THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1887.

jBUPPLBiafiOT*

KILDEE; Or, The Sphinx of the Red House.

BY MAY E. BRYAN,

Author of "The Bayou Bride," "The Fugitive Bride," &c.

gyfIOPSIS OF OPENING CHAPTERS,

Tbia Btory was began in last Wednesday. * For the benefit of those readers who m no* P«n«» the openinS oha P ters w8 Copying scenes introduce ns to Mile* , thft leader, of a very fast set ot th*dsot Wallporb and owner Aphrodite Island &'IST been unable, on amount, of S reputation to geb into the best set of £2 of which Captain and Mrs Mont- notable members, and he has set iftta to work to work to bring about an S?eS between Captain Montcalm Ths wife A. Mexican woman named Smee comes as a ready instrument, for is pnrpose. She had been married L Mexican fashion which was nob Wufly binding, to Captain Montcalm ,ny years before, when the latter wasi a SL y during the Mexican wars. The SSn had been passionately in love wifch Kerican woman, and when after a year leleft her and her infant boy for his home, he fdlly intended to return and take her to 5 United States as his lawful wife. Four ««« passed, during which, from un- Sable causes, Captain Montcalm Sained away, and Zulimee believing wdf deserted, was persuaded by Carleon, «L happened to be travelling in the coun- L, to go in searoh of her truant lover. She feUunderCarleon'sevii i n Q u <jnccß, and when Montcalm went to bring her-aa he ulti mately did—be found all traces of herself Wl his child gone. Many years had Lsed since that time and Montcalm Q[ »t last married his present -jfe' a beautiful heiress. Carleon Lolved to use Zulimee as an instrument to brineabonta rupture between Montcalm and hie young wife, and he induced the Mexican woman to write to the captain, ap wintintr a meeting, at whiob. he contrived that Mrs Montcalm should be an unseen spectator. The meeting cama off, and •bowed that Captain Montcalm was rtill- true to nia first love, and deplored . the fate that bad sep arated them. The wife was agonised and rendered frantic by the revelation. While in this mood she was persuaded by a lady friend to go on a picnic to Aphrodite Island, although her husband had positively forbad her to have anything to do with Carlton's set, and the latter contrived that ill the 'boats should leava her in a com promising situation alone on the island, from which, however, she was rescued by Jier husband's clerk, a young man who had been adopted from a miserable life by her fate, and brought up in their home, and whose secretly oheriahed lova for his bone ferctor's daughter waa returned only by the kfecfcion of a sister for a brother. He took her i back to her home, and left her it tie door. The lights showed Cap pinl Montcalm to be in the study. IVoi hours later the servants, who hod been out, returned to find Captain Mont pak lying dead in the library with a Mny poniard belonging to his wife, and which phehid worn that day at the island, buried to the hilt in his hearfc. Her mistress had jeduo one knew whither.]

CHAPTER VI. -N^fiWyow'silfol'brigHii:v ': ,' But for your wipaojiie daughter." Ifosiai *eiri by. More than a year had

elapsed since the tragedy ab Wallpori. the murder remained a mystery. The po'ice had been baffled:. Laura Montoalm lad not been seen or heard of.

One day, General Montcalm dispatched a poto to the office of the " Daily Rattler," requesting that young Hall—a brilliant Wackt of'that paper—should corns and fee Mm in hig study. Hazard Hall was one of the general's coteria of youthful pets. The old ex-Boldier was no fossil. He loved nearly to gather young men of talent about Dim-keen, enthusiastic fellows, who had their way in the world to carve by their own; wits. Their bold theories, their rapine views, revivified him. He was jront to say that in their enthusiasm lay the to of progress. It was better than the cautions judpent of age. Shortly after he had come to Wallport {nth thetope to better his fortunes, young Jf^d rendered a service to General ™™T m (sared him from being injured in astwet-car accident), and thus had made ws wquaintance and been invited to his ™»c. The general listened with interest k> Hazard s comically - told but pathetic K-counti of his battle" with poverty, drew Pt the young fellow's ideas upon political »a social questions, laughed at some of his ™c notions, and finally took him by £« and: introduced him'to the pro- EVI &Q "Rattler"-a new, live its best to supplant «WS dailies °f tbe cfty. !<»«* Uof brauis a"d vim—worth a dozen of Myman you have on your staff," was the Er!? recommendation of hi« favounte AmfaT^ 111? editor °* the "Rattler." BfiES ound the ™]QSJ Vaß pre6fcy b&^f^*6*olloß trough* himself Slß^?]*2»«Wll and inglnuity with SS-6^? 1 mt «»»• weTl-covered-up g»« danng with* which he exposed H^ 16 ™1'? into his dark, M o?S; n »en rfpBVP a «*& fm K^ in **«£c 2mr y"Cha&) and with ohar" hbJecfcL?lol3l^ 698 entered npon fche .i^:™* occupied his mind. X l 811» our city govwn "A A I Ucoqr inL^ll^ to b* the American W«gwS. talf-impudrab, half -o*^o^ a «4» : that «.fc general?" 6^ 11011 here at the time ; only br°th«r-4 8 found y&wthab the mnrde^ Baa ft^T. filfer 00 ' lefc ™ "peak tmt S& '22? <«Eof whom w!s Ira ™ "Poa to do vigorous work.

Seeing his hesitation, the general said : "You know what reward ha 3 been offered. I will add to it if you think it not enough, and any favour beside I can do you—" " Oh, the reward is ample. If I under take it, it will be for your sake, general, not for fche reward." But still he hesitated. " Why do the roses bloom V sang a rich, sweeb voice outside. It was the voice of Honor Montcalm, the general* only child—the image of her dear mother, 'whose beauty had shone supreme afc a foreign court. Honor was walking in the garden. Hazard could see her from the window ; a tall stately girl, dressed in white with a cluster of red carnation on her breast. The low sun glinted on her dark gold hair, her white neck and brow. She looked a creature made to walk among lilies and roses. "Wellf said the general, breaking the pause. " Well, sir, I will undertake it," Hazard answered, and he added to himself: " But 'tis not for your silver bright, But for your winsome daughter."

After a few suggestions from General Montcalm, Hazard rather hurriedly took his leave. Thab white vision in the garden had put murder and dotection out of his mind. He went out of the room thinking to join her. But on reach ing the piazza he found himself fore stalled. Someone elee had joined Miss Montcalm in the garden—someone who walked confidently at her side, her hand resting on his arm. Hazard knew that tall, upright, square-shouldered figure. A look of strong dislike came into his face. "A cold-blooded, purse-proud upstart; doos he think to-win her ?" he said, between his set teeth.

He had seen that Mayor Heathcliff— the rich mill owner—before so indifferent) to women—had suddenly entered the list of Honor Montcalm's lovers, and he had heard thab Bhe favoured his suit But this he did not, would not believe. He shut his eyes to everybhing that might crush his hopes. With the impetuous ardour and sanguine self-belief of his nature, he had determined that the possession of Honor Montcalm should be the goal of his ambition. She liked him ; she showed this frankly enough. His brilliant talk amused and aroused her. She admired the ingenious daring of his intellect, his dark and handsome face. She permitted him sometimes to be her escort. Surely this was encouraging. Yet there waa a difference in her manner to him and to Mr Heathcliff. Hazard noted this now—in the way she leaned on HeathclifPfi arm and looked up into his face. She, who for all her sweetness, waa bo proud, was lifcfele wonb to lean upon or to look up to anyone. Hazard's face grew dark.

" Yet I will not give her up wibhout a struggle," he muttered, as he closed bhe gate and turned into the street. Ho had nob been seen by the two who walked in the garden in the fragrant twilighb.

CHAPTER VII.

Hazard walked rapidly back to the offico of the " Rattler," and mounted the two flights of stairs that led up to his " den"—the eight by ten sanctuary in which he did his share of the daily scribbling and scissoring for the paper. A glance around this small sanctum would have told an interested observer that there were mixed elements in the character of the occupant. The walls were covered with engravings ; here a purc browed Evangeline, there a bold-eyed dans&ust in fleshings ; here a Bt. John with seraph face, and opposite, a burly prize fighter stripped to the waist. A tiny glass on the dealt held a white tea-rose, and in a pigeon-hole just above it was a bottle of beer and a half-smoked cigar. * The" afternoon's mail had been brought in and the desk wa* piled with unopened newspaper exchanges. Atop <ii these were two letters. Hazard had few friends and no. kinspeople, so his personal correspondence w»b limited. He took up the letter on top carelessly, opened it and glanced over the half dozen unimportant lines it contained. His eye lighted on the superscription of the other Jletter, and with a quick change of countenance, he took it up and broke the seal. Out dropped a bank-note of a hun dred dollars. This, inclosed in a sheet of paper on which was written, " Please ac cept," was all the envelope contained. He was nob surprised. He suspected what the contents would be when he saw the handwriting on the address. Twice before, since he had been in Wallport, had he re ceived similar anonymous gifts through the mail. The envelopes were postmarked Wallport — dropped letters therefore ; but who could have sent them? Not his friend, the general.; he would do nothing so mysterious, even if he waa inclined to play the benefactor in this way, which he was not. Hazard could not con jecture who the mysterious donor could be. He scrutinised the chirography on the en velope. The letters were cramped, and backward —evidently a disguised writing. He looked at the bill with mingled feelings of pleasure and dissatisfaction. The money was not out of season. His pay was small, and his tastes, in some things, inclined to the luxurious ; but he was proud and sensitive ; he could not bear that any one should suppose him to be in want of money. Nevertheless, he had apent the sums that had come to him previously. He had put them aside at first and hesitated about making use of them for some time, till, urged by necessity, his scruples had been set aside. But now he felt increased repugnance to using money that had come into nis possession in this irregular way. Love and ambition had stimulated his pride. Moreover, the strangeness of this^ gift forced itself more and more upon hia attention. He connected it with the mystery of his parentage. The sender of this money must know who were hia parents, and why he had never been told of them ; why he had been sent to the Catholic school of St. Mary's among the Maryland mountains when he was a little child, and there had been reared and educated without once seeing any being who claimed kinship with him or guardianship over him. His ex penses had been paid up to his sixteenth birthday by money transmitted through the mails, to the president of the college— money accompanied by no name or address. When he was sixteen these remittances ceased—the boy fancied himself slighted because he was a dependent, and ran away from school. He made his way to Cincin nati, and did odd jobe for a living, mean while picking up a knowledge of type-set ting. Accident showed his employer the boy'a fine faculty for writing, and he became a reporter on a daily paper. The pay was poor, but the training and discipline were invaluable. He was a rapid and forcible writer at twenty two, when he drifted to Wallport, and through General Montcalm's influence, was taken upon the staff of the " Rattler."

He had a strong belief in himself and his future. Partly this came from natural eelf confidence and partly it was caused by the prediction of the noted Bpirit-medium, Mme. Bylvestre. Like all imaginative persons, he had a rein of superstition in his nature, and when this gaunt, grey-eyed sorceress gave him a history of his past life, true in every detail, so far as he knew it himself— which she could well do, being a mind reader—and then informed him that he would succeed beyond his hopes, and be come rich and influential, her words took hold upon bis imagination and coloured his hopes. She told him also that bis parenta were dead, and that he had been lefb to the charge of a dishonest guardian who had swindled him oufc of his patrimony. This conjecture had been floating about in his own brain for a long time, and her subtle mind-reading instincb had probably perceived It.

"I will ferret oub the mystery of those anonymous gifts !" Hazard said to himself. " If I can get a clue to the donor, I suspect it will lead me straight to that rascally guardian, who has cheated me and kept out of my sight or knowledge, enjoying my for tune while I am earning my bread by the hardest sort- of drudgery." As he spoke, Hazard attacked the big pile of newspapers, tearing off their wrap pers and scanning the columns with his rapid, practised eye, clipping a paragraph here and there and putting ib between the leaves of his note-book for reference or com ment. The last paper had undergone this rapid examination', and Hazard had dashed off a page or two of those short, pungent satirical paragraphs in the writing of which he ex celled, when on putting his hand into his pocket to get a fresh pencil, he felt and drew out a note which General Montcalm had given him, with the remark that the in formation it contained about a city matter 1 would make a good item. The note was from Mayor Heathcliff—the late Democratic nominee for Governor—Honor Montcalm's suitor. Hazard read it and sat musing half absently. Suddenly he scrutinised the writing more closely. Something in the turn of a capital letter had struck him with the idea that there was a resemblance be tween this writing and that of his unknown patron. He caught up the envelope that had contained the money and put ib beside HeathclifFs note. Waa it only his fancy, or was there a resemblance in the shape of certain letters ? He at once remembered that a noted expert was then in the city on a business mission ; he would take the en vebpo and note to him, together with a number of specimens of other handwritings, and see what he could make out of it. He put the two pieces of paper in his pocket, and going into the room of the business manager, asked for and obtained a goodly number of letters that had been " worked over " and thrown into the waetebasket. A few minutes later, he was ushered into the room of the expert, a taciturn man with a face like a tombstone.

Hazard put the pile of letters on the table before him, among them the note from Mayor Heathcliff, and giving him the envelope that had contained the money, s-aid :

"Can you tell me if any of these letters were written by the same hand that wrote this address ?"

" In half an hour I can tell you," replied the solemn-looking roan.

" Very well, I will waib."

To economise time Hazard took out his note-book and began to write, while the expert examined the letters, bringing each one within a few inches of his nose, and peeping at it intently through his short sighted glasses. Before that half-hour waa quite out, the oracle had spoken.

" The handwriting of this letter and that upon the envelope is the same. The latter is disguised, but it was written by"bhe same band as the other."

Hazard started up and went to the table. The letter the expert had indicated was the no to to General Montcalm, bearing Ira Hcathdiff's linn signature.

CHAPTER VIII.

Mayor Heathcmff sits in his study—a pleasant roc m in his elegant home on Ever greon-etreet. A striking presence is thab of Ira Hoathcliff, Mayor of Wallport. Tall, massively built, with a firmly poised head, a resolute mouth and steadfast prey eyes— such a face as might well belong to a man who had worked his way up to fortune and position. The lines on his brow show that this rise has not been achieved without a bottle; and a peculiar expression in his grey eye—a large thoughtful ness, shading into melancholy—seems to hint that he has aleo had to do battle against himself. But it is hard to read eyes so full of deep meaning as Ira HeathclitFs. Just now they are crossed by changing lights. He is opening and glancing over the papers and letters the mail-carrier nas deposited on his table. As, he reads the various comments —caustic or congratulatory—upon hi 3 pros pects of political elevation, his face changes. With all his etern strength of nature, he is not proof against a thrill of pride as he reads the praises of his in tegrity and fitness for an office of trust. But the bitter flingß of his enemies kindle in him only amusement or mild scorn. He has learned to expect rebuffß and to disre gard them. Only one of the newspaper thrusts really wounds him—a few para graphs of keen, biting satire in the columns of tne " Rattler," the new daily, which has a rattlesnake as its figurehead, with the motto: "Nemo me rm-pune lacessit." The thrust is in the French style, delicate and deadly. He recognises the hand that dealt it.

"El tv % Brute ?" he says, with a smile half sad, half cynical. ■ The next instant he forgets all about the " Rattler," for his eye has lighted upon the superscription of a letter which changes the current of hie thoughts. He breaks the seal and reads with a frown the few lines, in a lady's hand, written upon the square white card which falls from the envelope. He tosses the card upon the table, exclaim ing : "It is impossible for a woman to be reasonable. How can 1 humour her when —"

A knock at the door interrupts him. A visitor is announced. He bites his lip when the name ia given, but finally says, " Show him in," ana Hazard Hall walks in. The mayor does not seem to notice his haughty nod, but courteously invites him to be seated. But the young man walks straight to the table and throws an envelope down before Ira Heathcliff. "My bupinees with you is brief," ho says. "I want first to ask, did you write the address upon that envelope ?"

The abrupt question, the ke«n, sudden look, threw Heathcliff off his guard. His face flushed ; he half-stammered :

" Why do you ask me this ?" "I -see you did write it/ Hazard re turned. " You sent the money that is in closed in it; you sent a similar sum twice before in the same way. Now, tell me what is the moaning of these anonymous gifts ? What business have you to* send me money ? What right have Itoit ? Heathcliff did not speak for an instant ; then he Baid :

" Regard it as a mere friendly present, cent through me by one who takes an in terest in your welfare."

V Who is this person, and 'why does he take an interest in me?"

" That I cannot tell you*"

" You will not tell me, you mean !" the young man cried, angrily. V Have it so then : I will not tell you." " Nor will you tell me who my parents are, though you know. Do you not know ? Stay :do not speak yet. I will entreat you to tell me who they are—will you do it ?" Once more Heathcliff hesitated, looking even kindly into the young face before him, where anxiety had softened the expression of haughty distrust with which Hazard had regarded the mayor. " No, I cannot tell you. Why should you imagine that I know ?" he said at last. " xou shall tell it. I will force you to," Hazard burst forth, thrusting his clenched hand almost in Heathcliff s face.

The mayor's cool, contemptuous eye brought back the boy's self-control. " The money you last sent is there," Hazard said more calmly, pointing to the envelope. "The other sum I will return to you as soon as I can. I will not accept flic money unless I can know what right I have to it. Doubtless you have most honourable motives for keeping this from me." " What dishonourable motiv* could I have ?*' "Such as this. lam perhaps heir .to. a large- amount of money, which has been confided to your charge. You have used it to enrich yourself. As a salve to your

conscience, you send me a beggarly stipend in this underhand way." Anger lightened from HeathclifFs eyes. He rose from his seat and confronted the young man. " Yes, I dare say such things to a man who withholds from me what I have a right to know, even if thab man be so great a Keraonage as the owner of Heathcliff Mills, layor of Wallport, and prospective go vernor of the state. But the last title remains to be won ; and you will not win it without a fight, for all your money. Money can't muzzle the press, though it may put its chain and collar on a few cravens of the pack. We will scent out the secret flaws iv that moral record you count so largely upon. We will lay bare your motives and schemes. Benefit by the warning if you can. Adieu, Mayor Heathcliff. If nob before, we shall meet at your Phiiippi—the polls." Heathcliff sat motionless for a minute after his impetuous visitor had vanished through the doorway. His anger was gone ; his face wore a look of grave per plexity. " What can be the secret of thab boy's rancour against me ?" he mused. "It can not be solely because I have withheld from him the source of a benefaction. There must be some other reason." Nob once did it enter his mind that this f cry young stripling was a lover of Honor Montcalm, and that jealousy was the secret of his bitter animosity to Miss Montealin'a avoured suitor. .(To be continued on Monday).

Ruby's Reward.

BY MRS GEORGIE SHELDON.

Author of " The Forsaken Bride," " Brownie's Triumph," " That Dowdy," etc.

CHAPTER XXXII.

AN ARREST.

Madam Howland, as she was known in the suburban ciby where she resided, was a very proud and wealthy woman—or so considered by people who only knew her in a general way.

She had belonged to one of the oldest families of Baltimore ; had been regarded aa a beauty and a belle in her early life ; had been married twice, each time to a rich and cultivated gentleman, and had naturally held herself with all the pride which usually attends such unexceptional birth and posi tion.

She had no children—though report said that she had lost, years ago, one idolised son —and lived alone in her grandeur, with only her servants about her, was considered exceedingly exclusive and cold-hearted by society, though it was whispered among the poor that her purse ana heart were always open to their needs and supplica tions.

Walter called at her door every morning during the week after her accident, to inquire for her, and wan glad to learn that she was doing very well, although her injuries had been of a very serious nature. Her right wrist and arm had been broken in two places, besides being badly bruised, while the left hand had been shockingly lacerated, though no bones were broken in

it. At the end ,of a week Walter was invited to enter, being .told that madam desired fc9. see him.

He was conducted to her private parlour a beautiful room in the second room of the second story of the house, where he found her Hitting in a huge invalid-chair, both hands bandaged and helpless, and looking somewhat worn from the pain that she had suffered, but still bearing herself proudly, and with the distinguished air that had so attracted Walter when he first saw her. She glanced up, as he entered, in a bright and animated way, saying : "Well, young man, you find me still crippled, and I imagine it will be some time yet before I shall be able to shake that good right hand of yours that did me such efficient service. However, I wanted to see you. So draw a chair near to me, and talk to me for a little while." Walter obeyed, remarking, as ho sat down, that he was glad to find her so much more comfortable than when he saw her last. " Yes, if you call it comfortable to be a literal example of what it is to have your hands tied," she responded, laughingly. She was a charming old lady, and en tertained her young guest brilliantly for half an hour, and, ignoring herself, gradu ally led him to talk about his own life, questioned him about his business, and at last adroitly managed to draw from him something of his history. He was very much attracted by her, and was surprised at the interest she manifested in him. " What can Ido to reward you for your kindness to me?" she asked, with a be nignant smile, when he finally arose to leave. " Pray never mention the matter again in that way, madam," Walter responded, flushing, and drawing himself up a trifle proudly. "I am only too glad that I was able to be of service to you,, and I hope if there is anything that I can do at any time you will command me." "Thank you, and I shall take you at your word instantly," madam replied, smiling. " You can be of use tome, for you have cheered me wonderfully this morn ing, and I shall command that you como to see me often." " That is a very agreeable order, and one ■which I am sure I shall take pleasure in obeying," Walter returned, smiling also. She looked at him earnestly a moment, then said : "I like you, young man ; you make me think of—of some one whom I used to know ; and it will do me good to have a young face in the house. So, please, drop in frequently while you remain in the city." • "I will, thank you," he replied, heartily, feeling that it would be delightful to have the privilege. He approached the door as he spoke, but it was opened before he could reach it by a servant, wh« came in looking pale and startled. She cast a frightened look at Walter as she passed him, and going to her mistress, said in a low tone: " Madam, there is an officer below who wants " _ "An officer !" interrupted Madam How land, in a tone of surprise. " What can he possibly want in this house ?" x "He says—he has come to arrest— the girl began, then stopped, canfused, while her glance wandered apprehensively to ward Walter. .- f . " What are you talking about, baran ? demanded madam, excitedly. "An officer to arrest some one here ?" . ■ ■ " • ■ "Whom? Tell me instantly, and end this suspense." " " The young gentleman, madam, baran faltered, with a deprecating look at Walter. ■ ... The young man looked astonished. " Did I understand rightly—that there is an officer below who asserts that he has come here to arrest me?" he asked, turning tothegirL " Yes, sir; so he says. "Madam Howland," Walter continued, turning to bia hostess and sneaking regreb

fully. "I am sorry to have you so an noyed, and there surely is some mistake. It cannot be that I am the person for whom the officer is searching, since I have done nothing to be arrested for. I "will go at once and have the mysbery explained." " No," said madam, making a little authoritative gesture; "stay where you are, if you please." Then turning again to the girl, she added :

" Sarah, go down and ask the officer if he will do me the favour to come up stairs." Walter protested against this, for he could nob endure bhe thoughb of her being annoyed on his account; bub she insisted.

"Of course, it is all a mistake," she said; " bub ib may be a mistake that will cause you some trouble, and I should not rest until ib was explained. Go, Sarah." The girl retired, bub soon returned, ac companied by an officer, who, the moment he saw Walter, approached him and arresbed him " in bhe name of the law."

" What does this mean ?" the young man inquired, looking greatly disturbed. "It means that I have orders to take you into custody, and I am simply performing my duty," the man returned, reading hi 3 prisoner's face with a searching glance. " What is the charge against him?" de manded Madam Howland, haughtily. " I regret to say, madam, that it is— robbery," the officer returned, respect fully.

" Robbery!" exclaimed both of his listeners, in one breath, while a vivid crimson shot over Walter's face, then, quickly receding, left him pale as death.

"Yes, thab is bhe charge," the man answered.

" Whom have I robbed ?—what am I ac cused of having taken?" cried the young man, proudly. " Money and jewels."

" Money and jewels J I have no money bub what I have'honourably earned, and as for jewels, I have no use for them," Walter replied, with a scornful curl of his lips. " That may be, my young friend, still I must do my duty, and you must prove your innocence before a judge and jury," the officer answered, bub nob unkindly.

" Pray, Mr Officer, explain what this pro ceeding means," madam now interposed, looking flushed and anxious. " This young gentleman has been very kind to me, and I am interested in him ; he has been coming to my house nearly every day for a week, and he certainly does not appear like one who has committed so grave a crime." "That is true, madam," the officer re turned, studying Walter's frank, manly face, and beginning to feel very favourably disposed toward him, " but quite a sum of money and some valuable diamonds were missed a week ago to-day by a lady, Mrs Robert Gordon, who is at present living in the house of Mr Edmund Carpenter, of Philadelphia. A thorough search was at once instituted for the missing valuables— the servants and housekeeper were ques tioned and examined, but no clue could be discovered, and at first no ono could account for the robbery, as the house did nob have the appearance of having been forcibly entered, and nothing else was taken, though thero Avas much in the house that was valu able which a practised cracksman would surely have made way with. Several days passed, and then it wa3 remembered that this young man had passed the night in the house, having been detained there by a severe storm, and bavintr left the place very early in the morning before anyone was aatir, suspicion naturally fell upon him. If, however, the man added, in conclusion, "ho can prove his innocence, he will be re-, leased immediately." " This is very disagreeable," said Madam Howland, turning to Walter, and regarding him with a troubled look.

He was still very pale, and his face wore an anxious expression, for it had suddenly flashed upon him, as he remembered Mra Gordon's treatment of him, and all that Ruby had told him regarding her wißhes, that she should mai'ry Edmund Carpenter, that this might bo a plot to entangle him and to ruin him in the eyes of the world, and thus blast every hope of ever winning Ruby for his wife. "Mrs Howland," he said, lifting his troubled eyes and meeting her gaze frankly, "what the officer has told you is true—l did pass the night in Mr Carpenter's house a week ago last night. I went there to call upon Miss Ruby Gordon, the lady to whom I am betrothed, and who is sister-in-law to Mrs Gordon, who, it is asserted, has been robbed. A severe thunder-storm came up while I was there, and I was prevailed upon to remain until morning. I left very early, as Mr Carpenter's residence is quite a dis tance from the city, and I wished to catch the early train for Chester in order to bo on hand here when my men began their work. I did not leave my roOm after enter ing it until I left the house, and you can testify that I came directly hither, as that was the morning on which your accident occurred. More than all this," Walter added, with a disdainful look, " it is not likely that I would be guilty of robbing the sister of the lady whom I hope to marry."

" Of course not," replied madam ; "and, Mr Officer, what he says is all true ; the train in which I was coming from St. Louis reached the station just about the time of his arrival here. I met with a severe ac cident just after alighting from the car, and he came at once to my assistance. _ He had not.the slightest appearance of having done anything wrong then, nor since, for he has been coming here nearly every day, and I believe I could vouch for his integrity under any circumstances." " No doubt, madam, no doubt," returned the official, blandly, "and it will probably all come out right ; but my orders are imperative. I have a warrant for the young man's arrest, and I must do my duty." "Buthe can be released on bail; I will be responsible to any amount," cried Madam Howland, looking both excited and dis tressed. . ■ '' That is very kind of you, madam, and doubtless the young gentleman appreciates your kindness; but he will be obliged to go beforethe Court for examination first." " Where.will he be examined ?" ,

" In Philadelphia, of course." "Do not be troubled on. my account, Mrs Howland," Walter here interposed. "I have no doubt that Mr Conant, my employer, will do all that is necessary. I thank you very much for your kindness, but please do nob allow this to excite you." "You will let me know the result of your examination at once," pleaded the invalid, with a tremulous voice, "and if you need help of any kind do not fail to inform me. Oh, if my hands were not tied I would go with you now. "Pray do not mind it so much," Walter begged, deeply moved by her evident interest in his cause. " I cannot forget thab I owe you a great deal," she said. " You owe me nothing, but you are very kind," he answered, smiling and trying to assume a cheerful air. Then turning to the man, he added : " Officer, I am ready now to go with you ; I hope you will not consider it necessary to make me conspicu ous as a prisoner," "No, sir, if you'll will give me your word thab you'll make me no trouble. I am free to confess I should hate* to put the bracelets on you." Walter coloured crimson, but lifted his head proudly. " I give you my word ; I will go quietly with you, he said, briefly; then with a courteous bow to his hostess he turned and followed the officer from the house.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

M I WILL NOT BELIEVE OKB WOEO AGAKST ; HIM." , ;

In order to understand more fully the events of the preceding chapter, wo musb go back fco the morning that Walter lafb Edmund

Carpenter's house after having once moro passed a night in his old room. He had slept very soundly; not even the fierce conflict of the elements had served to disturb him, and no thought of treachery or foul play had entered his mind, as, in the dim light of the early dawn, he hurriedly dressed himself and then crept quietly downstairs, letting himself out by a back entrance so that he need disturb no one in the house.

He had noticed one thing, however, while dressing. It was a trivial circum stance in itself, but it returned to his mind afterward when his trouble came upon him. Itwashia custom, and had been taught him by his mother in his early boyhood, to arrange his clothing in an orderly way over a chair before going to bed, so that every thing would be convenient when he arose. But on this morning he had found his coat lying on the floor, instead of hanging upon the back of the chair, where he was sure he had placed it. Still he attributed to his own haste or carelessness, if he gave the matter any thought at all, and went on his way all un suspicious of the vile scheme that was soon to bring him into the direst strait that he had ever known.

At eight o'clock on Monday morning, and just before breakfast was served to Mrs Coxon's boarders, Mrs Gordon came hurriedly downstairs, looking startled and anxious. She encountered Ruby upon the verandah, and asked, excitedly ;

"Ruby, have you been to either my jewel-box or my purse ?" " Of course not, Estelle," the young girl returned, looking astonished and a trine in dignant at the question. " Bub some one has been there, for my 6olifcaire diamond ear-rings are gone from the box, and a hundred-dollar bill from my purse." " Why, Estelle, you must be mistaken ; you have probably mislaid them and forgot ten about them."

" Indeed I have not; there is no mistake about it," retorted Mrs Gordon, flushing with excitement. " I received the bill only on Saturday, when I folded it and placed it in a side-pocket of my purse. The purse I put in my upper bureau drawer under some handkerchiefs, but this morning it lay open and on top of the bureau, and the money gone from it. My diamonds were in their case in my jewel-box ; the box was also open and the stones missing, though the case was left.

"How strange! And was nothing else missing?" " No, and that is the queerest part of it. I have other diamonds and nice jewellery, as you know, but nothing was touched save what I mentioned."

"Did you lock your door last night?" Ruby asked, looking perplexed. " No, I never lock it. I have never had a thought of danger since we came here," replied Mrs Gordon, with a clouded brow, for her diamonds were very valuable, and almost the last gift she had received from her husband.

'•• It would be well for you to go and look after your own things," she added; " you may have been robbed also." "No one could get into my room, for my door was locked, and everything was all right when I came downstairs," Ruby asserted, confidently. Mrs Coxon was immediately informed of the mysterious loss, and general inquiries were made. The servants were closely questioned, and the coachman examined, but they all appeared bo innocent, and were so frightened at the mere thought of a burglar, that Mrs Gordon was finally convinced that no one upon the premises had been guilty of the theft.

It was a very strange affair, everyone thought, and could have been perpetrated by, no professional robber, for such a one would have taken everything of value thati could be readily removed, and made thorough work after once gaining an en trance to the house. .

Mr Carpenter was written to, and asked to come out and try to suggest) some ex planation and some way to recover the missing property. But he was out of town, and did not make his appearance until two days later, when he seemed as much astonished and perplexed as anyone by the singular circumstance. The matter was then given into the hands of a detective, though with but little hope on the part of Mrs Gordon of recovering the lost articles. ' •■■ .

On Thursday morning, however, as she was passing through the upper hall, she espied Mrs Coxon in Walter's old room, setting it to rights and changing the sheets, she having been unusually busy during the early, portion of the week and unable to attend to the work before.

"Why," exclaimed Mrs Gordon, stop ping and peeping in, " did anyone sleep here last night ?" " No, ma am ; but Mr Walter was caught in the rain last Sunday night, and I wouldn't let him go back to the city when there were plenty of beds in the house," the house keeper explained, not dreaming what mis chief she was doing. " Walter Richardson ! did he sk#p here last Sunday night V demanded Mrs Gordon, with a start.

"Yes, ma'am, didn'b you know it?" questioned Mrs Coxon, but her face had grown suddenly scarlet, for she knew in an instant what thought had suddenly taken possession of her boarder's mind.

"No; I did—not—know—it," replied Mrs Gordon, with deliberate thoughtful ness ; and then the two women stood and looked into each other's faces for a full minute—the housekeeper's expressive of anxiety and something of defiance; her companion's indicating astonishment and conviction.

"Atwhab time did he go away in the morning?" Mrs Gordon demanded, at length breaking the oppressive silence.

M Very early, ma'am ; he had to catch the six o'clock train to go to his work," Mrs Coxon replied, assuming an indifferent air, though her heart was quaking within her for her favourite. • •

" Did you see him before he went ?" " No, inarm ; ho went away quietly, and did not disturb anyone. Mr Walter was always very considerate;" and the house keeper, having folded her last sheet, gathered up the other things she was to take away, and marched with dignity from the room, thus putting an end to the trying conversation. Mrs Gordon went slowly and thoughtfully back to her own chamber. She dashed off a note and sent it immediately by the coach man to Edmund Carpenter, who answered it in propria personce, and the two were closeted for two long hours in confidential conversation ; and, the next Monday morn ing, as we have already learned, an officer was sent to arrest Waiter upon the charge of having stolen Mrs Robert Gordon's money and jewels. Monday evening's paper gave an exag gerated account of the affair, and mentioned the station-house to which Walter had been taken to await his examination.

The young man had sent at once for Mr Conant upon arriving in the city, and he had expressed both sympathy and indigna tion upon hearing the circumstances of his arrest.

" Why, Walter, I would trust you with uncounted gold," he said, in his genial way, "and I am sure you would not stoop to take a lady's money or diamonds."

" I never took anything in my life that did not belong tome, audit is not reason able to suppose that I would begin by stealing from the sister of the young lady whom I hope sometime to make my wife," Walter replied, with considerable scorn and some bitterness.

" " Ahl then you are engaged ta-Miss Ruby Gordon ?" said Mr Conant,tqwhom this was news indeed*

"Yes, sir." "Does she know anything of your trouble ?"

"I do not; know. I presume she will learn of it through the papers, if in nc» other way;" and the young man looked very unhappy. " Oh, do not look so discouraged," said his friend, cheerfully ; "we will soon havd you out of this place. As soon as your turn comes for examination, we will have you bailed out, and then see what we can do for counsel."

" Have you seen the paper, Ruby?" Mrs Gordon asked, as she came out upon tha verandah, after tea that evening, and found her young' sister there. " Yes," Ruby answered, all-unsuspicious. " I saw it lying on the hall table as I came out, but I did not care particularly for the news, so I left it there."

" Would you mind reading to me for a little while? My eyes have been feeling badly all the afternoon, and I do not want] to make them worse by reading thatfintf print." " Certainly I will read to you if you wish- Estelle," replied the obliging girl, and she tripped back into the house for ths paper. Returning, she seated herself in a lovr. rocker by her sisfcer, and began tq unfold the sheet. '

As she did so her eyes fell upon a flaming heading :

" Arrest of the thief who stole a well known lady's diamonds," etc. " Why, Estelle, th«fc must mean you," Ruby cried, a* she itad it ■ aloud, and flushing with excitement.

Swiftly her glance traversed the other lines of the column, and then all at once she uttered a startled cry of pain, the paper slipped from her nerveless fingers, and she sank back in her chair pale and strengthless.

"What is the matter, Ruby?" Mrs Gordon, asked, in a feigned tone of surprise.; She knew well enough what the trouble was, for she had known that Walter was to be arrested that day, and felt sure that the : papers would be full of it, and she had! taken this way to break the nj3ws to Ruby, as she was anxious to have the scene over: with her as soon as possible. " What ails you, Ruby ? Why do you nob tell me ?" she persisted, as the girl made no answer.

Ruby aroused herself at this. She arose and stood before her sister, looking down upon her with stern eyes, which were, nevertheless, filled, with unspeakable agony. "Estelle, tell me truly," she commanded in a tone that she had never used before, " do you know anything about that arrest ? —is it any of your work, or is Edmund Car penter also at the bottom of this foul, wrong ?" " What on earth do you mean, child ?—. what is my doing? —of what is Edmund- Carpenter at the bottom ?" returned Mrs j Gordon, impatiently, and trying to look mystified.

"Walter has been arrested upon the charge of having stolen your money and diamonds."

" Walter Richardson! is it possible ? Ho«r • does he happen to be suspected i" "Because he slept here on the night of the robbery, and it is claimed that no pro fessional, or no one from outside the house, could have taken the things." " Well, that is a startling piece of news ; but who knows but what he may be the guilty one, after all ? It does have a suspi-: cious look, come to think of it—his sleeping, here that night, and then getting away! before light in the morning. Well, I .warned■! you against him, Ruby, and I hope you will listen to me now," Mrs Gordon concluded^ ; in a reproachful tone, as if she wished to imply that Ruby had, in some way, teen partially to blame for the contretemps. " Estelle ! Walter is as innocent of thiß. crime as I am. Ido not see how you can ■ imagine for a moment that he could be guilty of such a thing, and I will not believe one word against him," Ruby asserted, in dignantly. ■" But if it should be proved against him, how could you help believing it?" Mrs, Gordon asked, as she stooped to pick up the paper and began to read the account for herself, regardless of her aching (?) eyes. "It never can be proved againsb him. • It is utterly impossible that he could dV such a thing," was the passionate response, for Ruby had the utmost, faith in the integrity of her lover. "Weil, dear, don't work yourself into a fever over it," returned Mrs Gordon, sooth ingly; "only promise me that, if he i 3 proved guilty, you will give up your foolish fancy for him.

"My foolish fancy for him!" repeated" Ruby, in a low, intense tone.; " Oh, Bstelle, how little you know my character ! It would Jail me to know that Walter Richardson had committed a crime."

"Then you will give him up—you will cancel your engagement if. ne is con victed ?" persisted Mm Gordon, relentf lessly. fc "I should have to give him up if he acknowledged the crime. I could never marry a dishonoured man," Ruby moaned ; and with these words she fled up to her own room, to hide the wild grief that was nearly breaking her heart.

[To be Continued.]

EXTRAORDINARY SCENE AT A THEATRE.

A Leap from the Gallery.

A great sensation was created at the Queen's Theatre, Manchester, by an inci dent which occurred towards the close of the third part of the drama " A Mother's Son." One of the occupants of the gallery had become greatly excited by the develop': ment of the story, and when the heroine^ of the play wa3 apparently being over powered by the villain *of the piece, he jumped up from his seat, shook his fisfc ab the actor, and then took a fearful leap from the gallery,' alighting . with a sickening thud on the stage just beyond the foot lights. Actors and audience alike were fearfully startled, and shrieks were heard from all parts of the house. The man was at once carried off inside, where he lay helpless and badly injured. He told the manager that he had been so carried away ~ by the piece that he did not know what he was doing. He wanted to save the heroine, and jumped from the gallery without being conscious of the act. Ha gave his name and address as James Mande ville, of Ancoats, warehouseman.' A doctor was hastily snmmoned, and under his1 directions the man was removed to tha Infirmary, where it was found that he was seriously injured, one of his legs being broken. Mr Mansell, the lessee of the theatre, explained the circumstances to the audience, and allayed the excitement by announcing that the man was alive and would probably recover. The play was then proceeded with. Mandeville's anxiety forthe heroine, and his terrible leap are probably accounted for by the fact that the author of the play has given her the man's own sur name—Mandeville* The gallery stands thirty feet above the level of the stage, and it is a marvel that the man was nob killed outright.

Lady shopper—l am looking for a wed ding present. Druggist—You were fortuu nate in coming here, madame. We have just laid in a large stock of the latest hair restorer.

Wicked fob Clebgymbn.—"l believe 16 to be all wrong and even wicked for clergymen or other public men to be led into giving testi monials to quack doctors tor Tile Btufls called medicines, but when areallr Mititoriouß article is made up of common vjtiuable remedies known to afl, and that all p&eioians use and trust in daUy, we should fre&^inme^lk^ . . Washing*""! D.C.U.S.A.