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MY NEIGHBOR’S LITTLE WIFE.
On the breeze his glad son? ringing,
Flits the nieadov lark, swift, winging
To the mountain-shadowed valley, where the
cool dews softest lie;
While the budding vines aud clover.
Fling their sweetness to the rover,
Aud the golden blush of sunrise, with its glory
floods the slcy.
From the little cottage yonder
Where sweet morning-glories wander,
Round the lowly doorway twining their horns of
plenty gay;
Floats a lassie's sweet voice lilting.
List the bright-eyed birds a-tilting,
On the blossom sprays, my neighbor's wife’s
gay greeting to the day-.
In each cheek a red rose glowing,
And the wind her soft curls blowing,
Ily and hy, stands she a shading her blue eyes,
with slender hand;
While she waits my neighbor's coming,
(Storing sweets the bees are humming),
For tlie sunflower proclaimeth, that ’tU noon
tide o'er the land.
With lullabies sweet, wooing
luto dreamland, baby-cooing.
Till with white lids drooped ne nestles upon her
gentle breast;
Then, in husv household labor.
To aud fro, flits my sweet neighbor,
Till the tinkling of the cowbells, tells the sun Is
ill the west,
When the birds have ceased their roaming
In the fragrant, dewy gloaming.
Through Hie meadow-path a gay lad, comes
whistling “BonnieDoon;”
But the oak-tree hides the meeting.
And the sweet wife's tender greeting ;
While over hill and meadow rises fair the cres
cent moon. Grace T. Halsey.
Montclair, .V. J.
MORNING NEWS LIBRARY, NO. 30.
NORA OF We ADIRONMCKS!
BY ANNE E. ELLIS.
AUTHOR OF “THEM WOMEN,” ETC.
[Copyrighted, 1887, by J. H. Estill.]
CHAPTER VII.
“The carpeting was woven m Turkish looms,
From softest wool of flne Circassian sheep,
Tufted like springy moss in forests deep,
Illuminate with all its autumn blooms;
Tie antique chairs are made of cedar trees,
l’t-llcil on the lofty peaks of Lebanon.
"Sofas and couches, stuffed with cygnet's fleece,
Loll round, inviting dreaminess and ease;
The gorgeous window curtains, damask-red,
Suspended, silver ringed, on bars of gold,
Droop heavily, in many a fluted fold.
“And urns of alabaster, soft and bright,
With fawns aucl dancing shepherds on their
sides;
And costly marble vases dug from night
In Pompeii, beneath its lava tides:
“And on the walls with lifted curtains, see!
The portraits of his noble ancestry;
Thin-featured, stately dames with powdered
locks.
And courtly shepherdesses tending flocks,
Stiff lords in wigs, and ruffles white as snow,
Haught peers, and princes centuries ago,
And brave Sir Arthur, the bravest of the ljne.”
— Stoddard.
It was indeed a lovely boudoir in which
the Countess was reclining in her chair and
it needs no other words than the above lines
to describe it.
The Countess was as sweet and beautiful
as the day her husband brought her from
her father’s home, but it was a maturer
loveliness—and the dark hair was threaded
with silver; the brow was marked with lines
of care, but the sweet resignation of the
mouth and gentleness of the ejes were most
attractive.
She was attired in a flowing morning robe
of rich, blue velvet, with fewbut rare jewels
and costly lace.
The mother had been dreaming of her boy
and feeling no little amount of anxiety in
regard to him.
The Countess had rarely known a mail
day to pass during the months he had been
away without hearing from him, even if
only a few lines, to say that he was well and
to send love greetings to his lady mother
and the dear ones at Home.
And now two weeks had passed and no
word, and the Countess greatly feared he
was ill or some mischief had befallen him.
As the time for the mail arrived the
Countess grew more and more nervous and
anxious.
A gentle tap at the door and Margaret
entered bearing a salver which she presented
to her lady.
“A letter! O, Margaret!" cried the Count
ess as she took the missive from the salver
and, recognizing the dear, well-known hand
writing, she clasped her hands in joy.
“Yes, my lady, and from my bonnie boy,”
replied the aged servant.
The Countess opened the precious letter
with trembling fingers, anxious and yet
fearful to read its contents, while Margaret
seated herself near by, to wait some mes
sage from the nursling she loved so well.
It was a long letter and the Countess read
on eagerly to its close—now heaving a gentle
sigh as if there were sad news and then with
a countenance beaming with joy.
As she finished the letter she turned to
Margaret and said—
“ Our boy has been ill, as we feared.”
“Not bad, my lady?” asked nurse with a
troubled countenance.
“No, only slightly he says—he IvMw unable
to write for a time, but he is now quite well
again and he states (opening the letter and
reading)—“Tell nurse that I send her kind
love, often think of her and hope soon to see
her. ’ ”
“Bonnie boy, bonnie boy!” exclaimed
Margaret, with tears of joy in her eyes—
“said he nothing about coming home?” was
her next query.
“No, not yet. He will stay in the States
for awhile and then visit France; after that
he hopes to see us again,” replied the
Countess.
Margaret looked the disappointment she
felt, but with the exception of the silent
tear she brushed away, suid nothing.
“How like! how very like!” exclaimed the
Countess, looking intently at a picture that
had been enclosed in the letter.
Margaret looked at her lady eagerly.
“Is it not?” resumed the lady, handing
nurse the picture.
Margaret took the drawing, expecting to
see the features of her bonnie boy—but to
her keen disappointment she looked upon
the exquisite face of Nora, whose much
loved features Sir Arthur hail striven to
picture and send borne to his mother—but
witli not a word of his love for the fair girl.
“Nurse, is it not/like Lady Nora, the late
lamented wife of Lord Dudley?” asked the
Countess.
“Yes, my Indy, strangely like,” replied
Margaret os site scanned the < lelieato features
of the fair young girl. “And who may she
bef” naked she, looking at the Countess in
quiringly.
“She is the daughter of the people with
whom nty hoy is staying, be”—
The Countess was here interrupted by the
entrance of the Earl.
He advanced smilingly to meet his wife.
“I)o not rise, my love,” said he, kissing
her nirect innately as she arose to greet him
with a glad snule.
The Earl led his wife tenderly to a divan
and, seating himself lieside her, drew the
stately head on his shoulder while his arm
encircled her waist.
“A letter, wifle?” asked lie, taking the
missive from the Countess, who had handed
it to him.
She answered him with a fond smile and
Ktted his stem cheek with her shapely
nd.
Margo ret had seated herself in the recess
of a window near by witli some sewing; her
long years of servitude hod made her a priv
ileged person and she always remained in
Bearing when her “bonnie ix>y ’ was the sub
jert of discussion.
“Ah, from onr boy?” exclaimed the Earl,
opening the letter and reading.
He read it through without change of
countenance.
“Is it not sad, dear husband, about the
foisuf girlf,’ b*ud the Countess Fadly.
“Yes, my love. Hut it is Juat as likely
she has eloped with the young Frenchman;
people of that class aro always doing some
thing strange,” replied the Earl indiffer
ently; Abut'l should think he had better
return home and attend to his own affaiis—
I have other plans in anew for him —the girl
w-ill turn up in some absurd way without
him staying to hunt her up.”
Sir Arthur had told of the abduction of
Nora without explaining his part of the
transaction, only stating that he had suffered
from a slight illness.
Margaret's face wore a strangely troubled
expression as the letter was read entirely to
her. She foresaw the danger her boy was
in. which his father and mother in their
pride did not dieam of.
“Margaret bring that drawing to the Earl
so he may also see it?” requested the lady.
Nurse arose and handed the sweet picture
to her lord.
He took it and gazed at it with surprise
aud admiration.
“She is certainly very beautiful,” said he,
after looking at the sweet face intently.
“Yes, indeed! but is she not most strangely
like the lovely Lady Nora that died while
abroad?” asked the” Countess.
“Most like, I must confess,” replied her
husband thoughtfully.
“And then that strange story of Lady
Dudley reaching that wild place such a
stormy night and dying there, and the two
babes born the same rnght—singular is it
not?”
“Strange beyond comprehension,” replied
the Earl. “I remember,” resumed he,
“hearing something about Lad y N.ora dying
in some out of the way place in America,
and that she and her babe were brought
home to be buried; but I never mentioned
the subject to Lord Dudley—his grief al
ways seemed to be so poignant that I dreaded
opening the old wound.
“I would show him the picture, dear; it
may be a pleasure to him to see it.”
“Perliap I will, wifle, if I see a fitting
opportunity—but now I have come to teS
you good news, so let us drop this rustic
maiden.”
“Good news, husband 1” exclaimed the
Countess joyfully.
“Yes, are you prepared to hear it, or will
you be overcome with the jov? Get the sal
volatile ready, Margaret, lest your lady
faints when I tel! her,” replied the Earl with
as much playfulness as it was possible for
the proud man to assume.
Margaret laughed and the Countess cried:
“What is it, husband? Teh me quieklv.”
“Women have no curiosity,” replied he,
“but as you are dying to know, I will re
lieve your anxiety””
The Countess looked up in his face anx
iously.
“Well, you are going to have anew
daughter—you have been wishing for one.”
“A daughter! O. husband! speak plainer.
I do not understand you. ”
“To explain matters more fully—Lord
Ernst and myself, during a conversation
this morning, concluded that Lauy Betty
and our boy were of marriageable age, and
as they had been old playmates and for
aught we know lovers, we concluded they
were exactly suited to each other and settled
the bargain.”
“O, husband!” was all the Countess could
say after he had concluded; she had been
listening breathlessly to his Account.
“Are not you pleased, dearest?”
“Pleased I—ah,1 —ah, dear husband, you do not
know how pleased! I have always loved
Betty like my own child, and now she will
be our own dear daughter.”
His wiftfs pleasure put the Earl in an
extra good humor and he was more affec
tionate than usual.
“The Lady Betty is a beautiful girl and
blushed like a rose when her father told her
of the good luck in store for her in my
presence,” said the Earl.
“Did she seem willing?”
“Perfectly. She says she always liked
Arthur from a child.”
“Ah! then all will go happily and lam
sure our boy will be glad.”
Neither saw the troubled face of Margaret
as she bent over her work —her heart bled
for her nursling—why, she knew not, but
she felt that it was hard for the human will
to control the heart, and, although her hoy
had always seemed most docile and obedi
ent, yet she feared from the tone of his letter
that he had already learned to love the beau
tiful girl ho had so strangely met in the wilds
of the American Adirondacks, and she knew
the haughty pride of the Earl would never
allow a mesalliance for his only son and
would only cause endless trouble.
“Shall we tell our son the good fortune in
store for him when we write, dear wife?”
asked the Earl.
The Countess thought for a few moments
without speaking and then replied—
“l think it would be better not, dear;
why not wait until his return and then let
the young people find out their love dream
for themselves?’
“As you please, my love—but the secret
seems too good to keep.”
“You know, my dear husband, Lady Betty
is so very lovely that Arthur cannot help
but love her, and then there will lie no dan
ger of his rebelling,” replied the Countess.
“Rebel! my son rebel!” cried the Earl in
a voice of contempt; “my love, our son is
a Beaconsfield, and it is not a Beaconsfield
trait to rebel against that which is for their
own interests —no, wife, he ivill not refuse!”
the latter expression given in a tone that im
plied “he .shall not rebel! my word is law
and I will bend my son to my ow r n proud
will.”
“But wbat if he should not love her?”
asked his wife timidly.
“Love! pooh!—that will do for sentiment
al fools but not fora Beaconsfield. We have
sense and are not w eak.”
Seeing the grieved expression on his wife’s
countenance ne kissed and soothed her and
then withdrew.
Poor Margaret, her heart ached for her
boy.
CHAPTER VIII.
The old woman tried every means in her
power to restore Nora to consciousness, but
it was a long time before there were any
signs of returning life —so long that she
feared the young girl might be dying,
i But, after vigorous rubbing and bathing,
Nora opened her eyes wearily.
She gazed around the room languidly, and
only asked:
“Where am IT
“With friends,” replied the old woman.
The answer satisfied and the tired girl
dropped off into a troubled sleep.
The woman, hard-hearted as she was, felt
some pity for the young lass as she gazed
upon her fresh young beauty and noted tho
pale, anxious face.
While Nora was sleeping the door of the
lower room ojiened, and a cautious step as
cended the stairs and stopped outside or the
chamber door. Finding that all was still,
the key was turned and the door opened
wide enough to admit a head.
“Hush!” said the woman, raising her
finger and motioning to the person to be
quiot.
She stepped on tip-toe to the door and,
pushing the person outside, went out with
nim.
“Well, how is she aiming on by this
time?” asked Duvanee anxiously, for it was
he who had looked in the room.
“Bleepin' now, but I was most afeerd she
wouldn’t come to—she laid so white and still
like, and it was a long bit afore I could
bring her round,” replied his companion.
“Do you think she will come around all
right?" asked Duvanee, anxiously.
“Yes, with care; but she mustn’t be dis
tort >ed or slowed, or I wouldn't answer for
tho consequemwi. She’s a weakly gal, and
that brain o’ hern ’ll go off like wild fire ef
she’s worried any more.”
“Take rare of her then, Nell, and you
shall be well paid,” replied the Frenchman.
“Never you fear. Nell hasn't lived this
long to have revenge on them as she hatzs
without carryin’ of it out. It isn’t part of
my plan fur Ler to die, so I’ll take ker on
her, trust Nell fur that,” replied the old
woman with a chuckle.
.“How soon will it be do you think before
I can marry her?” asked Duvanee.
“I wouldn't like to sav anything about
it in less than a week. We’ll coddle her up
and git her strong and then ye kin visit her
and hatch up some yarn or other to work
up her feelin’s—she’ll mm out all right,
never fear!" was the reply.
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY. JULY 3. 1887.
“What shall I say!” asked Duvanee, by
way of answer.
“Say! you’d be a funny Frenchman ef ye
didn’t know what to say—they’re all say,”
replied the woman with a sarcastic laugh.
Duvanee winced and looked somewhat
angry at this sally, but, as he was in the
woman's power, thought it best for policy’s
sake to be careful.
A weak voice within called:
“Arthur!”
The woman gave Duvanee a sign to leave
and hastened into the room.
Nora lay awake looking around, and now
fully understanding that she was in a strange
place.
The woman approached the bed whereon
Nora lay and said:
“Well, girleen, how are yon now?”
“Aunt Nell!” exclaimed Nora in surprise,
and shrinking from her with instinctive
dread.
“Yes, it’s yer own Aunt Nell,” replied the
woman with a^laugh.
The woman was"indeed the sister of Mag.
She seldom visited her relative, and was
now supposed to be a hundred miles away.
But, aunt though she was, Nora disliked tier
from a little child and had always refused
all caresses.
Nell understood the child’s dislike and
hated her accordingly, as all such low na
tures do; but she had a purpose and con
cealed her feelings under the false guise* of
affection.
“Where am I. Aunt Nell?” again asked
Nora, looking around the room with its
coarse furniture.
“Where ye’ll lie taken good care of, honey,
until yer better,” chuckled Nell.
“Howdid I come here?”
“Ye met with an haccident, lovie. and
they brought ye here as the safest place.”
“What accident? How did it happen?”
again asked Nora
Before the old woman could reply memory
brought back the harrowing scene of the
morning.
“Oh, Arthur, my love!” Nora cried.
“Hush, girlee! hush! ye’ll make yersel’ ill
agin,” said her aunt in alarm at the sudden
turn of affairs.
“Aunt Nell, tell me, do tell me! Where
is Arthur?”
“Hush, girl, you must be quiet.”
“But is He dead, Aunt Nell ? Tell me, do
tell, Aunt. Nell?” cried the girl, frantically.
“When you get better I will tell ye as
much as I know, but ye must be quiet now,”
replied the woman, impatiently.
“I cannot. Aunt Nell, until I know! I
saw him failing down, down, down before
my eyes into that rocky chasm where lie
eoulf not have been but dashed in pieces!
O, my love! O, my love! if you are dead,
I will die also! I cannot live without you!”
shrieked Nora, falling on her knees with out
stretched hands.
Nell did not know what to do, but her
usual wit and cunning came to her aid.
“I ’spose yer cryin’ fur that young chap
as come to yer father’s house, and ef ye’ll
git up and behave like a sensible girl I’ll tell
ye all about it,” said she.
Nora looked at her, aud then arose slowly
and seated herself on the lounge.
Before I tell ye take a drink of this,” said
the old woman, bringing a glass of wine
and handing it to Nora.
The young girl obeyed, drank the wine
and prepared to listen, but before Nell could
commence the draught which was drugged
had its effect, and Nora sank ou the couch
in profound slumber.
Nell chuckled at her success, and, cover
ing the girl with a robe, left the room mut
tering:
“So far, so good! she’ll not trouble any
more for awhile.”
CHAPTER IX.
Nora slept on till next day, her slumber
undisturbed even by dreams; and when she
awoke she was so stupefied from the effects
of the drugged wine tliat she ate her food in
silence and without appearing to realize her
situation.
She bad been in her prison over a week
before Duvanee ventured to visit her. She
hail asked to be taken home and been re
fused. Nell gave different excuses for not
complying with her requests.
Nora began to realize that she was a pris
oner for some nefarious reason, and her
whole thought now was how to escape.
She knew that the more docile and quiet
she was the better she could carry
out her purpose. From the innocent, trust
ing girl she had been when first brought
there, she was becoming a clever actress.
Nora had been imprisoned a little over a
week in the hut, and was sitting at the win
dow in moody silence looking out when a
gentle tap at the door and, “Come in” from
Nell, brought the unwelcome form of Du
vanee.
Nora looked at him in indignant surprise
as he entered the room and advanced toward
her bowing and smiling; she gave him no
recognition, except a glance of loathing and
contempt.
“How do I find you to-day, fair lady?”
Asked he, not heeding her disdainful man
ners.
“That I cannot tell you, Mr. Duvanee—
perhaps if you were to tell me why I am
thus imprisoned and restore me to my lib
erty and my dear old father, whom I know
to bo breaking his heart at my mysterious
disappearance, I could answer you better,”
replied Nora, with flashing eyes.
“Is it possible! Have you told her?” said
the wily Frenchman, in well-feigned sur
prise, turning to Nell.
“No, I felt afraid to. I thought you
could tell so much better than me,” replied
Nell, craftily,
“Then you do not know the sad story of
your being hero?” again said Duvanee, with
a hypocritical sigh.
“No, I do not know all, but I suspect,” re
plied the young girl, sadly.
“Will you tell me what you suspect?” de
manded her interrogator with something like
a sneer.
The look did not escape Nora’s sharp eye,
and she cried in anger;
“Siisjiect, Henry Duvanee! Suspect! I
do not snspect now! I know! You killed
my lover—the man I loved better than my
life! O, Arthur, my love!”cried she, clasp
ing her hands in agony. “Yes, you killed
Arthur Beaconsfield and brought me here
because you hated him and wished to ruin
me! That is what I know! But rememtior
this, Duvanee, there is a God nlxive who
will punish you for vour wicked act and
bring you to retribution at last!”
The Frenchman winced under this, but ho
gave a scornful laugh and said:
“That sounds very pretty, sweetheart; I
think it was the best thing to bring you here
after all. No one knew how much spirit
there was in you before. I told your father
he had better take you home, but it seems
that he was right when ho insisted on bring
ing you to your Aunt Nell.”
Diivanoe told this barc-fneed falsehood
without blushing.
“My father insisted on bringing me here!”
repeated the astonished girl, as she listened
with dilated eyes to Duvanee.
“Yes, my pretty one. Hinee you must
have an explanation, I will tell you tlmt
your father felt a little afraid of that white
fingered gent after he hail Asked him for
you—awl after that sham engagement he
Had watched and caught him just in the
nick of time —just as he was about to carry
you off, no one knows where, or what you
would have been by this time,” replied the
Frenchman, watching her furtively to see
the effects of his words.
Nora clasped her hamls together, and then
raising them to her head clasisxl her tem
ples its if she feared they would buret with
the terrible agony produced by Duvanee’s
heartless speech.
And then with eyes dilated and with hands
stmohed forward as if she would tear him
in pieces, Norn shrieked:
‘‘Man, how dare you slander my dear,
good father and the one I loved—anil do love
and will always love! Arthur Braeons
geld was good and true —you knew it and
that my father loved him. You know you
say what is not tine when you say my father
put me here! My own heart tells mo tliat
my faiher would risk his life to
find me and rescue me if ho
knew where I was! Go!—go!—go!”
shrieked the maddened girl, advancing to
ward him with the knifeln her hand which
she had secreted from the tray on which her
dinner had been brought her. "Go. or 1 will
not answer for the consequences of your in
famy ! Leave me and never let me see your
vile face again!”
Duvanee looked at the heretofore gentle
girl in amazement and hastily retreated
from the room, taking care to lock the door
after him.
Nell was puzzled what to do—she was
afraid to speatc, lest the excited girl should
turn u]K>n her and wisely concluded to let
her alone.
But as soon as Duvanee was safely away
Nora again concealed her knife, and drop
ping on her chair buret into tears.
The story that had been told her she did
not believe, and she was now sure of wliat
had been a mere surmise before.
It was now growing toward dusk, and
Nell went down stairs to get lights, leaving
Nora aloua It seldom happened t hat she
was left for a moment. Nell kept watch
over her night and day, ami Nora felt that
her chances of escape were small.
There was a large, overhanging oak by
the only window the room could boast of,
and Norn often thought if she could only
get to the large branch within touch she
could escape, but the window was grated,
and although the bars were only wood, she
never liad enough tune to attempt to cut
them away.
As soon as Nell had left the room Nora
arose and went to the window and shook
the bars to see if she could loosen them.
“Hist!”said a voice from the tree.
Nora started back in alarm.
“Do not be frightened.” again said the
voice; “I'm a friend. Put your hand through
the the bars, I have something for you.”
Nora drew closer to the window, thrust
out her hand and a note was placed in it.
The white fingers closed eagerly over it aud
she was once more alone; all that could bo
heard was the cruckliug of the branches of
the oak as if a squirrel was running over
them.
Nora concealed the note in her bosom,
and although trembling with eagerness ana
apprehension when Nell returned with the
lights, her outward appearance was much
the same as when the woman loft the room.
Nell placed the lights ou the table, and
again went Mow for Nbra’ssupper.
The young girl tremblingly broke open the
note and read:
“My Dear Girl — Your prison has boon
discovered, and you will soon be with your
friends again. Sleep up your spirits—l am
alive and well, and your father and mvself
aro sparing no efforts to rescue vou from
your unpleasant position. Bo on the lookout
to-night. Your own, Arthur.”
Nora's whole demeanor changed as she
read the familiar writing, and when her
aunt returned she fonnd her niece looking so
happy and contented with nothing left of
the dear note that she kissed over and over
again but a few ashes on the hearth.
Nora ate her supper with a relish, and
Nell was more and more surprised at her
joyful appearance; and indeed—relieved—
as she was afraid severe measures would
have to be taken to bring her to subjection.
“How long will I have to stay here,
Aunt Nell ?” Asked the young girl to break
the silence and to prevent tHe old woman
becoming suspicious.
“Why, niece, that rests with yourself, yer
dad’s anxious to have ye settled, afore any
one sees yer party face agin—and he wants
ye ter marry Mi-. Duvanee, as hez plenty
of money and a nice homo ter take yer too,
and then ye’ll be safe.”
Nora knew this was false, but she smiled
as she thought that it would not be long ere
she was with her loved ones again.
Nell thought she laughed because she was
pleased with the idea of marrying Duvanee,
and said eagerly as she raised the tray to
carry down:
“Shall I tell yer lover he kin come now!”
“No, oh, no! replied Nora, with difficulty
concealing the terror she felt at the very
idea of meeting again the would-be mur
derer of her lover and dostrover of her
peace; “wait till we are married—that will
be time enough.”
Nell looked disappointed, but went below
to report their success to the Frenchman.
Duvanoe listened with satisfaction—he
hail exp<*oted more trouble—but novy that
Nora hnd expressed her willingness he
would wait a week for the marriage'; only
he was anxious to get the gil l away from
the neighborhood as soon as posssble.
CHAPTER X.
In the meanwhile the new visiter at Bar
ney’s was growing daily in favor witli all
the frequenters of the tavern.
Barney himself was more than pleased
with this new acquisition—he was delighted.
He had never had one who could dance a
jig, sing a humorous song, or crack a joke
like Martin, and the bar was nightly filled
with customers who had flocked hither to
see the fun.
That Dobbs was one of themselves, Bar
ney had no doubt. The nod of the head and
the wink of the eye when a covert joke was
cracked over a glass of good gin t hat eould
not have lieen sold at the price if it had not
been smuggled, showed that, Martin under
stood the way the w ind blew.
The intimacy between Dobbs and Dovro
field grew into a w-artn friendship, and it
was not long ere Dobbs was invited up to
Dovrofielil’s room in the tavern, which, not
withstanding his mysterious visits, he al
ways kept.
Had Dovrefield have seen the sly, covert
glances given to every movement, when he
was searching in his chest for a missing pi
per; had he have known that every action
was noted by a keen eye, Dobbs’ days would
have been numbered.
As it was not a suspicion entered the
Frenchman’s mind, wily though he was,
that his companion was merely spying upon
his actions. And although Dovrefield was
too crafty to tell any important secrets,
Martin knew enough from wliat he hail
seen and heard to convince him that Dovre
field and Duvanee were one and tho same
person, and that the metal casket he had
seen him take from his chest more than once
contained secrets that would be of value mid
show many a hidden crime.
The detective was also convinced that
Dovrefield knew the whereabouts of the
missing girl.
It was an unusually dark night, and
Dovrefield and Dobbs had been gaming and
drinking in a small room adjoining the bar
room—they played until fLst midnight,
when Dovrefield, although he had lieen
drinking heavily and could stnnd with dif
lienity. departed for his nightly walk.
Doblis was lying with his head on the table
in an apparently drunken sleep—but Dovre
fieldjiad no more than left the room when
the fellow raised his head and looked around
to be sure he was safely alone.
Finding that he was in no ihmger of lin
ing discovered, he went cautiously fo the
window and looking outside gave a nod.
Dobl* then jumped from the window to
the ground, which was only a few feet.
Strange os it may appear, hardly a second
had elapsed ere another figure, the exact,
counterpart of Dobbs, entered the window
and was soon lying in the at tho
table as if nothing had happened.
And none too soon—the crowd in the bar
room was becoming more noisy every min
ute, and cries of “1 lobbs! Dobbs!” were heard
above the din.
Barney opener! the door and entered the
room where Dobbs lay sleeping.
“Halloo, Dobbs, my man! Wake up!”
cried he. going to the sleeping man and
shaking him vigorously.
It was sometime before Pobhs could be
awakened, and when be wat he raised him
self and staggered to his feet, looking at
Barney with a maudlin stare.
"Ha—oo, did 'ce say? Hay, ’ll feller, d’ye
want ter fight?” said Dobbs, doubling upnis
lists and putting himself in fighting atti
tude.
“I'ight? no man! Como along, they want
you to ing,” answered Barney, laughing ut
the queer figure cut by Doblrs.
“King, did ’ee say?" replied the detective,
staggering into the barroom, where lie kept
theeornpuny laughing boisterously unUl al
most daylight with hu drunken songs and
Irish jigs.
Dovretleld left Barney’s and wended his
way through the forest. When a few yards
away from the tavern he turned aside, and
taking a small dark lantern from his pocket,
lit it and plunged into the heart of the
forest.
Had it not have lieen for the intense dark
ness and the light of the lantern which
made the blackness more apparent, ho would
have seen another figure following him at no
little distance.
As it was Dovrefleld did not even suspect,
so noiseless was the tread of the one behind,
him, but he arrived at the dilapidated build
ing—whit h answered for Nora's prison, anti
entering laid down on the lounge and slept
so soundly from the effects of the liquor
that he heard nothing.
Dobhs approached the house with the tread
of a cat, and climbing the large oak in front
of the tloor with the agility of a cat looked
in.
By the light, of the lamp that was kept
burning through the night he discerned
two female figures; one (Nell) was sleeping
on the lounge, and the other (Nora) on the
bed. He knew it was the missing girl by her
beauty, which was not hidden even in the
lamplight.
It would have been an easy matter for
Dobbs to have entered the hut then and res
cued Nora, but that was not his plan. He
knew if she was rescued then that Duvaneo
would escape and perhaps Barney, and it
was part of Dobbs’ programme to secure the
persons of those two at the same time.
He was sure that they were the leaders of
a band of smugglers that hud been infesting
the American border#, but positive proof
was wanting.
Suspicion of two or three murders was
also pretty strong.
Dobbs and his twin brother, who had also
acted in concert with Martin, to make the
illusion more perfect, they being so very
similar in appearance as to defy the sharp
est expert to distinguish them apart, were
anxious to secure the reward that had been
offered by the government for this very band
of men.
Dobbs descended from the tree and hur
ried in another direction toward Timmy’s;
but before emerging from the forest he
stopped behind a large rock and in a mo
ment proceeded on his way so completely
transformed, that no one who had seen
Martin Dobbs would have known this pier
son to bo him.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
BROWN’S IRON BITTERS.
\ R j||jgj up
ilffllli
BESTTQNIC. ?
This medicine, combining Iron with pure
Vegetable tonics, quickly anti completely
Bures Dyepepsln, I ihUhi-Mloii, Wenltness*
lin pure Blood, .lliiluriu,(kills and Fevers,
anti Neuralgia.
It is an unfailing remedy for Diseases of the
Kidneys and Liver.
It is invaluable for Diseases peculiar to
Women, and all who lead sedentary lives.
It does not injure the teeth, cause headache,or
produce constipation —other Iron mrdiemn< da
It enriches and purifies the blood, stimulate*
the appetite, aids the assimilation of food, re
lieves Heartburn und Belching, and strength
ens the muscles and nerves.
For Intermittent Fevers, Lassitude, lack ol
Energy, Ac., it has no equal.
4a- The genuine has above trade mark and
crossed red lines on wrapper. Take no other.
a-Unalrfcr SHOWS CHBirn (<1„ tUTIHORR, nl\
LOTTERY.
_ _ 1 ■'
L.S.L.
CAPITAL PRIZE, $150,000.
u We do hereby certify that ice supervise the
arrangements for all the Monthly and Semi-
Annual Drawings of the Louisiana Shite Lot
tery ( 'runpony, and in person manage, and con
trol the Dron ings themselves, and that the mine
are conducted with honesty, fairness, and in
go'xl faith toward all parties, and we authorize
the Company to use this certificate , with fac
similes of our signatures attached, in its adver
tisements.”
Commissioners.
HV the undertlgned /tank, and /tanker, will
put)nil Pri a. drawn in the Owimuna Stain /xtt
terie. a'h>c!i way ha pretented at anr counters.
J. H OGLESBY. Pres. Louisiana Nat’l Bank.
PIERRE LANAUX, Pres. State Nat'l Bank.
A, BALDWIN, Pres. New Orleans Nat'l Bank.
CARL KOHN, Pres. Union National Bank.
UNPRECEDENTED ATTRACTION'
U Over Half a Million Distributed.
LOUISIANA STATE "LOTTERY COMPANY.
Incorporated in 1868 for 25years ly the
laturo for Educational and cnttritablu yurpo*o
—wit h a capital of $1,000,000 to which a r eserve
fund of over $550,000 has siheo been added.
By an overwhelming popular vote it fran
chise waft mode a part of tho present State con-
HtitJition, adopted IlecemberSd, A. f>. 187 ft.
The only Lottery ever voted on and indorsed
by the people of any State.
It never scales or postpones.
It* Grand t-in*cl*s \ii in her Drawings take
place monthly, and the Semi-Animal llraw-
regularly every ilx mouth* (June and
Decern her).
A M*LKM>ID OPPORTUNITY TO Wl*
A FOKITI \K. SEVENTH GRAND DRAWING,
CLASS 0, IN THE ACADEMY OF MUSK;,
NEW ORLEANS, TUESDAY, July 12, 1887
2ft(il)i Monthly Drawing.
Capital Prize, $150,000.
139“ Notice - Tickets are Ten Dollars only.
Halves, $5; Fifths, $2; Tenths, sl.
LIST nr PRIZES.
1 CAPITAL PRI/.K OF SIBO,OOO ~ .$150,000
1 GRAND PRIZE OF 60,000.... 60.000
1 GRAND PRIZE OF 80,000 20,i**>
2 LARGE PRIZES OF 10,000 ... 80.000
4LA tt< IE PRIZES OF 6,000.... 80,000
80 PRIZES OF 1,000 ... 20,01*)
50 PRIZES OF 600 ... 85,000
100 PRIZES OF 800. .. 80,000
800 PRIZES OF 200 ... 40,i*K)
600 PHIZES OF. 100 ... 60,000
1,000 PRIZES OF 50.... 50,000
APPROXTSfATIOSf PFtIZP.H.
100 Approximation Prizes of $800.... s:io,noo
100 •* “ 200.... 20,(*
100 “ “ 100... 10,000
2,179 Prize*, amounting to. $536,000
Application for rat*** to clnlw *ljoul<l !*■ marie
only to the office of tlie Company in New Or
leans.
For further information write clearly, giving
full address. POSTAL NOT Bn, Expratw
Money Orders, or New York Exchange in ordi
nary letter. Currency by Kxprewitnt our expense)
addressed M. A. DAUPHIN,
New Orlcan*, U.
or 31. A. RAI PIIIN,
W Hshliitf ion, U. C.
Address Regislefed Letters io
NEW ORLEANS NATIONAL RANK.
New Orleans, La.
RFMFM RF R That Mw presence of Oen
n C IVI C. iVI DC. n oraU Beauregard and
Early, who ore In charge of the drawings, I* a
guarantee of absolute fairness ami Integrity,
that the chances are all etpial, arid that no one
can possibly divine what number will draw a
Prize.
RE ME MI) Eft that the payment of all Prizes
is GUARANTEED IIY FOUR N ATIONAL
R ANKS of New Orleans, and the Tickets are
signed by the Presidentof an Institution, whose
chartered rights are reeognlzed in the highest
Courts; therefore, beware of any imitations or
anonrmoiiM schemas.
DRV GOODS.
STRUCK
BY _A_
TORNADO!
11l I TWO GREAT STORMS!
The Storm of Reduction!
Tie Storm of Patronage!
Gray & O’Brien
COTSTTXnNTTTE TO WEAR
THE BUSINESS CROWN.
0
Their recent Mark Down, or in other words, their Great
Closing Out Sale, Showing Reduced Prices, has been re
corded in the Journal of Philanthropic Renown and posted
on the credit side of Success in the Ledger of Recognition.
Consult your own interest by reading the balance of
this week’s bulletin.
CABKB Garner Colored Lawns at 3c. a yard.
5 CARES White P. K. at 3c. a yard.
CARES Crinkled Seersuckers at sc. a yard.
BALES yard wide Rea Island at 5c.; worth 8a
CARES well assorted Bc. Calicoes; reduced to sc.
We know of no way of judging the future but by the
past, and judging by the past, the people are justified in giv*
ing us their confidence and patronage.
CASES White India Lawn at 6J4c.; reduced from 10a
SCARES White Check .Mull at 10c.; reduced from 30a
CASES White Check Mull at wt£a; reduced from 25c.
CASES Arlington 13-4 White Bpreads at 75c.; reduced from
*1 35.
CASES Twill Cheviot, for Suits or Shirts, at 12J^c.; worth 25c.
Out of the cloudless sky the sun pours down its flood
of golden light, giving a brilliancy to all of nature’s object®
and the great closing out sale at GRAY & O’BRIEN’S.
YARDS White Embroideries—a big bargain—
at 5c.; worth double.
111 I I YARDS Hwlss Embroideries—a big bargain—
at We.; worth double.
111 Wb bar * aln
111 YARDS Oriental Lace—* big bargain—at 5a :
■ I 1 1 I I worth double.
/ YARPS Oriental I-aca—a big bargain—at
10c.; worth double.
The grade of our goods has never been lowered, and we
unhesitatingly challenge comparison.
PIECES 44-Inch Nun’s Veiling (block), at 37J4c.; market
pu value 75c.
I | PIECES Nun's Veiling, black and colors, at 10c,; worth
Bargain y pieces Turkey Red Damask at 2214 c.; reduced from
® /ill PIECES Rummer Silks at 40c. and 50c.; worth 75a
ft ■■ and $l.
PIECES Plaid Ginghams at 7c. and Bc.; worth 10c. and
U'Afi.
The advantages presented by us to buyers are legion
and can scarcely be summed up.
DOZEN Genta’ Gauze Vests at 26c.; market value 50a
I DOZEN Ladies’ Gauze Vests at 25c.; market value 50a
BnrgnjfT || Q I DOZEN Children s Gauze Vests at 15c.; market value
" I 111 Children's Solid Hose at 20c.; market value 30c.
DOZEN Ludius’ Balbriggan Hose at 25c.; market
value 50c.
TREATMENT ALUS II BIST 1-
Prices Always the Lowest!
Gray & O’Brien
AUGUSTA. SAVANNAH, COLUMBUS,
5