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  No. 1252.      25 Cents.

  [Illustration: Lovell's
  Library.

  A TRI-WEEKLY
  PUBLICATION OF THE BEST
  CURRENT & STANDARD
  LITERATURE]

  Annual Subscription, $30. Entered at the Post Office, New York, as second
  class matter, Oct. 16, 1838.

  COUNTESS
  VERA

  BY
  MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER,

  AUTHOR OF "A DREADFUL TEMPTATION," "QUEENIE'S TERRIBLE
  SECRET," ETC., ETC.

  _NEW YORK
  JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY
  14 & 16 VESEY STREET_




[Illustration: PEARLINE.]


Is better than any soap; handier, finer, more effective, more of it,
more for the money, and in the form of a powder, for your convenience.
Takes, as it were, the fabric in one hand, the dirt in the other, and
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As it saves the worst of the work, so it saves the worst of the wear.
It isn't the use of clothes that makes them old before their time; it
is rubbing and straining, getting the dirt out by main strength.

For scrubbing, house-cleaning, washing dishes, windows and glassware,
Pearline has no equal.

Beware of imitations, prize packages and peddlers.

  JAMES PYLE, New York.




LYDIA E. PINKHAM'S

VEGETABLE COMPOUND

IS A POSITIVE CURE

_For all those painful Complaints and Weaknesses so common to our best
female population._

[Illustration]

It will cure entirely the worst form of Female Complaints, all Ovarian
troubles, Inflammation, Ulceration, Falling and Displacements of the
Womb and the consequent Spinal Weakness, and is particularly adapted to
the Change of Life.

It will dissolve and expel Tumors from the uterus in an early stage
of development. The tendency to cancerous humors there is checked
very speedily by its use. It removes faintness, flatulency, destroys
all craving for stimulants, and relieves weakness of the stomach. It
cures Bloating, Headaches, Nervous Prostration, General Debility,
Sleeplessness, Depression, and Indigestion.

That feeling of bearing down, causing pain, weight and backache, is
always permanently cured by its use.

It will at all times and under all circumstances act in harmony
with the laws that govern the female system. For the cure of Kidney
Complaints of either sex, this Compound is unsurpassed.

Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound is prepared at Lynn, Mass. Price,
$1.00. Six bottles for $5.00. Sent by mail in the form of Pills, also
in the form of Lozenges, on receipt of price, $1.00 per box, for
either. Send for pamphlet. All letters of inquiry promptly answered.
Address as above.




COPYRIGHTED 1883.




COUNTESS VERA;

OR,

_The Oath of Vengeance_.

By MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER.




CONTENTS


  COUNTESS VERA.
    CHAPTER I.
    CHAPTER II.
    CHAPTER III.
    CHAPTER IV.
    CHAPTER V.
    CHAPTER VI.
    CHAPTER VII.
    CHAPTER VIII.
    CHAPTER IX.
    CHAPTER X.
    CHAPTER XI.
    CHAPTER XII.
    CHAPTER XIII.
    CHAPTER XIV.
    CHAPTER XV.
    CHAPTER XVI.
    CHAPTER XVII.
    CHAPTER XVIII.
    CHAPTER XIX.
    CHAPTER XX.
    CHAPTER XXI.
    CHAPTER XXII.
    CHAPTER XXIII.
    CHAPTER XXIV.
    CHAPTER XXV.
    CHAPTER XXVI.
    CHAPTER XXVII.
    CHAPTER XXVIII.
    CHAPTER XXIX.
    CHAPTER XXX.
    CHAPTER XXXI.
    CHAPTER XXXII.
    CHAPTER XXXIII.
    CHAPTER XXXIV.
    CHAPTER XXXV.
    CHAPTER XXXVI.
    CHAPTER XXXVII.
    CHAPTER XXXVIII.
    CHAPTER XXXIX.
    CHAPTER XL.
    CHAPTER XLI.
    CHAPTER XLII.
    CHAPTER XLIII.
    CHAPTER XLIV.
    CHAPTER XLV.
    CHAPTER XLVI.
    CHAPTER XLVII.
    CHAPTER XLVIII.
    CHAPTER XLIX.
  THE MYSTERIOUS BEAUTY.




CHAPTER I.


"Dead!"

Leslie Noble reels backward, stunned by the shuddering horror of that
one word--"_Dead_!" The stiff, girlish characters of the open letter
in his hand waver up and down before his dazed vision, so that he can
scarcely read the pathetic words, _so_ pathetic now when the little
hand that penned them lies cold in death.

"Dear Leslie," it says, "when you come to bid me good-bye in the
morning I shall be dead. That is best. You see, I did not know till
to-night my sad story, and that you did not love me. Poor mamma was
wrong to bind you so. I am very sorry, Leslie. There is nothing I can
do but _die_."

There is no signature to the sad little letter--none--but they have
taken it from the hand of his girl-wife, found dead in her bed this
morning--his bride of two days agone.

With a shudder of unutterable horror, his glance falls on the lovely,
girlish face, lying still and cold with the marble mask of death on
its beauty. A faint tinge of the rose lingers still on the delicate
lips, the long, curling fringe of the lashes lies darkly against the
white cheeks, the rippling, waving, golden hair falls in billows of
brightness over the pillow. This was his unloved bride, and she has
died the awful and tragic death of the _suicide_.

       *       *       *       *       *

Let us go back a little in the story of this mournful tragedy, my
reader, go back to the upper chamber of that stately mansion, where, on
a wild night in October, a woman lay dying--dying of that subtle malady
beyond all healing--a broken heart.

"Vera, my darling," says the weak, faint voice, "come to me, dear."

A little figure that has been kneeling with its face in the
bed-clothes, rises and comes forward. The small, white face is drenched
with tears, the dark eyes are dim and heavy.

"Mamma," the soft voice says, hopefully, "you are better?"

The wasted features of the invalid contract with pain.

"No, my little daughter," she sighs, "I shall never be any better in
this world. I am dying."

A stifled cry of pain, and the girl's soft cheek is pressed to hers in
despairing love.

"No, mamma, no," she wails. "You must not die and leave me alone."

"Alone?" the mother re-echoes. "Beautiful, poor and alone in the great,
cruel world--oh, my God!"

"You cannot be dying, mamma," the girl says, hopefully. "They--Mrs.
Cleveland and Miss Ivy--could not go on to their balls and operas if
you were as bad as _that_!"

Something of bitter scorn touches the faded beauty of the woman's face
a moment.

"Much they would care," she says, in a tone of scorn. "At this moment
my sister and her proud daughter are dancing and feasting at the
Riverton's ball, utterly careless and indifferent to the fact that the
poor dependent is lying here all alone, but for her poor, friendless
child."

"You were no dependent, mamma," the girl says, with a gleam of pride in
her dark eyes. "You worked hard for all we have had. But, mamma, if--if
you _leave_ me, I will not be Ivy Cleveland's slave any longer. I shall
go away."

"Where, dear?" the mother asks, anxiously.

"Somewhere," vaguely; "anywhere, away from these wicked Clevelands. I
hate them, mamma!" she says, with sudden passion in her voice and face.

"You do not hate Leslie Noble?" Mrs. Campbell asks, anxiously.

"No, mamma, for though he is akin to them he is unlike them. Mr. Noble
is always kind to me," Vera answers, musingly.

"Listen to me, Vera, child. Mr. Noble l--likes you. He wishes to marry
you," the mother exclaims, with a flush of excitement in her eyes.

"Marry me?" Vera repeats, a little blankly.

"Yes, dear. Are you willing?"

"I--I am too young, am I not, mamma?"

"Seventeen, dear. As old as I was when I married your father," Mrs.
Campbell answers with a look of heart pain flitting over the pallid
face.

"I have never thought of marrying," Vera goes on musingly. "He will not
be angry if I refuse, will he, mamma?"

"But, Vera, you must not refuse," the invalid cries out, in a sudden
spasm of feverish anxiety. "Your future will be settled if you marry
Mr. Noble. I can die in peace, leaving you in the care of a good
husband. Oh, my darling, you do not know what a cruel world this is.
I dare not leave you alone, my pure, white lamb, amid its terrible
dangers."

Exhausted by her eager speech she breaks into a terrible fit of
coughing. Vera bends over, penitent and loving.

"Cheer up, mamma," she whispers; "I am not going to refuse him. Since
he wants me, I will marry him for your sake, dear."

"But you like him, Vera?" the mother asks, with piteous pleading.

"Oh, yes," calmly. "He is very nice, isn't he? But, do you know, I
think, mamma, that Ivy intended to marry him herself. I heard her say
so."

"Yes, I know, but you see he preferred you, my darling," the mother
answers, with whitening lips.

"Then I will marry him. How angry my cousin will be," Vera answers,
with all the calmness of a heart untouched by the _grande passion_.

"Yes, she will be very angry, but you need not care, dear," Mrs.
Campbell answers faintly. "Leslie will take you away from here. You
will never have to slave for the Clevelands any more."

The door opens suddenly and softly. A tall, handsome man comes into the
room, followed by a clerical-looking individual.

"Oh, Leslie, you are come back again," Mrs. Campbell breathes,
joyfully. "I am glad, for I cannot last but a few minutes longer."

"Not so bad as that, I hope," he says, gently, advancing to the
bedside; then his hand touches lightly the golden head bowed on the
pillow. "Is my little bride ready yet?" he asks.

The girl starts up with a pale, bewildered face.

"Is it to be now?" she asks, blankly. "I thought--I thought----"

But Mrs. Campbell, drawing her quickly down, checks the half protest
with a feverish kiss.

"Yes, dear, it is to be now," she whispers