DONALD'S PLOT. A STORY OF Unfaithful Guardian

B y SYI-VANUS COBB, Jr,

CHAPTER XIII. RUPERT.

-T,,. days grew into weeks and the weeks • to months, and Donald Owen brought to Lis no clear account of her husband. He 11 ,d made great show of searching for him, Z protended that ho had discovered him ; d then when sure that tho long agony Lover,' the trace was lost again ; and, ~i groans, he was forced to pro naß nce the case hopeless. "Alas, my child, a sad spectacle am I in my own sight when I-Donald Owen-am obliged to relinquish hope !" But Boris had mt fainted. Again and in worfl J had come to hor from tho loved . Hint he was alive and well. Boppo had one tv»»"» . bean thrice to see hor sinoe his fire* appear ... and on another •ooasion a seeming J.QGO . n—*~ ... _ wayfarer had surreptitiously conveyed to her hand a note from tho abient sharer of _ w hopes and fears. Saveral weeks had now passed since the re . ntion of that last blessed note, nnd she ,a_ heard no further word. The month of Inly was moro than half gone. She knew that the armies of the North and tho South hid met, and that there had boen sharp and „___uinary battlo. She watched for tho papers, hoping that she might see hor hus band's nnme. She would know it, but her Uncle Donald would not. In one of the missives brought by Beppo had occurred the following sentence: "Dabuno,— I have been promoted, and t Renwick's suggestion I havo somewhat modified my name. As you are aware, the full name given me by my parents was GeorqsForsvtu Amsden Bertram. Well, T have dropped the first name and tho last, and am known in the service as Forsyth Absdex. We havo grown to a brigade, and Renwick .3 our brigadier. My old captain, Tom Errinfftoo, is colonel of our regiment, Frank Oakland is major, and I am captain of tho old company—tho oldest company in the brigade, and on the right of the line. A carious thing has happened. Two days ago a squad of recruits camo in from Ro anoke County, ono of whom, a bright young fellow not more than nineteen, is named George Bertram. There's a concatenation for you. Renwick nodded mysteriously as he told me of tho circumstance, at the same, time remarking that it might serve him a ' handy turn. So remember, my precious, I am, until further notice, Forsyth Amsdon, yet loving you with all the old love and a thousandfold added thereto " Tor many a weary day Doris searched the papers in vain for mention of tho command to which her husband belonged. She knew it was on detached service; but she knew it was active, and she saw not why it should not be spoken of. At length the spell was broken. She read, in staring letters : "Sflksdid Dash oc Rhnwick's Trooi». Kotaman of the command killed, but a few nounded. Of two or throo seriously wounded wai " Corporal Georgt Bertram." As her eye caught tho name, her heart gave a painful leap, and a sharp cry was on her lips; but sho quickly remembered that it »ould not be her husband. And now she thought of the remark which Gen. Kenwick had made, and she saw its meaning. Her uncle, if he should see the item, would believe that her own George was meant, And so it proved, as we shall sco coon.

On the first day of Augtißt two ovents happened of deep interest to Donald Owen Tint.—Towards the middle of the after noon the stage coach landed at his doer his onlyion-hii only child—ltupert, the only thing on earth, or above it, that he truly lore., laringonly his money. Roper. Owen was twenty-three years of age; of medium height; of slight frame; dart brown, waTy hair j dark hazel eyes ; _i clean-cut, handsome features pale and wan. He had never been strong, either as ho; or man, and his close attention to his itad-B had told upon him sadly. Until nowh'u lather had no knowledge that he hid teen military service ; bat so it proved. He had left college at tho outbreak of the wir-at the first call for troops—and had ieeajiren a captain - commission ; and he had been in two battles, both hard fought, jm1 had received the commendation, in glowing terms, of liis commander ; but his health bad so far failed him that the sur geon of his regiment had ordered him home on the sick list. Not, however, until he ! had fainted dead away twice while in the addle had he btwi willing to give up. All this he now told his father daring the first moment, of his arrival.

"0, it was hard, very hard, father, to hare to giro up General Johnson told me, il I had been strong enough, I should have had a place on his staff. Wasn't it too bad ? Ah 1 a place on hie staff means work, and iharp and plenty of it. I wasn't fit for it. But I may gain strength, who shall say ? HI try for it, all all events." If Doria oeuld hare seen Donald Owe* at t! moment, she might have thought him really good-looking. His fatherly prido, and the honest lore that beamed in his usually hard face, gave him an expression of humanity that he seldom woro. And he hid reason to be proud of that son, and reason to love him. Ho was a good man, M ha had bean gcod in youth and in boy hood, Ho was his mother's son ; and thoso who had known his mother, and could re number, her sweet, melancholy face, could not fail to aoe her in her hoy. For an hour father and son sat in tne •mailer drawing-room and conversed, the «on doing most of the talking. The old man hang upon his words as a lover of music might have hung upon a sweet ■eiody, and thought not of speaking of his ""at7? sllTe when directly questioned. At the end of an hour the father turned "> a packet of letters which had come by Post, and which, with newspapers, had "een laid upon his table while he was con- Tewing. At the same timo Rupert picked hal opimetl a newspaper. Oho! ' Dtati, in Hospital !'" said the •on reading tho heading of an article that «M attracted his attention. " I woader if were 13 anybody whom I know." Z, n. a.lnom «nt more the elder man leaped wan feet with a startled exclamation, an open letter in his band, upon tho singlo We ol which three lines, and no more, had been written.

In mercy's name ! What ia it, father ?" Vmi! George Bertium !" .-oh |_ yMi j SM hi _ death her()j Jn rani paper, said the son, casting his eye •stain upon the item. "Yes: ' George Zt b '" ?oTO>aH_/ G, Erringtan's Regiment, Vfomcick',brigade.' Died in hospital at 'Valteravillo. I, that your man ?" ~ res, answorod the father, turning in „' ..rv. us walk to and fro, and holding out tho letter. "Bead." twport took the sheet, and read :

" Headquarters, in Camp. ~n "July 30th, ISOI *»•» Owes,-You will sco by the "Port in the newsprint of the day that mo»m Bertram is dead. Renwick. " rU. Ia tho world is George Bortram deathr m Bh°Uld fmd Such in< *rost in his , " >f is a strange story, and it affects 'Un. l oy. ? soly- Do you remember your ™c Kalph, as you used to call him ?" from 6mbor him; b"t. I think, moro re°Si y°. a- r talk than from my °Kn petsonal wlmni? * WO3 not _uit« four years old uen te went away, if I remember rightly." havln.i f c?' Woll> y°ur Uncle Ralph, ™™>g lost wife and child hero, in Owens »«, went abroad. In Paris ho married fSl.','.. Rom thero went to Ind!a- hl Mai. .- ?, dau_hter was born to him. diirfiiui fo,itto^» years ago. His widow datLl ° ,DOro tha" » year ago. His camel ~married> and she and hor husband villa V States-camo here, to Owens- Ni< I "*' ■ Uo ™> hor name was, num.. n't t_° ?■ beneath ollr roof at this ; ( m ™f- Her husband was-" hishtl 01'? ? ERTRAM!" said the son, as "fi_ t. hesitatsd. ram .111 Ru P6rt- He was Georgo Bert ,.{ v a, ntl. M yon sco, he is dead." country i?he?» a h° haU f''°m ? 0f what "English.'' b9 'in h»-- hon' in tho worW did he como to "WattM T^' Uas his wife turned WMtUmt 0 ! woman 1 woman 1" B**eWt . Mpert- Hi' wifo is one of tho "eraaw B\-" ' Pr«ttio«t women you Rut thZ',< 7" WM !10t that He-he >ooCtime,» onsßtor Jr- l wiU ioll ib at fwe hw„h U„ 8i ""." Bazed into his other's beneat !iZ' nly "aching look-a look uCll v the old man sh™"k and GeormTu! ha>l Jo" a hanJ in sending " Kb™ i"! avv' ny from Ma wife ?" plain it l m' n' l now. ">y son, I will ex ei>oui!h tl i Romß futu,e tima- it be gone Pp., T* ?'.*' n'° P"<w fellow-is 0 Jacobs with him."

■it

But that will not answer. If lam to moot my Cousin Doris I must know on what footing I stand. What have you been ..'£' lellmonow. If it is anything—» Kuporl;, let it rest. You would not 0..- F ft m n *. .Dorla! She believes -poor soull-that I havo done all in my power to hI?LtV h, al b? nd back t0 her- Ms fate ha? fallen—let him rest." (Jl Ah 't*'? I tlmt find unrest, my dear father. I a 3 k you, what you havo done to Georgo Bertram? Will you tell me ? How did you persuade him to enlist'" "Rupert!" cried the truly miserable father, • you know not upon what grousd I acted. I saw tho savings of years-the golden prize which I had won for my son— liable to bo swept away at a breath ! Could I endure that? For myself alone I cared not so much; but for you, my child-th. doar boy for whom I could have laid down my life, I cared more than I can toll. Suf fice it for now that what I did was to savo my son from being a pauper." "A what?" F

i it; and I laid truly—a pauper." Enough, enough. Toll me no moro now, said the son, hoarsely, at the same time putting out his hand as though to ward olr a noxious thing. " You say tho wife - now, alaa ! a widow-is beneath this roof" Yes. " Who will toll her of this ?" " I will mark the paper and send it to her. That will be tho boat way." "And I think I will go and lio down. 1 feel tho old pain in my side." "Olmy son! this untoward event, I hopo, has not unfavourably affected you." "It has not helped me. But never mind now. Is my old room in order for me ?" "I don't know. Bertram has used it; and Boris occupies the chamber adjoin ing." " Then I will find another, Is Susan about ?" " Yes." "I'll find her. She'll provide me with a place of rest. I'll got up to supper. I only want a brief reposo. An hour will be all sufficient. Send tho paper to Doris. Lot her havo time for thought before I see her. Alas 1 poor Doris 1 I wish she could havo met a different fate in her father's old homo I" "Ruport I—"

" What is it, father?"

"Never mind now. A thought had oc curred to mo ; but at another time I will speak of it. You look tired. Go and get your rest. We'll make a now man of you hero at home. Courage, my sou 1 Brighter days are coming." Whon left alono, Donald Owen sank into. a seat—he had arisen as his son wont out

—and buried his face in his hands. Anon he started up, and began to paco up and down the apartment, thinking aloud as ho walked.

j "Oh 1 what an opportunity is this llf I ' can persusdo the Doy to take a fancy to this young widow, what a stroke it would be! And why not ? Where can ho find more attractive beauty? Ayo, and where can sho find a moro lovable man ? It would be a proper match. With that knot tied, all trouble is at an ond. But Rupert is a strange youth. His sense of right and wrong is too keen and delicate to bo trifled with. I must appeal directly to his reason, and bo perfectly frank about it No sort of chaff will blind or deceive him. But certainly, ho should sco what is for hia own interest." A fow moro turns were taken in silence ; then ho sat down at the table whereon were the letters and papers, and took up the paper containing the account of Bertram's death, A little while ho held it in hit hand, his eyes resting on the futeful item; then ho arose, saying to himself: "I will carry it to hor. Why should I send a servant '! She will think more of my sympathy if I wait upon hor in person." "With this ho arose, keeping tbo paper in hie hand, and started for Doris's room, with an exceedingly long face, and as much sorrow upon the surface as he could com mand. Meantime, Doris was oxpeoting the visit; but she was not to be dependent upon him for the intelligence. A newspaper contain ing tho report of doaths in hospital, wherein tho name of Georgo Bertram had appeared, had beon brought to her, and she and £__ila had read it together. At first she had ox perieaced a painful shock, notwithstanding the preparatory information sho had received from her husband ; but sho had quickly re covered herself, boing well assured that her own Goorgo was not the person wliose de tth was reported. So, by tho time hor uucls, appeared, she was ready to relieve him. It wa* near to six o'clock when Donald Owen entered the chamber where Doris was sitting. Tho bereaved femati had her , handkerchief at her eyes, and she did not remove it until ho had epoken. Ho ad vanced slowly and solemnly, and took a seat at her side.

" Doris I mv dear child ! Has tho awful report reached your ears .'' Sho removed tho handkerchief, and looked up. Her face was pale and wan, and there were traces of tears tipon her cheeks. She had composed hereelf, and was equal to the occasion.

"I have read tho paper, uncle, and havo seen the account of a soldier's death—a brave soldier, and true. I know he was. But I was in a measure prepared for it. I had known for several days that he was severely wounded," " Doris, you take it as I thought you would. And vet I know how your heart must ache. However, sinco tho dear boy cannot be recalled, we must make tho best of it. If 1 could know that you would arise fi«m the hi >-.t with a heart still capable of enjoyment. 1 should bo happy indeed." Our heroine felt that sho could not .ndure this man's pie'ence for any length of time. She must, in a measure, net the hypocrite, and that she could not woll do. It hurt her. Sho experienced a sen_o of shame that was painful Toprotond to what she did not feel was possiblo, but it was far from agreeable ; so sho resolved to di. miss him as quickly as possible. She told him that tho first burst of agony had j.issed, and that eho hoped to become calm and recon ciled ;if she conld be left to herself she would feel moro composed. " By-and-by," she said, without looking up, " when I can converso of the loved ono with tranquil feeling, I may do so ; but I cannot talk now. My heart aches, and I would bo alone."

The man arose upon this and turned to ward tho door; he stopped a few stops away and came back. " Boris, I had thought to go away with out telling you of a circumstance which has transpired that changes at once the whole atmosphere of my homo ; but I know you will bo pleasod to know it. I cannot help thinking that it will bo a brighter day for you. Dear child, my son—my Rupert — Heaven bloss him I—has come home to be with us, I trust for a considerable timo. If I can havo ray way, he shall never go from home again. Toll me, at least, that you are not sorry." Thoro was something in the man's speech — in tho tones of his voice, and in the depth of his breathing—that causod Doris to look up ; and when sho saw the softened ex pression, the moistened eyes, tho quivoring lips, and tho warmth of a pure, unselfish love over the wholo face, eh. felt her heart, for tho moment, beat in sympathy with him.

"Dear uncle," she said, honostly and earnestly, "if it makes you happier I shall bo glad. I hopo ho will like me." "0, I know ho will. And, Doris, I must toll you that, though he be my son, ho is a good, true man. He is lying down now. I hope you will be willing tn see him at Bupper timo."

Doris replied that she should bo pleased to meet the young man whonever he might wish to Fooher, and, without further re mark, Undo Donald retired. Supper timo came, but no Rupert. His father explained that he had not awakened, and he did not care t_ arouse him.

From the supper table Mr Owon went softly to tho door of the chamber whore his son was resting, and finding him still soundly sleepi. g, ho repaired to his office, whore ho found Walter Tarboll waiting for him. The master turned the koys in both the doors, and then seated himself at his desk, calling upon his secretary to stand besido him. " Well, Walter, have you mado tho cal culation ?'' " Yos, sir." " And the funds can bo collected imme diately ?" "At any moment. The cash is on hand." "I want it in gold." " I have attended to that, sir; and knowing your wishes, 1 gavo to Dimtiy, the agent, two hundred and fifty thousand for transmission to Philadelphia " ' Good ! That is aa it should be. How much more will there bo?" "If you call it all in, there will be another quarter of a million." "Ah ! So 1 Good again 1 Get it in at once and ship it. And, sir, know that lam trusting you. Not a breath of this falls from your lip* to another." "I will keep the faith,sir. Your secret is as B ife with me as it could be in your own bos.m."

"If I did not believe it,l should not trust you. The fact is, Tarbell, I don't want any la^ge sum of money on ha^d, nor do I want

it where we can reach it at short notice. I can sco very plainly the Confederacy must borrow money. Already plans are made for issuing Confederate States' paper, and I, for one, want nono of it. Not a word of this outside this office, as you value your life. I trust you fully, and you must help me ; and if you aro true, you shall never regret it."

" Now, sir, you will make arrangements for getting in nil outstanding moneys as soon a3 possible, and when we have them in hand they shall be sent off. I will reserve a few thousands only for current expenses. Ruport will want somo, and I must, I suppose, do a little something towards equipping troops; but thoy sha'u't dip deeply into my strong box, if I know it." Thus instructed, tlio secretary prepared' to set about his work, while the stern patriot turned him to other plotting, for be sure he had plenty of it on hand.

CHAPTER XIV THE COUSINS.

o_r tho moruing after Rupert's arrival at homo Donald Owen was callod away on

business which ho would not neglect—his

secretary called him—nnd Doris ato break fast with only Leila at the table with hor. She had come to mako a eoaipanion of her truo-heartcd Hindoo girl rather than a servant, and the companionship was enjoy able.

I Towards tbo middle of the forenoon, a> sho sat alone in hor chamber, Leila having gone out with Susan, Doris heard her door oponed, and, on looking _p, was somewhat startled upon beholding a stranger. But she know him at onco, and at once her heart went out to him. She had neverseon a more kind and winsome face. It was mild and gentle, yet firm and true—the face of a poet—of ono who loved what was lovoly—and yet a brave and loyal face. And moro : There were traces of suffering in it: and in tho mystic depths of tho dark oyea there was an earnest craving for sym pathy. " Pardon mo, I pray you," bo Baid ; and he added, with a quiot smile, as ho advanced —"This was once my apartment, and I think I have a fow old books bore. I wanted ono of them, and came for it, not knowing that I should trespass." " Indeed, sir, it is no trespass. I should be sorry to keep a student away from his books."

"Don't call mo a studont. I wish I could feel like ono. But—tell mo-do I speak with my cousin Doris." Her face brightened, and a gladsome fooling movei hor heart. It was pleasaut to think that ho was her oousin. His voice, too, was like sweet music, after the voice of the man to whom she had of late beon forced to listen.

"I am Doris Bertram, sjir. You aro Rupert ?" " Yes. You may call me your Cousin Rupert, and I will call you Cousin Doris. Truly, 1 am glad I find you hero. I came home because I was not strong enough for the—for the life I had thought to load."

"Do not fear to speak, sir. Your father has told me that you had tried a soldier's life. Do not stand. If you will stop, I trust you will sit."

"If I may. Thank you," ho said, as ho sank into a seat fucing her. Then after a brief pause, ho wont on: "As I was saying, I camo home because my health, or my luck of health, obliged mo to do so ; but the thought of homo-coming was not so cheerful as it might havo been had I known that I was to find pleasant companieuship." Ho stopped and lookod into her face, finding evidently what ho thought a troubled expression, Was eke fearful of him? Did she fear that be would pre sume upon her loneliness—upon her itute of dependence ? Prompted by an impulse of his pure hoart, he exclaimed, at the same timo putting out his bond : "Doris, I wish you would trust mo. I know you want a friend. 1 ot me be that friend, I pray you. Th* person who trusted mo was novor y .. by me b*tr»y»d." Sho gave him hor hand, but could not speak, Hor oyes were brimming, and her lips quivered. " You will tru. t me, I know. I am aware of your situation. I know how you hove boen triod, lean feel how you musthave suffered. From ny heart I say to you, with no thought beyond, let mo bo your brothsx. Let me realise, if you can, how pleasant it can bo to have a yister,"

"Ah, sir" tho f*ir aso replied, with n plow, .ad shaking of her head, " y«u know not what you ask. 0! I would loto to have a brother-a brother to whom I could confide my inmost though/-'! - but, alas! your father's son cannot be tie."

" Doris- " " Hush 1 Ask me no questions, for I can not answer you." Ho gazed Into hor face long and search ingly. At length tbo cloud broke away, and into his truthful eyes came a gladsome light. " Deris," ho said, in a tone but slightly raised above a whisper, "I think I gitkcr your meaning. You fancy my father Is not your true friond." " No, no ; I do not fancy." " Perhaps you havo reason to beliovo ho is not your friond." Sho made no answor. "When I offered to be your brother I meant all tho word conld imply. If my father has wrongod you, or if ho socks to wrong you, I will still bo your brother. Tho wrong fhall bo my wrong : and if I cannot help you to repair it, I will help you to bear it." "0, Ruport!" Doris cri.d, from tho vory depths of hor being, " if you will be such a brother I will trus1; you with all my heart. But, I tell you plainly, your father—has—" " Go on." "No : I date not. Ho is your father; you aro his child." " Not a child to wink at gross outrage, no matter who commits it. Toll mo what you will. I think I know what you would say. You would tell me that my fathor was the direct agent in—what Bhall I say ." "The forcible abducti.n of ray husband, and his impressment into tho military service," said tho wrongod wife without hesitation. "Do you know this ?" asked Ruport, with another of those keen soarching glances. "I know it!" she answered, calmly and quietly. Rupert Owen was startled. That steady gazo of his was fixed upon tho beautiful face before him until at length his counte nance was lighted up, and he reached out and took her hand. " Doris," ho said, in a low whisper, at the samo timo casting a quick, furtive glanco around the apartment, " i/our hus band is not dead." "How do you know.?" with a slight start "Ah 1 I read it in your face. I read it now in your voico. O, Doris ! trust mo. If my father's act has not resulted in that direful event, I ought to have the joy of boingassured. And onco more I say to you : Trust me fully. I will b3 true to you and help you by every moans within my power." "But, Rupert," our heroino suggested, ' suppose that in your championship of my cause, you should find your own interests involved. There aro many things to ba thought of." "I understand you, Doris ; and in return I tell you this : Though my loyalty to you should leavo mo penniless, so long_ as your cause was just, I would support it. Will you trust me now ?" " Yes, yes, 0 ! Rupert, I beliovo you. I know you would not deceive or botroy me."

"There is my hand—tho hand of a brothor, true to tho core ! Now tell mo, your husband is living?" "Yos."

" But I read the account of his death In tho newspaper ; and more : My father had a letter from General Konwick, received last evening, stating tho same thing." " How ?" cried Doris, with a sharp, quick cry. " A letter from Renwick ?" She caught his wrist with an cagor grip. " What did he write?"

"It wa3 only a couple of linos. Let me think, Ah 1 I havo it. All ho wrote was this : Donald ' Owes ' ho says : ' You will see bij the newsprints of the day, Geouc.k Bertram is dead 1' and then signed his name, ' Renwick.' "

Doris held her breath for n moment, then a sigh of relief, and a quiot smile broke over her face.

"Ah 1 you understand it. Doyouknow, Dori?, I havo been in troub'.o ever sinco my father lot slip that Jack Renwick was thi commander who held your husband's fate in his hands. I have known that man, and it was hard for mo to believe that he cuuld bo needlessly cruel. I knew he might hold a man against his will under certain circum stances, especially in such times as theso; but I could not think ho would lend him self to ouch au outrage a? the capture and forcible enslavement of such a man as your husband would be. I wish you would" toll me tho story, for I see plainly that you know it." Doris reflected for a little time, and final ly said, with a smile that charmed the son of Donald Owen as he had not been charmed in that houso since his mother died i

"Cousin, you must know that my hus band's full name is George ITor.ythe Am.den Bertram. It was at Reawiok's saggeetioa, when he was mado captain, that he shonld drop the name ho had been in the habit of using, and ud'opt only his two middle names—"

" Whew!" cried her hearer, with a vigorous clapping together of his hands, " that's the Captain Amsden who saved Renwiok's right wing at Wiltsburg ! I have wondered who it could bo. And ho is your husband '. But this George Bertram that is reported dead, who is he ?"

"There is somothing curious about that," : 1 replied Doris; and she then wont on and ■ told the whole story—told of Beppo's' coming; of lipr husband's letters, and of Geu. Renwick's significant observation t touching the possibility of a result like ■ that which had transpired. Wheu sho had coucluded, her cousin remained for a time silent. At longth ho said, with deep feeling : " Doris, your socret v safe with me. 1 will be your brother, in truth aud indeed : and to that ond wo must hare a further understanding. I can plainly see that my fathor will sot his wits at work to make a match between us. You, he thinks, he has in his powor ; and, to a certain extent, if I were not here to help you, you would he. As forme, ho will doubtless endeavour to exercise a ■ parent's prerogative, aud command mo, if need be, to become your husband. Tho eiistouco of your husband renders our wav easy and simple. Wo can be brother and sister nonr without fear of misunderstanding. Now tell mo of your father—toll me of yourself." "Of my father, Rupert, I remember nothing. I was only three yanrs old when he diod."

"Just about my own age," Rupert re marked, " when ho loft Owensvillo."

Doris wont on, and told of hor mother; and in tolling of hor mother sho told the story of hor father's life in India, and of tho sad accident by which ho met his death. In this connection sho spoko of She strango disappearance of Jack Clearstar ; and anon sho spoko of Jacob Wonzell and Jonas Her ter. At this point Ruport interrupted hor. "Do you toll mo that Jucob Wonzell was suspected of having had a hand in tho disappearance of your father's valet ?" "Yes. Mamma was sure of it." " Doris,there is something strango in this. Lot mo think. 1 certainly remember the namo and tho man." Ho bent his head upon his hand, and so romainod for i' full minute At length ho looked up, " You say your father died in Juno of 'forty-soven." "Yes." " I was ten years old nt that timo. I call to mind now —it was little more than a year beforothat—a year and a half—in January of 'forty-six—that my father had a man hi his employ—two men, in fast—Wenaell and Horter. Tho man Wenaell. at tho time I have mentioned, ho sont away upon busiaoss of groat momont, aud I now know that be sent him to India. I was so young at the timo, nnd so fond of dreamiug, that my prosonco was not noticed. Hortor was sent over saveral j. _»•'_ later, and doubtless upon the samo busiuess. I think Wonzell asked for him. It has boou a doop-laid plot from beginning to end. Wen_ell and Horter havo beon tho agents, and my fathor, horo at homo, tho moving spirit." " Why—o I why should he have sought harm to ua?" cried Doris. " Do you not guess ?" " Yes; I have my strong suspicions ; and upon tho strength of thosp suspicions, I promised my mothor, on her dying bod, that I would couie to America—to mv papa's old homo—and establish my rights if I could ; and slue had a proruiso from George that ho would be my husband, ami coino with me." At this point Rupert arose from his seat, aud took two or three turus across tho room. Finally ho stopped by his couipauiou's side, and laid a hand gently on her shoulder, as she still sat. " Doris, if 1 could reveal to yea thewholo truth, I would do so on tho instant ; but I am in the dark, »_ you two, though, perhaps, .till, we must, both of us, lie content to wait for further development. It is strange — or, at least, curiou.—that thu man whom I had in my heart so highly honoured . hould prove to bo tho very man whom my father had betrayed -your hu.Wand I Strange thine* come to [jas.« in this world, certainly 1" "0 ! Ruport, lam so glad you like my Georgo—" "Ha ! Don't call him by that namo. It> I may slip your tongue when it ought not." "I will bo careful, cousin. I do not t think I could he tempted to betray the. prseinus'secr.t." " One thing more, Doris, and we will let this matter rest, forth* present. You spoko of a golden crucifix to whloh yon wwe inclined to attach some mystery. I hare a reason for a.klng about that. What is ft? If you can explain to mo, I winh you would "

She hesitated not a moment. She told him what the thing was; that hor fathor had caused It to bo tn-de in Tnris ; that he had kept it sacredly, more than hinting that ho regarded it a« a talisman of virtue to himself. She told, also, how, at his death, lie had given it to Jask Cle.arst.ar, together with full instructions, both of which —crucifix and explanation—Jack vras to givo to his wife. "Andat this point," showont on, " bogins tho mystery. After papa had breathed his last, .lack went privately to VajorAshton, and gavo tho crucifix Into his hands, telling him that ho did not feel safe to keep it. 110 was euro, at, the vory moment it was givon Into his hand by his ma. tor that ho caught sight ata window directly above tho cot, of a d»'k face —tho faco of a man who had been lurking around the bungalow eror einco they had occupied it. Ashton took tho crucifix, but Jack did not communicate to him the explanation he had recoived. He had only feared that tho precious om blem would be stolen from him; personal violence ho had not thought of. So the crucifix came safely to ray mothor's hand : but tho secrot, if there waa one, was lost with tho poor valet." " And this crucifix you haTe !" " Yes."

"I wish you would let mo coo it." Sho aroso instantly, and wont for the casket ; then she returned to her ooesin, and having unlocked and opened the ebon case, sho took out the crucifix, and gavo it into his hand.

An exclamation of surprise and admira tion escaped Rupert's lips as he took tho treasure and gazed upon it. Ho turned it in his hand, and balanced it erittcally on tho end of his fingors. Then he examined it moro carefully, and onco more calculated its weight. " This is iodced a beautiful piece of work, and asido from itsassoeiatioiis, lfc is valuable. It is valuable mi account of its iatrineio worth ; and it is valuable as a work of art. Aro you used to tbo weight of gold ?"

Doris shook hor ho_.d. She had handled but very llttlo gold in her lifetime, and only in small quantities—never anything olso like that.

"This bit of gold," pursued Rupert, weighing it a^ain upon his fingers, "is vory heavy; but it is not so heavy as it ought to bo if it were a solid mass." " How 1" cried Doris, with a start. "Do you moan that it is hollow ?" "I am very certiin that it is not solid my dear cousin. And that there is some thing more than gold inside this cross I am confident, though it bo nothing more than atmospheric air. But wo will let lime toil the rest. Of course you will net suffer it to be tampered with until your husband can bo present." " 0, no—not for the world."

" Does my father know of tho existence of this crucifix ?"

" Ho has nover intimated such a thing to mo, yet I beliovo ho knowsof it. Wonzell knows that such a thing was ours, and it is not likely that his master could remain ignorant." " That is reasonable ; and more,—lf my father knows that Ralph left such a token, bo sure ho will oro long ask you about it If he should do so, how would you meet him ?" " I don't know. The thought has troubled me." " If I will direct you will you ebey n»e ?" "I will try." "It will not be difficult. "Whatlpropose is this : Should my father ask you con cerning tho crucifix, you oertaialy satinet toll a downright falsehood." " 0 1 no ! no !'' "Then acknowledge that ysu have it ia your possession. Tell him that yeu hold it as a sacred trust which you oanaot let go. Should he persist—should ho poremptorily demand it—then, as a last resort, refer him to mo. Toll him that it is in my charge that only from me can ho obtain it. Stand to thi", and lot, him come to me if ho will I shall know how to Meet him. Have no fears. It will bo bosh, henceforth, for you to consider tho treasure as in my charge. I shall loavo it in your custody, but I demand of you a promise that you will not surrender it without, my consent. Will you so under stand it?"

" Yes. 0 ! with pleasure and with grati tude. I will do exae'ly as you say. But, Rupert, if it is hollow, how can the secret opening be found ?" " That remains to be seen, 1 think lam

goldsmith enough to find it, however, so we will borrow no trouble on that score. There now, put it an ay, und remember your promise I would suggest, hewovor, that you do not trust it in your trunk. If my father should take it into his head to make a search for it, beliovo ma either ho or hi* agonts would surely find it. You cannot bo too careful. Let your maid—your Hindoo — make you a pocket which you can wear about your person, and for a time keep it there. I roally think it will bo bost so."

Doris was thankful for the suggestion, and sho promised that sho would carry it into execution.

"And no H-, my dear cousin," said Rupert, lising and taking lier hand, "I think my father has returned, nnd I will go and moefc him. Remember, wo are to trust ono another. You will not hesitate to come to mo on any occasion when you may want holp or advice, and I shall not liesitato to apply to you. If you hear further from your bravo husband, you will let me know."

Sho promised him that she would

"Courago, Doris ! I am strongly impressed that the right will triumph. Be true to yourself, and have no fear."

He raised her small, white hand to his lips, and left lior with more of gladness in her hoart than she had folt for a long, long time. (To be Continued.)

THE "BIGH WA:" A CLERGYMAN'S TALK.

By HUGH CONWAY,

Author of "Called Hao

Dark l.iiys," &c,

CHAPTER I,

Although thia talo is little more than the

barest statement of facts, believe mo I hesi tated long befiire 1 could mako up my mind to give it to tho public. Writers of pure fiction arc often blamed If a distinct and beneficial purpose does not undorlio their imaginative effort., so that to one of my own calling tho consciousness that ho has written anything which can do tho reader no good, and which by no ingenuity can bo twisted to a mora aim, should be, at least, a subject of self reproach. Indeed, I feel that tho only ex cuse 1 can make to myself for yielding to tho temptation of playing a narrator's part, is that human nature compels a man to wish to retail to his fellows any strange and out-of tthe-domtnon events which ho may havo witnessed. Nevertheless, ] doubt if this excuse would have removed my scruples hud I not felt -»ro that vino readers out of ovory ten would, by tho theory of coincidence, excited sentiment, overwrought imagination, innate •uperstitiou, or what not, bo able to explain aud account for occurrences which, I am almost ashamed to own, havo ever been Io mo moro than mysterious.

If tho exigencies of my story permitted, 1 would willingly conceal my identity. Not from the dread of ridicttlo ; not that I am, ashamed to confess that I tun acle.'kin holy orders ; but from th* foar that I may bo supposed to expect moro credence for a clergyman's word than for that of another nun. However, I who tell this talo am William Denya, now and for many yoars rector of Bartliold, in tho county of Dor setshire.

In tho yoar D>.i) I was v young curate with somewhat unsettled views. My High Church friend* called mo Evangelical ; my Evangelical friends called mo Ritualistic. Which 1 eventually became is a matter only ooncerning myself, my parishionoi'3, and my bishop. But besides my viows, my future iv ISO was also unsettled. I had bcoo- for some months out of employment, l'orhap., if the trsth be told, 1 was, having a small in-

come of my owa, rather fastidious as to what curacy 1 ace.sptod ; ti.ul, moreover, a few months' holiday wus by no means v timo of weariness to me. I had many friend., and utilised my leisure by paying v series of pleasant and long-promised visits.

Amongst those with whom T sojourned was an old school and 'Varsity friend and rind, who uns at that timo holding v desirable scliolastic appointmont at Liver pool. Ono night, when dining out at a men'n party, 1 found niy.olf seated by a man whoso namo I learned was Ploed.

He must hare been about fifty years of »"«. Ha wus very tall, antl I particularly noticed tho immense breadth of his shoulders. His hands -were Urge and sunburned, His f»ce, that of one who had onduiod much exposure and roughing. In fact, such was his general appearance that I was not surprised 60 learn that Mr Hood was a great traveller, whoso foot had trod almost every portion of the earth's Kurfaco. He was a most pleasant dinner neighbour, full of anecdote, yet not moro egotistical than was agreeable. By the end of tho prolonged and rather too convivial meal wo had become excellent friends ; so much so, that he invited 1110 to (lino with him the next day, and learning that I was staying with a f'riond, extended the invitation to my host.

At tho last, moment somo engagement, I forget, what, prevented Lewis, my friend, from accompanying me : ?o at seven o'clock I found myself dining alone with my new and interesting acquaintance. Mr Hood lived some little way out of Liverpool. His houso, nlthough not largo, was yet larger than ho needed, as ho was a bachelor nnd lived nlono. Our dinner was simple, but well cooked nnd tastily sorved. Tho wines, although I followed my host's temperate example and drunk little, woro beyond suspicion. By tho timo that cigars and coffee mado their appearance, I con gratulated myself heartily that I had accepted Mr Hood's impromptu invitation. During dinnorand afterwards our conver sation went on without flagging Gradually it drifted away from tho subjoct of travel and adventure, and we found ottrso'ves dis cussing moral problems, particularly the amount of guilt attaching to hasty and violent acts of passion. Wo look viows so far opposed an to make tho argument in teresting, and I have no doubt I displayed tho fault common to many young priests, of assuming that tho ceremony of ordination and tho adoption of clerical garments in some mysterious way mako a man of twenty fivo an authority on ethics. One. or twice I detected an amused expression on Mr Hood's face ; so perhaps it was as woll that tho conversation was at, last taken from dobat.abio ground by my expressing a wish to examine somo of tho trophies of travel which were scattered about the room.

"I havo never beon .. great, collector of general curiosities," said Mr Hood. "I havo given my time and money to one sub ject ; would you like to sco tho result of my hobby riding ?" Naturally, such was my ih-iro ; so after instructing a servant to light tlio lamp::, my host led mo to what ho called his mus.um,

"I must apologise," ho said, with a smilo, " for showing a man of peace such a eight." Tho room was a large ono, apparently built on to Iho houso. Tho walls woro lined with tall glazed cases, and a long show case ran down tho cent re. The lamps were arranged so as to throw their light into tho various cases.

That collection was an interesting if a painful sight. Thoro was not an articlo in it which was not devised cither for offensive or defensive purpofos—to take tho life of man or to prevent its being taken. There were completo suits of exquisitely-wrought Persian armour, oach surmounted by the inlaid round-topped helmet, from which hung the finely-wrought curtain I forget, tho technical name—of tiny interwoven links. There were the swords of every Eastern nation — scmiit.ars, yataghans, headman's swords, and a dozen other sot ts. There were spears and halliard- ; richly gilt state axes nnd maces : murderoua-look ingeuteh axesand spiked clubs. There woro Burmese dims and treacherous curved Malay creeses. There were hundreds of other strange weapon", tlio names and nationalities of which havo passed from my mind. But-the great feature of tho eollec Hon wa. wha*. I may, using a generic term, call daggers. I was quite ready to believe Mr Hood when ho assured me that his as sortment was unique.

Thrusting daggers, stabbing daggers, etitting dsggors, daggers with which to ffrika up, down, or ovan ono might say n,,..._ a corner. Long bladed and short bladed, broad-bladed and narrow-bladod — even double, if not treble bladed. Straight, curved, oven undulating from hilt te needle like point. Daggers so richly inlaid with gold that a king or chief might have worn them ; daggers plain and serviceable, evi dently meant, for bloodshed, not show. Handles of jade, ivory, and wood—plain, carved, or richly jewelled. ..heaths of velvet mounted with precious metal aud stones, or . imjilo sheaths meet for a simple blado. Jamdhars, kanjhars, peshkups—a man must bo an authority on such subjects to describe them rightly.

Every dagger was kept beautifully clean

t ' and when of bright steol, polished to its lit • most brilliancy. Where tho weapon pos-' • sesierl a shuath, tlio sheath was placed hesidoit. Under oach specimen was written .tlie name, date, and det.eiipr.ioii. Even at the risk of being thought a prig, I say again that, in spite of the interest of -he collection, tho thought that so much time, trouble, and ingenuity had been spent in manufacturing articles whose solo oud was blood-hed and cruelty, was to mo a painful oris. Mr Hood, who was vory proud of his col lection, opened several of tho ca«e_, aud drew my attention to tho peculiarities and beauties, of the different weapons. " Hold this in your hand,"- ho said, giving mo along bright dagger. " Don't you feel that you would like to stick it into someone ?' "I am thankful to say I do not."

" Any way, I can quito imagine that iho first thought of a savngo who had acquired such a treasure as this must bo to v. c it. 1 quite sympathise with tho old warriors in their affection for thoir pot swords. Thoro

may havo been somo hidden virtuo in those old dwarf-forged brands of tho vikings which drove the owners baresark."

" You aro jesting, of course."

"No, I am not. The oldreetal workers had secrets of their own. Thoy may have known how to mako blades tho very sight of which throw a man into n righting rage. Henco I he piecc-strin.;g_ which in quiet tiuie_ bound the blade to tho scabbard."

Collectors aro generally enthusiastic and full of theories respecting their acquisition*, so I contented myself by expressing a simple difference of opinion. Mr Hood looked at mo thoughtfully. " 1 should like to try a little experiment," he said. " I wonder if lam much stronger than you ?"

" You can try if you like," I said, laugh-, ing.' I was rather proud of my strength. Ha; camo to my loft side, passed his right hand ;

under my armj.it, and grasped my right j forearm. Ho thou placed his left hand on i my left arm. "Can you movo?" ho said,; suddenly tightening his grip. '• I have already mentioned his height and" bread th of shoulder. I iras not surprised to . find him tho stronger man, but I was both} surprised and nettled to find that I was I helpless as an infant in his iron grasp. Struggle as I would,l could not free myself. He soon released mo, and I looked at him : with that feeling of respect which a muscular Christian fee's towards a moro muscular Christian.

Mr Hood then opened one of his wall cases, and from a corner fojik a small and curiously-worked metal cask. t. Ho opened ' this casket by touching a .hidden spring, ' and drew out a small sheathed dagger.! Round tho sheath wsa wrapped a pieco off paper, on which was written what I sup-1 prised to bo a description of the weapon. He unrolled this, handed mo '.the dagger, and told mo to look well at it, as it was very old and curious.

I lad it been on view with its fellows, I should havo passed it without notice Tho haudlo was of palo dull green jade, the only peculiarity being that it was cut into octagonal shape, and that on the facets woro inscribed eastern characters. Tho blade I could not .00, as it was hid lon by a plain sheath, which even to my inexperi enced eyes seemed to bo of modorn if not Buropoan make. 1 tried to unshoath it, but found that a small chain, passing round tho handlo and then secured to tlio sheath, prevented my doing so. I turned inquiringly to Mr Hood. " It is a ' IShhiva ' or ' scorpion's sling,'" lie said. " I showed you one or two others of tho samo shape. This ono is nearly a thousand years old."

I looked at tho littlo weapon with moro reverence, and turning it in my hand fsked tho moaning of the inscriptionson the handle. Seven of tlio facets woro inscribed, tlio oighMi was blank. "They aro mon's names," said my host,

" men of eminence. I have taken im mense pains to identify them. This ono, tho first inscribed, carries us back to tho time of tlio houso of Ghi-iat, which first established tho Mohainmedaa rulo in India This one, tho lust, is comparatively of to-day. It, is llib name of a high-placed Ingli-h offi cial, whoso cruelty and ejtoitions mado his name hateful through thu province ho ruled."

" There is a wido space betweon tho two." " Yes : but tho Brahmins lived before Muhmfld, and they livo now. This dagger was o;ie of their sacrod treasure*. No matter how ih came into my possession. There it is, and now you shall examine it moro fully."

[Jo took a small chis'd and praod ojien one of tho links of the chain which went round tho haadlo of the historical weapon. lie handed it, to mo, and te my surprise placed himself in tho samo position as whin we tested •ur respective strength ; the only difference boing that his fingers r«-!ted softly on my anus instead of grasping them. " Now unshoath it and look at the blado," ho said.

With somo curiosity I obeyed. Tlio blade was about fivo incVies long, with a wave in it which Kayo it t'tio appearance of a tapering (lame. It was lof dull grey steel, and curious reddish bro'.va lines seemed to run longitudinally .'from the heel to tho point, where thoy b'londed, so giving tho point a sustained I -od hue. It was v significant, diabolical II ttls weapon.

Vet it had a fascinati on for me. I ditl not lay it down, but tin ned it from side to side.looking at those rod lines, endeavouring to trace them ono by one until thoy morged into tho cloud at tho po! .nt. Whether they were in tho stool or sinr ply on tho surfaoo I could not say, bub prose mtly I thought thoy began to grow bright or and moro vivid. " What a curious fancy ! ' i murmured, and looked closer and close. at tho dug.cv.

Presently v thrill - a glow—l scarcely know what to call it, ran as it wore, from the fingers which clos oil on tho handle, up my arm and through my whole body. For a moment tho sonsatit on was not an unpleas ing one, and then— (I am ashamed to go on. My pan has boc n lying idle for w.l hour or moro as I try to mako up my mind . whether to tear these sheets to jiiccos or to finish them. Onco more. I am weak cum rogh to decido on the latter course.)

In plain words, then, a sudden horrid feeling took possotia1 ion of me, It was rapro than an impulse—i' t. was an overpowering necessity. My finjrt >rs grasped tho handle of that' dagger convu! sively, and I felt that something absolute ly compelled mo to bury that flame-shaped . dado in my heart. I folfc no wish lo destroy myself, but on the othor hand i felt no fear of death or horror at tho crime of solf-olostru Coion. It simply seemed an unavoidable act I was not a froo agent. Tho dagger seomo 1 turning slowly towards my breast, and sort .ething told me that when it pointed there fully I should bo bound to strike. At that critical moment 1 felt Hood's iron grip n; pon my arms.

From the install b when I first becamo en grossed in the est itnination of the Bichim. till now I had ont Ivoly forgotten that I was not alone. In fa nt, I beliovo I had for gotten where I • was. But Hood's grasp, which brought ba ,ck tlio knowledge that ho was with mo. did not banish tho jugglery, or whatever it \ta ?. Ii simply changed the working of the a poll. Tho fooling that tho dagger must, "ol ; used was paramount as before, but, now it must be used on another. I mado a frantic effort to free my hands. I felt my computai on's bony fingers slide down my arm and gw ,__. my wrist with such im mense force tlva' . my fingers wore compolled to undo? o, and. J .ot the dagger fall from them. As it left my hi md tho homicidal mania—l can call it by '. no othor name—passed from mc, and I snn k on tho nearest, chair in a state of bcv.'ilih a-ment nnd abasement.

I noticed Mr Hood, with his eyes turned away from tho accursed weajion, lift it and replace it in its sheath. Then ho camo to my side. "What jug glory, what horriblo con juring trick is this?"l gasped out. " Toll mo i .vhat you felt ':" ho said. I was silent. "Did you f fool." ho continued, "an ir resistible d.si ro to take your own life with that dagger ?': ' "Yes," I replied sullenly, I wits ashamed to add that I also felt tho desiro to commit ptt rdc-r. "Then you will not dispute tho facS that tlio old metal workers throw soma occult influoi co into their art. Listen. So far as I ha-.i > been oblo to identify thotu, each man w! icse name is engraved on the handlo of tin .t old Hnsrgerslcw himiolf." I shudden id, " For heiven's sake, des troy tho dial tolical thing," I said. "It is too curious, too histoiical to des troy." " But if it should pass into otlicr hands ?" I urged, "Ihaveti iken all precautions. Afullde sciiption of its virtue' is attached to it Now let us jo back to tho dining room." I followed him in silence. The thought that fivo mi rules ago I, a clergyman, waa longing witi t .a fierce longing to kill myself or .another v ,'as terrible to me. T felt I hud been the vie tim to some trick, but in what the trickery lay could not determine. Any way, Ino !i ni_e. experienced any pleasure in-my hosfc'l i society ; so, as soon as I cou'd, bade him a cold adieu

I never et iw him again. Some time after -Ji> I n iado inquiries about him, ;•

■r ■• .1 th: _t he had left his house n.'.r Liverpool,l md had gone no one knew where.

CHAPTER 11.

I must now pass over 20 years, and begin what may be called my story. Although the curious cpisodo connected with Mr Hood and his collection of arras mado at

the time a great, even painful impression upon mo, this at last wore off, and as years passed, if I thought at all about tho matter, I was quito able to satisfy myself that somo strange mental freak would amply account for the sanguinary feelings which had taken possession of me. Nevertheless, tho incident was not one to bo entirely for gotten, and I am sure that, although so many years have elapsed, my description of what occurred is strictly accurate

In ISSO my health began to give way. Not only had I for many years borne tho strain of administering to tho wants of a largo and poor parish, but a terriblo be reavement had rendered me all but incap able of fulfilling my duties. I was no longer a youthful man full of hopo, work, and energy, but a heartbroken and childless widower. So prostrated I felt, that I am ashamed to say I contemplated resigning my living. My kind friends aud parish ioners would not hear of this. With a

generosity and delicacy too seldom exorcised, thoy subscribed enough money to pay a clergyman to take my placo for a twelve r-inih ; then bade me try what rest and change of scene would do towards restoring m. to health and poaee of mind. I wont abroad for a while ; then I re turned and wondered about England. At times I spent a few days with old friends, at times I wont whore chance or inclination led mo, staying at one place or another until I grew tired and willing to turn elsewhere. ->!y wanderings at last led me to the de lightful grey old town of Winchester. One ; morning, thinking 1 shouidliketoexploretke neighbourhood, I hired a horso and started [ oil" I rodo several miles out of town, and ' whilst I was jogging along, deep in Bad . dened thought, my horse shied and threw ■ me. A thousand stars flashed before my eyes, and then all was darkness. When consciousness returned, I seemed to be in a dream. I know I was lying on somo 1 kind of an improvised ambulance, and that ! men were carrying me. i "Bring him to my house—it is the 'nearest," I heard some one say. Then I became once moro unconscious.

I awoke, and found myself in a bedroom, and surrounded by every comfort, includ ing a surgeon, who was sponging my head and making preparations for sewing up the .nasty cut « hich had boon tho result of my own negligence or my horse's vice. The operation having been skilfully performed, r.oon felt well enough to inquire for and tlusnk tho good Samaritan who had picked me up, a wounded stranger, on the roadside. Fortunately, the damago I have described was all I sustained. After a couple of days' rest I was well enough to leavo my room. I should, of course, at onco have relieved my charitable host of my presence, but ho so courteously insisted upon my remaining thai* I could not refuse. iac was a man of about five-and-thirty, tall, thin, and of quiet, gentlemanly de mo tinour. He paid me every attention, and dvi.ing tho timo whilst I was confined to my roo m, frequently sat with me and talked on var wus topics. Tho consequence was that win !ii I was able to rise from my bed and pro claim my convalescence, we were all but friends, and ho begged mo to remain as bis r'uest for so long as I found it con voniieni. H;is namo was Fraser—Maurice Eraser. I gathered that ho was a man of somo pro per!.if. Ho was married, but his wife was ut p' resent away on a visit. He expected her I inck in the course of a few days, and said that he looked forward to the pleasure of making his now friend, myself, known to he r.

Thu houso was a small, unostentatious country houso, with a fine garden andshrub bory. It was situated in one of the most ehur.tniing parts of Hampshire, and its owner ami occupier should havo been a happy, contented man. Thea more I saw of my host the more I liked Turn. He was well read and intelli gent. Ills tastes were Btudioua and Uteri iry. Ho was for the timo alono in his housi _-•-liko myself ha had no children—so whom I found his kind invitation was really nicatiit, I took him at his word and stayed

on. Erffly iii tho next week Mra Eraser rctu mod. I had grown rathor curious to see hor—tho moro so as I had a kind of fancy that Mr and Mrs Fraser were not a very attached couplo. To my rather old fanlr'nincd notions It sectnod strango that a wife should loavo her husband alono whilo she paid protracted visits. But pcopto tall mo that such separations ba twcon husband and wife are now-a-days by no means uncommon. If so, so much the worse for domestic happiness. Mrs Eraser camo back, and, so far as I could! sec, tho grooting between tho two was affectionate, if undemonstrative. I was presented, and found the husband's weh tome to me ondorsod by the wife with enoutgh cordiality to make me feel I was not iMi intruder.

I .am no judge of beautiful women, but I belien-o I am not wrong in eaying that Mrs Fiat-or was one of tho fairest creatures that ever trod the earth. I havo not the writer's knack of describing faco and figure. Let it aniline that sho was young, and vory, very bcuuttifnl.

She arrived home just in timo for dinner. Fraser and I drove to tho railway station to mecJ-hor. Shetulkedtomepleasantlyduring tho drive to the houso. Then sho vanished wital sho appeared, perfectly but simply dressed, at tho dinner-table. During the progrcssof tho meal sho turned to her husband. " I met Ralph Brandon nt the Bailey's," sho Enid. "He promised to como to us for a few days." Eraser mado no comment on this piece of news. Ho merely asked when Brandon was coming. But I fancied thero was a change in his voice as ho spoko, " To morrow or tho day after, ho said," answered Mrs Era. or carelessly ; and then tho conversation became general. Tho days passed pleasantly enough at that houso in Hampshire. The weathor was glori ous, and I found plenty of time for that calm meditation which had now becomealtno.t a necessity to me. I havo mentioned that Eraser was a reading man. Nevertheless, he did not use his library much. I soon found it was his custom to takethebook upon which ho was engagod to a seat in a secluded part of tho shrubbery, which, however, com manded a lino viow. Hero, weather per mitting, ho sat for hours. As soon as I dis covered this habit of his, in spite of polite protests, I left him to himself, and amused myself as best I could. I daresay I was as fond of solitu Jo as my host, so tho arrange ment worked vory well.

Of Mrs Eraser _ saw little, except at meal times and- in tho evening. Somehow she seemed too young a companion for me—too young I sometimes thought for hor quiet and studious husband.

Tho expected guest, Mr Brandon, arrived in due courso—a tall, well dressed, and, I suppose I must say, handsome man. Curiously enough, before he had been in the houso fivo minutes I recoived the impression that my presence there was by no means •vclcome to him. ' I had no reason for this fancy, but I could not divest myself of it. Although Maurico Fraser and his now guest appeared to be on terms of easy intimacy, it was not a hard matter to see that Brandon was Mrs Frasor's friend far moro than ho was hor husband's. I cannot stop now to write of trivial details, or tell you how my suspicions that Brandon was wronging Eraser a. cruelly as ever ono man wronged another werefirst aroused Suffice it to say that before throe days- had gone by 1 had damning evidenco that friendship did not describe tho relationship between Gabriello Fraser and tho man who, by her invitation, was beneath her husband's roof It was to mo a painful discovery. This is how I mado it.

One morning I was sitting in the con -Civatory, ono door of which opened into the drawing-room. I think I was half adecp, or, at any rate, far away in thought. Suddenly I heard voices in tho drawing room-heard them plainly, for tho glass door was half opened. I heard Brandon say, in deep, stem accents, "Gabrielle, the timo has, come te end all this."

Thorn was a pause and a sigh. "What can I rio ?" said the woman softly, "Do! Fly with me af once. Leavo tho o'.d bookworm to his musty books. He will forget you in a week." " I cannot ! I cannot 1 I will not 1 Think what it weans -think of my future."

"I thought you loved me," said tho man slowly and distinctly. "Love you I Ah, heavens—you know I leve you !" I heard tho sound of a kiss. I heard tho whispered words of passion. Then I rose From my seat, and, with my heart aching for tho man whom I now called my friend, passed quietly out of the door into tho garden, and strove to decide bow I was called upon to act—what was the right and the best thing to do. Ought I to go to Fraser and toll him all I had learned ? I was tho man's gue3t. I had eaton his bread and salt, I could not shut my eyes to what was passing beneath bis roof. Nevertheless, by communicating

what I had unwittingly heard to him, I should create a breach which might never bo closed. I might force a woman to tako that desperotu stop from which I could not help hoping and thinking sho recoiled. Still I was bound to do something, I could not help, for onco in my life, wishing that I had more worldly wisdom by which to shape my course. I wanted to act in a way which would save my friend from the grief that overhung him, and save his wife from the sin she was about to commit, and tho atten dant shame and remorse. I did not, could not, believe she had gone to far to bo saved.

So I resolved, rightly or wrongly, that before making Eraser acquainted with tho treachery, I would appeal to his wife, and I! would let Brandon know that his guilty | secret wis mine. But tho prico of my keep-1 ing the secret must bo tho man's leaving | tho house at once. My task wa3 a painful I one, but I dared not shrink from it. It 8 should bo dono at once. |

However, I could not begin it until lato that night. Eraser joined me shortly after I had decided bow to act. Ho was with mo all the afternoon, and there was com pany at dinner in the ovoning. I waited until everyone had retired to rest, and then walked to Brandon's room and tapped at the door. I found the man half un crossed, and smoking a cigar. With a look of surprise ho allowod mo to enter his room.

I wasted no time in appeals to his con science. His, I guessed, was not a nature to be guided by the great dictum of right and wrong. I went straight to the point. I told him I know everything, and that unless ho left the house to morrow morn ing Eraser should share my knowledge. Tho man grow white to the lip 3. His dark eyes glittered strangely. The thought struck mo that, wore we two atone in a soli tary place, my lifo would not bo worth much. Ho muttered between his teeth, and I knew he was cursing mo. Presontly he looked at me with a sneering smile. "So you have boen listening at keyholes," ho said, " a fitting employment for a priest!" "No matter what I havo been doing. Will you go ?" He knitted his brows, andforsorneminut.es remained in sullen thought. I heard him grit his teeth. At last he rai.ed his head. "You have the whip hand of me," ho said calmly. "I suppose for her sake I must go —but not tomorrow. I will go before the end of tho week." "No. Tomorrow." "1 will go before the end of the week, If that does not suit you, go and tell that fool Fraserall, I don't care much which way it is." I left him. After all, his going was not tho greatest point. My hope was that the appeal which I intended to make to-morrow to the erring woman would be successful. Her I meant to exhort and entreat, not threaten. That night before I went to rest I prayed long and earnestly that my efforts might be successful. The morning was a glorious one, but my sad thoughts made thesunshinoincongruous. I took a stroll round tho garden before breakfast, and, to my surprise, encountered Brandon. Ho was generally tho last down. Ho lookod white and ill, and I was not sorry to thiuk that his night had been a troubled one. Ho gavo mo a curt nod, and entered tho house. Through the dining-r.om window I saw him go to the spirit case which stood on tho sideboard, pour out a glass of neat brandy, and drink it. I waited in tho garden a few minutes, I fearing that Mrs Fraser was somewhere about, and had taken this opportunity of meeting tho man who was working her ruin. But no, sho camo downstairs with her husband, and it was evident this was her first appearance. Tho breakfast was a dull affair, although Urs Eraser's manner towards me showed me that as yet Brandon had found no opportu nity for letting her know that I had dis covered the intrigue. Perhaps he had risen early in hopes of doing so. Gabrielle looked very fair and beautiful in her tpoUess white morning gown. Poor girl ! she was but a girl, and my heart was sad for hor qb I looked at h«r and thought how sho was hovering on the brink of a precipice. Breaicfastover, we three men went outside the houso and sat on the garien seat. Brandon lit one of his largo cigars. As he did so I noticed that the hand holding the match trembled like that of a man with the palny. Maurice Fraser and I kept up a desultory conversation, but Brandon smoked in gloomy silence Fraser rallied him on his unsociable behaviour. Ah, ho little know to what causo it was duo ! I kept a sharp look-out for tho chance of seeing Mrs Eraser alono. Presently I saw her in tho conservatory, cutting withered blooms from the plants. I rose from my «oat, entered the conservatory, and to in sure against interruption took the liberty of locking the garden doer. Gabrielle greeted me with a pleasant smile. "Have you come to help mo, Mr Denys?" she said. . '' Yes," I said, taking her hand, 'in God s mercy 1 havo come to help you." My solemn accents told her everything. A flood of crimson rushed to her face and neck. She strove to speak. I checked her, and led her into the drawing-room. From tho window I could see her husband sitting by his false friend, and I could see the little bluo lino of smoko curling up from the latter's cigar. What I said that day to Gabrielle Eraser has no place in this story. Such powers of persuasion as I possess I used to tho best of my ability. Such help as I could give I gavo. I take no credit to myself; but it is to mo an unspeakable consolation to think that ere we parted I had a weeping, and I believe truly penitent, woman at my side. "If Maurico only loved me, sho sobbed out at last, "all might bo well." "But he does lovo you ho must love you," I said. " Ho is cold to me—there is something, somo cloud between us. We have drifted away from each other." I took her hand. " Mrs Fraser," I said, " I believe your husband loves you dearly and faithfully. If there is any misunder standing between you, a word from you would remove it. Go to Mm, place your arms round his neck, tell him you love him and all with sunshine, and I shall not havo spoken this morning in vain. Wo were standing in tho middle of_ the room. Her eyes were red with weeping. At that moment I saw Maurice Fraser with a book under his arm, Btrolling across the lawn towards tho shrubbery, He was, I knew, going to his favourite seat. "See, there ho goes," I said. "Follow him and if you can ask his pardon, ask it. Believe me, there is notimolikethepresont."

I pieaded earnestly. She hesitated and hung her head. Then sho turned away and went towards the door. " Yes, I will go at once," she said. I opened the door and lot hor go upstairs, no doubt to her room, to remove traces of distress. Then with a lighter heart I went into the garden, and sat down by the side of Brandon. I was determined he should not interfere and wreck everything. He took little or no notice of mo. His face, I re marked, was very pale, and his eyes wore fixed on Maurice's vanishing figure. Long after it had disappeared in the shrubs, Brandon gazed in that ono direction. Pre sently he started to his feet. Gabriello was crossing tho lawn and making for the en trance to the shrubbery. ' " Where is she going ?" he asked hastily. I could not resist the triumph of right over wrong. "She is going," I said, "to her husband, to endeavour to undo such mischief as you havo wrought. May heaven go with her !" Ho paid no heed to my words. " Mrs Fraser, Gabrielle," ho cried, "stop! I want to speak to you." Sho turned for a moment at tho sound of his voice. Then, shaking hor head, went on towards the shrubbery, and vanished from our sight. With a fierce oath Brandon ran across tlio lawn after her.

My blood boiled. Hero was this villain, in open daylight, and without tho faintest ecnso of shame, about to do his utmost to undo the good work which I boliovod I had effected. There was no time for verbal pro test. Yet I determined I would stop him. I sprang forward in pursuit, and in half a dozen strides was beside him. Shall I bo blamed whon I say I swung round my right leg, and with one sweep hacked him over as years ago I had hacked over many a good follow when playing football at Rugby. Men fall heavier than boys. Brandon went down like a stone, and it seemed as if all the breath was knocked out of his body. His eyes glared at me. "After her, you fool," ho gasped out. "Stop her-don't let her see it. She will go mad." Ho;struggled to hia feet, but was for tho while utterly unablo to move.

He spoke in riddles, but there was that in his manner which told mo his desire to arrest Gabriello's steps arose from more than the wi-h to prevent her from becoming roconeiled-to her husband. I knew not what to fear, but nevertheless I ran swiftly up the winding path which led to the broad walk along the top of the little wooded hill. Thero I paused. There seemed no earthly reason why I should hurry.

Tho picture is before me now. I could see in the distance Maurice Fraser stand ing with his back towards mo. His shoulders were bent, and he seemed to be examining something attentively. I could

see Gabrielle walking slowly towards him and 1 rejoiced at the sight. I saw hor reach him lay her hind soft-!.' on his shoulder. I saw Maurico turn rom suddenly as he felt her touch. I saw hi raiso his hand. I s.iw something glitter . tho sunshine I saw his hand fall, and in moment, with a shriek of pain, Gabricll Fraser fell a dead corpse at hor husband feet.

I heard another cry, and know that Bran don was behind mo, and had seen all.

rushed forward. My first glance was given at the fallen woman. Her life blood was streaming down her pure white dress Even as sho fell she must havo plucked the weapon from the wound. It lay by her., id c, and in spite of tho horror of that moment. I know it. I know tho flame shaped blade. I know tho green jado -handle with tho in scribed facets. It was the accursed Bi'iiliwn —tho dagger which '20 years ago I- had handled with such strango results.

I was beside myself with grief and horror. Impulsively I seized the fatal weapon and hurled it far away into the wood ; then I knelt down by tho poor girl and tried to stanch the flow of blood.

It was no uso. Her eyes were closing fast. I rose to my feet, and after glancing at Fraser, who stood like a statue or a man stupefied, I rushed (o the houso and gave tho alarm. When I returned to the fatal spot I found the murderer standing just as I had left him, but Brandon, ragardless of his presence, was on his knees and embrac ing and kissing the poor dead creature. 1 tore him off; my brain was in too groat a whirl tc work out the problem, but 1 knew that in somo way he was answerable for tho horrible deed.

And all tho while Maurice Eraser stood as motionless as his victim. Ever and anon I heard him mutter like a man in a dream. "What havo I done? Why did I do it." He followed mo passively to the house, where ho went off into a dead faint.

As for Brandon, I never saw him after I tore him from Gabrielle's body. Ho went straight away, heaven only knows where. He was sought for, but never traced. His absence gave riso to strange reports, and was freely commented upon. I cannot bring myself to describe the in quest, and the arrest aud trial of Maurico Fraser. Tlio whole case was, so far as tho public was concerned, wrapped in impene trable mystery. But tho broad fact that Maurice Fraser had killed his wifo was clear as daylight. Wrong as it may havo been to do so, I held my tongue about many things. Had I, for instauco, spoken of Brandon's guilty passion for Gabrielle, a motive for the murder might havo been established which would havo ruined the plea of in sanity set up on behalf of tho accused. I justified my silence by tho conviction I folo that Fraser knew nothing of what I had learnt, and so had really no motive for tho crime.

If over a true plea of insanity was urged, it was in this case. The poor follow seemed to have sunk into a merciful oblivion as to what had taken place. He was acquitted, but ordered to be confined during licr Majesty's pleasure. Tho dagger was sought for, but never found. I was severely censured for my thoughtless conduct in hurling it away. Indeed, in summing up, tho judge said Iho case was one of the most, unsatisfactory ho had ever known.

Unsatisfactory indeed—wrapped in utter mystory to all save me. And yet, had I stood up then, and stated all that I know, the mystery would havo been greater, or I should have been jeered at as a madman.

Can I at the end of this story give any elucidation ? As to tho central mystery— tho occult diabolical power proved to mo beyond doubt as possessed by that old world weapon—nono. As to tho way in which human hands directed this power, I have the following scraps of evidence. Upon making inquiries as to whom Bran don was, I found him to bo a man of fortune, who had inherited his wealth front a dis tant relative named Hood.

Poor Fraser died somo months ago. I was with him at the end. Just as life wasquit ting,reason returned. He grasped my hand, and speaking in a hoarso strange whisper, said, " Who put that devil's dagger on the seat for mo to find ? Was it Brandon .'■' Before I could answer him ho was dead.

Can I answer him horo ? I say that tho man to whom that dagger passed know its powers. I cay—that on tho morning nfier I had threatened him with -_p.sure, UOl.-Cl it where Fraser could see it and handle it. I say, moreover, that my well-meant efforts to save her from sin aud shame eontGabrielki Eraser to receive the blow which, fallen a minuto before, would have mado her a widow, and freo for her lover to wed.

And I say that the guilt of hor death and of her husband's madness and miserable end lies on Ralph Brandon, and will one day bo requited to him. There is my talo—a talc which I havo been tomptod to toll, but which, I fear, I shall hereafter regret having told.

The Ausidei Raphael

The desiccating atmosphere of tho National Gallery in London has already produced tho dreaded effect on tho Ausidei Raphael, bought from the Duko of Marlborough, and this magnificent picture, which might havo been seen twolvo months ago in a nearly perfect condition, flawless with a trivial exception, and absolutely brilliant in its colouring and Burface, must bo sent bolow for repairs. Every plank in tho panol on which it is painted has in a greater or less degree parted from i_3 neighbour ; a long crack in tho upper portion of tho panol cx^ tonds from top to bottom all through the figure of St. John ; another crack over tho Virgin's left sheulder seems to bo oxtonding downward, whilo yet another crack is distinct over tho figure of St. Nicholas of Barri. Nor is this cracking all tho misohiof which has lately befallen this picture ; a few inches above tho mitre of tho prelate there is a large blister.'

3

THE AUOKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 1885



DIPHTHERIA AND CROUP CURE.



Details of a Dangerous Case - Something



Which is Worth Trying.



In a report to the French Academy of Medi cine, Dr. Delthell stated that the vapours of liquid tar and turpentine would dissolvo tho fibrinous exhalations wkicli choke up tho throat in croup and diphtheria. Ho described tho process thus :



"Take equal parts (say two tablespoon fulsjof turpentine and liquid tar, put them into a tin pan or cup and set tiro to tho mixture, taking caro to have a largo pan under it as safeguard against firo. A dense resinous smoko arises, making tho room dark. The patient immediately seems to experience relief; the choking and tho rattle stop; the patient falls into a slumber, and seems to inhale the smoke with pleasure. Tho fibrinous membrane soon becomes detached, and the patient coughs up microbiedos. These whon caught in a glass may bo seen to dissolvo in ths smoke. In the course of threo or four days tho patient entirely recovers."



Tho abovo information has beon quite largely copied into tho papers, and with ii; the reliof nnd cure of Kuth Lockwood, a nine-year-old child, who wa3 dangerously sick with diphtheria, but the diseaso readily yielded to tho abovo mode of treatment, and tho child was cured. A case occurring in Boston recently is worthy of noto nt this particular timo, whon tho two forms of dis ease are quite prevalent. Tho facts in the case, in brief, are as follows :



Jennie Brown, a child of some five years of age, was dangerouslysick with diphtheria; hor attending physician had no hopes of her recovery ; ho declared to a person that out of the many c.se3 under his treatment threo were beyond cure, and little Jennio was ono of that number. The father of the child had read cf the above treatment, and, on hit own responsibility— and that, too, without consultation with the attending physician —ho obtained the mixture, taking two tablespoonfuls of each, but ho now considers that ono of each would havo been suflicenf, and thero would have been less dangor of burning tho carpet, etc. The child was in bed, breathing so loud that it could bo heard all over the houso ; but as soon as the tar and turpentine began to burn sho was relieved, and breathed quito frooly, and soon commenced to cough and raiso ; and to the father's surprise and dolight sho com menced to gain from that moment. Ha followed up this treatment for tlirco nights, tho attending physician approving it, and the child to-day is well The oilier two children alluded to above did not havo this form of treatment, and they aro num bered with tho dead.



This remedy may not bo an infallible euro in all cases, and with all persons, but sure!/ it could do no harm in ease* that liavo beoii givon up as incurable by medical men. Tho father said that ho would advise tho removal from the apartment where this treatment is to be applied of all articles that would bo likely to bo injured by tho smoko of tho ingredients, before setting firo to tho mixture.—" St. Louis Globe-Democrat."



"ROUGH ON CORNS. "-Auk for W.!!.« " Rm,.t, ,„ Corns." Qul_c relief. a-mpleUi, l^rmanuut cart. Coma, w;i, :-,, bunion.. jsnipUuiiM, ProMsi 4 Co., Asenti, AikMkbJ.