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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.