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TAKE CARE WHOM
YOU TRUST.
BY COMPTON READE.
CHAPTER XIX.
To get settled in Lingeville lodgings with all
their surroundings of greasy discomfort and
shameless extortion was a work of days. Upon
this followed a more agreeable occupation, viz.
patronage of the local shopkeepery; for Adine,
whose simple raiment sufficed to command ad
miration in Mudflat, speedily discovered the
necessity of rehabilitation, in order to rise to
the just requirements of a fashionable watering-
place. Pecunious be the pockets of him whose
wife or daughter enters the wily portals of
drapery in that centre of display, more especially
during the whirl of the season. The brisker
the trade, the higher the prices. The wage of
one hundred labourers for a whole year shall be
dissipated by one pair of fair hands in an after
noon, and there shall be nothing much to show
after all. Poor labour !
In such utilitarian pursuits nearly a fortnight
out of the precious thirty-one days slipped
away; each sunset bringing Mr. Lovett’s engage
ments to the bank and Mr. Bulps more and
more terribly close. Yet Coldhole advowson
remained a drug in the market, and, whilst
under the benign sunshine of Lingeville ready
money kept dissolving, there appeared no friend
ly opening whereby a poor waif-parson might
extemporise bread-winning.
At last, however, in answer to a chance adver
tisement, a certain Mr. Brown wrote to state
that, subject to approval of Coldhole after inspec
tion, he felt disposed to offer as much as seven
thousand pounds. He did not object to Essex
marshes. Good interest on capital he consid
ered of paramount importance. In that respect
Mr. Blackley’s benetice seemed to offer unique
advantages.
At once their heaviness was turned into joy.
In the periphrastic diction of a weak candour
Mr. Brown was informed that bis letter was
only too satisfactory. Should this sale be effect
ed, then the gordian knot was severed. The
bank could be satisfied, and a permanent mort
gage on St. Mary’s Chapel would both wipe off
all scores and enable Mr. Lovett to mount the
pulpit of that celebrated temple of well-dressed
orthodoxy. A telegram forthwith was despatch
ed to Horace Blackley, who, with his wife, had
returned to Coldhole in order to arrange the
details neccessary to transmigration.
As for Mr. Brown, meaning business, he act
ed with considerable promptitude. He went
down to Coldhole immediately on receipt of Mr.
Lovett’s reply, and marched note-book in hand
to the rectory, intending to jot down its vari
ous details, architectural and internal. A surly
domestic answered the door. Mr. Blackley
was not at home. No. He couldn’t see the
house, nor the church neither. Perhaps he was
mistook; this was a private dwelling, not an ex
hibition.
Surprised and indignant, Mr. Brown took in
to his counsel the village publican, who avowed
himself ‘main sure as parson was within doers.
What sort of a man was Mr. Blackley ? Well, a
rum 'un. Plaguy okkard, and brutal stingy.
He’d just step up to the rectory back doer, and
ax a question or so.’ This in return for the sum
of two shillings and sixpence.
The upshot of this amateur detective art
proved to be the ugly discovery that Horace
ducAley bail at .. lio w »ci">uro uiuutu.
He was at home. Mr. Brown, placing his own
interpretation on this conduct returned to town,
and abruptly closed the negotiation, assigning,
however, to Mr. Lovett the real reason for so
doing ; and, by way of sting, adding that from
impressions imperfectly formed of Coldhole, he
should certainly under other circumstances have
bought the living.
Mr. Lovet, thus baffled and driven to bay,
wrote to Mr. Brown a full explanation of his
own precarious position. Whereafter Mr.
Brown, though with obvious reluctance, reopen
ed negotiation, the entire correspondence occu
pying a full week, and thereby bringing the
date of the bills due to within a few days of
maturity.
The poor souls began to hate garish Linge
ville ; to wish themselves at home again in Mud-
flat. Alas ! however, mescit vox missa reverti.
The die was cast.
At last Mr. Brown fixed a meeting in London,
requesting, somewhat peremptorily, that the
vendors would bring matters to an issue ; for in
the interim—Mr. Blackley having returned to
Mudflat—he had again run down to Coldhole,
and found its various arrangements quite equal
to his expectations.
To make assurance doubly sure against a
hitch, Mr. Lovett telegraphed to Mr. Blackley,
entreating him to attend this meeting. He ask
ed for a return-telegram. It did not arrive : but
this fact did not go for much. Mudflat was so
distant from {civilization that unless Horace
Blackley happened to be at home exactly when
the telegraph Mercury arrived, a reply was an
impossibility.
“Adine,” said her husband at breakfast, “if
ever I succeed at St. Mary’s I shall hope to com
pensate poor Roper for his loss on our old glebe
farm.”
“If ever,” sighed Adine to herself.
Fortified with this benevolent resolve, he took
the train to the metropolis. Saddened by the
reflections awakened by his words, she attempt
ed in vain to digest the pages of a book, which
only the night before had delighted her. Now,
in her hour of great anxiety, all thoughts not of
a home nature appeared irrelevant and distaste
ful. She closed her eyes and the book, and be
gan to cast up the accounts of her past.
Evidently, Horace Biackley had laid a trap
for their unwary selves. His old notion of ven
detta for her foolish girl frolic, was still alive.
She felt sure that her foe would triumph. In
deed, bad he not now the game in his own
Lands? And thus her poor Dore would be sac
rificed. Why did she not confess to his loving
eais that ugly bit of history ? Had she reveal
ed it, his manly judgment would have guarded
against a snare, which she, although forewarn
ed had been blind to perceive. And yet she
could not but agree with herself that it is was
rather impossible to make such a confession ;
pride forbade it.
Having thus reviewed her past, with its train
of fatal consequence, an idea obtruded^ itself,
that it might not be impossible by working on
the old love, now turned to hate, for her to in
fluence Horace Blackley. If she understood his
game, he would somehow frustrate this negotia
tion with Mr. Brown. Of that 3he had a very
strong presentiment. Still, this failure would
signify less, if he only could be persuaded to
act in a friendly spirit; and somehow, conscious
of power over his heart, she fancied she could
make the man do anything. True, the role was
a difficult one to play, but in their almost des
perate circumstances much appeared justifia
ble, which at other times would be rightly term
ed rank treachery to her beloved lord. She was
pondering whether to open fire upon him by a
letter, or whether it would be wiser to wait the
course of events, and at the crisis to attempt
interposition, when the house-girl of the estab
lishment intruded a countenance, repulsive by
nature and neglect, to announce that a gentle
man below desired an audience of Mrs. Lovett.
“A gentleman !’’ cried she. “Surely you are
njmistaken.”
“It might be a tailor or a boot-maker for the
matter of that," suggested the girl.
Mrs. Lovett was certain she had no gentleman
acquaintances in Lingeville. “Ah! By the
way, to be sure, it might be Mr. Bulps.”
But the girl shook her head. She knew Mr.
Bulps from having frequently sat under him ; in
fact her young man—an attractive sweep — ex
hibited a marked preference for that divine’s
ministrations, simply because there was a cer
tain retired corner of St. Mary’s gallery where
lovers could imagine themselves to be in a mu
sic hall, and act accordingly, without the chance
of a rebuke from the officiating clergyman.
“Who could it be?”
Adine puzzled her little brain much as she
hastily arranged her dress, and otherwise put
her pretty self to rights. She was convinced
that the man had called upon the wrong person,
or at the wrong house, for it was but one o’clock,
and indeed early dinner was actually laid.
Awkward !
Curious, flustrated, and ruffled with a very
bright look on her lovely countenance, Adine
tripped down stairs, and was greeted by no less
a person than Mr. Horace Blackley himself.
“ You here !” she exclaimed, politeness ab
sorbed in surprise.
“ Why not ?” he enquired.
“ Didn’t you get Mr. Lovett’s telegram ? You
must have received it surely !”
“ Where was it sent ?”
“To Mudflat, of course.”
“And yesterday ? No, I’ve had no telegram.
I have come from Blankton this morning. That
will account for it. Pray what did Lovett tele
graph for ?”
“ For you Mr. Blackley. You ought to have
met Mr. Brown at two o clock to-day in the city.”
“ Dear me!” said he with insulting insouiance.
“ How very provoking. It is now after one,
and London is distant between three and four
hours by rail. I hope they will manage it with
out me.”
With a woman’s quick perception she caught
a meaning in that callous tone of voice. It rous
ed her spirit. Advancing towards him she laid
a little hand on his arm, fixing her grand, mean
ingful eyes on his countenance Then she
murmured in her softest tone, “ Horace Blaek-
loy, you cannot deceive me to-day. A month
ogo, when you came to Mudflat, I—I was weak
—cajoled. Now 1 read your design plainly as
if you were yourself to write it.” This attack
surprised him —by its gentle force.
“I—I assure you ” he began in an apologetic
tone.
“Quite so. You have been playing us false.
We are fairly under your thumb, nor will your
vengence be satisfied until we are finally brought
to ruin. That is to be the end of this scheme of
yours. Did you lend my husband money be
cause you desired to befriend him ? Did you
cozen hinToutof his living with a kindly motive?
Do you keep him out on the tenterhooks of a
false hope out of pure brotherly love? No, no.
And yet perhaps”—with a sigh—“I can compre
hend why you should detest a rival. It is very
mean, though quite intelligible; but Horace
Blackley, let me ask why should you hate poor
me?”
Ravishing sweet did “poor me” look. Every
clever woman is a boru actress, if only you put
her on her mettle.
She had formed a right estimate. Her eye>
her voice, her presence, had lost none of their
old fascination. Were she a school-girl again,
again would this man have obeyed her behests.
She saw him avert his head, she felt his frame
quiver, as he stammered awkwardly, “ Heaven
kr^^yp, Adine—Mrs. Lovett, I beg your pardon
-:.; j>hy fault as regards yourself has not been
, ' fl! ‘^Syn wtiy may we not ue melius: nny
must 1 stand here and address you as my worst
enem\V” And she drew back from him a little,
with clowncast eyes.
“There is no reason,” he could but falter in
replv, “except an unworthy suspicion. Lovett
no doubt has painted me a blac^rascal, because
I wont let him have everything his own way.
Not that I am going to aflect any very deep af
fection for the man who has stood in the way of
my life’s happiness; but you, surely, cannot sup
pose that I have sinister designs aginst you! For
your sake I lent him money, least of all expect
ing that my kindness would ever be flung back
in my teeth. For your sake I rescued him from
the disagreeables of a lonesome village. Lastly,
for your sake I quite intend to secure him St.
Mary’s Chapelry—that—that is—if—if he will
not thwart me, or act in opposition to my
wishes.” These last words lamely enough. To
lie is easy. To lie naturally an art.
Disbelieving his asseverances thoroughly, she
nevertheless affected credence, and with a smile
motioned him to be seated. Then she enquired
sweetly, what course he proposed to pursue in
reference to St. Mary’s.
Whereupon he adhered to generalities, prob
ably from total inability to particularise his line
of action. Then finding this style of vapouring
produced no effect on his hearer, he took refuge
in self-laudation; comparing himself to a benign
providence, which always acts for the good of
the world in the way they least expect—a com
parison suggestive to nnsophistocated Adine of
rank blasphemy. This brought her to the point.
“Yon are in command of money,” she said;
“why not yourself purchase St. Mary’s, and pre
sent it to us ? That was our original bargain was
it not?”
He shook his head, and at once parried the
common honesty of this proposal by babbling of
simony; which he averred was not only a sin,
but, worse still, punishable by the law of the
land.
This casuistry of his was too patent. She felt
angry at the man insulting her intellect by such
palpable humbug. Nevertheless, native wit
prompted her to play a very unpromising hand
coolly, so she covered the irritation of defeat by
inviting the foe to eat.
The foe was charmed. And if Adine did’t
bring forth butter in a Lingeville dish, she at
all events plied him with her husband s dry
sherry, which he seemed to appreciate like
mother’s milk. They had happened on an
honest vinter, who strange to say, sold wine.
Hence this small advantage.
Under the combined influences of Bacchus
and Venus, Horace Blackley could have fallen
down and worshipped his goddess. She, how
ever, kept him at a respectful distance. She had
made up her mind to charm, delight, and dazzle.
Nothing more. Only as she was about to leave
did she give him the chance of a little foolish
adoration. He took her hand to wish her good
bye, and it did seem as if he could not release it.
As an excuse he murmured such protestations
of earnest desire for the welfare of her and hers
that Adine was fairly caught in her own trap,
and imagining that diplomacy had managed the
enemy, was herself deceived. The Reverend
Horace Blackley might be her siave, but he
meant to be her master,
Thought she: He must keep his word now
ergo, our interests are quite safe. He is very
weak.
Thought he: A little positive poverty and
privation, and she will be totally disgusted with
Lovett, and my willing friend. She hasn’t for
gotten how to use her eyes.
Of course Mr. Lovett returned from London
boiling over with wrath, vhich was magnified
into hatred, when he was apprised of what had
occurred during his absence.
“Blackguard !” he exclaimed. “Why ever did
you see the man ?
“Lucky I did,” rejoined Adine, who was all
complacency.
He missed the purport of her remark. “Mr.
Brown," he cried, “is so dissatisfied, that I fear
the affair is at an end 1’
“Never mind Mr. Brown,” interrupted she.
“I’ve arranged everything for you. Mark my
words, Horace Blackley will give you St. Mary’s,
whether Mr. Brown or Mr. Jones purchases
Coldhole.”
‘ ‘Adine !” He started in mute surprise.
“I ll make him,” she said, with a merry laugh
at his look of amazement.
“What is your talisman ?” he enquired.
“A woman’s brain. I am my talisman.” She
was too amused to perceive the strange expres
sion on his face.
“You, dearest Adine ? You?”
“Yes, you silly old boy. There, eat your sup
per, and go to bed. You look as pale as a ghost
after your long day.”
Tired as he was, somehow his countenance
showed more than fatigue. He was vexed at the
turn of affairs, and disposed to brood and chafe.
“I won’t believe that Blackley did not receive
my telegram,” he mutteied doggedly, “He
means foul play.”
“We shall see,” retorted she, rather huffed at
his incredulity.
Shall the truth be confessed? This man not
only felt aggrieved at this tampering with his
wife, but also something like jealous of one
whom he had hitherto despised. Mystery is a
powerful irritant, and this sudden influence of
Adine over a black-hearted enemy, coupled with
a certain amount of unaccountable reserve on
her part, afforded scope for all sorts of unworthy
conjectures, and rankled in his breast as a posi
tive injury.
CHATTER XX.
Whilst Fortune was ‘bus coquetting with the
Lovetts, the capricious^ dame took to smiling on
their protege, Mr. Samuel Edward Ralph, with
no faint lustre. Capt. Hawder, astounded at
progress made under his new tutor, exerted
himself to obtain for him the office of tenor
singer in the mixed choir of St. Bathos, achurch
much patronized by the Hawder family. This
appointment not only afforded pocket-money
in the shape of salary; it also at once brought j
him under the notice of a fashionable congrega- !
tion. so that very shortly he was overwhelmed i
with pupils of the class which is content to :
learn little and pay much. j
Popularity makes enemies. Barwyn, organ-
ist of St. Bathos, who failed to obtain employ- j
ment except among fourth-rate suburban female 1
schools, was simply enraged at the success of ;
his new vocalist. The idea of a novice thus j
appropriating without so much as an effort the |
creme tie la creme of the teaching within earshot j
of the S'. Bithos’ bells—and St. Bathos is ex-
trenely well-pealed—aroused this man’s choler. |
He well knew tbai this small revenue ought to j
have flo.ved into his own pockets, as holder of i
the chief musical office in that quarter of the |
town; and such would have been the case, but j
for two ugly facts: his character was too disrep- '
u table, his music most indifferent. On Sunday j
at the organ he was nothing if not feeble; whilst !
woe be to the foolish mother who left him alone
in the room with a pretty daughter or a bottle j
of wine. It did not require a very acute phy- i
siognomist to form an estimate of the man from )
his eyes and his nose. The world had found
him out, and he was already a musical cipher, j
when Ralph came unexpectedly to fascinate i
St. Bathos’ congregation.
An organist is invested with considerable j
powers of annoyance. Had Ralph been a worse j
reader, Mr. Barwyn’s dodgeries to throw him j
out of time during every solo or lead that fell j
to his lot would have q. oduced a fiasco. The !
old chorister of B)^^j{on, however, sang so I
nlu f!i, CtirAi’e, a.vvhii. JKL «; Vu b '■»oo</rujK*iiinieii
was at fault, had vJf hardihood to enquire of j
Mr, Barwyn what he imant by stultifying him
self by such slip-sho(f playing ?—a remark which
went home, and compelled malice to alter its
tactics. Evidently Ralph was too unassailable
in regard of musical capacity. Perhaps his
morals might be impeachable, and the clergy of
St. Bathos were very strong on the subject of
morality, as Mr. Barwyn knew by bitter expe
rience, for he had often trembled lest his own
peccadilloes might get round to their ears. He
would keep a watch on his young friend. Youth
is frail.
Now, of all the innocent, pure-hearted boys,
that ever stepped into the temptations of man
hood in our wicked Babylon, never was there
one more thoroughly protected by a simple soul
than young Ralph. He was a devotee of art, re
garding her as a mistress to be served in all
cleanliness of life. To be a high-priest of her
religion was his ambition, and he believed that
dignity to be incompatible with vice. Hence
to the grosser forms of metropolitan entangle
ments he was fire-proof. When Robinsoni
(alias Robinson) of the opera chorus, and prin
cipal bass of St. Bathos, suggested during the
Litany at morning service various naughtiness
to which he was desirous of introducing his
friend Ralph, he was shut up by the look of
disgust on the young man’s countenance.
When Madle. Larobe, contralto in that choir,
who was certainly married to one husband, and
owed her position in the organ-loft to her
“friendship” for Mr. Barwyn—who, by the way,
had a wife and family—when this not very back
ward specimen of powder and rouge attempted
a liaison with our young tenor, she found her
wiles of no avail. She blasphemed him in con
sequence roundly, as a slow country bumpkin
without manners. Her abuse did not hurt,
being unheard and unheeded. Nevertheless
every human being has his one opportunity of
lapsing, and, if you escape falling into a cess
pool or a horse-ponct, you may find yourself
submerged beneath the opal waves of some
beautiful lake, where the nympth of the mere
will strive hard to keep you for herself, and
vou may love her more than your life. So fared
It with Ralph. In the wide world of London
life he found his siren, and if the reader joins
with hypocritical Barwyn in condemning him,
the reader and the writer are, to say the least,
antipathies. I
In Rosa Montresor you might have beheld
no ordinary woman. The world babbled sweet
flattery about her girlish appearance. She did
look very young perhaps owing to her strange-
ly-delicate complexion, yet her age was that of a
woman rattier than girl, her nature woman s
nature. Her early history had been one of ad
venture. The carefully nurtured child of an
eminent barrister, she was left (by the trickery
of relations) at her father’s death a penniless
dependent on the very people who had spoiled
her. To eat their bread grated against her
every sensibility; for, conscious of a great wrong,
her young soul—she was but seventeen—revolt
ed against her own flesh and blood. She offered
them love for restitution; they laughed. Then
she turned her back on them in disdain, as on a
crew of robbers. Within two mails, she was ac
tually afloat on the blue Mediterranean en route
for India in the subordinate capacity of govern
ess; whilst following, like a spaniel, her every
footstep, with a beating heart warmed to rapture
by a not unkind reception, was old Sir Vincent
Montresor, sudder judge, millionaire, and
bronzed Indiaman. If she encouraged his ad
dress in order to pique her superior, she posi
tively had the honesty to refuse him three times,
from a conviction of her inaptitude to play the
role of a dotard’s darling. Afterwards, the iron
of social servitude entering into her young soul,
provoked intolerable. Unasked she wrote to
her dispairing lover, and whi e she made no
secret of her heart being her own, accepted him
-in the best faith possible under the circumstan
ces. The sequel can only be described as a
solecism in love. The marriage ceremony was
actually interrupted by the bullets of mutineers,
and Lady Montresor was carried to a place of
refuge a bride, and wounded. Her aged bride-
i groom escaped unscathed in body, but the cruel
j excitement paralysed his brain. Some six weeks
| after Colonel G’s. column escorted down the
J count, v among others, Sir Vincent a confirmed
I lunati and Lady Montresor, whom the Indian
| medical men had given up for lost. She return-
j ed home with a life she knew to be shortened, a
| colossal fortune, and a husband utterly devoid
; of reason, but by no means of vital powers. For
i a long time she suffered, the easy prey of doc-
I tors. Finding, however, that each fresh pre
scription proved more deleterious than its pre
decessor, and becoming thence convinced that
no medicine can reorganize the human frame,
she rebelled at last against orders to Ventor,
counter-orders to Spa or Nice, and a perpetual 1
taste in the mouth of noxious drugs. From the
very hour of her declaration of indepndence she
began to amend. Then she took a house in
Westbourne Terrace, furnished it royally with
more than oriental splendor, and surrounded
herself by artists, displaying an especial predi
lection for musicians; for before the disastrous
j experience of the Mutiny, her voice had been
' divine, and she had endeavored by honest work
to cultivate the gift of nature.
Realise, if you will, the strange lot of this
beautiful being. Young and marvellously fasci
nating, yet battling with a death often apparently
at the very door. Married yet neither wife nor
widow. Rich beyond the last wishes of the
most avaricious, nevertheless so cut off from
sympathy with the world as to find no better
outlet for her wealth than in feasting total
strangers. Imagine how such a heart would
yearn for that which alone can satisfy the crav
ings of a woman’s soul. For long, too, in vain.
In lieu of love she received but the false homage i
of an ill-veiled flattery, against which her brain I
revolted. Perhaps at first she had been really at
tracted by Mr. Barwyn. Regarding her as good
game, he certainly devoted every energy to at
tain success. For a short time, too, she was de
ceived. For a short time only. The man like
so many of his class, had a thin veneer of man
ner, but was no gentleman; held pretensions to
refinement, being the coarsest of sensualists;
Lad a habit of saying treble his meaning, hence
his prettiest speeches savored of mockery. Even
a clever woman will gorge much bait, yet the
stupidest have their maximums. If she liked
his love-making, she was sickened by his famil
iarity. He was all very well as a plaything, but,
careless as Rosa Montresor was of the world’s
opinion, she could not afford to disregard her
own. Mr. Barwyn’s affection was not merely
unholy, it was degrading. To her Sir Vincent
was but as a corpse; on the contrary, this man’s j
relations with his spouse were simply those of 1
bad man and faithful woman; when, therefore,
he offered to fling over Mrs. Barwyn and his j
tribe of lawful issue, Rosa Montresor told him to |
his face that he was a villain, and gave him his |
dismissal with the contempt he deserved.
Yet destiny could not be so cruel as to de- |
ny this woman —so full of pure sentiment—the :
ideal she prayed for, hoped for. dreamt of. For I
a brief space she was to enjoy the grand happi
ness her soul had coveted during the long waste
of past years.
“Quefaire, Poodle dear ?” yawned she one
Sunday morning. Poodle, a small-minded toa
dy, who acted as a companion, nurse, nouse-
keeper, besides avowing in season and out of
season an eternal friendship—mercenary—for
dearest Rosa, suggests 1, religiously, church.
Poodle, when at home, was called Sarah
Smith—seriously. In Westbourne Terrace, she
succumbed to a less ordinary appellation?-play- i
“That young tenor’s .voice is deliciouV:” ex-I
claimed Lady Montresor, after service, y'Poo- j
die, ask him at once to our Wednesday party.''
“Bui his name ?” gasped Poodle.
“Find it out, and his address also. How dull
you are, my dear; ask the beadle or the curate,
of course,”
“Or, I might ask Mr. Barwyn,” suggested
Poodle.
“No, not Barwyn,” and Poodle perceived
from the look on her superior’s face, that Mr.
Barwyn was out of favor. The tenor in ques
tion was our friend Ralph. In response to Miss
Sarah Smith’s handwriting, he accepted with
pleasure Lady Montresor’s kind invitation, im
agining, that as usual, he was to be guest of
some ancient family of buckram manners, who
desired to dodge him out of a song - in consid
eration of negus and abomination—for the de
lectation of her assembled clique. Such un
worthy economies are practised, especially
among the very rich.
Yawningly he entered a home, the beauty of
which at once arrested his eye. Rosa Montre
sor had cut conventionality. Fortune, beauty,
name, all gave her an easy entree to the creme
de la creme of London society. Her earlier im
pressions, however, could not be effaced. She
declined pugnaciously, the fetters of Mrs. Grun
dy, and as she deliberately made her own set,
so she determined that her surroundings should
be in harmony with her own ideas of what was
good. In the embellishment of her house
throughout, she had dared to use color in a way
which would have made many a critic shiver.
There was a warmth of tone around her every
where; her's was splendor to attract, not to re
pel. On entering her rooms you were dazzled,
but not chilled. The powerful odors of exotics
in the conservatory blended pleasantly with the
fumes of cigarettes, for Rora Lady Montresor
defied propriety by an,indulgence, usually de
nied to fair lips. Evidence was on all sides of
a gorgeous taste, of intense luxury, but the best
wealth of all, was to be found in an ease banish
ed from the domain of Mrs. Grundy. Formal
ity was annihilated, yetnaturo had nothing to
be ashamed of. She brought all her charms
unmuffled and unswathed;her wit, grace, enjoy
ment, life, her delicacy also, all the truer for
not being hid behind a mask.
“Really Mr. ," said Lady Montresor to
an extremely diffident guest, “do you wish me
to swear ? Or what other human thing can I do
to make you feel at home ?” Mr* had been
too shy to hold himself to moselle.
To say, therefore, that Ralph was agreeably
surprised, as after briefly realizing the loveli
ness of her abode, he made friends with its
more than lovely mistress, is to say little. She
had invited him, in the happiest taste, half an
hour before the rest, in order to “make out his
bearings” and put him quite at ease.
On entering he discovered a very beautiful
figure reclining gracefully —not lazily. She did
not welcome him by rising, but rather by her
eyes, which laughed to meet his, he thought
afterwards, as if they had recovered some long-
lost friend.
Then she gave him her hand as well as her
eyes, and a low soft musical voice murmured:
“So charmed to see you, Mr. Ralph. We were
enchanted by your solo on Sunday, and having
a few artiste friends, we hoped ” and she
blushed a little in pretty confusion.
Ralph said he was flattered and delighted,
and he looked his words.
“We are all smokers here—inveterate smo
kers,” she said with a smile. “My excuse is
that I was for a short time in the East and
learnt the art, or vice, or luxury, or whatever it
is,” and she offered him prettily one of her own
cigarettes —made, too, although she suppressed
the fact, by her own fair fingers.
Next she motioned him to a seat by her on
the ottoman, and in a very few minutes had
fascinated his tongue into volubility and confi
dence, and contrived to make him so supremely
happy that he was quite vexed when the arrival
of “company” interrupted their tete-a-tete.
It was a very pleasant party. Creatures of
either sex, whose mission it is to utter nastiness
in the shape of pointed sarcasms, scandal, and
malice, were totally eliminated from Rosa Mon
tresor’s set. People who came to her house
came to enjoy themselves. She would admit
neither lords to be toadied nor servitors to be
snubbed. Her girl friends were all as pretty as
pleasant, Her men convivial and amusing. The
usual programme was music, real; then supper,
artistic; then she would act as banker at rou
lette to her own invariable loss, and the profit
of many a poor artiste, like Ralph, to whom a
stray sovereign or five-pound note meant a light-
heart for a whole week.
“Your time is very much occupied, I sup
pose?” half whispered she to Ralph, as she
shook hands with him.
“It is, he replied; “but I must make time,
if you will allow me, to visit you—sometimes.”
Her sunshine had exhilarated the young man’s
soul.
“Make time, then, to-morrow," said she, with
a beaming smile.
He took the hint, although it compelled him
to cut more than one pupil; and she received
him in her boudoir alone, and they found a
bond of sympathy in the frail tenure of life too
palpable to each, and prattled to one another
like brother and sister, and in short fell in love.
Although, it must be added, neither yet quite
dared eschew the trammels of propriety. Their
eyes were the eyes of lovers; but their tongues
as yet only the tongues of friends.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
—— — +0 0^.
The Case of John Van Klucken
BY IVOR SONNE, M. D.
This is a curious world. But that is neither
a new nor a startling proposition; nevertheless,
this is a curious world. Probably none know
so well the truth of this saying as the medical
students attached to the New York Ambalance
Corps. Permeating every section of the great
city; familiar with every species of human woe:
often witnesses of the winding up of careers
which have been full of stir and adventure;
thrown in contact with men from every corner
of the globe, many strange things are revealed
to them.
In the year 1874, I. Ivor Sonne, M. D., was a
student at Bellevue College, New York, and a
member of the night Ambalance Corps. On
the 17th., of December of that year, about six
o'clock in the evening. I had retired to the
waiting room in the College, worn out with a
long and tedious attendance on an autopsy at
one of the city hospitals, I had just settled
back in my chair, feet close to a blazing fire,
pipe in my mouth ready for a rest, when young
Kant popped in and called out.
“Ivor, old fellow, old Jimmie wants you nt
number 78., Bellevue Hospital; got a smashed
head for you.”
Away went pipe, and away went I to number
78. When I arrived, I found Dr. Wells famil
iarly known as “Old Jimmie,” bending over a
patient lying on a low cot One look at the
man’s head satisfied me as to the length of his
tether. The left side of the skull was terribly
fractured, and I was surprised that he was still
alive.
“ Ivor, ” said Dr. Wells, “give this poor devil
a little brandy, and as soon as he dies, report
him for the dissecting room. ”
The doctor left, and I walked over to the cot.
The patient turned on his arm, swallowed the
brandy, and said:
“Doc, how long can live?”
something, anc. I want you to set a matter
straight for me, if you can.”
I told him that I would do what I could. He
turned slowly towards me, took another pull at
the brandy, and spoke as follows :
“My name is John Van Klucken. I came
over in—but never mind that. I haven’t a sin
gle Kinsman this side the water, and not many
on the other. There’s no time for particulars,
and it matters not, it matters not. In 1867, I
was a clerk in Van Cossarte’s law office, on Pine
street. I lived in Brooklyn, and passed up and
down Wall street twice every day, except Sun
days, when I wandered off to some place of
amusement. There is a firm of brokers—Ver-
milye A Co.—on Wall street, down stairs, under
the Merchants’ Bank. I used to pass—they had
a large glass window filled with bank notes and
gold—advertisement—business—I wanted it—
the money. I would look in and gloat over it.
I came over one night about eight o'clock.
Looked in the window—it was there. I went
off. Came back late at nigl .—it was there
Nobody on the street—only a tingle police offi
cer. He walked down the street—out of sight.
I took up a stone—went across the street—threw
the stone at the window and broke it—kept
quiet. Nobody came out. Policeman walked
up the street and then back. I ran over to the
window—scraped up some gold—pulled out
two packages of notes—walked off. I crossed
the river to Jersey City, bought a ticket to New
“Counted the money. About five hundred
dollars in gold, and two packages of notes—
thousand one hundred dollar bills—two hun
dred thousand dollars and—. In the morning
I got the papers. Robbery —big letters—but /
saw only one thing. Vermilye A Co. hadn’t reg
istered numbers of bills. Safe !
When I arrived at New Orleans, I exchanged
one hundred thousand dollars for gold. Went
to Nassau—under British flag—bought property
—sugar plantation. Lived like a king—re
spected citizen—would be there now, but I
W ent—. Had trouble with my factor in Lon
don last June—this year—went there. Give me
the brandy—quick !”
I gave it to him. I was keenly interested in
the man’s story, and wanted the end. He had
not long to live; the exertion was killing him.
After drinking deeply, he lay still a moment,
and then continued in a lower tone, but with
fewer breaks.
“When I finished my business in London, I
determined to come to New York and buy gold
with the notes which I still had in my posses
sion. I landed here just a week ago. Confi
dent that I would not be detected, I went to
Vermilye A Co.—to-day—bought the gold, but
did not carry it to my hotel—too heavy. It is
still in their office. I left Vermilye’s office a
dark and started to my hotel. Tried to shorten
the distance by taking a side street. While
hurrying along, suddenly I was struck from
behind—fell, insensible—found myself here.
Tell Vermilye A Co. the money is theirs. Sell
the property in Nassau—all theirs—I will—give
—them—”
He never finished the sent* nee. His soul had
fled to render its final account.
The next day I visited Vermilye A Co.’s office
and stated to them Van Klucken’s story. It was
true, every word of it. They took possession of
all his property, amply indemnifying themselves
for their losses. It was supposed that Van
Klucken had been seen by some city thieves
when he bought the gold, and that they had fol
lowed and murdered him in order to get pos
session of it; but their gains must have been
small. I advertised Van Klucken’s death in the
city papers, but have never yet received a re
sponse. This is a curious world.
Some satirist has spoken of heraldry as “the
science of fools with long memories.’’
“But, oh ! mankind all unco’ weak,
And little to be trusted ;
If self the wavering balance shake,
It’s rarely right adjusted,”—[Burns.