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WILD WORK;
A Study of Western Life.
BY MARY E. BRYAN.
CHAPTER XXXYI.
Kate came to see Zoe in the afternoon, but
there was other company and the two girls had
no opportunity for a word in private.
‘I will call round this evening with Roy,’
Kate said as she wasgoiDg away.
iCome to tea,’ Mrs. Melvin urged, not caring
to add that she had planned a kind of family-
party, having invited Hugh and Winter Larean
whom she met on the street to come and partake
of oysters and champagne. Later in the after
noon,. she invited another person, no other than
little Florence Taylor he self, not as properly
belonging to the family party, but fora purpose
of her own. Quite unexpectedly, Miss Florence
called just before sunset, sending her card to
Zoe who received her cordially and did her best
to put her at ease. ‘She was curious to see
Roy’s betrothed,’ thought imaginative Mrs.
Melvin, and she was sure it was jealousy that
made the girl watch the face and follow the
movements of the beautiful woman with such
intentness.
Zoe saw otherwise. She pitied Florence’s
embarrassment, she saw dejection in her intent
look, and she felt the quiver of hopelessness in
the girl's voice when taking Zoe s offered hand
at parting and looking inte her face she said:
ed at last that a friendship, warm and true
, though it was, was hardly the basis a marriage
j ought to be built upon. It was better to have
found it out before than after the irrevoca
ble vows had passed; was it not ?’
I ‘Zoe, you are not in earnest surely ?’ came
i indignantly from Kate, while Hugh stared at
! his sister in speechless amazement,
j ‘Never more so. Come my friend, turning to
Roy,
‘We must confirm this doubting maid.’
j Is it not so that by mutual consent and in all
amity we have set aside our proposed partner
ship and agreed to remain only friends?’
She went up to him and held out her hand
as Rhe spoke. He took it, got up and stood by
her. ‘It is,’ he said.
] Before he spoke, his eye had fallen on Flor-
i ence, had met her eager, wistful eyes looking
| at him from a face white as marble aud leant for
ward in her unconscious intentness-. When be
said: ‘It is,’she drew her breath quickly with
a little convulsive exclamation. Then recollec
ting herself and fearing she had betrayed her i
secret, she colored crimscn and buried her face
' in her hands. Zoe went np to her and kissed
her on the forehead. Dr. Melvin was on his
j feet making a playful little speech to the effect
j that he was greatly relieved to find his ‘queen
rose of the rose-bud garden of girls, ’ was not go
ing to be plucked by the ruthless hand of Hy
men. He had long had his eye upon Miss Zoe as
a second partner, in case Mrs. M.’—nodding his
iron gray head over to his wife—‘should accom
modatingly leave him a fascinating yoang wid
ower. He congratulated the pair on their mor
al courage and good sense in drawing back even
As she looked down into the dark water hope
looked up to bar from the reflection of her own
figure. She cculd see its outlines there—faint
but still fair. The beautiful need never despair.
Reese made her acquaintance one nightand won j had been wronged and foully dealt with here!
her lasting gratitude by being equal to a great
emergency and fixing the refractory train of a
Worth dress that refused to work well at the
last moment. They became inseparable. The
Dnprez thinks she couldn’t make a stage toilet j There is always love for them, love which is
without, her friend's taste to direct it. Miss I power and hope. Because she had failed more
Re ise came with her to all reh' a Sals, and most.! than once, must she despair of success while she
have paid strict attention tothis.part, for she | had that face those resources of mind, that strong
claims to have learned it at these rehearsals, j nerve this will-force that even Alver had bent to ?
They went out driving this morning and stop- ; She would not give np. The world was wide;
ped at a restaurant. M’lle Claire drank some, there were inaDy doors that would open toconr-
beer or some lemonade or something, and ate
some German kuchen. that must have been too
buttery, for immediately after she was taken ill,
and had to send word to the manager that she.
coulii’nt play tonight. It was too late to sun-
age, to cunning and persistance. She would
begin a new career; she wonld crash oat this
passion for a man that had shown himself weak
and nnworthy the prizes that are to be won by
the bold. She had next to nothing in her
ply her place; too late to chinge the piece for : purse; no matter, her brain was rich in schemes
another. Old Knox was in despair, when in j and inventions, fertile in resources that might
comes Miss Reese with the quiet assertion that j be coined into money. She would succeed.
‘lour picture is like you only you are much ^e altar’s foot, he might say, when they be-
lovelier. No wonder Mr. West loves you so. came convinced that a marriage would not pro- !
‘Have you seen Royal to-day, Zoe asked. mote their happiness.’
Aes, he dined with us. He nad promised j Then he opened a bottle of champagne on the j
several days ago. This is my father’s birthday,
‘And did he tell yon anything—anything very
particular?' Zoe asked, looking at her and hold
ing the little gloved hand between her warm,
kind palms.
‘He told me you had come and he had seen
you ’
‘Nothing else ?'
She shook her head.
‘He talked but little; be said he was not well.’
‘Tnere is something more that he ought to
have told yon—that he will tell you,’ Zoe said
smiliDg caressingly into the wondering young
face.
centre table by him and proposed the health
and prosperity of the two who had dissolved
partnership.
‘Oh, Zoe, how could you ?’ asked Kate, re- I
proachtullv, when she could get a moment apart !
with her friend.
•He did not love me, Kate, he loved another. J
Could you not see it?’
‘That Taylor girl ? So she is the cause of j
this? I thought so. I shall always hate her for it. ’ j
‘No, you must not. She is a sensible, affec- |
tiouate girl, just suited to Iioy, and she loves j
him dearly,’
She is unprincipled, or she never would have
to
She would have said mor6, so sorry was she tempted him away from you—tempted him „
to see that lair lace clouded with a despondency (, rea |j his honorable word and wrong a girl worth
which the young creature was evidently stnv- j a hundred Florence Taylors.’
ing against, thinking it sinful for her to feel,
but Mrs. Melvin came in at this moment with
her invitation for Florence to come to tea.
‘There will only be two or three friends,’ she
said. ‘Mr. Lareau, Royal West and his sister.
Zoe and her brother are only home folks.’
The girl hesitated. She knew it would give
her pain to see Royal's devotion to this lovely
lady, but the human heart, especially the heart
of the young, has a perverse, morbid dssire to
inflict pain on itself. Then she could not help
wishing to see the betrothed pair together, and
watch Roy’s manner to the lady of his love.
Could his looks be much more tender than some
he had bestowed upon her?
‘ I will come, Mrs. Melvin,’ she said, ‘if I can
get any one to accompany me. My father never
goes out. you know.’
‘I'll send my Doctor,’ Mrs. Melvin said, gaily,
‘and a handsomer beau cannot be found in the
city.’
Florence laughed and thanked her and so the
question was settled. There was a spice of
malice in Mrs. Melvin's motives for this cordial
invitation. She was Zoe’s devoted adherent,
and resented in her behalf, the attentions Royal
had lately paid to Miss Taylor. ‘He looked
glum this morning when he came to see Zoe,
she thought.
■The temptation was unconscious on her part.
Don’t be nr just, Kate. And Roy has not wrong
ed me, dear. Let me tell you a secret. I w-as
the first offender. I loved some one else better
than Roy.’
■You ? Zoe, I don’t believe you. It’s impos
sible or I should have known it. Why who is
be?'
‘Some day I may tell you—if I ever meet him
again. If I never do, whv then:
‘Dear fatal name, rest ever unrevealed.’
she quoted, laugning.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Zoe had been several weeks in New Orleans.
Pleasant weeks they were, though she felt a lit
tle queer at seeing Roy, to whom she had al-
reays been a first considerati in, now giving to
another that unobtrusive but graceful and de
lightful homage that she had so long been ac
customed to receive from him. The November
waather was as mild as spring, just frosty-
enough to give sparkle to the brigtit autumn
sunshine. Amusements were plentiful and Zoe
eDjoyed the opera and theatre, as well as the
drives to the lake and the walks through the
public gardens and parks, where the evergreens
were taking on the rich golden tinge, their win-
‘Tbe.new face has someth ing^tp ! Uu--;* ~ tv-si,*, J j f
do with it. Like mbst men he is a ninny over j samines'were to be seen starring the thinned lo-
every fresh, new face. Can’t he compare these [ Hage of hedges and boshes. In one of these
two and see how superior my Zoe isto the other? walks, Zoe encountered her old acquaintance
He shall have an opportunity to make the com- j Floyd Reese, handsomely dressed, aud accorn-
purison to-night. Mr. Lareau is a fine singer panying a showy woman, highly rouged and
and the Doctor is a splendid conversationalist.
He will draw Zoe out into talking as she can
talk, and she and Winter will sing together, and
Miss Florence, who neither sings nor talks well,
will be eclipsed so far that Roy West will see
what a simpleton he is to waste a thought upon
her, when such a girl as Zoe has condescended
to love him.’
They all came. Zoe was radiant, and con
tributed greatly to the pleasure of the evening
by her quick tact in amusing people aud
making them feel pleased with themselves and at
ease. Bnt she set herself quietly against being
‘drawn out' in order to over shadow Miss Taylor.
She was very attentive to Florence; took pains
youthtnliy dressed, but no longer young. Floyd,
with a nod of her superb head aDd one of her
sugary smiles, passed on.
•Why that is Miss llsese, Col. Alver’s govern
ess. said Kate.
•Do you recognize the lady she is with?’ ask
ed Winter Lareau. ‘Yon saw her last night in
East Lynne, but these stage stars look quite dif
ferently by daylight. SheisM lie Claire Duprez,
the leading actress at the Varietb s.’
‘How came Fioyd Reese to know her so well,
I wonder ?’
‘I have seen the same lady with M'lle Claire
several times. Lance tells tells me she is p.u en
thusiastic friend of M’lie Claire s—writes poetry
to lead her into conversation and make her ap- ! j a }j er praise for the morning papers, aDd super-
pear well. Roy had not rxpeeted to meet Flor- I intends her stage toilets. Pity she could not
•e here, had not prepared himself to be
the room at the same time with the woman he
was expected to marry and the girl who had stolen
into his heart and to whom be felt his manner
had been over tender for a pre-engaged man.
He whs in a dilemma. He half believed Zoe
would retract what she had said, that she bad
been prompted by pride and jealous pique to
break off with him as she had done. He thought
this lover of the ‘romantic dream' a myth, or
a by gone delusion brought np now to make
him believe she was not hurt by his unfaithful
ness. He had adroitly sounded Hugh on the
subject and found that he knew nothing of any
mysterious lover of his sister. He was not
fully prepared to give Zoe up. Her attractions
had never seemed so great to him as now. What j
a pride a man would feel in having such a band-
some graceful creature at the head of his estab
lishment ! And then if the marriage was brokeD
off, it would create gossip, and he had a proud
man's dislike of his affairs being talked about.
Yet dear little Florence; how sweet and loving
she was ! Zoe understood pretty much what
was passing in his miDd, and she determined
to put an end to his indecision. She would
take the initiative herself aud let it be known
that the marriage was not to be.
An opportunity presented itself. Hugh was
describing an elaborately designed piece of sil
ver plate tUat L ireau had ordered as a gift to
some lriends—a fruit dish—the design a chariot
drawn by doves and ornamented with wreaths
of myrtle and grape, with embossed flowers and
fruits, scattered also over the salver of solid j „ raee imaginable,
silver on which the chariot rested. 1 8 —
‘ A wedding present of course and we can
guess for whom intended,’ Mrs. Melvin said,
looking from Zoe to Royal
give her some of her freshness and her fine
physique. They would be worth far more than
dress accessories to the Claire.’
The next evening they went again to the Ya-
rieties—the play was still East Lynne, and being
then a new and popular piece, tne house was full.
When the heroine of the play came on the stage,
the sudience were too much surprised to greet
her with the applause usually given to a star on j
her appearance. They saw, instead of M’lle
Claire with her carefully made up lace and form,
a new face, fresh and beautiful, the neck and
arms of a Greek goddess,hair in sun-hned waves
over her superb shoulders—a shape at once se
ductive and commanding. Zee let fall her opera
glass in her surprise.
‘It is Floyd Reese,’ she said to Kate.
‘How in the world did she manage to get in here ?
a leading part too. I can’t understand it,’
said Roy, who was with them.
‘Hush,’ whispered Kate, -she is speaking, she
has enough of the debutante to make her voice
tremble a little.’
There were other signs of the debutante—signs
too, of being new to her part—a want of ease
and readiness, a hesitation and nervousness,but
her natural grace, her self-reliance, her fine
voice, and her btauty tided her over these draw
backs, and her acting was successful, The
witchery of the woman triumphed over the inex
perience of the actress. Her pow er increased as
her nervousness wore off and when the curtain
fell on the first act, she was loudly called for,
and coming forward, bowed with the sweetest
■ She would show Alver that she could live in
spite of his cruelty. His scorn should not
kill her.
She did not see him as she turned in an oppo
site direction and signaled a solitary, rnsty cab
that was passing. As she was getting into it,
Alver walked rapidly towards her. ‘Floyd’ he
called again. She saw him, fierce resolve
nerved every feature.
‘I said to you just now, farewell forever. .1 I
shall never step across your path again.’.
The cab drove away. He was left standing on |
the wharf hardly knowing which he felt the
most, relief or disappointment at being thus ;
freed from the woman who had exercised such
control over his head if not his heart.
He found afterwards that she took up her
abode at a fashionable hotel. He wrote to her 1
and enclosed a bank note. Letter and money
came back to him. Sue would scheme in vari
ous ways to get money, but she would not ac- !
cept it from him. She won her place on the
Varieties’ boards by stratagem as he suspected, j
But she had not meaut a crime this time; only a
trick. It was not poi*on, but only tartar emetic
—a poisonous drug it is true, but not fatal in
small quantities—which she had dropped in her
companion’s drink. She had determined to do
this when she insinuated herself by flattery and !
delicate service into the actress's confidence j
and affection aud when she had studied with j
secret assiduity and rehearsed in the privacy of
her own room the favorite role of M'lle Claire, j
She was radiant with triumph to-night. Even
small success like this stimulated her intel
lect and filled her full of electric power. Plot
and intrigue were vital air to her.
‘She was born without a conscience,’ thought
Alver as he watched her.
Another watched her. Her Nemesis was there i
and she did not know it. Had she lifted her j
eyes to the gallery, they would have met a pair 1
peering from under a slouched nat—that would
have made her quail and falter in her most tell
ing speech. Cobb had remained in conceal
ment until the news came to him that the Co- :
hatchie prisoners were released, and then, un
able longer to restrain his impatience to get
possession of Floyd, he had followed her to the :
City, hiring as a deck hand on a steamboat aud
sitting heretp-night in the red blouse and wool !
hat of the roust-a-bont.
He chewed his tobacco fast and fiercely as he
watched the stage. He shifted his feet restless- j
ly; drops of sweat stood on bis forehead. He
would h>ve liked to have leaped on the stage
and torn her away from it—this white-armed
syren, that men were fliDging flowers to an I j
adiuiriug through their jeweled lorgnettes. If ;
they dared to interfere with him, he could turn
on them and say ‘she is mine’ and defy her to j
deny it. She would not, in th6 face of the hold I
he had upon her—his knowledge of her true
name and the crime in which she was implicat- 1
ed. He believed now that she had been deceiv- ■
too him: he believed that it was she
Devrayed ms niuiiTg piftCe tcry Jb cavairy ana iea r
him the closest race for life he had ever had; i
but he never thought of giving her up for this.
It only stimulated him more in his pursuit of j
her. He was as fierce in his resentment, as in
the brute passion be called love. He said to
himself that when he bad her in his power he
would make her pay dearly for all this. He
would carry her olf to the wilds of Mexico or
the Indian Territory where there would be no
men to take h6r part aud go mad over her, and
she should see no one but him, know no will
but his. He would laugh to scorn her intel
lectual pretensions and make her feel himself
her master. She had better have lain low if she
wanted to escape him. He had huute ’ for her
through the City, wherever he dared during the
two days he Pad been here.
He had dogged Alver’s steps without daring
to speak to him, and he was here to-night to
look out for his prey, and lo ! there she was
flashing behind the footlights.
‘What cheek she has!' he said grimly.
•Wouldn't it cut her down at the knees though,
if some Texan or Louisianain in this crowd
that had knowed her in times paBt was to get
up and hollow out ‘‘Mabel Waters.’
The thought had scarcely past through his
mind, when a voice behind him—a gruff voice
that was familiar to him, said:
‘If I didn’t know that Mabel Waters was d6ad
and paying the penalty of her sins, if there is
any punishment hereafter, I'd say that woman
was she. You've heard me speak of her Hirne—
•Jim Waters’ wife, that helped a fellow to kill
her husband, they say, after they refugeed to
Texas the last years of the war. She and a
young Texan and Waters’ overseer that went off
with them from Bayou Teche were all implica-
detain her. ted in the deed. The young man was lynched,
‘Flovd he cried,’ but she had passed out of I the overseer ran off to Mexico, and the woman
the hall and down the steps of the hoarding S got drowned in trying to make her escape; but
house and was hurrying down the street as \ that actress jnst gone off the stage is almost her
she can take the part. The manager stares in
credulous, Miss Reese persists, a rehearsal is hur
riedly called and it proves that she can go
through the part more than creditably, as you
see to-night. It may end in an engagement if
the young lady has aspirations for the stage,and
is not too devoted to her dear friend to supplant
her, which I think possible, as the manager
tells me she refuses to be paid for playing to
night, says the money must go to M’lle Claire.
He is delighted with her, swears she is the
handsomest woman in the world, and worth a
dozen of poor, jiassee M'lle Claire. Such eyes
and shoulders may dazzle even a manager, and
make him see talent where none exists, though
I am far from saying ’
‘Excuse me,’ said a voice. A gentleman leant
forward from the seat behind and touched the
dramatic critic on the arm. ‘Is the actress—
Mille Duprez—dangerously ill?*
Zoe recognized the voice i.tnongh there was
a bnskinessae of emotion :#tfc)and turned round
to speak to Col. Alver, noting that though he
bowed to her with his usual graceful smile,there
was a troubled look on his lace. She thought
it cleared somewhat, when ho heard that the ill
ness of the actress was not thought very serious
— an attack of cholera morbus, tne physician
had pronounced it. ‘What should it concern
Colonel Alver ?’ thought Zne. She could not
guess that, knowing Floyd Roese as he did, a
suspicion had entered his mind while he listen
ed to Lance’s story, a suspicion that she had
schemed to get the place she occupied to-night,
aud had got it by foul play. Had desperation
at being repulsed by him d.-j^en her to commit
a new crime? For he had shaken her off at last.
She had followed him to New Orleans. When
the trial was over and the prisoners set free on
their bond to ‘appear when called for’—equiva
lent to an acquittal—she came to him with her
congratulations and hersuggestionsofambitious
plans for the future. He listened to her with
anger and impatience. How utterly heartless
she was! He owed the darkest regret of his life
to her. She it was, he now knew, whose schemes
had given a bloody ending to his plot for rid
ding his parish, perhaps his state, of Radical
rule. He would have no more to do with poli
tical scheming. The recollection of that bloody
tragedy which he had unwittingly inaugurated
was like a smouldering flr c within him and
dried np the springs of ambition forever. When
she intimated that she knew for a surety that
Witcbeil would be killed before six months, he
turned upon her, scornful anger flashing in his
eyes, and forbade her to speak to him on such a
subject.
•Cursed be the day that I ever dipped my hands
—the clean hands of a gentleman—into the foul
stream of political intrigue,’ Lesaid. And then
looking at her coldly: ‘You ask what I am go
ing to do now ? I answer, I am going to return
to my senses if possible; I am going to attend
to my legitimate business tjift.t imglect has near
ly ruined. I am going tojwe ‘$>r the interests
,la-.j.f.iA—'A' _•«aiv:« itfirt «it
more to me than all the World, i am going to
pray them and my God to pardon me for having
followed ai ignusfatuus that I now know was
kindled at the tires of eviland waved by a temp
ting fiend.’
His words fell as blows upon her heart. In
his angry scorn of himself and her, he did not
dream what terrible force his words possessed,
withering as they did the hopes that had fed
her feverish existence so long. He had come to
think of her as a hardened adventuress, unscru
pulous as to crime, caring only for money aDd
power. He thought her passion for him was a
mere pretence to gain her ends, as he knew her
professed regard for Cobb to have been. He had
no conception of its reality and intensity —that
it was the one true thing in the woman’s nature.
She had felt death trampling behind her in hot
pursuit; she had faced threats and insults and
horrible fears of discovery and ever recurring
torture of remorse, but despair had never seized
her as it did at this moment, when she felt her
self scorned and condemned by the man she
loved and had sinned for. Yet crushed and
wrecked as she felt herself, she did not lose her
self-command or she lost it for a moment only.
For a moment she stood white and speechless
as stone, then she smiled in cold derision and
made him a mocking obeisance.
‘Include mein your prayer, pious sir,’she said.
Then with a bitter sarcasm in her tone, she
flung him the rebuke of Mephistophiles to Faust.
•The devil that acts, commands respect, the
devil that repents, I know of no more mawkish
thing.’
She gathered up her shawl and rose. ‘Fare
well; I shall never trouble you again’ she said,
aDd she was gone from his sight before he could
‘Family ! You don't mean to say you’re mar
ried, comrade ?’
‘No, I’m not, worse hick for me, bnt I shall
have three children to keep me company—two
1 fine, stalwart boys and a little girl with dark,
j sweet eyes and a rosebud mouth —a little beau-
I ‘y-’
‘Not your own children, surely ?’
v>*No, their fathers were better men tbaD I ever
was or will be. Two of them are poor Parkin
son’s boys—you remember he fell at Eikhorn at
the head of his company. My Jeannie’s father
was a young adjutant who was killed near Rich
mond in the last year of the war. Her mother
died a few months ago.’
‘Yen’ll have to marry some good woman for
: the child’s sake, if for no other. I know you’ve
no use for the craft since the one you had in
; tow wrecked yon and—-—I beg your pardon,
| comrade, I didn't mean 1 remember ’
i ‘No harm done,’ said Hirne gently. ‘I’ve got
over that since I knew you. And I'm not a wo
man hater any more, Lawrence.’ ‘I almost wish
I was,’ headaed in thought, as at that instant,
Zoe turned her face to Royal and replied to
something he had said with a little graceful nod
and u smile so sweet that Hirne inwardly groan
ed in bitterness of heart.
(TO HE CONTINUED )
Yonder s Lance, coming to us with Lareau,’
Roy said. ‘Now we shall hear how it comes that
we L-ave a new star instead o* M'lle Claire.’
Lance, a slender long-limbed \cuDg fellow,
•And when is it to be presented, may we ask?' j witb jjgjjt hair parted in ihe middle, and fuzzy
questioned Dr. Melvin taking off his gold rim
med spectacles and smiling benevolently
around. ‘We are all in the family, as it were
and lake a family interest in onr two young
friends here, may we not know when the hap
py day is to be Rot al ?’
Roy colored and looked confused.
•I refer you to the lady sir,’ he said, I shall
abide by her decision.’
‘Why is it not yet decided? Zoe are you
another ‘bailie of the Valley’, who had,
‘So great a mind
It took along timemaking up?'”
‘Yes; it is decided,’ Zoe said leaning slightly
forward, her elbow resting upon a stand, bear
ing a vase of cut flowers. Her cheeks had flush
ed, but her mouth though pleasant, almost smil
ing, expressed firmness, her look was clear and
earnest. ‘It is decided that it is not to be at
all.’
She waited until the exclamations of surprise
and disappointment had subsided, and contin
ued. ‘It is not to be at all. Such is the mutual
! and amicable agreement. Both of us discover
moustaehe, came up, following Lareau, and was
immediately questioned about the new appear
ance. He was dramatic critic of a daily paper,
and occasionally earned a few dollars by polish
ing np or pftring down plays to suit manager's
requirements. Hence he knew all theatre peo
ple, sympathized with the managers, was per
mitted behind the scenes, where he offered sug
gestions to the actresses about their ‘make up,’
and drank beer and sherry with the leading lad
ies and gentlemen between the acts, when the
‘heavy agony’ of the play necessitated a replen
ishing of exhausted forces. Usually, Mr. Lance’s
printed opinion of these leading ladies and gen
tlemen was regulated by the amount and quality
of the wine, or of the supper to which he was
invited after the play. He took pride in being
familiar with all green-room gOBsip.
•Plays pretty well, does'nt she,’ he said in ans
wer to Roy’s questions about Miss Reese. ‘Won
derful well when you know that she has had
but one rehearsal of this piece, and never acted
before in her life. Fact. She and M lie Claire
are Dauion and Pythias in petticoats. The
swiftly as though pursued. He cangnt up his
hat and followed her. A revulsion of feeling had
come over him. He had not meant wholly to
abandon her. She had devoted herself to his
interest. For the sake of this devotion, he
would not Jet her suffer through want; and
though he was no longer controlled by tne spell
of her intellect aDd her physical fascinations,
these had not wholly lost their power over him.
At a turn of the street lie caught sight of her fig
ure flying rapidly before him in the gray No
vember twilignt, and its sinuous grace appealed
to bis heart. A picture of her face rose before
him as he had seen it just now, when she bent
to him in mock reverence, her beautiful mouth
quivering with anguish more than sarcasm, her
eyes wild and woful behind their flashing mask
of scorn. The kisses promised him from that
perfect mouth bad never yet been given or claim
ed. The black wraith of retributive remorse
and self-rebuke had risen between him and
white-armed passion, but though he had shaken
off those white fetters, he was still weak
image.
Cobb trembled and slouched his wool hat
farther over his eyes. In spite of his disguise— j
the black dye on his red hair and whiskers and \
his changed appearance, he was afraid he might
be recognized by the eld steamboat captain who
bad known him on the Teche. But nobody no- |
ticed him. The play proceeded and absorbed
the attention of the two behind him, or at least
of the sailor, for the former steamtoatsman had
since taken to the sea and had a steamship ply
ing between this port and Honduras and Brazil.
Hirne’s eyes wandered often from the st«ge to
the profile of a lovely woman occupying one of .
the choice seats below. He had come here to
night hoping to get a glimpse of her. He had
seen her walking with Royal and Kate the day
before—the same day of his arrival, and though
he believed her to be Roy’s wife, be could not
resist the longing to look at her agaiD. On the
next day but one, be was going away. He saw
them go into an ofiice where tickets were for
sale, found out that they bought tickets for the
from their thrall. Though he believed this wo- j Varieties that night and got one for himself and
man to be a beautiful incarnation of evil, he
still followed tier in the dim, drizzly twilight, '
and felt a keen uneasiness when he saw her steps '
were directed towards the river. He was de
tained a moment by an acquaintance; he broke |
from him unceremoniously, bat he had lost her,
and for a time he looked for her in vain; when I — -• 0
at last he caught sight of her, she was standing dow n and turning granger 6 8° oa J°
on a dilapidated, unfrequented part of the whaif Honduras tn the bouthern }aeenwithme. We
looking down at the black water below her feet, j uext Thursday.
He stood off and watched her. The wind that j ‘Don’t you think it’s time I was done sow-
moaned round the pier lifted her hair and drove ; ing wild oats ? returned Hirne. ‘I saw a gray
another for an old friend who was with him.
lie chose a seat in the gallery; there he could
see her with little fear of being seen by her.
When the curtain fell on the third act, Cobb
heard the grufl-voiced sea captain say.
Hirne vou’re not in earnest about settling
a tine mist of rain in her face.
She stood motionless. A wild impulse to end her
life had led her here, but this impulse had been
quenched as it had many times before by a fear
of deatu or what might possibly wait behind
death. It was probably nothingness and rest,
but whaf if it were not, and if one might meet
in the Beyond the rebuking eyes of those who
hair in my beard this morning. If you bad seen
the money I paid out for farm supplies, imple
ments etc. to-day, you’d think I was in earnest
about turning granger. My farm—stock ranche
and grain plantation combined—cannot be beat
in the section where I live. Settle down ! why
a man with a family can’t play the Wild Rover
well, can he?’
11 ELIO DO LIS.
nr philip schaff, d. d.
On a sunny afternoon in Maroh I made, in
company with several American, English and
Scotch fellow-travellers, an excursion to the
ruins of Heliopolis, the City of the Sun, one of
the most ancient cities of the world. It lies
about eight miles north east of Cairo, and can
be reached by carriage or donkey over a good
road, through rich grain fields, meadows and
vineyards.
Heliopolis is the Greek name for the Egyp
tian e i-n-re (i e., ‘the abode of the sun’), from
which was derived the Hebrew On or Aon (Gen.
xli. 45), translated Beth-Sh&mesh( ie., the house
of the sun, Jerem, xlni. 13). It was the Rome
and Oxford of ancient old Egypt, the capital of
its hierarchy and it6 university. Here Hero
dotus, ‘the father of history,’ acquired most of
his knowledge of Egypt laid down in his second
book, where he calls the Heliopolitans ‘the best
skilled in history of ail the Egyptians.’ Here
Plato, the prince of Greek philosophers, studied,
and the house in which he spent several years
was still shown at the time of Strabo. Every
Pnaraoh brought his rich offerings to this place
and bore the proud title, Lord of Heliopolis.
Here was the sanctuary of the worship of Rah,
or the sun, and of the sacred bull Muevis. Here
arose the legend of the wonder-bird Pbcenix,
which the early fathers employed to illustrate
the doctrine of the resurrection. Here Joseph
the patriarch was married to Asenath, the daugh
ter of the High Priest, Potipherah (i. e., dedicat
ed to the Rati). Here (according to Josephus)
the family of Jacob flist resided on their arrival
in Egypt. Here Moses was instructed in all
the wisdom of the Egyptians. But the glory of
Heliopolis has long since departed, as Jeremiah
predicted :
He shall break the images of Beth-shemish,
that is in the land of Egypt; and the houses of
the gods of the Egyptians shall he burn with
fire (xliii. 13.)
Strabo visited the city twenty four years be
fore Christ; it was already a heap of ruins. Noth
ing remains now of Heliopolis but some traces
of the massive walls, fragments of sphinxes, and
an obelisk of red granite (58 feet high and bear
ing the name of Osirtasen 1., the second king of
the twelfth dynasty. It was one of two obelisks
which stood before the Temple of the Sun at
the inner e^od of an avenue, of^phinxes.^
Lepsius discovered in the Necropolis of Mem
phis, the most ancient specimen of Egyptian
sculpture. It is nearly four thousand years old.
There it still stands in solitary grandeur and
unbroken silence. Had it a mouth to speak, it
could tell of the visit of Abraham and Sarah, of
the wisdom and purity of Joseph, the inquisi
tiveness of Herodotus, the sublime speculations
of Plato, the mysteries of Egyptian learning
and idolatry, the rise and fall of ancient empires.
The vandalism of travellers has hacked the base
of this hoary monument with a sledge-hammer
to steal some pieces. The bees have built their
cells in the hieroglyphs of two sides and made
them illegible. Heliopolis is called in hierog
lyphic inscriptions ‘the city of obelisks,’ from
the great number of those square monolith
columns terminating in a pyramidal apex. They
represented the rays of the sun, and were spec
ially adapted to the worship of the sun and the
City of tne Sun. The two obelisks of Alexan
dria which are inappropriately called ‘the Need
les of Cleopatra,’ stood originally in Heliopolis,
whence they were removed in the reign of Tib
erius. One of them, which I saw lying in the
mud last February, is now floating on the Med
iterranean on its way to London, where it will
hereafter adorn the court of the British Museum
or the embankment of the Thames, as the obe
lisk of Luxor adorns the Place de la Concorde
in Paris (since 1834). Mehamet Ali had long
ago presented the Needle of Cleopatra to the
British Government, but it was not though
worth the cost and labor of removal. The an
cient Egyptians floated them on rafts down the
Nile, and raised them by inclined planes of
wood and ropes with the aid of thousands of
men.
About fifteen minutes’ walk from Heliopolis
is the venerable sycamore which is called the
Tree of the Virgin, because Mary, according to
the Coptic legend, rtsted there with Jesus after
her flight from the wrath of Herod. It is cer
tainly a most remarkable tree for its size, and
gnarled and j tgged appearance. The Khedive
presented it after the inauguration of the Suez
Canal to the French Empress Eugenie, who had
it surrounded by an iron railing. The Roman
Catholics, however, assert that the real tree of
the Virgin died in 1(5(55, and they show its last
fragments in their convent at Cairo. It is one
of those superstitious legends which nobody can
either prove or disprove. Close by this tree is
the Miraculous Fountain, which was once salt,
but turned sweet when the Virgin Mary bathed
the Holy Child in its waters. In the same reg
ion are the gardens where once flourished the
balsam tree which produced the famous Balm
of Gilead. Now the cotton pl.-.nt is cultivated.
Heliopolis reminds me of an amusing speci
men of ignorance. A rich Californian, travell
ing with some Methodist ministers, when in
formed that in this place Joseph got his wife,
the daughter of a priest, was quite astonished,
and indignantiy asked, ‘Was Mary Magdalene
the daughter of a priest?’ The same gentle
man, when crossing the Delta, remarked* ‘We
shall soon pass the Jordan.’ ‘No.’s lid his friend,
‘the Jordan is a river in Palestine.’ ‘You are
right,’ he replied, 'it wan the Danube I meant!
I met this traveller in the Mediterranean Hotel
in Jerusalem, when he gave the company at the
dinner-table the important piece of information
that he visited Akeldama, ‘the famous place
which Judas sold for thirty pieces of silver !
I felt quite ashamed of America, but was some
what relieved when I asked an English travel
ler whether he had passed through the Desert
and visited Mount Sinai, and was told he real
ly did not remember, aDd must first look up his
journal!
Maggie Mitchell, has concluded the purchase
of AI. Louis Vider's new play, with which she
will commence her season in San Francisco early,
in the autumn.