchers to go by land. It would assist the strangers 
 in finding the village. The tide was now full, and he 
 himself would take a boat and row to the beach indi-
 
 AND OFF TO THE SEA. 323 
 
 cated. If they were drowned the boat would in all 
 probability be there. They too would be washed up 
 by the waves, in case they had not gone down too far 
 from shore. If that were so, the boat as likely as not 
 would be at the bottom too. He would have cautioned 
 them, he said, if he would have known that Pebbly 
 Beach was their destination so late in the day. But it 
 was too late to talk about it now. Dr. Burns went away 
 from the shore with a heavy heart. The girl he loved 
 was without doubt no more. And her father! He had 
 seem him wring his hands when he stood by the side 
 of the young man now with Carrie, wherever that might 
 be, when he lay unconscious after saving her from the 
 run-away. Why had she not died then, instead of now ? 
 
 When the doctor came to the hotel he told the night- 
 clerk what had happened. The latter at once sum 
 moned one of the waiters who knew the island 
 thoroughly. He told him that a, searching party must 
 be made up and proceed to the high rock to see if they 
 had landed and climbed the steep sides which was 
 quite possible by day, for persons acquainted with the 
 place. Three persons armed themselves with lanterns 
 and the usual bottle of stimulants, should they find them 
 in a state of exhaustion. The doctor insisted that he 
 must accompany them. 
 
 Just as they were ready to start Jennie summoned 
 the doctor. He went to her room and found her dressed. 
 She said: " They have not returned. Something has 
 happened, I know. I dreamt they had fallen into the 
 sea, I saw Carrie's black hair float on the top of the
 
 324 BACK FROM THK MOUNTAINS. 
 
 waves. He had her in his arm, and they were sinking. 
 When I got awake and found that Carrie was not at 
 my side in bed, I knew that my dream was true. 
 They are drowned, I know it. Oh! Doctor, what will 
 we do?" 
 
 The doctor tried to soothe the girl by telling her 
 that she dreamt so, because she was not quite well her 
 self, and that the hero was a good swimmer, and would 
 not let Carrie drown. But his words had little effect. 
 He told her that three men were waiting for him down 
 stairs, and that he would accompany them to search 
 for the missing friends. It was with difficulty that he 
 gained the girl's consent to go. She feared he would 
 be lost too. With their lanterns, the four started 
 on their search. But they had not gone far before the 
 man who rowed to the beach arrived there. He 
 struck his light, jumped on the shore, secured his boat, 
 and after walking along the shore he saw their boat 
 bottom-side up, on the beach. He exclaimed, " As I 
 expected!"
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 " Our dearest hopes in pangs are born 
 The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorns." 
 
 Massey. 
 
 We have seen how the man who had rowed to Peb 
 bly Beach found the boat in which Carrie and her hero 
 had gone forth. The oars were lying one of them, 
 not far from the boat, the other had been cast high 
 and dry upon the shore at some distance from the boat. 
 The man looked carefully along the beach for some 
 signs of the missing couple. He could find no traces. 
 Either the boat was capsized at some distance from the 
 shore and the two went to the bottom, or they had 
 swam to the beach and gone along the rocks until they 
 gained a place to climb the mountain. From where 
 the boat lay the latter supposition was scarcely prob 
 able. He shouted at the top of his voice, but there 
 was no reply. He knew that he could not be heard 
 at any distance, yet he thought there might be a bare 
 chance that they were close by, and too exhausted to 
 help themselves. Finally he embarked and rowed 
 rapidly toward the pier at Avalon. 
 
 The party which had gone overland climbed the 
 hill east of the town very carefully. They waved their 
 lights every now and then and shouted. Finally they 
 
 325
 
 326 A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 arrived on the top of the bluff which overlooks the 
 sea. The man in the boat who was then already on 
 his way home saw the lights; but he had put out his 
 own light and gave no sign of recognition. He did 
 not wish to mislead those who were searching by land. 
 
 After they had carefully looked along the bluff and 
 thrown the light along the jagged edge to make sure 
 that the waves had not brought their dead bodies and 
 cast them upon the cruel rocks, they continued their 
 search along the bluff. They descended the rugged 
 sides with difficulty. At last they stood beside the boat 
 where the boat-keeper had stood half an hour before 
 them. They too looked for evidences from which to 
 form an opinion as to what had become of the people, 
 or where in all probability their boat had been cap 
 sized. There seemed but one conclusion. They were 
 evidently drowned. The boat had no doubt been cap 
 sized some distance from the shore, and they drowned 
 in deep water. They felt that there was no hope. 
 
 Doctor Burns staggered to a rock and sat down 
 holding his head between his hands. In the end he 
 thought to himself, a stick no longer than a finger had 
 decided his destiny. Carrie and her hero had gone 
 together, and together they had found a watery grave. 
 How was he to tell Jennie that her dream was real 
 ized ? They were indeed drowned. How was he to 
 break the news to Mr. Dives, that the idol of his heart 
 was shattered, that the light of his Carrie's eyes 
 which had been the guiding star of his joy ever since 
 his wife had died, had now forever gone out ? The
 
 A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 327 
 
 doctor was unutterably sad. But in the midst of his 
 sad thoughts a new hope arose. It came so suddenly 
 and unexpectedly to him, that he felt that some un 
 known power had whispered it to his soul. Rousing 
 himself, he said: " Boys, I tell you, we have missed 
 them. They are not dead. They climbed this hill 
 three hours ago, and in some way we passed them. 
 Let us return. We will find it so. Depend upon it." 
 
 One of the searchers said, " We certainly hope you 
 are right; but we fear you will be disappointed. We 
 will go back now. There is no use in staying here 
 any longer. They will not be found here for many 
 days. By and by they may be picked up. But we 
 will not walk back. Let us row back." They carried 
 the boat to the water. They adjusted the oars and 
 when the three were in, the spokesman whom we have 
 just quoted shoved off, and they were soon at sea. 
 The tide was now perceptibly going down along the 
 shore and the swell was no longer heavy. One pair of 
 oars easily managed the boat. In half an hour they 
 touched land. The first words they heard as they 
 stepped on shore was, " The lady and gentleman are 
 here. They are both in bed, but very much ex 
 hausted. They came half an hour ago." 
 
 On the edge of the town of Avalon there is a fine 
 residence. It is really part way up the hill, and the 
 person who lives there has a splendid view of the town 
 of Avalon that nestles in the little vale, and of 
 the bay and the sugar-loaf and rocky headland that 
 forms the shelter of the bay to the northward. On
 
 328 A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 the evening to which we allude in the annals of this 
 chapter, the man who lives there had already retired. 
 He was awakened out of his sleep by a knock at his 
 door. He wondered what late visitor could be disturb 
 ing his slumber; but he raised the window and asked 
 what was wanted. The voice of a man replied: "A 
 lady and a man have met with a great misfortune. 
 The lady is perfectly exhausted. Can you let her 
 rest a little while, and give her something to 
 strengthen her ? ' ' The man was soon at the door. 
 When he opened it, he saw a young man and woman. 
 The woman had evidently had on a light dress; but it 
 was stained with mud to the very waist. Her hands 
 were bleeding, and she looked the very picture of woe. 
 The young man who supported the girl clinging to his 
 arm was also very muddy, but his clothes were darker, 
 and his plight was not so perceptible. His hands 
 were also bleeding. 
 
 They were ushered into the house; and then the 
 man saw that they were both wet from head to foot, 
 and that the man had lost his hat. Their host gave 
 them stimulants, and they were soon much stronger. 
 Of course they explained why they were in such a 
 condition; but as the account given to Jennie and the 
 doctor was much fuller we will listen to that. After 
 they had rested a little they were directed to the hotel 
 by the gentleman who had received them into his 
 home. As soon as they arrived they were helped to 
 their rooms. Carrie went to bed immediately. Her 
 hero who had but one suit of clothing with him to the
 
 A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 329 
 
 island was compelled to do the same; for necessity 
 demanded that his clothes be cleaned so as to make 
 them fit to wear. 
 
 Jennie had gone to the beach in the vain hope that 
 the boat might yet bring her friends to shore. She 
 had staid there until the boat-man returned from his 
 fruitless voyage. She was wringing her hands in 
 hopeless agony when the joyful news was imparted to 
 her, that Carrie was in her room and was inquiring for 
 her. At first she thought that she had been brought 
 home dead, and that they were trying to impart the 
 dreadful news to her as gently as possible. When she 
 opened the door and saw Carrie stretch her arms 
 toward her from the bed, she rushed into the embrace 
 of the prostrate girl, and almost smothered her with 
 kisses. She cried and laughed alternately. She felt 
 that she must see the hero as she had learned to call 
 him. She said to Carrie, "Is he your hero still ?" 
 The girl replied, "He is the hero anew to-night as 
 you will confess when I tell you how he saved me. 
 He always will be my hero, ' ' she added. 
 
 Dr. Burns soon examined his fair patient in the 
 other room. He found her respiration normal, and 
 skin cool and moist. So far no evil consequences had 
 followed her long tramp in wet clothing through the 
 night air. Her hands were swollen and painful. He 
 did all he could to make her comfortable. He did not 
 ask her to tell him how it had happened. He knew 
 that it would exhaust her to try to narrate the terrible 
 experience.
 
 330 A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 Jennie of course could not sleep until she knew 
 it all. L,et us listen to Carrie as she tells her all she 
 passed through in the awful voyage and return over 
 land to the hotel: " We went out pretty far, as you 
 saw. As long as we went against the sea we felt no 
 unpleasant effects from the swell; but even when you 
 saw us turn, the boat caught a little water. The hero 
 said: ' We had better go back, Carrie; ' but I said, 
 ' We will go on. If we come back now they will laugh 
 at us.' He then kept the boat with the swell, which 
 seemed to be getting greater every minute. When we 
 approached the shore I became very sea-sick. I beg 
 ged him to hurry for the land. He said, ' I fear the 
 sea is running too high to land. We cannot turn,' he 
 added, 'or we will capsize. Sit perfectly still.' As 
 he said this a big wave caused the boat to take water. 
 I thought we were sinking. I jumped out into the 
 water. I sank. But when I came up I felt that the 
 hero clutched my arm. He, too, had jumped out. I 
 was excited. I don't know what I did, but he says I 
 tried to catch hold of him, but he would not let me. 
 He knew we would both drown. He seemed to be 
 standing in the water. He held me by the arm and 
 kept my head from going under. The big waves 
 would break over my head. It was so dark. Just as 
 I felt the ground under my feet and tried to stand I 
 was upset. That was the last I knew until I heard 
 him say to me, ' For God's sake, Carrie, speak to me.' 
 I remember asking him what I should say. It seemed 
 to me as if I was only half awake. He raised me to
 
 A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 331 
 
 my feet; but I was so weak I could not stand. I then 
 sat down on a stone. Then I felt the water come to 
 my knees. It startled me. I got up and tried to walk 
 backwards, but there was a big, high rock in front of 
 me. Then I felt his arm around me, and we struggled 
 along the high rock until we got to a place where 
 we could stand better; but even then the water came 
 to our knees every time a breaker came in. We strug 
 gled on, for we knew that we would drown if we did 
 not. By and by he said, ' Now, Carrie, we must climb 
 this hill or the water will catch us and we will never 
 get to Colorado again.' I was so nervous I could 
 hardly stand, but we climbed slowly up. When at 
 last we got to the top of that dreadful hill, we rested a 
 long time. We took off our shoes and stockings and 
 wrung the stockings so that they would not get so cold. 
 We found a path and followed it; but by and by we 
 got into the scrub-oak. It was so thick that we could 
 not stand upright, so we crept on our hands and knees. 
 That is the reason my lawn is so muddy. There were 
 sharp stones and thorns in the path. They cut our 
 hands cruelly. My hero said, ' Carrie, I know that 
 this is more terrible for you than for me, but I cannot 
 help you one bit.' Then he burst into tears. I told 
 him to ' never mind my hands. ' At last we got out of 
 that terrible little woods, and we were able to stand 
 again. At the same time we saw the lights down in 
 the town. We were so glad that we both laughed like 
 two children. It was rather laughing and crying 
 mixed. They say the bridge between a smile and a
 
 332 A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 tear is short; but I believe that there was no bridge at 
 all between our tears and smiles. They came together. 
 We continued our walk down the hill. When we once 
 struck the path along which we had come this after 
 noon we got along much better. ' ' 
 
 Here Jennie interrupted her by saying, " Dear me, 
 I think that path was steep enough that we went 
 together this afternoon. How will you feel to-mor 
 row ? Don't you wish you would have staid at 
 home?" 
 
 Carrie hesitated a moment, then said: " No. I am 
 glad I went. " She tried to smile; but two big tears 
 rolled down her cheeks and her lips that had elon 
 gated into a smile broke up into a quiver.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 SAD EXPERIENCES. 
 
 ' ' Sorrow never comes too late, 
 And happiness too swiftly flies." Gray. 
 
 Our friends had resolved to return to the city of 
 Los Angeles the next morning. Jennie, in the face of 
 the greater trouble which for several hours she felt sure 
 had come upon her, in the loss of two of her friends, 
 forgot that she was ill. The joy which filled her 
 when at last she was clasped in the embrace of her 
 own dear cousin, whom only a few moments before 
 she thought at the bottom of the sea, had entirely 
 cured her. The doctor had no more concern about 
 her. 
 
 It was different with Carrie. She fell asleep in less 
 than an hour after she had been made comfortable; 
 but her sleep was broken up by dreams filled with dis 
 torted visions of the awful scenes through which she 
 had passed in the evening. The result was that when 
 morning came, instead of being refreshed by her 
 sleep, she was very weary and feverish. The prac 
 ticed eye of Dr. Burns told him that the worst was 
 not yet. He counseled them to get ready to embark 
 in the morning steamer, which sailed at eight o'clock 
 for the main-land. He feared that if they diH not go 
 
 333
 
 334 SAD EXPERIENCES. 
 
 then, it might be many days before they would be able 
 to do so. 
 
 Carrie's hero had a good degree of vitality. His 
 experience among the mountains of Colorado had 
 made him strong and wiry. Though he had not lost 
 his clear complexion, he was darker than when he first 
 came to the land of great rocks, high mountains, and 
 strong winds. Though he felt weak the next morn 
 ing, he was very like himself as he rose from what 
 had been to him a comparatively sleepless couch. The 
 clothing, which had been taken in charge by one of 
 the waiters of the hotel, had been cleansed, and the 
 coat and vest were in a presentable condition; but the 
 pantaloons were hopelessly ruined. The hero had 
 worn them through on both knees, and they were 
 badly stained all over from the water and the dry 
 black dust which he had gotten upon them subse 
 quently, in his climbing and crawling. Avalon is not 
 famous for the number nor for the size of its clothing 
 and gents' furnishing establishments; but the doctor 
 had succeeded in buying a pair of overalls for our 
 friend, and with these and a new straw hat, he looked 
 tolerably decent. He was ready to undertake the 
 return voyage. 
 
 Of course the news that a young man and a young 
 lady had been drowned the night before, off Pebbly 
 Beach had spread through the little village. Not 
 everybody had learned that the party had not really 
 been drowned but they had come very near it and were 
 going to leave that very morning for the city. Those
 
 SAD EXPERIENCES. 335 
 
 who had learned the above fa<5ts however, were anx 
 ious to catch a glimpse of the handsome girl as she 
 was reputed to be. There were several hundred of 
 the idle tourists, who had nothing to do but gossip, 
 swim and fish the livelong day, at the warf to see the 
 party off. When the four came, Carrie upon the 
 doctor's arm, and Jennie walking with the hero, the 
 crowd opened to allow them to approach the steamer. 
 The voyage to San Pedro was quite pleasant. 
 There were few passengers on board that morning, 
 and those did not feel it their duty to quiz and 
 gape. Carrie took a state room and lay down 
 and fell asleep and dozed to the end of the voyage. 
 The hero remained on deck. He sat alone and 
 reviewed the experiences of the previous night. He 
 confessed to himself that an experienced boatman 
 would not have tried to land however much he might 
 have been entreated so to do. He confessed too that 
 he did not know how to put to sea without being 
 swamped. On the whole he confessed that the trip 
 had been badly managed. He was to blame for obey 
 ing the request of the girl to undertake the trip when 
 he knew before he was half a dozen rods from the 
 shore, that there was danger. He feared that the 
 worst was not over. Carrie confessed to him when he 
 asked her as she went to her state-room, that she felt 
 badly. When he arose and went to her she was still 
 sleeping, ~ apparently soundly. The sleep he thought 
 would be better than all the medicine Dr. Burns could 
 give her.
 
 336 SAD EXPERIENCES. 
 
 Jennie and the doctor were conversing in low tones. 
 Our friend could not hear what they were saying; but 
 he knew that they were talking about the experiences 
 of the previous evening. They were blaming him, he 
 thought, and justly so. He was not quite right. 
 They were talking about him and the ill-fated voyage, 
 but they rather commended him. They felt sure that 
 if he would have lost his presence of mind, there 
 would have been no one to return. The full particu 
 lars of how they lost their lives would never have been 
 known to them or to Carrie's father, to whom the sad 
 news might have been fatal. The doctor thought 
 that it was barely possible that Carrie would escape 
 being ill from the exposure and the strain that it must 
 be to her nervous system. It seemed almost a miracle 
 that she had not given up already. "It is her power 
 ful will that keeps her up," said the doctor. "If 
 that were you, Jennie, you would be helpless." 
 
 Whilst she was talking with the doctor, the latter 
 took her by the arm and together they walked to 
 Carrie's room. She was still sleeping but her cheeks 
 were very red, and her breathing was quick and irreg 
 ular. The doctor took her hand gently in his. It 
 was dry and hot. He went to the ice-water and 
 saturated his handkerchief and laid it on her 
 head. He asked the steward whether there was any 
 aconite to be had on board the vessel; but that worthy 
 informed him that there was not. There was nothing 
 to do but wait until they got to shore. He could pro 
 cure some in the town at which they would land in
 
 SAD EXPERIENCES. 337 
 
 less than half an hour. The doctor stayed with the 
 girl whose sleep had changed into stupor, and kept 
 changing the saturated handkerchief which dried 
 rapidly on her hot forehead. 
 
 When they arrived in San Petro the sick girl was 
 taken into the strong arms of the Doctor and carried 
 to the cars. When he raised her she said, " Yes, we 
 must both drown if we do not get away from these 
 horrid rocks. But I can not stand." She tried to 
 weep; but her sobs were unattended by tears. The 
 Doctor took it upon himself to see after the sick girl. 
 He shoved two cushions together in the cars and laid 
 her upon them, making a pillow of his coat for her 
 head. He sent the hero for tincture of aconite, which 
 was promptly brought and promptly administered. 
 When they arrived in the city in less than an hour 
 afterwards, the Doctor again picked up the sick girl 
 and carried her to a hack. Again she said, " Yes, we 
 must both drown if we do not get away from these 
 horrid rocks. I can not stand." 
 
 Of course it was a surprise to the Los Angeles 
 cousin to see the girl brought home sick, and in a 
 fever. The sad occurrence was soon explained to the 
 woman. Carrie was put to bed, and the doctor went 
 to work in earnest to break the fever. Her tempera 
 ture went up in spite of his medicine. We will not try 
 to tell our readers how he treated the case. Two days 
 after they had come to the city, the doctor held a con 
 sultation with one of the best physicians in the city. 
 He explained that it was not because he considered
 
 338 SAD EXPERIENCES. 
 
 Carrie's case dangerous; but because he did not wish 
 to take all the responsibility himself. The first even 
 ing they were back in the city, Dr. Burns himself 
 wrote a letter. The following is a copy: 
 
 ANGELES, CAL., 6: 16, '9-. 
 MR. DIVES, * 
 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 The girls and your book-keeper 
 
 wish me to say that they would like to prolong their 
 stay another week or ten days. Carrie is not so well. 
 She is feverish. We were to the sea-side and she 
 probably staid in the water too long. This, together 
 with the unusual experiences through which we have 
 all passed, causes her to be indisposed. 
 
 Very Truly, 
 
 DR. BURNS." 
 
 The Doctor had told the truth; but he had not told 
 the whole truth. He explained, that if the case should 
 become serious he would telegraph at once. He did 
 not wish to distress her kind father's heart unneces 
 sarily. He did not anticipate anything serious. It 
 was only the nervous strain, the exposure, and the 
 salt water, he hesitatingly added, which she had swal 
 lowed, that was causing the trouble. Nature would 
 assert herself in a few days. Whatever Dr. Burns 
 might say with regard to the fact that Carrie's case 
 was simple and without any apparent danger, his 
 actions belied his words. He was anxious. Jennie 
 knew it and so did the hero. 
 
 The letter had been mailed to Mr. Dives on Friday 
 
 4
 
 SAD EXPERIENCES. 339 
 
 evening. On the following Tuesday the following 
 dispatch was sent to Carrie: 
 " DEAR DAUGHTER: 
 
 Must have the hero immediately. All 
 come if possible. Sambo sick. Lovingly, 
 
 YOUR FATHER." 
 
 There was but one thing to do. The hero must go 
 at once. He could not go that day anymore; but in 
 the morning at seven he would be off. It was his last 
 night with Carrie. He would watch with her alone. 
 It would be some relief to Jennie and the rest to get a 
 solid night's sleep. The Doctor consented. The 
 hero staid' alone with the girl. All that night he and 
 his sorrow watched by the fever-stricken girl. How 
 he longed to have her speak to him but one rational 
 word, give him but one rational look. Once he took 
 both her hands in his and whispered into her ear, 
 11 Carrie, do you not know me." 
 
 She answered, " Yes, I know you." She really was 
 conscious, he thought, and a thrill of pleasure passed 
 over him. He was about to ask her another question, 
 but the fact that she knew him, that her mind was 
 lucid, had been such a happy surprise, that his intel 
 lect now struggled to express in a word the dearest 
 sentiment of his heart. As the bird long caged, sud 
 denly sees the door of its cage swung open, inviting it 
 to soar in freedom to its mates, sits paralyzed with the 
 possibilities unimproved, until the hand of its captor 
 shuts the door, and it remains a helpless prisoner, 
 so the pent up affections of our friend saw in Carrie's
 
 34 SAD EXPERIENCES. 
 
 "Yes, I know you," an opening through which the 
 intense longing of his heart might enter the girl's 
 soul; but he waited too long to frame the thoughts of 
 his heart into words. Before he could speak, she 
 added: "Yes, we must both drown, if we do not get 
 away from these horrid rocks. But I can not stand." 
 The she began to sob. He knew well that language. 
 It had been among the first words she had spoken 
 when he was bending in helpless agony over her at the 
 foot of the cliff. The tears fell silently upon the face 
 of the girl, as he raised his head. Rapidly the hours 
 of the night of watching passed away. The nurse 
 that sits and watches by the bed of suffering, counts 
 in weariness the hours of the night as the clock tells 
 them one by one. To the hero the passing of each 
 hour, as it was announced by the solemn old clock 
 that stood in the hall below, fell upon his ears as does 
 the grating of the key in the lock on the felon's cell, 
 when the day of execution is at hand. It seemed 
 *almost like dying to leave the girl he so tenderly loved 
 behind him. Would he ever see her alive? The 
 thought, as it came and came again all that night, filled 
 him with a nameless dread. He would not have had 
 the question answered, though the oracles of heaven 
 opened their mysteries to him, for fear that the answer 
 might be what he dreaded. Promptly at six and a half 
 o'clock the hero, in the presence of them all, took the 
 girl's hand in his and then let it slide out of his grasp.
 
 CHAPTER XI,. 
 
 SOMEBODY IN THE HOUSE IS DEAD. 
 " God's finger touched him and he slept." Tennyson. 
 
 The reader may think it strange that our friend 
 should have been willing to leave the girl he loved, 
 when she was so ill; but it must be borne in mind that 
 she was not his wife. He was in the employ of her 
 father, and to him he owed the first duty. He had 
 been telegraphed for and it was necessary that he go 
 immediately. Jennie had promised to telegraph him 
 every day in case Carrie got worse. If she improved 
 she would not telegraph ; but she would write him a 
 few lines each day stating whether she was improving 
 rapidly. The doctor told him that there was no rea 
 son to suppose that the fever would not leave her as 
 suddenly as it had come. If she would have taken pneu 
 monia it would be different; but so far as he could tell 
 there was no organic disease. 
 
 If she was worse he was to receive his first message 
 at The Needles. He was very anxious to see whether 
 there would be a message. When the train arrived at 
 the place nearly twenty-four hours after leaving I,os 
 Angeles, he eagerly rushed into the telegraph office and 
 inquired whether there was a dispatch for him. The 
 operator without making a reply handed him a tele- 
 
 34i
 
 342 SOMEBODY IN THE HOUSE IS DEAD. 
 
 gram. He trembled so violently when he walked 
 away, and fumbled so nervously to open it that the 
 operator who was watching him, called after him, 
 "Good news, my friend. Don't borrow trouble." 
 He felt as if a great weight were rolled off his heart. 
 He tore it open and read, " Carrie is much better this 
 morning. She asked where you were." 
 
 He turned toward the window of the office, and 
 said to the operator, "lam very much obliged." 
 That person was attending to some other business and 
 paid no attention to him; but the hero was just as 
 happy. The dispatch had made him so happy that he 
 was entirely different from what he had been the day 
 before. He talked to everybody he met. Those who 
 had noticed his demeanor the day before, thought at 
 first that he had taken more than coffee for his break 
 fast. It is ever so. The greatest joy is born fre 
 quently of deepest sorrow. Trouble is but the servant 
 of happiness. He often goes before to prepare the 
 heart to enter for happiest realizations. On 
 the other hand, sometimes sorrow comes back 
 to the heart that has just entered joy, as the clouds 
 come over the face of the sun, when she has just 
 broken into smiles of light. It was so with our friend's 
 sorrow. Though the cloud had lifted and the sun of 
 joy was shining in his soul and he rested well the fol 
 lowing night, the morning brought a cloud. At 
 Trinidad he received another message which read, 
 " Carrie is worse; but say nothing to her father. Un 
 less she becomes serious I will not again telegraph."
 
 SOMEBODY IN THE HOUSE IS DEAD. 343 
 
 How he longed to ask just how she was; whether her 
 fever was worse or whether it was broken, and the ex 
 treme weakness w r hich he felt sure would come upon 
 her when she again became conscious, had come to 
 her ? He could only sit and think all that day. 
 
 When he got to the little station to which we have 
 so often come with the Dives and their friends, it was 
 almost dark, and there was no one to meet him. 
 There was no telegram to tell him that Carrie was 
 worse. This in itself was a joy. He resolved to 
 walk to the stone house that evening, though he knew 
 that there was no moon. He got his supper at the 
 little hotel and started. 
 
 When he arrived it was long after dark, and the 
 house was quiet. There was one light and that, 
 strange to say, was in the parlor. He would go to the 
 parlor and make his arrival known. Mr. Dives must 
 have friends there. But whom could he be entertain 
 ing in the parlor when Carrie was not at home ? Why 
 did he not have them in the office ? All of Mr. Dives' 
 friends who had come to see him since he was in his 
 employ had always come on business. He would not 
 invite them to the parlor even when Carrie was home 
 unless the trains compelled them to stay all night. 
 These thoughts passed through his brain almost as 
 rapidly as does thought fly when on the wings of a 
 dream. He arrived at the door. He knocked. There 
 was no response. Mr. Dives had lit the light because 
 he expected him or the doctor to come and announce 
 the arrival of the party. He would try the door. As
 
 344 SOMEBODY IN THE HOUSE IS DEAD. 
 
 he put his hands on the knob he felt the soft meshes 
 of cloth. It was quite dark and so was the cloth. He 
 felt that it was tied with a ribbon. The truth burst 
 upon him. It was a crape! At the same instant the 
 little sentence in Mr. Dives' telegram flashed across 
 his mind, "Sambo sick." "Sambo dead," he 
 exclaimed to himself. He went to the hall door and rang 
 the bell. The house in which the Dives lived was so 
 arranged that doors led off the porch directly into 
 the parlor, the dining room, the kitchen, and the office. 
 The hall door was between the parlor and the dining 
 room. 
 
 Mr. Dives himself came to the door. He grasped 
 the book-keeper's hand at the same time asking, " Are 
 you alone ?" The book-keeper answered, "Yes," 
 and at the same instant added, " Sambo is dead? " 
 
 " Sambo is dead," solemnly added Mr. Dives, whilst 
 a big tear rolled down his cheeks and was followed 
 by another and another. 
 
 The book-keeper thought of the colored boy, and of 
 another and a more mutual trial which he must share 
 with the man who sat before him, and who was unable 
 to say anything for several moments. When he did 
 find his voice he inquired, as the clerk expected he 
 would, after his own child. The young man very calmly 
 told him their experience on the mountain and the 
 greater part of their awful calamity at Pebbly Beach. 
 He drew from his pocket the dispatches he had re 
 ceived and showed them to Carrie's father. The old 
 gentleman read them and thought a while, then he
 
 SOMEBODY IN THE HOUSE IS DEAD. 345 
 
 
 
 said: " No doubt good medical attendance will save 
 Carrie's life. You went through the same experience, 
 and here you are. If the Master wills it so, she too will 
 come back to her home, alive and well." Mr. Dives' 
 words which breathed such calm confidence in his 
 daughter's ultimate recovery, inspired new confidence 
 in the heart of her lover. He turned to the old gen 
 tleman and said, ' ' Sambo ? ' ' 
 
 " Ah Sambo, he alas, is dead." More tears rolled 
 down his cheeks, but he told his young friend how it 
 all came to pass that the strongest in all that house 
 was now stark and stiff in death. The very day that 
 Carrie and he had escaped so narrowly from a watery 
 grave, Mr. Dives sent Sambo with the spring-wagon 
 to the station to bring some goods which had been 
 shipped him from Denver. Sambo drove the same 
 mustangs which so nearly caused the book-keeper's 
 own death. It was not the first time that he had 
 driven them alone. Sambo was a good horseman. He 
 could handle a team quite as well as anyone on the 
 ranch. In some way the horses took fright. They 
 had evidently been hitched quite awhile and when he 
 started they were anxious to get home. The track 
 made by the wheels for fully a hundred rods before 
 the accident, showed that they were going at a break 
 neck speed. He had driven on the bank first on one 
 side of the road and then on the other, until he came 
 4x> the very place where the book-keeper was thrown 
 as he caught the runaways. " But," said Mr. Dives, 
 ' ' you were not there to risk your life, nor was there
 
 346 SOMEBODY IN THE HOUSE IS DEAD. 
 
 
 
 anyone else there to save the boy from a horrible death. 
 The mark of the wheels show that the one horse 
 must have been on the bank for some distance. In 
 stead ot crowding the other one to the opposite side of 
 the road, the left one, to save himself from turning 
 too short, must also have jumped up on the bank, 
 which of course knocked the one on the right, over 
 the high bank. The wagon, Sambo and the one horse 
 went down to the creek. The other horse with the 
 collar and bridle still on came into the yard. Jim 
 happened to be here, and he mounted Carrie's sorrel 
 and rode out to the wreck. He found the wagon and 
 one horse lying dead against the big rock to which 
 you once alluded, when we were driving along there. 
 You said, ' That will make a hard bed for somebody 
 some day. ' Poor Sambo did not even do as well as he 
 might have done, if that rock would have become his 
 bed. He fell to the bottom, or rolled down. When 
 Jim found him his back was broken, the muscles of 
 his neck injured, and his right limb fractured. He 
 was also injured internally. He was conscious and in 
 great pain. Jim could not get him up alone, so he 
 came to the house and we hitched to the carriage, 
 took some bandages and drove out. I sent Jim on to 
 the station to telegraph for the doctor who has taken 
 Burns' place during his absence. I climbed down the 
 bank to where Sambo lay. 
 
 ' ' The first words he spoke when he saw me were, 
 ' Oh, Massa Dives, I's don for. I's neck been gone 
 and broke.' Of course I knew that his neck was not
 
 SOMEBODY IN THE HOUSE IS DEAD. 347 
 
 broken. I tried to help him to get up, but he 
 screamed with pain. I did what I could for 
 him until Jim came. We managed to get him 
 to the carriage, and took him home. He became 
 unconscious before we got him to the carriage, and 
 continued so until yesterday. The doctor came 
 early the next morning after the accident. He ex 
 amined him carefully, then shook his head. He tried 
 to bring him to recognize his surroundings; but it was 
 no use. He lay nearly a week before he could go; but 
 I hope he did not feel any pain, although he did groan 
 at times. He was a faithful boy." Mr. Dives wept 
 silently ''as he uttered his last sentence. The book 
 keeper joined him, not out of sympathy but because 
 his own heart bled. 
 
 It seems sorrows never come singly. They go in 
 flocks as do the birds of prey. When one is seen it is 
 almost sure that there will be more. Who can tell 
 whether the air will not be filled with them, before the 
 first one will leave ? So sorrows go in bunches. 
 
 After awhile Mr. Dives said, " We will bury him 
 to-morrow. We will accompany the body to the 
 Springs. I have resolved to bury him on my own 
 family-lot. There is room for half a dozen. The 
 time for retiring is long past," added Mr. Dives as he 
 looked at the clock in his bed chamber where they 
 were sitting. It was twelve o'clock. 
 - The next morning the family carriage was out early. 
 Jim did duty in Sambo's place. An undertaker from 
 the station came and put the boy into a neat coffin ,,
 
 348 SOMEBODY IN THE HOUSE IS DEAD. 
 
 and together the little group of mourners consisting of 
 Hannah, Mr. Dives, and the book-keeper with Jim as 
 driver, proceeded to the station. There the corpse 
 was transferred to the train and all the persons men 
 tioned accompanied it to Colorado Springs. When 
 they arrived there, short services were held at the 
 grave, and the body of poor Sambo was committed to 
 the earth. 
 
 We have not yet spoken of the one who mourned 
 the deepest for the dead boy. His own mother was 
 heart-broken. Her affection for her boy was just as 
 pure and deep as that of Mr. Dives for his child. He 
 could sympathize with her when he thought of what 
 it would mean to follow his own daughter to the 
 grave. He prayed that he might be spared that sor 
 row. To Hannah, Sambo was all and in all. With 
 his life went out all the joy from her heart. She 
 returned to the Dives' kitchen with a crushed soul. 
 She did her work as before, but there was no pleasure 
 in duty or in the commendation which Mr. Dives gave 
 her when he called her to his office a few days after 
 the funeral, and said, "Hannah, you have been my 
 faithful servant many years. You shall never want 
 food or clothing whilst you live in my family. Wher 
 ever you may choose to go, if you decide to quit my 
 home, now that your boy is gone, my blessing and 
 good wishes will follow you, and if I hear that you 
 are in want, my hand shall not be closed to you. If 
 you wish to go to seek your kindred in the Sunny 
 South I will pay your expenses. If you know of none
 
 SOMEBODY IN THE HOUSE IS DEAD. 349 
 
 to seek, then remain where you are. Whether you 
 work or not this house will shelter you. ' ' 
 
 The old woman burst into tears, as she said, " Massa 
 Dives, whar in all de worl will I fin my 'lations? 
 They's all dead and gon sure. I has nobody in de 
 wide worl now 'cept Miss Carrie and you, Massa. I 
 stay till I dies, then you 'posit my body in a grave 
 side of Sambo and there I stay 'till de judgmen day."
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 " CARRIE, YOU HAVE NOT ANSWERED ME THAT 
 QUESTION. ' ' 
 
 " Reason thus with reason fetter; 
 Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 We have already seen that Carrie Dives improved 
 somewhat the same day that her hero left her for their 
 home in Colorado. We saw, too, how the very next 
 day she was worse again. Mr. Dives did not get a 
 letter that week before Saturday. We are sufficiently 
 interested in the case to learn just how she felt day by 
 day. One of the most distressing of all the worries 
 that can torment us is to know that a friend is sick 
 and in danger, but so far from us that we can do little 
 to help. The fadl that all the news we receive is stale 
 and entirely inadequate to give us a full idea of the 
 case, is still more distressing. 
 
 When Carrie's hero had been gone nearly ten hours, 
 the fever seemed suddenly to have spent its force. 
 She realized for the first time since her return to the 
 city that she was really not on those ' ' horrid rocks. ' ' 
 She looked about the room. She and Jennie had slept 
 in this room when they were in the cousin's home, be 
 fore they went to the sea-shore. There was the pic 
 ture of a Madonna which Carrie admired very much. 
 350
 
 " NOT ANSWERED ME THAT QUESTION." 351 
 
 Her eyes chanced to see this, and she at once seemed 
 to recognize the fact that she was back in the city. 
 She saw Doctor Burns sitting in front of the window 
 and Jennie close by his side. She seemed to realize 
 that her hero ought to be there. Her eyes sought 
 him everywhere in the room, then fixing her gaze 
 upon the Doctor, she said, ".Is the hero sick too? " 
 This was the first evidence that Jennie and he had that 
 she was conscious. They were soon at her bedside. 
 She spoke a few sentences, but seemed very weak. 
 She soon fell into an unnatural, slumber, or rather 
 stupor, and remained in that condition all the next 
 day. It was because she continued in this unnatural 
 sleep, that Jennie sent the second dispatch. 
 
 Dr. Burns, who spent most of his time with Jennie 
 in the sick room, became very well acquainted with 
 the young lady. They had not procured a nurse for 
 Carrie. The Doctor and the two ladies took their 
 turns in sitting with the patient. The Doctor began 
 to be convinced that all that was the matter with Car 
 rie was the nervous prostration. She had taken cofd; 
 but he had been fortunate enough to keep that from 
 going to her lungs. The fever by and by would leave 
 her, he told Jennie, and as far as he could see, there 
 was no reason why they should not be ready to leave 
 the Golden State by the end of another week. 
 
 Carrie Dives was getting better. Her fever was 
 broken, and at the end of the week she sat up a little, 
 and took nourishment. The Doctor was very atten 
 tive. Carrie felt that she was under obligations to
 
 352 " CARRIE, YOU HAVE NOT 
 
 him for his care of her from the time she reached the 
 hotel until she was out of danger. She confessed that 
 she did not know how serious her illness might have 
 been had he not looked after her so assiduously. Of 
 course the news had been written to the father, who 
 loved his daughter only as a pure-minded father can 
 love his only child, and that a sweet, true girl like 
 Carrie. They in California and the father in Colorado 
 had conspired to surprise the hero by coming home 
 before he expected them. They had told him that 
 she was out of danger, but still weak. He, on the 
 other hand, did not think that she was as well as she 
 really was. 
 
 One evening when Carrie was sitting by the window 
 in the same pink wrapper which she had worn the 
 morning she waved her hand in adieu to the Doctor 
 as he drove away from the stone house, the Doctor 
 came into the room, and seeing her sit, he walked up 
 to her and clasped her warmly by the hand. He said, 
 .4 ' Pardon me, but really I must say I have not seen 
 you look so handsome since you came to the veranda 
 in your own home in that same cunning dress and 
 waved me a good-by. You looked like a mountain 
 fairy with your long, black hair down your back." 
 Then drawing a chair up to Carrie, he sat down beside 
 her. They were all alone in the house. The cousin's 
 husband had returned from his trip the day before, 
 and he had taken his wife and Jennie out for a drive 
 that evening. Carrie was of course too weak to ac 
 company them.
 
 ANSWERED ME THAT QUESTION." 353 
 
 When the Doctor had seated himself he again took 
 Carrie's hand under pretence of feeling her pulse. 
 He still had her little hand in his and was resting two 
 of the fingers of his other hand on her pulse. With 
 out a change in his countenance he looked her into 
 the eyes, and said, " Carrie, you have not answered me 
 that question, will you be queen of my heart and 
 home ? ' ' 
 
 Carrie did not flinch under his searching gaze; but 
 her lips quivered as she said, "Dr. Burns, you have 
 been very kind " The effort was too much, she did 
 not finish her sentence. The Doctor thought of what 
 Jennie had said about proposing to a lady when she 
 was in a man's power and under special obligation to 
 him. He realized that he had been doing that very 
 thing, and he felt ashamed of himself. He took the 
 little hand between his two and patting it gently, he 
 said, " I beg your pardon, I should not have asked 
 you to answer me that question now. Tell me, are 
 you engaged to anybody else ? ' ' 
 
 Carrie looked him into the face with an injured ex 
 pression. She hesitated, then she shook her head 
 and said nothing. It was all he would ask her 
 to say, the Doctor said; "but," he added, 
 ' ' please do not tell Jennie. Will you promise 
 me that ? ' ' The girl nodded assent to his request. 
 Just then the folks who had been out for a drive came 
 home. The Doctor moved his chair as Jennie bounded 
 up the stairs and shouted, " How are you now, little 
 cousin ? "
 
 354 " CARRIE, YOU HAVE NOT 
 
 Carrie replied, "Very tired, dear. I guess I will 
 go to bed. To-morrow I hope to stay up all day." 
 
 The Doctor said, " Jennie, I left you some powders 
 to give to your other self, " as he frequently called 
 either of the girls, when he spoke of one to the other. 
 "You give, or see that Carrie takes one every two 
 hours when she is awake. You must let her rest now; 
 so come and take a walk with me; you have been out, 
 but I have not been out, at least not with agreeable 
 company." So Jennie put a wrap about her and 
 together the two walked for half an hour or more, and 
 then entered a little park which opens upon the street 
 on which her cousin resided at the time. It was get 
 ting dark, but the evening was unusually warm for 
 Southern California, and the Doctor said there would 
 be no danger of taking cold, if they would sit and rest 
 a little while. The atmosphere of the park was rich 
 with the perfume of roses. The palms stood quiet in 
 the deepening twilight, as if trying to rest their great, 
 fan-like leaves before the sea-breeze of another day 
 would twist and toss them. All was quiet save the 
 gentle sound which the spray of the fountain close to 
 them made, as its waters fell into the basin. The two 
 felt perceptibly the charms of their surroundings. 
 They walked to one of the seats and sat close together. 
 For several moments they were both quiet, as if they 
 had involuntarily yielded to the soporific influence of 
 the perfumed air. The Doctor broke the silence by 
 saying: " My! Jennie, would not this be a capital place 
 to make love ? I worifler that not all the young men
 
 ANSWERED ME THAT QUESTION." 355 
 
 and maidens in this city come here to breathe out the 
 tender tale of their heart's great passion. The very 
 air is soothing. The surroundings are so quiet, so 
 suggestive of rest." 
 
 Jennie said, " Ix>ve requires the perfume of the rose 
 and lily. That condition is certainly fulfilled here; 
 but where is the dove, which is also said to be a 
 requisite, in order that the tender passion may be 
 stirred?" 
 
 "How poetic you are," said the Doctor. "But 
 really, Jennie, this is a delightful place to sit and 
 dream by day and by night, asleep or awake. Sup 
 pose we make love. I will say to you that I love you. 
 Will you be my queen, my idol, for this life and that 
 which is to come ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Doctor, do not talk so silly. It does not become 
 you to make light of the most sacred passions of the 
 human heart." 
 
 ' ' Suppose I mean it ? Can I not tell you then ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' You do not mean it, or you would not be so silly. 
 ' They love indeed who quake to say they love.' " 
 
 "Jennie," added the Doctor, "it is true, I have 
 spoken very silly words, but by and by I may tell you 
 in intense earnestness, at least in substance, what I 
 have told you now. What will you say then ? " 
 
 ' ' There will be time enough to tell you that when 
 you speak in ' intense earnestness,' as you say. Wait 
 and see what I will tell you."
 
 356 " CARRIE, YOU HAVE NOT ANSWERED ME." 
 
 So they talked, as young people will, about what 
 they expected to do in the near future. The Doctor 
 of course told Jennie that he intended to buy the house 
 in which his office was then already located. He told 
 her, too, of the changes he intended to make. In fact 
 he told her substantially what he had told Carrie 
 months before; but he did not ask her to become his 
 " queen," as he had asked Carrie.
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 A GREAT CRIME. 
 
 " A man who has no excuse for crime is indeed defenceless." 
 
 Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 The first of September came in due time; but the 
 cook did not return to the Dives' home on Fifth Avenue. 
 There was good reason for it. Toward the close of 
 August he received a letter from Miss Susie Dives 
 stating that the house would not be opened for the 
 present. She was sorry that she could not inform him 
 just when they would be ready to again enjoy his 
 culinary art. She herself had been summoned to Col 
 orado, and would not be back for at least a month. If 
 he wished to call at the house about the first of Octo 
 ber, he could do so. If she could not be home then, 
 she would try to inform him beforehand. She added 
 that just as soon as she knew definitely when they 
 would again occupy the house she would let him know. 
 They had appreciated his services during the greater 
 part of the year that he had been with them, and 
 would be glad to continue him, provided the delay 
 would not inconvenience him. Susie Dives had failed 
 to inform the cook why she was going to Colorado. 
 He wondered why she did not tell him. We too won 
 der why the girl went west at the close of the summer 
 when quite the contrary was planned. We will not 
 
 357
 
 35 8 A GREAT CRIME. 
 
 for the present follow her to Colorado, nor will we now 
 inquire concerning our friends whom we left in the 
 chief city of Southern California. 
 
 Oclavia Newman's affairs require a word. She was 
 at length relieved from her long and weary work at 
 the bedside of the English lady. The dread destroyer 
 won his way slowly but surely, and the woman finally 
 succumbed to his wooing. After the lady was buried, 
 Odlavia went to her room in the home of the Dives. 
 She had been given a key and could go there when 
 ever she saw fit. It was the same afternoon that she 
 was released from her charge. She sat down quietly, 
 and with hands folded in her lap she began to think. 
 First she thought of the letter which she had received 
 from Mr. Sharp the day before, dated, Omaha, Ne 
 braska. 
 
 The following is a copy of the paper which Mr. 
 Sharp had enclosed in his letter: 
 
 " New York, Sept. , '9. 
 
 I, Oclavia Newman, do hereby of my own free will 
 empower William Sharp, Esq. , to receive all money or 
 monies due me. I fully empower him to act in my 
 stead in every capacity which my business in my ab 
 sence may demand. 
 
 Signed." 
 
 But we must not anticipate. We were watching 
 Oclavia as she sat with folded hands in her room in 
 the home of the girls who were so kind to her. She 
 thought of Mr. Sharp's letter, so full of anxious solici 
 tude for her. It breathed so pure and such true affec 
 tion for her. Yes, the happy day for their marriage
 
 A GREAT CRIME. 359 
 
 would soon come. Less than four months and she 
 would be the happy bride of one of the smartest law 
 yers in his profession. 
 
 Finally, Odtavia pulled out her watch and found 
 that it was six o'clock. She put on her hat and gloves 
 to go for her dinner. When she came to the front 
 steps she saw a rough looking man running from 
 the rear of the house. The man noticed her, and 
 instead of stopping or saying anything to her, 
 he pulled his hat over his eyes and ran with all his might 
 past her to the street and away. Octavia's curiosity 
 was aroused to see what he had been doing in the rear 
 of the house that could make him so anxious to get 
 away. She walked back toward the stable. She 
 knew that Felix still kept his room up stairs not so 
 much because he wished to be economical as because he 
 wished to keep an eye on the property of the Dives 
 during their absence. She thought it was about time 
 for the young man to be at his room. She would of 
 course not pay him a visit, but she would knock at his 
 door and tell him of what she had seen. 
 
 When she came near the stable she saw a man lying 
 on the grass. His face was turned upward. His eyes 
 were shut; and to all appearance he was dead. Odlavia 
 always prided herself in her strength of nerve before 
 she was ill. She had recovered from her sickness now 
 and was almost as strong as ever. She recognized in 
 an instant that the young man was none other than 
 Felix. She walked up to him, bent down to examine 
 his heart in order to tell if possible why he had fainted.
 
 360 A GREAT CRIME. 
 
 Then she noticed that his right side was blood-stained. 
 She unbuttoned his coat and vest and noticed that 
 there was a cut in them both which extended through 
 his garments, and was the cause of his bleeding. She 
 did not wait to see whether the stab had caused him 
 to faint. She knew that she could do very little for 
 him. She ran to the house, unlocked the door, and 
 ran up to the girls' room. It was locked. She had 
 intended to telephone for an ambulance. When she 
 found she could do nothing there she returned to the 
 stable. She remembered that Susie Dives had told 
 her that Felix had telephone communication with the 
 house and the city as well. She found the 
 doors below on the ground entrance open, and at 
 the head of the narrow stairs which led to his room 
 the door stood wide open. She saw on entering, that 
 things were in a litter, and that the young man's hat 
 and a light overcoat lay on the bed. Evidently he had 
 gone out at the call of the person who had assaulted him. 
 After the assault, the fellow had returned to the room 
 and robbed it of what he saw fit to take with him. We 
 do not mean that Octavia came to this conclusion at a 
 glance; but she did feel sure that the assault had been 
 made with the intention of robbery. (We, kind 
 reader, know that robbery was not the primary intent 
 of the villain.) 
 
 Odlavia rang the bdl and soon was placed in com 
 munication with the police headquarters. She told 
 the man at the telephone that a robbery had been com 
 mitted and a man left for dead at Fifth Avenue.
 
 A GREAT CRIME. 361 
 
 He should please send an ambulance and the surgeon 
 at once. After this she went down stairs. To her 
 surprise she saw Felix sitting on the grass looking 
 about him in a dazed manner. Then Octavia saw for 
 the first time that there was also a gash on the back 
 of the young man's head. She got water and washed 
 the back of his head. She found that the wound on 
 his chest still bled. She told him to take a deep 
 breath? He made the attempt, then sank back in an 
 other faint. She feared that the wound had reached 
 the lungs. 
 
 To her, waiting by the silent form of the man, it 
 seemed as if the surgeon would never come. At last 
 she heard the rumbling of the ambulance. She went 
 to the front to tell the officer where to come. 
 
 Mr. Abraham who was standing on the door-step 
 when the ambulance first passed his house, was of 
 course curious to see where it went. When he came 
 to the front pavement and saw that it stopped at the 
 Dives, he went up and was horrified to see Felix 
 brought out. He rushed to" his home and communi 
 cated the sad news to his wife. In a moment she too 
 was there. It is needless to say that Felix was car 
 ried into the home of the Abrahams instead of the 
 hospital.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 MORE DEVELOPMENTS. 
 
 " Let guilty men remember, their black deeds 
 Do lean on crutches made of slender reeds." 
 
 John IfVebster. 
 
 When Felix was brought into the home of the Abra 
 hams the police surgeon feared that he had received a 
 fatal wound in the chest. He was carried by the two 
 officers up the stairs. The doctor found, on a closer 
 examination, that the stroke on the head had been a 
 severe one. The skull was not fractured, but the 
 bone was laid bare for several inches. The blow had 
 evidently been dealt by some heavy instrument. The 
 doctor next carefully probed the wound. It had gone 
 diagonally after striking the uppermost rib. He felt 
 certain that it had not reached the lung, as he at first 
 supposed. 
 
 After his examination was finished, he applied 
 restoratives to the unconscious form. It was not 
 many minutes before he had the satisfaction of seeing 
 Felix open his eyes. Then the surgeon dressed his 
 wound and told him to remain quiet for a little while. 
 He would be gone for half an hour or so; then he 
 would return to see how he was getting along. Mr. 
 Abraham now wanted to ask Felix what had hap- 
 362
 
 MORE DEVELOPMENTS. 363 
 
 pened; but the doctor forbade him by saying there 
 was time enough for that later. 
 
 Abraham was invited to accompany the surgeon and 
 the officer back to the home of the Dives. Octavia 
 was still standing on the porch as if undecided where 
 to go or what to do. When the officers and Mr. Abra 
 ham came to the house, she asked them how seriously 
 the young man was injured. They surgeon told her 
 that he thought the wound was simply a flesh wound. 
 That which had caused him to be unconscious was the 
 blow he had received on the back of his head, with 
 some blunt instrument. They had come to investigate 
 the premises. Oclavia accompanied them to the place 
 where she had seen Felix lying when she walked out 
 to the stable the first time. The officer looked about 
 him, and found in the grass near the fence a piece of 
 an iron rod about a foot long. The end of the rod 
 had been coiled around itself at one end. It thus 
 formed an ugly knob. The hair of Felix, together 
 with a little blood, proved conclusively that it had 
 been used by the assailant. They could not find any 
 traces of the knife with which the stabbing had been 
 done. Evidently that had gone when the rowdy who 
 had used it went. He had apparently thought that he 
 had done his work efficiently. The room upstairs 
 showed that. The fellow had thoroughly ransacked 
 the man's trunk, and the drawers of his desk. Some 
 of the pockets of his clothing had been turned inside 
 out in the hope of finding something worth carrying 
 away. The job had not been done for pleasure only.
 
 364 MORE DEVELOPMENTS. 
 
 Octavia described the fellow who had evidently done 
 the deed. After she was through, the officers and Mr. 
 Abraham left her. The latter invited her to call on 
 her friend, who he said would receive the best of 
 care. She replied that Felix was no friend of hers. 
 She had simply become acquainted with him at the 
 home of the Dives, as she had become acquainted with 
 the other servants of the house. Mr. Abraham said 
 nothing. He simply drew his upper lip between his 
 teeth, as was his custom when he was displeased. 
 
 The surgeon accompanied Mr. Abraham to his home 
 in the hope that he might learn a little more concern 
 ing the assault which might have cost the young man 
 his life. They found Felix sitting in a chair when they 
 arrived at the house. The doctor said to him: 
 "Young man, you have evidently had a narrow 
 escape. Can you tell us how it happened? " 
 
 Felix replied: "I had just come from my dinner 
 and had seated myself to write a letter to a friend, 
 when I heard a loud knock on the door outside. I 
 opened the window and saw a villainous face turned 
 up toward me. I asked what he wanted. The fellow 
 replied that he had a note for me from my employer. 
 I asked him how he had gotten the note, when he 
 replied, that he had met Mr. Abraham as he passed 
 the house, and he asked him to please take the note. 
 That sounded plausible. I went down stairs, and 
 when I arrived in front of the door he handed the 
 paper to me, saying that he would wait for the answer. 
 As I opened the note to read it, he stepped to one
 
 MORE DEVELOPMENTS. 365 
 
 side, and then I felt him strike me. That is all I 
 remember." 
 
 Felix was asked to describe the man, and his de 
 scription agreed with that of Octavia. The officers 
 then left and said that if he found any clew additional 
 to what they had, he should let them know at once. 
 The thief evidently was well acquainted in that neigh 
 borhood. 
 
 After the officers were gone the interview which 
 Felix had had some weeks before with Sharp occurred 
 to him. He had not thought of it since that day. 
 Mr. Abraham was still in the room with Felix. He 
 told the old gentleman. The latter said, ' ' That ex 
 plains it all. Sharp, whom I do not personally know, 
 evidently hired that man to take your life. The rob 
 bing the fellow did because he loves to rob. If I were 
 you I would have Sharp arrested on suspicion. We 
 will consult our attorney and see what can be done. 
 The crime shall not go unpunished, if we can find the 
 perpetrator." 
 
 We need scarcely mention that Felix's wounds soon 
 healed, and he went about his business as usual, some 
 time before the Dives returned to New York. They 
 had not heard of the assault upon their friend before 
 they arrived at home. Felix had asked Miss Abraham 
 to please not communicate the information to them. 
 He hardly knew whether to shield Sharp or not. He 
 felt confident that the man was at the bottom of it. 
 We, kind reader, know that he was.
 
 366 MORE DEVELOPMENTS. 
 
 Until the sixteenth of November, the day Jennie, 
 Susie and Carrie Dives arrived in New York, the home 
 on Fifth Avenue remained closed. Now it was to be the 
 scene of great events in the lives of all whose acquaint 
 ance we have formed in these pages. Carrie came 
 with her cousins to spend the winter. She was to be 
 followed by her father and her hero for a month's stay. 
 The cook had called on the attorney of the Dives to 
 find out when the girls would be home. The attorney 
 told him the day on which he might expect the girls 
 and their cousin. He was there promptly. The truth 
 of the matter was, he knew that he had a good 
 place and he had resolved to hold on to it as long as 
 he could. 
 
 Miss Odlavia Newman, who had come and gone at 
 the house of the Dives as if she were going in and out 
 at her own home, also came the same day that 
 the Dives arrived. She greeted the girls very 
 cordially. It is necessary to state here, that after our 
 party returned to Colorado, Jennie lay at the point of 
 death for several weeks, suffering from pneumonia, 
 which she had contracted by falling into a mountain 
 stream, during one of their rambles. When her 
 friends despaired of saving her life, they sent for her 
 sister and Odlavia, but the latter would not go because 
 she (as she alleged) had already entered upon the 
 preparation for her wedding. 
 
 " Miss Newman, we are still your friends, although 
 you did not treat us as you should have done. Let 
 me tell you, therefore, as a friend, that the man you
 
 MORE DEVELOPMENTS. 367 
 
 esteem so wealthy is in reality bankrupt, bankrupt 
 not only in money, but in character. When I was to 
 see my cousin in Los Angeles this summer, I saw his 
 mother-in-law. She was dressed in deep mourning. 
 She led Sharp's little child by the hand. It's mother 
 is dead. She died of a broken heart, Inhere is a 
 dreadful report as to how the wicked man, Sharp, 
 tried to rid himself of the entire family, even his pre 
 cious babe. He was driven from the presence of the 
 woman he wronged. He got no divorce, Octavia, be 
 cause he hoped they would die and he would be able 
 to get hold of his wife's money. He cannot do it 
 now, as long as the child lives. I guess the mother- 
 in-law will see to it that he never does." 
 
 Odlavia became scarlet in her face as the girl told 
 her of the perfidy and vileness of her intended. Jen 
 nie continued, " Oh, Octavia be warned, for God's 
 sake be warned, and do not sell yourself soul and 
 
 body to that awful man. Felix tells . I will not 
 
 say what he tells us about this man Sharp. I dare not 
 tell you all." 
 
 " No, you dare not tell me all," said Oclavia. "I 
 would not believe the lying tongues, though you told 
 me ten-thousand times more than you have told me. 
 I know Mr. Sharp as well as any of those persons 
 who try to defame and slander him," said Octavia. 
 She was about to rush from the room, but Susie who 
 had been a silent witness of all that the sister was tell 
 ing the woman, laid her hand on her arm and de 
 tained her. She said, " Octavia, we know what we
 
 368 MORE DEVELOPMENTS. 
 
 are talking about. We would deliver you at the last 
 moment, but we see that it is useless to try. When 
 you have married that bad man you will know the 
 need of friends more than you do now. You will 
 always find our home and our hearts open to you. 
 Do not spurn the advice of those who love you. 
 ' Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of 
 an enemy are deceitful,' Octavia." 
 
 The next morning after the Dives' arrival in New 
 York, Felix was notified to appear at the police court. 
 The officers believed that they had his assailant. 
 Felix at once communicated the news to Mr. L,egis, 
 the lawyer of the Dives, and the two went to the court 
 together. Felix recognized the fellow in an instant. 
 When he told the court so, the would be murderer 
 said, "You lie." He was reprimanded, and the evi 
 dence against him was continued. The result was 
 that he was held for trial at the superior court. 
 
 The young villain, who was old in crime, 
 together with his father and mother, had been sus 
 pected for some time. A number of robberies had 
 been traced, and the police felt almost certain that 
 they knew the right parties. They were simply wait 
 ing for sufficient evidence. Finally they had gotten 
 the scent. They recognized the fact that the neatly 
 dressed and professional Sharp was the real culprit. 
 They were simply waiting to locate Sharp. He was 
 considered the richest bird in the flock. 
 
 They had made up their minds to catch him at all 
 hazards. But where was he ? They had been to his
 
 MORE DEVELOPMENTS. 369 
 
 room a number of times; but he was always out. He 
 had a slate on his door stating when he would be in, 
 but he never came as the slate indicated. Of late the 
 writing on the slate was a miserable scrawl. The 
 police solved the mystery of Sharp's bad writing, 
 when they saw that the slate was renewed by the 
 same man who had robbed and nearly killed Felix. 
 
 Mr. Legis asked permission to interview the young 
 villain in his cell. The permission was granted. He 
 said to the fellow: "Now whilst I am not your lawyer, 
 I would nevertheless like to give you a little advice. 
 You had better plead guilty to this charge; because 
 everybody knows just as well as you do that you are 
 guilty. We know too that the man Sharp hired you 
 to do this villainy. If you will confess that, it may 
 help you in getting a lighter sentence. In fact, if I 
 am here when you are found guilty, I will plead your 
 youth and the fadl that those who led you into crime 
 are the more responsible. Think over it well, young 
 man, and adl for your own good and for the ends of 
 justice." 
 
 The attorney said to Felix, " If I would have offered 
 the villain fifty or a hundred dollars, he would have 
 given the story just as I believe it; but I will never 
 bribe a man to do right." 
 
 We have not told our readers of the burglary which 
 had been committed in the home of the Dives the win 
 ter preceding these latter events. Without going 
 into detail let us say that it had been carefully planned
 
 37 MORE DEVELOPMENTS. 
 
 and executed. The Dives lost all their silver and 
 other valuables in the dining room, in one night. 
 
 About the time of the girls' return from Colorado a 
 discovery was made at the home of the Dives, which 
 threw suspicion on all of the servants of the house 
 hold, but especially on the cook, and on him who had 
 once been a coachman there. The new coachman in 
 moving some boards in the back yard, behind the 
 stable, came upon a box sunken into the ground. It 
 was covered over with a lid when it was first discov 
 ered. It had evidently been used as the receptacle 
 for something. Whatever it was, it had been re 
 moved a considerable time before the box was discov 
 ered. The dust had accumulated in the box, notwith 
 standing that the lid fit well upon it, and the box was 
 beneath several boards, which lay in disorder upon it, 
 so that the dust could find its way under the lid. 
 The man reported the matter to the girls, and they 
 told their uncle, wondering what it could mean. He 
 promptly said: "Girls, I know what it means. The 
 person or persons who robbed your house last winter, 
 hid for a time that which they had stolen. When it 
 was convenient for them, they emptied the box. 
 Your silver may have been there until last summer, 
 when you went away. Somebody in this house had a 
 hand in the business. I can hardly suspect Felix of 
 the crime, nor could the women you have about the 
 house have helped in putting your goods there." 
 
 The girls looked at each other in amazement. They 
 could not suspect, even for a moment, the blue eyed
 
 MORE DEVELOPMENTS. 371 
 
 Felix, who had now passed into a most honorable 
 position, and who was beyond suspicion in the place 
 he was employed. In fact if they could have been 
 convinced that he was the criminal they would have 
 lost faith in human nature, would in reality have been 
 almost heart-broken. They could hardly think that 
 the cook could be guilty of robbing them of their most 
 valued treasures. They agreed to say nothing about 
 it for the present, to anyone. They cautioned the 
 man who had made the discovery not to say anything 
 to a single soul. They said nothing to Octavia, who 
 still kept her room at the home of the Dives and con 
 tinued her preparations for her wedding, heedless of 
 what had been told her. 
 
 They did tell Felix about the box, who without being 
 told Mr. Dives' verdict, said, " Girls, someone in this 
 house put that box there to hold for a time the silver 
 that was stolen out of your home. I know you do 
 not suspect me, ' ' he said turning an inquiring look 
 upon the two ladies. ' ' You would not consider me so 
 base." 
 
 " Certainly not, my dear fellow," said the impulsive 
 and outspoken Jennie. She was right. They did not 
 suspect Felix.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 
 
 " The irrevocable Hand 
 
 That opes the year's fair gate, doth ope and shut 
 The portals of our earthly destinies. ' ' D. M, Mulock. 
 
 On the iyth day of December, Carrie's hero arrived 
 in New York. He at once went to the home of the 
 Dives, on Fifth Avenue. The ladies knew what day 
 he would be there. They had invited Felix, Miss 
 Abraham, and Mr. L/egis and his wife to dinner at their 
 home that evening. Odlavia was also there. She 
 had asked the girls' permission to be married privately 
 at six o'clock on Christmas morning in their parlor. 
 She did not see the visitor from Colorado until nearly 
 the hour for dinner. Now that the day of her wed 
 ding was so near, she was nervous as well as very 
 busy. 
 
 When Odlavia entered the parlor all of the guests 
 were already there and were chatting pleasantly 
 together. At such times she was both a guest and a 
 member of the family. When she entered that even 
 ing, Susie Dives arose and presented her first to Mr. 
 I,egis. She said, "Mr. Legis, allow me to introduce 
 to you Miss Newman, whom I think you have met 
 before." Mr. Legis remembered having met her, and 
 spoke a few words to her. All this time Carrie's hero 
 
 372 
 

 
 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 373 
 
 stared. He watched her as she was introduced to 
 Mrs. Legis and Miss Abraham, the other persons in 
 the parlor whom she did not know. When she turned 
 toward the hero to be presented to him, he arose and 
 before Jennie could say anything, he said to Octavia: 
 " Bless my stars; lyiza Nieman, my sister." At the 
 same time he grasped her by the hand, and was about 
 to imprint a kiss on her lips; but she did not give him 
 the opportunity. She too stared when first the hero 
 called her his s*ister. She knew her brother Nicholas 
 Nieman in an instant, (for this is he whom we have 
 known as Carrie's hero). Before Nicholas could kiss 
 her she had concluded to faint and faint she did. Her 
 brother kept her from falling to the floor. He placed 
 her gently upon a sofa, and in a few moments con 
 sciousness returned. In fact the keen eyes of Mr. 
 L/egis sought those of Messrs. Dives and Felix and he 
 read what he himself believed, that those gentlemen 
 were convinced that Octavia's faint was in reality a 
 feint. 
 
 When she returned to consciousness she faintly 
 asked to be taken to her room. Of course her brother 
 assisted her. L,et us follow them and hear her brother 
 give an account of himself. He said: "Sister, you see I 
 am not dead. I know too that mother is still living. 
 I was told so not a week ago. I expect to go to see 
 her before I go West again." 
 
 Here his sister interrupted him. " I think you have 
 treated mother very mean indeed. If I were she I 
 would not recognize you as my son."
 
 374 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 
 
 " Odlavia, do not forget that you have treated her just 
 as mean, and a great deal worse. Now listen whilst I 
 explain to you the whole matter. The very morning 
 mother came to Freeport I gave up my job on the rail 
 road. I met a man who was very anxious to have a 
 job. He showed me his references from one railroad 
 on which he had been employed, besides those he had 
 received from individuals with whom he had worked. 
 I believed that the Company would give him the job 
 if he would tell them what he had to*ld me. I had 
 nothing to lose. It was my first day after pay, and I 
 wished to go farther west, so I allowed him to take my 
 place. He had on good clothes, so to clinch the bar 
 gain and to save me something, we exchanged panta 
 loons. He said he would ruin his anyway, and I 
 might as well have them. That is the reason they 
 found my name and my waist measure, together with 
 the date on the watch-pocket, of the dead man's 
 pantaloons. I read the whole account of the man's 
 death and how my mother was awaiting my arrival in 
 the depot when my supposed dead body was brought 
 to tfte town instead. The Dubuque papers con 
 tained a full account of the whole mystery. I wished 
 very much to go to mother and tell her that I was 
 not dead; but I knew that she would try to per 
 suade me to return home with her. I knew that 
 grand-father's was no place for me. I would be com 
 pelled to be separated from the rest of you anyhow, 
 and she would worry just as much. I thought now 
 that she believed me dead she would be better off than
 
 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 375 
 
 if she knew I was being kicked around in the world. 
 I thought I would make my fortune, when I would 
 return to her and give her double joy for all her 
 sorrow." 
 
 " You did not make it very fast," interrupted his 
 sister. 
 
 " It seemed to me a providence that I was relieved of 
 my job on that road. I do not suppose that I would 
 have been killed. I would have been more careful. 
 But it did seem as if I was to miss mother. I believe 
 that I saw her with her veil over her face standing at 
 the window of the depot in Freeport when I went 
 through on the express train. Because I did not see 
 her, my future and hers were changed. I can still 
 make her happy. And I will do my best to prove my 
 love." 
 
 " You say, you know that mother is still living. 
 How do you know ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Dr. Burns of Colorado Springs gets a letter from 
 my brother Lee now and then. About a week ago he 
 told me he had received one. Lee's wife and little 
 girl died last spring. ' ' 
 
 "Why, you do know more than I; that is sure. 
 That explains why I did not get an answer to my tele 
 gram last winter when I told them I was so sick. 
 Does Lee know that you are still alive ? ' ' 
 
 " No, I have been fortunate enough to hear from 
 them, without their hearing from me. Dr. Burns has 
 known that I am the brother only a short time. 
 About two years ago I met my cousin in Denver. It
 
 376 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 
 
 was by mere accident. He saw my name on the hotel 
 register and introduced himself. We had quite a good 
 time together. When we parted we traded knives. 
 The last I heard from him he went to California. He 
 was driving a team I think, up a mountain out there." 
 Octavia said: "Well, this is stranger than fiction. 
 That explains who Felix is. You know the man who 
 used to be coachman for the Dives before the man 
 they now have ? His name is Felix. I believe that 
 he is Felix Nieman, your cousin. Did you not meet 
 him?" "Of course I did. Susie and Jennie knew 
 that he was my cousin, and that you are my sister, 
 ever since the first week Jennie came out to Colorado; 
 but they kept it from you because you used to snub 
 him. They thought they would not let you know 
 until you saw me. His folks in Santa Fe do not 
 know that he is in New York. He wishes to surprise 
 them ; but when I was there last summer and about 
 six months before that time, I saw how they worried 
 about him. I did not know then where he was or I 
 would have told them. I almost felt like writing to 
 my mother when I saw how his mother worried. I 
 realized however, that the circumstances are not the 
 
 M 
 
 same. Mother feels almost certain that I am dead." 
 Nicholas told his sister much of his experience since 
 he left his home at With all that is of inter 
 est, the reader is already familiar. Octavia insisted on 
 having Felix called up stairs, that she might see him 
 in private. Nicholas went down and called him.
 
 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 377 
 
 When Felix Nieman, the coachman of the Dives, 
 came into the room, Odtavia arose from her chair, and 
 extended her hand to him at the same time saying, 
 "Why did you not tell me this before ? You are a 
 bad boy. We might have had many a pleasant hour 
 together, if you had not been so modest. ' ' 
 
 Felix said : " I have not been certain of it very long 
 myself. ' ' 
 
 She continued, " I thought at one time that 
 you might be my brother. The day I saw the 
 knife with the initials, ' N. N.' upon it, I thought 
 you must be my brother; but because you did not rec 
 ognize me, and my brother was reported dead and 
 buried, I let the matter rest. Do the girls in the 
 house know that you are my cousin ? ' ' 
 
 "Only since Jennie went to Colorado and got ac 
 quainted with Carrie's ' hero,' as Nicholas has been 
 called for more than a year already. He wrote to me, 
 and I at once knew who he was. I was not sure that 
 you and I were related; because you call yourself 
 Newman." 
 
 Whilst the Niemans were still talking, unmindful of 
 the flight of time, Susie and Carrie Dives came up 
 stairs arm in arm. Susie said, " Do you people know 
 that we are waiting for you for dinner for the last half 
 hour already ? If you do not soon come everything 
 will be spoiled. I know you have much to say, but 
 take your time to it. ' '
 
 3?8 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 
 
 Nicholas caught hold of Carrie's arm and drawing 
 her away from Susie he said, "My sister, do you 
 know this young lady ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, yes; I know her well and favorably. I met 
 her the first day she came from Colorado." 
 
 " Well, she is my heroine," said Nicholas. " She 
 will be my wife, God willing, after six o'clock on New 
 Year's eve." 
 
 Of course Octavia kissed her, and called her her 
 " sweet sister." Susie gave Felix an inquiring look. 
 He knew what she meant. He said: "Since it is the 
 time for introductions, I wish to introduce my dear 
 Susie, who expects to make me happy by becoming 
 my wife at the same time that Carrie becomes the wife 
 of cousin Nicholas. But come, we must go to din 
 ner. ' ' Then they all went down stairs two by two as 
 they hoped to walk together through life. Odlavia 
 brought up the rear alone. We shall see whether 
 there was a prophecy in her act. 
 
 Whilst the happy people are at dinner we will tell 
 the reader how all these engagements were brought 
 about. The night Nicholas caught Carrie and led her 
 out, or rather swam out of the sea with her at Pebbly 
 Beach, he found on arriving at those " horrid rocks " 
 that she was unconscious. Nervous and excited as he 
 was, he feared that she might be dead. In the agony 
 of his heart he said, " For God's sake, Carrie speak to 
 me." Just then consciousness returned to her and
 
 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 379 
 
 she said, "What shall I say to you?" He replied, 
 " Oh, Carrie if we must both die here, tell me that 
 you love me. I want to die knowing that you loved 
 me." She promptly replied, " My dear hero, I love 
 you more than I can tell. You are all to me." He 
 kissed her there with the great ocean behind him and 
 a giant wall of rock in front of him ; but it was the 
 happiest moment of his life. She sat down on a 
 jagged edge of the rock. When the water came to 
 her knees he picked her up and carried her to a place 
 of safety. His happiness had given him new strength. 
 When he placed her on the stones of Pebbly Beach 
 she said, " There Darling; that is better." 
 
 He spoke no more to her on the subject of his love 
 until they were in their Colorado home, and Jennie 
 was sick. Whilst they were watching by her bed-side 
 they fixed on the day of their marriage. 
 
 " How about Dr. Burns," do you ask ? Well I will 
 tell you. Carrie never loved him. She esteemed his 
 friendship. One reason she was glad to have him 
 accompany them to California, was that she might 
 show him that her heart belonged to her hero. She 
 was too weak to tell him, the night he asked her to be 
 his wife as she sat by the window in her sick-chamber, 
 that she loved another. 
 
 We have seen that Felix spent considerable of his 
 time in the evening in company with Susie and Jennie 
 Dives, during the winter. Just before Susie was
 
 380 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 
 
 called to Colorado, she sent Felix a note stating that 
 she would be pleased to have him call at the parlor 
 that evening. She would be at home. Of course he 
 availed himself of the opportunity. He had a pleas 
 ant chat, and the evening was passing rapidly, but 
 Susie saw that Felix had something on his mind, so 
 she said to him, " Pray what makes you so solemn for 
 the last half hour?" 
 
 Felix said, " I must tell you before you go to Colo 
 rado, that I shall miss you very much. I have missed 
 you all this summer. I did not know what you were 
 to me until we had parted. The few letters we ex 
 changed were as the crumbs of bread given a famish 
 ing man. They made me only the more eager to see 
 you, and tell you that I love you. Will you in the 
 high social position you occupy, stoop to accept the 
 love of a poor man ? I will do my best to make you 
 happ'y, if you will be mine." 
 
 Susie replied, " That is a very grave question for me 
 to answer. I must consider others as well as myself. 
 You have been gaining an influence over my affections 
 by your manly conduct, ever since I have known 
 you." 
 
 Susie asked for time for consideration. Felix 
 begged of her to make up her mind finally until next 
 morning. He would be at the train. But he did bet 
 ter than that. He went to Mr. I^egis next morning, 
 where Susie was stopping, and in the hack which took
 
 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 381 
 
 them to the Grand Central she told him that she 
 would be his wife. 
 
 Miss Abraham had been trying to persuade herself 
 that she was in love ? with Felix; but they had a talk 
 together one evening on the subject of marriage, 
 and from that time she was less demonstrative in her 
 conduct. They are still good friends, but nothing 
 more. 
 
 The folks at the supper enjoyed themselves very 
 much, because everybody was happy. There was 
 nothing to mar the pleasure of the evening. 
 
 The next day was one of expectation for Octavia. 
 It was the day upon which she expected Mr. Sharp. 
 Felix had not told her of his suspicions with regard to 
 Sharp. He had not told even his own Susie; because 
 he knew that they did not have a very good opinion 
 of Sharp in that house as it was. He knew that any 
 thing he could say to Octavia would not change her 
 mind with regard to her acceptance of Sharp; but it 
 would make her a sad heart, and he felt sure that 
 there would be sadness enough for her in due time. 
 
 But as we have been saying, it was the day on 
 which Sharp was expected, and Octavia was anxiously 
 awaiting his coming. It was already towards evening. 
 The mail man handed Octavia a letter which had first 
 been sent to the hospital on the Island. It had lain 
 there some time, for it was marked Omaha, Dec. 3rd. 
 Octavia tore it open in haste because she saw that the
 
 382 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 
 
 address was not in Mr. Sharp's hand. She feared he 
 might be sick. Imagine her feelings when she read: 
 
 " Omaha, 12: 3, '9 . 
 Miss. Octavia Newman, M. D., 
 Dear Madam: 
 
 Mr. Sharp, your agent, received purchase 
 money $25,000 to-day. The bank informs me that 
 he deposited it and received a draft payable to himself 
 at San Francisco. It seems strange to us that he did 
 not get a draft on New York payable to you. If all is 
 not right telegraph. 
 
 John Baer." 
 
 Octavia called Susie to the room and with a trem 
 bling hand gave her the letter, making no comment. 
 Susie read it. When she had finished, she exclaimed, 
 ' ' The thief. ' ' Then without saying a word she ran 
 down stairs, and called Jennie. She told her to go to 
 Octavia instantly. Next she rang the bell for the 
 coachman. She told him to bring the carriage as 
 quickly as possible. She would be at the front door 
 and accompany him down town. When she met him 
 at the stepping stone, she told him to drive to the 
 Western Union at once. They soon reached their 
 destination. 
 
 When they got to the office Susie sent the following 
 dispatches: 
 
 " Mr. Baer, Omaha. 
 
 Sharp is a thief. Stop payment of draft, if not too 
 late. 
 
 Miss Newman."
 
 SOME HAPPV AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 383 
 
 " Clearance House, San Francisco, 
 
 Do not cash draft on bank at Omaha payable to 
 William Sharp. He is an embezzler. Can prove as 
 sertion. 
 
 Miss Octavia Newman." 
 
 The next day Miss Octavia Newman received a dis 
 patch from San Francisco, stating that the draft had 
 been cashed more than a week ago, and that Mr. 
 Ketchem who had identified Sharp was since inter 
 viewed, and had informed them that Sharp had taken 
 passage to Japan. 
 
 Of course Odlavia was heart-broken. She was sick 
 in bed and prayed to die. Jennie Dives told her 
 she should not be so foolish. She had gotten rid of 
 Sharp. That fact was worth $25,000. It was of 
 course hard to think that she had lost all the money 
 from the True estate, except $8,300; but that was a 
 thousand times better than to lose herself, soul 
 and body, in the clutches of that bad, bad man. 
 
 Christmas came and went; but Octavia Newman 
 spent it in bed. It was the saddest day of her life. 
 The grief and chagrin of the poor girl can better be im 
 agined than described. When the clock struck six 
 that evening, she arose from her bed and dressed 
 herself. Then she went to the trunk and got out her 
 wedding dress. Then she tottered to the bath room, 
 and holding the garment with one hand, she lit a 
 match and held it to the dress, and watched it as it 
 was slowly consumed. When it was consumed she 
 said, "There girls; those ashes show the condition
 
 384 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 
 
 of my hopes for this life. I have made up my mind 
 that I will not die. I am going to Jerusalem, to the 
 position offered me some months ago. I will tell my 
 friends there that I am weary of life, and that I am 
 come to spend its few remaining days among those 
 who are already as good as dead. I blame myself for 
 all my misery. If I had taken the advice of my 
 friends, I would not be thus broken-hearted on the 
 day that brings others the richest blessings of their 
 lives. ' ' Susie told her that the very day itself whis 
 pered to her heart the glad tidings that there was a bet 
 ter life where such sorrow as was hers now, could 
 never enter. 
 
 On New Year's eve the double wedding occured in 
 the parlor of the Dives. In addition to those whom 
 we met at the dinner when Odlavia received her 
 brother Nicholas, there were present Lee Nieman, M. 
 D., and his mother. We will not try to describe 
 either the costumes or the ceremony. It is needless to 
 say that everybody was happy. 
 
 Before Christmas already, Felix and Nicholas Nie 
 man went to , Pa. They stopped at the hotel in the 
 
 village, and then Felix went to the Nieman home and 
 introduced himself as the cousin from Santa Fe, N. M. 
 
 Lee then spoke of the hope that still lingered in the 
 heart of his mother that her son Nick might yet be 
 alive. Felix asked him how he thought his mother would 
 feel if Nicholas were to come home. Thus gradually 
 he prepared the way until he finally told Lee that 
 Nicholas was even then at the hotel in the village.
 
 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 385 
 
 The mother was told by Lee that her son was still 
 alive, and when Felix had told her why he had not 
 made known the fact that he was not killed, he asked 
 her whether she would forgive him. She told him 
 the joy she would experience at seeing him would 
 cause her to forget all her sorrow. Then they told 
 her that her son was even now at the village hotel. 
 
 When a few moments after that her head lay on the 
 bosom of her son, she said, " This my son was dead 
 and is alive again; he was lost and is found." 
 
 Odlavia asked Felix the next day about the cook's 
 watch. He told her that he knew nothing about it; 
 but it would be an easy matter for him to inquire. 
 When he returned from the office that evening, he 
 went to the cook's room. He found that worthy in 
 his den. He told him about the telegram received 
 that day from Omaha, and that they thought that 
 would be the last of Sharp. The cook said that he 
 knew Sharp to be a bad man, and that he would not be 
 surprised to hear that he had committed any crime. 
 Nothing was too bad for such a man. Felix then told 
 the cook that they had strong suspicions that Sharp 
 had been implicated in the robbery committed in the 
 home of the Dives. He noticed that the cook changed 
 from his usual ruddy complexion to one deathly pale. 
 He admitted that it might be even so. 
 
 Felix felt that he had now prepared the way for 
 his question about the watch. He said, "Do you 
 know that Miss Newman, the nurse, is my cousin?" 
 The cook admitted that it was news to him. Then he
 
 386 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 
 
 told him a little about Odlavia's family history. How 
 her father had been brought home dead, and how his 
 watch was missing. The cook trembled violently as 
 Felix told him this. He told the young man that he 
 was sick. He was subj eel to such spells of late. The 
 doctor had told him only a few weeks ago that he was 
 suffering from fatty degeneration of the heart. Felix 
 asked him whether he could do anything for him; but 
 the cook said he had medicine, and he would soon feel 
 better. Then Felix left him. 
 
 The day after the Dives and Niemans were married 
 the cook told Mrs. Susie Nieman that he was too sick 
 to work; in a week or so he hoped to feel better. If 
 she would give him a vacation for that length of time 
 he might be able to return. Just two days afterwards, 
 his body was found outside of the city limits along the 
 track of the N. Y. Central and Hudson River Rail 
 road, horribly mangled. Life had been extinct for 
 some hours already. In his coat pocket was found a 
 letter addressed to the Dives. In it the cook confessed 
 that he had opened the door for the man and the son with 
 whom we have already become acquainted. Sharp had 
 planned the robbery and the two mentioned executed 
 it. The cook said he received nothing for his part of 
 the work. Neither had he put the box in the back 
 yard. The younger of the two robbers had done that. 
 From that box the old lady carried the silver to her 
 room. It was there melted into a brick and sold by 
 Sharp.
 
 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 387 
 
 He gave as a reason for the part he took in robbing 
 the girls who had always been so kind to him, that 
 Sharp and the man threatened to tell of that which he 
 now would not keep a secret any longer. ' ' Tell Odla- 
 via Newman that the father of the young man who is 
 now in jail for robbery and assault with intent to kill, is 
 
 the man who murdered her father near . I was 
 
 with him at the time; but did not assist. I received 
 his watch for keeping the secret. The doctor came 
 driving along the road. We were sitting in a fence 
 corner. It was dark and he did not see us. When 
 nearly opposite us a strap of the harness loosened, and 
 the doctor dismounted to fix it. We were cold, hun 
 gry, and without money. My companion picked up a 
 stone and knocked the doctor over at the first blow. 
 Then he took the wrench out of the buggy box and 
 finished him with it. We put the wrench in the sand 
 on the edge of the creek, near the bridge. I am not 
 the murderer. I never killed anybody in my life; 
 but I helped to conceal that and other crimes which 
 that man committed. I have no peace of mind day or 
 night. That is why I now go to my death, in the 
 hope that I may find peace in the next world." 
 
 The wrench was afterwards found at the place indi 
 cated and confirmed what the cook said. The young 
 robber received a ten years' sentence at hard labor, and 
 the old man was imprisoned for life. The woman 
 was sentenced to a three years' term. If all had been 
 known, she too would have received a longer term.
 
 308 SOME HAPPY AND SOME UNHAPPY PEOPLE. 
 
 On the twelfth day of February Odtavia sailed for 
 Jerusalem, to take her position as nurse of lepers. 
 Even that is far better than if she would have become 
 the wife of Sharp, the moral leper. The day she em 
 barked she received a telegram from Mr. Ketchem 
 who for some months already resided at San Francisco. 
 It stated that Sharp on his voyage had gambled away 
 most of his fortune stolen from Odlavia. Finally he 
 became involved in a dispute over the game, and his 
 disputant drew his revolver and shot him through the 
 heart. Thus closed the career of William Sharp, Esq. 
 
 Nicholas Nieman and his bride at this writing have 
 gone back to the stone house in Colorado, and mother 
 Nieman has gone with them. In the spring Lee 
 expects to pay them a visit. Mother Nieman says she 
 has another daughter now in place of the dear girl 
 who went with her baby to heaven. She finds in 
 Carrie Nieman not a little comfort and solace because 
 of her bereavement in the death of Lee's wife. 
 The Fadl that Octavia has gone to Jerusalem does not 
 worry her. She says, "Octavia always preferred to 
 dwell apart from the rest." Felix is to be a partner in 
 the store of Abraham. He will reside with his wife 
 on Fifth Avenue. 
 
 The friendship between Jennie Dives and Dr. Burns 
 continues, and who knows what may be the outcome ?
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 47584
 
 001 247384 9