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they will come to hr. Mrs. Revere’s health is
very deficits. this Bert sees, and readily con
sents to onrplanR.
The days go swiftly by. Bat one remains to
him and ns.
‘Miss H-den,’ he says coming into the dining
room where I am, *pnt on your bonnet and go
with me to the river. I want to talk to yon.'
*1 never refuse Bert anything, so I go for my
snn bonnet. My heart is fall, because to-mor
row eve
Ere the hot snn count
His dewy rosary on the eglantine’"
Bert will be gone to become once more a target
for deadly shot and shells.
‘Does Eve still love Jerome?' be asks as we go
down by the river.
'I do not know,* I return slowly. T am sore
I do not see bow she can after what happened
in January, bat the heart is a hard thing to un
derstand. ’
'Um Helen, tell me truly, do you believe
that sister loves John? Do not be afraid that
will be angry with you for your answer.”
'I am afraid, Bert, that she does,’ I say sor
rowfully.
'And he is to marry Miss Meroer?'
‘In November, yes. That was the agreement
when he was here last month-’
'Penelope does not know this?' he asks quick
ly;
•I do not know—I suppose so. They were de
voted to each other— stop! They were very dis
tant to each other before outsiders,’ I stammer.
I feel that Bert Jreproaohes me for not telling
Pen. Must all the heavy burdens of life fall on
me?'
'Miss Helen, was it kind of you to let Peno-
lepe be deceived. ’
'Hush, Bert, you wrong me a”d your better
judgment in saying this. I have tried to bronch
the subject to Pen, bat she laughs and says :
“Let me laugh a while. I're mickle time to grieve.”
'Forgive me, Miss Helen ! It does seem that
yon have full enough sorrow of your own with
out having Pen's, Eve's and mine added to it,’
contritely.
‘Never mind Bert, 1 would gladly bear yours
for you If l could,’ I answer. Then in the next
breath:
‘Listen, Bert, listen! ’ I cry breathlessly.
We hear the tramp, tramp of horses* feet I
look SDxiously up and down the river. We are
apart from the main road, not even in sight of
it, and bidding my companion be still, I creep
forward. I hear laughing and merry jests, in
termingled with oaths, but I do not see who the
moving cavalry is. I soaroely dare breathe lest
I betray mvself. I am not thinking of my life,
but of Bert’s. I go back after a while.
'Whoever it is has gone,' I say.
‘Some Confederate soouts,’ he observes, care
lessly.
'I don't know,’I reply, cautiously. ‘Feder
ate are as frequent visitors as Confederates
nowadays. If it is Federate .’
‘Helen ! Helen ! ’ calls a voice near me.
I give a start, for often in my sleep I hear
‘Helen ! Helen ? ’ from lips long sinoe closed in
death‘b slumber.
‘Helen ! Helen !' whispers the voice.
‘Who are you, and what do you want ? ’ 1
ask, all idea of a supernatural being addressing
me vanishing.
‘It is Eve. Where is Bert? Do you know?
Yankees are at the house and are searching it
for him. They met Mrs Amoryte Diok, and he
told them that Bert was here. What shall we
do, Helen ?
Bert rises from his mossy seat. A light leaps
into his eyes. He if in danger; he knows it;
he knows also that Eve has shown an interest
in bis life.
Eve comes around to us. ?he starts as she
seeB Bert. Blushing and trembling from ex
citement, she goes to him.
'Fly, Bert! the Yankees are at the house.
They are searching the house from cellar to at
tic for you.’
‘Mother and sister ?' he says.
‘Are praying that you may not oome to the
house while they are there. I escaped unob
served, and came to warn you.’
•What will you do, Bart?' I ask hurriedly.
‘I must find a place of refuge until to-night.
Then, if I can get my horse, I will make good
my escape. Helen, can you manage that for
me?’
•But, till then ! Think quickly, Bert. What
will yon do until to-night?’
•I know a place where he can stay until
then,’ cries Eve, her perplexed faoe lighting
up. ‘Don't you remember, Helen, the gorge on
the other side of the river where we go to get
the trillinms every spring ? Let me take him
over there in the boat and come back.’
‘Hnrry, for gracious sake ! ’ I cry inelegantly.
‘Don't stay, Eve ! Remember if you are absent
they will suspect on wbat errand. Good-bye,
dear Bert,’ pushing him toward the boat, in a
frenzy of impatience until they are gone. ‘
Eve springs into the boat, Bert stoops to kiss
me, steps in, takes up the oar and rows across
the river. 1 stand and see them land, see
them go up the cliffi I am in a fever of impa
tience. I take out my watch and count the
minutes. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty ! Why
don't Eve come ?
I hear voices from the road ! Has Bert kept
hor to pour into her ears the story of his love ?
I turn where the voices come from. Surely
they are approaching nearer. I think of my
walch, and bury it under some leaves and
stones.
In an agony of impatience I pace the green
Sward. 1 conjecture to myself what they will
say when they find ms here, almost in the heart
of the woods. Had I Eve and Bert I would cuff
them both soundly. In my despair I wring
my hands. What shall we say about the wet
oars ? (if Eve comes).-
I hear a sound. I turn. 0, joy ! it is Eve.
I gesticulate frantically. I point toward the
bouse, I try to tell her that they are coming.
She understands. Eve is always a good rower,
but new she makes the light boat fly over the
waters. She glides swiftly up to the shore. I
catch the chain, lock it through the ring with
a snap, grasp the oars from the tired hands,
but v them under the thick leaves, before I say a
word.
‘Is he safe ?' I gasp at last.
•Yes,’ breathing heavily.
‘What made you stay so long ?’ I ask, with
asperity.
•We bad to avoid some negroes, ’£she replies,
folding her tired hands.
1 am touched at the Bight of those blistered
hands. I kneel beside her, take them up and
kiss them. She only smites in a tired way,
eaning her pretty head, with all its luxuriant
hair, on my shoulder’ Presently she says:
‘Had we not better go, Helen ? What if they
come and find us here ?
‘Are you not too tired ?' I ask, solicitously.
•No, no.’
We make a detour, oommg up in the rear of
the house. A brawny guard stops us, asks who
where we have been. I answer his
•Isjbe with you ?’ I venture again.
•N-..’
•Who is he ?’ determined to get at the bottom
of it.
‘Look here, young woman, I don't see that it
is anything to yon who b« is. But if you must
know, he is Mr. Jerome, Henry Jnntme.’
I recoil at this. However ‘all's fair in love
and war,' and lgo to impart my news to Eve’
‘How I hate him!’ sue says, through her
olenohed teeth.
•Who? Bert? I ask.
■Don't be foolish, Hete n,’ she exclaims.
Night comes on «p*ee. We »re in a p* rfect
fever of anxiety* Father is puzzled how to gel
Bert's b<>rse and knapsack to him. We bold a
consultation. Yalarie euggesix this, Barbara
that, mother something else, Pen says let Amos
oarry it to him. I, who have had the light Ot to
day's experience, say nothing.
‘Let me undertake it,* Eve whispers; to me.
•Yon can trust me, can yon not ?
I stare at her aghast. How in the world can
she oarry Bert's horse to him across that deep
river ?'
If yon can contrive to get ont the things to
me, Helen, loan get them to Bert,’ she contin
ues.
I see that she is in earnest. She is the mas
ter spirit now. 1 am pliant in her hands. She
and I sit apart from the others, and whisper to
gether, Fiuahy they give np in despair. Bert
must wait nntii the Federate have gone. Eve
goes np stairs. She blows out the hall lamp as
she does so. Presently I hear her calling:
‘Lucy, Lucy, bring the water.’
I get up, oreep up stairs, bearing a bundle in
tended for Bart. I am astonished as I walk in
to her room. Her faoe and hands are as black
as soot will make them. She is dressed in
Lucy’s Sunday olothes, and makes a presentable
darkey.
•Gome as quickly as possible,’ she whispers,
going ont the door, hamming a negro song.
She meets Yalarie, tells her, Miss Eve wants to
see her, runs past the|unsuspeoting guard, past
the kitchen, down to the stables.
My part of the play has oome. I step ont and
call ‘Lucy.’ Yalarie comes up the stairway.
Fortunate thing for me. I beckon her to come
I explain, make her smut my faoe and help
me on with Borne of Sarah's belongings. I trem
ble with exoitement, bat cannot repress a smile
as I step o the glass and look at myself. I go
swiftly down the steps, through the hall, pass
the guard leisurely, and stop under the window
of the ohamb9r, I nave jast left. Yalarie lowers
Bart’s pistols and sword to me. I find Eve
down on the ground wrapping rags around the
horse’B feet to deaden his steps.
Cantiously we lead him out, saddle him, turn
him the way we came this morning. I stumble
over the roots and rocks, but Eve seems as if en
chanted, she keep straignt on. It is very dark
bat she knows tue way. At- last we reach the
river. She says, in a whisper :
‘Find the paddles and key, Helen, while I pnt
the saddle and things in the bo it. Keep the
pistols, and if any one obtains ns, they rnasc ’
I grope in the dark, at last find what I am
searching for. Silently we step io. Eve takes
the paddle, I lead in the horse. He taxes the
water bravely, swims behind tke boat docilely.
I contrive to catch a branch, when we reaoh the
other shore, and draw the boat up.
‘This is not the landing place, Eve,’ I say, in
a whisper.
‘I know. We floated down stream just now.
But can't be very far cff. I told him to be
within whistling distance,' in a tone of anxiety.
There iB a twittering like ‘birds talking in
their sleep,’ Eve gives a ory like a whip-poor-
will. It is the signal between them I know at
onoe. A jAark form comes near ns. I lead the
drippifc^horse from this water, Era still site ic
the bout, calls Bert softly. He answers as softly
It is the work of a few milinteB to saddle his
horse, strap on his luggage, put on his sword
and ptetols. He knows, and we know, that
danger is imminent, so our good-byes are hur
riedly said. He kisses me, thanks Eve for her
kindness, leaps into the saddle and rides away.
We re-oross the river, look the boat, seorete
the arms, plod toward the honse. We have an
unsuspecting foe to deal with, for both of ns reaoh
the honse and oar rooms without being detected.
Lacy’s and Sarah’s clothes are doffed, the soot
carefully removed from our faces. Yalerie has
oarefully kept watch for us, now she goes down
into the parlor to whisper the news of Bert’s es
cape.
Eve is the heroine, of course, she deserves
to be. The soldiers leave next day. Eve has
ontmitted her lover.
[TO be continued.]
mer's he had flattered himself upon hie pene
tration in coming to the conclusion that there
bad been a nice little lover's quarrel between
them on that all-important day.
•I thought th»re was some other relation be
tween ns than that of me-eaeqnain'anoe until tw t
days ago,’ continued Harry observing th« won
dering look leveled at him, ‘bat I find I have
been mistaken. She has never by word or act
committed herself, bnt has adroitly pnt me off
from time to time without positive rupture.'
‘Yon are merely friends then ?’ savs Ervo*
’Hardly so much,* replied Mr. Wilmot
gloomilv as if the snbjeot were disagreeable to
him. Eryo foiled his arms and gsz*d into th«
tire. A servant entered bearing a covered bur
den npon his bead.
•What is that ?• asked Eryc by way of renew
ing the conversation.
‘Champaan-* 'eturnei Harry. ‘I have sent
to town for it. Will yon try some ?‘
‘Not just now.•
‘Yes yon will. Bring me a bottle and glasses
George.' So saying he opened Cue wine. Eryc
took a glass bnt refused to take more; where
upon Mr. Wilmot drained the bottle and threw
it into the fire. As the beverage began to take
effect he became more genial and talkative.
‘I forgot,' he said ‘to tall yon that the friends
I expect are Stacy axd Colonel Fenton. Neither
knows that the other is coving. And just hers
is another strange thing abont Colonel Fenton,
which I cannot fathom. He sestaa to have a se
cret aversion to Stacy. I have notioed that ho
never remains long in his company if he can
avoid it, bnt always makes some excuse for go
ing elsewhere. I think that no one else, besides
myself, has ever remarked the fact Even Sta
cy himself is ignorant of it Toe Colonel, by
the ways, is one of the yonngeat officers I ever
saw. He sometimes, for convenience,takes along
with him a fellow by the name ot Randal who
hangs sronnd him for no other purpose than’to
be admitted to higher society than he would
otherwise ever get into, and who may oome to
night. Colonel Fenton's aversion to Staoy,
however, I take to be the result -of some simi
larity in their past histories Staoy, poor fel
low, had a bad case of it several years ago, you
know. ‘
‘No. I do not know,’ answered Eryc, who
oared not particnlarly what might have been
the past history of either one or the other, bnt
now spoke only to show that he was not an in
different listener.
‘Well, it is a short story,’narrated Mr. Wil
mot. ‘Abont five years ago, his brother, Lin
ton Stacy, was murdered one night only a few
hoars after his marriage. There was a young
fellow, a half-brother to Geoffrey Glenvilie—
Arthur Glenvilie by name—wuo lived in the
city of Nashville, then, and who was the sus
pected man. Arthur was a wild, gambling kind
of a fellow, though his character, previous to
this event, had been above suspicion or re-
proaoh, other than that kind of reproach which
always attaches to fast yonng men who live be
yond their means, for he was honorable and
high-minded so far as the world saw him, not
withstanding his reckless life and still more
reckless associates As there was no proof
agAinst him he was secretly shadowed by a de
tective, and was finally arrester^Vnd brought to
trial. He was then convicted iAd;manslaughter,
but as the prool was not altogswji. complete, he
was sent back to prison for a T rial. I have
forgotten tbe circumstances,* \aps. I only
know he was to have another t, J A May be yon
saw some account of the affai;' \ve time, for it
created quite a sensation.’ /,
v •
DELAMERE;
—OR—
Corinne the Sphynx!
BY PAUL C. LE SUEUK.
we are,
^'’There are anxious hearts until they see ns to
gether. Mrs. Revere and Pen know that, for
the present, Bert is safe. I am accosted by one
or more Federate as they saaroh and reseaaoh
the honse for Bert, who is laughing in his sleeve
at them on the other side of the river.
•Why do yon searoh s<> patiently for Gaptain
Revere ?’ I »sk a guard, who stalks up and
down the front verandah.
•It is our orders,’ be says, curtly.
•Whose orders ?’ I persist.
•Our Captain ■’ gruffly.
CHAPTElt. III.
It was late in the evening of the appointed
day when Eryo rode slowly on his way toward
the home of his friend Harry, which had been
named by the latter, in a merry and and poetic
mood, Bonnie D joh. It was a chill and deso
late eve in February, and the great moony disk
of tbe suu, shorn cheerlessly of its baams, sank
in the misty clouds of the west, red, ominous
and depressing. The day, whioh had grown
warm since noon, and still was cold, seemed
likely to proye bnt a repetition of the twe pre
vious ones, and, after riding some distance, the
gloomy scene around him began to have some
effect upon Eryo, and sparring forward at a
brisker pace, as if to escape from his dismal
surroundings, he soon reached the hospitable
dwelling of Mr. Wilmot. HU knock at the
door was answered by Harry himself, who
evinced great surprise and no less pleasure at
seeing him. ‘Old fellow,’ was Mr, Wilmot’s
greeting; ‘I did not expect to see yon tonight;
bnt you are none the less welcome. Come in.’
He showed the way into a large well-carpeted
room where the furniture was scattered about
here and there over the floor in the most incon
venient disorder and confusion,
‘The room has been undergoing a renovation’
explained Harry, ‘and my man of all work has
not qnite done with it yet, Have a seat. I was
giving some orders when I heard your knock,
lam going to have some friends here tonight.
I am glad you came so opportunely.’
‘It would be better if you had a housekeeper
here Harry,’saidEryc, glancing about the room
after the manner of an old, familiar friend,
‘Blast me, if that isn’t jast what I think my
self,’ replied Mr. Wilmot who thought that
Eryc’s words contained some remote al
lusions to the housekeeper at Delamere.
He tried to laugh also but did not suc
ceed altogether as well ss he wished. Erye
saw tbe oonstruotion which had been put
upon his remark, and did not seek to alter it,
but, deeply interested in every thing that con
cerned tbe happiness of his friend, and remem
bering tbe things he bad seen and heard, as
well as the suspicion, which, two nights ago,
had flashed across his mind, he laid his hand
upon his arm and said earnestly:
‘Harry, it is no vulgar cariosity which
prompts me, bat I wish to ask you, as an old
and tried friend, what is the relation between
you, and Miss Devon ?’
From what had gone before, it was evident
that Mr. Wilmot expected the question for he
answered laconically:
‘None !'
Eryo looked at him Incredulously, for, from
what he had seen a few days ago at Mr. Eth-
«some of the
ltly. Arthur
Ot?’
It of another
Vrasclosely
’ jg captured
tream. His
1 him dead or
jfir Glenvilie
above a series
red upon and
at, whioh then
fonnd after-
k, a quarter of
re was a ourve
them from see-
he stream was
‘Yes, was the reply,’ *1 rei
circnmstanoes. though but'
Glenvilie finally escaped, o-
‘Not exactly. Fearful of-
trial, he broke jsi!-And-**
pursued and came very A
two days after while crot.
pursuers had been ordered
alive. Leaping into a bot
was ranidly crossing the st
of rapids or shoals. He wl
fell ont, or partly ont of th
drifted into the Bhoals, an
wards overturned and partly
a mile or so down the river,
in the stream whioh prevent
ing anything after firing,
dragged for his body, bnt it was never found
It was supposed that he was drowned, though
he was a bold swimmer. And what strength
ened the belief was that a skeleton was found
abont a year after, by becoming entangled in
the lines of a party of fishermen, on a pleasure
excursion near the scene of tbe accident. It
went very bard npon Geoffrey, poor fellow.
His grief was immoderate. But this happened
so long ago that people have nearly ceased to
talk abont it now.’
Tbe subject seemed to be painfal to Harry,
and as he left off speaking, he gazed abstracted
ly at the elonds of smoke that rolled np the
chimney.
‘And yon think Colonel Fenton has passed
through something of this sort?’ demanded
Eryc.
‘Yes. He is a clever fellow, Eryc, in spite of
all I told you not long since. He received a
large sum of money yesterday which he showed
me, and told me it came from the \Ve9t Indies.’
‘is that the ciroumstance which makes him
clever ? ’
‘No,’ returned Mr. Wilmot, staggered for an
instant at the construction which Eryc had un
expectedly and with malicious pleasure put
upon his words. ‘But I have seen him do the
most generous things. And besides, the mon
ey he received shows conclusively that he is no
hypocrite in pretending to wealth. Everyone
that knows him speaks well of him too.’
Silence on Eryo's part.
•What do you suppose he did yesterday? ’
continued Harry,
‘Won some more money from you, I presume?'
‘On tho contrary, he offered to pay me back
all that he had won from me, I can tell yon it
is no small snm. I was astonished, bnt I de
termined not to be ont-dobr in that kind of a
thing, so I laughed at him, and told him that
it was absurd and ridieulous, and the like.
I swear, it threshod me clear of ali my precon
ceived ideas of the man. I have been for some
time at a loss to know why it is teat he lingers
around here so muoh, bnt from bis going over
the way so mnoh,’ and here Harry pointed sig-
nifieantly injthe direction of Mr. Ethmer's, ‘I
have recently formed a pretty clear gness as to
what bis motive is.’
The idea was displeasing to Eryc, but why, he
oould not tell and he said dryly and with affect
ed indifference:
'Do you think he has any serious intentions
there ?’
.1 do not donbt it,’ replied Harry,; and then,
in the tone of one who advances an idea too ab
surd for serious entertainment he added laugh
ingly, ‘and so, my boy, if you, have any serious
intentions in that direction yon had better look
sharp, for Cofonel Fenton succeeds in every
thing he attempts.’
Eryc, catching, though seriously disliking,
the spirit of the jest, replied in same strain:
‘I profess my inability to enter into the con
test with bo accomplished and irresistible a man
as the Colonel; especially when I to leave so soon
and give np the field entirely to him.’
‘Ah, bnt yon should have seen,’ said Mr. Wil
mot, with some bitterness, ‘the pleased look up
on the old man’s faoe when he heard of Colo
nel Fenton’s receiving so much money. Curse
me, before I would so bow down to mammon!
But then-—he is a kind-hearted old gentleman,
and the saying that old age is inseparable from
oovetousnen must be true.’
'And what about Alins Echtuer herself ?’ asked
Eryo.
‘Diana will?do whatever she is commanded to
do,’ replied Harry. ‘She is a siave to what she
conceives to be her duty, I sometimes think,
and will not hesitate to perform any command
be may give her, however cruel or arbitrary.
And, besides, this might not be so crnel a com
mand, yon know, for Colonel Fenton is hand
some and a perfect gentleman—be dresses in
good taste, converses fascinatingly, dances ele
gantly, and lives splendidly, and in fact what
ever accomplishment is desirable he has it in a
high degree, with plenty ot money, moreover to
back him. I will tell you frauaty though, I
can’t like him. 1 can think and believe well ot
him without going into heroics over him, and
lamping oat my heart <o him. There is some
thing abont him which I eannot define, that re
pulses me, though we meet and drink and Binoke
together like the best friends in the world, and
my natural horror of being a baok-biter has al
ways ma le me speak well of him to my unole,—
Mr.E-hmer,—whenever be asked me about him.'
Eryc was again silent. Miss Etbmer could
never be any thing more than Miss E'inner
to him, bnt to see her in prospect, married to
snch a man as Colonel Fentun, aronsed in his
mind affeeling of pity or of regret. He began
dislike Colonel Fenton uneonseiously, and to
feel a considerable degree of interest in Diana's
fate. So he merely turned the conversation on
other subjeots and they talked over the old days
at College, and the different fortunes and mis
fortunes of former lriends and class-mates, who
had severed, perhaps, at their last parting, ail
ties forever*
Tbe sky began now to be overeast with elonds,
bnt, after a short time, tbe gnests, whom Harry
feared would be detained by the evidently ap-
proaohing fonl weather, arrived. Stacy arrived
first, and alone. He was riohly though not in
elegantly dressed, and wore npon bis face the
cheerful, careless smile of one upon whom For
tune auspiciously bestows her smile and the
world has always treated kindly. He had scarce
ly seated himself when Colonel Fenton, follow
ed by Mr. Randal, his attache, of whom Harry
had spoken to Eryc a few minutes before, also
arrived. Mr. Randal had a small, piercing
black eye, a noiseless step, and a manner slight
ly oringing. These general features Eryo not
ed at a glance but had no time for farther criti
cism betore the gentleman was presented to him.
‘Eryc,’ said Mrs. Delamere that morning be
fore he had left home,—‘are yon going over to
see Harry Wilmot this evening,'
Being answered in the affirmative, she told
him that she hoped his belief in Harry's sober-
mindedness at home would not be dispelled by
closer inspection, and laughingly added that
she hoped also that Mr. Wilmot would not get
him into mischief. Erycas->ured her of his con
stancy in uprightness, and had thought very lit
tle abont the circumstance, but, just at this par
ticular moment, he unaccountably recalled it,
and, as the occasion was favorable, be deter
mined to see to what extent the reports he had
heard were true. Not with any idea, however,
of assuming the office of monitor or hypocrite
did he come to this conclusion, bnt simply for
his own satisfaction, for he valued Harry high
ly, and for the sake of refuting what he con
ceived to be only false accusations against his
character. With this laudable object in view,
as the night with lowering darkness settled
gloomily down and the lamps were lit, it was
with some misgiving that he heard a game of
cards proposed. But this proposition which
was received with eagerness, gave him no spec
ial uneasiness after a moment’s thought, since a
game of sards was a very fashionable pastime,
and did not necessarily imply any particular
wickedness or habitual depravity in the players,
floaiflfls wipjt else' was there to be done by a
crowd of yonng men'who had met at a place
where there were no yonng ladies to make love
to ? Accordingly, there being five gentlemen
present, and Colonel Fenton, who seemed not
to be in his usnal spirits, pleading indisposition
as an excuse for not playing, Eryc was ohosen
partner to Henry Stacy against Mr. Randal and
Mr. Wilmot.
‘What shall we play fof?’ asked Mrr Staoy as
he shuffled the cards, and the party arranged
themselves around the table. Mr. Wilmot look
ed at Eryc to see the effect of the question, and,
observing the look of surprise on his face, an
swered hastily:
‘Nothing this time, Henry. We are going
to have a qniet social game of it.'
‘No, we are going to do no snch thing’ said
Stacy ‘we are going to stake something, for I
can take no interest in a game unless I bet
something, however, small. What say yon to
a fine dinner to be given by the losing side ?’
'Not now Henry,’ replied Harry more de
cidedly* ‘some other time.’
•Wine then’ pleaded Mr. Stacy.
‘Very well,’ rejoined Harry giving Eryc a look
which seemed to say that whether he was beat
en, or whether he beat, or whether they did not
play at all, the article in question would he
none the less certainly fortnooming. Harving
thus quieted the qualms of Stacy’s conscience
which was too tender to play without staking
something, the game commenced.
‘Randal is a lucky dog,’ said the latter ‘he al
ways beats me and I am going to pay him back
to-night in his own coin. We 11 beat too, Mr.
Delamere,’ he added as his partner made a lucky
venture in the game. At the end of tbe first
game in which Mr. Wilmot was beaten, he call
ed the servant, George, and told him to bring
wine. The latter scon reappeared bearing upon
a waiter several bottles aad glasses and pro
ceeded to the business of uncorking.
‘By heaven ! Champagne,’ exclaimed Staoy,
‘Harry you are better than your word, as I am a
poor, miserable sinner!'
The wine being duly partaken of by all around
the board, tbe game went ou, but not so unin
terruptedly as to hinder Harry and Henry Stacy
front taking seveial more glasses of wine apiece.
'Now for it!' said the former boisterously as
it came his time to deal, his spirits rising as the
beverage took effect ‘Let me get properly
towed up and I can beat the devil playing cards,
—anybody in fact, except Colonel Fenton, which
proves that he is more than the devil.’
The gentleman to whom this flattering allu
sion was made looked up with a quiet smile
from the paper in which he seemed to be en
grossed, but said nothing. A short time after
ward, however, as Harry and Henry Stacy grew
more flushed with wine, and hilarious, he arose
and left the room, though not without first say
ing to Mr. Randal,
‘Remember, Randal, you cannot drink as
much wine as Staoy can.’
‘Never fear for me,' replied that individnal in
a confident manner, 'I know what I am abont.’
At the end of the second game Harry was again
beaten, and, as a remedy, he took more wine.
In this he was followed by his partner and by
Stacy.
‘By heaven Eyre !’ said Mr. Wilmot turning
suddenly to the person addressed, ‘you havn't
taken but one glass yet; you must take another.’
‘I am very easily influenced by wine,’ answer
ed Eryc evasively, • and I seldom take morethan-
one glass at a time.’
•One!' ejaculated Mr. Staoy with a look in
which infinite amazement was blended with in
cipient inebriety. “Fore God! I think that’s a
huge joke, though you say it with a very grave
face. But here, take another, and don’t mar the
hour of enjoyment. It will make you feel good
—open your heart, ourse me if it don’t.*
T will take it on condition that you will drink
do more to-night,'replied Eryo,
‘All right,’ familiarly rejoined his partner in
that tone of reckless assent whioh his oondiiton
nsnuliy brings abo”..‘ though I havn’t quite
'•Dough yet. * and he pushed the glass towards
Er<c who t- ok it and drank its coot nt*.
By this time the kUta was pouring down in
that steady, cease!’-**;pa&»\ which makes the
snugly-honsed mdtarenhscinustrfian ever of the
comforts they enM ? pnt the party at the card
table waxed jubilwkm'Ofe and more, and. for a
while, Eryo sougiyHhHaln for so u« pretext to
leave whioh migh^Bwijiim from the imputa
tion of being paritsBiotlTy inolined. Finally he
arose and said: V
•Excuse me, gentlemen, I am too tired to play
longer and left the room.
‘A onrsed hypoorite! 1 mattered Air. Randall
in a low voioe who had not drank so deeply as to
lose all eantion. v
‘He is right, Randall. I swear be is,* said Hen
ry Staoy who alone had overhean the last re
mark, and thns took np the cause of his part
ner ‘and ourse mo if I take another glass to
night
Tut, tut,’ interrupted, Mr. Wilmot, who by
this time bad bogus to suspact tout be himBelf
or some one else bad not gntnd with strict pro
priety—‘what’s the use of quarreling abont it?’
and he arose, poured ont a glass of wine and
meohanioally drank it After this last glass he
was more at a loss than ever to tell whether he,
or one of his gnests was the guilty person; and
as to the particular impropriety committed,
thongh he was anxious to make amends for it,
his mind labored in hopeless mystery.
When Eryo left the card table he went into
another room where be found Col. Fenton who
had preceded him only a few minutes. As yet
Evro had seen very little of him, and had, nat
urally, a certain degree of cariosity to know
more of the man who was shortly to bo the hap
py possessor of Diana Ethmer’s hand, for he had
already settled it in his own mind that snch
was the case even from the slight hint taken
from the careless remarks of Harry Wilmot. At
his entranoe Colonel Fenton laid aside the pa
per which he had been reading, motioned him
to a chair, and said as he seated himself:
‘Rather a gay party within?’
Eryc assented, and the other continued: ‘Poor
Wilmot, his lively disposition leads him into a
good many errors. ‘
Eryc’s eyes met those of his companion
searohlngly, and he thought he saw in their
flashing depths va diabolically triumphant ex
pression. Having condoled with Mr. Wilmot
upon his nnfortnnate predisposition toward
gaiety of conduct, Colonel Fenton proceeded to
relate several little anecdotes in which Harry
figured conspicuously iu scenes similar to tbe
oue in whioh he now played the part of chief
drama is personas Finally be asked: ‘What
are they doing in the other room?’
‘Still playing,* I believe, answered Eryc.
Colonel Fenton arose immediately and said;
‘I mast go in and see Randall. He is very noisy
when he starts and talks too mnch, ‘ and he left
the room.
Eryc, left to himself, took np a book and be
gan taming over its leaves, reading a sentence
here and there, bnt without much thought as
to what was before him, for his mind was upon
others things. He was not long engaged in this
employment however, before Harry Wilmot er-
tere i the room and said as he staggered forward;
■Er‘c, old boy, wha s the matter with yon?'
He endeavored to put his hand on Eryc’s
Jhoulder, bnt his gait was too unsteady, and he
leaned npon tbe back of a chair.
‘I think I have more reason to ask what is the
matter with you,* responded Eryo.
‘Matter with me?* repeated Mr. Wilmot in
indignant surprise; ‘why Er‘c I’m all ri’ now.'
■Or all champagne, wljioh? 1 asked Eryo.
Harry did not deign to answer this question,
bnt sat down heavily on a chair, and said:
•Ctjrse me, Ey'o. I domnoh think yon acted
cleverly ltT’yonier.
‘I hardly think yon did either,' was the reply
‘What'd I do?’
‘Yon cams very near getting drank, that is
all.’
‘DjruDk!* said Wilmot, thickly artioulating
hia reproach, ‘it seems me whenever I take a
swallow of the wine that perisheth somebody sty
I djrnnk,' and he looked the picture of injured
innocence.
’ ’Yon took too much the other night at Mr.
Ethmer‘e,‘ went on Eryo upbraidingly; ‘and I
have been informed that yon entirely spoiled
tbe effect of a scene in some private theatricals
by taking too much wine to perform your part
well. ‘
‘Go on, go on,‘ urged Mr. Wilmot in a tone ol
dogged reproach; ‘thas way it always is. When
ever I take a swallow of rnm that perisheth
somebody go say I zrnnk.' And he went off in
to au eloquent defense of his conduct, though
his discourse was rendered somewhat obscure
by a too plentiful use of y‘s and s‘s, Erye gaz
ing at him the while with emotions of mingled
mirth and pity, undecided which to let prepon-
erato. At this juncture entered Stacy, Randal,
and Colonel Fenton. A negro boy sixteen or
seventeen years of age followed them to the
door, and announced supper,
‘Is that you, Dan?‘ said Harry to the latter.
•Yesser, • was the response.
•Come in here then you ugly devil, 1 contin
ued Mr. Wilmot, ‘and say your Sunday-school
lesson.*
Thus peremptorily appealed to, Dan wonld
have songht some opportunity for escape, but
not finding any, he reluctantly stepped into
the apartment.
‘Wbat‘8 your r'ligion sir?* began Wilmot with
a tone of instruction and a look of precision.
‘Aint got any/ said Dan.
•You're a liar, sir. Won't yon steal?*
‘Fore God, Mos Harry, I never has took any
thing ceptin* now an‘ then it moot be ‘
Dan hesitated.
‘Oat with it, sir,* said Mr. Wilmot.
‘Curse it, let‘s go get something to eat, ‘ broke
iu Stacy unceremoniously. So saying, he
seized Harry by the arm, and, withont attach
ing due importance to him in his office as ex
pounder of the catechism, hurriod him to the
dining room. Here, for a while Harry did with
becoming gravity the honors of the table. He
soon became wild, however, and Stacy and Ran
dal j lined in with him. But Colonel Fenton,
wita the instinct, at least, of one who had been
born and bred a gentleman, seeing that such
scenes were distasteful to Eryc, proposed to
him,alter the meal was over with, as regarded the
latter and himself, to leave the table; accord
ingly the two arose, and returned to the apart
ment they had just left, scarcely missed or no-
ticod by Harry and his jovial companions.
On the next c rning Mr. Wilmot, in a mood
somewhat resen . ing contrition, apologetically
explained himf. f to Eryc.
‘You see, Eryc, ‘ he said, ‘I generally take a
little to make ine cheerful, you know. Then I
take a little more to make me feel better. Then
I think another wont hurt me, and after that,
curse me, if I care how much I take. Yon see
how it is ?‘
Eryc thought he saw, and Harry continued to
inform him, in a jocular and unrepentant man
ner, that in a short time he wonld b« as grave
as decorum itself—that after a few more months
of carousal, he expected to settle down grace
fully to habits of business and sobriety, to ali
of which promises and protestations his auditor
listened with a dne degree of allowance and a
k-uiI- : f obsnuaie incredulity. Evidently Mr.
Wtlmii'.’B w-r's did not smack either of ret'or-
m-tuon or remorse. Neverthol- ss, he assured
Eryc, as tne mitsr sms leaving, ot bis warm and
unabated friendship, urged him to oome again
soon, and gave his band a cordial pressure in
adieu.
[tO be continued.]