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2 TIMES ■MI """t WEEK « VOL, Enecks R S THE LOST RUBENS. By FLORENCE WARDEN. Author of “The House on the Marsh.” “A Sensational. Case,” “The Dover Express,” Etc., Etc. Copyrighted. 181)5, by Florence Warden. CHAPTER I.—A CHARMING AC QUAINTANCE. Ten nce\O’Carroll was an artist; not one of those gentlemen of the brush and pal ette who devote themselves to Art with a big A, because of the excuses she af fords her devotees for Idling, but a man with a genuine love for his profession, and, what is more to the purpose, a genuine talent also. He was five and twenty years old, five feet ten Inches in hlght, was reckoned handsome, more by reason o,f a magnificent mustache which girls called "tawny” and men "carroty” than on ac count of any surpassing beauty of feat ure, and might be considered heart-whole, since he fell in love .with every fresh pretty face he saw. He had, moreover, a light purse, a gigantic appetite, an ever rehdy laugh and the most confiding na ture in the world. For a whole year Luck, that hang-dog sister of Art, had been persistently against him, His pictures had remained unsold f<j»- no apparent fault either in them or in him, with the ugly results Wat his clothes had grown threadbare, his landlady had become fidgety, and he had even occasion ally had to make a pipe do duty for a meal. Still, as he had no one dependent upon him to suffer through his misfor tunes, he never lost heart much; his laugh came almost as readily as ever, ♦nd he shook his fist at the stingy deal ers and the great, big, dull public, and told them (In his studio, of course, and sot to (heir faces) that they should be at his feet yet. Then, in the sarlie capricious manner, came a sudden burst of sunshine. Two pictures he sold in the same week; one of a big barge which had got loose from its (noonings with the breaking up of ♦he ice on the Thames, and had come hashing against one of the arches of London bridge; the other a little London iltreet scene. He went home with a pock etful of chinking sovereigns, and. an in clination to shako hands with every cross ibg-sweeper. Now he,oould take that trip io Cornwall, which was to make his for |une. Now he could get down to that great sea, which always seemed to be calling to him to come and paint her, down to the brown-sailed boats and lie red-capp d fishermen, that haunted iim through Hie London fog. Three days later, in a smart, new suit, And a picturesque hat, with u, fairly-filled >iurse. and as light a heart as even a uyOMJrig irlkfen .»n .< , ~b*w. he strolled uJU*’..# plaffolin, uljdg..Uv' th i train which was to take him to Pen zance, <■’boosing for himself a corner sent in a third-class compartment, with as much fastidiousness as if he had been a director, he stowed away his easel, his portfolio, und his other very light lug gage, and then, stood outside the door of the compartment, smoking his big pipe, gnd revelling in the fulfillment of a long ehertsliecl desire. Ah he watched the moving crowd on the platform, noting each group, and remark ing with keen professional eye every small incident of humorous or pathetic charac ter, he caught sight of two persons en gaged in earnest conversation, who en chained his interest at once. A man and a woman they were, both young, and their Interview was evidently a leave-taking. They were standing away from the main throng of travelers and their friends, in one of the big, covered spaces devoted to passengers’ luggage; and they stood so far in the shadow that nobody observed them but the quick-eyed painter, and even ho saw at first only the figures, not the fac«*B. Hut, attracted, by some unusual grace In the woman’s attitude, some charm tn her slimness and fairness, which appealed specially to his artist’s nature, he croseeil the platform in their direc tion, and morn and more fascinated by what he saw, stopped to read a bill pasted on the wall, at ft point whence he could get a near und full view Os her. Bhe was quite young about two or three und-twenty, he supposed, and was the pos sessor o? no especial beauty of feature, while the attraction of her figure was the negative one of extreme slenderness only. Shi' was, too. so extremely fair, with her flaxen hair and eyaslashes, and almost im pcrrepttble eyebrows, that some would pave considered her opijn to the reproach of insipidity. The fascinations which more than counter balanced these disadvant ages in Terencc e eyes wore the singular grace of person above-mentioned, and an expression of'fuce which seemed to him to betray In every' glance a personality full of feminine tenderness and sweetness. Sb'Htrongly did this impression seize him that he was conxnmtd by jealousy of the man to whom she was bidding farewell. From the plaee where he stood Terence could not ilvo his face, but perceive only that the fortunate person who was ab sorbing the girl’s attention was under th® middle hlght and sparely built, that he had dark hair, wore, a light tourist's suit, and curried a gun case In his hafyl and a sirooting cont over his arm. Quite unworthy, Terence felt this ordinary-look ing young man to be. of the tender en treaties. the pleading glances, the low words of affection, which the girl was evidently lavishing upon him. The young man. who was smoking a cigar, and occasionally looking at his watch, evidently felt rather bored than flattered by the girl's devotion. Was she his wife? thought Terence with a ri diculous pang of uneasiness. Ashamed of of playing the spy, as he begun to think hr was doing, the artist turned away and strolled back to his place outside the comportment where he hud put his .lug’tnge. Glancing again in the direction of the IntereatlftK spot, lie saw that the girl was alone, and that her companion was sauntering alongside the train us he himself .had done, in search of a seat tv his liking. Terence now saw the man’s face for the first time, an ordinary sort of counb'iiHnce. without any striking feature, aud came to the conclusion that he was about to years of age. So commonplace wu the face, Indeed, that but for Ter ence's Interest In the girl who had taken leave of the stranger, h.« would not have given him a second glance. As it was, however, the artist felt Interested In the other man, who, with a glance at him. got Into the same compartment and put up hut gun rate over the corner opposite to th, one he had appropriated. while a porter lua tried him in a handsome travel ing bag. The auurd was shutting the door* Ter ence got Lu and rat dow n. He was just a I to 0 civil) News. W QE '° R G1 A ~ LI *>*■ *"«"” — NQ NEWS > i Dec 96" Incorporated ISBB. > 1 Pec a President. f little surprised to find that the stranger traveled third-class, like himself. His clothes were so well cut, his bag was so handsome, he had such an air of being used to the best of everything, that the poor artist would have expected him to tip the guard liberally to secure a first class compartment all to himself. The next little sunwise was to find the stranger an awfully nice fellow. No sooner had the train started than he opened conversation with Terence. Put ting his hand on the *wlndow-strap, he said, with a smile: "Now, is it to be dust and fresh air, or neither? Os course, if I were only going two or three stations further, I shouldn’t ask you, but should bang it up or down without the slightest consideration for any body but myself. But as, to judge by our ‘traps,’ we are both going a long way, I am bound to be civil. You see, I might find myself without matches, and have to beg. So, once more, dust and fresh air, or cleanliness and suffocation?” “Dust and fresh air, as far as I am con cerned," answered Terence, laughing. "Dust and fresh air be it.” And down came the window. The Ice having been thus speedily brok en, it was not long before they were cihat ting together like old friends, the artist delighted to find a companion as devoid of stiffness as himself; the stranger, who gave his name as Fred Jellett, expressing himself equally pleased at this chance of enjoying artistic society. "I’m a bit of an artist myself, you know; or at least, I like to think myself so,” said he. "And I prefer the society of ar tists, real artists like you, not mere dab blers like me, to any other.” "Real artists like me!” echoed Terence,' laughing. "Then are you contented to take my talent upon trust, on the strertgth of my easel and my hat?” "Not quite. But on the strength of face, talk, manner. They seem to me to reveal enough of the personality to decide upon. You are off on a sketching tour, I sup pose?” “Yes. Cornish coast. Ships—cliffs—big waves—red-checked girls. I am coming back with a bursting portfolio, sketches enough to make pictures for a year at least.” "Lucky fellow! I wish I could change places with you!’’ / Terence laughed, and glanced at him with merry eyes as he refilled his pipe. "Oh, the folly of discontented mortals!” cried he. "If that idle wish were to be fulfilled straightway, you would be wish ing yourself back again pretty quickly, I’m thinking. You see me on the first day of the first holiday I’ve had for eigh teen months. Now you look to me as if you made holiday all the-year round.” The .other watched the smoke of hfs ci gar, “I’m the most Industrious of mortals,” . said he. 4‘< wouldn’t bj.if. ItwH lie Ip. it, but cbj’umstknces force iUMpSn nie. I never move except on business.” "You’re 'not on Very serious business now, though, I think.” And Terence cast a sly glance at the other man’s gun case. “Don’t you call grouse-shooting serious business? I do.” "Well, it would be serious business to me, because I don’t think I could carry a loaded gun a hundred yards without shooting myself. But to you, who are mopfe accomplished——” “It is the most wearisome thing in the world. I have had so much of it. So, as there are a few days to spare before the 12th, I am going two hundred miles out of my way simply to see a famous collection of pictures. Now, do you be lieve in ftiy artistic yearnings?” "Why, yes,” answered Terence in some 1 surprise, and with redoubled interest tn an art patron who could afford a freak like this. "I suppose you know the collection 1 mean? Lord Copleston’s at Ingatestowe." “Oh, Lord Copleston! The man who has just paid such a sensational price for , the Rubens, from the Villa Alasslo?” “That’s the man.” "They’ve made a good sensational para graph out of tliat in this week’s ‘Pen and Palette,’ ” said Terence, as he sought among his papers for the one he wanted. “I suppose you haven’t seen it,(tor ’Pen and Pajette’ is rather a ’shoppy’ paper, not much read outside the studios.” Mr. Jellett had not seen it. So he lis tened with much amusement while Ter , once read the following words: “It is reported that Mr. Zcnhoven, the . American millionaire; whose spirited bid ding did so much to run up the ‘Alassio Rubens' to the sensational price it reached at the recent sale, is enraged , at his defeat, and that he is still re solved to have the picture ,by any means and at any price.” “Ugh!” commented Terence, with dls k gust, as he refolded his paper. “Isn’t it enough to make a struggling painter cut his throat to hear of u couple of old k lunatics wasting a moderate fortune ( over r few feet of half-mouldy canvas?” Mr. Jellett burst out laughing. “Why?” said he. “I should have thought you would rejoice at such a healthy stimulus being given to art!” "Art!” echoed Terence, contemptuous ly. "Art has nothing to do with it. Os i these two idiots, one ia too old to see his pictures without rubbing his nose i against them, while the other Ooesn't know an old master from a public house sign. They are simply bitten by the col lector’s mania, and they don't care a straw for any work of art, or any relic of antiquity until they hear that some other fool is ready to give for it as many thousands as it is worth pounds.” Mr. Jellett enjoyed his indignation im mensely. “But. at least.” he said at last, “you will break your Journey at Ingatestowe to see. the 'mouldy canvas there has been such fuss about, won't you?” "Not L” answered Terence, promptly. “Why, if this Mr. Zonhoven is |n earn est, you may never have another chance.” "It wouldn’t break my heart if he were to steal it, and carry it off to the Rocky mountains.” Mr. Jellett again laughed heartily, but he did not desist from his persuasions. To all suggestions that he should spend . a couple of days at Igatestowe, sketch ing the house and grounds, Terence, however, turned a persistently deaf ear. i Mr. Jellett seemed unreasonably disap pointed by his refusal. "I must fill out the time somehow till the ■ twelfth,” said he; “and it is «> beastly dull all by one’s self.*’ “Why not come on with me?” suggested ■ Terence. “But. for the matter of that. . you might find me too much of a bore if • I you saw more of It. while you. I should | imagine, can alwaj-s find some one to amuse you. wherever you arc." . "That's what my sister says,” said the other, but in a tone which proved that he was not yet restored to good humor. Terence blushed a deep crimson all over cheeks and forehead. This did not es cape his companion’s eyes. Terence, how ever, was looking down. There was some thing the matter with that pipe of his. “Your sister,” he' said at last, after clear ing his throat. “Was that your sister who —who saw you off at the station?” Fred Jellett nodded. "Odd-looking girl she is, with that light hair,” remarked he. "She can’t go anywhere without exciting attention.” “Well,” said Terence, growing a yet deeper shade of crimson, "a lady, as hand some as she is, could hardly expect not to excite attention, whatever the color of her hair might be. “I don’t see any remarkable beauty about her, but she’s a nice girl,” said the brother, critically. “I think,” he added, suddenly, after a moment’s pause, “that I must wire to her to come down here and spend a couple of days with me, since you are so immovable.” Terence said nothing to this; nor did he make any comment when his companion, verj' suddenly making up his mind, wrote out on the spare half-sheet of an old let ter a telegram, telling his sister to come down at once to Ingatestowe by the very next train. This message Jellett gave to a porter to send off for him when the train at Reading. “Your sister will surely never come down at a moment’s notice like that?” said Ter ence, in astonishment. “Indeed she will, though. Bessfie is the most devoted little girl in the world to her good-for-nothing brother; and if you were not so determiend to go on with your journey yqu would see me meet her at In gatestowe station to-night.” Terence w’averqfi. He knew that Fred Jellett saw that he wavered, and noted tne fact with interest. He felt, too, what a strange thing it was that this stranger should be so very anxious for more of his society. “If you'll stay at Ingatestowe to-night, we'll make it a bet,” continued Jellett. While feeling puzzled by this persist ency, Terence was unable to resist the temptation of an introduction to the girl whose appearance had made so strong an impression upon him. He agreed to the bet, against his better judgment, and whilb struggling with an involuntary conscious ness that hia companion was, for some unknown reason or other, making a fool of him. However, the two men found so great an attraction in each other’s socle-* ty Qiat long before they beached their des tination for the night, Terence w T as entire ly reconciled to the change he had made in his plans. Ingatestowe was a little wayside sta tion where very few passengers got in or out. Looking out of the carnage window, as the train began to slacken, Terence remarked to his companion that there was only one man on the platform. Fred Jellett laughed, and looked out too. But in an instant he drew his head in again, a,nd Terence saw that the expression of his face had changed, "By the bye,” said Jellett, laying his hand on Terence’s arm, as the latter was hauling down his easel from the rack, "now, I think of it, our best plan will be to go on to the next station and put up there. There is better accommodation. ■ «niu it ! ■■- i! jojU- uian-W* a «mo iurtlier from the Hall.” ' “But your sister?” suggested Terence, quickly, “Haven’t you wired to her to meet you here?” i “Well,” sard Jellett, "we can walk back here, when we’ve had our dinner, and meet her. It will be just a nice evening’s stroll. Or stay,” he went on, briskly, after a moment'* pause, during which the train was drawing close to the station; “sup posing you get out here and look about; and* I’ll go on to the next station and look about. I’ll meet you here to-night at half-past eight, and we’ll compare notes; and we’ll settle in which ever place offers the best prospect of comfort.” "All right,” said Terence, rather taken aback by this rapid change of plan. The train was still moving, but it was already alongside the platform. "And will it be troubling you too much to ask you to take my gun-case, as I shall have further to walk than you?” "Not a bit,” said Terence, rather more puzzled still. “We meet outside the station here at half-past < )ght then.” The train had-stopped, and he was strug gling with a goodly load. But his com panion did not offer to help him. He had crossed the compartment, and was look ing out of the opposite window. He did not even seem to hear w'hen Terence called out “Good-bye” as he jumped out. But the young artist was too much oc cupied with his luggage to pay much heed to this circumstance. He landed It all safely on the platform, and then had his attention attracted at once by the move ments of the solitary man he had already noticed in the station. This persons, a slim, respectably-dressed youngish man, who looked like a Londoner, was engaged In making a rapid inspection of the occu pants of every compartment In turn. Ter ence watched him until he had gone the whole length of the train in this manner, and he noticed that the guard did not give the signal to start until the inspection was over. Then the youngish-looking man strolled up the platform in his direction, and took a comprehensive but unostenta tious survey of the artist and his lug gage... ” Terence noted two or three details in [ return, among others, the fact that the , man wore policeman’s boots. "A detective!” thought he. “I wonder ! what on earth he’s doing In a little place | like this?” CHAPTER 11.-THE SINGULAR CON TENTS OF A GUN-CASE. It was between 3 and 4 o’clock, and the heat was almost overpowering. Terence, Kladen with luggage, stepped out of the ; little station Into the dusty road and started for the village, the straggling cot tages of which were in sight. He found two ins; one was a pretentiously pic turesque, modern building, such as al ways springs up In the neighborhood of an important country seat. It is always kept by an old servant of the family, always boasts of its connection with the Hall, or Castle, and is always outrageously dear. This one was called "The Copleston Arms." Luckily for Terence, there was a smal ler. humbler hostelry at hand, an old whitewashed house, much older than the other, devoured by Jealousy of its newer rival. The artist made straight for the "Blue Boar” and entered with a friendly greeting to. the gray-haired, ruddy-cheek ed landlord, who relieved him of his easel i with a familiar hand. | “Lots of you artist gentlemen comes , here, sir,” he said with a smile. "Lots of us artist tramps, you mean.” I said Terence gaily. i The landlord shook his head deprecat j ingly. “They all come here, and they all says j to m< . etton.' says they, tione of I your red MsMt and gables for me,’ says they. \)ive me a good, honest, solid ’ house, that has stood for two hundred years, and that's game to stand for twq ' hundred more.’ Yes. air; come this way? I sir. That’s what artist gentlemen always SAVANNAH, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 26 1895. say to me, sir; and if anybody ought to know a good thing, sir, why, It’s them, to be sure?’ Alas! for the by-gone days. Time had been when Mr; Yetton had looked down upon artists with their light luggage and light purses, and had left them to the attention of the barmaid and the boots. But now that that mushroom “Copleston Arms” attracted the wealthier guests, "The Blue Boar” was laming perforce to see the merits of comparatively humble tourists. Terence ate his dinner in the little cof ree-room, to an accompaniment of hum ming of bees in the sweet-scented garden behind the inn. Then he had a pipe, and after that, as t*he day was waning, and the heat growing less, he strolled as far as z the gates of Ingatestowe park. He looked through the massive ironwork of the gates, and seeing an official looking person eyeing him curiously from the lodge inside, Terence addressed him, ask ing whether one could get permission to go inside. f “Yes,” replied the man, still examining him suspiciously, “but you’ve got to leave your and address in here with me.” Terence was rather offended by the man’s tone. “Thanks,” said he, mockingly. “My name and address are too important to be given to the first comer. I think I’ll stay outside.” To his great amusement the man’s gaze became more suspicious than ever, and when Terence walked away, the lodge keeper came through the gates to w r atch him as he disappeared round a bend in the wall. In spite of his amusement. Terence was disappointed that he had not been through the gate. A stroll and a smoke under those big trees would have been delightful, and a peep he got through the trees of the old house itself excited his curiosity to see more of it. He hung about the walls for a long time, caught a glimpse of the detective he had at the station, and amused himself, idly by pretending to avoid that intelligent of ficer, until It was time to return to the village to meet his new friend, and that friend’s lovely sister. The lovely sister had, in truth, been in Terence’s mind ever since he parted from her brother. He was in a state of frantic excitement when his watch told him that it was half-past eight, while, as yet, there was no sign of Fred Jellett. He waited outside the station door, he ventured a little way along a branch road; which he supposed led in the direction of the next town or village, but in vain; the only man about was again the detective, who was lurking about the station, awaiting the arrival of the train from London. The signals went down; the train was approaching. Terence’s heart beat high. If Jellett did not turn up, it was he, Ter rence, who must meet her, and explain her brother’s absence. The train slack ened, stopped. The young artist’s heart leaped up, for he saw her at once, looking eagerly but of the window. She stepped out on to the platform, and looked about, at first with expectation, afterwards with disappointment. Terrence approached her, raising his hat. “Miss Jellett, I believe?” said he. “Your brother Intended to meet you; he must bays been detained. May I help you to get your lugvage’’” ' He burned this out, not allowing him self to be cheeked by the lady’s start, or by the look of surprise, followed* by one of disgust, which crossed the lady’s face. “My name is not Jellett,” she said, shortly. She turned her back upon him, and walked up the platform toward the lug gage van. Terence turned crimson; he felt that he wanted to bite some one; and the person on whom he would best have liked to be stow this delicate attention was the de tective, standing in the shadow, under the station roof, who had noted every detail of this meeting: The train went on. The girl remained standing by her trunk. Terence retreated to the station door, and remained therb, glowering. It seemed to him that he stood there a long time. At last he heard the sound of something being drawn along the ground behind him. He turned, and saw the girl pulling her trunk under the shelter of the roof. The solitary porter had long since disappeared; so had the detective. These two creatures could see no one but each other. Terence ran back and seiz ing the trunk, lifted it from the ground. “Where will you have it taken?” he asked, gently. Loneliness and embarrassment had dashed the girl’s spirit a little. Still it was with a touch of haughtiness she an swered: “Onty into some corner, thank you, until my brother comes.” In a tone which betrayed a. mixture of abject humility and stiff reserve, Terence explained again. “He left me here, and went on him self to the next station. We were to meet here at half-past 8 and compare notes about the accommodation of the tw’o places. I can’t think how it is he has not turned up.” The poor girl looked as If she wanted to cry. The sight sent the susceptible Terence almost crazy. As usual, with a man who is moved to tenderness, which he must restrain, he found resource in violent anger, and stamped his foot at the absent brother. “I can’t think wffiat he means by doing such an idiotic thing!” he exclaimed. “He must have gone to sleep, I should think. Shall I ask the way to the next town, and go and look for him, and hurry him up?” "Oh. no, don’t! At least, yes. That is —perhaps you’d better!” Glad to have something to do, and for her. Terence dashed off. But he had not gone a hundred yards when, having met a woman and asked her the way, he dashed back again to the station. "The next town Is Wellscomb, three miles off. Er—won’t you—er—won’t you feel lonely waiting here all by yourself?” She did not answer. She looked around in a frightened way, and peered out at the trees to right and left, where the dusk was beginning to gather. "Wouldn’t it be better for you to come and meet him, too? Your tf-unk will be quite safe here.” "No, no, no, thank you,” answered she, quite sharply, dismissing him with a quick turn of the head, as If resisting a temptation. "I will wait here." He raised his hat and went away. But he had scarcely turned into the quiet road,towards Wellscomb when he heard light, rapid steps behind him. and look ing round, saw the girl in her gray dress slackening her speed as she came up with him. The alarm which he at first noted in her face gave place to sud den shyness. "That man!” she exclaimed, in a low voice. “He frightened me! I—l ” “The man who was hanging about the station. Did he annoy you? Impudent ras cal! But I don’t suppose he meant to. He’s on the look-out for someone. He's a detective.” "A detective! , She grew white to the lips, shivered, and stated at him with a face of solemn inquiry. He tried gently to laugh her fears away, adoring her the while, even , for her illogical womanish fright. “Don't be alarmed. Ladies always think there’s something mysterious and awful about an emissary from Scotland Yard; when as a matter of fact, they are the most common-place men aliye—and the dullest. Why, this fellow, who is wait ing for somebody whom he expects here by train, stands on the platform hoping for his man to jump into his arms, instead of hiding himself and his big feet where he could pounce upon him from some dark corner. If I were the gentleman he wants, I should simply walk past him with my head high ip the air and brazen it out.” “No doubt,” said she coldly. Terence felt himself grow exceedingly hot and uncomfortable. What did shdf mean by snubbing him in this outrageous way? It was almost too much for even his adoration. He walked on beside her with out speaking for some moments. Their road lay between fields bordered by luxuriant Devonshire hedges. A man was coming abross these fields, towards the road, by a path which led to a stile. “Fred!” exclaimed the girl, stopping short. An instant later her brother cama up with them. “Well, you have an odd idea of keep ing an appointment,” began Terence, feel ing that he had a grievance against both brother and sister. “I couldn’t help it, my dear fellow. I’m out of breath with running as it is. I knew you w'ould look after Bessie and her luggage. I’ve had a wire—must go back to town to-night.” “Oh, what a pity you sent for me, Fred.” "Not a You shan’t be done out of your holiday. I’ve been to the village, and have found very nice lodgings. I am going to take you straight there, and to-morrow evening I shall be back again.” "Oh, Fred, no. I’ll go back with you to night. I can’t stay here all alone.” “Nonsense. It’s only for twenty-four hours. Don’t be childish, Bessie!” He spoke quite harshly, and Terence was moved to indignation, which betrayed it self in his looks. “Come,” Fred went on, seizing his sis ter’s arm pretty roughly; “I have no time to lose. I musn’t miss the last train.” Then turning to Terrence: “I am awfully sorry you are going on, because I shall have no chance of seeing you again.” “Well,” answered Terence. “This place is so awfully pretty that I think I shall have to take your advice, and stay ’a couple of days to take a few sketches. So if you call at ’The Blue Boar’ on your re turn to-morrow night, you will be in time to see me off in my turn.” This change of plan he made, in impul sive artist fashion, on the spur of the mo ment, .ithout an acknowledged reason. Even as he made it, hejWished he had not done so. Fred, the next moment, was heartily congratulating him. “Oh, by the by,” cried Terence, when he had shaken hands with Fred and raised his hat stiffly to the latter’s sister, “I have your gun case. Will you take it back with you, or ” “Keep it till I come back, please,” cried Fred, as he helped Bessie over the stile toward the village. Terence .'•etarnW to IRBte 1 slowly, in a very unusual mood of dis content and mental disturbance. He was augry with himself for having altered his arrangement merely on account of a girl who had been both cold and rude to him. For he knew quite well that it was her presence in the village which kept him there. Entering the clean, tiled hall of the inn, through the opposite door of which a tangle of sw'eet peas, sunflowers and hollyhocks could still be discerned in the dusk, he caught up his easel and Fred Jellett’s gun case, both of which were lying on the floor, and swung upstairs with them. Being angry and. careless, he came to grief with his load and let the gun case fall, with a crash, over the topmost ban nisters into the hall below. The thought of the damage he had probably done sobered him, and he hurried down con trite and alarmed. The lock of the gun case had been hurts by the shock, and the case lay open before him. He went down on his knees to dis cover the extent of the damage. To hii# astonishment he found that the case con tained no gun, but a flattened roll of paint ed canvas, wrapped round an iron bar. On further examination, the painted can vas proved to be a picture, and by tne dim light Terence was able to make out that it was a villainously bad copy, prob ably painted from memory, of the Alassio Rubens. CHAPTER HI.—TEMPTED. The first thing Terenbe O’Carroll did on discovering that his friend’s case con tained, not a gun, but a bad picture, was to burst out into a roar of laughter. “Oh, these amateurs” said he to him self, as he took the picture to the garden door and unrolled it, the better to deride its imperfections. “How can they have the heart to spoil good paint and can vas like this? I must do him the Justice to say he seems ashamed of hl» crime, as he never mentioned it and hid it away so carefully; but he can’t know how deep his guilt is, or he would never have the cheek to bring the smudge down here, to cqmpare It with the original! Jellett, my dear boy, you’re an awfully nice fellow, but you’re the most shock ing bad artist I ever saw.” As he began to roll It up again he be came aware for the first time that he was not alone In the enjoyment of his great artistic treat. A movement in the overgrown flower bushes outside, a move ment which brought suddenly to his nos trils a delicious whiff of fragranae from rosebush and sweetbriar, made him look up from his occupation; only tn time, however, to see that somebody who had been watching him had escaped in the thick overgrowths of the inn garden. If he had known that the hidden spec tator of his amusement fcas the detective he had seen at the station. Terence would only have laughed the more. For he could not have guessed that that gen tleman put an altogether false construc tion upon his mirth. The young artist took the fraudulent gun rttse upstairs, packed it away, and presently forgot all about its contents in the enjoyment of a political discussion in the bar-parlor between the blacksmith and the owner of the principal village shop. Next day Terence was haunted by the remembrance of the fair-haired girl. He had not lost the impression of feminine sweetness which she had made upon him on his first sight of her, little of that sweetness as she had bestowed upon him self. Indeed, her ungracious treatment of him had rather whetted than dulled his interest in her, since it was strange that a creature who could waste so much tenderness upon a brother should t>e capable of such harshness to a perfectly courteous and harmless stranger. He found himself exploring the village and i its environments, not with the legitimate ; eye to the picturesque, but in the hope of discovering by the sheen of her fair hair at some cottage window, where the dear Lady Disdain was staying. He was unsuccessful in his search. It was not until late in the afternoon, when, Having overcome his alleged scruples by writing his name in the lodge visitors’ book, he was sketching in Ingatestowe park, that he caught a glimpse of pretty Bessie. She wore a big, shady gray hat, which matched her dress, and she made a most charming picture as she strolled under the trees. Involuntarily Terence started to his feet. The girl looked up, without vouchsafing any sort of greeting, quickened her pace and walked away in the opposite direction. He was so much disturbed by this incident that he could do no more work for.the rest of the day. He did indeed attempt to go on with his sketch as if nothing had happened; but the result pleased him so little that he presently slashed it from side to side with his penknife, thus spoiling a nice piece of canvas and showing how very much like a grown man can behave when tiie glamor of a pair of blue eyes is upon him. A party of tourists lyere coming up the drive toward the house More for the want of something tp do than because he cared for the regulation scurry through a show place, Terrence joined them. They were driven like a flock of sheep through galleries, halls, rooms, worried by an elderly upper servant, whose martner was the orthodox mixture of sycophanlc ven eration for the family and insolent con tempt for visitors whose tips he received. They saw' the wonderful Ingatestowe pictures, though perhaps Terence was the only one of the party who saw' in them anything more than so many dingy can vasses in so many dingy frames. They saw the celebrated Alassio Rubens, and heartily pitied the idiot who had ex changed so many thousands of bright gold sovereigns for what they afterwards free ly described as a picture they wouldn’t have in the house! As they all stood hud dled together before it, breathless and rather scandalized, Terence burst out into a laugh which shocked them, as he thought of the appalling copy of the pic ture which he had seen on the previous evening. The laugh startled not only the group of tourists, but a man standing in a little railed music gallery at the end of the long room. He looked out from behind a group of suits of armour, and in his hasty movement threw a halbred down. Terence glanced up and saw that the man in hiding was the detective, whom he had already seen about the place that morn ing. The thought involuntarily shot through the young artist’s mind that it was he whom the man was dogging. Pre posterous as the notion seemed Terence could find no other explanation of his catching so many glimpses of him, and of the manner in which the detective w’ould disappear as soon as he caught Terence’s eye. The inspection of the house finished, the herd of visitors were driven forth into the grounds again. Terence, who was on the look-out, soon espied the detective on the watch at an upper window. On purpose to discover whether he was really the object of the man’s suspicions. Terende escaped from the herd and made his way to the back of the hall. Here, however, he found his progress stopped by a barrier which had been erected by some workmen who were enlarging the south w'ing of the hall. He had to retreat, therefore, and left the park in the rear of the tourist herd. The rest, of the day wearily for him. Ho wus-Mving in .i*e hope 61 x<*red Jellett’s return that night, not so much for the young fellow’s sake as for that of his sister. But the evening passed away and he did not come. Then ensued a struggle in Terence’s mind.. Should he go on his way and begin the hard work which was to bring him fame? Or should he stay mooning about here, wasting his time, and suspected of unlawful inten tions, for the sake of a Chance glimpse of a girl who would not even give him a look or a word for his pains? Common-sense had but one answer to this question. But to that answer he paid no heed. He stayed and was punished for his foolishness by a pouring wet day, a day to wash away the high spirits of the most bouyant, a grey day of soaking, driving rain. Terence looked out of the window. If this day was dreary to him, with his thick boots and his macintosh, his pipe and his easel, what must it be to a young girl, imprisoned in a cottage lodging? He had found out where she lived; it was in a row of little four-room, butter-colored houses, not five hundred yards away. He looked through the books he had brought, chose the two he thought most likely to please a girl, and ran down the street to her lodging. There was no knocker, so he hammered at the door with his knuckles. It was opened by the young lady herself, for there was no passage, «and the front room was her sitting-i-oom. Poor girl, she looker# miserable; but on seeing wfio her visitor was, she grew cold and stiff at once. “Good morning,” stammered Terence, taken aback. “Good morning," tfhe said, with the slightest possible bend of the head. "My brother has not arrived yet.” “No, I thought not. I fancied perhaps you might be dull without him on this wet day, so I broug’ht you some books." He was speaking with much constraint, feeling sorry he had come. She glSueed at the volumes he offered. “I have read them, thank you," slhe said. "All right. Good morning,” was Ter ence’s brief farewell, as he took himself off, not hiding his mortification. Before reaching the ipn door, he turned, however, to tfirow back an angry glance in the direction of the cottage. And he saw the girl standing on the step la the ' rain, gazing at him with a half wistful expression on her pretty, fair face. The moment he turned she disappeared in doors. This visit, the girl’s reception of him, and that inconsistent aftfer-look, filled his thoughts for the day. Never before had a girl taken such a hold upon him as this gentle creature, w’ho would scarcely throw him a civil word. After luncheon, the rain having almost ceased for a time, he buttoned himself up in his mackintosh and set out for a walk. Though the clouds remained heavy and lowering, the rain kept off for a couple of hours, long enough for him to explore a wild moor in the neighborhood. He was four or five miles from Ingatestowe when a storm of rain came on to which the downfall of the morning was but an April shower. His outer garments being wea ther-proof, Terence at first walked stol idly on his homeward way without a though of seeking shelter. But he could not smoke, for the rain put out bis pipe; and the clayey shil stuck to his boots in great clods, which made walking hard work. So that when he reached a tumble down shed, with a litHe bit of roof and rafter remaining, he thought he would wait there until the worst fury of the storm was over. As he stepped inside he was confronted by a young girl in a long black water proof. It was Fred Jelletts sister. Terence’s first impulse was to retreat and go on his way. But there was something in the girl's face so unutterably sad, so startlingly forlorn and weary, that his heart yearned to comfort her. Even at the risk of another and severer snub, he felt he must stay. And, after all. he was quite prepared to take with meakness such ( WEEKLY 2-TIMES-A-WEEK $1 A YEAR ) 4 5 CENTS A COPY. t ( DAILY, ?10 A YEAR. f MONDAYS AND THURSDAYS as he would not have shown to any otheF woman, whatever treatment this girl, with her sweet face and pale golden hair, might mete out to him. Still, there is no denying that the situation was an awkward one. He raised his hat apologetically, and, hes itating on the threshold, said: “May I wait here a little while, until the rain is less violent?’’ “Oh, of course,” she answered, stiffen ing immediiitely, and retreating a step further into the corner where she was standing. The rain poured down through a larga hole in the middle of the roof. Not dar ing to approach any nearer to the haughty lady, Terence remained near the entrance, enjoying a little shqwer bath through the lesser imperfections of this end of the roof, and staring out at the black moors and the leaden sky. / Both man and .maid remained as still as statues for some minutes; but at last the former heard a little rustling, a little fidgeting, and then he heard the girl’s voice, speaking with an evident effort to combine frigid reserve with common cour* tesy. , , “I am afraid you are getting wet. You had better stand at this end, where tha roof is not so full of holes.” He caught at the offer and came nearer taking care not to frighten or offend heri by any appearance of effusive gratitude. “Thank you,’ ’said he, allowing himself dne glance at the slender figure in black, and noting what an adorable frame thq plain little Puritanical black bonnet mads to pale face and fair Dead silence between two people stand* Ing only three feet apart proved mucH ' more irksome than it hacFbeen when, there was the length of the shed between them. It soon became intolerable to the man. “I believe it has set in for a wet night,’* he said, abruptly, at last; “so it is not of the least use to wait here. On the other* hand”—and he ventured another look at her, with her little flimsy feminine so called waterproof cloak her kid boots anti her already saturated umbrella—"you can’t tramp five miles through this.” “Oh, yes, I can. I have my waterprooi and umbrella.” “Umbrella! Why that’s only a toy!’* exclaimed Terence, with masculine con tempt. A thought struck him, daring, brilliant. “The only way to get back will be for me to hire a gig or cart or some thing at a farm house I passed about half a mile off, and drive you back to Ingates towe.” ' Her manner, which had thawed ever so little, grew icy again immediately. “1 couldn’t think of troubling you,” she said, quickly. “I don’t mind the rain; I can walk back.” She passed him, shaking her dripping umbrella, as she tried to open it. Something had gone wrong with 4t, however, and she shook and struggled with it ii» vain. “Will you allow me?” said Terence. Crimson with mortification, she yielded the umbrella to him, and lie affected to examine h with -grave attention. Still fumbling, jylth an obstinate rib, and frown ing in tw intensity of his pre-occupation, he asked'Tfiiide: i’ y— !( “Please don’t be offened if I ask you a question. Why will you not allow me th« pleasure of. doing you this tfifllipsr wrt. Vice - *'* ' The girl's manner of receiving this ques tion, and the words of her answer, struck Terence dumb With consternation. Her blue eyes sparkled; she drew herself erect; her golce betrayed the passion with which she was suddenly fired. "Because I am not charitable enough to forgive men who lead others astray,” she answered in a tremulous voice. And seizing from his hands the still un opened umbrella, she dashed out into the wet road before he could utter a word, and setting her face toward Ingatestowe, ran through the driving rain. For a few moments Terence watched her in dumb, idealess bewilderment. Was she so silly as to be hardly sane? Or was this only a new and original way of freeing herself from unwelcome atten tions? Terence could not decide. He al lowed a few minutes to elapse, so that the girl might not think he was pursuing her, and then he himself set off toward Ingatestowe, keeping astonished eyes as he went on the flying figure before him. They had to pass close under' i-ie park walls on their way to the village. jThs girl was crossing a field by a narrow footway, when Terence, who was in the high road some distance behind, saw a man in the dress of a laborer spring up from the hedge which divided the field from the next. She uttered a cry, and the man, by his gestures* seemed to b» threatening her. With a loud shout, Ter ence ran across the field toward them; but before he came up to where the girl stood motionless as if paralyzed with fright, the man had disappeared. “Which—way—did he go?”* asked Ter ence, almost breathless. He would have run past her, but to his astonishment she caught his arm and held it convulsively with both her hands. Her face was quivering with excitement! and fear. “No, no,” she gasped out, “don’t—don’t him. He—the man—did not mean to frighten me. 1 was silly! I did not see—l did not know that I cried out!” She was so much distressed, so terribly tn earnest that Terence had to appear, to give way. He, however, yielded to her en treaties that he would not follow the man in such a manner as to excite her appre hensions. She looked searchingly Into hla face, and a little bewildered frown wrink led her forehead. “You meup to find him out?” she said, slowly. “Yes. A man who will frighten a lady in a lonely place doesn’t deserve to get off so easily.” She drew a long breath. “Do you really mean that you do not know who it was?” A light crossed Terence’s face. “Was it—your brother?” But even as he uttered the words, he laughed Incredulously. She cut him short with an angry. Impulsive gesture. “You know it was,” cried she. “Why must you always pretend, pretend, pre tend?” With an indignant stamp of her foot on the wet ground, she turned quickly and ran on agaip. (To be Continued. A Cheeky Little Lunih. The Rev. Dr. Meredith, a well-known clergyman, tries to cultivate friendly rela tion with the younger members of his flock, says Pearson’s Weekly. In a recent talk to his Sunday school he urged the children to speak to him whenever they mot. The next day a dirty-faced urchin, smok ing a cigarette and having a genera dis reputable appearance, accosted him in the street with: “Hullo, doctor!” The clergyman stopped and cordially inquired: “And who are you, sir?” "I’m one of your little lambs,” replied the boy. affably. "Fine day.” And lilting his hat on his head he swag gered off, leaving the worthy divine speechless with amazement. —“Last night I dreamed that I died. What do you suppose waked me up?” "Was it the heat?”—Life. NO. 75.